#Turn Up The Heat

[ao3screenshotss]

[ambicephalic]

After the class trip, when the flight lands and we all have our luggage and are about to scatter and go home, one of the teachers asks us if we would mind staying back just long enough to complete a survey. We all look up to this teacher so almost everyone does.

The questions are on the first page of booklets printed on low quality paper. They are surreal and unrelated to each other, abstract and confusing. I struggle to focus and complete the handful of questions. I look up, and everyone else is still working, Oh no, is it double-sided? I turn the page over and sure enough, more questions. I start opening the book to random pages and the whole thing is questions--hundreds of pages of them.

I try to make eye contact with the teacher but he is giving away nothing. I wonder if this is one of those psych tests that measures how long people will mindlessly follow orders. I go back to the front page to re-read the instructions and see if I missed any hints. I drop the pen, lean back crossing my arms and watch everyone else.

Eventually the teacher tells us to take our booklets and follow him to another room, and we all do. I decide that this is a test, and there's some kind of lesson at the end. I'm thinking out loud. I think once everyone leaves, we'll hear what this was about. So everyone should go wait outside with their bags, I'll stay behind and get the story, then I'll come out and tell everyone. People start to walk out. Teacher is still letting on nothing.

But there is a sub-room where there are a few more people, and they won't leave. They have turned the booklets into a religion. They have cut out a construction paper cat head they drew (badly) in pencil and made it into a shrine. They are interpreting the bizarre questions into prophecies and truths about the world. I can't convince them that it's a test or a game.

Our teacher is still giving away nothing. I start to get annoyed at him. This is unethical, I tell him, it's gone too far. I tell the others, we should just leave, why play his game. Then in the same breath I say, we should gradually turn up the heat in the little sub-room to prove that people will eventually choose personal comfort over God. The others seem to like this idea. Is that the game, I ask the teacher. He's chewing through a giant salad. Who says it's a game, he responds with his mouth full.

But as we're searching for the thermostat I change my mind and decide that dissuading people from their religion, even a newly acquired one, is also unethical, and what if they still refuse to leave and get sick from heat stroke. The problem is our loyalty and trust in our teacher, I say. Forget it, we'll just leave. We won't play his game.

And I do leave, but not everyone does, and I don't go home. I come back later to see what's going on. There are more worshipers in the sub-room, some who were there all along hiding under desks or in supply closets. A lot of the others are still there watching, too. I'm yelling at the teacher again and he still has the same indifferent expression, until suddenly there's an audible click and his eyebrows rise a little as he glances at his watch.

The heat in the sub-room was scheduled to go up at a certain time no matter what we did. And it rises rapidly. But no one will leave, and now the teacher looks increasingly baffled. This is a record, he says, the longest this experiment has ever gone. We need to call in a crew to start filming and documenting this.

I realize that by trying to convince everyone to leave early on, I actually inadvertently fortified their budding religious fervor, and it's my fault they won't leave now. I was trying to be clever and I broke the experiment.

[lovingluke]

[ex0toxin]

happy pride from everyones favorite boy besties!! 🏳️‍🌈💜

[starry-bi-sky]

fast food is the best course of action after causing a scene. ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀɴʏᴀʟ ᴀʟ ɢʜᴜʟ ᴀᴜ

(First Post Here and Second Post Here

--------

Danny finds Sam easily.

She's right where she said she was over the phone: standing outside on a balcony, in Gotham, at Father's many charity functions. 

("Would you still be willing to fly over to Gotham, Danny?" She asks, her voice ringing clear through the speakers. Danny is already climbing out his window before she even finishes her sentence. He was just about to settle down for the night, his ghosts would know better by now than to disturb him at this time. The Box Ghost not included.)

("Of course." He says, sounding more confident than he feels. Sam was one of his best— closest friends, he would do anything she or Tucker asked. Even if it means stepping foot into his Father's city. He drops down silently, and walks through the house's ghost shield. "Would you like me to bring you anything?")

(Sam sighs through the phone, relief leaking through. "One of the veggie burgers from Nasty Burgers would be great, with their new ecto-fries. Extra salt. I'm sick of all this rich people food.")

(A small smile pulls across Danny's face, tilting at the corner as his living form falls away to his ghost self. "Alright," he says, and kicks himself off the ground, "I'll be there in a few minutes.")

("Thanks, Danny.")

He had the bag of food with him, stored in a container he had to run back to the house to get that would prevent the food from cooling during his flight over. Clutching it in hand, he floats down behind Sam and sheds his invisibility.

Being visible and being invisible always felt different, but in a way Danny can never describe, no matter how many times he tries to think about it. It's like a gut-feeling, a sixth sense, he always knows when he's visible and when he is not.

His ghost form burns away like steel wool being lit, and Danny drops the last foot to the ground silently. In his other hand lies his thermos, but filled with plain ectoplasm — lazarus water. "I have your food." 

(He brought the thermos for himself — his side was still healing from his last fight with Technus. The ghost impaled him with a broken pipe, and Danny returned the favor by wedging his sword into his chest. Technus had been quite offended by him ruining his favorite coat.)

Sam jumps a foot into the air, and her hand slams across her mouth to muffle the shriek she lets out as she whirls around. "Danny!" She hisses, her voice rising in pitch, and her eyes narrow at him into a glare. "Freaking-- Tucker's right, we seriously need to put a bell on you."

"You have been saying that for years," Danny grins, sharp-toothed and jack-knifed, and passes the container over to her. "And yet I've yet to see any kind of bell." He was going to start getting disappointed at this rate.

As Sam takes the container, Danny hops up onto the railing and looks around. He hadn't seen any of Father's other children lurking around the building before he revealed himself, but that doesn't mean they aren't there. He wasn't going to fool himself into thinking that their stealth skills were poor.

He wasn't that arrogant.

...Anymore.

"Oh you will." Sam threatens, unzipping the container and grabbing the takeout bag. "I'll get you a collar and everything, we can start calling you Catwoman." When she pulls out her fries, Danny snaps forward and steals one from the box, ignoring her indignant yell as he pops it into his mouth.

"I spent my own money on these fries, Sam." He sniffs, leaning away from her with a stifled huff of laughter as she swats at him. "So they are technically my fries. And also, Catwoman would be a poor thief if she wore a bell."

Sam grumbles at him, and takes a bite out of a handful of fries. "I'll venmo you money." She says past a mouthful of food, Danny would have been disgusted in the past, when he was still new. But he's gotten used to this... normality. So he makes no reaction to it. "How does three hundred bucks sound?"

Danny immediately frowns.

"Did you have a fight with your parents?" He asks, eyes glancing to the doors. Doors that are covered heavily by curtains and blurred heavily, decadent music passing through in muffled sounds. He shifts himself away from the light. "You only spend that much money when they've pissed you off."

Sam's chewing stops, and her annoyed expression falters into one Danny knows well -- hurt, furrowed brows, a small frown, disappointment -- and she turns her head away from him. She swallows. "Yeah." she says, quiet.

Oh.

Danny knows that tone too.

Guilt settles like a rock in his chest. He leans forward, "Was it about me again?" He wasn't blind to the disdain Sam's parents had for him, far from it. This wasn't the first time Sam had gotten into a fight with them over her friendship with him and Tucker. But especially him. He unsettled people, even after years of observing his age-mates and trying to mimic their behavior, and anyone who knew him in middle school knew it was an act.  

Sam's silence gives him all the confirmation he needs, and the guilt heavies itself with the weight of the sky. Danny's never much cared about others' opinions of him -- he is (was?) an Al Ghul, they never heed to mind what the weight of a simpleton's thoughts.

But.. he cares a little a lot when it hurts his friends like this. He presses his lips together into a thin line, and forces the words out through his teeth. It sounds robotic. Al Ghul's do not apologize. "I... am sorry." But this one does. It doesn’t come easy. 

Sam sighs through her nose, and turns to roll her eyes at him. "Don't apologize on their behalf when you won't even apologize for your own; their assholes." She says, and goes reaching for more fries.

It's a sign, a signal. A silent word for the conversation to move on, to change. A distraction. Danny grasps it with both hands, and makes an offended noise in the back of his throat. And like he has learned, puts a hand to his chest like a scandalized American southern lady. "I apologize! I apologize plenty."

She snorts. "Only when you think it matters." And pokes him in the ribs sharply with her fry. He withholds a wince and snatches it out of her hands. "You're about as unapologetic as they come, Danny J. Fenton. I've seen you look more sincere when you're trying to drive your sword between Vlad's ribs."

"Stabbing Masters is a very important task for me, Sam." Danny says in only partially faux-seriousness. Masters has yet to realize that Danny had no interest in becoming his son, but he had to (reluctantly) admire his persistence. "Of course I will apply myself to it as best as I can."

He grins triumphantly when Sam laughs, and she reaches over to shove him square in the chest. He barks out a laugh of his own as he grips onto the balcony railing and catches himself at an angle.

"Quit with your method actor talk," Sam retorts, grinning sharply while Danny twists himself back up elegantly. "I know you can talk like a normal person, I've literally seen you do it."

Danny sniffs, and snatches more fries from the carton as revenge. "I'm not entirely sure what you mean, Miss Sam." He says, grin-twisting when Sam rolls her eyes. "My speech has always been this way. This 'normal' you speak of, I do not know it."

She waves her hand dismissively at him. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. But if you keep talking like that, I'm pushing you off the balcony."

"Such violence, Sam."

He gets a laugh again, full of disbelief without any of the annoyance. "I'm gonna be the one that stabs you, oh my god. Pot meet kettle." She looks at him again, smiling.

Danny smiles back, and with a flick of his wrist pulls out a kunai from his sleeve. It was one of the few weapons Mother was able to pass on to him whenever she made her scarce visits. He cherishes it well, along with anything else she was capable of giving him. 

He holds the handle out to her, and watches her face shift from disbelief to shock, then back to disbelief. "Then you're gonna need a weapon to do that." 

"Of course you have a pointy object on you." She mutters, and takes the kunai and puts it in her purse. Danny makes a pleased hum, it resonates low in his core, and drops his hand. "When do you not have a pointy object on you?"

As if to make her point, Danny's hands twist near his side, and he holds his palms up to her, revealing the shobo he had also hidden on him. He gives her a shit-eating grin. "Never." He lowers his hand, and pockets the small weapon once again. 

Sam huffs, "Of course," she repeats, "thanks. I was gonna bring a knife but..."

Danny finishes the sentence for her, kicking his feet idly and knowingly. "The security at the door?" He'd seen them on his flight over the building. It wouldn't do much in the face of the Rogues, but at least they were good at keeping appearances and keeping out the smaller threats.

He rolls his eyes and turns his head away, looking up to the ugly, smog-covered skies. There was no bat signal in the air, and while that was a good thing, Danny almost wished there was. He wanted to see it. "I saw, and I would’ve called Father foolish if he hadn’t hired help. He attracts trouble almost as badly as I do."

"Maybe it's hereditary," Sam jokes, laughing under her breath. With her fries finished, she started on her veggie burger. "At least your dad isn't a vigilante like you are."

Danny smiles wryly. It felt nice to be able to talk more freely about this. That he didn't have to hide the fact that his father was Bruce Wayne, now that Sam knew it from her own accord. Maybe he could have conversations like these more often. Even if it was limited to Bruce Wayne only.

(Even if it felt a little terrifying to know that his father was so close by, close enough that Danny could reach out and touch him. To speak to him. But how would he explain that? And with an audience?)

(He’s wanted to see him since he was a kid, and he still does. It clings onto him like a cough that doesn’t go away after the cold already has, and while it has faded over the years, it clings. His mother’s words still ring in his ears however; it’s not safe. It’s not safe.)

(And isn’t that why he faked his death in the first place? So that his little brother would be safe? Why he gave up the heirship, his home, his Mother, Damian, and his chance to meet his Father? Going to see Father, even now, would be throwing that all away. He has to stay away.)

(Why is Damian with Father if staying with Father was unsafe?) 

He just needed to tell Tucker. Danny wouldn’t keep him out of the loop, he was just as much as his friend as Sam was. His eyes draw towards the door, where the golden glow of lights was still pouring through, where music was playing loudly. "Yeah, fortunately." 

They fall into a comfortable silence after that, and Danny finally cracks open his thermos. The pipe Technus impaled him with was covered in a goo that Danny didn’t recognize, but whatever it was, his injury was taking its time healing. The ectoplasm was speeding it up. 

He isn’t sure what the difference between the ectoplasm that Drs. Fenton collected and Grandfather’s Lazarus pools is, but there’s a difference. He swirls the thermos slowly, watching as the ectoplasm inside twists into a small whirlpool sluggishly. 

When left alone, it thickens into a consistency similar to egg whites, or perhaps a thick smoothie, but reverts back into a water-like substance when moved and swirled. It was strange; unexplainable. He can understand, to an extent, why the Drs. Fenton are so obsessed with studying it and the dimension it comes from. 

Sam watches him idly as he brings the thermos to his lips and drinks from it. The effect is instantaneous, a sense of relief washing over Danny as if someone had put a soothing balm onto an injury. It buzzes down to his fingertips, and when he lowers the thermos, he licks his lips and watches the tips of his fingers burn green like frostbite. 

“Your hair turned white again.” Sam comments, her hand reaching out and touching the hair on the nape of his neck. While it’s not the first time Sam’s touched his hair, it still makes him tense up with her hand so close to his throat. Instinct. dan

He ignores the urge to bat her hand away, humming thoughtfully. “I’ve noticed it does that.” He says, pulling down his bangs to see if they’ve also turned white. No, still black. He lets go. “Let me guess; my eyes are green too?” He lifts the thermos again and peers into the chrome casing. 

Sam nods, “Yep, but it’s only the, uh.” She makes a circle around her eyes with her finger. “The iris part. Everything else is fine.” 

Danny can see that. The faint reflection on the chrome casts back an intense green. He takes another sip. It chills the back of his teeth, and he can feel his canines warp and sharpen. He runs his tongue over them, and swallows. 

Sam is still watching him, her fingers drumming against the balcony railing. “What’s it taste like?” 

“Carbonated.” He says dryly, before taking a large swig. He couldn’t name a specific flavor if he tried, it changed every time he took a sip. The only thing that stayed consistent was that it tasted carbonated. And slightly sweet. When he pulls the thermos away, Danny twists his body towards her and offers it out, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Want to try?” 

Her reaction is immediate. Sam’s nose scrunches up and her mouth twists into a smile, and she makes a huffing-laugh sound. “No, thank you.” She pushes it away lightly with her fingers, “I don’t know how to explain to my parents why my hair is white.” 

Right. Danny pulls the thermos away and puts it down beside him, straining his eyes to see if the rest of his hair has changed colors. Even just his first sip would take half an hour to fade back to its normal black, and he was a halfa. He had no idea how long it’d take to fade on Sam, who was human. 

There’s movement from the corner of his eye, and Danny snaps his head towards the source. There’s a figure, small, a boy, trying to hide behind one of the curtains at the door. His form just barely peeking out from the angle Danny was sitting at. He wouldn’t have seen him if the boy hadn’t moved. 

His fingers curl tightly into the railing, and he breathes in sharp. Sam’s smile crumbles away and she turns to see what he’s looking at. “I should go.” He says, and reaches for his thermos. “There’s someone spying on us. Don’t say anything, just look at me.” 

Sam’s expression warps, twists. Her eyes widen, her jaw starts to drop before fixing itself into place, and her shoulders curl up and tense. She forces it all to smooth over, and she leans casually against the railing. There’s a tick in her jaw. “I see.” Her voice comes through teeth. “Do you think they saw you?”

“I am not sure.” Danny says. He keeps an eye on the figure as he twists himself over and grabs the Nasty Burger bag and the container. He tries not to look like he’s rushing. He is. How long has that boy been there? How much did he see? Did he hear anything? 

“Father, fortunately, has privacy films on the glass. Nobody should have seen me unless they’re specifically trying to peep through the door.” He says. The boy seems to realize that Danny was starting to leave. And, his heart beginning to sink, instead of leaving, moves to grab the door handle instead.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

Danny’s breath catches in his throat, he’s hoping that isn’t who he think it is. But how else would he have not noticed an eavesdropper on their conversation unless it was someone who was capable of bypassing those skills? He told himself that he wouldn’t fool himself into thinking that his siblings’ had poor stealth. He got distracted. 

Five years, five years. He refuses to let that go down the drain. He zips up the container and throws his legs over the other side of the railing, his back facing the door. He hears the doorknob click, and without a word to Sam, slips off down the side and down to the ground below.

Just in time. The once muffled music now sounds blaring as the door presumably is thrown open and the pull of invisibility washes over him like a second skin. He doesn't stay to see who it is.

[haunted-xander]

Fleki doodles before I go to school 👍

[kedreeva]

Indie is sulking about the cold weather

[ame-to-ame]

extremely self indulgent btr doodles <3

once again drawing the band members mostly from memory;;

[manderleyfire]

'How many times you been caught with your hand where it doesn't belong?'

PICKUP ON SOUTH STREET (1953), written and directed by Samuel Fuller

[justaz]

like i’ve said time and time again, i haven’t watched bbc merlin in years but i was just wondering when the first time merlin called arthur by his name to his face and im scrolling thru the transcripts on the fandom wiki (supposedly it was s1ep4 btw) and im skimming the script for all these episodes and getting angrier and angrier. gaius was wrong for all that. morgana deserved so much better. edwin muirden was valid as hell (for targeting uther AND gaius. yeah. i said it.). also kilgharrah ate with that one lil line “then turn a blind eye. that is, after all, your talent” okay lizard brain pop offff.

[loveydovey-leviathan]

reminder that a lot of people, usually those w/ darker skin, can't 'blush', 'flush' or turn red in embarrassment, shame or shyness. there's nothing wrong with using these words but it does help when you add a disclaimer at the top of your post. it doesn't mean that we don't feel our cheeks heating up or that we don't feel blood rushing into our face, so those are alternatives to blushing :]

[delawaredetroit]

Anyway, Dabi decided to incinerate potential League members he found inadequate rather than just telling them to get lost in the same chapter it's pointed out how needlessly violent Endeavor's methods of conflict resolution are

[huntquinlan]

thinking about elain’s story and bodily autonomy. i think sjm was very intentional in using elain’s powers to introduce us to vassa and koschei. how vassa’s body was corrupted against her will by koschei, and how her existence is now defined by the changes he made. thinking about how koschei has a lake full of swans who were once women who’s bodies he changed against their wills as well. thinking about how elain was changed against her will by a cruel king to teach a lesson to somebody else. how she was reduced to a body and then a tool, a means to an end (to demonstrate the power of hybern against her sister but especially people she barely knew). how even the tool used to change her, the cauldron, which once belonged to the mother and symbolically can be connected to the womb, was appropriated and used forcefully by the king of hybern.

i think about how canon suggests that the cauldron loved elain, that perhaps it gifted her the powers it did because it loved her. maybe the cauldron recognized then, that this poor girl was like it, and sought to give her the power to prevent what was being done to her, and what had been done to countless other women and girls by making her a seer. let’s not forget that elain’s vision of vassa helped them turn the tide of the war against hybern and that it was elain that struck the killing blow against the king of hybern in defense of her sister, another who was denied bodily autonomy. ultimately bodily autonomy, especially given the current political climate in the US is a really heavy theme to deal with, but i sincerely hope that this thread is continued, and that we will get to see an elain who is empowered, and empowered on her own terms. an elain who reclaims her body and her future, and helps others do the same.

[notafraidofredyellowandblue]

Who turned up the heat...

From Rammstein official Klagenfurt reel (gif by me)

I figured it was Paul who turned up the heat on the radiator, but Paul's hand is still on top of it....so....who turned up the heat..? 🔥

[simplydnp]

dan and phil summer bitches!!!

[toxintouch]

AIS: MOUNT OF VENUS

Relationship: Ais/Unspecified MC, relationship dynamic up to interpretation. (Ais caught feelings for sure.) CW: light bloodplay fantasy *squints* ✦Read on Ao3

The Mount of Venus is the part of the hand which is most biteable used in palmistry as a representation of family, desire, and love.

It takes him a few weeks to notice. He's wrapping his knuckles with bandages, covering skin newly cracked and bleeding and (thinking of you, how you must do the same ritual) bruised from another bar brawl.

He flips his hand over as he works, eyes following the winding pathway of gauze when he catches the silvery glint of a fresh scar against the skin of his palm.

He blinks at it, face blank as he searches his memories. The only altercations he's been in have been unfulfilling. The only damage that's been done to his body has been a result of his own flesh giving way beneath the force of his own blows. The last time anyone else even managed to make him bleed at all would have been…

He feels his fangs prodding against his lower lip as he grins. He's absolutely feral with the thought that you've marked him, the knowledge simmering hot and pleasant and wild in his gut.

He'll have to pay you back, he figures, fantasizing about just where on your skin might best bear the brunt of his teeth…

–(a thought comes bubbling up, unbidden, a more permanent way to mark you, hold you down and press a vial to your lips, let you bite into his fingers as he pries open your jaw, his red blood mixing with the  red red red of the sea spring, both pouring down your throat as he drags you down into His depths,)–

Ais huffs a breath into the emptiness stillness of the shrine surrounding him. Time has passed indeterminately. The air has shifted with the sobering cling of nightfall. He had a pot of tea brewing, but the results of his efforts are unusable, over steeped.

He pours the contents out.

  . . .