#january might be okay but i'm fucked for this month

[aforgotto]

It's literally only the 5th of December and everything sucks already. I'm sorry. I keep hoping things get better but nothing changes and there's nothing I can do.

I know it's a complicated month for everyone so I don't expect anything but I appreciate any help I can get.

I'm sorry again.

I thought I was going to be okay this month but it turns out I am going to need some help paying bills and buying groceries

I'm sorry to do this again

ppal

cofee

[mushroompollution]

Chapter 49: Nightingale

Previous Chapters: The Sablier Arc Masterpost (35-42) || 43 || 44 || 45 || 46 || 47 || 48

Read the manga: imgur || mangaread (ad warning)

This chapter starts with a brief glimpse of Leo receiving some terrible news from the orphanage. But there's no time for that, because Oz's coming of age ceremony is just starting.

okay I just had to include that part because it always makes me laugh.

As the guests filter in and greet Oz, Alice notices each of them handing him a white feather that he adds to a clip danging from his waist. He explains that the feathers are a symbolic proof of their acknowledgment. Though Alice says she doesn't really get it, she confidently shoves her own feather in his face.

Meanwhile, in an otherwise empty hall, Reim Lunettes and Xerxes Break discuss their plan. They're surprised that Isla Yura allowed so many Pandora officials into his estate, and wonder why he was really so eager to invite Oz to his mansion.

But there's something else Reim wants to ask, too.

Reim goes off to look for the Sealing Stone as Sharon enters the hall and asks Break to step outside for some air with her. As they walk, she communicates with Oz through her Chain, Equius, which is able to hide within shadows and relay telepathic messages. They go over their plan as a certain guest approaches Oz.

Elliot dismisses his own concern and returns to his brooding sister as Gilbert and Alice wave Oz over to their side.

Alice drags Oz out onto the dance floor, as the scene returns to Break and Sharon, standing on a veranda just outside the ballroom. Break asks why she doesn't join the others and dance. Sharon says she's too focused on the mission, but she can't hide the way she watches everyone else.

He asks if she regrets becoming a Contractor through Pandora. Her aging had stopped then, leaving her permanently 14 and thus forbidden from participating in social events for anything other than official business. She says no, she had wanted to form a Contract with Equius and understood the sacrifices. Still...

Finally, she asks Break to dance with her, out there on the veranda. He refuses, and insists he has no idea how to. She says that's nonsense and waves him over to watch the other couples dancing inside.

He can't, Break protests. Sharon keeps insisting, until finally, he has to confess.

It can't be helped then, Sharon says. She'll just have to teach him herself. As she takes him by the hand, Break smiles and remarks to himself how she's grown into a really strong woman.

Back inside, Oz and Alice dance together. She says that long ago, someone taught her how. Though there's a faint memory of Jack, she says that doesn't matter. Because she's dancing with Oz now, and she's happy. It's really sweet.

But someone else catches Oz's attention.

Back inside Isla Yura's mansion, Reim and two other Pandora guards wander the dark halls in search of the Sealing Stone, or any important information. As they proceed, they happen on a gruesome scene, and we learn they aren't the only ones searching those halls.

[yellowocaballero]

ok, i just have to ask about the good and insane naruto fics. what's going on there?

What isn't going on there. [I am so sorry I am answering this ask late. In my defense, I had to get the good fic out in time for Pride month. Yes, this was incredibly important to me.]

I just posted the good fic onto AO3. It's about Obito experiencing somebody else's time travel fix-it and having the most normal possible reaction (kidnapping a child, installing her as a puppet kage, undivorcing Kakashi).

It's actually a fic with Historie (TM). LazuliQuetzal & I first had the idea in fucking 2021, and I wrote a pilot story then. Decided it would never go anywhere, didn't do anything else with it. Came back later after reading butter_peanut, intrigued by Obito, and decided I really wanted to do something with it. I've been putting it down and picking it back up for ages, and it feels bizarre that it's actually off the to-do list. I think I meant to start fully writing it in JANUARY before I got incredibly distracted by like 300k worth of other fics.

I feel like I haven't put any actual good effort into a fic in a while, and Sakuragakure's the first time in a bit that I was really deliberate while writing. I believe that it's okay to write post cringe on main (to an extent.), but if you do then it has to be really good. So I told myself that I'd only write Naruto fic if it was really good. I don't know if this is good, but it is funny and stupid. Which takes the greatest effort of all.

The insane fic is what I worked on to destress from actually writing something good. It exists because I discovered that writing Tobi was incredibly unbelievably fun and I wanted to just write Tobi forever. So. Um. Obito & Kakashi roleswap fic. I know it's been a whole checks watch five hours since I last wrote a roleswap fic, and we all waiting for it, obviously...haha...imagine me going more than five hours without writing a roleswap...

It's highly engaging and interesting to me. I can't see myself posting it as it is, so I may come back and majorly rework it to be something that's remotely postable. I'm not sure I could stand the shame of posting Naruto and my fucking. Fifth? Roleswap fic/series? My fucking fifth? My Fifth? What the fuck? I can't post this. I can't post five roleswap series on AO3. What the hell. What -

Actually, I'll post this on a separate post. I feel like I'm sneaking it in here if I just put it on this post where I ended up talking about something completely different. I'll post a snippet in another post and link it here in a minute. If you want to spite the Jujutsu Kaisen fans and goad me away from working on JJK fic onto that instead then I won't complain (they might).

HERE'S the opening scene of the insane fic.

[nebraskashouse]

okay now that I'm actually back and I don't plan on shutting up

lets be clear again

A House in Pelican Town (or ahipt which is how I refer to it) is my main fic, that I'll be now working on for a long time. I had resigned to only work on it after my graduation, which shall happen somewhere between december and january, but that was before I got anxious and overstimulated with social media and left basically every digital space I know for weeks and suddenly I had this tiny glimpse of free time and nothing do to with it so I squeezed in some writing and one thing led to another and now there's two chapters out in the world. and here it is. It's angsty and heartbreaking. everything I love the most.

BUT, back in october, I had released a one-shot about the same idiots. the story is set before the unfoldings of the main fic and it can be read as a standalone. it's much happier in tone and content. that, you can find here.

there are songs that go with it. of course there are. my silly playlist with all the songs that might be used as inspiration for the main story can be found here. it's mostly taylor swift and that's the only warning I give in advance.

now I have a billion assignments to submit by the next two weeks and god knows when the third chapter will come out. I can have a break down and write it tomorrow or it can take me two months. I have no fucking idea.

that's it thanks for coming to my ted talk byeee

[planetary-wolf]

Sigh.

I'm kinda ready to fuckin kms after this year (I probably won't but it's definitely a thought). So let me lay down 2 years in one post here, on my own volition. If anyone has any issues with this post, take them up with me.

In January of 2023 I joined the "current iteration" of Broadwaystuck. I'd tag the account but I've had it blocked for a while, but they're still active so you'll find them if you look at the #broadwaystuck tag or something. I was with them for about a year, thought I'd made some great friends, met my fiance Miguel who'd brought the project revival together.

Now what I'm going to say is what I see as the honest to the gods truth. Miguel pissed people off, but everyone was willing to talk to each other about it more than they were willing to talk to him about it. He's not perfect, English is not his first language either and most of his conversational learning of it is from sitcoms from the 90s. Everyone came into the project expecting him to be as aware as someone who's not from a third world country. He pissed people off and got frustrated when his apologies weren't enough for people.

His frustration was a major point of contention, and that I understand.

What I don't understand is that by December of 2023, a particular member of that group had gone around in private collecting private screenshots of anything incriminating from the prior 2 years and put it all into one place with heavily biased commentary. And all these "friends" agreed to it without batting an eye.

And okay, if that's where acceptability is standard for the average reader, I might understand on some level.

But Miguel was "confronted" and kicked out of the group while asleep, then this incriminating document was shared with the group as a whole in front of me. It was social sabotage. My grandmother had fallen and I was in a state of panic, so I left in short order. Some people reached out to me with the guise of care, thinking I'm some kind of battered husband.

There's a certain kind of trauma in people trying actively to get you to leave someone when you know what's up.

This whole situation was traumatic. If no one cares about for Miguel, it was traumatic for me as well. I've sat here for an extra YEAR as those assholes spent 6 months still waving the possibility of releasing a dumbass document to the public over our heads while members have come and told ME I'm being abused and told HIM he's worthless. He's gone! He's out of your lives!

All you're doing is making yourselves worse than him. You kick him out for harassing yet go back to your little group happy with the fact that you've harassed him because you've decided he's subhuman.

I'm past giving the benefit of the doubt that it's not a group effort on y'all's part. If I'm complicit on my end, just about every one of you 20-odd over there is also complicit in this yearlong ongoing torture. There's one of you who's at least been kind to me about the issue which in this moment I can't thank you enough. You'll probably hate me now too but I can't live like this anymore.

The rest of you? Get a life cuz you've fucking destroyed mine.

[piratekane]

i read a lot of books in january so i figure that i'd give y'all a quick rundown on what i loved, what was terrible (affectionate), and what was also terrible (derogatory).

top reads:

Daisy Jones and the Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid okay, why did no one tell me how good this book was? i knew the show was about music but wasn't super into giving it a watch. i was not expecting the format at all but boy did it set up a compelling story. billy and daisy truly were the bitch4bitch relationship everyone needs. 5 stars

Locklands by Robert Jackson Bennet this is the final installment in the founder trilogy and what. an. ending. the first, Foundryside, was a solid start with a weird plot point at the end but and it picked up in Shorefall with more lore (that i loved) but really blossomed into something amazing in Locklands. the POV changed, the villain evolved, the lore - i love a good magic system, truly i do, and it just came together for me. came for the sapphic romance (of which there is not much in Foundryside) and stayed for the story. would recommend to my cousin. 5 stars

terrible (affectionate):

Yearning by Gun Brooke this was just... okay, so. aliens. aliens and a femme-butch cop (you know the type) and a high-femme librarian (you also know this kind) whose clinical exterior is broken down by the sudden realization that she can be queer because she's actually living in a town filled with descendants of aliens. it was quick and easy and i just kept going, "aliens. fucking aliens." 3 stars (no alien-makeout scene)

terrible (derogatory):

Wild and Wicked Things by Francesca May i tried to like this one. i really did. Great Gatsby meets Practical Magic isn't my cup of tea but my cousin recommended it and she reads for a living so i said sure. that cousin is uninvited from christmas next year. the pacing was so off and the two main characters were either "edgy" or a wet mop. their romance was terrible (edgy-witch too edgy to be in love) and felt forced. the story either zipped through major plot points that needed work or just. dragged. on. almost did not finish but it would have haunted me not to 1.5 stars

honorable mention:

i read Nevernight by Jay Kristoff again. it's a classic. mia and ash, my favorite murder children. i will read godsgrave posthaste 10 stars

plans for february:

Faebound by Saara El-Arifi i'm reading this one now and i like the premise so far. Samantha Shannon gave it a stamp of approval, hence my willingness to give it a shot. guess we'll see!

Roots of Chaos series by Samantha Shannon a friend just reread A Day of Fallen Night and it's got me longing for 800 page books all over again. might have to just give in

queer fantasies really anything that's queer fantasy. if y'all have recommendations, throw them my way!

okay so that's that, see you again next month!

[the-acid-pear]

just finished (finally) playing through Dialtown (started in January or February, but didn't get around playing it again until last night and today). How Am I Supposed To be Normal Again After That

anyway firstly: Randy and Oliver my beloveds <3 I Wanna Date Them Both (love Karen Bigfoot and Norm too!! those two are just my favorites)

secondly, because this Always happens when i'm into two or more things at the same time:

Dsaf-Dialtown Crossover (of sorts) Au

except instead of like. Dsaf in Dialtown, it's Dialtown in Dsaf.

specifically thought of Gingi just kinda. Existing.

so this happens in a sort of "Things Are Mildly Better; Dee And Peter Are Still Dead, But Dave's Less Murdery And Is Helping Jack, So. There's That" timeline. Dave and Gingi are sort of "cousins" species-wise. like. y'know how they say dogs, foxes, and wolves are all kinda related to each other in a species way? so. Dave and Gingi aren't RELATED-related. but like. their Species are, y'know?

so like. Henry just kinda. walks into the Saferoom at Fredbear's one day

and there's this Big, green cryptid just kinda curled up in there.

at first he's got questions. mostly "How The Fuck Did This Thing Get In Here Without Me Knowing"

then this thing wakes up.

Gingi, who just kinda sneaked in through the vents the previous night to find a warm, dark place to sleep (and probably a place to lay their eggs, considering how close they were to laying them), takes one look at Henry, and just lets out a hiss.

not like a cat hiss. a more...reptile-like hiss.

Gingi stands up, and it's tall. like, close to around eight feet tall, if not slightly taller than that.

taller than Dave, who's around like. seven foot five inches.

Gingi's very fucking confused. to be fair, they kinda sorta thought the place was abandoned. like, the place was empty, dark...okay, look, they don't really understand 100% how humanity works, how were they supposed to know??

eventually they clock that Henry's not a threat (for the moment, anyway), and relax a bit. then they start to briefly explain their situation: it's pregnant, and like. anywhere from a few hours to another day away from giving birth, and they kinda need a place to make their nest.

Henry, on one hand, doesn't want a cryptid's nest in his diner. because like. understandable. on the other...ever since Dave kinda fucking left, he hasn't had a cryptid to experiment on for about five months at this point (because listen. you can't tell me that at least Part of the reason he was dissecting Dave wasn't because he was Mildly curious about whatever the Fuck was up with his biology). and Henry's a bit Curious about this weird ass cryptid that just randomly showed up.

he discovers two problems:

Gingi is far more feral than Dave ever was. makes sense; Dave got "domesticated" in a way, growing up in society instead of in the wild. Gingi has only ever grown up around the edge of society, only having enough contact with humanity to understand human speech (specifically English) and some basic knowledge of how society works (which. Ain't A Lot, let's be real). so of course, when he offered to do some "Totally Legal Medical Procedures Trust Me Bro (Gender Neutral) It's Just To Make Sure You And The Babies Are Healthy :)" Gingi. Wasn't Too Thrilled About That Idea. it got Defensive ("What, do you think there's something wrong with me? Is it the green skin?? 'Cause I've always had it-")

second problem: Gingi...wasn't planning on staying there the whole time the eggs would be incubating for. they wouldn't hatch for a year, and Gingi was just gonna lay them in a (hopefully) safe place, return to check on them periodically, and then return for the nestlings when they hatched. and Gingi has one caveat to leaving them here: Henry has to promise to Not intentionally harm the eggs while they're there and keep them safe from anyone who might desire to. of which Henry is definitely Not going to genuinely promise and then Keep.

so Gingi starts making it clear that No Mr. Weird Pink Man, I'm Not Gonna Let You Do Some Weird "Medical Evaluation" On Me Or My Children, And I'm Not Leaving My Kids Here Unless They'll Be Safe 100%. and then...they start smelling things. Gingi's a cryptid; it was born with more animalistic abilities. and they start smelling things.

first it's "another cryptid": Who is it? There's a lot of them here, clearly...is this why Henry's so hesitant to let them stay around? Cryptids can be territorial, it would know that...but the scent is stale...how long have they been gone?

then it's the cryptid's blood, also stale: Oh, Christ, are they hurt? Were they hurt? Now, Gingi's got self-preservation instincts that are at the forefront most of the time, but...even they can get concerned about how someone else is doing. Is this cryptid okay? Are they hurt? Why do they smell blood?!

then it gets more concerning: the blood of an adult human...the blood of at least three human children. Death: What the fuck happened here?! Oh, God- What happened back in this room?!

by the end of their conversation, Gingi decides it's not worth it. they're not staying here, they sure as fuck aren't laying their eggs here. Gingi leaves, finds a secluded spot in the woods, and lays its eggs there.

a few years later, Henry's still alive and kicking (unfortunately), and Gingi (plus their babies) have found Dave and Jack chilling together (not in Vegas), and realizes "Hey. The Purple One Is A Cryptid!!"

so now Gingi (plus its kids) chills with Jack and Dave. they're trying to teach Dave how to be a cryptid, because y'know. Dave Grew Up Around Humans. Jack is just chilling and trying to comprehend how he gained TWO Cryptid Roommates.

it Is utter chaos, before you ask.

- dogboyjackkennedy

FUCKING OBSEEEESSED I ADOOORE THAT SM SLHFUBDUFHR IT'S. So silly so real. So cute too to imagine Gingi (and the ginglets or whatever) trying to teach Dave being taught to be a cryptid too ����😭 i do adore the idea of the two being mildly related biologically too it's just so fun to think of tbh. I have to ask tho... Did the true cryptid way of life rub off on jack too? MDHFJBGJG-

[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.

[rederiswrites]

Hi, I've only recently started following you so apologies if you've talked about this before or I'm misinterpreting, but did you say in your recent health post that you have me/cfs and have actually improved past being bedbound? I ask because my partner has had me/cfs for over a decade and despite having very good doctor luck and trying out all sorts of community tips, the best we can seem to hope for is stabilization through extreme rest/inactivity; improvement sounds fairly extraordinary. If you have even a direction to point us to for options that'd be awesome, thank you!

Wow, okay. This feels like a big responsibility, in a way! But I really want to help any way I can.

First, my official diagnosis is fibromyalgia, but in a way, this is because that's the diagnosis I asked my doctor about, and nothing more scientific than that! I do also fit all the diagnostics for Chronic Fatigue, as do many with fibromyalgia. Increasingly, people are beginning to suspect that these and other syndromes are related, if not quite the same thing. In all cases, it's sort of a diagnosis of exclusion--that is, they can't find anything wrong with you mechanically. There's very little a doctor can "fix". My hip doesn't hurt right now because of injury. It's not injured.

Yes, I've had weeks and months when I could only be out of bed/recliner for a few minutes at a time, when standing up made me dizzy or created heart arrhythmias that were hugely uncomfortable and made me have coughing spells, tingling and numbness, etc. I had massive muscle weakness, crippling fatigue, constant headaches, constant pain that moved between "continuous physical and mental drain" and "totally debilitating; can't even think". This fluctuated for me, so for example my health is almost always terrible for some portion of the winter months of January, February, and March, and then eases up a bit for late spring.

Gonna create a break because there is no way to talk about this in quick soundbites without distorting things horribly.

I've done a lot of things over the years that would help a lot at first and then only a little over the longer span--removing gluten from my diet was the first big "breakthrough", and after my diagnosis I tried a couple of drugs. Duloxetene was miraculous in its effect, but I barely slept a couple of hours a night and finally had to give up when I started being just completely unhinged from fatigue. Gabapentin was great for the first few weeks, and now helps...some. It's hard to say exactly how much, because the only times I've gone off it have been because of gaps in medication coverage, which never lasted past the "wow going cold turkey is fucking terrible" period.

This past February, my best friend, who had been urging me to try the keto diet, bought me a (rather expensive!) bottle of BHB powder, which is a synthetic form of one of the ketone bodies your body produces for energy when you starve it of glucose (this is what ketosis is. You starve your body of glucose until it starts breaking down fat for energy creation). So I said, fine, I'll try keto for a month. I can do most anything for a month! I removed all carbs from my diet and started taking the BHB powder once or twice a day.

The results were huge and instant. Keto was a huge pain in the ass, because while there are still a lot of great things you can eat--nuts, eggs, meat, berries, pretty much any veggie that isn't a root crop--most of the things most of us eat daily rely partly or entirely on starch and grain. But I kept it up because I suddenly had far, far more energy and my pain and inflammation went way down.

I don't think keto is THE solution, though. I do think that trying it for a month is something a lot of people might benefit from, but I hate is as a lifelong diet. I am currently eating low carb, but considerably more fruit and root veggies than you can eat and still be in ketosis. But I was keto for eight months. What I think happened was that the keto diet lowered my inflammation levels a ton, which was why I tried it--the research that suggested it had this effect. Combine that with the BHB, which gave my body an energy source that bypassed whatever was wrong with my glucose metabolism processes, and I got a big leg up.

As with the other things I'd tried, the huge gains eventually leveled out. But they gave me two things--breathing room, and hope. You know, I think, how hard it is to have hope. You get so you're not sure you should even try! You think, maybe hope is causing me more pain. Maybe I should be focused on grieving and acceptance. But these moments in time, however brief, when my body functioned as it should and things were OK really drove home to me that somewhere in me, there was a body that was actually perfectly capable of normal function! If I can take a stupid little pill and suddenly be fine, even for a little bit, then there's a way!!

So I used that breathing room to dig deeper into the research. And eventually I encountered people who said that had recovered from these conditions. That they'd gotten better, and now functioned as normal, healthy people--even athletes. And of course I resisted that information, for reasons I probably don't have to explain to you. The doctors all say there's no cure. Hoping for a cure is exhausting. And if there's a cure--well, that comes loaded with a lot of anger! All this time wasted, all these doctors who couldn't do shit, all the suffering...what if it was avoidable?! It's a lot to work through.

But there were a lot of these stories, once I started finding them. Raelan Agle on Youtube is a pretty good place to start, and once you're there, you'll start seeing other people in the sidebar. And these people all used different paths to wellness, many of which sound absolutely ridiculous and woo woo at first! And yet here were a lot of people from all over, many of whom weren't selling anything, saying they got better.

But there were threads that were common to many of them. Diet was common, although which specific diet didn't seem to matter so much as cutting out junk and eating nutrient rich food. Exercise mattered but was rarely the first step. Medicines and supplements were almost never big players, even though everyone tries them. But mental changes were a huge thing for many if not most people. How they conceptualize and describe these changes varies a lot, but the themes of calming our sympathetic nervous system, addressing our fears, visualizing a life for ourselves where we're healthy, and most importantly believing that we can be that person, came up a lot.

I don't know what will work for other people. For me, diet was an early key, but I think learning to relax, convincing my nervous system that I'm really okay, and doing work on that has been the most lasting gain. And once I believed I could be better, it was easier to make a lot of the structural changes that we're already told will help--get a little movement in each day. Get some sunlight. Try to have a regular sleep schedule. Eat well. Stay hydrated. Once I knew that all these things might lead not just to "slightly less awful" but maybe something actually good, I was vastly more motivated to work on them.

I don't know if your partner can recover. But I know that people do. So as much as hope is painful, I suggest you keep looking, and I hope for the very best for you.

[christmas-carol173]

FRIDAY, 7:27 PM, January 18th, 2018

At the tone, Please record your message.

beep

"Uhm, Hey marmar, i'm- i'm sorry I shouldn't be calling you that, we're not kids anymore- fuck- god i'm sorry- uh... My mom kicked me out again, I think it might be for real this time. I tried my key again today and it didn't work so I guess- uhm- I guess she was serious about it. I know I used to go to your house until my mom wasn't angry anymore but your mom hasn't been doing too well since you... uh.. since you disappeared. I've already heard some people in class say you're- uhm... sorry I keep pausing- they're saying you're- well- gone. Like, really gone. I don't want to believe it. Me and your mother haven't really talked much but we both think you're still out there, she said your phone was also gone, so we think you maybe- uhm- ran away from home. I know i've been leaving you a lot of voice messages- I'm sorry- I just... I assumed maybe you had your phone on you and you'd see them. But it's been a few weeks and you haven't responded to anything- maybe your phone is just broken or something. Or- you don't... like me anymore.

I'm sorry if I did something- but- but I promise, if you uh, are seeing these- and- you're not mad- I promise I wouldn't tell anyone where you were if you told me. I just- I miss you. I really hope you're doing okay. I don't think i'd ever be able to live with myself if those rumors were true about you. Uhm, your mom's been talking about holding a funeral for you- if- you uh- sorry I've been crying for a few hours it's kinda still happening- but- she's going to do it if you don't turn up in a few months. I've been trying to reason with the police about extending your search but they said they're doing their best- I- I know they are. I don't want to stress them out. I'm uh, rambling aren't I. Sorry, if you're hearing this you probably don't want to hear about it. I'll go now. I- uh- Need to find a hotel anyways. It's getting colder. Uhm... Bye...

I love you."

End of Recording.

[angel-fruitcake]

Hello just need to vent with someone else cause I feel like im stressing all the people around me irl feel free to not answer if you dont want to its ok really ill understand (im just writing this to you cause i saw you posting about it)

Im not american but ive spent the last months watching the campaign (mostly from misha but also in general on the internet) amd i was scared. Then biden stepped down and I felt relieved and hopefull that harris could actually win this cause "whos gonna vote HIM again? Right???" Then (or maybe before ive lost semse of time) the assassination attempt happend and I got scared again cause he had just gained if nothing at least the coolest picture he could ever wish for. But after that so many people, celebrities and not, started endorsing her and I thought there was still hope

I remember how anxious i got in 2020 and the exact moment of relief seeing Georgia going blue. And that was bad because of covid and all the stress of that slow counting but this felt worse

I spent yesterday rewatching destiel episodes to celebrate the anniversary but also to distract myself from the election but at night I just could sleep i was so scared. I talked about it with all my friends and family but they were not feeling it like me. Like tes they were scared a bit but not... not in the same way. Maybe its because its my first year out? Half out (family still doesnt know) like... i fear for the queer people (and in gemeral all the people who might be endangered) in the us cause now i feel more in the community maybe? Idk but I couldnt sleep at all

This morning I woke up and spent the morning on the destiel tag and on the AP map watchung it going redder and redder every hour and now... i dont even know what to feel

Im at loss of words thoughts and feelings. I DONT KNOW

Im scared like if I couldve done somethng for it or if it could directly affect me. It will sure but not today tomorrow or in january. It will be slow and scary and ill have to watch it happen without tje possibility of doing anything about it. Just like i have seen two wars start and my vote been wasted into nothing when my own country elected the far right just this june

Im hopeless and so fucking scared rn and my friends look at me amd dont get why I feel like a lone freak going crazy over somethung i shouldnt care about when I know I actually have to and they should care too and idk how to warn them i dont know what to do

And im not even american. I cant begin to imagine how it feels to know you have even done anythung you could and it changed nothing

So right now I wanna tell you all of you americans that you are not alone. That we are as scared as you are. Maybe it might be totally useless know this but... to me just seeing on line people going nuts makes me feel less crazy so yeah

sorry for the bad english my brain cant think straight rn (or ever lol)

omg anon i'm so sorry i didn't see this until just now !

it's perfectly ok for you to vent in my inbox. let all your fears and worries out, don't bottle them up. i'm glad you at least won't be directly affected in the immediate future, and i hope to god it stays that way.

i'm very scared as well, especially being a woman of reproductive age in america. i live in a red state too, so i already have less freedoms than my friends and family in blue states. i don't know what the future holds for america or the world, and that thought is terrifying. but all we can do right now is cling tight to our loved ones and take care of each other the best we can. i hope things will turn out okay for us all 🫂💕

ps. keep watching those destiel episodes if they bring you even a little bit of comfort. i know they definitely do for me when i feel like i'm being suffocated by the weight of everything around me

[angst-in-space]

january '24 writing progress

words written: 10.6k

most words written in a day: 1.7k

least words written in a day: 0

yearly total: 10.6k

projects worked on:

ya sci-fi book rewrites

sylvix pacrim au

matchablossom bedsharing fic

sylvix dreamscape fic ch 10 edits

works published in january:

none

january goals:

sigh. finish ya sci-fi book rewrites. please. please i’m so fuckin tired.

start working on line edits?

work on query package

errrrm maybe send out like. one query. just for funsies.

edit sylvix dreamscape fic ch 10

WRITE FANFIC!! HAVE FUN GODDAMMIT

finish edit letter for friend

maybe work on outlining adult sci-fi wip again

february goals:

*stares into the camera* please let me finish ya sci-fi book rewrites. please for the love of god

keep working on query package

perhaps send out one query for funsies

finish editing sylvix dreamscape fic ch 10 and send to betas

work on fic at least a little??

maybeee at least touch one of my other books i.e. keep working on arctic monster book or planning space dads book, idk we'll see

notes:

an....okay start to the year! i once again did NOT finish rewriting my ya sci-fi book which i am...not thrilled about, although i am really trying to be gentle with myself (but i've been rewriting it for like 10 months now and i'm TIREDDDD). however, i am really getting into the last arc of it now so *sweats* just hoping i don't monumentally fuck it up ahahaha.

i also did work a liiiiittle on my query package in anticipation of querying....eventually... my plans to chaotically send out a single query by end of january did not come to fruition. buuuut maybe in february? we'll see lol. i figure it at least helps to have a query + synopsis handy for when i AM ready!

i didn't do a ton of work on fic, but i did at least get through maybe half of my initial round of edits on sylvix dreamscape ch 10! hoping i can finish up edits on that this month and hand it off to betas. i also dusted off my matchablossom bedsharing fic and worked a bit on that (thanks to the announcement of the teen matchablossom OVA which inspired me to write about them again lol). aaaand i worked on sylvix pacrim au like once which is better than nothing!!

i say it every goddam month but...maybe i will finally finish my book rewrites this month? *holding back my tears* if so i might take a lil break before line edits and actually have time to work on fic and/or on other original projects i've been neglecting, but if so it probably won't be til the very end of the month. SIIIIGH.

anyway, manifesting a productive month!!! 🙏✨

[seungs]

every month of 2023 🥳 / i was tagged by @euijin. thank you for always tagging me in these carly.. i do enjoy look back on sets 😀 tagging: @foxinys @hyunsung @yangjeongin (hi mary) @huiracha as always u dont have to but id like to see... sorry if you're getting tagged again btw 🤍

january / popular. i rmr this clip being unavoidable for like a month...... 🚶‍♀️ anyway surprise to no one. vs favorite. ok but this has to be one of my favorite sets 4 ever. the day seungmin showed up with bleached bangs was beautiful.... i do rly love how much fun they had with it....😔

februrary / popular. omg moment of silence for mahagrid these clips were really fun. also this guy continuing to haunt my most popular sets. vs favorite. omg im doing 2 for 1 (1,2) cause i can't pick and really had fun giffing con and i think they came out rly cool 😁👍

march / popular. i do not know why. omg actually i do. it's the hair isnt it. vs favorite. wooho 😿😿😿😿😿😿 omg. they rly were cute together. this really was my favorite but i'm including miroh cause i really liked how it came out 😺

april / popular. you will never guess who this is! okay but i wholeheartedly agree i love when he is like a mop 🤍. vs favorite. 2min(:

may / popular. i can't believe this was late may.. look where we are now. who would have thought. but hyuji is very cute. vs favorite. omg this one is an easy jisung fav. he looked great. no idea why i went w these dimensions for the gifs but jisung im a fan 👍

june / popular. yeAHHHHH fucking finally and also Deserved. i loved sclass cause finally it was a mv i had fun giffing again and also seungmin looked great. and i love this set. fun mv. vs favorite. omg this one cause i rmr having fun with it 😿 also liked how it turned out. just silly guys boxing and dancing. but shout out to koms seungmin because i had to include him naturally..... 🥲

july / popular vs favorite. nothing happened on this blog in july apparently. but still i agree. come back seungracha.....

august / popular. solid....he looked good. i rmr this being a bother to color tho. vs favorite. popular 🤝 japan cb 🤝 favorite. i rmr this also being a bitch to color but now i really like how it came out 😸

september / popular. been a second. but 100% real.... might actually be one of my favs of the year overall too (sets and things that happened). vs favorite. wait i might have peaked in sept cause this is one of the best sets i ever made in my life im p sure 😭😭😭🚶‍♀️🚶‍♀️(to never be able to recreate ever again)

october / popular. heh(: 2min. vs favorite. omg bitch ass set to make.... was so close to being deleted for good but she deserved to escape the trash i think. at least i can say an attempt was made 😶‍🌫️

november / popular. right. im with the people on this one 👈 vs favorite. 😕🙁☹️😣 man. circumstances and insanity of deciding to do this aside. im happy with how it came out and i cant believe i stuck with making these sets his entire mc career 🧍‍♀️

december / popular. at least for now. i agree though. vs favorite. actually this one might as well be my favorite of the month too.

oh. i forgot. bonus round cause i decided but this is one of his best styling ever.

[queervegancryptid]

I don't even know why I'm bothering to try to get better anymore.

I mean, really, it's hard enough to be in active anorexia relapse, when recovery is already hard to convince yourself to want. But when insurance makes it impossible to get care, it's like... before I started looking for help, I was starving. Now I feel like all I've done is add an extra layer of frustration, and if anything, the restricting has gotten worse, not better.

You start to feel like you might as well just keep starving and stop fighting it, because if your only alternative is to be starving AND throwing yourself against a brick wall trying to get treatment... I mean, am I wrong?

I don't want to die, but really, it starts to feel like I don't matter at all. If I don't matter at all, why should I bother trying to recover? Again? And it is the umpteenth fucking time. And it gets even more exhausting and scary every time it happens. For the first time, if things continue this way, I might be at risk for refeeding syndrome, and my stomach is healing from an ulcer, and I have an electrolyte imbalance, so purging could literally be deadly for me right now. (They wouldn't cover the prescription for the electrolyte imbalance, either, btw. Despite it being FUCKING DOCUMENTED BY REPEATED LABS.)

But UHC says I need to prove that treatment is "medically necessary." Fuck that. I can count on one hand the number of actual meals I've eaten in the last month, I agonize over every fucking bite, and my BMI is literally the lowest it's ever been. But maybe treatment isn't "medically necessary."

Fuck that. Anyway, I'm not giving up, just venting. But I'll say this: I am done with UHC. Fucking over it. They've been borderline useless to me aside from paying for prescriptions, but they also haven't been reliable there, either. And now that I actually need help urgently for a problem that COULD ACTUALLY KILL ME, their being damn near useless just became a liability.

Really, it's my fault for not severing ties with them a long time ago. Especially after they SWITCHED MY PLAN WITHOUT ANY NOTICE at the start of the year. They said they sent a letter, which I never received, and the member services page where I log in had a link about plan changes, but it had nothing about that. I feel like that's called fraud, but idk.

If I can come back from this, I'm going to find a way to help other people going through this bullshit with the US healthcare system. This is not okay.

Oh, and I spent the last several months watching my cat slowly die. My partner and I basically were doing kitty hospice at home since late December or early January. Snippet, our kitty, died of bladder cancer just over two weeks ago. It was fucking brutal. I didn't know anything could hurt that much.

The stress from that made me not feel like eating, which made me start to lose weight, and the whole situation was so thoroughly miserable, I couldn't stop myself from grabbing hold of that feeling, because it was the only thing that seemed to be going right. Right now, it's the only thing that makes me feel good about myself.

I don't even actually want to give it up for myself. I just hate to put my partner through it. I knew I was in trouble when I started thinking about weighing myself regularly again. "Just to see," my brain says.

Fuck all of this. Where did my life go?

[helianskies]

okay. so. i'm a bit miffed and maybe a bit disgruntled, and am not sure how to shift my mood after having a really good and wonderfully sunny day.

ready?

go.

so i've just seen my two closest friends (guy and girl) from undergrad are in london together doing idk what. idk if it's dinner, if they've spent the day together, not a clue. now, i'm not bothered by the fact it's just them and i'm not there (i had work and couldn't really spare the money to train it to london). what bothers me is the radio silence we've both had from our guy friend, who, last i checked, was not working, had gone galavanting around italy, and wasn't replying to our messages. back in january/feb the three of us were trying to arrange a weekend we could all meet and he was the one to say 'i'm not sure what i'm doing, let me check my diary and get back to you' and then he never did. and he did the same to myself and another mutual friend after he was the one to suggest we meet now she's back in the uk (the three of us haven't stood in the same room for five years; i had no idea she was even back from mexico until he said). so. while i proceeded to text him to ask if he was okay, having not heard from him back in feb, and then give him space when he didn't reply (because if he hasn't responded then he's not in a good place to talk and that's fine), and he narrowly forgot to wish me a happy birthday on my actual birthday (he texted me at 1am), and i wished him a happy easter which then went unanswered... 1) the fact he's suddenly back in the uk is fucking news to me; 2) i'm upset he hasn't made any kind of contact when evidently he's reached out to our friend in london to arrange to meet her; and 3) i've got the mindset now where our london friend is coming over to where to see me for a long weekend at the start of may, but if he wants to tag along, i might genuinely turn around and say no. because the two of us arranged it after being tired of waiting, and her free weekends are rare, and i would like a very calm and relaxing weekend just before my exams begin and i think i'd be too irritable if my friend, who hasn't spoken to me properly in a couple of months, was suddenly around me for 3 days straight and potentially wanting to stay over at mine. 1) no room. 2) i think i'd go insane. not just because of how i'm feeling but also because of his character. anyway. all that to say... miffed! and in a bad mood! i was about to sit down and enjoy an evening of writing, and then i saw a photo of them both and now im :l

like tf

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

reading update: February

ahoy, gamers! after an uneven start to my reading year in January (high highs, low lows) I've had a pretty consistently excellent February! yes, I'm including Red, White & Royal Blue. it may not have been good, but it was definitely fun. more on that in a minute, but I cannot recommend enough if you, like me, are a rancid hater.

what have I been reading?

Sharks in the Time of Saviors (Kawai Strong Washburn, 2020) - @dykerory came upon this book in a pretty fruitless search for good adult novels that prominently feature sharks, a weird gap in the market that seems to ignore that SOME OF US don't ever stop thinking sharks are fucking sick. (don't talk to me about Jaws. even Peter Benchley regrets Jaws.) while Sharks in the Time of Saviors actually has much less shark action happening than one might hope based on the title, it's very much a case of "came for the shark on the cover, stayed for the phenomenal writing." the novel follows the lives of the three Flores siblings: athletic oldest son Dean, academic little sister Kaui, and middle child Noa, who possesses odd abilities that seem to be a gift straight from Hawaiian gods and just might be the savior his impoverished family needs. spoiler alert: growing up as a demigod in the 21st century is hard, and success is hardly guaranteed. Washburn writes beautifully about the the suffocating realities of struggling to survive poverty, and the ways it can both tie families together and creature fractures that are difficult to heal. apparently this was Barack Obama's top novel of 2020 and I am forced once again to acknowledge that the war criminal has taste.

Blue-Skinned Gods (SJ Sindu, 2021) - okay so this is ALSO a book about a boy being raised to believe he's channeling the divine; I accidentally struck a bit of a two-book theme. Blue-Skinned Gods follows the early life of Kalki, a boy born with blue skin and raised in a isolated Indian ashram by parents who assure him (and their many paying devotees) that he's the final incarnation of Vishnu. from a very young age Kalki is placed on a pedestal and expected to behave as a perfect spiritual leader, and you guys won't believe what happens next -- it turns out that really fucks with a kid. what follows is a coming of age story unlike any other, following Kalki's growth from a self-assured child god to a young man with a lot of questions about exactly how he fits into the world. Sindu's writing is smooth as hell, impossible to put down, and takes Kalki down some thrillingly unexpected twists that complicate every notion of identity and self. 10/10, made me want to go read all of Sindu's other work immediately.

My Solo Exchange Diary Vol. 1 (Nagata Kabi, trans. Jocelyne Allen 2016) - I was not remotely joking last month when I said that My Lesbian Experience with Loneliness was so good that I would be tracking down all of Ngata's other work in short order. her solo exchange diary continues to document a journey of self-growth with none of the usual unbearable fluff that phrase entails, instead highlighting all the discomfort that comes with realizing you can no longer keep living the way you were and finding yourself pissing, shitting, shaking, etc, in the face of learning how to do something different. I really admire the way Nagata's vulnerability is upfront and prevents her from ever sounding like some kind of self-help guru who claims to know everything; her self-discoveries are presented as unexpected gems rather than universal truths, the discoveries of someone as pleasantly surprised by her own progress as all of her readers. there's something immensely comforting in these graphic novels, which I think is the reminder that there's literally no wrong time to start wanting and doing better for yourself.

Me, Not You: The Trouble with Mainstream Feminism (Alison Phipps, 2020) - I added this book to my TBR because I noticed that Phipps seemed to be drawing the ire of a lot of TERFs on twitter, which is (in my experience) usually a pretty good indicator that someone is doing something interesting worth checking out. having finally circled around to her book, I can see why Phipps (who seems to have since deleted her twitter account) was making TERFs so angry: Me, Not You doesn't even get to page 10 without plainly stating its thesis statement that trans exclusionary feminism is inseparable from other reactionary conservative ideologies such as racism, colonialism, and misogyny itself. so that's a super promising thesis, but how about the actual content of the text? eeeeh. Phipps drops a lot of the right names -- especially Sara Ahmed, and I can certainly never object to Ahmed -- and she's certainly sincere, but I can't help feeling that many of her arguments come across as a bit shallow and under-supported for the sake of time. if I were assigning this book it would be the first week reading for, like, a semester-long exploration of white feminism, with more substantial reading to follow. not a bad primer on the whole, but lacking if you've, say, already read most of the writers Phipps is influenced by.

Nightbitch (Rachel Yoder, 2021) - this is a book that I have been MEANING to read since it came out in mid-2021, and I have FINALLY gotten around to it. having done it: I would say worth the hype. Nightbitch is an intensely internal meditation about the mundane horrors of motherhood, of isolation and endless repetition, of time and energy lost and creative pursuits stifled seemingly forever. its terror is that of the loss of self and endless stagnation in the face of duty, and how sometimes you get tired of being nice and just want to go apeshit turn into a dog and run howling through the night to kill small animals and take a shit on your republican neighbor's lawn. I don't even have a kid and it sounds good, so you can imagine how delighted I was when (vague spoilers) the book ends with Nightbitch absolutely winning. go, girlboss!

Mongrels (Stephen Graham Jones, 2016) - in another accidental two-book thematic streak, I immediately followed Nightbitch with Stephen Graham Jones' books about the saddest, grossest werewolves ever. Mongrels pulls no punches about the bloody realities of shifting perpetually between forms -- werewolves have to avoid wearing anything that won't tear away when they transform, because it will simply meld with their skin when they change back and kill them slowly; they have to dispose of their trash constantly, or risk eating something that will kill them slowly when they next turn into a hungry wolf; when human women give birth to werewolves they have to be killed quickly or, you guessed it, turn into half-dog monsters and die slowly. but despite the horrors, Jones' werewolves take grim pride in what they are and the solace they find in each other on their endless nomadic quest to avoid discovery and live the best lives they can. it's only February, but I'm absolutely confident saying that this blood-splattered book is going to be one of my favorites of the year.

Book Banning in 21st-Century America (Emily J.M. Knox, 2015) - I was lucky enough to recently see Dr. Knox lecture at the university where I work, and I'd hopped on my local library's website to place this book (her dissertation) on hold before she'd even finished speaking. while the text is a lot dryer than her very charming in-person presence, I think it's extremely important reading for anyone who has a vested interest in, you know, book banning and the prevention thereof. Knox cannily summarizes the attitudes that lead to challenges to the accessibility of various reading materials, offering examples from real challenges and interviews with challengers, creating a comprehensive study of the symbolic power exerted by fighting to remove a book from a library or high school curriculum. I think these kinds of studies are so vital, because understanding the mindset of people to whom you're pretty much completely ideologically opposed can be illuminating in many ways. I was particularly shaken by one grandmother's objections to the book I use when teaching human development to 4th-6th graders, which I consider incredibly tasteful and the grandmother in question considered pornography that was hellbent on destroying the fabric of American society. the more you know!

Red, White & Royal Blue (Casey McQuiston, 2019) - look, I pretty much already said it all here. this is a romance novel for adults who want to read about gay sex without having to see the word "penis" and believe that voting democrat is the best solution the all of America's ills. the plot is nonsense and reading it made me feel insane. I enjoyed almost every second of it because I experienced the correct way, which was reporting its many sins live to my wife, my creative partner @dykerory, and any other hapless passerby I could force to hold still and listen for five seconds. yes I will be watching the movie. no further questions.

sorry this update isn't in bulleted list form like normal, tumblr told me I had too many fucking characters and wouldn't let me post it until I separated them 💀