#now it's finally time for the great descent I think

[moonsinkfoxgirl]

found the teleportation wands! (or well, three of them)

they were actually hidden in a chamber with a classic ceiling slowly drops down on you trap, and some flame throwers for good measure

[undreaming-fanfiction]

I am massively busy with work and finalizing my Big Bang, but this idea just won't leave...

Steve and Eddie are both actors. They're in their mid thirties, well established, but they never starred together in anything. Steve tends to be cast in the same type, the dumb but pretty love interest, Eddie has lots of indie and disturbing movies under his belt. But this time, they both landed something big.

They get cast in the new Batman movie.

Steve is, of course, Batman. He insists on doing his own stunts. He refuses to get dehydrated for his shirtless scenes because he knows how damaging it is to both young men and women alike, he's not going to contribute to shitty expectations. The director (Dustin, duh!) sees something in him other directors never have - a potential for depth, for internal turmoil. He gives Steve the chance to prove himself as an actor and Steve pounces on it.

He's still very hot.

Eddie is cast as the Joker. He is a fan of the comics and scoffs at how absurd and deranged the character is becoming. He gets hired because he immediately says he doesn't think the character needs to rely on cheap tricks and shock value to be terrifying. Cutting off his face? Not cool. He suggests to play the Joker according to one of the older comics he has - one where the Joker is actually absolutely sane, but hides it to never be held accountable for his actions. The only person who ever saw through his ruse was Dr. Harleen Quinzel. Joker took care of that issue very quickly.

The chemistry between Steve and Eddie on screen is insane. They go toe to toe, it's impossible to look away when they interact. Eddie utilizes his bright smile to the maximum, tweaking it just right within moments so it becomes unsettling. The first time he laughs, Steve gets goosebumps.

Steve encompasses Bruce's loneliness so well Eddie's heart breaks for him. Dustin finds him in the trailer, giving himself gentle slaps over the face and muttering "you're evil, damn it, you don't want to comfort the Bat!!".

Batgirl (Robin) and Harley Quinn (Chrissy) find their slow descent into love hilarious. They all become good friends on the set.

Hopper, an acting veteran who plays Commissioner Gordon, grasps Steve's shoulder after an intense fight scene and mutters: "Good job, Steve, but maybe don't stare at his lips so much?"

Robin doesn't give him the same courtesy and once Dustin yells "Cut!", she screeches: "NOW KISS!"

The movie is a hit. People love the cast and the story, some of the OG fans complain as they always do, but the ratings are great, there are many interviews, panels, all of that.

And of course, there's gossip about Steve and Eddie being a thing, which enrages the macho Batman fanbase. Their Batman isn't gay!

But the rumors quickly disappear after an award ceremony where Eddie is nominated for the best supporting actor. He wins, of course. And as he gets up to accept the small statue and deliver a speech with enough "fuck"s to give the censor a headache, he drags Steve up and kisses him in front of the whole world.

A week later, Steve and Eddie are together in front of a camera again, answering questions in an interview.

The host asks: "What do you say to those fans that are disappointed, who say that their Batman isn't gay?"

Steve just snorts, pulls Eddie closer and answers: "They're right. Their Batman isn't gay. But he's definitely bi."

Also the comic story I'm mentioning exits and is short but fantastic. 10/10 recommend.

Oh also. The first spark happens when Steve sees Eddie's hair and blurts out: "Please tell me they're not making you cut it shorter. It's too gorgeous for that."

Also because people were asking about the comics - it's Batman Black and White - Case Study and it can be found on Tumblr HERE

[prythiansprincess]

kiss with a fist | chapter one.

home | chapters | playlist

pairing: theodore nott x reader.

song inspiration: kiss with a fist - florence and the machine.

author's note: i'm so excited to share this series with everyone. this was literally meant to be a one shot fic but i have no self control therefore it spiraled into a whole series. without further ado, please enjoy the first chapter and let me know what you think 🤎

Wit beyond measure is a man’s greatest treasure. 

Intelligence, knowledge, wisdom. These were the traits that Ravenclaws valued most, but if the founder of your house could see you now, Rowena Ravenclaw would probably roll over in her grave. 

Because there was nothing smart about falling in love with Theodore Nott. 

In fact, it might be the most idiotic thing you’ve ever done in your entire life. 

So why did it feel so bloody exhilarating? 

To understand your descent into madness, it was prudent to trace the events back to point zero. 

It was a rainy September afternoon, unusually dreary even for the Scottish Highlands. The first week of your return to Hogwarts had been chaotic to say the least. Between performing your prefect duties by showing the first years around the castle and dealing with the clueless third year that accidentally set off Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs in the Great Hall, you were absolutely knackered by the time Friday rolled around. 

Unfortunately, you had no time to rest. Even though the term just started, you were already spending much of your nights studying until your eyes felt like they were going to fall out of your skull. Tonight, you were in the potions laboratory tackling a particularly stubborn advanced draught. No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t figure it out. 

You dropped a sprig of wormwood into the cauldron and stirred counterclockwise then clockwise, just like the recipe instructed. The concoction bubbled to the surface. Holding your breath, you peered into the mixture with hope that this try would finally turn out successful. The potion turned a vibrant magenta color before exploding all over the front of your uniform. 

Sadly, this was the closest you’d come to brewing the Angel’s Trumpet Draught. You sighed, wiping down your tie with a washcloth. It did nothing except make the mess worse. What you needed was a good old fashioned soak.

Luckily, you had access to the prefect’s bathroom on the fifth floor. During this time of night, it would be gloriously empty. Giving you the perfect opportunity to wallow in bubbles and self pity. 

The trek from the dungeons to the fifth floor was fortunately uneventful. The hallways were dark and quiet, allowing you to slink off to the bathroom in peace. With a whisper of pine fresh, the pearly gates opened.

You turned on the faucets, setting the temperature just below boiling and dispensing herbs and fragrances into the tub. When you were finally satisfied, you quickly discarded your soiled clothes and eagerly stepped into the warm bath. The scent of rosewater and pink himalayan salt instantly relaxed you. 

You sighed deeply, leaning against the marble tile and closing your eyes. This was definitely not the way you thought seventh year would go. Your last year at Hogwarts was supposed to be the highlight of your academic career. While your housemates fretted and fussed over quidditch games and blood moon balls, you refused to take your eyes off the prize.

Ever the diligent student, you had no interest in extracurriculars unless it brought you closer to your dream of becoming an accomplished potions master, which would hopefully catch the eye of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. Joining the prestigious group was a dream that you had been working towards since first year. Blood, sweat, and tears had gone towards achieving this goal, especially during your most recent break. 

You spent the entire holiday interning at the Brewery, attending lectures at the Magical Division of the University of Oxford, and you had not only completed the assigned reading for your Advanced Potions class, but Professor Slughorn’s personal recommendations as well. All of that hard work should have placed you ahead of the curve, but your class rank remained the same as always. 

Second. 

Not first.

Never first.

No, that spot belonged to that rich infuriating smartass pureblooded motherfu—

“Theodore Nott,” you said, lacing your voice with as much venom as you could muster. 

Between the pale moonstone pillars stood the source of your academic anguish. Theodore was dripping sweat, his green and silver quidditch jersey covered in mud and grime. The prefect badge pinned to his robe was barely visible, more brown than silver. His curly brown hair fell erratically across his cheekbones as he brushed a stray strand away to squint in the faint light. 

The side of his mouth quirked up into a smirk when he recognized you. “You know, most people just call me Theo.” His gaze lingered on your form, which was barely covered by pink suds. “Especially those who know me rather intimately.”

You flushed in response. Amusement danced in his watercolor eyes, which seemed brighter now thanks to his sun kissed complexion. Knowing Nott, he probably spent his summer laying out in the Italian sun while attractive witches fed him grapes by hand. You didn’t get a tan like that from holing up in the English countryside with nothing but a boiling cauldron and a dusty textbook for company. He didn’t even have the audacity to pretend like he was worried about his class ranking. The bastard. 

“Every rule has its exception, Theodore,” you gritted out. “Now get the fuck out.” 

He cocked his head, sending a mass of wavy brown locks to spill to one side. “You’re right. Most people don’t usually say my name like it’s an unforgivable, but I guess you’re special in that way, diavolina mia.”

Little devil, Nott's idea of a fond nickname, irritated you to no end. Your annoyance only made him use it more. Gods, what a wanker. 

“Are you deaf or just thick? This bathroom is occupied,” you huffed, sinking lower into the bubbles. “Leave before I scream bloody murder.” 

Theo smirked. “Oh, I guarantee you’ll be screaming.” He kicked his shoes off, leaving them in a messy pile beside your own neatly arranged boots. “Though the only thing I’ll be murdering is that pu—”

The glare you sent his way would have sent lesser men running for the Forbidden Forest. “I’m serious, Nott. I’ve had a terrible fucking day and I am not giving up the bath.” 

“Neither am I,” he countered. “Practice was brutal. I ate shit on the pitch and all I want to do is to reap my prefect benefits via bubble bath. I’m afraid you’re just going to have to learn how to share, sweetheart.”

You watched in stunned silence as he peeled off his jersey. The moonlight streamed through the glass stained windows, painting him in a surreal sort of light. There was no ounce of shame to be found in Theodore Nott as he stripped off his trousers and stood stark naked in the middle of the bathroom. 

Look away, you thought. Look the fuck away now.  

But like a moth to a flame, you found yourself horribly drawn to the cocky, arrogant, son of a bludger. His tall frame cut an imposing figure in the dark as slivers of moonlight danced across his ridiculously toned chest and well-defined abs. He was neither brawny nor scrawny, but somewhere in the middle, which unfortunately happened to be your sweet spot. 

To make matters worse, the smug prick seemed perfectly aware of your ogling. You could’ve sworn Theo flexed as he stalked towards you. Unlike most boys his age, he wasn’t awkward or bumbling. Theo was confident in his body. Too confident. 

You sighed. “Can you at least attempt to be decent?” 

“Why? It’s not like you haven’t seen it all before.”

As if you needed a reminder of this ongoing tryst between you. Theo waded to your side, leaning his head back as the warm water sloshed around him. His eyes fluttered close, those thick lashes of his kissing the top of his cheekbones. Water trickled down his collarbone and you had to fight the urge to lean over and lick it off. 

“I told you, last time was—“ 

“The last time,” Theo finished. “I’m perfectly aware, principessa. You say it every time.” 

“I mean it this time.” 

He cocked his head, flashing those hypnotizing eyes at you. “Oh?” Theo drawled slowly, reaching out to brush a wayward lock of hair that had escaped from your braid. “Did my poor little Ravenclaw finally find the courage to say no to the big bad Slytherin?” 

Your breath hitched as he pressed his lips against your throat. “Fuck,” you whispered. 

“Go on then, love,” Theo hummed against your skin. He kissed the sensitive spot beneath your earlobe, making you involuntarily arch into him. Slender fingers wrapped around the base of your throat, holding you in place. “Tell me what you want, diavolina.” 

You sighed in defeat. “Stop being an asshole and kiss me, Nott.” 

Theo grabbed the back of your head and crashed his lips against yours like a man starved. After months of going without, you came to the horrid realization that you craved this as much as he did. You crawled into his lap, straddling him as he gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises. 

I am a stupid girl, you thought. A stupid, horny girl who had no business snogging Theodore Nott. 

One, you were bitter rivals. Two, Theo awakened a dangerous side of you that defied all logic. This whole fucked up situation started because of your lapse of judgment last winter. As always, Theo had said or done something to annoy you during class and in return you hexed his drink to taste like dragon dung. He retched for a week straight. Somehow Snape found out that you were to blame and placed both of you in detention.

One thing led to another in the potions classroom and you ended up with your skirt around your waist and Theo’s head between your legs. You quickly resolved that the only way to shut him up was to keep him occupied and occupied he was. Ever since then, the two of you had been at it like rabbits. 

You thought that you would leave all of it behind in sixth year, but barely a week into this term and you were already repeating the pattern. 

“I’ve been thinking about this all summer,” Theo groaned into your mouth. 

“That’s cute, Nott,” you responded sarcastically. “Miss me over the holidays, did you?”

Theo rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. Don’t act like you haven’t been thinking about this too. You’ve been testier than a Hungarian Horntail since the minute you got off the platform. I could tell that you haven’t been properly fucked since our little impromptu goodbye in the broom closet last spring.” 

“You’re absolutely repulsing.” 

He smirked. “Then why are you pulling me closer?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up and fuck me before I change my mind.” 

“You could say please.” 

“I could,” you said with a shrug before gripping his cock and lining him up at your entrance. Theo groaned as you sank down into him with a satisfied little smirk. “But I won’t.” 

The moan that came out of his mouth barely sounded human. “Fuck,” he said, burying his head in the crook of your neck. “How do you always feel so fucking good?” 

You knew what he meant. As much as you hated to admit it, Theo was right. You hadn’t gotten properly laid since your last tryst. There had been other boys this summer, but none of them made you feel like this. Because sex with Theo wasn’t just sex. It was warfare. You fucked like you both had something to prove. 

Even now, as you grinded your hips against him, Theo thrusted upwards with equal force like you were competing for the bloody house cup. You ran your fingers through his hair, frowning a little. 

“What?” Theo asked. 

“Did you cut your hair?” 

He grinned as he trailed kisses along your jaw. “You don’t like it?”

“Less to hold onto.”

“Don’t worry dolcezza,” Theo chuckled darkly. He squeezed your thighs and pressed you against him roughly. “I’ll make sure to hold on tight for the both of us.”

You hummed in agreement before sinking down again, setting a steady rhythm as you rode him with reckless abandon. For someone who valued logic, every ounce of common sense you possessed went out the window when it came to this infuriating boy. 

Maybe you were a masochist. But as Theo thrust sharply into you, the stupid little voice in your head said that you didn’t really mind the pain. 

You moaned as Theo tilted your chin, capturing your lips with his. It was a clash of tongue and teeth as you fought for dominance, putting your bodies to the test. He knew exactly what buttons to press, which sensitive spots to hit, how to challenge you physically and mentally. 

“Gods, right there.” You whimpered, digging your fingernails into his back. Theo’s hypnotizing eyes snapped to yours, piercing through every layer until you felt even more bare than you already were. “Don’t fucking stop, please.”

He smirked. “So you do have bedside manner after all.” 

“Not for you,” you said as you grinded down hard, making Theo bite into your shoulder. 

“Salazar fucking save me,” he grunted. 

“Your founder can’t save you now, Nott.” 

“Cruel, ruthless woman.” Theo looked up at you like he was praying to the stars. His movements stilled as your gazes collided. “Tell me you missed this. Tell me that no one else makes you feel like this.” 

You whined at the loss of friction. “You’ve picked a shit time to get all sentimental on me, Nott.”

“It’s not sentiment, it’s the truth,” Theo declared, thrusting lazily. “And I want to hear you say it.” 

“Why?”

“Call it curiosity,” he said casually. “I want to know if I measure up to the boys back in Oxford.”

Not even close, you thought. But you were not about to admit that out loud. 

“Curiosity killed the cat, you know.” 

Theo chuckled before sinking his teeth into your neck. “But I’m not a cat, little bird. I’m a snake and I’m coiled around you ready to strike if you say the word.” 

You shivered slightly. This constant back and forth, all the bickering and banter, was just you and Theo’s sick and twisted version of foreplay. Gods, you fucking missed it. 

“Fine,” you grumbled. “Theodore Nott, you are an infuriating little shit but you fuck like an absolute demon. I missed sneaking around with you in the broom closet, the charms classroom, the astronomy tower, and wherever else we managed to defile in this bloody castle. Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

The shiteating grin on his face almost made you want to take it all back, but then he flipped you over, laying you down on the cold marble tile and staring at you with so much lust in his eyes that you felt the depths of his desire in your core. He crawled over you, water trickling down his tanned skin. 

“Close enough,” he remarked before hiking your leg over his shoulder and burying himself so deep that you clawed the edge of the tub to keep yourself from slipping. 

The rest of it was a blur of skin on skin as Theo unleashed himself on you. His mouth, his fingers, his cock were all just tools of seduction that he wielded with lethal precision. 

The pleasure washed over you in waves, crashing again and again as he made you cum not once, not twice, but a total of three times. By the time he reached his peak, you were so exhausted that the two of you collapsed in the dark. 

You laid side by side, staring up at the domed glass ceiling in stunned silence. After a moment, Theo turned over to face you.

“So?” 

“So what?”

“Did I manage to knock that stick out of your arse?”

You rolled your eyes, pushing off the tile. “And that’s my cue to leave.”

“I’m kidding. I’m good, but I’m not that good,” Theo teased, following closely behind as you put your clothes back on. He eyed the bright magenta stain on the front of your uniform. “What happened there? Did you murder some poor unsuspecting pygmy puff?” 

“No, but I did a number on the potions lab,” you lamented with a sigh. “That stupid Angel’s Trumpet Draught is bloody impossible to brew.” 

“That old thing?” Theo asked, pulling out a fresh set of clothes from his quidditch bag. “I finished it ages ago.” 

You gaped, nearly tumbling over your own skirt. “How? I followed the recipe word for word and this disastrous stain was all I managed to achieve.”

“Sometimes you have to go off the book,” he replied. “Experiment a little.” 

“No thanks, I’d rather keep all my limbs intact.”

“I think you’re doing a rather splendid job of endangering yourself all on your own,” Theo said sarcastically. He cocked his head as you slipped on your boots. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll show you how to brew the draught in exchange for a favor.” 

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. “What kind of favor?” 

“That’s for me to decide and for you to accept.” 

“I’d rather not give an egomaniac a nuclear advantage.” 

Theo rolled his eyes. “Do you want my help or not, diavolina?” 

“Fine,” you said with a sigh. “But only because I’m desperate.” 

“Words every bloke is dying to hear.” 

Without a word, he tossed a mass of balled up fabric in your direction. “What’s this?” 

“A jumper, an article of clothing generally worn to retain warmth in colder climates,” Theo deadpanned.

“I know what a jumper is, you tosser. Why are you giving it to me?” 

“Because, you’ll get a cold walking around like that,” Theo explained with a longsuffering sigh as though you were a clueless first year. The corners of his mouth quirked up. “Plus, I can see your nipples through your blouse and as much as I enjoy the view, I doubt that flashing Filch is at the top of your bucket list.” 

“You truly are appalling,” you replied, shrugging the slightly faded jumper on. The thing was so worn that you couldn’t even make out the inscription on the front. The fabric swallowed you whole, skimming the top of your thighs. It also smelled like sea salt and smoke and boy. One boy in particular. 

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” He grinned, showing off those stupid little dimples of his. “Meet me in the potions lab tomorrow. Eight o’clock sharp, just like old times. And bring a muffin.” 

“For the draught?’ 

“No, for me.” Theo said, holding the door open. “I’ll need motivation if I’m spending my Saturday morning with you.” 

You slipped into the hallway and flipped him the bird. His laughter followed you in the dark like an annoying shadow.

“See you tomorrow, my little pygmy puff!”

Taglist: @annaisabookworm@marina468@yaraasthings @the0doreslover@bubybubsters@moony-artemis @natasha887@lucyysthings@criesinlies @bunnymallowo@niktwazny303@letmedownslows @siriuslyalovergirl@wordsarelife@clairesjointshurt @daydreamingabthar @mishtay @cherry-hoe  @littlebookbengal @maybefoxysouls @nomup  @aliensknowmyillusions

[withleeknow]

rue de rivoli.

pairing: hyunjin x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, semi edited lol, a little sappy and very self indulgent and inspired by a very specific instance in that one hyunjin vlog in japan 🤷‍♀️ word count: 0.9k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

hyunjin might be the worst - and you mean it, the worst - travel partner.

it’s all because of that ridiculously expensive camera of his and the little hobby that he’s taken up on.

“hey,” he calls out softly, trailing a few steps behind you as he raises the camera up to his face again. “hold it right there.”

you huff out a breath in mild annoyance, blowing some hair away from your face as the air escapes from your lips.

“seriously? you’ve taken a gazillion pictures already. this is the third time you’ve made me stop in the past thirty minutes.”

“but the lighting is just perfect.”

“we’re only here for a few days! i can’t see all the places i wanna see if you keep making me stop every two seconds!”

it was cute at first, how he kept asking you to stop in the middle of the street to snap a photo of you. it made you blush every time he did, because he would take another brief moment to admire the final product on his camera’s display screen and tell you that even though the photo turned out great, it could never truly capture how beautiful you are through his eyes. then he’d press a kiss to your cheek or a swift peck to your lips before taking your hand and tugging you along, en route to the tourist attractions that you’ve yet to come across.

to be fair, it’s still cute, and despite your feeble irritation, you still let hyunjin take his photos every time he asks. mostly because he would start sporting a gigantic pout on his face, coupled with the way his eyes widen like a puppy begging for a treat.

“please? you look so pretty right now. pleaseee?”

you acquiesce - of course you do - because who can say no to a cute whiny hyunjin?

you roll your eyes half-heartedly, and a bright grin immediately spreads on his lips because he knows that he’s getting what he wants, the smile so brilliant that it brings out his whisker dimples and turns his eyes into adorable crescent moons.

he patters over to you on light footsteps once the shot has been snapped, proudly showing you his handy work even though you secretly think it looks the same as any other photo of you that he’s taken - sometimes it’s your side profile with your hair covering half of your face because you’re too awkward to look directly at the camera, sometimes it’s you in random poses because you’re never sure what to do with your hands while getting your picture taken.

“did you even take any photos of the scenery?”

hyunjin shrugs, pretty indifferent to your question. “yeah, a few.”

“a few? give me that, let me see... you’ve taken two hundred and sixty four photos so far and only a few are of freaking paris?!”

another shrug, then cue one of the corniest things he’s ever said to you in your entire life. “you’re prettier than paris.”

sure, it’s a massively cliché thing to say, and a teeny bit cringeworthy to hear if this were a sappy romance movie. but coming from him, you know the sentiment is entirely genuine because hyunjin is nothing if not one of the sincerest people you know.

it makes you short-circuit as you stare up at him. the sun behind him softens by a fraction as it starts to make its descent, and the slowly fading sunlight looks as though it’s found a home as his personal halo. to have someone as beautiful as him tell you that you’re prettier than the city of love itself is quite honestly a little surreal, no matter how long you’ve been together.

“that was the cheesiest shit ever,” you comment, pretending to gag but knowing perfectly well that he can see the rosy flush on your cheeks. you mutter something else - for good measure - along the lines of never going on a trip with him again.

hyunjin laughs that endearing signature laugh of his, then he twists the cap back on the camera lens and once again lets the device dangle from the strap around his neck. he pulls you toward him with ease and kisses you deeply with a smile on his lips, one that’s warmer than the parisian sun could ever hope to be.

no, hyunjin isn’t a great travel partner. yes, mostly because he takes up all of your time trying to take pictures of you instead of letting you freely wander to the spots that you’d spent a lot of time bookmarking on google maps beforehand. he might be the worst person you’ve gone on a trip with because when you’re travelling, you like to be productive with your time and be able to do everything you set out to do in the limited number of days you have.

but even then, maybe it’s not that terrible having to miss watching the sunset in front of the eiffel tower because more exquisite than all of the most renowned artworks displayed in the louvre and more enchanting than any view you can spot from montmarte is your hyunjin that you adore, who’s kissing you in the middle of a street which name you can’t even pronounce.

any irritation you had from before slowly melts away. you don’t even care (that much) that you’re in the city of love.

any city is love when you’re with him.

(even when he messes up your travel plans sometimes.)

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts  @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken @extrhotjne @caitxx1 @palindrome969 @todorokiskitten @azuna-sz @meanergreener @nxzz-skz @jazziwritesthings @poutypoutybin @bookyeom @jisuperboard @wyzminho @amarecerasus @channection @lastgreatamericandynasty1 @judeduartewannabe @chanshyunjin @firelordtsuki (italicized = can’t tag)

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 04.03.2024]

[theforsakenprince]

Forsaken as a revenge story fascinates me but not because of anything really related to the revenge story itself but rather the context surrounding it. like, "revenge is wrong" stories are everywhere and almost expected at this point, and Forsaken is no different, really. Forsaken says going on this path of revenge will turn you into a monster, but... we as the player don't really care? And why should we! Uldren killed one of our favorite characters! And every expansion before this has us killing something, so it's not really out of the ordinary.

This feeling is especially reinforced by how much Bungie tried making the young wolf a self insert during y1 (which REALLY did not last long). We, the player (if you played d1/y1 anyway) are angry at Uldren for killing off the most popular character at the time. It's PERSONAL now. And sure, the ending does feel like we're kicking someone who's already down (Ghost says it himself: Uldren's already done for), but we got the bad guy! The end, right?

Nope! Our actions have immediate consequences! Ghost is scared for us. We have to watch Petra struggle with the events of Forsaken while trying to lead a city of people stuck in a perpetual 3 week loop. Mara is obviously not happy with us (and we know we have to deal with lightbearer Uldren at some point). We may not feel bad about killing Uldren, but it doesn't feel great either. And unlike most past Destiny expansions, Uldren isn't an obligatory unequivocally evil big bad alien we need to shoot because this is an fps, he's... just some guy we barely knew anything about before now. Sure, he was a dick to us, but watching his descent into madness throughout the campaign is downright uncomfortable. All our past enemies, in comparison, have been rather straightforward: they're trying to kill us? well we gotta kill them first.

Forsaken also marks a MAJOR tonal shift. It literally kills off the comedy relief. Every release after Forsaken has a noticeably more serious tone (and while humor isn't completely absent (Saint, Crow, Fynch, and Nimbus have their moments) Forsaken's story is a particularly dark one, and it seems to carry over the rest of the year as we first start to consider the "line between light and dark"). It was definitely much more noticeable at the time of release, but Cayde's death has an impact not only on the characters but the tone of the story overall (he is the perfect example of characters continuing to haunt the narrative imo) and clues us in as the audience that shit is about to get Real.

and what happens the next year? We find a Pyramid ship.

this post is kinda all over the place but MAN not a day goes by that I don't think about Forsaken and how good it is as a self contained story and as an expansion that sets up a lot of the major players leading up to final shape! it's not really controversial to say that Forsaken is one of destiny's best expansions (story wise at least I'm not touching that power grind with a 10 foot pole) but I feel like a lot of that sentiment comes from the fact that it came out after curse of osiris/warmind which. no hate to either of them but anything that came out after them would look really good in comparison.

anyway uhhh forsaken good uldren did nothing wrong (JOKE I feel like I have to specify this is a joke people have taken this statement from me seriously before)

[girlsworldillusion]

CLAIM - by Aemond Targaryen

+18 (seriously, no minors)

author's note: my first time writing for him, even though I've been in the fandom for a while now. (I hope this isn't the only one).

There you go, Aemond thinks with some bitterness.

Bright, innocent, pure. Tempting in annoying ways. Certainly a cute little thing to look at, though.

Unfortunately, he's not the only one who noticed this.

A warm, tingly ball curls in his stomach the more he watches you and your pathetic excuse for a partner during the waltz. Every delicate twirl you make around the grand ballroom sends shivers down his spine. The flushed dust high on your cheeks leaves his throat dry. The gentle smile you offer the Lord who smugly leads you through the dance makes his fist clench so tightly around the wine glass that Aemond is actually surprised he hasn't shattered the thing into a thousand pieces yet.

Aemond is not jealous, however. Aemond doesn't get jealous - being jealous is wanting something someone else has, and he has everything he needs, a lot of enviable things, to be honest. (That's what he tells himself, sipping some wine and sending icy daggers toward the man who insists on holding your waist tighter and tighter).

He's not jealous. He just doesn't like it when others covet what's his - or what should be his.

You, another Lady with a prestigious name. Theoretically there were many like you, it's true. But to Aemond, you always stood out. Unique, special. It is a great inconvenience that others also think this way.

Aemond was trying to be a gentleman here. He was purposely going slow so as not to scare you; innocent walks in the garden, subtle conversations about a book you both recently read, an unassuming invitation for afternoon tea (although he doesn't even like tea).

He was already exhausting the limits of his own patience and he still didn't get any real sign that you reciprocated his interest in you. You are kind and lovely, of course. But that's how you are with everyone around you. This, in itself, is no guarantee of absolutely anything for him.

Aemond was trying to be patient. Gods, he really was. But with each passing day he found himself more and more tormented by thoughts and fantasies about you. His mind is playing tricks on him, pushing the limits of his self-control to the point where he feels like he might snap like a stretched rubber band.

And it is on these nights, when everyone in the Red Keep is already asleep and he is absolutely certain that he is finally alone with his own demons - that he gives in.

He closes the only eye he has left to keep from seeing the shamefully needy descent of his hand beneath the waistband of his sleep pants, only for it to become a fleeting, innocuous thought a few seconds later, because there it is again; that all-encompassing, overwhelming feeling that makes him see stars every time.

He palms his straining erection wet with precum, imagining it's your tiny hand there - or your pretty mouth, your tight pussy. The mere thought of it sends a bolt of pleasure down his spine and makes him part his lips in a husky sigh.

He thinks of you, over and over again; in hurried and repetitive steps, like someone lost in a maze.

Your cheeks flushed, your lips swollen from his kisses, your eyelashes fluttering with pleasure, your sweet voice begging for him...

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond-

Aemond writhes on the sheets, panting, shaking with it, his toes curled against the bed; his hips twitching with each wave of pleasure along his shaft trapped between his fingers. In the waves of euphoria, he throws his other arm over his eye, hides his sapphire and his personal decay like a secret, panting, getting close, so close, fuck, fuck...

It's sweet torture, after all. Spills out onto his own stomach and sheets instead of where he really wants to be.

But he can handle it. All to be a gentleman for you. All to endure the long, agonizing (and embarrassing) wait while you happily accept his invitations to teas and walks in the gardens and entertain him with your witty anecdotes about the latest book you read -

Although you never give him a concrete answer about your feelings for him.

He's trying to hold on.

But you need to pressure him, don't you?

He grits his teeth and narrows his gaze when the man waltzing with you leans down to say something close to your ear.

This isn't new to him, of course.

Aemond is used to having to fight to get what he wants. Nothing really comes easy for him. But there is something about the arduous trajectory of his personal achievements that no one is able to deny.

Once claimed, it's his forever.

That's it, enough of trying to be a gentleman - Aemond hums as he uses the rim of his wine glass to hide the wicked smile tugging at his lips.

.

"Oh, baby."

He is against you.

Pressing his crotch against the curve of your ass so you can feel how hard his cock is in his pants.

He's laughing in your ear.

Mocking.

"You like that, don't you, girl?" he asks, in a dark whisper after cornering you in one of the castle's corridors, blocking your walk to your chambers. He deposits words laced with malice and honey into his husky voice, whispered against the shell of your ear.

You shudder against him.

He's rubbing himself against you. His cock rubbing explicitly against the curve of your ass, while his fingers squeeze your throat, pulling the back of your head to his shoulder.

"You're mine," he says, his voice full of possessiveness. Like he was on the verge of losing it. He already lost.

You cry out softly, feeling him squeeze your throat again. Harder this time.

"Nobody touches you from now on. Got it?"

He's nuzzling into your hair. Lost in the tickle of your strands on his face, in your sweet smell in his nose.

You shake your head somehow even with his firm grip on your throat and he laughs against your hair.

A low, harsh laugh, a wicked sound that rumbles straight from his throat as he leans down to leave a single kiss on your cheek, intertwining his fingers with yours to give a light tug.

"Good girl."

.

You open your mouth to say something, anything - an apology, a well-rehearsed argument, words too soft and genuine to compete with the sound of Aemond's hips slamming violently between your thighs - but all all you can do is a low, breathless meow.

"You smell like him," Aemond huffs coldly, though it's more of a breathy grunt.

Maybe there is a certain amount of exaggeration in his words, you don't smell like him. Not really. But the simple memory of that man's hands on your waist and his face close to yours to whisper anything was awakening a dangerous euphoria in Aemond's veins.

He tries hard to at least pretend to be easy, to at least pretend to have some control over the situation. Struggling silently to remain composed, as if he wasn't finally fucking the woman he's wanted for a long time at a brutal pace, as if your scent and your tears weren't permanently staining his sheets right now, as if he wasn't squeaking his teeth to keep from spilling too soon at the mere thought of having permanent physical proof that you were here - right in the bed where he sleeps every night. Aemond feigns an indifference and coldness that are not real.

But he's trying.

He is under the intense watch of your drunken, half-closed gaze, and tries hard not to embarrass himself any more than he already has. He struggles to breathe through his nose, trying not to blink too often; carefree, not a hair out of place. And, in the midst of his personal battle for dignity, he finds some amusement in how you seem to be going insane beneath him; as if you seams were being torn apart with each breath hissed through your teeth.

"I-it was just a dance..."

“He was desperate,” Aemond cuts you off, squeezing you so that your words turn into nothing more than a pathetic groan at the end of the sentence. His fingers dig into your throat, anchoring him as his hips work furiously against yours. His hair is falling to your shoulders and breasts, raising goose bumps on your skin with each thrust of his body against yours. “And that smell is really offending me, girl.”

“I-I, I’m so sorry-” you stutter, hands gripping his wrist as he resists the urge to sink his teeth into the crook of your neck, exactly where everyone can see it tomorrow, “I told him I already had someone and -"

He barely hears your confession before he interrupts. Thick words spilling from his lips as the grip on your body doubles in intensity.

"He thought with that sticky smile that he could just have you? That he would be the one to take your purity? This is for me, he should know. You belong to me. Only for me - only for me." He shakes and sputters to the wild pleasure coursing through his veins, some of his self control slipping as he bows his head and bumps his forehead against your sweaty shoulder, panting heavily into your skin at the feeling of your tight walls gripping his cock like a lathe.

"Yeah - only for you", he distantly hears you moan above the roar in his ears, feels your little fingers tangle between the silver strands of his hair until you manage to give a sharp tug, right at the base of the back of his neck. He groans into your skin at the sensation.

The liquid heat building inside him is almost overflowing, so close that he can't stop his trembling hips from meeting yours with shallower thrusts. He's almost rubbing himself against you, over and over, frantically. “Aemond, p-please,” you murmur, cherry-colored tongue wetting your plump bottom lip. "I can't anymore, I can't - ngh, please-"

Aemond swallows the rest of your words with a punishing kiss, answering your broken plea by quickly grinding his hips, encouraging your orgasm to wash over you. He doesn't stop, not even when you go rigid, unable to kiss him back or do anything other than moan and cry into his mouth.

Aemond traces your lips with his tongue, nibbling them until they're soft, his own breathing becoming as frantic as the cock that's dragging without pause against your wet walls. When his orgasm washes over him, Aemond is already panting and moaning as if in pain as he rests his forehead against yours; an intense gaze observing yours, focused on every detail of your delicate features. Your hooded gaze, the wet trail of tears on your red cheeks and your uneven breathing. The purest adoration for him shining in your eyes like stars in the dark sky.

And he smiles then.

Because you are his now.

Duly claimed.

.

With a gentle touch on his elbow, Aemond returns to reality.

The apples of his cheeks are dyed a subtle (but noticeable) shade of red as his violet gaze scans the space in front of him, silently surprised to have been caught in the middle of his unholy reverie.

It's you.

A beautiful silk dress on soft skin. Hair tied in a slightly loose braid. So small compared to him. So beautiful. So...his.

"Prince Aemond, are you okay?"

He looks at you for a moment, debating between feigning disagreement to spare himself the humiliation of being caught or pushing you against the nearest wall.

In the end, he chooses to remain still, head raised proudly and face indifferent, although his violet gaze remains stubbornly tilted downwards, thirsty to maintain eye contact with you.

"Yes, I just got distracted," he says, voice deeper than he'd like it to sound.

You smile, sweet and soft and his heart quickens.

"That's great. Well, it's late and my feet are hurting after all the dancing." You close your eyes in an amused, relaxed expression, there's even a dimple forming in your cheek as the wide smile stretches your lips - and although the sight is enough to fill his chest with a bubbling sensation of pure warmth, a muscle Aemond's jaw jumps at the mere mention of your recent activities. "Have a good night, my Prince." You conclude when he offers no response to your comment, bowing with a respectful farewell before walking away.

He watches you leave the great hall with delicate steps, gentle smiles and nods directed at the people you meet on the way. The image of grace and innocence, without a doubt. At least until you turn your head towards him before walking out the hall doors.

The way your upper teeth sink into the plump flesh of your lower lip, your heavy eyelashes fluttering when you squint briefly, the flushed cheeks and swollen pupils aimed specifically at him...

It happens as quickly as it started. With a fluid movement you turn around again and walk through the hall doors, as if nothing had happened.

Aemond sighs; tired, irritated, burning with lust.

You keep playing with him.

The wine glass shakes and clinks loudly as he places it roughly on the table, but he doesn't care. He doesn't even care if anyone notices as he abruptly follows your steps, leaving the ballroom behind, with a hard gaze and dark features.

He would catch up to you.

And this time he'll make sure it's not just in a daydream-

He will claims you. Truly, indisputably.

[astairo]

Hi!y.

I saw your post about wanting to write for hazbin and I was wondering if you could do a Lucifer x Angel!Reader who is Angel Dust’s sister? Like she had to come check on the hotel, If you’d like to add in another character maybe Adam and her were friends so when became a demon she went to visit him not knowing Angel was there, or she fell or something and they reunite and Lucifer falls in love at first sight?

Sorry if that’s a lot hahaha

I hope you’re having a wonderful day!

My Green Light

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

2.2k words

After news of the first man being in Hell makes its way to heaven, a fellow winner makes their visitational descent. Not long after, a short king’s wings couldn’t help but flap.

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of sex, slight angst, fluff

A/N: Absolutely LOVE this one! This was also inspired by The Great Gatsby’s ‘My Green Light’ which is sang by our short king himself, unedited.

“It’s not fair, Sera!”

Sera looked at you, conflicted. It’s been weeks since the extermination and the council was a mess. “For the last time, Y/n,” the seraphim spoke sternly, “You are not permitted to go down to Hell. It is far too dangerous.”

You shook your head, “Adam is my friend, Sera! Hell is a terrible place, and a man like him needs some sort of reassurance.” She listened as you reasoned out, frowning. Adam wasn’t the best of angels, but he deserved a little company.

Eventually, she relented to your requests. She looked at your face and sighed, “I’ll talk to the council and see what I can do for you.” A flicker of hope grew brighter in you, “Thank you, Sera! Thank you!” She gave you a tired smile, “Keep in touch.”

With that, she left for her office. You smiled and made your way to Lute’s office, which also used to be Adam’s. “Lute,” you knocked once, “Lute?” The door creaked open.

The door swung open, revealing a very tired and disheveled looking Lute, “What?!” Her anger soon dissipated once she realized it was you, “Y/n, what’s wrong?” You offered her a sad smile, “I was talking with Sera, and we might have a chance to see Adam.” Lute’s attention was now on you, “Seriously? Like you’re not fucking with me?” You placed the upper pair of your arms on her shoulders as the lower pair grasped her hands softly, “I’m being serious! We’ll see Adam again and I can finally reunite with Anthony!”

Lute grimaced at the thought of your brother. She had told you about the meeting with the princess, only to reveal that your brother, Anthony, was in Hell. “The crazy porn freak?” she quirked a brow, causing you to sigh, “I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

“Y/n, you’re better off not meeting up with him. You’re too kind of a soul to even associate with sinners,” she reasoned. “No,” you shook your head, “I haven’t seen him in decades! You have the opportunity to see Adam, and I’ll take this as the opportunity to reconnect with family, Lute!” She watched as you pleaded and begged her.

Lute looked conflicted, “I don’t think I’m ready to even step foot in that shithole, Y/n. I mean, look at me,” she gestured to her missing arm, “They’ll eat me alive, and no doubt you, too.”

“Just this once,” you mumbled pathetically, “I’ll be careful.”

Lute frowned, “Fine, but no funny business. Last thing the council needs is a scandal between Hell and one of the purest souls in Heaven.” Your eyes lit up, jumping to wrap your arms around her, “Thank you, oh, thank you!”

You felt the tense in her shoulders relax, leaning into your touch as if it was the only comfort she’d had in days.

-

“Charlie!” Lucifer grinned as he burst through the doors. It had been days after they had finished the new hotel. “Dad,” Charlie greeted as she finished checking in a few sinners. Ever since the extrermination, sinners had been checking in left and right for a shot of redemption.

“I was thinking, we could build a duck—“ the king was interrupted by a groan. The royals turned to face the first man himself, who slouched onto one the couches. “What is this bullshit about ducks? It’s like fucking everyday with you. Do you do anything else other than being shit-faced, fucking losers?”

The king stiffened as he went to hit the man, only to be held back by his daughter, “Dad, no. Like everyone else, he deserves a second chance. Even if he doesn’t seem to be deserving of it,” she mumbled the last part but looked at her dad pleadingly. Lucifer’s shoulders relaxed as he sighed. He loved his daughter more than anything, and if this was how he could keep her happy? Then so be it.

“Fine, but don’t expect me to like him, sweetheart.”

Charlie smiled at her father’s words, “Thanks, dad. It means a lot that you’re here.” Lucifer smiled, “My pleasure, sweetheart.

The two embraced one another, only to be interrupted by loud straw sucking. Lucifer inhaled sharply as he glared at Adam. Adam, who drank a soda, looked at the two smugly, “Cut the sappy shit already. And don’t look at me like that, bitch.”

Before Lucifer could snap at him, the doors opened to reveal a very worn down Angel Dust. “Fuckin’ fuck, just make out already,” he groaned as he made his way to the bar. The two rivals stopped to stare at the spider in disbelief. “What?” the spider shrugged, “Come on, I can’t be the only one feelin’ the tension. Nothing a little hate-fucking can’t fix. Get me my usual, Whiskers,” he nodded to Husk who grumbled in response.

The two blinked before pushing away from each other.

“Oh, fuck no!”

“Not with that fucking shit-bag!”

The porn demon quirked a brow, “Just sayin’ the possible inevitable.” He turned to grab his drink and enjoy himself.

Adam and Lucifer made eye contact and grimaced. “Get the fuck out my way,” the first man grumbled as he walked towards his room. “I will!” the short king huffed and crossed his arms. “Can you believe him, Char-Char? Absolutely disgusting sinner behavior…” he trailed off as he watched her hug Vaggie. He looked at his wedding ring and frowned. “What was that, dad?” Charlie looked towards her father. Lucifer sadly smiled and shook his head, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you later?” His daughter smiled sympathetically, “Are you sure?”

He nodded, “I’m sure.”

With that, he made his way up to his personal suite. He leaned on the balcony, staring up at Hell’s red sky. He looked back down at his ring finger, scowling. He grasped the ring and pulled it off swiftly. He pulled his hand back and threw it forward, only to keep his fist closed with the ring inside. He just couldn’t let her go. He led his closed hand to his chest, cradling it.

His moment of despair was quickly interrupted by a bright light in Hell’s red skies. Lucifer’s eyes widened and squinted at the light source. He thought nothing much of it. What could this mysterious light have possibly done for him? It probably was another lighthouse, or was it a signal flare? Nevertheless, he was drawn in, intrigued by it. The light suddenly beamed down to the ground, a faint zip roaring through the air. The king of Hell watched as the beam made contact with the ground right in front of the hotel with a crack. Debris surrounded the area, causing residents, including himself, to cough as it entered their lungs.

“What in the ever loving duck?” he questioned and coughed.

As the air cleared, a faint glow emitting through the dust caught him off-guard. He watched as the dust revealed what he could only describe as a work of art. Stunning, he thought, Absolutely stunning. He observed from his balcony, watching as your eyes looked around in awe and anticipation. He could feel your presence drawing him in. You looked up to make eye contact with the fallen angel briefly, sending him a smile before entering the building.

Without hesitation, he pocketed the ring and made his way down to the lobby. He shoved against sinners in his way, eager to see you again.

-

“Adam!” You squealed as you made your way to the man, jumping to hug him. You chuckled as he grumbled in response, inevitably hugging you back. “Bitch, what the fuck are you doing here? Aren’t you a little too sensitive for a place like this?” he chuckled as he roughed your hair up despite your protests.

“I am not sensitive, Adam,” you grinned, “It’s good to see you haven’t changed one bit.” He scoffed, “Hell isn’t gonna fucking break me, bitch. I’m no pussy.” You rolled your eyes, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He flicked your forehead, causing you to yelp, “Don’t fucking roll your eyes at me, bitch.”

“Watch me,” you stuck your tongue out at him.

He chuckled at your antiques, leading you to sit down on one of the couches, “How’s up there without me? Has everything gone downhill since the original dick is gone?” You sent him a soft smile, “Well, I wouldn’t say downhill,” he quirked a brow as you chuckled nervously under his gaze, “It just…hasn’t been the same without you.” He sprouted a grin, “Of course, bitch! Without the dickmaster, heaven is just as shitty!” You scoffed and hit his arm, “Ego!’ He yelped, “Don’t hit me, bitch! You do realize I am the original dick, right?” he whined. “Let me be sympathetic in peace,” you huffed.

“Whatever,” he muttered gingerly. A few seconds went by before he spoke up again, “So how is she?” You cocked your head, “She?” Adam sat up, looking serious, “Lute. How is she?” Your eyes softened, “She’s…she could be better.” Adam nodded, “And her,” he hesitated, “her arm?” You sent a reassuring smile, “Healing. Trust me, Adam. She’s getting better as we speak. She just misses you.” Adam lightly smiled at the thought, “Will she come and visit?” You paused to think, “When she’s ready.” He nodded and leaned back. You watched this with a soft smile, “You really care about her, don’t you?” Adam looked at you with sad eyes, “I do. I just wish I could’ve shown it better.” You pat his back gently, “I’m sure she already knows.” You two smiled at each other, only to be interrupted by the doors opening.

”I need a strong one, Husker,” a familiar voice groaned, causing you to sit up. Adam, who noticed your sudden pique of interest, sent you an encouraging smile, “Go and find out for yourself, bitch.” You smiled back before nervously standing up from the couch.

“Anotha one, Whiskers!” Angel called out, grinning at the grumbling feline. You made your way over to the bar, legs wobbly.

“Anthony?”

You watched as the sinner stiffened at your voice, He turned to face you with doubt and recognition, “Y/n, sei davvero tu? (Is it really you?)” You wrapped your arms around you, nervous, “Si fratello. Sono io, (Yes, brother. It’s me,)” your eyes looked at him with fondness.

Angel leaped from his seat and pulled you into him, whispering soft thank you’s and praises, “It’s been too long, sweets.” You wrapped your arms around him in return, “Way too long,” you mumbled against him. He pulled away and examined you, “Ya look just like me, just a little more modest,” he chuckled weakly, causing you to laugh too. “We’re family aren’t we?” Angel’s eyes widened at the mention of family, “Speaking of family, how are Ma and Molly?” he worried. “Mama and Molly are quite alright. They’ve been a little shaken up after they heard about sinner exterminations, thinking you’d been…” you trailed off as your shoulders slumped.

“Well, I’m here, sweets. I’m not double-dead quite just yet,” he chuckled as he hugged you once more. “How long till you go back?” he asked, realization dawning on him. “A few days. A week at most,” you frowned as sadness crept its way back into your chest. Angel frowned at the thought but shook it off, “Then I suppose we make the most of your time here,” he started to smile. You smiled back, clinging onto him, “What first?”

-

The two of you spent the whole day catching up with one another, laughing, crying, and reminiscing in each other’s presence. “And then I said,” he paused and got into character, “‘Fuck off, Val,” and walked away like t’was no one’s business.” The both of you giggled at his story, “Very brave of you, Tony. Always standing up for yourself without a care in the world,” you giggled and leaned on his shoulder, “To think your boss has the nerve to do this to you knowing you're under her royal highness’ jurisdiction is quite courageous.” Angel scoffed, “No kiddin’,” he clunk both your glasses together before downing his drink.

Both your laughter echoed throughout the hotel’s lobby. Unbeknownst to you, a certain royal stopped to stare. Lucifer hid behind a pillar, admiring how you lit up the room. “Heya, short king,” he snapped out of his thoughts when Angel spoke up behind him. He turned to see the spider holding another bottle of alcohol, “HEY—hi, fuck, ahem! Hello, hello, Angel,” he squeaked and stuttered, “Was just looking over the lounge, checking if everything was in order—“ Angel held a hand up to the king, “You got hots for my sister?” An awkward silence fell between the two.

Lucifer gulped and eventually nodded, “She’s quite the angel.”

The porn star snickered, “That’s Y/n to ya,” he looked and waved at you, smiling when you waved back. “Ya know,” Angel started as he looked back at the king, “She can do ya good. Help ya move on from whatever happened. Stop staying on red when you’ve got a green light right there!” Lucifer’s eyes widened as he looked back at you. The two of you made eye contact as you waved shyly. Smiling, he waved back before glancing back at Angel, “You really think she’d let me?”

Angel let out a laugh, “I know my sister like I know my hair. The question is would you let her?” The spider snickered and gave the king a soft nudge before heading back over to you.

Lucifer looked down and fished into his pocket, opening his palm to find his wedding ring. He looked back at you and smiled softly, “Maybe I could.

A/N: A part 2 is in the works!

Hazbin Hotel Taglist: N/A

[morelikeravenbore]

Can I Make It Any More Obvious?

Sk8erboi!Sebastian meets Ballerina!Aurélie, part one.

(Or: my slow descent into madness via a sk8er boi x notebook crackfic au.)

Inspired by the girlies in the writing server, thanks for the sk8er boi brain rot. I don't know why I'm writing this and I have absolutely NO IDEA where it's heading.

Content: MODERN AU. 🛹 It's 2002 and Sk8er Boi is rockin' up MTV. 🛹 Sebastian is an idiot (affectionate). 🛹 Sebastian thinks he's good at skateboarding but is secretly a nerd. 🛹 Basically Canon!Sebastian with a skateboard. 🛹 Yes I squeezed in a reference to my favourite Notebook scene. 🛹 Yes there will be more Notebook references. 🛹 Part two when? Who knows. 🤙🤙🤙

Warnings: SFW. Non graphic mentions of blood/head wound.

Word count: 2.6k

👉 PART TWO HERE.

[read on wattpad]

Wizarding folk, among which Sebastian was usually proud to include himself, had a distinct fondness for cobblestones. Great for aesthetics, sure: nothing screamed eccentric magical village quite like alarmingly uneven roads — but what worked for aesthetics was absolutely shite for skateboarding.

That's right. Skateboarding.

Luckily, Sebastian was a wizard — and quite a gifted one at that — and though his professors from his Hogwarts days would likely argue that inventing a hovering charm specifically to ride a Muggle skateboard over otherwise un-skateable terrain was a waste of his talents, he was inclined to disagree — especially now, as he hurtled down the main street of Hogsmeade, dodging carts, villagers and stray cats at speeds that rivalled the newest model of the Firebolt.

No, far from a waste of time, this was undoubtedly the most impressive use of his magical prowess since he'd successfully cast the Torture Curse on the first go.

That is until a Thestral-drawn carriage pulled out right in front of him.

‘Fuck —!’

For all the time and effort he'd put into developing his hovering charm, he'd neglected to install an emergency braking system.

Swerving hard to avoid collision, he heel-flipped upwards, accidentally performed his signature mid-air 360 Great-Merlin Kickflip over the top of the carriage, then rail-flipped off a lamppost before launching skyward again.

Choosing to ignore the fact that he'd just performed the best tricks of his life while careening uncontrollably through the air, Sebastian let out a great ‘Yeeeeew!’ of triumph — but the sheer force of his excitement threw him sharply off balance. Wobbling precariously atop the board, arms flapping like an overfed Diricaw trying to outrun a diet plan, he tried to regain control —

But it was no use.

He hit the ground, whacked his head on something hard — a bloody cobblestone, probably — and rolled neatly across the way before the great double doors of the Three Broomsticks finally ended his epic wipeout.

Groaning miserably, he rolled onto his back to find two blurry faces peering down at him with mirrored expressions of shock.

‘Are you alright?’ they asked in perfect unison.

Blinking rapidly, Sebastian's entire world flipped on its axis (er, again) as the face of the prettiest girl he'd ever seen came into stunning, albeit upside-down relief: backlit by the summer sun, a halo of auburn hair framed a pair of eyes so piercingly blue that he was sure they saw into his soul.

Fuck, he was dead, wasn't he? He was dead and this vision of beauty above him was an angel come to take him away to — ah, fuck fuck fuck! Death by malfunctioning magical skateboard was not how he'd planned to go out!

He scrambled gracelessly to his feet.

‘Shit,’ he replied, flicking his swishy hair out of his eyes. ‘I mean — fuck. Hello — shit, you're pretty.’

Taken aback, the girl's orphic eyes widened in alarm.

‘Did you — are you hurt?’

Sebastian swayed on the spot. ‘Who, me?’ He tried to chuckle, but nonchalance was difficult with a head wound. ‘Yeah, I'm fiiiine — completely, totally fine… Never been better, actually. Feel amazing. Best ride of my life.’

Her gaze lingered on his forehead. ‘You're bleeding…’

‘Am I?’ He definitely was — he could feel it. ‘S'alright, happens all the —’

A very disorienting moment later, Sebastian found himself in the back room of the Three Broomsticks with a cold rag pressed to his head and a very irate barkeeper clicking her tongue in disapproval.

‘Skateboarding!’ Sirona tutted. ‘Right through the middle of Hogsmeade! What were you thinking?’

But Sebastian wasn't thinking. At least, not about anything but startling blue eyes.

‘Wasn't,’ he muttered thickly. ‘Where girl?’

He stood up; Sirona shoved him back down.

‘Sebastian, you've got a bloody great gaping wound on your head!’ she scolded, holding him down by the shoulders. ‘I've called for the Healer —’

‘Fuck the Healer.’ He stood up again, swiping his bloody forehead with the back of his hand. Just a scratch. He'd be fine.

‘Oh for the love of —’ Catching him by the sleeve before he could stumble for the exit, Sirona levelled him a look she usually reserved for unruly patrons who’d indulged in too much firewhisky. ‘The girl who brought you here — while you were semi-conscious and incoherent, might I add — is eating lunch in the corner booth. But behave yourself, will you?’ she called after him as he wrenched out of her grip. ‘She's French!’

Sebastian liked Sirona — really, he did; she was the only villager who let him practise his kickflips out the back of the Three Broomies without calling the authorities — but right now he'd push her off a cliff if she got in the way of him and the girl.

Still unsteady on his feet, he barrelled into the tavern proper, where the lunch hour was in full swing and the smell of ale and shepherd's pie made his head spin. He made for the corner booth, flattening his hair with his hands and praying to Merlin above that he didn't look as fucked up as he felt — but his heart dropped when he found the booth occupied not by a dainty little redhead girl but by a group of menacing-looking warlocks tucking into a pig's head for lunch.

Shit.

He spun around. Maybe it was the concussion speaking, but he had the most awful, gut-wrenching feeling that if he never saw her again, terrible things would happen.

He had to see her again.

Scanning the crowd with increasing desperation, he was just about to accost Sirona for more details when he caught a flash of long, red hair slipping through the exit. He dashed across the room, chasing that swishy hair the way a bull charges after a Matador.

‘Hey!’ he called out, skidding through the doorway and into the sunlit street beyond. ‘Hey, wait!’

Frantic, he pushed through a group of disgruntled old ladies, jumped over a very startled cat and almost lost his footing again as he hurtled down the road, this time driven not by magically charmed skateboard but sheer desperation.

‘Hi,’ he panted when he finally caught up to her.

The girl cast him a sideways glance.

‘Oh, look,’ she said with a melodic French accent, ‘it's my new husband.’

Sebastian stumbled over another cobblestone.

‘I — what?’

‘You must've hit your head quite hard indeed if you don't remember professing marriage to a complete stranger.’

He stopped dead in his tracks. Was she joking?

‘I didn't,’ he said, aghast.

‘You did,’ she returned, flashing a wry grin over her shoulder as she walked on.

He hurried after her. ‘Fuck, I'm — I'm sorry, I hit my head really hard.’

‘Oh, so you're revoking your marriage proposal?’

‘No —! I mean, yes, but — I don't even know your name.’

‘Hmm.’ She stopped to peer interestedly at the window display of Tomes and Scrolls. ‘Makes our engagement a bit awkward, no?’

Sebastian could only gape wordlessly as she drifted gracefully into the bookstore.

‘Hang on.’ He dumped his board at the door and lumbered in after her. ‘You said yes?’

The girl pressed her lips together in suppressed amusement. ‘I said I'd think about it. – Bonjour!’ she added, greeting Mr Brown so sweetly that the shopkeeper's usually surly countenance brightened like he'd swallowed his sun. Sebastian wondered if he, too, looked equally as ridiculous as he followed her down the nearest aisle…

Likely he did.

He didn't really care.

‘You'd think about it?’ he whispered, lowering his voice as a show of respect to the books crammed into the overstuffed shelves on either side of them.

Though he'd be hesitant to admit it aloud to anyone (lest the truth ruin the bad boy persona he'd been carefully cultivating for many years), Sebastian was at his happiest when surrounded by books. No longer having access to the Hogwarts library since he’d graduated a year prior, he'd taken to visiting Tomes and Scrolls so often that Mr Brown, a fervent bibliophile and an avid sesquipedalian, had given him a part-time job and leased him the shoebox flat on the second floor, ‘...since you refuse to cease importuning me with your quotidian ritual of perambulating about my pulchritudinous premises!’

Crammed with books but bereft of furniture, the tiny, two-roomed flat was dingey, draughty and, judging by the thick layer of dust that’d greeted him on his arrival, hadn't had a living soul cross its threshold since 1892 — but it sure beat living with Solomon in Feldcroft: the only thing his uncle hated more than Sebastian's boards was Sebastian himself, and though piles of books didn't offer much in the way of conversation on those long nights alone in his flat, at least they'd never called him a good-for-nothing waste of space nor gotten so black-out drunk they’d passed out in the middle of the living room for several days. 

No, when it came to companionship, Sebastian generally preferred the fictional sort.

Today, though, squeezed between the narrow aisles with a girl whose radiance rendered him dumber than a flobberworm, Sebastian wouldn't have noticed if the books became sentient, grew papery legs and performed a perfectly choreographed flash dance in the village square. Deep in the reverential hush of the bookstore, they could have been the only two people in the world.

‘Well, you seemed so terribly earnest about us getting married…’ mused the girl, trailing delicate fingers over book spines and blurbs. ‘And I didn't want to hurt your feelings when you were injured. And then the barkeeper came —’

‘— Sirona.’

‘Oui. And you asked her to prepare us a wedding suite.’

Sebastian stared at her. ‘I can't tell if you’re joking or if you’re just…’

‘French?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Mm,’ she said simply, and it was only when she looked him over did he become horrifying aware of his state of dishevelment: his grey hoodie was caked in dirt, there was a new tear in his jeans that he hadn't artfully produced on purpose, and when he glanced at his reflection in a nearby glass cabinet, he was shocked by how much blood was smeared across his forehead.

This was not Sebastian's first head wound. It was, however, his most mortifying.

And yet, for reasons he couldn’t fathom, this angelic girl, with her silk blouse and balletic gait, wasn’t running from him, threatening to hex him, or even regarding him with the slightest bit of ridicule. In fact, unless the knock to his brain had skewed his ability to accurately interpret social cues, she rather seemed to be enjoying his company.

Or at the very least, she found him amusing.

He could work with amusing.

When she disappeared down the next aisle, he steeled his nerves, cast a (mostly useless) cleaning charm over his scraggly appearance, and followed after her again — only this time, with the strategic use of his signature swagger in full swing, the effect of which usually left hoards of girls swooning in his wake.

He tousled his hair.

‘Anyway,’ he began, confident, suave, assured, ‘I'm Sebas —’

‘— Sebastian Sallow,’ she said, not looking up from the book she was perusing. ‘I know, you told me earlier. You also told me your age, your middle name, which house you were in at Hogwarts, your favourite colour, and,’ — she flashed a dubious glance at the cut on his forehead, — ‘that you're “hands down the best skater in all the Highlands.”’

Sebastian's swagger visibly deflated.

‘Is that all I told you?’ he gulped. Given his recent history, blabbering on about marriage was not the worst thing he could’ve told her.

Not by any stretch.

‘Mhm.’ She slipped the book under her arm and glided deeper into the shop. ‘Aside from the marriage proposal.’

‘Right,’ he swallowed. ‘Aside from that. So, uh.’ He stepped around her before she could flit off again. ‘Are you going to tell me your name?’

She smiled up at him, and he wondered if her plump, strawberry lips tasted as sweet as they looked.

Fuck.

‘I already did,’ she said coyly, lightly stepping around him again. ‘But you evidently did not commit it to memory.’

Whatever remained of his short-lived confidence packed up its bags and slinked out of the bookstore with its tail between its legs, leaving him fully exposed as the poser he truly was.

‘You didn't,’ he moaned, chasing after the scent of her floral hair like a bee starved of pollen.

‘I did.’

‘No.’

‘Twice, actually.’

‘Twice?’

‘Mhm,’ she said, picking up another book. ‘Not a great start to our whirlwind romance, is it?’

Sebastian looked at her sideways.

‘I still can't tell if you're joking,’ he lamented, feeling a burgeoning sense of anxiety tighten his chest. ‘What if I guess?’

She set the book down and turned to him.

‘Listen, Sebastian,’ she began, pronouncing his name the French way, ‘you seem very sweet, but —’

‘I am!’ he blurted. ‘I am sweet! Very sweet, in fact! Unless —’ A surge of panic stole through him. — ‘Unless you don't like sweet? In that case, I'm not sweet, I'm horrible. A nightmare. I'm literally the worst, I'm —’

‘You're dumb,’ she interrupted with a giggle.

Sebastian softened like fucking butter.

‘I can be that,’ he said with so much earnestness he wondered what the fucking hell was wrong with him. ‘I can be dumb, if that's what you want. Just tell me what you want, and I'll be it.’’

‘What I want,’ she said, regarding him with equal parts exasperation and pity, ‘is for you to get your head looked at.’

'You sound like my uncle,' he snorted. 'I mean, uh, I will!... If you come with me?'

‘Do you need me to hold your hand?’ she said archly.

‘Yes!’

‘Mm…’ She pretended to think. ‘Non.’

‘But — wait! What if — What if I have a concussion and I die without ever knowing your name? Wouldn't that be tragic?’ He pressed his hands to his chest and went on dramatically, ‘As I lay dying, holding the vision of your face in my mind's eye like a guiding light, my only regret will be that I never knew the name of beauty.’

Clearly unmoved, she levelled him a look so dry it would've parched a weaker man than he. But Sebastian Sallow was no coward! — Especially not with books at his disposal and the smell of parchment in his lungs. Inspired into a literary fervour, he swept his arms wide.

‘Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! And, lips,’ — his voice dropped to a whisper, — ‘O you the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss…’

‘Oh, mon dieu.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘It's Aurélie. — Aurélie Collins.’

Sebastian's mouth dropped.

‘Aurélie Collins the ballerina?’

‘Oui.’

She turned. He followed.

‘The famous one?’

‘Oui.’

‘But you're the youngest ballerina in the Paris ballet or — whatever. Right?’

‘Ballet de l'Opéra national de Paris,’ she corrected, holding herself a little straighter. ‘I didn't pick you as a ballet fan.’

‘I'm — well, I'm not,’ he admitted sheepishly. ‘But my best mate is. Fancy prick, Ominis is, but all the Gaunt's are.’

She stopped so abruptly that he bumped into her.

‘Ominis Gaunt is your best friend?’

Considering they hadn't spoken in over a year, “best friend” seemed a bit of a stretch, but for all intents and purposes, Ominis was really the only friend Sebastian had. Or used to have: after that one time Sebastian had used the torture curse on him, their friendship had become a little… strained.

‘Why?’ He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. ‘Do you know him?’

‘Yes, I do,’ she said loftily. ‘In fact, he and I have a date planned in ten minutes from now.’

Don't worry, there's not a single universe in which Sebastian and Aurélie don't fall stupidly in love. I just needed a foolproof way to make Sebebe jealous in part 2, and what better than to have his girl (quote unquote) go on a date with his estranged best friend who he tortured for a spell book that one time lol.

[thesleepyhollows]

Understanding Arkhamverse scarecrow.

I’ve been wanting to make this post for awhile. I think with the release of Arkham shadow we might finally have all the necessary pieces to understand the life of Jonathan crane, his motivations and his descent into obsession.

This scene gives us a lot to work with.

Let’s start with this. It seems like unlike some versions of crane who see fear as a tool. The true face of control and power. Arkhamverse Crane sees fear as everything. This has been observed all throughout the series. From him discussing how fear drives every human action in Arkham asylum to this line in Arkham knight just before he’s defeated.

Something else I noted in that clip was Jonathan immediately trying to rationalise and analyse his reaction to his toxin using fear.

Now we’re not quite sure what this original chemical of his does. Only that its intention is to trigger the shadow within people. We can assume through both his and Batman’s reactions that it aims to do this through a similar process to the future fear toxin. Bringing out and facing people with their deepest fears. Hoping they may become them.

Though that leaves the same question. Why jump to fear. He’s clearly talented in chemistry. Surly there would be more direct ways to bring out people’s demons rather than only focusing on a single part of the shadow. Well I believe that shows us even before this realisation Jonathan had some experience and issues with fear. It’s also why his greatest fear seemingly is just. Fear itself. The helpless fears given to us from evolutions and experiences long before our time. Inherent fears.

However we also shouldn’t disregard his fixation on the shadow itself. Why does he seemingly want to get people to become their worst selves. As seen in his tapes with Harvey. Why is Jonathan crane like this?

Well I think there may have been a time where he saw someone consumed by fear. Destoryed by it.

This could draw an interesting parallel to the story of Amadeus Arkham whose story started when he watched his own mother be consumed by her mental illness before ending up consumed by it himself. I think this parallel could make a lot of sense given that I’d argue although the joker plays a more personal threat scarecrow is the main villain of the Arkham series.

So allow me to tell you what I believe to be the story of Jonathan Crane in the Arkham series. Assuming that the brief backstory we got in his Arkham asylum character bio isn’t considered canon.

A parent or other caregiver suffered from great anxiety and paranoia that caused them to do great harm. Maybe overtime perhaps in one tragic incident. Jonathan internalised this and began to grow interested in the mind. Maybe it started with good intentions. After all he does claim to be helping people in Arkham shadow. Maybe that was a lie and he’s been twisted for a very long time. Who knows.

He began work at Gotham state university and we know how that ended up.

Though it’s worth noting he clearly was brilliant. So much so that this incident unlike most versions of the character did not get him fired because his classes brought the university so much revenue. Instead he left on his own accord to take over as head of rehabilitation at blackgate. An odd choice given the amount of institutions bidding over him. They were likely offering more, far more than the job he took. Though I think his motivations for this were split. Partly is of course the obvious motivation of easy access to test subjects that couldn’t easily speak out. We can see in the previous game that he was running controlled tests likely of the chemicals we see used in Arkham shadow and his subjects were willing participants.

Now either not enough people were choosing to participate or the effects were becoming so potent it risked drawing unwanted attention to his work.

The second reason connects to my proposed backstory. Maybe he was curious to explore how fear connects and causes crime and violence via the shadow. The chain reaction that begins WITH fear.

We then see the events that happen in Arkham shadow and we find out alongside Jonathan that he’s been inhaling his own chemicals during testing. Smart move there buddy. This sends him into a psychotic spiral and forces him to confront and become his greatest fear. His shadow. Fear itself. We can see that this truly set in given how messed up he looks the following day. Not to mention his actions becoming erratic. No longer thinking to hide his crimes until after he severely injures Harvey and huffing his own chemicals right in court.

Afterwards? We’re not sure. Of course he goes on to become the scarecrow then the events play out as we see throughout the rest of the Arkham games. He gets mauled by killer croc during the events of asylum and his previously smug and joyfully sadistic personality get destroyed alongside his face. The experience clearly changed him quite drastically as a person. Although clearly it didn’t shake his core ideals and beliefs about the all consuming nature of fear.

How pitifully ironic that this idea became true in the end. As he’s injected with his own toxins his mind collapsing and giving way to permanent insanity and terror. Fear really was everything Jonathan had left in the end.

[whump-in-the-closet]

OH MY GOD THE DRABBLE WITH VILLAIN HOLDING VIGILANTE HOSTAGE TO MAKE HERO WORK FOR THEM????? THAT WAS SO GOOD AHHHHHH

I humbly request a continuation, oh great one 🧎‍♀️(only if you want to, ofc)

Your request is my command my friend <2

part 1

content: female whumpee, gunshot, reluctant whumper/villain, bound and gagged, manhandling, multiple whumpers, multiple whumpees, fucked up sibling dynamics, implied torture and abuse, forced to watch, hostage situation

Hero's hands shook as she clicked together the last two pieces of Villain's weapon.

She stared at it, unwilling to take her hands off the instrument, fully aware of Villain standing over the unconscious Vigilante behind her.

"Done yet?"

Hero tensed, noticing as if for the first time, the blue glow of the muzzle and the weird tingling it sent up her arms the longer she held it. She felt off-- lethargic, her vision dimming and slipping in and out of focus.

Villain had approached her from behind and now leaned on the desk, putting a gloved hand on the weapon. I knew you’d come around,” he said, his voice a velvet purr. “You're always so predictable, Hero. Always willing to bleed for someone else.”

Hero's grip tightened, eyes narrowing. She noticed three things at once- three small details- the small spots of blood on Villain's gloves, the soft descent of a cloud of dust motes between them, and Villian's stinging smile of triumph.

"That's a suppressor?" It came out as a question, hesitant, suddenly unsure of how exactly this would end.

Before Villain could respond, Vigilante stirred. They tilted their head groggily, blinking until everything came into focus. They froze when they made eye contact with Hero. They screamed into the duct tape gag, the sound muffled but the message clear. Run!

Villain glanced back, looking from Vigilante to Hero. His demeanor shifted. He yanked the weapon out of her hands and raised it with practiced ease. "No shit, Sherlock." Gone was the evil mastermind with everything planned ahead. A flicker of genuine annoyance flashed in his eyes. He wanted to end this. Now.

Fuck.

Hero slowly stood up, hands raised. "Villain, take it easy now." Her gaze remained locked on that glowing gun, its shine reflecting in her eyes. "Let's not rush into anything--"

"Don't tell me what to do," snapped Villain. With the gun, he gestured to the floor. "Kneel. And keep your hands where I can see them"

Hero's stomach dropped. Every second felt like an eternity, her mind racing. Finally, she lowered herself to the floor, her movements deliberate and slow, hands still raised. "Villain," she tried again, her voice tight with desperation. "Let Vigilante go. They’ve got nothing to do with this."

Please.

Villain snorted, his finger hesitating over the trigger. He looked at the hyperventilating Vigilante and shrugged. "Why? I have both of you now."

Hero lunged to her feet and Villain fired, the blast hitting her in the shoulder and knocking her backward. Pain exploded through her entire frame, but she clenched her jaw through a scream and reached for—

A second shot rang out, slamming her to the floor. The entire building shook, sending pieces of debris raining down.

"Good boy," said a new voice from the shadows, cold and dripping with control.

Villain tensed as if snapped to attention. He faltered. "I didn't know you were coming."

Supervillain toed Vigilante. "Oh, but I like to show up when things get...interesting."

Vigilante choked into the gag, glaring up at Supervillain. They were spewing the worst of curses into that duct tape.

Supervillain didn't like the defiance, and with a sharp kick to Vigilante's mouth, silenced it. Blood bloomed across the silver tape as Vigilante curled into themself, trembling.

"That's better," said Supervillain with a thin smile, as if dealing with a minor inconvenience.

Villain ignored the display, focused on snapping cuffs over Hero's wrists and ankles. "I'll take this one back to the base."

"And Vigilante?"

"I was thinking of leaving them for the authorities to find. Give them something to do instead of handing out speeding tickets"

Supervillain shook their head with a condescending sigh. "Have I taught you nothing? If you want to hurt Hero, you're going to have to hurt Vigilante. Take them back."

"But--"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah they're family. Get over it, and act like you want to be a part of this."

Villain glanced, for one last time, at Vigilante's crumpled form. Something flickered in his eyes—guilt, maybe—but it disappeared just as quickly. He straightened, jaw tight. "Sure thing."

[ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey]

Scent

@hinnymicrofic

“When did you finally figure it out?” Ginny asks. Her hair is fanned out around her, the red a shocking contrast to the green of the Quidditch pitch. 

They’d been mucking about - flying, tossing a Quaffle, racing, perhaps brushing up against each other in the sky more than was strictly necessary for a casual scrimmage. They had finally headed for the ground as the sun made its lazy descent below the line of trees. Ginny had flopped down on the grass to watch it and Harry had joined her, the thrill of flying still singing in his chest. Or maybe that was just Ginny. 

“Hmm?” Harry hums contentedly, watching the sky transition to a brilliant orange. 

“When did you finally figure out that you fancied me?” Ginny asks, trailing her fingers through the grass. 

The question startles him, because it seems to him now that he must’ve always fancied her, at least a bit, even if he was too thick to realize or too wrapped up in other things to notice. He’s still thinking when he answers, “When I wanted to throttle Dean.” 

She laughs, which was what he’d intended. “Jealous, were you?”

“Mm,” he agrees, still mulling the question over. 

Looking back on it, there are a great many glaring signals that Harry hadn’t recognized for what they were at the time. The way he’d longed for his summer with her to stretch on, the twinge of regret as she walked away on the train…

“That first Potions lesson, you were what I smelled in the Amortentia,” he muses. “That probably should’ve been a clue…”

He’d been thinking out loud, and only after he’s said it does he realize that was perhaps a more vulnerable confession than he’d intended to make. That’s a bit much, probably, when they’ve only been together a week. 

“What?” Ginny says, and Harry wishes he could snatch the words back, wishes he could chew them up and swallow them to be buried somewhere deep in his gut where they belong. 

“Yeah,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant. 

Ginny rolls over and props herself up on her elbows, her expression a mixture of incredulity and mischievousness. “Did you really? What did it smell like?”

“A few things,” he says, unable to look at her and instead pretending to be utterly entranced with the sunset. “Treacle tart. Something that smelled like my Firebolt. And…”

He finally looks at her, and finds that her eyes are glowing brighter than the sun ever could. “You.”

She seems to be struck uncharacteristically speechless, and the moment hangs for several panicked heartbeats. Then, she shuffles closer and presses her sweet lips down to his urgently, and Harry reckons he can’t have mucked it up too badly, as she runs her fingers through his hair and presses herself against him. 

She pulls away suddenly and stares down at him, her eyes pressing him down into the earth, and then she lets out a bark of laughter.

“What?” he asks, smiling. 

“You–” she cuts herself off, rolling back over and letting out a loud breath that floats up into the darkening sky. “You can’t say shite like that to me.”

He has no idea what to say to that, but luckily she spares him by continuing. “You can’t, it isn’t fair. I already like you too much.”

Harry wonders whether the sun has set directly into his chest. “Well, me too. Clearly.”

Ginny snorts, and Harry reaches for her hand. He breathes in deeply, wanting to drink in the moment, and he thinks he catches the faint flowery scent of her lingering traitorously in the air.

[whumpetywhumpwhump]

Hi how are you I'd like to request a writing piece in which whumpee passes out right in front of caretaker plzzz

Team Leader's speaking, but Caretaker's eyes are focused on Whumpee instead- the way they're stood, shifting uncomfortably on their feet, complexion far paler than it ought to be. They aren't doing well. It's painfully obvious.

Caretaker should have said something sooner. They should have pulled Team Leader aside before this whole meeting started, before the whole team was gathered as an audience for Whumpee's slow descent in health. They should have-

Whumpee shifts on their feet again, except this time a shaking hand comes up to swipe at the perspiration gathering on their forehead. Somehow, they've grown even paler in the last few seconds. They blink quickly, evidently trying to shake the uneasy sensation within them, but it doesn't appear to do much at all.

"Whumpee, are you listening?" Team Leader's voice suddenly grows sterner, their explanation interrupted.

Whumpee blinks again. Sniffs. Clears their throat. "I- yes... sorry, Team Leader."

"Thank you. Now, as I was saying..."

Caretaker directs a sympathetic glance towards Whumpee, hoping perhaps they'll finally own up to their own indisposition and excuse themselves. Or at least understand that somebody out there is looking out for them, and knows they're not feeling great.

Whumpee doesn't acknowledge the look, though. In fact, they're not acknowledging anything anymore. A slight glaze has entered their eyes, and they feebly reach out towards a nearby surface for support. Nobody notices except Caretaker. Nobody's even looking at them other than Caretaker.

When Whumpee takes a deep breath, blinking quickly for the third or fourth time, it doesn't take a genius to know what's about to happen. Caretaker at last moves from their position, hurrying forward just as Whumpee's eyes roll back in their head and everything goes limp. The exclamations of concern and shock from the others barely even register to them as they lower whumpee to the ground, already fumbling to undo the tightly buttoned collar soaked through with sweat.

"It's alright, Whumpee. It's okay. You're alright."

From somewhere in the background, Team Leader is swearing. "Shit. I had no idea. I didn't- I didn't think-"

Caretaker can't help the way their brow furrows with frustration as they gently roll Whumpee onto their side.

Of course. Nobody ever thinks when it comes to Whumpee.

[wolfjackle-creates]

Ghost!Robin Arc 2 Part 3

Ghost!Robin once again won this week's WIP Wednesday poll. This week's poll is up as well if you want a say in what I work on this week (though the poll is slightly different this week).

Story Summary: Everything changed the evening Jason met Jazz's brother. Danny introduced him and his entire family to the ghost that is, apparently, haunting him. The ghost of the Robin he had been.

The ghost of the person everyone he's ever known wishes he still was.

All he wants is to make it go away.

First, Previous

Word Count: 1.6k

-----

“All right!” said Danny, clapping his hands. “I got us close to the Far Frozen, but it’s rude to show up in another ghost’s haunt. So we’ve a little bit of a flight ahead of us.”

“How long is a ‘little bit?’” asked Jason. He refused to look behind him at the lack of a portal. He’d come here for a reason and he trusted Jazz. That had to be enough.

“Oh, maybe fifteen minutes? Twenty?”

Jason closed his eyes and tilted his head back. At least Bruce would be pissed if he knew where Jason was at this exact moment. “Lead the way,” is all he ended up saying.

In the distance, Jason could see islands floating in the air. Between them were stand alone doors with no walls.

“What are those islands?” he asked Jazz.

“They’re haunts,” she said. “Homes for individual ghosts. Islands tend to be reserved for ghosts who want visitors—either to fight or play—and doors for the ones who want to be left alone.”

“Danny referred to the Far Frozen as a haunt. Is that the same thing?”

“Yes,” said Jazz. “But the Far Frozen is home to hundreds of ghosts led by Frostbite. Those islands you can see will only be home to one, maybe two ghosts. The Far Frozen is much bigger.”

Jason wasn’t sure what he thought about that. In front of them, Danny and the interloper had pulled ahead a ways. He could tell Danny was talking, but they were too far away for him to make out the words.

“It’ll be okay, Jason,” said Jazz after a few moments of silence.

“Things were finally starting to go right with my family,” he admitted quietly.

“They won’t give up on you.” Jazz slipped an arm around his waist. “They care about you.”

Jason snorted. “They care about who I used to be and put up with who I am now. It’s not the same.”

“They care about both who you were and who you are. I’ve seen how Dick acts around you. You could go full super villain and he’d join you in the descent.”

“He just feels guilty for not being there when I died, the idiot.”

Jazz huffed a laugh. “You know, I don’t know why I’m surprised you died. It really is just my luck.”

Jason didn’t answer. It was strange that the one person he’d been interested in dating seriously since his return had ties to death and the afterlife. He shivered, what did that say about him? That he couldn’t just fall for a normal woman?

Jazz noticed. “I think we’re getting close. Temperature’s dropping. Can you feel it?”

“I suppose it is.” His getup, far too warm for the Jersey spring they’d left, wasn’t leaving him sweltering anymore.

Sure enough, just a few minutes later, Danny was turning and waving them closer. “Look!” he said, once they were close enough to hear. “You can see the Far Frozen!”

Ahead, partially obscured by a green fog, a great wall—or was that a cliff?—of ice rose up from nothing ahead of them. They still had some distance to go to reach it, but they’d arrive before long.

“I’m just going to announce our presence,” said Danny. “It’s only polite.”

Jason wasn’t sure what Danny did, but for a moment, it felt like he was being pushed in on from all sides. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Then, as soon as it had started, it was gone.

“Frostbite will send someone to meet us, I’m sure.”

Jason just grunted and Jazz nudged him again. “Be nice,” she whispered.

The ghost stuck his tongue out at Jason. It took all of his fraying self control to limit his response to just an eye roll.

Danny led them towards the top of the ice and, just as predicted, by the time they were nearly there, a contingent of actual yeti’s came forward to greet them. Five of them, each at least twice Jason’s size, flew down from the island. Each carried what looked to be weapons. Jason tensed, hands immediately reaching for his own.

“Great one!” boomed the largest and first of the party. “It has been too long since you’ve come for a visit. I hope you are not injured?”

Danny laughed and rushed forward to give the yeti a hug. Jason could barely see Jazz’s brother through the being’s fur and arms. Any response Danny gave was muffled by the creature’s fur.

He must’ve said something, though, because the yeti was letting him go and peering at Jason and Jazz and the ghost. Jason tensed under the look. Was that an angry glare? He didn’t know the first thing about the body language of yetis.

“You must be the one who is courting Princess Jazz. Greetings. I am Frostbite, ruler of this section of the Realms. Welcome to my haunt. King Phantom has expressed his concerns for you health and I will, of course, be pleased to offer any assistance myself or my people can.”

Jason just blinked back, then turned to his girlfriend. “Princess Jazz?” his voice sounded strangled even to his own ears. “Any other secrets you’ve been keeping from me?”

Jazz rolled her eyes and poked him in the side. “Not important.” To the yeti, she said, “Thanks, Frostbite. Any help you can give will be beyond helpful. I didn’t even know that Jason had died until last night, let alone that he was being haunted by his own ghost. We’ve been calling his ghost Robin and his living self Jason to make it easier on everyone.”

“Well, then, young Robin and noble Jason, come. Follow me and I will see what I can learn of your condition. I must admit I have not heard of a case like yours before. But, before the Great One first came to us, we had never had the chance to examine a living ghost in any capacity before.”

Jason grunted. “I though Danny said you were the expert in the field.”

Frostbite nodded. “I am. However, that is simply because everyone else knows nothing. That I know something is all it takes to be called the expert in this situation.”

Jason’s stomach sank. This was going to be completely useless, wasn’t it? Why did Danny have to raise his hopes like that! “So you don’t think you’ll be able to do anything?”

Frostbite bared his teeth—a threat or a smile? “I never said that. I’m sure there’s plenty I can learn from an examination. I just won’t make any predictions until I’ve got some results. To do so would be conjecture and the height of incompetence. Now, come, all of you. When the Great One announced his presence, I had some of my people prepare an examination room.”

Danny groaned. “Oh, come on, I’m not that bad!”

The yeti ruffled his hair with a paw as big as Danny’s entire torso. “Your majesty, you have never once made a surprise visit unless you were injured. I am glad that, at least this time, you are not the one hurt. However, you have still come seeking medical advice.”

“Danny!” scolded Jazz. “What have I told you a million times?”

Danny looked at her with confusion. “To get more sleep?”

“No! Well, yes, actually. But not what I was talking about!” Jazz left Jason’s side to smack Danny on the back of his head. “You don’t just visit friends when you need things from them. It’s important to spend down time with your friends, too.”

Frostbite laughed. “Fear not, Princess Jasmine. I am not upset with his majesty. He has only just taken up his crown and has many responsibilities. I am merely relieved he still turns to me when in trouble. Now come, follow me to the examination room.”

Danny talked animatedly with Frostbite as they made their way through a village. Jason and Jazz followed a few steps behind.

Jason couldn’t help but stare. Every building was made of ice. Rather than sharp edges and plain facades, they bent in graceful curves and had been decorated with ice and snow sculptures. Sculptures here were as common as gargoyles and grotesques in Gotham. As they wound through the streets, residents left the buildings to greet Frostbite and Danny. It felt more like they were part of a parade than just passing through.

And above it all loomed a giant castle. No other word could describe it. Delicate turrets pierced into the sky and stairs wound around the outside of the walls while banners added some much-needed color to the structure.

By this point, Jason wasn’t even surprised when they were led to the castle. The inside was just as ornate as the outside and Jason stared in wonder at the statues that decorated the hallways and the patterns pressed into the walls. It was like something from a fairy tale.

So much so that when they finally made it to the examination room, it was rather a disappointment. It looked just like a regular doctor’s office, though the machinery was different.

“Thank you for accompanying us, Your Majesty, Princess Jasmine. However, I must ask for the both of you to leave as I examine my patients.”

“Of course, Frostbite,” said Danny. “We’ll wait outside.” He waved to Jason and made another of those trilling sounds that was repeated by the interloper.

Jazz squeezed his hand. “I love you. Everything will be fine, you’ll see. I’m just outside if you need me.”

Jason pulled her in for a hug and whispered in her ear, “Love you, too.”

Then he was alone with the yeti and the interloper. He refused to look at the ghost of his past and instead addressed the doctor. “So what now?”

-----

Next

Hope you enjoy!

Jason would be doing so much worse without Jazz right now.

I no longer do tag lists for this story, but if you'd like notifications when I update, please check out the Subscription Post.

[marveling-cg]

Okay, I just turned on MHA like six weeks ago, and just finished the manga yesterday. And while I have.....thoughts -.- about that ending, I also can't help think about:

Deku's Accidental Charm Offensive & Unintentional Rehabilitation of Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight's Image

Like:

On one of Deku's first patrols with Dynamight, they wrap up a villain with no injuries, no collateral, no casualties, and Dynamight lets rip his signature shout: "FLAWLESS VICTORY!"

The PR folks at his agency (and the internet) have told him that it's off-putting and unnerving

But Deku breaks out laughing behind him, Bakugo turns for the fist bump, aggressive, still pumped up from the adrenaline

Deku returns it automatically, smile bright, cheeks flushed, eyes nearly shut

The internet thinks it's adorable

And when:

They've responded to a request to back up heroes in an adjacent zone

Bakugo's been picking up more requests for backup now that Deku's in the field -- he knows the nerd gets a kick out of working in teams, and sometimes they run into their classmates, it makes Deku smile, whatever

There's a group of villains working in a team, and the biggest of them has a quirk it takes the the BakuBros way too long to figure out, but Deku, Chargebolt, and Red Riot manage to clear the extras from the field long enough for Bakugo to finally put the big bad down

It was a messy and exhausting fight, Bakugo's barely staying on his feet in the aftermath, but then he hears a shout from a nearby roof -- Deku:

"Great Explosion Murder God --"

"DYNAMIGHT" Kaminari and Kirishima join Deku's dumbass shout, and Bakugo is tossed up on the idiot's shoulders like an American frat boy.

They're so embarrassing.

The nearby newscaster filming from the police line laughs with the rest of the nearby civilians, says something about the atmosphere of joy as the villains have finally been subdued

But especially that time:

Some overexcitable brat almost got themselves killed on Deku and Bakugo's watch

There'd been some two-bit criminal, hardly enough of a threat to be called a villain, but Endeavor'd taught them to respond quickly, and they'd never been able to kick the muscle memory

The kid, no more than 8 or 9 had seen them passing by from her window and climbed out onto her fire escape, climbing up on the rails to try and record the interaction

Thank fuck the sensors on Deku's suit had picked up the anomaly of her sudden descent

Though they'd both rushed into action, Bakugo made the save snatching the kid from the air before she'd injured herself

When he got them both on solid ground, he'd been ready to light into her -- "Listen here, you --"

But Deku had been there, hand firm on Bakugo's elbow, "Kacchan, no!" Before hip-checking Bakugo out of the way and crouching down to get at eye level with the girl

"Hey, what my buddy, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight" (Deku always says it like Bakugo had dreamed it, like it's the name of someone trustworthy) "is trying to say is that your safety is way more important than a picture or video of us. Right?"

Here Deku had turned to look up at Bakugo. His midnight green eyes stern and expectant. Reminding Bakugo:

He'd made a promise to himself. If Deku gave becoming a hero a chance -- not just doing test work with the suit, not just moonlighting between class and grading papers, but really gave partnering with Bakugo his best effort -- Bakugo wouldn't let himself do anything to get in the way of Deku becoming the #1 hero. Anything.

"Yeah kid, it's not a flawless victory if you get hurt."

Deku beamed at him as if Bakugo just plucked the moon from the sky and personally gifted to him. Bakugo's cheeks had burned. But it didn't matter (he'd thought it wouldn't matter -- smartphones are the worst) Deku had already turned back to the girl.

"And if you want to come chat with us, we'll be at the Fall Festival at _____ Park around the corner in just a couple weeks! We'll be at the ______ Agency booth!"

Business kids had gotten the bright idea that heroes ought to be more accessible, feel more a part of the communities they helped protect.

A week later, Ashido sent a tweet to the Forever 1A group chat. A video of he and Deku with the kid. The caption: "Turns out Great Explosion Murder God just needed an anger interpreter."

The first comment under the tweet: "Anger interpreter? Do you mean husband?? Look at the blush!"

Bakugo is going to kill them!

But like, after 3 months of he and Deku partnering, they're neck and neck with Todoroki - the Big 3 back in competition.

[formulatrash]

really want to hear what you think of the daniel ricciardo firing? I was thinking how almost every driver has this trajectory where past their prime they end up with poorer and poorer teams. Going from maybe championship contending teams to midfielders, then backmarkers before they eventually just slip out of the sport. Only the actual real greats get to properly hold onto the bargaining chips for very long. Like, Michael Schumacher retired with ferrari, came back with merc before finally leaving. Lewis got to pick his teams all his life and now he's going out on a high with ferrari (I presume this is his last dance). Even fernando has had a decent run, which would have been better if he was good at maintaining relationships with teams ig. But yeah, wanted to hear what you think of driver swaps and unceremonius firings as someone who knows the sport so well. And any daniel anecdotes if you're in the mood. hope ur having a good day <3

I've been thinking a lot about it tbh. It's such an... undignified exit. Extremely Red Bull but not what you would expect to happen to Daniel, who's always been a bit of a favourite child there.

He got the early call-up to HRT, replacing Narain Karthikeyan mid-season in 2011 and then him and JEV took the Toro Rosso seats the next year. At the time, the Red Bull programme was probably the most vicious it's ever been, all psychological warfare in rubbish flats in Milton Keynes and Daniel Ricciardo was probably the person who came out of it the best.

the offcuts of the time are easily identified: half of them are in Formula E and most of them are champions now (soz Robin) but it's strange to think that someone who thrived in that harsh world ended up discarded by a much softer version of it, so many years later.

Red Bull were not ready for Daniel Ricciardo to leave when he did, when he decided not to take the chance on Honda and to go to the Renault works team. I know it's often styled out with the Drive To Survive narrative that he was leaving to not be second driver to Max but the Honda thing was much bigger and a lot of people thought Max might be an idiot for staying. after only one year with Toro Rosso Honda didn't look as outright bad as we did the previous year with McLaren but there were still reliability issues and it wasn't the fastest power unit. that Sakura then went on to build an invincible, unfailing, ultra-efficient PU was not written in the stars at all.

I don't, honestly, know if he would have thrived staying at Red Bull - his descent might have been quicker, as the disparity between him and Max could've opened up very fast, in those years of the car turning dominant.

Daniel's problem as a driver is that (and he's said this himself) he's not especially technical. when he has a setup that suits him he's extremely fast but he doesn't know and isn't interested in the further technical details of it and I'm not sure that's actually possible to sustain a career at the top of F1, now.

he had started to suffer with it a bit at Red Bull and it was partly why the car was going more and more Max's way. Renault, I think, were in such a different place - a lot of their problems operational - that he was able to make a bigger difference there through his experience at a top team. McLaren the story wasn't exactly writ large as flayed open and strewn around the track like bits of carbon fibre: Lando could ask for what he wanted from the car, Daniel couldn't.

so: do I think that things would have gone wildly differently if he had stayed at Red Bull? no. he might have won a few more races and he might have found himself in a tororossoalphataurivcarb again a few years earlier.

I think something notable about his career is that it leaves a lot more questions than, say, Alonso's. even though there is no real reason for Fernando to have come back to F1, let alone moved from Alpine to Aston Martin because his championship winning days are coming up for two decades ago, he is still there. and it's reasonably clear why: he is as competitive as the car allows him to be, teams value him as a consultant who can also get to Q3. he does numbers on tiktok.

Ricciardo's departure from McLaren was baffling to both him and the team, neither really able to explain what had gone wrong. and believe me, if the team could have found a way not to be losing points in the constructors championship they would have, they were not sabotaging a driver they were paying millions to, in theory, outperform their other one.

but McLaren sometimes are baffling. despite all the changes in the team since Ron Dennis left, I could well believe that a factory capable of making the 2017 chassis might well not be able to fix their 2022 one. the start of 2023 certainly seemed to support that theory, until that transformative upgrade package made it clear they'd worked out what they needed to do, probably somewhat due to having drivers who agreed with each other.

was going back to Red Bull and then VCARB a good idea for Ricciardo? there were other moving parts there, like the fact Horner didn't really want De Vries anyway and definitely not compared to how hyped up he was to have Ricciardo back. the plan absolutely was to put Daniel in the Red Bull but then he was injured and didn't quite perform how they were expecting.

I asked JEV about it when it was announced because they used to be best mates and teammates and JEV turned down a Toro Rosso offer himself, after his second FE championship. also because I can get away with asking JEV that sort of thing and walking away with my head still attached to my body.

He said "I mean, it’s something I’m looking at from far away. When you make a decision, he has all the information in his hands that you or me or many other people don’t have, so I’m sure he made the right decision. I mean, then it's going to be a question of how he performs against Tsunoda and also against Perez.

"In Formula 1, you need luck, it’s quite well known but you need to put yourself in the position where you you have luck. So if he stayed in his position, I don't think it would have put himself in a position to to be lucky. Now he’s in a position where he can either be lucky or unlucky. It's only up to him but at least his destiny is in his hands."

what he meant by creating his own luck was that if you're in a reserve role you're Schrödinger's driver: maybe good or bad and no one will know until they put you in the car. by accepting the VCARB drive Ricciardo chose to open the box and find out if his career, otherwise in quantum suspension, was alive or dead.

if the first time he left F1 people were still looking for answers, this time it feels more that no one wanted to find them out.

this year the gap is smaller to Yuki, points-wise and it's not that Daniel's been destroying chassis every other week or something, it's just that his time seems to be up. there's no real point having him in the VCARB when that's supposed to be the junior team and he's underperforming too much to get a chance back at the top team. is Perez also underperforming too much to keep his seat there? yes and it's likely to lose Red Bull the constructors but given that, you'd promote Tsunoda not Ricciardo.

F1 is an odd world because if everyone was honestly objective, it would be clear that, no, they are not the 20 best drivers in the world. they are the 20 drivers that most fit into F1 in the world. and Daniel Ricciardo certainly fits into F1 - the outpouring for his final race was about his place in the sport's culture, more than his performance in it.

his dropping was as undignified as the Red Bull Junior Team tends to make it. messy, speculated about in the press extensively, with a lot of leaks and lack of clarity. both theatrical and unceremonial. in all honesty it doesn't compare to, say, Daniil Kvyat managing to leave ToroRossoAlphaTauri four separate times or the vicious decimation of Brendon Hartley or to throw it back far enough, the way they treated JEV. like, hey, at least Helmut Marko just wanted to fire Daniel since Barcelona but didn't imply it was because he was on drugs. but ranking brutality and ugliness in firings is as redundant as the drivers.

did it, particularly, befit a 35 year old with 13 years of experience in F1? no, you wouldn't expect a 35 year old with 13 years of experience in F1 to be in that position. Ricciardo got the strange opportunity of a do-over but that doesn't really exist, you cannot go back to the version of yourself that stepped in mid-season and made his way to a top seat. even racing in circles there's track evolution.

if I was writing this as an article I'd be going back and editing to put the Schrödinger's stuff higher up and calling it like "Daniel Ricciardo finally gets answers on F1 career, just not ones anyone wants" because I don't know, got to put some snappy shit in the headline haven't you. But I'm not and I can't be bothered.

I do think there's something to that, though. to there being an answer this time, as opposed to with McLaren. he exited F1 as he entered it: mid-season, to and from a team no one thought he was going to stay at and I suppose that's an interesting start/finish line under a career that will probably fascinate people more than a lot of champions'.

[kermitthesog]

I absolutely LOVE the sun and the star because it’s JUST-

THE SUN AND THE STAR SPOILERS AHEAD

We finally get a darker side of Will, seeing as they have to make a descent to Tartarus. I think it’s really important that we get to see Will’s struggles and insecurities as well. His struggles with not being able to save people as a healer, his guilt about Octavian’s death, and him feeling as though if he can’t help other people, he’s worthless. His dreams when they were being sent terrible nightmares cut deep.

Will’s interaction with Persephone is so good. He was so stunned by her because she was STUNNING and Nico had to remind him that that’s his STEPMOTHER. But jokes aside, it was a really nice interaction that I feel really helped Will. “Give him your darkness.” For a child of Apollo, it might seem like you don’t have darkness. Obviously, that’s not true. If you have an “opposites attract” thing going on, and you’re just so different, I feel like this is perfect advice.

After so many times where people would make head cannons about how they first met, first kissed, etc. Rick Riordan FINALLY gave us the answers!! I think they’re all so fitting. Nico’s realization that he liked Will being him taking Nico out in the woods to yell and get his anger out, their first date AND coming out being an accident, and their first kiss being an impulsive need by Will to calm Nico down about Jason’s death. It’s all so perfect!

We finally really see the sheer difference in these two. Before, it was like, “oh, son of Apollo, son of Hades, that’s weird!” But now, you really see how different they really are. Will’s difficulty in the underworld and how he was repeatedly saying, “how could anyone live down here?” really annoyed Nico. To Nico, the Underworld was home. To Will, it was a depressing place that nobody should want to live in. His energy gets drained faster there, he’s pretty much unable to heal, and he basically is clueless about it. But Nico is pretty much an expert on it. It’s good we finally see just how different they are.

AND ALSO THEY ARE JUST AN AMAZING COUPLE SO YEAH THE BOOK’S GREAT (tell me if I forgot anything or got anything wrong 😅)