#now I don't remember drowning in that fountain
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mysteryshoptls · 10 months ago
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Fellow Honest Lesson Lines
Fellow Honest does not have Alchemy lines.
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HISTORY
Good
Morning
I'm drowning in this fountain of knowledge...!
Yaaaaawn...
I bet I can use this when hawkin' stuff.
Afternoon
Uhh, this is spelled like...
I don't remember ever hearin' about that.
You're pretty diligent.
Evening
Uh-huuh...?
Just as I heard, he's a stern professor.
I'm feelin' feverish.
Great
Ooh, I see! I'm startin' to get it.
Did you figure it out, Gidel?
I feel like I've gotten smarter.
Alright, I figured it out.
Perfect
Normal Lesson
I gotta be able to do it too, don't I?
Look, Gidel, I got the right answer!
Now everything makes sense.
I got it... It makes sense...!
Special Lesson
Oh, there's the Headmage I've heard so much about...
Gidel, a shady guy just showed up.
A spectacular course.
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FLYING
Good
Morning
Listen to my commands, you crappy broom!
Urgh, I can't balance...!
This prof's so noisy...
Afternoon
Hrrrngh, it won't go any higher...
[pant, pant...]
Don't be lookin' down at me from up there.
Evening
Well, I don't have much magic, see.
Calmly, carefully...
Aaaaah, I'm getting dizzy1
Great
Fwahahaha!
I'm getting the hang of this...
Did you see that, Gidel? I flew!
Whew, I did it, somehow...
Perfect
Normal Lesson
Now this is a view.
Gidel, you wanna hop on?
Oh, oops, did I go too high?
Showtime!
Special Lesson
He's makin' me anxious...!
Wow, the wind's so strong... Fwa...ha...ha...
M-My hands are slipping from the sweat...!
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Requested by Anonymous.
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volturiprincess · 5 months ago
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Hiii I saw that your requests are open! If it’s okay, can I please request a Demetri x fem!human!reader where the mate pull between them is so strong (even though they haven’t met) that she has been having dreams about him and unconsciously finds her way in Volterra (like she honestly doesn’t remember how she got to Italy in the first place, it was like a mind out of body experience for her) and goes up to Heidi (who is out looking for tourists to join the “tour”) and Y/n’s like, “Do you know where I can find Demetri Volturi?” And Heidi is like “???” Because this little human somehow knows who a Volturi guard is asking for him and desperately wants to see him?? If Dem had the ability to cry, he would be sobbing when Heidi brings his sweet mate to him🥹Awww and as soon as she sees him she knows exactly who he is and calls out to him 🥹
Also I feel like Marcus would be absolutely fascinated about how strong their bond is, and Aro would be fascinated by Y/n herself because she has to be gifted in some way with how she unconsciously found her way to Demetri with the dreams she had been having
Never Be The Same
Demetri Volturi x human fem reader Warnings: None A/N: I apologize for the very long wait, I hope this makes up for it though. Weirdly I manage to write this in 2.5 days, which is kind of fast even for me, i mostly wrote it late at night because thats when the real inspiration came through. My first finished request of the year also. But.... Enjoy💙 Word Count: 2323 (that is so satisfying)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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“It can be you and I forever….what do you say?”
I wanted to scream out yes but he started to dissolve, he was fading away. No please come back…
I woke up from the dream with a thin layer of sweat, grabbing my bottle of water, I drowned it down. Fuck I cant believe it was a dream. It seemed so real. He’s been in my dreams for the past couple of months now, is he even a real person? He seems too perfect to exist, but everything that has happened in the dreams are so specific, and I have the same dream every night too where I see him and we just hang out and talk. It's almost like an out of body experience. 
We talk to each other just like I would in the waking world, full of conversations, it's come to a  point where I feel like I know everything there is to know about him. I get out of my bed and walk out to my little balcony in the little place I rented for the month. Volterra Italy…I don't even remember how I got here but here I am. Demetri mentioned he lives here, wondering where he is?
I let a cold breeze hit my face as I grip the beautifully crafted railing, as I thought over where to start my search for him. Such a small town and no sighting of him yet. I have only been here for a week so far but I'm already growing a bit impatient. What if he is not here?
I get ready for the day and head out for my search for him. I remember in one of my dreams that Demetri mentioned he is a tracker, he did not specify what he tracked but he said he was the best in the world. Wish I could track. I ended up wandering around the town when I found a big fountain, it's so entrancing the way the water sprouts out. I sit by it as I debate what to do next, there's not much I can do unless…
I see the most gorgeous woman to ever grace this earth at a distance, I must be in heaven because she is an angel. I get this feeling that I need to approach her, like she is the one who will give me all the answers to my questions. Maybe she will know where I can find Demetri. I walk over to her as she turns to face me, she gives me a breathtaking smile as she quickly skims me.
“Posso aiutarla?”
I take a minute to try to understand what she said but my Italian is so rusty, those years of learning Italian in High School went out the window immediately.
“Sorry my Italian is super rusty, do you speak English?”
She gave me a sheepish smile but nodded.
“Well of course, I am well educated in multiple languages, I am Heidi, how may I help you?”
Just with the way she talks is leaving me in a trance, I'm forgetting my whole purpose of why I needed to talk to her. Wait, why do I have to talk to her? Think, think, think. Oh right, Demetri!
“Do you know where I can find Demetri Volturi”
Her smile dropped and it contoured to a look of pure confusion, her head tilted slightly with her gaze turning to one of puzzled in a matter of milliseconds. Have I said something wrong? I don't like how she's looking at me now, I feel myself squirm under her gaze. 
“How do you know of him?”
“Wait, he's actually real?”
Her eyebrows furrowed now as she kept staring at me.
“He is…but your didn't answer my question cara”
“I well…would you believe me if I said I been dreaming of him?”
“Humans sure are strange beings, have you ever actually met him in person?”
“No”
“Who told you he would be here?”
“He did”
“How?”
“He told me he lives in Volterra, Italy”
“I cannot phantom how this is even possible, so you're telling me, Demetri told you where he is via dream and you never meet him but you know who he is?”
I nod, I know this sounds crazy now that she says it out loud but it is the truth, I would have to be mental to come up with such a story, maybe I am. I don't even remember how I got here to start off with.
“Is he here?”
“...Yes but he is busy currently”
“When will he be free?”
“I'm not sure, when he trains it is never known how long he will take”
“I don't mean to be rude or anything but is there a way you could get him to come here, I would like to meet him”
She still had a confused look on her beautiful face.
“I still cannot wrap my mind how a human like you knows a volturi guard and knows where we live too, what are the odds it would be Demetri?”
“What do you mean by that? Is he a bad person or something because I can tell you in my dreams he was an absolutely sweetheart, I have never meet such a sweet man in my whole life”
“Yes he is a sweetheart, I didn't mean to imply he is a bad person he's the opposite I just meant what are the odds the only guard who does not have a mate might have found them in a strange way”
“Mate?”
“You will be told about them once we figure out if you are his mate”
“And if I'm not?”
“Well lets just say you came at a bad time for the Volturi, our feeding time is soon”
I shivered slightly at the remark, feeding time? Why would that be a bad thing? Is it not just dinner or I guess it would be lunch since it is early afternoon. Or unless they are very private about their dinner time that they don't have guests? There's something off but I hope I can meet Demetri soon. I wonder how he will react. Will he know who I am? Does he have the same dreams as I? Or have our dreams been like walking dreams where he comes into mine? 
My curiosity is interrupted when Heidi mentions something that peaks my interest
“I will see if he can spare a minute or two but I will guarantee you that the possibility of that happening is low, please just wait by the fountain”
I nod as she walks away, even her walk is so entrancing, does she even have any flaws? I take my previous spot by the fountain as I wait for them. I hope the odds are in my favor and I do get to meet him. Will he be exactly like in my dreams, the way he acts and talks. I felt that sudden anxiety rise in me, what if I disappoint him in a way. He's literally the handsomest man to ever walk upon this earth, he does not belong in this world with the beauty he carries.
I felt my heart beat a bit faster the longer I waited for them to return, I have never felt so nervous before. I wanted to throw up but I tried my best to stay calm. Deep breaths…in…out…in…out. Okay that's working, I feel less stressed but my thoughts are still running wild. Seconds felt like minutes, minutes turned to hours, hours then felt like weeks. What if he is refusing to meet me or he is really busy. 
I hate how my mind suddenly thinks of all the worst case scenarios to ever exist when nothing bad has happened. Yet at that moment, my breath was hitched, the world stopped moving, nothing could be heard but footsteps who I can already assume who they belonged to. I felt an invisible force tilt my head to the side to be met with a dark clothed figure standing at the entrance of a doorway that could only be described as an entrance to a museum. He would be the statue that millions of people would travel all around the world to gaze at. It would be a blessing of a masterpiece.
Am I in one of my dreams with him in it? It certainly feels like it but my raw emotions I have right now feels true and physical. He walked over to me and I swear I saw flowers sprout at each step he took, his eyes maintained contact with mine. His eyes held so much expression that I could read each emotion he was feeling. When he stood in front of me his arm extended to pull me up and into his chest. His arms wrapped around me loosely as the desire to breathe again was nowhere, my hand went up to rest on his cheek to make sure he was physically here. 
He is here, this is no dream because if it were the minute I touched him he would have dissolved into my delusions. 
“Your real”
His smile could have brightened a whole room alone without needing actual light. 
“I certainly hope I am, I can't believe I have finally found you”
“You've been waiting for me?”
“For centuries now”
I ran the same hand that was on his cheek through his blonde locks as his eyes closed. We felt like we were in our own little bubble of paradise, everything was still and quiet which at this moment felt right. I saw his skin give a little sparkle which was strange but it made him seem more ethereal, it was made clear he is not human but to me that does not matter to me because all I want is him. 
When his eyes opened they seemed darker as they were shimmering slightly with unshed tears. He looked so precious that I had the strong desire to engulf him in a deep hug that would hide him from the world. He gave me a weak smile as he guided me to where he came from, he held me as if I were a porcelain doll. 
“I will introduce you to my masters, they would like to meet you since a certain person decided to let the whole castle know I found my mate”
“So I am your mate?”
He stopped walking to look straight into my eyes, into my soul.
“Do you not feel how we are gravitating toward one another? You are my moon as I am the ocean. I have never felt this feeling in the centuries I have been around, I finally feel complete with you here” 
Breathless he leaves me. His words are better than any love song I have ever heard, no artist can come close to being more romantic than him. Even after every dream I had of him, I would wake up with the same reaction. We eventually arrived at a room where three figures sitting in thrones were at. These must be the masters that Demetri mentioned, next to me and Demetri was a mountain of a man. I had to crane my neck at an angle to look up at him, and even then I almost couldn't see his face because his shoulder was blocking the side view of his face. 
“So she found you? This little human found you?”
“She did Master”
“And she’s truly human?”
“Yes she is, can you not see the color in her cheeks”
I kind of just stood there awkwardly as they spoke of me as if I weren't there but Demetri made me feel comfortable with the way he still had me in his arms. 
“But how did she come to find you?”
Everyone turned to look at me the same way Heidi did when I asked about Demetri, which resulted in me to squirm. The blonde one spoke up which made me almost jump out of my skin.
“Speak human”
Demetri got a bit tense but spoke up for me. What a gentleman…
“Master please, don't you see your frightening her, please don't raise your voice to my mate”
Oh my, so polite and protective. The way his voice got soft as he spoke made my heart melt. I gained confidence from how he defended me that I finally spoke up.
“I'm not sure how I ended up in Italy or how I got here but all I can say is I would have dreams about Demetri which then lead me here somehow, its difficult to explain but I just knew I had to find him even if I was not sure if he was real or not”
The third master who has not spoken in the whole time we've been here finally stood up and walked over to me and Demetri. He moved so slowly that I felt as if he walked faster he would turn to dust and vanish.
“You confound me dear one but I have never seen such a strong bond between mates. I hope with time we can figure out how this was able to happen because I am fascinated by this”
I nodded but suddenly relaxed a bit in Demetris arms. The one who seemed to be the main guy to run this whole place clapped loudly with a laugh to follow it. I wanted to cringe slightly but I felt that would be disrespectful to do so, so I bit my tongue.
“I think she might be gifted, oh the joy this brings me, our own Demetri has found his mate and she is gifted, a joyous day it is indeed”
The smile that Demetri gave me was like a sudden beam of sunlight illuminating the darkest corners of the room. I never knew he was the sunshine I needed in life, I think I'm going to love spending forever with him. 
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shaded-night · 7 months ago
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The Price of Gift Giving
There are many things Aventurine can pride himself in. He has no shortage of talents that have gotten him as far as he has. However there are still a few things that he cannot wrap his head around. When it comes to love and showing his affection, Aventurine fumbles more often than not, even with his heightened emotional intelligence.
Now, he isn't sure what exactly he had done this time around, but his beloved Doctor seems to be frustrated with him. So here he is standing in one of the most luxury malls in all of Pier Point trying to pick out the best gift as an apology. He knows Ratio isn't big on material luxuries but as Aventurine eye's a beautiful fountain pen, he can't help but throw his card down. He pays extra to have it engraved with an owl face -the same one that adorns Ratio's shoulder- and a quaint but sweet quote, "For my Beloved Veritas". Aventurine feels confidence flow through his veins as he becomes a couple hundred thousand credits lighter. The pen is packaged nicely, the engraving hidden from view so he can surprise his boyfriend even more.
When he returns home, Aventurine can here Ratio in their shared study grumbling to himself as he no doubt marks another students paper as inadequate. Aventurine braves a smile as he tucks the small gift into his coat pocket and quietly enters the study.
"I'm home~. I see you're still working hard. Do you have time for a short break?"
Ratio sighs, sparing Aventurine a quick glance before his eyes setting back on the stack of papers .
"Unfortunately I'm on a tight deadline. I did mention to you earlier that I'd most likely will be busy all day." Ratio's voice held clear annoyance, but that's fine. Aventurine's smile faulters for only a second.
"Yes I remember you saying that. Sorry, I just don't like seeing you over work yourself."
Ratio only hums in acknowledgement as red ink fills another paper.
If Aventurine just stands here any longer he's sure to be kicked out, so to not waste anymore time he fumbles to get his gift out of his pocket.
"I have something for you." He places the box neatly on the desk, and Ratio pauses to look at it. It's not hard to guess its price, the name of the store was printed clearly on the lid. Aventurine can feel the annoyance radiating off of Ratio as he narrows his eyes at the package.
"Aventurine," said mans smile drops; Ratio never calls him that at home. "While the thought is appreciated, we've talked about your frivolous amount of gifts before. No matter how deep your pockets are, always spending isn't a good lifestyle. Honestly, is drowning me in expensive products the only thing you can do?"
It shouldn't hurt because Ratio is right; they have talked about Aventurine's unhealthy spending habits. Still, he had no issue buying anything that he thought Ratio may like. And that's what made his confidence crumble. His eyes stung and his voice was stuck in his throat. Ratio was looking at him, almost expectantly, but Aventurine couldn't form any words.
Instead he turned around, silently leaving the room. It felt humiliating standing there under his boyfriend's scrutinizing gaze. Maybe he deserved it for being inconsiderate of Ratio's thoughts on luxury goods. That was the only rational conclusion he could come up with.
~*~ When Ratio had finally emerged from the study, it was well into the evening. Aventurine could hear him in the kitchen getting himself his share of dinner Aventurine somehow managed to put together just a hour prior. He had the catcakes to thank for pushing him to get food in him. The last few hours he had just been curled up under a blanket on the couch while the snacks meowed at him sympathetically.
Eventually the noise in the kitchen died down, and was replaced with the couch dipping under Ratio's weight. Aventurine didn't move from his place under the blanket.
"Vasha," a hand fell onto Aventurine's shoulder; and maybe he's just a little too weak because a second later he wrapped himself tightly around his boyfriend. "I would like to apologize, my love. I shouldn't have been so insensitive to your gift."
Aventurine closed his eyes, letting his head fall against Ratio's chest.
"I just wanted to make you happy. I know you've been overworked lately...and I know I can't help with that kind of work. I know I said I'd work on my spending. So I guess I'm sorry too."
Fingers thread through his hair and a kiss is placed on his head.
"Change doesn't happen overnight, and I shouldn't have taken my frustration out on you. You are far more valuable than any gift, Kakavasha."
Ratio shifts and pulls the giftbox from his pocket. It was still unopened, but Ratio swiftly untied the bow around it and removed the lid. He picked up the pen, admiring the pretty swirl of blue and white along its body and it's gold accents. His thumb ran over the engraving and Aventurine feels a smile against his temple.
"It is quite a lovely pen. Thank you, Vasha. I will treasure it always."
~*~ inspired by this twt post~
rtrn is so stupid i love them
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lalalychee-x · 2 months ago
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"Teenage Dirtbag— I think I'm okay"
Angst! Rodrick Heffley x reader pt 6
"She's walkin' over to me, this must be fake" romantic. + platonic
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�� Ayyeee, I'm back with part 6, this will NOT MAKE SENSE WITHOUT PART READING THE OTHER PARTS, SO DO MAKE SURE TO READ THEM! GOD THIS ONE IS SO LONG I'M SORRY GUYS IT'S LIKE 8K+ WORDS... like wtf, but this is basically Spring Dance (idk I'm British and the American school system baffles me) gone wrong and stupid garage afterparty. Welcome to part 4 of "Think I'm okay!" CW: self harm (sh) reference, the chocolate fountain thing , cheating (on You), misogyny, toxic relationships, cannon characters in this part word count: 8409 masterlist of all parts song4this: "Teenage Dirtbag" by Wheetus
-------story starts here-------
And yeah, you didn't. You didn't see him for the whole of midterms, even the music room was closed during exam season just before spring. You keep thinking about him though; thinking about how he probably skipped all his exams while staring at your phone half in regret that you never got his number.
What were you? Friends? Friends don't look at each other that way. "Just-friends" don't meet when you're about to off yourself, nor do they lay on bathroom floors with you and drown your dress in antiseptic.
You're halfway up a ladder, arms stretched above your head as you staple one last Spring Fling poster onto the bulletin board by the gym. The air smells like chalk dust, cafeteria bleach, and cherry lip gloss—yours, obviously. The sleeves of your cardigan keep slipping down as you reach, but you don't care since you're like 6ft above everyone else on this thing and yeah its a breath of fresh air from a crowded highschool gaggle.
Then you hear it.
The distinct, dragging shuffle of scuffed boots on linoleum.
You don't even need to look to know who it is. The air just feels different when he's around—denser, like everything's about to tilt off-balance.
Rodrick.
Of course it's him. Back like nothing happened. Same bandshirt from God-knows-how-many-days ago, same hair like he lost a fight with a lawn mower and still came out cocky. He's got a flyer in his hand—probably picked it up off the floor or stole it from a desk—and he's just standing there, staring up at your legs.
"Real subtle," you mutter without turning, keeping your focus on the staple gun. God, why did you say that? What happened to hi? Hello?
Rodrick blinks, mouth twitching. "I wasn't—okay, maybe a little."
You roll your eyes, stepping down off the ladder with a little thud. The moment your heels hit the ground, the weird tension drops too.
"So, what—finally got tired of ditching class and pretending you're too punk rock to care?"
Rodrick smirks. "Nah, I just heard there'd be glitter. Couldn't resist."
You pause, holding his gaze for a beat longer than you should. He looks... the same. And also like he's been living in grayscale until now.
You shove a poster into his chest.
"Here. Make yourself useful and tag along. The more the merrier."
Rodrick stares at it. "'Spring Fling: A Night to Remember'? Kinda dramatic, don't you think?"
You barely have time to roll your eyes at Rodrick's sarcastic comment before the sound of thundering footsteps barrels down the corridor like a stampede. You already know who it is. Only one pack of teenage boys is ALLOWED to be that loud, that obnoxious, and that full of expensive body spray.
"NATHAN! Yo!" one of them shouts, tossing a football down the hall like you're not literally standing in the way. You duck instinctively.
"Sorry, babe," Nathan grins, suddenly appearing at your side with an arm slung over your shoulder like a claim. His team hoots and hollers like they're in a music video, not a hallway. He's already sweaty from warm-ups, jersey clinging to his chest. You feel Rodrick stiffen next to you, just barely—arms crossed, jaw tight.
"Didn't know you were out here putting up decorations," Nathan says, glancing at the posters with a lopsided smirk. "That's cute."
You force a small smile, leaning away from his grip a little too subtly. "Yeah, well. Not all of us get excused from student body work just 'cause we can throw a ball."
Rodrick lets out a low chuckle behind you. You can practically feel the "get his ass" energy radiating off him.
Nathan ignores it, eyes zeroing in on you. "Practice is starting up soon. Come by the field? I want you to see my new plays—Coach says I might be MVP again."
You nod, "Yeah, sure."
Nathan plants a quick kiss on your cheek and jogs off, yelling something back to his team. And just like that, the hallway returns to its low buzz hum of chatter.
You don't turn around at first. You just stare at the floor, a little too long.
"Must be nice," Rodrick mutters, and when you glance back at him, he's not looking at you—just at the now-empty corridor like he's trying to burn a hole through it with his eyes. "Having the whole hallway clear out just 'cause your boyfriend walks by."
You blink. "You jealous of the hallway?"
He shrugs, eyes flicking to yours, guarded. "Nah. Just wish people cleared out when I showed up."
You snort, shaking your head. "They do. They just run the opposite direction."
"You're meant to selling this dance to me, not acting like a prick so I don't want to go." Rodrick scoffs, though there's no real bite behind it. 
"Well, come if you want, just don't oh, I don't know..." You pause, deliberately to drag it out, "Knock over the chocolate fountain this time?"
Rodrick could absolutely sock you for that, but the little smirk you have on your face makes him pause and he just... can't get mad.
"Oh shut up." He groans a little, half annoyed and half relieved he's talking to you again after so many months.
Rodrick wants to die. And certainly doesn't want to go anyway.
.
"You're going," Susan said, arms crossed, voice firm in that I've had three kids and I will not be tested tone.
Rodrick flopped dramatically on the couch like his bones no longer worked. "Why? Why would I willingly walk into a school function where they play Pitbull and judge your shoes?"
"Because it's a dance, Rodrick. A school dance," she emphasized, moving to block the TV screen so he'd actually look at her. "You're a senior. This might be one of the last chances you have to make a real memory before you graduate and start... whatever it is you think you're going to do."
"I have a band, Mom," he groaned, trying to peer around her, nochalantly shrugging at whatever she says. "We were gonna go mess with someone's car again. You know. Real memory-making stuff."
Susan didn't move. "Your band can wait. Besides—" she tilted her head with a mom smirk—"I heard someone's been skipping a few too many classes lately. Maybe this is your chance to show you're still involved."
Rodrick looked personally attacked. "Who told you that?"
She raised an eyebrow. "I have eyes, Rodrick. And the school sends me emails. You'd know that if you checked anything besides your phone."
"Unreal," he muttered, sitting up halfway. "I don't even have anything to wear. What do you want me to do, show up in my Slayer tee and jeans that smell like pizza rolls?"
Susan smiled too sweetly. "I bought you a shirt. It has buttons."
He stared at her, betrayed. "A button-up?"
She patted his shoulder, already walking toward the stairs. "You'll live. Be ready by six. And Rodrick?" she paused at the top, eyes twinkling. 
Rodrick groaned, his hands hitting his leg in annoyance as he peered down at her from his room.
"Maybe try brushing your hair this time."
He groaned again, flopping back down with a dramatic thud, staring at the ceiling like the world was ending. A button-up. And worst of all—he had a weird feeling he might run into you.
And that terrified him more than Pitbull ever could, enough that he had to redo his buttons like five times because he kept attaching them on a diagonal.
Okay, maybe it wasn't pure horror that was making him do that, maybe it was because he genuinely can't button up a shirt because the last time he wore one was when he got kicked out the church for showing up without pants.
He's so damn useless.
.
The bedroom looked like a boutique got drunk and exploded. Dresses clung to door frames, half-zipped garment bags draped over chairs, and the scent of heat-damaged hair and Bath & Body Works body mist made the air humid and nostalgic.
  "Somebody find the lash glue!" someone yelled, probably Madison, because she'd been pacing around in nothing but a towel for the last twenty minutes, clutching a tube of Baby Lips like it was a mic. You should know because she was screaming at you to get out the bathroom because you took too long covering your scars with thick layers of foundation; I guess foundation doesn't stick to glitter very well.
"I'm not going if my eyes are naked. I will simply perish." Trust me, no one's eyes were naked; all very much smoky eye and lip gloss.
You adjusted the sweetheart neckline of your dress in the smudged vanity mirror, trying not to flinch at the flyaway curl that refused to obey gravity. You debated whether adding MORE glitter spray would fix it... or just stick that lock of hair into a random braid. It was pissing you off, and you really did consider gluing it down with lash-glue.
Everywhere was one of the bold jewel tones; electric blue, hot pink, royal purple, or the classic black 'nd silver sparkle combo and it made your eyes hurt like you were staring directly into strobe lights.
 Someone's curling iron hissed behind you. Pop music from a Spotify playlist blared through tinny speakers—something Ke$ha-y and glittery. Every few seconds, a flash went off. The Valencia-filtered mirror selfies were piling up already, each one messier than the last.
"Okay but is this dress too much?" you asked no one and everyone, smoothing the skirt down nervously. It was a poofy, hi-low dress that made you look a bit like a peacock: cut short at the front, but trailed behind you around the back.
A chorus of "nooo, you look hot" echoed without pause, followed by "Nathan's gonna lose his mind when he sees you," and then someone cackled, "or whoever else is looking."
You smiled, but didn't answer. Instead, your thumb hovered over your phone screen, checking Rodrick's story again. Nothing. Not that you were checking. Not on purpose. Not like he'd even go. Not like he'd even care, since they banned student-performances after what happened at Heather's sweet-sixteen and she threw a fit at the Principal.
Still.
You looked back at your reflection—mascara still slightly clumpy, the hem of your dress brushing your knees just right, the chunky rhinestone bracelet twinkling under the bedroom light. You didn't feel perfect. But you looked it. And tonight, that would be enough.
Downstairs, someone's mom yelled, "LIMO'S OUTSIDE!"
Shrieks. Scrambling. Perfume mist in the air like fog. 
It wasn't a limo, of course, it was some jock dude's dad's convertible, Nathan in the passenger seat already manspreading like he owned the damn road.
"Shotgun's mine, losers," he called as you stepped out in your heels, balancing a tiny purse and your phone like your life depended on it. He leaned back with his arm slung behind the seat, tossing you a wink. You smiled, but it didn't reach all the way.
"Ugh, I'm sitting bitch again," Madison groaned as everyone crammed in. Someone had to sit half on someone else's thigh; someone else's hair immediately got caught in the door. There was a shriek of "MY DRESS!" before the engine roared to life, and the car peeled off into the suburban road, glitter and chaos trailing behind.
The drive felt like the start of a music video—wind whipping through carefully styled hair, cheap jewelry rattling, everyone laughing too loud, too forced. Die Young by Ke$ha blasted from the speakers, and someone yelled, "This is our night, bitches!"
Nathan reached over to put a hand on your thigh, just a casual flex of control. You didn't pull away, but you didn't lean in either. Your eyes were on the road, on the way the sun dipped behind the school gym's roofline in the distance. That weird feeling was back—like a pit in your stomach dressed in rhinestones.
The school parking lot was already packed. String lights lit up the path to the entrance, and some teachers awkwardly hovered outside like underpaid bouncers. Balloons in spring pastels framed the doorway, and you could faintly hear the thump of bass inside, like a heartbeat behind the walls.
Nathan swung the car into a crooked spot, barely braking before hopping out and offering you a hand. "Ready for prom 0.5?" he said with a smirk.
"It's not prom, babe" you muttered with a half-smile, fixing the hem of your dress as you stepped out.
He didn't hear. Or pretended not to and continued to clutch your hand as you walked inside.
The gym had been utterly transformed. Streamers crisscrossed the ceiling, fairy lights hung like stars, and the DJ booth was already pumping out some remix of a song that was barely a year old. People were crowding the dance floor, others were perched around the edges like it was some glittery battlefield.
You blinked, heels clicking against the gym floor as you walked in, Nathan's hand ghosting the small of your back.
And across the room—somewhere near the bleachers, still as ever—Rodrick Heffley stood like a misplaced shadow. Mismatched black tie. Slightly wrinkled dress shirt. Hair a little messy, but not in the usual 'I just woke up in a trash can' way.
He was here.
And he was staring right at you.
But somewhere between Call Me Maybe and an aggressively off-key group scream of Timber, you lost track of where Nathan was.
The dance floor was a minefield of sweaty bodies and sticky soda spills, and you were caught right in the middle—arms looped around shoulders that weren't yours, your own hand gripped by some girl you barely even knew from chem, spinning you like you were best friends.
"Dance with us, oh my god, stop being a priss!" someone squealed, pulling you closer. A guy in a shiny vest bumped into you hard, laughing like he didn't notice. Even suits, on guys were obnoxiously shiny with vests and open-collar shirts like some Shakespearan twink.
You stumbled a bit, catching yourself, heels wobbling on the gym floor.
"Jesus," you muttered, trying to laugh it off, but your smile was pinched. The music vibrated through your ribs.
And in the corner of your eye—through the haze of disco lights and poorly ventilated fog machine clouds—you caught sight of him.
Rodrick.
He was raiding the snack table with the confidence of someone who clearly had not been invited, tongue out slightly as he tried to stack like, six cookies on a single flimsy napkin. Dressed like someone whose mom had ironed his shirt five minutes before he left and gave up halfway through. Tie crooked. Hair not quite right.
He looked...exactly how you remembered him. Out of place. In his own world. And weirdly invincible for it. You're a little jealous.
You stared a little too long. Like you were trying to memorize him again. Then someone yelled "Move!" and a pair of shoulders shoved past you. You blinked and looked away.
Time blurred after that—chattering girls, photos with forced smiles, soda spills that smelled faintly of fake fruit, Mr. Lacey threatening to shut everything down if someone didn't stop making obnoxious sex noises by the speaker.
You needed air.
The gym doors creaked open as you stepped out, the cold night air biting pleasantly at your cheeks. The lot was mostly empty now, just the sound of music echoing faintly behind you, until—
You froze.
The convertible. That convertible.
Heather Hills sat perched in the driver's seat, her legs up, golden hair tousled like she'd just come from a magazine shoot. Lip gloss smeared in a way that wasn't accidental. And Nathan—your boyfriend—was leaned in close, hand on the headrest behind her, laughing. That quiet, smug kind of laugh.
You watched as she touched his chest, planting another fat, wet one on his lips.
And he didn't move away.
Something inside you sank slow and sharp, like someone had cut the strings holding you up.
You just stood there like an idiot, glitter catching on your lashes like it was trying to decorate the silence. You can't even go down there and confront him because you're sure if you even tried to walk down the steps in your current condition you'd tumble over and break your back.
Behind you, the gym doors creaked open again, and a familiar lazy voice groaned, "Dude, they ran outta punch, what the hell—"
Rodrick.
He spotted you immediately. Stopped mid-step, still holding his cup and a tragically bent cookie. Brows furrowing, head tilting.
"...Hey," he said, quieter this time.
Upon closer look, you realised looked unusally thick and creased with a faint outline of another shirt underneath. This dork.
And even though the air was freezing, and your heart had just cracked clean down the center, you gave him the tiniest, smallest, fakest smile in the world.
Rodrick didn't even clock your expression. He felt like something had just neuron-activated in his brain, seeing you in that obnoxiously bold dress, sweetheart neckline around your breasts and the glitter catching in your collarbones and along your shoulders like you were dipped in stars or wearing a real life Instagram filter—he swore he forgot how to breathe.
Jesus Christ.
Why did you have to look like THAT.
He felt like some part of his teenage loser brain just got sucker-punched awake, but no he couldn't discern the expression on your face.
Or maybe he did and was just, y'know...being Rodrick.
"Yo, you know they've got mini donuts in there?" he said, voice way too loud for the dead quiet outside. He held one up proudly, like the tiny thing would hide his reddening face. "I thought it was a meatball at first so I like, bit it and I was like, 'Why's this meatball sweet?'—"
"Rodrick," you hissed, panic snapping through your throat.
He paused mid-ramble, donut halfway to his mouth.
"What?"
"Shut up."
Your hand latched onto his wrist and you yanked him back toward the gym before he could even blink. He staggered a bit, mouth full, confused as hell but letting you drag him anyway.
"What the—, I just got out here! You dragging me for round two on the dance floor? Because I'm telling you now, I don't grind. That's like, against my religion or whatever."
You spun him around by the back door, ducking beneath the glowing EXIT sign, breathing hard.
Rodrick blinked down at you, finally catching the look on your face. Your shoulders were tense, hands still clenched, chest rising like something was caught there and wouldn't go down.
"...Okay," he said slowly, "either someone pissed in your punch or you just watched Nathan pull something seriously dumb."
You didn't say anything.
But you didn't have to.
Because now Rodrick's eyes flicked past you, through the cracked door where Heather's laugh floated on the breeze like a knife. And something in his face settled into that rare, quiet stillness that only came out when things weren't a joke anymore.
"...Shit," he muttered. "That's what you meant by shut up."
You crossed your arms, biting the inside of your cheek so hard it hurt. "No, Rodrick. I just really didn't want anyone to interrupt your story about donut meatballs."
He winced. "Okay. Fair."
Silence. Not even the fun kind.
Just the kind where the music from inside bled through the gym doors, thumping like a heartbeat neither of you wanted to acknowledge.
You had your hands hovering just above your face—not touching, not really—just... floating there. Like you wanted to press in, hide behind them, but you remembered the effort it took to get your eyeliner symmetrical and said no thanks to the meltdown. Your fingers twitched near your temples. A sigh tried to escape you and everything was annoying you even if it was unfair you said:
"...are you wearing a..." You squint, leaning in so close he swears he's going to get dusted in glitter too, examining the scratchy letters that formed a sort of V-shape, "Rammestein shirt?"
"Look, this button-up isn't even mine, its my dad's."
You pull back, laughing softly and he thinks its music (not his screaming-metal type but more like a catchy pop song) to his ears, especially after seeing you so disraught only a moment ago.
"That's so fucking stupid." 
Rodrick stood there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, holding back a grin that you knew the band, but was still calling him stupid.
"I dunno a single word in any of their songs. German sounds badass though."
You roll your eyes, "Did you fail German back in middle school? Or did you try taking Spanish instead?"
"Neither. I can't read shit in English, why would I know Spanish?" Rodrick deadpans, clutching his tiny donut and cup of punch.
You smile, your lips suddenly feeling stupidly sticky with lipgloss and everything you were wearing was suddenly a sensory issue.
He scratched the back of his neck like his skin suddenly didn't fit right either. He watched your glitter catch the light and decided this was the most painful crush he's ever had.
Yeah, he's gonna admit it, he has a crush on someone else's girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend, in the near future probably, but it still felt weird because he's self-aware his ego isn't that inflated to pull someone else's girlfriend.
God. Yeah. He had a crush.
Not just a "oh, she's hot" kind of crush either. Not the kind he used to have on some older chick from a magazine, or even that stupid, overhyped thing with Heather Hills because she had blonde hair and nice legs. No, this one was personal. Sharp-edged and humiliating. It made his stomach knot and his face burn and his tongue trip over itself anytime you looked directly at him for more than three seconds, even if most of the time you looked at him like a piece of shit.
And it sucked.
Because you had a boyfriend. Quarterback dude with abs and a car and one of those faces that parents love, even when he's a dick. And Rodrick wasn't gonna pretend he was some noble guy about it either—he wanted to hate the guy just for existing, but also...didn't feel like he was even in the same league. Not with the band tees, the sarcasm, the chronic inability to ask for anything without sounding like a joke.
Still.
He watched the glitter on your shoulders flicker like starlight. Heard the way your laugh cracked like glass earlier when you were trying not to cry. And it hit him. Hard.
Yeah, no way out of this one. Rodrick Heffley had a full-blown, pathetic, slow-burning, feels-like-getting-punched-in-the-gut crush on you. And losers with crushes do stupid things.
"Wanna dance?" he blurted out, because clearly his mouth didn't have the same filter as his brain tonight.
You stared. Hard.
Eyes over your manicured fingertips dolled out with heavy press-ons, blinking slow.
His confidence wavered fast, like a kid realizing the slide is way taller than it looked from the ground. "I mean—not like, grind or anything. I got kicked out of church but I still feel like Jesus or something is watching me," he added quickly, joking but also kind of wishing the floor would eat him.
You just kept staring.
Then—
"...You're such an idiot."
And you dropped your hands and let out a breath that might've been a laugh. Maybe. Almost.
But you didn't walk away.
Didn't scoff or shoot him down or roll your eyes like he half-expected. Instead, you just kinda... melted. Like all the fight had slowly drained out of you and left behind something soft, something sad and open. Your hands hovered awkwardly near his arms before settling at his shoulders. Close. Closer than he thought you'd ever let him be.
Rodrick blinked. Panic set in—but only for a second—because holy shit you said yes. You were dancing with him.
Or, well, trying to.
Because within five seconds, he'd managed to step on your toe and nearly elbow someone behind him in the ribs. His hands were hovering somewhere between your ribs and waist like he was holding a bomb. His knees bent weird. His head was doing something strange.
You stared up at him like you were watching a toddler try to walk.
"The fuck are you doing?" you blurted, half-laughing, half-offended. "That's not how you—what even is that?"
"I dunno!" he whisper-yelled, defensive already. "I panicked! I've never slow danced with someone before, okay? I thought it was like...swaying or some shit!"
You couldn't even be mad. You just snorted and leaned your head forward, bumping into his chest lightly. "You're such a dumbass, take that shirt off you look far too...hot."
You had to pause at the double meaning in that; yeah, maybe you did have a thing for Rodrick but you felt like you had nothing to lose now.
"What, right here—"
"Like, warm! You're literally overheating," You tug him to the side, waddling backwards in your sparkly shoes and start to unbutton his far-too-large dress shirt behind the desserts table.
Rodrick let you drag him like some half-reluctant, half-thrilled mannequin, his boots scuffing awkwardly across the gym floor as you pulled him behind the dessert table, all glittery and glowing and far too determined.
"I mean, who wears flannel over a band tee to a dance?" you muttered, fingers already popping open the buttons like you were defusing a bomb. "It's like ninety degrees in here."
"I didn't know there was a dress code," Rodrick grumbled, standing there all stiff with his arms half-raised, heart thudding hard enough to make him dizzy. "Also, rude. This shirt's vintage."
You gave him a flat look as you yanked the flannel fully open. "It's a worn-out Rammstein tee with a mustard stain on the hem."
Rodrick looked down. "Battle damage."
You didn't dignify that with a response. You just slid the flannel off his arms and tossed it somewhere behind the punch bowl, huffing. But you didn't step away. Not yet. You stayed close, fingers lingering a second too long on the edge of the tee like you were thinking about something you shouldn't think about.
And Rodrick? Rodrick was fighting for his goddamn life.
You looked like that—like this—and your lip gloss was catching the light and your dress was hugging your waist in a way that made his brain static. And for once, you were touching him, tugging at him, focused entirely on him.
So yeah. He took the moment to admire you. A little too long. A little too obvious. Eyes trailing over your neck, the curve of your collarbones, the shimmer along your jaw.
"You done gawking?" you said, quirking a brow.
Rodrick cleared his throat. Loudly. "Yeah. No. Maybe. Shut up."
"Too many maybes, I'm going to flip out." You groan, fiddling with his buttons, "I mean, maybe I'm some slut who dances with the first guy she sees after her boyfriend cheats on her since well, you're a fucking loser and I'm a hypocrite huh?"
The words just started tumbling out your mouth, tightly-laced with frustration, before you could stop yourself.
Rodrick's mouth dropped open. Like his brain had blue-screened. Just static in his skull, completely unprepared for the self-destruction you just spit out. He blinked hard, hands twitching at his sides like they wanted to hold you but didn't know how, didn't know if they were allowed to.
"No—wait—you're not—I mean, you're not like that, you're..." He made a strangled noise. "You're cool, like really... like you're just—fuck—you're wonderful, okay?!"
It came out like he was having an allergic reaction to sincerity. Like the word "wonderful" had to be ripped from the back of his throat.
You just stared at him.
"...you just call me wonderful?" Your voice cracked half in disbelief, half in... something else. Of all things, he picked something corny like that? Talking like an almond mom?
Rodrick immediately turned red, like he'd been caught naked mid-thought. "I—I didn't mean it like a grandma way, I just—like, you're—shit, you're so much sometimes, I mean it in a good way, I swear—"
You blinked at him, wide-eyed. And for a second, just a second, the ache in your chest loosened. Just from how sincerely bad he was at saying something nice. And how hard he was trying anyway.
You laughed.
Not a cute, closed-mouth laugh either. An actual, full-on, open-mouthed cackle that made your lipgloss smear just slightly across your top lip, catching the light in a way that made Rodrick's already-fried brain just fully implode. Your shoulders shook, eyes crinkling, and he could feel the way your fingers tugged at the last button on his shirt—pop—and it all felt way too intimate for something happening behind the dessert table at a high school dance.
And then it happened.
In his dazed, flustered haze, he shifted his foot—just slightly—bumping into yours as you leaned closer. You both tilted, a shared gravitational pull, and—
CLUNK.
The table jerked. Something metallic creaked. The both of you turned just in time to watch the chocolate fountain wobble like it was trying to decide its own fate. You didn't breathe. Neither did he.
Then, in slow-motion doom:
CRASH.
Chocolate. Everywhere. Cascading like a sticky waterfall of regret.
You both froze. Silent. Horrified.
"...Shit," Rodrick whispered, eyes wide, hair sticking up from stress like static. "Was that... expensive?"
What is this stupid sense of deja vu?
The room exploded.
A collective gasp. A shriek. Someone yelled "MY SHOES!" from across the gym like it was a war crime. The scent of cocoa thickened in the air, hot and dramatic and very visible. A freshman slipped trying to escape the blast zone. One of the chaperones shouted something about liability. Phones were already out—flashes popping like gunfire.
Rodrick's eyes were wild.
"Okay—nope—nope," he mumbled, grabbing your wrist before you could even form words, yanking you behind him with all the coordination of a guy who'd only ever sprinted to avoid doing chores. "We're leaving. I'm not getting banned again."
"Wait—again?!"
But he didn't answer. He ducked under streamers, sidestepped a trail of melted chocolate like a landmine map, and beelined for the back door like a man with zero dignity and zero intention of getting caught. You stumbled after him in your sparkly shoes, glitter flashing with every chaotic step.
The gym doors slammed behind you. The cool night air bit your skin. You both half-tripped, half-tumbled down the concrete steps like some low-budget romcom crash cut.
You swear you meet Nathan's eyes as he perks up alarmed at the commotion coming from inside—of course, with Heather's dress half undone beside him in the front seat.
You knew you could never do that with him; not with your scars because you're so sure someone like Nathan would pull away. Maybe that's why he went for a valley girl like Heather who's only got "first-world problems". Not the kind of problems where you think you should kill yourself every other day.
Not that it mattered right now, because they passed across in a big, glittery, half-naked blur.
The parking lot was dark and half-empty, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead as  but its not like you stopped there and he dragged you across the ashphalt.
"RODRICK!" 
You barely manage to keep ahold of your tiny purse as he practically shoved you in the back. You hit your head on a stray cymbal on the floor.
Rodrick finally crawled into the cab of his van, settling into the driver's seat with relief, unaware you're sprawled like a ragdoll. "Hide in there," he panted, "...they won't know."
That was the least of your worries right now. Your heart was thudding in your ears, god you want to punch him. He sensed a disturbance in the force and he slowly turned around, peeking into the back and staring right at your irriated, glittery, smudged face.
He smiled a bit nervous, "Uh.."
"You have made me snap my heel."
He looked concerned, brows furrowing, "What like a broken bone?!"
"No," You say, shuddering like you're trying to compose yourself, "My fucking SHOE."
He winces with an apologetic expression that makes your anger melt.
"Just step on it." You slowly get up, groaning at the ache in your back.
"What? Where you going? Because last time I pulled up to your house, you got your ass beat."
You sigh, crawling FROM the back into the passenger seat with immense difficulty, legs first, "Ugh, well, where are you going? My parents aren't expecting me back until like 11. Let me stay out since it was Nathan."
Rodrick's mouth goes dry as you push past him and setting down into the passenger seat, your massive poofy skirt taking up half the space in the front cab. You looked like one of those CUPPATINIS dolls with skirts so big and round they would turn into a teacup when you flipped them inside out.
"Uh, home..."
You stare at eachother.
Rodrick clears his throat, his hands gripping and shaking on the wheel, "Is it too early to invite you over?"
You note the crack in his voice and let your arms flop down into the sea of organza around you. Your voice comes out small, whispered almost, "...no, that would be great."
Rodrick had to bite his lip to stop himself from grinning like an idiot. Not that you didn't see it. 
The van rumbled to life, coughing like it had chain-smoked a pack before prom. You settled into the seat with a sigh, your sparkly skirt ballooning around your legs like some kind of cursed prom-themed marshmallow. Rodrick had to keep peeking over the tulle just to see the gearshift.
The radio buzzed to life without either of you touching it—blaring loud, thrashing rock from some crusty band he probably thought was underrated genius. You braced for the usual impulse to eye-roll or snap at him to turn it down, but... you just laughed instead.
Rodrick side-eyed you with suspicion. "You didn't just—laugh?"
You shrugged, chin resting on the edge of your seatbelt. "You've got a whole chocolate crime scene on your shirt, I'm not exactly in a position to complain."
So the rest of the drive passed like that—quiet, charged, and awkward, with guitar riffs filling the space neither of you had the guts to fill. You'd occasionally catch him sneaking glances, drumming fingers on the wheel like a nervous habit. Your leg brushed his once on a turn and neither of you moved it.
By the time the van slowed in front of the Heffley house, you were starting to feel the buzz of adrenaline wear off. The porchlight was on, buzzing gently. Rodrick put the van in park and turned to say something just as the front door slammed open.
"GREG, I SWEAR TO GOD—"
"RODRICK?!"
The screaming overlapped. A blur of plaid pajama pants and bare feet skidded to the threshold, Greg looking like he'd aged a decade. Manny barreled into view right after, shrieking like a banshee with a Nerf gun in hand and chocolate smeared across his face.
You blinked. "Is he—does he have a sugar problem—"
"Don't engage," Rodrick muttered grimly, already opening the door. "He feeds off attention."
Greg stood frozen in the doorway like he'd just been hit by a brick. His eyes ping-ponged between Rodrick—disheveled, flushed, still chocolate-stained—and you, standing behind him in a glitter-covered prom dress that had clearly been through war. Like, literal war.
"...What," Greg said slowly, "is that?"
Rodrick groaned. "She's a girl, Greg. Ever seen one before?"
"No, why is she here? You look like you mugged a bakery and she looks like she was dragged backwards through a limo."
"I was not—" you started, trying to smooth down the giant puff of your skirt, which had now collected an impressive bouquet of twigs and cupcake frosting. Greg just stared, slack-jawed.
Manny screeched again and shot a Nerf dart right into your cleavage. You flinched and tried to fish it out and Rodrick had half the mind to do it himself but he'd look like a perv. Rodrick grabbed it from your hands instead and threw it back at him with surgical rage.
Greg finally came to. "Wait—are you bringing girls home now? Like to the house? What the hell is happening, did someone swap your brain out or something?!"
Rodrick spun on him, wild-eyed, palms out. "Greg, shut up! Don't say anything to Dad—please."
That was all it took. Greg's brows shot up so far they nearly vanished into his hairline.
"Ohhhhhh," he said slowly, eyes widening with glee and horror at the same time. "You brought a girl home, and you don't want Dad to know. Oh, he's gonna kill you."
Rodrick looked like he was about to throw up.
"Greg, please."
"...What's in it for me?"
"Greg—I'll give you twenty bucks and I'll do your chores for two weeks just please shut up—"
You stepped around him and blinked at Greg, arms crossed over your sparkly, sticky chest.
"Listen, I just watched my boyfriend cheat on me and the heel on my shoe has snapped, I'm not in the mood."
Greg's mouth clamped shut, mumbling something to Rodrick,
"I thought you were one of those dudes like, up for hire like a male prosti—"
Rodrick smacks him in the back of the head. And you hope you didn't hear that correctly.
Rodrick exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "Okay. Okay. Cool. Let's go before anyone else sees us."
You followed him in, glitter trailing behind like fairy dust, and Greg just stood there, staring after you like Rodrick had just brought a literal alien home.
You limped across the hall, one sparkly heel in hand like a war trophy and the other still dangling off your toes, threatening to break apart with every uneven shuffle. Your other foot was bare and probably sticky from the frosting you'd stepped in during the Great Chocolate Fountain Escape, but you were too fried to care. You just followed Rodrick through the narrow hallway past the kitchen and down into the garage.
It looked exactly like something out of a teenage garage band fever dream.
Old, cracking band posters lined the walls—some peeling at the corners, some held up with duct tape and what looked suspiciously like chewed gum. A rusting drum kit sat in one corner, half-covered with a flannel shirt that was either drying or being used as a dust cloth (who knew). Empty soda cans and crumpled fast food bags littered the floor around the amp cords, which tangled like snakes on the concrete. A crooked whiteboard on one wall had half-faded notes like practice tues?? and call Bill abt gig??? scrawled in Rodrick's barely-legible all-caps.
A makeshift couch made from what was probably three different pieces of furniture sat crooked beneath a flickering basement light, cushions long worn into a cratered shape by hours of teenage boy lounging.
You blinked at it all for a second before flopping down onto the couch with a soft "ugh," your skirt puffing out like a broken parachute around you. Your glitter left an instant trail on the old corduroy cushions.
Rodrick stood awkwardly in front of you, scratching the back of his neck and shoving some guitar picks off the seat next to you with his foot. "Uh...yeah. This is the garage."
You gave him a tired look. "No shit, Sherlock."
He cracked a weak smile. "Sorry. I just—uh—don't usually have girls in here. And they don't wear...you know." He vaguely motioned to your massive glittery dress.
You smirked, holding up the snapped heel. "You're welcome for the fashion upgrade."
Rodrick snorted and sat down beside you—close, but not too close—shoulders brushing for just a second before he shifted a little like he didn't trust himself not to combust. His knees jutted out wide, his band tee slightly wrinkled, hair still messy from running and a little glossy with sweat.
"Want water?" he asked after a beat. "Or like...a popsicle? That's all we got."
You smile. That sounded really good.
You both ended up sitting there—half-dazed, half-recovering from the sugar crash—sucking on those cheap neon freezer pops from the back of the fridge like kindergarteners at recess.
Rodrick had a red one. You had blue.
There was nothing but the low hum of the mini fridge, the distant muffled sound of Greg yelling at Manny to stop biting things, and the occasional squeak of the garage door shifting in the wind. Your knees were curled sideways on the couch now, dress cascading down onto the floor, heels abandoned by the amp like a glitter crime scene.
"These always make my throat weird," you muttered, voice raspy as you sucked on the end of the plastic tube.
Rodrick looked over at you, lips stained crimson and already half-dissolved popsicle in hand. "Yeah. It's like you're eating frostbite."
You laughed, your voice a little choked. "Why do they taste like window cleaner?"
"'Cause they are, probably." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and immediately winced when he saw the bright red smear he left behind. "Shit, I look like I just kissed a clown."
You stuck your tongue out at him, stained bright blue and freezing cold, like a cartoon character. "You look like one."
"Oh, real mature," he grinned, half leaning into your space now. "Say that again, smurf mouth."
"Smurf mouth?" You let out this tired, high-pitched giggle, cheeks glowing even in the dim garage light. "You're one to talk, blood mouth."
He blinked slowly, letting the silence hang for a second before cracking a smile so wide it made his nose scrunch. "This is the dumbest afterparty ever."
You nodded, sucking the last bit of blue juice from the corner of the tube. "Afterparty while the actual party is still going. Shit's sad but I kinda don't wanna leave though so it must be something."
Rodrick shrugged and stared at the half-melted popsicle in his hand, the red streak dripping down his fingers and soaking into his palm.
You were both just sprawled out now—melting, basically—like a couple of discarded action figures tossed onto a couch. The couch springs poked through a tear in the side, and Rodrick's bare socked foot was resting dangerously close to a pair of drumsticks crusted in god-knows-what.
The popsicles were finished. Your lips were tingling and throat felt weirdly numb, but your body was relaxed in a way it hadn't been in weeks.
You glanced sideways. "Hey...that your electric?"
Rodrick followed your gaze to the chipped black guitar leaning against a busted amp, duct tape hanging off one corner like it was trying to hold the instrument's soul together. "No it's Drew's spare." He tilted his head, squinting at it. "Still technically works."
You hummed, eyes dragging over the fretboard. "That's like the one I played that night, huh?"
He blinked. Then gave a sharp exhale through his nose. "You mean the night you emotionally obliterated me with, like, three chords and a death glare?"
A lopsided smirk formed on your gloss-smudged lips. "I was going through it."
Rodrick picked at a loose thread in his jeans, mock casual. "You wanna play again? I mean—I can, like, back you up this time. Or, y'know...hover awkwardly while pretending I know how chords work."
There was a beat. Then a short laugh from you, almost disbelieving.
"I don't even remember how."
"Good," Rodrick said, eyes flicking to yours with this soft, crooked grin. "You'll fit right in."
Rodrick plugged in the guitar with a dramatic flourish like he was in some kind of budget movie trailer, then immediately fumbled with the amp knob because it made a loud crackkk sound and nearly blew both your eardrums out.
You laughed so hard you doubled over, your poofy dress spilling over your knees like a deflated balloon. One of your press-ons popped off earlier while opening the popsicle wrapper, and you'd gotten fed up trying to save the rest. So now you were unceremoniously biting them off with your teeth, balancing the last one between your molars like some kind of petty act of rebellion.
Barefoot and exhausted, your skirt gathered around your lap like a quilt, you watched Rodrick make a face at the buzzing static coming from the amp.
"Okay," he muttered, pressing buttons he clearly didn't understand. "That's, uh...a noise. That's fine."
You just grinned at him. "You're such a pro."
Rodrick gave you a side-glance, but it was laced with this boyish pride he couldn't quite mask, and he perched the strap over his shoulder. "Alright. What do you wanna hear, Your Majesty?"
"I dunno. What do you think?" you said, tossing your chewed-off nail to the floor and shaking out your curls like a messy queen on a throne made of old amps and pizza boxes.
The minutes blurred as you picked up the guitar and he slumped behind his drumkit. Between messy rhythm, out-of-tune strings, and you humming nonsense lyrics to nothing in particular, it was the most alive either of you had felt in weeks.
Eventually, the music tapered off. Not because you ran out of energy—though, to be fair, your eyelids were getting heavy—but because the moment didn't need anything else.
Rodrick flopped back dramatically onto a pile of bedsheets, the guitar sliding from his chest with a soft thunk. "I'm dead. You killed me. Congrats."
You peeled your dress off the floor where it had pooled and curled your legs to the side. "You've been dead. You're like... undead. A walking cringe."
He groaned into his arm. "Shut up."
But when he peeked at you through his messy fringe, something soft flickered in his face—like he was still reeling from the fact that you were here, in his garage, glitter and all, sitting right beside him on the floor in silence.
Not that the silence was awkward.
It settled over you both like a warm blanket, heavy but comforting, punctuated only by the soft hum of the amp still idling in the background and the occasional creak of the garage walls cooling with the night. Outside, you could hear the faint bark of a neighbor's dog and the distant whoosh of a car driving past.
You sat cross-legged now, your dress poofed around you like a wilted flower, toes peeking out. Your lip gloss was half-smudged, your makeup fading in that kind of raw, human way that made you look even more real. More you.
Rodrick turned his head toward you from where he laid, the back of his wrist under his skull, and just stared for a second too long.
You noticed. Of course you noticed.
"What," you said, barely more than a whisper, lips quirking up like you were about to tease him. But you didn't. You just looked at him. Really looked.
And he swallowed.
"I dunno," he muttered, voice rough and caught in his throat. "You're just...here. In my garage. Like it's normal or something. And it's not."
You blinked. "Why's it not?"
He sat up a bit, propping himself on his elbow. "Because. You're...like..." He gestured at you vaguely, his hand flopping uselessly. "That. And I'm me."
You didn't say anything for a second. He was still staring, and you didn't break eye contact. It was like neither of you could. There was a buzz in the air, but not like the amp—this one was electric. Right beneath your skin.
Then softly, you said, "You're not just you. You're..."
You trailed off. Because you didn't know what you were going to say. Or maybe you did, but it was stuck behind your teeth.
He was leaning in before either of you realized it. Just a little. Just enough to feel the shift.
His hair was falling in his eyes again. His breath tasted like cherry popsicle and cheap soda, and yours was barely held together behind glossed lips, parted slightly because you were frozen. That little breathless moment, like someone pressing pause right before something stupidly irreversible.
You leaned back on your palms ignoring it the best you could, dress folding around you like a crumpled cupcake wrapper, your chest rising slow under the sweetheart neckline. Your lips were glossy again, faintly smudged with the remnants of red dye, and your eyes—though tired—were fixed on Rodrick with this glimmer of something he didn't think he was allowed to name.
He blinked slowly. "...Are we doing this, y'know like...? Because I wanna know if I should admit I haven't done this before or if that would just embarrass myself."
Your laugh was so small it could've cracked. "I—I don't know."
He was really focused on your face, but he had no idea where to look. 
Nothing everything down to the way your lashes casting little shadows across your cheeks. He didn't even think—you were this close. Your hand twitched toward his, fingers brushing his wrist like a test, feeling the bumps of healing scars under your hand.
"Don't," you said suddenly, sitting a little straighter. "Don't look at me like that. I'm gonna get confused."
His brows creased. "Confused?"
"Yeah. Like..." You trailed off, eyes darting between his. "Like maybe I'm supposed to feel something. Like maybe you do."
Rodrick's throat bobbed. "And what the hell do I do if I do?"
Your noses were nearly brushing now, your breath hot with sugar and artificial cherry. His eyes dropped to your lips for a second, then to your eyes, to your chest to anywhere because yeah he didn't know what he was doing despite the big game he talks. If anything, your head tilted just a little.
And right when his mouth nearly brushed yours—
"RODRICK! YOU LEFT THE MILK OUT!"
Greg.
Rodrick flinched so hard he nearly fell backwards, knocking over a pile of empty soda cans.
You just sat there, blinking in disbelief.
"...Was that a jump scare?" you mumbled.
Rodrick groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Kill me. Just actually kill me."
You laughed softly, breathless, flopping back onto the rug. The kiss didn't happen—but god, it almost did. And now the air buzzed with it. Like electricity crawling up your spines. But also with relief because you're not sure what you would have done if it did happen.
"I DID NOT LEAVE THE DAMN MILK OUT."
Greg cleared his throat really loudly and you paused.
"I SAID YOU LEFT THE MILK OUT."
Rodrick's eyes widened. His mouth parted, breath catching, and he turned sharply toward you like his body made the decision before his brain caught up.
"Shit." He was up in a second, grabbing your hand—not harshly, not rough, just fast. "You gotta go. You have to go."
"Rodrick—"
"No, I'm serious," he hissed, low and urgent, already guiding you toward the back of the garage, stepping over guitar cables and a torn drum pad. "My dad's back. You can't be here. He'll—he'll lose it."
You didn't need him to say it. You already saw it in the way his voice shook, in the little tremble in his fingers as he fumbled with the old, creaky side door near the tool shelf, where the scent of oil and old wood hung in the air.
You hesitated. "I can't just leave you here."
"You have to."
There was this split second—just one—where you wanted to fight it. To grab him and scream 'come with me then,' to drag him into your glitter-hairspray world with your own blood and scars, and tell him you'd protect him too.
But you weren't at that point yet. Neither of you were.
So you slipped your broken heel into one hand, and the other he still held like it was a lifeline, and you let him lead you out the side door into the cool night air.
He didn't kiss you goodbye.
He just looked at you—really looked at you, again—and whispered. "Uhhh, I'll find you, promise."
He paused just as he ushered you out, with a sarcastic half grin, "Maybe we can continue where we left off, yeah?"
And then the door shut. Just as the familiar bass-heavy bellow of what you assumed was Frank Heffley's voice echoed from somewhere in the house.
You didn't protest to stay. Because you were barefoot outside on their driveway and you were wondering yourself how you were going to get home in the dark in a dress like this. And explain to your own parents what had happened. 
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♡ Please do not modify, steal, plagarise or post on other platforms without asking. Thank you! Please do leave requests!
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briefalpacashark · 1 year ago
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~Hangover~
Synopsis: Titles pretty self explanatory.
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The next morning you were happily cooking away, watching the minutes pass by on the clock. Usually the boys would have been up half an hour ago. You would have to wake them up soon, though. You all had a mission briefing soon. Now you are a good person. But last night they did have you running across town and dealing with police because of their antics. So you set up a speaker in the hall, turned it on full blast and played an obnoxiously loud ‘Can Can Dance’ song. Hearing the cacophony of groans, you smile, returning to the kitchen. You watched as Gaz, Jonny and Price all dragged themselves into the wreck room heads bowed and pinched nose bridges.
“Well good morning sunshine’s and daisies!” you made sure to hit your voice with a slightly higher and louder pitch, making most of them flinch and groan.
“Shhhhhh,” Price hushed in your general direction. Hearing the speaker suddenly die out, you peeked around the corner to see Ghost standing there with his eyes barely open and a now impaled speaker on the end of his knife.
“Good morning,” you smirked. He looked at your smile, giving a grunt before walking to the table, throwing his defeated opponent upon the table, the bang making them all wince.
“Well well well. What happened to you guys' last night?” you asked, placing two large plates on the table. Full of food they might or might not want to eat. 
“We, uh, we had a few drinks,” Price said.
“Of, a few?” you asked, piling up your plate and beginning to eat.
“Yeah, I think,” he murmured, grabbing a plate for himself.
“How's your chest Jonny?” you asked. Jonny looked up at you with an accusing look, wondering just how you knew about the bald patch on his chest.
“Don't know what you mean, doc,” he grumbled.
“Aha sure. How's the head Simon?” you asked.
“Fine,” he muttered. Everyone looked at his head and to the slight bulge on his temple that the mask failed to hide.
“Got to say didn't pin you as a booty shorts type of man Gaz,” you added turning to Gaz. His face paled as he recalled the pink bedazzled pants he had quickly thrown into the bin. Your smirk widened impossibly wider. You were having way too much fun.
“And sir,” everyone went silent as you turned to Price. He looked up at you with a slight warning.
“I'm sorry about the hat,” you said. Everyone was silent for a few moments as they took in your smug grin.
"I'm to fucken old for this shit," he grumbled reaching for his tea.
“Alright you know what happened last night don't you?” Jonny asked.
“Who me? How could I know? I wasn't there remember,” you said. They pondered. That's the thing. They couldn't remember a damn single thing other than starting a drinking competition with the airforce boys.
“Did. I um d anything embarrassing?” Gaz asked bashfully. You pretended to think.
“What do you define as embarrassing?” you asked. He groaned, and Jonny chuckled.
“What are you laughing about Jonny?” you asked, taking a bite of food. His smile fell as he quickly shut up.
“You came to get us?” Price asked. You nodded.
“So, what happened?” Gaz asked.
“You know I don't think you would believe me even if I did tell you,” you hummed.
“Try us,” Ghost said.
“Right, ok,” you cleared your throat pushing your plate away. 
“So I get a call at 2 am in the morning. You rang me from a random phone, at a phone booth, that you didn't use and you have my contacts up on Gaz phone that you also didn't use. You were all just sitting on the curb eating a shit ton of Macca’s. It was an event to get you all in the car. Then when I did get you all in we went to a bar to pay of your tab. A bar that takes away your left shoe to make sure you don't run out on a tab. Which you guys did. Oh, wait sorry. I forgot the part where you all took a dip in a fountain to save ducks from drawing. Well Simon saved the ducks, Jonny tried to help but somehow started to drown in knee high water. Gaz tried to save him but couldn't and then Price apparently saved you both. Anyway so across from this bar is a police station. And you brilliant genius’s tried to pick a fight with a whole police force. Because apparently one of them tried to arrest Gaz. And the only reason why was because Gaz stole a stun gun. Then when I threatened you with lazwell finding out you all legged it down the street. Ghost almost took out a low hanging beam and Jonny and Gaz took out each other. I then had to track you all down again. You all put up a fight thinking I was working with the police. I had to tie you three up and put you in the back. Captain you were in a fucking tree. Honestly don't know how you got up so high. And Simon was in the trunk the whole time. So half way back to base you somehow managed to convince yourselves that you were kidnaped and jumped out of said car. I looked for you again and you called me to inform me you all had been arrested. Lucky for you I'm a sweet talker and got you guys off with a warning. Then I got you back and had to lug all your asses back to your beds,” you finished of the story with a smile. The boys all stared at you, first processing your words and then flat out denying them.
“Bull shit,” Jonny said in denial.
“Well, have a look at this and say that again,” you pulled out your phone and showed them the photo. Their faces fell as they took it in.
“Delete it,” Ghost ordered.
“What? Fuck no. Do you know the shit I had to go through last night? I earned this,” you stated.
“Sargent, I order you to delete that photo,” Price commanded.
“Captain, can i just say you have the cutest sweetest little giggle I've ever heard in my life,” you cooed. Price's face snapped into a glare.
“Giggled?” Jonny smirked.
“Captain's a giggling drunk,” you nodded. 
“Delete it,” Ghost ordered again.
“Make me,” you challenged. A scream left your lips as they all pounced on you, successfully pulling the phone from your grip and deleting the photo. 
“You all assholes,” you grumbled, taking your phone back.
“Not a word about last night to anyone,” Price ordered, pointing at you.
“Yes sir,” You gave a mock salute, grinning ear to ear.
“What's that?” he asked, pointing to the smile.
“What's what sir?” you asked innocently.
“That smile. What have you done?” he asked.
“Nothing sir,” you smiled, batting your eyelashes before walking away. 
Across the base, Laswell had just entered her office, tea in hand. Sitting down at her computer, she opened her emails going through the more important once before finding one from you. Reading the topic of blackmail, she moved closer, taking a sip of her tea.
As she opened it her eyes went wide at the picture she saw spitting the tea out in a mist.
Later that day you found Ghost sitting on the couch rubbing his temple. 
“Here,” you said, holding out some tablets to him with a drink of water.
“What's this?” he asked.
“Does it matter?” you asked with a smirk. He shrugged, hiking his mask up to his nose and taking the tablets. You were slightly taken aback seeing the half of his face. And from the half you could see he was handsome. What you loved more was the stumble he wore. Yep he was definitely blond. 
“Huh,” you hummed.
“What?” he asked, pulling his mask back down.
“Knew you had a stubble. Jonny owes me a tenner,” you smiled. Again, the Dajuvu washed over you. Ghost thought back to the time you were in the hospital. To the time you held his face so tenderly and looked at him so softly. He wished you would do it again. 
“Hey, wanna hear something worth its weight in gold?” you asked, your cheeky grin taking over. He nodded, and you slotted yourself next to him, your arms pressed against each other. You opened up your phone going into your recorder. Shuffling impossibly closer you held the phone up between your ears. 
“What?”
“Shhhhh,” you hushed him, your hand unknowingly dropping to his biceps to pull him closer. He leaned down, his head gently knocking on the top of yours. It was comedic really. His whole upper body was bent over while you were just sitting there. 
Softly a giggle sounded from your phone.
“What the hell is that?” Ghost asked as he continued to listen.
“That is our dear captain giggling,” you chuckled. Simon couldn't help the laugh that burst from his mouth. And not one of his half chuckles. No it was a real laugh. I mean, who wouldn't be amused by it. Your smirk turned into a warm smile as you looked up at him. 
“Fuck, That’s hilarious. That's really Price?” he asked. You loved it, the way his smile reached his eyes.
“Yeah, but not as amusing as you tighty whities,” You grinned, patting his leg and getting up. He froze. Sure, he wore tighty whities when he was in civics. They were comfortable. 
“So you took advantage of me when I was drunk and unconscious?” he asked teasingly.
“Oh yeah definitely,” you grinned back with a wink. You went to leave but paused, stepping back to face him. “I didn't see your face if that's what you mean. I kept my eyes closed when I took your mask off,” you added. 
“I know,” he muttered. You frowned and were about to ask about it when Price called the two of you for the briefing. 
“Come on,” he said, walking up to you and putting you in a headlock. Which wasn't hard. He practically dragged you out.
“Don't go telling anyone about my tighty whities. Copy?” he asked.
“Sure thing, Sir,” you grinned tapping out. He smiled, releasing you. You walked side by side. Something you hoped one day you would always do.
“You owe me a speaker by the way,”
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=COD Master List Here=
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whimsicalwritingsandmore · 6 months ago
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Spy Family | ateez x reader
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Pairing: spy!ateez x spy!reader
Genre: spy, action, a little romance
Word Count: 1223 words
Summary: You’ve been seeing Ateez for a year, and you’re wondering, can you actually break their hearts?
a/n: I still don't know how I feel about what I've written here but I've had this in my drafts for a YEAR and it's time that I finally complete it! this is a short series of 4 parts so I won't have a taglist for it, all the parts are drafted, it just needs editing so I'll publish the next parts as soon as I finish editing it! :) Enjoyyyy and let me know your thoughts! Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. <3
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Part 1
As you watched Wooyoung prepare dinner for everyone, the feeling of remorse sat heavily on your shoulders as the culpable feeling of regret gnawed at you from within. Every time you thought about what you were doing, your stomach twisted and churned with guilt.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
It was supposed to be a simple payback but now that you thought about it, nothing about it was simple from the start. It had almost been a year since you began your relationship with Wooyoung that had spilled over with the rest of the boys. Initially, you heard about them from your best friend whose younger brother was dating Wooyoung’s sister. Then you saw them around the Institute occasionally, since like you, they were spies in training. They joined a sister organization adjacent to yours and so, you would work alongside each other from time to time. Although, you were never on the same team for missions.
But perhaps it would have remained a professional relationship - if only Wooyoung’s sister didn’t break Beomgyu’s heart the way she did.
If only she was loyal and honest, maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation today. First, she lied and cheated, then she proceeded to humiliate him at the inauguration ceremony for new spy recruits. You remembered that evening vividly. Beomgyu had always been shy so it took a lot of courage to confess how much she meant to him that night. As everything unraveled, you were seething with anger alongside your best friend Ara. Before you knew it though, Ara was already on the other side of the hall, grabbing the girl by her ponytail and slamming her into a table before dunking her into the fountain. It took six people to get her off the girl.
That should’ve been enough revenge.
But for Ara, it wasn’t. She seethed in animosity and fury for months and then in sadness as she watched her sibling drown in heartbreak, humiliation and pain. Then she approached you. She snooped around for more information about the girl and discovered she had a younger brother - Wooyoung.
“An eye for an eye.” she claimed.
You could have said no. There was no need for you to get involved. But you considered Beomgyu to be like a younger brother so you agreed, albeit apprehensively. So now here you were - semi-cohabiting with all eight boys and they were nothing like what people had described about them. They kept to themselves and hardly interacted outside of their established circle so most claimed they were stand-offish and haughty. But in reality, they were kind, sweet, thoughtful and friendly.
Hongjoong, Yeosang and Jongho weren’t big fans of public displays of affection but rather preferred showing their affection in the safe spaces that were their rooms. On the other hand, Seonghwa and Yunho, who would seem intimidating because of their height, were sweethearts who didn’t mind small gestures such as either holding hands or being back-hugged in public unless it resulted in both of you tumbling down a hill…which happened only once. Meanwhile, San and Mingi were in-between because of their shy nature, while Wooyoung didn’t mind letting the whole world know how much you meant to him.
You couldn’t break their hearts.
So, you made another plan. In the next few days you had an upcoming mission that was out of the country and that would last a month, with perhaps a few weeks extra spilling over into the next. In that time, you would be unable to be in contact regularly so slowly, you would begin to distance yourselves from them. You weren’t going to tell them when you’ll be back and hopefully soon enough, the message would be clear.
As you replayed your foolproof plan in your head, Wooyoung draped himself over you while the others chattered amongst themselves as the evening wore on and dinner concluded. He ran his fingers through your hair and prodded your head with his nose to seek your attention as he swayed the two of you back and forth.
“You okay?” he whispered.
As you snapped out of your thoughts, you looked up to see the sweet, tender look he gave you - one that was filled with adoration and so much love. You nodded sweetly with a soft smile that you hoped was convincing before melting yourself deeper into his embrace, tracing circles on his forearm. He welcomed the gesture warmly and pressed a chaste kiss to your temple.
“I love you so much.” he murmured in your ear.
Everything inside you felt like it was frozen in place as you processed his words. Wooyoung said he loves you and though you tried to convince yourself that what you were planning was the best decision, you couldn’t ignore that bubbling feeling of warmth and tenderness that rushed in your veins when he said it - you felt the same.
On the way home, you were lost in thought. Your heart ached at the idea of never talking to the boys again. Each of them in their own way had left an impact that made your heart flutter and cheeks turn red. And after Wooyoung’s confession earlier and his sneaky kiss that may have turned into a small but passionate makeout session in a corner of the hallway right next to the elevator, you were distressed. It was unexpected like his confession. You were almost to the elevators when you felt a hand grab you and suddenly, you were being pulled into the cozy corner. Startled but aware of the familiar presence, especially by the bracelet on his arm that was identical to yours, you turned your gaze to find Wooyoung once again, staring at you with so much love and adoration before he pressed his lips to yours.
Arriving at your organization’s headquarters, you bumped into another figure who stood up to greet you but you didn’t see. It was Beomgyu. You both looked at each other with a sad smile, one that didn’t need any questioning because you both knew what it meant. The two of you strolled into the lobby in silence before Beomgyu turned to you and finally spoke.
“I’m sorry I’ve put you through this.” he laments.
“No,” you answer tiredly rubbing your face, “It’s on me. I agreed to it with Ara.”
“Still, I should’ve stopped you both.” he mumbles, “But…I also wanted revenge. At the time it felt so right.”
You couldn’t fault him, at one point, it seemed “right” to you too. 
“It’s okay, I’ll figure it out.” 
Before he can continue, you both hear a tick that raises alarm bells in your minds. The two of you turn around warily, unsure of what it is and where it's coming from, but before either of you can react, the wall explodes. Beomgyu grabs and pushes you under him to the ground behind a wall to protect the two of you.
After a few minutes of you trying to catch your bearings and soothe the unrelentless ringing in your ears, you look towards the debris and notice a small paper neatly rolled and tied with a gold string right in the middle of the floor, untouched by the rubble. Picking it up to read it, your blood runs cold with the three big words sprawled out in red.
“You’ve been warned.”
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cookiepie111 · 2 years ago
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࿐Drink from the leche of sirens࿐
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Synopsis - An injury könig comes across a lake and pretty nymph. Greek au könig x black nymph reader. No minors. Smut
Part 2 here
A/N-
An alternate to the fountain girl fic I wrote.
Think this might be the longest thing I've written. There is a Pinterest mood board here. Shout out to @cinnamonbunboii cause their comment inspired this fic. Please like and reblog!
Tags: @terra-713 @cinnamonbunboii @kneelingshadowsalome @bucca2
       𓇼 - - - - - - - - 𓇼 - - - - - - - - 𓇼
Deities are petty beings, twisting the hearts of humans when things don't go their way. König and his army may have won the battle but the casualties were high, he himself was beat and bruised. Its just a game to them and what do you do when you're losing and angry, you flip out, over turn the board and scatter the pieces. Think of a new way to win while your opponent garthers up their fallen pieces.
Scattered by the wind, what a cliche but it works, in all the commotion the soldiers were separated, placed in every which direction, on land, and both above and below the heavens. How petty all this because you lost. Somehow this wasn't the worst part of könig's day just the final cherry on top the shitty Sunday the gods gave him. His lover betrayed him, separated from his allies, battered and bruised and now there's nothing around him but trees. If not for the situation and burning rage in his heart he'd find the place quite peaceful, beautiful even, a nice place to die.
The deeper könig went into the forest the more the atmosphere changed, trees bend and shift, covering the sky above. The slow dance of leaves and bright glow of the fireflies. All of it leading up to a lake in the clearing. It all felt too to unnatural to be real, like sweet honey leading him a trap. Pressing into the wound at his side, the sharp pain brought him back to his senses, this isn't the place to lose one's mind he'd need to keep his wits about him if he wanted to live.
Even if he doesn't want to accept it there's no denying this would be a beautiful place to die. Even now he hates himself for still thinking of her, even at the moment of his death she still has place in his mind. she'd love this place, a backdrop like this would only accentuate her beauty more.
He walked close to the lake feeling the trees shift around him again. Laying back on the trees bark sword placed on the ground.
The waters surface ripples altering könig to the figure in the lake, its shape he couldn't quite make out. A head, a person maybe. This place could be cursed, it wouldn't surprise him. He stares back never removing his eyes from them watching as they stay just below the water.
If he's intruded on some beings land they'll just have to put up with him or force him out. He's got enough strength for one last fight. It is after all the way of the warrior to go out fighting he thinks, unsteady as he pushes off the tree bark.
You can't remember the last time you saw another human here, they often end up with your older sister although you doubt they've all been this large and imposing. Even injured he carries himself very well. The cut in his stomach only causing him to hunch over, you doubt the blood covering him is his own.
Once at the water's edge the thoughts of battle quickly die down. It a woman in the water, human she is not but a woman still. The skin of human women doesn't glow or shine. Their skin isn't adorned with scales of greans and blue hues around their eyes nor does their hair shift and swirl like small currents atop the waters surface like yours. No those features that were that of nymph. Women of nature blessed with great beauty. And unfortunately for könig drowners of men.
His odds are about 50/50 he wouldn't drown so easily but that wasn't a risk he wanted to take, with his body is failing him now, heavy breaths as he falls back to the ground. Eyes still on the nymph at his front, she makes no move, just watching.
It takes a few moments for her to move a few more heavy breaths and groans from könig for her to lift from the water.
When she comes out to meet him she bare. Thin pieces of fabric dropping over her waist and chest slipping under her right breast, past her womanhood, more like an accessory one would add cause they thought it looked nice than a piece of clothing. Thick curly hair swirling around her body
To think he could still get hard at a time like this.
Drowning doesn't seem so bad now if it is by her hand.Maybe a kiss from them would send him peaceful into the afterlife.
She stood over him head tilling side from side,trying to figure the man out. He hasn't said anything, he doesn't shout or draw his sword like the other men she's seen. He's also taller, bigger, more.... solid than other men, gracing a hand down his arm. Kneeling beside him, the injury is worse than she thought. did one of the gods bring him here? Or did he just wonder here himself? You held your chin swaying on your heels deep in thought
König felt delirious, he's injured, lost and now there's a pretty nymph circling round, staring, pocking and prodding at him. If this was any other situation he'd take her in the moment. Hull her over his shoulder and fuck her till scream or blesses him, gives him heavenly children. But he's tired and weak, he can do nothing but watch as she frees his egear cock from his tunic.
He's never felt like this before, grunting and wincing under her touch. He's sure she's sucking the energy out of him.  Maybe its the bloodloss maybe it the fire at the groin the licking and kissing along his shaft causing the dizziness in him, eyes shut tight and panting as he comes closer to the edge but the release never comes. feeling her tongue stroke the entire length of him as she comes up.
The next moment for könig were pure bliss, something straight out of dream. To have her now Straddling him bouncing so eagerly on his cock, was a feeling he could never forget. The sweet stretch as she sank. It was frustrating not being able to touch her, She didn't move fast enough not for könig liking. He was too weak to set the pace, his hand only able to rest on the plush of her hip. Even if she used him like a toy könig couldn't help but throw his head back in pleasure at the squeeze of her soft walls.
Her hands explored the body under her, digging into the wounds, ignoring his hisses and complaints, pushing him back down before he finds the strength to push her off. It felt hot then numb, as she dug into his wounds.
With new found strength he bucked his hips, against her. The sound of their love making filling the forest air, his hands firmly at her hips to move her at a pace he found fit, fast and messy before emptying himself inside her.
When he finally came back down from the high he finds her form shake and ripple above him. The words die on his tongue, as her form melts down, and fades away into the water
He gets up able without stumbling this time walking straight finding himself back at the army base. König's honestly not sure if that really happened or if he was just crazy. He has nothing to show for the whole ordeal to prove it was real. He knows on the brink of the death the mind can conger all sorts of things to keep one alive but nothing could explain sleeping with a water nymph. he'd like to think he wasn't deranged...To imagine sleeping with being that would normally drown you but...
The only evidence he had was his body. The open wound in his stomach gone, his whole body intact even stronger than before. He'll think about this alot after wondering if you were really real. It would be best to get you out of his mind. Yet he sees you in the lakes and bodies of water and in the faces of women passing him by
You on the other hand couldn't believe your luck! Showing off the keepsake you'd got from the soldiers.
Red bracelet shining under the sun as you turned it on your wrist to show off to your sisters. Giggling and splashing round the waters edge. You're so lucky such a strong and handsome man!
"Wow what's his name".... "You did get his name right???" ... you didn't get his name. You didn't get his name! And honestly you're not sure which army he's with you can't tell the difference between the armours
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vhstown · 5 months ago
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chocolate shaadee
— pavitr prabhakar x gn!reader
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summary: You go to a wedding with Pavitr. There's only so much chocolate two people can have before regretting it.
content / warnings: none just fluff and corny teenage pining
word count: 1.2k
a/n: me and sadi's instagram dms led to this... if u ever go to a wedding there has to be a chocolate fountain by LAW!!! barely edited...
"Uuuuugh. Maybe this wasn't a good idea."
"You're saying that now, Pavi…?"
Truthfully, there was no way this couldn't have happened. The moment the two of you had stepped into the venue, none of the decorations or displays had mattered. The song that was playing was irrelevant. Greeting relatives and friends and surviving smothering kisses were simply a formality.
The moment you two had seen the beautiful, rich, three-tiered liquid heaven tucked away in a corner, it was almost as if two people weren't getting married right across the room. Oh, how naive you had been.
You'd devised a plan to sneak as many chocolate-covered skewers onto a plate as you could, every time you'd visited the fountain. After many awkward stares that read more like concern than judgement, the two of you had racked up enough skewers to build a castle, enough chocolate to fill an ocean, and a stomach ache that could kill ten horses.
"I'm gonna throw up."
"If your auntie sees vomit on your clothes, she'll finish you."
"Not if this stomach ache finishes me first."
Pavitr let out another groan, making the two of you laugh, only serving to make the stomach ache hurt more. The buzz of sugar fizzling under your skin had finally settled, leaving your muscles dull and heavy. Escaping into the wilderness of the venue's outdoor garden helped a little, the cool night air a much-needed contrast to the stuffy, loud and bright dancing arena that had formed inside.
Something like a yawn came out of Pavitr, and you let the laugh out through your nose to save yourself the regret of too much movement.
"Tired, Mr. Fruit Kebab?" you teased, trying to smirk as if you could look anything but like you were in extreme physical discomfort.
"Mr. Fruit Kebab? Now that's just terrible. I was trying to be healthy!"
"What's healthy about drowning fruit with tons of chocolate?"
"At least I'm not going to get heart disease first— Oof! Don't hit me!"
"Don't act like the strawberries you suffocated with sugar are going to save you."
"Still, though!"
He sighed deeply, and you sighed right back. A smile spread across his face, and the garden lights shone like little stars in his eyes. There was no moon in the sky tonight. How could there be? The sun was right in front of you, shining his light right onto you, too shy to open his mouth for too long because the last time he did all his teeth were ruined with chocolate and you'd laughed at him.
"What?" you finally said, deciding not to notice how his smile had somehow snuck its way onto your lips.
"You have chocolate on your face."
"And you're telling me when?"
"It's okay, let me get it."
"You can't tell me where it is? You just have to be chivalrous?" you muttered as he rubbed his knuckle against the corner of your mouth. His hands were impossibly warm, like they somehow always were.
Pavitr gave your cheek a pinch that only just bordered on being painful before pulling away, snickering at your wince.
"Who's getting married anyway?" you asked, clearing your throat. A half-shocked expression appears on the boy's face.
"You didn't care to remember who's wedding I invited you to? Rude!"
"Hey, you've dragged me to a million and one weddings, how am I supposed to remember?"
"I'm joking, you wouldn't know them. Distant relatives." You scoffed at that, but he just shrugged. "And it's boring without you."
"You're bored by weddings? I thought you loved them."
"What I love is the chocolate fountain. It's suspicious how many people here claim to have known me as a baby."
"But is it me or the chocolate fountain? Do you only take me so we can share the guilt afterwards?"
Just a sliver of his teeth showed through his laugh, smile tainted with embarassment. "Don't say it like that!"
"So it's true…" You sighed dramatically, holding your heart with the hand that wasn't on your abdomen. "Prabhakar has been using me all this time."
"No, no…! You're turning me into a drama series villain!" The two of you stifled your laughs, and his head fell beside you, hair brushing your shoulder.
When you had calmed down, he peeked at you through his perfectly-messed up hair, a softer look in his usually mischievous eyes.
"I'd go to a wedding with you even if there was no fountain, you know."
"Oh, I'm so reassured," you drawled, rolling your eyes.
"I'm serious. Just you. No fancy ceremonies or anything." Warmth seeped into your hand as he took it in his. Your snark had vanished as fast as it came.
"That's not much of a wedding," you mumbled, wondering how on Earth he'd managed to get so close to you in such a short time.
"Do you realise the point of a wedding is love?"
"Almost forgot you were a hopeless romantic."
"Hey, I'm not hopeless! And a chocolate fountain just makes it better, is all."
Pavitr gave your hand a squeeze. The moon and stars were shining again.
"…You're talking in riddles again," you huffed, shaking your head to hide your expression. "What are you trying to say?"
"I'm saying that when I get married I'd want those two things there. Chocolate fountain, and you."
"You think I won't be at your wedding?" You'd be happy if he got married, of course. You'd be older. More mature. Less… bothered by silly feelings.
"Oh, you'd definitely be there. There would be no wedding otherwise."
"You'd cancel your wedding if I didn't come? That's ridiculous."
"Oh, no. I'd cancel my wedding if there was no chocolate fountain."
"What—"
"Beta, your cousins from home are here! Come and greet them!"
The voice of Pavitr's auntie got the two of you to let go of each other's hands, and finally stand up. Your stomachs protesting at the sudden movement, and your hand was maybe a little sweaty.
"Is Aarush's family here?" you asked, recalling the little boy and that had followed you around with his little siblings and clambered all over Pavitr last time.
"Yeah, it looks like it." He let out an exhausted breath, preparing himself for even more exhaustion. "We turn into his babysitters whenever he comes."
"You're good with him, though. You're probably his favourite cousin."
"Is that a good thing?" You shared one more laugh, and a little bit of a wince, before walking back into the venue.
A shiver passed through you as you did, and only then did you realise how cold it had been outside. You hadn't noticed at all, though. Even the coldest nights could be thawed by the sunrise.
"Do you realise the point of a wedding is love?"
"I'm saying that when I get married I'd want those two things there. Mainly you."
"Oh, you'd definitely be there. There would be no wedding otherwise."
It was only when you got home when you realised why Pavitr had been giving you that amused look the rest of the evening, and it wasn't because his little cousin was climbing all over him.
Never again were you having so many sweets. Your stomach was still swirling. It had also made you ridiculously oblivious. You wish you'd hit him harder.
And so, your night was scare of sleep, and full of ridiculous, sugary sweet thoughts. How many tiers could chocolate fountains go up to? Your stomach felt funny. Your face was sore from smiling so much.
Getting married to the sun, huh? Easier said than done.
Worst thing was, he was probably smiling too.
🕸🔭🪀
thank you for reading !!!! i know ive been inactive i have exams in two weeks and cannot focus on ANYTHING for the life of me ough but im still here .... i hope i can write a lot in the summer hehe
find my atsv masterlist here!
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writing-with-my-teeth · 11 months ago
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Capeless Crusaders Against Lex Luthor
Summary: Lex Luthor's Public Enemy #1 has always been Superman. He never thought that Bruce Wayne and his gaggle of misfit children could be worse.
This story features Bruce, Dick, Steph, Damian, and a bonus Red Hood. Let me know if anyone wants a part 2 with Tim, Duke, Babs, and Cass.
Word count: 3k
Potential TW: I tried to pick the most cartoonishly evil thing that Lex could support, so this fic does mention the activity of dwarf tossing.
Another day, another gala.
Lex's lip curled. He hid it behind the lip of the champagne glass in his hand.
You know, he was just thinking that he might actually enjoy the night. Galas were such tedious affairs, but half of the attendees tonight were Lex's business partners. The other half were old school friends.
Unfortunately, anyone that had gone to school with Lex and Oliver Queen—the host of tonight's party—had also gone to school with Bruce Wayne, and his unfortunate yacht accident two weeks ago hadn't stopped him from attending, though Lex had desperately hoped it would. Of course, the moment he waltzed into the room, a good hour and a half late and already heavily intoxicated, by the looks of him, Lex lost the spotlight.
Nevertheless, the night was salvageable. There were no media vultures in attendance. The only reporter on the list was that mild-mannered Daily Planet employee. Lex didn't remember his name (Connor O'Connell, maybe?) but he did remember the scathing cost-benefit analysis of Superman that he'd written three months ago.
Lex would be delighted to pick his brain more on his thoughts about Superman.
Unfortunately, as soon as he waved the man over, a tremendous splash sounded across the room. The reporter's head whipped around, nearly losing his thick-rimmed spectacles in the process.
Lex closed his eyes and counted to ten for patience.
Bruce Wayne was—yes, he was in the fountain.
It was hard to tell whether he was swimming or drowning.
Lex hoped it was the latter. Unfortunately, the sentiment wasn't a common one. Old Mrs. Crawer pretended to faint into her young bodyguard's arms (she did that at least once per gala) and Jack Drake went so far as to shout for someone to help. A couple people nodded their heads, looking sufficiently concerned, but nobody seemed invested in ruining their clothes by jumping in after Wayne.
It was the reporter that stepped up. He folded his notebook and pen in the jacket of his suit, handed it off to the nearest waiter, and stepped up to the lip of the fountain. Loudly, he said, "Mr. Wayne, are you okay?"
Wayne's head popped out of the water. He slicked his hair back to the admiring gasps of unsatisfied society ladies and whispered something to the reporter that made him shake his head. Then, louder, he announced, "Felt a little stuffy in here. Thought I'd shake things up." His voice was slurred and his eyes bright. He was so intoxicated. Lex could hardly wait for the reporter to flame him in the papers tomorrow.
"I'm surprised he's so eager to get into the water considering his recent yacht debacle," Lex sniffed, but nobody heard the cutting remark.
It was Oliver Queen that finally cajoled Wayne out of the fountain with the promise of more shrimp and cocktails. The man staggered sopping wet around the ballroom, laughing about his own stupidity and using the reporter as a support whenever he stumbled. If he wasn't the center of attention before, he certainly was now, with the soaking wet see-through white dress shirt clinging to every curve of muscle on his body. Why, exactly, did Bruce Wayne feel the need to bodybuild when he sat in an office all day? Lex would never understand the foolish rich.
"Brucie," Lex said when the pair stumbled within earshot. "Why don't you give Caden a break and sit down?"
"Who?"
Lex forced a laugh and the reporter joined in after a pause. Fine. If Wayne wouldn't let the reporter go, then he would conduct his business while ignoring the man. He did that enough during board meetings with Wayne Enterprises, after all.
The next morning, Lex stared at the newspaper in disbelief. Wayne's dip in the fountain was splashed—literally—all over the front page, and his stilted conversation with the reporter had barely made page 3, hardly bigger than a footnote.
Fucking Wayne.
---
"License and registration, please!" the disgustingly cheery cop all but sang. It was four in the morning, but he was practically beaming. And he was beaming his flashlight directly into Lex's eyes. He couldn't see anything around it.
"What seems to be the problem, officer?" Lex asked, handing the papers over.
"Suspicious behavior," replied the cop. "Mr. Luthor, what are you doing in Blüdhaven at four a.m.?"
"What suspicious behavior?" Lex questioned.
The officer lowered his flashlight, but its dark shadow was seared into Lex's vision right where the cop's face should be. "Mr. Lauren, are you avoiding the question?"
"It's Luthor, actually, and no, of course not," Lex sighed, rubbing his face. He was exhausted. "I was on a business trip. Our meeting ended late. Now, what suspicious behavior are you talking about? I used my turn signal before switching lanes, I've been within five miles of the speed limit the entire drive, and as far as I'm aware, there's no driving curfew in Blüdhaven."
"Yes," said the officer. From what Lex could see of his features, he was frowning. "All of that is extremely suspicious behavior in Blüdhaven. Besides, you're driving a Luthor Cybertruck, which suggests you suffer from lapses of temporary insanity. Do you consent to a quick search of your vehicle?"
"Not without a warrant," Lex sighed. "Look, officer, I'm from Central City. Us citizens follow the law there. I can assure you, I just want to go home."
The officer hesitated. Lex considered bribing him, but couldn't tell if the man had a bodycam on.
"Well, all right," said the officer finally. "I'll let you go with a warning."
"Thank you, officer," Lex said. "Thank you for keeping your city safe."
"All in a night's work!" the officer said cheerfully. "Have a good one, Mr. Lantern."
"Luthor," Lex grumbled, but the officer was already ambling away, whistling cheerfully. "Lapses of temporary insanity?" That officer was the one whistling at four a.m. Luthor Cybertrucks were pinnacles of human technological innovation!
Twenty minutes later, another cop pulled him over. Lex had his papers in hand by the time the officer said, "License and registration, please!"
It was the same idiot cop from before. Lex closed his eyes and said, "Really?"
"Excuse me?"
"You just pulled me over. Nothing about my driving has changed since then."
"Did I?" the officer mused. "I'm not sure if I recall."
"I can assure you that you did," Lex said through gritted teeth. "I can assure you, Officer—" He squinted at the man's name badge— "Grayson, I just want to return to my home in Central City."
"I'll let you off with a warning," said Officer Grayson. "Don't let it happen again, okay?"
Lex had the sinking feeling that it would happen again, and he was right. He figured it out by the next time the officer pulled him over: Grayson was the name of Bruce Wayne's first adoptee, the circus one. Apparently, idiocy was inheritable through adoption.
This time, Officer Grayson tripped on his way to Lex's window, and Lex stiffened at the sound of glass crunching. He closed his eyes and counted to ten, which maybe wasn't the best thing to do, because the first thing Officer Grayson did was poke his shoulder and ask, "Sir, have you fallen asleep behind the wheel?"
Lex stared at him.
Officer Grayson stared back, utterly serious.
"Did you just shatter my brake light?"
"No, I don't think so," Grayson said airily, then launched into the same spiel from the last two traffic stops.
Lex gripped the steering wheel because if he didn't, he might punch the man. When Grayson was done, he asked tightly, "What do normal Blüdhaven citizens drive like?"
"Excuse me?"
"What is unsuspicious behavior for driving in this wretched city?"
"I would never encourage someone to break the law," said Officer Grayson seriously. "You're driving perfectly, sir. It's just quite unusual for this area, so I wanted to make sure you're not hiding anything nefarious in your car. Do you consent to a search?"
"No, I do not," Lex said through gritted teeth, "I just want to get home. As I've told you two times before."
"Have you?"
"Yes," Lex snapped. "You have."
"Oh." Officer Grayson scratched his head. "Sorry about that. Carry on, then." He handed Lex's paperwork back.
Lex waited until Grayson pulled away and drove off before starting to drive himself. If it was so suspicious to drive close to the speed limit, then he would drive ten miles over. As long as he stayed behind the officer—
"Oh, come on!" Not ten minutes later, blue-and-red lights flashed in his rearview mirror. "How did he get behind me?" Lex had been so careful not to pass anyone!
"License and registration, please! It'll be a ticket today, unfortunately; I clocked you going seventy-seven in a sixty-five zone. Also, did you know that one of your brake lights is out?"
Lex would be having words with Wayne about allowing his children out of that ridiculous manor he called a home.
---
Lex wasn't the fondest of children, but he could appreciate them as the future of technological innovations. That was why he appeared as a guest at the end of the tour LexCorp hosted for students enrolled in Gotham University. Hopefully the poor children would realize how much better life was outside of that depressing city.
"And as a special treat for you all, LexCorp's CEO, Lex Luthor himself, has taken some time out of his very busy day to answer a few of your questions!" the perky guide announced.
Lex pasted on a smile for the crowd, who didn't look very impressed. Students looked more and more tired every year, he'd noticed. Lex tried not to take their lack of enthusiasm personally.
"It's a pleasure to meet the sharpest upcoming minds in the industry," he said. "As CEO of LexCorp, I personally oversee—"
A hand shot up. Lex blinked but quickly recovered. He would have time to finish his speech in a few minutes. "Yes?" He pointed to the hand's owner, a young woman with bright yellow hair. She was dressed in purple from head-to-toe, even her socks and the scrunchie holding her hair away from her face. Something about her seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it...
"Hi, Mr. Luthor," she said. "I read online that you support dwarf tossing. Is that true? If so, why?"
Immediately the group's energy shifted. Eyes darted between the blonde and Lex, obviously hanging onto every word.
The tour guide shot a terrified glance at Lex, who couldn't have been more taken aback. Every attendee should have had their student IDs checked, so she couldn't be a reporter.
"Excuse me?" he finally managed to say.
"Dwarf tossing," the blonde repeated. "I saw in an article a couple years ago that you opposed actions against the sport, and I was just interested in why you did that."
"If we could stick to questions related to the tour," the guide said desperately.
The blonde's hand shot into the air.
"Anyone else?" the guide asked.
Everyone else in the tour seemed too interested in the blonde's next question to ask one of their own.
Lex suppressed a sigh and pointed to her.
"Yes, hi," she said. "Mr. Luthor, why is the password to your computer system your birthday? That seems like a security issue just waiting to happen."
"Excuse me?"
She pushed through the crowd of students to the keypad in front of a door that read 'KEEP OUT: EXPERIMENTATION IN PROGRESS' and typed in the code.
The door swooshed open.
"See?" the blonde propped a hand on her hip and flipped her hair over her shoulder, and all of a sudden Lex knew exactly why she was familiar. She'd been at Wayne's last foundation gala, dressed in the same shade of purple, on the arm of Janet Drake's lovechild with Bruce Wayne. Lex didn't remember the sickly-pale boy's name. Thomas, maybe?
"Please shut that door this instant," the guide spluttered.
The blonde shrugged and typed the code in backwards, prompting the doors to close. "I'm just saying, for a so-called tech genius, your password was pretty easy to figure out."
Lex's tongue unstuck from the roof of his mouth. "And how, may I ask, did you sleuth that out?"
"It was my second guess," she said. "I mean, come on. It's pretty egotistical. Better than if my first guess had been right, though."
"And what was your first guess?"
"The date of Superman's first save. You're pretty obsessed with him."
"Okay!" the tour guide said shrilly. "I think that concludes the tour for today. Thank you all for attending!" She ushered the group of university students out of the room. The blonde was the last to leave, holding eye contact with Lex all the way out the door.
What was wrong with the children that hung around Bruce Wayne? Lex made a mental note to check the man for any kind of radiation he might emit. There was no such thing as radiation that made people stupider, right?
---
Wayne's youngest was the only one in the entire family to possess any shred of sense, Lex had discovered.
It grated on him to appeal to a child for grant funding, but LexCorp needed Wayne Enterprise's cooperation to petition the FDA to pass LexCorp Brand kibble. Pet food was a criminally underutilized industry, in Lex's opinion. He could already see LexCorp monopolizing the industry in the future.
Instead of Bruce Wayne, Lucius Fox, or even the seventeen year old Drake-Wayne lovechild that had served as CEO for a little under a year, they had sent Wayne's eleven year old son. He didn't fit into any of the HAZMAT suits they had in stock, so Lex had to entertain the boy while his assistant did a hasty tailoring job. All the while, the boy's brooding bodyguard stood over his shoulder, glaring so hard that his assistant's hands shook.
God knew what hell the child would raise if she poked him with a pin.
Judging by the frightened look on her face, she knew that her job was at stake. Wayne's lawyers were a nightmare to deal with. Lex would rather fight Superman without Kryptonite than face them in court over Wayne's darling prince suffering from a pinprick under Lex's supervision.
Unlike the rest of the Waynes, this boy did not speak much. He looked at everyone with a shrewd, suspicious glare, looking so much like his bodyguard that Lex almost wondered if they were related.
Lex didn't get the feeling that the child approved of him, but he wasn't particularly concerned with a child's opinion. As long as the child was smart enough to realize the financial benefits of Wayne Enterprises partnering with LexCorp—and wasn't that sad, relying on a child's judgment to make a business deal—then they could all go their separate ways as soon as the day was over.
"Are you sure that you don't want a suit of your own?" Lex asked. "Like I said, the technology used to infuse each piece of kibble with the proper nutrients for a growing dog can be—"
"I'll be fine," the bodyguard said in a gravelly voice.
"All the same, there is some radiation—"
"A little radiation never killed me," he said. His mouth twisted in a wry smile, like he'd just said an inside joke.
The child looked at him sharply.
"Well, be careful to stay far away from the machine, then," said Lex, too fed up to argue much. He was growing quite sick of dealing with Wayne and his children. "The slightest miscalibration could shut it down."
"I'll be careful."
Lex's assistant gasped. She'd pricked the Wayne brat with a pin, and she looked up with a trembling lip, but the child didn't even react. He just said, "Continue so we may get this over with."
Lex internally echoed the sentiment.
Once the HAZMAT suit had finally been tailored to roughly fit the boy, they were ready to enter the room. "Please stay back from the machine," he reminded the bodyguard. "Any miscalibration could be catastrophic. Even something as fine as a speck of dirt could interfere with the gears." He had already sunk two million dollars into this project.
Nearly as soon as he spoke the words, the beautifully running kibble machine ground to a halt. Lights blared red.
"What on Earth is going on?" Lex demanded.
It took a minute to diagnose the issue, but finally one of his scientists said, "A cat hair," and held the offending material up for everyone to see.
"Cat hair?" Lex repeated. "How on earth did a cat hair get in here?" Every employee was thoroughly decontaminated before entering the room.
The bodyguard.
Lex rounded on him, ready to take out his annoyance, but a small meow stopped him in his tracks.
Wayne's youngest held a cat in his arms, looking severely unamused.
He hadn't been holding a cat a second ago.
"Where did you get that?" Lex demanded.
The boy didn't blink. "Alfred has been recently suffering from separation anxiety. I could not leave her at home."
"If it makes you feel better," added the bodyguard, "we wouldn't have approved this anyway. We just came as a formality."
All Lex could do was seethe as the pair walked out of the testing room, leaving him with a team of panicked scientists and a two million dollar piece of technology ruined.
---
"What do you mean, you didn't pick up the shipment?" Lex growled into the phone. He'd been trying to replenish his stock of Kryptonite for months, but every source apart from Gotham had dried up. That, too, was increasingly impossible to organize shipments from.
"Sorry, boss," said the goon over the phone. "The Red Hood's been blocking us at every opportunity. I think he's stockpiling it or something."
"Who?" Lex demanded.
"One of Gotham's crime lords. But he kinda sorta works with the Bat now, so—"
Lex hung up the phone and rubbed his forehead. He was getting a headache.
Maybe Lex should ask Batman for a share of his Kryptonite supply. He knew the vigilante had some, and he couldn't be more of a headache to work with than Bruce fucking Wayne and his children.
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imlikereallycool · 17 days ago
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Looking for a Love and a Fountain.
Joel stumbled throigh the forest, the mountians were quiet hard to pass but this was getting harder as he had no food left. He read a book back at home about a secret fountain, that would give you anything you desire. Traversing this treacherous forest is gonna be worth it, for her.
The decade after the world fell, he looked for Lizzie day and night. Eventually leaving his body quite scarred. Even the other empires had no luck, most of them ran or passed. He didn't believe his love could die as she was a god of course. Although, he heard from her villagers that she was last seen in her pre axolotl form.
The decade after that was spent just trying to make his and Lizzies kingdoms stable, with the occasional search party for her. Eventually, the villagers were self suficient. Without needing to worry about food anymore the Mezaelean king drowned (pun unintended) himself into research about gods and ways to find his wife. Making him be in this situation.
"LDSHADOW LADY ARE YOU THERE?" Joel screamed out in the forest, maybe this is what gods do? Hang out near the wish making fountain maybe?
"JIMMY ARE YOU THERE? PLEASE COME OUT, I WON'T CALL YOU SMALL ANYMORE." He was looking for the cod father too, cause they're both gods of somesort right? And maybe finding him would lead to Lizzie.
Something caught Joels eye, a puff of pink hair in a distance. "Lizzie? LIZZIE MY LOVE!" Running through the forest he dropped his lantern and found- a patch of flowers? He sighed, the doctor said this would happen. And it did, a lot. Which was why the coulour pink was forbidden to be brought into his kingdom. Looking at the colour would get his hopes up that he hae found her, just for it to get shot down. The doctor said it wasn't good for his mental health.
He picked uo some flowers and woved it into his hair and, tied some onto his wrist.
"All to remember her" he thought. He felt a ray of sun shine on his skin, could it be? He ran towards the light and there it was, a glorious white quartz fountain. It reminded him of LDShadowLadys castles, so it stung a bit.
He walked towards the fountain in awe, quickly, he took the book out and read its text and made his wish.
"Fountain of the Gods, I wish to be prosperous, I wish to be strong, I wish to be strong willed, I wish to find my wife LDShadowLady, I wish to never be able to pass until I find her, I wish to see her again, I wish to be sexier I wish to be prosperous, I wish to be strong, I wish to be strong willed, (okay maybe the last few wishes were selfish) and, I wish I have the power to see my dearest Lizzie,and my friends once more." The book said to take some of the water and pour it onto his head, unfortunately, from all the sleepless nights Joel fell into the fountains water.
"Maybe I'll take a nap, a small one." And soon he did, although this nap did cost him a century or two.
~~~~~~~
"Yawn- Lizzie it's the afternoon, we should-" Joel had wings now. (And a beard.)
-----
Authors note: Uhhh I hope this is good enough, I don't write fics often so I hopr this is fine. I think this is only gonna be a oneshot, I hope this evokes emotions. I'm trying to finish Joels and Lizzies empires season 2 vids, and I kept thinking about this hesdcanon that Mezaelean Joel turned into a god to find Lizzie but also getting his memory wiped in the process. Also he defo went insane and thought that everything that's pink was Lizzie.
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Text
Member of The cast | For Teyvat AU
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IN ENGLISH:
The first time Stanley had the dream, he woke up drenched in sweat, to the echoes of a melody he didn't remember ever hearing.
But the following times… the dream was clearer. More intense.
And worse: it always began the same way.
Silence.
An empty theater.
Blue velvet curtains moving without wind.
And water. Water dripping from the ceiling, from the walls, from the sky.
In front of him, a female voice, soft as a whisper behind fogged-up glass:
“Opera lies between truth and fiction…”
Stanley took a step forward, but his feet splashed on a flooded stage.
“…And that's because, even though the story is fictional, as far as the characters are concerned… their fate is very real.”
Lights that weren't lights. Echoes of muffled laughter. An invisible audience watching him. And in the background, the city of Fontaine: beautiful, radiant… and cracking.
The stained-glass windows of the Palace of Justice shattered into thousands of crystals that fell like colored tears.
And the water was beginning to rise.
“Here’s the question… Are you and I the audience… or characters on a stage?”
Stan tried to speak, but his voice wouldn’t come out.
Images overlapped: the central fountain overflowing, people running, costumes floating in the air before dissolving like cotton in the rain.
“No one can know for sure… After all, there’s nothing easier to fool than the senses.”
Stanley was trembling. Where was Ford? Where were Paimon and Aether?
Were they here? Or was only he able to see this?
“We only know one thing for sure… That the prophecy is real, because in this show, the prophecy is part of the destiny of all the characters…”
A shudder ran down his spine. The water was already up to his waist.
Then the voice lowered its tone, almost playful.
“…Mmh… You don't believe me? I see you still don't realize I'm not even speaking to you directly… What you're hearing is a recording in your head that I put there…”
The vision shattered like a falling mask.
And now he was alone in the center of the stage.
The curtain rose once more.
She appeared.
A female figure with hair as white as salt, wearing a dress as deep as the depths of the sea.
Her eyes were filled with tears that didn't fall, but floated.
She carried an ancient sadness in every movement, as if she had sung the same lament for centuries.
She approached without fear. And, wordlessly… she hugged him.
A hug filled with despair, loss, broken promises, and memories that never lived.
“And you… you’ll be all I have left…”
Stanley swallowed. The water kept rising.
But it didn’t touch him. It didn’t consume him.
The liquid corpses of the city dissolved around him.
The opera house was drowning.
But he and the girl were still there.
Alive.
Isolated.
The scene changed once more.
Now, Stanley saw himself in front of an immense, ancient mirror.
And on the other side, like an impossible reflection, the same woman… with longer hair, almost transparent skin, and eyes as blue as the abyss.
She looked directly at him. Not with fear. Not with pity. But with a disturbing certainty.
“So… even though fate seems to like to play cruel tricks on you…”
“…fate will never deceive you…”
“…unless you deceive it first.”
Stanley tried to touch the mirror.
The water on the other side imitated him.
And at the first touch… it sank into absolute blackness.
---
He woke up with a start.
Gasping.
His hands clenched against the fabric of his sleeping bag.
Ford was sleeping on the top bunk.
Paimon and Aether weren't there.
But the sound of water… dripping… continued.
And his clothes were still… damp.
---
The Tenth Night.
The stage was darker than ever.
There was no city. There was no water. Only an immense, closed red curtain.
Stanley was alone... or so he thought.
Then the voice returned. But this time it wasn't soft. It sounded clearer, closer. As if it were inside him.
"Don't fight to tell the truth."
"Fight to maintain the illusion."
"That's your true role, isn't it? The hero. The one who smiles. The one who improvises. The one who endures..."
"...even if inside, he's already drowned."
The curtain rose.
And in front of him, in the middle of a stage overflowing with black water, he saw her.
The goddess.
She was dressed the same as always, blue like the deep sea. Her white hair, floating like threads of salt. Her gaze, heavy and serene... as if she knew everything.
She walked on the water without sinking, up to him.
And she pointed at him.
"You're mine, Stanley Pines."
He said nothing. He couldn't. He felt that if he spoke, the water would rise up his throat.
The goddess smiled wistfully.
"Fear not. Not everyone can bear the weight of the truth. That's why I chose you. You pretend so well... you even believe your own lies."
Stanley looked down. At his feet, the water bubbled as if it were boiling.
"Why me?" he whispered. It was all he managed to say.
The goddess leaned closer. She touched his chest. Her hand was cold. Almost dead.
"Because you know what it's like to lose everything... and still pretend it didn't hurt. Because you know what it's like to love so much, that you'd rather lie than break those you love." Because you understand that sometimes… saving others means carrying something no one else should see.
Stanley closed his eyes.
And when he opened them, Ford was kneeling on the stage. Aether held Paimon, who didn't move.
And the water continued to rise.
The goddess leaned close to his ear.
"Shut up. Act. Smile. Don't tell anyone. Not yet."
"What if I can't do it?" he asked, his voice breaking.
She hugged him from behind, just like the first time. But this time, her arms were chains of water.
"There is no 'if'. This role has already been assigned to you. You were chosen, Stanley Pines. And if you fail… everyone will be lost with you."
And before he woke up, he whispered one last thing, so soft it hurt:
"Remember… a god can lie. But a hero never can."
---
When he woke up, Stan no longer cried. She didn't tremble. She didn't vomit.
She just sat on the bed, silent, while Ford slept beside her on the couch.
And for the first time in days, she smiled.
A hollow smile.
A smile… from someone who had already accepted her role.
And in the reflection of the fogged-up window, the goddess reappeared.
Only for a moment.
But it was enough.
EN ESPAÑOL:
La primera vez que Stanley tuvo el sueño, se despertó empapado en sudor, con los ecos de una melodía que no recordaba haber escuchado nunca.
Pero las siguientes veces… el sueño fue más claro. Más intenso.
Y peor: comenzaba siempre de la misma forma.
Silencio.
Un teatro vacío.
Cortinas de terciopelo azul que se movían sin viento.
Y agua. Agua que goteaba desde el techo, desde los muros, desde el cielo.
Frente a él, una voz femenina, suave como un susurro tras un cristal empañado:
“La ópera se encuentra entre la verdad y la ficción…”
Stanley daba un paso adelante, pero sus pies chapoteaban sobre un escenario inundado.
“…Y eso es porque, aunque sea ficticia la historia, en lo que respecta a los personajes… su destino es muy real.”
Luces que no eran luces. Ecos de risas apagadas. Una audiencia invisible que lo observaba.
Y en el fondo, la ciudad de Fontaine: hermosa, radiante… y agrietándose.
Los vitrales del Palacio de la Justicia estallaban en miles de cristales que caían como lágrimas de colores.
Y el agua comenzaba a subir.
“He aquí la cuestión… ¿Tú y yo somos el público… o personajes en un escenario?”
Stan intentaba hablar, pero su voz no salía.
Las imágenes se sobreponían: la fuente central desbordándose, la gente corriendo, los trajes flotando en el aire antes de disolverse como algodón bajo la lluvia.
“Nadie puede saberlo con certeza… Después de todo, no hay nada más fácil de engañar que los sentidos.”
Stanley temblaba. ¿Dónde estaba Ford? ¿Dónde estaban Paimon y Aether?
¿Estaban aquí? ¿O solo él podía ver esto?
“Solo sabemos una cosa con seguridad… Que la profecía sí es real, porque en este espectáculo, la profecía forma parte del destino de todos los personajes…”
Un estremecimiento le recorrió la espalda. El agua ya le llegaba a la cintura.
Entonces la voz bajó el tono, casi juguetona.
“…Mmh… ¿No me crees? Veo que todavía no te das cuenta de que ni siquiera te estoy hablando directamente… Lo que oyes es una grabación en tu cabeza que yo puse ahí…”
La visión se rompió como una máscara al caer.
Y ahora estaba solo en el centro del escenario.
El telón se levantaba una vez más.
Apareció ella.
Una figura femenina con cabello blanco como sal, con un vestido azul profundo como las profundidades del mar.
Sus ojos estaban llenos de lágrimas que no caían, sino que flotaban.
Llevaba una tristeza antigua en cada movimiento, como si hubiera cantado un mismo lamento durante siglos.
Ella se acercó sin miedo. Y, sin palabras… lo abrazó.
Un abrazo lleno de desesperación, de pérdida, de promesas rotas y recuerdos que nunca vivieron.
“Y tú… serás todo lo que me quede…”
Stanley tragó saliva. El agua seguía subiendo.
Pero no lo tocaba. No lo consumía.
Los cadáveres líquidos de la ciudad se disolvían a su alrededor.
La ópera se ahogaba.
Pero él y la chica seguían allí.
Vivos.
Aislados.
El escenario cambió una vez más.
Ahora, Stanley se veía a sí mismo frente a un espejo inmenso, antiguo.
Y al otro lado, como un reflejo imposible, la misma mujer… con cabellos más largos, piel casi transparente, y ojos tan azules como el abismo.
Ella lo miró directamente. No con miedo. No con lástima. Sino con una certeza inquietante.
“Así que… aunque parezca que el destino le gusta gastarte bromas crueles…”
“…el destino jamás te engañará…”
“…a menos que seas tú primero quien lo engañe a él.”
Stanley intentó tocar el espejo.
El agua del otro lado lo imitó.
Y al primer roce… se hundió en negro absoluto.
---
Despertó de golpe.
Jadeando.
Las manos crispadas contra la tela de su saco.
Ford dormía en la litera de arriba.
Paimon y Aether no estaban allí.
Pero el sonido de agua… goteando… seguía.
Y su ropa seguía… húmeda.
---
La décima noche.
El escenario era más oscuro que nunca.
No había ciudad. No había agua. Solo un telón rojo inmenso y cerrado.
Stanley estaba solo… o eso creía.
Entonces la voz volvió. Pero esta vez no fue suave. Sonaba más clara, más cerca. Como si estuviera dentro de él.
“No luches por decir la verdad.”
“Lucha por mantener la ilusión.”
“Ese es tu verdadero papel, ¿no? El héroe. El que sonríe. El que improvisa. El que aguanta…”
“…aunque por dentro, ya se haya ahogado.”
El telón se alzó.
Y frente a él, en medio de un escenario desbordado por agua negra, la vio.
La diosa.
Vestía igual que siempre, de azul como el mar profundo. El cabello blanco, flotando como hilos de sal. La mirada, pesada y serena… como si lo supiera todo.
Caminó sobre el agua sin hundirse, hasta él.
Y lo señaló.
—Eres mío, Stanley Pines.
Él no dijo nada. No podía. Sentía que, si hablaba, el agua subiría por su garganta.
La diosa sonrió con melancolía.
—No temas. No todos pueden cargar con el peso de la verdad. Por eso te elegí a ti. Tú finges tan bien… incluso te crees tus propias mentiras.
Stanley bajó la mirada. En sus pies, el agua burbujeaba como si hirviera.
—¿Por qué yo? —susurró. Fue todo lo que logró decir.
La diosa se acercó. Le tocó el pecho. Su mano era fría. Casi muerta.
—Porque tú sabes lo que es perderlo todo… y aún así fingir que no dolió. Porque tú sabes lo que es amar tanto, que prefieres mentir antes que romper a los que amas. Porque tú entiendes que a veces… salvar a los demás significa cargar con algo que nadie más debería ver.
Stanley cerró los ojos.
Y cuando los abrió, Ford estaba de rodillas en el escenario. Aether sostenía a Paimon, que no se movía.
Y el agua seguía subiendo.
La diosa se inclinó junto a su oído.
—Calla. Actúa. Sonríe. No se lo digas a nadie. No aún.
—¿Y si no puedo hacerlo? —preguntó con voz rota.
Ella lo abrazó por la espalda, igual que la primera vez. Pero esta vez, sus brazos eran cadenas de agua.
—No hay “si”. Este papel ya te fue asignado. Fuiste elegido, Stanley Pines. Y si fallas… todos se perderán contigo.
Y antes de despertar, le susurró una última cosa, tan suave que dolía:
“Recuerda… un dios puede mentir. Pero un héroe, jamás.”
---
Al despertar, Stan ya no lloró. No tembló. No vomitó.
Solo se sentó en la cama, en silencio, mientras Ford dormía a su lado en el sillón.
Y por primera vez en días, sonrió.
Una sonrisa vacía.
Una sonrisa… de quien ya aceptó su papel.
Y en el reflejo de la ventana empañada, la diosa volvió a aparecer.
Solo por un instante.
Pero fue suficiente.
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bellalampwickrossi · 1 year ago
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Disney Descendants: Run Little Donkey Girl, Run. For The Villain Hannah Hook au
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Co written by me and @hannahhook7744
Song being parodied: Fall Little Wendy Bird Fall.
Who wrote the original song: Lydia the Bard.
[Hannah Hook sits on the throne of Auradon, looking at Tulip through the blade Harry's broken cutlass]:
Little girl, you've no idea what you've got yourself into:
Stand your ground for a night and think the world's made for you.
Well, I've tried too hard to see all of my work come undone,
So better trot on home real fast…
[Tulip gives a motivational speech to her tribe]:
I see the way your people look at you with tears in their eyes,
Soon they’ll start to have some hope in their  lives.
Well I won't let you tempt them,
They are mine to deflect. 
No use reminding them of what they lost.
[Hannah grits her teeth as a little golden Neverland appears, clenching her fist so that it crumbles out of her sight]:
You don't seem to quite understand what is at stake…
This messed up little world that I had to break…
If I could give you back your home you know that would, But it will do more harm than good! 
[More golden little miniatures appear that Hannah has to crush with tears in her eyes]:
So why don't you run?
Run,  little Donkey girl, run!
Why don't you run ?
Run,  little Donkey girl, run!
[The Killer Queen gets control of her magic back and makes a little figure of Tulip appear, before transforming it into a donkey and making it run]:
Swear it's nothing personal,
It's just a necessary evil…
Why don't you Run ?
Run, donkey girl , run 
[The figure starts to crumble]:
Some would say I'm quick to rage,
But they’ve never seen my life. 
Fighting all day and night, just to survive!
Tulip, sweetie, you have picked the wrong girl to fight
[Hannah Hook looks fondly at her crew and the children in it as they play with Harriet, before getting a hardened look in her eye. Remembering what Auradon did to Harry and Cj, and their friends]:
I will protect what is mine…
[Tulip is planning a strategy of attack with Pin and Princess Eleanor of Llyr, who’s kingdom has just joined the fight]:
A nasty little ass that must be killed and put down,
Starting revolutions inside my kingdom is just not allowed!
If ending errant rebellions is what I must do…
Then, sugar I'll be coming for you!
[Lampwick is trying to talk Tulip out of doing this, scared she might get hurt or worse killed]:
So why don't you Run?
(Why don't you Run?)
Run, little Donkey girl , run!
Why don't you run?
(Why don't you run?)
run, little donkey girl, run!
[Tulip gives her dad, Lampwick, one last hug before setting out to purposefully get herself captured by Hannah’s Crew in hopes that Princess Eleanor and her tribe will be able to ambush Hannah while she’s busy trying to kill her]:
Swear it's nothing personal..
It's just a necessary evil!
Why don't you…RUN?!
(Ruuuuuuuuun).
Ruuuuun, little donkey girl, RUN!
(Why don't you run?)
[Tulip is captured, by Hannah ,  tied up and taken to a secluded place where the pirate girl can drown her]:
Oh, oh…
(Why don't you run?)
Oh, oh…
(Why don't you run?)
Oh, oh…
(Why don't you run?)
Oh…
(Run.)
Oh…
Why don't you run?!
[Tulip tries to Talk Hannah Down from drowning her, telling her that she can be the bigger person etc etc. 
But the other teen just shakes her head, eyes lifeless]:Run, little donkey, run.
Or did it slip your mind?
You need three things to survive. 
Let's see you try when I triple up mine…
[Hannah's hands start glowing and a wave appears out of the fountain, overshadowing both of them]: Why don't you Run?!
Run, little Donkey girl , run!
I'm gonna drown your ass,
Cut your air.
Honey you won't...
Even care!
Now that you're having fun…
Why don't you...
Run?!
[Princess Eleanor sneakily sneaks up behind Hannah and stabs her in the back but not the heart while she’s distracted, but doesn’t doesn’t kill her, showing mercy to Hannah Like Tulip suggested.
A mistake.
Hannah flings her hand back—eyes glowing black with fury—sending Eleanor flying out the nearest window. Sending members of Tulip’s tribe flying back as they try to apprehend her. Calling in her crew, who throw them out of the castle. Mostly unharmed. 
Eleanor can be seen lying on the ground: heavily injured—wings broken—but not dead. One of the few near casualties of this fight.
Tulip gives Hannah a stoic but also heartbroken look as she helps an injured Eleanor up .
All while Hannah Hook holds one of the toddlers of her crew, coldly staring down at them: all while the oblivious toddler waves goodbye to them].
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redfountainpostin · 9 months ago
Text
Ficlet
It was over. Bloom defeated Icy, Darcy and Stormy fell against the combined efforts of friends- and one more. The barrier of dark matter that surrounded the realm died when the last of the dragonflame left the Trix, so no the schools had help of authorities to take care of the wounded, regroup, and handle all the dead bodies.
But for a certain team of specialists, they had a different task ahead of them.
Sky, Brandon, Timmy… and Riven, sitting in the empty classroom instead of an office, their teachers in front of them. Saladin and Javelin were sitting by the headdesk, while Codatorta was starring out of the window, not once having looked at his students.
"The question is simple. Do you three accept Riven to stay in your squad?" Javelin asked, while Saladin stayed quiet, watching the developing bruise on Riven's temple. That was not caused by any creature, no.
"Well we don't have much choice, do we?" Sky said, sharper than he meant to. He was furious at Riven, but he usually would still pay proper respect to his elders. "You're not expelling him, or you wouldn't be asking us this".
"No, we're not" Javelin conceded "But we won't force something that is doomed to fail. It would be detrimental to all of your educations. If you do not think you can work with Riven after all of this, even knowing that he had been under influence for the most of it, you need to tell us now"
Riven had not said anything, looking down at his hands instead. He knew what Sky was going to say.
"I say we can" Brandon blurted, causing Riven to look up at him in surprise- Brandon was looking right back at him.
"I say we can too" Timmy added after a moment "I do not think it is fair to hold everything that happened against him. I know he's not perfect, but he's also a victim here" he wasn't looking at Riven while saying this, worried he might loose his nerve. He didn't want Riven punished, but he also wasn't going to sugarcoat everything. Looking at him while proclaiming he found him flawed might lessen his nerve.
Javelin nodded. "I agree, but I need all of you to be united in this. Sky?"
"What will happen to him if I say no?"
"Sky!"
"No, Brandon, I want to know. Because no other team would have him, you know that right?" the last of the question was aimed at Riven, who was avoiding eye contact, much to Sky's anger.
Javelin sighed "There was a handful of situation in Red Fountain where a boy would graduate without a team. Granted, those were all exceptions, for kids who would only join is in their senior year, possibly halfway through. It's not standard, but we do have a protocol for it, and Riven's place in Red Fountain is not standard either, so we would make it work."
Sky paused to think. On one hand, he wanted nothing more than to beat Riven to a pulp and never see him again. On the other hand, he couldn't help but remember how it was before. He and Riven were never particularly close, but Riven wasn't close to anyone in the squad. He and Darcy got together early on and he spent most of his free time with her- but how much of it was his choice? How much of Riven's life was spent under influence while Sky and Brandon chuckled about how crazy about her he was, and admitting to each other wishing they too had such a relationship? Sky remembered the worry he felt when Riven, ever the idiot, went head to head with a minotaur, or the sheer cold dread he felt when he pulled him out of the river in the Black Mud swamp, the other boy not breathing- the relief he felt when Riven started coughing out the water after CPR. Granted, he'd be relieved to watch anyone not drown, but it was personal with Riven.
And the thought of the guy spending the next two year alone… Riven may be acting a lone wolf, but Red Fountain was a place for packs.
He unconsciously rubbed the scar on his forearm where Riven bit him during their first fight.
"Fine" he finally said, crossing his arms. "I say yes"
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raw-law · 1 year ago
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oh, you people want more stories? gladly.
mild tw for injury, nothing graphic
so as a younger child, i went to the zoo quite frequently. and this zoo had an area with goats and a bunch of little machines where if you put a quarter in and turned a handle you'd get a little treat for the goats. i, the dumbass that i am, rested my hand on top while talking to my friend who was with us. she decided to try and get food from the dispenser without putting a quarter in. i couldn't move away fast enough, and my middle finger got caught in the machine. it hurt like HELL. my mom had to pry my hand out with a plastic spoon and there were So many people watching. my mom called my friend's mom to take her home and then took me to the ER. i got a splint on my middle finger but i wasn't brave enough to flip off the nurse who put it on. shame, it would have been so funny...
-rainbow dash
Light:
Okay, that's actually terrifying. Is your middle finger okay now...
Interesting story though, your life is certainly rather amusing (if that's the right word? I can't find an equivalent English translation...). Sorry that I can't really give any reply, but I do enjoy reading these, so if you'd like to tell us more, feel free to!
L:
my god.. i mean, flipping off the nurse would've been pretty funny, but i too am more concerned with the state of your finger.... oh dear..
i don't have many stories about injuries that i can trade with you, but for some reason this reminds me of an incident i witnessed in germany once. (further warning for violence between animals)
i can't remember what the name of the place was, but it was the first monument i visited upon arrival (it was close to where i was staying and it seemed neat so i wanted to visit). it was this building with large statues at the pillars of it and a just as large fountain in the middle. it looked really nice, and i got to sit at the edge of the fountain to admire how pretty it all looked.
i also happened to sit next to two crows who were having a roman level fight with each other on the ledge of the fountain.
my first day in germany was the day i witnessed two crows duke it out on a water fountain, with the winning bird pushing the other into said fountain, holding it down in the water to ensure that it drowned, and then just flying off without a word.
...
i think i know why a flock of crows is called a murder now.
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elytrafemme · 5 months ago
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like idk how to even express how much halsey means to me i was blinded for about a year to this fact until they dropped the great impersonator and then i remembered like. BADLANDS w/ Gasoline & Young God GOT ME THROUGH my early pre-teen mental illness, starting from when i was 11 but i revisited Young God when i got into my first relationship.
but even BEFORE then trouble- stripped was my like no.1 inspiration artistically for a while it was my favorite song of all time. back to Gasoline like when i was younger, maybe twelve, the line: do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me? CHANGED me and it still holds. and then Young God i was fifteen, and fucked up, and: there's a light in the crack that's separating your thighs, and if you wanna go to heaven you should fuck me tonight // and i've been sitting at the bottom of a swimming pool for a while now, drowning my thoughts out with the sounds
for YEARS and years and years and i got out of the swimming pool and revisited hopeless fountain kingdom. and someone will love you but that someone isn't me. and remembering my brother, somehow, and people i shouldn't-- i ain't your baby no more.
MANIC. happy five years to manic. build love build God build provinces, build calluses, break promises was my rhythm, and i remember watching the more visualizer on youtube and crying my eyes out. fourteen spilling into fifteen spilling into depression with psychotic symptoms: and who do you call when it's late at night? when the headlines just don't paint the picture right? when you look at yourself on a screen and say 'oh my God, there's no way that's me.' five years later, pounding in my head: and honestly, i think that she lied. fifteen and i lost the love of my life to an ivory powder, but then i realized i'm no higher power. // I'M A LIAR, I'M A FUCKING LIAR. a liar, a liar, a liar, a liar
destroyed by 2021. walking home from school 'cause i'll hang myself if you give me a rope. and God, i can't even DESCRIBE how i would sit in class, every day, living my life through the song whispers. whispers saved my fucking life because it made me feel not alone. i listened to it a lot in 2022, in a time where everything was watching me, where my mind was going genuinely fucking crazy, where none of my friends loved me in the way a friend should and my girlfriend didn't love me at all, and i was crazy. every lyric, EVERY lyric, but, spinning around the room: this is the voice in your head that says "you do not want this", this is the ache that says "you do not want him", this is the glimmer of light that you're keeping alive when you tell yourself "bet i could fuck him." // BET THAT SHE'LL NEVER BE HAPPY. laying awake at night, 2 am, half dressed: i've got a monster inside me that eats personality types, she is constantly changing her mind on the daily. think that she hates me, i'm feeling it lately. in my girlfriend's bed, all dressed up isn't it lonely? these are the standards to which you could hold me, think that you know me, you think that you could if you hold me, think you could try to console me, no i do not know me- no, i do not know me, 'cause i- 'cause i- alters split into my brain. consumed by the story so i showed him all my teeth and then i laughed out loud 'cause i never wanted saving. i just wanted to be found. haunted and hunted and hemmed and hummed by the memory of and i'm glad i met the devil, 'cause he showed me i was weak, and a little piece of him is in a little piece of me.
it's 2024. i can't even begin to explain how the great impersonator changed my life. life of a spider (draft) was my top 2024 song, lonely is the muse was my second place. this album is the reason i got diagnosed, i read the lyrics of it to my therapist today. so even though every song spoke to me in such an intensely personal way, for length, here's where i was: it's summer, and i'm suffocating over the words so where do i go in the process when i'm just an apparatus? i've inspired platinum records, i've earned platinum airline status- and i've mined a couple diamonds from the stories in my head, but i'm reduced to just a body here in someone else's bed.
nineteen. waking up and falling asleep and doing laundry and walking to class and talking to friends and staring at the ceiling and sitting on the floor of the shower and shaking and laughing and i'm the spider in your kitchen weaving webs through every year, and i worked real hard on the last one but the last one got me here. i'm minding my own business but my presence makes you curse. i should be getting better but i'm only getting worse.
i get diagnosed with hypermobility. and, god, how dare i even think of choosing here to die? i think maybe, i have a dissociative disorder, which should be a more obvious realization but- but- i'm on my friend's dorm, i'm at the waterfront, i'm the spider on the ceiling and you're nothing but a guy. happier, happier, at the end of the tunnel. but i'm in the tunnel, and it's me and halsey.
this all sounds miserable but i can't emphasize enough that halsey's music being there for me for the last nineteen years has genuinely changed everything for me. in my worst moments i knew i wasn't alone. i knew someone else had survived it. and i knew that when nobody listened to a single word i said, i could listen to halsey, and someday someone would listen to me.
so yeah, they maybe kind of saved my life a few times, and i'm really normal about all of that. clearly.
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murmuringwater · 1 year ago
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Strange, difficult feelings. At one moment, love swells, and in the other, I fall into despair, my tears drowning everything. When I am talking to the pharmacist and accidentally say "my husband" instead of "my boyfriend" when I went to the eczane on my break to buy him a dermatological cream and I suppose I decided in a split second that husband was a more fitting term, for whatever reason, it startles me. The size and weight of my love for him startle me, because I can't find a solid enough reason for them and yet... they're there and guide my entire life as of present! The same size and weight threaten to crush me when there's a clash between us, and once again I remember the vastness of the abyss separating us both, and a part of me feels desperate, claustrophobic; is this it? Will I marry and live out my one precious life with a man who does love me while he does not understand me, and might never do?
I tried to communicate this as gently as I could, both the love and the sting, but of course it didn't go over quite well, and my torrent of tears (today I started and finished The Penelopiad, and identified myself to the point of pain with the following quotes: "I cried so much I thought I would turn into a river or a fountain, as in the old tales.” and “Excessive weeping, I might as well tell you now, is a handicap of the Naiad-born. I spent at least a quarter of my earthly life crying my eyes out.") certainly didn't help in the delivery of my points. I have always been a big crier, but nowadays, my crying comes out more forcefully than before — maybe my body finally feels allowed to quake and tremble far away from the reach of my father — and drains me, leaving me with none of the sense of resolution I used to have after a big cry. Now, even if I feel less pressure building up inside after the deed is done, everything feels unresolved, and I know not the quiet and heavy peace I used to as my tears dry on my face. It feels unjust, even. Why does crying, my one great escape, fail me now more than before? Now, now that I am in my own place and share a roof with someone who really loves me and is never mean to me, or cruel, or frightening? Who holds me as my body trembles and curls in itself, waves of monstrous feeling beating upon my shores? Shouldn't I experience more peace now? Shouldn't things be better?
It's of no consequence. I will still weep, and weep, and feel guilty about the feelings that drove me to tears anyway, along with a mounting sense of dread + injustice + pain hovering over me, until one day I don't. I hope. And maybe, then, I will have become a fountain.
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