#I think my actual first hospitalization was at the end of January

[hoothootmotherf-ckers]

.

[astracora]

Happy Newdawn Day!

Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc (featuring Nero, Tara, Simone, Greyson, Yvonne, Jeremiah, Thomas and Caleb (mention only))

Warnings: None

Word Count: 5797

Written: 1st January 2025

Notes: Established relationship with gn!MC (using Cat Curse MC) with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. I'm so sorry this got away from me so much I feel baffled by it. I just had to get it down, it's so messy and not beta-read, but I love them all so much. (I'm also sorry for the ending, I got possessed by Caleb's not-ghost). So enjoy... the first actual fic I've written for the Poly!LADs and not just smaus... Now I need to eat.

Masterlist AO3

If someone asked you right now, “Hey, a year ago did you think you’d be stood here?”

Well, you’d have given some incredulous notion of being alive, let alone stood in one of Linkon’s Parks, taking in the sight of your loved ones.

Most of them, anyway.

If, upon meeting Xavier, Rafayel, Sylus and Zayne (again), someone had said, “Hey in a years time they will be the most important people to you.” You’d have laughed in their face. The idea as absurd as it is invigorating… because they are. The most important people in the world to you. The companions you trust to have your back in combat, the people you want to see most when you wake up, the lives you most want to share.

You think back to a hazy childhood, told your heart could give out any minute. A timeline unknown, the nature of your condition hard to track. The core in your chest, a question no one had the answer to. Giving up on a future, on meaning anything.

You think back to days spent in the hospital, for your heart, for injuries gained from fights that even Caleb couldn’t help piece back together, for the arm you lost. Wondering if you were going to hit the wall eventually.

When you lost Caleb, your partner in crime, and rock, you’d expected the tides to rise. Sinking you.

It was folly to misjudge those around you. Kindness, warmth and love, with some degree of greed. Of course they’d grabbed your hand, pulling you back to land. Wrapping you in a towel, bringing you to heat, keeping you shielded against the chill.

The wounds healed, though they left scars behind, but you could breathe again. 

That troublesome little heart beating harder, hope as a lifeblood. Bringing you forward, keeping you moving.

All the way to a new year.

Between the five of you, the gathering had bloomed out for Newdawn Day.

You’re not sure how Rafayel and Sylus had gotten permission to rent out an entire park. Money had to be involved, you also wouldn’t be surprised if threats came into play too. Though you hope not.

You’d been decorating all morning. Flowers, bunting, balloons. Tables set up with food, drinks and an entire section set up with photobooth equipment and props. After all, you’d spent far too much of this year taking photos, what better way to commemorate the end of it.

Xavie’s barbeque has reopened, with Sylus keeping a watchful eye… or being an interference. It was hard to tell.

Rafayel has taken to making drinks, you weren’t sure where he learned how to mix cocktails, but you’re happy to leave him to it. Watching as he makes non-alcoholic ones for Zayne as well.

You sit with Tara and Simone, watching the people around you.

“I can’t believe we’ve been hunters for a year now.” Tara nudges you, grin on her face. Her cheeks are slightly pink, eyes glittering as she leans her head on your shoulder. “I’m so glad we joined together.”

The fidgeting in your chest is ticklish, and you let out a soft laugh under breathe, “Yeah, me too Tay.”

Simone leans back in her chair, stretching her arms out behind her, as she balances on the back two legs, “We’ve been really busy, I bet it’ll get worse too.”

Tara groans, “Come on Omi…”

A bark of laughter is the response as she rights her chair, leaning forwards, “Hey, it’s fine, we’ll be working at it together.” Poking Tara in the forehead, she laughs again.

As she rubs the offending spot, Tara looks over at where Nero is chatting to Xavier, “Can’t believe Nero came, he doesn’t really enjoy these kind of things.”

“Yeah, no offence but I think he likes Wanderers more than us.”

You laugh, it’s not incorrect. You think about meeting Nero, about the shy man who is a living encyclopedia about wanderers, who could talk for hours about Lumiere. You also think about how isolating it is not to share things you enjoy with others, not knowing how to approach people because they think you’re weird.

Odd.

Not fitting in.

You think about how the first time you’d engaged with Nero’s conversation, his eyes had lit up and he’d leaned forwards so far in his chair he’d fallen out of it.

You think about how he attached himself to Xavier, just because the man listened, calm, even if he didn’t always have much to say in response.

Didn’t make him feel like an outsider.

Pride fills your chest even though Xavier’s personality has little to do with you. You still find yourself loving him more for his warmth. His acceptance.

The sleepy smile on his face when he assures someone he has no problems hearing them.

“There’s no Lumiere specials running today,” Simone is talking, looking at her phone, “maybe the size of the gathering and that mixed together to make a Nero appearance.”

“Plus, Xavier.”

“We should have invited Jenna!” Tara exclaimed, grabbing your arm, pulling it. You think that maybe Raffy put a little too much rum in her daiquiri.

“Do you think she would have even come?”

You think about Sylus over by the grill, arms folded and canines on show in his smirk, “I think maybe next time, I’m sure we can invite her next time.”

When the stress of having hunters in the same area as Sylus isn’t quite so high, when you’re not constantly worried about tripping up with his name. When you don’t have to sit and debate if inviting him is worth the risk, despite loving him and wanting him there. Wanting to see him outside of his world of violence and strain.

You’re not sure how much Jenna knows, but it’s not worth pushing a brick in an old wall.

“You should check on those kids though.” Simone reaches over to turn your head, to where to twins are milling around by the dessert table. You can see them fidgeting. Hand twisting in their hoodie pockets. “Either they really want some cake, or they’re uncomfortable.”

You are standing before she’s even finished talking, worry twisting at you like a snake around your chest.

Tara releases your arm and nudges you forwards, grin on her face, “It’s Simone’s turn to get drinks anyway.”

The woman laughs, twisting the end of her ponytail around her finger, “They’re free, this is the easiest set of rounds I’ve ever had to get.”

Your laugh is soft, and warm, and so heavy in your heart, but you lean down to kiss the top of Tara’s head as she smiles so happily up at you, “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“See ya bestie!”

Simone returns the salute you offer, and you let your feet carry you to the twins.

They’re wearing their crow hoodies again, but with party hats over the hoods. Kieran’s scars are visible, his hood pushed back so you can see his eyes. They’re wavering, unsure. Darting around the place. It’s less controlled, but he looks so much like Sylus does that you pause.

Worried. They’re worried.

Of course they are, there’s hunters here, people who pose some… degree of threat to the person they care most about, other than each other.

Luke is fidgeting, bouncing on the heels of his feet, like he doesn’t know where to put all the pent up energy. You can tell the two are in a feedback loop. Feeding off each others anxieties.

As you approach, they seem to halt, for a moment. Looking at each other, then at the cakes, then at you. Seconds, and then Luke forces a grin. “Hey Hunter!”

Your head tilts as you watch them, Luke pushing his hood back a little so he can look at you properly.

“You’re wearing them again?” It’s an easier question, than the one you want to ask.

“Of course! They’re comfy.”

“Boss keeps pulling them off us to wash them.” Kieran pouts at you, the expression pulling at the scar over his cheek, “Aren’t clothes meant to be worn?”

It’s hard not to laugh at them, they remind you of kids far younger than they are sometimes. Other times the darkness lingering in their gaze is reminiscent of one you’ve seen in your own. In Sylus’… In Rafayel’s.

There’s a sickening in your stomach, that you have to move on from quickly, lest it start to burn like acid.

“You have to take care of them, clean them, and they’ll last longer.”

Kieran rubs his chin, and the laugh comes out this time. They really have picked up so many traits from Sylus.

It gives you some courage, to focus on their expressions, and force through the feeling that always comes, “Are you two ok? You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

Luke blinks, fidgeting stopping, and droops, “No.”

Kieran nudges him, “He means, no we’re fine.”

“You don’t have to lie.” You move to the table, and despite knowing they haven’t eaten a proper meal yet, you slice some sponge cake and shove it into their hands on little paper plates. “Eat.”

You feel like Zayne is in front of you for a moment.

Eat, then talk about how you’re feeling.

You’re not sure the cake fixes the feeling of struggling through your feelings, but you do know that the distraction of sugar, gives you a moment to ground on something real. Tangible.

The twins take the plates, looking down at them, and then back up at you.

“You don’t have to stay, anywhere you don’t want to be. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You don’t have to pretend, or lie, or act a certain way.”

You’re relieved when they take the plates, even happier when Luke shoves some in his mouth. He doesn’t bother with the fork, just grabs it. Kieran pokes at it for a moment, before following in his brother’s footsteps.

“There’s a lot of people.” Kieran finally speaks, twisting his fork in the sponge.

“You can borrow my noise cancelling headphones if you like? I’m sure Zayne has his too.”

Luke shakes his head, “Not like that. Too many possible threats.” He winces, “Sorry, they’re your friends.”

You sit on the table, carefully avoiding cake as you look at the two, “They’re my friends, they’re strangers to you. It’s alright.”

“We just feel weird. On edge.”

“Do you want to go back to the base, somewhere safer? Or home?”

The two shake their heads in sync, frowning more, “No. We want to be here. With boss. To celebrate.”

“So how can I help?”

The expression they shoot back is another you’ve seen on Sylus’ face. But their eyes are wider as they blink at you, their faces younger. Their cheeks softer. You wonder, for a moment, if this is what having brothers would make you feel like.

“If you want to stay,” You clarify, “what can be done to make you feel better here?”

They look at each other, hesitating on the precipice. You wonder if they fear revealing too much, like you are. Showing too much of your heart is a risk. It comes with the very real fear of stumbling over the edge, with no net to catch you.

It comes with your chest flayed open, fragile organ revealed, ready for the risk of a knife… or a hand, no matter how gentle.

“We don’t know.”

“Can we think about it?”

You nod, hopping off the table, “You come find me the second you work it out, or go bother Sylus. I’m sure Xavier would appreciate the break from his probable torment.”

They laugh, and you watch for a moment as they resume eating their cake. Some level of buoyancy back in their stances. The relief settles… It’s something at least.

A door they can walk through at any moment.

The smell of grilling meat and vegetables has you drifting over to Xavie’s Barbecue. You’re relieved that Sylus has been keeping an eye over it, because there’s no smell of burning, and Xavier’s successfully making an array of food for everyone.

You didn’t want to think about how much food wastage there would be otherwise…

Nero is talking animatedly, gesturing as Xavier nods. Sylus is half paying attention, smirking at the prince every now and then. He notices you first though, hearing your footsteps even over the grass.

Sharp red eyes, turning molten and liquid as his gaze focuses on your approach. “Ah, there you are kitten.” Is said on an exhale. You’d think it was relief, with the way he breathes you in as you stand next to him and Xavi.

Xavier uses the hand not currently turning burgers, to hold onto yours, squeezing before releasing.

With his chin resting on your shoulder, Sylus indicates towards Nero with a half-hearted wave, “The Lumiere fan was just telling us some new stories.” You can hear his amusement. Clearly enjoying the situation.

The look on Nero’s face, however, is thrilled. You’re used to spending time talking to him, but the glee you see is always somewhere on the verge of scary, and sweet. “I heard that Lumiere took on an Arbiterwing. ALONE!”

You feel ice drip down your spine, and your eyes pin Xavier. Who jumps, almost dropping his tongs.

A chuckle sounds in your ear, as a hand grabs your waist, thumb soothing under your shirt to help ease down your hackles.

“Oh you did, huh? All on his own?”

“Yeah, how cool right? Lumiere’s EVOL is so powerful.”

If you had your fangs still, you think they’d be showing, as your try not to outwardly glare at the hero in question, “So cool. I bet he’s a really impressive person. Lumiere, that is.”

This time Xavier pouts, and you see the light blush moving over his cheeks. He looks over at you, brows furrowing.

“I wonder how his loved ones must feel though, finding out he fought such a terrifying beast on his own.”

Now he has the decency to look guilty, like a sad bunny, ears drooping. You almost feel bad, almost. Wanting to soothe skin in your hands, before you remember he’s the one out there fighting wanderers you’d had to fight with a team, on his own. “I’m sure he was careful.” Xavier grumbles, pleading beautiful starry eyes focused on you.

“Foods burning, prince.” Sylus purrs from his place leaning against your shoulder.

The man in question jumps, and resumes his work.

Nero still has starry admirable eyes, not paying attention to your and Xavier’s starring, “It’s a shame he’s not a hunter, imagine how much more he could do in a team of us!”

You look away from Xavier, whose shoulders relax a bit when you stop spearing him with your eyes, and laugh, “Would be helpful having him around, right?”

Tara and Simone call over Nero, yelling for him to join them. You almost expect him to turn them down, but he seems buoyed by his conversations with Xavier, and trots over to join them.

One you’re alone, you turn around to look at Xavier properly, “Really? An Arbiterwing?”

Sylus growls a little, “Damn things.” You’ve never asked Sylus why he finds Arbiters so difficult, you remember fighting one with him in the N109 Zone, and you certainly didn’t want to fight one again if you could ever help it. Still he seems particularly irritable about them.

“I promise I was careful. I didn’t have time to call for anyone else.” He places a hand on the your cheek and presses a kid to your forehead, pleading eyes bright and beautiful. You sigh, tugging him down a little, planting a kiss on his cheek. His cheeks flare bright, and his fingers twitch against your cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You poke him in the chest now, “I’ll hold you to that, oh great hero.”

His groan is accompanied by yours and Sylus’ laugh. Who nuzzles against your shoulder, as he watches Xavier plating food.

“My job is done, nothing’s burned down.” He nips at your neck, “I think your favourite crow deserves praise.”

You mimic him, rubbing your chin with one hand, and titling your head, “Is Mephie around? I thought he had the day off.”

Another nip, this one a little harder, but not painful, “You’re cruel, kitten.” His hands are now both under your shirt, kneading your skin, warm palms sending small skitters of heat up and down your spine, “I worked hard, keeping the prince from destroying everything with his curse.”

“I’m not cursed.” Xavier spits back, “Some things just… don’t like working for me.”

“The burned down kitchen back at the base, certainly felt cursed.”

“It was your ovens fault.”

“Whatever you say, bunny.”

Your hand reaches up to tangle in Sylus’ soft hair as the two snipe at each other, easing through the strands and pulling his head in a way you can kiss him. He bites your bottom lip, and as you pull away, drowsily tries to chase your lips with his. Purring at the scratching at the back of his head. “You did good, both of you. Thank you.”

He doesn’t answer, just purrs and growls as he nuzzles, and inhales.

Xavier’s smile brightens, pride in his countenance as he nods, “Of course Starlight, whatever you need.”

“Take some grilled fish over to the fish, kitten.” Sylus finally breaks out of his daze, lifting himself up to grab a plate for Rafayel, that is being pilled with his favourites. “He’s been making drinks all day, I worry he’ll fall over soon.”

There’s something funny about the leader of Onychinus making sure Raffy is well fed, because he’d deny he was doing it. Pretend it was just to keep things moving smoothly, a measure to make the day easier to deal with.

Rather than what it actually is, concern for someone he cares about.

For a man so honest with his feelings, he prefers to hide them in smokescreens.

With a final kiss, one pressed to Xavier’s hand, and one to Sylus’ forehead, you leave with the plate.

When you approach Rafayel, he’s making a new drink for Yvonne and Greyson. It has gummy bears sprinkled on top, and a tiny little umbrella stuck in some pineapple. Greyson’s cheeks are very bright red, and you’re not surprised that he’s leaning heavily on Yvonne’s shoulder for balance.

“For you.” You offer the plate to Raffy, who sniffs at it happily, before stuffing a piece of salmon in his mouth.

“Cutie!�� He speaks through chewing, pulling you down to join him at his makeshift bar. You grimace, staring at the sticky surface, and the mess he’s made.

Raffy is many things, a clean worker is not at all one of them.

You pull your arms back quickly to not get a horrifying sensory issue.

Your fish doesn’t notice, instead shaking a mixer in one hand, as he eats with the other. Even just looking at him, you can see the blush on his ears, and the slight unsteadiness to his hands. “Let me do that.” You take the mixer, “Eat.” He obliges, frowning only a little bit before he happily begins to clear his plate. Humming in satisfaction.

Xavier is a capable cook, when there’s no active flames or risk of explosion.

“Hey hunter!” Greyson exclaims, leaning forwards, his drink spilling a little over the side. “Thanks for inviting us.”

Yvonne smiles, offering you a glass of… what you assume is a Piña colada based by the pineapple slice. You take it, placing it down in front of you as you shake the mixer. Handing it back to Raffy, as he finishes his food. “I’m shocked seeing Dr Li trying to set up fireworks.”

Your laugh is warm, and fond. Zayne builds such an image of himself around others, “He’s secretly a big child, under the snowy layers.”

“Dr Li checked his watch so many times today, we were all worried we might get an emergency come in.”

“I wasn’t looking to seeing him frown, if that would have happened.”

“He shows his feelings so easily now, when it comes to you all.”

It’s hard to fight the heat in your cheeks, but its true. He has softened so much, especially recently.

Another drink is put down, “For Tara.” Raffy says, “This one for Simone.”

You watch as Yvonne nods, picking them up and wandering off.

“You’ve gained bar staff.” You speak, watching as Raffy puts his mixers down, finished with his orders for now, you assume. “What a successful little bar, our fishie is running.”

He preens, fangs peeking out with his smile, “I’m good at everything I do cutie.”

“Where did you even learn?” Greyson asks, chewing one of the gummy bears.

Rafayel shrugs, “Just one of those things you pick up when you travel.”

Looking at him, you want to ask follow up questions… but Raffy won’t share if he doesn’t want to, there’s always a feeling like looking through murky water with him. There’s always something there, lurking under the surface, but so hard to make out. You have to wait for it to surface, wait for it to come to you.

Better than trying to fish it out, and hurting it.

“I’ll take some water bottles around to everyone in a little while.” You look over at where Tara, Simone, and now Yvonne, are singing to a song playing throughout the park. As Nero nods his head absently, sipping some water. “Though your drinks are certainly popular.”

“Gotta greet the new day in style, cutie.” His head plops down into his hand, elbow on the bar, as he watches you. Beautiful eyes narrowing. Reading every little detail, every change.

Being stared at by Rafayel is a sensation that makes your back straighten.

When he puts his focus on something, he’s picking it apart, seeing every part of it, so he can paint it. In the way his eyes see the world. As art, as a wonder, as something worth protecting.

Your fingers reach out, shaking slightly, without even being aware of it, and brush the hair, that’s fallen right in front of his eyes, back. His skin paints red further, spreading down his neck, and his eyes sparkle. You wish you could paint, you wish more than anything that this beautiful man was kept in a portrait to stare at every moment of the day.

It’s hard to not believe in gods, when someone as beautiful as him sits there, staring at you. Like you make the waves crash against the shores.

He turns his head to kiss the tips of your fingers, before placing the pulse point of your wrist against his cheek again. “It’s a good day to celebrate.” He breathes out.

The laugh to your side pulls you out of your stupor, as Greyson nods in agreement. You pull back a little, though Rafayel doesn’t release your hand, keeping it in his lap as the two of you turn to your companion.

“Is Zayne doing ok?” You ask Rafayel.

“He debated drinking, then remembered how many people would be here, and changed his mind.”

“He’s a stickler for being a good example.” Greyson adds, stirring his drink.

You wonder if it’s really that, and the big snowman is not just stewing and fearing his control. Tightly wound and kept under lock and key, just in case. Always watchful.

At the very least, as you look over at him reading instructions on a firework box, you think he is having fun at least. You can’t say the same for Jeremiah, who is hovering by the photobooth, looking through the album next to it.

Raffy kisses your hand again, smiling at you, “Go be your nosy self, cutie. We’ll be here when you get back.”

“Or we’ll be playing spin the bottle much to Dr Li’s disappointment.”

You almost bark a laugh at Greyson, the mental image of Zayne playing spin the bottle or truth or dare, is such an image, you want to see it. Desperately. Pressing a kiss to the top of Raffy’s head as you stand, you wave at them both and head off.

“Sooo.” You poke your head over Jeremiah’s shoulder, who jumps. Looking at you like you’re a ghost. “Are you alright? Looking for any particular prop?”

It takes a moment before you think his brain starts working again, and he smiles… but its not a smile you’re used to seeing on Jeremiah’s face. You’ve seen it on Xavier’s face though. Sorrow lurking at the edges. Tired.

Maybe the passing of years for them both has a weight you’ll never understand.

“I’m alright, just… a lot of people. I haven’t been around this many in a long time.” He forces a laugh, “Silly right?”

You shake your head. You might have different reasons for struggling with crowds, but you refuse to let any of the people you’ve brought into your heart, think you are not a safe space for their concerns. “Not the first time I’ve heard that today. You’re fine.”

He’s got the album open on a photo of you, him and Xavier outside of Philos. Holding flowers in your arms.

It’s… a realisation that you’ve never seen Jeremiah with another person than Xavier. Like he’s become an island, with only Philos as his port.

So you change the page on the album, to some of Yvonne and Greyson. During the preparation for Zayne’s birthday. “We’ve taken so many photos this year.” It settles in your chest again, that thanks to your loved ones… you now have full albums, and many more to fill. “You should talk to Greyson, he likes sunflowers a lot.”

Jeremiah laughs, looking at you like you’re too obvious, “He’s a little drunk for that now.”

“When he sobers up then.” You huff, pushing the album into his arms, straightening the page out.

“I… I’ll try. It’s odd, seeing Xavier like this.”

“You can do it too, you know?”

There’s doubt in the mans eyes, you don’t want to look too close. It gives you a feeling like a fire that’s burned too long.

“Or you can just take some really stupid photos with me, wearing the worst hats we can find, and see how many we can take in under a minute.” It’s hard to look too close at someone’s emotions, you feel. Looking into someones eyes is painful, there are times you can manage it, and times you can’t.

You find some people’s gaze holds yours against your will, not violently, but powerfully. Rafayel and Sylus have eyes that pulling away from feels like tearing part of yourself out. Xavier and Zayne feel like staring into a tranquil pond, losing yourself.

Jeremiah’s right now are wavering on the edge of something, and you can’t keep looking at them, turning your head a little to look at the props on the table. You reach out, carefully picking up a pair of bunny ears, and place them carefully on his head.

“If you don’t want to stay, you don’t have to… but if you’re scared and still want to try, then stay, and build bridges.”

You think about the men you’ve made your home, and the fear of overcoming the need to flee from them.

The house in ashes and cinders. The number that never texts you back anymore.

“As grumpy as Xavier asks, he’s there if you need him. Me too.”

Jeremiah reaches up to touch the bunny ears on his head, and smiles weakly, “I do need to get a drink.”

You nudge him, hand gently pushing the man forwards towards where Raffy is now spinning a mixer around his finger, to the thrilled cheers of Greyson and Tara, “Go on then, make it a good one.”

As he walks away, he waves at you a little, but is soon pulled to sitting down by a drunk doctor, and a happy hunter.

Your final stop is the fireworks, as Thomas and Zayne set them up somewhere safe. You’re glad its Zayne setting them up, as you worry Raffy would get excited and set them off too early.

If there’s a flame to put out, better the snowman, than the fish.

As you approach, Zayne looks up, and his forest eyes soften at the vision of you. Smile quirking cool lips. “Darling, have you enjoyed yourself?”

He’s warm, and familiar, and safe. Like a hearth. The irony of the cold skin, versus how heated he makes you feel, is something. As you take his extended hand, thumb brushing over your skin, you settle against his side while Thomas finishes up.

“It’s nice, seeing everyone.” You offer, “Seeing everyone moving forwards for the new year.” You trace the skin under his eyes with your fingertip, down to his mouth. He gasps a little, a puff of breath against the cool metal, before taking your wandering fingers in his own.

“Seeing some of you relaxed, is also quite pleasant.” You tease, bumping him with your hip. His laugh is a soft noise, that settles in your chest. Cool around your frantic heart.

“Our little family has behaved themselves, I haven’t had to put out any fires. It’s allowed for the relaxation.”

“You mother hen.”

Thomas stands up, brushing his hands on his trousers and grinning over at you, “Hey Mx Bodyguard. We’re all done here finally. Has Rafayel gotten everyone drunk yet?”

“He’s trying, I think his plan is going well, while we’re all unconscious he’ll achieve world domination.”

Zayne tenses, releasing your metal hand to rub at the space between his eyes, “The feeling of dread has returned.”

“I’m sure he’ll find some place for us in his new kingdom.”

“You’d make a good jester, Zayne.”

“It’s getting worse.” Your doctor frowns, tugging at your hand to glare unserious eyes at you as you fight the urge to laugh, the quirk to your lips too obvious to him.

Thomas extends the box of sparklers to you, “We can use these later, after watching the show.”

Zayne looks down at what they’ve worked on as the three of you move away, back to the party. He’s often hard to read, but you can see the nerves in him, the worry he hasn’t done it right. So you squeeze his cold hand in your warmer one, and lean against his shoulder, “It’ll be great. Even if the fireworks sputter, we’ll have memories.”

His worries soothe, and he smiles, “Have to take some photos for that album of yours.”

“‘Newdawn Day, we watched some very sad fireworks, then played games for hours’.” You poke him in the side using your joined hands.

“You’ll have to sleep at some point.”

Thomas laughs, “You’re just as bad as Rafayel then?”

“I am not.”

“When did you last get a full 7 hours, darling?” Zayne raises his brow, you want to grumble and argue, but he knows you too well. You rarely sleep well. You rarely get a good amount of sleep.

The nightmares are getting a little better, a little, but there’s never enough time to get rest in-between all the other things you need to do.

“No wonder whenever I check on you two in the studio, you look like two feral cats.”

“Hey, don’t let Raffy hear you call him a cat, he’ll sulk again.”

Zayne’s hand in yours, entwines your fingers, squeezing, loosening, squeezing again. Over and over again. Like he’s using your hand as a stim toy. Or perhaps he’s offering you a grounding physical sensation.

Either way, you squeeze back.

It’s dark now, and there are lanterns set around the area. It’s a vision. Everyone has gathered back in the centre, drinks in hands, sitting in the grass, staring up at the sky.

You can hear laughter, chatter and the occasional too loud voice calling out excitedly.

Jeremiah sits with Greyson, drinking, and chatting, while Yvonne, Tara and Simone have begun clinking glasses together before each sip. Nero is lay down next to the three pointing out stars to them, while Xavier adds additional trivia about the constellations. Thomas walks ahead to sit near where the twins are throwing food into each others mouths, and occasionally at the back of Sylus’ head. Who is holding back the urge to pick them up with his EVOL.

Raffy’s cheeks are bright red, but resting his head in Sylus’ lap, trying not to spill his drink down himself. Xavier is lay next to him, an eye-mask pushed to the top of his head, but now that his work is done, he looks close to drifting off.

Zayne hands you the little remote, that controls the final event of the evening, “When you’re ready.”

You tug his hand, pulling him with you into the little gathering of your partners and friends. Shoving yourself against the heat of Sylus’ side, who chuckles and wraps an arm around your shoulder, to flick a bit of Zayne’s hair out of his eyes. Before pulling you closer.

Then tug the doctor down next to you. You think you’re smiling. You’re pretty sure you are.

It’s more familiar on your face than it ever used to be, and it’s something you hope becomes as familiar as the heart stuttering in your chest.

“Ready?” You call out, to a cheer of assent, and with a single press of the button, and love surrounding you. The sky is lit up with blossoming flowers.

“Happy Newdawn day!”

There’s a moment of quiet, when you step away from the party, a sparkler in your hand. You spell out names as you walk further out, not too far that you can’t hear everyone, but far enough that no one needs to see the tears lurking in your eyes.

Newdawn reminds you of everything you’ve gained, and everything you’ve lost…

Pulling your phone out, you open his messages. Unread messages fill the screen. Reminding you he’s not there…

Still, you can’t help but send him another one. Maybe, somewhere he’ll hear you.

Maybe wherever he is, he’s happy.

When your sparkler is dead, and your messages sent, you take in a deep inhale. Clearing the shadows from your heart, and turn back to where twinkling lights summon you home. Eyes are turned to you, green, red, blue and pink, and you feel their gazes pulling you back. Where you belong, where you’re safe, no matter what else comes after you.

So you follow their call, like they’re a siren song, willingly and joyfully. Ready to follow them to the depths of the ocean if you have to.

And as you do, for a small moment, you feel the phone in your pocket vibrate.

🍎 partner in crime 🍎: Hey Pipsqueak. Happy Newdawn day.

[sanctus-ingenium]

Another one of these since i haven't done it in a while! Sketch -> finished illustration

Thoughts & process below the cut :>

Out of Bounds: i deleted the sketch of this off my ipad because i didn't like it, and for months it only existed as a screenshot on discord. finally in january of this year i was like Wait Actually and decided to keep working on it. I didn't achieve the look I was going for (kind of foggy and vague. It came out too sharp and high contrast) but it was fun to throw the kitchen sink at it for an afternoon and then call it done finally. I don't remember which horse this was originally supposed to be, I think Macha?

I reused the pose, you'll find the same one in my Pascal sketchbook from the section on gait studies. That's the cool thing about doing 30 sketches at once, you can finish them up any time you like for a different drawing

The Fool ft Islin: the original concept for this is from [takes a moment to decipher the american date system on discord] January 2022

It wasn't dynamic enough, but I've had this on the backburner for sooo long. I think I completed like 4 cards in between this sketch and the final version lol. But, for a bit of background, this is from my series of major arcana based in Inver, and in particular the events of the 1860s-era book series, Moth Viper Foal (a demo of the first book, Said The Black Horse, is available for free/pwyw in my shop). This scene is a companion to Said The Black Horse, depicting the aftermath of the traumatic fight that caused Islin to storm off. He had been working at the mill as a semiprofessional back alley surgeon when he received an offer to join the church and work as a trained surgeon in their hospital. But when he brought the good news back to his friends it was met with utter rejection, driving him to basically run away to join the church. while gay and trans. thus the card.

he didn't actually bring a bag with him when he ran out but for the sake of the card i drew him with one

Gryfon and Pantera: This is how 99% of holy beast drawings start out, even the super stylised ones. I struggle a lot to draw them in procreate so they start in sai and then i transfer them over. The story of this is already explained in the caption of the original post so I'll just talk about the process which was... honestly torturous. I actually don't like too much textures and effects on things (wild, I know) and this one and Out of Bounds are ones where I kind of preferred it pre-texturising.

The text on the side is the official in-universe report of the event, detailing the casualties, the valiant actions of Gryfon's knight before he died and so on. There's also spoilers in there :>

My main struggle with this art style is how it always ends up slightly TOO sharp and crisp in a way the just a blur filter never can correct. There's not a lot of immersion to break, to be fair, but I think this still does it a little. I need to get more comfortable doing the lines with larger and softer brushes, and allowing imperfections.

[scoops404]

Scoops' Fics of 2024

It's that time of year again! The time for me to rank my own fics for the last year in order from my least favorite to most favorite. I only considered fics I wrote entirely myself, so you won't see an honest living in here because that was almost 50/50 written with Dizzy! (but you should definitely go check it out!)

This year I only had two novel length fics because I was supposed to be focusing on original work (oops). I had a heck of a summer with my bingo fills. There's definitely recency bias at play here, but that's just how it goes sometimes. Let me know if you agree/disagree :D

See the Elephant - T - this one was written for a fic fest that ended up getting canceled because of the grituation. I had already written the entire thing and it had to be T because the artists were going to post their work. If I had known it would be canceled, I would have had them doing the freaknasty. This was after I had already planned out and written a fic before new boundaries dropped in November (see Circling Back). Basically, this fic fest was never meant to be, I suppose. I was starting to think I was a curse. Oh, but the fic itself is a soulmate AU and kinda angsty and has a hospital scene. 0 horse mentions.

Merry Men Making Merry - T - This was written for Fairy Tales from the SMP - the first and only successful fanfiction event I've completed all the way through (it's never me dropping out btw, it's always the event getting canceled). Anyway I got my first choice of fairy tale, which was Robin Hood, and I put a fun spin on it. The art with this fic was gorgeous!! A very different type of fic for me and it stretched some writing muscles I didn't know I had. Secret identity and identity reveal, some of my favorite tropes. 4 horse mentions.

Move to Florida, buy the car you want - E - the first of my bingo fics. It turns out I am bad at being brief. Anyway, DNF get together and semi-roadhead and I dunno, it's cute. I wrote most of this fic free hand in my note book at my work desk because fuck capitalism. I just checked, the prompt was "late night care rides" which checks out. 0 horse mentions

Someone told me there's no such thing as bad thoughts (croptop) - E - this is the one from the middle of June about crop tops that was also written for bingo. I dunno. It's cute enough. 0 horse mentions.

Everyone understands why it’s mean to be (a/b/o phone call) - T - this one is funny because I didn't even bother saying what the prompt was in the author's notes, but I think it was a/b/o. This one was fun to write because it was basically a nod to the 2021 fandom and where we were, and where DNF were -- waiting on that damn visa. Like going back in time and writing a fic. 1 horse mention.

Can I Use You Up - E - I really had fun writing this one. It has fun Dreateam dynamics and then a really intense sex scene and the dichotomy of both of those things in one fic -- and short (for me), at that! impressive. 0 horse mentions.

Circling Back - E - this fic is fun and wild. I got to write co-workers to lovers that is also hidden/secret identity -- and it works! WILD! I re-read this one recently and it stands up. This was originally written for that first fic fest i was talking about and when they changed it for the new boundaries for art, I couldn't have any smut and the whole plot kind of hinged around the smut, so... I decided to just write it as it is. ALSO this is the first fic that Chelsey beta'd, I think. So that's fun! And it was the first fic of the year (not counting Hits Different which wrapped up in January). 0 horse mentions.

Just to do experiments on - E - Yall, if you had told me that I would write tentacle porn, I would have laughed at you. Extra has been trying to get me to write tentacles for YEARS and then it came up on my bingo card and I felt like I finally had to bite the bullet and do it. Except, I actually really love how it turned out? This bingo prompt was tentacles, obviously, but also cursed by a witch. A twofer, if you will. 0 horse mentions.

Let Me Familiarize You - E - here's some Scoops lore. I wrote this fic in two sitting and it is 13K, so that's wild!!! It took me two days in the time after my surgery but before I could go back to work to write this (in between writing the beginnings of Two Fools and another story that I haven't and won't publish lol). Anyway, it's about witch!George accidentally making Patches his familiar and then coming clean to Dream and also his mom is there. And then literally that same day, George dropped a video with his mom. Crazy pants. (or maybe it was the day before when this was all written? Can't remember. Also I was on pain pills). I really like how it turned out. It's a fun premise! 0 horse mentions.

Puzzle pieces in the dead of night - T - another bingo fic, the prompt was pirates. Anyway, I had a BLAST writing this one. Secret identity, kidnapping, munchy mc dynamics, I really like writing action adventurey fics and this one feel right into that category. A fun read, in my opinion. 0 horse mentions.

I’m Having His Baby (No, I’m Not) - E - a bingo fic, the prompt was "mpreg, but abortion" because the person who made the boards *ahem* doesn't like pregnancy stuff and wanted to punish me (lightheartedly lol). Anyway, joke is on her, because I made this into an epic story and I had so much fun writing it. Like, laughing out loud to myself while writing it, which is kinda sad, but is also the point of fanfiction. You have to entertain yourself first and foremost. And also I snuck eventual mpreg in there anyway so haha! for real, though, if you think the premise of this one is weird -- Dream and George accompany Sapnap on a roadtrip to Colorado to get his abortion -- you should try it out anyway. 1 horse mention, and arguably the one that brought it to our good anon's attention.

Anagnorisis - E - speaking of mpreg, LMAOOOOOO. My "I didn't know I was pregnant" AU with Angst and miscommunication and domesticity and last minute flights to London and a baby named after the lead singer of Glass Animals. This fic has a lot! I wrote a lot about the beginning of this fic on Tumblr and kind of how I begin writing fics. Here Anyway, pretty proud of this fic. I had to ask my mom a lot of questions about NICU. 3 horse mentions.

I Am Two Fools - E - every year the last novel length fic of the year seems to be in the top spot. No Exception this year. This fic was very tough to write, but very rewarding. I think it taught me a lot about making sure character motivations are fleshed out and make sense. It, and Anagnorisis, taught me about trusting the reader and dropping hints at things. Yall got So Good at catching hints and making molehills out of anthills, as intended. I took a chance and switched up POV halfway through, which is almost never do. And I think that really helped me stretch my writing muscles as well as all the bingo fics. Very proud of the work I did on this fic. 0 horse mentions.

[hestzhyen]

Chapter 62 Chuunibyou Posting

...Hello dear void. Rumours of my death are only slightly exaggerated. I'm back from the hospital and I'm ready to chill with this chapter over the break. Taking it easy on myself and not doing the editor's notes this week. This will be short in general since I'm still in recovery, actually- sorry about that. Gonna rest up and get ready for the next chapter that drops on January 3rd.

Chihiro...?

Something something fresh hatred

I got a kick out of Chihiro from Wish, I really did. Goes to show how ridiculous his edginess in the first few chapters was before Char softened him up for the better. Everyone give Char a pat on the head for doing a good job, okay?

Iori's impression of Chihiro as a murderer is something I'll allow myself a little satisfaction for since I called him having a trashed public image thanks to his interruption of the kabuki play back in chapter 52. He's going to have a harder time completing his mission thanks to this in some way- betting on the Kamunabi using it against him somehow, but the Hishaku easily could too. It's anyone's guess on how exactly this will come to bite him in the ass but it will happen.

Worst of all, though, he's got kids imitating him like he's some MC out of an edgy wish-fulfillment LN. What a way to trivialize what someone's been through (not that Discount Chihiro knows, of course). Chihiro's image is already out of his control in some pretty damaging ways.

But She Was, in Fact, the Chosen One

Thank you for your helpful narration about the general public's reaction to Owl darkening the skies, Iori.

We don't know the kanji for Iori's name yet since it's only been spelled with Katakana so far (イヲリ), but it's clear as day that she's inherited some of Samura's reckless bravery and quick assessment abilities.

I like that she's very much an ordinary girl being thrust into a situation that's way over her head. Her memories of her dad are locked away so she's just an average highschooler being plucked out of the ordinary and tossed into the extraordinary like Discount Chihiro wished he was until Kuguri held a sword to his throat.

The seal is breaking through Iori's own will to know what the hell is going on so I wonder if the Masumi will re-do it. I think not, since Minimura had that bit about Samura underestimating kids near the end, so she'll probably get a few panels to come to terms with her real identity while Chihiro does some cool moves in the classroom to fend off the Hishaku.

I have a feeling that Iori's going to be sticking around for a while. She's getting a lot of screen time and set up for development if she's just meant to be an arc character or damsel in distress. Won't get too attached, obviously, but I kinda like her already based on the little glimpse we've seen. Looking forward to learning more about her personality and seeing what's in store for her beyond this arc.

Silly Murderers

There's no fixing this kind of crazy.

Place your bets: blood-based identification sorcery, or just plan nuts? We'll find out sooner or later.

This is gonna be another inconclusive fight since we need to see Kuguri meet the Bearer that's bonded to the blade he's pining for and learn Tomboy's name.

Small Complaint

Just a note about a small difference I'm petty enough to be annoyed about in the EN version:

The "no"s stop pretty short in English, but in Japanese...

...they run on into Minimura's speech bubble to show her racing thoughts getting cut short.

Alright dear void. Let's enjoy lobotomybachi week and let the brainrot flow during the break. Also, consider getting help before you shut down and enter a tailspin- this is a very difficult time of year for some of us. You're not alone if so. Reach out for help if you need it.

[brian-in-finance]

Inside Written In My Heart’s Blood • Part 1 of 3

🧵Outlander_Starz: I think I speak for all of us when I say Episode 715, "Written in My Own Heart's Blood," tore all our guts out.

Join me for a behind-the-scenes look at this monumental episode, named after Diana Gabaldon's book, while we wait for the season finale, airing January 17.

First off, did everyone spot the familiar faces in this week's opening titles? 👀

🧵Outlander_Starz: This episode was directed by Joss Agnew, who also directed the big battle episodes in Season 7, Part 1: Episodes 708 and 709. I'm declaring him our official war expert and wow, did he deliver!

Let's talk about Claire. This episode, the Costume Department had to craft an ensemble that not only looked good, but served the heart-breaking story as well.

Caitríona Balfe was a fan as well, saying, "To me, this costume — the linen waistcoat and jacket when she's in the field hospital — screams practicality but it also looks cool. That, to me, is just very Claire."

Claire's costume for the Battle of Monmouth took quite a lot of thought because it had to do many things.

We were filming outside in Scotland in January and February, so we had to make sure Caitriona was going to stay dry and warm enough to be comfortable acting, but it also had to be a costume that she had a lot of freedom of movement in.

Within the story, we wanted to see certain aspects of her journey through color, like the progression of her being wounded, to let the audience see how serious it was. So, I chose pale colors, natural fabrics, and dyes that were ideal to show blood but would not look totally impractical for her position triaging soldiers. — TRISHA BIGGAR, COSTUME DESIGNER

🧵Outlander_Starz: Speaking of costumes, can we hear some commotion for Jamie's uniform? Our JAMMF is now a Brigadier General with the official get-up to match.

The iconic blue and buff colors match the Continental General's uniform worn by Washington himself, while the red sash identifies Jamie's rank as Brigadier General.

We have to talk about the general's uniform. It's a beautiful blue and cream-colored American outfit... but I don't think Jamie really is a man that is comfortable in that kind of clothing. He would much rather be in his loose fitting kilt in the Highlands of Scotland. For him to be buttoned up and wearing a sash, a very fancy outfit, is not really him.

Like in Paris, he can integrate into society, but he's most comfortable when he's in his kilt. — SAM HEUGHAN, JAMIE FRASER

🧵Outlander_Starz: This episode introduced a brand new set, the Tennent Church, which had interiors in the studio and exteriors on location.

The Old Tennent Church is actually a very real church that still exists today that was indeed used as a hospital during the 1778 Battle of Monmouth.

The season ends, set wise, with the Tennent Church exterior and interior. It's a glorious thing. The first thing I did was look up historical archives to discover that the Tennent Church was, in fact, a real place and found what it looked like. I wanted to be quite faithful to that.

There's a respect you have to give these moments of historical significance that Outlander does so well, to portray them close to how they are. It was a decision I made to not reinvent Tennent Church, but to give an accurate representation of it. We've tweaked some things to suit our action, but essentially, we were faithful to it, and that was a joy. — MIKE GUNN, PRODUCTION DESIGNER

Inside Written In My Heart’s Blood • Part 1

Threads 🧵

Remember… this costume — the linen waistcoat and jacket when she's in the field hospital — screams practicality but it also looks cool. That, to me, is just very Claire. — Caitríona Balfe

[keeskiwi]

I had a transgenderization surgery 1 month ago and I got the clear to stop wearing my post-op binder yesterday, and I keep feeling the desire to write out my thoughts somewhere but not knowing where, and then I remembered tumblr is The transgender website, so, you know, why not.

I had a double incision top surgery on January 30th. It feels pretty surreal in some ways. I first started experimenting with gender things in late 2010, grabbed a binder from Underworks in 2011, then kind of coasted along in a state of "well, a haircut, name change, and some new clothes have been working out for me mostly well enough and my breasts aren't that big anyway and maybe it's not a big deal even though every year I'll research if I can make my insurance cover it just in case and daydream a bit about something horrible happening that would require my breasts to get removed, with a side of quietly burning with envy when I see someone else get medical care for their dysphoria." For. A while.

Late 2022 I finally decided I would bring it up with my doctor, and after over a year of horrible insurance wrangling I finally ended up with a consult in early January, and then suddenly they called me back and said they could squeeze me in by the end of the month.

January 30th I got up at early-o-clock, went to the hospital, met my surgery team, got knocked out, and woke up with a new chest. I'm really glad I didn't have to travel for surgery and was back home that evening. Between that and having two partners (one of whom has had top surgery himself) to care for me afterwards, I feel really grateful.

Anyway yeah, this was the most significant surgery I've had before. It was your standard double incision, although I opted to go without nipple grafts, for a couple reasons:

I had heard that nips were kind of tricky healing-wise, and as a health-anxiety-prone kind of person I didn't really need the extra fear of something going wrong there in my life.

Especially because I didn't have any particular attachment to the idea of nipples in the first place. Sometimes I wonder if this was an extension of wearing a vaguely skin-tone binder for the past decade+. Any time I saw myself with a flattened chest, it was without nipples, because they were being hidden by the binder ha.

Additionally, a thing I've struggled with wrt medical transition is that it often feels like the goal for my agab is to transition towards masculinity, and while I'm okay being mistaken as male (especially over being mistaken as female) it's actually kind of important to me that I'm...not male? Masculinity as gender neutrality is something that really irritates me. I'm not any flavor of trans guy. So going no-nips felt like a way to make a conscious change to my body that was perpendicular to the masculinity/femininity binary.

And finally, while exploring the concept I found out that some people really hate the idea of people transitioning to having nippleless chests, because to be human is to have nipples (I guess?) so removing your nipples was trying to remove yourself from humanity (I??? guess???) and while there's a LOT to unpack there, as someone with only a passing identification with the concept of humanity I found this appealing in a "don't threaten me with a good time" kind of way.

Maybe I'll just get tattoos of wasps there instead.

The first time I saw myself at my first post-op was like--my chest is covered in incisions and tape and dried blood and marker and swelling but somehow it was still the most comfortable and appealing thing I had ever seen, and I keep feeling kind of amazed? I think that I had been really focused on like, specific Things I Could Do Post-Top Surgery, like wearing better-fitting T-shirts or taking my shirt off during the summer when it was hot, and I didn't fully realize just how...good it would be just existing? At first I thought it was hyperbolic thinking, but the more I consider it the more I feel that I've spent more time voluntarily looking at and interacting with my chest in the past month than I have the whole rest of my life. Some of it was forced aftercare from the surgery of course, but I lose a bunch of time each day just getting caught in front of mirrors. I didn't realize that I could like the way I look under my clothing so much.

And things like, realizing I've been saying "my chest [euphemistic, regretful]" in regards to my breasts my whole life, so I keep wanting to say "I don't have a chest anymore"--but the thing is, I do! I do have a chest still, and "my chest" is now something I feel happy to claim because I got to choose it. It's a little ouchy and lumpy and at the moment it looks like someone taped poison ivy to it because my skin finally got sick of the surgery tape and staged a revolt, but it's still the best chest I've had in living memory, and it's only going to get better from here.

I'm just really happy.

[littlemisspascal]

24 for 2024

As 2024 comes to an end and I see all these posts from mutuals summing up their triumphs and challenges of their year, it started making me think about what these last twelve months have been like for me. And like all of y'all, 2024 definitely had impacts of positives and negatives! So here are 24 things that came to mind:

I decided to go back to school for a new career opportunity. Starting January 6th, I'll be taking my first classes for court reporting/voice writing 😊 I'm both nervous and looking forward to this new adventure!

I saw several fun and great movies this year--Deadpool and Wolverine, Wicked, Gladiator 2, and Sonic the Hedgehog 3 to name a few.

I also watched a ton of great documentaries that I've meaning to check out over the past few years--Icarus, Free Solo, My Octopus Teacher, too many to count--and I'm super excited to check out more next free chance I get!

My favorite F1 driver Lando Norris not only finished first place for his first time in a race this season, but he went on to finish 2nd overall in the rankings and my heart couldn't be prouder for him 🧡

On the same F1 note, my team McLaren won the Constructors Championship for the first time since 1998 😱

There were several massive moments of family drama through the year, each more shocking than the last if you can believe it, but I like to think we'll all hopefully enter 2025 on a closer note and manage to overcome the struggles bit by bit.

Had some health scares throughout the year for my family. Scary heart issues, scary lung issues, scary hospital visits...but we got through it all and we're going to try to make 2025 our healthiest year yet!

The death of Liam Payne tore a massive hole in my heart. One Direction kept me from suicide during my high school years and each of those boys will always mean the world to me 💗

I met several of my favorite celebrities this year at cons--David Tennant, Lenore Zann, Patrick Warburton, Alan Tudyk, Catherine Tate, Adam Savage, Tem Morrison, Neil Newbon, and Giancarlo Esposito--and also got another photo with Tyler Hoechlin looking just as gorgeous as the last time I saw him!

Tried out new cosplay this year--Ahsoka's white outfit from her series, Rogue from X-Men, and a cute Peter Pan outfit as well. Actually felt a little more confident than my previous 0% 😁

A year of firsts! I finished my first ever Lego kit this year of a F1 McLaren car. I finished my first ever escape room for my sister's birthday. And I also finished first place in a scavenger hunt and won a pumpkin carved like the Mandalorian.

Found out I'm allergic to gluten, so I've been sticking to a gluten-free diet nowadays and 2025 will be an entirely gluten-free year.

Seeing the eclipse this year was amazing!

I had an emotional breakdown this year over my writing, came very very very close to deleting everything, but slowly dug my way out of the pit one word at a time. My relationship with writing is still a fragile thing, but a sentence a day is still progress and I'm trying my best. That's what matters most :)

More on writing cuz why not. Wrote a total of 43k words (a whole lot less than last year, but oh well) but even more surprising, my Marcus Acacius fic received more kudos than anything I've written since 2022 omggggg y'all thank you for the support!!

Introduced my mom to MySims and Pokémon on the switch. Slowly but surely creating a video game addict lol

Stayed up literally 48 hours with my sister playing the original Zoo Tycoon on my laptop and creating the most perfect zoo in existence. Exhaustion hit hard afterwards, but at least the guests were happy!

So much gorgeous and wonderful Pedro content--from award ceremonies to new movies + casting announcements to photoshoots and dancing sessions. The fandom just kept winning every month!

Made a web weaving for the anniversary of my fic Infinity Cube. I don't often feel proud about a lot of my attempts of creating stuff, but this little thing I actually think turned out pretty cool 😊

Bought so much Lady and the Tramp stuff oh my gosh--backpacks, a wallet, a giant stuffed animal, a Christmas ornament, little ceramic figurines hidden at the bottom of an antique store bin. I love it all ✨

Hit 5,000 followers on here. Like, what 😮 that's insane! I'm a shy porcupine who barely knows any social skills!! Thank you everyone who puts up with my sporadic posts and ramblings, it's appreciated more than I can ever say!

Everyone who liked, reblogged, kudos, and/or commented on my fics or video edits---thank you thank you thank you x a million!

Everyone who patiently waits for and supports my sporadic updates of the Pedro Library---thank you also x a million!

And finally, if you've made it all the way down here, I hope 2025 is full of kind moments for each and every one of y'all. I hope there's days full of adventures and joy and trying new things and meeting new people and petting animals and eating delicious food and making the world a little bit more of a sweeter place overall 💙

[discendia]

Coming back again because the HC ask made me think of questions for Natsuki sjdbfhfsd The shock deadass activated my braincells hahaha

I'm curious about how she plays karuta! Does she play offensive or defensive?

Is she a member of any specific Karuta society?

What Karuta class/grade is she in? Alternatively, what has her progression in grades been like ever since she started?

If she interacts with them, I'm also curious what's her dynamic or relationship like with the main three (Chihaya, Taichi and Arata)?

Ein! Welcome back!! Wehehehe questions for Natsuki that I can actually answer! Thank you so much for asking! I hope this helps you get over the shock agshfjfjf

cw: deadly long info drop under the cut

─────── ⋆⋅⚝⋅⋆ ────────

જ⁀➴ Karuta Style

She plays a completely defensive karuta, and it's actually adapted to Sudou, because he (and his little brother) is the only person she played with for years. In fact, one of her weak points is the transition between defense and offense. Another one is how easy it is to mess with her and make her lose focus.

But Natsuki has long arms and strong hands, and she plays considering the front line of her opponent part of her own territory. She's like a wall when it comes to defense, and combines it with a quirky card placement.

જ⁀➴ Karuta Society

She's part of the Todai Karuta Society, just like Sudou and Suou. Who would have thought that she was smart enough to get into Tokyo University??

(She's not that smart, it's just that she's been blessed with an amazing auditory memory).

જ⁀➴ Karuta Career

Oh, Ein, you don't know how much I love timelines, hehehe. *Checks her more-than-ten-pages-long timeline*

She started playing karuta in elementary school at a local civic center close to the hospital, and only played one tournament before she wasn't able to continue.

It's not until college that she could play karuta again and participate in tournaments officially. And she progressed pretty fast during her first year, because she'd been playing with Sudou all this time. It would be something like this:

All-Japan University Tournament at Omi Jinguu (August): Class D → Class C

New Years’ Tournament at Otsuka Hall (January): Class C → Class B

And it takes her one more year to move to class A, but at the end of the series she's definitely class A.

At some point in the future, I'd like her to become queen, even if it's just once.

જ⁀➴ Relationships with the main three

Arata is like a mythical creature, she knows of his existence because of how notorious he is as a player, but they never interact in canon (for now).

She knows Taichi for the time he was attending Todai’s Karuta Society, and she participated on his birthday’s special tournament, but their relationship would be more of acquaintances, as she felt like she couldn't approach him too much at that moment (and Sudou got mad anytime she brought up Taichi into their conversations). She is really grateful that he cared for Suou just like Sudou and she do.

Out of the main three, Natsuki has probably interacted more with Chihaya. She has heard a lot about her since the time Sudou lost to her in the finals of the Tokyo preliminaries, and after properly meeting, they played a friendly match once.

For a short while, Natsuki felt jealous of Chihaya, because Sudou was meeting with her a lot during a time when she was too busy to meet with him. But she soon realized that was just a silly thought. They have kind of a single-braincell-to-single-braincell communication. I have some post-canon ideas for them but nothing decided yet…

[swearyshera]

So we are at the end of the road on something that has always been about the journey, not the destination.  I’ve taken my time to gather some thoughts.  This blog has meant a lot to many people, not the least of which is me.  I’ve had a hard time these last few years – I think it’s been hard times for everyone, in one way or another.  Personally, I seem to remember discovering this blog not too long before I had a breakdown and handled it very poorly, making bad decisions that cost me a lot of friends, or at least people whom I thought were my friends up until a breaking point.  (Your blog was unrelated to this).  When I came out of hospitalization I had a few things to rely upon – a video therapy group was one, certain family members and, well, as silly as it sounds, hitting up tumblr for my daily dose of Sweary She-Ra to make me laugh. And then in mid-January, 2023, one of the people who was closest to me in my entire life died suddenly of technically unknown cause but considering his health issues, probably a heart-issue. It was sudden and devastating.  We shared She-Ra and the Princesses of Power together because he was kind of curious about it and I was a nostalgia-fan of the ‘80s series.  We both became massive fans of Entrapta.  In fact, my nephew / best friend got me into the fandom in the first place because he had a silly idea for a fanfic about Entrapta wrecking havoc in the Fright Zone just post first-season and had little confidence in his fanfic writing, but decided to pass along said idea to me, an inveterate fic-writer for many fandoms.  I was put through the wringer this year – it’s the first time I’ve been in partial charge of a memorial service.  I am feeling better now than I did at the beginning of this year because I’ve found the strength to keep doing things that he and I liked to do together and time helps.  And again, in all of this, I had a silly little comic where a sparkly purple princess calls people “twattingler,” others make liberal use of the word that originally meant Fornication Under Consent of the King, one character swears all the time but apologizes for it, one character is contractually obligated to use Ned Flanders style cursing and there’s a fourth wall breaker and an incompetent boss with indecipherable accent and Marxist unicorns and all the rest.  No matter what was happening with my emotions I could just… take a little break and look at the funny fancomic.  Sweary She-Ra for me has been like a warm mug of tea on a cold day or a bowl of baked macaroni and cheese with a butter-cracker crust made out of the old 1960-70 something Betty Crocker cookbook.  It’s been Internet comfort food that has been sorely needed at times.  So thank you.  I just want to thank you for this funny little fan project.  I don’t think you have any idea how much it has meant to your audience.  @freedfromthegalactichivemind

And I don't know if the audience has any idea how much it has meant to me!

When I started this, things were pretty shit, weren't they? Here in the UK we'd just come out of the second Covid Lockdown, with the third expected to happen imminently; the weather was miserable, we'd barely seen our friends in months, the world in general just sucked. And I'd love to say that I felt a calling to break through that with some humour, but no... it was nothing like that. This is what happened...

And so it all went from there.

I almost just went for random scenes as I thought of them, rather than starting from the beginning. But I thought "Eh, fuck it, let's see how far I get", and the rest is history.

Even as the storylines got more complex (bear in mind, I started purely with the intention to do the original script with a few swear words peppered in), I always wanted to keep things upbeat. The painful moments are those 'this is the good stuff, hurt me more' moments rather than actually horrifying things - I know there's been a couple of exceptions, but in general it's held true.

But I've always been driven by one thing - the world isn't very funny right now; it's stressful, sometimes downright terrifying. And if I can alleviate that for ten, twenty seconds per day and make that tiny bit of difference to someone, then I consider that a job done. I'm not out here claiming to have the cure for depression, or some kind of plan to save the world, but I (hopefully) can make a few people smile in the midst of all the shit that's happening, even if it's just for a moment.

So much has changed in the last three years, but this blog has been such a central part of my world, it'll be weird when it's over (maybe that's why I don't want to stop there!). But if this coming Friday really is the last chapter in this part of my life, I'll still be happy that it happened. And if you've ever smiled or laughed at the blog, I'm happy that happened as well.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

feed me, stephie

LOVELY I am SO glad whenever you give me an open-ended request, because when I run out of lists that are ready for asks I've gotten, I can instead use one of my already-ready-with-no-ask fic lists instead, LOL... THANK YOU!!

Are ya hungry for some John Angst today? I think that's what I'm gonna feed ya! Hope you're hungry, it's a big one!

Apologies, there ARE some FFNet fics on here... that's how long I've had this list waiting to be posted LOL.

I hope you enjoy, Blue!!

JOHN 3rd PERSON POV Pt. 3: ANGST / ANGSTY FLUFF or BAMF FICS

See Also:

POV John First/Second Person Pt. 1

POV John 3rd Person Pt 1: Fluff, Humour & PWP

POV John 3rd Person Pt 2: Whump & Hurt/Comfort

Too Much by belovedmuerto (T, 567 w., 1 Ch. || Empath AU ||  Empath John, Mild Angst, Cuddles) – Sometimes, it's too much for John.

Five Seconds by xXLadyLovelaceXx (K+, 658 w., 1 Ch. || TGG Pool Scene, Friendship, Introspection) – In the half-second before Sherlock shoots the jacket, John notices something.

Tea by Art and Soul (K, 693 w., 1 Ch. || Angst & Friendship, Reunion) – John’s habit of making tea for two has little use, considering his flat-mate has been dead for three years. But he keeps on making that second cup, hoping he’d wake up and it’d be gone. But it never was…

The Sidewalk by politewarning (K, 956 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF, Angst, Friendship, Sherlock’s Birthday) – Standing on the sidewalk outside the hospital on the 6th of January to have a one-sided conversation with his dead friend was not something John had intended to make into a ritual.

Booted by Sexxica (E, 1,175 w., 1 Ch. || Trapped, Kidnapping, Handcuffs, Biting Kink, Blow Jobs, Coming in Pants, Tight Spaces, Humour, Smut, 69 Sex Position, BJ’s Through Pants) – John and Sherlock have been kidnapped, handcuffed, and stuffed together in a car boot. How come they can never take these situations seriously? Part 3 of the Tumblr Ficlets Gone Wild

Shooter by Amputation (K+, 1,406 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF, Suspense, BAMF!John) – The men were trying to rile the other into acting first, it seemed. How boringly predictable and dull this was! 

Risotto by Richefic (K+, 2,153 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Angst, Misunderstandings, Apologies) – The first time that John cooks dinner for Sherlock is almost the last. Fortunately, Sherlock is really quite observant. Inspired by John's reference in "The Great Game" to there being some leftover risotto in the fridge.

A Room of One's Own by whitchry9 (K+, 2,174 w., 5 Ch. || S2 Timeline, Hurt/Comfort, Supernatural, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Coma, John Whump, Worried Sherlock, POV John, Angst, Friendship/Bromance, Hospital) – When a severe head injury lands John in a coma, somehow he ends up in Sherlock's mind palace. It's actually pretty nice there, and John is entertaining the notion of staying there, rather than returning to his broken body. But Sherlock isn't taking it as well, and John can feel him breaking around him.

Those Days by StillWaters1 (T, 2,663 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD / Sensory Attacks, Caring Sherlock) – If Sherlock had danger nights, then these were John's danger days.

BBCSH ‘Lament’ by tigersilver (T, 2,951 w., 1 Ch. || Implied Infidelity, Angst, Post-HLV, Canon Divergence) – When Sherlock is alone in the flat he still speaks to John Watson.

Undercurrents by entanglednow (E, 2,996 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Disturbing Things, Crime Scene Fetish, Pseudo-Necrophilia, PWP, Masturbation) – “There, that's it, perfect, shut your eyes and don't move - and don't speak."

Until the End of the World by SarahCat1717 (G, 3,049 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, First Kiss, Pining Sherlock, Oblivious John, Drunkenness) – Taking place in Season 3, John listens to an old favourite song and sorts through his memories and feelings about Sherlock and Mary.

Fortune Favours the Wet by CaffieneKitty (K+, 3,668 w., 1 Ch. || Adventure, Trapped John, Mild Peril) – There was something to be said about the quiet of the bottom of a well... Things go wrong for John during a case.

Because Your Coat is Part of You by camellialice (K, 3,705 w., 1 Ch. || 5 and 1, Canon Compliant, Sherlock’s Coat, Angsty Fluff) – Five times John wore Sherlock's coat and one time he didn't need to.

The Dance Lesson by bittergreens (G, 4,596 w., 1 Ch. || TSo3 Missing Scene, Dancing, Pining Sherlock, URT/UST, Romance, Angst, POV John) – Sherlock teaches John to dip. Part 1 of Goodnight, Vienna

Wasted Hours by songlin (E, 4,973 w., 1  Ch. || Omegaverse || O!John/A!Sherlock, Pining, UST, Angst & Porn) – John is respectful. John keeps his distance. He doesn’t look at Sherlock when Sherlock decides trousers are for dull people. He doesn’t breathe in and savor it when Sherlock flings himself onto the couch first thing in the morning, wafting alpha scent, dressing gown settling around him in a cloud of blue silk. He doesn’t linger when he’s piecing Sherlock back together after a fight, even though he’s half-dressed and beautiful and right there. He can ignore it. He can control it.

A Case of Identity by PostcardsfromTheoryland (T, 4,978 w., 1 Ch. ||  Post-TRF, John on Holiday, Pining Sherlock, Whump, Angst, Reunion) – All John wanted was to get away from London for a few weeks. No people pointing and whispering about Sherlock Holmes when he walked past, no reporters wanting an "exclusive" about the dead detective, just some rest and relaxation in the sunshine. Then again, these holiday trips never seem to go as planned.

Electric Potential by pygmymeese (T, 5,011 w., 1 Ch. || Supernatural) – It's not clear why everyone in the world suddenly gets a ghost only they can interact with. All John Watson knows is that he's stuck with a brilliant, if smug, ex-consulting detective, and that life is definitely looking up.

Welcome Home, John by slashscribe (G, 5,504 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Awkwardness, Stabbed Sherlock, Protective Sherlock, Panic Attack (Sherlock), Self Esteem Issues, Love Confessions, First Kiss) – When John moves back to 221B, he thinks he’s the broken one, but after a while, it becomes clear that he might not be correct.

Excerpts from Purgatory by reapersun, what_alchemy (E, 5,829 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF, Doctor John, Reunion Fic, Rough Sex, Angry Sex, Bottomlock, Fic with Pics)  – John serves community service in homeless shelters for chinning the superintendent. Unbeknownst to him, the Homeless Network has his back.

This Year by DiscordantWords (T, 6,283 w., 2 Ch. || TEH Divergence / No Mary, New Year’s Eve, John’s A Mess, Jealous John, Awkward Conversations, Trapped in a Closet, Estranged After Return, John POV, Semi-Reunion, Angry John, First Kiss, Reconciliation, Clueless Sherlock, Happy Ending) – Last year, Sherlock Holmes showed up at the Landmark with a fake moustache and a bad French accent and threw John's entire life into disarray with two words: "Not dead." This year, there are more surprises in store.

An Interpretation of Viewing Habits by akitsuko (E, 6,653 w., 1 Ch. || Porn Watching, Masturbation, Anal, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Jealous Sherlock, Fantasizing, John in Denial / Internalized Homophobia, Bottomlock, Pining Idiots, Sherlock Has No Boundaries, Cockblocking Sherlock) – John watches porn. It's a perfectly normal thing to do. If every video he watches happens to feature actors with remarkable physical similarities to his flatmate, well, that's no one's business but his own. Or: John is in denial, until his infatuation with Sherlock is impossible to deny anymore.

Second Waltz by Atiki (T, 6,685 w.,1 Ch. || MCD, Angst, Fluff, Cancer) – "The night I died, you wished I could wait for you."

A Kiss and a Cuddle should be Sufficient by Evenlodes_Friend (E, 6,853 w.,  3 Ch.|| Gay Sex Club, Fake Relationship, PWP, Orgies, Rimming, BJ’s, Violence, Case Fic, Voyeurism) – Going undercover, Sherlock and John pursue a vicious killer to a gay group sex party. Not unexpectedly, things get a little out of hand. Set after Baskerville, but before the Fall.

Hide and Seek by Arwen Jade Kenobi (T, 6,934 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Reverse Reichenbach, Mycroft is a Dick, Depression, Case Fic, Friendship, Reunion) – Pseudo sequel to "The Refining Fire." "You owe him the truth, and you owe me the proof that will convince him that I had no part in this."

High and Tight, Soft and Loose by cwb (E, 7,429 w., 1 Ch. || Jealous John, Miscommunications / Misunderstandings, First Kiss / Time, BAMF John, Insecure Sherlock, Clueless Sherlock, Junk Size, UST / RST) – John pressed the knuckle of his index finger against his mouth and sighed. “So, you're coiled like a spring and ready to be ... sprung?” “If you want to be pedestrian about it, yes.” “Like I said, you should do something about that.” “And like I said, pedestrian. What would you have me do? Take up jogging? Yoga? Oh! Unless you mean –” “I don't mean anything. Let’s drop it.”

I can’t pretend by Salambo06 (E, 7,692 w., 1 Ch. || Fake Relationship, Victor Trevor, Jealous John, Miscommunications, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, First Kiss/Time, Anal, BJs) – They had arrived more than a hour ago, and the moment they had walked inside the hotel reception, John had understood why Sherlock hadn’t wanted to come. Two men, posh suits and expensive watches on their wrists, had come to greet them with sharp remarks and badly hidden mockery, and John had seen red. Sherlock hadn’t said anything, mostly ignoring the two men entirely, and without thinking twice about it, John had slid an arm around Sherlock’s waist and introduced himself as his husband. 

Alone On the Water by Mad_Lori (G, 7,725 w., 1 Ch. || MCD, UST/URT, Angst, Euthanasia, Love Confessions) – Sherlock Holmes never expected to live a long life, but he never imagined that it would end like this.

Victim, Bait, Hero, Friend by KimberlyTheOwl (T, 7,887 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TGG Epilogue, Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Past Kidnapping / Torture / Implied Rape, Panic Attacks, Worried / Possessive Sherlock, Lestrade is a Good Friend) – Some insights into why John was perfectly willing to throw everything away for a chance to kill Moriarty at the pool. Trauma, ugliness, and finally healing. Some nice supporting work by Lestrade as well.

Every Night I Look for You by destinationtoast (E, 8,377 w., 1 Ch. || POV John, Post-TRF, Angst, Mystery, Unsafe Sex, BAMF John) – Every night, John looks for familiar hints of Sherlock in the men he meets in bars, and he does with them all the things he wishes he’d done before. Eventually, he stumbles into a situation that Sherlock would know how to handle, and John must decide whether he can handle it without him.

Beyond the Vow by tunteeton (M, 8,994 w., 1 Ch. || Love Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending, Post-S3, Explosions, Mary is Good-ish?, 3G, Infant Death) – Being a sociopath was never this emotionally exhausting. 

The Frost Child by twistedthicket1 (M, 9,994 w., 2 Ch. || Frozen-ish AU || Magical Realism, Christmas, Angst, Fluff, Powerful John) – In a world where people are born with a Gift of varying levels, simple John Watson is the last person one might look at when thinking of any strong Magick capabilities. Hiding comfortably in the shadow of Sherlock's brilliant deducing abilities, John is content to keep it that way...

Ravish Me by amalnahurriyeh (E, 10,025 w., 1 Ch. || UST / RST, Makeup / Lipstick, Sympathetic Sally, Experiments, Pining John, First Kiss, Face Fucking / BJ’s, Cuddling) – Sherlock is experimenting with patterns of wear on lipstick in daily encounters. John is going to go insane.

Paparazzi by SilentAuror (E, 10,543 w., 1 Ch. || Post S3, Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Friends to Lovers) – John moves back into 221B Baker Street after his marriage falls apart and the paparazzi won't leave him and Sherlock alone about the status of their supposed relationship. Sherlock, of course, never denies it, until one day he does...

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalized Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by "accident", it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

The Red Dianthus by kinklock (T, 11,382 w., 3 Ch. || Supernatural Elements, BAMF!John, Misunderstandings, Fluff, Romance, Halloween, Dev. Rel., Case Fic) – The boys investigate a mysterious disappearance in a supposedly haunted house, and get much more than they bargained for.

The River Variations by withoutawish (T, 11,619 w., 1 Ch. || Soulmates, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Three Garridebs, Romance, Light Case Fic, Near Death Experience, Angst and Fluff, Dark Humour) – John Watson never knew that he wanted a ‘no toast in the mornings’ normal until he realized what an honor it is to be destroyed by Sherlock Holmes.

Johnlock Ficlet Collection by Irrevocably_Sherlocked (E, 11,505+ w., 16/? Ch. || WiP || Random Ficlets, Pining, Angst, Fluff & Smut, Parentlock, AU’s, First Kiss, Character POV’s) - Just a collection of Johnlock ficlets, originally posted on my Tumblr page.

I See You Through by belovedmuerto (T, 12,078 w., 8 Ch. || Psychic AU || Empath John, Alternate TGG, Whump, Nightmares, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn, Pre-Slash) – John has never asked Sherlock about his past, his childhood, the reason he quails in lonely misery almost every time he sees his brother. He’s never needed to. Part 2 of An Experiment in Empathy

A Brand of Gold by aquabelacqua (M, 12,757 w., 1 Ch. || Mutual Pining, POV John, Phone Sex, Texting, Masturbation, Long Distance, Drunk Texting) – What am I doing? he wondered. The answer came back at once:  Flirting. He let the vital, missing piece snap into place as surely and as cleanly as if it had always been there. He was flirting with Sherlock Holmes.

I'm content as we are (but) by inqui (The_Circus) (E, 13,086 w., 1 Ch. || Jealous John, UST/RST, Pining, Victor Trevor, Minor Whump, First Kiss / Time, Misunderstandings) – In which John Watson sees something unusual, becomes jealous, and makes too much of a small thing as an old friend of Sherlock's shows up in the middle of a case.

On The Fence by BeautifulFiction (T, 13,770 w., 1 Ch. || Fencing, Case Fic, First Kiss, Insecure John, Pining John, Hug, Greg Finds Out) – The murder of the King's College fencing champion leads to revelations about Sherlock's past. Will it be the point that tips them from friends to lovers, or will they remain on the fence?

Speaker for the Bees by antietamfalls (M, 14,649 w., 3 Ch. || Deaf Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Fluff, Sign Language) – It isn't always easy assisting a deaf detective. Luckily for John, they make a pretty good team.

Twelfth Night by yourdykeinshiningarmor (E, 15,139 w., 5 Ch. || Fake Relationship, Christmas, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Angst & Fluff, BJ’s, Anal) – John is invited to his aunt's Twelfth Night ball. Sherlock offers to attend with him as a friendly face among strangers, but John's family force him to address his true feelings for Sherlock.

Lacuna by coloredink (E, 15,607 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Consent Issues, Drama, Amnesia) – God, it must have been terrible, to think that he would never have this again.

A Hundred Thousand Ways to Say the Name John by Jberry (E, 16,825 w., 1 Ch. || Fake Relationship, Fake Marriage, POV John, Pining John, Cruise Ship, Angst & Fluff, Case Fic) –  John Watson and Sherlock Holmes must solve a case on a cruise ship. To get close to the crew and passengers, they must get married for the case on the Baetica. However, their relationship hits rocky seas both due to the case and internal conflicts. Part 1 of Baetica

Best of Three by SilentAuror (E, 17,473 w., 1 Ch. || POV John, John is Shot, Porn with Feels, Post HLV, Rimming, Denial, Anal) – “You want to have sex with me,” Sherlock announces one evening about a year after John's divorce. John's vigorous denial sparks a three-day wager wherein Sherlock is determined to prove his point, and John is determined to hold onto his heterosexuality. Set well after HLV. (Canon-compliant). PORN. With feels.

Rupert Street by WritingOutLoud (M, 27,262 w., 9 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting || Case Fic, Sexuality, Demisexual Sherlock, Drugging, Smart John, Sherlock Has Internalized Biphobia, Fluff, Angst with Happy Ending, Gay Bar, Flirting, John Manipulates Sherlock to Eat, John Deduces, Arguments, Kidnapping/Torture, Hospitalization, John Whump) – Discharged from the war with nothing but the clothes on his back and a realisation of his bisexuality, John Watson has to learn who he’s become. He can’t afford London on an army pension, but the city is the only friend he has. In an effort to understand his newfound queer identity, he heads to a bar one night, where he stumbles across a mysterious stranger who turns his life upside down. ‘I dug around inside myself, and I'm not quite sure what I found, but it was beautiful and terrifying all at the same time.’

Vena Cava by SilentAuror (E, 27,452 w., 1 Ch. || HLV Fix-It, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Infidelity) – Sherlock has been shot in the chest; John has been shot in the heart. Though everything is broken, they do their best to heal the wounds that Mary left on them both.

Silhouettes by allonsys_girl (E, 28,585 w., 7 Ch. || Canon Compliant, POV John, Heavy Drinking, Sad/Depressed John, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Reunion, Foot Jobs, Blow Jobs, Infidelity, Cheating, Drug Use/Abuse, Anal, Switchlock, Rimming, Parentlock) – Sherlock and John find comfort in each other's arms, but as ever with these two, it's not your typical relationship. It's fluffy at the beginning, gets deeply angsty in the middle, gets porny at the end.

"finally kiss the bloody idiot" by Salambo06 (E, 29,812 w., 13 Ch. || Mutual Pining, Fake Relationship, First Kiss / Time, Angst, Misunderstandings, Fantasies, POV John) – Inspired by a fic idea on tumblr : "John and Sherlock know the Yard has a pool going for when they’re finally going to get together. It’s been running forever, and it’s worth thousands of pounds. It’s all fun and games, hahaha, until they find out Lestrade is in dire financial straits (dog needs emergency surgery, he’s putting his kid through gymnastics training, I don’t know, something), and they decide to fake a relationship to win the pool for him. Sherlock figures out the day and way that Lestrade thinks it’s going to happen, and they act it out. It’s all for a good cause, fake relationship style, until it’s not." Part 1 of The Pool

Lucifer's Gardens by ampersand_ch (E, 32,679 w., 12 Ch. || GERMAN VERSION|| Romance, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Murder, Poison / Drugging, Mystery, John Undercover, Academic Club, Therapy, Rituals, Jungian Archetypes, Doctors & Physicians, Grief/Mourning, Esotericism, Hospitals, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, John Falls In Love With Another Man, Jealous Sherlock, Crying, Doctor John, Hand Holding, First Kiss/Time, Mysticism, Hugging, Touching) – John goes undercover for an investigation as a favour to Lestrade in a village in Suffolk. The events surrounding the case awaken deep-seated fears in Sherlock. While John begins to come to a realisation of what he needs in Lucifer's Gardens, Sherlock tries to find a way to reach John – in more ways than one.

The Whore of Babylon Was a Perfectly Nice Girl by out_there (E, 32,897 w., 1 Ch. || Past Drug Use, Blowjobs, Toplock, Mentions of Switching, Rough Sex, Background Cases, Sherlock’s Past, Sherlock’s Sexual History, Experienced Sherlock, Past One Night Stands, Fingering, Cuddling, Possessive Sherlock, Paris Holiday, Bed Sharing, Naked Lie-Ins, Bathing Together, Confessions, Worried Sherlock, Laying in Bed All Day, Meddling Mycroft, Naked Lazy Day) – Sherlock walks into a room and takes all the space right out of it. He does the same inside John's head.

The Curious Adventure of the Drs. Watson by ShinySherlock (M, 40,883 w., 14 Ch. || BBC & ACD Fusion || Victorianlock, Time Travel / Magical Realism, Friends to Lovers, Love and Kissing, Romance, Body Swap) – What if ACD Watson and BBC Watson switched places...  “Imposter!” Hands clenching the lapels of John’s coat, Holmes shoved him anew. “Yes!” John agreed, nodding, and then grimacing. “Sort of!”

Guidelines by WithLoweredVoices (M, 43,018 w., 15 Ch. || Winglock || Angels, Fantasy, Angst, BAMF! John, War, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Jealous John, Falling in Various Ways, Needy Sherlock, Wings) – The Good Soldier, one of the oldest and strongest of the fallen, is offered a bargain: to live as John Watson and to Guide a fledgling archangel so that he will stay on the path of good. Of course, Sherlock Holmes has different ideas about his destiny. Fantasy AU. Warnings for violence, occasional gore, and a whole load of hurt and angst.

Left by lifeonmars (M, 45,153 w., 9 Ch. || Magical Realism, BAMF!John, Slow Burn) – John Watson is left-handed. He’s tried not to let it affect his life, but as any Lefty knows, that’s almost impossible.

Inscrutable to the Last by DiscordantWords (M, 48,842 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Alternate S3, John’s Blog/S3 is a Story By John, Divorce, Marital Difficulties, John is a Mess, Emotional Reunion, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Grief / Mourning, Pining John, First Kiss, Adorably Clueless Sherlock, Nostalgia, Love Confessions, Eventual Happy Ending) – He wasn't Sherlock, he couldn't work miracles. All he'd ever been able to do was write about them.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

Fan Mail by scullyseviltwin (E, 53,942 w., 15 Ch. || Stalking, Obsessive Fans, Angst) – “WatsonChick143 has been rather maniacal in her commenting as of late… she’s left comments on everything you’ve posted John, something so obvious can’t have escaped even your attention."

Never Change a Running System by Lorelei_Lee (E, 54,246 w. || Pre-TRF, Romance, Humour, Drama, Sex Toys, Anal, Rimming, Masturbation, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Public Sex, First Kiss / Time, Virgin Sherlock / Loss of Virginity, Accidental Voyeurism, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Experiments, Naive Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Straight With an Exception John, Hand Jobs) – Sherlock discovers his sexuality – with far-reaching consequences for John.

Isosceles by SilentAuror (E, 56,609 w., 7 Ch. || Post-S4, POV John, Original Male Character / Sherlock Dates Another Man, Love Triangle, Jealous John, Virgin Sherlock, Sexual Coaching, Angst, Romance, Domesticity, Unrequited Feelings, Miscommunication, First Kiss/Time, For a Case, Friends With Benefits, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Spooning) – After solving a case for a major celebrity, Sherlock gets himself asked out. When John asks, he discovers that Sherlock has no intention of going, at least not until John agrees to coach him through whatever he might need to know for his date...

You Might Just as Well Be Blind by ArwaMachine (E, 56,625 w., 12 Ch. || Fake Relationship, For a Case, Bed Sharing, Platonic Cuddling, Jealous Sherlock, Oblivious John, BAMF Hudders, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Anal Sex, Happy Ending, Case Fic, Flirting, Pining John, POV John, Toplock, Possessive Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Infidelity) – When a serial killer starts targeting couples, Sherlock and John must do what they have to do in order to get to the bottom of things. Unfortunately, John already has a girlfriend. Surely pretending to be in a relationship with Sherlock won't pose any problems with his relationship, will it?

Lunar Landscapes by J_Baillier (M, 57,046 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || S3/TAB Fix-It, Slow Burn Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Confessions, Drugs, Pain, Medical, Injury, Sherlock Whump, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Romance, Secrets,  Tragedy, Trauma, BAMF John, Doctor!John, Drug Addict Sherlock, Injured Sherlock, Grieving John, Idiots In Love, Protective John, POV John Watson, PTSD Sherlock, Sherlock is a Mess, Medical Realism) – An accident forces John to face the fact that Sherlock's downward spiral had started long before his flight to exile even left the tarmac.

The Bells of King's College by SilentAuror (E, 64,019 w., 5 Ch. || Post-S4, Missed Opportunities, Angst with Happy Ending, Fake Relationship, Case Fic, John POV, Jealous John, John in Denial, Travelling / Holidays, Virgin Sherlock, Wedding Proposals) – It's only been two weeks since Eurus Holmes disrupted their lives when Mycroft sends John and Sherlock to Cambridge to pose as an engaged couple at a wedding show in the hopes of solving six unsolved deaths...

White Knight by DiscordantWords (M, 69,840 w., 13 Ch. || S4 Compliant/Post S4, Marriage For a Case, Jealous John, Pining John, Janine / Sherlock Fake Relationship, Serial Killers, Case Fic, Undercover as a Couple, Weddings, John is a Mess, Misunderstandings, Wedding Planning, Jealousy, Drunkenness, Love Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending) – Green. The word green was used to convey a great many things. Illness. Envy. Inexperience. Standing there amidst Janine's chattering bridesmaids, watching Sherlock furrow his brow and study fabric swatches, watching him smile and simper and flirt, John thought it a remarkably apt colour choice. Because he felt quite sick to his stomach, he feared the source of said sickness might very well be jealousy, and he had absolutely no idea at all what to do about it. Or: Sherlock needs to fake a relationship for a case. He doesn't ask John.

The Monument of Memory by J_Baillier (M, 79,663 w., 14 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It Fic / S4 is Canon, Angst, Family Drama, Guilt, Case Fic, John Loves Sherlock, Complicated Feelings, Mentalism / Hypnosis, Murder, Grieving John, Sherlock is a Bit Not Good, Team Work, Trust Issues, BAMF John, Psychological Trauma, Protective John, Autism-Spectrum Sherlock, Parentlock, John POV) –  A genius traumatised by a past he's only beginning to recall. The psychopath sister that time forgot. A missing woman and a mentalist who may or may not be a murderer. And, in the middle of it all, stands John Watson.

A Cure For Boredom by emmagrant01 (E, 81,665 w., 8 Ch. || Dirty Talk, Threesomes, Light Dom/Sub, Sex Club, Experiments, Anal, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rimming, Cheeking, Double Penetration, Mild Kink, Porn Watching, Voyeurism, Masturbation) – They’d never talked about sex in the year they’d known each other. Well, that wasn’t quite correct: Sherlock had never said a word about sex; John had bemoaned his personal dearth of it on many occasions.

A Case of Identity by jkay1980 (T, 91,009 w., 22 Ch. || Post-TRF, Fake Relationship, Case Fic) – John and Sherlock have succeeded in rebuilding their friendship after Sherlock’s fake suicide, but an unusual case puts their relationship to the test. They pretend to be engaged and attend a marriage counseling workshop. Under the pretext of the case, Sherlock turns out to be a master of seduction, and John finally learns he might like Sherlock more than he thought. Slowly, John discovers that he loves Sherlock not only in a friendly, brotherly way, but both men have to fight their own demons before they can think of taking their relationship to a new level…

The Cost of a Wish by slashscribe (E, 102,493 w., 12 Ch. || xxxHolic Fusion || Spirits / Ghosts and Magic, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Soul Mates / Fated Lovers, Adventure, Immortal Sherlock, Powerful John, POV John, Frottage, Wish Granting, Angst with Happy Ending, Nightmares) – John has been plagued by a secret his entire life that has made him feel hopeless until he meets a mysterious, seemingly omniscient man named Sherlock Holmes who owns a wish-granting shop. Their meeting sets off a series of inevitable events that will change the course of both of their lives forever.

Maintenance and Repair by patternofdefiance (E, 106,650 w., 71 Ch. || Future AU, Augmentation || Augmented John, Depression, Body Modification, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding, Sci-Fi, Self-Care, Body Dysmorphia) – John wants to explain the rush of sensation and data, which is just another form of sensation (or is it the other way around?). John wants to say: Augmentation circuits report temperature, pressure, various forms of quantitative input. Sudden changes are reported as pain, since sudden changes are dangerous, and pain is the quickest way to encourage reflexive extraction. But all John can manage is, “Nng.” Because this sudden touch is not reporting as pain. Part 2 of STATIC

A Study in Winning by Jupiter_Ash (E, 106,658 w., 11 Ch. || Tennis AU || John POV, Dirty Talk, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Happy Ending, Sherlock Speaks French, Switchlock, Wimbledon) – John and Sherlock are professional tennis players and it’s Wimbledon. One is a broken almost was at the end of his career, the other an arrogant rising star tipped for greatness. It should have been a straightforward tournament. It really should have been. How were they to know that a chance encounter would change everything? Part 1 of Tennis

The Burning Heart by May_Shepard (M, 119,150 w., 21 Ch. || Canon Divergence / Post-TRF / S3 Rewrite, John’s Sexuality, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV John Watson, Gay John) – When Sherlock dies, John Watson feels like his life is over too. He’s completely shut down, until Mark Morstan, a new nurse at John’s medical clinic, catches his attention, and helps him uncover the long buried truth of his attraction to men. Although he’s certain he’ll never get over Sherlock, John plans to move on, and build a new life with Mark, unaware that Sherlock is not quite as dead as he appears, and that Mark is hiding secrets of his own.

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Hand / Blow Jobs, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Facial Shaving, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose... is it a pirate's life for him?

The Horse and his Doctor by khorazir (T, 129,003 w., 13 Ch. || Horse / Vet AU || Magical Realism, Horses, Vet John, Horse Sherlock, Implied Alcoholism) – Invalided after a run in with a poacher in Siberia, veterinary surgeon John Watson finds it difficult to acclimatize to the mundanity of London life. Things change when a friend invites him along to a local animal shelter and he meets their latest acquisition, a trouble-making Frisian with the strangest eyes and even stranger quirks John has ever encountered in a horse.

A Fold in the Universe by darkest_bird (E, 152,869 w., 26 Ch. || Omegaverse / Prime Universe Crossover || OmegaJohn / AlphaSherlock, First Kiss / Time, Friends to Lovers, Established Relationship, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Dubious Consent, Humour) – Alpha Sherlock and Omega John are in a relationship. Prime Sherlock and Prime John are not. So what happens when a freak fold in the universe switches one John for the other?

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

[queeniecook]

January 21

Rashidah has a day to herself for the first time in weeks. Her brother and sister are in school. Her Mom is in Sulani and the farm chores are done. She decides to go for a drive and ends up at a spot she used to hang out in high school - the mini mall in Newcrest. She sees Rahul the moment she walks in. She honestly isn't surprised to see him there, it is his favorite pizza place after all.

"Hey." He says quietly, making eye contact for a brief moment before looking off to the side. It's weird seeing her. They used to see each other almost everyday and then his Aunt had an affair with her Dad and it just went downhill after that.

Before Rashidah can even reply, Andrew is speaking "Dude, you gonna share that or just hold it forever?" He asks, referring to the twinkie his friend holds in his hand. They had ordered a pizza fifteen minutes ago but the lady who was supposed to be cooking it had sat down beside them and decided to talk to another customer. Good thing they hadn't paid yet. 

Rahul snaps out of his emotions and makes eye contact with Andrew before shoving the entire twinkie in his mouth.

"Jerk." Andrew comments before looking at Rashidah. "Please ignore this ape's manners. Hi, I'm Andrew Ambrose."

Rashidah offers the man a brief smile. Ambrose, she wonders if he's related to Jillian Ambrose. "Hello. I'm Rashidah Watson." She greets him before looking back at her ex-boyfriend who is trying to chew the twinkie in his mouth without making a giant mess. "I need to talk to you actually...you know, when you're done with your quest to conquer twinkies." 

Two minutes later...

"What's up?" Rahul asks, he decides to actually maintain eye contact this time. It would be rude to look at her stocking hat or the snow outside while he's talking to her. It's hard though, he used to love her face now it brings an ache to his heart.

"One of our chicken coops at the farm needs some repair and...well my Mom is out of town and I'm not handy at all..." She pauses, releasing a breath. Her Dad used to do all these things. Her Dad. The man who had an affair with Rahul's Aunt. That situation led to young couple breaking up. Once the news came out of the affair, all the couple did was fight. "Would you be able to look at it? We'd pay you." 

"I'll do it but you don't have to pay me." Rahul tells her. Truth be told, he has regret when it comes to how things ended with the girl in front of him. He shouldn't have supported his Aunt but he felt he had to, since she took over raising him after his Mom passed away. If he can help her and her family out someway, he's happy to do it. 

"Rahul..." Rashidah starts, shaking her head. 

"It's cool, I'm happy to help. Really." He tells her with a small smile. To his relief, Rashiah finally relents and nods her head in acceptance. 

"Wanna join us, Rashidah?" a voice calls out to them both. The duo had forgotten Andrew was even there. 

The cook had finally went back to make their pizza. Normally Rashidah would just leave but she has to admit, it's kind of nice to be around people her own age again. Andrew is happy she's joined them as well, he thinks she's pretty and funny. It's been a rough few days. He hates that he was out of town when his sister gave birth to his nephew and that they almost lost them both from what his Dad said. He's tried to make up for his absence by going to see Jillian and Slade in the hospital everyday.

"Anchovies on pizza are nasty." Rashidah comments after Andrew asks her what topping she thinks should not go on pizza. He nods his head in agreement, while Rahul pulls up a chair to their table. 

"Pineapple too." Rahul says, hiding a smirk. 

"You leave my pineapple alone!" Rashidah says, fake glaring at him. 

Most people would piece it together that maybe there was more to Rahul and Rashidah then friendship but Andrew doesn't see the signs.

"I like pineapple." Andrew says, granted he prefers it in a fruit bowl but he leaves it at that. Instead he clears his throat softly and takes his shot. "I know we just met but...Rashidah, would you like to do go out sometime?"

The silence descended until the cook slammed the oven door shut in the back of the kitchen.

"That's really sweet of you, Andrew." Rashidah starts. She feels bad she's about to turn him down. He seems like a cool guy. "I don't date. I have a lot going on with my family's farm and...I just don't have the time."

Both she and Andrew miss Rahul's shoulders sagging in relief beside them.

[dahliaduvide]

I've been digging into the life of Jeremy Wade Delle, beyond just the day of his death that is immortalized in the Pearl Jam song we all know so well.

One thing Jeremy Delle and I have in common is that we both spent time in a psych hospital in our teenage years. We both ended up in adolescent wards of large chain hospitals. My experience wasn't completely negative, but I don't think it helped anyone but my mother.

Jeremy Delle was hospitalized in April of 1990 after what is believed to have been his first suicide attempt.

His parents put him in Timberlawn Psychiatric Hospital where he started seeing a doctor that continued to treat him until his death by suicide on January 8, 1991. He actually had completed a session with his doctor the afternoon before he died.

The redacted police report gives only a small amount of information about the doctor that Jeremy Delle was seeing. His name is given as Dr. Bob H####, and as Dr. Robert H#### on a card that the police found in Mr. Delle's wallet. This card lists two phone numbers for the doctor. The first if the general number for the Timberlawn facility, but the other number is likely a direct line to the doctor's office.

The information given in the July 1990 list of hospitals printed in D Magazine, a local Dallas publication, about Timberlawn is "4600 Samuell Blvd, Dallas. 381-7181. Psychiatric hospital; 232 beds; offers chemical dependency treatment, occupational therapy, and psychiatric unit". That's the same as the first phone number listed on the card on Jeremy Delle's wallet card. The second is 381-6327.

Without a last name, I couldn't search for any other mentions of the doctor in public records (and I didn't find anything relevant using the phone number), but there were certainly a few articles about Timberlawn. More than a few, I had to winnow them down to the ones that seemed most relevant to what Jeremy Delle might have experienced during his stay there.

This article from June 1990 explains the sudden growth in the industry in Texas. The financial motivations behind it have very distinct consequences that the article outlines: patients rarely stay longer than their insurance foots the bill.

When the money runs out everyone- adult, teenager, addict, seems to be miraculously cured.

There are several claims of misconduct by care providers throughout the time surrounding Jeremy Delle's stay at Timberlawn.

May 1988: A Dallas woman is admitted to the substance abuse program at Timberlawn. In February 1996, when she is in her early 30s, she alleges misconduct by her doctor during her stay at Timberlawn.

May 1991: In March 1993, a patient alleges he was pursued by his doctor after seeking treatment at Timberlawn for depression after the end of his marriage. He also alleges that she initiated an inappropriate romantic and sexual relationship which lasted from November 1991 to February 1992.

Obviously, Mr. Delle would have been, or at least should have been, housed in separate adolescent areas from any adult patients, but he might have seen the same doctors. Particularly because he was treated for substance abuse. I have some doubts about whether he was actually using any drugs or not, but I'll put that together in another post with some supporting documents.

I also found these court documents from 2009 relating to a patient that was hospitalized in the Timberlawn facility as a minor. She claims to have been raped by an older male patient due to inadequate supervision of the patients by staff and a lack of private space available to patients. No dates or ages are given, however, so it's impossible to know if this happened within the early 90s. However, if Jeremy Delle had survived until 2009 he would have been in his mid-20s, which is when childhood traumas begin to be understood by a maturing mind.

I'm not a lawyer and couldn't even pretend to be one on the internet, so I won't claim to understand anything about what is happening, but I can read through it and capture other facts about who, where, when, etc. If anybody with a better understanding of USA or Texas state law wants to shed some light on this that would be helpful.

I wasn't able to find any further information about the progress or outcomes of these cases, so I've chosen not to include the names of the staff accused, but they are included in the media coverage if anyone would like to search through news databases that aren't freely available online. I can only research the documents I can find, and unfortunately I don't have access to any academic databases at the moment, either.

My personal opinion is that whatever started Jeremy Delle down a troubled path started before he got to Timberlawn and the care of Dr. H.

I do think this line of research is important for understanding whether or not Mr. Delle received effective or adequate care as his mental illness spiraled out of control.

It strikes me that these stories about Timberlawn confirm and debunk some of the conceptions we have about this particular young man's life from the song written about him in 1991 by Eddie Vedder and Jason Ament. Jeremy Wade Delle was failed by everyone in his life with the power to help him as he started to sink under the waves of his illness. But his parents didn't ignore it completely, they tried to get him help. Maybe not when his illness first manifested, but as soon as his first 'cry for help' came in the form of a suicide attempt, they put him in a hospital that was known to be the best in their area. One with a developing, supposedly cutting edge, program for adolescents and those suffering from substance abuse. They most likely brought him home when the hospital said he was better. Sadly that might have had more to do with how long the hospital knew that insurance would foot the bill and not Mr. Delle's actual mental health.

The story is no less tragic than the story Pearl Jam spins in their song, but it's far more nuanced.

And it's still a great song.

[bigmouthlass]

Title:  Of Constant Sorrow

Author:  BJ

Fandom:  The Boys

Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Rating:  Mature

Synopsis: The after-the-fact deposition of the nurse brought in to care for a certain explosively hot patient.

Tags:  Solider Boy, Ben O'Connell, Original Female Character, Billy Butcher, Grace Mallory, Starlight, Annie January, Hughie Campbell, MM, Marvin Milk, Frenchie, Serge Cassell, Kimiko Miyashiro, Original Male Character, Unethical Experimentation, Unethical Medicine, Canon Divergence, AU, No Good Answers

AN:  Content warning -- unironic use of racial slurs.

This was actually my mother's idea-- my mom spent twenty years as a home health aide who specialized in elder care. She and I got to speculating on how someone might connect with Soldier Boy even in his vulnerable state at the end of S3, and this is how I ran with her idea. Factual errors are mine; I'm not a medial professional. Songs are, "Ship of Fools," by Bob Seger, "Man/Maid of Constant Sorrow," by Dick Burnett, "My Favorite Dream," by Bill Walsh and Ray Noble (the magic harp's lullaby from 'Mickey and the Beanstalk'), and "Too-Ra-Loo-Ra-Loo-Ral (An Irish Lullaby)," by James Royce Shannon. All recognizable intellectual properties are owned by their respective creators and holders of any trademarks or copyrights. This is a not-for-profit work of fan art and is protected by Fair Use.

---

Data classified Top Secret/eyes only under authority of case officer Mallory

Interrogation session 8 re case Solider Boy. Subject: DePoister, Charlotte, captain, USA.

WB: We recording? Right, this can go all sorts of ways, love-- CD: You can knock off the intimidation schtick. I can see how sick you are. You should be in a hospital.

HC: He's been doing a lot better lately-- how can you tell? CD: Because it's my damn job, jackass.

WB: Don't you worry 'bout me. I'm sound as a pound. MM: Okay, let's not get sidetracked. Tell us about how you got hired to be Solider Boy's nurse. CD: I'm a Supe-- super-ability immunity to poisons and radiation. However, I’m not indestructible. I didn't even get super healing. I cut, I bruise, I bleed, I break. I age. At least my sister went gray first. Take that, ya brat. I turned down Vought and enlisted, got trained as a combat medic and went to college for my nursing degree after I was wounded in the line of duty. Immunity to poisons is a great thing to have for a first responder.

HC: Wait-- I thought the Army banned Supes. AJ: Supes that are the property of Vought are barred from serving. People with super-abilities aren’t. CD: Right. Given a choice, most Supes pick Vought because the money is a lot better. My dad never did forgive me for turning them down. I could be rich'n'famous right now. Decontamination Charlotte, complete with sequined “HazMat” suit with florescent Fuck Me boots. Instead I picked Uncle Sam, like an idiot. I came out of the Army with a captain’s commission, an RN license, and an average of about four nightmares a month. Anyway. Colonel Mallory came to me herself after the incident at Vought Tower. She explained the situation and pointed out my sister's six-figure tax debt thanks to her idiot husband's house-flipping business and how she could make it go away. That’s pretty much how I ended up taking what was basically an orderly’s job in that spick-and-span underground Purgatory. Nasogastric feeding tube in one end, Foley catheter in the other, and between the two a living body that still needed things like bathing and haircuts and whatnot. The Russians were clever to keep him in an upright position. No pressure sores. Not that he’d be prone to them. --- You think you’re gonna get used to it, but you never really do, Charlotte remembered her practical instructor saying as she completed her unit in the chronic care building at Walter Reed. Ward 4, where long-term coma patients and people in persistent vegetative states lived out their lives until a merciful God called them home. Especially when the patients were healthy otherwise-- young, strong, people who should’ve been out in the sunlight.

With that Me Doctor You Nurse sneer some of them just seemed to have, Dr. Sanjeer briefed her on the acceptable baselines for the patient’s vital signs. “Any independent motion, no matter how minor, must be reported at once. When he was originally roused from captivity in Russia, he blasted through a reinforced concrete wall before he was fully conscious and oriented to time and place.”

“So we’re worried he might haul off and punch a hole in the world.”

“In brief, yes.”

“Great.” Not that the good doctor was worried, from the other side of a camera feed in a laboratory in a completely different part of the facility. Leave the cleanup to Charlotte. Decontamination Charlotte, the filth doesn’t touch her in a bad place.

The containment capsule opened with a sigh of equalizing air pressure. Up close the wrong feeling was worse. White adult male, bearded, mass 85 kilos, height 185 centimeters, beautifully cut muscles, broad shoulders, and long legs. Electrodes stuck to his temples and on his chest fed data to the containment capsule's monitors, with telemetry readings well within Dr. Sanjeer's provided baselines. The only concession to modesty was a drape over his groin, the line of a catheter running to a onboard reservoir. Urinalysis made for a crude substitute for a proper blood test but the needle hadn’t been invented yet that could pierce his skin. A breathing mask clamped over his face fed him air laced with the nerve agent keeping him . . . keeping him in some Supe-enabled state that wasn't quite comatose and wasn't quite dead.

"Hi. Ben, right?” she said.

Over the monitor Dr. Sanjeer's condescending frown deepened.

Charlotte wasn't fazed. Dr. Sanjeer's specialties were in genetics and biochemistry, not direct care. She'd lay money he'd never gone near a patient in his life-- not a human one anyway, he had the look of a monkey man. “His brain still works, right? He’s not an inanimate object. I refuse to treat him like one.

“Ben, my name is Charlotte DePoister. I’ll be your primary care nurse. You have a tube in your nose feeding you fluids and a catheter’s been inserted into your penis. I apologize if either feel uncomfortable. I’ll be in for four hour shifts every day at 0600 and 1800 to see to your physical needs, which will include moving your limbs to keep your muscles from atrophy, keeping you clean, reflex checks, and tactile stimulation tests. I’m going to put something in your hand to demonstrate." From her scrub top pocket, Charlotte pulled out a tennis ball. She took the unconscious Supe’s hand and shaped it into a cup, fitting the tennis ball down into it.

No response. His fingers were warm and totally lax.

“All right. I’m going to give you a quick bath with some dry shower cloths. Clever things, keep you almost as clean as a full sponge bath and a lot less labor intensive. Full baths are still on the agenda, every fifth day. I’ll wash your hair then too. Beard trims as needed, haircuts once a month, but I don’t manscape.”

Charlotte hummed as she worked on the heavy pile of inert tissue that might've had a man inside somewhere. Dr. Sanjeer watched with a look of greed on his face that made her uncomfortable. Reminding her that he saw her patient as a specimen.

At the end of her shift, she covered Ben with a light blanket and sealed the containment capsule. The air inside went misty as it pressurized and filled with the Novachik nerve agent. Carefully, with the thick plastic gloves built into the capsule, she removed the breathing mask. The pad beneath him activated to hold him in place and the capsule went into lateral rotation mode, rocking him side-to-side. A child in a cradle made of lead and poison. "See you this evening, Ben." --- MM: What were you told about the actual research going on? CD: Just broad strokes. The laboratories were all dedicated to studying him, trying to figure out how that radiation of his neutralizes super-abilities. I sat through a lot of meetings with lab coats pissing and moaning about not being able to access their specimen directly.

WB: And you never thought to ask where you fit into the master plan? Spending all day wiping Soldier Boy's arse you'd think you'd be a bit more inquisitive. CD: What do you want from me, you prick? I'm a soldier. My job's to execute orders and hope like hell the officers over me know what the fuck they're doing. You're military too, you should know that. In the day-to-day it was pure routine, like caring for any long-term coma patient. I’d clean him up at the start of my shift, do basic physiotherapy, provide sensory and tactile stimulation with things like soft toys. I read somewhere that he's a baseball fan, so I started playing the radio play-by-plays over the speaker in the containment capsule.

SC: Why even bother? What care does a monster like that warrant in light of the crimes he's committed? CD: Because he’s a person, no matter how horrible a person he is. Nobody deserves to be tortured with the effects of long-term immobility. “We must be what we are, else we become our enemies.” Historical fantasy. A Song For Arbonne. --- "I saw that one on the TV," Charlotte said as she scrubbed her patient’s hair. Soft and fine like her own and sweet with the mild smell of Johnson and Johnson No-Tears. "The home plate ump totally blew that call. Even I could see that wasn’t in the strike zone." Over the capsule’s speaker Dickerson called it-- White Sox over Tigers, 13-6. "Buncha dipshits this year. The Tigers haven’t been able to get shit done with Cabrerra out. I hope we haven’t lost him for the season."

No response from her patient.

Charlotte turned the game off and rinsed out the shampoo. Careful of the clamps holding the breathing mask, she used a little travel dryer on her patient’s hair, lifting the strands to get the cool air at the roots. She sang as she worked. "'Tell me quick,' said Old MacPhee, 'what's this all got to do with me? I spent all my time at sea, alone' . . ." --- MM: Let's get back on track. So you were taking care of Soldier Boy while he was . . . out. The nerve agent should've had him totally insensate. What happened to change that? CD: Either his body started adapting to the Novachik or someone was deliberately dialing back the concentration. Possibly both. --- "This is a ball of hemp cord, it should feel rough and abrasive against your skin." Charlotte lightly ran the stim object down his forearm and checked No Response. "What's on the agenda for today . . . oh it's everybody's favorite, Leg Day."

Talking through each flexation and extension, Charlotte moved each of her patient's legs through their full range of motion. "Everything's still moving the way it should be, big guy. You're not even losing muscle tone. Reflex test-- I'm going to run the tip of an ink pen along the sole of your foot."

Accustomed to days and days of the same thing, Charlotte didn't register at first what she was seeing. His foot flexed, curling into the touch of the ballpoint pen as she ran it up the arch. "Woah." She did it again. Another flex. This time, the muscle groups in his calf twitched, like he was trying to point his toes. Charlotte finally registered what it was that had put her on edge-- his pulse and breathing had sped up, just enough to be noticeable.

Dr. Sanjeer had been very clear on this point. Any indication that he might be coming out of his next-door-to-dead state rated a five-alarm panic. Instead, Charlotte squeezed his ankle. "It's okay. You're safe. It's just Charlotte, Ben. Flex your toes again if you can hear me."

Nothing. Involuntary reaction, nothing more. Just a sign that physiotherapy was in fact indicated. --- MM: The doctor told you to sound the alarm if he showed any signs of coming out of it. How come you didn't? CD: I didn't think it'd be in anybody's best interest to punch the panic button, least of all my patient's. I know you don't take the idea seriously, but part of my duty as his nurse is to be an advocate for his well-being.

AJ: He roasted Crimson Countess alive, he bashed Mindstorm's face in-- CD: Have you read his quote-unquote "service record"? His brilliant solution to the Korean conflict damn near started World War III. Under international law he's an unindicted war criminal. And I'm sure all of you have been hurt by him. Directly. At his hands. Making him suffer when he's helpless doesn't do a damn thing to balance those scales or prevent anyone else from getting hurt. Justice is a higher duty than our fucking feelings.

MM: Look, I used to be a corpman. Okay? I agree with you. Just tell us what happened next. CD: According to the EEG, he started cycling between normal periods of dreaming and non-dreaming sleep. They weren’t happy dreams either. His vital signs would start spiking right the fuck off the scale and the Geiger counter would start sounding like a electric woodpecker. Scared the shit out of me the first time it happened. I’m immune to the neurotoxin and the radiation, not to getting vaped or having a mountain dropped on me. --- Charlotte had gotten into the habit of keeping the containment capsule open while she was in the room with her patient. With the room itself isolated and her the only person allowed direct access, it just made her job easier not having to constantly pressurize and depressurize the damned thing. She'd also gotten into the habit of holding his hand for part of her shift. Sometimes there'd be a faint twitch. Nothing that could be misconstrued as deliberate, purposeful action. Once his hand had full-on clamped, just shy of enough force to crush the bones. Hurt like hell. Charlotte blessed the foresight that had made her use her left hand.

The day everything changed was another day exactly the same as all the rest. Charlotte had been catching up on the charting when an alarm on the telemetry monitor went off. The Geiger counter started ticketing away, as the needle rocked right into the red zone. The pump on the gas canisters under the containment capsule kicked on, upping the concentration of the nerve agent in his breathing mix. It wasn't working fast enough, Charlotte could see. His pulse had risen to 50 and the EEG showed highly active REM sleep. Dreaming sleep.

"Holy Mary mother of God you're having a nightmare," Charlotte said. She grabbed Ben's hand and put it over her heart. "Ben. Ben, it's okay! Whatever you're seeing's not real! It'll pass in a second! Calm down! It's not real!" Nothing. His eyes rolled under his closed eyelids and his heart rate continued to climb like the price on a gas pump-- 70, 80, 90 . . .

Charlotte put her lips next to Ben's ear and sang. "I . . . am a maid . . . of constant sorrow . . . I've seen trials for all my days. I'll say goodbye to California . . . the land where I was partly raised."

The motion behind his eyelids paused. Charlotte took a breath and went on, softer and tuneful. "Your friends may say that I’m a stranger, my face they'll never see no more. There is but one promise given, that I'll sail on God's golden shore." As she watched, Ben's vital signs held their plateau . . . and started to sink.

"Oh thank God," Charlotte sighed. "All through this world, I'm bound to ramble," she brushed a lock of Ben's hair back from his forehead. Odd that his ageless face should look careworn, that the eternally sleeping should look so damned exhausted. "Through sun and wind and driving rain. I'm bound to ride the western railway . . . perhaps I'll take the very next train." The image struck her then, Ben out in the world, dressed in clothes for the outdoors, sitting in the open door of a boxcar as it rolled from somewhere to somewhere. God, even jail would be better than this . . . living death.

"I am a maid of constant sorrow, I've seen trials all of my days," she reprised. There. His heart rate had reached it's normal resting pace, as the nerve agent did its work and put him more thoroughly under. "I'm going back to California," on impulse she kissed the back of his hand, "the land where I was partly raised." She laid Ben's arm back by his side.

"Sweet Jesus you scared me," she said into the silence. --- WB: So you just sung the cunt a lullaby, gave him a kiss like he was fucking Sleeping Beauty, and what, defused him? CD: It worked didn't it? The next time it happened, I took his hand and did the whole lullaby thing and he settled. Sanjeer speculated he was having flashback-powered nightmares, but he had already associated my voice with harmlessness so he was able to reality-check his way out of it without waking up. He said to continue as before. I was just glad to end each shift in one piece to be honest. What I didn't know was-- well you guys probably know more about that than I do. There were parties very interested in obtaining my patient who'd finally succeeded in fixing his location. They were trying to access him directly and remove him intact, without waking him up.

K, via interpreter: . . . she's asking why they didn't just come to you. CD: Lack of opportunity, probably. Like everybody else who knew about our payload, I lived onsite, my movements were restricted, and my activities were monitored. That I’m talking to you guys and not to yet another interrogation specialist says Colonel Mallory's already cleared me of any conspiracy. I’m gonna spend the rest of my life in 'protective custody' anyway, so pardon me if I forget my fucking manners.

AJ: Well maybe we can do something about that. CD: Hah. Don't write checks you can't cash. The thanks of a grateful nation amount to not putting me on trial for treason or espionage because that would involve admitting Soldier Boy's alive in an open courtroom, and who knows what Vought or God save us Homelander might do with that information.

MM: We can talk to the Colonel. Move you someplace a little lower security, someplace that allows visitors. I mean, your family's gotta be missing you. CD: That carrot's already been dangled. My sister's been made aware of my status, and has chosen not to communicate. Christ alone knows where my ex is-- probably shacked up with one of his undergrads and a case of Jack Daniels. --- "It's raining outside." Charlotte said as she fiddled with the nail file. She couldn't clip her patient’s nails, exactly, none of the clippers she'd tried had even scratched the nail surface. But they'd file if she ground at them enough. "You know something? There are times I think I'd sell my soul just to take a fucking walk by myself. This place is so double-top-secret they interrogate fresh air before they let it in."

She laughed to herself. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be whining to somebody who can't tell me to shut up. I just realized this morning it's my nephew’s birthday but because I'm incommunicado I can't call him and say Happy Birthday. My sister's a brat and her boys are bratlings, but they're my brats.

"They're probably going to the beach, since it's the weekend. Grand Haven State Park-- these long fine sand beaches and nothing in the water that might eat you. We went there two-three times a summer when we were kids. The wind blows right off Lake Michigan hard enough to make the air feel nice, even when it's like a million degrees outside. Lucky me I got the suntan gene but my sister'd burn'n'peel every damn year. That fair Irish skin-- you could probably relate. My ex-husband was like that too. Our honeymoon, we spent three days in the Keys. Chris got sunburned so bad we had to spend most of it inside. Kind of a bad omen in retrospect.”

Realizing she was rambling, Charlotte stopped. She glanced at the telemetry monitor; he was in REM sleep but his vitals were still well under the panic threshold. She hoped it was a nice dream. She cleared her throat and sang, "In my favorite dream, everyone is so delightful, no one's mean or spiteful . . ."

She put Ben's hand down. "Good night. See you in the morning," she said, and sealed the capsule. As she took off the mask, she swallowed when she saw a tiny trail of moisture running from the corner of one eye. Charlotte hoped with all her heart it was just a bit of extra water and, careful to keep the touch light, she used her gloved thumb to wipe it away. --- MM: Take us through what happened. Did you notice anything out of routine when your morning shift started? CD: No. The pump that fed the breathing mask was still going so as far as I knew everything was normal. I filled the canister with the Novachik in the lab and changed it out like usual. My guess is the nerve agent was a dud.

SC: That would not be difficult. Novachik is not so easy to synthesize. If the pH is even a little out of balance-- seawater. CD: Right. I was going through his stimulation drills and I noticed his brain activity acting up, so I took his hand and started singing and it seemed like he’d calmed down. So I turned away to get the things for his bath when an alarm started going off on the capsule telemetry display. I looked at his face, and his eyes were open. --- "You've been doing this more lately," Charlotte said as she flexed his hand around the rubber handball. "It can't be because the Phillies are doing more than taking up space in the cellar this year. I didn't mean to get your hopes up there. I gotta suffer through Tigers mediocrity, you get to suffer with me. So there-- oh shit." Ben's heartrate was climbing again, though thank God not as fast as that first time. Charlotte pressed his hand over her heart again. "Okay. Orient on my heartbeat. A-one-and-a-two-and-a-here-we-go-- Too-rah-loo-rah-loo-ral, too-rah-loo-rah-lee . . ."

By the time she finished the Irish lullaby, Ben's vitals were dropping. "There. And according to my handy-dandy calendar, it's bath day. Let me take a look at that manly mane of yours. Might be time for a trim." As she turned to her cart, an alert on the containment capsule started going off. "Wait, what the fuck?"

A look at the EEG waves and her heart turned to ice. Nice and spiky and active and awake. Charlotte barely had time to complete that thought when a hand snapped around her neck. A tiny trickle of urine ran into her underwear as her patient-- as Ben-- as Solider Boy slowly sat up, eyes open and full of enough rage to start a war. Black fog washed over her vision and she went ragdoll. In an almost abstract sort of way she said goodbye to her sister and nephews, remembered the last time she'd watched a really pretty sunrise, regretted running out of her room without making her bed this morning.

"Where. Am. I?" he growled, muffled by the mask. The grip on her neck loosened just enough for Charlotte to breathe.

"West Virginia. Hazardous Waste Containment Facility," Charlotte croaked. --- MM: What happened next? CD: You saw the video. He grabbed me by the neck, demanded to know where he was, told me to take out the tubes, then he told me to show him the way out or he’d rip my fucking head off. Direct quote. --- “I’m sorry, this is probably going to hurt.”

“Just get it out of me motherFUCKER!!!” Soldier Boy screamed as Charlotte pulled the Foley. He cupped his hands over his genitals, curling over them protectively. “Oh that hurt like shit!”

Thankful that her hands weren’t shaking, Charlotte tossed the catheter tube. Picking up a towel she said, “Feeding tube next. Take a few deep breaths, suck in, and hold it,” carefully, she tugged the thin plastic tube out of his nose.

“Jesus Christ snorting fiberglass didn’t hurt this much,” he groaned, taking the towel from Charlotte and using it to apply pressure to his nose. “My God, am I hungry. Tell me you’ve got some food stuffed down your bra."

Deep in that clinical space she’d paid the iron price to learn, Charlotte said, “This is a hot zone. No food or drink.”

“No clothes either, I suppose. Figures.”

“You were comatose and incontinent. Clothes would have been impractical.”

Soldier Boy did a double-take. Was he blushing? Hard to tell with the beard. "Incontinent? You've been wiping my ass the whole time I've been here?!?"

"Calm down. I'm a nurse."

Soldier Boy made another one of those scoffing noises. Charlotte had heard him called an analog Homelander. Nobody who'd seen either up close would make that mistake. Around Homelander there was . . . like hearing a song playing on an out-of-tune piano. There was a feral edge to his mannerisms that led one to question whether or not a whole human being looked through those lake-blue eyes. Soldier Boy, whatever else he might be, was human. Mesmerizingly so. Charlotte could see how he could command men’s souls with a snap of his fingers. Worth wondering if his intense personal charisma was part of his super-ability package or something uniquely his own. Either way, it was overwhelming.

Soldier Boy rolled to get to his feet. On reflex Charlotte grabbed his arm to help him balance. He jerked away. “Get your damn hands offa me!”

“Sorry! Sorry,” Charlotte backed away, hands held up and empty.

Say this much, he was good at assessing situations quickly. He looked around, noting the cameras, the smallness of the room, the cool stillness of the air, the particular quality of the silence. “How far underground are we?”

“I don’t exactly know,” Charlotte admitted as Soldier Boy snatched a blanket off the storage cabinet and wrapped himself up. “Construction on the main facility was abandoned twenty-thirty years ago when nuclear power development started to slow down. The main spaces were retrofitted into laboratories, a tunnel was punched down, and this,” Charlotte circled a finger, “was hollowed out. There’s this room, the observation bay, a decontamination chamber, a locker room, and an elevator.”

Soldier Boy’s twitchy eyes fixed on Charlotte. “That shit they use to knock me out-- why aren’t you dead?”

“Supe,” Charlotte said shortly. “Immune to poisons, including radiation. Also drugs don’t work on me. Made getting shot a bucket of fun.”

Soldier Boy looked her up and down. "I take it instant healing isn’t part of the package? Good. Get me out of here, or I’ll rip your fucking head off. Clear?"

Charlotte commended her soul to God. “Crystal.” --- AJ: It's okay. You don't have to be scared of him. CD: Of course I need to be scared of him, kiddo. You think something as trivial as a detention center crawling with Special Forces trained guards in the middle of a CIA black hole is gonna stop him from getting to me if he really sets his mind to it? So far the only person that’s put a dent in his paint job was Queen Maeve, and she had the help of a sixty-odd story drop. --- “Is there an evacuation plan around here somewhere?”

“What for?” Charlotte asked, pitching her voice to carry over the hiss of the shower in the decon chamber. “The only people down here are the indestructible and the expendable.” Using a pair of scissors she slit the hems and opened a few inches of leg seam on a set of scrub pants. No hope on the tops fitting over his shoulders but one of the cotton T-shirts should stretch enough.

The water shut off. “Fuck that shit is cold,” Soldier Boy grouched. “You have to do this, what, twice a day?”

“You get used to it.” Or learned to accept that God just liked a laugh sometimes. Charlotte remembered praying for cold the long months in the Iraqi and Afghani desert. Underground was nothing but cold. She opened her locker. Her accessories didn't amount to much-- just her watch, her ID badge on a lanyard, and her dog tags with her dad's crucifix on the same chain.

“Towel.” Charlotte tossed him one and turned her back as he emerged from the decon chamber. What was acceptable when he was comatose was an invasion when awake. “Okay. Now, if I had me in a secret underground cell, I’d have the rooms all rigged with that goddamned gas. I’d also have the elevator shaft rigged with explosives. So why am I still awake and we’re not buried under half a damn mountain?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how you’re awake now. There should’ve been enough Novachik in those canisters to keep you under until Jesus gets back.”

“Yeah about that,” Soldier Boy said. “What date is this?” Charlotte told him. “Clothes.”

“On the bench.”

Fabric rustled. “No drawers?”

“I don’t think mine would fit you,” Charlotte said dryly.

Soldier Boy dragged on the T-shirt and toweled his hair. Moving normally, Charlotte noted. Better than normally. He might’ve just woken up from a quick nap. Catching her stare, Solider Boy's lip quirked in a leer. He stretched to his toes, preening like a peacock. "Quit eyeballing the goodies, babydoll. Let's get out of here."

The next indication the situation was FUBAR came when the elevator doors opened. Charlotte put her back to the elevator's side wall. "I don't recognize the guy at the guard station."

Solider Boy nodded and stepped out of the elevator. Charlotte heard a gunshot, glass shattering, and a choking gasp. "You can come out. I got him. Now," Charlotte came out of the elevator and saw the 'guard' on his knees, neck in Soldier Boy's grip, "who the hell are you, and who do you work for? Talk fast or--" the strange man gurgled.

Charlotte saw he was wearing Carmichael’s name badge and rushed past. Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw the big guard shoved in the corner, shot through the back. She checked for a pulse, nodded, and noted the time on her watch. Her mouth tightened when she looked at the Rogue's Gallery on the filing cabinet and saw the picture of Carmichael's three daughters gathered around the family mutt, all four grinning big and bright.

The mook who'd taken Carmichael's spot grunted as Soldier Boy broke his neck. Soldier Boy took Carmichael's sidearm from the mook's holster and let the body flop to the floor. "Come on doll, you can have the vapors later--"

"Fuck you," Charlotte said on reflex, taking the dead man's wrist. The dead man's pants darkened as he spasmed and voided. Under Charlotte's fingers his pulse gave a last feeble twitch and stopped. "I might be your hostage but I've also why you haven't spent the last several months floating in your own shit."

“Am I supposed to be grateful for that?” Soldier Boy examined Carmichael’s weapon, nodding when he found it loaded. “You bastards buried me alive and expect me to kiss your ass for it?”

“Never mind,” Charlotte shoved the reflex to put him in his place aside. Mom had always told her that her pride would get her killed one day.

“I wasn’t out the whole time, you know,” he went on, pushing past Charlotte and opening the filing cabinet with a screech of breaking locks. File folders and papers started fluttering to the floor. “Did you know that?”

“Dr. Sanjeer said it was theoretically possible,” Charlotte said.

“Theoretically,” he mocked, “I kept feeling what you were doing to me.”

“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” Charlotte said and Soldier Boy paused in his rooting. “I promise, I wasn’t trying to.”

For just a second, Charlotte saw someone else standing up in the old Supe’s skin, a man trying hard to hang on to himself through terrible stress. The blink of vulnerability vanished as soon as it happened. “Maybe just having things done to you is bad enough.”

Charlotte remembered his state of utter helplessness, and it took a moment to step down on a feeling of terrible pity. She looked over at the red switch on the wall, the one next to the fire alarm. The one that would switch the fire suppression system from halon gas to water vapor laced with--

A hard hand landed on her shoulder. Soldier Boy squatted to her level and leaned in close, so close Charlotte could smell the fresh soap in his hair. “Get it straight angel. I will hurt you if I have to, to keep from going back in the box. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Yes I understand,” Charlotte said. A tide of hysteria rose within her; she fought it back. Falling apart could come later.

“Good girl.” With a gentle shake, Soldier Boy let Charlotte go. --- MM: So you got him out of the containment area. And then? CD: The main facility was full of bodies. According to Colonel Mallory--

WB: Everyone in the underground levels was already dead. CD: Right, the Novachik traps in Sublevels 1 and 2 had all been popped off and killed the laboratory personnel and most of the guards. The ones not caught by the nerve agent were just straight up shot. We were not exactly dealing with subtle people. --- The long hallway between the access point to the containment area and the rest of the facility was empty. The next body lay just outside the security checkpoint at the other end, shot through the head. In the sublevel's main area, more people lay slumped in the corridors. From the condition of the bodies it was obvious what had happened. “Somebody deployed the nerve agent,” Charlotte said.

“Obviously,” Soldier Boy said, taking a sniff. “You never forget that smell.”

Charlotte looked up in surprise. “You’ve got a sharp nose. Novachik’s odorless.”

"Super senses were part of the package," Solider Boy said. He cocked his head, like he was listening for something. "Hmm. You wanna move it along already? These men are dead."

"Yeah." Charlotte laid the man's hand down on his chest. She knew him-- Dr. Lamar Reginald from Spring Valley, Pennsylvania. Would talk by the hour about fishing, even if fishing wasn't what he was really doing.

"Oh for God's sake--" Soldier Boy grabbed Charlotte by the bicep.

She squeaked as he pulled her to her feet and down the corridor. "Ow-- let go! You're hurting me!"

"Tough titty kitty, I don't have time to baby you through this. Hustle!" At least he let go. Charlotte rubbed her arm as she quick-stepped in his wake. "How many floors between us and the way out?"

"Depends on which way you want to go," Charlotte replied. "We're on Sublevel 2. The main entrance is on Level 1 and the helipad is on Level 2--"

"Nertz on the helipad," Soldier Boy said. "Anything airborne has a transponder. They'd shoot me down before I get ten yards. Tell me about the main entrance."

"The gates are programmed to maglock if someone pulls the alarms. Steel doors about four inches thick." Soldier Boy ignored the elevators and continued past the laboratories. Charlotte glanced through the wired observation windows and her jaw clenched when she saw more bodies. “There’ll be a trap there, most likely."

"I'm not an idiot sugarbritches. They'll knock me out and take me, and either shoot you dead on the spot or disable you and drag you along thinking it'll make me behave." Solider Boy paused, looking down his nose at Charlotte. "It won't. I don’t make deals for hostages.”

"A No Hostage clause was part of my deal with Colonel Mallory. I know--"

"Mallory?" Solider Boy cut her off. "Grace Mallory? CIA?" He laughed. "Well I'll be damned. She must be a million years old by now."

"Such a gentleman," Charlotte muttered.

"Now now," Soldier Boy said, and Charlotte cussed to herself-- right, sensitive ears. "I know how to treat a lady. Only it seems to be an endangered species these days. Even in the seventies, seemed every time I turned around I had a set of tits in my face. In my day, a girl went around dressed like that," he rounded the corner, "it's because she wanted a log for the beaver if you know what I mean."

"Vividly,” Charlotte said in her driest of dry voices.

"These days? Jesus Mary and Joseph, you got grown men acting like they want to be pregnant, women with pants so damn tight you can read their razorburn-- what is it with that anyway? What do men even want these days? Little girls who act like sluts?"

Twenty years in the service had pretty well inoculated Charlotte against offense when it came to male nasty talk. "Couldn't tell ya."

"And the niggers? They're fucking everywhere. God save us,” he crossed himself, “we even elected one President! The President of the United God damned States!" Yet another bigoted idiot who assumed anyone white secretly sympathized with their crap. "I'm not a racist," he went on when Charlotte didn't say anything, "I just don’t think it’s good when people try and do things their temperaments aren’t suited for. Niggers don’t belong in leadership positions, as anybody with any sense knows. Am I right?”

"Explaining why not would take more energy than I got," Charlotte said.

Soldier Boy scowled but let it drop.

Charlotte cussed when Soldier Boy opened the door. There was another body slumped at the bottom of the stairwell, a body with a big splotch of birthmark mostly obliterated by an exit wound.

"Knock it off," Solider Boy snapped as Charlotte bent. Jerry Rivers. Dedicated Slipknot fan, amateur guitar player. "This is-- what are you doing?" Charlotte took the pistol out of Rivers's hand. She looked up and saw the enemy’s body, blood puddled on the stairs where he’d fallen. "Look honey, why don't you stand back and let me handle the men with the guns, okay? I stormed Normandy, I survived Inchon, I think I can handle a bunch of--"

The snap! of Charlotte's patience failing was so distinct it made her teeth rattle. "If you think I'm relying on you to get me out of this alive, you are fucking deluded. I don't feel like being a sidebar in the New York Times piece describing the collateral damage you inflicted during your big escape."

Looking legitimately taken aback, Soldier Boy asked, "Do you even know how to use the damn thing? In an actual firefight? Where men are shooting back at you?"

"Three years in country as a combat medic in Iraq, another six as an RN in Afghanistan," Charlotte told him. "Besides, why the hell do you care if I'm armed? It's not like I can kill you with friendly fire."

"All right," Soldier Boy said. "Keep it if it makes you feel better."

A hissing gas grenade clunked to the bottom of the stairwell. In seconds the place filled with stinking clouds. Soldier Boy sniffed, and scoffed. "Tear gas. Good God." He raised his pistol and shot twice. A body clumped down a flight of stairs and came to rest next to their fallen mate.

Charlotte fanned the air in front of her face, coughing.

"I thought you were immune to poisons," Soldier Boy noted. His eyes were turning red and his nose had started running. Somebody standing downwind of a trash fire, not in a chimney full of toxic smoke.

"I am," Charlotte choked. "Doesn't mean this crap don’t smell bad."

Chuckling, Solider Boy cocked his head. "Shall we?"

"Captain DePoister!" a voice bellowed over the base PA. Solider Boy flinched; Charlotte frowned. It was a woman’s voice, heavily accented. "We do not wish to harm you! Lay down on the ground with your hands on your head!" Music stated to play, something synth-heavy with lyrics in a different language.

Soldier Boy froze. Threat response froze.

"OhmyGod." Charlotte grabbed his hand as he doubled over and fell to his knees. She pressed his palm over her heart. "Benjamin Arthur Michael O'Connell look at me. Look at me!" His eyes snapped to hers, wide and blank of sense. "Focus on my eyes and on my voice, okay? The sound of my voice--" she pulled from the belly and let it rip, carrying right over the pop crap, "I . . . am a maid . . . of constant sorrow . . ." he blinked the emptiness out of his runny eyes. Charlotte felt his hand move between her breasts. She didn’t pull back. If copping a feel helped ground him, let him feel.

To Charlotte's shock he joined her on the last chorus, singing in a sure and resonant voice that blended well with Charlotte’s soprano. They ran through the whole thing together, holding hands and shouting for Jesus, their mingled voices drowning out the other noise. By the time they were done with their second run-through, it had stopped. Silence.

Solider Boy took his hand back and stood, visibly shaking off the willies and shoving the whole episode into the memory hole. Charlotte squashed the urge to get some talk going; this wasn't the time or the place. Or the man. --- WB: So your magic lullaby kept him from popping one off on the way out the door-- right? CD: I did something right. He didn't blow a crater in the side of West Virginia. I know the results weren't optimum but gimme a break. The friendly casualties were not inflicted by Solider Boy. To his dubious credit the murders he committed since you geniuses broke him out of containment in Russia were of people who'd condemned him to forty years of physical and psychological torture-- --- Pale as cheese but composed, Soldier Boy hung back as Charlotte waved her ID at the door sensor. Nothing. "Shit. They must've reset the locks."

"Not to me they didn't," he said, taking two steps forward and using his bare foot to kick the door clean out of the frame. Hard enough to crash it into the opposite corridor wall.

Charlotte directed him to the right and followed him down the hall. She was watching the rear when she bumped into him, hard. Grumbling a curse, she looked past Soldier Boy and saw the long windows looking out over the Allegheny Plateau. The sun was hitting the maple leaves just right, turning the forest an intense, almost firey green. She kept quiet as Soldier Boy approached the window. She could see his reflection, a faint ghost in the wired glass. The sunlight turned his eyes jade green and touched off the red in his hair. It brought him to life.

Hesitatingly, he raised his hand and laid it on the window. He leaned forward to rest his forehead on the glass, closing his eyes against the sunlight and breathing hard like he was trying to reach the fresh air beyond. Like a prisoner just getting out after a long stretch in the stockade, or a patient allowed to go outside for the first time after a while bedbound. Both at once, come to think of it.

Charlotte kept her mouth shut, let her patient have his moment. It didn’t take long, and Soldier Boy straightened up. “What else is on this level?”

"Storage, armory, infirmary, receiving. Residential on Level 2.”

"Does this place have a kitchen?" At Charlotte's incredulous look, Soldier Boy shrugged. "I wasn't joking about being hungry. Give me a good red and a side salad I think I might eat you."

"'No! Don't eat me! I'm too chewy!'" Charlotte mock-screamed, and he laughed. "There’s a locker room for offsite personnel on this floor. You could probably scrounge a lunch."

"And different clothes," he said sourly, picking at the scrub slacks. "Don't suppose my uniform's around here someplace."

"I'm pretty sure they gave it to Homelander so he could burn it," Charlotte said.

"He can't do that!" The humor had flown right out of him. He seemed . . . offended. "I'm still a goddamned hero and all!"

"Oh boy." Charlotte did some mental backdating and-- "Fuck."

"Oh," Solider Boy said. "The smear campaign's started hasn't it?"

Fully aware these might be her last words, Charlotte said, "The Deep. He's one of the Seven--"

"I know who he is."

"He leaked your Vought file. The unadulterated file.” Soldier Boy's eyes widened and his already pasty complexion paled further. "The one that they buried after you," Charlotte finger-quoted, "'died' in '84. Made a bigger sensation than the fucking Watergate tapes. The official story is that you were kidnapped and brainwashed by former KGB black ops." Might as well pull the splinter now. "The Russians kept records. Of what they did to you. I've seen them." Charlotte didn't elaborate. The grainy video footage held special guest star status in her nightmares.

That flash of vulnerability was back, and deeper. For a second Charlotte saw the soul, trapped in a loveless, featureless, white-cold hell of pain. She didn't move. She tried her best to not even breathe. Through the stretched fabric of the heather gray T-shirt, she could see a sullen glow starting in the center of his chest. The end of her life written in a blast of poisoned fire.

Soldier Boy punched the wall and it caved in almost a foot. The whole hallway shook, cracks spidering everywhere. "Come on. Which way to the locker room?" --- AJ: You're defending him?!? If Vought Tower had gone down-- CD: Have you been listening? That doesn't make the collateral damage he's caused okay, and since you geniuses aided and abetted him while he was a fugitive I'm guessing you have a fair amount of moral flexibility on the subject.

HC: Soldier Boy sneezed on a busy street and killed almost 30 people. He's a weapon of mass destruction with PTSD and a two-second fuse. MM: And a racist motherfucker. HC: That too. CD: What's your point? The best idea anyone’s proposed for confining him’s failed. Twice. Look, it's true-- no one person should have that kind of power. It's why you need a roomful of people to agree when you start talking about nukes. You guys just don’t see an issue with using people who do. How is that anything but a lateral move in this idiotic arms race? Your solutions amount to continual escalation and/or fucking ethnic cleansing. Excuse me all to hell if that confuses my priorities somewhat. --- In the locker room Soldier Boy snapped the locks off each locker and rifled through the contents. Clothes and wallets piled up on the changing bench. "No," he said, as he held the bottom of each shoe to the sole of his bare foot, "no . . . no . . . oh for Christ's sake, quit it. You look like a frightened chipmunk, Captain."

Charlotte’s spine went straight and she snapped, "Don't you fucking dare. I earned that commission, you fucking pogue.”

“Right. You’re the real hero,” Soldier Boy drawled.

"I've seen your actual service record,” Charlotte retorted. “The only action you've seen in a combat zone was hanging out in Pusan long enough to call Truman a, quote, ‘spineless faggot sucking on Stalin’s balls,’ unquote. Soldier Boy. What a fucking joke. You are the fucking opposite of a soldier. You are a thug and a coward.”

The smile went out of Soldier Boy’s eyes, though it stayed on his face. It made him look insane. It made him look like Homelander. “May I ask how you arrived at that conclusion, Captain Butch?”

“Not gay. Brave men don’t corner teenagers in the shower for mutual masturbation sessions. Brave men don’t call their girlfriends dumb cunts . . . period.” Charlotte paused. “Brave men don’t take aim at kindergarteners.”

“It’s called acceptable losses, woman--"

"I don't see an insignia. What's your rank, mister?" Charlotte demanded. “Where are you in the line of command? What is your authority?!?"

"My authority,” he snarled, “is that I am motherfucking Solider Boy, and if I have to hear another word out of you--"

Today is a good day to die. "Oh for Christ's sake just fucking kill me if all you got's threats," Charlotte cut him off.

"Maybe I don't want to do that." Soldier Boy stalked close, his body language changing from athletic grace to something animal. He crowded up to her, towered over her. Charlotte clenched her fists to stop her hands from shaking. "Hmm? Maybe, it's been a while." He traced his fingertips down her neck, a featherlight caress that made Charlotte prickle. He put his hand at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, her clavicle under his palm and his thumb a spot of pressure against her throat. All he had to do was shake, and bones would snap like little branches. Charlotte shuddered; she couldn’t stop herself. "Maybe, I could feel you touching me the whole time I was under," his free hand pressed to her back and yanked her close, his body big and hot against hers, "and now, I want to touch you back."

“Look,” Charlotte said as she sucked air to catch her breath, slow her pounding heart, “in the last ninety minutes, you have threatened to rip my head off, promised to hurt me -- underlined -- if I didn’t assist your escape, and told me you’d write me off if I was taken hostage. You are also my patient and I don't fuck patients. These things make you someone I do not want touching me and my libido doesn’t get a vote. Now back off.”

"Is that what you really want, Captain?” Solider Boy purred. His body, his smile, all of him was pure seduction. Except his eyes. His eyes were empty as a skull's. "I can feel your heartbeat. Your mouth's saying no but your--"

"Sometimes you’d get an erection when I was disimpacting your bowels. You're the expert-- should I have fucked you right then?" Charlotte went up on tiptoe to speak in his ear. "Is that why you think you might like dick?"

The hands on her body turned to iron, hard and hurtful. "You watch your filthy mouth."

"Or what? You'll kill me? Assuming I live though this, I'm either getting shot for treason or put in jail for the rest of my life. I'm aiding and abetting an enemy agent. The UCMJ's pretty clear on what happens to traitors. The only reason you're still sucking air is putting you in front of a firing squad'd be a little pointless."

"Then why bother taking care of me? Hmm? You could’ve left me in the box to rot and just sat there picking your nose or playing with yourself or whatever people do to goldbrick these days. Why didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Soldier Boy shoved Charlotte behind him as two people walked into the room, “do tell why you did not simply leave this poor boy all alone in the dark.” Charlotte swore in Arabic; one of the newcomers was Dr. Sanjeer. The other was a lanky young man wearing a dirty baseball cap and orange All-Stars. In one hand he carried a large tablet displaying a woman’s face. Both men wore oxygen tanks on their backs, masks hooked to the shoulder straps. “My sources tell me you are not soft-hearted Captain. Despite the clichés, good nurses rarely are."

"Who are you?" Solider Boy asked.

"You may call me Nina, my Soldier Boy."

"I'm not your anything. Tell me why I'm not stomping your messenger boys' guts out."

"Because you haven't. You are not mindless, and you are not crazy." The woman on the tablet took a huff off a cigarette. "I would have preferred to discuss this in person. Unfortunately, my inside man could not access your cell directly.”

Inside man. "You bastard,” Charlotte spat at Sanjeer. “What’s she giving you? Money?”

“Quite a lot of it,” at the same moment Sanjeer said, “It isn’t about--"

Solider Boy pointed at Sanjeer. "You. Shut up." His finger jerked to point at the woman. "You. Talk."

"I have a proposition. It must be very clear to you by now you exist in a world that neither needs nor wants you. Vought has their poster boy, more popular than ever thanks to his reinvention as family man." Solider Boy snorted. "Grace Mallory has recently been diagnosed with heart failure and has been given a prognosis in months, William Butcher is dying by inches of brain lesions, and your former comrades are all dead."

"There's still Homelander, and Vought," Solider Boy said. "Those cocksuckers need to go down. Hard."

"A feat you cannot accomplish on your own and is even less likely now that he has taken your measure. What does it profit you, to kill him?"

"I have a commie lecturing me about profit."

"Your outdated thinking is showing, my Soldier Boy. If there is a lesson of our times it is this-- ideals are perishable. Like eggs, no? The only truths are the things that can be held in the hand," she cupped her palm like she was holding a pile of coins. "Like gold. A child's hand. A lover's cock. Your enemy's heart."

Soldier Boy's glower deepened. "There's a ribeye steak and a bottle of MacAllen 18 somewhere with my name on it. Get to the point."

"Directness, I like it. I've made a niche for myself as a facilitator for many things around the world--"

"You want me to do hits for you," Soldier Boy cut her off.

"In a word. You are both uniquely talented and very skilled, and despite recent evidence to the contrary I know for a fact you can be discreet. Vought left you to the enemy and replaced you with a very pretty maniac. You owe them nothing. Your country's best use for you was to shove you into a coffin and bury you alive. You owe them even less. You have no friends, no real kin. You have no one, except possibly Captain DePoister, who cares for you at all, and some time in your waking company has probably cured her of that."

All through this the lanky man stood still. Charlotte saw his eyes flick over to one side. A tic worked under one eyelid. Sanjeer's eyes kept moving in the same direction. His hands kept pinching and worrying the side seems of his trousers-- a nervous stim she'd noticed in him before when he was under stress.

Soldier Boy glanced back over his shoulder. "Well doll? You sick of my company yet?"

Charlotte squared her shoulders. She looked Soldier Boy in the eye, and deliberately cut her eyes to the right. "I know for a fact you were raised properly. You will address me as Captain.”

Soldier Boy did that scoffing thing. "You never answered my question. Why did you bother taking care of me, if I'm so fucking terrible a person?"

In her peripheral vision, she saw the lanky man's sleeve twitch. "HOLD YOUR BREATH!" she screamed and fired from the hip. The lanky young man flinched as the shot nipped a piece of fabric from his coat. The red switch next to the fire alarm exploded into pieces.

Sanjeer screamed and tripped running for the door, belly-crawling into a corner. Still holding the tablet displaying the Russian woman's smoke-haloed face, the lanky young man made a flicking motion with his free hand as Charlotte fired again. Agony burst up her arm as the whatever-it-was the lanky man could throw hit it. Charlotte fell to her knees; the kid fell on his back with a hole in his throat.

Charlotte curled over her wounded arm, panting out screams. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she peeled the pistol out of her right hand. She was an okay shot left-handed, not great, but--

A commotion broke out. Three more men had burst into the room wearing oxygen masks and shooting MAC-10s. As she watched, Soldier Boy turned them into piles of broken meat. The last man, he twisted the head off. Like opening a jelly jar. Blood sprayed everywhere. The head rolled on the floor like a soccer ball.

Charlotte grayed out for a moment. When the world came back online, Soldier Boy was talking into the tablet. The conversation must not have gone well-- he hurled the tablet into the bank of lockers so hard it punched through, leaving a dash in the metal shaped like a giant cockeyed coin slot.

Cowering in a corner, oxygen mask clutched in his shaking hands, Sanjeer moaned. Soldier Boy, covered in blood and looking like some sort of Celtic war god, paused in gathering up cash and clothes long enough to lift Charlotte to her feet. He picked Sanjeer up and twisted the portly doctor’s arm up behind his back. "Talk."

“Charlotte please,” Sanjeer said. “We need more. We need data. We need . . . we can end it, all of it!" He started to snivel. “He's the key to everything. Just . . . let us figure out how he can do it. Once we have that we have the upper hand over-- over--” he stuttered to a stop.

Over you, Charlotte heard the part he didn’t say. Spangled costume or GI issue, Vought or USA, Decontamination Charlotte or Captain DePoister. All the same. An error in the system. Even begging for his life, she could see the sneer he always had when he spoke to her.

“Please, please-- I,” Charlotte raised Rivers’s pistol, “I have a family--”

“And I don’t?” Charlotte asked. “Rivers? Carmichael? Dr. Reginald? Your lab techs? We were all here to help you.”

“Not fast enough. We need that weapon in our hands now but to do that we need examples of compound-neutralization effect in action. The subjects from the Vermont incident aren't enough. Too many variables. Analysis of data could take decades and we need answers now."

“Experimental data,” Charlotte said. “Test subject-- me. That’s why she tried to trigger him but she told me to get out of the way first. You need a specimen." Her guts turned cold as she ran down the chain of logic. "God have mercy-- I was never here to work was I? This whole time! You've been trying to get him to pop off while you had us both under observation. Did Mallory know about this? What am I talking about?-- of course she fucking did, that woman never misses a trick. God damn you!"

Solider Boy shoved Sanjeer to his knees. “He’s all yours,” he said to Charlotte as he went back to scrounging.

Sanjeer wrung his hands and begged, “Charlotte please, we’re close, I swear we’re close, just let me do my work. You owe it--”

Charlotte shot. One in the head, the rest of the magazine in the back.

“Good girl,” Soldier Boy praised.

"Piss off," Charlotte retorted. She tried to move her bad arm and the pain took the feet out from under her. Soldier Boy caught her as her legs gave out. “You can find the way out from here,” Charlotte told him. “Just follow the Exit signs.”

Instead, Soldier Boy bent and swept an arm behind her knees, lifting her into his arms. He picked up a duffel bag and a pair of hiking boots. "Where's the infirmary?" --- CD: Sanjeer was the inside man. The woman -- Nina she said her name was -- waved seven figures and a chance at a Nobel under his nose. I don't know if she was working with or for anybody; that'd all be guesswork on my part. The last of her strike team was waiting in the locker room on the main floor. The Novachik trap inside was still intact. While Nina had Solider Boy distracted, she had a Supe try and spring it. I shot him, and he broke my arm. Soldier Boy saved my life when the shithead's backup came in shooting. He could’ve left me there. He had a clear line to the door. Instead he took me to the infirmary and helped me administer first aid.

HC: Why would he do that? CD: Probably because he didn't want to walk out of there thinking he owed me one. Why he'd care about that, I don’t know. Solider Boy's not really capable of respect. You have to understand people have a value beyond what they can gain you to do that. He and Colonel Mallory are birds of a feather in that regard. --- Gently, Solider Boy set Charlotte down on the infirmary's exam table. Charlotte cussed in pain as she examined the injury.

"How bad is it?"

"Both the bones're fractured," Charlotte reported. "Swell."

Moving quick and efficient, Solider Boy ransacked the room. Looked like her Dad trying to figure out the kitchen, opening every cupboard trying to find the paper plates. A brace and some rolls of compression bandage piled on the table at Charlotte's hip. "Shit. Morphine, morphine, wherefore art thou morphine--"

"Bad time to get fucked up," Charlotte said.

"Not for me."

"Don't bother. Drugs don't work on me, remember?"

Soldier Boy paused. "Oh. Right. Sorry." He watched Charlotte hiss and whimper as she tried to reduce the fractures. "That must hurt like a sonofabitch. Here." Charlotte jerked away as Soldier Boy reached for her arm. "Stop that. Let me see."

"Why do you even care?" Charlotte snapped.

"What are you talking about? Of course I care. You probably just saved my life." A bitter smirk twisted his lips. "Such as it is."

"Knock it off. Self-pity's unattractive."

Giving her another one of those unreadable looks, Soldier Boy repeated, "Let me see-- this needs to be set."

“I can do this--”

“So can I. Learned how when I was a kid out camping with my cousins. Mother insisted I learn first aid.” Scoffing to himself, he added, “One of the few things she and my father agreed on.”

Taking deep breaths, Charlotte said, “Can you, just really carefully, pull between my elbow and my wrist?”

Soldier Boy grabbed some gauze and wound a roll over his first two fingers. “Bite down on this.”

Wrapping one hand around her elbow and the other around her wrist, Soldier Boy pulled. Like a thick piece of rubber tubing, the muscles stretched. The pain was amazing. Panting hard into the gauze between her teeth, Charlotte manipulated the bones with her left hand. Simple fracture of the ulna, incomplete simple fracture of the radius-- painful but not serious.

The broken ulna moved into position. Charlotte managed to get the brace on her arm and strap it into place. She spat the gauze out and said, “Slowly. Release.”

Soldier Boy slowly eased the pull and let go. He found a sling and helped her settle her arm into it. “How’s that feel?”

“It’ll hold until I can get somewhere with an MRI machine.” At his blank look, Charlotte explained, “Magnetic Resonance Imaging. Like X-rays but better.”

Chuckling a little, Soldier Boy patted her shoulder. His brow furrowed a little. Charlotte held still as he ran a finger under her neck chain and pulled her dog tags out from under her scrub top.

DEPOISTER CHARLOTTE O.E. ######### B NEG NO PREFERENCE

“What’s the O-E stand for?”

“Octavia Elizabeth. My mom’s favorite book as a kid was Charlotte’s Web. Octavia is the nurse who delivered me and my sister-- we're twins and we were high-risk. Elizabeth’s my Confirmation name.”

“That why you became a nurse?”

“That’s complicated.”

Soldier Boy frowned thoughtfully at the metal on his fingers. “If you’re an atheist how come you wear a cross?”

“I’m not an atheist.” Charlotte took the tags back and put them back under her scrub top. “Recovering Catholic isn’t available as an option.”

Soldier Boy took her left hand, thumbing at her watch. “You’re right-handed? That stinks.”

Charlotte’s eyes flicked up and there he was. Head bent close like a friend sharing secrets. He stank like blood and hot skin, and despite knowing better she felt herself melting at the quick. Vivid full Technicolor fantasies she hadn’t allowed herself in all the time she’d been his caretaker filled her imagination--

Son of a bitch. Charlotte snatched her hand back. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” he asked, all low and sensuous.

“I mean it. Stop it.”

One of his blood-gritty hands cupped her face. His nose touched hers. “You're blushing for me, angel,” he said.

“Of course I'm blushing. I’m a heterosexual female with eyesight that works. Now, take your hands off of me and take one step back, now."

Instead, he kissed her. Gentle, insistent, and reminding her in painful detail exactly how long it had been since her last kiss. Soldier Boy smiled against Charlotte’s mouth as she put her hand on his chest. The look of total confusion when she shoved him back as hard as she could was almost funny.

"Read my lips," Charlotte said, pointing to her mouth. "Back. Off.”

Finally, finally, that seemed to get through. Soldier Boy stood there like an unplugged toy as Charlotte got down off the exam table, awkward with her slung arm. She gave him the room and pulled the privacy curtain as she passed, veiling his face. Blank, bloody, lost. “Get cleaned up and get changed."

No answer from the other side of the curtain, though Charlotte supposed the squeak of a faucet handle could be taken as one. She listened as he slurped a drink. Mild splashing as he washed his face. The soft sound of fabric shuffling as he changed his clothes.

Soldier Boy whisked the privacy curtain aside and found Charlotte gathering bottled water and boxes of meal bars. “Hey woah doll,” he said, "you don’t--"

“Captain. For the last fucking time,” Charlotte said. “My name’s not doll, or angel, or any of the other little pet names you use in lieu of a woman’s actual name.”

“Okay, Captain. I’m sorry.” Soldier Boy laid his duffel bag on the counter and packed it full, quick and efficient. In regular clothes and shoes, he was . . . he wasn't her patient any more. But he wasn't Solider Boy either, all dash and attitude and winking at the camera as he fondled the leading ladies. He was just a guy with a solid build and restless eyes. "Captain? Charlotte?"

Charlotte blinked, realized she was staring. "Sorry. Zoned out a moment." She took a deliberate step back. "Come on, the main entrance is--"

“I’m not a bad guy,” Soldier Boy blurted.

“I never said that you were,” Charlotte blurted back, surprised into bluntness. "Look, net effect of today’s adventures on my end is a broken arm and the rest of my life in jail-- if I’m lucky."

"Come with me." Charlotte's eyebrows shot straight up her forehead. "I'm serious," Solider Boy added.

"Don’t be ridiculous." Charlotte lifted her bound arm, grimacing in pain as she did. "I'm wounded. I'd only slow you down. Besides, not thinking you’re a bad guy’s not the same thing as trusting you."

Solider Boy put his hands on his hips. "So you're too good for me? Is that it?"

"For Christ’s sake--” Charlotte cried, “what do you want from me? Absolution? I'm a nurse, not a priest!” Soldier Boy’s arms went across his chest, like a man bracing for further blows. “You're not bad. You're indifferent. And for someone who can do what you can do, indifference is worse. Come on." She was half out the infirmary door when she realized she was walking alone. Solider Boy just stood there, again with that unplugged look. Like he was -- Charlotte wanted to smack herself when she finally put it together -- dissociating, an overstressed mind and wounded spirit fleeing from the Here and Now. She'd seen in before, in patients coping with post-traumatic stress. "Come on, you're wasting daylight and you're gonna wanna get gone before shift change."

"I didn't mean to kill anyone besides the twins. At that house," Solider Boy said, talking like he hadn't heard her. "And that building. I just," he waved a hand in front of his eyes, "I blacked out, and I guess this," he taps his sternum, "popped off by itself. In that stairway. I think I felt it starting to happen again. My head started hurting and . . ." he trailed off. Charlotte didn't move. This was Ben talking, not Solider Boy, and Ben deserved to be heard. "It almost happened again. But you stopped it." His eyes refocused, saw her. "How did you know singing to me would stop it?"

"I didn't. Not for sure," Charlotte admitted. "I've had patients who have," she picked her words carefully, "attacks like that. The usual protocol is to talk them around until they come back on their own. I had to be a little more direct in your case."

"Hell of a gamble. I could've killed you. I almost did." Charlotte shrugged. "Why risk it? You could've just gotten out of the way."

"And anyone else who might've been in the line of fire? They might've been the enemy. They might've been one of the guards here. Shit, they might be some random jackass hiking the mountains looking for standing stones."

Ben still looked blank, like a kid trying to parse meaning out of an algebra problem. Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally who can kill me in her sleep. "You never answered my question. Why bother taking care of me at all?" --- HC: What did you tell him? CD: 'Because it's my job.' We made it to the main security station. I told him where the nearest airport was. The last thing I remember was him apologizing for having to knock me out. --- "Watch your face Captain." Charlotte turned aside as Ben put his fist through the glass of the security station's observation window. He reached through and unlocked the door. A map of the immediate area hung on the wall; Ben examined it thoughtfully, then pulled it down and folded it up. “So what are you going to tell them when they find you?”

“The truth,” Charlotte shrugged. “You forced me to take you out of the complex, stole some clothes, and asked if I knew where the nearest airport is.”

Ben nodded, stuffing the map in his pocket. “That should give me enough of a head start. One of those freight trains should take me halfway to the--"

"Wait!" Charlotte snapped up her hand. "Better I don’t know."

"You're right. I'm sorry. How's the arm?"

"Hurts. Thank you for helping splint it."

Ben nodded. "Guess you know what comes next. You know where your knockout button is?"

"Yeah," Charlotte pointed, "just don't break my teeth. Dental work's a bitch when Novocain doesn't work."

"Affirmative.” He touched her face. “Thank you. For . . . just . . . thank you. I’m sorry to have to do this.” He pulled his hand back and curled his fist. “On three-- one--"

Stars exploded across Charlotte's awareness and the last thing she felt were Ben's arms as he caught her falling body and lowered her carefully to the ground. --- CD: I half-expected him to just kill me. But the next thing I know I’m coming to in legirons with Colonel Mallory explaining that I’m in protective custody, and I’m at least eighty percent sure I’m never leaving.

MM: Do you have any idea where he is now? CD: No. He didn’t share his plans with me. He was able to smuggle himself back to the US all the way from Moscow; I don't think he'd have as much of a problem staying under the radar as you guys seem to think he would.

WB: Oi Florence Nightingale-- if you knew, would you even tell us? CD: Yes I would tell you if I knew. I didn't forget my duties as either an officer or a nurse, and so far my reward is an indefinite term of imprisonment as bait, on the off-chance Soldier Boy grows a sense of duty or obligation and shows up to break me out. Which he won’t. So fuck you very much. Take me back to my cell. --- One early spring evening, Charlotte was in the yard with The Lions Of al-Rassan open in her lap. The alarm klaxon bellowed and she jumped a foot.

“What’s going on?” she asked Private Lett, the MP on duty in the yard. Seemed a bit overkill for one . . . whatever the hell Charlotte was on paper these days.

“Power interruption. Again. I think you’ll be okay back in your suite.”

“Cell,” she corrected. “Let’s call things by their right names, shall we PFC?”

She had the grace to look embarrassed. “Yes ma’am. Return to your cell. We’ll have this figured out in a snake flick.”

Compared to the stockade, Charlotte supposed, her confinement could've been considered comfortable. A little collection of buildings cut out of the nowhere between the UP and the Wisconsin state line, surrounded on all sides by a perimeter wall and a shitload of trees. In the winter, the snow piled up in yardsticks and the silence got so profound it hurt. Now that it was warmer Charlotte spent every moment she could get away with outdoors, soaking up sun like some half-assed weed. Just her, a handful of guards, and nowhere to go. Welcome to life in the discard pile.

Charlotte was halfway up the sidewalk back to Hut 3 when she heard something. A low, tuneful baritone floating from the thick box hedges lining the path, “I . . . am a man . . . of constant sorrow . . .” Charlotte dropped her book and knelt to pick it up. “Meet me by the birdbath," the voice softly instructed.

“No killing anyone,” Charlotte said.

"Haven’t yet. Go."

She'd just finished scribbling on the title page of her book when a dark shape cut itself out of the gathering shadows by Hut 2. "You about done lollygaggin, Captain?"

“Yeah,” she said, putting her book on the side of the birdbath. She took off her dog tags and her cross, kissing the cross as she laid it beside the book. “Let’s make like donkeys and haul ass.”

Ben laughed. “Come here. Faster if I carry you piggyback.”

“This isn’t,” Charlotte grunted as she clambered onto Ben’s broad back, “terribly dignified.”

“Woman, you have had your hands on my dick and your fingers up my ass. Your dignity can take a few jabs.”

“Yeah yeah.” Charlotte wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

Ben stood like Charlotte weighed nothing. “Hang on tight.”

Charlotte hung on tight and Ben took off, running free and easy. Vague memories of riding like this on her mom's back as Dad took Kay made her want to cry. She put her head on Ben’s shoulder and shut her eyes. Weird to feel safe in the company of a borderline lunatic and mass murderer, but she did feel safe with him now. Maybe Nina had a point about ideals. Charlotte’s had certainly died, bleeding out as she lived out her life in captivity and flatlining for good as Colonel Mallory’s Boys grilled her for answers she didn’t have.

“Here,” Ben said some time later, squatting to let Charlotte down. They’d come to a motorcycle loaded with supplies, parked next to a gravel road running roughly east-west. "How's your arm?"

"It's good," Charlotte said. "Aches a little bit when it's cold, which is all the goddamned time." Ben chuckled as stretched to his toes, shook out to limber up. Looked to be in perfect health, she noted, hair and beard neatly trimmed. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what the last months have been for him. "Do you have a knife?"

"Course." Ben opened a pocketknife as Charlotte shrugged out of her coat and pointed out the little scar in the fleshy underside of her arm. Working by moonlight, he slit the skin and pinched out the tiny black cylinder of a tracking device. At Charlotte's nod, he crushed it between his thumb and forefinger and flicked it away like a spent cigarette.

“Do you have--”

“Here, I got it,” Ben said as he bandaged the cut. “Can I ask you something?" he asked as he worked. At Charlotte's grunted yeah, he asked, "What were you writing in that book?"

"A note to my sister. Said I loved her and the boys, and to pray for me the next time she goes to Mass.” Ben nodded as he mounted up. “My turn,” Charlotte said. “Why come break me out?”

“Heard a rumor. Homelander.” Charlotte felt herself go pale. “Nobody deserves what that stupid motherfucker would do to you.” He hesitated. Honest feelings didn't seem to come naturally to him. Like learning to play an instrument-- all that came out was noise at first. "Besides, I owed you one."

"Okay."

Ben paused in getting himself settled, cocking an eyebrow back at Charlotte. "'Okay?' So you trust me now?"

"Let’s just say prison life's not agreeing with me." Ben patted the saddle behind him and Charlotte got on. "So what now?"

“You know something?” Ben said as he heeled up the kickstand. “For the first time in my entire goddamned life . . . I have no idea."

"It’ll wait for morning,” Charlotte said. “Let’s just make some miles. Head west."

"Hang on tight." Ben kick-started, and they sped off into the dark. ---

AN2: UCMJ-- Uniform Code of Military Justice, body of laws applying to United States armed forces personnel.

Crime-a-nilly it's so much easier when it's just porn.

[littlecajunlady]

Hold on, I actually have something to say about Lucky Spencer, his recasts, and the punishment of actors through character assassination.

Under a read more because I have A LOT to say:

For some reason, every January for the last few years, I watch clips of General Hospital - sometimes storylines I've seen before, and sometimes stories I want to see for the first time. This January I decided on Lucky (JJ) and Elizabeth, and I've watched every scene of theirs I could find from '97 to '99 and '09 to '11. I'd seen a few of their older scenes, a bit more of their recent scenes, but it was my first time watching everything from the beginning. Two months later and I'm still thinking about them, how sweet they were together as teens, and how the writers ruined them over and over again.

My first memory of watching GH was with my older sister, and it just so happened to be the episode in '99 with Lucky's funeral and the reveal that he was alive. As a lover of angst, I was enthralled. I wanted to know what happened next. Now in hindsight, that was truly the end for them. Sometimes I feel like Lucky died in that fire and he never came back. Lucky said it himself in a scene with Luke in '10 - "Elizabeth and I never recovered from that fire," and he was right. And it is so disappointing to me. A small part of me almost wishes I didn't know how good they were then, so that I never learned how far they'd fallen.

The characters as teenagers were beautiful together. They were IN LOVE, and they sold it, and had better chemistry than almost any characters I've ever seen. I know this is a soap opera and almost no one is allowed to stay married to one person, much less with their high school sweetheart, but I just wish they hadn't done so much deliberate, irreparable damage to this couple. And for what?

From the wiki I read recently, Jonathan Jackson wanted to leave as early as '96 or '97 and they convinced him to stay, which I'm grateful he did so we could get the Liz/Lucky story. I hate that he left, and really dislike recasts in general, but I would never begrudge an actor for wanting to move on from a soap opera, even if I miss them. And to expect an 11-year-old actor to commit to a lifetime as one character is ridiculous. He wanted to leave again in '11, and while that was incredibly disappointing, I understand why he did.

He's said in interviews that he wanted to work with Tony and Becky, and have Liz and Lucky reunite, and have lighter stories. I know actors rarely get a say in their storylines, that they've gotta shut up and do the work they're given, and I get that. But considering those requests were the whole reason he even agreed to come back in the first place, why did they apparently agree when they had no intention of following through? So he left, which was within his right to do. Creators/producers/writers don't have to cater to actors' wants, but then they shouldn't act surprised when the actor leaves when they've lied to get them in the door. So yeah, I don't blame him for leaving, and I'm happy for him that he got Nashville soon after.

Unfortunately, now Lucky has since been punished for this. They turned him into a deadbeat dad who doesn't see his kids. They absolutely did not have to do that. They could so easily say he talks to them at least once a week on the phone, that he sees them every few months, and sends them gifts on their birthdays. It might not be perfect but at least it's not the complete abandonment of his children. Jax was allowed an offscreen relationship with Josslyn, so why can't Lucky? It's so out of character for him to do this and the writers' motives are so transparent to me.

And frankly, I feel like they've been ruining Lucky since the first time JJ left. After running out of JJ scenes to watch, I finally grit my teeth and watched some scenes with the recasts. I watched some of JY's Lucky return storyline. The actor was fine I guess, but I didn't buy him as Lucky, and the chemistry with Liz just wasn't there anymore. I hate the brainwashing stuff and how he no longer loved Elizabeth. If I'd been watching this live then, I probably would've quit because that is NOT the story I would've wanted to see with these characters.

GV's Lucky is even worse. I'm sure the actor is good in other things but that character was definitely not Lucky. I mostly blame the writing, but every time I see him, I say aloud to myself, "I do not know this man." Lucky would not be a cop. From some scenes I've seen, he was controlling and downright mean to Elizabeth. He was so unlikable and annoying. While the drug addiction storyline is good for drama and a challenge for actors, I just don't buy that as a story for Lucky, and definitely not the cheating. Again, it's just so very out of character that I simply don't think of that man as Lucky - that rage-filled, Dudley Do Right cuckhold? I realize this sounds really harsh, and yes there were some nice moments too (I begrudgingly admit their 2005 wedding was very sweet) but for me the bad far outweighed the good. I don't know what the character (and actors) of Lucky did to deserve such character assassination

It's very telling to me that the moment JJ returned, Lucky was allowed to be smart again. Competent at his job. To actually be respected by the other characters. What a concept, huh? There's no way JJ would've returned to that mess of a character otherwise. I agree that it's fucked up that GV was fired and that JJ was told that GV moved on of his own volition, but I'm glad JJ returned for the time he did, even though they had no idea what to do with him.

Siobhan? She was fine at first but then became shrill. And she was just the rebound girl he never should've married. The Balkan storyline was definitely not one of their best. Lucky's exit - which both JJ and Tony complained about - by having Lucky leave his kids just before Christmas to go talk to some rocks? Wtf were they thinking? An actor leaves and they no longer have any obligation to make a satisfying conclusion for fans, I guess. The Liz/Nik affair was so gross to me. I don't know a lot about Becky's firing, but they clearly wanted to punish her and her character too before getting rid of her. While I hate what Liz did, I don't hate the character, because they clearly had some kind of vendetta against Becky to want to trash her character so thoroughly. And I understand that's even the nature of soap operas - that everyone gets the chance to fuck up and do unforgivable things - and I guess that's just an aspect of soaps that I absolutely hate. That some characters aren't allowed to stay good and true to themselves for the sake of drama and who's the daddy storylines.

I know there are GH fans now, and probably many back then, who are sick of LL2 and want Liz to move on. And that's fair. But I'm also sure that there were so many people who wanted them back together, especially after JJ returned. I was one of them. What an absolute waste of history and chemistry. Jonathan and Becky both wanted it. A lot of the fans wanted it. They didn't even have to keep them together forever - soap couples never last - but to NEVER allow these characters any happiness together when we finally had JJ back is one of the biggest fumbles I've ever seen. They ruined the characters a long time ago, and they ruined this couple yet again. And I'll never forgive that.

I want JJ to come back as Lucky, I always will, even if it's just for a little while. He probably won't, and why would he after last time? I don't want a recast but if they decided to then maybe I'd give him a chance, only because I want them to stop trashing the character. But honestly whoever they cast probably still won't be Lucky to me - JJ IS Lucky, and some characters just can't be recast. I'm trying to make my peace with that, and with the fact that the last time we saw the REAL Lucky and Liz happy together was back in 1999. The showrunner and writers at the time had the rare opportunity to fix that in 2010 and chose not to do it. Why? I could never guess.

[stepfordgoth]

Ewwwww not to be weird but every once in a while after I've had a Good Drunken Night I do some reflecting about the night, and then I inevitably (for some reason) start to think about when my ex and I were "on the way out" in 2015, and I was starting to move out of his house and I spent the weekend (July 4 weekend) at my friend's house and it was literally THE DAY AFTER I LEFT that that dumbass boy got a major DUI charge and almost died because he apparently drank a WHOLE BOTTLE OF KRAKEN IN A COUPLE OF HOURS (which first of all is INSANE, even if you are "tall with lots of alcoholic genetics" lol) and then decided that he absolutely needed to drive to his buddy's house, presumably to play GTA and smoke weed, and he wrapped his car around a fucking telephone pole in the process. Despite the sternum injury he gave himself (cancerian male!) he survived the event, and when he woke up in the hospital the next morning he told his mom and sisters (who never liked me to begin with) that the whole thing was MY FAULT because I had always been there to hide his keys before then, and I wasn't there that time, so that's why it happened. And they believed him of course because he was the precious baby boy of the family (the only son AND the youngest child!) and proceeded to harass me on Facebook for MONTHS after we broke up. And in January 2016 I found out he had apparently been cheating on me for a few months before we broke up anyway! So it was actually ridiculous.

And anyway my point here is that I always end up coming to the conclusion that even with all of the plentiful drunken experiences I've had in the last 15 years, I have never ever been sooooooo drunk that Ive considered driving somewhere for any reason, and I would literally never. I don't understand how he did it. The thought of driving anywhere other than home after I've had more than 2 cocktails/beers/glasses of wine is actually so scary to me and makes me anxious to even think about tbh!

And how the fuck did I ever put any energy into someone who acts like that in general, you know? I sold myself so short constantly before I met my husband tbh