#I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory

[holmesianlove]

Chapter 26 -  Alternate Meeting

The fresh fall of snow had made the streets quiet, and cold. They had come out tonight, despite the snow - and much whingeing from John - to meet Lestrade for dinner at a pub in the centre of town. A catch up before Christmas. Every year, they treated it like they would all be going on vacation and wouldn’t see each other for a couple of weeks, but invariably, each year, there were murders at Christmas time - heightened emotions and all of that - and they would be called back to help out. So the dinner meeting was usually unnecessary, but it was nice to take a moment away from death and casework, and acknowledge they had become more than just colleagues now. They were friends. 

After a hearty meal which had helped warm them and polishing off two bottles of wine between the three of them, they had capped of the meal with a whisky. With a lovely buzz in their systems, there had been much laughter and merriment: stories of the mad cases they'd dealt with across the year, and memories of older cases too. Greg regaled them with tales of his cheating wife and how much fun his Christmas with the in-laws would be.

And finally, after three hours together, Sherlock and John had stepped back out into the cold together. The walk back to the tube station was a few blocks, but there weren't many cabs floating around, so they began to walk.

“I always feel for poor Lestrade. He seems to like being married and in a family, but she’s clearly still cheating and he knows about it. How is that happy?” Sherlock sighed heavily.

“Everyone has their own threshold, I suppose,” John said. “Sometimes being alone is the most painful way to live. I suppose he’d rather be with her than without her.”

“How romantic,” Sherlock scoffed sarcastically.

“When we met - you and I - I was so very lonely, returning from war, and while I don’t like people, I couldn’t bear being that alone. If we hadn’t…” John let the thought drift into the cold night air, his breath creating clouds of condensation.

“Do you ever think of other ways your life might have been?” Sherlock asked. “You know, if you hadn’t got shot? If you hadn’t joined the army at all? Or what if we hadn’t met? Do you think we might have still met at Barts - if you’d stayed on after studying? Not joined the army at all? Imagine that,” Sherlock chuckled. 

John couldn’t help laughing at that too. He smiled, stopping the walk and turning to Sherlock. He had absolutely thought about this already - their possible alternate meeting and what it would have been like. He nodded. “Sometimes I think—"

It suddenly occurred to John, as the cold soaked into him, that he had left his gloves and scarf back at the pub. His lovely new warm things. He was about to turn back towards the way they had come, his words for Sherlock forgotten, when a voice stopped him in his tracks.

“John? John Watson?” The voice interrupted him. John sighed. Probably another bloody reporter. John made a decision in that instant to be on his best behaviour this time, and say nothing, as Sherlock had directed him he should from now on. He was never as calm and collected as Sherlock in these situations. Not for things like this. He spun around to flash the reporter a winning smile, just in case there was a camera at the ready again, but instead, he was greeted by a group of people, coming out of a nearby restaurant, at the front of which stood a tall man, quite respectably dressed. His salt and pepper hair coiffed perfectly, a sophisticated cashmere scarf twirled beautifully at his neck. 

John froze to the spot. His brain was working overtime and he could feel Sherlock watching him for his response, but he felt like he was going to disappear into himself. His body felt disconnected. All the blood ran out of his face to his toes. He felt hot and cold all at once. He could hear Sherlock say his name, beside him, but it sounded like he was miles away. 

“It is you. John!” the man said, rushing forward.

“Alex?” John choked out, knowing full well who it was. His voice sounded weak and raspy.

He felt Sherlock tense beside him at the mention of the name. John absolutely regretted having told Sherlock about this, now.

“John.” The man rushed to him and hugged him tight, although John didn’t move a muscle. His hands didn’t wrap around and reciprocate. “How have you been?” he asked, as he stepped back again.

“Fine,” John said stiffly. 

Alex looked next to him and took in Sherlock’s equally stylish figure. John made no moves to introduce them so he held his hand out. “Hi, I’m Alex.”

“Sherlock Holmes.”

There was a moment of silence and then: “Oh good lord, the detective fellow? Oh, of course. I had heard about your blog, come to think of it,” he directed at John. “I’d clean forgot about it. Guys it’s Sherlock Holmes - the detective!” he called out to his friends who all murmured and seemed excited. “I’ve read about you both in the papers.”

“Ah. Funny. I know nothing about you,” Sherlock said coldly, pointedly. 

John still made no move to talk. The air was thick between them all. He knew Sherlock would have deduced plenty about Alex - and him - just by standing there in silence.

Alex nodded, the encounter now incredibly forced and awkward. He was definitely assessing the two of them standing together. But it was clear John wasn’t going to speak. “Well. I won’t keep you both. It was just such a surprise… I had to come over. Lovely to meet you,” he said to Sherlock. He reached out and touched John’s arm. “So good to see you. You’re looking well,” he added in a slightly condescending tone. John’s spine straightened slightly. “I should get back.” He paused, seemingly hoping for John to still say something.

Sherlock also looked to John waiting for him to say more, though he had apparently become comatose, and then offered a stiff smile to Alex, in place of John’s response.

And with that, Alex returned to his friends and got in a cab. The street was silent again. But John remained still, silent, staring into the distance where Alex had been moments earlier.

“John—“

“Don’t,” John warned. His voice was flat, and cold and angry.

Sherlock stood beside him in absolute silence for as long as he could but John didn’t move a muscle.

“Sooo… Alex was…”

John sucked in a breath at the sound of the name. He turned to look at Sherlock, his eyes so lost all of a sudden, searching Sherlock’s face for something, for some way to escape this. He couldn't find a single way to start this conversation comfortably. So before Sherlock could speak, John rushed away, without a word, crossing the road and moving at quite a pace.

“Not a woman then,” Sherlock sighed to himself, processing the information. 

The big relationship in John Watson’s life, that could have become marriage-and-kid-worthy… and apparently broke his heart… was not with a woman at all. Alex was a man. A slightly older man, too, if Sherlock’s judgement was right. And, assuming it was pre-Afghanistan, it would have been back before marriage was legalised.

All the pieces were falling into place and Sherlock felt almost sick with understanding.

“John!” He called after his friend, but John had already disappeared around a corner into the cold night. Sherlock let out a heavy sigh and took off after him.

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[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 🥰

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[ghostly-phantom]

Assuming that Lu Guang went back to the past several times and had to witness Cheng Xiaoshi's death on each new dive... How much do you think this affected his personality? And what do you imagine he was like in the original timeline, before everything went to shit?

I don't think (nor do I want it to be the case) that he's changed drastically. For me, he's always been reserved, quiet, “serious” and yet goofy in his own way.

But I do imagine that he was a lot lighter and more lively with silly mundane stuff. Like: expressing his interests (basketball, manga, literature) to Cheng Xiaoshi, with a sparkle in his eyes and passionate rants. Making more jokes and foolish teasing. Being excited about their future together.

And little by little it became meaningless.

It's not like he doesn't like spending moments like this with Cheng Xiaoshi and Qiao Ling: he loves seeing the two of them having moments like this. However he seems tired of the same scenarios over and over. And he also feels out of place, distant from these memories.

He tries to interact, because it's all he has. It still makes him smile. However, he desperately wants to live in a reality where they all have a future to look forward to. Where they can create new memories to cherish, and grow together.

He's just so tired.

[inamindfarfaraway]

AITA for paying my employee minimum wage?

I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I suppose unusual events may call for unusual responses. I (male in my 70s) am a wealthy businessman, landlord and moneylender, making most of my income from rent and debts. My clerk (male in his 30s) is my only employee. He has a family with a few kids, not sure how many. I pay him a perfectly respectable minimum wage for his position and I even gave all of tomorrow off with pay for Christmas, despite my opinion that a frivolous holiday is not that good a reason to skip work. He’s worked for me for many years and never once complained about his pay or conditions. He might not particularly enjoy his job either, but he doesn’t have to. It’s work, not play. Hell, I don’t particularly enjoy my job.

However, this evening… I heard another point of view. You’d never believe me if I told you everything and it feels like a dream - I’d certainly like it to be a dream, but I don’t see how I could have thought of it - but let’s just say that I was visited by an old friend. He’d been my business partner (male in his late 60s). Seven years ago he… left and I never expected to see him again. He came back though, apparently just to tell me off. He’s not doing well. He’s been travelling among all sorts of people and deeply disturbed by what he’s seen. The plight of ‘mankind’ and all that. He made a big deal about how I should be nicer to people and more generous and such, as if it were a matter of life and death. Last I knew we were on the same page about everything, but just now he looked at me like I was a criminal. Or an asshole, as it were. I don’t understand it.

I want to stress that nothing I’m doing is illegal. None of my business, none of how I treat my clerk. Well, I imagine that technically, if you were being harsh, you could argue that occasionally my conduct toward him falls under ‘harassment’, but I think that’s a stretch. When I’m strict, it’s out of valid concern for productivity. I am truly dedicated to my work; all I ask is that my clerk be the same. If he needs more money so badly, he should have the guts to ask for it and explain himself (I’d still have to consider my answer, but at least I’d know that he felt that way) or just find a different job or perhaps, heaven forbid, be a bit more financially responsible. If he has to scrape together Christmas festivities, maybe he shouldn’t bother celebrating it at all, for example. Why spend his money on that instead of food or clothes? Or keeping or investing it? I’ve saved as much as possible and I’m all the better off for it. I think it’s far more likely that he simply wants more than he deserves - if he does want a raise, which he hasn’t said! He agreed to this pay. We made an arrangement, and based on the stable routine of all these years, it benefits both of us. I don’t know why my friend thinks there’s a problem.

But he does. He was… he was seriously unhappy with me. I’ve never known him to be so sentimental, and he wouldn’t get that emotional for absolutely no reason, so here I am. Am I ‘the asshole’ for paying my employee a completely legal and normal minimum wage?

Update:

I think I probably am the asshole here. I’ve read your feedback, done a lot of reflection, taken quite the walk down memory lane, and among other things I remembered my old boss and how he treated me. He dominated so much of my life, he could have done the bare minimum or made me miserable, but he was nice. He just chose to be kind. Like he asked “Why not?” when I always tend to ask “Why?”. And he payed me better than I pay my employee, especially relative to his income. I can definitely afford to give my clerk a raise, and treat him with more respect while I’m at it. Authority is a powerful thing. I’ve… I’ve been taking advantage of it. I’ve been taking my clerk for granted. But he’s a good worker and he deserves to be rewarded. I’ll raise his pay when he comes back in on Boxing Day.

Thank you for your advice. I don’t appreciate the insults - I am not a parasite, I have pulled myself up with my own honest work, and there’s nothing wrong with getting ahead when it’s eat or be eaten. We all do what we have to do. But I should also do more. So in hindsight, much of your criticism was accurate and warranted. Good for you. I know it’s a bad time and you must all busy and/or tired. I wasn’t planning to stay up this late. I will now hopefully get some sleep.

Should I say goodbye? I don’t know what I’m doing, I’ve never done this before. What the hell, why not? Goodnight.

Update:

So. Some more stuff happened and I ended up going for a… a walk, an extremely normal walk, and meeting my clerk’s family. Or at least seeing them. It’s hard to explain. What time is on your computer clocks, by the way? I think mine is broken. Anyway, my clerk is like, Poor. Poor poor. And I’m a huge asshole. I knew theoretically that the minimum wage and the living wage are not the same, but I never really thought about the effects of that, I didn’t want to think about it, but I am now! I’m beyond an asshole, I’m a piece of shit!

This family, they’re struggling so much and they have so many other problems and I’ve kept them living on a pitiful salary. One of their children is sick. I don’t know exactly what it is, but it’s bad and it’s getting worse. There is a treatment that could help him, but it’s expensive and they can’t afford it, his parents know they can’t afford it, and if he doesn’t get it… I don’t know how long this kid has left. He’s the sweetest little boy and he might not even grow up. These parents love their kids with everything they have, but they can’t fix this. But! But I’m right here! I’ve been right here with all this money all this time, and I never bothered to ask about his family or care or help. It would have been so easy. I wish I’d realised all of this years earlier. I’m such a piece of shit. But I still have time and a plenty of money. I’m going to help. I’ll do everything I can. I promise.

Also, I am sorry for my replies to some of your comments on my original post. I was spiteful and insensitive. I’ve been… very angry for a very long time, more at the world in general than anything else, and in the habit of taking it out on whoever I could. I need to stop that. I’ll add it to the list. Consider those replies redacted. Once again, thank you for your feedback and goodnight. Merry Christmas. I hope you get enough sleep if you’re awake in my time zone at this hour.

update

do you ever think about how we’re all going to die? we could all die at any moment. we never know when we never know how much time we get and that’s why life is sososo precious and you have to use it wisely. but i have not! done that! i’m old i could die any day now. i could die today and what would i have to show? for my entire great big life? loads of money i’m never gonna use? i always thought that how much of something you had was about how you spent it. money and time. what you get is what you give or deserve. but it’s not! it’s mostly just luck and other people. most rich people are just born rich already. then it’s easy to get richer from there. i wasn’t born rich not really but i had a lot of help, a good school, a good boss, my friend, and now that i am rich i do less work for more money. it’s not fair. i’ve fucked up so much for so long and yet i have so much money and i’ve had so much time and i’ve wasted both of them. i don’t need all that money in the first place but that’s what i’ve spent my whole life on, why? what’s the point?

and then on the other hand you have the fact that. children are dying right now. whenever you’re reading this. loads and load of them all over when they don’t have to. fucking kids. and innocent people good people amazing people who are happy who make people happy who use their time infinitely better than i have don’t earn any reward. they don’t get any justice. most people have less than they need and meanwhile so many bastards have so much more. why? what’s the point of it?

why is it like this? why is the world like this? like we waste so much food and water and money so why don’t we just give it to poor people if we’re not going to use it? why do you have to pay for it if there’s so much why can’t? and like rent why do people have to pay rent? why can’t you just live somewhere? or medicine why do you have to pay for that? it’s. it’s life! why do we have to pay for LIFE when you don’t choose to be born? it’s not right.

and i know that there are laws and politics deciding those big things. but we can still make it better right? we can make a difference can’t we? even though there are so many massive problems like poverty and war and hunger and so many people who aren’t helping when they could. it still matters right? being good. even though you’re just one person. right?

why do kids have to die when they don’t have to die

it’s not fair. it’s not fair

i’m sorry. i shouldn’t even be posting this. it’s just venting and rambling and it probably doesn’t make any sense. i swear to god i’m not drunk or high i’m just having a really weird night. it’s like i’ve shut out a million things over decades and tonight they’re all flooding in at once.

i just. i feel like i’m dying and i need to get these thoughts out of my head. i need to know that they’re real and i’m real and i’m alive. i need to know that it matters.

i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.

UPDATE!

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!!!!!!!!!!! I am not dead and I don’t think I’m crazy, I honestly feel the best I have in ages, and I will not elaborate on last night because that’ll only raise more questions but I will say this! I paid for my clerk’s Christmas dinner and I’m gonna give him a gigantic raise! I also donated a fuckton to charity! Thank you all so much I love you!!!!!

Update:

Happy Boxing Day, everyone. After that rollercoaster, I thought I ought to formally conlude this strange saga. My clerk came back to work this morning and I gave him his raise and a profound apology, as well as paid leave until a couple of days after New Year’s. To call him surprised would be an understatement. It was very fun. I totally understand if he chooses to get a new job now, but I hope we keep in touch. He’s a wonderful person. And I’d like to know if his son will be okay.

Although I haven’t got far yet (I’ve been catching up with family, I was the asshole there too, but no need to dump that baggage on you now that it’s being resolved), I am planning to make some major reforms to my business strategies. I’ve lowered rent on my properties to something affordable, for a start. I’m also researching charities and community projects. I have a great deal of moral debt to redeem. You can make a difference and I’m gonna prove it.

Many thanks for your support and concern, and rest assured that I’m in about as good health as I can be at this age, with the caveat of a mild hangover after a Christmas party. Turns out I like parties. I am processing that… ah, crisis, and I have people who care about me and a strong resolve to ground me. I will look into therapy.

I wish you all the best. I meant it, so I’ll repeat it: I love you. And my old friend, if you’re reading this wherever you are now, thank you for that intervention. It was worth it. I hope you’re doing better and we can talk again someday.

[downloadablecreature]

Trying to find info on Apoo’s real-life namesake, Chui A-poo.

His Wikipedia page is very empty/small, which I find suspicious. So I’m trying to do some extra research. Kinda.

This is what I have apart from info from his Wikipedia page (where I found the link to this hellish pdf), a few articles on various websites that may or may not be accurate, and some theories.

Please help me.

[icarusbetide]

this is made explicit in the musical but i'd argue it's also very much applicable to the real hamilton. his childhood experiences probably pushed him on and gave him that great thirst and drive, and he channeled that energy into writing.

and of course, honor was always going to be a touchy subject. illegitimate orphan of a woman called a whore is bad enough, but that combined with actually upper-class, noble familial connections? the fact that his father wasn't even dead so alexander probably kept him in his mind constantly? it probably exacerbated hamilton's issues even more so than if he'd just been a poor man's son. because now you've got a sense that you're owed something and have something to be proud of, but you still have to fight for it tooth and nail every step of the way.

"Why do you write like you need it to survive?" because he does he does he does. he wouldn't have survived if he hadn't begun clerking for the landlord or worked in a trading charter, jobs that inherently require skills in writing. he wrote about the hurricane's destruction of his hometown so poignantly that people decided to help him in furthering his education, KEEPING HIM ALIVE. and as much as he wanted to be something else, as much as he wanted a troop of men to command, hamilton as an adult/young man was NOTHING without his writing. he wouldn't have been washington's right hand man, he wouldn't have gone to the winter's ball to meet eliza, he wouldn't have wooed her with his letters or convinced her father, he wouldn't have built his career or been a founding father. he would have died, a bastard, orphan, impoverished. dead. "Why do you write like you need it to survive?" because he DOES. that's why hamilton could never let an insult go, that's why he always needed to write back, that's why he never stopped reaching for more, because without his writing, without his wit, without his rapid responses, he is NOTHING

[kyri45]

I think im a little delirious bc i just broke a fever all the sudden last night and slept through all day but like- you guys. You all made me smile with all your comments and asks and fanart and I'm honestly so grateful.

[heronoegg]

Someone told me that Aizawa irl would look like Lin Manuel Miranda and I haven’t been the same since.

To further my point I made a demonstration

And yes, I did indeed cry when making this

i didn't know weather to respond to this with:

"enter me (he says in parentheses) don't be shocked when your history book mentions me"

or

"well, hate the sin love the sinner"

[biblicallyaccuratepigeons]

imagine wanting to die so bad that it makes you immortal from out willing death

sonic in the snapcube sonic riders dub

[afterlife-2004]

Reminds me of “The World Was Wide Enough”, a song from the musical, Hamilton!

[unwri-ten]

Omfg now thinking of the snapcube reference I now just connected Leshy and Snapcube Fandub! Sonic tgt..

Now I can't stop thinking about Leshy quoting Hamilton STOPPPPPP

[slowdesire]

[pardonmydelays]

me when i'm trying to make a fun playlist:

[emilyjunk]

brain will get a minific idea that could be written in less than an hour and go..... no that is too much work we simply cannot do it!!!!! then the next night will think up an ambitious, sure to be laborious, tens of thousands of words idea and go. yeah. better start writing bitch

[unfilteredaj]

Rewatched the Hamilton Proshot over the weekend and now I’m listening to the album I AM REGRESSING AND I CAN NOT STOP IT.

[makeuphall]