#at one point he somehow maneuvered up to lay his paw on my arm and went to sleep like that

[emelkae]

Happy venting in the tags! Basically my dog wasn't doing well but he's improving fast, and I have nowhere else to talk about it.

[sasarahsunshine]

Hey, could I request omega Spencer loosing a long term pet and tuning to his alpha, Aaron, for care and comfort while he's giving.

Sorry, I know it's really specific, I'm loosing my dog and coping with it is hard.

TW: Pet death, grieving, Omegaverse, Alpha gentling his Omega at the end tho it's not smut, just soft <3

A/N: I hope you're doing better, hon. I struggled a little with writing this, mostly cause I wanted to use my own experience as a reference for Spencer's feelings. This also isn't as long as I wanted, but still longer than I expected, so it's a decent-ish blurb. I hope Aaron comforting Spencer helps to comfort you <3

------

It wasn't as though he didn't expect it to happen. He knew that Einstein was getting old; older than the average age for cats, actually. But it was still a shock to wake up on that Saturday morning, to open the can of wet cat food that his picky, sassy, no-nonsense kitty always demanded of him, only to not hear those old paws pad their way across the tile floor of the kitchen. No demanding, scratchy meows. No quiet purrs that rumbled on his skin as Einstein rubbed himself against his leg impatiently for breakfast.

Spencer emptied the can onto Einstein's little plate (he had a flat face; a pure white Persian--more gray now-- that his mom just "found" one day while Spencer was at school. He never really cared to see where Einstein came from, his childhood having been very lonely up until that point, where now he had a friend to cuddle and spend time with), and called for the cranky old man (as Jack and Aaron liked to call him).

"Einstein? Here kitty." Spencer walked from the kitchen to the dining room, checking the chair that sat in the sun. No Einstein. He walked to the living room, checking the cat tower, the two different cat beds, and the space behind the bookshelf. No Einstein.

Slightly concerned now, wondering if he maybe got out somehow, Spencer went back to the bedroom and shook Aaron's shoulder, "Aaron? Aaron, I can't find Einstein."

The Alpha mumbled something under his breath, laying on his stomach with his arms under the pillow. Saturday's were the only day he allowed himself to sleep in, sans being on a case, of course.

"Aaron?"

Aaron cracked open an eye at the way Spencer's voice wavered, the scent of distressed Omega hitting his nose as he became more aware. He pushed himself sitting up, his back cracking in a few places, his shoulder popping, before he maneuvered his legs off the side of the bed. With a yawn, a shake of his head, he finally settled his eyes on his lovely mate--and frowned.

"Spencer? What's wrong, hon?"

Spencer's fingers tugged and pulled at the hem of his sleep-shirt (one of Aaron's old shirts), stretching the fabric more than it already was, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. He could feel his own panic starting to bubble up through his body, a ball of anxiety settled in his stomach and pushing its way to his chest, to his throat, forming a lump that he couldn't swallow down.

"I-I can't find Einstein," he said again, quieter, voice wavering, "Wh-what if he got out? Aaron, he's so old, he couldn't survive outside! He's never had to fend for himself before! Oh, God, what if--"

Aaron was suddenly in front of him, one hand cradling the back of Spencer's head, thumb and forefinger pressing into those Omegan pressure points on the neck to help calm him. The other soothed over his rapidly beating heart as he shushed him, chuffing softly in a form of comfort, "Shh, Spencer, it's okay. I don't think Einstein got out. He's probably sleeping in the extra room. Have you checked there?"

Spencer shook his head, eyes watering, but his Alpha's presence and pressure helped him to relax. Within moments, his breathing evened out, the anxiety that had settled in the pit of his stomach feeling a little lighter--though not gone. He swallowed, managing to take a deep enough breath that Aaron felt he could let go.

"I'll help you look for him, okay?" Aaron said with a small smile. He loved how much Spencer cared for his cat, how he practically babied the grumpy old thing. Nobody could get away with holding him aside from Spencer, and if Einstein was in Spencer's lap, well, Aaron knew he wasn't allowed near. He had to schedule his own cuddle time with his Omega after the cat. He didn't mind--especially since it made Spencer laugh.

The two went to the guest room, only to find it empty of Einstein there too. Going back to the kitchen, Spencer's breathing a little too quick for Aaron's liking, brought them to a scene that Spencer will never forget.

Jack was standing by Einstein's food bowl, the cat in his arms, and he looked... sad. The little Alpha pup had watery eyes, his cheeks and nose red from fighting back tears, and his arms were so full of gray and white fluff. He looked up at his parents, lower lip wobbling, and whispered, "He doesn't wanna eat. He didn't wanna get up, either."

Spencer swallowed, gently taking Einstein from Jack--and for a moment, Aaron feared that his son had been holding a dead cat without knowing it--only to hear the old grumpy kitty let out a small meow. Aaron was relieved, but that feeling was short-lived.

Spencer held Einstein for a long moment, face pressed to the scruff of the cat's neck, inhaling his familiar scent, hand petting down his back softly, gently, and purred. Einstein was purring too, though very faint. Quiet.

He took an unsteady breath before looking up to meet Aaron's eyes, his own now tinted red as tears flowed freely down his cheeks.

Aaron sighed, his whole body rigid and tense. His job as Alpha was to protect his pack--his mate and his pup--but this wasn't something he could protect them from. This kind of heartbreak wasn't an enemy he could fight. He couldn't defend them from it, and his instincts were screaming at him. His inner Alpha demanded blood, demanded he hide his family away in their nest, cover them with his body and protect.

Instead, he made two phone calls. One to Jessica to please pick up Jack for a couple of days. And then to the vet.

--

It happened much quicker than Spencer expected. Not that he knew what to expect; he had never had a pet before Einstein, and had never seen how any of this worked outside of TV shows or movies (which, it turns out, most of that is inaccurate).

Spencer had met Einstein when he was a tiny kitten, maybe 5-6 weeks old (Spencer decided Einstein's birthday was the same as his, October 28th, because it just fit the timeline better). Spencer had just turned 10, and now he was a few weeks away from turning 30, meaning Einstein lived to the ripe old age of 20--4 years longer than the average housecat.

The vet told them that he was sick, an auto-immune disorder that most cats get when they're around the age of 4-5 years. It's possible he's always had it, but it was dormant, or he was just healthy enough that nothing triggered it to act. Until now.

So, ultimately, it wasn't even old age that was killing his cat. But, because of his age, he couldn't take the medications he would need to fight off his own immune system to keep it from attacking him.

After 7 hours at the vet (tests, more tests, talking about options, too many tears shed, one more test), it was finally time to say goodbye.

Spencer sobbed, holding Einstein in his arms, petting his soft fur, sitting cross-legged on the floor with Aaron beside him, a hand rubbing up and down his back in an offer of comfort. The vet was sweet, made it easy, simple, and quick. One moment, Einstein was softly purring into Spencer's neck, and the next he was still, quiet.

Spencer handed him over with little fuss, wrapped in a blanket, and his cat--his first friend, his childhood pet, his furbaby--was taken away.

--

It took 2 weeks to get his ashes back. Spencer printed out his favorite photo of Einstein, framed it in a wooden frame that said "True Love has Four Paws." On top of his dresser, he placed the ashes in a little metal tin that he found at the thrift store; it was once part of a jewelry box, he thinks, the sides the color of an off-cream with vintage drawings of little white cats. They aren't Persians, but that's okay. Next to the ashes is the framed photo, and dangling from the top corner of the photo is Einstein's baby blue collar (with his tag, the name "Einstein" engraved in a fancy script that Spencer picked out when he was 16, thinking the cat was too proper for anything else).

During those first two weeks, waiting on the ashes, Spencer was mostly silent. Work was easy, of course, his mind able to shut off and just focus on the paperwork before him. He would finish before everyone else (as usual) and then go into Aaron's office, laying down on the couch and staring at the wall.

Sometimes Aaron could hear his mate crying softly. When he did, he could cover him with his jacket, knowing the scent and the weight would calm him, before going back to his own paperwork.

He had tried to convince Spencer to take some time off, but the Omega refused to be home alone. He didn't like laying on the couch without the weight of Einstein on his chest. He didn't like being in the dining room without knowing his cat would be under his seat, begging for scraps. He didn't like taking a shower alone anymore either, because now Einstein wasn't sitting on the edge of the tub and daintily sticking his paw into the falling water--only to be angry if he got too wet from his vantage point.

But once the ashes arrived, things got a little easier.

Spencer would talk to them, sometimes. Sit at the desk in his room and quietly tell Einstein about his day. Even he thought it was a little weird, at first, to be talking to some ashes (he's very aware that the ashes aren't Einstein, not anymore, his soul having moved on to the "rainbow bridge" as some call it), but that didn't actually stop him.

And then a month passed. And then two. And he cried a little less, went a day or two without thinking about Einstein--but the thing about grief, about healing, is that it's not linear.

Three months after Einstein's last day, a Saturday, Spencer woke up earlier than Aaron (like every Saturday). He stretched, yawned, and walked to the kitchen. He turned on the coffee pot, turned on the radio to listen to the local news and weather, hummed along to some car commercial with a catchy jingle that somehow always got stuck in his head at the most inconvenient of times.

As he waited for the coffee to pour, he opened a can of cat food and pulled out a familiar plate, scrapping the "grilled salmon" out with a spoon and adding a small amount of water to it, to make it seem like there's more gravy than there really is--

and he freezes.

Spencer stares at the plate of wet cat food, the can and spoon still in his hands. His lower lip trembles as he takes a deep breath, moving slowly, deliberately, to throw the can, and the food, away. He washes the spoon, washes the plate, his eyes watering--but he does not cry. He puts the dishes away, forgets his coffee, and moves to the living room.

Only one of the cat trees remains. It was new, and Jack convinced him to keep it, "in case we get a new kitten someday." Spencer doesn't want a new kitten.

He collapses on the couch, long legs folded up so his knees are pulled to his chest, arms wrapped around his shins. He stares at that cat tree. He stares at it and imagines a new kitten playing on it, sleeping on it, hiding in the little hole, and popping out when Jack walks by.

He doesn't want a new kitten.

He wants Einstein.

-

Aaron finds Spencer in the living room, crying quietly to himself on the couch, still in his pajamas, no coffee or breakfast in sight.

The Alpha doesn't even question it. He knows. He can feel the distress, the sadness, the emotions that surge through his mate. He just leans down, picks Spencer up carefully, and carries him back to their bedroom. But not to the bed; to the second closet.

Spencer and Aaron haven't spent any time in this little nest in a while, mostly due to work, partially due to the loss of Einstein, but Aaron hasn't stopped scent-marking it, just in case.

He lays his Omega down before closing the french-style doors, flicking on the dim overhead light. Along the walls are finely packed sheets and soft thin blankets, making for a thick and comfortable outer rim to the nest. While the inside is padded with quilts, comforters, one heated blanket, pillows, and a variety of older clothes that have all been scented and placed exactly where Spencer wants them.

The Omega whines, curling into himself and burying his damp face into the nest, inhaling all the mixed scents there. This is where he usually spends his heats with his Alpha, where the two come for comfort and reconnection--but Spencer hasn't had a heat in half a year due to stress.

Aaron maneuvers Spencer's body, lays him fully on his stomach, arms at his sides, and then covers him. This would be better if they were both undressed, but it will work for now. He tilts his Omega's head to the side, tucks his arms under Spencer's chest, cages Spencer's legs in with his thighs, and then starts rumbling. He noses at Spencer's wild curls, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the back of his neck, drags his fangs over the skin, scenting his mate thoroughly.

Spencer's little whines and choked sobs eventually fade into gentle, rhythmic breathing, his heartbeat in sync with his Alpha's. He feels Aaron's large hand resting right over his heart, fingertips pressing lightly into the skin with every beat of his heart, keeping the time. He can physically feel his grief fading away, like a darkness that had welled within his lungs slowly being replaced with the light of Aaron's gentling--of his love and affection.

In their nest time has no meaning. Not when they're sharing Spencer's heat or Aaron's rut, not when they just need time alone, and not now. They could have been lying here for minutes, hours, or days, Spencer doesn't know. What he does know, is that soon his body is fully relaxed, so in-tune with his Alpha, feeling protected and safe. And he starts purring.

Eventually, Aaron has them laying on their sides, Spencer's back to his chest, his chin on Spencer's shoulder, nuzzling into the scar of the mating bite he left on his Omega all those years ago. He kisses it, kisses up his jaw, and then kisses the corner of his mouth, "I love you, Spencer. And Einstein loved you too, so much. He knew that you loved him, and he knows that you miss him. You've been doing so well, and I'm so proud of you."

Spencer hums, his eyes closed, fingers interlocked with Aaron's over his stomach. He tilts his head back a little, a silent question for more kisses--which Aaron gladly gives. Still rumbling, still purring, their combined sounds a silent vibration in the stillness of their nest. Aaron kisses away the tears, the dampness on his Omega's cheeks, and he whispers, "Would you like to tell me a story about Einstein?"

Spencer finds himself smiling a little, a soft huff of laughter escaping his chest. He settles further into Aaron's arms, mumbling, "You know them all already."

"Tell me anyway."

The Omega cracks open his red-rimmed eyes, peering over his shoulder at his Alpha, getting a chaste kiss for his effort. His smile grows a little, lips curled up as memories upon memories fill his mind's eye of the 20 years he spent with Einstein.

"Alright," he says slowly, turning onto his back, tangling his legs with Aaron's, settling his head back on one of Jack's old soccer shirts. He blinks slowly, earning a chuff from Aaron who noses at his temple, scenting and kissing wherever he can reach while Spencer starts on his story.

"Did I tell you about the time he was trapped in the dryer all night?"

------

Tagging: @kuolonsyoja @tobias-hankel @finitegrayfics @bau-gremlin @kittykatspence @physics-magic @thesilverqueenlady @mintphoenix @brillianthijinx @marvel-ous-m @heart-strong @zoeschnauzi1 @aaron-hotchner187 @hothotchner @cl0wnb0yyy @opheliaaurora @astoriaandromeda @sweettoothlolol @castielryan @perseus-jackass @m-mhotchner @sparklinspence

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[whatanoof]

Battling Death Itself

Anon I am so sorry that this took so long. Stuff happens, but it's still frustrating to not know if someone is ignoring your ask, if tumblr ate it, or if(like in this case) requests are just taking abnormally long. But here we go, hope you're ready for the angsty angst:(

gif credit to @badbatch

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Cal Kestis x Reader

Word Count: ~3.5k

Warnings: angst, injury, blood, swearing, death omen-like stuff, creepy dream, fluff

Summary: As a medic, you’re used to battling bleeds, cuts, burns, etc. You’re used to patients who are willing to heal, not one reckless Jedi Padawan who is ready to throw everything away to accomplish his mission.

A/N: A huge thank you to my friend @marvelassassin221b for the help with this prompt when I got stuck. You da best, and never forget it

One cannot go through a war and come out unchanged. You can pretend that the terror, violence, anger, anxiety, and selfish instinct didn’t affect you. You can gaslight and fool yourself until the bantha come home, but no one, not even the smallest civilian child, walks away without it burning into their minds like a brand of survival that will cost some of your humanity.

When you dream, you dream of a pile of lightsabers. There must be hundreds, maybe thousands, piled high enough that you cannot make out the ground from your position at the peak of the mountain. They clink and jangle under your feet, like a death rattle that refuses to leave you alone.

You want to leave. You have to leave, you can feel the spirits of the fallen Jedi Order hovering over your head, gazing down at you in disapproval everytime you disrespect their revered weapons. You take a step off of the peak.

A rending screech echoes into the death filled air, and the metal handles collapse under your feet, sliding down the side of the mountain like an avalanche and taking you with it. The sabers pile over your head, blocking out the already dim light.

Have to leave. Have to fight. So you thrash furiously, clawing at the tomb encapsulating your living body among the dead. Somehow, you find the surface. You break through the pile with a gasp, inhaling air into your starved lungs, hands pawing at the moving surface to keep you afloat in the raw desperation of survival instinct.

A weathered lightsaber is clenched in your hand, double bladed and beaten up. With a shaking hand, you press the button to activate the blade. The blue blade slices through the air with a throaty thrum and through the reality of your dream, dropping you into the darkness. You hit the ground with a grunt, somehow not impaling yourself on the lightsaber even as you stare in awestruck horror. Because you recognize the blade and handle.

A heavy hand lands on your shoulder, and you whirl with a gasp. A tall figure stands behind you, a Lasat male with kind eyes and clad in robes belonging to a Jedi. He holds a hand out to you, “That doesn’t belong to the living world.”

---

The crackle of the comm yanks you out of your fitful doze, but as you strain to listen from your position in the sitting area, no words come through the white noise. You sit up and look into the cockpit. Cere is typing furiously with eyes glued to frequency readings in front of her.

Seconds later the array in front of Greez begins to beep and the Latero leans forward to study the sensor map display. A tiny ship lit in red dances through the grid. Greez grabs the holo and enlarges it, examining the lines of the ship carefully.

“Cere--”

“Greez--”

The two stop and look at each other before Cere takes precedence, “I’ve only seen these kinds of frequencies from one kind of occupation.”

Greez nods, “I recognize the ship. It’s Haxion Brood.”

You stand and approach his chair, “Axiom what?”

Greez replies, arms darting across the controls with ease as he manipulates the energy to further analyze the readings from the environment. “The Haxion Brood, kid. Biggest smuggling and gambling ring in the Outer Rim.” He turns his head to address Cere. “I can decode their transmissions. Transfer the readings to my screen.”

Cere hits a few buttons and Greez pulls a headset over his ears. The air in the room is so thick that you could cut it with a vibroblade, until Greez speaks, “We have to go. Cere, set a course for these star coordinates.” Cere takes a single look at the symbols and nods before heading to the navigation map.

Your brow scrunches, “How do you understand their code?”

Greez waves your question off, “Not important. Point is, I can, and I know where we have to go.”

Everything is moving far too fast for you to understand. “And where is that?”

Greez barks out a sharp laugh, “Officially? Nowhere.” One arm distracts itself from the preflight check to dissolve the coordinates from the holo projector. “Unofficially? Ordo Eris.”

The Mantis lurches as it takes off and you stumble, “Wait, we have to wait for Cal to get back!”

Cere speaks from her position at the map, “He’s not coming back. We’re going to get him.”

‘Why would you need to go to Ord--’ You feel the blood drain from your face with the realization. What did the dream mean? A grim understanding filters into the processed air so that no words are needed.

“Get your kit ready. We’re going to need it.”

---

“Strap in, kid!”

Even with all of your preparation for the moment of contact, you’re still not ready for the awful screeching and rending of metal that echoes through the hull as it contacts the floor of the arena. Above the chaos and noise, you hear Greez curse. The harness digs painfully into your skin, but it keeps you in your seat long enough for the Mantis to jolt to a stop. The door opens, and Cal stumbles on board, lightsaber glowing in his hand while the other clutches his side. BD-1 clings to his shirt, beeping and chirping as it hangs on for dear life.

“Go go go!” Cal collapses against the wall, gasping for air. BD screeches and jumps onto the floor, gazing up at Cal and blipping while glancing at you periodically. You can’t tear your eyes away from the lightsaber, which has slipped to the ground in the frenzy. That doesn’t belong in the living world.

Greez hasn’t stopped swearing colorfully in at least five different languages excluding Basic, but it all fades to the background as you fumble to release your harness. “Cal!”

It’s not releasing, why isn’t it releasin--

The mechanism clicks and you’re out of your seat before the Mantis is fully off the ground. You reach Cal right as he begins to slip, “Whoa, careful there.”

Damn he’s heavy. You lower him to the ground, supporting his head on your lap. He chuckles breathlessly with eyes half-closed, “Why should I try to be careful when I have you?”

You laugh shakily, “I can’t be with you all of the time.” BD-1 bobs its head in agreement, dragging your med bag within reach with one foot.

Greez calls back, “Hang on, making the jump now!”

You grab a support bar and hunch over Cal. BD hops into your lap, and you wrap your other arm around the little droid to help hold it steady against you until the ship stops shaking around you and the peaceful quiet of hyperspace fills the hull. You allow yourself to breathe as the asteroid fades into the distance out the viewport. For now, the world will hold together.

---

By the time Cere comes back to check on you, you’ve maneuvered Cal into an upright position propped against the wall.

“Hey.” She sounds tired, stressed, strung tight like a bow string that’s about to snap. “Greez set course for Kashyyyk. We can lay low there, the Rebels have all but driven out the rest of the Imperials.”

You nod in acknowledgement. Cal is silent beside you. BD-1 boops its agreement.

She continues, “That rescue tore up the Mantis a bit. Overworked the thrusters and damaged internal regulating software, so Greez and I are going down to run diagnostics and see what we can repair en route. BD.” The little droid chirps. “Gonna need your help with the electrical portion.” BD-1 bobs its head and scampers over to her, and Cere puts a hand on the floor so that the droid can climb her shirt to her shoulder. She straightens, and regards the two of you, “All good here?”

You nod. “This guy needs a little patching up too.”

Cal gives a halfhearted wave and grin from his position on the floor, “Can confirm.”

Cere chuckles, “Alright then. Comm if you need anything. And be responsible.”

“I’m always responsible.” Cal protests. Cere doesn’t respond to him, opting instead to glance at you with an amused resignation in her eyes. She turns and leaves with BD, who chirps a goodbye as they vanish through the trapdoor that leads to the engine room.

You sigh and turn back to Cal, “I don’t even know where to start. Here.” You tug his poncho to get him to sit up.

“Careful. There’s acid.”

You yank your hand back with a hiss, shaking it off as you study the cloth. He’s right, there’s discoloration around his abdomen and the poncho is smoking, something that you missed in the chaos of landing and taking off from Ordo Eris. Upon closer examination, the acid had eaten through the poncho and soaked into the shirt below. Luckily, none touched your skin, but more unluckily, Cal has been wearing his shirt for far too long to be healthy.

“Take it off.” You lift the edge of his shirt to help him pull it over his head.

He grunts as the fabric lifts, revealing reddened and irritated skin that you begin to put healing balm on, “If you wanted me shirtless, all you had to do was ask.”

Blood rushes to your face even as you send an unimpressed look his way. He’s grinning, a smug and infuriating grin that lets you know that he knows that he got to you. You spread more of the medicine onto his skin, “You’re surprisingly chatty for someone who almost died.”

He stretches his arms, painfully attractive with how his chest and arms flex and his face scrunches and his hair--

You blink, abandoning the train of thought and finishing your work. You cap the medicine and return it to your bag. “Let me check your leg.” He sends you a look, a frustrated look that is so unique to Cal that it makes you chuckle. “I saw you limp in here, don’t give me that face.”

He groans, “I’m fine. It got me in the door, didn’t it?”

You roll your eyes. Typical. “Take them off.”

“Is this a strip game or something?” He’s… flirting with you?

“Do it.”

You did not think that this is how you would be getting Cal Kestis pantless in front of you for the first time. You’d imagined that you would be more excited with every inch of skin exposed, that your heart would race and the blood would rush to your face and your… yeah.

But instead, your stomach drops with every bruise that is revealed, the lump in your throat grows when you hear him suck a breath through gritted teeth when the cloth rubs over sensitive skin. By the time he’s pulled the pants around his ankles, your jaw is clenched hard enough to hurt. There’s a gash the length of your hand slicing across his skin. Although it’s gratefully shallow and mostly clotted, it's ugly enough to garner a double take and a long stare as you consider your options. When you speak, it’s a barely breathed whisper.

“Damn it Cal.”

He laughs, but you can hear the pained grunt that he tries to hide when he shifts, “I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“When did you do this to your leg?” You yank a bacta bag out.

He hisses as you disinfect the area, “Uh, a little after I found BD. Right before I went into the arena.”

You stop cold and stare at him, “You fought on this?”

“Well what else was I supposed to do? Roll over and die?”

You sputter, “No, but I-- no.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, a single, infuriatingly sassy, red eyebrow and lays back to allow you to apply the bacta infusion.

“How’s it going in here?” Cere chooses that exact moment to walk in, and you suppose you should be grateful that she didn’t witness the petty argument.

You shoot a look at Cal, but he’s refusing to meet your eyes. So kriffing immature. You respond to Cere, “Good. Could be better.”

She nods once, “We received a transmission from the rebel. Tarfull is willing to meet you, Cal. There are contacts on Kashyyyk that will direct you to him.”

Cal’s face is drawn and serious, aging him ten years as he considers her words. “Tell them I’ll be there. How long until we reach Kashyyyk?”

“An hour. Enough time to finish the inflight electrical repairs, so BD will be available to go with you.”

“I’ll be ready.” What? Did you just hear him correctly?

You wait until Cere leaves the room before you whirl on Cal, “Are you crazy?”

“What?”

But you’re not listening anymore, “No, you’re definitely crazy, or I’m going crazy, because I just heard you tell Cere that you would be ready to plunge into the wilderness while you’re half dead.” A pile of lightsabers.

“It’s a cut, I’m hardly half de--”

“Okay, a cut. A cut that could get infected, or could start bleeding again, or could slow you down. It won’t be such an easy fix next time if you go out like this.”

He says your name sharply, “It’s my job to go and get that holocron.”

You cross your arms over your chest tightly, hugging close enough in hopes that you can calm your pounding heart, “And it’s my job to keep you alive.”

“The longer we wait, the more danger Tarfull is in. The Rebels can’t stay in one place forever.” He pushes off of the wall, aiming to propel himself off of the ground and stand, but you catch him with a firm hand in the center of his chest.

“You need rest. Bacta might be a miracle of modern medicine, but it can’t work in an hour.” A death rattle that refuses to leave you alone.

He says your name, so seriously and rigidly that you stop and look at him, “Let me get up. I need to go.”

“No!” Your fingers twitch over the needle. “Cal Kestis. You stay right there, or I swear to the Maker I will sedate you!” Fallen Jedi hovering over you.

“This isn’t a matter of my own well being anymore, our mission is on the line!” He pushes your hand away and sits up. “This is for those children out there, so that the Sisters don’t get to them, so that they can have normal lives.”

“Don’t you fucking put that on me Cal, I know what is at risk. I know that you are the only stars forsaken Jedi in this Maker damned galaxy who can help those children, but what use are you to them if you’re dead?!” Lightsabers rattling over your head, trapping the living amongst the dea--

“It doesn’t matt--”

“Would you just shut up and listen to me for two goddamn seconds?!” You’re screaming, you know that you shouldn’t be screaming when he’s lying there injured and possibly dying, when you know that his heart is pure in intention, but why can’t he see how much you need him to be okay. Your fists are clenched, waving in the air above him and its only when his eyes widen and he puts his hands up defensively that you realize you had picked up the hypodermic needle.

Your eyes meet his and your body trembles, whether from rage or fear you can’t tell. Carefully, moving millimeter by millimeter, you lower your hand and drop the needle. It makes no sound as it hits the ground, which is remarkable considering how effectively it had silenced the situation.

“I--” Your voice cracks and in any other situation you would be embarrassed. But you clear your throat roughly, “I can’t lose you. I won’t let you go off and get yourself killed. You need to let your body heal, because you can keep going, keep pushing yourself to the limit and I have no doubt that you are strong enough to, but your body is going to fail you one day, and it’s my job to make sure it doesn’t just yet so please listen to me, I’ve never asked for you to stay before.” You’re rambling, you’re talking too much because you scraped just a little too close to the surface with that first sentence. “Please Cal, I couldn’t live with myself if I let you go out there like this and yo--”

You’re cut off by Cal’s body contacting your firmly, arms curling around your body as he hugs you tight to his chest. And all of your worries and problems that you were ranting about seconds earlier fade away because his bare chest is right against the skin of your cheek and he’s so warm and smells so good and you’ve forgotten why you were--

“Breath. It’s okay.” He demonstrates with several deep breaths, chest rising and falling against your cheek. You hear the whoosh of air in his lungs, and you shakily try to imitate. You fail the first two times, your pounding heart and surging adrenaline forcing your breaths to come shallow and fast. But he stays close to you, radiating comfort and calm that soaks into you and gradually slows you down.

“You’re still not going out there on that leg.”

Cal shushes you, “I know. I need you to calm down before we get to Kashyyyk. I’m not going to leave until I know you’re okay, and those children still need saving.”

Annoyance sparks through you, “I told you not to put that on me.”

“Yeah, yeah I know. That was a cheap shot.” You wriggle to try and get out of his grip, but he only tightens his arms around you. “Stop fighting me.”

“Only if you stop fighting me.” Still, he’s too strong and you can’t deny that you’re exactly where you want to be.

“Oh I intend to. But I can’t stay forever. How long do you need me to rest?” His chin rests on the top of your head.

You hum thoughtfully, snuggling closer with your fingers drumming gently on his skin, “Bacta treatments optimize after five hours of immersion in the tissue.”

“I’ll give you two hours.”

“Three.” You counter. “I can accelerate the healing if you give me three hours.”

He hums deep in his chest, vibrating against your skin, “Deal.”

You stay like that for a few more minutes, peacefully breathing the filtered Mantis air that smells like antibiotic burn cream and metal. When you open your eyes, your gaze lands on the lightsaber, which has rolled into a corner since the hit and run on Ordo Eris.

“Cal.” Your voice is raspy from the lump in your throat. “The lightsaber.”

He hums, calling the handle to his hand with the Force, “Yeah. Should keep it safe.” He clips it to his belt with one hand, the other still crooked firmly to cradle you.

“Where did you get it?”

He pauses for a fraction of a second, then his arm returns to stroke the back of your head, “It was Master Tapal’s. The Purge. It’s all that I have left from before.”

“Your Master. Was he a Lasat?”

Cal chuckles, “Most intimidating one that I’ve ever met. Wisest one too, but he had a leg up on the competition, being a Jedi Master.” He pulls away slightly to catch your gaze. “How did you know that he was a Lasat?”

You hum, burrowing back into his chest, “I’ll explain later.” For now, the world would hold together.

Cal Taglist: @marvelassassin221b, @my-awakened-ghost

[artificialdaydreamer]

A somewhat late fic for @jonsimsandcats day.

Jon is a god of cats whose cat followers report that a beast has taken up residence in the wood outside of town and is causing trouble. Jon, unable to say no to helping cats agrees to get rid of this beast only to run into Martin, who is also searching for it.

Warnings for mild injuries to animals and people

—

Jon woke to find a pair of slitted eyes staring at him. It was not an unusual occurrence, he couldn’t go anywhere without the local cats greeting him, or letting him know of problems they were having. He was, after all, the god of cats. They were his followers and his messengers, and in return he gave them protection and knowledge. It was more unusual to not wake up with several cats sleeping on top of him. The tabby blinked slowly at Jon, he blinked back, and it settled on his lap, its fluffy tail swishing from side to side.

The building he’d fallen asleep in was technically a temple to him but humans rarely visited it so it had fallen into a state of disrepair. It was still a sanctuary for cats, they knew that within its walls they could be safe and warm while they slept, but the only other being that really came inside it was Jon. He tried to keep the fireplace lit in winter and set out bowls of fresh water, but there was only so much he could do. It wasn’t like he could fix the cracked windows and provide an unlimited supply of food, he just wasn’t that powerful.

The God of Cats and Curiosity was not a god people often prayed to, not until winter fell and mice invaded grain stores. Cat owners would occasionally set something on their mantle in offering to him, a saucer of milk or a piece of dried meat, but more often than not it was the cats themselves who honored him. He could understand what they said, and sometimes they were the only creatures he talked with for years. In a world where belief was what made a god strong it was a miracle he hadn’t faded away altogether.

“Hello, master,” a voice sounded inside Jon’s head as the cat purred. He stroked its ginger fur and it rubbed its head against his hand. “I have news from the others in town.”

“Oh?”

“They say a beast is lurking in the forest, it has already affected the supply of prey, and several cats who stumbled across it were wounded by it. If we cannot go hunt in the woods we won’t have enough food.” This was news to Jon, a beast in the forest? Not only was it killing animals it had hurt some of his followers, those he’d sworn to protect. His stomach churned at the thought of how they must have felt, had they prayed to him for help? Had he been too far away to hear them?

“Take me to them.” He started to get to his feet, the cat jumped off his lap as he straightened his clothes, making sure the hood of his blue cape covered his pointed ears completely. Despite being a god he couldn’t change his form, or hide the ears and tail that revealed what he was, so he relied on human clothes like skirts and hoods to disguise himself.

The tabby wound its way between his legs before heading towards the door, and Jon followed. The street was quiet, a few humans passed them but it seemed early enough in the day that a lot of them weren’t up. Turning down an alley he saw a pile of crates had been left in a niche and several cats had made themselves comfortable in it, there were even a few blankets and pillows. On one threadbare cushion lay a female tortoiseshell with cuts on her back, the wounds had scabbed over but dried blood streaked her fur and she couldn’t move without hurting.

“You poor thing.” Unwrapping the cloth belt from around his waist Jon dipped it into a dish of water someone had laid out nearby and began to dab at the cuts. The cat hissed, pupils narrowing into slits, but she didn’t scratch him. She knew who he was and what he was doing here. It took hardly any effort to soothe the tortoiseshell, to numb the pain as he cleaned her wounds. The last thing he wanted was to heal the cuts only to have her get sick because he hadn’t ensured they were dirt-free first.

“Thank you, master.” The tortoiseshell butted his hand with her head. “It is an honor to meet you.”

“There’s no need to thank me, I apologize for letting you get hurt in the first place.”

“That was not your fault, master. You could not have known the beast would start lurking in the forest.” The cat shook her head, her tail sticking straight up. “The world is a dangerous place, you cannot be everywhere, even if you are a god.”

Sighing, Jon nodded, his own tail flicking from side to side in agitation. She was right, but it still hurt to know that he could not protect all of his followers from harm. Despite being a god he wasn’t very powerful, people just didn’t pray to him enough. He could look through the eyes of other cats nearby and bless them with safety for a limited time, but his power was finite. Anything more than a league away from him was hard to sense, although it hadn’t always been that way. “I’m looking for the beast, would you mind telling me where you encountered it?”

“I can show you.” Getting to her feet the tortoiseshell stretched deeply.

“Lead the way.”

—————

The forest was dense, trees crowded tight together and thick grasses that made it hard to maneuver, if it wasn’t for the narrow footpath made by other travelers Jon would be miserable. A short distance ahead of him the tortoiseshell cat led the way, showing no sign that her earlier injuries were still paining her. Every so often sunlight would find some way through the thick canopy of branches overhead and illuminate their surroundings, although they both could see in the dark just fine. Jon wasn’t sure how long they’d been walking, but when huge pawprints had been practically gouged in the path he insisted the cat ride on his shoulders for the rest of the journey.

“What kind of animal is this beast?” Jon muttered, ihe tracks were bigger than his hand, and while they appeared to be made by some kind of dog they were far larger than most he’d seen. As they progressed Jon saw several trees with claw marks on them and he started to feel anxious. Sure, he was technically a god, but he’d never really been in a fight before. He wouldn’t necessarily die, not from physical wounds, and he did heal faster than the normal human but that didn’t mean he wanted to get hurt. He didn’t even have a weapon to defend himself.

Somewhere in the trees ahead of them a branch snapped, then another. Jon braced himself as he heard footsteps approaching him, growing faster and louder until he saw a huge brown thing burst out from behind a bush and race towards where he stood. It was all he could do to cast a simple protective spell on the cat and drop her on the ground before the thing knocked him over. His head hit hard-packed earth and the world went dark.

“-right?” A voice sounded from somewhere nearby, sounding concerned but Jon was in too much pain to register much more. He willed his body to heal itself, to reduce the swelling and stop his head from throbbing with every beat of his heart. Slowly, agonizingly slow, he found that he could open his eyes, although the world itself was a blur of green and black. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

Just as his eyes adjusted he saw a face staring down at him, their expression worried. A human? Sitting up so fast his head swam Jon checked to see that his hood was still in place. It had shifted somewhat when he fell, but his ears were thankfully still covered. The human had curly orange hair and a round, friendly face, although they still looked anxious. Next to them sat a dog, a huge fluffy thing, even sitting it came up to Jon’s chest, with light-brown fur everywhere but its face and ears, which were black. Was this the beast?

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you?” The human’s voice was high-pitched and laced with concern. Jon shook his head slightly, but winced as pain sparked behind his eyes.

“I’m fine.” Regardless of how worried this human was, Jon didn’t want them looking at him too closely, the last thing he needed was for them to find out just what he was. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh!” They looked surprised. “I was looking for my dog; they ran off and, well, it’s not like I can stop him if he wants to go somewhere.”

“You own this thing?”

“Well, I guess you could say that. His owners couldn’t take care of him because they had another baby on the way and...” The human trailed off, freckled cheeks flushing pink. “Anyway, I’ve taken in strays before so they felt comfortable giving him to me.”

Jon didn’t really care about where the dog came from, but looking at the size of its paws gave him an idea. “I’ve been told there’s some sort of beast attacking animals in the woods, and I found tracks and claw marks on the path-”

“It’s not him! I know what you’re talking about- I’ve had to take in a whole bunch of wounded animals recently- so I came out here to try and find this ‘beast’ too.” Their voice rose an octave, eyes widening with fear. “I brought Silas with me because I thought he could maybe track it somehow? I know he’s not really a hunting dog but still...”

“Has it?” He scanned the ground nearby and found the tortoiseshell cat hiding behind a tree just off the path. Kneeling down Jon held out a hand to her. “I’m sorry, darling. Are you alright?” The cat approached him cautiously, eyes darting to the dog every so often, and he scooped her up in his arms.

“What?”

“Has it tracked the beast?” It was hard to keep from rolling his eyes, Jon didn’t care much for rambling when he had something to do. He absentmindedly stroked the tortoiseshell’s head, trying to reassure it.

“N- No... I thought he had but he just found you.” The human gave a shy smile. “How do I know you’re not the beast?”

Jon stiffened, his ears flattening against his hair and his tail bristling. In his arms the cat hissed angrily. “Do you even know who you’re talking to?”

“Calm down, let me handle this.” It was clear this human had no idea they’d just insulted a god, but as much as Jon wanted to curse them for the accusation he was here for a different reason. “If you don’t have anything helpful to say then this is where we part.” He continued to comfort the cat as he pushed past them and continued on the path.

“W- Wait!” Glancing over his shoulder Jon saw the human was following him. “I mean, we both have the same goal, don’t we? We both want to find this beast and stop it from hurting the local animals. Why don’t we look for it together?”

“I can’t stop you from following me.” Jon sighed and tugged his hood farther forward. He had a feeling that he’d made the wrong decision, but he’d spoken the truth. Besides, this human was larger than he was, with them and the dog he might stand a chance against this beast.

They walked in silence for a while, but like all good things it didn’t last. “I just realized I never got your name; I’m Martin, Martin Blackwood.”

“Jon.” He didn’t feel much like talking, especially since he was trying to listen for any strange noises.

“Just... Just Jon?” The human- Martin- seemed dissatisfied at his answer.

“That’s all I’m willing to share with you.”

“Right, that’s fine,” A pause. “Are you a man?” When Jon glared at them Martin turned bright red. “It’s just, I don’t want to misgender you, that’s all. I’m a man, he/him pronouns.”

“I don’t really see the point of gender.” Jon sighed, pulling on his hood as his ears were flicking enough from irritation he feared it might fall down. “He/they, I guess.”

“Got it.” Martin was a few paces behind, his footsteps louder than Jon’s. “I’m guessing you’re also an animal lover, given that you’re also searching for this beast.” Jon wanted to scream, could this human not be quiet for five minutes?

“Yes, which is why I’m trying to track it. That being said, if it makes noise I will be unable to hear it because you keep talking.” Glancing over his shoulder Jon saw Martin stiffen, his cheeks still flushed from embarrassment. Thankfully he didn’t say anything though, and Jon could have cried from relief.

They continued on, neither of them making a sound as they trudged through the woods, occasionally the dog would run ahead and sniff at a tree or patch of earth but thankfully it didn’t bark. Eventually they arrived in a clearing only to find more tracks in the dirt, the same ones Jon had seen on the path. He was about to say something to Martin when some bushes rustled and a giant wolf leapt towards him.

Having a huge animal knock him over once already that day Jon was more alert, and while he managed to avoid the worst of the beast’s attack its claws still managed to slash through his tunic and he could feel hot, sticky blood running down his side. The pain would come later, once the shock went away, but he was glad to have only gotten minor injuries as he stumbled backwards, clutching the cat to his chest and making sure his hood hadn’t fallen off. His ears were flattened against his hair again and his heart was racing.

“Jon!” Martin rushed to him, blue eyes wide as he took in the wound. Jon pushed him away, staring at the wolf in horror. The beast was as large as a horse, its fur so streaked with dirt and blood, mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. Still, even as his skin knit back together and his heart pounded in his chest he sensed something off about it. Not just its size, but something about its essence was wrong.

Martin had grabbed a broken branch and was holding it like a club, the dog was growling and looked ready to attack the wolf, but Jon held out a hand. “Don’t!”

“That thing nearly killed you!”

“It’s cursed, Martin, it’s not doing this because it wants to.” Placing the tortoiseshell on the ground he took a few cautious steps towards the wolf, one hand outstretched. It snarled at him, crouching down as though preparing to strike again, but Jon tried to reach out with his powers. He was a cat god, but he hoped he could at least calm the thing down from whatever blind rage it had succumbed to. As he drew nearer he saw something wrapped around the beast’s neck, a leather cord so dirty it was almost indistinguishable from its fur. The energy emanating from the cord was the cause of the strange feeling he’d sensed, could that be the source of the curse? “We need to get the cord off its neck.”

“How are we supposed to do that? I doubt we can get close enough.” Martin frowned, but at least he didn’t seem like he was going to attack the wolf.

“Do you have a knife of some sort?” Jon supposed that being the god of cats it was unusual for him to not have “claws” of some sort, but he didn’t like hurting living things. In the future he might start carrying something around, just in case he needed it.

“Oh, yeah! Hang on.” Martin dropped the branch and fumbled at his waist before tossing something to Jon, who barely managed to catch it. Fortunately the knife was still in its leather sheath, the wooden handle was worn but the blade gleamed as though it had been freshly sharpened. Upon seeing it the wolf snarled, baring its teeth and crouching down as though readying to pounce.

“That’s what I was worried about.” Jon sheathed the knife again and approached the beast slowly, trying not to startle it. Fortunately the wolf did not attack, but it didn’t relax either, its ice-blue eyes focused on him.

When he was in front of it he grasped the leather cord in one hand and had to resist the urge to cry out in agony. Jon wasn’t the target of this particular curse, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t feel the malice that had gone into it. A deer, sacred to the Goddess of the Wild, had been slain by accident and the hunter had been turned into a bloodthirsty monster in return. The wolf howled, out of pain or sadness he didn’t know, but he managed to pull out the knife and cut the cord. It fell to the ground, turning into a pile of ash, and Jon felt his knees buckle.

When his vision cleared Martin was kneeling next to him, and before him lay a woman. Her clothes were tattered, caked in blood and dirt, her blond hair coming out of its messy braid. The dog sniffed at her prone form, occasionally nudging her cheek with his nose or pawing at her as though it was concerned. Jon could see that she was breathing, but no doubt she was exhausted from whatever the curse had done to her.

“This is the beast?” Martin looked taken aback, that the monster who’d slaughtered and wounded animals was just a human. “She looks so... innocent.”

“Everyone looks innocent when they’re asleep. She’s a hunter, but she accidentally chose the wrong prey and angered a god.” Jon sighed, getting to his feet and once more checking his hood.

The cat wound its way between his legs, rubbing up against them and purring. “You did it master!”

“I can carry her back to town.” Jon blinked, not sure he’d understood Martin. “What? We can’t just leave her here, it’d be best to bring her to a healer so someone can take a look at her.”

“Right, of course.” He’d forgotten that humans were so fragile, although Jon could sense that some part of the curse had not left the woman. She had been changed by it, marked by the wild.

The trip back through the forest was quiet, neither of them felt much like talking as they picked their way through the trees. The sun had started to set and Jon had to rely on his night vision to guide them, all the while hoping that Martin wouldn’t ask how he could see so well in the dark, or notice the unusual shine to his eyes. Once they’d entered town a handful of cats approached him, all of them thanking him for getting rid of the beast.

“Wow,” Martin gaped at the welcome party. “Cats really like you, huh?”

“You could say that.” Jon replied, unable to hide his smirk.

It was fortunate that the healer recognized the woman and agreed to treat her free of charge because Jon had no money whatsoever. His followers were mainly cats, and it wasn’t like they were in the business of giving him spare change. The healer called the woman “Daisy,” although the name didn’t seem to fit the huge wolf she’d been mere hours ago. Then again, Jon wasn’t exactly the best name for a god of cats and it was still his name.

It was only when Martin stopped at a crossroads and pointed down one of the streets did Jon remember that their partnership had been temporary. “I live down that way, I’m sure if you ask someone they’ll be able to point you in my direction.”

“Right...” It was strange, he’d only known Martin for a short amount of time and yet he felt a pang of sadness in his chest. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around.”

“Goodnight, Jon.” Martin smiled and began to walk away, the dog bounding off down the street.

“Goodnight, Martin.”

When he returned to his temple and settled down on the pile of blankets he called a bed Jon thought about his day. While he’d originally set off to find the beast because his followers had asked it of him, he hadn’t actually done anything godlike. Sure, he’d figured out that the wolf was cursed and managed to break the cord, but it hadn’t really been that difficult. Apart from getting injured twice, that was. Jon thought of Martin’s kindness when the dog had knocked him over, of his flushed face when he was embarrassed, of his bravery when preparing to fight the beast. As his eyes drifted shut he considered how odd it was, that after being a god for so long it only took one day for him to suddenly feel so very human.

——

One day I will not get ideas for an event the day of said event. Credit to the Magnus Writer’s server for the plot bunny, and thanks to @ravendarkwood for the beta!

[seagreen-meets-grey]

When Lightning Strikes Ch. 15

When your life is nothing but a cloudless sky, lightning can come and strike you so unexpectedly, you won’t even know what hit you.

Or: When Hiccup and Astrid meet, it is as if lightning strikes.

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14] [Chapter 16] [Chapter 17] [Chapter 18] [Chapter 19] [Chapter 20]

Crossposted on ao3 and ff.net

_______________

The rain splattering against the window glass shook Hiccup out of his stupor. Lips still tingling where they had just so brushed against hers, he hurried through the apartment and onto the balcony where the wind was blowing enough rain under the roof that it hit most of his clothes. Resigned, he picked up the drying rack and maneuvered it into the living room. It wasn’t like any of the clothes had already dried, anyway. Besides, this had distracted him for at least two minutes from his brain’s attempt at understanding what had happened in the last hour.

A knot was forming in his stomach and it grew limbs, spreading into his chest, knocking against his ribs for attention. “Oh, bud. What a mess, huh.” Toothless looked up from his nap on the couch, blinking at Hiccup before laying his eyes on the newest accessory in the room. A few socks were still swinging slightly from earlier momentum and he swiped at them with his paw. Hiccup picked him up and flopped onto the couch himself, putting the cat down on his stomach where it immediately lay down and eyed him expectantly.

“This is not going to end well. We can’t pretend anymore that everything’s fine. And I can’t still wait for her to get more clarity and maybe eventually come around, can I?” Toothless started licking his paw. “Yeah, yeah. I know, bud.” He sighed. “No more waiting, no more guessing, no more holding out. She’s on her way home right now. She’ll want to save her marriage. And I can’t stand between her and a happy life now, right?” The cat didn’t answer, only the voice of a radio host crossed the distance between him and the kitchen. He ran his hand over the sleek black fur until the sound of purring provided the right background noise for his thoughts.

“It doesn’t matter what I feel and it doesn’t matter if she ever felt something for me-“, he allowed himself a moment of daydreaming, “because she has a husband, and yeah, they need to work through some issues, but if she wants to do that, then I want to support her decision. I don’t want to, but then again, I do. Toothless, does that make sense?” The cat’s ears perked up at the sound of its name. Hiccup looked his bud in the eyes, searching for an answer to his dilemma. “I guess, if you love somebody, you want them to be happy, even if it means you leave empty-handed and with a life’s worth of heartache.”

For a while, he watched the gray sky through the living room windows, stroking his cat’s back. The radio host was replaced by ads, then music, briefly interrupted by a traffic report. Some confused Toyota driver was going the wrong way. Or maybe they were going the right way, they just picked the wrong lane. Or the wrong way on the right lane. Did that make sense? What was the right way to go here? Was he doing the right thing? Was there even a right lane to pick?

He groaned and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. The purring stopped. Soon enough, the weight on his stomach disappeared when Toothless decided he’d had enough of Hiccup’s drama. “You’re right, bud. Can’t keep doing this forever.” He lifted himself up with a heavy heart trying to pull him back down. But there was no use.

On his way out, he grabbed only his phone and an umbrella. The air had cooled significantly, raising goosebumps on his skin. Maybe he should have brought a jacket. He considered going back inside to get one, but the option of staying there and waiting for the world to fix itself was too tempting, so he turned around and started walking down the street. He had to end this.

_______________

She had to end this. The entire ride home, she drummed her fingers on the wheel, bounced her unoccupied leg up and down, shifted on her seat with restless energy at every traffic light, every intersection, every speed limit sign. She was both anxious and determined. There had never been a point in her life where she’d been more sure about anything. Least of all on her actual wedding day, as she could finally admit with a feeling of sweet relief.

When she turned her key in the door to the apartment, however, her hands felt like lead. While she’d come clean about her feelings to herself, she had yet to do it in front of someone else, someone who deserved to know it probably the most. Someone whose voice carried over from the living room.

Quietly closing the door behind her, she took off shoes and still damp jacket like she’d done for almost every day for the past year and a half. Her keys jingled and she closed her fist around them in order to smother the sound. Why she didn’t want him to know she was here was beyond her, but the second she decided on announcing her presence, someone else beat her to the chase.

Momentarily perplexed, she halted in her step towards the living room, trying to place the male voice chattering away, prompting a chuckle from Eret. Her curiosity whacked her anxiety over the head and she turned the corner to see who it was.

The man sitting next to Eret on the couch was unfamiliar to her. Tall, broad shoulders, muscles, casually-styled sandy hair. Crossed legs, one arm draped over the back of the couch, the other holding a beer, comfortable. He was the first to notice her, pausing mid-sentence to curiously raise his eyebrows in her direction. His eyes were the color of liquid chocolate, at least 70% cocoa. He was handsome, with a pleasant, welcoming smile. Eret followed his eyes and flinched.

Astrid raised a hand in greeting, uncertain about what to do. This other person in the apartment disrupted her plan. “Hi.”

“Hi, there.” The man waved back, looking at Eret expectantly, waiting for an introduction.

Eret cleared his throat, a nervous tilt in his smile. “Um, this is Astrid, my wife. Astrid… This is Timothy.” She racked her brain when that name rung a bell somewhere in the back of her mind, especially as he sent her a meaningful look. “My coworker. The one I told you about.”

“Oh,” she said. Then something clicked. “Oh.” The coworker he’d told her about. Repeatedly. The one she’d mistook for his mistress. Well, fuck, kill her now.

“Nice to meet you, hon.” When she frowned at that nickname, he was quick to put his hands up in an apologetic manner. “Sorry, that probably came out wrong. It’s just what I call everyone.” He slapped a hand on Eret’s knee. “Even this chap here.”

Eret copied the gesture. “And our boss.” The two men shared a laugh and Astrid’s eyes flitted back and forth between them, feeling like an outsider to a deeper inside joke. Their laughter subsided and they seemed to remember she was still in the room. “Do you… want to sit?” Eret asked hesitantly, conveying the same uneasiness she felt. She simply cut to the chase.

“We need to talk.”

Fortunately, Timothy understood his cue. “Well, hons,” he announced, drinking the rest of his beer and standing up from the couch, “I guess it’s time for me to hit the road. Gotta beat that Sunday traffic.” He laughed at his own joke when no one else did, not even his hon chap Eret, whose mood had suddenly turned serious.

They said goodbye to Timothy and when the door closed behind him, Eret discarded of the empty beer bottles and they sat in silence on separate ends of the couch for a few minutes. Astrid tried to sort through everything they needed to cover in this conversation, but she didn’t know where to begin, although it was all in a way connected. But what probably made her anxious the most was how to go on from there. She didn’t want to end this day with another fight, didn’t want to lose her closest friend in the aftermath of this whole mess. No more yelling and accusing, that’s what Hiccup had advised.

“So… Timothy, huh,” she made the first step, stilted lighthearted tone sounding absolutely misplaced to her ears.

But Eret gladly jumped onto the first wooden plank. In order to get to the other side of this chasm, they would have to build the bridge together. “Yeah. Tim is…”

“Your coworker,” she finished. “And not your mistress.” She didn’t avert her eyes as she said it, owning up to her mistake.

“Not my… No. But what I told you about Dana is true. She tried to seduce me. Several times, actually, even though I told her I’m married and not interested.” The old monster scratched at her abdomen, but she refused to pay attention to it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked instead, keeping her voice as level as possible, and received the same effort from Eret.

“I tried to, but you wouldn’t hear me out! Besides, I could handle her. It didn’t mean anything to me. And with the way you accused me of cheating, I was glad I hadn’t told you earlier.”

She felt the words like a punch to the gut. “Well, if you had told me earlier, then maybe I wouldn’t have gotten so suspicious when you kept talking about your coworker every other minute of the day like a teenager gushing about his crush!” He winced and averted his face. She’d somehow struck a nerve there, which made her guilt explode from where it was nesting inside her ribcage. Throwing her hands up in the air, she jumped up and released it all with one loud yell. “GAH, I’M SORRY!”

He still wouldn’t look at her. “Okay.”

“What do you mean – okay?!” She started pacing through the room. “I’m hurt you didn’t share the fact with me that someone came onto you several times – which is harassment, by the way – and then I rubbed it in by accusing you of committing to it! I’m fucking sorry, Eret!” She kicked at the couch and a flash of pain shot through her toes. Well, so much for no yelling.

“Yeah.” The couch table was still more interesting than her. “That’s why Tim was here. We were discussing how to report Dana without her claiming harassment and sexism herself.”

Astrid put her hands on her hips, taking stance. “Just say the word and I’m gonna knock her fucking skull in.”

He huffed. “I can handle it.”

“You can han– Eret, I’m not some bozo offering you tips on selling your car! I know I should have let you speak yesterday when you called and I’m sorry I didn’t. I couldn’t handle it. I don’t know if you noticed, but I’ve been running from confrontations for quite a while. And will you please just look at me?!”

Jaw clenched, he finally met her gaze, and for the second time that day, she was met with a look in someone’s eyes she wasn’t expecting. She’d prepared herself for fury, for a stubborn wall of fire, for a loaded canon – but not for hurt, guilt, insecurity. Her anger deflated.

“I know.” He was almost whispering. “I should know. I should know that I can always count on you.”

“You should know?” The implication wasn’t lost on her and it stung like a hundred bees. “Why do you think you can’t count on me?”

“I… I didn’t mean that. I know you’d do anything. It’s just that…” He got on his feet, pulling at his short ponytail, voice rising. “Every time you become distant, and we fight, and you go on your solo trips, it’s like there’s a whole world out there for you that I’m not a part of. Over time, that feeling festers, and it makes me wonder.” He paused, piercing her with a look that demanded only the truth. “There’s someone else, isn’t there.” She blinked, sucker-punched to the lungs, staring back at him, shock evident on her face, judging by his grave nod. “So there is.”

“I…” This was not how she’d imagined this topic to be broached. Her first instinct was to tell him that nothing happened, but as of this afternoon, that would be a lie. “It’s complicated.”

Eret shook his head disappointingly, a gesture that irked her a lot. “Accusing me of cheating and then…”

“I didn’t cheat on you!” He regarded her with poisonous doubt, frown deepening. No more running. “Yes, I have feelings for someone else! But it’s not like I planned so, and it’s not like I didn’t try to fight it, and I certainly didn’t do it on purpose!”

“But still you didn’t talk about it with your husband!”

“Like that’s something you do!” The guilt, the frustration, it all came together in a giant wave, pressing every emotion out of her chest with the volume of a tsunami. “Like you just go to your spouse, the one you promised to love until death, the one you made a fucking huge commitment to for the rest of your life, you just go up to them and say hey, guess what, I’m in love with someone else, what do you think of that, do you want potatoes or rice for dinner?!” She sucked air into her lungs with a sharp, shaky breath, not slowing down, even as her eyes began to sting. “This is not something you do, it’s not something you fucking do, just like that, expecting not to make everything worse, and admitting that the biggest decision I ever made in my entire life led to a big! Fucking! Failure!”

A hot tear ran down her cheek and when she wiped it away, more followed, until she was quietly sobbing, shoulders shaking as she refused to break down completely. She felt raw and exposed, exhausted after her emotional outburst. Eret said nothing for a long minute. Then he sunk back onto the couch and put his head in his hands, fingers raking through his dark hair, messing it up until most of it had escaped the ponytail.

“I need a drink,” she mumbled and walked into the kitchen. Eyeing the bottle of wine on the shelf, she opted for some peppermint tea. Calming, refreshing, and didn’t have to cool in the fridge first. Waiting for the kettle to boil, she took a deep breath. Slowly, the shaking subsided and the tears stopped running. She wiped her hand over her swollen eyes and blew her nose on a paper towel.

When the water boiled, she grabbed her favorite mug from the cupboard and fished the last tea bag from the box. She let it steep for a few minutes, regaining her composure, before she returned to the living room. Leaning against the bookcase opposite to the couch, mindful of the stack of beautifully illustrated books behind her, she carefully took a sip, relishing the feeling of hot tea calming her nerves. Eret was still hunched over, head in his hands.

“I was gushing about my crush,” he finally said, voice low and brittle, laden with the effort of finding the courage to get the words out.

She sniffed, unsure if she’d heard him right. “What?”

“I… have feelings for someone else, too.”

It took her embarrassingly long to connect the dots. “Huh.” She sat down next to him, processing the information. In a strange way, it made sense. She couldn’t explain it, but it just felt… It felt like Eret. And it also explained all the knee touching from earlier. “Oh man,” she sighed. “We’re a mess, huh.”

He tentatively glanced up at her. She noticed the little pools of tears that had formed in his eyes and she realized he’d been as afraid to tell her about his feelings as she’d been, probably even more so. Eret had always been so sure about himself and his place in the world, something that had attracted her to him in the first place. Discovering this new side of himself, the confusion, the fear of people’s reaction, her reaction – she couldn’t exactly say she could relate. Meeting his worried expression, she gave him a reassuring smile and reached for his hand. His sigh of relief cut straight through her heart, and when he accepted her hand and returned her light squeeze, it felt like companionship.

“So… Timothy, huh,” she repeated her earlier line, eliciting a small shaky laugh from Eret. He sat up and leaned back against the cushions, wiping a hand over his face.

“Yeah… He’s great.” He turned to her with an earnest face. “I’m sorry. You’re right, this is a mess.”

“Well, I’m glad we agree on something for once.”

For a while, they just sat there holding hands in companiable silence, feeling closer than they had in a very long time, the only sound an occasional slurping of tea.

“I know I should have asked this sooner,” she finally said, “but do you want to talk about it?”

He seemed to be wrestling with himself for a moment and she tried her best to not feel offended by his hesitation. She wasn’t any better, after all. “I don’t really know what to say. One day I’m a heterosexual fella going to bed with his wife, the next I’m thinking about all the different ways I wanted to touch my new coworker. The rest just spiraled from there.”

“When did that happen?”

“About a year ago,” he confessed, carefully regarding her reaction.

“Okay, so, do you know if Timothy’s into men?”

“Uh yes, very openly so, he carries his cute little rainbow flag everywhere and constantly complains to me about the horrible guys he’s dated.”

“Good, that’s good.” He curiously raised his eyebrows at the scheming look on her face. “Have you talked to him about your sexuality?”

“No, I haven’t told anyone, and how are you so okay with this?”

Now she really did feel offended, putting the empty mug on the couch table with a clank. “Excuse me? My best friend tells me he likes dicks and he asks me if I’m okay with it?!”

“Your best friend is also your husband. And that’s not what I meant. You’re weirdly calm about the fact that I’ve been emotionally cheating on you for months on end.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Sorry, did you not hear me yelling about my feelings for another man back there? You know, right before I burst into tears? We’re in the same boat here, buddy.”

He snorted. “I don’t know if I like this sarcasm on you.”

“It may have rubbed off on me from someone else,” she admitted.

“Right. Your someone else.”

“Hmm…” She bit her lip. “I really am sorry. I thought about telling you, but I never did, because I had this stupid notion in my head that telling you would mean I failed at something. Namely, making the right decision when I married you.”

“That… No, that makes sense. Sounds like Astrid to me.”

“But was I right?” she asked uncertainly. “Does this mean I failed?”

“Well… You said earlier – or better, you yelled – that your decision led to big failure. Do you really think that’s what this is? A big, fucking, failed marriage?”

Now that she heard him say it, she didn’t need to contemplate much. “Yes and no? I don’t regret marrying you. I love you, but not the way I used to. You’re my closest friend and incredibly important to me, and I will always treasure our time together, past and present. But… That is all I can give you.”

An enormous weight disappeared from her chest when she said it out loud and when Eret nodded and agreed, “I feel the same… I think.” He scratched his head. “No, I’m sure that’s what it is. And I’m also one hundred percent sure I was very into you, which makes me at least bisexual, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “Sexuality can be fluid, right? So who knows what nuance of sexuality you are and what you’ll be next week. Anyway, I wouldn’t be mad at you if you decided you’ve always been gay. Would it feel weird to hear you tell me you never actually loved me? Probably. Would I get hung up on it, knowing you cared about me deeply in a platonic way? Fucking hell not.”

Eret grinned in a relieved and almost proud way. “I’m glad you’re my friend, Hofferson.”

“Me too.” She took a deep breath. “So, does that mean…”

“That this is over?” he completed her sentence and gestured between them, an understanding passing between them. “Yes, I would say so.”

Relief washed over her, combined with a bit of sadness, then peace, and not one flicker of doubt. She leaned into her best friend, her soon-to-be ex-husband, and hugged him tightly for a long minute.

When they pulled away, the shadows in the room had grown longer, announcing the imminent departure of the sun. Soon the horizon would light up colorfully, ending the day with a temporary, ever-changing painting that put every self-respecting lava lamp to shame. Realizing how late it already was, Astrid couldn’t believe how much time had passed since she’d had lunch with Hiccup, and how long she’d talked with Eret.

“Full disclosure, though,” she said while getting up to switch on the light, “last week I took a pregnancy test and it was negative.” Eret blinked a couple times. “Turns out it had just been a mixture of too much emotional stress and chocolate cake that made me take it.”

“Chocolate cake,” he repeated a bit dumbfounded, following her as she carried her empty cup into the kitchen.

“Yeah, I tried to bake the perfect cake and the one I ate was way too sweet.”

“The one you– Did you eat an entire chocolate cake by yourself? While your favorite pool was closed?”

“Oh, I’m glad that’s the part you choose to focus on.”

He sat down at the kitchen table and absentmindedly mimed stroking an invisible beard, a habit he’d picked up when he’d grown an absolutely hideous goatee in college. “I don’t know, I’m still processing it. Were you… sad? Okay? I don’t know what to say here.”

“I was glad. You know I want kids one day, but not like this.”

He nodded. “Probably best. Not that I wouldn’t have been happy regardless – wait, was it even mine?”

“The baby that doesn’t exist?” she scowled at him. “Yes, of course it would have been yours, you muttonhead!”

Holding his hands up in surrender, he believed her. “Alright, alright. I don’t know, could have been your secret lover.” Her scowl deepened and he quickly continued. “But you’re right. It’s better this way.”

“Good, glad we agree. Now will you please stop with the non-existent beard? You look ridiculous.”

“Tim thinks it’s funny.”

That brought the scheming look back on her face. “Seems to me like he’s interested in you. Now that you’re single, you should ask him out.”

A nervous chuckle escaped him and he squirmed a little in his seat. “I don’t know. I just agreed on a divorce.”

“That’s not the problem. You’ve wanted to do it for a long time. You’re a chicken.”

“I’m just being considerate of you–“

“Bullshit. You’re a chicken.”

With a groan, he frowned at her. “You’re quite a handful sometimes, do you know that?”

“Chicken,” she sang, finding joy in pushing his buttons without another fight looming on the horizon. She’d missed her friend and she finally had him back.

“Okay, fine! I haven’t had to ask anyone out since you. I don’t know how to flirt anymore.”

She snorted. “Seriously?” Sitting down next to him, she draped one hand behind him over the chair, shuffled closer and placed the other on his knee, regarding him from beneath her eyelashes. “Are you sure about that, hon?” He jokingly pushed her away, tipping her chair a little. “I think you were doing just fine earlier. Just text him that you want to go out for beer and tell him what happened. Then you can pepper in that you want his dick and voilà, you got yourself a hot date.”

“Yeah, yeah. I think I’m just gonna start with the beer.” He fished his phone out of his pocket and began to type before he paused and looked at her in earnest. “I feel good about this. How about you?”

Something told her he wasn’t just talking about asking out his crush. “Yes, absolutely. This feels right.”

With a content nod, he continued typing and hesitated just a second before sending his message. “Phew, done.” Another thought seemed to come to his mind. “Err, by the way, you’re not my dictator.”

“Huh?”

“Yesterday on the phone, I called you a dictator. That’s not true.”

“Yeah, we both said pretty mean things in the past. Things we didn’t actually mean and are sorry for.” Hiccup would be proud of her. She’d stopped running from an important confrontation, she’d talked about her feelings, she’d let Eret speak without accusing him of stuff, and she’d only yelled a little. It felt good. She wanted to tell him. Where was her phone?

“Apology accepted and returned. Great, now that we settled that, you still haven’t told me about the other guy.” He cracked his knuckles, receiving an unimpressed look. “I want to know who will pay part of the divorce.”

She punched his biceps. “He’s not going to pay shit, you cocky bastard.”

Rubbing the now sore spot on his arm, he shrugged and earned himself an eyeroll. “Worth a try.”

Seemed like calling Hiccup had to wait a little. But after waiting for so long to tell him about her feelings for him, what were a few minutes more? It wasn’t like he was going anywhere.

“Okay… Um. Do you remember Dagur’s 30th birthday party?” she started.

Eret chuckled. “Eh, partially. It was a wild night.”

“But do you remember Hiccup?”

He searched his memory for a second. “Heather’s ex? The skinny guy with the jawline?”

“Yes. He was at the party.” Now came the part that was hard to tell the guy that she’d been engaged to back then. “I will not call it fate or destiny or anything at first sight. But… Do you remember when you claimed you could repair the oven by yourself and were almost electrocuted?”

Not sure where this was going, and with the remnants of a hurt ego in his posture, Eret nodded. “Yeah?”

“Well, meeting Hiccup was like that, but without the pain. I felt like I was the current. And the funniest thing is, the moment I saw him, the lightning storm started outside.”

“Oh yeah,” he mumbled. “I remember there being rain.”

Encouraged by his lack of judgement so far, she continued. “I didn’t understand my sudden attraction to him at first, I just knew that it was strong and it only grew stronger over time, even though I only met him a couple times after that. That one time when we were out doing wedding chores, remember?”

After a minute of contemplation, he nodded. “When you bought that book that he painted pictures for and were super excited about it.”

She rolled her eyes. “He didn’t paint pictures for it, he illustrated the cover. And it was absolutely gorgeous!”

“So, he did paint pictures for it.”

“Oh, shut up. You know what I mean.”

He shrugged, not understanding what the big deal was. But he waved at her to continue.

“I thought it was just a phase and I didn’t want to bother you with it and dampen your mood. You were so happy and looking forward to our wedding and I didn’t want to ruin that by telling you something that would have been over just a few weeks later, anyway. Only that it wasn’t a phase. And the longer I waited, the worse it got.” Her fingers found a lose thread on the tablecloth and she absentmindedly started playing with it. “I was in denial about it. That was the only way for me to keep my sanity the closer we came to our wedding day. In the end, I decided to go through with the wedding because I didn’t want to just throw away everything we built together.”

“Did…” He gulped. “Did anything ever happen between you back then?”

She shook her head. “No. He came to the party, though. We talked outside for a while and I invited him in, as a friend. But he said we shouldn’t see each other anymore. Looking back, that was probably for the best, no matter how much it hurt, because the moment I saw him again a week ago, it all came back in an instant. Not that it was ever truly gone.”

A spark of understanding flashed up in Eret’s eyes. “Is that why you acted so weird from time to time? Distant, I mean?”

“Yeah, that was part of the reason. I just… I felt like something was missing from my life. That’s why I went on my solo trips. To try and find myself, I guess. It helped in the moment, but not in the long run.”

He looked bashful. “And I thought you were going on vacations with your lover.”

Astrid discovered that being on the other side of such an accusation didn’t hurt any differently than making the accusation herself. “I would never do that! I may have kept important feelings from you, but I would never cheat!”

“Me neither.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

She crossed her arms. “Yes! I only accused you of it because I wanted a reason to escape a relationship that didn’t make me happy anymore. I know I should have just talked to you earlier. We already settled that.”

“Okay.” He nudged her with his foot. “Go on.”

“Like I said, I ran into him last week. I thought I could just be friends with him and push my feelings away, but no.” A little nervous, she left the tablecloth be and twirled strands of hair between her fingers. “I was with him when you called. He showed me his favorite spot in the woods. And… Well, he advised me to talk to you about everything. But I hadn’t even admitted my feelings to myself, so anything beyond that seemed impossible. I lashed out at him as well.” The memory of their fight was still fresh on her mind. It had only happened a day ago, but it felt like weeks had passed since then.

“So, he doesn’t know how you feel.”

“Well… He might have an idea. He certainly knows there’s something between us; he addressed it during our fight yesterday. And… I kind of kissed him today. I didn’t plan on doing it, I just… did it. It wasn’t even a real kiss, our lips barely touched, but– I think it was obvious enough.” At this point, she had pulled out a considerable amount of hair with her fingers, tangling it into a ball. “Then I decided I could no longer go on like that and came here.” Eret was quiet for a while. “What do you say?”

“I say we should have talked way sooner. Would have saved us both a lot of pain. Did you talk to anyone else about this?”

“My mom, but that was still before the wedding. She definitely suspects something now as well, though. And I thought about telling Ruffnut, but she’d have just found a way to include your looks into her arguments and based her opinion on that.”

He chuckled. “Good call. That woman needs to get laid more.” She kicked his shin. “Ow! What was that for?”

“She doesn’t need to get laid like some horny rabbit! She’s just very shallow regarding looks sometimes.”

“Okay, sorry,” he apologized, rubbing his shin. That should be a nice bruise tomorrow. Good. “Does he like you?”

Her heart skipped a beat. “I think so.” A sudden memory flashed through her mind. “I think he even told me once! I ran into him shortly after he and Heather broke up and he said he liked someone else. He said he couldn’t ask her out because she was engaged. Looking back, what are the chances he wasn’t talking about me?” The more she pondered it, the more obvious it seemed. Excited butterflies were dancing through her stomach. No, really, was she remembering this right?

The short sound of a speeding race car came from Eret’s phone, three times in a row, and the little notification light lit up. Eret fumbled for the device. From the look on his face, she could guess who texted him back.

“And?” she asked impatiently.

“He’s in for a beer. Tomorrow after work.”

“Yes!” She held her hand up for a high-five, but Eret was too busy texting Timothy back.

“Now you,” he said when he put his phone down. “I can’t be the only one going on a date right after breaking up with my spouse.”

“Right.” Her heart started pounding as she got up to retrieve her phone from her jacket and leaned against the kitchen counter. She was going to do this. Now.

She had three missed calls. One from her mom, which she ignored. Because the other two were from Hiccup. Understandably, after she basically bolted from his kitchen earlier. There was a voicemail attached. With jet planes flying through her stomach, she pressed her phone to her ear, heart kicking harder against her ribs when she heard his voice.

As she listened to his message, one plane after the other crashed from the sky in a fiery explosion.

Eret looked at her in concern. “Everything alright?”

Her pulse was deafening in her ears, blood rushing through her veins, trying to make her heart beat again. “Fuck.”

[mostlycompetentwriter]

I Am You: Chapter 12

Pairing: OC X Bang Chan X Jisung X Changbin (Stray Kids)

Genre: Romantic Fantasy

Warnings: None, I think.

Previous Chapters: (chapter 1), (chapter 2), (chapter 3), (chapter 4), (chapter 5), (chapter 6), (chapter 7), (chapter 8), (chapter 9), (chapter 10), (chapter 11)

Note: The epilogue will hopefully be released sometime next week! 

8 Months Ago

“I want you to be able to fight, princess,” Jisung appealed, ignoring the glare I tossed in his direction.

Changbin let out a snort. “She doesn’t care for it.”

“I did until he tossed me on my ass,” I grumbled, leaning in closer to Chan who was patiently resting behind me on the bed.

Jisung pouted. “I might have gotten carried away.”

“Really?” Changbin faintly growled in Jisung’s direction, walking over to my bedside. “You left a bruise.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Jisung insisted. 

“You came from a good place,” Chan suddenly interrupted, soothingly running a hand up and down my thigh. “I thought it was a good idea.”

“Then you’re both at fault,” Changbin declared, tugging on my jacket sleeve. “You should be sitting with me, angel.”

I giggled. “You just want attention.”

“I’m on your side,” Changbin continued, holding out an arm in an obvious attempt to coax me forward.

Chan chuckled and nudged me gently from behind. “Go on, he’s obviously jealous.”

Changbin snarled in Chan’s direction. I rolled my eyes as I crawled in his direction, forcing his attention away. “You have me now.”

Changbin greedily wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me flat against his chest. Meanwhile, Jisung sighed in a rather exaggerated fashion. “You’ll never let me live this down.”

“You’re right,” Changbin mused, running his nose through my hair. 

“It’s alright, Jisung,” I teased him, “I’m sure you didn’t mean to shove me down.”

“Princess,” Jisung whined, tentatively sitting next to me on the edge of the bed. “I just wanted to help.”

“I know,” I grinned, leaning over to brush my thumb across his bottom lip. “But you’ll always be around to protect me.”

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Present

It was nearly impossible to remain motionless next to Jeno while I could clearly see my packmates as they emerged from the woods. They were an imposing sight, especially with the additions of NCT filling their lines as necessary allies. And standing at the front to lead the assault, daunting as they stood together as wolves, were my three alpha mates. 

Vicious and determined.

Chan was the first to break formation, taking a few steps closer to Jeno, eyes clear and focused. “You have wronged my pack for the last time.”

Jeno was quiet for a moment, hold on my wrist unrelenting. “Your pack stands no chance against ours.”

“But they aren’t alone,” Taeyong added, stepping out to accommodate Chan. “You’ve done enough harm to NCT, are you so willing to break up another pack? Was leaving us not enough?”

“We left because your leadership was lacking,” Jeno replied.

“You left because you refused to conduct yourselves honorably,” Taeyong retorted.

“You have no place to talk about honor,” Jeno snarled. “You ally yourself with our enemies, hand out our packmates to use as soldiers in other wars. That is not honorable.”

“But then you somehow think that it’s right to try and steal another pack’s territory?” Taeyong questioned, briefly exchanging glances with Chan.

“I have every right,” Jeno snapped, abruptly yanking me forward. “I took what they couldn’t defend.”

I shivered as Changbin let out an intimidating growl, barely restrained as his wolf kept his gaze firmly transfixed on me

“Jeno, that’s enough,” Taeyong growled. “You had no place to attempt an illegitimate invasion and you have no right to another alpha’s mate.”

“We’re not under your control anymore,” Jeno spat. “We’ll do as necessary to survive on our own.” 

“Then survive on your own,” Taeyong agreed. “Apply for new territory according to tradition.” Taeyong considered me next and I was deeply impressed by the alpha’s obvious wisdom. “Return Myah to her pack.”

“That will never happen,” Jeno declared.

“Are you prepared to shed blood over this?”

“You won’t see us back down,” Jeno growled, exchanging a knowing glance with Jaemin before the smaller alpha let out a menacing howl.

Jeno grabbed my arm and pulled me away as the rest of his rogues charged in the direction of my packmates. 

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I struggled to match Jeno’s pace, vision blurry from the force of the wind blowing back against me. The alpha seemed determined, but I had no idea where he was planning to take me. In any case, I knew he was a terrible head alpha for abandoning his pack on the battlefield. If his point was to prove his pack was better off away from NCT, then he continued to make poor decisions to affirm his position.

“This is your fault,” he snarled, suddenly turning around to confront me. We were far away from the battle, even if I could still hear the familiar sounds of war behind us. 

“I kept my promise,” I replied simply.

“We should’ve invaded,” Jeno continued. “I would have your pack’s territory.”

“Then the fault is with your leadership,” I growled in return.

In the next second, I was fumbling to the ground courtesy of a well-timed slap from Jeno. I blinked up at the alpha rapidly, feeling the cold sting against my reddened skin. “You have no place to speak against an alpha.”

“Touch her again and you’ll never speak again.”

My wolf howled with joy, sensing Chan so closeby. I glanced over my shoulder, body shuddering with relief when I spotted my mate. “You think you can defeat me?”

“I’m certain I can try.”

“Pathetic!”

Jeno’s wolf paced back and forth, keeping me mostly obscured from Chan’s view. “You had no right to come here,” Chan growled, viciously pawing at the cold snow.

“We have every right,” Jeno countered. “My pack can challenge for territory. There’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

“We can spill the blood of your ranks,” Chan said. 

“You can certainly try!”

“And you’ve also taken something precious from me.”

I shivered at Chan’s tone while Jeno huffed in annoyance. “The omega is mine now and I will be the one to make a new claim.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Chan warned the other alpha. “I’ll rip out your throat before I let you touch my mate.”

“I’ve already touched her,” Jeno taunted, a deadly mistake. I shuffled back through the snow as Chan abruptly charged at Jeno. The wolves were vicious, snarls echoing throughout the clearing as teeth tore through flesh. My eyes were wide, attentive, taking in the scene in front of me with a mixture of trepidation and anxiety.

Chan was far bigger than Jeno, but the smaller alpha was faster, managing well-placed bites and scratches along my mate’s flank. I winced every time Chan was hit, feeling the pain for myself as Chan allowed ear-splitting howls and barks each time Jeno was successful in an attack. And I longed to do something to help, but I knew my wolf was no match, even as an ally, in this dangerous skirmish. Instead, I kept myself away from the proximity of their fight, rooting for Chan whenever he managed to turn the tables, although it seemed Jeno always had a counter in mind despite Chan’s best efforts.

It made me think of our battle training when Chan had been fighting Hyunjin as a demonstration for the younger wolves. It was a similar scene because Hyunjin was significantly smaller than Chan. My mate was trying to help the wolves who would find themselves in Hyunjin’s position, greatly outmatched against an opponent. Chan was incredibly battle-smart and instructed Hyunjin through a series of complicated maneuvers that ultimately resulted in Chan laying flat on his back with Hyunjin on top. Of course, back then Chan had been proud of Hyunjin, telling him that he was a great fighter. Size did not always matter.

I swallowed hard when I recognized a similar attack from Jeno, seeking access to Chan’s vulnerable throat where one bite could end my mate’s life. Suddenly, this wasn’t just another day of battle training where nobody’s life was at risk. Chan could easily die at any moment and that sobering thought brought me back to reality, tears slipping free as I whined loudly from the bushes.

Jeno’s eyes shot in my direction and I froze.

Was he going to attack me instead?

But I wasn’t expecting to provide a distraction and Jeno was unprepared for Chan’s counter, swiping the smaller alpha’s legs from under him. Jeno collapsed against the snow-covered ground with a grunt. And Chan was there to take advantage of his unexpected position, rolling Jeno onto his back.

I blinked my eyes rapidly before the situation had completely processed. Was it actually over? After Chan had Jeno pinned to the ground, teeth deadly against the pale expanse of Jeno’s exposed throat. Is this all it took?

“You’re lucky to have my mercy,” Chan snarled. “We’ll let Taeyong deal with you.”

I watched as Jeno visibly deflated, flank panting hard as he reluctantly submitted to the alpha who had clearly wrenched an obvious advantage. In the meantime, I had started taking small steps in the direction of my seething mate, seeking his comfort. I let out a low whine to attract his attention and his eyes had already softened by the time they caught mine.

“Come here,” Chan instructed, shifting back to the same blonde-headed man I had fallen in love with all those years ago.

“Channie,” my voice cracked as I fell into his arms, easily shifting back and eagerly scenting him as my body melted against his.

“Myah,” Chan exhaled, fingers digging harshly into my waist. 

He scented me feverishly in return, nose wet from the unbearable cold. “This will never happen to you again,” Chan promised. “Nobody will take you from me.”

I shivered, but this time it was because my mate was sorely mistaken. I had been the one to agree to leave with Jeno. And I could only hope my mate was far too relieved to have me once again to offer the sharp reprimand that I probably deserved.

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

“Princess,” Jisung’s voice was reassuring, and I desperately inhaled his familiar scent. 

I could feel Changbin anxiously pacing nearby, trying his best to patiently wait his turn with me. The idea brought out a smile and it felt nice given all that had happened. “Relax,” I could hear Chan trying to soothe the younger.

Meanwhile, all around us, the battle had finally progressed to an end. Medical teams were spreading across the field as they tended to the wounded and the ones who had been spared injury were lending a helping hand. As for Jeno’s pack, most of the wolves had reluctantly submitted to Taeyong’s command. The cynical alpha himself, still reeling from his humiliating defeat, was surrounded by three powerful NCT wolves who were waiting for Taeyong’s final order. Whispers had circulated that Taeyong would banish Jeno from the surrounding territory, taking away his pack, his source of strength, and forcing him to live out the remainder of his life in exile.

A cruel fate for any wolf.

“Is it my turn yet?” Changbin grumbled from behind me.

I rolled my eyes playfully as I pulled away from Jisung to allow Changbin his turn to reaffirm our mating bond. As expected, Changbin was greedy, sniffing almost drunkenly at my scent gland. His strong arms held me close, providing a nice shelter from the insistent winds.

“Well?” Jisung eventually asked, looking at Chan. “Have they decided?”

“Taeyong will exile him,” Chan nodded. “It’s what he deserves.”

I shivered at the cold tone.

“He deserves worse,” Changbin growled and I could feel the vibrations from his chest.

“He’s not our responsibility to punish,” Chan said. “I should talk to Taeyong and then we can go home.”

I whined a little at the prospect of returning to camp because it had never crossed my mind while I was gone that I would be able to ever see my pack again. But perhaps I should’ve known better because my mates had never given up on me before. They were too strong, especially when they worked together and I was almost convinced they could do anything they wanted with that combined power. No wolf could stand in their way.

“Angel,” Changbin whispered in my ear. “Are you okay?”

I nodded against him. “I’m okay.”

I could feel Jisung’s presence as he lingered nearby. “We’re sorry this happened to you, princess.”

“He should be lucky we didn’t have a say in his punishment,” Changbin snarled, hold tightening to accommodate the sudden tension in his body.

“Don’t hurt her,” Jisung softly reprimanded the alpha. Changbin’s arms fell from around me as he took hold of my chin. 

“He didn’t hurt you, right angel?”

I shook my head, deciding not to rile up Changbin anymore with complaints against Jeno’s harsh touches or the way he nearly got what he wanted last night in his tent. “He didn’t.”

“When Chan comes back,” Changbin continued, “we’ll go home, alright? You’re safe now, angel.”

Jisung’s fingers soothingly massaged into the back of my neck. “Everything can go back to normal.”

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

I never imagined the sight of my camp could be so thrilling. I had every cabin memorized, the layout of the land perfectly mapped in my memory. Yet, as soon as my pack’s familiar scent filled my nose, my inner wolf nearly howled in delight. 

Our pack members who had accompanied us to the battle immediately took off in various directions to their cabins. For once, Chan had relieved them of all responsibilities, ordering everyone to rest for the remainder of the day. As for myself, my three mates had redirected us to Chan’s cabin, filing in one by one as they closely followed me to the couch. I sat down with a sigh, feeling the tension drain from my body. Chan joined me next, and I let out a squeak as he lifted me by my waist to readjust my position in his lap. I leaned in to scent him again, never tiring of the way it always soothed my omega. 

I curled closer to Chan, feeling utterly exhausted. Changbin and Jisung flanked Chan on either side of the couch, leaning in slightly to allow their scents to intermingle together. It provided a calming effect on my body, and I found myself relaxing considerably. It was rare for my mates to share a room like this in such an intimate capacity. Their wolves were usually far too competitive to allow our scents to so freely combine. However, I think the events of this evening left everyone, including our wolves, desiring nothing more than closeness. 

I purred when Changbin’s hand curled around my thigh. “How did they take you, angel?”

I trembled at his question. “I left on my own willpower,” I admitted. “Jeno promised he would leave the pack alone if I came with him.”

Silence answered my confession. 

It was an expected reaction, and I had already come to terms with the lecture I would probably receive from my mates for acting so recklessly. However, I also had my own defense prepared for their sharp words. After all, I had left with Jeno because I was trying to save the pack. It wasn’t like I had fallen victim to some sort of cunning scheme or freely decided that I wanted a taste of life beyond the borders of our territory. 

I would have nightmares about the ordeal for years.

“You tried to do the right thing,” Chan finally reasoned delicately, touching his forehead against mine. “Everything worked out in the end.”

The dismissal was surprising, but I wasn’t one to question my mates when they had seemingly allowed me a free pass. Instead, I leaned in closer to Chan to release a soothing pheromone as my own way of extending gratitude. The last thing I wanted to do was fight with my mates over my decision. And given that they were feeling gracious, I decided to allow the events of that evening to fade away into the background as they would with lots of time and healing.

Normalcy was within easy grasp.

“Do you still want pups?”

Jisung’s question made me smile as I turned around in Chan’s lap to face my youngest mate. “Is that what you’re really curious about?”

Jisung blushed but nodded his head. “We mentioned something to Chan.”

I reclined back against Chan’s shoulder. “And what does Chan think?”

“Chan,” my mischievous mate intoned, “would like nothing more than to see our family complete.”

My heart warmed at his words.

“On your next heat,” Changbin grinned, obviously excited by the prospect. 

“That’s soon,” I remarked. “Will it be okay?”

“Now that you’re back, everything is okay,” Chan decided, kissing the top of my head. “The pack will resume as it always has and you’ll still have to deal with three overprotective alpha mates.”

I giggled at his observation because there was a tangible air of excitement surrounding the four of us. A promising future, bright and certain, and we were ready to fully embrace the next chapter in our lives. And as I felt my eyelids grow heavy, listening to the gentle breathing of my alpha mates, I knew we would be ready to face anything as long as we were together.

[waterfall-mirage]

So I wanted to write some theif Chat Noir and Marichat and came up with this

Sorry if the spacing is off this is being Sent from iPhone™️

A criminal.

Explained simply by the dictionary: a person who has committed a crime. A lawbreaker, delinquent, villain, culprit. These are all words you’d associate with someone who lived a life of crime.

So clearly- speaking in an obvious term- one should not get themselves into any trouble of the outlaw type. Yet somehow the bad luck seemed to find Marinette everywhere she went. She didn’t know when the infatuation had started, but she could remember seeing him on the news a few weeks ago when she had gotten home from her internship with Agreste fashion. She had to stay late as Natalie had requested her to revise some upcoming fall designs. As tired as Marinette was there could possibly be no way she could turn down an opportunity to add her own touch to such a massive collection.

Stepping through the door she lazily threw on some sweatpants, let her hair down from a tight headache inducing bun, and flicked on the small box t.v that sat on her kitchen counter. There was a low humming noise from the device as it tuned to find a channel. Marinette rolled her eyes, she needed to save up for an appliance that wasn't almost older than her. She turned away grabbing the pink kettle off of her stove filling it with some water. Another classic dinner for a starving artist, instant ramen. Pulling her bowl and chopsticks from their designated spot she listened into the news channel. Chat Noir had struck again, this time a watch store. The helicopter cam followed him as he seamlessly bounced between the roofs of homes. Marinette stepped forward from her position of leaning on the stove trying to get a better look at the tiny screen. Dressed clad in black as usual the unknown street cat did what he does best vanishing in between two buildings, a considerably dark alley even for seven o’clock in late summer. The helicopter hovered for a moment before the screen changed back to Nadja Chamack. Marinette let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Turning back to the stove to finish her meal. Chat Noir was a force to be messed with, he had already stolen three paintings from the Louvre successfully, rumours saying his fourth was nearing soon. The police have no clue on where to look or how to find him. Nicknamed by the public Chat Noir was “the vanishing kitten”. The name undermined his work, so he claimed he was going to step it up a notch.

Although Marinette never agreed to be a part of it.

The sweetest of dreams were brought to her that night. A wonderful extravaganza of her showing off her very own fashion line at Agreste fashion. The theme was 1960’s era mixed into modern fashion. Blissful, teals, reds, ivories, yellow, pinks dancing along with patterns, skirts, and thigh high boots washed over her. An Airy white translucent button up blouse with bell sleeves paired with a deep red pencil skirt. She could feel her dreamself twitching to start the sketching process. However, instead of witnessing her dream unfold she was unfortunately startled out of it in her dark room. Marinette rubbed her eyes as the sirens of Paris’ police department whizzed by flashing red and blue lights briefly through her windows. Groggily she reached over smacking her night table until her hand came in contact with her phone. Squinting at the brightness the phone displayed the time of two in the morning. She groaned pulling the pillow over her head to try to drown the noise out. Until she heard a thud from her balcony. Blue eyes opening behind the soft pillow Marinette’s heart dropped at the sound.The wind must’ve knocked one of her plants over, that's all. She sat up peering over to her french doors there was nothing to be seen in the pitch blackness of the night. Marinette let out a sigh of relief, what was she thinking? She placed her pillow back in its original position laying back down.

“C’mon, Marinette” she whispers to herself. “Get a grip”. She closed her eyes once again.

Chk. Chk. Chk.

Then she hears it, a slight rattle. A familiar rattle, the same rattle she’d dealt with when she first moved in trying to unlock the door. She now knew there was a slight left turn jiggle she had to do to get it to unlock. But clearly this intruder isn't one of the friends Marinette told this trick to. She panics jumping out of bed, she has no place to hide in a studio apartment. In the dark she blindly reaches for any sort of weapon. Her small hand grasps the baseball bat her dad had given her as a defense weapon when she moved out. Of course at the time she laughed at it but still hugged her papa anyway, joking that she’d take up baseball soon. Her blood goes cold, what an awful thing to come true, she thinks.

The rattling stops Marinette lets out a mini sigh, maybe it was a Chat Noir copycat that just wasn’t cut out for the robbing life. She lowered the rod down her shoulders sinking a little. “Whew” she manages to let out.

Then the door swings open. Marinette holds back a scream lifting up her weapon “Whoever is trying to get in here I don’t have much but I will defend my life for it!” She pathetically calls out in no particular direction. Marinette can’t see much of anything until she spots them. Two glowing green eyes in the darkness of the room. She lets out a tiny shriek waving her bat around, she feels a “thwoop” in her hands. In fear of the unknown Marinette swings her arm frantically towards the wall her fingers just barely smacking the light switch. The baseball bat which she thought she had acquired was actually an umbrella, that was now spread. Still holding her guard Marinette lifts the “weapon” pointedly towards the black figure in her partially lit apartment.

A chuckle leaves the cats lips as he walks towards her. “Aw, Princess opening up so soon? We just met” he smiles coyly at her. The hairs on the back of Marinette’s neck rise. Up close Chat Noir is handsome, which Marinette decides is very unfair as she’s currently being robbed by him. However, she’s also certain he couldn’t be much older than her as well. Which gave her a bit more confidence to tell him off. As he approached she jabbed the umbrella at him which humoured the cat as he lifted his hands up in the air as if he had been caught in the act. A devilish smile displayed in amusement. Chat Noir began to move in closer and she got a better look at the thief. His golden hair disheveled in front of his face casting a slight shadow over his viridescent eyes which seemed to glow. There was a black mask covering his upper face from cheek bones to brow. Black cat ears were perky twitching as he moved as if picking up on things. He had a small black pouch tied around his waist which seemed to be full. Marinette speculated it was used to stash smaller items such as jewelry or watches as he had stolen earlier that day. His boots were somehow quiet as he maneuvered towards her. She tried to keep distance with the umbrella at arms length but quite true to his cat nature he slipped through the barrier. Red and blue lights flashed outside her apartment once again. Marinette left with only a few options left resorted to the cry for help. As she parted her lips the cat seemingly doubled his speed to prevent what he knew was about to happen his leather clad hand covered her mouth in seconds.

“Shh they’re coming.” He coo’s pointing upwards and winking as the sound of a helicopter chopped past them. Marinette noticed a puff of air that had left his chest. A sigh of relief most likely. “Chat Noir, charmed to meet you” He turned to her, sneaky green eyes burning a permanent image in her mind. He gently removes the umbrella from her grasp lifting her hand to place a kiss on her knuckles. Marinette makes a face in disgust retreating her arm back to her side.

“You are?” Chat continued on pretending Marinette had not just clearly shown she wanted nothing to do with him. A smile so sweet perked up his features even the baker’s daughter felt her stomach protest. Marinette confused, and quite frankly still scared gathered the courage to fiercely bark back at the mangy cat. “None of your business, now leave!” She crosses her arms over her chest. He sighs in a feigned love sick kind of way placing the back of his hand against his forehead gloved fingers curled. “Such a shame I don’t get to match such a pretty name to an even prettier face” his body language shifts and a devilish glint in his eye shows he’s toying with her, playing with his prey before he feasts. “However, I think Princess suits you well.” Chat practically purrs. Marinette can’t help the shiver that runs down her spine. Her cheeks heat up and she curses her body for being weak to even a compliment from a criminal.

“Relax, okay?” He spins the now closed umbrella between them. “I’m not here to rob you, i'm here for refuge” Chat states matter of factly before turning away from her and walking around her apartment like he owns the place. Spotting the kitchen a little “oh!” leaves the self proclaimed non-burglars mouth as he struts over to the fridge. Marinette who was previously frozen to her spot comes back to reality. Well who does this mangy cat think he is? She stomps after him shutting the fridge. Chat Noir mewls pulling his thumb out of the closed fridge door suckling on the injured digit. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you don’t just go around taking refuge in random peoples homes!” Marinette whisper yelled pointing at him. Chat rolls his glowing eyes still sucking on his thumb. “Now look at me im involved in your stupid crime” she pokes his chest which she refuses to admit is very hard at the moment. He gives her a deadpan as if to say “yeah, yeah, i’m listening”. This enrages the bluenette further.

“And give me my umbrella back!” She swipes the black umbrella from his greedy paws. Marinette marches over to the still open french door the cool August night breeze flowing into her apartment. “Out!” She calls pointing with the umbrella. Chat grins a cheshire smile appearing ear to ear. Marinette isn’t completely sure how to feel about his demeanor. A snicker leaves him and his shoulders bounce as if to show his amusement.

“Oh, i’ll go” Chat smirks walking towards her from the shadows of the kitchen.

“But I like you princess” he firmly states. Chat Noir saunters towards her in true cat fashion in long strides of his legs. Marinette's heart rate picks up as he nears. What is going on with her? He’s close, too close Marinette decides. When she takes a step back it’s into the door she realizes she can’t get enough distance between them. His nose mere centimeters from her face she blinks, once, twice, his glowing eyes still boring into hers.

“So I'll be seeing you again” he whispers. Marinette’s breath hitches, hands pressed to the glass door behind her. He salutes her with a wink “Goodnight, Princess, see you soon!” With that he leaps off of her balcony and into the night. Wide blue eyes stare at the bright white moon. Her hands clutch her chest wrinkling her newly made pyjama shirt. “Oh Marinette what have you gotten yourself into now” she whispered into the night. Marinette slid down the door continuing to keep eye contact with the moon. Safe to say she didn't sleep well that night.

[volturi-or-die]

Crazed: Chapter 2- Losses

Previous Chapter: Chapter 1- Trials

Next Chapter: Chapter 3- WIP

Point of View: Minalia

Word Count: 1858

Warnings: Explicit language

Crack.

The branch underneath me gave way, sending me backwards into the ground below. I attempted to maneuver myself into a crouching position, but it seemed fate wasn’t on my side. I hit the ground on my side, hard. 

“SHIT.”

Alec looked at me, completely unphased by what just happened. This was only the 20th time I tried to practice this move, and failed. I readjusted myself to lay on my back and placed a hand on the rib that was slightly fractured. I waited for a few minutes until it was back to normal then got up. 

“Again.” 

“Alec it’s not working.”

“Again.” He was disinterested in my attempts to reason with him. In the days we had been here, we had gone through multiple theories to trigger a transformation but none were effective. We tried everything from meditation to Alec’s ridiculous time of day theory a few days ago, nothing was working. Two weeks and no results.  

I spotted another tree I could practice on. Maybe the 21st time would be the charm? Alec’s latest idea involved tapping into animal instincts, or as I liked to put it, becoming one with the cat. Needless to say, Alec didn’t find that quip funny either. 

Our relationship was different now. The softness and kindness from that night wasn’t there anymore. I thought, maybe, just maybe, we would actually become friends, but I was wrong. The Alec I knew that saved me left, replaced by the one I believed to detest my very being. He resented me. He was here, far away from his own life, his own family, to help save mine. 

I was so lost in my thoughts that my foot slipped as I climbed up, and once again I was flat on the ground. 

“Minalia are you even trying?” 

Oh that was it. Of course I was trying. This was my life that I was fighting for. He didn’t have anything to lose in any of this, just maybe his pride. In all honesty he could afford to lose some of it. I wasn’t going to stand here and be disrespected like this. Yes, I was failing, but not through any fault of my own. 

“Yeah I’m trying you total jackass.” At that he turned to look at me, a tinge of shock present. Finally. I got his attention. “You heard me. I don’t need to put up with this, or with you and your stupid condescending attitude.” 

By this point I was up and looking up at him. 

“Fine, then I do not need to put any more effort into training you,” he snarled. 

“Oh right because me falling out of a tree over and over again is definitely training.”

“It would be if you could actually land.” 

He really was an insufferable jackass sometimes. I didn’t have to put up with this, nor was I going to. I turned around from him and began to walk away. 

“Where are you going?” he called out after me. 

“Away from you!” I picked up the pace to a full sprint and began making my way through trees. I caught the scent of the sea breeze and made my way towards the beach. With an island so small, I wanted as much space from Alec as possible. I slowed to take my shoes off before going into the water. 

I stood there letting my body soak up the sun. I just wanted to scream, let all the anger go, but that would only summon Alec to me. So instead I did the next best thing; I cried. 

The waves sprayed water all over me as the tears felt. Why could I not get a grip on my transformation? How was this even possible? Jacob could transform on the whim and turn back so easily, yet here I was failing at the first before I could even fail at the second. It was so easy that night, so easy to give myself over. 

I remember the feeling of my paws in the dirt, the musky smell of the vampires around, sounds of heartbeats. It wasn’t me. It was an animal. I died and in my place there was a creature. I woke up to my body being that creature’s body. The voice didn’t wake me up, it woke up a beast. 

That was the last time I heard it too, that voice of warning. Maybe that was for the better. Stupid thing only caused me trouble anyways. It caused me more troubles than those damned nightmares I was having too. If only Renesmee were here. She could help me with them in a heartbeat. 

I wondered how Ness was doing. What was Emmett up to? I missed them. I missed going rafting with Ness. I missed watching movies with Jasper. I missed cooking with Esme. I missed painting with Rosalie. I missed them all. That was my family. I needed to live for them. I needed to keep trying for them. I couldn’t fail them. 

I had to keep trying. 

My outfit was soaked now, the salt water making my skin itchy. I willed myself to get out of the water and go back to the house. It was a relatively large property for being the only one on the island. Alec explained to me when we arrived that it was only truly there for appearances, to keep people away from why a shell corporation had a private island. It did draw attention, but it was better to allow people to conclude it was a billionaire’s private getaway rather than anything else that could pique their curiosity.

Although the island’s initial purpose was for training, but not for me. It was for unruly newborns, on the very rare occasion the Volturi actually took any in. In even rarer cases, it was for hiding the kings and the wives away from danger should the compound in Volterra ever be threatened. According to Alec, the last time that happened was during the war with the Romanians. 

The same ones that I met that night. Stefan was his name. I tried getting more information from Alec, but he swore he did not know why I was captured. He told me that Stefan was concerned about my death and that Renesmee was just a pawn to get me. Neither of those things I understood, and it was perhaps the one instance in which I wish Alec would’ve lied to me. 

Speaking of the devil, I finally reached the main door to the house. Oh how I did not want to face the argument we would surely have. However, when I opened the door I was hit with the smell burnt...chicken? I hurried into the kitchen to see smoke coming from the oven. Alec was huddled over it fanning it with a dishcloth, his brows furrowed. 

“Alec, what on earth are you even doing?” I took the cloth from him and grabbed a mitt to pull the pan out of the oven. I opened the door to the porch and placed it there and left the door open to air the kitchen out. 

“I attempted to cook,” he replied, trying to keep the shame from his voice. 

“I can see that. I’m asking why.” 

It was clear he did not want to answer me. I gestured for him to answer me. “It was an apology. The past two weeks have not been easy on either one of us. I have not been mindful of your struggles with this, so I wanted to apologize. I have not been in this position to truly train and lead someone before, and I am sorry.” 

There had to be only one explanation for this. “Did Demetri yell at you again?” Alec glared in response. I held my hands up, “Just asking. Last time that’s what happened.” 

“I am perfectly capable of knowing when I should apologize.” Uhuh. So he says. But I wasn’t going to question him on that now.

“So what exactly were you trying to make?”

“It was something my mother used to cook.” His mother? I had never heard Alec speak of anyone besides Jane. In fact I did not know much of what actually occurred in Alec’s own past. I simply knew the stories how formidable his abilities were and roughly how old he was, but everything else was unknown to me. 

“You remember something that detailed from your human life?”

He paused before answering, “Truthfully, no. I remember my mother and the meals Jane and I would share with her. It was something to this effect, but I do not know what it fully was.”

I wanted to tease him. I doubt Alec knew the basic thing about cooking human food. The oven being set to 500 degrees Farenheit was proof enough. I pressed the button to turn it off and faced him. This wasn’t a time to really critique him, so I hugged him. “Thank you. Does this mean you’ll listen to me now?”

He placed his arms around me to hug me back. “I will take your ideas into consideration, and if you truly believe something is not working then we shall stop.” 

“That’s all I can ask for,” I replied as I loosened myself from his grasp and looked around, “Now, help me clean up the mess you made.” 

We cleaned the kitchen silently. I put away the various spices he tried to use; somehow I doubted Alec’s mother used ginger during her time. In less than 10 minutes we were done. 

“Are you ready to go back out and try again?” Alec asked. 

I shook my head no. “Let’s try a different type of training?”

Alec looked at me curiously, “What plan do you have?”

There was a possibility he could say no to this, but it was worth a shot. “Let’s not focus on what I can’t do but just pretend I can. If I am to be an effective member of the guard, we will have to trust each other right?” 

“Yes.” He seemed puzzled by where I was going with this.

“So, let’s stay in and get to know each other a little bit. I’m not asking you to divulge your deepest darkest secrets, but Alec, we can’t work together if we don’t know how we work. Two weeks secluded together doesn’t really work if we don’t really talk except when bickering.” 

“That may be the most sensible thing you have ever said.” Glad to see Alec had not lost his ability to be as blunt as possible. “Very well, we shall stay inside and talk.” 

“Fantastic!” I exclaimed as I grabbed his hand and led him to the living room. We spent hours talking. It was basic things, our simple interests. I learned that he liked to read most of the time, although he had a special interest in poetry. I told him of the games I liked to play with Emmett. Simple things. Small things. I learned more about him in the hours we spent talking in the entire time we had been here. 

Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be so bad.

--

Tagged: @alecvolturi @volturisecretary @lamiafantasia @phil-dwyer-stan-account @janes-eyebrows 

If anyone wishes to be tagged, please let me know. 

[goodlucktai]

a life in your shape

the moomins pairing: moomin/snufkin word count: 2290 read on ao3

x

“Oh, my,” Moominmamma says, pressing a hand to her mouth. It doesn’t quite manage to hide her smile. “Someone looks comfortable.”

“Shh, don’t wake him!” Moomin whispers. He can feel his face warming at everyone’s attention but he scowls around at them anyway. Hunching his shoulders and hovering protectively, Moomin insists, “He’ll be embarrassed.”

“He should be,” My says immediately. But there’s no heat to it, and she nudges Sniff with her boot none too gently when it looks like he’s about to say something else. “Let’s start a new game. I’ll be the dealer.”

Moominmamma sets a folded blanket within reach of the sofa before she moves back toward the kitchen. Snorkmaiden is grinning, bright and full of mischief, but she reaches over to take Moomin’s playing cards without making fun.

The moment Moomin’s hands are freed, they gravitate automatically to the mumrik on his lap.

Snufkin makes a noise in his sleep that is entirely contented and rolls over so that his face is smushed against Moomin’s stomach. Oblivious to the muffled giggles from the other side of the table, thank goodness, and dreaming deeply.

He gets this way sometimes, when it’s warm and sunny and the air is sweet. Moomin can’t count how many times he’s nearly stumbled over Snufkin having a nap in the middle of the garden or the flowering meadow. Typically, Moomin is quick to crawl in and join him. It isn’t strange at all!

But he’s never done it here before. On the sofa in the drawing room, with all their friends around, right before lunch. Snufkin nodded off with his cards still in his hand, slumping over onto Moomin’s shoulder.

“Oh, Snuf, you’ll ache all over if you sleep like that,” Moomin had said right away, thinking little of it. To be fair, there was a patch of sunlight pouring right over them from the window, which made their seat the perfect spot for an afternoon nap. “Lay down properly, I don’t mind.”

Half-gone already, Snufkin promptly did as he was told. He took off his hat, scooted far enough away that he could lay down with his head on Moomin’s leg, and was out like a light. That was nearly twenty minutes ago, and Moomin has lost every single game he’s played since. To say he’s distracted is, perhaps, an understatement.

It’s just-- Snufkin is very soft when he’s asleep. He’s solid but not heavy, and warm like a hot water bottle. Every other breath he takes catches on a faint purr, so quiet Moomin is probably the only one in the room close enough to hear. Snufkin’s arms are curled up by his chest, the sleeves of his weathered smock riding up, and his dappled wrists are like velvet where the dark fur of his paws meets his much paler forearms.

Moomin smooths his fingers over one of Snufkin’s wrists with unending care, marveling at the texture. He’s very different from a fluffy moomin or a snork. Even his half-sisters don’t have paws or a tail or eyes that shine like lamps in the dark. He’s a creature all his own, as far as Moomin knows. Even if there were others just like him out there somewhere in the big world he so loves to travel, Moomin can’t imagine they’d hold a candle to his Snufkin. No one ever could.

“He’s really tired,” Sniff says through a mouthful of one of the cinnamon rolls leftover from breakfast. When did he filch those from the kitchen? Moomin didn’t even see him get up. “Winter must have been hard on him last year, huh?”

Moomin’s mouth is already open to scold Sniff for hogging all the leftover sweets, but that draws him up short. He blinks, and says, “I dunno. He didn’t tell me anything about it being hard.”

“He wouldn’t, would he?” My says impatiently, glowering at what must be a losing hand of cards. “You’d worry, and he would feel bad, and then he’d have to make it up to you somehow. He saves himself a lot of hassle by only telling you about the good stuff.”

Stricken, Moomin blurts, “I make him feel bad?”

“That’s not what she meant, Moomintroll,” Snorkmaiden jumps in. She looks like she’d like to pat his arm, but doesn’t want to reach over the sleeping Snufkin to do it. She settles for an affectionate smile. “She just means he’s considerate of your feelings. He would be really sorry if he hurt you, so he’s careful not to, that’s all.”

Little My says, “That’s not what I meant, you’re putting words in my mouth,” and Sniff loses interest in the conversation in favor of another roll, but Moomin thinks about it. He can’t stop thinking about it. He turns it over and over in his head, even as he goes on carefully petting one of Snufkin’s wrists.

Truly, the only things he knows about the world and Snufkin’s journeys are the things Snufkin tells him. Snufkin has sometimes told him about little things that have gone wrong, the days he only had mushrooms and berries to eat because the fish wouldn’t bite, the nights his tent leaked or let mosquitoes in. But surely he must get tired sometimes. Surely it storms, surely he gets lost, maybe he even gets hurt.

Moomin can feel his stomach turning at the idea, and realizes My has a point. If Snufkin ever told him something terrible had happened to him when he was away and all alone, Moomin would probably be sick with worry every time he left from then on, and it would turn every autumn sour.

But-- he isn’t a little child anymore. He knows better. After all these years, he knows that the three quarters of the year Snufkin stays in the valley is more of a compromise than Moomin had any right to ask for or expect. It’s blatantly going against his nature, to stay so long and return every year, but here he is for yet another summer. Here he is, deeply asleep while his friends talk and play around him, closer to them than he’s ever let himself get before, a companionship he had to learn.

Moomin thinks of how little he’s given in return and bites down on an unhappy noise before it slips out.

“Lunch is ready, everyone,” Moominmamma says from the kitchen, her voice a bit softer than usual. “We’re eating out in the yard today.”

Papa must have set up the table and chairs already, or Mama probably would have asked Moomin to help. As his friends lay aside their cards and get up to file outside, Moomin says, “Mama, can I eat later?”

“Of course, dear. I’ll put a plate aside for Snufkin, too.”

When the door closes behind her, Moomin and Snufkin are alone in the house. It’s quiet, the mealtime chatter muffled through the walls and removed from this peaceful, sun-filled room. Everything is touched with gold, dust motes winking in an out of the light.

Moomin has never been so happy to sit still. He’s a little hungry, and his leg is starting to itch, but he doesn’t want to move an inch.

“I don’t ever want you to feel bad, Snuf,” Moomin tells his sleeping friend, petting the dandelion puff of Snufkin’s hair into order with his fingers. It takes some work, since Snufkin very rarely wants anything to do with brushes, and Moomin bends all his attention to the task. “You’re always looking after me, but I’d like to look after you, too. Every now and then, at least. You hardly need it, but when you do, I’d like it to be me.”

He doesn’t want there to be a line between them that Snufkin thinks he can’t cross. He doesn’t want there to be things Snufkin can’t tell him.

Moomin will never be happy to see Snufkin leave, and he’ll always miss Snufkin when he’s gone-- but a few weeks out of the year is small change, really. And it’s always such a delight to see him in the spring that it makes the time spent missing him worthwhile. It makes Moomin’s heart race, to hear that harmonica drifting over the hills for the first time in the new year, to run headlong down the hill and crash into Snufkin’s waiting arms, to love until he aches from it.

He doesn’t think he would ever want to give up those moments of meeting again. Yearning desperately for someone isn’t a pleasant feeling, not all the time, but the giddy expectation of seeing them again is sweeter than apricot jam. Moomin is suddenly much closer to understanding part of the reason why Snufkin is so adamant about leaving in the fall.

Most of it has to do with the manner of creature he is, the wanderlust in his heart and the hungry curiosity that drives him from place to place, but perhaps some of it has to do with how nice it is to miss someone you love and be missed by them when you’re away.

“Oh,” Moomin says, very still. “Oh, I see.”

“Hmm,” Snufkin murmurs, barely rousing. “What do you see?”

Moomin shakes his head, pushing the untidy fringe out of Snufkin’s slitted eyes. The touch lingers, because it has no reason not to, his friend a familiar shape beneath his hands. “Just thinking about how clueless I’ve been, that’s all. We can talk more about it when you’re awake.”

Snufkin blinks a few times, giving the words a moment to permeate. Once he’s made sense of them, he agrees, “When I’m awake.” A pause. “You don’t look very comfortable.”

“I’d rather lie down with you than sit up anymore,” Moomin admits.

So they shuffle and maneuver themselves into a different position, a well-practiced ritual from all the stormy nights Snufkin was bullied into sharing Moomin’s bedroom over the years, and Moomin remembers the blanket Mama left for them on the table by the sofa.

The sofa’s not really meant for both a moomin and a mumrik to nap there together, but they manage. Snufkin can sleep in impossible places, and he fits really anywhere he puts his mind to. He’s mostly laying across Moomin to consolidate space, and the weight of him, and the weight of the blanket, and the weight of the sunlight touching down on them from all the windows, makes staying awake for very much longer a Herculean task.

Still, Moomin doesn’t want to sleep yet. He touches Snufkin’s hair, distracted by it, and Snufkin says, “I should cut it.”

“If you want,” Moomin says agreeably. When Snufkin cuts it, he cuts it all the way gone, and his head is left covered in an uneven fuzz not unlike the dappled fur on his wrists. Moomin likes that as much as he likes having this ridiculous mane to mess with. There’s not much about Snufkin that Moomin doesn’t like, really. “Or we could try braiding it. Mymble probably knows how.”

Snufkin makes a noise of interest at that. He’ll hold off cutting it, now. Moomin smiles at knowing him so well, and bumps his nose to the top of Snufkin’s head.

“You’re silly,” he says fondly. “Go back to sleep.”

He would chafe at this, if it were a few years ago. He would want every second of Snufkin’s attention he could have, and he would want to fill those seconds with adventures and games and memories for Snufkin to take with him into the wider world when he left, as if begging don’t forget me.

Moomin is a little embarrassed to have been that child. He was kind and thoughtful without a doubt, because he was raised that way by kind and thoughtful parents, but sometimes he was very greedy, and never more so than with Snufkin.  

Snufkin, who would never forget him. Who has seen the whole world and then some and chooses their little valley to return to, year after year. Who wrote Moomin a song of his very own, the happiest song Moomin’s ever heard, and plays it in both greeting and farewell.

One doesn’t have to be present to be here, Moomin thinks. To say Snufkin is truly gone is to say he’s not there in Moomin’s heart, and that is a lie and a falsehood and every horrible thing in between. And it’s okay to miss him, because loving him while he’s away isn’t quite the same as loving him while he’s here to hold, but it’s nothing to be sad about.

In fact, he’s rather lucky.

“Don’t forget, though,” he says, blinking through a wetness in his eyes he can’t explain. “I want to talk to you about something when we wake up.”

“Something important?” comes the mumble, muffled against Moomin’s shoulder.

“Oh, very. I have an apology for you. And an epiphany to share!”

“The apology I don’t need. But any epiphany of yours will be an inspiration.” Snufkin’s tail swings once, lazy, where it’s hanging over the side of the sofa. He stretches like melting rubber, all languid limbs and self-satisfaction. “We’ll write it into a song.”

Absurdly touched, Moomin says, “You don’t even know what it’s about yet.”

“A poem, then. A secret one, for you and me. Can you tell me what the theme will be, or am I meant to wait for the rest of this very important conversation?”

“You’re silly,” Moomin says another time, because it bears repeating. He noses Snufkin’s hair again. “I suppose I can tell you now, since it’s nothing you wouldn’t have guessed. The theme will be love.”

“Ah.” Snufkin sounds pleased, but not surprised. Moomin can feel the shape of a mumrik smile pressed to his fur. “The very best one.”

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

Molly please grace us with a philly super bowl gothic. I need your input on the state of our city rn because I'm trying to explain it to people and I can't adequately convey the palpable emotion and tension in the air

You need to get into city hall for business, but all the streets are backed up for over a mile. Everyone appears to be just laying in the streets for as far as the eye can see. You shove your way through the masses, determined to get to city hall, but to your horror, you realize that is the epicenter of this madness. People are bowing down in worship to the William Penn statue atop the building. You see Jim Kenney lean out of his office window and smile- he believes this praise is for him. 

You’ve had to go to three separate eye doctors, certain something is wrong, something is deteriorating. Why can you only see in the color green? The doctors all assure you nothing is wrong, but you haven’t seen a normal color in over two weeks. All these buildings should not be green, it doesn’t make sense.

You are new in town, and your neighbor comes over to chat with a friendly, welcoming smile.“How ‘bout our Iggles, huh?”. You ask her what she’s talking about, but she merely laughs. “Our crazy Iggles! Youse know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout! Our undadawgs! They’re gonna be champions! Big ole’ Billy’s gonna make it happen furus, I can tell. Love them Iggles! Yo, jeet yet taday?” You are left blinking in oncoming horror, trying to piece these incoherent soundbites together. “Yiz want any cawfee?” You are visibly shaking at this point. What is this woman trying to communicate to you. She sees your tremors and laughs again. “Maybe not cawfee, huh? Well, hey, let’s just head over to the MAC machine by the ac-a-me and then I’ll treat youse to some good ole’ wooder-ice? Yo, maybe we can even grab some hoagies!” She has your arm and is dragging you along with her, her smile still plastered on, somehow friendly and threatening all at once. “C’mon! If we hurry, we might be able to catch the Iggles party down by the furry! GOW BURDS!” You cannot escape her grip and you feel sobs beginning to wrack your body. What is she saying.

Your dog got loose in the park and you are trying to locate him. But every where you turn, a person is wearing a german shepherd mask. They are standing there, motionless, seemingly lifeless. Unnerved, you carefully maneuver yourself through the crowd, looking for harmless little Chris. You can’t spot him in the horrifying sea of masked men. You need to get out of here. ‘Chris!’ you yell, hoping to attract his attention. Instead, to your terror, every single masked face turns in your direction. It is still terrifyingly quiet. ‘CHRIS!’ you call again, the desperation clear in your voice. The crowd all moves closer to you, the eye holes seemingly empty. Suddenly your little dog bursts through the crowd and happily leaps into your arms. You sigh in relief. ‘Let’s get out of here’ you mumble under your breath, but little Chris puts his paw up on your shoulder, looks you in the eye, and to your immense fear says, clear as day, ‘We can’t leave. We belong here.’ Trying to pull yourself together, you ask the puppy what he means. ‘We Are The Underdogs’. The masked crowd around you begins to chant ‘Underdogs’ over and over as they move in. Your screams cannot be heard over them. Six hours later, you awake in your home, and when you look in the mirror, you discover you are wearing the german shepherd mask. It will not come off no matter how hard you pull at it. You weep, for now you too are an underdog.

People keep screaming ‘Dilly Dilly’. No one really knows why. It’s just kinda happening. 

You are in the library alone, late at night, trying to cram for an exam, when you are suddenly approached by the ghost of Benjamin Franklin. He leans against the desk, splashing bud light all over your textbooks, and one glance at him confirms he’s been recently snorting cocaine. ‘Hey,’ he says, ‘If you suck my dick I’ll pull some strings on the other side so the Eagles will kick Boston’s ass’. You groan. “Ben, please, I’m not in the mood”. He raises an eyebrow, ‘Fine, fine, but if they loose, it’s gonna be on you. Don’t you love your family?’. You know he’s right. Papa’s heart couldn’t possibly take another crushing blow. You take a deep breathe to steady yourself before following him into the backroom. 

Alien visitations have increased in tenfold since the city learned the Eagles were going to the super bowl. But hardly anyone has noticed, because everyone is painted green themselves. The aliens have been loving all the cheesesteaks.

‘Say Mama’ you beg your child. He should have started talking months ago. ‘Mama’. He puts his chubby little hands on your cheeks and presses his precious face to yours. ‘Are you gonna say Mama?’ you try again. The child blinks, before clearing his throat and saying “In Nick Foles We Trust”. You cry yourself to sleep that night as your husband high fives all his friends.

Every person knows a person who was personally punched by acclaimed actor Bradley Cooper after voicing distaste for the Eagles.

New Jersey, continuing their act of Just Wanting To Be Philly, lights up everything green as well and makes a big show of prosecuting Boston fans. No one finds it cute. They try harder and harder each time they don’t get a reaction. CBS News tries to give them a shoutout to just get the madness to end, but Ukee is interrupted by the ghost of Betsy Ross yelling ‘she doesn’t even go here!’. Adam Joseph writes a think-piece on the whole situation. 

Theater-loving fans everywhere scream out as Leslie Odom Jr. appears to be wearing Patriots colors while singing America the Beautiful despite the fact he’s from Philly. Betrayal is in the air. 

You have an accident and cut your arm, when you realize to your horror that instead of blood, something green is oozing out of the wound. You scream, scream so much you start up a hacking cough, and are further terrified to find a green haze coming out of your mouth. Someone runs to your aid, and wordlessly, panicked, you show them your injury. They laugh and shrug, sounding relieved. “Oh, that’s nothing, your fine! You know we all bleed green around here!”

“What the fuck is Minnesota?” is a question you grow used to hearing. You aren’t even quite sure you know the answer yourself. It’s irrelevant, anyway, because we all know there’s not really a world outside of Philly. 

Every report you see on the super bowl mentions ‘The Philadelphia Eagles’. Every article online, every late night show host, it’s all about the Philadelphia Eagles. You feel your breaths quicken pace, your heart pound, your palms sweat as you press them to your forehead, trying to contain your oncoming panic. Philadelphia Eagles? Philadelphia Eagles? What the fuck is the Philadelphia Eagles? You know only of the Philly Iggles. You were told your favorite team of the Philly Iggles were going to the super bowl. You choke back a sob. Had you bought all this merchandise for nothing, then? Why would someone lie to you like this? 

Fireworks have been shot off in every part of the city for the past week, so much so that you can no longer hear properly anymore. You are irrationally ashamed of this, and try your best to keep it a secret. Every time someone tries to talk to you, you just respond ‘Go birds!’. It works flawlessly.

Your father has been barricading the house for three days now, a panicked, mad look in his eyes. You ask him what’s wrong. “This city is going to burn, baby! We have to stay safe!”. You remind him that no one knows who’s going to win the super bowl yet. He looks to you with a broken stare, tears running down his face. “It doesn’t matter, honey, it doesn’t matter- WE ARE ALL GOING TO BURN.”

You smile at the girl wearing an Eagles jersey on the bus, and ask her where in the city she’s from. “Oh, Willow Grove, but-”. Your stare grows cold and uncaring. That’s not Philly. That’s the suburbs. “It’s like, 20 minutes outside it though, it counts. I‘m in the city all the tim-”. You cut her off. She doesn’t belong here. That jersey is not meant for her to wear. “But we’re all really excited for the Eagles in the suburbs, too! It’s all we-”. She falls silent at your glare. The rest of the bus has tuned into the conversation and turn to her with matching looks. She does not deserve that jersey. 

Pope Francis glances at his small tv blasting the CBS3 News cast, and sighs wistfully into his bite of cheesesteak. “They used to talk about me nonstop,”. His aids acknowledge his mood. His Holiness sighs again, “If only they knew….that I put in that good word for them. That I made this happen.“ He sighed once more. This truly was a thankless job.

Philly Jesus can be found in a green robe, dancing with passerby near the LOVE statue and taking pictures. The cops can’t even bring themselves to arrest him this time, everyone is relishing in the good mood. The news breaks that the Eagles are in the lead. In celebration, Philly Jesus claps his hands and everyone’s drinks turn to wine. Holy shit, he’s actual Jesus. Unfortunately now the cops have to arrest him for distributing alcohol to minors and for carrying it open in public. This is somehow on brand for the city.

You light an alter in your dark room. On it sits a photo of the entire Eagles team, a box of Quaker Oats with William Penn smiling benevolently at you, a nude of Bradley Cooper, and a picture of Ben Franklin with double blunts in his mouth and gold chains around his neck. You make your promises, and then place your offerings of tastykakes and soft pretzels. Almost as if on cue, green fire works explode outside your window and you here the people in the next room scream ‘TOUCHDOWN!’. You smile. You knew your boys would never let you down. 

Your mother is a bad luck charm. You know this, and she knows this, and she is somehow stronger than you in this moment. You are still fighting back tears as she hands you the blade. “It needs to be done. Make it quick, love.” You don’t dare open your eyes as you dispose of the bad luck. You will miss your mother, but the city needs this win more than you needed her. 

A terrifying green fog has rolled in over the city, completely engulfing it, it would be near impossible to see through if not for all the fires popping up. No one even bothers to question it. We all know what it means. We all know how this night is going to end. 

A lone, majestic, bald eagle will soar over the torn remains of the city one day. It will let out a broken caw, horrified at the sight, blaming itself for all this madness. A single tear will fall from it’s beautiful eyes, and land onto the fallen statue of William Penn. Upon impact, a light will flash through the ruins, and Wawa’s will spring back into the world, the magical tear of the eagle will return people to their sane minds, fixing what it can of the war torn city. Philadelphia will rise from the ashes because of this Eagle Tear. The cycle will begin again.