#prompt 42 2022

[waynes-multiverse]

Time After Time – Chapter 13

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language, violence & death, 2022 & season 3, SB being his charming self and everything that comes with it, drug use & drinking, PTSD, mentions of torture, physics, angst, one-sided pining & steamy thoughts, fluff if you squint

Word Count: 16.3k

Posted on Patreon May 23, 2025

A/N: So sorry, guys! Had a nasty cold the whole week and could barely move. Catching up with everyone over the next few days. Just wanted you to finally have this first 🩵 Oh, boy, don't know where to start with this one. My fingers slipped on the keys 😂 It's the reunion 2.0 (or 3.0?), Ben's hella confused and frustrated and possibly horny, and I played "fill in the gaps" with Season 3 aka his first thoughts when he woke up and found dear reader there and everything that came after 😉

✨ Chapter title comes from Frankenstein (1931)

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 13: It's Alive! It's Alive!

2022

Ben didn’t remember much from his escape.

The first thing he noticed when he woke up was the cold crawling through his blood and biting his skin. His skull buzzed with static, not a single clear thought coming through like the worst hangover of his life – and he used to have a lot of those.

Then came the sound.

Footsteps. Voices. English. American.

None of them sounded familiar. Not his old team. No one from Payback – not that he’d really expected them to come for him. Not after what they fucking did.

But then he heard the only voice that ever mattered – yours.

“Uh, Butcher, I don’t think this was a good idea…”

“Don’t worry 'bout it.”

British. Male.

And for a second, Ben thought it was another hallucination of you. It wasn’t uncommon for him to hear your voice in his head, after all. It had been the only constant for… well, however long it’d been. But then:

“No, I don’t think you understand. This pod’s got like three inches of lead, borated polyethylene, and some kind of heat sink. I can’t read most of this since it’s in Russian, but if I’m reading these charts right, the decay signatures are insane. There’s Americium-241 in the isotopic yields. You only see that as a byproduct in low-burnup plutonium fuel cycles. Alpha and gamma radiation is peaking simultaneously. I mean, this spike right here is equivalent to a 3 Gray dose in under four seconds.”

Yeah, Ben didn’t understand a single word of that. His hallucinations of you had always been realistic, but they’d never been as fucking smart as the real thing. There was only so much his brain could do. Which meant:

You weren’t a figment of his drug-induced imagination.

“English, sunshine,” the British guy prompted impatiently.

You sighed loudly. “The Russians turned him into a walking nuke.”

Great.

Ben’s eyes snapped open in that moment, blinked a couple of times to get rid of the blur in his vision and the dazed fog in his mind, and then, sure enough, there you were – live and in the flesh.

Not more than two feet away from him, staring wide-eyed and horrified between strange men in blue worker overalls and guns in their hands.

Your face was the same, hadn’t aged a day since ‘42. Your hair was a mess, your skin was smudged with dirt and sweat, and you were wearing the same overalls as the rest of them, holding a thick folder in your hands like you belonged with those fucking strangers.

You came. Freed him. Saved him.

But as Ben took a step closer, you took one back and hid halfway behind one of the men, clinging to the guy’s arm like you were fucking scared. Scared of him.

You didn’t run to him. Didn’t sling your arms around him. Didn’t seem happy in the slightest to see him again.

Just… terrified.

And then, Ben felt it – the pressure building behind his sternum, white-hot and untamable.

“Uh-oh…” You took another cautious step back.

“What now?” the British asshole huffed, voice louder over the low hum that began to rise in the room.

“His decay constants are collapsing. His metabolic feedback loop’s destabilizing,” you said.

Ben’s chest started to glow. Lights vibrated in their sockets. Dust lifted from the floor.

“English!”

“Right. He’s gonna fucking blow,” you clarified.

Yup.

Still fucking smarter than a room full of men.

And then, the bomb inside him went off, he blacked out for a few seconds, and when the disorienting haze lifted and he opened his eyes, you were gone. Vanished.

Again.

Ben didn’t think long and hard at that moment – he knew this was his chance to finally escape, so he took it. Staggered out through the hole he blew into the wall, past humans and bodies on the ground.

He found a locker room in the facility, broke one open, stole some godawful and grimy tracksuit and boots that were too tight in the toes. He grabbed a lonely duffel bag filled with a gun, a combat knife, a pack of smokes and a box of matches, a ration bar, some rubles, and a half-empty bottle of vodka.

Good enough.

Tunnels turned into roads. Chain-link fences and barbed wire turned into forests. He walked till he found train tracks, followed them to a station, and read the word “АЭРОПОРТ” on a screen there.

Airport? Good enough.

He took his chances and, sure enough, made it onto an airfield. Found a plane leaving for New York City and hid with the cargo like a goddamn stowaway. But it didn’t matter. He was nothing if not resourceful, and more importantly, he was going fucking home.

The most shocking thing, though, aside from your sudden reappearance in one of the most devastating places on Earth during one of his strangest times?

How much time had fucking passed.

Ben knew the fucking Reds had locked him into that box and kept him frozen for a little while. He didn’t have a sense of time in there, just weird dreams, but he judged from the length of his hair and beard that it had been at least a few months, maybe even a year or two. The last date he could remember was 1990 before they put him on ice.

Well, cut to the airport where he found a newspaper that said it was 2022.

Thirty-two fucking years?!

By the time he hopped over the perimeter fence at fuckin' JFK and disappeared into Queens, he suddenly realized how much had truly changed. It was a different world now, and he was fucking lost.

No identity. No money. No plan.

As he moved through the outer boroughs toward Manhattan, everything around him was wrong. Too fast. Too loud. Too bright. It wasn’t the New York he remembered.

Billboards weren’t paper anymore and cars were sleeker and quieter. A kid with blue hair and a nose ring, two gay dudes, and a guy who talked into the watch around his wrist walked by him. Storefronts had rainbow flags, and a bus passed him with a star-spangled caped cunt plastered on its side, advertising another Vought-produced movie.

Some things didn’t change, he supposed.

The smell of the city was the same – diesel fuel, pot smoke, piss, and hot dogs – but the city itself wasn’t. This wasn’t his America – not even close.

The only fucking thing he disturbingly recognized in this brave, new world was the small, rectangular slab everyone carried around in their hands and stared obsessively into like they were seeing God in church.

You’d had one of those as well, and eventually, he realized that the thing he’d kept safe in a box for forty years was a goddamn phone – cordless.

Ben then stole a cup full of quarters from a bum and found a payphone, dialing a number he remembered from forty years ago. It rang once and went dead.

So he went old school.

He started poking around pawn shops and old Vought haunts till someone finally whispered the name he was after.

The Legend.

Old bastard probably still had a Rolodex bigger than Fort Knox. He knew every back door in Vought and where bodies were buried because he helped bury half of them.

And then, a plan slowly formed in Ben’s mind: hole up at Legend’s, get cleaned up, find his old team, and kill their backstabbing asses – preferably as brutal and merciless as possible.

Permanent measures, Ben scoffed internally, remembering Stan Edgar’s words from a meeting back in ‘83.

Well, who was fucking laughing now?

And then, finally, when all of it was said and done, Ben would come for you.

After some roughing up of a man in a bar, he then got an address in Midtown, but somewhere between Sixth Avenue and 59th Street, he heard it.

Tinny, distant, but unmistakeable – the same melody and sharp vowels of a Russian pop song. It drowned into his ears from a small radio in a parked food truck.

Something inside him cracked then.

His vision blurred. His knees buckled. His mind flooded with images he tried to bury deep. But the hum in his chest, the pressure, the fire under his skin had already started, violent and unstoppable.

Then came the flash.

He didn’t remember much more. He woke up to car alarms, sirens, and people screaming. Thick smoke hung in the air like fog and rubble was everywhere. He stared at the scorched remnants of a building that looked like a hurricane of flames had blown through it.

And Ben felt bad. He really did. Because, sure, one could argue he’d killed a lot of people over the long span of his career, so what were a few more?

But this was different. He hadn’t meant to.

Getting tortured by the fucking Commies was one thing, but they turned him into one of those supe freaks he’d always despised. Strongest man alive turned walking, uncontrollable nuke.

He fucking hated what they made him into. If he could fucking nuke the entire upper part of the Asian continent, he would.

Ben then kept his head down, moved through the back alleys and side streets, avoiding ambulances, police cars, and cameras till he ducked into the lobby of a pre-war high-rise on West 55th, next to a cigar shop and a boutique vodka bar.

The elevator then creaked up to the penthouses – PH4.

Ben raised his fist and knocked – three hard pounds, each one echoing through the hallway. The paint on the doorframe cracked slightly.

Footsteps. Slippers shuffling. Then the clunk of a lock sliding back. The door swung open, and there he was.

Legend. Older. Softer. But still himself. Robe loose, silk pajamas, gold chain on bare chest, slippers that cost more than a car, and a whiskey tumbler in hand at 10 AM. Eyes like saucers. He looked like he was seeing a fucking ghost.

Maybe he was.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” the old man breathed. “Ben?”

Ben didn’t answer right away. He was tired – bone-tired, blood-tired. He’d walked out of a Russian grave, burned a street down in Midtown, and ridden the subway in a stolen tracksuit like some goddamn hobo. The whole journey had already taken him five days.

“You gonna let me in or just stare at me like I crawled outta your fuckin’ toilet?”

Legend stumbled backward with a stunned laugh. “Of course! Of course! Come on in, come on in, you beautiful bastard! I thought you were dead! I mean, you were dead! The whole world thinks you’re–… Oh, man, wait ‘til I tell Marge–”

“Start with a drink,” Ben grunted as he stepped inside, looking around.

Legend’s place hadn’t changed much. Just a new location and a better view. Crystal decanters. Too many mirrors. A leopard print robe draped over a $9,000 couch. It smelled like citrus cologne, stale cigars, and money that hadn’t been earned honestly. The walls were plastered with nostalgia: framed magazine covers, awards, posters, photos of stars long dead. And there were more pictures of Soldier Boy than any museum dared hang. It was like stepping into a shrine of himself.

He peeked at one photo and felt fucking nothing.

Legend closed the door behind him and scrambled to keep up. “You’re really here. You’re alive. What the hell happened to you?”

“Reds,” Ben muttered.

“Jesus Christ, I thought they buried you. I mourned you, man.”

“Yeah? Must’ve been a real touchin’ tribute,” Ben said dryly.

Legend blinked. “Hey. I liked you, alright? I didn’t sign up for whatever Vought pulled. I wasn’t in the room when they made that call.”

“You sure about that?” Ben said quieter. Dangerous. “You weren’t in on it?”

Legend looked wounded, but he always had a flair for theatrics. “Ben, listen to me. I had nothing to do with it. Swear on my mother’s grave, I didn’t know a goddamn thing. You were the crown jewel. The whole plan was to sell you forever. Why would they toss the best brand they had?”

Ben watched him closely. Legend still had that salesman gleam, but his hands were fidgeting. The man might be a rat for a living, but he wasn’t a traitor.

“I believe you,” Ben said finally.

Legend sagged, relieved. “Jesus. Thank God.”

“Don’t thank him. He didn’t help.”

Ben accepted the drink offered to him without blinking. Scotch. Strong. First thing he’d tasted that didn’t remind him of a basement in Russia. Legend never poured anything cheap.

The older man then refilled his own glass with shaking hands. “They said you died. Nuclear meltdown in Ohio in ‘84. You went in alone. They did the whole shtick – flag over the casket, moment of silence at Vought Tower, candles, parade. Even got you a statue. Beautiful PR, really. You didn’t know?”

Ben turned his head slowly. “Do I look like I fuckin’ knew?”

So this was what it had come to? This was what his life had amounted to? Buried like a hero, commemorated for a blink of an eye, and then fucking forgotten.

A fuckin’ statue?!

“No, no, I guess not,” Legend said, still rambling. “You look like shit, frankly. You wanna catch up first or take a shower? ‘Cause, no offense, you smell like Cold War ass.”

Ben quirked an eyebrow. “You offerin’ to join me?”

Legend raised both hands. “Hey, man, I don’t swing like that – anymore.”

Sure. Ben scoffed under his breath and rolled his eyes slightly. Not like Bogart was ever balls-deep inside the guy.

They stood in silence for a beat. Legend then gestured vaguely back at the liquor cart. “You want something else? Shrimp? Bump? You still do coke, right?”

Ben glanced at him and plopped down on the velvet couch with a grunt. “You offering or reminiscin'?”

The old man moved behind the bar and opened a drawer. “You’re not gonna believe what I saved for a rainy day.”

He pulled out a round mirror, the kind they didn’t bother hiding in the ‘80s, and set it gently down on the coffee table. From a thin glass vial, he tapped out two tight white lines.

“Peruvian flake. 1983. From that last gig in Cartagena, remember?”

Ben dipped his pinky first and tasted it on his tongue. Still burned just right. He stared at the neat, shimmering lines like they were a goddamn miracle.

It had been forty fucking years.

He hadn’t touched coke since Reagan’s first term. His heart rate picked up just looking at it. He leaned down over the mirror, one finger closing a nostril, and inhaled the line in one clean, practiced motion.

The burn climbed straight to his brain and lit up every nerve ending like someone flipped a breaker. His eyes watered. His spine straightened like he’d just been recharged with jumper cables.

“Still burns like it used to.” Ben sniffed, nose tingling.

Legend grinned like a man watching the resurrection of a god. “Atta boy.”

“Now that’s the America I remember.” Ben dragged a hand down his face, leaned back against the couch, and let out a dark, satisfied chuckle. “You always did age like a cockroach. I figured if anyone made it, it’d be you.”

Legend laughed too hard and raised his glass, sitting down in a leather arm chair across from him. “They don’t make ‘em like us anymore.”

The men drank. After a few more quiet sips and more bumps of coke, Legend stood, dusted off his robe, and disappeared into a back room. He returned with a garment bag slung over one arm.

“Knew this day might come,” he said, grinning. “Couldn’t throw it away.”

Ben unzipped the bag and stared.

His suit. His real one. Emerald green, armor-ribbed, the star still proud on the chest. He could almost smell the battles in it. Almost hear the roar of the crowd.

He stood. “Shower?”

“Guest bathroom’s down the hall. Still stocked with aftershave from ‘87. Towels are clean.”

The bathroom was as opulent as the rest of the penthouse. Marble floors, a gold-trimmed mirror, a steam shower the size of a phone booth. Ben finally dropped the sweat suit, stepped under the spray, and let the water scald his skin – first real shower in fucking decades.

The grime peeled off in waves – Russian chemicals, blood, dirt, something green and sticky he didn’t ask questions about. He washed his hair twice. The beard had gotten too long, too wild. And as he finally stepped out of the shower–

“There you are,” he said with an almost amused sigh. At some point, he’d just accepted the fact that you were haunting his conscious.

Can’t fight the universe.

You sat on the counter next to the sink, smirk on your face, bare legs dangling over the edge – like fucking clockwork. “Missed me?”

Ben only nodded with a hum as he stepped up to the mirror above the sink. He wiped a circle clear on the fogged surface and stared for a long moment.

“You look like shit,” you noted and crossed your arms, giving him a scrutinizing sideways glance.

And yeah, Jesus fuck, he looked like he’d just crawled out of fuckin’ hell. Forty years of Commie torture and dark basements were written on his skin. He’d only seen daylight two times during his stay there – when they’d field-test the fucking Little Boy in his chest. And it had rained both goddamn times.

His eyes were sunken, the green a little faded. The beard made him look like a mountain man who lost his fuckin' mountain. He picked up the clippers. Hovered over the switch. He’d never really been a beard kind of guy. Vought had always insisted on a clean-shaven image.

“Keep it,” you said. “Give it a trim. I think it looks good. Dangerous. Edgy. Perfect for puttin’ the fear of God into your enemies.”

Ben smacked his lips and got to work. He trimmed the beard, shaping it into something neater and harder. He then grabbed a pair of scissors and cut his own hair with slow, methodical snips. Piece by piece, the ghost peeled away, and underneath it, something familiar started to reemerge.

“This is your time, right?” he finally spoke and peered at you from his periphery. “That fuckin’ flashlight was a phone, wasn’t it?”

You grinned cheekily. “Well, I couldn’t give that away. Can’t fault me for that.”

“Guess not,” he huffed a strand of hair out his face.

Ben then dried off, suited up, adjusted the straps. The fabric settled against his skin like it remembered him. Tight in the right places. The weight of the shield in his hand felt like gravity returning. He finally felt anchored again.

Less like a ghost, more like a weapon.

“You really sure about this?” you asked and gave him a look that was half-concerned and half-judgy. “Killing your old team? Your ex?”

Ben exhaled a deep breath through his nose but didn’t look at you, green eyes focused on his mirror image. “They betrayed me. Left me to rot.”

“Not like you didn’t deserve it,” you muttered under your breath, then tilted your head. “Am I on your hit list?”

Ben licked his lips and clicked his tongue. “Depends.”

Your brows pinched. “On what?”

Ben met your eyes. “If you fuckin’ left me on purpose.”

When he finally emerged from the bathroom, Legend whistled.

“Still looks good. You could be on the cover of Time again.”

Ben ignored that. “What happened to Payback?”

Legend hesitated, swirling the ice in his drink. “Split up. Disbanded. Most of ‘em are ghosts now. Black Noir’s made it into the new group – The Seven. Crimson Countess does livestreams now. Weird stuff.”

Ben didn’t know what that meant and didn’t care.

“Where is she?”

Legend hesitated. “You sure?”

Ben’s expression didn’t change.

“Alright, she’s local. I’ve got an address. But Ben – don’t expect her to cry when she sees you.”

“I’m not going for tears,” Ben said coldly.

Legend handed over a scrap of paper with her address scrawled on it. “You’re not who you used to be.”

Ben paused mid-way to the door and turned his head slightly. “I know,” he said. “That guy’s dead.”

And with that, he left the penthouse.

The wooded clearing was dead quiet as Ben stepped into it like it was a battlefield – except his eyes weren’t on the war anymore. The old trailer lights flickered in the distance, his boots crunching the gravel with heavy thuds.

And apparently, the universe had a fucking sense of humor.

Because the last person he’d expected to find in front of his ex-girlfriend’s trailer was his other ex-girlfriend – you. But Ben heard your voice before he even saw your face.

“Jesus, Butcher, I told you not to drug him. He’s gonna have a concussion,” you bitched.

Ben then recognized the second voice that answered you as well. Still that same British asshole from the lab.

“It’s fine, sunshine. Focus on the task at hand, yeah? We’ve got bigger fish to fry now than MM’s moral compass.”

Ben stepped closer till figures came into view. The British asshole was standing and found his gaze immediately with a wide smirk. But Ben’s eyes slid past the man, landing squarely on you, crouched down and tending to an unconscious guy by the trailer steps.

A flicker of anger roared alive inside of him. Familiar. Old. He’d carried it around with him for eighty years already, and a part of him wanted to see you burn for it.

For fucking lying. For ever darling to leave him.

But something stirred underneath the anger and hurt – longing.

For your voice, your body, your heart.

But you only glanced at him briefly – unfocused, unbothered. You looked pissed and worried, but none of it was for him. You sent a glare to the asshole in front of Ben before your attention slipped back to the man on the ground, checking his pulse and muttering a few more curses under your breath.

Did you–

Did you not recognize him?

Ben couldn’t entirely fault you for the lab. He’d crawled out of that pod a complete fucking mess. But now he looked more like himself again. Sure, maybe not the ‘42 version of him, but he hadn’t changed that much. Still as handsome as ever. Was it the fucking beard? Should he have shaved it after all?

The Brit then mumbled something about good faith and a team up, but Ben didn’t really listen. Whatever the fuck was going on here, you seemed to be a part of it, and he wasn’t going to lose your trail again.

Not now. Not ever.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d walk out of it alive, depending on how this would go – once he’d figured out what the hell was going on.

“What about her?” Ben gestured with his chin toward you once the asshole had finished his pitch. “Who’s she?”

“She’s one of you. Supe. Chronokinetic,” the guy told him and smirked. “Bit of a wildcard, but bloody handy in a pinch.”

So Ben had been right. He was almost proud of himself for solving that one.

But what the fuck were you doing here? Why were you so fucking calm around men with guns? This shouldn’t be your fucking life.

“Oi, sunshine. C’mere. Introduce yourself,” the Brit called you over.

You stood slowly and dusted off your jean shorts, muscles tense as Ben’s eyes pinned you in place like a knife through a photograph. You weren’t wearing a band shirt, a ‘40s dress, or even an overall this time. Just a plain black hoodie with white lettering that read: ‘Without geometry, life is pointless.’

Yeah, definitely you.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Ben asked, a charming but feigned smirk tugging at his lips, eyes squinting and grazing over you. Observing. Studying.

Still not a trace of recognition in your eyes.

Did you really not know him? Were you lying again? Might as well give it a shot and see what poured out.

And then you just gave him your name. No muss, no fuss, no lies. Like it wasn’t a big deal to begin with. You weren’t guarding it like a state secret or nuclear codes. Just your name, plain and simple.

“You know who I am?” Ben asked next and watched your face contort – brow knitted, nose scrunched, lips pursed. You thought he was fucking crazy – but definitely not someone you once shared a goddamn bed with.

“I mean, yeah,” you said and snorted an amused laugh. “You’re Soldier Boy. You were in my high school history books. My grandpa liked to talk about you when I was a kid.“

Ben bit his lips, hummed. Nodded. And he wasn’t sure yet what, but something had died inside of him.

The fuck–

What the hell was he supposed to do with that?

You clearly had no fuckin’ clue. Did you forget? Did you really not know? What the fuck did that even mean?

This was fuckin’ absurd.

The first hint of disappointment then crashed over Ben. Anger gone. Hurt gone. Just disappointment that you couldn’t remember the real him, that you didn’t recognize him beyond what the world knew. You knew Soldier Boy, and for the first time in eighty years, he realized you’d be disappointed in him, too.

Sure, his hallucinations of you had been plenty opinionated over his actions, but they’d also been easy to ignore. But this was the real you, and he wasn’t the guy he used to be anymore.

Coming here to fry his ex probably didn’t help…

“Alright, Doc. Time to give the man his gift,” the asshole said and nodded toward the trailer.

You sighed, rolled your eyes slightly but didn’t argue. You looked fucking bored – like this was a goddamn chore. You dragged your feet back and held the trailer door open for him.

One thing the real you and his hallucination had in common, however: they were both fucking judgy.

Yeah, this first meeting wasn’t ideal. You were already looking at him like you’d decided you hated him the minute he opened his mouth.

He knew that look well.

But you’d done that back then, too. It didn’t mean anything. He could still turn it around.

Ben moved past you into the dim light of the trailer, cluttered with relics of a woman clinging to the scraps of fame. You followed, and then the two of you just stood there by the entrance. He narrowed his eyes past the beaded curtain, and sure enough, there was Countess, tied up on a chair and frozen mid-wail.

Jesus…

“So, how does it work? Your powers?” Ben asked, his voice rough like gravel as he tried to keep it steady.

He pretended to be unbothered, curious only for the sake of the reason why he was here, but on the inside, he was trembling and itching.

Because you were right fucking there – so close that if he stretched out his pinky right now, he could touch yours. He could feel your warmth radiate off your skin and brush his. He could fucking smell you – a scent he had never forgotten and chased for over eight decades trying to find it again.

He never could.

He’d forgotten so fucking much. Hadn’t even realized it till the temptation returned. The longing was fucking winning.

Over anger. Over pain. Over everything.

All he wanted to do now was grab you and kiss you like there was no fucking tomorrow because there truly never was a guarantee there’d be another one.

But how? To you, he was just a name in a book. A ghost on a screen.

Not Ben. Not yours. Not his.

His mind was goddamn racing, his heart pounding. He could already feel the hum in his chest.

This was all too goddamn much.

“It’s like a remote control. I can push Pause on a single object, a room full of people… Theoretically, even the whole world, but that’d take a lot of juice,” you explained.

“Can’t swing that much?”

You shook your head.

Ben gave a nod.

“She can’t feel anything right now. Not until you tell me to push Play,” you added.

“Like a VHS tape?” Ben quirked a brow.

Your lips rose to a faint smile. “Yeah, exactly like that.”

“This all you can do? Fuckin’ freeze people?” Ben tried to act goddamn normal, but every time he glanced at you, his heart almost exploded. “Can’t you hop through time as well? Chronokinetics can do that shit, right? Like the Terminator?”

You gave a soft chuckle. “I mean, yeah, I used to jump through time.”

Ben’s brow furrowed. “Used to?”

“It doesn’t work anymore. Long story,” you replied and didn’t elaborate further. “But hey, unless, you want me to drop off your ex during an Ice Age, this should be enough, right?”

Ben swiped his tongue over his lips, nodding slowly, still thinking. Still trying to make sense of it all.

Were you telling the truth or were you lying? Did you really not know him or just pretending you didn’t? Should he say something? Ask you flat out?

No, not yet…

His eyes fixed back on Countess, still frozen like a turkey before it was shoved into an oven.

“Why did you freeze her, anyway? She’s already tied up. Seems like overkill,” Ben said, glancing at you sideways.

Your gaze was on Countess too, head tilted, brows scrunched. Watching. Thinking. Judging. Ben could see the cogs turning in your head. He knew that look of yours well.

“She was annoying Butcher,” you replied with a hint of amusement. “And frankly me. She’s kinda a bitch.”

“Tell me about it.” He snorted a scoff, then nodded toward the door. “And Butcher? He’s the asshole outside?”

You simply nodded, a faint smirk twitching on your lips.

“What’s his deal?”

Your amusement didn’t fade when you replied, “Much like you, he’s clinging to revenge fantasies. He’s CIA.”

Ben’s brows shot up. “That asshole’s CIA?”

“Yeah,” you snorted. “Didn’t buy it either when he knocked on my door, but it’s true.”

“And you’re CIA, too?”

“Uh, no…” you said slowly at first and hesitated. “I mean, now I guess I am. I’ve only known the guy for a month. I don’t usually get involved with all this supe shit.”

Supe shit.

The way you said it made Ben think you didn’t count yourself as one of them. Like you were something better. Above it all – especially the theatrics that came with it.

But Ben didn’t like any of it. Didn’t like you being here. Didn’t like you working with these people. Didn’t like how that asshole out there used you to do his bidding like you were some goddamn pet.

Made him fuckin' angry.

Ben arched an eyebrow, gave you a little smile – harmless like a lamb. “And what did you do instead then, sweetheart? Before all this?”

“I was a physics professor at a small college in Canada,” you replied.

Huh. That fit. Fit with what you’d told him. And it made more sense to him than anything else in this world – more sense than seeing you here in the middle of this shit.

“You know, I can keep her like that, and you can just do your thing,” you noted carefully. “That way she won’t feel anything.”

Ben’s jaw tightened, his gaze swerving back to Countess. “No, I want her to fuckin’ feel it,” he said after a beat.

Your head bobbed thoughtfully. “You sure about that?”

Ben looked at you then, eyes finding yours. His heart stuttered. He almost smiled, thinking his hallucinations of you had never been far off.

But you were… real.

You might have lied to him about parts of your life – about who you truly were or where you came from – but underneath it all, you were still undeniably you. Still judging, still observing, still asking impossible question he never really had an answer to.

He swallowed once and kept his eyes on you as he spoke, “She lied to my face. Said she loved me but then fuckin’ left when I needed her the most.”

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t twitch a single muscle, like those words had no affect on you at all. You just listened and stared at him with a trace of sympathy in your eyes.

“Yeah, I saw what they did to you, you know?” you said. “Your old team. In Nicaragua.”

Ben’s brow furrowed. “How?”

“I can… glimpse into moments of time, too,” you explained. “Past, mostly. Future’s still fluctuating. Not as certain. Too many variables. But I can tell you who wins the next Super Bowl.”

You gave him a little grin. He matched it.

“Who?”

“Chiefs.”

Ben grunted, rolling his eyes back.

You giggled softly, the sound snaking into his heart. “You a Giants fan, huh?”

“Eagles.”

“Huh. Really?”

“I’m from Philly,” he found himself saying.

And then suddenly, it all became too much. Too fucking real. You had no idea who he was, who he’d been. You didn’t know him at all.

And what, was he supposed to pretend he didn’t know every part of you already, either? He wasn’t sure he could do that. How the fuck did he end up here?

Fuckin’ absurd…

His eyes landed back on his other ex tied to a chair. If he wanted a future with you, he had to clean up his past first. But he didn’t want you to see who he’d become. He just wanted you to see who he’d been.

“You’re gonna keep chattin’ or get the fuck out now? Don’t need a fuckin’ audience for this,” he said, colder now. He didn’t want you to watch. Maybe to protect you or maybe to protect himself. He wasn’t sure which one it was yet.

But he was determined to drag you out of this fucking mess with both hands.

‘Sides, what was he supposed to fucking do anyway? Walk back out there and say he’d changed his mind because the smartass with tits had a heart to heart with him?

No fuckin’ way.

He had to portray strength to his fucking enemies, or they’d come for him again. Sure, Ben hadn’t cared about shit, but if there was one thing he’d learned – no one else did fucking either.

But more importantly, a supe like you? The world would be coming for you.

To use you. To kill you.

You were too naive, too good, too fucking soft to see that. But he wasn’t – and he’d take fucking care of it.

Your brow scrunched at his harsher tone in that same miffed way of yours. It always had. It’s how he knew it’d work. You’d be fine.

“Gee, as you wish, asshole,” you huffed and then stomped your little feet back outside.

And as soon as the door swung shut behind you, Crimson Countess roared back to life – at least for the next ten minutes before it all went up in flames.

The asshole managed to pick the shittiest motel straight off the highway. It stank of mold, old cigarette smoke, and bleach. This was where someone came to murder fucking hookers – not have a goddamn reunion after eighty years with the love of their life.

But alas, here he was, in a bathroom with rusty red rims around the drains, as if people had already been dismembered by the fucking mob in here.

He’d washed of the grit and grime, the smoke and ash of earlier and found himself in a pair of gray sweats that fit a little too loose and a goddamn Giants jersey. You’d gotten it for him at a gas station. Gave it to him with a tiny smirk, like you were messing with him on purpose because he’d been unreasonably mean to you earlier.

And boy, had you fucking judged him once he’d walked out of that trailer – well, whatever had been left of it anyway. You didn’t say a word, not the whole car ride here, just glared at him every once in a while and let him feel it.

Luckily, that wasn’t entirely new. You’d done that to him in the past as well – the silent treatment, that fucking pout… Whenever he’d done something back then that irked you, you’d let him stew in it. Sometimes you’d even punished him for it – and not in the fucking fun way. Especially whenever he’d underestimated you, you’d hit him with a mental slap so hard his head was still spinning hours later. He’d secretly loved it, though. Turned him the fuck on.

But from experience he knew – your anger would pass. It always did.

For now, though, you were here, chatting outside this very bathroom with a British asshole and some scrawny kid that looked like he’d pissed himself after his girlfriend yelled a little at him.

But God, your fuckin’ voice…

He hadn’t heard that sound in decades – not the real thing at least. And the original was goddamn better than the stupid recording in his skull.

“Where are you guys off to?” your honeyed melody flowed through the thin wall – suspicious, pissed.

Those idiots out there thought he couldn’t hear them. But Ben could even hear the couple fucking three doors down.

“Supply run,” the asshole replied. “The patriotic princess in there gave us a ryder like he’s fuckin’ Mariah Carey. You’re on Cold War nuke duty, sunshine, while me and little Hughie go out there and shake down a cuppa dealers.”

Who the fuck is Mariah Carey?

“Wait, what?” String Bean threw in.

“Don’t worry 'bout it,” the asshole dismissed.

“Do I look like a fucking babysitter for a nuclear warhead to you?” you huffed. “I’m about to freeze both of you and walk out of here.”

Nuclear warhead? Babysitter?!

“Alright, alright,” the asshole soothed. “Look, sunshine, hate to break it to ya, but if grandpa in there goes nuclear again, you’re the only one who can cool down the bloody core, so to speak.”

Ah. So that was why they were leaving you with him – you were his goddamn fail-safe. Fuckin’ great…

“Oh, so you want me to freeze the Fat Man in there every time he’s about to fucking drop,” you realized dryly.

The fuck–

“Smart as always,” the asshole confirmed.

“Well, you know, there’s, like, a lot of people in this motel, and he’s not… stable,” String Bean said, voice weak and jittering, probably giving you a fucking puppy dog look on top of it. “You said so yourself.”

You have?

“Yeah, what he said, Doc.”

Ben could hear the asshole’s triumphant smirk through the goddamn door.

“‘Sides, would be nice if we could catch a couple hours of sleep. Maybe? Please?” The kid’s voice was pleading, and Ben knew you’d break at that whiny tone.

You exhaled a deep sigh, capitulated as expected. Ben waited a couple more minutes after they left, spritzed cold water on his face before feeling ready enough to face you.

When the bathroom door creaked open, you didn’t look up. He found you sitting on one of the beds, glowing rectangle in your hands, thumb gliding over the sleek surface like it was second nature. The phone flickered with light and colors like a handheld television from some alien planet, while you were all angles and distance, backlit by a blue hue.

Ben cleared his throat, but you didn’t even glance up.

“Bathroom didn’t explode. Guess that’s progress,” you commented wryly.

He pursed his lips, biting the insides of his cheeks. The room felt fucking suffocating. What was the goddamn plan here? Was he just supposed to talk to you and act like any of this was fucking normal?

He needed more goddamn answers. Drugs. Booze. Somethin’.

“So, they stuck you with babysittin’ duty, huh?” Ben asked with a small chuckle, trying to break the ice. Trying to bond. Talk to you like he used to.

“Yup,” you said and popped the p, still not looking up. “If you’re gonna be a good boy and not blow up, I’ll get you a juice box, some crayons, and a coloring book.”

Ben frowned, smacked his lips, and bobbed his head, sauntering over to the dresser where Butcher had put down the bottle of cheap whiskey.

Yeah, he needed some goddamn booze to survive this night…

“You know, I could hear you guys in there,” Ben noted lightly and flicked his chin toward the bathroom.

“I know.”

He then sighed a little and ran a hand through his hair. “You called me a nuclear warhead.”

“You are a nuclear warhead,” you replied unapologetically, eyes still focused on the screen.

“So…” Ben started, ignoring your little jab with a deep exhale. “You and that asshole?”

“What about it?” You still didn’t give him the time of day. Didn’t even flinch or shift.

And all Ben could think about was how you once looked at him like he hung the goddamn moon for you.

“You two a thing?” He tried to sound casual – not like a positive answer would cause him to torch this entire dump.

You snorted a loud laugh at that and finally looked at him. “What? No.”

Your nose scrunched, and Ben’s heart calmed slightly till the next thought crossed his mind.

“What about the twig? The one who looks like he’d snap in a stiff wind?”

You arched an eyebrow. “Who? Hughie?”

Ben hated how you said that name – caring, fond, familiar. You always had a soft spot for the weaklings.

“Yeah,” Ben grunted and gulped down a big sip of whiskey straight from the bottle.

Luckily, you chuckled in amusement. “No, nothing going on there. Hughie is like a little brother I have to keep from accidentally killing himself.”

Yeah, that makes sense, Ben thought with relief and felt his chest unclench. Just another kid playing soldier…

“Why are you asking about my love life?” you prompted with a suspicious smile, making his shoulders flinch subtly.

“‘M not,” Ben brushed it off casually with a sniff of his nose. “Just wondering how a smart girl like you ended up with that crew of fuckups.”

“It’s complicated,” you said simply and turned your focus back to your phone.

“Bet it is,” he muttered under his breath and took another gulp of whiskey. “Care to fuckin’ elaborate?”

“Not really…”

Ben rubbed his eyes, then his temples. Jesus fuck, you were harder to crack than the goddamn Zodiac Killer code. Had it been this hard the first time around, too? He couldn’t remember exactly, but he recalled he had to work for it back in ‘42 as well.

“Alright, just tell me what I’m gettin’ into here,” he said honestly, trying a new angle.

You looked up then, titled your head, and blew out a sigh between your lips. “Alright, fine. Butcher found me about a month ago. Wanted me to find a weapon.”

“Weapon?” Ben’s brow furrowed, keeping the whiskey bottle attached to his lips.

Your lips rose to a wry smile. “Yeah, you.”

Ben swallowed, drank more, and tried to ignore the tear in his gut. A weapon. So that was what you saw him as now – not someone to love, not a boyfriend. Just a walking nuke in need of round-the-clock supervision.

Great. That really put a dent into his romantic dinner plans.

“Well, technically, Butcher wanted me to find the weapon that killed you,” you clarified. “They discovered your death in Ohio was a cover-up by Vought. Frenchie has contacts in the Russian mob or something, I guess. He works for Butcher, too.” You shook your head, clearing your wandering mind. “Anyways, they found out about a botched operation in Nicaragua, so Butcher wanted me to look where the weapon is now.”

“With that little glimpsing thing of yours?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, smiling in a way that made his heart ache. “Turned out the Russians didn’t kill you.”

“Damn straight they didn’t.” Ben nodded and downed more whiskey. He was already halfway through the bottle. Good thing the asshole went out on that supply run.

“But Butcher still wanted to find out how they knocked you out,” you said with a small grin. Teasing. “So he booked plane tickets to Russia.”

Ben nodded slowly, letting the information settle. “What does he need a weapon for?”

You let out a long breath, lips curling. “I’m sure he’s gonna tell you that himself. Can’t give away the big surprise. He kinda lives for that.”

Ben’s brow wrinkled, but he didn’t press. Frankly, he didn’t care enough to. He just wanted answers about you. “Why did you agree to help? You don’t seem like the type to get involved in all this… supe shit.”

You laughed a little, twitched your brows. “Yeah, I usually don’t. I honestly never had much contact with the others. And the few I’ve met so far were…” You licked your plush lips, trying to find the right words.

Ben found them for you.

“Psychotic little freaks?”

You snorted and nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“So, why are you helping that British twat?” Ben ventured a little further.

Your head bobbed thoughtfully for a moment, like you were deciding if you could trust him or not. Ben ignored the stabbing feeling in his ribcage.

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” you said, then bit down on your lower lip – thinking. “In physics, we have something called the Second Law of Thermodynamics. It describes how in a closed system, entropy always increases over time.”

Jesus fucking Christ, he’d forgotten about that part – the endless physics lectures. At least back then, he’d get rewarded for listening – with you taking his cock into your mouth.

Now he’d just get the words without the fucking.

“Meaning…?” he played along as his fucking migraine started.

“Things naturally fall apart. Systems tend toward chaos, not order. It means you have to expend energy to maintain structure,” you explained with a small smile.

Ben mirrored it, finally understanding why you’d always loved standing in front of a blackboard.

Professor. Yeah, that made fucking sense now. You’d always gotten so turned on by teaching him shit.

Were you turned on right now, too? Ben was sure he could probably get you to fuck him. If he just upped the charm and went fully in, he could make you writhe underneath him tonight.

But then what? He needed to figure this shit out first.

“If we apply that to the modern world, we’re watching a complex societal system steadily lose coherence,” you continued. “Institutions are eroding. Trust is decaying. Information systems are overloaded. We’re heading toward maximum disorder – fast.”

Ben scoffed a chuckle. “Is this your way of telling me the world’s ending, sweetheart?”

“No, Earth will be fine. Humanity won’t be,” you said matter-of-factly. Logically. “Look, I don’t… agree with all of Butcher’s methods, but without intentional energy, we’ll spiral into decay. Entropy loves apathy. It starts with ‘who cares,’ ends with ‘Heil whatever.’ And sure, I could’ve stayed home, not gotten involved, and told myself it wasn’t my fucking problem, but eventually, decay would’ve come for me, too. Fascism thrives on unconsciousness. History always fucking repeats itself.”

“Ain’t that right,” Ben huffed in agreement with another sip of his drink. But something else tugged at him.

It all struck a nerve deep inside him. He had seen a lot of shit over the decades, but he’d never cared about it. Played hero for the glory and the money, but you spoke with such conviction as if you actually believed in the product you were selling.

You scoffed, tilting your head at him. “Really? You agree?”

Ben remained calm, even though he could see the challenging gleam in your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean, hm? I fought for my fuckin’ country.”

“Right.” You gave him a nod – sarcastic to the bone. Then you slowly leaned forward on your knees – collected, fearless, not backing the fuck down. “You killed my friend’s family back in the ‘80s. Called it collateral. You went after people till there was no one left when they came for you. You’re the fucking poster boy for decay. You talk like you’re fighting the rot, but you’re just part of the problem. You’re all manufactured patriotism, empty slogans, and fists over facts. Tell me – when’s the last time you actually cared about something that wasn’t your own goddamn ego?”

Well, fuck him. Brains won over brawn once again. He tried not to show how deep your words truly cut. His hallucination of you always called him fucking hollow. Seemed like real you did, too.

Ben nodded, clicked his tongue, and gave you a tight smile. “Not a fan, huh?”

“No.”

Simple, cold, and brutally honest. Just like you always had been. Made his heart swell for all the wrong reasons.

Ben’s face twitched. He could’ve argued. Said that the last time he cared about something, he’d cared about you. He could’ve even slipped on the mask like he would’ve done if anyone else had said that shit to him. Said some bullshit about how he wasn’t the rot, but the one that survived it. But instead, he went for something in between:

“You don’t know shit about me, sweetheart. Trust me.”

“I know enough,” you muttered just as quick and returned to your phone, not bothering to argue further.

Ben locked his jaw tight, clenched his fists subtly by his sides. So that was what you truly thought about him, huh? But the worst part was how fucking right you were in your assessment – and how much it fucking hurt.

Click, click, click.

Your eyes flicked to another strange device on the nightstand, brow furrowing as lights of green, yellow, and red flashed alive. Then your gaze landed on him.

“The fuck is that?” Ben gestured to the item in question.

“It’s a Geiger counter. Measures radiation. Tells me when you’re close to blowing a fuse,” you explained, narrowing your eyes at him, head tilting again. “Apparently, it’s tied to your emotions. Interesting. Is your pulse spiking?”

Fucking Christ on a cross…

“Turn it off,” he growled. He didn’t want a stupid little box to tell you when he was getting upset like some goddamn hall monitor.

“No,” you bit back with that fiery look in your eyes. “I’m trying to keep a block of civilians safe from you.”

“Just fuckin’ freeze me when I start glowing. That’s what you’re fuckin’ here for, right? How’s that?”

“Too risky,” you countered. Didn’t expand on your answer like you thought he was too stupid to understand it.

“Why?” Ben gritted through his teeth.

You let out an exhaustive sigh and contemplated something again. But after a beat, you seemed to cave. “It’s not that simple. Your powers–… the little nuclear reactor in your chest?”

“What about it?” Ben asked gruffly but slumped down on the second bed across from you, ready to listen nonetheless.

You licked your lips, surely weighing how much you could share without getting into trouble. Like he still couldn’t be fucking trusted.

“You don’t just go off like a regular bomb. As soon as you emit enough radiation, supes around you also lose their abilities. I think it’s because the nuclear energy reacted and bonded with the Compound V in your system in some way. Probably to help your body withstand that much energy. But back at the lab, you hit a friend of mine. You burnt the V right outta her. Made her human.”

Ben was quiet for a minute – a rarity. Good to know. And fucking bad for his enemies, which he had plenty of. But it also meant something else.

“So you can’t freeze me anymore when I’m too far gone. That what you’re sayin'?”

You nodded and smiled like he’d gotten an A on a test. “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”

Ben sighed and ran a hand over his face, drumming his palms on his thighs. “Alright,” he said at last. “Keep the fuckin' thing on, I guess.”

Frankly, he didn’t care as much about the junkies, prostitutes, and other scum in this shithole that could potentially die from his fallout. But he fucking cared about your safety.

Also wouldn’t be in his interest if you lost your fucking powers. He’d fling himself off a building if he had to keep playing pretend with you forever. The last few hours had already scorched him from the inside out.

“As you wish,” you said, but he caught the little winning smirk twitching on your lips.

It almost made him goddamn smile.

Ben rubbed his jaw then, watching you for a moment. You were right fucking there. And still, he couldn’t just reach out. It seemed like some goddamn cosmic joke. The Reds might’ve been done torturing him, but the universe clearly wasn’t.

And you obviously weren’t, either.

“Look, uhm, maybe we got off on the wrong foot,” Ben said, clearing his throat a little. “I’m not the same guy anymore, alright? Maybe I changed. Isn’t there some physics law for that shit too that you could apply?”

You smiled – genuine this time. And fuck, did it make his heart burn alive like it hadn’t in decades.

He still knew how to talk to you – like riding a fucking bike. Like you’d never fucking left.

“Newton’s First Law,” you replied.

“See? Well, let’s go with that,” he agreed casually and leaned back against the headboard, feet up, satisfied.

You snorted slightly and cocked an eyebrow. “Do you even know what it means?”

“Do I need to?” Ben raised his brow, although he knew the answer already, but he let you talk anyway, listened to your voice in his ears like it was gospel.

Because to him, it fucking was.

You giggled softly, the sound like warm honey. “Kinda, yeah. Would probably help. It just means that a person in motion stays in motion in the same direction – unless something acts on them. You don’t change paths because you want to. You change because something hits you hard enough to knock you off your trajectory.”

Ben nodded, drank a little more, then gave you another tight-lipped smile. “Well, consider me fuckin’ hit, sweetheart.”

And he was – by you.

“Guess we’ll see,” you replied with a part-intrigued and part-challenging shimmer in your eyes, but for once you seemed happy with his answer.

And thank fucking God for that. He wasn’t sure how many rounds he could’ve still held up before you’d knocked out his fucking brain.

“But maybe you’re not wrong,” you added and bit your lip, surprising him. “I mean, Vought did you dirty, right? Maybe you can finally use all that energy and anger you have and aim it at something that deserves it.”

“You bet your ass I will,” he said. Smirked. And your lips even hiked up a little. “So that’s what this little dysfunctional group is about? You guys wanna bring down fuckin’ Vought?”

“In a way, yeah. It’s part of it,” you replied as mysterious and closed off as ever.

Some things really never fucking changed.

“Alright, tell me somethin’. I’m curious. What beef you got with Vought?” he asked slyly. Felt fucking smug for being so clever. “I mean, you’re a chronokinetic or whatever. Rare ability, right? Powerful, too. ‘M sure they had their greedy claws all over you. What, got tired of being their little puppet?”

“I never was their puppet,” you said. “And sure, chronokinesis can be a… powerful, messy, possibly disastrous ability, which is why they probably wanted to kill me in the first place.”

“They, what?” His head snapped toward you.

“Don’t look so shocked,” you said with an amused snort like it wasn’t a big deal. “Vought was scared I could mess up the timeline, fuck with their business too much... You think someone like Stan Edgar is gonna risk keeping that around? There’s powerful, and then there’s too powerful. One’s useful, one’s a threat. You know that better than anyone.”

Ben nodded slowly, the words sinking in. “Stan Edgar? That bastard’s still around?”

“Yeah, he’s the CEO of Vought now.”

That slimy fucking asshole. Of course he was. Legend wasn’t the only one that survived like a goddamn cockroach.

“He the one that threatened you?” Ben tried to sound fucking calm, but he was grinding his molars down to dust.

“Yeah, he thought I was gonna mess up… history, I guess,” you said. “I didn’t really use my abilities in that way, though.”

Ben’s brow knitted slightly, putting the bottle back to his lips. He squinted his eyes, watched you closely. “How did you use ‘em?”

You pursed your lips, so he clocked instantly that you’d done some shit. They all fucking had – supes, that is. Ben understood the temptation only too well. The only question was:

What was your goddamn poison?

“You know… fun stuff. Things that made life a little easier. Like more time on homework or pranking very… bitchy classmates. Sometimes used it to teach people a lesson.”

Well, shit. Looked like he’d gotten himself a little trickster on his hands. Adorable – and fuckin’ exhausting.

He gave you a little smirk. Charming. Coaxing. “That all, sweetheart? Skip the high school years.”

And there it was – a little twinkle in your eyes. He still got it, and you still fucking fell for it.

“Well…” Your lip looked almost swollen the way you’d been chewing that thing. Made him fuckin’ crazy. “You know, I went to see historical events I was curious about or talk to famous scientists and philosophers… Went to concerts of old bands. Like sixties, seventies…”

Sixties. Old. Ben snorted internally at the pain in his chest.

“So you partied a little and talked to a bunch of dead nerds,” he summarized wryly.

He could handle that. Shut that shit down, even. Keep you in line.

“Guess so.” You giggled, cheeks turning a little rosy. “But I was always careful not to screw anything up. Never shared too much. Never stayed anywhere longer than three days. Except the last time.”

Ben’s jaw moved a little. “What happened last time? Where d’you go?”

“Middle Ages – on accident. There was a… glitch. Got stuck there for a week.”

Ben stalked one, two steps closer to you. “Stuck, huh?”

“Yeah, but before that, it was pretty awesome,” you said, a little grin crossing your lips. “I even had this whole birthday tradition of working through my bucket list of the coolest things history had to offer.”

Well, well, look how far a little smirk’ll get’cha…

Had he been on your bucket list? Was that why you came there? He couldn’t really blame you if that was the case. He’d had groupies before.

But you weren’t a fan, were you?

So, did you get stuck in ‘42? Was that why you stayed? Why you left?

“And how did you get out? Vought had you in their sights, right? I know they don’t lose track of their assets, and you’re clearly not in a body bag,” Ben noted slyly, smirking even though the thought hurt. “So, who did you break, burn, or bribe?”

You gave him a raised look. “No one,” you replied. “I still had my full abilities back then. Little hard to catch me.”

Oh, he knows…

“I disappeared to 1925 Paris. I met Paul Langevin at one of Gertrude Stein’s parties there,” you said, and Ben nodded like he knew who those fucking people were. Probably physicists, so who the fuck really cared? “He told me about McGill University in Canada. Went there the next day – my present time – stole some dead person’s ID, and kept my head down for the next few years. Got my PhD in Quantum Gravity.”

Ben didn’t even pretend to understand any of that. He also knew asking you more questions about it would only lead to more complicated words.

He understood gravity. It made things fucking fall. What more was there to know?

And then, suddenly, a memory hit him like a goddamn backhand to the face.

1983. That stupid meeting he had with Edgar. He’d put you on Vought’s radar back then, running his mouth like a fucking dumbass. And Edgar, that smug piece of shit, filed it away and fucking waited for you. Waited for Ben not to be around and protect you.

Stan had always been ten fucking steps ahead, hadn’t he?

Ben swore in that moment he’d kill the guy. Not like Stan hadn’t already been on his list, but now he’d make sure he’d enjoy it too – tearing that asshole apart piece by fucking piece. Slowly.

His blood was boiling, but he wasn’t just mad at Edgar. He was mostly mad at himself – and he hated admitting that more than anything else. But it was all his fucking fault, wasn’t it?

Ben was the reason you were here. He was the reason why Vought had hunted you. He was the reason why no one had protected you. Why you worked with all these assholes and put yourself in danger.

Because he hadn’t been there when you’d needed him the most. Hadn’t been the man he was supposed to be – the one he’d promised you he’d be.

You shouldn’t fucking be here.

Click, click, click, CLIIICK…

The Geiger counter’s needle spiked dangerously into the red. Your eyes flicked to the device, then warily to him.

Ben hated that fucking thing.

“You good?”

“Peachy,” he grumbled.

“You sure?”

His glare slowly wandered to you. “I said I’m fine.”

You pursed your lips and raised your hands in surrender, letting it go. “Maybe we should talk about something else.”

Ben exhaled a frustrated breath and shook his head clear. “No, look, I’m good, alright? Promise,” he assured you, and your shoulders lost a little bit of their tension. “So you hauled up in Canada with the fucking leaf lickers for the past few years, huh?”

Your lips involuntarily curled into a smile. You tried to push it down – unsuccessfully. Ben felt like he won the goddamn Super Bowl. Fuck the Chiefs.

“Yep, lived in a cabin off the grid,” you said. “But it was kinda a blessing in disguise, you know?”

Ben’s brow pinched doubtfully. “How so? ‘Cause you got to date fuckin’ lumberjacks with moose breath?”

“Jesus,” you snorted, laughing. “What’s with the obsession over my dating life?”

“Nothin’,” he lied and shrugged it off. Gave you a lazy smirk. “Just making polite conversation.”

Phew. You bought that, right?

You quirked a brow. “That’s your idea of polite?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled. “What d’you know about it, huh? You’ve been living under a rock and buried in books for–… well, I don’t know how long, but I’m guessin’ it’s been a while since you can’t even hold a goddamn conversation like a normal fuckin’ person.”

“Says the guy who’s been frozen since the nineties,” you quipped. You then leaned your head softly back against the headboard and sighed almost theatrically – like you’d held that one in for hours already. “I can’t wait to get back to my old life. I miss my grad students.”

Ben watched you then for a long time. Didn’t even care to hide it. He’d seen that look in your eyes before – that… dread. You’d had it as well when he first met you. He understood it more now.

You’d been missing something, hadn't you?

“How old are you anyway?” he prompted, taking you by surprise. He cleared his throat more casually, got rid of the rasp in his voice and the awkwardness on his tongue. “I mean… you look a little young for a professor. You’re, what? Twenty? Twenty-… four, maybe?”

Luckily, you only laughed softly at his… well, whatever the fuck that was.

“Uh, flattering, but no. I’m twenty-nine.”

Twenty–… WHAT?!

His brain was fuckin’ hurtin'.

So, 2022 minus 29 was like… Nope. 42 plus 24… Nope, that didn’t sound right either. 2022 minus 24 plus 29… What the fuck was he missing?

You’d told him you were twenty-four in ‘42, but now you were twenty-nine, which meant… Well, what the hell did it mean?

Shit.

You should remember him, right? That was the whole goddamn point. He didn’t need fucking math for that answer.

So, what? Was it memory loss? Was he supposed to kiss you awake like you were some goddamn Disney princess?

No, he figured that wouldn’t go over well either just by looking at you right now. You still didn’t like him a whole lot.

What the hell did it mean?

Click, click, click, click…

Goddammit!

“Are you okay?” As expected, you cocked your head and looked at him like he was a toddler with a flamethrower. “You want some weed?”

His head lifted, eyes blinking. His brow raised. “You packin’?”

Well, there was something fun the two of you had never done together before.

“I bought some earlier at the gas station,” you replied, shrugging your shoulders.

“At the gas station?” His brow furrowed.

“Yeah, they had a shop there.”

“A shop?”

“What is this, Jeopardy?” you retorted before your eyes widened almost apologetically. “Oh, right! You don’t know. It’s legal now. You can just go in a store and buy it.”

“That shit’s legal now?”

You grinned, all teeth and sunshine. “Pretty cool, right?”

He huffed a sigh and let his head fall back, staring at the clattering AC in the ceiling. “First good news I’ve heard all week…”

And he meant it.

Ben then watched you pull a little vile from your jeans pocket and grab a small tin box from the nightstand. But as he tried to take it from you, you slapped his reaching hand away, which – bold fucking move.

But you didn’t seem to care. Didn’t twitch. Just carried on – like he couldn’t punch a hole into you.

It was sort of nice. You treated him like he was normal (well, sort of if he excluded the annoying clicking thing). But he couldn’t remember the last time anyone’s treated him like that.

And Ben didn’t know if it was the V in your blood and the fact you could just fuckin’ freeze people like they were some mere vegetables that made you so daring, or if it was just… you.

“Just trust me. I got this. This is your first time in a while, right?” you said, sounded excited even. He nodded slowly. “‘M gonna make it fucking hit.”

Did you ever fucking hear yourself sometimes?

“I’m not a virgin, y’know?” he retorted, smirking, but his eyes drifted to your skilled fingers as they rolled their little arts and crafts project.

“Oh, you are when it comes to this,” you said, tongue sticking out between your teeth in concentration. Drove him fuckin’ nuts. “You ever had a cross joint?”

He swayed his head from side to side, hummed. “Heard of it. Never had the pleasure.”

“Well, you’re about to be fucking pleasured.” You grinned all cheeky and smug, making his goddamn heart flip.

Seriously, did you not fucking hear yourself?!

“You know, there’s other ways to pleasure me, sweetheart.” He smirked. You didn’t say anything, just cocked your brow, waiting for him to talk circles around himself. And he did. “Just sayin’, it’s been forty years since I had some goddamn pussy.”

Your lips rose to a smile – amused. “And you’re going for a pity fuck?”

“Wouldn’t be pity, sweetheart. Trust me,” he replied smugly, gave you his most charming grin that always used to get your panties fucking wet.

The amusement grew on your face. “Trust me. It would be.”

He frowned. Sighed. “Whatever, suit yourself,” he huffed. “Your fuckin’ loss.”

Worth a shot.

Was this gonna take him fuckin’ months again? He’d already fucked you. What was the goddamn big deal? And now, you were right there. He could touch you. He could, couldn’t he?

Fucking absurd…

“And what a loss that is,” you retorted teasingly and went straight back to building your little weed airplane.

“You know what I don’t get–” he started, but you cut right in.

“I’m guessing a lot.”

Ben pursed his lips, swallowed another sigh down. “Careful.”

You looked up and blinked. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just–… you missed forty years of pop culture and technological advancement. Gotta be confusing. A lot happened since the ‘80s.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he muttered, his eyes drifting to the little sleek, black box next to you on the mattress. “So, that’s what counts as a phone these days, huh?”

Your gaze followed his. “Oh yeah, but it’s more than that. It’s a camera, a photo album, a TV, a shopping list, a… Walkmen.”

“Flashlight?”

“Yup.” You grabbed the phone and a light flared up with the tap of your finger. “Very handy when you need to pee at night.”

Fuck me.

Ben’s brow knitted more, eyes narrowing at the device. “Is that why everyone keeps staring at that thing like it’s a Sears catalogue and they just hit the lingerie section?”

“Something like that, yeah.” You snorted a laugh. “Guess it is a bad habit of the 21st century. Kinda guilty of doom scrolling myself. Pretty sure it’s part of our little entropy problem.”

“Didn’t understand a single word of that,” he said, chewing his bottom lip.

“Trust me. You’re lucky you don’t,” you said and then brought the half-finished joint to your lips, wet the paper with your pink tongue, and rolled it into a tight little stick between your delicate fingers.

God, he was fucking jealous of that thing.

“Is it done?”

“No. Now comes the best part. You’re gonna like this one,” you said and gave him a little smirk again. “Now, we make a small hole into the big one and thread the other one through it.”

And then you did just that, and Ben watched you make art out of junk again like he’d done so many times before, just spending endless afternoons sitting next to you in the shed, chatting your ear off and trying to poke holes into your walls while you performed brilliant little miracles.

“Look at this baby.” You grinned proudly and held up your creation. “It’s a marvel of combustion engineering.”

Fucking shoot him now.

“Christ, you’re even nerdy when it comes to fuckin’ drugs,” he muttered, sighing. And God, was he getting hard.

“How can you not be?” You smiled, unbothered, just happy in all your nerdy glory. “It’s a trifurcated burn front. You’re maximizing both surface area and burn velocity with this thing.”

Fuckin' cute.

“What that mean in fucking English?” he deadpanned.

“You get stupid high and it looks cool as hell,” you said, smirking wide, and handed the mother of all joints to him.

“How do I light this little science fair project?” Ben asked as he put the filtered tip between his lips and hauled out the Zippo from his pocket.

You grabbed not one but two more lighters from your little box, gave him a countdown like you were launching a fucking rocket to the moon, and then you lit the two ends on the sides while he did the middle one.

And Jesus fuck, did it hit.

He swallowed smoke and tried not to cough like a fucking pussy. He still huffed out a deep laugh with a cloud of weed. “Fuck me, you’re like the Cosby of fuckin’ joints, sweetheart.”

You gave him a look. “Uhm…”

“It’s a compliment.”

“Not sure about that one,” you mumbled in sing-song. “Does it help?”

Ben smirked lazily. “Best damn babysitter I ever had.”

“Well, as long as you don’t blow us all up now, I count it as a win,” you said and got up, plopping down on the old couch in the room, phone in hand.

“You want to?” Ben held out the reefer to you, but you shook your head.

“No, I’m good.”

He sighed a little again. So much for his plan to get you fucking high and crawl between your thighs. But he was a persistent motherfucker, and ‘giving up’ wasn’t really part of his vocabulary.

You used to steal his cigarettes and drinks. Now, look at you. What the fuck happened?

“So, tell me about me you,” he prompted, watching you from the corner of his eye.

“Why?”

Jesus fuck.

“Just answer the question,” he retorted with a huff and a thin thread of patience. “I’m tryna make conversation. Hadn’t had one in a while with someone who speaks fuckin’ English. Not that you count. You don’t speak fucking English either most times.”

You smiled a little at that, amused. “Fair enough,” you relented and gave him your full attention then, folding your hands over your knees and leaning forward. “What d’you wanna know? First grade basics? Favorite color? Do I like unicorns?”

Ben scowled. “You know, back in my day, women were a little different.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘oppressed,’” you quipped all fucking smug.

His frown deepened, but he decided to move past it, knowing better than to fucking argue with you about that one. Wasn’t the first time he heard it, either. But Ben knew you'd been fucking happy back then. He'd made you happy.

Now you were treating him like he was the goddamn enemy of the state.

How did he fucking end up here? That shit surely hadn’t been on his damn bingo card.

He was supposed to have a house and kids and maybe a dog if you wanted one. He was supposed to watch you tinker on little inventions, get fucking rich, and live happily next to you till he dropped dead at a reasonable age.

That had been the dream. Simple, really.

And now? Now, he sat in a shitty motel, 103-years-old and a nuclear bomb, with a 74-years-younger girlfriend (he finally did the math), who couldn’t even fucking remember him. Never married. Never had kids. Never even had a fucking gold fish. Technically homeless as of this moment. And poor. And fake dead.

Fucking absurd.

But still, he found the silver lining – he could finally receive answers to questions he’d been asking himself for fucking decades.

“How about you just cut the sarcasm back a little and tell me where you grew up, huh? Can’t be that hard to fuckin’ answer,” he muttered.

Oh, but it was, wasn’t it? You never could tell him that. Guarded it like you knew where fucking Jesus went after his resurrection.

“Jersey.”

“Huh.” Ben stumped. Well, that was fucking easy this time ‘round. Jersey girl. Who knew?

“Grew up in a trailer park,” you added.

“No shit.” Ben tried to seem unaffected, but something curled inside of him. “That why you became a supe? Hoping it’s your ticket out?”

He couldn’t really blame you. He fell for that stupid trap himself. Even his reasons had been the same – escape the life he had. It could happen to anyone, even to the fucking smartest on this planet – like him and you.

“Wasn’t really my decision,” you replied, somewhat bitter. He sat up straighter at that and found your eyes. “My parents signed up for that Vought program.”

“What Vought program?”

The sting in his chest grew more intense. Like someone punched a fist between his ribs and squeezed.

“Vought ran these programs – recruited parents,” you explained slowly like you didn’t really want to talk about it. “Mostly from low-income families. They told them if they had kids, they could get them into Compound V trials. Have their kid become a hero, make money off of them… Well, you know the story.”

He did.

“They made parents sign NDAs too,” you continued. “Tell kids their abilities were a ‘natural gift.’ Truth didn’t come out till a couple years ago. Mostly because of Butcher, so he’s at least got that going for him, I guess.”

Ben was quiet for a moment, took a long drag from his weird-ass doobie. Tried not to make the fucking clicking thing go off again.

He’d heard it all before – in whispers in the hallways, in secret notes passed in meetings. Words like “special” and “God’s chosen” getting tossed around like warm bread.

Hell, they did it to him. He just didn’t give a fuck. Because he’d always known Santa Claus wasn’t fucking real. He knew where the fucking presents came from, and it wasn’t elves.

But what did he care if Vought shoved another fucking marketing lie down the public’s throat? Coca-Cola did it – “sugar is good for you.” Doctors recommended fucking Camels back then. News flash, ladies – diamonds weren’t fucking forever.

Hadn’t been his fucking problem…

“You believed that?” he asked after a pause.

You gave a small shrug of your shoulders. “Not really. For a while, yeah,” you replied at first, then bit your lip. “But when I was seven or eight, my powers really manifested, and I guess I was too curious not to peek. I had these weird dreams about it.”

“Nightmares?” he asked, and maybe he shot a little too quick at that one, but you didn’t seem to notice. Why would you?

“Kinda. I guess labs are scary for some people,” you mused. Ben frowned. “But they were actually just visions. So, you know, kinda ruined the magic.”

“So you were never actually human?”

His own question made him halt. You had no clue what it felt like?

There were days when he still missed it – not waking up with the screaming in his veins. Maybe that was the real reason why most supes were such fuckups. They didn’t know any better. Didn’t know what it was like to be free of burning poison.

You didn’t know.

“Guess not.” You shrugged simply like the thought had never even occurred to you at all.

“Your parents seriously signed you up for that shit?”

Another shrug. “Yeah, I mean, they were addicts, you know? They just thought in terms of their next fix. Heroin, meth, opioids… Saw my dad once drink antifreeze. Almost died. Did it again the next day. I mean, the only reason why they had me was to sell me. They didn’t want a kid beyond that. I used to sleep outside on an old cou–”

Click, click, click, CLIIIIIICK!

Your eyes flicked from the blinking counter to him.

“Are you okay?” you asked so innocently.

“‘M fine.”

He fucking wasn’t. This should’ve never fucking happened. You didn’t–… You hadn’t–…

He should’ve said something. Done something. Instead he just smiled for fucking cameras and let it fucking happen. He let you down. He just never thought you’d be around again to care. He never thought it would affect you.

But that didn’t really justify it, right? ‘Cause you’d argue that he was supposed to care anyway. He’d had that conversation before with you – just not the real you.

It was all his fucking fault, wasn’t it?

CLIIIIIIIICK!

“Jesus fuck! Can you shut it off?!”

“Are you nuts? It went off like five times in the last ten minutes. This is the worst time to shut it off,” you argued fiercely. Annoyed. “Just-… calm the fuck down for maybe three hours, and I’ll think about it.”

How was he supposed to fucking think clearly like this? A man needed fucking peace and quiet.

“Would you–” Your mouth opened. Closed. You groaned and lifted your eyes to the ceiling for a second. “Just take another hit, alright? Why are you so tense, anyway? I mean, you’re free now. Just relax for a minute instead of going straight on–, I don’t know, a killing spree.”

Ben snorted a laugh and took a long drag from his joint, chuckled till tears stung his eyes. Was he fucking losing his mind? That had to be it, right?

Free. Yeah, he felt so fucking free right now.

Felt more like some cosmic fucking prison. Like the universe had finally granted him his biggest wish and plopped you down right in front of him – all perfect and warm and fucking soft. And then it fucking told him not to touch.

Look but don’t taste.

Biggest fucking torture on the planet. Enough to break a man.

Who was fucking laughing at him now? God?

Click, click, click, click…

Ben groaned, let his head fall into his hands, you jumped up from your seat, and then were suddenly right in front of him. Kneeling.

What were you–

It was like you wanted this whole goddamn motel to go up in flames.

You put the little paper plane back into his mouth like he was a fucking toddler, lit it, and told him to breathe deep.

Thank fucking God you hadn’t told him to “open up” as he breathed into his fucking blue balls.

“Why did you get so upset when I told you that story?”

You didn’t move back to your old spot. You lingered. Sat down on the floor cross-legged in front of him, wide-eyed and curious.

Distraction.

“You know–” he started and smacked his lips, cleared his throat subtly like that one acting class Vought made him attend had taught him to. “Just upsetting. Fuckin’ Vought…” He gave a shake of his head. “Outrageous, really. You should be more angry about this…”

Your lips pursed, so he knew he was on the right track.

“You know, I didn’t know about it,” he added and licked his lips. Swallowed the guilt. And maybe he should’ve stopped right there. “If I had, I would’ve–…. You know, I-… I would’ve killed these bastards. This shit wouldn’t have happened on my watch, alright?”

“Yeah, okay,” you said quietly, almost like you didn’t believe him. Then you were silent for a moment. “Wasn’t really your fault. But it’s the thought that counts, right?”

He gave you a small nod and forced a smile, swallowing. “Yeah.”

The thought counted for fuckin’ nothin’.

“‘Sides, not sure there’s anything you could’ve done,” you added, voice soft and gentle like you were trying to make him feel better. He didn’t fucking deserve it. “Unless your plan would’ve been to burn down a whole lab with a bunch of perverted scientist in it.”

He should’ve done that! Why hadn’t he fucking thought of that? Why hadn’t he done exactly that?

This was why he needed you. You’d always been fucking smarter than him. You always had the best ideas.

God, fuckin’ shit.

He couldn’t figure this out on his own. You were the one who understood all that science and time crap. You were the one with the chalkboard. You could tell him what to fucking do here.

He should just fucking tell you the truth about everything. You’d know what to do. You’d understand all this shit, right? You could fix it. You wouldn’t think he was fucking crazy.

Right?

Yeah, he was just gonna tell you and ask for help. Tell you to make it right. Ask you to go back to ‘42 and fall in love with him.

Ah, fuck. That did sound fucking crazy. You’d probably run. Never speak to him again. Vanish.

Why couldn’t you fucking remember him? How could he explain that he’d already been in love with the girl sitting right next to him over eight decades ago?

You don’t, his brain chimed in. You sit there and fucking take it like a man.

And you just sat there too and stared at him like he was a fucking stranger – all perfect and close and out of reach. You were here but also weren’t. Like a fucking paradox.

Paradox…

You’d once said something about that. About cause and effect. Or was it fucking Schrödinger again? No…

No, Ben remembered the two of you were in the shed and you talked about it. Something about how actions have consequences. Said something about impossible situations. Called it a brain glitch.

Well, that didn’t sound fucking good, right?

Goddammit! Why couldn’t he remember the full fucking conversation? Why did that little shit back then have to stare at your ass so goddamn much?

If he could change time, he’d go back and tell that idiot to fucking listen for once.

Click, click, click, click…

“Jesus! What now?” You frowned and threw your arms up in frustration.

Ben shook his head, tried to clear his mind again. “Nothin’.” He then took another long drag of his joint.

He just had to stay fucking calm and figure this out on his own. Slowly. Not make any rash decisions like trying to fuck you into the floor. Not say something crazy like being in love with you for over eighty years.

“Maybe you should lay off the weed now,” you said, brow scrunched. “You’re getting kind of… sad… and… weird.”

Sad and weird. Fuckin’ great. Add lethal to that. Exactly what he’d been going for when it came to first impressions.

“You grew up on the streets, right? Did your parents sell you out, too? Is that why you’re so upset?”

Ben snapped out of his trance then and looked at you. He scratched his jaw, hesitating. You really didn’t know shit.

“Uh, no… to both,” he replied, clearing his throat, palms rubbing together like he could still fucking sweat. “Volunteered when I was twenty-five. Grew up rich, actually. Mansion.”

“Oh.”

Nope, didn’t seem to ring any bells for you. No mansion. No recognition. No memories. Even worse, Ben could feel your disappointment – as if the only thing you’d liked about him so far was a piece of Vought propaganda.

Yeah, he was tapping out for the night. Maybe forever. He couldn’t solve this shit. Couldn’t do fucking anything.

With a deep sigh that sounded more like a groan and defeat, he rose from the bed and paced the room, green eyes looking anywhere but you because if he did, he didn’t know how much longer he could control himself.

He just wanted to be with you. Just wanted to drag you out of this dump and live the fucking life he was supposed to have. Why couldn’t it be that fucking easy?

His eyes then landed on the little laminated pay-per-view program. A smile rose. “Well, look at that. They have some of my movies. Still bringing in the views.”

“In sleazy motels across America, maybe,” you muttered under your breath.

Ben ignored you and glanced over his shoulder, switching on the TV. “You ever seen one of mine?”

“Uh, not entirely, no,” you said, curling your lips. “Caught glimpses of some in those classics specials.”

“Well, you’re in for a treat, sweetheart.” He smirked broadly. “Wanna watch?”

You took a deep breath, exhaled a sigh, then gave him a fake fucking smile. “Sure. Whatever you want. I’m just here to babysit you, remember?”

Like he could fucking forget. You said it like it was a goddamn chore. Like you were getting paid to sit here and keep him calm – which to be fair, you sort of were.

Containment with a side of pity. That’s what he fucking got. Not admiration. Not love. Not you.

Something to manage, not something to miss.

But Ben didn’t let your mood deter him from his plan. He picked out a movie while you dragged yourself back to your old spot on the bed, settled in with another sigh – like you were humoring a petulant child.

Still, he plopped down next to you with a satisfied grin. You gave him a disapproving sideways glance and groaned slightly, but he didn’t care. He was gonna sit right next to you and enjoy this. Your look might’ve said “fuck off”, but your mouth didn’t, so he was gonna stay.

Maybe it wasn’t about the past at all. Maybe it was about the here and now. Maybe the universe was rewarding him.

He just needed to accept it and grab it. Make you fucking his again. Maybe that’s all there was to it. He’d just been fucking overthinking.

After everything he’d been through, after everything he’d fucking done for this country, he deserved to have nice things.

As the movie started with some obnoxious synth music, you still sat next to him, stiff and guarded. You kept just enough space for your thigh not to touch his – but still enough to drive him fucking insane.

Your shoulder brushed his arm slightly. Then you kicked off your shoes, stretched out those bare legs. His gaze followed naked skin from your ankle all the way up to where the hem of your jean shorts hugged your thigh. He almost goddamn came in his pants.

Yeah, maybe this had been a fucking bad idea after all.

“Is that Phoebe Cates?” Your head tilted at the screen and ripped him from his stupor.

“Huh?” His eyes squinted at the television where Phoebe’s character cooed and giggled and clung to his bicep. “Oh, yeah. She played my love interest.”

Your brows scrunched again. He used to kiss that spot above your nose where they met.

“She looks twelve.”

Ben frowned. Sighed internally this time. “She was twenty-one,” he huffed. Little too upset, maybe. “This was after she’d done Fast Times. Not so innocent. Trust me.”

“Still young,” you mumbled. Shrugged. “How old were you in this?”

“Vought billed me at thirty,” Ben said and stared stubbornly at the screen till the picture blurred, clearing his throat.

Slowly, your legs slid up to your chest as you rose to a sitting position, leaning forward. Raised your brows. Gave him a look.

Very judging.

“And in reality…? C’mon, I wanna know how many felonies I’m watching.”

Ben bit the insides of his cheeks. Hard. Might’ve tasted blood, then sniffed like it wasn’t a big fucking deal. “Born in 1919.”

“Fuck. Really?” A laugh spluttered out of you. Almost crippled you in half and threw you off the bed. “I mean, I knew you were in World War II, right? So–… Wait, that means you’re a… hundred-and–”

“Don’t do the fucking math.”

“–three! Holy shit!”

Ben groaned. Didn’t even hide it. He could still remember all of it. Same fire. Same mouth. Same razor-sharp wit that used to make him flinch and ache in equal measure. Never held back. Never tried to impress him. That was probably why he’d fallen so damn hard.

Fucking smart, too. He used to get off on it – literally. There were nights where you’d calculate the square root of something with his cock in your mouth just to screw with him.

The memory of your skin touching his burned through every inch of him. He could still feel you under him – warm and reckless and so fucking soft. The sounds you used to make. The way you used to bite your lip when you were trying not to laugh, how you’d curl your fingers into his shirt when he kissed you too hard, how you clung to him when he–

Click, click, click…

Of fucking course! Would only take a few seconds till you ask–

“You good?” Your eyes studied him.

Ben hummed and hoped you wouldn’t notice the damn ache in his sweats. “Yeah. Just excited to relive the glory days.”

“Sure.” You frowned, unconvinced.

You leaned back against the headboard and shifted, keeping a few strategic inches between you and him like it was habit. Like you’d done this kind of thing before with dangerous men who didn’t know where the line was.

“So…” He cleared his throat once more, gave you a smile that said he was probably trying a little too hard. “When’s your birthday?”

“I already told you,” you said, eyes not lifting from the glow of the TV.

“You told me your age,” he pointed out with as much patience as he could. “Didn’t tell me your birthday. When is it?”

“Why d’you wanna know?” Still didn’t look at him. Just dismissed him in hopes he’d go away.

Hadn’t worked for you the first time, though, had it?

“Humor me. Movie date etiquette,” he replied dryly, sent you a deadpan look that made you groan and roll your eyes. “March? December? January?”

“June.”

Huh. Well, fuck him. He hadn’t seen that one coming.

June. 1993. Twenty-nine. The world tilted on its axis. The moon dropped from the sky. The sun came with it. Nothing made fucking sense anymore.

Was this even the real you? Maybe it was a fucking clone. Or something else. Maybe he was dead and this was some weird fucking afterlife vision, his corpse still fueled by blue poison.

How was this possible? Unless–

Unless you fucking lied.

Ben jerked his head, narrowed his eyes, and watched you closely now. You’d always had an edge to you. You weren’t a full-blooded good girl. You’d always been that sweet spot in between.

So, okay... If he assumed you lied, he had to find out why, right?

The age thing – women lied about it all the time. Wasn’t a big deal. Over the years, he’d even begun to automatically add three to five years to whatever age they’d given him. He figured you’d lied, too.

But the birthday thing? That was fucking weird. Why would you do that? To blur your traces? To hide who you were? What you were?

Ben tried to remember the exact conversation. It was in his room–… No, the study. First night. You’d worn one of his shirts. You were still fucking closed off and guarded and didn’t like or trust him a whole lot – kinda like now. But he’d asked you to tell him at least one true thing about you, and you’d told him that today, January 24, was your birthday.

You hadn’t lied about it then. He could tell.

But you hadn’t actually said the date, had you? You’d just said today. Which might’ve been true – for you.

A half-truth.

Ben grinned smugly. He’d figured something out – without your help. You hadn’t been of any fucking help at all, actually.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” you asked and furrowed your brow at him.

Oh shit. He’d still been staring.

“Would you ever, you know, lie about your age?”

The question threw you, but not as much anymore. Like you’d gotten used to the weirdness.

“Well, if you’re asking for yourself, I’d definitely lie next time you go on a date,” you replied wryly.

Good enough.

The two of you then went back to watching TV. He didn’t ask more weird questions and left you in peace. You looked tired. He was, too.

He tried not to get worked up whenever you accidentally touched him or he’d catch a whiff of your scent when the AC would graciously carry it to his nose. He didn’t know the shampoo or the perfume but recognized what was underneath it.

He wanted to touch you. Wanted to close the space, let his hand rest on your thigh, let his thumb brush over your skin, see if you’d still arch into him the way you used to when you were tangled up in his sheets.

Touch me, Ben thought, almost hoping his thoughts were loud enough for you to hear. Just once like you used to. Just look at me like I’m still that guy.

But you didn’t. You kept watching the screen. He followed your eyes and looked at Phoebe moaning his name under a fake rain machine – barely resisted the urge to shut it off.

You were younger than Phoebe. Smarter than all of them. You were the first woman who’d ever rolled her eyes at him – shocking, yes. The first one to tell him he was full of shit and then kiss him like she meant it. And when you’d kissed him, it hadn’t been about movies or hero worship or fear.

You’d kissed him because you wanted to.

Because even when he was just a rich asshole with nothing but a fast car and a faster mouth, you saw through all of it.

Now you didn’t see him at all.

And he was scared shitless that maybe you never would again.

If you didn’t remember him, it meant this you next to him hadn’t gone back and met the past version of him yet. But it’d also meant you must’ve known him then because you knew him now.

God, his head was startin’ to hurt again.

You hadn’t told him anything. Pretended you didn’t know him already – like he was doing now.

Ben figured you had your reasons, probably smart ones, so maybe he was actually onto something here, too. Maybe he had to just keep playing the game – like you had.

But for how fucking long?

You’d stayed in 1942 for five months? Six? It was fucking July now. Your next birthday was in eleven months – and that was best case fucking scenario. Could be five more years, could be fucking ten… And you’d told him your abilities didn’t even work in that way anymore. That was another fucking problem.

Shit.

“Hey, so, that time jumping thing, how does it–” But Ben stopped mid-question when he glanced down and noticed you’d dozed off.

You were out cold, curled up on your side, head tipped slightly toward him like it had just happened mid-eye roll. You’d made it a point to keep space between you the entire night, but now your head was resting against his arm.

Funny how that worked.

Ben didn’t dare move for a long moment. Just watched you while the credits rolled to that awfully cheesy ‘80s synth again. Watched your chest fall and rise, watched your eyelashes rest against your cheek.

He hadn’t seen you sleep in eighty years. Took everything in him not to reach out and pull you into his side.

“Missed you, sweetheart.”

He sighed softly under his breath, tipped his head back, eased into the mattress, and shut his eyes. And for the first time since 1942, he let himself fall asleep beside you again.

▶️ Chapter 14: I'm Going to Have a Lot of Drinks

Poor guy, will he ever figure it out? The answer is yes – in the next part 😉 (aka the part where Ben realizes he needs to switch tactics and becomes a complete asshole). We'll see how it goes. It won't be a battle won by math skills for sure 😆

Coming Up:

Rough fuckin’ morning… And it had only been the first goddamn day of many.

At least, he had some Bennies to get over the pain above (and the ache below) – well… until you fucking ruined that, too.

Because you watched him. Sitting on the bed, cross-legged, sipping coffee and still working that damn straw. Eyes on him.

His back was half-turned, but he still caught it in his periphery as he was halfway through crushing pills to dust with his knife.

Judging.

“Problem, sweetheart?” His voice was a little too gruff, a little too deep, a little too defensive. Too confrontational.

“No,” you replied, bored. Almost deadpan. Then you casually opened the folder in your lap, directed your gaze there, took a slurp of coffee through the straw, and added: “My parents always snorted their breakfast, too.”

Then, you gave a shrug of your shoulders and started reading – innocent. Like you hadn’t just launched him into complete chaos.

You liked teaching people lessons, alright. You also liked fucking with them. On purpose.

This was the goddamn problem with smart women – especially if they fucking knew it, too. They knew exactly where to hit and make it stick.

But Ben couldn’t help the little smirk twitching on his lips – almost proud.

Back then, your brilliance and genius was cute – not threatening. Now, though? With all you could do? All that power wrapped inside one tiny girl? A little scary.

Dangerous.

And well, he was a little dangerous, too. You and him had always made a good team in the past. Now, the two of you could be unstoppable.

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

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[thesilliestrovingalive]

Updated: June 28, 2025

Juozapas, Priyanka, Yohanes, Zdravko, and Dezső

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to death, human experimentation, eugenics, SA, sexual harassment, transphobia, abandonment, child abuse, and kidnapping.

Juozapas

Real name: Jūratė Balčiūnas

Nickname: Juo and Zapa

Occupation: Peacekeeping troop for the Regular Army and a special forces operative for the Ptolemaic Army (formerly)

Retirement plans: Get the necessary requirements to work in the field of nuclear energy

Abilities: Due to the experiments he has undergone, he's highly resistant to nuclear radiation. His body can also harness and convert nuclear energy into a form of bio-energy. His bloodstream contains modified cells that can process radioactive materials, producing heat. This heat is converted into electrical energy, which is directed to the lungs. There, it's mixed with oxygen, hydrogen, and methane, which are ignited upon exhalation, allowing him to breathe fire.

He possesses limited control over his metabolism, enabling him to flawlessly repair damaged tissues and regulate his body temperature to withstand extreme conditions. Additionally, he can enter a state of heightened metabolism, increasing his speed and agility to that of a cheetah. However, staying in this state for over 10 minutes significantly increases his hunger and fatigue.

Hobbies: Topiary, studying botany and physics during his leisure time, and going on wildflower trips and hot air balloon rides with his friends

Likes: Hope, making flirty attempts with comrades to simply tease them, and the beautiful companionship that people have with dogs

Dislikes: Eugenics, the destructive mishandling of nuclear energy, and being betrayed by those he holds closest and trusts the most

Favourite drink: Starka

Sexuality: Biromantic sapiosexual

Gender: Intersex and trans (identifies as a boy)

Age: 17 (in 2022), 23 (in 2028), 25 (in 2030), 27 (in 2032), 29 (in 2034), 36 (in 2041), 38 (in 2043), 39 (in 2044), and 42 (in 2047)

Design: He’s a 5’ 6” (167.64 cm) Lithuanian ectomorph of Russian and Swedish descent with a weak musculature and double incision top scars. He wears the Ptolemaic Army special forces operatives uniform, but with a distinctive right-side vermilion armband featuring the Regular Army insignia. His gas mask has yellow-tinted lenses, and he wears a flame-coloured belt with a silvery white buckle. He wears a left-side goldenrod drop leg holster, housing his Bersa Thunder 9, and a dark brown bandolier above his belt, stocked with .40 S&W cartridges for his semi-automatic pistol.

He has limestone skin, heterochromatic eyes (his right eye is light blue and his left eye is bronze), and reddish-brown freckles scattered across his face, neck, and hands. His hair, with its voluminous waves, falls above his waist, framing his face with medium-length, middle-parted bangs. He often styles his long platinum blonde hair into four braids.

Character summary: He's generally a passive individual, preferring to relax and take things slowly at his own pace. However, he occasionally becomes aggressive in response to chaotic situations, particularly when events seem to be spiraling out of control. Despite his deep care for everyone and everything, he often gets emotionally burnt out, leading others to misinterpret his exhaustion as apathy. Unlike Souma, he's extremely patient and daydreaming helps him block out the stresses of reality and prevents anger from getting the better of him. Even in the face of extreme difficulty and pessimism, he remains steadfast in his hope for positive change.

However, rare instances can prompt him to lose his composure and lash out, particularly if someone he cares about is being threatened, harmed or made uncomfortable. He has a lighthearted attitude and enjoys engaging in Souma's mischief and Harvie's jokes, often adding a touch of dramatic flair. As a shrewd and loyal opportunist, he's constantly on the lookout for the next great opportunity, seeking to advance his own interests, safeguard his identity and well-being, and protect his comrades. He has zero tolerance for betrayal because it fills him with overwhelming regret and a deep sense of rejection, particularly when perpetrated by someone he considers a loved one. He’s good friends with Harvie, Souma, and Priyanka, and has a cordial relationship with Gyeong-Hui.

Backstory: Jūratė Balčiūnas was born on November 24, 2005 in Visaginas, Lithuania. Her father, Motiejus Balčiūnas, a Lithuanian nuclear physicist, had a passion for ancient studies. Her mother, Synnöve Vinogradova, was a botanical researcher of Swedish and Russian descent. She grew up in a household where careful observation and patience were highly valued, taking precedence over hasty decision-making. Her workaholic parents were overprotective, often isolating her from society. They feared something terrible might happen and, as a result, only allowed her to go outside when one or both of them were available to supervise closely, ensuring her safety and shielding her from potentially corrupting influences. She was homeschooled by her parents, receiving instruction in core subjects like mathematics and writing as well as specialised topics related to their own fields of expertise. Additionally, her parents imparted their unconventional beliefs and values, which included militaristic ideologies.

Her childhood home, situated on the edge of dense Lithuanian pine forests, had a nearby greenhouse and an underground laboratory. Synnöve would study native plants in the surrounding forests. However, Jūratė was forbidden from entering the laboratory as her parents feared she might accidentally harm herself with the dangerous chemicals and scientific tools stored there. However, she was allowed to visit the greenhouse, which was filled with an array of beautiful plants from across Europe. Whenever she ventured outside, she would either play with Dovilas, the family's protective, energetic, and cuddly fawn brindle Estrela Mountain Dog puppy, or spend hours mesmerised by sunlight filtering through leaves. She discovered that the patterns found in nature helped her make sense of life's chaos. The forest became her first teacher, instructing her in the art of slowing down and revealing how growth unfolds imperceptibly yet inevitably.

Once the Ignalina Nuclear Power Plant was decommissioned, Motiejus was out of a job as he used to work there. While her father navigated a career change and her mother helped him find reliable work, Jūratė intently watched this period of life transform a challenge into an opportunity. Her father transitioned into renewable energy consulting, while her mother expanded her research to include the rehabilitation of industrial sites through native plantings. When Motiejus' proposed renewable energy projects faced fierce opposition from traditional energy advocates, the family endured intense public scrutiny. However, this caught the attention of the Amadeus Syndicate, which decided to hire Motiejus to work on their nuclear energy tests, an offer he readily accepted.

Once she started menstruating at the age of nine, and a month before her tenth birthday in November, her parents revealed that she was a perfected clone of a woman who had become too politically powerful within the Earth Federation. The original was a female representative of Lithuania, related to the influential Balčiūnas family, known for their accomplishments in science and religious scholarship. The eggs and genetic material of this Lithuanian politician were implanted into Synnöve, making her a surrogate mother. Now that her parents were aware of Jūratė's menstruation, they decided it was nearly time to initiate her into the Ptolemaic Army and provide her with a sense of direction. Previously consumed by existential dread due to feelings of anonymity, she began to harbour a glimmer of hope at the prospect of forging her own unique identity.

At the age of 10, her parents freely handed control of their daughter to the Amadeus Syndicate, granting them access to their underground laboratory. She recalls feeling nauseous and afraid as she lay restrained on an operating table, surrounded by intimidating equipment, sterile surfaces, and harsh fluorescent lighting. Over the next three weeks, she endured painful experimentation, including the injection of unknown chemicals and multiple surgeries. These experiments resulted in altered physiology, which manifested as limited metabolism manipulation, nuclear radiation resistance, and the ability to breathe fire. Physical modifications also occurred, such as a more masculine build, Müllerian agenesis, and a malformed penis with hypospadias. Having reached her breaking point, she utilised her new abilities to escape the Amadeus Syndicate scientists and flee her family's home.

As she attempted to flee into the dense pine forests behind her family's home, she was promptly captured by her parents, who revealed themselves to be members of the believers, an elite cult within the Ptolemaic Army with close ties to Ptolemaios and Anastasia. This traumatic event would become her first betrayal, leaving emotional scars that would last a lifetime. Despite this, she held onto the hope that there were trustworthy individuals in the world, and that she would one day meet people who would remain loyal to her. She was indoctrinated into the Ptolemaic Army at a young age, initially serving as an organ harvester for the cult, and received training to become a special forces operative at 13.

During this time, she was treated as a man despite being born female, which led her to adopt a masculine identity and rename herself Juozapas to signify this life-changing milestone. However, he faced harassment and mistreatment from his comrades, who made lewd comments and engaged in unwanted physical contact, but he firmly stood up for himself and asserted her boundaries. Once he turned 16, he was reunited with Dovilas during a private visit from his father, who had undergone a significant transformation at the hands of his parents and the Amadeus Syndicate. Dovilas now resembled General Morden's wolf pet, Enobarbus, but retained his original build and fur coat. However, his transformation had also granted him prominent, fleshy fangs capable of delivering a venomous bite and a diminished need for eating and digestion. He can also breathe a ray of misty snow and freezing icicles that explode upon impact, encasing people in blocks of hard ice.

After a masked soldier attempted to sexually assault him, who had asked to borrow organs for a mission, Dovilas intervened and killed the assailant, prompting Juozapas to conclude that positive change was necessary. He joined Eri's short-lived revolt, which, although unsuccessful, he views as a partial success. The revolt reunited many individuals dissatisfied with the Ptolemaic Army, allowing them to fight together in solidarity. After the revolt, he decided to visit Nida, where he met a middle-aged red-haired, grey-eyed fisherman around his age. The fisherman, named Vaclovas, complimented how beautiful Dovilas looks, and they struck up a conversation about their future aspirations. Vaclovas even taught Juozapas how to fish, offering him encouraging words and wise advice on resilience and overcoming emotional turmoil. He was kind enough to offer Juozapas a place to stay in his home, and as a result, they became good roommates with a strong father-son bond.

Priyanka

Real name: Priyabrata Bhaumik

Nickname: Priya

Occupation: Peacekeeping troop and combat medic for the Regular Army and Hover Vehicle pilot and a special forces operative for the Ptolemaic Army (formerly)

Retirement plans: To become a horticulturist

Hobbies: Collecting Asian and Western cultural memorabilia that capture her attention, watching bad Bollywood movies after a stressful day, and feeding stray cats

Likes: Respecting the wildlife, the core teachings of Krishna, and the fulfillment she feels from assisting sick and injured animals and people

Dislikes: Street violence, poorly made tea, and experiencing physical and sexual abuse due to her gender identity

Favourite food: Falooda and kala bhuna

Favourite drink: Sugarcane juice

Sexuality: Questioning

Gender: Trans (identifies as a girl)

Age: 13 (in 2022), 19 (in 2028), 21 (in 2030), 23 (in 2032), 25 (in 2034), 32 (in 2041), 34 (in 2043), 35 (in 2044), and 38 (in 2047)

Design: She’s a 5’ 4” (162.56 cm) Bengali mesomorph with a lean yet athletic build and saline breast implants that give her a petite bust. She wears the Ptolemaic Army special forces operatives uniform, but with a distinctive left-side robin egg blue armband featuring the Regular Army insignia. Her gas mask has blue-tinted lenses, and she wears a pair of sapphire-hued combat boots with cerulean laces. She has two dark grey bandoliers slung over both shoulders, forming an X-shape, with the left one holding chili grenades and the right one containing Stielhandgranate.

She has bronze-hued skin, amber eyes, and a Gaudiya Vaishnava Urdhva Pundra, which is located in the centre of her forehead. She has shoulder-length chocolate brown hair with subtle curls, which she often ties into a braid. She has creamy white vulgaris vitiligo and a slash scar that runs from the centre of her right cheek to just below her deltoid.

She’s in possession of a Hover Vehicle, and carries around tea-making equipment, glass vials of various tea plants she collected, and first aid and surgical tools in her load-bearing backpack.

Character summary: She has a profound affection for people, feeling a deep connection with everyone. She enjoys people-watching, learning about others, striking up conversations, and listening to their unique life stories. She wants to be friends with every animal in the world, which occasionally gets her hurt and causes unnecessary problems for her and her comrades. She's incredibly confident and self-assured yet humble enough to avoid coming across as overconfident or arrogant. However, when it comes to proudly embracing her gender identity, she fears rejection and worries that she won't be validated as a woman. She can be quite crass, abrasive, and playfully teasing, especially when interacting with new allies or experienced individuals she's never met.

With a good sense of humour, she often cracks jokes to diffuse tense situations, although this doesn't always come at the most opportune moments. She's fiercely loyal to Eri and her comrades, never questioning their orders or plans. She’s a fairly intelligent, cautious, friendly, and kind optimist who harbours a secret envy towards Thandolwethu’s height and physique. She avoids dwelling on devastation for too long as she doesn't want to waste precious time reminiscing about what could have been, potentially harbouring grudges. She’s good friends with Harvie, Souma, and Juozapas, and is particularly close with Yohanes.

Backstory: Priyabrata Bhaumik was born on March 3, 2009 in Kurseong, West Bengal, India. His mother is a wildlife veterinarian, while his stepfather manages a tea plantation. His biological father passed away a month before his birth due to health complications from primary pulmonary hypertension. Following Hindu funeral rites, his ashes were scattered in the Ganges River, as he had requested. Although his biological father had humble beginnings as a poor labourer, his mother and stepfather knew he was a conscientious man. They believed he was destined for reincarnation into the Vaishya caste due to his hard work accumulating wealth and successfully establishing a tea plantation in Kurseong. His family are dedicated followers of Gaudiya Vaishnavism, a sect of Hinduism and a branch of Vaishnavism that worships Krishna as the supreme being and the source of all avataric incarnations of God. To signify his adherence to his faith, he received his Urdhva Pundra at the age of three, made from the mud of Vrindavan.

His childhood home, situated near his biological father's tea estate, stood at the crossroads of various bustling markets and the edges of the Himalayan foothills. From his bedroom window, he was able to watch the steady stream of traders, tourists, and locals navigating the narrow streets, while occasionally spotting a leopard slinking through the tea gardens at dusk. Priyabrata would come up with silly stories about the lives of these strangers, letting his imagination run wild as he intently observed them. Beyond people-watching, his daily routine consisted of household chores to keep everything tidy and making time for daily worship of Krishna. He also assisted his stepfather in tending to the tea gardens, cultivating an assortment of tea plants, including pineapple sage, orange mint, and holy basil.

At the age of 8, his half-aunt and uncle from Tamil Nadu were visiting, and he spent the day playing with his two younger cousins near the Himalayan foothills. After a round of choa chui and a game of marbles, Priyabrata heard a high-pitched mewing sound nearby. Investigating the noise, he came across a mountain goat kid with an injured leg that had wandered near his family's tea garden. Despite the mother's aggressive attempts to protect it, he calmly approached the kid. Speaking softly to the adult goat, he treated the kid's wound using his mother's first-aid kit, while his two younger cousins watched in awe. The incident soon became a local legend, and the tea plantation workers came to recognise him as fearless.

At 11, he became disillusioned with his male identity, having always struggled to fit in with the male crowd and feeling more comfortable and accepted by his female peers. In private, he began exploring gender-nonconforming behaviours and attitudes, such as trying on his mother's clothing, as a means of discovering what felt most authentic to him. Ultimately, he came to realise that he wished to be validated as a girl and break free from the constraints of boyhood. Two months before his 12th birthday, he bravely came out to his parents after dinner. However, they reacted poorly to the revelation, promptly disowning him and kicking him out of the house. They refused to accept a son who didn't conform to traditional masculine norms, citing his perceived effeminacy and cowardice as a stark contrast to the fearlessness that had become legendary. Devastated by his family's rejection, he nonetheless tried not to dwell on the pain for too long.

After renaming himself Priyanka and embracing his female identity with matching pronouns, he was forced to rely on street economies to survive. She found support among food vendors willing to give her work, but also resorted to temporary sex work and petty theft. Through careful observation, she gained valuable street knowledge and insight into the struggles of sex workers. One day, she encountered a man injured in a street fight, unaware of his connection to the Ptolemaic Army. Her compassionate nature led her to help him, and utilising her first aid skills, she tended to his wounds while sharing stories about her life and listening intently as the man recounted the events that led to the fight.

The man, grateful for her kindness, recognised that her life on the streets was precarious and unlikely to be sustainable. He offered her a way out, promising safety, acceptance, and eternal life, and took her to a Ptolemaic Army base located beyond the Himalayan foothills. During her time with the Ptolemaic Army, Priyanka was indoctrinated into their militaristic and cruel ideologies. She underwent specialised training as a special forces operative and developed expertise as a skilled Hover Vehicle pilot. Over time, Priyanka utilised her medical skills to become an invaluable asset to her comrades, functioning as a combat medic who performed complex tasks such as surgical removal of bullets. She would also brew cups of tea for her patients whenever she had access to the necessary equipment and could forage for the right plants.

She faced mistreatment from a small handful of comrades due to her gender identity, ranging from transphobic comments to violent physical beatings. When the abuse became more severe and sexual in nature, she decided to join Eri's revolt after learning about it from Yohanes, a trusted friend and former patient. Following the rebellion, she joined the Regular Army and dedicated her medical expertise to caring for wounded soldiers and special forces operatives. She also began exploring horticulture and formed meaningful friendships with accepting comrades who valued her for who she was.

Yohanes

Real name: Yohanes Hasyim

Occupation: Peacekeeping troop for the Regular Army and a sniper and special forces operative for the Ptolemaic Army (formerly)

Retirement plans: To become a knife sharpener and own a chili pepper and onion farm

Hobbies: Polishing his throwing knives outdoors on sunny days, watching girly and messed up films and TV shows, and growing his food

Likes: The architecture of Buddhist temples and Islamic mosques, knowing about the latest drama, and waterfall tours

Dislikes: The sensation of being constantly observed, people stripping away his autonomy, and broken blades

Favourite food: Goat meat gulai and durian ice cream

Favourite drink: Grapefruit sparkling water

Sexuality: Bicurious heterosexual

Gender: Male

Age: 20 (in 2022), 26 (in 2028), 28 (in 2030), 30 (in 2032), 32 (in 2034), 39 (in 2041), 41 (in 2043), 42 (in 2044), and 45 (in 2047)

Design: He’s a 5’ 7” (170.18 cm) Indonesian endomorph of Arabic and Balinese descent with a chiselled musculature and a partially noticeable roundness to his abdomen. He wears the Ptolemaic Army special forces operatives uniform, but with a distinctive right-side heliotrope grey armband featuring the Regular Army insignia. His gas mask has rosy-tinted lenses, he carries a bolt-action scoped rifle slung over his left shoulder, and he wears a pair of spike-soled palatinate paratrooper boots. He wears a greyish-green bandolier slung over his right shoulder, holding razor-sharp throwing knives.

He has porcelain skin, sparkling leaf-green eyes, a horizontal scar just above the centre of his left outer thigh, and subtly wavy mocha brown hair styled in a medium-length shaggy crop.

Character summary: He's not one for drama himself, but he has a guilty pleasure in watching the dramatic unfoldings of those around him. He's easily forgiving and readily offers second chances, believing in the potential for redemption in everyone. However, there are certain individuals he makes an exception for, such as Doctor Amadeus, firmly believing they don't deserve forgiveness and should be painfully eliminated. He's willing to bend the truth when it's convenient, but only does so to spare someone's feelings or navigate a difficult situation. He remains eerily calm under stress and ensures those around him stay composed and relaxed, even in the most intense situations.

Although he values his autonomy, he occasionally struggles with decision-making and often relies on others for suggestions to ensure he makes the best choice. He's a dependable and humbled individual with a somewhat complacent nature, accompanied by a sarcastic sense of humour. He's a profound nature lover who's driven to attain enlightenment and live a good, meaningful life. He treats everyone and everything with utmost respect, but he struggles to extend the same compassion and respect to himself. He’s good friends with Mikuláš and Thandolwethu, and is particularly close with Priyanka and Harvie.

Backstory: Yohanes Hasyim was born on July 22, 2002 in Sembalun, East Lombok, Indonesia. His Arabic-Indonesian father was a chili pepper and onion farmer, while his mother, a Balinese immigrant, worked in Lombok's electricity and gas industry. On his father's side, he had a small number of Sasak and Arabic relatives, and on his mother's side, many Balinese Hindu family members. His father practiced a blend of Buddhism and Islam, while his mother was Hindu, influences that would shape Yohanes' own spiritual beliefs. Raised with love and encouragement, he developed a deep respect for nature and a strong sense of self and reverence for others and the divine. As a child, he often assisted his father in harvesting and preparing the chili peppers and onions to be sold on the market.

While being babysat by his Balinese aunt, who was visiting her sister, his parents were busy transporting chili peppers, onions, and gas tanks. Tragically, they died in a car accident when the road, poorly repaired, collapsed under the weight of their truck and a passing semi-truck carrying heavy logs. The news left 7-year-old Yohanes utterly devastated, almost too much for his young mind to comprehend. His relatives quickly had to figure out who would care for him. As no other relative volunteered, leaving Yohanes feeling unwanted by both sides of his family, his paternal grandmother, Nirmala, took him in.

He struggled with decision-making and relied heavily on others for suggestions due to his upbringing by Nirmala. Whenever he made a decision that didn't align with her expectations, he faced physical and verbal abuse, forcing him to conform to her will. This cycle left him feeling powerless and incapable of making his own decisions. To avoid conflict and potential abuse, Yohanes would often seek his narcissistic grandmother's approval before taking action. If she agreed, she would closely supervise him to ensure compliance with her expectations. If she disagreed, he would abandon his plans to avoid angering her.

At 13, while walking to school, he suddenly collapsed from excruciating pain. His grandmother had brutally beaten him for watching the 2012 TV show Cherrybelle: Chibi Chibi Burger, which she disapproved of. When he regained consciousness, he found himself in a secluded, privately-owned bungalow on the outskirts of his village. A woman dressed as a Christian nun tended to his wounds, nursing him back from the brink of death. After feeding him brunch, as he had missed breakfast, she introduced herself as Sister Lucy. With compassion and interest, she listened intently as Yohanes shared his life story, prompted by her gentle inquiry about the events leading up to his collapse.

After he finished explaining everything, Sister Lucy manipulated him into accompanying her, leading him deep into the Indonesian jungle. This marked the beginning of his involvement with the Ptolemaic Army, who would indoctrinate him into their militaristic and twisted ideology. Despite his training as a special forces operative, they exploited his indecisiveness and taught him the fundamentals of sniper work, allowing them greater control over his actions.

Not much is known about his time in the Ptolemaic Army, but he often describes it as heavily oppressive due to constant monitoring and isolation. As a sniper, he worked independently with little involvement in special forces operations. Despite this, he developed expertise in handling and polishing throwing knives as well as performing routine maintenance on his rifle. The isolation eventually took its toll, and he grew tired of being unable to make his own choices. Seeking change, he ultimately joined Eri's rebellion. During the revolt, he received his scar when a special forces operative attempted to ambush him. Fortunately, Priyanka intervened, saving his life by slitting the enemy's throat.

Zdravko

Real name: Zdravko Trajkovski

Nickname: Dravki

Occupation: Peacekeeping troop for the Regular Army and MH-6J Masknell Ver. P.M. pilot and special forces operative for the Ptolemaic Army (formerly)

Retirement plans: To spend the rest of his life with Mikuláš and become a freelance medical illustrator

Hobbies: Frequenting medical museums and art galleries with his friends and romantic partner, drawing anatomical diagrams and surrealistic imagery, and collecting filigree jewellery

Likes: The Nerodime River, bowling competitions with friends, and receiving affectionate kisses from Mikuláš

Dislikes: The idea of losing his loved ones without knowing their cause of death, people viewing art as a financial object, and social discrimination

Favourite food: Moussaka

Favourite drink: Rakı and gin

Sexuality: Sex-favourable gay

Gender: Male

Age: 23 (in 2022), 29 (in 2028), 31 (in 2030), 33 (in 2032), 35 (in 2034), 42 (in 2041), 44 (in 2043), 45 (in 2044), and 48 (in 2047)

Design: He’s a powerfully built, slope-shouldered 6’ 4” (193.04 cm) Macedonian mesomorph of American and Turkish descent who wears the Ptolemaic Army special forces operatives uniform, but with a distinctive right-side amaranth armband featuring the Regular Army insignia. His gas mask has purple-tinted lenses, and he wears a cerise belt with a golden snap-on buckle.

He has umber skin, dull teal eyes, and slicked-back brownish-black hair with neatly trimmed sideburns and a soul patch goatee. His face is asymmetric due to hemifacial microsomia, which has caused deformity on the right side.

He’s in possession of an MH-6J Masknell Ver. P.M., and carries an electric violet sketchbook and a metallic pink case full of various sketching pencils and a kneaded eraser in his load-bearing backpack.

Character summary: He's a very responsible and enduring individual, taking care of tasks promptly and rarely taking breaks until they're complete. As a logical and analytical person, he’s intellectually focused, constantly pondering various subjects from complex concepts to life's simple pleasures. However, despite his intellectual confidence, he often feels awkward and insecure in social interactions. He’s a reserved individual who firmly stands up for what is right and places great emphasis on politeness and good manners. He has little patience for rudeness and the abuse of creativity, often speaking up to correct others.

He's artistically inclined and passionate about the world of art. He encourages others with artistic talent to experiment, appreciate the meaningful value of creation, and embrace failure as a natural part of the creative process. He's a self-disciplined person who strongly condemns political and militant corruption as well as ineffective leadership. He’s deeply emotionally invested in Mikuláš and highly values their time together, willing to go to great lengths to ensure his happiness. He’s good friends with Amilcare, particularly close to Thandolwethu, and in a romantic relationship with Mikuláš.

Backstory: Zdravko Trajkovski was born on April 30, 1999 in Ferizaj, Kosovo. His Macedonian father was a former thief turned worker at a sunflower oil manufacturing company, and his Turkish-American mother was a U.S. Army Colonel stationed at Camp Bondsteel. He had a baby sister named Bisera, whom he often babysat when his parents were at work and he wasn't in school. Although neither of his parents had artistic skill, Zdravko developed a fascination with art after visiting his first museum during a family vacation in Connecticut, specifically the Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art, when he was 7. His parents encouraged his interest, which evolved into a love for biology art, abstract art, and particularly surrealism. His father shared street wisdom with him, hoping he wouldn't follow in his footsteps and pursue a life of crime. Meanwhile, his mother shared stories about her military career, along with some of her distrust of the U.S. government.

He deeply cherished his family and was fiercely protective of Bisera, enjoying quality time with her whenever possible. Despite facing bullying due to a facial deformity, he never dwelled on the negative opinions. Instead, he drew strength from his parents' unconditional love and acceptance. As he grew older, he became assertive enough to stand up for himself, politely but firmly shutting down those who tried to mock him. If that didn't work, his mother would intervene, speaking sensibly to his bullies and, if necessary, informing their parents about the situation.

He rarely speaks about his life before joining the Ptolemaic Army, but has shared a few details with a select few. Before his mother could retire from the U.S. Army, she, his father, and Bisera would be murdered under mysterious circumstances inside their home. He was at a sleepover at his best friend Klajdi's house at the time. Once he was driven back home and discovered the tragic news from the police and investigators at the scene, Klajdi's parents decided to take him in, feeling uneasy about leaving behind an orphaned child. Klajdi became like a brother to Zdravko, and his adopted parents treated him like a cherished member of the family. During this time, he struggled to find love, often facing exploitation or fleeting romantic encounters that went nowhere. Additionally, he discovered the plight of the Albanian people in North Macedonia, where social segregation and mistrust persisted.

At 18, he walked home from the local convenience store, taking a shortcut to avoid being late for his friend's birthday party. However, his journey was brutally interrupted when an unknown assailant knocked him out cold and stuffed him into the trunk of a vehicle. Two hours later, he regained consciousness in a dingy basement, tied to a chair with rope and surrounded by intimidating figures wearing gas masks. That day marked the beginning of Zdravko’s indoctrination into the Ptolemaic Army as he faced psychological manipulation that exploited his emotional vulnerabilities stemming from the loss of his family and struggles with love. He underwent rigorous training as a special forces operative and learned to pilot the MH-6J Masknell Ver. P.M. As he progressed, he was steadily indoctrinated into the Ptolemaic Army's militaristic and close-minded ideology.

He endured verbal abuse from some comrades due to his facial deformity, prompting him to wear his gas mask at all times, removing it only when absolutely necessary. On one occasion, he suffered severe injuries after standing up to a group of masked soldiers who mocked his appearance and bullied the few friends he had managed to befriend. They spared his life, recognising his potential as a loyal servant to the Avatar of Evil. To cope with the pain of bullying, abuse, and indoctrination, Zdravko turned to smuggled gin and Rakı. He also used alcohol as a means to ignore the heinous actions he was forced to commit as the moral weight became too much to bear.

Upon discovering his artistic talent, the cult coerced him into creating art pieces, providing a fleeting distraction from his misery. However, upon completion, the cult would seize his work and sell it on the black market for exorbitant sums. As he was nearing his breaking point, Zdravko was approached by Mikuláš, who was seeking companionship for comfort after a near-fatal encounter with a masked soldier. After striking up a conversation and sharing a bottle of Rakı, he found himself drawn to Mikuláš' kindness and empathy, feelings that both thrilled and intimidated him. As their connection deepened, they formed a strong bond, eventually expressing their feelings and deciding to start dating.

He joined Eri's rebellion alongside Mikuláš, driven by similar motivations and a deep-seated frustration at being treated as a freak of nature. A small group of friends he had formed during his time in the Ptolemaic Army joined him, but tragically died at the hands of the Phantom Strike and masked soldiers during Eri's short-lived revolt. In the aftermath, he attended rehab with Thandolwethu, a move that aided in his recovery and reduced his reliance on alcohol. He also reunited with Klajdi and his adopted parents, who had feared the worst and were overjoyed to see him alive and well.

Dezső

Real name: Dezső Sárközi

Occupation: Peacekeeping troop and technologist for the Regular Army and Ptolemaic Saucer pilot and masked soldier for the Ptolemaic Army (formerly)

Retirement plans: He's unsure about his post-military plans because he's searching for a sense of purpose in life

Abilities: During his time as a masked soldier, he received magical training, granting him mastery over the arcane disciplines of abjuration, earthly divination, theurgism, dream walking, glamouring, and nominative manipulation.

As a former member of the Ptolemaic Army cult, he was required to form a pact with the Avatar of Evil, granting him a unique ability infused with a hint of psionic energy, a trait shared by all masked soldiers who have undergone this ritual. In a gesture of dignified respect, his left arm was amputated, but it rapidly regenerated into a new limb. This replacement arm is covered in spiky, waterproof fur that features a marbled pattern of purplish-black and green-grey. Notably, his hand boasts saffron-yellow digital and metacarpal pads, while his slender fingers culminate in slightly curved turquoise claws.

In the middle of his forearm are three concentric rows of ten 1 cm holes from which he can produce thread-like fibers generated from his own blood. The blood from his left arm has an ink-like consistency, being semi-thick, and it partially coagulates when exposed to air, yet retains some flexibility. He releases the specialised blood on mental command, allowing them to be used for stitching wounds. However, the threads are extremely sharp and constricting. If mishandled, they can cause harm to both himself and the person he's trying to heal due to the blood's hardened state.

Hobbies: Studying computer languages and different coding methods, visiting religious sites with his love interest, and collecting books about ancient civilizations

Likes: Receiving compliments and physical affection from Gyeong-Hui, the design of old computer models, and comfortable silence

Dislikes: His clumsiness causing immediate trouble, people who disregard the potential of ancient technology, and feeling like a brat

Favourite food: Quark cheese dumplings topped with cinnamon sugar and served with streusel

Sexuality: Questioning

Gender: Male

Age: 9 (in 2022), 15 (in 2028), 17 (in 2030), 19 (in 2032), 21 (in 2034), 28 (in 2041), 30 (in 2043), 31 (in 2044), and 34 (in 2047)

Design: He’s a 5’ 2” (157.48 cm) Hungarian endomorph with a slightly muscular yet somewhat overweight build. He wears the Ptolemaic Army verdant-variant masked soldier uniform, but with a distinctive right-side pistachio armband featuring the Regular Army insignia. He wears a bronze-buckled sage green belt and a pair of spike-soled rose taupe combat boots with Mountbatten pink laces.

He has sienna skin and medium ash blonde hair, styled in a curly taper fade. Two black moles are visible: one above the center of his right eyebrow and another below his left ear. His eyes are a shimmering honey brown, but his left eye is actually made of glass, appearing almost black under any light source.

He's in possession of a Ptolemaic Saucer, and carries a lime green laptop with three bubblegum pink vertical stripes in the centre in his load-bearing backpack.

Character summary: As the youngest member of the group, he often feels self-conscious about his emotional immaturity. He’s extremely timid around new people and has selective mutism, reserving his speech for those he trusts and considers worthy allies. He's highly flexible, able to adapt to anything, and has an insatiable curiosity that drives him to continually gather knowledge about the world around him. Notably, due to his fierce loyalty, he’s skilled at keeping secrets, even when they leave him feeling perplexed and unsettled. He often seeks refuge behind Eri when overwhelmed by paranoia, finding solace in her maternal presence, which reminds him of the mother who abandoned him. Despite being a melancholic individual, he’s deeply empathetic and sensitive to the suffering of others.

He has a habit of socially withdrawing, especially when he feels emotionally overwhelmed because he desperately needs solitude to sort out his feelings. He struggles with abandonment issues because he fears being left behind by those he cares about deeply. He's not one for physical confrontation, instead relying on his quick wit to navigate complex situations and avoid violence. However, he can become aggressively defensive, especially when his plans are falling apart or he and his comrades are being bullied. He has romantic feelings for Gyeong-Hui and is drawn to her intellectual attractiveness, but he's utterly awkward at flirting and struggles to approach her without feeling foolish. He’s on good terms with Amilcare and Thandolwethu, and is particularly close with Gyeong-Hui.

Backstory: Dezső Sárközi was born on December 7, 2013 in Tihany, Veszprém, Hungary. He was born into a middle-class family, but his father, a wealthy man, abandoned them, leaving behind only a large stack of cash for his mother and grandmother after Dezső's difficult birth. His grandmother was a wise, supportive, and kind-hearted woman who offered guidance and hope to her daughter and grandson. Her arthritic condition and declining mental health limited her ability to provide more substantial support. His mother was a genuinely nice and affectionate person, but she could be strict, particularly when frustrated by his occasional bratty behaviour. Although he was curious about his father, his mother's bitterness prevented her from discussing him. However, she did reveal that he bore a physical resemblance to his father.

During his elementary school years, he endured relentless bullying due to his weight and spoiled behaviour. The constant ridicule led to deep-seated insecurities about his appearance and overwhelming shame about how he treated others. As a coping mechanism, he gradually became socially withdrawn and developed selective mutism, struggling to process his emotions and finding silence to be his only refuge. Upon completing the 4th grade, his grandmother passed away due to health complications caused by osteoporosis and a brain hemorrhage sustained in an accident that Dezső prefers not to discuss. The situation was further worsened when his mother depleted the money left by his father, allocating the funds towards his grandmother's medical expenses, household necessities, and gifts for her own family.

His mother faced significant financial struggles because of her persistent bad luck in finding a stable, well-paying job. On his 11th birthday, she made the difficult decision to abandon him, citing a lack of resources to provide adequate care. Her patience had also worn thin due to his selective mutism, a condition she didn't know how to address. Noticing a newly constructed institution on the outskirts of Tihany, she persuaded Dezső to seek refuge there, assuring him it was an orphanage. With a swift goodbye, she departed, leaving him confused, scared, and on the verge of tears. Unbeknownst to him, the institution was not an orphanage, but a hideout operated by the Ptolemaic Army's cult, designed to lure vulnerable children and unsuspecting parents seeking to give up their child.

A group of masked soldiers noticed his presence and manipulated him with feigned affection and false promises of eternal life and unconditional acceptance. With nowhere else to turn and oblivious to their sinister intentions, he fell under their control. The cult thoroughly brainwashed him, indoctrinating him with the twisted ideologies of the Ptolemaic Army. His training included ancient history, the duties of a masked soldier, wizardry, dark magic, and the Quechua language. He also received basic military training, which included the handling of ancient technology and operation of the Ptolemaic Saucer. He rapidly adapted to his new lifestyle, becoming a fiercely loyal cultist and a skilled technologist.

However, his loyalty would gradually falter after he was subjected to years of sexual abuse, mainly by female members of the cult. They attempted to disguise their abuse as expressions of love and appreciation for the perfect yet fragile bodies crafted with care by the Avatar of Evil, which he believed were genuine. Yet, a part of him knew this was a lie, a desperate attempt to justify the horrors inflicted upon him. As time passed, his loyalty to the cult would wane further after witnessing other masked soldiers brutally mistreat and slaughter the soldiers of their paramilitary forces, often over minor issues. He also discovered that most of the cult's sacrifices typically involved the harvesting of organs from innocent children and their own comrades, who either resisted or willingly surrendered their bodies to the Avatar of Evil.

The straw that broke the camel's back for him was the moment Anastasia announced that he was slated to be the next masked soldier sacrificed to appease the Avatar of Evil, a gruesome tradition that occurred every 16 years. Horrified by the prospect of losing his life to a deity he no longer believed in, and at the hands of people who had shamelessly exploited his vulnerability, he reached his breaking point. Deciding he had had enough, he joined Eri's revolt after being approached by a couple of fellow masked soldiers who shared his disillusionment with the Ptolemaic Army's wickedness. When he was on the brink of execution by a Phantom Strike mercenary who had captured him, Amilcare intervened, rescuing him and bringing him to safety amidst the chaotic retreat. Finally free from the cult's grasp, he turned to libraries, nature, software development, and cybersecurity programming as a means of distraction and rediscovering his sense of purpose.

[londonhalcyon]

Happy anniversary to The Mad Witch!

The fic turns five today! Progress may be slow, but hey, it’s still progress. Five years and I haven’t given up yet.

And in that time, insanely, this nearly 300k-word snail has remained one of the top fics in this tiny fandom. Oh my god, guys, I can’t thank you enough for your support.

Here’s a look at my progress over the years:

2020: I posted 15 chapters. The first 6-7 I started writing in 2019, before the beginning of the pandemic prompted me to finally rewrite and post them.

2021: I posted 12 chapters, bringing the total up to 27. Writing these was my main source of sanity that year.

2022: I posted 6 chapters, bringing the total up to 33 (the infamous “Shattered Glass” chapter). I graduated in May and started grad school in September.

2023: I posted 6 chapters, bringing the total up to 39. I drove halfway across the country solo over the summer to work on my master’s project.

2024: I posted 3 chapters, bringing the total up to 42. Grad school got harder. I got my master’s in June, then struggled with unemployment and housing for the entire rest of the year.

2025: I’ve posted 1 chapter so far, bringing us to 43! I have a job now and free time I haven’t had since I was a teenager. With roughly 17 chapters to go, here’s hoping I can finally knock some out this year. (I at least need to beat 3 chapters, c’mon.)

[leiascully]

X-Files OctoberFicFest Day 31: Fright

This year, I'm using the October 2022 prompts from @artpromptcal.

Fright is a natural response. Scully knows that. She's grateful for her fear. It's saved her, over and over. But she's never been more terrified in her life than standing in the fourth floor hallway at 42 Hegel Place, watching Mulder pace in his dark t-shirt. Every step he takes echoes in her bones. He's the moon to her: he's always had that kind of gravity, always lit up her nights, always tugged at her until her tides turned. She sways in her heels, exhausted.

It took the last of her energy to decide to leave him. She's empty now, fragile. She felt more solid when she had cancer. Mulder is so much a part of her that cutting him out will end her. Whatever moves to Utah to start over will be Dana Scully in name, but without substance, like a blown eggshell. All she has left of herself is her fear; nothing that wasn't hers would know so intimately where she's weak.

And oh, she's weak for him. It eats her up inside, that fear gnawing into her marrow. Fear of leaving him, fear of losing him. Fear of his anger, even if it's directed around her rather than at her. Fear of his sorrow and the hollow nights it leads to. Fear of her own sorrow, her own sadness. Fear that none of this was worth it, in the end, that she's giving up, that she's giving in. But she's got nothing left.

He prowls toward her like a panther. The words he's saying barely make sense at first: she processes the frustration more than the sense of them, and flinches. But then he's telling her she saved him. She keeps him honest. She makes him a whole person. He owes her everything. She owes him nothing.

His eyes are so green in the dim. And she's afraid, oh, she's afraid, even when she settles into his arms. Desire flickers around the edges of her fear but can't burn it away. Still, she slips her hand around his neck and he dips his head to receive a kiss. Her lips linger against his skin and she's afraid. He raises his head and looks into her eyes and she's afraid. She looks up at him and fear steals her breath: she's afraid, she's afraid, she's afraid. Damned if she does and damned if she doesn't. Terrified to kiss him and terrified not to. Their futures are balanced on the knife-edge of her fear: Utah, DC, the black oil, the end of the world, all their joy and pain, all their potential.

The only thing bigger than her fear is him. He fills her field of vision. He eclipses her trepidation. He's the moon and she's drawn into his orbit. Her lips part. His head is haloed in light, a corona of dread. What if everything changes. What if nothing does.

When she kisses him, he'll draw the fear out of her body like snake venom. When she kisses him, she'll see the path of her life picked out in stars. It scares her, how much she wants that. How much she wants him. She leans closer. She sips at his breath.

The fear pricks at her neck. She doesn't kiss him. The fear swallows her like icy water: she'll never kiss him now. She slips down into it, gasping, half aware of the ways his arms cradle her.

She's afraid. And then she's gone. She drifts in a slough of unease for days or years, and then one day his hand breaks the surface and he draws her back into the world. The fear drains away onto the deck of an alien ship. She's free. She's whole.

[beardedmrbean]

The intensive manhunt following the escape from the New Orleans jail earlier this month led to three more inmates being taken into custody on Monday, leaving two others still at large from the historic breakout.

Lenton Vanburen Jr., 26, was arrested in Baton Rouge while Leo Tate Sr., 31, and Jermaine Donald, 42, were apprehended by the Texas Department of Public Safety in Walker County, Texas, north of Houston, police said. Gov. Jeff Landry and Attorney General Liz Murrill lauded the captures.

Monday's arrests leave Derrick Groves and Antoine Massey, among those considered ringleaders in the brazen May 16 jailbreak of 10 men, at large.

Baton Rouge police confirmed Vanburen's capture, saying he was arrested following an anonymous tip.

"Vanburen was apprehended while sitting on a bench near a department store located at 9636 Hammond Aire," the Baton Rouge Police Department said in a statement.

State Police confirmed the two captures in Texas.

The jailbreak has prompted an interstate manhunt and state-led investigations into the New Orleans lockup's operations, as well as the local criminal justice system. Sheriff Susan Hutson, who runs the jail, has suspended her reelection campaign just months ahead of the vote.

Vanburen was charged with second-degree murder in connection with a November 2021 fatal shooting in New Orleans East. He pleaded not guilty in April 2022. He had asked the court to represent himself and a mental competency hearing was scheduled for May 29, court records show.

Tate was initially jailed on charges of second-degree murder and attempted second-degree murder in connection with a 7th Ward double shooting in 2018 that killed 19-year-old Alexis Banks and hospitalized a teen.

He accepted a plea deal in September 2021, in which the murder-related charges were dismissed, and he was convicted of obstruction of justice and sentenced to 10 years behind bars, according to jail records.

Donald has a long criminal history but was most recently charged in December 2023 with second-degree murder and possession of a firearm by a felon, court records show. He pleaded not guilty in April 2024.

The men were among 10 who broke free from the Orleans Justice Center about 1 a.m. May 16 after busting through a cell door and sliding through a hole in a wall behind a toilet as a guard took a meal break. Jail staff didn't discover the escape until 8:30 a.m. Authorities suspect they received help from jail staff members, including a plumber, Sterling Williams, who has been arrested.

The others previously captured include Corey Boyd, Kendell Myles, Robert Moody, Dkenan Dennis and Gary Price. They are being held without bail at Louisiana State Penitentiary at Angola.

Three women accused of helping Vanburen escape were also arrested over the weekend. Two were accused of driving Vanburen from Louisiana to a family member's house in Mississippi, according to court documents.

At least nine others have been booked on suspicion of aiding the escapees.

Hutson's office issued a statement late Monday confirming Monday's captures.

"We extend our sincere thanks to the Louisiana State Police, who continue to lead this manhunt, as well as the United States Marshals Service, Baton Rouge Police Department, and Texas Department of Public Safety for their tireless commitment and swift action," it said.

The escape has led to harsh criticism of Hutson. Landry has been among those lashing out over management of the jail.

Hutson has defended her management in part by highlighting what she says are longstanding funding issues and the facility being improperly used to house long-term prisoners.

Video of the escapees darting from the jail spread widely online and among national news media.

[hpsnooze]

Prompts are here! 🛌 💤

Check out the 50 sleep-tastic prompts for HP Snooze Fest 2023! Prompts are separated into categories. You can either scroll through all of them in the collection on AO3 or click on the direct link to each prompt below.

Prompts can be claimed once, more than once, or none at all. You may also fulfill multiple prompts with one work. To do this, simply hit 'Claim' on whichever prompts you want. When creating a new work, you will have the option to check multiple 'Open Claims' in the 'Fulfill a Claim' field.

The collection is open for submissions, but all works will remain hidden until the posting period starts on Oct 1. For more info, please see the Rules post on Tumblr.

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😴 Page 1: Magic, Dream, Night, Action

1. Sleeping Draught 2. Draught of Living Death 3. Potion for Dreamless Sleep 4. Stupefy! Reenervate! 5. Sleeping Beauty Curse 6. Sweet dream 7. Nightmare 8. Lucid dreaming 9. Dream sharing 10. Daydreaming 11. Sleep-walking 12. Sleep paralysis 13. Night demon 14. Night shift 15. Insomnia 16. Yawn 17. Faint 18. Whisper 19. Snore 20. Cuddle

😴 Page 2: NSFW, Type, Item, Location

21. Morning sex 22. CONsensual somnophilia 23. NON-CONsensual somnophilia 24. Dream sex 25. One night stand 26. Cat nap 27. 8 hours 28. Light doze 29. Deep slumber 30. Coma/hibernation 31. Pillow/blanket 32. Pyjamas 33. Plushie 34. Socks 35. Sleep mask 36. Hammock 37. Windowsill/ledge 38. Sofa 39. Beach 40. Cabin in the woods

😴 Page 3: Media, Miscellaneous

41. While You Were Sleeping (1995) 42. Monsters, Inc. (2001) 43. Inception (2010) 44. Awake (2021) 45. The Sandman (2022) 46. Alarm 47. Music/ASMR 48. Narcolepsy/hypersomnia 49. There was only one bed! 50. SELF PROMPT

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Quick Links

Have a question? Ask us!

AO3 Collection: HP Snooze Fest 2023 (hpsnooze2023)

Rules & Schedule: Rules on Tumblr

[winterknights]

FIC: Kisses and Sneezes with Joy to All

Title: Kisses and Sneezes with Joy to All Author/Artist: chaosgenes Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur, Merlin and Knights friendship, subtle Percival/Gwaine Prompt(s): 2022 prompt #42: Gwaine/any Knight gets sick because of the winter climate and Merlin has to help cure him/them + 2023’s prompt #32: Someone's put magical mistletoe all around the castle, and everyone getting caught in it! Word Count: 1,208 words Rating: Teen and Up Contains: Sick knights and whining. Disclaimer: Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended. Notes: Thank you at E.I. for being my beta! Also thank you mods for hosting Winterknights again! Happy Holidays everyone!

Summary: ‘Tis the season of Yule and the halls have been decked… with the wrong mistletoe! Now a cold has been passed around and Merlin is stuck taking care of the knights instead of enjoying the festivities with them. But perhaps a little magic can lift their spirits…

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51884023

[yesthatsatumbler]

hey ill send you an ask! hows it going? post your favourite coin

Thanks!

Not much is happening TBH? Or at least to the extent that stuff is happening, in the short-to-medium term, I don't know what to say about it without some much more precise prompts on what exact kind of stuff you're interested in. I went to a beach today I guess? (And in the medium-to-long term things are too uncertain to say much about yet; too much depends on what would happen in places I don't really have influence over.)

I've moved to another country in 2022 because everyone was abandoning (and/or putting active sanctions on) my previous country due to a deeply unpopular war (that I didn't even vote for) and I was worried about being conscripted (and also for family reasons but the conscription thing was probably the main reason). Then in 2023 I saw my new country start its own (slightly less deeply) unpopular war that made approximately everyone abandon it, and I didn't really have any more places to go to... but at least I knew I didn't have to worry about being conscripted, and ongoing US support (and a long tradition of relative self-sufficiency, even if mostly for religious reasons) means that the sanctions are barely noticeable so far.

Not counting circulation finds, I had bought a grand total of about ten coins for my collection since October 2022. (I've received a few hundred more as gifts from friendly relatives.)

Favorite coin... it's a really hard question, you know! I don't recall your criteria/preferences for good coins offhand, and maybe if I knew them (I think I've seen them posted at some point...) I'd figure out which of my coins was the best fit for those. But also maybe that's not the right question to ask anyway.

For what it's worth, as of the moment I started writing this response, the first coin I thought of was that one silver coin I accidentally got for way under its true value because it was in such perfect condition that I thought it was probably made of aluminium (and accidentally confused it with a vaguely similar aluminium type while initially looking it up, though I don't recall whether that happened before or after I decided that it couldn't possibly be silver), and the dealer knew even less about those coins than I did, so he believed me and lowballed the price.

Then I figured out what went wrong and posted that on a forum, and it was a whole mess, and I eventually came clean to the dealer, and IIRC he basically said something to the effect of "I mean I didn't invest in it much either, happy that it's with someone who at least knows what it is". (Then I proceeded to buy a semi-key-date Barber quarter from him for under melt - and this time I did ask several times if he was sure about the price. I miss that guy.)

Yemen - North Mutawakkilite Kingdom (1918-62) Yahya Muhammad Hamid ed-Din (r. 1918-48) AR 1/10 (Imadi) riyal 1362 or 1364 AH? = 1943 or 1945 AD? Y# 5.5, Numista 39981 (my coin is currently the page example)

"Wait, if the coin is in such great condition, then how could there be an uncertainty in the date?"

That's because it's an overdate! The 6 is engraved over a 4 (that is, ٦ over ٤ - you can see both shapes here, but the 4 is mostly obscured), and the last digit is either 4 over 2, or 2 over 4 - but both of the ٤ (4) and ٢ (2) shapes are strong enough that it's hard to tell which was there first, and of course both 1364/42 and 1362/44 are chronologically possible.

The references (i.e. Krause) include 1362/44 (though I've never seen an example labeled as such), but not 1364/42, as a possible option; they do, however, have 1364/43, for which the NGC World Coin Price Guide provides this example... an exact die match to my coin.

Unfortunately, a comparison of their coin and mine makes it clear that the supposed "3" is almost certainly a misreading; a combination of wear (flattening out the relevant area) and what appears to be a slight crack (?) gives the digit ٢ (2) a seeming extra bump at the top, making it look like ٣ (3). On my coin there is no bump and the digit can only be read as 2.

I've been uncertain over the years I've had this coin over whether it's actually dated 1364 (1945 AD) or 1362 (1943 AD), though I tended to default to the former. I thought that this is entirely unknowable, but now that I think about it, it might theoretically be possible to find a match to the pre-rework die, and see if it says 1342 or 1344? But there's not a lot of those 1/10 riyal coins depicted online in the first place, and none of the ones I could find seem to match this die - and of course there's no reason to assume that the die as originally made was used to mint coins at all, as opposed to being some kind of unneeded surplus that got reused two decades later.

...Comparing the styles, I think 1344 (and consequently 1362) is more plausible, but I can't be very sure. But at least now I've figured out at least a theoretical possibility for how it could eventually be known what it actually is?

Numismatics is complicated.

(Maybe some day I'll actually write up my extensive post on a possible reattribution of the monogram AE4 type traditionally attributed to the usurper Leontius... I was a good way in before I discovered that the question was treated in far more detail, with far more examined examples, in a Swiss article from 2020. Of course the article is [mostly] in Italian, and IIRC it did not raise some of the points I noticed, so maybe it is worth writing out my version as well. TL/DR: it's probably not Leontius, but it's hard to say who it might be, and the only other historical attribution for the type makes the Leontius option look sane.)

...Sorry for the long and rambling post. I think I had another point to make in here but if so I've completely forgotten what it was.

[t-u-i-t-c]

gif asks: 16, 24, 42, 47, and 49 ♡

16. How long have you been making gifs?

I started making gifs February 13, 2022, so over a year and a half now.

24. 480p 720p 1080p? What is the minimum quality you’ll gif from?

I think around 480p is usually the lowest I'll go, as it is the best quality that can be found for some series/videos, but I do try to use the highest quality I can get.

42. How is your gif folder organized? Is it organized at all?

It goes: Gifs → Kamen Rider, Super Sentai, Non-toku, Misc Toku, and each of these folders has the series within the franchise/category. From there different folders are made for set type. I also keep special folders for each of my ongoing gif series, prompts, multi-series gifs, and crossovers. It's a lot but it works for me.

47. Any advice for novice gif makers/people who want to start making gifs?

Gifs might look darker on mobile than they are on desktop, so keep that in mind when adjusting any lighting in dark scenes

Grouping your adjustment layers into a folder can help a ton when you're coloring, as you can check your coloring to the original and figure out which layers need to be adjusted easily

There's a lot of really good tutorials on here for giffing, so if you're looking for some place to start looking for tutorials might be super helpful

Take time to figure out your style/process

Have fun :)

49. How much would you say you’ve improved since you first started giffing?

I like my gifs much better these days than when I first started making them. I think since I've started spending more time figuring out what I want my gifs to look like, especially with coloring. I still have a lot of things I want to fix and learn but I think I've improved a bit.

Here's a comparison post I made when I reached 1 year of giffing, and remade some of my old gifs

Questions for Gifmakers

[deltastarfire]

The Master Emerald stolen (again)!

While Station Square celebrates the New Year and the election of Sally Acorn as President of Meridia, Shadow the Hedgehog appears on Angel Island to steal the Master Emerald. The fabled floating island narrowly misses the city, prompting Sonic and Tails to fly out to the bay to investigate where it has crash landed...

Eon's World Vol. 1, Chapter 42: 'A Thief in the Night' first went up on my website between August 12 and August 25, 2022 and is (as of today's date, July 29, 2025) the most recent chapter of Eon's World to go online, which means there won't be any more uploads like this for the near future. I am working hard to get this comic going again, but it's a lot of work and I don't seem to have the time I used to have. But we'll get there. I've already begun work on the next chapter and I have the next five seasons planned out already, so it will happen.

[marketmetricslab]

Fluorinated Drugs Market - Latest Study with Future Growth, COVID-19 Analysis

According to the latest industry analysis from Intel Market Research, the global fluorinated drugs market was valued at USD 182,640 million in 2024 and is projected to reach USD 268,190 million by 2032, exhibiting a steady CAGR of 6.5% during the forecast period (2025-2032). This growth trajectory reflects the pharmaceutical industry's increasing reliance on fluorination to enhance drug efficacy and patient outcomes across therapeutic areas.

📥 Download FREE Sample Report: Fluorinated Drugs Market - View in Detailed Research Report

What Are Fluorinated Drugs?

Fluorinated drugs represent a critical class of pharmaceuticals where one or more fluorine atoms are intentionally incorporated into the molecular structure. This strategic modification—known as fluorination—fundamentally alters the compound's chemical behavior, leading to significant improvements in therapeutic performance. The process enhances drug stability, extends half-life, and improves target specificity through precise molecular interactions.

Currently, approximately 25-30% of commercially available drugs contain fluorine atoms, with the proportion rising to nearly 50% among recently approved medications. Flagship fluorinated therapeutics include blockbusters like fluoxetine (Prozac®), atorvastatin (Lipitor®), and ciprofloxacin (Cipro®), demonstrating the technology's versatility across antidepressant, cardiovascular, and antimicrobial applications.

Key Market Drivers

1. Enhanced Pharmacokinetic Properties

The fluorine-carbon bond's unique strength—one of the strongest in organic chemistry—confers exceptional metabolic stability. By resisting premature enzymatic breakdown, fluorinated compounds maintain therapeutic concentrations longer, reducing dosing frequency. A 2022 study in Nature Reviews Drug Discovery noted that fluorinated small molecules demonstrate 3-5 times longer plasma half-lives compared to their non-fluorinated counterparts.

2. Patent Life Extension Strategies

Pharmaceutical companies increasingly utilize fluorination as a molecular redesign strategy to extend commercial exclusivity. The "fluorine scan" approach—systematically replacing hydrogen atoms with fluorine—can create patentable new chemical entities (NCEs) with improved profiles. For instance, the fluorinated version of the antidepressant venlafaxine (Pristiq®) demonstrated 20% greater bioavailability than its predecessor.

3. Precision Medicine Advancements

Fluorine's unique properties enable position-specific modifications that fine-tune drug-target interactions. In oncology, fluorinated tyrosine kinase inhibitors like alectinib (Alecensa®) achieve sub-nanomolar binding affinities, selectively targeting cancer mutations while sparing healthy tissues. The FDA's 2023 approval of three fluorinated precision oncology drugs highlights this trend.

Market Challenges

Despite strong growth prospects, several factors restrain market expansion:

Synthesis complexity: Fluorination chemistry requires specialized expertise and hazardous reagents, increasing manufacturing costs by 15-30% compared to conventional APIs

Regulatory scrutiny: The FDA and EMA now require comprehensive fluoride metabolite studies due to potential bone/thyroid accumulation concerns

Environmental concerns: Fluorinated compound persistence in ecosystems is prompting stricter waste management regulations globally

Emerging Opportunities

The industry is responding to challenges through multiple innovation pathways:

Next-gen fluorination techniques: Flow chemistry and electrochemical methods are reducing synthesis costs by up to 40%

Therapeutic expansion: Phase III trials are evaluating fluorinated agents for neurodegenerative diseases and rare genetic disorders

Combination therapies: Fluorinated drug conjugates show promise in enhancing tumor penetration for antibody-drug complexes

Regional Market Insights

North America: Commands 42% market share, driven by strong R&D pipelines and rapid adoption of fluorinated biologics

Europe: Leading in environmental regulation compliance with 14 fluorination technology patents filed in 2023

Asia-Pacific: Emerging manufacturing hub with 25% year-over-year growth in fluorinated API production capacity

Market Segmentation

By Type:

Anti-infective Drugs

Neurological Disease Drugs

Cardiovascular Disease Drugs

Others

By Application:

Hospitals

Clinics and Other Medical Institutions

By Region:

North America

Europe

Asia-Pacific

Latin America

Middle East & Africa

📘 Get Full Report Here: Fluorinated Drugs Market - View in Detailed Research Report

Competitive Landscape

The market features a mix of established pharmaceutical giants and specialized fluorochemical developers. Key players profiled in the report include:

AstraZeneca

Pfizer

Bayer

Merck & Co.

Eli Lilly

GlaxoSmithKline

Sanofi

About Intel Market Research

Intel Market Research is a leading provider of strategic intelligence, offering actionable insights in biotechnology, pharmaceuticals, and healthcare infrastructure. Our research capabilities include:

Real-time competitive benchmarking

Global clinical trial pipeline monitoring

Country-specific regulatory and pricing analysis

Over 500+ healthcare reports annually

Trusted by Fortune 500 companies, our insights empower decision-makers to drive innovation with confidence.

🌐 Website: https://www.intelmarketresearch.com 📞 International: +1 (332) 2424 294 📞 Asia-Pacific: +91 9169164321 🔗 LinkedIn: Follow Us

[prasaddhumal]

Qatar Foodservice Market Size is to Reach USD 3.09 Billion by 2030, Driven by Tourism Growth, Digital Ordering, and Cloud Kitchens

The Qatar foodservice market is valued at USD 2 billion in 2025 and is projected to reach USD 3.09 billion by 2030, expanding at a strong CAGR of 9.11% during the forecast period. This market size growth is fuelled by increasing tourism, changing consumer preferences, and rapid digital transformation within the sector. The market share of quick service and full-service restaurants remains dominant, while emerging segments such as cloud kitchens and premium cafes are gaining ground in Qatar’s foodservice landscape.

Get More Insights: https://www.mordorintelligence.com/industry-reports/qatar-foodservice-market 

Qatar Foodservice Market Key Trends

Boom in Quick Service Restaurants (QSR) Due to Tourism Expansion

Quick service restaurants accounted for 41.42% of total foodservice outlets in Qatar as of 2024. The surge in tourism, with 730,000 visitors recorded in January and February 2023 alone, has driven demand for fast, convenient dining options. Tourists prefer accessible formats like QSRs to accommodate busy travel schedules, supporting steady growth in the share of market held by these outlets.

Rapid Growth in Cloud Kitchens Supported by Digital Ordering

Cloud kitchens are projected to expand at a CAGR of 6.20% in value terms over the forecast period. Approximately 42% of food orders in Qatar were placed online in 2022, highlighting a clear consumer shift toward food delivery platforms such as Talabat and Carriage, which held a combined 75% market share. The government is further encouraging this segment with financial incentives and streamlined licensing for small and medium-sized enterprises entering cloud kitchen operations.

Rise in Premium Cafe Culture

Qatar’s cafe culture is growing rapidly, with over 400 branded cafes operating as of 2023. Urban cafes are evolving into social hubs for both locals and expatriates, offering premium beverages and specialized menu items. Events like the Qatar International Food Festival, which attracted over 224,000 visitors in 2022, are enhancing consumer exposure to diverse culinary experiences and driving market value growth in the cafe segment.

Health-Conscious Dining and Diversification of Menu Offerings

The market is witnessing a shift toward healthier menu choices, plant-based options, and premium artisanal food offerings. For example, per capita dairy consumption grew by 3.68% in 2022, indicating rising demand for dairy-based beverages and healthier ingredients. This trend is prompting restaurants to diversify their menus to align with evolving consumer dietary preferences.

Qatar Foodservice Market Segmentation

By Foodservice Type

Full Service Restaurants (FSR) dominate the Qatar foodservice market, holding approximately 46% market share in 2024. The popularity of dishes like Machboos, Quzi, Shawarma, Saloona, and Biryani attracts both locals and tourists, with FSR outlets offering diverse international cuisines alongside traditional Middle Eastern options. The average cost of a three-course meal for two people at a mid-range Doha restaurant is around USD 55, reflecting premium dining trends.

Quick Service Restaurants continue to gain market share, driven by tourism growth and consumer preference for convenient meals.

Cloud Kitchens are experiencing the fastest growth in market size, driven by increasing online orders and efficient cost structures enabling multiple brand operations under one roof.

Cafes and Bars remain popular for their casual atmosphere, affordability, and recent introduction of premium menu items such as specialty coffees and artisanal pastries, enhancing their market value.

By Outlet

Independent Outlets command approximately 70% market share in 2024, driven by home-grown restaurants offering unique dining experiences rooted in local cuisine. Locations such as West Bay, The Pearl, and Al Muntazah host a high concentration of upscale independent restaurants, attracting both residents and tourists.

Chained Outlets are projected to grow at approximately 9% CAGR during 2024-2029. International franchises like Chili’s, Nando’s, and Applebee’s maintain consistency in quality and flavour through global supply chains while adapting menus to local tastes. This balance is increasing their share of the foodservice market size in Qatar.

By Location

Standalone Locations hold approximately 79% market share in 2024, benefiting from strategic placements near highways and high-traffic areas. The National Vision Plan 2030 investments in infrastructure support this segment’s dominance. Full-service restaurants thrive here, with setup costs ranging from USD 0.41 million to USD 0.82 million for non-franchised establishments.

Lodging Segment is forecast to grow at an impressive rate of around 11% during 2024-2029, driven by Qatar’s expanding hotel sector and culinary offerings designed to meet diverse international tastes. Major brands like Fairmont, The Ned, and The Chedi Katara continue to attract premium dining clientele.

Retail, Travel, and Leisure Segments further contribute to the market’s diversity. Retail outlets benefit from Qatar’s growing malls, while travel hubs such as airports and metro stations provide foodservice access to commuters and tourists. Leisure venues including entertainment parks and tourist attractions are enhancing the overall dining ecosystem.

Qatar Foodservice Market Drivers Impacting Growth

Growing tourism, increasing the size of market opportunities for all foodservice segments.

Digital transformation, enabling online ordering and cloud kitchen expansion.

Changing consumer preferences, with rising demand for healthier and premium options.

Government support for SMEs and cloud kitchens, simplifying market entry for new players.

Qatar Foodservice Market Restraints Impacting Growth

Price sensitivity among some consumer segments despite growth in premium offerings.

Competition from international chains posing challenges for smaller independent outlets.

Operational cost pressures in standalone locations due to high rental rates.

Qatar Foodservice Market Geography Analysis

The urban areas of Doha, West Bay, and The Pearl continue to lead market value growth due to high disposable incomes and a sophisticated consumer base seeking premium dining experiences. Meanwhile, cloud kitchens and QSRs are expanding rapidly in both urban and suburban areas due to their affordability and convenience. Government infrastructure initiatives are further supporting location accessibility for foodservice outlets across Qatar.

Get More Insights: https://www.mordorintelligence.com/ja/industry-reports/qatar-foodservice-market

Qatar Foodservice Market Key Players and Recent Developments

The Qatar foodservice market remains fragmented with regional players like LuLu Group International, Americana Restaurants Qatar, Almuftah Group, M.H. Alshaya Co. WLL, and Teatime holding significant market shares alongside global franchises. Companies are leveraging:

Strategic partnerships with global brands.

Digital transformation initiatives including mobile ordering and loyalty programs.

Innovative menu offerings that incorporate traditional Qatari flavours with international cuisines.

Qatar Foodservice Market Recent Highlights

February 2024: Tea Time opened its 57th outlet at Hyatt Plaza.

November 2022: LuLu Group launched its 20th hypermarket in Giardino, Pearl Island, featuring fresh bakery, seafood, and meat counters to complement its foodservice offerings.

Conclusion

The Qatar foodservice market is set to reach USD 3.09 billion by 2030, driven by tourism growth, digital integration, and changing consumer lifestyles. While quick-service restaurants and full-service restaurants maintain a large market share, the rapid growth of cloud kitchens, premium cafes, and diversified lodging food service offerings is reshaping the market landscape. Companies focusing on innovation, digital capabilities, and authentic local dining experiences will be best positioned to capture future market opportunities in this evolving sector.

[edtrfhfb]

Embrace Ethical Farming: Caring for Your Animals

The Hidden Crisis: Animal Cruelty in Factory Farms

Every year, tens of billions of animals are reared and slaughtered in intensive factory farms worldwide. These operations prioritize maximum production and profit—often disregarding the physical and psychological suffering of the animals involved. From cramped cages to mutilation and accelerated growth, the welfare issues are systemic and deeply rooted in modern industrial agriculture.

1. Cramped Quarters and Deprivation of Natural Behaviors

Factory-farmed animals are typically confined in severely restricted spaces:

Pigs in gestation and farrowing crates remain in cages so narrow they cannot turn around

Layer hens often spend their entire lives in battery or “enriched” cages—spaces smaller than an A4 sheet—preventing natural behaviors like dust-bathing or wing-flapping

Chickens on meat farms live barely 42 days—versus potential lifespans of 5–10 years—leading to physical debilitation and increased mortality

The conditions violate the internationally recognized Five Freedoms of animal welfare—especially freedom to express natural behaviour and freedom from discomfort

2. Mutilation Without Pain Relief

To prevent injury in extreme confinement, factory-farm operators routinely perform painful procedures

Beak-trimming for hens and tail-docking in pigs reduce aggression from boredom-induced stress

These invasive interventions lead to chronic pain, nerve damage, and long-lasting trauma.

3. Breeding for Speed: The Genetic Cruelty

Selective breeding has exacerbated animal suffering:

Broiler chickens are engineered to grow nearly twice the weight of their 1960s counterparts in just 47 days—leading to lameness, cardiac failure, and early deaths

Mortality before slaughter in U.S. farmed chickens is around 6%, directly tied to excessive growth rates

4. At the Auctions and Abattoirs: Systemic Abuse

Beyond breeding farms, cruelty pervades the supply chain:

U.S. livestock auctions have recorded “sadistic abuse,” including kicking, electric shocks, and dragging of farm animals—highlighted in undercover investigations across multiple states

Across factory farms, inadequate veterinary care (or none) allows injuries and disease to fester untreated—often resulting in needless suffering

5. Impact on Consumers, Public Health, and Workers

The effects of farm cruelty ripple beyond animals:

Consumers are increasingly avoiding brands tied to cruelty, shifting demand toward ethical and plant-based products

Public health risks mount as antibiotic overuse—especially prevalent where animals are under stress—fuels antimicrobial resistance. Factory farms are a major contributor to superbugs, with antibiotic-resistant infections projected to kill 10

Animal laborers, particularly in slaughterhouses and processing plants, face high injury rates—two amputations per week and eight deaths annually in the U.S.—alongside exploitation of marginalized workers

6. Regulatory Gaps and Weak Enforcement

Despite existing animal-welfare laws, enforcement remains weak:

In the UK, only about 2.5% of over 300,000 farms were inspected in 2022–23, with just 1% of breaches leading to prosecution

Lincolnshire, UK, of all counties, confines an estimated 231 million animals on nearly 200 factory farms—yet oversight is minimal

In the U.S., atrocities at auctions occur amid a void in federal protection; farmed animals are excluded from cruelty laws that apply to pets

7. Notable Exposés and Industry Responses

Investigations have brought public awareness:

RSPCA-certified farms in the UK—purportedly “high-welfare”—have been condemned by Animal Rising for abuses on a vast scale

UK supermarkets (e.g., Tesco, Sainsbury’s) halted suppliers from a Lincolnshire pig farm after footage showed workers forcefully killing piglets—an act banned since 2022

In Australia, the Farm Transparency Project spotlighted suffering at three pig farms—prompting official investigations

8. Moral, Environmental, and Economic Realities

Ethical dimensions: Millions of animals live agonizing lives, stripped of dignity, with many dying before birth or slaughter.

Environmental toll: Factory farming contributes significant greenhouse gases, habitat loss, and pollution

Economic costs: Outbreaks of disease and antibiotic resistance strain healthcare systems; brand damage from cruelty scandals undermines industry value

9. Pathways to Reform

Efforts toward change exist, but require scaling up:

Legislation: Bans on gestation crates in states like Arizona, California, and Colorado, and moves toward banning battery cages illustrate progress

Certifications: Programs like American Humane Certified set standards for assessment (over 200 criteria), though enforcement deserves transparency

Corporate commitments: Over 2,000 food companies pledged to eliminate eggs/pork from suspect housing systems

humaneworld.org

Plant-based alternatives: Organizations advocate for diets reducing animal consumption, supporting ethical and

Consumer activism: Public pressure drives change—boycotts, petitions, and demand for humane practices push producers and retailers.

10. Steps Everyone Can Take

Everyone has a role to play:

Choose cruelty-free products—support cage-free, crate-free, and certified humane labels.

Reduce animal product consumption—plant-based diets lessen welfare and environmental burdens.

Raise awareness—share credible information, support exposés and investigative journalism.

Lobby for stronger laws—demand transparency, regular inspections, and enforcement.

Support animal sanctuaries (e.g., Farm Sanctuary), and welfare organizations pushing policy reform

In Summary

The cruelty embedded in factory farms is expansive, multifaceted, and often hidden in plain sight. From brutal living conditions to genetic engineering for rapid growth—and from slaughterhouse dangers to systemic regulatory failures—the lives of billions of sentient beings are compromised daily. However, collective action—from consumers, lawmakers, and companies—can drive systemic change. Supporting legislation, choosing compassionate products, reducing animal-based consumption, and amplifying investigative findings all contribute to a more ethical, sustainable future.

[vaishnavinagzirkar]

Global Oleochemical Fatty Acids Market Outlook Report: Emerging Opportunities, Growth Drivers, and Forecast to 2032

Global Oleochemical Fatty Acids Market, valued at USD 1,870 million in 2024, is projected to expand at a CAGR of 4.90%, reaching approximately USD 2,730 million by 2032. This steady growth reflects the increasing adoption of bio-based solutions across industries, driven by stringent environmental regulations and shifting consumer preferences toward sustainable raw materials. The market’s resilience stems from oleochemicals’ versatility – they serve as crucial building blocks in everything from biodegradable detergents to industrial lubricants.

Oleochemical fatty acids, derived from plant and animal fats, are gaining traction as petroleum substitutes in chemical manufacturing. Their renewable nature aligns with circular economy principles, prompting manufacturers to invest in production capacity expansions. Notably, Asia’s palm oil producers are vertically integrating into oleochemicals to add value to their commodity crops.

Download FREE Sample Report: https://www.24chemicalresearch.com/download-sample/293185/global-oleochemical-fatty-acids-market-2025-2032-372

Market Overview & Regional Analysis

Asia-Pacific commands over 65% of global oleochemical fatty acid production, with Indonesia and Malaysia leveraging their palm oil dominance. The region’s booming personal care and food processing industries consume nearly half of local output, while export-oriented soap manufacturers drive additional demand. Strict EU deforestation regulations, however, are prompting sourcing strategy revisions among Western buyers.

Europe maintains technological leadership in specialty oleochemical applications, with Germany and Belgium hosting advanced esterification facilities. North America’s market grows through tallow-based production and bio-lubricant adoption. Latin America shows promise with sustainable soybean and castor oil inputs, though infrastructure gaps hinder faster expansion.

Key Market Drivers and Opportunities

The push for biodegradable ingredients across consumer goods represents the primary growth engine. Soap & detergent formulations account for 42% of fatty acid consumption, followed by plasticizers (23%) and food emulsifiers (15%). Emerging applications in bio-polymers and green solvents present lucrative opportunities – the latter gaining importance as VOC regulations tighten globally.

Innovation in feedstock flexibility offers competitive advantages. Producers diversifying into used cooking oil and algae-derived inputs mitigate price volatility risks. The pharmaceuticals sector also presents growth potential, with fatty acids increasingly used in drug delivery systems and nutraceuticals.

Challenges & Restraints

Feedstock price fluctuations remain the industry’s Achilles heel. Palm kernel oil prices swung 38% in 2023, squeezing downstream margins. Sustainability certifications add 15-20% to production costs, though they’re becoming table stakes for market access. Trade tensions also persist – Indonesia’s 2022 palm oil export ban caused global supply disruptions that took quarters to normalize.

Technical limitations in cold-weather performance of bio-based products restrain adoption in some industrial applications. Furthermore, the industry faces competition from synthetic alternatives whenever fossil fuel prices decline significantly.

Market Segmentation by Type

Unsaturated Fatty Acids

Saturated Fatty Acids

Download FREE Sample Report: https://www.24chemicalresearch.com/download-sample/293185/global-oleochemical-fatty-acids-market-2025-2032-372

Market Segmentation by Application

Soap & Detergent

Fatty Amine and Fatty Amide

Fatty Acid Ester

Rubber

Others

Market Segmentation and Key Players

Wilmar

Klk

Ioi

Musim Mas

Oleon

Kao

Permata Hijau Group

Pacific Oleochemicals

Ecogreen

Teck Guan

Pt.Cisadane Raya

Emery Oleochemicals

Southern Acids

Pt.Sumi Asih

Bakrie Group

Soci

Godrej Industries

Shuangma Chemical

Dongma Oil

Zhejiang Zanyu

Cambridge Olein

Shanghai Soap

Sichuan Tianyu

Jinda Shuangpeng

Report Scope

This report provides a complete analytical framework for the global oleochemical fatty acids industry, covering market sizing, competitive intelligence, and strategic forecasts through 2032. Our methodology combines:

Capacity tracking of 280+ production facilities

Price trend analysis across 12 key feedstock markets

Demand modeling for 32 application sectors

The study delivers critical insights on:

Feedstock procurement strategies amid sustainability mandates

Process technology improvements in fractionation and distillation

Regulatory impact assessments for major markets

Emerging application pipeline in bio-materials

Get Full Report Here: https://www.24chemicalresearch.com/reports/293185/global-oleochemical-fatty-acids-market-2025-2032-372

About 24chemicalresearch

Founded in 2015, 24chemicalresearch has rapidly established itself as a leader in chemical market intelligence, serving clients including over 30 Fortune 500 companies. We provide data-driven insights through rigorous research methodologies, addressing key industry factors such as government policy, emerging technologies, and competitive landscapes.

Plant-level capacity tracking

Real-time price monitoring

Techno-economic feasibility studies

With a dedicated team of researchers possessing over a decade of experience, we focus on delivering actionable, timely, and high-quality reports to help clients achieve their strategic goals. Our mission is to be the most trusted resource for market insights in the chemical and materials industries.

International: +1(332) 2424 294 | Asia: +91 9169162030

Website: https://www.24chemicalresearch.com/

Follow us on LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/company/24chemicalresearch

[cyberbenb]

46% of Americans think US support for Ukraine is insufficient, poll finds

Nearly half of Americans believe the U.S. is not doing enough to support Ukraine, while two-thirds would favor increased military aid if Russia violates a potential ceasefire, according to a Gallup poll published on March 18.

The survey comes as the Trump administration has yet to approve any new aid packages for Kyiv as it seeks to restore ties with Moscow. The weapons currently flowing to Ukraine were authorized under the former Biden administration.

According to the poll, 46% of Americans believe Washington is not providing sufficient assistance to Ukraine — 16% more than in December. Meanwhile, the number of those who think U.S. support is excessive (30%) or sufficient (23%) has decreased.

Among Democrats, 79% believe the U.S. should be doing more, compared to 46% of independents and just 12% of Republicans.

Analysts attribute this shift to U.S. President Donald Trump’s approach to the war. The poll was conducted from March 3 to 11, following the failed White House talks between Trump and President Volodymyr Zelensky and Washington’s announcement of a pause in military aid.

Trump administration cuts funding for initiative tracking Russian abductions of Ukrainian children, WP reports

Researchers reportedly lost access to the database last month after U.S. officials terminated the contract, cutting off critical evidence from investigators pursuing war crimes cases.

The Kyiv IndependentOlena Goncharova

The highest recorded dissatisfaction with U.S. support for Ukraine was 38% in August 2022. Now, 53% of Americans say the U.S. should back Ukraine until all its territories are restored, even if it takes time. This position is held by 82% of Democrats, 54% of independents, and 22% of Republicans.

Regarding the proposed ceasefire, 79% of respondents fear Russia will violate the agreement, and 70% believe any deal could favor Moscow.

If Russia breaks the truce, 64% of Americans would support an increase in military aid to Ukraine, 42% would back airstrikes on Russian military facilities in Ukraine, and 30% would favor deploying U.S. troops.

Trump said during a meeting with Zelensky in Washington on Feb. 28  that security guarantees for Ukraine would be Europe’s responsibility.

Rising support for Ukraine among the American public could pressure the Trump administration to shift its policy, mainly if Russia violates a possible ceasefire, analysts said.

Meanwhile, a Reuters/Ipsos poll published on March 13 found that 56% of Americans believe Trump is “too closely aligned” with Russia amid his administration’s evolving foreign policy.

2 Sumy Oblast hospitals hit by drones hours after Putin agrees to halt energy grid attacks

A hospital in Ukraine’s northeastern city of Sumy and another in the town of Krasnopillia were hit by drones during a series of attacks on Ukraine, prompting President Volodymyr Zelensky to accuse Vladimir Putin of de facto rejecting a ceasefire.

The Kyiv IndependentOlena Goncharova

[qnewsau]

MPOX: A couple of shots can keep away the spots

New Post has been published on https://qnews.com.au/mpox-a-couple-of-shots-can-keep-away-the-spots/

MPOX: A couple of shots can keep away the spots

Since the late 1960s, the LGBTQ+ community has had a fraught yet ultimately rewarding relationship when it comes to sex and sexual health.

From sexual liberation movements to navigating the HIV epidemic, we have evolved to own the power of (safer) sex. Through education, empowerment and access to safe and non-judgement medical care, we have made tremendous strides for our health and wellbeing.

Then comes MPOX (the virus previously known as Monkeypox) recently resurging in Australia after first arriving here in 2022.

“MPOX has made a big comeback in 2024.” Dr Robert Harris, a S100 accredited GP from Paddington Doctors explains.

“NSW has had over 440 new cases [now more than 550] since June, and most of those are in Sydney.”

MPOX: Need to know

For those unfamiliar with MPOX, it’s an infectious disease that was first found in humans in 1970. The most common symptoms are pimple-like lesions or sores in a rash on the genitals, face or body. Rectal pain and bleeding or a sore throat may occur without a rash, and some people may experience flu-like symptoms such as fever and body aches.

Highly contagious and spread through physical contact, primarily through sex and sexual contact, MPOX has quickly become a focus for sexual health professionals. Many of the people who test positive for MPOX see doctors thinking they have another condition, highlighting the need for better symptom awareness.

“Vaccination rates amongst those most at risk are too low” Dr Harris says.

These high risk groups include cis and trans MSM (men who have sex with men), sex workers and their sexual partners.

All are eligible for free MPOX vaccinations provided by NSW Health, yet a University of NSW survey of gay and bisexual men in NSW, Victoria and the ACT, showed that only 42% were fully vaccinated. This means 2 doses, 28 days apart.

Treatment and Prevention

“Vaccination is the best way to protect yourself” Dr Harris confirms.

“If you have not previously had 2 doses of the vaccine and come into contact with MPOX, getting vaccinated as soon as possible after exposure can reduce the risk of having a severe illness.”

Whilst fully vaccinated people can still catch MPOX, the symptoms are usually shorter in duration and much less severe.

Although antivirals do exist to help treat MPOX, these are not widely available in Australia and are reserved for immunocompromised patients and those hospitalised with severe symptoms. For most, the treatment will be good old bed rest, hydration, over-the-counter pain relief and non-steroid creams, such as zinc oxide. Symptoms last from 2-4 weeks and being aware of them can lead to a prompt diagnosis and help protect the community.

According to the International AIDS Society, Inner Sydney has reduced new HIV acquisitions by 88%, making it the first locality in the world likely to reach the UN target to end HIV as a public health threat. Examples like this not only should fill our lil’ rainbow hearts with pride, but remind us that what we do to keep our communities safe and sexy, works!

To help keep yourself and our community safe, become familiar with the MPOX symptoms and find your nearest nonjudgmental clinic that stocks MPOX vaccines and consider making an appointment. Paddington Doctors in Sydney’s Inner-East stock vaccines for MPOX, and appointments can be made online or by phone.

-Dr Robert Harris is a GP at Paddington Doctors, 266 Oxford Street, Paddington NSW. He is available Tuesday to Saturday. For information and appointments visit drrobertharris.com.au