#so go ahead if you like; though I feel like I've got a rough grasp of my main weaknesses

[cthulhubert]

I uh. It's December. You may or may not have noticed.

I did Nanowrimo, spent my "creative projects half hour" slot on that, and completely forgot about posting my fourth year of daily drawings for October. Nevertheless, into my my art tag it goes.

In a fit of petty first world anarchism, I did Inktober's prompts, but digitally.

This year's been busy, so I tried to stick to my half an hour per day drawing time slot. (I say, gritting my teeth, forehead vein bulging as I look at the parts I don't like.)

I am forcing myself to acknowledge that the past year—with its approximately 130 hours of drawing practice—has resulted in some improvements to line control, anatomy, and perspective, but I'm definitely also reaching the point where several of these feel too embarrassing to post.

In fact I only picked nine, instead of the ten I did the last few years.

Please read some of the captions because at least I do think I'm funny.

Dreams was an auspicious start. I like this Bakugirl.

Fortune... exists. I should've been a little bolder with the fairy actually like, interacting with the dragon woman's palm, really being present there, instead of just sort of posed on top. I also should've made the table smaller, dragoness is supposed to be huge.

I immediately decided I was doing some kind of pair for Angel and Demon. Please ignore that the actual prompt was not Devil. It's close enough right? If I had more time and ambition the devil girl's net was going to be made of serpents. I did not really capture her "shouting" expression the way I wanted, but now that I'm looking it's not execrable. Angel's dreads are definitely more half hearted than I wanted. This one did at least convince me that my next batches of studies need to be of clothed figures.

Rise got my favorite concept for the whole month. Cause it's bread. Get it? eh? Please enjoy our little alchemist workshopping her lines for introducing her magnum opus. Tried to lean into cartoonish with her face.

I spent a solid 10 minutes trying to decide what to do for Dagger, and then all of a sudden it was like a voice spoke to me: "Do fan art of one of your favorite games of all time." I wish the Final Fantasy series hadn't abandoned that more stylized, cartoonish vibe. You know, one of the most interesting things about drawing is realizing that I am 100% looking at things that I have previously—apparently!—only kind of glanced at. Like I would not, before drawing this, have described Garnet as having, to be frank, a prodigious bosom, significant badonkerage, or ginormous dobonhonkeros. To be frank. And a really low cut top to boot. But here we are. I like this face. Wish I'd chosen a more dynamic pose.

For Shallow I decided to do a little snippet of something from one of my stories (coincidentally one related to what I was working on in November). The anatomy is a bit iffy. And even though she's literally supposed to have been buried in a shallow hole in the woods, I had to add a gravestone because I wasn't confident how well that showed.

Rush is another one where I was not at all sure what I was going to do until the brain noise intruded, "Firetrucks are red because red's the color of communism and they're always Russian[Rushin'] around." What was I thinking with that background?

Hilariously, I didn't notice the final prompt of Inktober and how well Fire went with my spontaneous choice for the previous day. It's only now that I'm posting that I realized during export I must have turned off the "background" layer that shows a(n attempt at a) continuation of the previous background. I recall being really frustrated trying to get the foreshortening right on this mischievous fire-ninja jill-o-lantern's arms, but it doesn't look so awful now.

It's fascinating feeling myself more fully move into the phase of learning where I can tell that I'm on the cusp of drawing this or that noticeably better, I just have to push, put a bit more time into individual pieces. And of course, practice.

Next I think I'll aim for at least four and up to twelve studies of clothed figures. Might stop to try and find some good hints on drawing a good fire, or something that suggests dirt.

But I also have some writing to do. I got engaged in my Nanowrimo project. I'm finishing something else up that a friend and I have worked on in bits for years. Of course, what I'd really like is to do some writing and drawing practice every day. It hasn't happened yet, but then again, between picking up drawing supplies and actually starting to practice daily, "It hasn't happened yet" was the case for years.

Until it wasn't.

[lucifers-owl]

Cypher fell first but Sova fell harder

Cypher fell first but Sova fell harder. Sova doesn't quite grasp the moment when he fell in love. He had just realized at some point that his gaze lingered a little longer on Cypher's features. He realized that he wanted to know what he was like under the disguise and all his layers of covered clothing. He realized that he tended to go on the same missions with him, chalking it up to the fact that they both got along well and just seemed to work well together as a team. Sova knew that Cypher wasn't reciprocating his feelings, after all, he had a family, and now he was one of the Agents, who hid his true identity as much as possible. Yet Sova couldn't help but keep thinking about him. He would often fall asleep imagining the two of them sitting on the roof together, looking up at the stars, their fingers intertwined, both of them finally gloveless and touching one another. He would often wake up in the middle of the night from nightmares, wishing that Cypher was there, that he could calm him down and support him when everything around him seemed terrifying and unwelcoming. But Cypher was gone, and Sova, again and again, went to Fade to have his nightmares taken away.

Sova doesn't understand why he fell in love. Their work is hard, exhausting and terribly dangerous, they could be killed today or tomorrow, but Sova still finds the strength to stay awake at night and think about how hopelessly in love he is. Sova occasionally gets lost in conversation with Cypher, and then hates himself for being embarrassed and probably caught in the act.

Cypher understands exactly why he fell in love with Sova. Sova is kind, even though he seems stern and cold. Sova is careful, even though he seems rough and bulky. Also, Sova was being himself with Cypher. He didn't change his attitude towards him like other people did, he didn't fear him, he didn't try to hide anything like other Agents did. Sova was just being himself. And Sova was also so damn handsome and very much to Cypher's taste. Cypher isn't a fool, he sees how embarrassed the guy is, sees his hands shake nervously when they talk, how he fumbles with the clasps on his gloves or rubs his earrings in his ear. Cypher sees it all perfectly. And he's just a little tired of waiting for Sova to get his thoughts straight.

“Sova!” Cypher calls out to him before he can shut the door to his bedroom. He peeks out and tilts his head to the side, raising his eyebrows in silent question. “I've heard you in Russia love tea… I would bet that my tea tastes better. Would you like to try some?” ”I… Um… Yeah, go ahead, yeah…" Sova feels the tips of his ears turn red and he hastily covers them with his hair. He leaves the room, heading after Cypher.

They sat down right next to each other on the floor, where Cypher had already laid something and set up a low table. Two cups of tea are on it as if the man was already sure of the other's consent to the tea party. Sova's mind was in chaos, his heart was beating somewhere under his throat, so loudly that it seemed that Cypher was just about to hear everything.

”Cypher, are you… Not going to drink?” Sova said, taking the glass cup in his hands and taking a small sip. Cypher had been watching the whole time, his piercing eyes following Sova's every move. "I will, but…" Cypher sighed and slowly pulled off his gloves. His swarthy skin is rough, dry in places, and pale spots are going up under his sleeves. Sova blushes harder. “Call me Aamir, I beg you." Cypher takes the mask off his face in slow motion. Sova doesn't care about the scars, or the skin splotches, nothing. Apart from the fact that Cypher is sitting in front of him without his mask and gloves. “I trust you, Sova” “Your trust means the world to me. And… Just Sasha, I beg you”

Sova thought falling in love any deeper was impossible, but he was obviously wrong.

[whirlybirbs]

I'm curious to know about variant! Doc, like I feel you've dropped a fair amount of hints about them. Are we going to see more than one soon? Like the other variants?

FROM THE VOID, WITH LOVE  |  one more almost

summary: he only wishes he could have told you.

pairing: loki / f!reader, referenced & implied sylvie / f!reader

listen to: prokofiev: romeo & juliet, op.64 / act I, dance of the knights

a/n: ha. ah... ahaha. yeah, yeah. you guys have been waiting for this one. and uh, its here. and so is doc's variant, sylvie's doc. she's here. she's mean. and loki is having a rough go of it. once more, the gif is from @kamalaskhans's lovely set here.

[   MASTERPOST   ]

Sylvie has lost a lot in her life.

She knows losing well. She knows it horrifically well, intimately so, and she knows the cruel, knife-bitten pain that sinks into the heart with loss.

She's lost homes, she's lost safety and peace; she's lost lives, she's lost loves.

Friends are a rare loss, one she hasn't experienced much of — but the threat of such is responsible for her immediate relief upon seeing both you and Loki.

Her hair hangs in her face in damp tendrils of blonde and black, mingling who-she-was with who-she-is in a telling smear of haunting revenge. Though she has her own momentary victories to celebrate, she's dares not utter them in the presences of the viciously cunning Ravonna Renslayer.

No, and even still, her own plan is shoved far back in her mind at the sight of you and Loki.

She knows the looks on your faces well — it's as if she is looking in a mirror, etched with her own visage. While she isn't sure exactly what has transpired to claw such stinging surrender out of Loki and such desperate, venomous spite out of you, she knows.

She knows someone is gone.

"Get off of me!" your voice cracks with rage as your feet lift in an almost child-like, desperate attempt to break free; and for a moment, the guards falter and attempt to catch you, only to send one toppling to the ground. Sylvie watches as you plant a hard kick to the Hunter's chest and spin to try and yank your arm from the other's grasp.

You're as biting as a hellcat, hellbent on digging your claws into anyone near.

Sylvie hasn't seen this side of you.

Loki hasn't either.

And he knows, he knows, it's heartbreak. His only pushes him farther in an icy depth, all while you battle the raging storm within you — and perhaps that's the beauty of it. The beauty of you two. How different you are in the face of loss.

Renslayer is one step ahead of you.

Her baton is raised. It crackles dangerously at your throat. Your eyes level, and there's a flash of something there — and for a moment, a split second of frozen time, Ravonna is afraid.

You see it.

Through wet lashes, through gritted teeth, through a look so sharp it could cut her down where she stands.

But, her facade slips back into place, and the Judge holds you there with her weapon as the guards secure their hold on you once more.

They muscle you between Sylvie and Loki.

Renslayer leans, whispering in your ear.

"Best behave, Variant."

"Go to hell," you hiss as you stare at those golden elevator doors; but the dig aimed at Renslayer's throat lands, "Variant."

Everyone stiffens — but you don't move. Instead, there's a smug smirk on your face. Sylvie sees it, and she's almost proud. But, now isn't the time for gloating. No, over-confidence will be the end of the three of you.

After a moment too long, Renslayer clears her throat.

"I've got them from here."

Loki can feel the dread crawling up his neck, painting him pale — because the horrible truth of it is that this is the last dance. This is the final act, the end of the book. This is where he atones, where the full stop falls after he's told he'll never have those very things he yearns for; any inkling of hope was snuffed out with Mobius.

His friend.

And now, he's got to watch his only other two die by the same fated hand. A swing of a baton, the fizzle of a thousand burning embers. Then, nothing. Silence.

His hands, balled in tight fists, fight the urge to reach out to you — and when Loki looks across to Sylvie, he sees her regretful look.

"You okay?" she whispers to him.

All he can do is nod. You swallow down another burst of anger; instead, you grit your jaw and settle back on your heels.

The guards release the three of you.

And so, you're marched to the elevator. Collared and trapped.

You'd never really considered how you'd die — no, that very human thing was something you'd stayed far from. As a kid, you'd had nightmares about it. They were sudden and terrifying. Death, to you, was the sort of thing that dragged you away and took you when you were alone. It was dark and it was quiet and it was nothing. The unknown.

Maybe that's why you grew up always trying to prove the existence of life beyond your own.

Time, despite always ticking on, always ends. For you, for Loki, for Sylvie. For the TVA.

You can't help but feel a bit of peace at the realization you'll die beside friends.

The haunting regret falls at the knowledge you'll die beside the man you'll one day love — the man you'll know as yours. Loki, too, admits this is a horrifically brutal truth. It has carved him out, hollowed him, and he can only hope it's quick.

The pomp and circumstance is nothing but frivolous.

He despises it.

The elevator doors close in front of you, and you watch the hallways of the Time Theaters disappear.

Somewhere, far away, the finale begins — and as the elevator plummets. Each floor passes in a heavy fwush, accompanied by the weighted beat of your hearts.

It's Sylvie who speaks.

Beside you, her voice wavers. "Do you remember me?"

Behind you, Ravonna speaks curtly. "I do."

Another floor passes. Another breath.

"What was my Nexus Event?"

"What does it matter?" comes the scoffed reply.

But, Sylvie bites back. "It was enough to take my life from me, to lead to all of this. Must of been important. So, what was it?"

You can hear her scowl.

And then, Ravonna.

"I don't remember."

"You're a liar," you spit on reaction, knowing full well the reply would gut anyone — let alone Sylvie, "And a coward."

Your eyes stay forward. Loki inhales sharply.

Ravonna's eyes bore a hole into the back of your skull. "Am I?"

"I saw it in your eyes," you drawl, almost tauntingly, "You're afraid of me. Of us."

"Oh," comes a laugh, "Not you. No, Variant."

Then, the elevator settles.

The doors open.

The world falls away.

Your veins turn to ice.

"Commandant."

Standing there, in the grey, is you.

You.

Not you — no, no this you is sharper. Vicious. Standing at attention, you see the flash of viper-like eyes narrow in on you. The uniform adorning her accentuates the brutal posture she maintains; rigid and cutting. Her uniform differs from Ravonna's. It's black. Accented only with smatterings of gold. Her boots glint like a knife in the low hanging fog. She is militant. Dangerous.

You.

Sylvie feels as if the world has fallen away in that very moment.

All Sylvie can remember now is sun-kissed touches, enamored moments of quiet, your lips on hers as the worlds fell apart. Peace. Touch that felt like a home. You. You in all your wonder, in all your perfect eclectic chaos. Time hadn't kept you apart. No, now it's your minds.

Everything is gone. Everything flies far back, far away, and the focal point of her world is you — this version of you. Hers. Her Doctor. Her dear, sweet, lovely Doctor. Among the fog, swirling like horns about your tight plaits of hair, Sylvie swears she sees a glimmer of recognition.

It's in vain.

And it's horrifying.

It's like someone has clawed their way into her chest and ripped her heart out, adorning it as a broach. This version of you wears it proudly, and it shows when you step forward. Blood on your hands.

Commandant.

Protector of the Time-Keepers. Arbiter of Time. Architect of Alterations.

"Judge."

She casts one long look over you. The smirk there is disarming. Lethal.

Loki's breath catches.

Sylvie, beside you, flinches when the eyes of the Commandant fall upon her.

She does not move, only holds her posture with her gloved hands clasped tightly behind her back. The angle of her jaw is sharp. You see a flash of devilish amusement bloom at the sight of Sylvie.

"So we meet again."

Sylvie swallows. Her heart twists.

Her mouth feels as if it's been plied with cotton.

You step forward, out of that elevator, and come toe-to-toe with her.

You see nothing in her eyes.

Nothing.

They're cold, and they're dark.

She raises her chin, settles back in her boots, and almost scoffs. Then, she leans forward.

Her whisper is close.

"What a shame."

She steps aside. It's nearly mechanical. Your jaw is gritted tightly in anger. You slide a look to Loki — and he exhales. His eyes are sad. Sylvie is far-away. Not here. Somewhere in her mind.

You see your breath in the cold of the room.

"Gracious Time-Keepers!"

You step forward. Loki and Sylvie follow. The echo of the chamber is off putting, and over your shoulder you watch as you, the Commandant, preside of this... execution.

"As promised, the Variants."

Your eyes lift, and in the haze, you see them.

Three of them, perched on their thrones, like kings of a stolen land. Usurpers in their own right. You can't help but scoff at the frivolity of it all. It's like your sophomore year dorm room. Y'know, with those strip LEDs? Yeah, yeah, that's the look. And some dollar store rubber masks.

Something is... wrong. Like a puppet show.

"After all your struggle, at last you've arrived before us..."

"What do you have to say for yourselves before you meet your end, Variants?"

When Loki speaks, your head snaps to him.

It's courage you see.

A flash of something pure and brave, and it brings an awe smile to your face as he speaks up.

"Is that the only reason you brought us here?" Loki goads, "To kill us? I've lost track of the number of times I've been killed. So go on, do your worst."

"You and your bravado are no threat to us, Variant."

You don't bother to hide your scoff.

Sylvie does the same. "Oh, no, I don't think you believe that—"

She moves, attempting to step forward, and behind you the Commandant's baton buzzes to life. The staff is long, double ended. But, it's Judge Renslayer that reins Sylvie back in. She phases back into place, swallowing her words.

But, her fire is only stoked.

"I think you're scared."

"No, Variant, you're nothing but a cosmic disappointment—"

"Look at them," you snide, "Turning to mockery, like dogs with their tails between their legs—"

"Delete them—"

"Oh, I'm not done with you yet," you snap, stepping forward, but the phase never comes. That spin of vertigo doesn't yank you back in time. Suddenly, you wonder if it's Renslayer — but one look backwards confirms she's horrified. Confused. Concerned.

Rightfully so.

Because, as the elevators part, a new player enters the arena.

Hunter B-15 slams her thumb down on the control pad, and the collars around you, Loki and Sylvie's neck fall away.

Suddenly, the finale doesn't seem so certain — especially not when she stands her ground.

"For all time," she breathes with defiance, glowing in a new sense of purpose, "Always."

Sylvie's blade flies through the air.

And then, as it lands in her hands, the room shifts.

Two guards, Judge Renslayer and the Commandant.

You find yourself back to back with Sylvie and Loki as the three of you are cornered in the center of the room — less like caged animals now and more like predators avoiding capture, promising revenge. The air has changed. The cold gives way to electric danger.

"Protect the Time-Keepers!" comes the barked order of the Commandant as she knocks her staff on the ground, then assumes a fighting stance. It's threatening, practiced, and challenging.

It makes your lip curl.

"She's mine," you breathe.

Sylvie exhales.

Loki takes a breath.

Then, it begins.

You rush to charge the Commandant, hands swinging to catch the end of the spear, just below the sizzling tip — and it seems to daunt the woman. Just enough that you're able to twist away and wrench the pike hard enough to cause her to stagger. But it only sends her into a lunge, one that you duck; the end whizzes by your head and you roll from her on the ground.

Meanwhile, Loki and Sylvie have their hands tied — yet the God of Mischief finds his concern bubbling at the sight of you tackling the Protector of the Time-Keepers. For a moment, he falters, and he takes a nasty cut to the ribs. He groans, buckles, and quickly wrenches himself back upright.

"A little help?" he grits out, and Sylvie nods — her own duel with Ravonna begins when her knife flies to Loki.

The blonde Goddess picks up a staff, clicks it alive, and grins.

Renslayer is scared.

After all, the two Gods are fending their own — once again, the mirrored dance of frenzied strikes and stabs is enough to overwhelm anyone, even the guards tasked with protecting those upon the thrones.

Above the killing floor, you grunt — and once more, you're struck with the kick of a boot. This time, though, your hands grapple with the strike as you send the Commandant backwards.

"Come on," you taunt, "If I'm such a shame, why can't you kill me?"

Her hair has gone wild, strands flying from the tightly woven braids around her head. Her eyes are bright with fury. She inhales, exhales, and swallows.

"Silence, Variant."

"She loves you, you know," you shout as you move, mirroring her as she beings to pace around you in a circle, "Sylvie does. You're the one, aren't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know her—"

"She's a wanted fugitive—"

"She's the love of your life—"

"Shut up!" she screams like a banshee, charging you with the baton high above her head. You step aside, avoid the slash, and try to keep your head level.

You find that Sylvie is, indeed, holding her own — and Loki, too.

Your eyes connect with his for a moment, and there's something there.

You don't have time to pin it down, though. Instead, you're slashed at once more with the warbling taser — and this time the speared end catches you hard in the jaw. The slice hurts and you cry out, but there's no cowering to be expected. No, you rally back as you snatch a fallen baton. You bring it down hard to the center of hers.

Her eyes are wide.

"Who are you?" she snaps.

"I'm you."

The Commandant falters, staggering back, and she swings the spear to follow the line of her arm, tucked tight to her back.

"You're a variant," she spits, "An anomaly."

"So are you," you counter as you begin to circle one another once more, "You had a life. You had her — before the Time-Keeper's stole that from you."

You can see something like horror twist on her face.

You wonder if Sylvie, long ago, had tried this very tactic.

Had she enchanted her?

Had the dreams stuck?

Had it been enough to plant a seed of doubt?

"You're lying—"

It's enough of a hesitation to grant you the reaction time to strike her hard across the jaw, just as she had you, and then bring the middle of the baton down on her head, but not without a fight. She kicks and she screams and she drags you by the hair. Your baton becomes a point in the battle, and as she gets the upper hand, you feel the sleek piece of metal press hard against your windpipe.

"You love her," you choke as you struggle.

The Commandant's eyes are wild. "Shut up!"

She lets up, only a bit, but you're quick. You throw the weight of your hips up, roll her, and finally you manage to grab her in a chokehold — tight enough to subdue her, and when she finally falls limp, you're gasping for air.

She goes slack, and you tumble back onto the cool pavement.

Loki is by your side in an instant.

In the fray, it seems Renslayer has also been dealt with.

Loki's hands are gentle as he helps you up; he's careful to check your over with his eyes — and even more so, to offer you a pride-filled smile as his thumb graces the long gash across your jaw. Sweat mingles with blood, and yet, you feel beautiful in his gaze.

It's disarming.

Sylvie huffs, eyes flickering across the fallen form of the Commandant on the steps.

You can see the hurt there. The worry.

Sylvie flinches when you reach for her hand. Nevertheless, she takes it and she squeezes.

Loki, on her other side, hands her back her saber.

And it's then, that the Time-Keepers sense they've lost.

And you feel proud.

Boastful.

You're sneering when the one in the middle speaks in an echoing timber of bargain.

"You're a child of the Time-Keepers, too, Sylvie. We can talk."

"Oh, yeah?"

And with one perfectly aimed blow, her knife flies through the air and severs the head of the Time-Keeper straight off.

His head tumbles down the steps.

And, in the silence: laughter.

Your confidence melts away.

Something isn't right.

No, no, no — no. No, there's...

No blood.

It falls to Loki's feet, between the both of you, and you both share a horrified look when the sparks glow in the fog. Kisses of electricity fly from the neck of the supposed Time-Keeper.

Suddenly, a sound of mechanisms powering down fills the chamber. You look up, and you see the other two slump in their thrones, Gods turned to nothing more than wires and batteries. Animatronics.

Puppets.

Sylvie rushes down the steps.

She moves to pull the head from the ground to Loki's dismay, but you cannot pull your eyes away — the jaw of the supposed-deity twitches as sparks fly from his throat; and Sylvie breathes out one word:

"Fake."

Loki comes closer and you lift your eyes to the both of them.

"Mindless androids..."

The head slowly slips from her hands.

Loki heaves a breath — his eyes fall along the line of thrones as he shakes away a feeling of crushing anxiety. No, this is bad. This is... This seemed too easy. This was supposed to be the end.

"It never stops."

He inhales again, and you can see fear in his eyes.

"Then who created the TVA?" he asks desperately, eyes flicking between you and Sylvie.

"I thought this was it," she spits as she throws the head.

You drop, squatting low. Adrenaline still mingles in your veins. You wring your hands. You take three breaths, then you stand once more.

"This can't be it," you say as your voice shatters, "It can't be."

"We... We have nothing," Sylvie's composure crumbles, "Nothing but lies and more lies."

The horror of it all is setting in.

You shake your head. "No."

"Doctor," Loki breathes out, "Please."

"This isn't how it goes," you say sharply as you spin around and look up at the levels and levels and levels of this place; you're frantic, "This isn't how the stories go — this isn't how they end."

"We aren't heroes," Sylvie spits at the head as she throws her hands, "We just don't get happy endings. And so the TVA will rule on. And people like us will be stolen and deleted. As it was, as it will be."

Your face falls. Sylvie can see your heartbreaking. Loki, too, knows the wobble of your chin well — and he sees the gutted expression swallow you whole.

Quietly, you whisper: "But, we deserve to be happy."

Sylvie chokes.

"Doctor..."

His heart clenches.

You reach for his hand and it all but seals his death in a neatly packaged letter — complete with a forlorn look that's enough to break him in two.

"I have to tell you something."

Your heart stills. It feels as if someone has gone and plucked the most harrowing love theme on your heartstrings. The sort that plays before the kiss, before the confession, before the blurry haze of hope.

He reaches for you, hands falling along your jaw.

He holds you, if only for a moment.

You can only try your best to battle back the tears.

His whole world slows down — and in it, in your eyes, he sees promise. Could-have-beens. Promises kept and promises lost. Love and life and death. He sees laughter, and kisses in the sun of the morning. He sees your smile, he sees life together, and then it's gone.

...You're gone.

Gone, gone, gone.

Gone.

He's alone.

You've slipped through his fingers like snow.

And, in your wake, the Commandant stands.

And, then, she strikes Loki down.

Somewhere, Somethin' Stupid by Frank Sinatra plays.

[one-boring-person]

Requested by: @phantomshadow13

Someplace.

John Rambo (First Blood) x reader

Warnings: anxiety, mention of death

Masterlist

My leg jitters slightly as I watch John interact with the woman at the washing line, my lip between my teeth again as I bite more and more marks into the chapped skin. A dull ache has spread through my body from the long walk, but I've managed to keep it at bay and ignore it, having gotten used to doing this years ago, when it was more than necessary to do so. Despite this, I find myself hoping that our journey is finally at an end, and that we'll have found John's old comrade here, and that he'll let us stay with him, until we figure something better out. Looking at the way the conversation is going, however, I'm not too confident in this.

Quietly, I follow the discourse with my eyes, glancing around every now and then, distrusting of my surroundings, even though I have no reason to be, trying to ignore the gentle tremor that's started to set into my hands. A metallic taste lingers on my tongue from my near-constant lip chewing, a little dried blood encrusting some of the worst areas, but it's not noticeable, at least not to a stranger. John, of course, has noticed, and asked about it, too. I'd made up some excuse, but I know he sees right through it, like he does with all falsities. 

Across from me, I catch sight of John's shoulders slumping, his lean form losing some of the energy he had before we got to the tiny village. Swallowing, I know instinctively that something is wrong, my leg jittering  much more noticeably as I shift where I stand, watching as he comes over. The dark-haired man briefly makes eye contact with me, before he jerks his head, gesturing for me to follow, leading me away from the settlement. His expression is solemn, lidded eyes bright with a new sadness that wasn't there before. 

Worried, I follow after him, staying silent as I hurry to keep up with his faster stride until we've reached the road again, leaving the picturesque village behind. Immediately, John starts off in the direction we were previously going, feet dragging a little as he goes, hands shoved in his pockets again.

"John?" I call out to him, my voice shaky, "John? What happened? Where's Delmar?"

John glances at me, noticing my uneasy state as he always does, his eyes softening a little at this.

"Delmar's gone." Is all he says, waiting for me to fall into step beside him.

I frown a little, tilting my head as I try to ignore the small jump in my pulse.

"Gone? Gone where? When will he be back?" I query, pushing my own hands into my pockets to conceal the tremor from my observant companion.

A flash of a wry smile goes across his face, some unknown thing briefly amusing him before he replies.

"He ain't coming back. He's dead." The veteran murmurs to me, knowing I'll hear his slightly slurred speech and be able to understand him perfectly.

I'm left speechless, my head struggling to grasp at something to say, unable to understand. 

"D-dead? How?" I can't help the stammer in my voice, very much aware of the tension flooding my body, further accentuating the tremor in both my leg and hands.

"Cancer, apparently." John informs me, looking down at his boots as he continues on along the path.

"Cancer…" I mumble to myself, stopping momentarily as I feel a cold sweat break out across my forehead, a sense of hopelessness flooding me now. What are we supposed to do? There's nowhere we can go, nowhere we can stay. Neither of us have that much money, and we have barely any food on our person at this moment.

Already, I can feel my breathing picking up, the air coming out in short, sharp bursts, my pulse thumping heavily now as I try to keep it all at bay, failing in this as I feel the tremor get worse. Unable to focus, I don't quite hear John calling out to me, my eyes fixed on the road ahead, unseeing as I stand there, shaking like a leaf in the wind. Vaguely, I notice him come over to me, the lean man carrying an expression of worry and concern, his head tilted to get a proper look at me.

"(Y/n)?" His voice breaks through the haze in my head, somewhat pulling me out of the state of panic I'm in, jerking me from the fog in my head.

I don't respond, my muscles continuing to tremble as I fight to control myself, each breath harsh and nearly painful as it rushes into my lungs, the sweat now coating the back of my neck. Tense, I stand, almost rigid apart from the shaking, where I am, staring blindly at a point on the horizon.

"(Y/n), look at me." John tries again, dropping his stuff as he reaches out to me, not quite touching, his dark eyes fixed on me.

Somehow, his rough voice manages to somewhat snap me out of my trance, my eyes flicking up to meet his, swiftly dropping to the floor again. Seeing this, John places his hand on my arm, glad to see I don't flinch away from him anymore, like I had the first time this happened, the muscular man dipping his head down a little to reach my level. Unable to avoid him, I make eye contact again, easily losing myself in those near-black depths, finding safety there.

"Look, (Y/n), I'm here. You're ok, we're gonna be ok. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you, or us. We'll be totally fine." He murmurs to me, his tone soft as he gently pulls me to the side of the road, his other hand coming up to rest on my other arm, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles into my tense muscles.

I don't say anything, my breathing still ragged as I stare at him, reassurance from his touch seeping into me.

"Come on, (Y/n), breathe for me." John softly orders me, "In and out, nice and slow. Take your time, stay focused on my voice. In...and out. Good."

Breathing in time with his words, I start to regulate my exhalations better, tension starting to lessen slightly, the tremor sulking a little as I feel myself fall into a better pattern.

"There, you're doing great. Keep going, in and out…" He keeps this up, encouraging me until my breathing is back to normal, meaning I'm able to speak.

"Th-thanks." I stutter, embarrassed at myself, still trying to calm my racing mind, pushing back the plaguing thoughts from before.

"Anytime." He gives me one of his rarer, gentle smiles, the crooked expression sending butterflies through me, as it always has.

"I- I'm sorry, I shouldn't...that was stupid…" I try to apologise, groping for words again, only for him to cut me off.

"Don't apologise, (Y/n). It isn't your fault." He assures me, tilting his head momentarily, noting the tension still lingering in my body, "C'mere."

My eyes widen as he pulls me into him, wrapping his arms around me to crush me into his chest, his hands splayed on my body. Instinctively, I reciprocate it, a feeling of warmth flowing through me as he rubs my back, his face burying into my hair as he tightens his grip, trying to get me to relax into him. Knowing this is rare, I allow myself to melt into his embrace, relishing in the comforting scent that surrounds me: sweat, fresh air and crushed evergreen needles from the trees we passed a couple of hours ago. Pressing my face into his chest, I sigh, the last of the tension dissipating along with the tremor, his soothing movements drawing out any painful knots. His dark hair brushes against my face as he holds me closer, making sure I'm totally relaxed before he pulls back a little, keeping one arm around my waist as he lifts one to my face.

With a slight frown, John lightly draws his thumb across my lip, pulling it away to inspect. A thin layer of blood coats the pad of the sight, my lip stinging now to let me know I bit it much harder than I thought I had. He doesn't say anything, only making eye contact with me again as he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. Heat rises along my skin where his lips touch me, my eyes briefly closing as he lingers there, clearly as unwilling to let go as I am.

The sound of a honking truck snaps us apart, the taller man pushing me behind him out of instinct, ready for action. He soon relaxes as he remembers there is no danger letting go of me as we watch the large vehicle roar past, the driver shouting something at us as he goes. Frowning, I swallow and glance back at John, wishing we hadn't been interrupted.

"Where do we go now?" I ask quietly, stepping up beside him as he picks up his stuff again.

John looks back at me, starting to walk off in the right direction with me following on.

"Someplace." He replies, smiling at me again as I fall into step beside him.

After a moment, his hand slips into mine and his fingers loop through mine, squeezing me gently as we walk. Reassured by his touch, I manage to keep my slight anxiety at bay, knowing we'll be fine as long as we're together.

[waking-dreams-of-harmony]

The Last Dragon

Below the read more I've posted 7 very small sections of a fic that is based on this beautiful and tragic fanvid. I got literal chills watching it. If you wanna sob over our queen and her son wanting to avenge his mother, give it a watch.

I don't think I'll ever go any further, as my writing had an unfortunate run in with a brick wall, which then toppled over it and crushed any urge to write the next bit.

It's not too terrible--though it could actually be total shit, I'm not known for my writing 😂--and it was just gonna gather dust on my laptop, so figured I might as well post it. This was one of my ways of dealing with that fucked up last season within the framework of the show. I dont believe this is Dany's end, and I loathe with every fiber of my being what happened to her and her found family. And after seeing that video, the idea of Drogon doing everything he could to avenge the mother he loved more than anything appealed to that anger inside me. So I'll understand if this isnt for everyone ❤

Chapter 1

Mother.

He flies, great black wings carrying them away.

Mother.

Sharp, massive claws curl in gently. Protectively.

Mother is gone.

The cold creeps, burning against his scales the way fire never has.

Mother don’t leave.

A whisper on the wind calls to him.

Mother it hurts.

East, it sighs. It smells of smoke, and fire. Hope.

He follows, wings beating faster.

They took you.

The rage flares, searing away the cold.

They killed you.

The heat of it bursts within him, scaled skin shaking with the strength of it.

Fire and blood.

Jaws stretch wide, and the air burns red with grief.

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

Chapter 2

The sky bleeds red from the dying sun when Drogon reaches Volantis. The whisper that drew him there stops as he lands on an open balcony.

A woman stands before him, black hair and red robes flying up in the gust of wind from his wings. His claw gently opens, Mother’s cold body slowly sliding onto the hard stone.

Crimson, mournful eyes watch the red woman kneel by Mother, pale fingers hovering over her, not touching, for a long moment.

“I cannot bring her back, Drogon,” she murmurs, regretful.

He throws his head back, bellows fury and sadness into the sky. No, Mother, come back. I am alone.

A faint brush at the back of his mind--where Mother used to be, his brothers, the thoughts they shared together--grasps his attention. Makes him look back down at the red woman.

“I cannot give you back Daenerys Targaryen, but I can give you something else.”

His nostrils flair, and his head moves closer.

“I can give you the revenge you desire. As it stands, you may be able to raze the whole of the Seven Kingdoms, turn it all to ash, but that would not be what your mother wanted.”

Drogon growls, lips pulled up in a snarl. Sheep. All are sheep. Betrayed Mother. Killed Mother. No mercy.

She nods her head. Comprehends what he is unable to say out loud.

“Yes, they all betrayed Daenerys, took from her and killed her when her visions grew too great for their small minds. They could not grasp that the Mother of Dragons was above all a breaker of chains. She would have freed us all.”

She pauses, then continues, her voice hard. “They need to be punished. And they will be. But Daenerys’ dreams must be realized. Dragon’s Bay must remain free. The Dothraki cannot return to what they were, raping and pillaging. And the petty lords of Westeros must be laid low. Those who destroyed Daenerys must see their reigns come to an end not only by dragon fire, but by the unification of the people they have ground into the dust, unified against them.”

“A dragon has the power to do great things, but to lead men, to lead armies, that is the one thing you cannot do, Drogon. Not as you are. You must be more. And by the Lord of Light’s grace, you can become exactly what the people need.”

Drogon rumbles in frustration, steam billowing from between his sharp, clenched teeth. He doesn’t understand.

“Human, Drogon. You must become human.”

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

Chapter 3

They take Mother, to clean her, he is told. Remove the dagger, her clothes. Wash the blood away.

The red woman directs him to fly from the balcony, down into an open courtyard below. A large fire pit rages with a towering flame. It warms him, feels like Mother’s hand caressing his scales.

Dragons cannot cry. A mournful moan makes his great neck tremble. Human. Perhaps he can cry when he is human.

People in red robes enter the courtyard, one after another, until they circle around Drogon. His tail twitches. Their closeness agitates him.

The red woman appears, crossing the circle to stand in front of the fire. Hatred fills him when he sees what is in her hands. The dagger stained with Mother’s blood. Coward. The coward’s dagger.

“I am sorry Drogon. It is a necessary piece of the ritual. Soon,” she soothes, “you will have all you need to begin your campaign against the traitors.”

Another voice brushes against that same place in his mind. That lonely place where Mother, Rhaegal, and Viserion once lived. Soon, it too promises.

The red woman turns her head, scans the other acolytes before catching Drogon’s eyes.

“Let us begin.”

Voices hum together in chant, and the sky is filled with an agonized roar.

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

Chapter 4

Drogon.

He groans.

Drogon, my love.

Everything hurts.

You cannot sleep forever, my beautiful boy.

He moves his head slightly. Cringes at the sharp pain.

Wake up, Drogon.

Mother? Why does everything hurt so much?

It’s time.

The voice begins to fade. He reaches out a hand, slowly, to make it stay, and freezes. He has a hand. A human hand.

Fingers curl into his palm, and the nails scratch against his skin, bite into it. His legs scrape against the stone as he slowly stretches out one, then the other.

He can still feel the fire to the side of him; it feels heavier, pressing on his skin but it does not hurt his flesh.

What burns more painfully is the missing weight of his wings. No flight for him now.

Cold fingers brush his shoulder, curve sharply to hold him when he recoils.

“Drogon?”

He doesn’t like to be held, or touched, no one but Mother, and his brothers, but they are gone. Gone, gone, gone…

“Drogon! It is only me, Kinvara!” The voice finally penetrates, and he stops pulling away.

Allowing for her help, he rolls carefully onto his back. Sharp pebbles dig into his skin. No scales to protect him anymore.

He feels her fingers move to his face, tracing the human features. “Open your eyes Drogon. See what the Lord of Light has gifted to you.”

Gift? No gift. Just more pain. Weakness. But he opens his eyes. The fire from the pit is soothing, warm. Warmer than...before. Would it burn him? His hand flinches towards it but he’s not close enough to touch.

He turns his eyes toward Kinvara. She is smiling, eyes reflecting the fire’s light.

She waves a hand towards an acolyte. “Bring me a robe. We must cover our dragon prince.”

Red cloth is laid over him, and two other acolytes help Drogon to sit. They hold him up as the other wraps the robe around him more securely.

Drogon grits his teeth, blood rushing angry and hot.

He tries to talk, mouth struggling to form the human words. “W-We—” He growls, tries again. “W-Weak.”

“For now,” she says. “But you will grow stronger, I promise you.”

Drogon struggles to stay awake, but bone deep exhaustion pulls at him, and his frustration wanes as he slips into slumber.

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

Chapter 5

Four moons pass before Drogon is ready to set sail for Meereen. He was like a hatchling again, unsteady, vulnerable, and he hated it. Kinvara and her priests taught him the ways of his new body, how to eat and walk, to read their words.

Coarse fabric to wear instead of steely scales.

But now it is time. Time to search out Grey Worm. Daario. The Unsullied and Dothraki. Train with them and become stronger. Much stronger.

He knew how to fight as a dragon. Armies and castles were nothing against the heat of his fire. He must learn how to wage war as humans do.

Wrapped in a red cloak, hood hanging low over his face, Drogon is ready to begin.

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

Chapter 6

They are waiting for him at the dock after the sun has set, Grey Worm and Mother’s sellsword, two silent figures who do not move, do not speak until Drogon stands before them.

Daario breaks the silence first. “Drogon?”

He pulls back his hood, unnaturally crimson eyes in a human face flashing in the near dark.

Daario sucks in a breath, then huffs out a laugh. “If the red priests had not sent word ahead, I may not have believed it. But by the gods, here you stand.” He reaches out an arm for Drogon to clasp.

He does so, hesitantly, but with a firm grip. Human greetings still puzzle him.

Grey Worm steps closer then kneels, bows his head bowed, fist pressed against his chest. “Ñuha dārilaros. Bisy qringaomatan īlva dāria. Īlon emagon ossēntan se nāpāstre skoriot pōnta iōrtan (My prince. This one failed our Queen. We should have killed the traitors where they stood.).”

Drogon does not know if he is asking for forgiveness or absolution.

Dragons have no real concept of forgiveness. He should be angry the traitors were allowed to live. But Grey Worm is kin, as the little scribe had been. Mother’s old bear too, and the white-haired knight. Everyone who had been under Mother’s protection, had been under her children’s protection as well. And would continue to be.

“Rise, Grey Worm.” His voice is rough and sharp edged, and it seems to startle the two men to hear him speak. “Those that hurt Mother, that used her and took her life will be punished as they deserve. But I need your help. So rise. Let us repay them with fire and blood. For Mother. For Missandei. For them all.”

He holds out a hand, waits.

Grey Worm looks up, eyes bright with unshed tears. His lips tremble, then firm. He takes Drogon’s hand.

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

Chapter 7

They convene in Mother’s chambers, the map room he would never have been able to fit in before almost cavernous to him now.

Spread out around the table, the three men pull together a plan as they look down at the map.

First, they will weed out the opposition in Essos, solidify their hold in the east. Astapor, Yunkai, they will all come to heel, every slave freed. They would be as clever as Mother had been, keep the number of innocents lost as low as they could. Drogon would prefer to burn through the Good Masters, snap them up and tear them apart, but for Mother, he would be patient, and take the slower path. All the slavers would still die, and their victims would live, and live free.

But for what Drogon had planned, he needed steel in place of claws, armor instead of dragonhide. He needed Grey Worm and Daario to make him as fearsome as a human as he’d been as a dragon. And that would take time.

He ground his blunted teeth together; he hated waiting. Hated it. But let the traitors think they were safe for a while longer. It would be all the sweeter when he ripped that feeling of safety away, just as they ripped Mother away from him. His brothers. His home.

They would feel his pain. And then they would feel nothing at all.

[eivorsjawline]

This story takes place in modern times, starring you. By a simple mistake, you venture into a land unknown and a time before your own. Though frightened, a certain tall husky blonde comforts you through the storm raging inside your body. Once you feel more grounded, the bed you seem to be sharing with her becomes more comfortable and you drift off.

Chapter 1: Wolf-Kissed

Readers POV

I remember when i first peered into Norse mythology and the immediate connection i felt with it. Part of me felt like I was lost in time. I couldn’t survive a day the way people once did yet the thought always intrigued me. It intrigued me so much I even had a bracelet engraved with my favorite Norse goddess, “Freyja” made for me. It was made of leather, just covering my wrist and the material the engrave was on made of Jade.

It was all for fun when i thought out the plans to travel here so far away from home. I had seen many things and been to many places, but there was nothing quite like Stonehenge.

Something attracted me to the stones and the closer I stepped to them, a feeling of deep desire surged through my body, as if I just so happened to be in the right place at the right time. Finally, I passed through the stones and looked as they hovered over me.

Suddenly, time stopped. Everything felt different but everything looked the same. The last thing I remember is passing out and the world as i knew it went blank.

The only world i've known, and the world i'm not sure if i'll ever get to see again.

Hardly able to open my eyes, I was greeted by a sudden warmth. Fur linings on an unfamiliar bed, and the subtle crackling sound of a fire pit nearby; a warm light fogging over my cloudy eyes as I slowly began to open them.

“You’re finally awake.” A husky woman’s voice said and my eyes were suddenly wide open.

To my surprise I saw a broad woman with a blonde medium length braid hovering over her shoulder, her cheeks flushed, dressed in a fur shoulder drape with long layers underneath. She looked as if she were ready for war. I could make out a large scar across her left check. Sitting down in a chair next to my bed some distance away, her piercing blue eyes looked at me almost as if concerned.

I sat up quickly in bed, pulling the bedding to my shoulders.

“Where am I? Who are you?” I asked with hesitance, intimidated by the change of scenery and the large woman sitting in front of me.

“I should be asking who you are! I found you just outside of my camp passed out and dressed in strange clothing.”

A sudden rush of color came across my face. I remembered the modern gray shirt and blue jeans I was wearing when I made the transition. Did I really travel back in time? Could this all be just a dream? Then, I realized the clothes I once wore were replaced by a long sleeved tan tunic.

“Then... how am i wearing this?” I said.

The woman chuckled at me.

“When I found you, you were filthy from getting soaked in the rain. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable but, it would feel wrong if i just left you like that.”

Eivors POV:

Who is this woman? She speaks in a strange dialect, nothing like the saxons and must come from a strange land. The only thing that sticks out to me is the engraving on her bracelet. The same engraving Valka prophesied to me before. If she comes from far away, why would she have one of our goddesses names on her bracelet? The bracelet is the main reason I helped her in the first place.

“A far away stranger will come to you with a symbol of love, for you are bound by souls only separated by time.”

I remember when Valka asked me to stop by because she had something important she wanted to talk to me about. I tried to never think about love too much, and to especially never dwell on it. What could have been or what couldn't. I had my fair share of love misfortunes. With a lifestyle like mine, there's no time to focus on things like that. Right?

Poor thing, she looks terrified. There is something about her that's so different from anyone I have ever met. Finding her in such a vulnerable state isn't the only thing that intrigues me about this mysterious girl. It's not everyday you can lay your eyes on someone so attractive. Even her skin shines differently than anyone I have ever laid eyes on.

My mind wanders back to when i was changing her clothes, having to untie and undo odd buttons. The way her skin had formed goosebumps and the hairs on her arms stood up from the cold, having to refrain myself from looking too hard at certain places on her body.

When I brought her in, Randvi didn't understand exactly why I would help a complete stranger. Although she questioned it and very clearly didn't agree with me, at the end of the day it's my decision to make as Jarl. I know Randvi still struggles with her feelings for me and is just cautious with who I bring into the settlement.

“Thank you… thank you for helping me and bringing me in. Im so confused and i'm not too sure where i am.” The strange girl says to me, looking like she wants to cry but is trying to stay strong.

Snapping back to reality, the realization hits me that she truly has no idea where she is or what happened to her.

“What's your name? Where are you from? You must remember something from before.” I pry at her.

Readers POV

“My name is [y/n], I could never forget that. I can't remember where I came from or how I ended up here but maybe, with some time I can figure it out.”

I was lying through my teeth. But, I knew I couldn't just tell her the truth. No one would believe me if I told them. If this was gonna be my home for a while, I needed to at least give the impression that I was sane.

Her eyes kept lingering on my bracelet. Then, I realized where I was and how far back I had gone. Everything was beginning to make sense. I didn't know how to explain it, but i had to come up with something quick.

“I see you keep looking at my bracelet… it was given to me. It's a gift.” I said, shifting my eyes to the other side of the room.

“Fair enough,” the blonde peered at me up and down.

“I think you need more rest. Something will come to you when you wake up. You have some explaining to do, it seems.”

She stood up and blew out a few candles surrounding the bed. Her feet shuffled across the wood floor to the other side of me. Letting out a big yawn, she sat on the bed beside me facing the wall and tossed some of her armor and weaponry on the ground. Finally, she turned around to explain herself.

“There were no extra beds so, I hope temporarily sharing my bed won't be too bad. I can arrange a room for you eventually. This all happened at the very last minute.”

I could tell she wasn't trying to make me uncomfortable. As bad as the situation was, it could have been a lot worse if she had not found me. I could tell she knew that as well.

“I never got your name…” I said wearily.

She stretched her legs out on the bed and turned to face towards me, head resting on her hand and the other pulling the fur covers over herself.

“My name is Eivor, of the Raven Clan.” She said with another yawn.

I watched as she rested her head on the feather pillows, not wasting any time to fall asleep. I listened as her breaths became longer and slower. For such an intimidating woman she looked so peaceful when sleeping.

My mind began to race, why would she help me? Could I ever be accepted here? Knowing I had a sleepless night ahead of me, I turned over and tried to doze off anyway. I had never felt so alone and lost before. A tear escaped my eye and I quickly threw my hand over my mouth to cover any noise, not wanting to disturb Eivor. Just when I thought I could get away with it i heard the covers shuffling beside me.

A hand grazed my shoulder, leading me to turn around and see Eivor looking at me with a worrisome face.

“I know you're scared, but you’ll figure out what happened. Perhaps I can even help you and we can figure it out together. As long as i'm here you won't have to go through this alone. I hope that can bring you some comfort. Go ahead cry it out but please, try to get some rest afterwards,” she told me in a whisper.

Something in her words lifted a weight from my shoulders.

Then, i totally fucking lost it.

Sitting up in bed I cupped my face with my hands letting all my tears flow freely. I felt a warm embrace coming from the side of me. It was Eivor enveloping my sides. Her hands were slightly rough and I could feel all of the scars on the palms of her hands. She grasped gently onto my arms and I could make out a faint scent of vanilla and alcohol. I laid my head on her chest and the warmth coming off her body seemed to calm me down.

It was nice to feel someone there with me, knowing they were real and in the flesh. My tears began to dry after a while of crying. Eivor didn't seem annoyed with me keeping her up, even if she was clearly exhausted.

“I feel better now.” I managed to speak some words once I caught my breath.

“There you go, everythings gonna be okay. Until you can find your way back home… maybe this can be your home for a little while.” Eivor said to me.

“Thank you. I'll try to get some sleep now. I'm sorry for-“ Before I could say another word, Eivor stopped me.

“Don't apologize for that.” She still had a hold on me.

We laid down together and she never let go of me, keeping one hand on the side of me.

“Goodnight, [y/n]”

“Goodnight…” I mumbled back at her.

My eyes began to grow heavy and I started to finally doze off.

[cherry-gemz]

The City by The Bay: Part II

Summary: Fates push you and a handsome and known stranger into each other's paths. His chilvary and good looks make you take a leap into his world and more.

Chapter Summary: You and Keanu get to know each other better.

Word Count: 2100 +/-

Pairing: Keanu Reeves x Y/N (F!Reader)

Rating: PG, fluff

A/N: First time taking a try on a Keanu fic, be nice, please! This little ficlet will have more chapters, hope you enjoy.

Who might be interested: @whiskeyslullabye​ @marissat1998 @aestheticallywinchester​ @fookingbitch​

Last chapter recap:

"Yeah...just around the corner. Did you...did you want to hang out for a bit? I mean, I didn't know if you were headed somewhere before I spilled your drink. What am I thinking? Of course you were off somewhere…"

"Are you always like this?" You giggle as you turn to head to the hall. 

"Like what?" 

"Nevermind, I'll be right back," you reply coyly. "And...I didn't have any plans today...I'd love to hang out."

"Really? Cool," Keanu responds and a grin appears on his face. 

"Yeah, I can't stay very long, however. I have a meeting with a client for lunch," you reply and he looks deflated. 

"Yeah, okay...well..hmmm," he says lost in thought. 

You feel stupid, you can't believe he wants to hang out with you and you're choosing work. You're really kicking yourself for even mentioning it. This opportunity will never happen again. 

"Well, I tell you what," he pipes. "I still owe you a cup of coffee. I happen to make the most amazing cappuccino. How about I start off with that?"

"Sure, that sounds lovely," you smile and his expression changes in a light-heartedness. 

"Great. Great, Y/N, head over to the kitchen after you change your shirt and we can get to know one another better."

You beam and head to the immaculate restroom. It’s very contemporary and the natural light from the ceiling windows are pretty to look at. As you unbutton your blouse you look at yourself in the mirror: you have a goofy grin and you can’t believe in you’re in Keanu’s house. Let alone, changing your shirt and going to hang out with him a bit. This is all surreal. 

You grasp his shirt and give it a sniff, clean. And you quickly put it over your head and leave the room with your blouse and book in your hand. As you turn the corner, you see him fiddling about and admire the open floor planned kitchen. You run your hand across the white, granite counters as he ushers you to have a seat at one of the barstools where you place your bag, the book he offered, and blouse down.

He claps his hands and rubs them as a cheshire cat grin appears on his face. 

"Okay, be ready to be blown away at these magic hands," he waggles his brows and holds out his large hands as you stifle a giggle. 

You'd watch interviews of him and he always seemed so genuine, and while he still does, there's a more childlike, goofiness that melts your heart a little more. You try not fall so quickly, but he really is quite loveable and easy to be around. Much different from the men you're accustomed to in the city. Their grittiness and quick paced talk tends to exhaust you. You're more in your element with one on one, in an intimate setting like today. It's ideal. 

Keanu grins and turns steadfast to the counter by the fridge and beelines to the espresso machine. He grabs a new bottle of water from the upper cabinets and places it in the boiler of the machine. You sit taller and try to peer over. You're never really that fancy with your coffee and it's usually due to the nature of your work and how quickly you need that caffeine fix, but you appreciate the art and look forward to his recipe. 

He continues his task at hand and opens a canister that's unmarked and pours two shots of ground espresso into the portafilter. He turns to you, to make sure you're watching as he plays along as if he's a magician and you're watching his act. 

"Secret recipe," he beams.

"What is it?" You ask inquisitively. 

He holds up his index finger and shakes it, "Na uh. If I gave that away, we could no longer be friends."

"Oh, we're friends are we?" You flirt and he blushes. You got him to blush!

He holds out the tamper he pulled out of the side drawer and presses the coffee three times to ensure it's packed tightly. 

He then places the portafilter into the espresso machine's group head and locks it in place by turning it to the right.

He continues his stride and places the tiny, white cup under the head for about 30 seconds. 

"Voilá!" He exclaims and you clap. He grabs a carton of cream from the fridge and you give him a puzzling look. Even as a chef, you're quite aware of the complexities of cream, so you're curious if this is part of the plan. He pours the cream into a small metal pitcher and inserts the steam wand. 

"Ah! Almost forgot…" he smacks his forehead with his free hand and goes to the cupboard and pulls out a jar. You notice it's sugar and he pinches a good handful in the metal pitcher and continues.

As the milk foams, he starts to pour it atop the cappuccino and walks over to give you the cup. 

"Mmmm, smells amazing. Thank you," you graciously accept the cup and take a sip. An explosion of the dark, roasted bean excited your taste buds. It's most likely hands down the best you've had. 

"Omigosh, Keanu. This is beyond good. I don't think I can ever go back to normal coffee again!" 

"Aw shucks, you'll give me a complex now," he teases. 

"Well if you ever decide to quit acting, I say you'd make a hell of a living doing that. Why, my bookstore would have lines out the door to see Keanu Reeves make them a cappuccino!"

He laughs heartily, "That would be a sight wouldn't it? Ah that's fantastic." 

You bring the cup to your nose as you try to make out the ingredients. You can tell there's a hint of spice and earth, and you take a guess of what he has mixed with the grounds. 

"Is there cocoa powder?" You look directly at him and he bites his lip.

"What are you doing?" He asks and shakes his index finger at you playfully and walks over to you. 

"Trying to figure out this recipe. You don't go tell a chef that it's a secret and expect them to not figure it out. I saw you toss in some sugar for the cream. And even noticed you use cream instead of milk. But I think it's cocoa...maybe even a hint of cinnamon?"

"What are you? Some super chef-dectective?" 

He dabs the frothy cream from your cup and places it on the tip of your nose, making you giggle. He licks his finger off and gives a sly smile.

"Maybe I have a profitable future ahead of me?" You lightly rub off the cream and gaze into his eyes.

"I think so Y/N, I think so." He shyly turns his eyes away and taps the side of the cup as if he's pondering a thought.

"So tell me," you gain confidence in speaking with him. "If you can make such a delicious cappuccino like this one, why were you at Saint Frank's?"

"Hah," he replies as he turns to start his own cup. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

You smile in-between another sip and notice he's flirting back.

"Well?" 

You prod and arch your brow as he leans his back against the counter. His black  shirt hugs his biceps as he crosses his arms, and the blue jeans he pairs it with fit him perfectly. His medium length hair seems to always get in his face, but it's endearing and he swipes away some strands. He's handsome without any effort and you slightly blush as your mind wanders about how his lips would feel against yours. 

"Honestly, I went out for a ride and needed to clear my head. I found myself just being pulled in that general direction and decided I needed a cup of joe," he says as he pours the cream for himself. 

"I guess it was you pulling me in or something,” he adds.

"So then what, it's like fate that we happened to be at the same place at that exact moment? And you happened to bump into me and make me spill my drink, therefore resulting in me jumping on your motorcycle with you. And then visit the home of a mega movie star and try the most fantastic cappuccino?" You laugh and he tilts his head earnestly. 

"What, you don't believe in fate, Y/N?"

"Not exactly," you reply. 

"Why not?" He walks over and sits next to you on the other barstool. 

"I mean, if it wasn't me, it'd be some other woman you'd be inviting over instead."

"No…" he replies as he takes a sip of his drink. "No, I don't think I would."

You both sit in silence for a minute, you sigh and then turn to look outside at the view. 

"I'm sorry, Y/N if I've seen to offend you. I can drive you back if you'd wish…" his voice softens and you can tell you hurt him a little. 

"What? No, Keanu. I'm...I'm sorry," you place your hand on his. His knuckles are worn and rough. He looks down at your hand and a small smile appears. 

"I...I want to be here, really I do. I guess I'm trying to make sense of it all. You're Keanu Reeves. And I'm just me. Why do you want to know me for?"

“Why wouldn’t I want to get to know you, Y/N? I am very glad we met. You're funny and kind... I'd like to get to know you further. Let alone, you're beautiful."

You blush and look away, he's not coming on strong, but could he be sending you signals that he's into you? Did you die and just find yourself in limbo with the angel before you?

"Do you want to go for a drive before I take you back?" He asks as you both notice you haven't lifted your hand on his. You quickly remove it and place it in your lap. 

"Sure, but this time please wear a helmet. I was worried sick thinking if something terrible might happen." 

He softly chuckles, "Of course, I have many in my garage to choose from. Curious though, is it because you care about me, Y/N?"

"Oh believe me, more than you know," you quickly cover your hands over your mouth as you realize what you've said. 

He kicks his lips and tries to brush it off. 

"I'm sorry," you apologize. "I really should use my filter from time to time."

"No need for apologies. Your truthfulness is refreshing."

"Well I have a lot of that. Probably more than I should. I bet you find in your line of work it's difficult to find people you can trust."

"Yeah, I definitely have a close knit of friends through the years. Do you have family here?"

"Yes, born and reared in the Bay," you say with confidence. "I went to culinary school in New York for a minute, however. But there's something about this city that's magical."

"So you believe in magic, but not fate?"

You laugh, "Okay, you got me there."

He finishes off his cappuccino and motions to ask if you're finished, which you nod and hand him your cup. He walks over to the sink and rinses out the cups. It's fascinating to watch him do mundane things like wash dishes. 

"I am beginning to enjoy the city. There is much richness to it and the landmarks are beautiful. I will be honest though, I haven't had much time to explore like I usually like to do when I'm on location." 

He places the cups back in the cupboard and dries his hands with a cream colored terry cloth. 

"You did mention you had a project up here. Mind if I ask what?"

His eyes light up as if he were a kid on Christmas Day expecting all the joys of the morning. 

"Oh well it's not for a movie. I'm not filming yet...least as far as I know. My agent, Meredith keeps me up on that."

"If not a movie, then…?"

"A book," he replies. 

"You're not giving me much here, buddy," you laugh as he joins you. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I...it's just something dear to me that I've been working on and haven't really announced anything yet."

"Look, I get it. Don't worry, no pressure, you reply as you start to get up.

"Well it's not that," he gestures a stopping signal with his hand. "I... I really don't know what it's about it. I'm collaborating with a friend of mine, a photographer. And we are in the early stages, that's all."

"Oh well it sounds great," you say enthusiastically. 

"Yeah...I feel good y'know? I feel like I'm doing something different and that I can connect to people on a different level."

"Keanu...the influencer," you say as you raise your hands up in the air as if an imaginary marquee is right before your eyes. 

"Haha, I wouldn't go that far. But, I'll have to keep you posted." 

"Yeah, that would be great," you cringe. Great. Everything is great. Why are you being such a spaz?

He doesn't notice, but he gets quiet again and you don't know what to do next. Silence sometimes makes you feel awkward and now throw in the ridiculously nice and dreamy man in front of you and you're a ball of nerves.

He seems relaxed, however. In tune with himself and surroundings. 

He smiles and holds out his hand, "C'mon. Let's get going on that ride. I'll take you to one of my favorite spots in the house besides the library...the garage. Oh, and don't forget your book."

You nod as you place it in your bag and accept his hand and hope to never let go.

[pan-crow]

PLEASE TELL ME ABOUT HERSHEL ADOPTS CLIVE AU lowkey i've thought about the possibility before and it's fantastic in a bittersweet kinda way..... i wanna hear your interpretation of it :eyes emoji but really fast:

Tumblr deleted everything I typed out before I’m so sorry let me see if I can summarize it again. It started with this back in December 

We were talking about the various PL villains and which ones we liked and didn’t favorite too much and for some reason I brought this up idk i have a weird brain that cant focus on one thing. Anyway I put it off till like…January. I wen’t back to @well-clearly—-it-can in the AAFC and was like “Really though its not unreasonable for Hershel to possibly adopt Clive at that time impulsively.” because its…not? I mean (spoilers sort of for AA4) Phoenix went and technically impulsively adopted a child when he was at his lowest point. He expresses that through those first few months, Trucy was his light. I feel like Hershel if not in his right mind, would do the same thing. 

Hershel saves Clive, this child trying to run into a burning building. He holds him for a good long while until people come to help and he just stays there wondering who the child lost and wondering if Claire is safe. It doesn’t hit him until much later that Clive is crying for both his parents, but the police or whatever take him from there. Hershel doesn’t adopt Clive right away, but he thinks about it for a few weeks. Maybe a week and a half.

He thinks about how Clive, a child in the same boots as his own, is probably just alone right now with no source of comfort for the pain hes feeling. He feels like that sort of feeling should be familiar though hes not sure why. He eventually goes back after thinking on it for so long and adopts Clive on impulse. Hershel is at a vulnerable point in his life so thinking straight is not an option, hes only doing what his brain is telling him is right. 

Cut to Hershel then realizing he doesn’t actually know how to raise a kid. He didn’t take any classes to teach him how and hes not exactly at a place where he can just ask his parents. So Hershel Layton, being the big brained professor he is, goes to Clark and Brenda like “Hey guys I know I only just lost Claire and things have been really rough and I just became a professor but like…I have a son now?”

Clark and Brenda are reasonably worried because “Hey Hershel you literally just lost someone and became a professor what were you thinking doing this.” but…they’re good friends? They help him. They help Hershel balance his work and his time with Clive and it really gets Hershel through the first good chunk of raising this child. When they move hes got an okay grasp on what to do. 

Now Clive’s half of this experience is fun. Clive is a pretty traumatized child as it is? Hes not going to open up to Hershel for the first month and a half. He doesn’t really know Hershel, and while Hershel saving him helped with trusting him, he doesn’t think he can talk to him just yet. Clive stays selectively mute for some time until hes sure hes going to be okay. Even when he is sure, he doesn’t talk a lot and won’t call Hershel dad (which Hershel is totally fine with.) but…they manage. Some days Hershel will get Clive coming into his office later on to ask about homework or something else. A word, a sentence, even a simple smile is an improvement Hershel is more than happy to see from this kid. 

When Clive starts to warm up to his new life he slowly begins to open up more about things that interest him as well. If this kid so much as looks at a book or a toy or something in a shop window and shows some sort of curiosity or interest in that item, you bet Hershel is going straight back there later and buying that thing just for Clive. Somethin like

The personality of Hershel doesn’t really change at all however Clive living around him means Clive isn’t as big of a lil shit as he is in game? Like don’t get me wrong hes still pretty...uh...snarky? But its not bad and he can control his temper just fine. Hes just got a bit of sass because thats who he is. Hershel doesn’t mind it. 

Uh..I want to say in terms of adventures, Clive isn’t with the group on all of them? Perhaps Last Specter, Curious Village, Pandora’s Box and Lost Future. But hes not there for Miracle Mask, Azran or Eternal Diva? Simply because the guy has other things to do. Does Luke still turn up and join the adventures? Yes! Luke is a key character in the games so it would be unreasonable for me to remove him. Clive absolutely treats Luke as a little brother. Luke really looks up to Clive just as he does Hershel.

And speaking of Lost Future, the entire plot would be different but I still want it to happen because...its kinda important? Like Dimitri still goes ahead and does whatever the hell he was planning but he just doesn’t have the brain of an angry child at his side. No one dies thats for sure. Clive doesn’t become violent at all but he does loose his temper quite often during the whole ordeal because its been years and its all bringing up bad memories he doesn’t want to have to think about. Hes just started to feel good again. He doesn’t want to have to deal with all of this. Claire still exists, still disguises herself, and is 100% confused when she sees Hershel has a son. She can’t ask directly about it in order to not blow her cover, but she does wonder. She wonders what lead Hershel to having a son and where Clive came from. 

She eventually gets Clive’s story in a passing conversation between the two when she asks why Clive is there with them. She knows the deaths of his parents aren’t her fault, but he can’t help but feel guilty about it all the same. Shes just glad to see Clive happened to land in good hands with a great father whose clearly raised him well. 

Idk the aus a bit funky and a little all over but I love it and I live for the concept I am so sorry this post is so long I have so much to say about it sdfdsf. I’m gunna write a fic about the convo between Claire and Clive at some point because I like the idea of it. 

[gretavanfleetlife]

Only Time Will Tell:

Chapter 4

AN: Hey! This chapter is fkn CUTE lemme just tell ya. Sorry this part took a bit longer than the others, I’ve been pretty busy lately and I didn’t want to rush through it. Anyway I hope you guys enjoy, love you all!💕

Also big shoutout to my boy Rami Malek for portraying a legend beautifully and winning a well deserved Oscar tonight!!😊

Warnings: flufffff

Word count: 2,250

You open your eyes slowly, feeling a painful headache beginning and a sick feeling in your stomach. Last night was not kind. You start to remember all the events that took place yesterday but you quickly dismiss the memories, as they would only contribute to your headache and you'd rather just about forget them entirely. Your body aches. You go to stretch out your arms but stop when you notice an arm wrapped loosely around your waist. Glancing over your shoulder, you see Sam sleeping peacefully next to you. A light shade of pink grazes your cheeks and you lay still, not knowing what to do but slightly enjoying Sam's gentle touch. You decide that you should probably get up, moving your leg to the side of the bed in an attempt to sit up. You try to slide his arm off of your waist, but feeling you moving makes Sam tighten his grip on you and tug you back into his arms, pulling you close into his chest. His arms are tight around you now and there is practically no space in between the two of you. The blush on your face deepens as he nuzzles his face into your neck. You know you don't have any chance of moving from this without waking him up, so you decide to go back to sleep. Pressed snuggly against his body, you easily drift off into a hazy dream.

About an hour later, you wake up to feel Sam stirring awake. You feel his head pull back from being tucked against your neck.

"Holy shit," you hear Sam whisper as he loosens his grasp around you. You feel his body leave yours and find yourself wishing for it to return. You hear him move to sit up on the opposite end of the bed. You stretch and sit up, turning your body to glance at him. He faces the wall, shaking his head slightly while he runs his hand through his messy hair. You giggle at the fact that he was anxious to have been cuddling you since at first, you felt the same way. Sam hears you laugh and immediately turns. You see him blush as he looks at you with wide eyes, despite having just woken up. His expression softens slightly as he gives you a small smile.

"Morning y/n, you feeling ok?" He asks.

"I've been better but nothing I can't handle," you reply, as he gives you a small nod. Waking up in Sam's arms almost made you forget about your hangover completely. You notice Sam holding his right hand and examining it closely. "What's wrong with your hand?" you ask him. Sam glances up at you.

"Oh nothing it's fine," he says unconvincingly. You don't believe him, so you throw the covers off of your body and stand up, moving towards the opposite side of the bed where Sam sits facing the wall. He looks at you and his eyes scan over your body as you notice his shoulders slightly tense. You look down at yourself and realize you're wearing his t-shirt and a pair of underwear. You could see your bra lying on the ground near a pair of Sam's sweatpants on the other side of the bed. You begin to blush but quickly regain your focus and go to stand in front of Sam.

"Can I see your hand please?" you ask. Sam slowly removes his hand from between his arms and shows you his fist, his knuckles cracked with dry blood that looks extremely painful. You let out a small gasp and take his hand into yours, examining it, "oh Sammy, what did you do," you whisper, "come on let's clean you up." You continue to hold his hand as you lead him towards his bathroom. You turn on the tap and help him wash his bruised knuckles, rinsing away the blood. Sam watches you carefully while you tend to his hand.

"Jesus Sammy, how hard did you hit him?" you mumble.

"As hard as I could," he responds gently.

"I'm sorry about this Sam."

"Why? It's not your fault," he replies, his eyes still fixed on yours as you caress the back of his hand gently, turning the water off and drying his hand with a towel.

"I just feel like the fight only happened because of me," you frown, finished cleaning his fist.

"Y/n no don't feel bad, it happened because Cam is an asshole. No one should ever touch a girl like that. Especially if that girl is you." You look up at him, blushing at his words.

"Come here," you open your arms and pull Sam closely into a hug. You bury your face into his chest and listen to the faint beating of his heart. You always felt that Sam's hugs were to die for, standing completely engulfed in the warmth of his body. You wanted him to hold you here forever. You felt safe in his arms. Butterflies swarmed in your stomach, a feeling you'd never gotten before from simply hugging Sam. You pull away and look up at him. For some reason, it was like you couldn't move your gaze away from his face. He gazed back at you, seeming to imitate your actions as his eyes swept across your face. You had been friends ever since you could remember, but at that moment it was like the first time you saw him.

"I think you should probably head home soon. Knowing your dad he'll probably be worried," Sam says softly. You listen to his words but your eyes don't stray from his face.

"Yeah, you're probably right," you say as you give him a small smile. You continue to study each other for a moment longer but decide it'd best for you to get going. You pry your eyes away from Sam and head towards his bed, grabbing your bra and dress that lay scattered across the floor and mindlessly throw it in a bag along with your clothes from yesterday. You daydream about Sam, hardly paying any attention as you put on his sweatpants that you found near the bed. You feel extremely confused, why do you feel this way about Sam now? What even is this feeling? You know that you find him attractive, his deep brown eyes and long wavy hair handsomely completing his facial features. But no this isn't right, this is the same Sam that you grew up with, nothing's changed. So why do you feel this way about him now? You finish packing your things and glance over at him to find him already looking at you.

"Do you want a ride home?" Sam offers as the two of you head out of his room together and walk downstairs.

"No that's ok Sam, I can walk," you reply politely. You want some time alone so you can figure out your sudden complex feelings towards Sam.

"Alright, I'll walk you over then," he decides, slipping on a pair of worn-in sandals.

"You don't have to," you smile, "I'll be ok."

"Well I gotta head over to my aunt's house anyway to grab lunch and she lives just past your house."

"Oh ok, great," you reply as the two of you walk out the door and start towards your house. You were thankful that you didn't live too far, just on the other end of the street. Being around Sam felt different now, although it was still a good feeling. You walked straight into the middle of the road, a habit you developed when you were kids that you've continued ever since.

-flashback-

The sun was just beginning to appear over the horizon as you walked on the sidewalk next to Sam. The two of you were headed back to school after a long summer filled with childish adventures. You were beginning grade 7 that year, so the two of you were used to walking to school without Josh and Jake. Frankenmuth High was located deeper into town, so the twins got a ride from their dad every morning. You didn't mind walking though. Your favorite part of every day was when you watched the sun peek over the fields in the distance, calmly walking towards it with one of your closest friends. You looked at Sam.

"It's too bad this summer's already over," you sighed as Sam nodded quietly.

"Yeah, it was fun while it lasted," he replied.

"I miss it already. The freedom of waking up knowing we can do whatever we wanted, go wherever we wanted," you remembered, sadly, "now we have to go to school every day. No more limitless freedom," you sigh, watching your feet crunch against the coarse gravel.

"Then let's not walk to school," Sam said as you looked up at him confused. He holds out his hand to you and you take it in yours. His fingers intertwine with yours as he guides you away from the sidewalk and onto the middle of the empty road. "Let's walk to the sun," he said as you smile up at him, "every day."

Sam kept his word. Every day since when you got up for school in the morning, Sam would be waiting outside your house, he'd offer his hand to you, and you would walk to the sun together.

-end of flashback-

Sam held his hand out to you and smiled as you took it in yours.

"We haven't done this in a while," you say grinning to yourself.

"I know, I miss it," Sam replies, his eyes ahead as the sun rests slightly above the road in front of you.

"So do I. That was my favorite part of the day, did I ever tell you that?"

"No, you didn't," Sam says, a wide grin appearing on his face, "it was always my favorite too." As you walk beside him down the empty road, you feel happier than you've been in a long time, the problems and pain of last night's events disappearing by the touch of Sam's rough hand in yours. You see your house approaching as you make your way down the road.

"Hey are you with Ethan now?" Sam asked. The sudden change in conversation couldn't possibly ruin your mood.

"No, were not. We had something going on between us for a while but then I saw him making out with some other girl. I guess I was wrong," you shrug, not caring enough about Ethan at the moment to be upset. Sam shakes his head.

"You deserve somebody better than him anyway." A smile tugs at your lips.

"Know anyone?" you ask. Sam lets out a small laugh.

"One," he says with a smile.

"Who, Danny? He's taken," you joke.

"Oh uh, yeah Danny's who I was gonna say." His smile fades. You laugh softly and you reach your house. He drops your hand as the two of you walk up your porch steps and stop in front of the door. Sam stands in front of you and shoves his hands in his pockets.

"Thanks," you say gently.

"Anytime, you know I like walking with you."

"No, thanks for everything," you continue, "last night I was really afraid of what Cam might have done and I couldn't have gotten through it alone. Anyway, thank you for taking care of me," you ramble. Sam smiles, his eyes sincere.

"I'll always take care of you," he says softly. Your heart flutters in your chest and you smile happily at Sam. Suddenly, the door swings open and you see your dad breath a large sigh of relief.

'Y/n I was worried half to death about you! Where'd you go last night? What happened?" he asks, flustered. You open your mouth to apologize but before you can say anything you're cut off by Sam.

"It was my fault, sir. We lost track of time and I didn't think it was safe for her to walk home so late at night, so I suggested she sleep at my place." You notice your dad visibly relax.

"Oh alright then. Where exactly did you sleep if I might ask," he questions. You glance nervously at Sam, hoping he doesn't tell your dad the truth.

"Y/n slept in my bed and I slept on the couch downstairs," he replies without hesitation. You silently remind yourself to thank him later, thankful that Sam remembered how strict your dad is when it comes to you being with other boys.

"Alright Sam, thank you," your dad says before returning back inside and closing the door slightly behind him. You breathe a sigh of relief and turn back to face Sam.

"You're the best," you grin, "thanks for that." He smiles at the ground and nods.

"Of course," he replies, walking towards the porch steps, "I'll see you later."

"Yeah, see you soon," you sigh, "oh Sam wait, your clothes!" you exclaim, suddenly remembering and looking down at yourself wearing Sam's baggy shirt and sweatpants. He turns and looks to you with a chuckle.

"Keep them. They look better on you anyway." You blush, and he notices.

"Bye Sam," you say as he gives you small wave and you head inside. You close the door behind you and quickly hurry to the window. You look through the blinds, expecting to see Sam turn right towards his aunt's house. Peering through the window, you grin widely to yourself as you watch him start to walk back to his own house instead.

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