it's funny how all the movies from the '70s and '80s (and even some from the '90s!) just assumed that smog would get worse and worse until the earth (or at least LA) was perpetually shrouded in smoke, then the government banned smog and it went away; incredible really.
earlier this week Twitter user ppuccin0 tweeted about a fashion article that advised against tops with large floral patterns, saying the wearer was in danger of looking like a "ăăăłăăŁăăŻăă°ăă," or a "romantic auntie." the tweet went viral with many agreeing that a "romantic auntie" sounded like a very nice thing to aspire to be, and some even posted illustrations or photos tagged with the trend
illustration by Toyota Yuu (author of Cherry Magic)
illustration by 141shkw/Sora Midori (author of Beautiful Curse)
photos by Takinami Yukari (author of Motokare Mania and Watashi-tachi wa Mutsuu Ren'ai ga Shitai or "We Want A Painless Romance")
illustration by m:m (mangaka of Matataki no End Roll)
illustration by ooinuai (mangaka of Onikui Kitan)
illustration by ma2 (mangaka of The Reason We Fall In Love)
Just watched supergirl and oh my god i am so obssed with the fact that we have a female main character and shes sloppy and snippy and rude and an alcoholic and messy and flawed. And yet shes still able to be kind and good and be an inspiration to people. All while not having a romance and while not trying to appeal to anyone. This is what everything should be.
Did they ever reveal how Captain America was thawed? Because Iâm picturing a bunch of Shield agents with hair dryers and I donât think thatâs quite right.
Well, letâs see.Â
To thaw a 1.5 metric ton colossal squid frozen in a block of ice (the only way the fishermen who trawled the thing in could bring it home before it went bad), scientists put it in a big vat of brine just above 0 Celsius/32F. That allowed the fresh water to melt while still keeping the squid as cold as possible. Essential, since for a giant corpse with tentacles, certain parts are bound to thaw days before others and could become quite rotten before the rest comes out of the ice block if youâre not careful.Â
HOWEVER Captain America was still alive, which complicates things. On the other hand, even supersoldiers are significantly smaller than this record-setting colossal squid. This helps thaw logistics somewhat.
Much like the squid, Captain America would have to be kept at a consistent temperature throughout his body in order to be thawed successfully. If his extremities were to thaw more than a minute or two before his heart and lungs were thawed and reactivated, the tissue wouldnât have any oxygen and would quickly die. What a shame to bring back Steve Rogers only to have him be the poster boy for gangrene. Brain tissue becoming metabolically active before the cardiovascular system began functioning would be even more disastrousâ possible permanent brain damage.Â
And the GH-325 project was born
To keep his temperature as equal as possible across his entire body, something like the squid brine or (more likely) an antifreeze solution would be used. Immerse the Capsicle in brine until the entire unit is within a degree or two of thawing* to begin Phase II.
*Note that due to presence of salts, fats, protein, etc, the freezing point of meat is actually 28-29F. Apologies to non-US readers, sadly I only work with American meat and donât know the freezing point of corpses/beef in Sane Country Units. That being said, Steve Rogers is 100% American meat. Fahrenheit shall be considered the appropriate unit for this project.Â
At the thawing point, itâs important to consider life support functions. I donât know how fast human tissue uses up oxygen at refrigerator-range temperatures, but Iâm going to assume that the sooner you have oxygen circulating the better. A heart-lung machine would be needed to oxygenate and move the blood around for a while before the heart gets started back up.Â
Meanwhile, because Captain Americaâs last un-frozen moments were spent deep underwater, there may be decompression issues at play. Whatever gas bubbles may have been present in his tissue are currently frozen in place, but when he thaws they can move about and create embolisms â> the bends. Better put him in a hyperbaric chamber just in case.Â
Since Captain America regained consciousness in a recovery room rather than during the thaw process, it may be safe to assume that he was sedated and/or placed in a drug-induced coma during thaw.Â
So at this point weâve got a giant bathtub of brine, a heart-lung machine, oxygen canisters, lots of drugs, plus all the necessary monitoring equipment all inside a hyperbaric chamber. After thawing the antifreeze bath could be replaced with gradually warming water or saline solution in order to bring Captain America back up to normal body temperature. So many machines! This is US medicine at its finest.
Forced warm air blowers (hairdryers) are needed after Captain America is fully thawed, organ systems are reactivated, and he is brought back to normal body temperature. At this point it becomes necessary to dry and style Captain America and put him in period-appropriate jammies to sleep it off in a vintage hospital room. If you think hearing the wrong baseball game tipped him off fast, you should see him wake up with bad hair.Â
What if she's written 'mine' on my upper thigh only in my mind?
It's been a few weeks since everything happened.
A few weeks since Kara confessed. Since longing stopped being something Lena kept locked in lower case inside a vault and became something she could hold in her hands. Since fatal fantasies gave way to messy kisses and tangled sheets and Kara's sleepy smile waiting for her in the morning.
The strange thing is that Lena spent years imagining this exactly.
The stranger thing is that reality somehow feels less believable.
She thinks about Kara constantly now. In board meetings and elevator rides and quiet moments between phone calls. She catches herself smiling at memories that are only hours old. She sees futures where Kara is standing beside her and feels her heart stumble over itself.
Sometimes she wonders if she's finally lost her mind. Sometimes she wonders if happiness simply feels a little like madness when you've gone your whole life without it.
And sometimes, late at night while Kara softly snores beside her, she wonders if she's just lying to herself by thinking that Kara being in love and love are the same thing. That Kara wanting her now is the same as forever.
A soft kiss lands against her temple and Lena startles. When she turns her head, Kara is waking up slowly, blue eyes shining in the darkness.
"Babe, what's wrong? Can't sleep?"
"Oh. Guess not."
A smile tugs at Kara's mouth.
"Did I not tire you out enough? Should I try some more?"
The laugh escapes Lena before she can stop it, loud enough to feel out of place in the quiet bedroom.
âYou did, darling. I was just thinking.â
"Oh yeah?" Kara shifts closer, her voice still thick with sleep. "Wanna tell me what?"
Lena draws in a slow breath.
No.
She doesn't want to tell Kara that she's terrified one morning she'll wake up and find all of this was borrowed time. That one day Kara will look at her and realize she deserves something easier. Something lighter. Someone less complicated than Lena Luthor.
She doesn't want to admit that even now, with Kara's arm draped over her waist and her warmth pressed along Lena's side, some part of her is still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
âJust work.â
âLena, you can't be serious.â She pulls Lena even closer, so so close they're sharing the same breath. âIt's two in the morning, sweetheart.â
âHey, you knew that about me and you still wanted this.âÂ
Lena almost regrets what she said, because what if Kara finally realizes that she does not want this? That she doesn't want to be dragged into the hedge maze that is Lena's life and mind?
âYeah,â Kara smiles, right next to her ear, then kisses her temple again. âand I always will. Now, come on. Let me take your mind off of it.â
By the next morning, Lena has convinced herself she was being ridiculous. This relationship has been years in the making. Kara clearly never wanted somebody more. She needs to get rid of these bad thoughts, drilled into her skull by the Luthors.Â
She has learned that only actions talk. And Kara's actions are loud.
But the problem with actions is that Lena has a postgraduate degree in dissecting them. She places them under a microscope, looking for hairline fractures, looking for anything that proves what she's suspected her whole life: love can't be that easy.Â
It simply can't. Because if it is, then what was her life before this?
The luncheon is boring.
Painfully, spectacularly boring as most of these things are.
Lena has spent the last twenty minutes trapped in a conversation with a councilman who seems incapable of answering a question without first hearing himself speak for five minutes. She's smiling on instinct at this point, nodding at pauses that feel socially acceptable, while secretly debating whether throwing herself off the terrace would be considered unprofessional.
It's when she glances away for a moment that she spots Kara across the room, laughing at something one of the donors has said.
The sight of her is immediate relief, arriving so fast it almost embarrasses Lena. Because that's ridiculous, isn't it? The woman has been on the other side of the room for less than twenty minutes. And yetâŠ
As though feeling the weight of her gaze, Kara looks up. Their eyes meet. And Kara doesnât just smile at her. She beams. Itâs a ridiculous, open-hearted expression that breaks through the entire room, completely indifferent to who might see it.
And this smile, this one Lena knows so damn well, it belongs to her. She feels it somewhere beneath her ribs.
And then, without breaking eye contact, Kara raises her glass in a tiny, private toast, innocent enough if not for the next part, because her lips start moving to shape words that look horribly like I love you.
Three words. Small enough to miss. Easy enough to mistake.
I love you.
Lena's heart stutters. The conversation around her fades into background noise. She stares, mind in knots.
Kara just smiles that sure smile of someone who knows exactly what she just did. Then somebody says something beside her and she's turning away, laughing again, gone as quickly as she'd looked.
Leaving Lena alone with the words. Or what she thinks were words. Because surely not. Surely Kara hadn't looked across a crowded room full of politicians and journalists and donors and simply mouthed I love you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Did she actually say it? Lena thinks, her gaze dropping to the marble floor as a cold prickle of sweat forms at the nape of her neck. Or did I just translate a polite twitch of her mouth into the only words Iâve been dying to hear for weeks?
The doubt follows her home. It sits in the backseat of her car with her; it shines bright behind her eyelids when she closes them at night; it becomes tangible and breakable, true and fake all at once; it lingers in the margins of her data sheets while she tries to work next day; it consumes her days and nights.
Not because of the words themselves. Kara has said them before. When they were friends, when they were best friends, when they were... whatever it was they'd been before finally finding the courage to stop pretending.
But hearing it now it's different. There is a quiet certainty to it. An ease.
As though Kara hadn't been making a declaration at all. As though she'd merely been reminding Lena of something they both already knew. Something that would still be true tomorrow.
And next week.
And next year.
And the rest of their lives.
Wait! The rest�
Lena's mind stutters, shocked with itself. Why would she think this? Why would she go that far?
Because Lena can handle the certainty of tomorrow, the plans for next week, hell, she can even handle the promise of next year! But forever? It feels too much like a vow they'd both have to uphold somehow.Â
But IF Kara was indeed saying I love you, she wasn't promising forever. She was promising now, then, someday, maybe. And Lena is definitely overthinking this whole thing.
A few days later, Lena is sitting on the couch with her laptop balanced on one knee when Kara emerges from the kitchen, phone in hand and an expression that suggests she's halfway through three different conversations at once.
"Hey," Kara says, finger still scrolling on the phone. "Everyone is complaining about how we haven't done a game night in a whileâŠâ
Lena hums absentmindedly, eyes still on the spreadsheet in front of her.
âHow busy are you right now and would you hate me if I offered our place?â
The words hit Lena with enough force to make her miss an entire breath. She looks up so fast her neck snaps. Ouch. Wait. What?Â
Kara is still staring at her phone. Still scrolling. Entirely unaware that she's just detonated something in the middle of Lena's living room.
"So?" Kara tries again when no answer comes for longer than expected.
Lena blinks, "What?"
"Our place." Kara finally looks back at her. "For game night. Tonight."
The words sound no different the second time. Not Lena's apartment. Not âyourâ place. Our place.
As though Kara has already quietly carved out a space for herself here and decided she intends to stay. As if the lines had been redrawn and Lena just now has learned where they are.
Lena's heart does something deeply unhelpful.
"Huh."
It's the only thing she manages. Apparently satisfied with this highly intelligent contribution to the conversation, Kara nods and returns her attention to her phone.
"Cool. Do you think it's a pizza or dumplings kind of night?"
Lena stares. Because Kara has already moved on. She's talking about food. Meanwhile Lena is still stranded two sentences ago.
"Both?" she offers weakly, incapable of deciding anything at that moment.Â
"See, that's what I thought."
Kara grins.
And just like that, she's gone again, disappearing back into the kitchen while arguing with someone in the group chat about whether chips count as a real contribution to game night.
Lena remains frozen on the couch.
Our place.
Maybe Kara doesn't mean anything by it. Maybe she's spending so much time there that the phrase slipped out by accident. Maybe it was just easier to say.
But maybe feels wrong.
Maybe belongs to unanswered questions and almosts and things Lena kept locked away where nobody could see them. It belongs to years of wanting Kara and pretending she didn't. To stolen glances and impossible feelings and all the things she never thought she'd be brave enough to hold.
This isn't a maybe anymore.
And that should be comforting.
Instead, Lena finds herself staring at certainty the same way she once stared at uncertainty; turning it over and over in her hands, terrified she's misreading the whole thing again.
It's late when it happens.
The city outside has gone quiet, reduced to distant headlights sliding between buildings and the occasional siren somewhere far below. Lena is lying on her side with her back pressed against Kara's front, suspended somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, her mind still stubbornly running through tomorrow's schedule despite the hour.
Kara shifts behind her, hand splayed over Lena's stomach possessively. It's a familiar movement by now, one Lena has become embarrassingly attached to over the past few weeks. Some nights she wakes up to find Kara halfway on top of her, as though even unconsciousness isn't enough to stop her from seeking Lena out.
A moment later, Kara's hand slides lower.
Lena barely notices at first because Kara is constantly touching her these days. A hand on her back. Fingers laced through hers. An arm around her waist while they're making coffee in the morning.
This should feel no different. Except Kara's hand finds the exact spot on her upper thight that drives her insane. Too close, and yet not close enough.Â
And Kara's finger keeps moving on that exact spot. Not aimlessly, though. Not the absent little circles she sometimes traces when she's distracted.
The movement is slow enough that she can follow it, deliberate enough that it doesn't feel accidental anymore. At first she only feels the warmth of Kara's fingertip against her skin, tracing a path she can't quite make sense of.
Then something in her stomach drops because that was a letter. And the next one is too.
Lena goes perfectly still.
No. Surely not.Â
But once the thought appears, she can't seem to make it disappear. She finds herself following the movement despite herself, recognizing shapes where there should only be skin and darkness, and before Kara even finishes, Lena already knows what word is being written.
By the time Kara reaches the final letter, Lena's heart is beating so hard she's convinced Kara must be able to feel it through her ribs.
Mine.
The word settles between them, invisible and impossible.
Lena stares into the darkness. No. That's ridiculous. Kara is asleep. Or at least she must be asleep, because the alternative is absurd.
Kara did not just write mine on her upper thigh in the middle of the night. People don't write possessive declarations on their girlfriends in the middle of the night.
And even if they did, Kara certainly wouldn't. Right?Â
Lena's stomach twists. Because obviously she has imagined the whole thing. Or misinterpreted it. Or accidentally assigned meaning to a series of meaningless movements because apparently that's what she does now.
Behind her, Kara's hand comes to rest on the exact spot where the final letter had been. The weight of it is almost unbearable. Lena stares stubbornly at the wall.
She does not turn around. She absolutely does not turn around.
Because if she does and Kara is asleep, then she's officially lost her mind. But if she turns around and Kara is awake...
Lena isn't sure that's any better.
Behind her, Kara's hand moves up and settles over Lena's stomach again, its rightful place. A second later, she leans forward and presses a sleepy kiss to Lena's shoulder before tucking herself even closer.
The gesture is so casual it almost hurts. As though nothing unusual has happened. As though she hasn't just turned Lena's entire brain into a crime scene.
Lena closes her eyes. She tells herself Kara was asleep. She tells herself she imagined it. She tells herself she's been overthinking everything lately and this is just another example.
But the explanation never quite lands, because long after Kara's hand goes still, Lena can still feel the shape of the letters against her skin.
And lying awake in the darkness, she finds herself wondering what might be worse: the possibility that Kara actually wrote the word, or the possibility that she didn't and Lena only wanted it badly enough to believe she had.
Rather than distinctly male or female, the human brain is much more like the heart, kidneys and lungs â basically the same no matter the sex of the body it's in.
âThis collapse is a telltale sign of a problem known as publication bias. Small, early studies which found a significant sex difference were likelier to get published than research finding no male-female brain difference.â
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor
Characters: Kara Danvers, Lena Luthor
Additional Tags: Comedy, Rescue, Kara Danvers Saves Lena Luthor, Kidnapped Lena Luthor, Humor, Artificial Intelligence
Summary:
Most people would panic during a kidnapping. Lena Luthor hires an engineer.
(The best of this post and its reblogs, but with links that work)
Here is a website where you can scroll down to all the different levels of the oceanÂ
Here is a website where you can see the future of the universe
Here is a website where you can press a âmake everything okayâ button, over and over, until things really are okay
Here is a website that you can read if you feel like a burden
Here is a website where you can look at strobe illusions (TW strobe/flashing)
Here is a website where you can cut stuff up (TW blood/sh)
Here and here are websites where you can play with sand
Here is a website where you can draw with macaroni and other fun foods
Here is a website where you can paint someoneâs nails
Here is a website where you can grow a garden with emojis
Here is a website with hundreds of videos of people hugging you (rightfully dubbed âthe nicest place on the internetâ because it really is, yâall, it made me cry)
Here is a website that will take you to other useless websites
Here is a website where you can make a tiny cat play bongo drums (and other instruments!)
Here is a website to help give you gentle reminders <3
Here is a website where you can grow a tiny farm
Here is a website where you can take a bunch of scientific personality tests
Here is a website of calm rain noise
Take a breath. Itâs going to be okay, I promise.
Hey, you, cis girl that's very (correctly) vocal about women being allowed to talk about their periods, do you include trans women in that?
I ask because every single time I've tried to talk about it to anyone that isn't a trans woman they get fucking angry. Which has caused me to have to just suffer in silence every single month. So I really relate to cis women when they talk about literally the exact same thing; being shamed by everyone around them their whole lives for talking about their periods, so they just suffer in silence every month as it negatively impacts their work and social lives. But I don't even feel like I can voice that I am literally dealing with the same exact thing because most of y'all react like you want to throw me in front of a bus for saying it, even those of you who act like your such big great transfem allies.
I guess I'll take this opportunity to talk about trans women periods.
The first thing any tme person thinks when they hear this is always "how can trans women have periods? They don't have uteruses!"
The answer is: the uterus isn't what causes your period, it is effected by your period. What causes your period and what causes trans women's periods is the same thing: the endocrine system.
HRT changes the sex of your endocrine system. Feminizing HRT makes it a female endocrine system, giving us a 28-day hormone cycle just like cis women. At the end of that cycle, the hypothalamus floods the body with prostaglandins. Those are what cause all but one of the period symptoms, because they make muscles inflame and contract. They are what make the uterus shed its lining, they are what cause intestinal cramps, they are what cause body aches, they are what cause headaches and migraines. The only period symptom not causes by the release of prostaglandins throughout the body is depression, and that is caused by your endocrine system simply not processing as much estrogen and from simply feeling like shit.
So, the only symptoms trans women don't get every 28 days is menstrual cramps, because yes we do not menstruate since we don't have uteruses. But migraines, depression, body aches, intestinal cramps, and the infamous "period shits" don't exactly add up to us having any better of a time. Except we have to pretend that we're fine and nothing is different because no one believes that we get periods, not even cis women.
"But you can't call it a period then because that refers to MENSTRUATION!" is another one I hear all the time. This is incorrect. You use the word "period" instead of just "menstruation" because it doesn't just refer to menstruation. It refers to a period at the end of the hormone cycle where we experience a host of symptoms. And not all cis women experience all of the symptoms that encompass the period. Not all cis women get migraines, or body aches, or have severe depression. If a cis woman gets a hysterectomy she doesn't menstruate either! In that instance she experiences an identical period to what trans women experience. Yet, I doubt you'd insist that cis women who've had hysterectomies don't have periods.
Oh, another thing that I personally discovered after bottom surgery: vaginal odor changes for trans women during our periods too. I was not expecting that because I always thought it was just from menstruation. But nope, the ph levels of a trans woman's vagina are the same of as a cis woman's vagina, and it changes during our periods just the same.
Wow. So I'm going to admit I was initially SUPER confused about this, but the post makes it very clear that it is similar.
This is VERY helpfully informative and I'm thrilled to be able to repost this.
I think we have to talk about stuff more so that there is understanding. But also, I suspect trans women are more informed about the female body than most people who live in it from birth (trying very hard to not be ignorant or offensive, but I have a talent for mis speaking)
I think the same applies to any of the lgbtqia groups. We're so focused on grouping ourselves into those hearings that we forget to share our experience and difficulties with everyone else, not from a perspective of "you qssholes don't care" but "this is my struggle, what is yours and can we offer each other advice"
Ugh. Okay. This was the hardest I've thought about anything today. Now, for a nap.
Love you all! (Just predisposed to not liking people)
the thing was, she wasnât going to be able to pass the recertification exam, and she couldnât figure out why. annabelle studied. she practiced. she pulled out every trick and shortcut sheâd learned during her two years as an EMT and none of it worked. she just â she didnât get it. it made no sense.
âwake up,â she urged the dummy, pressing her hands to the pulse points on its wrists. âcome on. what the fuck.â
âyeah, i donât think that asking nicely is going to do the trick,â hank said, his eyebrows raised. his helmet, the special one theyâd decorated for him with craft supplies from michaelâs when heâd gotten promoted to firestation chief, sat askew on his head. âi can see now why they didnât pass you.â
annabelle rolled her eyes. âitâs a psychological thing,â she said. âitâs like, you give the brain an instruction and it follows naturally. and the pulse-point thing always works. i donât know why itâs not, like, in any of the books, but i swear to god itâs worked for me every time.â
it was true that annabelle had the best record on low body counts, which was good because she was the smallest person on the team not counting Georgie, who was a corgi. jake and lillian were always making fun of her for having been the shortest of their whole rookie class. but it hadnât ever been a problem before; annabelle rarely had to carry anybody out, because she was good enough at getting them on their feet.
but none of that would matter if she couldnât pass her stupid recertification exam, because theyâd take her badge and sheâd have to go be, like, a doctor or something.
hank blew out a long breath and sunk down to where she was kneeling on the station floor in full fire gear, giving CPR to the practice dummy, whom they called dierdre. there was a little light that went on when youâd saved its life. it had been a dull gray for an hour now.
âlook, AB. i know youâre a good firefighter, and i know you know how to deliver CPR. just do it like you do it during an emergency. youâre overthinking it.â
âbut this is what i do during an emergency!â annabelle cried, throwing her hands up. âi put my hands on their pulse points and i use psychological mumbo-jumbo and they just get up and walk!âÂ
hank blinked. ââŠreally,â he said, voice flat. âpeople whoâve been inhaling smoke for half an hour just ⊠get up and walk.â
âthe brain is an incredibly powerful organ,â said annabelle, shrugging. âlook man, i donât know, okay? but it works. i havenât had to actually do CPR in like a year and a half.â
he gave her a long, quiet look and said, âwellâŠ.huh,â before pushing himself back up onto his feet and frowning off into the distance. âkeep practicing,â he said after a minute, and left her there.
-
hank switched her team.
âwhat the fuck, man,â she said, sliding into the truck next to him as the sirens went on. âi canât get CPR on one fucking dummy and suddenly you donât trust me to do my job without supervision?â
carl and bethany very carefully did not meet her eyes in the rearview from the backseat. bethany pulled a magazine from beneath the seat and said loudly, âlook, carl, jennifer aniston and brad pitt are getting back together.â
âthank christ,â said carl. âiâve been really worried about jen.â
hank gave annabelle the flat look that had gotten him promoted to firestation chief in the first place, the one that said iâm your dad and you donât want to disappoint me. as always, annabelle wilted underneath it, sliding down in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest. it was a difficult feat in full gear but she wanted him to know she was feeling sullen.
âi trust you completely,â hank told her, his voice a light scold. âi want to see you in action so i can help you figure out whatâs going wrong with the dummies. sometimes itâs hard for the brain to accurately remember everything that happens during a crisis.â
annabelle rolled her eyes. âi told you,â she said. âitâs just â itâs the same thing every time, Iâm not like, blacking out.â
âgreat, then iâm about to learn a cool new trick,â hank said serenely, and pulled the truck out of the lot. annabelle kept her gaze focused out of the window, watching the city pass as carl and bethany talked loudly about which celebrities were dating which other celebrities and who wore what better. she tried to swallow down the nerves that tightened her throat. maybe the dummy was right. maybe she was doing something else and didnât remember it. maybe the last two years had been a fluke and she had no business being a firefighter. maybe she was about to get fired.
there wasnât a fire, though the alarm was going off. instead they found a bag of smoking popcorn and the collapsed heap of a forty-five year old bachelor type, down to just his boxers and a pair of slippers with llamas on them. he had no pulse.Â
hank held carl and bethany back, directing them to deal with the smoke from the popcorn; annabelle he pointed toward the resident with a jerk of his chin.Â
she sighed, kneeling by his side. she pressed her hands flat to his heart and then dragged them across his chest and down each arm, to his wrists. with her thumbs on his pulse point, she hissed, âletâs go, man. up and at âem. youâre not meant to die in your underwear while cooking popcorn, come on.â
she held her breath for a few moments, conscious of hankâs eyes on her, and let out a long sigh of relief when she felt his pulse jump beneath her, watched his eyes flicker. âwhat the fuck?â he asked, voice a croak. âwhat happened?â
âyou gotta eat more vegetables, bud,â annabelle told him, and looped his arm over her shoulders to help him get to his feet. she was so relieved she could have wept, but instead met hankâs eyes with a challenging glare. see? she thought. i told you. âletâs get you to the ambulance.â
-
âthe bad news is that you have a lot of practicing to do if you want to pass your recert,â hank said without preamble, showing up at her apartment. she didnât think sheâd ever seen him in jeans before. it was weird. âthe good news is i understand your problem now.â
annabelle stepped aside, beckoning him in. âwhat problem?â she demanded. âit worked! you saw it work. thatâs the opposite of a problem.â
hank shrugged. he handed her a trifold that heâd clearly printed off at home. it said so you think youâre a necromancer. annabelle blinked down at it, and then up at hank, and then down at the trifold again. âi ⊠donât understand whatâs happening here,â she told him honestly.Â
âiâm not in the community and theyâre kind of cagey, so i canât really tell you a lot,â hank told her, stilted and visibly uncomfortable. âbut i have a cousin who is, and um, i just want you to know that this doesnât change anything. youâre still who youâve always been and you have my complete support. weâll figure out how to get around the recert. maybe iâll â i can put you on admin duty to give you time to study. weâll say itâs because of an injury.â
âhank,â annabelle said, with some urgency. âhank, this flier says the word necromancer.â
âyes,â agreed hank, looking relieved. âoh, good, youâve heard of it already. i thought i was going to have to have the whole your body is changing talk.â
annabelle shook her head. âno, i â hank. you know that ⊠um, you know that necromancy isnât real, right? people canât bring other people back from the dead. thatâs crazy.â
âannabelle, not four hours ago you instructed a dead man to stand up and he did.â
âokay, he wasnât dead, obviously. he was almost dead, at best.â
âno. he was dead.â
âi felt his pulse! it was very faint!â
âyou called his pulse. no one else would have felt it, because it wasnât there except in response to you.â
âhank, what the fuck.â
he shrugged. âread the flier,â he instructed. âand bring dierdre home with you. youâre going to have to practice a lot if you want to get recertified, considering you havenât one time had to use any of the skills you learned the first go around.â
he bussed her temple as he went by, letting himself out of her apartment with a friendly wave. annabelle looked down at the flier in her hand with a frown. when she unfolded it, the first page said, everyoneâs necromancy journey is different, but most people discover their gift by accident. have you ever brought a pet back to life? touched an elderly relatives hand and seen some of the color flood back into their face? or perhaps, more subtly, been able to keep cut flowers alive long past their purchase date?
annabelle looked at her kitchen table. sheâd had the same vase of tulips on it since she moved in, three years ago. it was true they periodically started to wilt, but she usually just changed their water and they were fine, popping back up one after the other as she slid them into the fresh vase.Â
âwell shit,â annabelle said, letting the flier fall from her hands.
Tumblerians tumblrites and tumblers, all and alike make writing and art prompts out of things that werenât meant to be and that is a beauty beyond compare. Thank you members of tumblr for the amazing stories and art and for sharing it with the small world that is this website.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor
Characters: Kara Danvers, Lena Luthor, Lex Luthor, Lillian Luthor
Summary:
Lena, the Goddess of the Moon, second in line to the underworld, is sent to put out the last light of the universe. The Sun Goddess is not who she was promised. What she finds instead will change the fate of the mortal world.
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