#I wrote this last year but it still stands

[aqueerkettleofish]

How to Reboot the X-Men (and Magneto) in the Modern Era

Holy shit, I think I've figured it out.

The question is, and has been for about a decade, how can you do the X-Men in a modern setting?

The problem, of course, is that the relationship between Magneto and Professor X is integral to the concept. And Magneto, as a character, is anchored in time. He is a holocaust survivor-- if you try to make him born anytime after the 1930's, you're effectively making another character and calling him Magneto.

The McKellan movies dealt with this by making him an old man. The Fassbender ones were set in the past. But it's.... just too late now. WWII ended eighty years ago. Magneto would be at least fifteen years older than that, and the problem gets worse every year.

The comics, of course, have dealt with this by having Xavier in a body cloned by the Shi'ar, and Magneto got de-aged at one point. But adapting the story into a modern medium, you can't just start with your characters getting de-aged. (Captain America came with the concept built in, conveniently ignoring that his original icenap was only like 20 years.)

So here's my solution to the "How do you deal with Magneto being That Goddamn Old?"

You make him older.

He wasn't an adolescent during the Holocaust. Mid-twenties at least, maybe even mid-thirties. An educated, peaceful man, living in obscurity. Maybe even a rabbi. (I'm not going to elaborate here, because, honestly, I'm a goyim and this is backstory that needs to be filled in by a Jew, someone with a better knowledge of pre-Holocaust Jewish culture, or preferably both.)

But then Shit Happens, and he can no longer be a peaceful man. It doesn't help that, of course, in a universe with mutants, Hitler goes after them as well. Erik Lehnsherr goes from obscurity into legend. He fights. And he speaks. And he writes.

Towards the end of the war, he pulls some Big Hero Shit with the aid of other mutants, the resistance, and maybe even Captain America, and he saves hundreds of lives, but his position is utterly destroyed.

And our modern, younger, Charles Xavier-- who is now about the age Erik was when he was killed-- idolizes him. He's studied every word the man wrote, has films of his speeches. The X-Men are trained as much by Magneto as they are Xavier.

And you leave it like that. For a season of the series, or the first movie. Maybe even tease the fans with an imposter.

And then... dun dun dun.... time travel fuckery.

Those "other mutants" at Magneto's last stand? Were the modern X-Men. They got shunted back in time, and because every one of them know the history, they realize that the only reason all those lives were saved is because they were there to help. The event that obliterates the location? Is actually caused by the time-jump back to the future, and they bring Erik along. No damage to the timeline; no body was ever found. ("Just this once, everybody lives!")

And once he reaches the future and sees how mutants are still being treated? He's furious. And now we've got the proper Xavier/Magneto dynamic fully cemented, except now all of the X-Men are conflicted. You can even have the dramatic split where some of the X-Men go "fuck it, he's right."

[bronx-bomber87]

Well hello there lovely Fandom :) This has to be one of the best of eps of season so far. Tied with last week for sure. The writers came to play this season holy hell. Also a little birdie (my friend ha) told me the person who wrote 2x11 wrote this one. SOOO of course it's incredible. Start to finish. Once again not just the Chenford stuff either. (That was insanely good obviously. Losing my mind over it.)

I just love that they've tapped back into the show as a whole again. I mean we would have some decent B and C storylines along with our ship last couple years. But this season? Phew they are killing the game. Each week tops the last or ties it. I can see why Eric loves this season so much. Why he's called it his fav so far. It's been fantastic. I'm with him. Let us dive into the goldmine that is this episode.

7x08 Wildfire

We start off with another Genny appearance. I love this sfm. Wasn't sure when we'd get to see her again. Definitely was not expecting a couple episodes after 7x06. This season continues to surprise and delight me in the best way. Her reply about the GPS cracks me up. I've been in traffic so bad the GPS gave up on me too LOL Yay Uncle Tim to the rescue. This was such a nice start to the ep for Tim.

This is the season that continues to give and give. More of Tim's house AND an Uncle Tim scene? *swoon* I love that the first thing they ask about is where the good boy is. We all love him and need more of him in all of our lives. Kojo is at daycare hehe Considering how this episode goes down I'm grateful for it.

They try to pull one over on him but it ain't working. Not even a little bit. Lmao I adore how he pops back in to catch them instantly disobeying. The best part is they say 'Yes sir.' when they're caught. The love and respect is evident. It's so lovely. Seeing him in Uncle Tim mode is so cute I can't stand it. Little gem I didn't knew I needed. Well done writers.

I love Lucy bee-lining for Tim to let him know about the looting in his neighborhood. The best part is her immediately jumping in his car to get to his nephews. My heart. Such a short but impactful scene. Does my shipper heart good to see it. Chips down they're always there for each other. That's never changed despite all the messy relationship issues. A constant for them we all love to see.

So many things to love about this next portion. I wasn't able to get it all in. But the way they enter the house together on guard. As you all know I love watching them in the field. It is ship crack for me. I'll never be over the well oiled machine that is them. It is the ONE thing that never suffered no matter how bad it got between them.

It's their center and it held well. I friggin love the pic. Oh my word. It's from the baseball game in 5x11. The little things are the best. I love the small details. Tim is so damn sassy 'Gently.' Can't say I didn't think the same when they were man handling his TV. lol

Then the ship crack really kicks in. Fighting the stealing duo together. gimme gimme. Poetry in motion as always. Love to see it. The funniest part is his nephew's reappearance. Cracks me up they were playing the entire time. LOL Of course Genny shows up to see it all. Little bit of levity amongst a sea of intensity during this ep. Also relief the boys will be safe and headed home with her after this.

Oh my word, them talking about his nephews. Be still my damn heart. I love that she had a relationship with them. Not only that she coached them as well. Her joke about the curveball making Tim's smile even wider. Could he be more in love with her? *sad sigh* This is why the breakup destroyed her. Stuff like this. No doubt she thought they were getting married and we're forever. She had relationships with his sister and her kids. Legit ones to the point they miss and ask about her.

Tim was her one and done. The first time she fell in love and thought it was going to be her future. He was going to be her future. Oh Timothy, you really stepped in it when you let her go. My goodness. I love getting peaks into their life outside the station when they were together. This was a fantastic addition to that. The details in this one making me insanely giddy. Too bad we don't get to hear what he told them but hot damn I enjoyed this little tidbit moment.

The immense fire interrupts their lovely moment. They're trapped and have to radio in as such. Grey is one giant ball of panic even thought he's trying to hide it. Despite being his officers those are his friends in real danger. Not only that he is stuck at a command post hoping against hope they make it out. Eric killing me with his expressions once again.

The deep breath he takes before formulating a plan is everything. Suggests they leave the shop ASAP. Just a tinder box waiting to happen. When he said to use a safety blanket I was percolating with excitement. That meant tight quarters and goodness to come. I could feel it. I was legit vibrating this morning as I watched this go down. Tim not giving Lucy a ton of relief saying he saw it on youtube once lol

I absolutely love the role reversal here. Tim is the rambling one. Going on and on. Lucy has to be the one get him to focus. He’s spewing facts that mean nothing to her in this moment. She just needs to know they’re going to be ok. That this is going to work and they're not going to die in this fire.

First time we see Tim come undone and not have the cooler head between them. Lucy has to be the one to get him to focus and give her a straight yes or no answer. Her anxiety can't take the long winded reply. I love her face and hand she puts up letting him know as such. She needs his reassurance not his facts.

This is the meat and potatoes of this scene right here. The sass coming from this man in this scene lmao I love him sfm. 'What, You got somewhere to be?' Oh my lord. These two. Lucy cuts him to the quick. Trying to stop this near death-love confession of his. Tim continuing the sass train saying he could be saying something hateful. LOL Doubtful my love very very doubtful. You forget she knows you just as well as you do her. Lucy continues to try and water down his confession by cutting him off. Saying she knows what he's going to say.

That he's still in love with her. Tim's reply is primo. ‘The arrogance.' This made me cackle. My god this is not the time to be fighting her on this Timothy. Also she’s not wrong babe.... He gives in and says she's not wrong. Of course he still loves her. *heart clutch* Here's what I love the most about him saying this. It's fact that he couldn’t die or possibly let her leave this earth without letting her know he’s still in love with her. That he loves her. That fact still hasn't changed for him. I’m sure he’s worked it out in therapy and lives with the guilt of it daily. Her wondering if he still loved her. If he truly loved her like she loved him.

I remember thinking about that in post 6x06. And it honestly killed me the thought of it. When he broke it off how she must've felt like he didn't love her anymore. Or fell out of love. Or never even cared at all with how he tossed them away. When it was the farthest thing from the truth. Whether she realizes it or not she needed to hear this from him. To hear him say he still loved her. It’ll mean more post this moment than anything else. I think this healed a small part of her. Whether she wanted to hear it or not. I think she sensed it in 6x09 with their hug. With the way he clung to her and told he he wasn't ok till that hug. But this is verbal confirmation for her. He loves her.

Her anger is still shining through when Tim asks if she still loves him? As it should. He DEEPLY wounded her. Also only they could have a near death-love confession and be fighting through the entire thing LOL I love them sfm fandom. I truly do. It's insane how much I do. ‘You are infuriating.’ Doesn't crack or let it slip she loves him back still. Now her non reply truly is her answer. Tim can see that and it's why he says 'So that's a yes?' He knows her. But she is fighting him every step of the way.

Lucy is not going to be an easy nut to crack. Nor should she be. He straight up scarred her for life with that breakup. The carelessness of it. Fuck, it damaged me for sure. This show and this ship are my happy place. I was going through a rough and painful transition in life when it occurred. So it hit me real hard when it happened. My happy place was suddenly not so happy anymore. I struggled with it a lot. Can only imagine how Lucy felt. She has a rock hard exterior slash wall with him. Even facing death she couldn’t verbalize she’s still in love with him too. It risks too much for her. He shattered her heart into a million pieces.

Tim is slowly picking up the many shards but its going to take time. He is going to have to keep chipping away at her wall. Because the scars he left on her heart run very deep. It’s going to take him continuing to try and keep that convo going in order to get her to a good place. A place where she can unleash her pent up anger toward him. To be able to receive his deepest amends to get them on the road to recovery. Loved his 'I know!' He knows he's infuriating. Doesn't fight her and I love the self awareness of his line. The way he cradles her head at the end as they come together. I CANNOT everyone. The tender protection of this has me reeling.

The banter doesn't skip a beat when they emerge. Tim bragging they would make it. Lucy of course doesn't let him get away with it. Because she is wifey and that won't stand. Heh. Gah the way he helps her up. It's so tender and sweet. Once again the little things I adore so very much. Also lets note the look he gives when he radios in 'Code Four.' The man is a glass house of transparency for his feelings. No way she doesn't know he is gone for her even minus the confession.

THIS HUG. OMFG. Tim doesn't hesitate to pull her in. It's the way he holds her holy cow. The moment they have a second to breathe she's in his arms. He needs to grab her and make sure she's really next to him. To ground himself. They legit just survived a near death experience together. The way she falls into him. *happy sigh* Wraps one arm around his back and has her other hand placed intimately on his stomach. I may faint. The wide shot from behind is beautifully done. Showing them what they just made it through together.

It's the way he shuts his eyes and sways with her on the return shot that gets me. Lucy reaching up to touch his stomach once again. Grounding herself through touching him as well. Her eyes filling with tears as she views the destruction they got through. It's such a beautiful moment. I love their hugs SO much. They always convey so much love and emotion in them. Was hoping for a new one this year. Wish granted. The giving season continues to give. This will be my new header for sure. When I find the right gif.

I feel like moments like this I can consider as 'Little doses' He’s trying so hard everyone. He really is. Since s7 started the man has done everything he can while respecting her bounds. Wants to continually show up for her in whatever capacity she'll accept him in. To rebuild her trust in him. Now she’s not there yet and rightfully so. But he’s chipping away slowly with moments like this. This is an amazing moment step forward for them.

Lucy reaches out first in the hospital. Talking about priorities and them being crystallized. Tim looking at her with massive heart eyes when he says his were clear. She is his #1 priority. That has never changed. Even during the breakup she was. Because he was doing it in his mind at the time to protect her. So his priorities have been clear for awhile. But even more so post-therapy. That clarity was sharpened into focus ten fold for him. She is it. It just has taken on a new life and context for him post-therapy.

Lucy does not see what he is throwing down unfortunately. That or she's avoiding reading into what he's saying. I can't decide. That's the beauty of doing my in-depth ones in the summer. Because I'll have the whole season in hand to make a better analysis of that. What I can tell you was Tim wanted to have the convo again. Now his panic is at 100 when she says she needs to move forward. It's pouring out of his eyes the panic of what that means. Striking some terror into his soul. Him worrying she means personally.

Luckily Lucy’s talking about her career instead. Now he is a little dejected still but not nearly as panicked. Agreeing once again just like in 7x06 and letting go of the convo he wants to have....Oh my boy. You’re gonna have to make it happen honey. She is too gun-shy after what you did. You’re gonna have to really really make this happen. Oooh man they’re really gonna make us work for this reconciliation and I’m here for it. Holy hell this season is good. The writers brought it this year I have to say.

Now I know some want a reconciliation already. I get it. Really I do. I miss them being together too. My heart aches and longs for it. BUT they need to really flesh this out. I don't see it as being dragged out so much as worked out. If they don't and they got back together right now people would complain. Saying Tim didn't do the work or work out his shit or take accountability. (Which is he BTW thank you writers for last week) Or that Lucy's feelings are being ignored and she's easily letting him back in. This delay is showing neither of those things are true. Lucy is protecting her feelings and heart still. Tim is really going to have to continually show up for her. They say an apology is useless unless there is changed behavior. He's gotta keep showing her he's changed.

His actions will speak louder than anything. This is going to take time. I keep saying that because it's true. Tim is going to need to continue to put in the work. That way she can get to a place where her feelings are expressed and acknowledged. Where she can truly let him have it and they can move forward. Have that adult convo she was so wrongfully denied in 6x07. When the man was nowhere near ready. He is now. Thing is she isn't ready yet. That's ok. I like them slowing it down to explore them getting fixed in other ways before that convo. Also that it isn't going to be on easy on Tim. You know I love my boy but he's going to have to EARN her back ten times over. It needs to be hard. Now her going for Sergeant? I’m down with.

To quote the legend Alexis Rose. 'Love that journey for you.' This will give her career clarity. I want that so badly for her. Especially if it gets her out of his chain of command. Fixes that issue instantly. Also the smiles happening based on that were so sweet. Tim, literally laying it down, they could be together if she wanted, should she make Sergeant. She smiles with her reply. *screams into pillow* The throw back to 2x02 made me dizzy with happiness. How beautifully full circle would it be for him to help her make Sergeant? To help her study? (loving this idea btw.). The flirty vibes in this scene made me squee. Their base banter is still alive and well. Lucy is flirting right back everyone. This is an excellent sign. Saying they could get a 'Head start early.' Flirty af back at him.

Dumbass Seth comes in and incriminates himself like the idiot he is… Idk what he was thinking saying this in front of not only Lucy but Tim? You little fool. He warned you not to put her in jeopardy. Said you'd regret if you did. My god I fanned myself at his reply to Seth. The feral like stare along with his reply? Hot damn. Get me some ice water. Tim is coming for you dude. Locked and loaded. He told you he would kill you if you put her in harms way. You’re a dead man Ridley. Officially marked my son.

His panic at being caught in his lie is so painfully evident. Trying to cover it up with 'checking in.' on Lucy. Put the Fear of God into them my ass. You couldn't scare a butterfly bro. The knowing shared looks are everything. You just started your countdown clock out of the FTO Seth. They're gonna work together prove what you did. Scorched Earth is coming your way whether you like it or not.

Phew. Holy moly what a good episode. It was incredibly good. End to end fantastic. That seems to be the theme this year. I'm about it. Bummed we have one mini break but after this ep we might need the slight decompression lol

Thank you as always to the amazing people who like, comment (these makes me so happy,) and reblog these. It means more than you can ever know. You are the real MVP's. I'll see you all in a couple weeks for 7x09. It'll be the halfway point which is unreal. Stay excellent my lovely readers.

~~~~

Side notes-non Chenford

Love me some Wopez early in this ep very cute. They are controlled chaos haha Poor Wes stuck with all the kids lol

'Wealthy glamorous widow.' Angela Lopez you are a Queen and I adore you.

Angela's serious talk with Nyla was really good. She didn't listen sadly (at first) but loved her for doing that knowing wouldn't be well received. Nyla is having hard ole time this season. She is starting to crack and it shows.

Good job Nolan with the kid. I like them tapping back into what made him likeable in the first couple of seasons. Also him calling Bailey while she was fighting fires was hilarious. Like I'm a little busy bub lol

Of course Seth hid the note���I mean it got us our moment but still. That is going to come back and end him. Tim and Lucy were affected by this. Grey was SHAKEN by his mishap, Won't just be them coming after him with a vengeance when he is found out.

I love that Nyla listens to Angela at the end and taking care of herself. Too bad it doesn't last long.

Jesus what a way to end the ep poor James......That girl got annihilated no way she makes it.

Glad they posted the viewer discretion advised. My heart goes out to Cali and all they've lost.

[holyblonded]

like him | stargirl

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader

summary: you look like him

warnings: angst, deadbeats, childhood trauma, mentions of hallucinations

notes: this was actually one of the first stargirl fics i wrote so enjoy 👻

Barcelona hums at night. The air is thick, clinging to your skin with the last remnants of the day’s warmth, the city alive with distant car horns, laughter spilling from open doorways, the rhythmic clatter of footsteps against pavement.

You walk through it like a ghost, barely present, your fingers curled loosely around the leash in your hand. Captain Culer, Cule for short, trots beside you, his tail wagging lazily as he pauses too often to sniff at the pavement, at the bases of streetlights, at crumpled napkins left behind by careless hands. You tug at the leash, a gentle pull, your mind elsewhere.

Training. The dull, persistent ache in your calves from drills that never seem to end. The way Alexia ruffled your hair this morning like you were still a kid, even though you haven’t been one in years (in your opinion). The brief flash of irritation you felt at it, chased almost immediately by warmth. You exhale, shake your head. Keep walking.

Barcelona is restless tonight, its pulse steady, unbothered. You blend into the crowd, slipping between groups of people moving with purpose; tourists searching for their next destination, locals weaving through them with practiced ease. It’s comfortable, this anonymity. You’re grateful for it.

From the corner of your eye you find a man stepping out of a convenience store across the street. Your breath catches. The world sharpens, the sounds of the city falling away as your focus narrows. He moves with an ease that feels eerily familiar, broad shoulders shifting under the weight of something unseen. The ink curling down his forearms is dark against his skin, lines you can’t quite make out from this distance, but something about them makes your stomach drop.

Your grip on the leash tightens. Cule huffs, tugging you forward, but your feet won’t move. The man shifts, tucking something into his pocket, his head turning just enough when streetlight flickers. For a second, just a second, his face is bathed in gold.

Your pulse slams against your ribs. Your feet are moving before you realize it, dragging you toward the street, toward him. You open your mouth, maybe to call out, maybe just to breathe, but the moment is already slipping away.

He merges into the crowd, swallowed by the restless city, as if he was never there at all. The street breathes again. Life moves on like nothing happened. You stand there, fingers trembling around the leash, a ghost slipping through your hands.

You shake your head and chalk it up to a long training day making your imagination run. You have to be imagining things.

The walk back feels longer than usual. The streets seem louder, the lights too bright, every shadow stretching too far. You keep replaying it in your head, the way he moved, the shape of his face in the dim light, the familiar yet unfamiliar weight of him in the space around you.

Cule pads beside you, blissfully unaware of the way your hands still feel unsteady, of the way your mind keeps grasping at something just out of reach. The memory of that man, of him, clings to your skin, thick like smoke, refusing to fade.

By the time you push open the door to Alexia’s apartment, your body feels heavier than before, your legs stiff, exhaustion settling into your bones.

The apartment is warm, the air rich with the scent of something garlicky and familiar. The lights are soft, casting long shadows along the walls, grounding you in something that feels solid.

Alexia is in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, her phone in one hand, a water bottle in the other. She looks up when you walk in, brows pulling together in that way she does when she’s concerned but trying not to show it too much.

“Hey,” she says, setting her phone down. “You’re back late.”

You nod, too quickly. “Took the long way home.”

Alexia studies you. You can feel it, the weight of her gaze, the way she’s already picking apart the cracks in your words.

“You sure?”

You unclasp Cule’s leash, scratch behind his ears, keep your eyes trained on him instead of her. “I’m fine.”

It’s not convincing. Not even to yourself.

Alexia doesn’t push, but she doesn’t let it go, either. She just watches you, patient, waiting. That’s how she is, never forcing, never demanding, just there. A space to step into if you want to. But you don’t. You can’t.

“Alright,” she says finally, her voice softer now. “Dinner’s in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

You nod again, mumbling something about showering before slipping down the hall. The moment the bathroom door clicks shut behind you, you exhale, pressing your palms against the cool tile of the sink.

You stare at your reflection. You look the same. Same dark curls, same tired eyes, same sharp lines of your face.

But something is different. Something in your chest feels off, unsettled. Like a thread pulled too tight, fraying at the edges.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe your mind was playing tricks on you.

But as you step into the shower, letting the hot water scald your skin, you can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted. That the ghost you saw tonight wasn’t just in your head.

The streets of Barcelona pulse with life, the usual Saturday night energy wrapping around you in waves, music spilling from bars and restaurants, laughter curling through the air, voices overlapping in a steady hum. The city is restless, alive, but you feel like you’re drifting through it, barely tethered, barely there.

You walk alongside Lamine and Vicky, the three of you moving without urgency, caught in the kind of conversation that requires no effort. The kind that should feel easy.

Lamine is talking, rambling, really, because he always does, probably about football, because it’s always football with him. You catch words, phrases, but none of them settle. It’s like trying to listen through water, everything muffled, distorted, floating just beyond reach. You nod when you’re supposed to, let out small laughs at the right moments, but it’s automatic. Hollow.

You feel… off. Like there’s a weight in your chest that won’t lift. Like you’re waiting for something to happen, something you can’t name, something just out of sight.

“Earth to Estrella.”

Vicky’s voice is sharp with amusement as she nudges your shoulder. You blink, snapping back into the present.

“Where’d you go?” she asks, peering at you with mild concern.

You force a smirk. “Nowhere. Just thinking.”

“About?”

“How much better I am at football than both of you,” you tease, shoving Lamine lightly. It’s an automatic deflection, an easy distraction, and it works. Lamine groans dramatically, shoving you back without hesitation.

“That’s crazy,” he scoffs. “You’re delusional.”

“He’s not wrong,” Vicky teases, her grin widening at the way you glare at her.

You shake your head, but the warmth of their banter is comforting. It keeps you here, grounded in the moment. It helps push away the nagging, uneasy feeling that’s been clawing at you since last night.

The world tilts, sharp, unforgiving.

The sounds of the city cut out, like someone pressed mute. The rush of blood in your ears drowns everything else out, your pulse hammering against your ribs, against your throat.

A man steps out of a building, broad shoulders moving with a weight that is too familiar. Your breath catches, the air feeling too thin, too sharp, slicing through your lungs instead of filling them. The streetlight overhead flickers, just for a second, and the glow lands on his profile—a strong jaw, the rough shadow of stubble, the way his hand disappears into his coat pocket like muscle memory.

Your stomach drops. Your fingers twitch at your sides, aching to do something, to reach out, to run, to move, but you’re frozen, locked in place by something deeper than fear.

Your mind scrambles for logic. A reasonable explanation. A coincidence. It has to be. Your chest is tight, breath coming too fast, too shallow. He’s right there. Just like last night. The same profile, the same posture, the same presence that you know, that you remember, that you lost.

The city moves around you like nothing has changed, but for you, everything has. You don’t realize how hard your hands are shaking until a hand settled on your wrist.

“Estrella?”

You flinch hard, body jolting as if struck, head snapping toward Vicky. She’s frowning, concern now fully replacing amusement. Lamine is watching you too, his easygoing expression sharpening into something more serious as he follows your gaze, searching for whatever has rattled you.

But when you turn back… He’s gone. Vanished. Just like last night. Your stomach churns violently. A sharp, nauseating twist. You saw him. You know you saw him.

Didn’t you?

“Hey.” Lamine’s voice cuts through the haze, grounding but cautious. “You good?”

He’s still searching the street, trying to find whatever just took you apart in the span of seconds.

You open your mouth. Close it again. The words lodge in your throat, thick and heavy and impossible.

What are you supposed to say?

That you keep seeing ghosts? That the man who abandoned you is suddenly appearing on street corners like some kind of haunting? That you don’t even know if you’re awake or dreaming anymore.

Your fingers twitch at your sides.

“Nothing,” you force out. Your voice sounds distant, not your own. “It’s nothing.”

Vicky doesn’t look convinced. “You sure?”

You nod. Too quickly. Too stiffly. “Yeah. I just—thought I saw someone I knew.”

Neither of them believe you. You can tell by the way they exchange glances, silent communication passing between them. A flicker of hesitation. A question left unspoken.

But they don’t push. Those two never do.

Lamine claps a hand on your shoulder, his grip firm, solid, real. “Alright,” he says, grinning again, easy but purposeful, trying to break the tension. “But if you’re losing it, we’ll tell you. Don’t worry.”

Vicky smirks, elbowing you lightly. “Yeah, we’ll make sure you don’t go totally insane.”

You force a laugh. It tastes bitter in your mouth. Because maybe you already are.

The stadium still hums with the aftershocks of victory. Fans linger in the stands, their cheers fading into scattered conversations, the occasional chant still ringing through the crisp night air. You’re moving through the crowd near the barricades, signing jerseys, taking photos, forcing smiles that don’t quite reach your eyes.

One goal. Three assists. A performance that should have left you glowing.

But there’s something else. A weight in your chest that no win can shake.

You’ve felt it for weeks now—that eerie, lingering presence. The ghost of someone you don’t dare name. First on the street, then outside the restaurant, in every shadow you’ve caught out of the corner of your eye. And now, with the adrenaline still running through your veins, you feel it again.

Like you’re being watched.

Your hand hesitates over the Sharpie in mid-signature. The pen scrapes slightly against fabric. The kid in front of you doesn’t seem to notice, too busy grinning up at you, eyes wide with excitement.

But you notice. You look up and the world around you stops. Across the field, standing near the tunnel entrance, deep in conversation with the president of Barcelona, is a man. Not a shadow. Not a mirage. Not a fleeting glimpse. A man, flesh and blood— your flesh and blood.

Your lungs squeeze tight. Your fingers go numb. You hear nothing, see nothing, except the way he stands— casual, almost indifferent, hands tucked in his pockets like he belongs here. Like he hasn’t been gone for most of your life.

Then the president turns, smiling broadly.

“Estrella!” he calls out, waving you over.

Your legs won’t move.

Alexia, Marta, and Irene are already making their way toward him, oblivious to the way your body has locked up.

Your feet carry you forward in a slow, mechanical walk, your heart slamming against your ribs so violently you think you might collapse right here, on this field, in front of everyone.

“This,” the president says warmly as you approach, gesturing to the man beside him, “is an old friend of mine. He’s been away for some time, but we go way back.”

He turns to your father.

“And this is Estrella,” he continues proudly. “One of our brightest young stars. The future of Barcelona. And of course, you know Alexia, Marta, Irene—”

He keeps talking, but you don’t hear any of it.

You can’t because your father is looking at you. For the first time in over a decade, he is looking at you, smiling as your eyes began to burn.

“Meva estrelleta (my little star),” he murmurs, so soft that only you can hear it.

Your stomach turns violently as you take a shaky breath, an attempt to ground yourself.

Alexia says something beside you, her tone pleasant but distant. Marta, ever polite, shakes his hand. Irene glances at you, sensing something is off. But none of them know.

None of them know who this man is to you. Because you’ve never told them. You haven’t even mentioned your father to any of your teammates and they never asked. Your fingers twitch at your sides, nails biting into your palm. You can’t breathe.

His hand on your arm. Gentle. Familiar. A touch from a past life.

“Can we talk?”

You should say no. You should turn and walk away, let the past stay buried where it belongs. But you don’t. Because you need to hear whatever it is he has to say.

The silence between you is suffocating. It stretches, pulling at the frayed edges of your patience, your composure, your very sanity. He’s standing there like a statue—like he has the right to just exist in your space after all these years, after all the nights you spent wondering where he was, if he was even alive. Your breath shudders as it leaves you.

“You don’t get to do this,” you whisper again, the words burning your throat. “You don’t get to just show up after more than ten years and act like.. like this is something that can be fixed.”

His lips press together, and he exhales through his nose, like he’s bracing himself. “Meva Estrelleta (my little star)—”

“No.” You take a step forward, jabbing a finger toward him. “You don’t get to call me that.” Your voice shakes, and you hate it, hate how weak it makes you sound. “You lost that right the day you walked away. From me. From mom. From us— your family.”

A shadow of something passes over his face—pain, regret, something—but you refuse to let it sway you.

“I waited for you.” The confession tumbles out, bitter and sharp. “For years. I used to sit by the door, waiting for it to open. I used to dream about you coming back. I used to tell myself that maybe—maybe there was a reason. That maybe you had no choice.”

You let out a broken laugh, shaking your head.

“But you did have a choice, didn’t you? And you chose to leave.”

His jaw tightens. “It wasn’t that simple.”

“Wasn’t it?” You don’t even realize you’re trembling until your arms wrap around yourself, desperate to hold yourself together. “You left me. You left her.” The words crack open something ugly inside you, something you’ve kept buried for too long. “And she… she didn’t know how to be a mother without you.”

His eyes darken, and you know he knows exactly what you’re talking about.

“You were gone, and she was drowning,” you continue, voice rising. “And there was no one there to save her. No one there to pull her out of it. She drank and drank and drank until it became the only thing she knew how to do.”

You swallow, throat burning. “And I had to watch.”

A flicker of something—guilt, maybe, crosses his face, but he stays silent.

You take a step back, wrapping your arms tighter around yourself. “Do you even know what it was like? Do you know what it’s like to come home to a mother who doesn’t even remember you exist? To listen to her cry herself to sleep because the man she loved since she was a kid abandoned her? Some days she couldn’t even look at me cause I look too much like you.” A breath. A pause. You look your father dead in the eyes.

“Do you know what it’s like to find her dead?”

His face pales, and for the first time, something in him cracks.

You shake your head, eyes stinging. “You don’t. Because you weren’t there. I was fourteen, and I found her. And she didn’t even leave a note. Just a— just a bottle and nothing else.”

He’s breathing heavier now, but he still doesn’t speak. And that infuriates you more than anything.

“Say something!” you snap, voice raw. “Say anything! Because all you’ve done is stand there, looking at me like I’m some ghost from your past, like you don’t even know what to do with me. But I’m real. I grew up without you. I learned how to survive without you. And now you think you can just— just show up and what? Say sorry? Give me some bullshit excuse about how you wanted to come back but couldn’t?”

He clenches his jaw, his whole body taut like a wire about to snap. “You don’t understand, Estrella—”

“I don’t understand?” Your laugh is hollow, sharp, dripping in anger. “I don’t understand what, exactly? That you had some really important reason for leaving your six-year-old daughter behind? That whatever you were doing was more important than being my dad?”

His silence is deafening.

You shake your head, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from spilling. “You were the one person who was supposed to love me no matter what, unconditionally. All my life it felt like I was chasing a ghost. The ghost of you. I need you. My father, my dad, my papi, whatever you want your godforsaken tittle to be. And instead, you just… left.”

Something in him cracks then, but you don’t care. You don’t care because whatever guilt he’s feeling, it’s nothing compared to what you’ve carried all these years.

Your breathing is ragged now, each inhale sharp and uneven, like your lungs are barely keeping up with the weight of everything pressing down on you. Your hands are clenched so tightly your nails dig into your palms, and for a moment, you think maybe you should stop. Maybe you should walk away before this goes any further.

But then you look at him—at his stupid, unreadable face, at the way he still isn’t saying anything—and something inside you snaps.

“You don’t get to do this to me!” The scream rips out of you before you can stop it, raw and unfiltered, your entire body vibrating with years of buried rage. “You don’t get to stand there and act like you regret leaving when you never even tried to come back! You don’t get to look at me like you care when you let me grow up alone!”

And then you’re hitting him. Your fists collide with his chest, not hard enough to actually hurt, but enough to make him feel it, enough to force him to understand even a fraction of what you’ve carried for over a decade.

“You left me! You left me!” Each word is punctuated with another hit, your strength fueled by all the nights you spent staring at the door, waiting for footsteps that never came. “I was just a kid! I was just a little girl who wanted her dad!”

Your vision blurs. Your throat tightens. Your hands keep hitting, weaker now, your anger bleeding into something messier, something broken. “She’s dead because of you,” you whisper through gritted teeth, your voice cracking. “She died because you weren’t there, and I—I didn’t know how to save her.”

And then the fight leaves you all at once.

Your legs give out beneath you, and you feel yourself crumple, but before you can hit the ground, his arms catch you. Strong. Solid. Real.

You don’t know why you let it happen, why you let him hold you after all these years. Maybe because you’re too exhausted to resist. Maybe because, deep down, some small, fractured part of you still wants to believe in him.

“I was all alone for so long. I felt so lonely.”Sobs wrack through you, violent and uncontrollable, your face buried in his chest as years of grief, anger, and longing pour out of you all at once.

“I hate you,” you whisper, but your fingers clutch at his shirt, betraying you. “I hate you so much.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just holds you tighter, his own breath uneven, his own body trembling.

And for the first time in over ten years, you feel like a child again. Small. Lost. Just wanting to be held.

[frodosrings]

And the Sun Continues to Rise

hi guys, i wrote another fic! wow! this is also for the tolkien random pair event, check my pinned if you wanna get involved :)

Premise: As the final mortal of the fellowship passes away in Valinor, Legolas must explore his grief through a conversation with the only one who understands: Gandalf.

here is the link to ao3 !

wc: 3.8k

warnings: angst! death! ah! but bittersweet i promise

read below ⬇️

And that was it.

The final mortal of the fellowship had passed on. He was almost relieved as he watched Gimli peacefully pass, not because he wanted his dear companion to die, but because Legolas wasn’t sure how much more grief he could take, and he knew now that no more of his closest friends would fall to the Halls of Mandos. Gimli was the final one to go, and perhaps the hardest to lose. It was a mix between two truths: one, that Gimli was his closest friend out of the fellowship by a longshot, and two, with Gimli being the last to pass, Legolas had to accept that such a significant portion of his life was now over. The fellowship had truly been broken.

Legolas had known that Gimli’s final days were coming perhaps ten or so years ago. It first began when his friend’s face became more wrinkled and troubled, when his beard of desert sun began to grey and wither, when his movements became slower and more pained. Legolas knew Gimli was a stubborn dwarf, so he did not voice his concerns for his friend aloud, but rather tried to aid him more often without Gimli noticing. Legolas was always there when Gimli arose from a seated position with a muffled groan; he would gently take the arm of his dwarven friend and lift him to a standing position. Legolas was there, too, when Gimli’s mind became more clouded with the confusion of being old, but he never once told the dwarf that at times he was asking the same question for the third or fourth time; Legolas would simply answer as if it was the first. As an immortal being, he could not comprehend what it felt like to age or have your body begin to betray you. He couldn’t imagine looking at his own reflection and seeing it fade. Did it hurt? He often wondered this as he witnessed the final years of his dwarven friend’s body slowly decaying until death grasped it in its unforgiving hands.

He did not ask Gimli what it felt like to begin the process of dying; he was not even sure if Gimli knew he was dying at all. Even when Gimli was resting upon his soft bed for the final time the night before, he still brightened the air with his resting smile. Would it have been better, then, if Gimli did not know he was dying? Legolas thought so. He hoped secretly that his friend did not know his final evening had arrived once he closed his eyes. Legolas was uncertain if he was grateful for the knowledge that Gimli was entering his final years that decade or so ago, or if he would have preferred not to know at all until death had actually struck. He hated that each day he woke up for those last ten years was just another day of counting down to the inevitable loss; he supposed that was why he was almost relieved when the heart of the dwarf had taken its final beat. He did not have to dread it any longer. He also knew that Gimli was in pain, especially the final months leading up to his passing — although the dwarf would never admit it — so Legolas felt some peace now that this burden to his friend had vanished. Maybe the ten years of counting down the death of his friend was a good thing. Legolas was able to make every moment with Gimli feel as if it was the last, because he always dreaded knowing that it might have been. Maybe the visual signs of Gimli’s aging helped Legolas prepare for the loss before it had even happened. Seeing the grey hairs and sunken bones of his dearest friend reminded Legolas that for so many creatures of the earth, life was a fleeting, temporary thing. It humbled him.

As he spent his final moments the next morning alone with Gimli before alerting the others that a burial must be prepared, he thought of his other dear friends from the time of the fellowship. The death before Gimli was little hobbit Sam. Dear Sam, as Frodo would say, had come to Valinor on a small boat consisting of only him. He had come to be with Frodo after years in The Shire had gone by, but he was a day too late, as by the time his boat had docked upon the sands, Frodo’s burial had already been held only the morning before. Legolas remembered the sting he felt in his chest when Sam arrived with an older face but familiar smile, asking the great immortal elves where Mr. Frodo Baggins was. How Legolas wished Sam could have remained in his oblivious state of mind for just a little longer. When Sam had found Legolas and Gimli sat around a canopy with Gandalf, the unsure silence of the three had seemed to answer Sam’s question regarding Frodo’s whereabouts before words were even able to. If they knew of Sam’s arrival, they would have asked Frodo to remain for just one more day, and the love and longing in Frodo’s hobbit heart would have allowed it.

“I don’t quite understand, Gandalf sir.” Sam had pleaded softly after the news had finally come out with words. Sam did understand, but his only resort of coping was hoping that he had misheard the words. Legolas was close with Sam after that day, as were Gimli and Gandalf. The hobbit had grieved each day towards his own death, which followed only a month after his arrival. It was the first time Legolas remembered ever crying for the misfortune of another. He simply couldn’t help himself. Sam was buried next to Frodo.

Legolas could never forget the day Frodo had passed. He was 114 years old, which Legolas knew was old for a hobbit. Like Gimli and like Sam, Frodo had also shown visible signs of his aging. It was unknown to the elves that such a small being could look so old and tired, though Frodo always kept a young look in his eyes, the one Legolas had remembered form their first meeting in Rivendell so long ago. Like Gimli also, Frodo’s death was peaceful. It was a big deal to those in Valinor, this was the ring bearer, saviour to all, the one who seemed untouchable by death had ultimately died. It was only a reminder that nobody was immune to the rules of mortal life.

Legolas looked back on the deaths of the other members of the fellowship as well. After the passing of Aragorn, Legolas knew that he couldn’t spend another moment in Middle-Earth. It was a horrible thing, watching one of his dearest companions be lowered into the ground between the graves of Merry and Pippin. He could not look Arwen in the eye that day, though he had come to regret that decision when he realized he would not ever see the elven queen again. Aragorn’s death was a sudden rip to the mind and heart of Legolas, who was ultimately unprepared for it. He hadn’t seen Aragorn for some years before his passing, so unlike that of Gimli or Frodo or Sam, Legolas was unable to reluctantly count down the final moments of his great friend’s life. Perhaps that answered his question, then. Yes, it was better to know when someone would die beforehand in order to prepare yourself, rather than have them be pulled away from life without a moments notice. When he saw Aragorn as he was lowered into the ground, Legolas almost couldn’t recognize him. Aragorn’s hair was white and his face was old, and Legolas felt a horrible guilt that he was not present to witness these changes until they had completely overtaken. He was not there to witness the first grey hairs atop his friends head, he was not there to tease him about the smile lines and crows feet which had made a home of his skin, he was not there to see his movements begin to slow. Legolas was stuck in the bubble of blissful ignorance, just like Sam was before the news of Frodo reached is ears.

Lastly, as he squeezed the cold hand of Gimli, Legolas thought of Boromir. The death of the Gondorian man was the first death that had affected Legolas so fiercely since the passing of his mother. To see an undefeatable man at last defeated had never allowed Legolas to have a proper nights rest again. Seeing Aragorn soothe Boromir’s final breaths, watching as Aragorn shed tears, it had hit Legolas that even the strongest of men will fall. When he listened to Boromir speak in such hoarseness about how he feared for Merry and Pippin, about how he had watched them become captured, Legolas had seen just how unfair it all was. He regretted everyday that he did not go to Boromir and ease him in that moment. How could he just stand and watch? He tried to make up for it by comforting Aragorn and Gimli that night, and only hoped Boromir was watching from above with forgiveness in his heart.

Legolas had finally walked away from Gimli. He looked back one single time at his dwarf companion, and then could not bear to look again. The grief was heavy. It nearly took over each thought in his mind and did not allow him a moments peace. Not just grief for Gimli, but grief for all his old friends. It was the first time in hundreds of years that Legolas wanted his mother. What did it feel like to run to your mother when you needed love only she could bring to you? He hated that even when wrapping his own arms around himself, he could not remember what the warmth of hers felt like. He could not mimic it. His mind had then gone to his father.. Thranduil was still in Middle-Earth, so very unaware of his son’s need for him. Sure, Thranduil was a hard and cold man at times, but Legolas had never doubted the love his father had for him. He knew that his father would have taken him into his arms if he was here, but he wasn’t.

Legolas walked down to the shore. Though he did not tell any others about his grief, they all knew, especially after Gimli was found peacefully at rest by Elrond. Legolas could do nothing in the moment but sit in the sand and look out to the sea. How dare the sea remain calm and quiet, as if the life of Gimli had not just been stripped away? How dare the sky not weep? How dare the clouds continue to drift like it was just another day? Legolas could hardly stand it. Life resumed around him just like normal. The ground did not cry after Gimli’s steps had ceased, yet instead would take Gimli as prisoner in a grave. The horrible soil. It could grow new life but also conceal death. Legolas was mostly angry at himself and his lack of tears. You were supposed to cry when you were sad, and he was devastated, yet tears would not come. He simply sat in the sand with an eye on the horizon, hoping that maybe a ship with Thranduil may appear in the distance.

“You sit alone and troubled, Greenleaf.”

Legolas knew the voice. How could he not? He turned over his shoulder and saw Gandalf stood leaning against his staff. Gandalf’s eyes were not on Legolas, but on the water ahead, as if he too was waiting for a ship to come.

“Yes. Troubled I am. I cannot shed any tears.” Legolas answered back. Gandalf remained in his standing position behind the elf.

“Cannot shed any tears? Why must tears be shed?” The wizard replied, puffing out some smoke after an inhale from his pipe.

“Gimli has died. The final of the fellowship to go, aside from you and I, Mithrandir. He has died, they all have died, yet I cannot shed tears.”

The old man hummed in response and let out a gentle cough. He then sat on a large rock a few feet away from Legolas and continued to look out into the endless sea. “Yes, he has passed, and so have the others, but my boy you have no obligation to shed tears. Perhaps they shall come later.”

“Yet I am distressed, I feel as if my heart has crumbled in upon itself however I cannot even show it. They have died, they deserve tears, yet I cannot make them fall.”

“I still do not understand. You say they deserve tears. Why?”

Legolas looked at Gandalf with slight confusion. “Because they have died. They have all died and I am desperately afraid to live on in their absence but I cannot give proof of my sadness. If I cry, it is the evidence of my grief, it is evidence of my love for all of our lost companions.

“And who has told you that grief and love must only exist through tears?” The wizard asked, blowing some more smoke from his lips.

“That is how it is supposed to be. Everyone cries in grief; it is a natural reaction—”

“Grief is not a feeling set in stone. It does not come with a list of symptoms one must check off in order to be diagnosed. You may grieve the sun when the snow first falls, yet you do not cry for its absence. This does not mean it is false that you miss the warmth of summer.”

“Gimli is a living being— Aragorn, Boromir, Sam, they are all living beings. The summer does not breathe, it does not have a beating heart or a voice. That grief is so vastly different than this.”

“I would have thought an elf, of all beings in Middle-Earth, would agree that the trees and the sky of summer are very much alive.”

“You are fair in your point, Mithrandir,” Legolas began as he turned his body to face Gandalf fully, “but we do not lose the summer months forever, they come back each year, and I am able to rest easy knowing that all I must do is await a few months until I am graced with them again. It is different now; this death is permanent. I am afraid of my immortality for the very first time.”

“Afraid or intimidated?”

“Must you answer each question with a question of your own?”

Gandalf chuckled in a crackly way, proving the presence of smoke in his lungs. Legolas truly did care for the wizard; he was so much more than a wizard or a man of old. Gandalf had wisdom beyond what the elf could comprehend. It was as if Legolas existed alongside a god. Though, with vast wisdom often came the assumption that everyone knew exactly what Gandalf was saying. Sometimes the old man spoke in riddles that confused even the oldest of beings, and even if the riddle was understood logically, it could be a challenge to determine its relevance. This was a rare time Legolas began to become frustrated by Gandalf’s ambiguity. Maybe it was the heaviness of grief in his chest which made him more irritated and impatient, but he did not wish to spend any longer on Gandalf’s puzzles.

“I suppose I am simply trying to understand you better, Legolas.” Gandalf’s voice broke the elf’s train of thought.

“Afraid, intimidated, there is hardly a difference. I have made my statement and you have shied away from my concerns. It is as if there is hardly a point of your presence.” Legolas responded a bit snappier than he ever normally would. He flushed faintly at his own attitude and turned his head away, back to the sea.

“I see.” Was all the wizard responded with, yet he continued to sit comfortably on the rock and smoke his pipe. He was not offended by Legolas’ remarks, and it only served to irritate Legolas more. The elf’s eyes stared the horizon so sternly that he began to imagine it was the only thing he had ever looked at in all his life.

Nothing but the faint cough of Gandalf interrupted the two on the shore. The sun was bright. It was hardly appropriate, Legolas thought, for the weather to be so merry. Even Gandalf carried a lightness about him; he was not sitting and brooding like Legolas was.

“I do not shed tears either, this does not mean I am happy.” Gandalf spoke again after a few long moments. “Yet sometimes in great happiness I feel a tear escape my eye. Does that mean it is wrong? Must happiness only consist of a smile? Do I have it backwards, my boy? You would not tell an old man he is incorrect, would you?”

“No— I did not mean to allude that I believed your analogy to be wrong, I simply think you have focused on the unimportant points of my speech.” Legolas replied, still slightly fed up.

“And which part would you prefer me to focus on?”

“Gimli has died.”

“Yes, I was told by Elrond.”

“Do you not have care? Has it not struck your mind that you and I are all that is left of the fellowship?”

“No, my boy. I simply do not cry, just as you do not. I care greatly for Master Gimli, just as I do for all of our fallen friends.”

“Yet you appear so calm.”

Gandalf looked into Legolas’ eyes for the first time in their conversation and smiled. “It is a great gift, to appear so very different than the truth. With stoicism means no one will come to bother me; no wizard will come and ask me an abundance of questions while I try to sulk by the sea.”

Legolas smiled softly at this, even though he still held some of his bitterness. “My mistake, old sir.”

“I am aware Gimli has passed, as have the rest of what was once the fellowship of the Third Age. As you mentioned, we both share the gift of immortality. We shall see every sunrise and sunset until the sun no longer wishes to continue its routine. Does this mean you plan on dwelling for all those years? I do not wish for you to rush your process of sorrow; I only do not want you to spend this infinite time with regret in your mind. You are not a lost soul now that your companions have continued their journeys elsewhere. You have survived without them once before, and you are strong enough to do it again. They would not like seeing you in such pain. This sorrow may never fully heal, the scar tissue it leaves may be rough and jagged with despair, but it will not define you. It seems unfair, perhaps it is, but you must know that while our dear friends could not remain for eternity like you, you existed for the last moments of their lives. Time will make the grief less poignant; you must trust it.”

“I am still afraid.”

“It is natural. We would not feel it if it wasn’t.”

“Yes, but such knowledge does not make it easier.”

“No. It is not supposed to.”

“What am I to do in the morning, after the rise of the sun?”

“I suppose you may do anything you desire. Why does this grief make you unsure?”

“Gimli and I used to walk the low hills each morning. I cannot do such a thing when he is not with me.”

“Who is to say he will not be with you?”

Legolas did not have an answer to it. He did not know whether Gimli would be there in some way or not, he didn’t know what he believed in exactly. Did Gandalf mean that the presence of Gimli would be there in spirit, or was Legolas supposed to pretend? Was the morning breeze supposed to act as Gimli’s arm brushing against his own? Was Legolas supposed to now search for signs of Gimli in the natural earth and pretend he had found him, or was Gimli supposed to change the ways of earth to show his presence was really there? Legolas did not know, but he also did not ask. Maybe he was ignorant to these answers for a reason.

“You believe so?” Legolas eventually spoke after a few more long moments.

Gandalf stepped off the rock with a soft cough and stood beside Legolas who was still sat in the sand. “It does not matter what I believe; it is up to you whether you wish to believe it or not.”

“I wish to believe it.”

“Then do.”

A few more moments of quiet passed on like the clouds traveling in the sky. Legolas placed his own hand on Gandalf’s and spoke. “I shall.”

“It is not only our friends you miss greatly.” Gandalf stated. It wasn’t a question. He knew.

Legolas took a moment before answering. “Yes, not only them.”

“Your mother, I presume?”

“I miss her all the time, but especially now. Many times over many hundreds of years I have wanted to run to her. My father, also. I do not know when or if he shall ever reach these shores, but today is the first I have ever desired for him to be here desperately.”

Gandalf gave Legolas a firm but careful squeeze to his shoulder. “I will be here for you, my boy, until he is able to be and after. You know very well where to find me.”

With that, Gandalf had let go of Legolas’ shoulder and made his way make inland. Legolas set his eyes back out on the horizon of the sea and waited. He didn’t know what exactly he was waiting for. Maybe for his father’s ship once again. Maybe for the clouds to send down his mother. Maybe for Gimli or Aragorn or Frodo or the others to rise from the sand and sit with him for awhile. Either way, none of them came. He wrapped his arms firmly around himself, and took turns pretending the feeling of his own embrace was from the arms of those he had lost. His eyes remained dry and his sight remained set. He had an eternity now to wait for the tears to eventually come, so for now, he looked forward to feeling the breeze brushing his cheeks so he could pretend it was the touch of his friends coming back to greet him. The sky continued to be bright, the water continued to drift, the birds continued to fly, the world did not stop for a moment.

And that was it.

[masterwords]

Hello ❤️ If you have time I would love a blurb about Hotch and Morgan cuddles and feeling secure together it's my current brain rot thought.

Oh, yes. I do! I'm a sucker for the soft. I started things for this a number of times but all of them got so convoluted and long and away from the point of the cuddle - this one might have too, but the vibe feels right. I haven't posted a fic directly to tumblr in a while but I will do it now. I hope you like it! I wrote this in thirty minutes so if it feels fast and loose...it is. hahahaa

Words: 1.6k (that's not a blurb but I frequently fail at blurbs)

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It's nearly 1 am, and Hotch can't remember the last time he saw a Walmart at this time of night. He's avoided the store like the plague during regular waking hours, it's too bright and too loud, he can't focus. But when it's the only place open in a ten mile radius and he needs to get the snacks for Jack's preschool class on his way home from work…it's what he's got to work with.

That, or he could go to the gas station at the end of his block and spend a fortune on single serving nightmare food and be ostracized from snack parent duties entirely. The idea is enticing.

He buys a bag of tiny oranges and a bag of pretzels, bland and simple, exactly what he would want if he were a preschooler who wanted to eat quickly and get back to finger painting or playing outside. With his arms full of snacks, he makes his way toward the front of the store to checkout, catching only minor notes from the songs wafting through the store.

It's quiet in here. There are a couple of employees gathered around the one open cash register at the front and a few placed throughout the store restocking shelves. He's not the only shopper inside but he never ran into anyone else. It was almost serene and as he waits for the cashier to count back his change, he thinks this might be the best time to shop. He might have to do it more often.

It's the first time since Haley died that being in a grocery store hasn't resulted in a major meltdown on either he or Jack's part. Jack is sleeping, Jessica is staying over, and he's got all the time in the world to listen to the quiet.

He's always been partial to quiet, but it's been especially important to him in the years since the explosion in New York. Loud noises still hurt though he's gotten fairly good at concealing that fact, his carefully practiced neutral features don't give anything away anymore. He shivers when the cold hits him and with his one free hand, he reaches for the zipper on his jacket and pulls it up to his chin, stopping the worst of the wind from whipping against the exposed skin of his neck.

His car is one of about ten in the parking lot, the huge lot that takes up a full city block. It's almost post-apocalyptic, the way the streetlamps dot the asphalt, one of them flickers wildly above an employee in a blue vest trying desperately to keep his cigarette lit in the wind.

He sits in his car and waits while it warms up, rubbing his hands together like he's sitting in front of a fire. His circulation has always been bad, but since Foyet's attack it's been almost nonexistent. His hands are always cold, fingers stiff and painful. He'd gone to the doctor convinced they were going to tell him he had arthritis, that he was going to lose his ability to shoot his gun sooner rather than later, but all they said was that his circulation was terrible and gave him some exercises to do that would help increase blood flow temporarily. The pain and numbness would be persistent, they said, but do those exercises and you'll alleviate some of it.

The exercises make him feel silly. Jack sometimes copies them without knowing what he's doing - he'll be standing at the sink working his way through dishes and stop to do them because he's afraid he'll drop a glass and make a big mess in front of his son, and when he looks over Jack is playing with his legos and doing the same thing with his hands. Jack copies him a lot and that scares him, he's watching everything he does and says so carefully he's giving himself stomach aches making sure that Jack doesn't take on his worst traits.

"Hello?" he says, answering his phone. He knows who it is without looking.

"You ever coming home?" Derek asks impatiently and Hotch can hear the echo of his own hallway. Derek is waiting outside of his apartment. Derek calls his apartment home. He's still not quite over that revelation, but he hasn't made a big deal out of it.

"Had to stop at Walmart, I'm on snack duty for Jack's school tomorrow morning."

"You do realize we have to be up in less than six hours…"

"I'm on my way. Five minutes."

"The clock starts now."

Hotch throws his car into drive and heads toward the driveway a little faster than he should but there's something so freeing about speeding through an empty parking lot. It reminds him of learning to drive with his uncle because his father was rotting in a bed being eaten alive by cancer by the time he was old enough to get behind a wheel. His uncle was always a bit of a wildcard, not unlike Sean, and encouraged Hotch to put the pedal to the metal when he first started out. "It'll take away all the mystery of what it feels like to really go fast," he'd said and Hotch thought it did work, sort of, but once the mystery was gone he was simply left with the overwhelming love for it. He'd always loved to drive fast, to feel the speed in the wheels beneath him. To float dangerous corners. It's come in handy during high-speed chases on plenty of occasions.

He obeys the speed limit going home, though. Doesn't blow any stop signs or red lights. His little bag of groceries stays firmly in place on the passenger seat and he's putting his car in park at the six minute mark. He could have made it in three if he wasn't being so good about rules.

"You're late," Derek says, leaning against the wall beside his door. Hotch stops beside him, a little too close, and waits patiently for the kiss. Derek always kisses him first. Not because he has to, but because he likes to. He's competitive to a fault. The kiss happens quick, Derek smiling against Hotch's lips while Hotch unlocks the door to his apartment.

Everything is dark, only one small lamp left on to light their way through the living room to the kitchen. Doesn't matter, they know it all by feel alone. Hotch still won't step where Foyet attacked him, he walks around it like a kid skipping the cracks in the sidewalk, and Derek doesn't say a word. He never walked down the sidewalk that his father was killed on again, wouldn't even consider it. He gets it. Some places just hold onto a feeling that you don't want any part of.

They stop in the kitchen and in the dark, they hold each other for a moment. They lean heavily against one another, chest to chest, faces buried in necks, releasing the day. Derek had been hours away doing an in-service with Reid while Hotch worked in DC with Strauss. They hadn't seen each other all day, and this one moment in the darkened kitchen was all it took to make it all melt away. Hotch clung to Derek's waist, numb tingling fingers still not recovered from the night chill digging into the stiff leather of Derek's jacket.

Neither of them spoke. They could say things like I love you or I missed you but that was so heavily implied in the way they just stood there that it would have felt almost wrong to say it. From there they moved in unison toward Hotch's bedroom, undressing quickly, Derek pulling pajamas from the drawer Hotch set aside for him in his own dresser. At his house, he slept naked, but Jack had a tendency to creep into their bed in the darkest hours of the night and he'd only had to be startled awake by that terror once before he learned to deal with the discomfort in sleeping with clothes on. Hotch had offered just to take Jack back to his own bed, but Derek kind of liked when the kid came in, he liked the sound of his tiny snores and the way he curled up in a tiny ball between them like they were the safest place in the world.

But before Jack made his way in, it was Hotch that curled up against him. Derek runs hot and Hotch can't resist absorbing as much of that heat as he can. He slides beneath the blankets and pushes himself flat against Derek's side, burying his icy fingers in the warmth of Derek who always made a surprised noise so involuntarily at the intrusion. He knew it was coming but there was no way to prepare for it. Hotch sleeps in socks, much to Derek's chagrin, but at least that means his cold feet won't be a problem. Just those hands.

Hotch can't remember how or when this really started, and he can't remember ever having any real conversations about what they were or where it was going, no five year plans or relationship goals, it was just safety. It was just love. It didn't need a name or future plans, it didn't need any constraints at all. It was simply something, a beacon in a storm, a lighthouse burning bright. The knowledge that this something was always waiting at the end of a long day, no explanation necessary, had gotten them both through more hard days than either of them could ever articulate.

Whatever it was, whatever anyone might call it, didn't matter. It was simply the feeling of home in another person, and that was all either of them dared to dream of.

[0dotexe]

I'm really feeling some 𝔽𝔼𝔼𝕃𝕀ℕ𝔾𝕊 tonight and I thought I'd share something from my past that haunts me still.

It has been 18 years since my best friend died, and the memory haunts me. TW for animal death, bullying, family nonsense, the works.

This is gonna get long, I'm sorry.

Some background

Be me, a 13 y/o kid with autism going through the ringer in a catholic school. I have no friends, and most of the kids either bully me or avoid me. I was used to it at that point, but I longed for a friend for so long. I thought I could make some from extracurricular stuff like soccer or the scouts, but I just had this air to me that drove people away.

"Fine" I thought, "who needs friends anyways?" as I continue to try my best to survive.

The summer before the semester began I went to a scout camp that lasted a week. I was far from home and could usually do activities I enjoyed without being forced to socialize much. As my mom picks me up and we go to the peach festival in a town nearby she says there's a surprise for me at home. I cannot guess for the life of me what could be so surprising.

So we get home, technically my grandparents place. I'm greeted with something that genuinely makes the most excited I'll probably ever be in my life. We had cats in the backyard. A momma cat decided our place was suitable and let her kittens hide under a shed.

I immediately go outside and try to see the cats. The momma is surprisingly social but the kittens aren't, obviously. No big deal. I read about this in my giant cat book. I just need to get their trust.

Momma cat (Dyemond) had four kittens. Rocky Road, Cloud, Sprinkles, and Little D. These cats basically took over my life that summer. Grandpa set out a trap, captured Little D, and took him inside so we could give him food and I could socialize with him. His name basically was inspired by a white diamond on his back. Nothing too deep. But anyways.

I literally sit there for hours talking to him, giving him food (his favourite was ice cream), making him comfortable, until he isn't scared anymore. Unfortunately, my grandparents were apprehensive of letting cats stay inside (one part because they're hoarders, one part they didn't have the supplies to house him) so at the end of the day, we'd just let him go back outside. Stupid in hindsight, but I was a kid. I didn't know any better.

One day, I get back home from another grueling day at catholic school. At this point we don't have to trap Little D to have him be comfortable coming up to me, but something is off. He's not as energetic as he normally is, he's not purring, he looks banged up but that's just how cats are, right?

I raise my concerns with my family. Practically begging them to take him to the vet. I do this every fucking day until they finally do on a Friday. I raised this concern a week ago, and they're only JUST NOW getting to it? "Fine, whatever, so long as he's going to get better."

He was taken to the vet in the morning, and I was picked up from school the same afternoon, asking my mom, "What happened? Is Little D okay? What did the vet say?"

I can tell that my mom doesn't want to answer the questions I'm asking but I'm pestering her about it so she finally says, "He has cancer." Thinking I'll leave it at that. No the fuck I won't, I keep prying.

"Oh, so he just needs some medicine to feel better, right? Like chemo or something?"

"He's dead, [REDACTED]." is the last thing I remember hearing my mom say. The weekend following I remember literally nothing. I cannot for the life of me find a single memory of what I did. I asked my family to how I was during that time and they just said, "You didn't say or do anything." I believe this is the point in which my depression started and no one can tell me otherwise.

So, I need to bring up this guy

His name throughout this memory will be called S. I hate him, but I do respect people's privacy. So S was a new student that semester, and he made it his perogative to make my life a living hell. I'm sure he was a bully to everyone else too, but sometimes I feel like he singled me out more often than not. I was an easy target, because no one stood up for me.

S was the kind of guy who once he knew what pushed your buttons, he pushed all of them at once to see what reaction you'd have, and then push them once more for good measure. Even though his bullying affected me a bit, nothing hit me as hard as the day I come back to class after mourning (and still mourning) my only friend.

I was in a religion class (forced onto the curriculum, but I almost never paid attention unless Veggietales was playing, but I digress) and the teacher assigned homework over the weekend. Understandably, I didn't do it. I couldn't hand over my book, open to the page and it's blank. He asks me why I didn't do my homework, so I tell him the truth, "My cat died, I'm sorry." he quiets his voice and apologises, and gives me an opportunity to turn it in next class. I thank him quietly and go back to my desk.

But S had other plans. Oh, of course he did. He eavesdropped on the conversation, trying to find more bait to pester me with. This information seemed to be a goldmine for him as he stands up and yells, "Hey everyone! [REDACTED]'s cat died!"

The world around me stops. I hear a mix of laughter but also some "Dude what the heck" but I don't do anything other than lay my head on my desk, sobbing quietly. The teacher berates him, but he's not sent to the office.

S wasn't expelled until months later, when he called a crush of mine gay. That's neither here nor there, but I do find it kinda funny that, THAT was the defining moment for his expulsion from catholic school. Stay classy, catholics. I remember the day too because when I heard the announcement on the speaker; I almost fell out of my chair and just said out loud, "Thank god. I'm finally free. He's finally gone." Crying of course.

This memory haunts me, for a variety of reasons.

It's up there on one of the most traumatic experiences of my life. It's probably also one of the reasons I left the catholic faith because if someone like him can be a catholic, who else out there could hurt me?

A few years after mourning him, my mom seems annoyed at me, she says to me, "[REDACTED], Sometimes I wish I never told you he died. You just can't seem to get over it. He's just a cat, move on."

He wasn't "Just a cat" he was Little D. He was my best friend. He was euthanized. I wasn't there to comfort him. He loved ice cream. His purr was so loud it could cause an earthquake. I couldn't get him to the vet fast enough. He died. He fucking died. We buried him in the backyard, and I'm just supposed to "get over" that?

We had kept two of the other litter mates and got them to the vet immediately after this incident. Rocky Road and Cloud. Sprinkles just fucked off and was never seen again.

Those two are dead now too (they both lived for about 15 years), any connection I have to that part of my past is now gone. It hurts. It fucking hurts.

I'm sad everytime I think about this. I had to learn as a child to mourn in a way that makes it very hard to express my emotions. When I was at my grandpa's funeral, I couldn't cry. I had to cry in a locked room away from everyone else. My emotions weren't valuable or permitted to express to my family when I was truly suffering, so why show it then?

I don't know how to end this. If this helped you in some way, great. But just know this will never leave me. I can't "get over" it. Almost two decades later and I just can't get it out of my mind.

I'm sorry, Little D. I miss you.

⬖.Exe

[seventh-district]

7am, eating cold leftover teriyaki stir-fry for breakfast and crying over blorbos

[starkittnd93]

*glances at Temenos’s distrust of authority figures* same Temenos same. Institutions are very fucked a lot of the time. Go do your doubting that you do. And bonk those authority figures. In the head. With your staff. Doubtfully.

[i-am-a-fan]

What dynamic do Pigsy and Tang have in my fics? Uhhhh *checks notes* i-i don’t know. I think THEY know, but they aren’t telling me… nor each other.

[strungupwithwire]

Cormac McCarthy really ruined my perception of literature. i read Blood Meridian my freshman year of highschool and ive basically only read and reread his novels since then..ive read a lot of books since then, but when im in a tizzy like i have been recently it’s hard for me to accept anything else. i read the shortstory “Youth” by Joseph Conrad a week ago and it was beautiful and captivating, but when i try to read Heart of Darkness or the Secret Agent there’s something so matter-of-factly about his writing that really irks me and makes it hard for me to concentrate. i had the same problem before i read Blood Meridian when i went from Bradbury to Asimov, it’s just so hard to shake these things

[xumoonhao]

top 5 memories on tumblr

im not sure if youre the same anon from my last almost year old ask but hi. omg. im still so sorry 😣😣😣

5 - one time someone came into my ask box trying to defend pansexuality lmao like im literally bisexual. you are not better than me. thatll always be funny to me <3

4 - back when yuri on ice was airing and everyone loved it at the same time, including actual figure skaters <3 it was truly such a time to be on tumblr (i mean…the side that watches anime) and like idc ppl can have their opinions of yoi but i thought it was a vvv nice show and i remember loving it. whats better than being gay and falling in love…like what do yall want from anime, actually. yuri & viktor were a nice couple!!!

3 - when i changed from my old blog to my new blog god fucking bless <3 i had my old blog for soooooooo long and it was just…so cluttered and messy to a point where i didnt have the energy to put into it to change it? like i didnt hate my old blog but there was so much on it that i no longer liked and the effort it would have needed to make it better was simply too much </3 im much happier with this blog now, so much nicer 😌

2 - something i think abt CONSTANTLY is this fanbook i participated in that was sent off to two thai actors whom i really like that was basically thanking them for the work they did in the series and what their support of lgbtq+ ppl meant to the ppl who watched the show and stuff and like…its really nice to always think abt that :') like they have a book abt all the love from their fans and my thoughts and feelings are in that book too…literally makes my heart so full to think abt omg

1 - not a singular moment, really, but every single mutual that ive ever met…all of those moments are precious to me <3 each and every one of my mutuals is indescribably important to me and i love them more than words could ever say 💖💖💖 you all have a place in my heart forever and always!!! until the end of time 💞

[astrxealis]

my ocs..... i love you

[nikkento-writes]

Babysitter - Part 1

Pairing: dad!Toji x babysitter!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~1.7k

cw: age gap (reader is 21, Toji is in his 30s), language, cheating, smut – PIV sex (doggy style), breeding kink, daddy kink

Summary: You're hired to babysit little Megumi for the summer, but you end up taking care of his father, Toji, as well.

Author’s Notes: This is repost from my old blog! I initially got this as a request and it became my first Toji fic ever, and certainly not my last lol. I'm posting this again because I actually wrote a Part 2, check it out! Thanks for reading! Divider credit to @/fic-dumpster.

You stand in front of a quaint house, checking your watch for the time. It’s been almost ten minutes now since you knocked, no answer. You gave the number from the listing a call, still nothing. Rolling your eyes, you take a seat on the steps leading to the door, waiting.

It’s the summer before you head back to university for your senior year. In an attempt to make some extra cash, you took a job as a babysitter through local ads in the paper. The first two clients were completely normal; this one is already leaving a bad taste in your mouth. 

Fifteen minutes have passed. You try once more, pounding on the door with your fist as loud as you can. Heel turned, ready to leave, it suddenly swings open, revealing a muscular man with black hair, glaring at you. “What the fuck do you want?” 

You step back, startled by his intimidating presence. Stuttering, you answer, “I’m the babysitter.”

He continues to stare at you, eyes following your body up and down, studying it. “Babysitter?”

Before you can explain any further, you hear a car rolling into the driveway. A woman in professional attire steps out quickly. “I’m so sorry I’m late!” She rushes towards you, holding her hand out to shake yours. “We spoke on the phone. I got stuck in traffic, I’m so sorry.”

You smile at her. “It’s okay.”

She faces the man, expression switching from cheery to dreary in an instant. “Toji, where is Megumi?”

He scratches his head. “Huh?”

“Megumi. Our child.”

He sighs. “Right. Uh, I’ll go get him.” 

While he’s gone, the woman pulls you aside, speaking in a hushed voice. “That’s Toji, my husband and Megumi’s father. Unfortunately, he’s a complete deadbeat. That’s why I want to hire you. I started my new job and I need someone to take care of Megumi while I’m gone during the day.”

She swallows hard, blinking to fight off oncoming tears. “I have no one. I’ve been shunned by my family, my husband doesn’t give a shit about ours, and I’m all alone trying to give Megumi a good life. I know this is a lot to ask, but I’m desperate. This is just until I can save enough money to hire a full-time nanny.”

She grips onto your wrist with both her hands, begging for help. Truthfully, it’s a lot to unravel, more drama than you anticipated. But the anguish in her eyes tugs at your heartstrings. Plus, knowing it’s temporary doesn’t make it seem so difficult. How bad can it be? “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Relief washes over her. “Oh thank god. Thank you. Thank you. Let’s go inside and I can give you a tour.” She leads you through the entrance, removing her shoes as you follow her. “Oh, and one more thing.”

“Sure.”

“Toji is home most of the day, but he’s always couped up in his room, doing god knows what. Just leave a meal or two outside his door twice a day. That should be enough.”

“Huh?!” 

She glances at you with a nervous smile on her face. “Yeah. I told you, he’s good for nothing.”

You don’t respond while you maneuver through the house, barely paying attention while she shows you around. It almost sounds like you’ll be babysitting two children…

~~~

The first two weeks of your new job go by smoothly. Megumi is an adorable baby; he’s almost two-years-old with hair as black as his father’s. While he never really smiles, he doesn’t cry either, expression usually stern, unless he needs a diaper change. He’s self-sufficient, always immersed by his own toys until it’s time to eat. Overall, he’s easy. 

Toji, on the other hand, is another story. 

You follow his wife’s instructions, leaving two meals outside his door, breakfast and lunch. And this asshole has the audacity to critique it! The bread wasn’t toasted enough. The eggs were too runny. There wasn’t enough seasoning on the meat. All this criticism while each plate is licked clean, not a crumb to spot. He’s never even uttered a simple thank you. 

But what he lacks in social skills or personality, he makes up for in his physique. In between meals, he works out in the living room lifting weights, doing push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups at the frame of the door. It lasts for over an hour, and by the end of it, he’s shirtless, dripping with sweat. You’ve done everything in your power to avoid staring but it doesn’t prevent your mind from conjuring all types of lewd thoughts about him. You’re ashamed to admit that he is physically attractive, only because everything else about him is utter trash. Still, it doesn’t hurt to look, right?

On the third week, there’s a shift in energy between you two. When he isn’t working out or going out to meet with his sketchy friends, he’s usually couped up in his bedroom, ignoring you and Megumi. This morning, he actually joins you in the kitchen. You stare blankly at him, stunned by his sudden appearance. Megumi is unfazed by his father as he tries to pull your wrist towards him to get a spoonful of mushed up peas. 

When he catches you, Toji glares. “What?”

“Um, nothing. Just surprised to see you here.” You clear your throat, focusing back on the baby. 

He rolls his eyes. “This is my house. I can do whatever I want.”

“Yes, of course. Sir.”

For some reason, this triggers him. He stands up abruptly, stepping to you, leaning his face towards yours. The scar on the corner of his lip twitches when he gives you a wicked grin. “That’s right. I’m in charge here.”

You flinch from him, scared, maybe even slightly aroused. He’s intense, that’s for sure. But part of you finds it exhilarating to be in his presence. 

Megumi whines for more food, to which Toji grabs the utensil from your hands to start feeding him. “Damn kid, he’s hungry all the fucking time.”

You sit up in your seat, regaining your composure. “You shouldn’t curse in front of children.”

He faces you, chuckling. “Curse? Seriously? What are you, five?”

You cross your arms, answering, “I’m twenty-one.”

“Interesting.” There’s that naughty smirk again, as if he’s thinking something obscene in that twisted head of his. And while you should be turned off, you’re not. You squeeze your legs together, pussy throbbing between your thighs. And of course, he notices this. He must, because he leans forward, lips grazing your ear, whispering, “Come by my room whenever Megumi is taking his nap. That’s an order.”

~~~

This is bad. Very, very bad. 

You're supposed to be better than this. Clearly, you aren’t, because you’re currently getting railed by your employer’s husband while his child sleeps peacefully in the next room.

“Fuck, this pussy is tight,” he groans, pumping his thick cock in and out of you. You’re bent over the edge of the bed, his hips smacking against your ass as he thrusts into you. He’s got a tight grip on your hips, nails digging into your flesh, pounding away at your greedy pussy, absolutely drenched with arousal and lube. Your face is sticky with perspiration, pillow soaked with sweat and drool. It’s a fucking mess, but it doesn’t matter, because all you can think about is Toji fucking you until you’re seeing stars. Until your head is empty and nothing but his fat cock is occupying your thoughts.

“God, you’re squeezing me so fucking hard, princess. You gonna come again?”

You nod erratically, reaching your fingers to your clit. He smacks it away, doing it himself, his thumb flicking against your swollen bud. “Fucking come on my cock then. Make it nice and creamy for me, got it?”

His cock is buried deep inside you, hitting your sweet spot over and over until you unravel, gushing around him once more. You’ve lost count on how many orgasms you’ve had in this short amount of time. 

After your climax, he doesn’t pull out, fucking you even rougher. Your body is pliant around him, yielding to his every touch like putty. You’ve lost control of yourself, completely enraptured in the intense pleasure he surrounds you with. 

He leans forward, chest pressed to your back, lips brushed to your ear. “I’m gonna knock you up. Give Megumi a little brother or sister. Would you like that?” He’s crazy. Completely unhinged. Absolutely fucking psycho. 

“Fuck yes, I want that,” you moan. “Give it to me, daddy. Breed me.” 

And apparently, so are you. 

“Oh fuck yeah, take my fucking cum then,” he growls. The bed creaks violently below you, his backshots brutal and frantic now, cock desperate for release. “I’m gonna get you fucking pregnant. Make you mine.”

He shoots his hot load inside you, stuffing you full of his cum. He doesn’t stop until he’s fucked it deeper into your pussy, watching with that sexy look on his face as his creamy cum leaks out of your slit.

Lifting you up to lay comfortably on the bed, he rolls beside you, kissing you sloppily until Megumi’s whimpers blare through the baby monitor, indicating that he’s awake. Toji laughs, smacking your ass as you crawl over him to return to your real job. 

~~~

You spend the remainder of your summer employed at the Fushiguro household until you have to go back to school. You and Toji continue to fuck each other silly every day that you’re working. 

The day before you leave for college, you say your goodbyes to the family. Megumi’s mom, who remains blissfully unaware of your sins, hugs you tightly. “Thank you so much for all your help. I’ve finally saved enough money to afford a full-time nanny, so we’ll be fine.” 

“It was my pleasure. I had a lot of fun. With Megumi,” you clarify, avoiding Toji’s gaze as he watches from the kitchen. 

“Seriously. You’re a good person. I hope you know that.” She smiles, truly grateful. “And thank you for taking care of my good for nothing husband too.”

As the guilt of this dirty, filthy secret eats away at you, Toji stares at you from across the room, smirking. 

[notquitecanon]

Dense // Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Summary: A pretty little thing like you isn't flirting with Ghost? Are you?

Based off a prompt that's been a worm in my brain since 8th grade (I'm 25 now) and I'm probably going to write the same exact thing from the other POV.

TW: none, just a little fluffy hopefully funny insight into Simon's thought process.

God, Lieutenant Riley was dense.

That's what most people thought after watching him interact with you for longer than three minutes at a time. You'd been working in communications for two years now, mostly dealing with Captain Price but Ghost was always lurking around somewhere nearby. You'd been warned to avoid him.

He's mean, He's surly, he'll bite your head right off. He's dangerous blah blah blah...

What they didn't consider was that he was a tree of a man- tall, dark, and mysterious with pretty eyes. And you had little to no survival instincts when it came to a man who knew how to shut the fuck up.

It was obvious to anyone who watched you interact with him for any amount of time. How you stood closer to him than need be, how you watched him through your lashes when he spoke his few words to you, the way your voice changed when you spoke to him. Then it was the little touches and little gifts, sitting with him at empty tables when others would turn and walk the other way. You were so sweet on him, maybe even smitten with him.

Ghost never seemed to notice, and if he did he didn't pay it much mind. Just assumed you were just one of those chatty and nice people he seemed to attract every now and then- like Price or Soap. It didn't hurt either that you were sweet & pretty & and smelled good... no, didn't hurt at all and certainly didn't mean anything.

He brushed off Johnny and Gaz's teasings, met Price's knowing looks with icy glares. You definitely weren't flirting with him. There was no way someone like you was pursuing someone like him romantically. That was... ridiculous. Right?

Still. Something about that idea scratched his brain just right. Planted a seed that you unknowingly watered with sweet smiles and bright eyes. So, he started paying more attention.

You never got Price's attention by lingering a small, warm hand on the Captain's bicep- but you did with Ghost. You were chatty with Gaz, but never so much so that you made yourself late to other engagements- Ghost was losing track of the times you'd been chatting at with him only to look at your watch and scurry off with hot cheeks. And Soap could make you laugh, but he never got your cheeks to turn that pretty pink color- Ghost rarely saw you without rosy cheeks. Hmmm... Interesting.

So, he watched and observed (pined and yearned, more accurately). Until one day when he noticed how you flipped your hair over your shoulder as you spoke to him, direct eye contact through fluttering lashes, the dilation of your eyes.

"You have such pretty eyes-" You barely finished your statement before he interjected. He cut you off before you could even giggle, voice stern and hard and quick as those pretty dangerous eyes narrowed in a way that would have chased anyone else off. Not you though.

"Are you flirting with me?"

He asked, taking a looming step closer to you where you were standing by the breakroom coffee machine. He expected you to stutter out an excuse or apologize, or even frantically excuse yourself. He did not expect you to sigh, almost in relief(?) with that bright smile of yours.

"I have been for the last two years." You breathe in admittance, "But thanks for noticing now."

Bloody hell, you were trying to kill him.

----

I wrote this instead of paying attention in lecture

[mywritersmind]

BREAK MY HEART AND I SWEAR IM MOVIN’ ON WITH YOUR FAVORITE ATHLETE - LN4

summary : You weren’t joking when you wrote the lyric ‘Break my heart and I swear I'm movin' on with your favorite athlete’. What a perfect opportunity when that same athlete falls right into the palm of your hands with your ex’s burning gaze directed straight at you.

listen up : reader wrote ‘good graces’ ! flustered lando! protective lando! sorry to anyone named nick.

words : 1519

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“Need a shot of your strongest!” I slap my hand down on the bar, my friends around me and looking worried. I’m fine! I’m absolutely fine!

Is my ex currently across the room from me? Yes! But I'm cool, I'm calm, and I'm collected.

I down the bitter liquor, pushing back my hair and taking a breath. “Fuck him.” I mumble as my friend's hand goes to my arm. I’m completely over him, but every time my eyes land on that jerk I can’t help but remember how I caught him fucking his assistant.

Jackass wasn’t even talented enough to have an assistant, I should have known.

I start dancing, forgetting about my hatred and focusing on my friends. The true loves of my life! I throw my hands up, ‘Cupid's Chokehold’ playing as we all sing around and laugh.

I hear the mumbling and whispering instantly, a new ground walking into the exclusive club my friends pulled me into. My best friend squeals, grabbing my arm, “That’s Lando Norris!”

I raise a brow, still dancing and turning to see the man and his own group. I recognize a few from when my ex would get up at 4AM to see their races.

Formula 1 drivers have a reputation… most worse than any other soccer or hockey player. I watch Lando, a drink in his hand as his eyes scan the crowd.

The reputation makes sense, a face like that doesn’t just shrug off girls.

I turn before he can see me. He doesn’t know who I am, I doubt any F1 driver knows a borderline inappropriate pop star.

“You have to talk to him!” She screams, jumping up and down in her heels now.

“No!” I laugh and think she’s going to drop it until she gives me an annoyed look.

“That’s hypocritical!” I laugh, how the fuck is that hypocritical? I am forced to realize what she’s referring to as I turn and see my ex standing in front of the driver.

He’s smiling like the idiot he is, asking for a photo and clearly going on for too long. Lando is his absolute favorite driver, I couldn’t escape his face for the two years I was dating my ex.

My friend's smile grows, and she starts singing. “Break my heart and I swear I'm movin' on with your favorite athlete!” she’s off key and definitely drunk, pushing my arm she laughs, “This is your fucking time! It’s your own words! He broke your heart babe!”

At her last words I frown, making up some excuse to get another drink. I look back at Lando as I walk back to the bar, my ex is still there but I catch Lando’s eye, accidentally sending him a disgusting look.

I rip my eyes away and order another drink. I sip on it, my legs crossed on a bar stool and my back against the counter as I watch my ex go back to his friends.

I know he sees me, and I'm grateful he hasn’t said anything. He’s an asshole and I'm upset that he’s ruining my night by his proximity to my friends and I.

“Do I know you?” The unfamiliar accent catches me off guard, looking away from my ex and up at Lando Norris. Shit.

“Um… No?” I sip my drink again, trying to ignore his arm resting behind me and how delicious he smells.

“So why were you death glaring at me?” I can’t help but laugh at this, his brow quirks when I do.

“I wasn’t! Not at you at least…” I look back to my ex, nodding, “I was glaring at him.”

“Well he must have done something really bad to you because that look was damn scary.” I bring my lips to my glass again, locking eyes with his that are so green, even in the club lights.

“He’s my ex.”

Lando looks genuinely surprised at this, “Your… ex?” he points and nod, “Yours? As in dating ex?”

“Yes. What other type of ex is there?”

Lando shrugs, eyeing him and shaking his head, “Sorry. I genuinely just don’t believe it! He’s…” He stops himself, like he realizes he’s actually speaking out loud, “Well you’re way out of his league! You’re fucking gorgeous, and honestly on my to-do list of the night.”

I raise a brow at this as his eyes go wide, “I mean I wanted to talk to you! Not in a creepy way! In a genuine way.” I turn towards him more and clock the sincerity in his voice, “So, i’m assuming you broke up with the dick?”

“He cheated on me.” Lando’s jaw drops at this, “Okay shut up now you’re just boosting my ego.”

“It deserves to be boosted! Fucking hell, asshole. Shouldn’t have let him take a photo.” He smirks at me and it makes my smile return, “You do look familiar though…”

“I’m a singer, Y/n L/n.”

He laughs, tapping his fingers against the counter, “I know you! My teammate's girlfriend is obsessed! You're the one with the funny lyrics.” By ‘funny’ he means horny as fuck.

I nod, “And you’re my ex’s favorite athlete.” He cringes at this.

“Not yours?”

“I know nothing about Formula 1.” I shrug as his hands go to his curls, “But I do know you.”

His smile widens at this, his eyes soft, “I like that.”

Lando is nothing like I imagined. I thought he would be annoying and honestly a dick, but instead he’s just flirty and actually hilarious.

He’s cute too, buys me a drink, moves his hand to the outside of my leg to pull down my dress that’s riding up my thigh.

Fuck those lyrics, I want him.

He’s funny and ridiculously stunning, “You know- once I mentioned that you were cute, not even hot or anything, and Nick didn’t talk to me for two hours!”

Lando scoffs, “That’s just rude.” he motions to his face, “Anyone could see i’m adorable.”

“Fuck, now i’m boosting your ego!”

He smiles, “You’re doing that by just looking at me.” He's a flirt and I love him for it.

He’s looking at me like I hung the moon. We just met and he’s leaning down to hear what I'm saying over the loud music, his hand never leaving me.

I reach up and twirl a piece of his hair around my finger, “I like your curls.”

“Thanks love…” the nickname comes out smooth and easy. Far too dangerous for someone I barely know and someone I really like.

He tells me about his travel schedule and how he likes my dress. I tell him where I live and when I tour… “I wanna see you perform.”

I laugh, his hand still on my leg, “I barely know you.”

“Easy fix. Come home with me tonight.” It’s straightforward and risky, yet very tempting. “I’ll let you know everything about me.”

I bite my lip as his eyes stray from mine, “Norris.” I say sternly as he nods, slowly looking back at my eyes with a cheeky look on his face.

“Yes or no, love? Break my heart, it’s fine!” He says dramatically as I laugh and roll my eyes, leaning away from him before his hand finds my waist and pulls me closer, “You don’t have to. I’m just offering…”

“Get me a water, then we’ll see.” His smirk is back and his hand lingers on me before walking down to where the barista is flirting with a pretty girl and not paying any attention to us.

I smile as he leaves, waving to my friends as they motion to text them and blow me a kiss. I’m still smiling when someone slides next to me.

“Y/n!” I know the voice instantly and it makes me feel sick. He’s beaming as if he is privileged to see me, which he is, but he shouldn’t look so happy.

“Nick.” I say, my smile gone and my warm and fuzzy feeling disappeared.

“I didn’t know you were here!” Liar. “How’ve you been?”

“You mean how have I been since I caught a girl sucking your limp dick?” I say with my brows raised, “Oh just peachy.”

His smile falters. Dickhead.

My actual savior returns, a head turning smile on his face until he sees my ex. Lando walks past him, not even sparing a glance and handing me my ice water.

“Ready to go?” His hand is warm on my hip, his gaze cold when looking at the man who stares at the two of us.

“Sorry… what?” Nick is genuinely frozen in place as I pop out of my seat, Lando gripping me with both hands now. Shit his hands are big.

“Mate… she wrote it in a song.” He nods at him as I grin, a straw at my lips and giggle in my throat. Lando leans down close to my ear as we walk away. I can practically hear the smirk in his voice, “I’ll show you a real man.”

@//YOURUSERNAME

liked by landonorris, lilymunihe, and carlossainz…

yourusername i’m a woman of my word🤷🏻‍♀️

landonorris definitely lost a fan but gained the most important person in my life. i love you😘❤️

comments on this post have been restricted…

[secretsandwriting]

heyyyy ryyyyy <333

since ur requests are open i thought id go ahead and ask if you're mayhaps open to anything for batmom? i don't have a completely solid idea but maybe smn like batmom has been getting threats or maybe hate or smn from somebody and everyone's reactions and how they get hella protective?

obv no pressure and you definitely do not have to write this

hope you have a great day bb

Heyyyyy, so this grew hands and wrote itself, I hope you enjoy it. It did end up with a lot of backstory.

Earned Position

5.3k words

You knew this would happen. Once your relationship with Bruce got out there would be an influx of love and hate. You also knew that everyone else knew that as well. It was common knowledge than anyone around a celebrity of sorts would experience that. 

Of course you did the normal things, turned off most notifications and only looked through areas online you knew would mostly be safe. You blocked tags and and only followed people you knew or ones who didn’t post about drama. 

When you did stumble onto hate, you moved on. If someone kept sending you nasty messages you blocked them, when they made other accounts to keep sending the same things, you changed your settings so only those you followed could message you. 

It wasn’t something you wanted to deal with but it was something you could handle. Something you started mentally preparing yourself for when Bruce’s attention on you lasted more than 4 dates, even more so when you caught yourself daydreaming about him.

You were not going to let random bitter people on the internet destroy your happiness like they did their own. Your family however, wanted to destroy what was left of your haters' happiness. Something you were trying to curb, but trying to tell a family of vigilantes who considered you the best mom in existence not to destroy your haters was like talking to a brick wall. Over the years, you had gotten used to it. It barely even registered anymore. But there had been a recent influx of the hate and while it didn’t bother you, it bothered the rest of your family. None of them could stand people talking bad about their mom.

While you hadn’t been there while the older ones were young, the second you had introduced yourself to them, you had taken a very important role in their lives. None of them realizing it at first. All of them had gotten used to the random women Bruce brought home that it took a little while for them to realize how important you were. 

Dick wasn’t sure at first. Thinking you were just another girlfriend that wouldn’t last long. So he didn’t really interact with you much. Ignoring your existence when it wasn’t too rude, or at least obviously rude. Until one night when he was staying at the manor and had a nightmare about his parents death. 

Bruce had an open bed policy. As long as there was still room for him, his bed was open. A policy he had started when Dick had gotten old enough he was worried he wouldn’t be allowed to go when he had a nightmare. Bruce had always reminded all his kids, that nightmares don’t go away just because you’re older and that needing comfort wasn’t something they would outgrow. 

The thing was, you were there. Girlfriends didn’t mind when children did it but they never liked it when his adult kids did it. The shaking in his hands and the way he saw them fall in the darkness of every blink told him the only way he was getting any sleep was with someone. 

Hopefully he could just slip into Bruce’s side and leave before you woke up. That was the plan until he found Damian on Bruce’s side and you had been pulled closer to Bruce taking up what was left. You moved a little and Dick took that as his sign to deal with it himself until he heard you whisper his name. He hummed so you knew it was him and not some random stranger standing over Bruce’s side of the bed. 

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on.” You lifted the blanket next to you, “Bruce told me you guys come here when you have nightmares. There's plenty of room over here for you.” Dick hesitated for a second before giving in. He needed sleep anyway. You weren’t when you said there was plenty of room, Dick had most of your half of the bed. Once he had settled on his side, facing away from you, he felt you pull the blanket over his shoulders. 

“Night Dick, sleep well.” For some reason, that was what did it. Once the tears started they didn’t stop. Silent sobs made him shudder and he felt one of your hands gently rubbing his back. “Oh Dick.” There was no pity in your tone and he found himself rolling over and curling into you. Your chin resting on his head while you rubbed his back. 

The next day, he followed you around like a puppy. Your side of the bed became his favorite when he had nightmares and it wasn’t long before he turned to you for general comfort over anything.

Jason met you at his grave. Neither of you exchanged words, but he caught something in your gaze he didn’t quite understand. He also wasn’t sure why you were at his grave either, he didn’t know you when he was younger. 

When he saw the Gotham News post about Bruce and Your 2nd anniversary, it brought more questions than answers. Why were you at his grave alone? Let alone longer than a few seconds. It was an odd way to gain more of Bruce’s affections. 

Every Tuesday you would be there, leaving flowers and talking softly to the stone. Every time you left, you would smile and nod, the look in your eyes he couldn’t figure out was still there. Every time he would strain to heat what you were saying and only be able yo a few words here and there. 

6 months into it, the routine changed. You brought a blanket and Basket with your usual flowers. You did what you normally did with the flowers but instead of talking to the stone you waved him over. When he didn’t move, you stopped what you were doing and looked at him. 

“Jason Todd, I have been keeping your secret for 6 months. Helping me spread this blanket and having lunch won’t change it.” He stared at you while you waited expectantly. Eventually when he could get himself to move, he came over and helped. He sat down where you motioned for him too, all while trying to figure out how you knew.

“Bruce mentioned this used to be your favorite when you were younger so I asked Alfred to teach me how to make it. I hope it's up to your standards.” He looked at the plate of food you handed him. It was almost overflowing with food, all of which reminded him of the good times back at the manor before he died. “Alfred also sent your favorite cookies when he heard I would be eating at your grave.” The bag of cookies was placed next to the basket, within easy reach.

“Why?” Was all Jason managed to choke out around the lump in his throat.

“I decided early on in life, no matter who I was with, I would love their family as my own. My grandfather hated my grandmothers side and it caused a lot of pain in all the generations. I decided I would never do that to another family.” Jason found himself back in control enough to start eating. 

“So when I started dating Bruce and he told me about you, I decided to treat you like you were my own. Even though I had never met you and you were dead. Most of what that meant was keeping your grave clean and always making sure there were fresh flowers. While I did that, I would tell you everything that was going on.”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Your eyes, they may be a different color but they looked too similar. So I did a little digging and found pictures of your biological pictures to place the face shape it matched. I think however you look more like Bruce then either of them.”

“Are you going to tell them?”

“As much as I would love to. It’s your choice. You’ve been keeping this to yourself for a reason. If I can help you get to a place to tell them, I would love to. But I won’t say a word until you're ready. However, I would like to keep having lunch with you.” 

A year later, Jason reintroduced himself to the rest of the family a lot calmer than originally planned and was glued to your side anytime he felt overwhelmed that night. Every Tuesday after that, lunch was scheduled.

Tim was nervous when it came to you. He was still living in the manor so he saw you more than the older two. You always seemed nice and respected his privacy but Bruce was always with you so you obviously would. 

It was when he wasn’t around that worried Tim. Bruce attracted golddiggers and they were always mean when Bruce wasn’t there. When you were given a copy of the key, Time braced himself. 

Of course he knew that if he told Bruce anything that happened like that, Bruce would break it off. He had always told them that they came first. But he also knew that Bruce liked you a lot. All the other ones Bruce liked a lot that turned out to be horrible, he broked it off. Tim had seen how it had made him upset and he really hated doing that to him. Maybe he could deal with it for once. 

So when Bruce left for a business trip, Tim was Expecting the worst. What he didn’t expect was for you to knock on his door and ask if you could join him. When he agreed and stepped back so you could come in. He expected you to go to his bed or his desk chair not, the oversized bean bag on the floor.

“I have a question for you but you can’t tell Bruce yet.” Here it comes. “What would a funny way to tell him I know he’s Batman?” Tim wasn’t expecting that one. “I was thinking a lot of batpuns but his paranoia is too bad for that.”

“How did you figure it out?” You walked him through your process and didn’t say anything as he wrote parts of it down. Once you finished explaining the process for Bruce, you explained any way it was modified in figuring out their identities.

“Who do you think I am?”

“Red Robin.” Tim found himself getting excited. 

“You know those notes you leave him in his office?” You nodded. “You should leave those in the Batcave.” You considered it but your thinking was interrupted but Tim shouting. 

“No! One night when we’re all in the cave, you could bring some snacks!” 

“You just want snacks when he’s lecturing you don’t you?”

“Maybe..”

“Alright, but you have to tell the others so they can tell me what snack they want.”

So Tim slowly and carefully went through all his siblings, letting them know you figured it out, Bruce didn’t know, and what the plan is. Every time he relayed a snack to you he’d watch how carefully you’d write it out to make sure you had it correct or look up recipes if you couldn’t find it in stores. 

Two weeks later, Tim was the one who sent the signal in the middle of a lecture everyone was receiving and he got a front row seat to see Bruce’s face when you walked in and handed out snacks before giving him a kiss and telling him to be nice and leaving. 

Any other worries were left in the dust when you helped him win the nerf war for the best seat in the home theater. He thoroughly enjoyed his spot next to you while Bruce swore revenge from the other side of the room.

Damian treated you politely but that was it. His mother was still alive and he didn’t want another one, one was more than enough. Not only that, but you were weird. 

One time when you were over, you found one of his report cards. Immediately you were praising him. He didn’t understand why, he had basically failed one of his classes with an A-. You should be disappointed like his mother would be, not hanging it up on the fridge and telling people not to touch it. Definitely not taking him out for ice cream and calling him so smart. He definitely shouldn’t be feeling any pride when he walked past it, but he still was. 

When he was practicing his violin and Messed up, you were supposed to tell him to stop failing, that he should be better. Not smiling at him and telling him he’s making good progress. You should be telling him that he should have memorized that piece in a day. He shouldn’t be feeling any pride when he finally does memorize it, it took him 4 days to learn it.

When he was struggling to learn a language, you were supposed to tell him to work harder. He could do better, after all, he already knew so many. Instead you just smiled and recommended a break to refresh his mind. 

When he snapped at you in Arabic, he expected you to be upset since you didn’t know what he said and it was obviously not something nice. Instead you set the rule that if he was going to use Arabic to speak to you when upset, that he had to teach it to you and if what he said wasn’t something you had learned yet, he had to tell you in english. When he told you what it meant, you didn’t even get upset. He definitely shouldn’t be as excited as he was when you actually started learning. 

So many more little things piled up, leaving Damian confused. The differences between how you and his mother treated him was so big he didn’t know how to process it, he liked you and all the little things made him happy in a way he hadn’t really felt. But he still loved his mom, When he had enough of it, he asked you to stop. He still wanted to love his mom. Once again, you did something you weren’t supposed to.

“Oh Damian, I’m not trying to replace your mom nor am I trying to make you feel like you can’t love her or she doesn’t love you. Your mom and I show our love in different ways and its ok for you to love or like both of us. You mother loves you and she will always be allowed in your life if thats what you want.” You weren’t supposed to do that, but Damian was really glad you did.

Barbara wasn’t sure how you would react to her. She wasn’t just Bruce’s kid. She had a loving family she went back to every night. Most people weren’t really a fan of that, one of Bruce’s past girlfriends had some strong and hurtful things to say about it. 

When you took her for a day out, she found herself warming up to you but still waiting for the other shoe to drop. One of the new places you had planned to go, didn’t have wheelchair access. Like all the other girlfriends who had done this, she expected you to be annoyed that your plans had to change or you would just leave her outside while you shopped. 

You didn’t seem to notice her hesitation, just looking at what was next on your list and starting the trip there. When Barbara stared a little longer at a new movie that was in theaters, tickets and snacks were bought and you listed to all the lore she told you about before it started.

While it had been a nice day, Barbara wasn’t convinced. One day was easy to fake. Sure she had lots of fun, but Barbara was used to fakes when it came to Bruce’s girlfriends. Of course she wasn’t complaining about you being nice, she just wasn’t sure how long it would last. 

“Did you hear about that boutique?” She looked up from her food to look at her dad. “That new one that you tried to go to with Bruce’s girlfriend? Well there was a report that it didn’t meet the Americans with Disabilities act and the boutique is in trouble. People are speculating they’ll have to close down.”

Later that night, Barbara looked into it. They were in trouble, pretty big trouble from the looks of it. Towards the end of the article she found the name of the person who reported it, she wasn’t sure who she was expecting. Not you for sure but the Name Y/n L/n took her by surprise and filled her chest with feelings she couldn’t describe. 

The boutique ended up closing but a new one opened. Once it was open, you were the first to ask her to go. That weird feeling came back when she wheeled herself up the ramp and through the door you held open for her. Later that night, in the privacy of her room. She decided she liked you. 

Steph seemed like she liked you, she acted like she liked you, she didn’t really like you. Sure you were nice, Bruce loved you, the others were warming up to you, but she wasn’t sure how to feel about you. So she stuck with not actually liking you but pretending to. 

So when she was around you, it was all smiles and jokes. She wasn’t a big fan of it all but she did it because she knew you were important to Bruce and that was enough of a reason for her. She knew Bruce and the others could see through the act but as long as you couldn’t, that was enough. 

When Bruce announced he had to leave for a business trip right before she could hand him the parents visit for one of her AP classes, something the new teacher liked doing. She tucked the paper away. When Tim gave her a questioning look, she shook her head and later swore him to silence. 

Every time she heard someone mention their parents were going, she felt a pang of jealousy in her chest. Every time Tim mentioned bringing it up to you, she swore him into silence again. It wouldn’t be the first time no one showed up for her. She was however thankful you wouldn’t be at the manor as much so she didn’t have to pretend to like you.

When the day arrived, Steph was not having a good day. School dragged on slowly. Slower than normal. When school finally ended, she had to sit in the classroom and watch everyone else that was in her class leave and the parents of her classmates show up while no one was there or coming for her.

Someone sat in the seat next to her, she expected another family member of one of her classmates. Definitely not you. She couldn’t return your smile, too unsure of how you found out, the fact you actually showed up, and how she felt about you being there. You leaned a little closer so that the others in the room wouldn’t easily overhear. 

“I know I’m not your parent and someone you just pretend to like so if you want me to leave I will. But I figured someone was better then no one. Oh, and Tim wanted me to tell you he didn’t spill. Your teacher called the manor because no one had RSVPed for you and I answered it.”

That night, as Steph showed off all her hard work to you, the charade fell. She actually enjoyed her time with you and the boost of pride as you oohed and ahhed over all her projects and listened to her explain all the little details. That night, Steph realized, she didn’t need to keep pretending. She liked you, until she found out you didn’t like her favorite show but a nerf war solved that. 

Cass could tell you were different then the other girlfriends, your body language as you interacted with all of them showed it. However that didn’t mean she knew how to interact with you.

She had learned that she was fairly hard for new people to interact with. She also knew she had trouble interacting with people she wasn’t fighting. So it wasn’t a surprise when it started rocky. 

What was a surprise, was when you found out she was still having trouble reading and writing, you stepped in to help. Well, that wasn’t the surprising part, a lot of girlfriends did that. The surprising part was the amount of patience you had when it was only the two of you. 

When one method didn’t help, you tried another. Never once did you snap at her or call her a name. Everytime you got frustrated you would stop and look at her, say something along the lines of “If I had as much trouble with this as you do, I wouldn’t want to keep trying. You're doing absolutely amazing! I’ll keep looking for other ideas, but for now, lets take a break and get a treat.” 

Cass wasn’t sure why that always made her feel better, but it did. Every treat you brought was something you made just for the tutoring sessions and it always reminded her of what Alfred had told her once. “Something made with love for you will always taste better.”

And when a method that made it a little easier to learn was found, Cass found herself smiling along with your cheers. Bad days where she couldn’t seem to make any progress were always met with the same excitement, cheers, patience, and treats that all the others were. 

Cass still wasn’t sure of what to think of you exactly, but she knew she liked you and that you cared about her.

So when Tim saw the new rise in hate, a sibling meeting was called. They all went through each site, blood boiling as they saw what people were saying about their new parent. Plans were made, declarations of war were ready, and anger fueled all of them. Bruce could tell something was going on, but he wasn’t sure what it was and as long as it didn’t get out of had, he wasn’t sure if he had the energy to deal with it. 

War was declared in an interview by Steph. The lady was asking questions when the topic switched to Bruce, then you. The reporter was clearly trying to subtly find some dirt on you and Steph was not going to stand for it.

“Oh yeah! Y/n! She’s the best!” She put on her best press face. Trying to hide her anger over the hidden intent. She didn’t have to lie or act when talking about you but the change in the lady’s face going to disappointment when she didn’t get anything she wanted was making her look very punchable. 

“She’s always showing up for us and making sure we’re doing ok. If Y/n and Bruce were to break up, I think most of us would go with Y/n.” The way the lady kept trying to get anything really got on her nerves and Steph decided she needed to get out of there before she started using the lady’s face for target practice. You wouldn’t like that.

Cass was the first one to resort to violence. They had asked a thinly veiled question, basically asking if you were a golddigger. So she punched him in the nose and leaned down to flip the camera off. She hated interviews already but that made it so much worse. She hoped you wouldn’t be too upset with her punching the guy though.

Jason, surprisingly enough. Did not get violent… physically. He did however curse one out and threaten him when the reporter implied you were forcing them to say nice things. When the reporter kept pressing Jason broke his mic and told him if he ever heard him talking bad about you again, a broken mic would be the last of his worries. Jason knew you would be disappointed but he had held back, he didn’t shoot the guy like he wanted.

Tim threw his coffee at one reporter because he heard them say you were nothing but a regular person who didn’t deserve any attention. He then took over her segment, threatening the company to air it or he would make sure they went bankrupt. Once he finished his threats, anything he said was praising you name. Telling everyone how amazing you were and how much they all loved you.

Barbara made it a point to bring up everything you did for the community when they tried to throw some shade at you in an interview. She had documents to prove it and hacked their systems to add them into the interview so they couldn’t claim it was fake. She also made sure to run over his foot when she left. 

Dick punched a reporter when they tried to ask him what you were really like behind closed doors. He told them the truth, that you were just as good, kind, patient, and loving behind closed doors as you were out in public. He didn’t throw a punch until the reporter disregarded that as asked again because she couldn’t be that good. Dick knew a lecture would be coming once you saw, but he would rather sit through a lecture then let anyone tarnish your name.

Damian spent 10 minutes cursing and threatening a reporter in Arabic when they asked him if you had ever hurt him. When he was done, he told them in english, that if he ever got asked that question again, he would impale them. He knew you were going to make him sit down and translate everything and the general response you would give but he didn’t care, no one speaks bad about either of his mothers.

Bruce figured out what was going on after Steph’s interview. He saw the ones where they assaulted or threatened the reporters and made sure his lawyers were on standby to keep the kids out of trouble. After all, he had seen more than they had. 

He had watched as you tried to connect with Dick early on, how you worked hard to try and get somewhere. He had woken up before you when Dick had come in that night and heard how you handled it. He had woken up the next morning to find you holding Dick close, like you were trying to protect him from the nightmares. He had seen how you never turned Dick down when he wanted comfort, no matter how serious or silly the matter, and he had heard your excitement when you told him Dick liked you.

Bruce had seen the way you never missed a visit to Jason’s grave, on a visit of his own, he saw how much care you showed the stone marking it as his lost son. While he hadn’t been sure why it was alway the same time on Tuesday, he didn;t mention it. He felt the way you would sob in his arms after each visit, a year after the tradition started, you always said you had promised not to tell and he watched as you kept that promise even if it tore you to pieces. Once the shock and tears wore off for a little bit, he could see the trust that Jason had in you.

He heard the way you questioned if you should have a key to the manor, you didn’t want to make Tim uncomfortable in his own home, or how you questioned if you should visit while he was gone. Not wanting to stress Tim out when there was no reason too. He saw the way you and Tim grinned at each other when you brought snacks down for all the kids he was currently lecturing. He head the excitement in your voice as you told him about the tour Tim had given you of the Batcave and the shared laughter as you and Tim worked together to win the nerf war.

Bruce saw how you worked to give Damian the affection he didn’t think he needed. He felt you crying in his arms upset over the fact Damian thought you would be angry because he made a mistake or struggled in a class. He heard you practicing your Arabic as you got ready for bed and he watched as you stress paced over whether or not you said the right thing to him about his mother. 

He saw how angry you had been when you came back from your day out with Barbara. He had heard your call with your lawyer as you tried to figure out what to do. He saw you going through the laws and making a list to make sure your lawyer didn’t miss any. He heard about the movie you didn’t particularly care about and the lore you remembered in case of another because you wanted Barbara to have someone she could tell all of her favorite things too. 

Bruce saw the pictures you had taken from the school night. He heard all the details from you as you praised Steph’s work. He saw the way Steph stopped acting around you and the silly arguments the two of you would get into for fun. He heard the way you would listen to her as she verbally worked out her problems. He saw the way Steph looked for you in a crowd, the way she knew you were there but not where you stood exactly, the thought of you not being there never crossed her. 

He saw the way you stayed up late, researching different ways to teach reading and writing. He heard the patience and kindness and you worked with Cass. He saw the way you always made a treat just for Cass to have after each lesson because you wanted to reward her hard work. He heard the way you cried for Cass when she had a bad day and got frustrated with herself because you knew she was smart and you wanted her to see it too. He heard your celebrations when Cass made any progress, no matter the size. 

Bruce heard, saw, and felt the way you worked hard to have a relationship with his kids. How you had mourned for their losses, celebrated their wins, and felt their pain. He saw the way his kids blossomed under your care, growing to be better and more confident in themselves. The way you cared for them as if they were your own flesh and blood. So when he was asked about his kids behavior, he said as much. 

“Y/n has worked hard to be accepted by them. She’s given so much of her time, effort, patience, and love and never wanted anything in return. She always shows up for them, no matter what the occasion is, big or small, it doesn’t matter. If they want her there, she’ll be there. Everytime they need or want her, she’s there. She never judges them and treats them as if they were her own blood. Of course their upset and lashing out, people are insulting the woman who has cared for them more then most of their biological mothers.”

Later, a clip of you scolding Bruce and all the kids went viral. While you were scolding them over their behavior and making the kids who had reacted with violence or threats write apology letters because asking mean questions does not make it right to respond badly especially when its someone just trying to start drama. Everyone one noticed that there was no actual bite to your tone and no anger when they all refused to stop acting like that. In fact, there was a small soft smile on your face as you shook your head at your family.