#canon is whatever i want it to be goodbye

[http-shield]

honey, you're familiar- bucky barnes

~ bucky barnes x fem!reader ~tags/cw: lil angst, establlished relationship, seperation, post cw (not endgame canon cause fuck endgame) bestie steve, me being sad cause I kinda fell out of the avengers fandom and coming back kinda felt like coming home and this is me pretending I'm coming back to bucky, no use of y/n, honey is a replacement for y/n ~ wc: 2.k ~ not proofread

"Honey?" your name is sweetness on a tongue you once knew. 

Long ago, perhaps too long, a distant memory you thought you had left behind, yet here you are, those two syllables falling from his mouth as if no time had passed. 

You turn slowly, your head already spinning at the surprise. He is behind you. You know he is because who else croons your name like that, has that flirty lilt in his words, and you can hear the smirk without even looking at him? You know his voice, know his presence, know him. 

"Bucky?" with closed eyes, you turn, afraid that maybe this isn't happening and that you would be faced with a coworker or friend, that you had imagined the entire thing, the very real love of your life is not behind you. Maybe this is a dream?

You want to open your eyes, to have the truth revealed to you, but you can't. The fear of reality holds you in an ice-cold grip, spindly frozen fingers holding your eyes shut. The familiar scent of leather and bergamot engulfs you before you feel the warmth of his body, the heat thawing fear's vice grip on your body. 

"James, is that you?" His use of his government name makes him chuckle as he steps closer, hands reaching out to grab yours. Cold metal slips against your fingers just as naturally as his hand of flesh and bone.

A whimper leaves you. 

"Sweetheart, you need to open your eyes to see if it's me." Warm fingers brush over your cheek, pushing your hair behind your ears as he cups your cheek. 

"If I open my eyes, you promise you'll still be there?" there is no hiding the desperation in your voice. 

Bucky chuckles again, his fingers winding with yours in a silent oath.  "I promise." 

You inhale, deep and fulfilling and open your eyes. 

Before you stands the man you have not seen in five years.

The last time you had been near Bucky was at the airport, surrounded by suitcases that contained nearly every earthly possession of yours; your fingers gripped the boarding pass that you desperately did not want to use but had to. It was necessary to create space between your hearts, too afraid of being bonded by trauma and circumstance. There had been too much guilt surrounding you both regarding the other. There was too much self-sabotage in a relationship that involved nothing more than two hearts desperately beating for one another. No titles or official labels were given to your union, so it was easier to let go, to wedge that gap of a few thousand miles between your bodies, to create distance and hopefully smother whatever had been blazing. You couldn't take advantage of him, his mind too raw from being brought back a final time, thawed out into a life of permanent peace, so what gave you the right to swoop in and demand his attention, his heart? 

However, Bucky thought of you the same. Why should you give up your entire life for a war criminal? A weapon no more than the blood on his hands? It wasn't fair, and the distance, the break was the right move, so why was it so hard to say goodbye? 

Bucky hadn't let go of your hand since you left your shared apartment earlier this morning. His right hand in yours, squeezing tightly as if he could commit the lines of your palm to memory. Throughout the ride with Steve, as you walked through the large airport, customs, baggage check, and security, he was holding you, but it's not as if you wanted him to let go. You never acted upon pulling your hand from his, never wanted to be more than two feet from him. 

"Can you ask me to stay?" you whispered tearfully as your boarding call was announced over the PA. 

Bucky turned to you, jaw clenched to hold back his tears as he brought your entwined hands to his mouth. A ghost of a kiss pressed to your knuckles as he whispered back. "Can you ask me to go with you?" 

A tear-filled giggle filled the space between you but disappeared as another call for boarding was announced. 

You stood, hands still together, and turned to gather your carry-on. Silence filled your little bubble, awkward and tense, as you both calculated once again if this was right. Your heart was making so much noise that it was hard to hear rational thoughts, and the urge to rip up the ticket and fall into the arms of your love had your fingers twitching. As if Bucky could read your thoughts, he slips the small piece of paper from your fingers and tucks it between the pages of the journal Steve had gifted you just moments before as a parting gift. 

"You're not allowed to come back until you fill every page," Steve instructed while handing over the small green book. Its cover, with gold fairies etched into it, was the deciding factor for Steve in choosing the appropriate gift for you. 

"And if I fill it up in a week?" you asked, tears already pricking at your eyes. 

"Then I guess we'll be here to get you in a week." You didn't miss the small sniff from Steve as he offered you a soft smile before wrapping his arms around your shoulders. "Thank you for everything you've done, and I'm gonna miss you, kid." 

You hugged him tightly, heart aching at the thought of leaving your friend. You weren't just leaving Bucky; you were leaving your whole life. Years of memories left in a city that would no longer be your home. Steve pulled back, tears glistening in his blue eyes, but he wiped them before any could fall, squaring his shoulders like you had seen him do a million times before a mission or press conference. It was a habit you had picked up on, following in his footsteps since day one, and now it was a part of you, an instinctive habit that you can't seem to shake. Maybe you'll find new habits in your new life, find new friends, and steal mannerisms, and when you get home, you'll be an entirely new person. 

"I'm gonna go back. There was a book I want to get another look at." Steve smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He gives your shoulders one final squeeze. 

Metal fingers brushed against yours, twining together as he pulled you closer.

"If I miss home, will you be here to pick me up?" you asked, suddenly fearful of being forgotten by someone you never wanted to forget. 

"I'll get on a plane and come and get you," Bucky assured,  gliding soft fingers over your cheeks. 

Your skin burned, suddenly very thankful for the coolness of his vibranium arm against your blazing face. You tried so hard to keep the tears at bay, distracting yourself at every point where you felt the lump in your throat and the burn in your eyes, but there was no distraction now. There was nothing but you and him, and the weight of reality crashed down upon you. 

"Stay with me." Bucky begged in a whisper. 

Your heart lurched. 

"Come with me." 

Tears began to line his eyes, falling despite his best efforts, and a fresh wave of guilt pummelled you. 

"Buck," you started, your voice cracking, but you had to say it. It was now or never; you needed him to know to get it off your chest before everything changed. "James Buchanan Barnes," you attempted again, your voice still breaking, but you continued, knowing there was going to be no stop to the tears. 

"I love yo-"you started, heartbreaking with each syllable.

Bucky shook his head, well and truly on the way to sobbing, as he exhaled a shuddering breath. "Please don't say that. Don't say it because I won't stop thinking about you, and I need you to go out and live your life." 

You grip his shirt tighter. 

"Please, I can't just let you go if you say that. Please, darlin', " Bucky whispered, his bottom lip quivering as he hopelessly tried to stop the tears. 

His name was a soft sigh as you broke down. The sobs couldn't be stopped, your breathing ragged as you cried fat, heavy tears that had your chest aching. Bucky let go of your face to wrap his arms around you, holding you close and tight to shield you from the world around you. He whispered words of comfort into your neck, voice shaky and breathing just as uneasy as he desperately tried to console you while he broke just as hard. 

"I love you so much. Fuck, I love you." he grits out, fingers digging into your sides.

A huffed laugh escaped you. "How come you're allowed to say it, but I'm not?" 

You pulled back to grip his face, stubble rough under your palms. 

"Because I'm old." was his only retort before leaning in to kiss you. 

His mouth moved soft against yours, savouring the feel of your mouth on his, but as you sniffed, trying to stop the tears that still fell, his turned into something more. Years of unwritten memories and unlived lives were seared into your lips. Moments that either of you never thought would happen are kissed into the other: Christmas mornings, birthdays, and anniversaries. An entire future the two of you had envisioned for yourself was no longer attainable, and as far as either of you knew, this would be the last kiss that would be shared. There was no need for anything else apart from one another; if you were to die from lack of oxygen right then, your entire body breaking down under the sheer force of the love you felt for him, you would die a happy death. Never had to know anything but his touch, his kiss, his love, but that wasn't going to happen. 

Your final boarding call boomed through the speakers, breaking your perfect bubble. You pulled back, panting from both the kiss and the tears, Bucky just as breathless.

"I love you, Bucky Barnes." you whispered, thumbs collecting the tears marring his cheeks. You promised you would never forget the feeling of his face in your hands; even if you lived for a thousand years, you would remember how it felt. 

And you never did.

"Hi, sweetheart." Bucky grins as your tears begin to fall. 

You launch yourself at him, arms wrapping around his neck as you crush your body against his, clinging to the man who had been your home for so many years. Strong hands grab your waist before his arms snake around you, squeezing you tightly. The smell of leather and pine and something so distinctly Bucky curls around you, wrapping its fingers around your throat and squeezing the air from your lungs until there is only the scent of Bucky. A sob claws its way out of your chest, the cries following it primal and broken. The years apart had done nothing to dull the heartache for him, had done nothing to ease the pain in your soul at the very sight of him, and now that he is here again, in your arms, you never want him to let go. Your fingers slide into the hair at the nape of his neck, tangling in the tresses and anchoring yourself to him. The way tree roots dig into the dirt, securing their position in the earth no matter the wind or rain, that is how you are going to secure yourself to the man in your arms; you are not letting him get away again, not after everything you had just gone through. 

"I missed you so much." you sob into his chest.

Bucky's chest rumbles as he chuckles. "Fuck, you have no idea." 

You take a second to pull away, turning your face towards his and lean into the kiss. His mouth slots against yours as if no time has passed. Your lips part under his, the taste of salt and mint mix on your tongue. Bucky's hands cup your cheeks, thumbs stroking over tear-slick skin, and you feel him smile into the kiss. 

"What?" you whisper, words muffled by his mouth. 

Bucky doesn't want to stop kissing you, unable to pull his lip from yours as he replies into the kiss. "You taste the same."  

[zukkaoru]

saying people shouldn't ship an unlabeled (or bi/pan/etc) sapphic character with a male character just because she's canonically dating a woman is actually biphobic. hope this helps 👍

[spider-man-2o99]

ok i’m still On Break do not take this post as a sign that i’m like. Actively Tumblring again yet because i’m still not, 4 the most part, but i have had my ear to the ground for special interest things, of fuckign course, of course, bcuz i’m me, and i. just. i am .i’m so fucking sorry to all the new SM2099 comic fans who are only just now realizing just now how dire the straits are, here, LMAO. it has been this way for Years. earnestly and from the bottom of my heart i love spider-man 2099 so much and also nobody on the goddamn planet Cares About Him At All or can even fucking write him half-decently unless every single celestial bodie in the fucking milky way galaxy comes into perfect fucking syzygy, i think, i think, i think. why did u think we (me) had a psychotic episode after that fuckin movie dropped. fucksake. lord above. because it’s all always “ohhh being yourSELF and telling your OWN story your OWN way” until you Look A Certain Way and ARE A Certain Way and Have Symptoms That Look Frightening and Don’t Move Around Like ‘Normal’ People Should Move, fuckin’ freaky-ass creature beast-thing, and so on and so on and so on, Christ all-fuckin’-mighty. gets tiring. but. anywaygs.

it is far easier to be destructive, than constructive. so. ahem. sorry. refocusing. it seems quite simply that just yet another goddamn story missed the point that 90s future spider-man is a story about very plainly and simply loving each other as people. it’s a story about a severely depressed, miserable, cynical little man who finds new reasons to live in every kind person he meets, and there is an open earnesty to that, if nothing else, that no movie can take away 30 years later. anybody can decide to try and be a better person than the one they were yesterday, and that is goddamn important. to portray anything otherwise was an unfathomably cruel decision, on sony’s part, and as soon as we got trailer evidence that they were leaning into his more “intimidating” features back in ~dec. 2021, i.. pretty much Knew it was what they were gonna be doing with him. why wouldn’t they? i mean. who actually even cares about this obscure nobody, right? c-listers are the tried-and-true adaptational chameleons, anyways; they sure suckered in dumbasses like me, who still took blind hope in hook line and sinker, thinking he’d be important to the film, or at the very least portrayed sympathetically to his 30 years of established comic history as a character who is consciously aware that he is an adult survivor of fucking child abuse. but. c’est la fucking vie, i guess.

[patheticblorbloscholar]

Please Neteyam stans listen to me. Resurrection is not a theme in Avatar. Never has been. The full quote is and I quote:

"The Na'vi believe everyone is born twice, the second time is when you earn your place amongst the people."

Y'all are so delusional, I swear to Eywa.

[br1ghtestlight]

telling myself i could write angst im simply choosing not to

[companionwolf]

brain: I've got thoughts about wyatt-before-the-masoning, the microphone, and NaN with regard to how they appeared in your canon

me: oh? lay em on me

brain: I can't actually tell you any of said thoughts, though, only that they're here

me: thE N WHY ARE YOU INFORMING ME

brain:

brain: does it help to know that for you, NaN was very much their own entity, and that the wyatt theory for the mic was either partially or fully accurate? also your wyatt (as in the player in your canon) was not 14, he was 18-19 roughly

me: not as much as you'd think, actually

brain: ok well get nullified then <3

brain:

[boydepartment]

nishimura riki - boyfriend headcanons °‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡

gn reader- 10 headcanons - masterlist :)

⋆˙⟡ if you work at a job where you use your hands a lot and end up getting cuts or slivers on your nail beds when you both are alone he will kiss the cuts and small damages on your fingers. you don’t have to always have your nails done or things like that bc he genuinely doesn’t care

⋆˙⟡ if you do have your nails done or like to get them done he likes to be able to customize one nail himself. he thinks it’s fun

⋆˙⟡ the on melancholy hill gorillaz trend - you and him are BODYING…. can you imagine riki’s cute little eyebrow quirks and pouting while the camera pans to him. i’ve been thinking abt this one for a few days- same w the kisses on the fingers

⋆˙⟡ if you leave early in the mornings for whatever reason he will wake up till you leave. even if he has to day off or can sleep in, if you leave early he will get up just so he can say goodbye to you

⋆˙⟡ riki loves dancing, obviously, but sometimes he just wants to be goofy and dance without thinking. so little dance parties where you both are uncoordinated are very common.

⋆˙⟡ when traveling if you can’t go, he will bring you stuff home. like a simpsons plush or whatever you wanted from universal studios when he went

⋆˙⟡ if you do go, he’s definitely giving you those staff uniforms and concealing you. he thinks it’s funny (if you have long hair) to tuck all your hair in the hybe hats and have you record vlogs. (he pays you under the table in kisses for helping)

⋆˙⟡ if you get hurt, whether you’re younger or older than him, he likes to take care of you. everyone is always taking care of him and sometimes he feels guilty about that, so he goes the extra mile to take care of you.

⋆˙⟡ matching clothes, he loves it. he loves to match and take photos. especially candid photos of you. even if they come off goofy, to him it’s the memory of the moment not the contents of the photo.

⋆˙⟡ genuinely a really good boyfriend and tries his best to make time for you. he can get snappy sometimes and tired but he doesn’t outwardly take it out on you unapologetically. he makes sure to be there and present and kind.

⟡ one extra head canon- he prefers you calling him riki over his stage name bc it’s more sentimental to him (real quote 💪 i pinky promise i have the video)

[carmenized-onions]

Tony, Terry, Tommy? | Walk-In Hotfix

synopsis; You get an unexpected call from an old friend in need of an emergency repair. Good thing: that's kind of your whole gig. Bad thing: You've been avoiding the Berzatto family for the past year.

tasting notes; hurt comfort? idk man, he's in a fuckin' freezer. this is gonna be a long slow-burn series. We don't use Y/N here and we've got a very preestablished storyline going on babes. Eat up.

portion; 3.1k+

possible allergies; SEASON 2 FINALE SPOILERS, I've started writing this before Season 3 comes out in June so we're going WAY off canon (unless I'm an oracle), Mikey is gonna be central baby, any tw you require for the bear-- you require for this.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns!)

I have not written fanfiction in 5-6 years and once again some goddamn pretty boy just YOINKS me back in. I'm making up my own season three here so I'm kinda flying by the seat of my pants with this series, hopefully it turns out. If it doesn't... C'est la vie, I had fun.

The inciting incident, the thing that pulls you in, and permanently alters the trajectory of your life—                    Is honestly quite boring, because it’s just a phone call from an old friend.

You stare at your screen for what feels like eons but it’s really just a few rings. It’s enough time to frantically search through blankets on your couch for your remote to pause your show— Which might as well be like 10 years of time. You’re heavily debating not answering; what if it’s something heavy? What if a mutual childhood friend died? What if it’s a love or murder confession? What if it’s about the money you owe her? The money she owes you?

Do you really want to take that kind of call? On what’s been a peaceful Friday night? That’s a rarity in your part of Chicago, c’mon. If it’s important, she’ll leave a voicemail... Who are you kidding, she doesn’t leave voicemails— Frankly, it’s bizarre and concerning that she’s calling in the first place instead of spam texting. …Alright, she’s let it get to the fourth ring, she’s probably dead or dying. You need to pick up.

“…Syd?”

She sounds infinitely stressed, but relieved to hear your voice.“Hey, hey, uh—”

There’s a cacophony of yelling, banging, and what you imagine are kitchen noises in the background. Guess she kept to her guns after Sheridan. That’s nice. Or maybe it’s not. Hard to tell.

“Are you good?” She can’t see the concern on your face or your free arm crossing over your waist— But she can imagine it in the worried lilt of your voice.

“Yeah, yeah yeah, yeah— I-I’m good— Well actually, no, I’m not good, that’s why I’m calling. Actually. Sorry. I know it’s been a minute, it’s fucked up to call only when I need something—”

“Syd.”

“Is your dad still a handy-man?”

Ah. Goodbye peaceful Friday night. Hello emergency hotfix services.

You click your teeth, “Oh, no, he retired. Got a case of… Getting fucking old disease.” But a part of you is relieved it’s a thing that’s broken, and not her. This is at least manageable— Whatever it is.

“Fuck. Okay. Fuck. Ha, yeah, my dad’s got that too— Well, okay, then I’ll talk—”

You’re quick to jump in. “I took over the business though. So, if you’re—" “We need help so bad right now.”

You can’t help but laugh at the speed of it, but immediately feel guilty hearing the desperation in it. “Yeah? Who’s we?”

You stick the cellphone in the crux of your neck, already walking across your apartment to throw on your jumpsuit— Dark navy blue, elbow length sleeves, dad’s old logo embroidered on your right breast pocket.

CHICAGO’S KINDEST ⚒ FIXERS & CO. It’s managed to grow on you.

There’s an egregious number of patches ironed or sewn onto the back and shoulders of it. All from businesses you and your father had either worked with or done odd jobs for. A NASCAR jumpsuit, but for nostalgia and small businesses. Something something ‘it all starts with your neighbourhood’. Your dad would say.

Syd continues, she hasn’t changed much. You hear her sharp dicing in the background, the rhythm seems to calm down into an actual flow instead of erratic speed. You figure either the dinner rush is starting to slow down or she’s relieved you’re coming. Who are you being humble for, no shot it’s the former.

“So, you know how I’m like— Like a chef and shit?”

 You hum the affirmative, putting her on speakerphone so you can pull out your tool kit with both hands.

“So like, I actually co-own this restaurant opening tonight.”

“Oh nice!”

“Yeah— Yeah, yeah, it’s really nice, but actually, it’s not, because it’s bad.”

“In the way I can fix?”

“In the way you can fix, yeah. Hopefully.”

“What’s the damage?”

“So, my co-owner uh, Carmen, he got locked in the walk-in. Like trapped.”

You take a beat, a confused one. Half-stepping, almost tripping. You stare at your tools, picking out what you’ll actually need for this— How the fuck— “How is he trapped in the walk-in?”

“So, he meant to call to get it fixed—” “And he didn’t?” “And he didn’t.”

“What was broke about it in the first place?”

“The doorknob on the inside, broke off. And right now, or, more like, 5 minutes ago, the handle on the outside broke off too.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck.”

“Do you have the outside handle, still?”

“Yeah. Yeah, laying around somewhere— It snapped off though, like—”

“Clean?”

“Uh…. Y’know, I would check, but I’m actually kinda—"

“Can we run table 36, please, Chefs?!” Now that’s an uncomfortably familiar voice.

“Yes, Chef! …I’m kinda busy.”

“Right. Restaurant. Oh, what fucking restaurant? You said Carmen, that’s that fuckin’ Michelin guy, right?” Berzatto. It has to be. The smallness of this world is a personal prank on you.

“…How do you know that?” Son of a bitch.

“…I try to remember what you like.” It’s a good save, but that was too intimate for 3 years of no contact besides Happy Birthday texts, fuck fuck, recover— “Ahem, uh, Restaurant?”

“The Bear. Formerly The Beef. You do still live in Chicago, right?”

Berzatto. Confirmed. Bleh.

“Fortunate for you, I do. I know The Beef, I’m not far, I’ll be there in ten. Tell him to not have a panic attack, if you get a minute.”

“I will not get a minute. But I love the dream.”

And you’re off. Jumpsuit half zipped over what was supposed to be a sleep shirt but is now posthumously a work shirt. Nobody has to know you’re wearing pajama shorts under this. Carhartt jacket thrown over your shoulders— Your dad’s, so, a bit oversized. Toolbox in hand, utility belt on— Though you’re mildly sure if your hypothesis is right, you will only need your threateningly long sledgehammer.

Thank God for your car. CTA would not like you right now.

You pull up front. Oh boy. The sign change is making you feel a type of way that you were not expecting. Pride? Envy? All seven of the deadly sins? Maybe. No time to stew on it because there’s an older woman smoking and having an emotional spat with who you assume is her shivering son out front. So. Definitely going through the back alley instead of getting in the middle of that shit.

Alas, it’s not any better, because there’s Syd, vomiting next to a dumpster.

“Better to ignore or acknowledge you in this moment?” Is the response you decide is best, despite the question, you’re already by her side. You put your tools down (out of the splash zone) and rub her back with one hand, holding back straying braids with the other.

“I couldn’t—” More vomit. “Fuckin’ tell ya.” Syd takes a few deep breathes before standing. She considers going in for a hug, but remembers, the vomit. “Good to see you. I want to catch up, f’real, but—” “The bear in the walk-in?” “The bear in the walk-in.”

You nod, fishing through your pocket. You hand her a mini container of Tums. She waves it off, of course, and you double down, of course, “Who you acting tough for?”

“Fuckin… No one.” She grimaces, taking the box. She makes a show of taking one, like a fussy kid.

You refuse to take it back. “Keep it.”

“Never stopped being the mom friend, eh?”

You laugh, picking up your tools again. “Listen, there’s no telling what the night and your stomach holds. Lead the way?”

The Bear is pretty, or at least the kitchen of it is, so far. It’s clean. Cleaner than it used to be. The death trap walk-in is really the only eyesore for you. You stare at the broken-off handle in your hand, twisting it back and forth to look at all the angles. It’s honestly a pretty clean break.

Sydney’s left to talk to her dad, as she should, and the rest of the kitchen is either too busy to pay you mind or is just silently relieved to see you.

Tina— Who has thankfully opted to not say ‘Hey, good to see you, it’s been a year, what the fuck’—Taps the walk-in door and says to this elusive Michelin Carmen that she’ll be right back, that help’s here. He does not seem to register this at all. She gently slaps your cheek before rushing back to her station, regardless.

“Maybe I’m just not built for this, maybe, maybe that’s okay— Maybe that just is.”

You’ve never said his name to him, it feels heavy on your tongue. “Carmen.”

“Right? What the fuck was I thinking?”

Alright, he’s too far gone. You flag down one of the cooks that are just shadowing for the night. “Hey, can you hold this in place for me?”

You stick the handle into what’s left of the hinge still attached to the door, which is, not much— But hopefully, again, if your hypothesis is correct, it’ll give enough leverage. The cook holds it in place, a little terrified as your sledgehammer comes into view.

“Not gonna hit you, promise.”

“—I’m a fuckin’ psycho. That’s why. That’s why I’m good at what I do.”

You tap (bang) the hammer on the door, enough to stop his train of thought. For a second, at least. “Sweetheart, I need you to stand up for me, Carmen Chef Sir.”

“…Tony?”

“...Who the fuck is Tony?”

The meek cook beside you speaks up, “He means Tommy.”

And Tina is quick to yell from across the kitchen— hearing how? We don’t know. “It’s Terry!”

“I am none of these people.” You sigh, readying the hammer. “Carmen, can you stand up, and just tuck your fingers in the wedge of the door? If there is one?”

“Heard. Yeah.” There’s shuffling from in there, getting into position. Though the steps and the words seem dazed, as he’s forced out of a mental fog. “Here.”

“This isn’t a fix by the way. Your whole door is fucked after this. Not that it isn’t already, but, y’know.” You back up, teeing yourself up before running forward.

“Well, wait—”

You slam the mallet into the tip of the handle perfectly, forcing it way too tight into the gap of the hinge. You push the cook aside with your hip, now using the long handle of the mallet to stick between the knob and the door, using it as further leverage to pull it open. It is incredibly straining.

“Carmy!” Is it okay to say that nickname before you’ve even seen his face? Eh. You’re moving the boulder, he’ll forgive you. “You feel air?!”

“Holy shit— Yeah, yeah— Push?!” “Of course fucking push!”

And it becomes apparent in this exchange of force that this Head Chef must be significantly stronger than you, because it’s opening a lot faster now. Though, fast is a strong word for the snail pace this is happening at. But it’s more than the nothing that was happening a minute ago.

“Aye… Cousin?” Richie, in a… suit? Runs up to you, coming from front of house. He immediately grabs a free spot on the sledgehammer’s handle to help pull. He was shocked to see you doing, well, this, right now, but then upon registering, he’s just shocked to see you. Period.

You can only groan in response, sticking a leg up and putting your foot on the wall as if it’s gonna add meaningful leverage— Oh wait, it kinda is. “Y'clean up good, Rich— Opening going—Fuck— well?”

“Oh yeah, fucking peachy.” He can only manage to wheeze in reply. Investing his strength in yanking rather than reintroductions; thankfully it pays off.

The hinge shoots open, you would have absolutely fallen on your ass if Richie was not ready to stabilize you. The walk-in door cracks open. Just a bit. It’s not dramatic, it’s just a breath.

It’s so anti-climactic that Richie doesn’t mind walking off to cheer before Carmen even comes out. Clapping your back as he does. “That’s what I like to fuckin’ see, Cousin! Ingenuity!”

Though, to be fair, he’s moving to intercept a very sweet looking, worried girl. You look up at her, wheezing as you keel over slightly to catch your breath, hands on your knees. She’s saying something along the lines of ‘What’s going on?’ ‘Is he okay?’ Girlfriend? Probably. Richie seems to be coaxing her accordingly. You turn your head back to the door. Carmen hasn’t come out yet. That’s a red flag. With another wheeze, you stand up right, opening the door further, peeking in.

He's standing there, catatonic. Not looking at you, but straight forward, beyond you. He must’ve been by the door to push it open but now he’s stumbled against the back shelf. Every time his girl’s voice manages to ring into here, his eyes crinkle— Wince. His breath keeps hitching. He looks afraid. It is better to be caged right now than it is to be out there, doing whatever he could be doing, right now. Talking to anyone might be a death sentence, right now.

“I don’t need to provide amusement or enjoyment. I don’t need to receive any amusement or enjoyment. I’m completely fine with that.” He mumbles repeatedly. You can barely hear it over the buzzing of the freezer.

Whispering it just for himself, like some sort of fucked up mantra. Like it’s a state of inner peace to feel this bad. You doubt he even sees you right now.

You know you don’t know Carmy personally. Mostly just through hearsay.

He’s never met or heard of you, that’s for sure.

But you know Berzattos. Or. Knew the one.

And you know a downward spiral. Intimately.

And you know that right now, he’s fucking cold. He is shivering and making no move to leave that state. You think he thinks that’s the state he deserves to stay in.

Nothing to lose but a good first impression, right? You drop a screwdriver in the doorway as a doorstop— Because how fucking dumb would it be if you both got stuck? And. Extremely slowly, you approach him not unlike approaching an actual captive bear. In your eyes, you might as well be.

Standing right in front of him doesn’t stop his mantra. You slip your jacket off, half hugging him to drape it over his shoulders. “You’re just cold.”

“I’m a—” “You’re just. Cold.” You cut him off before he has the chance to self-deprecate again, smoothing out the sleeves on him. His eyes readjust to actually look at you rather than somewhere beyond.

You sniff. You’re already cold and it’s been 30 seconds. This poor thing. You rub your hands together, breathing hot air into them before touching them to his frigid fucking face. “Fuck you’re really cold. Like danger cold.”

Never being one for boundaries or hesitation, you hug yourself to him. It’s the fastest way to warm him up. You slip your hands under the jacket— Your jacket— And just engulf the Italian Popsicle Man before you.

Shockingly, he doesn’t push you off or suddenly reawaken to his senses and tell you to fuck off. He doesn’t flinch, if anything he leans in. His body doesn’t really have time for surprise, right now, it just takes what it needs. And what it needs is warmth and oxytocin. His breathing slowly but surely self regulates, and once you start to remember decorum you lower your arms— But. He opts to place his chin on your shoulder, like the world’s most gentle hook, and that alone is enough to keep you there.

It's a long, silent, liminal spacey moment before he speaks again. Both of you speak just above the decibel of the freezer's buzzing.

“You’re not Tony.”

“Terry.”

“You’re Terry?”

“No, Tina said Tony’s Terry. I don’t know who the fuck Terry is.”

“Terry’s the fridge guy.”

“You’re still going to need to call him; I did just make it worse.”

“That’s fine.” He swallows. “Who called you?”

“Syd.”

“Should’ve called you earlier.”

“Should’ve called the fridge guy earlier.”

“Yeah.” He sighs, but he makes no move to move, so you don’t either.

“You know Mikey too?”

Ah. The patch. The Beef. It's worn, but it sits proudly on the left shoulder of your jumpsuit. Your heart tightens and so does your posture.

“Yeah.” You sigh. It’s shakier than you’d like it to be. “Dad knew him, so then I knew him, so then I occasionally fixed shit for him. Shit that ‘Fak couldn’t?’ I think his name was?”

“Hm.” He hums. “He ever got locked in the walk-in?”

“Yeah, he really fucked it up, like waayy worse than whatever happened with you tonight. Like whatever happened. At least 10 times worse.” Your voice is coated with sarcasm, but it’s not entirely untrue.

You’re relieved, when Carmen laughs at this, a touch maniacally, but it’s something. Right now, any emotion from him besides regret and anxiety feels like a trophy. He straightens up, pushing his hair back, so you remove your arms.

“You’re fuckin’ funny, Tony.”

“Still not Tony.”

“Oh my god!” A blonde, very pregnant woman cracks the door open, relieved. “Are you okay, Bear?” You step aside so she can hug Carmen, holding his cheeks to look over him. Oh, this has to be—

“I’m good, I’m great, Sug.” He says this incredibly unconvincingly, hanging one hand on her wrist.

But what matters more in your brain right now is: That’s Sugar. Natalie.

And now you can put a face to both siblings you’ve been bitched about to.

Chain-smoker, means well, cringeworthy husband, too good for her family, incredibly judgemental, cares too much and worries more, loves to fight, her mother’s daughter, pushy, sticks her foot in her mouth, can’t take no for an answer, would lay down her life. Natalie Berzatto. Little sister.

Michelin Star retaining, big shot, sensitive, definitely a virgin, ball buster, sweats the small stuff, sweetheart, asshole, incredibly smart, flighty, coward, deeply loyal, whiny, screamer, show-off, fantastic drawer, shell, mister new york, annoyingly humble, undeniably the most talented. Carmen Berzatto. Baby brother.

Mikey’s words. Of course.

Nat turns her gaze over to you, “Thank you.” You can only bring yourself to nod in reply, a bit awkward— Lost in your rolodex of memories of the people you’ve never actually met until right now. It’s weird to feel parasocial about a normal person.   

“Our toilet, exploded.” She says.

Now that pulls out you of it, and gets a laugh out of you. You put your hand over your mouth. “Yeah?”

Sugar shakes her head, eyes widening like she’s just stepped in it, “I didn’t mean like— Like, you just did a job, right, that’s like tacking on another last-minute service—”

“That’s fine.” You put a hand up stopping her from continuing, still chuckling. “I’ll take a look at it tonight and try to fix it tomorrow?”

She nods, smiling bright, “Thank you, Tommy.”

Who needs to use Y/N when you have the fridge guy?

I so desperately hope you liked this first chapter. I've been stewing on this for like a week so I beg of you to reply/reblog/send me an ask (anon or not!!) telling me what you thought!! Unless it's mean!! In which case, do NOT!!!

And just a forewarning, as we step into uncharted territory where the walk-in meltdown was cut short, I need you to hold my hand through it bb. We're making this man's life better or we're gonna die trying.

Next Part

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Follow Me

Luke Castellan x daughterofares!Reader

Summary: Luke's girlfriend is excited to finally become a year-round camper so she can spend it with him. But Luke has other plans for them.

Warning: Major spoilers if you haven't finished the first book(/season depending on when you read this), canon-level violence, weapons, injuries, angst

Word Count: 5.5K

Masterlist

A/N I haven't watched the show because I don't have Disney+ so I'm working from (memory of) the books. No characters are specifically book or show so descriptions are left vague. Imagine whatever you want.

I stumbled my way up Half-Blood Hill, determined to get to Thalia’s tree. This was my last year being a summer camper. After I graduated high school I’d decided to become a year round camper seeing as the real world was getting more and more dangerous for me. And I'd be damned if I let myself be killed right before I was in the safety of camp for good.

I was in so much pain, there was blood pouring out of my abdomen caused by the crocotta’s razor sharp claws slicing at me. My short break gave it enough time to catch up to me so rather than continuing to flee, I was forced to turn and face it. I pulled out my father’s gift to me, a sword made of celestial bronze that grew from a steel knife that could harm mortals. When he claimed and gifted it to me I found the steel useless. Why would I ever need to harm a mortal? The reasoning behind the dual blade still eluded me. The only reason I could think of was just that Ares had a penchant for violence.

As the crocotta bounded closer to me, all I could do was stand and wait for it to get within range. But upon reaching me, it just swiped the sword from my grasp, pouncing on me. I felt a tear slip down my face as I realized I’d failed to reach safety one final time. As it growled in my face and opened its jaw, I sent a silent prayer to my father and a goodbye to Luke. But before it’s jaws could clamp down on me, the weight lifted and a shimmery cloud of ichor rained down on me.

As the golden dust settled, I could see my boyfriend’s face above mine, standing over me, clutching his dagger. “Luke,” I practically sobbed in relief.

“Oh my gods,” he exclaimed, kneeling down next to me. His hands went to my stomach, pressing against the open wound, trying to stop the bleeding. “Can you walk?” he asked, fear in his eyes.

“Yeah,” I nodded, letting him take my hand as he stood. Truthfully I probably couldn’t really walk but it was either walk 10 feet to the tree or lie here waiting for someone else to help Luke carry me in and potentially getting attacked by another monster.

I let out a groan as Luke slung my arm over his shoulder, pulling me up from the ground. “C’mon,” he urged, “just get to the tree and then we’ll get some more people to help you.” I nodded, not bothering with a verbal agreement as I let my boyfriend practically carry me just past Thalia’s tree. “There we go,” he said gently as he eased me to the ground.

“Go. Go get Lee or Michael,” I urged him as he kneeled by my side again.

“No,” Luke immediately shot down. “I’m not leaving you like this and so close to the edge of the barrier.” I glanced to my left. We were about three feet from the edge of the camp’s protective barrier. “Help!” I heard him yell towards camp.

“What? Do you think I'm accidentally gonna roll down the hill?” I tried to joke. But my chuckle made my wounds hurt even more.

Seeing my pain made Luke even more unamused. Soon enough a few other campers ran up to us, having heard Luke’s call.

“Y/N, oh my god.”

“What happened?”

“Another one?!”

I heard the various reactions from other campers. Another one? What did they mean another one? But I didn’t dwell on my questions for long because Lee Fletcher and Michael Yew were running towards me. A few of my siblings followed them carrying a stretcher. As the Apollo boys started to try to stop the bleeding, I was moved onto the stretcher. But the pain of being lifted was so bad I blacked out.

~

When I came to in the sickroom of the Big House all I could feel was pain. I let out a soft groan, snapping Luke to attention. He was slumped over on my bedside, seemingly sleeping. He immediately grabbed a piece of ambrosia off the nightstand next to the cot, bringing it to my lips. I immediately rejected it, not feeling like eating anything.

“C’mon, it’s ambrosia. It’ll make you feel better,” Luke pleaded. Reluctantly I let him coax the food into my mouth and ate it. The comforting taste of my mother’s chocolate cake filled my mouth. Despite the fact that it tasted good, it felt heavy in my stomach and I pushed the food away. “You gotta eat more than that,” he tried again.

“Let’s start with water or nectar,” I suggested, my throat sore.

Luke looked at the floor angrily. He sighed. “We’re out of nectar for a while. Ambrosia is all we have.”

“What?” I asked in shock, sitting up in surprise. Luke was quick to coax me back down.

“Grover and the kid he was helping got attacked by the Minotaur on their way here. Just like the crocotta attacked you.”

“Oh my god,” I murmured. “Is that why someone said ‘Another one?’ as they were bringing me here?”

He nodded once again. “His name was Percy. He showed up the night before you did.” He suddenly stopped talking. Like he had something more to say. I urged him to continue and he did so reluctantly. “Poseidon claimed him the second night he was awake… and now he’s on a quest.”

I looked at him sympathetically. I knew all about Luke’s anger about going unclaimed for so long. And then when he finally was claimed and had trained to be a great hero, all Hermes could give him to do was steal some golden apples. But after countless rants about this I knew he wouldn’t want sympathy. “You said he’s on a quest already? How long have I been out?”

“A couple days. Chiron and Lee kicked me out for a while.”

“What’d you do?”

“Well, we already need new practice dummies for combat training,” he admitted sheepishly. I laughed and fortunately Luke did too.

By now, Chiron had sensed I was awake and entering the sickroom. As he ducked his way through the door he shrunk down back into his wheelchair so as to not overwhelm me. “I’m glad to see you’re awake. You gave us quite a scare for a few days,” he smiled.

“So I've heard.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Like my guts were ripped out by a crocotta,” I answered.

“Well the ambrosia should help the pain and scarring. Lee stopped the bleeding and stitched you up but he said you’d be out for a few days.”

“Can you get her some nectar?” Luke interrupted. “She’s not exactly in a place to be eating solid foods.”

“Mr. D is trying to get into contact with Apollo. Apparently he’s concerned that Dionysus is overindulging.”

“That’s crap!” Luke suddenly burst out.

“Luke!” Chiron immediately cut him off. “I know you’re concerned for Ms. L/N, here but the food of the gods is in of itself a privilege.” He then turned his attention back to me. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well but ambrosia will have to do until we’re able to get more nectar.”

“Thanks, Chiron,” I tried to dismiss him, giving him a tight lipped smile. Sensing my disappointment he took his leave, wheeling out of the room.

Luke was back by my bedside with more pieces of ambrosia that I reluctantly took.

~

Thanks to the godly food I was up and walking within two days much to cabin 5’s relief. So many of my younger siblings were saying that Clarisse had been a terror in my absence. Something about a bathroom exploding and then she apparently tried to electrocute the new camper. I made a note to talk to her later but for now I was focused on getting my cabin back in order. They responded best to authority and a routine so I quickly had them out in training, telling them that I wouldn’t tolerate us losing capture the flag again.

We made our way down to the arena for sword fighting lessons. Luke and I were both instructors seeing as we were the oldest two campers and the best with blades. Our childhood competitiveness had eventually grown into love but for a while, we hated each other. We used to spend hours trying to get the upper hand over one another.

But now that we were dating, the younger campers always tried to goad us into sparring with one another. We always said that we’d save our sparring match for our own training or a reward for the others doing well but usually a few teasing comments had our swords pointed at one another.

I was correcting a Hermes camper’s form when he asked me to try fighting Luke. “Not today,” I laughed.

“Why? Is it because you’re scared?” he asked, knowing exactly what he was doing.

“No,” I corrected him. “It’s because once we fight, none of you will care about what we teach you.”

“Sound like you’re scared,” the boy just repeated.

I just rolled my eyes, prepared to dismiss him when Luke’s voice interrupted. “Yeah, Y/N. It sounds like you’re scared.” I rolled my eyes again as he approached. “I wouldn’t want to fight the capture the flag champion either.”

“You only won because I was recovering from being chased across the country by a monster. Just wait until the next game, I’ll show you how Cabin 5 does it.” That elicited a few cries of encouragement from my cabin, eager to win their flag back.

“You need a bit more time to train, I get it,” he mockingly offered. A few of his siblings joined in on the taunting with their exaggerated reactions.

“I don’t need time. I’d just rather not cut you up this early into the summer,” I smiled. A few ‘ooh’s came from our audience.

Luke bristled a little at that. “C’mon,” he gestured to the arena, “let’s settle this once and for all.”

I picked up one of the practice swords that resembled the size and weight of my real sword, stepping into the middle of the arena. “You say that every time.” Luke smiled, taking his spot in front of me with his practice sword as the other campers backed up.

I barely gave him a chance to settle before I was moving. I had the advantage of my father’s knack for fighting and aggression but I wasn’t as strong as Luke. Unfortunately, he knew all my moves and tricks so he was able to block me. But that also meant I knew all of his moves and tricks because I could anticipate his subsequent moves.

We continued on, trying to outmaneuver each other. He kept forcing me out of range, protecting his body, whilst I tried to find an opening to get close to him. The other campers had been within the walls of the arena but we moved around so much they were forced to jump out.

The only reason we stopped was because our little “lesson” had gone on too long and Chiron was wondering where his students were. Neither of us noticed him until he yelled our names. “Y/N L/N! Luke Castellan! What are you doing?” We both immediately stopped, facing the centaur like guilty children.

“We were just introducing them to technique,” Luke offered. I could tell Chiron saw right through his excuse but it was good enough reasoning.

“You both know you’re supposed to hold off on sparring one another. Children,” he turned to the other campers, “what did your instructors teach you?”

“Stance!”

“What to do if your opponent has a longer sword!”

Those were the answers our siblings offered but one Aphrodite camper’s answer ruined the whole thing. “How to waste time.” Luke and I both sent her stares.

Fortunately Chiron didn’t take it too seriously. “Save the sparring for your own sessions,” he warned us. “Everyone move on to your next activities. I’m sure your instructors are waiting.”

As everyone else filed off, Luke and I looked at each other. “You’re disgusting,” I laughed, observing his sweaty shirt.

He looked baffled at that. “Wow. I was gonna ask if you’re okay but clearly you don’t value me that much,” he answered in mocking offense.

“No, no, no,” I corrected through laughs, going to him. But as soon as he tried to hug me, I pulled away with a wrinkled nose. Seeing my disgust, he forcefully hugged me, drowning me in his B.O. When I finally wrestled my way out of his arms I was disgusting. “Ugh we both need showers.”

He smiled. “I’ll see you at dinner,” he promised. He stepped closer to me, kissing me quickly before heading off towards the showers. I watched him leave for a moment before heading to my cabin.

Later that night at dinner, I was talking to my cabin-mates when Luke came over, crouching by me. “Hey,” he smiled up at me as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

“Hi,” I laughed. “What are you doing here?”

“Being a good boyfriend. I’m just giving you a heads up that our spar from earlier isn’t over yet.”

“What?”

Chiron stood up and so did Luke. “Gotta go, bye,” he said, pressing a kiss to my temple before scurrying off.

Bewildered, I looked up at Chiron. “We have a special activity tonight per the request of the reigning capture the flag champions. We’ll be playing again tonight seeing as some claimed our last games were unfair due to a missing counselor.” Cabin 5 erupted into cheers, eager to win the flag back. “Luke Castellan and Y/N L/N are captains. Same rules as the prior games.”

Not willing to let my cabin lose again, I jumped into action. “Cabin 5, armor on, get to the creek in 5!” They all quickly scrambled off. Our allies for this game, Dionysus, Aphrodite, Demeter, and Hephaestus followed their lead.

I followed after them to get my armor as well and soon enough I was stood by the creek, discussing strategy with my teammates. Once our discussion time drew to a close, I faced my opposing captain. “You’re going down, feather feet,” I sneered.

“We’ll see, hot head,” Luke taunted.

I laughed. “Oh yeah, one more thing,” I told my teammates. “Bring me Luke’s sword and helmet.”

“In your dreams,” he taunted back. He looked at his team. “Bring me Y/N.”

“Okay,” Chiron interrupted us. “Before we begin I think we need a reminder that killing is not permitted. Are we clear?” A few unenthusiastic agreements came from the crowd. Nodding, Chiron blew into the horn, signaling that the games had begun. Some of my campers who hadn’t already been stationed bolted into the trees, doubling back so they could hopefully sneak through Hermes’ cabin’s defenses. The others stayed with me to defend the most obvious point.

One Hermes kid immediately jumped at me but I slashed him in the chest, (his armor protected him so he just got the wind knocked out of him) knocking him back into the water.

He got back up, running at one of my campers but he was immediately disarmed and taken prisoner. By the time I looked back, the other campers and Luke were gone. I realized with a frustrated scream that this kid was a distraction. “Find them!” I yelled at the others.

“Their territory or ours?” I observed the 5 campers in front of me. “You three, stay on our side. Fan across the creek, look for signs they crossed into our territory. The rest of you, we’re gonna either hunt them down in their territory or take their flag.”

My group leapt over the creek, running into the forest.

As we searched, we picked up a few of our own teammates, running through the woods and strangely finding no opposing campers. We continued on nonetheless until Athena and Apollo campers all of a sudden started darting through the trees.

Eventually they stopped moving enough for us to have a proper fight. I faced Malcom Pace, easily disarming him. But suddenly his older brothers were on me. As I was busy fighting twins, Leo and Cato, another one of the boys found an opening. Quinn wrapped his arms around me, a dagger at my throat. “Drop the sword,” they told me.

Seeing as I wasn’t getting out of this but my teammates were gone while many of the Athena and Apollo campers were still here, I dropped the sword. Most of my campers got away and were likely hunting down the flag.

Before they could decide where to stash their prisoner, the horn blew again, signaling the end of the games. But as I tried to leave, the others stopped me. “Woah, Luke said he wanted you so we’re taking you.”

I rolled my eyes, letting them lead me to the creek. “Yeah, well when my cabin gives me his stuff and the flag, you can apologize to me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Quinn dismissed. “You’re just mad I beat you.”

“You only ‘beat me’ because there were three of you. And you guys still lost the rest of my team.”

“We still got you!” Leo taunted in a sing-songy voice. By now we had reached the creek and I saw Clarisse holding the flag, a helmet, and a sword. Luke was kneeled beside her looking humiliated, clearly a captive.

Both sides let us go and I went to Clarisse. “Your spoils,” she presented me the flag, helmet, and sword. I smiled, wrapping the flag around her shoulders and taking Luke’s stuff.

“Thank you!” I said emphatically, pointing a look of victory at Luke.

He just shook his head, standing up. As he approached me I figured he was grabbing his belongings but instead he wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me in for a kiss. When he pulled away he explained. “You’re my spoil.”

~

Camp life continued on as normal for a while. I finally met the newest hero who had returned Zeus’ masterbolt— he did not like my father. He seemed surprised that Luke and I were dating and I learned that Luke had become a sort of mentor to Percy over the days that I had been asleep. That also surprised me, given how resentful Luke had seemed towards him when I first woke up. Regardless, everything seemed normal as we continued our routines throughout the summer until I was woken up one night.

“Y/N,” a voice whispered, shaking me. “Y/N.” I reluctantly opened my eyes, finding one of my younger brothers, Aiden, shaking me. “Luke’s asking for you.”

“What?” I asked, sitting up.

“Luke wants to talk to you. He gave me a coke if I woke you up.” The boy excitedly held up a shiny red can as if to persuade me to go.

I rubbed his messy hair as I sat up. “Don’t let Clarisse see that,” I advised, throwing on a hoodie. He nodded, going back to his bunk as I headed outside. “Luke!” I whispered into the night upon exiting the cabin. I didn’t notice him sneaking up towards me until his hands were around my waist. “Luke!” I exclaimed in surprise.

He quickly hushed me. “Do you want the harpies to find us?”

“Well we wouldn’t have to worry about that if you weren’t trying to talk to me in the middle of the night. What’s wrong?” I asked, knowing it’d be serious. He let his playful facade drop as he urged me to follow him, taking my hand. I went with him, silently trusting him until I realized we were heading to the woods. I stopped, letting my hand fall out of his grasp. “What? Are you gonna kill me in there?” I laughed shallowly, trying to lighten the mood and quell the alarms in my brain.

Luke returned my shallow laugh, clearly nervous. “Of course not. Look, I have to talk to you. It’s serious.” I could see the genuineness in his expression so I let him retake my hand. “I’d never hurt you,” he promised. So I followed him further into the woods until he deemed us far enough. “The nymphs may hear us but it’s kind of impossible to avoid them,” he chuckled.

“Hear what?” I asked.

He took a breath, seemingly composing himself. “You know how I went on that quest? For my dad?”

“Yeah. What? You want to go out into the world again?” I asked, a little relieved.

“Sort of,” he offered. “But on that ‘quest,’” he mocked the word, “I realized something: the gods are useless.”

“Luke!” I immediately reprimanded him.

“No,” he cut me off. “You don’t have to pretend like not fawning over the gods is a crime. We shouldn’t be blindly worshipping them. Y/N,” his hands were clasping my shoulders as if begging me to believe him, “your father waited for the last day of summer your first year to claim you. Why? Just to mess with you? Because he just couldn’t be bothered to do it until he remembered at the last second? That’s messed up. The gods aren’t fit to rule. The West is going to hades. My quest? To repeat Heracles’ quest? All the gods know how to do is repeat the past. Their glory days.”

“Luke, you’re scaring me.” I was practically begging him to stop talking so we could go back to the way it was. This was the first year I’d be staying year round. We were supposed to be celebrating Christmas together for the first time in a few months. Yet here he was, spouting off heresy.

“Open your eyes,” he insisted. “The gods are poisoning the world and they’ve been using us as pawns to do it. The only way to fix it is to destroy it and start over with something more honest.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been having dreams sent by the Titan Lord.”

A shiver ran down my spine and I stepped out of his grasp. “No,” I heard myself whisper. “Luke, he’s using you. You remember what Chiron taught us. We are not better off, no one was better off when the Titans ruled. We didn’t even have fire. He will kill all the humans. He’ll kill us.”

“Not if we join him willingly,” Luke promised, trying to take my hand again but I pulled away. “He said when I bring down the gods he’ll reward me. He’ll make me immortal. He promised you’d become like me too.” He quickly grasped my wrist tight enough so I couldn’t escape, pulling me closer. “We can rule together, forever.” He was pleading with me to take his offer, his hands finding a stray lock of hair to tuck behind my ear.

“Luke… this isn’t- you can’t…” I was at a loss for words.

“Please, Y/N,” his voice was cracking.

“I can’t. I’m sorry. This isn’t right. This is dangerous, can’t you see that?”

“This isn’t me just trying to get back at my dad. I’ve thought about this.” He stiffened, still tightly grasping my wrist. “Y/N, I need you with me.”

“Then don’t go,” I begged him. “I won’t even tell anyone. We can just go back to how things were.”

“No, we can’t,” he shook his head. “Because you’re gonna try to help me by telling Chiron and he’s gonna turn me in.”

“No he won’t! Luke, he trained you. He’ll want to help you.”

“Camp isn’t safe for us anymore. We have to go.”

This was the first time I actually started fearing for my safety. I tried to pull out of his grasp but he held firm. “Go where?”

“Our Titan Lord got us a ship. We’ll be safe there until I get my next orders. The monsters on it won’t harm us.”

“What?!” With a hard wrench I pulled my wrist out of his grasp. I immediately started running, hoping a nymph would find me before a monster did but Luke was on me in seconds. He knocked me to the ground and after a little struggling he had me pinned. “Luke, please don’t do this,” I begged as I saw him reach into his pocket. When I saw the milk of the poppy I began to thrash underneath him but I couldn’t manage to throw him off of me. He forced my mouth open, dropping the liquid onto my tongue and forcing me to swallow. Before I blacked out, I could vaguely hear him speak.

“You’ll be okay in a few days and then we can talk.” A few days???

~~

The next morning Luke was woken by frantic cries of his girlfriend’s name heard throughout camp. He immediately rushed out of bed, putting on a concerned boyfriend facade. Finding one of his brothers, he asked what was going on. “What? Did you just wake up?” Luke nodded frantically. “Oh, I’m sorry man. Uh, Y/N wasn’t in bed this morning. No one can find her. One of her little brothers said you asked to talk to her last night.”

“Yeah to talk about potentially allying for capture the flag but she went right back in,” he insisted frantically. He ran a hand through his hair, acting stressed. He kind of whished he’d be gone by now but he needed to get rid of Percy before he could go.

He ran out of the cabin, immediately going up to Cabin 5. Clarisse spotted him, her expression becoming sour. “What’d you do Castellan? Aiden said you wanted to talk to her last night.”

“Yeah, we were talking about capture the flag but she went right back in 10 minutes later. You sleep 20 feet from her, where’s my girlfriend?” he challenged. Clarisse sent him a scowl but otherwise stormed off, the other Cabin 5 campers following her with similar expressions.

“Luke, I'm so sorry,” a young voice called. He turned, finding Annabeth running towards him. As she hugged him, Luke couldn’t help but think about how much he’d miss her. She was too smart for her own good but he still couldn’t help but think of the seven year old he had found hiding from monsters. “She could just be out somewhere?” she offered, trying to console him.

“I hope so,” he smiled down at her. He then spotted Mr. D and ran over to him. “Mr. D, can you find where she is?”

The god gave him a tired expression. “I’m not omniscient in this state. All I know is she’s not in camp.”

“Well can’t you get a god who is? Surely her father wants to know where she is,” he insisted. But Ares had plenty of demigod children and most of them went missing in action or died tragic deaths. Y/N would be just another hero child that fought in his name.

“Lord Ares has other concerns,” Mr. D at least tried to soften the blow. “If she hasn’t returned by the end of the summer then we must assume she is dead. Even if she left of her own volition.”

“But summer is ends tomorrow. You can’t do this. She could still be out there. She could need our help. Let me go out and search,” he pleaded. By now, Chiron, Clarisse, and a few others had joined them.

“No one is leaving,” Chiron declared. “I’m not letting anyone else go missing. Luke, I understand your concern but her blade was found in Cabin 5. If she’s not in camp she is likely already dead.”

“No,” Luke insisted, putting on the performance of a lifetime, “you’re wrong.”

After nearly two whole days of searching camp and the closest borders, (that was the furthest Chiron would let anyone go) Y/N L/N was declared dead. Her siblings reluctantly built a funeral pyre, decorating it with some of her things. Luke did his best to look devastated and it seemed to be working because no one looked at him twice other than to offer their sympathies. That at least made it easy to lure Percy off into the woods just before he left.

~~

When I woke up I was in a strange room. It looked like a hotel room except for the fact that the floor to ceiling windows showed that I was on the ocean. That triggered all the memories of Luke. A sense of hopelessness came over me and I was immediately breaking down in sobs. I didn’t want to believe that he had joined Kronos and turned his back on everything he knew or that he was determined to drag me with him.

Once I finally managed to compose myself I went to the door, hoping to find a radio so someone could get me. Or maybe even find Luke so I could talk him into letting me go. But once I opened the door I was met with the massive jaws of a hellhound. I immediately shut the door and locked it.

Still feeling unsafe I went to grab the dresser to block the door but either it was too heavy or bolted down. I tried the desk next resulting in nothing. I was running out of time as the monster was probably just trying to process what it saw. Soon it’d smell me and start trying to break down the door. So I resorted to the chair, dragging it across the floor and jamming it under the door handle. I then went to the massive windows, realizing there was a hidden door. I wrenched it open, stepping out into the fresh air. I looked around, seeing no land I’d be able to swim to. But just as I was considering my chances, I noticed the body of a massive whale-like creature. I was willing to bet that whales weren’t just swimming around a cruise ship, this was a cetus.

Seeing as I had nowhere else to go, I went back into the room. I went to the attached bathroom, searching for something to defend myself. There wasn’t really anything in there except bar soap and toilet paper. Luke must have removed everything, even the towels, so I couldn’t hurt him or anyone else. Frustrated, I went to the closet, finding it completely empty. Not even a hangar to pull apart and stab someone with. So I reluctantly grabbed the soap seeing as it was literally the only thing remotely resembling a weapon, and sat on the bed, watching the door.

I don’t know how long I sat there but eventually I heard the door shake, like something was trying to get in. As I was preparing to clobber the monster with my bar of soap, a voice I recognized called through the door. “C’mon, Y/N! Open the door,” Luke said. I didn’t dare move. I didn’t want to see him. “Open the door or I break it down!” he demanded.

It was either open the door or have absolutely no protection from the monsters so I reluctantly got up. “Okay, okay!” I answered. “Just give me a second.” I climbed off the bed, removing the chair. I only twisted the handle, letting the door open slightly before going back to the bed to put some distance between us.

As Luke was locking the door again, I took my chance. Jumping, I tried to bring the bar of soap down on him but he turned, grabbing my wrist. “Come on, you had to have known that wouldn’t work,” he smiled.

I only gave him a burning stare. “It was worth a shot,” I said, trying to pull my hand away. But his grip held fast, not letting me pull away.

“So I guess you still hate me?”

“Yeah,” I answered. “You kidnapped me and are now holding me hostage on a monster infested ship.”

“You’ll understand soon enough,” he dismissed, once again brushing a piece of hair behind my ear. “Then we’ll be together forever.”

Masterlist

[sang-i-fetge]

List of Jason Todd/Red Hood's weapons/gadgets/touys

Note: This is mostly from comics written by Winick, as I refuse to acknowledge most of n52. Feel free to add more, though!

Note2: This post was originally formatted in a different way, as I foolishly forgot about the image limit.

Blades

1— His iconic dagger!

Can cut through stone, and most of Batman's gear. It's been heavily debated what kind of knife it is; wether a kris, a parrying dagger, or a third secret thing.

2— The blades he gives Mia to defend herself!

I'm not sure what kind of blade they are, they vaguely look like wakizashis? Their size varies from panel to panel so idk😔

3— The katana for the 'duel' with Oliver!

4— And to link with the next section, the exploding katana!

Yes, it's a katana that explodes. Jason baits Oliver into holding it.

Explosives

— First of all, he blows up many many things and it's not specified what exactly he uses. So the unspecified explosives that only appear as a cool fireball panel get a bullet point.

5— The jumble of explosives in the Final Confrontation™️, we can see some dynamite, C4...

6— Bomb in a crate

7— Small bomb. Not lethal!

8— Bigger bomb. Yes lethal.

9— Continuing with this absolute icon: the bomb under the Batmobile (should I capitalize that?)

10— Small Rocket, used against Brick

11— Grenade?

12— Small, cylinder-shaped explosives. Detonated upon impact?

13— Small explosive that attaches to flat surfaces, used against Dr Freeze

14— Grenade.

15— Molotov Cocktail

16— Enough C4 to destroy a whole building, modded so it explodes if its temperature reaches one point, countering Batman's method of freezing bombs.

17— My absolute favorite, the exploding helmet!

Even if it's listed under 'explosives', it's also an important piece of technology in the Red Hood's arsenal.

Firearms

18, 19— The guns in the wall from Annual #25, there's surely more.

20— Machine guns hidden in crates!

21— Machine guns hidden in cars!

22— Rocket launcher, used against Black Mask

23— Even more hidden machine guns! This time in an electricity pole.

24— Machine gun (also hidden, but surprisingly not attached to anything)

25— Handgun👍

26— AK-47, you know the panel from where it's from

27— Submachine guns, I think 🙂

28— When out of ammo he uses his guns as blunt weapons, which I wanted to note

Tasers

29— The nazi-killing taser

30— The reason for the creation of this post! The grapple line taser! Attach it to a grapple line and it will shock whoever is connected to it. Noticed it in a reread of utrh and needed people to see it

31— Bonus: the bat-symbol taser. Iconic enough to be here.

Tech & Surveillance

32— Monitor and microphone?

33, 34— cameras :)

35— thing to see the feed of the cameras

36, 37— phones :)

38— his little tech den in #650

39, 40— computers :)

41— whatever this thing is

42— The surveillance device that looks like he taped a canon camera to his face

43— Wiretaps!

44— Bugs!

He also has his evil lair in B&R2009 bugged.

Miscellaneous

45— Does his crowbar count

46— smoke bomb!!

47— Injectable adrenaline. He just has that in his utility belt.

48— His batmobile-evade suit.

49— Is saying his belt buckle mean

50— Unspecified poison! Goodbye Egon

51— This thing that attaches to its target and launches them off

Not pictured:

The fancy weapon dressing he gives onyx to patch up the shoulder wound he inflicted (I forgot to screenshot 💔)

Also, he has this whole hq-ish thing in Annual #25

(Edit: That rectangle in the gun wall kinda looks like an anti-drone gun now that I think abt it)

It has a murder board, which I think is cute.

[ssa-dado]

12 - Goodbyes & Partners

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader Genre: uuum you tell me Summary: The BAU team discovers that Hotch had a former partner, a brilliant female profiler who left the unit abruptly. Gideon reveals you were one of the best, sparking curiosity among the team. As they dig deeper, they uncover your impressive credentials, speculation grows about your close relationship with Hotch, with theories ranging from unspoken feelings to complicated personal dynamics. Warnings: none - or at least that's what I think - who would have thought. Word Count: 7.1k Dado's Corner: OKKKKK let's gooo! First time meeting Aaron's children the team, who's excited?! Peter canonically the most hated character of this fic. This chapter, like many others in this fic, has a sister chapter coming up in exactly 7 hours. After leaving you with your mouth dry yesterday, I figured it’s only fair to keep the anticipation going! Let me know what you think of the team! Also if you have ideas for this particular fic, my inbox is opened, feel free to leave as many suggestions as you would like!

previous chapter ; masterlist

No one at the BAU was ever good with goodbyes.

It was a team built on unspoken bonds and shared burdens, a group of people who had seen the darkest parts of the world and each other. For all the skills they had in reading human behavior, they were never quite able to express what it felt like to lose one of their own. Words often felt inadequate, insufficient to capture the weight of what they’d been through together: the late nights, the close calls, the quiet moments that held more significance than any case file.

Goodbyes were messy, uncomfortable, and often avoided altogether.

Rossi had been the first to leave, and even though Hotch knew he had been restless for months, it still came as a shock. One day, Rossi was there, with his dry humor and his endless stories, and the next, his office was empty, the walls bare, as if he had never really been there at all, if it weren’t for Gideon’s call, he would have never reached out. Only later he left behind a brief note, neatly folded on Hotch’s desk, with a few lines about “needing a change” and “time to start the next chapter.” It was classic Rossi: vague, detached, like he didn’t want to make a fuss. Hotch had read the note a multitude of times, hoping to find some hidden message, but there was nothing. No explanation, no real goodbye. Just Rossi, slipping away on his own terms, halfway to his next adventure before anyone had a chance to ask him to stay.

Then the most recent was Gideon’s. After Boston, after the case that had broken him in ways none of them had fully understood, Gideon’s silence was deafening. Hotch remembered the last time he’d seen him, sitting alone in his office, staring blankly at the case files scattered across his desk. Gideon hadn’t said a word, hadn’t offered any explanation or farewell. He just looked up, his eyes hollow and distant, and Hotch knew that whatever had been holding him together had finally snapped. By the next morning, Gideon was gone, his desk cleared out, his badge left behind like a discarded shell of who he once was. There were no letters, no phone calls, just the ghost of a man who had once been a legend in the field but was now too broken to even say goodbye.

Both of those men had left him with new responsibilities: Rossi’s departure had made him a lead profiler, and Gideon’s exit had eventually thrust him into the role of Unit Chief. Though Hotch had always been an ambitious person, the way he’d earned his promotions often felt like a double-edged sword, each step up tinged with a sense of loss. It was as if there was an unspoken rule that he could never fully enjoy his achievements without bearing the weight of the absences that had made them possible, leaving him to wonder if success always had to come at such a cost.

Hotch had never mastered the art of letting people go. The departures always felt like tearing pages out of a story that had been written together, each blank space a reminder of what had been lost.

But you, you were different.

You were the only one who was extraordinary at goodbyes.

It had been a few months after his wedding when you made your announcement. The BAU had just wrapped up a grueling case, the kind that left everyone drained and hollowed out, and Hotch had retreated to his desk, hoping for a moment of peace. You had come in, hesitant at first, fiddling with the bracelet on your wrist - a nervous habit he’d come to recognize over the years. You took a breath before speaking, your voice laced with the kind of excitement that only comes when you’re standing on the edge of something new and terrifying.

“I got an offer,” you said, your words tumbling out in a rush. “To teach. It’s a position I never even dreamed of. The first-ever Behavioral Sciences courses, all across Europe. They want me to lead them.”

Hotch remembered the way his heart sank when you first told him, though he tried his best to keep his expression neutral, hiding the ache beneath a composed facade. He had always known you were destined for more; your talent, insight, and your relentless passion for sharing knowledge had set you apart from the very beginning. You were the team’s quiet genius, not just in profiling but in connecting dots others couldn’t see, blending psychology, philosophy, and the art of communication into something extraordinary.

You laid out all the details with an excitement that was hard to contain: Rome, London, Paris - places you had only glimpsed on rare vacations now calling on you to bring your expertise to their prestigious institutions. It was a perfect fit, a job seemingly tailored just for you. Your fluency in multiple languages, from Italian and French to German and Swedish, made you uniquely qualified to teach across Europe, bridging cultural gaps with the ease of someone who had spent their life immersed in the subtleties of language and human behavior.

It was everything you had worked for, and everything you deserved. Hotch knew that it was fate, really - that someone with your knowledge, your intellect, and your gift for teaching would eventually end up in front of a classroom, shaping the next generation of minds. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier to swallow. You were finally getting the recognition you deserved, but for Hotch, it felt like the beginning of the end of something he hadn’t been ready to let go of.

Hotch had listened intently, though the tightness in his chest made it hard to breathe. He could see the flicker of conflict in your eyes, the way you glanced at him, searching for something: approval, reassurance, maybe even permission to take this leap.

You had always been strong, but this decision was monumental, and Hotch could sense your need for his support. As you spoke, your words came out in a rush, filled with excitement yet underlined with an uncertainty that made his heart ache. When you finally paused, breathless and hopeful, he forced a smile, pushing back the knot of emotions building inside him.

“You always told me I should find my happiness,” he said softly, echoing the words that had once helped pull him through some of his darkest times. “Maybe it’s time you did the same.”

He watched as your expression softened, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. Hotch could feel you on the verge of saying something more, something that lingered just beneath the surface. But instead, you nodded, your smile bittersweet, tinged with an understanding that broke his heart just a little more.

“Thank you, Aaron,” you whispered, your voice so quiet, yet so full of sincerity it nearly undid him. “I needed to hear that.”

And he knew, in that instant, that his words had given you what you needed. But the cost of that comfort weighed heavily on him. This was it - this was the moment he had been dreading. The goodbye that followed was simple, yet it carried a depth of emotion that neither of you dared to fully express. There were no tears, no grand declarations, just the two of you standing in the bullpen, surrounded by the echoes of shared memories and silent understanding.

When you moved to hug him, Hotch felt the familiar warmth of your presence wrap around him. For a second, he held on tighter than he should have, his hands lingering at your back, memorizing the way you felt against him. He wasn’t sure how long he held you there, but it wasn’t long enough. It would never be long enough. The realization hit him hard, this might be the last time he’d feel the steady comfort of you by his side, the last time he could call you his partner in the same way.

“I’m going to miss you,” you said, your voice thick with the emotions you’d worked so hard to keep at bay. And though Hotch tried to respond, his throat tightened, and all he could do was nod, hoping that somehow you’d understand all the things he couldn’t find the words for.

“Don’t forget to write,” you had said, pulling back with a small, teasing smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. It was a half-joke, half-promise, but Hotch had clung to it.

When you finally pulled away, it felt like something inside him had shifted, like a piece of him had gone with you. He watched as you gave him one last, lingering look before walking out of the building, the door closing softly behind you. The silence that followed was suffocating. Hotch stood there for a long time, staring at the space where you had been, already feeling the weight of your absence settle deep in his bones.

You both knew phone calls wouldn’t work - the time zones were unforgiving, and your schedules were a mess of lectures, seminars, cases and travel. Trying to coordinate would only lead to missed calls and voicemails, the kind of slow drift that ends in silence. But letters, letters were something else. They were tangible, personal, a way of staying connected even when the rest of the world pulled you in different directions.

Your first letter arrived a few weeks after you left. Hotch had found it waiting on his desk one morning, nestled between case files and memos, and just seeing your name scrawled across the envelope made something in his chest tighten.

For Hotch, the idea of writing to you felt right. It reminded him of the hours you had spent together in the bullpen, sitting across from each other as you filed endless reports and bantered over cases. Your handwriting, always in blue ink - never black, because you said it felt too clinical - was something he had come to cherish. He still remembered the way you had teased him, claiming that black ink was for lawyers and pessimists, and he had laughed, knowing you were right.

He opened it carefully, unfolding the pages with the same kind of reverence he might have shown an old photograph. The letter was filled with details of your new life abroad: how strange it was to be teaching in a classroom instead of chasing down criminals, how the students were eager but occasionally overwhelmed by the intensity of your lessons. You wrote about your tiny apartment in Rome, the cobblestone streets that twisted like a labyrinth, and the late nights spent sipping espresso as you prepared your lectures.

But it wasn’t just the big moments you shared; it was the little things, too. The frustration of dealing with Italian bureaucracy, the odd comfort of hearing a student quote something you’d said in class, and the quiet evenings when you missed the familiar hum of the BAU. Every word was laced with your personality: your humor, your insight, the way you saw the world with a blend of sharp intellect and boundless curiosity. Hotch read that first letter at least a dozen times, absorbing every detail, and when he finally put it down, he felt closer to you than he had in weeks.

Writing back to you became a ritual for Hotch, a quiet refuge at the end of his long, exhausting days. Once the cases were filed, the team had gone home, and the dim glow of his office lamp was the only light left in the bullpen, he would settle at his desk, the silence his only company. The act of writing to you felt both familiar and soothing, a tether to a time when you sat just across from him, lost in your own thoughts yet always attuned to his.

Hotch’s letters were a blend of work updates, personal reflections, and glimpses into the ever-changing dynamics of the team. He would tell you about the latest cases they were working on, the challenges that kept him up at night, and the way the BAU had evolved in your absence. You were always keen to know how the team was adjusting, and Hotch made sure to keep you in the loop, filling you in on the new agents who had joined and the unique personalities that now made up the BAU.

He told you about Derek Morgan, the first agent to join after you left. A former Chicago police officer with years of experience in the bomb squad, Morgan brought a fierce determination and a protective instinct that quickly made him an invaluable asset. But there was also a softer side to Morgan, one that emerged when he talked about his past or reached out to support his teammates. In many ways, his drive and unwavering loyalty reminded Hotch of you, and he knew you would have liked him.

Next came Penelope Garcia, the flamboyant technical analyst whose quirky style and unmatched brilliance with computers brought a new energy to the team. She was a ray of light in the otherwise dark world of profiling, and Hotch often found himself amused by her unique way of looking at the world. Despite her unconventional approach, Garcia was a genius with technology, hacking into systems with ease and always finding the crucial piece of information that made the difference. Hotch thought of how you would have loved her spirit, her warmth, and her unfiltered way of connecting with others.

Then there was Jennifer “JJ” Jareau, the new media liaison who had quickly proven herself to be on of the most important resources in the team. JJ was calm under pressure, compassionate, and fiercely dedicated to the team’s mission. She was a bridge between the BAU and the outside world, handling the delicate task of managing public perception and dealing with victims’ families with grace and empathy. Hotch admired her poise and her quiet strength, qualities he often found himself describing to you, knowing you’d appreciate how she balanced the team’s intense work with her soft-spoken resilience.

And then there was Dr. Spencer Reid, a young genius with an IQ of 187. Gideon had brought him in, recognizing his potential - just as he did with you back then - even though Reid was still so green, fresh out of the academy with a mind that worked on an entirely different level. Hotch wrote about Reid’s unique brilliance, the way he could recite obscure facts at lightning speed, and notice patterns no one else could see. But he also told you about Reid’s vulnerabilities, when his intellect clashed with his emotional sensitivity. Reid’s innocence and earnestness were tempered by the heavy weight of the cases, and Hotch often found himself mentoring him.

Lastly, Hotch wrote about Emily Prentiss, the newest addition to the team, an experienced agent with a knack for languages and a drive that matched his own. Prentiss was smart, resourceful, and relentless in her pursuit of justice, and her multilingual skills often put her in the center of complex international cases. She was bold, unafraid to speak her mind, and determined to prove herself, even when the odds were against her. Hotch appreciated her dedication and saw echoes of your tenacity in her work ethic, her unyielding desire to understand every angle of a case.

As Hotch became Unit Chief, he had worked hard to build a cohesive team, one that felt more like a family than just a group of agents. He made it a priority to cultivate an environment where each member’s strengths could shine, creating an expanded, stable unit where everyone had their own area of expertise: Morgan with tactical support, Garcia with technical prowess, JJ with media relations, Reid with his unparalleled intellect, Prentiss with her international insight and Gideon – just being Gideon.

It was a dynamic mix, and though the team had grown and evolved, Hotch never stopped missing your presence among them. You were the missing piece, the partner who had helped lay the foundation for what the BAU had become.

But his letters were not just filled with work updates; they were laced with personal moments, too. Hotch shared glimpses of his life outside the office, the small joys that kept him grounded. He wrote about his son Jack, who was growing up faster than Hotch could keep up with. He also wrote about Haley, who had found solace in gardening, transforming their backyard into a small oasis of color and life.

The lines between work and personal life blurred in his letters, just as they always had with you. You were more than just a partner at work, you were the person who had been there through the highs and lows, his best friend who understood the burdens he carried without him having to say a word. And though you were an ocean away, your presence lingered in every word exchanged, each letter a lifeline that kept you connected despite the distance.

You never just sent letters, though. There were always little extras tucked inside: clippings from newspapers, photos of the places you were exploring, and, most often - to still honour your long lived tradition - books.

You had a way of choosing the perfect titles, each one reflecting the country you were living in or the experiences you were having. When you were teaching in Italy, you had sent him a cookbook called “Pizza, Pane e Focacce,” a whimsical collection of traditional recipes that made Hotch laugh out loud. He had imagined you in the tiniest Roman kitchen, trying your hand at kneading dough, and the thought was so charmingly incongruous that he couldn’t resist teasing you about it in his next letter.

“Italian pizza and philosophy, a natural combination,” he had written, the playful tone feeling both familiar and distant. “Let me know when you’re ready to challenge Rossi to a cook-off. I’ll bring the wine.”

But the most meaningful gift had come when Hotch had told you about Haley’s pregnancy. It was a vulnerable confession, written in the quiet hours of the night when he felt the weight of impending fatherhood pressing down on him.

He hadn’t expected anything in return, but a few weeks later, a package arrived, a book titled “Guide for New Dads.” It was in Swedish, a nod to one of the first books he’d ever given you about coin collecting, and this time to prove him you had long mastered that language, every page was carefully translated into English with sticky notes in your familiar blue ink.

You had filled the margins with little jokes and notes of encouragement, turning a practical guide into something deeply personal.

“This one’s actually useful, Hotch,” you had joked.

“I promise, the Scandinavians know their thing.” Or

“It’s not the easiest language,” you had written on one of the notes, “but then again, neither is parenthood. You’ve got this, partner.”

Those two words - “you’ve got this” - had stayed with him, becoming a quiet mantra in the moments when doubt threatened to creep in. You always seemed to know exactly what he needed, even from halfway across the world.

Today, Hotch was sending you something in return. After years of toying with the idea, he had finally co-written a book on crisis negotiation, a project that had taken countless late nights and long hours of reflection. It was something he was proud of, a culmination of his years in the field, and it felt only right that you should be one of the first to see it. He carefully packed the book, adding a handwritten note on the first page, a Hegel quote about partnership that he knew you would appreciate.

"Partnership, like friendship, is an expression of freedom that arises from the recognition of others as individuals, bound by a common ethical life." - (Philosophy of Right, unfortunately, not Hegel for Dummies)

“Hopefully, you’ll like this one in particular,” he had added in a playful scrawl, imagining the way you would roll your eyes at his attempt at humor. It was a small gesture, but it felt like a continuation of the conversation you had been having for years, the dialogue that never really ended.

Six years had passed, but some things never changed. You were still his partner, the person who understood him in ways no one else ever could. But now, your life had taken a different turn - you were engaged to Peter, your best friend since you were fifteen. Hotch knew Peter well, how he had been there when you needed a shoulder to cry on, when you were too stubborn to ask for help, and how, despite winning that date with you back at his welcome back party, you’d never really given him a fair chance.

Peter had always been that steady presence, always willing to wait, always there in the background, a constant in your life when everything else felt uncertain. And though you had resisted his quiet, unwavering affection for years, something in you had shifted: a desire for something safe, something dependable, something that felt like home.

In your letters, Hotch could feel the warmth and affection you had for Peter radiate from every line. You described him with such tenderness: the way he would surprise you with breakfast on mornings when you were buried in work as your usual, how he would wait up for you when your classes ran late, and how he would listen, truly listen, to every word you said, even when his own responsibilities at Interpol were just as demanding. There were little moments, too: the way his eyes would light up when he saw you walk into a room, and the quiet nights spent talking about everything and nothing.

Hotch could tell Peter cherished you in a way you deserved: patiently, deeply, without reservations. He could see that Peter was the one who was there to hold you through your doubts, the one who made you feel understood when the rest of the world seemed incomprehensible.

He remembered the letter you had sent announcing your engagement, how you described Peter’s proposal on a quiet evening in Vienna, the two of you standing on a bridge overlooking the Danube. You wrote about the gentle way he had asked, how it felt so natural, so right, that you hadn’t even needed to think twice before saying yes.

You were building something beautiful, and he was happy for you. Truly, he was. But there were moments, in the quiet solitude of his office or in the late hours of the night, when he couldn’t help but feel the weight of your absence like an old, familiar scar.

He sealed the package with the book and his note inside, pausing to add a small card with a few lines scribbled in his neat handwriting:

“To my partner, the only person who could ever make a philosopher out of an FBI agent. I hope this book finds you well. I’m proud of you, always. Don’t forget to write.”

He had kept your latest letter on his desk, re-reading it whenever the weight of the day became too much. You wrote about the small joys of your new life - the café near your apartment in Paris, where you and Peter would go on Sundays, the excitement of teaching your students about behavioral analysis, and the bittersweet feeling of missing the team. It was the kind of letter that made Hotch smile, filled with all the small details that made him feel like you were still just a phone call away.

But life at the BAU had moved on. Hotch was Unit Chief now, a position he had worked years to attain, and the team was evolving with new faces and new dynamics. Haley and Jack were thriving, and Hotch found solace in their little routines, the stability of home life that had once seemed impossible. But no matter how full his days were, there was always that quiet moment when he would think of you: wondering where you were, what you were doing, and if you ever missed him the way he missed you.

He hadn’t seen you in six years, hadn’t heard your voice except for in memories, and yet you were still so present, woven into the fabric of his everyday life in ways he hadn’t fully understood until you were gone.

.

Back in the bullpen, Emily Prentiss, still trying to find her rhythm with the BAU team, leaned against her desk, her eyes trailing toward Hotch’s office. She had been with the team for a few months now, and while she was learning the ropes and getting comfortable, Hotch remained somewhat of a mystery to her.

He was always calm, collected, and focused - a leader who kept a firm grip on everything around him. But when it came to his personal life, he was a locked vault. It intrigued her, in a way that felt almost frustrating. With a sly smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, she tossed out the question she’d been wondering for weeks. “Does Hotch even have friends? I mean, besides his endless pile of case files?”

The bullpen, which had been filled with the familiar hum of typing and low conversations, quieted as everyone processed the question. Morgan, sitting across from Prentiss, was the first to break the silence with a low snicker. He leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, flashing his trademark grin. “Hotch? Friends? Nah, that man’s married to the job. Friends would require, you know - fun - and I don’t think he’s ever met the word.”

JJ, who had been sorting through a stack of papers at her desk, laughed softly. “Yeah, he definitely seems more like the ‘spend Saturday night in the office instead of watching a game with buddies’ type. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even have time for friends.”

Prentiss grinned at that, shaking her head in agreement. "Or maybe he has a secret club of workaholics where they get together and solve cold cases for fun."

Garcia, standing behind Morgan’s chair and draping her arms around his shoulders, gasped dramatically, her eyes widening with an over-the-top look of mock horror. She placed a hand theatrically over her heart, shaking her head in disbelief. “Oh, can you imagine Hotch at a dinner party?” she exclaimed, her voice dropping into a stiff, deadpan impression of him. “‘So, how do you feel about the rising murder rates in the Midwest?’”

She shivered dramatically, clutching Morgan a little tighter for effect. “Honestly, the worst small talk ever,” she declared, rolling her eyes with a playful shudder that sent the team into laughter.

Laughter rippled through the group, the shared image of Hotch awkwardly navigating social situations becoming a source of amusement. But as the laughter died down, Reid - who had been quietly sifting through old case files - looked up, his expression thoughtful, as if he had been contemplating the question more seriously than the rest.

“I don’t think it’s that he doesn’t want friends,” Reid mused, his tone thoughtful as he leaned back in his chair. He absentmindedly flipped through a stack of old case files in front of him, though it was clear his mind was elsewhere. “It’s more that he doesn’t *prioritize* them. His work-life balance is… well, skewed. I think he probably sees relationships outside of work as distractions. They pull him away from his responsibilities, and that’s something he can’t afford.”

Prentiss nodded slowly, taking in Reid’s assessment with a soft hum of agreement. She crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight, her gaze flicking toward Hotch’s office, where the blinds were half-drawn and the lights were on. “Yeah,” she said, drawing out the word, “I can see that. But still… doesn’t everyone need someone to talk to? I mean, even Hotch?”

Morgan, leaning back in his chair with a casual grin, was about to drop a classic sarcastic retort when something stopped him in his tracks. He noticed the subtle shift in the room - a presence just behind them, commanding yet silent. The playful banter faded as everyone instinctively glanced up.

There, standing quietly at the edge of their conversation, was Jason Gideon.

His mere presence had a way of quieting a room. Unlike Hotch, whose authority was overt and rooted in his leadership, Gideon’s was understated, more psychological. He didn’t need to bark orders at them; he simply had to be there, and everyone would fall silent. He looked between them, his eyes calm but sharp, assessing the scene with a quiet understanding.

Gideon had clearly overheard enough of the conversation to know what they were discussing. His expression was thoughtful, as though he was deciding just how much he wanted to reveal. Finally, in his familiar, measured voice, he broke the silence. “Yes, he does have friends.”

The simplicity of his statement landed like a bombshell in the middle of the room. All eyes snapped to Gideon, the weight of his words sending shockwaves through the group. The notion that Aaron Hotchner - stoic, ever-serious Hotch - had a social life outside the walls of the BAU was almost laughable.

Morgan was the first to react, leaning back with an incredulous grin as he raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?” He let out a disbelieving chuckle. “You’re telling me Hotch has friends? Like, real, actual friends? Not just old case files and unsolved murders?”

JJ, sitting a few desks away, blinked in surprise and lowered her papers, clearly caught off guard by the idea. “Friends?” she echoed. “I mean, I know Hotch is close to his team, but I didn’t think he really had time for anyone outside of work.”

Prentiss, her curiosity instantly piqued, leaned forward, her arms now resting on the back of a chair. “Wait, hold on. Hotch has a friend? Who?”

Gideon’s gaze swept the room, and the corners of his mouth tugged upward in a subtle smile, enjoying the ripple of disbelief he’d caused. He took a step closer, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. “She used to work here,” he said, his voice calm and deliberate, almost as if the information he was dropping wasn’t about to throw the entire team into a frenzy. “One of the best profilers we’ve ever had, Hotch and her were partners.”

The weight of that revelation hung in the air like a thick cloud of mystery, and the group fell silent again, processing what had just been said. A female profiler? Someone close to Hotch? Who had left the team without a single mention in all these years? The idea felt like a puzzle, one they couldn’t help but start piecing together.

Garcia, always the quickest to act when it came to uncovering mysteries, perked up immediately. Her fingers hovered eagerly over her keyboard, itching to dive into the archives. “Wait, wait, wait,” she said, her voice bubbling with excitement. “She? A female profiler? Who worked here? And Hotch’s partner?” Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “We need details, Gideon.”

JJ, her brow furrowing in confusion, leaned against her desk and glanced at the others. “Why didn’t Hotch ever mention her? I mean, if she was one of the best profilers we’ve had, wouldn’t we know about her?”

Morgan scoffed lightly, shaking his head in disbelief. “This has got to be a joke, right? Hotch had a female partner, one of the best profilers, and he never said a word? Not even in passing?”

Prentiss, now fully engrossed in the mystery, added, “And why did she leave? People that good don’t just walk away. Something had to have happened.”

But Gideon, ever enigmatic, simply shrugged as if he were tossing breadcrumbs to a group of hungry detectives. “She moved on to bigger things,” he said, almost wistfully. “She’s in Europe now. Teaching. Brilliant mind.” And just like that, before anyone could ask more questions, he gave a small nod of finality and turned to walk back to his office. He left the group standing there in stunned silence, their collective curiosity now burning hotter than ever.

JJ blinked rapidly, still trying to process what had just been revealed. “That’s… cryptic, even for Gideon.”

Morgan, arms crossed over his chest, glanced back at Hotch’s office, his brow furrowing deeper. The blinds were half-drawn, but he could still make out the familiar figure hunched over case files, as usual. “Hotch had a partner like that and never mentioned her once? Not even a hint? That’s not just weird, it’s suspicious.”

Prentiss raised an eyebrow, a sly smile playing on her lips as she shook her head. “If she was that good, why isn’t she still here? There has to be more to the story than Hotch is letting on. You know how he is with secrets.”

Garcia’s eyes were immediately already glowing with excitement. “Well, my darlings,” she said, leaning forward with an exaggerated conspiratorial whisper, “it seems we have ourselves a delightful little mystery to solve. And you know there’s nothing I love more than a good digital dig into the archives.” She clapped her hands together. “To the Batcave!”

Morgan chuckled, standing up and stretching. “Alright, alright, lead the way, baby girl. Let’s see what you’ve got on this mystery woman.”

With an excited flourish, Garcia waved them all into her colorful sanctuary, the tech-laden, light-filled Batcave that was her pride and joy. Stepping inside, it was like entering another universe, a world of colorful bobbleheads, blinking lights, and eclectic posters that shouted Garcia's unique personality. Her desk was lit up with the glow of multiple monitors, all showing scrolling lines of code and flashing icons.

She wiggled her fingers theatrically over the keyboard before diving into the search. “Prepare to be dazzled, my friends. You’re about to witness hacking magic.”

Prentiss leaned against the edge of Garcia’s desk, smirking. “Do we get popcorn for this?”

Garcia flashed her a grin. “Popcorn comes later, my dear. Right now, we’re after intel.”

The rest of the team gathered around Garcia’s chair, their curiosity piqued. Morgan leaned over her shoulder, watching as she quickly navigated through various secure databases, her fingers flying over the keyboard in rapid succession. The sound of keystrokes filled the air, the tension rising with each tap. After a few moments, Garcia’s face lit up, her fingers pausing as she let out a theatrical gasp. “Oh. Oh my God.” She spun around dramatically in her chair, eyes wide. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you… her.”

The monitors flickered, and suddenly, the screen filled with your personnel file. A younger version of you stared back at them from the photograph - a sharp, focused gaze beneath determined brows, your expression serious yet full of life. There was something magnetic in the way you carried yourself, even in a still image.

Morgan leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied the picture. “Well, damn,” he muttered under his breath, letting out a low whistle. “She’s exactly my type.”

Prentiss nudged him playfully, raising an eyebrow. “You say that about every woman who’s both breathing and talented, Morgan.”

Morgan grinned, flashing her a playful wink. “Yeah, but this one’s different. Hotch kept her under wraps. That’s like a glowing recommendation.”

Garcia, enjoying the banter, rolled her eyes affectionately. “Easy there, tiger,” she teased, spinning back to her computer. “I’ll share her with you, but only because I love you. Remember, I’ve called dibs.”

The team erupted in laughter, Garcia’s infectious energy cutting through the room. Even Reid, who had been quietly studying your file, let out a small smile, though his focus remained intensely on the details unfolding before them.

“She was hired here at 21,” Garcia read aloud, her voice laced with a mixture of awe and disbelief. “Straight out of university with degrees in philosophy, psychology, and linguistics. And - oh, my God - she spoke 16 languages fluently when she joined.” She paused dramatically. “Now they’re up to twenty-six, tewnty-six.”

Reid’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock. “Twenty-one? She was recruited younger than I was?” He blinked, his mind racing as he processed the information. “That’s… incredible.”

Morgan grinned and elbowed Reid playfully. “Looks like someone beat you to the genius profiler title, pretty Ricky.”

Reid shot Morgan a mock glare but couldn’t hide his amazement. “Twenty-six languages?” His voice was filled with admiration as he scrolled through your file. “I’ve read her work. She pioneered an entirely new method of geographical profiling, 3D models that incorporate topography. Elevation, terrain changes, natural barriers… it completely changed how we understand unsub movement patterns.” He leaned forward, growing more animated. “Traditional geographical profiling looks at a flat map, but she recognized that criminals don’t move across flat landscapes. She factored in hills, rivers, even forests,anything that could affect the unsub’s route or escape. She mapped out the terrain as the unsub would see it, considering how natural barriers influence decisions.”

Prentiss nodded, intrigued. “So, she wasn’t just tracking where they went, but how they moved through the landscape?”

“Exactly!” Reid’s excitement built. “She created a ‘criminal terrain map,’ layering traditional geographic data with topographical maps. She used it to predict choke points, places where terrain forces an unsub to make specific choices. She even factored in the psychological impact, organized offenders would avoid risky terrain, while disorganized ones might take dangerous paths without thinking. She didn’t just consider where they were going, she understood why they made those decisions, based on both the landscape and their psychology.”

Prentiss raised her eyebrows, clearly impressed. “So, basically, she was a legend?”

Garcia continued scrolling through your file, her fingers moving methodically as she scanned more of your achievements. “And she didn’t just stop there,” she said, excitement building in her voice. “After leaving the BAU, she went on to teach behavioral science and criminology all over Europe: Italy, France, Spain, Greece, Sweden – you name it – even Iceland. Lecturing in multiple languages, of course. She’s giving a guest lecture at Quantico today.”

Morgan let out a low whistle, leaning in closer as though he could learn more about you just by studying your photo. “Hotch’s friend is an international superstar. That’s why he didn’t tell us about her. He didn’t want us feeling inferior.”

JJ chuckled from the other side of the room, still processing the idea of Hotch keeping someone like you under wraps. “Of course, Hotch would keep someone like that close to the vest. It’s so like him to have a secret weapon tucked away.”

Prentiss, crossing her arms, seemed to grow more curious by the second. “If she’s this brilliant, why did she leave? And why didn’t he ever mention her?” She scanned the faces of her colleagues, clearly unsatisfied with the pieces of the puzzle they had so far. “There’s something else going on here. Hotch doesn’t just let people disappear.”

Morgan scratched his chin thoughtfully, glancing back toward Hotch’s office, which seemed to be shrouded in even more mystery now. “Yeah, something’s not adding up. She was that good, and then she just… vanished from the BAU? I bet there’s a whole story we’re missing. The question is, why did she leave?”

Garcia, never one to miss out on a juicy bit of gossip, spun around in her chair with a conspiratorial grin. “You know, now that I’m thinking about it… she left just a few months after Hotch’s wedding.” She wiggled her eyebrows dramatically, enjoying the shocked looks from the others. “Coincidence? Or was there something more going on?”

JJ’s eyes widened, and she laughed softly, shaking her head. “You think she and Hotch were… what? Secretly involved? No way. Hotch is way too straight-laced for that.”

Morgan leaned against Garcia’s desk, crossing his arms. “I don’t know… maybe. She leaves right after his wedding? That’s a pretty big red flag. Maybe she had feelings for him, and when he married Haley, it was too much. She couldn’t handle being around him anymore.”

Prentiss raised an eyebrow, half-amused but also intrigued by the theory. “Or… maybe Hotch had feelings for her, and she left to avoid a messy situation. I mean, Hotch isn’t exactly one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Maybe it was all too complicated.”

Reid, who had been silently absorbing the conversation, finally spoke up, ever the voice of reason. “Or,” he said, “it could just be a coincidence. People leave jobs all the time for personal reasons. She was clearly brilliant; maybe she just wanted to pursue teaching or research.”

Garcia grinned at him, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Come on, genius. Even you can’t deny that the timing is suspicious. She leaves only months after Hotch gets married? There’s gotta be more to that story.”

Morgan nodded, his expression serious but playful. “Yeah, kid, you don’t leave the BAU, the best profiling team in the country, unless something major goes down.”

Prentiss tilted her head, her curiosity still running wild. “What if they had some kind of falling out? Maybe they were super close, and after the wedding, things got awkward between them.”

JJ leaned against the wall, looking thoughtful. “It’s possible. People don’t usually leave a close partnership like that without a good reason. Especially someone like Hotch, he doesn’t form bonds easily, but when he does… it runs deep.”

Morgan grinned. “Whatever it is, I can’t wait to find out. If we’re lucky, we might get some answers when we meet her. Maybe she’ll drop some hints about what really went down.”

Garcia, her fingers flying across the keys again, pulled up more details about your guest lecture. “Well, lucky for us, she’s not going to be a mystery for much longer. Her lecture is in just a couple of hours at the Academy. How convenient for us to take a little field trip.”

Reid, his eyes lighting up, nodded eagerly. “I’d love to hear her lecture. I’ve read so much of her work - it would be fascinating to see how she applies her theories in person. Maybe we’ll even get some insight into her departure.”

Prentiss smirked, clearly enjoying the intrigue. “And I wouldn’t mind getting a sense of what she’s like. She sounds like a force to be reckoned with. Plus, if she was that close to Hotch, there’s gotta be some interesting history.”

Garcia swiveled around to face them, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Well, what are we waiting for? Field trip, anyone?”

JJ pushed away from the wall, smiling as she glanced around the room. “I’m in. Let’s go meet the legend.”

The team exchanged eager glances, the sense of excitement in the air palpable. There was more to this than just a lecture, they were about to meet someone who had not only shaped the field of profiling but had also left a deep, unspoken mark on their unit chief, Aaron Hotchner. They couldn’t help but feel like they were about to uncover a part of the team’s history that for some reason had been hidden for far too long.

[dadvans]

i am just so sad right now. like going into s8 i didn’t think bucktommy would be endgame, but the way s8 started changed my mind, so to have them be literally so in love for 5 episodes straight just to have them break up in the most abrupt way?? it just feels so last minute which is shocking because in the interviews this was apparently a planned thing but it doesn’t feel like it at all. Like if this was a concern Tommy had why didn’t it come up at all? like little throwaway lines of Tommy making jokes of Buck getting sick of him or wanted to explore other options or whatever. I hope the backlash makes them rethink, and Tommy comes back but for now it doesn’t seem like it. I guess my only hope is that Buddie goes canon, but even then i won’t be able to really enjoy it. I seriously don’t know if i’ll be able to keep watching the show, not solely because they broke up, but because of how they broke up. (srry for the long ask, just needed to vent)

no apologies needed!

at the end of the day, so many of us found joy in their story, their chemistry, the way even up until the final second tommy admitted that what he wanted with buck was something that would inevitably break his heart.

they were good together. tommy fit into so many intimidating parts of buck's life with ease. tommy is (as far as we know) still good friends with buck's best friend! tommy loved him anyway, loved him warts and all, road shotgun to buck's worst fears and weirdest conspiracies.

at the end of the day, we have a few things:

we GOT them. we got to see them together, we got the soft looks, we got the kisses, the foundation of them that is real and canon in a way we could strike like a match against the edge of a box to light them up for real all over again. i don't think "being canon" gives any credence or superiority to a ship, and have shipped people or characters that have never interacted/existed together in a tangible way, simply because it's FUN. that's how i'll always have fun with ships and fandom, BUT! what a wonderful thing to celebrate that we DID have them, that we have this as a foundation for whatever comes next, that there is never a door permanently closed to them finding each other again when it was already real from the start

for a lot of us, this isn't how their story ends. it's insane that so much fic and content was produced for a canon ship like this. so often fandom is chasing down the what-ifs and never-hads. a lot of us invested in bucktommy because they had the compatibility, the fit, the chemistry, the potential. that's novel shit! that doesn't just evaporate because they broke up in canon. it certainly hurts. the kind of hype we were surfing will crash and sink back in the oncoming months, but i know talking to a lot of people tonight that we aren't done with this ship. we aren't ready to say goodbye.

i'm sad. i'm angry. i felt a real sense of queer euphoria whenever i saw them together, even for 30 seconds, teetering on the edge of this new couple joy learning each other into something new and weird and fun that always lingered as a promise on the edge of their interactions. i was so excited for who buck could become with tommy as his home base. shifting that has rocked me in a bad way.

i expect people to inevitably step away from this ship and this fandom, but i'll mention that non-canon ships like arthur/eames or mcshep or social network rpf or short-lived shows from 1996 (hi sentinel) have had long-lived fandoms and left long-lasting impressions in other fandoms that have lasted for over a decade of zero additional content. this is a playground that, just because they've parted ways for now, we don't have to stop playing in.

and i'll be honest: i have several WIPs i'm like, well trash that! after watching the most recent episode. but i also have a dozen new ideas. new ways they could fall in love now or again, new ways they could meet, new ways they could be for each other.

i'll keep creating. i'll keep dreaming. they won't ever not have the spark that they had. the show could end tomorrow but we'll always have an open door to believing and shaping the thousands of ways they can and will find each other again.

[otakuworks]

❛ 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑. reborn au

feat. Zhongli x Reincarnated!GN!Reader | PART I | wc. 4.6K

Based on 'See You In My 19th Life' | overview. this webtoon follows the story of a woman who can somehow remember all her past lives.

sum. after a sweet hello, your lips never found its way to say the bittersweet goodbye. because you knew you would always find your way back to him even if he won't recognize you in your renewable lives.

note. some scenes are purposely inaccurate to the canon lore

main.mlist genshin.mlist | xiao ver.

You first met him as Morax, a little child dragon you grew up discreetly meeting at a very convenient time of your day, never knowing what's stored for the two of you.

He first met you as Y/N who resides at the countryside near Mt. Tianheng in hopes to find new things to discover across the vast lands of Teyvat. And he did. He found you.

Young Morax found you crouched under an oak tree, the wind flowing with your otherworldly voice, enrapturing him in blissful comfort.

Perched in the tree branch, he listens intently and let himself melt in your grace. It wasn't the first time he finds you warbling a melodic tune, and each time he comes back to hear more from you, it's always a different song and it wouldn't cease to amaze him how much ditty you know.

He lost count on how often he'd fall asleep with your voice lulling him and wakes up feeling empty as the epilogue of his day is always spent without your presence.

Sometimes he wonders if you know he has been watching you, and if you do, why aren't you approaching him? No matter, young Morax doesn't intend to befriend with you.

But then one day...

"Hello! You must be the boy who likes to hear me sing by the tree."

He was caught red handed, perhaps he became distracted that he didn't realize he's been shamelessly stalking you. He couldn't stop his curiosity to follow you in your way home.

Not only he's been spying on you, now he sounds like a stalker. But you didn't suspect, there wasn't anything to be suspicious of anyway.

"H-Huh? H-How did you know?" He gotta commend you for your keen senses. He's the Dragon between the two of you, which means he's supposed to be the one who has sharper senses.

"You must be good at anything but hiding. I have known you've been following me, but I never get to see you up close, you're really majestic looking, by the way." You chuckled as his poor attempt of masking his flushed face at your compliment.

"I don't mind your company, in fact, I want to be friends with you."

Friends. What a foreign concept for young Morax.

He has heard of that term, it's common among mortals, but he's not a mortal. Does this 'friend' term stretches to immortals like him as well? If so, then he has no reason to refuse.

Says the person who one minute ago thought of every alternative ways to stay out of your way.

He was skeptical at your optimism, most mortals would be astounded at his appearance and try to persuade him to spill whatever secrets he has, but as he got to know you better, he was a bit guilty to categorize you as one of them.

His horns and inhumane features? Young Morax found out you're only fascinated by his unique physical looks. And never doubted it.

"Cool! You have horns just like our boars, where did you get those? Can I touch them?"

"Did you just compare my horns to a pig? Pigs don't even have horns! How disgraceful!"

The sparkle in your eyes quickly died down as it came, and the young Morax feels tight in his chest just seeing your smile turns into a frown. You insulted his pride though!

You mumbled a meek apology but still kept your sheepish smile, a glimmer of hope that one day he'd let you do it.

The next days were spent by you sneaking out your house every midnight to meet up with the dragon, Morax. He's slightly skittish, oddly resembling him that of a cat, which is cute.

You probably shouldn't be calling a literal Dragon cute, legends depicted them as tyrannical creatures who seek treasures.

Ah! Classic children's story to scare the kids away at night, it did affect you in some way.

But you can't help it when he would eagerly look at you whenever he asks you to sing him a song.

You'd sit side by side under the tree, you have to admit he'd either falls asleep amidst your song or asks you for the lyrics so he can sing it to himself too.

You even dedicated a song that lets a certain flower bloom.

"Glaze Lily? What's that?" Young Morax asked with tilted head.

A smile outstretched your lips, "Beautiful, right? It transforms the memories of the land into its fragrance during florescence."

"Really?! Is that why you're always out in the dark?" You chuckled sheepishly, feigning ignorance, "Don't know what you're talking."

You got to know each other, held hands like innocent children, share what little knowledge your pea sized brain can, hug whenever one seeks comfort, eat under the glistening sun.

Morax is... a sensitive individual, albeit rough around the edges, but he's young and still learning, and you're unbelievably patient with his attitude— a quirk from you that he greatly appreciates.

From that, young Morax grew fond of you and it isn't one sided.

He flies by the same tree and gives you random things he finds magnificent, whether it could be a rock he found by the lake or a rare item that no one has ever discovered before.

Well, the legend wasn't lying about Dragons and treasure, for sure

You'd laugh at the strangest things he discovers but accepted them nonetheless. Every object he gives you is worth something.

This has been part of your routine for days, weeks, months, even years maybe. You don't know how much time has gone by whenever you're with him and you never bothered to count.

Before you know it, the two of you are almost in young adulthood, he grew up to be a fine man, much unlike you were expecting. Nothing changed from your friendship, until now.

You were taken by surprise when he suddenly blurted out one day

"I want to show you what I see from up there one day, Y/N."

He gazes at you much differently when he looks at you when you were younger. There's a glint of promise in his eyes that you can't pinpoint, it sent shivers all over your nerves.

"You can just fly me up there, Morax. I'm sure I'm not heavy." You muster a smile in an attempt to ease your quickening heartbeats.

He never gave a reply, he only stared at you so intensely that it feels like he's poking your deepest and innermost thoughts.

The way he stares at you never fails to summon the tickling butterflies in your stomach and the blood on your cheeks. You merely regarded that as your hormones, anyone would be flustered if someone they're close to stare at them like that.

You should've known better that nothing in your world stays permanent. The only thing you remember after that day was his twisted look of desperation to keep you alive and tear stained amber dyes trying to get the last image of you in his memories.

"N-No... Y/N please stay with me. D-Don't leave m-me just yet." It hurts you more than the numbing pain in your abdomen to see him broke down like a cornered prey. So helpless and vulnerable.

"I-I'll always be w-with you, Morax..."

So cruel, just when you've begun to realize the burgeoning feelings you have for the Dragon, fate took you away before you have the chance to confess.

Should you be selfish to confess your feelings to him? If you do, it seems like you'll be punishing him an endless torture ahead, and you would never wish Morax to suffer for eternity.

You only smiled and caressed his horns, even in your deathbed you're glad you died in the arms of the man you ever loved.

At the last moment, you heard the anguished wail erupts from his throat as he clutches your form closer, begging and crying for you to come back, to not leave him like this, that he needed you, that he loves you. His pleas fell on deaf ears, for you weren’t there to hear him anymore.

But it became clear to you that he reciprocated your love.

It came a shocking twist when you opened your eyes you can hear multiple cooing sounds from around you. Didn't I die in his arms? Where am I? Turns out, you were reborn. But not as Y/N anymore and you were given a surname.

Unfortunately, the Celestia isn't so forgiving. You were suffering from an unknown illness that took away your second life at such a young age.

You trained hard and learned martial arts in your third life as you were born from a family whose tradition is to produce well-trained warriors in the future.

Fourth to eight life came by like a blur, there were times when you get to lived as an innocent child only for it to be ripped away a few years later with your past memories resurfacing.

You stopped counting after it hits a dozen, born in different class, society and unnamed nation. There's no point of it.

All you want is to look for Morax, but will he remember you? Will he even recognize you as Y/N? You're no longer the kid he grew fond of. No, you're much different than before.

What about him? Decades have past, does he still know of your name? You could've been a fragment of his childhood that he dare not talk about with his new friends.

Will I make your life more difficult by trying to reconnect with you, Morax?

Those thoughts haunted you for nights, often occuring in your dreams.

But what can you do, you're so far away from Mt. Tianheng, you don't even know if the village you lived in still exists nor do you know if Morax still visits the tree you first met.

Even if you did meet him in your new life, you ought to stay as acquaintances.

Aiding him in the shadows and lessening his burdens within your power.

In your hundredth life, all of your training in your third life is proven useful at the moment. You're known as the infamous warrior with no name that took down the monsters around Teyvat, you were revered to the people in the Guili Assembly.

War is threatening to wage amongst Gods and mortals alike.

When it came, no one is safe in and out of the battlefield. To survive they must fight tooth and nail, paint the lands in sea of red and play the game of thrones.

It was gratuitously morbid, gruesome and unjust. A macabre of series of deaths surrounded your every wake, your hundredth life is the epitome of a living nightmare. Horrifyingly memorable.

You were at the sidelines, watching as the war unfold, keeping tabs on Morax's allies and eradicating whatever threat they face.

That's when you came across the stunning Goddess Guizhong, the Ruler of Clouds, Goddess of Dust. A very close companion of Morax whom he met at the Guili Assembly along with the others.

She's capable and quick-witted, a type of peculiar person Morax wouldn't hesitate to be friends with.

As of the moment, a claymore is alarmingly closing its gap towards her, ready to slice her open.

Then you heard him scream, a cry of a man who's about to lose everything he has gained of.

That cry sent flashbacks of his tear-stained cheeks. No, you don't want to see him like that again! You'd do anything to chase away that vulnerable image of Morax, he deserves happiness and love.

Your feet went autopilot and swept away the Goddess out of the way, severing your lower limbs in the process and instantly killing you. Your eyes opened and you have started your new life.

Was Morax relieve that Guizhong lived? Did he wonder why a stranger would save her? Did he ever ask who you were? Did he... recognize you at the very least?

Your new parents panicked as they tried to appease the crying infant in their arms. Unbeknownst to your pained heart.

You saw for a brief moment before your demise how Guizhong's plausible absence will affect him. He will mourn her death as much as he lamented yours. For decades or centuries, you know he has been scarred by your passing.

You don't want him to go through that again. It's a different pain you feel when you see him tearing up, you rather get minced by a claymore than to watch him break down.

He garnered the reputation of a tyrant— but you knew better that Morax grew up with compassionate heart, he appreciates anyone no matter how insignificant they think they are.

Which is why you hold yourself from meeting him. He may not remember you, but he will certainly get attached to you once you had your way to his heart.

And a dragon who can outlive you in any lives will only suffer more from your death.

You dedicated your lives in living peacefully, learning history and new things as humanity evolves.

You vow to never fall in love if it isn't Morax you'll spend your mortal life with.

Even if he has someone he can fall in love with.

"Have you heard about the land Lord Morax and Lady Guizhong are building in Mt. Tianheng?" Gossips are everywhere about the infamous partners who survived the Archon War, there's no mouth that has not utter their names, and you're no exception.

A grin spreads over your lips as you sip your tea with elegance, "I've heard, I haven't seen them in person but the rumors about them guaranteed they're ambitious people with good hearts."

This has been a hobby you never knew; praising Morax to elate people's opinion about him. It's your small contribution to his flourishing nation.

You want people to love and respect Morax dearly just as you loved him in your childhood.

You prayed to the new Archons for Morax to find someone he can love and lean on. Someone that can be his source of strength to keep living. Someone much better than leaving him with death.

Now that he found someone he can be with, your goal in your next lives is to protect Liyue's history.

From the names of ancient relics and objects, war waged by the Gods, Nations that were built underneath the once blood soaked lands, fallen heroes who are forgotten— you know all of them. You're openly willing to offer tutelage to the inquisitive.

You sighed at the thought, it certainly will be lonely in your part. Immortal gods can still die— a death in which they'd leave their memories behind and start anew. Morax will eventually cease to existence with lovable Nation and Guizhong to remember him.

And you? Countless past lives yet you never found true happiness, and none of them was worth to remember for anyone.

Part of you feels happy for Morax finally moving on from your death eons ago, but you're still human so you're susceptible to those horrible impulses of bitterness at a basic level.

But you don't want to be a person who looks at Guizhong with jaundiced eyes just because you couldn't have Morax, so you suck it up and move on the fact Morax is in love with another.

At least my sacrifice isn't a total waste.

"Aren't they? I've met Lady Guizhong, she's such a beautiful and soft spoken woman. She and the Lord of Geo are a perfect match. I wish the two of them eternal blessings."

A tug at your heart left an unpleasant feeling, your brain tried to reason that at least he's with someone that'll love him more than you did. That can appease your bitter aching heart a bit.

How ironic. You built a nation where you first met me.

And showed her what you can see up there like you promised me.

Is that how you honor my death, Morax?

"Wow! You sure do know many things, Y/N!" The floating emergency food expressed her awe in your display of knowledge and the traveller couldn't agree more with her, "She's right, you never cease to surprise us."

Their exclaims were followed by your enchanting laugh, "I'm glad I can be at your service, Honory Knight."

You were simply ethereal to look at, you maybe a mortal like the traveller but the Blondie thinks otherwise.

Paimon and her travelling buddy met you by the Starnach Cliff when they were attempting to subdue Dvalin. Jean and Diluc already know you're part of the Adventurer's Guild as you often visit Mondstadt from time to time.

They didn't expect you to join them in their excursion in Stormterror's Lair, it turns out you're a great addition to the team.

You befriended with the traveller after the whole Stormterror fiasco and catch up with Kaeya.

You don't stand out the most in the crowd, you can blend in with everyone and no one would acknowledge your existence. But the traveller can sense the weight of the wisdom you withhold.

It almost feels like you're one of the Seven...

"Is there something else I can help you with, Traveller?"

"Huh?! Oh... I— Uhh... You've been telling us stories and fun facts about Mondstadt. If you don't mind, can you tell us about Liyue?"

For an ephemeral moment, the traveller saw your facade crumbles and slowly morphed into a nostalgic expression.

"Hmm. I'll tell you a quick introduction. Liyue is built in Mt. Tianheng after the Lord of Geo attained one of seven seats, unlike the Anemo Archon who's known to not show himself, he descends down once a year to give blessings to the people of Liyue."

"Exactly how Venti told us, but more detailed."

"He sounds a lot more of a decent God than Tone-Deaf Bard."

Her statement elicited a quiet snicker from you, "I'll be off then, I'll see you around soon." Paimon's expression deflated, "You're not coming with us?"

You shake your head, "I'll visit you when I can, until then I hope for your safe travels."

You forced a smile and took a different path from the traveller, as their figures disappear in the horizon, you felt your smile slip up as the sun whisks past the mountains turning to dusk.

Solitude in the dark has been part of your daily routine, you come and go whenever you feel like it, not knowing when to return.

The excuse you told to Paimon isn't entirely a lie, you couldn't bring yourself to go in Liyue when there's active Fatui agents scattered around the vicinity.

Let's just say you're not in good terms with the Fatui. Who isn't?

Nevertheless, whatever curse you have continued to persist in your thousandth life. You roamed around Teyvat and tell stories that even historians don't know.

Repeated lives were lived by just you traversing in each corners of Teyvat that even Archons never knew it existed.

Along the way, you've come terms with your feelings and settled it down like a dormant volcano. Morax is your first love, you enjoyed reminiscing the memories you made with him, you keep those memories locked up in the depths of your mind and often recount them in particular leisure time of the day.

You still love him, and you'll always be by his side whenever he needs a helping hand, but enough is enough, you've suffered enough to your own idiocy and fears. It's time to move on.

Morax continued to strive forward because he has changed, for the better of course. If you want to continue living the next lives of yours then you need to change too.

You met new friends and companions that you begin to trust and have fun with, the traveller and the emergency food included. It wasn't lonely as you thought it would be.

Sometimes you wonder why do you have such curse bestowed upon you. Did the Celestia punish you for a crime? Did you touch a forbidden relic in your first life? Is there a way to get rid of it?

You stopped in your tracks and you gaze up in the sky.

Am I the only one with such curse?

Damn, you really need to get your priorities straight when you have so many unanswered questions.

Basking the remnants of the ever glowing star, you turn around to walk the path that leads you to the Land of Eternity.

A new journey awaits you as you skid through the mycelium path.

Rex Lapis has died.

What a year starting with the news of a tragic death of an Archon.

Fret not Liyue citizens, Rex Lapis assumed the form of Zhongli as a consultant in the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. In all honesty, he thinks you would facepalm on how poorly delivered that news was.

Zhongli now blends in with the mortals, often strolling to acknowledge the accomplishments he has done as an Archon.

There were too many sacrifices he made just to achieve such title and godly powers. It's uncountable.

Whenever he strolls down the streets of Liyue, there's never a day that he is not reminded of the fact Mt. Tianheng is the very foundation of Liyue. It serves as a reminder that you are his pillar when intrusive thoughts start to linger in his mind.

Oftentimes, your face is only a blur in his memory, no matter what he does he can't seem to remember your face, but your name has been engraved on his mind for eons.

He misses hearing the sound of your name leaving his lips. He misses how ignorant you both were to the world's suffering. He misses your mesmerizing voice that lulls him to sleep.

Whoever fellow Archon listening to his complex thoughts must have heard him and granted his not-so-impossible wish.

"Hey look. Doesn't that sound like a story Y/N has told us before?" A child(e)— no, a floating fae pointed at the storyteller.

But Zhongli couldn't care less about whoever she was pointing. Did he hear her right? Was it just his ears deceiving him?

Y/N... that's your name.

That's the name he longed to hear again.

Why in the seven nations of Teyvat would they mention your name? Is it just a coincidence that someone has the same name as you? No, that couldn't be it.

Something flared inside him, it's been awhile since he felt this excitement, it's not far fetched when he became your friend.

With no recollection, he became friends with the traveller and the emergency food floating companion.

When he asks them about you, an array of hope filled his entire being and he swore his Dragon feature almost burst into existence

Y/N L/N, a member of the Adventurer's Guild, he's certain you've been in Liyue if you know about its rich culture.

But where are you? He wants to go find you. Hug you like when you were kids. Sing him songs. Bring you random things he can find. Speak the words that were left unspoken when you died.

So many questions brooding his mind; are you really Y/N? If so, were you reincarnated? Does that mean you don't remember him?

The elation he felt dropped. Right... he shouldn't be disappointed if it turns out his hunch is wrong. Even if you're not the Y/N he was expecting, he wants to know you as who you are and not compare the similarities and differences you have with the Y/N he knows.

"Oh yeah, Y/N mentioned they'll be visiting Liyue soon, Mr. Zhongli." The Traveler quipped, assessing the abrupt change of emotions on the consultant's face at the mention of your name.

Paimon and her travelling buddy can't help to wonder if you two are acquaintances, or perhaps something more than that. Zhongli seems to be expecting your arrival from now on.

"Is that so? Thank you for informing me, Traveler. I shall see to it that their stay will be comfortable." He smiled.

Stay in what? In the Funeral Parlor? The Traveler sweat drop while Paimon is tempted to point out that's Verr Goldet's job. Good thing their companion put a hand on her mouth and excuse themselves

There's no time to stall! He thought.

He's determined to check it himself, it can go two ways and Zhongli won't be petulant of the result.

Archons forbid if he ever finds you, because he will not let you go.

>> PART 2

©OTAKUWORKS | 2022

[banmitbandit]

Pots 'N' Picks Week 2024: Day 7: Breakfast/Lunch/Dinner/Snacks/Dessert/Family/Goodbye

[Dungeon Meshi spoilers (with a big amount of canon divergence) and a long, long caption beneath the Keep Reading]

November 20th, 1484 Dear Senshi, It's been a little over eighty two years since you've been gone. In that time, Merrywinn, the newborn baby you held in your arms days before you passed, became a great-great-grandmother, and her funeral last week was as rancorous as every other half-foot funeral we attended. Soon, it will be my one thousandth birthday, and I can only hope that, like you and Marcille, that's when this curse will finally be lifted, and I can see you again. If that's true, then that means I'm the beginning of an end. Instead of twenty one years, Laios will only have to wait three until he dies after me, and Falin will only have to wait three after that. In twelve years from now, Izutsumi will pass on too, and the six of us will get to share a meal together once again. I've missed your cooking, sure, but most importantly, I've missed you. Do you remember when we first shared that bottle of wine in my new house in Kahka Brud, over nine hundred years ago, before we had the slightest idea that something was wrong? I told you that I didn't want to make you feel the way I felt when Fayfinn left me. You said you didn't care, that it was worth whatever small amount of time you had me. Obviously, it turned out that fate had different plans for us, that the Winged Lion had cursed Marcille too, that we'd each live as long as she would. It's been hard, but since then, you've been there for me every step of the way. When Fayfinn passed, when my girls passed, when their children passed, and theirs too. You've been there for everything, and I'm thankful for it, from the bottom of my heart. I knew I wouldn't be prepared to lose you, and I wasn't. But no matter how much I hurt, Izutsumi was worse, even if she'd never admit it, and I had to be strong for her, too. She's strong and independent, just like she's always been, since the day we met her, but you were the closest thing to a father she ever had. She loved you, Senshi. She said so herself at your funeral. I just hope she doesn't miss me enough to cry at mine. I don't care what dwarves or tallmen or elves think, you and I both know funerals are supposed to be celebrations. Fun is in the name, isn't it? I haven't been okay in a long time, but these days, I feel somewhat peaceful. I have lived my life to the fullest, like any good half-foot should. My birthday gets nearer and nearer with each passing day. Tomorrow, Lochlee, Merrywinn's great-grandson, is helping me collect my things so that I can return to Merini for Laios and Falin's birthday in a few days, and I plan to stay there at the castle until my time is up. I've packed the cheesecake recipe you perfected, and I'm going to sneak it to the cooks whilst Laios isn't looking. I'm sure he'll end up eating yours and Marcille's portions too, but I know you won't mind. After that, it's Marcille's birthday. Then Izutsumi's. Then mine. I'm looking forward to it; like funerals, birthdays are for celebrating. Even elves know that. I can't wait to see you again, Senshi. Yours, -Chilchuck Tims

An AU I proposed back in the Chilshi Nation server a while ago seemed to be a good way to break my heart when rounding off Chilshi week. A lot of people bring up the tragedy of Chilchuck and Senshi's lifespans being so different, and it makes me wonder what it would be like if Marcille's misguided wish had long term consequences.

This wasn't intended to be seven pages long with the lyrics to A Thousand Years by Christina Perri shoved in, but that's what it ended up being. The song seemed a little too perfect not to include.

All of my Chilshi posts were drawn up on the day, and I used them mostly as an excuse to experiment, whether it be posing, body types, shading, comic layouts... My later entries got to be a little more ambitious with what I wanted to do with them, so they're maybe not as polished as I would like them to be, but I hope you can enjoy them anyways.

Whilst I'm here, I'd like to extend a special thankyou to @dumblilracoon for dealing with my awful brainstorming and struggling all week. Couldn't have done this without you. And of course, the Chilshi Nation discord server for being so lovely! :)

If you reblogged or liked or commented on even one of my Chilshi week posts, thankyou so much! Chilshi week has been a blast and working on it and seeing all the lovely art and writing that's come up from it has been a treat.

Happy Chilshi Week, everybody!

[men-written-by-women]

All of this recent Jegulus hate is really making me laugh (not the death threats ofc) because people are taking this way too seriously. This is a fandom based on fictional wizards. Wizards. With pointy little magic sticks. And cute little hats.

The original Harry Potter books are a work of fiction. The characters aren’t real. So it’s very hilarious that some people are so pressed about characters that quite literally don’t exist. Most of the characters that people talk about have maybe a paragraph or sometimes only a few sentences written about them in canon. So that means that no one actually knows anything about them, and we can all headcanon whatever we want.

It really doesn’t matter that a stranger on the internet thinks that James Potter (fictional wizard) would kiss Regulus Black (another fictional wizard). It doesn’t matter who people ship with other people. It doesn’t matter how people characterize your favorite or least favorite character.

Because, at the end of the day, the Marauders and co. aren’t real.

This is just my opinion on this, and the only thing I’ll say regarding all the hate because I think it’s ridiculous, and I hate interacting with stupidity. So goodbye, I’ll be giggling over in my little internet corner and liking all the cute Jegulus posts that pop up on my feed.

[siffrinsfrozendreams]

i have this really silly thought. feel free to add on/go wild with it if this inspires you.

The family, traveling together post-canon. Somewhere on their travels, they meet this person. This person decides for whatever reason that they do NOT like Siffrin at all. So, they get the bright idea of trying to manipulate the group into thinking Siffrin doesn't like the rest of them. After all, he's so quiet! They hardly add on to conversations! CLEARLY he doesn't like them! He's just traveling with the others cause its easier than being by himself!

Except. This doesn't even REMOTELY work on ANY of the others.

Siffrin doesn't like us? You mean "trapped themselves in a time loop because he didn't want us to separate" Siffrin? "Used a forgotten Craft to wish for all of us to stay together" Siffrin? "Almost broke the world because he didn't want to say goodbye to us" Siffrin? THAT Siffrin? Doesn't like us?????

Just. Post canon family being very secure and confident that Siffrin wants to be with them and keep traveling together and literally NOTHING can convince them otherwise