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spvce-cowboy · 4 years

Text

reunion

ch. 3 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

previous-ch. 2: “gentle things”

next-ch. 4: “songbird”

rating: mature

8k words

warnings: alcohol, drug use mentioned, jealous/protective mando, animal cruelty, descriptions of gore

summary: the luxurious rot of Canto Bight is enough to put anyone on edge. Mando is forced to ask for your help in finding a high profile quarry.

Mando leaves the fighting ring before the caterwauling nexu is able to deal the killing blow.

He can still hear the sound of the gore spraying against the floor as he climbs the stairs towards the exit, the roaring jeer of the crowd obliterating the speakers inside his helmet. The inevitable outcome of the fight was clear from its onset given the state of the nexu’s opponent, some kind of sand-bear, who was already injured upon entering the cage-like structure.

This wasn’t the Outer-Rim fighting rings he was used to. This place has carpets and a fucking chandelier suspended right above the blood clotted, dirt floor of the pit. It has pipe smoke and dark liquor, the low rumble of voices that only rise in tandem with the progression of the fight. There’s a strange reserve among this crowd that Mando has never seen before, not in this context at least.

The patrons still had that starved look in their eyes though—bloodlust, pure and simple. Somehow, all the tuxedos and hair gel makes it far more sinister than it normally would be.

Karga sent him here to gather information about the quarry, but after an entire day spent searching along with the past hour he’d spent floating around the fight hall where the informant was rumored to be, he knew to give it up before he wasted any more time.

Mando exits the underground arena, stepping into the late afternoon heat just as it begins its gradual descent towards an oncoming chill. Upon arriving at Canto Bight, he had learned very quickly to avoid the main streets. There were too many eyes and whispers for a bounty as high profile as this one for him to be spotted on his own like this, obviously searching for something.

There’s something about this city that makes him absolutely revolted. It’s not the strongest testament to his resolve or his character, but, at the same time, it’s not something he can necessarily help.

Mando still has absolutely no clue what Karga was thinking, but here he is, regardless if it made any sense or not.

He returns to the Crest, deflated after a second unsuccessful day of trying to gather information about the quarry’s whereabouts. He is desperate for a lead, two of three informants proving to be completely useless and his patience growing thinner every second he has to stay on this forsaken planet.

Closing the ramp behind him, Mando heads straight for the cockpit, needing a moment to regather his thoughts. To brainstorm a better plan of action before it becomes too late to rendezvous with Karga’s third, and last, possible informant.

The problem was that there was absolutely no way he was going to be able to get into the racetracks on his own. Getting into the fighting pit—which was considered “seedy” by Canto standards--was already a total hassle, costing him far too many credits and straining what limited negotiation skills he had.

The second problem was that he’d rather take a blaster to the leg than involve you in one of his missions. But now that was kind of his only option.

Mando rubs a hand over the forehead of his helm as he paces. When that doesn’t work, he settles himself in his pilot’s seat, hunching over slightly against the weight of the beskar against his bones. Maker, he is fucking tired.

Swiveling his head to the side, he notices a pile of something on the console that he can’t exactly make out until he leans over it.

Resting on the command board is a leather string, a few palm-sized pieces of stained glass already fashioned to hang from it by smaller loops of the same material in varied lengths. It looks like you were in the middle of working on it when something else distracted you, several more discs of glass piled onto one another to the right of the unfinished project, and a few loose scraps of leather in a pile on the copilot’s chair.

Mando allows himself to admire it for a moment, rubbing his gloved thumb over the glass’s surface. By the time he glances up through the windows of the cockpit, looking at all the people milling about outside, his breathing has somewhat evened. It’s easier to think straight, at least.

He stands and climbs back into the hull, rounding the corner to peer into the space you’ve made for yourself.

It takes him a moment to see you over the pile of blankets you’ve kicked off your mattress. You’re asleep. Under the table. The kid taking a nap with you. Of course that’s where he expected you to be if you weren’t in the cockpit but—but.

You’re on your belly, head buried in your folded arms. You have one, bare leg hitched up over pillow. The length of your calf spills over onto the floor, socked foot delicately pointed. That’s not really what stops him in his tracks. Well, it is in part.

But you’re wearing one of his shirts.

It must have just been a mistake, he knows that. He’s seen you in one of your own that’s the same general color and cut, but he knows this one is his because of the hole in the elbow where it had caught on an exposed screw and torn a few days previous. He’d been too busy to mend it.

Mando tries to wake you before his thoughts could go anywhere else. He says your name quietly, then a little louder. It wakes the kid, who yawns and blinks up at Mando, making happy sounds up at him from where he’s snuggled into your side.

When that doesn’t work, Mando nudges your calf with the tip of his boot. You startle awake, a protective hand shooting out to automatically bring the child against your chest, blinking rapidly up at him.

“Oh,” you wince slightly at the light coming into the cabin but otherwise doesn’t visibly react when you realize it’s him. Your arm loosens from where it had wrapped around the kid. “You’re back. I thought you’d be gone a while longer.”

“I need your help with something,” Mando crosses his arms in front of his chest. It gives him something to do with his hands and how awkward they feel just hanging at his sides as you prop yourself up into a sitting position to listen to him, the loose material of his shirt pulling up to reveal little glimpses of your lower back and belly as you do. “I have to have a companion with me, to go into the racetrack. They won’t let me in if they think I’m looking for a quarry.”

You nod, rubbing your eye with the heel of your palm, voice croaking and still hazy with sleep. “Yeah, yeah sure. I wanted to check it out anyway. Just lemme get changed and we can head out.”

You pick the kid up and place him back on the floor of the hull. He toddles over to Mando, nearly falling—your hands automatically reach out to hover over his sides--but he manages to catch himself on Mando’s pantleg, tugging the fabric in a determined up, now.

Your brow furrows. “What’re we gonna—”

“There’s a nursery. Karga cleared it,” Mando reaches down and scoops up the kid.

“Gotcha,” your voice already sounds clearer. You reach out a hand for Mando to pull you up, he obliges. The blankets fall from where they’ve pooled around your lap as you do.

You pad down the length of the hull towards the fresher, your hips sway with the movement as you lift an arm to continue rubbing the sleep from your face. The shorts you’re wearing are a few sizes too big, you have them rolled twice at the waistband to keep them up. Mando looks away sharply once he notices.

“Alright womp rat, how does some dinner sound?” Mando smiles to himself when the kid gives an impatient squeak. “Yeah, yeah okay alright. I’m the worst caregiver in the galaxy, I know.” The child keeps giggling as Mando makes his way into the cockpit.

Mando is running through some of the Crest’s vitals on the command board when he hears you climbing up the ladder.

“Do you think this would be okay, for the racetrack?” There’s a certain timid quality to your voice he doesn’t think he’s heard before. You have also literally never asked him for approval on something, so he’s already a bit surprised before he turns to look at you.

The clothes you chose were simple, a fitted long sleeve and a pair of loose-fitting pants long enough to at least partially conceal your work boots. It shouldn’t have felt like much of a departure from your usual roster of outfits because it really wasn’t, but for some reason there’s something different about it that he can’t put his finger on.

You have your hair piled on top of your head in a bun. With it pulled back like that, all attention is drawn to the canvas of your neck, your delicate throat that gently eases into the soft planes of your face. There’s a nonchalant beauty to you that sucks all previous thoughts straight from his head.

“You might want to bring something warmer, a jacket or something.” He turns back to the command board, desperate to look busy and hide how long he looked for. “Temperatures drop on Cantonica as soon as the sun starts setting.”

“Oops—yep. Desert planet. I forgot,” you sigh. He hears the sound of your boots scaling the ladder back down.

He purposefully doesn’t look up when you enter the cockpit again, when you announce you’re ready he nods curtly, making brief but direct eye contact with you before setting a quick pace out of the Crest and into the streets of Canto Bight.

The nursery is tucked away, out of reach and notice, protection guaranteed. He leads you through a series back-street passages to get there, too nervous about the attention the three of you would get with the kid and the main roads. You carry him against your hip most of the way, occasionally adjusting the little hood you’ve fashioned to cover his most distinguishable features with every person you pass.

The door is nondescript, positioned in the alleyway behind a semi-busy restaurant. Mando can sense your apprehension the second he steps up to press the buzzer. Within seconds, there’s the sound of a series of bolts unlocking.

A warm faced woman opened the door, wearing the clean white uniform of a nurse. “When Karga called in I hardly believed it,” her voice is light, but there’s a grating, nervous squeak to it that makes Mando scowl. Maybe it was just the day he was having, but just about anything was able to set him off.

Mando and the nurse exchange a few blunt words about pricing and care. He winces, slightly, at the cost, but it’s not anything either of you could notice. Right as Mando is about to turn to take the kid from your arms, you speak up.

“Is this… safe?” You ask again, holding the kid a little tighter to your chest. He realizes that it’s the first time since you’ve joined them that you’re separating from the kid, Mando thinks his anxiety is partially feeding off of yours.

“Karga gave me his word. It’ll only be for a few hours.” Mando glances at the nurse, who was giving the two of you her very best customer service smile. “C’mon pal,” Mando nods towards the nurse. The child’s big eyes stare apprehensively up at you, then at Mando. One of his small hands unfixes itself from your shirt to reach out towards the bounty hunter. The nurse clucks her tongue, her hands on her hips.

“Someone seems like he’s already gonna miss his daddy.”

His stomach drops without warning. “I’m not his father.” The correction is biting in a way he doesn’t intend it to be. He’s vividly aware of your sharp inhale at his words. The nurse looks startled for a half second before blinking her eyes and retaining composure.

“Yes, yes of course,” she stretches out a hand as an offering of assurance towards the child, who has resumed clinging to the fabric of your shirt. “Hey little guy, c’mon. I’ve got a lot of friends for you to play with, and some snacks. You like the sound of that?”

Mando catches your smile at the child’s ears flicking with interest, despite the fact that his hands are still firmly attached to you. Mando mutters something under his breath before taking the child from you, handing him off to the nurse and trying to push down the terrible feeling it gives him hearing the kid give a small whimper as the two of you walk away.

The racetrack is down a major boulevard, towering sandstone buildings line either side, their circular doors illuminated by bands of glowing yellow neon. The streets are a different kind of polished stone that makes Mando’s skin absolutely crawl for not discernible reason.

He thinks you’ve caught on to his worsening mood because you try to keep the conversation warm and light in a way he’s never seen you do before. Your eyes are fixed to a constant arcing movement, taking in as much of it as you can, but your mouth keeps moving about anything but Canto Bight. You avoidance just draws more focus towards the situation at hand, but he appreciates the effort.

When the two of you reach the racetrack, you stop talking completely as you scale the stands. You and Mando settle on two chairs pulled up to a tiny table, overlooking the standing room crowd below. Mando faces the crowds more than the track itself, however you angle your chair so that you can look at the racing fathiers with ease. Eventually you turn away, grimacing.

“What is it?” He asks, out of curiosity as well as a desire to fill the silence.

“They’re so beautiful,” you cast one more glance over the track as the group rumbles past to the sharp roar of the crowd. “But they look so sad.” You keep looking at the beasts for a beat longer before fixing your gaze to your hands clasped in your lap.

Mando finds his words slowly. “This planet… this amount of abundance. There is always a cost. They always make someone else pay.”

You wince, shifting your body so you’re only facing Mando and the expanse of the crowd that’s over his shoulder. You don’t look at the track for a while after that, purposefully keeping your body turned to keep your gaze away.

Mando finds fleeting solace in the fact that he was at least able to keep you away from the fighting ring, which is quickly replaced by guilt in exposing you to a similar cruelty in a less bloody form. He does his best to remind himself that you mentioned wanting to see the races previously, that the indecipherable emotion on your face was not entirely his fault.

The wait spans an hour. The tension in Mando’s shoulders grows with each passing minute.

“He isn’t coming,” Mando eventually grits out. “It’s… Maker I—”

Jobs have started off way worse than this, he’s not sure why he’s allowing all of it to get under his skin. It’s this damn city, something about it makes him feel like there is a knifepoint digging between his ribs.

You tap his hand lightly. Twice, with your index and middle fingers. It happens so quickly he’s almost able to believe he’s imagined it if it weren’t for the fact that you were still adjusting your hands in your lap after your hand had retreated. As if you didn’t know what possessed you to do that, either.

“Hey. It’s fine. It’ll work itself out, yeah?” You maneuver your head to stare directly into his visor. For some reason that alone is infinitely more intimate than your brief touch. “We can just stay here for a bit longer in case the informant shows up, then pick up the kid, grab something to eat and hunker down in the Crest. Tomorrow’s a new day, or whatever.”

Mando looks you over, then nods.

The sun is setting on the horizon, the tracks illuminated by the last vestiges of its light. This is the beginning of most everyone’s day, yet the drinks are already flowing, and have been for quite some time.

There are far too many extravagant outfits, ridiculous little hats barely teetering on large skulls. The roar of the crowd grows with their drunkenness, the races becoming crueler the more the stands fill. Mando will never understand the value in any of this and he’s genuinely not sure what’s worse—the icy coolness of the fighting rink or whatever all this is.

“Who’s the quarry?” You blink up at him. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Tyreus Cavill. Some filthy rich kid who doesn’t know how to keep his damn mouth shut. He’s taunting the Gild to the point of insult,” Mando rubs his hand over the brow of his helm. “It’s been confirmed that he’s supposed to be at some kind of party tonight. That was just about the only information I could get.”

“Was that why Karga mentioned deep cover?”

Mando nods. “He said it would be my most viable option, which doesn’t make any kind of sense. Especially with no pre-existing contacts that could get me any intel on where he’s hiding.”

You speak up after a while. Mando isn’t sure how long, too comfortable in the silence as is.

“You know my mother worked for the Alderaanian court?” You say it softly, quickly looking at the racetrack to avoid drawing attention to your words. You’re kneading the hem of your sweater, a nervous tick of yours he couldn’t help but notice. “I still remember all the things she had to teach me when we went to dinners at the homes of the survivors, the etiquette and everything. I’m positive it’s much of the same, here. All this,” you twirl your index finger in the air, gesturing to the whole of the track and presumably what lay beyond. “Seems very familiar. I could help, if you need it.”

“Your mother?”

“She was the court singer--or, well, one of them,” your voice is tense. “My father was a professor. I don’t remember a lot, just that they loved me very much.” Your eyes are searching the crowd in some desperate search for something, he’s not sure what. Probably for any kind of distraction, or any reason to keep your eyes away from his. He waits in silence, patiently. “They moved to a different planet to have me, a few years before the annihilation, there were a few other survivors who were off planet when it happened. I remember my parents hosting them, and they us, on a few occasions. It was always a multi-day affair of trying to remind me what proper manners were.” You wrinkle your nose. “It’s all very stupid, if you ask me. But,” you turn your head finally and look at him evenly. “I can—”

Mando watches as your gaze floats to a space just above his left shoulder. Your entire body visibly tenses, lips parted in what he can only think is total shock. Your hands drop the edge of your shirt and hover in your lap, as if you don’t know what to do with them.

Before Mando can ask what is wrong, you’re getting up from the table and pushing through the crowd. It takes him a beat to register what has just happened before he is up and following after you, making considerably better time in catching up given the fact that the crowd seems to naturally part for him. He almost reaches out to touch you, but instead settles for aiding your pursuit by keeping pace and staying at your side, clearing a path for you with his body and an outstretched arm to motion people to the side.

“What is it?” He tries to keep his voice low enough to not be overheard, his head in a constant survey of the crowds before you. You shake your head and keep pushing forward, higher into the stands, swerving around servers with platters stacked high with strange looking drinks. “Hey—if we go any further we’d need clearance—" the higher in the stands, the richer the patrons get. They wouldn’t let either of you in without identification after the eighth flight, which you’d just swiftly pushed past. Mando checks over his shoulder and, sure enough, a server is murmuring something to a guard droid, pointing up at you.

You’re so far up by that time that you have at least a minute until the droid catches up with the two of you. You climb onto one of the raised platforms dotted with various aristocratic parties, dining over bright white table cloths, centerpieces of bizarre orange flowers bursting through the tables. You make a beeline for the centermost table, where a Twi’lek woman is dining with an Abednedo and a human male.

You approach the Twi’lek in three swift strides, grabbing her shoulder. “Febhana.”

When the woman turns, standing, there’s a kind of wide-eyed shock of absolute wonder that immediately turns into pure joy. The two of you leap into one another’s arms in a cacophony of ecstatic, indistinguishable sounds. One of some long awaited reunion.

The Twi’lek woman, Febhana, holds your face in her hands, yours slide over hers. There are tears in her eyes as the two of your chatter over one another in breathless delight.

“I thought you—”

“I had no idea that—”

“I’ve tried to find—”

You both cut each other off, staring into one another’s eyes before laughing again and embracing tightly.

From over your shoulder, Febhana gives Mando one of the quickest, scathing once-overs he’s ever received. He can’t help but automatically have a little bit of respect for it, especially compared to the terrified, diverted eyes of her companions.

“Who is this?” She asks, pulling away from your embrace slightly. You open your mouth to respond but she’s already babbling over your warmly. “Oh! No. Don’t tell me. Not yet. Let’s do this over drinks at mine—please. Please indulge me. Maker, look at you.”

You let loose a laugh Mando doesn’t think he’s heard before. A certain tonal quality of complete release, familiarity. You nod as Febhana clasps your face between her hands again, in marvel. Mando doesn’t blame her, with that look of utter joy on your face he’d—

Well.

“Do excuse us,” Febhana swiftly addresses her dinner mates, they nod and mutter forgiveness, eyes still fixed to the ground. Mando knows for a fact that at least one of them has a fob on them by the tight anxiety exchanged in their brief glances towards one another. He ignores it for the sake of maintaining the moment between you and your friend.

Mando trails behind the two of you by a few paces. As Febhana guides you through the crowds, she waves off the guard droid with an elegantly manicured hand.

Febhana’s apartment could be considered a house twice over by Mando’s book. She leads you and him through so many tall-ceilinged hallways and rooms to get to the… lounge, he guesses would be a proper term for it… that he genuinely can’t remember where the entrance is.

The room contains a bar stocked better than any cantina on Nevarro, a few odd pieces of furniture, and a large fireplace. Heavy, dark blue curtains hang from windows so tall he has to crane his head upwards to see the top. He guesses the luxury is communicated through the refusal to occupy the space with much else, despite the fact that it could be considered a small banquet hall.

Febhana makes you and her drinks while you settle on one of the sloping, white couches, scanning the room in the same way Mando has been, with a little more plain wonder in your eyes.

Mando hovers on the periphery, unsure of where to place himself until you motion him over to sit on one of the opposing chairs, equally abstract as the rest of the furniture. Febhana settles across from you on the couch, handing you your drink before leaning back and kicking off her heels.

The two of you are in a constant chatter that has so many names and dates and overlapping speech that Mando has a difficult time keeping up. What he does catch is limited and mostly inferred: the two of you escaped from the same warlord at different times, Febhana was able to scale the social ranks of Canto Bight with ease and an inherited wallet--most importantly, the two of your missed each other very much.

It’s been at least an hour since the three of you sat down when Febhana directly addresses Mando for the first time.

“And what are you doing here, Mandalorian?”

Mando feels your eyes on him, burning, as you take a sip of your cocktail.

“She saved my life,” he manages as a straightforward reply. “I’ve hired her as a medic.”

“Febhana,” you say. When you’re slightly tipsy like this, you have a breathless wonder in the way you go about describing things. “It’s… it’s been so good. I’ve been practicing all these languages and… Maker, all the places I’ve been. It’s just like you described, when we would tell each other stories to go to sleep. Everything’s so big and there are so many people.”

Febhana throws back her head in a laugh, nodding. “Well I know that, darling. Oh, stars, it’s so good to look at you again.”

You and Febhana go back and forth a while longer still, Mando happily settles into the rhythm of it. There’s the warm, familiar way women get so engrossed in one another that he finds completely novel, if not enviable. It softens something in him to see you so relaxed as you prompt Febhana to detail her exploits, the excited yip you make when she flashes you the wedding band strung on a series of thin gold chains looped around her neck.

Then again, the way the two of you seem so physically intimate occasionally makes something in his chest constrict uncomfortably. He isn’t sure where it comes from, all the little touches you give each other seem to come from a place of purely platonic joy in reunion. But there’s a little jolt in his stomach whenever he sees it happen. He doesn’t want to acknowledge it as jealousy, but… she gets to feel you. So unabashedly.

At some point there’s a lull in the conversation. You take this moment to stretch your arm across the couch, clasping Febhana’s hands in your own. “We’re actually here for a specific reason,” you say. “And I’m only asking you out of genuine, pure desperation—Mando… has a job, here. That’s gotten a little tricky. The bounty is on the head of Tyreus Cavill.” Febhana’s eyes widen considerably, but other than that she maintains composure. Taking a deep breath, you continue, “He needs to find him, Febhana—there’s intel that he’s supposed to be at some kind of event. Possibly tonight.” You glance up at Mando to check if you’re getting the details right, he gives you brief nod of assurance when you do. “Do you know anything about it?”

Febhana scoffs, shaking her head and withdrawing her hand from yours to grab her drink resting on the low glass table in front of you. “If you’re referring to what I think you are, it would be the Gathering of Rams, one of the most exclusive events hosted on Canto. I’d imagine that’s why he’d dare show his face, even with the price on his head. Unless you already have an in, you’re fucked, Mandalorian. That place is more fortified than a warship.”

You visibly deflate. “What do you mean?”

“It’s an old, and I mean old, money tradition. A dinner for just about every despicable person in the galaxy. I’ve only heard rumors about what goes on, definitely some serious cult-y type shit, oaths, rituals, the like.” She chews on a nail as she thinks. Something in her eyes lights up. “Wait. I think I… yes! Yes, I got the announcement a few weeks ago. Stars I think—” she looks down at the device on the inside of her wrist, tapping on it until—“Christ you two are the luckiest couple of bounty hunters in the galaxy, you know that? The Tagges are hosting the afterparty, tonight. The most eligible of all of Canto Bight will be there, and then some. I was invited a few weeks ago, I’d completely forgotten. With any luck he’ll be dumb and drunk enough after the Gathering to go.”

“The Tagges?” Your voice is filled with apprehension. You glance to Mando, then quickly back to your friend. “Febhana, there’s no way he can get in.”

“Hm, I’d think so too but there could be a chance…” Her eyes narrow, her face breaking into a toothy grin. “No, I’m a complete idiot. Maker, this is gonna be perfect--most of the ladies in waiting here dress their guard droids as glorified curtains. It’s a new thing if you get what I’m saying. If we go in together and disguise the Mandalorian as even more of a hunk of metal than he already is—” Mando grunts at the slight jab—“all one of us would have to do is get the target by himself with a little eye-batting and it would be a done deal.”

You and Mando speak in unison.

“I am not going to be a honeypot.”

“She will not.”

Febhana raises a brow, one side of her mouth pulling up in poorly concealed amusement.

“Oh I suggested no such thing, I’d happily volunteer. But I do need a wing-woman, for appearance’s sake. I am taken, you know,” she flashes the wedding band again, pulling the collar of her dress down a fraction to do so. “Would be unbecoming to go on the prowl in public like that without pretending like I was just assisting.”

Mando glances over at you, trying to gauge your reaction to her proposal before he came off as to overbearing. He didn’t have the right to, he knows that. But there’s some raw part of him that winces at the very thought of you and your safety getting involved in one of his jobs. Maker if you got hurt in any way—

Febhana’s voice breaks his thought before it can be fully formed. “Oh, this is going to be excellent.” She practically purrs, jumping off the couch and extending her hand towards you to help you up. You comply, giving Mando a raised-brow glance of well, let’s see where this goes.

As Febhana begins leading you across the room, Mando stands.

“Should I contact the nursery to let them know to keep the child overnight?”

“The child?” Febhana’s eyes flick between you and Mando quickly. “I’m sorry, what?”

You curse under your breath, pressing your hand against your forehead. “A kid we’re looking after,” you clarify for Febhana. “I’m so sorry Mando, I got excited so it completely slipped my mind. I…” you bite your lip. “If you feel like it would be safe doing that I… guess that should be fine.”

“My wife could also look after it,” Febhana regards Mando evenly for a moment. “If you’re worried about safety. Would that be sufficient?”

Your eyes brighten slightly, glancing at Mando, tilting your head in question.

Mando nods, addressing Febhana directly. “If she trusts you, I do. I can travel back and get him while the two of you get ready.”

“I’ll send a car for you,” Febhana throws the remark over her shoulder, already busying herself by flinging the double doors that lead into the hallway back open.

You inhale sharply as if remembering something, tapping your friend on the shoulder before she begins to walk down the hall. “Wait, Febhana—the car, is there maybe a taxi service you could call? With an actual driver? He… we don’t really ‘do’ droids, if possible.”

“I have an ‘actual’ driver, darling,” Febhana playfully chides. Her eyes flick towards Mando. “I’ll ring him, he’ll be downstairs in a moment. You remember where the entrance is, right?”

Your delicate rephrasing, that “we,” rings in Mando’s ears for the entire trip back to the nursery.

Mando quickly returns with the child, slightly weirded out by the enclosed landspeeder Febhana sent for him. It’s unlike anything he’d seen before, more like a carriage than any hover-craft he’d ever set foot in. There’s a dividing curtain between the passenger cabin and the driver’s seat, which he has pushed away to make sure the silent man at the wheel doesn’t try anything.

The driver has a stony demeanor that seems very similar to Febhana’s—she clearly wasn’t one to suffer fools, and the people she surrounded herself with seemed to reflect that. Thinking back to the way you initially interacted with Mando, he could potentially see how your shared history with Febhana could have informed that. The characteristic briskness, the unflinching resolve.

The child spends most of the returning trip chattering in relief, little hands reaching out to touch Mando’s beskar in a continuous greeting.

“Right here, kid. Always right here,” he affectionately rubs the corner of the child’s ear. There’s a heavy guilt that had settled itself in the bottom of Mando’s stomach since dropping him off.

He wants to apologize in some way, to blame it on his mood or the mounting anxiety surrounding the job, but he doesn’t know how to phrase it in a way that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete jackass. So he settles for bowing his helm to bump foreheads with the kid in a small display of reassurance. It seems to settle something in both him and the child almost immediately.

Mando glances up sharply, nearly forgetting the parted dividing curtain. The man, a wiry looking human male, glances back at the two of them through the thin pane of the rearview mirror, then returns to chain smoking while wildly maneuvering his way through traffic.

The hover-car’s abrupt stop breaks him from his thoughts. He glances out the window, recognizing Febhana’s apartment building. The entire block is in a similar style as the boulevard you both had walked down earlier, circular doors outlined by bands of glowing yellow light. The only difference were the towering, wrought iron gates in front of each building and a set of tall stairs made of the same sandstone leading up to each house. The driver gets out and opens the landspeeder’s door for Mando and the kid, then steps forward and unlocks the gate, holding it open for the two of them.

“Sir.” The driver’s voice is more of a growl. If it weren’t for the enhanced settings of Mando’s visor, it would be too dark to see the mass of scar tissue that formed a jagged line across the man’s throat. The old wound is only partially concealed by the lapel of his coat pulled up against the drizzling rain. He’s abnormally tall, so thin that it looks as if his skull is actively attempting to escape his face. “Febhana’s apartment is the third buzzer. The service droid will let you in. She told me you should follow it.” The cigarette balancing against his lip bobs as he speaks, his heavy drawl disrupted only in part by his eviscerated voice box.

Mando’s lip curls slightly but he nods, thanking the driver, ducking out of the hover-car and climbing the steps leading to the apartment’s door.

Just as the driver said, the front door of Febhana’s apartment is opened by a droid. Mando stiffens despite the fact that the thing just barely reaches his knee. It gives off a series of little sounds before turning away and maneuvering down the front hall. Muttering something unsavory about Canto Bight under his breath, Mando follows it inside.

When he arrives at the threshold of Febhana’s dressing room, she’s only just started pulling out dresses for you to try on. He deflates slightly, really hoping that the two of you would have gotten this part over with so he could begin scoping out the Tagge mansion as soon as possible.

Mando accepts his fate and seats himself for the time being, placing the kid on the ground to let him toddle over to you. You lean down immediately and scoop him up, lifting him in the air with a happy: “Hey, stinky!” The child giggles as you snuggle him to your chest, pressing kisses all over his face in reunion.

You keep gently playing with the kid as you and Febhana resume your conversation: wiggling your fingers over his face for him to grab, tickling his tummy, gently pinching his socked feet. It’s something you sink into so naturally Mando can’t help but be mesmerized by it. It calms something in him, to see both of you like that. He pushes the implications of that feeling away for the time being, as he always does.

Febhana gives the kid a bit of a once-over but looks overall disinterested, turning her attention back to rummage through her closet. “So it’s supposed to be a formal dance, but if it’s anything like the similar things I’ve gone to, that shit quickly disintegrates. But it’s still weirdly important for them to keep up the illusion of appearances, even though most rooms with closeable doors are occupied by people railing lines or fucking. Or both. Usually both.” The Twi’lek woman plucks out some kind of red, silken shift, holding it in the air then shaking her head and returning to her hunt. “I’ve been to enough Tagge parties to be a familiar face, we can play you off as an old friend of mine, some kind of lady-in-waiting thing or whatever. Crowds like these don’t tend to prod too deeply into personal histories, and with tits like yours I don’t think they’ll be interested in asking too many questions.”

Mando clenches his jaw so hard something starts hurting. You give a bit of an embarrassed laugh, quickly diverting the conversation. “So how do we get introduced to Cavill?”

“Honestly? The easiest thing to do would be getting you to snuggled up with one of his friends. He runs around with a group of bachelors who are not… pleasant company by any standards. Snotty rich kids,” she makes a face. “But if that’s not an option I could try to push some of my contacts there to get us into their circle. Seriously, darling, with men like this involved it is probably going to be one of the easiest bounties he’s ever going to collect.”

The strain being placed on every cell in Mando’s body in response to this conversation alone says the exact opposite.

Febhana continues pulling out dresses, layering some over a bench and discarding others all together.

“Febhana, will they know?” You ask it suddenly, your tone—not tense, necessarily, but definitely controlled, as if you were expecting an answer you didn’t want to hear but were willing to take regardless.

“It’s the Tagge family, so of course they know what happened to that fucker, but I don’t think they would care,” she waves off your fearful tone with a shake of her head. “Just as long as we make a bit of an effort to conceal your identity, for formality’s sake, it’ll be fine.”

“What happened to who?” Mando asks. Once he does, all the air is immediately sucked out of the room.

After an extended moment. “You didn’t tell him?” Febhana’s head cocks, you visibly swallow.

“I um…” your nostrils flare with the sharp inhale you take as you search for the right words. “When I escaped…”

Febhana interrupts. “She stabbed the shit out of the warlord who owned us. All his wife found was pulp. Didn’t take it well, the cunt. Nearly catatonic. The rest of us were able to practically waltz out of there because of this one. Owe this gorgeous bitch my life. All of us do.”

You smile at Febhana, reaching out to squeeze her hand. She winks at you, covering it with her own before turning to go rifle back through her closet. You keep your gaze to your hands when she does, lips pressed together. Mando doesn’t remove his eyes from you as Febhana continues.

“So it might be a little difficult getting her in there, but to be honest the Tagges hated him anyway. Rival business type stuff, though, not the whole holding women captive or worker’s rights violations and debt bondage thing,” her voice drips with a kind of contempt that Mando prays he’ll never have directed his way. He notices your hands tighten slightly from where they lay in your lap, your arms loosely looped around the kid who now sits upright in your lap. “I know someone who can forge some papers well enough to present to the guards, he owes me some favors anyway,” Febhana continues. “They’ll be ready by the time we have to leave. Doll you up enough and I’m sure it’ll be fine—ah!” It is only then that Mando looks back over to the Twi’lek woman. Her eyes are lit up, fanged mouth pulled upwards in a triumphant smile. The dress in her hand is a deep plum color, fabric so thin he cannot make out what it actually looks like without a form to fill it. You reach out to it, rubbing the dress between your thumb and index finger.

“Perfect.” You and Febhana say it in unison, your widest smile of the night parted up at her. There’s a delighted, mischievous tilt to your mouth he’s never seen before.

Mando swallows, despite the sudden tightness in his throat.

He waits outside while the two of you change, sitting on a strange tufted seat pushed against the hallway’s bay window. It’s piled with an obnoxious amount of silken pillows—it seems the longer you’ve been with him, the more surfaces his beskar encounters that it never would have otherwise. A part of him is able to find the humor of that, despite the discomfort of feeling wildly out of place in your friend’s luxurious home. He settles with his legs slightly spread, back hunched to brace his elbows against the tops of his beskar-clad thighs.

After about thirty minutes, a woman comes down the hall, absentmindedly cleaning a pair of large-framed glasses with the corner of her sweater, a thick, leather-bound book tucked under one arm. She looks as out of place in this hallway as he does—more like a Galactic librarian than a resident of an apartment like this. She puts her glasses back on and stops in her tracks once she sees him.

“Who are you?”

Mando clears his throat. “A friend of Febhana’s.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes, I am--well. A friend of a friend.”

Her eyes narrow quizzically. “I’ve been married to that woman for five years now. I think I would know if she had a Mandalorian as a ‘friend of a friend.’”

As if on cue, Febhana emerges from the beaded curtain suspended over the entrance of her dressing room, barefoot and wearing a blue gown. She pads over to the woman, something bulky tucked under one arm, the other carrying the child in a sleeping bundle. Febhana places him in her wife’s arms delicately. “Lovely, we’re just getting ready for the party. Don’t mind her play-thing,” she tilts her head towards Mando without directly looking at him. “He’s just here for decoration.”

Mando physically bites his tongue.

Febhana’s wife glances at Mando, before leaning up to gently kiss Febhana. “Alright, I’ll be in the study. Wake me when you get back.”

Febhana cups her wife’s face gently. It’s such an intimate gesture that Mando looks away, feeling as though his presence alone is an interruption. The couple talks quietly for a moment, then her wife exits through the same door she came in from.

“Here is the guard’s uniform. The measurements should be right,” Febhana stands in front of Mando, handing him folded pieces of dark fabric, and then a helm. It’s two halves of a black metal shell meant to fit and tighten over the face of a droid. There’s a thick pane of darkened glass cutting through the middle of the mask, presumably to not disrupt a droid’s sensors but it will render Mando’s absolutely useless. This night just keeps getting better and better.

The whole thing is not something Mando has ever seen before, though he was never one to frequent circles like Febhana’s. The only distinguishable features are symmetrical dips cutting severe cheekbones into the object’s silhouette. Two fixed pieces of gilded metal form a swooping triangle that hovers just over where his nose will be under the helmet’s featureless surface. Looping, thin chains dripping from the decorative structure to partially conceal the mask’s lower half. When he holds it up in the low light of the hallway, their movement creates glinting waves of light.

All of it is purely flare, for the most part. At least the tailor made plenty room for armor beneath the--as Febhana put it--glorified curtains usually meant to conceal a droid. He heaves a sigh, taking the uniform from her. “This is the only option?”

Febhana shrugs. “Unless you want me and your girl going in by ourselves and trying to lure him out to you--which is certainly an option--yes.”

“She isn’t ‘my girl.’”

“Oh, trust me,” her smile is biting. “I know that.” She tilts her head towards the dressing room. “C’mon, the pretty one is almost done. You can use my room to change.”

When he enters, you’re seated at Febhana’s vanity. All the air is sucked out of his lungs.

The dress is really nothing more than a series of gauze-like drapes that spill from your body and pool onto the floor. The expanse of your back is completely exposed, the dress only resuming to cover you right above the base of your spine. One long piece of fabric serves as the illusion of sleeves, cinched at the swooping neckline by delicate, medallion-like embellishments that rest at the dip of both shoulders. The sleeves’ near-transparent fabric are fixed to ovular gold rings you have on the middle fingers of both hands.

Mando watches the fabric shift over the bend of your arm as you use said finger to swipe a little pigment on your lips. It glistens in the mirror he looks at you through. In that initial moment of deep focus, you have the severe look of a high official’s wife. Utterly untouchable. The most beautiful creature he’s ever witnessed.

His entrance breaks your concentration, you smile up at him, warmly, through the mirror.

“I’m almost done,” your voice breaks him from his stupor. Your other hand dips a small brush into a pot of powder. You dab it under your eyes and then stand, going to a crystalline bar cart and spraying some kind of perfume on your neck.

Febhana steps into the room behind him. After a moment Mando finds his voice.

“And you said she isn’t supposed to be the honeypot?” It’s hard to keep the pain out of his voice as he says it. At this point it’s like the two of you are actively trying to kill him.

Febhana laughs, and the smile you give him is expansive yet strangely private at the same time. As if you and him were in on some secret, some inside joke. You cross the room and pat him lightly on the shoulder twice, before moving him aside in order to link arms with Febhana.

The two of you leave the room, picking up whatever conversation you were having before Febhana left to give Mando his things. He stands there until his heartbeat steadies, then moves behind the wooden room partition to put the uniform on.

It’s going to be a long night.

a/n: mando, babes, u don’t even know the half of it

jokes aside i am so excited for the next chapter you guys have no idea how much fun this is to write !! love a good ol’ fancy party w a bunch of degenerates.

tag list: @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @walkingthegrounds @roseallisonparker @kaitlyn2907 @dinsbeskar

please let me know if you would like to be added/removed!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din and grogu #mandalorian and grogu #grogu #reader insert #i'll be here in the morning #i'll be here in the morning ch.3 #fanfic #star wars fanfiction

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hopelessromanticspoonie · 4 years

Text

Helping Hands - Chapter 9

series masterlist here chapter summary: We learn of Tony's condition after the mission, and Haley makes a few deals. chapter warnings: Mention of injury and behavior indicative of abuse a/n: Thank y’all for sticking around! And extra thanks for @yespolkadotkitty for Betaing this chapter and making it so much better than it was!

It’s one of the most difficult feelings in the world to watch someone you care for in pain.

But, for Haley, it’s something else entirely to watch them suffer and know that she can end it, but has been forbidden to.

Without a snarky comment to pull his lips into his signature smirk or his eyes twinkling with ideas buzzing around in the billionaire’s brilliant brain, Tony looked small. Unimportant. Just a man with grey hairs peppering his goatee and deep, dark bags beneath his eyes. Wires disappearing beneath the blankets on his chest beeped out his restful state, timed to her foot tapping anxiously against the tiled floor.

“It’s just some bruising and a concussion. He’ll be okay, Hales,” Nat assured her from her place next to Tony’s head.

A plate appeared in front of her, a sandwich and fruit artfully arranged upon it, and she set it on her lap mechanically. Steady, large hands settled on her shoulders and she reclined back in the chair until her head rested against Loki’s sternum.

Quietly, she murmured, “He’d heal faster if I-”

“Absolutely not. You promised Stark, did you not?”

Any answer would just affirm his statement, and the guilt churning in Haley’s stomach was too heavy for her to answer him. If only she hadn’t promised, then she could be handling a rapidly healing concussion and Stark would be chewing her out right now. But her word was all that she had in this world, aside from her abilities, and she wasn’t going to face losing the trust of the only souls she had to call her own.

Which meant she sat there at his bedside, picking at her sandwich under Loki’s watchful gaze, as Avengers filtered in and out to check on their fallen leader.

“Absolutely not.”

Were those the only two words in his vastly overinflated vocabulary? Haley stood up and crossed her arms over her chest, facing Loki across from Tony’s bed. “I’ll stay on the jet. For real. You can make me a suit like Tony’s so that I’m protected.”

“You won’t need it if you don’t leave the Quinjet, Little Mouse.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “You expect her to listen, Tony?”

Loki’s hands flexed at his sides and he shook his head with a look of fierce determination that stabbed into her stomach and ripped her heart out from inside her ribcage. “Out of the question. I won’t allow it.”

She unfurled her fists from her hoodie to count out her attributes on her shaky fingers. “I need to start earning my keep around here. I heal faster than all of you combined, even with super serum. Nat would’ve died if I hadn’t have helped-”

“And if I would have allowed you to continue, you would have foolishly died instead!” Loki’s rage filled the small room, forcing Haley to flinch back in shock and clench her eyes shut as she waited for the blow that was sure to follow such fury.

It was Steve’s calm, level voice that lured her to open her eyes again. “Our lives are not worth yours.”

“And I’m not saying they are! But I can get you all healed to a point where you’ll make it to medical assistance, like I did with her. That’s all.” Her large eyes darted around the room, searching for an agreeing face amongst the thin frowns and furrowed brows. Everything in Haley wanted to stand down, shrink into a corner and hope for the confrontation to just blow over, but this was too important. “Please. I can’t stand by and watch the closest thing to family that I’ve had leave, not knowing who’s going to come back.”

The silence is interrupted only by the beeps of Tony’s heart monitor that grate on Haley’s frazzled nerves. She could’ve fixed it. She could fix them. Just given the chance. Please, please, give me the chance.

“Only when necessary,” Tony finally spoke up, revealing the train of thought he’d been chasing since the conversation had begun. “You don’t get yourself killed saving us. If it’s our time, it’s our time. No dragging on like the last season of Friends - no one wanted that. You got me?”

Loki growled, a feral sound that chilled her bones, and stormed out of the room.

That’s my decision to make. She nodded, squashing any look of triumph from her features, and stared back at his somber face. “I got you.”

Sleep wasn’t happening tonight.

That was made abundantly clear after hours of tossing and turning. Loki had avoided her for the rest of the evening, and the cold shoulder from someone who typically offered such warmth nagged at the back of her mind.

Would doing this, joining the Avengers, crush whatever they’d begun to build together into choking dust that couldn’t be salvaged?

Groaning, Haley sat up in bed and rubbed the heels of her hands over her weary eyes. “FRIDAY, what time is it?”

“It’s 2:17 AM.”

Highly unlikely that Loki was still awake at this hour, unlikelier still that he was out of his room. But still, she had to try.

After shoving some socks onto her bare feet and her hoodie over her tank top, she quietly slipped out of her room, creeping down the hallway as quickly as possible so as to not wake the Avengers who managed to find some rest. Many, she knew, were plagued with nightmares. It seemed to come with the territory. They couldn’t save everybody, and when they could, it sometimes meant making choices that haunted the shadows of their darkened rooms.

But Loki’s didn’t seem to be bothering him. Not tonight. At least not in the sprawling living area. She forced herself to ignore any - hopefully premature - disappointment and went to the kitchen, hoping to find his tall and dark figure gleefully arranging a plate of sweets for them to share. But it was empty, too.

Might as well make the trip worthwhile. Why pass up the opportunity to indulge in delicious treats? Tilting her head back and forth thoughtfully, she bit into a brownie that Pepper had brought in for the team - a thank you for getting Tony out safe and sound. Would she ever get used to the sweet explosion of bliss over her tongue? Sighing, her shoulders slumped and she set a cup of milk into the microwave and got it going. Hot cocoa sounded nice right now.

Well, that was until she accidentally tipped the almost boiling milk onto her hand, pulling a curse from low in her throat. “Fuck.”

“Let me see.”

Haley didn’t turn at the insistent, silken voice, watching the shadow of Loki’s head darken her reddened skin just before she felt the heat of him at her back. Long arms, encased in a gray hoodie that matched her own, slid into her vision so his hands could carefully cradle her injured hand. Any angry, stinging pain that had annoyed her more than anything was lost to the scent of him, cinnamon and mint and perfumed smoke, washing over her senses in a soothing embrace.

It took a few deep inhales to find her voice again. “It’ll be okay. Healing is kind of my thing.”

Strong hands dropped to press into the countertop on either side of her, white knuckles revealing the slightest bit of effort it took to make the marble begin to crack in protest. Or perhaps that effort was made in order to not ruin the cool surface.

His voice was tight when he muttered, “That it is.”

Thankful for once for her slight build, she turned in the cage of his body, facing him. He was entirely too close, entirely too handsome with his tumble of midnight hair over his shoulders and searching emerald eyes inches away. Her heart raced against her ribcage that flexed with each rapid breath, and greedy fingers splayed over his chest to find that his did just the same. The flick of her tongue over her lips drew his focus downward, and her stomach clenched at the sudden darkness of his steady gaze.

One tries. Two. She cleared her throat and tried once more for what little courage she had. “I need to do this, Loki.”

Steel arms wrapped around her to pull her into his chest. His voice rumbled through his throat and against her forehead when he replied, “I know.”

“Help me?”

Molten comfort flowed out from the press of his mouth over her temple. “Promise me one thing?”

That tone of his voice, pleading, broken and vulnerable beneath the demand, crawled into her soul and commanded it to listen as he placed his hopes at her feet. “What?”

Large, needy hands skated up her back to curl around her neck so his thumbs could press underneath the edge of her jaw and hold her attention to his heartbreakingly earnest expression. “If the situation comes between your life and theirs, or mine,” he swallowed with the barest twitch of his chiseled cheek, “you save yourself. Promise me.”

There wasn’t any way to deny him. Not when he looked as if her answer held the very key to his next bated breath. “Okay.”

Rewarded with a soft brush of his lips over hers, a sigh of relief laced with chocolate flooded the space between them. She’d promise him anything if it meant she could bask in the sweet mint of his breath that raised goosebumps over her neck when he pulled away to study her reaction to the flick of his silver tongue against the seam of her mouth.

Eager to explore the newfound sensation, to lose herself in Loki’s strength and passion, she tilted her chin up slightly in a silent offering of more. Even if she didn’t know what that was, she wanted it. Wanted him.

Desperation lined his lips, held her between the long line of his body and the rigid countertop behind her as he kissed her again, pouring every bit of vulnerability he was unable to verbally express into the card of his fingers through her short, unruly hair. She melted into his heat, clinging to broad shoulders and following the mold of his mouth to teach her how to ease the ache of their anxieties. She learned the flex of his thigh in between her legs, and when the intensity that clenched her stomach sank lower and became unfamiliar and too much, he stopped.

Searing need turned to calming, chaste affection, kissed over flushed cheeks and above dark lashes until he leaned his cheek against the crown of her head while they both caught their breath.

Emboldened by the pulse in her swollen lips, she whispered the beginning of her own demand, “Loki?”

“Hmm?” His voice was rough, low and deep, and she liked it. One day, she’d discover why it sent an electric shiver down her spine.

Her forehead scrunched against the column of his neck. “No more silent treatments, okay? Talk to me.”

He stiffened almost imperceptibly against her, remaining rigid despite the steady draw of her hands up and down his back. “What you ask of me is not so easy, Little One.”

“I didn’t say it was. But shutting me out isn’t going to make the decisions you disagree with any easier to handle. Talk to me, okay?”

One of his hands glided down so his thumb could rub over the curve of her shoulder, and his heavy sigh ruffled her hair. “I will try.”

And both of them knew that was as good as they were going to get.

~~~

Series taglist: @kneel-before-queen-loki @alexakeyloveloki @from-hel-i-with-love @cleocc @cateyes315 @coldbookworm @rjohnson1280 @bambi-butt @skiddleskaddle @lokis-high-priestess @myraiswack @ilovetardis @midgardian-mistress @lisaspageofstuff @kathrynwynterbourne @bluestaratsunrise

Little Bit of Loki taglist: @myownviperroom @darealbellabelleoftheball @boubouinscarlet @iamverity @rt8815 @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @ms-cellanies @rosierossette @thathedonistgirl @lokixme @hellethil @myraiswack @birdgirl90 @cateyes315

Whole Shebang taglist: @just-the-hiddles @yespolkadotkitty @vodka-and-some-sass @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @nonsensicalobsessions @myoxisbroken @brokenthelovely @polireader @wiczer @littleredstarfish @the-broken-angel-13 @arch-venus25 @xxloki81xx @jessiejunebug @tinchentitri @sllooney @devilbat @vikkleinpaul @bouquet-o-undercaffeinated-roses @angelus80 @wolfsmom1 @kthemarsian @toozmanykids @princerowanwhitethorngalathynius @sabine-leo @peterman-spideyparker @wegingerangelica @bluefrenchfries604 @catsladen @snoopy3000 @silverswordthekilljoy @villainousshakespeare @kitkatd7 @nonbinarylowkey @lots-of-loki @is-it-madness @kangaroobunny

#loki #loki fanfic #loki x ofc #fluff #slight angst #marvel fanfiction #loki fanfiction #hopeless writes #helping hands

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slash-em-up · 4 years

Text

I Was (Not) Born To Be A Cowboy Pt. 2

Last Time:

‘Thank FUCK you’re both here! These ranch-hand bastards are trying to kill me!’

Asa sighed deeply.

“Hello Jesse...”

-------------------------------------------------------------------

You chortled at Jesse’s miserable look. You couldn’t help it.

“Weeelll howdy, partner! Golly, if you ain’t the cutest rootin’est tootin’est lil cow-poke I ever did see!”

Jesse glared at you then looked pleadingly at Asa.

‘Make them stop.’

Asa huffed and moved past you into the bunk house.

“...Oh, to have that power...”

You moved to follow, and judging by the look Jesse was throwing you, if there was a snowbank nearby you’d be tossed in head-first with no hope of rescue.

Thank heaven for little miracles.

Entering the cabin, you couldn’t help the small whimper that left your lips at the shabby conditions.

You’d stayed in a very similar place during camp one awful summer; but that had been summer. This was a frigid Montana winter, and from the looks of it the only source of heat was a wood-burning fireplace which was giving off the world's most pitiful excuse for a glow.

“Really, Jesse?”

You moved quickly to save the fire, re-arranging the logs so they didn’t smother the flame, and adding a few pieces of kindling.

Immediately the cabin brightened, and you smiled.

The aggressive unzipping of a duffle-bag brought your attention back to your partners. One of whom was trying his hardest to loom over poor Brody as he stood awkwardly in the doorway.

“Uh... Hey there Mr. Jesse...”

A stony glare answered him.

“You - uh – you look like you’re all recovered from your tumble this mornin’...”

Now he had Asa and your attention.

“No need to worry... everyone falls off their horse at least once... or four times...”

You were pretty sure you heard Asa mumble an annoyed “Jesus Christ, Jesse...” under his breath before carefully refolding his sweaters and placing them in the bedside cubby.

Under Jesse’s baleful gaze, Brody seemed to determine that it was time to beat a hasty retreat.

“Well, I’ll let you folks get settled!” he gave you a friendly nod and Asa an intimidated “Sir..” before turning to leave the bunkhouse.

“Breakfast’s at four!”

Jesse rubbed at his eye in a beleagured motion as you jumped up from your seat.

“Four?! WAIT... Brody, FOUR AM?!?”

But Brody was gone.

A large arm curled around your shoulders and Jesse gave you a sympathetic squeeze.

‘Welcome to Hell.’

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

These bunks were not made to hold more that one person at a time.

You determined that Mr. Ephriam had to be homophobic. You could almost read the sign ‘No Brokeback Mountain-ing On My Good Cattle Ranch’ and it was about to make you cry.

You were so cold.

And Asa had the audacity to be sleeping like a baby, that bastard.

Jesse looked like he was wearing at least five pairs of socks, because beyond not being anywhere big enough to fit more than one person, the bunks were also clearly not built to hold anyone taller than 6’.

Even Asa was a little smooshed; but somehow he was making due.

Jesse, on the other hand, could almost plant his feet on the floor if he laid flat and he looked miserable.

“Jesse...” you hissed.

The veritable mountain of blankets covering the bunk to your right shifted, allowing a blurry brown eye to peer out questioningly at you.

“Bring your blankets over by the fireplace, I have an idea.”

Jesse seemed to intuit what you were thinking because he speedily shuffled himself and his pile of coverings in front of the fire, laying several down as a barrier between your bodies and the cold wood floor.

You did a shimmy of happiness as you laid down next to Jesse’s reclining body, already feeling the heat from the fire and the large form of your partner saturate your chilled skin.

Sighing in joy, you let Jesse pull you in tightly so he was spooning you, nearly covering you with his own body in his quest for heat.

His chest rose and fell with a deep exhalation as you both settled into a comfortable position for the first time that night.

You were so cozy that the pair of you only barely shifted when, a few minutes later, you heard soft grumbles and movement from the other bunk as Asa rolled to his feet and walked over to join you.

The heat of the two large men caging you in had you nearly purring in delight, and the atmosphere had lightened considerably – enough that moments later Asa jolted up and punched Jesse roughly in the shoulder.

“Hands off my ass.”

Jesse’s chest shook with laughter, and you couldn’t contain your tired giggles if you tried.

A hand rose from it’s resting place on your waist to make a dismissive gesture at Asa before spelling out ‘Thanks you two.’

You turned slightly to press a kiss to Jesse’s scarred chin.

“Anytime.”

Asa grunted in acknowledegement before telling you both in no uncertain terms that you had less than three hours before breakfast and he wanted to sleep – so quiet down.

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

The loud clanging of a bell woke you from what had turned into a rather pleasant slumber.

“Nooooooo...” you groaned, burying your face into Jesse’s chest.

Asa was already up and sorting through his luggage, looking for his glasses as you and Jesse slowly untangled yourselves from your blanket nest and stumbled over to your own bunks.

“What does one wear to a proper chuck wagon breakfast?” you asked jokingly.

Asa smirked but Jesse was less than amused.

‘I think a gunny sack and fur cap would make you fit in perfectly.’

Apparently, Jesse was not at all impressed with the ranch’s dress code.

You played along.

“Aww and here I left my coonskin cap at home...”

The door to the bunk clattered, allowing Spann to enter.

“I have an extra if you want to make an impression...”

“Hey Spann. Love the flannel.”

It seems that Brody handn’t been exagerrating when he said Spann was settling in to the routine of the ranch. You couldn’t recall ever seeing her dressed so casually; and had NEVER seen her without a full face of makeup and jewelry.

Clearly, she was nothing if not adaptable.

“I see you’re making the best of ranch life.”

She gave you a small grin.

“My mom’s family owned a dairy farm. I was pretty handy with a pitchfork before I moved to Florida.”

“Haha, and I guess it’s just like riding a bike?”

“Something like that.”

Jesse interrupted your joking around with a curt ‘cute’ before huffing past the two of you out onto the porch.

You raised an eyebrow at Spann before following her out the door.

Oh, well that explained why Jesse was in such a mood already...

Two horses waited by a hitching post for their riders to join them.

It was pretty easy to tell who’s was who’s.

Spann’s horse was a beautiful little red thoroughbred – already saddled and waiting for the petite woman to mount and take off towards the mess hall.

Jesse’s was... sized appropriately... you guessed.

The huge draft horse stood untacked, and you could swear it was glaring as Jesse approached it slowly.

Asa joined Spann and you in leaning against the railing, watching the battle about to commence.

“Her name is Sugar...” Spann muttered to the two of you.

“Mr. Cromean’s has fallen off at least twice every day we’ve been here, and he still can’t get his saddle on tight enough...”

You could hear Jesse making clucking noises with his tongue at the huge animal – but you were sure he was simply cussing Sugar out internally.

He’d pulled a large Western-style saddle off the porch railing before approaching the horse, and you watched with amused disbelief as your boyfriend proceeded to charge at Sugar – saddle up – who quickly danced out of reach.

This chase continued for several minuted before Asa shifted away with a snort of disgust, pushing his glasses up his nose before stepping to intercept Jesse as he tore after the prancing horse once more.

“Give that to me, idiot. We’ll be here all day if we wait for you.”

You had to admit, you were a little turned on watching as Asa swiftly took the saddle out of Jesse’s limp grasp before confidently walking over to settle the blanket and leather tack comfortably on Sugar’s back; pressing his thumb lightly into the horse’s flank as he tightened the girth with swift and sure movements.

One final check, and he’d gripped the reigns and mounted.

Jesse’s back was to you; but you could just imagine the mixture of awe and embarrassed anger that was probably plain as day on the tall man’s face.

Asa rolled his eyes, giving a click of his heels into Sugars sides and trotting over to where you stood.

“Ready to go?”

You couldn’t hold back your stupid grin as you nodded quickly, grasping Asa’s offered arm and holding tightly as he swung you from the porch to sit in front of him on the saddle.

“Hold the pommel and grip with your thighs...” he murmurred into your ear.

“Well you know I’m good at that.” you teased.

“Cheeky...”

Asa’s eyes sparkled with a hidden grin as he moved the large horse towards the mess.

“Coming, Spann?”

You nearly let out a hoot of laughter at the sound of boots rushing over to catch the two of you.

Jesse skidded in the muddy ground and jerked back as Sugar moved her head to nip at him.

‘Hey, you stole my horse!’

Asa snorted.

“It didn’t look like you were using it.”

‘It’s a quarter mile to the mess hall do you expect me to walk?!’

“I suppose you could round up a posse and arrest me for horse-thieving; but I think breakfast will be over by then...”

Jesse looked like he was about to start stomping his feet in anger.

‘I hate how much you’re enjoying this.’

You giggled as one of Asa’s arms wrapped itself around your waist and he motioned Sugar into a quick canter, Spann and her red mare following close behind.

“Better run, Jesse!”

#jesse cromeans x reader x asa emory #asa emory #jesse cromeans #the collector 2009 #the collection 2012 #laid to rest #chromeskull: laid to rest 2 #spann #jessica writes #Horror Movies #slasher fiction #this is completely self-indulgent mkay??#the collector slasher #chromeskull #its lets booly jesse hour 24/7 in my house

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allhalloweve · 4 years

Text

Chapter 3: A Long Way From Home

Chapter 3 is up! Read it on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26639461/chapters/66867892

“What now?”

“Fuck if I know.”

“Right.” Sirius prodded the dying embers of the fire with the iron poker he had found, staring into the wisps of smoke and waiting for some great cosmic message to reveal itself. Some reason for the events of the past weeks, some sheepish apology from the dice-rolling asshole in the sky who decided to throw everything Sirius cared about in a basket and set it aflame.

The soft splashing from the other room had stopped a while ago, but the rest of them had silently agreed not to talk about it. Nobody really knew what to do, anyway—Sirius ached to sit with Remus in silence for as long as he needed, just so he wouldn’t be alone, but he knew that giving him space would be the best course of action.

“The water’s probably cold by now,” Peter said quietly, chancing a look at the closed door. “D’you think he’ll be alright?”

“Not particularly,” James said, his voice dry. “Having your home torn to bits will do that to a person, I suppose.”

“James.” Lily elbowed him harder than strictly necessary and he deflated a bit.

“Sorry. I’m just worried.”

Sirius knew that look on his best friend’s face; he had seen it many times before when James was worried about his parents or when Sirius started thinking about his old life again. The furrow of his brow, the downturn of his mouth, and his rigid shoulders were a familiar sight to anyone who knew him and truly proved that Remus had become part of James’ family. Just over a week this time, Sirius thought wryly. That must be a new record.

“Do you have extra space for the night?” A low voice asked from the doorway to the washroom. Remus was still drying his hair; the smooth caramel color had turned chestnut brown from the water and curled at the ends in loose loops, giving him the appearance of a slightly ruffled bird. “I can sleep on the floor if you don’t.”

“Nonsense, we’ve got space in our bed,” James said without hesitation. Sirius and Peter both raised an eyebrow at him—they certainly did not have extra space in the guest bed that was barely made for two people, let alone four strapping young men. “Right, boys?”

“Worst comes to worst, you can share with me,” Lily joked halfheartedly. The flicker of a smile passed across Remus’ face and hope rose in Sirius’ chest. His eyes were still dull and distracted, but there was a bloom of life there somewhere.

Remus padded across the room and settled between Sirius and the fire without a sound. His left knee rested carefully against Sirius’ right; Sirius could tell he was keenly aware of every movement either of them made. “Did the rest of you form a plan yet?”

“We didn’t want to do it without you,” Dorcas answered with a tired smile. “Besides, it’s far too late to do anything important and I, for one, have reached my limit for heavy conversations tonight.”

The rest of them murmured their agreement, but nobody moved toward the bedrooms. Sirius stood and brushed the nonexistent dust from his trousers. “I’m going to bed. Anyone else?”

A chorus of ‘yeah, sure’ and vague nods answered, followed by a good bit of shuffling and muttering as five people dispersed, leaving just him and Remus by the fire. Carefully, Sirius reached out and touched him on the arm.

“Are you coming?”

“Yeah.”

“…do you need a moment?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.” Sirius didn’t move from his position and, after a brief period of silence, Remus leaned into the side of his leg with a shaky sigh. “You’re going to be okay, Remus.”

“I don’t know how I can be. Sirius, if you had seen it—everything is gone. Everything.”

“No.” Remus glanced up at him, finally, and Sirius squeezed his shoulder. “We’re still here. James, Lily, Peter, Marlene, Dorcas. Me.”

“I killed two people.” His voice was little more than a whisper. “I heard them talking about our parents and I went straight for their throats.”

“Marlene stabbed a man in the heart three days ago, Remus. James took out at least two at the battle. I don’t think any of us are going to get through this with clean hands.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Sirius said, holding his hand out. Remus took it after a second’s hesitation and he pulled him to his feet until they were facing one another in a cruel mirror of their dance. In that moment, standing mere inches from Remus in the low light of the fire, Sirius wanted to hold him close and stand between anything that dared to make him look so fragile.

He settled for taking his elbow and leading him to the guest room, where James and Peter were doing an excellent job of faking sleep. They changed in silence, facing away from one another, though it didn’t really matter; once they slid beneath the sheets and sandwiched themselves alongside the other two, Sirius could feel James’ heartbeat through his arm on one side and Remus’ on his other.

With a long exhale, he let the comfortable heat radiating off Remus’ body and the steady breaths of his brother lull him to sleep.

-----------

The morning dawned soft and slow for once. Sirius decided not to open his eyes and greet it in case Marlene was waiting to drag him out of this wonderful bed by his toes again.

“Should we wake them?” A low voice asked from the doorway.

“No, they look so cozy!”

“We do have to leave at some point, Marlene.”

“Maybe we can just get Sirius up and let Remus be? He’s had a rough couple of days.”

There was a slightly-too-loud laugh that was quickly shushed by several people. “I’d like to see you try to get Sirius out of there.”

Out of where? Sirius let the last bits of glorious sleep slide away and wiggled his toes, trying to get his bearings. He was still in the guest bed, laying partially on his side—that’s odd, I never sleep on my side—with a warm weight encompassing him. Large blanket, his drowsy brain suggested. Sirius hummed in agreement and cuddled back into it.

The blanket mumbled something and shifted. Not blanket???

Carefully, he cracked one eye open and scowled in the general direction of the voices from before. “Shuddup.”

“Oh, he’s adorable.”

The not-blanket grumbled again, slightly louder this time, and tightened its grip. From what Sirius gathered in the sudden light of the sun, he had rolled directly into Remus at some point during the night, whose limbs were now wrapped around him in a tangle. Soft curls tickled the underside of his chin and one strong arm had a solid hold on his midriff.

“What?” he mumbled under his breath, looking past Remus to the doorway, where five people were gathered. “G’morning.”

“Morning.” Dorcas grinned at him. “How’d you sleep?”

“…I’m not sure I can move.” He shifted, then immediately froze when Remus made a terribly sad noise and basically flopped onto his chest. James was shaking with suppressed laughter and Sirius scowled at him before gently shaking Remus’ shoulder. “Hey. Remus, wake up.”

“Hmm?” Remus inhaled slowly as he woke. His freckles glowed in the slanted sun.

“Good morning.”

Remus jolted in his arms and sat up in the blink of an eye, which would have been fine if his head wasn’t directly beneath Sirius’ chin and they weren’t on the very edge of the bed. “Shit, sorry!”

“Ow.” Sirius’ jaw smarted as he pushed the upper half of his body back onto the mattress, still shaking the last spots of pain out of his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Peter asked. Remus’ eyes went wide when he saw their audience.

“Were you all just standing there?”

“Yeah.”

“For how long?”

“Long enough,” James snickered, sending the others into a fit of laughter. Sirius could feel the heat on his face burning him from the inside out and squeezed his eyes shut, praying this was just a dream. “Come on, you two, we have planning to do!”

“I am so sorry,” Remus said into his hands once the others were gone.

“It’s fine,” Sirius assured him around the embarrassment that he could practically taste. “It was, um, actually kind of nice.”

“Oh.” Remus looked down at last, still sleep-soft and gorgeous. “Should we…?”

“Yeah, we should.” Sirius’ heart pounded in his ears, stuttering over itself as he propped himself up on his elbows.

“Right. Okay.” Remus stared at him for a moment, stock-still, until Sirius leaned closer and he all but bolted from the bed. “We have—we have a lot to do today and you might want to, um, get your stuff together.”

Sirius’ jaw fell open as Remus grabbed something off the floor and slipped out of the room without a backward glance, nearly tripping over his own feet as he tried to walk and put socks on at the same time. “That was—but—”

If he had a little less self-control he would scream.

Instead, like a responsible adult who wasn’t still reeling with confusion, he rolled out of bed and dressed, taking a few deep breaths to collect himself and then a few more to calm his heart, which was still galloping from being thoroughly snuggled.

When he finally gathered the courage to face the world, everyone else pointedly avoided meeting his eyes. Did they not understand that he could see the smiles they were hiding? Did they not—“Stop it, Marlene!”

“I’m not doing anything!” she immediately defended with a twitching smirk.

“I know! That’s the problem!”

“What do you want me to do?”

“You might say ‘good morning’!”

She snorted and he instantly regretted his word choice. “But I know you already had one.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

“Alright, both of you, that’s enough,” Lily interrupted, holding her hands out like she was stopping a cage match. “Marlene, while you are entirely correct and I’m on your side, we do have things to take care of. Sirius, we saved you a spot.” With far too much ceremony, she gestured to the sliver of room between her and Remus and burst into laughter.

“Lily, you are so funny,” Remus said in the driest voice Sirius had heard in his life. “A real comedic genius. We’re lucky to have you.”

“Is everything alright in here?” Mrs. Evans poked her head from the kitchen, looking rather amused.

“Mrs. Evans, how attached are you to your daughter?” Sirius asked.

“She’s always been a troublemaker,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “But unfortunately, I do care about her quite a bit.”

“Thanks, mum!” Lily said with a bright smile. “Love you!”

“I love you too, imp,” Mrs. Evans disappeared back into the kitchen with a wink.

“Believe it or not, we actually did call you two out here for a reason.” Peter spread a map over the coffee table and placed a mug of cider at each corner. “Alright, so we know the kidnappers are going to Os Anguis, and Bailey is…here-ish?”

Lily moved his finger a bit down and to the right. “Here, actually. We hauled ass to get here in two days. Honestly, I’m a little surprised Remus made it so fast.”

“I ran most of the way.” Remus shrugged. “Anyway, the soldiers will be wanting to avoid suspicion, so they’ll take the most direct route to the capital, yeah?”

“There’s no way we’ll be able to cut them off before they reach Silvalith,” Marlene said, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers. “A caravan would travel slow, but we would still be lucky to catch them before the mountains.”

“Time out.” Dorcas held her hands up in a T-shape. “Do we have a plan for what we do if we catch up to the caravan? Are we killing a bunch of soldiers? Are we re-kidnapping our parents? Are we following them into Os Anguis and exposing Riddle’s assassination attempts?”

An uncomfortable silence followed. Honestly, Sirius hadn’t thought about their end goal yet; tracking down the royals had been at the top of his priority list until Remus came back with information. “I might have an idea?” Lily scooted over to the map and furrowed her brows. “Right, so, if we can catch the caravan before it crosses the mountain pass and threaten the soldiers into giving your folks back, we can tell them what we know and let the actual leaders of our countries handle the royal madman.”

“You’re so smart,” James practically sighed, staring at her with dreamy eyes. Sirius smacked him on the back of the head.

“What if we’re really unlucky, though?” Remus asked. “If the caravan makes it through the mountain pass, we’re fucked. We already have to walk through the heart of Silvalith without getting noticed, but going into Os Anguis fully armed with a target on our backs is just plain stupid.”

“Worst case scenario, we could always kill Riddle and stop a war before it starts,” Marlene mused.

“Full offense, that’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

“I said ‘worst case scenario’! Do you have a better ‘worst case’ plan?”

“Yes! It’s called ‘let’s not get publicly executed for high treason’!”

“I don’t think it counts as high treason if you’re not a citizen of Silvalith,” Sirius pointed out, earning him twin glares.

“Come on, guys, we’re seven of the best and brightest minds on the continent!” James protested. “We have a Plan A that works as long as we move fast, avoid attention, and make it through eastern Silvalith without a problem. Plan B doesn’t have to be complicated if we improvise.”

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but we attract trouble like magnets,” Peter said. “Did you forget that a solid number of Silval soldiers are actively trying to kill us?”

“Assassins, not soldiers.” James corrected, then frowned. “Okay, I see your point now.”

“Improvisation isn’t a plan,” Lily said with an edge of exasperation. “At this point, I say we decide what to do with your parents once we find them and then figure out what the backup is.”

“All in favor of killing their captors?” Dorcas asked. Nobody raised their hands. “How about a quiet re-kidnapping?” Seven hands went into the air. “That settles it, then. The caravan will have probably made it to the northern border by now, so we’ll have to leave soon if we want to catch them before they reach the mountains.”

“They’ve got a five-day head start,” Sirius warned as he mentally traced their route along the map. If they did it right, they would pass through an area he knew fairly well. “We should leave by this afternoon at the very latest.”

“Lily, you’re going with them?” Mrs. Evans voice made them all jump a bit—Sirius had entirely forgotten that she was still within earshot. The earlier playfulness on her face had been replaced by concern and a touch of sadness.

Lily cocked her head to the side. “Yeah, mum, I am.”

“But why?”

Lily started to respond, then paused and looked down at the map. As much as Sirius hated to think about it, he understood; she had no stake in this dangerous, possibly fatal quest. Her family was safe, her country was still standing, and she had absolutely nothing to prove to anyone. She could stay here and be a woodsman in Bailey, she could forget about them all, she could let them go with an oath of secrecy, and nobody would be able to fault her for it. Sirius knew she was brave, but she was also one of the smartest people he knew; nobody in their right mind would agree to go on a cross-continental road trip for no reason.

“I—I don’t know.” Across the circle, James’ shoulders sank. I suppose we’re down to six, then. “I think…” she began again, trailing off before shaking her head. “I know I’ll regret it for the rest of my life if I don’t go. This is what friends do for each other.”

“Alright. Not that you need my permission anymore, but I won’t stop you,” Mrs. Evans said, suddenly sounding much older than she looked. “Come on into the kitchen and fix yourselves some sandwiches for the road. Nobody will leave my house hungry if I have anything to say about it.”

Sirius’ definition of ‘some sandwiches’ turned out to be vastly inadequate. Eventually, Lily had to stop her mother from filling one of the rucksacks they were borrowing with bread and meat instead of other necessities, like spare socks and their map. Many hands made light work, and within two hours it was time to go.

“Can I have a second, guys?” Lily asked as they gathered on the edge of the road.

“Take all the time you need,” Peter said, hoisting Lily’s pack onto his shoulder.

Mrs. Evans was still watching them from the front door, but her stoic expression shifted as Lily hurried back up the stone path for a final hug. “I’m so proud of you,” Sirius heard her say as she held her daughter tight. “Follow your heart.” Her eyes shone as Lily mumbled something into the thick coil of her hair. “Oh, I’ll miss you, too, Lily-love.”

Marlene let out a trembling breath next to Sirius and he pulled her in for a side-hug on instinct; he suddenly and fiercely wished she had had a chance to say goodbye to her mothers before they were taken. Whatever it takes, he promised himself. Whatever it takes to get them home.

Lily rejoined the group a few moments later, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand as she walked straight to the front of the pack without a backward glance. It was time to go.

“Who here has been to Silvalith before?” Sirius asked. “Outside of the council meetings, I mean.” Marlene, Remus, and Lily all raised their hands. “Pete, don’t you live on the border?”

“I did when I was little. Once the border disputes started getting violent, my mum and I moved closer to Courlion, just in case. There was no reason to go after that.”

“Right, physician’s apprentice. Did you learn anything besides embroidery there?”

Peter rolled his eyes at the playful ribbing. “It’s not embroidery, it’s sewing. And yes, I did. Just for that, I’m not stitching any of your limbs back together if you do something stupid.”

“Fine, I’ll get someone else to do it for me. One of you knows how to reattach arms and such, right?” Sirius’ inquiry was met with uncomfortable silence. “Really? Not a single one of you?”

“It never came up,” Dorcas defended.

“Lily, you might want to take back your earlier statement about us being useless,” Sirius sighed.

“Pompous, not useless, but alright.” Lily grinned. “I hereby declare everyone in this group except myself and Peter an official useless brat. Happy now?”

“You’re doing wonders for my self-esteem here, Lils,” James snorted.

“I’m sure you can stand to be taken down a peg.”

They bickered back and forth for another hour or so, trailing after Lily in a strange parade. Trading in their tattered and grimy clothing seemed to have been a good choice; they hardly got a second glance from the many farmers along the way.

The roads of the Middle Kingdom had always impressed Sirius: because of the heavy logging trade and the fact that most people had to cross it in order to get to the Eastern ports, the dirt and sawdust were thoroughly packed and sturdy. There was no leftover muck from rain and horses, and in some places, in had been paved with wide bricks where the ground was weakest.

“How long until we reach the village?” James grimaced as he adjusted one of the heavy rucksacks on his back and his spine popped. “Or even just a bench?”

“Marlene has the map, ask her,” Lily said.

“What? No, I don’t. Remus has it.”

“I do not!” Remus argued. “You said you’d put it away while I was packing the food.”

“I said Lily would put it away,” Marlene corrected. “And then she said she gave it to you.”

Lily turned to look at them both and the group came to a stop. “Marlene, I told you to get it off the table while Remus packed the sandwiches!”

“I told you I was packing the food!”

“It’s not my fault! Lily said she’d take care of it!”

“Stop it, all of you!” James cut in, stepping between them. “Let’s go through our stuff and check to see who has the map. It doesn’t matter whose fault it was.”

“It wasn’t mine,” Remus muttered under his breath.

Marlene rolled her eyes. “Oh, for the love of—” Her complaint cut off abruptly as a bundle of fabric hit her square in the nose. James raised his eyebrows at her and raised another pair of socks in a clear threat until she huffed and began helping him dig through their things.

Twenty minutes and plenty of cursing later, they discovered that nobody had, in fact, grabbed the map before they left the house. A second challenge came when none of them could figure out how to repack their bags, so the hurried scramble turned into lunch in the middle of the road. Ham and cheese sandwiches were decidedly less tasty when they were sun-warmed and a little dusty from travel, but Sirius was hungry enough to eat just about anything.

“Well. We have no map and we really can’t waste any more time if we want half a chance of catching that stupid fucking caravan,” Sirius said as he jammed the last waterskin back in. “At least you three have been here before.” There was a tense silence. No. Absolutely not. “Are you kidding me?”

“In my defense, I’m fantastic at navigating southern Silvalith,” Marlene said immediately. She seemed less likely to chop someone’s head off after some food, at least.

“Remus?”

“Same problem, opposite direction.”

“Lily, please tell me you know where you’re going.”

“I know how to get to the border, mostly,” she said, twisting the end of her braid. “The trade deals have been tapering off the past few years because we keep finding Silval soldiers poking around the towns, but my dad and I used to go there at least once a season.”

Dorcas pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “And none of you thought to bring that up when Sirius asked? You know, when we were still a reasonable distance from the cottage?”

“He didn’t specify!” Lily and Marlene exclaimed at the same time.

Sirius wanted to throttle them both. “I shouldn’t have to! My meaning was crystal clear!”

“He was pretty blatant about it,” James mused.

“You don’t get to defend him.” Marlene jabbed her pointer fingers at them. “You’ve got that weird telepathy thing going on and I don’t like it.”

“Look, why don’t we just keep walking until we reach the next town and find a map there,” Peter said, sounding utterly exhausted despite their recent meal. Sirius supposed spending time around the six of them would do that to a person as introverted as poor Peter.

“I’m with Pete,” Dorcas said, standing up and adjusting the spear on her back. “We’re not getting anything done by sitting around and arguing.”

“The future rulers of the continent, and not a single person remembers a fucking map,” James mumbled as he hauled Sirius to his feet. “Fantastic.”

“We’re lost.”

“No, we are not.”

“We’re definitely lost.”

“For the eightieth time, I know where we are!”

“Bullshit. We should’ve gone left.”

“For fuck’s sake, Sirius, give it a rest!”

“I’m with Sirius on this one—”

“Who would have guessed.”

“—and we should turn back before it gets any darker.” An owl hooted overhead and all seven of them jumped, forming an even tighter clump as they watched the sun grow lower and lower on the horizon.

“Turning back won’t do us any good.” Remus shook his head and turned to face James. “If you haven’t noticed, there aren’t a lot of people around here.”

“I swear I saw a chimney not ten minutes ago.”

“Jamie, I love you, but you have terrible eyesight for anything within twenty feet of you. That was a dead tree.” Something moved in the underbrush and Sirius leaned closer to his brother, hovering his hand over the hilt of his sword. They had seen neither hide nor hair of the assassins since Hemgard, but that didn’t mean they were safe.

Another twig crackled, on Sirius’ other side this time. “Hello?” he called, slowly drawing his blade. “Is anyone there?”

“If you’re here to rob us, we have no money, just sandwiches and socks,” Marlene said. “You don’t like ham and cheese, do you? Ouch, Dorcas, that was my foot!”

“Lower your voice!” Dorcas hissed. The point of her arrow gleamed in the setting sun as she took up her position defending her fiancée’s back.

“I’m just asking!”

“Whoever’s out there, show yourself,” Remus demanded in a voice like stone. Unfortunately, it was kind of attractive, especially since it was still a little husky from the night before and—pull it together, Sirius. Now is not the time. Sirius shook his shoulders out and resumed scanning the shadowed trees around them.

A sudden scream pierced the air behind him, closely followed by James’ familiar shout of alarm and the twang of a bowstrng. Sirius whipped around, fully prepared to fight whoever was stalking them, only for Peter’s wayward elbow to put him off-balance. He stumbled into Remus’ back and within moments, all seven of them were in a pile on the ground, staring up at a scornful-looking cat.

One of James’ arrows was embedded in the ground next to its curling tail and it appeared personally offended by this fact, if its hiss of disapproval was anything to go by. Sirius had never been glared at by a cat before; somehow, the spectacle markings around its eyes made the effect even more pronounced.

“Is this what all the fuss was about?” Marlene asked. “You scared the shit out of me, you two.”

“It jumped out of nowhere,” Lily said sheepishly. The cat meowed loudly at her. “You did!”

Sirius untangled himself from the web of limbs, rucksacks, and weapons—it was a miracle none of them had lost an eye, what with all the sharp pointy bits laying about. “If anyone was wondering, my heart is doing fine now, though it’s found a new home in my throat for the time being.”

“I don’t like cats,” Remus grumbled as he dusted himself off. “Always running around and biting people.”

“I’m pretty sure direwolves bite people, too,” Sirius said.

“But not without a reason.” Remus sounded downright scandalized. Right. Sacred symbol.

“Where are your people, kitty?” Dorcas cooed, crouching down to the cat’s height and holding her hand out for it to sniff. “Aren’t you just the cutest thing.”

The cat rubbed its head against her palm, then moved past her and began weaving through everyone’s legs in a smooth ripple, pausing now and then to pass judgement. Sirius held his breath when it reached Remus, who had been eyeing it warily the whole time. The cat sat down in front of him and tangled its claws in his pant leg, tugging downward with a forceful meow.

“Stop it. Bad cat.” Remus shook his ankle around, but the paw didn’t budge.

“Mrow.” Another pull.

“If you rip my trousers, we’re going to have an issue.”

“Brrr.”

“Brrrr yourself.” Sirius stifled his laughter behind his hand and leaned his head on James’ shoulder, which was shaking with silent giggles. “Ugh, fine.”

Remus knelt on the ground and the cat removed its paw. If Sirius didn’t know better, he would have thought it raised its eyebrow. Slowly, deliberately, without breaking eye contact, the mysterious cat shuffled forward, leaned in, and rubbed both its cheeks against Remus’ with a low purr.

“Made a friend, have you?” Sirius said as the cat stepped back and began sauntering toward the trees to their right.

“I think she wants to show us something.”

“Excuse me?”

Instead of elaborating on his incredibly cryptic and unhelpful comment, Remus stood up and began following the cat.

“Remus,” Lily called. “Remus, I know you’re not big on teamwork but would you care to tell us why the hell we should follow a random cat into the very dark, very creepy woods?”

“Just trust me.”

“Wow, that’s the opposite of an answer.” James sighed.

Remus paused at the edge of the trees and gestured in exasperation. “Well, I’m not just going to leave you all here, but we’re going to lose her if you keep on standing around. Do you trust me or not?”

“Are you feeling alright?” Peter asked carefully. “It’s been a hard few days—"

Remus huffed. “I’m not going crazy. And for what it’s worth, I trust you. All of you. Can we please just follow the cat now?”

“Alright.” Sirius stepped forward and met Remus’ gaze. “I trust you.”

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, followed by a slight smile that sent Sirius’ insides tumbling over each other until he was sure everything was upside down and backwards. “Thanks.”

“Lead the way, cat whisperer,” Dorcas said as she peered through the trees. “Huh, would you look at that. She’s waiting for us.”

Sure enough, the cat was perched on a pile of tree roots, grooming one of her paws with the air of someone who simply could not be bothered by their petty arguments. “Doesn’t get much clearer than that,” James admitted.

The last of the sunlight was gone a mere five minutes into their journey, leaving them all stumbling along in the slivers of moonlit that filtered through the branches overhead. Marlene and Dorcas had the right idea in Sirius’ opinion—their tightly-clasped hands prevented any sudden stumbles that could take the whole group down yet again.

“Where are you taking us?” Sirius murmured as he missed another low-hanging branch by the thinnest of margins.

The cat trotted gracefully down a winding slope and disappeared around the curve. “Be careful here,” Remus warned, bracing one arm against a nearby tree as he started to step down. “It doesn’t look all that—" With a loud scraping noise, the rock he was stepping onto gave way and skidded into the darkness. Sirius lunged forward without a second thought and grabbed his wrist, leaning back with all his weight as the rock bounced off the walls of a deep ravine that none of them had noticed. “—steady,” Remus finished.

He pushed against the tree just as Sirius pulled on his arm, and they ended up bumping chests as he straightened. “You okay?” Sirius’ voice was weak even in his own ears.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Remus sounded even more breathless than when he had nearly fallen down a cliff; it would have been flattering if Sirius could focus on anything other than the way the moonlight caught the side of his face.

“So, the cat ditched us,” James said dryly. Remus reached down and carefully pried Sirius’ fingers off his wrist, his touch lingering a half-second longer than strictly necessary. What was that saying Euphemia was so fond of? Cold hands, warm heart?

“On the contrary, dear boy, I believe she brought you exactly where you needed to be.” A silver-blue light bobbed along the ravine path like a star come down to Earth.

“Who are you?” Lily asked suspiciously.

“My name is Albus Dumbledore.” As the light came closer, Sirius could make out the face of an old man with a long, white beard walking toward them. “Minerva has a knack for finding lost souls wandering about in the woods; I do hope she wasn’t too pushy with you.”

“Where is that light coming from?” Marlene squinted as Albus Dumbledore reached the top of the hill. He chuckled and thumped his tall walking stick twice on the ground—the light dimmed, spreading into a softer glow that illuminated everyone’s faces.

Dumbledore looked even older up close, yet there was a youthful twinkle in his eye that was equal parts inviting and unsettling, like he knew several things they did not. “Magic, of course.”

“Magic?” Peter’s skepticism was palpable. “Um. Alright.”

“Would you like to come back to my cottage for the night? It gets quite cold around here this time of year.”

“We really appreciate the offer, Mr. Dumbledore, but I think it would be best if we kept going. We have a long way to travel and not much time,” Dorcas said. In the gentle light, Sirius could see her hand twitching for Marlene’s as it often did when she was anxious.

“Ah, yes, your quest to save your parents.” Dumbledore nodded sagely, as if this was old news. “An honorable thing, to be sure, but ultimately unsuccessful. If you insist on going, it will be difficult to pursue without a map.”

Frost covered Sirius’ spine and he saw James stiffen in his periphery. How did he know about the map? “How do you know about our parents?” Marlene’s voice was low and dangerous in a way that Sirius heard very rarely.

“I know a great many things, Marlene of Tidoras, but I have very few people to share them with. If you are truly committed to your quest, I can help you on your way. If you choose not to accept my aid, I will send you along with my best wishes and a promise of safe passage through the woods.”

“Team meeting, everyone,” James said without looking away from the old man.

“He creeps me out, but I don’t get any really bad vibes,” Lily said quietly when they huddled up. Sirius glanced back at Dumbledore, who seemed to be deep in discussion with Minerva the cat. “I think he’s just a little off his rocker.”

“He knew about the map, and about our parents.” Dorcas narrowed her eyes. “Something’s not quite normal.”

“I think we should go with him for the night and hear what he has to say,” Sirius said. “Worst case scenario, we leave with a crazy old man’s ramblings and a couple hours of rest.”

“I think the worst case scenario is getting murdered in our sleep, actually.” Peter frowned. “I don’t think he’d do that, though.”

“Any information he can give us is good information,” James sighed, running his hand through his hair. “I vote we go with him.”

“Me, too,” Dorcas said, rather grudgingly. “He’s bizarre, but he hasn’t tried to kill us yet.”

Marlene wrapped her arm around her fiancée’s waist. “I’m with Dorcas.”

James nudged his shoulder. “Sirius?”

“You know I’m on your side.”

“Remus?”

“We’ve got nothing to lose.”

“Pete? Lily?”

“I’m up for trying,” Lily said as Peter nodded.

“Mr. Dumbledore?” James turned around. “We would be honored to spend the night at your cottage.”

“Lovely!” Dumbledore straightened surprisingly smoothly for a man of his apparent age. “Follow me, please, and do be careful of the edge.”

The woods were damn near silent compared to the ones surrounding Varghal. Sirius flexed his jaw as they went deeper into the shadows, their way lit only by Dumbledore’s magical light—there was a faint buzzing in his ears that simply would not go away. He lost track of time within moments, and by the time they reached Dumbledore’s cottage he couldn’t tell if minutes or hours had passed. The shadows all ran together in his vision, broken up by strange pinpricks of multicolored lights that looked like animal eyes but clearly were not.

Minerva was waiting in the open doorway when they arrived, silhouetted by a cheerful orange glow from the fireplace. Next to him, the tension that had melted off of Remus during their walk returned with a vengeance, and he balked as they approached. “Are you okay?” Sirius asked as his pupils dilated.

“It smells like smoke,” Remus muttered.

It’s ashes. It’s all ashes and there is nothing left. Of course he wouldn’t want to be around fire. “Do you want to wait outside? We don’t have to go in.”

Remus shook his head, then paused as a fresh plume of smoke curled into the night air and sent a small shiver through him. “I don’t know.”

“My apologies, Remus, I had forgotten.” Dumbledore snapped his fingers and the scent of smoldering logs completely disappeared, leaving only the crisp sweetness of the forest. “I can assure you it is much warmer indoors, if you should choose to come in.”

The welcoming glow of the cottage remained, but the chimney looked as though it had never been used; not a single wisp lingered. As soon as they crossed the threshold, James gripped Sirius’ elbow tightly. “Do you smell—”

“Yeah.”

The cloud of sandalwood and jasmine hit him like a punch to the heart as they entered the main room of Dumbledore’s home. Suddenly, all Sirius could feel was the warmth of Euphemia’s arms around him and Fleamont’s steady hand on his shoulder, both shielding him from the monsters that chased him across the world. He could practically hear the chime of her bangles, could feel the softness of the old shirts that Sirius borrowed until he received clothing of his own. James was there, too, in the sea salt and coconut; somewhere, deep beneath, he heard the familiar laughter of someone he had not seen in a long, long time against the smell of star-shaped sugar cookies fresh from the oven.

“What is this?” Dorcas asked, her voice thick with emotion. “What are you doing?”

“Ah.” Dumbledore’s gaze was full of pity as he looked at them over his half-moon glasses. “That, I am afraid, is not my doing. This cottage was built from the wood of the storgus tree, which is quite comforting to most, though I suppose it would be bittersweet for you. Please, have a seat.”

James cleared his throat, opened his mouth, then took a deep breath before he trying to speak. Euphemia and Fleamont were the closest thing Sirius had to actual parents, but he had only known them for six years; he couldn’t imagine what this was like for James. “You said you had information for us?”

“I do. To be frank, your quest will not succeed.”

Marlene clung to the armrests of her chair. “It has to. We will get our parents back and stop this war.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Dumbledore chuckled. “You have a strong family here, and I have the feeling you will not let each other down. No, what I mean is that your current plan is doomed to fail in more ways than one.”

Peter exhaled slowly. “So how do we fix it?”

“I’m glad you asked, Mr. Pettigrew. The first problem with your plan is that the caravan will certainly cross the Frystmarkan border by tomorrow afternoon. The second is that you are being hunted by Death Eater assassins as we speak, and if Minerva had not brought you here you would have been caught before dawn.” Dumbledore took a sip of his tea. “The third issue has to do with your plans for Tom Riddle.”

“King Riddle?” Lily frowned. “We were going to turn him over to the authorities and expose his corruption.”

“Yes, you were. Please do not take offense to this, but it was quite foolish to believe a man as powerful as Tom Riddle would go quietly out of power. In order to achieve true peace, he must die.”

Dumbledore’s words hung heavy in the room, nearly overpowering the scent of home and family. “We have to kill him?” Sirius asked.

“In one way or another.” The old man looked truly dismayed by this for reasons beyond Sirius’ grasp. “Therein lies your final challenge, of course: how to do it?”

“Dorcas and I are both archers,” James offered, though he looked rather sickened by the idea. “If we catch him in front of a window, we might have a chance.”

“I admire your nerve, but it is not so simple as that. Tom Riddle comes from a land of magic, the same land I used to call home before it was devastated by war. He can only be killed with a weapon from the place of his birth, and the world can only heal if his evil is obliterated.” Dumbledore took another long sip of tea as Minerva curled up on the nightstand next to Dorcas’ elbow.

“Destroyed?” Remus said softly. “He’s not from…?”

“He is not from your homeland, no,” Dumbledore assured. “Tom Riddle and I both hail from what is now called the Wildland.”

“But nobody lives there,” Dorcas protested. “It’s just cracked earth and monsters as far as the eye can see.”

A great wave of sadness washed over his wrinkled face. “Seventy years ago, Tom Riddle attempted to destroy his only physical weakness and become immortal, but his plan backfired and the Wildland became what it is today. What once pulsed with life and magic became a parched wasteland. However, his weakness still resides in the compass rose for those who are pure of heart enough to seek it.”

“Then we’ll start in the morning,” Sirius said. “With seven people searching, we’ll find it for sure.”

Dumbledore held up one hand and took a long sip of tea. “I admire your nerve, but that will not solve your problems. By the time you travel south, find the dagger, return, and make your way to Os Anguis without discovery, it will be too late to stop the war, not to mention you will lose the trail of your parents.”

“What are you saying?”

“He’s saying we have to split up,” Lily said. “One group has to go to the Wildland while the other tracks the soldiers down and does what they can to warn people about the war. We would meet in Os Anguis.”

“Absolutely not.” James’ voice brooked no room for argument. “We work as a team. Nobody will get separated ever again.”

The memory of Remus arriving the night before covered in blood, soot, and fear rose unbidden to Sirius’ mind. He couldn’t bear seeing that again with anyone else. “Let’s discuss it in the morning after we’ve had some sleep, okay?” Peter offered. Sirius could hear in his tone that he knew they would have to split up; he was already grieving. The rest of them muttered their assent, and Sirius prepared himself for a long night.

Waking up in a magic forest was strange. It was quiet except for the gentle buzzing, and the smell of Sirius’ family clung to his throat with every breath. He had slept like a log and didn’t dream once, but the bitter resignation of what was to come laid heavy on his tongue when he woke.

He was the first one up, for once, and took a moment to drink in the sight of his friends as they laid at peace. Marlene and Dorcas were facing one another, their foreheads and knees touching so the curve of their backs formed an unconscious heart. Peter was curled in a ball near the heavy curtain of Lily’s vibrant hair; her freckled face smoothed in sleep, making her look more like the girl Sirius had played board games with a mere week prior. James was splayed beneath the blankets, snoring softly—Sirius would never tire of seeing him free of the bonds of responsibility.

And Remus was…well, he was glowing. It was silly to feel like much for one person so fast; Sirius was well aware that he was in too deep for rationality. If he concentrated, he could still feel the tingle of Remus’ hand clasped in his own as he teetered along the edge of a precipice. That’s fitting, he thought wryly. It feels like this has been one fall after another. Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the forest’s magic, or maybe it was Sirius’ irrational brain telling him that’s the only one for you, but Remus shone with a low golden light.

When Sirius finally went into the kitchen, Minerva was sitting primly on the table next to a teacup of cream and a small plate of biscuits. “Can cats eat biscuits?” he wondered aloud, only to be met with a disapproving look. “Sorry.”

“Good morning.” Dumbledore entered the kitchen in long blue robes and a tall hat decorated with stars. “How did you sleep?”

“Quite well, thank you.” Sirius took the proffered scone and cup of tea gratefully.

“This journey will be difficult for you, Sirius Black.” Dumbledore settled into his chair with a mild expression, seemingly oblivious to the way all of Sirius’ blood drained into his feet and left him swaying in his seat. “You will need to face that which you do not wish to.”

“I’m not afraid to face my parents,” he gritted out. “Not anymore. I’ll gladly give them a piece of my mind.”

Dumbledore’s blue eyes sharpened as he finally looked up. “I’m not talking about them.”

Sirius deflated. “I know.”

“Good. You’re an intelligent young man.” Dumbledore spread some frightfully orange jam on a biscuit. “If you can spare an eye, keep it trained on your friends, especially young Remus.”

“Why? What’s going to happen to them?”

“As of right now, nothing out of the ordinary.” Dumbledore paused, them set his breakfast down and faced Sirius fully. “Though, if Remus goes to the Wildland, he will die.”

The room dropped twenty degrees. “How do you know that?”

“I am not at liberty to say, but I can tell you this: he has hidden depths that the Wildland will take too kindly to, in a manner in which he will not survive.”

“Oh, you’re awake.” James’ drowsy voice broke through Sirius’ spiraling thoughts as he shuffled into the kitchen and took the seat next to Sirius’. He scratched Minerva behind the ears and she purred. “The others will be out soon.”

“Good.”

James squinted at him. “You seem…off. Are you feeling okay?”

“Just worried.” Sirius forced a reassuring smile. “Really, I’ll be fine.”

True to James’ word, the other five members of their party trouped out to the table over the course of half an hour. The meal was the quietest they had ever had together.

“So,” Lily finally said, breaking the silence. “I suppose we should figure out groups.”

“I still think it’s a bad idea,” James offered halfheartedly. “But you’re right.”

“I’ve been to the borders of the Wildland a bunch of times with my dads, so I should be in that group,” Dorcas said as she folded and refolded her napkin. “James, I think it might be best if you came with me, since Marajis and the Eastern Coast are allies.”

“I’ll go with you, too,” Marlene said.

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea,” Sirius said as gently as he could. “You know southern Silvalith like the back of your hand and you can call in favors in Tidoras if we need them. It’s the same with Peter.”

“I’m not leaving my fiancée to go running through a land of monsters without me to watch her back,” Marlene snapped. “I suppose you’re going to go with James, though?”

“No, I’m not.”

“What?” James turned slowly to look at him.

Sirius’ mouth was dry despite the tea. “I’m going with the Silvalith group.”

“Sirius, we’re a team, you promised—”

“I’m useless in the Wildland, Jamie,” Sirius interrupted. “I have no real ties for the Eastern Coast and I’ve never seen a speck of that place. As much as I want to go with you to the ends of the earth, I can help in Silvalith. Please don’t fight me on this.”

The betrayal on James’ face hurt more than anything Sirius had ever felt. He had promised to stick by James’ side in that stupid, freezing cave, and here he was backing out on it so soon.

“I’ll go with you and Dorcas,” Lily said. “That way Remus can lead you three through the northern boundary if you need it. Besides, it’s good to have someone on your team who doesn’t use a bow in a fight.”

“I can provide you with transportation out of the forest and into the Wildland, but you will need to find your own way back from there,” Dumbledore said. Sirius jumped a little; he had nearly forgotten the old man. “You have approximately an hour before you must go.”

One hour. One lousy hour to steel his nerves and say goodbye to his best friend in the world, his brother, his Jamie. The seven of them stood without another word and began to gather their meager belongings.

Dumbledore took each group aside and gave them a new drawstring bag with a map, a compass, and a variety of oddities that Sirius was half-convinced he put in as a joke. “It is time,” he said at last as one of four cuckoo clocks in the kitchen began to roar like a lion. “James, Dorcas, and Lily, please follow me.”

Though he only called three names, the whole group trailed out of the house and onto the thick moss that coated the ground. The forest was beautiful in the daytime, shimmering and humming with life. The multicolored blots that Sirius remembered from the previous night were small balls of rainbow flame bouncing through the trees; from what he could tell, they were also the source of the buzzing noise.

“Wait,” he blurted as Dumbledore raised his arms high above his head. “Can I—can we say goodbye first?”

The old wizard’s face filled with kindness and he nodded. “Of course.”

Sirius was moving before he even thought it through and James met him in the middle, colliding with a harsh gasp. “It’s not goodbye,” he managed around the clog in his throat. “This is not goodbye, okay? I’m so sorry I’m not going with you.”

“I understand,” James said, his desperate voice muffled in Sirius’ shoulder. “I’m sorry I was angry. We’re still a team. A little distance can’t get in the way of that, yeah?”

“Yeah.” With tremendous effort, Sirius released his hold and ruffled up James’ hair. “Stay safe, Jamie.”

“You, too.”

“Hey, Red?” Sirius called as James walked back toward Dumbledore. “Take care of him for me?”

Lily nodded. “You can count on me.”

“Dorcas? Our window is getting smaller.” Dumbledore’s voice was gentle as he looked over to the last member of the party, who was holding Marlene like it was the last time.

“I love you so much,” Marlene whispered, brushing a stray lock of dark, coiled hair out of her fiancée’s deep brown eyes.

“I love you more,” Dorcas responded, pulling her in for a kiss. Sirius’ chest ached at their love, at the care with which Marlene cradled Dorcas’ face in her hands and at the way they seemed to melt together into one person for a moment. Quite the pair. Two halves of one soul.

When they finally separated and Dorcas took her place in the circle, Dumbledore began to chant a series of flowing phrases in a strange language. Sirius did not understand it, but he felt as though the meaning of each word was just on the tip of his tongue.

In a flash of light, the trio was gone.

#axe and sword #fanfiction #marauders #my post #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #lily evans #dorcas meadowes #marlene mckinnon #albus dumbledore #wolfstar #dorlene #jily

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stanbillyhargrove · 4 years

Text

Ghosts Chp 6

Billy x Katrina

A/N: this is a multi chapter series that will contain smut, angst, fluff, substance abuse

Billy's POV

August

Katrina's moans sounded different than when she was with me, forced almost. We'd had sex a few times since that night, when she'd show up angry and let it out as we fucked on every surface of my apartment. She never stayed, always left right after or in the middle of the night. No feelings that way, she said.

Tonight though, she'd brought home a random from the bar that I knew wasn't satisfying her. Hearing her fake moans had me frustrated and horny, I needed to have her again.

I waited until I heard her current play thing leave before I texted her, I could hear the little chirp when she got the text.

Me: sound frustrated, need some help with that?

Hot Neighbor: you eavesdropping?

I tapped my knuckles on the wall that separated us before I typed the next text.

Me: hard not to.

Hot Neighbor: what makes you think you're any better?

Me: oh, bratty today. I know those were fake sounds.

Hot Neighbor: or I could finish myself...

Me: fuck you, get over here.

I could hear her cackling through the wall and got out of bed to meet her at the door. Katrina had quickly thrown on a hoodie that just barely covered her grey lace panties. She rushed into my apartment, closing the door behind her so I could cage her against it. I growled against her throat as I lifted her legs up around my hips. She smelled of sex, her skin still dewy with sweat that I caught on my tongue. My one hand slid up her hoodie to grab at her hip, the other going up to slide my thumb across her lip as I nipped at her collarbone. Her lips parted to allow two of my fingers to slide past, a light hum in her throat as she sucked on them. I pulled my hand from her hip to shove my pajama pants down and pull her panties to the side before plunging into her. I moaned loudly and was rewarded with a high pitched gasp from Katrina.

"Tell me about your play thing," I murmured.

Katrina licked her lip, let out a breathy laugh and starting talking between moans, "Trish, or something, didn't care, she had," she whined loudly, "huge fucking tits, no game though, fucking pillow princess."

I laughed, my teeth running along her jaw, "don't worry, Baby, I'll take care of you."

Katrina drug her nails softly up and down my arm as we laid on the couch trying to catch our breath. Slowly, she started to get up and I had to stop myself from stopping her and holding her tight. As much as I like hook ups and one night stands, being left afterwards is starting to get old and lonely. I'm tired of it, I'm starting to want to find my person.

"You could stay, you know," I offered, trying my best to not appear too eager.

Katrina's green eyes met mine as she pulled her hoodie back on, "haven't had enough of me yet?"

"Never."

A small smile played on the corner of her lip as her face softened and she slowly laid back down on the couch. I wrapped my arms around her and tucked her head under my chin so she was against my chest.

"I guess you are pretty comfortable," she murmured, nuzzling into me.

Katrina's POV

-- October

It was nearing the anniversary of Elle's death when I started being followed to and from work by a tiny kitten. A little jet black bundle of fur that padded along behind me, mewing constantly. It followed me to the bar and back to my apartment in the early morning, seemingly wanting me to bring it home. I wanted to bring it to a rescue but whenever I tried to grab it it would puff up and scitter away. I tried sitting outside with food but the nights were getting frosty and so I'd leave food on the ground and leave the kitten alone.

A week of this went by before a bitterly cold night came along and I couldn't bring myself to leave the poor thing outside. So I ran up to my apartment, bundled up with jackets, heated up a bowl of chicken and grabbed a warm towel before going back outside. I set the bowl down close to my feet and sat on the steps of my building, waiting for the kitten to come out of hiding. It didn't take long before I saw the kitten slowly come around the steps, leaning forward to sniff towards the bowl.

"Hey, Baby," I cooed, "you hungry?"

It stopped moving to look up at me warily for a moment before jumping up to the step the bowl was on. It buried it's face in the bowl, munching and purring happily on the pieces of chicken. I slowly reached down to run my fingers lightly along it's back. The kitten purred louder, sounding like a tiny chainsaw as I continued to pet it. When it was done eating I was able to scoop it up into the towel and bring it into our building.

"Well," I started as I walked up the stairs, "what am I going to do with you, little one? I guess I can take you to the shelter in the morning."

I smiled when I looked down at the little ball of fluff glaring up at me.

"Don't look at me like that, I can't keep you. I can barely take care of myself."

It meowed quietly and just settled deeper into the towel, like it thought I would be swayed by cuteness.

"Damnit," I groaned as I got to my apartment, "you're not playing fair, using your looks like that."

Inside, Olivia, Ally and Elle were all waiting for me and a chorus of 'awww' sounded when they saw the kitten.

"Oh, My Love, you always wanted cats," Elle cooed.

I rolled my eyes, "Elle. I can't take care of a pet right now."

Ally reached out to scratch the top of the kitten's head, "but he's so cute, you have to keep him."

"I can barely keep myself afloat you guys, I can't have something else relying on me right now. I'll have to take him to a shelter."

"What about the boy?" Olivia asked, "maybe he would like a pet? Then we can still see him."

I sighed, "I'll ask. But if he doesn't want a cat, I'm taking it to the shelter, okay?"

They all nodded and followed me as I walked back into the hallway and to Billy's door. It took a few minutes of me knocking on the door for him to finally answer, still mostly asleep.

"What the hell?" He grumbled, running a hand through his messy curls, "it's three in the fucking morning, what's the emergency?"

"I found this outside, I can't keep it and if you don't want it I'll find somewhere else tomorrow but...merry christmas," I rambled, shoving the bundle into his chest.

Billy quickly grabbed the towel, his eyebrows scrunched as he looked down at it. A tiny meow came from the bundle and he looked back up at me, shocked.

"What the fuck? A cat? I don't know what to do with a cat!"

I scoffed, "it's just a cat, not a wild animal."

He gave me a look before admitting, "I've never had a pet."

"Like, never? Not even a goldfish?"

He shook his head, "wasn't allowed."

I blinked at him a few times and reached out for the kitten, "okay, well...I can take him to a shelter."

Billy pulled away from me, clutching the purring kitten to his chest, "no. I'll take care of him. Just...tell me what I need to do until I can go to the store."

Billy's POV

After Katrina left me with the kitten, I set up a box with a blanket and the towel it hand been bundled in and placed it next to my bed. I also scattered some paper towel around since I didn't have a litter box before placing the kitten in it's box and climbing back into bed. I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and quickly texted Steve.

Me: come over when you wake up, emergency.

Steve called me early in the morning, his voice panicked over the phone, "I'm almost at your apartment, what happened? What's the big emergency?"

I smirked as I felt the kitten readjust itself on my chest, "I have something I need your help with, you'll see when you get here."

He burst into my apartment a few minutes later, out of breath from running up the stairs and immediately stopped when he saw me holding the kitten.

"Is that the emergency?"

"I've never had a pet before, I need to go to the store."

Steve huffed and wiped his hand over his face, "that is not an emergency. Why did you get a cat and not anything for it?"

"I didn't bring it home, Katrina found it and dropped it on me in the middle of the night. And it is an emergency, I don't have anything for him to eat, he's hungry."

Steve shook his head, a small smile on his face, "fine. Go get dressed and we can go shopping. You owe me breakfast though."

Steve and I came back to my apartment with our arms full of things for my new kitten. Food, bowls a collar, treats, a litter box, a giant scratching tree and more toys than one cat could ever need. We struggled to haul everything upstairs and dropped it all in a heap just inside the door.

"I think you went a little overboard," Steve huffed, staring at the pile.

The kitten came trotting out from my bedroom and butted it's head against my leg, purring loudly.

"He deserves it," I argued, reaching down to scratch it's head, "I love him."

"You've had it for 6 hours."

"Pudge is my son, if anything happened to him, I would kill everyone in this building and then myself."

Steve snorted, "Pudge?"

"Yeah," I bent down to pick Pudge up, "Pudge."

"Like, from Lilo and Stitch?"

"Yeah, exactly."

Pudge was immediately obsessed with Steve. Every time Steve came over or I brought Pudge with me to his place, Pudge would try to pull Steve's socks off, growling as ferociously as the tiny fluff ball could. If Steve wasn't wearing socks, Pudge would hunt around Steve's apartment for a sock and carry it around like a trophy. He always hid them under our couches and would growl and hiss if he noticed us trying to take them back. Pudge also loved to sit on Steve's shoulder when he was eating and would try to swipe bites of whatever it was.

"Billy," Steve complained, "can you call off your hell cat?"

I smirked and looked down at Pudge, who had claws bared as he pounced on Steve's feet and tried to take his socks. As soon as I picked him up though, he started purring and cuddling me.

"He's an angel, Steve. I don't know what you're talking about."

@charmed-asylum @champagnesugamama

#billy hargrove #stranger things #billy hargove imagine #billy hargove x reader #billy hargrove fanfiction #fanfic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #billy hargrove smut #billy hargrove fic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #billy hargrove fluff

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jay-zoetic · 5 years

Text

Life doesn’t happen as fluidly as a memory. Rather it bounces back and forth in relativity. A moment in time linked to another. This is the start of me telling my story, as best I know how. As honestly and as transparently as I can muster so that maybe one day someone can read the words that follow and know, like I did from the many readings of others who were brave enough to share, that they too are not alone. There is always hope.

The Beginning of Knowing:

(A reflection of my slow awakening to my true-self)

Picture this for a moment, 13-year-old me, sitting in a recliner at my Aunt’s house watching “Boys Don’t Cry” for the first time.

The graphic content on the screen making my cheeks flush bright red, so much so I thought the heat would permeate across the room in my aunt’s direction. So naturally, I reached for a blanket as my only barrier to shield her from viewing my reaction to the screen.

-Two years prior my big brother, David whom I idolized was killed in a tragic accident that kick-started the beginning of my world turning away from any sense of normalcy. That kind of trauma as you could imagine, difficult at any age, was especially difficult for an eleven year old. I carried a great guilt for my brother’s death. I didn’t understand how two weeks prior he could leave a voicemail begging my father to come back home and telling him that he’d be a better son, a better big brother to me, and then never having the chance to see him again.

There are moments with David that will never leave me.

My brother was not the kind of kid you could brag about. He had his demons and we were always at odds. I felt invisible at his side, but we couldn’t get a-long well enough for him to stay at our home without my father fearing for my safety in his presence. He moved in with our father and my step-mother around the time I was seven. We had a trial run on weekends and holidays the year prior, but both being only children for most of our lives we didn’t much like to share. Our home was a small double-wide trailer that sat on 8 acres of land. Too small to house the two of everything that David and I were gifted to keep the peace. The two trampolines, basketball hoops, a dog pen for each of our dogs, mine, Lady and his, named Yellow.

I didn’t care much for the newly acquired chores of washing the dishes and folding the laundry while my brother took up helping our dad with the yard work, my old job prior to his arrival. I felt like he had taken my father from me and he felt as if I always had my father in his absence, naturally we fought for his love an interaction on equal fronts because my dad spent most of his days working three jobs to feed and provide for two children.

One day, a short five years after my brother had lived with us, he ripped a sling blade from the palm of my hand. He couldn’t have known how sharp the blade was even in its rusted state, but as the blood trickled down my wrist, I watched my brother panic. It was too late, my father then reacted in a state of rage that I am not proud to admit ended the course of our sibling interaction under the same roof and that night he was asked to pack his belongings.

It was incredibly quiet the year that my only brother, my terrorizor, my hardest lesson and first in loss, left. I felt half of a void in his absence, not the blood half, but the souls renching grasp of absence half and when I listened to that voicemail a part of me truly believed he had indeed changed. We could try again. We could be a whole family, again.

We went to visit him that weekend at the local skating rink where he, my brothe, practiced for the skate team. I’ll never forget those tight spandex shorts clinging to his thighs and my father calling him, ‘wolf boy” due to the hair state of his exposed legs protrouding from their grip. We spent hours playing Mortal Kombat in the arcade. Side by side exchanging quarters and the last few precious moments of peace and bonding time I’d ever have with him. Before leaving my father told my brother to, “hug your little sister, “she” loves you David and looks up to you.” We both grimaced and with all the hesitation that my brother could muster he finally wrapped me up into those dangling arms one last time. I can still feel the mutters the “ew” and “gross” leaving my lips. It didn’t help much with convincing our parents we’d be fine, but it was a promising start.

In the parking lot I noticed my brother had grown at least three inches since I’d seen him last. I reached down for a moment to feel the scar on my palm and felt that it was still there, then back up at him to realize that their were no skates on his feet to propel him to the horizon, that was just all puberty taking its course. Time passing and quickly. In that same moment while he exchanged playful punches with my father, I saw him stand toe-to-toe with the man that he feared, just months prior. A glimpse of the man he was destined to become and peering from the backseat window of our family car I saw a slight mist in both of their eyes as they hugged goodbye for the last time. I can still remember my brother’s goofy grin and waver as we pulled out of the parking lot without him and then the moment he turned away, I imagine a little sad that he could not yet come home. That was the last time I ever saw my brother. It was the last time my father ever held his first-born son with his spirit and body intact.

At David’s wake, I was able to kiss his forehead for the first and last time. I didn’t understand why he was wearing make-up and foundation. His hair looked different too, but I didn’t grimace over this strange version of him. I just wanted him to open his eyes. I wanted him to tell me that this was just another one of his pranks. I wanted the crying around me to stop and for his laughter to fill the room instead. The rest his body was covered with as many letters, photos, and tokens from the people that knew and loved him well as his casket could hold. I remember that being my first experience seeing a dead body and how funny it sounded as I sounded that thought out in my head. I remember overhearing the story of that day differently from what I was told through the mutters and whispers of the hundreds of people in the room paying their respects and visiting with the family. I needed to know that it was real, so I reached into his casket one last time to feel his chest, carefully fixing his tie, and I felt it. The absence of structure on his left side. I imagine a vehicle could have done more damage at 55 mph, but aside from the con caved portion of his rib-cage, he looked perfect, but it was enough to know that the following day I had to say the hardest goodbye of my life. I could never again race my brother in go-carts and win. We could never again fight over the Sega genesis games or hockey card and comic book collections. No more stealing his socks because I hated the ones my parents bought for me. He was never coming home again and all that I had left of him was the one thing that sent him away, still itching from time to time on my right palm. What developed after were many changes in my life and at a rapid pace. It was my first real loss and significant heartbreak. My parents were grieving and going through the process of a long and nasty divorce, I was significantly depressed, hormonal & still very much trying to cope with the loss of my brother. When David died a part of me died with him. I lost the one person I identified with close to me and I didn’t cry about it or want to talk about it until years later. This year, I celebrate the man my brother would have become and I am slowly learning how hard it is to become, “that man” in a world that continues to remind me, I am one chromosome away from him & all of the other men I have looked up to in the process of chipping away at 32 years in the wrong body-

As I sat in that recliner, my soccerdelic t-shirt and green umbro soccer shorts I had begged for in the Belks Junior section (my grandmother’s favorite place to shop for me twice a year. Once prior to school starting and once for Summer) were hugging my rage and hormone filled body. I began feeling flushed as I watched a scene that I now identify as my, "awakening”.

The characters in the film felt so familiar to me; especially Brandon Tina, formerly known as Tina Brandon.

I was terrified with shame. When the surge of lightening coursed through my veins, I gripped the blanket tighter, hid my face, and pretended to sleep.

I had just enough light to continue watching through the tiny weaving of the blanket material. My synapses firing all at once, my heart racing, feeling uncomfortable and confused as to why I never knew these things ever existed. Bewildered by the confrontation now settling weight upon my conscience. Questioning how much sin was within me and how much sin had been inside of me, unwillingly.

Then it happened. The Big Bang effect that would ripple through my life as a warning and another “awakening” as Brandon Teena is pulled from the backseat of a vehicle, bound, and then violated in the most horrific way imaginable. In that moment, I felt dead inside. The life I had experienced in my short 13 years had already been unkind and I was learning the difference between normal and abnormal from a TV screen and it looked and sounded a lot like Brandon Teena’s experience.

I felt my chest tighten, my breathing heavy, and my eyes begin to flood with so much hurt and confusion that I was sure my Aunt could feel it from across the room. I wept quietly for the first time since my brother’s death. I wept for Brandon and I cried for what I though then to be -the bleak existence of my future.

What I learned was something that would haunt me for years to come and I felt something that I couldn’t share with anyone. Horrible things. I felt completely and totally alone in it.

I learned that those things that were called “love” could look a lot like someone you know and that rape doesn’t just happen in dark deserted parking lots, it doesn’t just happen to the pretty girls, or the ones who were out too late, it could even happen without someone identifying as a girl, it could happen out of hate for who you are and for who you are not. I learned that I was not alone in my experience, but I also learned that I was not “normal” and to vocalize any of this would surely be my death sentence. I’d witnessed my parents grieve once and in that moment I chose silence, I chose to burden myself with the responsibility of being the constant to keep them from suffering more and that would mean never speaking of these things to keep me alive and should I ever be brave enough to change; don’t.

Fast Forward 2 years>>>

I was a sophomore in high school, a new one since moving in with my father. A small victory came at the age 15 years old when I decided to go by “Jessy” instead of Jessica-Renee. Like most teens, I used my creativity in high school to set myself apart as an individual. I was incredibly naive, but it was the first time I ever felt like I had a voice or a choice in my life to be or identify with that quieted version of myself.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved my name. It was beautiful, but it did not fit me. I would reply to my given name, but out of habit. I loved being named after my dad’s sister, Renee. She was strong, beautiful, and everything I wanted to be growing up. She made life cultured for me when I didn’t have the option to know anything other than the sheltered experiences of my home-life. She understood hustle and hard work and she saw the challenges I was put up against, but never made me feel like I was smaller than them. She pushed me to be better.

The world had already taught me a harsh lesson in what being a woman meant. I had to harness a different kind of strength & beauty to achieve that, but I never could relate to them. I felt as if I were chasing a ghost. A version of someone who didn’t exist within me. I felt like a liar and a cheat, but I became so good at switching the mask.

Everything about being around girls/women felt foreign and I tried to mimic those strong women in my life because I at least knew that meant safety. But in the dark moments when the burden of surviving overwhelmed me I turned to coping in unhealthy ways. I created a cycle of chaos in my relationships with others and damaged my body to punish myself for all of the things that I couldn’t control. I could control that. I honestly felt as though I deserved it. So I didn’t reach for more. I just kind of stagnated until the next thing came along.

In the mean-time I’d fantasize about what my life would be like once I graduated. I’d write lists of what my male name would be, hidden under the title of, “baby boy names” for when I was married to, “said guy” and have the ideal life that my parents would have wanted for me.

I’d think about how I want to sound as strong as my Brother, David or my Father, Brian. Could I convince others to call me something different one day? Would there ever be a moment in my life I could “figure out” what this meant for me?

There are moments that I’m reminded of the sound of my Nana, Grandma, and aunt’s voices calling out for me. The deliberate nature of their voices trailing out from a room separate from me in my life. The women that sheltered me. The women that tried so hard to teach me my place in the world. I felt so much guilt for my part in their inability to contain the fire that burned within me. They often let me figure it out on my own after many attempts at, “getting through” my stubborn ways. Those moments seem so special now in my transition. I’ve tucked them into a safe corner in my mind because truthfully, I will always cherrish the way my name would sound bellowing from their bellies and echoing through their respective homes. Each time felt like love vibrating through the walls and down the hallways I’d learn to walk, first from a crawl, then to a run, and eventually wearing those foreign stilts that my feet felt cramped in. The first blisters on my heels the night of prom when I double-stacked bandaids and smiled at the flashes to match theirs on the other side of the lens. Inside I was clawing at the seams of my costume. The cost of being a woman was a price that weighed too heavy, but there was always a comfort in their firm southern drawl. It deafened the voice that told me I couldn’t be loved, but it also came with a price.

-JESS-KUH RENEE!

-You go GIRL!

These are the moments I’ll keep. I’m learning that I don’t have to wish them away.

You see, like many, I grew up in a tough environment for any child, let alone a growing young lady. The men in my life also made me tough. They knew and saw my curiosity/love of adventure. It was always confusing when the women in my life tried to shelter me from all of that. Collectively they instilled in me a complex & resiliency. It was a tough balance.

There were fights on Sunday about the donning of dresses. There were arguments made about the use/sharing of toys between my brother and I prior to his passing. My barbies were gifted to the back yard then met by the blades of my father’s riding lawn mower.

I buried all of my secrets in the ground of that 8 acres I grew up on in the country on notebook paper. I understood soon enough that writing them down felt more important than having anyone to tell them to.

I prayed beneath cotton candy colored skies at sunsets as my parents yelled so loudly the neighbor’s would take notice and step outside to see me, that quirky kid sitting on a partially deflated basketball holding a pen and paper in my lap.

I prayed that I’d wake up in another world and in the right body, with the perfect family. I prayed for my parents to find peace before my own.

When my breast started to grow, I remember the embarrassment of finding and wearing my first cotton training bra. My grandmother and step-mother took me shopping; at Belks, of course. They were thrilled about this “achievement” of simply waking up to new growth. I was mortified. It was more garment to fight with at the start of my daily routine. Another reason to hate getting dressed in the mornings. I envied my brother who’d walk around the house with a bare chest. His ego a mile wide.

I’d hide in the bathroom trying to figure out why my skin felt like sandpaper against my under garments. My body hair grew from places that he showed so carelessly. I felt ashamed. For wanting it to grow, but also embarrassed at school in gym because other girls my age were already shaving their armpits and apparently that was just another right of passage in womanhood. Once my brother’s girlfriend told me that I should just “shave it off.” I asked my parents if this were possible, but they firmly instructed me to never shave above my knees and to only use an electric razor in shaving below my knees. I found this strange. My brother, who knew this offered to shave my legs for me. I also found this strange, but I agreed and halfway through the process I chickened out. I realized later, with my one shaved calf that this was a set-up. It dawned on me when riding in my father’s truck later that day when he looked down at me trying to cover my left leg and asked why only one leg had hair on it?!

I stammered to explained to him that David shaved it for me. My father’s face looked confused by the admission. He knew David would have never tried to touch me with a razor out of pure discourse for wanting to be near me, let alone without first; trying to harm me with it. Automatically, it sounded like a farce. His face reddened, then the yelling came, where he forbids me to ever shave again.

When I returned to school the in the following weeks, I was relentlessly teased for my hairy legs by my peers. Both boys and girls. I felt trapped in my body by perceptions again and I refused to wear shorts for the fear of being teased again.

I was 15 the year I caved to the societal pressures for what being a woman meant. Remember that night of my first prom? My parents had this glow about them when they saw me. I had by then, grew my hair out, shaved my legs, and started wearing makeup. I felt like a fraud, but the teasing slowed and I began to make friends.

For Amy:

I spent the first few weeks at my new school sophomore year trying to re-establish myself in a new setting. I felt the warmth of possibility. The first attempt came the first day of classes and I was excited to try out my, “new name.”

First period, History class and a name roll-call later I found myself penning down the spelling variations of Jessy, Jessi, Jesse, Jeci over the blue lined notebook paper in front of me. Trying to shield it from others as the teacher, a very round bellied man, grasped his belt and began to ask for our preferred names following the announcing of our “birth-names”. I had a choice here! Finally, I settled on Jessy. So, when I heard the name Jessica, my ears perked and before I could get that final choice uttered, he said their last name…Biggs. The crushing moment that followed was her introduction to her preferred name and spelling…”JESSY”. I didn’t have time to recover before my name was called Immediately following hers. I uttered out a simple, “here”. To my new friends I introduced myself with my preferred name. I didn’t make a fuss about the spelling. I did however have to meet this Jessy.

Jessy walked the halls that day with a similar looking girl, with similar looking hair. The only real difference between the two was a sleeve of tattoos that covered the other girl down to her hands. I knew they were both upper class-men. I’d heard it from Jessy who introduced herself as a junior and later that day I’d catch a brief moment of loving affection shown between her and the girl with similar looking hair while sitting on a bench outside of the lunchroom. I didn’t feel like sitting alone among so many people whose grown-up together so, I casually walked to the end of the hall adjacent to where they sat. I noticed that the tattooed girl, didn’t very much resemble a girl to me at all. This peaked my interest further, but I was too shy to introduce myself and also aware that there was a reason they sat outside of the lunchroom. It was safety.

4th period, Algebra I noticed the girl with similar hair sitting behind me. I needed an excuse to talk to her and learn her name. She felt familiar. She also felt like knowing her would be terrifying for me. I faked reaching for a pencil and then turned empty handed to ask her if I could have one from her. I felt the entire room shift as I spoke. The other students seemed completely surprised that I, long curly headed new-girl would even speak to her. Then, A response, “you can BORROW one.” I laughed nervously and said, “of course, my name is Jessy, in case you need to hunt me down for it later.” She seemed perplexed, but responded, “I’m Amy, thanks.” I couldn’t leave well enough alone and asked to see her tattooed hands and made some lame remark like, “cool tats, that must have hurt.”

I’d get to know Jessy and Amy more over time that year. They introduced me to Nikki and later Nikki would introduce me to Jaimie…who became my very best friend. Another girl, who didn’t look very much like a girl that I crushed on from afar until we met. I would watch and listened to Jaimie and Amy carefully. Constantly in awe of their presence and their bravery to dress in the ways that I allow longed to. But when the moments that occurred from others throwing shame or hatred their way, I cowered. We hung out after school, but in the halls, I started to avoid them to protect my new image from being tarnished along with theirs for standing with them.

Eventually, I couldn’t run from it and started to embrace our friendship more. I would come to learn that Amy identified as transgender. It became my second “awakening” and when she graduated that year, I was sad to know I no longer had her stories or comfort around whenever I needed them. He never knew my internal struggle or how much I relied on her strength to feed mine because four years later when I was ready to reveal that long-held secret, Amy and his girlfriend were killed by a drunken driver while walking home from dinner.

Years 16-17: Independence.

Bouncing between two homes is a terrible experience when your parents carry different parenting styles, but it’s much easier when you finally get your first set of wheels.

I had been working since I was old enough to get my work permit, but the back and forth nature of things made it tough to acquire my learners permit for driving. I finished the course at my old high school, but my parents didn’t have the money to invest in car insurance and a vehicle safe enough to put me in.

My grandmother and grandfather saw a need and stepped in. They did most of the shuttling me around and eventually, they took me in for my driver’s test to achieve that limited learner’s permit prior to getting my license.

May 5th, 2003

I had the permit for almost a week. I was only allowed to drive with a licensed driver over the age of 25. After school one day my grandmother and aunt picked me up in my aunt’s candy-apple red Jeep Cherokee. At the time it was my dream vehicle. I had hopes that she’d retire it to me once I got my full license. I begged them to let me drive the last few miles home from a nearby Burger King because I was hungry and wanted to experience my first time driving unassisted. I was met with hesitation, but eventually found myself behind the wheel grinning from ear to ear while they gripped the, “oh shit! handles” and white knuckles it until we reached my grandmother’s driveway.

I hopped out of the Jeep beaming. I was proud of myself and couldn’t wait to tell my grandfather the good news! He always invested in my successes. Although he was a timid man, he was packed full of charm. His tumbling booms of laughter and joy were all I wanted to hear coming through her door. Usually, he’d greet me with…” where’s my girl?! Come here so I can get a bite of those cheeks!” Then he’s followed with a hug so tight and so warm it could melt the coldest of hearts, mine included.

However, his carefully chosen dialogue and calming nature where not what greeted us as I stormed through the sun-room door and ran towards his chair in the den…empty.

My grandmother’s voice belted from the kitchen, “GUY! GET UP!” My stomach turned and I ran to the kitchen. The fear in her voice was as thick as the swallow of air I fought hard to take into my lungs and release. His feet protruded from the side of the kitchen table. One shoe half on, the other hugging the wall with a tiny trail of his blood dried to the wallpaper. A plate of food still on the table half eaten. That moment felt like an eternity. My brain trying to understand what and how this had happened. A million questions took the backseat as I jumped into action. First trying to wake him. His face pale and upon reaching for his face I felt the cool moisture of his sweat roll down my wrist. Instinctively I reached into his mouth and removed the partial bits left inside blocking his airway. My grandmother in shock started lifting his legs to get him to, “wake up.” Me yelling at her not to move him and then yelling for my aunt to call an ambulance. Moments later he awoke. Only able to try and move his right arm and speak in distorted language. Something in me said, “this is a stroke” When the paramedics arrived, they loaded him into what I had defined as a coffin since my brother’s last trip in that metal box of doom. I didn’t know if I’d ever get those cheek bites again and I felt a terrible guilt for insisting I drove home, making us arrive home later than usual, to find him like that.

He spent the night in Urgent Care and I spent the night trying to avoid the inevitable. Life as I knew it always came in pairs of heartache. The fear of losing g my grandfather was first, the second, losing my sense of peace and safety once I returned home. The second happened that night, for the first time in the one place I called home, but not the “first time”. My safe place. just a few feet away from the kitchen, just a few feet away from my grandfather’s recliner the only man in my life big enough or worthy enough to fill it with love and compassion. This time was different. I put up a fight, tried my damnedest to avoid what I knew could happen, naive enough to think that maybe, some compassion would be bestowed upon me due to the circumstances of what I had been through earlier in my day, but it wasn’t enough to save me from the rest of the attack on body. It wasn’t enough to save me from him.

I missed school the next day, I would have rather gone. In fact, I begged my parents. Anything to keep me away from seeing HIS face, my father’s face when I returned to his house later that afternoon when, HIM, aka “asshole” dropped me off and shook my father’s hand. Anything to keep me pre-occupied from the only other fear in my life at that moment. Losing my grandfather.

I sat on the floor talking to my first girlfriend on the phone. I remember when the line cut in that another call was coming through. I answered to find my grandmother’s voice. A little light shining through that dark time. It was good news. My grandfather had a stroke, but they anticipated another surgery to put in a feeding tube and all should be well. I hung up with relief. In a matter of hours, another call came. This time my step-mother’s voice. This time, my grandfather didn’t make it through the surgery. His body went into shock after the feeding tube was placed. He was gone and I was shattered.

The months that followed were bleak. My mind kind of tapped out on knowing what I needed to feel better. I started caving to peer pressure more and more. I fell away from my principles and morals. I lied to my family, a lot. Mostly because I needed to be away, at any expense. For safety. For healing.

The highlight finally came the day that my grandmother announced she’d help me get my first vehicle. I was just days shy of my 17th birthday. I was so relieved that she’d agreed to help that I nearly ignored “asshole” picking me up from her house later that evening following family supper in my new car. Donning that devilish smile as he existed the car, he questioned,

“Well? What are you waiting for? it’s not going to drive itself?”

I reluctantly climbed into the driver seat. My grandmother motioned for my to, “start her up!” And I obeyed. As we left the driveway the mixture of emotions in my body conflicted with all that I should have been feeling In that moment. The thought of having any sort independence killed with one statement, “there are rules…as you could imagine. You break them and there will be consequences and if you try anything funny, you will lose, every time.” I knew it wasn’t about the car. It wasn’t about my competence in driving or safety on the road. This was a challenge to losing access to me. In that moment my eyes fixated on the tree line, my head went back to that prison, and the only thing keeping my tires between the yellow and white lines was the voice inside of me yelling back, “NOT YET!”

18: The beginning of the end.

Senior year was a tremendous year of growth. I had friends, many of them identified like me. They came from troubled homes, struggled with their sexuality, fitting into a mold placed upon them while living in a southern small town. We did naturally, what most teens do…we rebelled. There were many nights I’d stay out late partying at friends’ houses. I went to swim practices, school, work, then home to do it all over again. I fell away from things that kept me surrounded by my family only because I tried to avoid, “Him”.

I signed my paper for the military and in my waiting to leave that Summer, I practiced my freedom

more than ever. My friends and I started watching a show called, “The L Word.” It felt like the world was turning in my favor and I could start talking about my attraction to women more. So that outing came quicker than expected by a note one of my other step-mom’s found at my dad’s house, only second to him learning from a girl at school that I was, “Bi-sexual.” To this day I’m not quite sure what provoked her to approach my father with that news, but it happened and I was angry for several reasons. The first being that I did NOT identify as Bi-sexual. The second and major reason, I was joining the military and at that time, there was a strict, “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy in place that could have jeopardized my career and true-freedom before it ever happened for me.

That didn’t stop my exploration of finding myself, but I was more careful in my approaches. A few weeks prior to leaving for the military I spent a lot of time with my friends. My father asked me to leave the house upon learning I liked women and I was too ashamed to tell my grandmother. On weekends I would stay with her and during the week I’d crash on my friends couches.

I spent a lot of time with Jaimie and Amy that Summer. Amy started hormone therapy and I was blown away at the changes to her voice. I would try on Jaimie’s clothing and too poor or either too scared to buy my own men’s clothing I’d opt to wear hers. That is until my first Walmart purchase at 1am after a work shift when Jaimie, Karla, and I adventure through the men’s section to find what was my very first men’s outfit. It consisted of a striped polo, cargo khaki colored shorts, and finally a sports bra and boxer briefs!

Uncle Sam: (Death of the Femme)

Basic training could have gone smoother had I not opted to wear those new boxers the first night.

They lined us up against the wall lockers and screamed for all articles of clothing to come off. I, like many others stripped down to just my sports bra and boxers. Exposed in more than one way I instantly regretted my choice of underwear. That is until the screaming symphony of TIs shocked me out of that thought and back into action and I began pulling the remaining articles of clothing from my body as fast as I could. Completely naked and bare to strangers we filed into a single line. My body, the last to join the other-foreign bodies, who all seemed to remember the most important part. Pack shower shoes. I ruffled through my bag desperately trying to find a solution. I imagine the comedic relief to the others as I was made to wear the only pair of sneakers/shoes I had with me into the rotation of 8 scorching hot shower heads. If I didn’t want to stand out, I surely had a way of making it happen. I wore those squishy tennis shoes everywhere I went for the remainder of the week until we were allowed to visit the commentary. Which only had the size up from what I needed, but it was better than the tennis shoes and showers became a little more bearable.

I envied my brother flight’s experience. They didn’t have to live with 49 other women all on their periods, (which I started for the second time the second week of basic because, well biology.) They didn’t have to get fitted for the ankle length dress blues skirt or hear screaming at one another over the use of someone’s hair gel, or for someone’s hair falling out of their mildewing hair bun roll while doing push-ups and earning a demerit for the entire flight for it. I’m sure they had their own struggles, but I welcomed them more than my own.

Upon graduation I ended up getting stationed at Travis AFB in California. I spent many nights in my dorm room watching movies and listening to music until I met others to spend time with that I could relate to. I met friends, women who also liked women, but I didn’t feel like I fit with them either. It was a start. In my new sense of freedom, I purchased more men’s clothing. I obtained more guy friends and started living my life as best a I could to avoid the inner turmoil that still existed within me.

One night at the base gas station I came across a film about a trans woman’s experience in life. I felt sick. I had a hatred brewing against anything that felt too close for comfort or served as a reminder that I was trapped in a world that could never allow me; serving my country for freedoms I could not partake in for fear of losing everything I’d worked so hard for. To be labeled unfit or abnormal. Not only in my military career where I’d landed on my false identity as a “butch lesbian” because it was somehow safer than my own understanding of gender identity norms at the time, but also in my personal relationships with those I’d share intimacy.

Did you know that within the Queer Community there are many definitions to what it means to be a lesbian, gay man, etc? Did you also know that there exists a bias toward the Transgender community? A lot of us experience this bias as a betrayal...I certainly did and sometimes, still do encounter it.

Vocabulary and Syntax are funny things, especially when they are weaponized just as you start to feel safe in a community that is supposed to embrace and celebrate differences. Never-the-less, I pushed forward. I found comfort in things that were not comfortable after their effects wore off.

My escapes into bars and nightclubs were riddled with hypocrisy and fear. Choosing to go out with friends, which friends were safe to take along or how I’d explain myself should I happen to be in one of those taboo places by a fellow airman or worse, “OSI” Office of Special Investigation. My sole task was blending in, but I wanted nothing more than to scream out

-I don’t belong here!?

-I don’t feel safe here?!

2008(May the truth set you on fire before they burn you down)

The orders came that I would deploy at a very inconvenient moment in my career/personal a struggle. I began coming to terms with the fact that my absence could be a saving grace but before I left I had this urgent need to tell my family everything I’d been sorting through in therapy relating to my past trauma. With some family members I expected anger, but when that didn’t happen I felt reassured that if they couldn't handle the worst kind of ugly by being supportive, how would they ever support the other secrets I’d locked away that were killing me? It was rough. The time I spent deployed was the most awakening.

The quiet was loud in my head yet; I found comfort in knowing that the things that had hurt me most were thousands of miles away. I felt hope in knowing that if I were not to make it home at least my story didn’t die with me. Only, not a full comfort because I was still locking the rest within the barrel of my chest. I felt relief in knowing that coming home any other way would be disgraceful and truly felt as though I had purpose.

Some days I’d wish for peace in the form

The crisis I was going through with my gender identity paled in comparison with the haunting nature of my past. Suddenly, all of those bad and dark things started affecting me more than they had ever before because my knowledge of their abnormalities and exposure to other cultures and customs made me realize that I finally had to start talking about them to get through them and over them, to heal. I knew that I had to fix those things first and felt like maybe in fixing them, I too, could make the male parts of my brain and the longing for them go away.

To be continued…

In case you wanted to know the reasoning behind my choice or are interested: Follow along…

Jayce (Hebrew, same as my prior name) “healer” or “the Lord is salvation”. Includes my favorite aspects of my prior name.

Bodie ( Bodie is a former gold-mining town and State Historic Park in California’s Bodie Hills, near the Nevada border.)

The boy's name Bodie \b(o)-die\ is a variant of Boden (Scandinavian, Old French), and the meaning of Bodie is "shelter; one who brings news". Same as my grandmother’s name Evangeline.

"Awakened" or "Enlightenment" The Buddhist concept of Bodhi is spiritual awakening and freedom from the cycle of life. Bodhi is also the name of the sacred ficus tree (ficus religiosa) under which Lord Buddha sat and obtained his enlightenment.

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 7 years

Text

The Fishbone and The Firelily (Part 20)

Azula blinked the remaining visages of sleep from her eyes. Sokka was still deep in slumber, the man had a habit of sleeping in. Not that she blamed him, the frigid air was plenty of reason on its own to stay beneath layers of sheets, furs, and blankets. It had taken much effort for her to get used to the frost of the Southern Water Tribe. All of that time, and she still wasn’t quite acquainted with it. She forced herself to stand, put her hands on her back, and stretched. She supposed that she was as ready as she would be to start the morning. Azula pulled a coat on, no doubt she’d be hearing it from Sokka again, how she wore more layers of clothing than anyone who had ever visited the Water Tribe. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. This woman had a sort of gentleness in her golden eyes, a glow that wasn’t there before. In general her features seemed somehow softer in the company of such a tender expression. Perhaps this was due in part to a lesser use of makeup—things were simpler in the Water Tribe, in that regard. The makeup she did use was limited to a soft sweep of eyeliner and a lighter shade of lipstick. Complimenting the lack of makeup, a thin scar running, uncovered, along her cheek. A scar she hadn’t thought too much of in years. Her thoughts of that endeavor had mostly faded into the background coming up only once in a while, in the shape of a dream, during times of stress. She trailed her pointer along the length of the scar. To some degree, Azula didn’t quite recognize herself, especially now that she found herself adorned in Water Tribe garb. Her hair was longer still with strands pulled through beads of many colors and shapes.

She wandered outside where she was met with another flurry. The snowflakes never seemed to stop falling around these parts. They clung to her lashes for seconds before melting away once more. Adjusting to life so far from home, and so outstandingly different had been a task. Learning to walk on the snow and ice was unexpectedly tedious, there had been a few times when she had placed her foot in the wrong spot and landed face first in the snow. On those nights she’d go home shivering and accompanied by a bought of childish laughter from Sokka, who had apparently been getting a kick out of watching her make friends with the ground. The food, to her dismay, was all of the sea variety. Naturally had to overcome her aversion to its taste. Before long though, she as adapt as anyone else in the villager—if not, very close to it. Even still it had taken the village some time to get used to the presence of a firebender within their walls. Azula was a rather curious thing for them, coupled with being a woman of high birth, she found herself being the subject of many stares. Gradually the number of eyes on her dropped until she was just another woman going about her life; fishing with Sokka, gazing at the curtain of light in the sky when it was present, and on certain nights joining a traditional dance or two. All in all she had grown fond of the place. She had to admit that it was rather laughable, that just as she was getting used to being there, she, Sokka, and Katara would be going back to the Fire Nation. Though she was eager to hear how well Zuko had been taking care of Muzuko in her absence. The child in her hoped that the toad-squirrel was giving him a hard time.

Deciding that it would be best to start packing, Azula ended her reminisce and re-entered the house. Upon doing so, she was greeted with an odor of seafood and a type of spice that had to have been imported from the Fire Nation. The smell of seafood, as it turned out still made her nauseous—oddly enough more than before.

Sokka didn’t miss the appalled look scrunching her face, “Don’t you just love the smell of seaweed and squid?” He held his bowl of seaweed stew right under her nose.

Her lip curled back in disgust, “get that away from me before I throw up.” She pushed the bowl back towards him.

“Good morning, to you too.” He laughed.

“Yes, that was quite a greeting.” She muttered.

“How’s the weather?”

“Roasting, absolutely scorching, Sokka.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s the same as it is every day. Cold and snowing.”

“Yes, but is it a flurry or a sleet, or a blizzard?”

“Does it matter?” Azula asked, already knowing the answer.

“To a good tribesman, yes it does!” Sokka declared offering her a bowl of stew with a scent masked more heavily by Fire Nation spice.

“I don’t know about you all, but I’m stoked!” Katara dropped her already organized suitcase at her feet. “Aang said he would meet us on the boat. And someone still owes me a trip to the royal spa and I’m ready for it.” Azula had to give the waterbender props, the woman’s memory was just as keen as her own.

“Yes, I’m quite read for that myself.” Azula agreed as she forced herself to eat the last of her breakfast, it wasn’t quite sitting well with her that morning. “It will be nice to be in the heat again.” Truth be told she had mixed feelings on the matter—going back would surly reawaken just how much she longed to have lightning dancing on her fingertips. In the Water Tribe it was so much easier to forget…to just put it behind her. No other firebenders were around to remind her of what she no longer had. “You should start getting your things together, I wouldn’t like to miss our boat.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t pack much anyways.” Though that’s what he had told her, the man turned out to be very particular with his belongings. He would question exactly which pair of pants to bring and whether or not he really needed that many pairs of socks.

“I can’t get all of this to fit.” Sokka huffed as he tried to ram another fold of clothing into the pack.

“Here, let me.” Azula offered, only to be ignored by the man who was so invested in getting the job done on his own.

“Just…just give me the suitcase, Sokka.” Azula grumbled, eventually resorting to snatching it from him with an impatient glare.

Sokka lifted his hands. “Alright, alright. No need to get angry.” And then to Katara he mumbled, “she always gets so moody when she’s nervous.”

Azula, who was bent over the luggage, came to an abrupt pause and dropped the shirt she was holding. “I’m not nervous!” She snapped. “And I’m not being ‘moody’.” She finished folding the shirt and put it away neatly.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.” Sokka gave her a lopsided grin.

“I’ve heard a lot of things that I wasn’t supposed to.” She shrugged. “Anyways, if you want it all to fit you can’t just toss it in, you have to actually fold it up.”

“Noted.” Sokka replied.

“I can’t believe we have to teach you this.” Katara rolled her eyes. “You’re what, thirty now?”

“Twenty-Nine!” He corrected as if it made things any better. He hunched over to give his suitcase one final run through.

“Sokka!” Azula huffed. “You already checked your suitcase thrice over. What’s in there that’s important enough to check it so much.”

“Oh you know, my favorite pair of socks, my best underpants, all of the finer things in life.”

Azula groaned, “say something like that again and I’m leaving you.”

He slung an arm around her neck, “and let you miss out on the true joys of our relationship, not a chance.”

.oOo.

Sokka dug around in his suit case again. He wrapped his fingers around a velvet blue pouch. He couldn’t imagine that it would go anywhere after zipping his suitcase tight, but it still brought him relief to know for sure that it was still there. Between his fingers he fiddled with the pearl on the end of the band that held the pouch closed.

“What’s that?” Katara asked.

“Very important.” Sokka replied. He looked up to see Azula making conversation with Aang. With cautious hands he pulled the pouch open and dumped a necklace into his palm. He turned it over for Katara to see. It was a thing of elegant craft; smooth polished turquoise etched with intricate swirls and bas relief waves. Fixed in the center was a large sapphire and around it looped a series of deep blue onyx.

“Is that…”

Sokka nodded. “I just don’t know when or how I’m going to ask her.”

.oOo.

The air ran hot across Azula’s face, welcoming the princess back into her country. More than anything about the Fire Nation, she missed the way the sun scorched and kissed her skin. The bliss of it, displayed itself quite plainly on her face.

“Oh thank Agni you’re back, this thing is driving me nuts.” Zuko greeted, thrusting the toad-squirrel cage into her arms.

“He’s doing very well then.” Azula stroked the head of her old companion.

“Welcome home.”

“Thank you, Zu-Zu. Be a dear and tell one of the servants to carry my things.”

“First, tell me what you thought of the Water Tribe.” Zuko requested.

“Once you get past the cold, it’s a very charming place. Have you ever seen lights dancing in the sky?” She rather enjoyed the phenomenon—it had become one of her favorite things about the south. “The penguins are pretty lovely too, sometimes they sneak into the house.”

“Well that’s something I haven’t gotten a chance to experience.” Zuko laughed.

“You should try it some time. They kind of just tower of you until you wake up and notice that they’re there.” She put her hands on her hips. “How have things been in the Fire Nation?”

“The usual. Mother has me watching Kiyi in between council meetings. I got a…strongly worded letter from the prison.”

Azula chuckled, “did father have anything worthwhile to say?”

“Just that I’m letting the Fire Nation go to shit and that aardvark-sloth could do a better job than me. He said that uncle is a uh…never mind. He called our mother worthless as well and he didn’t mention you, which is probably a good thing.”

“Wonderful to hear.” Azula replied. “At least we have one constant to rely on when everything else is changing.” She fell back to talk to Katara and give Sokka some time to chat with her brother. Sokka had a few things that he was bursting to tell Zuko, including things about his increased hunting abilities, this new sword he had crafted for himself, and some other news that apparently wasn’t for her to know. “So what kind of petals would you like in your bath?”

“I’m fine with any as long as it comes with a facial mask.” Katara grinned.

“I enjoy rose and pandalily myself.”

“I don’t know, I’m more of a lavender kind of guy.” Aang put in. For all of her people skills, she couldn’t tell if he was joking or if he really wanted to join them.

So she replied, “I’ll make sure you get them.”

.oOo.

From what Sokka gathered, the spa was not quite enough luxury for Azula for one day. He found her that night sitting on the stony ledge of the hot spring, absently kicking her feet at the water below when he approached her. The steam furled and licked her bare skin, rising up aplenty to meet the full moon above. The warm night was made humid by the churning water below. He watched her slip into the spring water. Once chest deep in the water, she closed her eyes and let a relaxed sigh escape her lips. He could tell that she had missed the Fire Nation’s abundant selection of springs. In general, she seemed happy to be home, her fiery mood, efficiently smothered. She tossed a look over her shoulder and patted the water next to her, “join me.”

Sokka striped down and eased himself into the water. He on the other hand, missed the cold air and had to take getting into smoldering water in strides; first getting his ankles used to the temperature, and then his calves, and then his thighs, and so on. She extended her slender arm out to him. He took hold of her hand and she tugged him towards her, letting the water do most of the work.

“It’s a nice night.” She commented. “Lots of stars.”

“I just wish it wasn’t so hot.”

“Is that right? It wouldn’t be a Fire Nation summer if it wasn’t suffocating hot.” She replied. He had a feeling that she’d have it no other way. She trailed her pointer in circles over his chiseled chest. Her demeanor was lax, emitting an aura of leisure. He allowed his hands to glide from her shoulder blades down to her lower back and then some lower. She dipped her head and kissed his neck. “One day we should go to Ember Island together. You’ll find out what it really means to endure Fire Nation heat. If I had my firebending, I’d be able to show you right now.”

“You’re still on about that?” He dared to ask.

“You’re a nonbender, you couldn’t possibly know what it is to have something all your life and then feel it ripped from you.” For a moment he thought he’d effectively pissed her off. But the tempered expression passed in fleeting, giving way to something more somber. “It’s not something you get used to, it’s something you forget about until it comes up again.”

“You’re right, I don’t.” He agreed softly. With that he was holding her listening to the bubbling and hissing of the spring water. She looked up and followed her stare until he was staring at a sea of space dust and a kaleidoscope of stars. The reflection of them in Azula’s eyes magnified their birth-blessed radiance. She swam out to the center of the spring where the moonrays fell directly over her. The glow the moon put on her skin and the shine it put in her hair seemed so natural—she’d been in the Water Tribe for so long it looked right on her. If it weren’t for the vivid color and slanted shape of her eyes, Sokka realized that the princess could easily pass as a tribeswoman.

Gradually, she submerged herself completely. When she came back up she remarked. “I lost something very important in the Forgetful Valley.”

Sokka stepped out of the pool, rummaging through his heap of temporarily discarded clothing. “I like to think that you found something more important to you.” He responded, upon reentering the spring water.

Azula hummed lightly, “maybe so.”

He drifted behind her and fastened the betrothal piece around her neck and slipped his arms under hers in a loose embrace. “I’ll let you decide if you want to keep what you’ve found.”

Azula rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb. “I always keep what I catch.” She smirked.

It was the answer he was hoping for, delivered in such a fashion that only Azula could have successfully managed. Azula slipped out of his hold and let herself float lazily on her back. For a good while he simply watched her glide. He couldn’t place for how long they remained like so. But in due time he was at her side with on hand touching the scar on her cheek and the other held at her back. The stars reflected enchantingly in the delicately thrashing water.

.oOo.

The scar opened up.

At first it was a pinching pain.

And then it was piercing.

And then she was on the floor with a steady stream of blood welling down her cheek and along her neck. The gash grew longer and wider still as she lie on the floor trying to hold it closed. If Azula held on long enough the skin would fuse back together. But the wound just kept splitting open. She wanted nothing more than a moment of peace. As she lay, there came a sudden awareness that there was no purple glow to be seen. On weak arms, she dragged herself to the pool’s edge and peered in. The heart was missing. Yet she could still see perfectly in the dark. She could see her blood drop into water, breaking the solid surface. A few droplets unfurling in smoky clouds turned into many droplets. And then a rain of them until her blood outweighed the water itself.

She felt it, then. The heart—first in her throat and then in her stomach. Pounding out of sync with the heart in her chest. Had she swallowed the heart? Her own lurched. She put a hand on her belly. It was there, she had definitely consumed the heart, though she had no knowledge of ever doing so.

In a flicker of images too fast to actually catch, she was in the other cave, on her back, the stingray beneath her and Sokka to the side of her. He gazed reassuringly into her eyes and she into his. The stingray drifted away and she could see an infinite tunnel lined with crystal clusters.

She still couldn’t find hers.

And in the same merciful that brought her there, she was back on the cave floor in perfect darkness feeling colder than ever. This time she had no clothing, in its place was a horrible sense that she was being watched. Acting without permission of her own, her mouth twisted into a smile. A jagged purple smile. She was paralyzed. Paralyzed and alone with his grin on her face and a distinct beating in her tummy to go with the rapid pounding of her chest. The cave was in her and she could get it out.

She woke with her hand on placed exactly as it were in the dream. In waking, she could still feel the phantom sensation of the heart pounding beneath her fingers. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. For that moment, she feared that the cave was still in her. She rolled over and pressed herself up against Sokka, a new desire seeping into her soul. A certain and sudden sense of purpose.

.oOo.

Azula seemed to be deep in thought when he sat up for himself. She was as close to him as she could possibly get, but her eyes were so far away. His concern was short lived, for the minute she noticed that he was awake, she came back to the present and sat up.

Without getting up himself, he asked, “what’s wrong?”

Azula sat with her hands clasped together on her lap, seeming to stare off for some time. “I have to go back there.” She said at last. “To the Forgetful Valley. To the cave.”

“Why would you want to do that?” He asked.

“Resolve, I suppose.” She replied, sounding very much like she had something to add. He sat quietly and waited for her to elaborate. “You asked me where I’d like to get married. I’ve considered many places; mother thinks I should take the traditional route and marry in the ceremonial temple. This family hasn’t been very traditional at all lately, so why should I?” She languidly inspected her nails. “I’d like to hold the ceremony near or under the mangrove tree.”

“Do you really think that, that’s a good idea?” He questioned.

She drummed perfectly filed and manicured nails upon her chin, processing the inquiry. There was a sense of finality when she simply repeated, “Good idea or not, I need to go back there.”

#Azula #Sokka #Sokkla #Aang #Katara #Zuko #Avatar #Fanfiction

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overdrivels · 7 years

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Could I request something with the good old-fashioned 'we have to share a bed because there's only one and no one told us beforehand' trope? With either Hanzo or McCree; you can decide which. (Like one of them and the reader get assigned to the same mission and have to stay a hotel or safehouse or something, idk.)

It’s Snow Problem

I am 9000% convinced that Hanzo would take the stupid floor if there wasn’t some really good reason behind it (like the floor was lava). So I mashed up two tropes: one bed + we’re going to freeze to death unless we share body heat.

The only reason why I never picked up this trope was because I would personally pick the floor. I’m very used to sleeping on hard surfaces, so the floor would be my preferred sleeping place unless there was, like I said before, lava.

“Da-damn, t-the–the he-h-heat’s n, not working eith-either?”

You literally could not stop your teeth from chattering or your fingers from trembling as you desperately messed around with the dial on the very, very outdated radiator. Didn’t this cabin have some sort of code to follow? You can’t be sure if the dial isn’t turning because it’s frozen or if you just couldn’t put enough strength into your frozen digits.

“There’s n-no hot water.”

Behind you, Hanzo steps out from the bathroom, barely able to contain the shaking in his voice. His heavy coat was positively encrusted with white, glittering ice decorated his hair, the dying rays of the sun catching them and lighting them up obnoxiously. It showed no sign of melting anytime soon. His face was red with windburn—you’re sure you didn’t look any better—and his breath hung around him like a ghostly veil.

It’d be a miracle if neither of you managed to catch a cold or worse.

You curse your luck and at Winston who sent you both here to Yukon on this mission to investigate rumors about Talon activity. Something about a hidden laboratory deep in the icy tundra of the Yukon. The two of you almost got caved in when you entered the space—it seemed to have been a final defense mechanism for Talon’s abandoned bases.

In hindsight, you really should’ve asked Mei to switch with you when she was assigned to go the Bahamas. Mei looked absolutely miserable when she was asked to go. You have no doubt she has the same thoughts as you at this moment. She never really did like showing off her skin.

It wasn’t as though you were both entirely unprepared–extra set of clothes, self-activating heat packs (courtesy of Genji), blankets, and other supplies that would’ve proven useful in the situation.

That is, if those supplies were drenched in the brief swim they took down some slushy body of water. In your defense, the footing was bad and in both your defenses, neither of you could afford to jump into the fast-moving waters. Luckily, Hanzo had managed to pin it to fallen tree with a well-aimed arrow. Retrieving it proved a little more harrowing than expected: you both nearly fell in when the tree partially gives out, leaving your pants and boots soaked. Luckily, the journey back to the cabin was a short one, saving you both from the possibility freezing your limbs. But not short enough to avoid the storm that is currently raging outside.

You cross the room to look out the window—it’s almost completely frosted over. The telltale ‘squish’ of your boots remind you of just how uncomfortable wet socks are and that they need to come off along with any other clothes that you have on.

“The-the generator’s out-outside. Sh-shit.”

It doesn’t look like the storm is going to let up anytime soon either. Going out there may be the equivalent of suicide. The lingering cold that roots itself firmly into your bones remind you of just how unforgiving the weather can be. The fireplace itself is empty, all the wood being outside. It’s probably all wet anyway.

“There’s no signal,” Hanzo announces, setting his communicator down on the table. You politely ignore how he nearly knocks it to the ground with the way his fingers shake.

“Looks-looks like we-we’ll have to wea-we-weather this one out. God damn it all.”

No electricity, no heat, no communications, no hot water–no people in sight of your tiny cabin window, it’s practically a repeat of the Omnic Crisis, just with less shit burning to the ground. If you both want to survive the night, there were some things you had to handle first. Namely, getting out of these clothes that are no longer doing anything to contain your body heat. A bulb of dread and anxiety drops into your stomach, swimming around for a brief moment.

You take a quick glance at Hanzo who seems preoccupied with checking his bow with whatever little light is left. In a few minutes, you’ll be lucky to see your hands in front of your own faces. It’s a small comfort that he won’t be able to see you (but your traitorous mind wonders what he would think if he did see). You shake your head to cast away those thoughts, droplets of cold water flinging everywhere. First thing’s first.

You take a breath for courage, and begin to tearing off your soaked gloves with your teeth, your other hand too clumsy to be of much help. You almost gag, the taste of melted snow and worn plastic fills your mouth.

Your attempts to undress must’ve attracted Hanzo’s attention. He sounds positively scandalized when he hisses, “What are you doing?”

“We need–we need to get out of these clothes.”

You could sense Hanzo opening his mouth to protest and immediately cut him off before he has a chance to lecture you on dignity. “You’ll fr-freeze, Hanzo. There’s no heat, no hot water, we’re—we’re soaked. Take whatever no-n-notions you have about modesty and shove–shove ‘em; we need to stay alive.” That’s what you’re doing at the moment, anyway.

At his skeptical silence, you add, “I’ll turn around, so no need to worry–I can’t see very well in the dark, anyway.” The wind rattles the windows as though adding to your point.

Little did you know, Hanzo had been specially trained to function in the dark without the need to enhancements or fancy goggles like a certain arachnid. Assassinations didn’t usually take place in broad daylight, after all. Every movement, every twitch of your muscles was easily captured in his eyes. It is beyond distracting, but he’d never let you know that.

Despite his silence, you know that Hanzo understands the sense you are making when you also hear the rustle of clothes behind you. Satisfied with his compliance (and that you won’t have to report to anyone that someone died because they refused to take of their clothes), you continued your own disrobing.

Each particle of clothing hit the hardwood floors with a loud, wet slap, and you can feel the floor jump at the impact, almost mocking you both. The tension is almost palpable, making the act of removing your clothes even more difficult with the extra water and snow caked onto it. With each piece of clothing you lose, you shiver violently at the air that assaults you. But you clench your teeth and press on. You have your own skin to save. The greatest relief comes when you take off your socks—there’s no worse feeling outside of pain that compares to the skin-crawling squish of wet socks—even though the wooden floors are cold as all hell.

“They–they should’ve sent M-M-Mei on this mission,” you say jokingly as you wring out your shirt. “She would’ve loved this. Probably would’ve been better prepared, too.”

You only receive icy silence, your attempt at a livening the atmosphere dies as it comes out of your mouth. Hanzo seems very single-minded in his unclothing. You slap an unsteady hand to your forehead. That thought was dirty. He’s your comrade-in-arms, not a pin-up. Calm down.

Normally, your thoughts didn’t travel down this route–sure, he is attractive, but not enough to distract you. Maybe the cold’s hindering your mental facilities. That must be it.

You strip down to your underwear and, to your infinite irritation, even those were soaked somehow. You’re going to put in a complaint with Winston about his new snow and water-proof gear. You tug at your underwear, grimacing at the wetness.

‘To hell with it’, you decided as you reluctantly pulled those off, too. You glanced quickly back at Hanzo as you did, hoping that he wouldn’t see.

It’s so dark you could barely even see him.

Actually, you don’t even see the archer anywhere. You whip your head around, trying to catch sight of his outline. Where did he–?

“Here.”

You’re hit by something soft and blissfully dry. It’s a large towel, musty from disuse, but welcome, nonetheless.

“Thank–thank you.”

He grunts, and there’s the sound of him putting on his own towel. You first wring your hair through it, the icy water dripping down your bare back is far from comfortable, before you wrap it around yourself in a very pathetic attempt to get warm. It barely does its job, and you feel a little less exposed to the elements. Now that you’re no longer in danger of freezing to death via an icy cage of fabric, there are other matters to attend to.

You cast a forlorn glance at the silhouette of the duffel bag, wondering if anything survived the brief dunk in the water. You decide it’s worth a shot, and try to open it. You hiss at the stinging cold. The bag is freezing still from having been dropped into the slushy water. Next time, you’re going to take a drone and you’re going to cold-proof it so it can carry your stuff. Brilliant.

You hold the towel closed as you rummage through the contents of the bag—wet clothes, wet bags, wet and ice-encrusted everything except—

“Yes!” You pull out a thick stick, and before Hanzo could even stop you, you twist and snap it, immediately flooding the room with a warm yellow light (and accidentally blinding yourself).

Hanzo hisses like a disgruntled cat, snatching the emergency light stick from your hands as you begin to rub your eyes free of the afterimages.

When you’re finally able to open them without seeing strange colors, you had to fight to keep your mouth closed. Hanzo is completely shirtless save a towel around his midsection, covering up his stomach and upper thighs. The muscles previously hidden by the thick layers of protective gear and winter wear now exposed to the nippy air. You drop your gaze so you’re not tempted to stare—you’ve seen other sculpted men before, but the fact that it’s Hanzo makes this different somehow. Though, something seems off about him.

You keep your gaze to the floor, his legs. You weren’t sure if your eyes were playing tricks on you, and rubbed your eyes to be sure. (It stung more than you would’ve liked.)

“You–you have legs? Human…legs?”

Behind him, what you thought were prostheses seemed to now be just empty casings, lying neatly on the ground. He glares at you but quickly turns away, arms crossed over his chest, the light making the dragons on his arm seem more ominous than usual. You’re not sure because the light itself isn’t strong enough for you to tell, but you could swear that there is a tinge of pink on his chest and cheeks.

However, his biting voice immediately drives your thoughts away from that. “Is that a problem?” The condensation from his mouth circles him like dragons. The imagery is almost frightful.

“N-no, no!” you stammer, “I just, I just thought that…y-you know what, never mind.”

You turn your back and kneel down, returning to rummaging through the contents of the wet bag, trying find something useful and to distract yourself from the awkwardness of a topic that shouldn’t be discussed. A series of shivers run down your spine at the contact. Damn, you really should’ve switched with Mei—but then she’d be stuck in this situation, and she’s not exactly comfortable with being nude, especially in the presence of others (but logically, she’d probably be the most unlikely person to be caught in this sort of situation in the first place).

You chance upon a medium size container and you immediately brighten when you realize what it is.

“Hey, Hanzo, look when I found!” You hold up the thermos, kept airtight and thus uncontaminated by the cold. Perhaps it’s a little too tight, and you struggle to get it open while using your elbows to squeeze the towel against your body.

“Allow me.”

Hanzo gently snatches it from your trembling fingers, kneeling down to meet you at eye level. You couldn’t help but watch as the light illuminates his muscles undulating as he attempts to do what you could not, and highlights the sharp angle of his face and his nose, the fullness of his lips—you had to look away. The cold must be making you delirious.

“Here.”

He’s already poured a cup for you. Even at this distance, he refused to look at you, eyes stubbornly averting your general direction. You pluck it from his hands with a quiet, “Thanks”. A close look at the contents revealed it to be more of a golden broth that the chef insisted you both take with you. The steam that rises from it is a wonderful reminder that the broth is very warm—perfect for this situation.

From the corner of your eye, you see Hanzo put his hands together and mutter a quick “いっただきます” before raising the steaming bowl to his lips and taking a hearty sip. You did the same and almost gagged at the taste.

It is somewhat metallic—strong hints of ginseng, ginger, and other flavors that you couldn’t quite place. It undoubtedly warms you, the stark contrast sends a harsh shiver down your body, skin raising with gooseflesh. Your teeth tingles from the heat, and your stomach feels a ton heavy like molten lava just made its home there. You didn’t really realize it before, but you seem to have been getting used to the cold.

You take another large, but difficult gulp; the broth leaves behind a bitter yet soothing aftertaste (you don’t think you’d drink it a second time outside of a life or death situation). You’re going to have a word with the chef when you get back to Gibraltar. You don’t know if Hanzo disliked the taste, but he didn’t comment, so neither did you. You weren’t exactly in the best position to complain about warm sustenance in the middle of a blizzard, after all.

You both ate in silence, the occasional slurp breaking it.

It probably wouldn’t be long before the other Overwatch agents noticed your disappearances—Winston had insisted on updates every six hours, and the last communications either of you had with the scientist was early this morning right before you and Hanzo went to scope the Talon lab. Since the communicator isn’t working, you wondered how long it’d take before anyone back at base realizes that you’re both stranded here.

Stupid technology, even after so many years of advancement, it still can’t send a signal in the middle of a snowstorm?

Hanzo gets up from his kneeling position, having finished his portion of soup. You’re still having some difficulty drinking it without holding your breath. Though, by the time you are done, Hanzo’s returned. He hands you some clothes hangers from the closet, now that you can both see in the dark to not stab yourself with one accidentally (unfortunate as it may be, it’s happened before).

“We should hang up our clothes so they may dry.”

You take a look at your sodden pile. “Oh, right, th-thank.” You set down your cup and take your chilly clothes into your arms and the offered hangers before stepping into the bathroom. As a side thought, you twist a knob on the sink and unsurprisingly, get nothing. You sigh. It was worth a shot.

You see that Hanzo was one step ahead of you, his clothes are already hanging neatly from the shower curtain. You wonder when he had the chance to do so without you hearing. You shake your head, it must’ve been when you were too preoccupied with stripping. Though, as you’re hanging your clothes, something else catches your eye.

A white, long rectangle of cloth hangs innocently off the railing, water dripping from it rhythmically. Wait, you recognized this. It was a…loincloth? You keep your mouth shut, teeth clenched to the point that they couldn’t even chatter. This is not a good point of conversation. Not at all. You’re sure that if you speak a word of this to anyone, you’d somehow receive an arrow to the head. Several, if Hanzo was angry enough.

So you quietly hang up your clothes, readjust your towel, and back out of the room. You sincerely hope that Hanzo does not realize you’ve seen his choice of undergarments (but to be fair, he hung them up first), you’re not sure you could ever erase the image from your mind.

Luckily for you, he doesn’t seem to even be thinking such things, instead, he’s standing there awkwardly, staring at the bed with open apprehension. Strange.

“What’s wrong?”

He continues looking at the bed, the corner of his mouth turned downward in distaste. You also squint at it like the answer would manifest itself if you stared hard enough. Was it monsters? Bed bugs?

You blink slowly at him, then at the bed.

It hits you like a freight train. It’s a problem neither of you realized when you first entered the cabin, too preoccupied with trying to get out of the storm and its non-existence comforts.

There’s only one bed.

It’s not that small, but it’s barely enough to fit the two of you, it seems. Inwardly, you groan. You’re sure that you’d never hear the end of this if any of the other Overwatch members find out.

“I will ta-take the floor,” Hanzo says briskly, already trying to establish his new place of rest by sitting down. You had to wince sympathetically when he gave a full body shiver—you could even see the goosebumps from where you stand. Not even his pride is going to be enough to keep him warm at night. His self-loathing and hate, perhaps, but again—thoughts you really shouldn’t entertain.

“You’ll freeze to death down there,” you protest, lifting up the covers. They were thick, and seem like they’d be great at keeping you warm. Unfortunately enough, there’s only one of them. “Not like there are any other blankets, either.”

He does not respond. You crawl into the bed first, biting back a gasp when your body meets the cold mattress. You position yourself as close to the wall as possible without actually touching it, leaving ample space for the archer.

When you turn, you see he still hasn’t moved from his spot, and you sigh. “Come on, Hanzo. It’s just for one night.” Hopefully. “There’s nothing for-for you to sleep on. Just—just get up here. I’ll just stay o-over on this side.”

You could feel his hesitation, so you turn again to face the wall laying down onto the pillow to give him so privacy (or the illusion of detachment)—the pillow, too, is freezing and your wet hair pressing against your skin made it even worse. You really couldn’t wait to get back to base. Maybe trade stories with Mei when she undoubtedly returns with sunburn.

“If you insist,” he says quietly, reluctantly. You take that as your cue to press yourself even further from ‘his’ side of the bed.

Slowly, you could hear Hanzo get up and take a few tentative steps toward the bed. You could hear his ribbon pulling free, and you could almost see his hair coming free of its confines, spilling over his shoulders stiffly. The mattress dips underneath his weight as he crawls in carefully, laying as far away as the blankets would allow. You have to hold onto your end tightly to keep them from slipping off and getting stolen by your new bedmate. You both lay there, back to back. If you even turn just little bit, your skin would be pressed against his own–you could imagine it just sticking to each other. Your back tingles at the proximity, and you try hard not to focus on the fact that you could feel his presence right behind you.

The chattering in your teeth is slowly subsiding, the warmth of two bodies underneath the covers chases away the cold that haunts you both. The metronome of your dripping clothes is the only thing that fills the silence accompanied by the howl of the wind. You could feel Hanzo’s breathing more than you could hear it—the blanket dips and rises with each breath.

When you finally regain some semblance of consciousness, you notice that it’s hot—almost too hot and you’re sweating all over, but at the same time, it was chilly. Your eyes could barely open, aching and somewhat swollen. It must’ve been the wind and ice yesterday, you reasoned. The next thing that comes is that you’re painfully aware of more skin to skin contact than you remember going to bed with.

You couldn’t move without feeling the sensation of peeling skin. The threat of a painful extraction is almost as cringe-worthy as what you image to be Hanzo’s reaction to waking up in this sort of position. At least by some miracle, both your towels are intact, left in the place you both had them when you went to sleep.

But to make matters worse rather than better, Hanzo fills the space between your chin and collarbone with his face, curling into a ball and pressing himself against you as though you two would suddenly click into place. One arm is curled around your back, and the other is trapped between both your bodies, drawing you impossibly close. It vaguely reminded you of a child seeking their parent’s comfort or, if your mind dares go into that territory, two lov—no, no. Don’t go there, thoughts.

However, your thoughts are quickly drowned out when Hanzo noses his way into your neck, his lips skim against your clavicle and you jump at the sensation. ‘It’s okay,’ you told yourself as your heart begins to race like mad. He is just sleeping. He doesn’t know what he’s doing; it’s an accident. As if to prove you wrong, he continues to press his lips there and mumble unintelligibly. You tried to squirm away, the ticklish sensation combined with the close proximity was too much to bear, biting down the need to start laughing or shoving him out of the bed.

Apparently displeased with your struggles, he tucks his chin in, and almost sprawls himself against you, pressing you down onto you back and lying on top. The sudden motion makes you hiss—you were right, the feeling of peeling skin really hurts. But you have little time to dwell on it when his weight is almost suffocating you. Your new position is arguably less ticklish, but no less awkward. You shift, trying to get comfortable, but his weight pins you down firmly.

“Oh, com’on, Hanzo,” you whisper. You’re surprised he still hasn’t woken up—what sort of ninja is he anyway?

You try another half-hearted struggle, but huff and give up when it doesn’t seem like you’re making any headway, too tired to bother. Might as well let the archer do his thing—there isn’t much you could do anyway outside of bucking his straight off the bed and giving him a very rude awakening (that may or may not result in him attacking you in a blind panic).

Vaguely, you notice it’s still dark, and the screams of the wind from hours before have now died down to become whispers. It seems like the storm has calmed down, sufficient for a signal to get through and for help to come. It’s too bad you’re stuck under a couple hundred pounds of sleeping muscle. You smile to yourself and look down blearily at the archer.

He seems so comfortable, hair splayed out messily around him, legs intertwined with yours so intimately that you’re sure that he’s going to die of embarrassment when he wakes up. You sigh, closing your eyes and willing yourself to go back to sleep. You could deal with this later. The beating of his heart against your chest, his steady breaths, and warmth makes that easy.

The next time you awaken, there’s the distinct sound of chatter, a lack of a body, and a hand to your forehead. It’s large and comfortable, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat that seems to have clogged your throat and nose.

“’nzo?”

You whine when the hand jerks back, exposing your forehead to the chilly morning (was it still morning?) air.

“—ne moment. You’re awake?”

You make a noise of affirmation in the back of your throat—it hurts and it feels like something’s stabbing the insides, you realize. You bury yourself deeper beneath the covers, feeling like you haven’t slept a wink. Your body aches, and your head hurts—it must be the result of having your hair still wet while you slept in such cold weather. That sounds logical.

A few more words were exchanged between Hanzo and whomever he was talking to before, it sounds somewhat heated and pressing, but you weren’t paying attention, sleep beckoning you like a siren’s call that you had no strength to resist.

“Stay awake. You’ve caught a cold,” Hanzo says softly but sternly when he notices you trying to doze off again.

Through your haze, you don’t really understand the severity of his words, but you nod anyway, if only to have him leave you alone so you may return to sleep sooner. You could hear him rummaging through bags, cursing firmly and searching more frantically when he can’t seem to find what he’s looking for.

You’re tempted to laugh at him, but right now, you’re just too tired to do much but try to follow his order. You blink at his back—it’s clothed. Maybe his shirt has dried? What about your own clothes then?

“Apologizes, but there is no medicine,” he says suddenly. Your leg jerks, your whole body jolting to temporary wakefulness. It looks like despite your best attempt, you ended up dozing off after all. “I have contacted the others, they will be here in several hours.”

“S’okay,” you mumble. You just wanted to sleep some more, and it’s too cold to do some comfortably. “Hey, Hanzo. Do me a favor?”

“Yes?”

“Get in here, it’s cold.”

For the record, I rather like the ginseng chicken soups my mother makes. It just doesn’t taste very good in the first few sips.

#anon #ask #this is 4k+ of words whyyy #I feel that Hanzo is a really light sleeper but when he's really comfortable with someone he sleeps like a LOG #I don't know why this is so long #I'm so sorry #hanzo x reader #reader #Goddamnit why did I even make this title a pun #please understand that I literally cannot keep track of myself when writing really long fics #I am now done with requests and now I need to sleep again #sorry it took so long #my writing

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lubdubsworld · 7 years

Text

Sleepwalking to You, it’s out of my control. (Jhope)

(Author’s Note : These are short flashbacks to give you an idea about what it was like when they first got married and how they fell out with each other. )

"Did you miss me, Hobi oppa?" The girl is silly, her pretty brown hair tied in a childish pony-tail as she slings the backpack over her shoulders. Her friends are waiting at the end of the street watching the couple with curious stares. it's her first day at college and she's already a mini-celebrity because she's married! Not just to anyone , but a handsome tall dancer who knows idols!! Everyone thinks she's the luckiest girl in the planet.

"Jiah, you were gone for half a day. Hurry up, your friends are waiting. Here, buy yourself dinner." Her husband , looking bored presses a couple of 5000 Won notes into her hand and she grins at him. There's no doubt that the girl has a crush, her eyes starry as she stares at the older man. But there's no doubt also, that the man does not feel the same way about her. There's detached annoyance and maybe a little fondness, but it's obvious to anyone that he isn't thinking of her the way she's thinking of him. And it's funny because everyone seems to notice except her.

Her friends look uncomfortable, feeling sorry for their poor friend. they don't tease her about her husband again because it's obvious he doesn't have feelings for her. But the girl in the ponytail is silly. So silly that she refuses to believe the million glaring signs. The way he never touched her. The way he always left the moment she entered a room. The way he stayed out, on most nights. The way he never asked her how her day went. The way he never even batted an eye when she jokingly told him about a guy in her college asking out.

it isn't until she walks in on her husband, hand in hand with another woman that it hits her. Hobi doesn’t love her the way she loves him.

Oh yes, he cared for her. But that’s where it ended.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hobi pants against the mirror, every inch of his body screaming in agony. Practise had been ruthless today, him and Jimin pushing each other to their limits and a quick glance at the clock told him he had forgotten to ask Yoongi to pick Jiah up from the daycare she was volunteering at. But Yoongi had texted him and told him he would send someone to pick her up and honestly, he feels like the world's shittiest husband. But the rent is due. So is the electric bill and the groceries need to be restocked and God knows he has to start saving for Jiah's tuition from right this second if he was going to pay in in the next three months.

His latesxt client was being a pain. Outright rejecting most of his routine without offering any productive critique. There's nothing remotely useful in the man's words, nothing hoseok can use to work on himself or the routine and it drives him insane. But mostly, it's the huge argument he had had with Hyeri.

"Hyung, you okay?" Jimin asks, tossing an ice cold water bottle at him and Hoseok catches it instinctively before groaning.

"Jiah caught me with Hyeri. I fucked up." He mutters, still shuddering with guilt at the memory. He's not particularly sexually active. In fact, after five years, him and Hyeri had an almost boring sex life. Once in two weeks if they were lucky. He'd gone months on end without touching her and honestly it didn't bother him all that much.

But somehow, some cruel twist of fate had let his young wife walk in on him with his girlfriend and Hoseok feels like a worm.

"Shit. Is she okay?"

Is she? Hoseok doesn't know how to ask her that. Doesn't know if he even has the right to ask.

The phone rings, just as he's about to answer Jimin and Hoseok picks it up, nervous. He glances at the watch, it's almost ten in the night.

"Hello?"

"Did you pick Jiah up?" Yoongi's voice is concerned.

His heart skips three consecutive beats.

"No. " He chokes.

"What the hell she isn't here. Her phone's turned off and -"

Hoseok grabs his shoes and runs out of the studio, heart pounding in his rib cage.

He spends the next hour running from one coffee shop to the next, all of her usual hangouts. He calls an embarrassing number of people an embarassing number of times and is a second away from calling her father when his phone rings.

It's his father. He stares at the screen, numb with disbelief.

"Hello?"

"She's with me. She's safe."

"You're a fucking psychopath."

"I didn't kidnap her , son. I saw her waiting in that bus stop and offered her a ride home and some warm dinner. She agreed ." His father's voice is gravely with amusement.

"You stay the fuck away from her." Hoseok's voice is shaking, his fingers trembling a bit , partly from relief that she's fine partly from anger that his father had sunk this low.

"I will if you listen to reason."

"I'm not going to-"

"I told her i'll get her a scholarship to pursue that degree in child studies, she wants. She wants to work with differently abled children apparently. Her professors tell me she's extremely talented. "

Hoseok shut his eyes in dismay.

"Father-"

"I'll send her home to you. You can look her in the face and tell her she can't be what she wants to be, because you're a stubborn ass."

Hoseok trudges back home in defeat. He doesn't want to be the one breaking yet another one of her dreams.

He finds her sitting on the stairs outside their apartment, looking impossibly tiny and vulnerable in the dim streetlight. She's drowning in one of his jackets, because he couldn't afford to buy her one of her own. Her shoes are scuffed. There's a small tear in her backpack and he makes a mental note to sew that up later that night. She looks up when she notices him and a weak smile makes its way to her face.

"Were you worried , oppa?" She says softly. He sighs and shakes his head before sitting on the step next to her.

"What's this about a course you want to take..."

She blushes and shrugs.

"there was a test. i was the only one who cleared it. I'll have to pay more tuition though..." She mumbles .

"How much more?"

She looks up and gives him the number.

It makes his throat go dry.

"Okay." He says, swallowing. " Okay."

"Really?" Her face lights up with pathetic hope and Hoseok knows he's not going to be the one dousing that fire.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure. Why not? Go fill in the forms and apply for it. I'll try and work something out. But only if you promise to never go anywhere with my father ever again. He's not a nice man. I don't want him using you against me." He says sternly.

She hugs him then, startling him effectively. She smells like sunshine, he thinks stupidly , the warmth seeping into his bones.

She shrieks a little before jumping to her feet and running in. He watches her and finds himself smiling in defeat. He's no longer sure if this forced marriage is the worse thing to happen to him or the best.

He has to work something out for the money.

Something. Something like yet another part time job. He grimaces. Jimin was going to kill him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jiah was sick.

Again.

Hobi dropped his head into his palms, trying to blink back the exhaustion and the sleep that was threatening to take over completely. It was freezing cold in the living room, and his teeth chattered as he tried to burrow deeper into his coat. He had slept for less that eight hours in the past five days and his body was beginning to slowly shut down.

To make matters worse, jiah was in the bedroom ( the only room they could afford heating now) shivering under three blankets and four of his ratty jackets, her temperature hovering at a scary 103 , while he tried to reach Yoongi on the phone so he could borrow some money for the ibuprofen and paracetomol that she needed.

He'd been trying for an hour and his friend hadn't picked up yet. Which was understandable, really. It was three in the morning.

"Op-Oppa?"

He startled badly, gripping the worn out carpet as he looked up , wild with worry.

Jiah stood leaning against the door frame, dressed in a faded baby blue shirt and a threadbare sweatpant, one foot bare and the other wrapped in a white sock. He jumped to his feet and rushed to her side, heart hammering in sudden panic.

"Shit.. Why are you up? You should be resting..." He whispered, reaching for her but she groaned and held a hand up.

"Don't come closer. You'll get sick. We can't afford that..." She coughed.

Hobi froze in his place. Hating how right she was. He really couldn't afford to get sick. Not unless he wanted both of them to starve.

"I've been trying to call Yoongi... You need some medicines and..."

"I'll be fine. The bedroom is too hot for me. i want to sleep here." She whispered.

Hobi blinked.

"What?"

"You heard me... i changed the sheets and turned off the humidifier. Go sleep in there." She whispered.

"Jiah, I..."

"Please. I'm not strong enough to argue right now. You need the heat... i need the cold... let's work together..." She smiled weakly and he sighed.

"Fine. Go lay down in the sofa..." He grabbed his coat and slipped it on, before moving the hallway for his shoes.

"Where are you going?" She called out miserably.

"I'm going to go see if i can get some credit from the 24/7 down the street. Mr. Lee knows us well, he might let me borrow some meds..."

Jiah hesitated and the way her mouth twisted, somehow he knew exactly what she was thinking. it wasn't easy, being a charity case. But Hobi was used to it. He couldn't really hold on to his dreams and his dignity at the same time. He cared about just two things in the world : Jiah and his dance. They were the only ones in his life that he could trust. His dance would never leave him. And deep down he knew, neither would jiah. And he would protect them both his life. He didn't mind losing his pride for either of those. And if it meant begging strangers for stuff , so be it, really.

But he supposed it must hurt her, seeing him reduced to this.

"I'm sorry... " She was tearing up. From the fever, he told himself firmly.

"It'll be fine, baby. I'll get the stuff and I'll be back before you know it."

"You will?" She bites her lips,.

And somehow he hears the words she isn't saying.

We're so miserable together. We're poor. We're starving. You don't love me. So, Why are you still here?

" Of course , I'll be back. I'll be back soon." He whispered.

i'll always come back to you, a part of him whispered. Even though he didn't know why.

"Tell him I'll bake him a pie.." She grinned weakly.

Hobi smiled despite himself.

"Get some sleep, baby. I'll come back with the meds. "

He ends up walking three and a half miles to Yoongi's apartment. By the time Yoongi gets him the money and drops him back home, she's deep asleep. He helps her up, makes her swallow the pills and by the end of the night her fever breaks.

Hobi watched her coughing into a tissue as she packed her lunch for college.

"i've made some dukbokki" She said briskly and he nodded.

"I'll be sure to have it for lunch"

"And get some sleep. i already called Jimin and said you were sick." She said suddenly and he startled.

"What ? You don't have to..."

"But you do... You need sleep , Hobi. All humans do. Get rest and trust me you'll get double the work done in half the time... i'm helping you out here." She laughed, grabbing the winter jacket and holding it up for him to wear. He slipped his arms in and found himself grinning.

Hobi, he thought with a grin. She was calling him by his name. It was such a silly thing but it warmed him more than the coat she helped him put on. She came around and lightly ruffled his hair.

"I'll be back soon." She said then, looking up at him.

Hobi smiled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

" You were pretty hot up there...." The girl in the red bandanna is a stranger, not someone Jiah knows and there's something about the way she looks at Hoseok that makes Jiah's skin crawl. There's just so much blatant sexual interest there and she knows it's irrational to be angry because , come on, the guy was body rolling on stage it would be weird if there wasn't any sexual interest but still, this girl is supposed to be a friend's friend and she knows that's Jiah's husband so ... it just seems kind of rude and offensive.

"Thank you." Jiah says pointedly, trying to get her attention but the girl ignores her, leaning closer to Hobi who looks surprised but not really annoyed. He smiles, a little wider than necessary in Jiah's opinion.

A few more minutes of meaningless chatter later, they're both on the dance floor, wrapped around each other like ribbons on a Christams gift and jiah is so furious it isn't even funny.

She watches the way the girl grinds up on Hoseok's crotch and the way her husband's entire body bends in a way that is entirely too obscene and her throat goes dry with hurt and humiliation. She's right here, for heaven's sake! They looked like they were just a dance away from truning the grinding from vertical to horizontal and she loses it when the girl's hand stroked it's way down from Hobi's shoulder to the top of his belt buckle.

She strides up to the pair, grabs the girl's arm and wrenches it away from Hobi, shoving her so hard she falters and crashes down.

"What the fuck.. jiah!! what the hell!!"

"I'm your wife!! isn't it bad enough you're fucking another woman? You have to dry hump every whore you meet as well?"

It's the alcohol that makes her yell . It's the alcohol , along with the loneliness and the helplessness of not being what Hobi wants, that makes her sprout those horrible poisonous words. But the damage is done and everyone is staring at them, at Hoseok, who looks like he;s been slapped.

Hoseok who looks like he would have preferred being slapped to what she'd just done.

An apology is on her tongue, ready to come out but he doesn't stay long enough for her to say it.

Before she even knows what's happening, he turns on his heel and leaves.

Jiah groans in self disgust and chases him out of the club. She barely manages to catch up with him at the bus stop. The thankfully deserted bus stop.

"Hobi, wait!"

He stopped but didn't turn around and she rushed around to stand in front of him.

"I didn't mean that. I'm sorry."

He shrugs.

"Okay."

"It's just that... sometimes , it's hard for me to come to terms with you and ..." she stops, not willing to even say the name.

"Me and Hyeri? " Hoseok scoffs. " I don't meet her. i don't have dinner with her. i don't sleep with her. I fucking spend every second of my life with you and you still can't ' come to terms' with it?? aren’t you being unfair to me?"

Jiah bites her lips.

"It's not that... it's just that..."

Just that I'm falling in love with you and I know it's going to break my heart but i can't seem to stop myself.

"Just what? You know what, Jiah? i thought we could make this work . I've been trying my best to not let you suffer in any way. I've been doing everything i fucking can to make you happy but... It's obvious you don't care in the least about me."

Jiah feels her entire existence tilt on it's axis because that was the exact opposite of what she feels for Hobi.

"Hobi, wait, that's not true... I..."

"We should stop. Whatever we've got going on... let's just stop, okay? You should go find a nice guy your age. Someone who actually can understand what's going through your head. I'm running on three hours sleep so I'm not responsible for what I say or do and I really don't want to hurt you. So I'm going to go now, okay? Have fun with your friends. I shouldn't have come here in the first place. Who was i kidding? "

Jiah stares, helpless. Hoseok looks painfully young and alone as he pulls his jacket close, shivering a bit as he slowly trudged away. Then he stopped, a few feet off , before digging into his pockets. Jiah watches, tears filling her eyes as he carefully pulls out his wallet and empties it. He turns around and heads back to her.

"That's all i have right now, but it should be enough to get you a cab when you decide to come home. Don't take the subway or the bus. it's too late." He doesn't wait for her to reply before turning around and leaving.

She's done something irreversible. She knows.

That night, Hoseok sleeps at yoongi's place. He doesn't return for a week.

Things change after that night. Jiah realizes that whether she likes it or not , she has to grow up. She goes to the dean and quits her course. It takes a little effort but he gives her a partial refund. She hands it over to Yoongi asking him to pass it on to Hoseok. Hobi doesn't mention her quitting her dream course and neither does she. She takes a secretarial course, offered free, instead. At least it would make sure she'd get a job immediately after college.

As the days bleed into weeks and the weeks into months, she sees less and less of him. She finishes college and he's there at her convocation, looking proud and happy but he's not alone. Hyeri is on his arm and it's a stunning reminder of why they couldn't really be friends. It didn't work that way. It just didn't.

Yoongi offers her a job , right after her convocation and she accepts it although it's a commute right across the city. Hoseok gets gigs, earns a bit more than usual, manages to save up enough for them to move to a bigger apartment. Jiah cooks for him on the regular and by the time they come home each night, they're too tired to exchange more than a few words. Sometimes, she almost opens her mouth and tries to reach out, but the knowledge that Hobi would rather be with Hyeri , sobers her up so fast, it makes her head spin.

Yoongi takes her out to dinner , a few times but it's just not the same. Yoongi is... Yoongi. Blunt, unapologetic and fiercely caring. There's no gentleness in the way Yoongi cares for her. His grip is hard, his words sharp and his gaze always, steady. Like he knows exactly what he wants and how he wants it.

But Hobi has always been uncertain, doubtful. Always hesitant in the way he approaches jiah, like he isn't sure that she would like his actions or his words and it's that delicious vulnerability that draws her to him.

Yoongi is nice but he's nothing like Hoseok.

Nothing like the fluid warmth, the soft , affectionate glances or the gentle touches that Hobi had offered her. And Jiah wants that, so bad.

They drift apart, a little by little and Jiah knows that this would be the biggest regret of her life.

That somehow, she and Hobi had failed to see the potential of their relationship. Had failed to realize, just how good they could be together.

Just how much they belonged, together. It takes effort but she manages to convinces herself of it.

Hobi wasn't hers. Would never be hers. Not now, not ever.

#bts fanfics #bts imagines #bts jhope #bts hoseok

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