#by this time he is already on the accepting step oh grief; hes had to grieve his morals for the latter part of the story

[aslyran]

Wanting the boy

[kiwriteswords]

Something To Be Thankful For

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: With Thanksgiving in the US next week, I could not help myself! Started writing this one last week and debated on posting, but here we are. Enjoy! Grateful for this community! (Also needed to post this before I move onto writing some Christmas content, lol!)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags/Warnings: Thanksgiving, fluff, domestic moments, holiday traditions, family dynamics, slow burn, new relationship, found family, mentions of grief, mentions of wine/alcohol, and food TW.

Sypnosis: When you accept an unexpected Thanksgiving invitation from Aaron Hotchner and his son Jack, a simple holiday dinner becomes something more. Through shared laughter, heartfelt moments, and the warmth of a home-cooked meal, you discover the beauty of connection and the quiet joy of being exactly where you belong.

You were shuffling papers into your go-bag when you heard a knock on the edge of your desk. Glancing up, you were greeted by Hotch’s warm smile, softer than the one he wore in the field but still undeniably him. It was a smile you’d only recently gotten used to—the kind of smile that reminded you things between the two of you were no longer strictly professional.

The bullpen was quieter than usual. Most of the team had already left for the extended Thanksgiving break. Morgan had been the first to bolt, teasing everyone about having a “real” meal with family, while Garcia had dragged Reid out the door, insisting he couldn’t spend the holiday with nothing but his books for company. Rossi had a feast he was looking forward to slaving over, and you could still hear Emily groan at having to see her mother. JJ, however, was looking forward to the domestic Thanksgiving she was hosting. Now, it was just you and Hotch left, lingering in the familiar silence of the BAU.

“You’re not headed out yet?” Aaron’s voice broke the silence, low and thoughtful, drawing your attention away from your bag. He stood near your desk, hands in his pockets, his tie slightly loosened from the day.

“Just tying up some loose ends,” you replied, zipping your bag shut and brushing a stray hair from your face. “You?”

He hesitated, his gaze shifting from your bag to you and then back again. His expression was softer than usual, but his shoulders still carried that ever-present weight. “Actually, I wanted to ask what your plans are for Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, nothing special.” You shrugged, keeping your tone light and breezy. “My family’s out of state, so I’ll probably just stay in. Maybe I’ll cook something small and watch some cheesy holiday movies. You know, the usual.”

Aaron frowned slightly, the crease between his brows deepening, and you immediately regretted how casually you’d phrased it. His concern was unmistakable, and it made your stomach flip.

“You’re spending it alone?” he asked, his voice a touch lower, softer.

“Well, yeah,” you said lightly, trying to shrug it off. “I didn’t think traveling back for just a few days made sense. Plus, it’s not like I’ve never done it before.”

He didn’t respond right away, and his silence made you look up at him. There was something unreadable in his expression, a quiet thoughtfulness that always made you feel like he saw more than you ever intended to show. His lips pressed together briefly, and then his shoulders relaxed just a fraction. When he finally spoke, there was a quiet determination in his tone.

“Then join me and Jack.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Join us,” he repeated, stepping closer, his voice gentler this time. “It’ll just be the two of us. Jessica is with Haley’s family, and Sean… well, who knows where he is. There’s plenty of room at the table.”

“Oh, Aaron, I don’t want to intrude—”

“You wouldn’t be,” he interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. He stepped closer still, and now his eyes held yours with an intensity that left no room for doubt. “Jack would love to have you there. And so would I.”

Your throat tightened at his sincerity, and for a moment, you could only stare at him. This was Aaron Hotchner—stoic, composed, sometimes impossibly guarded. But now, he was standing in front of you, asking you to spend Thanksgiving with him and his son. It was more than an invitation—it felt like a gesture, an opening to something you hadn’t dared to hope for.

The two of you hadn’t discussed Thanksgiving before this. Your relationship was still new, so new that you’d intentionally avoided bringing up the holiday, not wanting to impose or create any kind of awkward expectation. But here he was, offering exactly what you hadn’t dared to ask for.

“You’re sure?” you asked, your voice quieter now, hesitant.

“I’m very sure,” he said, his voice soft but resolute. “You shouldn’t spend the holiday alone. And honestly…” He paused, his lips twitching into the faintest smile. “It wouldn’t feel right without you.”

Aaron could see the uncertainty flickering in your expression, but he also saw the moment it gave way to something warmer, something that made his chest tighten. He hadn’t planned to ask—not until he saw you standing there, zipping up your bag with a casual mention of spending the day alone. The thought of you sitting by yourself, piecing together a small meal, felt wrong in a way he couldn’t ignore.

You nodded, the weight of his sincerity breaking through your hesitation. “Okay. I’ll come.”

The relief that washed over his face was subtle but unmistakable, and his small smile made your chest feel impossibly light. “Good. I’ll pick you up tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you said, unable to stop the smile spreading across your lips. “Sounds perfect.”

As the two of you walked to the elevator, silence filled the space, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You felt his presence next to you, steady and sure, and your mind raced with the implications of spending Thanksgiving with him and Jack. It was new territory, uncharted and a little daunting, but the thought of sitting at his table—laughing, sharing stories, carving turkey—filled you with a warmth that hadn’t been there before.

Aaron glanced at you as you both stepped into the elevator, catching the faint trace of a smile on your lips. For him, the idea of having you there wasn’t just about avoiding loneliness; it was about inviting you into something that mattered to him. Jack needed to see that warmth, that joy again. And, quietly, so did he.

The morning of Thanksgiving arrived, and your kitchen looked like a crime scene—a deliciously fragrant, pumpkin-filled crime scene. Flour dusted the counter, a rolling pin was haphazardly balanced against a bowl, and the golden-brown crust of your homemade pumpkin pie was cooling on a rack, mocking you with its imperfect edges.

“This has to be perfect,” you muttered, frowning as you adjusted the spices in the filling for the third time. Despite your best efforts, doubt lingered like a stubborn stain. You didn’t want to bring just any dessert to Aaron and Jack’s Thanksgiving table; it had to be flawless.

But the pie wasn’t your only problem.

Your bedroom was a disaster zone. A few blouses were draped over the chair, rejected dresses lay in a heap on the bed, and a pair of black heels you’d pulled from the back of your closet sat mockingly on the floor. Every outfit you tried on felt wrong—too formal, too casual, or just not you.

After tossing yet another top onto the growing pile, you grabbed your phone and hit Aaron’s contact. The second you heard his warm, familiar voice on the other end, you started rambling.

“Hey, okay, so, uh, what’s the dress code for today? Like, should I wear a dress? Or maybe a nice top and jeans? Or should I do something fancier? I don’t want to overdo it, but I also don’t want to look like I didn’t try—oh God, what if I look like I’m trying too hard? Are we doing photos? Do I need to plan for that? Aaron—”

“Hey,” he interrupted, a soft laugh threading through his voice. “Take a breath.”

You paused, clutching the phone tightly as you exhaled. “Sorry. I’m just… overthinking.”

“I can tell,” he said, still chuckling. “But you don’t have to. Trust me.”

“How can I not overthink? It’s our first holiday together, and I don’t want to mess it up,” you admitted in a rush.

“You won’t,” he assured you, his tone gentle. “Honestly, you’re adorable when you get frazzled like this.”

Your cheeks heated at his words, and before you could protest, he added, “Jack’s still in his pajamas. And as for me… well, I’m not exactly pulling out a suit for dinner at home. Something comfortable is perfectly fine.”

“Wait—Jack’s still in his pajamas?” you asked, blinking in disbelief, looking at the clock on your nightstand.

“Yes,” Aaron said, clearly amused. “And he’ll probably stay in them until I convince him to change for dinner. So, whatever you’re comfortable in will be perfect. You don’t need to try for us.”

His words sank in, melting some of the tension in your chest. “Okay,” you said quietly, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. “Thank you. I think I needed to hear that.”

“Of course,” he said softly. “Now, how’s the pie coming along?”

You glanced toward the kitchen, where the scent of nutmeg and cinnamon lingered in the air. “It’s… well, it’s not going to win any awards for presentation, but I think it’ll taste good.”

“That’s all that matters,” Aaron said. “We’re looking forward to it—and to seeing you.”

Your stomach fluttered at the warmth in his voice. “Me too,” you murmured, suddenly feeling a lot calmer.

“Good. I’ll be there soon to pick you up. Take your time finishing up.”

“Okay. Thanks, Aaron.”

After you hung up, you felt the lingering anxiety dissolve. You ditched the fancy outfit idea and settled on your favorite pair of jeans and a cozy sweater. Then, you went back to the pie, focusing on getting the filling just right while you waited for him to arrive.

When the familiar black SUV pulled into your driveway, you took a deep breath, balancing the still-warm pumpkin pie in one hand and a bag filled with carefully packed containers in the other. You barely had time to lock the door behind you before Jack jumped out of the car and bounded up to meet you, a wide grin on his face.

“Hi!” he chirped, his excitement palpable. He glanced at the pie in your hands. “Is that dessert?”

“It sure is,” you said, crouching slightly to meet his gaze. “And there’s more where that came from. I hope you’re hungry.”

“Oh, I’m always hungry,” Jack said with a dramatic sigh, making you laugh.

Aaron approached a moment later, his brows lifting in surprise as he took in the scene. You were balancing a picture-perfect pumpkin pie in one hand and a bag in the other, your face flushed with a mix of excitement and nerves.

“Pumpkin pie and—what’s in the bag?” he asked, his tone light with curiosity.

You straightened, holding the bag up with a sheepish smile. “Homemade stuffing. And a couple of bottles of wine.”

Aaron blinked, his lips curving into an amused smile. He had expected you to bring the pumpkin pie you raved about, knowing how thoughtful you were, but this was above and beyond. “You didn’t have to go all out.”

“It’s Thanksgiving,” you replied, shrugging. “It felt weird to show up empty-handed.”

“And the wine?” he asked, his tone teasing as his gaze flicked to the bottles tucked in the side pocket of the bag.

“One red, one white,” you said, grinning. “You like red, I like white, and I’m not driving, so… why not?”

Aaron chuckled softly, shaking his head. You’d thought of everything. “Fair enough. Why not?”

Jack reached for the bag, eager to help, but Aaron gently intercepted it. “Let me carry that,” he said, taking the bag and pie from you. “You take it easy. We’ve got this.”

As he walked back to the car, his thoughts lingered on you. He’d always admired your attention to detail, but this? This was another level. It wasn’t just the food or the wine—it was the thoughtfulness behind it. You’d taken the time to think about what would make the day special, not just for him but for Jack, too. It tugged at something deep in him, quiet gratitude that he wasn’t facing this day alone anymore.

The drive back to Aaron and Jack’s apartment was quiet and peaceful, the kind of stillness that only came with holidays. The roads were nearly empty; the world seemingly paused for the day.

Jack filled the silence, animatedly telling you about how his dad had let him help with the turkey that morning.

“Well, I didn’t really touch the turkey,” Jack admitted, grinning. “But I got to pick the seasoning!”

From the driver’s seat, Aaron couldn’t help but smile. Jack was practically beaming, his excitement contagious. Aaron found himself glancing at you in the rearview mirror, the way your eyes lit up as you listened to Jack’s story.

“You’ve got a good sous chef there, Aaron,” you teased, glancing at him. He gave you one of those small, subtle smiles that you were quickly learning to adore.

The warmth of your voice settled something in him. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been dreading this day, how empty it had felt knowing Jessica was away and Sean was off doing who-knew-what. But now, with you in the car and Jack’s laughter filling the space, it felt… full. It felt right.

“Well,” Aaron said, his lips twitching into a faint smile, “he might be better at seasoning than I am.”

Jack let out a laugh, and you joined in, the sound weaving through the quiet hum of the car. Aaron’s chest tightened for a moment—not in discomfort, but in recognition. This was something he hadn’t allowed himself to hope for in a long time: the beginnings of a new kind of family, one that made the holidays feel like home again.

When you arrived at the apartment, Aaron carried your things while you shrugged off your coat. He set the bag down carefully and returned to you, his hands outstretched to take your coat. His gaze lingered a little longer, studying your face before trailing down to your outfit. A soft smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice low and warm. The sincerity behind it made your heart skip.

You glanced down at your outfit—a simple pair of jeans and a soft sweater—and flushed. “This? It’s nothing fancy.”

“I know,” he replied, his smile growing slightly. “That’s why I like it. You could be wearing sweats, and you’d still look great.”

Your chest fluttered at his words, and you smiled shyly. “Thanks, Aaron.”

He hung your coat with an easy familiarity, glancing back at you as if he wanted to say more but chose to keep it to himself. For a moment, the quiet in the room felt heavy with something unspoken, but then Jack broke the silence, bounding toward you with the same enthusiasm he’d shown when he first greeted you.

“Come on! We’re setting the table,” Jack said, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the dining area.

“Lead the way,” you said with a laugh, letting him guide you.

Aaron stood by the doorway to the kitchen for a moment, watching the two of you go. Jack was chatting animatedly about napkin folding techniques he’d learned from his Aunt Jess, and you were smiling, nodding along with genuine interest. Aaron turned back to the kitchen, his chest tightening—not from stress, but from something softer, more hopeful.

The next half hour passed in a warm flurry of activity. While Aaron focused on the turkey, you and Jack worked together to set the table. Jack insisted on folding the napkins into what he called “turkey shapes,” even though they looked more like triangles, and you encouraged his efforts as if he were crafting masterpieces.

“You’re a natural,” you told him as he carefully adjusted a plate.

He grinned up at you, his pride clear. “Do you really think so?”

“Absolutely,” you said with a playful wink, and Jack’s grin widened even more.

From the kitchen, Aaron glanced over at the two of you. His hands stilled on the turkey baster as he watched Jack eagerly showing you his handiwork, your laughter mixing with Jack’s excited chatter. The sight made something settle in him, a warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time spreading through his chest.

He shifted his focus back to the turkey, his mind wandering to how easily you’d fit into their dynamic. It wasn’t forced, wasn’t awkward. Instead, it was natural, like you’d been part of their little family all along. He shook his head slightly, the faintest smile lingering on his lips as he resumed preparing dinner.

The apartment filled with the warm, savory aroma of roasting turkey, the clinking of plates as Jack adjusted the table settings, and the soft hum of conversation. Occasionally, you glanced toward the kitchen, where Aaron worked with quiet efficiency, a faint smile playing at the edges of his expression whenever he caught your eye.

Jack’s laughter echoed brightly, and Aaron chuckled softly in response, the sound grounding the space in warmth and comfort. It had been a long time since Thanksgiving had felt like more than just another day, but with you here, it felt different. It felt like something new, something he wanted to hold onto.

The table was set, the food was ready, and the apartment buzzed with a warmth that felt almost tangible. Jack had insisted on lighting the small candle centerpiece he’d picked out, proudly declaring it “fancy.” You couldn’t help but laugh as he adjusted the napkins for the third time, clearly taking his job very seriously.

Aaron carried the turkey to the table, the golden skin glistening perfectly, and Jack’s eyes widened in awe. “Whoa, Dad, it looks awesome!”

“Thanks, buddy,” Aaron said, his lips quirking into a small smile. His gaze flickered toward you for a moment, something softer lingering there before he gestured for everyone to take their seats.

As the three of you settled in, Jack’s excitement bubbled over. “Can we eat now? Please?”

Aaron shook his head, chuckling. “Not quite yet, Jack.” He leaned forward slightly, his gaze warm as he looked between you and his son. “Before we start, I think it’s only right that we share what we’re grateful for.”

Jack groaned, though his grin betrayed him. “Dad…”

“Come on,” Aaron said with a faint smirk. “It’s tradition.”

Jack sighed dramatically, but you could tell he didn’t mind as much as he pretended. Aaron turned to you, a slight tilt of his head. “Would you like to go first?”

You blinked, caught off guard, but quickly smiled. “Sure.” You looked at Jack, then at Aaron, and for a moment, your words caught in your throat. “I guess… I’m grateful for this,” you said softly. “For being here, for both of you. This is the kind of thing I’ve always dreamed of—a warm meal, good company, and moments that feel like home.”

Aaron’s expression softened, his gaze steady as he nodded. Jack beamed at you, clearly pleased by your answer.

“My turn!” Jack piped up. “I’m grateful for… um… pie!” He grinned mischievously before quickly adding, “And Dad. And you,” he said, looking at you shyly. “And for not having to eat Brussels sprouts this year.”

That earned a laugh from both you and Aaron, and Jack grinned, proud of himself. Aaron’s smile lingered as he turned his attention to Jack.

“Well, I’m grateful for you, Jack,” he said, his tone soft but steady. “And for this… for today. It’s been a while since Thanksgiving felt like Thanksgiving.”

His gaze shifted to you, and there was something unspoken in his eyes, a depth that made your breath catch. “I’m grateful for you,” he said simply. “For being here.”

The words were gentle but carried a weight that settled over the table like a warm blanket. Jack didn’t notice the brief pause that followed, busy trying to decide what part of the turkey to claim first, but you felt it—the quiet sincerity of what Aaron had said.

As the meal began, the conversation flowed easily, laughter punctuating the clinking of plates and utensils. The food was incredible, each dish perfectly cooked and seasoned. You found yourself marveling at Aaron’s skill in the kitchen.

“This is amazing,” you said between bites of turkey. “I can’t believe you pulled all of this together.”

“Dad’s a really good cook,” Jack said proudly. “He always lets me help.”

Aaron glanced at you, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks at the praise. “I’ve had a lot of practice,” he said quietly, his tone tinged with modesty.

The meal stretched on, each bite more delicious than the last, but it wasn’t just the food—it was the atmosphere. The apartment felt alive in a way it hadn’t in years. For Aaron, this was the first Thanksgiving he hadn’t spent alone with Jack since Haley passed. The ones before that—when he and Haley were divorced—had been different, fractured in a way he tried not to dwell on.

But tonight? Tonight was different. It wasn’t just the food or the laughter; it was the way you fit so effortlessly into this moment. It was the way Jack’s eyes lit up when you praised his napkin folding, the way your laugh softened the edges of his own grief, the way you leaned into this space like it was where you belonged.

Aaron leaned back slightly, watching you and Jack talk animatedly about the pie, his heart aching in a way that wasn’t painful but full. It had been years—years—since he’d felt this kind of warmth during a holiday. Not since Jack was a baby, not since he and Haley had been on the same page. This wasn’t just a good Thanksgiving. This was a piece of something he hadn’t even realized he’d been missing.

For you, this moment was everything you’d dreamed of when you thought about falling in love someday. Not the grand gestures or big declarations, but this—the little moments. The laughter shared over a meal, the warmth of a family gathering, the simple joy of being wanted somewhere.

As the evening wore on, Jack began to nod off at the table, and Aaron scooped him up, promising him a slice of pie tomorrow. You helped clear the dishes, and the quiet rhythm of the task ground you both in the moment. Aaron glanced at you as you set the last plate in the sink, his expression soft.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“For what?” you asked, turning to meet his gaze.

“For being here,” he said simply, the weight of his gratitude clear in his voice.

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest as you replied, “Thank you for having me.” And for the first time in a long time, you both felt like Thanksgiving was exactly what it was meant to be.

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

[nvuy]

would u ever write jy w/ a reader who was a part of the high cloud quintet? ig u would say sextet here (insert sex joke) but just curious!!!

i would, maybe. i have this idea of a very short fic bordering on less than 10 chapters if possible surrounding the idea, though.

like something to do with lan, how they pierced the sky, and you are a piece of it that holds the skies together for the xianzhou. something like that.

it would be unbridled angst because i can. this post is so fucking long sorry. i definitely don’t have problems…

i think what would hurt the most is that jingliu would’ve accepted you into the hcq had you been able to join them.

something something, you wanted to stay, but if you remained here, the sky wouldn’t be able to hold itself together anymore, and the stars would fall, and the xianzhou would perish. so, you return to the sky, and hold it together, because that’s what you are: a fragment of the stars.

you definitely knew them all.

yingxing crafted you a weapon on the basis that maybe if he finished it, you’d return. dan feng would be so so happy to see you again, with that pleasant little smile he always wore (and sometimes if he thinks it’s appropriate he’ll let you examine his tail).

you did not return. not in his lifetime, at least.

jingliu would’ve trained you in the art of the sword. not to the extent of jing yuan, but enough to put up a decent fight. so, if none of them were there to help you, at least you could help yourself.

baiheng would’ve been like the fun aunt, to be honest. always up for a good chat, telling you stories about her travels across the galaxy. throws in a little “don’t tell jingliu, but i think you’d be better at archery, than swordsmanship.”

and jing yuan, oh boy. you two would always sneak away and talk and lie together and be idiots. he’s young, only barely creeping towards one hundred, but so are you, and he brings you to places he loves to show them to you.

there’s one particular spot he loves more than the rest.

there’s a little path in an abandoned stretch of trees towards the edge of the luofu ship. the path is barely visible amidst the tall grass, but jing yuan shows you through every step of the way until you both come into a clearing. it’s a field of flowers. private, closed off, with enough sunlight to keep the area warm. and it’s beautiful.

if you die, jing yuan buries you there. he also buries what remained of baiheng, and carves yingxing, jingliu, and dan feng’s names into headstones as a memoir of the past.

if you do return, for whatever reason it may be, it has been centuries. centuries are long enough to forget, as everything yields to time. wherever you have been, it has been long enough to forget.

returning is odd. the xianzhou luofu has changed, as have the other ships. you’re not sure how long it has been, and you’re not sure why you’re trekking this particular path. it feels familiar, and you have the faintest notion that there is supposed to be someone at the end of wherever this path leads.

who it is, you’re not sure. perhaps, if they are there, they can provide you an answer. maybe they can even tell you who you are, and what purpose you serve, other than to keep the sky together.

jing yuan never changed this area. not only was it his favourite, but he, as well as his old friends, had clung to the idea that you would return eventually.

if he changed it, jing yuan feared you’d forget even more than you already had. so, he kept it the same.

at the end of the path, for your first return is not a person. there’s nobody here, but four headstones buried in the grass. you read the names, but there is nothing. you don’t remember these people, but still your heart twists, as if you should have known them.

so, with grief heavy in your heart, you return to the sky.

the next time you return is because you realise you’re forgetting again, though it is one hundred years later. you walk down the same path because it is familiar, expecting to see someone, or something.

you see both. a man, and four headstones. you don’t recognise him, but it must have been the person you’ve sought, for you only had the faintest idea that there should’ve been somebody here. so, it must be him.

you explain to the stranger you feel as though you should recognise him, but you don’t. you also tell him his eyes are like the sunlight in the sky.

to that, he responds that you’ve told him that before. and you have. many, many times and many, many years ago.

jing yuan knows you can’t stay here, but it has been such a long time since he’s seen your face. so, he lets you examine the headstones as you did centuries ago.

he wasn’t there that day. the sky had darkened on the days you first returned, and though jing yuan had an inkling of an idea it had something to do with you, he had been bested by his own mind at the thought that you were gone, and had thus disappeared to grieve by himself.

truly, today, he came to grieve once the sky darkened again. seeing you here was not what he expected.

you ask him questions that visit. about the people beneath the soil—he responds that there aren’t any bodies buried here. baiheng’s body withered, dan feng never truly died, and neither did jingliu or yingxing.

“they all float aimlessly,” he tells you. “baiheng is gone. dan feng has a new identity, and what existed before is lost. jingliu and yingxing’s minds are scattered to the clouds. i cannot say what they will do if you cross paths, or whether they will remember you.”

you ask if you can meet them someday, as perhaps maybe one of them can jog your memory. jing yuan promises it is a possibility, but it is nearing impossible. fate will draw your paths together, he deduces. one day.

so, after a while, he tells you to return to the skies. it hurts, because he wants you to stay. he wants to tell you everything you did together. why you would trek this path, and only this path, and who the headstones were once. but he can’t, and so you return once more.

it is an endless cycle of you returning once you’ve realised you’ve forgotten the man who waits for you at the end of that path. an all too familiar path that seems new, but somewhere, you know you’ve walked along it before. sometimes it is only fifty years, sometimes it is two hundred, but jing yuan ensured that he is always there to greet you.

he tells yanqing of you one day. that’s only because he knows he won’t be around forever. he will be mara-stricken, or perhaps he will be killed in battle, but whatever it is, he tells yanqing, as his retainer and potential successor, to take over this position, and to pass it onto his successor, and then generations will pass.

but, for the moment, each time you return, jing yuan remains. and jing yuan promises you, though he knows you will forget, that when he does inevitably perish, he will find a way to join you in the skies.

dan heng asked him once after learning of you if it is difficult to love someone who you cannot be with.

jing yuan replied it’s easy. and it is easy, because every time the sky shifts from night to day, and the sun rises, and the clouds pass, he knows you’re up there, and you’re safe.

tldr: batty old general jing yuan talks to the clouds sometimes.

[haveihitanerve]

Who Wants To Live Forever

Sam didn't know why he waited. No, that wasn't true. He knew. He knew quite well why he waited. He didn't want to. No, that wasn't quite true either. He would wait for her. He’d wait for her forever. He hoped she never came. Not because he didn't want to see her, but because he wanted to truly see her again when they reunited. He didn't want to her to come see him alive. He didn't want her to ever have to set foot here again. But she came. Of course she came. Because she was Celaena Sardothien. And she loved him. 

He knew the second she breached the gate. He knew and knew and knew. He had suspected for a while now. Had had it confirmed by Wesley. But now… She walked confidently, but Sam could see the underlying nerves, the grief that weighed her every step. He wanted to take it all away… but he knew he couldn't. The green… it was telling, if the eyes and hair weren't enough. Sam had suspected even when he was alive, but it was her secret to tell, even now. She walked for him, straight footed and sure, bending to pick up tiny rocks every so often, and Sam couldn't hold back his sob at the life in every step. It poured from her, life, love, she wasn't just surviving anymore. She was alive. 

When she reached him, Sam couldn't stop himself. He reached for her. She didn't feel it, of course, but that hardly mattered to him, not as he finally, after so long, got to look at her beautiful blue eyes. As he got to twirl some of that intoxicating, beautiful blond hair between his fingers. He sent a breeze to ruffle her hair, smiling at that oh so familiar face. But it had changed. Was older. More hardened. Sam hated that. Hated that he hadn't been there for her. She stood before his grave stone for a few silent seconds, just looking at it. “I know its not up to your level,” He offered with a grin, winking at her. “But I think Wesley did a good job. I like it.” He tried, as much as he was able in this strange realmed form, to push all his love toward her. To let her feel, one last time, that he loved her. That he knew her. That he accepted her. 

She opened her hand and picked out three of the prettiest pebbles, placing them carefully at the apex of the stone. Sam felt his heart throb in pain at the gesture. Two for the years he had been taken from her. One for the year they'd been together. Then she sat, pressing her forehead against the rock, her body curling against it. Sam knew it was selfish, and crude, but he folded himself into the rock, leaning back against her as much as he was able since he couldn't actually touch her. 

They sat there, together, for a while. Sam just cherished her being so near again. He didn't know quite when she started talking, but suddenly a story was unraveling before him, her story.

“Once upon a time,” he whispered. “in a land long since burned to ash, there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom . . . very much.”

He had… he hadn't known, then, when she had said it… Sam pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I miss you.” She said. “I know love, I know. I miss you too.” He smiled sadly. “Every day, I miss you.” Sam shook his head, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Its alright my love. You’re going to be alright.” One day, he didn't add. But one day, if he had to force the gods themselves, she would be okay.

“And I wonder what you would have made of all this. Made of me.” “I love you.” Sam answered simply. “You are… so brave, my little dove, you are so brave. But you need to be brave for just a while longer. Just a little longer.” tears choked his words, but she couldn't hear them anyway.

“I think- I think you would have been a wonderful King.” Sobs choked him, but he didn't move away. “I think they would have liked you more than me, actually.” A broken laugh tumbled out of her and Sam reached for her cheek, brushing at the tears there. “You are such a wonderful Queen, my love. Such a wonderful Queen. And your people? They’re going to love you. They already do.”

Celaena inhaled shakily, or maybe it was Aelin, but Sam didn't care, not as long as she was here, not so long as she was still herself.

“I never told you- how I felt.” Sam no longer fought his tears. “But I loved you, and I think a part of me might always love you.” “I'd be honored.” Sam breathed, stroking her hair as her eyes closed in an attempt to remain composed.

“Maybe you were my mate, and I never knew it.” At that, Sam finally laughed. “Oh baby, you know that's not true. He’s your mate. You know it too. You just don't want to admit it yet. And that's okay.” He smiled. “He’ll wait for you. And you’ll wait for him. I know you will. And the two of you are going to rattle the stars.”

“Maybe I’ll see you in the Afterworld and then I’ll know for sure. But until then… until then I’ll miss you, and I’ll wish you were here.” Sam smiled. “I’ll be waiting. You can count on that.” She did not apologize, and Sam did not expect her to. He did not want her to. 

She stood, and Sam remained seated. Watched as she dried her tears, lifted her face to the sun. 

He had sensed the male the second he had stepped into the graveyard. Celaena noticed him too, turning. “He was-” “I know who he was to you.” The male returned quietly. Quickly. Saving her from having to explain. To go through the pain she had just settled again. The male held out a hand. Not for her hand, Sam noted with a smile, but for a stone. He watched, silent, as something on Celaena's face shuddered, as he placed the small, smooth, stone onto the gravestone next to hers.

“You’re going to kill Arobynn tonight, aren't you?” the male asked, with an insightfulness Sam appreciated.

“After the dinner. When he’s gone to bed. I’m going back to the Keep to end it.” Sam’s heart broke for her, for what she was doing for him, but he knew she would do it whether or not he said he needed it. And besides, it was as much for her as it was for him.

“And the Amulet of Orynth?” Sam knew, vaguely, what they discussed, but he was more concerned about her. “An Endgame, but also a distraction.” She looked out across the Avery, sunlight dancing in her hair.

“You’re ready to do it?” The male asked, with a gentle and supportiveness that sealed the deal for Sam. Celaena looked back at him, at the stone, and at the patch of grave where his body rested, and Sam swore she was looking right at him as she spoke.

“I have no choice but to be ready.” 

They left, then, together. The male so close to her that they almost tripped, but Sam was glad for his closeness. For his support. And he sat there, on his grave, watching Celaena Sardothien walk away. The way he always had. The way he always would. Sam smiled. “Rattle the stars for me, my love.”

[eirenical]

Like Father, Unlike Son (3168 words) by eirenical

Written for the @mysteriouslotuscasebookweek prompts "Role Reversal" (Day 2) and "Grief" (Day 4).

Rating: Explicit

Summary: In the wake of Shan Gudao's return, Li Lianhua is left broken and listless, nothing like his usual self. Fang Duobing is willing to do anything to bring him back, even if it means pretending, just for one night, to be someone he's not... someone he hopes he'll never become.

The yard was silent, the kind of silence that descends in the wake of a storm. Fang Duobing would have filled that space with noise, laughter, anything but this quiet stillness that Shan Gudao had left in his wake. But Li Lianhua stood barely two steps away, holding himself so very carefully, as though too large a breath might break every bone in his rib cage.

~Li Xiangyi is, indeed, a joke.~

Fang Duobing's first instinct had been to defend, to deny, to wipe those words from existence the moment Li Lianhua had spoken them. But Li Lianhua had been standing oh so carefully then, too, as though some part of him had already broken beyond repair, and a harsh word could wipe him from existence along with his words. Fang Duobing wondered, for the first time, if he was finally, truly, seeing Li Xiangyi before him—or what little was left of him after first his shixiong's death and then the battle at the Eastern Sea had taken everything from him. For the first time, he began to see what might have driven him to put himself away so thoroughly and become Li Lianhua. Faced with what he'd been faced with, Fang Duobing might have done the same.

Gently, he said, "He's gone. Why don't we go inside?"

Li Lianhua didn't answer, simply turned back the way they'd come from and took one shuffling step after another. At the threshold, he stumbled, foot catching on the raised doorway when he didn't lift it high enough. Fang Duobing caught him, gripping his arm above the elbow and pulling him close to keep him upright.

His body was shaking, a fine tremor that Fang Duobing hadn't been able to see but could feel now that they were pressed so close. "Li Lianhua?"

Continue Reading on AO3

Tags, detailed warnings, and notes below the cut.

November 4, 2024: At this point, I think I just need to accept the fact that my niche in this fandom is "fucked up and ill-advised sex that probably at least hints at Daohua somewhere in the background." 😅 Anyway, ever since I saw the scene where Shan Gudao reveals himself to Fang Duobing and Li Lianhua, I've wanted to write a fic where Li Lianhua turns to Fang Duobing for some very ill-advised comfort after that and lets himself pretend, just this once, that Fang Duobing is actually Shan Gudao. Brain decided today was the day? Enjoy? 😁👍👍

Fic Warnings: This is a little bit of a YMMV situation. The sex that happens in this fic is 100% consensual on both sides, but Fang Duobing is essentially role playing as his father and there is ZERO negotiation before that happens and, knowing Li Lianhua, they're not going to discuss it afterwards, either. Fang Duobing does have a little bit of a frantic moment where he's basically thinking "…this is kind of fucked up, isn't it? Maybe we should talk about it first? OK, never mind, lower brain just took over and made the decision for me." But he's still very much on board with what's going on and they both enjoy it in the end. But this is some VERY tangled relationship shit going on and if that squicks you, you might want to give this one a miss.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 莲花楼 | Mysterious Lotus Casebook (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fang Duobing/Li Lianhua | Li Xiangyi, Minor or Background Relationship(s) Characters: Fang Duobing, Li Lianhua | Li Xiangyi

Additional Tags: mentions of - Freeform, Di Feisheng/Li Lianhua | Li Xiangyi - Freeform, Di Feisheng/Fang Duobing/Li Lianhua | Li Xiangyi - Freeform, Past, Li Lianhua | Li Xiangyi/Shan Gudao - Freeform, Under-negotiated Kink, Light BDSM, Sexual Roleplay, Unrequited Love, Established Relationship, Episode Related, episode 32, Missing Scene, Trauma, Dealing with Trauma in Less Than Healthy Ways, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, ill-advised sex, Healing Sex, (...yes it's the same sex; make of that what you will XD), Mysterious Lotus Casebook Week 2024

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

OH MY GOODNESS GRACIOUS I ADORE YOUR WRITING!!!

“I need you, why do you always leave me?” With Narinder from Cotl with a reincarnated mortal s/o who always dies young? I’m such a sucker for this kind of troupe oh my lawd

Thank you so much and have a wonderful day/night!

Ong this trope is so good it hurts </3

Request more angst/horror prompts here!

.......

"Lamb, you must perform the resurrection ritual again."

"Narinder, it's barely been two days.." With a weary sigh, the sheep closed their gospel book, already becoming irritated with their former master's blunt request. "I may have taken your role as death, but even I have my limits. I can't just do that ritual whenev-"

"I had to bury my spouse yet again."

".....oh." A small pit in formed in their stomach, knowing exactly who he was talking about. "Again? What happened this time?"

"Some fool thought it would be funny to dare [y/n] to eat a deadly dish...and they accepted it, only to die puking their guts out." Narinder huffed, although deep inside it killed him to know that your death this time around was entirely avoidable.

He never thought he'd ever care for a mortal..much less one of Lamb's first followers, who somehow kept dying young and became the first one they resurrected.

Your existence has become a never-ending cycle of death and rebirth, and he wondered when they'll finally accept that you're simply not meant to live a prolonged life.

However, now that he himself was in the cult and wedded to you...he saw things differently. From a new perspective.

After you died once right before his very eyes--and not through the Red Crown--he suddenly understood that same grief Lamb endured ugh after they killed one of their spouses, who became mind-controlled by Shamura.

He thought of them as weak.

But not anymore.

Not when it became his turn to suffer in a similar fashion, counting the hours (or days, even) until Lamb could resurrect you.

He lost count of how many times you've died since then, although he knows you aren't trying to kill yourself on purpose. You were very "accident-prone" and sometimes did stupid things that you shouldn't have---such as accepting a dare to eat a "deadly dish" stew.

You might've been a fool for that, but he still loved you.

Unfortunately, not even the golden skull necklace Lamb gifted you provided any protection from death....besides old age, of course.

At least Narinder knew you'd never pass away naturally, but knowing it couldn't spare you from other causes didn't make him feel any better.

"Fine..I will do the resurrection at dawn." Lamb finally caved, understanding how much you truly meant to him. "But you must talk to [y/n] about this. With each rebirth, they slowly forget more and more of their past lives."

"....is that so?" The black feline raised an eyebrow, surprised.

This was new information to him--although he never exactly had the chance to revive somebody over and over, except for his former vessel whenever they foolishly perished during a crusade.

But they were very different.

They were nigh-immortal...you weren't.

"First they forgot how they previously died, then they forgot which shelter they slept it, and then they forgot how to cook their favorite meal...you see where I'm going with this?"

He didn't speak, afraid that his former vessel was correct. But it's not something he wanted to think about at all...even though it's certainly possible.

Suddenly he was beginning to realize the repercussions of the same doctrine that got him exiled over a millennia ago..

"I can't watch over them all the time..as their spouse you're gonna have to step it up, or else...they might-"

"Just do the ritual, please.."

Lamb's ears flicked up with surprise, never expecting Narinder to grovel at their podium. The only other time he acted this way was when he begged them to kill him instead of sparing his life, although it didn't do him much good as they chose mercy.

But this time, they felt a bit of pity for him.

He must truly care about you.

They simply nodded. "I will need more bones."

.........

You found yourself back in a familiar place:

Floating over a glowing red sigil, followers in hoods kneeling all around you, Lamb's eyes glowing with a powerful energy....and you expelling ichor from your body in a rather disgusting display.

You never did get used to puking out this black magical goop.

But once you landed on the floorboards of the temple, you sighed in relief, wiping your mouth on your sleeve before gazing at everyone surrounding you.

"So...what have I missed?"

A few of them uncovered their hoods and greeted you, happy to see you return to the land of the living. Others kept their distance, looking rather annoyed that Lamb decided to resurrect you for the umpteenth time.

One, however, stood there motionless, refusing to remove his own hood.

You looked to him, watching as he approached you, being unsure of his intentions. Although judging from the way other followers hastily moved out of his way...this person must have held great influence over them.

The fact that he had three glowing red eyes was most alluring.

Have you met him before?

Before you could ask him who he was, he suddenly grabbed you by the wrist. "H-Hey! Ouch!" You winced, feeling his claws slightly digging into you as he began dragging you out of the temple.

"Where are you taking me??"

"....stop talking."

His voice was low and quiet, and also....sad?

You were immensely confused by this mystery follower's behavior, especially as he led you to his hut--one that was more decorative than the standard shelters on the other side of the cult grounds.

While you remained silent, you couldn't help being bedazzled by the outside of it, although you didn't have time to really get a good look around the inside.

Because the next thing you knew...

You were pushed onto the bed, with him crawling onto it and laying beside you. Then he uncovered his hood, two long cat ears flicking upwards as his eyes met yours for a brief moment.

And in that split second, you swore they were filled to the brim with tears.

You blinked, afraid to speak considering how angry he sounded just moments ago, but you were even more perplexed when he flopped onto your chest. From his throat, a purring sound rumbled, and you could feel it throughout your entire body....and in your very soul.

"Please..don't do this to me..." His ears flattened.

"Do....what?" Reaching down, you awkwardly placed a hand on his head, slowly petting his fur and hoping it provided him some comfort. "I don't know what's wrong, but..I hope this is okay."

Your uncertain tone only further devastated Narinder. This was exactly how you'd comfort him after his nightmares. He only ever allowed you to see him in such moments of vulnerability, so you never needed to ask for his permission. You would simply do it.

Had you forgotten that, too?

Was that damned Lamb right after all?

Were you forgetting.....him?

"I need you, why do you always leave me?" He mumbled, heartbroken as the tears slid down his cheeks, droplets splattering onto the symbol adorning your ragged shirt. "With each new life, I-I'm...losing more and more of you, [y/n]. I don't know if you are cursed or if it's fate deciding to test me....o-or maybe Lamb's followers wish to see me suffer....but...I'm so tired of watching you die and being unable to do anything about it. I've taken you for granted.."

"................."

".....forget it. You don't even know what day of the week it is..why do I bother trying?" With a sniffle, he reluctantly removed himself from your arms, believing he blew his last chance to save your memories..

Now you were acting like a total stranger to him, and it honestly felt as though you had already died before you even left the temple.

Maybe this was a sign that he needed to stop and move on.

Maybe he simply wasn't destined for love.

Maybe this was karma for all the atrocities committed in his name.

Maybe the next time you perished, no matter the reason, he'll-

"It's easy to forget things like that, Nari...but how could I ever forget the love of my life?"

Blinking through his tears, Narinder felt his breath hitch when your hand gently grasped his own. He looked back at you with astonishment, before glancing down at the matching rings that still adorned your fingers.

Then he gazed into your eyes, seeing your smile.

"You..remember me?"

"Of course I do, you silly kit---woah!!" You were suddenly tackled back onto the bed by your husband, feeling him nuzzling up to you and purring even louder than before.

But you simply giggled and held him closely, petting his fur in a comforting way. "I'm sorry for scaring you...it takes a while for all my memories to come back. D-Did I do anything dumb last time?"

"Just...promise me you'll never accept a dare from anybody again." He huffed, trying to hide the fact he was still sniveling like a helpless kitten.

"Alright." You sighed. "I promise to be more careful. I'll try harder to watch my back, too."

"Do you swear it?"

"...I swear it."

"Good."

[kunasthiast]

Sanctuary

Life comes by so fast that you just can't process everything all at once. But even when a year already passed, have you already come to terms with it? After all, acceptance is the last stage of our grief, right?

a/n: i am soooo sorry for the long wait and for this new one sksksk – i've been rotting reading and watching angsty stories that this is one i've came up with! but but but, i'll make sure to publish the ones i've been promising to publish by this week haha i just finished my junior year in uni & everything's just been so stressful wOAH

okk enough about that, i hope you'll enjoy this one <333

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: angsty, No Curses!AU Word Count: 1,679 All characters are of age.This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

Life just gets the better of you sometimes. Drag you through the mud, not knowing when you can resurface from all those frustrating emotions. It’s just heartbreaking.

But, when we’re in our worst, it’s when we meet the people who’ll stay with us. Yet, the worst thing about this is that they’re only temporary.

He was the best person that ever happened to me. He was there when I was in my lowest of the lowest part of my life. He was my sanctuary. He was the the one that got away. He was my red. He was my everything.

Until he wasn’t.

—

This was the last section you wrote in your journal from years ago. Looking back on it, you realized a lot of the memories, unsaid feelings, and regrets you’ve had in that part of your life.

Closing the journal, you stood up from the chair you’ve been sitting on for the past hour. This is ridiculous, why am I reading this again? You thought.

A ring tone from your phone cut your train of thoughts. Walking towards your phone, you saw a missed phone call from your pink-haired nephew. With a sigh, you hit the call button to ring him this time around. You unknowingly shed a tear as you get lost in the phone ringing.

When your nephew’s voice came through the line, it brought a small, bittersweet smile to your face. “Oh, good thing you called me back, auntie!” Yuji’s voice really brings brightness and cheerfulness everytime he speaks, a stark contrast to your somber mood. Getting no response from you, he continued, “I just wanted to ask you what time you’ll be going today? Oh, and if you’d like me to have a sleep over there at yours this week?”

You released a soft chuckle at this and looked at the clock hanging above your doorway, “Sure, I’d love to have you here with me, Yu! I’ll be there by 3PM.” You walked towards your bedroom to pick out the clothes you’ll be wearing for today’s occasion.

“Okay, gotcha on this, auntie! I’ll give the fam a heads up, so we can catch you there,” Yuji cheerfully said on the other end of the phone, leaving you give off a small smile. “I’ll hang up now, see you there, Yu.”

As you dropped the call, you went back to looking for the outfit you’ve been planning on wearing for the past few days now. You changed into your outfit and got ready before picking up your car keys, leaving your house.

Driving through the familiar streets, nostalgia came crashing like a tsunami. All bittersweet and vivid, everything just happened so fast that until now you can’t process it properly. You’ve never seen the therapist since then as well. What have I been doing? This thought lingered to you heavily.

The afternoon sun cast long shadows as you pulled into the parking lot, taking a lot of moment and breath to ready yourself before stepping out of the car. The weight of the day pressed down on you, yet you still forced yourself to move forward, knowing that this visit was something you needed to do. To accept it.

Threading the path towards Sukuna’s grave, his laughter echoed in your mind. The bittersweet memories of him talking about how you’ll both die of old age. Yet, in this lifetime, he went away early just a year ago.

As you reached his headstone, you knelt down and placed the bouquet of flowers you had bought earlier. The sight of his name etched in the stone was a painful reminder of the reality you are still struggling to accept.

“Hey, love, it’s already been a year,” you whispered as your voice was trembling. Your eyes began to blur as tears formed and dripped down your cheeks. “I miss you a lot.” The wind rustled the leaves, as if the world was offering a gentle response to your words. Knowing that it’s fall, your and his favorite season, you watched the leaves gently fall around you. You knelt there in silence, letting the memories of your husband wash over you. The days you spent together, memories of the love you shared all came rushing back.

Sukuna was always red, the liveliest color you’ve ever known. From his personality, his joy, his laughter, his teases, his jokes, his dreams, his kisses, to his love for you. Everything’s red. The liveliness caught onto you when he first met you at the park, when you were at the lowest of your low. When he offered you an ice cream out of nowhere. It’s a bit strange to accept that from a stranger, sure, but you were not in the moment to deny this comfort food. And he just sat there in silence as you both lick onto your ice creams. It happens everytime he sees you at the park, until you’ve both started talking with each other. He became your sanctuary for years. 

Yet, in the blink of an eye, Sukuna became blue. Everything he once was turned to blue. And it all happened just a year ago. His sudden absence left a void that you couldn’t fill. The vibrant red color that he embodied faded to a somber blue, marking the moment he was taken from you by the world. He made your world bright and colorful.

Looking at his headstone, there is an overwhelming sadness mixed with the beautiful memories of your husband. The pain of losing him was still so fresh, but so was the warmth of the moments you shared. The way he would laugh boisterously at your clumsy self and corny jokes, the way he would hold you close as if you’re going somewhere, and the way he would whisper sweet endearments in your ear – these memories were all you had left.

“You know, I still think about why did it have to be you, love. It may sound bad, but why couldn’t it have been the other driver?,” you murmured as your fingers traced the letters of his name etched in the cold stone. This thought lingered in the air, unanswered and haunting. The accident that took him from you was so sudden, so unexpected. But then again, there is no accident that isn’t sudden, right? The questions plagued you for months until now. What if he had taken a different route? What if he had left a few minutes later?

Cutting you from your deep thoughts, you heard someone calling for you. “Auntie! I’m here,” Yuji called out as he came running towards you. You looked at him, and well, tears had to show up again since Yuji resembles your husband a lot, considering that he was his uncle. His pink hair, the shape of his eyes, even the way he smiled – it was as if a piece of Sukuna still lived on through him. 

Yuji reached you and gave you a tight hug, his youthful energy and warmth momentarily lifting the heavy weight in your heart. “I brought flowers,” he said, holding up Sukuna’s favorites, chrysanthemums. 

“Thanks, Yu,” you whispered as you took the flowers and placed them beside the ones you brought. Yuji knelt beside you, his presence comforting. “I miss him too, you know,” he said softly. “Even with the constant teasing, he always takes me out for my favorite pastimes and telling me all sorts of tips and his cool stories in boxing.”

You nodded, tears blurring your vision again as you remember just watching Sukuna tell Yuji stories everytime your nephew sleeps over your house. Those nights always ended with your husband playfully wrestling Yuji, their laughter filling the air. “Yeah, he was always there for you,” you softly said. 

“Your the reason we didn’t decide to have a kid, you know? He used to say how you were just too naughty,” you jokingly added to lighten up the mood. Yuji laughed at this, his eyes twinkling with the memory.

“He really said that?” Yuji asked, a grin spreading across his face.

“Every time you left,” you replied, smiling through your tears. “He’d always talk about how much he enjoyed having you around. You were like the son he never had.”

Yuji’s laughter faded into a thoughtful silence, and he placed a hand on your shoulder. “He meant a lot to me too, Auntie. He was like a second father.”

You both sat there in silence for a while, the wind rustling the leaves around you. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden glow over the cemetery. The pain of losing Sukuna would never fully disappear, but having Yuji by your side made it a little more bearable.

As the day turned to dusk, the sky painted in the hues of pink and orange, you felt a gentle peace settle over you. Breaking the silence, you finally said, “He always believed in living life to the fullest, he wouldn’t want us to be sad forever.”

Yuji nodded, his cheerful and bright face turned to a somberly one. “Yeah, he’d want us to keep going. We’ll get through this, auntie.”

“Thanks for being here, Yu,” you said softly as you squeezed his hand. “Anytime, auntie,” he replied with a steady, reassuring, and comforting voice.

“I’ll see you again soon,” you whispered, placing a kiss on your fingertips and pressing them against the cold stone. Standing up, you both took one last look at Sukuna’s headstone. The wind blew gently, rusting the leaves once more, as if in agreement. You brushed off the dirt from your clothes and gave Yuji your car keys. Walking back to your car in silence, side by side with Yuji, the weight of the loss seemed a little lighter. 

In your heart, you know that Sukuna will always be with you. That he’ll be guiding over you. He will always be there with his ice creams, laughs, kisses, and hugs in your memory.

Despite this loss, you know that in another lifetime, it will always be you and him, growing old together.

[dudewhy3]

Continue yours and Myrtle's discussion about Armin being a Twilight fan, what if it's a plot twist, and it's ARMIN who introduced Mikasa to Twilight?

Like, he was *analysing* everything and reading books and watching movies, but was ashamed of it, and Mikasa once spotted him writing another long essay about, "The more Edward loves Bella, the more he thinks he's in danger: principles of the selective abstraction and polarizes thinking", and so he introduced her with the saga after this.

BONUS: before AruAni became a thing, Armin heard Annie playing and singing Paramore - Decode, and he was mesmerized by her voice, playing and beauty, and so he was so smitten with her, that he didn't even notice that Annie was, in fact, smitten with him, too. It took them a while before they became a couple, but when they did, Annie plays Decode only for him :3

HI ANNAAAA, AND OH MY GOD YES!! THIS IS SUCH A GREAT IDEA AAAAAAGH, thank you for sending it in!! <3

It turned out rather long ahaha, so i'll put it under the cut. Please do beware of the angst ahead :3

So in a high school au, let's say Armin was 16 this year. That would mean that he was born in the same year the first Twilight movie was released (2008), just 3 weeks before. So, imagine his parents, a young couple, new parents to a little bundle of light, huddling up on the little couch in their little apartment, trying to ignore the cold, switching through channels to make the time pass. They randomly get to a channel streaming Twilight, so they watch it all. And little Armin doesn't cry once, he just stares at the screen with those big eyes of his, as if he understood everything that was going on. For the next 5 years, each November they would watch the release of another Twilight movie (except for that one time in like 2010 when they released it in June). And after the saga was complete, they'd watch it all in November, maybe even on Armin's birthday to make it more special. Until the day he turned 10, and his parents didn't come home– they never came home again, it was just him and his grandfather. Yet every time he missed them, he put on a Twilight movie, and the grief would get a little more bearable.

So as he grew older, he grew more attached to the saga. He started analysing everything about it, every little detail, because it made him feel closer to his parents. But he never shared those ideas, because they were so intimate and he was already getting bullied enough- so, he kept them in a little notebook. Until one day in math class when he was about 13 or 14, he was scribbling down ideas for that essay you mentioned- "The more Edward loves Bella, the more he thinks he's in danger" (which is such a cool title btw, love it). And Mikasa peeked over his shoulder and read a bit, and she was so engrossed with it that she didn't stop pestering him until he showed her the movies.Which was life changing for Mikasa, because she now finally had something she truly loved, but also for Armin- someone liked his ideas; he got to share his love for the series again, and it made him happy. So he finally found the courage to share his analyses and ideas, and they were well recieved by the fandom.

But he never finished that essay, not until he met Annie. He met her just as you said- he heard her singing once and was irrevocably in love. Except, i head canon that Annie would be such a distant and quiet person in high school, it would take a LOT to get close to her. Not only is she aloof, she's also extremely direct- so all his efforts to sit with her or strike up conversation ended up in her berating him for bugging her. Besides, there was Bert too, always two steps behind Annie in an almost stalky manner, but she seemed to indulge his presence better than Armin's.

So, Armin gave up on trying to pursue her. He accepted the fact that he was the Jacob in this situation and that his Bella has chosen the giant vampire, and drowned himself into his theories and analysis. He found that essay in his drafts, and decided to work on it again. "The more Edward loves Bella, the more he thinks he's in danger: principles of the selective abstraction and polarized thinking". It helped to put his own feelings and love somewhere.

But the bullies found it. They found his notebook, tore it all up, gave him one hell of a beating. Armin was left bruised and broken and with a ruined notebook. His work, his life's purpose- gone. He didn't know what to do, so he picked himself up, gathered the pieces of paper that used to be his essay, and started walking astray through the school. Until he heard soft guitar tunes coming out of the music room, and found Annie there, playing her guitar, wearing a scowl on her face. Somehow, her scowl only deepened when she saw him.

"I didn't know where else to go." He couldn't go home and worry his grandpa, and he couldn't go to his friends either, or Eren would have caused a scene. "Is it cool if I stay here? I promise not to bother you."

Annie looked him up and down, examining him thoroughly, her eyes widening the slightest bit at the sight of his bruises. "It's whatever," she finally said.

So they sat in the music room, each doing their own thing. Armin put his essay back together, and Annie carried on with her song. No word was spoken between them that day, or the next day, or the next week, yet there was peace in the quiet and comfort in the silent understanding passed between them. But Annie's silence turned into nods of aknowledgement and later into quiet 'hi's. Armin's turned into little smiles and stolen glances, and occasional "hey do you want some chips?"s. One day, two months into this arrangement, as she was taking a little break from her guitar and munching on his chips, she asked about that essay of his.

"How come you haven't finished it yet, don't you have a deadline for it?"

And so, feeling extremely self conscious, Armin beat around the bush and said that it was this silly character analyses for a show he liked.

The next day, Annie was playing another song, but he didn't recognize it at first because she played it in little sequences, never in full length. Eventually, maybe three or four weeks later, she asked him to put his essay aside for a minute and just listen, and she played Paramore's Decode, both guitar and voice. Armin was left absolutely mesmerized, so much so that he didn't know what to say, staring at Annie with a big dumb smile on his face. But the more he stared, the more self aware Annie became. She flushed a deep red, picked up all her stuff in a hurry and left.

That was the moment Armin realized he was completely smitten. He went home, sat down at his desk- and decided to finish his essay that very day, give it to Annie in the morning, and confess his love through it. Which is exactly what he did. He was an absolute zombie the next day, having barely slept, but when he made it to the music room his heart was beating like crazy against his chest.

Annie got flustered when she saw him. "This is my room, I found it first. If you're gonna sit there and mock me for what I play, then you can stick your nose right up your-"

He thrusted the papers in her arms. "Just read this," he demanded.

Annie looked between him and the papers with skeptical eyes, but eventually sat down and started reading through them. Armin sat next to her and carefully watched her face as she read, taking into account every little change in her expression.

When she was done, Annie sat the papers neatly between them.

"Okay. And?"

"What do you think?"

"What does this have to do with me?"

Armin took a deep breath in, building up his courage. He couldn't back out now.

"This is how I feel about you. What do you think?"

[natasharswifey]

It almost worked

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal

Requests open :)

Summary:

Being a witch is difficult

Being alone is difficult

Being Agatha Harkness is difficult

(Some Agatha Angst as if we haven't already gotten enough)

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A/N: This is kinda OOC, please don't throw tomatoes 😔. It was also posted on my Ao3

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Tags: interrupted suicide attempt, grief, hurt/comfort

Agatha stares out over her balcony.

It was late, and cold, and she'd had enough wine to make her head clearer then usual. Being able to think about what was going on in her head didn't ever end well.

It was just another one of those nights. Those nights where her mind wandered. Sometimes it was hard to remember those moments where she held Nicky in her arms.

His cherub cheeks and deep brown eyes looking into her soul, a constant reminder she still had one, his small hand curling around hers.

How he had looked so happily at his mothers, content to simply be in their presence.

Had he looked so joyfully at her when she was taking him away? Had he even realised?

With every precious frame of memory that faded, another piece of herself felt lost to the vast sea of time.

Perhaps this was why witches seeked covens. She remembered sisterhood, a deep understanding and acceptance of one another. It had held the place where her mother's affection should have been.

It had felt good, until… everything.

Agatha knew what happened that night wasn't her own doing, she had tried to tell them, to warn them. Despite her mother's calloused approach to her execution, she didn't want to hurt her. To hurt any of them.

The digital clock on the dresser by her window read 2:00. Another hour and any of her efforts to weaken herself enough not to survive the drop from her balcony would be futile.

But she still found herself waiting. For something, anything to happen. Agatha didn't remember the last time she found herself doing this, waiting so patiently for a miracle.

Even in her youth she knew that nothing good was ever bound to come her way by sitting around expecting it to fall in her lap.

Tonight she couldn't help herself, like a tall child with her legs dangling over a rooftop, hoping to catch a glimpse of some mythical creature parents made up as an excuse to spoil children.

But tonight the universe took pity on Agatha Harkness, which was only fair considering. Unfortunately, that pity came in the form of a familiar face that wasn't so welcome.

“Well, this is a little awkward.”

Agatha’s head whips around and she finds her feet in an instant. “What are you doing here?”

“You practically called…” Rio cautions a step closer. “It's been a while.”

“I was hoping we could have kept it that way.”

“Oh, really? So that wasn't you that sunk the ‘unsinkable’ ship?”

Sinking the Titanic wasn't something she had actually planned on doing, but Rio always knew just how to get under her skin.

Everything felt like a game with her, and with them both being so competitive, their little ‘games’ would often get out of hand.

Rio reaping a few extra souls here, Agatha causing a few tragedies there. It had been going on for so long even with their level of pettiness it was hard to keep score.

“You have no proof.”

“Real mature, Aggie.”

Agatha scoffs, “Well if you came here to reap me then you wasted your gas money, you've completely killed the mood.”

“That sounds like one of your compliments.”

Fuck.

“Don't flatter yourself.” Agatha closes the door to her balcony and sits on a chair in the corner of her room.

“I've missed you.”

“Could've fooled me.” She mutters, although they both know she's lying to herself.

“I still think about us, you know”

“We were... fun.” Agatha replies reluctantly

“We still are.”

Rio is hesitant to leave, but she knows their paths will cross again.

They are eachother's constant, so entangled in the other their worlds are almost askew when they're apart.

One can only stay teetering on the edge for so long.

Notes

If any of this stuff hit too close to home there's a bunch of websites where you can talk to people, or maybe try talking to a loved one, stay safe <3

If projecting onto characters was a crime I would get the electric chair.

The titanic reference came from tumblr which I so desperately need to get off of but oh well.

Title was taken from 'It almost worked' by Tv girl. Hope u liked!!!

[thegoldenavenger]

Fusion au in a series of vignettes. Non beta'd and it's 4am so I'm very sorry for any mistakes. Cw for relatively brief shen jiu related backstory. This is Bingqiu with Word Of God (me, I'm god) bingliushen intended endgame thought it ends before it gets there.

Standing at the edge of the rift, Shen Qingqiu wields Xiu Ya against his beloved disciple while the System flashes red at him.  The countdown blares like a siren in his head, a dual layer alarm in four-four time. It buzzes in his chest alongside his heartbeat and his hand sweats around his sword's grip.

Luo Binghe's starry eyes are wet with tears, his face red and twisted in fear and confusion and grief.

Shen Qingqiu is about to wave his sword when Luo Binghe reaches out to him. Luo Binghe's palm slides against the blade of Xiu Ya, blood spilling into the open air.  The System whines, counterpoint to its own buzzing bass, as the seconds dwindle. 

"Shizun?" Luo Binghe has followed his momentum and his hand now grips Shen Qingqiu's sleeve, shaky and pale.

Shen Qingqiu needs to push him down.

The timer hits zero, the whaling in his ears hits its peak, Luo Binghe's sniffling face fills his vision. And then he trips. It's so simple. He trips and the tip of Xiu Ya pierces Luo Binghe's chest when his disciple automatically moves to catch him. He lets go of his sword, startled, and Luo Binghe catches his hand. The System fades into a continuous ringing as his weight falls entirely into Luo Binghe's hold and his disciple through tears and pain, takes one step back to support him.

It looks like a dip.

It feels like a dip, Luo Binghe timed perfectly the the System's whining and Shen Qingqiu's own heartbeat.

A flare of qi rises around them and he feels untethered from his own body once more.  Everything fades away except for the light and Luo Binghe's startled face. Shen Qingqiu's soul floats and he goes from looking at the star-lit depths of his disciples eyes (he goes from staring up at their jet-dark coolness) to blinking, disoriented, as the System-induced headache (the hot pulse of pain in his hand and chest) fade away, and the light flares and softens the edges of reality.

He doesn't remember dying, but he feels soul-deep like this is familiar. It's not painful though, not like the seal breaking, wouldn't dying be painful? No, he dismisses the thought, dying doesn't have to be painful. Most things aren't painful, as they're happening actually.

He can accept that, but this still isn't dying. He feels full, overflowing, but alive. Because the seal is broken? Or because his body has been—oh the seal. That rift. The Sy— the fall.

But there's no one standing by the rift's edge except for him. Is he too late? Did he already push him (did he already fall)? He's not dead so that must mean he went through with it (that must mean he stopped).

Where's Binghe? (Where's Shizun?)

He should ask what's going on (he already knows) but when he glances to his peripheral nothing stands out to him.  He raises his hand in an instinctual gesture to summon something but he's distracted by the pink-line on his palm.

It's where Xiu Ya cut him. Them? Him.

Oh. They fused.

They fused!

Oh no, they fused!

A flash of light and their souls rip apart, Shen Qingqiu flinging himself backwards and away from Luo Binghe. Him? Fuse with the protagonist? As if pushing the boy into the Abyss wasn't enough now he's gone and mixed his soul up with Binghe's when even the original Stallion Protagonist had never done that particular dance with anyone.

As if Luo Binghe needs any more reason to peel Shen Qingqiu's limbs from him! Wasn't he the one who speculated about the intimacy of fusing and fusion dances in the forums?! Didn't he say that Luo Binghe refusing to fuse with even any of his many wives symbolized a deep chasm of mistrust and justified fear of vulnerability?

Didn't the forums go ballistic when the Original Scum Villain's scummier past was revealed where that Qiu Haitang sister accused him of force fusing with her brother and using the power to wipe out their entire manor? Did that make him as bad as the original goods?

The moment their souls separate back into two distinct bodies the system's red warning screen comes back to life in the corner of Shen Qingqiu's vision. He's not terribly concerned about that because, after everything, Shen Qingqiu jerking out of Luo Binghe's hold is what sends the boy stumbling off the edge of the rift.

"Shizun!"

"Binghe—" Shen Qingqiu forgets himself and flings himself forward, land on his hands and knees to look into the rift's opening. His hand is outstretched, as if he can do anything in this moment other than watch as Luo Binghe falls.

When Liu Qingge and Yue Qingyuan find him he's still kneeling where the rift pulled itself closed.

----

Yue Qi is the oldest of the kids and the strongest, but he never really feels strong.  Not when Xiao Jiu goes to bed hungry more often then not. Not when Yue Qi gets sick, and Xiao Jiu has to work even harder to cover for both of them.

There is something that does make Yue Qi feel strong, though. Oh, he knows they're not supposed to do it, just like practicing making dancing lights or Xiao Jiu's sharp-tricks. He can't find it in himself to discourage it all too much though.

When he and Xiao Jiu dance together they become closer than anyone could even dream. Together, as one being in mind, spirit, and body, they are strong. Xiao Jiu has always been the one to shore up Yue Qi's weakness but like this it feels as though they have no weaknesses at all.

Where Yue Qi is too trusting, placid, ox-strong and (Xiao Jiu says) too stupid to live, and Xiao Jiu is suspicious, mischievous, cutting and mercurial as one being they are balanced. They are even-keeled, clever, optimistic but not naive.  They're beautiful as well, in their own opinion. Longer, deep hair and pale skin with Xiao Jiu's sharp eyes and Yue Qi's friendly smile.  They also have Yue Qi's eyes, set above Xiao Jiu's, and another set of arms.

If anyone saw them they'd be called a demon and even together they aren't strong enough to fight or fast enough to run...

So they don't stay fused for long.  It's not smart to be caught looking like a demonic freak (Xiao Jiu says) and Yue Qi isn't strong enough to protect them. Not yet. He thinks, if he gets better in his own body, then surely someday they'll be strong enough to run away together.

Someday they can run away together and maybe they can find a place no one will bother them even if they stay fused together. Yue Qi thinks he'd like that; together as one with Xiao Jiu forever.

----

"You know, fusing isn't actually a metaphor for sex." Shang Qinghua says to his black-powder fan, who cracks his fan open in front of his face.

"Everything you wrote was a metaphor for sex."

"Okay!" He says, because. Well. It's not like Cucumber-Bro is wrong. "It's not just a metaphor for sex. If it was just sex, my son would've been fusing with every new sister in his harem. You think I didn't see how many requests I got to write what a Sha Hauling and Luo Binghe fusion would be like?"

"But fusing represents the more vulnerable aspects of sex!  That's why—" Cucumber-Bro starts to say before Shang Qinghua interrupts him.

"It's a metaphor for relationships! Intimacy in relationships!"

"—Ah?" Cucumber-bro shuts his mouth and taps his fan against his lips.

"It can be any type of relationship, not just a sexual or romantic one.  It's just meant to represent vulnerability between individuals expressed in a tangible way and..." Shang Qinghua trails off when he notices Cucumber-bro's eyes narrowing at him.

"Great Master Airplane," he starts, "you never added any of that into your story."

"It was subtext?" He tries.

"I think you just wanted to write a knock off dragon ball gimmick so you had cool villains for Binghe to fight!"

"Well! It's not like anyone wanted to pay for a meta narrative focused on cannon fodder!"

"Why did you abandon all your best ideas!?" Cucumber-Bro wails, throwing his fan at Shang Qinghua's head.

Shang Qinghua catches it this time and grins triumphantly at his friend. Shen Qingqiu makes a frankly hilarious face and dives fist first at Shang Qinghua. 

"Give that back—let me—it's absolutely my right to hit you for every cool plot you abandoned, you hack!"

"No! I saw you in the comments! You think fusing is cool, that means you can't hit me over this one!"

"Can't I?" Shen Qingqiu grapples over the fan with Shang Qinghua.

Their palms slide together and Shang Qinghua laughs, because Cucumber's face looks exceedingly out of character: flushed red and comically angry.  "You can't if you can't catch me!" He sing-songs and tries to slip away.

Shen Qingqiu quickly flips his grip to hold Shang Qinghua's wrist, jerking him closer.  Shang Qinghua reflexively rests his hand on Shen Qingqiu's chest, and when he tries to grab at the fan again Shang Qinghua dances away, spinning out from where Shen Qingqiu still holds his wrist.

He laughs, buoyed with the momentum and when he opens his eyes he sees the fan in his hand.

"Got it!" He says.

His voice sounds different. In fact, his hand also looks different.

Oh, we fused. He—they—think.

A slick curl of nausea rises from the pit of their stomach while the rest of them sparks in confusion.

Nonsensically, their last thought is I'm not even gay? before the fusion destabilizes and Shang Qinghua is stumbling backwards, unbalanced.

Shen Qingqiu looks pale. He's holding the fan, and half his robes are in An Ding colors now. "I—" he says, then takes a step backwards. "I didn't mean to—Sorry."

Then he's gone, fan no doubt in front of his face as he glides out the door. Shang Qinghua finds himself sitting on the floor, blinking in confusion.

He plucks at the collar of his robe, Qing Jing teal.

----

The Abyss is hell. Every day longer that Luo Binghe spends in it is another flood of blood and filth staining him.  It's too late to salvage the bits of Shizun's robes that were mixed together with his after their fusion... separated.  His disciple uniform and Shizun's robes were of similar quality and color so he hadn't even noticed the different embroidery and slight differences in cut until he'd been forced to tear at his clothes for strips.

It's pointless to try and save the pieces of Shizun's wardrobe he found himself carrying but he tries to anyway. If only because each time he sees them he's reminded that Shizun walked away from their fusion wearing the matching pieces from his uniform.

He doesn't know if that means much to Shizun right now. It's possible Shizun had taken the first moment he could to scour every sign of Luo Binghe from his Peak.  Could Luo Binghe even blame him, concealing his heritage from him and hiding in a righteous sect right under their noses.

Shen Qingqiu had tried to push him into the abyss.

But he hadn't, actually, pushed him.  He'd reached out.

They'd fused.

It was confusing, a jumbling mess, but however disoriented and brief they were one in mind and soul.  Luo Binghe had felt, then, the desperate need to know what had happened to his Important Person. It got muddied with Luo Binghe's feelings for his Shizun, he knows, but he remembers feeling fearful, anxious, frustrated.

He remembers feeling like he wouldn't do this, if he had a choice.

For all Luo Binghe knows, Shizun just regretted that his favorite disciple was an irredeemable demon. He was scared, because Luo Binghe was revealed to be a demon, he was anxious because of what that could mean for the sect. Frustrated because Luo Binghe was making things difficult.

But couldn't it also be that Shizun was fearful for Luo Binghe? He was anxious about their fates, frustration coming from the situation? That Shizun didn't want to push Luo Binghe, but felt he had to?

Maybe Luo Binghe can show Shizun that he is more righteous cultivator than he is demon. He'll settle things in the demon realm, learn to conceal his blood, and then when he makes it back to the human realm he'll prove to Shizun that he's good.

It's a slim hope to stake himself on, but Luo Binghe has never given up once yet. He is not about to start.

He forces himself up the obsidian-black stairs to the raised dias in the center of a bone covered field. A sword stands upright in front of him, black and sharp and heavy with intent. His hand itches.

He just needs to get out of the abyss first, and then he'll prove everything to Shizun.

----

Shen Jiu tries to gasp for breath under Qiu Jianluo's hand. He kicks his legs to no avail. Qiu Jianluo just tightens his grip.

"Come on, Xiao Jiu." Shen Jiu has to focus to hear him through the whooshing noise of his own blood in his ears. "Just fuse with me already."

Shen Jiu wants to lick the blood off his split lip and spit in Qiu Jianluo's face.  He wants to claw the man's eyes out.  But across the manor is his new fiancé, sitting in her room with her maids taking down her hair and getting her bed ready for the night.

He's realizing now, after three years, that he absolutely cannot wait any longer.  If Qi-Ge was going to make it back he would have by now, and if Shen Jiu let's himself be married to Qiu Haitang he won't ever be seeing himself leave the Qiu house at all.

He swallows, can't speak past Qiu Jianluo's hand, and tries nodding instead.

"Oh? Have you decided to stop with your tantrum already?"

Shen Jiu could cough blood, he's so mad. He makes himself nod.

Qiu Jianluo pulls back his hand. "Well?" He asks, expectant.

"Fine."

Shen Jiu still remembers what it felt like to fuse with Qi-Ge, years ago now. Even then, with the person he trusted most in this or any other life, he'd felt too much. Too big and to small for his skin. They'd looked like a demon and he knew it was his fault, always needing to look at things for himself, never trusting anyone else's hands but his own. Still, the paranoia softened when he was fused. It gentled into a tame thing that cautioned and warned but never consumed.

Shen Jiu often slept curled up next to Qi-Ge, hand clenched in Qi-Ge's clothes—the better to wake up if something happened to the guileless fool—but sometimes Qi-Ge would shift closer and hug him in their sleep.  Fusing with him felt like being wrapped in that hug.

Shen Jiu was never really conscious, when they fused. When they separated he remembered what they did, what they were thinking, but it wasn't entirely him and it wasn't entirely Qi-Ge. It was them. Together.

Shen Jiu had no intention of knowing what together felt like with Qiu Jianluo.

He could bring his suspicious eyes, and his distrustful hands into something as soft and warm as his fusion with Qi-Ge and they were stronger for it. He's positive, with his experience and his rage fueling him, he can bring his whole mind into whatever paltry form Qiu Jianluo thinks they can take.

When he opens his eyes, taller and stronger, with Qiu Jianluo nowhere in sight, he knows he's right.

The manor burns, and so does every man in that house. Qiu Jianluo does, too, once Shen Jiu lets the fusion go. Not before Shen Jiu pushes him onto his own sword.

(Not before Qiu Haitang sees them—him—hulking and monstrous, as he pulls her out of the burning wreck.)

----

"It's be faster if we fused."

"Are you saying you can't handle it by yourself, shidi?"

Shen Qingqiu's fan waves softly in front of his face.

"I can handle it."

"Of course you can. There's no need to put ourselves out."

Liu Qingge huffs out a breath, mad at himself. His own pride won't let him pretend weakness he doesn't have, so he can't claim to need to fuse. Shen Qingqiu must have been counting on that.

He isn't lying though, it would be faster to fuse. All of Shen Qingqiu's knowledge and cool diplomacy combined with Liu Qingge's might. The den of succubus would stand no chance. They would be in and out before the evening wore down, he's sure.

Just like he's sure that fusion would have streamlined the last handful of missions they've been on together.  For sure, if they'd been fused while facing that Dancing Crystalline Boar Shen Qingqiu's third favorite fan would still be with them.

No matter what Liu Qingge tries, Shen Qingqiu dodges every attempt he makes to ask his shixiong to fuse.  Literally dodging in some cases.  When Liu Qingge suggested they practice fighting fused as part of their sparring sessions, the man had nearly barrell rolled off the mountain.

If his younger self could see him now... he remembers a time he was furious at the prospect of having to fuse with Shen Qingqiu.  He and his Shixiong's relationship was, thankfully, so vitriolic none of their Shizun's attempts towards improving their Sect Sibling relationship ever came close to bearing fruit. Yes, ideally all the Peak Lords would be able to fuse in case needs arose, but Liu Qingge didn't have a problem fusing with any of the other Peak Lords. It was just Shen Qingqiu, the murderous bastard.

That Shen Qingqiu would then save his life... and with a partial fusion even.

He can't remember even most of what happened while he was dying in the Ling Xi caves. What he does recall is hazy with the after effects of qi deviation and confusion.  He holds onto what he remembers with two hands though.

A soft, cooling light and nervous almost bemused thoughts. They couldn't have done a fusion dance, or even any of the ritual martial forms for fusing. He can't imagine with how badly he'd been qi deviating, that he had the coordination or intent to do so.

Still, somehow his soul had called out and Shen Qingqiu's soul had answered. They hadn't fused but they'd mingled well enough in each other that Liu Qingge was pulled out of his qi deviation.

The Shen Qingqiu that Liu Qingge had known—had thought he'd known—up until that point would have sooner killed Liu Qingge himself than open himself up to fusion. At least, that's what Liu Qingge thought.

He'd been wrong.

Oh, he didn't know it at first. He'd wasted his first attempt to fuse with Shen Qingqiu because he wanted the fast and easy way to determine exactly how Shen Qingqiu was planning on playing him. Because Shen Qingqiu must have an angle, and fusing would force him to expose it.

Well, they never fused, but Liu Qingge still realised Shen Qingqiu didn't have an angle. He was just, changed.

Shen Qingqiu hides a smile behind his fan as they approach the Sucubus cave, eyes flashing merrily at Liu Qingge as he says a final joking sentence.

Liu Qingge had once been faced with the prospect of fusing with Shen Qingqiu for duty. Then, because he was dying. Then, as an effort to force the man to be honest for once.

Now, Liu Qingge wants to, with Shen Qingqiu, for no other reason than simply because he, well. He wants to. He wants to be closer to Shen Qingqiu, he wants to show how much he's grown to trust his Shixiong. He wants his Shixiong to trust him.

He thinks they'd be good together. Strong, obviously. But also smart, and quick, clever. Liu Qingge isn't stupid, whatever anyone says, and he doesn't do himself the disservice as to discount his own strengths, but he wants to know what it's like in Shen Qingqiu's head. What it's like to be able to call up words like water from a pitcher, what it's like to be able to smile warmly and speak cleverly.

He wants to share with Shen Qingqiu his side as well. Wants him to feel the power and constancy of Liu Qingge's own strength and will. 

Shen Qingqiu gestures at him, his fan firmly in place between himself and the rest of the world as he steps into the cave.

Liu Qingge, as ever, follows.

----

It happens so quickly, neither of them have a chance to realise it.

It's not a dance, but the honed tempo of two martial gods coming to the same blows day after day after day.

They're just. In synch. Mind, body, souls.

Liu Qingge snarls something about desecration and disrespect.

Luo Binghe sneers something condescending back.

Xin Mo and Cheng Luan cross blades once more.  As repetitive as it is, perhaps it does count as a dance.

And then they are one. Liu Qingge and Luo Binghe no longer existing as separate beings but united into one consciousness.

They cut an impressive figure against the dimming sky, broad shoulders narrowing into a slim waist and dense, inky, feathery hair cascading from a thick ponytail. Their robes are cut in Bai Zhan's severe style but dyed in the demon lord's dark colors.

They have claws, fangs, senses sharpened by nature first before cultivation. This doesn't bother them as much as it should, every hunter needs it's weapons. They feel solid, settled, confident in this body despite their newness. They have a mole, on their finger.

They don't really register this.

There's one thought in their head: Shen Qingqiu.

Everything else is paralyzed.

There's a dual sense inside of them; that they should get to Shen Qingqiu's side immediately, that they shouldn't be near him, that he's in danger, that he's safest where he is.

Over it all is a bone-deep, aching grief. He's gone, he's gone, he's gone and it's all their fault. No matter what they try, they'll always fail when it comes to him, won't they?

They stay there, on their knees, well after the sun sets into the night.

-----

The first time Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe fuse it's ugly and emotional and the fate of the world rests like a cracked egg in their palm.

Shen Qingqiu doesn't know he'd say it's worse then fusing at the moment one is about to push one's disciple into hell though.

Shen Qingqiu much prefers the third time they fused or the fourth, or the fifth.  They honestly spend more time fused than not, though Shen Qingqiu has responsibilities he still needs to take care of that require them to split.

He wonders if it's so terrible, how easily he loses himself in their fusion. Certain member of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect sure act like it's a tragedy.  He's resigned not to care. He loves Luo Binghe: stickiness, partial darkening, and all whether fused or not.

The System is still a problem. When fused it completely blacks out, like a blind spot in his vision. Any train of thought that even runs parallel to it gets forcefully redirected. It makes him feel like a dog being clicker trained, but it isn't thorough enough that Binghe doesn't walk away from their fusions with unvoiced questions that Shen Qingqiu still can't answer.

Despite this, or maybe partially because of it, Shen Qingqiu warms up to fusing with Luo Binghe as a flower warms up to the sun.  It's both him and Binghe, as one. He doesn't have to try and find the face to speak. For one, it seems Binghe's shamelessness melds really well with Shen Qingqiu's unbridled face for criticism so speaking his mind is never an issue. If there is something he gets stuck on, he only needs to meditate on it and let it resolve itself internally. Both Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu will come out understanding the resolution.

This isn't to say Shen Qingqiu prefers being fused. Not at all. What would he do without being able to see Luo Binghe's peerless face? Spending time alone being them is grand, but he also loves spending time together with his Binghe.  He would miss it, if he wasn't able to squish Binghe's cheeks and toothlessly scold his manners.

And how he has to scold Binghe for his manners.

Well, he supposes Liu Qingge does deserve it more often than not. "Luo Binghe is dead." Truly, shidi? The one time in your pristine life you decide to lie and it's when it's liable to send Shen Qingqiu to an early grave?

Between that and "You have me here before you and you're going to choose him?" Shen Qingqiu could think Liu Qingge isn't dealing with his least favorite Shixiong moving off the mountain so well.

As if Shen Qingqiu knows what to do with that!

Of course Shen Qingqiu chose Luo Binghe! The man was all alone, without any support network at all! Liu Qingge is a good, a great friend even, but he isn't alone. He has the sect, his disciples, his sister, and surely the many theoretical sisters who must be throwing themselves at him any time he steps foot off the mountain.

It's not like Shen Qingqiu doesn't visit! He misses Qing Jing Peak, Cang Qiong Mountain, and his shidi, too! He even, in consideration of Liu Qingge’s surprisingly delicate sensibilities, avoids doing business with him while fused. 

As frustrating as Liu Qingge and Luo Binghe can be while in each other's vicinity (tension growing between them thick enough Shen Qingqiu often wants to test it on Xiu Ya's blade, an epic rivalry that never got to bloom in the original storyline, maybe?) it's miles more tolerable than whatever happens while they're fused and Liu Qingge is forced to interact with them.

"Husband!"

"Mm," Shen Qingqiu hums in distraction.

"Husband, stop thinking about Liu Qingge." Luo Bingge pouts, tugging Shen Qingqiu's sleeve.

"Shishu." Shen Qingqiu absently corrects even as he can't help but smile at Luo Binghe's put upon face. "You should show him respect, Binghe."

"Liu-Shishu," Binghe obediently repeats.

"What makes you think I'm thinking about your Shishu?"

"Shizun always looks like he's trying to decide whether or not to let in a stray cat when he thinks about Liu-Shishu. For the record, he shouldn't let the stray cat in. It'll claw the furniture." 

Shen Qingqiu laughs, forgetting for a moment, to hide it behind his fan.  Luo Binghe's eyes sparkle and he swoops in, locking his arms around his husband.

"Even if he does scratch some furniture, won't Binghe just fix it for this master? It shouldn't be so hard, since you have to fix the furniture you break any how."

Luo Binghe pouts and buries his face into Shen Qingqiu's neck.  "If Shizun insists."

Shen Qingqiu brings his hand up to pet at Luo Binghe's fluffy hair. It's thanks to how open they've been together that Shen Qingqiu can catch the undercurrent in Luo Binghe's voice.

"If Binghe doesn't want to entertain Liu-Shidi he doesn't have to." Shen Qingqiu starts. "Binghe and Liu-Shidi did have a... contentious relationship while this master was... gone." Luo Binghe's fingers tighten in Shen Qingqiu's robes and Shen Qingqiu winces but forges on. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, Binghe. I can have tea with Liu-Shidi at one of the pavilions today, and finish things on Qing Jing Peak quickly."

Luo Binghe is quiet as Shen Qingqiu's words settle over then.  He butts his head closer to Shen Qingqiu's collarbone.

"But Shizun likes Liu-Shishu."

"Yes," Shen Qingqiu concedes, "But that doesn't mean I want you forcing yourself to be uncomfortable for my own sake. I see him at Peak Lord Meetings, we can always catch up then.  This is your home, too, you shouldn't be made uncomfortable in it."

This time the quiet stretches longer.  Shen Qingqiu would be inclined to panic and overthink, but he forces himself to breathe instead. It's Luo Binghe who needs the time to think, to actually sort through his feelings instead of conceding to what he thinks Shen Qingqiu wants.

That's one of those things they meditated on while fused. It was much easier when their desires are actually one, but together they had unpacked the snarl of Luo Binghe's chronic desire to prove himself worthy and fear of failing his Shizun.

Shen Qingqiu had spoken, Liu Binghe had to trust that Shen Qingqiu wasn't lying or couching the truth for his feelings. He wasn't for the record. Shen Qingqiu does like Liu Qingge, he really enjoys spending time with his recalcitrant Shidi, but he can arrange those times around Luo Binghe if he needs to. 

Liu Qingge is always pestering him to tend his Peak Lord duties and do a mission or two. He'd be thrilled if Shen Qingqiu started going on nighthunts again, perhaps while Luo Binghe has to do his Huan Hua Palace Master-ing or his Demon Lord-ing. Definitely, Shen Qingqiu can at least start hosting their little tea parties outside of the Bamboo House if it bothers his husband.

Finally, Luo Binghe inhales deeply and sighs against Shen Qingqiu's skin before his shakes his head.

"There's no need for Shizun to do that. Shishu isn't that bad." He draws back enough to smile, watery eyes striking Shen Qingqiu all over again. "And Shishu would be sad if Shizun distanced himself."

"I'm sure he'd understand."

"Hmm." Luo Binghe doesn't outright contradict Shen Qingqiu, but Shen Qingqiu knows that particular sound is Luo Binghe's Shizun-Thinks-He-Knows-What-Is-Happening-Here-But-It's-Funnier-If-I-Don't-Tell-Him noise.

There's the thud of a foot connecting with the door frame. No guesses as to whom that announced. Shen Qingqiu glances at the door but doesn't move towards it.

Luo Binghe breathes a laughing sigh out. "Shizun, this disciple has already gone through the trouble of making Shishu's favorite."

"Fine, but you'll tell me if you need space."

Luo Binghe smiles at him, pout and tears already a long-distant memory on his face. He moves past Shen Qingqiu to open the door himself.  He's answering Shen Qingqiu, but his eyes are already locked onto Liu Qingge when he says, "Husband takes such good care of me."

"You!" From over Luo Binghe's shoulder, Shen Qingqiu gets to see Liu Qingge’s face flush that particular shade of pink he inevitably turns when in Luo Binghe's radius. "I—I'm on time!" He says, flustered, as he catches sight of Shen Qingqiu.

"No need to defend yourself, Shidi." Shen Qingqiu allows. "You're exactly on time, please come in."

Luo Binghe stretches to lean against the door frame, not moving from Liu Qingge's way.  Shen Qingqiu can't see his face but he doesn't doubt it's expression when he says, "Well, Shishu?"

Liu Qingge huffs, aggrieved, before shouldering his way into the bamboo home. "Welcome back," he says to the air as he crosses the threshold.

Luo Binghe's mouth curls into a smile that he shares with Shen Qingqiu over Liu Qingge's head, and Shen Qingqiu decides that he believes that Luo Binghe, despite their rough history, is as fine with Liu Qingge as he says he is.

"This disciple will go get everything ready."

"Thank you Binghe." Shen Qingqiu smiles. "Sit with me, Shidi?"

[one-idea]

About the reverse strawhats AU!! I am absolutely in love with it, it's so interesting. I haven't read all the posts yet, but I got a question: what about Garp? In canon, he took a step back in marineford because Ace made the choice to become a pirate, and Ace accepted his coming execution. He didn't like it, but he respected his choice. (Stupid men and their stupid honor). But here, Luffy hasn't even set sail yet! He is still, technically, "innocent" of any crimes other than being his father's son! So how will Garp react to it?

Oh this is so tough!!!

I’m not here in the anime yet, so I can give a better answer later.

But my guess is Sengoku knew that there was no way Garp would let the World Government execute his youngest grandson. Especially when that grandson hadn’t committed any crimes (yet)

Luffy’s execution is so different than Ace’s. Everyone can tell this is wrong. This is a 17 year old with no record and they were going to kill him over his father’s crimes and the hat on his head (and maybe a devil fruit, there’s a lot of reasons for them to want the kid dead) and the public can’t wrap their heads around this.

But we are here for Garp.

I think Sengoku took one look at Luffy and the orders to execute him and knew he had to hide it from Garp of it would never happen.

I think Sengoku has sent him out on some mission in the East Blue. (Garp’s excited because maybe he’ll run into Luffy and convince him to be a Marine before he does anything to illegal, he doesn’t know he’s already locked up in a cell in level seven of Impel Down. This also allows him to pick up Kolby)

I don’t think Garp knows. I don’t think he finds out until the televised execution starts and he’s in one of the blues and knows he can’t get there in time to stop it.

I think this might be what finally shatters the old man’s faith in the Marines. Because how could his friend hide this from him? Who could his co-worker murder his grandson for no reason other than the blood in his veins?

I don’t know if he’d leave the Marines.

If he’d retire

I can’t see him joining Dragon no matter how hurt he is, I can’t see him taking that hard of a turn

I can’t see him as a pirate

Maybe as a liberator. Going to places he knows tha marines are doing wrong and trying to stop them but not fully joking the rebel cause.

Or maybe he just leaves a floats around teaching his brand of justice to the next generation and causing problems for everyone, the government, the revolutionaries, and pirates.

I will have to wait until I see this part in the show. But the circumstances are so different. And Luffy isn’t a criminal yet. So I can’t see him being able to justify his death in any way. And I can’t see him being idol in it or complicit.

I think he has to be removed from play somehow m. I just don’t know what will be the reaction besides overwhelming sadness and grief.

Sorry I don’t have a more detailed answer. Once I get here in the show I’ll take this again.

But thank you for the ask!

[squadmuse]

IN LOSS AND LOVE

AN AARON HOTCHNER X OFC STORY

A/N: THIS IS MY FIRST EVER POTENTIAL MULTICHAPTER STORY SO I HOPE YOU ENJOY. ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE TOO (1602 WORDS)

A woman stood alone.

Empty cars were lined on either side of her, one of them her own, and yet she could not move another step, even as snow started to fall down from the heavens upon her.

She didn’t know what she was doing here, she didn’t want to be here and god knows that she shouldn’t be here, but here she was standing in front of the community hall.

Death.

That was the reason for her standing there, and for why her heart was shattered. Death had snatched someone away from her, someone important and involved within her life, and grief had fallen upon her heavier than the incoming snowstorm.

He had been her husband, her best friend once upon a time. Life hadn’t been easy for them both, and they had divorced a while ago, yet he had been so integrated into her heart and life, that just walking through those big doors before her, it felt that if she did, then it meant he was indeed gone and she was somehow betraying him.

But she needed to do this, it wasn't just herself she had to worry about, and she had been struggling, the entire family and their friends had been too. So, with a heavy heart and deep sigh, Eleonora persevered and let courage prevail.

Her gloved hand felt shaky as she held the door open for herself, but the warmth of the heat indoors made Eleonora feel somewhat relaxed. The soft clicks of her heeled boots seemed to echo slightly as she made her way along the corridor, her hazel eyes looking for the room that the group were to be meeting in.

Luckily, it didn’t take Eleonora long, as she found the room easily. She could hear muffled chatter from within, and again she felt her anxieties rising from within herself. This was it, finally confronting that Joseph was dead, and she pushed herself through the heavy door.

It was like she had imagined the group to look like. A number of chairs were set up in a large circle, and a few people had gathered already and were chatting. They seemed friendly enough, guessed Eleonora. There was even a small table where some were making tea or coffee. Coffee sounded quite heavenly at that moment to her.

Alas, Eleonora didn’t get to go make her coffee as an elderly woman seemed to appear out of nowhere and before her. She seemed kind, a soft smile upon her aged face, painted dark red. A frail hand reached out, with matching dark red painted nails.

“Ah you must be Eleonora?” asked the old woman to Eleonora, who nodded with a kind smile.

“Yes, I’m Eleonora, and I’m guessing you are Margot?” replied Eleonora. Margot had been the one to reply to her email about the group and the group leader.

An even wider smile came across Margot’s face as she nodded. “Ah it is good to see you here, it’s always hard at first, but I think you’ll find us a friendly bunch who are in the same boat,” said Margot as she rubbed Eleonora’s right arm gently.

Eleonora sniffled slightly. “It’s been a couple of weeks and with Christmas coming up, not having Joseph there is just heartbreaking…,” replied Eleonora as she accepted a tissue from Margot.

Margot nodded. “I wish I could say it will get easier, but there’s always a piece of you missing. It has been fifteen years since I lost my George in a car accident,” she added, sighing sadly.

Eleonora felt her heart break for the woman before her. “Oh I'm so sorry, how do you get by after so long?”

“Back then I had a good family around me, and I had my three children too,” replied Margot as she walked slowly with Eleonora towards two seats next to each other. “But I found this group, and it helped a lot and I mean it. I found that I wasn’t alone and people who completely understood the loss of a spouse or partner too.”

Eleonora nodded as she slid down onto the foldout chair. “I was really nervous about coming to be honest, Margot. It just feels like being here cements that Joseph isn’t ever coming back.”

The elder woman grabbed hold of Eleonora’s hands and held them in a gentle grasp. “The first step is always the hardest part, but you are here, and we always help each other here. Joseph might be gone, but he’s still there in your heart, isn’t he?”

“Oh yes, I mean we might’ve been divorced, but he was still so important in my life!” said Eleonora to Margot, who smiled comfortingly at her.

“You had a son with him, didn’t you? That you were co-parenting?” asked Margot as she leaned closer to Eleonora, the scent of lilies and roses wafting towards her.

“Yes, Theo. He turned three years old back in August. God, he misses his papa, but he’s so young that he doesn’t really understa-” replied Eleonora, her voice breaking as she thought about her little boy crying out at night for his papa or wanting to speak to his papa.

Margot sniffled herself as she pulled Eleonora into a warm hug. Eleonora could feel the tears running down her cheeks, but she didn’t care nor worry. Just from meeting and chatting with Margot, she felt safe, and she felt comfortable showing her emotions.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” murmured Margot as she comforted Eleonora. “I know exactly what you’re going through and just let it all out. Nobody will ever judge or ridicule you here.”

Eleonora pulled herself away from Margot’s embrace and wiped her wet eyes. “God, I probably look like a drowned cat right now… do you have any tissues and maybe some coffee?” asked Eleonora as she held onto Margot’s outreached hand.

Margot nodded and turned to another member of the group. “Emmett dear, will you fetch some of the tissues from the supply cupboard? I don’t think they’ve been put out yet.” she asked, and a tall man nodded and Eleonora guessed that he was indeed Emmett. “Now back to you my dear, some tea will do you some favour instead of caffeinated coffee!” she added as she brought Eleonora over to the little table she had seen before.

“I’ve never been a big tea drinker before, and I’ve been drinking coffee nonstop lately, I feel,” said Eleonora as she watched as Margot whipped together a white polystyrene cup of tea for her.

Margot nodded as she worked. “Tea was such a blessing for me, helped calm me and helped me sleep too. Do you have milk in it?” she asked, and Eleonora nodded and before long she was holding the warm cup in her pale hands.

After one sip, Eleonora did feel more relaxed somehow. Perhaps it was the warmth, or maybe it was the milk or just that someone had made it for her. The last few weeks had been tough, and she had been prioritising Theo over herself. “Wow, this is probably the best tea I’ve ever had, Margot!” she stated as more people turned up through the doors that Eleonora had been nervous about walking through herself.

Margot chuckled and rubbed Eleonora’s arm. “I’m glad you like it, now I hate to be rude, but I need to go welcome the other newbies!” smiled the old woman who Eleonora was now already fond of.

“Don’t let me keep you, I’ll just sit here and drink my tea!” replied Eleonora as she brushed a strand of her own light brown hair away from her face as Margot made her way to the new arrivals.

Eleonora hadn’t been joking about the cup of tea, it was a great cup of tea, and it didn’t take long for her to wander over to the table and take a biscuit to nibble on. Emmett chatted away with her for a bit and introduced her to some others he knew, and it was then that Eleonora knew she had made the right decision to come tonight.

It was only as she was talking away to Sara and Juana, two women close in age to herself, that Eleonora locked eyes with another set that she had not seen in over ten years, but she would never forget those brown eyes nor the man who they belonged to. Eleonora found herself rising from her chair and, if by autopilot or something more, she felt herself hurrying ever so slightly to who she had seen and who had seen her too.

Eleven years had passed, and a lot had changed in Eleonora’s life, but Aaron Hotchner had not.

"Ella is that you?" he asked, his gaze unyielding yet filled with withheld emotion.

Eleonora nodded, feeling herself begin to tear up at the sight of Aaron after all these years.

"Yeah, it's me, Aaron," replied Eleonora, and with that she felt herself being pulled into his tall frame and into a deep hug that was exactly how she remembered.

"It's been so long. I missed you," he murmured into her neck.

"I know, I missed you too. But we've found each other again," she whispered, staring up at him.

Years had passed, loves had been lost and lives created, but at that moment, the two of them were there, together and perhaps just what each other needed.

[windsweptinred]

Metamorphosis Part Seven

(It's finished, it's actually finished!!)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

The great stained glass windows of the palace throne room shifted in a continual blur of pattern and colour. At the base of the vast staircase below, Night watched them with concern. Their disharmony, a clear sign all was not well with their master. 

The young Endless in question stood upon the first step, facing him, Matthew perched loyally upon his shoulder. He looked, for all the world, like a slighter, pale miniature of Night, tall and dark as he was with Dusk balanced proudly on his own. Time stood at Night's side, one hand placed at the small of his back, resting gently on the cool leather. The other, carefully cradling the treasured baby blanket, Night had passed him.

Dream fiddled with his sleeves once more. An anxious tick, Night pondered fleetingly, just like Time. Those life green eyes looked to them imploringly. "Must you go?"

Night gave a slight, weary smile, "It is time we took our leave." He looked to the imposing stone throne above, sat empty and expectant. "And you must see to your realm, your highness."

Dream followed his gaze, expression somewhat troubled, before slowly smoothing to one of acceptance and determination. He turned back to the pair, chin high and declared in a stately manner, "I will make you proud." Time smiled warmly in response. "You already have Dream." The young man nodded in silent gratitude, eyes wet. 

"You will find your tools of office in Lucienne's safe keeping." Night informed him softly. "I had meant to hand them to you personally, earlier. However…" 

"It all turned into a colossal cluster fuck? " Time offered. 

Night bit the inside of his cheek, as Dusk looked at him sharply in appalled dismay at Time's words. He ran a finger over her flanks placatingly. This is 600 years of refinement before you Dusk, he thought. And imagined with a quirk of his lips, how his handmaiden would have reacted to the scoundrel he had encountered in 1389. 

Turning his attention once more to Dream, he continued, demeanour serious. "They will help you grow gradually accustomed to your power, but do not become reliant upon them."

Dream's eyes broke their shared gaze, fluttering about in a lost manner. Before he looked to Night with an expression of deep anguish. "I remember." He admitted almost inaudibly. 

Night screwed his eyes shut. Bitter grief flooding his heart. He had so ardently hoped the youth had been spared some of the worst cruelties dealt to him. That he had remembered the who's and hows of Dream of the Endless.. Not all. 

"I wish you did not… I am so very sorry" He whispered mournfully. "For you to be burdened with such monstrous memories… I would like you to have met the dreamers afresh, with benevolence and hope. Not already tainted by my own experiences." 

Dream shook his head emphatically. "It is not your fault. It is not theirs either."

Night stared at him in wonder. Oh my darling boy, how did one such as you come from such brutal beginnings? 

"If you ever need… " He started. 

"I shall call for you." Dream assured him. "I swear it!"

Night took Dream's face in hands, running his thumbs lovingly over his cheeks. Eyes of blue and green bled to matching swathes of night. Bright stars flaring within both at recognition of the other. 

"Do not grow proud." Night attempted to sound stern in warning. But his voice was hoarse, and the tender concern in his words won out. "Take heed of Lucienne's wise counsel. Trust Matthew in all things, he will never abandon you. Do not fear calling on the Corinthian's aid, for there is little he would not do for you if you asked it of him." 

Dream nodded, gentle tears slipping from his eyes, which Night swept away without comment. Leaning forward, he placed a  kiss, full of devotion upon the Dream's forehead, whispering into place his lips had marked with urgency." Remember your duty is not all you are Daniel." 

Dream's breath hitched, and he clutched at Night's coat with an unrelenting grip. Time stepped forward, running a hand affectionately through the youths white locks, stopping to cradle the back of his head. Dream looked at him, eyes gleaming. 

"Visit Hippolyta Hall." Time instructed gravely. "Let her know you are safe and whole. Continue to do so from time to time, even if all it brings you is discomfort and her misery. Do not leave her to suffer a parents greif. Pomsie me, Dream."

Dream glanced at Time, then Night, with a great, sorrowful look of understanding."I will, I promise."

They withdrew from him, Time knocking a gentle knuckle against his cheek as they did. "Stay hearty and hale for me." He whispered, pleadingly. "Do nothing reckless."  

At Dream's shoulder, Matthew puffed out his small feathered chest. "I've got this. I'll take care of the kid. Don't you worry!" 

Night smiled at the raven, caressing his head with a gentle finger. "You must take care of each other."

A heavy, awkward silence fell over them and Dream looked forlornly to the floor. He scrubbed childishly at his eyes, valiantly attempting to regain his composure, sniffing intermittently. Finally he straightened his posture and bowed low at the waist, the perfect picture of decorum save for his still hitching breath. "Farewell then, your Excellencies." 

Night dipped his head courteously in response, eyes bright. Time gave a curt nod, eyes downcast. He hooked an arm around Night who sagged into his side, looking briefly to the raven on the young man's shoulder. "I'll leave the window open for you Matthew, don't be a stranger." Then with a despondent sigh, he turned them and they began their way slowly towards the ornate entrance way. 

"Wait!"

They had barely reached the doors of the grand chamber, before Dream raced after them. He threw himself at Night, causing  Dusk and Matthew to take to the air in a flurry of feathers. Hooking his arms tightly about Night's neck and tucking his head determinedly under his chin, Dream snuggled into Night's collar bone as if someone would try and wrench him away. "Goodbye Mother," Dream whispered intimately into Night's skin. 

Night wove his arms about him, hugging back with equal fervour. Tears welled in his eyes as he clutched Dream's curls, "My sweet boy… My sweet child." They stayed there for a while, swaying slightly against each other. Then Night pulled back, unlatching Dream's arms just enough to shrug off his coat and drape it over the light, white tunic that covered Dream's shoulders. It swamped his smaller form, bottom trailing across the floor. But as the  lining of infinite night skies swaddled Dream's body, Night felt the youth's essence wrapped securely within his own and let out an overjoyed breath. "Wear it when you venture forth." He insisted. "So that I may know you are safe." Placing another impassioned kiss to the young man's head. 

Already, the leather was fading from midnight black, to storm cloud grey to a brilliant starshine white. The trailing ends, curving and rippling into soft, rolling vapours of cloud and mist. Dream pushed his arms through the sleeves, and Night laughed wetly as the now bleached cuffs hung ridiculously low over his fingers. 

Time gave an amused huff, "You'll grow into it."

Dream looked questioningly to Time then, who opened his arms wide, a vibrant grin across his face as Dream flung himself into his embrace. A matching beam spread across his lips. "Father." 

Time clutched him to his chest with all his might. As he did so, sand drew from the stone floor beneath them, swirling lazily about them. "We share the sands of Time and creation. Remember, I will be there, in every grain! " He swore resolutely. "Trust it to protect you, to defend you, as I would."

Dream nodded into his shoulder as Time rocked him one last time, then released him. The sand slunk back to the floor, remelding back into the stone. 

Dream looked to both of them beseechingly as Matthew returned to rest upon his shoulder once more. "Visit as much as you are able!" 

"You couldn't keep us away." Time insisted, as Dusk settled carefully upon Night's forearm, mindful of his now bare flesh. 

Dream pulled them to him again, one last time. And stood, nestled happily between them. Behind them, the stained glass windows rippled, before settling peacefully into place. To the left, Night. Resplendent in a gradient gown of dusk to dawn, profile framed in shining moonbeams. From a raised hand, stardust swirled artfully. 

To the right, Time clothed in vibratant robes of nature's rich bounty. Behind him, a sun flared like a golden halo. From an hourglass held proudly aloft, sand flowed in bold sweeps. 

Finally in the centre, stood Dream of the Endless, white and gleaming, head crowned with an intricate circlet of stars. About him, star dust and sand coiled and entwined in a protective embrace. 

……………….. 

Time shouldered the door of the New Inn open with a relieved grunt, ushering Night and Dusk, still perched upon his forearm, through into the dim light of the empty bar.

Behind the counter, Henry, seasoned barkeep and unofficial leader of his motley crew of staff, gave a surprised grunt. His hands still leafing through the day's takings, a flip file, full of neatly recorded figures, open at his side. 

"Rob! I was just closing up. We wondered where you'd dissappeared off to? Not like you to take off without leaving word." He sent Night a friendly smile, giving an interested, yet unsurprised glance at Dusk. "And Morpheus, always good to see you lad."

Night returned a warm, tired smile. Leaning into Time's side with a pleased exhale. Time gave an embarrassed huff, tugging at his ear which immediately had Peter's interest fixed on him. All the power of existence and he still hadn't lost that telling habit. 

" I'm sorry Henry." He apologised sincerely. 

"It was a last minute thing." He gave Night a conspiratorial grin, before declaring with an awkward beam . "We may.. have gotten married."

He felt the steady, slow thrum of the old man's life force blast into a concerto, as Henry laughed disbelieving. Rounding the bar in a flash, he delivered a firm slap to Time's arm, which Time noted, felt like an insect had accidentally collided with him. Before he grabbed Night's hand and shook it vigorously. "Robert you old dog!! Congratulations, congratulations! And you didn't tell a soul?!" 

Time shared a flustered look with Night before shrugging. "It was kind of a shotgun situation."

Henry laughed riotously at that. Giving Time's arm another firm slap. "Oh I bet it was, I bet. Trust you Robbie. I'd ask, are you going to carry your husband over the threshold, but you both look dead on your feet." He looked towards the kitchens, then gave them a kind smile, gesturing towards their regular table. "How about I get the kettle on before I go? And I think there's some of Martha's cheesecake left in the back."

Time all but collapsed into his chair. Giving an exhausted grumble as he dragged a chair from the nearest table across to sit at their side. Night gently manoeuvred Dusk onto its top rail. Before gracefully taking his usual seat. 

" That would be heavenly Henry. Thank you!"

Time glanced at Night, taking in his worn out, but contented expression. His dark hair spilled over his shoulder, the slightest glimmer of something more than a natural reflective sheen, trailing down it in the low light. Pulling a hand through his own locks, he checked covertly, still auburn. Good. He was using more energy than he wished in his drained state to keep his appearance fixed. But it was worth it to be back. 

Henry bustled out from the kitchen, arms loaded with plates and cups the way only a practised waiter could. "There we are." He placed mugs full of steaming tea infront if Time and Night. Then followed it with three plates of delectable looking cake. One for each of them. And one placed proudly down in front of Dusk. Who gave it an indifferent stare. "And some for this beauty. I remember Matthew always liked his own portion. Where is the little blighter then?" 

Night sat his tea down regally into its saucer. Before responding, "My son has just taken up his own residence. I left Matthew with him so they may look after each other." 

"Uni is it?" Henry asked, not waiting for any sign of confirmation as he pushed a plate of now broken up crumbs and cream eagerly towards Dusk. "I remember when it was my Tom. The wife cried buckets. They grow up so fast ey?" 

Night nodded in solemn agreement. "Indeed. It was only mere days ago he was a toddler."

Time smirked into his teacup as Henry, having given up trying to convince Dusk to eat, gave Night a consoling pat on the shoulder. "Oh ay, I know that feeling well."

He righted a few of the chairs and tables around them. Before giving Night a mischievous grin. "But you're pulling my leg. You're not old enough to have a boy closing in on twenty."

Night returned his smirk with an equally playful quirk of his mouth. "You would be surprised, Henry."

Chortling, Henry returned to the bar, packing up the last of the day's business. "Well, time has been very kind to you then. You lucky bugger!"

At that, Night fixed Time with an adoring look. "Oh, far kinder than I often deserved Henry." 

Time reached out his hand across the table, resting it gently, palm up on the table. Night, sent him a small, loving smile before placing his own hand down upon it delicately, fingers twining about each other's wrists. 

The sound of a few doors slamming shut echoed about the room, then Henry emerged again, shrugging on his jacket, making his way towards the door. He gave the couple a tender look, before motioning to the exit. "Well, now that you're both settled in. I'll let myself out. Robbie, and ofcourse our new Mr Gadling. It's good to have you home." He raised a hand in farewell, then left, shutting the door quietly behind him. 

Time leant back in his chair, exhaling in satisfaction. He closed his eyes, listening to the quiet thrum of existence from the furniture, the walls, the streets and city beyond, as their life force slowly turned ever forward. If he concentrated, he could feel the rotations of the Earth beneath his feet. Somewhere beyond, he gave her a gentle spin, trailing his finger through her oceans. 

Home. 

…………….. 

Sol peeked his head inquisitively over the horizon. His first rays spilled down the streets of London, rippled upon the waves of the Thames, their soft glows illuminating through window curiously, searching for his new master. Fluttering gaily between his beams, an ethereal feminine figure, twirling in robes of white, blue and pink, tapped at each plane of glass and laughed joyfully. At one window, she peaked, giggled mischievously, then disappeared in a flurry of bird song and dew. 

On the little window box that sat in front, an owl, pale and opalescent as the morning haze, eyes gleaming and golden as the sunrise, landed gracefully beside their darker twin. Dawn chirruped to her sister in joyful greeting. Before snuggling into her side and joining her in a peaceful slumber as the sky lightened. 

Within the room, two figures knelt on the bed, one astride the other, slim pale back pressed against a broad furred chest, sheets twined about their legs. 

Night cracked his eyes open and watched his handmaid's antics with disinterest. A second later, sols rays streamed into the room, setting their bodies aglow with triumph. Scrunching his eyes, Night tipped back his head, letting it rest upon his husband's shoulder. Be gone Sol! He felt the rays soften in apology, their heat trailing across his skin in pardon, before the beams departed, the sun continuing on its journey. 

He felt Time quicken his lazy thrusts, force intensifying, aim sharpening and let out a pleased, drawn moan. Trailing his hands up his husbands thighs, he rested them at his hips, feeling the surge of each upward rock. Tightening his own hips, he clenched down on Time's length, drawing up, hold taut before dropping back vigour. Infinitely smug when he heard a pleasured groan by his ear and the seconds of the digital clock before him leap back and forth erratically. 

"Be careful my love, remember where you are." 

Time brought a binding arm about his waist and snapped his hips up as he locked him in place. Night let out a shriek as flames roared through his nerves. 

In the pale blue skies above, Venus blinked confusedly back into sight. Searching in bewilderment for the source of her summons, before twinkling good humouredly, blazing one last time in salutation. Then subtly disappearing from the rising morn again.

Time smiled amused into Night's nape. "You remember." Then adjusting his hold, he twisted them both with ease, bringing Night with a forceful slam to support himself with frantic hands against the bedhead. Resting his own palms upon the wall directly behind, Time began to pound into Night with an unforgiving pace. Leaving him able to do nothing but writhe desperately, screeching in pleasure with each powerful thrust. 

"That's right" Time panted hotly. "My Morpheus, my beautiful darkness, my nightingale. Sing for me!"

If anyone was by the riverfront that early morning. They may have seen the waves of the great Themesis rise in a sudden, inexplicable swell. The current escalating in a rapid, powerful flow, rocking the tour boats moored along its banks violently. Then, with a sudden great surge, it settled. 

Below, Martha Lewis, the keys to the New Inn still swinging idly from her fingers, looked to the ceiling, shook her head with an amused chuckle. Then set about readying the ovens for the morning ahead. 

In their little flat above, Night and Time laid entwined together on the bed, letting the vibrations of awakening life around them sweep over them. Time trailed a finger idly across Night's side. "I have been thinking, love. I would rather like us to stay... Here on Earth." He said haltingly. "For a while." 

Night smiled at him sweetly, sweeping in to place a tender kiss upon his lips. "Of course my love. If it brings you peace we can stay until the horsemen ride. If that is what you wish. It is but the blink of an eye for us after all."

Time gave a satisfied hum, pulling Night  to him to lay upon his chest. "Together forever," He declared with serene ecstasy. 

Night gave a fond smile, stoking down Time's chest hair with relish. Trailing his fingers lightly down its path, teasing as it thinned over lower stomach, then grew abundant again at the base of his husband's flagging manhood. He dug his hands into the public curls, massaging. Watching as Time's cock perk once more at the attention. "No one has forever my love, not truly. A life with no end, even for those such as we, is implausible." 

Time's hips began to rock and Night took him in hand, pumping languidly. They shared a sultry kiss, Time drawing back, giving Night a challenging, entertained leer." Wanna bet?" 

Night huffed, eyes darkening in arousal before tightening his grip about his husband. "Care to prove me wrong, my love?" 

Time arched, slapping hungrily at the pert swell of his husband's arse. Kneading his fingers into the pale flesh with a playful grin. "Always!" 

Night gave a warm chuckle. "If anyone can will true eternal life into existence." He whispered huskily. "It shall be you Hob Gadling." He then placed an adoring peck to Time's chin, then collar bone, then rib cage. Trailing his way slowly downwards before giving a final impish nip to the skin just below Time's belly button. Sending his husband a sensual, promising glance as he slunk down with predatory grace to claim his prize. 

The unusual activity that beset the city of London that day was written off, quietly and conveniently, in the most British of fashions, as being 'A bit strange.' In the Threshold, Desire kicked their heels and purred in bliss, as their realm puslated with raw power around them. 

…………….. 

Three Months Later 

"You're absolutely sure this is what you want, duck?" 

Night looked to Time, nodding with conviction, before turning his attention back to the ruined structure before him. At his shoulder, Dawn gazed, intrigued at the decrepit building, just about able to keep itself standing. Her pale feathers glistened in the afternoon sun, beautifully contrasting Night's attire of deep blues and blacks. 

Time clapped his hands together with finality, giving the small woman by his side an excited grin." Right, well. Consider it a deal then, Mrs Crowther. Thank you for being open to our request." 

Mrs Crowther, a tiny woman, with hair pristinely gelled into place and a prim badge at her breast, declaring her name and position within the local council, sagged with relief. 

"Oh it's our pleasure really Mr Gadling. With our budget reduced as it is, renovation was completely out of the question. And what with the countless petitions we've had fighting its demolition. Well, it would have just continued to sit here. You did us a favour taking it off our hands."

She gave them an intrigued glance, obviously fighting her own curiosity before asking," May I enquire what your plans are?" 

Time looked to the building, hands waving expressively, as if trying to draw out an invisible portrait for her." Reconstruction, as much as possible! There's so much history in the place you know! It'd be a shame to lose it. Then a private house. Lots of room for the family to visit and plenty of space to run the business."

Mrs Crowther instantly perked at that. "Oh, what are you in?" 

"Clocks." Time said with all the believability of a lying child, caught mid transgression. "Morpheus is an astrophysicist." Mrs Crowther shot an openly questioning look in Night's direction. Lingering with a raised eyebrow on the owl perched at his shoulder and the opulent clasp, adorned with stars, holding his hair in a loose half ponytail. She probably thought they were some kind of criminal elite, Time surmised. Ah well, at least it would help to keep away unwanted attention. 

She gave them a strained, if polite smile. "Oh, lovely." Then looked to her car wistfully, before turning back to them with an overly enthusiastic demeanour. "Well I'll leave you two to it shall I? I'll get the paperwork sent across this afternoon Mr Gadling." She shook Time's hand once more before striding away as quickly as civility allowed. 

With an enthused leap, Time bound to the doorway, placing his hand upon the frame, feeling the wood begin to strengthen under his palm. "I'll breathe some life back into the old girl. Restoring her just wasn't possible before. But now, if I give her just enough of a boost." He turned giddily to Night, who sauntered towards him with a pleased smile. "I'll get the team that covers wear and tear at the New Inn for the rest. Good lads. And there'll be no questions asked about  how it miraculously sprang back to life that way."

He turned in a circle, taking in the railing, closing off the property with interest. "We can put up a perimeter wall, for a bit of privacy. And gardens running all the way down to the river!" His growing excitement caused bunches of dandelions to surge optimistically in clumps  around the land site. 

Bounding back to the building, Time gave the wall a hearty slap. Dawn ruffled her feathers at the hail of dust it caused to rain down on them. 

"The downstairs, a reception hall, dining room, throne room. She'll break more laws of physics then the inside of the tardis when I'm done!  And upstairs, a private area for the family. A grand library for you love. And a master and seven suits for the family." 

"Eight my lord." Dawn interrupted in a polite yet chipper tone.

Time stilled, before turning to the owl with a dazed expression. "What was that Dawn?" 

Dawn preened Night's hair, as Time watched his beloved's eyes glance anywhere but him. 

"Young sire shall be requiring eight rooms for the children, not seven." Dawn proclaimed with merry assurity. 

Time moved not an inch for a minute before tenderly taking Night's hands in his own. A look of disbelieving awe in his eyes as he tried desperately to fight his growing elation.

"Night, my Darkness?" 

Night's eyes rose to meet his, comets shooting a blazing trail within, leaving vibrant paths of gleaming dust in their wake. "Eight." He admitted, with a blissful smile. Time's answering beam shone like the very spark of creation itself. 

"Do you know their name yet?" 

Night gave a slight smirk, stepping into Time's arms and whispering to his lips, 

"It appears you have proved me wrong yet again, husband mine. They shall be… Eternity."

Behind them, within the husk of the White Horse, the ancient hearth roared to life.

(Yup... They're starting their own little brood of cosmic munshkins, and moving to the next letter of the alphabet. 😆 For anyone interested, Dusk and Dawn are based very heavily of European Eagle Owls. They're a large species of owl who are crepuscularx, meaning they hunt at dusk and dawn when the light has not fully set or come out. It seemed apt.

Well that's it! My very first full length fanfic is complete! I did it!! (Insert a high pitched squeee!) A huge thank you to everyone who took a chance on this random headcanon of a fic. And massive outpourings of love for all your fabulous comments, likes and reblogs. And a humongous thanks once again to @ibrithir-was-here @kat-wick and @mashumaru for your phenomenonal artwork. I think I'm going to go lay down now. 😅)

[sgt-scottymoreau]

Secret and Revelations

Summary: All it take it's one slip up. One little mistake, one bad decision to let a secret be out in the wild. At least if the worst as to come, they had some good time before right? Or maybe all will be fine.

Warning: None

Word: 6.6K // AO3 // Masterlist

A/N: Just wanted everyone to have some fun times and totally not inspired by Alejandro mentioning he has a ranch and does have some bbq with his Vaqueros. It just for fun <3

One month had passed since they had to stop Hassan and the missiles. While they could have already started to look around for Makarov, getting intel on this man proved to be hard and no other major threat was on the horizon. So when the invitation came through, the 141 was rather glad to accept. They earned some vacation, and if something came in the meantime, they could always leave and come back. Alejandro had proposed they come for a few days to his ranch. He did promise his Vaqueros a feast to celebrate the good work they did. It came a little late as they had to first rebuild their HQ, thanks to the Shadows company and Graves who had forced their hands on being slightly destructive to get rid of them. It took a few weeks, but eventually they were back in full operation. Of course, Alejandro and Rodolfo had to work hard to also make sure El Sin Hombre would remain in custody. Which so far, compared to her promise of being out in 24 hours, it seemed to be all going well. She said this almost a month ago. 

The trip to Las Almas went without a hitch, but did feel strange. The 141 was used to travel together, but for serious matters. No recreational and fun matters. Pulling some strings, the captain was able to get a carrier to get them in the country, instead of the regular commercial flight with civilians. This made it a little more comfortable for Ghost. Not being in uniform in the transport dragged some jokes from all of them. 

They just stepped out on the tarmac, Rudy was already there to greet them. He excused Alejandro for not being present but the colonel was busy back at the ranch. 

"Oh wait, Alejandro has a ranch?" Soap said much more excited than he wanted. 

"Si, he sometimes invites everyone and we make asada. A way to show he cares about his men."

"What's that?" Gaz asked. 

"You will see when we are there. Vamos." He gestured at the team to hop in the truck. 

Las Almas had changed slightly since their last visit. Traces of the cartel and, sadly, Shadow Company passage were always visible in some parts. But the guns on the street had almost vanished. It was only kids and balloons, according to Soap. The grief of the lost one was all along the houses. This gave a bitter taste to the three operatives who had to see the bloodbath. None of them commented on this. Eventually the city gave way to greenery and a long view of trees. The drive took another hour or maybe longer, Scotty wasn’t too sure as she started to doze off while her gaze lost in the scenery. She woke up just as Price took a picture. She frowned, half sleepy. The captain showed her the shot, with a smile. Apparently, the travel had been rough on all the sergeants. She has been napping on Gaz’s shoulder, who in return had used her head to rest. Soap had eventually slowly dozed off as well, using her shoulder for support. Scotty smiled silently. She could still feel the heaviness of both men and who she was to wake them up now. 

Rudy eventually announced they were almost there. The three sergeants emerged from their slumber, awkwardly stretching in the small space. The ranch was as they expected; big. In the distance they could already make out some party tents, smoke from barbecue and some figures here and there. Big and small ones. Very small ones. "Some of us want to keep their family safe, but sometimes they will bring them here." The second in command explained to the silent question that loomed over them. 

The 141 joined the party that had started a little while ago, everyone was going around with plates, serving drinks, and playing with the young ones. Music filling the background. It really felt like a nice well earned party. As they approached some Vaqueros raised their drinks to them or tried to catch their attention; they all remembered what they did for them. Alejandro was busy with the cooking, he barely saw Rudy coming with them. “You are finally here!” He rejoiced. He put down his cooking tools and gave everyone a good handshake. “Make yourself comfortable, no pressure. We are here to have fun!”  

"Thanks for the invitation." Price replied. He gladly took the drink that was offered to him. 

The party was entertaining. It was a relaxed ambiance, where everyone could either chat in peace, play games or eat. The 141 blended themselves in the crowd. Scotty found a man she had helped during the prisoner break. He thanked her again for saving his life because this meant his son still had a father. A little baby who was barely a year old. Scotty could barely keep it together when she saw the cute infant. With a laugh, the man said she could hold him. She scooped him gently from his father. It had been years since she had held a baby. "I have two nephews and oh boy does this bring back memories." She smiled. 

"How old are they?"

"Five. Enjoy the time they are so small and calm like this, after that kids become little tornados." They laughed at her remark and kept on chatting a little more. 

In the distance Ghost was watching, in silence. A few kids had approached him to ask questions about the mask, but didn't interact much more than that. Eventually he joined Scotty. He waved the Vaquero and leaned a little closer to Scotty. He looked at the sleeping baby who was not even moving an inch. 

"Not thinking of having kids of your own are you?" He whispered to her. 

"I can't." She replied this without ever looking away from the small face, softly stroking the cheek with her index. Ghost frowned a little behind the mask. She said that so casually, as if it didn't bother her at all. 

"You can't?"

"Yeah. Some medical reason that I don't need to bother anyone with. Before you ask, no it's not a problem for me, I don't feel sad about that fact. With work it's better than way and I have my nephews."

"I see." Ghost looked at the baby. It also brought some memories to him. Memories that he pushed away quickly. He mostly asked her this as a joke, although it suddenly sank into him. The idea of having kids? This felt so rushed; they were barely dating for a few months by now. However, now that he knew that secret of hers, it explained things. Scotty eventually handed back the baby to his parents. 

"What about we grab something to drink, lieutenant?" She smiled. He nodded and they walked to the coolers. Alejandro and Price were discussing near them. Seeing the two of them coming, Alejandro quickly grabbed drinks and handed them to Scotty and Ghost. 

"Price was telling me about what you all did with Hassan." He raised his bottle. "Cheer to that. I have to say I'm impressed to see that Soap and Scotty can work seriously."

She raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I have seen how you two act…"

"Like real idiots on the field?" Ghost chimed in. Scotty nudged him in the side. Alejandro snorted. 

“Go fuck yourself Lt.” This remark resulted in a stare from the captain and the colonel, but Ghost remained impassible. “You would know, Colonel, that Soap and I are very capable. It’s not because we crack a few jokes here and there that we can’t get the job done.” 

In the corner of her eyes, she noticed a group playing with football. It sparked an idea. 

“Colonel, what about we settle down with a little game? You and one extra person of your choice against Soap and I on the football field.”

“You are on.” Alejandro smirked with a laugh. If he was to play against two persons who said their communication skills were on top, he might go with Rodolfo. They had known each other for long enough that a simple look meant everything. It would be easy. Scotty jogged to find Soap and told him all about the challenge. The Scotsman was more than pleased to show off their capabilities and his goalkeep talent. The four of them walked to the makeshift playground. The current players gladly left their place to see how this would turnout. Price and a Vaquero were chosen as referees, to keep things even. 

“Rules are no dirty tricks, two against two, no permanent goalie so make your decision counts.” Price reminded each party. “Take your position.”

Soap and Scotty high fived for good luck and she took place at the center facing Alejandro. The colonel had to admit that she had a smile he had never seen before. Something more confident than ever. Price dropped the ball; the game was on. Scotty reacted as fast as Alejandro, but agility allowed her to get the ball first. The man expected her to move forwards, but instead she kicked the ball behind. It took him a little bit by surprise, till he saw Soap passing by. Rodolfo was quick to intercept him. He slipped the ball away from Soap and made a dash for the goal. Alejandro yelled to make a pass. Rudy executed it, flawlessly. However Scotty was quicker and took advantage. She picked the ball as it passed by. The two Vaqueros looked at each other, they wouldn't let her advance back to their side. They were able to force her to remain on her side, unable to go any further. Eventually, Alejandro was able to regain control of the ball and ran for the goal. With a well placed kick, the ball flew directly in the center. What the two men didn’t notice was that while they were focused on Scotty, Soap had the time to prepare himself. He stopped the ball midair. The Vaqueros on the side cheered at this. Alejandro smiled. They were very clever. 

Soap threw the ball as far as he could reach. It missed Scotty by a meter who had to dash to get it. Rudy did a bold move, sliding on the grass to kick the ball even further away. It wasn’t a dirty trick per say, but Scotty had to jump to avoid tripping over him. Alejandro catched up with the ball and made a sharp turn back. “Rudy, left!”

He avoided Soap who was coming towards him and actually kicked the ball in the opposite direction getting the 141 by surprise. Rudy was way ahead, he wouldn’t be able to stop him. “Scotty, all yours!” He yelled.

She made another dash to catch up. The second in command understood and didn’t give her the chance. He kicked the ball. Scotty did her best. She did catch the ball, but in the motion, she landed in the goal. Another roar of cheer rose around. Even though this counted as one point, it was still impressive. They kept playing for a few turns, the end score; 4-2 for Scotty and Soap. Alejandro was catching his breath, holding himself on his knees. Rudy was on the grass exhausted. Soap sat next to him. Scotty was still standing despite her heavy breathing.

“You win in more than one way.” The colonel admitted. The way they played on the fields, how it felt like they knew each other's next move, the anticipation. “You two are really something.”

“We know each other's strengths and weaknesses like it is ours.” Scotty breathed. “It’s like we are in each other's head.”

“Didn’t you say something similar but with Gaz once?” Price raised his eyebrows. 

“Yes, we also have a good connection.”

“Especially when it comes to taking a piss at the Cap.” Gaz chimed in. They chuckled.

“Someone is looking to get a kick in the arse.” Price placed his hands on his sides. He looked at the three sergeants unphased. Meanwhile, the three of them looked at each other. Another idea sparked in their mind.

“Up for another challenge?” Soap grinned. Price and Alejandro were at full attention. “Same thing, but this time, three against three. Sergeants against higher rank. That means you Ghost.”

The masked man who was barely paying attention glanced at him. “No.”

“Why not?” Scotty taunted. “Afraid to get your ass kicked by us? You chicken." 

The men around her chuckled or gasped at her audacity. Ghost planted himself a few inches from her face. She usually wouldn't back down, but this time she did move a step back. The energy that came from him, she might have gone a little too far. "You are on, Moreau. Don't come crying when you lose." 

Him using her last name made her realize that he meant business. And she was, personally, in trouble. Rudy would be the referee this time. Just like last time everyone took their place. However this game, a permanent goalie was allowed. With Soap as theirs, Gaz and Scotty felt pretty confident. Alejandro, who had been running around in the previous game, decided to take it a little easier and took the goal spot. Once the ball hit the ground, Gaz was already on it, making his way towards Alejandro. Price tried to stop him, but he passed the ball quicker to Scotty. She was about to receive, but Ghost caught the ball. Making a sharp u-turn, she ran after him. Curse is taller legs, Ghost could cross the distance faster. Gaz attempted to stop him: a fail as he slipped on the grass finishing his slide a two meters further. Ghost kicked the ball, a direct traject in the goal. Thankfully Soap's reaction was fast. He stopped it just in time. "No this time Lt!" He smirked. He threw the ball in Scotty's direction who caught it first with the head. It was time to play it dextrous. Gaz understood. While she was dancing around Price and Ghost, he advanced closer to Alejandro's goal. 

Her mind was on high alert. It was a miracle she hadn't tripped yet, but better kept it that way. Ghost came right in front. Scotty swiftly pivoted the ball back, then herself rolled around him. Her back brushed against his chest. She passed the ball to Gaz who in return kicked it to the goal. Alejandro had been focusing on the two sergeants at the same time, didn't not see it and so the first point of the game was marked. The two attackers high fived while Ghost and Price grumbled something under their breath. "If they win we will never hear the end of it." Price said a little louder to his teammate. 

"I know." He glanced at Scotty. When their gaze met, it didn't see the softness she would often give him in the distance. Or the respect of work. Not, it was burning with the desire of crushing him in that supposedly friendly game. She would rub it in his face for days, if not weeks. "I fucking know Price…" 

The captain and the lieutenant were able to mark a few points. This was, however, not enough. On that day, they discovered that the three sergeants were a menace when working together. In a way, their loss was worth it. Price caught himself feeling almost sorry for the enemies who would dare cross the path of these three together. Maybe one day, he should give them a mission together. For now, he has to endure, or appreciate, their over cheering on beating their superiors. 

Soap and Gaz were holding Scotty on their shoulders. Her stamina and running endurance always amazed them and it had been their best asset. They cheered her as she tried to catch her breath. She had been pushing her limits but it was for a good cause. "Eat that Lieutenant!" She teased Ghost. The man rested his hands on his waist, unimpressed. "We should totally have bet something!"

"Like what?" He raised an eyebrow. 

"We get to be captains for a day?" Soap laughed. 

"I could let Price investigate the next fish nursery we go to." Gaz smirked. 

"Fuck that would be amazing! Can you imagine bossing Ghost around?" Scotty had a huge smile on her lips. He frowned, his eyes silently telling her to be careful of her next choice of words. 

"You three would go mad with power, yes." Price chimed in, shaking his head.

The two sergeants dropped Scotty who was still defying Ghost. "Would be great to tell you to keep up. Or tell you to fuck off when you are annoying." 

"You just crossed a dangerous line, sergeant. I think someone needs to cool off." He knew she didn't mean the last part, she was trying to find a way to tick him off and it worked. He lifted her on his shoulder to everyone's surprise. Scotty yelped and told him to put her down. Which he did, once he reached the small pool that had been set for the party. He dropped her in like a rock. Not graceful at all. The water was cool, and it felt good, but the shock made her gasp once she resurfaced. Scotty grabbed on the edge and pushed herself back out. She was drenched. 

"Ghost! Are you fucking serious!" She laughed. 

With no one too close by he allowed himself to be a little more casual. "I warned you, love. Should have been careful with your words." 

"Maybe I didn't want to." 

"Oh I know exactly why you are acting like this, but you are not getting anything. Not while everyone is around. Watch your arse once we are alone though." 

She bit her lips. Yes, this had been her goal, ever since he took off his hoodie for the game. Since she was his muscles flexing from the running around. But he was right, now wasn't exactly the best place to flirt around. Eventually, they spend the rest of the afternoon chilling around, drying off for her, eating and drinking. All in all, they were all having a good time. 

The sun slowly started to set. Some Vaqueros bidded farewell to everyone as they headed back home. Some had setted tents in the fields and were slowly retiring for the night. A few people still up, lit small fire camps to keep warm. The sky let the stars pop one by one till they covered the dark color with millions. It was a beautiful sight. Price was the first one to call it night after some stargazing. Gaz and Soap followed not long after, both being half asleep by the time they walked to the room Alejandro gave them. Talking of which the man had been working and running all day, the calmness of the night finally caught onto him. He wished goodnight to everyone. Rudy left half an hour after. Scotty was left alone in the group. She looked over her shoulders where they had seen Ghost separating himself from everyone. He needed some time alone after so much interaction. He was laying down in a long chair, watching the sky. 

Scotty wrapped herself in a blanket and walked to him. "Mind if I join you?" 

Ghost turned his head slowly. "You will have to sit on the ground if you want." 

She scoped the surroundings. Either people were too far to make out who they were in the dark or sleeping. "I'm sure if you move a little bit, we can share the chair. " 

Ghost didn't have the time to say anything and she forced herself next to him. Even making sure the blanket would also wrap around him. He let out a groan. They squirmed a little bit before finding a comfortable position. The chair creaked under their weight, but held it together. They stayed in silence, stargazing a little longer. 

"It's so beautiful." Scotty breathed. "It's sad that we miss such a view when living in the city." 

"Yeah." Ghost replying. It felt like he had something else in mind, but preferred not to talk. His eyes glanced at Scotty who was absorbed by the stars. She looked at them with such softness and awe. Just like he was doing with her. He loved her when she would play rough and pretend to not be scared of him. But he loved her even more when she was like this, when she was herself. Someone who looks at the world with wonder and hope. With care. She turned her head and caught him staring at her. A soft smile drew on her face. She leaned closer to press a kiss on his covered nose. 

"Enjoy the sky, you can look at me another day." 

"I suppose I can let you order me this, captain." His arm that was around her, wrapped tighter as she giggled. They returned to stargazing in silence. 

After four months together, Ghost was still struggling inside. He still couldn't quite understand why him and not someone else. Would he ever be enough? Does he really know how to love? So many questions that always faded away when he felt her close by. He didn't get actual answers to these questions, but he figured that whatever small gesture she made proved many things. Like now as she wrapped an arm around him and replaced herself to be half climbing on him. 

"Don't fall asleep, love. That wouldn't be wise." 

"I know. I'm just resting my eyes for a few minutes." 

Ghost was watching the sky again till he heard it. Her soft breathing. The one she had when she was sleeping. He knew he should be waking her up, but he didn't have the heart to do so. Not when she looked so peaceful. His eyes were also heavy with tiredness. Maybe he could allow himself a five minutes as well. 

The five minutes turned into hours. They never woke up at the same time throughout the night. Not wanting to wake up the others. Ghost woke up to her sleeping so deep she was half drooling on him. Scotty woke up to her hand softly raising with his chest. It would be a shame to disturb his peace. The warmth under the blanket contrasted with the cold, none of them dared an arm out and so never had the courage to eventually get up. They spend the night sleeping in what looked like the most uncomfortable long chair. They were used to weird places to sleep anyway.

Sun slowly lit the sky in the distance. The dark sky lit up, but not a ray of sun yet. Scotty nuzzled in his hoodie a little more, her embrace tightening. Ghost shifted in his sleep, keeping her close. The world around them had disappeared long ago and so had the worry of something more important. 

Soap was the first one to emerge from his slumber with a pressing need for a bathroom stop. Through the window, he catched a glimpse of the quiet field. Sleep was still hanging on his eyes, he had to triple check that his mind wasn't playing tricks on him. "You bastards." He whispered, a huge grin on his face and all his morning problems vanished. He was wide awake now. He turned on his heels, returned to the room to grab a sweater. Gaz heard the rustle and woke up. He watched him wondering what was going on. 

"Can't you be a little quieter? It's way too early." Gaz whispered with a groan. 

"Not when I'm fucking right!" He said back. Gaz frowned.

"Right about what?" Price's sleepy voice rose next to them. In his euphoria, Soap had forgotten to not wake up the captain. Him or Gaz figuring out that they were dating was one thing. The captain is another. 

"Uh, nothing sir. Go back to sleep." He awkwardly slipped the sweater above his head and exited the room. Gaz and Price could have let go but obviously whatever put him in such a state at the dawn of the day should be worth checking. They silently made their way down and through the same window, Price noticed what Soap had seen. 

"Oh." 

Ghost was emerging from his sleep with sore muscles. His back was already hating him. With a groan, he turned his head to take his surroundings into account. Scotty was still sound asleep, always nuzzled in his chest. The sky was a little more boring now without the stars. Some birds started chipping. Price, Gaz and Soap were standing next to them… Wait! Ghost tensed up and jolted wide awake when he realized that. His jerked motion woke up Scotty who was facing back to the three men and was still unaware. "What's going on Simon?"

"Ain't it cute, she even calls him Simon." Soap grinned like a madman. 

Scotty turned her head so fast, she thought she snapped her own neck. She tensed up just as much as Ghost. The Brit didn't give her the time to react more. He pushed her off him like she was on fire and she didn't blame him for that. The cold morning was a shock, but went almost unnoticed compared to being caught. She got up dusting off the dirt of her clothes. "That's not what you think!" She blurred out. All the heat migrated to her cheeks. 

"The way you two were wrapped together, I think it's exactly what it is." 

"I would say it was cute." Gaz chimed in. 

"Shut the fuck up! It's nothing, you saw nothing!" The three sergeants got caught in a small playful fight over what just happened till Price cleared his throat. This brought them back to reality. Ghost had not spoken a word since. But his captain's eyes were on him. He couldn't quite make out what emotion he was feeling. He had known the man for long enough to guess that… he was probably disappointed he had not followed regulations. The atmosphere around the 141 felt heavy. 

After a silence that seemed to last for an eternity, Price let out a sigh. He also has known Ghost for long enough that he felt a soft spot for him finally allowing himself to love. ‘‘Soap has been saying that you two might be dating. Is that true?’’ The proof had been right in front of him, but honestly how to bring such a touchy subject.

They could deny it or come clean. Four months they have been keeping it secret, this despite all the operations, missions. If it was really only this one slip up, and Soap, that made Price aware of their current relation, then they proved that they could remain professional. Never putting the life of the other above anything else. Scotty and Ghost glanced at each other. A silent statement that was enough for Price to not push the subject any further. ‘‘For now, you are not in trouble. But once we back to base, we need to have a talk.’’ He patted their shoulders before leaving to return to the house.  

Scotty glared at Soap. A rare thing. It was obvious she was filled with rage at the moment. Even Gaz noticed and he wasn’t the target. ‘‘You really had to open that big mouth of yours!’’ She yelled, taking everyone by surprise. It echoed in the fields, hopefully not waking up anyone. 

‘‘It was an accident. I didn’t think they would follow when they woke up.’’ He raised his hands in front of him. 

‘‘Fuck you MacTavish! Like hell you couldn’t lie to them? Fuck!’’ She passed him, bumping into him without a care. Soap was about to go after her, but Ghost stopped him. 

‘‘Trust me Johnny, let her cool off for now.’’ He said. But his eyes had the same annoyance that she had. Soap gulped. Maybe he did fucked up a little here. 

The sun eventually rose completely. The rest of the Vaqueros woke up one by one. After the party, they were all taking it easy in the morning. Remaining in smaller groups, some leaving after packing their tents, but at least none had noticed the drama going on with the 141. Except for Alejandro and Rodolfo. They noticed her missing at the table for breakfast, along with the strange calmness of Soap with a touch of heaviness among everyone. They didn’t quite dare to ask what was wrong when Ghost dryly said that everything was fine. Scotty returned home a little before noon. She was polite to everyone around, however as soon as Soap approached, she snapped at him. 

She thought that after a long walk and some running, she would have been able to cool off but the truth was she had not. Her mind was racing too much about the consequences of Price knowing about her relationship. When they all started this, they knew they were against the rules, they knew that if they ever got caught, it would mean trouble. Scotty sort of prepared herself in case it happened, but she never expected to happen so fast and so out of her control. She also blamed herself. If she had listened to Ghost about not closing her eyes last night. If she had been less stupid and got up in the middle of the night, none of this would have happened. Scotty slammed the door behind and sat on the porch of the house. It was a turmoil of emotions inside her head. She kept it together all morning but now, she felt like letting go. And she did. Silently letting the tears of rage roll down her cheeks. The door creaked behind her and someone took a seat next to her. 

His eyes catched the reflection of the sun on the tears. She never once looked at him, either forwards or the opposite side. Soap took a deep breath. ‘‘I’m sorry Camille. I didn’t mean for this to happen. It’s just…’’

‘‘You have been teasing for months now and were too happy to shove it in my face that you were right.’’

‘‘Yes, but no. When I saw you with Ghost this morning, it did felt like a small victory yes.’’ Her head snapped to him with a deathly glare. ‘‘Easy. I got a little too excited and accidently woke the captain and Gaz up. I should have diverted their attention to something else, I know. I’m sorry for involving them both.’’

Her features relaxed as his apologies did sound genuine. Her shoulders slacked as the tension left. Rage was replaced by worry and sadness. ‘‘I tease you only because you are my best friend and I'm glad to see Ghost with someone. You both deserve it, especially him. It’s nice to see someone love him."

A weak smile appeared on her lips. ‘‘Soap… I’m just scared that everything will change now.’’ She finally admitted. ‘‘I could lose everything that I have, just because I was stupid to fall in love with my superior. Being caught wasn’t only because I could lose Ghost, but also lose 141. I love the team, I don’t want to leave.’’

‘‘Don’t worry lass, I’m sure Price will be understanding. Hey, you guys fooled us for… how long now?’’

‘‘Four months.’’

‘‘No fucking way? That long! So…wait… I was right then! Something did happen during that mission in Siberia!’’ Scotty punched him on the shoulder. ‘‘Ok ok, this aside, you proved that you two can still work as if nothing happened. It will be fine and I'll keep annoying you while we get the baddies." He opened his arm for a hug, which she accepted leaning against him. 

"Thanks Johnny. But don't think it's over." They laughed and stayed like this for a few minutes till she got up. Soap stayed outside, allowing her some time to process everything. Although not even a minute later the door opened, Ghost came out first, followed by her. The Scotsman didn't have the time to say a word. Ghost grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, forcing him back on his feet. Scotty quickly pulled him by the legs, making him fall head first on the porch. Ghost reacted faster, grabbing him under the shoulders. Soap didn't put up much of a fight. Whatever they had planned, he deserved it. At first he thought they would dunk him in the pool. Wouldn't be that bad. But they passed it, heading for something behind it. A mud puddle. 

"Oi! Wait no! I don't even have spare clothes!" He started to jerk to free himself. 

"Lie. You will be fine. Ghost, on three." They even took the time to swing him for more impact. He hit the mud, face first and flat. He groaned as he quickly wiped the mud away. 

"Happy?" He smiled. 

"It's a start." Ghost replied. 

******

They returned to base the next day. The trip didn't feel that awkward but there was a lingering feeling of it. Of course as soon as the plane landed, Price told them he would be waiting for them in his office. They could unpack, unwind from the trip, but they had to put things clear today. A million scenarios had gone through her mind since they found out about them. And most of them revolved around a bad outcome. How could they ever hope to have a good ending with this? 

They sat there in front of him waiting for the judgment. Price was pinching the bridge of his nose, face resting in his hands. How to bring the subject? How to process this situation in a way that would make everyone happy? Laswell had to be informed of this as the head of the task force. Or at least the main liaison. It would take a lot of convincing on his side for this part. For now he needed to know where things were going. "How long?" He finally asked after his mind made a choice. 

"Four months, sir." Scotty weakly admitted. Price looked at them quite surprised by this. He thought it was something recent, a few days or weeks old. That was some information he wasn’t aware of and he had to think about it. His mind took in consideration all that happened in the last months. The missions, the down time… He never suspected a thing! Well yes, he had seen that they had been acting differently than when she first joined, but he thought it was because they were getting along, like she did with Gaz and Soap. The captain shifted in his seat. 

"I'm impressed. Not that you kept it secret, but that it never reflected in your work."

"Captain..." She interrupted. Price raised his hand to tell her to not. 

"However, you know the rules. This is not acceptable. If Scotty had not been a permanent part of the 141, maybe I could have turned a blind eye."

She gulped, her eyes slowly lowering to her knees, too upset to even look at Price in the eyes. Was she really about to lose everything and go back to her old PMC? Probably. And how to keep a long distance relationship with jobs who barely give free time on top of dating someone who was slowly learning to date. No offense to Ghost. Her body screamed to stand up and accept this faith, yet she remained sitting patiently waiting for the rest in agony. “Should I also mention the conflict of interest about your ranks? This is my main concern.” 

The captain shifted back in his seat with a more relaxed position. He smacked his lips. "You know lads, I should really do more than that, but… I'll let you go with a warning. And make me a promise; never let these feelings get in the way of the job.”

Scotty and Ghost looked at each other, the same expression of astoundment. What was going on? “No consequences?" Ghost asked. 

"I might not look like it but I'm a big softie."

"That sounds like bullshit." Scotty smiled. Price frowned at her with the same playful smile. 

"Don't make smartass comments that will get you in trouble, lass. I still can get you for that. Scotty, you are dismissed. Ghost, I still want to talk.”

The sergeant nodded and made her way out silently. To say that all her worries were gone would be a lie. What Price had to talk with Ghost? She would also tell Soap and Gaz about the verdict. Speaking of them, she found them in the barracks, still taking it easy from the trip back. When they saw her in the door frame, they stopped what they were doing and waited for her to speak up. On her way there, she debated if she should lie to them to see their face or not, but felt that it would be too mean. Even if Soap deserved it. “Sadly…” She started but was cut short by the Scostman.

“No, Price kicked you out of the task force?” He sounded genuinely worried. Scotty chuckled, which confused him.

“Sadly, I’ll still be stuck with you till I do something worse than dating Lt I guess.”

Soap’s muscles relaxed instantly. “Why would you start your sentence like this, you idiot.” 

“So, it’s official you and Ghost uh?” Gaz crossed his arms on his chest. He had a grin on his face. “Never expected him to be soft.” 

Scotty simply shrugged this, she wasn’t the one to speak for Ghost. Soap wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to him. “Alright Scotty, time to be honest with me now. I’m your best friend right, so you can share everything.” Oh, she didn’t like how this was going. “Four months ago, back in Siberia… Did you and Ghost… you know had more than a kiss?”

“No but really, you son of bitch!” Scotty groaned in French. “You're never gonna let go of this! Even if something happened, I’m not telling shit. Keep going this way MacTavish and next time you need help for extraction, I’ll give my mags to the enemies.”

*****

While Scotty was dealing with the other two, Ghost stayed in the office with Price. The captain gave a soft smile to his lieutenant. He had known Ghost for a while now, he knew the man probably as good as himself. He had changed a lot since Price formed the 141. Ghost was still a master in solo ops and of course given the choice would rather like to operate alone, but he had warmed up to the idea of teamwork. Even allowing some friendship to grow. However, to the point of letting someone in his life? To have loved one? Price never saw this coming. Not that he thought he wasn’t incapable of love, far from it. It simply didn’t seem like him. 

Ghost wasn’t the nervous type. He had been in control of himself since they got caught, beside his reaction of pushing Scotty away. So why was he feeling his palm sweating and his breath itching? Price hadn’t said a word yet. What does he want to talk about? Should he be the first one to speak up? Might as well if the captain wasn’t going to say a thing. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Do you really know why I let this go, Simon? Because everyone deserves a little bit of love and I’m glad you found it, lad. It would be mean of me to take it away from you.”

“Much appreciate it, Price.” 

The captain dismissed him finally. Ghost had the hand on the handle, when another question came out. “How did she do it? How did she get through your ‘cold heart’?” The last word is almost spoken in a joking manner.  

Ghost opened the door, looked over his shoulder and simply replied. “She just did.”

[flameeagleheart75]

So I first listened to Jesus Christ Superstar as part of my ALW listen through a few years ago and enjoyed it fine but over the last little while I've been listening to it religiously (no pun intended) and oh my god I think it's jumped up my list to being one of my favourite musicals ever.

If you're from a Christian background (Roman Catholic for me, hi) then no doubt you can recite the stages of the cross in your sleep but somehow the interpretation of Jesus's final days as a bombastic, heartbreaking and utterly camp musical is the only one that's truly resonated with me.

Here's my ramblings in no particular order.

(I like a lot of the versions so I'll be using whatever GIFs I can find)

Jesus

Give this man a hug, please.

There's often a lot of tie-pulling over whether humanising Jesus is blasphemous or not but that's a theological debate for another time.

On a personal level?

I adore how JCS portrays how fatigued Jesus is. He knows his ultimate fate and that he can't change it but that doesn't mean that every step towards it is agony. You feel his relief when Mary Magdalene encourages him to just relax and just wants him to take care of himself for once; likewise you feel how overwhelmed he is when he's swarmed in the temple by or his frustration at his disciples not being able to grasp the weight of his words. And after he's screamed at Judas to leave him at the Last Supper and is alone at Gethsemane begging God to just tell him why he has to die after all he's already done, you realise that at the end of the day it's just as Judas says "He's a man, he's just a man, like anyone I know."

Mary Magdalene

While the musical goes with the common pop culture depiction of portraying Mary as a sex worker instead of just another one of the apostles, the effect it has is wonderful. Mary's confused about her feelings but regardless, she comforts Jesus and tries to make him feel at ease. While Judas is in knots about whether Jesus associating with a prostitute contradicts his teachings and that expensive ointment is being wasted, all Mary wants is for the person she cares for to get a good night's sleep.

And I see you "I don't know how to love him" reprise.

Mary is a needed parallel to Judas and serves as one of two people who love (romantically or platonically) Jesus as the man he is.

Speaking of whom-

Judas

Oh my dear, dear Iscariot.

Judas's story raises one of JCS's most poignant questions of "If Jesus had to die, then were Judas's actions truly evil or was he just fulfilling a role in the divine plan?"

From the moment "Heaven on their minds" sounds to the Gospel melodies of "Superstar" you are along for the ride. His disillusionment with Jesus comes from a deep love mixed with the fear for both their people and that the 12 chosen are forgetting their original beliefs. Yet, along the way we see him fighting against his role. In 'Damned For All Time/Blood Money', he struggles both physically and mentally with his conscience. During 'The Last Supper', he threatens to just stay and not carry out the betrayal and it's only when Jesus screams at him to leave that he finally goes.

And don't get me started on the arrest in the garden of Gethsemane. Ouch, my heart.

Both of them are ultimately doomed but while Jesus is aware of it and accepts his fate (albeit in a defeated way), Judas only comes to realise his place as a pawn when it comes to the time of his death.

And he is broken. He's disgusted.

What on earth was it all for? Why did God have to choose him of all people?

This is a story of love and grief and the inevitability of life and death but you're along for every step, knowing that you, like the characters are unable to change anything. But regardless, you're invested every step of the way and you hope that maybe things, just once, could be different. But it can't, you know it can't.

Finally the music is absolutely wonderful and I for one would like a return to allowing anachronisms if it's just for fun. (Tim Rice's lyrics, mwah). They can ride on bikes and tanks if they want to.

(Also the 12 getting drunk at the dinner while Judas and Jesus are singing their hearts out at each other makes me laugh.)

Thanks for listening to a bored Bi talk about one of her favourite things. Have a good night.

[hausofmamadas]

For Those That Seek the Jungle's Forgiveness | Part 2

(formerly "Gone. Like That." Catch up with -> Part 1)

⁂

Pairing: Mika Camarena & Connie Murphy and Mika Camarena x Javi Peña

Word count: ≈ 5.2K

TWs: Canon-typical violence, major character death, grief/mourning, loss of significant other, discussion of guns

This was an argument she'd had a long time ago with men in fancy suits that held prestigious, official-sounding titles and had absolutely no intention of actually listening. Mika almost accidentally manslaughters Javi when he sneaks up on her on dark street at night, and then she proceeds to roast him for pulling some trick-ass shit, not keeping in contact with Connie while he’s been looking into Steve’s disappearance. Eventually, he accepts that Mika’s 40x smarter and wiser than him and bends the knee to the real comandante of this operation and comes one step closer to realizing he’s lowkey in love with her.

⁂

Mika glanced at her watch. Almost exactly half past eleven. She pulled up and idled in front of Connie and Steve’s place, staring at the front steps and metal railing that led to the black, geometric, lattice work on the front door.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. By who? No clue. But with every tick of her watch, she jumped, confusing it with the phantom sound of a camera snapping. She could already see what the picture might look like: her station wagon parked conspicuously in front of the building, bathed in the warm, sallow glow of the street lights. 

Hand on the wheel, she leaned forward, surveying the street with an outstretched index finger before making a U-turn and parking on the other side of the street. The engine was already off by the time she noticed it in the rear view mirror, a familiar boxy silhouette, two cars back, jacked up on all four wheels, that giant hood covering the back. Shit. It was Javi’s. She’d recognize that jalopy anywhere. So much for keeping the information contained between just her and Connie. So much for keeping the DEA out of it.

Oh well, she’d just have to find a way to convince Javi to go it alone with them. That would probably take some doing. She’d have to call Laura, see if she could look after Kikito and Danny for a few more hours. She hated to be more of a burden but they couldn’t risk Javi getting a bunch of agencies involved that would only eat the clock fighting over jurisdiction, paperwork, money. Plus, Danny loved when Laura showed him all the new additions to their huge fish tank.

Still, it was strange. Didn’t Connie say on the phone that Javi went back embassy? He did live downstairs, though. He might've just stopped at home. But Connie made it sound like he’d left in a rush. Maybe he forgot to tell her something important. That’d make a lot more sense than him being home. Hell, chasing a man they didn’t know and would probably never meet, these guys always found reasons not to come home. Chasing a partner gone MIA? Fucking forget it. So sure, maybe he’d got some news. Maybe he’d booked it back in a hurry because the news was bad. Mika shook her head. No, no, don’t go there. Not yet.

Reaching over, she popped the glove box. The door fell open to reveal the barrel of a Glock that Kiki had given her years ago, shining in the low light of the car. Was she really going to walk around with this now? Was it even necessary? Of course it was. Steve was missing and this place was a war zone. She tucked it into her bag, keeping her hand inside around the grip but off the trigger just like Kiki showed her. This sense of certainty had been almost unthinkable back when he had first suggested he teach her how to use a gun. 

It had been right after the DFS shot Víctor in that cafe and the Guadalajara cartel put a hit out on Roger. A vision of the Knapps’ front yard and driveway, littered with sheets of broken glass, struck her. Goosebumps erupted, traveling up the back of her neck as the memory replayed.

Kiki had been gently rubbing her back while they were watching Roger and Rita frantically jam suitcases in the trunk of their car, the same glass crunching beneath each frenzied step they took. She distinctly remembered, as she took in the scene, being afflicted with an almost inappropriate sense of relief that Rita wouldn’t have had to clean all of that up herself.

Looking from the driveway back to her, Kiki declared almost out of the blue, 'See if Clarice can watch Danny and Kikito sometime this week. I’m gonna take you to the range.’

He was startled when she’d started laughing, beside herself because the whole thing was absurd, right? Except, the look of unwelcome assurance in his eyes, an ominous forecast of what was to come, reminded her that it wasn’t. And that itself was absurd. 

‘Baby, c’mon I’m serious.’ She could make out the ridge of his jaw bone under the skin, tensed to keep his voice low as he shook his head. ‘No. We can’t count on them coming after just me anymore. And I won’t leave you alone without knowing you can at least protect yourself, protect the boys. I’m tryin’ to end this, you know I can’t be with you all the time.’

She took a deep breath to quiet the anxious laughter. A flat look of resignation had passed over her face as she breathed out, ‘No, you’re right. You’re right.’

He put his arm around her and pulled her in so she could rest her head on his shoulder, lips dusting her forehead with a quick kiss.

‘No, I’m sorry. And I know, I know, I know. You don’t even have to say it, okay? As soon as I get this motherfucker Félix, we can start looking for places in San Diego. But right now, I need to know you can take care of business. I mean, look, okay?’ he threw his hand up, waving it around in the direction of the house. ‘Look– I mean, fuckin’ Roger was makin’ fuckin’ pancakes for his kids when they started shooting up the place!’

Mika mumbled something in agreement. 

‘And anyway, you’ll feel better knowing you can kick some ass,’ he looked down and gave her a wink, ‘y’know, the Calexico way.’

The warmth of the smile in his voice got her to crack one too. 

And the thing was, he had been right. She had felt better after that. Taking Kikito to school, baseball practice, doctor’s appointments, going for lunch with Ana and Ronnie, thinking about what guys who pulled her over - like that greaseball with the slicked back hair and sunglasses - would do if she flashed a gun when she reached for her license instead of cash. It might not have changed the outcome much. But at least they wouldn’t have been so smug, knowing she wasn’t going to make things easy for them. The naive part of her that had been stuck back in Calexico knew how insane that was. But the part of her there, in Guadalajara, had understood that’s simply how things needed to be. Such was their life.

Or, her life. Now.

And would you look at that? Steve gone, it was all hell breaking loose, all over again. Except whatever optimism she might’ve clung to back then like a deflating life raft went to the grave with Kiki. So, these days, she had no problem admitting she felt better with a gun. Kiki put it as, ‘knowing she could kick some ass.’ Today, she thought of it as more, in the likely event that she didn’t survive, she could make whoever decided to fuck with her regret choosing her to fuck with.

She steeled herself with a breath before opening the car door, then pulled the handle and swung it open. Kicking one leg out and whipping her head around to check the street, she felt like a periscope rising out of the sea, slowly standing up. Clear. Good. And with more self-assurance than she felt, she shut the car door, locked it, and made a beeline for the concrete stairs of the building entrance, fighting every step of the way not to give over to the mental image of being tracked by crosshairs, to not think about a little red dot on her back right where her heart would be. 

Halfway to the other side of the street, a voice rang out from the dark behind her. “Hey stranger.”

She stopped cold, heart pounding so fiercely, she wondered if maybe she hadn’t been right about the crosshairs and this was what being shot was like. Relief nearly knocked her on her ass when, glancing down to make sure she was still in one piece, she realized there was nothing. Hand still gripping the gun in her bag, she whipped around faster than she could think, nearly clocking Javi in the jaw with the barrel. Just barely dodging the blow, his hands went up in a gesture of armistice, and froze like that in the middle of the street, laughing awkwardly. 

“Oh my god, you scared the shit outta me. Enserio, cabrón? Has vuelto loco? Sneaking up behind a woman on a dark street? In one of the most dangerous cities in the world? Do you have a death wish?”

“Er, sorry. Yeah, I guess I sorta forgot living in a place as, uh–”

“Lawless? Insane as Medellin?”

”I was gonna say uh, unpredictable— but yeah, of course this isn’t really be new to you, is it? Pero,” he slowly brought one of his hands down and pushed the gun barrel to the side with his index finger to inspect it, “pues tengo que admitir que no esperaba que sí estuvieras tan preparada.”

He put his hand back up but something in looking at the gun made him drop his shoulders and relax into that familiar, annoying, Saturday-afternoon, Javier-‘The Man’-Peña posture he assumed when he was especially pleased with himself. 

“What?” Mika’s eyebrows shot up. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Man, I don’t know how to tell you this exactly,” he said, scratching his forehead. “But at the risk of er— taking a bullet to the face when I do, I— well, you should probably know that, uh … well, your safety’s on.” 

From the position marked with a tiny, engraved letter “S,” the safety switch mocked Mika as much as the upturned sides of Javi’s mustache. He kept his hands up as if to reassure her that she was still in control but doing a piss-poor job because he couldn’t seem to hide that shit eating smirk on his face. 

“Well,” she narrowed her eyes and shrugged, trying to play it off, “maybe I’m not out to get anyone killed. Maybe I just wanna scare them. You think anyone who matters is really gonna notice?” 

He cocked his head like a curious puppy, smiling even more, “I did.” 

“But do you, Agent Peña?” 

“Do I what?” 

“Really matter?” Mika shot back, voice laden with sarcasm but enough good humor to show she didn’t mean it.

They stared at each other for a moment and the combination of the half-wounded expression on his face and the way the street lights lit it orange like a fake tan made her want to laugh. 

“Ah shit,” she glanced down the barrel of the gun, tipping it slightly to the side, “that is such a Soccer Mom move. But y’wanna know what’s worse?” 

A touch of curiosity came to keep Javi’s smirk company, the desire to hear her answer punctuated by his silence.  

Mika shrugged. “My kids don’t even play soccer.”

Javi looked down, shoulders shaking as he tried to direct his laughter into the pavement instead of at her. It didn’t matter though because she was laughing too. Standing in the middle of the street, they dropped their hands and busted up together so synchronously, it looked almost rehearsed.

Once their little fit subsided, Javi was the first to come up for air. “So, what’s a rogue lady of the DEA wives’ club doing on an empty street in Bogotá this late at night? Besides trying to murder me with— what is–? Hold on, is that an MHS?” Javi grabbed her hand to get a better look at the piece. “Man, where’d you manage to get one of these?” 

Perplexed, Mika’s eyes darted down to the gun because for all she knew about firearms, it might as well have been a potato that she was holding. “Uhhh, it was a gift from Kiki’s partner. So, I could learn how to use one. Obviously,” she rolled her eyes, “you can see how well that went.”

“Man,” he said, letting it go with such fondness, “I didn’t even know they still made those things.” Which again, made as much sense as if he were marveling at a potato she was holding. “Y’know those are one of the only kinds of Glocks they made with slide mounted safety.”

She kept switching focus from Javi to the gun, trying to figure out what was so special about it, before realizing she didn’t actually care, “Alright, nerd,” and dropped her arm at her side.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, anyway,” Javi said, back to reality, “I think you were about to explain the reasons for my brush with death?”

“What? Before you got sidetracked, being all nerdy and shit?” 

“Sure, yeah.” 

“Well, what? You can’t guess?” Mika looked up at Connie’s window on the second floor and then back at Javi, whistling. “Man, you boys at the DEA must be losing your touch. They’ll hire anyone these days.” 

Javi rolled his eyes, “Ha ha ha” finally letting his hands drop, palms smacking his hips on the way down. “C’mon, put yourself in my position. Sure, that wild look of biblical hellfire in your eyes is gone, but you’ve still got that,”  he gestured at her side, “in your hand? So, y’know– thought it best to keep the conversation light.” 

“Whoops,” Mika said, chuckling and checking that the safety was still on before putting the gun back in her purse. 

Glancing at the empty street around them, Mika realized this might be a good opportunity to needle Javi for more info while she had him alone. Before he could clam up in front of Connie. “So, any news about Steve? I’m guessing that’s why you came back here, and not for a night cap and a bedtime story.” 

Javi regarded her, amused but not without suspicion, brows cinched as he caught his tongue between his teeth. Another mannerism of his Mika had picked up on in the few years she’d known him. Historically, she’d found it kinda cute when he wasn’t being evasive and annoying. When he was, she found herself hoping he’d slip and bite down a little too hard. 

Right now, he was being evasive and annoying. 

“Please, Javi. Don’t make me go there.”

”Sorry?” 

She eyed him with a measure of regret, acutely aware that his foot had just hit the metal plate of the conversational trap she’d just set and the mechanical jaws were about to clamp shut. “You’re not gonna make me invoke my dead husband’s name to shame you into telling me, are you?” There they went. 

His hands flew to his hips as he cocked one out to the side, face morphing from suspicious to pained and almost pleading. But still, nothing. 

With that, all regret evaporated and Mika just rolled her eyes, turning on her heels and headed for the door of the apartment building.  She made it to the other side of the street and up the steps but paused, fingertips on the handle, when she realized he wasn’t following her. 

“Cmon Agent Peña, just tell the truth.” Turning around, she shifted the weight of her bag on her shoulder so she could grab the spare key from one of its pockets. “Look, I know it’s not something that comes naturally to you boys in blue, but just think of it as practice. You know, for when you talk to Connie.”

Javi’s eyes darted from her, to the window of Connie and Steve’s apartment on the second floor, then back at her, then back down at the ground. Weighing his options, it seemed, he stood like that for what felt like ages before rubbing his face, grumbling into his palms, “Ah, fine. Fuck it.” 

Mika turned back to the door, taking a mental victory lap - gotcha - as she swung it open. 

And in a few long strides over to and up the stairs, skipping every other step, Javi was slipping in the door right behind her. He followed her down the hallway, both of them walking in silence, past his apartment, up the first flight of stairs, until, when turning to climb the next flight, he was seemingly unable to contain himself. “Hey. What’d you mean back there?” 

Mika kept pace about to start up the next set of stairs, paying him no mind.

He raised his voice to a kind of whisper-yell, grabbing her hand before she could get too far up the stairs, “Mika!” 

She turned around and walked back down stopping a step above him.

“Not something that comes naturally?" He let her hand slid out of his almost reluctantly before crossing his arms. "You wanna explain what that’s supposed to mean, exactly?”

There was more vulnerability in this than anger, the words of a boy on the playground whose feelings were hurt because someone kicked over his sandcastle.

She almost felt sorry for him but Connie’s words, thick with tears rang in her ears. Javi left before I could ask him anything. All he said was that he thinks Steve’s alive, but that just means he’s not sure he’s dead.

And all of a sudden, the long since dormant bitterness and fury that had made its home deep in the pit of her stomach when Kiki died came back to collect. With interest. It burned in her chest so tangibly, it felt like some toxic, poisonous gas all these years had been incubating in her body for all of these years that she was about to unleash with the steady stream of a flamethrower. Poor Javi. He was in for it.

The tragic part, the part she’d feel guilty about later, was that none of this was his fault. It was some bureaucrat’s, some bored old bastard, way up the chain of command, tucked away in some embassy office, sat behind a titanic mahogany desk so expensive it could cover the down payment on her house, even though he did nothing but shuffle papers around, shake hands, kiss babies, make phone calls to grieving wives and mothers to give them that familiar speech: Why yes, everything is under control, ma’am. We’re doing all that we can, ma’am. Well hey now, there’s no reason to raise your voice, ma’am. You just need to understand these things take time. Now, please take a seat over there so I can pretend like you’re not wasting mine, ma'am.

Unfortunately for Javi, he was the one in front of her. And there was nowhere else for it to go. He’d looked like he’d taken a few on the chin in his day, but she couldn’t be sure he could bounce back from this one. Not that it mattered. This was an argument she’d had a long time ago with men in fancy suits that held prestigious, official-sounding titles and had absolutely no intention of actually listening. If a tree falls in the forest and there’s no one around to hear it, does it still make a sound?

Christ, was this going to be any different? 

“Look,” Mika sighed, “Connie already told me everything you’ve shared with her.” 

Looking like he was frozen in time, Javi stood there, forehead pinched in a moment of calculation. As much as he seemed unsure of what to expect, at the same time, he was aware enough not to insult her by playing completely dumb. 

“And to be honest?” she continued, crossing her arms. “So far, that ‘everything’ sounds like a whole lotta nothing.” 

Javi winced but managed to sputter out, “I don’t know what you’re talk—“ 

“Please. Don’t patronize me with all that,” Mika’s fingers came up to make air quotes, “‘What on earth could you mean?’ bullshit” and then ended the bit, dropping her hands at her hips. “Don’t you think I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime?” 

Eyes wide, mouth open, Javi looked stunned, the inevitable ‘What are you talking about?’ stuck in his throat, leaving him with nothing to say or do but wait for her to elaborate. 

“You wanna know what I’m talk—? Fine, fine. I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you exactly what I’m talking about.” With a clipped breath, she steadied herself. “You think you’re protecting Connie by keeping her in the dark. Gone for hours, not answering her calls, not checking in, not telling her where you’ve been, who you’ve talked to, where you’re going.” 

Her eyes pinned Javi in place, right there in the middle of the stairway. Perhaps trying not buckle under the weight of decades of forfeited accountability, in an effort to cope, he shrank back trying to become one with the wall. But Mika wasn’t done. 

“She’s not some precious fucking flower who’ll wilt at any mention of the truth. And she’s not an idiot. She deserves the facts and your honest assessment about well,” she waved her hands, “whatever is going on. And that includes what you think Steve’s chances are.” 

“His chances?” 

“Of being alive, Javi.” 

His jaw tightened hard, lips pursed like he was sucking on a lemon, and he paused for a long time before launching into the same good-ole-boy schpiel she’d heard a thousand times. With Javi though, there was a well-veiled but desperate sincerity with which he delivered it that reminded her of Jaime. “With all due respect Mika, I can’t— I don’t know if you understand the moving pieces at play here. How rigged the system is. How— well, how beyond fucked up it all is.”

Mika’s head sank, chin nearly touching her chest. However sincere, it wasn’t enough. 

“Y’know,” she spoke down at the ground, through a cruel, thin laugh, “I don’t bring this up often because it doesn’t make for great dinner conversation, certainly not an ice breaker. But since you’re such a man, I bet you can handle it,” and then looked back up to him with a smile that came nowhere close to her eyes. “When I arrived at the ME’s office to identify Kiki’s body, do you know what they were picking out of the gaping wounds on his head?” 

The look on Javi’s face said he wasn’t touching that with a ten-foot pole. He didn’t need to.

“Chunks of rebar and wood. Along with pieces of his skull.” 

A war waged in Javi’s eyes between heartbreak and indignation but he was smart enough to know that now was not the time to give voice to either. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, maybe I’m mistaken. But were you there, Agent Peña? Were you the one to survey all the wounds he had? Did you read the coroner’s report– the one with that stupid, generic outline of a body that cataloged each and every injury? Did you see how riddled his body was? With bruises? Cuts? Welts? Burns?” She shook her head like she still couldn’t believe it. “Actual holes?”

His face conveyed nothing but heartbreak now. No matter that these were all rhetorical questions, it was the right answer. 

“So, I think a better question is, do you know how fucked up it all is?”

Eyes cast off to the side, Javi was quiet for a long time, rolling his tongue along the inside of his cheek, likely trying to decide what, if anything, to say, until he was reanimated by a moment of epiphany. He stood up straight, no longer resembling a shriveled barnacle, stuck to the wall. And it all came out, practically in one breath. 

“Alright, alright. Fine. You want the truth? The truth is, I have no idea. I have” he threw up his hands with the frustration of a man whose luck had run out, finally folding at the poker table, “not a fucking clue who took him. Nothing. No leads. No evidence. Except my colleague’s contacts in the military haven’t caught wind of anything about a DEA being taken by Escobar’s people, so it’s probably not him and I’ve just been trying to keep things quiet so th—“ 

“So you don’t get him killed by spooking the kidnappers because you turned law enforcement onto a big search. That’s a song and dance I remember.” 

“Right,” Javi carried on without missing a beat. “Which means I’ve got no help from the embassy, no help from my own agency, no help from the military. And I sure as fuck don’t want help from any of those shady fucks in the CIA. So yeah,” he;d been talking so fast, he was nearly gasping now, “I think— since it’s not Escobar, I think he might— well, might be—” 

“Dead.”

He exhaled a defeated, “Yeeup.”

After her little speech, Mika wasn’t sure what Javi would come back with but she didn’t expect him to fold quite so easily. He was an even easier nut to crack than Jaime had been when he came to give her the news that he’d found Kiki’s car. To be fair, she did have more leverage now, what with Kiki already being dead. Everyone already got their crash course, a ‘How-To’ in ‘What-Not-To-Do’ when a DEA agent goes missing. Still, she expected more resistance, more half-truths couched in platitudes, more bullshit. But he didn’t do that to her. 

She looked him up and down, sizing him up like she hadn’t gotten it right the first time and decided, in that moment, she respected him infinitely more than she had just minutes ago. 

“Okay,“ she began, breaking the silence. “Besides Escobar, who else would take him? Could it be someone in the government? Maybe loyal to the cartel but, I don’t know,” she shrugged, “operating without Escobar’s say-so?” 

Javi shook his head, “We have most of the financials of his operation, who takes his bribes, who’s on his payroll. Shit, half of them are bribed by us to look the other way when it’s convenient,” and looked wearily off to the side, grumbling, “The fuckin’ good guys, right.”

“Yeah, it seems like, no matter where you go, these ‘company’ men don’t have any real loyalty. I’m beginning to wonder if it’s some kind of professional code that the rest of us don’t know about.” 

Mika thought of Heath and the dozens of others in the DEA, Homeland Security, Defense Department, men in the same gray suits offering the same recycled condolences and half baked apologies in the months after Kiki died. She didn’t bother to wipe the stray tear that escaped down her cheek.

Javi shoved his hands in his pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“Alright,” Mika said, with a knowing smile. “Well. There. That wasn’t so hard, now was it.”

“Oh sure, yeah, real piece of cake,” he scoffed. 

They were both quiet, staring at each other until Javi piped up, “Y’know actually, I hear there are some teaching positions open at that uh,” he snapped his fingers, “whatsit, the School of the Americas? Yeah, they could learn a thing or two from you. Call it Emotional Blackmail and Interrogation Techniques 101. You should look into that. Might be your calling. I hear the pay’s nothing earth shattering. But the health benefits— tsk great.” 

Mika looked down at the floor, chuckling. 

“Although, I gotta say, that biblical hellfire look? That is— phew,” he waved his hand in front of her face and she giggled, “that is raw talent. Can’t teach that. So alright, what's next, patrona, Ms. Inquisition? What do we do now?” 

“Well,” Mika’s nose scrunched, giving way to real laughter this time which helped her to break the news gently, “for starters, you’re gonna tell Connie everything you just told me.” 

Javi opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. “Look, if nothing in the last five minutes told you I’m not here for bullshit, maybe this will: as his wife, she deserves the truth.”

He crossed his arms again, quietly defensive.

“And as his wife, you might be able to leverage her, in case the higher ups try to play games, drag their feet on this.”

“Sorry,” he leaned forward like he didn’t hear her right, “leverage?”

“You said it yourself, you have no leads. It’s time to take this up the ladder, and there’s more than one of those, yes?” 

Javi groaned. 

“Look, when Kiki went missing, no one did anything at first. His boss Jaime was the only one looking. There was more traction when I got involved. But really,” she shook her head in awe,  like she still couldn’t believe it, “it’s not ‘till I lost my shit on one of the deputy directors in Mexico City that things started happening.” 

Get off your ass and start helping the other agents. Go find my fuckin’ husband! 

“It makes sense now, chain-of-command and all that, but if I’d known direct worked better than diplomacy, I would’ve started off yelling.” 

Javi raked his hands over his face. 

“So now, you need to figure out which ladder to take this up to.” 

“Yeah, okay,” his palms were nearly in his eye sockets now, “so when I figure that out, you want me to what—“ then dropped them from his face with a sigh. “Parade Connie, the distraught maybe-widow in front of whatever executive leadership and hope that’ll force them to act?” 

“Jesus Javi, it’s not like you’re a stage parent forcing your kid do pageants.” 

“Might as well be.”

“Don’t trivialize this, okay? This could work. Connie’s more than someone’s wife. She’s a person. And she’s smart. Articulate. Not only that, she’s a blonde-haired, blue-eyed nurse for god’s sake. America’s sweetheart. And frankly, she can be convincing to whatever executive leadership in a way that you can’t. I mean, let’s face it, all your police-radio jargon, letter-of-the-law, doublespeak nonsense, none of you law enforcement guys know how to properly emote.”

Javi laughed at that such fullness and depth, Mika realized that every time she’d heard him laugh before had been nothing but a pitiful shadow, a cheap imitation of the real thing. They'd known each other for a two years. How long could it have been since he'd laughed like that?

“Okay, Press Secretary Camarena. Point taken.”

“Plus, you have a trump card this time. Something Jaime and I didn’t have.” 

“Oh yeah. What’s that?” 

“The myth, the legend, the man himself, Kiki Camarena. Or really, the stain on the squeaky clean record of the DoD. The death of the myth, the legend, the man.” 

Javi chewed on that in silence, along with the inside of his cheek.

“Believe me, that’s a level of public scrutiny they don’t ever want to see again. They’ll avoid it at all costs. Especially if the government wants to keep selling weapons to anti-communist guerrillas. Undisturbed.” 

“Jesus Mika,” Javi kicked back off the wall, eyes wide with admiration, and she could practically see the lightbulb above his head, “You really have thought this whole thing through.” 

She bit back the tears welling in her eyes, an inexplicable wave of self-consciousness sweeping over her, and all she could think to do was shrug. “When someone dies, like how Kiki died, you always hear people talk about the hours they spent agonizing over it. Not sleeping for weeks, months— because you can’t help it. It’s involuntary. You think about things, replay every moment, every interaction– what could I have possibly said, done differently? What didn’t I see before it was too late?”

She swiped the tears off her cheeks and swallowed hard. He looked at her, touched by the peculiar sorrow that can only accompany surrogate grief. 

“Not many people get a chance to see the ‘what-ifs’ through. Me? I’ve had seven years to think about it. What I’d do differently. And now, I can use that to protect someone I love? Shit, this?” she smiled, making a gun gesture at Javi and pulling the trigger, “pschew. This is my shot.”

Javi just looked at her, dumbstruck. 

“Whatever happens,  god forbid, if Steve dies, however this plays out, it sure as hell won’t be because I wasted my shot.” 

With that, she turned, and walked up the stairs to the second floor. 

⥈

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