#I am almost definitely fine by all metrics

[nerdgirlnarrates]

Had a presentation on the SOAP process today, and now I feel ill

[swordsmans]

Hello! As someone who really really wants to attempt bookbinding, could I ask how you started? I am very overwhelmed with the amount of materials and equipment bookbinders use and it is not within my budget to get most of them, which is really discouraging :,)

I would love to know some cheap(er) alternatives to certain materials and which materials, in your opinion, is the most essential and worth splurging money on! I particularly have a lot of issues with using leather because it is WAYY out of both my budget and skill level haha!

Additionally, what are some of the reasources you used to learn how to bookbind? :o

Thank you!!! (It's alright if you don't respond to this! I was just wondering :])

hi, hello!!! im sorry for the late reply!!

to start with--i definitely dont use leather for the same reason!! even imitation leather is expensive, and tbh i like the ability to play around with colors and shapes that working primarily with bookcloth and paper affords me. you can either make your own bookcloth using regular fabric, a binder like HeatNBond, and tissue as long as you have an iron--or you can purchase it from places like amazon, hollander's, or other bookbinding supply companies. leather is ~fancy~ shit.

as for essential tools, that sort of depends on what youre trying to set out to do. western "cased" bindings require more material as a baseline, but glue-free bindings like coptics and japanese stabs require much less! really, as long as you have paper, a needle, thread, and cardboard, you can make a book! here are some of the tools i use, as well as some alternatives:

bonefolder(s) - i have two, a "traditional" one and a square angled one, both real bone. this is something i would consider an essential item, because you will use it for almost everything. you can buy a cheap teflon folder at your local craft store, but really anything you can use to crease your pages and evenly tuck your folds would work. a firm piece of plastic, a thick card--hell, a 6in ruler would work!

ruler(s) - god, i have so many rulers, both imperial and metric, in so many different shapes and materials. the ones i use the most are my 12in/30cm double sided metal ruler and my 3x4in/70x100cm double sided metal square, but as long as you have something you will be set. you can find cheap wooden or plastic rulers at your local dollar store!

weights - this includes freestanding weights and a press. while i do use a press, i also have some bricks from my local hardware store that ive wrapped in craft paper (because cleanliness is essential), a mason jar filled with rocks, and a giant stack of cookbooks. i use all of these for different things, but getting a few bricks would probably be your cheapest option; mine were $0.62 each at lowe's, lol! you dont need a press. anything that will get you even, heavy pressure will work!

waxed thread - you can use any sewing thread you want and wax it yourself by running the wax along the thread! small beeswax blocks are relatively inexpensive and will last quite a while, and regular sewing thread won't break the bank. you can certainly buy pre-waxed thread, but making your own works just as well.

awl - i have two awls and a punch cradle, and genuinely none of these are "essential". straight up just stick a sewing needle in a wine cork, bestie, and youve got yourself an awl. punch cradles are also totally optional; just make a guide with some cardstock so you know where to punch your signatures and youre set.

paper - this is the big rabbit hole, of course. fancy handmade papers can get REAL expensive and dont even get me started on procuring paper with the proper grain direction. HOWEVER, im currently using a mid-tier premium "printer" paper as my fill (though ill be switching to proper stuff when i run out) and you can definitely use regular sheets youd find anywhere with only minor issues. as for decorative paper--anything works! regular scrapbook paper is perfectly fine, and you can buy 12x12 booklets online or at your local craft store for cheap--it seems like theres always some on sale.

bookcloth - mentioned above, but making your own is probably the cheapest way to do it! however--bookcloth is only essential if youre doing a cased-in binding imo. if youre doing coptics/stabs/open sewn/glue-free/etc. bindings, you dont need it.

glue - glues are tricky. traditionally people use a combination of paste and PVA. however, you can use whatever glue you want so long as youre okay with the drawbacks of using high-moisture stuff. gluesticks, craft glue, whatever. you can also make your own paste with flour and water! if youre looking for some of the things id recommend getting the "good" version of, though, i would pick PVA. i buy mine by the half-gallon and its worth it, and i actually prefer it over nori paste (what can i say--im impatient! and paste takes 24 hours to dry).

cutting tools - this is the one absolute thing i would recommend getting: a good boxcutter with replaceable blades and a large cutting mat. this is the essential tool of all time, because while you can use scissors its nearly impossible to get a straight line on anything. i have a workpro w011043a, an xacto xz3601, and three pairs of scissors of various lengths--and my workpro is what i reach for the most. cutting mats can run a little expensive, but i cant stress enough how much easier your life will be with an open blade + cutting mat as your primary cutting setup.

chipboard - i use several different thicknesses of greyboard for my covers and spines, but you can genuinely use whatever cardboard you have on-hand. got an amazon box? that works!

of course, this is by no means a comprehensive list of tools--but these are my go-to tools for every bind! a lot of the fancy stuff like edging, foiling, bookmark-making, etc, is totally optional and opting out of those will significantly reduce your overhead costs. you can also start out with the inexpensive stuff and upgrade as needed! bookbinding is daunting and yes it does have a bit of an initial investment, but there are definitely ways to make it work if youd really like to get into the hobby. you can also look at starter kits on etsy, too! theyll often come with some of the essential tools as well as materials to make your first book, so you can try it out to see if youd like the hobby without going ham.

as for resources to get started, here are some of what ive used!! also not comprehensive because everyone is different, but a great place to start.

hope this helps!!!

[theinternetisaweboflies]

Self-Destruction with Collateral Damage Chapter 1

Everything was dark.

Teru felt himself rising towards consciousness, like a diver coming up from deep underwater, but everything was still dark.

His hands flew to his face, where they met soft cloth and a metric ton of pain. Teru couldn't suppress the sound he made, but he couldn't hear it either. The ringing in his head was only drowned out by the beeping sound that seemed to be coming from all around him.

It took him a moment to register that someone else was talking. The patter sounded family, but he couldn't make out the actual words.

Larger hands covered his, lowering them, and Teru probably would have put up a barrier if he had any psychic energy left. He was completely depleted. Not even the usual yellow glow made it through his blindfold.

Teru was about to start biting when he smelled the familiar combination of sweat, nicotine, and MobDonald's.

"Reigen?" he choked out.

The patter finally resolved into words. "Yes! Yes, it's Reigen. You're safe. Okay, kid? You're safe now."

Teru took another tentative sniff.

"Why do you smell like flowers?"

Reigen snorted. "It's not me. The biggest bouquet is from your class, but there's also a lovely selection of weeds from Tome, a sunflower from Mob, and-"

Teru sat up straight. He didn't even notice the pain until Reigen relieved it by clicking something that raised the bed up to meet him.

"Is he okay?"

Reigen hesitated.

"Is he alive?" Teru could barely get the word out, and not just because his throat felt like dried squid.

"Jesus Christ! Of course he's alive! He's just a little… out of sorts. Turns out he got a love tap from a Subaru right before his big moment, which was at least partially responsible for the whole..." There was a pause while Reigen must have been gesturing. "I'll let him tell you the rest."

"He got hit by a car?" asked Teru. The beeping increased in tempo.

"He's fine," said Reigen. "The doctors released him after one night of observation, which is more than I can say for you, young man."

"Thank god," Teru couldn't help the words, which were almost more of a sigh.

"Stop being relieved. You're in trouble." Reigen sounded exhausted. Teru wondered vaguely if he should budge up and make room. "Confronting Mob on your own… What were you thinking? Sure, he wasn't exactly acting like himself, but you must have caught on after the first broken rib. You do know he's stronger than you, right? Of course all you kids want to be the very best like no one ever was, but Mob is seriously overpowered."

"I know," mumbled Teru, who had no idea what he was being lectured about but definitely knew that much.

Reigen didn't seem to hear him. "You've been to the the office. Mob told me you can even teleport now! So what exactly is your excuse?"

Teru started giggling, which turned out to be a very bad idea indeed. He clutched his stomach, but he couldn't stop. He felt giddy. Shigeo was going to be okay. Everything else was filler. Even Reigen's monologuing seemed funny for some reason.

It occurred to Teru that he was probably on the good stuff.

"I don't know," he finally got out, wiping away a tear that was only sort of from the laughter. "What am I in trouble for?"

"Why didn't you ask for help?" There was a shuffling of fabric, and Teru could easily imagine the finger being wagged in his face. He felt like he was on Ace Attorney.

Teru tried to stop giggling, if only for the sake of his image. "Ask for… help?"

"Yes!"

"I didn't think of it?"

It came out sounding more like a question, but it was technically true. All he had been thinking about was Shigeo.

Reigen heaved a sigh, sounding more exhausted than ever.

"The nurses can't get ahold of your parents."

Teru's brain, which had been processing things so slowly, suddenly caught up to speed.

The blindfold was a bandage. The bed was remote controlled. The beeping was Teru's own suddenly erratic heartbeat.

He was in a hospital.

It was probably Seasoning General, and they probably still had the Seasoning City Child Guidance Center on speed dial. The hospital staff would be busy dealing with the aftermath of Shigeo's explosion, but not as busy as they could be, thanks to Teru. It was only a matter of time.

"Yeah, they work a lot," he said, hoping his even tone would balance out the air raid siren coming from the heart monitor. "I'm sure they'll get the message soon. Thanks for hanging out in the meantime, but you can take off now. I'm sure you have a lot to deal with, and visiting hours are probably almost over anyway."

"Oh, crap, what am I doing?" There was another shuffling sound followed by a light thud, which might have been Reigen smacking himself in the head. Then he clicked something else. Almost immediately, Teru could make out the sound of approaching footsteps. The door opened and Teru tried not to tense up again.

"Hey Ifukube-san," said Reigen. "He woke up. Can you get the doctor to do a concussion check and go over the prognosis?"

"Yes, Reigen-san."

"I can't believe that wasn't your first question, kid." This seemed to be directed at Teru, as the footsteps had receded into the distance again. "You took a hell of a beating."

"How long have I got?" Teru managed to drawl.

"Don't joke like that with Mob," Reigen said, with rare seriousness. "I'll let Honda-sensei give you the gory details, but it wasn't pretty. Lots of contusions and lacerations. Some broken ribs. They got those wrapped up, which is about all they can do, so you'll be on bed rest for a while. The patches are just to keep light out while your eyes are healing. They applied some sort of topical directly to your eyeballs, which was super disgusting, but it's supposed to keep them from hurting too much or scarring."

That was going to complicate things. Teru would be able to sense his surroundings well enough with his powers once they returned, but he had always resented the lessons that he'd learned from Shimazaki.

"They were pretty worried about the head injury at first," said Reigen. "There was some swelling, and they couldn't tell how bad it would be until it went down or you woke up. Maybe both. Either way, Honda-sensei is going to want a game of Twenty Questions, and that'll put you to sleep if the painkillers don't."

Teru nodded. He would have to find a way to stay awake.

"I'll be back in the morning, and Mob- Oh, yeah. He wanted me to ask if he can visit you tomorrow." Reigen hesitated again, only noticeable because it was so unusual for him. "It's okay if you don't want to see him."

"I want to see him."

“Alright.” Reigen patted the top of Teru’s bandages. "Just don’t be surprised if he starts crying.”

[moonfurthetemmie]

FOR PLUTO:

how long did the maze took yall to build it?? ( like costume the warehouse as the backrooms ) ALSO what's the metrical of the exit door?? I swear it's important question

and since Byte/Error doesn't like physical touch, do u like- just hold her hand while yall sleep or do u just hold one of her fingers??

Pluto: Wh-

Pluto: okay who are you people? Where do keep coming from??

Pluto: And how do you know about the-

Slash: dude the maze took so goddamn long you have no idea

Pluto: Oh my god.

Pluto: I think it took us…about 5 years and a month??

Byte: We spent weeks just trying to map it out.

Slash: And trying to figure out how to keep people from running around when we weren’t there.

Pluto: We spent almost as many weeks watching engineering videos to figure out how to make the spikes even work.

Byte: The spikes definitely were the hardest part.

Byte: Painting and building the walls took the longest, but it wasn’t really that hard. Just time-consuming.

Byte: And we had to repair the catwalks, and the lights, and the fans…

Pluto: Yeah, Byte was amazing when we started the repairs. Her strings made it so much easier to get up to the fuckin’ things.

Byte, snickering: And then we only half-assed fixed things because the other two got scared of being so high up

Slash: You could’ve gone up there, yknow.

Byte: I was fixing the catwalks!

Byte, elbowing Slash: Which neither of you wanted to do because you were too afraid they’d break underneath you and you’d break your necks.

Pluto, with mock-offense: Which was a valid concern considering that almost happened before we actually started with them! Twice!

Slash, laughing: Man, the look on your face that one time-

Pluto, pouting: Eat knives

Byte: …Hey, how big is the door?

Slash: I…don’t know?

Slash: We just kinda…cut a hole. In one of the actual doors.

Byte: Yeeah. So the warehouse’s exterior doors are all the same big ass heavy rolling doors, kinda like garage doors?

Byte: Normally there’s some heavy machinery that opens them and shit, but uh. It doesn’t work anymore.

Byte: And even if it had it was all on the inside, so we couldn’t have gotten to it when we first found it, so.

Byte: We just kinda eyeballed it? It’s roughly the same sized as normal door.

Pluto, grinning: Why don’t you come visit the maze and see for yourself how big the door is?

Slash, also grinning: We can show you all our hard work, too!

Byte, also grinning: We could even give you the genuine Backrooms Maze experience, if you wanted.

[A paper airplane smacks Slash in the face. Ah, the dangers of being tall.]

Slash: Hey, the fuck??

Slash, picking it up: …Is there something written on this?

Slash, unfolding the plane: “and since Byte/Error doesn’t like…” ok wait hold on

Pluto, reading over her shoulder: …Am I the only one who finds it weird that this person is asking how we sleep?

Byte: excuse me??

Slash: Yeah no this feels weird

Pluto: Do we…have to answer this stuff? Where are these even coming from? Who are these people?

Byte, coming over to read: Why do they know so much about us, too?

Byte: I don’t like this

(In their defense, it would be kinda weird. It’s okay though; they’re just extra suspicious of strangers. To answer your question, Byte’s comfy enough with Slash and Pluto that she’s perfectly fine cuddling with them. With those two specifically, it’s mostly unexpected touch, or physical contact when stressed. Cuddling’s fine though! She just is always on the outside of the cuddle pile)

[suspicious-whumping-egg]

heyo i am a stats freak and got the "how is this index actually calculated?" kind of autism and noticed numbeo in your latest couple of posts so just a heads up - their data is crowd-sourced and largely not accurate! it's great at giving you a vague idea as to cost of living but it falls pretty flat in terms of more granular info like groceries and house prices. also the cost of living calculator doesn't take the purchasing power of an average salary into account, as far as i know it just compares it to new york. if you ever want to study the relationships between quality of life and geographical location (for research or, yknow, moving out lol) then numbeo does offer a qol index which gives you a way better idea of how "good" a place is to live in, and can be used as a proxy to better estimate the actual cost and quality of living there. but it's still kind of a mess. for example, their "safety" measurement is basically irrelevant, since it's based of an arbitrary test that people online can fill out (and yes, people have flooded the dataset with negative reviews of cities inflating their crime rates. sometimes for fun sometimes for some Very Racist Reasons). the metric for healthcare is based on a form people can fill out (again, 100% anonymously, 100% online, 100% with no verification) and it combines the scores to form a "healthcare rating" - what goes into that "healthcare rating" is very subjective and largely not something a patient could even know. "friendliness and courtesy of the staff"? this doesn't even vary from hospital to hospital, this shit varies from department to department. there is no fucking way a statement like "the medical staff in all of Turin, Italy is very unfriendly" has any merit. a score for "equipment for modern diagnosis and treatment"??? compared to what? does the average patient filling out some online survey know anything about state of the art medical equipment so that they can compare it to what they've been treated with????? (the answer is no). ok, sorry, i'm just rambling now, but damn this actually is just yelp for cities and not much else. in a brief flash of self-awareness, i've decided not to go into detail on that horrible image by geo.universe on instagram (the one where nearly all of europe is a green LOWER cost of living than the us). it'd be another unhinged rant about how they don't have a source and how you can't possibly average out a cost of living for the entire usa, where housing prices range all the way from "five bucks and a warm smile for seven acres of land in some rural state" to "$1mil and a kidney for an almost-human-sized cage in NYC". ANYWAY jesus christ what i wanted to get to is that if you're ever considering comparing "costs" (financial and otherwise) when moving out please refer to better indices (like EIU's where-to-be-born index or CIW though they have plenty of flaws too) and remember to always compare costs (this time just financial) of living against the MEDIAN net income!!! averages are almost meaningless because of weird ghouls who make billions of dollars and act as the number-inflating Spiders Georg of money. i'm so sorry if you read all of this. take it as psychological whump or something. it's been a long day and i had a bird fly directly into my window today and it woke me up after i tried to take a nap. i hope the bird is fine because i sur

Hey friend thanks for letting me know! I’ll check out the other metrics you mentioned (although I’m not exactly sure what CIW is? Is it Canadian index of well being or smth else?) and yeah I hope the bird is ok <333 also how do you best find like, the average cost of living/purchasing power of places? Is there a decent scale or metric or do you really just have to do a fuckton of research for everything? Cause I’m definitely willing to put in serious work and research once I have it narrowed down to a few places and once emigrating becomes a serious possible option but rn it’s just very off in the distance planning and I’m just trying to think about what would even be the best options to consider

[terrific-fish]

When I had my heart attack (secondary to a pulmonary embolsism), the only reason I went to the hospital was because of a spontaneous need to throw up. I was 17. I have some communication difficulties (over-specification to the point of being almost nonsensical). When my parents asked me the questions that the doctors proceeded to ask at the hospital, all of my answers were no, because the sensations weren't specifically as described. "Are you having trouble breathing?" No. My breathing is unobstructed, air is going in and out. It's fine. If I moved any signifigant distance I saw stars, but that wasn't what anyone asked. "Does your chest hurt?" No, but I can feel my heartbeat, and it's making a rubbery sound that I can't hear, and it's a little bit square. But pain wasn't a descriptor I would've applied.

I'd had symptoms all day without realizing. I felt the clot move from my leg to my abdomen around 2PM. I was going upstairs, and it hurt my pelvis to tense the muscles in my upper thigh. It sounded like a latex balloon squeaking against your hand. I was more focused on how unfit I was, that I needed to take a break halfway up a ten step flight, panting.

I immediately went for a nap (normal behavior) but woke up every once in a while because of some intense lower back pain (fairly common).

At 7PM, I was to go out shopping, I went down the stairs, had a racing heartbeat, decided I wasn't feeling that great, and not to go. I sprinted back up the stairs in the way teens do (no leg pain this time, the clot had moved on), then fell onto the couch, seeing stars. I'm an asthmatic, and have a clear definition of "trouble breathing" so when my mom asked then, I said no.

I went to bed early. I don't know what time I woke up, but it was pitch black out, and no cars were on the road. It was probably between 3 and 4:30 AM. I was yanked to full conciousness by the need to throw up. I have emetophobia. I could feel my heartbeat, but it didn't matter, because I had to throw up. I could feel my heartbeat when I have panic attacks, too, but this felt different, except I was too busy being afraid of throwing up to notice.

I hadn't eaten after I got home at 2. Nothing came up. I was just wretching. Quite literally if I was any more self sufficient, I would've died, because I had no clue anything was wrong besides the stomach upset, and I only bothered my parents because of that. They asked me to catalogue my whole body. My mom (who is around for my panic attacks most often), thought I was fine (by my unforunate metric) even with the heart feeling, because it was so common for me. Luckily my dad heard "Heart" and went "that's outside of standard operating procedure" and they took me to the hospital.

If I were on my own, I wouldn't have triggered any of the buzzwords that would have saved me.

Tl;dr: Rubbery sounds from inside are bad. Sensing your heartbeat is bad, even if it doesn't hurt in the traditional way. When they ask about trouble breathing, they don't mean obstructed breathing, they mean panting for no reason.

A nurse has heart attack and describes what she felt like when having one

I am an ER nurse and this is the best description of this event that I have ever heard. 

 FEMALE HEART ATTACKS 

 I was aware that female heart attacks are different, but this is description is so incredibly visceral that I feel like I have an entire new understanding of what it feels like to be living the symptoms on the inside. Women rarely have the same dramatic symptoms that men have… you know, the sudden stabbing pain in the chest, the cold sweat, grabbing the chest & dropping to the floor the we see in movies. Here is the story of one woman’s experience with a heart attack: 

 "I had a heart attack at about 10:30 PM with NO prior exertion, NO prior emotional trauma that one would suspect might have brought it on. I was sitting all snugly & warm on a cold evening, with my purring cat in my lap, reading an interesting story my friend had sent me, and actually thinking, ‘A-A-h, this is the life, all cozy and warm in my soft, cushy Lazy Boy with my feet propped up. A moment later, I felt that awful sensation of indigestion, when you’ve been in a hurry and grabbed a bite of sandwich and washed it down with a dash of water, and that hurried bite seems to feel like you’ve swallowed a golf ball going down the esophagus in slow motion and it is most uncomfortable. You realize you shouldn’t have gulped it down so fast and needed to chew it more thoroughly and this time drink a glass of water to hasten its progress down to the stomach. This was my initial sensation–the only trouble was that I hadn’t taken a bite of anything since about 5:00 p.m. 

After it seemed to subside, the next sensation was like little squeezing motions that seemed to be racing up my SPINE (hind-sight, it was probably my aorta spasms), gaining speed as they continued racing up and under my sternum (breast bone, where one presses rhythmically when administering CPR). This fascinating process continued on into my throat and branched out into both jaws. ‘AHA!! NOW I stopped puzzling about what was happening – we all have read and/or heard about pain in the jaws being one of the signals of an MI happening, haven’t we? I said aloud to myself and the cat, Dear God, I think I’m having a heart attack! I lowered the foot rest dumping the cat from my lap, started to take a step and fell on the floor instead. I thought to myself, If this is a heart attack, I shouldn’t be walking into the next room where the phone is or anywhere else… but, on the other hand, if I don’t, nobody will know that I need help, and if I wait any longer I may not be able to get up in a moment. 

I pulled myself up with the arms of the chair, walked slowly into the next room and dialed the Paramedics… I told her I thought I was having a heart attack due to the pressure building under the sternum and radiating into my jaws. I didn’t feel hysterical or afraid, just stating the facts. She said she was sending the Paramedics over immediately, asked if the front door was near to me, and if so, to un-bolt the door and then lie down on the floor where they could see me when they came in. I unlocked the door and then laid down on the floor as instructed and lost consciousness, as I don’t remember the medics coming in, their examination, lifting me onto a gurney or getting me into their ambulance, or hearing the call they made to St. Jude ER on the way, but I did briefly awaken when we arrived and saw that the radiologist was already there in his surgical blues and cap, helping the medics pull my stretcher out of the ambulance. He was bending over me asking questions (probably something like ‘Have you taken any medications?’) but I couldn’t make my mind interpret what he was saying, or form an answer, and nodded off again, not waking up until the Cardiologist and partner had already threaded the teeny angiogram balloon up my femoral artery into the aorta and into my heart where they installed 2 side by side stints to hold open my right coronary artery. 

I know it sounds like all my thinking and actions at home must have taken at least 20-30 minutes before calling the paramedics, but actually it took perhaps 4-5 minutes before the call, and both the fire station and St Jude are only minutes away from my home, and my Cardiologist was already to go to the OR in his scrubs and get going on restarting my heart (which had stopped somewhere between my arrival and the procedure) and installing the stents. Why have I written all of this to you with so much detail? Because I want all of you who are so important in my life to know what I learned first hand. 

1. Be aware that something very different is happening in your body, not the usual men’s symptoms but inexplicable things happening (until my sternum and jaws got into the act). It is said that many more women than men die of their first (and last) MI because they didn’t know they were having one and commonly mistake it as indigestion, take some Maalox or other anti-heartburn preparation and go to bed, hoping they’ll feel better in the morning when they wake up… which doesn’t happen. My female friends, your symptoms might not be exactly like mine, so I advise you to call the Paramedics if ANYTHING is unpleasantly happening that you’ve not felt before. It is better to have a ‘false alarm’ visitation than to risk your life guessing what it might be! 2. Note that I said ‘Call the Paramedics.’ And if you can take an aspirin. Ladies, TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE! Do NOT try to drive yourself to the ER - you are a hazard to others on the road. Do NOT have your panicked husband who will be speeding and looking anxiously at what’s happening with you instead of the road. Do NOT call your doctor – he doesn’t know where you live and if it’s at night you won’t reach him anyway, and if it’s daytime, his assistants (or answering service) will tell you to call the Paramedics. He doesn’t carry the equipment in his car that you need to be saved! The Paramedics do, principally OXYGEN that you need ASAP. Your Dr. will be notified later. 3. Don’t assume it couldn’t be a heart attack because you have a normal cholesterol count. Research has discovered that a cholesterol elevated reading is rarely the cause of an MI (unless it’s unbelievably high and/or accompanied by high blood pressure). MIs are usually caused by long-term stress and inflammation in the body, which dumps all sorts of deadly hormones into your system to sludge things up in there. Pain in the jaw can wake you from a sound sleep. Let’s be careful and be aware. The more we know the better chance we could survive to tell the tale.“

Reblog, repost, Facebook, tweet, pin, email, morse code, fucking carrier pigeon this to save a life! I wish I knew who the author was. I’m definitely not the OP, actually think it might be an old chain email or even letter from back in the day. The version I saw floating around Facebook ended with “my cardiologist says mail this to 10 friends, maybe you’ll save one!” And knew this was way too interesting not to pass on.

[wtd28]

a thought occurred to me the other day. i would like to recount it to maintain the memory.

when my grandmother passed at the stunning age of 95, it both did and did not catch me by surprise. my dad, her son and youngest, and my mom, being the POAs and the only ones to give a shit outside of her church group and one of my aunts - my dad's sister - for several years prior, saw it coming. at 5:14am on a thursday my dad called me, and being that i am an insomniac, i answered. he said, "i guess you know why i'm calling."

"yeah. what's the next step?"

"we will let you know later today."

i went to work and did my thing. i didn't feel much outside of a vague sense of sorrow that she passed, but she had been in bad shape anyway so it was to be expected. all my coworkers were very kind and offered sympathy, which i felt i did not deserve because i felt no grief, just a sense of duty. they all asked if i needed to leave early, to which i declined and said there was no need because the overlap of my days off worked out just fine. later that day, i bought a handle of gin for when i was in the hotel room and drove the four hours there. memama, which is how we called her, desired a funeral where we all wore a champagne pink, rosé wine, blush colored piece at the event because it was her favorite color. the last time i saw her at the old folks' home she was still wearing pink. i own exactly one thing in pink so i wore it and my parents definitely appreciated it. we ordered pizza the night before.

day of. good aunt and uncle and my family hung out in memama's house. it was built by hand by my granddad in the early 60s. it still has that style to this day. an electric piano with nicotine yellow stained keys and a dusty 8-track stereo sat adjacent to a low television with carpeting on the speakers. as a kid, i would watch tv on it and watch the static lift the hair on my arms whenever i would touch the screen. if it worked and didn't weigh a metric ton i would have asked to keep it. instead, i got her collection of 8-tracks and cassettes.

the funeral was held in the same church where my parents got married over 30 years ago. from her house, it is down a steep hill, up another steep hill, toward the end of the address where a piss yellow painted brick mechanic / oil shop sits on the right and a log and tarp store of secondhand items lies to the left. go straight on past shoebox stucco houses older than me and no larger than an apartment living room bracket the road on both sides until you reach the church. it's typical baptist fare - brick build, rectangular with a small outcropping and a basketball court that my dad went and played on to mitigate his horrible cloying grief after his own dad died not a month before he and my mom got married, and that's where my memama had her final service in this life.

it is cosmically funny that the only people to sob and sniffle were the ones who barely gave a shit while she was alive, if not made her life harder. she was very kind and naive, and people around her took advantage of that like razor-teethed river fish against the pond cleaner.

it was closed casket, thank goodness. the spray of flowers were majority sent by my dad's work associates. there were at least twelve, and ten, maybe eleven, were sent by them, all in various shades of pink, purple, and yellow, with fresh and lively green stems and leaves. they stood in stark contrast to the almost burnt colored oak of all the bland furnishings and pews.

i have a shit extended family, but i will give one of my stupid cousins credit. one of my aunts, for some ungodly reason, lifted the casket open to peer at her mother in death, probably for sympathy points. she is... a character. well, she did that and turned to my cousin, her daughter, and said, "she looks so peaceful now," and my cousin guffawed and went, "mom, she looks like a corpse." which was true. i think her final weight at the end was in the eighty pound range. what fucking else is a wasted away elderly dead woman supposed to look like?

my dad and i did not cry, my sister and mother got sniffles and wept. people who did not matter or have any say about anything or have any attachment to us were sobbing like they had any leverage for anything. fuck em. holed up in the rusting sky blue trailer on the hill where i remember playing with a raccoon named rusty when i was a kid. they mean jack shit to me.

pre-service, i took a bible and read translation notes. the cousin who made a comment on my grandma's corpse nudged me and said it looked like i was studying. in a way, i was. i was studiously avoiding eye contact by skimming the segments in the old testament. jeremiah. matthew. segments of kindness toward your fellow man, followed up in quick succession by how your fellow man will be put upon the holy block and judged. i hate all religion, but i am simultaneously soothed by it because i know even back when people walked barefoot in the deserts and mountains, kindness still existed.

noon: service starts. my mom scolds me with her teeth showing to put the bible away, and that i can't draw during service. i wasn't planning on drawing, but because i had a pen in hand, that is the assumption. whatever, what fucking ever.

for two hours the service proceeds. the pastor has to be younger than i am. he recounts visiting my grandma during her final week, where she says for him to read a bible verse about kindness towards one another, about care and love, and being surrounded by people. my dad helped facilitate this. he knows the pastor well. people are crying around me. i stare at my left foot, crossed over the ankle with the right, clad in old tights, one flat shoe dangling. i don't cry.

the piano player fucking sucks, or maybe the piano itself sucks, because i hate the music. electric organ bullshit. i don't cry for the entire service. people send me condolences and ask for hugs. i don't know you fucking people, but i hug them and thank them anyway. i'm sweating in this knit pink sweater, black pencil skirt and wool tights. the spray of flowers atop my grandmother's glittering blush pink casket, like it'll explode to life in a shower of sparkles, sits between us all. i hate everyone here, even though i don't know the half of them.

the meeting after is so much more fucking bearable. everyone peeled out as best as they could. it was weird hugging my sobbing extended family members while i basically gave a "yeah yeah" and tried not to shoo them off. do not touch me. the saving grace of it all was hanging out alongside my dad and his friend since elementary school. it is entirely possible to laugh after a funeral. watching my dad and his friend try desperately not to curse inside a church sanctuary as they recounted boyhood stories made me have to choke back laughter behind my plastic cup of water. i really am his kid. nobody else was smiling. but i understand him and his friend. many things are beyond our control. so we must appreciate the experiences we have been given.

we shake hands with the pastor. the service was lovely, it really was, so i thank him with a double-clasped handshake. we pile into the truck, me being the shortest having to jump up and use the side rails.

my sister and i barter with my parents to go to a bar to cap it off. we eat pizza and mozzarella sticks. my dad and i enjoy the ambience of ozzy and metallica. my sister and i sleep in silence and wake up at 6am to go back home. we stop at a bp station for gas and coffee and then by the local liquor store.

she goes home. i go home. life has continued. my dad, upon going down the hill from the cove after the funeral, he commented, "i'm glad i'll never be obligated to go back to this fucking place again."

[cha-melodius]

45 + napoleon/ilya 👀

(Hello anon, you're the lucky first recipient of a fic based on the trope list: 45. You took a bullet for me. I chose this one first because I thought it was going to be short lmao, I am hopeless. You also get bonus tropes of hospital vigils and confessions of feelings while arguing. This ended up a bit on the angsty side, so I hope that's ok, and that you enjoy it!

This fic takes place early on in their relationship, only one mission past Istanbul, which I think is the earliest I've ever written a fic for them! The whole thing is below, but be warned it's about 2.5k.)

Hard to be Soft, Tough to be Tender

Read it on AO3

If you’re still alive, my regrets are few If my life is mine, what shouldn't I do? —"Help I'm Alive" by Metric

~~~

There’s a lot about this moment that Napoleon doesn’t see coming.

The bullets, for one, nor indeed the man shooting them, not until it’s too late anyway. But the thing that really catches him by surprise is the way Illya steps in front of him, turning his back on the shooter and enveloping him in a kind of desperate, protective hug. Napoleon can feel his body jolt as the bullets embed themselves in his back; the second jerk, as Illya’s hands clench around his shoulders, infinitely more devastating than the first. Illya slumps forward onto him, and Napoleon only just manages to keep them upright as he awkwardly spins them enough so that he can fire back. Their assailant crumples to the ground with a single shot, but Napoleon hardly notices, because his arms are full of a gasping, shuddering Russian.

Still holding him up, Napoleon gropes around his back until he finds the wet patches and pulls a hand away sticky with blood. One in the right shoulder, probably embedded in the blade, and the other a little lower, more concerning. Illya’s knees start to buckle, and it’s all Napoleon can do to keep him from dropping straight to the floor. He’s still clinging to Napoleon’s jacket when Napoleon kneels next to him, holding his upper body close to keep his back off the ground, but it is his eyes that will haunt Napoleon in the coming days. Impossibly wide with shock, and something else that Napoleon can’t place until later, because it has no business on Illya Kuryakin’s face.

~~~

The thing is, Illya doesn’t even like him.

It’s fine. Expected, even. It doesn’t bother him. Napoleon isn’t one of those people who needs everyone to like him. Certainly not. You don’t make friends in the spy game. At most, you make temporary allies, and he hadn’t been expecting anything more.

Ok, maybe it bothers him a little. It’s just, he’d thought they had a bit of a moment back in Rome. A definite thawing, after he’d returned the watch; which, sure, had been a calculated gambit, but that didn’t make his pleasure at seeing Illya’s gratitude any less genuine. They’d shared a drink, and Illya had hidden behind his sunglasses but had also smiled that tiny, careful smile that could almost be called fond, and Napoleon had felt something clench a little uncomfortably in his chest, which he’d promptly ignored.

Then Waverly had come and announced that they’d be staying together as a team, and that was the end of that. Apparently Illya’s forbearance for Napoleon didn’t stretch to having to continue working with him. Any ground gained had been lost in Istanbul, where Illya had been cold and distant, speaking to him only when necessary for the mission. Napoleon had attempted to recapture something of what had been lost—cooking the team dinner, trying to tempt Illya into chess games, even volunteering for the least desirable stakeouts to prove he wasn’t that terrible to work with—but it had all been for naught.

(He definitely hadn’t let himself contemplate why it was so important to him, why he wanted any kind of relationship with Illya Kuryakin in the first place. Better not to go digging for truths that should be left buried.)

Napoleon would have written it off as just him being upset about still having to work with partners, except, well, he clearly wasn’t so broken up about having to work with one partner. His affection for Gaby was obvious, as was hers for him. It wasn’t like they were demonstrative when he was around or anything—he’d never even seen them kiss—but they didn’t have to be. Illya was like a different person around her, and Napoleon pretended it didn’t sting. Most likely Illya resented him for intruding on what should have been a nice little honeymoon mission, which was probably fair, but it wasn’t Napoleon’s fault. Even Gaby had made an attempt, early on, to defrost things between them, though she’d given up pretty quickly. Napoleon suspected Illya asked her to stop, but he could never bring himself to ask. Eventually Napoleon had stopped trying, too. If Illya wanted things between them to be strictly professional and nothing more, that’s how they’d be.

So Napoleon doesn’t know how he got here: a little hospital in Valencia, Illya’s blood still embedded in the creases of his knuckles and around his fingernails even though he’s washed his hands multiple times, and a hollow ache in his chest that he doesn’t know what to do with. Illya doesn’t even like him, but he’d jumped in front of a bullet meant for him. Illya barely puts up with him, but Napoleon still can’t really breathe when he thinks about the possibility of losing him.

“I don’t get it,” he tells Gaby, staring at the tile of the waiting room floor, after they’ve sat in silence for too many hours while Illya’s been in surgery. “Why would he do it?”

Gaby doesn’t answer immediately, which makes him look up at her, and the expression on her face is not what he expected. She looks confused at his confusion. Which is entirely too many layers of confusion for him to deal with at the moment. “Are you serious?” she asks finally. “You really don’t know?”

“Of course I’m serious. He doesn’t even pretend to like me, Gaby. That’s not usually conducive to taking a bullet for someone.”

“Exactly,” she says, eyeing him dubiously. “I assumed you’d be better at reading people, but I suppose we all have our blind spots.”

Napoleon frowns at her. “What?”

“He cares about you, Solo, and it terrifies him.”

“That’s absurd,” he scoffs. Scared is not something that Illya Kuryakin gets. Fear is not—

In that moment he sees Illya in his arms after he’d been shot, staring up at him, fear written plainly on his face. Unmistakable, now that he thinks back on it. But everyone is afraid when they think they’re dying. It doesn’t mean anything.

“He keeps his distance because he thinks he shouldn’t,” Gaby says gently, “and because he thinks he can control it that way.” She snorts softly, clearly expressing her thoughts on that. Furrowing her brow, she adds, “I thought you knew.”

Napoleon doesn’t know what to say. It does, in fact, seem like something that Illya might do. Caring about someone is a messy business in this game, and usually not worth the risk. It’s not just that Illya is keeping his distance, though. He’s keeping it from Napoleon specifically.

“There’s a major flaw in your theory,” he counters.

“Which is?”

“He cares about you—much more than he cares about me, in fact—and that doesn’t stop him from showing it.”

“He doesn’t care about me more than he cares about you,” she says matter-of-factly. “And did it not occur to you that there might be reasons that he feels safer when it comes to me?” Then, before he can demand that she explain herself, she stands. “I need to go check in with Waverly. Come get me if he’s out of surgery before I get back.”

With that she leaves him sitting there, somehow far more confused than when they started this conversation.

~~~

“Cowboy,” Illya says, jolting him awake.

Napoleon shoots upward in the uncomfortable chair, immediately regretting it when a muscle in his neck seizes up. He gropes at the ache with a hiss, his eyes squeezed closed, and only realizes several moments later what had woken him. With a gasp, his eyes fly open to see Illya sitting up in the bed, staring at him with an expression that is slightly exasperated, like it’s not the first time he’s called for him.

“Peril! You’re awake!” Napoleon exclaims, probably with too much emotion showing on his face. Well, screw it. Right now, he doesn’t really care.

“Why are you sleeping here?” Illya asks, frowning in obvious disapproval. “You should be finishing the mission.”

“Mission’s over, for now at least,” Napoleon tells him as he sits back in the chair a little gingerly. “Waverly sent someone else to check out the facility and they’d cleared out after we found them.”

“Then there should be leads to follow. Still plenty to do. You are not needed here.”

Napoleon does not manage to hold back a flinch at that. So much for Gaby’s theory. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been hoping there might be something to it.

“Right, well. You know me, terrible spy,” he says, forcing a weak smirk he doesn’t feel in the slightest, not quite able to look at Illya in the eye and see whatever implacable expression is on his face. “I’ll just go find Gaby for you, shall I?”

Illya says nothing as he turns away, but Napoleon only gets a couple of steps before his frustration with the situation gets the better of him. He’s barely slept over the past few days and spent far too long thinking about his own feelings, which are riding way to close to the surface right now. Yeah, it hurts that Illya doesn’t want him around, almost indescribably badly, but he’s not leaving without a goddamned explanation.

“You know what? No,” he snaps, whirling on Illya, who physically recoils even though there are feet between them. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to jump in front of a fucking bullet and nearly die for me and then go back to acting like you can’t stand looking at me. Why? Why would you do that?”

“I— I don’t know,” Illya stammers, his eyes widening before his gaze falls to his lap. At least, Napoleon thinks viciously, he’s finally broken through the cool, unflappable shell that Illya has been wearing around him ever since Rome.

“You don’t know. Well, that’s just fantastic,” Napoleon huffs sarcastically, throwing his hands in the air.

Illya’s hands are fisted in the blankets at his side, knuckles whitening under the strain, and his next words are fraught. “Why are you here, Cowboy?”

“You wanna know why I’m here?” Napoleon asks, taking another step closer, though Illya still doesn’t look at him. “I’m here because you mean more to me than some stupid mission. I slept in that horrible fucking chair for three days because I couldn’t stand the idea of not being here when you woke up. Because I care about you, even though you hate me, and isn’t that just an absolute kick in the teeth?” he finishes with a bark of humorless laughter and turns on his heel to leave, because right now he just needs to go cool down somewhere. Anywhere that’s not here.

“I don’t hate you,” Illya murmurs just as he gets to the door, so quietly that Napoleon almost misses it.

Napoleon stops and forces himself to take a deep breath, but he doesn’t turn around. “You sure have a funny way of showing it.”

“Cowboy,” Illya pleads, because really, there’s no other word for the weight of his voice. “Napoleon. Please. I— I can’t go after you.”

It’s the hint of wry, self-deprecating humor in the last bit that finally convinces Napoleon to turn around, but he’s still in no way prepared for what he finds. Illya looks wrecked, somehow indescribably small as he sits hunched over in the hospital bed. It’s just wrong, to see him like this. It’s as if all the fight has gone out of him, and it takes every ounce of Napoleon’s willpower not to rush over to him. He’s still not convinced it would be welcome, and he’s still pissed off, though he can feel his anger slipping away through his fingers like sand. Carefully, he walks back over to his bed and stands next to him, cautious and unsure.

“I do not regret saving you,” Illya tells him, staring up at him with an almost defiant jut of his jaw. “I would do it again.”

“But why?” Napoleon asks, his brow furrowed. “Why throw your life away for mine?”

Illya looks away, then, back down to his lap. “I jumped—” he starts, his voice thick, but then breaks off to swallow hard. “I jumped in front of bullets because I could do nothing else. Because your life— you are important to me, Napoleon.”

For a moment, Napoleon forgets how to breathe. Illya’s hand is only inches from his, lying on the bed, and he doesn’t really think before he reaches out to brush his fingers tentatively across it. Illya twitches, and Napoleon’s heart sinks because he’s sure he is going to pull away, but instead he catches Napoleon’s hand in his, almost equally tentatively. With his heart hammering against his ribs, Napoleon slowly lowers himself to sit on the edge of the mattress.

“Gaby said you’ve been pushing me away because you’re scared,” he ventures. He’s expecting a denial, but Illya says nothing. Instead, his hand tightens around Napoleon’s, as if admitting what he cannot put voice to. Napoleon takes a deep breath and confesses, “It scares me, too. Do you know how terrified I was that I was going to lose you?”

“It is dangerous, to care so much,” Illya murmurs, though it feels more like it’s being offered as an excuse than a rebuke.

“Is it? You obviously care for Gaby. What makes me so much more dangerous?”

Illya looks up at him, seemingly searching his face for something, though Napoleon doesn’t know what. Then, with the hand that’s not currently curled around Napoleon’s, he reaches up and twines his fingers into the front of Napoleon’s shirt. He doesn’t exactly pull with any force, but Napoleon goes anyway, tugged inexorably downward until Illya presses their lips together. It’s more of a question than a statement, and Napoleon answers the best he can, his lips moving gently against Illya’s until his grip looses and he pulls back a few scant inches.

“Oh,” Napoleon breathes. He stares into wide blue eyes and feels as if he might drown and somehow that he’s also being held afloat, all at once.

“Dangerous,” Illya murmurs. His hand unclenches from Napoleon’s shirt and he reaches up to cup the side of his face, swiping a thumb over his cheek.

“Well,” Napoleon says carefully, “yes. We live dangerous lives. But I’ve never been one to shy away from a little danger. You?”

A tiny smile tugs on one corner of Illya’s mouth. “Not anymore.”

[queenlua]

Ace Attorney case tier list

so, in the past year, i finished replaying games 1 through 5 for the first time in forever, and also played game 6 for the first time ever

so here’s where i ruthlessly rank each of the cases based on that most scientific metric of all, My Opinions:

OPENING CASES

S-tier: Turnabout Trump (4-1).  I already knew this case, and I still gasped with surprise when Phoenix showed up, and when Kristoph showed his true colors, and when Apollo realized OH SHIT OH FUCK I REALLY AM ACCUSING MY BOSS OF MURDER HUH... what a wonderful, splashy, shockingly concise case to open up the post-O.G. trilogy world.  Marvelous.

A-tier: Turnabout Memories (3-1).  Seeing Mia Fey (finally!) in action is a long-awaited delight; seeing Phoenix being a total dumbass was an unexpected-yet-perfect and fitting delight.

B-tier: The First Turnabout (1-1).  Solid lil’ case with some conventional-but-well-executed humor.  I’ve got a soft spot for Larry Butz.

C-tier: The Lost Turnabout (2-1), The Foreign Turnabout (6-1).  The former’s fine but a little forgettable; the latter has some fun gags (Payne’s ridiculous new outfit, dude absolutely shredding on the mandolin, etc) but is marred by how uh... kinda silly the game’s core conceit is, lol

E-tier: Turnabout Countdown (5-1).  The context surrounding this introduction is just sloppy (badly handled in media res + let’s lowkey retcon game 4 isn’t a great setup), and also the case itself is just. irksome. ted tonate is just fundamentally irritating to look at

FINALE CASES

S-tier: Bridge to the Turnabout (3-5), Turnabout Goodbyes (1-4).  No explanation needed.  God they fuck so hard

A-tier: The Cosmic Turnabout + Turnabout for Tomorrow (5-4 + 5-5), Turnabout Succession (4-4).

The former two cases are what makes AA5 worth it, and they make for a tremendously fun ride.  It fumbles the execution in some notable ways (Apollo’s sudden j’accuse moment feels a little forced/awkward/inadequately foreshadowed, and damn it sure would’ve been nice to know Clay Terran at all before he died, and also The Phantom’s final meltdown could’ve used a bit more emotional heft)... but okay let’s be real, I’m here for Simon Blackquill, and this case gives me so much of him so who gives a shit.  (And Aura!  Condescending obnoxious engineering queen!  I love her!)  

As for Turnabout Succession... while I earnestly wish the game had explored more of Klavier’s feelings about this whole setup, and some more emotional beats for Apollo, the case still makes for such a satisfyingly twisty and fun investigation overall (the poison stamp! what a ridiculous murder method! I love it!) that it’s a more-than-worthy finale.

B-tier: Turnabout Revolution (6-5), Farewell, My Turnabout (2-4).

The former does some cool stuff—I particularly like the opening half, where Apollo’s being real snippy and coping with Frankly Bizarre Dad Feelings, and giving Apollo a chance to finally throw down against Phoenix is a blast.  The latter half of the case starts feeling a little... ridiculous? cramped? idk? like, they didn’t do nearly enough foreshadowing about Nahyuta’s whole deal for me to care about his drama, this justice system is so obviously silly and the manner in which the revolution is playing out strains my already-suspended-sky-high disbelief... fun, and flashy, but more noise than signal in the last part, I guess.

As for Farewell, My Turnabout: of course I love Edgeworth rolling back into court goin’ through SOME kind of bizarre emotional arc of Hey I’m Totally Healed Now and obnoxiously preaching about Truth TM.  And it’s cool that the game set up a case where you want to lose.  But the net result is a bit strange tonally—it’s trying set up some kind of message about It’s Not Just About Winning, It’s About Pursuing The Truth, but it feels really muddled when that’s combined with Okay But Maya’s Literally Being Held Hostage Like Right Now, Surely A Reasonable Justice System Has A Process For Dealing With This Obviously Complicated Situation, Right?

but also Franziska takes a fucking bullet (how did I forget about that) and then gets to roll in like Ms. Save The Day so, really, lots of good shit here

FILLER CASES

S-tier: Reunion, and Turnabout (2-2), Turnabout Beginnings (3-4).  Look, the first one gives me all the Fey family drama a girl could ask for, and the latter gives me young Edgeworth being a total shit in an obnoxiously shimmery outfit.  The whole enchilada is here

A+ tier: The Magical Turnabout (6-2).  DELIGHTFUL!  MAGICIAN!  SHENANIGANS!  Like you get to guess the trick behind a magic act as part of the case, how fucking fun is that, and also the Apollo & Athena duo’s chemistry is perfect, the villain is a FANTASTIC bastard, and even the bit characters you meet during the investigation are total delights... Probably the best “standalone” case in the series, in that it doesn’t rely on any emotional connections to previous cases (unlike 2-2 and 3-4) to still totally and completely rule.

A tier: Turnabout Samurai (1-3), Turnabout Reclaimed (5-DLC).

For Turnabout Samurai, I remembered before this replay how delightful the TV SHOW STUDIO investigation and actor-fandom stuff was; I had TOTALLY forgotten Vasquez calling in her mob connections to try and wreck you.  What a fantastic villain; what a fun case.

Turnabout Reclaimed is just good solid goofy nonsense.  Probably receives a boost for me in particular because, yeah, Simon Blackquill.  But then again who isn’t giving cases a boost on that account; they are MISSING OUT

B tier: The Stolen Turnabout (3-2).  Ron and Desirée are so great sighs into hands

C tier: Listing roughly in order of preference: Turnabout Academy (5-3), Turnabout Serenade (4-3), Turnabout Sisters (1-2), Recipe for a Turnabout (3-3), Rite of the Turnabout (6-3), Rise from the Ashes (1-5).

Four of these (5-3, 4-3, 1-2, 3-3) are perfectly solid cases; I just don’t love them quite as much as “thievery hijinks” or “Hollywood hijinks” or other such particularly delightful flavors.  Everyone has a favorite flavor of Jolly Rancher and all that.

Rite of the Turnabout is interesting and connected with the larger themes of the game in a cool way, and makes good use of the divination mechanic.  However, the last bit gets twisty enough to actually be kind of confusing, and said larger themes of the game are... kinda hard for me to take seriously... which, yeah, leads to it feeling a little stilted when it really should be singing.

Rise from the Ashes landed awkwardly for me.  I know it was added well after the first game’s release, and it does a good job of continuing some of the cool stuff from that game—it’s neat, in isolation, to see Phoenix and Edgeworth working together (while still sniping at each other!), and some of the DS-specific mechanics are neat.  However, I just didn’t feel like I learned quite enough about Ema and Lana to care about them like I should, and retconning “(almost certainly true) rumors that Edgeworth was involved in Shady Shit TM” into “actually Edgeworth was totally ignorant of Shady Shit TM, like at worst his crime was willful ignorance / incuriosity, he was just been manipulated by the Police Chief”... makes Edgeworth less interesting to me!  Like, it’s cool to see Edgeworth caught off-guard and under pressure, but I wish the circumstances had been different?  Also Gant’s theme song is annoying as shit, which is petty but hey this is my blog post so

D tier: Turnabout Storyteller (6-4), Turnabout Corner (4-2), Turnabout Big Top (2-3), The Monstrous Turnabout (5-2).

Turnabout Storyteller has some fun gags with My Dude Simon and also Taka, but was heavily marred by Everyone Talking Down To Athena The Entire Fucking Case Oh My God Can You All Just Shut Up.

Turnabout Corner has... lots of fun elements but... look the fucking stolen-panties setup just grates ok

I don’t think I hate Turnabout Big Top the way most people seem to, but I did find the final murder setup more annoying that I remembered this playthrough—bro you were really sure the dude was going to conveniently stand right there and the heavy statue was definitely going to strike a killing blow and not just give the guy a concussion?  ok lol

The Monstrous Turnabout suffers mostly from poor puzzle/investigation design, being too hand-hold-y, and also having a core gimmick/setting that just wasn’t really my thing.  Alas!

[bellascarousel]

Pillow Talk

For Kate And Anthony Week 2021. Day 2 prompt - lovey dovey

Anthony woke up before Kate, as he usually did. She was snuggled against him, her head on his chest, and her leg draped over his hips. Actually, her leg was in a very dangerous place. He carefully shifted her, moving her leg down to his thighs, before his body could react to that accidental touch. Or at least before her noticing that was what woke her up. Not that he was averse to some morning lovemaking if she was willing, of course. But, he didn’t want her feeling obligated. He was still kicking himself for the way he had reacted to her wanting time when they first got married. If he could do that day over again, he would tell her that was fine. As much as he had enjoyed their wedding night, and fully believed she had too, he didn’t particularly like himself for forcing her into it.

“What are you thinking about?”

He smiled and kissed the top of her head. “Just about how good it feels just to hold you.”

He felt her head shake against his chest and then she was lifting herself off of him. His arms tightened, reflexively, before he sighed and loosened them again, letting her go. Not that she went far. She just propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at him. Then she ran her finger between his eyebrows. “This tells me that it’s nothing that pleasant. You only get that crease between your brows when something is wrong.”

She knew him too well. “I was thinking about our wedding night.”

She frowned at him. “And it has you upset? I… I don’t understand.” She had that look, again. That insecure look she got far too often. Whenever she was mentally comparing herself to some other woman that she thought was prettier than her, or more ladylike, more graceful, whatever metric she was measuring womanhood by at that moment.

Anthony sighed and reached up, brushing her hair off of her face. “Don’t look like that, Kate. I don’t mean it the way you seem to think I do. The only thing I would change about that night is when it happened. I should have given you the time you asked for. I shouldn’t have forced you to consummate our marriage that night.”

“You didn’t. Not really. Nothing happened that I didn’t want. I… in the carriage, when I asked for time, it wasn’t about not wanting to be with you like that. I was just nervous. And, I think I was terrified of… of your past.”

Had she said that then, he wouldn’t have understood. He would have thought that his experience would have been a good thing, because he knew how to make it good for her, too. But, now he remembered the way she had stiffened when he had called her beautiful. How she had thought he was closing his eyes and pretending she was someone else. He smiled at her. “The difference is that none of them actually meant anything to me. Even then, when I wasn’t ready to admit to myself that I love you, it was still different with you. Because you’re my wife. Kate, I need you to know, something. No other woman has ever been in this bed. And, I was actually glad of that, that this room, this bed, were just ours. I’m probably not making much sense.”

She shook her head. “No, you are. And, I’m glad you told me that. It actually is nice to know that I may not have been your first, but at least I’m the first you had here. I wonder if knowing that would have made me less insecure that night. Granted, for some reason, all of your mistresses didn’t occur to me when I was having my freak out. All I could think about was the fact that you hadn’t wanted to marry me. That you had been courting my sister. My beautiful, graceful, perfect picture of womanhood sister. And you had to be so disappointed to be stuck married to me, instead.”

“Disappointed? Oh Kate. Honestly, your fears were something she would have had to worry about, not that I wouldn’t have done my best to keep her from ever realizing. There is a very good chance that had I married her, I would have ended up closing my eyes and pretending she was you.” He smiled at the stunned look on her face. “It was you, Kate. It was always you. You were the one I fantasized about making love to. It drove me mad, because I hated you. But, I wanted you. I have always wanted you. That night in my study, when I kissed you. I wanted to lower you to the floor and have you, right then and there. I am honestly quite proud of my restraint.”

“Anthony Bridgerton!”

“What? I’m just being honest. I didn’t act on it, did I? I stopped before things got too far. But, trust me, Kate. Stopping took a great deal of willpower. More than I ever would have given myself credit for before then.” He cupped her face, running his thumb over her lips. “I hate how inadequate you feel. The way you always compare yourself to every woman around you and feel like you’re coming up short. Part of me wants to smack everyone who ever made you feel that way. Though, most of me is just grateful that you were surrounded by fools who were completely blind to your charms. Because their blindness meant that you were still there when I finally came to my senses.”

She giggled, a sound that shot straight to his groin. “You mean when you completely lost your mind? I’m not sure that that day in the garden really counts as you coming to your senses.”

“Fine. When I completely lost my mind. I’m honestly grateful to that damn bee. And almost feel sorry for it. Poor thing gave its life to bring us together.”

“If I had known how things would turn out, I would have given it a proper funeral.”

It was his turn to laugh, then. “Here’s hoping there’s a bee heaven, where it’s always late spring and all the flowers are in bloom.”

Kate just shook her head and leaned down to kiss him gently. “Good morning, Lord Bridgerton. I’m glad that your mood seems to be improving.”

“I am laying naked in my bed, with the woman I love in my arms. Hard to stay in a melancholy mood under these circumstances. Did you sleep well, Lady Bridgerton?”

“I did. My husband rather tired me out, last night.”

He laughed. “Well, you see, I realized that I am madly in love with my wife just moments before she was severely injured in an accident. Said injury barred me from certain… pleasurable activities for several weeks. Last night was the first chance I’ve had to properly demonstrate my affection.” He pulled her down until her head was on his chest, again, then just held her, running his hand gently up and down her back. “I wasn’t too rough with you last night, was I? I fear that several weeks’ worth of pent-up desire may have made me a bit too… enthusiastic in my attentions.”

“If you honestly have to ask that, then perhaps I wasn’t enthusiastic enough in my response.”

Anthony thought of the night before. Of Kate’s moans of pleasure. The way she clung to him. The way her body moved in perfect rhythm with his. How she begged him to never stop. And the fact that he was pretty sure every servant in the house heard her screaming his name when she climaxed. He groaned. “Had you been any more enthusiastic, I think you may have killed me.”

She giggled again. “Well, perhaps you shouldn’t be questioning my enjoyment, then.”

He just shook his head and ran his fingers through her hair. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

“You may have mentioned it a few… hundred times in the past few weeks, yes.”

“I have been making up for lost time. I fell in love with you the moment you sent my pall mall ball into the lake. I think I fell in love with your competitive spirit. And the fact that you could hold your own against my siblings, and against me. You fit in. I mean, there was always more to it than that. And I’m not explaining myself very well. But, I definitely fell in love with you that day. It just took me far too long to be able to admit it to myself. Kate, I’m sorry. I am so sorry.”

She put a finger to his lips. “Shh… It’s okay, Anthony. You were scared. I understand. I really do. Yes, it hurt when you told me that you would never love me. Especially since I was already pretty sure it was going to be way too easy for me to fall in love with you. I think I could have handled the thought of being in a loveless marriage. It was the thought of love being only one way that hurt. Actually, though, I was also a fool.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was willing to admit to myself that I could probably fall in love with you. But, the part I wasn’t able to admit to myself is that I already had.” She laughed. “Actually, at about the same time. It probably started at that dinner party, when you swooped in, snubbed Cressida Cowper, and escorted Penelope to dinner. You were a hero that day. That was when my opinion of you started to change. But, what really did it was that night in the library. I fell in love with the man who crawled under a table to try to comfort me while I had a full-on panic attack. Who didn’t judge me. Who was sweet, and supportive, and tried to distract me, but never tried to tell me that there was nothing to be afraid of. Who did his best to try to understand what I was going through and help me through it. So, don’t apologize for not realizing you loved me, Anthony. It took me almost as long to admit it to myself that I loved you.”

“Well, aren’t we a pair? At least we figured it out.”

“Yes, we certainly did.” She lifted herself off of him, again. But, before he had time to complain about the loss of that contact, she scooted up a bit, then leaned down and kissed him. And this time, there was nothing gentle about it. Her lips were hungry on his, and when he gasped in surprise, she was the one to press the advantage and slip her tongue into his mouth.

He groaned and wrapped his arms around her, one hand fisting in her hair, holding her to him as their tongues tangled together. His other hand slid down her back, over her derriere, to grip the back of the leg she currently had draped over his thighs. And then he slid her leg up, until it was once again draped over his hips. He hissed at the contact.

His wife was not through surprising him, though. She shifted until she was straddling him, and then rocked her hips, moaning against his lips as the movement apparently gave her as much pleasure as it gave him. Okay, he was definitely liking this side of her. While she had always been an enthusiastic participant in lovemaking, she had never taken charge like this, before. The thought of making love to her like this was intoxicating. Until he ran his hands over her legs and noticed how much they were trembling — and remembered that she had only very recently regained full use of one of them. He reluctantly broke their kiss. “Kate. Your leg.”

“Has been pronounced healed. A fact that we spent a good portion of last night celebrating.”

He rolled her over. “And I want to keep it that way. I don’t want you putting more strain on it than necessary for a while. I promise you, Kate. In a few weeks, when I trust that it will give you nothing but pleasure, I will be more than happy to lay back and allow you to have your way with me. But, for right now, for my peace of mind, please let me do most of the work. Okay? I don’t want to hurt you.”

She gave him a saucy look. “I intend to hold you to that promise.”

"Please do. I'm looking forward to it, actually."

Kate's eyes darkened, making Anthony swallow hard at the desire apparent in them. She lifted her hips, pressing herself against him, and they both moaned. “Please, Anthony. I can’t wait any longer. I need you.”

Dear God. This woman was seriously going to be the death of him. Not that he was complaining. “I love you, so much”, he whispered before leaning down to kiss her softly. He watched her face as he made love to her. He had always enjoyed watching passion, desire, and pleasure flitting across her face as he moved inside her. But, last night, he finally let himself see something else — love. It was the love shining in her eyes that was his undoing. He hadn’t lied to her on their wedding night when he told her it had never been that good. But, it was even better, now. Because now he knew that she was giving him all of herself. Not just her body, but her heart and her soul, too. As he had given her his.

It was still scary. Falling in love was possibly the most terrifying thing he had ever done in his life. He wouldn’t change it, but he wasn’t sure what he had done to deserve it.

Kate’s moans of pleasure started getting louder, and he felt her tightening around him. He leaned down and kissed her deeply, muffling the sounds they both made as they climaxed. He shuddered as he emptied himself into her.

Eventually, he got up the energy to roll off her and pull her over so that she was laying on his chest again. “You know, if it keeps getting better every time, you really are going to end up being the death of me.”

She giggled. “We can’t have that, now.” She snuggled closer to him. “I have definitely missed waking up to that.”

“So have I. Please don’t ever injure yourself like that again. Between worrying about you and missing this, I don’t know how I survived it. The next time I get barred from your bed for weeks at a time I want it to be because…” He skimmed his hand down her side to her waist and then moved it around to rest on her belly.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. “We should probably eat something. We’re going to need our strength if we’re going to be getting to work getting you an heir.”

“Kate, you know I don’t really care about that, right? I mean, I know that that’s why I was looking to get married this season, but… Our marriage isn’t about that. Especially not now. I just want to be with you. I have three brothers. If we don’t have a son, I’m sure that at least one of them will. My family’s title isn’t going anywhere. I don’t want you to feel like you’re under any pressure.”

“Honestly, Anthony. It was a joke. You may not care about having an heir, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have a whole lot of fun trying, right?”

He laughed, then sat up. “Put at least a nightdress on, Lady Bridgerton. That beautiful body of yours is a sight for my eyes, only. I’ll ring to have a breakfast tray brought up.”

Kate just raised an eyebrow at him, and he laughed as he got out of bed. He picked up her nightdress from where he had tossed it the night before and handed it to her before pulling a pair of trousers on. Once they were both at least somewhat covered, he rang down to the kitchen to have a tray brought up for them.

Several hours later, he also rang to have a dinner tray brought up. It wasn’t until the next day that they actually got out of bed. They had a lot of lost time to make up for.

[smokingbomber]

I am new to the sailor moon fandom, and I've noticed people dislike tuxedo mask a lot in a way that seems disproportionate to the other characters. I never see anyone give much explanation outside of "he's creepy", and that's really vague so I'm confused as to why he's so hated. I like his design and concept and I do like drawing him so I'm a little :/ about this. (Also male characters with healing powers are hard to come by!)

Hi!! :D Man there's a lot of great discussion and examination of this over the years in my friends' blogs, but I'm on mobile, so I'll have to reblog with links later.

Short answer is: there are several general groups of answers depending on a) which version of Mamoru they were introduced to first, b) what their main interest in the show is/was-at-the-time, c) who they listen to/follow in fandom, and (maybe) d) their age/gender/background at the time of introduction.

Now, these can be further divided up, and there are always a jillion individual other reasons any given person may like or dislike a character, but this is a fairly useful exercise. This is also coming from someone (me!!!) whose favorite character in all of sailor moon is literally the support boyfriend/co-royalty, who's been defensive of that (and him) since 2014 (when *I* was new to the fandom), and I can think of shining exception Mamoru-lovers in almost every category, BUT--

Here we go.

Version: People who hate Mamoru usually seem to be people who saw the 90s anime first, wherein through initial misunderstandings, the creative team set him as a college student and portrayed him as older than the 17 (math and the R movie say he is) or 18 (that Japan's school system would have demanded he be) he is in season one. So automatically, something that wasn't reeeeeally looked at askance in kids' cartoons in the 90s went from being a kind of side-eye-but-normal RL age gap in teenagers and made it look Weird. Also he was really socially maladjusted in the 'picks fights with middle schoolers and laughs at his own jokes and criticizes our heroine a lot' way instead of in the 'thinks he's alone so does dumb crap that makes a mess of the senshi's day but otherwise is just mildly awkward with the girl he has a crush on and doesn't have any close friends except books' way. So there's where you get both "creepy" and "jerk". And some people choose to die on that hill, because...

Main Interest: ...they're not only not in it for Mamoru, but they really vastly prefer the 90s anime to the manga (or crystal, which has its own pros and cons), because they are THERE FOR SENSHI FRIENDSHIPS ONLY AND BOYS JUST DISTRACT FROM THAT or whatever, they are definitely not in it for romance (or het, or destiny, or etc etc etc). Or maybe they're there for badass fighters, and Mamoru is the non-toxic masculinity role model who subverts/inverts gender stereotypes by being the supportive boyf healer who stans female friendship, and the 90s kind of missed the point and sailed overhead with it and made it look (a lot of times) like he was just a useless joke. (Disclaimer: @idesofnovember and @floraone are very loudly and wonderfully 90s-anime-mamoru-loving fan creators who make it, through their writing, obvious that Mamoru is also all of those things in the 90s anime, it's just harder to see earlier on.) Some of this is just fine and dandy! I mean, everyone has preferences! But sometimes people who make these arguments get really strident about it, and have a lot of followers on social media, and that takes us to...

Who People Follow: So the concept of a Big Name Fan is basically a fan so popular and established in the fandom that lots of other fans know who they are/follow them/respect their opinion. Many of these fans either don't get the metric or don't care, where when you reach a certain threshold people start biting other people on your behalf and your opinions weigh a lot-- no, your opinions are gravity wells that distort/change fandom around you. and your opinions turn into dogma for some of your fans, and then anyone who disagrees with you gets shouted down *by your fans*-- you're not Just A Fan with a personal hobby blog anymore, you have to think about what you say. you have to be more careful. but, uhh, the POINT IS, there are a few of those that don't like mamoru for various reasons, so sometimes it's tough to be a mamo-fan in fandom space.

lucky for me, i both alienate the standard-bearing shippers and am too harmlessly weird in my mamoru fandom and ships to get targeted anymore ha ha. let's go prince/knights shipping!! mamo/shitennou is *the BEEEEESSSST*

anyway i forget everything, this is months and months old

[wisteria-lodge]

bird primary + unburning lion secondary

Hi there!! Happy new year– hope you’re well and keeping safe <3 and I hope it’s all right to send you this long wall of text– I meant it for an anon ask but it got way, way out of hand. (You can tell pandemic isolation got to me a long time ago.) I’ve rewritten it a couple of times, but I think this is as far as I’ll get with it; I can only hope that it’s remotely organized and comprehensible, and apologize if it’s nonsense.

Just an observation… I usually get these apologetic preambles from slightly charred secondaries…

Essentially, I find myself a bit conflicted; I don’t know if i’m a Bird, a Lion, either of those but burned, one modeling the other, or something else entirely! (Definitely an Idealist; I’ve got that far.) I’m hoping you can shed a bit of light on the subject. Normally I’d try to think it through myself, but I’ve been doing that and I keep leading myself in circles. For reasons you’ll see later, also, I think it would help me a great deal to talk to another person (someone who’s demonstrated insight!) and know what your take is.

So, I’d tried thinking through it on my own, and I thought I’d come to a pretty definitive conclusion. I was pretty damn sure I was a Bird! Lion morality makes me really uncomfortable, actually! Anecdotally I’ve seen a lot of Lions talking about consulting the data and the research, but going with their gut over the evidence if there’s a conflict, and (I’m only talking about my own life here, not casting judgment about anyone else) I would feel gross if I tried to do that. I need that sweet sweet evidential corroboration baby! and I’ve actually experienced the very Birdlike thing of having my entire worldview debunked and – being fine, you know? Several times, actually. I don’t regret being wrong, but I couldn’t simply continue to be wrong in the face of all the new evidence.

Yep, you sound like one hell of a Bird to me. 

I’ve been thinking about @missbrunettebarbie​’s idea about favorite characters reflecting Sortings, though, and that’s thrown a spanner in the works a little bit. Most of my favorite characters are ones with capital-M Missions or capital-P Purposes that they dive into with their whole being: Lion types, in other words. That’s actually the single most important metric of whether I like a character or not. But I’m not like that at all! I want to be, desperately (that’s why I like the characters so much) but I’ve never found a cause or a position that I couldn’t find some fault with (and believe me, I’ve been searching all my life!)

I probably don’t need to tell you that it’s just a thing that  Birds love Lions. I think the main difference between the two is just that Birds do most of their processing with the logical, conscious part of their brain, and Lions do most of their processing with the unconscious part. So Birds think it’s cool and sort of magical how Lions can generate these answers out of nowhere, and Lions love how Birds can shift, change their mind, and back up their reasoning. 

I’m a(n aspiring) historian, and I’m perfectly capable of committing to a scholarly position. I believe that the models I’ve built for factually understanding the world work, at least for now– but when it comes to personal philosophies and ethics, I pick everything apart. It usually starts with me sensing a contradiction or discrepancy and assuming that I must be wrong, and that whoever came up with this idea I’m trying to engage with must SURELY have corrected or accounted for it, and I’m just not seeing it, or I’m misunderstanding something.

That’s so often not the case, though. People believe things for all sorts of reasons, not just their perfect logical or practical completeness. Some people even take pride in believing things in spite of the lack of evidence– that’s what many people believe faith is. But I simply cannot do that. (My parents aren’t religious, but I grew up in a majority Christian community. Suffice to say I had few friends as a child. I was more comfortable speaking my doubts and objections then than I am now.)

You’re almost certainly a slightly burnt Lion secondary. Which makes you a Bird Lion, and that makes perfect sense. You guys are the searchers, the grail knights. A description which seems to fit you perfectly. 

I’ve been learning to trust my own mind a little more lately, and to be more comfortable pointing it out when I notice things like that instead of automatically assuming I’m the idiot. Basically trying to train myself to argue.

Oh yeah. Fire up that Lion secondary.

That phenomenon I describe, though, where I silently entertain doubts and objections until they’re reflected outside of me, has been the case every time I’ve had my worldview altered, too! It’s never been– this is a completely new criticism I had no idea about. It’s always– i was RIGHT to question, i was RIGHT to doubt, I’m not the idiot. I just didn’t trust myself enough to act on it without external corroboration. I can’t even commit to my own doubts until someone else validates them for me. I’m disgusted with myself about it, honestly. Sometimes i think the only thing I know how to do is doubt.

Okay, that’s your burnt Lion secondary talking. You sound like Hamlet. 

Kierkegaard has a great quote: “What I really lack is to be clear in my mind what I am to do, not what I am to know, except in so far as a certain knowledge must precede every action. The thing is to understand myself, to see what God really wishes me to do: the thing is to find a truth which is true for me, to find the idea for which I can live and die. … I certainly do not deny that I still recognize an imperative of knowledge and that through it one can work upon men, but it must be taken up into my life, and that is what I now recognize as the most important thing.” 

Kierkegaard is probably also a slightly charred Bird Lion. Who kind of loves the way that Lion primaries engage with the world. 

This is almost exactly how I feel. I already know what I need to know– like I said, my scholarly work bears up, and I love my work! But I can’t live and die for an academic historical model, no matter how effective it is. I have no idea what to do, what to be, how to get comfortable with my existence in the world. I don’t want to be a brain in a jar, you feel? I want a purpose, I want to be more than myself, I want to use the knowledge I have in service of some great work. I wanna take that leap into faith! But I just don’t have it in me to believe in anything. I need to know that I’m right before I can act on anything.

I become more and more suspicious of the doctrine of some great work. I know it’s my Badger secondary talking, but I do see work as fundamentally cumulative (and Lion secondaries very much don’t, I know, I’m just waxing philosophical now, it’s your fault, had me reading Kierkegaard.) It’s a “what wound did ever heal but by degrees” thing. I am amazed, constantly, by how much the little things I do, the things I didn’t put much thought into, seem to ripple out. And being a historian is that. Constructing the way the past is understood (and taught, my god) - that effects an entire people’s self-narrative, and what could possibly be more important? 

So I don’t know where that leaves me. Is this just the typical bird hard-on for Internal Lion primaries? 

Of course you already considered that possibility.

Am I burned?

Nah. Your Bird primary sounds like it’s in good shape. 

Is it an issue of my secondary, somehow? 

Yep. You’ve got a burnt Lion secondary that isn’t sure which direction to run in. But you’ve definitely started the process of unburning.

I don’t KNOW and I’m increasingly uncomfortable about it. I completely understand if you’re like ????? but if you have any insight, i’d really appreciate it. Thanks so much!

[harrysgloves]

Let Your Hair Down (chapter x)

Get caught up with the Let Your Hair Down Masterlist!

word count: 1,629

story summary: Harry gets more than he bargains for when he falls not only for you but your little girl as well.

chapter summary: Sarah helps you get ready for your date!

warnings: Language.. >.> sorry

a/n: I love Sarah so much so... I had to of course put her in your getting ready chapter. She’s the cutest in this story. I love her so much! Hope you guys are looking forward to all the upcoming fluff... followed closely by drama! hehehehee :D xx

>>><<<

It was Saturday night and you were finally getting ready for your date with Harry. Sarah was sitting on your bathroom counter with the world's biggest shit-eating grin on her face as you fussed over your hair. You really would have slapped the look off her face if it wasn't for the fact you were freaking the fuck out. You hadn't been on a first date in almost 6 years. You weren't even sure what people did on dates anymore.

Your hands shook from nerves, causing you to burn yourself on the curling iron. You shrieked dropping it into the sink, your finger going to your mouth to stop the throbbing pain. Sarah jumped off the sink to take your hand, looking at it, before saying you'd be fine.

"God, I'm so nervous." You mumbled, picking back up the wand of Satan and trying to not burn yourself this time as you curled the piece of hair that you had previously tried to do.

"Well, stop it." Sarah perched herself back up on the sink, grabbing her glass of wine, and taking a long drink from it. "You're gonna do fine. Obviously, he likes you, been going after you for a year now."

Your eyes widened as you looked towards Sarah who simply shrugged. What the hell was she talking about? You had only known about his little crush on you for a few months before you started hanging out and you didn't even think it was a serious crush until he started randomly showing up all the time even after getting you in bed.

"He wasn't chasing me that long." Your eyebrows pulled together as you tried to think back. You were so sad last year it mostly all seemed like a blur to you.

"Uh yeah, he did." She sighed, sitting her cup on the counter. She turned her body more towards you as she helped fix some of your curls falling around your face.

"You were just too depressed over the divorce to notice it and too stuck up Ryan's cheating ass to realize Harry was a jealous little jellybean every time you two hung out with all of us." Her words hit you like a tidal wave, had you really missed all those signs from him? It was definitely possible given how utterly crushed you were for the year following the divorce. It was only the last few months that you really started to feel like yourself again.

"I'm an idiot." You huffed out, hands going to your face as you had the realization of everything hitting you all at once. Harry was into you and not just for sex, like actually into you.

"Yeah you are but you're a sexy idiot tonight." Sarah smiled as you gave out a pathetic laugh.

"God," You stomped your foot, feeling so absolutely dumb. "I thought he was going to bolt after we had sex and come to find out that's why he was so weird about it beforehand."

Sarah gasped at your confession, jumping off the counter, her hand clasped over her mouth as she pushed your shoulder.

"You dirty slut!" She yelled through her hand, her voice so loud you were sure Thea would hear her and wake up. You desperately shh-ed her, telling her to keep her voice down.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She questioned, quickly turning from shocked to annoyed at the fact you hadn't shared the details with her.

"Cause," You sighed as you leaned your back against the counter, head tilted towards the ceiling to avoid her stare. "I didn't want to admit it happened. What if he never talked to me again after that? It would have made shit weird so I just didn't want to bring it up. Just in case."

"Wow," She said as she mimicked your position. Her arms crossing over her chest. "Bet he almost shit himself from nerves. He told Mitch he'd probably get struck by lightning before you ever agreed to get in bed with him."

You laughed shaking your head. Of course, they had all discussed this, they wouldn't be your overbearing friend group if they didn't. You rolled your eyes before turning back towards the mirror and adjusting the loose deep neck black camisole you had on back into your high waisted jeans. You had no idea where you were going but Harry told you to not dress up too much so you assumed somewhere where there wouldn't be a lot of attention on you two.

"Stop it." Sarah slapped your hands away from your constant fiddling of your outfit and readjusted your tank top back into place. "You look gorgeous so stop worrying."

"Thanks." You smiled but the hint of nerves you had still showed through. You had no idea if he'd still like you after tonight. This seemed so different from the other times you hung out together, way more official.

The knock at your door stopped your breath as you turned to Sarah, panic filling your wide eyes. She gripped both shoulders and shook you lightly.

"Get a hold of yourself girl. You're a bad bitch. Go get him." She said, turning you and slapping your ass. Making you jump and turn around to glare at her.

"Oh so if Harry does it it's fine but I do it and I get the look." Her eyebrows raised accusingly, making your face heat, and her snicker.

"Wait!" She said, stopping you in your bedroom. "You got on nice lingerie right?"

"Oh my God, Sarah!" You pushed her shoulder, causing her to laugh again.

"Who am I kidding? A hoe like you? You're probably decked to the nines." She walked out of your room and you followed closely behind her, too nervous to tell her off.

You stood beside her, right in front of your door as another knock came from outside. Your heart slammed across your chest. Nope, no way, you couldn't do this. You started to turn around but Sarah caught your wrist and basically dragged you to the door. Pushing you slightly from behind to open it.

When you did your heart could have exploded. There stood Harry, gorgeous as ever. He wore the yellow vest with blue polka dots on it that you absolutely adored him in. It laid overtop a white-collar shirt with light grey stripes. But what really finished the look for you was his wide smile as he stood there staring at you. A single sunflower in his hand.

"Look gorgeous, love." A bright smile across your face as he handed you your flower.

"Thanks, H." The smile on your face not fading as you stood taking him all in. Both of you in some sort of trance, honestly you could just spend all night looking at him but the sound of Sarah loud Aweeeee from behind you made you roll your eyes.

You turned around widening your eyes, trying to telepathically tell your friend you would murder her if she didn't shut up. She of course just smiled wider as she walked out of the kitchen with another glass of wine and plopped down on your couch.

"Thanks for babysitting Sarah." Harry said from behind you, trying to be nice but Sarah was in the mood to tease you both.

"Oh, I wouldn't miss this for the world." She quipped back, smug smile, basking in all her rightness of you two hooking up. You wanted to deck her.

You turn back to the front door and grabbed your cardigan off your coat rack. Ushering Harry out the door.

"Be back later tonight." Rushing out all the words to try and avoid any embarrassment.

"You better not set foot in this apartment until tomorrow morning!" She yelled after you. "I expect a walk of shame Y/N!"

You quickly shut the front door, resting your back against it as you looked up to Harry who finally broke and started laughing. You sighed pushing him out of the way and starting down the stairs.

"I take it you told her." He chuckled, hand filled with rings reaching down to intertwine with yours.

"Regret telling her. Now she gets to do the stupid told you so dance. She really enjoys that too much." You huffed as you both made your way out towards the street. You still had no idea where you were going but when you saw the very expensive-looking car sitting in front of your building you stopped.

"Wat?" He asked, turning back around to you.

"Is that yours?" You stepped forward to get a good look at the car that probably cost more than you'd make in your entire lifetime.

"Uh, yeh." He said but it sounded more like a question than a statement. You turned to him eyes filled with shock.

"They let you drive in America?" He immediately rolled his eyes at your teasing, opening the door for you and motioning for you to get in.

"I'm serious Harry. You know we drive on the right side of the road here, right?" You asked before stepping into the car and him shutting the door.

He quickly walked around to his side and got it. Looking over to you, waiting to see if you were done picking on him yet.

"You better not wreck us cause you forget which side of the road to drive on." You smiled at him. He shook his head, hiding his smile and leaned over the center console to kiss you.

"Not my fault bloody American's do everything backwards. First, you refuse to use the metric system and now you drive on the right side of the road." He started his car, glancing back over at you with a smile.

"But don't worry. I'll keep you safe."

[danideservedbetter]

Day 7, 8, 9, and 10 / Elaboration

Hey y’all! I said yesterday I would elaborate a little more on what my doctor’s visit yesterday told me, and here I am to do just that! I meant to yesterday, honestly, but by the time I got home my medicine had worn off and that wasn’t looking very likely 😅😅 But regardless!!! Here is what my results look like and honestly? These things probably have been affecting my sleeping disorder to a degree I’d previously disregarded without detailed info I’ve gotten from these tests.

Full write up under the cut!

—I got two major tests done, blood work and a genetics test. Back in my hometown the nurses couldn’t even figure out how to open the damn swab, but technology here managed to map out my entire DNA sequence which is utterly NUTS to me.

—My body is deficient in almost every important vitamin known to mankind, which makes sense because my diet is not… the best 😅 So, I started on several (SEVERAL) supplements to start out.

—I say start out because it’s very likely that I’ll be taking vitamin C and some liver enzyme through an IV once a month. A younger me might’ve thought something like this was scary, but at this point I’m so desperate to be healthy that getting nutrients drip fed into my system for them to work quicker sounds just fine to me.

—Other than that it’s normal lifestyle stuff. Eat more fruits and vegetables (I’ve been eating olives by the can for like days and I intend to buy fresh fruit packets for breakfast whenever I can afford them) as well as staying more active— which I DEFINITELY have been since I moved closer to New Orleans, in Louisiana proper where my dad lives.

But enough of the boring medicinal stuff. I’m sure you guys are much more interested in the whys— is there a reason my hypersomnia is so bad? Is there a deeper explanation than “lack of vitamins bad and you should feel bad”?

Well, yeah. YES. The genetics test revealed a metric fuckton to say the least 😂😂😂 but the most important was what kinds of diseases I’m predisposed to or how my body can process certain types of hormones/enzymes/proteins. Things like why caffeine won’t work for me (my body processes it very fast but not very thoroughly) or my metabolism being the strongest recorded genotype (which is why it’s been so hard to gain weight). Below, I’ll go into detail about stuff my new general doctor’s in-office geneticist (I still can’t believe that’s a thing I’m typing) has revealed about my disorder.

Naturally, this is specific to me because of my parents and our family lines. Maybe if you see info pertinent to yourself, looking into genetic mapping may be a good idea for you?

We are pretty confident that I have Idiopathic Hypersomnia. The reason for this is that a tiny link has been found between individuals who contracted mononucleosis in their childhood and adolescence and individuals who fell within the sleep cycles indicating IH. Now, IH will be genetic sometimes, but considering I’ve tracked my disorder to starting around 14, the same year I contracted Mono, the coincidence definitely doesn’t seem like… well, a coincidence. My blood test shows that I do in fact have the antibodies in my system, and they’re doing something… odd.

The geneticist found some “active” antibodies. Well, not some, really 😅 Basically, she’s surmised that these antibodies have a hair-trigger response and can react to any given environmental factor (stress, hunger, etc.) to the point where they activate as if they think they’re **fighting off a virus that’s been out of my system for ten years.** Of course this takes up an inordinate amount of energy, which is her hypothesis as to why my hypersomnia is so random and varies in intensity. The goal for this summer is flushing these antibodies out of my system.

My previous neurologist tried out a couple stimulants and then shit insurance prevented me from trying any others. So I’m stuck on something traditionally prescribed for adhd. A narcotic. *However* since my body is severely dysfunctional in general, the way I describe it is I basically have to induce a high to stay awake and function normally. We want to eventually get me off of these kinds of drugs, of course, since prolonged exposure weakens their effects and they’re highly addictive.

Another in credibly interesting thing we found is that I'm lacking in three major hormones. However, it's not because I don't produce them. I've never identified with symptoms of depression (anxiety, certainly, but not depression) yet for most of my life my childhood general practitioner insisted I had it. Well, the geneticist found that while I'm lacking in serotonin, dopamine, and melatonin, which yes are the two major mood enhancers and then the hormone that induces sleep, it's not because I can't produce them. It's because my neural transmitters are so damaged from a less-than-good diet and years of exhaustion that they simply can't process them. Just as the antibodies can have a hair-trigger response to environmental factors, so too can these processors. Simple things like a good meal, my high from my stimulants, or even micro dopamine shots from getting things done can activate the transmitters. Another thing on the docket for the summer is fixing these permanently with treatments of vitamins and supplements.

My stimulants have caused appetite issues, unfortunately, and that plus Covid at the beginning of this year caused me to get down to my lowest recorded weight ever, 94 pounds, which I haven't weighed since before I hit my final growth spurt way back in middle school. My dad does physical labor (he's a contractor who frames houses in the humid heat of the Deep South lol) so he's used to feeling tired. When he caught Covid, he said that he'd never felt as tired, drained, or out of it in his entire life. He never gets sick and hardly goes to the doctor and NEVER takes off work because of health, but in his last few weeks before full recovery he had to take off early multiple times. He was floored when he described the brain fog and exhaustion and I told him that I had no idea I even had Covid, because I just thought it was my disorder acting up. It was only when my grandmother started feeling tired that we got tested and we tested positive.

All that said, we think that there's hope for a future for me. She said that while there's no cure for IH, the cause that I have may can be mitigated by changes in exercise, diet, routine, and medication,to the point where I may mitigate symptoms of my disorder entirely. I'm still setting up appointments with a new neurologist here in the city, though, because technology is of course more advanced here.

And again, taking all of this into consideration, while it was looking likelier by the day, we've both agreed that I'll be here in the city 'til New Years. Which means no school this semester, but if I can go back in spring at more than 20% functionality and maybe succeed, I'm perfectly fine having to remain on break.

However, another good update: I weigh 103 pounds! I'm steadily gaining weight-- which means the other medication, the one for my appetite, is working as it should and as long as I stay on-track I should reach my goal of 120 by the end of the year as well.

So, yeah! That's what it's looking like. I have another appointment to go more in depth with the results tomorrow, but for now I'm planning out my week since I decided to let myself rest all last week. I'd love to finish helping out for our current podfic, ACTUALLY start the damn 100 Theme Challenge (LOL), finish betaing something that's been on hold for months, properly reconnect with our discord, catch up on all the media I fell behind on, clean my damn room, and establish a budget for this week on what I can buy. A more specific plan for today will follow, but til then, I hope this gives everyone some insight on what I'm looking at and how I'm gonna try to fix it.

Xoxo

Dani

[kinogane]

Essence of Combat, Part 2: Heat Action

(incidental Yakuza spoilers below)

(previously)

The second aspect of Yakuza action combat that stands out are Heat Actions. You build Heat, press the Heavy Attack button when you see the prompt, and

definitely commit not murder.

Yup.

They’ll be fine, folks.

Heat Actions are consistently the visual highlight of Yakuza action combat, with the cinematography and choreography focused in for a few seconds on your protagonist inflicting some unspeakable pain on some daft sap who thought that picking a fight was a good idea. The cartoonish hyperviolence of some Heat Actions are consistently cathartic, and watching an enormous chunk of enemy health vanish doesn’t hurt, either. And the series knows they’re highlights, as well. Not only do some games make performing Heat Actions a completion metric, there’s an entire Revelation mechanic in 3, 4, and 5 devoted to seeing wild situations and adapting them into new, creative Heat Actions you can use to definitely not permanently debilitate your foes.

In short, Heat Actions are a big deal. A big enough deal that it wouldn’t quite be a Yakuza game without them, and indeed, the first thing I was curious about when I learned that Like a Dragon would switch to turn-based combat was “How are they gonna do Heat Actions?”

The answer is Like a Dragon’s very own version of Heat Actions, Kiwami Actions.

And they're quite the successor.

A few hours into the game, Ichiban comes across a baseball bat stuck in the concrete, and upon pulling it out like a sword of legend, his overactive imagination takes center stage and starts coloring just about every conflict from that point on. Enemies transform into fanciful archetypes and caricatures, and the Kiwami Actions you start gradually getting access to are...

Well, just look at some of them.

Certainly, you can’t fault RGG Studio for seeing an opportunity to go unabashedly over the top and taking it. Like a Dragon is, after all, the game that took the aforementioned Yakuza eccentricities and pushed them to their furthest yet.

So really, this isn’t much more than the natural continuation of the trademark Yakuza bombast, applied toward Heat Actions with Ichiban’s particularly grandiose imagination. There really isn’t anything like them in Yakuza games past.

So why am I ultimately rather ambivalent toward Kiwami Actions?

Mechanically, Kiwami Actions take on a very different role in combat flow than Heat Actions, as a logical consequence of the combat system switch. For starters, Heat Actions tend to be spontaneous in nature. After building up Heat, you have a brief window to identify that a certain Heat Action is possible and then execute. Depending on the Heat Action, these windows can be quite short, so they can create on-the-fly decision making. I just knocked a whole group of idiots down with a throw and they’re going to get back up soon. Do I go for a Heat Action? Does their remaining health justify using that Heat? Or should I instead simply stomp for some quick damage and look for a weapon nearby?

Once you perform a Heat Action, your Heat will probably drain to the point where you can’t perform another one. Additionally, many Yakuza games offer benefits to retaining Heat while in combat and/or provide other ways to expend Heat for benefits like healing or better quickstepping, which means that there are situations where saving your Heat is a better call.

Another important wrinkle is that most games punish performing the same Heat Action by lowering the damage of subsequent repeats, which means that in longer fights against bosses, you have a strong incentive to look for and set up situations that let you hit a wide array of Heat Moves to drain the boss’s health quicker. So at the highest level, the core of Yakuza action combat is about alternating building and spending Heat in ways that will benefit you in a fight the most.

Kiwami Actions, meanwhile, are 1. uniformly almost always accessible when it’s your turn, 2. simply gated behind higher-than-average MP costs, and 3. do not have deteriorating repeated damage. Once you reach lategame, it does become feasible (and outright optimal) to spam Kiwami Actions (or one Kiwami Action) over and over again to deal as much damage per turn against enemies of higher caliber.

These are all trappings of turn-based combat and JRPGs especially, so they’re very much expected, but as replacements to Heat Actions, it’s a bit of a letdown? It’s just not possible in Like a Dragon to replicate the scramble of figuring out how to hit as many different Heat Actions as possible while trying to avoid getting hit. Instead, you just... pick it in a skill menu and it happens. Again, I recognize that’s just how it is with this kind of combat. I don’t think they should try to replicate that scramble, especially given how I feel about some of the positional battle mechanics in Like a Dragon, and I fully accept that I’m just not going to get that in future turn-based Yakuza games. But it’s an omission I felt during the entirety of my time with Like a Dragon.

Furthermore, on a more aesthetic level, Kiwami Actions weirdly lack the oomph of Heat Actions. Sure, they’re more bombastic and showy, but I find that the flair is often more detrimental than not.

For starters, every single Kiwami Action transports the attacker and the target to an alternate dimension where the attack plays out, then switches back onto the active battlefield. This is a practical necessity of not being able to guarantee that all battles take place in arenas where all Kiwami Actions can be depicted. In fact, if you pay close attention to Heat Actions in previous Yakuza games, they do the exact same thing, only instead of an entirely alternate dimension, the environment and actors are rearranged a bit as needed.

This pragmatic reality, alongside the simple fact that the increased flair and grandiosity means that the average Kiwami Action is considerably longer than the average Heat Action, means that Kiwami Actions are bigger interruptions of flow than Heat Actions. It’s a bit difficult for Kiwami Actions to have comparable impact when they’re very clearly situated away from battle and must have a longer build-up, climax, and follow-through, as opposed to Heat Actions which more easily appear to happen in the moment and are relatively quick peaks of action.

Also, if you look at the Kiwami Actions as a whole, they’re also sort of... all over the place and inconsistent in terms of showiness?

Like, take a look at Adachi’s moveset. The Kiwami Action he learns for reaching Detective Rank 28, Essence of Body Stacking, involves Adachi hitting two enemies on top of each other, then hitting them both down at once. It’s downright mundane. It could pass for a weapon Heat Action.

Meanwhile, the Kiwami Action he learns at Level 45, Essence of Hell’s Wheel, involves, uh,

You should really see it for yourself, if you haven’t.

If this was just one instance, it’d be a weird curiosity. Hell, you could even write this off as a higher level means a more outlandish Kiwami Action. That would be fine, but that’s just... not true? Contrast the above two with Han, whose Hitman Rank 28 Kiwami Action, Essence of Trick Shots, involves some Gun Kata-ass choreography,

while his Level 50 Kiwami Action, Essence of Assassin Dive, is...

a bunch of kicks.

What’s more, just about every Tag Team Kiwami Action is very low-key. In fact, besides Nanba’s and Zhao’s Tag Team Kiwami Actions, all of them could pass for Tag Team Heat Actions, which is completely fine and not a problem, were it not for these category of Kiwami Actions being a weird blind spot of mundanity in comparison to colossal pigeon swarms and spontaneous concerts. (They involve two people! Two people, both potentially able to do some wild shit! Am I to believe that Ichiban is just unable to come up with something suitably imaginitive?)

This isn’t to suggest that Heat Actions don’t have this spread, either. For every Heat Action where Kiryu or Saejima pick a dude up, jump five feet in the air, and drive the schmuck’s poor head straight into the concrete, there’s another where they just... kick a dude really hard. But I don’t have this problem with Heat Actions, so why the double standard?

Certainly, the mundane Heat Actions usually being faster helps a lot. It also helps when after you simply punch a dude on the ground he looks like, well,

yikes.

But two reasons in particularly really stand out to me. The first is that the gap between the most fantastic and most mundane Heat Actions isn’t all that large. Again, grabbing someone, leaping into the air, planting the top of their cranium right into the ground, and not killing them is very fantastical, but it’s just cartoonish and superhuman enough to be within the bounds of what you would expect of a Yakuza protagonist, so it’s not all that weird to see them do something as simple as slam someone against a wall headfirst. With Kiwami Actions, meanwhile, the gap between using your bat like nunchaku and spinning like an hypercharged Beyblade is considerably larger. The disparity becomes a lot stranger to think about.

The second is that even the more mundane Heat Actions can invoke a visceral reaction that the more mundane Kiwami Actions aren’t capable of. I’ve seen multiple people react to the Essence of Pliers Heat Actions, and the sheer discomfort they feel, every time, is extremely funny to me, every time.

Besides maybe Han’s Tag Team: Terrorizing Trample, none of the more simplistic Kiwami Actions come even remotely close to anything like Essence of Pliers.

And at the end of the day... I don’t think they even try to, or maybe even should.

I recognize that I’ve just spent a ludicrous number of words explaining in excruciating detail why I prefer Heat Actions over Kiwami Actions. And yes, absolutely, it’s ridiculous to compare seven games worth of Heat Actions to one game’s worth of Kiwami Actions. And yes, the tl;dr is that I prefer the moment-to-moment of the action combat over the moment-to-moment of the turn-based combat. It’s really that simple. Therefore, I prefer Heat Actions because they complement the action combat very well, more than I think the Kiwami Actions complement the turn-based combat. They’re just fundamentally different, and that’s... the point. It’s totally fine.

Believe it or not, I honestly didn’t spend almost any time wishing that Like a Dragon had action combat. Having achieved 100% completion for Like a Dragon, I’ve seen just about everything its turn-based combat has to offer, and I like it quite a bit. The stats are fun to raise, the weapons are fun to upgrade, and the skills are fun to use. Having to Perfect Guard attacks I’ve seen thrown my way for the whole game to have a chance at surviving in the True Final Millennium Tower is a satisfying postgame test of mastery. And for as much as I might seem down on them, yeah, the Kiwami Actions are fun to watch. You can pull out a human-sized grater and just go to town shredding some putz’s face, I’m not going to sit here and pretend that isn’t good stuff.

So why did I bother writing all of this, besides out of sheer boredom?

Well, I did say I didn’t spend almost any time wishing for action combat.

(continued)

[captaincartervalues]

When I was a child my planet Krypton was dying. I was sent to Earth to protect my cousin, but my pod got knocked off course, and by the time I got here, my cousin had already grown up to become Superman. And so, I hid my powers until recently when an accident forced me to reveal myself to the world.

To most people, I’m the CEO of L-Corp but in secret I work with my adoptive brother for the DEO to protect my city from alien life and anyone else that means to cause it harm. I am Supergirl.

“Lena?”

“She said with surprise in her voice, for some reason…”

“Oh my G- Kombucha. We were supposed to try that new fermentation place today!” Kara exclaims as realization dawns on her. “I totally forgot. I’m so sorry. I got caught up helping Nia with a story.”

“It’s okay, no need to explain. Kombucha can wait. I’m cool occasionally sharing my best friend with her prized protégé.” Lena teasingly assures her with a playful smile.

Kara laughs as she adjusts her glasses bashfully. “Well, I’m sure Nia is thankful for your boundless generosity.”

“I AM!” The women laugh as Nia yells the affirmative across the bullpen. Lena turned to give her a two-finger salute in acknowledgment before catching the kiss Nia blew their way.

“Supergirl, there’s an alien brawl on 5th and Kingston. The cops need your help.” Lena could hear Brainy report over her intercoms.

“Well, we can still go! I just need 2 minutes.” Kara offers.

“Uh – you know what, actually, I forgot that I have a meeting with the board I had to reschedule. So how about a raincheck?” Lena lies.

“Oh yeah okay. Well, let me validate your parking at least for coming all the way down to CatCo!”

“No, no. It’s fine. I flew here…” Lena slips. “…on my bike.”

Kara’s face scrunches in confusion. “You have a bike?”

“Yeah, I have a bike. That I drove here today. Lex talked me into it when I was drunk recently.” Lena scrambles.

“Hmm.” Kara pauses. “Lena Luthor, motorcyclist. Sexy.” She says it with an eyebrow wiggle and a goofy smile.

“Shut up.” Lena laughs.

“Are you gonna take me for a ride sometime?”

“Maybe...if you ask nicely.”  Lena teases with a wink before she saunters toward the elevators.

Kara is still staring at her appraisingly when she gets into the elevator. If it wasn’t for her super-hearing, Lena wouldn’t have heard Kara mutter “Lena Luthor, always an enigma” with a smile and shake of her head.

As the elevator doors close, Lena rips open her buttoned blouse exposing the House of El symbol underneath. “You have no idea.” She whispers solemnly.

-----

“Well that was fun, boys!” Lena says as she puts the rough-and-tumblers in the back of an unmarked DEO van.

Lena turns and finds the person she’s looking for before sauntering over. “Nothing like a little afternoon quickie to get the blood pumping, am I right?” she says as she lightly punches her brother’s arm.

“I think we have very different definitions of ‘afternoon quickie.’” Lex retorts, rubbing his shoulder as Lena rolls her eyes. “And it would have been quicker if you had responded to our call right away. What took you so long anyway?”

“I was with Kara” Lena starts “ –actually, I was lying to Kara, again. Cancelling another – “

“Date?” Lex interjects.

Lena glares at her brother pointedly. “Lunch. I just hate always bailing on her and lying about why.” Lena admits dejectedly.

“You know, you could just tell her.” Lex says quietly.

Lena shakes her head and sighs “You know it’s not that simple.”

“I know Kara isn’t like her family.”

“I know that!” Lena says defensively. “And I’m the one who had to convince you of that initially!”

“Hey,” Lex softens and puts his hand on his sister’s shoulder to comfort her. “I know you’re the president of the ‘Kara Danvers is innocent’ fan club; you don’t have to convince me.”

“It’s just – I’m protecting her. It’s safer for her if she doesn’t know.”

“Safer? We’re still talking about Kara Danvers, right? The same one that brags how getting kidnapped means she’s on the right track? And the one that shrugs off “quarterly assassination attempts” as some kind of journalistic metric for when her stories are big? That Kara Danvers? Because that Kara Danvers is never ‘safe,’ hun.” Lex counters half-jokingly, half-seriously.

Lena’s prepared to argue some more when she hears a familiar “Supergirl!”

“Speak of the devil.” Lex smirks as they both turn to see Kara, pen in hand, always at the ready to report. They watch as she slips under the barricade and makes her way toward the pair.

“Spare a moment and a quote?” Kara proffers.

“For National City’s best reporter? Always.” Lena smiles.

Kara pauses ever so slightly at her words as a sense of familiarity encompasses her. Lena can almost see a hint of recognition flit across Kara’s eyes before the reporter blushes. Lena doesn’t even have time to regret her choice of words before her best friend presses on.

“Do you know who’s behind the resurgence of Cadmus operations and reported attacks against innocent alien civilians that are being attributed to them?”

“We are still working on confirming if Cadmus is even involved, but we are following some leads to identify the individuals behind these attacks, yes.” Lena says with a certain air of authority that almost only comes when she is suited up.

“How did you even know about those attacks? We’ve kept them confidential from the public.” Lex questions.

“The DEO isn’t as secretive as you like to think, Lex. And, it’s literally my job to find things out that people don’t want the public to know…” Kara quips.

Lena snickers and exchanges a smile with Kara as Lex narrows his eyes at her.

“Well do you know what I’m bringing to game night tonight, smarty pants?” Lex taunts.

“Pizza and drunk Jenga like always.” Kara states without hesitation.

Lex stammers silently until Lena can see the light flicker in his head. “Well what if I brought Supergirl too? Not so predictable then, am I?” Lex’s eyes glint with a mischievous triumph.

Lena’s jaw clenches as she fights the urge to yeet her brother into space.

Kara looks at her expectantly, almost daring her to come.

“I’d love to, but I have a date with the fortress tonight.” Lena lies.

“Probably for the best since you’d be no match for me and Lena. We run game night and take no prisoners, not even super ones.” Kara boasts goofily.

“Oh, is that so?” Lena challenges playfully.

“Yeah, it’s actually sickening how annoyingly good they are together.” Lex pouts knowingly at them both.

“You’re just jealous you don’t have your perfect partner for game night yet, Luthor.” Kara beams smugly at Lex while Lena tries to hide her own smile.

“See what I mean?” Lex shakes his head. “Nauseating.”

Lena hears Kara’s phone buzz before she pulls it out to check her messages. “Looks like I’ve got places to be and other stories to report.” Kara announces. “But don’t let that fool you into thinking I’m done questioning you about Cadmus, Supergirl."

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Ms. Danvers.”

Kara smiles before turning her attention to Lex. “I’ll see you tonight, where you can tell me how exactly you convinced Lena, of all people, to buy a motorcycle!”

“Shit.” Lena mumbles as she watches Kara walk away.

“What was that about?” Lex asks.

“Nothing. On an unrelated note, I’m going to need you to give me a refresher’s course on riding a motorcycle.” Lena says while preoccupied with digging her phone out of her boot. “I gotta get back to the office. See you tonight, big bro.” Lena rushes her goodbye before launching into the air and leaving Lex confused and alone.

“Hey, Jess. I need you to buy me the most badass, sexiest motorcycle you can find in 3 hours.” Lena instructs as she dodges a pigeon midair.

---

Kara is hugging Sam and Kelly goodnight as Lena collects empty glasses from the coffee table. Kara closes the door and meets Lena in the kitchen to help load her dishwasher.

“Ya know, I’m starting to regret introducing those two. They are giving us a run for our money.”

“Oh come on, you know no one can beat us when we’re together. Not even Brainy when he counts cards.” Lena playfully bumps her best friend’s shoulder.

“You’re always right.” Kara laughs. “Plus, it’s nice to have a little competition. Makes the win that much more satisfying.”

“You’re such a competitive dork.” Lena teases.

“And you love me because of it.” Kara grins.

“Yes, I do.” Lena says unabashedly. And she wonders if Kara even knows just how much she loves her and for how long she’s loved her.

There’s a brief moment between them where Kara wants to say more and Lena wants her to, but as always with them, the moment passes and neither one says what’s on their mind nor what’s in their hearts. For two women who are fearless when facing the world, they sure are terrified to face their own feelings for each other.

“So, I got a chance to talk to Supergirl today…” Kara says.

And just like that Lena is knocked down by her reality in which her closest friend doesn’t know her biggest secret. Lena hates when Kara talks about Supergirl with her, because it’s just another reminder of her own web of lies she spins around them both. At this point, she’s not sure who’s more trapped in the web, her or Kara.

“And what did she say?” Lena plays along.

“That they haven’t confirmed Cadmus is back yet, which is bullshit. It’s them.”

“Kara, we don’t know it’s them.” Lena tries.

“Lena, it’s them. You know it. I know it. Lex knows it. And Supergirl knows it. Acting like it’s not and keeping it a secret from the public only endangers the city and its alien citizens even more. I’m not gonna help Cadmus by doing the same. I just need a little bit more proof to publish.”

“You’ll find it. If anyone can, it’s National City’s best reporter.” Lena says matter-of-factly as she places her hand over Kara’s where it rests on the counter and gives it an encouraging squeeze.

“Have I told you you’re my favorite, Lena Luthor?” Kara asks with a soft smile.

“Many times, but I love to hear it.” Lena laughs.

Kara turns to face her more directly as her tone shifts back to a serious note. “Have you heard anything on the L-Corp science front? Any attempted break-ins at L-Corp lately or underground inquiries about new inventions that could be used as weapons?” Kara asks with a hint of desperation in her voice.

Lena takes her hand away as she moves to busy them with collecting empty wine bottles from the counter and turning away from Kara. Sometimes it’s easier to lie to her best friend when she’s not facing her. “Umm, no. Nothing yet.”

“You know, you’re terrible at hiding things from me.” Kara presses lightly with a sultry smile.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” Lena mumbles to herself as she tosses the bottles in the recycling bin.

Lena sighs and relents rather easily as she turns around to face her best friend. One secret is more than she can bear keeping from a persistent Kara Danvers.

“An old key-card was reconfigured and used to access the lab a few nights ago. They tried to get into the vault too, but my personal security measures prevented it. Jess already did an inventory catalog, and nothing was taken. IT fixed the card issue and new cards were immediately distributed to our scientists.”

Kara looks down in disappointment. Lena knows it has less to do with her and more to do with what this means for Kara, but Lena regrets her secrecy nonetheless.

“I didn’t want to tell you, because I didn’t want to worry you.”

Kara looks up at Lena with a deceivingly expressionless face. “Who did the key-card belong to?”

“It doesn’t necessarily mean anything, Kara.”

“Who did the key-card belong to?” Kara repeats firmly without hesitation, a hint of anger setting in her jaw.

Lena lets out a heavy breath and cements Kara’s suspicion without saying a word. Her silent confirmation causes Kara’s stoicism to crack and concern floods her face as her shoulders sag.

“I knew it.” Kara chokes out.

Lena grabs her face with both hands and wipes a tear from her cheek with her thumb. “Hey,” Lena comforts, “we’ll stop them. We won’t let them get away this time.”

“Promise?” Kara says as she blinks through a well of tears.

“Promise.” Lena insists as she wraps Kara in a reassuring hug.

Kara sinks into the embrace as Lena rubs her back to soothe her best friend. They stay like that for a while until Kara whispers in her ear, “Did I tell you, you’re my favorite?”

“Maybe once or twice.” Lena chuckles as Kara leans back and lets go to wipe the rest of her tears away. Lena doesn’t understand how Kara can look so beautiful even after crying.

“Golly, I didn’t realize how late it was” Kara says as her eyes shift to the clock behind Lena.

Lena is about to offer to stay the night with Kara, but Lex cuts her off before she can form the words. “Fire at the Broadway Apartment Buildings, Supergirl. Firefighters are struggling to contain. Need you there ASAP."

“Yeah, I better get going.” Lena excuses herself as she grabs her jacket.

“You know, you could stay...if you want.” Kara counters, a small plea in her eyes.

“I wish I could, but I have an early morning meeting about the break-in with Security.” Lena lies.

“Right. Okay. Well, drive safe.”

Lena smiles solemnly before leaving.

“On my way, Lex.” Lena reports once she’s in the hallway. She rips her shirt, sets aside her thoughts of Kara, and flies out the window into the night sky.

------

Kara’s about to get ready for bed when she hears a knock at her door. She glances at the shiny red motorcycle helmet by her coat rack, smiles, and grabs it before opening the door without a second thought.

“I was wondering when you’d realize you forgot th- .” Kara freezes as she opens the door, and her smile quickly dissipates.

“What’s wrong? Not excited to see your big sis?”

“Alex.”

...

Read the rest on AO3