#as of the moment of posting it is still monday but it's tuesday in my heart

[deus-ex-mona]

g o o d n i g h t .

[inked-out-trees]

69, 44, and 25 for the writers ask

I need to get back to writing too, but in good news I'm getting a feel of character for one of them. Now if I only had a plot

we're doing it! getting back into writing together! thank you for the reverse directional asks i will do them exactly how you have asked

69. how do you write emotional scenes? do you ever feel what the characters feel?

if i'm coming into it Knowing that i want to write an emotional scene, usually there's music involved! i have a collection of sad and otherwise melancholy playlists (plus one that's just songs i think would fit well in those angsty last 3 minutes of a tv show episode before the cliffhanger) and they tend to serve me well; if all else fails i'll find the most recent mood-fitting song i've been repeating lately and loop it forever. (most recently has been doctor eleven by dan romer. was the only thing i listened to for my crw class submission and personally i think it turned out swell.)

as for feeling the characters, i don't think so? a lot of the time what i feel when i'm writing is just joy from writing, vague evil sentiment, or if it's Really A Lot To Handle, there'll be like, an ache. occasionally i do make myself cry but that's mostly for personal or original things, and less for fanfic. unless it's the annie chapter of bean's beans. but typically i am somewhat detached, which is actually kind of impressive considering my propensity for imprinting on literally everything. huh! i learn something new about myself every day.

44. any writing advice you want to share?

man i never know if there's any sort of sagely things i do that could be passed off as wisdom but. the best piece of advice i've read (on tumblr too i think) was that if you're stuck, it's possible that the problem is actually a couple lines back. usually i look between three paragraphs and half a page up to see what different choices i could make, and that tends to solve my problem more often than not. kind of magic, that.

in other sort of throwaway bits, i always start a fic creation process by opening a doc and just rambling onto it. no proper prose, just as though i'm having a conversation with the empty page. it's helpful both to get my ideas in order and to have a place to come back to if need be - it's easier to toss the ball around if the net's already there, yknow? also, if for some reason microsoft word isn't doing it for me, i find fighter's block to be good for dumping out words, and zenpen has carried me through several terms of creative writing assignments and also poetry so take that as you will.

25. what's your revision or rewriting process like?

would you laugh at me if i said i don't edit my fics. this is not necessarily true in that i don't consider what i post to be rough in any way, but when it comes to fic especially i'm a big first-one-done kind of guy. that being said: i reread my work a lot. a lot a lot. and often times i will pick up little things that need fixing, line edits or weird repetitive things, so i do find it helpful. also the read-aloud function on word has been great to me. and i make frequent use of the comment function in word, which has been exceedingly useful when it comes to the fact that i haven't yet figured out the whole timeline of fixed point so some of the dates are just "FIGURE THIS OUT LATER" and "IS THIS TRUE?".

and of course sharing with other people :) coming from creative writing seminars i've realised (? finally understood? i don't actually know how much of an enlightenment it was but it was something) how useful it is to get someone and just say, hey, tell me how you interpret this, are there any questions you still have, god forbid did i leave any gaping plot holes. this comes in especially handy because in MY brain i know all the answers, and sometimes they forget to worm out onto the page. this again has just happened in my current seminar, so rest in peace to the quest plot i tentatively thought i could maybe go without describing (for wordcount's sake) but apparently not. it is cool and fine.

anyway happy tuesday and also thank you!

[orcelito]

Ok yea, this chapter is gonna be good

[nariism]

ೃ⁀➷ THIEF! ★

Based off this ask by @raphuna-nekomada !!

The first time, Neuvillette brushed it off as if nothing had happened.

He spent the entire morning looking for his dedicated Monday bow, black with silver intricacies that you personally picked out for him many years ago.

"Must be a sign from the universe not to go into work," you hummed from the bed, rolling over and inviting him back under the blanket. He hadn't indulged you on Monday, instead opting to use his Tuesday ribbon and huffing about how he would find the missing article later.

The second time it happened, he was suspicious.

Two days in a row his ribbon had gone missing, now his Wednesday ribbon had been used for Tuesday. It irked him, and while he had no other reason to suspect that you were the culprit, the way you beckoned him back to bed again flicked a switch in his mind.

Ultimately, he hadn't indulged you on Tuesday either.

The third time it happens, he saunters up to your side of the bed immediately.

"My love," he calls, and for a moment you think he hasn't caught you because he's lacking any sort of stern tone— the kind he would address Wriothesley with.

"Yes?" You peer up at him with a glimmer of mischief, clutching something to your chest. His eyes narrow and he kneels onto the bed beside you.

"Have you seen my ribbon?"

"I haven't."

"Are you sure? I'm certain I left it on the dresser last night."

"You must be imagining things, dearest."

You give him a sly, lazy smile and that's when he knows you're nothing but a terrible liar. He nearly scoffs in your face, leaning down closer so he can look at you with a hardening expression.

"And what exactly is your ploy here? Would you like me to wrestle it out of your hands?"

Your eyes widen in surprise for a moment before you laugh, clearly finding his suggestion humorous. "Would it keep you at home longer if you did?"

The gears turn in his head at your words, slow realization washing over him as you blink up innocently. (Feigning innocence, actually. Poorly.)

Ah, so that's what this is all about.

"You want me to stay home?"

A beat of silence. "And if I said yes?"

"You know my answer." Yet he hasn't pulled away, gotten off the bed, and left for work like he does every morning. In fact, you're pretty sure he's drawn a couple inches closer to you.

The fabric you stole from him suddenly wraps around the back of the neck and you rein him in until he's hovering just above you, arms and legs caging you in on either side.

"Got you," you sing quietly.

His gaze flickers down to your lips and then back to your eyes. "You got me," he repeats in faux defeat, swooping down to capture you in a kiss.

He starts to think that maybe a day off wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, but he has more than one trial today and there is no one to fill his role in his absence.

Still, Neuvillette decides that he can come to a compromise if only to hold you like this before his busy day. Besides, if he didn't indulge you now this would never end.

"Ten more minutes."

"Ouch. Stingy."

He smothers you under his body so you'll stop talking.

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

[burntheedges]

Maintenance Request

main post & chapter list | 18+ (minors DNI) | ao3 word count: 80k+

Joel Miller x f!reader | new chapter every Friday

summary: Hot Construction Guy is the bane of your existence - he seems to only pop up at the worst possible moment for you, every time you see him. 

There’s no way there could be something more there.

Right?

full fic tags/warnings: academia AU, modern AU, one-sided enemies-to-lovers, no outbreak, live music, fluff, banter, everyone is alive, misunderstandings, ex boyfriend who was manipulative and a jerk (only mentioned), no use of y/n, pet names (darlin, gorgeous, honey, baby, sweetheart), later: smut, kissing, grinding, frottage, p in v sex, oral sex (f! and m!receiving), creampie, somnophilia, phone sex, semi-public sex; each chapter will have its own tags a/n: this fic is completely finished! It was my 2023 NaNo project. I’ll post a new chapter every Friday. There are 23 chapters and an epilogue. There is eventually quite a bit of smut, but it’s going to take us a little while to get there. Mind the tags (for the whole fic above and for each chapter). That “one-sided enemies-to-lovers” tag was the motivation for the whole fic — what if only one of you thinks you’re enemies? And here we are. Chapters with smut are marked with *. The dates in each chapter are from a fictional fall semester, 2024. Shoutout to @fanatictypist for reading this and encouraging me 💕 and to the PPCU server. note about reader: in this fic you’re a college professor, vaguely of English literature and poetry. You like live music, you like to read, and Ellie is your niece. You have a best friend named Beth, a sister who is having a rough time, and a difficult mother. I’ve avoided physical descriptions and most clothing descriptions, except when plot-relevant. You are vaguely shorter than Joel. No age is specified, but I imagined 36-year-old Joel here (and 14-year-old Sarah), and most English PhDs wouldn’t get to this type of position until they were 28 or 29 at the earliest, even if they went to grad school right out of undergrad. So you can imagine reader any age from there to mid-30s, or whatever you want, really. 

This fic is (almost) totally finished! A new chapter will be posted every Friday. Let me know if you want to be on the tag list! * = chapter contains smut

Chapter List

Chapter 1 | 2.4k Wednesday, September 4, second week of the semester

Chapter 2 | 2.4k | preview Friday, September 6, second week of the semester

Chapter 3 | 2.4k | preview Monday, September 16, fourth week of the semester, Friday, September 20, fourth week of the semester

Chapter 4 | 1.8k | preview Interlude

Chapter 5 | 3.4k | preview Friday, September 27, fifth week of the semester Saturday, September 28, fifth week of the semester Monday, September 30, sixth week of the semester

Chapter 6 | 2.1k | preview Wednesday, October 2, sixth week of the semester

Chapter 7 | 2.4k | preview Wednesday, October 9, seventh week of the semester

Chapter 8 | 2.7k | preview Monday, October 14, eighth week of the semester

Chapter 9 | 3.4k | preview Tuesday, October 15, eighth week of the semester Thursday, October 17, eighth week of the semester Friday, October 18, eighth week of the semester Saturday, October 19, eighth week of the semester

Chapter 10 | 5k | preview Monday, October 21, ninth week of the semester

Chapter 11 | 2.4k| preview Tuesday, October 22, ninth week of the semester Thursday, October 24, ninth week of the semester Friday, October 25, ninth week of the semester

Chapter 12 | 8.1k | preview * Friday, October 25, ninth week of the semester

Chapter 13 | 9.3k | preview * Friday, October 25 (still), ninth week of the semester

Chapter 14 | 3.9k | preview Friday, October 25 (still), ninth week of the semester Saturday, October 26, ninth week of the semester

Chapter 15 | 3.6k | preview Saturday, October 26, ninth week of the semester Sunday, October 27, ninth week of the semester

Chapter 16 | 5.8k | preview Tuesday, October 29, tenth week of the semester Friday, November 1, tenth week of the semester

Chapter 17 | 3.2k | preview * Saturday, November 2, tenth week of the semester Sunday, November 3, tenth week of the semester

Chapter 18 | 3.3k | preview * Monday, November 4, eleventh week of the semester

Chapter 19 | 7.6k | preview * Saturday, November 9, eleventh week of the semesterSunday, November 10, eleventh week of the semester

Chapter 20 | 3.3k | preview

Chapter 21 | coming 5/3 | preview *

Chapter 22 | 5/10

Chapter 23 | 5/17

Epilogue | 5/24

…

Moodboards

@sawymredfox made this moodboard and it’s amazing 😩 please go look at it 💕

@djarins-cyare made this wonderful moodboard, I love it so much -- please go look at it! 🧡💚

[jamdoughnutmagician]

From Me to You.

Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Summary:Eddie finds a love letter pushed through his locker, and he’s determined to find out who his secret admirer is.

Warnings: Nothing that I can think of, just tooth-rotting Valentine’s day fluff! Slight use of "y/n" sorry I couldn't escape it!!

Word Count:1,867

Authour’s Note:My life is so devoid of any kind of romance, so I though what better way to resolve that than to write some cutesy Valentine’s Day fic with everyone’s favourite metal-head? Maybe I'm posting this a little early, but I'm pretty pleased with how this turned out (since I suck at writing fluff) and I wanted to share it!

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Eddie, oh no, that couldn’t be further from the truth. However, having to admit to your crush on your best friend? Well that was a whole other story.

So, your big plan was to leave little secret admirer notes in Eddie’s locker in the week leading up to Valentine’s day on Friday. It was an easy way to confess your love to him, without the sting of rejection coming to bite you in the ass.

The Monday after your last class you waved Eddie goodbye as he made his way to the drama room where the Hellfire club would be meeting for their latest campaign. Although you didn't share his love of Dungeons and Dragons, you were still as close as friends could be, only you didn't want to be just his friend.

Waiting for him to disappear out of sight, you look around to check the coast is clear before you slip the hand-written note into his locker. Pushing the folded up piece of paper through the vented slats in his locker, you make your way out of the school. 

All you have to do now is just have to wait until tomorrow to find out if your little secret mission was successful.

_______

Eddie strolled into school that Tuesday morning, opening up his locker to put away his things, but as he did so, a small folded up piece of paper fell to the floor. Piquing his curiosity, he bent down to pick up the paper. Unfolding it carefully his eyes scanned over the nice hand-written message inside.

Your smile is my favourite thing and it brightens my day 

He glances at the swirling joined up writing and how the little hearts dot the I’s and he finds his face warming with a blush.

“What’ve you got there then, Ed?”  Gareth asks noisily, causing the rest of the members of Corroded Coffin to turn their heads to their lead guitarist.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Eddie says defensively as he stuffed the note in his pocket.

Holding his hands up in surrender, Gareth dropped the subject and they guys went about the rest of their school day.

_______

The next day, Eddie goes to open his locker and surprisingly another note falls at his feet. 

Quickly he bends to pick it up before anyone notices that he’s received another note. Unfolding the paper he reads the message.

You give me butterflies

He reasons that it must be the same person that it was from yesterday, because the handwriting is exactly the same and the I’s are still dotted adorably with the same little hearts.

As quick as his hopes get up at the thought of someone writing him little love notes,his thoughts are pulled in the direction that this must be some sort of prank. It had to be, right? Why else would anyone leave the school’s ‘freak’ sweet notes like this if not for some kind of twisted joke. 

Jason Carver and his gang probably thought the idea that someone might have a crush on Eddie, laughable. Yeah, he thinks to himself, that sounds more plausible.

Speak of the devil.

Jason and his crew make their way past him laughing loudly and obnoxiously. Right, that's it. 

Eddie stormed up to Jason, poking an accusing finger in his face.

“I bet you think this is really funny, don’t you Carver?” 

“What do you want, freak?” Jason barks out.

“You, leaving those little notes in my locker.” Eddie jabs.

Eddie looks at Jason for a moment, a look of genuine confusion gracing the features of the basketball player, his brows knitted together, before he huffs out an incredulous laugh.

“In your dreams, Munson” Jason laughs in his face as he pushes past Eddie. 

Okay…So maybe this wasn’t a joke. Well who was sending Eddie anonymous love letters?

_______

I want to hold your hands and kiss your face

Another day, another note. Eddie was still none the wiser as to who exactly was putting these love letters in his locker. Right, he thought to himself, he was going to need some help if he had any chance of finding out who this secret admirer of his was. 

Strolling through the doors of Family video, Eddie had decided to recruit the help of the only person he could think that would actually be of any help to him. Even if it did mean that he would have to show all the notes he’d received with Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.

“Wait, so let me get this straight. You’ve been getting anonymous love letters put in your locker?” Steve asks

“Well..yeah?” Eddie answers.

“...And you’re absolutely sure you have no idea who this is?” Steve presses.

“Well at one point I thought Carver was doing it, you know, for a joke..but I confronted him about it yesterday and that turned out about as well as you can imagine” Eddie explains

“Do you have some that you want it to be?” Steve quizzes, as he watches the metal-head’s expression change instantly, flushing scarlet rising from his chest to his cheeks and the tips of his nose. “Aha!” -Steve exclaims, jabbing his finger towards Eddie- “So you are thinking of someone then?”

Luckily, Eddie was saved from the embarrassment of admitting to his crush on one of his best friends by Robin interrupting his and Steve’s conversation.

“What are you two dorks gabbing about over there?” She shouts making her way from the back of Family video where she was rearranging a stack of horror films.

“Munson here has got himself a secret admirer.” Steve says, cocking his thumb towards Eddie. “Said he’s been getting these little love notes slipped in his locker” Steve continues with his teasing.

“Oooh!! Let me see ‘em!!” Robin squeals excitedly.

Scattering the piece of paper out onto the countertops, the boys watch as Robin reads through each of the messages. Her eyes scan over the words, and her eyebrows draw together, and her expression one of surprise.

“You alright over there, Rob? You look like you’ve seen a ghost, which considering what we’ve been through, is the last thing that should have you looking like that.” Steve joked.

“Shut up, Dingus.” Robin says, shushing Steve holding her pointer finger up at him. “Eddie, I think I might know who your secret admirer is.” 

The two boys look at Robin with wide eyes and bated breath.

Robin turns her back and hot-foots it to the back room of Family video.

“I thought you were going to tell us who it is?” Eddie shouts after his friend.

“Hold your horses will 'ya, Munson?!” she shouts back over her shoulder.

Robin returns with a wide grin gracing her freckled features as she slams down a sheet of A4 lined paper on the counter top.

“What the hell’s this?” Steve said, looking even more confused than before.

“These are the notes that I borrowed from y/n, for Kominski’s class yesterday. Now I don’t know about you guys, but I’d say that that swirly handwriting looks very familiar to me.” Robin says proudly, like she’s decoded the most cryptic of secret messages.

Eddie and Steve lean in closer to compare the handwriting in the love letters, to the handwriting in the classroom notes. 

 “I mean, apart from the little hearts that are dotting the I’s, I would say that is the exact same handwriting” Robin points out.

“So, y/n, huh?” Steve says, letting the thought hang in the air.

If Eddie was blushing before, his whole face must’ve looked like a tomato at this point, 

“Judging by your very red and embarrassed face, I’m going to guess that you like her too, right?” Robin asks.

Steve and Robin look at Eddie as he shyly scratches the back of his neck 

“Okay, yeah I like her..I like her a lot actually.”

“But isn’t tomorrow Valentine’s day?” Steve throws out.

“Oh this is perfect!” Robin jumps up and down excitedly. “Here’s what you’re going to do…”  she began as she brought Eddie closer to tell him her plan.

_______

Sticking to the plan that Robin (and Steve who got dragged into it by Robin) helped him with, Eddie got up early for school for once in his life. That morning he showered, and dressed in a clean Black Sabbath shirt (that he’d previously ironed that evening, earning a raised eyebrow from his uncle, and hung up ready to put on in the morning.)

Dressed and ready to leave, he picked up the bunch of red roses that he’d bought from the Valentine’s day section in town yesterday evening after leaving Family Video.

He’d called you and asked if you needed a lift on the way to school, and knowing you the way he did, you would much prefer to ride with him in his van than take the school bus.  

“Son..” Uncle Wayne called out to Eddie as he was just about to go through the door. “Good luck today, you be nice to that girl, alright?” His gruff voice huffs out.

“I will Wayne, I can promise you that.” Eddie throws over his shoulder with a wide grin as he makes his way to his van.

_______

Pulling up to your house, he parks his van and takes a moment to catch his breath before grabbing his bunch of roses and walking to your front door.

Squaring his shoulders he raises his knuckles to your door to deliver a confident knock. 

“I’m coming!!” he hears you shout from inside the house.

You unlock the door to see your best friend hiding his face behind a bouquet of beautiful red roses before handing them to you.

“These are for you. Happy Valentine’s day” he says as you kindly accept the flowers from him.

Although you had smiled when he’d given you the flowers, he could still sense your confusion at his gesture. 

“I got your notes…I thought they were really cute y’know and truth be told when I read them I kind of hoped they were from you.” he rambled, feeling that familiar heat flushing across his cheeks.

“How did you figure out it was me?” you ask.

“Well it wasn’t easy, but Robin and Steve helped me figure it out…mostly Robin, though..” he chuckles. 

There’s a moment's silence between the two of you where you’re both looking into each other’s eyes.

Feeling bold, you rise up on your tip-toes to place a quick peck to Eddie’s cheek. You feel him smile brightly under your lips.

“Thanks for the flowers, Ed. They’re beautiful” 

“You missed.” he says with a look of disappointment in his deep brown eyes.

“Huh?”

“You missed.” he says again, smirking as he points to his lips.

“Take me on a date first, and then we can see about that kiss, Ed” you giggle.

“Let me take you to the movies tomorrow? We can hold hands and do all that cute shit that you’re supposed to do on a first date” he looks to you excitedly.

“I’d love to!” 

“Great! I’ll come pick you up at seven?” 

“It’s a date” You smile back at him.

[thesassypadawan]

Morning Wood (Hayden X FemReader)

Summary: What better a way to start the day than having a good fuck with some morning wood…especially when it’s Hayden’s.

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), because there sooo much of the smut.  Size difference, morning wood, and Hayden’s big dick.

Notes: Thank you so much to everyone who enjoyed my other Hayden fics!  I would love to know your thoughts, and I will be trying to post a fic for Hay every other Monday...unless for something special, like this Tuesday!

- You’re awoken by Hayden placing soft kisses on your face and neck. “Good morning, angel,” he whispers, his voice still a bit raspy from sleep.

- Small happy sounds come from you. You press your ass back against his very prominent morning wood. Wriggling slowly, making him groan. “Good morning to you too,” you say all cutely.

- He places his large hand on your hip, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You up for a little fun?”

- Reaching back, you take hold of his colossal cock. Palming him through his boxers you giggle. “Ain’t nothing ‘little’ about that, Hay.”

- Groaning, he slips his long fingers into your panties; rubbing lightly at your folds. “I’ll take this as a ‘yes’,” he teases, feeling how wet you already are for him.

- You let out a whimper as he circles your clit. “Yes. Please, yes.”

- “That’s, my girl,” he chuckles. Giving your little nub one last playful pinch, he then frees himself through the fly of his boxers.

- Wasting no time, he hooks your leg over his thick thigh and pulls your panties to the side. Sliding his cock between your puffy lips, covering himself in your slick. “You ready, baby?”

- Mewling softly, you eagerly tilt your hips backwards to meet his. “Need you.”

- “Whatever you want, angel,” he coos, before pushing into your tight cunt.

- “Hay!” You cry out as he sheathed himself to the hilt. How you love that burning stretch.

- Hayden pauses a moment. Peppering your skin with sweet kisses and muttering praises as you adjust to his massive size. “So perfect. Always taking me so well.”

- Only when you give a small nod and clench around him, does he begin to move at a steady pace. “Please, fuck me hard…fuck me good.”

- His hand grips your hip, pulling you back to meet his strong thrusts. “All right…this is where the fun begins.”

- Soft cries fall from your lips as he greedily pounds into your tiny hole. Thrusting deeply each time, his fat head brushing against your cervix.

- You could tell you were already so close by the way the heat begins to build up inside of you. “Hay, gonna… I’m gonna…” The words barely leave your mouth and, suddenly, you’re rolled onto your stomach.

- “Sorry, baby. Can’t help myself,” he growls, his pace quickening. “I just know how much you love it when your big boy’s on top.”

- You flutter around him as he looms over your back. Surrounding you, forcing you to take every last delish inch. Your body goes pliant, and you let out a needy moan. “Hay,” you whine as he slams into you. “I’m so close.”

- “I got you,” he pants above you, lacing his fingers with yours. “Let go. We’ll cum together…and I’ll fill you up real good.”

- That was the push you both need. Moans come pouring from you as you clamp hard around him. Deep groans escape him as he pumps you full of his hot cum.

- Pulling out, he moves you to your back. Kissing you passionately, he pushes his still hard cock back inside your leaking hole…making you tremble.

- Gazing up at him, a small smile on your face, you hum pleasantly. “You know, we should wake up like this every day. Just saying.”

- “Couldn’t agree with you more,” Hayden chuckles. “So, what do you say, baby? You up for a little more fun and even some more after?”

[evvlevie]

I SHIFTED FOR THE FIRST TIME !!!!  (as detailed as a shifting blogger can be but scroll down for the juicy part)

Hi, Hello, my beautiful beautiful readers! It's your favorite blogger Evie again and I don't know where to begin 😭 You've read the title so you know damn well what this post is about, and I am freaking over the moon to say it finally happened!

"So how did you shift?" Is most likely your very first question, and I promise I will answer it, but not without giving you full context on what led up to this magical event (or just scroll down in case only the shifting part concerns you)

so as I mentioned in my last post I had been in this state of not putting any effort into my shifting attempts anymore and basically treating shifting like any other of my manifestations: that it will happen on its own, if I simply want to.

⇣the post in question in case you're interested⇣

"Did it work?", you may be wondering. It did not. It might work for other people, because some points I made in that post still apply to me, but the idea of just counting on it to happen on its own didn't really work in my case. This being said, just because it didn't work for me, doesn't mean it can't work for you, and if you are an advanced manifestor who has complete trust in the law, this mindset might even be yours to apply.

Ever since I posted this, some days went by and my typical shifting-cycle repeated. I didn't shift after being so confident I would, and then the realization hit hard and I became severely demotivated. I even told my shifting bestie I was about to give up and lucky for me she motivated me and gave me back my faith. Speaking of faith: I had been noticing that certain angel numbers kept reoccurring in my life. The numbers being 1237 and 119. These numbers seem random, but 12:37 is the time my niece was born and 11th of September is my birthday. (yes I was born on 9/11, no not in the year that it happened, but two years later which is basically irrelevant information but it's a little fun fact about me.) I always thought the universe was showing me my birthday, up until I googled both of these numbers and realized they both mean something among the lines of "keep faith and trust in the universe". And lucky for you I did.

⇣small fangirl and shout-out-moment ⇣

Then on Monday I had a doctors appointment, and being bored in the waiting room I opened Tumblr. My feed was full of law of assumption content and I actually took the time and read through them all, and I reposted the ones I felt like gave me a lot of insight. Now to the freaking craziest part of all of this. (okay not true but it sure meant the world to me). I wake up in Tuesday and see that THE @astra-nomy reposted my post about the newest shifting tip I had found, and not only that, my comfort-shifter @multiversebaddie not only liked one of my posts, BUT FOLLOWED ME BACK. All in the same night and even right after another. CAN YOU IMAGINE WHAT THAT DID TO ME????? I was like no, nope you guys, I can't not shift if my favourite shifting and loa bloggers fucking found out I existed. (APHRODITE FOLLOWS ME I CANT COMPREHEND THAT). Plus @lavender--fairy commented on the post mentioned earlier, and her post that I reblogged, was the one who actually gave me the key to shifting. Hell yes. I mean I knew what I needed to know from other bloggers anyway, but her post actually brought me back to the correct mindset.

✧THE ACTUAL SHIFTING EXPERIENCE AKA THE REASON YOU ARE READING THIS IN THE FIRST PLACE✧

so now it is Wednesday. I never really talked about what DR I am shifting to, and I mentioned it somewhere on an old ass post but to put it as briefly as I can: my DR contains a certain group of YouTubers, and I am shifting so I can be friends with them. Now they post videos on Wednesdays and due to the time difference I get to watch them at 11:30 pm, so basically right before going to bed. I went and grabbed a quick shower and then I laid in bed and started doing what I was always doing: affirming. But due to me being me this quickly turned into overthinking and overcomplicating EVERYTHING which is why I stopped, went back on TikTok to clear my thoughts a little and then returned to my attempt.

✨ THE METHOD ✨

☞ I laid in a position most comfortable to me and I started imagining myself in my DR making myself ready for bed. In my head I reminded myself of the thing that I was able to remember due to @lavender--fairy 's post: The 4D is the real reality, and the 3D is only the translation of your inner thoughts. meaning: if I can visualize it, I am already IN it.

☞ Along with me imagining my DR-me doing what I did, I always reminded myself (affirming if you will) that if I can imagine it, I am in it. I purposely chose the Visualization of me doing things I was already doing in my CR day-to-day because you can feel the moment so much better and ground yourself in that reality way easier than imagining me climbing a mountain since I never did that.

☞ I was making myself aware over and over again, that the imagination is the real reality and that if I can imagine it, I am in it. For as long as I was trying to fall asleep. I even moved and rearranged my position constantly, imagining that I was my DR-me doing the same thing. I really just emerged myself in that visualization and started feeling what ever I did, because essentially that's how manifestation works. You don't need to worry about the 3D, and you don't have to feel like you're lacking something. You imagined it in the 4D, so you already did it silly!

☞ In combination to that I never forced myself to stay focused on my DR. Because as mentioned in this post below, you are supposed to let you mind do its own thing in a way, because you can't shift If you are too aware of what you are trying to do.

✨ THE MOMENT ✨

I found myself in this weird state between falling asleep and still being conscious enough to see and understand what you are envisioning. So I was technically awake while it happened. I didn't visualize my DR anymore, instead my mind went into a completely different direction and I saw myself buying milk with Harry Styles. No I did not even script him into my DR, this was just my brain doing brain things. Nonetheless I was still affirming that if I can see it, I am in it, and suddenly I felt myself getting pulled. I heard a little whooshing sound and I literally zoomed out of my body. I was standing in a dark corridor and I could see an open door in the distance with a little something happening in the room it was leading to but I was too far away to see what was happening. Suddenly the corridor started spinning and I felt myself getting pulled into a whole different door. I gained consciousness in this unknown room, but I couldn't tell where I was, or what I was seeing, because it was just dark in there and my eyes had no chance of adjusting quickly enough. I panicked and before I could even comprehend it, I knew I set the intention to shift back to my CR. I got pulled back into this mysterious corridor and shoved into another door by some weird energy and I opened my eyes back in the CR. I know it wasn't a dream because this whole zooming out, the mysterious energy sending me from door to door and the random dark room felt way too physical for it to be a dream. I could literally feel myself in this corridor as only a "being" of some sort, but definitely not as a human with a physical form. From the many success stories I have read regarding shifting realities, I have noticed that many shifters do not reach their desired reality on their first try. Almost every shifter that has talked about shifting mentioned that their first shift was weird and to a strange, undefined reality. (@multiversebaddie shifted to a random ass classroom for example)

✨ ADVICE TO TAKE AWAY FROM THIS EXPERIENCE ✨

I believe I shifted when I did, because my mind was in this gloomy state between conscious and unconscious, which ultimately made me believe myself on the spot when I told myself the affirmations I mentioned earlier. I did not doubt them and that's probably why the void state is such a powerful state to be in, because even if I wasn't, I imagine it to be very similar to this.

Another thing, that won't hurt you is educating yourself on the law of assumption. I know it helped me a lot and I believe that people who struggle with shifting, would benefit if they understood the way manifestation worked because ultimately manifestation and shifting is the same thing.

If you read everything from top to bottom: I love you. If you are doubting shifting, your ability to do it, or wether or not it is real: I can guarantee you as a first-person-witness: not only is it real, it's something every single dingus out there can achieve! And if I can help you in any way, shape, or form: don't be afraid to ask.

I send a lot of love and a lot of positive vibes to everyone reading this! I had been waiting to do this post ever since I created my blog and I still can't believe that I finally got to do it 😭

Yours in every reality

Evie <3

[somehow-a-human]

The Ineffable Timeline of Season 2

Monday on Whickber street & Gabriels arrival.

DO NOT ASK NEIL ABOUT FAN THEORY

Monday - Tuesday - Wednesday -Thursday - Friday

I've decided I'm going to start chronologically breaking down each day of season 2 in it's own post and the discontinuities/weirdness therein! Complete with timestamps, notes on sideburns, the illustrated bible, AND SO MUCH MORE!

I'll be tackling the minisodes/flashbacks as their own lovely little break down posts so we can just focus on present day events for these!

I will be keeping a running tab on Crowley's sideburn length along with the scenes we look at, denoted simply as: Long or Short at the end of scenes he is part of. My theory on the sideburns goes as far as demonic mood ring, to timeloops, to television is filmed out of order and it means nothing hehe, but why not keep track for Somebody's sake?

So Let's get going then, shall we?

Monday aka Episode 1 aka The Arrival

Unknown Time - We see Crowley on a bench reading a newspaper (the Tadfield headline tells us Adam is still in Tadfield and still swaying the weather!) and Shax visits him and gives him his mail, and mentions something is going down in heaven, but we don't know it involves Gabriel yet, and we don't know what time this takes place so theoretically it could be the day before, or even days before, but let's just say, sure it's early in the day Monday. Short.

10:35 (Crowley's phone) & 11:35 (Crowley's watch) - Crowley throws away the mail from Shax; he's with the Bentley. Shax shows up and says the heaven business involves Gabriel. Long.

11:20 (Bookshop clock) - Aziraphale receives Maggie's note on his way to open the bookshop. This seems to be a consistent time with his opening hours as posted and the lighting of Whickber Street.

11:23 (Maggie's watch) - Aziraphale goes to forgive Maggie's unpaid rent and pickup his records. "I know what I'll be doing for the next 21 minutes!", I don't even need to begin to try and describe why this complicates everything but let's take that at face value for a moment to look at the timeline of events.

11:40 (Estimated time) - Lets say Aziraphale decided to listen to 21 minutes of music (regardless of what tune he's actually chosen to listen to) and when we next see him in the bookshop he's not finished his music yet.

~ I think we all already know this but this is the first time that time gets funky and weird ~

4:20 (Bookshop clock) - Maggie goes to get a coffee from Nina and while she's in the shop they witness Gabriel arriving at the bookshop. (Mind you he arrives from the far end of Whickber Street past the Dirty Donkey, not the Dirty Donkey elevator). Now let's say time was following our previous events, it's just before noon, you're Maggie so you go to grab a coffee from the cute gal who runs the coffee shop, sure all good. Makes sense to me. But when Aziraphale gets up to open the door to Gabriel we VERY clearly see the bookshop clock showing 4:20.

4:26 (Bookshop clock) - Jim tries hot cocoa.

4:30 (Bookshop clock) - Aziraphale brings the cardboard box and fly inside the bookshop, calls Crowley and asks him to meet him at the coffee shop. Crowley says he'll be there in "2 minutes".

4:32-4:45ish (Estimated time) - Aziraphale and Crowley meet at the coffee shop and discuss something going on in heaven. The mysterious "honolulu roast" sign appears behind Crowley in this scene. They head back to the bookshop and Maggie stops Aziraphale on the way to thank him again about the rent. Short.

Maggie tries to gift Nina a record and says she's getting something "end of the day", girl were you not there just 20 minutes ago?! Nina asks if she wants a skinny latte and she says "no I'd be up all night", so again, did you not get one 20 minutes ago?!

5:00 (Bookshop clock) - Crowley discovers Gabriel in the bookshop. Long. Crowley and Aziraphale discuss what to do about Gabriel in the backroom. Short. Crowley leaves the argument and walks through the bookshop. Long. Crowley is struck by lightning and locks Maggie and Nina in the coffee shop. Short.

Crowley's sideburns change length multiple times just in this one encounter in the bookshop.

Unknown time - Crowley is in the Bentley when Beelzebub shows up and relays the Book of Life threat to Crowley. Long. Crowley drives back to Aziraphale. Short.

9:02 (Nina's phone) - Nina and Maggie are freed from the Coffee shop by Crowley.

9:06 (Bookshop clock) - Crowley does the apology dance, and they discuss hiding Jim. Long.

~ Our second big weird time discontinuity time jump weirdness happens here! ~

12:40 (Bookshop clock) - Jim shows up at the top of the stairs, and the clock has suddenly moved to 12:40 or I guess 8:00 depending on a which hand is the hour hand truther you are. Long.

-end episode, and monday-

SO!

WHY?

What is going on with these weird skips? Why did Aziraphale specifically say he knew what he was going to do for 21 minutes? Was it an in universe clue about the timeline, or was it a hint to the audience about the hidden record serial number Shostakovich clue that's been found by @sendarya ? Maybe both?

Humor me...

Lets say maybe Aziraphale had just gotten really drawn into his music and listened to it for another 4 and a half hours before Gabriel knocks on the door, and completely forgotten to open the bookshop, sounds like something Aziraphale would do. Okay that would be all good and fine with me.

So why then is Maggie going to get a coffee at 4:20pm and then going back for a tea 20 minutes later? Alright sure she's already had one coffee at 4:20 and she can tolerate one bout of afternoon caffeine, but not two so she gets tea. She went back 20 minutes later cause she's awkward and whipped over Nina, okay cool, all fine with me, We've explained away the first time skip!

But then why does the bookshop clock jump nearly 4 hours before the hiding miracle? I've got diddly squat.

Throughout all of the scenes for Monday, or rather Episode 1, Aziraphale's illustrated bible is open to the same image in each shot: "Joseph Known to His Brethren". So I can conclude at the least these scenes, are shown to us sequentially. As far as I can tell, nearly the entire season is presented sequentially. I haven't really seen evidence that suggests to me at least that anything is out of order like I have seen other suggest. There is one scene, which will be addressed when it's time comes in it's own post, but even with it's moving I don't see any real change happening to the story. That is not to say however, that we're always seeing sequential scenes from the same timeline. Literally anything is possible and it's so fun to imagine what season 3 will actually be. I mean, there is a literally bin of red herrings in the opening credits so clearly some things are meant to mislead us.

Let me know your thoughts or anything you can think of that I might have missed that stood out to you in any of these scenes!

Continue the Timeline:

Monday - Tuesday - Wednesday - Thursday - Friday

[kawaiixchaotic]

i have been crying about this for days. the arabic language is so beautiful. i am both thankful to this artist for sharing this gorgeous song with us, and torn to pieces thinking about how much pain she must be in watching her home get destroyed and her people suffer.

she mentions sending peace on an olive branch. edit: "olive" means zaytun (زيتون) watch out for this word if you read/see/hear Palestinian art, the cultural context will help you understand the message more. besides the olive branch being a well known symbol for peace (it's even on the United States dollar AND the United States Seal) there is a rich historical and cultural context behind this lyric. for those who don't know, Palestine has been known for its olive trees for millennia. some of the oldest living olive trees in the entire world are in Palestine (although i really don't know if they are still standing at this moment). olives are well-loved and crucial to Palestinian cuisine, as well as being a major source of income, since many Palestinians are olive farmers and have been for generations. a symbol for peace, harmony, friendship, resilience, and perserverance, the olive tree represents Palestinian spirit, and olive leaf patterns are also featured on the Palestinian keffiyeh.

there is another lyric where she says "in the land of peace, peace is dead." one english transliteration of this arabic phrase is "fi 'ard alsalam mat alsalam" with 'ard (أرض) meaning land/earth, al-salam or more commonly salam (سلام) meaning peace, and mat (مات) being a conjugation from the word mawt (موت) meaning death. (I'm not sure in which tense, arabic has so many tenses and I don't want to spread misinformation, my knowledge of the arabic language is like 1st grade level and mostly from osmosis due to growing up Muslim and having early exposure to the language through the Quran and basic classes at Islamic school, and I'm not even a practicing Muslim anymore, so pls feel free to correct my mistakes) lyrically, it was this phrase that stuck out to me the most, because of the emphasis placed on "peace" through its repetition. in the land of peace, peace is dead; Palestine is The Holy Land in Islam, Judaism, and Christianity. peace was the foundation of the land, not just peace meaning lack of war but peace as in spiritual peace, the kind of peace that fills your heart with love for this world and the people in it. now that this peace is being actively destroyed, Palestine is losing itself. Elyanna (the singer) is saying that her home is being gutted from the inside out, until it's unrecognizable, until it lacks the one thing that MADE Palestine; peace. It is heartbreaking.

The reason I am sharing this song and breaking down this lyric is because I want to re-humanize the Arabic language and Arab culture. It has been demonized for far too long, and it was/is on PURPOSE. IDF soldiers bombing Al-Shifa hospital and claiming (lying) that they found a list of Hamas guards and hostages (that were never in the hospital) when it was a CALENDAR and the only names of "Hamas guards" listed were fucking Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, is exactly what I mean when I say that the world has been so successfully brainwashed against MENA (the Middle East and North Africa) that even the Arabic language itself, written or spoken, is perceived as inherently violent and threatening.

I hope this post has contributed in helping you unlearn the racism and anti-Arab/anti-Middle Eastern propoganda you have been taught.

From the river to the sea, Palestine 🇵🇸 will be free.

🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉

[frescoisnotinthemilitary]

Not sure if this is how I send you asks but could you do a König x male baker reader? Like a fluff story? Like at some point Konig realizes he's in love with the sweet baker? If not that's fine too 🫶🏾🫶🏾 please?

Sweet Tooth

König x Male!Baker!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, and König being clueless about his feelings (Tags apply differently. Jokes about suicide, meant to be read with a light heart)

Pronouns for reader: you, he/him, reader is implied male

A/N: I really appreciate this opportunity to write for a character I haven't really written for or considered writing for in the past. I’ve also never written for a male reader before, so thanks so much for this ask! I’m also a firm believer that König drinks an unhealthy amount of hot chocolate. We’re talking 4+ cups on a normal day. I was given the idea and it kind of spiraled. He’s also shy and very pookie-coded here, I think.  Let me know if any of the German is wrong, I relied heavily on Google Translate for this. Also if I missed anything. I’ve read this so many times that the words are melting together and I just needed to post it. Sorry this took so long, I’ve been sick and it’s kicked my ass.

It was a bit of a shock, the first time he walked into the bakery. At almost seven feet tall, how could he not be a shock? 

Ding. The soft tinkle of the bell above the door alerts you to the presence of the morning’s first customer. You glance up, and the smile drops from your face, then immediately reappears. 

“Good morning! Take your time with the menu, and let me know when you’re ready to order.” Your voice cuts through the silence. “I’m going to go take some muffins from the oven, but I'll be back soon. Let me know when you're ready, alright?”

“Ja.” A man’s deep rumble sounded from under his dark veil. You notice his head tip back up toward the chalkboard menu as you slip through the swinging doors to the kitchen. 

When you return, holding a tray of still-warm muffins, he looks to you. “Bitte, ah, please, may I order?”

“Mhm,” you hum in response, your chest buzzing with the vibrato. “What would you like?” The air is filled for a moment with the quiet sound of each muffin tapping onto the glass display plate. 

“May I have a- a blueberry scone, and a medium, ah, large, hot chocolate, please?” He asks. You notice him picking at his gloves and shrinking down as if trying to appear smaller than he is. 

Maybe he’s shy. The thought makes you smile inwardly. “Yup. I’ll get those for you. Sorry for the wait, it’s just me this morning.” 

“Die Stille [hush], it is- do not worry. It is no problem.” 

Oh my god, he really is shy. 

“For here, or to go?” 

“To go. Danke.”

Several minutes later, you raise a hand in a slight wave as he leaves, paper bag and steaming cup clutched in one gargantuan mitt. “Have a good day.”

“Ja. You as well,” he replies. 

It becomes routine, after a while. At first, it was about once a week. Then, it was a few times. Now, Monday through Saturday, he’s the first customer in the bakery, often causing the bell to ring as soon as you flip the sign. 

It’s a typical Tuesday morning, about a month after he started coming in. You’ve already opened the door, he’s received his usual order, and you’re curious. “What’s your name?” You ask, the urge to inquire obscuring any boundaries you might cross. 

He considers lying for a moment, but you’ve been kinder than most. Always assisting him whenever you could, treating him like a human, not like an apathetic war machine. 

“König,” he answers. 

“König,” you repeat. “Isn’t that German for ‘king’? Are you German?” You can’t keep the questions in. They fall from your lips before you recognize that what you’ve asked is invasive. He’s a customer. He’s here to get cocoa and a scone, not be bombarded by questions he might not even want to answer. 

But the man seems unfazed. “Ja, it is German. However, I am from Austria, not Germany.” 

Thank god for those Duolingo lessons, you think. 

“Oh. I’m sorry for all the questions so suddenly, but what do you do for work? Do you work around here?” The embarrassment you felt at the barrage of questions leaving your lips ebbs, and you feel more comfortable asking them now. 

“Ah, well,” he hesitated. “I am a Marine. I am a colonel. I work on the KorTac base, just outside of the city.” He checked his watch, then looked back up to you. “I’m sorry. I have to go, now. It was good speaking with you. Ah, goodbye.” 

It seems rushed, but you think little of it. He’s just shy. 

“Oh, yeah. Of course. See you tomorrow.” 

“Ja, I will be here.”

Tomorrow comes and goes. As does the next day. And the next, and so on. You don’t ask any more questions, as he seemed to leave hastily the last time. 

But he wishes you would. Why did I not ask one of him? I want to know more about the man, the little voice in the back of his head tells him. 

Weeks pass. He returns again. And you’re feeling brave.  

“König?” Your voice accompanies the sound of the paper bag as he grabs the top. “Would you, uh…” You trail off. 

“Would I what, der Nachtisch [sweets, dessert]?” 

“Would…” You had a hard time getting the words out. Your palms begin to sweat against the counter, and everything seems to be amplified tenfold. “Would you like to get dinner sometime?” You blurt. 

König is silent for a moment. Then, “Dinner?”

“Uh- yeah. With me.” You wish you could see under the veil, as he doesn’t answer. It seems like hours before König’s head tilts back upward to you. 

A small smile grows on his face, not that you can see it. He finally speaks, and his voice is soft. “Ja. I would like that, very much. Thank you.”

He doesn’t understand why his neck feels hot. His ears. His cheeks. His face is on fire and he doesn’t know why. 

You breathe a sigh of relief. He didn’t reject me. He wants to go to dinner. 

Shit. He wants to go to dinner.

“Cool, cool. What, uh, what kind of food do you like?” You ask casually, as if talking about the weather. As if you hadn’t just asked Colonel Colossus to grab a whole ass meal with you. 

He thinks for a moment before responding. “I quite enjoy anything. I am in favor of the foods of my Austrian background, though I am sure you are much more accustomed to those of your home. The choice is yours, mein Täubchen [my dove].” 

“Uh, well, it’s not Austrian, but there’s a little German restaurant a few blocks from here.”

Why did he ask me to choose? “If that’s okay.” 

König smiles, though his glowing cheeks remain obscured by the veil. “That sounds perfect, Mein Schatz [my dear].”

Your face lights up. “Great. When are you free?”

[harry-on-broadway]

Never Been Prouder

Word Count: 1.8K || Rating: M

A/N: I had no plans to write anything other than TLL, but then Harry got nominated for six Grammy’s and the group chat got me thinking so this is all thanks to @hslllot​ and @harrysblackcoat​. Hope you enjoy! 

***

He didn’t want to talk about it.

At least that’s what he said on Monday morning.

“It’s just any other morning,” he said casually. “A normal Tuesday. Nothing really special about it.”

You knew he was lying though.

A new edge to his constant fidgeting and the way his eyes wouldn’t meet yours revealed that there was something simmering below the surface. But you knew him well enough to leave him be and resumed your Google search for the alcoholic beverage that could be both congratulatory and conciliatory.

You’d dashed off to work and he’d wandered off to the gym or the studio or Jeff’s office or wherever he decided to spend the hours before his show, and the topic didn’t come up again. Instead, the texts between you two were mundane – him asking the best way to get a wine stain off his hoodie and you asking how much milk was left in the fridge during your post-work grocery run.

In fact, it didn’t come up until later that night. You were both in bed, him reclined on his pillows, a warm compress over his eyes and you next to him, typing away at the last of your work emails as some movie you’d both seen twenty times over played in the background.

“What do you think my chances are?” he asked softly.

You turned to look at him. The cloth still covered his eyes and most of his face, so it was hard to discern where his head was at.

“Your chances of what? Getting lucky?” You had a clue about where this conversation was heading and didn’t want to miss a chance to inject some levity into the situation.

“I know my chances of that are always 100 percent,” he said slowly. You could hear the smirk in his voice. “No,” he continued. He swallowed thickly. “Of like tomorrow. Getting nominated.”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about this,” you said, testing the waters.

“I didn’t, but now I do.” He eased himself up onto his elbows and pulled the cloth from his eyes. “I’m just…” He twisted the fabric between his fingers, still refusing to meet your eyes. “It’s going to happen, right? But…” he trailed off. “What if it doesn’t?”

You looked at him. Harry was normally the kind of person that filled a room, his energy and enthusiasm making him seem larger than life. But tonight, in your bedroom, he seemed much smaller and so unsure of himself.

“H,” you said, grabbing his chin and tilting his face so that you could look into his eyes. “I promise you this, your name is going to be called tomorrow. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. But if it isn’t that’s OK too.”

He exhaled slowly, trilling his lips. “It shouldn’t matter, but if tomorrow’s a bust I’m going to feel like I let everyone down.”

“You’ve done so much this year, baby. Coachella, the new album, the tour, the charts. It’s all so much more than anyone expected. No one would be disappointed in you.”

“But Tom, Tyler, Mitch. They’d -”

“Still be proud of you no matter what,” you finished, cutting him off.

“I guess.” He started to pick at the damp cloth again. “But what about…?”

The question he didn’t dare voice hung in the air.

When you all at first started dating, it was easy to see that the public aspect of his life weighed heavily on Harry. Your early dates were mostly filled with you talking and him listening. Slowly but surely though, once he was confident you weren’t hoping to hook up with him for the story or a boost in followers, he started to open up and your relationship blossomed in turn. In the years since, you’d made it abundantly clear that you were in love with Harry, not Harry Styles, but it was apparent that deep down, his fears that people were just using him for the moment still lingered.

“Harry, do you remember the conversation we had last year before you left for Vegas?”

He nodded. It had been an emotional discussion as you were both caught up in the realization that you’d be apart for the longest period of time since you started seeing each other. The night before he was set to head out, Harry was honest with you. About the difficulties of touring, how life on the road impacted relationships, how he’d always struggled to find the balance between the thing and the people he loved most.

But, he stressed that this time would be different and reaffirmed his commitment to your relationship. Even though he would be miles away, you remained his first priority. In the moment, you’d nodded and tried to stifle the tears that were ready to flow and the fear that these were just empty words.

But they weren’t.

He talked to you every day. He Doordashed you soup when you were sick and sent you flowers and a cupcake from your favorite bakery on your birthday. When you were having a tough week at work, he sent you meme after meme to make you smile. When he stopped at the bookstore you’d been wanting to visit, there was a book and postcard from the shop on your doorstep the next day. He kept his word and that itself meant more than anything.

“Honestly, I didn’t think you’d be able to keep your promise,” you continued. “But you did. And knowing what kind of man you are, and how you are still that man no matter how much success comes your way. That’s worth more to me than having an Artist of the Year winner on my arm.”

Harry smiled softly, his cheeks pink. “Well, that’s a good thing since that’s not actually a category.”

“OK then,” you said with a laugh. “How about this…whether you get zero nominations, or 47 nominations –”

“I don’t think I can actually get that many,” he said with a sly grin.

“The point is regardless of if your name is called tomorrow morning, I’ve never been prouder of you than I am now. And nothing is going to change that.”

You leaned towards him and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. When you pulled away, you could see that his eyes were watering. You weren’t sure if it was from the weight of the moment or his earlier injury, but you brought the pad of your thumb up to his face and wiped away the moisture that was collecting under his eyes. When you were done, he pulled your wrist to his lips, kissing the palm of your hand.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I sometimes need a reminder of what really matters.”

“That’s OK, H,” you said. “I’ll always be here for whatever you need. Why don’t we go to bed now.”

Harry nodded, tossing his rag in the laundry and stripping down to his briefs while you stowed your laptop on your nightstand and plugged your phone in to charge. When you had situated yourself under the sheets, Harry turned off the lights and joined you under the covers, wrapping you up in his arms.

His breath was slow and steady and you’d thought he drifted off – he always fell asleep much sooner than you did – until he spoke again. “I think we should do something tomorrow.”

“What? The Grammy nominations and a concert aren’t enough?”

“No, no, like something for just the two of us,” he chided. “Like something to look forward to no matter what happens. A treat of sorts.”

“OK…” you said slowly. “What did you have in mind?”

“Champagne,” he said confidently. “And a blow job.”

“Wow! You really had that one ready to go.”

“What? If I’m sad, both of those will make me feel better. And if I’m happy…no better way to celebrate.”

“Whatever you say,” you said, pressing a sleepy kiss to his pec. “I love you, Harry.”

“Love you, too,” you heard him mumble before drifting off to sleep.

***

The two of you woke to the sound of a phone vibrating. Once. Then again. Then again. And again until the vibrations were constant and Harry’s phone was sliding across the nightstand.

He rolled over to grab the device, quickly returning to his position beside you. He took a deep breath before looking at the screen.

You studied his face as he read through the notifications. Joy, disbelief, pure happiness, shock – he seemingly experienced every emotion in that moment before he looked at you again.

“Good news?” you asked.

He nodded. “Six nominations. Maybe another one. I’m not sure,” he stammered, words running together. “The majors too. Album, song, and record. Fuck,” he said, as a sob escaped him. “Fuck, I can’t believe it happened.”

“You deserve it, H,” you said, hugging him tightly until the embrace was interrupted by an incoming call.

“Shit,” he said, fumbling to answer it. “It’s just Jeffrey. I’ll call him later.”

“No, talk to him now,” you said, extracting yourself from the pile of blankets and Harry’s limbs. “Take your time. I’ll get breakfast ready.”

As you walked towards the door, you heard Jeff’s screams echoing through the phone speaker, mixing with Harry’s laughter. You padded into the kitchen, starting the coffee maker and fishing the bottle of champagne you’d purchased yesterday from the back of the pantry, pouring it into two flutes. Coffee and alcohol ready, you sat at the table scrolling through your phone, responding to a couple of congratulatory texts from your own friends and family, reassuring them that you’d pass their well-wishes on to Harry.

A few minutes later Harry appeared in the doorway, searching for you and breaking out into a wide grin when he found you.

“Coffee and a treat are ready for you,” you said, rising from your chair.

“Thank you,” Harry replied, clinking his glass of bubbly against yours before taking a sip.

“Good call with Jeff and the rest of the guys?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah,” he said with a smile. “They’re through the roof. Made sure to say that none of it matters and all that stuff…” he rolled his eyes. “But I heard that all from someone much smarter and prettier last night.”

“Who is this remarkable person?”

“The one standing in front of me.”

You leaned onto your tiptoes to kiss him, tasting the sweetness of the drink on his lips. “You did good, baby,” you whispered against them.

Harry wrapped his arm around you and buried his face in your neck. “I owe it all to you,” he whispered back.

He held you like that for a moment, until you wiggled around in his arms, grazing your fingers down his torso until you hooked them in the waistband of his shorts.

“Oh?” he said, pulling back to look at you with glee. “This is happening? Now?”

“What? That was the deal. Champagne,” you took a sip from your glass before setting it on the counter. “And now a blow job.” You rubbed your hands along his waist as you shimmied his shorts down his legs.

“You don’t have to do this, baby.”.

“That wasn’t the deal,” you shot back. “Last night I told you how proud I was, now it’s time to show you.”  

***

talk to me! 

[butterflyinthewell]

Behind a cut so people don’t have to see me rant about my disabled, emotionally abusive dad.

So my dad fell twice in the last five days due to not listening to me and mom. He has Parkinson’s and if you dig through my posts you’ll see me talk about it, so I won’t go into it.

I don’t hate disabled people, just him. I don’t hate him for having Parkinson’s, I hate him for the abuse he inflicted on me and still inflicts on me with his disability as a crutch to get away with it. And I call out ableism when the problems we have with him are caused by the medical care system, because sometimes it’s not his fault.

But THIS situation IS his fault.

SO ANYWAY…

Last Friday, he fell because he wouldn’t stop rocking sideways every time he got up. He gets up with help and uses a walker, but he throws his weight around when he knows me and mom are two tiny women compared to a hulking huge man.

And he fell.

We had to call my aunt and uncle over to get his ass off the damn floor and onto his toilet commode so he could take a shit. Then they got him into bed. He claimed he was fine, and then on Tuesday he started griping that his lower back and buttcheek hurt on the left side. But he could walk and didn’t complain much after the initial gripe.

Today, he was all scrunched up in bed in a way that guarantees his back will hurt and made his pain worse, like I told him it would (and he wouldn’t listen to me).

Mom took him out into the living room and he fell on the way, AGAIN, because he kept rocking his weight around.

Now get this, he doesn’t throw his weight like that when therapists would come over. Dad will be an angel for them, but a nightmare for me and mom. He cooperates for professionals, but not family. He does everything in his power to make life as hard as possible for me and mom. I’m not kidding when I say that.

He goes to the doctor on Monday to find out what the fuck he did to himself, but it’s going to be a nightmare.

My birthday is coming up and of COURSE he does this right before it, and ruins any excitement I had.

Before you attack me for that, keep in mind that he pulls shit like this all the time. He knows everyone will be sympathetic to him while looking at mom and me like we’re evil for being exhausted, angry and burnt out.

The fact that we can’t afford to put him anywhere or get help into this house means we have no lives outside of caregiving. Every waking moment until we sleep is him and all his emotionally abusive bullshit, every day with no breaks, forever. He has ruined holidays, birthdays and plans because his only joy in life is making everyone around him as miserable as he is.

I’ve managed to eke out a few moments of joy here and there, but for the most part my life is a slog that never ends.

I laugh at the people who acted like COVID lockdowns were depriving them of life. I won’t deny that it was a traumatic experience, and this is not aimed at people who got sick anyway and now have long covid. This ain’t you, don’t worry.

But the people who acted so inconvenienced that their social lives got interrupted? Fuck off.

I’ve lived something like the COVID lockdowns for over a decade. No life outside of my house, no life outside of being a caregiver for someone who is sucking away all my compassion and love.

I can’t leave because I’m disabled too and all the legal shit is inaccessible to me.

I’m trapped, mom is trapped, and we are eventually going to die from the stress while he sits there yelling at us for not jumping to his every whim.

My only escape is writing fanfics and staring dead-eyed at my ipad screen, interrupted constantly by him demanding things.

I have accumulated so much trauma from him, and COVID, and mom having medical crises that were resolved, and my needs not being met, that I’ll be surprised to see 45. I will be shocked if I wake up alive on my 45th birthday.

I turn 43 this July 29, 2023, so yeah.

If I don’t die, my mom is going to, and if she goes we’re all dead.

I just hope I go first. Either heart attack or stroke will probably do it, but I don’t want to outlive her and be alone with him.

No child should be trapped as a caregiver for a disabled abusive parent, but it happens and nobody talks about it.

[petriquors]

POV: You just had the worst week ever

a/n: gn!reader, post-timeskip. This one’s for you, sad boy indie car person. 

Listen to this.

On Sunday, your boyfriend dumped you, beginning the worst week of your life. (So far, you remind yourself, rolling your eyes as far back into your skull as you can.)

On Monday, you found out your regular coffee shop closed.

On Tuesday, you got chewed out by your boss for a mistake you didn’t make.

On Wednesday, your train was out of service and you had to walk several miles home from work.

On Thursday, rent was due, which comparatively isn’t that bad, but still. Ugh.

Things ain't always set in stone; that be known, let me know.

Today, Friday, you dragged your aching body and tired mind through a fairly normal day of work and back home again. You change into pajamas, crack open your bedroom window for some fresh air, and fall face-first into bed, finally able to enjoy some peace and quiet.

Seems like streetlights glowing happen to be just like moments passing in front of me.

Except someone is playing the saddest music you’ve ever heard in your building’s parking lot.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you moan, out loud, because who’s going to hear you? A man’s soft croon and your own aggravation fill your ears; you can’t decide if you’re angry or…if the song, in all its weepy emotional-ness, is exactly what you need right now.

See, I know my destination, I'm just not there.

Annoyance makes your face feel hot, but curiosity stirs in your stomach. You aren’t sure which one makes you sit up.

You swing your legs over the side of your bed, then lean forward with your elbows on your thighs. The song beckons, but the weight of your week holds you down like a monster dragging you to the depths of melancholy.

I'm just not there.

Rubbing your eyes, you fight against your lack of will before standing and padding over to the window. Your fingers brush the cold glass that separates you from the world outside, trace the white pane, and press your fingers against the bottom of the glass.

Raising the window higher, higher, you push it above your head, high enough to stick your head out into the cool spring air. You spot a car, windows down and lights off, with a silhouette of a man faintly outlined by the full moon in front of him. The music floats from his radio, forlornly vocalizing everything you’ve felt this week.

Life just ain't fair.

You suck in a breath. It smells like rain-drenched pavement, fresh grass, blooming flowers—all things you didn’t have the time or energy to pay attention to in the last seven days.

“Hey! Guy in the car!” Your shout is answered by a man sticking his head out the car window. He looks shocked; even as moonlight washes his features, you see embarrassment color his face. 

He’s pretty, you think, and your heart shivers. 

He looks sad, like he’s had a week just like yours. As fate would have it, you feel connected to this stranger, and you think you have nothing at all to lose.

“Sorry,” he shouts back, “I can—”

Quickly, you shake your head. Don’t turn it off. Don’t stop. Don’t leave. “What song is that?”

🤍 YAMAGUCHI, Suna, Oikawa, Atsumu, Ukai Jr., TERUSHIMA, Akaashi

[unsupervised-meatsuit]

Inconveniences, Cultists, and the Warehouse of Rejected Toys

Cross posted on AO3!

If there was one thought that Marinette could attribute to describe the entirety of this situation, it would be that Thursdays suck.

It is not the most commonly hated day of the week, since that dubious honor belongs to Monday, for rather obvious reasons. Since it is so universally hated, however, it never comes as a surprise when the bad things come out to play. Oh, there was a fire in the office next door over the weekend, and now the air conditioning smells like burnt rubber and brick dust? That's just Monday for you. A villain attack in the warehouse district caused a shipping delay and that package you ordered got lost somewhere? Disappointing, yet unsurprising. The subway is so packed that a sardine tin would be spacious in comparison? Well, that's the subway every day, so it doesn't really count.

Tuesdays and Wednesdays are just that, days. Nothing exciting, nothing awful. Middle of the line, going through the motions, monotonous. Whether trudging through or in the zone, things get done and nothing exciting happens. Fridays are, of course, celebrated as the finish line, the checkpoint in the marathon of life that says 'you made it! You can take a rest now'. The final stretch before the glorious work-free weekend. The one where you can go home with the comfort of knowing there are no alarms coinciding with dawns break, just waiting to sneak up on you too soon. No annoying coworkers waiting with their metaphorical talons and too-cheerful-to-be-real attitudes, ready to interrupt your flow at the worst possible moment. Fridays are the tantalizing breath of freedom, just awaiting for the clock to strike.

But Thursdays? Thursdays are the worst.

They are the day you always forget. The one that sneaks up on you, where you wake up with the inkling of hope and relief that the end brings, only to have the crushing realization that it is not, in fact, Friday. Like seeing a finish line on the crest of a hill in front of you, only to watch as the closer you get the further away it seems. The one where you cram every ounce of procrastinated effort into the projects you have been putting off until right before the deadline, wishing for nothing more than an IV drip of straight espresso into your veins, followed by a three century long nap.

The day where you get kidnapped by an evil cult and strung up from the ceiling next to an unconscious vigilante, simply for the crime of being a nice person in Gotham.

Or maybe that is just Marinette.

'Embodiment of good luck and creation my ass,' she thought bitterly, rope digging painfully into her elbows and just below her ribs. 'Oh yea, let's go to Gotham. The city is unbalanced and needs a Guardian to fix all of the curses. That is such a great idea. Nothing bad will happen! Well what do you call this then, Tikki?!' Marinette sighed, the feeling of pins and needles creeping down towards her bound wrists as she swung precariously some twenty-five odd feet above the concrete warehouse floor, trying to ignore the worry she felt being separated from the little deity. Beside her was none other than Red Hood; former(maybe? she's not sure) crime lord, gunslinging vigilante, and too freaking heavy for his own good. Seriously, for someone who uses firearms almost exclusively, there is no reason for him to be so damn muscular. Or tall. Completely unfair for someone to hog all the height like that. It's what got them into this whole mess to begin with!

Well- That wasn't entirely true, but still. If he didn't weigh so much, Marinette could have easily grabbed him and run from the masked, potato-sack-wearing, nonsense-spewing, second rate fanatic occultists before they even knew she was there. But no, Red Hood just had to be the size and weight of a small bear, and now they were both in this mess.

"I should have never gotten out of bed this morning..." She muttered despondently, hearing a groan come from the limp figure beside her.

"Son of a bitch..." Red Hood murmured, voice changer in his helmet distorting the words to be near incomprehensible. The following string of curses as he presumably opened his eyes and took in their predicament was much more audible, however. Looking down, Marinette couldn't even begrudge him the swearing.

The two of them were currently hanging from a catwalk suspended in between two of the six total concrete pillars and directly above where the aforementioned potato-sack-wearing cultists were busy drawing out chalk guidelines for some kind of complex ritual circle. She couldn't quite make out what it was meant to be yet, seeing as it was in the early stages, but she could assume that it wasn't anything good for their would-be sacrifices. They were really dedicated, too, not even glancing up at the vigilante that was giving his best impression of an angry drenched cat. One of them even had a protractor and was double checking all of the angles in the twelve pointed star. Clearly, whatever this ritual was meant to be, it was going to take a while to complete.

Red Hood clearly didn't appreciate the attention to detail, which honestly? Fair. But the way he showed his displeasure at the situation involved thrashing around in the cocoon of thick chains wrapped securely around his whole body. (Marinette was only a little bit jealous at the differing treatment, since if she had more than a single rope wrapped around her torso, it wouldn't hurt nearly as much, but also it would make escape harder.) The thrashing wouldn't bother her if it weren't for the fact that A) they were both tied to a rickety catwalk, and B) every time there was movement on said rickety catwalk, it caused Marinette to bounce around and dug into the already forming bruises on her arms and abdomen.

"Hey, could you cut that out?!" She snapped, wincing in pain. Her voice caused Red Hood to whip his head in her direction and freeze, "You aren't the only one here strung up like a pinata, and unlike you, I'm not wearing any armor. I would personally rather not be split in half and spew my intestines all over the place like a macabre birthday celebration, thanks!" There were several long moments of silence while he stared at her and she attempted to alleviate some of the pressure of the rope. She was unsuccessful, sadly, but at least she was no longer bouncing. After a few moments, the swearing started up again, much more vehement than the last time, though without the accompanying thrashing, thankfully.

Marinette huffed, turning her attention to the warehouse below, allowing him to get it out of his system. It was very clearly disused and permeated with the smell of dust, but not quite abandoned as she would expect. Various sizes of wooden crates were scattered and stacked all around the stained brick walls along with stacks of empty pallets and cardboard boxes. The center of the large building was a two stories tall square, held up by four concrete pillars fading into darkness and broken windows. The empty space was only broken by the catwalks that were claustrophobically close to the exposed, rusty rafters, and a disused... crane thingy on an I shaped track above the two truck-sized doors to the right. In front of and behind them were what she guessed to be offices with windows that overlooked the main floor and connected to the catwalks through discrete side doors. The bottom floor continued underneath the offices where there were stairs resting against the back wall, though they were barely visible through the deep shadows and pallets of stacked boxes.

Directly underneath them, the cultists had cleared out a large area and hung up bright florescent floodlights that cast stark shadows pointing down towards their try-hard craft project. They had a cheap table set up to the side covered in candles, chalk, various liquids, jars, and bowls of different white powders, which Marinette guessed was salt or bone dust or something of the sort. Oh, and rumbling minifridge full of blood bags. There was that, too.

"-toe-eyed shit monkey fuck-tard motherfucking piece of-" Red Hood was still going, but seemed to be somewhat running out of steam. Or different ways to say the same swear words. Or maybe breath, Marinette wasn't quite sure yet.

Down below, the cultists remained focused on their ritual. Or, at least most of them did. Only about four total were actually doing any drawing or plotting out, with exactly twelve seated a little ways away from the star's points, all meditating. There were three more that Marinette could see, and from what she could tell, they weren't very focused on anything work related, if the one holding the weird, green-haired doll was any indication.

Marinette squinted in concentration, calling on her connection with the Kwami to sharpen her senses and hear past the still-swearing Red Hood.

"-whole box full of the creepy little things." The one holding the doll said, her voice disdainful. I hereby name you Dolly, Marinette thought, eyes flicking to the medium sized crate she had pulled the doll from. It had some kind of toy company logo on it, though not one that she recognized.

"Why would you even go looking through those?" the other cultist asked, somewhat judgmentally. And I hereby name you Judgy.

"I was bored." Dolly replied flatly, inspecting the green haired doll in her hands.

"Aren't you supposed to be watching the sacrifices?" Marinette squinted, tensing slightly despite the flare of burning pain it caused, but the cultists didn't even bother looking in their direction.

"No, that is Mark and Jacob's job." She waved dismissively, not glancing up from the doll. 

"Ah." He paused for a moment, before letting out an exasperated sigh. "Who thought it was a good idea to put those two together?"

"No clue. Better them than me, though. I hate watching sacrifices. They always cry and yell at me, or try to beg their way out. It is so annoying. I'd rather just be bored." Judgy nodded in agreement, shifting his weight and crossing his arms. Marinette couldn't help but scoff quietly. As if.

"Well, at least you get to look through dusty crates and find creepy dolls this time." They both stared at the doll for a few moments as Dolly scoffed.

"Yeah, and that totally makes up for the fact that we are a day early. I had to call out of work for this shit." She said sending a small glare at the cultist with the red trim decorating their burlap 'robe' before looking back at the doll. Dolly turned the thing over in her hands before finding something on the back of it. "Oh hey, there is a switch here." 

Marinette could barely hear a tiny click as the switch flipped and the two went quiet as they waited for it to do something. Dolly shook it, but got no response aside from the sounds of chalk scraping concrete, plastic rulers clattering, the constant drone of the minifridge, and the sound of moving cultists that overlayed the faraway screeches and honks of the city outside the warehouse walls. The two(plus Marinette) waited to see what the doll would do for several more moments to no avail.

"Does it need batteries or something?" Judgy asked. Dolly opened her mouth to reply, but didn't get the chance as the doll's eyes lit up and laughed, long and loud, to the cadence of Judgy's voice. It was unsettling, and very clearly reminiscent of a certain clown. The way it echoed around the warehouse amplified the creepiness. It was somewhat comical how Dolly jumped and scrambled to flip the switch back off as almost everyone stopped what they were doing and turned their heads towards her in unison, though. Or, well, it would be if it weren't for the fact that these people had strung her from the ceiling up and were waiting to sacrifice her to whatever entity they worshipped.

Marinette was jolted out of her concentration by a throat being cleared, and her head snapped towards the source. Beside her, Red Hood was looking in her direction(or at her, it was hard to tell with the helmet) and very clearly no longer swearing.

"You done, now?" She sassed, glancing back at the cultists she was so rudely interrupted from eavesdropping on. Dolly and Judgy were looking sheepish(as much as one could look sheepish, wearing *that*) as most of the others glared at them(presumably). The one with the red trim on their potato sack seemed to be scolding them, and about half of the ones sitting at the star's points weren't looking, continuing to meditate unbothered after the initial interruption. Interesting.

"Yeah. Sorry about that." Red Hood said, sounding somewhat uncomfortable, though it was difficult to tell through the voice changer. Marinette didn't look back at him, scanning the warehouse for the two that were supposed to be watching them.

"No, it's fine. Not everyone can be cool under pressure." She said smoothly, squinting into the deep shadows on the ground floor, sharpening her vision with as much of her magic as she dared, though there weren't any people hiding that she could see. They will be somewhere that they can easily see us, but won't have to pay much attention...

"Excuse me?" He asked, taken aback. Marinette began scanning the catwalks above them, craning her neck and analyzing them for hiding spots. Or rather, for comfortable areas to hang out and pretend to be working. Clearly, these cultists have gotten too used to their routine. Which is a bad sign for all the previous sacrifices, but good for us.

"I mean, it's not every day that you get kidnapped and hung from the ceiling, so your reaction is understandable." She turned her head to the vigilante after determining that the lookouts were not visible, who was looking at her, the feeling of incredulity coming through loud and clear.  "Though I would have expected you to be a bit more used to this kind of thing." She spoke with a note of scorn in her voice. He was the one to lead the cultists outside her apartment in the first place. She was just trying to take out the trash when he flopped over unconscious right in front of her. And Red Hood was unnecessarily heavy. And muscular. And well proportioned. And tall. Is that a tailored leather jacket? It looks well made, even through the chains. He would make a great model, honestly. Broad shoulders, long legs, nice chest- Gah! No! Focus!

"Wh- it-, no I am not used to waking up chained to the ceiling." He said with a growl in his voice that she could almost feel in her chest. Marinette suppressed a slight shiver. Why do warehouses always have drafts?

"Really? Huh." She said absently, looking around the grimy and broken windows that lined the upper wall above the truck doors. Unloading dock, I think it's called?  "I got the impression that Gothamites were unfazed by stuff like this." Beside her, Red Hood scoffed, head turning to look below them and presumably analyze the cultists.

"Being kidnapped, sure. Happens all the time. Sometimes, it's even on purpose. Being tied to the ceiling, not so much." The obnoxious red helmet ticked to the side, eyeing her presumably. "What, is this normal where you come from?" From the small huff she could tell the question was clearly meant to be rhetorical, but Marinette answered it anyway.

"Eh, it's not my first time." she looked down at the ritual circle and 'bored' cultists who were completely ignoring the two, having opened up another box filled with what seemed to be... bags of gumballs? Interesting..  "At least it's just cultists and there is no swimming pool full of boiling soup." Marinette shifted, attempting to regain feeling in her fingers without putting her full weight on her bruised ribs. She had never wished to be transformed more than she did right now. Heck, she would even take the old onesie she used to call a superhero suit. She really did feel like she was about to be split in half. "Though whoever tied this rope did a much worse job than Kung Food." She said with a grimace, rocking from side to side and scooching the rope downwards a little bit. It stung, and the balance was a little more precarious now, and she just knew it was going to be hell on her back and core muscles, but at least it didn't hurt as much, so she took that as a win.

"... please tell me you are joking." Red Hood asked with a note of desperation in his voice. She grimaced, thinking back to the wafting steam and the smell of the since renamed 'Marinette Soup'.

"I wish I was." Marinette said, resigned. The thought was sweet in theory but thinking back, having a soup that you almost got cooked into renamed after you is pretty morbid.

"Jesus fucking Christ." He muttered with what she could only assume was mild distress. She knew the feeling.

"It's fine." She said, stretching out her fingers that wanted nothing more to curl in on themselves from the lack of blood flow. Marinette twisted her wrists and reached her hands in a way that just barely let her nails latch onto the poorly tied knot of the hemp rope. Seriously? This is just sad. I don't even need help from the Kwami to get out of this.

"It is very much fucking not." Red hood said pointedly while, assumedly, pinning her with a glare. Not that I can exactly go anywhere yet, anyway.

"I would shrug if I could, but as you can see, I am physically disinclined to do so." She looked at him with a sardonic smile, vaguely gesturing with her head at their general predicament. Eyes unfocusing, she concentrated on the feeling of the rope latched underneath her fingernails and started pulling at it.

"Could you be any more nonchalant about this? That is supposed to be my job." The deadpan response so monotone it sounded nearly robotic through the voice changer caused her to let out a small huff of a laugh. Ow, that hurt. Come on, you stupid rope, work with me here!

"Would you rather I be freaking out, screaming and crying about how we are going to die tragically?" She asked, pulling a face as one of her hands started cramping from the curled position. Ow ow ow ow-

"Absolutely not." Hood said without hesitation. So close... YES!

"Then I don't see what you have to be complaining about here." Marinette smiled triumphantly as she finally felt the rope around her wrists loosen, stretching the discomfort away as much as she could. Red Hood was silent for several long moments as she took in a few deep breaths, attempting to shake the few strands of hair that had escaped her high bun out of her face. Okay, wrists are free. Next are the ankles, then I can slip out of the rope and climb up onto the catwalk without falling to my death/serious injury in the process. Easy peasy. I just need to-

"You are something else, you know that?" He said in a tone that she didn't quite know how to name, distorted as it was. Marinette paused before she could start to move onto the next step, looking into the expressionless helmet of Red Hood that somehow still failed to hide that she had his full attention. She blinked several times, confused. "I don't think I have ever seen such a pretty smile, especially not in a situation like this." He clarified. Marinette couldn't stop the pink rising to her cheeks, and she had absolutely no idea what to do about the sudden flutter in her chest, but what she did know was that this hot vigilante/crime-lord had just(maybe?) given her what sounded like a compliment, and she needed to say something.

"Why thank you. You aren't too shabby yourself." Marinette said, realizing as soon as the words left her that her automatic response might have not made sense.

"... Thanks?" Red Hood said, tilting his head slightly. And then Marinette opened her stupid, stupid face hole.

"I mean- you have quite the impressive mouth on you." She said, followed by a long moment of silence as he stared at her. "WAIT- NO! I didn't mean that! I meant- well- I didn't not meant that, I'm sure your mouth is just fine- but not like fine fine, or it could be, I'm not saying it isn't, it's just with the whole bucket-head thing I can't tell either way so like- I'm not commenting on how nice your mouth is- I just- What I am trying to say is that your ability to use your mouth is what is impressive." The vigilante made a faint choking noise, and Marinette had approximately the half a second it took for her to register what she just said before wishing that she could cataclysm herself in the face. "NO! WAIT! NO! That's not what I meant! It was- talking- using mouth, but not like-" she started sputtering, words tumbling out of her without control, and the faint choking noise coming from Red Hood turned into full blown coughing.  "SWEAR WORDS!" She finally shouted, face bright red and a shrill note in her panicked voice echoing faintly through the warehouse. None of the cultists so much as looked up, clearly ignoring them, for which she was thankful. Oh my Kwami, kill me. Please. Right now. Strike me down without remorse.

Red Hood was gasping for air beside her in between wheezing laughter and coughs that rattled the catwalk above. Marinette honestly couldn't remember a time she had ever been more embarrassed. Not even in Lycée. Honestly, if Hawkmoth were still around, she might be in danger of being akumatized out of pure embarrassment. A high pitched whine escaped from the back of her throat as she glared at the vigilante, trying to hide her misery behind anger.

"Don't laugh at me!" She tried to sound intimidating, but it came out more petulant.

"Fuckin'," he said in between wheezes, "swear words!" If he were standing, rather than hanging, Red Hood would undoubtably be doubled over in laughter. As it was, he was curled up in the air in the shape of an unnecessarily beefy shrimp. Marinette was just thankful that he wasn't looking at her, or she might just explode. In an effort to distract herself, she quickly kicked her legs up behind her and began untying the rope around her ankles, putting her focus into remaining balanced rather than the laughter beside her. Unfortunately, it only took a few seconds and a couple precarious wobbles to free her legs, leaving the loop around her torso and the two free strands in her hand. Oh, and the Red Hood who was taking in deep breaths like it was an Olympic sport.

"I will fight you." She said, something burning in her chest as she glared at him.

"You're adorable." he said, getting his laughter under control.

"I will fight you, and I will win." Her scowl deepened as she glared into the lenses of his helmet.

"I appreciate the threat," he quipped back, voice filled with mirth, "but no offense, you look about as dangerous as a feather duster." Face still bright red and heart still pounding painfully, Marinette's eyes narrowed. Then, she smiled sweetly.

"I take full offense and I will make you eat those words." She said with the full confidence of a Ladybug.

"Uh huh. And how exactly are you going to do that?" Hood said teasingly, sounding as if he were just entertaining her. Her only response was to grin toothily, tip forward, and then fall.

Marinette allowed the precarious balance she had carefully kept for the past however-long it had been to fail and slide through the single loop of rope. The friction of the rough hemp fibers burned as it scraped along her arms, but it was worth it to hear his panicked gasp and the rattle of chains as her bent knees caught the rope(ow- that'll bruise), the only thing keeping her from plummeting two stories. She swung back and forth a couple times, building momentum as she allowed her muscles to relax for the first time since she got kidnapped and Red Hood hissed out something unintelligible from above her. With one last swing and a flex of her poor, abused core muscles, she sat up and grabbed the rope, climbing her way onto the catwalk with little trouble. She let out a small sigh of relief at finally having semi-solid ground underneath her feet. She hasn't exactly been afraid of heights since before her time as a superhero, but being in the air for so long get stressful, especially without her transformation.

"What the hell were you thinking- Are you okay?!" He asked somewhat frantically, the catwalk under her feet swaying as he twisted in an attempt to look up at her. No. That fucking hurt. She smiled before replying cheerfully.

"Of course I am! What, worried for my little feather duster arms?" She dropped the two rope pieces on the catwalk and then reached up to undo her bun which had become tragically loose from the kidnapping.

"Oh, ha ha." he muttered with a sigh of mild relief, "Point made. Okay, so it looks like there is an exit near the stairs which you can go through those offices to get to. It is really dark, so if you are careful and stick to the shadows, you should be able to get out and find a way to call Commissioner Gordon and tell him to-"

"Nope." She interrupted curtly, holding her hair-tie in between her teeth and running her fingers through her hair a couple times.

"-What?" Red Hood asked, tensing. Marinette grabbed the hair-tie before responding.

"I said no, I am not going to do that." She took a deep breath, shaking her head side to side to test the security of her new high ponytail. Good enough. "First of all, you weren't awake when they brought us in here, but those doors sound like hell itself trying to escape into the mortal realm via rusty hinges, meaning there is no way that I can get out without being noticed." Hood grunted disgruntledly, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Marinette took the opportunity too look over everything from this new vantage point, now just barely able to see into the dirty windows of the offices behind them, one of which had faint light coming from within.

"There are other doors and windows, you could find a way out." he said pointedly, head turning briefly to glance at the rope she had been hanging from previously. She couldn't quite see any movement in them, but the farthest one had a broken window, so she could only assume that the office with the light was where Jacob and Mark were.

"Second of all," she continued, "there are two cultists who are meant to be watching us, and no matter how negligent they are, they still managed to catch you. From what I have overheard, they have done this enough to have a solid routine, so they can't be all stupid. If I were to leave, we would only have a limited amount of time before they noticed." Down below, Dolly and Judgy seemed to have gotten bored of looking through crates and were both hovering over a phone while leaning against the foldout table, watching something. The third cultist that appeared to be on watch had tucked themself into a dark corner and seemed to be taking a nap against a pillar. Perfect, let's hope they stay like that.

"You would still have time to get away and call for help. The streets are a maze, they wouldn't be able to find you once you got away." Red Hood said with a light growl. Marinette could feel the catwalk move underfoot as he shifted slightly, swaying back and forth like a cranky pendulum. Her eyes flicked to each of the cultists down below, all looking consumed by their respective tasks.

"Yes, however, the chances of them just continuing with their ritual and ignoring the missing sacrifice are not great. They could panic and scatter, rush through and sacrifice you with a half done ritual, or any other not great outcome. So again, a time limit. Which brings me to point number three," She said, holing up three fingers. "We are currently in the warehouse district, which is a forever-and-a-mile walk away from anywhere I could find someone willing to lend me a phone. Even if I were to walk right out of here and they don't notice, they would have plenty of time to finish up their evil scheme and get the heck out of dodge before help arrives."

"Drive, then." Hood shot back. Marinette held back a wince, her eye twitching instead, thinking about the last time she drove a car. Or, tried to drive a car.

Marinette and Grandma Gina looked into the turbulent lake, drenched and covered in mud, listening to the slowly approaching sirens, smelling of burnt rubber and smoke. The previous panic fueled screaming echoed in her ears now that it was silent. Her Nona turned to her, pale and somewhat shaky, but with a smile on her face.

"I won't tell your parents if you don't."

"Deal."

"Do I look like I know how to hotwire a car? Or how to pick pocket someone's keys?" She asked rhetorically, already knowing what he thought she looked like. 'Adorable.' 

I'll show him 'Adorable.'

"Then," he said slowly, posture wary and tone frustrated, "What exactly are you going to do?"

"I already told you." Marinette replied, leaning down and looking directly into the glowing eyes of the Red Hood's helmet with a smile, "I am going to make you eat your words." Marinette didn't allow him to respond, standing in one swift motion and walking quietly across the rickety metal and towards the open archway of the offices behind them. 

Time to get to work.

Marinette was careful to keep her steps light an even, hand ghosting over the steel cable railing that ran along the side as she made her way towards the office with the intact, if filthy, window. She was fairly confident that was where the two cultists that were meant to be watching them, Mark and Jacob from what Dolly said, were hiding based off of process of elimination. Once she took them out, she could take her time with the rest since it will be less likely that they will notice her missing. With how adamant these cultists were about not looking up, she could almost think they were video game characters. The time she had spent hanging from that damn rope wasn't completely wasted, as she was able to put together the beginnings of a plan for how to do that without outing her superhero abilities or skills. Sure, what she had said to Red Hood wasn't *completely* truthful, as she was certain she could find a phone and call for help in ten minutes if she really wanted to, but...

"-no offense, you look about as dangerous as a feather duster."

That's not happening. She had something to prove.

Okay, so steps. She thought as she reached the wall of the office and creeping towards the window in a crouch, trusting the darkness and the cultists inattentiveness to hide her. First, take out the lookouts.

Marinette looked over her shoulder and out into the shadowed building, finding the darkest place from the perspective of the window and shifting herself into that space before slowly lifting her eyes over the dusty window ledge. Her gaze flicked quickly through the room, dimly lit by a small camping lantern on an old desk situated just in front of the door with a chair on either side. On the opposite wall was a couch where the two cultists were-

Marinette jerked downwards, flattening herself against the filthy brick wall with a newly bright red face. That was a lot of- Where did they get the- Okay! Not thinking about that! That's fine. This is fine.

…

"At least they won't notice I'm missing..." She took in several deep breaths, staring intently at the patterns of rust on the catwalk's railing. 

"I am never going to unsee that."

After a few long moments, Marinette crept her way around the edge of the office, through the arch and into the hallway. The door to the office the cultists were in was closed, *thank the Kwami*, but the empty one was cracked open. The stairs downward were straight ahead, swathed in darkness and shadows. There was less echo, and it was in general quieter in the hallway except for faint- not thinking about it. 

"Step one, focus on step one." She whispered to herself, straightening up and slipping through the cracked door into the empty office, careful not to catch her clothes on the door handle. This office wasn't as empty as the other one, and seemed to be much more dusty, though that might be attributed to the broken window more than anything. There was a desk in this one as well, though it was pushed against the wall on the far side with paper scattered all over the floor on front of it. Instead of a couch(Not thinking about it), this one had a stack of chairs, a duffle bag, and a hefty looking toolbox. Dumped dead center in the room was a frankly ridiculous pile of guns, knives, and what looked like a miniature version of a harpoon. In a much smaller pile next to it was her purse.

"Tikki!" She whisper-shouted, diving forward and scooping up the bag.

"Marinette!" the small Kwami excitedly yelled back, muffled through the fabric. Once it was opened, she whizzed through the air to hug her holder's cheek.

"Are you okay? Did anyone see you? It's not another Chloe situation, is it?" She blabbed with worry until the Kwami pulled back and smiled reassuringly.

"No. I'm okay, no one saw me." Marinette let out a sigh of relief, slouching where she stood. "Are you okay, Marinette?"

"A little bruised, but fine." She replied, examining her arms for a moment to see what was going to be a line of ugly bruises and some serious rope burn, before turning back to her friend with manic energy. "But, Tikki, I have been challenged!"

"Challenged?" She echoed with a tilt of her head and a sparkle in her eye.

"Red Hood thinks that I am 'as dangerous as a feather duster' which is frankly ridiculous- just because I am small does not mean I am not mighty!" Marinette said with a pout and a defiantly raised fist, to which Tikki giggled.

"So what are you going to do to meet this challenge?" the little goddess asked, floating higher in excitement. In response, Marinette bounced on the balls of her feet with a near feral grin.

"Here's the plan-!"

"Hey, Oracle, have you heard anything from Hood tonight?" Nightwing asked as he swung between two of Bludhaven's buildings and away from a foiled break-in. He was still catching his breath from the quick but brutal fight. He managed to leave unscathed for the most part, barring one lucky hit the woman with a crowbar managed to get on his bicep that left a shallow, if jagged, gash and was already forming a nasty bruise. It was going to make his night job rather unpleasant the next week or so, which wasn't great, seeing as he and Red Hood were meant to bust up a cult that had had been causing trouble tomorrow.

"Last I herd from him, he was chasing you through the house with a serving plate." Came Oracle's quick reply, the sound of clacking keys hiding under her flippant and amused voice. Nightwing rolled his eyes with a fond smile as he alighted upon the edge of a building, taking a moment to sit down and rest.

"Oh, har har. He was supposed to be doing recon for our bust tomorrow, I want to make sure he hasn't gotten himself in trouble." He said, settling down and kicking a leg out over the edge of the roof.

"From what I heard," Red Robin chimed in, "There was no 'our' about it. Hood made it very clear that he was going to go after them without you."

"Mhm," Oracle hummed in agreement, "I distinctly remember something being said about 'forsaken bonds of siblinghood' and that you are 'beyond dead' to him." Nightwing remembered that. He had been so excited at Jason actually referring to them as family out loud that he hadn't really paid much attention to what was actually said beyond that until afterwards, though.

"Oh, please. He was just cranky because he was too slow and I got the last of Agent A's cookies." Nightwing said with an eye roll. "He wouldn't go after a dangerous cult by himself just because of that."

"Are you sure about that? This is Hood we are talking about." Red Robin said skeptically. Nightwing opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off.

"Chatter on comms." Came Batman's gruff voice, silencing everyone. "Oracle, check in with Hood."

"Already done. His comm is off and all of his trackers are showing that he is in his safehouse on the border of the Narrows." She replied promptly, there was a pause as more keys clacked in the background.

"His security system is armed, too, with a window having been opened and closed at around eight forty-seven pm and no activity since." The silence between them was loud as the vigilantes digested the information.

"I'm on my way." Nightwing said gravely as he sprung up from his spot and shot his grapple gun in the direction of his motorcycle.

"Enroute." Batman grunted over the sound of revving engine.

"I'll try and track down his location." Oracle said, her amusement from before gone.

After a few seconds, Red robin chimed in with a deadpan voice.

"Even after all these years, you still underestimate the pettiness of this family."

Nightwing's sigh was lost to the buffeting wind as he swung down to the streets below.

Locking the two lookouts in the office was probably the easiest step of any plan that Marinette has had in years, being able to check that off after simply sliding a chair underneath the handle in order to lock the two inside. Thank all the Kwami I don't actually have to go in there and interrupt whatever it is they are doing... Still not thinking about it!

The next step, while still relatively simple, wasn't going to be nearly as easy.

Step One: Take out the lookouts, Check. Step Two: Gather Supplies.

Which means finding supplies, which means sneaking past the 19 remaining cultists on the main floor without being caught or seen. Simple as can be, but not exactly easy. Add in pilfering through and opening the many crates, some right next to the main area for the cultists? Not easy in the slightest. Thankfully, Marinette wasn't exactly someone to give up that quickly, and she wasn't alone.

There was a quick glimmer of light that burst through the dim room and a tingling feeling in her fingers as the summoning spell completed, burning up the small sticky note she had drawn on and replacing it with the inert foxtail pendant, dark orange fading to a white tip separated by five segments, hanging off of a delicate gold chain. As she pulled on the necklace however, its appearance changed to be purely silver with the segments disappearing, the bright glow of another Kwami appearing before her flashing through the shadows.

"Guardian." the Kwami greeted, bowing respectfully in the air before looking around with his bright purple eyes, taking in the dirty office.

"Hello Trixx." Marinette responded with a smirk, "Ready to cause some mischief?" The Kwami's ears perked up as he smiled brightly.

"I always am, Guardian! What did you have in mind?" He responded eagerly, following Marinette as she crept to the cracked office window.

"Okay, down there are nineteen cultists who we need to take down before they manage to activate their ritual and sacrifice the vigilante who I got captured with." she began, pointing out the shifting shapes moving through the harsh brightness of the floodlights and Red Hood, who was mostly obscured by the rusty catwalks and shadows. "We are going to need to get them all at once, or else we will be caught, and I can't transform without revealing my identity."

"I am happy to lend my Illusions to keep you hidden from their senses until it is time to pounce!" Trixx said eagerly, twirling around in the air, illusory sparks dancing in between his paws.

"Thanks Trixx, but I will be channeling your magic this time, we don't want another dancing Eifel Tower incident." The Kwami pouted, but agreed, diving into the inside of her jacket and joining Tikki in the small pocket dimension sewn in there. Marinette took in a fortifying breath, strengthening her connection to the two Kwami and feeling the magic course through her. She *probably* pull this off without it, but there was no way that she was going to let any opportunity pass her by. She promised Red Hood that he would eat his words, and she was going to serve them to him on a silver platter. With a final exhale, she turned away from the window and went to examine what she had in the room that she could use.

The first thing she checked were the drawers of the desk, pulling them open slowly to make as little noise as possible, despite the rusty ball bearings. It was well worth it too, for the sight that greeted her.

"Yes!" she exclaimed in a whisper, pulling out one of the three and a half rolls of duct tape and an unopened reel of fishing line, ideas already springing to mind. "This couldn't be more perfect!" she whispered with a grin, looking in the remaining drawers. Aside from the various bits of paper, she pulled out a container of thumbtacks and paperclips, six carabiner clips(two of them being broken), an unopened packet of yellow sticky-notes(she already had some light pink ones in her purse, but she wasn't going to pass up more), and an oily can of WD-40.

At the opposite end of the room, were the duffle bag and the toolbox, which aside from the pile of weapons that she assumed to be Red Hood's, seemed to be the only other potentially useful things here. Marinette started with the toolbox, finding a couple of hammers, a mallet, a huge red monkey wrench, some screwdrivers, a jar of assorted rusty screws and nails, and a thing of Allen wrenches. Out of everything, she only took the monkey wrench and set it with the other useful objects on the desk. Next was the duffle bag, which when she opened it, revealed itself to be full of a bunch of other duffle bags.

"Huh..." she muttered, staring at it and running her fingers along the hefty cloth. It's a good thing that it is cloth, and not plastic. Though this does feel like polyester, it won't have that crinkly sound whenever it is moved, so I can use it to transport things from the crates downstairs. With a definitive nod to herself she stood, dumping the extra bags on the desk and pulling the now empty bag's strap over her shoulder.

"Okay, here we go!" she whispered to herself before slipping out of the room and towards the dark stairs.

Jason didn't know whether to be amused, pissed, or suspicious, so for the moment he was settled decidedly on 'bewildered'.

The cult had been somewhat out of the ordinary from the beginning. The string of disappearances that led to him finding them were, sadly, not too uncommon. The cult aspect of it however, was a bit of a shakeup from the usual human trafficking, territory disputes, or straight up murder cases they normally take on. Just different enough to make it interesting. What *hadn't* been ordinary was the glowing tranquilizer darts that could go through his Bat-approved armor. Bruce was not going to be happy about that when he found out. Hell, Jason wasn't happy about it now.

All of his memories from that point on were fuzzy in that familiar way that could only be caused by drugs, but he remembers getting away. At least, he thinks he remembers getting away, but clearly he didn't seeing as he woke up dangling from the ceiling next to some tiny, blue-haired French woman.

A tiny, blue-haired French woman who Jason was stuck watching sneak around the shadowed edges of some warehouse with a duffle bag slung over her shoulder and a smile on her face, surrounded by murderous cultists.

He was surprised with the skill she moved around with. Despite her confidence, he had expected her to get caught near immediately, and was mentally preparing himself for a whole slew of situations that could arise from that inevitability. But, much to his chagrin, she practically waltzed right past the cultists without so much as a curious head turn in her direction. Her style of stealth was much different than what he was accustomed to. She didn't meld into the shadows like the bats did, but she moved silently and with a confident sort of grace, using her surroundings to their fullest. Her path around the edges were calculated, he could tell, keeping obstructions in between her and the cultists as much as possible. She even climbed over and across a few crates to stay out of the peripheral of the two occupied with their phones, keeping her weight on the corners and junctions to avoid making noise or breaking the old wooden boards. It was something that Jason himself wouldn't have been able to do(not that he would need to in the first place), and it spoke of either years of practice sneaking around, or a lot of talent. All in all, he couldn't help but be grudgingly impressed. Not to mention suspicious.

She was clearly more experienced in these situations than he first thought, even including that concerning comment about some ridiculous food based(and possibly cannibalistic, which is a red flag for multiple reasons) villain she mentioned, and the damn Bat Patented Paranoia that Bruce managed to instill in every one of his wards was coming to light. Who was she? Is she a threat? An ally? Or just some random girl with more skills than sense? He didn't know and that was bothering him, so he watched.

It's not like I can do much else.

And he had tried. Despite how easily she had slipped through the rope they tied her with and climbed up with a strength and fluidity unexpected from her tiny frame, Jason remained stuck in his swaddle of chains. After searching for his hidden weapons when he had first woke up and finding them missing, he had reluctantly reached for his backup comm, before remembering the small argument with Dick he had that led him to stupidly spitefully take on this cult by himself in the first place, as well as leaving his comm and trackers in a safehouse along with a rather heartfelt 'fuck you' note. So, there was no way for him to get out, no way to call for his fam- the bats. His whole escape rested on the shoulders of the four-foot-tall-at-best, blue-haired girl with a smile too carefree for Gotham's rough edges and baked-in soot. The girl who was currently carrying around an empty duffle bag doing god knows what as she somehow silently pried open a large crate with confident motions and said mischievous grin, as if there wasn't a cult of psychos one mistake away from catching her.

No, he wasn't worried about her. He was frustrated that he was currently damseled. There is a difference, Dick.

"I already told you. I am going to make you eat your words." 

And... maybe a little intrigued.

Though, despite his years of vigilante experience, time on the streets, growing up in Wayne manor, and his training with the League of Assassins, he had absolutely no fucking idea what she was going to do with a duffle bag full of Harley Quinn inspired rubber chickens.

It took nearly all of Marinette's willpower not to giggle with glee when she found the crates of rubber chickens in her search for the Joker-inspired dolls(Which, seriously, who's idea even was that??). They were about three crates full that she could identify, all with the same logo as the boxes full of creepy-laughing-fake-clown-things and they were all fortunately placed near-ish to the opposite staircase that she came down from. This side of the warehouse was more crowded, mostly covered in pallets of cardboard boxes and some crates interspersed throughout.

This is perfect!

It took her a few trips and a couple close calls to get enough of the rubber chickens up to the office without accidentally setting them off, but thankfully she didn't have to sneak around the main floor for it, using the catwalks above instead. Admittedly, she used a bit of Luck to avoid the overly creaky paths and get away with it, but no one else needs to know that. Gathering up the neon-green-haired-monstrosities was quicker since she already knew where they were, but a tad more difficult seeing as the boxes were just behind and to the side of Judgy and Dolly(She could practically feel Red Hood's stress while she was doing that). For that, she called on more of Trixx's power to stay as silent as possible. Next, she went though the boxes farthest from the cultists, sifting through them quickly and making several trips up to her designated storage office.

Step four of The Plan had gained some wonderful additions in the form of metal BB-gun pellets, jacks, bouncy balls, and the gumballs that she had seen the cultists looking at as well, but she was getting ahead of herself.

There was one thing that she almost passed up, though, but the smallest of tugs from her Luck caused her to take a second look.

And by the Kwami, is she glad she did.

If the abundance of warnings on the package hadn't peaked her interest, the bold lettered label she read afterward sure did.

'FAST ACTING, WATER ACTIVATED SUPER GLUE POWDER'

"Hehehehehehe" Marinette couldn't help but giggle near breathlessly from where she crouched, shrouded in the darkness of the stairs, holding onto the sturdy plastic container with an evil grin.

Bruce loved his kids, he really did.

If he for some reason, in some way, ever lost all of his memories or sense of self, he would remember that. If there were nothing else left of him, be it from mind control, magic, head trauma, or for whatever reason, having to sell his soul to some malicious entity, all it would take is just looking at one of them and he would know.

Bruce loved his kids.

He loved them when it wasn't easy. Through all the fights, be them together against criminals and supervillains, or against each other with harsh words and silent treatments. Through moral differences, his failures and communication issues. He loved them when it was stressful. Through all the injuries and sickness, tough nights on patrol, prank wars that cost him thousands of dollars in repairs or teasing that ends in brawls over the dining table. He loved them when it was easy, too. Family dinners, game nights, public outings, or just working quietly in the same space.

Bruce loved his kids, and wouldn't trade them for anything.

But sometimes?

Sometimes he really wished he could give them back.

"This is Red Hood speaking, bringing you your top of the hour weather report," came the all too glib sounding voice from the speakers mounted in the corners of the warmly lit room. "Be careful out there tonight folks, because it looks like the clouds are heavy with betrayal and the threat of tyrannical and patronizing vigilantes!" The fake newscaster voice called out, echoing around the bare off-white walls that were splashed with black paint. Some were splotches or droplets, abstract Rorschach-esque compositions surrounded by messy and dripping quotes. The section directly opposite the window where he stood read 'Et tu, brute?', surrounded by twenty-seven kitchen knives, stabbed into the drywall.

"Condescension is an epidemic, easily spread through contact of those near you, so he careful to keep limited contact as to not fall prey to it's effects," Hood's voice spoke, glee very clear in his tone. Next to the circle of knives there were two more quotes on either side; 'Stab the body and it heals, but injure the heart and the wound lasts a lifetime', and 'For there to be betrayal, there would have to have been trust first.' The second quote he recognized to be from the hunger games, though Bruce couldn't quite pinpoint the origins of first.

"If you are hearing this, you clearly didn't take my message to leave well enough alone seriously," the newscaster voice dropped, leaving Red Hood's sounding all too proud of himself. "To whom it may concern; consider all future collaborations null and voided, you are all dead to me, I never had a family, yada yada, etcetera etcetera. Any who enter my territory are personally liable for any and all actions or damages against them, including but not limited to inconveniences and humiliation via glitter, slime, paint, and dye. Please vacate the premises or suffer the consequences. Have a pleasant day."

"Oh, and tell Nightwing that he is a little bitch."

Bruce spent several moments to just stand in the empty apartment, staring at the pile of trackers on the table laid out in the shape of a middle finger. He sighed.

I love my kids.

Step two of Marinette's plan was coming together well, and she was close to moving on to the next phase.

The good part of hanging from the ceiling for longer than was even mildly comfortable was that she could see a lot with the bird's eye view. Many parts of her plan had gaps when she first started out, since she didn't know all of the materials available to her, but step two fixed that quite easily.

If there was one thing that Marinette had learned from her years as a Superheroine, especially one who fought a villain that preyed on people's emotions, it was how people reacted to sudden danger. Adrenaline does funny things to a person, taking perfectly rational thought and turning it into blind action. Fight or flight is a strong, instinctual reaction for all kinds of creatures, not just humans. When there is nowhere to run? You fight. When there is nothing to fight? You run. And when you run, what is it that you look for?

Step One: Neutralize Lookouts, Check. Step Two: Gather Supplies, Check(mostly). Step Three: The Path of Least Resistance.

There are four main exits and nineteen total cultists on the main floor. Two normal doors on each side underneath the offices that lead out of the building, and two large truck doors. With no real way to predict exactly who would go where, she has to assume that the best case scenario is each door having four or five cultists exit through them, and her traps being able to take out all of them at that number. Realistically, that isn't feasible. It could be all of them go through the same path, and most escape, or it could be that they scatter so far, they bypass the majority of her traps, leaving all of her work to be for naught. With how things were now, there were too many variables, too many obstacles, and too many unknowns. 

But this was Marinette. This was Ladybug. And it was time to do what a Ladybug does best; even the odds.

Marinette crouched on one of the catwalks that was hung in the direct center of the warehouse, just to the side of the cultists' ritual, her small travel sketchbook in hand. She was drawing out her plan and doing her best to ignore the prickling feeling of Red Hood's eyes on her as she marked out the best way to do this.

Two pillars on either side of the circle with the table and minifridge set nearest to the one towards the back side of the warehouse. The other one is down and to the side of the right most truck door, giving the least amount of room for error. To the left, further out and underneath the offices is the door we came in from, and it is the most likely exit that they would choose, seeing as it is at least marginally familiar, easier to open than the truck doors, and second closest. On the opposite side of the warehouse is the other normal door, which has the benefit of being in the darkest section of the warehouse and having a much longer path to set traps up on, but less likely to be chosen...

She leaned forward against the thin railing of the catwalk, staring down at the activity below and tapping her pencil against her chin as she thought. She heard a rattle of chains and couldn't help but lift her gaze to look at the source. The faintly glowing eyes of Red Hood's helmet stared at her intently from where he hung. She smirked at him, giving a little wave with her fingers, before an idea came to her and she looked back to the rightmost truck door.

If I block that one off and make a longer curved path from the side of the circle, it gives more of a chance to take out a few on the path. I could... Yes, that'll work.

Marinette quickly doodled a whole bunch of little boxes on her paper.

Then I could use the fishing line here and here, then all of the jacks, pellets, gum and bouncy balls on this side, then- hmm...

She looked up with narrowed eyes, examining all of the rafters and catwalks above where she was planning for the paths to go. Then smiled. That would work perfectly. Within another minute or so her sketches were finished and she stood, feeling giddy to see the end results of her plan. Before turning back to head down she looked again at Red Hood's intense stare, and gave him a wink.

Marinette spent the next half an hour moving boxes from one pile to another, shifting crates, and pushing pallets to create solid looking barriers, all while trying to remain as silent as possible, and there had only been a couple hiccups along the way. Along with a couple interesting discoveries. The first had been while she was creating the longest path, creating a good number of empty pallets for one of her planned traps.

Marinette had stopped as she brushed up against a solid feeling thing wrapped in plastic, and took a moment to examine the pallet next to her. It was hard to see in the dark and with the little light there was reflecting harshly off of the plastic wrap, so it took her a few seconds to figure out what it was she was looking at. Two adjacent pallets stacked taller than she was(Not that that was difficult, but good luck to whomever mentioned it cough cough Red Hood), completely made up of heavy paint cans. Marinette looked around, noticing that the path she had been making came directly toward the paint can pallets. There was no way in hell that she would be able to move them out of the way, let alone without being noticed, but... She looked up at the catwalk directly above, to the sides where she could curve the path around the bend and at the conveniently placed pillar, and back at the straight stretch of space she had been making. She smiled as another trap added itself to her list.

The second discovery was while she was clearing the shorter pathway towards rightmost door. To counteract the small amount of distance she had to work with, she decided to split this one in half with what was essentially an island of boxes that tapered off just before the doors. She was doing the shorter path first, despite it being closer to the cultists, because where the longer path was meant to go was filled with heavy crates of what she thinks are car parts which, for some reason, smelled faintly like smoke. Add the fact that Nappy was napping against the pillar over there, she didn't want to risk getting found this early. Needless to say, she was working extra hard to make as little sound as possible.

Marinette's heart had leapt into her throat when something shifted under her foot with a faint metal clank sound, very clearly not the solid concrete ground she had been expecting. Her head snapped up as she froze, straining her ears and glancing around her hidden spot in the shadows to determine if anyone heard. She was still for several long moments, sounds of the cultists washing over her, before determining that it was safe. With careful movements and a momentarily stronger draw on Trixx's power, she moved back slowly. Looking down, she found a slightly warped metal plate that was about the same size as her with a handle in one side. Curiously, she shifted the box she had been moving out of the way and gently pulled the metal plate up.

A shadowed abyss. An all consuming void. A dark, dank hole.

It was a maintenance tunnel, right in the middle of her path.

Marinette gently set the metal covering back down, mind racing. What could she do with this? It was much too good of an opportunity to pass up, and thankfully, she had an idea. Near the back of the warehouse, she could remember seeing a pile of cloth tarps. She could use those if she could just find something stronger than the fishing line...

An idea popped into her head. Very likely a bad idea but... well, she's sure Red Hood couldn't be too mad about her taking apart his weird harpoon-gun if it is to save him from being sacrificed, right? He probably has extras anyway.

She glanced up at the vigilante, then went back to moving boxes with a quiet snicker.

Jason still had no fucking idea what this woman was doing, and it was stressing him the fuck out. His escape rested solely on the shoulders of a woman playing high stakes ring-around-the-cultist instead of calling the cops like any sane person would do!

Jason wasn't as stupid to think that she couldn't have found a phone like she claimed. In face, he was certain she already had one in her purse, which, had to be some kind of pocket dimension to fit all that shit inside of it. Why would someone carry around a whole ass sketchbook and unopened roll of fishing line of all things?

(Jason was ignoring the fact that he knew several people who would, could, and have carried around that and much weirder. In all honesty, he just wanted something to be annoyed about. It was cathartic.)

It had been about an hour or so since she practically skipped her way out of being kidnapped like it was no big deal, and he had spent it with nothing to do but become more appalled and concerned by the second. If it weren't for the fact that he was watching this happen live and in the flesh, he wouldn't believe some of the stuff she managed to get away with. 

The blue-haired woman(he really needed to find out her name) had nearly gotten herself caught already. Not by climbing up one of the support pillars like a spider which the ones on watch missed by conveniently turning away from at the right moment, or making a frankly ridiculously sized pile of boxes in front of the truck door which the sound of was drowned out by the fridge seemingly having a mechanical seizure, or even moving a crate right fucking behind two of the cultists who somehow didn't notice because of a supposedly funny video on their phones! No, she almost got caught by a fucking sneeze.

She had been picking up some pile of cloth from a dark corner that she was undoubtedly going to use for some weird-ass thing that would make perfect sense well after he finally managed to finally get the fuck down and out of this god damned warehouse. But, from his vantage point, Jason could see that in getting so comfortable moving around in enemy territory(helped by the fact that she must be the luckiest person in Gotham. Seriously, share some of that with the rest of us, would ya?) the blue-haired woman had gotten complacent.

He winced as the fabric slipped from her fingers and sent a massive cloud of dust right into her face. Both he and the woman tensed as a long moment passed, Jason in anxiousness, while the woman seemed to be winding up, holding her hands tightly over her face. Then, she sneezed, full body convulsing and letting out a squeak that even he could hear from his vantage point.

…that was adorable.

One of the cultists blow looked of from their phone and looked in the direction of the noise, then asked their partner something.

Oh shit-

"Hey, did you hear squeaking?" Dolly asked, head raising from where she was hunched over her phone. Marinette felt panic rising as she dropped into a crouch as fast as she could, pressing her side into the heavy crate beside her, holding her nose and blinking through watery eyes, the dust making her entire face feel as if it were being attacked by tiny, sword-wielding specks.

"No? What are you talking about?" Judgy responded, looking up from his phone, pausing some video that she could faintly hear playing through their earbuds. Marinette's sinuses stung and eyes watered as she took deep breaths through her mouth, full body seizing several times with the force of holding back the sneezes. She made as little noise as possible, slowly crawling around the edge of a box to be out of sight of the cultists. Owowowow, my everything-

"Dude, are you deaf? That sounded like a mouse getting stepped on."

"Why do you even know what that sounds like?"

"I had cats as a kid."

Taking one hand away from her face, she pressed it to the ground to help her do an awkward crab walk further down the line of pallets to a mostly empty one that lead to an enclosed area where she could die in peace.

"So you've stepped on a mouse before?"

"No I- just- shut up and come check it out with me."

"Hell no, I don't want to see any mice. They're like, the size of rabbits in this city."

"Those are rats you fucking dumbass-"

Marinette crouched next to the pallet, taking more careful deep breaths and wiping the tears from her eyes. She watched carefully from her place in the shadows until they were both fully turned away. She was mostly obstructed by boxes but not willing to risk it. After what felt like an eternity, but was likely just twenty seconds or so, her chance came in the form of Dolly opening a box. She practically dove through the gap left for her and curled up on the floor for a while, recovering her senses as Dolly and Judgy talked. Marinette was only half paying attention, lamenting the existence of dust and wallowing until her half-formed bruises stopped stinging, when the shifting of cardboard and something Judgy said caught her attention.

"That is an unholy amount of glitter."

Marinette paused, a grin pressing against her hands.

I take it back. Worth it.

Marinette can't say that she had ever been particularly talented at sneaking around. It just never came naturally to her. Disguises and hiding in plain sight? That's just like an extension of sewing or acting, easy peasy. Hiding? Sure, she's great at picking the right spot and fitting in tiny spaces, it's just an extension of luck and strategy. Sneaking? That's a different story all together.

That isn't to say that she is bad at sneaking, she's just not talented at it. It means that every bit of skill she has was hard earned through extreme situations and years of practice. Being a superhero made her learn a lot of things, sink or swim style, with no safety net to fall back on. So, despite how... unusual and high stakes this situation is, Marinette isn't quite out of her depth yet.

That's what she told herself at least, standing fully upright with a wooden pallet hanging from her shoulders as she walked with it to a dark corner of the warehouse where another fifteen wooden pallets lay stacked, silently begging the universe that none of the cultists look over at this exact spot. Of course, she planned for this particular trap to be set up just before the leftmost exit, meaning she was as far from the cultists as she could be and had many obstacles in between them, making it very unlikely to be seen, but still. The chance was there.

Luckily, this was the last pallet she needed to set up this trap in particular, so she didn't need to haul any more all across the place. And extra luckily(Thanks to the magic she borrowed from Tikki and Trixx, no doubt), no one saw her walk around the edges of their circle and through the now complete pathways. Well, no one except Red Hood, who had been staring so hard at her this entire time, she wondered if he was trying to spontaneously develop the ability to shoot lasers from his eyes. Or maybe telepathy so he could yell at her for 'unnecessary' risk taking, she could only guess.(Well, he may have a point about the risk taking, but there is no way in hell she would ever say that. She was doing this to prove a point, practicality be damned.) She ignored him, as she had been doing since the beginning, setting the pallet down as quietly as she could despite the two stacks both reaching above her head. After a moment to breathe and admire her hard work, she pulled out the roll of fishing line and her extra pair scissors, tying the two stacks of pallets together and then working her way back through the slightly curved path until she reached the pillar.

Trap list;  Web of Ouch, Check.  Series of Unfortunate Tripwires(1), Check.

Onto the next!

Time flew by as Marinette gleefully set up the rest of her planned traps. A grapple gun, disassembled for its wire, and a cloth tarp carefully placed in front of a slick patch of WD-40. A block of wood suck in the opening mechanism of the truck door and a huge, precarious pile of various sized wooden crates that really tested the limits of her Tetris skills. A person-sized mat of duct tape woven together and placed sticky side up after another Series of Unfortunate Tripwires along the winding path to the leftmost door. A wooden wedge carefully positioned underneath the back edge of the two huge pallets of paint cans to slightly tilt them forward, and another paint can tied to the I-beam above and held to the underside of the catwalk by a thin string. Boxes filled to the brim with bouncy balls, gum balls, BB gun pellets, and metal jacks tied above two of the four exit pathways, a stolen steel-toed boot filled with rocks ready to swing at the turn of a handle. And, her personal favorite so far, a wooden plank positioned just above the cultists' plastic table and mini-fridge, piled with the superglue powder and the wonderful addition of rainbow glitter.

She had managed to test the superglue powder on Nappy, using it to fuse his clothes to the concrete he was resting on, and it was wonderful. There is no way that he is getting up with his clothes still intact. She kind of felt a little bad for the ones who are going to get this dumped on them, but oh well. She's sure the hospital will take care of it.

Probably.

She had managed to find a working water spout and long hose, complete with attached nozzle, that would reach all the way to where Red Hood was hanging, so that was one less thing for her to worry about doing herself. The last thing she set up was the discount Joker Dolls and the Rubber chickens while sitting in one of the disused offices. The whole room had become a sort of base of operations, and looked just about as chaotic as the end product of her plan was going to, but Marinette didn't care all that much. To get the effect she was going for just right, she had to be very careful in how she went about it. Packing in the rubber chickens at the bottom of the crate as precisely as possible then slowly lowering heavy bags of all the black and red glitter she could find to make the chickens stay in their deflated state. She carefully poked holes in the tops of the bags with one of the thumb tacks she had found, before carefully switching on all the joker dolls and placing them in the box.

Marinette will admit to using a lot of magic to make sure this step didn't go wrong, but once the four boxes were attached at their points on the catwalk and connected to her activation pull cord, she couldn't help the little giddy happy dance. It was ready!! The only thing left was letting Red Hood know his part, then the trap is set!

Jason wanted to throw his previous resolve to just wait and see how things turn out through the fucking window, because this was getting ridiculous. Patience has never really been his thing, which is becoming more and more apparent to him the longer he is forced to watch the sheer, unadulterated audacity on display.

He will admit to being mildly entertained in the beginning, watching the woman doing whatever the hell it is that she's doing like it was some kind of soap opera. When The Sneeze(TM) happened, he had been near certain she was caught, but seeing as she somehow had to be the luckiest person in the whole god damn world, she got away scot-free as the two cultists with the same skill level and attention span as low level videogame characters got distracted by industrial sized bags of glitter.

Which of course she later took to use for whatever unholy Rube Goldberg Machine she was making, alongside with a mysterious white powder that came from boxes absolutely covered in warning labels.

But the craft herpes and unprecedented luck were not what made him want to scream at her from two stories up and eighty feet away, cultists be damned. No, that urge came from the very familiar line of cordage she had looped through some kind of tarp and tied in knots, knots!! She took apart his grapple gun and used it for some kind of dirty picnic blanket! HIS FUCKING GRAPPLE GUN! The AUDACITY! He was fuming, glaring as she wrapped a hose over her shoulder and started trekking up the stairs and over the catwalks towards him. 

Finally!

"My fucking grapple gun?!" Red Hood hissed with indignation as soon as she was withing earshot, if barely. Marinette huffed and rolled her eyes, adjusting the hose wrapped around her shoulder to let more slack down.

"Well hello to you too." She said, tone filled with sarcasm and sass in equal measure, but internally she was beaming. He's not ruining her good mood when she is so close to success. She gently laid the hose wrapped around her shoulder down onto the catwalk as she crouched, careful not to make any suspicious noise. Not that the cultists would be likely to look up even if they heard it(After being subjected to the eye-searing glare of the floodlights herself, Marinette didn't exactly blame them, though still...), but it doesn't hurt to be careful.

"You took apart my fucking grapple gun?!" He repeated, voice inching higher. Clearly, some people don't think the phrase 'better safe than sorry' applies to them. She looked up at the rafters, rolling her head back in mild annoyance, as she drew on more of Trixx's power to muffle their conversation before taking a dramatic pose and poorly mimicking Hood's voice.

"'Oh, hi Marinette, thank you for risking your life to save me from being sacrificed by these scary cultists, I really owe you one.'" She shifted her stance and changed back to her own voice. "'No problem, Red Hood, I'm glad you understand that sometimes sacrifices must be made for the continued freedom of the innocent.'" She crossed her arms and looked pointedly in the faintly glowing eye of the Vigilante's helmet with a slight pout. She couldn't see it, but Marinette imagined that he took a split second to blink.

"Was that a pun?" Marinette tilted her head, thinking back over her words before silently grinning. "So not only do you take apart my god damned grapple gun, you fucking pun at me about it?!" Marinette chuckled, uncrossing her arms and going back to carefully untangling the hose.

"You can get another one, cant you?" She asked flippantly, Red Hood grunted in displeasure.

"Ugh... Yeah, but that is so inconvenient." If it weren't for the voice modulator, Marinette would *almost* call his tone petulant, but for now she simply thought of it as pouty.

"Welcome to the club." She responded, to which he huffed.

"What, the club for inconveniences and cultists?" She could hear the smirk in his voice, and had to hold back her own.

"Yep." She responded cheerfully instead, "Meetings every Thursday in the warehouse of rejected toys."

"Why Thursdays?"

"Because Thursdays are the worst day of the week." She said with certainty, staring off into the middle distance as she remembered all the bad things that happen on Thursdays.

Well, at the end of it all, this might not end up being one of the bad things after all...

"Isn't that supposed to be Monday?" Marinette rolled her eyes and huffed in exasperation before shaking her head.

"I'm not going over this again." Red Hood leaned his head back, seemingly nonplused.

"Again?"

"Anyway," Marinette continued, cutting him off from speaking further. "I have everything ready except for this one last thing, which I will need your help for." Hood straightened(as much as he could anyway), as if remembering something and his voice pitched slightly deeper in a commanding kind of way. As a former superhero herself, she was very familiar with it.

"Yeah, actually, I'm going to need you to exp-"

"Shush shh shh." Marinette said, waving a hand at him while distracted with straightening the rest of the hose and turning the nozzle to 'shower' mode in preparation to lower it to him. Despite this, she could feel the affront radiating off of the vigilante. She fought down a smile as she continued. "Don't interrupt people, its rude."

Red Hood made a strangled noise, like he was trying to start several different sentences at once but nothing managed to make it past the first syllable, very effectively cutting off his demand for explanations she absolutely wasn't going to give him. She wished that she could see what his expression looked like right now, it would keep her giggling for weeks.

"Okay, so I don't know how much you were paying attention-" That's a lie, she knew he has been watching her like a hawk this whole time, "but you see the boards I set up with the piles of white powder and glitter above their supply table?" she asked, pivoting on the balls of her feet to look at him, wrapped in chains and hanging above a half done ritual circle.

"Yeah?" The word sounded like he wanted to growl it, but was too off kilter to fully manage. She held back a laugh, but couldn't help the smirk that slipped through.

"Well." She said, holding up the hose next to her head for him to see, "What I need you to do, is spray water on the cultists that powder drops on." She finished with a sunny grin. There was silence for several long moments as they stared at each other, sounds outside their little bubble left ignored. Marinette didn't falter, expression as solid as Hood's helmet. When he finally spoke, it was loaded and laced with emotion and demand.

"Why."

Marinette blinked and tilted her head. There were a lot of ways that she could answer him, ways to interpret what exactly he was asking about. Why the water, why him. It could be why she insisted on being so... Cavalier about this whole situation, or why she stuck around to help instead of running. Or, most likely, it could be why go through all this trouble? Why spend hours setting all this up when a single phone call would have gotten them out of this mess in minutes? And yet...

She felt the magic in her chest swirling, Luck and Misfortune dancing across her shoulders. Creation and Destruction chasing each other through the blurry seams of the world around her. Her connection to the Kwami hummed in her ears, and she felt the Balance on the verge of a Shift. Her words here could change the Fate of this city. A small action could tip the scales of Order and Chaos.

No pressure.

"Because," she said slowly, earnestness in her eyes as she stared through Red Hood and into the Destruction and Misfortune clinging to him like leaches, tainting and feeding on the Hope and Safety in his Soul. Magic seeped into her voice, spreading through her like invisible veins of sunlight and guiding her words. "When life takes you down a path that gives nothing but blood and darkness, the only way to make it to the other side is to create your own light."

She got no response, the vigilante seeming frozen by her words, staring intently from behind glowing lenses. She herself took a few moments to collect her thoughts as the Magic dissipated, the feeling of Balance fading to the background, leaving behind no indication on if she said the right thing. 

But she did, she knew she did.

With a comforting smile loaded with memories of long nights, suppressed feelings and more responsibility than any child should ever have to shoulder, she reached down and handed him the hose. He took it automatically, still processing her words. Marinette stood to leave, before looking over her shoulder and saying,

"Enjoy the show, Hood." She smirked at him, turning and walking away. "Maybe you'll learn a thing or two about how dangerous 'feather dusters' can be."

"I got something." Oracle's spoke suddenly through the uncharacteristic silence of the coms.

"Report." Batman ordered, the speed of his reply being the only indicator of his worry, but after knowing him for so long Oracle could read it very easily. Keys clacked rapidly under her fingers as she hacked into phone satellites and pulled up tracking software.

"A phone call, asking specifically for Commissioner Gordon." She paused for a moment, skimming over the auto-generated transcript from the audio file.

"Hn." Batman grunted impatiently. She could almost feel his signature stare through the computer.

"Hold your horses." She muttered quietly, speaking up again shortly after as several blue dots started appearing and disappearing on the map of the warehouse district on her other screen. "Someone called in to report cult activity and kidnapping approximately two minutes ago."

"Is it Hood?" Red Robin asked, voice calm if slightly winded. A quick glance at his body cam footage showed him finishing up a fight with a couple muggers.

"It seems likely," she said, refocusing. "The video feeds I managed to find earlier put him near the reconnaissance point N gave me before he disappeared, and the call claims two people were kidnapped." Her eyes narrowed at the screen, the tracking software taking somewhat longer to pinpoint the origin of the call than normal, only giving her the general area, but...

"But?" Nightwing interrupted, much more subdued than earlier in the night. Barbara smirked a little at his words aligning with her thoughts. She started combing through traffic camera feeds from the estimated time of the kidnapping to pinpoint the location manually as she spoke.

"It was a woman with a French accent who called it in, and from the sound of the audio, she was suspiciously calm. Almost excited sounding, even." Barbara frowned, finding a suspicious looking beat-up brown van and several cars all driving to one warehouse approximately 3 hours and 28 minutes ago. "There was no mention or description of who exactly the kidnapped people were, though the caller implied she was one of them." There were no cameras pointing towards where they parked, and any security the disused warehouse had was either completely broken on or a closed circuit. She started back tracking the path of the van while she ran the license plates she managed to get from one of the higher quality traffic cams.

"Think it's a trap?" Red Robin asked. She hummed, chewing on the inside of her cheek for a moment. She started looking into the warehouse's utilities, searching for any any weirdly high power draws that would indicate a villain lair, but didn't find anything on that scale.

"I'm sending you the address, B." She said quickly, inputting it to the Batmobile's navigation system before answering Red. "There's not enough evidence to say, but I don't think it is a trap, exactly. All the information we have about the cult from previous reconnaissance doesn't indicate them being a setup, and the call, despite specifically mentioning the Commissioner, was for the police, not us." She checked the rout on the Batmobile's map against hers, looking it over for roadblocks.

"But it is suspicious." Red Robin replied, a calculating edge to his voice.

"But it is suspicious." She confirmed. Construction blocked off the block with the most direct route from Batman to the warehouse, looks like a fire in a machinery overlay facility that took out a corner of the building. The traffic cones and interspersed equipment would be little obstacle for Bruce the Broody Dad-Bat, though.

"Enroute, eleven minutes." Said the aforementioned Overprotective Flying Marsupial. Oracle looked at his tracker.

"Take a left in two blocks and you'll be there in eight." She typed in several commands and a new path showed up on his map. "Careful for the piles of bricks." A flash from another screen caught her attention and she turned her head.

Ah, good.

"Red, I'm sending you the address of where it looks like Hood was taken from. N, I'm sending you files for the owners of the cars that the cultists used. None of them have been reported stolen, so see if you can confirm or find anything incriminating we can give to the police." From their body cam footage, she could see Red pulling out his grapple gun and shooting off while Nightwing quickly looked through his wrist computer.

"What would we ever do without you, O?" Nightwing asked with a laugh, the first one since Hood turned up missing.

"Die, probably." Red Robin responded as he leapt off of a building. Oracle snorted.

"Probably." She agreed

Marinette was in position, crouched behind the cultists' table of junk and fridge of dubiously sourced blood. All of her traps were set and ready to go, the few she needed to activate all connected back to this one spot. She went over her mental checklist with a feeling of satisfaction.

Step One: Neutralize Lookouts, Check. Step Two: Gather Supplies, Check. Step Three: The Path of Least Resistance, Check. Step Four: Traps, Check.

It was a simple plan, though by no means easy. The bruises and rope burn had made friends with the muscle fatigue and aching joints from all the crawling, climbing, and carrying that she had done to get to this point. The close calls that made her heart race with adrenaline bled into giddy anticipation for the payoff. Finally, the culmination of all of her hard work was here.

Step Five: It All Falls Down.

She looked up, past the eye watering glare of the floodlight and directly at Red Hood. With squinting eyes and a toothy grin, she shot him a thumbs up. After a moment, he responded in kind, holding up the hose. Marinette looked back down, blinking a few times to clear the spots from her vision and then steeling herself with a deep breath.

Go time.

Creeping forward, Marinette reached the extension cord that powered the mini-fridge. The very same mini-fridge that filled the warehouse with the constant gurgling drone of an appliance on the edge of complete and utter non-function. With a quick and simple yank and a careful dive back behind cover, the warehouse suddenly descended into silence.

"... The hell?" One of the cultists that had been drawing runes into the edge of the circle muttered, looking up at the sudden quiet, quickly followed by the other three.

"What happened?" Dolly called from the other side of the circle, voice echoing as she stood up from where she rested against a large crate with Judgy.

"The fridge just turned off." Drawing Cultist number two said, setting down her protractor.

"Well no shit-" the third one said, before being cut off by the one in the red-trimmed potato sack.

"Figure it out without disrupting meditation, lest our hard work go to waste." He said in an excessively haughty voice that gave her flashbacks of a certain blond. Marinette couldn't see their faces, but from their posture she could deduce that the four drawing cultists and Dolly weren't too happy about this guy. If she had to guess, it would probably be because his version of 'hard work' consisted of sitting with his eyes closed and bossing people around.

Oh well, that's what you get for being in a cult that kidnapped people, I guess.

The four Drawing Cultists made their way over, two stopping next to the table, one going directly to the fridge, and the last hung back with their arms crossed, just beside one of the meditating cultists. Marinette shifted, hand wrapping around the first fishing line, pulling it until it was just taught.

"Hey, who unplugged-" the cultist never got to finish their sentence, as Marinette *yanked* the fishing line and four crates balanced on top of the catwalks above tipped. Then spilled...

Then it all fell down.

----

Jason had never been big on the Internet. Sure, it was beyond useful for investigative work, but from growing up poor, to living on the streets, to being dead, there wasn't much time for him to get immersed in 'internet culture', as Tim called it. But, he did remember one of Dick's attempts at 'brotherly bonding night' where he spent several hours putting up with far too many compilation videos meant to 'catch him up on what he missed while dead'. He remembered them, at this one very specific moment, because of the one 'Vine' Dick showed them of a rubber chicken falling off a roof. It had been mildly amusing at the time, enough keep him around longer than he otherwise would have stayed. He had even laughed a little, and made a joke about it being accurate to what Dick sounded like when pushed off of high places. The responding squawk from his adoptive brother proved his point perfectly, to the amusement of the rest of the room.

Jason was not laughing now.

If he had been asked before to imagine the bone chilling sound of hundreds of screaming rubber chickens falling through a warehouse like an unholy rain, nothing would have come close to the reality. He doubted anything could come close to reality; the single most unsettling sound he had ever heard freezing everyone in place with held breath as the screaming and thwaps of rubber hitting concrete stopped. That was, until the dolls activated.

From inside the dispersed mounds of toys and clouds of glitter slowly spreading over the floor in a way that reminded him of fear gas, more pairs of red eyes than he could count lit up like beacons, followed by laughter.

Screaming laughter.

Jason knows that if he wasn't hanging from chains at this moment, he would either be running or shooting. His fist clenched around the hose in his hand, and water started raining down below him. At the same time, he heard two separate thunks, followed by what sounded like a rain of vaguely spherical objects and confused screaming from below him.

White powder fell in a heap, coating the cultists and spreading over the floor near the table they had set up, and he remembered what the woman- Marinette- told him. Swallowing down the adrenaline induced haze, he aimed the water as the cultists scattered.

It was chaos.

The three cultists closest to the table had the most powder on them, and when they ran directly under the path of the water, something unexpected happened. The first one fell, foot stuck to the ground, and the other two tripped over them and didn't get back up again, writhing where they had ragdolled against the floor, stuck to it like a glue trap. The white powder got on two more, one of the people who were meditating and the person standing next to them. They ran, only getting partially soaked before they were out of range. They ran for the door behind Jason, clothes becoming stiff and sticky with glue, but not managing to fully stop them. They didn't get far, because as soon as they got to the border of the boxes they tripped over the balls of various sizes scattered over the floor. One fell to the side, catching themselves on a heavy crate while the other fell face first into the floor. Neither got back up, despite how much they struggled.

On the path next to them, two more cultists had tried to escape, but instead of sticking to the floor like the others, they slid on it. Crashing into each other, they both fell head first into a dusty tarp that seemed to swallow them whole as they fell into a pit. The cord of his mutilated grapple gun pulled taught, closing around the edges of the tarp, leaving only a single flailing leg sticking out of the top.

Across from him, on the longest and darkest path, the two cultists who were meant to be on watch followed behind a third at a dead sprint. They gained speed unhindered, until they were around twenty feet away from the door when the one in front hit a tripwire, stumbling but keeping momentum. But then they hit another tripwire.

And another tripwire.

And then another tripwire.

They managed to dodge by jumping over the last tripwire, only to miss the clothesline that hit them directly at neck height. The cultist fell, slamming their head on the ground, knocked out cold with a muted thud.

The two behind didn't stop for their friend, simply jumping over the prone form and ducking past the clothesline, speeding up for the last stretch to the door. They almost made it, but we're stopped dead by the web of fishing line and stacks of pallets that collapsed around the two, trapping them in a tangle of limbs and splinters.

Just behind them, almost at the same time another cultists barely dodged a paint can swinging down from the rafters, only to be buried under the resulting cascade of paint cans that spilled from two huge pallets. The one behind skid to a stop and backpedaled, watching four of their companions go down trying to get out that way. They then turned around, seeing a fifth person groaning on the ground stuck to a mat of tape they fell on after running through another series of tripwires and singular clothesline. In a panicked haze, they looked around until spotting a couple of others at the truck door that wasn't blocked off, trying to open it. The panicking cultist rushed over just as they managed to crack it open, incidentally causing a veritable avalanche of boxes and crates to fall on all three.

There were three left standing. The one with red trim, who was yelling obscenities while standing in the middle of their half done ritual, and the two who were walking through the minefield of tripping hazards that got the ones half-covered in glue. They reached the other side without falling within just a few seconds of each other, the one who got there first sprinting forwards and throwing open the door with a screech of rusted hinges.

Then was promptly knocked the fuck out by a boot to the face.

The last one made it out the door, then screamed. Their footsteps fell silent.

Jason was gaping.

Holy... Fucking... Shit...

Below him, he heard cackling. Not the unsettling, mechanical and screaming laughter of the joker dolls, but the nearly evil delighted glee coming from the small blue-haired woman dancing around with a monkey wrench the size of her arm held in one hand. Her high ponytail bounced behind her, covered in cobwebs and dust. Her clothes were rumpled and dirty, and even from this distance her arms looked like she went ten rounds with an octopus and lost. But despite this, she was practically glowing.

"IT WORKED, YES!!! HAHA!" She shouted out, twirling out from behind her wall of boxes, head whipping around in every direction, taking it all in. The lead cultist whirled around, gaze locking onto her.

"YOU!" He shouted in outrage, immediately charging at the much smaller woman. Jason sucked in a breath, whether to warn her or just shout, he is not sure, but the sound never left his throat.

Marinette turned her feral grin on the charging cultist, and when he was in range, swung her heavy monkey wrench and hit him right in the shoulder. Jason could hear the bone snap. She hit him again, this time in the stomach with a forwards jab, then another swing to the knee with a sickening crunch, taking him down completely and then stepping far enough away he couldn't reach her, just in case. She spun, turning to look directly at him.

"You still think I'm adorable and harmless, Hood?!" She shouted up at him, dropping the wrench with a heavy thunk. "I told you that you would eat your words," she threw her arms out wide "Now eat them and weep!" She cackled madly, not waiting for an answer as she turned and skipped away. Skipped.

Jason was left speechless, open mouthed and hanging above the groaning and unconscious cultists who had kidnapped and were prepared to sacrifice him with only one thought.

I think I might be in love.

The Batmobile skid to a stop in front of the warehouse and he practically flew out of it. The outside was dark, but he could see light seeping out through broken and dirty windows and hear a commotion coming from the inside. He ran towards the closest door, only to be mildly surprised as it was thrown open with a near deafening screech of the hinges when he was still a few paces away. The surprise didn't stop, because even as he was getting into a fighting stance, the person(whom he identified as one of the cultists his sons were investigating) was knocked out by a boot swinging down from the crude mechanism he only barely had time to noticed before it activated.

… What?

Pushing his confusion and surprise away, he focused on the second cultist that came running through the loudly closing door. They made it a few steps out before noticing him in the dim lighting. Expression already contorted in fear and panic, the shock of seeing Batman standing in their way was too much, and they screamed.

Bruce punched them in the face, then spent a few precious seconds zip tying their hands and feet so they couldn't escape when they woke up. Creeping forward to the door that was held open by the unconscious body of the first cultist, he peered inside to where he could hear a woman's manic laughter. Once he did, he stopped to take it all in.

His son, in full gear, was hanging from the ceiling, wrapped in chains and holding a leaking garden hose. Below him was a small woman covered in dirt and injuries, laughing maniacally as she stood above an even more injured cultist who was trying to crawl away with one arm, and another pile of people somehow stuck to the ground. He could see a hole of some kind to the left with a single still-moving leg sticking upwards, and to the right two people splayed out like ragdolls. He could hear muffled arguing and curses from the other side of the warehouse, along with creaks of pallets and groaning from underneath piles of boxes. Bruce felt a very familiar feeling creeping over him, one his kids loved to induce for the sole purpose of causing grey hairs.

What the hell happened?

But this time, it wasn't one of his kids who were responsible. He watched as the woman turned, looking directly at Jason and yelling up at him.

"You still think I'm adorable and harmless, Hood?! I told you that you would eat your words, now eat them and weep!" Then she cackled madly, turned, and skipped through to the opposite side of the building.

Well, Bruce thought with a restrained sigh, maybe he was at least a little responsible.

Bruce slid through the door, creeping around the edges of the circle before emerging from the shadows in front of his son. Hood jerked, whipping his head from where he was staring after the woman to Batman. He grunted, clearing his throat before speaking.

"Uh, hi- hey." Jason cleared his throat again, attempting for casual and failing miserably. "How's- uh, how's it goin'?" he stammered, glancing back to where the woman disappeared. Stammered. Bruce didn't answer, tilting his head and scanning the carnage again, before spotting the loop of rope hanging next to his son.

"...How long have you been here?" His tone was harder to decipher with the voice modulator, but Bruce would recognize it easily from any one of his children. Jason was flustered.

"B?" Hood asked, unsettled as a small grin grew on The Batman's face. Whoever that woman was, whatever Jason said to her to cause this reaction, Bruce would likely thank her for the opportunity to get back at one of his children for all the grief they cause him. Uncrossing his arms, Bruce pulled a phone out of his belt pouch. "B? B don't you fucking dare-" He still didn't respond, holding up the device with one hand, and snapping a picture. Ignoring his son's vehement protests, he sent the photo to Alfred with the attached message:

B: please print and frame this for display in the cave.

A: Of course, Sir. I suppose the bulletproof frames will come in useful after all.

Red Hood continued to swear, attempting to spray him with water from the hose he still held tightly in hand. Bruce just put the phone away and reached up to tap his comm with his small smile still in place.

"Oracle, please send Nightwing and Red Robin to my location." He said calmly, concerned exclamations immediately coming through only to be drowned out by Hood's booming voice.

"B, DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE!"

[luckstergal]

Yandere Elliott Mod is funny as hell (to me)

Disclaimer: None of this is meant to be taken seriously, this is me rambling into the void and to my friends.

I cannot believe I'm reviewing a mod, lol. Is it a review? I don't know anymore, just giving my take on it.

It's been like 2 weeks since I gave the Yandere Elliott mod a try and honestly I find it more unintentionally hilarious than off-putting in most places.

I felt that some of the moments could be interpreted as genuinely wholesome and sweet if you isolated them (but that's just how context works in a nutshell I suppose. Look, I genuinely thought the insomnia scene and the post-moonlight-jellies scene with adorable, alright?).

The fact that I have to go out of my way to play very different than I ever would have certainly modifies my overall perspective. If I played normally, the only really unsettling thing would be his unhinged letters. Well, one in particular at least. Most of the letters were campy and funny, knowing how melodramatic this character is naturally. Only 1 letter made me and 2 other people I showed it to go "Oh GOD". Everything else? Unintentionally hilarious, or wholesome if you take the obsession letters out. His stalker-schedule was funny as hell. What do I mean by that? How is the "stalker schedule" funny? The mod alters his schedule after 1 heart, so he'll periodically go spy on you on the farm. This was scary only twice for me because I didn't expect it, and there was a long gap between the first time and the second time. Once summer hit, however, it got funny. He was showing up every single day at 6:30 on the dot, except for Friday and Sunday. He was so punctual that I'd look at the clock, see he's about to show up, and prepare myself for my daily convo with him/gift giving if it's Monday and Tuesday. Man was so consistent it was hilarious.

Even better: when he's standing there for so long, his pathfinding kinda... glitches? He'll act like there's something in front of him preventing his movement (like when a player character standing in an NPC's pathing) and suddenly just... book it across the map into the void. Practically died laughing (though I did freak out the first time it happened because I thought "WAIT THIS MOD LETS HIM CHASE YOU?" only for him to run passed and into nothingness)

It actually got a bit lonely in autumn when he stopped showing up and opted to camp outside the mines instead all day. (Elli, sweetie, Ignatius is not going there most of the time because autumn 1 is a busy season for him, come back!) The fact that I have to fully romance all the other bachelors in order to activate one of the legitimately most unhinged aspects of the mod is what throws me off. I know they're fictional characters, but I've always felt icky at multi-dating personally. Just not for me. I pick one and I stick with my decision. Reading the text in the content file is one thing, but I wanted to see the event play out for myself.

After the event, it got hilarious again completely on accident.

Cue Elli not letting Ignatius leave the farm because of his jealousy. It was winter when this happened. The Obsession Cage-Loop event is designed to where Pierre will send you 50 of a random seed packet every day to make up for the fact that you cannot leave.

Crops don't grow in winter.

The mod makes up for this fact by Pierre sending you ANCIENT FRUIT SEEDS. I had over 300 seeds by the time spring hit. Elli straight up SCAMMING Pierre during the Cage-Loop completely on accident. I'm just sitting here thinking "Dang, had I known this would have happened, I'd have activated this sooner AND kept Elli's heart-level low just to get more bang for my buck. Endless supply of Ancient Fruit Seeds just because you're jealous? Yes please!".

After the cage-loop is over, that's pretty much it. Elli apologizes, wants to do better so you feel safe around him, is willing to just be tormented by his jealousy; etc. and things just kinda go... normal??? After that. He still has his eye-brow raising marriage lines afterwards but after everything has passed, he's not too unsettling.

He's just a weirdo who doesn't know how to handle his love.

Other than ONE letter, and the fact that I had to go OUT OF MY WAY to deliberately activate the Cage-Loop event?

This mod vanilla as fuck, lol.

And no, I didn't do the divorce event. I have a history relating to such dark thoughts and even just reading the dialogue in the content file made me uncomfortable.

Overall 10/10 good way to have spent my week between my 2.0 vtuber model work.

--

It also do not help at all that what makes this mod hilarious in my head is that I play as an inhuman farmer who absolutely towers over Elli in every way. Ignatius is not threatened by this obsessive weirdo in the least bit.