#The Center for Development Studies case study

[starryneitz]

Wow this year is great I've been sick with noro virus every three weeks and I have an invasive surgery scheduled that I should have gotten 4 years ago but couldn't because it took this long for me to find doctors who believed me about my condition that before me only 75+ year old women have.

[jcmarchi]

Austin: Not necessarily the new Silicon Valley, but...

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/austin-not-necessarily-the-new-silicon-valley-but/

Austin: Not necessarily the new Silicon Valley, but...

Ranked 17th globally in StartUp Blink’s ‘Best Cities for Startups’ 2024 rankings – an index factoring quality, quantity and growth – Austin’s tech force and industry is still booming: over 7,500 companies, employing 180,000+, representing >13% of the city’s workforce. By headcount, the city’s industry is predicted to grow 3.2% this year [Workforce Solutions Capital Area].

50 years & counting of pioneering innovation

From the ’60s with Tracor, IBM, and Texas Instruments, to the ’83 arrival of MCC, to Michael Dell’s ’84 dorm room startup – Austin has a history of powerhouse innovators. Fast-forward to 2018, Apple’s $1 billion investment plans in Austin solidified its position as the company’s second-largest location outside California, and significantly impacted the city’s future.

Today, giants like AMD, Tesla & Google call Austin home – or at least a significant second home. The city’s blend of startups and established companies fosters a dynamic ecosystem, and UoT consistently graduates top talent, fuelling the industry.

Mapping Austin’s generative AI ecosystem

Embedded in the applied AI landscape globally, AI Accelerator Institute is attempting to map its entirety.

With the support of Austin AI Alliance & AustinNext, featured below is an ecosystem map of Austin’s major players across both application and infrastructure:

Generative AI Ecosystem Map: Austin [2025]

What’s the draw?

Austin not only breeds its own, but attracts top talent with a number of competitive advantages. In short: Silicon Valley-level innovation at a lower cost and a higher quality of life.

No state income tax and significantly lower housing costs than other tech hubs attract both startups and established companies, offering a compelling cost advantage.

The tech scene is incredibly diverse, encompassing AI, cybersecurity, eCommerce, and healthtech, fostering an ecosystem where innovation thrives, whilst the city itself boasts an exceptional quality of life, with renowned food trucks, a vibrant live music scene, and year-round outdoor activities.

Early pioneers like Texas Instruments and Dell recognized Austin’s potential, transforming it into a thriving tech hub where startups and established companies can afford to experiment and grow. Austin offers more than just work opportunities; it provides a unique lifestyle where technology and culture seamlessly intertwine.

Challenges ahead…

Austin’s tech scene faces challenges in 2025, but remains a dynamic force.

Remote work is reshaping the landscape, easing traffic congestion whilst pretty heavily impacting office space, with vacancy rates at 16%. However, these high rates present opportunities for startups, and despite high housing costs, new developments offer hope. There’s strong evidence that the tech industry is benefiting from all of this, with 16.3% of jobs in the tech sector – significantly higher than the national average of 9%.

Focus is shifting towards generative AI and clean tech, with major players expanding their presence. Infrastructure improvements, including geothermal facilities and data centers, are underway. While inclusivity and growth pains remain, Austin’s competitive tax advantages, vibrant culture, and abundant opportunities continue to attract talent and companies.

Like what you see? Then check out tonnes more.

From exclusive content by industry experts and an ever-increasing bank of real world use cases, to 80+ deep-dive summit presentations, our membership plans are packed with awesome AI resources.

Subscribe now

[reasonsforhope]

Article | Paywall Free

"The Food and Drug Administration approved new mRNA coronavirus vaccines Thursday [August 22, 2024], clearing the way for shots manufactured by Pfizer-BioNTech and Moderna to start hitting pharmacy shelves and doctor’s offices within a week.

Health officials encourage annual vaccination against the coronavirus, similar to yearly flu shots. Everyone 6 months and older should receive a new vaccine, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention recommends.

The FDA has yet to approve an updated vaccine from Novavax, which uses a more conventional vaccine development method but has faced financial challenges.

Our scientific understanding of coronavirus vaccines has evolved since they debuted in late 2020. Here’s what to know about the new vaccines.

Why are there new vaccines?

The coronavirus keeps evolving to overcome our immune defenses, and the shield offered by vaccines weakens over time. That’s why federal health officials want people to get an annual updated coronavirus vaccine designed to target the latest variants. They approve them for release in late summer or early fall to coincide with flu shots that Americans are already used to getting.

The underlying vaccine technology and manufacturing process are the same, but components change to account for how the virus morphs. The new vaccines target the KP.2 variant because most recent covid cases are caused by that strain or closely related ones...

Do the vaccines prevent infection?

You probably know by now that vaccinated people can still get covid. But the shots do offer some protection against infection, just not the kind of protection you get from highly effective vaccines for other diseases such as measles.

The 2023-2024 vaccine provided 54 percent increased protection against symptomatic covid infections, according to a CDC study of people who tested for the coronavirus at pharmacies during the first four months after that year’s shot was released...

A nasal vaccine could be better at stopping infections outright by increasing immunity where they take hold, and one is being studied in a trial sponsored by the National Institutes of Health.

If you really want to dodge covid, don’t rely on the vaccine alone and take other precautions such as masking or avoiding crowds...

Do the vaccines help prevent transmission?

You may remember from early coverage of coronavirus vaccines that it was unclear whether shots would reduce transmission. Now, scientists say the answer is yes — even if you’re actively shedding virus.

That’s because the vaccine creates antibodies that reduce the amount of virus entering your cells, limiting how much the virus can replicate and make you even sicker. When vaccination prevents symptoms such as coughing and sneezing, people expel fewer respiratory droplets carrying the virus. When it reduces the viral load in an infected person, people become less contagious.

That’s why Peter Hotez, a physician and co-director of the Texas Children’s Hospital Center for Vaccine Development, said he feels more comfortable in a crowded medical conference, where attendees are probably up to date on their vaccines, than in a crowded airport.

“By having so many vaccinated people, it’s decreasing the number of days you are shedding virus if you get a breakthrough infection, and it decreases the amount of virus you are shedding,” Hotez said.

Do vaccines prevent long covid?

While the threat of acute serious respiratory covid disease has faded, developing the lingering symptoms of “long covid” remains a concern for people who have had even mild cases. The CDC says vaccination is the “best available tool” to reduce the risk of long covid in children and adults. The exact mechanism is unclear, but experts theorize that vaccines help by reducing the severity of illness, which is a major risk factor for long covid.

When is the best time to get a new coronavirus vaccine?

It depends on your circumstances, including risk factors for severe disease, when you were last infected or vaccinated, and plans for the months ahead. It’s best to talk these issues through with a doctor.

If you are at high risk and have not recently been vaccinated or infected, you may want to get a shot as soon as possible while cases remain high. The summer wave has shown signs of peaking, but cases can still be elevated and take weeks to return to low levels. It’s hard to predict when a winter wave will begin....

Where do I find vaccines?

CVS said its expects to start administering them within days, and Walgreens said that it would start scheduling appointments to receive shots after Sept. 6 and that customers can walk in before then.

Availability at doctor’s offices might take longer. Finding shots for infants and toddlers could be more difficult because many pharmacies do not administer them and not every pediatrician’s office will stock them given low demand and limited storage space.

This year’s updated coronavirus vaccines are supposed to have a longer shelf life, which eases the financial pressures of stocking them.

The CDC plans to relaunch its vaccine locator when the new vaccines are widely available, and similar services are offered by Moderna and Pfizer."

-via The Washington Post, August 22, 2024

[onelittlespiral]

Attention: Health and Safety Alert

Dear Students, Faculty, and Staff,

It has come to our attention that a serious outbreak of a virus illness has been seriously harming our campus community. We take this public health threat very seriously and want you all to be aware and alert so that you can stay safe.

As a matter of transparency, we want to be clear on the origin of this virus. The Frontal Recognizance Transmutation Arenavirus 24 (often called just arena or FRT-24) has been a known threat for some time, with clear symptoms from infected individuals. A research lab on campus was known to have been studying its effects. This particular strain, the alpha variant, was of particular interest, so when a sample went missing, we exhausted campus resources to locate it. We were unable to and are now deeply sorry to our campus community. We take full responsibility for the current outbreak.

FRT-24 is highly contagious, so it is important to know the immediate signs. Look for:

Sudden headaches or migraines

Dizziness or loss of vision

Fevers and chills, especially paired with heavy perspiration

Loss of cognitive functions

Rapid muscle swelling

If you are infected, symptoms may take up to three days to develop, and you may still be a vector in this time. As the disease takes hold, you may notice a change in mood, as a lack of interest in usual activities. Instead, the disease drives the infected towards spreading. Common hubs seem to be gyms, parties, and social gatherings. We have also noticed an uptick in fraternity membership this year, a possible sign of disease spread.

Know the signs in yourself or others, as often the infected will not show traditional signs of ailment. This student has given us permission to share his story:

This young man was a healthy Junior just a few weeks ago. He was a promising young academic in biochemistry, hoping to one day do research on emergent diseases. Since his experience with FRT-24, his life is forever changed.

The changes are alarming. He has gained over 100 lbs and been unable to focus on his studies. Instead, he was spending hours in the student rec center, consumed by his illness as he worked his body to exhaustion. Since his quarantining, he has been unable to answer any basic questions about his academic career or research project. Instead, he has shown a hallucinated knowledge of a personal training and fitness program. As an early vector, we are aware of at least 10 other students who were infected before his quarantine, and he is being held for further observations on disease progression.

Thankfully we have been able to identify the method of transmission. At this time, it seems bodily fluids are most transmissible method. It seems that this virus enhances the body in this respect. Those infected will often try to spread by any means necessary. They are very good at finding susceptible men, isolating them, and finding ways to expose them directly to their sweat, saliva, and in some cases semen. They will be desperate for any chance to get you alone with them, to join their ranks. Do no be drawn in by promises of muscle, of status, or ease of life. Their brains are no longer their own. They only seek to make you a drone for FRT-24.

While we are still in the early stages of understanding the virus, we would like to acknowledge the valiant work done by Dr. Pulaski and his team of researchers. They have lead the way in this fight, throwing themselves at this dangerous line of work. Without their noble sacrifice, we would be still months from understanding the origins of this outbreak. We have narrowed down the point of origin to a party held a few weeks ago in the PKE frat house. At this time, it is unknown if frat leadership was in any way involved with this outbreak.

Sadly, Dr. Pulaski was found earlier this week a few days after conducting interviews and performing sample retrieval from the PKE house believed to be the epicenter. He was found shirtless, flexing his newly formed muscles in the mirror at the student rec center.

When reached for comment, he only smirked and reported “feeling great, bruh,” a clear sign of decline. We are still uncertain if he has exposed any of his other researchers to the disease.

Remember, you are responsible for yourself and out campus community. If you suspect you or someone you know has been exposed, please report to the Student Health Center immediately for examination. In the mean time, please stay safe everyone. We will continue to keep you updated as we know more

Regards,

Dr. Brendan Host, President

Congrats @occamstfs on 2k followers. I hope you all enjoy a late entry to the party. Go out and check out the other writers under the #occam2000 tag, some great stuff in there. And don't worry, FML: Initiate is coming soon.

[justabeewithapen]

Right, I m going to go insane loredump about something but I need to say if you haven't read THIS post by @was-that-a-pun you're going to want to read it first, then come back to what I am doing.

Done that? Great! Venture under the read more at your own peril.

Right, so just re-summarizing what pun said, this is basically an AU where the toy experiments are not just underground work mules, but a genuine attempt to help children who are suffering from incurable ailments. This is where I expand even further. Elliot Ludwig, while deeply invested in the creation of toys, also had his fortune invested into the medical advancement.

This is because his daughter Poppy, who they named their popular Poppy dolls after, was diagnosed with a type of heart cancer that was rapidly growing as her quality of life steadily increased. Studies on reviving dead rats using a mixture of poppy flowers and several other ingredients had been very successful, but generally the rat would die again shortly after due to underlying issues in the body itself. This was when Dr. Harley Sawyer, head of the team, suggested they attempt to move the now functional organs to a different body. Before they even had a chance to begin tests Poppy began deteriorating to a degree where she wasn't going to make it, and so they started with her.

She was an unprecedented success, and an un-replicable one. Almost immediately Playtime Co. had both staff members with ill children and ill staff members offer themselves up to test, after of course more testing had been done with animals to ensure it wasn't a total fluke, and quickly everyone realized this was actually possible. Playtime Co. medical division was given government funding to continue to work on this research (all children and adults who are tested have volunteered for this) and they quickly established a hierarchy of what works best and what doesn't.

Initial tests with shells called Miss and Mister Delights (named after Amelia Delight who is an employee at Playtime Co. and due to chronic strokes offered herself up for testing) determined that the more human like a shell is, the harder the transfer procedure is. Of the 15 attempted, only 5 survive currently, though 7 in total were successful. (Two ended up passing away shortly after due to organ failure). All were adult volunteers from both factory workers and outside.

Each of them suffers from rather severe mobility issues and health conditions, requiring them to live on the property. This was when Playcare was established and some proper work could be done!

Playcare was a lot like a care center combined with a hospital. Patients that are currently waiting to be operated on, alongside patients still recovering from operation all live there (and their parents if they so choose). Set up with several common areas, specialized outdoor areas (see the big dome in the back) so toys and patients can get out while still being supervised, and many more, it is meant to be a home away from home for these kids! The whole place is run by Stella Greyber, with Dr. White as the head Physician. Dr. Sawyer, while he mainly works in the labs does frequently visit to advise and monitor progress. Speaking of Dr. Sawyer, you’ll notice here he is in fact a robot still! This is because Dr. Sawyer began developing his own health conditions while working on the project, and as such began to work on their most experimental body by far in case things got too far. After a severe stroke that lead to even more severe brain hemorrhaging, Harley was forced to be transferred into his robotic body.

While very functional he suffers from a lot of phantom pains, and has a very difficult time eating and drinking. However he is a very stubborn man and he is actively improving his body as he lives in it. Unlike canon he is not a sadistic monster, but he is still totally a drama queen. He is very uptight and super invested in his work, coming across as a total hardaft douche at first glance. He really just doesn’t know how to talk to people, especially children, and tries to avoid them if possible. While he mainly exists in one robotic body he is capable of of plugging himself into the lab’s mainframe system and existing like he does in game, but it is very labor intensive and causes migraines. Dr. Sawyer is constantly trying to push for improvements, his goal would be to one day be able to make little robotic or plastic replicas of the children’s bodies that are actually capable of housing the kids AND growth, allowing an almost normal life. It is a long ways away but he is determined to get there.

Jumping back to the toys! After much study and testing they have figured out roughly which toys are most effective and provide the safest procedures, and which toys are more risky! Of all the toys the easiest and safest procedure would be critter toys. For some reason they have the highest success rate of every other toy type. The biggest downside though would be the quality of life post the procedure.

Critters are very small obviously, they have done bigger ones (different from the bigger body critters, think large Baba Chops) but often the critter bodies can be very unbalanced. While updates to the critter designs have allowed for flexible mouths and fingers they still require a lot of help in everyday tasks such as eating and bathing themselves. Despite that, with a proper care guide (and time spent in Playcare with their parents being properly advised) they can generally return home even if going to school and work on their own would be difficult to impossible.

Mini Wuggies, plastic shelled toys, and long legs all have their own pros and cons that are discussed out with parents and their children before anything is done. They all have a very similar success rate though!

After that would be the bigger bodies (quad toys are generally avoided unless the child and parents are both fully informed of how that can impact quality of life, but some kids really really want to be a specific toy and Playtime tries to honor that when possible. Anyway, Bigger bodies have the lowest success rate, the most diversity, and generally the highest quality of life in terms of what they are capable of.

You’ll notice every kid has a tag around their neck or name tag, alongside a bracelet around their wrist! This helps identify them to doctors who work in playcare (all bigger body toys live at playcare as of now but work is being done to have them and their families return home permanently) that way the doctors know what health conditions they have and what room they need to be in. This is probably one of the few times you’ll see me draw the dough boys, and where I differ from Pun! I think Jack WAS still an accident, but the three of them went through the dough procedure separately. However it was quickly determined that dough was not stable enough to use as all three of them have difficulty keeping their forms solid for very long, and struggle with a lot of memory issues. The trio just ended up becoming fast friends being some of Playcare’s permanent residents. They can combine into Doey, though it is hard (really really hard) and they can’t hold the form for long, but that is just a side effect of how unstable they are. Susan and George live at Playcare alongside Kevin’s mom. Matthew’s parents don’t live in Playcare but do visit frequently.

Memory issues are common in bigger bodies, Kissy has them pretty badly and has to have an escort as she will end up in rooms and not remember how to get back fully. Like Pun said Poppy is somewhat a celebrity inside Playcare and she gets a lot of attention from other toys (which she doesn’t like) but she does like hanging out with Kissy!!

Many of the Delights (even those who didn’t previously work at the factory) have taken up jobs at Playcare, helping toys adapt to their bodies alongside the doctors and educators they have on staff! While not focused on it, Playcare does still have some involvement with local orphanages, trips to and from Playcare and the factory are common for both sides to make!! Playtime Co. is making a concerted effort to normalize the existence of living toys while they try and perfect a more humanoid body for the kids, trying to ensure as normal a life as they can for these kids!!!

Think that’s all I have besides a bunch of random interactions and character details I have in my head haha. This was very much a one off post bc I used to do roleplays with like “mutant/super power kids living in an isolated school/hospital/lab and living their lives” all the time growing up XD it is a concept I am very fond of, and was happy to ramble about a bit!!!

[parasolladyansy]

DxP REWRITE - Jubilife

Just putting it out there now - I’ll be lifting shots from the amazing BDSP artbook to show off 1) how awesome the concept art was, & 2) what we almost got in-game, something more like Sword / Shield (DANGIT 🥲).

I also used screenshots I took to help draw out backgrounds, which was very useful as we go back to that time period to see what Mizumi’s up to.

The benefit of being someone who played Legends Arceus before BDSP is that I can look at buildings & landmarks with fresh eyes. The first moment I saw the Trainer’s School, I thought of a repainted Galaxy HQ with all the rooms & offices being converted into classrooms.

Speaking of schools, in case you missed Scarlet x Violet, Uva & Naranja Academies became one school with 2 wings (Uva & Naranja) after the separate timelines Ansy & Ikrit were on converged

🔼 Diamond x Pearl REWRITE 🔽

<<Previous / Next >>

PS: a couple screenshots to help illustrate my HC - obviously they developed the design in Legends Arceus, but the elements are there. I can easily see Kamado’s office being the principal’s office, Cyllene’s office being adminstrations, flanked by the science lab (Professor Laventon’s study) & nurses’ office (infirmary), etc. 🏫

Also, with this theory, the Pokémon center is in the same spot as where you also go to rest up your team: your quarters in PLA!

[marybatson]

BILLY BATSON WEEK 2025

It’s that time of the year again! 2025 marks the 85th Anniversary of Billy Batson as Captain Marvel debuting in Whiz Comics #2, the first official cover-dated issue released February 1940.*

A brief history In December of 1939, children at newsstands were picking up a particular issue with the cover of a flying man dressed in red, effortlessly lifting a car overhead. Bill Parker, senior editor at Fawcett Comics during this time, had developed a new kind of superhero: Billy Batson is a young orphan boy who transforms into a powerful champion named Captain Marvel at the drop of the word “SHAZAM!” He fights crime against notable villains together with a memorable cast of heroes he calls “family.”

A few years past their heyday, Fawcett Publications endured troubling legal problems that put their sales in jeopardy, eventually settling their dragging copyright case with National Comics Publications (predecessor of modern-day DC Comics) and putting Captain Marvel to rest indefinitely. The Captain’s return to comics happened in late 1972 under DC Comics, a run which the original artist C.C. Beck had worked on for only a year. Ever since, Billy Batson and his counterpart have appeared in many different iterations in many different comics, one of the only memories still enduring from a time already passed.

NOSTALGIA

The role of an archive is to make nostalgia obsolete. [...] Every comic book page is, like a work of scholarship, an act of recovery, or at times a dream in which nothing is ever lost, as past, present, and future make room for each other and exist in harmony. Studied carefully, a fanzine or a comic book, like Billy’s Historama, might reveal several lifetimes to us, one generation after another of names, faces, and stories. The art of nostalgia is figuring out which one to tell next.

— Captain Marvel and the Art of Nostalgia, Brian Cremins

This year’s overall theme is NOSTALGIA. Take this as you might, for however you interpret nostalgia—perhaps a reflection on your own personal narrative with Billy Batson, or an exploration between him and his own massive history, be it in-universe or with real life pop culture. You might even disregard the day-to-day prompts below and dedicate yourself to nostalgia thematically for the entire week! How you’d like to work with it is up to you.

Day 1 ☆ February 23, 2025 HOLY HISTORAMA

The Historama, similar to a crystal ball, is described as Shazam the Wizard’s “super-television screen,” of which he may use to see the past, present, and future. In later iterations, it presents itself as a book or object that displays any scene through time and, possibly, space. On this day, you might center the Historama itself, or explore any scenes of Billy’s history from any time or place.

Day 2 ☆ February 24, 2025 THE BOY OF ARTHURIAN LEGEND

Bill Parker, when asked to describe his inspiration for Captain Marvel, once said, “Specifically I got it from the Stories of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, stories with which I had been familiar and read as a child.”

At its core, the story of Billy Batson as Captain Marvel was a story about old wizards, spells, myths, and secrets—elements which children center their greatest fantasies and perhaps still carry with them throughout adulthood. Use this day to commemorate Billy Batson as a fulfilled fantasy, maybe as a knight facing dragons in some faraway world or a space-wandering sailor, the wildest childhood dream come true.

Day 3 ☆ February 25, 2025 SWEET HOME FAWCETT

This prompt is simply Fawcett: Fawcett Comics and their previous publications, possibly outside of Captain Marvel and friends, or Fawcett the city as depicted in the DC Comics iterations, home base of Billy and Captain Marvel.

Day 4 ☆ February 26, 2025 RETURN OF THE CHAMPION

Across his storied history, Captain Marvel has faced many setbacks in his journey back to comic book stands: previous lawsuits and settlements, harried DC Comics events, logistical decisions made behind closed doors. However many times he’s put on the back burner, Captain Marvel still manages to return in a triumph. We will see him again in fleeting appearances, celebrated homecomings, maybe a long-awaited reunion...

Day 5 ☆ February 27, 2025 THE WORLD HE LIVES IN

It is of note that, while Fawcett Comics held onto its hero as long as they could for the first few years, the DC Comics universe is where Billy and the Captain have held their home—for over fifty consecutive years. Use this as a day to reflect on Billy’s past DC universe adventures, from teams he’s been on to events he’s partaken in.

Day 6 ☆ February 28, 2025 A MARVELOUS FAMILY

Billy Batson’s not the only one with a candle to blow. Mary Marvel debuted in 1942, while Captain Marvel Junior had appeared much earlier, in 1941. Their contributions to the stories of Captain Marvel have been monumental in immortalizing his place as a beloved hero with weight and history. They are also deeply adored by Billy himself. Have this day to celebrate family, for each Marvel Family member who has added to the menagerie over the years, or to simply center Mary and Freddy and their own achievements.

Day 7 ☆ March 1, 2025 HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BILLY

Happy Birthday Billy Batson! Give him a cake. Give him a balloon. Give him a present. Tell him how much you appreciate him. He is eighty-five years old. He looks timeless! Is the secret the amber from the Sivana suspendium?

This is a free day, open for anything.

How to participate On Tumblr (and elsewhere, if desired), use the hashtags #billybatsonweek and #bb85week simultaneously so that others might see and engage with your work. Late entries are always, always welcome. I’ll be sure to reblog all entries inside the tags for archival reasons, so please don’t hesitate to tag my blog!

The Archive of Our Own story collection is linked here.

On previous weeks Feel free to browse entries from previous years for inspiration, or reuse the old prompts altogether!

2022 Prompts Post / 2022 Entries

2023 Prompts Post / 2023 Entries

2024 Prompts Post / 2024 Entries / AO3 Collection

*FOOTNOTE: Captain Marvel/Billy Batson celebrated his genuine 85th Anniversary December 2024, a date which acknowledges his original on-the-shelves debut in December of 1939. The cover date used in this character celebration week corresponds with what DC Comics used in their 75th Anniversary year count.

[nasa]

Tiny BurstCube's Tremendous Travelogue

Meet BurstCube! This shoebox-sized satellite is designed to study the most powerful explosions in the cosmos, called gamma-ray bursts. It detects gamma rays, the highest-energy form of light.

BurstCube may be small, but it had a huge journey to get to space.

First, BurstCube was designed and built at NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center in Greenbelt, Maryland. Here you can see Julie Cox, an early career engineer, working on BurstCube’s gamma-ray detecting instrument in the Small Satellite Lab at Goddard.

BurstCube is a type of spacecraft called a CubeSat. These tiny missions give early career engineers and scientists the chance to learn about mission development — as well as do cool science!

Then, after assembling the spacecraft, the BurstCube team took it on the road to conduct a bunch of tests to determine how it will operate in space. Here you can see another early career engineer, Kate Gasaway, working on BurstCube at NASA’s Wallops Flight Facility in Virginia.

She and other members of the team used a special facility there to map BurstCube’s magnetic field. This will help them know where the instrument is pointing when it’s in space.

The next stop was back at Goddard, where the team put BurstCube in a vacuum chamber. You can see engineers Franklin Robinson, Elliot Schwartz, and Colton Cohill lowering the lid here. They changed the temperature inside so it was very hot and then very cold. This mimics the conditions BurstCube will experience in space as it orbits in and out of sunlight.

Then, up on a Goddard rooftop, the team — including early career engineer Justin Clavette — tested BurstCube’s GPS. This so-called open-sky test helps ensure the team can locate the satellite once it’s in orbit.

The next big step in BurstCube’s journey was a flight to Houston! The team packed it up in a special case and took it to the airport. Of course, BurstCube got the window seat!

Once in Texas, the BurstCube team joined their partners at Nanoracks (part of Voyager Space) to get their tiny spacecraft ready for launch. They loaded the satellite into a rectangular frame called a deployer, along with another small satellite called SNoOPI (Signals of Opportunity P-band Investigation). The deployer is used to push spacecraft into orbit from the International Space Station.

From Houston, BurstCube traveled to Cape Canaveral Space Force Station in Florida, where it launched on SpaceX’s 30th commercial resupply servicing mission on March 21, 2024. BurstCube traveled to the station along with some other small satellites, science experiments, as well as a supply of fresh fruit and coffee for the astronauts.

A few days later, the mission docked at the space station, and the astronauts aboard began unloading all the supplies, including BurstCube!

And finally, on April 18, 2024, BurstCube was released into orbit. The team will spend a month getting the satellite ready to search the skies for gamma-ray bursts. Then finally, after a long journey, this tiny satellite can embark on its big mission!

BurstCube wouldn’t be the spacecraft it is today without the input of many early career engineers and scientists. Are you interested in learning more about how you can participate in a mission like this one? There are opportunities for students in middle and high school as well as college!

Keep up on BurstCube’s journey with NASA Universe on X and Facebook. And make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[croquis-el]

Naruhodō doesn't find being a lawyer difficult

I've been thinking about writing about this for a long time, but I doubted that I would find confirmation of this in the Japanese version

I had no reason to doubt it, and now I’ll tell you in more detail why I came to this conclusion.

Even at the very beginning of the game, we are told how Chihiro (Mia) characterizes Naruhodō. And although she jokes about the fact that with his experience the defendants will face a guilty verdict, she still throws out one short phrase that shows Naruhodō’s true abilities

…彼は天才よ

… kare wa tensai yo”

...He's a genius"

天才(てんさい) [tensai] - genius; prodigy; natural gift

まさに 《恐怖のツッコミ男》 と いったところかしら

masani “kyōfu no tsukkomi otoko” to itta tokoro kashira

He is able to "strike fear into the hearts of his opponents."

Chihiro literally says: He's talented.

And this is not surprising, because Hodō began studying law and preparing for the exam in 2012-2013. How this is confirmed: Hodo himself says that he made this decision after reading an article about Mitsurugi in the newspaper (he also became a prosecutor at the age of 20 - his first trial was on September 10, 2012). Plus Case 3-1, where it turns out that he meets a lady in the courthouse library in August 2013 (the day the lawyer was poisoned in the cafeteria) and talks about his determination to help his friend.

And already on August 3, 2016 he stands behind the defense counter. Considering that in Japan, judicial practice is mandatory for all lawyers for 1-1.5 years, this skill machine was able to achieve enormous results in just 2-3 years.

どうすれば証明できるの! あの人が、灰根さんだ、って……。

dōsureba shōmei dekiru no! Ano hito ga, Hai ne-sanda, tte…….

How can you prove that that person is Haine-san...

だいじょうぶだよ。カンタンな方法がある。

daijōbuda yo. Kantan'na hōhō ga aru.

Don't worry. There's a simple way to do this.

Repeatedly during court hearings, he says the phrases: “It’s easy to prove,” “The answer lies on the surface,” “I know that I’m right and I’ll prove it.” Hodo has very well developed logical thinking, which he skillfully operates with (which, by the way, Mitsurugi was impressed with - show him the evidence in 1-4 in the detention center after the first day of the trial and see for yourself)

(ファイルを調べるのが メンドウなだけじゃないか････)

(fairu o shiraberu no ga mendōna dake janai ka)

(It's not that difficult - just study the files).

Even a brief comment about working with documents shows us his attitude towards work.

___________________________________________

And then - the cherry on the cake. Dialogue with Odoroki in 4-1.

一晩中、最悪のカードを配られても 勝てる、ただひとつのゲーム････

hitobanjū, saiaku no kādo o kubara rete mo kateru, tada hitotsu no gēmu

The only game you can win even if you're dealt the worst cards all night...

････それがポーカーだ。

sore ga pōkā da.

... that's poker.

ポーカーの本質は、 心理を “読み合う ”ところにある。

pōkā no honshitsu wa, shinri o “yomi au” tokoro ni aru.

The essence of poker is to "read each other's minds."

･･･そうだな。ある種、 法廷戦術に通じるものがあるね。

sōda na. Aru tane, hōtei senjutsu ni tsūjiru mono ga aru ne.

That's right. It's kind of similar to courtroom tactics.

ポーカーが････法廷戦術!

pōkā ga hōtei senjutsu!

Poker like...courtroom tactics!

相手が何を考えているかを、知る。それができれば、勝つ。

aite ga nani o kangaete iru ka o, shiru. Sore ga dekireba, katsu.

Know what your opponent is thinking. If you can do that, you'll win.

そりゃそうですけど。

そんなコト、できるハズが････

sorya-sōdesukedo. Son'na Koto, dekiru hazu ga

That's true. I mean, it's not like I can do that...

できるんだよ。

dekiru nda yo.

You can do that.

人間の思考・感情というものは ････かならず。ningen no shikō kanjō to iu mono wa kanarazu.

Human thoughts and emotions are... always...

身体から“情報”として 発信されている。

karada kara “jōhō” to shite hasshin sa rete iru.

...sent out as "information" from the body.

Naruhodō literally compares court hearings to a game of poker and gives advice to carefully listen to the words of witnesses and opponents and try to predict their next action. And this comparison is very much in the spirit of Hodō: bad cards = bad evidence (which must be used correctly); opponents trying to deceive = witnesses who give false testimony; a dealer who was bribed = a prosecutor who pulls the judge to his side. It may seem like he's only setting up Odoroki to use his ability (to find people's nervous habits), but he puts a share of his three years of experience in court and seven years of experience at the poker table (whatever, he acted the same there) into it. It is impossible to compare something that you have not experienced.

Yes, Naruhodo is nervous, worried, and faces difficulties in court and beyond, but for him this is not something that can disturb his inner harmony. He knows his worth and always does what he is capable of (and sometimes demands the impossible from himself).

[goblin-jr]

PHASE III: REINTRODUCTION PROTOCOL

=============================================== CONFIDENTIAL – GOTHAM PSYCHOSOCIAL RESEARCH UNIT   CASE FILE #: JX-1989   DOCUMENT TYPE: Postmortem Longitudinal Trial Summary   TRIAL NAME: A Character Study in Grief   TRIAL MASTERLIST: A Character Study in Grief   TRIAL DESIGN: Three-Phase Emotional Disruption Model   STATUS: Closed   SECURITY CLEARANCE: ALPHA+   ===============================================

Study Brief

 Subject B re-entered Subject A’s life under concealed identity. Initial interactions were indirect, progressing to sustained proximity and emotional reinforcement.

Subject A developed attachment under misidentified parameters. Full identity disclosure occurred under emotionally heightened conditions. Results indicate unresolved grief, enduring attachment, and high volatility.

Read full report below.

---

(click on links to access log)

🎙️ [ACCESS: STUDENT BROADCAST ARCHIVE — HARVARDRADIO.COM] Podcast Transcript | The Crimson Hour Ep. 68 | “She Said No (And That’s the Problem)” | Host Commentary

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📎 [ACCESS: UNIVERSITY CORRESPONDENCE — HARVARD.EDU] Termination Notice | Financial Aid Rescission & Enrollment Discontinuation | Issued October 14 | Confidential Addressee

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🚌 [ACCESS: TRANSPORTATION RECORD — GOTHAM COACHLINES] One Way Bus Ticket | Boston to Gotham | Purchased October 16

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🏚️ [ACCESS: HOUSING CONTRACT — GOTHAM CITY RENTAL BOARD] Lease Agreement | 1448 W. Park Row, Apt #4B | Signed October 19 | Tenant: Y/N

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📘 [ACCESS: EDUCATION RECORD — GOTHAM CITY ADULT LEARNING CENTER] Enrollment Confirmation | Bridge Track Program | Issued October 24 | Student: Y/N

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💼 [ACCESS: EMPLOYMENT LOG — GOTHAM CITY UNIFIED LABOR DATABASE] Multiple Positions | Service & Gig Work Ledger | Active Record | Employee: Y/N

--

Subject A: Age 21 Subject B: 3 years, 4.5 months post-resurrection April 27

Jason arrives early.

For once, he’s calm.

No adrenaline. No ghost-rage in his blood. Just nerves.

The rain started earlier this year.

Jason was already at the grave when it did—hood up, hands in pockets, the crowbar long gone. He’d showered. Put on clean gear. The plan was simple:

Show up. Say hi. Let her see him. Let her believe it.

He practiced it all in his head—what he’d say, how he’d say it, how he’d wait until she smiled before falling apart.

10:45 p.m.

She shows up early.

Jason sees her silhouette first, cutting through the fog. Slower than usual. Shoulders hunched. Hoodie sagging under the weight of rain and long shifts.

Her shoes are soaked through. No blanket. No bag. No book.

Just her. Exhausted. Smaller somehow.

She stumbles once stepping over a root. Doesn’t even curse. Just keeps going.

Jason’s breath catches as she hits the clearing.

Something’s wrong.

She doesn’t talk to the grave right away. She just touches it—soft. Like she’s asking permission. Then lowers herself to her knees like her bones weigh more this year.

“Hey,” she says quietly, forehead brushing the stone. “Sorry I’m early. I couldn’t go home first.”

Jason doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just listens.

“I had a shift. Then another one. Didn’t think I’d make it if I sat down.”

A long breath.

“I got kicked out,” she says flatly. “Harvard. Rich boy temper tantrum. He made some calls. They pulled my scholarship.”

Jason’s hands spasm. His body cannot decide whether to clench or let go.

“I didn’t tell anyone. I couldn’t.” A pause. Her voice drops. “Didn’t want him- Bruce- to be right about me.”

She talks for a while.

Tells him about the bus ride back. The coffee shop job. The night classes. The leak in her ceiling. The time she had to eat a granola bar for dinner and pretend it was fine.

She doesn’t cry. Not once.

She just talks.

Soft. Matter-of-fact. Like reading off damage reports.

Jason’s whole body buzzes with the wrongness of it. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. She was supposed to joke. Tease the stone. Curse Darcy and flirt with ghosts.

But tonight?

She just… fades.

After about an hour, she stops talking.

No goodbye. No inside joke. No “see you next year, dumbass.”

Just silence.

She curls up beside the grave. Hood pulled over her head. Shoes still wet. Breath fogging in the cold.

And sleeps.

Jason had been waiting for this all year.

She showed up soaked, empty, too tired to fake it. No jokes. No book. Just her knees in the mud and her pride holding what was left of her together.

And he knew— She would hate this.

She would never want him to see her like this. Not exhausted. Not unraveling. Not defeated.

She would rather die than be pitied.

So Jason stayed in the dark.

Because tonight wasn’t about him.

And love meant not crossing the line.

--

🕵️ [ACCESS: PUBLIC THREAD ARCHIVE — REDDIT.COM/r/GothamSightings] Community Report | “Red Hood in Southside Again???” | User Submissions Logged 

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📣 [ACCESS: CUSTOMER FEEDBACK LOG — YELP.COM] Review | Bean & Gone Café | Reviewer: Chad R. | Entry Updated May 8

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💳 [ACCESS: TRANSACTION RECORD — LOCAL MERCHANT TERMINALS] Receipts Logged | Excessive Tips Flagged | Bean & Gone / Munchie Mart 

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🧾 [ACCESS: LANDLORD CORRESPONDENCE — DELVECCHIO PROPERTY MGMT] Maintenance Confirmation | Pest Control Approved | Unit: Apt #4B, Tenant: Y/N

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Y/N snapped the tip drawer shut harder than she meant to.

Again.

The register beeped like it was offended. JoJo didn’t even flinch—just looked up from her phone with that deadpan stare that meant she was either judging her or waiting to help bury a body.

“Another hundred?” JoJo asked, not even blinking.

“One-fifty,” Y/N muttered. “On a twelve-dollar order.”

JoJo whistled low. “Okay, but at what point do you find your mystery billionaire and marry him for healthcare?”

Y/N didn’t answer. She grabbed the bills, shoved them into her apron, and stalked toward the back.

That night, she emptied every envelope under her mattress. Every absurd tip. Every impossible number scrawled on receipts. Every crisp, creased bill she couldn’t bring herself to spend.

$4,329.72.

In cash.

No name. No signature. Just guilt.

She sat on the floor and stared at it for a long time.

And then—like a switch flipping—her hands started to shake.

Of course. Of course.

Bruce Wayne.

That smug, shadow-lurking bastard must’ve found out she was back. Working double shifts. Eating gas station ramen. Sleeping under a flickering ceiling light with duct tape around the base.

And instead of calling— Instead of knocking— Instead of saying one fucking word—

He sent money.

She found an old envelope in the junk drawer. Dumped the cash in, fast and angry. Grabbed a pen. No flourish. No flourish was needed.

keep your guilt money.

She folded the note once, sharp. Taped it to the envelope. Stared at it like it had cursed her bloodline.

It was after midnight when she left.

She didn’t take the bus. Bus costs cash.

She walked.

Across half the city. Past busted streetlamps and cracked sidewalks and three of the corners she used to sleep near in high school. Past the bakery that always smelled like disappointment. Past the train station she’d once left for Harvard from.

She didn’t stop.

By the time she reached Wayne Manor, her feet hurt and her coat was damp and her fingers were numb—but her spine was made of fury.

The gates loomed in front of her, tall and polished and exactly as she remembered.

She stood there for a minute. Just breathing.

Then she crouched. Picked up a rock from the edge of the path. Slipped it into the envelope.

Weighted.

Final.

And then—without a word— She threw it over the gate.

It landed with a thunk on the gravel drive.

Y/N turned and walked away without looking back.

Let him read the note. Let him choke on it.

She didn’t want his money.

She wanted to be left the hell alone.

--

BATCAVE — May 22, 2:13 AM

Status: Debrief in progress Subjects Present: D. Grayson, T. Drake, D. Wayne, J. Todd, B. Wayne

“So, are we just not gonna talk about the fact that Killer Croc was wearing Crocs?” Dick asked, toeing off his boots near the console. “I mean, that’s commitment to the bit.”

Tim didn’t look up. “I already filed it under ‘mental warfare.’”

Damian scoffed from the corner. “You’re all idiots.”

Jason ignored them. Sort of. He was leaned back against the armory wall, picking at the edge of his gloves like they’d personally wronged him.

Until—

ALERT: PROJECTILE DETECTED. PERIMETER BREACH. LOCKDOWN SEQUENCE INITIATED.

Every screen in the cave lit red.

“Who the hell throws something at the manor?” Tim muttered, already flipping through the camera feeds.

“Someone with a death wish,” Damian deadpanned.

“Someone stupid,” Bruce corrected, stepping forward.

Jason just moved toward the screen. “Pull Sector 12. Zoom in.”

The exterior cam locked on. Gravel path. Gate lights. A single envelope lay on the drive, still spinning slightly from impact.

Not a package. Not a threat. Not a warning.

Just a rage-fueled piece of paper addressed in sharp black ink:

TO: BITCH WAYNE FROM: GO TO HELL

Underneath that, written in all-caps and vengeance:

KEEP YOUR GUILT MONEY.

The envelope had torn slightly on impact. Caught on the gravel. A few crisp bills peeked from the split. One hundred dollar note folded clean. A rock the size of a fist visible inside, for weight.

Jason’s stomach dropped.

It was his money. Every tip. Every envelope. Every silent drop at her register or mailbox or door.

He thought she hadn’t noticed.

Turns out, she had. And she walked it all the way here just to give it back.

A beat of total silence.

Then—

“…Wait,” Tim said slowly. “That’s your money?”

Jason didn’t answer.

Dick turned. “Dude. You’ve been funding her anonymously? For months?”

Jason crossed his arms. “I wasn’t trying to be anonymous.”

Damian snorted. “You failed spectacularly.”

Bruce stared at the monitor, unreadable. Still. Barely blinking. “She thinks it was from me,” he said finally.

“She would,” Tim said. “You’re the obvious choice for unsolicited financial intervention.”

“And she still threw it back,” Damian murmured, almost impressed.

Jason crossed his arms.

“I mean… you guys saw that, right?” he said. “She didn’t keep it.”

Dick smirked. “She chucked it with incredible form. Like varsity softball form.”

“Yeah,” Jason muttered. “She’s pissed.”

“You sound proud,” Tim said slowly.

Jason turned away from the screen, tugging his gloves tighter.

“Oh, I’m so proud,” he said. “Bitch Wayne got a rock in the mail. From my girl.”

“She doesn’t know it’s you,” Bruce said, not impressed.

Jason ignored that.

He looked at the envelope one last time, then at the gate, then—somewhere no camera could track—toward her.

“…New plan,” he muttered.

Tim looked up. “New what?”

Jason cracked his knuckles.

“I make contact.”

--

The plan wasn’t complicated. Jason liked it that way.

He knew the alley behind her building was dirty, damp, and full of rats—human and otherwise. He also knew a low-level dealer had been working the block for weeks now, pushing light stuff to drunk college kids and the occasional night school burnout.

It wasn’t urgent. Wasn’t worth the suit. Wasn’t worth the attention.

But it was behind her apartment.

So Jason made it urgent.

He didn’t dig too deep. Didn’t check security. Didn’t run a full recon of the building. He didn’t want to know how bad it was. Not yet.

He showed up just before sundown.

Climbed up to her window. Plopped right down. Moved like smoke. Didn’t let himself look through her window—just paused long enough to slide a folded note through the small crack in the pane.

“Temporary stakeout. No danger to you. Lock your windows. —RH”

He noticed the broken latch right after. Rusted. Hanging by one screw. He made a mental note to have a second chat with her landlord. Maybe something about a crowbar this time. Or a window.

Jason repositioned on her fire escape. Cross-legged. Still. Watching the alley below like he’d done it a thousand times. He felt calm. Capable. Like this was right.

She’d come outside.She’d see the note. She’d see him.

And then, she would feel their undeniable connection, open the window, and profess her love. It was foolproof. 

Y/N got home around midnight.

Her backpack was heavy. Her jacket soaked. She had a paper bag under one arm and her keys already in hand before she even reached the stairwell.

She didn’t look up. She didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the note. Read it. Sighed. Crumpled it in one hand.

Then, with the kind of exhausted precision Jason had only ever seen on grieving people and nurses, she reached for the curtain—

And closed it.

Not angrily. Not dramatically.

Just… done.

Lights off. Lock turned. Curtain drawn.

Jason stayed on the roof.

And for the first time in years, he wasn’t sure what to do next.

--

STAKEOUT — DAY FOUR

This was officially the worst stakeout of his life.

Jason had done rooftop surveillance during hailstorms. He’d staked out mob hideouts in January without gloves. Once, he ate an entire protein bar that turned out to be six months expired just to avoid blowing his cover.

None of that compared to this.

Because at least in those cases, he had a target. A mission. A job to do.

Here? He was just... loitering.

Loitering outside the window of a girl who hadn’t looked at him in two days. Not since Day Two, when she peeked through the curtain for exactly 1.5 seconds and then closed it like she was doing pest control.

He hadn’t moved since sunset.

He’d counted exactly four rats, two alley cats, one dealer (still mid-tier, still boring), and zero signs that Y/N had any interest in acknowledging the helmeted vigilante nesting on her fire escape.

He was starting to take it personally.

His back hurt. His patience was thin. And his coffee had gone cold sometime around 9:00 p.m.

He was just about to call it—just about to tell himself he’d leave in five minutes, tops—when the window creaked open.

Not a curtain. Not a crack.

The full window.

Jason sat up straight, instantly alert.

Y/N leaned out.

Arms crossed on the windowsill. Hair pulled into a messy knot. Hoodie two sizes too big and sleeves pushed to her elbows.

She looked directly at him. “Listen,” she said, voice still dangerously even. “If this is about Gerald, I’m gonna stop you right there. Because Gerald literally ties his drug pouches with ribbons. He once left a baggie in someone’s mailbox with a thank-you note.”

Jason stared.

“I know this,” she continued, getting started now, “because I taught that man how to do cursive T’s a few months ago for a hundred bucks and a stale Pop-Tart. He paid in exact change and said, ‘Thank you, miss.’”

Jason opened his mouth.

She did not let him speak.

“Gerald,” she said, gesturing like she was introducing a sitcom character, “is not a threat. Gerald is a part-time dealer with a Yelp rating and mild anxiety. I could break his kneecaps in under two minutes and still make it to night class.”

Jason made a noise—could’ve been agreement, could’ve been fear.

She narrowed her eyes. “So unless there’s an actual cartel hiding in the bodega freezer, you can stop loitering on my window like a sad gargoyle and go bother someone else.”

Jason scrambled. “He’s… connected.”

Y/N tilted her head. “To who?”

Jason waved vaguely. “Bigger cartel. Out-of-town operation. Could be gun-running. Definitely not cursive.”

Y/N looked unimpressed.

“Right,” she said slowly. “Well, if you’re gonna keep lurking out here, just don’t scare the cats.”

Then she closed the window.

Didn’t slam it. Didn’t storm off. Just… shut it. Quiet. Final.

Jason stared at the glass, stunned.

So much for the moment. So much for the bonding. So much for the water.

Still—he smiled under the mask. She offered to commit acts of violence for him. 

The plan was working. 

--

💚 [ACCESS: VENDOR NOTICE — GERALD’S GOODS / PUBLIC MARKET BULLETIN] Store Update | Continued Operation Approved | Restrictions Applied

--

STAKEOUT — DAY ELEVEN

It was getting bleak.

Jason had been camped out on her fire escape for eleven days. Eleven. He’d missed two minor muggings, skipped one whole safehouse rotation, and was now on a first-name basis with three alley cats and one concerned mailman.

Y/N had spoken to him exactly three more times since the Gerald Incident.

None of them were what he wanted.

Day Six: “You left food on my window ledge. That’s how raccoons get in.”

Day Eight: “Could you stop tapping on the railing?, I have work in 4 hours”

Day Nine: “Stop feeding Gerald. He keeps offering me coupons.

He’d pivoted his strategy. Brought better food. Left sticky notes with dumb jokes. Tried being helpful. Nothing worked.

She hadn’t smiled. She hadn’t invited him in. She hadn't even asked his name.

So on Day Eleven, just after midnight, Jason gave up all pretense of having a plan.

He knocked on the window once, then leaned in slightly and said the dumbest possible sentence:

“…Can I use your bathroom?”

Y/N blinked at him. She was sitting on the floor with a mug in one hand and a book in the other, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, expression unreadable.

A long pause.

Then she said:

“Are you serious?”

Jason shrugged. “I’ve been out here for, like, two weeks.”

She stared. Jason stared back. Internally panicking.

Finally, she sighed. “Fine. But if you bleed on my bath mat, I will kill you.”

She opened the window.

Jason crawled inside like a very polite burglar and immediately forgot how to function.

The place was small. Lived-in. Clean in the chaotic way that meant she was too tired to fake being put together. Books stacked everywhere. Couch slightly lopsided

She pointed to the bathroom and didn’t look at him. “There. In and out. Don’t touch my stuff.”

He nodded, heartbeat in his throat.

Once inside, he immediately did not pee.

He closed the door. Locked it. Turned to the sink.

The bathroom was small. Clean. Faintly pink. The kind of space someone maintained out of habit, not vanity. The light above the mirror flickered when he flipped the switch, then steadied. There was a hair tie looped around the faucet. A half-dead succulent in a chipped mug by the window. Toothpaste cap missing. A towel slung over the back of the door with an embroidered flower on it that looked like it came from a clearance bin at Target.

Jason stood in the middle of it, helmet still on, and breathed.

Then—slowly—he reached up and took it off.

The air was cooler on his face than he expected. The mirror caught him in full: tousled hair, dark circles, and that look he always got when the silence stretched too long—like he might flinch from his own reflection.

He looked awful. Not in the way he usually did. Worse.

Like a guy who hadn’t been sleeping. Like someone who’d been sitting on a fire escape for eleven nights hoping a girl who read Pride and Prejudice to gravestones might eventually say hi.

He stared at himself for a beat longer than was comfortable. Then splashed water on his face. Twice. Rubbed his palms over his jaw like it would help somehow.

It didn’t.

There was soap in a tiny ceramic dish shaped like a shell. Glittery, pastel pink. He stared at it for a full three seconds before muttering “what the fuck” and using it anyway.

The water smelled like coconut and something warm. Maybe vanilla. Maybe whatever scent meant “someone lives here and it isn’t you.”

He dried his hands on the towel. Realized too late it was her towel. Hung it back up very gently like it might press charges.

And then—because he was already spiraling—he started looking.

Not like a creep. Not really. Just... glancing.

There was a cup full of bobby pins. A near-empty mascara tube. A jar of Vicks vapor rub. Painkillers. A pack of gum. One very battered razor and—

Her shampoo. 

He picked it up like it was evidence. Opened the cap. Took a quick sniff.

Then froze.

Yep.

That was her.

Citrus and something warm. Something he couldn’t name. Something that smelled like sleep and soft laughter and the back of her hoodie after she’d been walking all day.

He blinked.

Stared at the mirror again.

“This is insane,” he said, out loud, to the drain.

The mirror agreed. Silently. Cruelly.

He didn’t stop snooping. 

His hand reached for the chapstick next. Pink. Untwisted halfway. Sitting like a loaded weapon on the shelf. He hovered. Pulled back. Reached again.

Nope. Nope.

He could not mentally survive indirect lip contact tonight.

Instead, he turned on the sink again, splashed his face a second time, and looked around.

Panic.

He hadn’t flushed.

If he walked out without flushing, she’d know. She’d definitely know. And then what? She’d think he didn’t pee? That he had a shy bladder? That he was snooping?

Which he was.

But not in a weird way.

Just a tragic, emotionally stunted way.

He flushed.

Waited.

Washed his hands again. Overcorrecting. Citrus soap. Same towel. Same careful dry.

He stared at the door. Helmet back on.

Then—deep breath—he stepped out, greeted by the sound of rain pattering against the living room windows. 

The rain was biblical.

One of those Gotham storms that sounded like it was trying to peel the skyline off the bones of the city. Thunder in full surround sound. Water hammering the roof like it was holding a grudge. The alley behind her apartment was already pooling into something that looked vaguely like a swamp.

Y/N stood at her window, hoodie sleeves pushed up, coffee mug empty, expression flat.

She stared down at the alley like she was waiting for it to apologize.

Then, without turning her head:

“…Yo. Gerald dipped.”

Jason, stepping into the living room, gave a dignified response . “What?”

She nodded at the alley. “Lace parasol finally gave out. Rain probably took it clean off his stupid little head.”

Jason craned his neck. She was right. Gerald’s usual folding chair was empty. The cooler full of whatever he sold was gone. A crushed Monster Energy can rolled through the runoff like it was fleeing the scene.

She turned after a moment. Raised an eyebrow. “You planning to just crawl back out there and rot?”

Jason blinked. “...Kinda?”

She sighed. Loudly. Like she was annoyed at the concept of him existing in space.

“I can’t afford the liability of you slipping off my fire escape,” she muttered, walking toward the kitchen. “You fall, you sue, I end up selling a kidney. That’s not happening.”

Jason just watched her.

She didn’t look at him when she said it—just opened a cabinet, pulled out a can of generic brand cola, and set it on the counter without ceremony.

“You want to sit for a while?” she asked, like it physically pained her.

Jason nodded. Too fast. Too eager.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sure. I can—uh. Thanks.”

She walked back toward the window and flopped down onto the couch like gravity won a bet. Jason followed, cautiously, perching on the very edge of the opposite cushion like a man trying not to disturb a wild animal.

Then he realized the problem.

The soda was still on the counter.

And he had his helmet back on.

Y/N glanced over at him, then back at the can. Then—without a word—she stood, grabbed it, opened the drawer, pulled out a bright pink curly straw, jammed it into the can, and handed it over like this was normal behavior.

Jason hesitated.

She stared. “You gonna take it or what?”

He did. Very carefully.

And then, with all the dignity of a man in full tactical armor drinking diet cola through a Lisa Frank accessory, he took a sip.

They’d been sitting in silence for maybe five minutes when she asked, “You affiliated with the bats?”

It wasn’t aggressive. Just flat. Tired. The kind of question that didn’t come from curiosity, but muscle memory—like checking the lock twice before bed.

Jason didn’t move right away.

He could feel her watching. Not suspicious. Not fearful. Just... waiting. Like someone who’d been burned before and had learned to ask the hard questions first.

He set the soda down slowly. Let the pink straw curl on itself like a secret.

“No,” he said.

It was the truth. And a lie. Both, kind of.

But it was what she needed to hear.

He could see it happen—the slow loosening in her jaw, the unspooling tension in her spine, the way her fingers relaxed against the fabric of the couch like she’d been bracing without noticing.

“Good,” she muttered. “Those freaks never told me he died.”

The room was quiet after that.

Jason didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

He just let the rain fill the silence. Let it hum against the windows like white noise. She didn’t look at him again for a long time.

When she finally spoke, it was softer.

“Sorry. That was... blunt.”

“You’re good.”

She exhaled slowly, eyes flicking back to him.

“You don’t seem like one of them anyway.”

Jason shrugged, watching her carefully. “Yeah?”

“You loiter. You drink soda through a straw. You’d trip in a cave and die instantly.”

“I’m an apex predator.”

She rolled her eyes. “You brought me dumplings in a shoebox.”

He raised the can again like it was a toast. “And yet, here we are.”

She didn’t smile. Not fully.

But the corner of her mouth twitched. And for now, that was enough.

She didn’t ask for his name. He didn’t offer it. They just sat there, listening to the storm try to peel Gotham open.

Eventually, she stood. Picked up his empty can. Tossed it in the recycling like it didn’t mean anything.

--

By the third week of the stakeout-that-wasn’t, Jason had a rhythm.

He came by every few nights. Always late. Never announced. He didn’t knock. Didn’t text. He just appeared on the fire escape like a guilty habit, boots scuffed, helmet fogged, and body language trying not to look like it needed a place to rest.

And somehow—without ever being formally invited—he started staying.

Y/N never asked why he came. He never said.

She just opened the window.

Their nights followed a strange kind of pattern. Jason would crawl in like a very large, heavily armed housecat. She’d be in her usual hoodie, curled on the couch with her laptop balanced on one knee and a heating pad strapped to her lower back like a battle injury.

The apartment wasn’t really built for guests. The living room was also the kitchen, which was also the dining room, which was also just the room. But she made it work. Kicked a blanket off the couch. Cleared a corner of the table. Pretended this wasn’t weird.

At first, they just sat.

Sometimes she put on old episodes of Chopped and yelled at the screen. Sometimes he read the crime blotter and gave her commentary like a feral news anchor. Sometimes they didn’t say anything at all. Just sat. Breathing in the same room.

She never asked who he was. He never offered. And that silence between them felt sacred. Like a ceasefire they didn’t dare break.

Then—one night—he brought food.

Takeout. Thai. Still warm. He said it was extra from a thing. Didn't elaborate.

Y/N narrowed her eyes, but said nothing. Just pulled two chipped plates from the cabinet, set them on the counter like she did this every night.

Jason hesitated. Hands still full of the plastic bag.

“I already ate,” he said.

She didn’t look at him. “That’s fine. I haven’t.”

Next time, it was shawarma. The time after that, dumplings. Then pizza. Then stir fry. Always with the same line:

“I ate already.” Or: “Can’t really eat in the helmet.” Or: “Not hungry.”

And every time, Y/N would split the food between two plates. Hand him one. Sit on the floor. Eat in silence.

And every time, he wouldn’t touch his.

On the fourth night, she snapped.

“If you’re gonna sit there like a haunted statue and watch me eat, you can leave.”

Jason blinked. “What?”

She set her fork down. Hard. “I’m not doing pity dinner.”

“It’s not—”

“Then eat.”

“I can’t—”

She stood up. “You can’t or you won’t?”

Jason opened his mouth. Closed it.

“I’m not your project,” she said, voice low now. “You don’t get to show up here, drop off food like some sad vigilante DoorDash, and act like that counts as caring.”

His stomach twisted. “I do care.”

“Then sit your ass down and eat something.”

Jason stared at her.

She stared back.

He sighed—quietly—but took it.

Then came the blanket.

He kept it by the window now. A faded throw with frayed corners that smelled faintly like her shampoo and dust. Jason threw it over his head with practiced ease, tucking the ends under his chin so his face stayed hidden and his hands stayed free.

Y/N called it “his little cryptid cloak.”

He couldn’t talk with the blanket on—no voice mod, no helmet, no disguise—so he didn’t. He just sat there. Eating silently. A ghost in tactical gear, chewing sesame chicken like it was sacred.

Y/N, however, did talk.

She talked the whole time.

Mostly to fill the space. Sometimes to punish him.

“…so then my boss says we can’t wear sneakers anymore, like it’s a ‘professionalism issue,’ but I know for a fact Jo-Jo showed up last week in flip-flops and nobody said a damn word.”

Jason hummed under the blanket. She took it as agreement.

“And this girl in my psych class keeps saying ‘let’s circle back’ like we’re on Zoom in 2020. I swear to God, if she says ‘let’s unpack that’ one more time I’m going to commit tax fraud on her behalf.”

Jason nodded. Fork to his mouth. Still silent. Blanket bobbing.

Y/N sighed dramatically. “This would be less one-sided if you weren’t eating like the Phantom of the Opera.”

Jason flipped her off.

From under the blanket.

She snorted. “Okay, rude.”

He kept eating.

She kept talking.

It was the most peace either of them had felt in weeks.

--

📄 [ACCESS: INTERNAL OPERATIONS LOG — WAYNE FAMILY DIVISION] Mission Report | Subject Missing Post-Injury | Filed November 25 | J. Todd (Red Hood)

--

Y/N’s fork scrapes the bottom of the takeout container.

It’s the last of the noodles. Cold, borderline questionable. Hood dropped them off two nights ago and she meant to finish them sooner, but time’s slippery lately and grocery money’s been tight. She’s sitting on the couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over her knuckles, heating pad dead beneath her, the hum of the fridge the only sound in the room.

She doesn’t bother with music anymore. She misses Spotify Premium.

She’s halfway through another bite when it happens.

THUMP.

A sharp knock—no, a thud—against the windowpane.

She freezes.

Head snaps toward the sound. Fork clatters to the plate.

For one wild second she thinks it’s a bird. A raccoon. Gerald, reincarnated.

But then she sees it. The shape.

Helmet. Leather. Bulk.

She exhales sharply. Stands. Walks to the window and pulls it open with more annoyance than alarm.

“What—”

Then she sees the blood.

His whole right side is soaked. The dark of his jacket is darker still, and there’s a sharpness to the way he’s standing—angled, braced, like the wall is the only thing keeping him upright.

“Hood,” she breathes. “What the fuck—”

He doesn’t answer.

He stumbles forward—tries to step in—and her hands shoot out automatically, catching his arm. He’s warm. Too warm. His breath fogs the glass behind him.

“Oh my god,” she mutters, voice rising. “Sit. Sit down—now.”

He doesn’t resist. Just slumps, knees buckling like he meant to collapse. She guides him down to the couch—his usual spot—and watches, horrified, as he leaves a full handprint of blood on the cushion.

She kneels beside him.

“Where are you hurt? Hey—hey, look at me.”

He doesn’t lift the helmet. Doesn’t move. Just leans back against the armrest, breathing shallow.

“Okay,” she says, standing. “Fine. Stay there. Bleed or don’t, I’m getting the med kit.”

She’s already halfway to the bathroom.

She returns with the med kit and a clean towel she’s been saving for emergencies. Turns out this qualifies.

He hasn’t moved.

Still slouched against the couch, right leg extended, gloved hand pressed loosely to his side like that’ll keep the blood in. She kneels beside him again, tosses the kit open, and gently lifts his shirt to reveal his ribs.

His breathing hitches. She ignores it. She can’t stop shaking.

“I—I don’t know how to stitch,” she says, voice raw. “I’ve never done this. I can’t—”

“You can,” he rasps, barely audible through the modulator. “It’s just thread. You’ve sewn buttons, right?”

“This is not a button.”

“Still got holes.”

She wants to punch him. She wants to scream. She wants to cry.

Instead, she grabs the suture kit with fingers that won’t stop trembling and tries to remember anything she’s ever seen in a movie.

“Talk me through it,” she says.

Jason shifts, barely. “You cleaned it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Pinch the skin together.”

She does.

“Anchor the first one deep. Just push. Don’t think.”

She pushes.

He flinches. Hisses. But doesn’t stop her.

She stabs the needle through again, then again, lips parted, breath shallow.

“There. There. Keep going,” he mutters, slurring a little now. “You’re doing fine.”

“This is fucked,” she says.

“Totally,” he mumbles.

She gets through five stitches before she realizes he’s stopped answering.

Her head snaps up.

“Hood?”

No response.

“Hood. Hey—hey, come on—”

She reaches out, touches his faceplate. Cold. Still.

He’s breathing, but only just. Out cold. Head turned toward the back cushion, body slack, arm limp at his side. The moment she’d been dreading—being alone with this—has arrived, and it’s not cinematic. It’s not brave.

It’s awful.

“Shit. Shit, shit—”

She finishes the stitches with her whole body shaking. Wraps gauze with teeth clenched. Mutters every curse she knows under her breath. When she finally leans back, her palms are slick with blood and sweat and something else she refuses to name.

She wipes the blood off his helmet with the hem of her shirt.

Pulls a blanket over him.

And sits on the floor beside the couch like a kid trying not to look at the monster in the room.

She can’t sleep.

Not with him breathing like that.

Not with the way it hitches every few minutes, shallow and wet and wrong, like his lungs are trying to argue with his ribs. Like his body hasn’t decided whether it wants to keep going or not.

The helmet is still on.

She thought it was fine. He always wore it. Said he needed it. But now, in the silence of the apartment, with the storm finally passed and the fridge humming like it knows something she doesn’t—she’s terrified.

What if he can’t breathe in there? What if he suffocates and she sleeps through it? What if she wakes up and he’s just—

She bolts upright.

Back in her room, she throws open the dresser drawer and rummages blindly until her hand hits something soft and familiar—an old sleep mask. Faded pink. Fraying elastic. One of the eye patches has a cartoon sheep on it.

Stands there for a second, breathing hard.

Then she walks back out.

He hasn’t moved. Still sprawled across the couch, chest rising in slow, irregular beats. One arm fallen off the cushion. A streak of blood drying across the side of his neck.

She kneels again. Pulls the mask on.  

Her hands find the edges of the helmet. “Don’t die,” she whispers. “Okay? You’re not allowed.”

Then—carefully, slowly, blind—she lifts it off.

It’s heavier than she thought. The inside slick with sweat. It makes a soft, awful click as it comes free. She sets it down on the floor beside her and reaches up—still blindfolded—and cups his face with both hands.

He’s still breathing. Better now. Less noise. More air.

“Okay,” she says, to no one. “Okay.”

She sits there like that for a while, hands still on his cheeks, thumb brushing a raised scar near his jaw.

Eventually, she lets go of his face . She doesn’t take off the mask. She just curls up on the floor, forehead resting against the edge of the couch.

And listens. To his breathing. To the radiator. To the silence.

And when she finally lets herself sleep, it’s with one hand still reaching up—just in case he stops again.

--

Morning comes slow.

It creeps in through the smudged windows, casting pale gold across the floor, the peeling radiator, the crumpled takeout bag on the counter. Everything smells faintly like ginger and sweat and blood.

Jason wakes with a start.

His ribs scream. His side aches. His mouth tastes like metal and dust.

And his helmet is gone.

His eyes fly open.

He’s still on the couch—blanket twisted around his legs, shirt halfway undone, gauze taped awkwardly across his stomach. The light’s too bright. His heart’s too loud. And his face is exposed.

Panic claws up his throat.

Where is it? Where’s the helmet? How long has it been off? Did she see? Did she see?

He tries to sit up too fast and immediately regrets it, pain flaring sharp under the bandages. He swears under his breath, scanning the room, chest heaving—

And then he sees her.

Y/N is curled up on the floor, still in blood stained pajamas, limbs tangled awkwardly against the side of the couch. Her head is tilted back slightly. She’s breathing soft and slow.

And over her eyes—

A sleep mask.

Cartoon sheep. Frayed elastic. Still on.

Jason freezes.

She shifts slightly in her sleep, fingers twitching near her face. Then, as if pulled by some unseen thread, her hand drifts across the floor, brushes against his boot, and pauses.

She jerks awake.

Slow. Groggy. Like the world is coming back in pieces.

Then she sits up, stretches, and reaches beside her without looking.

The helmet’s right there.

She picks it up. Holds it out.

“Put it on” she mumbles, voice hoarse. “You scared the hell out of me, by the way.”

Jason doesn’t move.

She keeps holding it.

“I didn’t look,” she adds, quieter now. “Just… heard you struggling. Figured you’d breathe better without it. Blindfolded myself. That’s all.”

Jason still says nothing.

Just takes the helmet from her hands like it’s made of glass.

Their fingers brush. He grips it tighter. Puts it on, turns the voice modulator on.

“…Thank you,” he says.

She shrugs. Leans back against the couch again.

“Don’t die on my watch, Hood. It’d really mess up my Tuesday.”

Y/N finally pulls the sleep mask off.

Blinding light. Crick in her neck. Her whole body feels like it got into a fight with a vending machine and lost. But Hood’s still alive. Still sitting upright. Still breathing.

She exhales.

“Let me see,” she says, already kneeling beside him again.

Jason stays quiet. Tilts to the side slightly so she can peel the blanket back. The gauze is still holding. The stitches are—surprisingly—not awful. A little uneven. A little swollen. But clean.

She stares at them for a second. Nods to herself.

“Not bad,” she mutters. “For someone whose only medical training came the guy getting stitched.”

He doesn’t respond.

She pretends she doesn’t care.

“Don’t pull them. No jumping off buildings for a while. No cartwheels. No gunfights unless it’s urgent.”

She stands again and heads for the kitchenette.

The fridge greets her with its usual charm: One half-empty bottle of ketchup. A jar of olives. A single carton of milk.

She opens the cabinet. Cereal. One box. Crushed.

She does the math in her head. Stares into the abyss. Then grabs a bowl.

It’s just enough for one.

She pours it. Adds the milk. Doesn’t hesitate.

Walks back over and hands it to him.

Jason stares at the bowl like it might explode.

She shrugs.

“You almost died. You get the Cheerios.”

He eats slow.

Careful.

The sound of the spoon scraping the bowl is soft, muffled beneath the low hum of morning and the fabric of the blanket he’s thrown over his head. She doesn’t watch.

She ducks into the bathroom instead.

Ties her hair up with one hand while brushing her teeth with the other. Swaps out the hoodie for her “functional” shirt—stained, slightly oversized, halfway tucked into her jeans. Her socks don’t match. One of her boots is damp from last night’s rain.

It’s fine.

She’s used to leaving chaos behind.

She grabs her bag from the chair, keys already in hand, and opens the front door halfway before she turns back.

He’s still there. Sitting in her living room. Still under the blanket. Still clutching the empty bowl like he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“I’ll be back by six,” she says, voice casual, like this is normal. Like this happens every day.

He doesn’t answer.

She clears her throat. “You can stay. If you want.”

Another beat of silence.

Then, a nod.

Small. Barely there.

She closes the door behind her. Locks it with a click. And lets the day begin.

--

🧾 [ACCESS: PURCHASE RECORD — ROTHMAN'S / SUNDOWN GROCERS] Home Furnishing & Grocery Delivery | Buyer: J.T. | Delivery: Unattended Drop

--

Y/N unlocks the apartment with the usual two jabs and a kick.

Her shoulder aches. Her feet are soaked. Her last customer of the day tried to return a sandwich after eating it, and Gerald had the audacity to wink at her in the alley like they were co-workers.

She just wants five minutes to breathe.

She pushes the door open—

And stops.

Her bag slips off her shoulder.

She sees the couch.

Brown leather. Low-backed. Wide-seated. Big enough to drown in. Soft enough to hold you when you can’t hold yourself.

She stares at it like it might vanish. Then she drops her bag, walks straight up to it, and presses both hands flat against the armrest.

It’s real. Soft. Cool to the touch. The kind of expensive that doesn’t come from pity.

And that’s when she laughs.

A full-body sound, unexpected and too loud for the apartment. She laughs like someone who hasn’t had a real reason in months. Laughs like she’s going to scare the silverfish out of the drywall.

Then she spins. Right there, in her socks, on the peeling tile. A full circle. Like a rom-com idiot. Like she’s seven.

Because she knows what this is. She remembers.

“Hear me out,” Jason had said once, the morning Bruce took him away. “The penthouse. “Oh god,” she’d groaned. “The couch is leather. Brown. Like rich people brown. But not ugly. Real classy.” “No. Velvet,” she’d fired back. “Deep green. With gold buttons.” “Velvet stains.” “I won’t spill.” “You’ll definitely spill.”

It had been a joke. A fantasy. A nothing-future built on soda and sarcasm.

But now—years later— Here it is.

She’s dizzy when she sits down. Breathless. Tears on her face before she even registers them.

And the feeling hits her like thunder: This is permission. This is Jason—her Jason—telling her it’s okay to be happy again from beyond the grave.

The couch is the sign. The Hood is the messenger.

He sent her someone.

She presses her forehead to the armrest.

“You son of a bitch,” she whispers, smiling through it. “You sent me a friend.”

The couch smells like new beginnings. The lamp glows like a pulse. Her apartment—normally cold, narrow, gray—is warm now. Lived in. Soft.

Safe.

She curls up under the new blanket, legs tucked beneath her, heart still spinning in her chest.

And for the first time since he died, She doesn’t feel alone.

--

The next evening, Jason stood on the fire escape with a bag of food in one hand and a heart full of static.

He didn’t know what he expected. An eye-roll, maybe. A sarcastic comment about boundary-crossing vigilantes and unsolicited furniture. A quiet “you didn’t have to” said in that voice that meant don’t do it again.

He definitely didn’t expect the window to open before he even knocked.

Y/N stood there, framed in the fading orange light, hair pulled back, hoodie sleeves rolled to her elbows. She looked at him for a long second. No smile. No sarcasm.

Then she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.

It was careful—not rushed or needy—but firm. Real. Like something being set down that had been carried too long.

Jason blinked. His arms didn’t move at first. He just stood there, stunned, feeling her heartbeat against his chest through layers of armor and hesitation.

Then he let out a breath and hugged her back.

Slow. Gentle.

Not because she was fragile. Because she wasn’t.

“…Hey,” he said, voice low in his helmet.

She gave a soft little huff of air. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a sigh.

Then she stepped back just enough to look at him.

Her eyes were steady. Clear. Tired in a way that went deeper than sleep, but still soft.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

Two words. No qualifiers. No jokes. Just… gratitude.

Jason didn’t know what to say to that. Didn’t think he’d need to. But she just stood there, letting the silence speak for both of them.

Then she glanced at the bag in his hand.

“Are those dumplings?”

He nodded.

She opened the window wider.

“Well. Don’t just stand there. Come in.”

He climbed in, boots hitting the floor with a thud. She locked the window behind him and flicked on the lamp.

Warm light. Soft couch. Two plates already out on the counter like maybe, just maybe, she’d been hoping he’d come.

They sat. Ate (Him under the blanket). Talked about nothing. Argued about whether Gerald was a criminal genius or just terminally polite. Laughed until their stomachs hurt.

And somewhere between the last dumpling and the first yawn, they stopped being ghosts.

They were friends.

Real ones.

At last.

--

🟥 [ACCESS: SUIT DIAGNOSTICS LOG — WAYNE TECH MONITORING] Biofeedback Report | Non-Combat Physiological Spikes | Subject: Red Hood (J. Todd)

--

🟩 [ACCESS: TERMINAL HISTORY — GOTHAM PUBLIC LIBRARY, #17] Search Record | Subject A - Flagged Queries Logged Feb 12 | Accessed via Public Network | Surveillance Filter: Active

--

APRIL 25

She didn’t look at him when she asked.

She never did when it was something that mattered.

Jason was sitting on the floor beside the couch, helmet still on, fingers fidgeting with the strap of his gauntlet like it might reveal the answers to every stupid thing he’d ever done. Y/N was above him, curled sideways, eating cereal from a mug because she refused to do dishes before midnight. The lamp flickered.

“You doing anything the 27th?” she asked, casually.

Jason’s heart dropped.

He didn’t answer right away. She didn’t press. Just took another slow bite, metal spoon clinking once against ceramic.

“It’s kind of a thing,” she said after a moment. “Not, like, a party. It’s personal.”

Jason made a noise in his throat. Neutral. Encouraging. Safe.

Y/N stared down into the last third of her cereal.

“I go somewhere. Once a year. Same place, same time. Every year since I was sixteen.”

He already knew where. Of course he did. But hearing it in her voice still made something crack.

“I bring a blanket,” she went on. “And coffee. And Pride and Prejudice, because I’m a walking cliché. I stay until morning.”

Jason felt like the helmet was too tight. His breath fogged up the inner HUD. He didn’t dare move.

“I don’t usually bring people,” she added. “Not ever. But I was thinking… if you wanted to come. You could.”

Jason’s head snapped up before he meant it to.

“You don’t have to,” she said quickly. “It’s dumb. Just me talking to a piece of rock for a few hours. But—” She hesitated. “You’re the first real friend I’ve had since he died. I figured… maybe you should meet him.”

Jason forgot how to breathe.

For a second, all he could hear was blood. Not in a poetic way. Literally—his pulse roaring in his ears, chest aching like something was trying to claw its way out.

Friend. She said friend. But the way she said it—quiet, steady, true—it was like being handed something breakable and sacred and entirely undeserved.

He couldn’t speak. Not yet. Just nodded once, sharp.

Y/N smiled, small and crooked. “Cool.”

She set the mug down on the floor beside him. Not on the table. Right next to his boot.

Then she flopped back down onto the couch and pulled the blanket over her face.

Conversation over.

Jason sat there, unmoving, watching the faint rise and fall of her breathing.

His helmet’s readout buzzed softly—elevated vitals. No shit.

She wanted him there. At the grave. Not as a soldier. Not as a name in her search history. As him.

And he said yes. And he meant it.

God help him.

--

Subject A: Age 22 Subject B: 4 years, 4.5 months post-resurrection April 27

She walked ahead of him, as always.

Jason let her.

The graveyard was quieter than usual—just the hush of wet grass under boots and the low, steady patter of rain trying to decide if it wanted to commit. Y/N didn’t bring a blanket this year. Or coffee. Just her hoodie, her voice, and him.

Jason followed in full gear. Hood up. Helmet on. Silent as the grave.

Literally.

When they reached the headstone, Y/N stopped. Took a breath. Then another. The kind you take before walking into a room where a version of yourself still lives.

She crouched beside the stone and brushed her sleeve across the marble like she always did. Her fingers lingered at the carved name.

Jason Peter Todd. Beloved Son.

Then she leaned forward and kissed it.

Jason looked away so fast his neck cracked.

“Hi, dumbass” she whispered. “The train was late. But I’m here. I brought someone, too. Hope you don’t mind.”

She turned slightly—looked over her shoulder, toward the shadow behind her.

“Come on,” she said. “It’s okay.”

Jason moved slowly, each step feeling too loud. The rain got bolder. He knelt beside her but didn’t touch the grave.

Didn’t breathe.

“This is Red Hood,” she said, gesturing between them like they weren’t already shoulder-to-shoulder. “He’s… my friend.”

She smiled at the stone. Then at him. Y/N kneeled, and pulled him down as well. They sat cross-legged facing the stone. 

“The first one I’ve had since you.”

Jason thought he might die again.

“He’s kind of awful,” she added. “But he keeps showing up. And bringing food. And I haven’t wanted to punch him in two whole weeks, which is saying something.”

The rain thickened without warning—sheets of cold cascading from the sky like someone up top had finally lost patience.

Y/N looked around, squinting at the sky. “Shit. I forgot the umbrella.”

Jason, who hadn’t moved in at least ten minutes, reached into his jacket and—wordlessly—pulled out an umbrella-adjacent object.

Y/N blinked at it.

“Is that… Gerald’s lace parasol?”

Jason shrugged. “He left it in the alley. I picked it up on the way here. Thought we might need it.”

Y/N snorted. “God, you’re ridiculous.”

Then she opened it halfway and dragged him under it without asking.

It was immediately clear that it was not built for two people—especially not two people in armor and emotional ruin. Her damp sleeve pressed against his jacket. Their knees knocked. Her hair was sticking to his cheek plate, and she didn’t even bother fixing it. The lace was already soaked through; water dripped through every delicate stitch, pooling at the rim and falling in uneven plops around their shoes.

They looked at eachother.

And then—cracked. The kind of laughter that came fast and real, unfiltered and soaked through. Y/N doubled over, face buried in the crook of her elbow. Jason shook silently beside her, shoulders trembling, the sound muffled behind the helmet.

Gerald’s parasol sagged.

They kept laughing anyway.

She looked at the grave. Then at him. Then back again. 

“I brought him,” she said slowly, easing out of laughter, “because I think you’d want to meet the guy who’s making me happy.”

Jason’s throat closed.

Y/N glanced up at him, voice dropping to a laugh-soft murmur. “You’d probably curse him out for cuddling with your girl over your grave. But you’d like him. Maybe.”

Jason couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

Then—

“I love him,” she said.

The words hung in the rain like smoke.

She turned to him, expression open. Real.

“I don’t know when it happened. I just know I look for him now. In the quiet. In the space between days. I like the way he shows up. I like the way he listens.”

Jason didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

The rain hit harder.

She blinked at him under the parasol. “If that scares you, it’s fine. You don’t have to say anything.”

Jason didn’t move for a second. Then—

“Don’t be mad,” he said. Quiet. Rough.

She tilted her head. “What?”

He swallowed. Inside the helmet, his hands had started to sweat. “Promise me. Don’t be mad.”

“Red—”

“Just—just promise.”

Y/N hesitated. Her brows furrowed. “Okay,” she said slowly. “I promise.”

Jason closed his eyes for a half-second. Exhaled through his nose.

Then reached up and took the helmet off.

It was quick. Clean. No ceremony. Just a click, a lift, and suddenly—

There he was.

Her Jason.

Older. Sharper. Jaw clenched like it might break. Hair longer (is that a white streak?), damp with rain, curls flattened to his forehead. The same look in his eyes. Tired. Terrified. Hopeful.

Y/N stared.

Her brain went blank. Then full. Then blank again.

She opened her mouth and made no sound.

Jason flinched. “Y/N—”

“WHAT THE FUCK,” she blurted.

She lurched to her feet. The umbrella wobbled violently. Jason scrambled up with her, hands out like he was trying to keep her from bolting.

“No—no, it’s me, I swear—”

“You’re dead,” she said, pointing at the grave. “You DIED. This is YOUR GRAVE.”

“I got better?” he tried.

She made a noise like a boiling tea kettle.

Her hands clenched and unclenched three times. She spun in a circle. Muttered something. Took a breath. Shook her head. Stared at him again.

“You—you were dead,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“You’re real.”

“I am.”

She reached forward—touched his chest, right over the armor. “You’re breathing.”

Jason nodded, too scared to blink.

Then she did something he wasn’t ready for.

She laughed.

Wet, broken, stunned. One huff, then another. And then, she flung her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder.

He froze.

Then melted.

Jason wrapped both arms around her and held on like the world was still ending.

She was shaking. Laughing and crying at the same time. His hoodie was soaked through now. So was hers. Neither of them cared.

“You’re such an asshole,” she whispered. “But you’re here.”

“I’m here.”

“I’m gonna kill you.”

“I’ll die happy” he said, smiling into her hair.

She pulled back just enough to look at him. Her hands framed his face like he might disappear again if she let go.

“You’re real.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice wrecked.

“That’s all that matters.”

--

 PHASE III — REINTRODUCTION PROTOCOL: COMPLETE. CASE FILE #JX-1989 SUBJECT A: [Y/N] SUBJECT B: [J. TODD] STATUS: RESTORED

Final Investigator’s Note:

Subject A, long believed to be mourning an unresolved loss, made direct contact with Subject B seven years post-mortem under highly unorthodox conditions involving emotional confession, weather anomalies, and a formerly owned drug-dealer parasol.

Subject B removed helmet under extreme emotional duress. Subject A speedran the five stages of grief in under 60 seconds. No fatalities. Minimal property damage. Full romantic implosion.

Both parties appear to be fully alive. Fully in love. And fully ridiculous.

----

taglist : @4rachn3 , @mercuryathens , @the-halloween-jack , @milk-unleashed , @inkedinheels , @wonderbat385 , @feralwolfkat, @kasarian

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved on our archive

Not covid specific, but good to remember: Masking and other airborne disease prevention keeps you from getting other diseases like the flu too. Covid's not the only threat to your long-term health out there.

By Felicity Nelson

A study of around 500,000 medical records suggested that severe viral infections like encephalitis and pneumonia increase the risk of neurodegenerative diseases like Parkinson's and Alzheimer's.

Researchers found 22 connections between viral infections and neurodegenerative conditions in the study of around 450,000 people.

People treated for a type of inflammation of the brain called viral encephalitis were 31 times more likely to develop Alzheimer's disease. (For every 406 viral encephalitis cases, 24 went on to develop Alzheimer's disease – around 6 percent.)

Those who were hospitalized with pneumonia after catching the flu seemed to be more susceptible to Alzheimer's disease, dementia, Parkinson's disease, and amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS).

Intestinal infections and meningitis (both often caused by a virus), as well as the varicella-zoster virus, which causes shingles, were also implicated in the development of several neurodegenerative diseases.

The impact of viral infections on the brain persisted for up to 15 years in some cases. And there were no instances where exposure to viruses was protective.

Around 80 percent of the viruses implicated in brain diseases were considered 'neurotrophic', which means they could cross the blood-brain barrier.

"Strikingly, vaccines are currently available for some of these viruses, including influenza, shingles (varicella-zoster), and pneumonia," the researchers wrote in their paper published last year.

"Although vaccines do not prevent all cases of illness, they are known to dramatically reduce hospitalization rates. This evidence suggests that vaccination may mitigate some risk of developing neurodegenerative disease."

In 2022, a study of more than 10 million people linked the Epstein-Barr virus with a 32-fold increased risk of multiple sclerosis.

"After reading [this] study, we realized that for years scientists had been searching – one-by-one – for links between an individual neurodegenerative disorder and a specific virus," said senior author Michael Nalls, a neurogeneticist at the National Institute on Aging in the US.

"That's when we decided to try a different, more data science-based approach," he said. "By using medical records, we were able to systematically search for all possible links in one shot."

First, the researchers analyzed the medical records of around 35,000 Finns with six different types of neurodegenerative diseases and compared this against a group of 310,000 controls who did not have a brain disease.

This analysis yielded 45 links between viral exposure and neurodegenerative diseases, and this was narrowed down to 22 links in a subsequent analysis of 100,000 medical records from the UK Biobank.

While this retrospective observational study cannot demonstrate a causal link, it adds to the pile of research hinting at the role of viruses in Parkinson's and Alzheimer's disease.

"Neurodegenerative disorders are a collection of diseases for which there are very few effective treatments and many risk factors," said co-author Andrew Singleton, a neurogeneticist and Alzheimer's researcher and the director of the Center for Alzheimer's and Related Dementias.

"Our results support the idea that viral infections and related inflammation in the nervous system may be common – and possibly avoidable – risk factors for these types of disorders."

This study was published in Neuron.

Study link: www.cell.com/neuron/fulltext/S0896-6273(22)01147-3?_returnURL=https%3A%2F%2Flinkinghub.elsevier.com%2Fretrieve%2Fpii%2FS0896627322011473%3Fshowall%3Dtrue

[gatheringbones]

[“As history has shown, and as I was at the time experiencing, a strap-on can be sexy, but it can also be a failure and a threat. It draws attention to how contradictory and fragile our definitions of male and female are, and how tightly we cling to them, even in relationships between women, where gender and sexuality are more flexible.

I think it’s important to look at how this played out, not just in the history of straight men policing lesbians but in the lesbian community policing itself. In the 1940s and 50s a bar scene began to develop in cities across the country, marking the first time when lesbians, particularly working-class ones, gathered publicly and in large numbers. During this time a butch/femme culture developed that included strict codes of dress and behavior both in and outside the bedroom. Butch women slicked back their hair, wore suits and jeans, and were, generally, the “givers” of sexual pleasure. Femme women wore dresses and makeup and were the “receivers” of sexual pleasure. In some ways, this culture was liberating, as it represented a powerful, cohesive group aesthetic and safety in numbers. Especially for women who actually identified as butch, it was also a chance to finally adopt masculine dress without being seen as failed or dangerous but rather as sexy and loveable. For others this culture was a trap, pushing women into restrictive sex and gender roles in the same ways heterosexuality had. It is by no means the only lesbian aesthetic, but I think part of the reason it has stuck around for so long in the popular imagination as the way lesbians are is because it allows straight people to again see themselves as the center of the sexual world.

In either case, strap-ons were not widely used, or at least not talked about. In Boots of Leather, Slippers of Gold, a book that documents the lives of Black and white lesbians in Buffalo, there is a pretty exhaustive set of interviews about sex acts and terminology, but no one mentions owning, liking, or even trying sex with a strap-on. Indeed, the one mention of a dildo is one of bewilderment as Vic, a self-identified butch, talks about her friend pulling her into the bathroom to show her the new strap-on she got. “Jesus, she whipped this thing out . . . I’m supposed to be butch and my face felt like a neon sign. I could feel the embarrassment. How do you admire a dildo? No seriously, what do you say?”

Butches in the book took great pride “in their own hands and their ability to please,” which “did not dispose them to think that a dildo would improve their lovemaking.” It’s interesting that they considered the dildo less potent and successful than hands. This could be read as displacing the power of the dick, but, coupled with the silence surrounding strap-on use, it also points to a greater fear about the lesbian body. How regulated and small it had to be to exist. How easily it could be diminished by something outside itself, or destroyed altogether.

In the lesbian radical feminist movement of the 1960s and 70s, there was also a great deal of attention focused on creating distance from dicks. Jill Johnston argued in A Lesbian Nation that the only true road to female liberation was the conscious “withdrawal at every level from the man to develop woman supremacy.” This meant that not only butch/femme dynamics but also penetrative sex were out. Anne Koedt developed the theory that the vaginal orgasm was a myth perpetrated by Freud in order to center male sexual desire for penetration, though her evidence for this was a study done by Kinsey—a man—that found the vagina was not particularly sensitive to touch. True orgasms, Koedt argued, only came from the clitoris—even though she interestingly also called the clit “the female equivalent of the penis”—so if women wanted to have enjoyable sex there was no need for penetration, only clitoral stimulation. Andrea Dworkin went so far as to call the penis “a hidden symbol of terror” and argued that “violence is male, the male is the penis.”

Dorothy Allison writes about the effects this had on herself and other lesbians at the time. “No one admitted to using dildos, wanting to be tied up, wanting to be penetrated, or talking dirty—all that male stuff . . . my lover wanted us to perform tribadism, stare into each other’s eyes, and orgasm simultaneously. Egalitarian, female, feminist, revolutionary.” In attempting to free themselves from the penis, in many ways radical lesbians ended up reinscribing the power of the dick and sacrificing the range of sexual pleasure they could experience in the process.

In a counter to this, the lesbian sexual outlaws of the 1970s, 80s, and 90s argued that dildos were actually great, not problematic, but primarily because they didn’t reference the penis at all. Some even argued that wearing a dildo turns a woman into a cyborg, not woman, man, or even human, just a body involved in the mechanistic movements of giving and receiving pleasure. While there is something freeing about this argument, as it gets us out from under the idea that we can’t talk about strap-ons and that a woman wearing a strap-on is only trying to make up for a never-ending lack, it still bypasses the sticky, complicated reality of the gendered/human world we live in and the simple fact that sometimes lesbians want strap-ons to look like penises.

All of this begs the question: can a dyke wear a dick and just have some damn fun?”]

amy gall, from my dick, your dick, our dick, from wanting: women writing about desire, 2023

[if-whats-new]

What's New In IF? Issue 30 (2024)

By Aj, Dion, Briar, Jen and Peter

Now Available!

Itch.io - Keep Reading below

If you read the zine, consider liking the post: it helps us see how many people see it! And sharing is caring! <3

~ EDITORIAL ~

Event Highlight!

In this Issue we take a quick look at the Videotome Jam hosted by Freya, the dev behind all the Videotome game engines!

Continue reading to find out more!

We want some feedback!

As we’re starting to get a hand of things, we would love some feedback from you guys! What you enjoy, want more or less off, how we could improve... Anything goes! We even have a nifty form.

We hope you enjoy this new issue!

AJ, DION, BRIAR, JEN AND PETER

~ BE A PART OF THE ZINE ~

THIS ZINE ONLY HAPPENS WITH YOU!

Want to write 1-2 pages about a neat topic, or deep-dive into a game and review it in details? Share personal experiences or get all academic?

WRITE FOR THE COLUMN!

Prefer to be more low-key but still have something to share? Send us a Zine Letter or share a game title for Highlight on…!

WE WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU!

Came across something interesting? Know a release or an update announced? Saw an event happening? Whether it's a game, an article, a podcast… Add any IF-related content to our mini-database!

EVERY LITTLE BIT COUNTS!

Contact us through Tumblr asks, Forum DMs, or even by email! And thank you for your help!!

~ EVENT SPOTLIGHT : Videotome Jam - "Waiting" ~

November 16th to December 1st 2024

Videotome Jam is a two-week-long game jam for games made in any of the Videotome engines with the optional theme of "Waiting".

What is Videotome?

Videotome is a series of small homebrew IF/VN engines made by Freya Campbell (communistsister), an indie game developer focusing on narrative games that are usually:

science fiction, horror, &/or romance

close to 100% LGBTQ characters

free/PWYW with low tech requirements

liable to make players keysmash due to feelings

Videotome was first released in April 2022 as a part of a game entry for the Domino Club collective. The initial idea for the engine was to make writing text-heavy games as hassle-free as possible, focusing not that much on the visual presentation format, but more on the writer's experience. It would allow writers to write in a notepad and then it would somehow grab the .txt file and parse the lines into an array, spitting them out one line at a time as a kinetic novel.

At the moment there are four engines available:

Videotome, for linear, no frills text / images / music;

Videotome ADV, adding a more conventional layout with ignorable choices and branching;

Super Videotome, for more fully featured and freeform image/canvas use;

Videotome Heartbreak, adding a stat raising dating sim & storylets structure to the above.

If you're more interested in the process of making these engines, check out the devs blog post - Words, Friction, Syntax: Stuff I thought about when making Videotome. (The post also includes a very interesting case study concerning other game engines Freya has experience with.)

If you want to check out some examples of projects made with Videotome, take a look at this collection. It includes games made by both Freya and other devs.

~ ONGOING (VOTING) ~

The voting for ECTOCOMP 2024 has officially started! To vote and participate as a jury, you must do so by giving between 1 to 5 stars on each entry page of the jam. The voting period ends on November 30.

~ ONGOING (SUBMITTING) ~

A Hallmark movie is a feel-good, family-friendly film, often centered around romance, personal growth, or holiday themes. A Very Hallmark Game Jam with a theme of “Charming Love Interest with a Secret” is also all about that!

Are you a fan of Videotome games? Then the Videotome Jam with an optional theme “Waiting” is for you!

This year’s Yuri Game Jam is in full progress. The devs have until December 2nd to submit their projects.

The Educational Jam is a perfect place to learn something new. Discuss some obscure tidbit. Showcase your insight about a specific thing, your pub trivia skills, or that Wikipedia rabbit hole you went down last time.

Disabled Rep VN Jam has a very simple premise but a very important message.

Once upon a time, a game jam was held to create stories around the theme of fairy tales… and that game jam is the Once Upon A Time VN Jam. It’s running from October 1st to January 31st.

Concours de Fiction Interactive Francophone 2025 is for all French-speaking enthusiasts. Submissions are accepted March 3rd 2025.

Are you perhaps a fan of more somber, melancholic themes? Then check out the Dying Year - Visual Novel Jam! You have until the end of the year to participate.

The Black Visual Novel Jam is all about working with creative professional developers who work in visual novels to bring more Black stories to life. The goal is to create a space where Black creators can show their unique storytelling through visual novels.

~ OTHER ~

PIZZAPRANKS is accepting submissions for their Indiepocalypse Issue #61. If you’re a dev and would like to try out your luck, definitely check it out! Any game is welcomed, not only IF.

~ NEW RELEASE ~

In Arctic Adventure unearth forgotten journals, repair malfunctioning equipment, and solve puzzles to piece together the station’s dark past. But beware—some secrets are better left buried in the ice.

You are a dragon - huge, winged, flying and even capable of magic. Only here, in a system of caves created by your magic, you can be yourself. But the time has come for you to leave your home. The old map, that you've been keeping since times immemorial, is now ready to unravel it's secrets in A Dragon and the Tower.

You’ve spent your whole life visiting the majestic Hotel Lexington, and now you’ve inherited it! The once-grand building is in disrepair, and rumored to be haunted! You’re the only one who can restore its former glory before it’s lost forever. Check in to your hotel, and check out the ghosts in Haunted Hearts Hotel.

As always, don't forget to check out the submitted entries to the events mentioned in the previous pages. They deserve some love too!

~ NEW RELEASE (WIP) ~

You are a key member of "The Constellation Club," a close-knit group of friends brought together by your shared love for music and dreams. Over time, the club members drifted apart, but a mystery brings you all back together. Reunite with your friends, uncover secrets, and chase the dreams that first united you in The Constellation Club (Twine).

Have you enjoyed the first Volume of Oblivious Melodies? Then be sure to check out Chapter 1 of Volume 2 (Twine)! You play as the Horne siblings, navigating their emergence into gentry society. You will delve into a country divided by class, religious dissent, political factionalism, and the ever-encroaching interests of empire. @oblivious-melodies

In Ashenmaw - Dragons of Marrowoods (CScript) you play as a freshly hatched dragon whelp, navigating the odds and ends of the politics and mysteries of the five flights. Intermingle with the younger races, and jump headfirst into uncovering the secrets of Ashenmaw and the Marrowoods. @ashenmaw-if

Aydan joins his husband Leo in this important family reunion that takes place 2 months after his father’s death. Suddenly, they are all trapped in the house for 3 days and the lawyer states that one of the siblings is the murderer of their own father! Find out who the real culprit is in Guilty at 5PM (Ren’Py).

In a realm of forgotten tales, you emerge as a ghost to yourself. Stranded in a land where memories fear to tread, the icy breath of solitude kisses your bare flesh, a chilling reminder of your forsaken existence. In this realm where salvation dances with oblivion, Snowborn (CScript), awaken to tread the treacherous path through a world steeped in sorcery and demise.

You are a young nobleman, in a stagnating empire, either on the verge of resurgence, or it’s final demise. An Empire held together by fragile institutions, led by ego-driven men. And here you are, in the middle of it all. As this den of vipers strike, where will you fall? Find out in Scion of the Alason (CScript).

You wake up suddenly with a system telling you that you are occupying the body of a green tea b!tch! The spy of the fearsome overlord, Hasthael who betrayed him for the male hero, resulting in the death of his beloved lightning hound. Avoid the fate of dying and accomplish the missions given by two of the available systems in Project Dominion (CScript).

You are the Aeon, an omniscient entity as old as time. When your powers begin to malfunction and the source of an incoming threat is unbeknownst to you, how will you protect the fabric of the universe? Abandon your omnipresent form for the first time in millennia and craft an identity as a demon to infiltrate the Ethereal Plane in The Time Keeper (CScript).

~ UPDATES ~

Aesemyr: The Withering (CScript) released 3/4 of the "university gathering" path of Chapter 3.

After Dark (CScript) released the last part of the fifth day of the journey.

Eldritch Tales: Inheritance (CScript) released part one of Chapter 3. @darielivalyen

Honor Amongst Thieves (CScript) updated their public demo. @leoneliterary

Oh Mother, Where Art Thou? (CScript) started Act 2 of Chapter 1.

Our Life: Now and Forever (Ren’Py) added extra content to their Patreon demo. @gb-patch

The Abyssal Song (Twine) released Chapter 5. @ri-writes-if

Virtue’s End (CScript) has updated their Patreon demo. @virtues-end

When Life Gives You Lemons (CScript) updated their public demo. @when-life-gives-you-lemons-if

~ OTHER ~

Is playtesting something that interests you? Check out part one of Drew Cook’s let’s TEST IF #1: being a playtester. @golmac

GlasswingGames is currently running a giveaway! You can enter to win either a chibi or emote of a character of your choice! @glasswinggames

~

As always, we apologize in advance for missing any update or release from the past week. We are only volunteers using their limited free time to find as much as we can - but sometimes things pass through the cracks.

If you think something should have been included in this week's zine but did not appear, please shoot us a message! We'll do our best to add it next week! And if you know oncoming news, add it here!

~ MAYBE YOU NEXT? ~

We did not get a submission this week. But if you have an idea for a short essay, or would like a special space to share your thoughts about IF and the community...

Shoot us an email!

~ HIGHLIGHT ON ~

A couple of games that we thought were cool.

God-Cursed by @wings-of-ink (Twine)

I think this game is fantastic. Plot, ROs, writing, everything. Deserves thousands of reads and compliments!

//recommended by Briar [Team]//

Your favourite game here?

Do you have a favourite game that deserves some highlighting?

An old or recent game that wowed you so much you spam it to everyone?

Tell us about it! And it might appear here!

Hello! I appreciate what you all do. As a living thing with a 9-5 job, I couldn't regularly check updates from existing WIPs, especially the ones I really like. I also tend to be the last person to know new IFs with lots of potential. So, I'm glad that with your zine, I get weekly updates from everyone in one place. Thank you, thank you so much!

- a very mysterious anon

WE LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU ALL! WHETHER IT'S GOOD OR BAD, OR EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN...

Have something to say? Send us a message titled: Zine Letter!

As we end this issue, we would like to thank:

our awesome mysterious anon!

For a very encouraging message!

As always, huge thanks to all you readers who liked, shared, and commented on the last issue!

What might be tiny actions are huge support and motivators to us!

Thank you for cheering us on this journey!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

We actually have a separate Zine for all our individual Interviews!

Last Issue’s Interview with Leia Talon will be added this upcoming week.

And see you again next week!

AJ, DION, BRIAR, JEN AND PETER

WHAT'S NEW IN IF? 2024-ISSUE 30

[haggishlyhagging]

The book list copied from feminist-reprise

Radical Lesbian Feminist Theory

A Passion for Friends: Toward a Philosophy of Female Affection, Jan Raymond

Call Me Lesbian: Lesbian Lives, Lesbian Theory, Julia Penelope

The Lesbian Heresy, Sheila Jeffreys

The Lesbian Body, Monique Wittig

Politics of Reality, Marilyn Frye

Willful Virgin: Essays in Feminism 1976-1992, Marilyn Frye

Lesbian Ethics, Sarah Hoagland

Sister/Outsider, Audre Lorde

Radical Feminist Theory –  General/Collections

Freedom Fallacy: The Limits of Liberal Feminism, edited by Miranda Kiraly and Meagan Tyler

Radically Speaking: Feminism Reclaimed, Renate Klein and Diane Bell

Love and Politics, Carol Anne Douglas

The Dialectic of Sex–The Case for Feminist Revolution, Shulamith Firestone

Sisterhood is Powerful, Robin Morgan, ed.

Radical Feminism: A Documentary Reader, edited by Barbara A. Crow

Three Guineas, Virginia Woolf

Sexual Politics, Kate Millett

Radical Feminism, Anne Koedt, Ellen Levine, and Anita Rapone, eds.

On Lies, Secrets and Silence, Adrienne Rich

Beyond Power: On Women, Men and Morals, Marilyn French

Feminism Unmodified: Discourses on Life and Law, Catharine MacKinnon

Femininity and Domination: Studies in the Phenomenology of Oppression, Sandra Bartky

Life and Death, Andrea Dworkin

This Bridge Called My Back: Writings by Radical Women of Color, Gloria Anzaldua and Cherrie Moraga, eds.

Wildfire:  Igniting the She/Volution, Sonia Johnson

Homegirls: A Black Feminist Anthology, Barbara Smith ed.

Fugitive Information, Kay Leigh Hagan

Talking Back: Thinking Feminist, Thinking Black, bell hooks

Feminist Theory: From Margin to Center, bell hooks

Deals with the Devil and Other Reasons to Riot, Pearl Cleage

Pilgrimages/Peregrinajes, Maria Lugones

In Search of Our Mothers’ Gardens, Alice Walker

The Whole Woman, Germaine Greer

Right Wing Women, Andrea Dworkin

Feminist Theory – Specific Areas

Prostitution

Paid For: My Journey Through Prostitution, Rachel Moran

Being and Being Bought: Prostitution, Surrogacy, and the Split Self, Kajsa Ekis Ekman

The Industrial Vagina: The Political Economy of the Global Sex Trade, Sheila Jeffreys

Female Sexual Slavery, Kathleen Barry

Women, Lesbians, and Prostitution:  A Workingclass Dyke Speaks Out Against Buying Women for Sex, by Toby Summer, in Lesbian Culture: An Anthology, Julia Penelope and Susan Wolfe, eds.

Ten Reasons for Not Legalizing Prostitution, Jan Raymond

The Legalisation of Prostitution : A failed social experiment, Sheila Jeffreys

Making the Harm Visible: Global Sexual Exploitation of Women and Girls, Donna M. Hughes and Claire Roche, eds.

Prostitution, Trafficking, and Traumatic Stress, Melissa Farley

Not for Sale: Feminists Resisting Prostitution and Pornography, Christine Stark and Rebecca Whisnant, eds.

Pornography

Pornland: How Pornography Has Hijacked Our Sexuality, Gail Dines

Pornified: How Porn is Damaging Our Lives, Our Relationships, and Our Families, Pamela Paul

Pornography: Men Possessing Women, Andrea Dworkin

Pornography: The Production and Consumption of Inequality, Gail Dines

Pornography: Evidence of the Harm, Diana Russell

Pornography and Sexual Violence:  Evidence of the Links (transcript of Minneapolis hearings published by Everywoman in the UK)

Rape

Against Our Will, Susan Brownmiller

Rape In Marriage, Diana Russell

Incest

Secret Trauma, Diana Russell

Victimized Daughters: Incest and the Development of the Female Self, Janet Liebman Jacobs

Battering/Domestic Violence

Loving to Survive, Dee Graham

Trauma and Recovery, Judith Herman

Why Does He Do That? Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men, Lundy Bancroft

Sadomasochism/”Sex Wars”

Unleashing Feminism: Critiquing Lesbian Sadomasochism in the Gay Nineties, Irene Reti, ed.

The Sex Wars, Lisa Duggan and Nan D. Hunter, eds.

The Sexual Liberals and the Attack on Feminism, edited by Dorchen Leidholdt and Janice Raymond

Sex, Lies, and Feminism, Charlotte Croson, off our backs, June 2001

How Orgasm Politics Has Hijacked the Women’s Movement, Sheila Jeffreys

A Vision of Lesbian Sexuality, Janice Raymond, in All The Rage: Reasserting Radical Lesbian Feminism, Lynne Harne & Elaine Miller, eds.

Sex and Feminism: Who Is Being Silenced? Adriene Sere in SaidIt, 2001

Consuming Passions: Some Thoughts on History, Sex and Free Enterprise by De Clarke (From Unleashing Feminism).

Separatism/Women-Only Space

“No Dobermans Allowed,”  Carolyn Gage, in Lesbian Culture: An Anthology, Julia Penelope and Susan Wolfe, eds.

For Lesbians Only:  A Separatist Anthology, Julia Penelope & Sarah Hoagland, eds.

Exploring the Value of Women-Only Space, Kya Ogyn

Medicine

Witches, Midwives and Nurses: A History of Women Healers, Barbara Ehrenreich and Deirdre English

For Her Own Good: 150 Years of the Experts’ Advice to Women, Barbara Ehrenreich and Deirdre English

The Hidden Malpractice: How American Medicine Treats Women as Patients and Professionals, Gena Corea

The Mother Machine: Reproductive Technologies from Artificial Insemination to Artificial Wombs, Gena Corea

Women and Madness, Phyllis Chesler

Women, Health and the Politics of Fat, Amy Winter, in Rain And Thunder, Autumn Equinox 2003, No. 20

Changing Our Minds: Lesbian Feminism and Psychology, Celia Kitzinger and Rachel Perkins

Motherhood

Of Woman Born: Motherhood as Experience and Institution, Adrienne Rich

The Reproduction of Mothering, Nancy Chodorow

Maternal Thinking: Toward a Politics of Peace, Sara Ruddick

Marriage/Heterosexuality

Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence, Adrienne Rich

The Spinster and Her Enemies: Feminism and Sexuality 1880-1930, Sheila Jeffreys

Anticlimax: A Feminist Perspective on the Sexual Revolution, Sheila Jeffreys

Black Macho and the Myth of the Superwoman, Michele Wallace

The Sexual Contract, Carol Pateman

A Radical Dyke Experiment for the Next Century: 5 Things to Work for Instead of Same-Sex Marriage, Betsy Brown in off our backs, January 2000 V.30; N.1 p. 24

Intercourse, Andrea Dworkin

Transgender/Queer Politics

Gender Hurts, Sheila Jeffreys

Female Erasure, edited by Ruth Barrett

Testosterone Rex: Unmaking the Myths of Our Gendered Minds, Cordelia Fine

Delusions of Gender: How Our Minds, Society, and Neurosexism Create Difference, Cordelina Fine

Sexing the Body: Gender and the Construction of Sexuality, Anne Fausto-Sterling

Myths of Gender, Anne Fausto-Sterling

Unpacking Queer Politics, Sheila Jeffreys

The Transsexual Empire: The Making of the She-Male, Janice Raymond

The Inconvenient Truth of Teena Brandon, Carolyn Gage

Language

Speaking Freely: Unlearning the Lies of the Fathers’ Tongues, Julia Penelope

Websters’ First New Intergalactic Wickedary, Mary Daly

Man Made Language, Dale Spender

Feminist Theology/Spirituality/Religion

Beyond God the Father: Toward a Philosophy of Women’s Liberation, Mary Daly

Gyn/Ecology: The Metaethics of Radical Feminism, Mary Daly

The Gods and Goddesses of Old Europe, Marija Gimbutas

Woman, Church and State, Matilda Joslyn Gage

The Women’s Bible, Elizabeth Cady Stanton

Pure Lust, Mary Daly

Backlash

The War Against Women, Marilyn French

Backlash, Susan Faludi

History/Memoir

Surpassing the Love of Men, Lillian Faderman

Going Too Far:  The Personal Chronicles of a Feminist, Robin Morgan

Women of Ideas, and What Men Have Done to Them, Dale Spender

The Creation of Patriarchy, Gerda Lerner

The Creation of Feminist Consciousness, From the Middle Ages to Eighteen-Seventy, Gerda Lerner

Why History Matters, Gerda Lerner

A Vindication of the Rights of Women, Mary Wollstonecraft, ed.

The Elizabeth Cady Stanton-Susan B. Anthony Reader: Correspondence, Writings, Speeches, Ellen Carol Dubois, ed., Gerda Lerner, Elizabeth Cady Stanton

The Suffragette Movement, Sylvia Pankhurst

In Our Time: Memoirs of a Revolution, Susan Brownmiller

Women, Race and Class, Angela Y. Davis

Economy

Counting for Nothing: What Men Value and What Women Are Worth, Marilyn Waring

For-Giving:  A Feminist Criticism of Exchange, Genevieve Vaughn

Fat/Body Image/Appearance

Shadow on a Tightrope: Writings by Women on Fat Oppression, Lisa Schoenfielder and Barb Wieser

Beauty and Misogyny: Harmful Cultural Practices in the West, Sheila Jeffreys

Can’t Buy My Love: How Advertising Changes the Way We Think and Feel, Jean Kilbourne

The Beauty Myth, Naomi Wolf

Unbearable Weight:  Feminism, Western Culture, and the Body, Susan Bordo

The Invisible Woman:  Confronting Weight Prejudice in America, Charisse Goodman

Women En Large: Photographs of Fat Nudes, Laurie Toby Edison and Debbie Notkin

Disability

With the Power of Each Breath:  A Disabled Women’s Anthology, Susan E. Browne, Debra Connors, and Nanci Stern

[cepheustarot]

What awaits you in January?

Attention! This reading is for entertainment purposes only. This tarot reading does not give a 100% guarantee that all the described situations will occur or being ultimate truth. You build your own life and destiny and only you know yourself best.

Paid readings

Pick a pile. Choose one or more pictures. Trust your intuition.

Pile 1: The first half of the month will be wonderful for you, in general you will have a good mood and no sudden mood swings, this month you will have a good opportunity to start something new, change something in your life, change of scenery. It is also very likely that you will receive an expensive gift from someone, you can get a bonus at work or you will improve your academic performance and you will pass all important tests for good grades, in general success will be waiting for you. Further, in the middle of the month you will be invited to some event, it may be a wedding or someone’s birthday (maybe yours) or any other holiday. This event will be very good for you, you will get many positive emotions and pleasant memories, it will be a very fun event. At the end of the month you will feel a breakdown, maybe the whole month you will have a busy event and it will wear you out, you will get tired, so it will be very important at the end of the month to give yourself a rest and clear  your head. You may also have unforeseen circumstances that you were not prepared for, so be careful! 

Pile 2: At the beginning of the month you will be successful in career/studies, you can be promoted or transferred to a larger firm, in general there will be positive changes. As for study, you will learn a lot and try, because your work will pay off and you will have good grades. Also at the beginning of the month there will be the possibility to engage in self-development or something creative, maybe you will also teach and train someone, will be in the role of a mentor. At the beginning of the month you will also have good unexpected news! In the middle of the month you will continue to maintain your energy and productivity, there will be events that are not related to work or school: you may have many meetings with people, friends or you will receive invitations to the party, Take part in organizing activities and etc. You can also do dance or any other sport, any other active activity. The end of the month will be stable for you, but here it will be best to pay attention to your budget, you should start saving money to feel safe in unforeseen situations. 

Pile 3: The beginning of the month will be busy, you will feel like a real workaholic, the days will be productive for you. It is important to keep in mind that success depends on you and how much you put in to achieve it. In addition, for you here will be a topical painstaking activity, requiring increased attention to detail. In the middle of the month you will be successful, you will come much closer to achieving your goals and plans, you can also go on a trip in mid-January or start traveling. In general, everything will be related to movement, maybe you buy a new transport or get a driver’s license. So the end of the month will be energetic for you and you will be in good spirits, maybe you will often go to parties, dates, meet people and spend time with them, or maybe you will try yourself as a host or participate, try acting, maybe take acting classes. Here in any case you will be in the center of attention, you will develop your charisma. 

Thank you for reading! I will be glad of any feedback 🖤

[pokemonshelterstories]

Apparently, Spinda can contract cerebellar hypoplasia. My girl is extra wobbly. The vet only caught it because he works with Spinda regularly, and was able to notice something off.

The clinic I used to go to for her checkups never noticed, and I doubt anyone who isn't deeply familiar with Spinda ever would.

It's got me wondering, though; what are some diseases that are extremely difficult to notice in a pokemon unless you specialize in their care?

oh, that's fascinating...i wonder how much of an impact that has on her balance and motor function! this is why specialty vets are so important for non-exotic pokemon. the range of information about pokemon biology is so wide that no vet could ever learn it all!

there are tons of potential health issues that are harder to spot depending on the pokemon- heart disease in spoink, muscular degeneration in abra, metabolic disorders in komala and slakoth...but in my opinion the most nefarious issue is any disease where a primary symptom is disregulation of temperature in fire types. fever can be a silent killer in fire type pokemon, because trainers often don't think the check their temperature (or might not even be able to without specialized veterinary equipment!). it's rare that they get to a temperature where it would be lethal, but i have read several case studies of fire types who unfortunately passed away because their fever wasn't noticed until further symptoms developed and their illness worsened. hypothermia is less common, but it's been documented in fire type pokemon belonging to traveling trainers when they stop for a checkup at a pokemon center, all without the trainer noticing.

your spinda's case is obviously very different, because only a specialist would notice that, but this is why it's important to be familiar with the signs of common diseases in any pokemon you own- especially if the pokemon's normal behaviors or morphology may mask signs of illness!