#head in hands. When you can only remember the slightly demeaning nickname you gave your infant nibling

[starsbugsbones]

[ * Me: I want memories!!! Brain: Best I can do is niephew ]

[ * My canon compliance is dead and gone. What do you mean I was an uncle??? ]

[ootori-sibs]

Shadow boy

Day six of @ohshc-week : childhood friends/lovers or first/last kiss

Mrs Ootori was known for her love of fashion, every time there was an event, she wore a new, custom made dress. It just so happened that there was a huge event soon, with people all over the world, the who's who of the global medical industry- and top scientists too. Her only duty was to hang off of her husband's arm and look pretty, but she always made it her mission to show him up. Because of this, she'd enlisted the help of Yuzuha Hitachiin to make her a stunning new gown.

Yuzuha knew her well, having made previous gowns for her- they weren't friends persay, Mrs Ootori was too stuck up for that, but Yuzuha liked to bring her son's with her whenever she came. Mrs Ootori had many sons, one of which was only a year older than her boys.

The twin sought out the shadow boy out, they did this every time, they wanted to know more about him- he was a mystery. Today they'd found their way into the library, not being able to read yet, they ignored the books in exchange for searching for their favourite mystery. They found him in the fiction section, fitting for such a mystery.

The shadow boy never liked the light much, he preferred the darkness and shade. His hair was as dark as the woman their mother helped, but his eyes weren't brown like hers, they were a shimmering silver- the twins had almost thought he was monochrome when they first found him. The boy smiled when he noticed them, standing and approaching them, stopping on the border of the shadows.

The twins smiled back, they were holding hands, but let go to run forward towards their friend, "shadow boy! Hello!" He'd never told them his name, he'd never actually spoken to him either, he was silent in his friendship. He didn't let them touch him either, so they gave him an air-hug.

He showed them a ladder, and led them up on top of the bookshelves, it was dark up here, and the twins and their shadow friend had to crawl, he wanted to show them something- he always wanted to show them something.

He led the twins through a vent, it was a large one, big enough for all of them… they were only three, and their shadow friend was four… it didn't take that big of a vent to hold them all. When they got out of the vent, they were in an office, make-up on one side table, paperwork on another. The desk was a vanity, the computer was new and shiny.

The twins looked around, their eyes already adjusted to the darkness, but Kaoru had brought a torch, making sure to avoid getting the shadow boy with it. They couldn't read, but by the images and make-up, the twins understood that this was Mrs Ootori's office. They wondered why the shadow boy would bring them here, what purpose did they have here?

But the shadow boy grabbed a stool, dragging it over to a wall, reaching up and going to grab a book. He brought it down to show them, placing it on the floor. Kaoru carefully trained his torch on it, it was a book; a big, leather bound, storybook. Hikaru was the one who opened the book, "woah… this is awesome!"

Kaoru nodded, noticing how the shadow boy smiled, "yeah! Amazing! Do you want us to read the voices? Our maids do that for us." The boy's eyes lit up, and the twins both saw his hands ball up happily, he nodded at them, almost silently gasping- the loudest sound they'd heard from him.

The twins once again, couldn't read- it seemed the shadow boy hadn't realised yet. His surprised expression when the twins made up their own dialogue based on the images, making it much funnier then the stories actually were- at least in their opinion; they'd given the villain a horrible voice, made the princess sound like an old man, and their worst offence of all; they gave the prince charming the squeakiest voice they could muster.

This upset the shadow boy.

He'd stood up, turning and hammering on the door until a maid unlocked it for him, the maid asked him how he got in there, since the door was locked. This surprised the twins- other people could see their shadow friend? This was news to them, they didn't think he could be seen. But he didn't seem to see her, running past, completely ignoring the light he was so usually avoidant of.

The twins gave chase, they'd never see their shadow friend so upset- they've seen him cry, sure, but never run straight into the light, he hated the light. So they ran, calling out for their shadow friend to stop, trying to ask what's wrong. After a few seconds, and corridors, later, the twins realise that their friend is headed towards the room where their mother and Mrs Ootori were- and Mrs Ootori was famed for her temper, so they were scared what would happen.

He burst into the room, clearly more terrified than sad by how bright the room was, running to the side of Mrs Ootori and clinging to her, sobbing into her gown. The twins entered soon after, pausing at this sight. All eyes were now on them; their mother looked alarmed, and Mrs Ootori looked furious. "What did you do to my baby?"

She had asked them a simple question, commanding and demeaning- but the twins weren't listening, they didn't care about her dumb status. "That's not your baby, that's our shadow friend!" They huffed in unison, Hikaru hopping up to turn the light off as Kaoru switched the torch on.

Both adults were surprised by both the words and the actions of the twins, Mrs Ootori was even more angered by this. She stomped forward, knocking the shadow boy to the floor- who quickly got up and hid under a table, hands over his head. Mrs Ootori, she must have been around six foot, she towered over the boys, glaring, "how dare you! My son is no one's shadow!" The twins were shaking now, having never been yelled at like this by an adult before, the woman continued; "have you been bullying him?? Why is he crying?"

"Leave my sons alone!" Their mother snapped at her, "they haven't done anything to deserve getting screamed at, they're kids for heaven's sake!" The twins mother was an angel, she stood up to the demon woman, standing and glaring.

The demon scoffed, "oh no wonder they're such brats if you never yell at them! I yell at my sons all the time and they all turn out perfectly." The twins both bristle at the idea of this monster yelling at their poor sweet shadow friend, this demon was terrifying.

They'd blocked that day out of their memory.

Losing their first friend, being yelled at for the first time, their mother had gotten so frustrated she'd punched her mannequin… they didn't want to remember it; so they didn't.

Years later, they had friends, real friends- nothing like the ghost of that old mansion. They had Honey-senpai and Mori-senpai, who sat in the corner making tea and coffee. They had Haruhi, who was watching everything with a tired but lovable expression. They had Tamaki… who was being an idiot, he was floundering around, crying about something or other Haruhi had said.

"My darling daughter hates me! Oh woe is I!"

The twins snickered at that, rolling their eyes. Tamaki must have noticed that, because he gasped, looking at them, "how dare you mock my misery! What's so funny about a daughter hating her father?"

Hikaru raised an eyebrow at that, "oh come on boss…" he and Kaoru shared a glance, before looking back at Tamaki, putting on the fake whining voice used to mock stupid people; "ooh~ my darling daughter hates me! Oh woe- oh woe is I~!"

There was a scoff from behind them, from a table not far back, Kyoya was rolling his eyes, "what is it with you two and giving princes squeaky voices?" He had chuckled to himself, but the question had made the twins freeze… Kyoya was right, they did use that voice for all princes, and had since they were little. But there was no way for Kyoya to know that, only the twins' family had heard them read stories, family and- oh. Oh.

"Wh!" The twins span around at lightning speed, looking at Kyoya with wide eyes, "You were the shadow boy??"

This got the other hosts' attention fast, though Kyoya just raised an eyebrow, "you weren't aware? I did wonder why you started out just as distant to me as you were with Tamaki," he chuckled lightly, actually smiling slightly, "I know you were four but please; a year older than you, we were always at my house, your mother did the gowns for mine- what other conclusion could you have come to?"

The twins… felt a little stupid at that, but Hikaru admitted to their belief, "we honestly thought you were a ghost, hence the whole 'shadow boy' thing…"

"A ghost?" Kyoya seemed to find the whole thing amusing, and the twins noticed how the light reflected off of his her black hair, how the light made his eyes shine behind his glasses… why had he used to hate it so? "I suppose your little nickname fits now, what with people referring to me as the 'shadow king', seems I've gotten a promotion." He had paused, and the twins glanced around to see the confusion in the other hosts' faces, but they didn't matter right now, not in the face of their shadow friend. "Why did you believe me to be a spirit?"

"Oh that's easy!" Kaoru smiled, beginning to list of all the reason their shadow friend was different; "you always hid in dark spaces, never came out to play anywhere bright, we never saw you anywhere but the mansion, you were never there when we arrived, we always had to go searching for you, you always had something to show us, it was always a secret- plus you never once spoke to us dude, you didn't ever even introduce yourself the entire time."

Hikaru spoke up at that, looking thoughtful, "why did you never speak the whole time we knew you?"

Kyoya paused at that, "oh, well some people have- ...things, that they can't do properly, and sometimes those things are amplified by situations, but like a lot of things, they can be learnt from, and moved past," he stopped for a moment, before nodding to himself, "yes, I had quite a bit of trouble with speaking when I was younger, it's nothing to be ashamed of personally, but some people are ashamed of me nonetheless." Was that a joke..? That was a really sad joke, the twins didn't quite know how to take it.

They didn't have to respond though, as Honey hopped over towards them, "wow Kyo-chan! Do you have the same fear as Nekozawa-chan?"

Kyoya shook his head, "well I did when I was five, I grew out of it by the time I was around six or seven, I couldn't have been able to do all too well in school otherwise." He shrugs, going back to his book, "either way, you never answered my question about the voices, why do you insist on such dreadful voices for prince characters?"

The twins had to shrug at that, smiling, "we just think it's funny."

"Well I still don't, it's rather immature. But at least it isn't in a moment of vulnerability this time," and with that, the conversation was over, Kyoya clearly wasn't going to respond to further questioning, so everyone went back to how they were before.

But not Kaoru, Kaoru got closer to Kyoya's table, hands resting on it in fact, "out of curiosity, do you still have that book?"

Kyoya just nodded, "I've had it since I was a baby, it'd be a shame to throw it out now."

Kaoru nodded slowly, a mischievous smirk growing on his face, "and how would you feel if I read you the stories again, using proper voices this time?" He watched Kyoya pause, glancing up at him but clearly not wanting Kaoru to know he's looking, so Kaoru does something even more daring; he winks.

Kyoya chuckles lightly at that, "as long as we can have the lights off."

It was a funny feeling; Kyoya having been his first friend. The idea that this money grubbing mastermind was once his sweet shadow friend, the silent, always watching shadow king- he was once actually silent. He remembers first joining the club, looking at Kyoya and wondering why Tamaki hung out with such an asshole, before realising he and Hikaru were also assholes and that this must be, like, Tamaki's hobby or something. But about a month in Kaoru was wondering why Kyoya hung out with Tamaki, Kyoya was of a much higher calibre- and he knew it. Though it was clear he considered Tamaki to be superior, even though Tamaki's only real power was as club president- and family-wise too Kaoru supposed.

They were sitting in the dark now, Kaoru had a torch- it wasn't the same torch, that old thing was long gone- but it felt the same… yet somehow completely different. They were older now, they knew who they were a little more, Kyoya could speak now- he could audibly react to the things Kaoru was saying, he could laugh… Kaoru loved that laugh, he'd only ever heard Kyoya chuckle before, his laugh was wonderful; it was a full on villain laugh, but not a cackle, not anything malicious, just a genuine powerful laugh, the kind you'd see of a kid villain- but not the bratty kind. It was also different because Kaoru was here of his own accord, every time he'd visited the Ootori mansion before he'd been dragged there by someone else, this time he was he because he'd decided to be- and he was here without Hikaru.

Kaoru had just finished reading the third story in the book; Cinderella- but at some point, Kyoya had taken a pen, and changed all of Cinderella's pronouns to his own- he'd done that for every character that was his favourite in each story. The ending was always different if he wasn't the princess, his favourite always got a prince of their own- even when it wasn't the main prince. Kaoru found it amusing, if a little concerned, was it reflected of the chances he had with Kyoya? After all; they already had a prince character, and Kaoru wasn't charming at all.

He glanced to his side, Kyoya was completely relaxed, somehow having slid under the covers of the bed without Kaoru having noticed, he truly was a shadow wasn't he? "You're going to get cold like that, you should copy me." Oh, he wanted Kaoru to get into bed with him? Well Kaoru was never one to turn down an offer like that, especially if it was completely innocent- he loved a good cuddle.

Surprisingly enough, Kyoya had actually leaned into him halfway through the princess and the frog, mouthing the words along as Kaoru had said them, how sweet… But when Kaoru got to a line that read: 'but I'm only a small frog, who would ever kiss me?', he heard Kyoya mutter words verbally- but a little different to how it was written…

"...but I'm only a shadow, who would ever kiss me..?"

Kaoru paused, knowing he wasn't meant to hear that, but maybe he was meant to hear it… it sounded like fate. He did it without thinking; he tilted Kyoya's head up and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips, before muttering back, "you'll find your prince someday…"

He knew there was no chance of getting with Kyoya, it was safe to assume the shadow had his eyes on a prince already- Kaoru was nowhere near being a prince. But just one kiss, a stolen one at that- if that was all he got, he was happy with that, he didn't need anything special-

"...I don't think I even want a prince anymore…" Kyoya hadn't moved even an inch from the position Kaoru had put him in, but the moment Kaoru looked down at him, Kyoya got up onto his knees. He looked at Kaoru with something Kaoru had only ever seen in girls before, just before their hearts were shattered… "I want to be a shadow boy forever."

Oh. It was Kaoru's heart that felt something painful, but it was a good pain- like his heart had taken a sharp gasp of its own accord. He smiled softly, putting the book down- but not closing it, and turning his torch off, it was pitch black now. "You… are so much more than a shadow boy now, Kyoya- you're a shadow king, it's not some dumb title. It's your truth… and I love the truth."

It wasn't a love confession, Kaoru couldn't do those, and neither could Kyoya- they were simply both too closed off and quiet to express themselves without the aid of their respective extroverts assistance, though Kaoru realised Hikaru was definitely more of an ambivert at this point. It might not have been a confession of love, but it was a confession of something alright, and they kissed, more than just a quick stolen one- this kiss was real, this kiss was warm, and it tasted of coffee…

They broke the kiss after a while, sitting in pitch black as they sat in silence. Neither of them wanted to speak, so they didn't. Kaoru wanted to know the time, but he didn't want to check his phone, so he sat there, wondering. It was clearly dark, from the little he could see of the outside, from the windows downstairs, so he could be forgiven if he fell asleep here…

The book had been moved, and so had the torch, Kaoru hadn't even noticed. He now glanced down at Kyoya who was laying down, looking up at him, and the little light present reflected in his eyes- though Kaoru couldn't see much else of him at all. Instead of seeing, Kaoru felt, realising how Kyoya was allowing him to touch now, the shadow boy would have always been too scared to even high five, Kyoya let Kaoru rest a hand on his hip as he lay down- Kyoya had let Kaoru kiss him. Soon, they were laying down next to each other; facing each other, Kaoru noticed how Kyoya shuffled closer, bowing his head slightly but leaving it to Kaoru to close the gap, to cuddle him.

Kaoru was the smaller of the two, but Kyoya was the one resting his head near Kaoru's chest, though the shadow boy had always been soft- Kaoru couldn't blame him, or complain in the slightest. It was strange to be sleeping next to someone other than Hikaru, but it was nice- completely different though: with Hikaru they'd squabble over who had the most cover, over who got to sleep what side, they rarely cuddled- contrary to popular belief, plus they only really held hands when they could do it comfortably. But with Kyoya, Kaoru found himself making sure Kyoya had enough blanket, he found himself almost cradling the taller boy as if was prone to shatter at any moment, he even found himself humming one of the many disney songs he'd learnt the tube to through osmosis, he was fairly sure this was a love song- either way it was relaxing and sweet.

He remembered being shown this room, though there was a fortress here then, made of cardboard and plastic and paint, a safe haven that the shadow boy had loved to show to the twins, though he'd gotten visibly upset when Hikaru had tried to climb over the walls instead of using the door. Kaoru remembered this fondly, glancing down to realise that said shadow boy had fallen asleep in his arms. Kaoru then allowed himself to stop humming, yawning and nuzzling Kyoya's hair before settling his head down on the pillow, quickly drifting off to a funny thought that made him feel fuzzy inside:

It was a funny feeling; Kyoya having been his first friend and his first kiss.

[eryiss]

Summary: Freed and Gajeel were total opposites in every way, only connected by the guild. When they were forced to train together under Makarov's orders, they expected antagonism and mistrust. Instead, they were given a lesson in how quickly opposition can turn to attraction. The issue: let the budding relationship simmer away, or let it explode. [Freed x Gajeel Multi-chapter]

Notes: Hi everyone. Get ready for things to hot up, and for them to take a pretty big step. Just a warning, the first part of this chapter has a sex dream. It’s not overly graphic, but it’s there.

Links: FFN, Ao3, Chapter List

Chapter Six - Dream, Reality

Day Five: Friday

Freed had been reading, he thought, but he didn't care to remember. The situation was much more interesting.

He was lounging on one of the sofas in his study, a glass of port to his right, and his fireplace flickering before him. It was night, he thought, and there was the heavy pattering of a rainstorm on the roof. This would all be par for the course, if it weren't for the fact Gajeel Redfox was curled up on the sofa, his head resting in Freed's lap as if a cat curling up for warmth. Even more peculiar was how Freed found his hand carding through Gajeel's hair, and felt an odd sense of utter contentment in the entire situation.

Gajeel looked softer, now. His eyes were closed, but he wasn't asleep. Just relaxing. Freed had never thought of Gajeel as a man who could relax, as ridiculous as that sounded. Gajeel always seemed like he had some kind of a facade up - one where he was slightly exaggerating the toughness while downplaying the emotional side - and as such never could fully shut his mind off.

It warmed Freed to know Gajeel trusted him enough to be like this around him.

Why did he trust Freed enough to be like this around him?

Why was he lying with his head in Freed's lap?

When had they even gotten into his study?

Before the questions could really hit him, Freed realised Gajeel was talking. The words weren't exactly words, but more a deep grumbling, tired and hoarse, that sent a pleasant chill down Freed's spine. Though he couldn't decipher the words, Freed instinctively knew the meaning behind them. He was talking more about Draconic culture, retelling the stories and folklore that his father had gifted to him in his childhood. It was a private thing, something Gajeel would only let himself talk about with someone he truly cared for.

Freed's hand was still stroking through Gajeel's shockingly silky hair, scratching his scalp every once in a while to get Gajeel to grin. The other man was a darling when he was like this, and in an odd way it made Freed find his more manic, rough-edged side more enticing. Gajeel was a man who could use his fists to get out of most situations, but he was a hell of a lot more than that.

"What 'cha thinkin' about, pretty-boy?" Gajeel's words were clear now, and Freed smiled about the term of endearment.

He knew that nicknames were something important to Gajeel, Freed was beginning to understand that. While they could just seem like terms of endearments, or insults depending on the recipient, they were perhaps more than that. They were an encapsulation of who Gajeel thought you were, and while Freed suspected Gajeel thought more of him than his looks, the nickname still made him smile. The initial nickname of City-Boy had been meant to demean him, whereas the slip up of Pretty-Boy was more of a compliment.

The tides of their relationship were changing now, and Freed couldn't help but feel flattered and excited by that. Gajeel, now that he could think objectively about him, was a man who could hold a lot of potential for Freed. Every time he thought of Gajeel's history lesson about his culture, something inside Freed burned with anticipation.

Gajeel and him could be something interesting. Something new.

It didn't answer how they'd gotten into this situation.

Pushing himself up, Gajeel was now eye level with Freed. His intoxicatingly red eyes ensnared Freed, and the grin of delightfully sharp teeth held a promise of excitement. Gajeel leant forward, twisting so he was on all fours and trapping Freed in place on the sofa. He leant in so close that Freed could feel his breath on his lips.

"Let's take yer mind off things," Gajeel promised.

Gajeel all but pounced onto Freed, knocking him back. The world seemed to swirl and distort around them, and in the blink of an eye Freed had left his study and they were both in the forest clearing again. Freed was splayed out on his back, Gajeel pinning his hands above his head. Gajeel's clothes were gone now, as were Freed's, and the cold damp stone below him made him shiver with anticipation.

This was a dream, Freed realised. Hardly an innocent dream, though.

Leaning further down, Gajeel's teeth were biting and nibbling at Freed's neck, sucking and marking him without restraint. Freed groaned quietly, and Gajeel laughed a little in his ear. He began to pepper light kisses over Freed's jaw, landing the final kiss to the left of his lips.

"Yer mine, pretty-boy," Gajeel murmured, voice like seductive honey. "And you ain't getting away."

"I didn't intend on leaving," Freed heard himself saying, and he could see Gajeel's eyes sparkling. "But, let me correct you Gajeel. I am not yours. But you are mine."

Freed wrapped his legs tight around Gajeel's - the rubbing of their cocks together made them both moan - but then flipped them over. Gajeel was pushed onto his own back with Freed straddling his hips. It was a reflection of how they'd been when wrestling in the forest, but this felt different. Whereas their fight had been charged with anger and resentment, this was fuelled by lust. They were two men in the depths of passion, with the world extending only to one another.

Gajeel looked up at Freed with an expression he could only describe as horny, and Freed relished the sight. He leant down and began peppering light kisses on the man's muscular body, smirking with a little cruelty as he bit Gajeel's nipple and made him groan.

"Sensitive, aren't you?" He teased, and Gajeel glared.

"Fuckin bit me," Gajeel grunted. "I'll get ya back for that."

Freed grinned, and smirked at Gajeel when his kisses went lower and lower, down the centre of his rippling stomach muscles. Gajeel groaned again, running his hands over Freed's body. The rough calluses seemed to glide over Freed's near-unblemished stomach and chest, teasing and kneading at his muscles.

He suddenly pulled Freed down, and their strong bodies ran against one another. Freed smirked at Gajeel and began to bite at the man's skin again, loving the slight taste of metal that the man held.

"Fuck," Gajeel panted, and Freed smirked. "Yer right, I'm yours."

"As if it were in doubt," Freed chuckled, running his hand from Gajeel's chest to his abs to his dick.

He grabbed both of their members and started to stroke them, thrusting his body to rub against Gajeel's abs. Gajeel groaned and moaned, and Freed felt fire coursing through him as the sudden fury of an orgasm rocked him. Gajeel seemed to notice, and smirked up at him with a beautifully cocky look. He knew what was going to happen, and he knew he was to blame.

Fuck, it was going to happen. So close. So damn close-

Then he woke up.

He was in his bed, panting and sweating under the sheets. His head swam in confusion for a moment, and he blinked himself open. It was earlier in the morning than he normally would be awake in, and the sensation was confusing for a moment. That quickly gave way to a horrid flush of embarrassment at what his dream had been. There was something twisted about dreaming about a man he barely knew, and had spent the better part of a week quarreling, in such a depraved way. It was worse still given how Freed's subconscious had wanted to fuck in the same place they had hated one another.

Should he do something about it, though? Gajeel was undoubtedly a gorgeous man in every sense of the word. Freed could admit a broad chested man with piercings was a turn on, albeit a turn on that was new to Freed. But they were barely getting along as colleagues, let alone even friends.

No, he would just have to ignore this. A cold shower and a morning run would settle his mind and put his head on straight.

——

"Gods dammit," Gajeel grunted, and Freed winced a little as the other man pushed himself off from the ground. "You sure you ain't S-Class with shit like this?"

The two men were in Freed's expansive backyard, surrounded by a ring of fire. Their training exercise of the day had been to have them fight side-by-side against a common enemy. Rather than having another mage come and fight against them, Freed had decided to use another aspect of his simulation runes to create what he called a Mimic. It was a being made up of runes, meant to simulate an opponent. Freed had fueled it with the magic and techniques of their guildmates, and had instructed it to try and beat them in a fight.

More than anything, it was a distraction. After the dream - and Gajeel's slip of the tongue the night before, which had sent a wave of delighted warmth through Freed's heart - Freed needed to refocus his attention. They were here to train, that's all.

"How the hell d'ya have enough magic to have that thing so powerful while yer fighting like normal?" Gajeel asked, panting as he faced the mimic.

"I have an excess of magical energy this time of year," Freed explained, flicking away the few droplets of blood that were dripping down his arms onto his hands. "It's best to use it rather than allow it to linger."

Gajeel nodded, seemingly understanding why Freed had magic and why he shouldn't have any excess magic around him.

The mimic was walking towards them both slowly: a wireframe made of runes. It made a gesture with its hand and suddenly a torrent of Max's sand shot up, a whirlwind of a sandstorm. Freed quick-casted two walls of runes to protect them both, gritting his teeth slightly as his magic took a hammering of relentless sand. It was difficult to see through the miasma of sand, and Freed squinted slightly to see where the mimic was standing.

Suddenly, Gajeel was standing in front of him, body made of metal again. His arms crossed before him, Freed heard a sickly sounding clash of metal on metal. When Gajeel jumped back, Freed saw that a runic replica of one of Erza's swords had been flung towards him, cutting through the runes that had only been meant to protect them from the sand.

"Thanks," Freed panted. "How did you see it?"

"Heard it," Gajeel explained, closing his eyes and clearly focusing on his other senses. "He's to the left of us, I think. Using Juvia's magic."

The torrent of water slammed into them both before either man had time to react, and Freed grunted as he was pushed to the back of the circle of fire. Gajeel washed up beside him, as soaked to the bone as Freed was, coughing up magically made water. Freed was on his feet first, as Gajeel had taken the brunt of the attack. When he saw the mimic getting closer while Gajeel was recovering, Freed pulled out his sword and brandished it before him.

Borrowing transformation from either Elman or perhaps Pantherlilly, the runic man grew into an imposing figure of unnatural muscles. It lurched towards Freed with a monstrously large fist, aiming for Freed's head in a cruel punch.

For a moment, Freed could do nothing but parry the onslaught of blows. His sword swung quickly through the air, blocking every punch, kick and attempted bite from the runic creature. The speed of the blows were so fast and relentless that Freed didn't have the chance to land a counter attack, and he grit his teeth as he glanced over his shoulder and towards where Gajeel had been. He was no longer there, and Freed had to hope he was readying for an attack.

The next second, a metal fist slammed into the mimic's stomach, knocking it back a few feet.

"You okay?" Freed asked when Gajeel stood beside him again.

"Just winded," Gajeel explained, iron creeping over his body entirely now. "You?"

"Fine," Freed stated, though his arms were aching slightly now.

They both looked at the mimic, which was standing still. The wireframe of runes was inhumanely looking at them, and Freed knew that it was calculating their next steps. A moment later, lightning seemed to be gathering over the mimic's hands, crawling up its body in the same way Laxus' lightning would moments before he would use his dragon's roar. Freed's eyes widened a little - he had given the mimic too much of his magical energy if it could use dragon slayer magic - and he quickly realised that he didn't have time to write the lighting repellent runes on them both.

"Shit," Gajeel murmured, looking at the ground. "The water."

Freed looked down at the puddle of water below them, and then realised the plan the mimic had. Before he could think, he cast his wings and began to fly, hooking his arms around Gajeel's waist and forcing them both off the ground. The lighting magic shot from the mimic, sparks covering the pools of water on the ground.

Undeterred, the mimic began a new onslaught. Using Laki's magic now, wooden projectiles shot out towards them both, attempting to loosen Freed's grip on Gajeel to make him fall. Gajeel began to punch the projectiles, destroying them on contact.

"You've gotten rid of it before, right?" Gajeel asked between punches. "How?"

"I've not actually beaten it yet," Freed confessed, and Gajeel shifted to look towards him incredulously. Freed quickly shunted them both down when a wooden beam flew towards them. He landed them both on a dry patch of ground, before speaking again. "I treat it more like a punching bag than an opponent. Hit it as much as my body allows before dispelling it."

"Fuck that," Gajeel said firmly, rolling his shoulders back and straightening his back. Freed swallowed a little at the sight, his mind flickering back to the dream for just a moment. "It's a spell. Spells can be beaten, and I'm not giving up against that fucking thing."

"Quite right," Freed agreed. His runes were not going to defeat him.

"I say we fucking plaster it with magic," Gajeel suggested, rolling his sleeve up in a show of determination. It was an attractive look. "We both use our most powerful spells on it at the same time, we'll kill the fucking thing."

"Sounds good," Freed nodded, raising his sword. "Ready when you are."

"Iron Dragon's Roar!" Gajeel bellowed at the same time as Freed allowed his most pain filled runes to flow out of him.

Suddenly, Freed was on a high.

Everything about the spell felt different. Like his body was alight with a level of power that he hadn't ever felt before. His blood was burning, his magical energy exploding, his soul flipping and roaring in delight. The magic seemed to be fighting to leave him as if bending to his will more than it ever had before. The power felt lighter than normal, but so much more powerful. Every aspect of the spell felt like it belonged to him and him alone.

He seemed to almost leave his own body as he watched his runes flow forward. They spiralled into Gajeel's roar, merging and coagulating with the Dragon slayer magic. Freed's body felt cold as if pressed against metal, and it was a euphoric feeling.

Gods, what was happening. It was amazing.

Tendrils of runes shot forward and wrapped around the mimic, trapping his limbs as if in bondage. The pain spells seemed to ignite, and the mimic thrashed like any person would under the intense agony Freed's runes would cause. It was then that the dragon's roar hit the bound mimic, and the flurry of iron and magic slammed into it like a relentless torrent of power.

The mimic was ripped apart, disintegrating in the overwhelming magical power. The remaining fire, water and wood dissipated as the mimic died away, leaving Freed and Gajeel alone.

Had they just… Had that been a…

"Holy shit," Gajeel sounded giddy. "Holy fucking shit! We did a fuckin' Unison Raid!"

"Yes," Freed gasped. "I think we did."

"Damn," Gajeel was looking at him with an elated smile, still covered in iron. "I ain't ever done anything like that. Holy shit, that felt so fuckin' good right. Fuck, I feel like I could take down anything right now, y'know what I mean?"

"I do," Freed agreed, and couldn't help but smile at Gajeel.

But this didn't make sense. Unison raids were meant to be a combination of magic between people who had a deep, innately personal connection. So far, all Freed had felt about Gajeel was a mess of confusion. Sometimes he hated the man, and sometimes he had an odd lust for him. So either his magic seemed to know something he did not, or he simply misunderstood how unison raids worked.

"We're gonna kick ass in the tournament," Gajeel smirked, looking to Freed again. His smile faltered a little, and his gaze went slightly to the side. Freed frowned when Gajeel let out a small, "Huh."

"What's wrong?" Freed asked.

"Well, don't get pissy," Gajeel said, voice fighting back amusement and a smile trying to break out again. "But, looks like I kinda left you a reminder of what's happened."

Freed frowned further, and Gajeel slowly brought a metallic hand. It looked as though he was going to cup Freed's cheek for a moment, but then his hand turned into a solid slab of metal. It took Freed a moment to realise he was meant to use the metal as a mirror, and looked at the reflection that Gajeel was offering him. He immediately saw what Gajeel had meant.

During their unison raid, Gajeel had somehow pierced Freed.

On his right ear, five small metal rings, all bullet-grey, had been infused into his ear. Small barbels had been placed on the inside of both of his eyebrows, sharp and unobtrusive. He couldn't feel them at all, and Freed gently ran a finger over them all, a tingling shiver going down him at the feeling. There was a complete and undeniable sensation of rightness to Gajeel's metal being part of him. It was like he belonged as a part of him.

The dream came to mind again, with Gajeel pinning him down and claiming Freed as his own. It was a coincidence, of course, but Freed couldn't help but flush. It felt like he had been claimed.

He should have protested, but instead whispered, "Wow."

"You ain't mad, right?" Gajeel asked.

"No," Freed said immediately. "A little shocked, perhaps. But, well, they look rather good, I think."

"They look fucking hot," Gajeel whispered, and Freed didn't know if he was meant to hear it, so said nothing. The sound of Gajeel's iron turning back to skin filled the silence, and when Freed looked towards him, he paused. Gajeel noticed. "What's wrong, City-Boy?"

"Well," Freed spoke before he could feel disappointed about the return of the nickname. "It appears my magic reciprocated your iron's ideas."

Gajeel's exposed arm was covered in black runes that looked indistinguishable from a tattoo. It covered his right arm entirely, and Gajeel was looking down at the foreign lettering with an overly wide and overly excited smile. He seemed enamoured with the change to his body, and Freed wondered how he might react if he knew what the writing said.

'Ownership.'

Dammit, Freed's magic had essentially laid claim to Gajeel. Of course, 'ownership' was a rough translation, and the actual meaning was a term of endearment. But that was worse! Freed had not only claimed the man, but essentially written something akin to 'My one and only.' Nobody would know, of course, but it didn't change the fact he had done it.

"Yer panicking," Gajeel chuckled. "Don't worry about it. Wanted some ink for a while, you just saved me some jewels."

"You should be angry about this," Freed frowned. "Why aren't you?"

"You should be angry about the piercings, because they're not the type you can remove," Gajeel shrugged. "Why aren't you pissed?"

"Because," Freed began, and sighed. He should be honest about this. "Because having them feels right."

"So does this," Gajeel looked to his arm, grinning slightly. "Feels like I've been missing somethin', kinda. Like I've finally found my style and this completes it."

Freed felt the same, but couldn't say it. Instead, he said, "Why were we able to perform a unison raid? People with connections much deeper than our's have tried and failed. It doesn't make sense."

"Does it matter?" Gajeel shrugged, and Freed stared incredulously because of course it did. When Gajeel looked back to Freed, he seemed to have reached an epiphany that Freed would love to know. "Look, I get why you're feelin' fucked up about it, but there's no point. This week, we were both pretty determined to hate each other and piss each other off, right?"

"Yes, I suppose we were."

"That didn't fuckin' last, right?" Gajeel shrugged. "We were compelled to hate each other by a demon, and we got over it. When we were solvin' puzzles and stopped thinkin' about what we thought of each other, we were a pretty good team. When we had a common enemy, we did a fuckin' unison raid."

"What's your point?" Freed asked, frowning.

"When we get out of our heads, we work out. So why don't we stop fucking thinking about this shit," Gajeel shrugged. "Maybe we take things as they come. We work well together even after we pissed each other off, so why not just accept that? Our magics work together, let's use that to our advantage," Then he looked away, a little bashful. "Seems to me, we're a good team by nature. So why not just let it happen?"

"And the markings?"

"We don't think," Gajeel blushed. "And we see what happens."

When Gajeel looked back at Freed, he had a small, shy smile. It was honest, and Freed felt breathless.

See what happens? He could do that.

[capricornus-rex]

A Shadow of What You Used to Be (2)

Chapter 2: The Homestead | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Requested by Anon

Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

Also in AO3

Chapters: Prelude | Previous: Part 1 | Next: Part 3 | Masterlist

3 of ?

Normally, it would take a rider on an eopie to travel from Mos Espa to the Jundland Wastes in five hours maximum. Cliegg, Shmi, and Irele saved themselves an hour or two by spurring the mounts to their full speed. In three hours, they’ve passed by Anchorhead, ending up in the Great Chott salt flat where the Lars homestead and moisture farm are nestled.

Just in the horizon, Irele could spot the white dome structure just a few more miles away. The binary suns are in full view of the sky. Cliegg grunted a command, and Shmi echoed it—thus, the animals kicked the dust at their heels, transitioning from their leisurely gait to a long-legged gallop. When the pair of eopies neared the house, a younger man—perhaps in his teens—comes out to greet the arriving pair of travelers.

“I take it that you’re done with your chores, Owen?”

“Just finished, right before you got here actually,”

Owen is Cliegg’s son, perhaps a younger shell of Cliegg as the boy has inherited his father’s sandy brown hair. The youth shifted his look from his father carrying a shut-down protocol droid to the second eopie carrying a woman and child; he watched the animal be coaxed to its knees by the female rider, the child jumped off first before her mother.

“You bought two of them?”

“You rather I separate mother and child? Would you think it right?” Cliegg quietly lectured.

The son did not argue further, for Cliegg was right. The man handed over the lifeless protocol droid to his son who carried it with great care and regard; the father whispered that it’s still in working condition, it just needed plating to protect its circuits. Irele was reluctant to approach Owen, but Shmi gently rung her arm around her daughter’s shoulder, and so the girl’s legs moved on their own following her mother’s pace.

“Hi there, I’m Owen,”

There’s a shy silence from the girl and took a pace back, blocked by her mother standing right behind her.

“Shmi, Irele,” Clieg addressed and looked at them respectively. “This is my son, Owen.”

“Hello,” the son managed a smile. “Why don’t you come in and let me show you around.”

Irele still hesitates.

“Go on,” Shmi cooed.

While Owen gave a tour of the house for Shmi and Irele, Cliegg would interject to show where Shmi and Irele would be of help around the home. Secretly, during the tour, Shmi would search for the matriarch of this household.

“Is there something wrong, Shmi?”

Shmi began with stammers and had to clear her throat.

“I was wondering where your wife is.”

Cliegg smacked his lips, preparing for an answer. Clueless, Shmi looked at Cliegg for a moment before she got a hint of the silence, she felt her cheeks burn hotter than the Dune Sea at high noon. Now feeling embarrassed, Shmi struggled to coherently apologized; Cliegg insisted that there was no harm done and briefly explained that his wife had passed. The woman expressed her condolences before moving on.

From the outdoor rotunda which intersects the different sections of the house, the combined voices of Owen and Irele grew louder and echoed through the open door frames—the noise causing both parents of each child to turn to the general direction where the kids are.

“Looks like they’re getting along quite well,” Cliegg chuckled.

Meanwhile, the two children have moved on from the living room to the kitchen—perhaps the widest Irele has ever seen in a house! She separated from Owen and ran off on her own, but the boy had caught up to her quickly and found in her the quarters hall. Scanning the area, she found three rooms, one of which was sealed off by a metal door.

The girl raises a finger pointing at the closed door.

“Is that where we’re gonna sleep?”

“Um…” Owen stuttered, before he could complete his words, Irele continued speaking.

“Is that where your slaves stay?”

Irele kept pouring questions, one after another; not leaving a space of a second for Owen to answer each one.

“So, me and mom—are we your first slaves or second?”

“A-Actually, my dad doesn’t feel comfortable when he calls you people ‘slaves,’ it just doesn’t feel right to him—myself included.”

“But… that’s what we are,”

All of a sudden, Irele’s inquisitive tone became somber. The reality has sunken into the eight-year-old’s mind, having no choice but to accept that lot in life.

“Hey now, we’re not gonna let you feel like one the same you guys did back in your old owner,” Owen reassured the girl in quite a brotherly way that Irele found comforting.

Irele’s eyes turned to the droid on Owen’s shoulders. She gestured a nod at it.

“His name is C3PO, in case you were wondering.”

“Oh, this?” Owen angled slightly so that C3PO faces Irele, who giggled. “I was almost worried that I had to figure out his model name and make a nickname out of that!”

“No, C3PO or 3PO is fine,” chuckled Irele.

That same afternoon, they already started working around in the house. Having to leave their house in Mos Espa to stay in the Lars homestead was also a big adjustment—literally and figuratively. Shmi was overwhelmed with how spacious the homestead is, and she knew that she needed to get used to it. Though it relieved her that Irele was slowly feeling comfortable around the house and the people who live in it.

In the evening, Shmi prepared dinner without being prompted to. She had remembered the times Cliegg had told her when they usually have their meals; of course, Irele helped around in the kitchen while the two men of the house finished their work in the farm and the small rotunda—for Owen at least. When father and son had completed the day’s tasks, they were greeted with a table of food but only set for both of them; Shmi didn’t hint the slight puzzlement in Cliegg’s face as his head slightly shifted left and right—counting only two plates, for himself and his son. The patriarch of the house seated himself awkwardly at the front of the table, with his son sitting on his left hand side. Now that their new owners have settled for dinner, Shmi and Irele silently decided to make themselves useful someplace else in the house—the girl was thinking she could while away her time in their garage, fix things that needed fixing. Cliegg stood up, causing a confused Owen to stop in the middle of piercing the meat with his fork, and chased the tandem who were now a few paces away from the dining room.

Cliegg grunted, supposedly to call out their names to stop them; regardless, Shmi and Irele turned around.

“Where are you going?” asked the patriarch.

“Oh, we were just going to work around the house while you have supper.”

“No, no,” Cliegg waved his hand and then transitioned to a gesture of welcome. “Please, come sit, and eat with us.”

Irele’s head tilted up to her mother, shooting her a trivial look, and slightly tightened her grip around her mother’s slightly bigger hand. Taken aback, Shmi didn’t know how and what to respond. Cliegg insisted again, though gently, as he always does with his actions. When the two had joined the other pair, only then did Cliegg began with his food; his first bite of Shmi’s cooking was delightful—he chewed slowly, savoring the flavor of meat and vegetables, he never spared a second to take a second the moment he swallowed the first bite. His reaction affirmed Shmi, in her mind, she had hoped she made a good impression to him as their new servant; Cliegg gestured at the food, wordlessly inviting Shmi to help herself, as well as Irele.

Irele only revealed a smile when she put the spoon in her mouth. Her mother’s cooking was the first reason. The second reason? The warmth that she felt around this house, at this table—it was surreal. She had craved for it—in the back of her mind, she did, she just didn’t know it would come this soon and from a person like Cliegg and Owen Lars.

“Hey Irele, tomorrow morning I’m gonna fix the vaporators in the farm. And maybe we can fix up C3PO. You wanna join?” Owen engaged.

Irele looked to her mother first for some kind of approval and then she nodded at Owen.

“But you gotta be early tomorrow morning!”

“Oh don’t worry, I never miss an hour!” she chimed.

Laughter sourced from the two children, then their parents accompanied with soft chuckles.

For a moment, Irele nearly forgot her life of slavery because it felt like she and her mother had walked into a new family.

–

A few months of their tenure in the Lars homestead, rarely did they ever feel they were slaves. Helper was a kinder word, though not as demeaning as slave. Shmi and Irele worked around the house with full initiative and gusto, enjoying what liberty they have around the house—such as cooking for Shmi, and tinkering for Irele—something that was deprived of them back in that junkshop.

Remembering that promise, Irele joined Owen to the farm where he would show her the vaporators and how to fix them. Owen went ahead and started working on one of them, struggling with a wrench  as Irele watched. Slowly, she went sat closer to Owen to examine the problem.

“There’s something lodged in there,” Irele pointed. “Here, let me.”

“Alright,”

Her slender fingers and tiny hands managed to scrape off whatever what was lodging the small hatch of the vaporator. While she’s at it, she noticed a loose wire in the circuit box and replaced it. Owen watched, impressed at the small child who would know such things. Irele grunted when the plug had fitted neatly into the correct socket and dusted off her hands together.

“How’d you learn to do that?”

“I worked in a podrace garage and in a parts junkshop. The podrace garage is just a part-time.”

“Well, that’s impressive for a kid,” Owen chuckled, forgetting he was a child as well. “But I guess we gotta know these things at this age, right? If we wanna survive.”

“Yeah, they’ll always come in handy.”

The two children continued with their chores. Cliegg joined them briefly to teach Irele how to harvest and how some of their equipment work. When the girl caught on quickly, seeing that she was a fast learner and Owen can handle himself in supervising her, the elder Lars returned to the homestead.

There came a time where Irele had to cut her day short and return to the house, leaving Owen with the other farmers—friends of Cliegg—that day. On the way, she didn’t know what to feel, but she sensed something unusual—she could not pinpoint, however, if it was good or bad. In the back of her mind, something was telling her—no, consoling her—that things will be fine and not the way she thought it would. When she arrived to the house, she spotted that her mother behaved differently—tightly rubbing her one clenched fist with the other, and holding back a smile.

“What’s going on?”

Shmi stood up from her seat in the dining hall and walked up to her daughter.

“Mom?”

“Irele, dear,” the woman took the child’s hand, looked over her shoulder to Cliegg and then back to Irele. “Cliegg is going to free us.”

The girl’s jaw dropped and her heart burst through her tiny ribs right then and there. Elated, confused, and overjoyed—she didn’t know what to make of these emotions all at once! Shmi could feel the shakiness of her daughter’s hands, Irele looked to Cliegg—speechless, but he must’ve understood and nodded as a wordless “You’re welcome.”

That same day, Cliegg called for Owen to come home as well. And so the family hopped onto a speeder and drove to Jabba the Hutt’s palace. Not one human in that speeder knew fluent Huttese, and so they tagged C3PO along—now outfitted with metal plates, they were tarnished in color but it was better than be a biped of exposed red and blue wires. There, they were greeted by a flesh-colored Twi’lek—Jabba’s loyal butler, Bib Fortuna—and immediately required them to state their purpose while a pair of Gamorrean guards stood on either side. C3PO greeted the Twi’lek in Huttese, accompanied by a slow bow, in the humans’ behalf. In Basic, Cliegg requested an audience with Jabba the Hutt for an appeal.

The male Twi’lek’s head slightly angled in intrigue after hearing the translation.

“An appeal?” Fortuna said to himself, barely muttering the word in the other language.

C3PO furthered his human owners’ purpose by briefly explaining what the appeal is about. It doubly piqued Bib when the droid gestured to the mother and child tandem of slaves, he somewhat got the idea, and he paused to contemplate or perhaps rehearse how he will present this to his master.

Nevertheless, the Twi’lek escorted the visitors to the audience chamber, where the master of the house: Jabba the Hutt, remains unmoving in his throne—which was more or less a stage—while toothlessly chewing on the mouthpiece of what ought to be an ornate hookah pipe. Irele felt small when she entered that chamber. There were eyes on her—human, humanoid, sentient alike—when she looked around and saw them drinking and mingling. Upon facing the Hutt, Fortuna bowed before presenting the visitors, he addressed to Jabba in the latter’s native dialect before joining the Hutt’s side.

The droid took one step forward, literally standing between Jabba and the family. Detecting some sort of prompt, C3PO first greeted the Hutt to appease him, and then proceeded to relay Cliegg’s request directly in Huttese.

Jabba hummed and his pupils dilated—with the same intrigue of Bib Fortuna. In his lack of a response, Cliegg follows up.

“I would like to request the freedom of my—” Cliegg paused and turned around. He cleared his throat. “These two slaves. I bought them from a Toydarian junkshop trader. Now that they are under my name, in my home, under my wing—I have deliberately decided to free them.”

If one has lived in Tatooine long enough to know how Hutts operate in their presiding territory, it is no surprise that such a bold request requires collateral or a barter. Cliegg had prepared for this apparently: he’s prepared to give a percentage of his harvest for five standard years to the Hutt, plus an adequate sum of money.

“You drive a hard bargain, Lars,” Jabba croaked in Huttese. There was a pause from the family and the Hutt continued. “Though, I appreciate the fact that you have prepared this. And to show that I am a generous leader, and that I have no qualms with you farmers nor your families: keep the money and give me fifty percent of your harvest.”

The Hutt’s generosity is rare, but it’s not surprising that he is not harsh towards people who have no qualms but it’s the safest route to appease him. Cliegg bit his tongue and gave a grateful bow.

“You are most gracious, Jabba.”

Jabba returned the bow and dismissed the family, as if second nature, Bib Fortuna saw them out the same way he escorted them inside. Once they have gotten through the massive metal gates and the echoing clang signaled the end of their business, Shmi turned to Cliegg—her blush concealed by a mask of a mild sunburn.

“Thank you, but I don’t know how I can ever repay you,”

“But I felt like it was the right thing to do,” Cliegg then turned to Irele, who was still elated from the entire ordeal. “A slave’s life is not a life for a child and her mother.”

Irele didn’t speak, but she smiled back at the remark.

[themockingpoint]

A million minutes late but here is my Sansa Appreciation Week day 5 submission. Takes place during the feast of 8x4. Shout out to @chryswatchesgot because I could not do that stupid cannon quote and their post from that episode gave me the perfect response.

  “It’s alright to be enjoying yourself.” Jon said, to Sansa shaking her out of her somewhat drunken thoughts. “If only for a little bit.”

 “Tell that to your queen.” Sansa said, before she could help herself. She showed off a grimace as she practically felt her brother’s annoyance bleed off him with a sigh.

 Sansa knew that the conflict between her and her brother’s… paramour was causing him undue tension, but she could not help it. Jon told Sansa that she is just refusing to see the Targaryen queen as she truly is and is letting what her family did to the Starks get in the way of that. However, Sansa would argue that it was her brother that was not seeing clearly ever since the two monarchs slept together. She sighed and downed another cup of wine.

 The way that she legitimized Gendry “Rivers” without thinking or consulting her advisors showed Sansa exactly what she needed to know. Putting aside the fact that she barely knew him enough to even know his actual name or the fact that he was her second cousin -and according to the great council of 101 AC that would probably make him, as a male, a stronger contender for the throne- his father was Robert Baratheon and her father was the Mad King.

 As bad of a king that Robert was, the smallfolk did not see it. His era signified an era of peace. Meanwhile her father was Mad King Aerys. He… well he got the name for a reason. Jon may have bent the knee to her, but their lords will always remember their Uncle Brandon and their grandfather. Let alone what the smallfolk will think. Joffrey most publicly was the smallfolks woes, yet Tyrion was the one blamed since he happened to be there once they started. No way would they forget what the mad king put them through. They were slaves waiting to be freed, they were people who just wished to go on with their lives with Highborn war.

  Another thing that Jon was forgetting but Sansa never would, was the fact that she spent years in King’s Landing, years. Joffrey, Cersei, Baelish, Ramsay, all of them taught her how to see a mask of benevolence. The Dragon queen may be projecting the air of the Good Queen Alysanne but Sansa likened her to the Young Dragon, Daeron I. The Dragon Queen may win the throne, but she would never be done conquering. She took over rulership in Meereen but was now looking to rule the Seven Kingdoms. The woman would never be done conquering, and Sansa did not plan on allowing the North and her people to be one of those Kingdoms to conquer that she will eventually become bored with.

 “I’m sorry.” Sansa slightly slurred from drink. “I am a little on edge… Feasts… I do not have the greatest history with celebrations…”

 “Here, here!” Tyrion said, walking behind them causing Sansa to roll her eyes.

 Sansa looked at the man that she used to think was the smartest man alive. When she knew him, he was the sharpest man in the room, taking people’s number without much of a challenge. He, Jon, and Varys -although he seemed to flip-flop worse than the Tyrells- all trusted her, is her own prejudices not allowing her to see the woman truly?

 Jon told her a little bit about the woman. The parallels between Sansa and Daenerys herself were strong, very strong. Sansa would not, could not, deny it and to be perfectly honest? It scared Sansa just how similar the two of them were. Abusive husbands, they were both raped on their wedding nights, both were used and passed around as bargaining chips, and both would do anything to get their countries back. Sansa almost crossed a line she never could have come back from.

 As similar as they were, Sansa knew that the dragon queen was not her friend, and definitely not Jon’s friend. She would only ever see them as subjects, never allies. They would be expected to fight whatever wars she would want to fight at the drop of a hat; ironically not unlike how Robert Baratheon was like with Sansa’s own father. As Sansa said, she would never be done conquering and -like during the Baratheon regime- the North would be dragged into it. She could not let her people be killed by the petty southern wars. She would not fail them; not again.

 “Why don’t you walk around?” Jon said, giving her a sympathetic smile. He knew how the last few feasts that she had turned out.

 “I… don’t think that is a good idea… I think I may be a little drunk.” She said, with a slight giggle.

 “Well I believe in you!” He said, slamming his hand down on the table in an ironic echo of her earlier statement.

 She walked away and a few minutes later saw the queen walk off in a huff of jealousy. She must admit, she was no Joffrey. He never would have abided by someone singing praises that were not directed at him, especially if he thought it was at his expense. She was not her father either, who would have just burned someone alive had he gotten annoyed with them.

 But it does not matter. The North was the North. They were not like the other seven kingdoms, even Dorne had more similarities to the southern kingdoms than the North did. The North just did things differently, they had different traditions, hell even their gods were different from the rest of the kingdoms. They were too detached from the rest of the Kingdoms to be part of such a kingdom that was practically united against them.

 She needed to clear her head as she was depressing herself. As she walked amongst the lower tables she saw where Tormund got to. She froze as she saw who he was sitting next to. Sansa knew he was here. Jon and Arya both mentioned the fact, he apparently had saved Arya’s life during the siege. Sansa has not been avoiding him, but she had not been seeking him out either.

 “Af’er all that he just comes North and takes ‘er from me.” Tormund said, weepily leaning on Sandor. “Just takes ‘er. Like that!”

 “Her?” Sansa thought to herself before she remembered who Tormund had been obsessed with since she had met him. “He can’t… He can’t mean Brienne, can he?”

 Thinking back to how her sworn shield starred at Jaime Lannister with starry eyes as they continued speaking, Sansa quickly realized what had happened when a quick look told her that she was not there. She felt happy for the woman despite her feelings about Jaime Lannister. She was more devoted to her duty than any other person than Sansa knew. She deserved this, she deserved to relax.

 “I’m not ‘fraid of Wildlings.” The serving girl (whore? She know Tyrion hired many to spread into the waiting staff) said, raising an eyebrow as Sansa finished another glass of wine. She doubts that she has even been this drunk and she must say she thinks that she is handling it very well.

 “Maybe you should be.” Tormund said, suggestively wagging his eyebrows.

 As Sansa realized what was happening, she felt a tightening in her own belly. One she had not really ever felt before, except maybe with Loras Tyrell. She shook out of her distraction as Sandor growled at the woman, terrifying her so that she would make her escape. Thinking of the feeling in her belly she walked over.

 “She could have made you happy…” She said, as she sat down. She wondered if his rejection of her was due to lack of interest or because of self-hatred and cynicism. Gods know that he has enough of that. Enough that he tried passing it onto her. “For a little while.”

 He looked up in surprise, whether he was shocked she was there or that she decided to speak to him she did not know. When they finally broke eye contact, he said, “There’s only one thing that’ll make me happy.”

 “And what’s that?” She said humoring him, trying to get him to lighten the hell up.

 “That’s my business!” He growled trying to scare her away. Once, it might have worked. She drunkenly cocked an eyebrow to show that she was unamused. “Used to be you couldn’t look at me.”

 “That was a long time ago…” She said sadly remembering the kiss from the Blackwater. One of the only two people she has ever kissed and the only one she somewhat wanted it from. Is that why he was not looking at her, trying to scare her away. “I’ve seen much worse that you.”

 “Yes I’ve heard… Heard you were broken in… Heard you were broken in rough…” He said, almost smugly and she clenched her teeth. Why was he being so hostile? She was trying to extend an olive branch.

 “Yes.” She said, she had already lost Theon today and her patience was quickly wearing thin. “He got what he deserved. I gave it to him.”

 “How?” He asked, genuinely curious.

 “Hounds…” She said, causing a moment of laughter from him.

 “You’ve changed, Little-Bird.” Sandor said, taking a drink. Once she had a sickening liking to the demeaning nickname. Now it just angered her. “None of it would have happened had you come with me.”

 “And there it is.” Sansa thought to herself. Most of the men in her life tried taking credit for what she was or could have been. To be frank, she was sick of it. Sansa was the woman she was today because of two men and a woman, all of which were named Stark. She may not have gotten everything she has due to her own merits but the men who spit poison and abuses at her no longer could claim credit for it. She would not allow it. No longer.

 “That’s the thing Sandor.” She said, grabbing his hand to his surprise. “I was never a little bird. I was a puppy. And Gods help those who think they can tame a Direwolf.”

 She stood up and grabbed Tormund’s nearly full goblet. If he wanted to stew in his cynicism, hatred, and self-loathing than he was more than welcome to it. She was not going to allow him to infect her with it as well. That is all he tried to do even since they first met at the Crossroad Inn all those years ago. She was done trying to save someone who did not want to save themselves but drag her down to their level instead.

 She would always be grateful for what he did for her sister, but she was done trying to save him. It was not her job. She looked down at her former would be protector and walked off, forgetting the reason that she came over in the first place.

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

Prospect

Request from Anon:  Nestor doesn’t know you’re part of the mc he feels betrayed that you didn’t tell him, “I trusted you y/n, I don’t just let people in” (you used to be best friends with Em n the Reyes brother, you took with ez side over em) and you see her in public one day and you have you’re kutte on and she calls you over to chat and you say to her “this isn’t the life you wanted em” (first part to request cause it’s so long)

Nestor Oceteva x Reader 

Warnings: language, angst

Word Count: 2.3k 

Summary: Emily and Y/N were once best friends. Y/N was in love with Nestor. Y/N supported Ezekiel after Emily’s abortion and disappeared from her current life close to the cartel to now be the first female prospect for the Mayans MC. 

-There is a part two request that I am finishing up and will post early this week! This story was legit one of my favorites to write, thanks anon! 

************************************************************

Stillness encumbered her fragile bones, her heart throbbed to a chaotic march forcingly reminding her mind of the goodness of the man now standing in her path of beautiful obliteration. Nestor stared blankly into her icy blue eyes; just like a vicious predator hunting his unfortunate prey. Her chin quivered slightly as Y/N bite her bottom lip restraining herself, any attempt at maintaining a shard of control still placed within her reach.

Tilting his head to the left, a questioning glare reflected off his features before he dared to interrupt the impending muteness trapping the young couple.  

“I trusted you Y/N. I don’t--I don’t just let people in.”

“Ness let me explain, please.

He sighed loudly unable to further detach the emotions he allowed to overwhelm his senses again, especially when it all came down to the girl before him. He adored his nickname when it fell off her lips, and only hers.

“Explain what? That you conveniently forgot to mention you just so happen to hang out with the fucking Mayans? I haven’t seen you in years, and then this Mayans shitstorm bounces the cartel’s way, but by accident we meet on opposing sides? Worst of all, you eagerly manipulated me into giving us another lousy chance, but I don’t fucking know this girl.”

“I think you’re getting confused. We agreed on fuck buddies, with your rules might I add. I am sorry that you persuaded yourself that things would be just like old times. Don’t get it twisted Ness. We aren’t dumb kids anymore.”

His eyes scanned her from head to toe trying to memorize every inch she willingly showed him. It was at that exact moment that Nestor realized he was fighting for the old Y/N and not the bold woman in front of him. Unexpectedly, Y/N shoved him with all her brute strength as she reveled in his minor fall.

“Woah, wait. Fucking rewind -- I don’t just hang out with them you dick, I AM one of them, well a prospect currently.”

Flabbergasted, Nestor was left speechless as he wordlessly watched her lips open and close, but he heard nothing other than a piercing ring reverberating through his ear canals.

“You’re one of them…?”

She could only nod in agreement.

“So, when did they start letting bitches in the boardroom?”

Y/N’s chest suddenly weighed down upon her with heavy force. She knew she had to come clean. Better late than never, right? But, in her defense, they had agreed to keep their lives completely separate, careful to never intermix this time around.

“I’d watch my tone if I were you, Nestor.  I was the first female member to prospect, brought to the table, and voted. Fair and square. Don’t you dare demean me and my choices. It certainly wasn’t easy to prove my power, but I fucking did. What the hell have you done, take orders like the lap dog Miguel groomed you to be?”  

Her murderous smirk shone brightly upon her lips, a dark chuckle slipping through the cracks before returning her attention back to the belittling asshole she mistakenly loved..loves. This was supposed to be their second shot at happiness, but as always, it ended in calamitous flames dooming them to disastrous heartache. The usual tale of ill-fated star-crossed lovers.

“Does Em know about this?”

“You know I haven’t spoken with Emily since her and Ez’s fight behind bars. She only knows what you tell her, Nestor. Playing the fool doesn’t suit you.”

This caught him off guard causing goosebumps to prickle every surface of his skin. This wasn’t the guarded serene girl he had met so long ago but replaced with a resiliently fierce woman. Nestor wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was enthralled with Y/N, in awe of her ability to adapt to any curveball thrown her direction.

“You should call her. She misses you, believe it or not.”

The conversation strayed towards a lighter note as the room began to clear away any remaining ammunition between the conflicted lovers, both waving their white flags of peace; if only for an instance.

“I can’t, things aren’t not that simple nowadays… She asked me to choose and I did. It just wasn’t the answer she prepared herself for. And for that, I am truly apologetic, but I refuse to turn my back on the boy I’ve known since 3rd grade. It is what it is; an ended friendship.”

Some relationships mimicked broken glass, its unending fragileness, but at times it was better to leave them in shattered pieces than try and hurt yourself putting them back together again. Sadly, the risk isn’t worthy of its cause.

“I’ll pass along the kind words. Now enlighten me, did you ever seriously love me or was it all part of your warped game?”

Y/N’s checks blushed royally, anger taking hold of her persistent consciousness.

“Which time are you referring to? When we were 20 or now?” Only spiteful thoughts flooded her mind proving to be easier than sheer honesty. She thrived off knowing she could still upset Nestor down to his spiny core.

If she had done anything right in this complicated mess of a life, it was loving Nestor Oceteva, but all good things must come to an end, right?

“Well, there’s your answer. Your doubt is enough to prove just how much you didn’t trust me, and you’ve had these reservations for some time. I can only imagine how easy it was for you to paint me as the bad guy these last few years. Its your turn to be honest. Does it unnerve you to look at the man reflected back at you every day? Because if we’re sticking to being truthful, I admit I did see the advantage of seducing you, but I chose to let you in. Well, the first time around. And that obviously ended swimmingly.”

Stepping dangerously close to Y/N, their breaths intently intermingling; “You’re not the only person in a position of authority, Y/N. Miguel Galindo, our dear Emily’s husband wouldn’t even blink if you were to disappear. I’m very good at my job.”

Y/N refused to show fear especially to a man she fell for so purely, but that wasn’t her current reality, and he made sure of that.

“I loved you and I lost you. Cold case closed. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got bigger fish to fry. Hasta luego, viejo amigo.”

*10 days later*

Emily heard the deafening noise of several motorcycle engines rapidly approaching before she braved a glance over her shoulder. She had just finished at the grocery store, marking one trivial chore off her never-ending to-do list all while trying to figure out how to work Cristobal’s newly installed car seat.

Fucking Mayans, it had to be.

She didn’t have time for this shit, not with the looming tension suffocating her husband. Besides, she left the Reyes brothers a long time ago, and didn’t want to risk a chance encounter even if they did live in the same godforsaken town. Ezekiel Reyes was her first love, but Miguel was a man of continuous passion.

Occasionally, she would find herself pondering what would have happened if she had kept the baby or chose the man she promised to love, but life had a different idea for the both of them.

The usual crew pulled their bikes into the adjacent parking lot heading towards the clothing factory. Gilly, Coco, Angel, and Ez came into view as they distractedly chatted, patiently awaiting as the last bike strolled closer.

Emily didn’t need the stranger to turn around before knowing exactly who was underneath that particular helmet on this particularly humid day.

Her laugh instantly gave her away, a laugh she hadn’t heard in what felt like forever. Y/N, someone she considered a sister before she enthusiastically leapt to the metaphorical dark side. Y/N made her decision; to betray Nestor and abandon Emily. She was fortunate Miguel was there to pick up the damaged edges’ Y/N left in her destruction.

After the longest pause in recent history, Emily decided against her better judgement to brave a simple hello to an old friend… acquaintance?

She yelled loud; “Y/N, HI., waving her hand discreetly wondering how the next few moments would transpire. Her nerves slowly trickled into her belly as her chest spasmed disobediently.

Y/N’s elbow was perched atop Ezekiel’s shoulder as he sat on the cool leather seat of his latest ride, her ears perking in response to the shrill noise coming from across the street. She squinted, the sun blockading her vision temporarily before meeting Emily Galindo’s incessant stare.

She locked eyes with Ez giving her the nod of approval before gracefully smiling back, squeezing his shoulder and taking the few steps away from her friends. As both females approached the other, neither were certain who would speak up first.

Y/N popped the bubble of surrounding awkwardness; “Emily, long time no see, stranger.”

Emily hated nicety but went with the flow keeping her existing irritation at bay.

“Y/N, I didn’t realize non-members could wear their boyfriend’s kutte?”

There was certainly a distinct, underlying competition to their complex friendship, and Emily was the kind of fighter that went straight for the jugular vein when her defense mechanism reacted.

Quietly chuckling; “Nope, but you’re allowed to wear it when you’re the newest prospect. Well, of course alongside Ezekiel. You remember him, hmm?”

“How could I forget. I was pregnant with his child at one point.”

“Look, drop the petty act and just tell me why you called me over here?”

Emily was silently stunned, unsure of what drew her to reach out, but she couldn’t let Y/N know that.

“I heard you caught up with Nestor or should I say broke up with him...again.”

“Not all of us can be the murderous power couple you and Miguel seem to be. I know how you get when faced with a rivalry.”

“You knew a façade, a previous version of me. You haven’t had the pleasure of seeing Emily Galindo at work, but you will, soon.”

Y/N gaze met the cold gray concrete they were both standing on, shaking her head; “This isn’t the life you wanted, Em, yet here we are.”

For a brief pause in time, Emily’s eyes teared up before wishing her tears away. This wasn’t the time or place to show weakness especially to the enemy.

“I wished for an exhilarating and purposeful life. I just happened to get a lot more than I bargained for. You don’t know Miguel like I do so don’t you fucking judge him.”

“Easy Emily. You don’t have to defend yourself to me. I could care less now.”

“For the record Em, I never wanted to pick sides. Sometimes I can’t even close my eyes without seeing the hurt expressions etched onto your face from that fateful night…and how heartbroken Nestor was. But you gave me an unimaginable ultimatum and I tried my damnedest to figure out the right path.”

“I know that now. I don’t know what it is about you that brings out the bitch in me today.”

“You’ve got that whole mama bear protective look now. It’s refreshing.”

“You should really think about calling Nestor. He isn’t doing too hot at the moment.”

“Part of me wants to but now I have the MC to take care of as well. I love him, I do. I just don’t think its our time right now.”

“At this rate, will it ever be yall’s time? I mean the boy has been drooling over you since you basically met, and you run away at the sign of anything remotely serious with him. Why?”

“He makes me feel too vulnerable. Conveniently, Nestor is also in love with a girl who no longer resides in this body or mind.”

“Just like he isn’t the same man you left standing there on the balcony all those years ago. It’s a double-edged sword, Y/N. You need to reconnect, get on the same page, and see if this is actually endgame worthy. Because if you ask me, I always knew he was going to be your person, even when you kept adamantly denying it.”

Distantly, Y/N heard Angel yelling for her signaling to hurry the hell up. She smirked back choosing to further test his lack of patience.

“Same things never change though. That’s my que, it was good to actually talk Em.”

“Agreed. Maybe next time we don’t wait so long, huh?”

“I’ll see you when I see you Emily Galindo.”

“Goodbye old friend.”

Emily turned to double check Cristobal’s seatbelt before opening the driver’s side of her car and launching herself onto its expensive leather. Briskly, the engine started, and she merely drove off. Y/N was left standing alone in a parking spot debating if the conversation that just occurred had been an uncontrollable dream she created out of thin air.

Y/N glanced at her watch questioning how she had let 15 minutes slip by before she heard the familiar voice of man clearing his throat. Someone new stood in front of her, his infamous braids in tow and tinted sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.

“So, I see you finally caught up with Em. Good for you.”

“Have you been hiding nearby this entire time or did you discover psychic abilities to eavesdrop while I was away?”

Y/N hand hugged her hip bone as she swayed her weight between her two feet, unable to stand still any longer.

“So, I guess we have some talking of our own to do. Whaddya say?”

 -----

Hasta luego, viejo amigo: Goodbye old friend 

[maraudersinparadise]

Squid-Potter

Lily's POV on the pivotal post DADA O.W.L. and James's attempt to apologise and make her laugh

FF.net /\ AO3

It was just so stupid. All of it.

Severus Snape and how he had most definitively gone to the wrong side.

James Potter and that ridiculous hair of his.

The rest of the Gryffindor’s fifth year boys – Peter Pettigrew for laughing, Sirius Black for encouraging Potter, and Remus Lupin for doing nothing to stop the other three.

All of the Hogwarts students who had laughed at Potter’s idiotic antics.

But the most stupid of all, Lily thought, was herself for feeling so rotten about it.

It was not exactly news that Severus leaned towards the Dark Arts. She had desperately watched as her childhood friend listened more and more to the rubbish that the likes of Mulciber and Avery babbled all day, and less and less to her warnings.

He spent more and more time with those Slytherins, plotting against people like her, and then saying to her, ‘it’s just for a laugh, Lily, I’d never do that to you’.

Until he did.

She had been quite happy just a few hours earlier. Enjoying the end of another O.W.L., when summer was nearly there. Mary MacDonald told her to stop fretting a bit about the exam and relax, proceeding to take off her shoes and socks, and cooling her feet on the lake’s water. Lily saw the other girls doing the same, so she shrugged and imitated her friends.

Lily really was content. They were laughing about nonsense, anxious to get home and free from that terrible year. She worried a bit about going home and rowing with Petunia, but the thought of seeing her parents was overwhelming.

And the fact that she would not have to deal with James Potter and his shenanigans was also a silver lining.

She had noticed him and his friends on the edge of the lake; he was showing off with a snitch (how and why had he gotten it anyways? Wasn’t he a chaser?) to Pettigrew while Black acted like he was God’s gift to humanity, and Remus read a book.

She was, however, quick to return her attention to her friends, ignoring the immature group.

And then they made her notice them.

Well, he made her notice them. The second the nickname ‘Snivellus’ loudly came out of his mouth, Lily looked at the commotion and cursed.

“You’re going there, aren’t you?” Mary asked, resigned.

“Of course I am. Honestly, couldn’t the prat leave Sev alone for just a couple of days? Then I’d be free of them,” Lily replied, huffing impatiently as she put her shoes back on. Mary sighed and followed her.

It was not that she hated her fellow Gryffindors. Remus was a perfectly nice bloke. Peter usually kept to himself. Sirius had that arrogant air on him, but was funny to talk to. Potter… well, he was funny – when he was not humiliating other people, that is. Unfortunately, it happened quite a lot, which made Lily furious.

Sev was choking on soap (‘Really, Potter?’) when Lily got near the boys. There was already a group around them, watching excitedly another session of humiliation by James Bloody Potter.

“Leave him ALONE!” Lily exclaimed angrily. Potter and Black turned immediately, the former automatically running a hand through his hair.

“All right, Evans?” Potter asked her. Had she not been so incredibly annoyed at the situation, she might have noticed that something had changed in Potter’s voice when he addressed her.

“Leave him alone,” Lily asked again, glaring fiercely at Potter. Why, oh why, was he such a prat? “What’s he done to you?” She asked instead.

“Well…” Potter said, making a scene of deliberating the subject, “it’s more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean…”

Many of the students surrounding the group laughed, like it was actually funny. It was so not funny. The joke Potter had told four days ago on the Common Room about the troll on a bar, when she came back from round with Remus – that had been funny. This was just plain cruel.

“You think you’re funny, but you’re just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him alone,” she said again, which was not completely wrong, but was very close to the truth.

“I will if you go out with me, Evans,” Potter said quickly, like he had not even thought about it. “Go on… go out with me and I’ll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again.”

Shock was the first of the emotions that hit Lily by then. Was that boy even real? She could have sworn he liked him as much he she liked him – which was almost nothing at all. Why all of a sudden was he asking her out? And like this? Was he so caught up on his own little world to think that she would be blackmailed to go out with him? While he humiliated her best friend, no less?

“I wouldn’t go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid,” Lily spit back. And she meant it. How delusional could that boy be?

“Bad luck, Prongs,” Black replied instead. Potter still looked directly at her glare, and they did not notice Sev regaining his controls until Black screamed, “OI!”

But it was a bit too late – the seconds of distraction facing Lily resulted in Sev managing to hit a spell on Potter, and a bloody gash appeared on his cheek. The next second Sev was upside down, robes hanging over his head and his underpants showing for the whole school to see.

To be honest, the whole situation would be slightly funny (which the rest of the students agreed, seeing as they were all joining the Marauders in their laughter), and even Lily had to hold back her smile – because it would be slightly funny if done to a friend, not with the sole intention of demeaning the other person.

And intentions counted so much to Lily.

“Let him down!” She ordered them, angrier by the minute.

“Certainly,” James complied, and Sev fell to the ground in an awkward fashion. He had barely put his wand up when Black pointed his wand at Sev again, paralysing him.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” She shouted, drawing her own wand and pointing to Potter and Black. She was losing her patience, and the wary glance the boys gave to her wand showed they remembered how she had hexed Potter the previous week for a similar stunt.

“Ah, Evans, don’t make me hex you,” Potter pleaded. She knew he was good too; he had a lot of practice, and would probably be capable of getting one hex past her. But she knew he also had been raised by older parents, who taught them not to hex girls.

“Take the curse off him, then,” she replied. Potter sighed deeply (he had to be so dramatic at everything he did?) and freed Sev.

“There you go,” Potter said, watching Sev fumbling to get up, “you’re lucky Evans was here, Snivellus-”

The rest of the threat was clear – Lily knew Potter and Black could be downright cruel. It made her crazy. It made the professors crazy. It made anyone on the end of their wands crazy. As Sev was constantly on that position, his hatred for Potter and Black (and Remus and Pettigrew, come to think of it) was well founded, and Lily knew that. She fought for Sev against the bullying.

And that’s why it hurt so much when he did it:

“I don’t need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!” He said what he promised to never say about her.

Lily blinked. Had he just…? It could not be. Not when she was… defending him! She could not believe it!

But he had.

And instead of being transferred, her anger simply doubled – directed at both Potter and Snape now. She registered quickly the shocked look that Potter sported, but quickly shoved it aside.

Mudblood.

“Fine,” she said with the coldest tone she could muster. She could not – would not – cry in front of him, “I won’t bother in the future. And I’d wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus.”

Mudblood. Years of friendship, and he still thought this of her. The blood was pounding in her ears, anger stopping her from losing it right then, right there.

“Apologise to Evans!” Potter shouted angrily, pointing his wand at Snape.

Lily snapped.

“I don’t want you to make him apologise,” she screamed. No one should have to make him apologise, much less Potter, “you’re as bad as he is.”

“WHAT?” Potter had the audacity to sound outraged, as if he had not been the one to push Snape to the edge, to make him call her- “I’d NEVER call you a – you-know-what!”

She ignored that he was right – Potter could be a lot of bad things, but blood prejudice was not something he possessed. She just wanted to hurt the people who had hurt her.

“Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can – I’m surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me SICK!”

She screamed everything she always had wanted to and even more. Maybe it was uncalled for, since Potter had tried to defend her on the final bit. But she felt her anger diminish, and what came after was hurt and pain and tears.

So she simply ignored Potter calling her name and headed to her dorm, slightly conscious of Mary following her. She was so stupid to care, but she just could not stop caring.

Mary said soothing words and even offered to bring her food from lunch. She thanked, but she had lost her appetite. She arrived at last minute on the practical DADA exam, successfully ignoring the entire student body.

She pretended not to see Remus’s worried glance and Potter’s weird face (was that guilt? Pity? Worry? She did not care at the moment) – she was not fine, and her red eyes showed it. At least she did not see Snape, and she left as quickly as she could.

“So how was it?” Mary asked when she arrived at the dorm, a plate of food on her hands. Lily smiled her thanks – she was a bit hungry, but not enough to go down and eat supper with the rest of the Hogwarts population (which, as aforementioned, she judged to be stupid).

“How was what?” Lily asked, eating some bread.

“The exam!”

“Oh,” she replied with a shrug, “it was fine, I suppose. Guess I’ll get an O.”

Mary shook her head in disbelief.

“Only you could get an O after what happened earlier.”

Lily raised her eyebrows and cleared her throat, while Mary grimaced.

“Sorry, that was rude,” Mary apologised, “wanna talk about it?” She asked, and Lily shrugged in reply. It meant a lot about how great of a friend she was, considering what she thought of Snape.

“It’s just… we argued just the other day, not about this, exactly, but… he was complaining about us not being as friends anymore, and I said that it was because of the company he kept…” Mary nodded. She did not need to be remembered who Snape was friends with, “and he wasn’t actually listening to me, y’know? He was more worried about trashing Potter and the others…”

“Well, there’s history there, Lily. It’s not the first time he complains about James and the rest.”

“I know that. It didn’t surprise me either, and I always overlooked some of the stuff Sev did…” Lily sighed. “Not now, tho. Now he’s crossed the line. I won’t tolerate it anymore. I’m done with him.”

She watched in confusion as Mary grimaced again.

“He’s down there. At the portrait. He wants to talk to you.”

Lily blinked and gaped.

“That’s not gonna happen.”

“I told him that already, I swear I did!” Mary replied. “Well, after giving Potter and Black a good shove so they wouldn’t try anything with Snape… he says he’s gonna sleep outside the portrait hole to wait for you to come out tomorrow.”

Lily sighed. Maybe she should get it over with?

The Common Room was already deserted at the time she put on her robe and decided to end it. She expected not to feel anything, but anger quickly came back when she saw Severus. Her former best friend, now gone to the Dark Arts – excited to join the Death Eaters.

It killed her to know that, but – as she told him – she was tired, so tired of making up excuses for him.

And even when she went back to the Common Room, swearing she would not care about it anymore, the tears could not be stopped. She climbed on a couch and hugged a cushion, keeping her sobs quiet.

She did not know how long she spent there until she heard a noise from the boys’ dorm. Quickly she tried to erase all traces of tears from her face and prepared her glare – if it was Potter…

However, the shadow that accompanied the steps told her it was not Potter – not because she knew Potter’s shadow, but because it did not resemble a human’s shadow in any form. It was a bit pointy on top, and it had… projections on the bottom? What the actual…?

“You said you’d pick the squid over me, so I had to turn into it to leave you with no choice…”

Then the thing came to her vision and could not believe her eyes.

James Bloody Potter had fashioned himself a squid costume, tentacles included! She could see his face where the squid’s eyes should be, and he wore a smirk.

The ridiculousness of the occasion was too much for Lily – she laughed, and hard. For a few minutes she could only laugh, allowing Potter to come closer and stand near her (she figured he was not able to sit, which only made her laugh more).

“You’re so stupid!” She said (also an aforementioned fact). James grinned.

“Well, I think you made that very clear, thank you.”

“Well, you deserved it, so welcome.” Lily shrugged. She did not regret what she said earlier. “What are you doing here, Potter?” Lily asked, with a tired edge on her voice.

“Heard the git had threatened to sleep outside and had to make sure he wouldn’t – well, at least not unscathed, that is…” He replied smirking. Lily sighed.

“Why do you have to be such a toerag?” Lily asked.

“Because some people deserve it.” He replied simply. “Not you, tho. I’m just really stupid around you.”

“You didn’t even know him when you started with him,” Lily remembered him. James raised his eyebrows.

“He insulted Gryffindor. Really, Evans, what else did I need to know?”

Lily decided she would have laughed any other day, but not tonight.

“So you were planning on scaring him on this?” She asked instead, gesturing to his ridiculous outfit. Looking at his face, she noted a distinct blush. What in the world…?

“Well, no. I noticed you were down here and I came to… y’know…” he trailed off. Lily raised her eyebrows.

“Ask me out?” She asked.

“No! Well, yes, a bit. If you say yes, that is.”

“Really, Potter. I’d rather the squid.”

Potter glared.

“I’m a squid. That’s the whole point. Or you only take the giant ones?” He asked, wiggling his eyebrows and smirking. Lily blushed at the innuendo and shook her head.

“And you wonder why I keep away from you…” She mumbled. Potter sat beside her (so he could sit!) and sighed.

“Look, actually I wanted to say I’m sorry.” He said. Lily narrowed her eyes. “I mean it. Not for what I did – that git deserves it and more – but because you lost a friend, even a lousy one like Snivellus. He’s rotten company, Evans, and I’d say, ‘I told you so’, but I won’t, because losing a mate’s bad enough.”

Lily was a bit confused and surprised. She considered to pinch herself to make sure she was not dreaming. Potter saying he was sorry for her and Snape’s falling out?

“And you needed to wear… that?” Lily asked in a whisper. Potter smirked.

“Oh, no. This was to make you laugh, which I did.”

Lily could not hold her smile. Had Potter come down to check on her?

“I think I’ll save this, tho. Maybe next term, when you’re free from his greasy and toxic presence you’ll see reason and go out with me…” Potter said, a silly grin on his face.

“Yeah, well, the head’s still too fat for my liking…” she replied with a shrug. Potter laughed and backed away.

“We’ll see, Evans. We’ll see.”

Only years later she would admit to stupid James Potter how much him dressing as that squid had meant to her, which caused him to do it again on the Hallowe’en of 1980, just for her laugh, which lead to some kisses and some moans, and in July of 1981, lead to a new Potter.

But that is a whole different story.

[sugarfreeslushies-blog]

Starbucks is a synonym for “Wingman” { Jeremy Heere X Reader }

Sometimes it's the most effective method to meet your crush for some basic coffee at Starbucks. 

(Wordcount ; 1,716 - I uploaded this on my AO3 Account as well)

Impaitently I wait at the entrance of the mall. { Y/N } was supposed to be here five minutes ago, did they just ask me to grab Starbucks with them as a joke? No, I tell myself. { Y/N } really wouldn't ghost me, they went out with worse than me. (It's rude to think things like these, but it's true) They aren't like that, I can trust them because besides Michael, they are one of my only friends and I've known them since elementary school. "Jem-Jam!", they call, immediately a low and embarassed groan rolls over my lips. I roll my eyes. 'Why, just why', I ask myself. After all these years they did not dismiss that nickname.

I turn my head and see their familiar face; their familiar hair colour. Seeing them flashes a vivid mental image of them in elementary school. Third grade, first day after summer, they standing infront of our class. Painfully, I automatically remind myself of the foolish crush I had on them. They always looked amazing, their personality was radiating, while I was just the chubby, awkward kid. My admiration for them never went away. I wonder why they still stick with a loser like me, they never had a phase where they resented either me or Michael until now, even when they were asked by the popular kids to hang out quite a few times. They finally approach, get infront of me and want to embrace me in a hug. I return the gesture and feel their chest against mine, their hair tickling my bare jaw. I feel incredibly comfortable having them this close to me. I assure myself, it's platonic. Absolutely platonic, they wouldn't be after me anyway. They have plenty of options and if I am honest, I might be ones of the second choices.

While having { Y/N } in my arms, I briefly remember how they used to be taller than me; until I overshot them by a couple proud inches in Middle School. Michael would sometimes tease them for that by telling them to get the furthest up item in the grochery store or purposely pick the biggest size of sweatshirts for them so they'd look sunken in. I only smile at that mental picture as we make our way to our destination, Starbucks. { Y/N } gets out their phone, I see them open their messenger, most likely to supply me with the newest gossip from Jenna Rolan, she actually talks to them. Then again, Jenna is usually out to find someone to just dump her gossip onto, not to demean them in any way, but that is how Rolan rolls. I mentally slap myself for that pun. "So Jer-Jam", they begin as we approach the Coffee Shop. Their eyes twinkle with mirth and I wonder what they will be telling me.

"Did you know that Mrs. Jackson and Mr. Reyes are supposedly a thing?", they began to gossip and slid their phone in the pocket of their jacket. "Really?", I inquire as we get in the queue. "Yep, Jenna said that Olivia Hansen saw them getting at it in the Janitor's closet", their voice gets lower the more details they spill. "I call bullshit, though." I nod in agreement, "Olivia is known to spread fake news like wildfire. Probably just saw two students if anything." Then they clearly dip into sarcasm, "Oh Jeremy", they say, clutching their chest a little fake dramatically and sighing in exasperation, "You are seriously the best guy to gossip with." What I don't notice is their gaze drifting off into an affectionate one. I turn away before that.

Shaking my head and snorting a little, I take a glance at the menu. I go for a basic Java Chocolate Chip Frappucchino. Nobody ever went wrong with Chocolate, not that I am often at Starbucks, but I only hear that this is supposed to taste good, so I go with that. { Y/N } heckles besides me. I raise an eyebrow, as they begin to talk. "I bet you're gonna go for the most white girl drink ever, Java Chocolate Chip Frap, am I right?" They mock me. I know they aren't truthful, I honestly live for our playful roasting sessions though. "Better make work for the Baristas easier than list all the extras you prefer, { Y/N }", I shoot back sassily.

After ordering, giving our names (obviously giving names that are hilariously difficult to spell, the barista gave us a "are-you-two-seriously-fucking-with-me-like-that-right-now" stare), we pay for our beverages and I sneak a glance at them while waiting for our Frappucchinos to be prepared. While I am not the guy to dig people only for their appearance, I have to admit that { Y/N } does have a nice body. My eyes scan them from head to toe and I note, they like to dress so they empathise only the best about them. It was no miracle that Jake Dillinger once pined after them and went to School Dance in Sophomore Year with them, making me pretty envious of Jake, because in the end, I had to friend-date Michael, not that I minded, but he had been of the view that { Y/N } and I would have been a good match.

Soon after paying and adjusting our drinks at the counter, we sit down a little further away from all the shoppaholics ad sip on our drinks. The mall is huge and lucky for us, there is a calm niche near a Subway. Nobody ever goes here and usually, Michael goes here to pick up some Mary Jane, but only on Mondays. "I don't get why Starbucks is so praised", I confess, stabbing with my straw in the icy coffee/milk/whipped cream mixture. Meanwhile { Y/N } takes a sip and moans lowly. It feels like a flash zaps through my body. That sounded dangerously sexual to me. A deep breath rolls out of my mouth, I take another sip and continue my confession, "I mean, you can get all the ingredients at the grochery store and you can surely prepare it at home as well." "I like it", they reply, straw between their teeth as they suck more of their sugary drink. "Sure, it's hella overpriced, but it's good and making that-" They raise the cup a little before resuming to their argument. "-at home, dunno, would just take the, y'know, Starbucksness away about it." A chuckle errupts from the back of my throat, { Y/N } can be so cute.

"Did you say something, Jer-Jam?", they ask. 'Fuck', I think fearfully to myself. Did I just say that aloud? I feel my face slightly heat up. In my head I pray they didn't understand what I just said. Their familiar { EYECOLOUR } eyes glance up at me through their lashes while they are a little hunched over. I'm usually not that poetic, but hell, I could get lost in them every, damn, day. I feel weird admitting it, but I win every staring contest against them, because I just space out looking into their eyes. So, my heart nearly stops. I scold myself for why I am thinking this way about one of my best friends. They. Are. Not. After. Me. Get that in your head, Jeremiah Heere.

Finally, they lean back up, they took off the lid of their drink and now some some whipped cream was sticking to their upper lip. "{ Y/N }", I say, reaching for one of the napkins we took, "You got some on your li-" I don't get any further as they playfully wink at me and let their tounge run along their upper lip. I feel a warmth pool in my lower body and my drink kind of slips out of my hand, I drop it and it spills all over my pants. "Fucking Hell!", I curse loudly while they errupt into laughter, before they hand me the napkins to somehow rub my pants dry. Which is an awkward task.

Due to the fact that I deem rubbing my pants dry, slightly inappropriate in the middle of a mall, I go with patting them dry and { Y/N }'s idea of quickly popping in at H&M to buy a new pair. It's not ideal as I seriously didn't want to spend more money today than on sugary coffee. (Sugary coffee, that is coating my pants) With my friend's help we quickly picked out three pants for me to try on and now I'm standing here in the dressing room of H&M. I eye myself critically. It fits, however I need { Y/N}'s input on it. "How's it look?", they call from the outside, "Can I come in?" I accept.

Their { EYECOLOUR } eyes roam over me and I swear I saw a hint of need in them. "Suits you", they comment and then look up to face me. A moment of silence wages between us until they lean in and give me a chaste kiss on the cheek. My jaw hangs open. "W-Wha-", I begin to stutter as I feel my face become dangerously hot. "Apology, for ruining your old pants." I feel my heart pound as I wordlessly stare at them, they stare back. I don't know if we both are thinking the same thing right now, however, almost as if we are mirroring each other, we both lean in and our lips meet somewhere inbetween again.

A low groan runs over my lips as they push me against the fullbody mirror at the wall and push aside the stool. The noise irritates me for a moment, but I quickly dismiss it, I'm making out with my longterm crush in a goddamn H&M changing room.

~ extra ~

"Those hickeys weren't necessary", I mumble as we approach the checkout with two pants on hand. { Y/N } smugly waltzes next to me, with the knowledge that everyone can see the hickeys they made at my neck. (I consented to them, of course, it's just really embarassing since they are so visible, I also somehow regret I didn't do any at their neck) The lady at the checkout just eyes us and shakes her head, I still worry but { Y/N } interwinds their fingers with mine, while I pay. I feel slightly better.