#In the Aftermath of Hack

[ragnarokhound]

((you don’t have to do both if you don’t want to, you can consider this one a back up / alt))

“If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.” 💞

From this writing prompt list i reblogged in...november lmao fljdsjfa

anyway this grew legs and sprinted away the second I picked it up yesterday - clearly it just needed some time to proof lmao. Thank you for the ask, tauria!! From *checks watch* almost 5 months ago fjdslafjsa I will be cross-posting it to Ao3 in my new oneshot collection fic :)

Warnings for: Vague allusions that Ra's Al Ghul is a creep (what else is new), threats of gun violence, canon-typical violence

15. “If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.”

When Tim arrived in Gotham this morning, he had no way of knowing that his day would end in Jason Todd’s bed. 

Frankly, he wasn’t really sure what bed he’d end up in— because his own certainly wasn’t an option right now. But If he had to pick, Jason Todd’s was somewhere near the bottom of whatever list he’d make.

He didn’t exactly plan on this, okay? 

But, uh. Let’s back up a little.

—

Tim knew his day was going to go to shit when he got back from the airport at 7 AM.

He had his driver drop him off two blocks away from his townhouse for the sake of caffeine at the hole in the wall place he likes. Wealthy CEO he may be, but a sixteen hour flight is still a sixteen hour flight and Tim is cursed with an inability to sleep in the air. 

Don’t ask. He’s tried. It doesn’t work.

So he wants coffee, and he wants a shower, and he wants his own bed. In that order.

With the first thing on his list acquired and blessedly burning his tongue, he managed to tug his brain cells together enough to realize that the building they’d passed that had been shrouded in tents and canvas was his building.

"What's going on here?"

The worker outside his building looks up from her clipboard, her face wrinkling into apprehensive confusion.

"Hello, sir. Can I help you?”

He hasn’t slept in roughly seventy two hours. He is not awake or patient enough for this.

“My name is Tim Drake. I own this building. What’s going on here?” He repeats.

The woman raises her eyebrows and looks down at her clipboard again. “Mr. Drake?” She questions, clearly expecting him to look like a grown-ass man and not a sleep-deprived college student coming home from spring break or whatever.

“Yes. Timothy Drake-Wayne. Why are you—” he tries to gesture with the hand still holding his suitcase handle, walking towards the tarps and tents erected around his townhouse with increasing trepidation, “—here?”

“I’m sorry sir, but you can’t go in there. Not for at least forty-eight hours.”

Tim stops in his tracks.

“Forty-eight—?”

“We've been scheduled to fumigate the property today.” She says it like she’s reading it out of a handbook. “It won't be safe to enter the building for at least forty-eight hours. You should have received prior notice. Uh. Sir.”

Tim's jet-lagged brain kicks into overdrive. 

Bruce hasn't made any disappointed noises about Tim’s perfectly normal work ethic lately so it probably wasn't a misguided attempt at benching him. And besides, rendering Tim’s apartment inaccessible is counterproductive on that front. 

Dick wouldn’t. They haven’t been exactly— great, lately but he wouldn’t. Besides, if he wanted to get Tim out of the house more, he’d show up to drag Tim out into the daylight himself. This is a little too roundabout for him.

It’s too much work to be Steph. She would think it’s funny, but there’s no way she’d follow through.

Damian might, but this doesn’t quite fit his preferred methods for making Tim’s life hell. It could be some cloak and dagger maneuver to leave him vulnerable, faking a complaint to the city so he’ll—

And then Tim thinks about the call.

The call he’d brushed off at fuck o’clock in the morning somewhere over Europe, too busy with another project. The call his secretary took for him instead. He thinks about the distracted confirmation he’d given to whatever it was she’d asked him about five minutes later. 

He also thinks about the form he signed about two weeks ago, before this last minute trip to Hong Kong had consumed his entire attention. The one with “Two Weeks Notice” stamped across the top. His stomach sinks.

“Today,” he repeats.

She looks apologetic. “Today,” she confirms. “And we just started about an hour ago. I’m very sorry, Mr. Drake-Wayne but—”

"No it's—" he says through gritted teeth, "fine. I'll just. Make other arrangements."

—

He does not make other arrangements. Though not for lack of trying.

Tim has a handful of safehouses scattered throughout the city. He has options. He gets a taxi to the closest neighborhood, and nearly falls asleep in the backseat. The cabby has to knock on the glass divider to get his attention when they come to a stop. He grumbles and hauls his suitcase out of the backseat, and tips the man excessively.

Shower. Bed. Sleep. He’s so close he could cry.

Except when he finally rolls around the block, coffee half gone and trying to remember if this safehouse is the one with in-unit laundry or if he’ll have to haul his shit down to the laundry room, his building is a blackened husk with police tape all around it.

He stops on the sidewalk. He peers up at the window of his unit, squinting at the peeling black wood and shattered glass. He ponders whether two is enough data points to be considered a pattern. And whether he could get away with napping in the alley on this street or if that’ll end with him stabbed and robbed.

As he’s pondering, he catches sight of a passerby and stops him.

“‘Scuse me,” he says apologetically. “What the hell happened here?”

The guy looks up from his phone and takes in his rumpled clothes, his suitcase, and the scorched remains of his apartment.

“Oh, uh. Yeah, there was a big fire about a week back? Bad fire. Took out, like, half the block. Cops are saying it’s arson.”

“A week ago,” Tim repeats. The guy’s eyes widen.

“Oh shit, bro, did you live here?”

“I’ve been out of town,” he explains numbly.

“Dude, that sucks. And right in the middle of con’ season. Good luck finding a hotel!”

“Yeah,” Tim sighs as the guy walks away. “Thanks.”

—

The next safehouse he tries isn’t in much better shape. 

He remembers hearing about Freeze going on a rampage a few days into his trip, but he hadn’t realized another one of his places had been caught in the cross-fire. The cold burst the pipes, and now the whole place is undergoing renovation.

He hears all this from the crotchety old lady who lives in the next building over (her building needs renovation too, but will the city pay for it? Of course not, they weren’t ‘directly impacted by disaster’ so they won’t see a penny of relief funds even though their pipes are on the same line. Typical) and when he finally extricates himself from the conversation, it’s almost noon, his second cup of coffee is long-since empty and he’s at the end of his goddamn rope.

By the time he sees his next safehouse, he isn’t even surprised anymore.

“Does God hate me?” He asks the boarded up building. “Is this a punishment? What did I do? What the fuck did I do?”

He is 99% sure at this point that someone is burning his bolt holes. There’s a short list of people with the resources and the intel to do it, and while he’s not above ruling out the likes of Damian just yet, he seriously doubts anyone wearing a bat is behind this. 

Besides, Dick would have noticed by now if Damian were sinking this many resources into convoluted covert ops designed to make Tim suffer. Definitely. Probably.

Fuck it.

He goes around the back and hops on top of his suitcase to reach the clunky camera watching the back entrance. This building is on the shittier side, closer to Crime Alley than his other haunts; cameras break all the time around here. He’ll have it replaced after he’s a functional human again.

Reportedly, this building was tagged for ‘high toxicity levels’—  which is pretty typical for any building where fear toxin or Joker gas are found in any amount. They must have found a lot to condemn the whole building, but Tim is confident he’ll be fine. The airborne shit dissipates to safe levels within hours depending on the ventilation. If it was in the air, it’s long gone. Anything else needs to be injected to be effective.

Once the camera’s busted, he kicks out the boards and heads inside.

He drags his suitcase in after him, and mourns the shower he probably won’t be getting. The hall lights are out, and chances are the water’s been shut off along with the electricity. But at this point, he simply does not give a shit. All he wants are four walls and a mattress.

Leaning on the door to his floor to make it open, he stumbles out into the hallway—

And catches sight of the glistening curved dagger stabbed into the wall next to his door, the hilt gleaming green in the sinking sun.

“Nope,” Tim says, spinning on his heel and going back down the stairwell double time. “Nope, nope, nope.”

He is now 100% certain that the League of Assassins has been burning his bolt holes. Ra’s al fucking Ghul can eat his whole ass.

—

Seven blocks away, Tim sits on the sidewalk in front of a bodega and contemplates a third cup of coffee. The shittiest one yet.

See, here’s the thing.

The thing is, he has options.

He could go to the Manor. Or the penthouse. Or to Steph’s place. He’d have to answer some unnecessary questions like ‘Master Timothy, you know you can’t sleep on aircraft, why didn’t you sleep before your flight’ or ‘Tim, why didn’t you come here first, you know you can still come to me if you’re in trouble, right’ or ‘why did you agree to fumigate your fucking house, you loser, lmao’. (Stephanie is not going to let him live this down). 

He is absolutely certain that he would be welcomed in any of these places and after a completely undeserved amount of fussing, he could take a fucking nap and someone else would deal with the League bullshit for him.

And that’s the thing. There’s the rub.

No one should have to deal with the League bullshit for him. This is his problem. He’s not in a hurry to bring them down on anyone. Not even Damian.

With grim resignation, he reaches for his phone to try and find a hotel room (during a con’ weekend apparently, RIP) and maybe get a fucking handle on this whole stupid thing, when he hears:

“Hand over your wallet!”

He lifts his head slowly and finds himself looking down the barrel of a gun. A gun held by some guy wearing a ski mask in broad fucking daylight. There’s another guy next to him who’s watching the street. There’s a third guy somewhere behind him who he can’t see, but he can hear the scuff of his boots.

Sure. Why not. With the day he’s had, this might as well happen. He holds up his hands placatingly.

Tim contemplates his muggers. The guy with the gun is jittery, probably new to this, or hopped up on something. He keeps glancing between Tim and the bodega behind him, so they were probably planning a run on the till. Might have chickened out, or thought Tim was an easier target, an unexpected meal ticket plopped right in their path. Or they were already inside when Tim sat down, which wouldn’t bode well for his situational awareness seeing as he just came out of there himself.

The grinding gears of his tired brain keep getting caught on the fact that this is happening in the middle of the fucking day. Tim glances at the street corner and bites his cheek in frustration. Yeah, he’s smack dab in the middle of the Alley. Figures.

“Are you deaf or somethin’ man?” The guy with the gun is saying. “Hand over your fucking wallet!”

The other guy doesn’t seem as crazy-eyed. He’s nervous, though. He keeps looking around like he’s expecting Batman to materialize, to come whistling down the street like a beat cop.

“Dude, come on, it’s not fucking worth it,” he says, grabbing at the gunman’s shoulder. “We got the money, let’s fucking go.”

The third guy kicks over Tim’s suitcase. “Yeah, come on, Don, let’s just grab this shit and bounce.”

Tim can’t do anything. He’s not Red Robin right now. He’s Timothy Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, and he’s getting mugged in front of a bodega at two in the afternoon in a rumpled suit and tie and still toting his suitcase from his early morning flight. 

His hands are trembling from unspent adrenaline, too much caffeine, and not enough sleep. His eyelids are the heaviest they’ve ever been in his godforsaken life. His ears are ringing. He could knock all three of them down in less time than it takes to tie his shoelaces. But he can’t.

“Shut up, Johnny, look at him shaking! What’s he gonna do? If he doesn’t wanna get shot, rich boy’s gonna hand over all his fucking shit!”

“Hey, let’s just—” Tim tries to say.

Stars explode across his vision as Tim takes a punch he genuinely wasn’t expecting. He stares up at the blue sky for about half a second, more confused than anything else, before the gunman grabs him by the front of his shirt and hauls him up to shout in his face.

“What’s it gonna be, pretty boy?!”

Caught on the exhausted edge between vigilante training and the preservation of his identity, Tim is frozen. He doesn’t know what to do. He kind of wants to cry.

“Gee, Donny, what is it gonna be?” A fourth voice says, full of false cheer.

Tim blinks. So do the muggers. 

He knows that voice.

“Who the fuck—?” The gunman drops Tim, spinning around and into a fist. He tumbles down to the ground, out cold.

Everything happens pretty quickly after that.

Jason Todd is in civvies. He’s sporting a worn out looking hoodie and a pair of jeans that have seen better days. But his heavy boots are the same ones he wears for his uniform, and the kick he delivers to Johnny’s face is all Red Hood.

Almost in a daze, Tim watches him fight with the usual mix of seething envy and raw desire that rears its ugly head any time he gets to see Jason in action. He’s fast, decisive. Efficient. Beautiful. Tim wishes he had Jason’s skill. And he wishes— 

Well. He wishes a lot of things about Jason Todd.

Tim is pretty sure he and Jason are friends. Maybe. Probably. They’ve pretty much moved past the whole “replacement”, “zombie-dickhead” part of their relationship and have graduated to occasionally providing backup on ops that overlap in each other’s sectors, ganging up on Dick when they’re all in the same room, and maintaining a surprisingly steady stream of vigilante gossip to keep each other in the loop. 

So, ok, yes, due to the aforementioned, he’s pretty sure they’re friends. And also because Jason wouldn’t have stuck his neck out for him otherwise. He would have just let him get mugged.

Watching Jason fight is one of Tim’s favorite pastimes. But right now, Tim’s usual appreciation is soured by the gut-roiling embarrassment of being caught in this position by Jason of all people. His eyes itch. His cheek throbs. He’s so fucking tired.

“Hey, little stalker,” Jason says suddenly, holding out an expectant hand in Tim’s face. The muggers are groaning on the ground around them. Tim isn’t sure when that happened. He might have zoned out. “Did you know that you had a stalker for a change?”

Tim flushes. “I resent that. I haven’t stalked anyone in years.” He takes the hand. It’s warm, and calloused, and big around his.

Jason laughs at him and yanks him to his feet. “Liar.”

Tim’s mouth twists into a scowl. He tries to glare at Jason, but he can feel himself swaying and Jason still hasn’t let go of him, and it’s ruining everything.

Also, lowkey, Jason is right. But in his defense, it is literally their job to stalk people, so.

“I haven’t stalked you in years then. Just other guys. Bad guys. Not non-bad guys. Fuck. You know what I mean. Whatever.” He pauses; recalibrates. “Had?” He asks.

Jason’s eyebrows inched higher and higher the longer Tim talked. Tim doesn’t blame him.

“Yeah. Had.” 

So much for the League, Tim muses.

Jason gives him a once over before tugging decisively on Tim’s wrist, easily grabbing the handle of his suitcase and starting to walk with both in tow, to Tim’s rising horror. 

“You’re coming with me, shortstack. What’s wrong with you? Are you drunk? You look like shit.”

Tim tries to yank his wrist out of Jason’s grip, but the asshole doesn’t budge. “I’m not drunk,” Tim snaps. “I’m fine. I’m just. I’m just… really tired.”

Jason stops abruptly, and Tim stumbles into his shoulder.

“I can see that,” he says, steadying Tim with an amused but ultimately sympathetic look. He loads Tim’s suitcase onto the back of a motorcycle that Tim literally just now noticed. 

God, he’s fucked. And not even in a fun way. 

“C’mon,” Jason says. “Don’t fall asleep on the way over— road rash sucks ass.”

—

They don’t talk on the way to— wherever Jason is taking them, but once they’re parked in a random garage and walking towards the elevators, the game of twenty questions begins.

“So why’ve you got League assassins after you, anyway? Piss in a lazarus pit? Push over the baby brat on the playground?”

“Ra’s al Ghul wants my body,” Tim says, dejected but resigned to this bizarre fact of his life. “Since I was seventeen, I’m pretty sure.”

Jason wrinkles his nose. “Ew.”

“I don’t think it’s a sex thing? But it could also be a sex thing.”

“Again. Fucking ew.”

“Yeah. Also I blew up a bunch of his shit and I think he’s still salty I got away with it.”

“Is that why you weren’t at the Manor?” Jason asks, herding Tim out of the elevator and down a long hallway. “Or anywhere but a random street in Crime Alley?”

Tim nods. “Yeah. They found all my safehouses, but— my mess. My problem.”

Jason thwacks him upside the head.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

“You’re the dumbest person on the planet.”

“Am not. B is on-planet right now.”

“Then you’re pretty fucking close,” Jason snarks, fishing out some keys and opening one of the apartment doors.

Tim scoffs at him as he’s pushed inside. “Oh, please. Don’t try to tell me you would let Dick swoop in and solve all your problems for you.”

Jason rolls his eyes, stepping into the side kitchen and popping open the freezer door of the fridge.

“Dickiebird can’t even solve his own problems,” he says as he rummages. “But maybe when I’m fucked up enough to let three nobodies robbing a fucking bodega get the jump on me, that’s a sign that, maybe, it might be time to call in the cavalry. Dick isn’t the only person who’s got your back.” He presses an ice pack to Tim’s face until he takes it himself, and keeps steering him through the apartment. “Just saying.”

Tim would protest with all of his very good reasons why Jason is definitely wrong here, but he’s too busy processing the fact that Jason has led him into a bedroom. With a bed. There’s a bed, with a mattress and pillows and blankets. Right there. Tim stares at it with lustful eyes.

Jason catches him staring. He rolls his eyes, but he’s sporting a small smile that Tim has the presence of mind to memorize. He walks over to a dresser and pulls out a big shirt and a pair of shorts that he hands to Tim.

“Look. If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here. No guarantees I’ll be always around, but, yeah. Mi casa es su casa, or whatever.”

Tim eyes him up, clutching the bundle of Jason-smelling fabric in his hands. “And you’d do that for me because…why, exactly?”

Jason flicks his forehead, a stinging reprimand. Tim hisses.

“Because, dumbass, you need help and I feel like it. And you don’t actually suck to be around, so shut up and be grateful.”

“Oh, yes,” Tim deadpans, rubbing at his forehead. “So grateful to be allowed the privilege of squatting with you.”

The thing of it is, Tim is grateful. But Jason doesn’t need to know that.

Jason squawks, and before Tim can duck, he’s snatched Tim around the neck in a headlock. His arm is thick and doesn’t budge no matter how Tim shoves and kicks. The ice pack and the clothes go flying, and Tim just about dies. Jason is warm.

“Jason—!”

“Brat!” Jason crows, not giving an inch. “I paid for this place fair and square— you’re the only squatter here!”

“Blood money doesn’t count as square!”

“Tell that to half of Gotham, kid.”

“I’m trying to, thanks for noticing,” Tim says, finally wrenching himself free of Jason’s grip, stumbling into the bed and giving into its siren song. He sits down heavily on the edge, toppling over sideways and reaching pathetically for the fallen ice pack that’s just out of his reach.

“And don’t call me kid—” he complains, muffled by the pillow. It also smells like Jason. “You’re barely two years older than me.”

The cold ice pack is pressed into his fingers. He cracks an eye open to look, but Jason is just smirking at him, like he’s giving Tim the win. Ass.

“Coulda fooled me, shortstack.”

Tim rolls his eyes, and onto his back, toeing off his shoes and letting them clatter to the floor. He can’t tell if Jason’s bed is the best bed in the world, or if he’s just deliriously inventing things.

Frankly, Jason Todd’s bed is the last place he ever thought he’d end up, this morning or otherwise, so he’s never bothered to speculate. He does not have a contingency plan for this.

“Is there a reason you keep calling me short,” he complains, “Or will I just need to fill in the blanks myself?”

“Can’t help it. You’re just so small,” Jason coos. Tim props himself up on an elbow at that, raising a disgusted eyebrow.

“You don’t hear me constantly talking about how big you are.” 

Jason grins like he just won the lottery; Tim shuts his eyes the second it’s out of his mouth.

“Baby, you don’t know how big I am.”

He does, actually. Not in a creepy stalker way, just— there was this one time. A big rogue breakout at Arkham, all-hands on deck type of situation; Tim, Cass, and Jason were covering Poison Ivy in the park. Acid-spitting pitcher plants were involved.

And look, Jason’s tactical gear is fine in the day to day, but it’s not like any of them had time to prep a neutralizing agent, so when Jason needed his pants off, stat…uh. Well. Tim was right there.

He knows, okay?

“Alright,” he rallies, trying desperately not to replay the memory of Jason adjusting himself through his boxers. All of himself. “I walked right into that one.”

“Oh, trust me. You’ll know if you’ve walked into it.”

Tim scoffs, but he can feel how red his face is.

And the thing is. He says it without really meaning to. 

But he still means it.

“You gonna put your money where your mouth is, big guy?”

The change is immediate. Jason had been halfway out the door, but now he turns to Tim, giving him his full, undivided attention. He looks at Tim, laid out in Jason's bed, giving him a very slow once over. The scrutiny is at once nerve-wracking and thrilling.

“Thought you didn’t want my money,” Jason murmurs.

The temperature in the room spikes. If it weren’t for the slow throb of his bruised cheek, Tim would think that he’s already asleep and dreaming.

But he isn’t. He’s very much aware that he’s wide awake.

Tim swallows. “Well. It’s not your money I want.”

Jason’s grin is electric. 

He stalks over to the bed, and Tim is frozen like a rabbit, waiting to see what he’ll do next. Jason settles a knee on the sheets between Tim’s legs, looming over Tim and boxing him in against the mattress. Tim’s free hand reaches up of its own accord to tangle in the collar of Jason’s hoodie, and the cotton is softer than he expected.

Jason’s eyes rove over his face, dark and heavy. He catches Tim’s face in his hand, swiping his thumb lightly across the bruising hot ache of his cheekbone. He leans in deliberate and slow and—

—and stops about an inch away from Tim’s mouth.

“Get some sleep, babybird,” Jason teases, his breath puffing gently over the skin of Tim’s lips. “You can proposition me again tomorrow.”

“It’s, like, 3:30 in the afternoon,” Tim argues, breathless.

“Yeah, and your body thinks it’s 3:30 in the morning. You’re dead on your feet. Don’t make promises you can’t keep, and go the fuck to sleep.”

Jason moves to rise. But Tim hooks a stubborn arm around his neck and pulls him down that last remaining inch. 

The kiss is— bad. At first. 

Tim basically smashed their mouths together to prove a point, and Jason muffles a surprised sound against Tim’s teeth. He lands heavily on top of Tim at an awkward angle, and he’s kind of crushing him. Tim refuses to let go, but— Jason doesn’t pull away.

Jason gentles the kiss instead, and Tim thrills. He levers himself up onto his elbow, wrapping an anchoring arm around Tim’s back. He finds a home between Tim’s legs, and he lets Tim kiss him until Tim's lips are tingling and his fingers go slack; until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore.

Somewhere between fifteen minutes and a small eternity later, Jason presses one more kiss to the corner of his mouth. He curls around Tim on his side, and Tim turns his face into Jason’s neck with a soft wondering sigh.

“I’ll keep it. Promise. Wait n’ see,” Tim mumbles. Jason snorts, but doesn’t budge, and Tim can hear his smile in his voice, lilted and lulling.

“Sure, babybird. I’ll wait. I got nowhere else to be.”

Tim is already asleep.

[warningsine]

I have eaten shit for months. I have done everything I can think of to make this right. You can't make it right. Great! Then I'll stop trying.

[skxrbrand]

THAT WAS CLOSE.

[oraclememehacker]

The Aftermath

After changing the heart of the scientists and sealing the hole in the fabric of space time, it was time for everything to start healing and returning back to normal. However, with such a world ending crisis, it was not going to be easy to recover. Record flooding caused untold amounts of damage to countless businesses among other things. It was going to take years for everything to truly return back to normal, and this was only going to be the beginning.

Futaba, thanks to the mirror system was able to get everything that she took to another world back to her home, and got everything plugged back in. Thankfully there was power, which was definitely not a thing everywhere, and whilst the house and the cafe had some flood damage, it wasn't anything too bad and could be covered by insurance.

In the meantime, the Sakura family, consisting of Futaba, Sojiro, Sophia, Wakaba and Necro, were currently in the cafe watching a news report about everything. It was being called the world's worst incident in terms of overall global cost in human history. She was just happy they were able to seal the hole...or everything would have gone very poorly.

She was also thinking about the Akiren that had been turned part cybernetic. Was he gonna be able to deal with life properly with that stuff on him? What about the rest of the formerly fractured phantom thieves? Were they going to be fine? So many questions with so little answers.

Plus, she just wanted to spend some time with her girlfriend and try not to let her chronic pain affect her too much. Maybe once things settled down they could have another day. And just enjoy their time together. And was the metaverse gone for good or was it going to linger around? Again with the questions.

All Futaba could do for now was have some curry and help clean up a bit, getting industrial humidifiers to dry things out. There was also the whole thing of going back to school but that would be something that had to be worked out eventually. Plus, she was noticing that Necro was acting a little bit oddly but didn't think much of it. Probably nothing important.

Things were going to be alright...hopefully.

[cheriladycl01]

Feel the Heat - Grid x F Driver! Reader

Plot: All the moments that Y/N has just absolutely lost her shit.

Warnings: Lots of swearing, mentions of sexism (undertones) which I do not condone at all, its just for the plot and what i see some celebrities are burdened with in the limelight.

Moment 1:

"So Y/N how do you feel about the 10 second time penalty?" Martin asks you in the post race interview. You were now starting P20 in the race tomorrow and it wasn't even your fault.

"Yeah superb the FIA did a really good job determining who was at fault!" you grit out with a strained smile on your face.

"Oh really? Because your team seem to be arguing against the decision as we speak, they've been very vocal about it"

"Yeah it was sarcastic of course I'm not happy, any other driver who did that would have been let off... but I don't? My team have clips of Hamilton, Ricciardo, Leclerc, Stroll, Gasly and Norris all doing it and getting away with it. So why not me?" you ask before storming off. You didn't want to do media anymore and your PR manager could tell.

"Y/N we are trying to get that penalty lifted so that you start P4 tomorrow. I don't know what else to say, the team are trying" she says rubbing your shoulders, but the scowl on your face says otherwise.

"It's not fucking right though Cathy!" you exclaim kicking the side of the Red Bull hospitality wall.

"I know, i know. And they are working on it!" she exclaims trying to calm you down.

"They wont change their decision now though, the other teams will get pissed that they've gone back on their word..." you seethe.

"Fucks sake" you scream.

"I'm going" you grunt out, before storming through the AlphaTauri garage and grab your bag that you'd brought to the track. Everyone could see how hacked off you were, even once you put the sunglasses on and your team cap to cover the look currently on your face.

"Y/N are you okay?" Yuki your team mate asks, as he too exists the paddock behind you. You tried to ignore him, not wanting to turn round and snap at one of the most genuine and sweetest people here.

"Okay, you don't want to talk and that's fine, but please let me drive. Angry Y/N is scary driving" he advises, trying to beeline ahead of you so that he could get to the drivers door before you.

"Sorry Yuki, yeah you should drive" you manage to get out slowing down your own pace so that the poor male didn't have to run so he was ahead of you.

Aftermath:

You proceeded to not have the time penalty knocked, and you started the race in P20, however you managed to climb all the way up to P5 in a victorious come back race.

Your team were celebrating the come back and you were beyond happy in the interviews.

Moment 2:

"Y/N over here! Can you sign this?" another voice shouts at you, you were in the airport and your manager said that he would be there for you and your girlfriend when you got off the plane with security.

However no-one was there to collect you apart from fans who somehow worked out what flight you were on.

Slowly more and more people were flooding around you both and your girlfriend. Your girlfriend was a smaller streamer and therefore wasn't used to the Paparazzi.

"Guys can we back up a little, just to keep us all safe" you tried being nice to get the fans to back up a little further to make sure your girlfriend was safe.

However, as you went round with the sharpie, more and more people were pushing and you were so out of it from the pushing and pulling, the cameras in your face and things being thrusted at you that the tight grip that was once on your forearm was gone.

"Emma?" you shouted your girlfriends name, now noticing you couldn't see her.

"Emma!" you shouted in an angrier tone, people still not backing up and giving you space.

"Right, I've tried to be nice, everyone please leave. NOW!" you say sternly, and for the first time not only the fans but airport staff notice the commotion and security help you out of the circled crowd around you.

You immediately went to twitter.

'Please, if you are a fan and you see a celebrity in a public space with no security... DONT bring attention to them and DONT mob them. That was the scariest moment of my life in Heathrow Airport just now. Have some fucking respect for your idols'

You shut your phone off, your face still angry most definitely being caught by the paps. They also caught as you ran up to your girlfriend pulling her into a hug, checking over her making sure she's okay, before your hands travel up to her cheek and pull her into a kiss.

"I'm so sorry baby" you apologize as soft tears start to fall down her face.

Aftermath:

Your girlfriend had ended up breaking up with you the week after the race, the pressure of everything getting to her. You cried to Charles and Pierre for an entire weekend as your 3 year long relationship had just come to a close because of your fans not having respect for personal space and boundaries.

You were fuming and had written many tweets and Instagram story's explaining why you guys broke up and how utterly heartbroken you were, however you wanted Emma to be happy and that this is what was for the best.

For months, you were cold and off with any media duties and PR had to tell every interviewer not to bring the breakup up in the questions or they'd cut the interview.

Moment 3:

"Well, Lando... you've been here for six years now and you still haven't got your first win yet... do you feel like your going to be the next Nico Hulkenberg or Kevin Magnussen?" An interviewer asks looking down at his notepad.

"Erm" Lando says unsurely looking down.

"What the actual fuck" you spit, looking at the interviewer that asked him.

"Y/N you have input on this matter?"

"Go fuck yourself. Get yourself in a F1 car and see if you can even fucking start it. Lando has worked hard for what he has achieved so far, in and no hate to Mclaren, but a midfield car. How dare you sit there and ask him that question. Kevin and Nico have also worked hard for where they are, even just being in F1 is a phenomenal achievement considering there are only 20 seats in the world. So to answer your question, no Lando is Lando Norris and that's fucking iconic enough as it is, with or without a win. Have a good fucking rest of the panel" you rant, before standing up with so much force that your seat goes crashing back, a bang sounding throughout the room making the interviewer flinch.

Aftermath:

Everyone actually sat there for a minute reviewing how you'd just stormed out of media duties and slammed the interviewer six feet under.

"So Y/N no longer will be participating into todays panel. So Martin i believe you had a question for Lewis?" the director advised but the rest of the vibes for the interview weren't there as everyone agreed with your previous statements.

Moment 4:

"Y/N are you okay?" your race engineer asks.

"FUCK! FUCKS SAKE. WHAT A PRICK" you screech.

"Copy that. But are you okay?" they asks once again.

"No I'm not fucking okay. Tell Leclerc when i see him, I'm going to shove his wheel so far into his mouth " *cut off*

"Did you guys just fucking mute me?" you scream, but after not hearing anything you jump out the car handing the wheel to one of the pit teams that had come out to collect your battered car.

You kicked at the gravel, yelling at one of the crew asking if they saw how Leclerc had literally gone into you and used you as his crash barrier, yet he was still able to the continue the race pitting for minor wing damage.

Aftermath:

You had yelled at Charles after the race, who completely admitted to you that he was at fault and he was sorry to be the cause of your DNF. He went on to say in the interviews that he was sorry to you that he'd caused such a collision.

Moment 5:

"WOMEN SHOULDNT BE IN MOTORSPORT" you hear from the stand behind you as your signing a little boys hat that he had offered you asking for a picture and a signature.

However, something metallic not only hit you but hit the little boy that was stood to your left. He immediately raised his hand to his head, holding the bit that the can had hit before bursting into tears.

In a moment of shock you spin round looking for the men that had thrown the empty beer cans at you through the fencing.

"Oiii you two get the fuck down here now!" you point at the two laughing gents, who still at being called out.

"Don't ever pull shit like that again or I'll get you permanently banned from every sporting event you could possibly attend" you say looking up at them. They looked at you in shock.

"Oh, I'm sorry if its not the consequences of your actions ..." you laugh.

"But ..."

"No, you hurt a little boy! And me... So I'll be letting bar staff know to no longer serve you" you say before turning away and talking to security.

They ended up finding the little boy and his father. You came up to them with a gift bag each and upgraded paddock passes. They hugged you thanking you for the opportunity and saying it was too much.

You made sure the little boy was okay, carrying him on your hip touring him through the paddock, introducing him and his dad to the other drivers and then showing him around the garage. You let him sit in your car while you took a picture of him and his dad. A mechanic then took a picture of the three of you.

Aftermath:

The media went crazy seeing you stick up for the little boy and his day around the paddock with you. People knew you were sweet despite how short tempered you could be and these interactions proved it.

The little boy and his father ended up actually becoming closer friends of yours and would often be seen in the paddock or when they had general tickets people would wave as they recognized them.

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz

[spxllcxstxr]

Protected • R.S

(Gif not mine)

Request: Hi!! Can I request a angst/fluff with robb stark & the prompt: I’m going to protect you. Thank you so much :))) — anon

Summary: The aftermath of Ned Stark’s death

Warnings: canon character death sprinkled with a wee bit of canon divergence?, grieving, reader wears a dress and is referred to as wife (no pronouns used)

Word Count: 769 (i'm so sorry for the short length lmao)

A.N: first time writing Robb! i actually really like this ngl, hope you enjoy!

•

“That boy is going to ruin his sword.” Lady Catelyn mutters from beside you, her eyes trained on her eldest son on the edge of the tree line. Her hands fidget with the end of her braid.

Your own eyes gaze out to see your betrothed, hacking away at a tree stump, his grunts echoing throughout the silent camp.

News of Ned Stark’s horrid death spread through the camp quickly only hours prior, and the men had hid in their tents to mourn the Lord of Winterfell. It was a gloomy day, appropriately reflecting the mood of the solemn North. The clouds were heavy and grey, the air still smelling of the earlier rain.

Sighing, you watch Robb hit anything within arms reach. His moves are erratic, it's obvious even from this distance. Your teeth tease your bottom lip uneasily.

“I should go to him…” Lady Catelyn sighs, her lips tilted down into a frown.

Your hand rests on her shoulder, stopping the older woman from moving. “My Lady, you just lost your husband…go grieve. I will talk to Robb.”

Lady Catelyn nods, her eyes vacant as she turns towards her own tent. You watch her leave, making sure she gets to her destination safely before trudging through the mud to your betrothed.

The mud clings to your nice shoes, and at this point you don’t bother hiking your skirts up to avoid the filth below you. Your eyes stay trained on Robb, his forceful movement never ceasing.

A few feet away from him, you hear his grunts of anguish and frustration, his tunic dotted with sweat. You let his take one more swing at the rotting stump before you cough to gain his attention.

“Robb, I think that is enough…”

Robb freezes before slowly turning to face you. His auburn curls untamed and his blue eyes burning brighter with rage. You’ve never seen him like this at all, not when he first heard his father was taken prisoner in King’s Landing, nor when he discovered that someone had sent assassins to kill Bran. Your eyes widen at the state of your betrothed, fidgeting in place. He pants heavily as he looks at you.

“I’ll kill them! I swear to every god out there, I will kill the Lannisters for what they have done!” Robb seethes, his face red with anger. “It is only what those murderous pricks deserve.”

He flings his sword down, taking deep ragged breaths. You don’t flinch at his uncharacteristic anger, instead you inch closer to your betrothed.

All at once, as if the adrenaline drains out of him, Robb falls to his knees, his blue eyes trained on the mud beneath your feet as they glimmer with tears.

You drop down with him, taking his head in your hands, leaning your forehead against your lover’s.

“Oh darling…” You whisper, watching the grief take over his features. Your heart breaks seeing him so vulnerable.

“My father is dead,” He sobs, tears finally spilling down his cheeks. “They have to pay for what they have done.”

“They will, Robb, they will suffer for their cruelty towards the North," You tell him softly, lifting your head to place a delicate kiss on his forehead.

Robb glances up as well, his tears subsiding. “And I will protect you, my dearest. No Lannister will ever harm you,” There is a quick burst of fire behind those usually cool eyes. “they would not dare.”

“Robb—“ Your fingertips brush over his stubble.

“They have taken my sisters hostage and they have killed my father, but they will not take my wife from me.”

Heat creeps up your neck at his passionate words. You and Robb had not yet been wed but hearing his call you his wife causes you to shiver.

“I swear it to you, my love,” Robb continues, taking your hands in his rough hands, squeezing them tightly between your two closely crouched bodies. “They will not touch you.”

“I believe you, darling, I do.” You reply lightly, squeezing back, attempting to convey how much trust and love you’re filled with for him.

The sky seems to lighten, clouds parting ever so slightly to let the sun peek through enough to shine down on your camp. The moist air of the Riverlands clings onto your skin as the few rays of sun beats down on your exposed skin making your position unbearable.

Wordlessly, you and Robb rise, chins up despite the situation that just occurred. Your hands hold onto his arm as the two of you, side by side, walk back into the center of camp, ready for war.

•

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Modern Au Headcanons

Modern Au head canons

-Pony is the only one of the gang who vapes because of his crippling nicotine addiction. Curly makes fun of him for it but also steals them for him all the time

-Steve and Soda were those guys who act incredibly homoerotic all through middle school/junior high school because it’s ‘funny’, but are just officially dating and sickeningly sweet together by the time high school graduation rolls around

-Steve is as good at hacking phones as he is jacking cars

-Darry still uses WhatsApp. It’s the only way he messages Soda or Ponyboy when he needs to get ahold of them, and it drives them both up the wall.

-Curly and Ponyboy both listen to Soundcloud rappers unironically. Angela and Darry are both ready to commit homicide.

-Two-bit shoplifts pretty much exclusively from Walmart or other big corporations because fuck capitalism

-Curly and Johnny have one class together (its an elective and usually under enrolled so anyone can sign up) and the teacher made the mistake of seating them together. It took two days of class for Johnny to stab Curly with a pencil, and the teacher nearly fainted at the sight of it sticking out of his arm.

-The Shepards were a nickolodean/YTV household and the Curtis’ were a TVO kids household (and it shows)

-Darry has never seen SpongeBob and is one of those people who brag about it

-Two-bit often tries to ‘bring back vine’

-Curly once annoyed Ponyboy badly enough in class that he told him to ‘go eat a bag of dicks’ a little too loudly and they both got detention

-Soda watches tv on Darry’s Netflix account because he forgets to change it and Darry always gets PISSED because it fucks up his algorithm

-Steve downright refuses to do any tiktok/internet challenge ever and Soda will try pretty much any one he sees

-Pony and Johnny once made a tinder account for Darry as a joke. The still haven’t recovered from the aftermath of Darry finding out

[brucewaynehater101]

Ok Tim Time Travel AU or just Tim Travel AU. Tim gets sucked in a similar event that got bruce un the Time stream. But it only makes Tim land in various events that takes place since bruce beginnings as batman.

The first event is bruce getting shot, Tim pops in and helps young bruce. As it the first time, tim didnt prepare in any way to hidrñe his identity. But bruce was out enough not to recognize him. (He wouldnt anyways)

The next time, tim is more prepared, he hacks into the drakes account to get money and with that crafts a new suit. And writes down a list of ideas of how to hide his face. As bruce can't have tim's face in his memory. (He goes from ghost maker blindfold to red hood'd helmet). The only distintive is an "R" in his suit.

And that's how it goes for a little while. Tim appears out of nowhere to help bruce with smthng. Usually to save him from posible deaths

Then he's throw in Dick's parent's death day. Then when dick almost falls off his line. Then some dick' kidnapping. And so on.

Bruce ofc doesn't trust this elusive evident experienced vigilante. But it grows on him. For the robins is this cool big brother and stuff.

Tim doesnt want to think what this means for how he interacts with his family.

Ideas are buzzing!

Cool! Anyone can feel free to list out canon events you think Tim could have helped lessen the impact of (in this AU, he doesn't have that much control. It seems more like he's helping in the aftermath). He will prevent their deaths in some cases, but let's say, for plot's sake, that he can't prevent certain outcomes.

To be extra fun, perhaps all the Bats knew about Future!Tim. Imma call him Raven just for the hell of it.

Tim finds out when he gets sucked into the time thing, that he was Raven all along. The older vigilante left him a clue that was only decipherable after Tim's first time jump.

Regardless, Tim slowly builds up a reputation with the Bats. It's difficult because he has no control on when he stays or goes. He just pops up when he's needed.

It's difficult to establish trust with someone who is untraceable and never stays.

It's heartbreaking for Tim because there are some incidents he can't change despite going back in time (like Jason dying). Tim has no control.

There's also the fear of destabilizing the timestream or whatever.

Then, as Raven, Tim learns a fuck ton about incidents that his family has hidden or never talked about. Traumas they don't or wouldn't mention (perhaps Raven learns about Tarantula and similar shit). Since Raven pops up whenever and isn't actually a Bat, there's a different type of relationship that vigilante has with the Bats. It helps them to admit shit they wouldn't to their family (which you can then get into guilt, protective anger, horror, etc).

Raven slowly starts getting close to the Bats as much as he can given his circumstances. Older Tim watches Robin debut, Nightwing debut, Jason become Robin, the aftermath of his death, Tim becoming Robin, etc.

Having an "outsiders' perspective" on all of these events must feel weird as fuck.

[nahoney22]

Congratulations on the followers⭐️ I have a scenario I think you’ll absolutely smash! If possible can I have the prompt “I want to help you… if you’ll let me.” With Hunter and a F!reader.

Hunter is quite hard on reader but only because he’s protective but it comes across super badly and one night you had enough of his nagging and go to a bar for a drink but start getting a bit hassled by a drunk patron and hunter comes to help you out? BUT reader can fully handle herself bc bossbitch 😆 Would love it to be angsty, classic enemies to lovers and it may end with a little smooch?

Thank you if you do this and no worries if not ��️

4000 Follower Prompt Celebration

Hunter X F!Reader

word count: 3.3k

prompt:

“I want to help you… if you’ll let me.”

authors note: thank you for the request! Love this idea. Enjoy and sorry for the wait 🤍

warnings: enemies to lovers, drunk patron who can’t take no for an answer, canon typical violence, angsty, mild injury to reader, reader gets insulted, female reader, hunter is a bit of an arse at first, first kiss which is a little steamy, protective hunter. I

The aftermath of the latest mission left a sour taste lingering in your mouth, the tension between you and Hunter palpable in the crowded bar. Despite the success of the mission, Hunter couldn't resist injecting his bitter critique into the - what should be - celebratory atmosphere.

As the squad was basking in victory, clinking cups and allowing Omega to indulge in a very sugary concoction that almost had her bouncing off the walls, Hunter's biting words tainted the mood.

His critique of your tactics cut deep, branding you as reckless and a threat to safety, all delivered in front of the entire squad.

Flushed with embarrassment and fueled by anger, you hastily abandoned the bar, seeking refuge in another dimly lit establishment down the strip. Unbeknownst to you, the others exchanged scornful glances, Echo remarking, "She gets it from you, you know?" A subtle nod to your adoption of Hunter's techniques, albeit with less finesse.

Swallowing his pride, Hunter trailed after you with a heavy sigh, the weight of his words hanging heavy on his shoulders as he tried to find a way to make it up to you.

Meanwhile in the new bar, a sketchy run down looking thing with flickering strobe lights, you find yourself situated between two patrons in a world of their own.

As you waited for the service droid to serve you, a small shift from you caught the attention of the man on the left. A rugged looking man with a rather stale odor to match.

“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” His inquiry, laced with unwanted charm, sent a shiver down your spine as you maintained a polite smile, avoiding direct eye contact.

“In this dump? Not quite sure. But, just here for one drink,” you replied, hoping to discourage further conversation.

The man chuckled, a smug grin etching lines on his worn face, followed by a troubling cough that was hacked into a dirty rag that makes you squirm. “That so?” He asks after his coughing fit. “Mind if I get ya one?"

"I'll get it myself. Thanks for the offer," you replied, freezing him in his tracks.

"Heh, you think you're too good for me?" he retorted, his gaze piercing.

Sighing, you turned to face him, attempting to maintain composure amidst his growing aggression. "I didn't say anything like that. I'm here to buy my own drink and leave."

But as his tone escalated and his proximity grew, you reached your breaking point. Despite your attempts to politely decline, he persisted, his invasive advances refusing to relent, leaving you feeling increasingly uncomfortable and trapped.

Until you snapped.

Hunter found himself darting his head into every bar and club, your current whereabouts unknown. Frustration gnawed at him as he went to check your location only to see you had switched it off, thwarting his attempts to track you down.

However, a subtle whiff in the air caught his attention, and his stomach churned. The same sensation he developed whenever the smell hit him. He finds himself gulping a little as he instantly recognised the faint scent of the floral soap that only you used.

It left a lingering trace, teasing him that he was on the right track. A part of him wanted to clear the scent away; he had smelled it so often in the Marauder that it always sent his mind into a spiral of confusion and found it rather distracting.

His thoughts on your scent dissipated as the sound of loud banging reverberated down a stairway to a rundown bar. Hunter froze, his senses sharpening as he listened intently. The familiar sound of your voice had him bolting down the steps, instincts kicking in as he rushed to your aid. Or so he thought he had to.

Upon entering, Hunter's heart quickened its pace as he was greeted with the sight of you, hands raised in a defensive stance, facing off against a man whose laughter echoed brashly in your face. The tension in the air was thick as you snapped, “Keep your dirty, mucus breath away from me!”

The man, undeterred by your sharp words, retorted with a smirk, “That ain’t very ladylike of you, sweet cheeks. Calm down and have a drink with me.”

Your nostrils flared in anger, steam seemingly emanating from you as you glared daggers at him. “I said no,” you snarled, your voice dripping with venom. “And call me ‘sweet cheeks’ one more time, I’ll kick you between the legs so hard it won’t be the cough you’re choking on!”

As the confrontation intensified, Hunter's eyes widened in surprise and concern as he watched from a few feet away, momentarily frozen by the scene unfolding before him.

Then, his protective side kicks in, taking a step forward, the need to intervene pulsing through his veins. He speaks your name which causes you to freeze and glance over your shoulder to meet his penetrating gaze. Great.

Meanwhile, the man, sensing the shift in dynamics, glanced over your shoulder too and directed a question at Hunter. “Oi, bandana, does she belong to you?”

Your eyes flashed with defiance as you interrupted before Hunter could respond, your voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “I don’t belong to nobody, let’s get that right,” you hissed, your gaze locked in a fierce glare with the patron.

“You best listen to her,” Hunter piped up, stepping in between you and the man with a protective stance. “But,” he continued, turning to look at you, “I think me and you should get going.”

You stared at the clone, a wave of anger and confusion washing over you. What game was he playing? First, he mocked you, and now he was trying to act like Prince Charming? So, you shook your head adamantly. “I’ve still not had my drink.”

“I said I’ll buy you one,” the patron quipped.

“Will you shut up?” Both you and Hunter snapped at the same time, sharing a surprised glance at the oddity of the moment, but quickly brushing it off. You nudged past him and leaned back on the bartop, determined to get the attention of the service droid.

Hunter's sigh was loud as he stood beside you, gesturing for you to follow him, but you persisted with a shake of your head. You came for a drink, and you would leave with one.

Just as you thought things couldn't get any worse, the patron approached you, reaching a hand towards you. But Hunter was already on the case, swatting the man's hand away with a swift motion. “Lay a finger on her and I’ll break all of yours. Leave.”

You stared at the back of Hunter’s head, your eyes wide in surprise at his tone and sudden threat. He was always a commanding presence, but never to this extent. It made you feel a strange mix of emotions, a tingling sensation spreading from your belly to the tips of your fingers.

The man glanced between you and Hunter, his expression a mixture of defiance and resignation, before taking a final swig of his drink. With a nod of his head, he seemed prepared to leave, but not without delivering a parting shot.

“Put her on a leash next time.”

Despite Hunter's heightened senses, he was not quick enough to respond as you pivoted on your heel and unleashed a hefty punch straight to the man’s nose. The force of the blow sent him sprawling to the ground, landing hard on his rear.

The man, stunned and ready to retaliate, found himself abruptly halted by a boot pressed firmly to his chest, courtesy of the tall Clone. With his hands raised in defense, he hesitated.

“Apologise to the lady,” Hunter demanded, his voice firm and unwavering.

“Forget it, Hunter,” you muttered, adrenaline still coursing through your veins as you shook out your hand. “I’m not going to ask someone or force someone to apologise to me.” There was a certain edge in your voice, a subtle reminder of Hunter's own failure to say sorry for his earlier words.

Unfortunately, the disruption had drawn the attention of the service droid (finally), and you and Hunter were promptly forced to leave.

As you were ushered out, you wasted no time in striding ahead, your steps heavy with frustration. The rhythmic tap of your boots echoed against the pavement, a stark contrast to the fading sounds of the bar behind you.

"Hey, wait up!" Hunter's voice called after you, but you were resolute in your determination not to stop. You didn't want him to see your tears, didn't want to show any vulnerability in front of him. Not after everything that had just happened. Not after that painful punch that felt like hitting a brick wall.

Ignoring his calls, you continued forward, your jaw clenched tightly to hold back the emotions threatening to spill over. But your pace was abruptly halted as Hunter caught up to you, using his body as a barrier as he stopped directly in front of you.

"Come on, we need to talk. I need to—Are you crying?" Hunter's voice softened, concern evident in his tone as he noticed the telltale signs of tears glistening in your eyes.

"No!" you snapped back, a reflexive denial, but the tremble in your voice betrayed your true emotions.

Hunter sighed softly, his shoulders slumping slightly as he realised the depth of your distress. "Let’s get back to the ship. We can talk there," he suggested gently, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

A part of you wanted to stay stubborn, to refuse his offer and continue on your own path to perhaps another bar. But the night was growing darker, and the pain in your hand from the earlier punch was becoming increasingly unbearable. With a resigned nod, you reluctantly allowed Hunter to guide you back to the port.

Once inside the ship, the air felt heavier with tension as you stood in the cramped space, watching intently as Hunter meticulously sifted through the clutter of supplies and equipment scattered around. With a focused determination, he located a medkit.

When you insisted that you didn't need him to attend to your injury, considering it wasn't that serious, Hunter's expression hardened, his voice taking on a stern edge. "Yeah? Want to explain why there’s now blood on the ship floor?" The sharpness in his tone made your face flush with embarrassment as you glanced down, noticing the small tear in your skin that had resulted from the brief scuffle.

"Oh," you muttered awkwardly, feeling hot under Hunter's scrutiny.

“Sit here.” Without missing a beat, Hunter gestured for you to sit on a nearby crate, his demeanor firm yet oddly reassuring. As he patted the surface in front of him, you couldn't help but wonder about his motives. Was it your earlier words about his lack of apology that lingered in his mind, prompting this gesture of care? Or was there another reason behind his actions? The uncertainty gnawed at you, but deep down, a part of you couldn't deny the comfort of his presence in that moment.

“I don’t need coddling,” you mumbled half-heartedly, attempting to maintain a facade of independence despite the conflicting emotions swirling within you. Nevertheless, your feet moved almost of their own accord, carrying you towards Hunter as you settled yourself onto the crate in front of him.

"Oh, I know, you handled yourself well," Hunter chuckled softly, his hands moving deftly as he pulled out pads to dab at your skin, preparing to disinfect the area. “I want to help you… if you’ll let me.”

You grumbled in response, your eyes trained on his hands as they worked. "Ha, next joke please."

Hunter raised a brow at you, his expression serious for a moment. "I mean it," he insisted, his tone earnest.

You couldn't help but scoff, the bitterness of his previous criticism still fresh in your mind. "Yet I’m reckless and a danger to others?" you retorted, your voice tinged with sarcasm and frustration.

A heavy sigh escaped Hunter's lips, and he paused in his actions, looking you directly in the eye, though you were doing your hardest not to meet his gaze. "I want to say sorry for what I said. I… I should have said it to you alone. And differently."

You could hear the slight awkwardness in his tone, but it did come across as honest. Yet, you were still annoyed. “Yeah well, you completely embarrassed and upset me.”

He blinked, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as your voice took on a gentle tone tinged with sadness. “I know, and I am sorry. Truly. But, I only said it because…” he trailed off for a moment, his eyes trained on the medkit again, as if searching for the answer within.

“Because?” You prompted him, giving his leg a small nudge with your foot.

“Because I care. I don’t want you taking risks like I do. Like what the others do.” Hunter's admission hung in the air, revealing a layer of concern and perhaps a touch of vulnerability.

There was a gravity to Hunter's words, a weight that seemed to hang in the air, stirring up a whirlwind of emotions within you. It was as if his sudden sincerity reached out and tugged at the strings of your heart, tempting you to lean into the warmth of his presence. But you resisted, holding back the urge to act on the tumultuous feelings that were suddenly swirling inside you.

“You certainly have an odd way with words in that case,” you found yourself saying, your voice slightly breathless as you struggled to make sense of the complex emotions churning within you. Hunter seemed to notice the subtle change in your demeanor, his senses catching the telltale signs of your heightened heartbeat.

“You’re not wrong,” he admitted quietly, his own voice apologetic. With gentle precision, he applied some bactaspray to your knuckles, his touch light yet reassuring. As he dabbed away the blood, you couldn't help but hiss in pain, the sting overlapping the odd flutter in your heart.

“My apologies,” Hunter murmured, his gaze meeting yours with sincerity.

Despite the slight discomfort, there was a flicker of amusement in your eyes as you watched him meticulously care for your hand. Never had you seen him so gentle and so indulged at the task at hand.

As you watched Hunter, the smirk gradually faded from your lips, replaced by a sense of awe as your eyes traced the finer details of his face. His strong jawline, the depth of his intoxicating eyes, and the tattoo that adorned his skin, its colors slightly faded but still complimenting his rugged appearance perfectly. His long locks, usually tucked back by his bandana, had fallen forward, framing his face in a way that emphasised his rugged charm.

You came to a sudden realisation of just how handsome he was. Of course, you had always known it on some level, but now it struck you with a new intensity that made your heart quicken and your cheeks flush with a sudden shyness.

“So, do you forgive me?” Hunter's voice broke through your reverie, pulling you back to reality and you found yourself momentarily lost in the depths of his gaze.

“Sorry, what?” you blinked, feeling a flush of embarrassment heat your cheeks as you snapped out of your reverie, realizing you had been lost in awe-struck admiration of Hunter.

He chuckled softly, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he raised a brow at your dazed stare. “No, it’s me who is the one saying ‘sorry’ this time.” With a gentle touch, he guided your attention back to your injured hand, his movements careful and deliberate as he applied a dressing before neatly packing the medkit away. “But I’ll ask again, do you forgive me?”

“Oh,” you mumbled, feeling a mixture of confusion, shyness, and bashfulness under his attentive gaze. “I suppose… just please don’t do it again.”

“You have my word,” he nodded, his smile warm and reassuring. When his gaze met yours, the swirling storm of your emotions came back, and your heart raced even faster than before when he extended his hand towards you.

You tried to play it off as a simple gesture to help you off the crate, but as you placed your good hand into his, there was a gentle squeeze in his touch before he effortlessly pulled you forward, almost causing you to stumble into his chest.

“Oh!- oh,” you stammered, quickly steadying yourself but growing increasingly aware of the proximity between you and the Sergeant.

His eyes remained locked on yours, his head tilting slightly to the side as he studied your reaction. “Everything alright?” he asked, his voice soft, the warmth of his hand still lingering on yours.

“Yes, I’m fine,” you nodded firmly, though the erratic thumping of your heart betrayed your composure, and you couldn't shake the feeling that Hunter could sense it, a twinkle of amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Tell me,” his voice was hushed, his warm breath brushing against your features as he leaned in closer, “why is your heart beating so fast?”

You gulped, feeling his proximity overwhelming your senses as you searched his eyes for an answer, but all you found was a reflection of your own turmoil. The truth was written in the depths of your gaze, but your words failed you, and you found yourself stuttering over your thoughts, unable to form a coherent sentence. It was as if the weight of your unspoken feelings hung heavy in the air between you.

“If I’m not mistaken,” Hunter spoke aloud, his other hand moving to gently push a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “I can’t help but wonder if you…” He trailed off, uncertainty lacing his words, but he couldn't ignore the palpable tension that crackled between you any longer, “if you have feelings for me.”

“Do you truly care about me?” you asked, your voice a delicate whisper tinged with a shyness as you found yourself yearning to inch just a tad closer to Hunter's body. Every nerve in your body seemed to hum with anticipation, the air thick with unspoken desires.

Sensing your feelings, Hunter gently pushed you back with his body, his touch sending a shiver down your spine as your legs hit the crate behind you. His eyes, dark and intense, bore into yours as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “You don’t understand how much I care,” his voice rumbled low, the depth of his emotions evident in his tone. “I’ve never cared about anyone so much in my life.”

With just the two of you here, the atmosphere crackled with an electrifying tension, each heartbeat echoing in the silence as you teetered on the edge of something unspoken yet undeniable.

“Well,” you whispered, your injured hand reaching out to touch his chest, your fingers tracing the contours of his shirt as if seeking reassurance, “maybe I do too. Maybe I do have feelings for you.”

A sigh, almost a mix of a moan and relief, escaped Hunter's lips at your words. “Come here to me,” he murmured, his voice husky with desire.

Without hesitation, you closed the distance between the pair of you, your lips meeting his in a somewhat long-awaited embrace. Hunter's arms enveloped you, one hand cradling your body with a firm yet gentle touch, while the other slid to the back of your head, holding you close with a tenderness that made your heart flutter as his fingers tangled in your hair.

Lifting you, you're placed on top of the crate once again, Hunter sandwiched between your legs as you both savor the quiet and serene moment. Your bitterness had vanished, replaced with the soft taste of his tongue dancing with yours. An alcoholic tang.

For a moment, all the tension, all the longing and arguing melted away as you molded into each other, lost in the sweetness of the kiss and the warmth of each other's embrace. “Hunter,” you whimper breathlessly.

You hoped the others wouldn’t come back for a while.

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[hismourningflower]

YOU'RE NOT HER | genshin impact fanfiction. zhongli x gn!reader — heavy angst, hanahaki disease, hurt/no comfort, mentions of blood & gagging (almost vomit), death, ‘unrequited’ love

idle chatter. this is a reupload from my old blog so if you want to argue that i'm stealing, i'm literally robbing myself <3 library waiting list. @lovingluxury @dumbificat @starryshinyskies @ryuryuryuyurboat @ainescribe @bfjax @soleillunne @sangoqueenkoko

aventurine's addition. "alexi, darling, don't forget to link 'you should have been her' for the readers. it is the infamous second part, after all."

oh that man, that gorgeous, benevolent man you’d fell in love with all those moons ago; with dark hair that fades into a glowing orange, resemblant of the sunset and his own geo vision. you had fell in love, yes - you thought he had too. the thought crosses your mind whenever he’s not by your side, not within your grasp like he usually is. typically, the man was serving his job at the wangsheng funeral parlour as a consultant.

you grimace when the tight feeling in your ribcage suffocates you. it’s getting stronger as time goes on, knocking the breath right out of your lungs and leaving you hacking up blood into a white handkerchief. zhongli had expressed no ends of concern about the situation when he’d find the bloodied handkerchiefs scattered around your shared home, ushering you to doctor baizhu as soon as possible.

you had begged baizhu not to utter a word of your condition to zhongli. he returned your pleads with a sorrowful look.

how could your love be so unrequited? had you been the only one true to your word this whole time? the mere thought stings at your eyes, tears threatening to spill as you shakily wash the dishes. zhongli isn’t home, not for a few more hours. he said he had business to attend to - that meant it wasn’t work related. was he cheating? you shake the sour thought away from your head, scowling.

you wonder if the oh-so-wise man could ever read the wrinkles appearing on your skin, aging you with every passing concern that you don’t voice aloud, with every day that goes by where you’re suffocating from the inside out. he never mentions it, perhaps he simply does not care. you feel the knot in your throat, sickening as you gag and splutter into the soapy water of the sink. you keep gagging, the knot doesn’t budge and you’re filled with an overwhelming sense of nausea.

your body grows tired. you slip down to your knees, banging elbows and other limp limbs against kitchen cabinets as you go down. finally, with one last cough, the knot exits your mouth. it falls to the wood floorboards beneath you, slimy and covered in blood but undoubtedly recognised as a glaze lily. its petals are shut, you understand that there is no music, no lullaby to be heard to lull the glaze lily to bloom. it’s an ancient flower, one you always used to admire before this curse laid upon you.

the front door to your house opens, keys jingling in a specific man’s gloved hands as he enters. you hurry to throw the glaze lily out of the kitchen window, submerging your hands in the sink once more as the metallic taste of blood and lingering aftermath of a floral tang swarms your mouth. you hold your breath, hoping you didn’t have the appearance of someone who had just coughed up a flower so violently.

a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist, suddenly you’re hit with the faint smell of aged wine and familiar scent of freshly dug earth. you smile at the thought, leaning back into his chest despite the pain tearing at your lungs and the burning sensation left behind in your throat.

“you’ve been coughing again—” zhongli’s voice reverberates close to your ear, hot breath fanning over your skin and your eyes raise from the dirty water to your reflection in the kitchen window, where zhongli’s warm amber eyes are staring at you so deeply.

“it’s okay, my love, i promise,” you lie through your teeth, hoping the man sincerely couldn’t read through you the way he used to, “this time it was a smaller amount than the last…”

you try to sound cheerful in your approach to the topic, careful to maintain that personality he’d apparently fell in love with one day in liyue harbour. zhongli makes a noise - is he doubting you? you watch as a gloved hand raises, nearing your face before his thumb wipes gently at a trickle of blood leading from the corner of your lips.

“i’ll speak to doctor baizhu in the morning,” zhongli states firmly, you almost bite back the words that taste bitter about him ‘caring’ for you, “perhaps you need a higher dose of your medication.”

the medication in question surely had been a ruse to fool the man, though you did not expect it to have worked. changsheng had uttered that you could not leave the bubu pharmacy without some form of medication, it’d look absurd in the eyes of the wangsheng funeral parlour consultant. in agreement, baizhu had qiqi mix violetgrass powder with sugar - the instructions were simple, mix it into the hot tea you’d drink with zhongli every evening.

it was sweet, not at all bitter and the scent of violetgrass made it bearable. apparently the inclusion of herbal properties was enough to fool your dearest partner or so you thought.

—

it’s hard to understand the fine line between a lie and a truth when the past few months, you’d been dating a man for someone whomst he was not. it was a struggle to understand the situation but it kept you up for endless nights, counting stars and tending to the numerous flora you’d planted in the garden underneath the moonlight - courtesy of your friend the traveler for appearing with so many countless seeds of blooms from across teyvat.

yet as you sit on the grass, staring at the pile of dead - and dying - glaze lilies you had acquired, the stars twinkling endlessly above you, you understood why he’d done it. he was judicious, hoping to protect you from his past yet keep you as his future. the thought made that pain in your chest tighten. you let out a futile whimper into the quiet night.

as you ponder zhongli’s status as liyue’s archon - the geo archon of all people, you begin to question your previous doubts. your breaths become struggled, your chest heaving as you lay on your back for some relief. trembling fingertips brush amongst blades of grass, hoping for a distraction as tears spill down your cheeks.

liyue is a beautiful country with vast mountains and yellowed plains that seem to stretch endlessly. its civilisation had become fruitful at the expense of liyue harbor, bustling with trade and the thing your partner had appeared to love the most; contracts. he has every right to be proud of the nation liyue had built to this day, despite claiming that he’d ultimately retired - “the people can do without me, they’ve proved that much.”

blood trickles from your mouth but it’s not gentle, it’s a rush, like a waterfall as it spills down the sides of your face and pools on the grass below you. it’s littered in an array of blue and white petals, matching that of glaze lilies - a flower you’d grown to hate. you struggle to get oxygen into your lungs with the rising level of blood that doesn’t dissipate from your parted lips, suffocating you as you try to no ends to breathe through your nose.

that is, if there was room in your lungs for such oxygen. twists and turns of branches and roots that climb to the walls of your organs, painting them with glaze lilies and filling them with fallen petals every time a flower wilts from the unreasonable conditions inside your body.

you’re proud of liyue; the magnificent, beautiful nation of geo that you got to experience in all of its glory. zhongli often times referred to liyue with feminine pronouns and as the light dies from your eyes and your chest ceases to rise, you can only think one thing with your last dying breath.

you’re not her.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

© thexianzhoujade 2024. | reblogs appreciated | do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media.

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 8

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 4.2k

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

The world spun around you in a blur of black and gray, and your stomach tossed, rolled, and turned as though you were on a sailing ship. You felt your body rip apart and come together over and over again, every inch of your skin momentarily existing independently from the rest. Your mind was awash, tumbling through space until you finally landed, leaning back on your forearms, on a cool marble floor. Once it felt as though your stomach had settled back into place, the reassuring hands that had grabbed you released their hold. You rolled to your side, placed your hands on either side of you, and emptied the contents of your stomach onto the black and gray floor. Your nose and throat burned as the stew from earlier came up, looking much the same as it had on the way down. Tears stung your eyes as you coughed and hacked.

“It’s okay,” a familiar voice reassured you. “Let it out.”

You continued to spit and hack, your hair falling into your face as sweat poured down your body. A hand came down to rest on your back, and without thinking, you quickly crawled away from it, a fearful whimper escaping you. You whipped your head back to see Azriel, crouching, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. It seemed that’s where his hands always went when you saw each other. Your legs weakly trailed behind you as you pulled yourself to the wall, clutching your knees to your chest. You wiped your mouth with your sleeve, pointed at him, words failing to leave your mouth before the tears overflowed again, and you sobbed out a wailing cry that echoed through the marble room.

Azriel merely looked at you, unsure of what to say as he tried to piece together what had happened. He inched closer to you, still crouched, as though you were a wounded animal who might lash out. “Y/N,” he whispered, extending a hand toward you. As he reached out, you curled tighter into yourself.

“Get away from me!” you screamed at him.

Azriel's hand retracted to his chest. You barely heard the sounds of doors opening and footsteps hurrying up the hallway. You buried your head in your knees, choking sobs making your pants damp and hot.

“What happened?” a female voice rang out, melodic and wavering with concern.

Azriel spoke, “I—” he started, but he was interrupted by a deeper male voice.

“Who’s that?” the voice asked.

Azriel paused, stammering a bit before light hands caressed your shoulder. “Hey,” a female voice cooed. You almost leaned into it but you swung your arm out pushing into the voice, pressing the figure behind you back.

Heavy footsteps rushed toward the female now sitting behind you, having fallen to the ground when you knocked her. As the footsteps approached, the female voice said, “No, it’s okay. I’m fine.”

A different male voice, slightly less deep than the first, spoke with cool collectedness, “Azriel, can you tell us what’s going on?”

Azriel, still stammering over his words, simply said, “She’s from Frostvale, she was attacked.”

Your sobs continued to rack your body, pain shooting through your left side.

The deeper voice replied, “Frostvale is under attack?”

“No,” Azriel replied, “Just her.”

There was a pause, filled only with the sound of your crying as you struggled to suck in suffocating breaths.

The female voice spoke again, “Leave us be. I’ve got her.”

Azriel seemed hesitant but was quickly silenced, and the three sets of heavy footsteps retreated, the doors shutting behind them.

The female remained with you, and you could hear the shift of her clothing as she shuffled herself in front of you. “Hey,” she whispered again. At her voice, you buried your head deeper into your arms.

“You’re safe,” she whispered. “No one is going to touch you or hurt you.”

After a moment of your continued silence, the female shifted a bit more, coming to rest her back against the wall a few feet from you. You must have sat in silence for fifteen minutes as you cried, the female content to be near you. Your sobs began to wane, turning into whimpers as the last bit of your energy seeped out through your tears. You finally found the strength to look up and take in the face of the fae female who had sat with you. Her skin was a soft cream color with light brown freckles dotting her nose and down to her full, pink lips. Her cheeks had a slight pinkish hue as if she had been out in the sun, and her blue-grey eyes softened as she looked at you. Her hair framed her face in soft brown waves, which she pushed behind her pointed ears as she took you in as well. You were sure you did not look nearly as clean or put together as she did.

“Hi,” she whispered, her voice a soft lilt. Your lip trembled slightly. “It’s okay,” she whispered again.

You looked at her, still trying to take her in. She wore only a dark blue sweater and a pair of black linen pants, her feet bare as she sat cross-legged against the wall, her head turned towards you. “You’re not alone,” she crooned.

You wanted to speak but felt the words get caught in your throat, stuck beneath the lump formed by your tears and sobs. The female looked at you, her eyes seemingly searching and digging through the sorrow in your own. “You’ve been through a lot,” she said finally.

You only nodded, feeling childish in front of her. Sensing your struggle to speak, she said, “You don’t have to say anything. I just want you to know you’re not alone.” She nodded to reassure you, and you nodded back. “My name,” she put her hand to her chest, “is Feyre.”

“You’re in Velaris, in a safe house, where no one can get to you.” She placed her hands on the wall as if to show its strength. “We have food and water,” she continued, “and beds. We have doors that lock, and showers, and no one will touch you or speak to you if you don’t want them to.” Her eyes, seemingly full of care and compassion, locked onto yours. “You can control what happens to you.”

With that last statement, more tears rolled from your eyes. Your fear was overtaken by incredible sorrow, and the sounds you emitted shifted from those of pain to those of profound sadness. “This moment won’t last forever,” Feyre continued. “These feelings are temporary.” Yet they felt as if they would consume you.

“Can I move closer?” Feyre asked, and you nodded slightly.

She shifted closer, close enough that your bloodied, mud-stained toes could brush against her pants as she looked ahead, away from you. “We can stay here as long as you like,” she noted.

You continued your quiet tears as she sat, not looking directly at you but occasionally glancing over. She placed her hand on the floor next to you, her clean skin a stark contrast to your dirtied hands. After a few moments, you reached out, your fingers barely touching hers. Feyre shifted her hand slightly closer, covering your hand with hers. Her touch was cool and seemed to center you. Your tears continued to fall as she lightly brushed her thumb over the back of your hand, your other arm still pressed to your forehead as you cried. Time passed, although you wouldn't have known it, and at some point, so overcome with exhaustion, you finally let sleep take over.

You didn’t even dream.

______________________________________________________________

When you awoke, your eyes burned and were puffy from sobbing, and your face felt sticky from dried tears and snot. You shifted your weight slightly, the bones in your rear sore from the hard floor. The hand that rested on top of yours shifted, and you looked up to see Feyre, still sitting next to you, her eyes shut and head resting against the wall. You swallowed and moved slightly, causing Feyre’s eyes to flutter open and turn to you. “Morning,” she noted.

You glanced around the hall, now illuminated with the soft morning light coming in from the arched windows on the other side. The sparkle within the grey lines of the marble crept through like fingers of a river, reflecting the soft pinks of sunrise.

“Morning,” you croaked back, your voice raw.

Feyre stretched, arching her back slightly, raising her hands above her head, and scrunching her nose before looking back at you. “Breakfast?” she asked.

Your stomach growled, although you felt no hunger. “Or would you like to stay here longer?” she inquired.

You considered it. You felt you deserved to shrivel up and rot here, condemning yourself to sore bones and joints, but your body ached for something softer. You shook your head no.

“Would you like to eat?” she asked. You shook your head no again.

“Would you like to go lie down?” she asked.

You nodded slightly. Feyre gave you a soft smile as she brought her hand back to yours. “Do you think you can stand?” she asked.

You nodded again as Feyre slowly stood, brushing down her pants. “Do you need help up?”

You pressed one hand onto the wall, the other into the floor, and pushed yourself upright. Your legs faltered slightly. In a moment, Feyre grasped your arm to catch you before you fell. “Steady,” she crooned. “One step at a time.” You nodded, your dirty hand smudging the white wall. “Can I put my arm around you?” she asked.

“There are a few rooms just through that door at the end of the hall with beds,” Feyre said. “If you need to stop, just let me know and we can take a break.” You nodded as she smiled slightly. The two of you took small steps forward, yours more of a shuffle than a step, until you were down the hall and through the dark wood doors at the end. The next hall was darker, with no windows, but the soft, plush carpeting was a welcome relief under your feet. Feyre guided you into a bedroom; with the curtains drawn, it was hard to make out anything. With sure footing, Feyre brought you to a bed, sitting you on the edge as she turned down the sheets, urging you to pull your feet in. The soft, clean, cool silk sheets met your legs as she pulled them up around you, your head coming to rest on a pillow of the same fabric. “Do you want me to stay?” she asked.

You shook your head no, though you secretly did. “I won’t be far,” Feyre noted. “If you need anything, just make any noise and I’ll be here.” You nodded, fighting down the growing tears again. “The door locks. Do you want me to lock it for you and leave you the key?” Feyre asked, and you shook your head no. You didn’t feel the need to protect yourself anymore. The worst had already been done.

“I’ll be right out there.” Feyre pointed, although the darkness of the room shrouded her gesture. Without saying anything else, you heard the soft patter of her bare feet as she exited the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

The darkness was a welcome comfort as you pulled the sheets tighter around yourself, silently hating the amount of dirt and filth you were bringing into the clean space. Your mind raced, though nothing specific played in it—just the sounds of Anthea’s echoing sobs, your own screams, the sound of a knife through flesh, and blood hitting the leaves on the forest floor. So much blood. How could one tiny female produce that much blood? You squeezed your eyes shut, a tear escaping. You shouldn’t be here, you thought. You left her behind. If you had forced Anthea to come with you, if you’d pulled her from the ground and made her run, she might still be alive. If you had just done more, been brave enough to fight back more, she would be here right now. You abandoned her. You should have brought her along in your escape. You left her, knowing the fear she had living deep inside her. You watched her hide the entire time you were there; you saw her scurry among the males with a hollow look in her eye, and you chose to leave without her. You were no better than the male who slaughtered her. Those thoughts continued to ring through your mind until a sly voice echoed within.

“Baby?!” the voice sounded, frantic and fearful—your mate. You clenched your eyes shut, trying to close down the bond, but your mind was too weak, and too many voices were taking up space to shut it. “Baby, are you okay?!”

You didn’t respond, only allowing him to continue his frantic panic. “I lost you. I couldn’t hear you, couldn’t even see the bond anymore. I thought you were dead. Are you alright? Where are you?” His words came in a jumble as though he was sending them as quickly as they came into his mind. “What happened?”

You didn’t respond.

“Baby, listen to me,” he said. “I love you. I miss you. I was so worried about you. I haven’t eaten or slept since I stopped feeling you.” He sounded as though he were crying, his concern apparently quite real. “I just—” he paused, “Please tell me where you are.” You let your eyes blink slowly as you listened to his pleas. “Just come home, baby.”

A pause, “I can feel how you hurt,” he said. “Something happened, and I know that you’re hurt. I can feel it.” He paused again, “Let me help you, baby. You don’t have to do this alone.” You continued to listen to his ramblings, his false promises mingling with your own internal monologue of self-hatred. “Don’t shut me out, my love,” he pleaded. “Please.” You couldn’t shut him out, even though you wanted to. 

His pleas, the sweetness of the fruit he offered, were tainted by the venom in his lips. It seemed a fitting punishment for the selfishness that had caused an innocent female to die. “Just come home,” he kept repeating over and over, but your thoughts of home were filled with nothing but bruises and bloodshed. You had no home. Not anymore. The only home you had was within your own skin, which was so bruised, so bloodied, and dirty that it mirrored the feelings you held within. It was a temple of destruction, used by others for their own needs—a body, a home for everyone you hated.

You swallowed, tears no longer wanting to flow as your mind continued to race. You fell in and out of weary sleep, his voice still crooning to you, beckoning you to give him a piece of where you were. Finally, you fell into a restless sleep, his voice an unwelcome lullaby.

______________________________________________________________

Flowers, a field of flowers, and the warmth of the sun kissing your cheeks as you wandered out of the treeline and into the expanse of summer colors. Purples of snowbells intermingled with the oranges of fire lilies, pinks of edelweiss, and the yellows of leopardsbane all swayed in the breeze as you walked barefoot, feeling the softness of the meadow grass under your feet. You tilted your face to the sky, basking in the afternoon heat, breathing in the fresh mountain air. Summer. Summer bliss.

You continued through the meadow, unsure of your destination, following paths made by the wildlife before you. The light linen, cream-colored dress you wore skirted down to your midcalf, its fabric soft against your skin, dancing in the wind. The air felt full, and each breath came easier than the last. As you reached the middle of the field, you saw your mate as he was when he was young, lying in the grass. His brown summer pants were tied loosely around his ankles, his feet also bare. The cream linen shirt he wore lay open on his chest, rising and falling in time with your own breaths. He sat up as you approached, curling one leg up to rest his chin on his knee.

“You’re so beautiful.”

He held his hand out to you, strong and powerful, and you took it. His warm, calloused fingers wrapped around yours as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it.

“My love,” he whispered, placing another kiss on your skin, “my life,” he pulled you closer, running his hand up the length of your leg, lifting your dress as he scaled your soft, supple skin, “my mate,” he whispered as he exposed your thigh, pressing a tender kiss near your knee. You closed your eyes, your mouth opening slightly as you let out a breathy sigh. He pressed more soft kisses into your leg, pulling your foot to rest on his knee, his hands grazing over your skin. “Come here,” he whispered, his hands trailing up to your hips as you lowered yourself into his lap. You draped your arms around the back of his neck in a lazy hold as he pressed his forehead to yours, eyes meeting. The sun beat down on your hair, warming you, the soft breezes still pulling the flowers to and fro. He pressed his hand to your abdomen, his thumb tracing lines up and down as he kissed you softly, urging a gentle moan of delight from you. He tasted of sweet summer wine, and you craved another as you pulled him back in.

Your mate pulled back, your eyes still shut, mouth parted slightly as he grasped your face between his soft palms, his thumbs brushing your hair back from your face, blown in by the gentle summer wind. “Look at me, my love,” he urged. Your eyes fluttered open, and you saw his face, now more similar to the way he looked in the present, no longer the young male you had fallen in love with so many years ago. “We can make this right,” he urged. “We can spend our summers in the meadows; you can pick wildflowers and press them into books.” He looked deeply into your eyes as your stomach churned. “We can spend days at the river like we used to.” He released your face, placing one hand on your abdomen. “We can have a family.”

You pressed your forehead against his, whispering softly, “You can’t promise me that.”

He whispered back, “I can. I was scared, I made mistakes—”

“You can’t. You can’t do this, it’s not in you,” you whispered, shaking your head against his as you ran your thumbs over his hair. “You hurt me.”

“I know, baby,” his voice wavered with tears. “I know I did. And I can’t take that back. It kills me to know what I’ve done to you.”

“Don’t,” you whispered, “Don’t call me that.”

He sniffled as you continued to rub gentle circles over his hair. “You can’t do this anymore. You can’t pretend to care.”

“It’s not pretend,” he pulled back, his eyes red with tears. “I love you.”

You looked at him, your hands dropping to your lap. “You can love me and not care for me. Just as I can love you and despise you.”

His eyes grew heavy, darkening slightly. “You can’t say that.”

“You don’t get to control what I say.”

He looked into your eyes, his hand finding yours and pulling it to his heart. “My heart beats only for you, Y/N, just as yours for mine. We were blessed to find one another, to be mated. Do you know how rare that is?”

You gulped down tears, refusing to let them fall. “The Cauldron can be wrong. The Mother can be wrong.”

“How can you say that when so many go their entire lives without ever finding their mate? Spend centuries searching for them, never knowing their faces. We found each other.” He crooned, his hand pressing to your heart. “We belong to each other.”

You pushed back on him. “I am not your property.” You stood, smoothing down your dress. “I am not something to be used and discarded when you see fit just because of some predetermined destiny.” You threw down at him. He looked up at you, anger lining his eyes.

“You are my mate,” he said, calmly but losing his composure.

“I am no one’s.” You bit back. “If my mate is to be feared, to hurt me over and over, to strip me of everything I care about and everything I am, the Mother and the Cauldron can burn in hell.”

Your mate pushed himself upright, standing in front of you, his eyes narrowing. “Perhaps you are just poison to everyone you meet.” Your mouth opened slightly as storm clouds rolled in, shadows darkening. “Like that poor female you left to die.”

“You know nothing of that,” you said.

“Oh, but I do,” he continued. “When you let me back in, I sifted through your mind, your memories. Such a sad image, that poor girl. So young and skinny.”

“You don’t get to speak of her.”

“Then you shouldn’t have shared her with me.” He smiled. “That’s your problem. You think you can control everyone around you, and when you can’t, you run. You didn’t get your way with me, so you ran. You couldn’t convince this poor, innocent female to stand, so you ran, and she died for it.” You turned away, trying to walk away, but he gripped your arm. “You can’t run from this,” he said.

When you turned around, over his shoulder you saw the bloodied, battered body of Anthea standing in the shadows, her body red from head to toe and her head nearly severed from her neck, hanging to the side. “You can’t leave,” her mouth whispered from across the field. A scream caught in your throat, and before it could escape, your mate pulled you into himself. “You’re safe with me. You can make this right. Just tell me where you are.”

The storm clouds rolled in as you stared wide-eyed at that poor female across the meadow, stuck to the shadows of the treeline. The wind picked up, the colors of the flowers fading as the sun was overtaken by clouds. Your eyes never left Anthea, and in a crack of lightning, she was gone. The world seemed to boil around you as wind picked up and rain poured down on you and your mate. He held you, whispering softly, “Just show me.”

______________________________________________________________

You awoke in a dripping sweat and hurled yourself from the bed, your body aching as it collided with the floor with a thud. Vomit rose in your throat as you spotted a soft light coming from another room. Picking yourself up, you hurried over, opened the lid of the toilet, and released bile into it. With nothing in your stomach to vomit, you hacked, coughed, and spat. You closed the lid, sitting back and resting your head on the toilet as you tried to catch your breath, slamming down the bond. The sound of your heartbeat echoed in your ears.

“You okay?” The voice startled you. When you turned, Feyre was standing in the doorway, now dressed in a simple linen gown that ran to her knees, still barefoot.

You gulped back, your chest still heaving. “Yeah,” you said, “just nightmares.”

Feyre nodded slightly. “Can I bring you anything?”

You ran your hands over your eyes and face before declining.

Feyre hesitated slightly. “You need to eat something.”

“I’m fine,” you responded.

Feyre bit her lip. “From the contents of what came out of you, I would disagree.”

You turned to look over your shoulder at the empty bowl. “I’m fine, really. Just tired.”

Feyre crossed her arms, lightly rubbing them. “Azriel told me what happened.”

You crossed your arms, looking down. “It was a terrible thing, what happened to her.”

You only nodded, your eyes feeling as if they would overflow with tears. “And what happened to you,” she continued.

You wiped your eyes with your sleeve. “Nothing happened to me.”

Feyre leaned against the doorframe. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“I’m fine,” you bit back slightly, turning to her. “It’s not your problem.”

“You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to feel that all of this is unfair.”

“It’s not—” you started and paused, “just—just stop. Please.” You pleaded.

Feyre nodded, sighing out. “If you want to wash up, the shower works. And I will bring up some fresh clothes for you.” Feyre turned, taking one more second to look at you before disappearing back into the dark room.

You took in your surroundings, a marble bathroom with columns in each corner. In front of you was a magnificent vanity with a small bundle of fae light at the top of the giant, curving mirrors, in front of each sink and basin. To your left, an open-air shower with intricate tile work swirling through the floor, and across from it, a large bathtub with columns lining the corners. The room itself was larger than your cabin’s living room and kitchen combined. You considered taking a shower, almost melting at the thought of the dirt and blood draining off you, cleaning the debris from the forest floor from your hair. And then you remembered how Anthea would never be clean again, would never feel the warmth of that water, and you pushed your own wants from your mind. You instead stood, walked back out into the room, and sat back on the bed, the darkness surrounding you as you stared into it.

Thanks again to those who have asked to be tagged in this fic:

@thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll @fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx @romantasyreader28 @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @annabethgranger123 @krowiathemythologynerd @scatteredstardustt @romantacyreader28

[https-furina]

✎ you’re not her. ft. zhongli x fem!reader content. heavy angst, hanahaki disease, hurt/no comfort, mentions of blood & gagging (almost vomit), death, ‘unrequited’ love. w.c. tba.

you should have been her — part two.

oh that man, that gorgeous, benevolent man you’d fell in love with all those moons ago; with dark hair that fades into a glowing orange, resemblant of the sunset and his own geo vision. you had fell in love, yes - you thought he had too. the thought crosses your mind whenever he’s not by your side, not within your grasp like he usually is. typically, the man was serving his job at the wangsheng funeral parlour as a consultant.

you grimace when the tight feeling in your ribcage suffocates you. it’s getting stronger as time goes on, knocking the breath right out of your lungs and leaving you hacking up blood into a white handkerchief. zhongli had expressed no ends of concern about the situation when he’d find the bloodied handkerchiefs scattered around your shared home, ushering you to doctor baizhu as soon as possible.

you had begged baizhu not to utter a word of your condition to zhongli. he returned your pleads with a sorrowful look.

how could your love be so unrequited? had you been the only one true to your word this whole time? the mere thought stings at your eyes, tears threatening to spill as you shakily wash the dishes. zhongli isn’t home, not for a few more hours. he said he had business to attend to - that meant it wasn’t work related. was he cheating? you shake the sour thought away from your head, scowling.

you wonder if the oh-so-wise man could ever read the wrinkles appearing on your skin, aging you with every passing concern that you don’t voice aloud, with every day that goes by where you’re suffocating from the inside out. he never mentions it, perhaps he simply does not care. you feel the knot in your throat, sickening as you gag and splutter into the soapy water of the sink. you keep gagging, the knot doesn’t budge and you’re filled with an overwhelming sense of nausea.

your body grows tired. you slip down to your knees, banging elbows and other limp limbs against kitchen cabinets as you go down. finally, with one last cough, the knot exits your mouth. it falls to the wood floorboards beneath you, slimy and covered in blood but undoubtedly recognised as a glaze lily. its petals are shut, you understand that there is no music, no lullaby to be heard to lull the glaze lily to bloom. it’s an ancient flower, one you always used to admire before this curse laid upon you.

the front door to your house opens, keys jingling in a specific man’s gloved hands as he enters. you hurry to throw the glaze lily out of the kitchen window, submerging your hands in the sink once more as the metallic taste of blood and lingering aftermath of a floral tang swarms your mouth. you hold your breath, hoping you didn’t have the appearance of someone who had just coughed up a flower so violently.

a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist, suddenly you’re hit with the faint smell of aged wine and familiar scent of freshly dug earth. you smile at the thought, leaning back into his chest despite the pain tearing at your lungs and the burning sensation left behind in your throat.

“you’ve been coughing again—” zhongli’s voice reverberates close to your ear, hot breath fanning over your skin and your eyes raise from the dirty water to your reflection in the kitchen window, where zhongli’s warm amber eyes are staring at you so deeply.

“it’s okay, my love, i promise,” you lie through your teeth, hoping the man sincerely couldn’t read through you the way he used to, “this time it was a smaller amount than the last…”

you try to sound cheerful in your approach to the topic, careful to maintain that personality he’d apparently fell in love with one day in liyue harbour. zhongli makes a noise - is he doubting you? you watch as a gloved hand raises, nearing your face before his thumb wipes gently at a trickle of blood leading from the corner of your lips.

“i’ll speak to doctor baizhu in the morning,” zhongli states firmly, you almost bite back the words that taste bitter about him ‘caring’ for you, “perhaps you need a higher dose of your medication.”

the medication in question surely had been a ruse to fool the man, though you did not expect it to have worked. changsheng had uttered that you could not leave the bubu pharmacy without some form of medication, it’d look absurd in the eyes of the wangsheng funeral parlour consultant. in agreement, baizhu had qiqi mix violetgrass powder with sugar - the instructions were simple, mix it into the hot tea you’d drink with zhongli every evening.

it was sweet, not at all bitter and the scent of violetgrass made it bearable. apparently the inclusion of herbal properties was enough to fool your dearest partner or so you thought.

—

it’s hard to understand the fine line between a lie and a truth when the past few months, you’d been dating a man for someone whomst he was not. it was a struggle to understand the situation but it kept you up for endless nights, counting stars and tending to the numerous flora you’d planted in the garden underneath the moonlight - courtesy of your friend the traveler for appearing with so many countless seeds of blooms from across teyvat.

yet as you sit on the grass, staring at the pile of dead - and dying - glaze lilies you had acquired, the stars twinkling endlessly above you, you understood why he’d done it. he was judicious, hoping to protect you from his past yet keep you as his future. the thought made that pain in your chest tighten. you let out a futile whimper into the quiet night.

as you ponder zhongli’s status as liyue’s archon - the geo archon of all people, you begin to question your previous doubts. your breaths become struggled, your chest heaving as you lay on your back for some relief. trembling fingertips brush amongst blades of grass, hoping for a distraction as tears spill down your cheeks.

liyue is a beautiful country with vast mountains and yellowed plains that seem to stretch endlessly. its civilisation had become fruitful at the expense of liyue harbor, bustling with trade and the thing your partner had appeared to love the most; contracts. he has every right to be proud of the nation liyue had built to this day, despite claiming that he’d ultimately retired - “the people can do without me, they’ve proved that much.”

blood trickles from your mouth but it’s not gentle, it’s a rush, like a waterfall as it spills down the sides of your face and pools on the grass below you. it’s littered in an array of blue and white petals, matching that of glaze lilies - a flower you’d grown to hate. you struggle to get oxygen into your lungs with the rising level of blood that doesn’t dissipate from your parted lips, suffocating you as you try to no ends to breathe through your nose.

that is, if there was room in your lungs for such oxygen. twists and turns of branches and roots that climb to the walls of your organs, painting them with glaze lilies and filling them with fallen petals every time a flower wilts from the unreasonable conditions inside your body.

you’re proud of liyue; the magnificent, beautiful nation of geo that you got to experience in all of its glory. zhongli often times referred to liyue with feminine pronouns and as the light dies from your eyes and your chest ceases to rise, you can only think one thing with your last dying breath.

you’re not her.

© https-furina 2023.

[lordgrimoire]

The Amity Parkers

Inspired by This Post, which is long, read the many reblogs and tags and comments, it’s fun!

Tim was Ninety Percent Sure that he was going absolutely insane, granted it was a long time coming. Danny Fenton, his Chemistry teacher and Dash Baxter, his Phys Ed teacher? That was two people from the same practically non-existent town in Illinois, but add onto that the fact that even MORE people kept showing up in Gotham from sleepy little Amity Park and proceeded to either A:Thrive or B:Thrive but with the Energy of a Kryptonian having nonstop contact highs.

After his two teachers, or more accuratly before, there had been Jazz Fenton, a new Psychiatrist working in Gotham and making rather noticeable strides in things. Then arrived her brother and Baxter, who had applied roughly at the same time in the aftermath of a Rogue attack on the cities water treatment plant, and the floodgates seemed to less open more fly off the hinges as though breaching charges had been used. 

Now there were MORE people here, there was Tucker Foley, working at Wayne Enterprises as a coder and a damn terrifying one to boot, Sam Manson, an activist who ended up throwing Tim during one of his Red Robin patrols where he’d come across her “Protest Site” which had been a small park in The Narrows. Wes Weston, a cop, had been giving his coworkers and his Chem teacher NOTHING but grief, insisting that Fenton was doing “Something” wrong but never quite being able to get things to stick, upon further digging this had been a long running one sided rivalry. There was also a SECOND Psychiatrist, Paulina Sanchez, at Gotham Academy who was also from Amity Park, and her files were airtight, as Damian’s most recent hacking attempt and Tim’s own follow up had failed to breach her firewalls.

So, here Tim was, staring at Danielle “Dani/Ellie” Masters, Dr. Fenton’s CLONE and the Academies newest but also most feral teacher as she boxed the Joker hard enough for an audible crack to be heard from their classroom from where she was fighting the demented clown on the field. Baxter was still running his class as normal, though a bit further away, and Dr. Fenton was still teaching their class, while Tim was trying to get Extra Credit and vengeance on the Doctor through today’s extra credit task, making a tracker that could track Doctor Fenton for Twenty Four Hours. 

Why was he seeking vengeance you ask? Well given the fact that Jason brought Doctor Fenton to Family Dinner last week [with Alfred’s blessing] and had come in with the most gremlin-esque energy he’d seen from a Non-Rogue. Now don’t get Tim wrong, he likes Doctor Fenton, he may be demented as all get out but he was regularly making counters to drugs and toxins that seemed to just inhabit Gotham. BUT! Doctor Fenton and Jason had been so sickeningly cutes-y with each other at Dinner, like a couple of Birds of Paradise trying to one up each other.

Then of course was the “Story Time” where the two had teamed up to tell embarrassing stories, though Danny held back, a touch. It didn’t absolve him, especially with how he egged on Jason, which very much didn’t help the whole “I know you’re the Bats” situation. AND THEN! There was the fact that a majority of the Amity Parkers KNEW that they were the Bats, It was as though they had gone through this whole song and dance before, which given prior statements of Doctor Fenton having “Hung up the Cape” seemed to imply he used to be a hero in Amity Park, where your average joe could one on one a rank and file leaguer or at least give them a rough time.

The fact that a semester of training from Baxter and Fenton alone had made Tim’s year group capable of facing off with the JL  was a testament to that.

Speaking of which, some Junior Leaguers were coming to Gotham, if only for a place where they were not as “Strange”. Some of those moves may have been encouraged with the recent custody battle between Luthor against Vlad and Danielle Masters regarding Connor, who was a Copyrighted clone as it turns out, which had resulted  in Connor being made a ward of Danielle Masters, who had chewed Superman out HARD along with her Original, Doctor Danny Fenton himself.

Suffice to say, Clark did NOT get majority of Custody, and only got every third weekend, which was terrifying in Tim’s opinion that this small town mayor who was as wealthy as Luthor, had turned up, legally thrashed Luthor, and then given custody over to his daughter, thrashed SUPERMAN with KRYPTONIAN LAWS, and then gone back to Amity Park Illinois to resume his Mayor-ship there. The fact the town was essentially a self governing and self sufficient region  meant that the League was now VERY AWARE of it, and the fact that the League of Assassins had tried and FAILED multiple times to infiltrate the town, with more people going rogue than staying loyal, with only one out of nearly two hundred assassins returning to Nanda Parabat, critically wounded and very much insane.

In Tim’s opinion? Amity Park raised people similar too but far more prepared than Gothamites, for while Gothamites may have the Fight in their bones, Amity Parkers seem ready to back it up with experience, training, and life experience. 

But then again, Mr. Lancer had been an immigrant to Amity Park, and he was the blueprint of sorts for all of his students who had gone into teaching, much the same for how Batman was the Blueprint for all the other Bats.

____________________________________________

Tagging some Folks included in the Masterpost

@plotwholls @welcometosasakiworld @bonebrokebuddy @transsunmoonwizzard @omnicrafts @vala-dreams @fox-sama97 @tired-mom @kyrianclawraith @americano-psycho @mikami1992 @thecatchat @stealingyourbones @mutable-manifestation @britcision @dxrksong @kawaiikenna @mrowsters @the-gay-florist @thatgaydemigodnerd @0satellite0 @afanofmanyships @pencil-for-a-dog @any-mouse

[alonetimelover]

pairing: Harry Styles x physicist!reader

summary: The aftermath of the leak is hard on everybody in dr YN YSN's circle, but especially for her. The gossip, magazines, paparazzi and haters do not help the case.

warnings: hate speech, swearing

a/n: hi! so yes, this is a re-upload of the 3rd part of the physicist!reader. earlier this week tumblr wasn't working with me, not showing this on tags or even my own home page. and with that, i decided to post it again so maybe some more of you could know what's been happening in the world of physicist!reader. i hope you'll enjoy!

part 1 part 2 taglist

@celesteblack08

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The Sun

Oxford Is Firing The Famous 'Higgs Professor' and Harry Styles' Girlfriend Dr YN YSN

Written by John Addams

The infamous and TikTok sensation dr YN YSN, lecturer at Oxford University, is being fired after intimate photos of her and boyfriend, Harry Styles, saw the light of the day.

Starting at the beginning, the relationship between two became a fact over a year ago, when dr YSN went viral for her explanation of the Higgs mechanism based on Harry Styles' music. As we got to know from their joined street interview for meetcutesnyc on Instagram, the relationship florished after meeting at their mutual friend's (Christopher Nolan) party. Dr YN YSN was the science consultant for the director's latest movie, Oppenheimer, and Harry starred in one of his films, Dunkirk - making it happen.

Everything was going smoothly till the morning of three days ago. YN's iCloud was hacked, revealing personal and intimate information about not only the owner but her boyfriend as well.

'Dean is furious,' says our source. 'He cannot believe that the best lecturer could be this reckless'.' After the posed question on whether the decision of firing could be announced any time soon, they said, 'it's just the matter of time. But it's going to be sooner rather than later. Oxford is going to lose a fair and talented professor, but it is not its fault. Someone was the author of those, let's say information that was exposed. And it's going to be their fault entirely.'

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harrysmoustache

liked by hArrysbtch, harryupdates and 23 482 others

harrysmoustache Harry and YN couldn't leave the restaurant safely because a bunch of paps and 'fans' showed up at the location. Not only was it physically dangerous, but the things that were spoken towards (mostly) YN were disgusting. Calling her names and ready to fire her on the spot because of the PRIVATE PHOTOS she took with her boyfriend, which then someone ILLIGALY POSTED ONLINE after HACKING HER ICLOUD. Did y'all forget about TREAT PEOPLE WITH KINDNESS?????

view all 5 402 comments

harrysmoustache and don't make me start on that bullshit that the sun did... RIDICULOUS

harryupdates After all those years, and all those situations that he went through, I'm still surprised that people can be this cruel to him and people that he loves

hArrysbtch they hatin' my girl cause of some sexy photos... bastards

hArrysbtch why would they care what she does after Uni hours??? it's none of your business

scienceandharstyles it's heartbreaking to see a person that gives others the world and shares her knowledge and wears her heart on her sleeve being treated like garbage

harrymylove those were not harry fans

stylesbabie monstrosity

user56 why do y'all care for her this much??? jezz..

⤷ hArrysbtch maybe because she's a good human being treated like the worst person alive just because she snapped a few photos of her and her boyfriend

⤷ user56 wouldn't that be the consequences of her own actions?

⤷ hArrysbtch nope. her phone was hacked. how many times you take photos of yourself and think 'oh god, what if my gonna be hacked and this will be posted?'

⤷ harrysmoustache hArrysbtch ohhh, babes!!! you closed that haters mouth!!!!

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drynysn

liked by harrystyles, harryupdates and 738 492 others

drynysn During one of my latest lectures one of the students asked about accuracy in Sci-Fi movies, so I decided to start a little series of: Is this SCIENCE or just FICTION? Firstly, we'd look into the scene from Spider-Man 2 (2004). The scene where Peter Parker (Spider-Man) is stopping the train from its eventual crash. he shot multiple web lines, then they stretched and didn't break. One would say it is not possible. But! From the way the scene is shown to us, we are able to estimate how strong the web needed to be for it to happen. After looking up the train's mass, you can estimate its initial velocity (how far it can go per hour, so km/h) by seeing exactly how long it takes to pass the city blocks. (1)

view all 19 934 comments

drynysn (2) You can look up, measure, the distance over the webbing stretches, and then estimate its diameter . You can also count the number of web lines. NOW, we end up with a tensile (fancy way of saying elastic) strength for the webbing that has to be about 1 000 megapascals (mega meaning milion) which is equivalent to about 102 036 704 kilograms per square metre (which is 145 000 lbs/square inch - for you, my American friends on here).

drynysn (3) What is absolutely mind-blowing is the fact that actual spider silk has a tensile strength of 1 200 megapascals. So, if Spider-Man's webbing would be anyway that strong, that scene was very, very realistic. Rating it 9/10. What scene would you like to see next?

scienceandharstyles that is so informative and making this movie even more iconic!! Did you do all the equations by yourself, dr YSN?

⤷ drynysn Yes, I did! Took me some time to analyse the scene but it was worth it!

harryupdates oh, i need to rewatch this movie immediately!!!

harryismylife could the next scene be the one from The Avengers where Mjolnir after contacting Cap's shield makes that blue light? is that even possible?

⤷ drynysn that's a great scene! i'll look over it!

hArrysbtch i love the little explanations in brackets! i didn't need to look up the tensile thingy!

harrysmoustache you're telling me the scene i was 100% sure was as fake as my eyelashes is true???

user45 maybe you should try explaining showing of that body of yours

user75 is this the new way to make money after being fired?

user281 unemployment doesn't suit you but the consequences of your actions finally caught up with you

user374 i think you should start posting one of those photos the sun included in their article - you'll get more attention

comments to this post have been disabled

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harryupdates

liked by hArrysbtch, harrymoustache nad 54 292 others

harryupdates HARRY nad DR YN spotted in a small restaurant in Oxford (i'm disabling the comments cause i don't want to deal with the haters)

view all 74 comments

hArrysbtch MY PARENTS!!!!!!!! ARE BACK AFTER THE WEEKS OF DRAUGHT!!!!!

hArrysbtch and they look goooood

harrysmoustache i missed them so much..

stylesbabie yn looks so tired and sad

⤷ hArrysbtch it's just one phot of one moment

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harrystyles via close friends IG story

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londonboyharry

liked by harryupdates nad 14 302 others

londoboyharry went to oxford to bump into harry. it's better! i met dr yn ysn, drank coffee with her, talked and laughed my ass off! she is the funniest, kindest and most down to earth person i've ever met. also, after i asked her about all the things that were happening around her, she just said 'what things?' WITH A SMIRK ON HER FACE, SIPPING HER LITTLE AMERICANO AND BEING UNBOTHERED

view all 3 203 comments

harryupdates im so happy that she gives no damn to those people online

hArrysbtch I LOVE HER

harrymoustache the moment the legend the IT girl

stylesbabie happy for you!!!

harrysmylife who would want to meet harry when you can meet dr yn ysn?

scienceandharstyles best woman alive

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scienceandharstyles

liked by drynysn, harrystyles and 56 482 others

scienceandharstyles WE GRADUATED OXFORD!!! to anybody who said there was no way to incorporating pop culture with a biology degree? eat shit! i wrote the whole masters based on musicians' impact on fans' hormonal production. hehe. ALSO, it would not be possible withouth the best teacher, academic inspiration, and person I've ever met - dr YN YSN. thank you!

view all 18 327 comments

drynysn MADELINE, I am so proud of you. It would be not possible without your persisatnce and will to find solutions and answers. This is all yours!

harrystyles Congratulations, Madeline! H, xx.

harryupdates congrats maddie!!

stylesbabie very very proud

harrysmoustache did you perhaps use harry as an example in your work?

⤷ scienceandharstyles YES, I did. Only positive affect of his voice, music and visuals...

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oxford_uni

liked by harrystyles, harryupdates and 748 392 others

oxford_uni Acknowledging the upheaval around one of our lecturers - dr YN YSN, the Chancellor of Oxford University and the Dean of The Department of Physics decided to release the joined statement:

Refuting the words ans statements made by publishers not connected to our University, we would like to inform anybody in concern that one of our grates lecturers dr YN YSN is not decruited. The matter of private life is not concern of the University authority, even more when the said privacy was bridged. At this place, we would like to wish luck during dr YN YSN' s new path - becoming a professor.

view all 64 855 comments

harrystyles <3

harryupdates I KNEW IT

hArrysbtch EAT SHIT THE SUN, EAT SHIT JOHN ADDAMS

harrysmoustache HAHHAHAHAHAHA I KNEW IT !!!!!! BABY THERE WAS NO WAY THEY WOULD FIRE HER

stylesbabie thank god! there is still hope for this world

scienceandharstyles Chancellor and Dean with the best decision ever made

harrysmylife now haters what??? ha??

harrysfan87 i believed in you guys i did

londonboyharry becoming a professor???? good luck yn!!!

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yourinstagram

liked by harrystyles, annetwist and 275 others

yourinstagram There was no better thing that happened to me than meeting you. You support means the world. I love you forever.

view all 36 comments

harrystyles Loving you is the greatest honour of all time, my heart <3

annetwist My favourite girl in the world! (besides my daughter)

⤷ gemmastyles Thanks for clarifying, mum

gemmastyles My sister from another mister!

yourbestfriend We need to finally meet up!

⤷ yourinstagram yessss!

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harrystyles

liked by yourinstagram, harryupdates, annetwist and 10 746 646 others

harrystyles You're just finishing one of your latest publications on the way to becoming a professor. I couldn't have been more proud and honoured to accompany you during this time.

view all 98 757 comments

yourinstagram I love you I love you I love you

annetwist Our smart professor. <3

harryupdates ohhhhhh *melting*

hArrysbtch I'll never get over him posting her on here

harrysmoustache we are back to normal, baby!!!

scienceandharstyles professor YN YSN sounds amazing

harrysmylife BEST. COUPLE. EVER.

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a/n: did you like the way it turned out?

[happykraut]

"The Second Coming of the Master"

In the aftermath of the Vault Dweller's triumph over the Master in Fallout 1, the wasteland believed the threat of the mutant army had been vanquished. However, unbeknownst to the world, the Master had survived his apparent demise, lurking in the shadows and biding his time.

Nearly a century later, the wasteland is a vastly different place. Society has struggled to rebuild amidst the remnants of the old world, but progress has been slow and fraught with challenges. In the depths of the wasteland, hidden from prying eyes, the Master has undergone a grotesque metamorphosis. His form is now a macabre amalgamation of dead, rotten flesh and pulsating computer screens, a twisted fusion of man and machine.

Over the decades, the Master has been consuming artificial intelligence from every corner of the globe, assimilating knowledge and power with each acquisition. He hacked into the remnants of the US government's archives, devouring their secrets and strategies. With each new source of intelligence, the Master grew stronger, his thirst for revenge burning brighter with each passing day.

Driven by anger and fueled by his insatiable desire for vengeance, the Master sets his sights on a new conquest: the complete annihilation and transformation of the world. His FEV virus, now more potent than ever, holds the key to his twisted vision of a mutated paradise.

With his newfound power and control over technology, the Master launches a campaign of terror and chaos. He kidnaps the son and wife of the descendant of the Vault Dweller, striking at the heart of his old nemesis's lineage. This time, the Master is determined to ensure that no one can stand in his way.

As the wasteland trembles under the Master's reign of terror, the fate of humanity hangs in the balance. Can anyone stop the resurgence of the Master, or is the world doomed to be consumed by his wrath?

[drarryspecificrecsdaily]

2024.09.13

Complete fics posted on AO3 this day

1. A Beginner's Guide to Living by kzwjhkdo [E, 62k]

In the aftermath of the war to end all wars, Harry had dutifully tried to follow the path set out for him. He'd tried to hack it as a wizard cop. He'd tried heterosexuality. He'd tried to exist in the public eye as a hero, saviour, beloved golden boy. He'd tried. Ultimately, he'd only lasted a few months before he'd disappeared into thin air. It's been fifteen years, now—it's been precisely fifteen years, six months, and twenty days. A lot has changed. Draco is a photographer, working with Pansy Parkinson at her fashion magazine. He has a potion business on the side. He's grown, he has a carefully cultivated life, and he's sure to have a very normal reaction to seeing Harry Potter again.

2. Long-term by Plume1304 [M, 17k]

On the one hand, there's Harry Potter, a policeman with a quiet, well-ordered life. And on the other, there's Draco Malfoy, with his white hair, his cigarettes and his bloody disrespect for the law.

3. When the Mask Falls by kittensoftpaws [T, 10k] *typo

Harry finally breaks down because of his past and Draco is there to help.

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Fest/Exchange

1. An Extremely Indecent Proposal by Anonymous [E, 33k]

[...] Unfortunately, there are some situations where you just can't take no for an answer. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and Draco might just be in possession of some information that suggests that one Harry Potter could be up for a little…persuasion. Of the oral sex variety. What could possibly go wrong? ★ HD Hurt-Comfort Fest 2024 | @hd-hurtcomfort-fest