#there were just so many drunk people screaming and i cannot function like that

[mysticarcanum]

literally so fucked up that i just wanted to visit my uncle and his partner and some university students were having some massive party in the streets around their house so instead of having a good time with them i got insanely overwhelmed and am now in a parked car trying not to have a breakdown. can i not just have this.

[azenkii]

A Long List of Trash Fire Lord Zuko Headcanons

...that i couldn't get out of my head:

(warning: SUPER LONG POST i havent figured out how to trim posts yet)

he's the one who unchains azula despite iroh's protests. she doesn't even try to fight him, just cries into his shoulder and keeps mumbling about how father's going to be so disappointed in her. he takes her to her rooms and has her drink a sleeping draught, then stations the best guards he has left outside her chambers.

his first council meeting takes place literally a day after sozin's comet. he hobbles into the council chamber shirtless with his entire torso covered in bandages and every council member just looks at him like '...what'

he does NOT sleep for like,,a week after sozin's comet and then another two weeks after his coronation. katara, aang and suki try to persuade him to sleep and he doesn't listen. eventually sokka, toph and mai team up to literally drag his ass to bed and tell him he's not allowed to get up until he sleeps (does mai pin him to the bed with her knives? yes. is it kinky or sexual in any way? definitely not.)

he drinks So. Much. Tea. at this point it's practically tasteless to him but he drinks it anyway because he just needs something to do and tea is something familiar. he keeps iroh on his toes because he's constantly asking for new tea blends, uncle, i think i actually tasted the last one,

he flat-out refuses to grow his hair for at least a year after ozai's defeat. the second it starts getting close to his chin he shears it off himself, with his knife, and his stylist has a heart attack every single time

when he's tired he'll occasionally jump up when one of his guards moves. it stops after a bit, but for the first month and a half or so he's really twitchy. when sokka asks, the only explanation he can come up with is that he's not used to having people stand behind him silently and not want to kill him, much less want to protect him (sokka immediately takes him out for a shopping trip and makes a point of walking behind him the entire time, but only on zuko's right side, where he can clearly see it if sokka moves towards him)

when the healer declares azula mentally unstable and in need of an institution, he shuts himself in his office for the rest of the night. no one's allowed in, not even iroh. he finally emerges in the morning, eyes red from crying and sleep deprivation, and tells the librarian that he'd like a list of the best mental institutions in the country, please, the best in the world if you can get them

he loves theatre (is this even a headcanon?). unfortunately it practically died out in the fire nation along with the rest of the creative arts, leaving nothing but small troupes like the ember island players. one of zuko's personal goals (meaning things he wants to accomplish that aren't as important as restoring his country) is to bring back theatre; he finally manages to do it after about eight months or so of being fire lord, along with other arts like dancing, music and sculpture

he establishes a national day of mourning, on the first day of autumn every year, to commemorate the genocide of the air nomads. from 100AG onwards, every calendar printed in the fire nation has it marked. at first it was called the day of repentance, but aang persuaded him to have it changed (by arguing that he didn't want guilt to be a literal staple of fire nation culture)

he introduces literally So Many educational reforms, plus a mandatory class that teaches students about the cultures of the other nations (air nomads included) and how some of their traditions overlap

he turns down the offer of having a statue put up of him in the capital. toph ignores him and does it anyway.

he visits azula regularly, makes sure she's (relatively) comfortable and well-fed, and sometimes just sits down outside her door and tells her about everything that's going on right now ('some of the far colonies have developed their own standardised writing, azula, you wouldn't believe it, and i've asked the fire sages to come visit more often—but you never liked them, did you? oh, well; i'll make sure none of them go into your chambers by mistake')

(he doesn't know it, but when he does this azula sits by the door and listens. she wonders what kind of writing the colonists have developed, and whether or not the fire sages have taken on some new recruits.)

he hates being above anyone else. never sits in the throne if he can help it, nor does he sit on the dais in the council room. when he talks to people shorter than him, he finds himself stooping a little bit to talk to them on their level (the exception to this rule is sokka, who he mocks for being shorter all the way up until sokka grows taller than him, the bastard)

the first time he visits the earth kingdom, the earth king's ministers call a toast. he ends up being the only one who has to sit out, because he's too young to drink by earth kingdom law

once his servants figure out he won't kill them for talking to him, they start becoming a lot more bold, telling him off when he doesn't take care of himself. at one point, they force him to let them take care of him so much that he literally just bolts into the gardens and hides there until the staff rope in mai and ty lee

when he needs to escape, he does one of two things: (a) he dresses up as the blue spirit and does some parkour until he calms down, or (b) he goes to work at the jasmine dragon. (b) happens less often bc the jasmine dragon's in ba sing se, but there's been a few memorable incidents when an earth kingdom diplomat walks in and yells, 'LEE?!' when they see the fire lord

the first court artist who draws him also happens to be the one who drew azulon and ozai. he draws zuko without his scar. zuko takes one look at it and tells him, very calmly, that he'd like him to leave, please.

zuko burns the portrait. he doesn't fire the court artist, but he never calls on him again unless he has to. a second court artist is called, and can't help but be a bit confused when the fire lord tells him to be sure to include the scar

he forgets the crown. a lot. sometimes he walks into council meetings in his sleepwear with his hair tied up in a messy ponytail and a bunch of scrolls tucked under his arm. none of his councilmen have the guts (or the heart) to tell him that this is not, in fact, formal council wear

he goes to feed the turtleducks when he's stressed. he thinks he's being subtle. he's not. the entire palace knows, and they consciously give him space when they see him in the turtleduck garden

most of his staff are older than him, so they look at him and see this teeny tiny fire lord who is So Small and who Must Be Protected. the day after zuko's coronation, the head chef holds a meeting where they commence Operation Do-Not-Let-That-Boy-Turn-Out-Like-His-Father (subsection He's-The-Only-Good-Thing-We-Have)

one night he wakes up to find suki sitting in his room, decked out in full kyoshi warrior garb and makeup, and just about screams blue murder. suki tells him there are suspicions of an assassin in the palace, and would you please stop yelling it's very distracting, we won't be able to hear anyone coming over that racket

zuko gets very, very paranoid of random spirits after that. yeah, suki looks like a possibly malevolent spirit when she's wearing her makeup, what about it? (when he tells sokka he's highkey terrified of spirit shenanigans, sokka just looks at him and says, 'man, the stories i could tell...', and THAT'S when zuko remembers sokka spent like six months more than he did travelling with the avatar)

on his first visit to the southern water tribe, he removes his boots and leg guards, rolls up his pants and kneels barefoot in the snow. even though chief hakoda immediately starts trying to pull him up, he's stubborn as hell and stays kneeling for the entirety of his very long, very sincere apology-on-behalf-of-the-fire-nation speech. he nearly loses his toes to frostbite after that, and both sokka and katara never stop giving him shit for it

the first time he grows a 'beard' is completely accidental. he's stressed over some trade miscommunications with chief hakoda, hasn't slept in a few days...and then when sokka arrives as water tribe ambassador to help smooth things over, he takes one look at zuko and says 'man, facial hair does not suit you'

zuko: facial what now

he checks a mirror to find that he's got stubble covering his chin, dark enough that it almost looks intentional, and holy gods how the fuck did he not notice this before

'UNCLE WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME' 'i assumed you were doing it on purpose' 'WHEN HAVE I EVER DONE ANYTHING ON PURPOSE'

he shaves it all off immediately, of course, which prompts a lot of teasing and rib-poking from sokka until zuko finally snaps that he's scared it'll make him look like his father. sokka stops after that.

(the day after sokka leaves, zuko finds that a mysterious someone has scribbled all over ozai's royal portrait, giving him a frankly ridiculous beard and moustache that literally CANNOT be grown in real life. oddly enough, he can't bring himself to care about the defamation of royal property. he's too busy laughing.)

his paths cross with toph and sokka more than any of the others, because sokka is ambassador and toph is technically still a beifong. most of the time, at formal functions, he ends up sequestered in the corner with toph and a hoard of snacks, and they talk and swear much more than they usually do (zuko's ministers once heard him when he was drunk with toph, and the servants swear the older ministers' ears started bleeding)

he restores fire nation cultural festivals, and in doing so subjects himself to learning a lot of complicated dances

during one memorable week, he wrote so many letters and drafted so much legislation that he ran out of paper. he had to go visit the nearest school and ask for some

he keeps up with his firebending and sword training even though it's hard to fit into his schedule. his ministers refrain from reminding him that he has guards to protect him now; it's still hard for zuko to trust his safety with anyone but himself (team avatar is the exception).

he started sleepwalking about two months into his reign. no one knew why. one time, he nearly sleepwalked right off the edge of a balcony, and one of his guards had to grab him by the back of his robes.

the sleepwalking stopped after around a month and never happened again. at this point it's practically palace legend.

after freeing the war prisoners, he went around collecting every single earthbender-proof wooden cell he could find in the capital and surrounding areas. when he'd gotten most of them, he gathered them into a huge pile in the city square and set fire to them with his own hands.

unfortunately he couldn't do that with the waterbender metal cells but he did get toph to come in and bend them all into pretty shapes (well, toph thought they were pretty shapes. everyone else thinks they're meaningless squiggles)

he learned how to write with both hands at the same time out of sheer necessity (he refused scribes until it became clear that he'd be putting some people out of a job; that was when he started letting scribes write very, very minor things, but all important documents/drafts/letters are still written by him)

he once put the wet end of an ink brush in his mouth instead of the wooden end by mistake. didn't even realise until he bit down to keep it in place and ink went oozing everywhere

when his guards rushed in to find him coughing and spluttering black liquid all over his desk they thought he'd been poisoned but no he's just stupid

on his 17th birthday, his first one after being crowned, he got tackled by team avatar in the middle of the ballroom and ended up at the bottom of a cuddlepile for like ten minutes

this cuddlepile happened at an event that was very much public and very much formal. it was a scandal for weeks

just. fire lord zuko, guys. so much potential

[stayevildarling]

Wilhemina Venable x Reader- When the time is right - Pt 1

Part 2, Part 3

word count: 3.8k

warnings: mention of scoliosis, angst + fluff at the end

A/N: This story is kind of an AU. Reader meets Venable when Wilhemina is light Mina (orange hair, adorable, cute, friendly) and they get together. One day Wilhemina breaks it off suddenly and they only reunite years later but Reader is met with a much darker version (dark Mina).

Also, this used to be on my Wattpad but I decided to completely rewrite it and add multiple parts

Taglist:

@lunaticwhittaker, @rainbow-hedgehog, @mrsdeanhoward, @alexajbitar, @in-cordelias-coven, @kenzbro, @loverofallthingssarah, @twistedpoeticjustice, @billiebeanhoward, @minaslittleone, @lilypadscoven, @vintagepaulson, @ninaahs, @whitelotus00, @httpfiftyshadesofgay

-Flashback-

''Are you serious right now after all we have been through?'' you try hard not to scream but it feels like your body is on fire, your lungs are burning, heart racing and your eyes watering. You cannot believe you are having this conversation with your girlfriend Wilhemina right now. After a whole year of knowing each other and eventually giving the relationship a go she is talking about moving on.

'It's for the best'' is all she said in return and then she walked out, cane in her hand hitting the floor hard and not once did she look back, she ignored your cries, you begging her to stay and please turn back around. You keep repeating this is a nightmare and you are gonna wake up any minute to her holding you in her arms. But it was no nightmare and she did walk out of your shared apartment and ever since that day you have tried to move on. But no matter what you did working, moving out of the apartment, meeting friends, getting to know new people it didn't work, Wilhemina was always on your mind, when you are asleep she would visit in your dreams, when you are driving or outside and a song plays, she is there in your memory as if she never left in the first place.

-End of Flashback-

Even right now as you are walking through the streets on your lunch break, coffee in your hand and earphones in your ears listening to music she is here again.

''I never needed you like I do right now....I never hated you like I do right now'' as you hear those lyrics your heart skips a beat and it feels like it is breaking all over again. You tried everything you could think of, start a new job in a new field, you moved to a new city but nothing seems to be able to take your mind off the redhead, clouding your mind, her touch still so present lingering on your skin, her voice still ringing through your ears and the smell of lavender following you wherever you go.

Currently, you are working for a company in California, in the social media department and to promote the brand and their work. It's mostly boring but you do enjoy social media and advertisement so you gladly took the job considering it comes with a higher paycheck and a brand new apartment. There was nothing left in your old city, no friends anymore because you drove them all away as they always talked badly about your ex-girlfriend and the feelings you still have for her. No family because you were kind of always on your own and after quitting your job there, there was nothing holding you back. The woman with red-orange hair and a purple obsession is currently on your mind again and no matter what you do she is stuck in your head, like a catchy record and it hurts. As you think about her a wave of flashbacks hit you, with no way of putting a stop to it and keeping the storm at bay.

''Wilhemina Venable, nice to meet you'' was the first few words that you ever heard her say and for a moment you were so struck that you couldn't even say anything. ''Cat got your tongue hmm?'' was what she said afterward and what got you to snap out of it, introduce yourself, and shake her hand. And when you touched her for the first time you knew you would never ever get tired of feeling her soft hands.

You would also never grow tired of looking into her beautiful brown eyes or the soft smile she would give you whenever she would see you. Back then you just finished college and you took your first job and she was your co-worker. Starting a relationship with a co-worker is sometimes frowned upon and there probably are good reasons for that but you didn't listen, not to your friends telling you not to do it and not to the other co-workers after they noticed the glances you and Wilhemina exchanged at work. But you both never let that stop you and you fell for her and you fell hard.

Although you had some crushes before, mostly on teachers in college or celebrities, you never had been in a relationship before. Every morning before work you would get up so early and make sure to put your best clothes on, you would improve your makeup skills and try different hairstyles to impress Wilhemina and you did. She would notice how often you would come around to her desk and ask her silly questions you both knew the answers to but you pretend you didn't. And eventually, she took all of her confidence and asked you out and that night was the most magical night of your life.

You went to an expensive restaurant and after she took you home and she gave you something that night that was precious and you held onto it till today. Patience. She was your first love and she made sure to not rush, to not hurt you, to be there for you and hold you whenever you needed her. After your first date, you went on some more magical nights together, before you were ready to allow her to love you and to love her in return and she made you feel things you never felt before. She would make your whole body feel beautiful and worthy, all your insecurities left whenever you were around the woman who had many insecurities herself due to her back. And that's probably what you admire most about her, the way she made you feel whenever you were with her.

Thinking about all this, you think back to the many dates you both went on, to restaurants, shopping, the movies, car dates, attending work parties together, going to get drunk together. Life felt so easy with Wilhemina around, although she was a few years older than you she was pure, she was funny, soft, kind, precious and she was innocent. She would always treat people with respect and offer help and you loved her beautiful and kind personality. You never thought that one night after being with each other for almost a year she would randomly walk out of your life and not once turn back around or try and talk about it.

Hearing the lyrics repeat, you sigh and shake your head because it is true, one part of you needed Wilhemina back in your life because no matter what you do you can not get her out of your head or heart for that matter. Part of you does hate her for leaving and walking out, you never cried harder in your life than the night she left and you couldn't function for days. All you did was cry, toss and turn in the bed or curl up on the floor in a little ball until you couldn't cry anymore but the pain never stopped. It took days and in the end, your friends who picked you up again, taught you how to take care of yourself again by eating, showering, getting dressed, and going to work and you hoped that moving and changing jobs would change something.

As you are sitting in a park, only a few blocks away from your new workplace, watching people having picnics, playing with their kids, walking their dogs, or doing exercise you realize that all this wasn't worth it. Moving away, leaving your job, apartment and friends did nothing, you still miss her and she still haunts you. You miss her gentle side, the soft Mina as you used to call her, who would hold you in her arms, who would say soothing words until you would fall asleep, and who would make you feel better after a hard day at work, hold you after a nightmare or would let you ramble about another one of the co-workers annoying you. You miss telling her about your days and how you feel because you could be free with her and be who you are and you haven't been that way in a very long time.

Checking your phone you notice your lunch break is over in five minutes so you toss your empty coffee cup in a nearby trash can and walk back to your office. Today has been particularly boring because all you have to do is answer people's dm's and requests on social media because currently there is no campaign going on. As you walk back to your desk you put your coat and bag away and start logging onto your laptop. That's when you hear your boss on his way to your desk and you can't help but internally roll your eyes. He isn't a bad guy or anything, he is in his fifties, grey hair, always wearing a suit and he treats you with respect and you appreciate him but whenever he would approach you it means a problem, like an advertisement going wrong or a complaint or a new major client and that means longer hours and staying in the office till midnight. Not that you mind considering there is nothing or no one to come back home to.

''Y/N'' he says as he finally reaches your desk. Looking up from your desk, you force a smile and reply ''Yes Mr. Odell what can I do for you?''. By his posture, you can tell he is in some kind of distress.

''Listen we have a potential new client and I want you to come to our first meeting with them'' he says excitedly and you question why he can't just bring his assistant. ''I can't bring Janet she is sick so I need you to get your things'' he explains and you log off your computer, take your coat and bag and follow him outside the building. It is quite chilly, so you are glad that you put a jacket over your blazer.

As the familiar buildings and streets fade into the distance, you try not to zone out like you usually would but these days your mind would often be preoccupied with daydreams or memories as if someone else was entirely in control of your thoughts.

''I have a meeting with a Mr. Pfister and Mr. Nutter'' he says absent-mindedly while looking into his calendar and talking about the company you are headed to. Snapping out of your thoughts, you nod and mumble ''Of course Mr. Odell'' before averting your gaze back to the window looking at the hectic city and people going on about their days. Your thoughts wander back to work and you try to think of a few possibilities to advertise their products, as that might not be as easy as you originally thought when agreeing on accompanying your boss.

The first thing you see as you walk into a large unfamiliar building, following your boss's steps,  is a front desk with some employees sitting there, it seems that this building is home to a few companies and different departments as they guide people into different parts of the building. You watch as your boss approaches the front desk,  ''Hello may I help you?'' a woman with blonde hair asks politely.

''Yes I have a meeting with Kineros Robotics'' he says and she looks at you, then him again, and points towards a sign. ''It's to your right just follow the signs'' she says and you notice how her facial expression changed from nice and friendly to cold and possibly scared? after your boss mentioned the company name. Reading people's expressions and understanding their underlying feelings, has always been something you are good at but you quickly shake the thought away and follow your boss.

As you walk down the corridor you see a young woman with long brown curled hair wearing a blouse with flower prints and a skirt run down the hall with a box in her hand, her heels echoing through the building. ''I'm sorry'' she mumbles hectic and nervous as she zooms past you and you give Mr. Odell a questioning expression before reaching the department.

''I'm so sorry there was a bad accident on the 101'' you hear the woman say and then you hear a sound that sounds both so familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. The cane tapping. For a moment you freeze, knowing this isn't just any cane tap as you are so used to a certain redhead woman expressing her emotions partly through the very device that helps her keep her balance. Despite not having heard the sound in over a year, you know exactly who must be on the other end of the hallway.

Temporarily you freeze, thinking maybe her leaving you and breaking things off with you, has ultimately clouded your senses and affected your brain and maybe you are imagining everything. After all the rational part of yourself, is trying to remind you that there is no explanation right now as to why she would be here of all places.

However, the next thing you hear is a clear confirmation that your brain is not tricking you, it's not your mind so clouded by her absence, she is here, the only thing keeping you from seeing each other is a wall and a few steps apart. As you hear a familiar voice your heart stops beating and your throat goes dry.

''Not as bad as the accident that brought you into the world'' that is all you heard and although her voice sounds more cold, harsh and raspy you are fully aware that Wilhemina is sitting at the end of that corridor. For a moment your body goes into a state of shock, your ears ringing, vision blurring, and your heart beating out of your chest.

Shortly after the girl what you assume now to be an assistant comes running back towards the corridor with tears in her eyes and her heels making the same clicking sound. She zooms past you and Mr. Odell again and all he says is ''Damn she seems feisty'' and you know it's aimed at Wilhemina and for a moment you debate whether to just turn around and pretend to be sick or needing to answer a phone call but you know you can't back out now, after all, you have missed seeing her for too long now.

All you wanna do is see her adorable orange hair, that you used to run your fingers through and untangle some knots after she had a long day, the dorky glasses that you sometimes made fun of, and beautiful pastel purple probably everywhere if this truly was her workplace after all. ''Come on'' your boss says, pulling you out of your thoughts yet again and you walk into the large room.

Eyes instantly wander to the source of purple in the room and the source of darkness in your heart and emptiness ever since she left but not only does your heart stop for a moment as you take a look at her, you blink a few times, now actually sure whether this is real or some kind of nightmare.

Wilhemina's hair is a much darker shape of red now and styled into a tall sharp quiff, no sign of her usual high ponytails anymore or the lighter and orange shape it used to be. You notice she doesn't wear glasses anymore and you are convinced her eyes look an even darker shape than before too. She is wearing a dress and it's also a very dark shade of purple with matching earrings. Even her makeup is darker, and as you see her sitting by her desk you can't deny how intimidating she seems, looking at some files, her cane resting on the desk right beside her. Even the cane is different now, it has a snake shape at the top and it's not the old plain one she used to have.

For a moment you believe you just walked right into your own personal nightmare, the funny, sometimes sassy, and beautiful girl you used to love now seems like a completely different and somewhat evil person. The Wilhemina you once loved and still have feelings for, as they never truly changed, seems gone and it seems like she was replaced by a new one, a colder version.

She would have never spoken to anyone like that or treated someone the way she just treated that girl that seems to be her assistant, by the looks of it. All the staring and observing Wilhemina happened in a matter of seconds although it feels like an eternity, everything is silent for a moment, all that is to be heard is your own heartbeat and the typing on Wilhemina's keyboard.

You watch as your boss approaches her and you follow him and finally, Wilhemina looks up noticing the presence of someone else in the room and her gaze is focused on him, so she hasn't seen you yet. He tries to shake her hand and says ''My name is Mr. Odell I have an appointment with Mr. Nutter and Mr. Pfister'' and she just looks at him and his hand with a slightly disgusted expression but she doesn't bother shaking his hand.

''Very well'' she says and takes a glance at you for a split second, noticing a second person in the room and her eyes wander back to her laptop thinking you are just some assistant but when she realizes who you are she immediately looks back over to you and she doesn't avert her gaze at first.

Wilhemina takes in your features for a moment, the sense of fashion, dressing smartly and formally but at the same time stunning as she always said, your hair, the improved makeup skills, and still the same details she always loved about you. She doesn't look into your eyes yet and you are interrupted when two men walk over.

One of them has brown hair and the other blonde hair and you try hard not to chuckle when you see them because they look hideous. ''Mr. Odell, nice to meet you'' they say and shake hands. ''This is Y/L/N maybe someone could show her around while we finalize the details?'' your boss suggests, taking you by surprise, and one of the two turns to Wilhemina and says ''Miss Venable would you give this beautiful lady a tour please''.

For a split second, you are convinced, she is about to kill him but you aren't sure if it's about the tour or compliment. ''Of course'' she mumbles and your boss and the two men leave and you are left there with your ex-girlfriend and awkward silence filling the room. You haven't looked up or into her eyes yet and it terrifies you, she terrifies you.

Wilhemina has no idea what to do or how to react after not seeing you for two years and the last time she did she walked out of your life and your relationship. The redhead looks at you and without looking into your eyes yet she knows the pain, she can see it and she can tell this is killing you inside, the last thing she ever wanted was to cause you pain.

You take a deep breath with your eyes closed and turn to Wilhemina and your eyes instantly lock and you look into her dark brown eyes and not leave her gaze for one moment. She takes a few slow steps towards you, her cane hitting the floor, and with every tap and echo in the room, it feels like your heart is ripped into more pieces and your past is here confronting you right at this moment.

''Mina'' is everything you can say but it comes out as a whisper while your voice cracks. Your ex-girlfriend's eyes close right away because she has missed hearing you call her that for the past two years but as she opens her eyes she reminds herself internally, who she is and that she is currently at her workplace.

''Follow me'' she instructs and you follow her while she walks down a corridor and into a room with big machines. While you follow her you can't understand what would have happened to her to turn into this cold-hearted person. She used to be the sweetest and kindest person you knew but clearly, something has changed. You cannot take your eyes off her and as she walks you into the room with machines, she explains about the work they do here and how they do it and as much as you try to focus and look at the things she shows you, you can't and Wilhemina notices.

''Do I bore you?'' she suddenly snaps in that cold voice again, her nostrils flaring and your heart feels like a knife was just thrown right into it. ''I'm sorr- sorry I-'' but you can't even think of a good enough excuse so you just look at the floor and try hard to keep your emotions at bay.

''Anyways, these are the machines and devices we use, whenever someone places a custom order we make sure to fulfill that order as efficient and quick as possible'' Wilhemina explains her voice still stern, sounding like she has given this tour so many times, she has memorized every single word.

However, you do notice her looking at you the entire time she explains and it seems like she wants you to say something but there are too many things that you want and wanted to say to her for years but you never imagined one day you would run into her like this. For several minutes the two of you stand in the rooms with machines, Wilhemina explaining and you trying hard to focus on her words intently.

''Y/N'' you hear the voice of your boss coming from the door, the two strange-looking men behind him, and you look at him, noticing the satisfied looks on their faces, indicating the deal worked well, and he says ''I'm finished, thank you, Miss, for giving her the tour'' he adds now focused on Wilhemina. ''Let's go'' he says and you walk in his direction without looking back at her and just as you are about to walk out of the door you look at her and say ''Thank you'' and then you walk out.

As you walk out of the large office building, back through the same long corridor, and past the front desk, you can't hear anything your boss is trying to say and the entire car ride back to the office you try and wrap your head around what just happened, abandoning every single word Mr. Odell is saying.

''This didn't happen wake up Y/N wake-up Y/N'' you keep repeating in your head but it's no use this is no nightmare this is reality.

[chilligyu]

info: im jaebum/reader, teen+, strangers to lovers au genre: soft angst, romance | word ct: 5.1k warnings: suggestive themes summary: for years, jaebum tried to forget the woman who broke his heart. little did he know that she wasn’t so easily forgotten, and that her face would haunt him at every turn. note: so I started this three years ago after listening to got7′s face for the first time and I’ve been editing it and forgetting it ever since. lol maybe someone will enjoy it

“Jaebum, I’m sorry.”

Okay.

“I really am.”

Okay.

“Please understand—”

Okay.

“Jae? Don’t just stand there.”

Okay.

“Please—please say something!”

Like what?

Jaebum didn’t know what she expected him to say, not after that. After she ripped out his heart.

“I don’t love you anymore, Jaebum. I’m sorry.”

She just stood there in the doorway, bag in hand, waiting for his response with tears in her eyes. He knew she was trying to stay strong, he could see her lip trembling as she held it between her teeth. How long would she wait there? How long would she bat her eyelashes at him innocently waiting for him to make it all okay? What did she even want from him? Forgiveness? Reassurance? Did she think that somehow an apology would make their breakup hurt any less?

“Goodbye, Seohyun.” He forced out through clenched teeth. “Thanks for everything.”

“Wait—Jaebum—!”

Closing the door on both her and their three year relationship, Jaebum couldn’t remember what he did next. He couldn’t remember clawing every photograph off the walls, he couldn’t remember how his fingers stung as they dug into the plaster. He couldn’t recall pulling every plate from their cabinets, he couldn’t recall how his feet bled when he stepped on the broken porcelain. He couldn’t recollect how much he hated the man who stared at him in the mirror, he couldn’t recollect how his fist destroyed the glass and how it finally reflected how he felt inside.

“I don’t love you anymore, Jaebum. I’m sorry.”

That was over a year ago. And it felt like an eternity to him. Looking at himself now, suit neatly pressed, shoes freshly shined, he didn’t see any semblance of the man from that night. After he destroyed everything that reminded him of her, as he saw the pictures of happier times reduced to embers in the fireplace, he made himself a promise. He swore that he would never let anyone ruin him so completely ever again. Steeling his heart and caging it in ice, he wouldn’t even give them the chance.

Never again.

“Jae?” Jinyoung inquired, knuckles rasping against Jaebum’s door. “We’re heading out for drinks, want to come with?”

He didn’t even look up from the reports he was filing. “Can’t. I’m busy.”

Jinyoung crossed his arms. “Shocker. You’re always busy.”

“That comes with being the boss.” Jaebum countered easily.

Rolling his eyes, Jinyoung leaned against the doorframe. “C’mon, Jae, just pretend you’re a regular guy and not an office robot for a couple of hours. Would it hurt to have a little fun?”

“Maybe. Socializing is against my programming.” Jaebum teased in a robot voice. “I cannot acquiesce to your request.”

“Dammit Jae.” Jinyoung sighed in disbelief. “Your humor is wasted in this tiny little room. Go out with us. Free yourself from the confines of this dastardly place. One night with the guys isn’t going to kill you. And if it does, I’ll buy lunch for a week. Scouts honor.”

Jaebum snickered quietly. “Alright, if it gets you to shut up I’ll go out for a couple of hours.”

“And do a couple of shots?” Jinyoung pressed hopefully.

“Don’t push your luck, Jin.” Jaebum chastised him, leering over his glasses. “I’ll have a glass of wine and that’s it.”

“I’ll take it.” Jinyoung shrugged. “We’re leaving in ten minutes. You want to catch a ride with me?”

Pursing his lips, Jaebum shook his head. “I’ve got to turn these in before I go. I’ll meet you there if you text me the address.”

Jinyoung narrowed his eyes at his friend suspiciously. “I swear to God, Jae, if you flake on us I’m going to come back here and kick your sorry ass.”

“Like you could take me.” Jaebum smirked. “Just go, I’ll be there soon. Promise.”

Jinyoung didn’t relent, his head dragging as he headed towards his own office. “I’ve got my eyes on you, Im Jaebum. You’re not going to fool me.”

“I’m not trying to fool you.” Jaebum informed him. “But if you keep bothering me I’m going to magically find a stack of financial statements that need to be filed. And who better to file them than my good buddy Park Jinyoung—”

“See you there!” Jinyoung interrupted, dashing down the hall like his heels were on fire. “I’ll text you!”

Chuckling at the expense of his friend, Jaebum leaned back in his chair and tapped his pen against his leg. He couldn’t remember the last time he went out just to go out. It had been too long since he was desperate for the numbing sensation of alcohol pulsing through his veins to simply function normally. The last time he could remember drinking he couldn’t recall anything that happened after. Not until he woke up in some woman’s bed that he didn’t bother to learn the name of. He wanted to feel bad, or at least some part of him did. Because she wasn’t the first, and she most certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Not tonight. He decided. Not this time.

When his phone lit up, a text message from Jinyoung waiting for him impatiently, Jaebum quickly got to work. As much as he tried to keep his stoic face in front of his friend, he needed to get out of the office. If he had to read another poorly written report littered with inaccuracies and spelling errors, he was going to lose his mind. Jinyoung’s offer could not have come soon enough.

By the time he was done, the sun was already starting to set. Cursing underneath his breath, Jaebum grabbed his coat and bolted out the door. Opting to take the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator, he checked the bus schedule while tugging on his gloves. Jinyoung had already been at the bar much longer than he’d like, meaning that Jaebum wasn’t going to get out of the night unscathed. Lucky for him he was always prepared for such occasions. The bottle of aspirin in his desk drawer and him were about to be fast friends.

“Jae!” Jinyoung screamed through the phone. “Where are you!”

Jaebum groaned loudly as he made it out to the street. “I’m sorry, I’m still at the office. But I’m leaving now, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“You better be!” Jinyoung continued. “Because I’ll—I’ll kick your ass if you’re not!”

“Shut up Jinyoung, you’re drunk.” He muttered, ending the call and stuffing his phone in his pocket.

Wrapping his scarf around his neck, Jaebum walked briskly to the bus station just down the block. Instantly regretting turning down Jinyoung’s offer for a ride when the cold winter air pelted his skin. Opening his eyes even the slightest caused his eyes to water, each step he took sent a chill down his spine, frost nipped at the tips of his ears, he could barely stand it.

As he waited less than patiently, Jaebum found himself watching the people that passed him. An elderly woman wearing a mismatched set of mittens, a small dog in a boorish sweater jogging along beside her. Two school boys fussing over a handheld video game, laughing jovially despite their harsh words. A young couple walking hand in hand, their eyes filled with affection and warmth, leaving Jaebum with a foul taste in his mouth.

“I don’t love you anymore, Jaebum. I’m sorry.”

Lighting a cigarette, he did his best not to think about Seohyun. About how she left him on a night just like this. How each kiss on her eager lips tasted like lies. How her brown eyes hollowed out his very soul. And how each promise she made cut him like knives. Jaebum had been trying to erase her from his life for a whole year. But no matter how much he drank, or how many women he kissed, he could still taste her on his tongue.

Even cigarettes do nothing to mask her taste. He mused, inhaling deeply and savoring the tobacco that filled his lungs.

When the bus pulled up to the curb, Jaebum dropped his unfinished cigarette in the street. Sighing, he tapped his foot impatiently as the doors opened and people spilled out onto the sidewalk. He had completely forgotten how cramped public transport could get during the winter. Another reason why he hated the desolate season. And Jinyoung’s persistent drunken text messages and calls weren’t helping his rapidly souring mood.

“What is it now, Jinyoung?” Jaebum exasperated, getting on the bus and swiping his card.

“Do you know that fish cake shop by the bar?” Jinyoung asked sluggishly. “The one that I really really like?”

Jaebum pinched the bridge of his nose as he found a seat at the back of the bus. “No, I do not. But I take it you want me to stop there?”

“Yeeeesss.” He dragged out. “I’m dying for a good fish cake.”

Sometimes I wonder how we’re friends. “Alright, fine, I’ll get you your stupid fish cake. How far away from the bar is the shop?”

“Not far at all!” Jinyoung exclaimed. “Just down the street a ways, you can’t miss it! Thanks Jae! You’re the best!”

Beep beep beep.

Pocketing his phone, Jaebum did his best not to let the night get away from him. He had to keep reminding himself that all of his problems could easily be solved with the bottle of scotch that was waiting at the bar. Jinyoung owed him, and getting free drinks out of him while he was drunk was an easy task for Jaebum. All of that was worth the annoying errands that his best friend was infamous for sending him on.

There’s a scotch on the rocks waiting for you. He told himself over and over again. Do it for the scotch. Scotch can get you through anything.

“Now approaching, Namdaemun Market. Thank you for choosing Seoul Public Transportation, have a nice day.”

As the bus rolled to a complete stop, Jaebum quickly stood and waited for the doors to open. Shouldering past the new borders, he apologized quietly, thankful to finally be off the cramped bus and back out on the street. Even if it was a bit colder than he remembered. Shivering, he pulled his lapel taught over his face, scanning his surroundings for the fish cake shop he was supposed to visit. What he found instead was a ghost from his past. A ghost with hair as black as the hole she gouged into his chest.

Seohyun? He swallowed nervously, his palms sweating despite the brisk December air. Is it really her? Please—please tell me that I’m seeing things.

It had to be her, he knew it deep down inside. He knew by the way his heart stopped, how his stomach sank, that it couldn’t be anyone else. But—his mind wasn’t so easily convinced. How could it be her? How could Lee Seohyun be standing right in front of him? Just as beautiful as the day she ripped out his heart without a care in the world. Waiting outside an electronics kiosk, a lollipop stick protruding from her perfect cherry red lips and a guitar slung over her shoulder as if—

A guitar? Jaebum questioned. Since when does Seohyun know how to—

Realization dawned on Jaebum almost instantly. His eyes were playing tricks on him, like they had so many times before. It wasn’t Seohyun, it would never be Seohyun. No matter how much a small miniscule part of him still wanted her back in his arms, she never would be his. The woman before him was simply his projection of something he would never have. Underneath his breath, Jaebum cursed himself for being hung up on her after all this time.

Still, his gaze didn’t waver as he watched the Seohyun look alike walk down the street. The resemblance was uncanny, had he been intoxicated he would’ve surely mistaken her for Seohyun. She even walked like her. The way her hips swayed—Jaebum couldn’t bring himself to look away. She was beautiful, breathtaking, mysterious, entrancing, the same dangerous formula that Jaebum became addicted to so easily.

For a brief moment, he couldn’t find the differences between them. From the way her dark hair fell languidly over her shoulders, the way her lips twitched into a hesitant smile, how her eyes glistened with a palpable passion. It was almost as if he was looking at a direct reflection of a memory. One he would’ve preferred to remain lost to time.

I need to get to this fish cake shop. Jaebum reminded himself. More importantly, I need to get the hell out of here.

Gathering his runaway thoughts, he started down the busy street, doing his best to avoid the mysterious woman. She was a reminder that he couldn’t afford to fall back into the hole that Seohyun cast him into. The man that loved Seohyun wasn’t one that Jaebum admired. In fact, he was a man that Jaebum tried time and time again to erase. And, until that exact moment, he thought he was doing a fair job of it.

“Get your fish cakes here! Best around!”

Jaebum’s ears perked up at the shouting vendor, appreciating the distraction more than he cared to admit. Besides, his head was in a complete haze ever since he spotted that woman. He wouldn’t have been able to find the shop on his own even if he ran right into the door. Which he practically did. The control Seohyun still had over him terrified him to no end. And he had only seen a woman who looked like her, it wasn’t even her. He shuttered to imagine what would’ve happened if she was really there. Whispering in his ear, her hands gliding up his body, the curves of her body beneath him—

“Jaebum…”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jaebum willed her husky voice away. The shivers that travelled down his spine—he had to ignore them. He had to get away from her. Ducking into the shop, he quickly purchased the fish cakes and left without a word to the clerk. He feared his own voice, feared how it would betray him. The only thing that mattered to him was getting to the bar and as far away from her as possible.

Without really paying attention to where he was going, Jaebum shouldered past someone and sent them stumbling backwards. Unconsciously, he reached out to steady them, taking hold of their wrist and pulling them in close to him before realizing who it was. It was her. Her. Her slender wrists were within his grasp, her dark eyes looked up at him in surprise, and coherent thought evaded him.

“Thanks!” She exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “I really should look where I’m going.”

At that close distance she looked even more like Seohyun. Jaebum didn’t think it was physically possible, but the proof was right in front of him. The scent of her perfume filled his senses, taking him back to a time when her fragrance was the only thing between them. He tried to swallow past the lump in his throat, he tried to respond, he tried to say anything that could distract himself from her lips. Her perfectly shaped cherry red lips…

Brushing her hair over her shoulder, she offered him a dangerous look. “Not much of a talker, are you?”

Jaebum never made it to the bar that night.

He woke up the next morning tangled in sheets that weren’t his own. Lying beside him was the woman who unknowingly unravelled every effort he had made to forget about Seohyun. She made him painfully aware that his previous beliefs were nothing more than optimistic delusions. Jaebum hadn’t moved past her, not even in the slightest. He wasn’t sure if he ever would.

As was customary after every one night stand he stumbled into, he quickly pulled his clothes back on and quietly left her apartment without bothering to wake her. He called for a taxi, pointedly ignoring all of the angry texts and numerous voicemails left by Jinyoung as he made his way home. Jaebum wasn’t in the mood to explain himself. Ironically enough, all he wanted to do was drink. He settled for a silent ride through the city that was supposed to save him from himself, but he was beyond saving.

Days passed and he couldn’t shake the memory of Seohyun’s lookalike beneath him. She was a rarity, an anomaly that wandered into his life without any sort of warning. And as easily as she traipsed through his thoughts, she was gone. Frankly that was his own fault, he did it for his own good but it didn’t matter to him. He wanted her, he wanted more, his body ached for her in a way that was all too familiar. He sat at his desk, fists clenched in rage, hating himself for falling back into his old ways. All he wanted was a life without Seohyun, he wasn’t sure it was possible anymore.

At first, he was determined to stay away from her. He willed his thoughts and memories to the back of his mind, trying to get on with his life once more. But it wasn’t so simple. He found himself back on that street corner without realizing how he got there just a few nights later. Diligently looking for the cherry red lips that stained his own and drove him wild.

He would always find his way back to her.

“Did you miss me?”

She came up beside him with a coy smirk, she already knew his answer.

“Still not much of a talker, are you?”

Soon after they would wind up in bed again, as it was slowly becoming their routine. Jaebum had never felt more connected to a complete stranger, someone who could’ve easily gone through life without ever meeting him. He had Seohyun back, in some way. Like a ghost from the past letting him have one last glance at what could’ve been. He could’ve been happy, he was happy. Now he didn’t know what he was. All he knew was her because that was all he wanted to know. And he wanted to know more. 

On the first day he learned her lips, on the second day he learned her name.

On the third day she learned his.

“Jae...” She breathed beneath him, desperate for him as he was for her. “Please…”

He loved how she said his name. It pained him that he couldn’t say hers.

“Jae.” She tested on her tongue. “You called me Seohyun again.”

He watched absentmindedly as her delicate fingers dusted over his skin, offering nothing more than a quiet, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She mused. “I just need to know, someone you’re running from or running to?”

“I don’t love you anymore, Jaebum. I’m sorry.”

“Both.”

She visibly winced at his honesty. “Well, I hope I can help with that a little.”

And she did. Her lips pressed against his jaw as her hand slid down his abdomen, he hissed in response and took her in his arms. She was—magic. The second his mind would be occupied by thoughts of Seohyun she would pull him in with her own hypnotic gaze, letting him forget about the woman that brought them together in the first place. It didn’t last for long, but the reprieve was appreciated nevertheless.

On the fourth day he called her Seohyun again. The fifth day was the same.

On the sixth day he said her name and she smiled.

He lost track of the days after that.

The moment their relationship stopped being casual and became something more wasn’t entirely obvious to Jaebum. One day he simply woke up and instead of hoping to see her again soon he decided that soon wasn’t enough. They started to see each other every single day, some of those days didn’t end up in bed either. Maybe that’s when he noticed that she was more to him than he originally intended. Maybe that’s when he knew he was doomed to be in love with Seohyun for the rest of his life. Forever seeking her out in the woman he had hoped would make him forget.

One morning when she was gathering her things, giving Jaebum the space he had so foolishly convinced himself he needed, he asked her to stay. So she stayed. He couldn’t ever remember things with Seohyun being so simple. Seohyun was a woman that made Jaebum fight for every inch, beg for every moment, he was addicted to her and didn’t realize how quickly she was killing him. While he didn’t want to admit it, the moment she left him was probably the kindest thing she had ever done.

But she was perfect and he still loved her.

He hated himself, as he spent more time with her and could only see Seohyun in her eyes, he hated himself. He had hoped that they would separate, that he would see her for her and not for the woman he hated and loved all at once. Because she was perfect just as Seohyun was, all he had to do was wait for the inevitable. Either he would get fed up with her or she would realize the truth. She would learn that she was a replacement for someone that wasn’t worth replacing. Someone he evidently couldn’t let go.

“You look like you have a lot on your mind.” She whispered, dusting her fingers over his arm. “Do you want to talk about it?”

What hurt him most, was that she loved him. She loved him. Not some version of him that only existed as a ghost in her mind, as a lie she couldn’t give up. She loved him for exactly who he was. A man who looked at her and saw another, who reached for her everyday, who was haunted by a touch that was forever ingrained in his skin. He was disgusted by the man she loved, by himself. But if he ever told her the truth, he knew it would break her heart.

Break her like Seohyun destroyed him.

And then she would be gone.

So he would continue to lie to her, betray her no matter how much his own words tore him up inside. A sensation that was all too familiar, one he knew better than most after knowing Seohyun for as long as he did. Ironically, he was just like her. Selfish to the very end. 

“I’m alright.” He lied easily as always.

Except she wasn’t convinced, not in the slightest. She had never been convinced of his lies, he could tell just by looking at her that she was enduring his facade as much as he was. Pretending to be fooled so they could continue in blissful ignorance. Because she knew his heart better than even he did, a heart that had long since been locked away. Because she loved him despite everything that he was. And everything that he wasn’t.

It was close to their anniversary when he decided that enough was enough. She had introduced him to her friends, her parents, and he had done the same. Their lives had become intertwined to a point that severing their ties could only result in a catastrophic mess. He had to come clean, he had to put his heart at ease and end the nightmare he almost believed was a dream. He had to let Seohyun go, he had to let her go. Once and for all he had to free himself from her grasp and break a heart that belonged to a woman whose only mistake was running into a man in a fish cake shop.

“I don’t love you anymore, Jaebum. I’m sorry.”

His heart ached as he thought about that day, hated how much his own actions would soon imitate that very moment. Looking at someone who loved you with everything that they had and telling them that it was all over. That you never loved them. That everything was a lie. That you were nothing but a monster.

God I need a drink.

So to put a bit of distance between them, to gather his thoughts, he went to the bar that technically started it all. He ordered his usual drink, he pretended to watch a game that didn’t interest him, and he sat in silence as the moments ticked by. Every now and again the bartender would try to strike up a conversation, but after being ignored for the fifth time he finally gave up. Jaebum wasn’t in the mood to pretend to be a decent human being, it was taking every concerted effort he could afford to keep himself from falling apart at the seams.

And despite the fact that he had been sitting at the bar with two fingers of scotch in front of him for nearly an hour, he had yet to take a single sip. He kept swirling it in his hand instead, using it more as a distraction from his rampant thoughts than a means to soothe his agitated nerves. As much as he wanted to get the whole ordeal over with, he couldn’t get drunk. He had been selfish enough in the past year, he had to endure the next few hours sober because she deserved more than what she was given. She deserved more respect than he had ever offered her. And he deserved the misery he was destined for.

Once a couple of hours had passed, he decided it was time to face her. She would be starting dinner soon and he didn’t want her to waste her time. Not when he was going to be effectively kicking her out of his life forever. With a sigh, he put on his jacket to leave and pushed his untouched drink back towards the bartender. Then, a young woman took a seat beside him.

“Why don’t you let me join you for a drink?” She hummed seductively. “You’re looking a little stressed.”

 For fucks sake. “Thanks, but no thanks.” He returned without looking at her. “I’ve got better things to do.”

Apparently she wasn’t giving up so easily. “Is that anyway to talk to a pretty girl like me?”

Glancing at her, he wasn’t impressed. “Sorry, but I have somewhere I need to be. Drink by yourself if you’re so inclined.”

As he stood to leave, she took a firm grasp of his arm. “Jaebum? Are you seriously going to ignore me? Are you really that cruel?”

He rolled his eyes at her continued pathetic attempts. “You even learned my name, wow. How long have you been watching me?”

Turning back to look at her, he realized there was something familiar about her. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. But that didn’t matter to him.

“Seriously, I’m not on the market.” He persisted. “Good day.”

“Jaebum!” She shouted in disbelief. “Do you seriously not recognize me? We dated for three fucking years, I feel like I’m owed more than a cold shoulder. Or are you the complete asshole you’ve always been?”

A chill ran down his spine.

“Don’t just stand there!”

No… it—it can’t be… that voice... 

“Say something!”

Seohyun?

Realization dawned on him, stomach acid rose in his throat. It had to be her, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind after hearing her say that. Those words, nearly those exact words were seared into his soul ages ago. That voice berated him for years. There was no way he would ever mistake that voice for anyone else. But—she didn’t look like the Seohyun he remembered. The mere sight of her didn’t drive him mad, he didn’t have to fight back the urge to throw himself at her feet. She was Seohyun without the best and the worst parts of her.

She wasn’t the woman he loved.

Not anymore.

“Wow…” He exhaled with a smile. “You’ve really changed, haven’t you.”

Which, now that the initial shock had worn off, he realized that she was the exact same. Painfully so. Her nails were freshly manicured, her hair and makeup were set perfectly in place, her clothes were fresh off the runway, she was Seohyun in every sense of the word. Perfectly plucked from time and placed in front of him. She was everything he thought he loved. Before he learned what love really looked like. And god it didn’t look like her.

“And you haven’t changed at all.” She huffed. “Still the rude asshole I dumped forever ago. I can’t believe I doubted myself for a second there, spotting you across the bar made it seem like the good old times. But I really made the right call, didn’t I?”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “You really did. Goodbye, Seohyun. Thanks for everything.”

She scoffed as he left. “Yeah, whatever.”

After that, Jaebum didn’t hesitate. He took off running for the bus stop, desperate to get home to a woman that he had loved for a whole year and just didn’t know it. He had been so sure that the love he felt for her was just a projection, that she only reminded him of Seohyun so that was the only reason he loved her. Never in all his life had he been happier to be wrong.

I love her… He chanted in his head, over and over again. I love her!

Once he got home, he burst through the door and stopped immediately when he saw her standing there. How had he never noticed before? She was beautiful, she was perfect, she was the woman he loved with his whole heart and he was a fool for not knowing sooner. She made him laugh, she made him smile, she made him forget about Seohyun a hundred times and even wiped her from his heart forever. And he was the idiot who thought it was all a lie.

“What’s wrong, Jaebum?” She asked innocently. “Is something on your mind?”

“Yes.” He confirmed easily, approaching her slowly and taking her hands in his. “I’ve done a lot of thinking, a lot of soul searching this past year, trying to make sense of my feelings for you. And I think I finally know what my brain has been telling me since the very beginning.”

There was a nervous glint to her eyes, but she played along. “What would that be?”

“That I love you.” He smiled. “I love you for being you and no one else.”

Those words, those simple words that wouldn’t make any sense to someone else, made her face light up like a fireworks display. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into his chest, overwhelmed with a feeling he knew all too well. For the first time in four years, Jaebum could breathe. A huge weight had lifted from his shoulders, the ghost of Seohyun was finally gone. He was free.

“I love you too…” She mumbled. “I’ve loved you for so long…”

“I know.” He whispered gently, tilting her chin up and kissing her gently. “And I will thank you everyday for waiting for me.”

[shijiujun]

pls give us chuyao and "kissing as a distraction to steal their wallet"

An au in which Lu Yao spent some time on the streets when he was younger after getting kidnapped by really Bad People, and had to become a thief on the streets to survive. His dad and siblings find him a year later, but some habits are hard to shake off once you’ve got them (an adrenaline junkie of sorts?), cue occasional minor thief Lu Yao who has three degrees from a major Western university XD

--

Lu Yao's fingers itch, his skin tingling in excitement.

He honestly doesn’t need the money, but he likes it. It isn’t something he does often, but occasionally, he’s struck with the urge to just steal some cash with a sleight of hand, giving in to the thrill of a successful wallet snatched without the owner of said wallet even realizing what he did.

It is a very, very bad habit, he knows that. And it isn’t like he doesn’t return the wallets! He doesn’t even take the money most of the time. Simply put, Lu Yao pickpockets and steals just to prove that he can, and if he gives in to the temptation to sneak some coins away while he’s at it, well, no one is any the wiser.

It is also often that the owners would voluntarily gift him with a small reward for ‘returning’ their wallets. Lu Yao would refuse of course, because he is a well-bred, proper gentleman who will not take advantage of others (coughs), and only at their repeated insistence does he shyly accept the money.

This keeps him out of trouble - Lu Yao is well aware that he cannot run very fast despite his long legs, so if he is caught, it would be a challenge to get himself out of hot water. Instead, he’s content with pickpocketing for fun, and if some assholes who cross Lu Yao’s path find some money missing long after Lu Yao has made his escape, well, they deserve it.

Recently, however, Lu Yao has his eye on this gorgeous man at the city’s hottest nightclub, Bai Le Men.

Qiao Chusheng comes from money, and the wallet he so callously dumps on the bar counter top every time Lu Yao sees him is stuffed full of cash, screaming at Lu Yao to just grab it. The gloss on the dark brown leather wallet is oh so shiny, and anyone with a pair of functional eyes would know just how expensive the wallet itself is.

Of course, Lu Yao doesn’t, because this is Qiao Chusheng, de-facto leader of the Green Dragon Gang, and he would like all his fingers wherever they currently are, thank you very much.

This requires some deft handling, he thinks, and so instead of outright creating an opportunity for a quick steal, Lu Yao befriends Chusheng.

Pretends to be drunk as he knocks into Chusheng on their first meeting, spilling his glass of whiskey all over Chusheng’s expensive woollen jacket. Thanking him a few days later when they meet for sending Lu Yao back home that night after dirtying his suit. And then for the weeks after, whenever Chusheng visits the bar, Lu Yao is usually seen seated right next to him, both men in deep conversations and the occasional laughs.

Once he’s sure that Chusheng is less likely to beat him up for stealing his wallet, Lu Yao tries.

He stresses once again that he doesn’t need the money. Ever since meeting Chusheng, the man pays for everything - drinks, dinners, a handful of meetings outside the nightclub in the day - without a single word, but Lu Yao just wants to steal it.

It doesn’t help that he’s had a few too many drinks for real today, which only amplifies the urge to swipe Chusheng’s wallet from his back pocket right now. He’s so sleepy too, his blurring vision full of Chusheng’s unfairly handsome face, his eyes which are all full of Lu Yao right now, and that smile... that smile, when Chusheng talks to him.

Lu Yao leans forward, reaching for Chusheng’s lips, and kisses him.

His kiss is entirely unplanned, and the moment their lips meet, Lu Yao sobers immediately, like a pail of iced water to his face. Even then, habit and rote memory has his fingers snagging the wallet and hiding it away in the span of those few seconds.

Chusheng is staring at him with wide eyes as Lu Yao straightens back, looking as shocked as he is.

What did he just...

Qiao Chusheng is going to... is going to murder him.

Blood draining out of his face, Lu Yao scrambles unsteadily to his feet, prepared to make his escape, “I’m just going... to-”

A hand encircles his elbow just as he’s about to turn and go, and Lu Yao yelps unglamorously as he’s tugged backwards, hard.

And then Chusheng is kissing him again.

This time, it’s no simple, chaste peck on the lips. Slanting his mouth over Lu Yao’s, Chusheng positively devours him. The breaths between them hot and moist against their skin as their lips and tongues collide time after time, until Lu Yao just collapses into Chusheng’s embrace, unable to feel his legs.

His face is still red a few minutes later when he lands on a soft bed to one of the private rooms sequestered away on the last floor of Bai Le Men’s building, but as articles of clothing between him and Chusheng fall to the floor one after the other, Lu Yao finds that he doesn’t have the mind to be embarrassed anymore.

That night, Chusheng takes him apart again and again, his kisses and touch leaving heat trailing across his entire body, so much so that it is branded into Lu Yao’s memory. His own hands feel their way over Chusheng’s back and his sculpted abs, his legs locking behind Chusheng’s waist to feel each thrust impossibly closer, every part of him sensitive and tender.

The crests of pleasure assaults his senses repeatedly, until all he can think of is Chusheng.

===

Lu Yao stirs at the sensation of lips pressing against his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, and wakes up fully just as he’s kissed on the mouth.

It’s warm in Chusheng’s hold, pressed skin to skin with him, and Lu Yao never wants to leave. He refuses to open his eyes though, because the memories of yesterday night are terribly clear in his head, and he remembers the way he begged for Chusheng, the way he clung to him and the embarrassing things that came out of his mouth.

As if knowing exactly what he’s thinking, Chusheng laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest into Lu Yao’s ear.

“Why’re you shy about this?” Chusheng asks, teasing.

“... you’re a monster,” Lu Yao mumbles, curling further into Chusheng’s side to hide his face. “How many times did you- Even after I told you I was tired! I can’t feel the lower half of my body anymore.”

“Oh?” Chusheng raises an eyebrow. “We can’t have that, shall I make sure the important parts are working now-”

At that, Lu Yao quickly interjects, “I’m hungry, Lao Qiao.”

“Mnn. Get me my wallet from your jacket, won’t you?”

In his haze of drowsiness and the ache that is running through his body, Lu Yao doesn’t register what Chusheng has said until he’s fished the wallet out of his own jacket, which fortunately fell right next to the bed on the floor, on Lu Yao’s side.

His eyes go impossibly wide, wallet in hand.

“... Lao Qiao,” Lu Yao swallows, trying to quickly come up with a lie, “I can explain-”

“You’re really good at it,” Chusheng cuts in with a smile, sitting up and taking the wallet from him. “You don’t repeat locations too often, but I happen to own Bai Le Men, Jin Guang Tai and Man Fu Du Cheng, and i’ve seen you around quite a lot. Don’t worry, it was only because I was looking out for you that I even noticed you were pickpocketing.”

Chusheng slips out of bed, and asks, “Do you want dumplings or jianbing? I recall you liking the jianbing from the kitchens... and some tea.”

Sitting up in bed gingerly and pulling up the blankets around him to cover his state of undress, Lu Yao gapes at Chusheng,��“You knew?!”

“San Tu, you’re not very subtle,” Chusheng almost rolls his eyes. He bends down to pick up a shirt, only to see the condition of Lu Yao’s clothes on the floor. “... I ripped your shirt apart yesterday night. Sit tight, I’ll get Salim to send a new set over for you.”

“Wait, wait,” Lu Yao stops him. “What do you mean you knew? You knew that I was after your wallet and you just let me hang out around you?”

At that, Chusheng sits on the bed again, amused, “How did you think i got you to come to me? Although no one would dare to steal my wallet, I don’t really make it a habit to just toss my wallet on the tables, out in the open, you know.”

The realization that he was the one conned, in a sense, hits Lu Yao like a brick to the face.

“Alright,” Chusheng continues, sensing his anxiety. Pressing Lu Yao back down to lie down under the covers, he says, “Next time, you can take my wallet whenever you want to. Although if you’d like to take the initiative and jump into my embrace like last night, feel free to do so whenever.”

“Qiao Chusheng!”

The man avoids the pillow and swiftly bends down to sneak another kiss from Lu Yao, before heading out to find some breakfast for Lu Yao.

A few minutes later, Lu Yao sighs.

For the sake of love (and great times in bed), Lu Yao supposes he can limit himself to stealing only Chusheng’s wallet from now on.

---

~ from this list of prompts! ~

[mcrrisons]

wooo hi friends!! s here FINALLY dropping this intro, you’ll now know that i’m late to everything O:) i have insane muse for this type of character so i’m sooo excited to be here! any questions lmk but now ........... *rubs hands together like a fly* let’s get to plotting

@mapleviewstarters​

『 travis fimmel. fourty-six. cismale. he/him. 』 oh heavens, is that WELLS MORRISON from CHESTNUT DRIVE i see roaming around mapleview? minnie may’s always calling them -BELLIGERENT & -CONTRITE. i happen to think they’re not that bad! they’re a pretty cool at COLLECTING UNEMPLOYMENT and every time i’ve seen them, they’ve always been +CAPTIVATING & +OPEN-MINDED. i hope i see them around again! 

TW: ALCOHOLISM, DEATH, ABUSE

GETTING TO KNOW WELLS

full name: wells irving morrison

age / birthdate / sign: 45 / november 18, 1974 / scorpio

gender / pronouns: cismale / he/him

orientation: hetero

height: 6′2″

hair color: dirty blond, some gray growing in

tattoos: a lot of drunken tats over the years, either cheap ones or ones that his buddies did for him for free. most of the actual WANTED ones covered up some scars he chose to ignore

drinks / smokes / drugs: big yes to all, no one left behind - but alcohol and cigarettes daily as those are more acceptable and easier to get

occupation: although collecting unemployment from the government, he often has plenty of odd jobs to make money under the books. 

residence: mapleview, born and raised. still lives in the same plot of houses his great great bought / built years ago.

alignment: chaotic evil (but he tries his best............ ok)

parents: hank (deceased) & caroline morrison 

siblings: 2 brothers (jeremiah & tucker) and 1 sister (addison) that he KNOWS of

children: lane morrison (intro here), and probably a few others but that’s for future plots!!

WHAT’S HIS STORY ?

wells’ blood runs thick through this town to a long line of morrisons, and they sure as hell make SURE everyone knows it. rumors have flown around about the morrison family for generations, eyes roll when they enter a space (at least in wells’ experience) & they own a reputation of chaos. scaring away newcomers just by being themselves. and of course, like it was in his dna, wells’ actions would align with those that preceded him.

he grew up on a plot of land bought many moons ago by his great great ... grandfather / uncle /  (the story changes every time he hears it) w/ a few trailer-like one story homes with broken screen doors & random “antiques” in the yard aka things that people in fair lane were throwing out that everyone THOUGHT would be needed one day. (still lives here btw!!!)

growing up around family was FINE but it reminded him of his destination - what he was going to end up like anyway, DESPITE being kinda smart in school & having larger dreams. the family was scrappy, deceitful; wells learned at an early age how to manipulate people to get what he wanted. he was taught how to STEAL, lie, charm, and how to get by with what they had.

wells spent most of his childhood at his uncle’s home, just a few minute walk away on the plot bc his own home wasn’t ideal. he looked up to the guy A LOT, but hasn’t spoken since he left mapleview for bigger and better things when wells was just 15.

his father, a returned drafted vietnam vet, took out the anger of what he witnessed / how he was treated / how life was UNFAIR out on his family, and often times physically. he wasn’t involved in wells’ life all too much, only when he needed something or wanted to let off some steam. 

his mother was a caring & loving woman, also mapleview grown (the two had been high school sweethearts), but loyal to a FAULT, always choosing her husband to back. 

screams, crashes, fights, fires - you name it. needless to say, that plot of morrison homes never had it quiet, easy. cops knew everyone by first and last name and could drive the route from the station to the morrison’s home with their eyes closed.

wells’ father DIED when he was 19 (although wells hadn’t considered him alive for a while) & no one knew HOW so there was never any closure for him, his mother, his fam... all his death provided was another source for the rumor mill surrounding the morrisons. was it a bad bar fight ? did he have a bad fall ? wrong pills ? some say his mother was a killer but he knew better than that.

wells’ mother is still live & somewhat well, living with his brother in a house about 20 minutes away. at her old age, it’s hard for her to do things on her own and it was decided that wells - the youngest of his generation - wouldn’t be able to care after her, let alone care for himself. she’s been there for about 10 years now and still complains every minute.

ok back to our boy. somehow wells managed to destroy every good thing that ever came his way. self-destructive due to self-hatred and REGRET which never got better as he got older and continued to well, destroy things. a slippery slope, for sure.

alongside his uncle, always dreaming of getting out of this small town, wells was good ENOUGH at school and that was his way. but of course it didn’t happen: 1. he fell into fulfilling prophecy of his predecessors, 2. he had not a PENNY to his name to leave (i.e. gambling addiction), 3. he had a child in his early twenties, 4. he tried to fight the admissions counselor at the nearby community college

having some sort of love in his life. didn’t happen: 1. he pushed/pushes everyone that dare get too close (mostly selfishly), 2. couldn’t change his addictive personality (i.e. alcoholism), 3. began to resemble his father, 4. has 0 emotional intelligence and cannot touch feelings/emotions

to get a job and be a normal person in society. didn’t happen bc: 1. has a narcissist complex, 2. would steal from the cash register, 3. would hit on customers, 4. doesn’t understand paying “taxes”

more to add here

BASICALLY, he’s lived a life. he acts as though his life is already over, there’s nothing to lose, nothing to gain and this is just how it will be for the rest of his time on earth. he’s despondent and lives far too much in the PAST, blaming himself for everything that came his way (but ok he’s not too far off tbh).

although MANY a regret linger in his mind before sleep, his largest regret is losing his family - the love of his life who LEFT the two high and dry just after about a year together and his son who moved out at just 16. the mother of his child was the only person he remembers that saw him for more than rumors, his facade and became a good influence to him - but OF COURSE he fucked that one up and she left. he blames himself big time, but would never show that. only hatred her way aloud. 

his son, lane, left while still a boy just like himself, and it HURT to think that the apple hardly fell from the tree above, not able to be a good father. never TAUGHT how to be one. manipulative to a fault, wells would always say the younger was never appreciative, never UNDERSTOOD... and he’d convince himself that his son hated him as much as he hates himself. he’ll also say he’s the only reason he’s still alive. LOVE / HATE seems to blur so often for the old man here. always did.

the only constant throughout his life has been alcohol. the morrison’s start off early of course, and wells was drinking/etc on his own by the time he was 12. UNLESS you count the bourbon his father would feed him to sleep as a baby. what started off as social and partying as he grew older, became something much more ugly. his body didn’t just crave it, it NEEDED it to function by the time he was in his early twenties. it was easier to hide it then, all young and into a good time but it wouldn’t just last for weekends. he’d need a drink to get by mentally, and physically and became fully dependent. a depressant to match his mental illness.

WHO IS HE ?

he has a DEEP southern accent with a hard RASP that sounds as though he smokes a pack a day (because he does). 

despite graduating high school (i KNOW, believe it), he doesn’t have a vocabulary too wide and will use larger words incorrectly all the time.

can have a bit of an old grumpy man aesthetic, easily belligerent, even though he’s only in his 40s and can be charming as hell too (that smile!!!! ok!!! knows how to manipulate.)

he doesn’t trust the government at ALL and is a bit of a conspiracy theorist, despite collecting money from the government each week for unemployment. he refuses to pay taxes so only does jobs under the books. will go on a tangent about how the government is creating diseases, hiding aliens; eat the rich, etc... he also doesn’t trust cops at all, despite being picked up and taken home by them at least once a week.

grew up on rock and roll! had a band in the 80s where he could’ve SWORN they’d be rich and famous. long hair, tight pants, acting out - wannabe motley crue.

drives (ILLEGALLY) an old ford from the 70′s that somehow still works, after losing his license years ago from too many DWIs. 

i assume all of the town knows him as the town DRUNK. maybe it used to be funny back in the day, but now it’s just really SAD. he’s a nuisance. 

WHO DOES HE KNOW ?

y/c HIRED him for some odd jobs, must be under the table.

HIGH SCHOOL BUDDIES who also stayed around mapleview. they can be friendly, enemies now, distanced, a lot to do here.

a BROTHER / step (which i might submit to the main :))

a ONE-NIGHT stand

a GOOD INFLUENCE who tries their best to get him working towards something better. fair warning, this would 9.99/10 times not work.

where wells is the BAD INFLUENCE to y/c, convincing them to drink a ton, giving horrible advice when they’re in their most vulnerable state.

a STORE OWNER that has banned wells from entering their establishment due to a prior mishap.

a DEALER of all things wells shouldn’t, but does.

THE HILLS by the weeknd - a plot where these two are hooking up or together but only in secret. whether that’s because they’re in different socioeconomic classes, have a bad history, the other is cheating... they have to hide.

WHITE KNUCKLES - they’ve previously had a bar fight, are known enemies. could’ve been something said about his family, his past.

[inactiive-shit]

Electricity

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Masterlist

Warnings: references to past issues, intrusive thoughts, Remus-normal stuff

Pairings: Platonic Intruality, background romantic Royality

Words: 2,224

Summary: Remus is like the clock that still has cogs. He does work. It is just a different kind of working than others are used to. Sometimes, he must be wound, sometimes his gears malfunction and he must be reset. Sometimes people ignore his face for the ones printed in pretty, glowing numbers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Remus is vibrating.

That’s not some weird metaphor for sex, he’s not alluding to anything that isn’t exactly what he means.

What he means is: his body is running about a million gigawatts through every single atom. How else would you explain the flailing arms, bouncing legs, loud screeching noise that is coming out of his mouth, or the white streak in his hair that he swears wasn’t there yesterday? No, there is no other explanation. Remus is being electrocuted enough to kill an elephant ten times over and he still has the unfortunate luck to not only be living through it but aware of it as well.

Which, really, depending on which Gods he’s currently worshipping, is deserved. Zeus would probably smite him, given half a chance. But that isn’t Remus’s problem until it actually happens, and this isn’t that.

No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. This was one thousand - I’ll raise you two - I’ll raise you three thousand percent electricity made and controlled by Remus’s own brain because sometimes even his body is against him. He can’t always control the bullshit that comes out of his mouth, and sometimes he feels disconnected from his arms when they flail around and accidentally land a gnarly black eye, and do you really think he would keep bouncing a hole through the floor with his leg if he had the choice to just stop for a minute?

But he doesn’t, because things often don’t work out for Remus. It’s just what he’s come to expect. Stupid because he can’t do easy things, nonsensical because he can do hard ones. Confusing because he reads with music on, lying because he can hear your watch ticking from across the room and cannot do simple math with a distraction like that. Uncaring being so impulsive, wrong for trying to be considerate. Always, always, Remus is never enough.

Remus is like the clock that still has cogs. He does work. It is just a different kind of working than others are used to. Sometimes, he must be wound, sometimes his gears malfunction and he must be reset. Sometimes people ignore his face for the ones printed in pretty, glowing numbers.

He doesn’t know who the problem really belongs to, whether he is running too fast for everyone else’s day, so that he has twenty-eight hours for their twenty-four, or if they simply don’t know how to read the time on an analog clock, with it’s spinning hands and whirring parts. He figures there’s not much to figure out about all that, not really. At the end of the day, he is the one out-numbered, he is the one impulsive, he is the one with oxymorons that run like code through his system that works for him and no one else.

Remus is not the problem, he is their problem.

But right now, more specifically, he is Patton’s problem. Roman had left him alone in his house, assuring him that he’d be back in half an hour. Due to some crappy traffic, crashes, making a few other stops, and having his other friends require his help, Remus was still sitting - bouncing off the walls in his house alone when Roman’s fiance Patton got back.

In the twenty minutes proceeding, it’s all been downhill.

“Remus, please stop that,” Patton says, mouth twisted into a politely downturned smile most likely because it’s not the first time he’s said it. This is also not the first thing Remus has done that made Patton ask him to please stop. It doesn’t feel like as much of a win as it usually does with Patton’s genuine if nervous smile when he’d first seen Remus today.

Remus launches the bouncy ball at the wall again, snatching it out of the air before it can shoot away to break one of their overly expensive vases. He grins at Patton, lips pulling a little too wide, and does it one more time, then pockets the ball.

“So so so,” Remus sings, flipping himself upside down on the couch and staring at Patton. “What’s up with you, A-Pat-thy? Get it? Like apathy but-”

“But with my name, yeah,” Patton says. There’s almost a smile on his face, which is not the kind of reaction Remus’s nicknames usually get but he’s not objecting. “Wait here,” Patton says and leaves the living room. Remus takes the ball out of his pocket and puts it in his mouth instead. There’s not much reason to it, just rough and round and in mouth. It has no taste but it feels like stretchy sand, which Remus will make the second he gets the supplies he needs.

“Let me ask you,” Patton says, returning with one hand held behind his back, “how fondue you find puns?” He presents Remus with fondue-covered bread. Remus jumps off the couch, clapping his hands.

“Oh, punderful!” he exclaims, accepting the bread for the olive branch it is. Remus may be a million things that other people have accused him of, but he’s never been dense - as much as Roman would have liked him to notice less. He knows a peace offering when he sees one.

“That’s just too cheesy!” Patton says, really laughing.

“You better be bread-y because there’s more where that came from,” Remus says, pointing at Patton with his bread. He cackles.

“Well, well, well, you better just Skittle on out of here, because puns are my business and you are about to go bake-rupt,” Patton says. He makes finger guns at Remus and Remus collapses back onto the couch, clutching his wounds gravely.

“Oh no, the Sheriff of Punnery has yeasted me again.” Patton wrinkles his nose. “On bested?” Remus asks. He refrains from saying his buns were just too powerful because that can carry connotations and this is his brother’s fiance; he doesn’t want to make things too weird when he actually kind of does want Patton to not-hate him.

“It’s passable,” Patton says. “But I think I out-punned you this round.” They both laugh at the last, unexpected pun of their duel, and Remus has to concede defeat here. He nods acceptingly.

“I must agree. My brother has picked a worthy adversary.” Remus’s leg starts bouncing again now that he’s sitting down, and the electricity is coming back full force so that the air around his skin is crackling with energy he can’t touch. It’s arcing through his veins like molten rocks, leaving behind a desire to jump and scream and move, but his leg bounces and he picks at his nails and chews his lips and tries not to be any more obnoxious than he has to be.

“I have some spaghetti I was going to heat up for dinner,” Patton says. “It’s nothing special, and if I’d known you were coming I would have made something better, but we can split it.”

“That sounds pasta-tively delicious,” Remus says. “I can’t remember the last time I had spaghetti.” Patton laughs and goes back to the kitchen - which, from Remus’s limited understanding of their life, is where Patton lives. He can’t say for sure, but he’s pretty sure Patton is some kind of human-sized brownie that enjoys cooking. Is it technically bestiality that Roman is going to marry him?

Remus is still musing over Patton’s perilous status as human and rubbing the carpet bare with the ball of his foot when Patton returns with two plates of spaghetti. He sits on the couch next to Remus, which is strange. Not many people sit next to Remus if they can help it. He doesn’t say anything though. As much as he’d like to make a crude innuendo or pun (as much as they’re clawing up his throat to be voiced), he will not mess this up. They’ve only just decided to be brothers again, and he won’t fuck up like last time.

“Do you like it?” Patton asks, jolting Remus. He nods hurriedly.

“It tastes better than any gourmet rat I’ve ever had,” he says, shoving another handful in his mouth. Patton’s face twists up again, but Remus can’t and won’t just not talk. “You know, there are a lot less rats in dumpsters than you’d expect to find. And there’s a lot of stuff that’s totally functional that people just throw away. It’s crazy. The world would quit working without trashmen. They can make or break an entire neighborhood. Once, when Roman and I were kids, there was a huge storm on garbage night, ended up with trash all up and down the streets. I don’t know who cleaned it up, but it wasn’t us.” Remus keeps talking until he’s forced to stop to breathe at which point Patton interjects.

“I noticed that you move around a lot.” Remus immediately stops all movement before it picks back up and the intensity increases. “Which is fine,” Patton continues hurriedly, “but I was just wondering if you had heard of something called pressure stimming? It helps me when I start to get restless. I just thought of it because fidgeting that much makes me tired.”

“I have never not ever heard of such a thing,” Remus says, speaking quickly. He flutters a hand through the air and it looks kind of like a drunk hummingbird. Wouldn’t that be an interesting sight? Remus adds it to his to-do list. “What does it entail?”

“You just apply pressure to yourself, like sitting on your legs or something. Or you can do it with another person on a larger scale.”

Remus doesn’t say doing it, huh? How forward of you despite that being the loudest thought in his head for approximately five seconds. “You mean punching people.” Remus nods wisely. Punching is a good way to calm down.

“No!” Patton cries. “Nothing violent! Like cuddling.”

“Yeah,” Remus says slowly, “I have no idea what you mean.” He lifts a shoulder nonchalantly and shoves another handful of spaghetti into his mouth. But then his plate is lifted out of his lap and he looks up into Patton’s eyes, much closer now than he had been a few seconds ago.

“What’re you doing?” Remus whines, watching his plate leave him with all the regret he can summon.

“Can we cuddle?” Patton asks. “Like, platonically?”

“Uhm, sure?” Remus says. Patton pushes him so that he’s laying down flat on the couch. Remus turns his head to look at the wall and wonders what on earth his brother’s fiance is about to do. If something goes bad here, if Patton does something Remus didn’t ask for, Roman will still believe Patton over him.

Remus can’t lose his brother again. Not so soon after getting him back.

“What are you,” Remus starts and begins to sit up, but then Patton is flopping carefully on top of him. Remus’s back is pressed firmly into the couch. Patton makes a comforting weight on his chest that almost lets him drown out the stupid voice in his head yelling chew his hair and pull the threads so his shirt comes undone and he’s in eye-poking range.

“Take a deep breath,” Patton says. Remus does as he’s told without thinking about it first - not always a good thing to do - and immediately feels like he’s settled exactly where he’s supposed to be, with the couch firm under him and Patton solid above. He’s content.

He hasn’t felt like that in a long, long time.

“Do you like it?” Patton asks.

“Yeah,” Remus says. He reaches up hesitantly to rub his eyes, almost afraid that if he moves this apparition will evaporate (it wouldn’t be the first time.) “It’s...nice.”

“I’m glad,” Patton says. He pauses for a moment and Remus wonders what thing he’s not saying, what Remus is doing that is wrong and bad and loathed-

“You’re not fidgeting as much,” he says quietly, which is definitely not what Remus had been expecting. “Do you feel calmer?”

“I-uh.” Remus chokes and he flutters a hand in the air before trapping it at his side. He’s surprised to realize that he doesn’t really feel that electricity burning through his synapses, telling him to pick his hand back up and fling it around like a badminton racquet when the shuttlecock has gone out of range. How strange.

Remus’s eyes flutter shut before he can stop it and he sighs heavily, giving himself fully over to the comfort of the moment. “Yeah. I feel calmer.” His fingers trace patterns against his pants and his leg shifts. Patton moves slightly and Remus holds his breath, hoping that he hasn’t done anything to make Patton mad at him, but he only adjusts himself to Remus’s new position and stays where he is.

Patton hums on top of him, and while the otherwise silent house is a bit too much for Remus, this noise isn’t entirely unpleasant. He finds himself slipping away, feeling so tired and okay and really, actually safe here that he shuts off before he can stop it. His last solid thought is wondering if Patton is like a lightning rod, attracting the electricity out of Remus so that Remus can finally relax. His brother really did fall in love with someone good. Despite everything, Remus is glad that he’ll have that.

He falls asleep without electricity snapping against his skin. It is a singularly amazing experience.

[elegant-etienne]

FFXIVWrite Day 12 - Tooth and Nail

Behind the cut: blunt reference to violence implied in canon, alcoholism.

The sharp scrape of claws against stone. Cracking and crumbling, deeper-voiced than snow or ice, and the shriek of steel bars rending. Then the roar of the wyverns, the sizzle of acid, the clank and shouting of knights retreating to higher, safer gates.

For all their shield-rattling, for all of the songs and prayers and promises to protect Ishgard, the truth was certain: the Ishgard the knights were tasked to protect were the noble families, exclusively. Any foolish to stay behind and protect their own families were laid to waste.

They were Ishgard. Not the Brume. The Brume wasn't Ishgard. The Brume was food. First for the nobles, now for the wyverns.

All Etienne could do was run, back then. They remember a dead calm in their heart, the same as they had when there was a sharp bottle to the their throat, a hand knotting their hair, a voice in their ear. They were too afraid to feel afraid, and could only function: live now, worry later.

As they ran, they stumbled over a mother and child bitten and half. They said to themselves: I didn't see that. And they got up and kept running.

Etienne reflects on these memories mostly with anger. The memory of fear is still separate from them, ghostly and surreal. The anger is a long, sustained scream. The grief is an underground river that flows beneath everything, black water rushing that never seems to slow. They close their eyes when the grief washes over, tries not to see it. It's in the past now. The senseless, unknowable dread of the War has been replaced with a betrayal so obvious they hate themselves for it. Of course the nobles and the Church were lying about the War. Of course they were.

In their heart of hearts, they know: that's just how people are.

They hurt each other. They vie for power. They place others beneath them, and take and take and take.

Is there a taste that can overwhelm the bitterness in their mouth when they see a clawmark on stone? Is there a fire that can warm the bone-deep cold from being soaked by that river?

The war was not something they fought in. It was something they watched unfold and endured. It was something they ran from. That day, they ran for their mother, and found her face-down in her sick in a basin. She was yellowing and pallid, not just from candle light. Like so many things, this was Ishgard's fault. Ishgard, who taught temperance and denial as salvation. Ishgard, who had no use for Etienne or Mother. Ishgard, whose knights withdrew.

Etienne does not think they would have willingly drunk of the dragon blood, but not due a lack of radical ideals, but due to aesthetics. In their fantasies, they never want to be bigger. They never want to touch the people they hated in such a visceral way as to tear their flesh or bite them. They don't want revenge with their body, they want revenge for their body. For the rape and abuse and mutilation. For the debt and the slaps and disapproving looks. Etienne and their mother were offered up as sacrifice, just as surely as the child and their mother savaged by beasts.

The justice Etienne desires cannot coexist with the the peace Etienne knows the people need. That is the bitterness in their mouth. Not too-strong tea, not blood and steel. It's acid. If they spit it, they could melt stone too. They are not so different from a wyvern.

[maxfieldparrishes]

shake the bones

Part IV. Insomnia is a bitch. 

(read on AO3)

The night air is chilly, but Kallen pays it no mind as her feet take her wherever they please.

She stumbles as the side of her foot comes down hard on a seam in the pavement, but she rights herself and finds her footing, running on with wild abandon into the night. Tokyo does not sleep and neither does she, no matter how tired she feels or how heavy her eyes are and she's come to learn that, when these agonizingly slow nights find her, there's nothing she can do but meet them where they are.

She runs past her favorite corner store, past the train station that takes her to school, towards the river, dodging those in her way. Most of the passersby are drunk and smiling, turning to look at her with bleary, glassy eyes as she sprints past them. One group has a man who shouts after her, but she forgets about him as she pushes herself into a sprint to make a light.

The park is full of shadows when she arrives, and the only sounds she hears are traffic and night birds, just as she wanted. The Shibuya river is a trickle, a narrow canal compared to the width of the Kano and the estuaries where she'd grown up, but there's something soothing about being near flowing water. Kallen takes a minute to take in the sight of the Shibuya, the lights of the city glinting on it through the trees, but then her restlessness seizes her by the throat and she has to run again.

She has two options: run until she vomits, or scream at the top of her lungs for an hour straight. Running doesn't bring the cops or piss off the neighbors, so that's what she chooses.

Kallen remembers all the trees in Izu. Beech, black pine, cedar--cryptomeria, she remembers Naoto had called by its Latin name. She remembers Naoto taking her into the woods, a little girl with coltish legs and too much energy, quizzing her on birds. As she runs, she pushes herself to recall as many as she can: Pacific loon, greater short-toed lark, Japanese skylark... She takes a ragged, gasping breath--barn swallow, Pacific swallow, Japanese waxwing--and tries to ignore the burning in her calves. Japanese thrush, Eurasian tree sparrow, Japanese bush warbler, and she falls to her knees, hard, in the middle of the path, rolling off to lay panting next to a cypress tree.

She wonders where that little girl went. Kallen is sure she doesn't know.

Kallen raises a fist and pounds it against the tree trunk, the rest of her body still. Whatever it is that hovers over her, she can't fight it, and she can't outrun it. All she wants to do is run until she collapses, to push herself, feel nothing but strain until she forgets herself.

There's something bubbling inside her, water or lava, she doesn't know. Geyser or volcano?

Kallen raises her hand and wipes sloppily at her face, smearing snot, sweat--and are those tears?--but she stays laying where she is. Hopefully, no one will come by and question why there's a young woman laying on her side under a tree, in a deserted park, at three in the morning.

She gives herself five more deep breaths, then she'll get up. Otherwise, she has an utterly bizarre feeling that whatever possesses her on these nights is going to drag her back home, face down on the pavement, by the nape of the neck. It's not rational, but it motivates her to move when otherwise she'd just lay there, blinking and sleepless, until the sun comes up.

Kallen pushes herself upright, sighs, shakes the dirt and leaves from her hair, and begins her run back.

-

When she sees her apartment complex, Kallen slows herself into a jog for the last few blocks. Her street, so busy in the morning, is silent and still now, the few lights peering out from the windows muddied and dim. But soon, she knows, there will be a slow trickle of people, then a flood of them, as they all rush out to make their way to school, or work, or wherever it is they're going.

She had left Lelouch asleep on the sofa he had moved, and he hadn't stirred as she tiptoed past and silently shut the door behind her. Hopefully she can return and slip inside, back in her room, without waking him; if she's really lucky, her door won't squeak at all.

Technically, she's supposed to use the main entrance. But the service door is easily wiggled opened, and it's far closer to her apartment than walking all the way around to the front of the building. Kallen slips inside, jogs up the stairs to the fifth floor, trying to remember all the while why she wanted a fifth floor unit (a little bit bigger and a private bathroom), and sticks her hand down what passes as the pocket of her leggings to find her key.

Slowly, incredibly carefully, she inserts the key and presses it to the inside of the lock, making sure to maintain the pressure as she twists it open, and then takes the knob in her still-sweaty hand and twists that too. Kallen tiptoes inside and turns to press the door almost silently shut, bracing a knee against it as she turns the lock to the "closed" position, not noticing that the small lamp on her bookshelf is on. To be fair, the light from said lamp is super dim, so dim that if she turns it on in the daytime it's almost like it isn't on at all.

"You know, for a woman who's so deadly in a Knightmare, I'm surprised you aren't more aware of your surroundings outside of one."

Kallen leans her head back and closes her eyes. "First of all, save it, because I'm not in the mood. Second of all, you were asleep when I left."

"I was." Lelouch stretches his legs out in front of him, sweeping them to the side to sit fully up. "I think I just missed you. I heard the door squeak and by the time I fully woke up you were gone."

Damn that door. "Well, I'm back, so you can go back to sleep," Kallen says, moving to take the yoga mat from its spot under the side table and unrolling it in front of the television. "This doesn't make much noise." But as she starts her post-run routine and goes into Downward-facing Dog, stretching out her hamstrings and back, she notices that Lelouch is staring at her, and his expression is... unamused.

"So this is it, then?"

"What are you talking about?" she asks between deep breaths, pedaling each foot before stretching her heels down to the ground.

"Are we not going to talk about the fact that you decided that three in the morning was an excellent time to go for a run?" Lelouch sits up straighter. "Where did you go?"

"One, I'm an adult and I can run at three a.m. if I want to, it's none of your damn business," Kallen responds, "and two, Shibuya."

"You ran to Shibuya?"

"Yes, Lelouch, I ran to Shibuya," she says, lowering herself into Cobra, keeping her breathing rhythmic. "Most people are capable of running. Some of us even enjoy it." Kallen finds it in her to be amused by his glower.

"Fine, fine. You can do what you want," he says, with an airy sigh and a wave of his hand, "but why?"

Crap. "No other time to do it," she says, after one beat too long, and she knows that Lelouch knows she's lying. Kallen hopes he'll drop it, and decide it's too early in the morning for an interrogation, but death hasn't made Lelouch any less ruthless.  

"Really. So you do this every morning?" he asks. "This is your routine?"

Kallen pushes herself back into a runner's lunge. "Just drop it."

Wrong thing to say. Lelouch has never let anything go in his entire life, both the first half and the second. "What's going on?" he asks, and there's genuine concern underneath the irritation, and that little hint of concern pisses her the fuck off.

"Nothing."

"Kallen," he starts, his tone even and so annoyingly rational, that she comes out of her forward fold with a vengeance.

"What?" she snaps. "You want to know why I ran? Because I can't sleep and I can't stay here all night and stare at nothing. So I go for runs. I don't want to stay awake, but I can't sleep. I don't... I don't shut off. I never have. When this kind of night hits me it's just... there's really nothing else I can do but run."

Lelouch is staring at her again, slightly shell-shocked. "Do you have trouble sleeping a lot?" he asks.

"Don't psychoanalyze me," Kallen snaps again. "Do you think I have trouble sleeping?"

"I wouldn't really know, considering I've been... dead," he says, "but I'm going to go with yes."

"A-plus, here's a gold star." Kallen starts to roll up the mat. "Now you know."

"Yes," Lelouch says, "and the question is, what are you going to do about it? You can't function like this."

That stops her dead in her tracks. "What am I going to do about it? I have tried everything. Valerian root, melatonin, benadryl, everything. What are you going to do about it?"

He doesn't have an answer ready for that. Lelouch has always had a plan for everything, but he cannot fix Kallen, just like he couldn't fix Nunnally, or C.C., or Suzaku. He cannot make her better. When the world was wrong, before, he had fixed it. But this is different. "What about seeing a doctor? There are options for medications," he asks, resisting the urge snark back at her.

"Pills are out of the question." Kallen waves her hand. "You get one guess as to why."

"Right." Lelouch blinks and puts his elbows on his knees. "So... that's it?"

"That's it." Kallen stows the mat underneath the side table. "Nothing else to do about it. Not right now, anyway." Turning her back on him, she says, "I'm going to take a shower. You should try to sleep," and goes off without a backwards glance.

He had tried to stay awake, but the light was still low and the night still held sway outside, and the sound of the shower running provided the white noise he liked, and he had fallen back asleep before he realized it was happening.

Lelouch had wondered about the shadows under Kallen's eyes when she first picked him up, but chalked it up to her grueling schedule, as she had told him when they arrived. Now he knows better.

When he woke, Kallen was gone, and the clock told him it was well before the time she needed to leave by. Lelouch wonders if she had slept at all. He doubts it.

He needs her to help him, but Lelouch think he needs to help her first. Kallen is loyal, honest, one of the strongest people he knows, but she is struggling. Neither is she happy, and though it may be self-centered, Lelouch's first thought is that he didn't die and come back to life for her to be miserable in the new world they helped make together.

His second thought is that there's no food in the apartment. Lelouch grabs the apartment phone, the sticky note with Kallen's cell number, and leaves a voicemail with a grocery list.

[dank-hp--memes]

Deep Connection Part 5

May 7th, 1986

Moscow

It is early morning, Legasov had slept for a few hours at home in his apartment. He quietly climbed out of bed, missing the nights he had shared with Ulana, but he is oblivious to what has happened to her. Legasov mindlessly got dressed in one of his suits, knowing he would be at the Kremlin in only a few hours. He knew he must keep his head straight, and focus on reforming his report, but his thoughts ran astray. He could not keep his mind off Khomyuk. Legasov missed her gentle, warm embrace and her soft brown hair. He missed the sweet scent of orchids that radiated from her. He missed her confidence and defiance. Most of all, Legasov missed her company. He knows that she truly understands him. He knows that nothing he every says gets lost on her.

As Legasov is pulling on his black dress shoes, he gives his report a final read. A cigarette hangs from his lips as he quickly scans the paper. As he finishes, Legasov neatly tucks the papers into his jacket and stands up.  Upon exiting the building, Legasov sees a car parked across the street. He sighs as the driver watches him. Legasov approaches the car and enters, and without saying a word the driver takes him to the Kremlin. Legasov sits in the back seat, mindlessly looking out the window, his thoughts anywhere but there.

Upon his arrival at the Kremlin, Legasov sits quietly, looking over his report, while Scherbina stands beside him. Scherbina says something, but Legasov nods and gives a simple reply. Scherbina then steps in front of Legasov

“Khomyuk was arrested last night” Scherbina says in a low raspy voice.

“What? Why?” Legasov says in surprise, his voice filled with worry.

He and Scherbina exchange a few more words, but Legasov can barely hear them, their conversation seems distant. Legasov can barely function, his mind racing as he thinks about what Khomyuk must be going through. He now regrets having sent her here to investigate. Legasov shakes his head a little as he pulls off his glasses and rubs his temples. He can hear his heart beating in his ears, and he can barely breathe.

Just then, the Kremlin aid comes out to get Legasov and Scherbina for the meeting. Legasov stands up and follows Scherbina into the room, managing to clear his head a little. He sits down beside Scherbina in the meeting room. Legasov is hardly able to keep himself from staring at Charkov. As Scherbina is speaking he addresses Charkov and Legasov is caught staring. Moments later, Scherina gets down and Legasov stands to speak. He speaks absently, reciting his speal on the long war that must be fought in Chernobyl. He knows it word for word, but as he speaks, his mind is still on Khomyuk. Once he is finished speaking Legasov sits down, his expression blank as he looks up and down the table.

After the meeting, Legasov hurries out of the room in pursuit of Charkov.

“Comrade Charkov…” Legasov calls

Legasov is followed by Scherbina, who has a horrified expression on his face.

“Valery…” Scherbina says in a stern whisper as he watches his friend with a horrified expression.

Charkov stops and turns to face Legasov who quickly approaches him with long awkward strides.

“Yes, Professor?” Charkov says in his silky, cynical voice.

“My associate was arrested last night” Legasov says, his heart racing, for he knows this is his only chance of freeing Khomyuk.

“Oh?” Charkov says in false surprise, his bushy eyebrows raising slightly.

“I mean no disrespect, but I was wondering if you could tell me why?” Legasov asks desperately, feeling his hands tremble as he speaks.

“I'm sorry. I don't know who you're talking about” Charkov says, tilting his head slightly, the corners of his lips curling slightly in a deviant grin.

“She was arrested by the KGB” Legasov says, hardly able to keep himself from trembling with frustration and anger.

Charkov just raises an eyebrow and looks at Legasov.

“You are First Deputy Chairman of the KGB…” Legasov says, his frustration audible in his voice.

“I am! That's why I don't have to bother with arresting people anymore” Charkov says with a friendly chuckle and a fake smile.

“But you are bothering to have your people follow me” Legasov says irritated, clenching his fists.

Just then, Scherbina seizes Legasovs wrist, fearing for his safety.

He begins trying to lead Legasov away saying: “Professor, the Deputy Chairman is a busy-” but he is cut off.

“No, no, it's perfectly understandable” Charkov says as he turns to Legasov, “Comrade, I know you've heard the stories about us. When I hear them, even I am shocked. But we're not what people say. Yes, people are following you. People are following those people…” Charkov continues slyly, “And you see them?” He says, pointing at the figures lurking further down the hallway, “They follow me. The KGB is a circle of accountability. Nothing more”

A moment passes as Legasov looks from Charkov to the men and then back to Charkov.

“You know the job we're doing. Do you really not trust us?” Legasuv says in surprise, his eyes widening a little.

“Of course I do! But you know the old Russian proverb: "Trust, but verify." And the Americans think Ronald Reagan came up with that! Can you imagine?” Charkov says with a false friendly smile, “It was very nice speaking with you”

Charkov turns and begins to walk away.

“I need her!” Legasov blurts out urgently, hardly knowing what he is saying.

Charkov turns to Legasov, the air of friendliness gone as he gives Legasov an icy stair.

“So… you will be responsible for her?” Charkov says threateningly.

Legasov swallows as the threat registers. All he can do is nod in response, his throat tightening up.

“Then it's done” Charkov says sternly

“H-Her name is--” Legasov manages to say

“I know who she is…” Charkov says, his friendly air slowly returning, “Good day, Professor”

Charkov then turns and continues down the hallway. Legasov sighs and stands there for a moment before turning to Scherbina, expecting a lecture. Scherbina has a look of surprise on his face as he looks over at Legasov.

“No, that went surprisingly well. You came off like a naive idiot…” Scherbina says in a raspy whisper, “Naive idiots aren't a threat”

Legasov takes a moment and nods before making his way outside. As the cool evening air hits his face Legasov takes a deep breath. He slowly walks away from the Kremlin, a car waiting for him in the street. Legasov enters the car in a daze, only worried about getting Khomyuk. He says nothing as he sits down in the back seat, but the driver knows exactly where to go. It seems like no time has passed as the car approaches a large 19th century looking red brick castle. The driver stops outside and Legasov gets out. He slowly approaches the door. Upon entering, he is greeted by the blonde man. The sounds of caged men echo through the walls. Behind the infinite number of cell doors are junkies, drunks, lunatics, and the many enemies of the state. Occasionally, a scream of pain echoes through the halls. The prison is dank and decrepit. Paint is chipping from the old walls and despite the noise made by the prisoners, their footsteps echo through the halls.  The blonde man slows and approaches one of the cells. Without saying a word he unlocks the door, it squeals on its hinges as it opens.

Inside the cell, Khomyuk is sitting on the floor, still in her radiation protective clothes. She is leaning against the wall, and her hair droops down into her face. Her under eyes are dark and sunken in, and her skin looks severely pale in the dim light. Legasov steps into the cell and looks down at Khomyuk, relieved to see that she is okay.

“I'll come back when the paperwork is complete” the blonde man says before closing the cell door, locking it and walking away.

Legasov approaches Khomyuk and squats down in front of her. He reaches out and caresses her cheek. Khomyuk looks up at him with a bit of relief, but he can see that she is numb.

“Are you alright” Legasov says softly, looking into Khomyuks eyes.

Legasov is surprised by what he sees, she is hardly the confident, determined woman he met in Pripyat. Khomyuk looks numb, defeated. She cannot hide her misery. Her eyes fill with tears and she sniffles before composing herself.

“They didn’t hurt me” Khomyuk says after a moment, “They let a pregnant woman into a room with a-a… It doesn’t matter… They were stupid. I-I was stupid”

Khomyuk swallows and looks at the floor as the misery of the situation washes over her.

“Dyatlov won’t talk to me… Toptunov and Akimov, yes, but…” Khomyuk stops and shudders, biting her lip, “Valery… Akimov, he, he had no-no face”

“You want to stop?” Legasov says softly, lifting Khomyuk’s chin and looking into her eyes.

“I-Is that a choice that I have?” Khomyuk says softly, staring into his eyes, her emotions still numb.

Legasov sits down beside Khomyuk, taking her hand and holding it gently. She looks over at him and sees he isn’t well. Khomyuk holds his hand in hers and gently lays her head against his shoulder.

“Do you think the fuel will melt through the pad?” Legasov says softly, looking over at her.

Khomyuk looks up at him in slight surprise.

“What?” Khomyuk says, thinking she misheard him.

“It’s a matter of probability, so, what are the odds” Legasov says, a little amused as he looks over at her.

“I don’t know… a forty percent chance, maybe” Khomyuk says confused, not knowing what Legasov is getting at.

Legasov chuckles and then says “I've said fifty. Either way, the numbers mean the same thing. "Maybe." Maybe the core will melt down to the groundwater. Maybe the miners I've told to dig under the reactor will save millions of lives. Or maybe I'm killing them for nothing…”

His voice falters at the end and he looks away for a moment.

“I don't want to do this anymore. I want to stop…” Legasov confesses.

“But I can't. So tomorrow, I will wake up and make more decisions that will kill more people… because there is no alternative” He continues, his voice breaking.

“And no, I don't think you have a choice any more than I do. I think, despite the lies, the stupidity--” Legasov says, addressing her, “--even all this... you are compelled. The problem has been assigned, and you will stop at nothing to find the answer. That is who you are”

Khomyuk sighs, looking at the ground between them, knowing he is right.

“A lunatic…” Khomyuk says softly, looking up into his eyes.

“A scientist” Legasov replies, almost proudly.

They sit for a moment and Khomyuk leans in, but before anything can happen, the cell door is unlocked. They quickly separate and look up to see the blonde man removing his key and opening the door. Slowly, they stand up. Khomyuk manages to stand up on her own with little trouble, but Legasov groans softly as he begins to sit up. Khomyuk reaches down and takes his hand, helping him up. As Legasov stands up, they are face to face for a moment, and he can smell the faint scent of orchids on her hair. He takes a deep breath and licks his lips as he looks down into her eyes. He gently touches her arm as she turns around. Together, they walk out of the cell. Khomyuk fills out the papers for her things and hands them over to the prison attendant. The attendant disappears into a back room. Khomyuk bites her lip and looks back at Legasov.

“do you know they were running a safety test?” Khomyuk says softly.

Legasov sighs and then nods

“There's something else… Akimov says he shut the reactor down, and Toptunov confirms it. They pressed AZ-5…” Khomyuk says, getting anxious. Wanting him to explain everything, to make everything better.

“Apparently not soon enough” Legasov mumbles, wiping his brow.

“No… No, they say Akimov pressed AZ-5, and then the reactor exploded…” Khomyuk says, looking into his eyes.

Legasov stiffens as he takes a breath. A pit forming in his stomach, as he is overcome with fear, but Khomyuk doesn’t notice.

“If it had been just one of them, I would have written it off as faulty memory… or-or even delusion... but they both agreed. They were adamant…” Khomyuk continues before turning to Legasov.

Legasov seems lost in thought, not looking at Khomyuk.

“Comrade?” Khomyuk says softly, taking a step toward him.

“Do you think it's possible?” Legasov says, turning to her.

“No. No, I think it makes no sense. I think… I think it's what I would say if I wanted to cover my own mistakes” Khomyuk whispers, searching his eyes for an answer.

“But?” Legasov says, looking over at her.

“I-I believed them” Khomyuk says, her voice barely audible.

Legasov takes a step closer to her and leans in slightly as he says “Then you should pursue it. We have to pursue every possibility, no matter how unlikely... and no matter what-or who- is to blame”

Khomyuk nods a little. The prison attendant then returns, carrying a bin with Khomyuk’s personal effects. Khomyuk gathers her things and turns to Legasov.

“I’ll go back to the hospital… and re-interview Toptunov and Akimov… If they’re still awake” Khomyuk says, looking into her eyes.

“They’re not…” Legasov says, looking up at her.

Their eyes meet and Khomyuk’s heart sinks. She does not need to ask, for she knows just from his look that they’re dead. She sighs and looks at the ground.

“I’ll meet you outside” Khomyuk says softly before going to change.

Legasov exits the prison. As he is standing outside, he looks around, taking a breath of the cool night air. He looks around, it is dark, the sidewalk lit every couple of meters by dim street lights Everything else is lit by only the night sky. After a few minutes, Khomyuk emerges from the prison and approaches him. They stand in silence, engulfed in darkness. Legasov caresses her cheek and smiles a little. As they look into each other’s eyes, Legasov kisses her. Their lips lock and Legasov caresses her cheek. As they part, Legasov looks into her eyes.

“Let me take you back to your hotel” Legasov says softly, awkwardly taking her hand.

Khomyuk nods a little and interlaces her fingers with his, leaning against him a little. She feels a kind of relief, but the numbness within her still ceases to subside.

[fortheloveofsakkara]

Our Broken Judicial System

Kyle’s case: A Judicial Disgrace

Chapter One: And so it begins.......

As Americans, we are taught to respect and trust our judicial officers. We believe judges and commissioners are honest, trustworthy and fair to all. They take an oath to defend our Constitution, right? They’re supposed to follow our laws, as they are written, to rule without opinion, to be unbiased and search for truth. They are suppose to make their rulings based on facts and evidence. Prosecutors were the legal representatives of the people, the protectors that rid communities of criminals to keep everyone safe. We are taught to believe that prosecutors are honest. There are rules that they are to follow, procedures, law and they are to perform their duties with integrity while safeguarding the rights and liberties of all. It is shocking and unbelievable to learn that there are judges that cannot be trusted, to learned that prosecutors place their conviction rate above all else and despicable to discover that defense attorneys do little to nothing to defend their clients. How is this possible? This story comes straight from the court record and is documented for all to verify.

Our judicial system is no longer working. It needs not only to be overhauled, it needs to be drained of all the bad actors. Judges and Commissioners need to be monitored in everything they do in the courtroom and it must be transparent to the public.

This is the story of one man’s decent into hell. His story is shocking and it undermines the trust that should never be broken between the public and our judicial officers. How can a society function safely if our trust is compromised? Our judicial system exists for only one reason, to keep the public safe.

There are twists and turns, there are facts that will make you shake your head in disbelief.

Kyle met Douangchay Nelson in early January 2008. She was exotic and mysterious. She was among the “A” crowd in the clubs of downtown Seattle. She lived in a high rise building just a block away from the club where these two met. You could set your watch to when she’d arrive and how long she’d stayed. She knew everyone that frequented these clubs, and was fully aware of the goings on there. She had been going to these clubs since turning 21 years old and at the time she met Kyle, her age was 32. Kyle, on the other hand, wasn’t the clubbing type and had only been a few times. Douangchay was also fully aware when a new face showed up in the crowd, after all, she’d been a fixture there for over ten years. That fateful night Douangchay was being pursued by another man, and while dancing, she grabbed Kyle’s arm and lied to the other man. She told the other man that Kyle was her boyfriend. As the evening went on, Kyle and Douangchay danced and talked. At the end of the night, Kyle asked to walk her home. She agreed and they spent that night and the whole of the following day together. They exchanged phone numbers and Kyle went home. A little over 30 days later, Douangchay had moved Kyle into her high rise apartment. This is how their relationship began. Getting himself entangled with the woman would be Kyle’s undoing.

After a few months, Kyle discovered that Douangchay had a young son, who was obviously not in her life. When Kyle asked about her boy, she would become irritated and change the subject. Kyle didn’t understand, and she blamed her son’s father. She told Kyle that he was abusive. Kyle had no reason to believe she would lie about this. He took her at her word.

It wasn’t long after and Kyle discovered Douangchay was, also still married. What is known is that she married in 2001 and according to her, her husband, like the father of her son, was abusive, also. (Are you starting to see a pattern?) Kyle felt bad for this poor woman that had been through so much. He could not have been more wrong about her.

Throughout the first two years, the relationship was pretty much like their first night. They, together now, frequented the clubs downtown. Douangchay, despite having a boyfriend, refused to change her need to spend Thursday through Sunday in the clubs. When Kyle suggested they do something other than clubbing, she would becoming angry and a ‘How dare you suggest I do something other than go to the clubs’, attitude would emerge. It became the root of almost every argument they had throughout the entire eight (8) years of their relationship. Kyle, many times, went along just to save an argument. She was adamant that going to the club was never to be trifled with, no exceptions allowed.

January 30, 2010, a Saturday, was slightly different because on this night the couple was invited to a party at a sports bar about 15 miles from where they lived. Kyle knew none of Douangchay friends that would be attending this party, so he agreed to be the driver and let her do as much partying as she desired. She started drinking before they left their apartment. Kyle stayed sober. As the night went on, Kyle couldn’t help but notice that Douangchay was drinking in excess. He’d never seen her drink like this before. She was challenging others to “drink them under the table” and within an hours time, she consumed no less than six shots of hard alcohol. She was becoming more and more inebriated and obnoxious, both in word and action. She was stumbling and slurring her words. Kyle started to watch closer at this point. He asked her to slow down with her drinking and this enraged her. She started calling Kyle names, telling the others that Kyle was her “gay boyfriend”. Embarrassed by her behavior, Kyle knew he needed to get her home to bed so she could sleep this off. Outside the bar, Kyle finally convinced her to let him take her home. The couple went back inside and told the party their good byes. Kyle helped Douangchay into his Jeep and they started for home.

On that ride, Douangchay started her ranting and raving once again. She called him “gay” and “a piece of shit”. Kyle told her she was drunk and to be quiet and her response to that was, “The only reason your ex girlfriend stayed with you is because she was fat, ugly and insecure”. Kyle ignored her verbal attack and she turned into something Kyle had never seen, nor dealt with, in his life. She began a physical attack scratching and hitting him; screaming, calling him a “piece of shit”. She was completely out of control, and Kyle had to stop her before she caused an accident. Yes, Kyle was driving at the time of this attack. Kyle grabbed for her and got ahold of her hair. He placed her head near the dashboard until he could safely come to a stop. This would later be used against him by the prosecution. Douangchay then opened the door of the vehicle and stumbled out. Kyle, in shock, drove his vehicle around the corner and parked it in the parking lot of their apartment complex. This attack happened just a half block from where they lived. Still reeling from what just happened, Kyle left, on foot. He needed to clear his head. Never in his life had he witnessed such behavior. He was hurt and mixed with emotions. He walked around for over two hours and had no idea that a person saw Douangchay stumbling around and called 911, thinking she could be hurt. EMS and police were dispatched to her. According to the police report, Douangchay refused to cooperate, and only admitted to calling Kyle gay. She left out the part where she physically attacked him. The police took her home. There is no way possible that the police could not have known that she was extremely intoxicated.

After clearing his head, Kyle decided to go home, he started to truly believe that the lady he had come to love would be apologetic. He believed she’d be remorseful for her behavior and they would be able to talk about what happened. He would be wrong, once again. He underestimated Douangchay’s rage. When Kyle opened the door to their apartment, all was quiet. Their bedroom door, just to the right of the front door, was closed. They lived there alone, so this was odd, that bedroom door was never closed. Kyle walked through the living room, past the kitchen and into the dining room. He sat with his back toward the bedroom door and proceeded in taking off his shoes. His plan was to sleep on the sofa and talk to Douangchay when she slept off her drunk. This was not to be. Seconds later, the bedroom door flew open and Douangchay sprinted toward Kyle, slapping and scratching at his head, back and shoulders. Kyle was in total disbelief. He stood up with arms flailing about trying to defend off this second attack. He made contact, with her face, arms and upper body, numerous times. All the while Douangchay yelling, “Are you happy now you hit a girl?” She was, in no way, going to take responsibility for her own actions. Kyle was dumbfounded by her behavior and her blaming him for all of this. It was like she was possessed. Douangchay, by her own admission, in the police report, ran out of the door and started pounding on the neighbor’s door. When she received no reply, she re-entered their apartment. (It must be noted: The police asked Douangchay this question: Did he stop you from leaving?” And her reply was: “yes”. This was a contradiction of her statement made just seconds before. Clearly, if she was able to leave and beat on a neighbor’s door, she was able to leave all together) Upon re-entering the apartment, she ran to the bedroom, threw open the window and started screaming, “Help! A man is hitting me!” It’s very telling that she chose those words. Her using “a man” instead of “my boyfriend” is a classic projecting behavior.

Kyle was arrested, placed in jail and like Douangchay’s husband in 2002, Kyle agreed to a Stipulated Order of Continuance.

Kyle was not an abuser. Douangchay Nelson née Suannoy was, in fact, the abuser. Kyle was not her first victim nor her second, Kyle Collins was her third victim. All these men had only one common denominator, a very intoxicated Douangchay.

Chapter Two: Who is Douangchay, really?...

According to court records, Douangchay Nelson, née Suannoy was quite busy in her younger years. It is believed that she came to the United States in 1991 or 1992. She was 15 years old. She met a young man, we’ll call him Adam, and soon after they were parents to a baby boy. They tried for a couple years to make this relationship work, but when their son was two years old, it ended. She blames everything on Adam. “He was abusive”, she says. It’s unclear as to the truth of exactly what happened. It is true that Douangchay walked away from her toddler son and, if there is truth told by her, she left the boy with an “abusive” father. Adam has been interviewed on several occasions in preparation of writing this story and his account of events differ greatly from hers. No surprise there.

It’s very important to add a bit of information here. Douangchay is not a U.S. citizen, she holds a “green card” here in this country. A “green card” can be revoked if certain conditions arise. Giving a fake name in the commission of committing a crime, to law enforcement, is a serious crime and doing this can jeopardize the ability to maintain the “green card” status. A person can be deported for this offense. There are also laws about moral turpitude that can come into play. Things like abandoning a child, not paying child support and DUI, are all crimes of turpitude. Douangchay is guilty of many deportable offenses, as will become apparent in the next few paragraphs. Everything was kept from Kyle. For eight years he slept next to this woman, became engaged to be married to this woman and had a beautiful daughter with this woman. She, her family, and her numerous friends, all hid these facts from Kyle.

On February 4, 1998, charges of attempted possession of stolen property 2 were filed in King County, Washington District Court West Division, a class C felony, against “Vanessa” Suannoy. Yes, she, throughout this whole case used her alias. When the judge referred her to the Office of Public Defense, (hereafter OPD) on February 17, 1998, “Vanessa” failed to report to them. If she wanted a free lawyer, a screening would need to be done. These screening include showing identification and proof of income. Had she have reported to the OPD, it would have come to light that her true name, was in fact, Douangchay Suannoy, at this time. A prosecutor would have been, according to law, forced to add another charge. Knowingly making a false or misleading material statement to a police officer in violation of RCW 9A.76.175. The State would have had to charge her with refusal to give a name or address, or giving a false name or address under the specific statute of RCW 46.61.020. The likelihood of the judge allowing her plea to be reduced, after giving a false name, is not very likely. When a person gives false information, judges take it as the defendant is hiding truth, as they should. So, “Vanessa” Suannoy pleaded guilty to the charge and received a deferred prosecution. She was placed on probation for 12 months and a small fine was imposed. March 11, 1999, a review of the case would be held. This review was held, as scheduled, “Vanessa” did not show up, the court reviewed the case and she did not pay her fine. April 1, 1999, court reviewed again, defendant present. The court gave her another chance to get this right, yet on the last review, held on May 27, 1999, “Vanessa” again, is a no show. A warrant for her arrest was issued through 2002 and again through 2004. She was found guilty of both charges. By this time “Vanessa” Suannoy no longer existed. In November of 2001, “Vanessa” Suannoy married Scott David Nelson and she became Douangchay Nelson.

Douangchay Suannoy was arrested on February 22, 2000 and charged with DUI. This time she used her true name. She had an actual warrant still in King County, but because they were under different names, the authorities didn’t put two and two together. Douangchay skated right past the felony warrant.

Scott David Nelson was 24 years old when he married Douangchay Suannoy. On the marriage license she split her first name in two parts. So, literally, Scott married Douang Chay. Because of her behavior towards Kyle, we have to wonder if Scott knew about her criminal history. She was on probation at the time they married. The couple lived in bliss for a full year and just after their first anniversary, the honeymoon was definitely over. November 28, 2002, Scott and Douangchay clashed. According to police records, the couple were having marital problems. Douangchay was staying with her friend, drinking and partying. Douangchay called Scott at 5:00 a.m. asking him to come pick her up. Scott, still in bed, got up and drove to where his wife was staying. It was a little over two miles from their own home. The record reflects that she had, in fact, been drinking. The similarities between the incidents of Scott and Kyle are uncanny. Scott and Kyle were both driving a very intoxicated Douangchay home. In both cases alcohol played a huge roll. Both men were sober. In Scott’s case, the incident happened a 25 minute walk from the couple’s apartment. The police report states that Douangchay walked back to the apartment, while calling her friend, and asking her friend to call police. Douangchay was already at the apartment when her friend showed up. QUESTION: Why would a grown woman return to a place where a man she “fears” is known to be? It took her 25 minutes to get to Scott, if she truly feared, wouldn’t it be more likely to return to her friends house instead of going to where her “abuser” is? See, this just locks in the notion that Douangchay isn’t fearful at all, on the contrary, Douangchay likes to keep arguments going. She was angry, because like Kyle, Scott didn’t like the drinking and partying that Douangchay insisted on doing. Scott states that his wife punched him in the face, but she is not arrested. Scott goes to jail, is place on a Stipulated Order of Continuance, probation and treatment, all at his expense. I wonder if Scott, like Kyle, continued to live with Douangchay through his court case. Did she go, with her advocate, sit on the side of the prosecutor and then return home with Scott, acting as if nothing happened? And an even more important question: had Kyle been made aware of Scott’s fate with Douangchay, would Kyle have continued his relationship with this woman? The answer is clear, no man would continue a relationship with a woman if he knew that she brought domestic violence charges against two other men before they met. Douangchay knew this and chose, instead, to hide her past from Kyle.

Chapter Three: the saga continues…

Kyle and Douangchay continued on with their relationship. Kyle, blind to who he was with and Douangchay hiding her past from him. The relationship was tumultuous. We have to remember, Kyle agreed to a Stipulated Order of Continuance in 2010. Kyle and Scott both didn’t want Douangchay to get into trouble. They took blame to save her. Douangchay went before the court three separate times asking that the no contact order be lifted and saying “Kyle is not a danger to me”. She refused to cooperate with the prosecution and continued living with Kyle throughout. Together, they lied to the court and gave a friends address where court records could be sent. The conditions of Kyle’s SOC, like Scott’s, were: Treatment, probation, pay recoupment to public defender, pay costs, no new criminal violation during the period of the Continuance. Kyle complied with each and every condition. By April 29, 2012, the date of expiration of the SOC, Kyle had complied with each and every condition. But, the prosecution wanted more. The Redmond City Prosecutor filed a Motion for Revocation of the SOC on June 26, 2012. He “sewer served”. Sewer service is defined as: “Sewer service is an epithet for the intentional failure to provide service of process on a named party in a lawsuit, in order to prevent the party from having a chance to respond. The phrase refers to the figure of speech of throwing the documents into a sewer”. The prosecution had Kyle’s address. Kyle filed a “New address” with the court on July 18, 2011, through his probation officer, James OShersky, a full 11 months prior to the prosecution’s Motion for Revocation. This document was marked “confidential”. It’s astonishing to find these two facts in the court record. Stopping to these levels is hard to believe, but it’s true. This was not discovered until recently. Coupled with the sewer service, this stinks of abuse on the part of the prosecution.

Stipulated Order of Continuance, otherwise known as SOC, is an agreement between the prosecutor and the defendant in a case. These are granted and overseen by the court, but the court is not a party to them. The court only becomes a party if a Motion for Revocation is filed by the prosecution for violation of the agreement. SOCs are used to give a first time offender a chance to have the charges dismissed if the defendant jumps through the prosecutor’s hoops. In Kyle’s case, the SOC looks a bit different. Why? Because it contains the words “approximately 24 months”. A competent defense attorney would not have allow this phrase if his/her client was offered an SOC. This phrase negates the fairness that’s required in any agreement and deems this document “void for vagueness” as law requires. “Approximately” is not allowed according to the rule book. Kyle’s case follows the rules outlined in LCrRLJ 8.3(c)(1-17) . This rule is in place to protect the parties interests, both parties. In this rule, it is very clear about the contents of minimum requirements in an SOC. The language, “A clear statement…” is what starts every content of (c)1-17. Number 6 is relevant to Kyle’s case and states; “A clear statement of the period of the Continuance, which shall be no more than 2 years”. The “approximately”, leaves the agreement open-ended. In a criminal case of any kind, everything that transpires, has to be clearly spelled out. There’s no room for interpretation.

Kyle jumped through every hoop in this case, despite his innocence. He signed the SOC on April 29, 2010; this means it expired on April 29, 2012, right? Think again. The prosecution filed the revocation on June 26, 2012. How is this possible? The SOC was expired. Let us go back to the first two paragraphs of this story. Prosecutors cannot be trusted. Prosecutors want convictions and they’ll do anything to get them. They will “sewer service”, undermine procedure, push rules aside and, they will also make sure that documents that blow apart their cases, are marked in the record, as “confidential”. Due process of law is not high on their priority list. This places the public in jeopardy. If prosecutors cannot be trusted, then who can we trust in our judicial system? The judges job is to verify all procedures have been followed. Not one judge, in Kyle’s case, verified anything.

Oh wait, it gets worse.

This case took place in Redmond, Washington, a city just northeast and across Lake Washington, from Seattle. The prosecutor was Richard Lawrence Mitchell, wsba # 21606. In his Motion for Revocation, he accuses Kyle of not paying costs and not completing treatment. Both of these accusations were false. Mitchell was running for election to become a judge in 2010 and this is a powerful motive to bolster his conviction rate. This motion should have died right there, but it did not. Judge Michael Finkle set a hearing for July 25, 2012. He placed Holly Joy Johnson a Pro Tem Judge to preside over the hearing (NOTE: This was copied and pasted from the WSBA Page: Holly Joy Johnson, WSBA No.32784, admitted 2002, of Seattle, “..resigned in lieu of discipline, effective 9/19/2017. The lawyer agrees that she is aware of the alleged misconduct in disciplinary counsel’s Statement of Alleged Misconduct and rather than defend against the allegations, she wishes to permanently resign from membership in the Association. The Statement of Alleged Misconduct reflects the following violations of the Rules of Professional Conduct: 1.15A (Safeguarding Property), 3.4 (Fairness to Opposing Party and Counsel), 8.1 (Bar Admission and Disciplinary Matters), 8.4 (Misconduct). Sachia Stonefeld Powell and Kathy Jo Blake acted as disciplinary counsel. Holly Joy Johnson represented herself. Karen A. Clark was the hearing officer. Andrekita Silva was the settlement hearing officer. The online version of NWLawyer contains a link to the following document: Resignation Form of Holly Joy Johnson (ELC 9.3(b)).as made to resign for unethical behavior by the Washington State Bar Association). Kyle was a no-show and a warrant for his arrest issued. Well, surprise, surprise. He never received notice of this hearing. Mitchell sent the notice to a wrong address. So, a warrant was issued by judge pro tem Norm Leopold. Leopold, like Johnson, assumed Prosecutor Mitchell had done his job. These part-time judges never looked at this case, they blindly believed Mitchell. These judges rely on the prosecutors to do their jobs. They believe every word prosecutors say and they almost never question them. In this case, the judge did no fact finding. He never questioned Mitchell. He should have.

Mitchell never received a non-compliance letter from the probation department. No non-compliance from the treatment agency. Kyle paid over a thousand dollars, by this time, to the court. The SOC says to Pay $350.00 costs by 180 days, but the problem with this SOC, yet again, is that it doesn’t clearly state to whom this cost should be paid. Like the “approximately” language, this does not follow the minimum requirements of content in an SOC agreement. It’s confusing, and Mitchell likes when defendant’s and their inexperienced defense attorneys are confused. In researching this case, many SOC documents were discovered that were exactly the same form used in Kyle’s case. Mitchell was in the habit of used that document for many defendants. The rules about content of SOCs were revised in 2008, but Mitchell chose to continue using it and no judge objected to this.

Kyle’s warrant sat for 77 days, until he was pulled over for a minor traffic infraction. To Kyle’s utter shock, the police officer came back with his license and the news of this warrant. The officer had no other choice but to arrest. Kyle was taken into custody in Shoreline and the transfer to Redmond. Kyle and Douangchay were still living together at this time, and they were pregnant. Their daughter was due in January 2013. Kyle was arrested on October 10, 2012. Kyle was arraigned on October 11 without an attorney present. The court docket states, “Defendant present in-custody Pro se”, then it states “Counsel Trishana Ellis present on behalf of defendant”, but Trishana Ellis isn’t a lawyer. The Washington State Bar Association has no record of a Trishana Ellis holding a license to practice law. Now, the original two noncompliance violations became three, 107 days after the SOC had expired, they decided to add yet another non-compliance violation, to bolster they weak case. This Pro Tem Judge, like Pro Tem Holly Joy Johnson, was Darrell Phillipson. This Pro Tem judge resigned his license to practice law in Washington, as did Linda Jacke, the judge for whom Phillipson was sitting in place of that day. Oh yes, three (3) judges that sat on Kyle’s case were made to resign. Little fishy, wouldn’t you say?. This time they added “pending assault 4 and malicious mischief”. The problem with this is very simple, this pending case happened 8 days after the SOC had expired. It did not fall in the period of the SOC, at all. You would have thought that the defense law firm would have argued this at the last hearing, on November 15, 2012, before the conviction, but they did not and this is why this law firm can be described as incompetent, unfit, and negligent.

The law firm that represented Kyle throughout this case was Stein, Lotzkar & Starr? Elissa Brine represented at the SOC Hearing and she is to blame for the substandard SOC. Interestingly, just 12 days before Kyle was arrested, the law firm officially withdrew from the case. They stated, in their motion, that they attempted to contact Kyle, but didn’t succeed. Kyle could have been contacted easily, he kept the same phone number for over 15 years. Whatever the law firm said in that motion to withdraw, is suspicious, to say the least. The prosecution says Kyle admitted to this pending assault charge. This is true. The prosecution, court judges and defense allowed Kyle to be railroaded in this case. They did nothing to stop this.

November 15, 2012, Kyle was convicted on both charges of domestic violence. He was an innocent man that was only defending himself for a physical attack, by a woman that had done this twice before, to two other men. This woman, a brazen alcoholic, dangerous to anyone that crosses her path while she’s under the influence of alcohol. Again, corrupt Holly Joy Johnson sat in judgment and imposed sentencing. In between conviction and sentencing, they did figure out the Kyle did complete treatment, but that is as far as they would go. It was an after thought. Kyle was sentenced to:

• 12 months suspended, court imposes jail time of 364 days on charge 1 with 359 days suspended, and 5 days credit for time served.

• Total Imposed on charge 1 with $5000 suspended and $338.00 other amount ordered

• monitored unsupervised probation for 3 months,

• Final review Monitored probation for 9 months.

• FNL Review set for August 15, 2013.

• Finding/Judgment of Guilty deferred prosecution revoked for charge 2

• Judge Pro Tem Johnson, Holly Imposed sentence

• Court imposes jail time of 364 days on charge 2 with 359 days suspended, and 5 days credit for time served

• Total imposed on charge 2: with $5000 suspended and

• $0.00 other amount ordered

This case has been used to destroy the relationship between Kyle and his daughter. This is just the beginning, this story continues with more twists and turns. There are other prosecutors, judges, commissioners and lawyers that will be named......

Part two: demented behavior doesn’t come close……

Time went by fast and after Snohomish County Legal Services and all their goon lawyers used the above King Co. District court case to destroy a father/daughter relationship, Kyle looked into the case further. All the years that past, Kyle thought that it was handled the right way. He had no idea of the sewer service, adding a new charge and convicting him of this new charge. He had no idea that the prosecution and his own defense attorney had screwed him over at every turn.

An argument ensued in February of 2019, with the King County District Court Records Department to release the “New Address filed” filed in July 2011. After multiple emails, the records department sent the request to Judge Lisa Paglisotti. She read the emails and signed for this document to be public, she removed the confidential status. This is when it came to light that Kyle was, in fact, sewer served. Proof was right there, no question, in black and white. So, Kyle took some time, gathered documents and wrote a motion. He filed the motion on April 11, 2019. This motion brought up a question of jurisdiction. Jurisdiction is only established if a defendant is properly served. The prosecution is obligated to prove they served. In Kyle’s case, they did not serve, nor did they file any kind of “proof of service” in any form. The motion was sent to Judge Lisa Paglisotti for review. It sat with her for 27 days before “Motion hearing set to give the city a chance to respond” was her decision. The prosecution did not respond, but waited until the hearing. This time is was Prosecuting Attorney Stefani Snow (wsba #28100) and Judge Rhonda Laumann (wsba #22126) that went up against Kyle. It may sound a bit off by saying the judge was against Kyle, but it’s true. Rhonda Laumann, sitting on the bench, acted like a prosecutor. She did not, in any way, act like an impartial judge. Stefani Snow said little until the end when she stated that Kyle admitted to the new charge pending that ultimately convicted him. Laumann argued with Kyle about the wording of the Stipulated Order of Continuance. She denied that the language was, in fact, “approximately 24 months”. Kyle argued right back. He told this judge that the “new charge pending” did not fall in the period of the continuance and should not have been allowed. Laumann argued even more. She looked and found another reason to throw out the motion. She used an excuse that there was a time limit of one year. This judge was hell bent to get Kyle out of her courtroom, and she did just that.

Jurisdiction is paramount in criminal law. It establishes authority of the court to rule in a case. Without jurisdiction, a court’s hands are tied. For jurisdiction, in any court, to be established, service of process must be proven by the party bringing it. This means the State must serve the defendant all charging documents, including, but not limited to Motions, notice to appear, etc. The prosecution did not do this, therefore the court did not have personal jurisdiction over Kyle. This was the first issue that Kyle brought in his Motion, it was ignored by Laumann. Whenever a question is brought about jurisdiction, a court is required to investigate. They cannot continue without knowing they have obtain the authority to do so.

This is not an isolated case. When the Redmond City Judicial officers were made to resign, they left, in their wake, a slough of cases that beg to be re-examined.

Part Three…the real motive emerges…

Kyle and Douangchay stayed together through the pregnancy. Their child was born on January 19, 2013. The couple moved Douangchay’s sister and nephew into their home and she took the position of nanny for their daughter. All was good throughout the next 14 months or so, but the sister/nanny decided she wanted to move on and move out. She’d helped out enough and gave Kyle and Douangchay “notice” of her departure.

Now the couple needed to find daycare for their daughter. Douangchay reached out to a friend she had known since her arrival in the U.S. Suphol Phab was her name, but she, like Douangchay went by an alias, “Samantha”. Douangchay hid the fact that “Sam” was a felon and therefore would never be allowed to have a daycare license. Douangchay hid everything that most would find to be critical information, in making the choice on a daycare provider for their child. Kyle would never have agreed to placing his daughter with a felon.

Soon, Douangchay’s need to frequent the clubs, emerged again, and with it came conflict between the couple. Kyle truly believed that becoming a mother, for a second time, would diminish her fixation on these places. Douangchay still was incapable of putting her family, Kyle and their daughter, above herself. Their opposition grew and their relationship would not survive. Douangchay’s threat of taking away their daughter from Kyle was her favorite. She threatened used this every time they had a disagreement and even making jokes about it in front of others. She knew this scared the hell out of Kyle, as it would any parent. Kyle took these threats very serious, after all, Douangchay had strong ties to Southeast Asia. Coupled with Douangchay abandoning her first child, her threats terrified Kyle. He knew she could accomplish her demented threats with little effort and Kyle was desperate, he did a foolish deed, he placed a track devise on her vehicle. He knew he’d lose his child and didn’t care about consequences. The fear of losing his precious daughter is all that matter, he had to act. He was in protect-my-child mode.

Kyle and Douangchay did attend a few couples counseling sessions, in an attempt to fix their relationship, but these failed due to Douangchay’s inability to take responsibility for her own behavior. She blamed Kyle for everything that went wrong between them. Like the men before him, Kyle couldn’t take anymore. He ended the relationship right there, in front of the therapist, and walked out the door. Douangchay persuaded the therapist to call Kyle to get him to return, but Kyle knew it was over. Kyle realized that Douangchay wasn’t interested in mending the relationship, her motives for counseling, were nothing more than getting a professional to agree with her in that Kyle needed to be fixed. The months following were chaotic, emotional and eye opening for Kyle.

The two agreed that they would share time with their daughter, but soon this broke down. Douangchay’s need to be in total control was important than their daughter’s need to have a relationship with her father. She started using their child as a weapon. Kyle tried to appease her, but soon, it became clear that Douangchay was not going to be cooperative in their co-parenting. The communications between these two became impossible, they became engrossed in bad behavior. They engaged in name-calling via text messages, neither one could step away from the other. For six(6) months they fought over everything, not having a nice thing to say to, nor about one another. Kyle was advised by family, to file a parenting plan, but refused saying he knew they could work it out with her. This decision would not be a good one. Douangchay was scheming and collecting, she was going to court for a Restraining order against Kyle.

On August 15, 2016, Kyle walked out of the Snohomish County Courthouse restrained from Douangchay. Because all women must be believed and therefore protected, men are automatically assumed as abusers. Douangchay, in her petition, claimed there were police reports, yet none were submitted. She submitted text messages as proof that Kyle was harassing her. The text messages were edited beyond belief. She omitted her part in them, 90% had no dates attached to them. They were taken out of context and designed to make Kyle look like a monster. Her ploy worked in spades. She stated how “fearful” she was of him. Then, later, the same day Snohomish County Superior Court Commissioner Tracy Waggoner signed the restraining order, Douangchay showed up at Kyle’s residence and attempted to have him arrested. This proving she had no fear of him whatsoever. Witness accounts say Douangchay exited her vehicle, walk up to Kyle and threatened him. Snohomish County Deputy Sheriff Josh Wheeler was dispatched. Deputy Wheeler asked Douangchay to leave Kyle’s residence. Kyle filed for a parenting plan a week later.

Douangchay was determined in her threats and actions to remove Kyle from not only her life, but the life of their daughter. After all, Douangchay knew exactly how the system worked years before she met Kyle. She had gained favor with the court through the restraining order process, and now she went to work to further her plan. From September 2016 through July of 2017, Douangchay went back and forth, from the restraining order to the parenting plan, using false allegations of abuse, to add their child to the restraining order. Just a few days before the parenting plan hearing, she went to the restraining order case and tried to modify it, Ex parte,

Kyle knew nothing of this.

It is important for us to understand what “Ex Parte” is. Black’s Law Dictionary is regarded as the go-to for legal definitions. Lawyers around the country use this dictionary to quote from in their cases. They define “ex parte” as follows:

“On one side only; by or for one party; done for, in behalf of, on the

application of, one party only.”

One source says:

“Ex parte orders are only allowed in certain defined circumstances because they can be unfair and violate the due process requirement of the United States Constitution. ... Most often, ex parte orders are done in cases of domestic violence or child abuse and generally in an emergency situation.”

At the parenting plan hearing, she showed up with a last minute lawyer that knew nothing about the case, but he monopolized the whole hearing. It was Kyle’s petition, yet the commissioner gave the floor to the opposing attorney and disregarded Kyle’s right to plead his case.

Please keep in mind, at this time, Douangchay already had a restraining order on Kyle. By having that, why would there be a need for more? There’s only one reason to place another, and that is what accompanies it, an audience, without opposition, with a judge or Commissioner. A petition for an immediate restraining order eliminates the accused from defending themselves. This is exactly what Douangchay wanted and needed to rid herself of Kyle.

October 3, 2016, Douangchay went back to the restraining order and tried to modify it, she wanted to add their daughter, using an ex parte hearing.

October 5, 2016, again, Douangchay goes to Kyle’s residence and tries to have him arrested. Snohomish County Deputy Sheriff asks her to leave.

October 10, 2017 Douangchay doesn’t show for this hearing. She calls last minute to tell the court clerk. She must have known that her appearance at Kyle’s residence for the second time, had been documented and noted.

Two months went by and things were quiet, but then January 2017 happened.

January 17, 2017 Douangchay, in the parenting plan, filed another ex parte action.

January 26, 2017 Ex Parte action again.

February 15, 2017 yep, one more ex parte action

So, in all these actions, Douangchay had private audience with the following Commissioners:

1) Commissioner Susan Gaer

2) Commissioner Lester Stewart

3) Commissioner Tracy Waggoner

4) Commissioner pro Tem x2, (pro Tem= pro tem

1) adj. short for the Latin "pro tempore", temporarily or for the time being. In law, judge pro tem normally refers to a judge who is sitting temporarily for another judge or to an attorney who has been appointed to serve as a judge as a substitute for a regular judge.

The above ex parte actions accomplished a lot for Douangchay, private audiences with these judicial officials gave her what she loved most, playing victim. But what would occur next is beyond belief.

On May 3, 2017, Douangchay took her antics to a level that puts everything into perspective and explains how demented this woman truly is. She didn’t follow the parenting plan instruction, that day, nor any other day for that matter. She didn’t pick up their daughter as directed by the parenting plan. After both, her and her multi-felon brother attacked and threatened Kyle, through text messages, she called Lynnwood police. Lynnwood police called Kyle and Kyle explained. Lynnwood police were satisfied with Kyle and asked him to give a time and place for Douangchay to pick up their daughter. Kyle did so, 8:00 pm at a public parking lot in Des Moines. Douangchay drove, alone, from Everett all the way to Des Moines, an hour or more. Remember the sister/nanny? She lived five miles away from Kyle, in Kent. Why didn’t Douangchay, if she needed multiple restraining orders for her fear of Kyle, tell Kyle to drop off their daughter with the sister/nanny and she’d pick her up from her? Or, ask the sister/nanny to accompany her to the location? No, Douangchay chose not to do that because she was pissed and wanted any reason to have Kyle arrested. Her intent was clear. Kyle knew not to be alone in this. She tried to have him arrested at his own residence. His girlfriend accompanied him. She drove Kyle and his daughter to the agreed upon location. Douangchay was there and coming toward them, she was pissed. She was flailing her arms and screaming. Kyle’s girlfriend drove away leaving Douangchay standing there. She was enraged. Douangchay called 911, telling the 911 operator that she’s in Auburn. She is so angry, she doesn’t even know where she is. Her demeanor is casual. She starts by saying, “I need assistance.” She proceeded to tattle on Kyle for not giving their daughter to her. After telling the operator a few lies, like she and Kyle are not suppose to communicate and Kyle didn’t follow the parenting plan, the operator, asks her, 4 minutes into the call if Kyle threatened her. The operator told her to stay put and an officer would be there shortly and the call was ended. Officer Chad Stillwagon of the Des Moines police department showed up. Douangchay’s demeanor changed drastically, according to the police report. She had her audience right in front of her and this time she’d get what she wanted. She turned into the victim, a performance that deserved an Oscar. Stillwagon, in his report, used the infamous words, used by all police, in these situations, “she was visibly upset”. This must be taught in their 8 hour workshop of how to write a police report when a woman says she was abused. The “victim” emerged in spades, telling the police she was threatened. Kyle called her filthy names and threatened to kill her, she told Stillwagon. She then added a ludicrous comment when asked to do a recorded statement. She told Stillwagon that she didn’t speak English well. This was untrue. She testified later to being in the U.S. for over 25 years, reading, writing and speaking English fluently. These actions, done by Douangchay, spawned 2 felony charges against Kyle, thanks to the complete abuse of power in King County District Court. The first was filed on July 10, 2017, 314 days after initial arrest, in Snohomish County Superior Court. The tracking device case was turned from a misdemeanor to a felony. Then this Des Moines situation was filed, on July 14, 2017, 72 days after the incident, in King County Superior Court, as a felony.

On May 15, 2017, Douangchay filed yet another Immediate Restraining Order, Ex parte, against Kyle, in Snohomish County and this time she accomplished putting their daughter on it. She took this, as if it were true, and had yet another audience with a commissioner. It was Commissioner Susan Gaer, yet again. Through this, she was directed to free counsel with Snohomish County Legal Services, although it is not known as to where the directing originated. The lawyer that took this case was Helena Maria Koltonowska, aka “Helenka”, a bulldog of a lawyer. Hearings were done in June, but all the while Koltonowaska had other plans. She asked for this case to be dismissed and to seek relief in the parenting plan, Commissioner Lester Stewart granted this. Kyle’s lawyer, Andrew May charged an outrageous $4500 and then blamed the court for this, yet he didn’t fight it. He didn’t object, even though, acting as a defense attorney, he should have done exactly that. This did prove, beyond any doubt, that Douangchay’s motives were clear. She wanted the parenting plan and she even said so in the petition she filed.

Koltonowska gathered a few people and had them write declarations for Douangchay and filed contempt in the parenting plan case. These “witnesses” consisted of Khamkheuane Suannoy, Douangchay’s brother. His felony criminal record goes back years. Another felon, “Samantha” Phab, and Douangchay’s boy toy lover, Tristan James Eames. At the Circus they call a family law trial, the felon brother was locked up, again. Samantha lied through her teeth and the lover was no where to be seen. These are the people, that the court decided, would determine the outcome of a father’s ability to see his child. The contempt was filed on July 7, 2017. It is not a coincidence that the felony charges happened days after. Koltonowska had strong ties in the prosecutors offices, both in King and Snohomish Counties. She worked in both places.

A status conference was held on July 21, which Koltonowska used to her advantage. Directly after the conference, the cunning attorney went directly into another ex parte hearing and filed yet another Immediate Restraining order. Commissioner Lee Tinney reviewed the contempt filings and based her decision on them. The restraining order was granted. This decision would be carried over into the contempt. Gaer would not contradict Tinney. So Tinney made the decisions that destroyed a man’s life so he would not be allowed to see his child without supervision by a professional supervisory agency. Makes you wonder exactly how many fathers have been eliminated from their children’s lives in this manner.

Literally, what happens is one commissioner rules on a situation and this ruling will not be contradicted by the next commissioner, so Tinney set the tone for future rulings and she did so based on accusations made by Douangchay and her co-conspirators. Both Tinney and Gaer made bad decisions by allowing declarations by felons, and they did this behind closed doors that shut out the accused, Kyle. Ex parte was used a few more times after this, also. Kyle tried to file contempt against Douangchay, but a little rule in Snohomish County states her lawyer cannot be served. It has to be served directly on her. This rule doesn’t exist elsewhere.

Kyle was facing felony charges in two counties now. He knew that he would never get a fair trial in Snohomish County. All the judges and commissioners were convinced he was a domestic violence batterer and would throw the book at him. So, he plead the case. He would fight all this in King County and that’s exactly what happened.

The trial began on February 27, 2018. Kyle would face off with King County Superior Court prosecutor. Douangchay would be made to testify. She did just that. For three hours Douangchay was asked question after question about Kyle abusing her. The jury sat listening intently. On March 1, 2018, the jury returned after only 20 minutes and handed down their decision. NOT GUILTY! Douangchay’s testimony sealed this case. It was apparent, after only 30 minutes, that Douangchay was lying about the whole incident. Her testimony acquitted Kyle, but it didn’t stop her and her Snohomish County Legal Services goons from completely lying on the parenting plan documents they filed. Douangchay’s testimony and declarations went into overdrive. She stuck to her lies. He testimony changed drastically from county to county. The perjury that went on in Snohomish County was absolutely obvious, yet the four lawyers and Judge Joseph Wilson acted as if they knew nothing of this. The following is an exert from the results of a complaint filed against Wilson. His behavior was the same in Kyle’s case. He disrespected Kyle at every turn. He spoke down to Kyle and his behavior can only be described as juvenile. Joseph Wilson is a detriment to the judicial system.

“ Investigation revealed that defendant (Judge Joseph Wilson) was at all times during the hearing respectful and deferential towards the court. Respondent, after expressing his view that the resolution was too lenient, addressed the defendant in a confrontational and angry tone. He repeatedly called the defendant “an animal,” and at one point near the conclusion of the hearing, refused to let the defendant speak, telling him, “You don’t have the integrity to talk to me.”

C. The Commission served Respondent with a Statement ofAllegations on January 23, 2018, alleging his actions during the July 10,2017 hearing violated Canon 1 (Rules 1.1 and 1.2) and Canon 2 (Rules 2.2, 2.3(A) and (B), 2.6(A) and 2.8) of the Code of Judicial Conduct.

D. Respondent answered the Statement of Allegations on February 22, 2018. In his answer. Respondent acknowledged: “I did not treat [the defendant] with respect and I addressed him in a maimer I should not have. These statements negatively impact the public’s perception of the court and for that I am sorry.” Respondent explained he was “profoundly unhappy with the resolution of this case prior to taking the bench,” adding that he nonetheless recognizes his “personal opinion of what a proper resolution should be should not interfere with [his] duty to be impartial and fair.”

And in another case, Wilson’s behavior toward a defendant resulted in these comments being made:

“The HeraldNet has more details of Wilson’s statements to the defendant. They include:

• After the defendant tested positive for drugs and missed his treatment, he appeared for a February 2017 hearing. The defendant acknowledged he had been drinking lately and said he needed anger management. Wilson used the F-word at least twice. “I think you’re a [expletive] addict, and maybe you need treatment,” Wilson said. “I don’t think it’s got nothing to do with anger management. You think I’ll give you anger management and that’s going to get you clean and sober? … What the hell are you talking about?”

—Judge Joe Wilson

Joseph Wilson should have stepped away from Kyle’s case and Kyle should have been given time to research this judge. The court record showed a different judge was scheduled, but Wilson was given this case the morning the kangaroo trial began. Wilson was combative throughout. Kyle filed proof of Douangchay’s past prior to the kangaroo court trial, yet it didn’t matter. Despite knowing that Douangchay gave a false name in the 1998 King County case, Wilson acted as if that was ok. Wilson believed the witnesses, despite their obvious perjured testimony.

Kyle lost all contact with his child. Douangchay was named custodial parent. Their child lost her father and half of her family because of Douangchay’s lies and Snohomish County Court and Snohomish County Legal Services inability to look for truth. It’s been over two years since Kyle has seen his child.

Some would say this is an isolated case, but the truth of the matter, is that parents face these

oppositions in the family courts everyday. Men and women lose contact with their children and usually it is due to the other parent’s inability to co-parent and their desire to gain financially, courtrooms. False allegations of domestic violence equals restraining orders, child custody and support, free legal services, homes, vehicles and bank accounts.

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Taking Time Epilogue

Master List | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Request:

Could you do a Thor request where the reader is Tony’s sister and Thor and her always had feelings for each other but timing was never right and right after Infinity Wars, everyone goes to regroup and rest, she and Thor find comfort in each other since she doesn’t know where Tony is and he’s lost everyone he love (but her)?

Pairing: Thor X Reader (There’s some platonic Steve feels too.)

Summary: For years you and Thor have had a tumultuous relationship, to say the least. After the snap, you meet up with what’s left of The Avengers at the compound to not only figure out where the hell your brother, Tony, is but also to lick your wounds. Thor is among them and the two of you finally take the time for one another because if you’ve learned nothing from this nightmare it’s that tomorrow isn’t guaranteed.

Warnings: Loss. 

A/N: My. God. Why. Can I write something and not be heart-wrenchingly invested in the reader character? No, apparently I cannot. I’ve enjoyed going on this journey thanks to my lovely anon requester and I appreciate you all going on it with me. Just going to go ahead and apologize for any tears shed because this def put me in my feels. 

Tags are open!

@disagreetoagree  @fandoms-pizza-wifi-ym13  @dorkprincess  @badpvn @unalive-mee @breezy1415  

Every single person, even Rocket who had no dog in this fight, was ready to have something to do when you presented them with your plans that night. Things were getting chaotic everywhere. People needed whatever was left of The Avengers to step up.

Clint Barton had turned up the next day, having lost his whole family. You all welcomed him with open arms. While you all thought he’d opt to lay low he instead wanted to work.

Bruce was helping you pick through Tony’s research. Happy to finally be back in a lab.

Steve, Thor, and Rocket were ground ops tasked with going into the selected hubs to more accurately assess the situation. Steve even shaved his beard and donned his trademark red, white, and blue to gain people’s trust.

Natasha and Barton were on covert ops, in times of chaos there will always be people who will take advantage of that. They would sniff out the biggest threats and lay out a plan of action.

Rhodey was coordinating with the government. In the wake of The Event (as all the news outlets were calling it) the Accords were scrapped. The US and really any government was, for better or worse, ready to take any help they could get.

You would intervene in any team as necessary working under the Iron Man mantle. Your suit may be different in color and sleeker in design but there was no mistaking that look. Just like Cap’s patriotic get up it would garner trust.

Ten days after the event, when the teams had been dispatched for their first round of fieldwork F.R.I.D.A.Y. chimed in while you were in your office sorting through the nanotech research.

“Y/N, I have a pre-recorded message from Mr. Stark.”

Your breath catches.

“Would you like me to play it?”

Would you… “No. I… Fuck… I’ll view it in the lab.”

You run and burst through the doors of Tony’s private lab. In the days since you have been here you’d felt sick every time you thought of coming in this space. Now… Your heart is thundering in your ears your skin covered in cold sweat.

“Breathe,” you whisper. Trying to calm yourself. You place your palms against his main desk, whole body trembling. “Fuck,” you groan as you collapse into his chair.

No paper littered Tony’s space, he scoffed at analog whenever he could. But there were still traces of him left here. A coffee mug with a sip still in it. A book face down to mark his spot. A picture of him and Pepper. And… you cover your mouth to hold in a sob. You and Tony at your graduation from M.I.T. You were on his back, faces pressed cheek to cheek, smiles big and genuine. Rhodey had taken it. You hadn’t ever paid much attention to the photos he kept and this one genuinely surprised you.

Things were always touch and go between the two of you. Two orphans with too much fucking money and too many unresolved issues to function anything like a normal family. But… what was normal?

You’d slept in his bed for six months after your parents’ died because the terror of losing him would wake you up shrieking. He was there. 

When you were at boarding school in England you developed a raging heroin addiction. You’d overdosed behind a seedy pub. Your high society friends left you there rather than end up on the front page as being present when the Stark heiress died. Tony was by your side when you woke up, bleary eyed from lack of sleep and tears. He was there all through your detox… and the next… and the next… He never judged you, never held that against you. 

There were countless times you had failed one another, countless times you screamed both drunk and sober about your hatred of the other. Times when you wouldn’t talk for months… But still you loved each other as best you could.

The picture held tight to your chest you take a shaky breath. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., play it.”

There he is, sitting right where you are, looking morose.

He lets out a long sigh, “You know, Y/N… I’ve been making these things since after the attack on New York. I kinda thought,” he runs a hand absently through his hair making it stand up, “they’d get easier… they don’t. Especially the ones to you. I think,” he clears his throat, “I think it’s because more than anyone I hope you never have to see this. I, uh, have this program set up that if I don’t provide authorization every 10 days F.R.I.D.A.Y. will send this to you. I figure 10 days is a pretty solid indication that something is very wrong. So just in case… There’s just things…” He trails off and leans his elbows on his desk, cradling his head in his hands.

He looks back to the camera, his eyes glassy, voice shaking. “Things that,” he clears his throat again, “that you need to know… that I’ve never had the spine to really say to you before… Y/N, I could not be more proud of the woman you’ve become.” A tear slides down his cheek and he quickly brushes it aside, save for snark and anger neither of you were good with emotions. “God knows that’s no thanks to me. I have no clue how you turned into this light of a person but I do know I’m lucky you’re my little sister. I know things haven’t always been easy, I know I haven’t always made them easy. I’ve fucked up so many times… but still here you are. I guess here we are. Both trying to save the world in our own ways though I do think you’re doing a better job…” That crooked smile curls his lips. “And I know… I know for a fact mom and dad would be proud of you too…” He takes a second, breathing deep.

“You should know that anything good in me, any heroic bullshit I’ve ever done… It wasn’t to save the world or to be a hero. I just…” Tears slide out of his eyes, “I just wanted to be good enough for you, to make sure things were safe for you, first and foremost you… And I know that may be hard to believe since I… I know I’ve apologized but I will be doing so until the end for showing you that video… I,” his voice breaks, “I hate myself for that, Y/N, and for the shit before it… I’m so sorry. If you can tell Rogers… tell him I was wrong… Fuck.” He stands and paces for a minute.

“Anyway,” he breathes deep, “I just need you to know that I’m proud of you, that I love you, and that I’m sorry for all the times I failed you. If I’m gone… well I’m sorry for that too. I hope you have Thor, that big blond idiot loves you even though I’m sure neither of you have admitted it to each other. You should by the way, admit it.” He smirks, knowing. “You should also know that the Iron Man is yours now. Do what you want with it, use it, retire it, find someone you can trust with it, whatever. F.R.I.D.A.Y. has all the schematics you could need and I have no doubt you’ll just make it better.” He sighs. “I’m sure there’s a whole hell of a lot more I should say but this is all the emotion I can handle for the week. I love ya sis. You’re going to be ok, kid.” Then he’s gone.

You sit, unmoving, for what seems like a long time. Then something snaps. Every ounce of sadness, of rage, of fear, hits you. Not once since The Event have you allowed yourself the space to feel this. Holding on to the notion that Tony was somehow alive, that he was coming home. But now…

There aren’t tears just a rage filled roar as you knock everything off Tony’s desk with a swipe of your arms. The mug shatters, frames crack. The desk, now devoid of accoutrement is nothing but a target. With a flick of your wrist the armor encases your right hand and you blast a hole through the top of the desk. You take a step back and release another, and another, screaming all the while.

You don’t even hear Rhodey come in. “Y/N!!” He yells over your screams. “Hey!” Grabbing your arm.

“Get the fuck off me, Rhodes!” You look at him, wild, before stalking away and firing at the glass wall separating the lab from the test area. It shatters with a satisfying crash and suddenly Rhodey’s arms are wrapped around you, pinning your arms to your sides.

“I got one too, kid,” he says softly and your knees begin to buckle, “I know… I know.” His voice is thick with emotion. “I know it hurts.”

“Oh, god,” you croak and crumple to the floor. The armor retreats and you cover your face the tears flowing freely. “No, no, nononono,” you repeat over and over through your sobs. Rhodey stays behind you, arms wrapped tight around you until your sobs quieten.

He looks around at the destruction you wreaked, “Ya know, there are times I doubt you and Tony are related and then I’m always reminded that there is no doubt.”

Sniffling you pull away and sit on your knees across from him and take his hands. “Why do you put up with our shit, Rhodey?”

He laughs, tears in his eyes, “Because life without the Starks is too fucking boring.”

You shake your head, “You should work that out in therapy.” Both laughing you embrace. “Thank you, Rhodey, for everything.”

“It’s nothing, kid,” he wipes the tears from your face. “You’re family.”

Five weeks pass.

You’re all managing the best you can. Working on a four days on three days home system for the most part. The beginnings of Foundation outposts have been established in New York and Houston, providing medical care, food, and housing to thousands. You and Rhodey were working to figure out a way to ethically and legally seize homes and former offices that were empty to be used for rehoming people closer to the city centers. Things were… as good as they could be.

Every moment you’re able you and Thor find ways to be together. You both make it a point to carve out time every single day you’re apart to at least have ten minutes to talk, to remind one another that you love them. On days when you’re at the compound you sneak off any chance you can, stealing moments to kiss, fuck, and talk. It was as though you were both determined to make up for all the time you lost.

He tells you incredible stories about his childhood. Pranks Loki would play on him, how he’d somehow always fall for it. Battles won and lost. You’d tell him far less fantastical stories about the wild shit you and Tony would get into, the last minute trips to Singapore and Monaco, the debauchery and fuckery. He loved them even though they lacked giants and magic. Those are the best times.

It’s one of your three days with everyone back at the compound for debriefing and taking a breather. You’re all around the kitchen eating whatever is on hand for lunch chatting when F.R.I.D.A.Y. pipes up.

“An unknown spacecraft has just entered the atmosphere.”

“Fuck,” you all seem to groan in unison.

“Can you tell it’s trajectory?”

“I cannot be certain but it seems that it may be heading close by, I’ve tried to communicate but have gotten no response.”

Without another word you’re all bolting for the door grabbing any necessary gear as quickly as possible. You’re fully suited before you’re even outside, Thor close at your side.

“If they’re hostile let me take the first blow,” Thor growls. You nod.

Suddenly you see it clear the trees just to the west of the compound. Without a thought you’re off, Rhodey bringing up your left.

The craft lands with an earsplitting crash, digging a deep ravine into the earth.

“Still no response from inside the craft but I do detect two life forms,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. informs you.

The rest of the team has brought up the rear while Rhodey, Thor, and yourself remain on the front lines with Thor on the ground and the two of you hovering about 10 feet up.

You hear sounds rumble from inside. “Whoever the fuck you are I highly suggest you come out slowly and unarmed unless you want a hole through your chest.”

Clanking, voices, and a hatch finally bursts free, your weapons hum to life ready to fire any moment.

Hands raised, human hands. “I wouldn’t have given you the fucking thing if I thought you were going to shoot me with it.”

You lose your focus and crash to your knees with a thud helmet retracting and you stare at the haggard visage of your brother.

“Tony,” Rhodey says, shocked, landing with much more grace beside you.

“Stark,” you hear Steve whisper.

“Rogers, Rhodes,” he looks around and you know who his eyes are seeking out.

“She’s not here man…” Rhodey says looking down.

Tony sniffs hard, “I figured. Honestly, didn’t expect any of you to be here…”

You’ve been staring at him, brain unable to process fully what you’re seeing. He’s still a good distance away and suddenly you stand, your feet move of their own accord, suit retracting with each step.

When you’re in front of him you slap him, hard, across his face. “What the fuck Tony!” You scream. You punch him in the shoulder, “What were you thinking?!”

Vaguely you hear Rhodey say to someone, “No, let them do this.”

You push him hard with both hands, “Getting on a fucking hostile alien ship, not knowing where it’s going or what’s happening.” Your voice is starting to crack, you push him again, “with no back up, nothing!” You raise your hand ready to hit him again and he catches it, holding tight, dark eyes that match your own unwavering.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I’m… sorry,” he whispers.

The fight leaves you in a rush and you collapse into your stupid, reckless, heroic brother’s arms. You both hit the ground in a heap, sobbing into one another. Each of you saying sorry like it’s a mantra, like it will make up for everything that either of you has done to the other. Each of you knowing you are two of the luckiest people alive.

Your whole body is violently shaking, you can’t seem to stop. “Hey, hey,” Tony whispers rocking you back and forth. “It’s ok, we’re ok, kid.” You look up and Rhodey lays a hand on your shoulder.

“I told you, he’s a stubborn son of a bitch,” he says eyes glassy. The two of you rise and the men embrace. “Don’t fucking pull that shit again, Tony.” All Tony can do is nod.

No one else has moved so you all approach the shell-shocked team. Rocket is talking to a blue woman and you can’t even be phased at this point. You reach a hand out for Thor and he takes it, smile bright and eyes filled with tears.

Steve’s eyes are glued to the ground, tension radiating from him. “Rogers,” Tony croaks out, Steve looks up through his lashes not moving, “I’m sorry, man… I…” Steve cuts him off by pulling him into a bone crushing hug. You know they’ll have to work out their differences but you know that right now they’re just thankful to have their friend back.

“Y/N,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. pops up and you hear a distant rumble. “There seems to be another ship approaching.”

“You are fucking kidding me right?!” You groan, suit slithering up your arms.

“Oh,” Tony clears his throat. “Yeah. Point Break,” he looks at Thor, “picked you up some souvenirs on the way home.” A large ship lands, with far more grace than Tony’s heap had.

Thor looks at you confused, “How the hell should I know babe?”

A hatch hisses open and a dark-skinned woman saunters down. Thor’s face is shocked. “Valk-“

“Yeah, it’s me,” a crowd gathers behind her, “Your orders were to go to Midgard so,” she gestures behind her, “here we are.” It hits you that this ragtag group is what’s left of Asgard, of Thor’s people.

He rushes up to her picking her up hooting. Your jaw hangs open, tears streaming down your face. Thor’s laughter rings through the still afternoon air.

Tony wraps an arm around your shoulder and you lean into him. “Have you told him yet?” He’s smirking.

You cleat your throat, “Yeah… yeah we did finally get that out of the way.”

“Good.” He plants a kiss on top of your hair.

There’s still so much to be done. So far to go. But right now you all take the time to revel in a little happiness, savor this victory, no matter how small.

[greeneggsandhann]

Hey guys. I’m Hannah. I am an Alcoholic and an Addict. Both Alcoholic and Addict are capitalized because I look at my addiction and alcoholism as an asset to my life rather than an expense. Here is my journey:

I know exactly where and when my disease started. It was 2010 and I was 16 years old. Some junior girls invited me to a sleepover with them. My friend and I have never drank before, so we thought this was going to be the perfect occasion, somewhere we were safe and somewhere we couldn’t get caught,...and if we did get caught by our parents, we wouldn’t actually get into any trouble other than a lecture or a very intense hangover. So, we all sat in a circle with two water bottles one filled with strawberry vodka and one filled with orange vodka. They taught and demonstrated how to take a “shot.” Step 1) Put a little bit of koolaid in your mouth Step 2) Drink the vodka Step 3) Chug the rest of the koolaid After I took that drink I remember my lips went numb along with my teeth. I thought this was crazy and I loved every feeling of it. We each had about 3 shots and within the hour we all were laughing and had a pretty good buzz going on. Things kept coming in and out for me. One minute I would be upstairs and the next I was downstairs trying to take more shots with my friend Jo. I finished the bottles and passed out in my own throw up. The next day when I woke up I was filled with shame and guilt because this poor girl had to clean up after me all night. I was mortified and embarrassed I couldn’t hang like the rest of them. Also, I felt like shit. Of course, I never would have known at that point in time that my brain functions differently than other peoples brain. In my 16 year old head I never thought I could be an alcoholic just by that one time.

I moved away from home for my first time and tried out college. I made up this huge bullshit story to my doctor about how I needed adderall to help me focus better in school. That was all I had to say and BOOM wish granted. The world in my hands. I could do so much more and actually enjoy anything I was doing while on it. About a month after I had gotten that script I dropped out of school and found a passion in the food service industry. Where I moved up fast. I Became a bartender and then moved up to management by the time I was 21. I was working long hours, close-open shifts. My tolerance with adderall built up. And I needed more and more to make it through the day. Eventually, my script lasted less than a week and that is when I started spending hundreds of dollars on adderall a month. When I didn’t have the money and couldn’t take it, I became a completely different person. I was irritable and lazy, always tired and pretty much careless. I remember thinking out loud one day to a friend about how much money I am spending on it and how I felt like I didn’t have any passion or care about anything when I was on it. But I didn’t think that was a stopping point I just wanted it to go back to how it used to be where I could take one per day and go to sleep at night without having to feel wired.

About a year of being an assistant manager, I was often tardy for my shifts. My best friend in the whole world fired me. It was something I needed. I needed to get out of the industry and move back home with my mom and save up some money. So that is what I tried to do. I stopped calling my doctor for the adderall because I knew it was killing me. That was when I started picking up pints of vodka. One day I had missed work because I got too fucked up during the day and passed out. I woke up to my mom screaming at me. So I got in my car and was on my way to my aunts. On the way I was hit by a huge SUV. I was still drunk and didn’t have my seat belt on and passed out in the car for a few minutes. When I woke up there were so many lights, firetrucks, an ambulance. My head was gushing blood. At my window there was the couple who were in the other car. I started screaming and crying and they were the sweetest couple ever. They hugged me and asked if they could pray with me. So we prayed. I was off in the ambulance next and asked them to take me to Mercy Health hospital because there must be some God there waiting for me. That happened to be the nurse who clearly knew what had happened but refused to do any blood work on me that could check my BAC. She was an angel and stitched up my head with no judgement whatsoever.

My next brilliant idea was to move to Detroit with my cousin, Jewell. Find a new scenery away from everything kinda like a fresh start for me. I was doing pretty good there. I didn’t have very much money to drink and no adderall. I found a good job at the airport. Then started bartending again and suddenly had good meeting so I started drinking more and more. Started buying pints every night to just chill and have a little fun and something to look forward to. Never really thought it was a big deal, but I never told my cousin about it either because she would be all weird and try to tell me I shouldn’t be drinking so much and watching my every move. So it was my little secret. Work was going well. Longer shifts were getting more difficult to me and I couldn’t understand why. I started getting really dizzy and felt like I was going to faint. My hands would shake and I was sweat profusely. I thought I had vertigo or something like that. Not once did I blame it on the alcohol.

The year went by and I moved out. My car broke down. Back at home with my mom and my brother. Drinking a lot. Having mental breakdowns often. Haunting dreams. That brought me to Pine Rest where I was an impatient for mental illness and drug abuse. I went into this facility thinking “its unrealistic I am never going to have a drink again.” That kind of attitude. When I left there I felt so good for the first time in a while.

About a month later I got wasted while working. I was taking xanax and sneaking shots while I was working. I got sent home. Probably fired. I drove and smashed my brand new 2015 honda civic into a parked car. Tried to start my car and get away. But my car was too smart and notified the police. I blew .31 and was still functional (kinda) So i went to Jail, and I tried every kind of way to get out. That includes faking a seizure and scratching so hard my wrists would bleed. Obviously, that didn’t work. I was too embarrassed and did not want to face my guilt and shame to call someone, so I didn’t. ohhhhh but they found me. and brought the whole litter to pick me up. (aunts cousins niece brother mom) I was offered to go to rehab that day and I told them that jail was rehab enough,

One month after that incident I was on my way back from Detroit I was feeling really sad and depressed and I had a lot of thoughts about suicide in my head. I was drinking the whole way back and made the selfish decision to speed up and hit a semi going 85 mph on the freeway. I didnt know what the plan was in that moment, I didn’t know if I actually wanted to die or just wanted a scare. It was so selfish and I cannot believe I would ever put other people at risk. I am so ashamed to this day. The cop asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital or get breathalyzed. I choose the hospital. my BAC was 5X over the legal limit. and when my aunt and my mom showed up I cried and told them I was ready to go to rehab and I needed help. The next day I was checked into Brighton rehab center for two weeks.

Rehab was amazing. It is not a bad place to be. Its a safe and comfortable place to share your emotions and to withdraw without any judgement. I made life long friends and learned so much about recovery there.

Right after that trip I continued going to my SMART Recovery meetings and had just moved into a sober living house. I was doing really well I had gotten a job, learned how the bus system works. I learned so damn much in that month of being there. But another Relapse happened. It was a 4 day relapse. This time I was DONE.

I made my second trip to Brighton rehab center for two weeks. I knew this was not enough, After that, I admitted myself into the Sanford house for 44 days of rehab. I was doing well and I was nervous about leaving because I would actually have to start connecting with people at meetings etc. I really wanted to give AA a try so i started attending meetings. I found a sponsor right away who is truly amazing. She has taught me so much and guided me through the steps. I started going to YPAA meetings and connecting with young people in recovery. I have made so many life long friends through all of this. I had finally found a hope that I never thought could exist. I know that this is still early recovery and some people might say it’s my “pink cloud” but I have seen so much God in my life right now. Finally, I feel free and I feel actual Joy and contentment.

Being an Alcoholic and an Addict is an asset to my life. Because without this disease I would not be the strong and hopeful woman I am today, It is so amazing to be able to say I am Proud of me.

Long post. Thanks for reading. If you or anyone you know are struggling with addiction and need some support or an ear. PLEASE do not hesitate to contact in my messages on here.

Thanks again for reading. KEEP COMING BACK IT WORKS IF YOU WORK IT AND IT SUCKS IF YOU DONT

ONE DAY AT A TIME

[colitisandme]

It’s no coincidence that ‘stressed’ is ‘desserts’ spelt backwards. That’s what I typically dived towards when I was stressed or sad. Desserts equaled gluttonous happiness. Whenever I was anxious, I ripped into packets, tubs and cake shaped items with joy and frenzy. Desserts and stress were my bed fellows. They were brilliant friends, hogging all the blankets under the duvet of my life, leaving me cold, plump, hyperactive, covered in sugar and shivering, with no cover on me, cursing the fact I didn’t wear fluffy socks to bed. my mind would whirl away like a washing machine. And so, cold and shivering with my hair on end, looking like a deranged Womble, I would end up seeking something sweet to eat. Instantly after the first mouthful, my hair would become less wild, my thoughts would be less chaotic and I would sink into a pile of sugary blissfulness. So when I had to give up sugar, I was, well stressed irronically.

Stress and worry have followed me around my whole life, from when I was in Primary school right up until present day. It has become such a huge part of my existence, I didn’t feel right unless I was worrying about something or constantly going over things in my brain. Not just tangible thoughts. Nope. My worries consisted about serious things that are going on in the world, my finances, my families happiness, the house, husband wellbeing, friends, have I upset anyone? Am I being a good wife? To other thoughts and worries like; Have I locked the door? Have I turned off the tap? To really helpful thoughts and worries like; ‘I am pretty sure I heard a crunch under my foot when I put out the rubbish? ... Why didn’t I turn the light on? Oh my god was that a snail? What if his family are waiting for him to come home. What if, because he never appears, the mum snail becomes an alcoholic, becomes hooked on nettle wine, and the children forgo their education to look after her. Eventually they leave because she’s just too much to handle, and so, alone and drunk, she sings songs about her lost love, while hiccuping and wailing in a nettle wine stupor ... And it will be all my fault.’ So round and round my thoughts and worries went, until I felt like a hamster on a wheel, running and running and going nowhere. I didn’t vocalise these worries. They were all internal. I just couldn’t switch off.

I beat myself up for anything that goes wrong. Nobody need punish me, I do a great job of that myself. Once when I was very young, I decided that the cat simply had too many whiskers that she didn’t need. Even at aged 5, I reasoned I was doing her a favour and she was probably absolutely fed up with having an even number of whiskers on each side. I was sure that if she could speak she would beg me to reduce her grooming time, as she was taking simply ages to preen her whiskers, tell me stories about when she would get laughed at by all the other cats for having rediculous symmetrically numbered and placed whiskers, and longed to remove herself from mediocrity and boredom. Well I certainly didn’t want her to be a laughing stock. Happy to oblige.... *snip* (I probably should have stopped when the cat tried to scrabble away from me, eyes wide with fright as I confidently strode over to her, gleefully, with arms outstretched looking like Edward Scissor Hands, but never the less I was convinced I was doing her a favour.)

I came downstairs clutching a traumatised, angry cat in one hand, and a pair of scissors and newly trimmed whiskers in another. I proudly showed off the new look to my parents. They were not as open to the new aerodynamic moggy as I had hoped, and freaked. I immediately lost it. I sobbed. I apologised over and over to the cat, I tried glueing her whiskers back on, I stroked her, cuddled her, I was convinced I had ruined her life. I was inconsolable. I spent many days after that setting up a makeshift counselling clinic for my cat, where I would stroke her and make sure she knew what a beautiful cat she was and I told her I was sorry that was going to be lob-sided, and struggle getting in to tiny gaps, and try and make up for what I did by taking extra special care of her. My parents didn’t chastise me, because nothing they could do could make me feel any worse than I did. Even at age 5, I worried a lot.

So you can imagine that as adulthood embraced me, just how easily worrying had become a part of me. As natural as breathing. Stressing about everything became normal. Overthinking was critical to my daily life. I lived each day on high alert, in case I needed to jump into action and fix whatever needed fixing, just like I tried to do with the cats whiskers. I am at my best in a crisis, and god knows I have had many to deal with in my life. I love being Superwoman. I love saving the day. But being in this hyper-alert state was not fun and certainly not healthy.

I became ill after a BIG burnout. I had been playing Superwoman for too long. I had been living on the edge for months, I was always stressed, I wasn’t sleeping, I was in pain, I was withdrawing, I was experiencing horrendous brain fog which was really sodding useful as I had just started an incredibly stressful job, where I would drill myself to be perfect and chastise myself for processing information incorrectly. On top of this I was dealing with a managerie of outside issues. Very quickly and surprisingly, (to me as everyone closest to me would describe me as the strongest person they knew,) my health and mental health imploded like a double whammy firework. I did not know it was coming, but oh my god when it did, I was floored. I had never been so ill. I was scared. I knew that I could not continue doing what I was doing. I needed to change my behaviours. I needed to spring clean my brain. I couldn’t turn to sweet treats anymore to relieve that anxiety because cake or sugar would make my bum explode. I needed to find another less ‘caboom, fire in the hole type way’ to manage my anxieties and stress.

IBD forces me to think purely in the present because I have to spend a huge amount of energy simply functioning. I have to stay in the moment. If I worry or think further past a day/ week it becomes impossible, as I am never sure what one day will look like from the other. Stress hugely exacerbates my IBD symptoms. I learnt this very quickly. The more I worried about why the hell my body was being so unco-operative, the worse my body felt and the more angry it got. And with IBD there is a lot to stress over. Finances, health, stigma of having an invisible illness, work, isolation, diet, questions over future plans etc. It’s a big thing to deal with. It’s enormous. So I worried and got worse and worried and got worse. And so eventually, feeling like I had been kicked by a horse, totally hungry, weak, prone to explode, sugar deprived and looking like a bum with eyes, with my wonderful Mum’s encouragement and support, I came across meditation and mindfulness.

Meditation and mindfulness have helped me manage my stress. After phone calls chasing mental health appointments, referrals and cursing the incompetence of Drs, mental health professionals and admin teams, I turn to mindfulness and meditation as a way of calming my mind. It has taught me to accept things, the way they are during the moment because that may change in the next moment, And be in the moment with it. For example, the pain I get with IBD can feel like your belly is being sawn in half. It feels like a group of can can dancers, jig about on my groin, back and stomach wearing high heels, and using exquisite timing and excellent rhythm, stomp on my intestines, causing me to chew my fist in distress. If I use mindfulness and meditation during painful episodes like this (sometimes whilst crossing my eyes, grinding my teeth and chewing the carpet) it helps me not to fight the pain, but to breathe through it and accept it in the present. When I am anxious, Meditation takes my mind away to another focus in a gentle way, and if my mind wonders off like a hyperactive butterfly, it gently brings it back again. It’s not easy. Sometimes it definitely does not work, but sometimes it does. I have learnt to focus on my breathing, I have trained my brain to change each thought. From a time where the thoughts on a day to day basis felt like they were running around my brain on fire, screaming fire engine noises, wearing a bucket on their head, careering into other thoughts who fanned the flames with a manual citing ‘50 ways to put out a fire’ and can’t work the hose, to a calmer place. One where my thoughts can pick flowers, float in a babbling brook, frolic with fluffy animals and where the fire extinguisher is readily available. Because IBD has forced me to strip everything back in my life, there is no room for extreme stress. No room for high anxiety, because it just hurts me. Physically and mentally. Where as before, I would keep my worries to myself because I didn’t like bothering people with them, now I talk about them, accept the things I cannot change, appreciate things in the moment and change the things I can change. So strangely in that way, IBD has probably saved my life. It’s very strange how things work. I am the most ill I have ever been and should be the most stressed I have ever been, but I can’t be, because that would make me even more ill. Don’t get me wrong it’s still a battle. But I try. I try to appreciate every moment. I appreciate every mouthful of food, and take ages eating it, where as before I would thoughtlessly shovel it in.

I start each day with a mantra and meditation, and even though sometimes Its not effective, I can honestly say that practicing Mindfullness and meditation, are the best stress relievers and stress deterrence I have ever had. They are also the best dessert substitute I have ever had, because meditation doesn’t make my jeans bulge, make me act like an over excited toddler at a birthday party or attract an enthusiastic colony of ants who desire to lick my sugary face. So if like me you are a natural worrier, I urge you to not get so stressed out, you end up gnawing on yourself like an Octopus and try it. Doing a little a day may just take the edge off and sometimes just doing that will help deal with things a little more positively. And when we are living with a long term chronic disease like IBD, being positive, even in the face of a huge challenge like this, is everything.

[bugband]

ooo i'd love to hear abt john's primal scream therapy. spill!

oo hello! there's a lot of tea to spill so i'll do my best to not sound like a babbling idiot. i'm also so surprised at how obscure this period truly is. thinking of that is strange because due to john being an extremely public figure you wouldn't expect many parts of his life to be very obscure at all. before i continue, trigger warnings are included. depression, alcoholism and overall dark themes are mentioned but not too heavily. (i changed my usual aesthetic which is lowercase letters to make looking at this more pleasing to the eyes)

This is gonna be a long one. 

What is primal scream therapy?

 At the time of John’s time in primal therapy, it’d been a new concept developed by Arthur Janov. One of the two subjects that interested John would be his book “The Primal Scream” published in 1970. John was said to have gulped the whole book down in a full sitting. The concept of primal scream therapy is difficult to understand or to even describe for another to fully comprehend what’s being told to them unless one has actually been in the therapy itself (as a person who hasn’t participated in it myself lol it’s difficult to explain). The concept of this particular therapy is to explore and relive your past painful, traumatizing experiences and to realize your own pain. It’s a very upfront way to experience your pain and in a way it could help raise an understanding as to where the pain comes from. In a very half-assed way of explaining it; you cry, you talk and scream in a way that’s referred to as a “primal” as a way to help released bottled up emotions. 

"Well, his thing is to feel the pain that's accumulated inside you ever since your childhood. I had to do it to really kill off all the religious myths. In the therapy you really feel every painful moment of your life -- it's excruciating, you are forced to realise that your pain, the kind that makes you wake up afraid with your heart pounding, is really yours and not the result of somebody up in the sky. It's the result of your parents and your environment…

As I realised this it all started to fall into place. This therapy forced me to have done with all the God shit...... Most people channel their pain into God or masturbation or some dream of making it...... [It's] facing up to reality instead of always looking for some kind of heaven….

"The therapy is like a very slow acid trip which happens naturally in your body. It is hard to talk about, you know, because you feel 'I am pain' and it sounds sort of arbitrary, but pain to me now has a different meaning because of having physically felt all these extraordinary repressions. It was like taking gloves off, and feeling your own skin for the first time. - John  

  John said it the best out of anybody. It’s known as a very controversial thing, this therapy, because it forces you to relive things many people who seek therapy don’t wish to experience again as they possibly tried to block certain past events out and was seen by many as an unjust form of therapy. 

Why was John there?

  John’s reason was primarily his childhood. While his childhood could be discussed in a different place as it’s own lengthy topic, he’d always had a difficult time dealing with the things that had happened in his life. His own form of therapy was numbing; through alcohol and drugs, stimulants to help numb himself and the world around him to current situations he couldn’t handle. John had available outlets to unleash his feelings of hurt and sadness such as Cynthia, but there was a force within himself to keep such feelings to himself. He had a guard built up around himself that he used to protect himself from outside forces such as exposing his inner feelings. This would be his “tough” attitude and aura that he used to not give himself away. The facade. He saw exposure as making him weak. The only times his state of mind or true feelings came out was through anger or destructiveness and through his personal favorite outlet: music. 

"Art is only a way of expressing pain. I mean the reason Yoko does such far out stuff is that it's a far out kind of pain she went through." - John  

  John had gone through much, simply. His uncle’s death- the man who pretty much was John’s surrogate father emotionally and physically-, his mother- and then Stu- all separated by a few years. More people in his life went than an average person would experience in a lifetime. All ripped John apart. John wanted to find out how to live with his own pain and depression and he sought out to this therapy. The main appeal was to unleash so much he’d bottled up, things that were capable of literally driving him mad.

The theory made sense to John. He'd been hurt in his childhood by the rejection of his father and the removal from his mother's care, and his character had been formed by this pain. In order to survive he had to ignore his feelings and live by the code of behavior authorized by his Aunt Mimi. He learned that to act on his feelings was not socially acceptable, and he therefore suppressed them. They would rise to the surface only when he was angry or drunk. The moments in his songwriting that he'd always been most proud of were those when he'd let his feelings dominate-"In My Life," "Help," "Strawberry Fields Forever."

(I didn’t get too detailed with his childhood as that is a conversation of it’s own)

What were the sessions like?

  After reading Janov’s book, John was completely enthralled. While John was living in Tittenhurst, he managed to contact Janov with the interest of participating in the therapy with a few problems standing in their way:

Locations.

  Janov and his therapy was American based. John’d been residing in England at that time meaning either or would have to leave their countries to start the therapy. John’s rights to visit the country hadn’t been great therefore making it difficult for him to leave England. Janov couldn’t leave his patients behind for an extended amount of time. However, that’s what he ended up doing to treat John.

Tittenhurst had a studio being built inside the home (which we saw in completion in 1971). This made upcoming sessions difficult for both Janov and John to focus completely in the therapy.

   The sessions started in April of 1970. Janov soon landed at John’s home and John’s condition at that time even shocked him- a man who’d been confronted with broken people everyday of his life.  

 “When he arrived, Janov was shocked to see John's condition. It was as if he had been through a complete nervous breakdown. He had ended up locking himself in. "He couldn't get out of his house," says Janov. "He couldn't get out of his room. He was in very bad shape. He'd had a lifetime of pain. The drugs he was taking didn't do him much good because they opened him up. After a while his defenses just crumbled. He couldn't function anymore."

"I've rarely seen pain like John's, and I've seen a lot of pain," says Janov. "It was mostly about his mother but quite a bit about Brian (Epstein) that I can't talk about. Also his relationship with Mimi. Mimi had been tough on him, There was almost more pain than you could possibly imagine. It would put him on the floor, and he'd lay there writhing around. He would scream, but he told me that he hadn't known how to scream. Yoko had had to teach him.”  - Janov

It’s a heartbreaking description really. John was severely depressed.

  The therapy sessions continued in LA after April. Janov prompted John to a different hotel than Yoko’s on top of the sessions where they’d be separated and alone many times. As the therapy was still developing, John had been one of the first patients of primal therapy and his sessions were actually quite innovative for the research that went into developing the therapy after him. They’d been videotaped, under John’s reluctant agreement. However, depending on who you might be, it might be disappointing or good that these tapes will never be revealed to the public for confidential reasons. Sadly I cannot go into deep detail about the conversations inside the sessions themselves as those haven’t- and wont,- be revealed due to John’s privacy. However, Janov has spoken generally about what was discussed. We do know for sure that John’s mom Julia was a frequent topic when discussing his childhood. Religion came up on occasions. This is the part where things unfortunately become vague.

 + More about the surroundings here 

When asked about how the therapy was for him, John said this:

 “Part of it was not to self-control yourself, in any way. That included anything so I would just eat and eat and eat. And it was all very well for the mind, but for the body it was terrible. But the idea was, “Well, I am an artist, not a model, so fuck it. I wonder who I try to please .. . ? It was me I was trying to please, I found out; too late, after I’d got about 5 million pounds. And I wore the same clothes for two years. I had two things: a jumpsuit — not a fashionable one; one you get to do the plumbing in. I had two of them. And that’s all I wore for almost two years. In the middle of the Chanuk thing I got fat as hell. I was living on chocolate and Dr. Pepper … I mean, Chanuk was an idiot, but he was not bad. His therapy was good. It was just he was a pain in the neck. So I got big, and I wore the same clothes … I got used to it. I didn’t feel terrible about it, but I didn’t enjoy it. I was a slob.” - John 

  John was always his own harshest critic. He was more self deprecating than insightful to the therapy sessions themselves here.

  Overall, John screamed, John cried, and he felt a great weight come off his shoulders- after a long, long time.

   He’d spent months in therapy but because of John’s immigration, not John’s decision to suddenly leave, forced the therapy to halt. In Janov’s words, they’d opened him up but weren’t able to put him back together again. The therapy was not meant to completely cure John or to “fix” him in any way but the therapy was not meant to be abruptly cut off. 

  John’s first album Plastic Ono Band (which is commonly deemed as his greatest solo work or even one of the greatest albums of all time) was the product of these sessions. John transferred discussions from the therapy to this album as well as aspects of his childhood that make it uncannily like an autobiography where John says “Hi, I’m John Lennon. This is my story.”

(John in the early months of 1971. Photos of him during those summer-fall months of the therapy sessions are hard to come by, if they happen to exist)

well! that does it. apologies for making this answer novel-length but hopefully i didn’t sound like a babbling idiot. 

[babyleclerc]

Just Wait

Pairings: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Style: One-shot

Warnings: Starts out angsty, with some arguing and swearing, but mostly just a fluff piece with a happy ending.

Word Count: 1,583

Summary: A sad Tom doesn’t want you to go out of town for work, which leads from an argument to a much bigger, more important question. Small mention of jealous!Tom over Chris Evans.

A/N: Haven’t written in a while, but this little one-shot popped into my head last night and I just had to bring it to life. :) Enjoy! (Not my gif, obviously)

You had found over the many years with Tom, that it was never good when he was quiet. It meant that every gear in that beautiful head of his was turning. Calculating. Drawing conclusions without merit.

In many ways, you noticed that he paralleled his infamous character Loki. In that, he was calculated, measured, and observant. This was one of those observant times.

So, it was no surprise to you that as you came into your home and began shedding your jacket, Tom’s voice carried across the room barely above a whisper, and cool beyond belief.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

This was a trick question. Any answer you gave was going to feed right into whatever thing he was upset about. Instead of answering directly, you sighed. “Just ask what you actually want to ask, Tom.”

“How is Chris doing these days?”

Balancing on one leg to pull the stiletto off your foot, you chuckled darkly. “Are you serious right now?”

“That’s not an answer.”

You pivoted to remove the stiletto from your other foot. “Tom, it’s been three years. We’ve raised two asshole cats and have been through, like, three major Marvel movies together. You cannot be serious right now.”

“Then why is it that at parties and press functions I always seem to see you with him?”

“We’re friends, Tom. Friends. That’s it.”

“I don’t trust him around you.”

“Tom,” you sighed, yet again, “this seems to be a ‘you’ problem and not a ‘we’ problem. Chris has always been perfectly respectful with me.” Well, kind of. Drunk Chris always brought out a flirty Chris, but it was never harmful. Nothing that Tom needed to know, anyway.

Tom fell silent. You looked up from closing the closet door to see him sitting near the large living room window, rain pattering gently against the pane. Your favorite weather. “Just tell me what’s actually bothering you.” You said quietly, padding across the room.

“You’re leaving.” He said it almost incredulously, as if he didn’t believe it. His typical bright blue eyes seemed almost grey in the darkness. “Again.”

You felt a small but familiar twist in your gut – a hint of guilt and shame.

“It’s only for a little while,” you reassure him softly, joining him by the window. You purposefully sat in from front of him with your back towards him. Pulling your long, dark locks to one side, you expose the zipper of your dress for him to undo. Even in the middle of a fight – er, argument, whatever this was – your routine was so intact that words hardly needed speaking to understand each other.

Instead of unzipping the dress, as he normally would, Tom instead extended his right leg to the side of you so it was straight. You felt his long, lean but strong arms, wrap around your waist as he pulled you gently into him, leaning you against his chest. You felt your breathing relax as his familiar scent consumed your senses and thoughts and your head rolled back to relax on his shoulder. He smelled of sandalwood and soap, with just a hint of vanilla. Your favorite.

“Darling,” He broke the silence, gently kissing the side of your temple, “you vastly underestimate the emotional and tangible impact you have on my life if you think four months is only ‘for a little while’.”  

You could feel your heart breaking with his words as that familiar twist of guilt settled in your stomach for good. Damn Thomas and his ability to wordsmith.

“It’s a good opportunity for me, Tom.” You’d discussed this a thousand times, and felt like a broken record repeating those words.

“But we have good opportunities here.” He murmured softly. The ‘here’ he was referring to was L.A., which was true. However, this was an opportunity to travel abroad – see the world. Tom of all people should understand that.

You sat up gently, twisting your body so that you were facing him. You moved your left leg underneath Tom’s arm, to the side of his torso, and your right leg did the same. If his legs hadn’t been spread apart to accommodate you earlier, you would have been straddling him. Instead, you let your legs hug each side of him, knees bent gently, while his hands again snaked around your waist, holding you there.

You toyed with a stray strand of hair, locking eyes with him. “I’ll be exposed to new clients while I’m abroad, a diversity that L.A. just can’t offer.” Your hand strayed across his chiseled cheek, a small smile forming as you felt his rough stubble. “We’ll see each other while I’m traveling and you’re in London.” You kissed his jaw lightly.

“Only sparingly,” He noted and pulled you closer, so your torsos were touching. You didn’t feel the need to say anything, his heart and yours seemed broken enough. After years of long distance, you would be the first to admit that it was getting tiresome. The second Tom caught a break in filming; it seemed that your work made up for it by having double the travel. And when your work was slow, Tom was exhaustingly busy. It was a never-ending, tiresome circle.

You tried to lighten the mood. “Just look at it this way, if I didn’t leave so often, you wouldn’t miss me as much.”

“Or you could just stop leaving me.” He said quietly, his blue orbs piercing yours intently. You stiffened slightly as your heart picked up its pace.

“What, like, quit work?”

For the first time that night, Tom laughed. It was a wonderful sound. “No, darling,” he then kissed your nose as your brows furrowed. A common practice with Tom. “Marry me.”

It was your turn to laugh, “You’re joking, right?”

Without saying anything, he kissed the side of your head, stood, and walked towards the bedroom. Shit, did I offend him? You wondered to yourself, I probably shouldn’t have laughed.

“Tom?” You called out nervously, moving from the sofa. Not half a second later, he had returned, hands in his pockets.

“Stay there,” he commanded gently. You sat back down, facing him. “You look beautiful against the moonlight.”

Tom unbuttoned the jacket of his suit, and pulled out a small, black box from his pocket. As he neared you, you felt your heart pacing, thoughts reeling, stomach churning. Was he serious? “Y/N, you are, without a doubt, the most incredible, kind, generous, and caring person I have ever met.” Tom paused as he kneeled on one knee, the black box resting on his thigh. He looked up at you, his beautiful blue orbs glowing in the moonlight. “When I’m with you, my thoughts become cloudy. All I can think about is how empty I am when you are gone. And when I’m without you, all I can think about is how much happier I am when you’re here.”

“Yes.” You interrupted him, not even hesitating. Tom chuckled – you always had to have the first word where you could.

“Sweetheart, you haven’t even seen the ring yet.”

“I don’t care,” you say defiantly, though your voice shook and the tears falling from your eyes betrayed your confidence.

Tom smiled at you, “Just let me finish.” He opened the box, to reveal a gorgeous scintillating double halo of brilliant diamonds, wrapped around a striking cushion-cut center stone. You audibly gasped – it was everything you could have ever wanted in a ring.

“Tom, I-“

He raised his eyebrows at you, “Ah, ah, what did I say? Let me finish.” You shut your gaping mouth and didn’t know what view was more beautiful: a suit-clad Tom on one knee, with a diamond ring in front of you, or the ring itself, resting beautifully against its’ velvet black cushion. “As I was saying, I am nothing without you, my love. All of this life, this world, everything I have built, it means nothing to me if I can’t have you by my side. Please, darling, make me the happiest man on Earth by saying yes.”

“Yes!” You half scream, jumping off the couch to stand in front of him, no longer caring about the tears streaming down your cheeks.

Tom laughed again, “Just let me ask you the question, dear. Y/N,” He paused, looking from the ring and back up into your wonderful, warm, beautiful eyes. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes, yes, yes! A thousand times, yes!” You finally crashed into him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you embraced him tight, knocking him over in the process so you both fell to the ground, smothering his neck in kisses, as you both became a tangle of limbs, laughs, and tears. Tom laughed without mercy as he engulfed you in his warm embrace, shifting so he was straddling you while you laid down on your back.

He pulled the ring from the box as you held out your left hand in anticipation of the beautiful ring that was about to adorn it. “One half of me is yours,” he began, quoting Shakespeare. He kissed your ring finger, and then slid the ring smoothly on, “The other half yours.” He kissed the top of your hand, “Mine own, I would say;” he whispered against your skin, dragging his lips along your arm until he reached your shoulder, “But if mine, then yours,” He kissed your shoulder, then worked his way along your neck, showering you with kisses until he reached your lips. “And so all yours.”

 Fin.