#Just figure out whether something is actually harmful or not

[revcleo]

There's a post which says that it's spreading a dog whistle to say "return to tradition reject" modernity and that's what fash want. I disagree, I think it's fine if people individually feel nervous about such things, but there's a massive difference between fascist usage and either parody or just straight up non fascist usage.

A similar thing is the little dark age meme, there's a big difference between one which is reminiscing of nationalised rail in the UK and one which calls modernist buildings inferior to classical architecture.

Neither of those are truly calling for a return to the politics of the past, but people who consider classical aesthetics superior to modernism is something which aligns with and draws people into fascist circles.

Abandoning a memetic style to fascists doesn't stop it from having plausible deniability, the dog whistle part is to appeal to people who don't even recognise the black sun.

The usage of various memes changes over time, in example: pepe, and the angry npc meme.

Pepe had innocent origins, then got big around the rare pepe ebay auction, then was adopted by various nerd cultures and most prominently by 4chan fascists, then it evolved into the only fascist groyper, but peepo also evolved from it. As it stands peepo does get used by some fascists but both peepo and pepe get used by a lot of twitch streamers. Inc lgbt streamers or otherwise harmless people.

This alarmed me at first, and there's still some emotes that I won't use amongst friends because they might be too alarming still, but I don't think that it's possible or correct to go around and say that pepe and peepo are off limits due to their fascist association.

The angry npc meme with the 4 panel version of the "reasonable" looking person who says something which turns an "npc" angry was doubly both a fascist meme in origin. Both the "npc" part, which is about implying people who aren't them are unable to think for themselves, and the angry meme, which was originally all about fascist talking points.

I was very alarmed the first time I saw someone post that meme outside of a fascist context, but I don't think that it's another thing to say it's been entirely tainted because I think it has the same or similar use of a lot of previous memes.

I don't think it's true that people posting memes which have a basis or have been well used by fascists either are spreading fascism or plausible deniability. Plausible deniability is a base feature of most fascist symbols. It's like saying pissing in the sea will raise the sea levels.

When otherwise harmless people do post memes of which the template is originated or founded in fascist spaces, it's alarming and worrying. It doesn't mean that all marginalised people have to be alarmed, or will be, maybe some are even posting the memes. You can calm yourself down, as I have, by checking who the person posting things is. Are they actually a risk? Is this someone you should preemptively block?

Humans love to pattern match, but this can result in jumping at shadows, I once made a joke in a queer server about my monkey brain reacting to something, and someone who had never posted and never did again, said how it triggered their trauma from being pushed out of a job by racists. Even though I am black and I was not talking about anyone but myself, they still felt threatened.

It is perfectly understandable how individuals may have a strong reaction to something, but that doesn't mean that either people who share the same marginalisations will or should feel the same way. Sometimes you need to take a deep breath and avoid the primal part of your brain which is shouting about a threat and reason whether that's true or not.

[frogathy]

childhood was spent thinking i’d go to hell and men would not love me if i swore so now to heal from that i am swearing as much as i fucking can until i come to my own fucking conclusion about how i feel regarding the usage of such crude vocabulary

[sanguinesmi1e]

A Round Door Like a Porthole, Lazarus Green Pt. 1 (you're here) Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4

Wayne Enterprises didn’t really need a small business specializing in “ecto-weapons” invented by self-purported ghost hunters, but S.T.A.R. Labs tipped Lucius Fox off that Lex Luthor was trying to buy an obscure little company in Illinois, and thwarting Luthor was always worthwhile. Now Tim just had to figure out what to do with all the equipment and the concerningly large arsenal of guns and things that looked like normal household items but seemed to have other, horrific purposes. He would have laughed at the way they slapped “Fenton” in front of every invention name (do ghost hunters really need a Fenton thermos? Won’t a normal thermos keep their coffee hot just as well? Are ghosts like trout, to be caught with a Fenton Ghost Fisher which just looks like a normal fishing rod but glow-in-the-dark. And what the fuck even is a Fenton Peeler!?), but he thought with some chagrin about the batarangs, batmobile, and everything else that had “bat” as a prefix in the batcave. 

However, of all the things Tim hadn’t expected to find when he flew out to do an inventory of assets after they bought the business sight-unseen, a portal generating a Lazarus Pit in gaseous form was probably at the top of his list. He didn’t even know that Lazarus water could change states from a liquid to a gas like that. Maybe there actually was something to the whole ghost thing. He supposed that it made sense for ghosts to exist, after all Deadman was part of Justice League Dark. Speaking of. . . he should see if Bruce could call in someone from JLD to assess things. He was feeling decidedly out of his depth.

John Constantine did not like to consult for mega corporations like Wayne Enterprises, but Batman had specifically requested he go check something out and he figured, where's the harm? 

There. 

There’s the harm. 

It turned out the “thing” he’d been called in to look at is a machine that can tear open a stable portal into the Infinite Realms. That is not something that should be possible. That is not something technology should be capable of achieving. That is definitely not something that should exist. Bloody hell, what had the Bats roped him into!?

This really should have been Zatana’s job. Or Deadman’s. Hell, Raven or Secret would be preferable. Because John would prefer not to be dealing with this. In fact, he would prefer to be back in literal Hell than deal with the crazy shit in the Infinite Realms. Could John handle demons, archangels, and even gods? Yeah. He can bind or exorcize most supernatural threats. Does that mean he relishes the idea of going toe to toe with heavy hitters from the Infinite Realms? Absolutely not. 

Some beings who lived there were just little blob ghosts made from ectoplasm and emotion. Some were the restless undead who could not or would not cross over to their afterlives. And some were the embodiments of concepts like nature, destructive weather, and dreams. He wasn’t sure where Death fit into the Realms, whether she ruled or visited, or if it was actually just an extension of her, but he didn’t really want to find out. There were many things John could defeat. Death wasn’t one of them. And now he was looking at a portal into a realm where the living were not meant to be. 

Danny hadn’t returned to Fenton Works since graduating high school. It turned out that he was less anxious when he was not living with people who fantasized about “tearing him apart molecule by molecule” and thought that discussing their plans to dissect him (although he maintained that it would be a vivisection since he’s only half dead) made for fascinating dinner conversation. Who would have thought that his constant stress, anxiety, and insomnia were caused by environmental factors? He’d been unpacking things with a very nice therapist his sister helped him find, and seen great improvements in his mental health. It really helped that she was dead too, and unlike Spectra she didn’t feed off the misery of her patients.

Danny hadn’t intended to ever return to Fenton Works, but when Jazz told him that Jack and Maddie sold their life's work to Wayne Enterprises and a multibillionaire playboy was about to have unfettered access to the Ghost Zone, he was. . . concerned. To say the least. And that was why he was in the middle of doing some light sabotage when Tim Drake-Wayne and a guy in a trenchcoat who reeked of cigarette smoke entered the basement lab. It’s why he was hiding under the Specter Speeder removing the ecto-engine, and there to overhear the conversation that followed.

“So, am I right in thinking that’s a Lazarus Pit?” Tim asked Constantine.

The older man stared at the portal, then at Tim, then at the portal for an uncomfortably long time. Then he pulled out a flask and drained half its contents before saying, “Yes and no. That is basically the same substance as the pits, but I think that this does something else entirely. It seems like this machine basically functions as a summoning circle, but instead of pulling one entity from one side to the other, this is just an open doorway that is perpetually pulling in anything or anyone who gets within its sphere of influence.”

“That doesn’t sound like a good thing, John.”

“It’s really not,” 

“So what does that mean, is it like a blown hatch in space causing rapid depressurization?” Tim felt a little ill at the thought. “What is it even pulling into our world?”

“No, no. Nothing so dramatic as that. It’s more like, hm, so the way summoning circles work is they invite or compel a specific entity to manifest, by basically making a one-way magical portal for them. This portal is kinda like an invitational summoning, which entices, but doesn’t force anyone to enter. Usually a summoning will have a purpose though, and the being you summon will be offered a deal. If this is doing what I think it is and pulling citizens of the Infinite Realms through and leaving them on this side without a contract or direction, they’re probably getting pretty frustrated and causing havoc. It’s like offering someone a job in another country so they have to get a visa and uproot everything, only to get off the plane and find an empty office, no housing, and no paycheck.” John lit up a cigarette and took a drag.

Tim wrinkled his nose, but knew from long experience that it wasn’t worth it to argue about American tobacco restrictions in the workplace with Constantine, especially while the man was doing him a favor. Also, the man looked like he really needed either a cigarette or another drink, and he’d prefer second hand smoke to a drunk sorcerer. “So then why hasn’t this town been overrun by these beings from the Infinite Realms?”

“Good question kid, but what I really want to know is how is this portal staying open? Really, how was it opened in the first place is the most pressing issue.” John mused.

Tim had already located the blueprints for the portal while waiting for Constantine, but either the Fentons had intentionally falsified the documents to seem plausible just long enough to make off with the money, or he just didn’t understand enough of the interaction between physics and the occult to comprehend how the portal could possibly function. 

He flipped back through the blueprints while the blond man sat cross legged in front of the swirling green portal and his low, distracted mutterings took on the cadence of a chant. The curl of smoke from his lit cigarette unfurled into some kind of spell array, and began to glow. Huh, maybe Tim shouldn't be too quick to judge him for tobacco misuse. Tim triple checked the flat file for any more information about the portal, and came up empty handed.

John, meanwhile, kept chanting as the magical array grew and spread to encompass the entire entrance to the portal. At last he stopped speaking and stood up, stepping back to double check his work. “Alright, Drake. You might wanna close your eyes for this one. It’s gonna be bright,” he said, popping his cigarette back between his lips. Then he stepped forward and blew a mouthful of smoke on the center of the array. The smoke caught against the softly glowing lines, pushing them until they floated back and collided with the nebulous green swirls and, despite Tim closing his eyes, flashed so incandescently white he could see them through his eyelids.

“OW! Fuck!!” John clutched his face, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “I’m doubling my consulting fee,” he grumbled under his breath.

“You alright?” Tim asked, blinking spots out of his vision.

“Yeah, yeah. Just give me a sec.” He too was blinking now. “That was not supposed to be so bright.”

“I’m assuming it worked though.”

“It had bloody well better ’ave worked.” The older man squinted at the slightly dimmer lines which still shone painfully bright against the green. “Oh. Yeah, that worked. Fuck. . .”

“What?” Tim looked on in alarm as Constantine pressed a hand over his mouth. 

“Oh man. What wanker did you say created this portal?”

“Presumably Drs. Madeline and Jack Fenton. Why?” He drew the last syllable out skeptically. 

“Because, they opened this portal with a child sacrifice, and bound his death and all the lost life potential to their bloody machine to create a perpetual gateway to the Infinite Realms.”

[seelestia]

✧ the gambler and his knight.

aventurine can't stand having his outfit exposed to the elements nor to the rude hands of clients that won't cooperate – luckily for him, he has you to take care of it all. { aventurine with a bodyguard!reader. }

⎯ fluff & angst. 2.9k wc. headcanons w/ some written scenes. the plot is vv subtle but it's there a.k.a aventurine simps for you (jokingly) but you both end up catching feelings (not jokingly). mentions of violence, death & russian roulette. pre-penacony timeline. a self-indulgent piece to celebrate this blog's 2nd anniv! ★

★ 〜 masterlist.

© seelestia on tumblr, june 2024. please do not repost, plagiarize, translate, use for AI-related purposes or claim as your own.

aventurine who graciously welcomes you under his employment with a game. just a little something to ease your nerves and get you used to his ways. you look at him with such incredulity as if he just fell and hit his head silly. he pays no mind to this – finds it to be amusing a great deal, actually. keep it up, newcomer!

“heads or tails?” he asks, flipping a coin in the air and catching it seamlessly. a routine for him, you would've figured from the sight. “that's. . . an odd way of saying hello,” you point out but your tone bears no hint of protest. he notices that.

“i've heard that one before,” aventurine tilts his head with a smile, nonchalant. “so what's your guess?”

“tails,” you reply without any delay. it's a mindless answer; getting it wrong this way would prove to bear less disappointment compared to putting actual thought in it. “heads for me then,” he whistles.

aventurine opens his palm. it's heads. you frown as if to suspect foul play—but you don't because you know about his notoriously good luck—and your new boss chuckles, almost placatingly.

“looks like i win,” he grins without a care in the world at all. “aren't you starving? let's fetch ourselves a meal, friend.”

a loss rewarded with a prize? you blink. with grace so in contrast to the whiplash you feel, aventurine walks past you with a trail of expensive perfume in his wake. obviously, he expects you to follow and you do after a moment's reluctance.

(this guy is more confusing than the stellaron.)

aventurine who grows quite fond of seeing you acquiesce to his wishes, whether serious or trivial. could you ward off those reporters? could you pour him a drink? could you play a game of poker with him? could you join him for lunch? you're always so professional that he starts to find some mirth in pushing your buttons (never too much). unlucky for you, he does it to be affectionate and lucky for him, you always say yes even if you roll your eyes every single time.

aventurine who trusts you with his credit card. . . to a worrying degree. when asked if he's sure about this, he just waves it off and says it'll be safer in your hands. seriously, this card has been in your possession longer than it's ever been in his. sometimes, he does ask for it back – only to drop some 200k credits to your account. “a tip for doing a good job,” he'd wink casually while you're flabbergasted beyond belief.

aventurine who finds it extremely attractive whenever you step in to protect him from harm. dealing with uncooperative clients is a day in his life, yet some are so brutish they resort to getting physical – but he has you to make sure their hands stay off him. a gun in his direction? knocked off before the trigger even has a chance to get pulled. reaching out to grab him by the collar? they're already on the ground, your foot threateningly pressed on their back as a warning. what a dashing sight – and thanks to you, his pristine outfit has been saved more times than he could count at this point.

aventurine who likes to call you his “knight in shining armor” teasingly. awh, you don't like it? he thinks you're more than deserving of that title with the way you always swoop in to get him out of trouble. if the thousands of credits he gives you aren't enough yet, won't a cute title suffice? “it sounds corny,” you tell him with a grimace—and maybe, yes—but he just chirps coyly, “dunno. i think it's fitting.”

aventurine who makes it his responsibility to check on you after a rough mission. credits are no problem, he'd even reserve the most expensive private doctor in the cosmos if that means you'll recover faster. sadly, he has little to no medical skills – so the most he can offer you is bandages. sure, you can take a bullet to the stomach and handle a punch or two, that's your job, but what about tiny scratches? . . .don't tell him you're about to reject his kind offer.

“what's your favorite color?” he queries, somewhat out of the blue considering the situation where he is helping you tend to a minor cut on your finger. you raise an eyebrow, “why do you wanna know?” as he gently plasters a plain-colored bandage on your skin (which he's only been granted permission to after minutes of begging you to let him do it).

“for the bandages,” aventurine answers. he finds no need to hide his intentions as he runs a thumb over the bandage, softly as to not hurt you, to keep its position secure. “so that the next time you ask, i'll have some in your favorite color for sure.”

“how. . . thoughtful of you,” you snort, amused.

(briefly, he resists the urge to ask if he can place a kiss on your cut for 'luck'. but if he does, you might have his head. so, he'll try another time.)

aventurine who slowly begins to find a sense of comfort in your company. maybe, it's the way you scoff at his quips with a smile or the way you always tell him to be careful. maybe, it's the way you take him seriously or the way you stay by his side—is your job description the only reason why?—or maybe, he's just pathetic and reeks of so much loneliness you feel sympathetic. he can't tell, but he hopes the luxuries he has can persuade you to stay just a little longer. even if you don't actually care. (you do.)

aventurine who notices how anxiety brims in your gaze when you watch him gamble at the table – with a sum too high to be considered sane and sometimes, his own life. he can see it all; how your hands shake as if you want to reach out, how your lips tremble as if you want to tell him to stop. but this is what he's made for, is it not? he'll survive one way or another. . . until fate decides the bill for all his past good fortune is finally due. and when the time comes, he'll be ready for it. (will you?)

a game of russian roulette.

it always starts with thrills only to end with carnage spilled all over the table. luck is the only thing worth praying for at that point and oh, is luck not the dearest friend aventurine ever had? hence the reason why he always agrees, not with a yes but with a “why not?”.

you're there as his protector, yet utterly condemned to the role of a witness as soon as aventurine nods along to that darned game. panic rushes through your veins as the gun is passed around so relaxedly, so easily with laughter all around. aventurine's next in line, you realize grimly. the next decision that comes after is spontaneous, so different from your usual calculated nature – you drag him out of the casino in a frenzy before the weapon even lands in his hand. in your head, there is no other thought louder than: he could've died.

“a shame i didn't get to the fun part,” you hear him hum from behind you, too disturbingly calm for your liking. the bustling noises inside the establishment have all but faded into the background. “that was close, hm?” he laughs, a sound you would've found endearing if this was another occasion. any occasion that doesn't involve teetering dangerously on the precipice of death.

you stop in your tracks and aventurine, behind you, naturally follows. your silence is something he first takes note of and the way your hand shakes as it holds his is the second. you still haven't let go. what's going through your mind? he calls out your name softly, perplexed at your lack of explanation.

“. . .why did you say yes?” you respond with a bitter question. “you could've died. you almost died,” you try to hold back a shout – yet, your words are spat in such a fusillade he feels a seed of guilt starting to bloom inside his lifeless heart. he discards it in favor of putting on a frivolous smile.

“oh, relax,” he lets out a chuckle, one that sounds so ignorant of the taut tension in the air. “it's just some russian roulette. why so serious?” he shrugs as if to physically brush off any seriousness clinging to his figure. his remark gives off the assumption that every single hint of your worry has flown over his head.

“it is serious. . .” you bite your bottom lip. he sneers in return, “yeah? since when?” as if to challenge you to give an actual answer. his life is full of risks, to say otherwise would be a lie. “you're sweet for worrying but you don't actually care about me that much, do you?” he snickers to himself. like the thought of your caring about him can't possibly be true, like it's all just a terrible joke.

but he's the only one laughing.

aventurine falls quiet and finally, genuinely meets your gaze for the first time that night. he doesn't like what he sees. your lips are downturned, unamused and saddened—you do care, a realization that has been left unsaid—and all remainders of levity in him are replaced by immediate dread. it only now registers that the anger, concern, frustration on your face are for him; they're the unavoidable consequences from caring about him.

(his eyes widen. no, no, no.)

“c'mon, you—” he covers it up with a carefree smile, as feigned as it came. he shoves his hand in one of his pockets. it's shaking. “. . .worry too much. you've seen me play a handful of games before. i've never lost a wager, remember?”

you don't look convinced at all. in fact, you look as if you've arrived at the brink of seething. “and if you do? for once in your life, you lose?” you prod him for more. for something, for anything – perhaps, for a promise that he won't do it again.

(but you know aventurine, you know there would be no such promise.)

“then i lose,” he says, final and resigned. “there's really nothing else to it,” he tries to offer you another smile but it didn't quite reach his eyes. “hey. at least, you'll be there to witness my spectacular fall, right? it'll be a show to remember.”

he nearly doesn't manage to keep up the façade. it's already as precarious as it can be. you don't reply to him this time – instead, you let go of his hand to wipe at your cheeks. his gaze trails after your fingers and it freezes upon seeing the pearly tears falling free from your eyes.

aventurine has never seen you cry before. you're always so stone-faced, so hard to break that he recalls almost cheering when he heard you laugh for the first time. that was when you finally won a round of poker against him. a pity, he would've reminisced about the memory more. . . if only the matter of losing and winning a game isn't as serious as it is now.

“don't say that,” you mutter, harshly wiping away at the incessant tears pouring from your eyes more than you'd ever allow them to. some make their way into your mouth, they taste just as bitter as your current frustration. does he truly value his life so little? you can't fathom it, you can't fathom him at all.

but there is one thing you were certain of, at the very least: “you hired me to protect you,” you shake your head unrelentingly, “so i'll do it. until you throw me away, i won't let you die.”

you've stopped crying then. aventurine feels remorse; the tears that you shed because of him are starting to dry. the selfish part of him wants to reach out and brush them away with his thumb – but would you let him? would this lead you further down the rabbit hole that is him? in the end, he decides against it.

“. . .i'm sorry,” he sighs instead, raking a hand through his messy blond hair. whatever it is he is apologizing for, he doesn't have a clue either. he lets his eyes slip shut. he can't bear to look at you, can't bear to look at his pitiful reflection in your eyes.

(he's not worth caring about, can't you see? he dances hand in hand with death – there is no need to subject yourself to being a spectator.)

the two of you then part ways that night with shallow pleasantries on your tongues. no inside jokes, no evident yearning for the other to stay, no more than an awkward exchange of “i'll see you tomorrow.”

on his way 'home', regret and relief clash to form something inexplicably hollow inside kakavasha's chest. he wanted to wipe away your tears—what a regret—but if he did, they would've burned on his skin and became another mark to haunt him—what a relief he didn't. and frankly, if destiny is about to reap his debt, he'd rather go with no regrets at all.

whether those regrets include you? he doesn't have an answer just yet.

(the name at the bottom of his contract with fate is signed as kakavasha. but you wouldn't recognize that name. not as him, at least.)

aventurine whose eyes can't flutter close at night ever since thoughts of you fill his mind more than they already do before. you care for him, you want him to live—all his fault, he allowed himself to get too close—but these realizations are rooted in too deep and refuse to leave. what to do, what to do, what to do?

it isn't supposed to turn out like this.

what he and you have is meant to be transactional; he'd be spared from unnecessary scuffles and you'd be compensated with monetary payment. he means to keep it superficially fun; for him to tease you with jests—so you'd stay and save him from the deafening silence in his head—and for you to dismiss him with that adorably annoyed look on your face. just some silly banter, that's it.

so then, since when are there rounds of poker where he'd coo over your frown when you lost? or the sound of your lecturing after he secretly got you a high-end item? or meals shared together where you'd bicker over the bill? or bandages in your favorite color kept inside his bedside table? since when do you start to care? . . .since when does he start to care?

think of something else.

kakavasha tosses and turns in his bed, but the soft pillows and blanket do nothing to quell these bothers of his. are feelings always this complicated? he places a hand over his eyes, tired and exhausted, and stares at the ceiling as if it could provide him with an answer.

but there's no use.

in a moment void of logical thinking, he reaches for his phone and hovers a finger over your name in his contacts. he is usually good friends with bad ideas – but not this time, he sets his phone down and lets out a frustrated sigh that only his expensive pillows are there to hear.

(for gaiathra's sake, he hasn't even told you his real name yet.)

aventurine who becomes awfully distant the next time he sees you. you accompany him to meetings with clients per usual, but it's different. . . he talks to you succinctly, not verbosely with that trademark grin of his. his face is bereft of the things you grow to like seeing on him. a sincere smile instead of one just for show, for example. but even that's difficult to ask for since he only speaks to fill the silence with empty chatter. he doesn't look you in the eyes either; you feel a pang of hurt, you've always loved his eyes.

aventurine who discards all thoughts of you as soon as he steps inside pier point to be assigned a project. a conclave between the stonehearts is a matter of top confidentiality and you, dutifully, are ordered to wait for him outside the office. though, he'll admit; your absence by his side actually does leave a gaping void—such hypocrisy, really—but at least, those pesky voices in his head know how to shut up when it comes to work.

“penacony. . . is diamond finally ready to do something about it?”

aventurine rests his left hand on the small of his back, fiddling with the clubs-shaped detailing on the fabric there. it looks like an act of idleness from afar, but anyone observant enough would know it's a way to subdue whatever nerves he wishes to hide.

he waits for the person in front of him, gazing at the purplish-red sky of pier point at sunset, to speak. for their next words shall mark the start of his next journey in fate's course.

aventurine who hesitates to let you come to penacony with him at first. but it'd be poor reasoning not to, since some might have a bone to pick with him as the corporation's representative. . . and he knows you'll protest to come with anyway. fine then, situationship discomfiture be damned – not even a second after he steps out of the meeting, his neon eyes finally meet yours. “so, how does a trip to penacony sound?” he announces with a confident smile. you blink, noticing how his lips are wobbling at the sides. you don't say no, however. (if only the two of you know what sort of ride you're getting yourselves into.)

— thanks for reading! reblogs with comments are most appreciated. why don't we all sob over this man like it's a cryfest ♡

[starry-bi-sky]

Who is the more well-adjusted twin; Damian, or Danyal? Why, it's Damian, of course!

And I have an explanation for this! But first I wanna preface this that this is just me like, rambling about this thought I have and it's not an attack on the trope as a whole. I love the Danyal Al Ghul au which is why i'm so deeply passionate about it, because I think it has a lot of potential to be explored. It's no secret that I've mentioned before that I think Danny's psychological development tends to get overlooked and underutilized in DAG aus, and the impact that growing up in an assassin league often goes ignored. This is just me further expanding on that.

Now lets set the stage! This is specifically for Danny who is adopted by the Fentons later down in life. Lets go twin au. At 10 years old, Damian goes to the Wayne Family, Danny is adopted by the Fentons (regardless of their affiliation with the League). By 14 years old, who ends up the better adjusted, more socially aware, spiritually in-tune with themselves, sibling? Why, Damian is! Why is that?

Because he has the actual support he needs compared to Danny. And I'm not talking about good or bad parents Fentons, because either way my opinion doesn't change. Damian would end up the better off twin, because, frankly, his family knows his background. They know he grew up in the League, they know what the League's teachings are, and they know he's a born and raised assassin. Knowing this, they can then help tackle and dismantle the teachings and lessons he has been given and ingrained into by the League. They may be a dysfunctional family, but they're functional enough to at least actively help deprogram all of the League's teachings that have been ingrained in Damian throughout his childhood.

Can't say the same for Danny.

Lets say Fentons here don't know his background -- and even if they do, the results may just stay the same if they play their cards wrong, -- Danny's now just been thrown into the deep end of a pool and is essentially being told sink or swim. Regardless of how he got there -- undercover, faked death, etc -- he has no proper support. He knows the League is meant to be secret, he's not gonna speak on it for various reasons. Whether it be some still lingering loyalty, fear of harm, or whatever. Whatever the reason is, he does not have a proper support system in the Fentons, no matter how nice they are. They can only tackle the surface level stuff and whatever Danny allows them to see -- if Danny ever lets them see it at all. For what do assassins do when they don't want to be caught? They hide. Sometimes in plain sight.

"But Jazz--" Jazz is a child. She is 2 years older than Danyal and no better at giving him a proper support system than the two adult Fenton parents, even with parentification. We don't know when she got into psychology or how long she'd been studying it by the time Danny's 14. We just know she's really into it. Even then, Jazz is not a licensed or reliable therapist, or even an experienced or implied good therapist, and should not be used as one either. It's a disservice to her character to reduce her down to 'supporting female emotional crutch'. Besides, therapy only works on people who want to get better. Danny, who'd be hiding who he really is, has very little incentive to want to, or to even think something is wrong with his way of thinking, even with exposure to the outside world.

When people's beliefs are outright challenged, they tend to double down on them, and Jazz canonically has a habit of psychoanalyzing her family and declaring what she thinks is the problem -- regardless of whether or not she's right about it. Jazz would get into psychology, try and psychoanalyze Danny, and all it would do is cause him to clam up, shut into himself further, and throw up even more walls so that she can't figure out that he has been lying this whole time. It would do more harm than good, and would actively hinder any progress he'd make in trying to open up to them. Roads and good intentions and all that.

That being said, I think Danny's development and dismantling of the League's teachings would be slower than Damian's. Much slower. Because he would be the one having to pick apart everything and figure out what is right, what is wrong, what he wants to keep, and what he wants to toss. Everything he unlearns would be stuff he has to unlearn himself. If he even gets to that point at all -- depending on his experiences, he very well could not change at all, or change very little. The League acts as a purge for humanity, meant to reign in their hubris and retain balance, they just also happen to be assassins for hire. Danny's time spent in Amity Park could as well strengthen his belief in their teachings just as much as it could weaken it, especially if it goes as canon and he gets bullied.

Regardless, being tossed to a civilian family as someone who is very much not a civilian, without any support, would be actively detrimental to Danny's overall mental health and development. Especially to strangers like the Fentons. Damian was closed off and standoffish even with blood family, and it took him time to open up to them -- Danny, with the Fentons, would be even more so. He doesn't know them, he doesn't trust them, he has no rhyme or reason to open up to them, and since the Fentons don't actually know him, they can't help him the way he needs. Once "Danny Fenton" is made, he has even less reason to open up. So long as Danyal allows it, they will only ever know Danny, and they'll never know Danyal.

TL:DR the Fentons aren't the better family option just because they're civilians, and actually that makes them the worser option between the two because they can't give Danny the proper support he needs. You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink.

[scientia-rex]

I've been trying to figure out what the deal is with prediabetes so I can write a meaningful response to an ask I got about it, and I just keep going wait--okay--here's one paper--but here's another one--here's a Cochrane review--but here's a different meta-analysis--and here's newer data from an RCT...

It's nuts! It's bananas. And anybody who says we have good, crisp, clear guidelines around what prediabetes even IS, much less what to do about it, is FULL OF SHIT.

What I really need to know in order to feel more confident about my handle on whether to medicate pre-diabetes is the population incidence. Not prevalence. Because if I take the most optimistic studies about medication as an intervention, specifically, I could be looking at about a 30-40% reduction in risk of progression to diabetes. But! How many people is that, actually? Because medication is not without its harms! We need to compare number needed to treat with number needed to harm, we need to have high-quality evidence that says yes, if we give this medication to everyone who meets X level of criteria for pre-diabetes (it's different in different sources AND it's changed repeatedly over our lifetime!), we will see a level of benefit sufficient to justify making these other people who would not have progressed to diabetes without it endure the hassle and side effects of taking a medication for the rest of their lives.

AND HERE'S THE REAL FUN PART: we don't really know where tissue damage begins! We thought we did! 6.5-7ish A1c. But it turns out there is a marked risk of retinopathy beginning at 5.5! Which is considered normal. AND ALSO we should probably be thinking of it as at least three separate disease based on our current ability to measure--A1c is a broad marker that collapses multiple forms of dysregulated blood sugar, and when we use more fine-grained tests, we see meaningful distinctions that probably affect preferred treatments between people who have impaired fasting glucose, people who have abnormal values on an oral glucose tolerance test, and people who have both. We should treat these groups differently because they reflect different underlying pathways: elevated fasting glucose means your liver is breaking down too much glycogen while you sleep, which is one issue, while elevated post-prandial glucose means your skeletal muscles (OR SOMETHING ELSE they're not totally sure) are behaving abnormally in response to insulin. IT'S NOT THE SAME THING and people with both impaired fasting glucose and abnormal post-prandial glucose are at higher risk of progression to diabetes/tissue damage than people with just one of those. AND WHILE WE'RE AT IT, what is diabetes? What's the best cutoff? What's the best measure? How many underlying pathophysiologies are getting collapsed into the same group????

THE MORE I LEARN ABOUT THIS THE MORE QUESTIONS I HAVE and experts are all being serenely confident while contradicting each other so I have to actually dig in the data a lot harder than I usually do. I've been meaning to do this for months, but one of the presenters this morning made a comment about the benefits of putting prediabetics on metformin that made me go "hm, do I need to start doing that?" and I've gone from my kneejerk answer being "no, we studied this and it doesn't help" to "I don't fucking know and neither does anyone else."

...as always, Cochrane is probably right.

[ceilidho]

This is in no way of hating but i want to know why do you enjoy writing noncon/rape? When I first downloaded tumblr which was couple of months ago i was surprised by the amount of noncon fics here. I eventually came to enjoy them which makes me question myself. Whenever i read a noncon fic and enjoy it i feel like im betraying women who actually went through those traumatic events. Plus I actually don't really like dark romance books? I love cod dead dove and that is mainly because i really love the characters and the authors are so talented. I rambled so much and i hope you don't get this in the wrong way i don't mean to hate AT ALL i love the stuff you write. Maybe i shouldn't think too much and let myself enjoy what im reading lol

first of all, no worries! i wasn't sure about your tone/intentions at first, but by the end i was totally fine with the question.

i actually don't mind talking about this stuff - i just sometimes avoid it on main because i prefer chatting about it privately.

second, i'm no psychologist or sociologist, so i probably won't be able to give you the most satisfactory answer, but i think there are a lot of different reasons. i can only name a few. one thing i should mention right off the bat is that rape fantasies are very normal (and this is true whether you're a survivor of SA or not) and writing/reading fiction can be a safe way to process those thoughts/feelings.

one of prevailing reasons is, of course, that many survivors of SA use noncon/dubcon literature/art as a way of processing their experiences and taking ownership of their trauma.

and look, people are going to go back and forth on this point (i've seen it all before - many people refuse to believe that engaging with noncon lit/art is helpful, and in fairness, it's NOT helpful for everyone because every person is different), but at the end of the day, if a survivor tells you "writing/reading this was helpful in my recovery" then that's that!

additionally, for many women and non-binary folk (i can only speak as a cis woman, but i'm sure this is a shared lived experience across many different people), we're also taught from a very young age to suppress our sexual desires / that being open about our sexuality is morally reprehensible and shameful. and a lot of people carry that shame for years, impacting them well into adulthood. so dubcon/noncon fantasies can be a way of being able to enjoy sexual scenarios where you don't have to be the initiator, thus taking away some of the emotional weight and shame.

plus, at the end of the day (and im sure many people will disagree with this take, it's something that i'm still figuring out myself), there is a kind of weird underlying consent implicit in dark fics. like, you might be reading a fic or novel that's ostensibly noncon, but you're also actively seeking out that literature (hopefully it's not just sprung on you - i do very much agree with tagging to the fullest extent and my lukewarm take is that I think all books, even traditionally published ones, should come with content/trigger warnings too).

there are a medley of reasons why someone might write or read dark fiction/dark romance. again, i'm just one person and i can only speak from my own experience!

i think at the end of the day, the important thing to realize is that fiction is fake, and as long as the writer appropriately tags their work and ensures that the audience is aware of what they're getting into when they start reading, they're not coercing the reader into something they aren't prepared for.

and it's totally fine if you have limits (like, you can read and enjoy dubcon, but not noncon) or can't engage with the material at all, but it's also unfair to say that it reflects someone's real life values - the same way that we don't say that the people who enjoy crime fiction must love murder.

and the last thing i want to say because this got a bit out of hand lol, is that, yes, for some people dark fiction is genuinely harmful, whether or not they're a survivor. it's not for everyone and that's completely fine and i'm aware of that, which is why i agree that you should tag as much as possible (even if you feel like you're overdoing it sometimes), but someone else's discomfort doesn't give them the right to tell you how to process your own emotions/experiences/desires/etc.

as long as no one's getting hurt, there's no issue as far as i'm concerned. and sorry but, no one's getting hurt by reading a fic or a novel unless the author didn't give proper content warnings - if you "forgot" to read the tags or read anyway DESPITE being warned, im sorry but that's life.

[kyutushi]

GN!READER X ALASTOR HCS

a/n; it’s been a while since i’ve last written hcs for anything so i hope these will suffice !! LOL

ENJOY!!

— he’s definitely a gentleman! opens doors for you and helps you with anything you need, just call for him and he’ll be there instantly!

— finds himself staring at you time to time just wondering how he was even able to pull you

— there’s an area in the parlor somewhere with a piano, you often organize things in there so he’ll play piano for you while u work <3 ; yt link for song

— you’re not in a contract with him he could never do that to u

— whether you’re also an overlord or just a regular demon he has you by his side during meetings, whispering gossip to you bc let’s be real he def has some shit to say abt the others

— sleeping next to him is the best, the quiet radio static when he’s sleeping is the most comforting thing ever

— “y/n, love! you look as ravishing as ever” he would say even if you just woke up lookin like shit

— angel dust n husk def ur besties bc HELLO they are the best (he is confused with your friend choice.)

— secretly tries to keep charlie away from you.. he really doesn’t want you to leave him for heaven. he wouldn’t know what to do without you by his side.

— only lets u see his tail; you and angel dust were in a giggling fit in his bedroom while talking sweet gossip about others. angel always has something to say about ANYONE, how does he know this stuff? no idea but TEA IS TEA. “HA, ya know toots when valentino talks every now and then he squeaks like a moth! it takes so much to not burst out laughing on set” he giggled and covered his mouth. “oh my god, don’t tell ANYONE i told you this but..” angel leaned in slightly to hear you better, “alastor actually does have a tail… he tucks it away and gets so embarrassed about it!” you quietly snickered as angel tried not to laugh. suddenly he tenses up and looks behind you, pointing at the dark figure behind you.

“hmmm, what was that love? care to speak up a bit? i couldn’t quiet hear what you had to say to your friend here!” upon hearing this all so familiar threatening cheery voice

you sweat dropped, “oh it was nothing dearest please— why don’t we talk in the parlor!” you forced a suspicious smile to which he squinted at you. “hmm alright then!” he drops his watchful stare and hooks his arm with yours, ushering to the parlor.

he sits you down on the sofa and sits beside you, you rest your head against his chest. “your heart is racing darling, why would this be?” he smirked. you bite your lip anxiously before speaking up, looking up to him. “i mayyy have said something secret to angel… it was harmless i swear dear!” he finger found its way to your jaw, tilting your head ever so slightly up so he can look into your eyes. “if you were anyone else i’d have you murdered on the spot, but i could never harm you love! consider this a punishment!” — “consider wha—“ he presses a sweet short kiss to your lips, suddenly pulling away and walking away with a small smirk. you sat there in total shock as that was the last thing to expect.

long story short; that was the only kiss for the day (of course you had to beg him for at least one more goodnight kiss, and of course he eventually gave in. how could he say no to his darling?)

[lesbianchemicalplant]

transmisogyny-exempt people do the most insane handwringing about how trans women who say ‘egg’ are Predatory Toward GNC Men and Assuming Genders and Reinforcing Gender Roles or whatever (this is just the TERF argument that trans women are nefariously trying to Convert gnc cis men)

whether you like it or feel Uncomfy or not, the fact is, the following is a very common experience for trans women:

a trans woman makes a friend who at the time self-describes and presents as a man; who seems to be seeking out as many trans women as they can (maybe surrounding themself with trans women if they're able to and/or following their trans women friends around like a duckling); who seems somewhat uncomfortable around men and especially with being treated by them as a Fellow Man; who is very aware of and interested in trans issues; who maybe talks or asks about various aspects of transitioning; and maybe has other interpersonal mannerisms that don't mean anything on their own and don't even necessarily mean anything in context. but yes, then that friend eventually comes out as a trans woman to the trans women she's close to, maybe after having only recently come out to herself

this is something I've personally experienced: this is roughly what I did when I was starting to figure things out (seeking out trans women online). this is also basically how one of my close RL friends made friends with me, and eventually came out to me. I was one of the first trans women she met in real life

and yes, before my friend came out to me, I did Wonder. I didn't assume, and I didn't do anything to push or prod, because it wouldn't have been helpful: it would likely have just made her uncomfortable. I figured the best thing I could do in any case was just being there, and being worthy of trust to talk about anything when/if she wanted to

(said friend is actually now in a similar position wrt one of her siblings, who has talked about how it would be better to be a woman and wear women's clothing among other things, but for now still self-describes as a guy. We'll See)

and yes, sometimes when trans women are in this position—having a friend like this whom we wonder about—we might refer to having a friend who may be a closeted trans woman or an ‘egg’ when in private conversation with other trans women, or when speaking in an anonymous and non-identifying context. this isn't outing anyone, and doing so is not Assuming Someone's Gender or Trying To Convert A Man or Force A Gender On Someone

we might also refer to ourselves in the past tense as having been “eggs” when talking about our experiences growing up, figuring things out, getting to know other trans women, questioning and coming out to ourselves, etc. (again, I myself did seek out other trans women online etc. before I knew I was trans—again, this is all pretty common!)

we are not hunting down any cis man who enjoys baking or whatever and forcibly declaring them to be an Egg. we do not have the social power to do this even if we wanted to, which we don't. even if you did encounter such a hypothetical trans woman, she would be annoying on an interpersonal level, but again, probably not in a position to commit real harm. and if YOU were to fixate on and rage about The Nefarious Trans Women Assuming People's Genders, that would say infinitely more about you than about us or about some purported Serious Social Problem with the term “egg”

any transmisogyny-exempt person who has a problem with any of this is welcome to eat shit

[moony-2001]

The real-world impact of Lore Olympus

i.e. do your research Rachel

Trigger warning: racism, fetishization, appropriation, mentions of SA

Long post ahead

A while ago, someone told me that Lore Olympus was just a silly little comic written out of boredom. That it was made to be "funny". They told me that "[I] can't hope [for] an extremely [well-written] story when it was just made with the intention to make something goofy" and that if Rachel actually wanted to make something serious like I had, she would write a book and not a comic.

At the time of this exchange, it was past 1 a.m. and I was exhausted. I did not want to argue with this person and it simply wasn't worth my time or energy in the moment.

But looking back at that (mostly one-sided) interaction, I can't help but think that there is so much wrong with that point of view. Of course, everyone is entitled to their opinion about Lore Olympus, whether good or bad. But Lore Olympus isn't just some silly little nothing comic about nothing important. It is a comic that actively appropriates and erases Greek Culture. It is a comic that has no respect for the actual stories that have been passed down over thousands of years whether by word of mouth or written text. It is a comic that perpetuates a false narrative and harmful stereotypes about characters or certain groups of people. So, no, it's not just a silly little comic.

Incorrect information

Here’s an example of what I mean:

When I was doing research for my post about the 10 year time skip, I looked up Leuce to reconfirm the little information I knew about her. Wanna guess the first thing that popped up about her?

A Lore Olympus Wiki article.

Okay. How about Minthe? Hundreds of pictures of her from Lore Olympus and a LO Wiki article as one of the top 3 results. Both character are horribly represented in LO and unfortunately there isn’t really any documented stories or records that can refute how LO paints them. Because of this, other characters in Greek Mythology like Leuce and Minthe, whose stories have little to no documentation, stand to suffer the most harm from deliberate misrepresentation on Rachel’s part.

Of course well-known and better documented figures in Greek mythology face slander as well. What about Thetis or Leto? How about Apollo? All of their portrayals in LO are HORRIBLE. I have seen people online absolutely drag them to filth not because they're upset about how the character is portrayed compared to their mythological counterpart, but because they have no knowledge of how they are actually portrayed outside of LO. They just assume that's how the characters are. Similarly, people who have either very little or no prior knowledge of Greek Mythology and Culture would look at the comic and go "Yep, sounds legit. It must be true." and go about thinking that what is portrayed in LO is accurate to what was transcribed thousands of years ago.

Creative interpretations and racism/fetishization within LO

Don’t get me wrong. Creative interpretations and artistic liberties can be great. When they’re done tastefully. I personally think if done correctly, a Greek myth spun in a modern way has the potential be very good. But that's not what we were given.

Characters like Minthe, Leuce, and Thetis (all nymphs btw) are portrayed as trashy tramps who put out and are used as a foil sabotage Persephone and/or her relationship with Hades. Compare that to Greek Mythology where in the Iliad, Thetis is very well-respected by the gods, particularly Hera. Unfortunately, other similar characters like satrys (and basically any character that isn’t a god) are usually portrayed as a low-class POC that can be easily exploited, manipulated, or used as a temporary villain/lover/pawn to “get back” at Persephone, our white-coded protagonist who can do no wrong.

Additionally, there is a clear race/class bias against characters like nymphs in LO. We see many cases scattered throughout the comic of gods like Hera or Aphrodite referring to nymphs as "trash" or "low class" or the idea that nymphs do not belong with gods being heavily implied if not outright said. I cannot tell you how often I've seen Minthe be called some variant of "cheap" by the readers of LO. Even Persephone (who created the flower nymphs) treats them with such disrespect. She frequently calls them some variant of "stupid" or "simple" like saying how they're not the sharpest crayons in the box even though she's the one WHO MADE THEM. However, it's so odd not really to note that nymphs like Echo, Amphitrite, or Psyche (who was previously disguised as a nymph) are not discriminated against. This is because they are liked or trusted by the gods they are around and ergo are often portrayed as the "good ones", which is a disgusting mindset to have.

We also see the fetishization of nymphs in the comic that is disturbingly similar to the fetishization of women who are Black, Asian, or Latina. It is a known fact that Hades has a flower nymph fetish. Not only is this implied in the comic, but Rachel stated it outright in an old Patreon post. Nymphs are also generally treated as sex-symbols, disposable, and as a lesser-than. Zeus frequently displays this behavior by abandoning nymphs he knocked up in the mortal realm.

For example, when Persephone finds out Apollo is dating Daphne, she isn't upset he's dating her friend. She's upset he's dating a flower nymph, beings that are generally considered to be "rare", "dumb", and objects of sexual desire. Ew.

Even on the Lore Olympus website (loreolympians.com) nymphs are regarded as "beautiful", "desirable", and "very exotic". And when they're not described in a sexual manner they're say it with me now regarded as "low class" or "workers" for some kind of god/goddess.

Final thoughts

So not only is the characterization of characters like Minthe or Thetis harmful to Greek culture and the stories that are so ingrained in their society, but it is also perpetuating harmful stereotypes about people of color and women who are confident in their sexuality.

Of course, the characters within Greek Mythology had their own issues. Zeus was a serial rapist, many of the goddesses deemed to be "feminist" by today's standards were actually horribly misogynistic looking at you Athena. But 1. that's just how things were back then (but that does not make it right) and 2. all of the good, the bad, and the ugly is still there in Greek Mythology. They're not denying how fucked up it is, but they're also not changing their history to better fit their own narrative or the narrative of the modern world. It exists, it happened, but now it is studied and called out by historians.

Rachel, on the other hand, is doing exactly that. She is actively changing the Greek's cultural history to better fit her fic's narrative. She is constantly sweeping things under the rug or going "No this is how it ACTUALLY happened". Lore Olympus is marketed as a "feminist retelling" yet somehow, it takes allllll the ugly parts from Greek Mythology (rape, incest, problematic age gaps, dubious consent, etc.), mixes it with a majority of the issues we have in the modern world (white feminism, rape-apologists/rape culture, grooming, fetishization of certain minority groups, etc.) and then amplifies the concoction to 20. Lore Olympus cannot be a "progressive, feminist, retelling" and also have characters that are morally apprehensive/come straight from the ancient myths. It does not work. In fact, IMO it makes all the problems from both eras worse.

News flash: actual cultures that are still thriving today are not your toys. They are not "made up". They matter. Do better.

[homunculus-argument]

It's actually kind of funny how much brain space you can free just by adopting the principle of "if it's not hurting anybody, it's probably fine". If you don't know whether you should or should not do something, pause and try to figure out who's going to get hurt if you do that. If you struggle trying to come up with any imaginary hypothetical person who would be harmed by whatever you're doing, you're probably not going to benefit from listening to that doubting voice telling you that you're not allowed to do that.

Once I learned how to make friends and started finding people who actually liked me and supported me, my family started warning me about surrounding myself in toxic echo chambers that uncritically affirm and validate whatever I'm telling them, and believing whatever they say. Of course the people who have only heard my side of the story would believe whatever I'm telling them and side with me, they haven't heard their side of what happened. That it's unfair of me to poison people against them by telling people how they make me feel, when they aren't there to argue in their own defense. That family needs to be there to tell you the hard things about yourself and criticise the things you're doing, because strangers don't love you enough to tell you to stop doing ugly and cringe things, and correct you when you're being embarrassing.

That losing yourself into uncritical echo chambers of blind support and affirmation, without being held back by the leash of the critical eye of your family is bad because.... Yes, why? Who is being harmed if I do so? Am I being harmed by being surrounded by people who are utterly delusional in their opinion that I am fun and likeable? Who don't tell me when I am acting sickeningly wrong because they don't have the decency to smack me for doing that? Who never make me cry by telling me about every single thing that I am always doing wrong?

Who is harmed by my happiness? Why is it wrong to surround myself with people who are utterly delusional in their belief that I'm not a bad person? Why not entirely lose my grasp of reality as my family sees it, and believe them?

[howtofightwrite]

If someone was shot through the thigh (Nothing major hit, clean entry/exit wounds if logistically possible, how long would it take before they could walk without an aid of some kind? I'm counting hobbling and limping as walking.

Follow Up Question: Any idea what kind of med care that would need without getting a hospital involved with it?

So, this is one of those times where the answer really is, “it depends.” While you can't walk off a gunshot wound, getting shot in the leg might not actually stop you from walking or running, though this comes with a caveat that you're not going to make it especially far. Though the answer to, “how far?” could easily be, “as far as adrenaline will carry you.” This includes cases where the bullet fractures the bone, but doesn't completely shatter it. Though, those cases are going to be extremely unpleasant (for obvious reasons.)

Actual recovery times will vary wildly depending on far too many factors, and you can end up with chronic pain that never heals. Best case, you're looking at a couple weeks before the wound heals, most of the time you're looking at a few months, and lingering pain could last for over a year (if it ever does go away.)

While this is an unusual example, the warning about not aggravating a wound still applies, and trying to hobble around after getting shot is a fantastic way to inflict more harm on yourself. Figure it will take roughly ten weeks for the meat to properly heal up, and while you might be somewhat mobile before that time, it's probably a good idea not to overly stress it before it has fully recovered.

As for medical treatment, most of that is going to be packing it with gauze and (ideally) getting dosed out of your gourd on antibiotics. Gauze is easy, and the only real concern there is keeping you from leaking blood all over the place (while also providing some protection against future infection. The gauze needs to be changed, at least, daily, and the wound will need to be packed with gauze (so, not just wrapping it around the leg.) Getting the latter without a hospital is going to be a lot harder these days. The rise of antibiotic resistant bacteria strains means that these kinds of antibiotics are kept on a much shorter leash today. Unfortunately, it's also kinda critical for the whole, “not dying,” thing.

It turns out that the whole part about a bullet being hot enough to sterilize itself is a myth, so any bacteria on the bullet, and of course, any bacteria that gets into the wound itself after the fact, will have a very easy path to infection. Deep tissue wounds like this are a hugeinfection risk, and these are the kinds of infections that can easily turn lethal.

Of course, a doctor will be better able to assess whether the injury was actually a clean through'n'through, or if something was nicked. A bullet can easily graze an artery, leading to persistent bleeding that will kill the victim without surgical assistance, but won't be fast enough to look worrying. It's just when it doesn't stop after several days of bleeding, that they might realize this is very bad.

So, again, they could potentially be on their feet immediately after being shot. How long it would take them to recover is a lot harder to assess, and if they did insist in walking around, that could make things much worse.

-Starke

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[multi-fandom-imagines8]

A Song of Ice & Shadow

Part 3 

You can read previous chapters here.

Summary: Y/n is adjusting to her new life in the Night Court, where she finds herself interacting with the Illyrians much longer than before, whether by chance or by force. An unexpected encounter with Azriel ignites something between them.

Warnings: slight self-harm, struggle with identity.

Word count: 2.55K

Waking up to the gentle hum of birdsong, Y/n resolved that today marked the day she would get out of bed, despite the lingering ache of her wounds. Steadily placing both feet on the floor, she managed to stand up and make her way to the bathing room. Confronted by her reflection in the mirror, it dawned on her that this was the first time she had beheld herself since her transformation. Staring at the unfamiliar figure before her, tears welled in her eyes as grappled with the stark reality of her altered appearance. Determined to confront her unease, she left her room for the first time, in search of a sharp implement, be it scissors, a knife, or a blade. 

Rhys was lounging in an armchair, when he noticed Y/n’s troubled demeanor. He greeted her but was met with silence, unsure if she’d intentionally ignored him or simply could not hear him. Perceiving her distress, he inquired “can I help you with something?”.

“No- wait. Actually, can I borrow one of your blades?” Y/n asked.

Confused by the sudden interest in blades, he asked “what for?”.

“I don’t have time to explain. Can I or can I not?” Y/n grew impatient.

“I don’t have one on me, but if you tell me, maybe I can get you one of your own” Rhys offered.

“Never mind, can you tell where the kitchen is?” she sighed in frustration.

“If you’re hungry, the house can make you food. Can you tell me what this is about?” he inquired.

“So if I want something, I can just ask the house?”.

“Technically, yes”.

“House, may I have a knife?” she looked up as she asked.

Rhys chuckled “you don’t have to look up”.

“I thought you said it would give me what I wanted, so where’s the knife?”.

“It appears the house is disinclined”.

“So, what? The house has moods now? I don’t have time for this” Y/n declared, striding out of the room, in search of a sharp object. After ten minutes of searching, she finally found a blade and hurried back to her room. Observing her rushed return, Rhys sensed something was amiss. He knocked on her door, but there was no answer. He knocked twice more, before he forced the door open. He looked around but couldn’t see her, fearing the worst. Rushing to the bathing room, he discovered Y/n poised before the mirror, blade in her hand, blood dripping from her pointed ear, as she attempted to cut it off.

“Stop, stop! What are you doing?” Rhys intervened, clawing the blade out of her hand.

“Give it back” she screamed at him.

“Cutting them won’t change what you are” he reminded gently.

“I don’t care! Give it back. At least I won’t be constantly reminded” she implored, holding back tears as she tried to reach for the blade.

“Wait, wait, there’s another way. I can glamour it, and you won’t have to see it, not until you’re ready” he offered.

“You can do that?” she calmed down slightly.

“Yes, and I can teach you”. After a moment of contemplation, Y/n assented.

“-and just like that, you can glamour things. Don’t get frustrated if it doesn't work immediately; it takes time and practice. If you ever need anything, just please ask me. Don’t rush and try to do things on your own. You can ask for help” he reassured her.

“I don’t need your or anyone's help. I can do things on my own” she declared.

“I know you can, but sometimes it’s easier to ask for help”.

“To you maybe. I prefer relying on myself. Thank you very much”.

“It was just a thought... Are you good now?”.

“I’m fine, you can leave now”

“I meant, how are you feeling after healing? Are you still in pain?”.

“I’m fine. I can manage. Now please leave, you are giving me a headache”.

“Was that a long conversation for you?” Rhys snorted.

“Well, certainly the longest we’ve ever had. I just hope for all our sakes that this will be the longest we’ll ever have” Y/n forced a smile.

“I highly doubt that”. As he reached the door, he halted and turned to face her again “Don’t let him win. I know you hate being Fae, but don’t let the King of Hybern break your spirit” he advised.

The next day, Y/n went to see her sisters. To her shock, Nesta just sat there reading a book, while Elain, well, Elain looked so different from when she was human. Her skin was pale, no colors gracing her face, her body was so fragile. She just sat in the corner of her room, staring lifelessly out of the window. The sight of her broke Y/n's heart. She tried talking to her, getting her what she needed, but she knew this couln’t be fixed.

Having so much spare time, Y/n tried writing to her biological father, but she didn’t know where to start, what to tell him, she herself did not even know what her future looked like now. So every time she tried writing a letter, she’d hesitate, discard the letter and start again. Her daily routine now consisted of waking up, eating, checking on her sister, attempting to write to her father, bathing, and sleeping. She was not used to this kind life, leaving her feeling confined and trapped. Seeking solace, she headed to the roof, where she discovered a large training ring. There, she encountered Azriel, who acknowledged her presence with a nod, before returning to his training.

As she turned to leave, something within her compelled her to halt and speak “You’re healed?” she remarked more as an observation than a question.

“I am. I see you are healed as well” he replied, pausing his training to face her.

“I am” a genuine smile appeared on her face “and the General?” she inquired.

“Still healing, but he’s getting better” he studied her every move, every expression on her face.

“I’m glad” she nodded, turning away and leaving him to his training. He debated saying something further to her but ultimately remained silent, letting her go, as he was unsure of what to say.

---

Unable to endure the confines of her room any longer, Y/n decided to have breakfast in the dining room. Seeing as she’d woken up late, she believed the room would be empty. Unfortunately for her, it was not. When she entered, she was met with the three Illyrian males, laughing and eating. She was about to sneak back out, but Rhys caught her “good afternoon, Y/n, or should I say good morning?” he mockingly greeted.

“Shut up” she played it cool and decided to sit at the far end of the table, opposite Rhys, with Cassian sat on his right and Azriel on his left.

Silence fell in the room, as she ate the meal the house provided her with. Feeling the weight of their gazes upon her, she finally spoke “Am I interrupting something? Because I can just go back to my room” her eyes met Rhys’.

“Not at all” Rhys smirked, resting his head on his palm.

“Then why are you all staring at me like some miracle had happened?”.

“You’re eating with us” Cassian clarified.

“Is there a rule against it?”.

“Nope, but I thought you had one”.

“I see your sense of humor hasn’t changed but shouldn't you train more, talk less” Y/n glared at Cassian.

“Are we your prisoners?” she returned her gaze on Rhys.

All three males’ eyes widened in shock “No, why would you think that?” Rhys, taken aback, clearly felt offended.

“The only way out of this house is through the ten thousand steps or flying”.

“I told you, you can always ask for help. Any one of us would take you out” he reminded.

“So, if I were to leave now, you’d let me?”.

“Yes, you’re not a prisoner, Y/n. You’re free to go anywhere you want” Rhys assured her.

“If that were the case, I’d be able to come and go as I please, without asking anyone to take me and bring me back, like some kind of a child” she confronted.

“Ah, so that’s your problem? Not being in total control of everything” Cassian added, earning a kick from Azriel under the table.

“I do not think you want to pick a fight with me now, General. Your wings are still healing” she remarked.

“And you think you can take me?” Cassian raised one brow.

“Cassian, this is not the time” Rhys warned.

“I’d like to leave now!” she stood from her chair, ignoring Cassian’s comment.

“But you’re eating”.

“I lost my appetite and would like some fresh air”.

“Alright”.

From the training ring, Rhys held her and said “hold on tight, you might not like this part” as he lunged into the sky.

“I’m not afraid of heights” she said, as she tightened her grip around him, taking in the new sight of the city and the fresh breeze. They descended near some shops in Velaris, and he asked if she wanted him to stay, to which she of course refused. They agreed on a time for him to pick her up and told her if she desired something, she could just put it in the house’s account, which again, she declined. Strolling through the city, observing the Fae going about their business, looking normal, she thought to herself they’re not so bad after all. One thing she noticed though, was that people here were happier than anywhere else she’d seen. When the agreed time came, she was standing at the spot where Rhys had left her. But instead of him, she was met with Azriel, whose wings were spread as he descended. This was the first time she fully saw the length of them. They were massive, she thought to herself. The way he tucked them in effortlessly as he strode towards her, his chest slightly rising, outlining his muscular features beneath. The heat flushed her cheeks as he got closer “Where’s your High Lord?” she snapped back to reality.

“He’s occupied at the moment. He asked me to come in his stead, so you wouldn’t have to wait” Azriel replied, maintaining his composure, even as the shadows seemed to whisper to him.

“How considerate of him” she sucked in a breath.

“Shall we?” he extended his hand to her. Y/n looked at his extended hand, noticing the scars, she wondered had they always been there? Lately, she’d been noticing a lot of things she never considered before. Gazing up at him, their eyes met for a split second, his face unreadable, before she looked away and took his hand. Despite his cold appearance, his hand was warm, while hers was freezing. At that moment, Azriel became aware that this was the first time they had any physical contact. Glancing at her, he could feel that she just had the same thought. 

His touch sent a jolt of electricity coursing through her veins, igniting a firestorm of unfamiliar emotions deep within her core. Then, in one fluid motion, he gathered her into his arms, lifting her effortlessly off the ground. As he did, she instinctively placed her palm on his chest, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as she struggled to maintain her composure. He held her close, his arms wrapped securely around her waist, one scarred hand resting gently against the small of her back to support her. Removing her hand from his chest, she encircled her arms around his neck, fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair as she relaxed, sending shivers down his spine. 

She was not the first woman to touch him like that, hell, he’d been with many women and had done a lot more than that. But she’s the first woman who made him feel like this…He was always able to keep his cool, to maintain his focus on whatever he was doing. But around her, he was losing it, losing control. She was beginning to take hold of him, not that he’d admit it.

They took to the sky, the rush of wind whipping past them, tousling her hair, strands brushing against his cheek. As they did, he caught a whiff of her sweet, tortuous scent. Even his shadows danced around her, stroking her face. She clung around him tightly as they soared higher, the heat of his body seeping through the thin fabric of her clothes. She could feel the hard muscles of his chest tense beneath her, and he could feel her heart racing against his chest. Managing to pull herself together, she tilted her head to the side, trying to get a view of the city.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” noticing where her eyes wandered, he asked.

She murmured “especially at night”.

As he was about to bank, he tightened his grip around her, warning her to brace herself.

As her feet reached the ground, she removed her arms from around him. He lingered for a moment before doing the same.

“Good night” she muttered and quickly went down the stairs to her room. He stood in the training ring in solitude, lost in his thoughts. That night, Y/n could not fall asleep.

In the next couple of days, Y/n rarely left her room. She’d leave once a day to check on her sisters and immediately return to the comfort of these walls she was growing accustomed to. Rhys came to check on her after her return and tried to initiate a conversation with her but was dismissed. During that time, she shifted her focus to the letter she was to write to her father. And for the first time, she managed to finish a letter before throwing it away. On the day she finally left her room, she wrote a letter and was satisfied with the content, but she kept it in her room, hesitant to send it. 

As she entered the dining room, she was greeted by Rhys and Cassian engaged in a discussion. She took to her usual seat and started eating what the house offered her. Somehow, it knew what she liked.

“Look who decided to grace us with her presence” Cassian remarked mockingly, a smirk playing on his lips.

“And look who's yet to regain the ability to fly with a fully healed wing” Y/n countered with a mocking pout.

“Enough you two! Can’t we have one normal day?” Rhys sighed, attempting to diffuse the tension.

“He started it” Y/n quipped

“I was just being nice” Cassian retorted.

“No you weren’t” she glared at him. Minutes later, Azriel entered the room, his expression slightly uneasy as he took his seat beside Rhys.

“What’s with you?” Cassian inquired.

“Nothing” Azriel replied in an icy tone.

“Clearly, there is” Cassian persisted.

“Mind your business, Cassian” Azriel warned and Y/n almost choked on her food, earning her a quick glance from him.

“Any word from my sister?” she shifted her focus to Rhys.

“She’ll be home soon”.

“Home” she scoffed “such a funny word” her eyes flickered.

Cassian was about to say something, but Azriel shot him with a glare that made him back down.

Taglist: @st4r-girl-official @judig92 @5onedirection5 @nayaniasworld @blackgirlmagicforever @stained-glass-eyes0708 @slytherintaco

[cloudcountry]

the burdens of royalty

Genre/Tropes: Established relationship, MC and Diavolo are married.

Summary: the weight of both the devildom and the human world are on your shoulders. if it wasn't for diavolo, you would have given up a long time ago.

Author's Comments: diavolo has a very tough job. every time he said he adores mc or that one time he confessed his love to them i panicked because thats so much. its heavier than the brother's "i love you" because hes ROYALTY and its a lot of take in.

i also find myself thinking about what his affection means for mc in the long run. i mean, surely diavolo has suitors. there are obviously higher up demons like the brothers (and maddi, that one witch that pursued diavolo so aggressively it was...icky.) for diavolo to actually pursue mc, i can't imagine what would happen when those same demons figured that out. if they were to make their relationship official or even get married, mc would probably need a bodyguard 24/7 because demons are OBVIOUSLY not chill with humans (like every single brother threatening mc and especially belphegor, although his circumstances were different because they involved lilith.)

anyways i'll be quiet, i hope you enjoy C:

~~~~~

It wasn’t easy being you.

Your now husband would always tell you that being him wasn’t easy, but now that you share the burden of his position, does that not also apply to you?

It came as quite a shock to the entire Devildom the day your engagement was announced—to think, the Prince of the Devildom, marrying a human! The demon aristocracy would have had your head if they weren’t so terrified of Barbatos. You were called many things (a manipulator and a cheat being among your favorites. Really, the higher ups in demon society would know too much about manipulating their way up the social ladder.) It was like they could comprehend that you just wanted to be with the man you loved, and that race and position and titles meant absolutely nothing to do with it.

If nothing else, you suppose being human was the easiest thing they could target. It shielded Diavolo from most of the backlash, at any rate. The last thing you ever wanted was for the public to lose their trust in him (and never give his ideals for the three realms a chance.) The fact that he only wanted the best for them seemed to fly right over their heads, as if Diavolo was just as untrustworthy as you, the foreign soul from another realm.

You, now their ruler, too.

But that’s exactly why you had to clench your teeth and bear it, bear the shimmering dresses and horned guests and Barbatos breathing down your neck so nobody would even think of attacking you. Snide remarks about your clothing of choice were met with “my husband picked it out, actually,” comments about how delicious your flesh smelled were ignored but met with a stern glare from your bodyguard, greetings that sounded so fake and that were obviously meant to butter you up were laughed at just as falsely.

Is this what it meant to be a royal?

“I apologize, My Liege. This ball runs til midnight. I assure you that you may retire to your chambers once this is over.” Barbatos whispers, strategically whisking you away from a group of demonesses muttering to each other and staring at you.

“Thank you.” you try to smile, but it probably seems like more of a wince than anything, “My feet are killing me. And the guests are just as bad.”

He smiles back sympathetically, and although he isn’t touching you at all, you can still feel the warmth emanating from him. Though the Avatars of Sin fear him, Barbatos has always been nothing but kind to you. You wonder if it has something to do with Diavolo, or if he really is that cruel. You suppose it doesn’t matter, whether you’re naive or not, because the fact of the matter is that you have the man Barbatos is loyal to encased in an eternal matrimonial vow. There is no way Barbatos would attempt to harm you.

“I will run you and My Lord a bath once this event is over.” he promises, and you can only sigh with relief when you notice he’s lead you outside, were the amount of people is nowhere near what it is inside, “Do you have a preference for which aromatherapy scent I use?”

“Use whichever one Diavolo chooses.” you reply, knowing he’ll be just as tired.

Barbatos laughs, a sound so full of mirth it makes you happy, too.

“I am sorry if that was out of line, My Liege. I was just amused by the coincidence. My Lord said to select whichever scent you would like.” Barbatos chuckles.

You find yourself laughing too, despite how nasty the demons around you treat you every time you hold one of these balls. It’s so sweet and considerate and just so Diavolo. You wish you could hug him right now and thank him for always trying to be a better man for you. He doesn’t seem like he will ever realize that he’s enough already, which simultaneously warms and breaks your heart.

He really thinks too highly of you. You’re not that special.

Barbatos leads you to a bench and gestures for you to sit. You do so without complaint, and before you can say anything he’s on his knees and massaging your calves. You feel yourself heating up in the face (because you still feel like he shouldn’t be doing these things for you), but you’ve learned a while ago that he takes pleasure in serving people. So you let him do his thing.

Part of your flustered state is also embarrassment, and despite your best efforts you cannot stop your eyes from darting around the gardens to check if anyone is paying attention to you. Thankfully, they all seem enraptured by an illusionist hired for the event who’s stationed in front of the grandiose fountain. He keeps making wispy demonic figures swallow running humanoid figures whole.

You’re used to this.

Another servant comes by, one by the name of Marie Anne. You know her well. Diavolo has always been very kind to her, offering her a life away from the downright cruel aristocratic family she had before. You don’t know the details, and you don’t ask. It’s not your place.

The demoness curtsies and smiles, offering you a bubbling glass of Demonus. It can’t get you drunk, but it can be refreshing. You take it and thank her. Her cheeks turn pink and she curtsies again before scurrying towards the crowd of demons watching the illusionist.

It’s funny how some demons could be so kind and others so nasty. There were many similarities that they have with humans, whether they wanted to admit it or not.

You tell Barbatos that he can stop now, and he halts his motions and stands up immediately. You’re still not used to being pampered in such a way, so you thank him. He only smiles and tells you it’s not necessary.

“I believe this is why the servants are taking a quick liking to you.” he muses, “I hardly think they would be this receptive if My Lord had married a witch or a member of the aristocracy.”

“You really think so?” you say, feeling your cheeks burn again from the praise, “I…I’m not doing anything special.”

“A simple thank you goes a long way, My Liege.” he hums, a content smile on his face as he stands beside you.

You suppose he’s right. After all, you’ve only heard (and seen, you think bitterly) terrible things about the aristocracy. They’re rude and impatient and only ever think about themselves when it comes to policies that affect the entire Devildom. If they didn’t fear Diavolo so much they surely would have attempted to overthrow him by now.

Too bad, you think smugly, staring at the insolent illusionist again as he makes a smokey human child scream at a demonic creature emerging from an equally smokey closet, He would destroy all of you if you even tried.

You feel immature for the thought only seconds later. You’re a ruler. You need to get your act together—you can’t be just as bad as them.

“My Liege, it’s almost time for the first official dance of the night.” Barbatos bows to you, swooping his hand gracefully towards the ballroom, “Would you like to reconvene with My Lord?”

“Please. I thought I would never get to see him tonight.” you groan, attempting to walk off the slight cramp in your calf as you follow Barbatos back into the fray.

The second your shoes hit the shiny flooring and make that click clack sound, there are shimmering eyes drawn to your form. They snap away as soon as they look, though, and whether it’s disgust or fear of Barbatos you don’t know. It doesn’t matter though, because finally you’ll get to see your beloved after he’s been mingling with the aristocracy all night. It isn’t hard to find him either, because amidst all the other clumps of beautiful demons you can clearly see an even bigger clump closer to the center.

You don’t even have to mumble awkward ”excuse me’s” as they all step aside for you (mostly for Barbatos though, as he’s leading the way and they’ve already made it plenty clear that they do not respect you) and before you know it, you’re standing in front of your beaming husband and a rather disgruntled Lucifer. He looks about as comfortable as you do in your formal wear, though he doesn’t show it. It’s too bad you know him well enough to see past his facade and pick up on all his little mannerisms he would never allow anyone else to see.

You spare him the teasing right now.

You try not to feel self conscious as you take your place by Diavolo’s side, a soft giggle leaving the lips of the demon you kiss goodnight every evening.

“Hello, my dear.” he whispers in your ear, stooping down to kiss your hand, “I’m pleased to see that you’re well. Have you been enjoying the festivities?”

Lie. Lie until you’re alone with him and can finally be yourself again.

“Yes, it's been lovely.” you lie through your teeth, a single drop of sweat sliding down the back of your neck as hundreds of pairs of eyes bore into you, “Barbatos has been most helpful. I’m incredibly thankful for him.”

Diavolo lights up like a little puppy dog at the mention of his butler’s name, and lets another loud laugh escape him. Despite his cheerful demeanor, you can still feel the hateful glares being directed your way. In the periphery of your vision, you can see Lucifer glaring right back at the demons behind you, and that gesture alone warms your heart. You are safe with these demons. Things will get better.

Even if better is in a few hours, when you and Diavolo will be in bed and he’ll spoon you and hold you tightly and whisper words of love and affection into your ear until you fall asleep. You discovered his habit for sleepy rambling relatively quickly after the wedding, and eventually you couldn’t sleep without it. If it wasn’t for his love, you surely never would have gotten this far with interrealm relations. If it had been anyone else, you would’ve given up.

Diavolo was the definition of shoot for the stars. He truly was an amazing demon.

“My dear.” he coos, eyes crinkling at the edges as he smiles that cheesy grin you know all too well and love far too much, “May I have this dance?”

He stretches a hand out for you to take, a symbol of how you two are bridging two realms together. Some of the people here tonight may think that’s the reason you two are doing this, that it's a diplomatic display to marry each other, but they’d be wrong. You know Diavolo isn’t the type to do something like that.

It’s like the demons in this palace tonight can’t understand that you two just love each other, and that's that.

And so you take his hand.

He sighs, a blissful sound that you know only you can produce from him, and sweeps you across the dance floor. His hand on your lower back is firm and unyielding, but it’s not possessive. Even when you were still living with the demon brothers, he never once overstepped any bounds.

Part of you wished he did.

It wasn’t just him that had wanted you two to spend time together.

You suppose that doesn’t matter anymore, not when his grip is so sure, not when his heartbeat is pounding in your ears as you rest your head against him, not when the demons and demonesses are moving out of your way. You know the respect is short lived and that they are only doing this for Diavolo, but that doesn’t stop you from enjoying it for now. Moments where a demon steps aside for a human are few and far between, but with you and Diavolo working together, you hope it will become more common.

“I love you.” you whisper to him, the words quiet enough so that only you two can hear them. You aren’t ready to declare such a vulnerable thing on your own, not when these demons have the strength to rip you apart.

And so Diavolo helps you, just as he always does.

“I love you more than anything.” he declares, his voice as loud as a blaring trumpet, a sharp contrast to your softness. You feel your face begin to burn, especially when you hear a murmur ripple through the crowd, but you cannot stop the wobbly smile on your face.

“Disgusting.”

“A human? Really? How will they rule us?”

“It would have been better if we stayed with our own kind.”

“What is Lord Diavolo doing?”

The ballroom begins to buzz and you feel yourself growing less and less sure of yourself. There are tears pricking your eyes, but you will them away. You cannot let them win.

And then, you see Diavolo’s form ripple. Wings sprout from his back and horns protrude from his head and there’s an uncharacteristically stern glare on his face as he fixes his malice at who you can only assume are the perpetrators.

You feel safe.

Maybe it’s a farce.

Maybe it’s make believe.

Maybe it’s temporary.

But Diavolo’s dream is possible, and you believe in him.

You just need to endure the burdens of royalty for him—the burdens he’s been bearing by himself for far too long.

[flightfoot]

You know, thinking about it, Marinette and Alya take really different approaches to figuring out who did something, whether they're guilty, etc. And I'm not just talking about with Lila, this was established with Chloe back in Despair Bear.

Denis Damocles: So, some smart aleck had the bright idea of calling the fire department. (the students gasp shocked) Somebody amongst us thought it would be funny to waste the fire captain's valuable time. Fireman: Yes, in fact, if you wouldn't mind I... Denis Damocles Hold on! I want the guilty party to apologize to you. Marinette: (whispers to Alya) I'm sure it was Chloé. I saw her on her phone right before the alarm went off! Alya: You seeing her make a phone call isn't solid proof. Marinette: (sighs)

Alya does not like Chloe. She does not think Chloe is a good person. She believes that this is the sort of thing that Chloe would do. But she still isn't going to make the leap that Chloe's definitely guilty, at least when it would involve an actual public confrontation. As Alya pointed out, seeing Chloe on the phone right before ISN'T solid proof. It's evidence, but it's not enough.

And then with Lila, Alya also wants some actual solid evidence before leaping to the conclusion that she's bad or publicly accusing her. While Alya's willing to take positive statements from others at face value or may leap to conclusions if those conclusions aren't too harmful to the person they're about, for anything that would result in an actual accusation, she really wants solid evidence, the kind of thing that you could actually argue in court and not be laughed out for.

Marinette, meanwhile, relies more on prior experience and vibes to determine whether someone is guilty of something. She knows that Chloe's a troublemaker and bully, so if something's gone wrong, she'll immediately conclude that Chloe did it. She knows that Lila's a liar, so she concludes that she's lying about everything (such as her various disabilities and injuries) whether she has evidence of Lila actually lying about that or not. And she knew that Chloe's was a jerk and that her only "friend" Sabrina was an accomplice, so when Chloe spoke positively about her friend and then that friend showed up and appeared to be doing something with gum on her chair, she didn't believe that he was taking the gum off.

It's the two basic methods of determining whodunnit that I see used generally in everyday life. Do you rely on reputation to determine who probably did something, or do you have to wait and try to gather solid evidence that'll hold up better? What's the consequences if you're wrong? And if you're relying on reputation to determine who the culprit is, then you're screwed if someone else has had different experiences with that person than you have, because that's the basis of your argument for them being the culprit.

[randomfandomlov3]

Heat Thief

Warnings: Fluff, Pregnancy, Health concerns, let me know if I missed any.

WC~1995

A/N - Tried to keep reader description to a minimum. Not edited much. This was just a cute thought that popped into my head. Thank you for reading <3

All Bucky could think about was getting home to his girl, his doll. The mission hadn’t taken very long, but he was absolutely exhausted. As he walked through the halls of the tower, he was confused because he normally heard her singing, or talking excitedly to someone about his return. They had decided that spending her whole day waiting for him in the jet bay to meet him when he got back, only caused them both distress. As he entered the elevator to get to their floor, Steve joined him. “Hey Punk, anything interesting happen while I was gone?” Bucky joked, knowing that the odds were low since he was only gone 3 days.

“Actually Buck, something has been happening, but I don’t know whether you would call it interesting, or if instead concerning might be a better word. Your girl, I think she might be unwell.” Steve said trying to break the news to his best friend as gently as he could.

Bucky’s heart pounded in his chest out of fear for his doll. What was wrong with her, was she going to be okay? Are we talking a cold, or something more serious?

Steve exhaled, and Bucky realized that he had said that out loud. “I don’t know exactly; her main symptom is that she hasn’t been able to get warm. She has been freezing for almost the entire time that you have been gone. She thinks it’s just the chills, but she doesn’t have a fever, in fact her body temperature is dropping. I have tried to get her to go see Helen, but she won’t. She said that she didn’t think this was a big deal, and she was nervous to go without you.” Steve finished just as the doors opened into the living room.

There she was, or at least that is what Bucky assumed, seeing the large mass of blankets gathered on the couch. “Doll, are you okay?” Bucky sweetly called out as he approached the shivering bundle. He knelt down in front of her to be face to face.

“Baby, your home! Yeah, I-I’m okay. I’ve ju-just got the ch-chills.” She gave him a big smile and tried to stop shivering. He put his lips to her forehead to check if she felt warm, but she didn’t.

“Doll, your lips are turning blue, let’s get you to Helen so we can make sure nothing serious is wrong.” Bucky reached into the bundle of blankets and picked his girl up. She was wearing his warmest clothes, which weren’t nearly as warm as she needed, because he always ran hot. As he carried her down to the medical wing, she curled deeper into his chest seeking his warmth.

Bucky explained the situation to Dr. Cho as he paced the small space.

“Hmm. Your body temperature is very low, almost in the range of hypothermia. Have you been partaking in any cold activities, that could have caused this?” She just shook her head in response to Helen’s question. “Okay, well, I am going to run some bloodwork, to see if we can figure out what is going on.” She took the blood that she needed and left the room.

Bucky clenched his metal fist out of worry. “Don’t worry, Doll, we’ll figure this out together what ever it is.” His girl shivered again, while nodding. He figured there could be no harm in trying to warm her a little bit. Bucky wrapped her up in his arms trying to give her as much of his heat as he could.

A few minutes later Dr. Cho returned to the room with a smile on her face. Bucky was confused as to why she looked happy, when his girl was close to experiencing hypothermia. “I have some good news and some less good news. But I am going to start with the good news, because the other news won’t make sense otherwise.” The smile on her face got bigger as she sat across from them. “You’re pregnant, my dear.” She paused to let the news sink in.

Bucky turned to his girl, excitement bubbling over. “We’re going to be parents, Doll.”

She nodded with happy tears in her eyes. “Now what’s the less go-good news?” There was a hint of fear behind her shiver.

Helen smile softened as she looked at her notes again. “So we also found trace amounts of the super soldier serum in your blood, which, of course, means that your baby received the serum from their father. And as we see in Barnes, the serum causes an elevated body temperature. For the average pregnancy, the fetus maintains a body temperature roughly 0.9®F higher than the mother, however, your baby’s body temperature is trying to get to that of a super soldier which is putting more stain on your body to produce heat for the baby to properly develop. Much like, if you would prefer this analogy, there is always a perfect temperature to hatch an egg, but for yours it requires much higher than what is typically produced.” She tried to simplify it given the looks upon their faces.

“So what can we do, Helen?” Bucky asked concerned for both his girl and his baby. He looked over at his doll, who had moved her hands down to her abdomen and had a soft look on her face.

“Heat, in a way that can get into her on a deeper level. Heating pads or bags, Warm not too hot showers or baths, warmed blankets, or probably the most effective way would be skin to skin contact with a certain super soldier who runs hot.” She gives a wink to Bucky.

“Okay thank you Helen, I’m gl-ad that we now know what’s going on.” Y/N shivered once again as Bucky scooped her into his arms.

“Before you go, I should let you know, that we are going to have to monitor you often throughout this pregnancy, because we don’t exactly know how the serum is going to effect things.” Dr. Cho handed Bucky a list of concerns to look out for.

“Thank you, Helen, I appreciate this very much,” Bucky said as he carried his doll out of the room and back to their floor.

He got her back to their room and decided that they should take a warm shower before getting into bed. He told her to get started and that he would join her in a minute. He heated up their towels and got the bed set up like a nest of warmth, with the warmest and fluffiest blankets he could find. Bucky then went back into the bathroom and joined his girl. He wrapped his arms around her resting his hands on her lower abdomen. “I can’t believe that we are going to be parents, Doll.” He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, and he heard her sigh and lean into him.

“I can’t wait to have a little version of us running around, but I swear if they have your stamina, you are tiring them out.” She laughed imagining their little one running around the tower.

“Oh, come on, Doll, you know you love my stamina.” He teased, his breath brushing against her ear, causing her to shiver for a different reason.

“I do, but if I have to put up with the energy that is bound to come while they are in the womb, you have to deal with it outside.” She looked at the man holding her with his head on her shoulder.

“I love you, Doll.” He pressed his lips to hers conveying all the love that he had in his body.

“I love you too, Baby.” They finished up in the shower and Bucky wrapped her up in the towel before carrying her to the bed. Her body shivered at the cool air. They both got under the blankets and although it felt like a sauna under there to Bucky, his girl finally started to warm up as she curled into his chest. His heartbeat and soft words lulled her into the first warm peaceful sleep she has had since he left for his mission.

“Night, Doll.” He pressed one more kiss to the top of her head, before falling asleep with a big smile on his face.

______________________________________________________________

She is now four months along, Baby is developing well, more than average, but still healthy, and still stealing heat. The team is excited to eventually meet their little nibbling and spoil them.

Bucky has been debating when to start his temporary leave from missions because the last thing he wants is for his doll to go into labour while he is not there for her and their baby. So while he was out on missions heating pads became her best friend.

Today Bucky was doing his workout for the day with a spectator, his girl didn’t feel like being alone right now and just wanted to be in his company. For some reason, She felt colder than most days today, so she figured she would use her heating pad, so she didn’t interrupt Bucky’s workout. She placed it on her bump and when she turned it on, she felt a strong kick right where it was sitting. She had felt the baby flutter before that but no kicks that aggressive. She turned the heating pad off as she rubbed her belly to ease the discomfort. Baby super soldiers kick hard.

“Doll? Is everything alright?” Bucky asked rushing over and kneeling in front of his girl. He placed his hand on her bump, and the baby started to flutter, although Bucky couldn’t feel it.

“Yeah, the baby just kicked for the first time, and wow is our baby going to be strong.” She giggled rubbing her belly. “Do you want to feel?”

He nodded enthusiastically, “Absolutely, I would love to.” He kept his hand on her bump as she turned the heating pad back on. Sure enough, the baby aggressively kicked at it.

“I think our little one can tell the difference between artificial heat, and heat that comes from their daddy. And have decided to make their opinion about it very well known to me.” She turned off the heating pad and took it off, giggling. All of a sudden, a shiver overcomes her. Well, it’s not that sudden since if she didn’t have some form of heat on her she would start shivering for the past months. Thankfully, Tony had figured out a way to make some heating for Bucky’s her clothes. That was best for when she had to run errands, or anything really that required walking for longish periods.

Bucky sat down beside her, pulling her in to give her heat. “It’s been decided, I am stepping back from missions until our little one is here and settled.”

She must have heard him wrong, right? “Baby, you don’t have to do that. I promise we’ll be fine.” She knew how important missions were to him. “You love going on missions, they are an important part of your life.”

He shook his head. “You and this baby are the most important parts of my life. And if our little one likes my warmth, I will be there for both of you. I can’t stand the thought of you two being uncomfortable while I am away.” Bucky’s right hand started to caress her bump, causing their little one to little tap their daddy’s hand.

“Our little one already loves you so much. Just like their Mama. I love you, Baby.” Her heart swelled at the bond already forming between the baby and their daddy.

“I love you too, Doll. I love you both so much. I cannot wait to meet our little one.” He held her as tight as he could.

Bucky knew he had to go talk to the team about taking off active missions for a while, but that could wait until later, right now his world needed him.