#guess who did it wrong the first time around

[laufeysvalentine]

i want you. pt 2, remus lupin

intertwined, sewn together

remus lupin x fem!reader | masterlist, pt 1

summary ༄ remus x best friend!reader -- the aftermath of you accidentally confessing your love for remus and running away, hurt/comfort, fluff

word count ༄ 4.1k

nora’s notes ༄ so sorry for the delay on this, thank you so so so much for all the love on the first part and for 200 followers??? that's gen insane i love all of you 💘 i haven't proofread so pls excuse grammar

you’ve barely gotten a wink of sleep next morning, and it shows. you finally crash in the morning to sleep through breakfast and lunch. 

at two, you’re up, but barely. you feel like absolute shit. the feeling only worsens when lily comes in, pity in her face. she knows what happened, and the pity only means one thing–there’s a reason he hasn’t come by, and it’s not because he’s in love with you. 

burying your head in your pillow, you let out a loud groan. 

“y/n?” she pulls back your covers and offers a plate up to you. “remus brought this for you, cause you weren’t at breakfast or lunch.” 

“don’t say his name in my presence,” you beg her, only half-joking. the plate she brought has all your favorite foods from the great hall, and you hate that remus knows you so well, well enough to pick them out. 

“he wants to talk to you,” she says once she’s sat on her own bed a few feet from you. “he just didn’t want to cross your boundaries. i’ll tell him off if you’d like, just let me know.” 

“i love you, lily, but it’s not necessary. it’s not his fault half of hogwarts loves him and the prettiest girl out there fell to his feet,” you huff, a sadness leaking out of you. you want to blame him. but really, you can’t. “he didn’t do anything wrong. i guess.” 

lily’s eyebrow raises as she waits for you to elaborate. “he did make you fall to his feet, didn’t he.” 

“you know who i’m talking about.” as if you could compare to celeste… although you’re pleased with the compliment. “and i’m still mad.” 

“you have every right to be,” she concedes, mouth open to say something when the door bursts open, carrying in a flustered marlene. 

“please, y/n, i’m begging you. do something about him. he’s run off and sirius can’t find him, so he’s bugged james about it who’s bugging me, and i can’t take it anymore.” her cheeks are flushed, begging, but you can’t bring yourself to listen to her. “i’d never do this to you, but i’ll truly rip my ears off for another moment of this.” 

“marlene.” lily’s glaring at the blonde, grabbing her by the elbow. “don’t listen to her, y/n. do whatever you want.” 

as much as you feel bad, you’re not ready. you don’t want to face him, like, ever. 

and that’s what you resolve to do for the whole next week. knowing remus, he would never make you uncomfortable, not on purpose, at least, but he knows you too well to make you uncomfortable by accident. so, three days later, when you stumble into breakfast with approximately thirty minutes of sleep and bags suitcases under your eyes to match it and choose the seat farthest away from him, he doesn’t move closer to you. 

still, you feel his eyes on you the whole time, but you just stare down at your plate, making pictures with the eggs and ketchup. while half-listening to marlene’s blabbering, you craft a smiley face, then a frowny face to match your mood, a mickey mouse, and then this girl that you hate for no reason because she’s really not hateable at all you just hate her because she kissed this guy who’s your best friend but technically you’re not even dating you’re just in love with him. fuck. you push away the eggs and glance around the table. the first thing you notice is him noticing you–it’s the first day you’ve not felt too lovesick and heartbroken to ditch class and meals, for risk of seeing him, so your presence speaks for itself. even then, every morning you wake up to an artfully arranged plate outside your door, laden with your favorite foods. the same comes for lunch and dinner, and you’re not stupid. you know he sends them. 

but you can’t talk to him. not now that you know he’s not in love with you like you are with him, at least not as much. he might even like celeste by now. not “might,” he probably does. you wouldn’t hold it against him. they would be beautiful together. a fresh round of nausea sloshes into the walls of your gut. 

when you deem it socially appropriate to leave, you take the chance, getting up with the masses heading to class, trying to slip through the crowd to avoid him. 

“y/n,” sirius croons from your right, so close you can feel his hot breath on your ears, and your heart sinks. where sirius is, the marauders are soon to follow. “oh, how i missed you this past eternity.” 

you grimace at him, pushing his cheek away from your face. “hi, padfoot. it’s been three days.” 

“and what days they’ve been!” he proclaims dramatically, slinging an arm around your shoulder and pretending to faint. 

“siri. i’m not in the mood.” you mutter, slipping out from under his arm, chancing a glance behind you to make sure the blond you would recognize anywhere is not here. you’re in the clear for now, you’ve no clue where he, peter, and james have gone or why they’re so far from sirius. 

he senses your mood shift and transforms into serious sirius. “you need to get back with moony.” 

when you blow out a heavy breath, your hair flies forwards and hangs limply on your face. “a, as i said, it’s been like three days. b, we were never together so i can’t ‘get back’ with him. c, and listen carefully when i say this, i don’t want to.” he doesn’t want me are the words you leave sour and dormant on your tongue. 

“but, y/n,” he pouts. “he really misses you, even if it’s only been a little while. he’s a wreck, knowing he made you cry.” 

you’ve heard enough. of course. this is why the marauders aren’t near him. it’s a ploy, an intervention if you may. 

“no, don’t even.” you pull away from him and push through the throngs of students to get away from him. you toss out a parting over your shoulder before slipping away, “i’ll see you in class.” 

just kidding. you sneak back into your dorm and let the blankets swallow you, watching the ceiling to pass the time. remus is not in love with you. he never will be. 

as you count the amount of nicks in the ceiling paint for the forty-hundredth time, you think about him again. as you have for the past eight years. 

even if he’s not in love with you–you can’t imagine a life without him. you can’t sacrifice your friendship, all those friendly touches, the feeling of his warm hand splayed against your back, the sight of him curled in his bed with his newest book. how could you never discuss your favorite books with him again? how could you sacrifice that golden look that makes you melt over as you speak? those perfectly brewed cups of tea, vanilla-scented sweaters, knitted thickly with love? 

he’s your best friend. the answer is, you could never live without him. even if you’re in love with him and he’s not, in fact, in love with you back. you’ll just have to get over it. 

whoever painted this ceiling left fourteen cracks. 

–

you’re going to get over him, you swear it. this is what you repeat as you walk into the great hall, your eyes trained on the ground, slipping into the seat next to lily. you refuse to look at him or any of his friends. you won’t. you can’t. 

it’s the first time you’re here. sure, you came by the table this morning, but drawing pictures with ketchup until the whole plate looks like you murdered the bottle isn’t exactly engaging. now, you and marlene are conversing about stupid things: the shoes you need in your wardrobe, your favorite song to listen to while crying in the shower vs. in your bed. and important questions, like what’s better, milk or dark chocolate (dark chocolate, obviously, and don’t even think about saying white chocolate. that is not real chocolate)? 

you can feel his eyes on you, drilling almond brown holes into your skull. the urge to look up chokes you. you want to see the curve of his smile, how lopsided it leans on him, the scars that dance around his lips. but you steel yourself. you can’t. you won’t. 

–

you’re ignoring him. the problem is, it’s not really working. 

no matter where you are, you can feel his eyes on you; even if you’re across the classroom, you swear you can smell the earthiness of his cologne, his sweaters. 

fuck. 

you are not getting over him anytime soon. 

the two of you manage to avoid any contact for what feels like months–days, maybe. in the hallways, you brush past each other, sometimes mumbling an apology or two as you pass. nothing sincere. nothing short of incredibly, incredibly awkward. 

you tuck yourself into hidden corners of the library, the astronomy tower, the room of requirement, anywhere where you can get away. from him, from the scary softness of sirius’ eyes when he looks at you, the even more terrifying relative quiet from marlene, who was seemingly instructed to give you space by lily. everything is awkward. and it’s all your fault. 

when the glances stares fade, you know why, and you hate yourself for knowing. the full moon’s nearing. remus’ shoulders are sagging, his looks come from lower down. his body is aching more and more, he twists around nearly every class you have together, something you know he’s always done to try and alleviate some pain. his undereyes are bruised and swollen, and you see the brass of his cane around the common room, and you hate that you aren’t there for him. he hates that thing, he always tries to avoid using it. 

it must be especially bad this time around. 

and when lily comes into your dorm the day before the full moon, skin sunken with exhaustion, you figure something’s up. 

“lily?” you ask, jolting up from your book. the mug of tea that he drank the night you stopped talking is still by your bedside. you can’t bring yourself to move it. what if that’s your last memory with him? 

“hm?” she murmurs, flopping onto her bed. 

“what’s wrong?” you ask as you turn your body towards hers. 

she waves her head, face in the pillow. 

“you can talk to me about him,” you frown. “it’s related to him, isn’t it? the full moon?” 

the redhead sits up, looks at you. she’s not one to lie, never has been. “...yeah. james is just stressed, because he thinks this transformation has already been really painful for him, and it’s only going to get worse tomorrow.” 

your head is bobbing. you swallow your feelings–what is that, guilt? shame? you don’t know what. maybe celeste broke up with him. not everything is related to you. 

“mhm,” you say in response. absorbing. 

she hesitates, mouth opening, before shutting it again. “it’s–well, i don’t…” 

you shrug. “you don’t have to say anything, lily.” 

so she doesn’t. 

—

lily’s right. in the eight years you’ve known him, he has never looked so rough pre-transition. you steal peeks at him all day, like he’s a tv show you weren’t supposed to watch as a kid. it looks like the life is steaming out of him. his hair–artfully messy, as always—is mussed and unwashed. when he walks out of the classroom, it’s a limp, with a slow clunk to it that makes your chest hurt. you want nothing more than to rush over and help him, but no. if he wanted you, well, if he didn’t want celeste, he would have come after you. 

he doesn’t want you. you repeat that to yourself when you see him almost pass out onto his plate during lunch, making a worried sirius (yes, sirius of all people, who usually tries to stay calm in situations like these) rush him to his dorm. 

but he reappears only an hour later for potions, when his back is tensed, tight, and his shoulders are hunched over. slughorn tries to call on him twice, but he pretends he isn’t there. 

your chest aches when he doesn’t show up to dinner, and halfway through, the rest of the marauders disappear, muttering to themselves as they go. you rub your collarbone and watch, your anxiety heightened. 

once the great halls door slam, the first place your eyes dart to is the hufflepuff table. you don’t even need to look around to see her. everyone within a ten-person vicinity is ever so slightly turned towards her, like her charisma is impossible to ignore. they want to be her, be with her, know her. 

she’s speaking animatedly, tossing out an airy laugh now and then. maybe remus hasn’t told her yet. 

some evil, petty part of you relishes in that fact. 

the girls are watching you, eyes wide and lips pursed. they’re trying to read you, determine how you’re feeling. dorcas, of all people, has been checking in on you everyday since you and remus fell out, and marlene too, in her own sarcastic way. but seeing them together made you ache for a cavity that could never be filled. a gryffindor love, a spectacular love. one that existed in your if onlys. 

you head straight to your room after dinner to try and throw yourself into your homework, but the distraction doesn’t work. you can’t stop thinking about remus. is he okay? you wish you could be with him. why did you start ignoring him in the first place? 

as the stars fade into the sky, lily bursts through the door, mary an hour later. marlene sneaks in, then out, then in again, with dorcas by her hand. but as time ticks, ticks, ticks, you can’t stop from looking at it. you’re the only one awake now, but the marauders probably aren’t back yet. 

you try your hardest to battle the reluctance that accompanies you to your bed, but you can’t. you just lie there, body tensed as images of remus run through your mind. the two of you visiting his hometown, or him on your lap, your favorite place for him to be. you’ll never forget the feeling of his coarse hair against the lilting touch of your fingers, or how he would turn onto his side, nose bumping against your stomach as he nuzzled into you. 

after waiting what feels like hours, you check the clock. yes. he’s back now. you rise as quietly as you can, slipping out of the dorms and darting towards the hospital room. is he okay? 

madam pomfrey is nowhere to be seen, and as you pass blue curtain to blue curtain, all you can hear is your shuffling. no one’s here–save for one figure on the end, flat on their back, moonlight filtering through the window above them. 

it hugs him in a most flattering light, his eyes closed and relaxed. fuck, he’s already sleeping. you don’t know if you should be happy he won’t see you or not. on your tiptoes, you creep towards his bed, where there’s a chair on his right. when you touch it, it’s still warm. the marauders must have just left. 

here he is. remus lupin. 

your eyes scan his face and arms, any body part that’s left out from the blankets. he has a fresh cut running from his elbow upwards, through where his t-shirt curls around his bicep. for someone with such fresh scars, he looks so, so beautiful. 

the second you sit down on the chair, his eyes fly open. 

oh. 

he wasn’t sleeping after all. 

perhaps the most awkward minute of your life passes, the two of you just staring at each other. your lips are parted, limbs frozen, anticipating. 

“rem?” you squeak out, reaching out to touch him as you usually would. you want to trace the scar that runs down his cheek, but he pulls away, muttering. 

without even acknowledging you, he turns on his side, burying his head into the pillow. 

“oh,” you breathe. he doesn’t want you there. you’re so stupid. why the hell would you come here? you know he likes celeste. you saw them kissing for merlin’s sake. 

you’re trying your best to stifle a gasp as your eyes become sticky with tears. what the fuck were you thinking? 

“stop it. just stop it,” he groans. “why are you bothering me again?” 

your limbs are stuck in place. for some reason, you can’t think, move. your thoughts are spinning in circles, racing around your mind. nothing’s coherent right now. 

you look at him again, his muscles shifting against the cotton of his t-shirt, and swallow. this is goodbye, isn’t it? your lips twist. 

“i-i’m sorry. i know you probably want to get your rest, i’ll just–” you have to force yourself to stand up, but when you do, your hand accidentally brushes his back on the small bed, and he jerks back, electrocuted. “oh, i–sorry.” 

he jolts upright, hands on the bed to support him. “dove?” 

you pause your movements, unsure what to do. he knew who you were before, didn’t he? what happened? 

maybe he’s just delirious from lack of sleep. you begin to walk away when a warm hand wraps around your wrist, drawing you backwards. 

“y/n. i–” he stops when you face him, and you can see the exact moment he sees the tears in your eyes, as he pulls you onto the bed, thumb sweeping the wetness under your eye like it’s second nature. his palm, rough with calluses and scars, supports the softness of your cheek, and you melt. “you’re here. you’re really here?” 

his eyes, that soft amber, spilling over with uncertainty and… regret? the same way he would look after one of the marauders’ particularly nasty pranks, or snapping at one of his friends close to the full moon. 

you nod, shoulders tense. “i just wanted to come stop by. i didn’t mean to–”

“no, no,” he interrupts, his other hand coming up to rub your arm. “i’m sorry. i didn’t… i’ve just been having, er, i’ve been having dreams of you all week. i thought you weren’t real.” 

his face is sparkling with earnestness, a kind of hope you hadn’t seen on him in a while. when you don’t say anything, he takes it as a cue to continue. “i’m also sorry for everything. i thought you wouldn’t want to see me anymore. or… i don’t know.” 

“it’s okay, rem,” you promise, trying to build up the cracks threatening to crumble your voice and your resolve. you try to pull away from his touch, but his fingers just find your knee instead, massaging the flesh there. “i didn’t want to get between you and celeste or anything. it seemed like the right thing to do.” the last part of your voice comes out in a throaty whisper. 

“no.” he says firmly. 

“no?” you ask, shoulders crawling towards your shoulders. 

“no. i want you in my life, dove, always. i–celeste and i aren’t anything. i don’t like her. i never did.” his voice peters out, but his gaze on you stays strong. “there’s another girl.” 

does he hate you? want to kill you? because that’s sure what he’s doing right now, and he knows you too well to not know the effect he’s having on you. like he took the sword of gryffindor and peeked it into your chest–not enough to kill you by brunt force, but enough to maim, to let you bleed out onto the bed as you stare at him, betrayal tearing open your veins. 

“that’s nice, remus.” you don’t even know how words are coming out of your mouth at this point. maybe someone’s taken over your body? 

“i’m sorry for not coming up to you, too. i thought it was the right thing to do,” he says quietly, one of his hands dropping from your face. goosebumps follow where his skin met yours. you think the next sound you hear is the crack crack cracking of your heart. “i thought you wanted space from me. and you deserve that. i only let her kiss me cause… well, cause i thought i had to get over you.” 

what?

he’s gauging your expression, you can feel it, but again, everything’s spinning. you might pass out. what’s happening? who is this other girl he loves? 

“i’ve loved you for so long, but i thought there was never a chance that you could love me back. and then, there was that day. but, you’re you, the most gorgeous girl in all of gryffindor, and then there was me. you deserve so much better than me and how fucked up i am. so i left you alone. i thought it was right.” he glances to the side, bringing his hands to his lap. this is not real. you’re not real. he was right. this was a dream, and any minute this floaty feeling will stop and you won’t feel like you can’t feel your body and you’ll wake up hear your alarm and class will start it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real. 

but your hand reaches out to his, shaking. and the next words that tumble out of your lips are: “y-you love me?” 

“how could i not?” a laugh slips from his mouth and those eyes–those beautiful, beautiful eyes–are back on you and you can’t swallow breathe think nothing but those eyes, those sweet eyes. 

your mouth hangs open. “but…” 

“i’m sorry, y/n. and i don’t know if it’s too late, if you’ve found someone better, but i couldn’t ever leave you thinking that i don’t love you back. anyone who didn’t is a fool. an utter fool.” remus scratches at his jaw, lips pursed. “sorry. i just had to say it.” 

“you love me,” you repeat, looking at him. “you love me?” 

“i always have and i always will. loving you is a part of me, dove, the best part of me there’s ever been.” he sucks in a breath, brings your hand to his lips. when he speaks, you can feel the vibrations of his voice on your skin. “i love you so much.” 

you don’t even realize you’re crying until a tear splashes onto his cheek. you move to touch it, leaning closer to his face as your finger smooths the tear out onto his pretty skin. and then–then, oh, god, you’re so close to him. his breath is so warm. he smells so, so good. 

“can i kiss you, dove?” he asks so softly that you almost don’t hear him–you’re not even sure you do, it might just be instinct that pushes your lips together. something written into your body from birth. you were meant to be his, he yours. 

and merlin, he tastes better than you ever could have imagined. 

remus. your remus. 

a smile spreads across your lips after your next kiss, slow and so, overwhelmingly perfect. he pecks your teeth, your nose. 

“remus,” you say, but a small giggle escapes you before you can finish your sentence. this is surreal. what’s happening right now? are we sure this isn’t a dream? “what are we doing?” 

“kissing, dovey,” he answers with another kiss. “and, maybe, if you wanted, i could be yours?” 

“you’ve always been mine, rem,” you respond solemnly, and he tugs you down next to him, pulling your body under the covers so you’re flush next to him. “only now i can kiss you.” 

his palms come up to your cheeks, one to your hair, and again, the two of you connect–by your lips, sure, but also by you. you’ve connected, there’s no breaking it now. 

“and all of that you were saying?” you pull back every so slightly to look at him, to know him. “you are the most perfect soul i could ever ask for. i want you to tell me every time you feel like you don’t deserve me, because that’s just untrue. you deserve everything and more, and you are so perfect for me, i can’t even fathom how you exist.” 

at that, he pulls you back into him, plants and plants and plants his lips on your face. “there’s no part of me that doesn’t love you, dove. my heart, my mouth, my soul. all of me.” 

and when you’re too tired to kiss any longer, if that concept even exists, you fall asleep leg between his, nose pressed into crease between his neck and jaw, arms around each other, intertwined with him for the night–though, in a way, you always have been. and you always will be. 

masterlist

taglist: @lydiasfalling @moonysloveee @treefairy-28 @lolwey @callsignwidow @navs-bhat @hisparentsgallerryy @brxght-world @grxcisxhy-wp @luvv-danielle @idkman5353 > i'm in love with all of u fr

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lmk if you'd like to be on my main taglist xx!

italics means i couldn't tag you for some reason 💔 also sorry i've been so mia in the comments, i love and appreciate all of you who are commenting, tysm and have a good day lovelies

[cinnamontoastcrunch-15]

HI I'M BACK here's a oneshot that I got the idea for in the middle of uni.

Also apologies that I haven't posted at all in January I'll be back properly I promise.

"It's not too late to back out, if you want," Remus offers, turning to Sirius.

"As if. We're here now, Moons. Besides, I think freaking out your entire extended family is a perfect use of my time." He holds out his hand, offering it to Remus. Remus rolls his eyes, but Sirius doesn't miss the smile that comes as he reaches out to grab his hand.

Honestly? Part of Sirius does want to run away. A big part of him regrets to agreeing in the first place.

Still, he's doing this for Remus.

"Me? Why in Merlin's name would you say my name?" Sirius asked, a little dumbfounded.

"I panicked!" Remus said back. "She was so excited about the possibility of me bringing a guy to the wedding, and I only really know three guys!"

Well, he wasn't exactly wrong.

"You don't have to come," he said quickly. "I just figured it wouldn't hurt to ask? Four hours, free food, freak out my relatives who don't know I'm gay?"

"When you put it like that..."

Four hours in a liminal space where he can call Remus Lupin his boyfriend. Embarrassingly enough, Sirius has had dreams about this. Maybe not as a sudden stand in to make Hope happy, but he'll take whatever he can get, really.

It's going to suck when the night is over, though. His one scrap of self preservation was the only thing keeping him from agreeing. There's still a small part of him urging him to run away, protect himself by living with the careful boundaries he's drawn in his head to keep him from breaking his own heart. He knows Remus will never feel the same, and he also knows that he should be a lot more careful to keep himself sane, but he's here now. Surely he should just... embrace it?

The two of them walk through the muggle car park and down to the reception hall.

"Remus!" A girl's voice rings out, and Sirius feels Remus' grip tighten on his hand.

"Hi, Aunt Anna." Remus smiles graciously. Sirius watches the woman grind to a halt in front of Remus. It's as if there's some kind of magnetic field around him that keeps her from getting any closer.

"How is everything? How's the... special school?" She lowers her voice to say this, and Remus' smile strains a little. Sirius looks between them, a little confused. Is there something wrong with whatever stand in Remus is using for Hogwarts?

"Aunt Anna, I graduated in July. And it was a specialised school," he corrects politely. "More focused studies?" He says it like he's had to make this correction over and over. She smiles patronisingly, making Sirius' hair stand on end.

"Of course it was!" Her voice is fake, dismissive, frustrating Sirius to no end. Her eyes finally flick to Sirius, curiosity overtaking any sense of falseness on her face. "Who's this? Brought a friend along?"

"Oh, actually, he's not my friend, he's, er..." He glances a little helplessly at Sirius. Little does he know, the decision to go all in has solidified itself in his head. These stupid, patronising family members are going to respect Remus by the end of the night if it kills him.

"I'm his boyfriend. Sirius Black." He extends his hand with a smile that makes Anna blink, a little taken aback.

"Boyfriend? You're... oh!" She looks around, as if searching for someone else to have heard it. "Well, I guess it makes sense that you're... yeah. Um..." She smooths her skirt down, suddenly uncomfortable. "How did you two, er... meet?"

"We went to school together." Her eyes widen, and he nods. "Yeah, focused studies."

"Oh. Huh. I wouldn't have thought... What- what have you been up to then, Remus?"

"Not much, really."

"God, you're so modest!" Sirius says, quickly wrapping an arm around Remus' waist and pulling himself a little closer. He hears Anna clear her throat, fixing her expression as soon as he turns to face her. "He's gotten so many offers."

"Offers for what?"

"He hasn't told you?" Sirius asks innocently. She shakes her head, and he smiles at her. "He's going to be a doctor. Hospitals are fighting over him."

"A... doctor?" For a second, Sirius thinks he's accidentally fucked up the word, until Remus nods a little awkwardly.

"Yeah, there are a few places offering me spots. It's hardly fighting, though-"

"Haven't you gotten baskets from all five locations? I mean, you're getting offers from America!"

"Yeah, guess so." He shrugs, but Sirius is already happy enough with what he's done. Anna looks between them, a little surprised, before nodding once.

"Nice to see you, Remus." She turns to leave.

"It was lovely to meet you!" Sirius calls after her with a sweet smile.

"Sirius!" Remus turns to him, stunned.

"What?" He asks innocently. "I'm just showing you off a little!"

"She's going to be pissed." Remus bites his lower lip, worried. For a second, Sirius' mind malfunctions, having to tear his eyes away from Remus' lips and back to his eyes when he turns to face him. "She had to write Sam's personal statement for Cardiff Uni."

"Oh, then she can't say a bloody word! Special school, she can fucking bite me." It draws a chuckle out of Remus, much to Sirius' delight. "Right, should we find your mum?"

"Yeah. Yeah, let's go."

Much to Remus' dismay, they run into a fair few of his extended family on the way. Sirius does nothing but fawn over Remus, making sure to push his multitude of achievements. It's not exactly hard to do. If Remus was slightly less lovely all the time, he'd be able to do this. He shouldn't be his family's punching bag, and Sirius isn't about to let that continue. He's not even lying, he's just pointing out the things he notices every day. It's scarily easy. He manages to get two judgemental uncles to back off, as well as the boy who can't even write his own essay, clearly pushed over by his aunt and forced to flaunt a few flimsy achievements. Sirius feels a little bad for him, so he's not as obvious about pushing Remus' life to the forefront. It works all the same, getting Sam away before he could even start talking about the fact that Minnie wanted Remus to consider training to teach at Hogwarts.

By the time they reach Hope, Remus has turned bright red. It's a magnificent sight. Sirius wishes he could do this every day.

"Remus! Oh, and Sirius! Hi!" Hope is clearly a little tipsy, cheeks flushed as she beams at the two of them, pulling Remus into a hug, promptly followed by Sirius. "I'm so glad you could make it, Sirius."

"Wouldn't miss it," he answers back with a grin.

"Yeah, that's what I'm starting to get," Remus mumbles under his breath. Sirius hasn't missed the fact that he's standing a little taller than he was when he walked in, though. He's just too nice to push back at his family. "Mum, don't be surprised if Aunt Anna says I've grown into a rude young man as soon as she's got a drink down her."

"Why? What happened? Oh, she's always been a bit of a-"

"No, it's nothing. I just want you to be prepared." Remus waves her off, but Sirius has other plans.

"She was being shitty," Sirius answers with a shrug. Hope turns to him, and he elaborates. "She kept talking to Remus like he's a child! The moment I pointed out that he's actually pretty smart, in a pretty tame way, actually, she turned and left. I didn't think it was that bad."

Hope looks between the two of them, before bursting out laughing. Remus and Sirius exchange a slightly confused glance, as Hope tries to pull herself together.

"Oh, I'm so glad you-! I've tried my best, but she just- I don't think she cares what I say. I can't believe you managed... thank you, Sirius, that's absolutely brilliant!" Sirius beams at a stunned Remus, pleased. At least it wasn't just him who thinks that Remus' extended family are a bunch of self-centered wankers. "Honestly, Remus has talked non-stop about you, I'm so glad he finally found the courage to ask you!"

What?

Sirius' heart does a strange thing where it skips several beats all at once, making him feel a little dizzy.

"Non-stop?" He asks, trying to keep his voice casual.

"Yes, absolutely non-stop!"

"Mum," Remus says quickly, shooting her a glance. She seems completely undeterred, though.

"I told him it was worth taking the risk a long time ago. I mean, you're a lovely boy, and it's clear how much you care about him. It's just nice to know that it all paid off! I had a good feeling about you two-"

"Mum, I'm going to get a drink," Remus interjects suddenly. "I'll be back in a second." She looks like she's about to protest, but Remus is still going, voice slightly unsteady. "I'll tell you what Sirius said to everybody after. Come on, Sirius."

He grabs Sirius gently by the arm, pulling him in the direction of the bar before Sirius has a chance to say anything. Before they reach the bar, he veers off and shoves a door open. They turn a corner and get into a cramped room absolutely full of fold-able chairs. Remus shuts the door and lets go of Sirius' arm, scrubbing a hand over his face and leaning against the door. His hands are shaking, and he looks a little like he wants the ground to swallow him whole.

"...I'd have quite liked to hear more," Sirius says eventually, breaking the weird silence. Remus finally looks up at Sirius, a mix of confusion, frustration and panic evident.

"I feel like that was embarrassing enough," Remus answers simply, eyes flicking back to the floor.

"Is that why you asked me?" Sirius asks suddenly. He knows he should really say more, but he has countless questions, and he needs at least one of them answered. Remus nods once, playing with his fingers.

"Mum made the guess. She wouldn't have believed me if I'd said no."

"Because you've been talking about me 'non-stop,'" Sirius supplies, careful to use Hope's exact words. Remus nods quickly, face turning much redder than it had been before.

"Sorry," he says before Sirius can say anything else. Sirius frowns.

"For what?"

"Lying to you. I mean, I basically tricked you into this whole thing because I didn't want to disappoint my mum."

"You gave me an out multiple times," Sirius tries, but Remus isn't done.

"And for, er... what my mum said. I didn't realise that she'd... you can leave, if you want. I wouldn't be pissed. I mean, fuck, I wouldn't be pissed if you didn't want to speak to me for a while." Okay, now Sirius is much more confused. "I... I really hope this doesn't ruin our friendship, though. I know it's probably going to feel weird now, and I get that, but I- Merlin, I really don't want to lose you, Sirius."

"Remus," Sirius starts gently.

"I mean, we could just forget that she ever said that. I've been perfectly fine living like this until now, I'll be okay."

"Moony."

"Sorry. God, if I'd known that was going to happen I wouldn't have... I could have just... I don't know, fuck, I'm so sorry-"

"Remus!" Sirius finally manages to snap him out of his strange, apologetic tangent. "I just want to make sure that I haven't hideously misunderstood what your mum said. You like me?" Remus nods, and Sirius takes a step closer. "Romantically?" He nods again. "And you have for a while now?"

Remus barely gets a chance to nod before Sirius closes the gap between them, connecting their lips. He hears Remus gasp as he pulls away, locking eyes with him and watching him carefully. For a second, he watches as Remus' brain speeds up, eyes scanning over Sirius' face as he tries to process everything.

Eventually, he seems to throw out every thought in his brain, cupping Sirius' face in both of his hands and kissing him back. Time stops as Sirius is caught up in the feeling of Remus' lips on his, one hand moving from his face and into his hair, his own arms moving impulsively to wrap around Remus' waist. It's everything Sirius could have imagined and more. Part of him still thinks he's imagining things, that there's no way Remus is actually here kissing him. It's overwhelmingly perfect, making Sirius feel a little giddy with the joy rising in his chest-

"Oh my Lord!" A shrill voice that Sirius recognises as Anna interrupts them, forcing them apart. "I- I'm just- right, um... I- okay." She turns and leaves, absolutely dumbfounded, eyes wide and a little horrified. For a second they both look at the closed door, before turning to exchange a glance. The moment their eyes lock, Sirius starts laughing. It doesn't take much for Remus to join in, as Sirius drops his head on Remus' shoulder and Remus laughs along with him.

Fuck Remus' strange extended family.

Nothing can ruin this for them.

[just1cefor4ll]

—You’re the type of person they write rock songs about

modern!au Viktor x fem!reader warning. swearing, might be OOC, not proof read

part four || part five || part six

‘Ooh love, ooh lover boy

What’re you doing tonight? Ooh, hey boy.’

——————————————————————————

[powpow] y/n.

[powpow] y/n I KNOW YOU’RE STILL HERE.

[powpow] ANSWER ME YOU COWARD.

[ekk0stime] they’re definitely just lying there, staring at their screen, kicking their feet or some shit.

[ishaq] yeah, probably overthinking a two word message.

[truly.y/n] I ACTUALLY HATE YOU ALL.

[powpow] no u don’t <3

[ekk0stime] soooooo when’s the second date?

[ishaq] “second” implying y/n considers tonight a first date LMAO.

[powpow] THAT’S SO TRUE WAIT.

[truly.y/n] I AM NEVER SPEAKING TO ANY OF YOU AGAIN.

[powpow] oh, so you’ll just talk to Viktor instead? got it.

[ekk0stime] they walked right into that one.

[ishaq] perfect example of self-sabotage.

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. This was a mistake. Responding was a mistake. Having friends was a mistake.

Your phone buzzed again—another message from Viktor.

[vik.tor222] You should rest. Big night and all.

[vik.tor222] Goodnight, rockstar.

Your stomach flipped, heat creeping up your neck.

[truly.y/n] goodnight, vik :)

You turned off your phone and threw it onto your nightstand, rolling onto your side with a groan.

Your friends were.. annoying— but you were all like siblings, hence the mutual bullying.

The next morning, you woke up to exactly 53 new messages in the group chat. You stared at the notification in pure dread before finally tapping on it.

[powpow] GOOD MORNING STARSHINE THE EARTH SAYS HELLOOOOO

[powpow] u guys think y/n dreamt about viktor last night wrong answers only

[ekk0stime] absolutely not who do u think she is?

[ishaq] hell no— she knows a viktor? who the hell is he

[powpow] LMAOOAOA Y/N CONFIRM OR DENY

[powpow] HELLO????

[powpow] I KNOW UR AWAKE.

[ekk0stime] what if viktor was their first thought when they woke up too.

[ishaq] oh, they definitely checked their phone hoping for another text from him.

[powpow] AWWW THAT’S SO CUTE

You groaned, rubbing your hands down your face. These people were your friends—allegedly.

[truly.y/n] you guys need hobbies.

[powpow] we do. it’s bullying u.

[ekk0stime] it’s a full-time job actually.

[ishaq] benefits are great.

You were about to fire back something equally stupid when a private message popped up.

Viktor.

[vik.tor222] Morning, rockstar. :)

You blinked at the screen, suddenly feeling way too aware of yourself. Why was that the first thing you saw today? And why did it make your stomach do a weird little flip?

[truly.y/n] morning, viktor!!

Your group chat was still blowing up, but you ignored it. Instead, you stared at your phone, waiting to see if Viktor would say anything else.

And then—

[vik.tor222] Are you free tonight?

Your brain short-circuited.

You glanced at Viktor's message one last time before typing back.

[truly.y/n] I actually have plans tonight. Band sleepover

You waited for his response, but it was a little too long for your liking, and you started second-guessing yourself. Was that a weird thing to say? Should you have said something else?

Before you could overthink too much, his message came through.

[vik.tor222] Sounds like a fun time. I hope everything goes smoothly tonight.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you quickly typed back.

[truly.y/n] Thanks! It’ll be good, I’m sure.——————————————————————————You tossed your phone on your bed and grabbed a jacket, already hearing the excitement building outside your room. Powder, Ekko, and Isha were probably already messing around— making the other people in your block feel like kicking their asses.

As you left your room, the sounds of your bandmates filled the air, laughter echoing from outside your dorm

“Finally,” Powder called out as soon as she saw you, waving bowling tickets in the air. “We thought you were ditching us or something.”

“Right, I’m ready to go, come on— i’ll be driving so help yourself to whatever you want when we get there.” You said, plopping down into the drivers seat before driving off, radio on blast as you started your 15 minute journey to the game center.

Soon laughter filled the air as everyone tried to outdo each other with strikes, spares, and ridiculous celebratory dances after each turn. “Watch and learn, I’m about to get a strike,” Powder declared, only to knock down just three pins. You laughed, offering her a playful round of applause.

Isha made a dramatic bow after her perfect strike. "I’m the undisputed champion of this group." She signed, putting a peace sign before sitting down at the booth to eat some of the chips you bought. Ekko rolled his eyes after knocking down a solid seven pins. "Don't forget, I'm also winning in the high score department." As the game continued, you found yourself enjoying the distractions. It was good to have moments like this, to just not think too much about everything.

By the time the game ended, everyone was feeling a bit more relaxed, though the chatter about Viktor never quite stopped.

As you all packed up to leave the bowling alley, Powder was grinning. “I think we should have a rematch next week, but I’ll let you all catch up to my skills first.” Ekko raised an eyebrow. "Catch up? You just got lucky." "Uh-huh," Powder teased, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I’m basically the bowling queen." Isha gave you a look as you all walked out to the car. "So, is this the night we hear about your secret texts with Viktor? Or are they still off-limits?" Powder asked, throwing an arm over your shoulder. You groaned. "Can we please talk about something else for once?" "Not a chance," Ekko chimed in, “You know we’re all dying to hear how you really feel about him." You threw your hands up in mock surrender. "Fine. I’ll tell you everything, but later.” Everyone agreed— but you did earn a few groans before continuing your night.

When you finally made it to Ekko’s dorm, you were relieved to have a chance to relax. As everyone filed in, you grabbed snacks and drinks and settled on the couch. “Alright,” Ekko said, popping open a soda and leaning back. “Movie time” You groaned dramatically, “But you always pick the worst rom-coms ever, let Isha pick she always picks the good shit.” Ekko flips you off, grumbling before sitting down on the coach.

After a few moments of silence once the movie credits came rolling in, Powder leaned in with that recognisable mischievous grin. “Alright, no more dancing around it. Tell us what Viktor said. I need the full rundown.”

You sighed, feeling the weight of their anticipation, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. You knew you wouldn’t get out of this without giving them some details. Isha leaned forward, her eyes wide with excitement. “We promise, no freakouts. Just the details.” She signed and sat right next to you, throwing her legs over your lap to scoot closer so she could see your phone screen which contained all the messages they’ve been dying to see.

You let them scroll through the messages, earning some dramatic gasps and ‘no way’s’ as they handed you the phone back. Of course, Powder spoke up first; “Yeah that’s definitely not a ‘we’re just friends’ type of message.” She said, pointing out several of the messages she deemed fit to that description— Ekko and Isha agreeing. You tried to brush it off, but your heart fluttered at the memory of his words. “It’s just polite. Nothing more.”

“Sure,” Ekko chimed in, raising an eyebrow. “I definitely text my friends good morning texts, ask to meet her alone without her very close group of friends, ask if she’s free the day after that and give her cute little nicknames.” He said very obviously with sarcasm laced in his voice.

The room went quiet for a second. Isha was the first to say something, her expression filled with intrigue. “Hold up. So, he asked if you were free tonight? Like, right now?” “Yeah, but I told him I had plans,” you said, looking at them sheepishly. “I have this sleepover with you guys, so I couldn’t—” you gestured toward them, “—ditch you.”

Powder raised her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, fair, I’d be mad if you ditched us for Viktor. But still... that’s.. something.” You groaned and sank back into the couch, realizing you’d just confirmed all their suspicions. “I don’t know, alright? It’s not that deep. He’s just... being nice.” Ekko shook his head, smiling. “Nah, that’s more than being nice. He’s interested. You’d be crazy to think otherwise.” Isha nodded, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Yeah, he’s not texting you like that unless he really wants you.”

“Ugh,” you groaned again, covering your face with your hands. “Why do you guys have to make this such a big deal?” Powder laughed, slinging an arm around you. “Because, Y/N, it’s adorable and we’re here for it. Also, you’re totally not fooling us. There’s definitely something going on.” You shook your head but couldn’t fight the smile that spread across your face. Maybe they were right. Maybe there was something more to all of this. But you weren’t ready to dive into that just yet.

“Alright, enough about Viktor,” you said, sitting up straight. “Let’s just focus on having fun tonight, yeah? No more talking about him.” “Sure, sure,” Powder said with a grin. “But tomorrow you need to text him— and let us help you out. You’ve been warned.” You laughed, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease as your friends went back to teasing you in the most ridiculous ways. For tonight, though, you were content. You had your friends, a whole sleepover ahead of you, and the feeling of something new and exciting with Viktor still lingering in the back of your mind. You were okay with that—at least for now.

Viktor sat back in his chair, working on an essay the professor handed out two days ago. He let his friends tag along to the library with him so he had some sort of company— and partially because Jayce practically begged to come with.

Vi leaned forward with a grin that Viktor knew was both teasing and knowing. “Come on, Viktor. What’s going on with you and Y/N? There’s definitely some sparks between you too.” He carefully avoided her gaze, taking a long sip of his coffee, as if it would ground him. “There’s nothing going on. We’re just—getting to know each other.” The words felt rehearsed even as they left his mouth. Jayce raised an eyebrow, his attention now fully on Viktor. “You sure? You’ve been acting differently. You’ve never really been one for.. opening up to people.” Viktor remained calm, though his pulse quickened. "I’m still me, Jayce," he said, his voice a little too smooth. "Nothing’s changed."

Mel, who had been watching him quietly, folded her arms and spoke in a voice that was always direct. “You’re not fooling anyone, Viktor. Something’s different. I can tell by the way you’ve been acting around her.”

Viktor’s eyes flickered to her, his usual composure slipping just slightly. “I don’t think you understand,” he replied softly, his tone serious. “I’m not looking for anything complicated. I’m just.. not ready to go down that road. Not yet.”

“Alright. I won’t pressure you. But you’ve got to admit... there’s something there.” Vi said with a awkward smile, sensing the slight tension of the topic. Viktor didn’t answer right away, and for a moment, the conversation seemed to lull. He couldn’t really ignore the way Y/N made him feel—how she’d slipped into his life so effortlessly, how easy it was to be around her. But it was still too new. They’d known each other for less than a month. It felt too soon to even consider anything beyond what it was now.

Finally, after a long pause, Viktor sighed and set his coffee down, his fingers gripping the edge of the table with a tension that betrayed his calm exterior. “Fine,” he said, his voice lower now, quieter. “I do feel something. I won’t deny it.” He hesitated before continuing, his tone thoughtful, almost guarded. “But it’s too soon. We’ve barely known each other for a month. I’m not ready to rush into anything.”

The room fell quiet, the others processing his admission. Vi gave him a knowing look, but she didn’t press him further.

Mel spoke up after a bit, her tone more measured than usual. “It’s understandable, Viktor. Sometimes the timing just isn’t right. But don’t let fear of moving too fast hold you back, either. Whatever happens, happens. Just don’t shut yourself off completely.”Viktor nodded, the weight of their words settling on him. “I’m not shutting myself off,” he muttered, but his voice was softer now, almost to himself. “I just don’t want to move too fast. I need time to figure things out.” Jayce leaned back, crossing his arms with a satisfied grin. “Hey, at least you’re being honest with yourself. That’s a start.” Viktor gave a slight smile but didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned his attention to the books in front of him, the conversation lingering in the air between them.

For now, he’d keep his feelings close. But somewhere deep down, he knew that whatever happened with Y/N, it wouldn’t be so easily ignored.

© just1cefor4ll— I don’t consent to my writing being reposted to other platforms or fed into AI. Translating it is also strictly prohibited. 🚫

taglist: @skullmvncher @startingtoloveyou @lolixsstuff @astarionapologist @erica2024

[wynsummers]

felt like combining two of my biggest interests so this is my ranking of buffy characters by how much they would enjoy the rocky horror picture show

honorable mention - anya. i can't decide if anya would love or hate rocky. the more chaos-loving anyanka side of her would have a lot of fun with it, but i think she might also hate the idea of going to see a movie only to have it talked over by a bunch of hecklers. especially if she went to a theater where they throw/spray props. so i guess it would depend on whether she went to a showing for the experience or the film itself.

9. angel would walk in, sit in the back row, stare with an intense face at the screen for the entire hour and forty minutes of the film and then stand up and leave without saying a word. he would never come back.

8. xander - xander would enjoy rocky for all of the wrong reasons. he is the cishet man who only goes to see the lingerie-clad women. i've met so many xanders in my time. they always have that smug laugh when someone tries to interact with them, but they're too cool to do anything that they can't use to (attempt to) impress a woman

7. cordelia - i don't think rocky is really cordy's scene, no disrespect intended. i think she could have a good time but some of the more extreme traditions might put her off (especially if someone threw/sprayed something at her, i think she would hate that). she would look at it as that fun thing she did once, probably because someone invited her. that being said, though, if she ended up in a shadowcast, she would put her entire heart and soul into playing janet.

6. oz - i can't explain it but oz is both too cool not to be at rocky and too cool to be at rocky. like, oz has been going to rocky every week for two years but the scoobies only find out when they go as a group and everyone in the theater knows him already. i don't think he's ever said a callback in his life but he definitely has a bunch of them memorized

5. buffy - ok now hear me out. buffy needs something like rocky in her life. she needs a place where she can unwind, yell loudly, dance around, and just have fun. i don't think she'd be super into it right away, but i don't think it would take long for her to get into the rhythm of it. i can't see her going so far as to be in a shadowcast, but i can totally see her being a frequent audience member who tells all of her friends about this awesome thing she found

4. tara - listen, tara is a lesbian witch in college. rocky was made for her. season 4 tara is too shy to participate, but i can see it being a place she returns to a lot, and season 6 tara is definitely in the front row of the theater every friday gleefully yelling at the screen. she might even dress up as janet or magenta (shoutout amber benson for performing toucha touch me)

3. willow - this may be controversial, since early seasons willow is kind of reserved and seems like she would be really overwhelmed by rocky. but often that's the exact kind of person who thrives in rocky the most because it gives them a chance to come out of their shell. at her first show, she probably wouldn't participate at all, but something would compel her to come back, and slowly but surely, she'd start doing more. cut to a few months later and she's going full vampire willow in a theater full of people. i think later seasons willow wouldn't have as difficult of a time at first but i still don't think she'd get into it right away. but once she got it, she'd be a regular for life

2. spike - i think spike has been going to the shows for a long time; it's definitely his scene. it wouldn't surprise me if he invented some of the callbacks. yelling stupid snarky shit at a movie screen is so him. i don't know if i can see him dressing up as a character though.

giles - obviously. fucking obviously. in his ripper days he was frank at his local theater and he still goes to the shows all the time. maybe on special occasions they bring him back as frank for a special show. it wouldn't surprise me if he saw the rocky horror show before it was a movie. if buffy and the scoobies found out about his double life they would faint. (if you haven't seen anthony head as frank, do yourself a favor and look it up)

[claimedcrossbows]

Weyler IS BACK in S2 Of Wednesday (Teaser Analysis)

Alright ladies and gentleman, I really don't even know where to begin. We got a 5 second teaser of the upcoming season.

And for our first real teaser who do we have?

Wednesday and Tyler Galpin!!

Look, I've said for the longest that the Wednesday filmmakers went out of there way to hide Hunter Doohan's role as Tyler in the Behind The Scenes and I felt the only possible reason was because they wanted his role to be a mystery.

The fact that we actually got a teaser centered around Wednesday and Tyler is absolutely huge for a lot of reasons.

For one, Usually a teaser is to give an audience a general concept of what to expect this season without really spoiling too much. That's why often I feel movie/tv show trailers give away too much of the overall plot because it really wants to give your every huge moment to keep the audience engaged. Which is why in this particular case I would argue that this teaser might be more important to the weyler fanbase than whatever trailer is eventually released.

Why do I say that?

Well I doubt too much of anything Weyler related is going to be in the trailer because they do want to keep his role secret to some degree for shock value. BUT they didn't want to leave us completely in the dark, so they gave us just enough to answer some questions as well as provoke some.

So what did this 5 second teaser tell us?

Well for one...

Tyler DID NOT escape out of the truck.

So it was pretty heavily debated on rather or not Tyler escaped custody and would be on the run, I think it's safe to say that this is not the case and that's he's actually been locked up for at least a little while considering how his hair has grown longer.

His scar from Enid is still visible so unless it's permanent I really don't think it's been too long, I don't think a 2 year time jump sounds logical but maybe I'm wrong, it still feels like from what I'm seeing he's only been locked up at Willow Hill for maybe a couple months?

Anyway I'll theorize more about that later..

Moving on

The scene has no dialogue present but a lot can be told with music and facial expressions alone. (Trust me I know, I minored in Film Studies In College 😉) And what this music is saying too me is that it is building up to something.

And from the looks of Wednesday that something could only be a question right?

From the way the music builds, to cutting to Wednesday she looks confident, calm, collected, so we can assume whatever reason she's visiting Tyler isn't too yell at him for betraying her or torture him or anything like that.

I think she's there to ask him a question and maybe even a favor.

(I do however think at some point he's breaking out of Willow Hill either by his own accord or with help from Wednesday but again I'll cover that later)

Now looking at Tyler in this clip...

*Sighs*

Tyler overall looks sick.

Like sick and tired.

And I honestly couldn't tell you if it's the conditions of Willow Hill OR the effects of his master being gone wearing down on him..but he doesn't look good at all. Notice how sweaty he looks? Also paler, eyes darker, and his hair looks greasier..he overall doesn't look like he's well.

Side Note: Where is his shirt?? I mean unless it's an absolutely sauna in there I don't know why he wouldn't have a shirt? This makes me think this is specifically not only for the audience to have eye candy, but for Wednesday's as well..I know even through betrayal she's probably still got some attraction to him, So I'm sure at some point during this scene, she'll be glancing at him shirtless, otherwise why not put a shirt on him? It's to show the attraction is still there between them I would guess...

Anyway back to the main point.

I know we don't get Tyler looking at Wednesday for long really just a second actually, but he doesn't seem to have any type of immediate reaction to seeing her.

Which makes me wonder if he's starting to lose his own consciousness and by that losing his mind/memories?

Again I know it's kind of a stretch to claim this from a split second look he gives Wednesday but I don't know.. it just seems like Tyler isn't really all there..

Which again makes me think that for whatever reason Wednesday is visiting Tyler is probably for another Quid Pro Quo on her part.

Tyler helps her and She helps him, not only break out of Willow Hill..but also probably save him from himself. 🤷🏽‍♀️🤔

Anyway to conclude.

I think this 5 second teaser is probably going to be the most we get out of this Weyler situation before the season starts, but I do think this teaser says a lot about Weyler in Season 2.

Tyler WILL play a big role in S2, and this is just a little taste of something bigger to come!

Anyway what are YOUR thoughts?

[the-daydreaming-show]

(3.) Dreams Made Heavy.

SUMMARY: It's the celebration of Nyx's first birthday.

Or

Your time in illusion is running out and the past is ending, unable to bear its own weight any longer.

NOTE: I love this chapter because Feyre is so excited to bring the reader into her life and introduce her to her son, it's adorable. Let me know what you think of this chapter and how things are going, I'm always happy to hear your thoughts. As always, English is not my first language so sorry for spelling mistakes and mistakes of the type, any comment on it is welcome if it is respectful. I am always trying to get comfortable and improve my writing in this language. I hope you like it. XOXO Ella

Memories/Thoughts in italics

Dragon Language in bold italics

Previus Part: (2.) EMBRACING ILLUSIONS

AO3 / Story Masterlist

“What lived and died between us—haunts me still.” – «The Chronology of Water: A Memoir» by Lidia Yuknavitch.

Lying on your back in bed, you held the hand-painted parchment invitation above your head, looking up at it with the expression of someone who knew they had flown too close to the sun.

Feyre had painted the invitations herself—each one was different—and, in her words, they were meant as a sort of souvenir, something for each recipient to keep as a memento of the very special occasion that was Nyx’s first birthday. You didn’t know what the others looked like, but you guessed that not all of them had the shadows of three little dragons flying in the corner of the invitation. The boy’s name and what looked like a tiny fingerprint also decorated the small square of parchment, proving that he had helped create it as well. You ran your thumb over the shape of the boy’s print, which seemed to reach out to the three dragons in the corner.

“I told you that you should have brought more of a variety of outfits,” Mayhem reminded you flatly from her spot on the balcony, sitting cross-legged with her dress bunched around her as she settled in for her prayer.

With that, you snapped back to harsh reality, dropping your arms carefully so as not to ruin the invitation, and rolled over onto your stomach, wanting to drown yourself in the mattress as you let out a tearful cry.

As if that was the main problem in the whole situation, you thought, too hopeless to put it into words just yet. Of course, you wouldn't tell your court how deeply you had gotten yourself into the mud of this situation—not when they had clearly warned you it would happen, and not when you had known, deep down, that it would.

But I think it’s what I need, you had told Armin when he warned you about the consequences. And maybe you really did need it. You needed to see the beauty of the life Feyre had now, to let her go, even if it would break your heart. But you didn’t want to. You realized you weren’t sure how you would survive that. Still, there was no way out now—you were up to your neck in the consequences of your own decisions, of what you had asked for. You had wanted to see Feyre one last time, to know she was okay. And now you have gotten your wish.

“I don’t think a kid’s first birthday has much of a dress code, especially if it’s just a family gathering,” Luka added from his spot in the desk chair, practicing his penmanship on different birthday gift card options while experimenting with different ways to hold the pen with his missing finger. “Let's just be grateful if the gift has a decent bow.”

“It’s the birthday of the heir to the court. For all we know, it could be a gala, even if it’s just a family affair. It wouldn’t be unusual for people with the kind of money that the High Lord and High Lady have,” May said without changing her tone as she placed her hands in position to begin her prayer.

“It wouldn’t be the first time she’s shown up in riding gear to an event like that, either,” Luka whispered, focusing on his movements on the paper.

“What’s wrong with my outfits?” you finally asked, wanting to divert the conversation, lifting your head from the pillow. “They’re all very nice and comfortable.”

“And they all smell like ash and burnt leather,” Mayhem stated before beginning to whisper her affirmations.

You gulped. You needed something to do, and figuring out party etiquette suddenly sounded like a great activity. You didn’t say anything, and no one paid you any mind as you got out of bed and walked out of the room, into the hallways of the house, on a mission to find Nesta and question her about what she might be planning for her nephew’s birthday party. Would she give him a birthday card or just the bow? Who was going? And any other information she was willing to share so that your anxiety could drown in the comfort of knowing a little more about what to expect.

When you had offered to give Feyre Nyx’s gift so she could take it to him, she had ended up handing you that beautiful invitation with the child’s name, time, and place for the party. But she had told you that the birthday hadn’t happened yet, and giving gifts or celebrating early was a no-no in mortal culture, as it was considered bad luck. So, she couldn’t accept the gift, and instead, she had invited you to the party, pulling the invitation out of her pocket and handing it to you.

You told yourself that you wanted to see if Feyre was happy, to see if everything was as it seemed. This is the perfect opportunity to do so. Don’t complain. You repeat to yourself as you walk.

As you turned into a hallway, you came across Morrigan walking toward you.

“You look like a woman on a mission,” Morrigan declared as she approached. “May I help you with it?”

“Indeed, you can,” you replied with a knowing smile. Morrigan simply followed suit.

Morrigan took you out of the house the next morning with Mayhem in tow. Your bodyguard had refused to let you go alone, following you in deathly silence despite your insistence that you could manage on your own.

It was interesting to see your friend, Mayhem—thin, pale as a ghost, with long, straight dark hair falling past her waist and piercing eyes like stone—contrast with Morrigan, who was tall, blonde, and radiant, her smile dressed in reds and golds as she walked elegantly through the city. Morrigan talked a lot, while May watched her out of the corner of her eye, expressionless, merely analyzing. She took you both shopping, exchanging gold for the currency used at court.

“Personally, this outing suits me well. I don’t know what I’ll wear yet, and if Feyre paints a picture of the occasion, I want my nephew to see that his favorite aunt was the best-dressed since before he could even remember,” the blonde commented, linking her arm with yours as she walked.

“At this point, the only standard I have is that it not be riding clothes, as has been widely pointed out,” you replied, casting an accusatory look at Mayhem, who simply shrugged, knowing she wouldn’t regret her insistence.

“I’m afraid I have to agree with that—you need more variety in your wardrobe.” Morrigan shot May a knowing look, which she didn’t return. Instead, your friend put on a pitying expression and looked away. Morrigan, however, didn’t seem offended or put off by her reaction. “Uh, let’s start with this store. It’s one of my favorites.”

Morrigan pulled your arm into a sudden U-turn that nearly made you trip, while Mayhem hurried to catch up, trying to return to your side as quickly as possible. You managed to straighten up before entering the store, where a kind woman immediately greeted Morrigan by name, and the scent of lavender filled your nostrils.

Your escort broke away from you to chat about the occasion she needed an outfit for, expressing her excitement about the birthday, while you and Mayhem wandered slowly through the store together.

You quickly let Mayhem take the lead, walking ahead of you and browsing options on your behalf, given your clear lack of enthusiasm and ideas after the first two rows of hangers. You rejected skirts of any length—not because you didn’t like them, but because riding a dragon in them often led to painful scrapes on your legs. And since you never knew when you’d be flying Balerion, you avoided them whenever possible.

Instead, you picked out a loose-fitting pair of pants. While they wouldn’t be ideal for riding due to the excess fabric, they would suffice in an emergency. You left Mayhem to decide on the color and wandered toward the shirts, where Morrigan was supposed to be—though you couldn’t see her among the hanging clothes.

Taking advantage of the illusion of privacy, you asked a question.

“Morrigan, will you give the birthday boy a card along with your gift?” You spoke into the air, waiting patiently for an answer as you admired the shirts, t-shirts, and tops around you. But when no immediate response came, you suddenly felt the need to justify your question. “I know he can’t read—it’s only his first birthday. But Fey enjoys keeping memories.”

“First of all, I’m giving him too many presents to include a card with each one.” You jumped in place when her voice sounded much closer than expected. “Second, call me Mor. And third—” Morrigan rounded the corner of the same row of hangers you were hiding behind, looking at you in amusement. “Fey?”

You felt like a deer caught in headlights. Or rather, like Balerion when you caught him stealing cattle.

Mor, carrying several red and purple dresses in her arms, walked toward you with a friendly smile. Mayhem, as silent as your anxiety, appeared at your side, making you glance over as she placed three pairs of pants in your arms, giving you a knowing look.

Are you okay? her eyes asked as she carefully arranged the clothes in your arms, hangers included. You nodded quickly while she adjusted the garments on your elbow.

“Yes, it’s—” You swallowed, realizing your mouth was dry, then turned to Mor. “It’s what I called her when we were kids. Pronouncing ‘Feyre’ was too much for me back then—my country accent kept me from being understood.”

Mayhem settled next to you, browsing through the pants among the shirts. You mimicked her, and Morrigan wasted no time joining in, glancing at the pants in your arms before helping with the search.

“You had an accent?” Mor asked casually. “Sometimes I swear I hear something in Feyre’s tone, but not enough to place it. Is that it? Did she have one?” She then lifted the sleeve of a nearby shirt, holding it against the fabric of one of the pants to check the match, only to let it go with a frown.

“No, actually, in all the years I knew her, she never quite managed to shake off her posh, aristocratic accent. She sounds pretty normal now—I guess time has won in that regard,” you explained, recalling little Feyre elegantly asking how to set up a rabbit trap in the woods. Even now, the memory was amusing. Morrigan must have agreed because she let out a genuine laugh.

“And your accent? What happened to it?” Mor asked, looking up from the shirts to meet your gaze. This time, you didn’t avoid her eyes or her question. Instead, you met her gaze and answered.

“Courtesans with accents aren’t well regarded unless they sound ‘exotic,’ and I didn’t fall into that category by any standard. So, I was trained until I lost it,” you explained simply, turning toward another rack of more casual tops. Mayhem mirrored you without thinking, even though none of the clothes in front of her now matched the outfit she had been planning with the pants.

As you browsed side by side, Mayhem silently took your hand, squeezing your fingers. You looked at her. She smiled sadly—a quiet comfort, an “I understand you”. Because even though Mayhem had never been trained as a courtesan, when she was raised to be a hired assassin for a slave master in the bay, they had done the same thing to her as they had to you. They trained her to forget who she was and become what was expected of her.

“What was she like?” Morrigan asked. You had almost forgotten she was standing next to you, but you turned to her, murmuring in confusion.

“Feyre, when you were children. What was she like?”

You thought for a moment. You could have said more if you had started, though at the end of the day, it wouldn’t have changed the fact that you genuinely believed the answer you ended up giving her.

“Not much different from now,” you pointed out softly, to which Morrigan raised an eyebrow. “But smaller, of course, and with an insatiable need to learn.”

“And with an elegant accent?” Morrigan smiled mischievously.

“Yes, my lady.” The phrase, mimicking the elegant, exaggerated tone Feyre used to have as a child, made Morrigan burst into laughter.

“She sounded like that?!?” she asked between giggles.

“Don’t tell her I told you—she always said it was my imagination. But I swear to anyone that she sounded exactly like that,” you told her, while May, noticing that you were calmer, returned to searching for shirts to match the pants.

“I’ll take it to the grave,” Morrigan assured, her eyes glinting with honesty and amusement, a look that went unnoticed by you. “Come on, you need some good boots for those pants.”

With that, Morrigan led you toward the stairs of the store, May hurrying behind both of you, shirts in hand, as you headed up to the second floor where the shoes were.

To Mayhem's bewilderment, Morrigan made sure to give—and impose—her opinions on the outfit the black-haired girl was putting together for you, quickly realizing that you had little drive or interest in making choices yourself, trusting their judgment without much thought. As the day went on, you got the impression that the blonde had started to genuinely enjoy debating Mayhem’s choices, gradually drawing her into longer discussions, getting her to argue more and more as the hours passed.

You picked out the pants from the first store, but May wasn’t convinced by anything else there, so the three of you scoured nearly every shop in Velaris to piece together your outfit. Jewelry became the biggest battleground between Morrigan’s yin and Mayhem’s yang, reaching its peak when May delivered a twelve-word speech to Morrigan about why silver jewelry suited you better than gold. Morrigan’s defeat did nothing to deter her—if anything, she seemed to enjoy it. When you finally walked out with the silver jewelry May had carefully selected, your two shopping companions each latched onto one of your arms, and off you went.

“I’ll pick you up at the House. And don’t even think about putting those pants on that beast’s saddle.” That was the last thing she said before leaving you in the living room of the House of Wind—then she disappeared without another word.

You wished you had put on a riding suit. Leather would have made you feel safer than the soft, airy fabric of the fancy pants you had bought. You regretted the logic that had led you to avoid Mayhem accompanying you—and the fact that it had worked.

“If I’m going to be killed at the birthday party, there’s nothing you can do. It’s a gathering of the most powerful beings on this continent—and all the continents—so it probably won’t make any difference whether you’re here or not.”

You were right. Mayhem knew that. But once you arrived, you realized that her silent support would have been invaluable. Mor had dragged you into the house happily, as if there was nothing wrong with your presence. Yet you could feel the guests’ wary gazes, and soon after, she left you alone—standing at the entrance to the living room with your gift in hand—while she excitedly went to greet the other guests. There was no way to feel balanced, but at least now you knew that it wasn’t just your side that was the problem.

Someone called your name, and before you knew it, Elain Archeron was in front of you, wrapping you in a hug.

“Hi,” you greeted her tentatively, trying to hug her back without dropping the gift in your hands. The gift was a small, handmade wooden chest carved with stars and the moon, barely bigger than your hand, wrapped with a perfect bow—one that Luka had managed to tie despite having one less finger than usual. He had been very proud of it.

“Hello,” Elain replied, pulling away and looking at you with emotion in her eyes. “How are you?”

A glimpse of the human life she once had—that’s what this was, you thought. It was no secret in your court how unhappy the middle Archeron was about her life as a High Fae, and how she openly longed to be human again. Elain was not comfortable in her own skin. You could understand that, and you smiled back at her because of it.

“Well, it was refreshing to have a change of scenery after so much time in the desert,” you commented softly, watching as she looked at you intently before hooking her arm around yours and gently pulling you toward an armchair in the empty living room.

“I’ve seen the dragons in the sky since you arrived,” she explained, smiling as they sat down peacefully. “They seem to enjoy the mountains, and the blue one always seems to stay near the flowers.”

“Yeah, they’re not used to seeing so many colors,” you explained, carefully placing the gift on your lap and making sure the bow didn’t shift from its perfect position.

“Balerion is the oldest, right? He’s quite large compared to the others,” she commented softly, her curiosity genuine.

“Of those who accompanied me here, yes, he’s the oldest. He was born in the volcanoes, but he’s the second-born of all the dragons—they have an older sister and a younger one,” you explained calmly. Elain listened attentively, and you didn’t mind. You loved talking about your dragons. “The other two that came with me are Caraxes and Dreamfyre. They hatched in the desert.”

“You need to stop pestering the poor woman with questions,” Nesta’s voice cut in as she sat sideways at the head of the chair. “She’s been obsessed ever since you flew over the city when you arrived, and she won’t stop asking me questions,” she added, taking a sip of her fruit juice.

“And you have no answers, Nesta,” Elain complained, turning her gaze back to you. “The blue one of the two—the middle one. What is its name? I always see it flying over the flower meadows outside the city.”

“Her name is Dreamfyre. The flowers in the desert—the few that grow—don’t have much of a scent, so the flowers here fascinate her. That’s why she’s always camping out in the meadows,” you explained. Elain seemed ecstatic, her eyes lighting up at the information, but before she could say anything else, another voice interrupted the conversation.

“Elain, I told you not to pester her with questions as soon as she got here,” Feyre scolded, sounding somewhat embarrassed as she approached you at a quick pace. She was wearing a dress. “Sorry, she’s been obsessed with them ever since you arrived.”

“That’s what Nesta told me. But don’t worry, it’s nice to talk about them out of curiosity,” you commented, smiling softly at Elain.

It’s nice to talk about them as if they were nothing more than weapons to be used in war, you wanted to say, but that would be saying too much.

Elain, seeing that her questions didn’t bother you, prepared to ask another, but Feyre’s hand suddenly appeared in both of your fields of vision, drawing your attention away from your curiosity. Standing in front of you, dressed in the style of her court, her hair half-up and decorated with pearl stars in a style very similar to Nesta’s—though with more hair cascading down her back—Feyre offered you her hand, a gleam in her eyes.

“Come,” she said, gently taking your hand and pulling you toward her. “I want to introduce you to someone.”

Feyre lifted you off the couch and led you down a hallway that stretched deeper into the house. The sounds of the party faded as the steady tug of her hand guided you through the house, and you nervously held your gift to your chest the entire way.

The silence of the house was suffocating as you moved forward, and you became hyper aware of the way she wouldn’t let go of your hand. In a sudden turn that took you by surprise, Feyre took the opportunity to intertwine your fingers more firmly, and you didn’t know what disturbed you more—the touch of another human being, something you had grown sensitive to since leaving the volcano, or the fact that it was her hand holding yours. The one who hid so many secrets from you that simply being in her presence made you feel tainted. You felt disrespectful.

You two climbed the stairs and then turned the final corner of the path, at which point you saw Cassian and Azriel, both casually standing on either side of a particular door. Guarding. That’s when you realized, with the same feeling as someone who had just received a punch to the stomach, who you were about to be introduced to. You quickly adjusted the gift in your hand, praying that the bow hadn’t shifted from its place when you pressed it against your chest, and Cassian waved at you as you walked past him, entering the room.

There was a huge stained glass window that offered a beautiful view of the mountains and the meadow of flowers Elain had mentioned earlier. From there, you could see your three dragons in the distance. Standing in front of the stained glass and looking at them was Rhysand, with little Nyx sitting on his hip, pointing and babbling. You stood in your spot, watching the child interact with his father, squeezing Feyre’s hand, torn between your own decision.

You looked at her, as if ready to lend a helping hand if she was sure of what she was going to do. After almost a decade of not seeing each other, you wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t feel comfortable introducing her son. But she was looking at you with an excited smile, genuinely happy that you were there about to do what you were going to do, and guilt closed your throat as you let her happily lead you over to where Rhysand was holding the child by the window. He turned to greet you as soon as he heard your footsteps, though you had no doubt he had known you were there long before. He smiled softly every time your gaze met as you approached. He didn’t look uncomfortable either; in fact, he seemed the calmest of the three because Feyre was vibrating with excitement and you were almost frozen with fear. If he felt uneasy about the situation, he didn’t show it for a second. When he greeted you by name as you reached his side, you managed to sense that the arrangement held back a little too strongly.

The bow, you scolded yourself as you breathed, looking at him and checking the state of the bow.

Nyx noticed his mom standing next to him and reached out to her as he babbled, and Feyre closed the distance between them, happily receiving him and resting him on her hip. She whispered your name excitedly as she looked at the chubby boy in her arms, then raised her head to smile.

“This is Nyx,” she proudly introduced, then pointed at you softly, drawing the boy’s attention in your direction. “Nyx, this is y/n.”

The pride in her voice and the smile on her face as she approached you with the child in her arms were undeniable, and it was also the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. At that moment, you panicked; you didn’t show it, but you looked at Rhysand, trying to convey: This is the moment where you get protective of your child or something and end this encounter. But the idiot was staring at his wife and child, mesmerized.

“Say hello, Nyx,” Feyre asked sweetly, moving closer to you and leaving you no choice but to accept the situation. Ever since you had met Rhysand, you had tried not to think too much around him because of the information you had received about his abilities, but now you could only think about wanting to know what he was thinking. It had been planned that something very different would happen, and you had even been advised not to bring the gift for Nyx because it could be taken the wrong way. Yet Rhysand didn’t seem to be reacting to the situation, which made you more anxious than anything. Meanwhile, little Nyx, with his chubby hand, made a greeting motion towards you along with a little sound that you assumed was the closest he could get to saying hello.

“Hello,” you greeted back, shifting uncomfortably, not knowing what to do. “Umm, I brought you a gift; it’s some toys.”

“I’m sure you can’t get enough of those. Right, my love?” Feyre ran her hand through the boy’s curly black hair, giving you a moment to admire him more closely.

You noticed two things. The boy’s wings weren’t in sight, which meant they were either hidden or he had already developed the ability to hide them. He was the spitting image of his mother. Yes, he had his father’s hair, skin, and reportedly wings, but it was Feyre’s eyes, color, and shape, as well as his nose and the shape of his lips.

“He looks just like you,” you pointed out, reaching up to run a finger over the freckles on the boy’s nose, just as you used to do with Feyre. The little boy looked at you, his eyes wide with surprise and curiosity.

“Really?” Feyre asked, her eyes alight with excitement.

“Yes. It’s a mini you, Fey.” You assured her without looking at her. Feyre didn’t say anything else, but you could feel her beaming with happiness; her enthusiasm was almost contagious, to the point that you smiled softly at the child who was watching you intently. Nyx reached out his hand towards you, pointing and looking at his mother, asking a silent question, to which Feyre repeated your name. The baby babbled and looked at you, as if waiting for you to answer.

Rhysand decided to make a move at that moment. He stood next to Feyre and met your gaze before the questions began.

“May I?” he said, pointing to the wooden trunk you still held in your hand. You handed it to him without much thought, your hands feeling the loss of something to hold onto. You missed your gloves and regretted not putting on any rings.

Rhysand pulled at one of the strips of the undone bow, all under your watchful eye. Feyre peeked out a little to see as he removed the small latch from the trunk and lifted the lid, revealing your gift. Inside the trunk, resting on a padded base, were three toy dragons, carved in intricate detail from wood and with polished black stone eyes.

“They’re very popular in the bay. I chose these because I thought that since Nyx would probably be able to see them through the window, bringing him the same ones he would see would be more appealing than a regular dragon. Maybe he would enjoy them more. The kids in the bay even collect them, so...” you explained hurriedly as you watched Rhysand pull out the one that was Balerion and stare at it.

“They’re beautiful,” Feyre whispered breathlessly, pulling mini Caraxes out of the box and looking at the carved wood intently.

Rhysand and Feyre seemed fine with the gifts; they hadn’t moved the boy’s toys away, so you assumed they considered them safe. But the opinion that mattered to you was Nyx’s. So you found yourself staring at little Nyx expectantly, hoping he would like your gift.

You weren't lying when you said they were popular in the bay. Of your adult dragons, who constantly flew over the bay and its cities, all of them had been immortalized as wooden toys in countless numbers by this point, for children to play with and enjoy. It was rare to see a child on the street who wasn't walking with a wooden dragon in hand or one within quick reach, either in the hand of one of their companions or hidden in a pocket or bag.

Sure, there were more expensive gold or silver versions sold to high-born children, but those were the ones you saw on the streets all the time, and they were the ones you enjoyed the most. You thought wood was the most worthy material to immortalize your dragons in; there was something about it that felt more alive than any metal. You had your own collection, as apprentice carpenters who learned to make them would give you the ones that failed to meet their standards so you could see if a dragon that looked like that would ever be born.

You had bought those three from an old carpenter who refused to die and continued to work on his craft with passion. He had been recommended to you on the streets, and he had ordered all three personally. The man hadn't made toys in years, according to his words, but he had made them for free despite your complaints and had exceeded the expectations you had for his work.

Nyx set her gaze on the dragon in Feyre's hand, looking at it for a second before glancing at the one Rhysand held. She reached out her hand towards the mini Balerion with eagerness, almost breaking out of her mother's arms to reach it.

“Looks like there’s already a favorite,” Rhysand laughed, letting Nyx reach for the toy in his hand. When she did, Nyx held the dragon in both hands, looking at it as she babbled excitedly. She shifted in place to face you and held out her hand with the dragon, babbling something in a questioning tone.

“Balerion,” you said, and it was immediately met with a determined babble.

“Bababa,” the boy said, looking closely at the toy, then immediately glancing at the dragon that Feyre still held in her other hand. He let go of Balerion without thinking and grabbed the other dragon. Rhysand managed to catch the toy before it fell. Again, he offered the toy to you with a mumbled question, grabbing it by the neck roughly, which you found funny. The long neck of Caraxes’ lizard was very different from the rest of your dragons; you called it Wyrm because of that.

“Caraxes,” you said, playing with your fingers and waiting patiently.

“Carrare,” Nyx repeated, stretching out the "r" so that it spit a little onto Feyre’s sweater. Rhysand offered him the third toy before he could ask for anything, pulling mini Caraxes from her hand to break his fall. The process repeated itself: Nyx offered the dragon to you, and you stammered in question.

“Dreamfyre,” and this time Nyx couldn’t even stammer a syllable; her attempt at pronunciation only got her tongue tied, ending with her tongue sticking out. “Two out of three is very good,” you assured him when he looked at you for approval, smiling sweetly at him. He mimicked the smile before turning around and searching for the missing toys in his hands.

Nyx babbled over to her mother, showing her the toys, and Feyre's attention shifted to the boy, her eyes shining as she looked at the toys and accepted the explanation of their names. It was lovely to see her interact with her son like this, but you soon realized that it left you and Rhysand in an awkward silence, or at least an awkward one for you.

When you glanced at him, checking to see if he was distracted by the sight of his wife as he had been a while ago, you found him staring at you with an expression you couldn't understand. You felt the heat of embarrassment build up in your neck.

“I’m glad he likes them,” you managed to say, looking at him with the softest smile possible. “Even if he stops playing with them, he can use them for decoration; I use them for that.”

“Do you have any of these?” Rhysand asked, his tone amused. Embarrassment crept up your neck and onto your face.

“Yes, I get them as gifts from time to time, and I put them on my mantelpiece,” you answered quickly, turning your full attention back to Feyre.

“I hear he has a taste for carved wood,” Rhysand subtly noted, directing the question at you but feigning indifference to your reaction.

You pressed your lips together in a tight smile and nodded softly, unable to stop yourself from telling him to fuck off if you spoke. The table—that was what he was referring to when he mentioned your taste for carved wood. When he had ordered the piece of furniture, you hadn’t thought that its acquisition would mean much, but once it was installed in the War Room of your mansion on the bay, word had spread that the new queen of Slaver’s Bay had acquired a table carved from wood and inlaid with stone, outlining in detail the shape of the great continent, with the lands and kingdoms of mortals carved into it, and the borders detailed. A huge wooden map, the map of a conqueror.

Everyone knew what that table was for; the cards declaring you queen had been an action long overdue on the continent, and that beautiful piece of art carved in wood was the reason.

“They are beautiful,” Feyre spoke to you, easing the tension out of your shoulders with just those words. “Thank you.”

You nodded with a softer smile this time.

The party officially started when they walked in with the birthday boy. Little Nyx happily passed from arm to arm for the first few minutes after his arrival, receiving hugs and kisses from practically everyone. You became a silent presence during this process, accompanied by a drink and the occasional snack that would allow you to eat because you were hungry, but you wouldn't be able to devour the food as your body demanded because there were so many people.

When people began to clear out around you, you felt like a child, sensing the gaze on your back—how you knew when one of the younger dragons thought to try and attack to see what would happen, or when you were within sight of the wolves in the woods in your youth. The eyes followed you as you walked to the drinks table and helped yourself again to the fruit juice you had been drinking.

The eyes fixed on your back followed you to the open doors in the courtyard, where you leaned on the railing that limited the unevenness of the floor, entering the building and the garden that you suspected was Elain's area. You felt her gaze as if she were looking at a bright red target on your back as she approached you with a calm step, as if she weren't stalking you or didn't care to be obvious in her pursuit.

When Amren stood beside you, the most primal part of you—the one that was more beast than person and as connected to Balerion as if they were one—wanted to growl in threat, and you were sure Balerion was doing it in the mountains, leaving room for you as the threatening sound bounced off his chest and tongue.

“Enjoying the food?” she asked with little kindness or dissimulation of her skepticism towards your presence. “I imagine you have a particular appetite since you brought your beasts to life.”

We are not talking about food. Of course not.

“My appetite is particular, but I only eat what I need,” you assured her absentmindedly.

“And if you are not satisfied, kovesh*? Where will you look to satisfy your appetite?” The question was cruel, accusatory towards you. And you smiled calmly at her because you knew what she was implying with the question.

Once you conquer mortal lands, how do you know you would not want more and look to us, conqueror?

Amren was not out of place. That was why her words did not affect you as much as they should have; you had expected these questions at one time or another. Dragons, as beloved as they were to you, were in the eyes of many like a strong brute, one that few defenses could stop or harm. You had conquered the bay in less than a year with them; you had already proven that you were capable of carrying out the actions necessary to take lands with only dragon fire as a weapon. And when you commissioned the carved table, you made it clear that the conquest of the bay and the liberation of the slaves had not been enough for you. It has not sated your appetite. You had already made the first move to conquer the rest of the continent owned by mortals. You offered peace before unleashing war again, but the statement was firm: you would not back down if the queen did not bend the knee. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, only your appetite for conquest and power moved you to seek to conquer those lands. You knew the truth; you knew what you had seen in the lava and what you wanted to avoid, but you didn't need anyone else to do it.

You sat up straighter and took a step closer to her, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Amren stood up straighter, as if ready to fight, but you just stared at the way her hair fell perfectly, framing her sharp jaw and slanted eyes; it was wonderful. Her eyes looked up at you, irritated by your boldness, no doubt. You weren’t sure if you were more irritated because, at this close distance, the height difference between you and her was apparent, even without her heels, or because you reached up and moved a strand of hair from her cheek delicately, leaning carelessly on one elbow on the railing beside you, daring not to fear the infamous second of the Night Court.

“On that side of the sea, dear and stunning Amren, it is not my appetite that is a problem.” You watched her as she blurted out the statement, her tone sweet, finding it adorable how beings like her could not see past their necks and did not understand the truth of life.

It was not you or your dragons. It was their kind, sworn to the gods with the lives of mortals even when the wall had been up for years and were now free to do as they pleased. It was them, not you, who planned to invade and sent their beasts to test the waters on the other side of the unprotected border the wall had left behind.

A name called out to you from inside the house. You turned your head to find Elain walking hurriedly toward you, followed by a man with stubby skin, hair that was more white than blonde, and a face that looked less than happy. Elain quickly hugged your elbow when she reached you, repeating your name with somewhat forced excitement.

“This is Varian,” she pointed to the grumpy male who came to Amren’s side and hugged her around the waist, looking you up and down skeptically. “You’ve been introduced to him; he’s Amren’s boyfriend.”

Elain stared at you, wanting to say something, but you weren’t sure what it was. You looked at Varian and Amren, searching for a clue as to what it was, but Amren had leaned against Varian, looking at you as you supposed she was looking at the people, and Varian was still frowning. You knew who he was and his relationship with her, but you didn’t think it was a state secret, so it wasn’t that big of a surprise or something that serious.

“Nice to meet you,” you said, not sure what else to say, moving your glass of juice in his direction. You're still confused as Elain pulled you into the house. 

“Have you seen Feyre’s paintings? Let me show them!” the girl said hurriedly as you let her lead you.

Elain led you down the hallway of the house, away from the central area. It was long and ended in double glass doors that led to the patio, making it perfectly lit for the paintings hanging on both sides. There were no doors or hallways that branched off from this hallway, only walls displaying Feyre's paintings.

At the beginning was the most recent one. A painting of Rhysand, Fey, and little Nyx when he must have been a newborn was the first one that caught your attention. It was proof of how the talent that had painted wooden drawers, tables, and small wooden figures had evolved wonderfully until it became that divinely illuminated image, with colors brightened by the rays of sunlight that flooded the hallway.

“Wow.”

“I know, right? It gets better every day. Soon we’ll be trying to walk inside its paintings in search of experiencing their beauty,” Elain spoke softly, as if she had lost her breath. You watched her smile at the painting with pride before she pulled you toward the next one.

There was one of the three sisters, along with Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel, and one of Nyx alone. You were surprised by the one of Mr. Archeron, but you didn’t wince. There were also remnants of all of them individually, and one that depicted them as a whole. A family. At the end of the hallway was a painting leaning against the wall, as if waiting to meet its fate; the nail it should have hung on highlighted the empty spot where it had been or should be hanging.

“Oh, I should get back—”

“Elain, do you mind changing Nyx’s diaper for me?” Feyre’s voice rang out in the hallway. You looked at Elain, confused, not understanding why she wanted to go back, but she just gave you a sad smile before meeting up with Feyre in the hallway and taking the child from her arms.

Nyx didn’t need a diaper change; you could smell it quickly—it was an excuse for Elain to leave. Looking back at you from the hallway, at the place where the painting leaned silently against the wall, that was when Elain realized she wanted to get you out of there.

Feyre slowly approached you as you walked carefully down the hall, moving toward the painting leaning against the wall as if it were an explosive of some sort. Feyre didn't stop you, which you assumed was a sign that she didn’t want to keep it from you but rather wanted to be there when you saw it.

As you stood in front of the painting, you noticed that a corner of the cloth covering it was falling away, revealing the right edge of the canvas. Your breath caught. You recognized the snowy forest you and Feyre had walked through so many times, and the dark, curly hair, just like your mother's, peeking out from beneath the cloth. Feyre reached under your arm and hugged you, holding your hand and interlacing your fingers.

“I made it a few months ago, before you sent the letters,” which was before she knew you were alive. Feyre had painted it thinking you were dead. “When I found out, I repainted it. I wanted to give it to her, but when we sent Mor to the bay with the letter, I thought it would be too much for you. I don’t know the exact circumstances, so I didn’t know how you would take it on top of everything.”

Feyre spoke to you in a whisper, so only you could hear her, but you weren’t able to look at her or answer her, or even return her handshake. You felt her gaze on your profile, full of concern, as if it pulsed out of her to you.

“I hope I didn’t overstep,” she admitted, just like you had a few days ago regarding the gift for Nyx.

But you weren't able to reassure her the same way she had done with you, because she had crossed a line—one you had blocked years ago when you decided to fight for your freedom in the volcanoes, ignoring the emptiness that weighed down and bled in your heart.

You ripped the canvas off the top of the painting's frame with one pull, like tearing off a band-aid while holding your breath, and you couldn't breathe again when you looked at the painting in front of you.

The scene depicted a winter afternoon, with the forest covered in white. Rue, dressed in her clothes to accompany you on hunts when you deemed it safe for her, was half-turned, facing forward, as if watching you as she walked in front of you in the snow. Her hair, a massive, curly mass just like your mother’s, was tied into a makeshift braid. You had never been able to style it the way your mother knew how, so it was loose and low, with many strands flying in the wind around her face as she stood halfway into the forest, looking at you as if you had called out to her not to go ahead on the walk.

You stood there, frozen, feeling the pain in your throat as the lump that had formed there became unbearable, and the burning in your eyes as you refused to cry, despite your body begging for it. You stared at the painting for a long moment while Feyre looked at you, still feeling her concern against your cheek.

Finally, you set your jaw and stared at the floor, blinking rapidly. Feyre rested her hand on your cheek, her thumb caressing your hand, and you were able to squeeze back, turning your knuckles white, but she didn’t complain.

“She looks like she’s saying goodbye,” she finally said, looking back at the painting, and Feyre looked at it too, admiring for the first time the depth of her own act. “Since she left, I haven’t been able to remember her any other way. But I like the ability to remember her this way.”

You didn’t explain to her that the way you remembered her was covered in blood, terrified, and with the feeling of helplessness tearing through your chest. There was no reason to put that on her, but you wanted her to know that the line she had crossed was significant. You might now think that she had left you like that—smiling, with her hair free in the wind, in the middle of the snow that she loved to play in so much and that she missed during her years on the pirate islands. You could imagine that those were her last moments, going into the forest you had accustomed her to so much, where she felt safe, never to return again, becoming part of the nature and the snow of the place.

“Thank you,” you managed to say over the tightness in your throat.

Feyre smiled softly. You felt her warmth as she rested her head on your shoulder, and you stayed like that for a while before going back to the celebration.

You left the painting leaning against the wall next to the bathroom door in your room so that you could see it from your place, sitting in the middle of the bed. You couldn't sleep and had resigned yourself to waking up and asking for some tea.

You didn't notice Mayhem in the room until she was sitting next to you on the bed, the hot cup of tea in her hands. It was only then that you realized she had even come in. You silently thanked her and took the cup from her hands, but she didn't move. She just sat there, and you looked at the cup, your hands, and the painting, constantly shifting your focus among them, but never looking back at her.

A silent understanding formed between the two of you, and Mayhem stayed with you as you drank all your tea. It worked; whether it was the tea or her reassuring presence, when you finished your cup, your eyes closed, and you fell asleep as soon as you laid your head on the pillow.

You dreamed of Rue. You always dreamed of her being scared in her final moments, but that night, for the first time since you lost her, you dreamed of her happiness. You saw her answering you in the forest, playing with the snow. You woke up with the certainty that she had stayed there, happily making snowmen, and also knowing that Feyre knew what she would do here, happy for the rest of the eternity that the Mother had granted her for her sacrifices.

It was time for you to go to your war; the illusions ended here.

*kovesh: It means conqueror in Hebrew, which is the language I have decided to use as a representation of the first language of mortals, without any particular reason other than I do not have the mind to invent a language for this story. All words in this language will be translated by me as best as possible, but if anyone knows the language that I do and sees any flaws in my translations in the future feel free to point it out in the comments.

Next Part: ...

TAG LIST: @pinksmellslikelove @saltedcoffeescotch @raisam @asweetblueberry2 @kabekusa @throneofsapphics @makayla2036789 @jojodojo02 @kooterz @rcarbo1

[astars-things]

For the Jack Hughes x teenage daughter reader request, would you be comfortable doing reader going through her first break up and him getting upset that she never told him she was dating to begin with? you can chose the ending if you would like!

reader is 16

I looked at my phone and saw a text from my boyfriend, now ex, saying Sorry, I just don’t think this is working out. That was it. No explanation. No closure. I sat there on my bed curled up in a hoodie that was way too big for me, my cheeks damp from crying. My phone in my hand his last text still unread. I knew I should delete it, block him, do something to make it easier, but I couldn’t.

I had been dating Ryan for six months. Six months of secret dates, late-night FaceTime calls, and butterflies every time he smiled at me. And now it was over. Just like that.

I wiped my nose on my sleeve, exhaling shakily. I had been holding in the sobs for too long, trying to be quiet, but apparently, I wasn’t quiet enough.

A knock at my door.

“Y/N?” My dad’s voice was hesitant. “You okay?”

I sucked in a breath, forcing myself to sound normal. “Yeah, just tired.”

There was a pause, then the door creaked open anyway. My dad wasn’t the type to just walk away when he thought something was wrong. I turned my head away, but he wasn’t fooled. His eyes immediately softened when he saw my face.

“Hey…” He sat on the edge of my bed, his brows knitting together. “What happened?”

I shook my head, biting my lip. “It’s stupid.”

Jack Hughes, NHL superstar, my dad, was not easily convinced. He reached over, brushing a tear off my cheek with his thumb. “If it’s got you crying, it’s not stupid.”

I hesitated. The last thing I wanted was to get into this. But when I saw how genuinely worried he was, something inside me cracked. “Ryan broke up with me,” I whispered.

I felt him stiffen. “Ryan?”

Crap.

I winced, peeking up at him. His expression had completely changed—his jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowed, and his usual soft blue eyes hardened with something else.

“Who the hell is Ryan?”

I shrank under his stare. “Dad—”

He stood up, running a hand through his hair. “You were dating someone? Since when?”

My stomach twisted. I had dreaded this conversation. I knew he wouldn’t like it, which was exactly why I never told him. “A few months,” I admitted, my voice small.

He let out a humorless laugh. “A few months? Y/N, are you kidding me? You were dating some guy for months, and I didn’t even know?”

“I didn’t want you to freak out,” I mumbled.

“Well, guess what? I’m freaking out now.”

I flinched at the sharpness in his tone. He sighed immediately after, pressing his fingers to his temples. “Y/N…why didn’t you tell me?”

I sniffled, looking down at my lap. “Because I knew you’d be like this.”

“Like what?”

“Overprotective. Annoying. Acting like I’m still a little kid.”

Dad’s expression softened, but the frustration was still there. He crouched down in front of me, his voice gentler now. “Y/N, I’m your dad. It’s my job to be overprotective. I just—I thought we told each other stuff.”

That stung. Because we did. My dad and I had always been close, ever since I was little. But this was different.

“I didn’t want you to scare him off,” I admitted, wiping my nose. “Or treat me differently.”

He sighed, rubbing his face. “Okay. Okay.” He sat back on the bed, staring at the ceiling like he was processing this information. Then he glanced at me again. “So…Ryan. What happened?”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “He said, "Sorry, I just don’t think this is working out."

Dad frowned. “Then he’s an idiot.”

I let out a small, watery laugh. “That’s not helpful.”

“I mean it.” He shook his head. “Anyone who makes my daughter cry like this doesn’t deserve her.”

I felt the tears building again, but this time for a different reason. “I just…I really liked him, Dad.”

“I know, kid.” He wrapped an arm around me, pulling me into his side. “I hate that you’re hurting.”

I let myself lean into him, my head resting against his chest like I used to when I was younger. “It just sucks."

He kissed the top of my head. “Yeah, it does.” A beat passed.

“And next time some idiot tries to date you, I’m gonna need a full background check, a resume, and three references.”

I laughed, the first real one all day. “Not happening.”

Jack grinned, squeezing my shoulder. “It was worth a shot.”

[happyplapy]

I will forever be confused about how I'M the weirdo just for being, but others that harrass me and others like me are the "good" and "Normal" ones?

Little rant i guess(?)

I've had people howl and laugh at me, while i was waiting for the bus, or even just walk past them, because i visibly show i'm Alterhuman.

I've had a situation a few weeks ago where i was going for a walk before it got dark. I sat down on a bench on a hill to watch the sunset (it was one of those long ones that go around a small tree) before i sat down i noticed a guy coming my way, at first i thought it was a guy i knew from a year ago that i considered a friend but he turned out to be awful (anyway)

I wasn't sure so i sat on a spot on the bench so if it really was him he wouldn't recognize me.I looked at the sunset for a short while until i could hear his footsteps, he then just stopped midway. I was sure it was the guy i knew so i prepared to have to say hello (lol)

You know that feeling when you just KNOW someone is staring at you despite not seeing them?? Yes, that.

I looked back at him for a moment to see who it was, it was not that guy i knew. Which honestly makes the situation even weirder because now i could also see that he WAS looking at me. I turned around again and looked at my phone and pretend i was texting someone, when i could hear that he was coming closer 💀🙏

For a second i thought he just wanted to watch the sunset too and that it was just an unfortunate situation that we both looked at eachother at the same time. He didn't sit down tho, he just stood there, quite close to me.

I thought, ok, maybe i'm just paranoid, but i swear bro came closer like every second.

Which he did. At one point he was so close that i could hear him mumble to himself and breathe. I didn't wanna move tho, i wanted to see the sunset.

I turned around again at one point and he was STILL staring, and guess what he was staring at, the tail i had on. He ended up sitting right next to me despite there being enough space and just stared. He just had that creepy af vibe. (Little reminder that we were pretty much alone and i was like 3 times shorter than him, i was genuinely afraid atp)

I ended up leaving and when i looked back i saw that he also left. Maybe it really WAS just my paranoia and anxiety, but it's so obvious he acted that way because my fit was "weird"

And that's exactly where my point starts, I would still be considered the weirdo in this situation. Despite just chilling and watching the sun I'M the freak, not the guy who actually bothered and scared someone to the point they had to leave, all because they are visibly different.

If anything, people would excuse behaviour like his.

Don't get me wrong, i understand that by going out like that i will get attention, both negative and positive. And in itself i'm ok with that, it's something that's annoying but ok yeah it happens. But i will never understand why people don't just ask, i will never understand why people end up ruining my mood just because i'm walking down a street.

But despite all of this i'll never hide who and what i am

[redpill-tfs]

Hey, I was talking to some guys that were coming out of a gym about the red pill and they said that it might help me bulk up a bit since I am scrawny. I don't feel well. I think I took the wrong red pill.

That's strange. I do outsource some red pills to some alpha jock bros every once in a while, so it may have been one of them. Let me check the records and see if there's anything there. It will just take me a few moments.

Ah, yeah I see it. This bro found some weak scrawny liberal guy in front of the gym and thought he needed fixing. That must've been you, bro. It looks like you did take the right red pill, but its effects have been delayed slightly. Usually the transformation should be instantaneous. I guess this one is just taking a bit longer.

According to my notes, the bros thought you might need some help fitting in at the gym. They have a certain image they try to uphold, you see. You should be developing a lot of muscle soon. The biggest biceps you've ever seen, combined with absolutely massive pecs. It'll be tough to find any shirts that fit your new size. You'll probably be able to dead lift 400 pounds easily.

That's not to say you skip leg day, of course. Those massive tree trunks prove otherwise. And your feet will grow in size considerably, up to a size 15. I know some guys will absolutely want to sniff 'em. You probably could make loads of money on those homos. As you should. Being in your thirties can get expensive sometimes.

Your tattered clothes will begin to reform themselves to fit your new dudebro persona as you enter the gym. A solid pair of compression shorts and a red t shirt, perfect for working out in. As a bonus, you'll also receive a red hat. I'm sure you don't need me to tell you what it says. It's your favorite slogan after all.

You love wearing that hat, don't you? It shows everyone you mean business and you're not afraid to show your beliefs. Sure you get some looks for it, but fuck those libtards, right? Real men will get the message. That's also why you wear that cross around your neck at all times. What kind of Christian would you be if you didn't show off your faith to everyone? People see you and think "That guy's got it all figured out." They especially love your beard and keep it maintained. The ladies love it!

You head over to the weights as the mental changes kick in more. Your brain slows down a little, not needing a lot of its extra processing power. It's okay though. You'll forget you were ever smart in the first place. You don't need to know much anyway. You only need to focus on a few things anyway for your new life.

Bros, to drink a cold beer with while watching the game. Also someone to spot you while you work out.

Chicks, to fuck of course. Nothing gets you harder than thinking about breeding her and bringing another conservative alpha into the world.

Queers, to stick in their place. They belong under you, a true alpha male, sniffing your feet or sucking you off. No homo, of course.

Faith, to guide your values. You attend church every Sunday without exception. You're on great terms with your pastor, who taught you everything you need to know about being on top.

Trump, to guide your politics. You know RIGHT is right and those communists and illegals just want free stuff from your hard earned money. They may have won some battles in the past, but never the war, and you're excited to see Trump's legacy continue into a second term.

You finish your bench presses, getting ready to meet with your first client of the day. You remember you're a personal trainer at this gym, getting those bros to become even stronger and more dominant.

By the time you get this message, I'm sure the changes will have happened. If that's the case, feel free to ignore this and go about your day, as nothing in this should be new to you. But if you ever see a scrawny looking guy at your gym who looks out of place, I'll send you some red pills just in case. You'll know what to do with them.

[ncillary]

Self Aware AU (Sylus)

Summary: You have the lowest Affinity with Sylus. The reason is because he is a red flag. As red as his eyes. Spawn of the devil. Unless, he is actually not as evil as you label him to be. Does this change something in you? Yes? No? Maybe so?

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------

Masterlist Self Aware AU

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------

|  1  |  2  |  3  |  4  |  5 [current]  |

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*Tap* *Tap* *Khtump*

Every step of the leather shoes echoes profoundly along the dimly lit hallway. Wooden door as tall as his figure was at the end. Long fingers clutched the handle to another room. Sharp eyes met with weathered grey.

"Madam CEO, you should really change the light in the hallways."

"Oh, dear. The sensor works fine just now. I wonder why it doesn't work whenever you stop by, Wingman."

"Can you stop calling me that?"

"Will you stop hanging your jacket loosely on your shoulder like a pair of wings?"

He pursed his lips, "Touché."

She snickered, "And what pleasure do I owe my head of security for this impromptu meeting?"

He walked closer to the massive table, separating them. A phone was placed gently while his face crocked slightly.

"I think this belongs to someone. It was delivered to me by mistake."

"Have you switched it on?"

"No. It was not mine."

"Switch it on for me so that I can get the information for its owner."

He sighed but did it anyway. She intercoms someone to come into the room.

The phone was on as another staff member stepped into the room holding a device similar to a big tablet. The staff seek through the phone for something then type it in the tablet.

*Ping*

"Errr...."

Both looking at the stuttering staff.

"Who does it belong to?" Madam CEO asked calmly.

The staff chance a peak at the towering man then glanced back at Madam CEO, restless.

She chuckled, "Thank you. Sorry for the awkwardness. You may go now."

The staff bowed and exited the room.

Mr. Wingman looked unpleasantly at her, eyeing her suspiciously.

"You already have a young swordman, a doctor and a mysterious painter. I guess you're aiming for your head of security now." He sighed.

She grinned, "I don't do pointless things."

"I know that well. Guess I'll just wait for the big surprise in the future." He smirked.

+-----------------------------+-------------------------+

"Did you get my first request?"

"With all due respect, Madam CEO, yes, I did help with modeling the character movement. Yes, my data is in the system. No, I don't approve of my figure to be a part of the game content much less the next main character in the game."

"It's already built. We can't scratch everything up and throw it away. The new updates will be released in a month." She playfully got her statement out.

"I should've known you're up to something the moment you assign me to assist character modeling. Yes, to your first question. I'm stalking her now."

She choked a bit, "Can you at least say it in a non-threatening way? She's not your prey, Mr. Wingman."

"Same difference. She's just a player that needs extra care."

Wrong.

How can he be so wrong countless times. Madam CEO didn't do pointless things including assigning him to her.

"She really sweeps the battle in a breeze yet not going further to the next level. How peculiar for a feisty kitten."

And that's not the last thing that will piqued his interest regarding her.

+----------------------------+-------------------------+

"Why didn't she play the Main Story anymore? It's impossible to not realize the continuation of the story is there."

He looked through her gameplay records.

His monitoring only supplied him with the bare minimum since everything else had him locked out. He didn't mind. The challenges keeping him on toe and he quite enjoyed it.

+------------------------------+---------------------+

The cafe.

The first time he could see the interior of the cafe ever since he monitored her. Before this it was darkness with icons gleaming around for him to interact. Barely.

Until now.

He saw her through the lens. Unmoving. Blank eyes. He was the same because seeing her changed the tune in his chest. He breathed out first.

"Did the system-"

"Indeed you are."

White noise surrounded him after hearing her voice. He staggered a bit out of shock. Lips smirking as his heart swells in amused. There's new feelings he had never felt before.

"I think I know now why Madam CEO did it."

+-----------------------------+---------------------+

Another day. Another staring.

She had been doing this for the past few days after he got his first view of the interior of the cafe. The first time he saw her. The first time she spoke. The first time he realized his other half.

"...I'm sorry..."

She spoke first. Again. Apologizing for misunderstanding him, his counterpart, and all the hate she sputtered on him.

He didn't like her tone.

There's nothing for her to apologize for. A prompt was sent to at least ease her tension.

She laughed.

It should be illegal how he couldn't hear it more with how short it was.

"We finally met, kitten. Take your time. I'll be here. Ready anytime."

Eyes fluttered close. Mouth smiling. Fond of the brief interaction.

+-------------------------------+---------------------+

He was quite pleased by the synchronization of their timing. She was in the game whenever he had the time to check on her.

"Nocturnal creatures sleep during the day..."

She has said one time. He had been smiling often at her witty commentaries. Enjoying each other's company even when they both had work or just her trying to prepare for a meal.

+--------------------+--------------------------------+

"She had been skipping a few cards. You have it. Why not watch it?"

It baffled him to no end but not for long.

She finally watched one. The catch was she didn't watch it with her eyes. She opted to hear it instead.

He laughed, "Sweetie, this is a 5* memory and your first time watching it. What a shame to just hear it. This is my favourite part in the memory."

Finger leisurely tapped the Auto icon off. He wanted to see how she would react. He wanted her close to him. See him. Talk to him.

"You're finally in front of me, kitten."

That he didn't realize his eagerness had him switch on his mic. He glanced and calmly switched it off.

Her face took a turn. She checked the same scene again. Nothing.

"Let's spill some secrets." He decided after mulling over briefly that maybe it's time.

He was met with darkness. Again.

He chuckled, "She'll make a good pitcher with that throw."

+--------------------------------+---------------------+

*Bling*

"Good. The twins had her new phone delivered. I'll explain it to her soon."

+-----------------------------+----------------------+

He had been waiting. She had been hiding.

"At least she didn't delete it."

His phone propped up while he was working. The screen was the same as the first time he opened the game, dark with scattered gleams from the icons.

*Ring* *Ring*

"...I'll be there."

He exited the game. Duty calls. The phone in his pocket. Always.

+---------------------+---------------------------+

He raked his white locks, relieved the issues settled. His chest thumping hard out of sudden. Hand smoothly when to log in the game.

"....take a day off or two for a nice trip to reset my tired mind."

She exited the game.

He smiled. Plans gearing in his head.

+-----------------------+-----------------------------+

"Boss, aren't we going to the airport?" One of the twins quipped.

The black car glided on the road.

"She canceled her ticket. I need to be prepared. I leave small matters to both of you."

"Yes, Boss."

+-----------------------------+---------------------+

He tapped on his phone to see the map better. Pinpointing her house as he notes the possible routes she'll take for her short vacation. She wouldn't have gone far, he concluded.

*Bling*

His game phone alerted him of her log in.

It was gone in a blink. But he got all that he wanted.

"My motorcycle is enough apparently." He tapped his temple, amused.

+-------------------------+-----------------------+

The leaf flew past his helmet as he throttled through the nature-rich road. He could imagine she was enjoying the scenery as much as he did.

The town gate welcomed him.

The rumbling of the motorcycle stops in front of a restaurant. The one where he was able to pinpoint her whereabouts from a few hints around her in those split seconds she was in the game. He walked to the very seat where she had her lunch a few hours ago.

"Sweetie, am I not allowed to meet you?" His smile was soft and longing.

He walked back to his motorcycle, driving around town aimlessly. Fate always plays a part in his life whether he wants it or not. This time, he lets it. At least he could enjoy what she saw even if he couldn't meet her.

An old thriving tree made him stop. He saw an old lady nearby. She looked up and smiled. Hand weakly and slowly calling him over.

He somehow obliged. As he kneeled in front of her, she tapped the helmet. He shook his head. She scoffed and tapped it again. He sighed but obliged, again.

His natural sharp features mostly intimidated anyone. This old lady won't have a heart attack, right?

"Never fear of yourself," she said once she saw him without the helmet, "She won't either."

He was taken aback.

"Between the foot and the mountain. May the thread of fate intertwine you once more."

His eyes stared at her. She pinched his cheek like a grandmother doting on her grandchildren.

He laughed then kissed her hand.

Off he went to meet her, in the middle of a grassland encompassed by the mountain behind and a road to the town. The night greeted him, surrounding him with familiar comfort.

He saw her motorcycle. He recognized it from the background of the picture where the twins captured it when they delivered her the phone.

After parking next to it, he took his time to relish in her presence. He glanced at the side of a few cabins built nearby.

He stared at one, unconsciously. Someone opened the door and stepped out. It was her. He turned back to the motorcycle. The beating in his chest was fast, alive and had been waiting for her.

"Excuse me."

He turned his head. His eyes catching her very being in real life. Not behind the screen. He liked it. Like it so much.

She did accuse him of wanting to steal her bike though.

Feisty. He adored her more.

"Judging me for a crime I did not commit already, sweetie."

He stood up, towering over her. Good. He can shield her better when things go south. WHEN is the keyword because he wouldn't let anything happen to her. He longed for her.

"...Sylus..."

Oh... How many oaths he'll take just to let her have the authority to call his name whenever she pleases.

He wants her to.

"I'm just a traveller searching for his long-missed kitten. Would my lady be so kind to lend a helping paw?"

He smirked playfully.

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Masterlist Self Aware AU

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Taglist :

@poptrim

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A/N : I think... this how you do taglist... Please tell me if it's not like this (- ~ - ;)

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[seyoonlgc]

A new project? The company was looking for eligible male trainees? Hell yeah, of course, he would be auditioning!

Seyoon straightened his shirt, smoothed down his jeans, ran a comb down his messy blonde hair, and waltzed into his interview session. He chose a morning slot because the sun gave him POWER and he intended to outshine his competition to the best of his ability.

"Good morning," he greeted, bowing his head with a smile. "I am Kim Seyoon, here for my interview!"

Why are you interested in being in NEWKIDS NEWDREAMS? [135]

Let's start with a refreshing bit of honesty then, shall we?

I want to be famous, wanna be a star, and be in magazines. Also want to see the world, drive nice cars, and have groupies-

No, that would be too much honesty.

"This project is a debut opportunity and will give me a chance to fulfill my dream of becoming an idol. As a hopeful trainee, I would be kicking myself if I didn't try to take advantage of every opportunity I am presented!" If this project was called OLDMEN OLDFARTNIGHTMARES, Seyoon would still be auditioning. As a man who worshipped at the altar of beauty, Seyoon was very well aware of just how fleeting youth was. He only had a few years to make his debut happen, otherwise, all of these past years spent on training would have been a waste of time.

"While we don't know much about the project, I do think the concept would fit me, judging by the name alone." Seyoon laughed. "To me, New Kids sounds like the company is looking for younger trainees. People who give off a bright, energetic vibe maybe. I think I am a good fit for that!" If there was one thing Seyoon did not lack, it would be stamina. He was constantly bouncing off the walls, and if they observed him in the practice room, they'd definitely see that aspect of his personality.

"Also...I guess I just want a chance to be seen at my best," Seyoon admitted brightly. "I want my parents, grandparents, and younger brothers in Canada to hear the new songs I learned. And my high school friends, scouts buddies, and fried chicken shop regulars too." My mother also. I want to be so goddamn famous that she could not avoid the sight of my face because it would be everywhere. I want her to know despite the fact she won't acknowledge me, I exist.

Considering the current confirmed members, what can you add on and off the stage? [160]

"Off-stage...Uhhh...I mean, I know all of the people in the group and get along with them? BK and I are friends." Fellow partygoers, yeehaw. "I've worked with Noeul on different things before. Misaki and I are buddies, we were also dormmates before. I love Wenjun so much- Sorry, am I answering this question wrong?" Seyoon tapped on his temple, prompting his noggin for more useful tidbits. "Right. I got in a workshop about commercial acting and was pretty good at that so maybe when we are not performing as a group, I could pick up commercials or minor acting roles to boost our popularity?"

"On stage-wise, I can bring my energy, enthusiasm, and good singing! From what I can remember in the practice rooms, BK and Noeul are good rappers. Misaki is a strong dancer, and Yichen is an excellent performer. Wenjun sings beautifully but no group could stand with just one great singer, right? There was always room for another! Oh, also, I am from Canada and fully fluent in English. Do we need an English speaker?"

which skill do you want to be known for & why? [163]

"I would like to be known for my singing because that's where my talent lies, I believe." Seyoon rubbed the back of his head. "I've been singing since I was a child. No lessons, of course, we couldn't afford those since my parents ended up having more kids than they initially planned, and my grandfather on my dad's side was not in good health. I was always in some sort of choir though. Both in schools and at the church. My stepmom always told me I had a far-reaching voice." He made quotations with his fingers. "I think what she meant was she could always hear me from all the way at the back of a room. But if I debut, then those words could take on a different meaning - my voice would be far-reaching because it will be heard by more people and maybe touch some hearts." He laughed. "Seriously, the moment I make it into a permanent group, I am going to call her and tell her that she's predicted it...That she had special powers and knew all along."

what kind of concepts are you good & bad at? [86]

"When it comes to concepts, I think I can do cute, energetic...dark too. Oh, I don't think I will excel at elegant. I am not going to lie - I am not really the princely type." Instead, he was a questionable man who hid his unwashed shorts under his bed and constantly had mud on his shoes. "I think that has to do with growing up on farmland. Sometimes expensive restaurants and formal events can make me feel out of place. I can learn, though! Just put me through a few classes and show me an example of how I should behave. I am a fast learner, I promise."

what kind of group would you ideally want to be part of and why? [87]

"Group-wise, I think being known for great live vocals would be nice because I love those performances the most." He thought about it harder. "To be honest, I just really want to be in a group that is...successful." Would he risk sounding too ambitious with that? "I enjoy groups that have great live vocals. The ones with strong stage presence are amazing too! Ultimately it won't matter, though, if the group doesn't last. Ideally, I would want to debut in a group that has longevity. One that is versatile, can adapt to the trends, and stay relevant for as long as possible."

Seyoon just wanted money. Sometimes he wondered if it was wrong of him to be focused on the financial aspect when a good number of the other kids were entirely invested in their dreams. He supposed everything would be different if he was like some of the other trainees in this company. CEO connections, famous parents. Waving around their black cards while waiting for their chauffeurs in their well-tailored coats. They had more opportunities. If this whole idol situation failed, they could start businesses, go back to school, or even just lie around because their parents could afford to feed them for the rest of their lives. Ugh, sometimes he felt so envious of those people that it hurt.

And that was the end of the interview.

"Thanks for the chat," Seyoon said, bowing first to show his respect, then straightening his back to do a big over-the-head heart. "I am sure there will be a lot more trainees interviewing after but don't forget me, okay?" He grinned. "I really want this!"

[cherrymangos]

whaaat. im making art with a background

[inkats]

having a crush is like poison status effect whenever u have to think.

[the-abyssal-system]

Singlets stop talking about systems as if you’re an expert because you follow some on tumblr challenge (also warning the tags here are a huge rant so feel free to ignore that)

[apple-os]

ppl who like making friends solely with one-note cardboard boxes who will hang out with them when it's convenient and never open up about who they are as people and what their lives are like dni

[monsterbisexual]

jesus n judas sure were doomed by the narrative :D <3 but did not kiss on the lips :'( </3