#... these men will be the fucking death of me

[fandomsandfeminism]

Ok. So I sat on this all day. Let me see if I can explain why this is so frustrating for me in a way that is clearer.

Here's how this discussion has gone, over and over on this and other posts of mine-

I say: prisons are bad and ineffective and inhumane. Getting rid of prisons would look like getting rid of pillories and the death penalty- it doesn't end crime but it also doesn't give criminals free reign. It just means that if someone is convicted, the options available to the state don't include prisons. There are a lot of options and there are a lot of studies about how effective each is. When we aren't funding prisons, those systems could be refined and made better.

And someone says: what if someone reoffends?

And I say: well, same thing that happens now. If they are convicted, a judge decides their sentence. But without prisons, that looks like fines, or community service, or rehabilitation programs, or restorative hearings, or vocational training, or mental health services, or restraining orders, or employment restrictions, or caseworker check ins, or halfway houses/group housing, or the restriction of access to firearms, etc.

And someone says: but what if they reoffend AGAIN?

And I say: ...yeah, sometimes people reoffend multiple times. If they are convicted, the judge would sentence them, and that context might change which sentence is most appropriate. That could include increasingly high fines or automatic paycheck deductions, or more extensive rehabilitation programs, or more restrictions on their access to weapons or housing options. It would depend on the situation.

And someone says: but what if they reoffend AGAIN?

And I say: ....yeah. so, same thing. A judge would choose an appropriate sentence based on that context. Like, recidivism is a hard thing, but it's also a huge problem right now with prisons. Would this result in more or less recidivism than the current system?

And someone says: you're dodging the question. What happens if they reoffend AGAIN?

And I say: ....a judge sentences them based on the evidence and context. Just not to prison. Again, these programs are shown to reduce redivism compared to prison.

And someone says: but how do we keep people safe if they reoffend AGAIN?

And I say: ....do prisons keep people safe now? Do prisons reduce the amount of violent crime? Do prisons specifically reduce the amount of violent crimes committed by people who have gone to prison?

And someone says: you're dodging the question! What happens if they reoffend AGAIN?

And that's the loop. Because if the guy you're imagining is Jeffrey Dahmer or the Devil, the loop only ever ends if I say "prison" or "fuck I don't know" and then it's "ha! Prison abolitions never answer the obvious question."

People try to skip to the end of the loop by invoking whatever serial killer boogeyman suits them, because then it's supposed to be clear that the ONLY solution is prison, but like....even if we accept that some people are just broken and evil, you aren't *psychic*. The judge isn't psychic. The judge can't look at a guy and say "ah, it's clear that you're one of those guys who will just keep reoffending forever. Time to get dumped in the one last prison that exists just for evil people." That isn't a sustainable system, or one that would be particularly resistant to the obvious bias that already leads to the vast overrepresentation of men of color in the prison system. I dunno, I just don't trust the government to diagnose people with "evil".

Recidivism is a huge problem right now with the system as is. We know that all the other things we can do *result in less recidivism.*

Ending prisons is like ending the death penalty. It doesn't magically end all crime, but it also doesn't mean that crime has no consequences. It just means that we don't allow the government to inflict that specific form of violence on people if they do commit a crime.

So. It is very frustrating when I have answered the question "in a prisonless society, what happens when someone reoffends?" About a thousand times, and then get told that I...won't answer that question. It's frustrating, because if I ask any follow up questions that provides context for the discussion, I'm accused of dodging the question I've *already answered.* it's frustrating, because when I try to explain WHY it's frustrating, I'm told that this is actually a strawman, when I'm literally telling you how these conversations have gone.

If this is somehow NOT accurate to the question you think I'm answering, I'm gonna need you to ask it in a different way. Because I am pulling out my hair over here answering the same question, with sources and evidence, over and over.

Pretty sure @needabetternamelater has reblogged like 5 of my posts and then blocked me. So that's funny. But, just in case it's just a glitch that won't let me reblog those replies.

What do we do with rapists in a prisonless society? Well, 1. Fewer than 1% of rapists go to prison, so holding up prison as the standard that any other solution has to beat isn't hard. What do with do with rapists in a society with prisons? For 99+%? Not prison.

2. Prisons do not reduce the amount of rapes that happen. So again, prison fails pretty handedly at being both a prevention and a punishment. (It's a bit like arguing 'without the death penalty, what will we do with shop lifters?")

3. I've explain many times, on posts you've responded to, the variety of responses a justice system can have to any crime, including sexual assault. Mandatory counseling, restraining orders, restorative/reparation hearings, housing and employment restrictions, fines, caseworker check ins, mental health consults, and vocational training are all possible responses, and which would would have the best chance of preventing recidivism would depend on the specifics of that person and the risk factors in them reoffending.

In the past, we locked people in pillories and cut off their hands for crimes. Phasing out a cruel and ineffective punishment doesn't mean there's free reign for crime.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

How would the LADS men react to their MC being really sweet and soft spoken but become toxic during video games (screaming, cursing out players, laughing when they lose)

Crash Out

You were so composed and well spoken in public. Little did your man know what he was in for when it came to you and video games. A/N: I watch a whole lot of CoryxKenshin, Berleezy, Joeiaco, PeegTV, and Britani so I kinda (hella) be screaming and crashing out everytime I play video games CW: Strong language

Zayne

Zayne is the type thats worried about your cortisol levels as he’s watching you yell at the tv. He would definitely brings you cold water and some fruit while trying to gently coax you off the game for a while, but would only end up doing as you say which is to leave you the hell alone.

You currently have a death grip on your controller and trying very hard not to yell into the mic on your headset. You failed.

MC: You fuck ass camping bitch what kind of bullshit is this?!

Zayne: Uh honey?

MC: Yes baby?

You leave the match — slamming your headset to the ground — and focus on Zayne giving him with the most innocent look

Zayne: Are you alright?

MC: Im good why?

Zayne: You sound like you’ve forgotten yourself

MC: Oh because this musty PT Cruiser built bitch was camping the third floor during the entire match pissin’ me the fuck off

Zayne: …

MC: …

Zayne: Why don’t you take a break?

MC: I will

You give him the sweetest smile before grabbing your headset and slipping it back on your head

MC: Right after I blast this little bitch to hell and laugh in their face

Zayne: ……….ok

Rafayel

Rafayel is the type to just check in sparingly to avoid being the one in the line of fire. He was not trying to catch a stray when you were raging, but he also just wanted his girlfriend back, but instead he had hot headed Hades on his hands. Rafayel comes in to find you at your PC set up he can tell something is wrong even with your back to him

Rafayel: You seem angry

MC: I CAN’T BEAT THIS STUPID FUCKING GAME

Rafayel: WHY ARE YOU YELLING AT ME?!

MC: I’M NOT YELLING AT YOU

Rafayel: YES YOU ARE

MC: *Heavy sigh* I’m playing this game Scrutinized and I'm supposed to file all these reports while also making rounds around the house because there's two killers trying to kidnap me and I don’t fucking understand how this lucky charms bitch keeps getting in the house

Rafayel: Have you tried taking a break?

MC: I DON’T NEED A FUCKING BREAK I NEED TO BEAT THIS MANS ASS WITH A SKILLET AND HOT GRITS

Rafayel: ……..I miss my sweet girlfriend where did she go?

MC: Im sorry Raf

You pull him how down by his collar and give him a quick kiss

MC: Check back in an hour I should be done with night 1 by then

Rafayel nods and leaves you to scream at your computer. He silently leaves littles treats on the desk for you. He’s scared he might be the one to receive your wrath if he bugs you too much.

Rafayel: Done yet?

MC: BITCH GET UP OH MY GOSH

Rafayel: nervermind ._.

Xavier

The type that tries to help, but only ends up pissing you off unintentionally. He just wants to help, but you don’t want his help because you know the second he gets his hands on the game he’ll not only beat it, but would beat it in record time.

MC: I’m about to rage I'm about to rage I’m about to rage

Xavier brings you a glass of water and sits it on your desk

Xavier: What's wrong baby?

MC: I have yet to beat this fucking game this damn Nun from hell keeps spawning everywhere

Xavier: What game is it?

MC: Nun Massacre

Xavier: You don’t seem like yourself want me to try?

MC: Xavier I love you however if I let you try this game and you beat it in one go Im not eating with you for a week.

Xavier: I just don’t like seeing you stressed

MC: and I don’t like seeing this refrigerator built bitch get the best of me

Xavier: and you don’t want my help?

MC: No

Xavier: Are you sure

MC: Yes

Xavier: ……you’re sure?

MC: Ask me one more time and see what happens

Sylus

Sylus is so amused seeing you get so mad over a game. He’ll be egging you on for sure he’s not even trying to make it better. He wants to see your anger practically radiating off of you. You’re on the brink of raging? He’s chuckling in the background. You’re about to slam your hands on your keyboard or throw your controller? Go ahead he’ll buy you a new one.

MC: *yelling into the headset* FUCK YOU BITCH …. YOU SOUND LIKE YOU’RE EASY TO DRAW SHUT THE FUCK UP TALKING TO ME TURN YO MIC DOWN

Sylus: *Chuckling* like they’re easy to draw?

MC: YES! That bitch was just mad because I found her camping spot and sniped her ass

Sylus: You should do it again just to make her mad

MC: Oh trust me I'm on her ass now her play style is corny I'm not letting her team win this match

Sylus: Would you like me to bring you anything while you show her who’s boss?

MC: Water and some cherries please

Sylus: I’ll be back in a minute

Sylus walks out and can still hear you yelling all the way in the kitchen

MC: GET FUCKED BITCH SUCK MY DICK

Sylus brings backs what you asked for and kisses your cheek before making himself comfortable to watch you cuss people out over a game.

Sylus: A dragon growing her horns

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 45

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 3,850ish

Summary: On the road, your group finds a family in need of help.

Warning(s): lots of movie dialogue, canon violence, injuries, character death(s)

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

The four of you found yourselves back on the road soon after the wedding ceremony. Things seemed lighter in a way. Laura and Charles sat in back while Logan drove and you sat beside him. Logan kept one hand on the wheel while his other kept a firm hold on yours. He didn’t want to let you go before your marriage was official, but now he really didn’t want to. 

Charles was drifting in and out of sleep as Laura stared out the window with her sunglasses, locking and unlocking the door.

“Knock it off,” Logan said, voice gruff. Laura made no move to stop. “I said, knock it off!”

“She’s a child, Logan,” Charles said. “And, point of face, she’s your—“

“How long has it been since you took your meds?” Charles exhaled, annoyed. “Tell me, how long has it been?”

“I don’t know!”

Logan scoffed. “You saw what happened yesterday. If that shit had gone on any longer, everything in that casino—“

“I did what I had to do to save Laura and Y/N.”

“What?” You questioned, turning to look back at Charles.

“I knew you wouldn’t get to my meds and I kept you from doing so. You wouldn’t have been able to take on all those men while protecting Laura and I.”

“You had a fucking seizure on purpose?!” Logan exclaimed, clearly furious.

“I guess you prefer me pharmaceutically castrated, rambling on like a lunatic. So much easier for you.”

“Easier? There is nothing easy about you, Charles, nothing!”

“Yes, yes, please be like the rest of the world, blaming someone else for your boring shit.”

“I know, Pop, I’m such a giant disappointment.”

“What? Logan, you’re not a disappointment,” you tried to interject. 

“You honestly derive no sense of purpose from what we’re doing?” Charles continued.

“Okay, what are we doing?” Logan questioned. “Hmm?”

“There is a young mutant sitting in our car.”

“Yeah, I see that.”

“And where we’re taking her, there are others. Does that mean nothing to you?”

“Yeah, means nothing to me. Especially since Nurse Gabriela made all that Eden shit up with fucking comic books.”

“What are you talking about?”

Logan let go of your hand and opened the center consul. He pulled out a bottle, handing it to you. “Give those to him, will you?”

“Logan,” you tried.

“Give ‘em to him.”

You sighed, opening up the bottle and taking two pills out. You turned back and handed them to Charles, giving him a sympathetic smile. Charles took them and tossed them into his mouth before getting a drink.

“I wanna see it,” Logan said, looking at Charles.

Charles made a noise as he opened his mouth and stuck his tough out for Logan to see. Logan took the bottle from you, threw it into the consul, and then slammed it shut. You sighed, so much for the happiness that the small wedding brought. Logan glanced over at you as you stared out the window. He took your hand and brought it up to his lips for a kiss.

“Sorry,” Logan muttered. “On edge.”

“Clearly,” you replied, turning to face him. “Can you try not to be mad at anyone in this car? The rest of the world, sure, but those in this truck are off limits. Got it?” 

“Only for you.” He kissed the back of your hand again.

“Whipped,” Charles muttered.

“Have something to tell the class Professor?”

“Nothing.”

Your group fell into a calm silence for a few moments until one of the auto-semi-trucks moved too close to your truck.

“Motherfucking auto-trucks!” Logan exclaimed.

“Language, Logan,” scolded Charles. “And you’re screaming at a machine.”

“Oh, what? She can gut a man with her feet, she can’t hear a few naughty words, huh?”

“She can learn to be better.”

“You mean, better than me?”

“I’m sure that’s not—“

“Actually, yes,” Charles interrupted you. 

You knew Charles wasn’t totally in his right mind, but you wished he could fully realize how much his words affected Logan. 

“And, by the way,” continued Charles, “Laura’s foot claws are the obvious result of her gender, you know.”

“Is that a fact?” Logan asked.

“In a pride of lions, the female is both hunter and caregiver.”

“Good to know.”

“She uses her front claws for hunting and the back claws defensively.”

“Oh, yeah?” Logan’s sarcasm was clear.

“Thus, ensuring their survival.”

Laura watched this—and every— interaction with curiosity and caution. It was clear to her that her comics were right about somethings. One being that the Wolverine was tough and hostile, but had a soft side for those he cared about. Especially for you. Though the comics Nurse Gabriela had shown her did not do the love you two shared any justice, both the good and the bad. Laura could tell that Logan didn’t know how exactly to deal with Laura and who she was, but she could tell that the hostility was dying, though extreme slow. Laura knew that was thanks to you. As she continued to watch and listen, you looked back to check on her. You shot her a soft smile. Laura wanted to give you one in return, but she really didn’t know how, so she opted for a nod and to turn back to the window.

Just then, an auto-truck honked and began to move over to the lane that your truck was in without even waiting. Logan was forced to swerve quickly, driving into oncoming traffic. Laura held onto Charles trying to keep him steady while you gripped the handle near your door and the middle consul. Logan maneuvered through the oncoming traffic until there was a clearing and he could turn around, coming to a harsh stop. He looked around, noticing that everyone was clearly shaken up.

As the four of you tried to calm down, you watched as a truck pulling a horse trailer stopped across the road. The horse trailer had been knocked open in the incident, with the horses running out. A young man and his parents got out of the truck, rushing to get the horses off the road.

“We should help them,” Charles suggested.

“No, we have to keep going,” Logan retorted. “Someone will come along.”

“Someone has come along.”

Logan looked your way, wanting to know your thoughts.

“I think it would do us some good to help someone else right now,” you told him.

With a sigh, Logan drove the truck across the lanes of traffic and parked it in front of the other truck. Charles rolled down the window and closed his eyes as you and Logan exited the truck. You watched as the horses all came back over and lined up in the trailer. Logan looked back over at Charles with a angry look. You caught it, slipping your hand into Logan’s and giving it a light squeeze. Laura slipped out of the car and stood a bit behind you two.

“Hey, uh, you need a hand?” Logan asked.

“Yeah,” the woman replied. “Our truck is stuck. After we get the horses in, we could really use some help getting it out.”

Once the horses were in the trailer, the woman got into the driver’s seat and turned on the truck to help reverse it. Logan and her husband got in front to push it while the son was helping from the side. Once they were all set, they started moving the truck back.

“Ah, good,” the husband patted the front as soon as the truck had moved to a good spot, “got it. Come on, let’s get home.”

“Laura! Y/N!” Logan called. The two of you were standing near the trailer, Laura looking at the horses.

“Thank you so much for your help,” the woman said. “I’m Kathryn.” She reached out her hand.

Logan shook it. “James.”

“This is my son, Nate.”

“Hi,” Nate said.

“Hey,” Logan responded.

“Is that your wife and daughter?” Kathryn asked.

“Uh, yeah, thats, uh—“

“I’m Y/N,” you walked up to Kathryn, “his wife. That’s our daughter Laura.”

“Yeah, and that’s my dad, Chuck,” Logan pointed to Charles in the truck, who waved. “Come on, Laura, let’s go.”

“Well, can we show our appreciation and treat the four of you to a decent meal?” Kathryn wondered. “We don’t live far from here.”

“Uh, no, thanks.”

“That would be lovely!” Charles exclaimed. 

You stifled a giggle at the look Logan shot Charles. You walked over to Logan and took his hand. “As long as we aren’t a bother,” you told Kathryn.

“Of course not,” she said. “Just follow us home.”

~~~

“I don’t like this,” Logan grumbled as the table was being set. “We need to keep moving.”

“Logan, it’s just one night,” you told him. “No one would suspect us to stop somewhere like this.”

“Still.”

“Everybody, have a seat,” Kathryn said. 

“James, why don’t you sit at the end of the table?” Will, Kathryn’s husband, suggested.

Will sat on one end while Logan took the opposite seat. Kathryn and Nate took one of the longer sides, while Charles, Laura, and you took the other.

“You wanna say grace?” Kathryn asked. “Say grace, baby.”

“Uh, thank you, God, for this food,” Nate said, “and for our new friends, the Howletts.

“Mmm. They came to our aid. Amen.”

“Amen,” you joined in with the rest in saying it.

Everyone began eating. Logan noticed quickly that Laura was stuffing the food into her mouth using her hands. He reached over and handed her, her fork. The bowl of corn got passed to her and she quickly began scooping. Logan took the bowl away before she could take it all. You bit your lip as you noticed how the others were watching you all. 

“Oh, there’s plenty more if she wants,” Kathryn offered. 

“She’s fine,” Logan said. “Thank you.”

“This is delicious,” Charles said.

“Oh, thank you,” Kathryn responded.

“It’s so good.”

“Where are you all headed?” Will asked.

“Uh, Oregon,” Logan said at the same time that Charles said, “South Dakota.”

“Well, Oregon and then South Dakota,” Charles corrected.

“Vacation?” Kathryn wondered.

“Uh, yes. Uh, long overdue. We’re city folk. Always wanted to take a road trip, see the country. And meet the people in it.”

“Well that sounds lovely. Been trying to get Will here to take a vacation for years now.”

“If we go traipsing all over the country, who’s gonna take care of this place?” Will retorted.

“Exactly. I say, let it go.”

“And live off what?”

“The Lord will provide.”

“I”m still waiting for the Lord to provide me with a new thresher.”

“All the same, I’d love to travel someday.”

“And I bet, you will,” Charles told her.

“I could drop out of school,” Nate offered.

“Okay, let’s not go that far,” Kathryn said. 

“I mean, I’ll do it.”

“No, no.”

“Why not? You wanna travel, I wanna travel.”

“Son, son.”

“That sounds good to you, right?” Will asked.

“It’s the perfect plan,” said Nate.

“Why oddly you want to do that, Nate?” Charles wondered.

“Careful,” Logan spoke up, “you’re speaking to a man who ran a school for a lot of years. Right, Charles?”

“Really?” Will asked.

“Yes, it was a… it was a special needs school,” Charles said.

You tried not laugh at his description.

“Uh-huh. That’s a good description,” Logan smirked.

“He was there, too,” Charles pointed at Logan. “In fact, these two both were.”

“Yeah, I got kicked out a few times.”

“Some of them were by choice,” you spoke up, teasing him.

“I wish I could say you were a good pupil, but the words would choke me,” Charles said.

Everyone laughed, including Logan.

“Not that Y/N was much better,” Charles added.

“Wait, what?” You questioned.

“When Y/N first arrived at the school, she hid and refused to participate. Took me years to get her to do anything.”

“Hey, woah. Not years. Maybe one.”

“Whatever.”

The laughter and chatter continued until everyone was full. Logan stood up.

“Ma’am, I can’t thank you enough for this,” he said. “Uh, it was great. But we have a long drive ahead of us, so—“

“But you need to rest, don’t you?” Kathryn questioned.

“Yeah, we’ll find a motel somewhere.”

“The nearest one is two hours from here and it’s not even that nice,” Will said. 

“We have a perfectly fine room upstairs for your father and your daughter if you don’t mind you and your wife sleeping in the living room on the convertible,” Kathryn offered.

“Kathryn, it’s very, very nice of you, but we really should go.”

“We can leave early in the morning,” Charles said. “Break of dawn, as it were.”

Logan looked at you, hoping that you’d side with him. You weren’t going to though. It was nice to interact with others and seem normal for a while.

“Okay,” Logan sighed, “why don’t we wash up, Pop?”

Logan pushed Charles away to the bathroom.

“Would you two like some dessert?” Kathryn offered.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” you replied.

“Of course not.”

“You all have been really kind to my family. Thank you.”

The water coming from the sink suddenly cut in and out. 

“Oh, shit!” Will exclaimed.

“What’s going on?” Logan asked, stepping out of the bathroom.

“Nate, go fill up the tub before we lose pressure.”

“They shut if off again,” Kathryn said.

“They are just not going to let this thing go.”

“Well, you might as well handle it now.”

“It can wait till the morning. We just had rain last night.”

“We got four houseguests and a sink full of dishes.”

“Alright, alright.” Will turned to talk to Logan. “The pump station that supplies us is a mile and a half from here. Sometimes it gets itself shut off.”

“By assholes,” Nate added.

“My son is happy to go with you,” Charles offered.

“No, no, no, that’s fine,” Will said as Logan gave Charles a look of unbelief. “The men that do this, sometimes they can be—“

“I can go,” Nate said.

“No,” Kathryn said, “you’ve got homework.”

“Alright, I’ll go,” Logan said. “Just, uh, let me get my dad settled.” 

He walked over to Charles and picked him up. Your heart broke as you could hear the strain in Logan’s breathing. You took Laura’s hand and followed Logan and Charles up the stairs to the open bedroom. Laura saw Nate in his room and opted to follow him.

“Behave,” you whispered to her with a smile before letting her go. 

You peeked into the room, watching Logan get Charles tucked in. He held up a remote.

“Want TV?” Logan asked. “There’s TV here.”

“I’m fine,” Charles breathed out.

“Okay. Get some rest.”

“You know, Logan… this is what life looks like. A home, people who love each other. Safe place. You should take a moment and feel it. It’s been too long since you’ve had that.”

“Yeah It’s great.” You stepped back as Logan came to the door.

“Logan. Logan! You still have time.”

“Charles, the world is not the same as it was. We’re taking a risk hanging around here, you know that. And where we’re going, Eden… it doesn’t exist. Her nurse got it from a comic book. You understand? It’s not real.”

“It is for Laura… It is for Laura.”

“Get some rest.”

Logan walked out of the room, completely shutting the door, to find you there.

“What are we doing, Logan?” You asked quietly. “If you don’t believe that Eden is real, then where are we taking Laura? What are your plans with her?”

Logan sighed, coming up to you and placing his hands on your arms. He ran his hands down until he could hold your hands. “I… I’m trying here.”

“Try harder… for Laura, for Charles… for me. You need to decide if you believe in it and if you’re willing to trust that Eden will be a safe place for your daughter.”

“Do you believe in it?”

“I hope it’s real. For her sake.”

“Then I’ll try a little harder, okay?” You nodded, leaning into Logan. His hands dropped yours to wrap you in a hug. “I won’t be long.”

“Be safe.”

The two of you met for a brief kiss. You walked Logan down the stairs and watched as he and Will headed out to the fields. You saw Kathryn in living room, reading the pull-out bed. 

“Thank you, again,” you told her.

“Of course,” she replied. “It seems like you all have had a long journey and need some good rest.”

“Yeah,” you nodded.

“The bed’s all ready. Sleep well.” 

Then Kathryn walked away. You crawled onto the bed and curled up, thinking of Logan. You heard footsteps just as you were about to fall asleep, the weight was familiar. Your back was facing towards the slow, on coming footsteps.

“Logan?” You whispered quietly, only to receive no verbal response. 

A hand fell to your back, moving until it was above your beating heart.

“Logan, what are you—“

Quickly, the hand formed a fist and three metal claws entered your heart. The darkness came instantly.

~~~

When Logan and Will arrived back at the house, Logan went to the truck to try to calm down his coughing. A gunshot and screams had his head snapping in the direction of the house. Logan raced inside the best he could with his limp. Will was at the bottom of the stairs, claw marks through his chest. Logan looked up to see a copy of him—younger and less scarred—carrying a screaming and bound Laura down the stairs. Logan froze, only able to pant and stare as the copy of him walked past him, Laura still screaming.

“Charles!” Logan shouted up the stairs. “Y/N! Charles! Y/N!” 

He used the railing to get him up the stairs faster. At the top of the stairs, he found Kathryn dead with Nate at the entrance of Charles’ room. He froze for a moment upon seeing Charles bloody and barely breathing in bed. Blood was running out of Charles’ mouth as he shakily reached for Logan. 

When Logan finally broke out from his trance, he rushed over and used some of the bedding to pack Charles’ wound. He maneuvered Charles’ hands to be over the bedding.

“Hold this,” Logan whispered, fear coursing through his veins. “It wasn’t me. It wasn’t me.”

Logan picked Charles up carefully, still scanning the house for any sign of you. Charles let out a moan as he struggled to keep conscious.

“Just hold on, Charles,” Logan said.

Logan went out the side door and rushed Charles over to the truck, placing him in the bed.

“I’ll be back,” Logan promised, before going back inside. “Y/N! Y/N!”

Suddenly, his nose got whiff of a familiar scent. Your blood. He rushed for the living room, where the pull out bed was out. There was a large bloody stain on it, but no you. There was no sign of your fire or your smoke or your ashes. Logan’s heart hammered in his chest as he continued to find no sign of you in the house. Logan stammered out of the house to hear more screaming and gunshots. He saw his duplicate self killing the men who turned off the water. There was a military grade truck past his duplicate. Logan noticed Laura on the ground but when he his moved, his breath caught in his throat. 

They had you in a glass box, like Snow White or a doll. There was blood on you and Logan could tell from where he was standing that you weren’t breathing.

“Charles!” Logan exclaimed quietly. He went back over and pressed on the wounds. “Hold this down, right now, tight!”

“Save them,” Charles whispered. “I’m… sorry…”

“What?”

“Go…” Then Charles heart stopped.

“No.” 

Rage grew inside Logan. How dare they create a duplicate version of him and have him kill you and Charles? He had to get to you before they did anything. Suddenly, the military truck blew up, throwing the glass case you were in forward, crashing next to Laura. The glass broke. Logan needed to move fast. He knew that if you went up in flames and your ashes were separated, there would be no coming back for you. He wouldn’t be able to continue on the rest of his short life without you.

Logan snuck up on his duplicate as the duplicate marched towards you and Laura. With each grunt, he plunged his claws into the duplicate. But his copy made no move to fight back, just walking backwards with each hit. Logan plunged both sets of claws into the copy.

“What the hell are you?” He grunted.

The duplicate stabbed Logan in the shoulder and tossed him over to the ground. Logan shielded himself with his claws before the duplicate could do it again. Every muscle and bone was straining with Logan, but he couldn’t stop. Not when you weren’t safe. Logan jumped back up and continued fighting, but the duplicate was better, stronger. The copy kept making hits, causing Logan to yell out in pain. 

Eventually, the duplicate had Logan pinned against a large tractor tire. Before it could make the final kill, Will’s truck rammed into the duplicate, pinning it against the fence. Will stumbled out of the truck with his gun, shooting into the duplicate multiple times. Once Will believed the duplicate to be dead, he turned his gun on Logan, but couldn’t do anything before he fell to the ground, dead. 

Laura’s shrieking continued as she laid bound beside your dead body. Logan stumbled over to the two of you, bloody and bruised. He knew that you needed to get someplace safe, but he also knew that you would never forgive him for leaving Laura. He grabbed Laura and carried her over to the truck, placing her into the seat next to his before turning to get you.

As he knelt beside you to pick you up, the tears fell. The three punctures over your heart was enough to tell him that his copy had done this to you. He groaned as he picked you up and cradled you against him.

“It wasn’t me,” he whispered, like him saying that would wake you. “It wasn’t me.”

He carried you to the truck and slipped you into the back seat. Laura turned around and saw Charles dead in the bed of the trunk and you dead in the back seat. Her shrieking got worse as she fought against her bindings. Logan turned on the truck and sped off into the fields. Laura thrashed around, trying to free herself. With a shaky hand, Logan released his claws.

“Hold still,” he told her, moving the claws over to her cuffs. “Hold still.”

He cut through the bindings and quickly put away his claws, focusing on driving through the field. Laura crawled into the back seat and placed your head on her lap. Logan glanced at her through the rearview mirror, not missing the tear that slipped down her cheek.

next chapter >

[sunnysideaeggs]

the character i hate the most is viserys. like, genuinely hate him in all his iterations. the jolly fat prosperous king persona is in reality just an entitled stubborn man who lived his life fucking over his female relatives, marrying aemma, a literal child and impregnating her to death and usurping rhaenys, a more capable and more legitimate candidate to the throne. and he just spends his life not learning anything and keep on being an awful man.

viserys’ choice to keep rhaenyra heir fucks over all of his female relatives who are dependant on him, his wife and his daughters, so he can have the last word and solidify his authority as king. so no one can tell him what to do. this denies alicent of the social contract within marriage (you give me sons, i give those sons my name and titles), denies helaena of the social contract of the marriage he arranged for her, and puts rhaenyra in an awful position of scrutiny, manipulation, grooming and responsibility she could never fulfill, making her solely dependant on him and what agency he can provide.

and it makes sense that the only character he gives a morsel of respect and agency similar to his own is daemon, another male targaryen he grew up with who gets to fuck around and have his fill of entitlement and debauchery. after viserys dies, it is daemon who holds all the power in rhaenyra’s court, sidelining her and betraying her both as a husband and as a warrior. to add insult to the injury, those men are the ones that won because aegon iii and viserys ii are written off as the sons of daemon, not the sons of rhaenyra.

I really need people to understand that Rhaenyra’s only source of power is Viserys, he can literally name aegon heir any second and she won’t be able to do anything about it, just like Rhaenys. TB doesn’t exist outside the patriarchal society the story takes place in. The decision to cut the book scene of Viserys threatening Rhaenyra’s claim is insane to me because this is such an important plot point. If Rhaenyra was a man Viserys would’ve never been able to name aegon heir instead. Rhaenyra is just as dependent on the men in her life for power as any other woman in Westeros.

[ihfmseatsoch]

hi erm do you take requests. and if so can I pretty please get a masc reader raping Jimmy after finding out what happened to Anya fic (I want to tear this disgusting man’s ass up so bad it makes me look stupid)

OHH my gosh anon i understand you so deeply. rape that mans ass to shreds!!!!!!! i hope this is alright :3

–

Jimmy Zare x masc!reader

reader refers to themself as a guy and has a dick

genre: smut, dark fic

word count: 2.8k

warnings/content: rape, you shot jimmy in the legs lol, several mentions of anyas sexual assault, no prep, loss of virginity, (on jimmys end) (literally) hate sex, rough sex, jimmys a little crybaby, death threats

–

"Are you scared, Jim?"

You crouch to ground level with the man– no, calling him a man would imply that he has some sort of humanity left in him. The monster in front of you, both of his kneecaps wounded by the bullets you shot with your own hands, glares at you with pure vitriol.

You've actually tried pretty hard to stay in your new captains good graces these past couple months. Of course, it was only for the sake of self preservation. Who would willingly befriend such an arrogant, self-centered, pessimistic asshole like Jimmy? Besides Curly, for whatever reason.

But it wasn't until Anya, at her wits end and on the verge of yet another mental break, confided in you about her pregnancy, and her assailant; none other than Jimmy fucking Zare.

You couldn't say you were surprised that he lacked basic morality. Maybe morality can no longer apply to the situation you're all stuck in, all of you just trying to survive at whatever cost. Every man for himself, right?

Even so, monsters deserve to be punished. And luckily, Jimmy is still alive to feel whatever you force him to take. Whether it be the insults you hurl at him, or physical torture; like the bullets embedded deep in his muscles, immobilizing him, his autonomy ripped away.

"It doesn't feel good, does it? Not having the option to worm your way out of the mess you've made."

Jimmy gives you he most contemptuous, disgusted look, like you're the evil one here. He let out a frustrated growl, his voice was low and venomous. "You think you're so fuckin', righteous, huh? Acting like you're any better than me." His lips curl downwards in a sneer.

You may not be any more of a good person than he is. You've stooped to his level, after all, resorting to violence. But as the saying goes, you reap what you sow, and Jimmy has yet to pay for anything he's done. All the pain and trauma he's caused, not just to Anya, but dozens of poor women back on Earth. Men like him always get what's coming to them.

"This isn't a morality competition, Jim. We're all only human here. But you..."

Leaning in, you grip his boney jaw, forcing him to look at you, your eyes boring into his. He's terrified, you can tell.

"Honestly, you're less than dog shit."

It was clearly infuriating to him that he didn't have the ability to physically intimidate or overpower you. For once in his life, Jimmy's bravado had been shattered. He was unable to move away, to spit back his usual insults, as he was forced to stare into your cols eyes. You had the upper hand, and he hated it.

He hated being in the same position as the many others he's forced into.

His body tensed with anger as he tried to wrench his jaw out of your grasp, but your fingers dug too harshly into his skin. "Get... Get your goddamn hands off me, you... you–"

"You didn't listen to Anya when she begged you for the same thing. Isn't it ironic, the way karma works?"

The mention of Anya seemed to hit a nerve within him, his blood running cold, frigid through his veins. "I told her to keep her stupid mouth shu– fuck!–" A stabbing pain shot through his legs, causing his face to contort in agony.

Despite the pain and the fear welling up within him, he forced himself to speak through clenched teeth. "Shut... Shut the fuck up. Stop talking like you– like you know anything."

"I know enough. So does Swansea. Curly too, for what it's worth. Even if the useless fucker didn't do anything to reprimand you." You shove Jimmy onto his back, his head hitting the cold steel floor with a dull thud, hard enough to make him woozy for a moment. You can't find any empathy inside of you to care. As far as you're concerned, the creature in front of you isn't a person.

Clicking your tongue at the sight of him, you crawl over to his pathetic, writhing body, hovering above him. "Guess it's up to me to give you what's been comin' to you for a long fucking time, huh?"

Jimmy hissed in pain and tried, in vain, to scoot himself away, but his wounded legs refused to move, and he found himself trapped between you and the floor. For the first time in his life, he was in the position of a powerless victim.

His voice comes out embarrassingly strained and weak, "What're you gonna do, then? Kill me? You think that's the worst thing you could do to me? I've been ready to die. You'd be doin' me a fuckin' favor."

You dig your knee into his groin, putting a painful amount of weight onto him, a sharp cry escaping his lungs. "No. You don't deserve to die, that'd just give you a way out." Your hand reaches up to his neck, squeezing his windpipe just enough to make him struggle to breathe.

"I'm keeping you alive so you can feel every single thing I do to you."

Jimmy clawed uselessly at your hand, frantically trying to pry it away from his throat, the only thing he could manage to do with his legs unable to kick or thrash. "S– Stop–! Ghhkk– Don't–"

"You still think you deserve mercy? That's cute, Jim."

You roughly yank the buttons of his coveralls out of their loops, tearing away the first layer of protection he had between you and him. Not that the uniforms Pony Express gave you acted as a safeguard in the first place.

Jimmy feels exposed, vulnerable in a way he's never experienced before. Suddenly, he's very aware of the fact that he's at your mercy, and he can't do anything to stop you. Fear began to creep in, and he started to hyperventilate, panicked and desperate as he choked out a reply,

"I– I said s– stop, you fucking– I swear, when I can walk again, I'll–" He sputters, his sentence coming out broken and raspy from the pressure on his neck. You let go, only so you can focus on getting him undressed. He intakes a large gasp of air, coughing hoarsely.

"You'll what? What're you gonna do, Jimmy?" You mock him, keeping your tone extra condescending just to rub the humiliation in even more. "I'll tell you how this is gonna go; you're not walking for a good, long while. That's just reality, so get used to it."

You tug at his clothes until, albeit with a lot of struggle and fighting against Jimmy's flailing, his uniform is bunched around his ankles, leaving him in his grey long sleeve and underwear.

"And, while you're incapacitated– You grunt as you tug his boots off, throwing them carelessly aside to make it easier to slip the garment completely off his body.

"I think you can guess what's gonna happen to you."

Jimmy's face pales as the realization of what you plan on doing fully dawns on him. His heart drops to the pit of his stomach, dread sinking into his gut. He can't escape this. "Wait, h– hold on, you can't– We... We can talk this through, just– get off of me–"

"I'm guessing you've never been with a guy before, huh? Nah, you're too... 'macho' for that." You flip him over, a sharp, throbbing pain rushing through his knees as he's forced to put pressure on his wounds to prop himself up. "Might as well give you your first experience before we all die here, yeah?"

Jimmy tries to scramble away from you, but his wounded legs barely move an inch. He cries out in agony, his eyes welling up with tears from the excruciating pain in his joints. He looks over his shoulder at you, his eyes wide, filled with fear.

"No, Wait, stop–! Don't– You can't do this, please, I–" He tried to keep his voice hard and defiant, but terror had seeped into it, causing his words to quiver and falter.

"Oh, I can't, but you can?" You scoff at his ability to still be a raging hypocrite, even in the position he's in. "You think the world bends to your fuckin' will, don't you? Curly sure did. Maybe that's what makes you feel so entitled. You were enabled."

With a swift tug, his fabric is pulled down just enough to expose his ass to you. "Not anymore. Never again."

Jimmy's pride, the only thing he had left, had begun to crumble beneath him.

He's scared.

He prayed for someone, anyone, to intervene in the situation. But the cargo hold was empty, devoid of any soul besides you two. Jimmy choked back a sob, his vision growing blurry with tears. His voice was strained as he pleaded, "P– Please, d– don't do this. I'm... I'm sorry–"

Completely ignoring his incessant pleas at this point, you carelessly fondle his ass, roughly handling what little amount of fat his had on his bones. "Oh, I'm sure." You mumble, your sarcasm audible.

Spreading his cheeks apart, you make a 'tsk' sound at the sight of his tight, untouched virgin asshole. "Sheesh, that's gonna be a tight fit." You speak your thoughts aloud, just to make his face burn redder with utter humiliation. He could vomit right now.

"I swear, I'm gonna fucking kill you." He snarls, voice breaking with the emphasis he put on the word 'kill', his teary eyed glare full of unadulterated disdain and loathing for you. "I'll find a way. I'll find a way to blow your fucking brains out."

He can't even move, and yet he's still trying to get the upper hand, as if he's some kind of cornered dog, snarling and snapping at your heels in defiance to the very end.

"Mhm." You don't take him seriously, knowing that without serious medical attention, which Anya obviously won't be providing, he's essentially screwed, for a lack of a proper description of his situation. You palm your semi-hard dick, stroking the outline of your length through the fabric. You hate this man, you really do, but you can't deny the excitement you feel from giving someone like him a taste of his own medicine.

You can't tell yourself it won't be satisfying to make him feel everything Anya felt, because it will. It will be the most gratifying thing you ever do.

You gather up a wad of spit in your mouth before spitting on his hole, saliva being only available lubricant. It may not be the best, but he doesn't deserve the comfort a proper lube would give him anyway. He physically cringes at the feeling.

"I'm not gonna bother prepping you. That'd be too nice." You considered not even warning him of this, but you liked seeing him scared. You liked seeing the way his breathing picked up in panic, his heart rate bordering on tachycardia.

"Fuck you," he spat with the hostility of a rabid dog. "You're gonna regret this. I won't let you–"

Jimmy's empty threats are interrupted when he feels the head of your dick prodding at his hole, and you chuckle lowly at his shudder. "Shhh. All you've gotta worry about from now on is getting me off."

Before he can even think, you're already pushing yourself inside him. The sting is unlike any kind of pain he's ever felt, even compared to his current wounds, which have actually gone half numb from the sheer amount of pain they're in. Jimmy cries out a broken wail, gritting his teeth, his tears pooling onto the floor as he squeezes his eyes shut.

You groan as you struggle to fit inside him even halfway, spitting on his hole again for good measure. "Hah– holy shit, Jim. I can already tell you won't be a half bad fleshlight for me."

Jimmy trembles from the utter discomfort he feels from the unwelcome penetration. He wants to scream, but all that comes out is pathetic, choked sobs, his cheek laying in a puddle of his own tears. "Fuck you, fuck you..." He snivels, blubbering.

You hardly even acknowledge him as he weeps, managing to jam yourself halfway inside him, his walls clenching like a vice around your shaft. "God, you're probably tighter than a girl." You laugh, your palm coming down harshly on his ass, just so you can watch him jolt. You snake a hand around his torso to grab his cock, noticing it's flaccidity. "Damn, you're not even hard," You comment without much sympathy, simply verbalizing your observation, "Not that I care, but it'd be funny if you got off on this too."

Jimmy, unable to recoil out of your grasp, can only cringe harder than he ever has. "You're sick," he hissed, "I'll tell everyone, you can't get away with–"

"You really think any of them will feel bad for you?" You roll your eyes in annoyance, growing tired of how irksome he is. "Jeez, I wish I could gag you with something. You're the most concieted egomaniac–" You grunt as you snap your hips against his, your dick shoved to the hilt inside him, "–That I have ever met."

Jimmy ceases his griping for once, laying there like a defenseless ragdoll. What else can he do? He's short of options, a plan, support... he has nothing. Nothing and no one will save him this time. The inside of his hole aches excruciatingly, agony washing over his entire body, his neck is cricked to the side, irritating the muscle which is sure to be unbearably tender later. A lasting reminder of how weak he really is.

His hole loosens to take your cock as you thrust with an impetuous rhythm, hearing him whine at every brutish snap of your hips. The way his slick walls drag along your shaft makes you feel a fervid sense of carnality, knowing you've reduced him to a mere object. A receptacle. "Fuck, I didn't think you'd feel this good. That's something you've got going for you." You utter throatily, groping his hips to pull him back and forth on your dick.

He wants to die. He wishes you would've just killed him and threw his bloated corpse out of the airlock, never to be seen again in the vast outskirts of space. Shit, he would've been fine with you just abandoning him to rot in here alone. But he hasn't earned your mercy, or anyone's. Jimmy feels every inch of your cock violating and slamming carelessly deep inside him

"I hope this hurts." You confirm scornfully that yes, you're aware he's in pain, and you're very pleased with yourself. "This is exactly what she felt, and this is exactly what you deserve."

Jimmy silently prays to a god he's never believed in to make you stop, or just cum already and be done with him. "Ple–ease...–" he finds himself mewling miserably, running out of both the tears, and strength to cry. He finds himself completely detaching from reality, clinging onto the hope that this will be over soon. If he can live through this, he'll be okay. His dissociative, quiet state makes it all the more easy for you to ignore his humanity.

You feel the familiar buildup of warmth stirring in your gut, balls tightening annoyingly soon. You wanted to prolong his suffering, but you've been just as pent up as anyone else would be during an 8+ month long haul. The difference between you and Jimmy was that you could hold back and not give into your own selfish desires.

Another difference between you two is that you can get away with this, not suffering from any ramifications. But him? If you're all miraculously saved from this hell you're trapped in, he won't be exempt from the consequences of his actions. The other, less favourable outcome being the ship runs out of oxygen and food, and you're all forced to die slowly, but the one positive aspect is that Jimmy still wouldn't be getting out scott free. In every way, he lost.

With a drawn out growl, you fill him to the brim with warm, thick ropes of cum. When you catch your breath and pull out, you watch the sticky, white substance seep from his gaping hole. It drips down his shaking thighs, which collapse under him, and he falls to his side, curled up in a piteous ball, hugging himself tightly and hiding his face as he tries to ignore the throbbing pain in his ass and imagine himself somewhere else. Though, he doesn't exactly know where to escape to. He's never had a 'happy place', so to speak.

Picking yourself up off the ground and brushing yourself off, you tut at the comical display of cowardice in front of you. You kick his quivering body in the ribcage for good measure as you tuck yourself back into your uniform.

"See you next time, Captain." You sneer, speaking to him with shocking casualness, leaving the cargo hold without a second glance back at him.

The words "next time" replay tauntingly in his head as he lay there, paralyzed with terror.

–

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

the world (it burns through me)

Chapter 12: Darlin'

Ao3 | 3.1k | Darlin's POV

The 10-19 fights a fire on Christmas Eve. Darlin' works hoses. Asher takes command. Milo gets pinned. Somebody slips out the back door.

TW: fire, burning building, descriptions of injury, life threatening peril, discussions of Christmas.

When people found out you were a firefighter, the first question out of their mouths was always about the heat. It bugged the shit out of you, that curious glint in their eyes when they cornered you in your turnouts or a well loved Dahlia Fire Department tee-shirt. Gosh, it must get hot, or you must sweat in all of that! You never were good at placating probing questions like Asher was, or remembering statistics on average house fire temperatures like David. 

What you didn’t say, what you couldn’t, what you didn’t dare to vocalize to anybody who hadn’t been inside of one, was that it wasn’t the heat that got to you in the middle of a fire. It was the sound. Sure, it was hot as hell when you were weighed down by sixty pounds of gear and fumbling around your thick gloves to snatch human lives away from the flames. But what shocked you that first time in training, while clearing a building destined for demolition of awkward, stuffed dummies, was the noise. The flames hissed like a scared cat, whipping and whooshing as they danced across the field. Wood and steel creaked and groaned and popped as the heat expanded it. And the screams… nothing hurt like a burn, and nobody screamed like a burn victim. You had been fortunate enough not to ever hear, let alone see, anybody burn to death, but you had seen plenty get close. That was the noise that you could never shake. 

You were surprised by the fucking noise of it that first time in training, during your first C.P.A.T.. 

You were surprised during your second. 

You were surprised as you stood outside of Bean Me Up on Christmas fucking Eve, hose in hand, batting down flames as they emerged from the building’s low windows, trying to beat back the fire as it gained more ground. 

It had been three weeks and change since you and the Shaws had bugged out, and you’d spent nearly every moment of that time preparing for your C.P.A.T.. It was exhausting, looking only at the walls of the 10-19, seeing only the day and night crews as they filtered in and out, waking in the dead of night to the blaring of the alarm. 

That was the only other noise you couldn’t get out of your head, the skull-drilling bell that rang in a code. That noise had buzzed in your dreams and jerked you awake since you were a teenager. You were always halfway through tugging on imaginary turnouts when you realized it wasn’t real. In the past, when your mind drifted, you would hear it out of the house entirely, in the car, in the grocery store, walking through the forests in Washington. Wherever and whenever your brain got just a bit too quiet. 

That built in instinct served you well, though, over the last few days. You didn’t need to be retrained. You didn’t need to be shown the ropes. Everything was already in you, built into your head and muscles and bones so fiercely that no amount of time could train them out. As soon as David certified your C.P.A.T. results and you were issued gear, it was as though you never left. 

You spent days with a sense of deja vu. You kept doing the same things over and over again. It made you sick to stay in one place for too long, so instead you just ran in circles. 

Running hoses was a demanding job, both physically and mentally. The hoses themselves were thick and heavy, and hauling them out in a timely manner stretched your strength to its extreme. Once they were hooked up to a hydrant and running, the pressure made them about ten times as unruly. It took two men to run them (one up front on nozzle, the other supporting the hose and adding slack), plus the person adjusting the pressure in real time at the hydrant. Besides breaching, running nozzle was your preferred position in a call. It required your full attention, and it meant that you couldn’t get distracted. 

You were sat, flat on your ass on the freezing concrete, batting down flames as they encroached on the building incessantly. 

David and Milo were still inside. The fire was defensive, but it wasn’t an option to stop fighting it anyway until the structure was cleared. Even then, you had to worry about the fire spreading to neighboring buildings. They’d been sprayed down and cleared by Christian’s team already, but with a fire running this hot and eating through the building this fast, there was no telling what it would do. 

You held your breath, listened to the frantic chatter over the radio as Asher ran the scene over your shoulder. He directed you by touch, shoved your shoulders, pointed you, like a blunt weapon, where he wanted you. That was always how you’d worked best. 

“Breach, delta wall is crumbling, clear out!” Asher shouted into his radio, over the noise of the building beginning to come down. You moved where he turned you, fought back the flames that had begun to eat at the entrance again so that David and Milo could get out again. 

“Copy, I.C.,” David’s voice crackled over the radio, straining. “One vic in hand, coming out the alpha entrance.” 

David wasn’t the sort of man who stood outside of a fire and called the shots while his people stepped into the flames. Gabe had been exactly the same way. It was technically against protocol, but the Shaw men had never been precise rule followers. David handed over the title of Incident Commander to someone else and threw himself at fires in what you might consider a reckless fashion if you didn’t know him better by now. It might have been true of the David you’d known two years ago, but not now. The things that he chose to do were dangerous, but he never chose them recklessly. 

You supposed that was the difference between the two of you. 

Half a breath later, Asher abruptly turned you away from the entrance as David emerged, a little figure curled against his chest as he shielded them from the smoke and flames that lapped on all sides. David unfurled as he began to jog to Sam, the ambulance parked a safe distance away. Geordi’s sandy mop made an appearance in the corner of your eye, singed but still alive. You could tell by David’s urgency alone. 

That should be it. It was late enough that it should have just been Geordi in the building. Milo would emerge from the building in just a moment and you would do your best to kill the rest of the flames. Either you would or they would eat whatever fuel was left in the building and die on their own. 

“I.C., I’ve got another vic in here. On his feet, charlie wall!” Milo’s voice came through over the radio. 

“Negative,” Asher barked, “this started on the charlie wall, do not engage. Two in, two out, Milo, G.T.F.O.!” 

You’d never heard Asher be so assertive, so certain, so in charge. David had run a handful of calls as Gabe’s Lieutenant while you’d been on the Force, but Asher had always been on the breech team with you or Milo. He was ever present over the radio, a constant chatter in your ear. It had always kept you grounded, centered on the world around you, kept you from drowning in the fucking roar of the fire. This Asher, the Asher who had emerged from the gangly, somewhat awkward twenty-something you knew, was steady. He was sure. Far from the giggling, insecure people pleaser you used to know. 

The world had kept turning while you were gone. Everybody had kept growing, kept changing, even those people and things that you knew in your fucking bones never would. 

And you kept running in circles. You were sat on your ass, batting down flames at eighteen, at twenty-five, at twenty-seven, and it never fucking ended.

“Copy, I.C.,” Milo’s voice replied over the radio. 

You heard it over the channel. Fires were loud. They telegraphed their every move, told you in as clear of a voice as they could what ceiling they were about to pull down on top of you. Milo’s thumb was still hot on his radio, voice still crackling out the details of his exit when you heard support beams- it had to be a support beam, nothing else would be heavy enough to snap that loudly- pop and fall. Milo shouted, short and desperate, and his radio cut out. 

Your heart leapt to your throat. Asher let the silence lapse for just a moment, just a breath. You could feel his hope beating at your back, waiting for Milo to call an all clear. 

His call never came. You felt something in your bones aching, something in your body itch to move, move, do something, do fucking anything! 

“Greer, call back.” Asher called into his radio, voice sharp and clear. David echoed him a moment later from the ambulance. You realized that you were dragging in your breath erratically, unevenly. Panic coursed through your limbs, making you feel heavy and slow. 

“Fuck-” Milo’s voice crackled back in, strained and desperate. There must have been something wrong with his radio, or maybe he was shaking, because his connection was spotty. “-pinned!” he cried, something scarily close to a scream letting itself be known in staticy, cut off segments. You felt your core jerk, body tense, muscles straining against the urge to go. 

Milo’s voice crackled over the radio again, pained and distant against the roar of the fire. 

He called out his sweetheart’s name. 

You snapped the hose valve shut. You were up and on your feet and moving before it hit the ground. 

“No- wait!” Asher called from over your shoulder. You felt his gloved fingers brush against your back, but you were much faster than he was. Always had been. You attached your oxygen mask to your face as you ran, ignoring David’s loud, clear protests over the radio as you stepped into the flames. 

Fires were loud. Even in your full turnouts, ears covered, you could hear it- feel it reverberate around in your chest. 

Milo was clearing the back room, along the charlie wall where the fire had started. Why the fuck Asher hadn’t pulled him sooner was beyond you. This fire was defensive, even along the alpha wall where David had found Geordi. You were having words with both the Lieutenant and the Captain when you got Milo out of this. 

If. If you got Milo out of this. If you got yourself out of this, come to think of it. Nothing was ever sure in a fire, and once you stepped into one, there was no guarantee that you’d step out. 

You’d made a life out of snatching people out from the jaws of death. You were your own best client. 

The cafe was unrecognizable, despite the frankly ridiculous number of mornings you’d spent in it since you’d gotten back in town. Everything was crumbled, burning, or long since burned. The little tables and chairs were fuel. The counter that had been covered in stickers and custom art was split by a fallen beam, paint bubbling and curling in the heat.  

Milo was pinned by that same support beam, just through the swinging door that led to the back of house. It was bent and warped from the heat, and you heard it groan as you followed it. You spotted him, his limp body laid prone, beam flat against his back. 

You clapped a hand on his shoulder, shaking once hard as you ran a gloved hand down what you could reach of his spine quickly. You didn’t have time to properly check and make sure nothing was broken or out of place. If he came out of this fire paralyzed because you moved him, then you figured he’d still be better off. 

“Located him along the charlie wall,” you barked into your radio, “extracting now.” 

“I’m gonna kill you!” David’s voice cracked back at you. You couldn’t help but grin. 

“Let me survive this fire first, Cap.” 

You slid your hands under Milo’s armpits and tried to tug him out, but Milo made a horrible groaning sound and you abandoned that idea very quickly. The beam was flush with his body, no room to squeeze between them and wedge him out. 

You weren’t strong enough to lift a support beam. You certainly weren’t strong enough to lift it and clear Milo from it at the same time. 

“Greer!” You shouted, patting him hard on the back, shaking him left and right. “Wake the fuck up, you’ve got to move!” 

Milo groaned, barely audible over the fire, and planted a shaking hand on the ground. He glared up at you through his mask, face pinched and confused. You put on your most reassuring smile before you turned back to the beam. Milo was up, at least enough to crawl. You would have to trust that he could do it. He was trusting you to do the rest. 

Something over your head shifted and groaned. You jerked, moving instinctively to cover Milo from the debris. Burning plaster hit the ground a few feet to your left. 

You didn’t have long. You might already be out of time. Your exit route could be blocked, consumed by flames, unpassable. Carrying Milo could make it even harder to get out. 

You could go. You could turn around and leave him there. You could tell David that you couldn’t get him out and that you barely escaped with your own life. 

You kept running in circles. You reached endlessly to snatch people from the jaws of death. You kept ending up with bodies at your feet. You kept running when shit went wrong. 

You wedged your fingers between the beam, digging into Milo’s back with enough force that he would likely bruise. You spread your stance, bent your knees, straightened your back. 

You were not running. There came a time when even you had to plant your fucking feet. 

The beam didn’t move enough for you to feel it. You likely only made about a half inch of space for Milo to work with, and in his dazed, injured state, that wasn’t much. 

It was enough. When your muscles failed, the beam clattered to the ground, left your fingers burning. You didn’t take a second longer to process. Milo was over your shoulder before you could form another thought. You moved, uncaring of what was in your way, back to your point of egress. 

David was waiting for you the moment you cleared the flames. 

__

You had received more than your fair share of lectures in the Captain’s office at the 10-19. Gabe had a particular style to his, a sly glint in his eyes that told you that it was a formality, that he was really on your side, that he appreciated the ways that you chose to break procedure. He was the same sort of reckless that you were, after all. 

David Shaw was not a reckless man. He was tolerant of it. He was a planner, a strategist, and when one of his chess pieces moved without his permission it pissed him off. You could appreciate his need for control, even if it rubbed awkwardly against your own tendencies at times. 

You weren’t going to change, though. There was something broken inside of you that made you throw yourself into actual, literal fires. David wasn’t going to pull the strings of that particular complex out from the jagged edges of you. That wasn’t going to stop him from trying, of course. For as broken and fucked up as you were, David was equally stubborn and hopeful. 

You sat, legs crossed under your boots smearing dirt across David’s fancy armchair, waiting for the Captain to find a moment to read you the riot act. No matter what David said, there was a quiet, still satisfaction sitting in your gut when you delivered Milo to Sammy’s waiting care. You’d reached back to pull him off the edge, and you’d done it. If just one thing had gone wrong, Milo would be dead. But it hadn’t. It hadn’t. 

“You already know what I’m going to say.” David sighed as he entered. You’d expected more of the yelling that you’d received on the scene, but he just sounded tired. He sounded like that more and more often these days. 

“‘You’re fired?’” You offered, eyeing the soft-lit lamp on the left side of David’s desk. If you stared long enough into its bulb, it burned an impression of itself into your eyes. 

“You’re an idiot.” David corrected, his voice quiet but dripping with venom. “You’re reckless. You could have gotten yourself killed.” 

You nodded along to each accusation. You remained silent, plead guilty. 

“You saved his life.” 

You met David’s eyes, the blue-white ghost of the lamplight blotting out details of his face. The gentle frown lines that curved around his mouth. The bags that sat, deep and seemingly constant, under his sharp, dark eyes. 

“I did.” You replied. David held your gaze for a long, tense moment. 

“I’m not writing you up.” David kicked back in his chair, running his hands over his face. “I should, but that’s an immediate dismissal, so… Merry Christmas, I guess.” 

“It’s not-”

“It’s twelve-thirty.” David gestured to his desk clock. You blinked. 

“Huh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I didn’t get you anything.” 

David stared across the desk at you, his face unreadable. 

“You saved Milo’s life.” He shrugged. 

“Merry fucking Christmas.” 

That one made him laugh, soft and exhausted. 

“What about the other vic?” You asked, leaning forward as David eased back into something resembling relaxation. “The one Milo spotted.” David clicked a few things on his desktop, squinted through the blue light as he pulled the report. 

“No remains found on the premises.” He shrugged. “The back exit was open, though, so somebody could have gotten out. We’ll have to ask Milo when he wakes up.”

“That’s fucking weird, though.” You said. “Milo said he was on his feet. The fire broke out on that wall, it was hot as fuck back there. I don’t why he wouldn’t have left sooner.” 

“Milo’s getting released from the hospital in a few hours.” David said softly. “You’ll just have to be patient. Go get some rest.” He said, standing and popping his back. You rose, stretched out your sore fingers. As you turned to leave, David’s voice stopped you in your tracks. “And if you do that shit again…” hesitation painted his tone. You turned, faced down his threat head on. “I’ll… I don’t know. Strangle you or something.” 

You snorted, turning back towards the door. 

“Copy that, Cap.”

[zepskies]

@lamentationsofalonelypotato

Merry Christmas, my friend!! ❤️💚 First of all, I'm so honored that 'Twas the Night gave you some inspiration! 🥹 I'm excited to dive into this special Christmas edition of Take a Chance.

Aww poor Ben. I love how we start with shading in his past Christmases compared to what he's starting to experience now with the reader. We come at it from the same angle of headcanon, that Ben's mom was the only person who truly loved him in his family. So it was such a good detail that after she died, Christmases became just more of the same toxic/apathetic atmosphere with his father, compounded by the impact of his mom's death.

Of course he's having a hard time choosing a proper Christmas gift for her, because when was the last time he gave someone a gift because he genuinely loved them? I feel like Countess wouldn't be a good example lol. So what's going to be a reflection of the relationship he has now? Especially because she's not one for flashiness, or more materialistic gifts.

And as much as Ben loved that about you, it was only making this worse for him.

Yup. 😂😂

"Still not quite right?" She asks, adjusting the sleeves of her navy blue blazer. "We have some bigger jewel-" "It's not the fucking size." Ben snaps frustrated.

Lmfao come on, Ben. Let's not take this out on others. 🤣

"I'm not your fucking buddy." Ben sighs under his breath.

Okay, Ben. You do you. 🤣🤣

Ben had no intention of setting foot inside, but you were curious and even though it made Ben's throat tight to walk down the dusty cobwebbed halls, the wonder on your face as you walked through made the cold memories of the world he knew before he was a supe fade into the background. And this storage unit was all that was left of that life.

Wow, that's so interesting. Taking a trip literally through Memory Lane and walking through his family's mansion. I've never thought about that before, but I imagine it would be one of those things that Ben, for the longest time, couldn't bring himself to sell, but also couldn't visit. Like a mausoleum of his old life.

When Ben opens the trunk, he catches the smell of the floral perfume his mother used to wear and after all these years it makes him remember the tight hugs she'd give him the moment she sent him off to bed and the tight hugs she'd given him when he rushed down the stairs on Christmas morning.

You're killin' me, friend!! 😭😭

Something that you would have ended up doing about an hour before you had to go to the airport, but you knew that would only annoy Ben. But you liked annoying him.

Lmaooo deeply relatable. I feel like it would be oh so funny to intentionally getting on his nerves (knowing he wouldn't hurt you). 😂

He might not have been big on sharing, but your boyfriend was good at listening. Not just pretending to listen, but actually being quiet and wanting to learn more about what you're saying. You'd thought it was odd when you became roommates and you realized just how much Ben listened and remembered what you told him, but now it was one of the reasons that made you love your boyfriend more.

Oh, it's because he actually cares. 💗

In all honesty, you didn't hate how old fashioned Ben was, if anything it was a relief, a reprieve from the way the modern boys treated women. It was nice to finally be with a man who actually gave a shit about you and cared what you wanted.

People want to think there aren't any good aspects to "traditional/old-fashioned" men, but for the men who are actually good men, traditional doesn't necessarily mean outdated or toxic, so thank you for including this tidbit.

Her gift to him was so very sweet!! Of course she made him something heartfelt, and he appreciated it because it was a genuine "first" for him, having someone give him a hand-made gift from the heart. 💚💚💚

And his gift to her was absolutely perfect. 🥹 A keepsake from his mother? Him basically saying he wishes she could've met his girl? I'm dying of happiness from the sheer fluff. 😭💗

This was a beautiful addition to the Take a Chance story, and kind of feels like an epilogue in a way, even though I know you're working on that one too. I loved this, friend!!

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV and Reader POV

Summary:  All Soldier Boy wants for Christmas is to find the perfect gift for you and all you want is for your boyfriend to have the best Christmas he has in forty years. Reader is a supe with plant powers. (Takes place in my Take A Chance On Me Series- 4 months after they get together, but can be read as stand alone!)

Tropes: Established Relationship, First Christmas, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy

Word Count: 8.5K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Illusions to Sex, Fluff, Soft Soldier Boy, A little bit of self-deprecating thoughts, Soldier Boy is Mean to Hughie, Mention of drinking/drugs, Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Take A Chance On Me Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Song Inspiration: Little Things By ABBA

A/N: I know I should be working on the epilogue of "Take a Chance on Me," but @zepskies wrote a lovely Christmas fic called 'Twas the Night for Dean Winchester, and it really just got me in a mood to write some Christmas Fluff! 🥰

Soldier Boy POV

Ben frowned at the delicate necklace laid on the black velvet cloth in front of him, the 10 carat diamonds catching in the brilliant lights that lined the ceiling of the jewelry store. It was the eleventh piece of jewelry that he'd asked the woman behind the counter to remove from the display case, and it still wasn't right.

Ben had waited until the last possible moment to go Christmas shopping. It wasn't because he'd forgotten or because he'd been so busy he hadn't had time to shop or because he'd been called away on a mission, but rather Ben kept putting it off because he didn't want to think about it.

It was his first Christmas back in the U.S, and it was already proving to be one so different than the ones he'd known before.

Christmas for him in his youth when his mother was alive was filled with light and joy. Each room of his family's mansion strung with tinsel, adorned with holly and festive wreaths, and a Christmas tree so large that it put all others to shame and sent the smell of pine wafting thorough the large home. He remembered the lavish parties his mother threw with women in gorgeous gowns and men dressed in suits taking crystal glasses from silver trays, remembered the warmth in the kitchen as his mother baked and rolled fresh pastry, remembered the taste of the hot chocolate on the tip of his tongue that his mother made him before she sent him to bed on Christmas Eve, and remembered her tight embrace and the smell of her floral perfume on Christmas morning when he'd run down the stairs into the living room.

Ben's jaw tightened.

Christmas without her was different, the large mansion where he lived with his father was cold and dark. The hallways desolate and frozen in the winter months that lead into spring, the kitchen no longer heated by the warmth of the oven or infused with the smell of gingerbread, the parlor no longer tinkling with the sounds of glasses and the laughter of guests, the living room no longer housed a Christmas tree so tall that it made the Eiffel tower look like a trinket, and there were no longer Christmas parties where people danced into the wee hours of the morning and poured themselves into bed smelling of champagne and eggnog.

All that was left was the drunken stupor of his father, the harsh words that echoed down the long hallways, and the urge for Ben to find the nearest bottle and drown himself in it.

Ben spent most of his years as a supe trying to forget the years that followed his mother's death and also his Christmases as a supe washing away the memory of the ones that seemed to be infused with the magic of Christmas in his youth.

Ben spent them at Legend's Christmas party with his woman of the hour clinging to his arm, making painful small talk and waiting until the party turned into a hedonistic thrall of sweat and skin as so many others had. And the next morning when he woke up from the fog, he turned back to the little white line that promised to make him forget and the amber bottle that did little to ease the reality that started to sink in.

But this year was different, because he had you.

You who loved Christmas more than anyone he'd ever met, you who was slowly reminding him how much he used to love Christmas as a child, you who'd dragged him to go Christmas tree shopping before Thanksgiving, you who had encouraged him to help decorate the small apartment the two of you shared with so many Christmas lights it was blinding,  and you who had planned something Christmas themed every week for the past month whether it be baking Christmas cookies or watching Christmas movies while drinking hot chocolate on the couch. And in each moment, you'd found some way to include him in it.

Ben wasn't used to that.

He wasn't used to someone wanting him there with them and someone like you going out of your way to include him in everything you did.

If a person had tried to tell him in the past that he'd ended up with someone like you, someone who smiled easily, someone who always put other people first, someone who actually gave a shit about him, someone who was always so damn warm and welcoming, someone who included in him everything you did in a way that didn't make Ben feel like an old grump, and someone who tried their best to make sure that Ben remembered every day that you wanted him around, he would have laughed in that person's face.

And yet there you were.

Truth be told Ben knew that the old version of him probably wouldn't have let someone like you close to him, let alone fall in love with them.

Ben hadn't met anyone else like you in the numerous years he'd been alive and he really didn't want to fuck it up. He'd fucked up so many other things in his life and he hadn't cared, but if it involved you, he wouldn't dare.

Hence, the current dilemma of him standing in the crowded Tiffany store at 8 pm two days before Christmas with you waiting at home for him to exchange gifts. Ben wanted to pick the perfect gift for you, but nothing felt right.

He'd never given much thought to what to buy someone for Christmas. In the past usually an expensive piece of jewelry, a handbag, a dress, or a car would have made any of Ben's many escapades swoon, but not you. Ben had tried to give you jewelry before, expensive jewelry that would have made any of those other women drop to their knees, but you were different.

And as much as Ben loved that about you, it was only making this worse for him.

The one time that he'd tried to give you a gift outright, a beautiful diamond and emerald drop pendant with earrings to match, you hadn't been impressed. Sure, you'd thought that it was beautiful, but you'd told him that you liked gifts that "meant something."

Whatever the fuck that meant.

And he knew for a fact that the 10 carat diamond necklace on the velvet pillow in front of him would mean nothing to you.

"Fuck." Ben murmured under his breath, and the saleswoman stiffened.

"Still not quite right?" She asks, adjusting the sleeves of her navy blue blazer. "We have some bigger jewel-"

"It's not the fucking size." Ben snaps frustrated.

He was running late.  He knew that you were waiting at home for him to bring back dinner and to give him his present, the one that he was sure would be thoughtful and perfect for him because you were always so damn caring.

The other shoppers were pushing and shoving their way to the counters where other salespeople stood in identical navy blazers and white button down shirts, the tension and buzz of two days to Christmas electrifying the air, while Christmas music that Ben couldn't recognize played in the background.

His supe hearing made it worse. Sometimes it was a bit overwhelming and as much as Ben pretended that he didn't have PTSD, he did. Being surrounded by this many people was not helping. It was in moments like this when you were there, would hold entwine your fingertips with his and brush your thumb gently over the back of his hand to ground him as if you could sense his discomfort.

Ben hadn't ever had someone care enough to notice things like that. Another reason why he wanted to find you the perfect gift, because you put up with all his shit and didn't ask for anything in return.

"Ben?" He hears a familiar voice ask, hesitant, and he turns to see Annie standing a few feet inside the open doorway. S

he's wearing a black puffer jacket and her hair is hidden under a red stocking cap, while Hughie holds the door for her. Hughie's arms were laden down with bags while Annie's remained bare. The winter wind blew in through the space, flecking bits of snow onto the rugs that had been laid out to avoid the customers sliding through the sludge.

"Hey." Ben grunts, not quite smiling.

He wasn't good at talking to your best friend or her boyfriend. Personally he thought that Hughie was a fucking pussy and that he didn't have the balls to tell Annie no, but the one time Ben had told you that, you'd only rolled your eyes and told him that Hughie "loved Annie."

Ben loved you and he did have the balls to tell you no, but Ben thought that sometimes it was better to keep his mouth shut and do what you asked. Not to mention Ben hated saying no to you when it was something that could make you happy. Ben liked making you as happy as you made him. 

He flinched at the thought. The self-deprecating monologue was beginning to seep in, the one that told him you were turning him into a "pussy" and that he should cut and run. The same monologue that made him make a mistake and run back to Vought a few months ago when he should have run to you.

Ben shakes it off.

"What are you doing here? I thought you two were going to leave this morning for Illinois?" Annie asks in surprise used to Ben's grouchy demeanor.

Your grandmother turned Christmas into a two day extravaganza, complete with a Christmas Eve and a Christmas Day party. And although Ben and you were supposed to begin the 14 hour drive to Illinois this morning, your grandmother had insisted the two of you catch a flight first thing tomorrow.

"Decided to catch a flight tomorrow." Ben replies.

Ben was secretly happy, because flying meant that he wasn't going to have to drive 14 hours in the snow. The two of you had driven to Illinois once before, and Ben hadn't minded it. You’d been more upset with him for not letting you drive, but Ben liked driving. Driving meant that he was in control and in an emergency situation he wouldn't have to reach over the console and yank the wheel to save the two of you and driving meant that you could relax in the passenger seat and work on whatever it was you were crocheting.

"Like us!" Hughie flashes Ben a wide smile that Ben doesn't feel the need to return. “You should have told us. We could have all traveled together!”

Ben's frown deepens at the thought at being stuck in a metal tube for hours with Hughie and he knew that if you were here you would probably elbow him in the side and tell him to "be nice." If anyone had ever tried to do that to him in the past, he would have ripped their arm off, but not you.

"Last minute shopping?" Hughie asks trying again.

Ben dragged his eyes over the numerous bags hanging from Hughie's arms. "Yeah. You too?"

"Mhmm. We just finished." Annie replies. Her gaze drops to the diamond necklace on top of the display case that the saleswoman is fiddling with. "Is that for-"

"No. Of course not!" Ben says sharper than he means to, shoulders tensing. But him standing in this store when he knew that you were waiting at home for him to celebrate Christmas made him feel like Annie and Hughie had caught him red-handed. "She doesn't like jewelry." He adds referring to you as he takes a step back from the counter and the sales associate who looks confused.

“But sir-“ The woman begins to say, but Ben waves a hand to shut her up.

"Why do you think that?" Annie asks interrupting the woman.

"Because she yelled at me when I bought her that diamond and emerald necklace!" He shouts so loud that some of the other customers turn to stare at him. "This was a fucking mistake, I have to go-" Ben starts to stomp out the door and past Annie not sure where he's going, but she shifts to stand in his way. His eyes narrow in annoyance, thinking about all the ways that he could move her.

He only put up with Annie because she was your best friend and he knew that if he did anything to her then it would upset you, and Ben didn't like upsetting you.

Well, he did think that it was cute when you got angry with him. Your eyebrows scrunched together, your cheeks turned a cute shade of pink, and your eyes seemed to glow with the force of your anger. There were few people who had the courage to tell him off, but the more you did it, the more he started to like it.

But this was different, and now thinking about you only reminded him of his current dilemma.

"Ben, wait a minute." Annie says.

"What?" He snaps

He could practically feel the seconds ticking away until he had to go back to the apartment. It was the first time that he'd ever dreaded going home and seeing you and fuck he hated every single moment of it.

"She does like jewelry." Annie's mouth drops into a sympathetic smile.

Ben tried not to get more angry when he saw the pitying look in her eye. He didn't need her pity, didn't need anyone's pity! He was still Soldier Boy damnit!

"Then why the fuck did she-"

"She doesn't like this kind of jewelry." Annie clarifies. "She like vintage stuff, simple, refined. Hell, I have to practically drag her away from the display cases at Atomic Archives."

"Atomic Archives?" Ben asks hesitantly. He had no idea what Annie was talking about. You'd never mentioned that place before.

"Yeah, it's our favorite antique store. It’s about two blocks over from where the plant shop used to be.”

"Can you show me where it is?" Ben says it before he can stop himself, his heart surging with hope at the possibility of finding the perfect gift for you.

"I mean I-" Annie begins to say, but Hughie interrupts.

"Babe, didn’t you say that the owner was closed this week because she went out of town?" Hughie asks her, throwing a sympathetic look in Ben's direction that made him bristle.

"Oh, right." Annie sighs.

Ben felt the hope inside pop and deflate like a pricked balloon, but the longer he stood there in the crowded shop, with the ostentatious jewelry twinkling under the lights, the buzz of the chatter of other shoppers, and the ridiculous new-age Christmas music that grated on his ears, he began to have an idea.

"Come on." Ben might have said it as a suggestion, but it wasn’t open for debate. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he needed Annie and unfortunately that meant that Hughie was going to tag along.

"What?" Annie sputtered.

"Come the fuck on. I don’t have time for this." Ben snaps back and stomps out the doorway past Annie and Hughie into the snow.

"But what about-" Hughie begins to say and Ben whirls around to glare at him, eyes narrowing. "Okay you got it. Lead the way buddy." Hughie nods his head in agreement.

"I'm not your fucking buddy." Ben sighs under his breath.

Soldier Boy POV

"This place is really murdery." Ben hears Hughie whisper to Annie from somewhere behind him. "Do you think Ben is going to try to kill us? Should I call Butc-"

"I'm not going to fucking kill you!" Ben snaps, pulling out his keys, the jingle of the metal echoing down the long hallway. "And I guess you really can't make a decision without that British fuck can you?”

The storage unit warehouse was desolate, but that was to be expected, it was after all two days to Christmas and most were more focused on buying things to put in their storage units than moving things out. The lights along the roof of the steel gray hallway flicker and throw long shadows over the navy blue doors of the units doing little to alleviate the creepy aura.

In hindsight Ben did agree that this particular storage space was "murdery," but it was the only one that he could get close to the apartment last minute. The same apartment that Ben has been trying to convince you to move out of.

It wasn't the safest neighborhood, and Ben hated the thought that you'd lived there as long as you had, walking home at night alone before he moved in. Now it wasn't a problem because Ben never let you walk by yourself. And as hard as you'd fought him not to live in a "big fancy apartment" all Ben wanted was to live somewhere where he could imagine staying permanently. Not in a small one bedroom apartment where he had to stoop in the shower, the bed barely fit in the bedroom, and seemed too small for one person let alone two.

He knew that he was wearing you down, but he still had a long way to go.

"Why are we here then?" Hughie asks.

"You're here because your girlfriend wouldn’t come without you.” Ben rolls his eyes as he fits the key into the thick padlock.

He was getting tired of listening to Hughie’s whining. He heard enough of that when he was stuck on missions with him, but he was tolerating him, for the moment at least. He had to, because if he didn't then he was never going to be able to find the perfect gift for you.

The interior of the storage unit isn't anything special. Ben didn't have much that he wanted to keep from his old life, as a supe or from his childhood. The things inside this storage unit were the only things that Ben had left that didn't cause him to be reminded of how his father chastised him or the drafty home that Ben returned to each time he got kicked out of another boarding school.

The mansion that had been in his family for decades had sat abandoned and locked up, hidden from the main roads so it was undisturbed after Ben's father died. Ben had gone to Philadelphia a few months ago to get things in order with the bank and prepare it for sale, but had been surprised when you told him you wanted to come.

He didn't think that you'd want to be involved in something so tedious, but it was almost as if you could sense how hard it was going to be for him, and you'd insisted.

Ben had no intention of setting foot inside, but you were curious and even though it made Ben's throat tight to walk down the dusty cobwebbed halls, the wonder on your face as you walked through made the cold memories of the world he knew before he was a supe fade into the background.

And this storage unit was all that was left of that life.

Ben located the old steamer trunk with ease. It was a faded gray now, but Ben remembered the day his father bought it for his mother. When the grayed sides were a soft supple black, the metal lock and edging were a polished gold, and the rose patterned fabric that lined the inside was soft and covered in bright pink flowers.

When Ben opens the trunk, he catches the smell of the floral perfume his mother used to wear and after all these years it makes him remember the tight hugs she'd give him the moment she sent him off to bed and the tight hugs she'd given him when he rushed down the stairs on Christmas morning.

He didn't like thinking about her or talking about her, but sometimes he would think of her when he was with you. Whenever you did something caring without being asked or whenever you took the time to check in to see how he was doing. Not that you were motherly, just that Ben hadn't had anyone in a long time care about little things like that.

The only other "relationship" he'd tried to have was with Crimson Countess and she didn't do any of the things for him that you did. There wasn't any comparison between the two of you as far as Ben was concerned.

He shakes off the memory the way he always does and moves some of his mother's clothes for the cherry wood carved box that he knows is in the bottom.

He opens it slowly, extracting a small velvet box from within, one of many inside that Ben probably should have taken to the bank ages ago for safe keeping. Ben's father had a tendency to buy things for his mother whenever he "messed up" and the small velvet boxes inside were proof of that.

Ben turns back to where Annie and Hughie are watching with curiosity at the door of the storage unit. "Here."

"Here?" Annie says hesitantly looking at the velvet box in Ben's hand.

"You brought us out here for a box?" Hughie huffs.

Ben narrows his eyes. "No. And if you tell anyone about this I'll turn you inside out, ass-wipe."

"Why do you always have to be so-" Hughie begins to say, but Annie nudges him in the side.

Ben wondered briefly if Annie and Hughie also tried to tolerate him the same way that he tolerated them for you.  

"Wow." Annie says, her voice hushed and reverent when she opens the box with strands of her blonde hair falling out around the hat.

"You think she'll like it?" Ben clears his throat, trying not to wince at the question.

He hated that he was relying on Annie for this or relying on anyone in general. Ben would have rather taken a long walk off a short pier than anyone for help, but he was just so desperate to make sure that the first Christmas the two of you spent together was perfect.

You deserved that and Ben wanted to give it to you.

"She will."

"Good." Ben takes the box back, but decides to bring the wooden box with him back to the apartment just in case. His eyes narrow as he looks over at Hughie. "If you tell anyone about this, I'll shove your head up Butcher's ass. Then again, you two would probably enjoy something like that."

"You're welcome." Annie raises an eyebrow.

"Whatever." Ben mutters.

Reader POV

Ben was late and you were starting to worry.

Not that Ben was always punctual. The man was about as punctual as the White Rabbit, but rather Ben was sure to let you know when he was running late. Not to mention Ben was rarely late to things that he knew were important to you.

And tonight was special or at least you wanted it to be.

You look at your phone again to check the time, noting that it was nearing nine and Ben had told you he was going to be back at eight. You were trying not to think too much about it, busying yourself with other little things, like packing for your trip to your grandmother's home in Illinois. Something that you would have ended up doing about an hour before you had to go to the airport, but you knew that would only annoy Ben.

But you liked annoying him.

Ben's nostrils would flare, his jaw would flex, and the green of his eyes would darken in a way that sent a pleasurable shiver down his spine, but tonight you were too anxiety ridden at how late he was to care about making him annoyed.

Ben and you were supposed to leave this morning to drive the 14 hours to your hometown in Illinois, but you'd called your grandmother a few days ago and asked her if Ben and you could fly in instead.

You wanted the two of you have a Christmas alone before you dragged him back home and made him sit through the two holiday parties your grandmother threw. So you'd planned a quiet Christmas at home where the two of you could drink eggnog, watch some holiday movies, and exchange gifts before Ben was subjected to every single person you'd known since you were six.

But Ben didn’t seem to mind any of that.

Regardless, you were going all out this Christmas. It was Ben's first since he'd come back to the States and you wanted it to be perfect and it was the first Christmas the two of you were spending together as a couple.

The anxious energy that thrummed through your veins reached out into the numerous plants in your apartment, that shifted and stirred as your powers coaxed them forward. The vines that crept along the walls shook with an unnatural breeze, the Christmas tree grew an inch taller, the mistletoe hanging above the front door grew another few shimmering berries, the blackberry and raspberry vines that hung over your refrigerator fidgeted and wove together into a curtain while the tomato plant in the garden box above your sink dropped bright red fruit onto the counter, and the orange/lemon tree that sat behind your kitchen table blocking the view of the alley beyond shook it's branches for a moment. You could feel everything alive in your apartment leaning towards you as if waiting for your silent command.

Rex, the creature you'd created from broken vines and trampled leaves four months ago, flicks his eyes over to you sensing the same disturbance the rest of the plants inside could.

You bite the inside of your cheek fighting your urge to check your phone even though you know that less than a minute has passed since you'd last checked. Instead you fiddle with the ribbon on the lumpy wrapped gift that is perched on your lap.

Shopping for Ben had been difficult to say the least.

You weren't sure what to get your 104 boyfriend who'd lived as a hedonistic playboy for most of his life and you didn't like giving gift cards (you didn't think Ben would understand the concept) or giving people meaningless trinkets that they used once and then threw away (the Grinch was right about some things). You liked giving gifts that you put time and effort into that you were sure the recipient was going to love.

And you were sure that the package on your lap contained the perfect gift and you were excited to see the look on Ben's face when he unwrapped it.

Your cat Bean purrs where he sits beside you on the couch and Rex your, for lack of a better word, Dragon was watching the multicolored lights on the Christmas tree in the corner blink on and off.

It was bigger for your apartment than it should be, but Ben had insisted on getting it and you couldn't complain. Not when he genuinely seemed to be happy to stand there in the snow picking out a tree with you.

And after when no Uber driver agreed to pick the two of you up because of the tree, Ben had carried it on his shoulder fifteen blocks while you begged him to let you help. When you'd tried to take some of the tree, Ben had shifted it to his other shoulder and taken your hand instead, which wasn't what you meant when you reached out towards him, but you didn't let go, not when it was cold and Ben's hand was warm.

The one jammed into the corner of your small living room didn't have a leaf out of place or any signs of decay. You'd fixed that with a flick of a finger.

You'd gone all out with decorations.

Every plant in your apartment had lights of their own and ornaments that swung just out of reach from your pets. Christmas lights were strung down the hallway and there was a wreath on your bedroom door. Strands of mistletoe hung over every doorway in your apartment and there was one taped to the wall above your bed. That one was Ben's doing, but you couldn't complain, not when it felt so damn good to kiss him.

Ben hadn't spoken about the Christmases he spent in the past, but he'd listened to you talk about your Christmases growing up when the two of you decorated the tree with ornaments you'd collected over the years.

He might not have been big on sharing, but your boyfriend was good at listening. Not just pretending to listen, but actually being quiet and wanting to learn more about what you're saying. You'd thought it was odd when you became roommates and you realized just how much Ben listened and remembered what you told him, but now it was one of the reasons that made you love your boyfriend more.

You sighed, a happy smile on your face. You didn't think that you could feel this way about anyone, let alone someone you hated for so long, but you did. Ben was changing the belief you had about what relationships should look like, and you were sure that you were doing the same for him.

You hear the jingle of keys and the fumble of the doorknob as Ben slowly opens the front door and you leap from the couch.

"You're home!" You exclaim as your body hits his full speed, but he doesn't move. It was difficult for you to produce enough force to move him, difficult for anyone really.

Ben chuckles "Miss me Petals?"

He moves the plastic bag of Chinese food to his left hand so he can hug you back, his right hand fitting comfortably over the small of your back to hold you tighter against him.

You could remember the first time you hugged him, when all he did was stand there with his hands at his sides awkwardly while you held on to him as tight as you could. This was better. Ben's embrace is warm and strong, unyielding, but full of the love that he’d had such a hard time admitting.

"Yes." You squeeze him hard, smiling into his jacket that's flecked with melting snow, cold against your skin, but the warmth of his body soaks through the chill and into you. You sigh, nuzzling further into him. "I was worried-"

"Why?" Ben's voice rumbles through his chest, against your cheek.

"Because you weren't home yet." You pull back to stare up at him. His brilliant green eyes catch in the multicolored strands of Christmas lights, strung through your apartment. There's snow caught in his dark hair, turning to water and dripping down into his face in the warmth of the apartment.

Ben frowns. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. You're here now." You smile arching up to kiss him. Ben groans into your mouth, his grip on you tightening as he deepens the kiss, pressing the hand on the small of your back just a little more to secure you against his chest.

You sigh softly, content in living in this moment with him for another few precious seconds. The heat of his body transferring into you the longer you stand pressed against him, soaking through your sweatpants and chunky sweater in the best way.

You'd never felt this way about anyone in the past. There hadn't been another boyfriend who'd treated you the way Ben did, no other boyfriend who'd cared about the little things, and no other boyfriend who you were so in love with. Even your first love so long ago faded into the background, the one you thought you'd never get over, and all that was left was Ben.

You're too excited about giving Ben his gift to eat. You sit cross-legged on the plush gray couch so close to him that your knees are touching the outside of his thigh as Ben places the boxes of food onto your coffee table. The anxious energy tingling in the pit of your stomach and buzzing in your chest so much that it's difficult to sit still.

And before Ben can give you your chopsticks, you thrust the lumpy wrapped package onto his lap with a wide smile.

"You first!" You say.

Ben shakes his head. "It should be ladies first."

“I’m not a lady Ben. We both know that-“

“Sorry sweetheart that’s the way it goes.”

“Don't be so old fashioned Gramps. It's 2024.” You roll your eyes at him, laughing at the cute frown that pulls at his lips when you use the nickname. Ben never liked it, but when you'd first met, Ben hadn't told you his real name, and you'd assigned him the nickname and it had stuck when you realized how much it annoyed him.

That was when he did everything in his power to annoy you as well, so it seemed like a good fit.

In all honesty, you didn't hate how old fashioned Ben was, if anything it was a relief, a reprieve from the way the modern boys treated women. It was nice to finally be with a man who actually gave a shit about you and cared what you wanted.

"And I really want you to open yours first." You plead as you lean towards him. "Oh, and this goes with it."

You reach down behind the couch to grab the small golden barrel cactus, avoiding the sharp yellow spines, and place it on the minimal space left on the coffee table. You'd crocheted a dark green sleeve to go around the terra cotta pot.

"You got me a cactus?" Ben snorts.

"I mean, I have so many plants in here and I thought that you'd want one that was yours. Plus, you'll never have to water it." You gesture with one hand to the numerous plants around the room, the ones bathed in the multicolored lights from the Christmas Tree, the ones with bright green leaves that unfurled towards the light, the others with hanging vines that trailed to the ground so thick that you couldn't remember the color of the wall, the apple tree with ripe red fruit, and the numerous herbs in the garden box that hung over your kitchen sink. "And I gave it a sweater."

"Why did you give it a sweater?"

"It’s used to a warm climate and because I had some yarn left over."

"From?"

"You're just going to have to open your gift and find out." You shrug, but can barely contain your excitement.

Ben shakes his head at you, but a smile twitches on the corner of his lips. You knew that your boyfriend loved you because you were different than anyone he'd ever met, and you reveled in that. You liked that even though Ben was older than you,  that no matter how many other experiences he'd had in his life,  you were a first for him just as Ben was a first for you.

He rips through the paper carefully, trying hard not to ruin what was inside, the sound of crinkling and tearing blocking out the Christmas playlist for a moment that you'd put on before Ben had come home, but you can hear the ABBA song clear as day.

For a moment he stares down at the gift not quite comprehending what the lumpy mass in his lap is, but then he picks it up.

It had taken a month for you to pick out the perfect dark green yarn that was soft but not too soft, green but not too green, and another two months for you to finish it when Ben wasn't home, but you were proud of the sweater that you'd made your boyfriend.

He stares at it for another few beats, holding it up to the light, and it makes you worry that maybe you should have bought him something at the mall instead.

"You made me a sweater?" He asks, there's something on the edge of his voice that you can't place, some traces of emotion that you're not able to identify.

"Yeah. I wanted to make you something." You clear your throat, worried. "I mean- you don't have any and I know that you keep saying you run a little warm, but I figured we're going to Illinois for Christmas and it might be cold."

Ben doesn't say anything and you start to feel the self-doubt come roaring in.

Why did I make him a sweater? I should have bought him some cologne or something.

"And you complained when Butcher sent you on that mission to Alaska last month and I just thought that-“ You press your lips into a tight line, shoulders drooping. “If you don't like it I can keep it for me-" You fumble, but before you can finish, Ben yanks you into his lap.

His hands cup your cheeks as he kisses you so fiercely that it wipes any doubts from your mind. You make a surprised sound in the back of your throat, but sink into the kiss.  “Don’t you fucking dare.” Ben mutters against your lips.

Your blush burns against your face. “You like it?”

He nods. “ No one’s ever made me anything before.” His voice comes out a little bit gruff, as if he’s embarrassed to admit it, but it makes you smile.

“I figured and I wanted to change that.” Your fingertips dance over his forehead, brushing away the hair that’s fallen forward before your hand drops to cup his cheek, feeling the scratch of his beard against the palm of your hand. “But you’re sure you like it?”

Ben kisses you again, his large hands settling on your hips with an encouraging squeeze. “I do.”

“Good. Merry Christmas.” You wrap your arms around the back of his neck to hug him for a minute, sinking into his embrace with a happy smile.

"Merry Christmas doll." Ben murmurs into your hair, affection lacing his words.

Again, you send a mental thank you to your grandmother for understanding that Ben and you needed a day to be together and celebrate the way you wanted to before coming to stay. Not that you didn't like the Christmas Eve party or the Christmas day party, but you wanted to give Ben this. You noticed that Ben still had a hard time being in places with a lot of people when the PTSD came roaring back, and you wanted to show him what Christmas meant to you and hopefully show what Christmas would look like between the two of you as long as you were together.

“Sweetheart you gotta open yours now.” Ben’s voice rumbles, the warmth of his breath on your ear. It makes a pleasurable shiver thrill skate down your spine when you think of all the other times the two of you have been this close.

“It’s okay I can wait.” You hum into his throat, content, but Ben won't give in.

He pushes you back gently from his chest shaking his head. “Too bad. It's your turn."

"Fine." You start to move back to the space beside him, but Ben's hands catch on your hips to stop you.

"I didn't say I wanted you to move did I?" His smile turns more smirk.

"I-"

"How many times do I have to tell you that I like having you on top of me?" Ben purrs, kissing under your jaw, his beard scratching in a way that makes your throat tight.

"Keep doing that and the only thing I'm going to unwrap is you." You sigh in a half-moan, fingers curling into the hair at the base of his neck.

"After." Ben leans back to reach into his coat pocket and pulls out a small black velvet box that fits in the palm of your hand.

You hesitate to open it.

It wasn't that you didn't want jewelry for Christmas, it was that Ben and you had done this song and dance before after he tried to make you wear a diamond and emerald necklace with jewels bigger than your index, middle, and third finger put together. The whole time you wore it the only thing you could think about is how many groceries you could have bought with the necklace, how much you were afraid that it was going to break, and how much you feared that you were going to lose it or someone was going to try and steal it.

Maybe that was ridiculous, but extravagant gifts never appealed to you. You liked gifts that meant something, gifts that were heartfelt and thoughtful, gifts like the bookshelf Ben had gotten you months ago before you were dating because he noticed you needed one. Not to mention you loved just spending time with Ben. If he hadn't gotten you anything you would have been content with just sitting with him on the couch and watching a Christmas movie.

But you smile, because you don't want to hurt his feelings and because it's his first Christmas in forty years and you wanted it to be special.

It's Christmas and I will be thankful and happy with whatever he got me, because Ben was thinking of me when he bought it.

You think to yourself as you open the box.

The first thing you notice is that the box isn't as new as you thought, the inside of the lid is printed in ancient script that's a little faded, worn against the aged white silk that lines it. Your eyes drift to the piece of jewelry nestled on the pillow. It's a silver locket, hexagon shaped, and about the size of your thumb. The face is printed with weaving ivy leaves and roses that reach to a simple plain border.

Simple, stately, and completely you.

Ben is uncharacteristically quiet, but he breaks the silence first. "Do you-" He clears his throat, "Do you like it?"

He asks it hesitantly, as if he's afraid to hear your answer. It was unusual for Ben to look so nervous.

You can only nod, any words you had stuck in the back of your throat. Your fingernail finds the seam between the two pieces of metal and you gently unlatch the locket to see the picture inside. There's a piece of glass protecting a yellowed photo of a little boy who looks no more than five standing in a small black suit. You didn't think that they made suits for kids that small. He's smiling and one of his teeth are missing, but he looks oddly familiar.

"Who is this?" You ask. The more you look at the photo the more you think that you've seen him before.

"It's me." He says it quiet, almost a whisper.

"You? But-"

"It was my mother's." He clarifies and you inhale sharply in surprise.

"Really?"

He nods once, looking uncomfortable. By now you knew that moments like this usually made your boyfriend uncomfortable no matter how many times that you'd told him that he didn't have to be uncomfortable about being vulnerable. He was getting a little better, slowly, very slowly.

"Oh Ben I don't know if I should-" You shake your head, afraid to touch something so old.

Ben didn't often speak about his mother, but when he did, it was always reverent and respectful. You could see in his eyes how much he had loved her and how much he had cared about her. His father, Ben also didn't like talking about, but Ben never spoke of his father with the kindness that he'd spoke about his mother.

And you didn't want to take something like this away from him, something that meant so much to him, because of how much he loved his mother.

"No. I-" He clears his throat and Ben's hand tightens on your waist. "I want you to have it."

"But-" You stutter.

"What else am I going to do with it Petals? Can't exactly wear it myself." Ben chuckles, but the humor doesn't quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah, but it’s your mom’s and I-“ You trail off still looking at the photo of Ben as a little boy. He had the same mischievous twinkle in his eyes that you loved, the same unruly dark hair, but there was something different about him. He looked happier. It was the same look that Ben had when it was just the two of you together, the happiness that you wanted Ben to feel the rest of his life when he understood what it was like to be loved and cherished.

And it made you understand that the last time Ben must have felt loved and cherished was when his mother was still alive. It broke your heart to know that Ben had lived all these years without her and missed that in his life.

The locket was beautiful and the fact that Ben remembered what you said about liking gifts that “meant something” made your heart flutter.

Because this meant something. Ben taking the time to go through his mother’s jewelry and pick something out just for you that was special to him that he wanted to share with you, meant more than the emerald and diamond necklace he had tried to give you months ago.

There were tears burning behind your eyes the more you look at the photo of the little boy.

Ben is watching you. “Well-“ He shrugs. “I'm an only child. Which means I don't have any siblings who have wives to fight over this stuff so, I figured that if anyone was going to get it, it should be you. If you don't take it, it'll sit in that fucking storage unit. Seems like a shame."

You don't answer.

"And-" He hesitates, "I think my mom would have wanted you to have it. Hell, she might have given it to you, if I'd brought you home to meet her."

Your cheeks flush.

Ben studies you for another minute, before you watch his smile twitch into a frown. "Fuck, I knew I shouldn't have gotten you jewelry.  Annie said that you liked jewelry, but I told her you didn't and now the bitch is probably having a good laugh with that pussy of a boyfriend! Forget about it sweetheart, I'll go get you something else right now-" Ben tries to take the box from you, but you swat his hand away.

“Don't you fucking dare!” You shout, using the same words that he said to you when you tried to take his sweater away.

"But you don't like it-"

"I do!  And knowing how much this means to you, makes it better."

"Really?"

You nod, a wide smile wiping away any uncertainty in his gaze. "Will you help me put it on?"

"Sure." Ben says gruffly. His voice has lowered a little, and you know that it's a mixture of pride and love mingling in the tone. It made something break open deep inside and flood your ribcage with love.

You turn your neck to the side, pulling your hair away from the skin as Ben hooks the chain together at the nape of your neck.  The cool metal of the necklace against your skin and the weight are unfamiliar, but you already knew that you wouldn’t be taking it off anytime soon. "It's perfect!" You pull Ben in for a kiss, threading your fingers into his dark hair.

Ben smiles into your mouth, holding you tight against him as if he never wants to let you go and you don't want him to.

It was odd to think that you'd only been together for four months, but you couldn't imagine your life without him. It seemed ridiculous for you to think that Ben was it after such a short time, but he was. You'd never rushed into anything in your entire life, but then Ben was there shattering every expectation that you had, enough to make you throw your inhibitions to the wind and jump feet first into the unknown if it meant he was with you.

The kiss is softer than the one the two of you shared at your front door, filled with more emotion than Ben usually let the world see, but he was opening up bit by bit, learning that you wouldn't judge him for that and it made you feel sky high.

This was the relationship you'd always wanted, and you never thought that you'd have it with Ben, but now that you were here you wouldn't change a thing, because it wouldn’t have put you in his arms.

"You can change the picture." Ben murmurs into your lips.

"No way. I don't have any kid photos of you. And I'm pretty sure you'll see all of mine this week.”

“I bet you were cute.” Ben smiles, raising one of the hands from your hip to push your hair from your face. “Hard to imagine you being any other way sweetheart.” 

"Debatable." You sigh, nipping at his bottom lip in a way that makes Ben pull you back to him.

And when the kiss turns hungry, with you gripping his hair so tight you'd be sure that it would hurt anyone else, and with his fingers pushing up the bottom of your t-shirt to feel the warmth of your skin against his hands and find the dips and curves of your body that make you moan into his mouth, you can't help but think that this is the best Christmas you'd ever had.

"I do think it's later sweetheart." Ben's eyes shine with mischief, mouth pulling into the familiar smirk that makes your knees weak.

"Good. Because I have one other gift for you." You moan as Ben's mouth trails down to your jaw, his beard prickling against the sensitive skin, in a way that drives you mad.

"It's not another plant is it?" He bites just under your jaw and you tighten your hands in his hair, gasping softly.  "Fuck, I love those sounds you make baby." Ben murmurs.

"No." You've lost all ability to form sentences, not when he's so perfectly warm and the trail of his hands working up your abdomen consumes you.

"Give it to me later." Ben's eyes flash a startling green. "I want to unwrap my favorite gift right now."

"Keep going the way you are, and you're gonna find it."

Ben hesitates, before he raises his hand to feel the end of the brand new lingerie that you'd bought special for tonight, his eyes darkening with the realization. "Well then, Merry Christmas to me."

Ben's mouth falls against yours, but before he goes further, he pulls back just for a moment, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. Your eyes widen in surprise.

"Ben?" You question. 

"Merry Christmas Petals." He whispers, dragging his thumb over your cheek, and nudges his nose against yours in a gesture that warms your heart. He didn’t do things like that often, but whenever he did it always stood out to you, because it added on another layer to the man you loved with all your heart.

"Merry Christmas Ben."

A/N: I thought that they deserved a little Christmas fluff. I'm hoping that I have time to drop a follow up to this before Christmas, because I kinda want to write what happens when they go back to Illinois, but we'll see what happens! ❤️

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, Likes, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! I love hearing what y'all think 🥰

Taglist for Take A Chance On Me:

@roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @corruptedcruiser @winchesterwild78 @the-super-who-locked-wizard

@criminalyetminimal @52ndstreeet @bitchykittenconnoisseur @anna6307

@faephoria @possiblyafangirl @jqtaro @quietlybitchy @tinydancer40

@roger-that-cap @megara0224 @miskwaadesiwag @rainyeggvoidpurse

@soldiergrimes @tiffsbagels @podiumackles

@ifyouwerethemoon @ririshkin @peachhiz @fitxgrld @sukunassfinger

@xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @ej13928 @deans-spinster-witch @kr804573 @modiddys-blog

@acciosherlockholmes @minas-fantasies @fireskyy

@n-o-p-e-never @nesnejwritings @am0rem @tpwkcalli @momggn

@fitxgrld @whimsicalcherry @ladysparkles78

@spxideyver @zepskies @impala67stellawinchester

@reidtomewinchester @samanthadegaro @glossy01 @nikimisery

@tunnelvisionlove @incandxscents @winchester-stark @samahanta

@melonmochi

@kamisobsessed @whichwitchwanda @karolina-12110905 @jcollins03-blog

@pixviee @filmologetica @yvonneeeee @c1nnamong1rl29 @kmc1989

@livya99 @cherrygirl444 @tulipsvanilla @angrydragon90 @chi-raz

[fantasywater]

Am I on copium? In Sinmas did Stolas finally acknowledge that his infidelity toward Stella was wrong?

All these are the examples of him being remorseless about his adultery:

-The morning after cheating on his wife in their bed.

" That was the sound of a fucking divorce!"

-His wife angrily calls him out for his adultery.

" I didn't have time for a hotel.

-Stella calls him out again on the balcony.

"I would feel bad if I hurt you,but we both know I didn't do that."

-He gets called out again,but this time by her brother.

" Andrephus, cheating implies a betrayal. This women never gave to shits about me or our very much arranged marriage."

Now however,these last two episodes finally held Stolas accountable for his misdeeds of these past two seasons.

Mastermind was his consequences for the book deal.

Sinmas were his consequences for neglecting Octavia.

However with the Karen interaction it seems Sinmas was also finally having Stolas understand that cheating on the mother of his child should not have happened.

The sinner says he left me for a man and then states he probably cheated on me too and deserves to be killed for it.

Blitz and Stolas are increasingly animated to be uncomfortable during the entire dialogue of the sinner because it's hitting to close to home, and then Stolas slides crying to the floor.

He pops back up, and still in full mental breakdown mode, says "maybe selfish men like him deserve to die."

It's obvious the sinner is supposed to be Stella and so Stolas saying that toward a Stella stand in sounds like he finally feels remorse for his transgression against his ex-wife.

No, a death sentence should not be given out for infidelity, but he seems like he finally understands Stella's rage against him that brought her to the point. Not justified,but understandable.

And since these last two episodes were obviously supposed to be Stolas comeuppance I think we are supposed to view him as finally feeling bad for cheating on Stella.

[blubun0309]

[TW // SA mention] + EPIC: The Musical Ithica Saga Spoilers

Can we talk about Odysseus real quick because, dear god, this song is so beautifully poetic

Let's start by addressing my favorite detail: the chorus. The chanting of "Odysseus" in the background. You know why this is important? When have we heard a name being chanted by the chorus in EPIC before? In the songs of GODS and MONSTERS. He's not any man walking in that palace, he's the one who BUILT IT. The man who's survived 20 years of war and bloodshed, the only man who came back alive from a troop of 600 men who fought against Troy and literal Gods. He's the KING of this palace, and they WILL chant his name, wether in fear of him or not.

Odysseus has learned from his journey and how he single-handedly takes down 108 men in a five minute song shows it. He's applying every tactic he learned. He traps them like the cyclops, attacks in his palace like Circe, aims for the torches like Scylla, using ruthlessness like Poseidon. He's become the monster they created.

And the vocal performance is impeccable. Jorge's voice is so amazing, you can HEAR the anger Odysseus has towards these men, who planned to hurt *his* boy, and touch *his* wife. He snarls, he kills, he has no mercy towards these pigs, his mercy has long since died.

And let's address that: He rejects open arms from one of the suitors. Open Arms had been a consistent melody in almost every saga I believe, every time it was something to keep Ody afloat, a melody that reminded him of his best friend, and he clinged onto it in his lowest points. It's not just the melody, it's what it represents. The ideology Polites and, at one point, Odysseus stood by. That they could change the world with kindness and forgiveness. But Ody has gone through enough, and in no situation where he tried to be kind did it work out for him, as he was met with bloodshed and anger. He has no forgiveness left towards the people who've wronged him. But from a different angle, you can see why he rejected open arms from the suitor. After they planned to kill his son and rape his wife, they want MERCY? No. Odysseus won't give them the mercy. They don't deserve it. Killing their leader is not enough, he knows better now. How DARE they use the words of a dead man, his best friend, to save their sorry asses? They have no right to do so.

Odysseus' rage is so powerful because he has had enough. He won't allow these men, ANYONE, to hurt his family, not after everything it took to come back to them. He'll die a cold death before he allows that to happen.

And the suitors, oh they KNOW they fucked up. They know the story of Odysseus, they know how tactical he is, they know. And that's why they *fear* him. That's why they beg for forgiveness they won't receive. It's either beg or die.

However, they have a strong point: Telemachus. Oh, Telemachus, you couldn't have arrived at a worse time. I think it's a bit difficult to catch, but Ody wasn't the one who left the armory unlocked, it was Telemachus. He went in there to get gear and didn't backpedal to close the door. And for that small mistake, they got the upper hand against him. They held down, beat, and hurt him, all to get Ody's attention. Even though Telemachus begs for them to spare him so Odysseus spares them, to have open arms, they still decide to strike. A foolish choice, because Odysseus won't stand for it. How DARE they... How DARE THEY HURT THE YOUNG MAN HE FINALLY GETS TO BE A FATHER TO.

Let me remind you, Odysseus killing all these men is Telemachus' first impression of his father. After 20 years, he's here. In front of him. But he's not the kind and gentle man his mother described him as, he's not the man who spares first. Odysseus is filled with rage, and he doesn't even hesitate as he kills the monsters who have tormented him and his mother for 20 years.

Odysseus is no longer the man he was, nor the monster they've all created. He is the final battle. His theme is the one of a leyend. He's become the final boss. His heart is filled with rage of torment the past 20 years have put him through. And no one will want to mess with the King of Ithica again.

[sera8273]

Despite how fucking heartbreaking and full of comfort the Ithaca Saga is, It cracks me up every time I think about.

Because from the literal Viewer’s perspective, you gotta admit…

Not only did Odysseus, oh I don’t know-

Blinded a God’s son whist making a joke about his one singular eye, proceeded to escape said God from potential death and then when he did infact die from him he then got revived, used a jet pack to beat his ass and fucking torture the said god until he pleaded for fucking mercy-

But he, after all of that, uses the same tactic that Scylla uses, going after the torches, to defeat the suitors and kill them all off.

The same Scylla that not only killed his men that he allowed but the same one that Poseidon is scared of-

Siren Penelope confirms this! “He will chase you high and low, so find a place he’ll never go. The one way you’ll get home is sailing where he’s scared to go.”

I understand that it’s more of a metaphor and he’ll never go there because oh hey reasons of pride and shit but taking this to another perspective makes this funnier, for me atleast-

[ro-is-struggling]

The hell we both made for each other || Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: You love Matt with all your heart, but you can no longer put up with the risks of his double life.

Warnings: ANGST like so much fucking angst, there is no happy ending only tears. Also I wrote this with a fem!reader in mind but I don't think there is any direct mention to the reader's gender, so keep that in mind!

English is not my first language

Word count: 2000

He was late.

Again.

And he stumbled into your apartment, beaten and covered in blood.

Again.

You wanted to ask him to leave and find some other fool who was willing to tend to his wounds.

But you couldn't.

Seeing Matt in that state pained you, but it was also becoming a common sight. You were the one he went to after making his nightly rounds, beating up bad guys and saving innocent people in his attempt to make Hell's Kitchen a safer place. But as much as you wanted to help him heal his wounds and listen to his stories about the evil in the city, it was killing you inside.

Every night was a struggle. You would spend hours curled up on the couch, first aid kit resting on the coffee table next to your phone, waiting for news. Time stopped when the sun went down and didn't go back to normal until you saw the shadow of the Daredevil suit creeping up the hallway. The relief of seeing that he survived another night was always short-lived. The moment you heard his voice everything started moving way too fast as you rushed to relocate his bones and close his wounds before he bled to death in your living room.

Living like this was exhausting, but there was nothing you could do about it. The alternative was to get out of his life before the pain became too overwhelming, but that would only make things worse. Seeing him hurt broke your heart, but spending the night not knowing what had become of him on the streets would drive you crazy.

The most frustrating part of it all was that you had gotten yourself into this, so you had no one to blame for the void you felt in your chest every time Matt was out. You had been the one to offer to patch him up after he saved you from those drunken men who got really handsy with you that one time. You had let a complete stranger into your home, and not only that, but you had allowed him to come back. You were the one who fell in love with him even though you knew what he did. It was all your fault, you had backed yourself into a corner that you didn't know how to get out of.

Matt had never lied to you or given you false hope. You knew very well that being Daredevil was extremely important to him. It was his mission, his calling, and you knew he wasn't going to give it up even if you asked him to. He couldn't do it, or rather, he didn't want to do it, so being with him meant accepting his bloody and dangerous side. And at first you thought you could do it, but now you weren't so sure.

“You're quiet,” Matt's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. It sounded raspy and you wondered if it was due to exhaustion or the screams of pain he'd probably let out when the wounds you were cleaning and bandaging were inflicted on him. “What's going through your head?”

“Nothing,” you shrugged. You didn't want to get into an argument right then.

“I thought you knew better than to lie to me.” He let out a smug chuckle. “I can hear your breathing and your heartbeat, I know there's something on your mind.”

“I was thinking about you...about us, actually.” You simply stated, not taking your eyes off the wound on his chest that you were finishing stitching up. And from the tone of your voice Matt knew that the conversation that would follow would not be a pleasant one.

He spoke your name, both a warning and a plea for you to stop. He regretted pressing the issue now that he knew what was coming. You had a similar conversation only a few days ago and he wasn't sure he had the energy to face it again. Lately it felt like that was all you talked about and Matt didn't know what to do to make you happy without having to push the devil out of him.

“Why does it always have to be like this?” you interrupted him, taking off your bloodstained gloves and tossing them on the coffee table next to the other red-stained gauze. “You come home late and hurt and I have to sit here and patch you up while I pretend I wasn't going crazy thinking about what might be happening to you out there... I'm tired, Matt.”

“I told you you don't have to worry about me.” He reached for your hand, but you pulled it away. This wasn't something he could fix with gentle caresses and sweet words. You wouldn't let him this time. “I know what I'm doing out there.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Is that why you come home looking like that? Because you know what you are doing?”

“It's not always this bad and you know it... Once this is all clear I'll go back to fighting thieves and rapists in the streets and I'll come home a lot less hurt, you'll see. You don't have to worry about me.” That was a lie and you both knew it. There was always going to be something. If it wasn't Fisk, it was The Hand, The Yakuza, The Punisher or who knows what else. The danger would never stop, it would just keep escalating.

“Well, Matt, but I do! I worry about you, I do...because I care about you, and I can't stop thinking about what will happen the day I'm sitting here waiting for you and you don't walk through that door.” You held back the tears that were burning in your eyes even though you knew it was in vain, Matt could hear the change in the tone of your voice.

Matt's fingers found your jaw and he turned your head carefully to face him. His hands cupped your cheeks, his thumbs tracing soft strokes over your skin. His tender touches made everything harder, it reminded you of all the good things about being with him that had outweighed the bad for a long time, but not anymore. A couple of tears escaped your eyes, but Matt wiped them away with his fingers.

“I will always find my way back to you.” He whispered and you wished you could believe him. You knew that's what he wished and that he truly loved you, but it wasn't something he could control.

“Don't make promises you can't keep.” You moved away from his touch, wiping your tears with the back of your hand before focusing your attention on arranging the first aid kit so you could put it away. You needed to distract yourself with something so as not to fall for his charms once again. The softness of his touch and the love in his words had persuaded you to silence your worries too many times in the past. You would not let it happen again this time.

“So what do you want me to do?” Matt's frustrated huff echoed in your ears.

You threw the first aid kit back on the table viciously and turned to look at him. You couldn't believe he was actually asking you that question.

“I want you to stop!”

“You know I can't do that. People need me, this city needs me.” Matt's voice was soft even though yours had risen a couple of notches.

“I need you!” You finally broke down, tears streaming down your cheeks like waterfalls. You understood where he was coming from, but you were tired of Matt putting the whole city before you. You were hurt by his indifference, his lack of concern for your well-being. You were hurt by his lack of regard for his own life. You knew deep down he loved you, but the way he showed it wasn't working for you. The love you shared hurt you in a way that wasn't supposed to and you didn't know what else to do to change it.

“I can't keep living like this, Matt. I can't keep pretending everything is okay... I love you, but being with you every day feels like fighting a battle I can't win. I can't keep watching you destroy yourself little by little... I'm tired of being the one who cares the most about us, about your own life... this isn't going to end well and I don't want to be the one left behind to pick up the pieces. I can't.”

“I love you.” Matt's broken voice broke your heart. You didn't doubt it was true, but that wasn't enough. Love wasn't enough to keep your relationship afloat.

“No more than the devil.”

Matt didn't know what to say to that. It wasn't true, but there was no way he could explain how he felt about his alter ego that you were going to understand. Daredevil was his blessing and his curse. It was his purpose, the thing that gave him a place in the world and in God's plan, but it was also his punishment, the reason why everyone he loved turned away from him. He didn't love Daredevil, but he needed him, just like the innocent people of Hell's Kitchen did. He couldn't ignore his abilities and the pleas of a city engulfed in violence and corruption because if he did, then bad things would happen because of him, because he hadn't been there to stop them.

“What do we do now? We're out of options.” Matt mumbled in a breathy whisper after a long silence.

“I don't know what to do.” You let out a sigh, letting your tired body fall back against the back of the couch.

“Could you... hold me until we figure it out? Whatever you decide, just... give me this night with you.”

You watched him for a moment, your fingers reaching out to caress his cheek without even realizing what you were doing. There was something so tragic yet so tender in his words, it was the perfect summary of your relationship. You both knew it was over. Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow, but the end was near. So you had to take advantage of the few sweet moments you had left, and express your love for each other while you still could.

You settled into Matt's arms without saying a word. Your head rested on his chest, your ear pressed against his heartbeat. He kissed the top of your head as he pulled you tight against him, trying to lose himself in the warmth of your body and the sweet scent of your hair. He wanted to memorize all the little things he loved about you, everything his enhanced senses allowed him to know about you without you knowing it. He didn't want to lose you, but he knew he would. You deserved someone so much better than him, someone who wouldn't hurt you the way he did. He could accept you leaving if it meant you would be happy, but he refused to forget you. So he spent the next few minutes memorizing the way the warmth of your body felt against his and how your soft skin reacted to the touch of his fingers. He paid special attention to the sound of your heartbeat and inhaled the scent of your hair as if it were the oxygen he needed to live. That way he could take you with him forever.

“I wish I had two lives, one for you and one for him.” Matt whispered against your hair and the corners of your lips curved with sadness.

“I wish I had two lives, both of them for you.”

As painful as it was, you couldn't imagine a life without Matt. You loved him, with all the good and all the bad. And even though you had spent the last few days repeating how hard it was for you to stay by his side, the truth was that you would still choose him even in another life. You wanted him by your side in every life you had and that was not going to change. Your heart was determined to break and put itself back together again if that was what it took to be with him.

Matt Murdock was and always would be the love of your life.

Matt Murdock's tag list: @steviebbboi @feel-my-psycho-love

[minniethemoocherda]

The Perfect One For You Is Me

A/N: My gift for @pileofnerdshit for the @morpherineholidayexchange2024. Merry Christmas! I hope you enjoy the fic! Xxxxxx

Ao3

FF.net

"Beautiful." Morph smiled as Logan finished slicing the branches on their Christmas tree into a perfect cone.

Despite the snow outside, Logan only had on one of his signature white vests. It must be the Canadian blood in him. Not that Morph was complaining as they watched the muscles in his back harden and flex with the action.

It was thrilling to know that they were now free to watch instead of having to sneak a look.

"You better not be talking about the tree Bub." Logan grumbled although the smirk on his face betrayed the lack of heat behind his words.

"I don't know, it is a pretty handsome tree." Morph teased, sauntering closer to their partner. "It just needs one last thing."

Using their elongated arms, Morph attached a branch of mistletoe to the top of the tree.

Logan snorted.

"Mistletoe don't go on top of the tree."

"Are you complaining?"

In quiet of an answer Logan grabbed the lapels of their jacket and dragged them into a kiss.

Morph didn't hesitate to reciprocate, tracing their tongue along the sharp sting of their partner's teeth, their lips widening into a grin at the rumbling groan falling from The Wolverine's mouth. They could still feel the taste of muffins and eggnog from breakfast on his tongue. They doubted that they would ever get used to this. But in the seclusion of a secret safe house in the middle of nowhere Canada, it was nice to imagine that they could.

And for as much as Morph loved their fellow X-Men, it was nice to have some time just the two of them. Where no teenagers or teammates could interrupt them.

Still, despite both of them being near immortal, they did however need to breathe, so reluctantly they had to take a break for air. Morph took the chance to admire the soft blush spread across The Wolverine's cheeks that disappeared into the ruffled spikes of his hair.

Morph must have looked as much of a mess themselves as Logan hooked his fingers into the belt loops of their jeans. His thumb traced the slither of skin between their trousers and the hem of their yellow turtleneck.

"You're cold." Logan said, pulling them closer so that their chest was pressed flush against his.

"That's why I have you." Morph teased, wrapping their arms around his shoulders so that they could hold him even tighter.

Logan snorted again.

"That all I am to you? A walking heater?"

"You're more then that." Morph smiled, turning their head into his shoulder, to nestle even further into the Wolverine's perpetual body heat. This close they could feel the strong thud of The Wolverine's heart, something so few had been allowed to see. Yet now, Morph could feel it thump in time with their own.

"I love you."

Like last time, they hadn't planned to say it. Unlike last time however, Logan wasn't unconsciousness to the brink of death and they were meant wearing a face that wasn't their own.

Logan pulled away. Just as Morph was panicking that they had once again fucked everything up, he gently cupped their cheeks with the rough pads his hands that held blood soaked claws.

Softer than Morph had ever heard him before, The Wolverine said.

"I love you too."

[moonedman]

All other sagas done in previous or future posts

Underworld Saga

this is probably my favorite saga. and also probably one of the most important, fundamentally. i think i filled five notebook pages on these three songs.

The Underworld

“I no longer dream” what my friend was once saying about how the screams he hears are real since he’s no heard them and knows what they sound like

“Past seems close behind” it’s catching up to him

Ough his crew asking “when does a man become a monster”

Ok so whatever the spirits are saying is the last thing they thought, meaning Odysseus’ crew considered him a monster, Polites is still upbeat and bright, his mom will wait for him

“Nothing is as it seems” possible that he’s just hallucinating this OR he doesn’t want to believe any of it.

I’m insane about Mr. Jorge Rivera-Herrans’ voice acting

Reminder! Greet the world with open arms! Don’t turn evil!

I know he’s not evil

HIS MOM

The realization finally hitting him that he’s been gone twelve years he’s lost and missed out on so much and he needs to get home

I’m going to blow up

Just. like. The beginning of realization

I’m going to blow up!!!!!!!!

No Longer You

“There is a world where I help you get home, but that’s not a world I know” opening us up to that no longer you idea

“Past romance” past is really interesting because he’s still married but it connects to the no longer you part

“Sacrifice of man” Previous sacrifices and also warning of future sacrifice

“Portrayal of betrayal” Scylla and Thunder bringer, but also in mutiny. Also when the wind bag was opened.

“Brother’s final stand” Eurylochus in mutiny, maybe Polites in Survive

“On the brink of death” well yes

“Man who gets to make it home alive/but it’s no longer you” he’s changed and lost so much that there’s like no way he’ll ever be the same king and husband and father. Also in the odyssey story Odysseus has to disguise himself as an old man so he can win back his wife

He also kills all the suitors i hope we get to see that

Denial is a river in Egypt your men are doomed

“Palace covered in red” please please please be the suitors dying but also those suitors are violent in general (I am so grateful my prayers were answered)

“I see a wife with a man who is haunting/a man with a trail of bodies” “WHO”

a) he’s haunting her. His leaving haunts her because of the men in her house, telemachus and his whole “no dad” thing, and just not having your husband around. His absence affects her just as greatly as it does him

b) odysseus doesn’t realize it’s him. He’s got the trail of bodies. He’s so absorbed by the thought of penelope.

“Past romance” [again] oooohhh their marriage is fucked. It’s so different now

Backing vocals of future things [“Siren’s call, Scylla’s throat, mutiny, lightning bolt, Poseidon, kill the suitors for love”]

That’s so cool I’m INSANE

I hate him

Monster

“How has everything been turned against us” …hmm. I wonder.

“Do I need to change” YOU ALREADY HAVE but now he’s considering doing it on purpose

You’re in the underworld of course the souls are around you

“I’m the only one whose line I haven’t crossed” and you’ll keep crossing them!

“What if the greatest threat we’ll find across the sea/Is me” BLOW UP [he’s like rethinking but also plotting? Like what if he was the biggest danger?]

Remember remember

“Too kind to foes but a monster to ourselves” he’s realizing he’s realizing he’s self aware he’s going to treat his men unfairly

All the foes he’s encountered are all doing what they can to protect those they love and odysseus is starting to see the similarities between them [and also the ones he wants to protect gets fewer until it’s just him almost [because he needs to see his wife and son so he needs to live]]

Plotting to keep his men safer by being more cruel

Anything for them

He’s willing to lose all morals in order to get home and keep as many people alive as possible but accidentally loses those base morals in the process of doing so

The animation i watched in the playlist i found showed a hallucination of Penelope taking the headband Odysseus took from Polites and that’s such a cool detail [throwing away the morals of being kind and keeping an open mind all for his wife]

I based my current DnD character off this song.

I’m so insane about the Ithaca saga do you tumblr people want to hear my full analysis of each song to celebrate

[unavailableapple]

I think I shoot be allowed to shoot my uncle.

Since birth he’s told me what a “dumb fuckin retard female” I am. He gave me lingerie as a birthday present when I turned 13. He told my mom not to show me “feminazi movies” like Frozen and Brave. He taught his son to lift up my shirts and skirts starting when I was 10 (and my cousin was 4) because he thought it was funny. He taught my cousin to grope me (starting when I was 8 and my cousin was 2) because he thought it was funny. My cousin only stopped doing these things recently because he realized it’s fucking weird. I can see the disgust in my uncle’s face every second he talks to me because he’s a lonely old man with an ex-wife who makes double his salary and a teenaged son who hates him and I’m a twenty year old lesbian who dates and has sex with significantly more women than him on a regular basis. And I think I should be able to kill him, for this and all the other things he’s done! And not just to me, the abuse he put his ex-wife through as well! I literally, as a 6 year old, begged her not to marry him even though it was the first time I’d ever met her because I knew him and I didn’t know her but I knew even the worst woman doesn’t deserve to be with him.

So, submitted for approval of the council, I would like permission to shoot him dead because he deserves it :]

[lycandrophile]

i absolutely cannot believe people are trying to start discourse about whether nex benedict was actually nonbinary / whether it was okay for him to describe himself as nonbinary to some people if he didn’t actually identify that way as if he isn’t literally DEAD because he was KILLED. this is a MURDERED CHILD and these monsters are so busy getting mad at the possibility that he might have been a trans boy who described himself as nonbinary to his family because that was easier for them to take that they’re turning a CHILD who was MURDERED into fucking discourse. even when we die at the hands of cis people’s violence, our own community finds a way to make us the villains of the story.

and all of this bullshit on top of the ways that cis people are already trying to say our grief over his death is unjustified. all of this on top of people claiming he wasn’t murdered and speculating on other causes of death (i literally saw someone say he “clearly went home and took the coward’s way out” and i have never been more disgusted) or claiming that he started the fight as if any action on his part could’ve been enough to justify his death. i am haunted by the sound of his father screaming that his child was not filth because that is what people have been saying about this poor kid, that’s how cruelly his memory is being treated, and even the trans community can’t get it’s shit together enough to look past the stupid discourse and see the tragedy in front of us. did you all forget that it was supposed to be up to us to grieve him in the way he deserves when the rest of the world fails to care if people like him live or die? did you all forget that this child was our sibling, the future of our community, a life that we should have had the chance to know and treasure while he was still here but that we now have a responsibility to hold close to our hearts in his absence? nex’s life was precious and it was ended far too soon and if you truly believe that anything is more important than mourning his life and fighting for a world where no more trans people have to meet such an awful fate, you’re a traitor to this community and you do not deserve the place you occupy within it.

i’m so tired. i can’t even imagine how tired his family must be, to see the public treat the child they’re grieving so horribly, to see the world fail their baby again. leave him alone. he was already robbed of peace in life; the least you can do is let him finally have it in death.

[cyarskaren52]