#further proof that my time management is garbage because i should be getting ready for work but have been doing this shit since 5:45am

[eoieopda]

1.) this idea kept me up at night.

2.) for formatting purposes, i needed to shove a photo where the banner would be once i make one and uhhhhhh….. this was the choice i made quickly and without thinking of the consequences

i can’t stop wheezing whenever i peep this in my drafts.

[katnissmellarkkk]

Chapter Four

“Dang it!” I bellow eight days later, as my body gives way and topples over, having used too great of force to yank a now dead primrose from the ground.

Yesterday morning I had come outside to discover the yellow evening primroses, the flowers Peeta had planted upon his arrival back in Twelve, had all but died.

And I didn’t even notice. I’ve been so distracted with everything else going on in my life—namely Peeta and his blonde companion—that I entirely forgot about the flowers. The flowers that my sister was named for. The flowers meant to represent her when she was no longer alive to represent herself.

The idea that I could forget the plant, that I let myself lag on the simple duty of keeping them alive and watered and healthy, felt as if I had let my little sister down all over again. It felt as if I’d failed Prim a second time.

And it’s more than I can handle. I can’t even endure the thought. The very implication that I am, in any way, dishonoring my sister’s memory is entirely unbearable. Even if it is just me implying it, inside my head.

But in any case, it looks like the primroses are too far gone and I don’t have even a chance at resurrecting them back to life. I took too long to notice their wilting, I was too caught up in other things, that I let the plants die and now there’s no going back.

For a split second I consider returning one of my mother’s many calls to ask for gardening advice. She has always had a green thumb and been able to grow whatever she set her mind to. I never had any of those skills. I was a hunter by nature, not a nurturer.

No, that was Prim. The soft and gentle one, who loved animals, who could heal any wound she could identify, who could garden and grow herbs just as well as our mother.

And I miss her so much. I miss my little sister so very much that I almost breakdown into tears right then and there, right in front of the dead primrose bush outside my house.

“Katniss?” I hear someone call in the distance. I recognize the voice instantly.

And rapidly get up and make a beeline towards my front door.

Unfortunately he’s determined to catch me. After eight solid days of evasion, Peeta is dead set on catching me at any given opportunity before him.

It’s almost funny how once upon a time it was him who wished to avoid me. It was him who craved distance between us, who acted icy and detached at every encounter, whether forced or by chance.

Now it’s him trying to force an encounter between us, trying desperately to make up for hurting me, trying to still be a part of my life, even after I pronounced our relationship finished.

The bread he left on my doorstep—that I immediately tossed in the garbage—is proof of that. The cheesebuns he left on my counter who met their demise to a flock of birds on my back porch is proof of that. The cookies he baked and passed through Greasy Sae when I went to trade at the new, rebuilt Hob is glaring proof of his efforts.

I did actually eat those but I made sure to do it in private, where Peeta would never know if his token was accepted or not.

Because I don’t want him to think we’re okay. I don’t want Peeta to believe me and him can still be friends, with Bailey Robyn, the uptight, controlling blonde still lingering over his every move.

Okay, maybe I’m being a bit overdramatic. Bailey isn’t residing over Peeta’s every action. She probably doesn’t even know he’s made all these treats for me. And she surely wasn’t sitting by his side in the corner of Greasy Sae’s booth when our eyes briefly met before I stubbornly stormed out.

But I feel like she is. I feel her presence overcast in every one of Peeta’s actions, in every deed he partakes in, in every moment I run into him. Maybe it’s only inside my head but it’s enough reason for me to avoid Peeta. It’s enough reason that I wish to stand by my words eight days ago and cut him directly out of my life. With a chainsaw if necessary, I wish to cut the invisible cord that has tied me and him together for so long now.

“Katniss!” Peeta calls again, his arms grasping my waist just in time to prevent my escape into the house.

“Go away,” I mutter under my breath, ire and ache still seeping off me even after a week separating this moment here with our last interaction.

“Why are you upset?” He asks, a little breathless now from the race to my front door. But even tired, concern still manages to leak into his tone. His blue eyes still show anxiety for my well-being.

And it’s still not enough to thaw me.

“You know why,” I say rigidly, pulling my front door open and shoving his hands away from me.

“No, no, I mean,” he quickly tries to correct his question. “I meant, what’s happened out here that has you upset?”

I audibly huff, my eyes about as warm as a popsicle in a snowstorm. The last thing I want to do is stand here and recount just about anything to Peeta, especially in regards to the way I’m currently feeling.

Especially after the last time we spoke about our feelings, when I chose to let him in and allowed him to see the vulnerable parts of me that I never trust anyone with.

Only for him to turn around and side with Bailey over me.

But knowing how persistent Peeta can be when properly determined—his intensity to train like a Career, Brutus’ murder and him warning District Thirteen about Snow’s incoming attack all fly to the top of that list—I merely gesture widely to my backyard, where the dead flowers lie.

It only takes Peeta a moment to click it all together, to his credit. Though I’m hesitant to even offer him that right now.

“I’ll replant them,” he instantly offers, like a dog begging to fetch his owner a carcass bone.

“Don’t bother,” I say, about as rude and uninviting as humanly possible. “It’s not your responsibility.”

I’m just stepping into the house when Peeta’s hand shoves on the door, hard enough to keep it open. For a split second, I contemplate putting all my strength behind it and slamming his fingers in the door. But even as mad as I am—even as wounded as I am—I won’t physically harm Peeta.

After all, he already lost his leg once about I tied it in a tourniquet. I may have saved his life but I also cost him half a limb and that thought alone stops me from nearly taking his fingers off too.

“Katniss, I want to,” he pleads and his eyes are so big and blue and I feel my heart involuntarily melt a bit upon at the sight. “I want to replant them.”

I release an unconscious breath, for the first time in over a week not completely hostile towards the boy with the bread, who in my eyes, completely turned his back on me. Or so it feels. “I’ll just end up killing them again, Peeta. I’m serious. Don’t even bother.”

“Then I’ll tend to them,” Peeta throws out, getting more and more desperate the more I refuse, it seems.

I’m about to brush off his offer once again when another voice joins us. “Oh, let him do it, sweetheart. The boy needs a hobby besides baking,” Haymitch chimes in, standing at the bottom of my porch, looking drunk as ever.

“You love that baking is his only hobby,” I shoot back at the paunchy, old man.

“Well, not anymore. Since you two started fighting he’s been making me fat. I need a break.”

I’m about to come back with another comment, probably one to suggest Haymitch doesn’t have to eat everything Peeta brings, when we’re joined by a third presence.

Of course, she has to join us. Bailey can’t seem to let Peeta go anywhere without her nowadays.

“What’s going on?” She murmurs, looking around at all our tense body language. Well, at mine and Peeta’s tense body language. Haymitch is currently sitting on the bottom step of my porch now, as relaxed as Buttercup is in the window.

Peeta opens his mouth to respond but then shuts it again, glancing back at me. I don’t know if it’s the fact that he doesn’t wish to discuss his offer to help me with his girlfriend or if it’s the fact that he clearly knows I dislike the notion of Bailey in my business, but either way I’m a little pleased when he closes his mouth and adverts eye contact away from the blonde.

Instead it’s my drunken mentor who elaborates. “The girl’s flowers died. Your boyfriend just wants to replant them.”

To my utter astonishment, Bailey seems amendable to the idea. “The flowers for your sister?” She inquires, looking right at me. I shoot her a quizzical—and perhaps slightly unfriendly—look out of the corner of my eye but she continues on anyway. “Peeta, you should help her plant them again. Especially since you let them die-“

But I’ve heard enough from her—and everyone else here, for that matter—and I turn to Peeta, my hand still holding the doorknob tightly, ready to slam it shut. “Fine,” I cave, my tone anything but grateful. “Go ahead and replant the primroses. If that’s going to help you, then go for it.”

I don’t wait to hear a response from any of the parties now camped out on my property. Instead I shove Peeta’s fingers off my door—first time I’ve touched him in eight days—and throw it shut with such a force I feel the walls in my entryway shake.

“She’s always been a spitfire,” I hear Haymitch mumble as three sets of footsteps make their way further from my porch.

I barely catch Peeta’s response. If I hadn’t been standing by the door, unintentionally listening to hear what they may be saying, I would have missed it altogether.

“That’s the best thing about her.”

/

It’s just mere hours later before I’m disturbed once again. This time not by a crew of three but by one solo intruder.

“Sweetheart?” Haymitch barks, evidently not too keen on the fact that I decided to turn every light in my house off after returning home from the Hob.

“Go away,” I mumble out, knowing well and clear that he can’t hear me from upstairs. I’m in my bedroom, lying in the safety of my own bed, in my own private sanctuary, where I do not wish to be disturbed by anyone at any cost.

Of course, it only takes a few minutes of bumping into things and cursing for Haymitch to track me down. “Girl, it’s six at night?” He says incredulously.

“So?” I snap, as he turns my light on, effectively blinding me.

“Did you just forget about dinner tonight?” He asks, his voice neither kind nor hostile. In all honesty, he just sounds puzzled.

“Why are you in my room, Haymitch?” I murmur, rubbing my eyes until they adjust to the beaming brightness and pulling myself upwards now. Off his dismissive glance, I let out a deep sigh. “I wasn’t hungry.”

Of course, we’re not really talking about me skipping a meal. I highly doubt Haymitch truly cares if I miss dinner by my own accord. He surely wasn’t too interested in my meal intake when he brought me home from the Capitol and dropped me off on my doorstep.

No, we’re referring to the weekly dinners me, Peeta and Haymitch have at the old man’s pig sty. The same dinners I’ve brought Delly along to, that Haymitch is constantly passing out drunk during, that Bailey has been crashing nonstop since arriving here in Twelve.

When I came home from trading at the Hob tonight, I decided I was done with those dinners. I don’t need to subject myself to bossy Bailey any longer, and my resolve to keep Peeta out of my life as much as humanly possible is still strong. Despite the fact that I agreed to let him plant the primroses in my garden again and tend to their growth, I still don’t wish for us to be friends. I still don’t want to subject myself any further to him and Bailey’s exhibits.

And I figured no one would mind my absence anyways. At least not for a few dinners. I knew eventually Haymitch would try to push me to come back and Peeta would probably ask me very sweetly to join again, but I didn’t think the first night I skipped would be a huge production.

And okay, maybe there is a small part of me who deep down hopes if I refuse to come, Bailey may be disinvited in order to make me feel welcome again. It’s a long shot and not one I’d consciously admit to counting on, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a small, minuscule part of me wishing for that to happen just the same.

Haymitch glances at me suspiciously now. “You’re always hungry, kid.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are. You’re the most enthusiastic eater I know.”

Okay, he is blatantly confused apparently. His drunken goggles are blurring his perspective of reality, it would seem.

In any case, I flop backwards on my bed and roll away, hoping if I ignore my mentor long enough he’ll just evaporate into thin air.

But for some reason, Haymitch is weirdly dogged tonight. “Come on,” he urges, shaking my shoulder a bit too roughly. “I know the boy always says you’re just like me, but this little display is over the top, Katniss.”

I roll my eyes. “Why do you even want me at those dinners, Haymitch? You have Peeta and Bailey there.” I can’t stop myself from throwing the extra emphasis on Bailey, as immature as it may be.

However, the old man isn’t interested in dignifying me with a response. “And Delly. And Johanna. And Annie Cresta.”

That catches me completely off-guard. “What?”

In the time since the war ended and I returned to Twelve—or rather, was exiled to Twelve—no one from the other districts have visited. I have barely seen anyone I know in the last few months, outside Haymitch, Peeta and Delly.

“Some of which are anxious to see you at dinner,” he adds, gesturing for me to get up.

I shoot him a mordant glance. “Johanna’s anxious to see me?”

“I said some. Meaning Delly and Annie,” he clarifies. Off my still hesitant expression, he reaches down and tugs on my wrist, trying to get me out of bed.

“Fine!” I exclaim, feeling strangely embarrassed now as I realize that our roles are suddenly being reversed. I’m the one who always forced him out of bed, who made him come to meals, who fought with him to hurry up and get moving.

In the end, I don’t bother cleaning myself up or trying to appear presentable. Johanna and Annie won’t care and Peeta doesn’t get to care anymore.

And it wouldn’t matter anyway. Even if Effie Trinket or my entire prep team were here, I’d never stand a chance of looking anything but plain next to Bailey.

It’s not that I care that she’s so blatantly pretty. It’s just that her looks are one more thing about her presence to be bothered by, and that list is getting long and extensive. Even after her apparent approval of Peeta gardening my primroses, even after no negative interactions in eight days, I still sense hostility with her. And I still can’t stare at her without feeling my stomach churn.

Because every time she’s around, I know I’m about to be the odd one out. For whatever reason, outside of Delly, the people I care for, hold a deep affinity for Bailey Robyn.

And it bothers me above anything I can express. It bothers me beyond words, beyond measure, beyond any sense of feeling.

“Look who I found,” Haymitch announces as we enter through the threshold of his filthy residence.

“Katniss!” Annie exclaims and tosses her arms around my neck, despite the fact that we’ve never been too close. I can’t even remember the last time we had a conversation in person. The only true communication between me and Annie is the letters she sends, the ones filled with details of her life in Four and Finnick’s son. The ones I rarely respond to, but always read just the same.

Still, despite the fact that Annie might as well be a glorified stranger to me, I return the embrace, instinctively at first and then, simply because I want to. Because no one besides Peeta has given me any sort of affection in months and I miss it. Now that Peeta has put conditions on our relationship, I am hungry for any physical touch at all.

It shocks me to realize, in that moment, just how completely starved I am, for closeness.

I hug Annie for far longer than I think anyone watching anticipated but she doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seems to welcome it too.

Then again, her husband died and left her with seemingly no family at all to help raise their baby. So perhaps she’s just as desperate for a human touch—I suppose besides her son—as I am.

I don’t receive the same welcome from Johanna, unsurprisingly, but as soon as me and Annie break apart, she shoots me a satirical glance and pulls on a piece of my hair.

“Ow!” I exclaim, my thick brows furrowing in confusion. “What was that for?”

“It was sticking up,” she explains with a shrug and then smirks. “Did you just roll out of bed and come here?”

“Did you?” Her outfit is just denim pants and a low cut t-shirt. Not that different from my attire.

“Yes. And I’m not ashamed of it.” She runs a hand over her hair which has grown out to about length with her shoulders. “But I know how to use a hairbrush, at least.”

I roll my eyes as she nudges me. “This is dinner,” Haymitch deadpans as he makes his way to the table. “Not a Capitol Beauty Contest.”

Jo examines the unwashed table as we follow the grumpy man’s lead. As of right now, the table is completely void of substance. “Doesn’t dinner imply food?” She asks and Annie laughs lightly, suggesting she was thinking along the same lines.

“Haymitch doesn’t believe in cooking himself,” I retort, earning a look from the old man. “He’s waiting for Peeta to arrive with food.”

“You’re more than welcome to provide the meal, sweetheart.”

“And what are you providing?”

“The residence the meal is served at.”

“And what a residence it is!” Exclaims a completely different voice, a higher pitched soprano.

And like clockwork, three blonde heads round the corner of the dining room, abruptly joining the party.

Delly looks as enthusiastic to be walking with Peeta and Bailey as I am to be in their company right now. Which she further evidences by hurrying to the seat at my right.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a grin,” Haymitch remarks as he pulls out a bottle of white liquor and pours it into a half-clean glass.

“Wonder why that is,” I murmur out loud before thinking better of it. After all, Haymitch seems to care for Bailey more than me nowadays. I should probably not stir the pot before the food is even presented before me.

But he doesn’t reply back. Even if he did, I doubt I’d notice anyway.

Because, in the flash of a second, the attention of the room is completely shifted.

I knew Bailey was coming with Peeta. She’s practically glued to his hip at all times of day, almost as if she’s afraid to let him out of her sight. But it would seem that Haymitch did not inform Johanna or Annie about Peeta’s new relationship, effectively catching them both by surprise at the additional dinner guest.

And there’s little room for doubt to anyone with eyes that they’re together. Their hands are practically singed as one, in an airtight grasp, her manicured nails intertwined with his long fingers.

For a split second I wonder if that’s what my hand looked like inside Peeta’s last week. I wonder if this is what Bailey saw before her, when she caught us roaming through town at the crack of dawn.

“Barley?” Johanna says in a shocked voice.

It takes a moment for her comment to compute in my brain. “Bailey,” I correct, trying to be helpful. Though I’m unsure where she even managed to get the name Barley at all. Especially if Haymitch didn’t warn her about the girl Peeta was bringing and I strongly suspect he didn’t.

Jo looks at me like I’m insane for the amendment before turning back to Bailey and Peeta. “You’re dating Bailey Barley?” She say incredulously.

Bailey Barley? Is that a nickname? Now I’m the one who’s completely lost at sea, feeling like there was a good chunk of time I somehow missed.

Bailey’s blue eyes stare into Jo’s now, not exactly friendly but not as belligerent as I’ve seen her before. As I saw her last week.

I don’t know nor do I understand what they’re silently communicating, but I do comprehend one thing without a doubt.

Johanna knows Bailey. Somehow, someway, Johanna knows Bailey even more than I do.

Peeta doesn’t seem too confused though. He doesn’t even seem fazed by the exchange at all. Instead he drops Bailey’s hand—not soon enough, in my opinion—and moves to set some kind of meat and potato meal down on the table.

“Where did you get the meat?” I ask abruptly, recognizing it as deer. I just shot my first in a long time only the other day. How on Earth did Peeta get deer meat around the same time I did.

“I traded a cake for it. At the Hob,” he explains nonchalantly, avoiding my bewildered eyes now.

I just stare at him for a second, debating on even further commenting.

The Hob is where I traded the deer after killing it. Peeta literally baked a cake and traded it for meat, just because I wouldn’t speak to him.

He literally traded a cake so I could eat the meat that I hunted myself.

Something about that scenario vindicates me slightly. And I have to wonder if I’ve become sadistic with time and solitude.

My attention though is pulled back to Johanna and Bailey now. “What’re you doing in Twelve?”

Bailey takes her seat, between Haymitch and Peeta, with grace. “Peeta and I met in the Capitol,” she states simply. “I decided to come here and spend some more time with him. Get to know him a little better.”

As if to punctuate her words, she places one dainty hand on top of Peeta’s and gives it a squeeze.

I can’t even fight my eye roll.

“I see,” Jo murmurs, casting a sideway glance at me, none too subtle. “Well, it looks like you did... that.”

Delly snickers into her water glass and I don’t miss the way Bailey shoots her an irritated glance. Peeta seemingly does though. Haymitch is already too tipsy to care if an actual fight breaks out among us, his white liquor kicking in quick.

Annie on the other hand, who I’ve always believed to often be oblivious to all those around her, decidedly cuts the tension here. “Well, I’m hungry. Peeta, pass me a plate.”

And just like that, we’re having one of the most awkward meals I’ve ever had to endure.

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[dweetwise]

I feel like Doctor/Hillbilly is so niche but I really love the ship atm, may I rq some hcs of them mayb? 😔💕

[oo this is a rarepair if i’ve ever sen one! hope you like because i definitely got carried away!]

getting together fluff, some nsfw mentions at the end!

Herman X Max headcanons

Max has always admired the more authoritative killers, like Evan and Herman, while Herman has always mostly ignored Max. Herman is kind of a snob in that he values intelligence above all else, and just brushed Max off as an uneducated, well, hillbilly

Max isn’t stupid and is desperate to prove himself to Herman. This causes him to awkwardly approach the older man and request that he “Show Max how to make ‘em gennies sparkle an’ go boom”

Herman raises an eyebrow. The kid wants to learn how to overcharge a generator? It’s not an easy task and took Herman several weeks to perfect. Herman promises to get back to him later, causing a disappointed Max to wander off

Herman writes a numbered step-by-step idiot-proof guide to learning the technique, even throwing in a few rough sketches of the machines in case Max doesn’t know what some of the terms mean

When he finds Max and gives him the instructions with a smug grin, Max’s whole face lights up, until he looks at the papers and his smile drops into a disappointed frown. “Is something the matter?” Herman asks, prepared to give the young man a stern lecture for questioning his hard work. “Ah well, this ‘s mighty fine of ya Her--err, sir! Thanks!” Max drawls nervously before sprinting off with the papers

Herman doesn’t see Max for the next few days and assumes the scatter-brained youth gave up on learning altogether. He’s in the middle of complaining to Philip about Max squandering all his efforts, when Philip points out a crucial fact, “You know Max can’t read, right?”, and Herman feels like smacking himself in the face for not thinking of the possibility sooner

Herman swallows his pride and ventures to Coldwind farm to teach Max his technique the old-fashioned way, expecting to find the young man moping in a corner somewhere or perhaps making stick animals or whatever it is hillbillies do

Instead, he finds Max by the generator in the shed, hunched over and tinkering with the machine with papers scattered about the entire floor. “Hiya Herman!” Max greets him enthusiastically, wiping his oily hands on his overalls

“Max, what are you doing? What are these?” Herman questions and glances at the papers

“I did it! Look!” Max exclaims and gives the generator a solid kick, short-circuiting it and causing it to spark violently. “I uhh--I couldn’t read ya book, so I look’d at tha pictures ya drew an looked inside a genny to see wha I was s’posed ta do,” Max explains, gesturing to a pile of papers next to him where he’s--Herman inhales sharply in surprise--drawn pages upon pages of mechanical diagrams of the machines, pinpointing the exact locations the kick will impact!?

Herman is at a loss for words, completely taken aback by the other man’s resourcefulness and technical skill. He sees Max looking at him nervously, clearly awaiting some sort of response from his tutor. “Excellent work, boy. Would you like to accompany me in my next generator experiment?” Herman compliments and Max goes beet red and shuffles his feet awkwardly. “Tha’ would be mighty fine, sir.” Max mumbles

Max starts spending a lot of time in Herman’s office, assisting him with any research that requires a knack for machinery. Herman often visits Max’s tool shed in the farm, where they test many of his ideas and Max tinkers with the generator to troubleshoot for or fix any failures

Herman, recognizing and impressed by Max’s potential, demands the younger learn how to read so he can further participate in the research. Max is giddy at the prospect, but after a couple of disastrous attempts Herman admits he’s a lousy teacher and bribes Sally to teach Max by offering the redhead unlimited access to his office

Max is happy and making great progress with his reading, and Herman feels a strange sort of pride for his protege. That’s why it takes him completely by surprise when one day, Max decides to kiss him out of the blue. Herman pulls the man off of him and demands answers. “Just what do you think you’re doing!?” he asks sternly. “S-sorry! ‘S just, me an’ Sally were readin’ them books a-an I thought ‘s what people do, like them fellas Heathcliff an’ Cath’rine--”

“Of course Sally has you read that fictional garbage over the anatomy books I provided,” Herman sighs and runs a hand over his face in exasperation. “’M sorry Herman, Sally said ‘s what people do when ‘ey luv some’un,” Max explains, shuffling awkwardly. “Hold on. Love? Me?” Herman asks, voice uncharacteristically breaking into an even higher octave from the shock. Of all the stupid things--

“Ya! I luv ya,” Max says without hesitation, beaming. “And you want to kiss... me,” Herman clarifies, trying to wrap his head around this sudden turn of events. “Already did. An’ I wanna kiss ya more an’ do naughty things with ya in a hayloft,” Max cheerily remarks. Herman feels his brain short-circuit from the implications coming out of his seemingly innocent apprentice’s mouth. “Come ‘un, I ain’t dumb, I know wha Evan ‘n Phil dis’pear in tha woods fer,” Max grins with a slight blush.

Herman’s always been a quick thinker, so he manages to run through all possible outcomes of this scenario in his head. It’s stupid. He should reject Max. But he can’t say that he’s not intrigued, and seeing the kid’s enthusiasm... Herman finally just shakes his head fondly and allows himself to lean into Max’s personal space. “I know you’re anything but dumb, kid. I also don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into,” he can’t suppress a dark chuckle, half expecting the younger to feel intimidated--

“Try me, pops,” Max challenges instead, grinning. “That’s it you little shit--” Herman has the time to give an idle threat before Max’s laughing mouth shuts him up with a kiss

It’s not the most healthy relationship as there’s a clear power imbalance but Herman is kind of a narcissist and gets off on it. Though he does genuinely care about Max, he’s not gentle and you’ll never hear him use the phrase “Are you sure?”

Max loves being praised both inside and outside the bedroom. Herman is stingy with his compliments, only giving them when he’s genuinely impressed, which makes them all the more special to Max

Max has a daddy kink ok I don’t make the rules. He doesn’t realize it and probably doesn’t even know what it means, but Herman is perceptive. When he takes a gander and urges Max to call him ‘daddy’ during one of their trysts he doesn’t expect it to do much of anything, but hearing his lover cry out the word and almost spill himself makes him realize it’s a control thing and now he’s very much on board

Herman tops at first, but once he sees Max’s enthusiasm and the younger learns to channel his energy, they fall into a habit of Max topping. Herman discovers himself to be a bit of a power bottom and begrudgingly admits that Max fucks better than him, making Max’s confidence soar

The other killers quickly find out about their relationship because Max can’t shut up about his adoration of Herman. They get some snide comments from the Legion brats and a blushing Amanda threatening Max to “Stop oversharing your fucking sex life or I’ll reverse beartrap your dick”, but nobody seems to really care what they do behind closed doors--with the exception of one

Evan is pissed, being somewhat of a father figure to Max and 1000% ready to bash in Herman’s skull for seemingly taking advantage of the younger, impressionable man. Max is upset a the accusations, Herman pretends to give a shit about Evan’s opinion because of Max, and eventually Philip and Sally have to get involved to calm Evan down, vouching for Herman’s non-sinister intentions and Max’s ability to make his own decisions

[i came up with max’s personality on the fly but i kind of love him now?? also i don’t know how old herman is but i always hc max as early twenties at most so have some age difference on the side]

[justjessame]

Silence Chapter 8

The silence, so rare when Negan was present, blanketed the cabin. Only the flicker and crackle of the fire he’d started before I’d arrived broke it. I waited him out, letting him collect himself, his thoughts, and lose himself in his memories. He held me tight the entire time, and I wondered if he really remembered who I was, or that I was even alive and human. Or if I’d taken on a surreal tint of inanimate human shaped teddy bear?

Negan’s story, while so far removed from my own, caused the memory of the call alerting me that all was NOT right in my world so very long ago. My grandma asking when the last time I’d talked to my daddy, then more troubling asking for my permission to breach the privacy of our home, a privacy my dad had held so tightly guarded that I knew something terrible must have happened.

When the professional who’s been leading his patients away from the darkness threatening to swallow them whole for years and years finally gives in to his own darkness, what do those same patients take away from that? The ruckus, as my grandma muttered under her breath when I came home, would be horrendous. She worried more about the ripples, rumors, and rude comments that might come flying her way in the aftermath of my father finally giving in to the pull he’d felt to join my momma from the day she’d left her mortal shell giving me life. Me? I felt incredible guilt that he’d held on so tightly only for me. That he could have ended his suffering and been at peace so much sooner, or better still he could have talked to a version of himself and found a peace that kept him alive and pushed him into the light, with a promise of the reward he’d yearned for once he’d lived long and happily.

So lost in my own morose memories and the quiet that I’d once found comfort in, I didn’t notice dawn creeping up on us. The fire was dying, the day breaking cool and brisk, and I hadn’t slept a wink. From the groan that Negan released, I wondered if he’d managed any rest either.

“I want to go find her,” muffled, quiet still, his words fluttered my hair while his arms were still clutched around me like I’d disappear if he let go of me. “You touched my scar the first time you let me strip down full monty,” a hint of humor, but the pain from his burden was heavily coating it. “She’s where I got it.” He wasn’t making a hell of a lot of sense, but we were sleep deprived and full of painful nostalgia. “Will you come with me, Elara?” His face was pressed into the back of my head, the words pleading, and I sighed.

“Of course,” I had to agree, but I had to also wonder at what price was all this coming at? And at what point would I finally feel the cost was too high?

A tree on a slight hill is where Negan leads me, shovel in one hand, my fingers linked with his holding him tethered to the present in the other. He releases me only when he realizes he cannot dig without doing so, reluctant, eyes looking far more haunted than I care to consider he does and I step back, but he asks that I stay close to the tree.

“It’s safer,” he promises, but whether it’s a promise to me or himself, I can’t say.

Negan digs like a dog who forgot where he buried his bone, and he mutters about being told that she’d been left out here, where they’d discarded her like garbage. A man on a mission, fevered, but purposeful. Just when I think that perhaps, with the approach of one of the unlucky former freaks that he’d so charismatically joined, he’s admitted defeat he pulls something free from the soil.

A small part of me fears bones, or some other proof that the person who gave him his scar had gone further and truly destroyed Negan and everything he loved, another person named Lucille, but no. I couldn’t have been further from the truth. I would have made a comment or snorted, but while Negan was studying his ‘girl’ reverently, the groaning and snapping Whisperer was growing closer and before I could protect him, he reacted and Lucille took the brunt of the blow, even as she saved his life. Again.

We were back in the cabin, the fire crackling and bright, but I was sitting alone in the rocking chair while Negan cremated Lucille and said his final goodbyes.

As he had his moment, I had my journal on my lap and I wrote, since I had neglected it while I worked among the people who Negan wanted so badly to belong to. I’d lost track of the days, and that was far more annoying that I cared to think about. I tried to count back, the nights and days weren’t so similar that I should be able to make an educated guess.

I worked, and then my pen met paper, but instead of the normal stream of consciousness, I found myself asking more questions than I’d allowed before. Questions about people I hadn’t allowed myself to think about since the world seemed to collapse in on itself. Things I dared not think about, unless I wanted to feel the same crushing sadness that I’ve felt over the years, the same feeling that there wasn’t a fate or hope that made any of it worth it.

Why bother with communities and connections when at the end of the day, it all goes to shit and we’re all going to end up either truly dead or walking around trying to eat the ones who aren’t dead yet?

I didn’t notice when Negan finished his memorial service. I wasn’t really THERE when he came closer and his shadow fell over the chair. Too busy in my own thoughts and the urge to move, to pack up and GO again was growing in me like a gnawing need.

“Hey,” his voice, still so quiet didn’t register, not at first. He told me later that he’d said my name, called ‘hey’ more times than he cared to count, and finally had to touch my shoulder. “Elara, let’s head out.”

Moving sounded perfect, so I was up with my pack on and my bow and quiver ready before Negan could wrap his mind around my movements. He grabbed only the minimum, which should have warned me about our destination, but the nomad in me just wanted to go, damn the ending.

As we walked, Negan reached for my hand and I twitched, moving to grab a loose and low branch or pick a berry, dodging the contact. Movement, forward, and silence that’s what I needed now. And by some miracle he managed to give all three to me, at first. My sense of direction engaged soon enough to realize we were heading back.

“I’m not giving up, Elara,” he saw the shift in me, subtle or not. “Come back with me, we still have your list,” a teasing tone still laced with worry, but less pain.

The mention of my list caused a small flutter deep down inside of me, but then a flare of the night before and the community that banished him to that - with me along simply because of association. This is what people did, and have always done. It’s what my own grandmother expected when my dad committed suicide after all.

Negan stopped moving and so did I. Facing one another, not far from Alexandria, he was eyeing me like I was a scared animal. “What’s changed?”

“Why were you really banished?” Damn my curiosity, but there had to be more.

His eyes were locked on mine. “I killed Maggie’s husband while she was pregnant, in front of her.” I swallowed hard, waiting because there had to be more. “She - The sentence, when I was imprisoned, was that I’d be in my cell for the rest of my life. I’m not.”

“So she wants you dead.” He nodded. “Is that all?”

“It’s what I figure the real reason is, but -” he shook his head. “Lydia’s been treated like shit by these people, Elara. And I caught three assholes going after her and -” he sighed. “One died, so of course, I’m a murderer.”

“Just looking for a reason to get you out of sight out of mind?” Now that we were face to face, out of the darkness of the cabin, with the trees and sunshine around us, I wasn’t quite as flight focused. “And what am I in this mess?”

Negan took a step closer, just one and it was small. “Elara, just be beside me?” A plea, not a demand, but almost begging. “I have no one. Not a single person who is beside me, but you don’t look at me like -”

I moved closer to him and sighed. “Like you’re Negan? Just Negan?” I shook my head and let my cheek meet his chest as he opened his arms for me. “Don’t get us both killed? Please?”

Negan’s soft chuckle ruffled my hair as his arms wrapped around me. “No promises, Elara.”

“Great,” I muttered, leaning my head back so I could look up at him. “This is why I’m NOT a joiner.”

[timeisacephalopod]

Without Romance

Have an ironpanther soulmate AU (where you see color when you meet your soulmate) in which Tony is aromantic and poor T’Challa is his soulmate and also confused by the Americans. Though Tony doesn’t use the word ‘aromantic’ because its not a term he’s ever come across before. But its pretty obvious that he’s aro.

Tony is trying to wrangle his damn cat back into her carrier but she’s not really having it when someone taps him on the shoulder. “I should have named you Jar Jar Binks instead of Leia because you are being annoying as fuck,” he hisses at the cat before he turns around to find a pretty attractive dude laughing behind him.

“Beautiful cat. Um. I think you’re my soulmate,” he says and tony snorts.

“Nope, don’t do that shit. Find whoever was behind me,” he says, turning back around and picking up the cat. She places her paws on either side of the carrier and Tony sighs as she does her best to resist going into the fucking carrier. “God damnit Leia, would you just cooperate for ten damn seconds, you don’t ever hate the carrier one you’re in it!” he tells her. He gets an annoyed meow in response.

“Um. There isn’t anyone else but you in this direction,” the guy behind him says and Tony looks up. Huh, that’s weird- turns out he’s right.

Tony shrugs, “doesn’t matter, I don’t to romance so that’s a fluke on your part. Get your eyes checked,” Tony tells him as he finally manages to wrangle the cat into her carrier. “Finally!” he says excitedly, shutting the door before the cat dashes out and he spends another half an hour jamming the animal back in there. This is why he avoids taking her to the vet.

Behind him the guy sputters. “I.. but... you... you must have seen in color when you saw me too,” he says and Tony shakes his head.

“Nope. Cat’s my soulmate. Fitting because like I said, I don’t do romance. Cat’s cute and fuzzy, romance is messy and jammed into fucking everything for no reason at all,” he says, shaking his head. He had desperately turned to the horror genre, a genre he hates on account of what asshole likes to be scared, only to discover that even killing the shit out of people has romantic subplots. He assumed stupidly that maybe the genre, being what it is, wouldn’t have couples and shit but holy hell even a bunch of people dying for some reason needs a romance in it. Tony is genuinely floored by the obsession though he supposes in this soulmate obsessed country he’s the weird one. But damn, just one time he’d like to watch something without that garbage in it.

Even advertisements have soulmates in them. When he’s buying soap the last thing he cares about is soulmates so why are they mentioned again?

“Oh. Well that’s certainly unusual. I... don’t think that changes you being my soulmate though,” the guy says and Tony turns back around.

“I’m going to be blunt with you here. I don’t do relationships, I don’t give a fuck about soulmates, I don’t understand the world’s fascination with them, and I don’t view it as some sort of reason to give shit about you. Not to be a dick but you seeing color means nothing to me and why would it? Its literally a chemical bath on your brain, how’s that supposed to mean anything to me?” he asks, shaking his head. Its not a good reason to start a relationship.

The guy gestures to the cat. “We both like cats. And Star Wars,” he says and Tony rolls his eyes.

“Ninety percent of the world likes Star Wars and cats might have a lower population who love them but that’s still at least thirty percent of the world. Do better,” Tony tells him.

HIs companion smiles a little and Tony’s surprised he hasn’t been slapped. A couple people around them damn well look like they want to slap him and honestly they can fuck off. Its not his fault he’s right. “In my country there’s a word for people like you, the ones who seem to have no interest in soulmates,” he says and well okay, color Tony curious he didn’t expect this guy to actually do better.

“Uh huh. What country is that?” he asks. Accent isn’t familiar to him even if its certainly African. Probably closer to the south of the continent, but that’s about as good as his guess gets.

The guy smiles, “Wakanda,” he says and Tony lets out a loud snort.

“You mean the isolationist nation that hasn’t been involved in world politics since what, pre-colonial times? Buddy,” Tony tells him, shaking his head. Shit, he could have come up with a more believable country than that.

*

Rhodey watches as Tony proceeds with the most hilariously awkward encounter he’s ever seen him in. Sam sits across from him also watching for his own amusement. “The prince of Wakanda. Gotta admit I didn’t see that coming.”

“Honestly it was the cat I didn’t see coming. I think a prince of a nation we haven’t heard from in hundreds of years is honestly a lot less weird than his cat.” Tony had been ecstatic and honestly Rhodey genuinely thinks it didn’t occur to Tony that the implication of his soulmate being a cat was that he would have sex with it. Obviously that never happened but still, Tony was the only one who didn’t immediately think that.

Sam rolls his eyes at him. “Only because you have some weird assumptions about soulmates,” he tells him and Rhodey sighs.

“Yeah, you have a fancy degree or whatever but I have eyes. I know how soulmates work.”

“We don’t actually, and who can be soulmates with what degree of acceptance is entirely based on the time period we’re talking about. Like Jim Crow era America was not cool with interracial soulmates, but especially if one was black and the other was white. And gay people, and platonic connections, and familial connections- the further we get out of the accepted norms of romance the less accepted those connections are. Animal and human, for example, tends to be frowned upon because we assume soulmates look like only one narrow definition of romantic acceptability,” Sam tells him like he’s never said all this before.

“Then why are all the soulmates in America romantic?” Rhodey asks.

“They aren’t dingbat, the ones that don’t have that connection aren’t like Tony and flaunting it about. You think interracial soulmates were out there yelling about their soulmate being a black person? Probably not when they’d both get killed for being defective. Tony being famous and well loved probably saved his ass from worse speculations than cat fucking. Which is an absurd conclusion to come to, by the way.”

Uh huh. Sam can go on the way he does all he wants but Rhodey wants real proof, not two and a half people in a couple studies who claim that they don’t have a romantic connection to their soulmate. Though it is pretty clear Tony loves his cat in a not romantic way. But then Tony never really has done the romance thing.

Case and point, the poor bastard looks pinched across the table with T’Challa and he keeps shooting Rhodey ‘help me’ looks. “Should we go save him?” Rhodey asks Sam and he shakes his head.

“No. He stole that last dumpling last night and his pasty ass can suffer there,” Sam says, glaring at Tony. Rhodey snorts and starts laughing because Sam has always been a petty bastard but that has to take the cake.

*

T’Challa looks confused and Tony’s never met anyone who doesn’t assume all soulmates are romantic ones. “But Tony’s soulmate is a cat. Do you... do you think he has... relations with the cat? You don’t, right?” he asks, giving Tony a panicked look that disappears fast presumably because he looks so disgusted.

“No, T’Challa what the fuck?” He relaxes some, giving one of his guards in orange a relieved look. For a second her harsh exterior fades as she cracks just a bit of a smile before she goes back to looking like she’s ready to kill a man. Or woman. Or whatever, she doesn’t look like she’d be picky about it.

“No I don’t think Tony fucks the cat,” Rhodey tells him. “But he’s weird.”

“He’s not weird, this happens all the time in Wakanda. What do you do when soulmates are so far apart in age they can’t possibly hold a romantic interest in each other?” he asks, frowning.

“Assume the older one is a pedophile and throw them in jail,” Sam says. “Don’t look at me like that I shit you not that is an actual American law and will land you on the sex offender registry.”

That’s the most absurd shit Tony has ever heard and clearly everyone in the room, even romantic soulmate fan number one Rhodey, agrees with that.

“Americans are stupid,” T’Challa mumbles. “No offense,” he offers to Tony only.

He shrugs. “Yeah I mean. True. People printed stories about me and the cat for like four years consistently. Like sure, climate change is going to fuck us all but lets talk about that one guy who loves his cat and our speculations about it based on nothing but our assumptions of what soulmates need to be even though its obvious that’s not what’s happening here. It really is exhausting.”

“What about family members that are soulmates?” T’Challa asks. “Or soulmates who don’t share a sexuality that would inspire a romantic connection? Or people like you who don’t have an interest in romance at all but still have a soulmate?” He nods at Tony specifically. In Wakanda they have a word for it not that Tony can pronounce it. Apparently the loose translation is ‘without romance.’

“Oh list is longer than that depending on where we are. Pretty much anything that wasn’t a white heterosexual Christian couple was thrown right out of all research on the basis of being ‘perverted’ so uh. Yeah, here its romance or bust. We’ve gotten a little more lax with interracial pairings and gay people but they still get a bunch of shit. And people like Tony are basically unheard of.”

Tony frowns, “that’s not true, my Twitter feed is constantly lit up with people thanking me for saying that I have no interest in romance and soulmates because they feel the same way. We aren’t rare, people choose not to see us even when I’m literally yelling in their face.” Like with Rhodey, who really only seems to accept that Tony is different, not that his perceptions in totality are wrong. Even when Sam, his beloved soulmate, points out the flaws on Rhodey’s views he still doesn’t see it.

“In Wakanda we are aware that soulmate connections are as unique and varying as the people in the relationships. I assumed that romance thing was just the British,” he says, shaking his head. Because most of his travels outside Wakanda, Tony has learned, were to Europe though he stuck mostly around Britain in particular. He’s obviously been to quite a few African nations but he doesn’t seem to have stuck around long enough to get a lasting feel of their soulmate culture. Tony’s pretty sure if he had he wouldn't have concluded that only the British act that way with soulmates.

Sam shakes his head, “nah. I mean it’s a European idea and the wide spread assumptions about romance and soulmates being interchangeable did come out of European colonization but by now more of the world believes romance and soulmates are the same than not.”

Tony has no idea why Sam thinks that’s a useful area of study or why he chose that after the army but here he is. And apparently he loves his soulmate counseling job. Tony’s pretty sure he’d shoot himself if he were Sam.

“Why is it that ninety percent of the world’s useless ideas manage to come from Europeans shoving their culture down everyone’s throats?” T’Challa asks, irritated.

“In Europe’s slight defense if someone else off and colonized they’d probably do the same thing,” Tony says.

“But they didn’t, now did they? Regardless, American assumptions about soulmates are absurd. Imagine ignoring such obvious evidence the way you do! Throwing people in jail because their soulmate connection is not what you deem acceptable only because your definition is narrow and restrictive- absurd!” he says, shaking his head.

*

Shuri snorts and starts laughing. “Oh come on big brother, if you’re going to tell tall tales about Americans at least make them believable. No one would assume a man would have sex with his cat because the cat is his soulmate that’s ridiculous!” she says. Fuck Tony was born in the wrong damn country. Shuri looks between him and T’Challa and frowns. “He’s not lying, is he?” she asks him and Tony shakes his head. She lets out a long sigh and looks as lost and confused as T’Challa had when Tony first explained this all to him.

“So now we should expose him to proper soulmate culture because his culture has victimized him, teaching him there is something wrong with him because he didn’t have an interest in soulmates,” T’Challa says, shaking his head.

Truthfully he still doesn’t but he actually likes T’Challa and if nothing else no one else is allowed into Wakanda and the country is stunning. Might as well take advantage while he gets to know T’Challa better.

[danvssomethingorother]

Yondu Claus

Summary: While cleaning out the Quadrant, Peter finds an old box of his old letters to Santa.

A03 

For the 12 Days of Stamora. I wanted to do something different and didn’t focus directly on the holiday but its there and Stamora is there too but its subtle.

—

Hoarding was a nasty habit and it usually carried from ravager to ravager, it was their own little tradition. Ravagers only became what they were after a hard life of nothing, so it was no surprise hoarding became a nasty habit and it was hard, so hard to break.

Kraglin and Peter had been banned from cleaning together on this mission to make the Quadrant more livable for the seven of them. The last time they had worked together they had deemed every item they found in the cargo that had already been caving in with the garbage from ravagers that were dead and unable to use them, necessary and vital for the ship. They had even managed to get more shit in the already over packed cargo by transferring all the junk deemed garbage by the other guardians down there. They had reasoned if it was all in one place, it was out of the way but the others were less willing to accept that. They had jobs to do, they would need the cargo area one day, the shit with no use needed to go.

Both of them had been assigned chaperones while they cleaned and neither were happy to be treated like children.

Peter considered he got lucky though, sitting on the floor with Gamora over seeing him as he dug through a crate that had once belonged to Yondu opposed to his older brother who likely had a gun inches from his head while he argued with Rocket about why he should be able to keep this box.

“I know I’m not making this easy,” he finally said facing Gamora taking his attention off the box for a moment, “But its just…hard.”

Gamora sighed and squatted down on the floor next to him and nodded placing her hand on his shoulder and squeezing it. She didn’t say anything and she didn’t need to, this was hard and they all knew it. Junking shit that belonged to dead people just didn’t feel right even if they had never personally known any of the ravagers that stashed their garbage in the third quadrant to keep anyone else from stealing their hoard.  

Looking at this garbage brought to mind his old home back on Earth and all his mother’s Earthly belongings. Her records, her tapes, that guitar she had tried to learn to play, that big basket of knitting supplies she inherited from her own mother, all long gone by now. All of it probably destroyed years ago, leaving nothing left of her on Earth. The only proof Peter would have to prove she was once here and had loved him had been destroyed by his own father, leaving nothing to remember her by. He took a large breath and Gamora helped steady him squeezing his shoulder tighter as he slid a crate close to him that had belonged to his adopted father.

He pulled a large, hole ridden sock that smelled like it was fresh off Yondu after he wore it for a month and groaned tossing it into the garbage pile. It was a little easier doing this without Kraglin at his side sliding rose colored glasses over his eyes painting a different picture of the past and convincing him they couldn’t get rid of that! It may look like garbage, but it has history.

Peter could tell you whatever history that nasty sock had and the equally as nasty underwear he pulled out after, he didn’t want to know and could just go without the smell.

Gamora smiled patting his arm and settling next to him to get a better view of the rest of the box with him.

“I know Yondu probably didn’t use half this shit after just tossing it in here neither did Tulk or Horuz or any of the other half a dozen men who hid their shit in here, but it still feels weird to have to get rid of their things. The things that proved they were here, that they were alive and lived on this ship longer then I have even been alive. Tossing the garbage should be easy but its not and I hope Rocket isn’t being too hard on Kraglin, he’s taking it way harder then I am.”  

“I think Rocket understands,” Gamora said simply touching the box silently asking permission to dig into it as well.

Peter nodded before speaking a little more of what was on his mind.

“I know. Rocket understands. Maybe even better then me….I wasn’t there for most of their deaths and caused Yondu’s.”

Gamora straightened and simply wrapped her arms around Peter’s waist and tilting her head firmly towards the box. Work through your pain, you will feel better soon and I love you that look told him firmly. Peter smiled, she understood what he needed.

“Ego killed Yondu and I will keep saying it till you believe it,” she said after a moment turning his head towards hers for a moment, “He killed your mother. You are no more at fault then I am. Being born is no more your fault then my own. We are what we are and we clean up the messes the monsters in our lives make.”

“First we clean out the garbage then we kill Thanos?” he asked smiling as her fingers gently swiped his tears back.

“Naturally, if you want to get more fame for killing another tyrant, you better get working on sorting that box.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he mock saluted tossing another crusted and aged sock into the garbage pile.

In truth, Peter didn’t really know who Yondu was in life, neither had ever attempted to get a deep meaningful understanding of the other. Going through this garbage he had hoped to get to know the people who helped define him through what they left behind but so far he found most of it was meaningless garbage they were just trying to hide from the other crew members. Nothing they needed, nothing they really wanted, but god damn did they not want to part with it.

Quill wasn’t ready to tell Gamora but when he was younger he spent a lot of time here in this quadrant surrounded by this junk feeling he meant as much. Not useful, not loved, not wanted but kept around just in case. The part of his brain that was trained to feel and think that also kept it open that his friends felt that way about him too and being down here surrounded by all this junk that they were slowly but surely tossing into the trash made those unwanted thoughts break into his conscious mind.

There is only so much use you can get out of a novelty Terran who’s vocabulary mainly consisted of out dated pop culture references before you got bored and discarded it after all.  

“Who is ‘Santa’?”

Peter jerked his head towards Gamora who had begun digging in the box again while he took a small reprieve into his own self-pity. He didn’t answer her right away, furrowing his brows and taking the old note book page that was folded into a make shift envelope, yellowing around the edges from age but his scratchy hand-written word was readable still even after all this time. He choked on his own laugh taken by such surprise seeing it. He always assumed these notes would be lost to time but no, Yondu had found each and every one he realized digging further into the box and finding more pages like the one in his hand.

“Fuck,” he whispered shaking his head, “I thought these damn things were destroyed. I guess it makes sense Yondu found all my notes and hid them away before the rest of the crew could make fun of me. Damn hoarder, only he would keep this shit.”

“Who were they for? A relative of yours?” Gamora asked taking one of the notes from the crate that had been hidden under a large pile of dirty laundry.

“No,” he said beginning to turn red as he turned his head away, “Its going to sound really stupid. Probably even insane considering you barely know what Christmas is…”

“A religion?” she inquired and Peter chuckled shaking his head, turning the letter over in his hands not really wanting to open it yet.

“Kinda. I mean there is the Christ stuff but mom, she didn’t believe in god…” he sighed flicking the tiny folded letter back into box and staring off. She had a right to, but sadly she did give her devotion to a god and he destroyed her.

“It’s a Terran holiday. A gift giving holiday about peace and love and family and friends and all that good stuff. Santa was this dude who loved everyone and if you were good enough, he would give you gifts…”

Gamora sneered at that and shook her head.

“He must not have loved everyone equally if you have to be deemed worthy for him to give you gifts.”

“He wasn’t real,” Peter laughed, “I think he only existed to sell Coke products and for parents to instill fear into their kids about being nice or Santa won’t get you the toy you wanted.”

Peter fell into silence after that, just staring sadly at the dozens of letters because for him, so long ago, Santa was real. He was a kid with a dying mother, he was an orphan abducted by aliens and he needed desperately to believe in something. People around him in the hospital told him to pray, his mother sneered to his grandfather god didn’t exist and she didn’t want to see his bible again but she always softly assured him Santa was there and he was always watching and knew he was good. So Santa became a cathartic concept to vent his problems to in letters for years. Sticking those letters begging for help into mail boxes on Earth and sticking them into cargo crates on the Eclector. Maybe he always knew no one was going to help him and when he ran out of paper in his note book he stopped writing but they helped him have just enough hope to make it through that first year so he never complained. In hindsight it was obvious Yondu would find them.  

“Then why did you write to him so much?” Gamora asked picking up one of the letters and flipping it between her fingers.

“He was a magical being who people told me knew everything,” he said turning his smuggest smile Gamora’s way but she didn’t by it for a second, she saw the sadness and pulled him close to her as he talked. Head resting on his broad shoulder and hand rested in his hair.

“I was eight, stupid, scared and didn’t know what I wanted, I just knew I didn’t want to be here.”

“May I read one?” she asked kissing Peter on the cheek before pulling away from him to get a better look at the folded notes on the bottom of the crate, mixing them around to grab one at random.

Peter nodded but inside his insides were twisting up, he eyed the letter she began to unfold and wanted nothing more then to knock it from her hands.

“Dear Santa,

It’s me, Peter again, I know I keep writing to you and I’m not sure I have been good enough for you to grant me this big of a favor but can you please take me home or at least let me live in the North Pole with you? I could be an elf. I could be whatever ya wanted me to be. Please just help. Please. Last night one of the big aliens hit me and I have been in the vents for hours waiting for them all to go to bed. It hurts and I’m scared. I’m not even sure what I did wrong this time. I am trying so hard but he hates me so much. It’s like he just has fun pushing me around and I know no one cares enough about me to help. Please…I promise I will make it up however ya want. Just take me away from here.

Love, Peter Jason Quill.”

Peter remembered this letter and groaned to himself. One of the larger recruits like smacking him around when no one was looking and he was scared but didn’t want to go to Yondu fearing he would harm him for coming to him with useless problems. Again. He always shoved Peter away when he came to him afraid, so Peter hadn’t really trusted him to solve this problem and knew he couldn’t. So instead he made up a fantasy that someone could, if he was good enough and asked nice enough. He groaned and rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. He really was a brain dead child.

Peter was surprised when Gamora kept going.

“I may not be Santa but I took care of it. No need to be an elf, yer good enough where you are.”

Peter grabbed the letter from Gamora and looked at the sloppy hand writing underneath his own and stared in awe. Yondu had gotten rid of that guy, taking him out on a private mission he never came back from he remembered.

“Do you want to read the rest of them?” Gamora asked.

“No,” Peter whispered pocketing the letter, “This one is good.”

Gamora smiled at him and pulled him into a hug before declaring it was time for a break. Once Peter was half way across the room, she picked the box off the ground. Peter could read them whenever he was ready to see how much his adopted father did love him.

[newagesispage]

                                                            OCTOBER                2020

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 The Stones opened Rolling Stones # 9 on Carnaby St.** Bill Wyman auctioned off many unique items for the Prince’s Trust.**Wyman’s bass used for groundbreaking records in ’69 and ’70 broke a record at $384,000. The famous amp that got him into the Stones went for $106,250 and the most expensive toilet seat cover sold at auction with the tongue logo went for $1,142. Brian Jones Rock and Roll Circus guitar sold for $704,000.

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VOTE!!!!

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In San Francisco people can order dinner and drinks delivered with a drag queen performance.

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Joaquin and Rooney had a baby that they named River.

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Real Time has been renewed thru 2022.

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The new film, No Sudden Move about 1955 Detroit will star Don Cheadle, David Harbour, Benicio Del Toro, Ray Liotta and Kieran Culkin.

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Shep Smith is back with Just the Facts on CNBC.

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The Presidential debate: Well, Good Biden moments-“You don’t panic, he panicked.”  “It is what it is cuz you are what you are.” “Everybody knows he’s a liar.” Wouldn’t know suburbs unless he took a wrong turn.”  “Will you shit up man?” “Get out of your and trap.” Imagine if Bernie or a younger candidate with real energy were there. Imagine someone quick on their feet because we need that.  The bully style of scary clown 45 does fluster a normal person as it supposed to. Joe held his own and had real dignity though. It is hard to not respond to the President’s ridiculousness but he needs to be ignored.  Trump and son both seemed like they were about 8 Red Bulls into the day with all that pent up anger.  Who should be drug tested? Biden?  Trump went on about forest management but most of that land belongs to the Federal government.  ** I have never seen my mailperson trying to sell ballots.** Trump said that bad things are happening in Philadelphia. Biden should have showed some love for the state. He is on a tour of it now though. ** Chris Wallace said, “Why you not?” Was that a real question?  45 said, “I was a private business people.” They all had a little trouble talking. It is exhausting the way people put up with his manners.  **As soon as the debate was over, the Trump army wasted no time reaching out to goons to be poll watchers. Do they know that you just can’t show up randomly for that??**Apprentice insiders say Trump abuses Adderall.

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The other day when Trump took the podium for a rant, an open mike caught a someone saying, “Oh shit” On Fox.

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For those who insist Trump is a religious man, I’ll grant you he pays taxes like a church. ��Stephen Colbert

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Letterman is ready with My Next Guest Needs no Introduction. This season includes Robert Downey Jr., Lizzo and Dave Chappelle.

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There are about 9 million feral swine in this country known as super pigs.

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There is talk of Levar Burton replacing Alex Trebeck when he retires. YES!!!!

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Cigar Afficionado magazine has named CBS Sunday Morning the greatest show on tv.

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The U.S. built tunnels under Trump’s wall to let water, garbage, DDT and other toxins flow thru. Millions were spent for nothing and now millions more will be spent to address this problem that empties into the Pacific Ocean.

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Days alert: Melissa Reeves is being replaced. Is it that she does not want to commute from Nashville or that she is a bit too conservative or something else? Is it an end of Days with old side characters and replacements of the stars??** Ava is coming back, JJ is back, Eric and Sami are gone. ** Absolutely loved the pic of Abigail 1 that confused Abigail 2. Funny!!!! It reminded me of the OLTL moment during Asa’s funeral when Blair saw the 1st Blair in a flashback.

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“Smaller than expected” would probably explain a lot about the proud boys. –Andi Zeisler

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Why does anyone listen to Christie or Rudy??

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Looting isn’t part of protesting just like murder isn’t part of arresting.

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A judge has said that Florida has created an “unconstitutional pay to vote system.” This has now been overturned. What are the things that can be termed felonies to keep one from voting? The list includes releasing helium filled balloons, driving without a license, catching the wrong lobster and disturbing turtle eggs. Amendment 4 was originally put into effect to stop freed slaves from voting. But SB7066 makes sure that felons complete the terms of their sentences. The fines, fees and restitution can be hard to navigate. There must be proof before they can vote but all counties keep their own records and there is no organization statewide.  Mike Bloomberg, John Legend, Michael Jordon and others are paying off millions of dollars in debt for felons in Florida so that they can vote if they can unravel some of the puzzles. Now Florida Republicans are saying that that is also illegal.

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Two thirds of the world’s wildlife has disappeared in the last 50 years.

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At our own peril, we have to step up or everything is lost. –John Batiste

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Michael Jordan will start up a Nascar team with Bubba Wallace.

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Laraine Newman signed up to be a poll worker. How do you get people to vote? Celebrity poll workers? Hey whatever works as long as the masses don’t gawk and hold up the lines.

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A refrigerator sized asteroid is headed to earth and may arrive about the time of the election.

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So the coronavirus relief funds were funneled by the pentagon to defense contractors.** What kind of a selfish fucking world do we live in? At least we know which people in this world give a flying fuck about the rest of us. Rally and fair participants, relief money scammers and mask protesters, we hear you loud and clear!!

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The Emmys went on thru the week of the 14th thru the 20th. Winners included RuPaul, Don’t fuck with Cats, Leah Remini, The Apollo, Eddie Murphy, Last Week 2nite, SNL, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, The Crown, Better Call Saul, Joseph Gordon Levitt, Archer, Hollywood, Maya Rudolph, Dan Harmon,  Bad Education, Cherry Jones, Regina King,  Julia Garner, Mark Ruffalo,  Uzo Aduba, The Last Dance and Stranger Things. Schitt’s Creek (and practically the whole cast), Dave Chappelle and Succession took home the big ones. Norman Lear became the oldest Emmy winner ever. Letterman ‘hitchhiked’ to the Emmy’s to present an award. I was really rooting for Amy Sedaris!!

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Bill Murray and Rashida Jones will star in Sofia Coppala’s On the Rocks.** The Doobie Brothers want Bill Murray to stop using their music to sell his golf clothes.

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Danny Trejo and Jessica Tuck will star in ‘The Shift.’

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Illinois is pulling down statues including Chris Columbus. Woo Hoo!!

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13 mummies have been discovered in a well, stacked one on top of the other. The Egyptian discovery from about 2,500 years ago has been well preserved.

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Hysterectomies on immigrant women in detention camps?? Really??

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Scientific American mag is 175 years old has never endorsed a candidate but Joe Biden id their man.

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Word is that in Indonesia the anti- maskers are forced to dig the graves of the Covid 19 victims.

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The Breonna Taylor case continues with a settlement and too few charges.

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Scary Clown 45 announced he will call in to Fox and Friends every Monday or Tuesday but a host told him that they were not committed to that.** The Scary campaign put up ads with “Support Our Troops” but the problem is they are Russian troops and jet fighters.** Trump did a phone interview on Fox Sports and talked about golf.

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It is a shame that Hillary lost the election and many more of us would be alive if she were running the show. But, I can only imagine the shit they would have given her.

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Brad Pascale, Trump’s former campaign manager, went to the hospital after being taken into custody in Florida after threatening suicide.

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Just remember , 1619 Project: Good   1776 Commision: Oh my! Why do these rich old fucks want us to stay as stupid and uninformed as they are? Haven’t we been in the dark long enough? They are the fake news masters.

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Jim Carrey will play Biden on SNL. Chris Rock will be host the season 46 opener on Oct. 3. New players will be Lauren Holt, Punkie Johnson and Andrew Dismukes.

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Gulf War Syndrome is a chronic and multi symptomatic disorder that has affected military personnel from the Persian Gulf War. The DOD is resisting the strong evidence and needs more of a spotlight. The possible exposure to chemical weapons may even have been passed on to their partners through sexual contact. All of this came to light in the mid 90’s thru complaints that were told to Ross Perot. Let’s hope Tammy Duckworth looks into this further.

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Amy Coney Barrett has been nominated to the Supreme Court. Her previous statements tell us she believes the ACA is unconstitutional, abortion is always immoral and the country should undo marriage equality. She is a member of People of Praise.** If she was a Muslim and everything else was the same regarding her beliefs and associations, Republicans would call her a religious extremist and never let her step near the Supreme Court. –Wajahat Ali.** Notorious A.C.B. ?? Do they have one original idea other than new ways to cheat and steal??

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Finn Wittrock has a funny little Emmy Uber ride on Funny or Die.

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Breonna Taylor’s neighbor’s wall got more justice that Breonna herself. –Jordan Uhl

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Go Stevie Wonder!!!

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Dax Sheppard went off the wagon for a while.

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A Giant Gundom? Really?

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A fun prank would be if we stopped this from becoming a dictatorship on Nov. 3rd and whatnot. –George Wallace

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Sen. Kevin Kramer has been acting a little crooked on building the Wall.

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The Metropolitan Opera has cancelled the whole season.

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Happy Doomscrolling

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Can dogs be trained to detect the coronavirus?

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Rand Paul is an idiot. Birx and Atlas have ruined reps. Give ‘em Hell Fauci!! ** Everything Atlas says is false. –R. Redfield

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Eric Trump must testify in court about the Trump business’s a judge has decreed. The Trump biz has made about 19 billion in the last 3 years.** The world is gobbling up the news about the Trump tax returns with tales of debt, the $72.9 milliion refund and foreign influence. How does the IRS let a refund like that happen? How bad of a businessman do you have to be to lose that much $? National security threat. One of his fans will probably bail him out.

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Bet we’d all own houses if we stopped eating so much avocado toast and committed tax fraud. -Kashana

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Mary Trump has sued The President and his siblings for fraud.

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Ellen is selling off $10 mil in art.

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61% say we should abolish the electoral college.

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The Netflix series, Challenger :The Final Flight reminds us that like The Titanic, the arrogance of man can change so many lives.

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Wilderness of Errors is a great doc. It proves just how right the book and mini -series got it.

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The remains of the 1644 warship, Del Menhorst have been found off the Danish coast.

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Everybody is talking about Jeff Daniels in The Comey Rule. The actors were upset when Showtime was going to push back the release until after the election. The actors said they wouldn’t promote the film so the film has premiered.

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David Tennant gets better and better and now he is giving us DES on ITV. Quality AND quanity.

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Independent prosecutors are not going ahead with a case against NE Patriots Robert Craft for soliciting prostitutes.

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America has no memories. –Wallace Shawn

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Tyler Childers has released ‘Long Violent History”. Give it a listen.

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Does it seem like the administration gets a word of the week and they really push it? Caravan-Herd-sedition-looters- Antifa. It is like they all share a brain and do not have a thought of their own.

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Chris Petrovski `will star in ‘Listen’ about a young Israeli soldier.

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On a personal note, I love the way that Autumn makes my brain feel. The spring allergies are gone, the hot muddled summer thinking fades and everything opens up.

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Gubler is back and in the video for Future Islands ‘Moonlight’.

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Niecy Nash wed Jessica Betts.

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Check out the Curious life and death of… on the Smithsonian channel.

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Conan is looking hot with his grown out hair.

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I just love Mel Rodriguez and Weijia Jiang. Some people just don’t get enough credit.

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Vet’s crisis line: 1-800-273-8255

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Donald Trump is taking page out of Charles Manson’s playbook. Start a race war, then convince the public you alone can end it. He’s a lying racist piece of garbage. –Rob Reiner

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Serious Question: Would good Christian conservatives have mounted a Go fund me for Timothy McVeigh? –Michael Mckean

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Old Navy will pay employees to work the polls on Election day.

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Trump is the most effective anti -liberal in my lifetime. –Newt Gingrich

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Tommy Chong does not seem too happy with Joe Rogan.

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Anna Faris is leaving CBS’s Mom as it heads into its 8th season.

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Q Anon should take advantage of the ACA. –Joe Biden

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Word is that the White House told Federal agencies to ban race based sensitivity training.  The thinking is that Un American propaganda training sessions have no place in Federal Government.

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I wish I lived in a country where John Kelly, James Mattis and John Bolton had at least half the balls of Sally Yates, Maria Yovanovitch, Fiona Hill, Reality Winner, Christine Blasey Ford or Stormy Daniels. – Andrea Junker** If only Mad Dog Mattis had the balls of Olivia Troye – Michael Mckean

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38 million Americans live in poverty.

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80 year old Sam Little with a possible 93 murders has now been called the most prolific serial killer in the U.S. and he has a photographic memory. Whoever takes this on, please let David Alan Grier play him in the movie.

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You must check out the album, the Angel Headed Hipster.

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Everybody is talking about Cottage Core.

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The Trump campaign can’t help themselves with things like playing ‘knockin’ on Heaven’s door’ and ‘Fortunate son�� at rally’s. It was like the time my Grandfathers young wife brought a purse to the funeral that boldly stated ‘Jackpot.’ True Story.

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Glenn Howerton and Seth Meyers should play brothers on something.** Also Meyers and Larry Wilmore wondered if the cancellation of Wilmore’s show was a reason for the racial unrest and terrible results of the last election. Hmmm.

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Can we remember this election enthusiasm for all future elections?  We need to take things seriously EVERY time.** So many say that even with our divide, we all want the same things in the end. I do not think that is really true. It seems that in this divide, we have different ideas about what we want this country to be.

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Harry Styles has replaced Shia LaBeouf in Olivia Wilde’s Don’t Worry Darling.

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Cat Cora has filed for a restraining order against her ex- wife, Jennifer who it seems has been stalking her.

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Showtime’s The Comedy Store sounds interesting with stories like Jimmie Walker who claims that Freddie Prinze wanted to kill John Travolta.

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Maplecroft, Lizzie Borden’s last house sold for about $890,000.

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A woman ref in the NFL?? It’s about time!

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Doc Martin will end after its 10th season.

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Kelly Clarkson is being sued by her management firm.

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Pope Francis refused to meet with Mike Pompeo.

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R.I.P. Tom Seaver, Sophie Farrar, Kevin Dobson, Toots Hibbert, Stevie Lee, Bruce Williamson, Ben Cross, Diana Rigg, Ruth Bader Ginsberg, Rev. Robert Graetz, Ron Cobb, Gale Sayers, Dan Dettman, Kevin Burns, Mac Davis, wildfire casualties, Covid victims and Helen Reddy.

[soobadnoonecanstopher]

I Give Up - part 27 (A Baekhyun Series)

Genre: suspense / angst

Characters: Baekhyun X You

A/N: Trigger warning: violence, attempted assault: sexual/physical, drugs/alcohol.

I Give Up -  part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5 , part 6 , part 7 , part 8 , part 9 , part 10 , part 11 , part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19, part 20, part 21, part 22, part 23, part 24, part 25, part 26, part 27, part 28 FINAL,

I Give Up Deleted Scenes Masterlist

The Notebook  Kinks 1   Pink Heart Days 

You were putting on mascara when your phone buzzed, letting you know of an incoming text. It was probably one of the friends who were meeting up later at the small bar near campus. You swiped when you recognized Minah’s name, your best friend who you had invited along. Your exams and being so busy with your boyfriend had made you neglect your best friend lately and you made her promise to join tonight.

When Baekhyun found out you were bringing Minah along he seemed to settle down a bit about your classmate, and study buddy Kim Youngshik who was going as well. While you understood his reservations, you really didn’t think he had to treat the guy like his arch nemesis simply because the guy seemed to have a little crush on you.

Surely an intelligent guy like Youngshik had enough understanding to accept that you were unavailable and clearly not interested in him that way. He was a friend. A good friend who lent you notes for classes he had already taken that he knew you would need soon, and even gave you heads up about which professors to stay away from. With how far removed Baekhyun was from college life, it was difficult for him to understand the benefits of making friends with your classmates, especially the super helpful ones like Youngshik.

It wasn’t like you gave Baekhyun a hard time about hanging out with all of those beauties from the different idol groups. Just recently you had seen him being sweet online with Yoona of SNSD, during one of those LOL broadcasts. You knew the man well enough to recognize his body language and you knew what a slightly flustered nervous flirt looked like.

You hadn’t said a thing about it! You just closed the browser on your laptop with a few more mouse clicks than necessary and maybe you slammed the screen shut a bit too hard. You handled that like a perfectly reasonable adult and the funny noise your laptop had been making lately had nothing to do with your jealousy.

Did he really have to speak so cutely to his translator like that? Did he have to give her all those coupons too? Couldn’t he just….not?

No no…that was just him. He was sweet and generous and he was easy for a laugh and quick with a blinding smile. There was nothing at all behind the gifts. That was just Baekhyun.

And he was yours.

”Oh shit, Is this you?!!!” the text from Minah was well punctuated and had a link leading to some sort of celebrity news article site. You usually tried not to pay attention to these things. Celebrity gossip news was garbage and rarely based on any real facts, but you felt your stomach drop a bit when you clicked on the link, seeing the word EXO in the link words.

When the page loaded you felt dizzy and just a little more nauseated than you should feel right now.

EXO Member Caught Dating - Exclusive Photo Evidence Inside

You have never clicked on a link so fast in your life, feeling an instant annoyance at the slow loading website with annoying ads. The article was sparse. Promising loads of juicy details without actually delivering a thing and by the time you reached the end you had learned that the gossip reporters had received a tip. Absolute proof that a member of popular Idol Group EXO had a girlfriend and the article cut off with a link accessible only to paid subscribers of the news site.

Your phone was out and you were texting Baekhyun as that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach swelled and settled like a stubborn rock refusing to budge.

Your fingers weren’t quite working on your touchscreen keyboard and you groaned in frustration as you opted to call him instead.

“Hello?” His answer was instantaneous and you checked the tone of his voice for any signs that anything at all could be wrong.

“Baek, what–” You could feel the panic bubbling inside your throat and a quick steadying breath to calm yourself some interrupted your words, “–what are you doing now?”

“Hmm?” He hummed on the line, sounding like the same sweet man you had grown so used to, so comfortable with and you tried to ignore that stupid rock in your gut.

“Ahh, I’m laying down in my bed, feeling abandoned and unloved because my girlfriend is going out with her friends tonight and she told me I can’t come along. I’m thinking about crying a little bit later.”

His dramatics were perfectly intact and you came to the instant conclusion that he either didn’t yet know about the gossip article, or it wasn’t anything concerning. You hoped and prayed it was the later.

“Umm.” You inhaled a deep breath and decided the best way to approach this was to be direct.

“T-There’s an article on some stupid website that Minah just sent me…and I was just–”

“Ahh, is it the one about an EXO member dating?” He interrupted you in his soft voice and you felt a small speck of relief when you heard that voice.

He knew about it, yet he didn’t sound upset at all. He didn’t sound nervous or mad and you simply hummed in response to him. The panic you felt earlier had shifted into a sort of confusion about the reality of the situation.

“It said there were pictures, but I couldn’t see them I dont–” this time you interrupted yourself, unable to formulate any real conclusions without any facts about the situation.

“You dont think…it’s that person do you? The one that Hilda found? S-She said she had pictures, what if…what if she did something already?”

“Well if she did, we will have to handle it.” His words sounded so casual you stared ahead in disbelief, trying to will yourself to feel as calm as he sounded.

Could you really handle it? Could his career handle a huge scandal and could you handle the knowledge that you contributed to such a damaging blow to the man you loved?

“The pictures haven’t been released yet anyway, so we don’t know if their claims are even true. My manager said something about someone on twitter and I heard a couple of other members names. I’m not that concerned. Hilda will take care of it.”

How could he be so calm and dismissive about this? You felt like you wanted to vomit and he wasn’t that concerned.

“What time are you meeting Minah at the bar? What are you going to wear? Will you eat before you drink?” He was talking faster, asking his usual overprotective questions that somehow served to settle your mind back into your usual light mood when you spoke to him.

“I’m wearing the shortest skirt I own of course.” You teased in response and you heard him whine. You knew the look you would find on his face. The usual disgruntled pout.

“Are you sure you’re only going to one bar and then coming straight home?”

You had reached a point in your relationship with Baekhyun where you knew when it was time to put a stop to his dramatics, or risk getting stuck in this trap. His endless worries and protectiveness, paired with his capacity for impressive theatrics usually had to be kept in check for his own good.

“Oh, Minah just texted me that she’s leaving. I’ll be good I promise and I’ll call you later, I love you baby.” You may have had to stretch your truths with him when he got like this, and you really would text Minah as soon as you hung up with him. He didn’t need to know every single detail.

“You better answer my calls.” The threat in his voice sounded pretty believable this time and you hummed into the line before you hung up the phone to finish getting ready.

Okay so maybe your shortest skirt stayed behind in your closet, opting for skinny jeans and a flowy top. But you swore to yourself it had nothing to do with your sweet, slightly fragile boyfriend who was waiting at home for you to send him a selfie of you arriving safely in the bar. You pulled Minah close beside you and made her smile for the picture, sure to capture your whole image so he could verify that you were, in fact, in one piece and completely safe.

“Where is whats-his-face?”

His response came quick and you assured him that you didn’t know where Youngshik was, nor were you in any hurry to greet him tonight.

“Put your phone away, he will be fine without you for one night!” Minah had two drinks in her hand and was shoving one of them into your open hand as she pulled you further into the bar. You heard the sounds of music growing louder and what sounded like karaoke. Some pour soul was butchering one of your favorite songs and you decided that a few shots might help you handle that better.

Your first drink went down fast and with your giggling best friend on your arm, encouraging you to let loose you may have lost track of how many drinks you had as the laughter grew louder, the music grew more fun and much more tolerable, despite the endless chain of off key singers who took the stage and familiar smiles around the tables greeted you again and again. Some with hugs, others with jokes and one in particular with a request.

“Oh come on…” Youngshik was tugging on your arm. From the glassy look in his eyes you could tell he was drunk. Not falling down, but he definitely felt different than the usual studious dean’s list student you had gotten to know well during the semester.

“Come dance with me,” he whined with a pout on his face and a silly little hip wiggle that made you snort. You were too drunk to refuse the silly request and you headed toward the small space between the tables where a few friends were dancing to the upbeat song playing on the screen.

Dancing with Youngshik was fun. You weren’t particularly aware of much but he kept his hands to himself, thankfully and when the song was over you turned to head back to your table where your phone sat alone, waiting for you to check on. You thought you saw it light up once when you were making your way toward it but the lights in the bar were flashing with the music played too loudly, making you second guess yourself…making you think you saw things. Was it buzzing? You had nearly reached it when you felt a hand reach for yours and the surprise made you turn to look.

Youngshik was back. His glassy eyes blinking at you wide, you felt his hand wrap around your wrist and pull you back. Almost roughly, just enough to surprise you and make you look down at your wrist as it moved toward where he pulled.

“You need to come back, please dance just one more with me, come on.” He turned back toward where you had been dancing and you noticed the song had changed. The lights in the bar were pulsing with the beat of the music and every turn of your head sent the room spinning in a way that took just a second too long to settle.

“Are you okay?” Your feet had traveled, carrying you to the same spot where you had been laughing and dancing just minutes before…before you had left for something. What was it?

Someone was tapping and rubbing along your back now and you looked up, finding his eyes.

“Oh…oh it’s you, Youngshik.” You smiled a wide smile that he watched with curiously strange eyes for a moment before you saw him return it with a bright inviting smile of his own.

“Yeah its me. We were dancing remember? And then you ran away.” He frowned dramatically and you lifted your head feeling the shift in the music. The song that played now was slower and your dance partner didn’t seem to be bothered by the change one bit.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You seem to be drunk.” He giggled now and Minah howled with laughter in the background. The boys she had been talking to were making her laugh, feeding her new drinks with the sort of reckless abandon reserved for college life. This time when you were young and invisible and game for anything.

“I’m okay,” you said with a smile on your face that hopefully looked at least a little bit sober, “let’s dance then.”

You felt yourself give in to him. Had he always been this convincing?

The song was slow and you swayed with the beat for a while, willing the room to settle down some. There was a bit of relief when the chaotic lights stopped their assault on your senses and you could finally open your eyes.

You felt warm. Flushed and humid and someone had you in their arms as you swayed to the music.

How long was this song?

You had to check your phone. You were sure you saw it light up before. Before when you had tried to come back to the table and you were pulled away by…who was holding you so tightly?

Your head swam as you lifted it and you found the owner of the arms who held you upright was so familiar, yet different somehow. He held on too tight and he smelled wrong. Not like the one you loved, this one was…wrong.

His hands held too tight and when you looked up saw his face descending quickly. What was he doing? He wasn’t about to kiss you was he?

You pushed back, resisting, expecting him to loosen his grip around your waist quickly but feeling a weird resistance and a darkening in his eyes that sent a chill down your spine.

“Where are you going? We are dancing.” The voice that sounded close to your ear had an edge to it that you didn’t like and you felt a wave of something wash over you. What was that? It wasn’t pleasant. But the alcohol in your system was clouding everything you felt and made it hard to describe.

“I don’t want to dance with you anymore.” You said suddenly as you pushed out of his arms. Why did you have to push so hard to get him to let go? Perhaps your strength had been used up during the dance. Maybe he was holding on that tight.

The shove had been hard and you saw him stumble back, hitting his leg against a chair behind him that bumped against the table with your friends and classmates. A beer fell, a shout was heard out and you turned and made your way toward the bar. Your destination wasn’t for more alcohol but the bathrooms and you found the familiar symbol that told you this was the ladies room, pushing inside.

The air inside the bathroom felt cooler. The door closed behind you and muted the loud music that you hadn’t even realized had been muddling your brain until it shut off and the relief you felt was palpable.

You took your time, emptying your bladder and washing your hands in the sink before you splashed the cool tap water over your face, careful not to mess up your eye makeup, but feeling comfort in the coolness over your cheeks.

Your face was flushed and red from the heat and the drinks and you stared for a long while at your reflection before you heard a sound behind you.

You saw a familiar face and Minah smiled at you, clearly drunker than you were. You remembered the drinks the boys at the table had been pushing on her and she bounded in with her arms wide as she hugged you tightly, kissing your cheek over and over as she giggled.

“Youuu–” she slurred and you laughed. “Youngshik likes you. Didn’t you tell him you have a boyfriend?”

“It’s not like that Minah. We are just friends.” you responded, all the while thinking of the tense discomfort you felt moments earlier while dancing with him. In the quiet of the bathroom you began feeling a more clear headed now that you were out of the noise and the lights of the bar.

“I think I’m going to go home with Hoseok,” she giggled, “have you seen his ass lately? I’m going to get that.” Her voice was full of drunken confidence and you leaned against the counter as you waited for her to pee and come back out of the stall she had disappeared inside.

“Hoseok? Is he the one with the shiny shirt or the one with the mushroom haircut?”

“Shiny shirt. Mushroom is Minhyuk…although Minhyuk is really fucking hot too. I don’t care, either of them would do–” her giggles echoed out from behind the stall, “or both of them.”

“–if I disappear forever tonight, just know that I died a happy woman.”

You both emerged from the sanctity of the ladies room, feeling the stifling heat, the smell of too many patrons in one place and the raucous laughter of drunken mischief surround your head instantly.

“Oh you and your casual hookups…just be careful Minah. You know I need you.” She leaned into your arms around her as she laughed.

“And I need sex sometimes. We can’t all be as lucky as you…sex god as a boyfriend and all.” Her voice was loud and you raised your hand to her mouth to silence the ridiculous words she was spewing before she could accidently say his name, or anything else that definitely didn’t need to be broadcasted in this place.

She pulled your hand down and gave you a sassy look

“Oh settle down, I may be drunk but I still remember the confidentiality agreement that showed up with a lawyer at my house the day after I met him.”

Her words made you stop your forward movement and you felt her stumble when you suddenly stopped. Her arms around you going slack for a moment before she let go.

She looked into your surprised face before she wrinkled her nose and shook her head, taking a few unstable steps to close the distance between you both.

“I guess you didn’t know that part. Yeah, we all got them. Dahee, Jaewoo, Taeil, everyone who knows about you and him–”

Your fuzzy mind was having trouble processing the flood of information you suddenly had thrust at you.

Baekhyun had sent lawyers to your friends and made them sign legal documents? Your expression must have looked worried because you felt her warm arms around you, pulling you in for a tight hug.

“Don’t worry about it. You know more than anything I was…impressed,” she rubbed along your back as she hugged you, reassuring you with her words against your ear, “he seems to really love you. The measures he takes to keep you safe and happy feel very genuine.”

You felt her release you and she smiled as you began to soften up some.

You had both reached the tables, walking by groups of classmates who laughed, flirted, even made out with each other and you looked around for Youngshik, feeling a weird unease at not knowing exactly where he was for some reason. You couldn’t be sure of the source of this weird feeling, but even significantly dimmed by the alcohol in your system, you were certain that this Youngshik felt different than the one you had been close with all semester.

Was it just the alcohol?

When you sat down at the table you saw your phone right where you had left it and you picked up to check for messages or missed calls.

Honestly you expected at least one message or one call. Something.

But strangely the thing was bare. Not a single message waiting, no notifications pending. Not even a voicemail.

Perhaps you had imagined it. The illumination you were sure you had seen on your phone as you tried to return to the table, only to be pulled back by your drunk dance partner demanding another dance. Was it really just the lights in the club?

You grabbed your phone and glanced around once more, checking for your small change purse that you had stuffed in your pocket with important things like your license and your cash, you stood, suddenly deciding that you needed just a bit of air. Just a bit of a break from this stuffy club and the loud laughter and these two people all over each other in the booth next to you.

The front door of the bar was busy, packed with people filtering in and out and you waited for what felt like forever for a pause in the traffic. Finally you saw an out and you took it, slipping past the people onto the sidewalk outside.

The peace wasn’t as overwhelming and instant as you hoped it would be because the crowds of people out here were just as thick, just as drunk and just as obnoxious.

“Hey baby where you going?” A bro with a backwards cap and a ridiculous accent shouted in your direction as you brushed past him, ignoring the laughter that seemed to be cut short suddenly behind you.

Your curiosity was overshadowed by the haze in your vision as you walked and tried to keep your feet moving forward.

The one thing he told you, don’t get wasted. And here you were, having completely lost track of the number of drinks you had as you wandered outside of this club alone, desperate for the ground to quit trying to spin away from your legs like that.

The ground wasn’t cooperating and you felt your phone buzzing inside the back pocket of your jeans. Waking and finding your phone was too much so you had to stop and lean against the quiet space off to the side of the bar. Nearly in the alleyway, the light from the street lamps provided enough light for you to see ahead of you just fine.

His name flashed across your screen…well the name you had in your phone for him. A leftover from your first meeting, when he showed up in your parents dry cleaning shop with a stained shirt.

“Hello My love…” You held the phone to your ear, feeling the overwhelming love you felt course through you just by seeing him call your phone.

“Where the fuck are you?” His words flew through your ear like a bullet seeking its target and you flinched at the harshness you heard. It was his voice, you were sure of it, but he sounded so tense and worked up that you had to pull the phone away from your ear for a second to control the flare of nerves that rushed through your body.

“W-What do you mean? You know where I am?”

“And Him? Where the fuck is that piece of shit? Do you know what it feels like to–” You could hear the anger now, flooding through the phone and you knew he would be so consumed by it that the words were getting jumbled.

You felt blindsided by it though. Where was this coming from? He had been happy when you last talked to him and he didn’t even call you while you had been out.

Your heart sped up inside your chest and you shook your head, trying to make some sense of this sudden mood. This sudden rage that had taken over him again.

He groaned away from the phone and you heard a car horn honking noisily on the line. Was he driving? While this mad? What if something happened to him?

“Would you care to explain to me, why he is answering your phone for you…asking, no fucking demanding to know who the fuck I am and why I would be calling your phone?” His voice dropped to a low growl as he spoke words you couldn’t quite make any sense of.

“Who a-answered my p-phone Baekhyun?” Your mind was a mess and your mouth didn’t get the words out as smoothly as you wanted, not with him yelling at you like this. You felt nervous and confused and quite drunk to be honest.

“How drunk are you? You sound like you’re completely wasted, I can’t fucking believe this.” He let out a loud puff of air over the mic of his phone and you could hear the squealing of brakes before he came back on the line from whatever he had done in his car.

“‘S-She doesn’t have a boyfriend? She’s mine now?’ Did you tell him you didn’t have a boyfriend? Why would he say that to me?”

“Who are you talking about Baekhyun? I don’t know what you are saying–”

The words cut off when you felt the absence of the phone that laid warmly over your ear just a second before.

Where was his voice? His angry breathing and the sounds of his horn honking and his brakes stopping short? Your hand was empty and you looked behind you as soon as you felt it. The tell-tale presence of someone warm and alive standing behind you.

The surprise of the phone being taken didn’t quite compare to the chest trembling shaking that you felt when you heard that same cell phone fly across the alley way you stood in and hit the wall of the opposite building, shattering glass and plastic as it hit.

You shrieked in genuine fear and surprise but that sound was muffled by a hand over your mouth. You felt your legs moving, shoved deeper into the darkness of the alley as the wall behind you came up fast. Too fast, it hit you hard and the sensation of heavy arms over your chest made it hard to breathe.

Your eyes were wide as your heart beat fast in your chest. The fuzziness of the alcohol made your reality swim and you looked ahead into cold glassy eyes as a sick sinking feeling consumed your body.

Eyes that looked familiar, yet so different from the same ones you had seen all semester. Sweet, friendly, smiling and helpful before, but now you saw nothing but coldness. And anger? But…why?

“You just don’t get it do you?” Youngshik whispered out in a soft voice against your face. The smell of his breath, acrid and vile up close made your stomach churn and you pushed against the weight of his arms over your chest as you tried to scream.

The sound didn’t come out. His hand over your mouth was too tight and the effort made you dizzy. Your hands gripped against them, trying desperately to pull his hands off of you in vain. He was too strong and too blinded by whatever rage was happening inside his head.

“I thought you were smart, but you keep on disappointing me.” You felt a pain where his arms pushed against your chest, leaning over you too hard now and your faced screwed together in agony. The action felt deliberate, but the look in his eyes was suddenly disconnected as he watched your face. Those eyes moved slowly, taking their time as he watched you up close and you felt your skin crawling as he did it. When he shifted his weight you felt his arm move from the crushing hold it kept over your chest and the weight of his legs moved around yours, pinning you against the wall with strong thighs that kept you from escaping. The heat of his body was on you, making your stomach churn as the nausea took over your body. With the way he pushed up against you like this you felt the unmistakable bulge he pressed against your thigh. You whined and tried to wiggle away from him.

His eyes followed his fingers now, the arm he just freed was trailing lightly along your hairline when you felt him grip roughly, the hair on the side of your head, pushing it hard against the wall.

The pain was intense and you winced as you tried to move in the direction he pulled.

“I gave you so much. I worked so hard for you, helping you as much as I could and for what? What have you given me? Not a thing. But stupid girls like you just don’t get it. I guess should just fucking take it.” Your cries were still muffled by his hand that grew sweaty now as he partially covered your nose, making you feel dizzier and light headed the longer he did it. The tears streaming from your eyes now added to the wetness of his hand. Your breathing gasped through your nose desperately trying to get some fresh air, anything you could get, but his hand was too tight. Your hand swung out, trying to grab ahold of something, anything. You made contact with skin, somewhere on him, his arm or his face, you couldn’t know for sure but each scratch of your nails went ignored.

“All you had to do was break up with him. That’s it. I made it so easy for you. I even used my sister’s stupid fancafe account and her stationary so you would take the threat seriously … when I found out who he was I couldn’t fucking believe my luck. She just happened to be one of those stupid morons who in hopelessly in love with that asshole.”

His words had an echo that rattled inside your ears but their truth hit you hard. Had he sold the pictures he had? Was this bomb waiting to drop as soon as that magazine decided to release the proof. But what were the pictures? You didn’t doubt Youngshik’s insanity at this point. The lengths he was willing to go to get what he wanted had been made abundantly clear. How damning would those pictures be? Career ending? Cataclysmic and so revealing they would follow Baekhyun around for the rest of his life? Your panic rose inside your chest and you felt the world grow just a little greyer as the ugliness was made more pronounced.

The street lights behind his head in the alley had taken on a flickering behavior, as if they were going out. Blinking in and out over his head the dizziness was changing the longer he kept his hand over your nose and those lights were so dim.

“He’s not even that special. That’s not a real man, I’ll show you a real man–”

You heard a sound. Something loud and something significant so up close and those glassy eyes that had been glaring wicked at you shifted with that sound.

What was that sound? Your eyes tried to open but you were slipping lower, down onto the ground, the rough bricks at your back scraping against your shoulders as you sunk lower until you sat on the floor, dizzy and gasping.

Because you could breathe. His hand was gone and you gasped in desperately, filling your lungs with precious air finally, but unable to get enough. It wasn’t enough. You needed more, you gasped and choked, filling yours lungs over and over. Your mind was pulled by a sick fleshy sound as you fell forward onto your hands. The trembling in your chest was too much and there was something happening right in front of you.

Something noisy. The sounds of impacting flesh…someone hitting something, or someone, again and again and you then you saw him. He grunted and growled with each punch. His familiar black coat and a facemask over his face, hood over his head and he was on top of that…that.. evil man who had tried to hurt you.

Baekhyun must have pulled him off of you but something felt so wrong with the man you loved. His sweetness was gone. His smiles and laughter were a distant memory as he hit Youngshik, over and over again, the growling you heard from him as he hit had stopped and his breathing echoed out so hard. His eyes were focused and driven as he hit, smashing his fist into the man’s face with such force you knew something would break. Whether Baekhyun’s fist or Youndshiks face or both.

Baekhyun was gone. He was so consumed with the rage you saw trembling as he pulled up roughly on the bloody faced man, shaking him hard with his fist tight around his collar until his eyes slit open, waking up just enough for another punch.

You stared at the scene before you trying to recognize either man.

“Baekhyun,” you said, finding that your voice worked. The tremors in your body had subsided enough for you to recognize what was happening and you knew you had to stop him.

He had to stop. For his own sake, for the sake of the man you loved, you had to stop him. Before this destroyed him and everything he had worked for his entire life, this had to stop.

“Baekhyun stop,” you said again louder and you caught the tick of his head as he looked up, fist raised mid air. His knuckles were red and bloody and his head turned to you.

Youngshik coughed weakly, spitting out blood from his lips and the grip that Baekhyun had around the man’s collar fell, sending the back down onto the pavement with a grunt of pain.

Baekhyun looked down at the man below him before he looked back at you, his eyes changing and clearing the more he saw you and he was moving, scrambling away from the fight, from the violence and from the anger he was moving toward you with his arms outstretched.

“Baby…” his voice was quiet and muffled by the mask and the heavy breathing but his voice was his own.

You felt his hands reach for yours and closer as he crouched before you on his ankles. His hands reached for your face before you saw his eyes glance down at his hands. He winced at the bloody mess of his hands and pulled them back, not touching your skin with his hands like you had wanted him to.

You reached instead. If he wouldn’t do it you would and you felt him lean closer when you reached for his waist, slinking your hands under his coat, against the warmth of his body, over the thin tshirt that seemed much too cold for this night.

Baekhyun gave in to your touch and fell down off his ankles onto his knees before you and you felt his warmth wrap tightly around you.

“Shhh…” you heard him whispering over your head and your mind whirled to realize that the crying sound was coming from your own lips.

“Shhh, baby you’re okay,” he said as he held you tighter and rubbed harder over your back.

Even now, with the sweat from the fight, the dirt and blood on his hands and the stress from the night you felt it. The complete and undeniable comfort and safety in his warm arms. You breathed in as best you could through the quiet cries that shook your chest and the smell of him filled your senses. Drowning out the fear and the noises erupting around you as people arrived.

“Mr. Byun, Didn’t I tell you not to come here alone?” A serious voice spoke over your head. Familiar and accented, you looked up to see Hilda, the woman in charge of security.

Baekhyun didn’t respond to her and you felt him pulling you up to your feet, his arms firm and steady around your waist.

“Come on, let’s go to the hospital.” He wasn’t responding to Hilda or to anyone else from the group of men in black suits that asked him questions.

You heard Hilda’s voice again, the curt all business way she spoke made you open your eyes again.

“You must not go to back to your car. There are crowds now. People have been taking pictures. It’s not exactly a conspicuous car… your name is already being circulated on twitter” .

“What about the ones I hit,” he responded.

“The driver of the motorcycle on the sidewalk and the other parked car have already been dealt with,” she let out an exasperated sigh as her eyes narrowed in his direction. “But did you really have to drive on the sidewalk? This is such a mess.”

“And what would have happened to her if I waited behind with you? I don’t pay you to follow the fucking traffic laws, I pay you to protect my family,” he snapped and you saw the glance the woman gave you before she shut her mouth with a small nod of her head.

“Give me your car.”

She nodded and lifted her eyebrows in the direction of a black sedan that was parked in the alley.

“At least let me drive,” she said.

The first steps felt uneasy and you leaned into him, not quite getting why you felt so weak. Was this just from the alcohol. Perhaps you were in shock from the attack.

“Can you walk?” He said above your head and your feet stumbled against themselves.

He bent down and you were flying. Lifted so high into the air you felt swaying and the breeze along your face, your arms wrapped around his neck and you felt the dizziness take over as you slumped against his shoulder, nuzzling into his neck, you craved his warmth and his smell. Anything that would tell you you were safe with him now. That he was okay and that you were okay.

“Me. Byun I will take her to the hospital. Please you should leave before someone sees you.” A low voice you didn’t know spoke with authority and you felt his grip tighten around you.

“Absolutely not. She doesn’t leave me.”

The path to the car took you by by the man who did this. He was awake and sitting up against the wall, what looked like a private doctor for hire examining him, asking him questions with big scary looking men with suits and ear pieces looming over them. Next to the men stood another man in a police uniform. Strangely silent and uninvolved, you wondered if the policeman was real or if he was just there to look real. He definitely didn’t feel like a policeman the way he ignored you, not even bothering to take any statement from you before you were taken away. He didn’t once look up at Baekhyun as he carried you away, despite having clearly been involved in this fight that left the other guy so broken and hurt.

Youngshik looked dazed and hurt and you watched until he moved. You stiffened and gasped when his dark eyes looked up at you.

“Don’t look at him, love,” Baekhyun whispered into your ear and you closed your eyes tightly.

Hilda drove quickly and you found your mind drifting as you laid against his chest in the back seat of the car and listened to his heartbeat.

You must have fallen asleep because you woke hours later in a hospital bed with an awful taste in your mouth. You lifted your hand, feeling the tug of the IV in your hand and you heard voices you recognized.

Weird words were thrown around and the dizziness in your head was fading as you listened.

You heard the word drugged and lucky and you searched searched for the source of the voices.

Baekhyun and your mom stood at the foot of the bed speaking with a doctor in a white coat and you moaned at the pain you felt in your head.

Their three faces turned and you were rushed upon by your mom who reached for your hand, squeezing tight as she looked closely at your face, asking a million questions in only one breath that made you blink wide at the woman as you willed her to speak quieter.

“If Baekhyun hadn’t been there–” She was crying now and from the look of her puffy eyes, this wasn’t the first time tonight. His hand was on her shoulder and she rose quickly to wrap her arms around his neck as she wept and muttered her sincere thanks. He hugged her tight, catching your eyes for a moment before he closed them. Swallowing away the pain you saw behind those eyes with his closed lids.

The fuss died down and you were made to eat something that you could only choke down half of. Your mom left making him promise to take care of you and soon you found yourself sitting up in the bed with his eyes watching you silently.

Baekhyun looked tired. His hair was flat and lifeless against his forehead and his right hand had bandages over the knuckles.

“Did you crash your car?” You broke your own silence and he licked his lips and swallowed before he blinked with a small nod of his head.

“Yeah, a little bit.” His eyes were still on you, a strange look in them. Neither admonishing or disappointed, he looked at you with what you could only describe as a silent reverie of thanksgiving.

He had been there.

You felt the emotions sneaking up on you as he looked at you. He leaned forward with his lips parted and let out a quiet exhale of breath before his hands lifted and he covered his face with both of them. His elbows rested on your bed, near your hand with the painful IV and you reached your fingers out to graze against his arm. Lightly touching, feeling the warmth of man you loved more than anything else in the whole world.

He let out a quiet, nearly inaudible gasp and his shoulders began to tremble. He was so silent as he wept.

He has been so strong and you felt the pain inside your chest as he gave in to it. The fear, the stress, the near tragedy of it, he withstood it like a pillar of strength.

Yet with you, at your hospital bed without another soul present, he could finally break down.

“I thought… I thought I wouldn’t make it in time.” Muffled by his hands over his face and by the quiet sobs, you made barely out his words.

“Don’t…don’t you scare me like this again, I can’t –” he pulled his hands down and wiped the tears from his face. His lips trembled and his nose was red and you wiped the tears from your own face.

“I can’t live without you. It’s not just that I don’t want to, I can’t.” He stood and leaned over you and you felt the wetness on his cheeks before you felt his lips on yours, pressing down hard, paying no attention to the tears and the wetness that dropped from your nose now, he kissed you firmly and with meaning.

When he pulled away you heard a bell chime. He was reaching for tissues and he held the box out for you when he pulled his phone out of his pocket. Absentmindedly wiping at his face with a tissue now.

His eyes took in the information on his phone.

And you saw the way they flew wide when he registered something and you felt a different kind of tension building inside your chest with his next words.

“The pictures are out.”

I Give Up -  part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5 , part 6 , part 7 , part 8 , part 9 , part 10 , part 11 , part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19, part 20, part 21, part 22, part 23, part 24, part 25, part 26, part 27, part 28 FINAL,

I Give Up Deleted Scenes Masterlist

The Notebook  Kinks 1   Pink Heart Days 

[sdvxii-moved]

happy april 30th

I need scissors! 61! Kawanishi-Noseguchi, Kinunobebashi, Takiyama, Uguisunomori, Tsuzumigataki, Tada, Hirano, Ichinotorii, Uneno, Yamashita, Sasabe, Kofudai, Tokiwadai, Myoukenguchi. I noticed this a while back, but you have far too many Game Overs. Sorry to be blunt, but you really stink at this game. Honestly, though, you have played the game for a long time. Don't you have anything else to do with your time? I hear it's amazing when the famous purple stuffed worm in flap-jaw space with the tuning fork does a raw blink on Hara-Kiri Rock. Actually, I am in really bad shape financially. I pay money to my ex-wife as part of our divorce settlement, among other bills... I just had no choice but to make you pay for lunch the other day. I'm really sorry. Raiden, something happened to me last Thursday when I was driving home. I had a couple of miles to go -- I looked up and saw a glowing orange object in the sky, to the east! It was moving very irregularly... Suddenly, there was intense light all around me -- and when I came to, I was home. What do you think happened to me...? You wouldn't be trying to give yourself a bogus score using some ingenious trick would you? That's just about as low as anyone could possibly stoop! I can't believe you sometimes... You seem to get a real thrill out of slaughtering the enemy. Are you frustrated about something? I was a North American Fall Webworm in my past life. Those were the good old days... What were you in your former life? La-Li-Lu-Le-Lo! La-Li-Lu-Le-Lo! La-Li-Lu-Le-Lo! Raiden, are you receiving? We're (1) still here. Only (2) GW....To begin with -- we're not what you'd call -- human. Over the past two hundred years -- A kind of consciousness formed layer by layer in the crucible of the White House. It's not unlike the way life started in the oceans four billion years ago. The White House was our primordial soup, a base of evolution - We are formless. We are the very discipline and morality that Americans invoke so often. How can anyone hope to eliminate us? As long as this nation exists, so will we. Jack, don't be silly. Don't you know that our plans have your interests -- not ours -- in mind? Jack, listen carefully like a good boy! The mapping of the human genome was completed early this century. As a result, the evolutionary log of the human race lay open to us. We started with genetic engineering, and in the end, we succeeded in digitizing life itself. But there are things not covered by genetic information. Human memories, ideas. Culture. History. Genes don't contain any record of human history. Is it something that should not be passed on? Should that information be left at the mercy of nature?We've always kept records of our lives. Through words, pictures, symbols... from tablets to books... But not all the information was inherited by later generations. A small percentage of the whole was selected and processed, then passed on. Not unlike genes, really. That's what history is, Jack. But in the current, digitized world, trivial information is accumulating every second, preserved in all its triteness. Never fading, always accessible. Rumors about petty issues, misinterpretations, slander... All this junk data preserved in an unfiltered state, growing at an alarming rate. It will only slow down social progress, reduce the rate of evolution. Raiden, you seem to think that our plan is one of censorship. You're being silly! What we propose to do is not to control content, but to create context. The digital society furthers human flaws and selectively rewards development of convenient half-truths. Just look at the strange juxtapositions of morality around you. Billions spent on new weapons in order to humanely murder other humans. Rights of criminals are given more respect than the privacy of their victims. Although there are people suffering in poverty, huge donations are made to protect endangered species. Everyone grows up being told the same thing. Be nice to other people. But beat out the competition! You're special." "Believe in yourself and you will succeed." But it's obvious from the start that only a few can succeed... You exercise your right to "freedom" and this is the result. All rhetoric to avoid conflict and protect each other from hurt. The untested truths spun by different interests continue to churn and accumulate in the sandbox of political correctness and value systems. Everyone withdraws into their own small gated community, afraid of a larger forum. They stay inside their little ponds, leaking whatever "truth" suits them into the growing cesspool of society at large. The different cardinal truths neither clash nor mesh. No one is invalidated, but nobody is right. Not even natural selection can take place here. The world is being engulfed in "truth." And this is the way the world ends. Not with a bang, but a whimper. We're trying to stop that from happening. It's our responsibility as rulers. Just as in genetics, unnecessary information and memory must be filtered out to stimulate the evolution of the species. Absolutely. Who else could wade through the sea of garbage you people produce, retrieve valuable truths and even interpret their meaning for later generations? That's what it means to create context. But is that even your own idea? Or something Snake told you? That's the proof of your incompetence, right there. You lack the qualifications to exercise free will. Does something like a "self" exist inside of you? That which you call "self" serves as nothing more than a mask to cover your own being. In this era of ready-made 'truths', "self" is just something used to preserve those positive emotions that you occasionally feel... ...Another possibility is that "self" is a concept you conveniently borrowed under the logic that it would endow you with some sense of strength...Is it? Would you prefer that someone else tell you? Alright then. Explain it to him. Jack, you're simply the best! And you got there all by yourself! Oh, what happened? Do you feel lost? Why not try a bit of soul-searching?Don't think you'll find anything, though... Ironic that although "self" is something that you yourself fashioned, every time something goes wrong, you turn around and place the blame on something else. It's not my fault. It's not your fault. In denial, you simply resort to looking for another, more convenient "truth" in order to make yourself feel better....leaving behind in an instant the so-called "truth" you once embraced. Should someone like that be able to decide what is "truth"?Should someone like you even have the right to decide? You've done nothing but abuse your freedom. You don't deserve to be free! We're not the ones smothering the world. You are. The individual is supposed to be weak. But far from powerless -- a single person has the potential to ruin the world. And the age of digitized communication has given even more power to the individual. Too much power for an immature species. Building a legacy involves figuring out what is wanted, and what needs to be done for that goal. All this, you used to struggle with. Now, we think for you. We are your guardians after all. -- You want to control human thought? Human behavior? Of course. Anything can be quantified nowadays. That's what this exercise was designed to prove. You fell in love with me just as you were meant to, after all. Isn't that right, Jack? Ocelot was not told the whole truth, to say the least. We rule an entire nation -- of what interest would a single soldier, no matter how able, be to us? The S3 Plan does not stand for Solid Snake Simulation. What it does stand for is Selection for Societal Sanity... The S3 is a system for controlling human will and consciousness. S3 is not you, a soldier trained in the image of Solid Snake. It is -- a method, a protocol, that created a circumstance that made you what you are. So you see, we're the S3. Not you. What you experienced was the final test of its effectiveness. You heard what President Johnson said. "The Arsenal's 'GW' system is the key to their supremacy." The objective of this exercise was to establish such a method. We used Shadow Moses as a paradigm for the exercise. I wonder if you would have preferred a fantasy setting? We chose that backdrop because of its extreme circumstances. It was an optimal test for S3's crisis management capacity. If the model could trigger, control and solve this, it would be ready for any contingency. And now, we have our proof. Raiden, there are also reasons behind your selection. Solidus raised plenty of other child soldiers. Do you know why we chose you over them? It was because you were the only one who refused to acknowledge the past. All the others remember what they were, and pay for it daily. But you turn your back on everything you don't like. You do whatever you like, see only the things you like, and for yourself alone. Yes -- Rose can attest to that. You refused to see me for what I was. I lied to you, but I wanted to be caught. You pretended to be understanding, to be a gentleman... You never made a conscious attempt to reach out to me... The only time you did was when I gave you no choice but to do so... What? "Trying not to hurt me?" Dear, the one you were trying not to hurt was yourself! Avoiding the truth under the guise of "kindness" is all that you did! It occurred to you to do nothing but look out for yourself. Even if you claim that it was for my sake, that feeling was nowhere to be seen. In the end, everything was for your sake... I was never part of the picture. Ha, ha, ha...exactly right. So you see, you're a perfect representative of the masses we need to protect. This is why we chose you. You accepted the fiction we've provided, obeyed our orders and did everything you were told to. The exercise is a resounding success. "Didn't I tell you that GW was still incomplete? But not anymore, thanks to you." Your persona, experiences, triumphs and defeats are nothing but byproducts. The real objective was ensuring that we could generate and manipulate them. It's taken a lot of time and money, but it was well worth it considering the results. I think that's enough talk. It's time for the final exercise. Raiden, take Solidus down. Oh really? Aren't you forgetting something? "If you die, my child dies. " The termination of vital signals from your nanomachines means the death of Olga's child. Not to mention the death of Rose. She's wired the same way. "Of course I do, Jack! You have to beLIEve me!" It will be a fight to the death. Solidus, at least, wants you dead. We will collect the necessary data from this last fight, then we'll consider the exercise closed. So, Jack the Ripper! Will it be Solidus, the Patriots' creation? Or you -- Solidus' creation? Our beloved monsters -- enjoy yourselves. Jack, do you remember what day it is?