#but look me in the eye and tell me -guilty as charged- isnt a fucking -slippery when wet- tour reference

[manyothermusingsofmine]

"Drifting what do you think Klavier's music is like?"

[strayruway]

hi! first time really posting anything i made! this is gonna be entirely self indulgent angst cuz id not been feeling so great the past couple days when i initially started this like a year agoo.... might add to it and make a part 2/ actually complete it if anyone asks/ if motivation for this specific snippet pops up again, but either heres some angst✨

cw: mentions of sh, su!c!dal thoughts, angst with comfort!! gn!reader

-

they found them.

kirishima has a guilty but deeply saddened and worried expression. bakugo cant even look at you hes so pissed, but the way he clenches his jaw and glares at the wall so intensely speaks volumes in his own way.

You were searching for your notebook, the one filled with loose-leaf thoughts and writings, most less pleasant than others. As you were about to give up searching your dorm, the door burst open and Kirishima was trying to hold a fuming Bakugo back, but to no avail. Bakugo stormed in anyway, holding your notebook. Your stomach dropped in time with the way he slammed the papers on your bed.

all you could do was watch as he glared at it with an expression youve never seen before. he stomped over to your desk, crossed his arms, and leaned back against it. kirishima was frantically trying to stop him, hushed, urgent whispers telling him to be nice, or how they should apologize, nervously glancing between you and bakugo as he pleaded and begged the blond to calm down. every time his eyes met yours, there was this look of desperation and sympathy. ‘my heart goes out to you. forgive us.’ the flickers of his red eyes meeting yours is only for a split second, guilt gnawing at him and eating him inside out to turn back to bakugo to try again with increasing urgency.

bakugoss eyes meet yours for a second. a fleeting moment of him searching your face, before turning to look back out the balcony window with a click of his tongue. and just like that, kirishima knows hes lost, which brings us to now.

there isnt a doubt in your mind they read your musings. each one worse and more concerning the last. theres a reason you didnt show them. you all have hero training. youre just being stupid and just need to get over yourself. you dont have time to feel sorry for yourself. so what, it bubbles over and stains your skin? so what your pages reek of ink and copper from bleeding your heart out on them? forget it. dont cause a scene. youre just being dramatic.

“the fuck is all that”, bakugo grunts softly. well, soft for his standards. its still rough and mean, but the bite his words usually carry is more of a nip. its not so much his voice, but rather the question itself that nearly makes you flinch. kirishima catches your reaction and tries to intervene.

“Kats-“ “shut the fuck up, shitty hair! Answer the damn question, mutt!”, Bakugo snarls, once at kirishima, swatting him away, and then at you, his rage finally surfacing.

‘helpless’ is the word that flashes in your head when you catch the look in his eyes. a blazing fury of fear. “what the hell do you take me for, hah?!”, he demands, voice threatening to crack, and fists trembling at his sides.

‘im supposed to be the one in charge and looking after you, or am i not your leader? if you have an issue, come to me. its my job to keep you safe. is it not my job? am i not enough? why didnt you reach out?’ is what that translates to. ‘i want to help.’

“the fuck is that shit talking about, huh?! ‘im not enough’? ‘useless’?? ‘worthless’?!”, he echoes your writings and you just wanna curl up and let the ground swallow you whole “no, you dont get to try and hide from me. i already read that shit and were fucking talking about it now”, he hisses, lip curled in a snarl when you try to shrink away, trying to hide how bad you wanna cry.

kirishima catches the way you bite your lip and eyes water, and he rushes to your side, pulling you into a tight hug “bakugo, be nice, dude. i mean it”, he says holding you close. with your head held to his chest, you can feel his heart pound, and how hes activated his quirk just enough to keep steady. the blond growls at him defiantly, but ultimately clicks his tongue and crosses his arms, leaning back against your desk, unable to look at you.

“he means well...”, kirishima tries to reassure you. the redhead holds you close, one arm around your shoulders, his other hand rubbing circles on your back. you can hear and feel him search for words to say, but what does one say to a person after having stumbled on a collection of suicide poem after suicide poem?

kirishimas heart clenches and he holds you tighter. “please know you’re not alone”, he murmurs into your hair after a moment. 

+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

[perlapulido]

Fired Up

Summary: Lexi has been know around Hell as another employee with a temper when she's pushed over the edge. Just wait until she meets the King of Wrath.

Ch6

Lexi had everything ready in her bag as Ozzy was stepping out of the shower. She sat on the couch waiting by reading the newspaper about anything really. "Pee on my foot and get whacked by the paper." Said Lexi hearing a bark. Lexi rolled up the paper swatting the tiny black helldog on the rear lightly. She looked at him growled charging at her but was swatted again on the snout making him bark angrily. "What are you doing to my babies?" Said Fizz walking out of the Dogs room. "Larry tried to pee on my foot so i hit him twice." Said Lexi hearing Fizz dramatically gasped. "Youre a monster." Said Fizz. "Hey if i had dog. I train it unlike you." Said Lexi. "Youre training them like Harley Quinn amd her hyenas." She says. "I dont know who she is or do i care." Said Fizz. "Shes a character fro-nevermind. Just put a diaper on them or give them to the employees if youre leaving them." Said Lexi going back to her paper. Larry bit into her shoe not letting go once Lexi started shaking him off. "Get him off or hes get the cold bath." Said Lexi making Larry yelp in fear letting go and running away. "Again. Monster. Larry come to daddy. Im sure that bitch didnt mean it." Said Fizz going after him. "Yes i did and they all know it!" Said Lexi. "Okay lets go before we are late." Said Ozzy dressed in his best suits. Lexi followed him to the portal seeing they enter a large cave that resembles a courtroom with flames everywhere along with floating rocks including the candles. She then sat down Ozzys shoulder once he got into his seat next to Beelzebub who was a brightly colorful hellhound with her hair and tail moving on its own in the air. "Who's the cutie here?" Said Beelzebub seeing Lexi. "My assistant/chef/roommate Lexi." Said Ozzy. "You have a sinner working for you? Isnt that interesting?" Said Beelzebub. "Im innocent. Really. I never done any crimes beside blowing my home with me and ex on purpose." Said Lexi. "Everyone will be here soon. Remember your places." Said a demon with wings flying around wearing a long robe. "Yogirt. Satan's therapy guy." Said Ozzy to Lexi.

Lexi hummed while taking her laptop out then saw a huge dragon demon landing in front row where the overloads sit. She watch him look around making everyone was where they supposed to be before landing his four yellow eyes on her. Ignoring his intense gaze Lexi set her laptop to write the notes Ozzy wants her to put down. "Alright lets get the trial started. Bring in the defendant." Said Satan sitting down on his throne. He watched and listen to the trail with his fist resting his shape jaw looking uninterested. This went on for some time as Lexi was typing notes down with Ozzys heads glancing her way. Lexi listened in adding own notes on her laptop and looked at the defendant. "How you doing?" Said Ozzy. "Legs are numb but i can manage." Said Lexi. "What about your kind here?" Said Satan looking at Lexi. "Is it right to commit the act of over powering" "Sorry to interrupt but obviously for sinner such as myself would know when not to cross the line in someones current position. If they did commit it without regret then its no ones fault but theirs and have Karma bite them in the ass." Said Lexi. "Seriously?!" Said the male defendant. "Ozzy." Said Lexi looking at him. "No. We know how you get you fuck someone up." Said Ozzy. "Got it boss." Said Lexi going back on her writing. She even checked her emails that were coming in as the trial continues with Satan losing his temper for a moment that didnt faze her one bit. "Theres a big uh oh." Said Lexi. "What?" Said Ozzy. "Something about your new product fucking up." Said Lexi. "Tell what you have to tell them in my words." Said Ozzy as Lexi typed. "This court ends by this guilty defendant's execution." Said Satan. "Please! No. Help me." Said the defendant before being placed on the platform looking at Lexi. "You got yourself into this not me, dumbass!" Said Lexi raising her voice loud enough create on echo. "Lexi." Said Ozzy as Satan looked at Lexi. "Im not pissed just making a point." Said Lexi shutting her laptop. She slid off Ozzys shoulder while holding her bag tightly so her laptop wont break and did her leg exercises to get her blood flowing.

Turning away focusing her thing from seeing the axe being raised and slammed down to decapitate the defendant. "Nice job Lexi." Said Ozzy. "I think so too besides not feeling my legs." Said Lexi walking to him. "Do you want me to cook you anything while deal with your manufacturing problem?" She asked. "Surprise me and please and dont start anything." Said Ozzy opening the portal in front of Lexi. Lexi jumped through the blue flames landing in front in the penthouse finding it very quiet. She walked into the dogs room seeing the dogs playing and went to the master bedroom hearing music and Fizz humming his theme song. Lexi let him be going through the cookbook seeing a good recipe but dont have the ingredients. "Fizz im going grocery shopping." said Lexi going to her room putting her laptop away. She grabbed her purse walking out heading down to the elevator hitting the lobby button going to the break room seeing two employees about to take their lunch. "I need a ride to the grocery store for Asmodeus' dinner date." said Lexi using one of her lies to get around. "Alright." said the male coworker getting up waking out with her. "Thanks Mick." said Lexi smiling. She got in the car with him going to the closest store that she goes to having Mick wait for her to come back since he has a smoke. Grabbing a cart Lexi walked around doing her shopping then headed to the wine section making some decisions to go with the dinner. "Looney grab us some milk and get yourself something. Oh its you." said Blitz turning the corner seeing Lexi. "Hey fuckhead." said Lexi not looking at him. "Wheres that whore friend of yours?" said Blitz. "IM some what alone. Now go away for get your ass kicked." said Lexi turning her head looking at him. "Who are you with then?" said Blitz. "Why do you care? Are you ready to bang them?" said Lexi walking away to the next aisle. "Im not a hooker if that what your implying." said Blitz following her. "Are you here to bother me or shopping with Loona?" said Lexi. "Thats my business of what im doing." said Blitz reaching for the mat i  Lexi's cart. Lexi pulled out her pepper spray getting in the eyes and mouth walking away from the fumes heading to checked out hen saw Mick toss the butt of his cigarette to the ground helping load the bags in the back seat seeing it want much. She made sure none of the stuff were ruined then paused feeling a hand on her butt turning around fast to punch Mick in the face breaking his nose. "Do that again and all your fingers are next?!" Lexi screamed ignoring Mick's cries of pain. "Now stop being a whiny bitch and get in!" she yelled snatching his kesy going in shutting the door seeing Yogirt flying away which she didnt think too much as Mick got in groaning. Lexi rolled her eyes speeding off back to the penthouse pulling in [ark taking the bags on her own whole the employees went to Mick and other moved out of Lexi's way know that it wasnt the first time she hit someone like this.

[lunarmothmann]

finally watched the roller coaster safety tutorial so here were my thoughts throughout

~OBVIOUSLY SPOILERS FOR RIDE THE CYCLONE IF YOU HAVENT SEEN IT BUT I HIGHLY RECOMMEND IT~

- VIRGIL. HE PLAYS BASS. I LOVE HIM.

(its a bit of a mess so bear with me)

- how the hell did they make Jane look headless in the intro, thats so cool

- the expressions on everyone's faces when Jane is introduced is hilarious

- OCEAN AND HER WHITE GIRL DANCE MOVES

- i hate that they got rid of Ocean's riff at the end of What The World Needs

- Karnak is the expert of giving information just a little too late

- BORTHDAY.

- "your cousin was in grade 4, he had to get his stomach pumped" is unironically funny

- GIVE JANE A HUG ISTG SHE HAS HER ARMS HELD OUT AND EVERYTHING

- i think Noel might be a masochist, just saying-

- Noel's life is honestly really sad. I feel so bad for him

- NOT HIM CALLING OCEAN A SUCCUBUS LMAO

- ngl he makes the dress work

- MISCHA??? HELLO??? THATS KINDA FRUITY

- that chair is a paid actor bc its been through so much in just this number alone

- HELP CONSTANCE TRYING TO GET AWAY FROM JANE IS SO FUNNY

- "not in my Bible, baby. BONSOIR" I am struggling so hard to keep my composure while typing

- THE HIP THRUST WHEN OCEAN SAYS "teen sex KILLS"

- THE PORN MUSIC. HELP ME IM DYING OUT HERE

- "im not mad at you, im just frequently disappointed" you know what I felt that

- I dont agree with them saying Mischa as the angriest boy in town, he was just mistreated and had a hard life :( he has so many nice moments with the other kids

- OCEAN AND HER FAN THAT ISNT EVEN TURNED ON-

- seeing Mischa talk abt Talia makes me so sad

- Talia is such an underrated song, this makes me wanna sob

- idk why but Ocean touching Mischa's cheek at the start of Talia did something to me I cannot explain

- the projections are making this so emotionally distressing to watch

- THEN THE FUCKING UPBEAT POP SECTION

- CONSTANCE'S GUILTY LOOK AT THE VIRGIN LINE

- oh god here comes Space Age Bachelor Man

- DID RICKY STICK HIS FINGER IN OCEAN'S MOUTH????

- what the hell i am so uncomfortable

- I hate those cat masks so much

- "it gets weird" ITS BEEN WEIRD WHAT

- WHAT IS HE WEARING. im not even gonna talk abt the fake abs.

- this choreography is so sexually charged and im so confused

- Jane makes me so unbelievably sad why cant they treat her better

- no comments, just The Ballad of Jane Doe.

- ok one comment, the ACTING. the VOCALS. ITS ALL PERFECT.

- THE BIRTHDAY SCENE IS SO SWEET LIKE THEY ARE TRYING TO MAKE JANE FEEL BETTER

- the new birthday song 🥺

- Jane's little sway aww

- BORTHDAY PT 2

- Savannah with the greenest eyes 😭

- THE BOOB PUNCH. "you just punched me!! in the freakin boob!!"

- Constance's favorite ride was the one that killed her :(

- IM SORRY CONSTANCE DID WHAT?

- THE TATTOO WAS WHAT????

- oh no this is so sad

- the impromptu dance moves during sugar cloud bc they arent being controlled by Karnak are so cute

-Ocean's white girl dance moves pt 2

- RECORDER SOLO WOOHOO

- OCEAN SOUNDS SO BROKEN WHEN KARNAK TELLS HER ITS HER DECISION TO MAKE THE FINAL VOTE

- "you knew all along I couldn't do it" "what?" "choose myself" IM DYING OUT HERE HELP

- "id gladly take my seventeen years over nothing" WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME

- the sad little "democracy rocks"

- is the video meant to show Jane's life as she crosses over? or is it just showing imagery of life overall bc of the theme of this show

- It's Just a Ride after everything I just witnessed is like a punch in the gut

- they seem so happy :,)

- im in physical pain over this show.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Secrets 8

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape; grossness on Bucky’s part; Steve’s an asshole.

This is dark!Bucky and dark!Steve and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Notes:

Well it took me long enough. Like who the fuck do I think I am?

I love you all, I thank you for your patience and feedback as always! Please don’t shy away in the comments, reblogs, etc.

warning graphics by @its-just-may​

The next day, you waited outside the doors of the palace. Several cars lined up for your departure. You were to travel to the capital a day before your engagement celebration and spend an interminable night dreading it.

The security which had not been so obvious before made your previous thoughts of flight seem ridiculous. Men in suits with earpieces and immoveable sneers supervised the cluster of servants as they loaded the vehicles. You had tried to help, tried to carry a single bag down to the winding drive, but Barnes has ripped it from your grasp and handed it off.

"A duchess, let alone a queen, does not carry her own luggage," he snipped before he turned his attention back to directing the chaos.

So you stood, helpless and impatient for a journey you reviled, eyeing the tall iron wrought gate that crested the grand brick enclosure of the palace grounds. You peered around warily. You might be the one culpable for the upheaval but you surely didn't feel noticed.

You wiggled your foot and slowly took a step to the side. You gauged the reaction of the employees; the servants in their plain garb and the guards in their black suits. You took another. You searched for the man in charge of it all. Barnes must have been within.

You edged along the line of the cars, sending fertive glances to the mechanism that latched the gate doors closed. You turned so that your back faced the bars and bent your arm behind you to feel around. You traced the keyhole with your thumb. Could you pick it? The brooch on your dress with your alleged house arms might do the trick.

You drew your hand back and fiddled with the pin. Maybe…

"You can't walk all the way to the capital." Barnes made you jump as he approached from the other side of the row of cars. "Especially not in those shoes."

"I was only stretching my legs before we go," you shrugged and dropped your hand from the gold pin with the falcon's head.

"Sure," he scoffed and crossed his arms as he turned to stand shoulder to shoulder with you and watch the laborious scene, "You're a bad liar. The king doesn't like liars."

"Well, from all you've said, there isnt much he likes," you rolled your eyes.

"He is… selective." Barnes snickered, "Besides, I'll try to put in a good word for you."

"A good word?" You sneered. 

"There are parts of you that one cannot hate," he leered over at you and his hand twitched.

Your stomach knotted and you sidled away from him. You crossed your arms and huffed. Since the fitting, he had not again attempted to molest you but he could make you feel as if he had with only a look. And somehow, you felt guilty for it. As if you had welcomed it, as if you should feel you'd betrayed your future husband, as unwanted as he was.

"That he chose you to represent him tells me all I need to know about him," you snarled. "How much longer?"

"Not very," he smirked and pulled his jacket taut and smoothed the front, "Are you so eager to be alone with me?"

You looked at him with blatant spite. You shook your head and stormed away from him. You would wait out the last of your time at Regia in solace. It might be the last chance at peace you had.

👑

You sat in the car listlessly watching the green landscape of Astrania's countryside pass by. Brookham, formerly Brooke's Loft, the capital, was hours away. It gave you only a short time to ready yourself mentally. Even after weeks with Barnes, you didn't quite feel prepared for the king. All you heard of Steve Rogers lent little benefit to the doubt. 

You checked your nails and shifted on the leather seat. The manicure, the waxing, the plucking, the pulling and prodding of the last few days made you feel like a doll. You were being manufactured to be offered to the king. A man who rarely worked, let alone, asked for what he got. It was just given to him.

You sighed and dropped your hand down beside you but it was caught before it hit the leather. You looked over as Barnes raised your hand and ran his thumb along your fingers. He smirked and gazed at you smugly as he brought his lips to your knuckles.

"I know I've been tough on you but you really do make a fine duchess," he said.

"Enough," you tried to pull away but his grip was firm, "you have no shame. Your king is waiting as you try to feel up his bride."

"Feel you up?" He snickered, "not at all," he shoved your hand into his lap and held it there. "To the contrary, actually."

"Stop," you hissed and yanked helplessly as he held your palm to his twitching bulge, "the king--"

"I'll tell him myself," he slipped his arm around you and drew closer, "he'd probably get a good laugh out of it, too."

"Take a goddamn hint and leave me alone," you snarled as you balled your hand around his crotch, trying to sink your nails through his pants. He squeezed your wrist harshly to keep your from clamping down fully.

"Duchess, we were both present yesterday and both heard everything you've been repressing," he leaned and crushed you against the door, "I couldn't stop thinking about that noise… ooooohhhh."

He mimicked your moans and you grimaced in disgust. You hit his shoulder and wriggled against him as he bent back your fingers and rubbed against your hand. His breath caught as his groans deepened and turned carnal. He wasn't mocking you anymore.

"Get the fuck off of me," you kicked out between his legs, "what the fuck--"

"Still haven't fixed that mouth," he rasped, "but that'll just make this even more fun."

"Get off!" You pulled your knee up fast and caught the underside of his crotch.

He hissed and fell away from you as he cradled the front of his trousers. He snarled as his blue eyes seared into you meanly.

"I said stop," you clasped your hands as they felt grimy from the forced touch.

He chuckled darkly and sat up. His jaw ticked and he cleared his throat as he shifted on the leather. 

"Duchess," he said curtly, "are you so intent to face this all without an ally?"

"I already am," you crossed your arms, "don't touch me again."

"Right," he reached to his belt and unbuckled it, "I don't need to touch."

He pushed open his pants and shoved his hands into his briefs. He stroked himself as his voice scratched his his throat, the motion stretching the fabric taught so you could see the outline of his hand over his dick, the tip poking out past the elastic. You looked out the window in horror and pressed yourself to the door.

"Someone's gotta take care of this," he gristled.

"You're disgusting," you kept your eyes averted.

"Oh yes, but I promise," his breath puffed between words, "you will prefer me to him."

👑

The palace was as prepared and pristine as your former abode. It was a relief to be free of the backseat which Barnes had made certain to make it as unbearable as everything else to that point. You could still hear his voice, still feel the low rumble. He made you feel as gross as his offense.

He was however painfully correct. You had no companion in your plight. You left your mother behind out of spite and your regret was now all too palpable. After all, she had been in your shoes once, she knew exactly how you felt.

You were still mad though. At everyone. At her. At Barnes. At this stranger you hadn't even met yet.

A knock came at the door. You didn't wonder who it was, you knew. You didn't bother getting up as Lord Barnes let himself in, a garment bag slung over his shoulder. 

"Tailored to your… content," he dropped the bag over the chaise, "you don't have much time left, duchess."

"I will change on my own," you avoided looking at him, "you can go."

"Aww, don't be salty because you passed up your chance," he snickered, "it would've been lots of fun."

"Mmm," you grumbled, "please just let me gather what sanity I have left to deal with your prick king. Really, if you're the company he keeps, I can be certain of a long and miserable life."

"Don't be so optimistic, duchess," he chided, "now go on and get your dress on. We are expected early, it is after all your party."

You huffed and stood. You swiped up the dress and stormed away into the attached restroom. You slammed the door as you heard the weight of him cause the floor to creak softly. You unzipped the bag and wrenched out the red fabric.

"You know, I would be all too happy to skip this shit show," you called through the door as you tossed the hanger, "if you insist on making this some shotgun wedding, we can throw away all the pretenses. I'd be just as happy at some redneck ceremony with camouflage and hotdog casserole."

You shimmied into the dress and bent your arm painfully to zip it up. The hair, styled by some flighty woman who preceded the lord, was slightly askew from your struggle. You fixed a pin and the dress as you checked your reflection.

"I don't buy into his whole act, you know? His reformed choir boy schtick," you ranted as your tore open the door in search of your shoes, "That asshole--"

You stopped short as you found a second figure in the room. A blue jacket with tasseled shoulders across his figure and a high collar that lent an imperial frame to his austere expression. The king stood with a smirking Barnes but his expression was not as amused as his cohort.

"Yes? This… asshole," he enunciated the word crisply, "is waiting. Has been waiting on you, duchess."

You didn't flinch. You refused to. The triteness of his tone, the tension on his square jaw, the stance of indignation, it assured you of every doubt and presumption. You'd only expediated the inevitable. You were never going to get along with a pompous jerk like him.

"Oh yeah, about time, isn't it?" You said flippantly, "suppose it's easier to have your little page boy do your dirty work."

"Watch yourself," Barnes warned as his grin fell.

"Barnes," Steve raised his hand to quiet him, "I will deal with her. She is after all to be my wife, so let us set a clear precedent." 

He neared slowly and his lip curled slightly. His eyes crept down to the rich red of your dress and his brows arched.

"Regardless of our union, you will address me properly. I am 'your majesty'. Not prick, not asshole, not whatever peasantry you can come up with," he tilted his head as anger throbbed in his forehead, "am I clear, duchess?"

You glared back at him defiantly. You swallowed and forced a sour smile.

"Why, your majesty, forgive me," you said in a dry sweet tone, "I did not mean to offend your royal ego."

Your eyes flicked down as you sensed movement and his hand balled to a fist at his side, drawing taut his pale glove. His teeth gritted as you returned your gaze to his face.

"Let us not start like this. We have both waited so long," he almost whispered as his irritation constricted his throat, "I think this event is a perfect chance for us to acquaint ourselves with one another so let it not be a continuation of this."

He gestured between you and himself. You scoffed and glanced over at Barnes. He stood rigid and alert as he watched his king. His eyes met yours and he gave a resigned look.

"No, don't look at him. I am the king. Your king," he grabbed your chin roughly, "he can't do anything for you. As it stands, he seems to have done as much for me."

You blinked and squirmed, unable to free yourself of his tight grasp. He caught the back of your neck and forced you close, his hands scarily large as they entrapped you.

"I want no missteps in this appearance and don't think I won't correct them myself," he sneered, "if you think Lord Barnes is a strict teacher, then you are wholly unprepared for me…" he let you go roughly, almost shoving you away from him, "my love."

You blanched and steadied yourself. You kept from touching where he'd held you as he spun on his heel and pointed at Barnes.

"Get her ready and bring her," he ordered, "we will discuss later."

Barnes rushed to open the door for the king and watched him stride into the hall. You quietly took the black pumps from beside the chaise and sat to put them on. You felt his case as the door shut quietly.

"I tried to tell you," he said.

"Oh shut up," you snapped as you stood, "he's exactly what I expected."

[stonedandemo]

"Never Enough Time"

Kenma x GN!Reader angst

TW: amnesia, drugs and alcohol mention, cursing, fighting, hospital mention, drunk driving, mentions of cheating

Time

Kenma was never one for people. It's not that he hated them, it's just sometimes they were overwhelming. They come and go, so often that he just stopped bothering to remember them and sort of just let them be.

Everyone except for Kuroo and someone named Y/N yet he wasn't sure why they stuck around for so long.

Kenma wasnt that understanding of why they never seemed to leave. Though he didn't mind, he was positive they would sooner or later. And yet that factor, It also scared him.

He could never remember the faces of those who left but he knew. He knew from the emptiness inside. It was terrifying knowing that everytime they came around he felt so much better.

"Hey Kenma, how you feeling?" There they were again. Y/N having entered his room followed by his supposed childhood friend Kuroo.

"You always ask me that" Kenma replied with a frown. He could never remember there faces, only there voice. When he tried, all he got was a blurred image of a poor attempt to imagine your features.

"And every single time, you say your fine" You replied with a quietly chuckle to his nonchalant tone. You appeared to be pretty used to his antics after all.

"Thats because I am" He grumbled, crossing his legs, listening to the beeps of hospital machines. Kenma had long forgotten the time that had passed since he had been in here.

Told that apparently he had gotten into a car accident, damaging a part of his brain that allowed him to remember those in his social circle.

But apparently, the two who consistently visited were people quite close to him.

He always got the same dream every night. He supposed it was a rememberance of the accident, a memory he could recite like the back of his hand if asked to.

Place

Kenma remembers where it all started, having gotten into an argument with someone. There face was blurred, like a fog that he just couldnt seem to wipe away.

"Kenma how many times do I have to tell you! Me and tet@$#$ have nothing going on!" The blur exclaimed.

Kenma had been drunk that night, drinking as to kill the painful feeling in his chest. But it made him angry.

It made him spiteful, and now here he was arguing with this figament that he just couldnt put a face too. He swears he recognizes that voice, the name on the tip of his tongue.

"@$#@ I dont know why your acting as if you dont in fact fuck my best friend! Ive seen how you look at one another! What do you whore yourself out to the rest of my friends to?!" It was the insecurity speaking, you both knew it.

But the moment was too heated for it to be truly acknowledged that he didnt mean what he said. And he was just to out of it to comprehend the backlash and consquences soon to follow from his words.

"Kenma you dont mean that"

"But I do! You want to prove to yourself so bad that you arent some slut but you are!" Kenma argued angrily. Shoulders shaking with such intensity that he was positive you could see it.

"Get the fuck out of my house. I dont let whores sleep under my roof"

"Kenma!" The voice exclaimed with pain wrapped behind it. The use of his name made his heart pang with frustration that they just couldnt seem to get the hint.

He pointed to the door, he didnt need to see the blurred face to know there were tears streaming down. The door slammed shut, and he was left alone again. The sound of the car being heard exiting his driveway and onto miyagi streets.

Kenma scoffed, opening a drawer he swore he'd never open again, popping out a cigarette. Lighting it up with shaky fingers, to take a long drag. Slowly exhaling smoke.

The pudding head decided to go for a drive. Sober, he knows that driving in this condition is just plain stupid, and reckless. But common sense wasnt something Kenma had in this very moment.

He pulled out of the driveway, and set out on the road. He had a few things he wanted to say to his friends face for sleeping with his lover.

He didnt make it far, maybe half the distance necessary before tears began to fog his view.

The heartache setting in, before a sob rumbled from his throat. Kenma lost control and crashed.

And now here he was. He didnt know where his phone lay, the hospital saying it was apparently broken and unusable. Though now that he was pondering it, he decided to ask the two a question.

"Do you guys know why the person I argued with isnt here?" Kenma asked quietly. Wondering if maybe they may carry a different answer. Had they broken up? He doesnt remember breaking up, but there was alot of things he couldnt recall at the moment.

Though based on there expressions they knew something. Kenma felt his whole world stop when he listened to there next words.

"...Well Kenma, it was... its me. You thought tetsuro.. also known as Kuroo" He watched as you gestured to the rooster haired male. "was someone I was sleeping with and-"

"Get out" He whispered, eyes dilated with fury. They knew, YOU knew. And said nothing, despite being aware he suffered with amnesia.

"Kenma please-" You started but we're quickly cut off by him.

"Shut up and get out. You knew, and you didnt say anything" His eyes narrowed, watching the guilt flash over your features.

Getting up, his eyes watched kuroo slowly file out, holding the same guilty expression.

"Before you go, answer me this, did you really cheat on me?" He whispered meekly.

Looking into your eyes, watching as you pulled out his cracked phone. Charged and alive.

With pursed lips, you took a deep breath, and nodded. "Yes, Kozume I did." and left.

Leaving him with a broken heart, tears streaming down his cheeks as he looked down at the screenshots, proving your guilt.

[pseudophan]

can you tell us the summary of your love of your lives case? I don’t wanna watch the video I don’t have the patience to watch it

it's such a complicated case but in short(ish):

1993 in west memphis arkansas, three eight year old boys go missing and are later found murdered in the woods. the community is freaking the fuck out and because it's 1993 small town arkansas and satanic panic is sweeping the nation people go ITS SATANISM IT WAS A SATANIC RITUAL and the police keep interviewing this 18 year old named damien echols because he was into witchcraft and listened to metallica and wore all black (genuine points brought up in court like this is what the entire case is built on). im skipping some details here cause its all oh so convoluted but basically they eventually interrogate a 17 year old named jessie miskelley jr who confesses to the crime and implicates damien and damien's best friend jason baldwin (16, looks about 11). so then ofc they all get arrested

issue is: jessie is a minor with a reported iq of 72 and they interrogated him non stop for 12 hours with no parent or attorney present (his dad agreed to let them speak to him but they didnt tell him it was an interrogation) and less than an hour of it was recorded. jessie claims the cops coerced him into his confession and even on the 40 something minutes of interrogation we do have available to listen to you can hear the cops just continuously leading him on like theyll ask when this happened and he says a time and they go no the kids were in school then it was later wasnt it and he's like yeah it was [later time] and theyre like no it was around 8 wasnt it? and hes like yeah yeah it was then and it goes on like that foreverrrrr

ok im getting into too much detail here im sorry theres so much more anyway anyway TRIALS HAPPEN and its all a whole bunch of bullshit and hbo recorded it all for hit documentary paradise lost (watch it) and hhhooooooly shit!

theres way too much to talk about w the trial but besides everyone being fucking cracked and damien being a smartass and the judge looking bored out of his goddamn mind throughout the whole thing (FUCK that judge) one notable part that didnt come out until later is that during jury selection this one guy was hell bent on getting on the jury cause he wanted them convicted and not only was he let on the jury he became the jury foreman which goes against like every law cause juries are supposed to go into court with no preconceived notions of what happened. also jessie had a separate trial cause he wouldnt testify against jason and damien which means his "confession" wasnt admissible in their trial and the jury werent allowed to consider it, but the jury actively discussed the confession while making their decision (jury members have said they did + it was written on their goddamn whiteboard) which. h

ANYWAYYY so jessie and jason get life in prison without the possibility of parole and damien gets sentenced to death. damien is 19 at this point with a newborn baby. jason isnt even 18.

so then they go away and the documentary paradise lost comes out and everyone collectively loses their goddamn fucking minds cause how the fuck did this happen they didnt even have a single piece of actual evidence except a piece of hair that MAY match damien but also its the early 90s and they dont actually have a fucking clue

years go by, everythings happening so much, their appeals get shot down one by one cause its the same fucking judge and ofc hes not gonna admit any fault. the public suspect john mark byers (rest in peace he died like a month ago in a traffic accident, btw he also didnt do it but thats also a lot to go into. interesting guy, definitely inbred, violent tendencies but not a murderer) one of the kids' stepdads (technically adoptive dad cause he legally adopted the kid after he married his mum but hes generally referred to as his stepdad) of having done it cause hes fucking massive and is quite possibly the most colourful character ive seen in my life like that guy had no idea what was going on ever and he was hell bent on the teens having done it and wanted to kill them all UNTIL! until. 2007, they test the dna in the case and SHOCKINGLY turns out none of the west memphis 3's dna is anywhere to be found, the shit they had that could be damien's turns out to not even remotely match him in the slightest and suddenly theyre there like. well. now theres nothing. and yet theyre still in prison cause everyone who got them convicted is like NO THEY DID IT :) but the public outrage is so much by this point and finally they get to take it to the supreme court who take one look at it and are literally like ??? what the fuck happened here give them a new trial what the literal hell (theres a video of it their faces are literally so funny they all look like they absolutely cannot believe this required their help) so in 2011 they finally have the opportunity to retrial with a new judge but SUDDENLY the state of arkansas go um actually we are gonna offer you an alford plea which basically means they legally plead guilty to the charges while still saying they didnt do it and then they get let out but the state wont have to admit fault or reopen the case cause in their eyes these three are still guilty but theyre gonna let them out anyway cause that makes a whole lot of sense i guess. lol basically the state realised there was a real chance they could get exonerated in which case they were gonna get sued to hell and back and went FUCK give them a deal

now jason didnt want to take the deal he wanted to wait for the new trial and risk getting found guilty again cause he said this isnt justice for the kids cause the real killer or killers are still free and its not justice for us cause we have to plead guilty to save the asses of the system that failed us all BUT all three of them have to agree for it to be valid and damien's execution date, which he's already narrowly avoided on several occasions like its already been postponed multiple times, is once again coming up and if the new trial somehow goes wrong and hes sent back to death row he's gonna be killed so jason decided fuck all of that and agreed to the plea exclusively to save damien which ok ride or die king

i havent gone into who really did it cause once again there is SO much but the majority of people think it was terry hobbs (the stepdad of another one of the victims) including the kid's mother whos now his ex wife who he abused to no end. theres a Lot to this theory and while theres no concrete evidence cause they did a shittyass job with everything theres already more dna linking him to the scene than the teens. god i really wanna go into everything that points to terry being at least somehow involved but this has already gotten so out of hand

anyway follow damienechols on instagram all he does is post about witchcraft and cats. also watch the hbo paradise lost trilogy and west of memphis. and if u want even more details listen to the three true crime garage episodes on the case. also theres books. theres so much. i have so much more to say. someone stop me

[prorevenge]

After months of putting up with my roommate from hell, I got the revenge of lifetime and screwed her over out of a fuckton of money and got her to pay rent and life has never been sweeter! (This is a long one)

This is a long one but very much worth the ride, so buckle up. (also, English isn't my native lang, sorry if there are any mistakes)

This story takes place a couple of years back. During college, I lived with several roommates, all of them were nice and we got along well, except for this one bitch, let's call her Karen. if Satan and Hitler had a child and that child had a child with Stalin and Cruella de Vil, that would be Karen for you, she is a loud-mouthed stupid, egocentric bitch who has the face that scare the shit out of a toilet. She would never clean up after herself, she would always leave her plates and things at the spot where she last used them. I have lost counts of how many times, I caught her stealing my clothes without asking and if you so much as touch her clothes she loses her shit on you, or her drinking our lactose-intolerant roommates almond milk and any time we confronted her for drinking it, she would shrug and say "I only had a sip, stop being so stingy." She plays her music loud at night, invites stranger without giving any heads up, a time or two she didnt pay rent even though her parents are FILTHY RICH and she is wearing gucci and prada shit, Karen also fucking lies about everything, even things that are not worth lying about. like if she woke up 7, and you ask her, she'll lie through her fucking teeth and say she rose with the sun rise because she is a natural. (ps, this is something i actually heard her say to her parents while she was skypeing them....so cringy, who the fuck says that? but i digress)

Months we have fucking put up with her, of course we tried to get other roommates but unfortunately when we all moved in everything, all documents and contracts were done in her name so kicking her out would require a lot of effort and most of us were busy with school and work and life happens. So we ignore it as much as we can and try to move on.

We are now all seniors and in our final semesters, meaning graduation was coming, AND Karen is planning a backpack trip across Europe with her friends as a graduation gift to herself, this is important so remember this.

One of our roommates and my closest friend, Sasha, has had a crush on a guy that lives down the hall. Any time the two of them are together, Sasha and the Guy keep giving each other googly eyes and blushing faces; it was sooo cute. Sasha is a verbal autistic person and has never dated anyone because she has a hard time with socializing and understanding social ques and subtlety, which lets face it, that is the core of dating, especially flirting but with a lot of encouragement from me and the final roommate, Lola we got her to ask him out. He said yes. She was so happy, you guys, she flew back into the apartment and did an hour of happy dance with her arms flailing about and a shit eatin grin on her face; needless to say we were all so happy. Karen caught wind of this and it just so happens at that time she was having relationship problems, I guess her bf finally realized he's dating human garbage. Not one to be outshined, Karen behind all of our backs went to the guy's place and spun lies about Sasha, saying she is a serial cheater and even made a fake account for Sasha's so called bf. the guy never called Sasha, and eventually weeks passed by he told us why but by then Sasha felt like the damage was done and lost interest in him.

I. WAS. FUCKING. FURIOUS.

This, this level of dickery and bloody pettiness is the straw that finally broke the camel's back and I vowed I wouldn't fucking leave until I served my slice of justice. Here's another character that you must know about, Prof C. His wife two years ago was in a horrible car accident and as a result is in a wheelchair, this is especially problematic because she was a stay home mom that took care of their two special needs kids and they have a toddler at home. Home life is a mess for him, he is running ragged between working and single-handedly is taking care of his family, the uni took pity and also feared the workload would see one of their best and most beloved teachers leave the school struck a deal with him to help him out. In all of his classes there will be quizzes and midterms, this doesnt change, but assignments you submit and he corrects at the end of the year, this is important cuz our uni has zero tolerance on proffs that dont constantly update the students course works so that students have the chance to improve their grades.

Karen, the lazy and stupid bitch she is, is somehow skating through his assignments, even though they require a shit tone of research and writing. I accidentally learned that one of her older friends told her that she only needs submit the paper on its due date and to only write the first 3 pages and use a paraphrase tool for the rest of the paper so the plagiarism software wont detect it and would think its original material and when the end of the year comes, submit a hard copy but with the first pages being her actual work and the rest being completely plagiarized, professional work. Prof C won't know cuz the likelihood a man as busy as him thoroughly checking the work of 120+ students is pretty low. I grinned. A plan was beginning to formulate in my head. Oh, sweet mother of Jesus, she is going down! All semester long I let her do this for all of the 7 papers, one of them which is a term paper that has 20% on it alone, all the while I spied and gathered all of her pass codes, social media, her student ID, everything.

The end of the year came and I compiled all of her assignments, both the original one with the paraphrasing tools she used to circumvent plagiarism and the one she finally handed them in, and I even made photos were there are side-to-side comparison of the assignments. This is a good start but not enough. So, One day chillin at the living room I open a conversation about relationships, Karen is two timing her new boyfriend and is sleeping with some other Person. so, I ask her questions like "don't you feel guilty for cheating?" and "You do realize this is wrong?" and I even paraphrase my words in a way that is vague but also clear, for example I would say "It's not fair, so many people work so hard everyday to be successful and you are here cheating and lying your way to success." Karen, narcissistic as fuck, would respond with snippets of I dont care and how she isnt cheating, she is only having fun and that everyone does it so why not her too. This is too good to be true, even her answers are vague, its like god put his hand on my shoulder, looked me right in the eyes and said, "burry this bitch". and Id be damned if I didnt. As you probably have guessed it by now, I was recording EVERYTHING. The recording plus the photos, and her assignments were more than enough evidence, I sent an anonymous email to the Professor, and i tell the girls so that they can prep for the shit storm thats coming. Three weeks later, results are out. she failed and LOST HER SHIT. She was screamin, crying, wailing, what a sight to see! you best believe, the girls and I were laughing. She tried to talk to the prof, but he was not having it. she cried and begged for a second chance but he said a hard no. So now she has two options: she goes ahead and doesn't graduate with us, and takes on a whole 'nother semester for one measly course or take summer course and cancel her trip to Europe, which mind you she spent a fuckton on, something like 13, 000$ and I know it could have been much cheaper but Princess Karen only wanted the best so yh. The next couple of weeks she spent sleepless nights because she was calling and cancelling all the reservations she made, tryin to get her money back BUT (again, GOD really was out for blood that day) because the cancellation was so close to some her trip most places refused to refund, or some charged her cancellation fees. She only managed to scrap 5.5 K back together, lossin 7.5 K. OUCH!

Its not over, having damning evidence I, with earned gusto, told her she was going to pay all of the bills till we move out, which was in two months, payback for all the times she was late on payment or defaulted and she would from now do her part of the house chores or else Im gonna send it all to the admin and faculty dean and she will fo sho be kicked out and all those uni years will have been for nothing. She hated it, she fucking threw tantrums and cussed me out but my god if she didnt do whats told. she cleaned her stuff, apologized to Sasha for what she did, I forced her to come clean to her BF (dont know the guy but the few times i met him he was super sweet to us and i felt bad for the guy), I watched her actually do the dishes for the first time in like years. IT was fucking amazing and I don't regret it one bit. In fact, anytime I feel sad now as an adult, i kick back my feet and reminiscine and a slow shit eatin grin draws itself upon my face.

tl;dr roommate was super mean, i found out she was cheating on her assignments and so i snitched on her and as a result she had to stay the summer and retake the class again or else she wouldn't graduate.

(source) story by (/u/let-the-write-one-in)

[anastasiaskarsgard]

Meeting Roman Godfrey

Chapter 1

Warning - cursing.

I never thought I’d miss traffic and noise. I always took it all for granted, hated it even. But now itd be a welcome old friend. Instead here i was, in a town with a handful of stop lights and not even one mall. You had to go on a road trip, to experience civilization, but I loved my uncle and he needed me... even if he wouldn’t admit it. 

I spotted a Barnes and Noble and actually squealed in excitement. i pulled up in my big body Benz and looked a little bit out of place, but i didnt care. My car was understated low profile over the top. With its clear panoramic sunroof, so much technology, and ambiance lighting, id always kid with my uncle that i needed it for my mental health. Really I was terribly spoiled and I knew it, yet I appreciated it and never tried to rub it anyone’s face and NEVER bragged.

inside there was a shockingly big lego display and i remembered how much i used to love assembling complicated structures, while most girls played wth dolls. People never interested me, like how machines and structures did. While most little girl wanted to play with dollies and imagine scenarios about their weddings and husbands, I was trying to improve my laptop (catching a few on fire in my early years).

I walked over and spotted a gigantic Death Star set and clapped in delight, when i heard a chuckle behind me. I turned around to find the best looking man I’d ever seen, dressed in a very nice suit for New York, let alone this shit hole town. He didnt waver or look away when i looked at him and almost looked as though he were daring me to look away. My god he was shockingly gorgeous but looks never have intimidated me, not much of anything does.

“What’s funny?” I asked looking him dead in the eye.

“You.” He smirked.

“Your face is funny.” i huffed and rolled my eyes. Who did he think he was? Green eyed, puffy lipped bastard.

To my surprise he laughed and looked me up and down. Assessed me like i was livestock. sizing me up and trying to decide if he could break me. 

“I’m Roman.”

“I’m American.” I replied.

“No my name is Roman.” He laughed heartily. An amused twinkle in his eye.

He really had the best smile, and I really have a thing for noses, if you think about it, its the most imprtant facial feature. A nose can make or break a face, and his cute little slightly upturned nose with its perfect symmetry was for sure making it. combine that with gorgeous green eyes, long lashes, defined bone structure and standing at least 6′3″ he must be one of the biggest pains in the ass, this side of the Mississippi!

 If i was the type to give a shit, I might feel self conscious in my velvet Juicy track suit with my hair in a sloppy pony tail and not even a stitch of make up but luckily i was not. Why pretty boy wanted to trade names, probably had nothing to do with me, and much more to do with what he could get out of me. I usually didn’t pay much attention to anyone of the opposite sex, I just didn’t have the patience or interest, but something about this one...

“Generally when I tell someone my name, they oblige me with their own.” He said staring into my eyes with such an intensity that I reacted almost involuntarily.

I have a defect. If someone tries to tell me what to do or control me, I am not fucking having it. Authority has always been an issue, and this was no different. I bet he isnt used to being ignored, and i do enjoy helping people expand their horizons so i turned around and acted like I hadnt heard him.

He walked in front of me, blocking my view of the legos and ducked down a bit to get eye contact. He’s either crazy or incredibly confident. I raised my eyebrows as if to say “can i help you” and I know my face was absolutely sassy.

His face hardened “tell me. Your. Name.” He said slowly and deliberately.

Now it was my turn to laugh. I looked at him to see the smile or just kiddding , but it never came... WOW. So I leaned my face a couple inches from his face and I said “ha. Ha. Ha.”

The look on his face was absolutely priceless and just as I was about to walk away victorious, his nose began to bleed. Probably a coke head, i thought but I was pretty bored in this town so I figured I’d give him the benefit of the doubt and help him out. 

“Oh shit, your nose is bleeding.” i said lookinbg around for any type of tissue, when i noticed we were right next to the restrooms.

“What? Seriously? Can you get it?” he implored looking all frightened, dare I say fragile.

Without any hesitation, I wiped the blood from his face. “Come with me, we need tissue, bathroom is right here. Look up and hold your nose.” I grabbed his hand and recieved a shock. static electricity stayed with me a lot and often scared people but he didnt even flinch. He laced his fingers in mine as if it were the most natural thing in the world and i led him to the bathroom.

Once inside, I grabbed some tissues and directed him to stand over the sink. I wet some paper towels and wiped away the blood and then took took the dry tissues and pushed his head back and crammed little tissue torpedos in his perfect little nose. 

“Gotta admit, this is new.” He quipped, admiring my handy work in the mirror and laughing in spite of himself. 

“What? Bloody nose or a girl not being putty in your manicured hands?”

“Um.... all of it. You don’t listen, you’re kind of rude, but then when theres an issue, you dont hesitate to help and then you’re taking better care of my nose bleed than anyone. no one really takes charge with me.... and now I’m in a bathroom with a woman and we aren’t fucking.” He laughed again.

“Fucking. Classy. If I didn’t know any better I’d swear you were the Godfrey asshole everyone keeps telling me about.” Ever since I’d arrived at Hemlock grove, I’d heard Godfrey this and Godfrey that. Their name was on everything and I’d heard the son was like a 21 year old gorgeous ladies man that was as kind as he was humble. 

His face fell into a frown.

“I see that’s the general consensus about that guy. Cheer up Charlie, your nose stopped bleeding most likely, let me just pull these out. i gently pulled the tissues from his nose and waited for blood but none came. “Boom mothafucka its on!” i laughed at my own ridiculousness before turning and washing my hands.

“You are ridiculous” he stated matter of factly. 

Roman stood there quietly thinking. I could almost feel the wheels turning in his head. His mood had completely changed at the mention of the Godfrey kid.Maybe his family had lost everything because of them too or the guy stole this guys girl, i felt a little guilty so i relented a tiny bit.

“Hey listen, Roman was it?” He nodded and bit his lip. oh he knows what hes doing. boy he was trouble “I’m sorry if the Godfrey’s are a sore subject. I don’t know anything about anybody here. I’m just helping out my crazy uncle that fell down his basement stairs and broke his hands and neck. I’m from the west coast and this dreary fucking place isn’t exactly my cup of tea. I don’t know why I’m rude before I’m polite but it’s involuntary. My name is Letha, it’s like Lisa with a lisp and now I’ve officially over shared.” I could feel my face turning red. Why was He making me such an awkward mess? My God this WAS new.

suddenly he grabbed me by my shoulders and pulled me in stopping just an inch away from my face. “Who put you up to this?” He asked with such venom in his voice it made me flinch. “WHO!?!?!” He screamed in my face.

I tried to push him away but he wouldn’t budge. My mind raced and I began to panic. No one has ever screamed in my face like this and I didn’t like it and yet, the way his eyes searched mine and the tenseness in his body and just sheer panic made me do something I hardly ever did. Especially to a crazy stranger in the bathroom, but I had the overwhelming NEED to hug him. I fought past his hands trying to hold my shoulders in kind of a silly slap fight and grabbed him around the waist and buried my head in his shoulder. He smelled so good.This was outright crazy behavior for me, and i was confusing myself but if i tried to not think, it almost felt nice. A tense minute passed with me holding him as he calmed his breathing with his arms raised. If anyone walked in, it’d be pretty weird.

“Nobody sent me you nut job! Hug me back, you need a hug. And I am NOT a hugger.” i squeezed even harder, nuzzling my face into his collar, his chin gently resting on my head.

His arms hesitantly closed around my back and then he crushed me into a deep embrace. He really did need a hug. “You ok now crazy?” I asked trying to pull back to look at his face but he held me fast. He started to shudder a bit and it was then I felt the moisture hitting my forehead. 

Was this crazy ass dude crying? Oh no he was really crazy. Shit shit shit. Good job Letha, you’re gonna get murdered in a bookstore bathroom in shit hole Pennsylvania on a Friday afternoon. Why did you hug this fucking guy? Are you crazy?

Roman loosened his grip and looked deep in my eyes searching for something. What? Im unsure, but he must of found it, because he laughed and looked almost sweet, except tears were running down his face and a moment earlier he screamed at me. Boy I can pick em.

“Well Ms Letha, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’d love nothing more than to take you out this evening wherever you want to go. Before you refuse, I assure you I’m not crazy, it’s just I had a cousin named Letha, which I’m sure you’re aware is an unusual name, that I loved very much and she passed and I’m sorry. It caught me off guard.”

I had heard about that Letha. Everyone that found out my name, told me about Letha Godfrey, the Godfrey girl that was as kind as she was beautiful, but tragically got knocked up and lost her mind talking about angels being the father, and dating some weirdo outcast. when she went to give birth in the familys intimidating skyscraper medical facility, she mysteriously died and so did her baby.

“You’re the Godfrey kid.” I practically whispered staring at him with wide eyes as I tried to recall what I’d said about him TO him.

“Hardly a kid anymore I think.” He smiled. He was so handsome, it was freaking me out. “What’s your phone number? I have to run to the white tower, and then I’m all yours.”

I knew better. He was too good looking and too rich and too everything but something told me he needed me. I know it sounds crazy but I believed in my heart and soul, this perfect beautiful fucking legend of a man needed me. I can’t explain why. I told him my number and turned to walk out of the bathroom, but he grabbed my hand.

“Please answer.” He pleaded pressing a kiss to my hand. He wasn’t trying to make me do anything now. He was giving the power over to me and i was honestly taken aback a bit by the almost desperate look in his eyes. I knew in my heart, he genuinely needed me, but for what?

I can’t explain the feeling I felt in that bathroom with this man, but when I say I felt a deeper connection to him than I’d ever felt in my 22 years on this earth, I mean it. It was thrilling, and scary, and strange. I smiled at him and nodded my head.I tried to lie to myself and act like i wasnt going to answer but dammit I so was. 

Maybe it would work in my best interests favor that my uncles’ home was 50 miles outside of town in a very isolated area so I doubted once I told him where hed have to pick me up, he’d actually follow through.

He didn’t follow me out of the bathroom and I just made a bee line for my car. I had to go. I couldn’t help smiling from ear to ear. The cashier smirked at me with what I suspect a knowing glance. Boy oh boy did I know better than to get involved with this guy, but what was the worst that could happen?

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

chapter 11.5 -- okay, 12, it’s chapter 12, fine, fine. I should stop trying to predict how long my chapters will be. I’m always wrong. the Fae AU keeps escaping all my predictions. it’s fine. it’s cool. 

[Beginning] [Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

It is not, as Apollo expects, the worst road trip he has ever been a part of. Trucy likes to sing along to the radio – she has a surprisingly good voice – which stops Clay from starting up his usual road trip tradition of bellowing out “Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall” and seeing how much he can get through before someone slaps him. Trucy claimed shotgun, as “the woman with the magic map”, meaning Apollo is shunted to the back with Ema, who upends her bag on the floor to pull from it a jumbo-sized pack of Snackoos and offer a handful to him.

“None for us?” Clay asks, pouting in the rearview mirror.

“Backseat privileges,” Ema replies.

Trucy cranks the radio up as a familiar guitar riff begins.

If it’s extortion, it works; she and Clay have not finished the first verse, Trucy’s almost-operatic interpretation running up against Clay’s off-key warbling, before Ema is shoving the Snackoos up between their seats, offering a trade of chocolates for an end to the car-vibrating force of Guilty Love.

“Not a fan?” Clay asks.

Ema groans. So does Trucy. “Don’t get me started,” Ema says.

“Yeah, please don’t,” Trucy adds.

“He’s a pretentious fuckin’ diva who—”

Trucy begins yelling out the chorus to the song over the second verse emitting from the radio.

They are all still arguing – Ema berating Clay’s taste in music while Trucy moves into an attempt to sing My Boyfriend is the Prosecution’s Witness to the tune of Guilty Love and Apollo tries to turn the volatile atmosphere anywhere else – when the song ends. Trucy shushes everyone, violently, smacking Clay on the arm and then flailing back at Ema, and turns up the radio. A DJ is in the middle of saying something.

“—announced today on their social media. While fans are disappointed, no one can say that the break-up comes as a surprise, after the sentencing of guitarist Daryan Crescend for murder in July, and the three months of, ahem, radio silence that’s followed. And earlier this week, leader singer Klavier Gavin’s brother was indicted on a second count of murder – I can’t say I blame him for maybe wanting to duck out of the spotlight. Gavin’s brother was previously charged in April, for—”

Trucy changes the channel. A commercial for a local furniture outlet doesn’t help break the awkward spell fallen over them. “Yeah,” she says, after a full minute, during which time they discover their new channel is a country music channel. “No real surprise.”

“Brother and bandmate,” Clay says quietly. “Hell of a year.”

“Hell of a six months,” Apollo says. And he was there for all of it – he was there for more of it than Klavier ever was. Klavier wasn’t there in April, not when Kristoph fell, not when any of them could have had any idea what was ahead. How much magic would surround them.

“If my older sister had been convicted of murder, I was gonna crawl into the dirt and die,” Ema says, “so I’m with the fop on that one, actually.”

There is a worrying lack of hypotheticals in the second half of Ema’s scenario. No “would have”s. Like she was where Klavier is, but the trial had a different outcome, and the frozen expression on her face, her eyes gone blank, she looks like she has caught up with her own words. Said too much. Apollo doesn’t know much about her as a person, her life before failing the forensics exam, how it was that she knew Mr Wright, but he can sympathize with that fear of having given away too much, turned the conversation down a path that should stay blocked off.

“You have a sister?” Trucy asks, turning around in her seat. “You seemed kinda ‘only-child’ to me.’ “Yeah,” Ema says quietly. “Older sister. Her name’s Lana. We don’t… talk much.”

Apollo doesn’t know why the name feels like it strikes something in his brain, the way Ema’s did when she first introduced herself.

“Oh.” Trucy visibly wilts. “Sorry.”

Ema shrugs, slumping back against her seat, her arms folded. “It happens,” she says. Her eyes are glazed over, settled in Clay’s direction. Her mouth quirks in the beginnings of a smile. “She took me to the Space Museum once, not long after it first opened.” The wistful smile has grown a little larger. “Back when I didn’t know what kind of scientist I wanted to be, so I wanted to go everywhere, and she was like ‘Ema I’m not taking you to the fucking tar pits again, how about space?’, and—” She shakes her head. “Sorry. Your jacket got me thinking. Do you work there or something?”

And that is the question that Clay most likes to be asked, that or literally anything else ever about space, and that is the end of any of them getting a word in edgewise – but while Apollo’s heard it all before, Trucy has questions galore, and Ema sits forward, slowly losing the pretense of not being enraptured.

-

They have driven for over two hours by the time Trucy directs them to pull of the highway at an exit that tells them there is nothing for them that way but another 38 miles until Kurain Village. “Is that where the Fair Folk live?” Ema asks dryly, in her voice none of the nervousness that people tend to have. Apollo hasn’t spoken much with her about magic, doesn’t know what she thinks – but, well, she knows Phoenix. That’s clue enough that caution comes secondary.

“Not really,” Trucy says. “They just named it that. It’s part of our world. Sometimes some of the fae do show up and hang around, I think – Maya tried to convince Daddy to move out here, once, apparently, but he wouldn’t leave the office.”

“Who’s Maya?” Apollo asks. Sometimes he realizes how little he knows about Phoenix’s personal life, too.

“Daddy’s friend. She’s – wait, stop! Here! Turn down this road here!”

“This is not a road,” Clay says, hunching over the steering wheel. “This is some dirt, off the road, not even in the shape of a dirt road.”

The car groans as Clay turns it off of the asphalt into the dirt. Trucy pops open the door and stands, holding herself between the door and the car roof and turning her face to the sky and the no-longer-distant mountains looming above them. She says something, muffled, and points into the trees. “We’re close,” she says, ducking back inside the car. “Let’s park and go – we’re close.”

“Park right here?” Clay asks, raising a doubtful eyebrow.

“Barely anyone comes this way,” Trucy says. “Like, one bus, except I’m not even sure if this is on its route. It’s fine.”

“I’m more worried that this is some sort of sacred ground that we’re stomping on,” Clay says, but he turns the key and then smacks his head against the top of the wheel. “How much are we going to regret just walking out there?”

“Probably we won’t,” Trucy says. She flings the door open and jumps out, stretching her arms up into the air. “C’mon already!”

“So what are we doing now?” Ema asks, crumpling the Snackoos bag back into her bag and tumbling forth from the car like a liquid spilled. “Just walking into the woods until we find treasure or a bear?”

“We do have a map.” Trucy waves it at her. “But yes. That’s what we’re doing.” She lowers the page halfway to her side and then stops, tilting her head back. “I’ve been here before,” she says. “Grandpappy and I – sometime – sometime after my mom died.” She takes a few slow steps toward the treeline, her movements uneven, as in a daze. “It was just the two of us. And we came here, and we buried—” She spins around, eyes wide, looking at all and none of them. “We buried his grimoire.”

Without another word of warning, she dashes into the woods, sending them scrambling to catch up to her. It’s colder here than in the city, though Apollo didn’t think they went up too far in elevation. Leaves thickly coat the ground; do they hide rings of flowers beneath them or do those in their magic break through? They finally reach Trucy when she, focused on her map, walks straight into a tree and takes some time to properly reorient herself.

“Do you know why here, of all places?” Apollo asks. “Is it because of the mountains, and he was…?”

He stops. Does Trucy know what her grandfather was? Phoenix didn’t say. Of course he didn’t.

“He said this is where he landed,” Trucy replies, crunching a leaf beneath her foot. “He said he fell, and this is where he landed.”

“Was he—” Clay’s sense, that question that they all know they shouldn’t ask, that question that Apollo has asked again and again anyway, wars against curiosity, against more than wanting to know – needing to know, to understand what is Trucy’s family. “Was he, erm, one of – Them?”

He can’t even bring himself to offer up one of the epithets. This close to the mountains, Apollo isn’t sure that he could bring himself to speak of them plainly like he has learned to.

“Yeah,” Trucy says. “But I���m human. Don’t worry.” She flashes a grin, one of her usual grins, but it is tempered by the speed with which is vanishes from her face again, replaced by a frown of concentration. “I think we must be close, but not quite yet.”

“Hey, Trucy?” Ema asks. She pushes a branch out of the way and it snaps back to nearly strike Clay in the face. “Not to pry, but – if your grandfather was one of the Fair Folk, are you the changeling, or was it your mother?”

Trucy stops.

“Wait,” Ema says. “Not a changeling – that’s the fae child. The human kid, the one swapped out. Is there a word for that?”

“I don’t think so,” Trucy says. She hops over a log. “I don’t think there’s a name for people like that.”

She doesn’t answer the first question. Maybe she doesn’t know, either.

“When you say you buried it,” Apollo says, aware that there is nothing subtle about this lifeline he is throwing to pull her away from questions best left avoided (am I a child stolen away, raised by the fae? Did they take me from the life I should have had?), “have we come all this way to be foiled for want of a shovel?”

“Oh fuck,” Trucy says.

“Hey!” Ema barks, her sharp rebuke the manifestation of that urge Apollo feels to scold her for that. “Language, young missy!” She folds her arms across her chest, her glare a fond one. “Where did you learn that?”

“My daddy’s a card shark,” Trucy says, countering Ema with a smug grin of her own.

“I thought he was a piano player,” Clay says.

“Only because you’ve never heard him play,” Trucy replies. “Easy mistake to make.”

“Considering it was all magic that hid the map,” Ema says, with nary a pause to acclimate everyone to the idea of throwing the conversation back past that latest sharp turn, “wouldn’t it be magic to hide it again, logically speaking?”

“Where’s the logic here?” Clay asks. Ema snaps a twig off a bush and flicks it at him. “And I mean, if it’s just covered up with some illusion, couldn’t anyone stumble into it?”

“Maybe it takes the map, too,” Apollo says. “Or maybe only a Gramarye can unveil it.”

He steps up onto a tree stump, like the extra five inches can grant him some kind of special insight or a better view in the forest of brown. Then he is falling, the wood rot giving way beneath his foot, a sharp jolt running up his leg from the twist of his foot. “Shit!”

Trucy winces. “Ouch. Poor Polly. I—”

“Apollo,” Ema says, very seriously, but somewhat muffled by her hand over her mouth. “Move. Move right now.”

“What?” He sits up, dislodging his foot from the stump, and looks about himself. The forest floor of dead leaves has cleared, as though by a strong, concentrated wind, revealing browned dead grass encased by a perfect circle of blue flowers. “Oh. Oh shit.”

Without an ounce of grace, still on his hands and knees, he scrambles and rolls his way out of the faery ring. “So according to the map,” Trucy says, and above his head Apollo hears the flutter of the paper, “I think we found it.”

“Only a Gramarye, huh,” Clay says dryly.

“That was only supposition!”

“So who’s gonna stick their hand in a rotten tree stump?” Ema asks, producing a flashlight from her bag and shining the beam down into it. “I volunteer Trucy, because she’s wearing gloves, and is our Gramarye.”

Trucy kicks up the leaves on her approach, searching for hints of another ring around the stump, more than just Apollo’s that sits adjacent to it. “If I get bit by a squirrel and get rabies and die, it’s your fault,” she says, kneeling down next to the stump and brushing her hair back to peer down into it.

“Statistically, your chance of getting rabies from a squirrel is negligible,” Ema says. “That shouldn’t be your worry.”

“What should I worry about, then?” Trucy asks. “Can you bring the light a little closer?”

“Bats, racoons, foxes, feral cats and dogs, and right now, probably non-rabies Fair Folk curses, since we’re fucking around by a ring.”

“I’m still concerned about bears,” Clay says.

“I’m not,” Ema says. “I’ve already got my plan, which is to trip you into its path.”

“General ‘you’, or me, specifically?”

“You specifically. Nothing personal, though. I just know Trucy and Apollo better than you.”

“This is way heavier than I thought,” Trucy says, falling off-balance and dropping something dark and rectangular. “Oof! Okay. Okay. We got it!” She lifts it up onto her knees, a thick book with a black cover and a character emblazoned in flowing purple script on it. “I knew I remembered this.” Her voice is quieter as she opens the book and flips through the rough-edged pages. “Grandpappy’s grimoire.” She closes the cover again, reverently, and keeps it balanced on her legs as she turns back to the stump. “Light again, please. I thought I saw something else.” Trucy has her head nearly in the hole, which can’t help her with her light situation, and she sits back and plunges her hand in again. “Yep! This is a – a funny-looking magatama?”

She holds it up, the blue stone sparkling in the flashlight beam, but also seemingly with its own interior glow, and Apollo gasps.

Three sets of eyes turn to him.

“That’s a mitamah,” he says, and to his own ears he sounds like he’s choking, but he feels like he’s choking too, and maybe the others don’t notice but he doubts it. “That’s someone’s soul.”

Trucy drops it into the leaves.

“What?” Clay looks suspicious – Trucy looks horrified. “How do you know?”

(“There’s no reason to give away your soul,” Dhurke told them, sternly, the sternest he ever got. “Never.” And then they tried to argue, to come up with reasons, because of course they did, and he hugged them both close. “You’ll make great lawyers someday, always looking for reasons and other ways, but this one – promise me. Nahyuta. Apollo.” He prodded each of them in the chest. “Don’t let someone else get their hands on your soul.”)

“The tail of it is different.” Apollo picks it up, brushing off the dirt and leaf particles that cling to it, and points to the longer, squiggling protrusion that extends from the loop. It doesn’t fully connect like a magatama, either, more like a hook than a circle.

It feels warm in his hand, humming through his fingers and up into his ears. It reminds him of the office – familiar, but disturbing, because there is no reason that it should feel so familiar and comforting.

“Could it be your grandfather’s?” Ema asks.

“Wouldn’t that mean he’s still alive?” Clay asks. “Is that possible?”

“It couldn’t be,” Apollo says. If he stares at the mitamah he thinks he can see flecks of gold within the blue, like stars on a constellation chart. “The Fair Folk don’t have souls like we do. They can’t sell them or manifest them like this.”

“Is that why they want human souls?” Ema asks.

“How do you know?” Clay repeats.

Apollo’s heart has stoppered up his throat.

“It makes them stronger,” Trucy says softly. “When they buy names, or souls, it makes their magic stronger. But this – this can’t be that.” She hugs the grimoire up to her chest. “It can’t just be that.”

“Should we just… put it back?” Ema asks. “Someone’s probably looking for it, right?”

“It’s been seven years and no one has come before us,” Apollo says. The humming isn’t as steady now, seems more like a song, and familiar, damned familiar. “No, we can’t just leave her here.”

In the silence, even the song seems to stop. “What?” Apollo asks. Their three sets of eyes are on him again, even more piercing, Trucy’s wide and Clay’s narrowed and Ema’s narrowing too.

“‘Her’?” Ema repeats. “Why ‘her’?”

“I…” Apollo swallows his heart. “I don’t know, but I… I know?”

“I don’t think you should be holding that in your bare hands,” Clay says.

But the alternative seems to be dropping her in the dirt again, and Apollo’s fingers curl tighter around the stone. He can’t do that, either. Trucy unties her scarf from around her neck and silently passes it to him, letting him wrap the stone up in the red fabric and then cradle it close again. The song thrumming in his ears ceases. “I guess we should take it to Mr Wright and ask him if he knows what to do,” Ema says. “He’ll know what to do with it. Her?”

Trucy’s gaze is unfocused, her head slowly drifting away from the horizon back toward the stump. “Trucy?” Apollo asks. “Are you okay?”

“He wouldn’t do that,” she says. “Just buy up someone’s soul all for himself. He wouldn’t. There had to be some other reason. It wasn’t just power, there had to be a good reason.”

(“There’s no reason,” Dhurke said. “Never.”)

“He gave me magic, as a gift,” Trucy says. “He was a good man.” She looks up at Apollo, blinking her blue eyes furiously. “Wasn’t he?”

-

It takes them another forty-five minutes to stumble out of the woods and find Clay’s car again. Ema makes everyone nervous talking about the odds of them stumbling across a body decomposing in the undergrowth – “I have zero desire to ever get caught up in one of your murder investigations,” Clay says, picking up a branch from the bushes and brandishing it like a baseball bat – and bears. The two of them are at least doing a good job of filling the silence left by Trucy, uncomfortably quiet, walking in a trace. Apollo tugs her by the arm out of the way of trees. He could put the mitamah in his pocket but hasn’t, has kept it held close to his chest.

The story that Phoenix spun of the Gramaryes is gnawing at him. A woman, on the bad end of a deal with Magnifi – Apollo doesn’t want to think about the possibility.

(Trucy must be thinking about the possibility, mustn’t she?)

She crawls into the back seat of the car, depositing the grimoire in the middle, and Ema makes a mad dash for the front seat, leaving Apollo to sit on the other side of the grimoire, separated by it from Trucy. The only time she speaks is to call Phoenix and ask him if he is at the office – he is, because she directs Clay to go back to the office.

It is a long, quiet ride home, some subdued conversation between Ema and Clay about their fields of science rising over the country music still on the radio. Trucy taps Apollo’s hand and beckons him to hand her the mitamah. She takes off one of her gloves and weighs it in her hand with an ever-deepening frown until she wraps it back up and passes it back to Apollo.

Ema shouts “Yellow car!” and hits Clay on the shoulder. He hits her back and tells her that she needs to specify no punch-backs next time.

-

Phoenix is sitting on the floor leaning against the couch with two notebooks and a stack of papers spread out in front of him, the coffee table shoved to the side, a pencil in his mouth and another tucked behind his ear, when they stagger into the office. Apollo is mediating an argument about the merits of Eldoon’s for a late lunch – Ema does not want to brave it, while Clay wants nothing more than to do so. Phoenix does not look up.

“Hey, Daddy,” Trucy says wearily.

His head snaps up, dislodging the pencil behind his ear. “What’s wrong?”

“You always complain about your back hurting, and now look what you’re doing.” Trucy’s words sound forced through a smile. Phoenix’s frown deepens. He watches Trucy walk past him to deposit the grimoire on his desk.

“We went looking into the envelope you gave her the other day,” Apollo says. “The real last page.”

Phoenix doesn’t look back from Trucy right away. “A full expedition team, huh?” he asks, raising one eyebrow as he looks over Ema and Clay. “Who’s this?”

“Er, oh, yeah. I’m Clay Terran. Apollo’s roommate.” Clay points with his thumb at Apollo, even though they all know there is only one Apollo that they know. “You’re Mr Wright, yeah?” He doesn’t do a good job of feigning enthusiasm.

“I know that look,” Phoenix says, standing with a wince and an audible crack of some of his joints. “That’s the ‘I’ve heard about you and it’s nothing good’ look.” He lets Clay splutter for a full two seconds before he grins crookedly and adds, “That’s fair.” Almost immediately, his expression flattens out to something stern and almost entirely foreign. “Trucy,” he calls. “What’s wrong?”

“We found my grandfather’s grimoire,” she says, sitting on the desk and holding it up, only for it to slip from her hands and crash to the floor. “And Polly has the other thing that was with it.”

Apollo unwraps the mitamah.

Has he ever seen Phoenix surprised? The man spent seven years an unbeaten poker player, and this past half-year absolutely inscrutable to Apollo’s eyes. There is nothing controlled in his reaction; his mouth falls open and his eyes go wide, turning blue immediately and staying blue, horror apparent in how they linger on the mitamah. “Oh,” he breathes. “That is – yeah.”

He reaches forward with trembling hands and scoops up the scarf spread across Apollo’s hands. He holds it cradled close, too, his free hand cupped beneath the one holding it, prepared to catch the stone should it slip, but still not having touched it with bare skin. “So,” he says. “The ‘source’ of Magnifi’s magic – that grimoire, and this soul.”

“But,” Trucy says, “that…” She stops. She chews on the inside of her cheek. Mr Hat, the wisp, is visible, bobbing frenetically around her shoulders. “It’s…” Her shoulders slump. “Do you know what to do with that, Daddy? Is there a way to know what person a soul belongs to?”

“Not from looking only at the mitamah,” Phoenix answers. His eyes still hollow blue when he turns them back to Trucy. “I am not particularly familiar with mitamahs, honestly, but I’ll look into it and see what I can do to get it back to her.” He takes the stone in one hand and offers Trucy her scarf back. “If the fae who has possession of a soul is still alive, they can just give it back – not that many are willing to, mind – but since he’s dead – well.” He shakes his head. “Thank you, though. For helping Trucy, and bringing this back.”

It’s a firm end to the conversation, not that Apollo knows what more to ask about a soul. Ema, though, is frowning, her arms crossed, her mouth twisting like she is puzzling out something. “We were gonna go get noodles at Eldoon’s,” Apollo says. “If – if you wanted to come, Trucy.”

“Oh!” She looks surprised, like she hadn’t expected to be addressed. “Um.” Her heels bounce against the desk. “Thanks, but I’m okay.”

Her hands, curled around the edge of the desk, shine red. Apollo doesn’t even need that to know she’s lying.

-

“We all agree she’s not okay, right?” Clay asks.

They were silent for a block down from the office, Ema not even complaining about losing the Eldoon’s battle. (Apollo was prepared to tell her that she didn’t have to come, but she had attached herself to them without a cursory protest.)

“Definitely not,” Ema says. “I guess she doesn’t want to believe that her grandfather was the double-dealing type of Folk – which, I’ve read the case file on his death, I’d believe that about him in a hot second. There’s nothing worse than a blackmailer like that. Also.” She plants herself firmly in the sidewalk. Apollo and Clay both bump into her. “None of us referred to the mitamah as ‘she’ or ‘her’, right? Like you were, Apollo.”

“None of us but Trucy even talked about it,” Apollo says. Clay nods. “Why?”

“Because Mr Wright did.” Ema’s forehead creases. “He said he would ‘get it back to her’. He wasn’t even touching it, was he?” Apollo shrugs. Ema shrugs too. “He knows something. More than he said.”

“He always does,” Apollo says.

They reach Eldoon’s, and Ema says that it’s weird to see the stand without a corpse attached. The look that Clay gives her makes her and Apollo both laugh. Once they have their noodles, they walk another few blocks to People Park and find a bench not far from where the noodle-stand crime scene once stood. Apollo has learned to be grateful for the mouthfuls of broth that taste of so much salt to sting. It feels a little more like safety, like salt across a doorway.

He starts to say what he’s thinking, that Trucy might be worried that the mitamah is her mother’s, or at least he is, but the words die on his tongue, shriveled by the salt. He doesn’t feel right to tell Clay and Ema about Trucy’s mother’s death, when he has no idea if Trucy knows or not. Phoenix has made him the guardian of family secrets that aren’t his and something about that feels wrong. Maybe necessary in some way, to understand the case, to understand what happened with Kristoph, but still wrong.

Instead, he helps Ema explain to Clay her earlier comments about Magnifi and blackmail. You can’t refuse, and we both know the reason why – Trucy can’t know he did that. She seemed to idolize him. What a hard way to fall.

He’ll text her tomorrow, Apollo decides. Check in, see how she’s doing.

(There’s probably someone else he should check in with, too, the events of this week all considered.)

[pensurfing]

Caitlin’s Three Things List

Okay, so moments (probably hours by the time I finish this) ago I wrote a goals list that I think is good for self-evaluation. (Keyword: This is what I think. results may vary depending on what you’re looking for.)

I’m going to hop to it and answer some of these that I laid out in hopes of having a better idea of what I want to accomplish. 

The Three Things Lists!

1) Three things that went well this year.

* Audience growth

So once upon a time, I grew a pretty decent following due to creating an Inktober Prompt list. My expectations: Maybe two of my friends would do this, maybe. And then one stranger that has followed me for a while. (There are a few followers I recognize their username because if I post something they always like it and for some reason that keeps me going.)

But because of this prompt, I was exposed to MANY new creators and illustrators that I now enjoy chatting with and following! Instagram had the biggest maintained growth. I’m excited to create for an audience that actually expects me to create and not just for friends who see my things “whenever they aren’t busy”. (Not to bash them or anything, just there are a lot where unless I tell them, they don’t see the posts I make.)

Another surge of growth in my audience was due to tabling at conventions this year. I was terrified to show my work let alone attempt to sell it to someone. Tabling at cons not only boosted my confidence but also quieted one of my ever going demons. “YoU sUcK aT dRaWiNg CaItLiN.” “How do you have a degree? oh right, you just barely passed.” I can’t say this is the case, there is an audience that genuinely enjoys my scribbles. So I am forever thankful to Atlanta Comic Con for giving me that chance. It honestly opened a few doors for me.

**Process

I’ve gotten more comfortable with showing my process. It can be messy, crisp, and illogical. But turns out the people who enjoy my content enjoy my scrambled thoughts. It’s something about not being alone in this sort of sense that calms the nerves.

So I can say with chest poked out that sharing process has gotten MUCH better. I can thank a self-help book I bought this year that was a FANTASTIC BUY. Austin Kleon has [two] (currently? If he has more then I’m buying it like people buy a name brand.) books that helped me see that it is GREAT to share not only the process but advice. “Show Your Work” is the book I’m talking about for now. Great tips, the outline is on the back of the book. So if you’re like me, I need to clearly see what I might be getting into, you might have a ball.

And finally, (not calling myself out on this but other) If you’re going to respond to people when they ask you “how do you___?” do not answer “Google it”. That is the rudest thing I’ve seen some of even my FAVORITE illustrators do; that response can burn in hell. PERIODT. (my one typo allowed.)

*** Art Style Exploration

For those who think college will help you establish an art style that you’ll enjoy or help nourish the one you currently have.... Let me save you over 80K.... No, the fuck it won’t.

That was the biggest thought I had going into art school. If anything, it confused me more and utterly destroyed what little confidence I had in my drawing style. After graduating, I had a huge swing from how I used to draw to how my art currently looks. I stopped trying to please the one professor who stood between me and my degree and started drawing to please my tastes. And guess what? That did something. And that something WORKED. I love what I draw now; I see why I chose this as my career path. I’m genuinely happy with how my pieces turn out versus in college just wanting to turn the damn thing in and hoping it isn’t an F.

2) Three things you could have handled better.

* The loss of a good paying client.

Now hear me out when I say this: A good paying client DOES NOT EQUAL a good client. Say that three times and then exhale.

Back earlier this year, I had the opportunity to work with a writer who gave me hell and back. And even that is an understatement. I dealt with her because in school you were taught “if they pay on time, finish the work and get the exposure.” 

I’m here to tell you my lesson learned: A good paying client DOES NOT EQUAL good exposure, good pay, a good client. 

I was doing the work of three for the price of one and a half. (And was always told I charged too much.) She tried abusing this power with friends of mine, with other illustrators. When things turned out bad, she tried saying it was my fault. She read my contract and then tried telling me I changed the wording, I purposely did this thing, another thing was my fault. I could go on with this story.

The part that I wish I handled better?

How I treated myself afterward. I’m so used to people telling me, “Cait, this is what you do wrong. This is how you fix it.” that I don’t consider my own feelings, and when I bring my feelings into the scenario they no longer matter. Because they tell me they don’t matter. In this case, I wish I had treated me better, because my feelings, my mental health, DOES matter.

**My Patience Getting Into Conventions.

Pretty self-explanatory. I got into one, finished one, and wanted to do eight more in a week. But this sort of thing just takes time and I need to accept that.

***My losses

I had to listen to a Little Mix song to actually learn this one. The context of the song is nowhere near the topic at hand. But a verse from Power feat Stomzy really packs a punch after this year: 

“ You look him in the eye and say, "I know I'm not a guy But see there's power in my losses and there's power in my wins" “

I had to look one of my demons in the face, and state something similar. My loses mean I’m trying. My loses piling shows I’m not willing to give up easily, and that is something that took a while to be content with.

3) Three things artistically you want to improve on.

*Composition

It’s not awful, but it can be better.

**Color

I told this BOLDLY if I might add while critiquing someone else’s portfolio; “Your color palette is boring. All your [things] look as if they are from the same universe, during the same time of day, with the same kind of mood. After three photos it’s bland, boring, and understood you have a preference.” 

Can you say damn Cait? The statement was, in fact, true, but I certainly could not talk. My color palette is mainly bright, pop, and happy. In order to tell a story, I KNOW it is best told with color. And I failed myself this year. But I sure won’t next year.

***My Damn Tag

Okay, alright. Why is it well-established artists have their tag figured out? Even some who’s art style is so recognizable (I’m looking HEAVILY at you Gabriel Piccolo.) we know it’s theirs, seem to have a tag that suits them and works for them. But more importantly, they put it in A VERY DECENT SPOT. SOMEONE SHARE THIS SCIENCE WITH ME? CAUSE APPARENTLY I DON’T GET IT.

4) Three things you want to focus on trying.

*More backgrounds.

As much as it pains me, I need to improve on backgrounds and perspective. When I do make backgrounds, I’m told I make great pieces. That I should look into becoming a background artist. And don’t get me wrong, I like them. But I don’t like them.

I feel as though I need to improve in that region so that way I don’t feel as though it’s a weakness of mine. My backgrounds are nice, but they aren’t nice to my standards.

**More designs

I love character designs, but let’s be real. If you were to scroll down my site or my Instagram page, or even this Tumblr archive, could you tell? 

I draw characters a lot sure, but none are designs. No process, no sheets, no turnarounds, none of that. So that’s a huge goal of mine for 2019.

***Scheduling posting

At one point I was pretty good at this. Live stream in Instagram and Twitter, cool. Videos on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. Cool. Everywhere gets a photo, everywhere gets a silly one-liner. Yay. I’m not leaving anything out.

Well by the end of this year that totally crumbled. 

SO I want to try getting better at that thing there. Because having attempted this at the end of the year was cool, but it still wasn’t enough apparently.

5) Three positive things to tell yourself.

* You are an inspiration. That’s all you wanted to be in life, you did it. I’m proud of you.

**You didn’t kill yourself like you tried to; you opened up about it for once and used that pint up anger creatively. That is very hard to do, trust. I’m proud of you.

***You moved on, matured, and let it go. Even when the goddess inside you told you these peasants didn’t deserve your light, your friendship, your greatness. I’m proud of you.

I’m just proud of me for not snapping when I had every right to; not everything deserves a reaction.

6) Three negative things you want to leave for 2018.

*Comparisons 

Oh boy. I am extremely guilty for this: I’ll compare myself to a well-known illustrator my age. I’ll compare myself to friends who are in the field having a blast and getting work; I’ll compare myself to friends who aren’t in the field and they struggle at getting work. I’ll compare myself to the kid I graduated high school with who is traveling the world, is able to eat, come home to his dog and relax because he doesn’t have tuition to pay. I’ll compare myself to these goddamn baby boomers who keep repeating “We didn’t have it hard, you’re just being stupid. Millennials aka our children deserve to starve. We’ll just put our faith in our grandchildren because screw the kids we raised and refuse to pay accordingly. $7 an hour worked in my day, they need to make it work now.” I’ll compare myself to fake people I created in my head and purposely made scenarios and wonder why I’m not like them, said creations I made because I was pretty low for ten minutes...

I just compare myself too much. To any damn body. It’s draining, obnoxious and most of all pointless. My new motto for next year is: “Unless it is helping you grow yourself, your brand, your spirituality, don’t do it.”

I’m not comparing my chapter two to someone’s chapter thirty-five. I’m not even comparing my chapter two to someone else’s chapter two. I need to stop doing that PERIOD! My journey is different, unique, and worth seeing through.

**Listening to negative others.

A couple of years ago, I lost a close friend around the time my aunt passed away. During this time I was hypersensitive to any and everything done or said; I also kept many walls up to hide my mourning. He caught the crossfire of all of that. I kept secrets from him I was too prideful of admitting and lashed out because of the emotional turmoil I kept suppressed. While in the midst of packing his things and leaving my life, he mentioned that I was a failure because I was unemployed and artistically speaking I hadn’t accomplished anything; that I would remain that way because that’s just the person I deserved to be. Now mind you, I graduated college that year; he was a flunk out. I changed my art style dramatically compared to when I started school to pass; he thought just posting crappy pictures of lukewarm sketches were equivalent. I started attempting trends and all he could do was copy. Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t to bash my old friend. If he were to come back into my life and move on like nothing had happened I’d do the same. (With some limitations.)

It’s just while typing out this scenario, of our four-year friendship I can’t think of one nice thing/compliment/gesture he has said to me. That’s my problem.

I can be praised, admired, and look highly upon for years straight. But my problem is I let others negative thinking and comments marinate with me for a long while. Too long of a while.

Another example is my mother’s friend. (My mom has many friends that do this shit, but this one stung more.) 

This friend always roots for me; treats me like a person, and encourages my artistic journey. I consider her family before my actual relatives. 

We went over for some barbeque the family was having and I was ready. Black Hallmark Cookouts, laughing, good food, good music, shit talking others teams. She asked me a harmless question of when was I going to quit my day job. Seemed like nothing at first, until the added gest of what she continued with. “All I’m saying is you can’t do [your day job] forever. That will get old. If the art thing doesn’t work out next year what’s plan b?”

I’m not a calm person (usually). Normal Caitlin would have cursed her out and mentioned how just because she chose a job to settle and be miserable at for most of her life doesn’t mean I have to follow suit. But again, of all the nice encouraging things she has done, said, and showed, for a while, I couldn’t think of it. 

So I pray I let go of this nasty behavior in 2018; it’s going to be hard but it is dire.

***Saying I’m Not Enough

Alright, now put the combination of the two above in a bowl and what do you get? A Caitlin who struggles in interviews and applying for jobs because I let comparisons and negative comments rule my thoughts. This stopped me from applying to jobs I would have been perfect for; internships that could have helped me; posting art online.

We (including me) have to stop thinking that in order to be an illustrator means we have to pass a certain threshold of struggle, success, and a huge number of followers. That isn’t the job description. NO JOB DESCRIPTION has ”must have at least 10K followers on Instagram or Twitter.” nOnE. 

So we (including me) need to stop treating ourselves this way. Period.

7) Three things you’re looking forward to in 2019.

*Going to move conventions.

**Adding pieces to my portfolio to try again at job hunting.

***Becoming content with the fact that my current situation isn’t my permanent situation. Unless I laze around and make it so.

Alright, so this was basically me calling myself out on my noise. Lashing out my demons and putting it in writing what I want to accomplish. I hope this inspires you to write yours, even if you keep it private. I hope it guides you and maintains your vision.

I’ll see you in 2019

A new wave

Caitlin xx