#she is the smartest four year old in the entire universe and is absolutely her own person and doesn’t need her hand held by anyone

[emp-t-man]

am i too new to tumblr to push my “eiffel sees the daughter he never and will never have in hera and will always be her familial figure to me” agenda or are we ready for that conversation

[1kook]

new parent syndrome

— kim namjoon x (f) reader

SUMMARY You love Namjoon, honest. But you love your daughter Hyejoo even more— it’s not a controversial sentiment when you know he’s the same way! —and going back to a regular adult life sans kids absolutely sucks. (Or so you thought.) WARNINGS dilf!joon, dreamy husband joon, loving parents au, jimin is also a dad, bathtub sexy times, exhibitionism 😳 kinda sorta, tiny praise kink, joon calls her wifey TT, fingering, cunninglingus, doggy style, it’s kinda cheesy n romantic /.\, unprotected sex, …. impreg kink RATINGS m (18+) WC 9.5k 

NOTES writing parent fics is harder than i thought :/ i had this idea last week n was like yes, lets write this fic that absolutely no one asked for... except me! <3 so here we are, fantasizing about dreamy dad joon.... as always i have to thank rumu ( @kigurumu​ ) who is kind enough to edit these n b like that don't make no sense -_- anyway lemme know what u think !! enjoy !!

No matter how hard you try, the letter f refuses to fit itself into Hyejoo’s phonemic understanding. She’s a growing toddler so it’s only normal that there are sounds she still can’t pronounce, words she doesn’t quite get. But her inability to say food or family or friends, which are undoubtedly the three most important things in her three year-old world right now, is definitely a setback you didn’t see coming. 

Your worrywart husband has taken matters into his own hands, using the power of Google and about twelve parenting books to create an extensive, one-hour-a-day, mini lesson to try and increase her pronunciation skills. Of course, Hyejoo already attends daycare in the mornings while you and Namjoon are off at work, and gets sufficient learning done there. So she can’t exactly sit through Joon’s lectures, no matter how pretty he tries to decorate her flashcards. She’s still tiny— she’s still your baby, and you want her to enjoy the last of her daycare years before you’re forced to submit her to the worst twelve years of her life (also known as compulsory education). 

But as you’ve mentioned before, Namjoon doesn’t quite feel the same way. 

“She can’t sound out the letter,” he mopes in bed that night. He’s laying down beside you, face smushed against your thigh. The lamp on your side of the bed is the only thing on, casting a faint golden hue on his cheeks.

This conversation has occurred a variety of times these past few weeks, and you’ve just about ran out of every comforting reassurance possible. You settle on stroking a hand through his hair. There are emails to respond to and clients to check in with, but there’s also a huffy husband in bed beside you who quite pitifully crawls up into your arms. 

It’s with his face between your boobs that he speaks again. “What if she’s getting made fun of at school? Or her teachers think she’s dumb?” You roll your eyes. “My baby is not dumb, __,” he says, as if you don’t know. “Her IQ came back above average when I took her to the development specialist that one time, remember?” You have half the mind to tell him an IQ test on a three year old isn’t exactly valid, but there’s already enough stacked on his plate. Finding out he wasted a hundred bucks for an invalid test would just be the cherry on top of all his worries. 

Water clings to the very tips of his hair, remnants of his bath with Hyejoo. Namjoon is getting older now, nothing like the dashing grad student you had met what feels like a lifetime ago. There’s bags under his eyes, bags that surpass any all-nighter-pulling college student’s, induced by none other than the sheer power of becoming a parent. And still, he retains his beauty, looks like a doll with his skin so dewy from his skincare routine, lips puffy and red and kissable. 

He looks up, and you take the opportunity to place a kiss on his lips, his familiar scent making you melt into his arms. When he pulls away, there’s still a subtle furrow between his brows. 

“Hyejoo is fine,” you reassure him, carding his brown hair out of his face. He leans into the touch, eyes falling shut. “Our girl is the smartest three year-old out there,” you huff, feeling the slightest bit annoyed that he could even insinuate otherwise. “And if she was having problems at school, you know I would be the first one in there, fighting all the other moms.” 

Namjoon relents, face falling back into its haven between your tits. “Okay,” he mumbles, muffled from the way his plush lips drag against the soft skin over your sternum. 

The subject of Namjoon’s worries is in the other room sound asleep, not the least bit concerned with measly letters and sounds. It’s really only Namjoon who is, his stack of letter flashcards glaring at you from on top of the dresser. “Your mother hen is showing,” you tease as he slips beneath the covers, leaning over you to flick off your lamp. Just like everything else in your house, his t-shirt smells like him. It’s a natural, woodsy scent that floods your nostrils and makes your toes curl when he comes so close. 

Namjoon snorts as he settles beside you, beefy arm pillowing your head as he pulls you close. “I’m not a mother hen,” he says, hand on your waist, the tantalizing expanse of his neck before your eyes. “I’m the rooster— the cock,” he snickers, and you reward his terrible attempt at a joke with a pinch to his side that has him retreating to the other end of the bed. 

Hyejoo’s best friend in the entire world— or, as she says, her best pren in the entire world —is none other than Park Yerin from daycare. As the universe would have it, Park Yerin is also the one and only daughter of your college philosophy seat neighbor, Park Jimin. 

Crossing paths with him later down the road was not something you could ever anticipate, especially when you and Jimin were never that close in college to begin with. It was the only class you had with him in all four years, one where you had quietly acknowledged his charisma and occasionally shared homework answers, before never speaking to him again. You could have greeted him on campus, as you often crossed paths. But Park Jimin was a walking friendship magnet who seemed to bring with him a parade of followers everywhere he went, and approaching him required three layers of strategic planning if you wanted to catch him alone. 

So bumping into him at the entrance of Hyejoo’s daycare six years later comes as a bit of a shock. You had never pegged him as the type to settle down so quickly— you don’t mean to label him, but there were certain college stereotypes that he fit like a glove —but there he was, carrying the tiny love of his life who’s currently dressed in a bright pink Minnie Mouse dress. 

Unsurprisingly, just like her father, Park Yerin has the same enthralling personality that makes everyone in the three to four year-old daycare class want to be her friend, and your sweet little Hyejoo is not exempt. 

Long story short, out of all the kids at Sunny Side Daycare, Yerin is Hyejoo’s favorite, and Hyejoo is Yerin’s favorite. 

So now it’s been a little over a year since the two girls have established their friendship, which means it’s been a little over a year of acquainting yourself with Jimin again. He’s a house husband, something you never expected, and he loves his daughter like no other. Some afternoons after daycare are spent with Jimin and Yerin at the nearest coffee shop, watching the girls haphazardly scribble over every piece of paper they can get their hands on while the two of you catch up. 

Overall, you’re happy Hyejoo can have a friend like Yerin, and secretly, you're also happy you can finally befriend a fellow parent as nice and put together as Jimin. On top of that, Namjoon’s liked him on the few occasions he’s met him; the two have even gone out for drinks. 

However, befriending Jimin and Yerin comes at a cost, and that cost is seeing your little girl grow up.  

It’s your turn to mope. 

“Yerin asked her to sleepover,” you groan, sadly patting in your skincare routine the next night. Namjoon is somewhere behind you, his naked back glaring at you through the reflection of your vanity mirror. He’s so broad and big, sleep shorts clinging to his waist as he lotions up his body post-shower. There’s a thin gold chain around his neck that glints everytime he moves around, biceps flexing and bulging in plain view until he finally slips his shirt on. There was a time in your life where his back could not go more than two days unscathed, your rabid (read: horny) claw marks painting rosy trails down his spine. These days, you can barely remember the last time he’s held your hand. 

“Who?” he asks once he’s settled beneath the covers with whatever book he’s reading now and his thick-rimmed reading glasses. 

“Who else,” you say, tugging your night robe closer to your chest as if it’ll prevent your heart from breaking anymore than it already was. “Hyejoo’s first sleepover,” you sigh. 

You take it harder than you imagined. In the back of your mind, you’ve always known your little girl was growing up— hello, you were literally watching her grow more and more inches every single day —but you had convinced yourself she would stay your baby for a little while longer. As much as you wanted her to see and learn about the world, you selfishly wanted to keep her home too. She was your baby, your only one at that.

At least Namjoon feels the same way. “Absolutely not,” he squawks, abruptly slamming his book shut. He’s usually really meticulous about lining up his fancy bookmark right on the line he left off on, so his sudden carelessness tells you all you need to know about how he feels. 

You sit down beside him, hand over his. “It’s Yerin’s birthday,” you inform him in what you hope is a comforting tone; unbeknownst to him, you’re trying to reassure yourself as well. “And Jimin said he and his wife are gonna be there the whole night.” You trust Jimin, you really do. If there’s anyone who’s more in love with their kid than you and Namjoon, it’s Jimin. He would never let anything happen to his Yerin, and by extension, he would never let anything happen to your Hyejoo. He’s a good dad. 

Namjoon rubs at his eyes. In the span of two minutes, he’s aged about five years. “No,” he sighs softly, squeezing your hand tightly. “Once she starts going to sleepovers she’ll start wearing makeup and getting into relationships and having her heart broken—“ 

A kiss is enough to silence him when he gets like this, his warm breath fanning across your bottom lip when you pull away. “She just wants to wear tutus and sing Baby Shark right now,” you murmur, hand creeping up over his chest. His heart is beating fast as hell beneath his t-shirt, feels like it’ll burst straight out of his chest if you don’t calm him down. 

He’s the bigger worrier out of the two of you, has a classic case of paranoid parent syndrome. 

It’s no secret that Namjoon has a big brain; he’s an educated man with a respectable job. For every problem he encounters, he can procure a variety of solutions with different approaches. He’s always prepared and part of you thinks he’s a huge reason you managed to survive those first few weeks as a mom. Unlike you, who had attended a whopping two mommy classes in preparation for your upcoming child, Namjoon had studied up on parenting. A lot. He had read books and reviewed scientific studies, had learned about development on the chemistry level and the social level, did all he could until he was confident in his own dad abilities. 

But, for every solution Namjoon can find, there are always twenty-eight other factors to worry about. 

“What if she has an allergic reaction and Jimin doesn’t know what to do,” he pales, death grip on your hand. His matching wedding band digs into your skin and you have to wrestle his hand away before he accidentally breaks your finger. He nearly broke your neck once when you were in college, had almost sent you to the ER mid-thrust because he had underestimated his own strength while trying to choke you.

“Hyejoo doesn’t have any allergies,” you remind him, giving up on your awkward half-seated position as you clamber over him. His thighs are full beneath you, tense up as you move over him and he manhandles you into his chest. 

He’s not done. “What if she asks Jimin for a fizzy drink and he can’t understand her?” His eyes are owlish beneath his glasses, covered in what you can only describe as a visible sheen of absolute terror. “What if he thinks she’s saying ‘pissy’ not ‘fizzy,’ __— what then?” It’s amazing, really, how a man who graduated cum laude can hypothesize this many disasters pertaining to a four year-old’s sleepover. 

In the other room, Hyejoo calls for you, so you gladly take the opportunity to remove yourself from Namjoon and his spiraling thoughts. “Look,” you say, tightening the sash of your robe as you get back up. “I’m gonna go tell her that she can go to Yerin’s sleepover tomorrow,” you tell him, giving him exactly three seconds to groan dramatically, before continuing, “and you figure out how to turn that big brain off by the time I come back.” 

Luckily, the cause of Hyejoo’s sudden wake up is a tiny bug bite she got from playing outside that just won’t stop itching. “Mommy, it hurts,” she whines, digging her nails into the tiny red mark by her knee. 

“Uh huh, lemme see,” you order, turning on her bedside lamp to illuminate the space. Her room is the prettiest shade of yellow, fitting for a ball of sunshine such as herself. “Were you playing by the flowerbeds?” You ask, running a finger over the mark a little too weird looking to simply be another mosquito bite. 

She knows she’s not supposed to play near the flowers— the bugs like her a little too much. It’s with a hesitant little nod that she confesses to it. You give her a pointed look. “You’re not supposed to play too close to the flowers,” you remind her, a tiny scolding for now. 

With a sniffle she responds, “not by the plowers.” 

A little bit of anti-itch cream has her settling, and by the time you return to your bedroom, Namjoon is out cold. 

“How old is Yerin turning?” Namjoon asks her at the door, heartbreak clearly painting his features as you help Hyejoo into her shoes. 

“Pour,” she beams, her tiny hand held up to show four stubby fingers. She has Namjoon’s pretty smile, an honest look in her eyes that makes you want to put her in your pocket and never let her go. Alas, Yerin’s sleepover party starts at five and Hyejoo has been trying to leave since noon. 

“Pour,” Namjoon repeats, shooting you a pointed look as if to say see. He had fought the decision up until the end, had even tried to tactically convince your daughter to stay home by getting a head start on preparing her favorite food. And well. She said no. So now the two of you are stuck having dinosaur chicken nuggets for dinner without her. 

She’s got her little travel bag on now, tiny feet stuffed into her ladybug rain boots because it had rained last night and she’s awfully addicted to jumping in muddy puddles. She’s absolutely adorable, your little girl, and you think Namjoon might’ve let out a tiny sob earlier. (Or maybe it was you.)

Namjoon joins you at the front door. “Be good,” he warns her. His eyes are suspiciously wet, but you don’t say anything because yours are too. You’re both crouched in front of her, her big eyes glancing back and forth between the two of you without a care in the world. Mixing your self-assured personality with Namjoon’s (mostly) composed attitude was quite possibly the worst genetic crossover to ever happen; Hyejoo doesn’t even seem remotely bothered by the fact she’s spending her first night away from home. Meanwhile, you and Namjoon are on the verge of a joint breakdown. 

Anyway, Namjoon gives in first. “Love you forever, princess,” he tells her, their ritual expression, and kisses her forehead. 

She accepts it and then, in an unexpected turn of events, surges forward to hug him around the neck. “Love you pporever, daddy,” she repeats, and your heart feels so painfully full at the sight, like you just unlocked a new life achievement from seeing your daughter and her father be so cute together. You don’t get to coo at them for long, because then she’s giving you a warm hug as well, the same phrase muttered in your ear. 

It’s the hardest thing about parenting. 

Seeing your kid slowly broaden their horizons, meeting new people and learning new things. Leaving home. (Granted, she’ll be back by tomorrow afternoon but even that feels like an eternity away to the dramatic parents you and Namjoon have become.) The second goodbye on Jimin’s doorstep isn’t any easier, especially when Hyejoo tugs on your arm and asks you to “say night to daddy please” for her, and your heart breaks just a little more. Jimin flashes you an understanding smile but all you want to do is punch him in the nose for ever telling Yerin what a sleepover is. 

You get home and Namjoon is in a calmer state by now, some old sitcom he hates playing on the TV. Usually, this time of day is reserved for his daily phonemic lessons with Hyejoo, drilling the f sound into her tiny brain, so you guess this is his preferred method of coping in its place: torturing himself with some boring television show. 

“Hey,” he says, and you crawl into his lap with a sad sniffle. “Shh,” he soothes, hand on the back of your head as he guides you into his chest. You’re actually crying now, which is super embarrassing in itself considering you scolded Namjoon for this exact behavior last night. He doesn’t mention it as he pats your back, stupid sitcom paused in favor of soothing you with the deep vibrations of his voice. “Hye’s gonna be back tomorrow, baby.”

“I want her back now,” you huff, vaguely aware of how childish and silly you sound. The tables have turned, and you find yourself wishing you had the same emotional fortitude as Namjoon now. All those parenting books have clearly amounted for something. Somehow, you will the feeling back into your body and pull away from his chest. You must look a mess because he doesn’t even try to hide the amusement on his face. “This is the worst day of my life.” 

Namjoon laughs, deep and hearty, with his eyes squeezing shut from the force. “Come on, wifey, those chicken nuggets aren’t gonna eat themselves.”

It’s quite possibly the most boring evening you’ve had in years. 

(The internet calls it new parent syndrome, where you’re so undeniably in love with your first child and the parenting experience that the rest of the world is put on pause.)

You love Namjoon, honest. But you love your daughter Hyejoo even more— it’s not a controversial sentiment when you know he’s the same way! —and going back to a regular adult life sans kids absolutely sucks. (Or so you thought.)

Kids are prone to asking weirdly philosophical questions, a fact that had greatly delighted you when Hyejoo first started speaking. Who am I? What’s money? Why not? It could get annoying sometimes, trying to answer all of Hyejoo’s curiosities. But as you begin on your second batch of dinosaur chicken nuggets, all you can think about is how Jimin gets to answer them tonight. 

Anyway, seven rolls around and you and Namjoon are bored. You can only watch so many episodes of Seinfield before you get tired of feigning interest, so you retire from the living room for the night. “I’m gonna take a bath,” you tell him, but he’s as brain dead as you by now. 

A second later, “lemme join.” 

It’s been a while since the two of you have squeezed into the bathtub together, usually assigning each other days to individually join Hyejoo. So it’s really not either of your faults when you realize a second too late how small the space is. One on each end, feet bumping into each other with every movement, it’s like trying to squeeze two feet into one shoe. You try to readjust yourself, but the bath flooring is slippery and you nearly take away Namjoon’s procreative abilities with a mighty kick. 

To make a long story short, you end up pressed against his chest, Namjoon’s thick thighs framing you as you relax into the steaming water. Instinctively, he reaches for Hyejoo’s bottle of baby shampoo that sits on the tub’s ledge and only catches himself just as the first droplet is meeting his palm. “Oh, fuck,” he sighs, quickly closing the lid before he can waste any more precious product. “Shit, I’m so sad.”

You snort, sinking farther back into his chest. He’s warm and soft in all the right ways, the hot water making him slippery. “What did we even do before Hyejoo?” you ask, reaching into the deepest crevices of your mind for answers. Namjoon’s hand comes around, fingers sprawled out over your knee, the one you have propped up and breaking the water’s surface 

He makes a rather vague sound, something like I don’t know, as he lolls forward, forehead on your shoulder. “Go on dates,” he responds eventually. “Fuck like crazy.” 

You roll your eyes. “Besides that,” you chide, pinching the back of his palm. “Don’t we have any hobbies? Any interests?” He doesn’t answer, which is all the answer you need. Why didn’t you get into puzzle solving back when it was a trend? “Is this what our life has become? Crying in a bathtub at seven pm because our emotional support child isn’t here?”

“Our only child,” he corrects. Namjoon tries to placate your looming existential crisis with a kiss to your shoulder, lips against wet skin, that he trails up to your neck. “And what’s wrong with going on dates and fucking?” he murmurs, hands around your stomach. “That’s how we got here,” he teases, and you’re not sure if it’s the warm water or the way his voice is like melted chocolate dripping down your body, but you become all too aware of his presence at that moment. Particularly, of the plush lips mindlessly kissing your shoulder, the wet smack of their motions. 

Another kiss, this time right below your ear. It has your head rolling to the side, exposing more skin for him to kiss up on. There’s still that overwhelming cloud of worry in the back of your mind, but it’s gradually nudged away by Namjoon’s warm hands on your skin. Sensing your weakening resolve, Namjoon strikes again. A hand slips down over your stomach, brushes over your belly button and finds itself between your thighs. “You used to love date nights, baby,” he says, the pad of his pointer finger grazing your clit. 

It’s been so long since you and Namjoon have been alone like this, months since you’ve been able to touch him beyond a simple make out session, a halfhearted grope beneath the sheets. Your daughter, as much as you loved her, made intimacy impossible for the two of you. She was always around, always looking for one or the both of you, so there was never time to even think about getting frisky. 

Only now, with his finger circling your clit, do you realize the blessing in disguise that was your daughter’s first slumber party away from home. 

His finger nudges your clit, flicks it teasingly. “Why don’t you let me take care of you, hm?” he hums, the hand that had been soothingly stroking the inside of your thigh coming up to rub at your breasts. 

“Yes, please,” you whine. Resting your head on his shoulder leaves Namjoon with a clear view down your front, lips kissing and sucking along your neck. His huge hand palms your breast, massaging the sensitive skin. You hadn’t realized how sore you’d been until now, his nimble fingers pressing deliciously into the skin. If your nipples weren’t already hard before, they certainly were now. 

He traps one pearled nipple between two fingers, the sudden pinch making you hiss. “Easy, now,” he chuckles, his low tenor paired with his wandering hands making your eyes roll back. 

Namjoon liked to use a higher tone around the house. He read somewhere that children prefer lighter, sweeter tones, so the last few years have been spent listening to him lighten the tone of his voice for the sake of your daughter. The deeper, growlier voice that had first made you fall in love with him became a rarity in your household, reserved for quiet nights in the living room or long drives where Hyejoo was asleep in the backseat. Only then does he unleash the gravelly qualities of his voice. 

Then, and apparently, now. 

His doll-like lips press against your jaw, suck lightly enough to make your body tingle. “Do you remember how it was the first time?” he says suddenly, his hot breath against your neck. 

Namjoon’s got your clit trapped between two wandering fingers, has your pussy twitching with the vibrations of his voice alone. And for some reason, he’s trying to reminisce about your first time sleeping together. 

“N- Not really,” you confess, subtly reaching down. You cover his palm with yours, hoping your touch will encourage him to carry on with his actions. It doesn’t. It just leaves both your hands hovering over your pussy, your thighs instinctively closing in on them to keep him there. Namjoon responds to that, releasing the breast he had been gently massaging in order to pry your legs apart. He does it so easily, despite the way your legs feel tight as hell, and the fact makes you whimper. 

Once he’s got his hands back between your thighs— this time, he uses one hand to carefully part your quivering lips, the other one gingerly pressing down against your clit to draw the most heavenly sensations out of you —Namjoon feels the need to dive into a recap of your first fuck. “You were so cute,” he laughs, and you don’t know if you should take offense. Well, considering you're married and have a kid now, it’s probably too late to say anything anyway. His hand suddenly switches gears, three fingers joining together to begin caressing them over your throbbing clit. “Kept talking to me so politely, even when you were creaming my cock.”

You scoff, but it gets cancelled out by the moan he draws out of you. “D- Didn’t know you that well,” you remind him, your thighs twitching. You desperately want to buck forward into his giving hands, want to feel the true power of those long, pretty fingers on your cunt. 

Behind you, Namjoon’s cock grows thick, his breathing a slow and steady pace by your ear. You can already imagine how heavy he is, the vein that runs along the underside and throbs with each new bit of stimulus he receives. Normally you would reach back and try to offer him the same helping hand he gives you, but your thighs feel wobbly already. Your libido has been dormant for so long that even just the barest flick of his thumb has you dissolving into his arms like this is your first time. 

It’s as if Namjoon’s sensing your inner battle, a muffled laugh against the side of your neck. “This is about you,” he reminds you. As much as you want to protest, a sudden hard rub against your quivering lips has you gasping for breath. “Give me a kiss,” he commands softly, nudging his nose against the side of your face. It takes a second for you to ground yourself, draw yourself away from your building pleasure, to turn toward his waiting lips. 

Namjoon kisses you slowly, like he’s taking his time with you. For the first time in a long time, he truly can. He doesn’t have to worry about a certain someone waking up in the middle of the night or walking in or anything along those lines, lips molding against yours. Plush as always, the faint taste of dinosaur chicken nuggets clinging to his lips. It makes you laugh a little, drawing away with an airy giggle. Namjoon smiles at your reaction, murmuring a soft, “what is it?”

You shake your head, eyes fluttering shut as he continues his circular motions against your clit. “Nothing,” you pant, finally getting in your first thrust against his fingers. “I just really need you,” you say instead, pushing his hand harder down against you. 

You’re feeling a little antsy, having been deprived of this sensation for so long. Namjoon knows this, which is why he very purposely slows down. “There’s no rush,” he smirks, placing a kiss against your chin. “How do you want it, baby?”

The inside of your brain is a scrambled mess, filled with fantasies and ideas that have been plaguing you for months. There’s so much you want to do, want to try, but it’s like your brain completely blanks out when he asks. It’s just as you’re beginning to formulate a thought that you’re interrupted by the sound of your ringtone in the other room. Your husband’s arms tighten around you. “Don’t go,” he says quietly, the tip of his nose running along your neck. It’s so tempting to stay here, to let yourself go in his arms and chase the pleasure you’ve been craving for so long. 

But the endless possibilities of who exactly could be calling wins over. Was it work? Was it your parents? Jimin?

It is with a heavy sigh that you reach for Namjoon’s hand, slowly pushing him away from your cunt. “I’m sorry, honey,” you frown, standing up out of the tub. Your legs really do feel like jelly, and you nearly slip and crack your skull on the porcelain edge. Luckily, Namjoon is there to steady you with two secure hands on your waist. “I’ll make it quick,” you reassure him, dropping a kiss on his pouty lips as you fasten a towel around your body. 

The phone is just starting up its final ring when you reach it. It’s Jimin, and you’re torn between being thankful that you’re getting word on Hyejoo and full blown panic from the fact Jimin is calling you while Hyejoo is in his care. The unease has you accepting the call without a second more to waste. “Hello?” you say, hand tightening on the front of your towel. Stray water droplets trace ticklish trails down the backs of your thighs.

“__?” comes Jimin’s sweet voice. It’s normally soothing, but right now it has every hair on your body standing on end. Before you can even respond, Jimin is jumping headfirst into a whirlwind of a conversation. “Sorry for calling so late, but I just wanted to check in on you, babe. I know you were really panicked about Hye’s first night away from home, but don’t worry! Me and the missus are doing everything we can to make sure she’s fine.”

His confidence reassures you, lessens the weight that had been sitting on your chest all afternoon. But at the same time, you find yourself wanting to throttle him. 

Your gorgeous, sexy hunk of a husband is sitting in the other room, cock at full mast and ready to pleasure you to the moon and back, and here you are listening to Jimin brag about how good of a caretaker he is. You were definitely going to make Jimin pay for this. 

Deep breaths, you tell yourself, toying with a stray thread on your towel. “Really,” you drawl, and you can practically see Jimin’s ego swell over the line. 

“Yup,” Jimin agrees, and by the sounds of it, doesn’t seem like he’s hoping to end this call anytime soon. You want to shoulder part of the blame; you had been extra sad and mopey when you dropped your daughter off. On top of being a good dad, Jimin was also a good friend. It was only naturally he wanted to reassure you when he could. 

Still, the memory of Namjoon’s wet chest was calling out to you. 

“The girls are playing princess in the living room with the missus right now,” Jimin chats on. “New dresses and everything— the Yerin Birthday Special —and they asked me to be their handsome prince!” You sincerely cannot wait for the day you get to introduce Jimin to your right fist. 

“That’s great,” you offer, not that he’s really listening. He’s too busy talking about Yerin (and making sure to include Hyejoo in for your sake) and how amazing it is to watch your kids grow up before your very eyes. And while you agree with the sentiment, you really wish he had called you and told you this earlier, when you were at the peak of your motherly meltdown. Not now with Namjoon waiting for you in the bathtub. Was the water even warm anymore? 

The mind blowing orgasm practically slips from your fingertips the longer Jimin talks. “Anyway! Enough about them. I’m thinking of trying out that blueberry bread recipe that aired on TV last night. You know, the one they had that actress make.”

You’ve just about resigned yourself to listening to Jimin talk about his love for pastries for the next thirty minutes when something brushes up behind you. “What the fu—“

He’s so tall and broad, practically covers your entire frame when he stands so close. And his smile is so pretty when he aims it your way. “Sh,” Namjoon murmurs, gesturing towards your phone.  

“__?” Jimin calls. “Everything alright?” 

Namjoon nods eagerly, the hands on your waist properly positioning you in front of him. It’s with a shudder running down your spine that you respond. “I’m fine,” you tell Jimin, letting go of the front of your towel when Namjoon abruptly pushes you over. The white comforter infused with both of your scents comes all too close, your elbow barely managing to reach out in time to catch you.  

Wide eyed, you turn to throw Namjoon a scandalized look over your shoulder. He meets you with a close-mouthed smile, the dimples in his cheeks making themselves known. His chest is drier now, the smooth planes covered in a thin dewy glow and a spattering of droplets he missed. There’s a towel around his waist that’s barely doing its job, especially when you catch sight of the erection tenting beneath it. 

“As I was saying,” Jimin rambles on. Namjoon nods towards the device, refusing to move again until you finally turn back around to finish your conversation with Jimin. “That actress fucked it up so bad. They really give anyone with a pretty face screen time these days, huh? At least I know how to properly preheat an oven.”

You nod. “You do make the best cookies in town,” you respond, a ball of anticipation building in your throat from the mere fact Namjoon is standing behind you. 

It’s completely warranted once you feel two cold fingers trail up the back of your thigh, your towel gradually pushed up to drape around your waist. The air in your room is a little chilly, and the goosebumps that raise on your skin are partly due to that, as well as the ghostlike touch of Namjoon’s fingers. “Pretty,” he murmurs, so deep and gravelly it has you shuddering.  

Two fingers dance along your skin, and you subconsciously jolt away when they meet the tender skin around your pussy. By your ear, Jimin says, “if I completely fuck it up, we’ll just pretend this conversation never happened. Deal?”

Using your own body against you, Namjoon lets one finger dip just the smallest bit into your quivering hole. You clench up, thighs trembling when he eventually pulls it back out and traces your own wetness over your folds. “Perfect,” you bite out, clutching at the sheets beneath you as Namjoon reaches for your forgotten clit. It’s still so sensitive from your little fun in the bath, and it takes every ounce of strength in you to hold back the whiny gasp in your throat. 

Behind you, Namjoon suddenly presses in close. One hand on your hip, he gently encourages you onto the bed. Your knees sink into the mattress, one less strain on your legs. “Good girl,” he praises quietly, rewarding your behavior with a finger sinking into your cunt. 

“Joo—“ you almost slip, burying your face into the sheets just in time. 

A devastatingly slow pace, his finger just barely moving in and out of you. The bulk of your pleasure is coming from that bundle of nerves towards your front, but the teasing gesture isn’t appreciated anyway. When he leans over you, breath against your neck, you feel the length of his cock against your thigh. “He’s asking you a question,” Namjoon whispers, “answer him, baby.”

You nod, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he presses himself closer. Jimin hasn’t even noticed your lack of participation, mindlessly humming a song. The sounds of a running sink highlight his vocals. “Oh, absolutely,” you babble. “I wouldn’t tell a soul.” 

“Ha!” Jimin scoffs. “I knew I could always count on you, Miss __,” he snarks playfully. 

The hand toying with your clit comes around your waist, fingers stroking against your folds from this new angle. A silent moan has you writhing forward, unconsciously away from him as Jimin babbles on the other end of the line. He’s none the wiser to the lewd acts happening on the line, listening to the sound of his own voice. Namjoon lands a mean little bite against your shoulder, plunging his finger deeper inside of your clenching hole. 

Paired with his teasing fingers, it’s nearly impossible to withhold your moans, biting your lip until it stings. “Fuck, fuck,” you whimper against the sheets, holding your phone as far away as possible from your mouth as a litany of curse words spill from your lips. Namjoon chuckles at your dramatics, not like he has his fingers deep inside of you right now or anything. 

“So cute,” he hums, removing his hand from your clit to snatch your towel away. It gives way too easily, messily thrown over the edge of the bed. With your back completely exposed now, Namjoon wastes no time trailing a line of kisses up your spine, finishing off with an especially wet and hard one behind your ear. “Hang up now.”

His permission sets your body on edge, drawing your phone close again. Jimin is talking about dinner or something, you don’t even know. Not an ounce of remorse fills you when you clear your throat and hurriedly announce, “I have to—“ Namjoon’s cock, finally uncovered by his towel, presses against your folds and you nearly lose it. “—I have to go now, Jimin,” you say, leveling your breathing as best as you can. 

“Wait, what the fuck?” Jimin says, thrown off by your sudden departure. 

The mushroom tip of his cock kisses your clit. “Fuck— I really have to go.” And you hang up, chucking the phone off to the side hastily. With your hands both freed, you scramble onto your back, meeting the amused gaze of your husband behind you. “Fuck me, now.”

Namjoon laughs, reaching for the towel barely clinging onto his waist. One suave swoop later and it joins yours on the floor. “You did good,” he praises, lowering himself between your spread thighs. You roll your eyes, grabby hands reaching for his hips until he’s sitting snugly against you, cock resting over your throbbing cunt. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you snap, the tight feeling in your tummy growing with every second that passes. Namjoon isn’t as unaffected as he pretends to be, a pearly bead of cum appearing at the tip of his engorged cock. “Just fuck me now.”

He raises a brow. “Missionary?” As if it’s the first time. 

“Is there something wrong with it?” you ask anyway, self-consciously reaching an arm over yourself to cover your naked breasts. They’ve pebbled over just from his stare alone. 

Namjoon hesitates, the hand on your hip drawing slow circles with his thumb. Eventually, he responds with a halfhearted shrug. “It’s not the best.” This is news to you, and you find yourself sitting up at the sudden bomb he’s dropped. 

He’s still hard as rock between you, his dick laying almost artfully against your slit. You really just want to throw aside all reservations and begin grinding against him, penetration be damned, but now Namjoon’s got that thoughtful quirk to his lips. The one that usually accompanies any big brained idea, so you settle down, nudging him with your thigh until he’s looking at you again. “Penny for your thoughts?” What you really want to say is please fuck me like I’m just another cum rag of yours and make it hurt, but alas. 

Namjoon sits back on his haunches. “I read somewhere that on your hands and knees is the best way to get pregnant.” You choke on your own tongue, face ablaze from his forward statement. Meanwhile, Namjoon is looking as relaxed as ever. 

You hadn’t really discussed children after Hyejoo. The wordless agreement had been that sure, you were both down for another kid sometime in the future. But the exact date had sort of been murky. Hyejoo is three now, and you heard from another mom that it’s difficult for children with wide age gaps to get along. You don’t want her growing up being far removed from another sibling. 

But also, now?

It’s like Namjoon knows your thoughts before you even do. “Alright, wifey, say no more,” he says, leaning down to place a kiss against your lips. “I’ll get the condom, alright?”

And then he’s stepping off the bed, every muscle of his toned body flexing as he swaggers over towards the dresser. He’s a walking dream, the physical embodiment of all your crazy sex fantasies, and he wants to fuck a baby into you. Your pussy says yes, but your rationality is still on the fence. 

You roll onto your side, head propped into your open palm. “You want another baby?” you ask tentatively. Namjoon shrugs, carefully opening the new box of condoms you had bought half a year ago. 

“It wouldn’t hurt to have another kid,” he answers, procuring a tiny foil packet from the box and returning to his spot between your legs. It’s like staring at a marble statue from this angle, the defined planes of his chest and abdomen, the gorgeous slope of his nose, the sharp angles of his face. You really lucked out. 

Your decision comes just as he’s easing the rubber over the tip of his cock, the swollen head just barely enveloped. You place a hand against his wrist, earning his attention. “Take it off,” you mumble, and you swear on your entire life he swells another inch. 

“Oh, baby,” he groans, hastily throwing the condom somewhere across the room. He rolls over you, bulging arms sweeping you up into his embrace, lips capturing yours in a sloppy kiss. You whimper, letting his tongue push itself past your lips. When he pulls away, it’s with a wet pop and glistening lips. They’re so puffy now, flushed a nice rosy color, that makes him look even more handsome when he smiles down at you. “Gonna look so pretty all pregnant,” he beams, placing a chaste kiss against you one last time before he’s hurriedly rolling you onto your stomach. 

You hide your bashful expression against the sheets, suddenly feeling very shy before him. But then Namjoon’s cock is running along your lips and you’re left a shivering mess. “Please just fuck me,” you beg hoarsely, and Namjoon obeys. 

“Whatever you want, wifey,” he teases, and before you can call him out for his cheesiness, he’s pressing his thumb into your aching hole once more. “Is this okay?” he asks, somberly for the first time in what seems like forever. 

“I’m okay,” you confess, a little shyly now that you know his true motives.  

Namjoon chuckles, quickly removing his finger from inside of you to give your ass one soothing pat. “Going in,” he warns you, and finally, you’re rewarded for all your struggles. It’s only as his mushroom head squeezes in that you realize you could have done with a bit more stretching, but that thought fades away the more and more he pushes in. “Fuck,” he groans, the low intonation of his voice making your toes curl.

If it’s not his voice, it’s the sheer length of his cock inside of you. The girth makes your spine tingle, has you muffling a pitiful whimper into the comforter beneath you. “Relax for me,” he directs, and then suddenly he’s placing a palm against your back, pushing you further down. “Hips up.” 

You groan. The normally soft fabric of the blanket feels like hell on your sensitive breasts. “I’m trying,” you whine, pushing back onto him in an effort to familiarize yourself with his cock again. It’s been so long since he’s been inside of you like this, since he’s filled you so well, that your body acts a little stupid now. He hasn’t even begun thrusting and you already feel like you’ll cum just from this.  

The angle is different than your usual style, has him moving along every inch of you as he sinks in. Two big hands grab at your waist, manhandling you closer to him until you’re just like he wants you to be. “There we go,” he sighs, and with him motionless, you finally relax. It’s about a two second pause before he begins to draw himself back out. “How do you want it?” he grunts, but it’s lost beneath the moan that escapes you. It’s the same question he asked you in the tub, right before Jimin called, except this time you have an answer. 

“Fast,” you gasp, the pain from the stretch finally, finally, melting away as your body grows accustomed to his presence inside of you. “Do it fast, please.”

Namjoon does as he’s told, waiting until he’s pulled out until the tip to satisfy your requests. And then he’s off. 

Your body isn’t as young as it once was, left a little worn from the entire child-bearing process. Sometimes you wonder how exactly you and Namjoon would fuck until sunrise before, how your sex drive was so high that it allowed such a thing to happen. Admittedly, there’s currently a stiffness inside of you that has been there for a while now, and you barely remember how you got rid of it before. Apparently, this is how.

Namjoon’s hard cock rams into you once, makes you release the most embarrassingly loud moan at the sudden intrusion, and it’s like all those months of tension that built up in your body are melted away. His cock pushes past your folds, creating a lewd squelching sound that would otherwise leave you mortified to learn it came from your body. You shudder, desperately pushing your ass back against him in a feeble attempt to feel it again. 

“Still so fucking tight for me,” he growls, snapping his hips forwards. His skin slaps against yours, leaves you feeling tender from the brutal movements of his body. But at the same time, it feels absolutely terrific. 

Your lips are still coated in your own wetness, have him noisily moving in and out. “J- Joon,” you whimper softly, but you doubt he hears it over the sound of his own labored breathing. “More.”

He responds with a sudden piston inside of you that has the tip of his cock nearly kissing your cervix. “More?” he huffs, the hand on your back pressing down until you fear you’ll become one with the mattress. “You want more?” You nod hurriedly, somehow managing to stretch a hand down between you to toy with your clit. The brush of your own fingers has you bucking back onto him in surprise.

Wordlessly, he speeds up his pace, thrusting his hips into your velvety walls at a faster speed than before. It’s a weird sensation, a sort of ticklish feeling m that makes you tremble with each roll forward. You can’t say the two of you have done it in this position a lot, always preferring the more romantic missionary position to anything else, but this experience was quickly making you an avid believer of its validity as a top tier sex position. 

You swirl your pointer finger around your clit, trying to sync up your shaky touch with his steady thrusts. It’s useless, because every time you feel like you’ve gotten into the same groove, Namjoon one ups you by hauling you back against him. “Oh, f- fuck,” you sob, clawing at the sheets beneath you. 

Namjoon groans, momentarily pausing his rapid thrusts to roll his buried cock against you. “Come on, baby,” he husks, the hilt of his cock kissing your folds. 

There’s a lot of built up sexual tension inside of you, months on top of months of nothingness. Not to mention that little scene in the bathtub just now. So you’re not really surprised that your orgasm rears its head so early, curling up tightly in your stomach the longer Namjoon fucks you. He’s back to thrusting now, shallow little movements that make you see stars every time his cock glides inside of you. “Joon, I'm gonna...” you rasp out pitifully, grinding back against him. 

“Whenever you want,” he murmurs, leaning forward to press a kiss against your shoulder. It’s sweet, but on top of that, it has him pushing in further than before, finally pressed against that sensitive spot inside of you that makes your entire body lock up. You sob, thighs quivering when he reaches an arm around you. It’s almost romantic how your hands meet, his fingers covering yours as he guides them over your clit slowly. “Give it to me, baby,” he croons, lips pressed securely against your neck. He leaves soft kisses there, smooches really, that make you melt. 

Another shallow buck of his hips forward and you’re cumming, breaths picking up until they accumulate into a choked wail against the sheets. “Fuck— oh, fuck,” you cry, your thighs spasming from the force of your first satisfying orgasm in months. Namjoon holds you through it, slowly thrusting inside of you until he’s drawn out your entire orgasm.

The new added pleasure makes his movements sound even wetter, dirtier even. “That’s it,” he purrs, pushing himself back up to his full height behind you. You feel absolutely boneless beneath him, laying limply against the mattress as Namjoon repositions your hips for himself. “Can I finish like this, sweetheart?” he asks anyway, thumbs drawing a soothing pattern along your hip. 

You can barely catch your breath, so you settle on a halfhearted nod that has him huffing out a laugh. 

For some reason, Namjoon fucks you harder once he knows you’ve had your fill. Like he’s trying to draw another orgasm out of you, but is also the least bit concerned with you. Honestly, it works. He moves fast and hard, like he has no regard for your pleasure, and for some reason that turns you on more than it should. It’s this weird fantasy of yours, to be mistreated by a man as respectful as Namjoon, and you find yourself weirdly fulfilling it now as he fucks his cock into you. 

His fingers dig into your skin, wildly bucking into you as he chases his own high, and it’s embarrassing how quickly a second one builds up for you. You moan at one particular thrust, body sensitive all over. “Oh,” you whimper, “Namjoon.”

He grunts, your cries fueling him on as he continues his mad race to the end. “Gonna cum with me again?” he pants, his quick pace rocking you forward. You nod, using your killer grip on the sheets to ground yourself as you weakly attempt to meet his thrusts. “Aren’t you the sweetest,” he hums, and doesn’t let you respond as he continues to jackhammer his way into your pussy at a bruising pace. 

It takes a few more thrusts, and one whiny cry of his name— “come on, Joonie,” you whimper, turning to throw him a teary-eyed gaze over your shoulder; he shudders at the sight —until Namjoon is finally tipped over the edge, shooting his pleasure deep into you on the next thrust. It’s warm, paints your walls and threatens to spill out when he finally pulls out. 

But Namjoon has read up, using those big strong arms of his to keep you from collapsing onto your tummy as he scrambles around for something to keep your hips up. “It sticks better this way,” he says, a sheen of sweat against his temples when he flops down beside you. 

“What sticks better,” you groan, the achy feeling of just having your world rocked quickly settling into your bones. 

Namjoon leans forward and places a kiss against your lips, as if saying here, for all your hard work. “You know... it,” he shrugs, hands behind his head as he prepares himself to supervise your post-sex nap, just to make sure you don’t accidentally move around and let his cum leak out. “You did good, wifey,” he praises with another smooch. “Maybe we should let Hyejoo sleep over at Jimin’s more.”

Hyejoo’s return is the highlight of the year. 

You pick her up around noon, and your heart nearly grows ten sizes when you see her come running down Jimin’s front steps and into your arms. “Hi, mommy,” she beams, the same smile as Namjoon. And just like Namjoon, you can’t stop yourself from covering her face in tiny kisses. She says they tickle and squirms and squeals in your embrace. 

Jimin’s at the door with this weirdly blank look on his face. “Hey, Jimin,” you call out, helping Hyejoo load her bag into the backseat.

“Hey…” he greets, just as Hyejoo frantically begins calling for you to buckle her in. “Um, __,” Jimin says, but you’re a little busy securing the tiny love of your life into her booster seat, so you just throw him a quick glance to let him know you’re listening. Kinda. “There’s something I have to tell you—“

“I wanna see daddy!” Hyejoo babbles from the backseat, wildly waving her hands around as you finally close the door on her. With it shut, her loud voice is drowned out and you’re left raising a brow at Jimin as you round the front of the car. 

“What’s up?” you ask. 

Jimin comes down the steps, awkwardly hovering by the front of your car. “Um, when we were on the phone—“ Hyejoo knocks her tiny hands against the window, gesturing for you to hurry up. You flash Jimin an apologetic frown at the interruption. “Well, you see. She kinda heard us— well, me—” 

Another flurry of knocks, and you can’t wait to relay to Namjoon how excited your daughter had been to see him again. It’ll boost his ego, not that he really needs it to be any bigger. “That’s fine,” you tell Jimin, swinging your door open. Immediately, Hyejoo’s high-pitched voice fills the space between you and Jimin. “You know I don’t mind talking to the missus,” you joke, nudging his side. “She’s my friend too, ya know.”

“Gotta show daddy something!” Hyejoo shouts from the backseat, has this big smile on her face that makes you smile as well. 

Beside you, Jimin is quickly falling apart. “No, well—” you drop down into your seat “it wasn’t her who heard—“ You shut the door, lowering the window to thank Jimin one more time. Hyejoo beats you to it.

“Bye, Mr. Jimin!” she says, tiny legs kicking around all wildly in her excitement. You shake your head with a grin, waving goodbye to Jimin one last time as you pull out of his driveway. 

“Daddy!” Hyejoo shrieks upon entering your home. Her tiny overnight bag is tossed down at the entryway, ladybug rain boots haphazardly kicked towards the general direction of the shoe closet. Namjoon had been upstairs in his study when you left, but he now comes bounding down the steps at the sound of your daughter’s voice. He cries out a dopey, “princess”, as he scoops her up in his big arms. He does a twirl and everything, so dramatic. But it makes Hyejoo giggle like crazy. 

She allows one big fat kiss against her chubby cheeks before she’s shushing him with the news of her announcement. “Daddy, look,” she beams, holding his face between her tiny hands. “I can say the f sound now!”

Namjoon has been avidly working towards this ability for months now. Namjoon, who has spent nights reading every page of every child development book possible, who has spent hours decorating pretty flashcards for her, who has sectioned off time from his busy schedule everyday just to go over lessons with her. Well, Namjoon looks over the goddamn moon at the news. 

“Let’s hear it, honey,” you urge, stepping in when his happiness renders him incapable of speech. So he just nods along, looks like a bobblehead doll beside you. 

And with both of her proud, sometimes overprotective, parents standing before her, Hyejoo puts on a big grin and says, “fuck.”

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[spenciegoob]

Who Needs Luck?

A/N: hi! I solely wrote this because of my 3 recent visits to NY (no, I sadly did not meet mgg)... plus i’ve been going there my whole life.. this is becoming the longest authors note, but as i’m writing I just want to say the people who work at food trucks in nyc are the nicest people ever, ask them about their day (AND TIP OMG PLS)

Summary: Reader invites Spencer to go to New York City with her where he finally sees the beauty right in front of him.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff!

Content Warnings: reader can’t drive very well (I apologize if this is a callout post), slight road rage, language

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4K

____

I never considered myself a lucky man. Life had proven time and time again that no matter how many four leaf clovers I set out to search for, how many pennies on the ground faced heads up I stumbled across, luck was never on my side. I’ve learned to live with it, accepted my fate as the world’s smartest punching bag long before I was even in college.

But then I met her, and as cheesy as it sounds, I didn’t need luck that morning.

The second I woke up, the universe seemed to have it out for me specifically. I swung my legs over my bed, and in my half asleep daze stepped on my glasses, successfully breaking them. Unable to see on my short trip to the bathroom, I stubbed my toe… twice. Once I finally finished my morning routine more methodically, I walked out of my apartment only to bump into a stranger, sending the coffee she was holding all the both of us.

I had tried to apologize so many times, cutting my words short when they didn’t feel right. I had gotten through a series of “I’m, uh, oh, I, you,” before her smile interrupted my thought process, leaving me awestruck instead.

“That’s okay, but you owe me a coffee now.” She giggled, actually giggled, even with the scorching liquid causing her shirt to stick to her body. “Maybe… together?”

I didn’t hesitate to agree, taking her up on the offer that weekend and never looking back. Even when a loud crash, followed by a quiet, harsh ‘shit’ woke me up in a startle, there was no regret. Maybe just a little concern for my girlfriend who now that my eyes have adjusted to the darkness, can be seen holding her knee on the floor of our bedroom.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to wake you,” she whispered out, grabbing onto the dresser to stand straight again. Once she was on her feet, she came over to sit on the edge of our bed, immediately running her fingers through my hair. If I wasn’t so worried about her knee, I probably would’ve fell asleep again.

“Are you okay?” She giggled at my scratchy morning voice before nodding her head. It’s then I realized how the sun hasn’t even begun to rise, the room still pitchblack. “What are you doing up?”

“Getting ready to go to the city, sleepyhead,” she said as if it was the most obvious answer, but truthfully, it left me with more questions.

“At... 5 am?” I sat up, glancing at the alarm clock three times just to make sure I was reading it right. She may have always been a little strange, but usually at a reasonable hour.

At this, she stood up to continue getting ready for the very early morning. Now I notice why she fell, the piles of clothes leading to the closet had to have at least half of her outfits compiled together.

“Well, yeah. I want to get there before noon.” Even in my perplexed state, I rose from the bed and carefully tiptoed around haphazardly thrown clothes to reach her.

While wrapping my arms around her waist still hidden under my t-shirt, I questioned. “It’s right outside? You have 7 hours.”

She turned to look at me funny as if I wasn’t the one digging through clothes and waking up before dawn to walk literally 5 minutes to my desired location. My eyebrows must have subconsciously furrowed at one point, because she brought her hand up to stroke her thumb on my forehead. Immediately, I felt the tension melt, no longer caring to correct my confusion. She still did it anyway.

“Not DC, silly. New York!” I wish it were untrue, but my heart dropped at her words. She was leaving, going to a city I wasn’t familiar with beyond reading about, solving cases, and memorizing subway maps. Is this how she feels every time I board that jet?

“W-what? You’re just going to New York City?” I inwardly cringed at how desperate and sad I sounded, but I really didn’t want her to leave.

“Mhm,” she mumbled, turning back around to return digging in her closet.

“For how long?” Please change your mind. Please change your mind. Please change you-

Realizing that I was fully awake, she let out a boisterous laugh, allowing the way it bounced off our four little walls to return back to us. It was a sound most treasured. “I was hoping to get back around 9.”

“What?” I leaned back to look at her like she was absolutely preposterous. I mean, she was!

“Roadtrip!”

That’s how I found myself in the passenger seat of her car, no coffee in my hand because I wasn’t allowed until I have “a real cup of coffee.” Whatever the hell that means better happen soon, because as much as I loved watching the way she concentrates on the road in front of her, my eyes were starting to droop.

“It’s going to be another 4 hours. You can sleep, my love.” How she knew me so well, I will never be able to figure out, but I was out before we even made it across state borders.

That however, didn’t last very long. My girlfriend may be short and sweet, but behind the wheel? That’s a different story. The horn to her car is a very familiar sound when I’m jolted awake by a sudden stop.

“Really, asshole? Go!” She yelled, slamming her hand against the top of the steering wheel before looking over at me. “Hey, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to wake you yet. I forgot how awful drivers are here.”

“Where is here exactly?” I questioned, sitting up from my slouched position to find cars practically on top of each other on a road not wide enough for two lanes.

“New Jersey. We’re 10 minutes away.” Wow, I didn’t realize I slept for that long, and I have to admit I’m a little surprised I wasn’t woken up sooner.

“How are we 10 minutes away? It’s at least another 30 to get to the tunnel.” Looking at our surroundings didn’t help me determine our exact location. To the left of us, there were dozens of graffiti murals on the side of what I assumed was another elevated highway. To the right, sidestreets with local businesses ranging from auto repair shops to fast food joints to gyms.

“Nuh uh, stop analyzing mister. You’ll know when we get there.” She waved a finger in my directions, putting a pin in my scrutinization. I pouted right back, successfully playing along to the theme of her scolding me like a 5 year old.

“I don’t like surprises you know.” It was the truth, but her contagious laughter that filled the car made me slightly less disinclined to stop asking questions.

“Oh I know, but trust me, you’ll like this one.” She went to go reach over to grab my hand from where it was resting in my lap, but stopped short and retracted in favor of slamming the horn. “Oh, come on!”

***

“So you drove to a train station... in New Jersey?” I asked while she was… attempting to park the car.

“Well, yeah. I’ve been taking this route since I was a little girl.” Once she finally figured out how to evenly space a two door convertible in a very spacious parking spot, she unbuckled her seatbelt, and was quick to grab her bag from the backseat. “Well, come on mister, we’re going to miss the train.”

To be quite honest, I have never been so lost in my life. I could probably pinpoint our exact location on a map if I wanted to, granted I was given any sort of information, but part of me didn’t want to. Scratch that, all of me didn’t want to, because my entire life has been planned out in front of me before, but right now, I get to be spontaneous with the most beautiful girl on the planet.

“Don’t let go of my hand,” she told me, lacing our fingers together and pulling me forward. “Don’t stop to look around, you will get pushed.”

We made it inside, and if I thought the DC transit system was bustling with people constantly, this place was so much worse. There were hallways left and right, all packed with people in a rush. It seems everybody had some place to be and zero time to get there.

“Upstairs.” We walked up two flights before reaching a platform, buying our tickets and making it just in time for a train to arrive. “I know they come every 8 minutes, but thank god we made this one,” she said as she sat down.

The cart we were in wasn’t too crowded, and once I finally found a map on the wall across from us, I saw that it was a direct ride to the World Trade Center.

“You said you took this train when you were little?”

“Yeah, I went to the city a lot as a kid. This was the easiest, and the cheapest way there.” A small smile played at her lips, obviously the product of some childhood memory. “I used to hop it.”

“Of course you did,” I laughed back with her, thinking about how an innocent looking child would be the first person to get away with sneaking onto the train.

***

“I said it before, I will say it again. Do not let go of my hand.” This time it was more stern, and if I were being honest, I would say that it got me the slightest bit nervous. She must have noticed, she always does, because she continued. “Don’t worry, it just gets congested and I don’t want to lose you.”

She was right about that, it indeed was very congested, but that was okay because she was holding my hand, and I would follow her just about anywhere if it meant she kept looking over her shoulder and smiling when she saw me. Once we made it across the way, and in front of heavy looking glass doors, she turned to me and started walking backwards.

“You okay? This is definitely not off to a great start.” She was wrong, it was off to a perfect start.

“Yeah, I’m okay, but you might want to watch where you’re going,” I said before her back hit the door.

“Please I can get here with my eyes closed.” And then we were outside, and all 5 of my senses were hit immediately. The sun was shining down on us, and before I could complain about not bringing my sunglasses, she handed them to me. My heart fluttered at the innocent act, taking the sunglasses with such gratitude even though she had already moved on to retrieve hers. “Do you smell that?” She asked.

“There are a lot of answers to that question,” I told her, not knowing if she was talking about the smell of the construction happening at the corner, the permanent garbage smell or something entirely different.

“The hotdogs, silly. Come on, there’s nothing like ‘em.” This time, I laced our fingers together, not because I was scared of losing her, I was, but I just really wanted to be closer to her. She didn’t mind, in fact, she let out a content hum and leaned her head on my arm as we walked to the stand.

“Can I get four hotdogs with sauerkraut and two grape sodas,” she asked the vendor, who politely nodded before moving on to prepare our food.

“You’re going to have a heart attack by 35,” I said as I nudged her with my shoulder. She gave me a small push back before answering.

“Is that a doctor’s diagnosis?” She asked as she took our now ready food into her hands, after paying the man before I even had time to blink. I just grabbed the two cans of soda and followed her where she was making a beeline for a park bench. “Watch out for skaters.”

“Yes, it is indeed a doctor's diagnosis.” I unwrapped one of the hotdogs before taking a bite. I closed my eyes and let out a content hum. “It may be a little worth it.”

“Exactly.” We sat there quietly, enjoying the warm weather and sounds of wheels against pavement. At one point, she rested her head against my shoulder, and I am convinced wherever she went would be Heaven.

***

“Are your eyes closed?” We found ourselves with both our hands interlocked, my eyes closed while she walked backwards. I gave an ‘mhm’ before she continued. “We’re here, just keep them closed, and…” her words trailed off. “Okay open.”

I opened my eyes to her holding her arms out in the middle of the largest bookstore I’ve ever seen. “Surprise!” My eyes were bouncing everywhere. It wasn’t too crowded, the large stairwell across the store catching my eye first. There were bookshelves tens of feet high, all loaded with different genres and authors. To the right of us, tiny knick knacks and pins and socks. It was beautiful.

“Wow,” I whispered out, still stuck in my place admiring our surroundings. She was beaming up at me, a hint of pride at her successfulness to drag me 6 hours away to the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.

“The Strand has always been my favorite place in the city. Come on, let’s go explore.” She grabbed my hands again, pulling me deeper into the store towards a shelf labeled adult fiction.

***

Six books, three pairs of socks and a postcard later, we were back on the busy streets of New York, aimlessly walking and admiring the tall buildings and different attractions. Well she was, I was admiring the way she was looking around like it was her first time here. Maybe I should have been paying more attention to our surroundings, but no amount of skyscrapers or fountains could possibly ever match up to her level of beauty. 

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” I asked randomly, startling her into jumping a tiny bit before giggling. She stopped us, turning to face me fully before reaching up to grab my face in her hands.

“Once or twice.” The kiss we shared on the New York streets were no different than the ones before, but this time, it felt like a silent promise. A passing between two lovers that no matter where we are, our love is the most beautiful thing there is. “I love you too, dork.”

___

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[itsthenovelteafactor]

Superhero Gothic

Thanks to everyone who responded to my previous post (special shoutout to @jeyfeather1234 💛 ) about superheroes and gothic media! I know it’s been, like, a month, but here we go.

Here’s a bit of a look into some common gothic themes, and how they apply to Doom Patrol, The Boys, Watchmen (2019), and The Umbrella Academy. This one’s a bit long, not gonna lie, but I hope you enjoy! 

Part I: Let’s Talk About Gothic Media

There is not actually an all-encompassing definition for gothic media, or even a universally agreed-upon one. You’re probably familiar with some well-known gothic works (think Dracula, Frankenstein, Edgar Allen Poe, Stephen King) but there is a lot of debate on what exactly makes them gothic. 

There are some common themes in gothic works, though: families/characters under the control of a tyrannical paterfamilias, the crumbling of the established order/estate, long-buried secrets that have consequences in the present, and supernatural events that are stand-ins for/reflective of the emotional state/past actions of the characters. 

(Note: these aren’t all the themes of gothic works or even most of them, but for purposes here, I’d like to limit this analysis to them. I’d love to talk about other themes/ideas, though, if anyone has them. 😊)

So… superheroes (quick overview in case you haven’t watched any of them… spoiler warnings for the rest of this discussion)

Doom Patrol:

Five misfit superhumans attempt to rescue their mentor figure when he is kidnapped by an old enemy.

They are very, very bad at it.

Also features a singing horse head, a sentient nonbinary teleporting street (who is by far the best character) and the narrator is the fourth-wall breaking series villain. 

Beautifully weird but will also emotionally devastate you. Criminally underrated, tbh.

Watchmen (2019):

Story takes place after the canon of the graphic novel which is too much to summarize.

Alternate history (that should really feel more fictitious than it does) where white supremacist organization the Seventh Cavalry, masked police officers, and former superheroes in hiding all collide in Tulsa Oklahoma

Swept the Emmys this year and ABSOLUTELY DESERVED TO

The Umbrella Academy:

Washed up former child superheroes are forced to reunite when their father dies under mysterious circumstances 

Time travel, dysfunctional siblings, and a killer soundtrack

Basically a family drama with the superhero story as secondary (complimentary)

Probably the most obviously gothic of all of these it is aesthetic AF 

The Boys: 

Superheroes exist but they are corporate sellouts under the control of evil company Not-Amazon (AKA Vought)

Regular human protagonists try to hold them accountable for their actions with varying (read: usually minimal) success

Yes, it’s the one from those weird ads earlier this year

Billy Joel!! 

Part II: Niles Caulder, Ozymandias, and Other Terrible Father Figures

The Tyrannical Paterfamilias: 

Does not always mean a father figure explicitly, often relating to the notion of a patriarchal tradition, or family inheritance that plays a role in controlling the main characters. 

Sometimes, it is a father figure. 

Sometimes, it is a representative of patriarchal tradition/male head of pseudo-family unit.

So, uh, role call: 

Reginald Hargreeves (even in death) holds power over his children, and has shaped all of them into the adults they have become, and that drives the majority of the conflict. Each of the major character individually grapples with the after-effects of his abuse. Luther feels the need to be the leader and protect everyone and alienates his allies as a consequence. Diego constantly asserts himself as a hero (often to dangerous extremes) because it is the only way he was ever valued. Allison has to teach herself boundaries and responsible use of her powers after he encouraged her to abuse them for years. Klaus turns to drugs to cope with his childhood trauma. Five disobeyed his father with disastrous consequences and is constantly fighting to not become him. Vanya spent her entire childhood in the background, and never learned to assert herself in a healthy way. Thanks, Reggie.

Homelander says that The Seven are like a family. While whether or not this is accurate (it isn’t) is up for debate, he does occupy the tyrannical paterfamilias roles incredibly well. Homelander controls every member of the Seven, threatening them and their loved ones whenever they step out of line (read: do not do exactly what he wants in the exact way he wants them to do it.) He is also very closely tied with conservative/patriarchal rhetoric in-universe and at one point dates a literal Nazi. 

William Butcher less evil than most of the other characters on this list but the bar is also like, on the ground. Butcher tries to control the Boys in a similar way (Butcher and Homelander are character foils, okay? it’s actually pretty neat). He’s perfectly willing to sacrifice them in pursuit of his own goals, disregards their points of view and the well-being of their loved ones, and tries to cut loose anyone who disagrees with his methods (recall when Hughie tried to rescue his friends at the end of s1 and Butcher… punched him in the face? Yeah, that.) The difference is that the Boys can push back against his without being, you know, brutally murdered. (And also the Butcher isn’t a literal monster; I’m not anti-Butcher, okay? He’s an interesting character and the fact that he seems constantly on the verge of becoming that which he hates most is part of what makes him interesting.)

Guess what, folks? It’s hating Niles Caulder hours. He engineered accidents to turn the main characters into his test subjects, and then kept them conveniently hidden away in his large manor. Stole their autonomy and independence but paints himself as a benevolent father figure. And that’s not even including what he does to his actual daughter, Dorothy. He’s terrified of her growing up (read: becoming a young woman) and so he locks her away for almost 100 years and, when she is freed, yells at her constantly and makes her terrified of showing any signs of maturation (even though she’s 111 and clearly tired of being written off as a child).

The relationship between Ozymandias and his daughter, Lady Trieu, is integral to the final act of Watchmen. Heralded as the “smartest man in the world,” Ozymandias refused to acknowledge his daughter as his until he needed something from her. While Lady Trieu is more self-sufficient and independent than some of the applications of this trope, she goes to great lengths to prove herself, first to him, and then to herself when he rejects her.

Part III: Been a Long Time Gone (Constantinople) 

Gothic fiction is often associated with change, and particularly, the collapse of established systems of power. For example, many works like The House of the Seven Gables and The Fall of the House of Usher take place in old, crumbling manor houses. There is a reason for this! These kinds of estates are remnants of a past that is irreversibly gone, and their continued presence in decrypt forms serves as a reminder. 

Each of the four series takes place at a moment, either on a wide scale or on a personal scale (or both!), in which an established order is being questioned, and the constant reminders of that failed order are used to gothic effect.

The Umbrella Academy plays this most directly (In fact, there are TONS of parallels between the end of s1 of TUA and House of Usher that I don’t have the time to get into right now... lmk if you want that meta). We can see the Hargreeves mansion as a very literal example of this. While not worn down, the house is notably both very large and very empty. Shelves are filled with merchandise for a superhero team that disbanded over a decade prior, and portraits of a family that no longer speaks to each other. None of the family members ever seem truly comfortable or at ease in the house, and for good reason - every back corner is a reminder of their incredibly traumatic childhood. 

In The Boys, the story begins with the fridging death of the main character’s girlfriend, Robin, at the hands of a member of the Seven, a group of heroes so ingrained in the public consciousness that when they later hide out in a costume shop, literally every single costume is for one of Vought’s heroes. The Seven represent the system in power, which, at the disposal of Not-Amazon means corporate greed, shallow altruism, and the cultivation of public personas at the expense of actual humanity. 

From that moment on, the sheer presence of The Seven on everything from public billboards to breakfast cereal is a remainder for Hughie (and the audience) that this established system doesn’t work and is based on lies, which serves this effect on a personal level. In the broader scale, however, we also see that the Seven themselves are fracturing under an unsustainable business model. Even their name, “The Seven” starts to seem a bit dated when halfway through season one through the end of season two there are notably... less than seven of them. 

The main characters in Doom Patrol are all in recovery after the accidents that irreversibly changed their lives. We see through flashbacks the people that they used to be, and the difference is striking. They were each established in their own elements: Cliff a famous race-car driver, Rita a world renowned actress, Larry a hero pilot, Jane was involved in counter-cultural movements, Vic was a student and athlete. The foundations upon which their worlds were established are completely decimated by the accidents, and now they (save Vic and sometimes Jane) live mostly in isolation in Niles’ manor house, an estate that is far larger than would be necessary to comfortably house a group of their size.

And you feel the emptiness, both in the manor, and in the lives of the characters. They have barely created a shadow version of their own existence when the series starts, so fragile that a simple trip into town devolves into utter chaos. 

Angela Abar of Watchmen has also constructed a life following the terrifying act of terrorism on the White Night. It’s a bit of a double life, and we see that the balancing act is challenging for her, even before the story truly begins. The death of Judd Crawford, and the revelation about him that follows is not only traumatizing on a personal level (but it definitely is that), but also upsets her understanding of the world. People she’s come to trust are not just dishonest but truly monstrous. And the more Angela learns about what has been happening, the more her understanding of the world begins to unravel. Her memories, and the memories of those around her are cast in a much more sinister light, and the effect is genuinely chilling. 

Part IV: “I’m the Little Girl Who Threw the Brick in the Air”

In episode 3 of Watchmen, Laurie contacts Dr. Manhattan on the cosmic phone booth to tell him a joke. It’s a version of what TVTropes calls the “brick joke,” and it relies on set up taking place early on, other stuff happening, and then the response coming at an unexpected moment. 

So, yeah. Events of the past/buried secrets resurfacing with consequences in the present.

Continuing with the theme from Watchmen, the entire series is punctuated with the way the past and the present intertwine, with elements from both the original Watchmen graphic novel, and actual American history. One of the things we talked a lot about in my gothic lit class was the manner in which the overhanging specter of past atrocities casts a shadow over the present, and how many works cannot help but have gothic themes because there are so many horrifying things in the past that cannot be ignored, and provide both context and nuance for the discussions we have in the present. No series tackles these topics quite so directly (and with as much care) as Watchmen. (note: it does not always make for easy viewing, but if you’re in a place where you feel like you can engage with that kind of material, I highly recommend the show.)

In Doom Patrol, the past actions of the characters very much control the storyline (see: previous discussion of Niles Caulder), but the character whose storyline I want to talk about here is Rita (partially for plot reasons and partially because I just love Rita, okay?). We learn when we first meet Rita that in the past she was... not a great person. We know that the trauma of the accident that gave her her powers has changed her, we also know that she still holds on to the guilt and that her guilt has limited the scope of her world for years, but we don’t know what exactly it is that she’s done. 

Enter Mr. Nobody, all-powerful narrator who is not just aware of Rita’s greatest sins, but perfectly capable of manifesting reminders of them into the story. She is confronted with empty cradles, and the sound of crying children in the background of many scenes and we see how much it effects her, without a full understanding of why it does (see: The Tell-Tale Heart). Her past begins to haunt her physically, and she begins to crumble in response to it, until finally she is forced to confide in a stranger (and thus the audience). The past actions do not just inform the audience of Rita’s character - they show up to influence her behavior in the present. 

The ending of The Umbrella Academy season 1 is super evocative of the gothic genre with Vanya breaking open the soundproof chamber (wherein she was silenced for years) and rising from the basement to destroy the last remnants of the Hargreeves legacy (which would be awesome if the last remnants of the Hargreeves legacy didn’t include the rest of her family). Pretty much every mistake the siblings make over the course of the season feeds together to create the finale, but the primary cause isn’t something any of them actually did. It all ties back to Reginald Hargreeves’ complete inability to be nice to children. Any children. His own and random strangers that need help. 

In The Boys, while the extent to which people are making f-ed up choices in the present cannot be expressed enough, we see through the characters of Homelander that many of the present difficulties are a result of past mistakes. Particularly, the profit-seeking corruption within Vought. We learn in s1 through Vogelbaum that Homelander was raised in a lab by Vought as an experiment, only to be unceremoniously thrust into the spotlight and told he was a superhero (which... does not justify a single one of his actions but is still a major yikes). As the head scientist of the project, Vogelbaum is very aware that ignoring his conscious if the name of research has essentially created the biggest threat their world has ever seen. 

(Seriously y’all just stop raising your super kids in isolation) 

Part V: Put Them Together, and They’re the MF-ing Spice Girls 

Having the environment respond to characters’ emotions/mental states is pretty common in gothic works (it was a dark and stormy night = someone is probably not doing super well). One of the advantages of the genre’s tendency towards the supernatural is that, often, those elements of the stories, as well, are reflections of the main ideas of a work of fiction (see: Stephen King’s really unsubtle period metaphors).

Because all of these shows have a ton of supernatural/scifi elements by virtue of being, well, superhero shows, I thought it would be easier (and more fun!) to come up with a short list of elements, what they mean, and what cases they might apply to.

1. A Nonlinear Experience of Time

The Umbrella Academy: legitimately about time travel. Characters are attempting to fix the timeline but are unable to because they are both mentally and sometimes literally stuck in the past. 

Watchmen: In the episode This Extraordinary Being, Angela experiences firsthand the experiences of her grandfather, under the influence of a drug called Nostalgia. The episode touches on many themes, one of which being the impact of generational trauma in marginalized communities. Throughout the series, Dr. Manhatten is cursed with experiencing all time at once, and the episode A God Walks into Abar illustrates that, because of this, he is constantly facing the consequences of particular actions before, after, and while he is preforming him.

Doom Patrol: Mr. Nobody is able to physically travel to one of Jane’s flashbacks via his fourth-wall breaking powers, and gives Dr. Harrison an ultimatum for the future. 

What it implies: Events, particularly events that evoke guilt or conflict, are not as rooted in the past as one would like to think.

2. Powers/Abilities that reflect personal trauma/failings

Doom Patrol: Larry’s abilities/bond with the Negative Spirit have made it so that he is constantly covering himself with bandages/avoiding other people, which reflects his experiences having to hide his identity as a gay man in the 50/60s. Rita forced herself to walk a thin line, betraying everything in pursuit of her image; her abilities require constant effort to keep her entire body from becoming misshapen and out of control. Vic’s father with boundary issues can literally control his perception of the world through his cybernetic enhancements. Dorothy’s abilities manifest as imaginary friends because she was kept isolated for years at a time. 

The Umbrella Academy: pretty much all of the kids’ powers are representative of the interpersonal skills they were never able to develop. Luther is super-durable but also the most emotionally vulnerable of the group. Five can teleport and time travel but always seems to be too late to stop things. Diego can manipulate the trajectory of projectiles but cannot escape the path his father set out for him, not matter how much he resents it. Vanya always forced herself to stay quiet until the sound literally explodes out of her.

The Boys: Annie’s abilities allow her to control light, but she struggles (in the beginning) to bring to light the horrible things done to her behind closed doors. 

Watchmen: Not technically a power, but Looking Glass’ mirror-mask is a constant reminder of the hall of mirrors that both saved his life and traumatized him forever. 

What it implies: from a story perspective, these allow for an exploration of trauma/guilt to occur on a scale much larger than people simply talking about their problems (as if anyone on any of these shows knows how to talk about their problems...) It also means that the trauma/guilt of the characters takes on a physical form that is able to haunt them, and constantly remind them/hold them accountable for their past actions.

3. Diluted Sense of Reality:

Doom Patrol: The first season is narrated by its main villain, and throughout the season we see that the act of narration itself has an impact on the story.

Watchmen: The event that kicks off the plot of the story is hinged upon a paradox introduced by Angela near the end of the series when trying to speak to her Grandfather in the past through Dr. Manhattan.

The Umbrella Academy: The pair of episodes in season 1, The Day that Wasn’t and The Day That Was take the same point in time and explore two possible avenue for the future from there, with The Day that Wasn’t ending with the events of the entire episode being completely erased from the timeline.

What it implies: you can’t necessarily trust everything you see, even from the audience perspective, giving them a position not unlike that of the characters. The character’s uncertainty and confusion is magnified and reflected in the world that surrounds them.

Other examples: an apocalypse (The Umbrella Academy, Doom Patrol, Watchmen (of a sort)), ghosts (The Umbrella Academy - hi, Ben!), immortality/invulnerability (Watchmen, Doom Patrol, The Boys), and characters that look significantly younger than they actually are (The Boys, The Umbrella Academy, Doom Patrol). 

Part VI: Why Did You Write a Literal Essay Don’t You Have Real Schoolwork (yes... shhhhh...)

And... there you have it. I don’t really have some grand conclusion here. This is (clearly) far from a complete analysis but it is the most my finals-week brain can concoct at the moment. 

If you have other ideas, let me know! You can always add to the notes or message me – my inbox is always open!  If you got this far, thank you so much for taking the time to read this! Much love! ❤️

[alleiradayne]

My Old School

Summary: Dean meets Elizabeth on the Chicago University campus. Square Filled: College AU Warnings/Tags: Fluffs, anger, hatred, mentions of unwanted sexual advances, and a weird turn into Dean’s depression. Characters/Pairings: Dean Winchester/Elizabeth Andersson Word Count: 1,230 A/N: For @spnfluffbingo2019​​, this fills the square College AU. Thank you, as always, to @atc74​​ for beta’ing. Song: My Old School by Steely Dan

“Alright, project proposals are due next week,” the professor started. “If you have a vehicle of your own you’d like to work on, that’s perfect. Otherwise, we have project cars you can pick from. Everyone gets their own. You’ll be working solo. See you next week.”

Dean hefted his bag over his shoulder and shuffled from his desk. Last to leave, he approached the classroom door and took a step over the threshold only to run solidly into another person as she barreled right through him.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” the woman said as she whirled about. “Are you okay?”

When Dean looked to her, the entire world stopped. So blonde. And Tall. With big hazel eyes, a prominent nose, and full lips, she stared at him as Dean tried to think. At first, he assumed her lost in the wrong building of Chicago’s labyrinthine campus. But his eyes darted to her fingers to find them stained black and brown, and her coveralls hung on her hips, half-zipped and full of grease and brake dust.

She was a mechanics student. Just like him.

“Winchester?”

Dean’s eyes snapped to his professor’s desk. “Yes, sir?”

“The lady asked you a question,” he said.

Dean shook his head. “Yeah, I’m… I’m fine,” he said as he held out his hand. “Dean.”

“Winchester?” she asked with a smirk as she took his hand and squeezed.

“Yeah,” Dean chanced another look at his professor. “You’re… I haven’t seen you in class yet.”

“Elizabeth,” she said as she released his hand. “And you wouldn’t. I’m a junior.”

Older? Dean liked older women. “Elizabeth,” he repeated. “You busy?”

“Winchester! I have a meeting with Ms. Andersson. Do you mind?!” the professor barked.

“I’ll wait,” he whispered as he pointed to the door and turned for it.

Elizabeth winked over her shoulder in response as she turned for their instructor’s desk and eyed Dean head to toe and back before looking away.

Oh, he was absolutely getting laid tonight.

Twenty minutes later, the door of the classroom burst open and Elizabeth strode into the hallway. “Fucking piece of shit.” The door slammed shut behind her with a jerk of her arm. “God, what a fucking asshole.”

Dean stood from the bench upon which he had slumped and approached her. “What’s going on? He didn’t…”

Elizabeth startled as though she had not seen him. “Dean?”

“I said I’d wait,” he said. “Did he try something in there?”

She bristled as a disgusted frown contorted her too-pretty face. “No. He’s just giving me a hard time. And not because he wants me to drop out of the program. He’s putting me through the ringer because he knows the industry. He’s prepping me for the real world. And I fucking hate it.”

“Well that’s bullshit,” Dean stated.

Elizabeth started down the hallway with a scoff. “No, he’s right.”

“Bullshit,” Dean repeated as he skipped a step to keep up with her. “No shop would ever treat a woman employee like shit if they wanted to keep her. And any shop worth their salt wants any employee they can get if they’re a half-decent mechanic.”

She rolled her eyes as she asked, “Oh, yeah? And how many shops have you worked in?”

“Five.”

She backpedaled at that. “Why are you in school now? You have way more experience.”

“Eh, those were just gigs to make some money,” he said. “I always wanted to go to school, but I never wanted to end up in debt for it. So, I’m a freshman that can buy his own booze.”

Her hearty chuckle filled the hallway, and Dean swore to himself that he would hear her laugh every day for the rest of his life. “Good,” she said. “I don’t want to have to buy you beer tonight.”

“Tonight?’ Dean asked.

She curled a lock of her blonde waves behind her ear. “Yeah. We’re going out tonight, right? Or did I read this entirely wrong? Are you g—”

“No!” Dean stuttered. “I mean… if the right guy came along, I wouldn’t turn him down, but I…” He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. “Most women either wait for me to ask them out or turn me down immediately before I even tell them my name.”

“Well, the former group is oblivious, and the latter is fucking rude,” Elizabeth stated as though it were a fact. “I’m no idiot. I saw your jaw hit the floor in Professor Fuckface’s office when you looked at me. I’m surprised you didn’t ask me out then and there.”

Christ, what a breath of fresh air. No games, no frills. Just a night out with another mechanic. Dean pushed through the heavy door of the building and ushered Elizabeth into the setting spring sunlight. “What are you working on?’

Her entire face lit up brighter than any star he had ever seen. “My baby.”

“Oh?” he mused with a lilt to his voice. “What kinda baby?”

“Val,” she started. “A 1974 ‘Cuda. 426 hemi. White, matte black hood, black and tan interior.”

Dean gaped. “That’s… that’s huge.”

Elizabeth smirked. “That’s what she said. What about you, Winchester? What’s your project car?”

“Well, now I’m a little embarrassed to even say it,” he muttered as they descended the steps.

“Oh, c’mon, we’re not comparing dicks, they’re just cars. They’re all beautiful. Like tits,” she said as she motioned to her chest.

His laughter echoed through the quad as Dean clutched his stomach. “They kind of are, aren’t they? Never really thought of Baby that way.”

“Oh, Baby? I’m intrigued. What is she?” Elizabeth said.

“A 1967 Impala. 327. All black, black and tan interior,” Dean said with a wistful smile. “She belonged to my dad before I got her.”

Her smile fell as her hand, gentler than he had anticipated, warmed his shoulder. “Oh… oh no, I’m so sorry.”

“No! Don’t be, it’s alright,” Dean started. “It was a few years ago. Sam and I are working through it together. We’re okay.”

“What about… should I even ask?” Elizabeth started.

“Our mom died when we were kids,” he started. “I was four, Sam was six months.”

Silence descended on their walk, stretching uncomfortably as Dean struggled to find something else to say. He hadn’t thought about John in a few months. But there wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t think about Mary. And Sam, too. Though they were few, he had memories of the three of them, Sam just starting in on baby food, and Mary cutting up his food at the kitchen table. Tears blurred his vision unexpectedly, and Dean turned away, hoping Elizabeth hadn’t seen.

Maybe she had. Maybe she hadn’t. Either way, she was the smartest woman Dean had ever met. She walked with him, quiet and unassuming, giving him the space to be but for the warmth of her hand as it slipped into his. He squeezed it, harder than he had meant, but she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she squeezed back just as hard.

“Hey, Dean?”

“Yeah?” he choked.

“Would you like to just go back to my place and relax? I’ve got plenty of whiskey. No expectations. Just good company. Whatever happens, happens.”

He breathed a sigh of such profound relief, Elizabeth laughed, and Dean couldn’t help but laugh with her.

“That sounds perfect.”

Feedback is appreciated! Feel free to reblog, too!

If you want in on any of my tags (Sam/Jared, Dean/Jensen), send me a DM or an ask!

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN FLUFF BINGO MASTERLIST

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[evvazi]

Why you should read: The Promised Neverland

I came across The Promised Neverland or Yakusoku no Neverland for the first time just a few days ago in a bookstore and was immediately intrigued but didn’t buy it because they didn’t have the first volume. But two days ago, I heard someone talk about how it was fresh wind for shonen jump, which intrigued me even more, because it doesn’t exactly look like a jump manga, and the description doesn’t make it sound like one either, so I started reading out of curiousity. And. Oh boy. I did not stop unless I absolutely had to and blew through the entire series in just two days. It’s so goddamn good and everyone should go read it right mcfucking now (or at the very least keep it in mind when the anime comes out winter 2019 and give it a try then). So I’ve compiled a handy, mostly spoiler-free list for you, with reasons to read this masterpiece:

1. The premise. This manga is about a group of children aged one to eleven, living happily in an orphanage with their caretaker whom they call Mama, but from the very beginning, it’s incredibly obvious that things aren’t as peaceful as they seem. Normal children don’t only wear white, have numbers tattooed on their neck and take incredibly difficult tests every day. Our protagonists, the eldest children, eventually discover what’s wrong, and from then on try to orchestrate an escape, if possible with all their 30+ little ‘siblings’ in tow, most of whom are less than six years old. It’s interesting and opens possibilities for plenty of cute, exciting and downright creepy moments.

2. The writing. None of the kids have any kind of super powers or weapon training (no weapons in an orphanage either), so all the battles they have are mental battles. There’s action scenes, but even later on, it’s all about strategy and information. It’s incredibly fun watching the kids form strategies and change them according to every tiny piece of new info they find as they desperately struggle to outsmart adults that know so much more than they do. It always feels like you’re finding out new things about the world and the people in it, while more and more questions open up, so you never get bored. And while I could predict some of the plot twists, others caught me completely off-guard, but in the good way, because all the hints were there I just didn’t see them but oh my god in hindsight this makes so much sense!

3. The female protagonist. While the series focuses on three kids, Emma, Norman and Ray, Emma is definitely the main character. Despite the premise, she’s pretty much the standard jump protagonist - energetic, straight-forward, pure, a bit naive, and unwilling to give up even in the worst situations. Still, she has enough individuality to not feel like just a carbon-copy of someone else (even though she does look a whole lot like hinata from haikyuu). But you know what? Even if she didn’t, I wouldn’t care. There’s a girl protagonist in a shonen jump series even though it’s not ecchi, comedy, or romance! And she gets treated just like all the male protagonists in other series! She fights! She protects her family! She does stupid, impulsive things! She talks bitter adults into giving her idealistic approach one more try! And through all of this, there’s absolutely zero creepy fanservice, no panty shots or sexualized outfits or bathing scenes! Not even anyone trying to protect her on the basis that she’s a girl! Fuck I’ve wanted this forever!

4. The supporting cast. If you’re the kind of person that likes to adopt fictional characters as your own children, this is definitely for you. There’s so many children in this manga, and all of them are so good. I’m so proud of Emma, Norman is way too nice he needs to be protected and someone has to take care of local emo child Ray it might as well be me (or you). And then there’s Phil, the cutest, smartest, bravest and just overall best four-year-old boy to ever exist. I can’t say a lot about the villains without giving away too much, but so far I’ve enjoyed all of them, both the ones that are sympathetic and the straight-up evil ones. They’re always interesting and seem just difficult enough to defeat that you can’t be sure who will win a certain confrontation.

5. Diversity. There’s tons of female characters and they get treated really well, the female heroes can fight and win and get seriously hurt, and the female villains are serious threats without being flat, and nobody ever gets sexualized. The racial diversity isn’t quite as good, but there’s more black or brown (no character has a specific ethnicity in this for plot reasons) people than I can count on one hand, which is already better than at least 99% of anime and manga, and while none of them are really main characters, they do at least get treated the same as the pale characters (which I think are mostly meant to be europeans, but some of them might be east asian there’s no real way to tell). My personal fav Phil seems to be some kind of south-east asian, and again, he’s the best. Sadly there’s nothing about lgbt+ people (though to be fair, neither romance nor gender are really important topics in this manga). There’s no disabled people in the orphanage (which is pretty consistent with the plot), but in later chapters characters with lost limbs and PTSD (or at least something similar, I’m no expert and they don’t have any in-universe experts on this either).

6. The art. All of the colour illustrations are gorgeous, and the art in the manga always looks at least good, and often it looks really fantastic. It’s especially great at selling you the creepy parts by contrasting it with the cute character designs.

Lastly, some reasons you might not want to read this: If you don’t like seeing children get hurt mentally or physically or possibly even die (even though that happens mostly to ones we’re not attached to), this is probably not for you. It’s not super gore-y for the most part, but it’s not cartoony violence either. This is also a manga full of children and romance doesn’t really have a big part in it, so if you’re invested mostly in shipping and don’t want to feel creepy because the oldest kids are eleven, you gotta power through quite a bit and hopefully enjoy some other things until you reach two nice, shippable adults and a bunch of teenagers. Other than that, there’s really no reason to not go read it immediately.

[judgeanon]

A SHORT HISTORY OF FEMALE JUDGES IN JUDGE DREDD FROM 2012 TO 2015

Seemingly satisfied with having thoroughly destroyed Mega-City One and making Dredd horribly responsible for and uncharacteristically powerless during all of it, John Wagner let go of the reins of 2000AD’s flagship character after “Day of Chaos”, leaving the strip in the hands of a new crop of writers who’d waste no time in staking their territory. First with an absolute tour de force of storytelling, and later with epics of their own, filled with supporting casts either handpicked or created by themselves, these writers have carved their own place in the strip by exploring the themes and characters most interesting to each other.

Speaking of characters, the most important development of this era as far as this series is concerned is the return of Judge Hershey to the Chief Judge’s seat. Ostensibly brought back to form an interim administration while the city gets back on its feet, Hershey would end up staying far longer than anticipated, mostly on account of there being nobody else willing and able to take on the monumental responsibility. Least of all, Dredd himself. More on that… right away, actually.

(Previous posts: 1979 to 1982 - 1982 to 1986 - 1986 to 1990 - 1990 to 1993 - 1993 to 1995 - 1995 to 1998 - 1998 to 2001 - 2001 to 2004 - 2004 to 2007 - 2007 to 2009 - 2009 to 2012. Cover art by Cliff Robinson)

We hit the ground running with “Bullet to King Four”, by Al Ewing and Henry Flint (prog 1803, October 2012) a prologue to the year’s first epic. Back in the driver’s seat of a city dangling from a cliff, Chief Judge Hershey is already hard at work. During an interim council meeting that includes Dredd, Judge Stalker and new Wally Squad acting chief Judge Folger (Judge Hollister is mentioned as being MIA, her cover blown during Chaos Day), she reveals her plan to merge Justice Dept’s various units into larger divisions as a way to consolidate their beleaguered forces. She also introduces, to Dredd’s immediate disgust, a new head of Undercover Division and obvious source of future trouble: Judge Carolyn Bachmann.

Bachmann had been introduced in a Megazine story set during Tour of Duty called “The Family Man” by Ewing and Leigh Gallagher (Megs 312-313, July 2011), where she was hinted to be the secret head of Justice Dept’s Black Ops Division, introduced years ago in Si Spurrier’s “Dominoes.” An incredibly shrewd, cunning and manipulative woman, Bachmann clashed with Dredd over unsanctioned killings in the mutant townships, but he was ultimately unable to gather enough evidence to go after her in any official way. In fact, during “Bullet…”, Hershey directly references having heard Dredd’s accusations, but stands by her decision to keep Bachmann around. And then we get three of the most savage panels in the history of the strip:

Oof.

Clearly, the good old days of the Dredd/Hershey team are over. Or at least on life support. There’s definitely a lot to be said about Hershey’s words here, starting from the fact that she’s unequivocally, absolutely, 100% right. Dredd has proven, again and again, that he has extremely little patience or desire to deal with the logistical consequences of his decisions. The clearest example of this is back during “Mutants in Mega-City One”, when Dredd arm-twisted his way through the entire Council of Five, but then grew tired with all the politicking he himself started and left them to deliberate it on their own. It was Hershey’s cunning and willingness to stay the course that saved the repeal then.

And then there’s the resignation thing. This is something that Hershey’s not only had to deal with twice (first in “Total War”, then in “Mutants...”), but she was also there when Dredd did resign and eventually came back, during McGruder’s second term. She knows, arguably better than anyone alive, that Dredd is a judge and could never be anything else. What’s interesting is that this time, she doesn’t hesitate to call his bluff. While before, Hershey would’ve been more open to cooperation and second opinions, now she’s stuck doing triage for a half-dead city. And the last thing she needs is Dredd’s constant small picture problems meddling with her attempts at saving what’s left of the big picture, a responsibility that Dredd is staunchly reluctant to take as long as there’s someone else available to do it.

But although Hershey is right in her assessment of Dredd’s mindset, Dredd is likewise right in his assessment of Bachmann’s intentions. In fact, it’s even suggested at the story’s end that Hershey and Bachmann might be working together, which, given Hershey’s penchant for secret operations during her first reign, isn’t entirely unfounded from an in-universe perspective. Par for the strip’s course, nobody is entirely right. But despite the particulars of the story, the key element of “Bullet…” is how it has come to define Dredd and Hershey’s relationship for the last six-odd years.

Following such a strong start, we have “Asleep”, by Rob Williams and Mark Harrison (progs 1804-1805, idem), about a sov sleeper agent being reactivated by accident and gunning for the Chief Judge. The end result is an unabashed Hershey-in-peril scene, complete with her staring down the barrel of a gun on her knees and Dredd saving her life with some quick talking. So bit of a disappointment after the previous story, but hopefully it won’t become a trend or anything. Also of note: yet another redesigned female med-judge.

Then we get to the first epic of this new post-Wagner era, “Trifecta”. Which, in my opinion, is one of the strongest and smartest uses of 2000AD’s anthology format in storytelling since “The Dead Man”. Even in collected form it’s still not quite as interesting as it was reading it in the progs, and that’s because it is formed by three different series by three different creative teams that all started independently, and were only revealed to be different parts of a same story one third into it. Now, because I’m a stickler for the self-imposed rules of this series of articles (and certainly not because I’m a lazy bastard), I’ll focus only on the Dredd portion of it: “The Cold Deck”, by the returning team of Ewing and Flint (progs 1806-1811, October-November ‘12).

The story starts with the news that Judge Folger has been found dead in rather grisly circumstances, and to make matters worse, she’d also taken an important file from Wally Squad’s computers and erased all copies before dying -- a file so top secret, nobody knows what it is. Dredd suspects Bachmann, and Buell, former head of the SJS, agrees, further suggesting that she’ll use the scandal to prompt a reorganization, strengthen her position and eventually become Chief Judge herself. Which of course, doesn’t sit well with Dredd at all.

We’re also introduced to Judge Estrella, Bachmann’s partner in crime. A psi-judge, she spends most of the story mentally spying on Dredd on her boss’ behalf. Bachmann is not one to leave anything to chance.

Dredd tracks the file down but intentionally fails to stop it from being sold to someone off-world, where it’s revealed to be a list of every Wally Squad judge in operation. For this, Hershey summons Dredd to her office in an episode that picks right up where “Bullet...” left off, in more ways than one. Opening with Hershey having a flashback to the final pages of “The Judge Child Quest” during a budget meeting with Judge Maitland (who’s also hinted at being part of the epic’s underlying plot), she’s left alone with Dredd. The chapter, set almost entirely from Hershey’s perspective, is an exceptionally sharp bit of writing that segues flawlessly from plot to character development and then right back to plot with notable ease, comfortably aided by Flint peppering the pages with tight close-ups that convey a feeling of claustrophobic closeness between the two judges.

On one hand, we find out that Hershey was fully aware of Bachmann’s underhanded tactics, having made good use of her advice in the past, and wanted her in the Council as a way to get her out in the open and hopefully find something more solid to arrest her for. For the sake of the city, Hershey is willing to give an ambitious spymaster just enough rope to hang herself with, while Dredd would prefer to just hang her himself. But now, both Dredd and Hershey find themselves playing different games but not trusting each other enough to let the other in on them.

And on a deeper level, we get to see the differences between Hershey and Dredd’s conceptions of what it means to be Chief Judge, which is where the flashback comes in. After all, it was Dredd who refused to bring Krysler back to Mega-City One, espousing the notion that the Chief Judge had to be incorruptible. Hershey notes that Dredd idolizes the position of Chief, often leading him to stand in harsh judgment of the men and women who have taken it in the past. Indulging in a bit of armchair psychology, I feel like a lot of it has to do with Dredd’s relationship with the closest he had to a biological father: Judge Fargo, the first and best Chief Judge, against which all others have to be compared. And even if Fargo proved to be more human than it seemed, his myth and Dredd’s indoctrination have created an impossible set of standards in the latter’s mind that nobody else is able to live up to.

But Dredd has never been Chief Judge. Hershey has. Twice. If Dredd knows what the position should be, Hershey knows what it is. And she has no qualms in admitting that it comes with a hefty amount of compromise, subterfuge and even corruption. She laments the loss of her ideals, some of which we’ve been first-hand witnesses to over the years, but still proves to have the good of the city as her ultimate goal at all times. In fact, her attempt at ousting Bachmann is likened to her “victory” over Judge Edgar during her first reign. But in an even more personal level that has very little to do with the current situation, Hershey is shown to be wounded by Dredd’s lack of trust in her, when she trusted him enough to be kicked out of office for him. Dredd’s narrow focus on his vision of what the Chief Judge and the city should be makes him willfully blind to the compromises needed to fulfill it and to the sacrifices others make for believing in him. And Hershey, who has already given everything save her life for him once, is officially through taking his stomm.

And on a personal (for me) note, having such an exceedingly layered, compelling relationship between two estranged former friends without any romantic tension at all is one of the reasons I absolutely love Judge Dredd.

Things escalate pretty quickly after that. Bachmann is forced to execute her plan sooner than expected due to the Wally Squad list being a fake used to lure her out and ruin her scheme to create a shiny new Mega-City reserved for indoctrinated citizens with the assistance of an insane shark-headed (that’s not an euphemism, he literally has a shark’s head) business mogul. Her black ops troops start taking over the Hall of Justice, and she herself beats up and guns Dredd down, but he’s promptly saved by Maitland, who also kills Estrella in the process. This all sets up the stage for the last episode of the epic, the titular “Trifecta”, by Al Ewing, Simon Spurrier, Rob Williams and drawn (gorgeously) by Carl Critchlow (prog 1812, December 2012). 

With all the conspiracy and most of the character bits out of the way, the conclusion is a very two-fisted action affair that includes an honest-to-grud flashback cameo by Chief McGruder of all people, a hilariously uncomfortable one-panel reunion between Dredd and Galen DeMarco (who’d been featured in Spurrier’s portion of the story), and one of the all-time greatest Hershey panels:

So with Dredd finally fessing up to knowing about Bachmann’s plans and Hershey admitting that she underestimated their scope, all that’s left is dealing with the mastermind herself. Like any good final boss, Bachmann proceeds to beat the crap out of everyone, including lobbing a stun grenade at Hershey to get her down on all fours which is awkwardly similar to the end of “Sleeper” up there. But in the end, she gets killed from behind by Judge Smiley, a more-secret-than-secret black ops judge who’d been brought in as a countermeasure by Judge Griffin after Cal’s reign, to prevent something like that from ever happening again. Hershey is understandably upset to learn there’s been a presumed-dead spy living in the walls of the Chief Judge’s office for the last 20 years, and berates him for not coming out for any other previous crisis and Dredd for not trusting her. So although the day is saved, it wasn’t without damage, both inside and out.

To Dredd’s credit, however, he’s not a bastard to everyone in this story.

What’s especially notable about “The Cold Deck” is the sheer breadth of roles in display for its female characters. The antagonist, the main side protagonist, the sidekick, the antagonist’s sidekick, even the catalyst for the story itself are all female, plus a handful of background judges in the final chapter. In many ways, this story is the end result of all the past years of development for female judges in the strip. Women encompass all possible roles, from minor to major, from incidental to fully developed, and on both sides of the conflict. By comparison, the other two parts of the story have either no female characters (”Saudade”) or only DeMarco in a very secondary role (”Jokers to the Right”). Meanwhile, the many female characters in "The Cold Deck” are all established characters with different degrees of development, none of which were created for this story except for Estrella. And while it can be argued that it’s astonishingly easy to introduce new characters in Dredd, the fact that a major storyline can encompass such a wide variety of female characters in an organic way still speaks volumes of the people behind it.

After such a whopper story we get a chance to catch our breaths with a Judge Hughes doing sidekick duties in prog 1818’s “Witch’s Promise”, by Alan Grant and David Roach (February 2013) and then it’s right back into the fray with 1820-1822’s “Wolves”, by Michael Caroll and Andrew Currie (idem). The story concerns Dredd and Hershey’s efforts to stop a wave of violence against sov-born citizens after Chaos Day. When things come to a head, Hershey orders all citizens with roots in East-Meg to be taken to a massive internment camp, and then repatriated by the sov block in exchange for much needed food rations, a plan that Dredd is adamantly against. When the citizens refuse to be moved, Dredd proposes relocating them to Mega-City Two instead.

So we can see how Ewing’s character development threads have been picked up by Carroll: Dredd’s increasingly humanistic streak clashes with Hershey’s cold, pragmatic worldview, and in the end it’s Dredd who suggests the solution. At times it reads like a modernized version of much, much older stories where Dredd suggests a straightforward solution to a complicated situation (“Bob’s Law”, anyone?) but I’d argue that the wider context upon which it happens and the decision to let these problems become longer plotlines instead of isolated incidents all conspire to create some annoying quibbles, at least for me. But more on that later.

The story continues in “Cypher”, by Carroll and Iñaki Miranda (1824-1825, March ‘13), where Hershey and Dredd have a meeting with a soviet envoy and his bodyguard, Judge Caterina Pax, to discuss their reneging on the deal. The meeting is almost immediately broken up by a sniper who wounds Hershey and is driven off by Dredd and Pax. With the sov judge’s assistance, Dredd manages to kill the sniper, who turns out to be a cyborg hired by the envoy to kill Hershey for not quite clear reasons, and Pax expresses her desire to defect to MC-1, netting us our first new recurring female judge of this period.

Speaking of new recurring female judges, Psi-Judge Hamida returns in “Suicide Watch”, written by Gordon Rennie and Emma Beeby, and drawn by Paul Davidson (1826-1829, April ‘13). The first Dredd story written by a woman, it features Hamida having a bit of an Anderson/Corey moment, hallucinating a chat with her dead imam over halal hot dogs and feeling the weight of all the dead citizens killed by the Chaos Bug. She links up with Dredd after having a psi-flash, and together they go on the hunt for a potential suicide cult. But things get complicated when Hamida reveals that there’s a jinn -- a supernatural entity who erases people from existence and history behind it, and then even more complicated when Dredd finds out Hamida has been a suicide risk herself since Chaos Day. Ultimately, Hamida perseveres and beats the jinn, saving both Dredd and the day in a rare case of Dredd playing sidekick.

Carroll returns with PJ Holden in tow for “The Forsaken” (1830-1835, June ‘13) which features no less than five female cadet judges, each one with full names and in one case a big secret. Lori Cassano, Madison Echavez, Cheryl Tanuma, Angela Sorvino and Jessica Paris are all part of a group of cadets left for dead after Chaos Day who, feeling abandoned by Justice Dept., made a run for it. The story is told mostly in flashback as Dolman and Dredd track each surviving member, some of which are terribly wounded, and eventually manage to find Paris, who is then revealed to be a clone from Fargo’s DNA strain, effectively making her a female Dredd. Dolman brings her back to the city, with the added complication that she’s carrying the child of one of the other survivors of the incident.

The main hook of “The Forsaken” is getting to see a group of would-be judges giving in to absolute despair, their training falling apart under the strain of an extreme situation and how they form bonds and relationships between each other. While we’ve seen female judges “give in” to their humanity more than once, it rarely comes accompanied by dereliction of duty, and this one has it en masse. Unfortunately, far as I know neither Paris nor her child have appeared again so far, so we’ve yet to see what a fully-fledged female Dredd can look like.

Up next, a Judge Lawadski meets a gory end in Rob Williams and Trevor Hairsine’s “Skulls” (1836, idem) and we check in on Judge Beeny in John Wagner and Dave Taylor’s “Wastelands” (1837-1841, July ‘13). She only makes two short cameos in here, but we find out that she’s been taking a page from Dredd’s book and keeping busy to stop herself from brooding. Interestingly enough, Dredd suggests that she take a break, noting that she’s “going to have to deal with it sometime” and that, if she really wants to change things, she’s going to have to do it “from the inside.” 

That last comment in particular is interesting, as it sets up a plotline that Wagner will eventually bring to the Megazine while also staying true to Dredd’s characterization. Dredd, like Beeny, wants Justice Dept to change, but he remains reticent to go in and do it himself. And now that Hershey’s been compromised, he’s putting all his chips on Beeny, making sure that she doesn’t burn herself or become too attached to the streets. Dredd even sugars her up a little, off-handedly noting that she’s one of their best judges. Of course, Wagner being Wagner, this is all conveyed in about eight panels and less than twelve lines of dialogue, all book-ending a completely unrelated plot. In other words, a grand study in character development economy.

Carl Critchlow comes back to art duties in the Rob Williams-written “Scavengers” (1842-1843, August ’13), which sees Dredd travel underwater to the submerged ruins of Bachmann’s new Mega-City. The story features a Judge Chen who sacrifices herself in a fight against a giant mutated squid in order to keep the mission a secret and also a rather handsome Chief Judge Hershey appearance. We have a Judge Bova in Wagner and Ben Willsher’s “Bender” (1845-1849, September ’13) and Judge Pax returns as one of the stars of Michael Carroll and Paul Davidson’s “New Tricks” (1850-1854, October ’13). After an in-depth screening, she has been allowed to join judges from several other Mega-Cities (including the son of Irish judge Joyce, from “Emerald Isle”) as part of a transfer program to pad out the city’s drained forces.

Pax is shown to be exceedingly competent from the get-go, and the story is even narrated entirely from her journals, through which we learn, among other things, that Dredd seems to have taken a slight shine to her. The main plot involves a Judge Gwendolyn Kilgore, who’s returned from taking the Long Walk into the Undercity to ask for help in taking down a mythical Troggie gang boss called the Goblin King. Fairly standard action strip fare, mostly used to showcase Pax’s skills and to introduce Joyce. But it is certainly interesting to read the former’s thoughts on Dredd and MC-1 in general.

Hershey comes back for another round of workplace awkwardness in “Prey”, by TC Eglington and Karl Richardson (1855-1857, November ’13), although she seems to have grown accustomed enough to crack jokes about it. And that leaves us right at the doorstep of the first of a three-part epic by Rob Williams and Henry Flint: “Titan”.

This first part, which ran from progs 1862 to 1869 (January-February, 2014), kicks off with the news that all contact has been lost with the judges’ penal colony in the eponymous moon of Titan. Without an army to bring any possible rebellions to heel and unwilling to destroy the whole colony before getting all the facts, Hershey sends Dredd and a team of space marines to Titan to recon the place and see what’s going on in there. But after a seriously messed up landing and a couple of betrayals, Dredd finds himself alone and at the mercy of the masterminds behind the convicts’ uprising: former Chief Judge Sinfield, and former Wally Squad Judge Aimee Nixon.

Nixon, of course, was one of the main characters of Williams’ own Low Life serial. An undercover judge on the edge, she eventually quit the department and joined the Hondo City Yakuza in a bid to save her sector from a gang war, but was brought back by her partner, Dirty Frank, and put in an iso-cube for a debriefing, her intel supposedly keeping her safe from Titan. But after Chaos Day, her and several others were shipped there anyway, breaking their deal and leaving her even more embittered and vengeful. Her appearance here is quite the surprise, but makes sense considering the creative team. As Williams’ time became more focused on the main Dredd strip, more characters from Low Life would begin appearing there in guest spots. We’d already seen a hint of that in the last epic.

Back in the plot, once she realizes who she’s got in her hands, Nixon begins negotiating with Hershey. Unlike the last revolt (“Inferno”, all the way back in part four of our retrospective) the inmates here only want to be given Titan as an independent colony. But meanwhile, Nixon has also begun torturing Dredd, trying to break him down to make the man underneath the stoneyface come to the light in hope that his desire for revenge will overcome his loyalty to the law. It’s all a bit “The Killing Joke”, as Nixon seems intent on proving that every judge, even the toughest of them all, hides a human being inside, full of human desires and emotions -- just like she had.

But ultimately, Dredd proves to be too tough a nut to crack, and even when the only survivor of the marines sabotages the colony and Aimee and co are forced to evacuate towards Enceladus, Dredd still refuses to destroy their escape ships, ruining Aimee’s plan to destroy him by making him break the law. The former judges escape, Dredd survives to fight another day, and everything works out alright… for now. Overall, “Titan” is a fairly intense start that goes to some surprising places, but it also does rely a bit too much on a foregone conclusion, which is Dredd not choosing revenge. It’s also pretty funny that this makes it two epics in a row that include a scene of a female judge antagonist arguing with Hershey over a monitor. Wonder if that will be the real trend?

Also of note: Flint seems to have some trouble keeping Hershey’s eye color consistent, since they were blue back in “The Cold Deck.” Or maybe she just has a box of contacts.

We take a breather with a Judge Sisulu side-kicking it up in “Squirm!” (Carroll and Nick Dyer, 1870-1872, February ’14) and then we’re back with Williams and Flint for prog 1873’s “Fit” (March ’14). An epilogue to “Titan”, the story has Hershey send Gerhart, an SJS judge with an axe to grind who was with Dredd during the ill-fated mission, to check on Dredd for any lasting side effects of his experience on the colony. The most interesting part of this one-off for our subject is the very last page, where Gerhart notes that, owing to her history with Dredd, Hershey is ultimately ready to follow him anywhere despite this ongoing cold war between them, which zeroes in on a particular wrinkle in their relationship. For all their mutual posturing and disagreements, ultimately both Dredd and Hershey are fueled by a strong sense of duty towards the city. But while Hershey is worried by its continued day-to-day survival, Dredd is increasingly driven by his vision of a fairer, more human society. In an overly simplified nutshell, Hershey cares about the city, but Dredd cares more about the citizens. And despite her barely being present in it, the next story is one of the strongest examples of this seemingly irreparable schism.

Running in progs 1874-1878 (April ‘14), “Mega-City Confidential” marks the return of John Wagner to the strip, accompanied by Colin MacNeil. A delightfully bleak conspiracy procedural, it ends with the reveal that Justice Department has been taking advantage of the post-Chaos Day rebuilding projects to install covert surveillance equipment in millions of homes, accumulating information that is then parsed by human operators to seek out any signs of criminal activity that may necessitate a not-so-random house search. But when one of those operators escapes and turns whistleblower, Dredd is forced to defend the secrecy of a project he himself had grave misgivings about, calling it “a rare mistake” from Hershey. And once the secret is out, public outcry forces Justice Dept to roll the project back, but not before jailing the operator and probably having the journalist responsible for the leak murdered. Light reading, this ain’t.

That sounds familiar. Also, while not named, this might be Judge Stalker.

On its own, the story works as evidence of Dredd’s growing disgust with the dehumanization inherent to the judicial system, and his own discomfort as a cog within a machinery that seems increasingly prone to falling into these excesses. As such, Hershey’s error of judgment is mostly an afterthought, but I do find it’s interesting to put it within context. The Chaos Bug attack, for example, relied heavily on privacy and subterfuge, so it’s easy to see why Hershey, who’s trying to keep a dying city alive, would be tempted to go forward with something -- anything that could prevent something like that from happening again. It’s a steep change from when Hershey was considered the most liberal of all the candidates for Chief Judge, but makes sense given her own personal development and the circumstances of her return to the position. As she’s grown older and her situation direr, she seems much more open to sacrificing the liberties she used to champion for the sake of keeping people alive. So in a way, her character development has taken on a polar opposite route to Dredd’s.

Wagner stays a little longer for “Shooters Night” (art by John McRea, 1879-1882, May ‘14), which nets us an unnamed female judge and a small Hershey cameo at the end. Then Carroll returns with Nick Percival for “Traumatown” (1883-1887, June ‘14), a story about Dredd being haunted by a near-dead Psi’s vengeful spirit that features a veritable cavalcade of female judges: Pax and Hershey guest star alongside new Psi-Judge Lewis, and there’s even a funny little cameo by a Judge Parkhouse, clearly named after long-time 2000AD letterer and unsung heroine Annie Parkhouse. After that blowout, we get a small med-judge appearance in 1890-1891’s “Student Bodies” (Wagner and Boo Cook, July ‘14) and a new crisis for Dredd and Hershey in “Cascade” (Carroll and Paul Marshall, 1894-1899, August-September ‘14) as the Lawlords, a race of brutal alien overseers whom Dredd had already faced in a previous story, attempt to take over the city. The story features a Judge Reyer who dies trying to stop the attack early on, and unfortunately, Hershey’s role in it is mostly just glowering a lot while Dredd saves the day as usual.

Up next we have the return of Judge Beeny in Wagner and Carlos Ezquerra’s “Block Judge” (1900-1909, September-November ’14), where she assists Dredd in bringing a troublesome block to heel. But although it’s great to check on her progress as a judge, there isn’t much character development to be found here, and it’d seem Beeny is on the track to becoming another Dredd sidekick template. Wagner, however, has bigger plans for her, although as mentioned before, the big turn will happen in the Megazine.

The story also has a couple of guest appearances from Hershey, as Dredd for once acts very tactfully around her, asking for her help in keeping a couple of crime lords locked up for incredibly petty crimes until they can uncover more evidence. As usual, a common enemy does seem to unite them well enough, although Hershey can’t resist calling Dredd out a little on his criticisms. But for a moment, the old team is back together, with Hershey making sure Dredd is able to do his job as effectively as possible.

Another nameless female judge shows up in Alec Worley and Leigh Gallagher’s “End of the Road” (1911, December ’14) and the year closes with a return appearance by Judge Lewis in Carroll and Karl Richardson’s “The Ghost of Christmas Present” (prog 2015, idem). And if things sound like they’re finally settling down a little, don’t worry, because our last stop of this post features the biggest return of them all...

“Dark Justice” (progs 2015-1921, January-March 2015) was famously born out of artist Greg Staples’ desire to paint a classic Dark Judges story. And although John Wagner had admitted to basically having run out of ideas for them, he was happy to go back in after seeing Staples’ test sketches. The end result is a visually stunning mini-epic with an otherwise fairly standard plot, as Dredd and Psi-Judge Anderson team-up to hunt down Judge Death and his pals onboard a deep space colony ship. Not much to say character-wise about this one, as both Dredd and Anderson seem to revert back to their early 80s action hero selves, filling the story with wisecracks and one-liners as they batter the fearsome foursome. Anderson does get to shine pretty brightly on this one, pulling Judge Fire’s spirit out of Dredd’s mind and revealing that her past experiences with Judge Death have allowed her to develop a slight immunity to his powers. In the end, the superfiends are ejected and left drifting in space while our heroes await a rescue, and there’s not really much else to say.

One thing that is noteworthy is that Staples used model and cosplayer Lauren Integra Fairbrook as his model for Anderson in “Dark Justice”. Which makes sense, considering she’s the official Anderson model for Planet Replicas and has featured in the Judge Minty and Strontium Dog: Search/Destroy fan shorts. In fact, there’s even a reference to an “Lauren Integra Cosplay Ground” in “Mask of Anarchy”, a previous Dredd story.

And as an extra bit of trivia, Planet Replicas’ official Dredd model is… Greg Staples himself.

In our next episode: two epics! Two thousand progs! And... The End?

[ohcnnes-archive]

               The Milton’s: Northlake’s Happiest Tragedies

ft. Christine Evans, Jonathan Milton, Jacklyn Milton, Anne Milton, Daniel Milton, and Hera  contents: history, quick facts, and too much detail for a bunch of npc’s written by: sam, avoiding her uni work as per the usual triggers: death, depression implications

Christine Sarah Evans ( mother )

better known as: Chris

faceclaim: Madchen Amick

age: forty eight (born: 1969)

occupation: chiropractor

relationship status: widow, casually dating but considers herself single

zodiac: sagittarius

Jonathon Robert Milton ( father )

better known as: Jonny

faceclaim: Simon Baker

age: deceased at thirty eight (born: 1966, died: 2004)

occupation: military major

relationship status: died married to Christine Evans

zodiac: taurus

Jacklyn Diana Milton ( older sister )

better known as: Jackie

faceclaim: Tiera Skovbye

age: twenty one (born: 1996)

occupation: studying in Chicago, part time kitchen hand in a steakhouse

relationship status: recently started dating Xavier Levy (fc: Bob Morely, born 1994, met through friends)

zodiac: gemini

Anne Marie Milton

better known as: Anne

faceclaim: Lili Reinhart

age: eighteen (born: 1999)

occupation: Senior at Northlake High, babysitter

relationship status: dating Blake Henley (fc: KJ Apa, born 1999, met by being long time friends and neighbours) officially for the past 8 months

zodiac: virgo

Daniel Paul Milton ( younger brother )

better known as: Dan

faceclaim: Ross Lynch

age: sixteen (born: 2001)

occupation: Sophomore at Northlake High

relationship status: single

zodiac: aquarius

Hera ( family angel )

better known as: Queen of the House

faceclaim: any white and cream cat tbh

age: two (born: 2015)

occupation: owning everyone in the Milton household

relationship status: the girl every man wants

zodiac: scorpio

History

note: um this is long as shit so first paragraph is about Jonathon, second about Christine, third about the start of their family, fourth about the loss of Jonathon (this where all the triggers are), fifth is about Jacklyn, sixth is about Anne, seventh is about Daniel

The Milton family has had at least one relative with their name in Northlake for the past four generations, and most of that time it had been large families. Jonathon Milton, being the eldest brother of four, was always expected to carry on this legacy. Born and raised in Northlake he was well loved by the community, as Milton’s had always been, but he had no direction in life. There was nothing keeping him in Northlake but there was nothing inspiring him to leave either. By the time he finished high school he had no idea what to do. He worked in Northlake for a while, but doing odd jobs here and there but wasn’t living. Joining the army gave him a purpose, something to focus on. It wasn’t until his mid twenties that he really felt he could continue on this Milton legacy. Of course, it was when he met newly local chiropractor: Christine Evans. 

Christine Evans was very different from Jonathon Milton. An only child raised by single father. She travelled all across America during her growing up due to her father’s work. Most of her childhood she lived in motels, doing her her homework under a broken desk light. Her first chance at stability was college, and even then she quickly lost contact with her father, forcing her into a whole new world of challenges alone. She didn’t know any other relatives and after a few months of being bitter, alone, and tired in college, already swimming in debt: she didn’t want to know them. They’d never known her so why would they help her. She quickly learned she had to help herself. And that’s how she survived. She never relied on anyone for anything. Until she moved to Northlake, working as a chiropractor and met Jonathon, a soldier visiting home before his next deployment.

They were like two lost souls finding their home. Hitting it off within in moments of laying eyes on each other for the first time. Within a year they were married and by the next Christine was pregnant. An element of their relationship always felt rushed, maybe it was because they were only ever seeing each other for months at a time, and then not seeing each other for longer. But that’s how they were. Shortly after Jacklyn’s birth, the two were able to save up and by a small house of their own, by Jonathon’s childhood home. It was important to keep the family nearby, no matter how much Christine protested that she could handle it on her own. Over time Christine let her walls down, she became reliant on her new family and no longer doing absolutely everything on her own. But the further Jonathon progressed in his career, the more money he made for his family, but the less he was around. Their family grew two more times in the arrival of Anne and then later Daniel over the next five years.

It had been almost fifteen months since they last saw Jonathon Milton when they received the news. Killed in action. It felt so without warning, they had been so happy beforehand. Eight year old Jacklyn and five year old Anne had been preparing all sorts of things for their father’s return. Jacklyn had a collection of welcome home posters and had taken charge of printing photos for him. Anne laid out her girl scout’s uniform on her bed every morning, so if she had to make a quick change to show it and all her badges off, she’d be ready. Even Christine, after years of living like this always kept every aspect of the house orderly and clean, just in case he returned unannounced. Daniel was too young to ever understand, but even the three year old noticed the shift in the house when the news came. Christine broke. She managed to keep a strong front for three days before she locked herself in her room. Jacklyn was old enough to make sure her younger siblings ate, but she couldn’t look after them. Thankfully, Jacklyn was, still is, and probably always will be the smartest of the Milton children. She managed to get herself and her siblings over to their grandparent’s house. They stayed in between there and their family home for months while their family, especially Christine, recovered from the loss. A year after the loss, the family moved to Evercrest Lane, they needed a new home to continue the healing process.

With the loss of her father and her mother continuing to struggle with the loss, even as the children grew older, Jacklyn quickly became the secondary caregiver of the family. Forced to grow up quickly she became very serious. When she’d been younger she’d been rather silly, even among her love of books and learning, she’d loved jokes and stories. But once her father was gone, she had more important things to do. Like sometimes making sure that everyone in the house ate, including her mother. This responsibility that weighed down on her caused her to not have a great relationship with Christine. In school she was an academic before anything else. She dreamed of leaving Northlake but knew she’d never be able to go far without feeling like she was abandoning them. So she studied and studied and studied so she’d hopefully have more choices. She worked part time at Maya’s Cinema so she had a little more to add to the family’s college savings. Graduated valedictorian and received a partial scholarship to University of Chicago. She and Anne have remained just as close since her moving away, and the distance has started to heal the relationship between Jacklyn and Christine.

Anne Milton, unlike the older females of the family did not seem to change with the loss of her father. Even as a child she found it more important to bring happiness to other than to dwell in sadness herself. That being said, she struggled to adjust to a life without her father. She still struggles to know that she’s “missing” something, or at least that some people might perceive that she’s missing something. Not blessed in academics like her older sister, Anne filled her time with just about everything else. Gymnastics and Girl Scouts took up a significant amount of that time, as did being a bit of a social butterfly. By the time she reached high school she was being welcomed into the Queen Bees largely thanks to her closest friend Tilly Worthington, and welcomed into the cheerleading squad, her dreams coming true! Even if the reality behind her being selected was a little shady. Between freshman year and senior year, she blossomed. Becoming a much loved smiling icon of school spirit and good nature. Involved with a million and one things, dating the quarterback and her best friend, 

Daniel is the only of the Milton clan that had no memories of his father. No matter how much he stares at photos of the blonde stranger holding him as a baby, he can find nothing. But he has been just as much affected by that. Being raised entirely by women, save for his grandfather, always left him feeling left out and in the dark. He’d once said he didn’t want to get his period, assuming it was a thing that everyone got, not just girls. He became very quiet, barely speaking with people he didn’t know and even being quiet among his own family. He’d always been more expressive through drawing, and as he got older he played around with different art forms but always returned to drawing. He opened up more once he reached high school, comfortably finding his place in the Artists and having his older sisters watching over him.

[everythng-is-blue]

Messenger Pigeon

i'm not exactly sure where i got the idea for this from but i loved writing it so much it's so fluffy and cute, i hope you enjoy it x

Harry and I's son, Mason, meant the entire world to us. There was absolutely nothing we wouldn't do for him. As much as we spoiled him, you would think that he'd act like a brat, but people always told us he was the sweetest, smartest kid they had ever met. With Harry and I being extreme busy a few days a week for our jobs, most of the time Harry was in the study and I was in the living room or our bedroom. And instead of texting each other when we had something to say, we just used Mason as a messenger pigeon. Most kids would be annoyed by running back and forth between rooms instead of playing, but Mason loved it. He even wanted to do it when we didn't need him to, and it's the cutest thing.

"Mason, honey?" I called from the room, typing away on my laptop, hearing the pitter patter of little feet almost immediately.

"Yeah?" He said as he stood in the door frame.

"Can you tell Daddy to send Momma the files he was talking about earlier?" I requested. The four-year-old nodded happily, then walked away.

After a short while, he came back. "He said he doesn't know what you mean."

I sighed, then said, "Tell him it's the one with the numbers from last month."

He walked away again, then came back soon after. "He said he sent them, and the he asked you when the meeting is tomorrow."

I thought for a moment. "Oh, it's at 11:30. Thanks bubba."

"You're welcome, Momma." He grinned, then walked back to Harry.

While most of the time the things we exchange between our son was normal things, mainly pertaining to work, there were also times where Mason told us things the other had said that he probably shouldn't have heard.

One day, I was in the room just watching tv, when Mason came in and climbed up the bed to sit next to me.

"What's going on, cutie?" I asked him, tickling him.

"Nothing," He said between giggles, sighing when I stopped.

"You just wanted to hang out with me?" I assumed, and he nodded.

I put my arm around him as he leaned his head on my shoulder.

"I almost forgot!" He gasped, sitting up just enough to look at me. "You know when Uncle Niall and Uncle Nick were here yesterday?"

I laughed at him. "Yeah?"

"Well, I only heard one part of what Daddy said because he was being very quiet, but he said something and I don't really get it."

I gave him a questioning look. "What did he say?"

"Um," He drawled out, putting a finger on his chin, something he'd seen on tv and started doing. "He said, 'how do I tell her?'... and 'what if she cries?'"

I didn't know what to think of what I was being told. I assumed that Harry was asking Niall and Nick for advice on something, maybe he had to do with me? I mean, what did he have to say that I would cry over?

"Are you okay, Momma?" Mason wondered, a look of worry on his face.

"I'm fine, bubba, thank you." I assured him, hugging him as my mind raced a mile a minute.

...

Niall had offered to babysit Mason the next day, claiming that Harry and I "don't get enough alone time". So when he came over, and Harry was preoccupied with playing around with Mason, I pulled Niall aside.

"So, uh, Mason told me something yesterday, and I don't really know what to make of it." I started.

Niall looked at me confusingly. "What'd he say?"

I hesitated, then said, "He told me that when Harry was talking to you and Nick the other day, he said things like 'how do I tell her?' and 'what if she cries?'"

Niall's look of confusion turned into a nervous one. "I'm sorry, (y/n), I can't tell you anything about that. You'll have to wait for Harry to bring it up."

Before I could say anything, Harry came over to join us, Mason on his hip.

"What are you two talking about?" Harry asked, a big smile on his face.

"I was just telling Niall that he better take care of my baby, because he means way too much to me." I fibbed, poking Mason's dimple that resembled the ones his father had.

Niall chuckled, taking Mason into his arms. "Don't worry you two, me and this little lad will be just fine."

"Are we gonna watch the golf channel?" Mason asked excitedly.

Niall scoffed playfully. "Uh, of course we are. What else would we do?"

"Yay!" Mason exclaimed, causing us all to laugh.

We walked them to the door, giving Niall a bag of Mason's stuff and saying our goodbyes.

I tried to hold it in and not bring it up, but by the time we had eaten dinner and watched a movie, I could barely contain myself.

"Harry, can I ask you something?" I spoke up after a while of silence.

"Of course, love," He said as he muted the tv, giving me his undivided attention.

I sighed. "Yesterday, Mason told me he had eavesdropped on your conversation with Niall and Nick, and you said somethings that kind of concern me."

"Like what?" He asked, seeming just as nervous as I was.

"Like, you asking how you were going to tell me something. And you asking if I'd cry because of it." I told him.

He didn't say anything at first, so I spoke again.

"Listen, if you did something, just tell me. We've been together way too long for you to keep secrets from me. I'm kind of upset that you're not only keeping things from me, but also that our son overheard what you said."

I looked up from the floor to see him slowly starting to smirk at me.

"What?" I questioned him.

He exhaled, leaning toward the coffee table and pulling out the drawer, taking a ring box out of it. I was in complete shock as he held it in his hands, smiling as he looked between it and me.

"I was actually asking them advice on how to propose to you, because I was thinking of doing some... grand gesture or something. But they agreed we didn't need all of that, and that I should just do it when the moment felt right." I looked at him sheepishly as he shook his head, laughing lightly. "Was I expecting to do this a little differently? Yes. But I realize that this, right now, is the perfect moment. That, and I didn't want you to continue thinking I had done something wrong."

"I'm sorry I accused you like that," I said quietly. "I know you'd never do anything to hurt me, it just sounded bad out of context."

He waved me off, then took my hand as he looked into my eyes. "(Y/n), I love you with every fiber of my being. You mean the universe to me, you gave me the most beautiful child, and I want nothing more than to have the honor of calling you my wife. Will you marry me?"

"I'd love to," I said, tears welling up in my eyes as he opened the box and put the ring on my finger. It was absolutely stunning, and I hugged him tightly as I cried.

"Please don't cry," He chuckled. "I'm going to cry if you don't stop."

"I'm sorry," I said as I pulled away slightly, kissing him then looking at my ring again.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" He said proudly.

"Yeah, it is," I agreed.

"I got it because it reminded me of you; gorgeous and perfect."

It took everything I had not to start crying again, and it seemed like he knew as he brought me into his arms.

"I love you so much, Harry." I beamed.

He smiled back. "I love you so much more, (y/n.)"

if you have any imagine ideas feel free to request them, requests are always open x

[twxntrash]

We’ll Burn it All Down Ch. 1

Authors Note: Since this fic is going to have quite a bit of dark content in it, I’m going to tag at the beggining of each chapter I post on here anything that might trigger readers.

“Logdate; September 1st, 2017,” Peridot mumbled as she spoke into her Sony recorder, her voice low as she sat at her table in the lunchroom so that only the Sony device could hear her giving her digital journal entry. “You know? I’ve always thought myself as a good person, sure, I’ve made mistakes, but who hasn’t? I like to think that everyone’s good on the inside. But, here we are. First day of senior year. I look around at all these people who I’ve known for years, and I wonder; What happened?”

She let her eyes roam the spacious room and glanced at the students that sat and moved. She could think of all the names in her head that she’d seen them get called or that they’d called others through the many years of school. Freak. Slut. Four-Eyes. Lard-Ass. These students would be called that, and then they’d turn around and lash at someone else with the same names. A vicious, hateful cycle.

Peridot sighed as she tugged at one of the drawstrings of her green hoodie as she put her recorder back in her bag. Her hoodie was several sizes too big for her, but it was comfortable, and in the end, that was all she really cared about. Comfort over style. Despite it being the first day of school, Peridot was stuck sitting alone today. Her usual tablemate of her entire life at school and her best friend, Amethyst Gartner, was sick today and couldn’t make it to the first day of school, leaving Peridot on her own in this jungle.

She almost expected the students to actually be nice, but that proved wrong. The seniors instantly began picking on the freshmen and other seniors. Despite the summer break and being a bit older, they were still behaving as they did the previous four years. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched some football players shove a student over and knocked their tray to the ground, watched as another table watched and laughed at the display.

This was her high school, but it was less a school and more of a Thunderdome.

What happened to the good old days of grade school? She could remember with clarity back when they were little kids, taking naps together, playing and laughing together. They always stood up for one another, were always so happy to play, never judging, never hurting. She remembered playing tag with these people, playing hide and seek, sharing cookies and crayons. Always so happy, always so kind. But, then they got bigger, they got bigger and meaner. Formed their cliques, declared war, turned school life and childhoods into a war zone.

It took all Peridot had for self-control to remember to just breathe, take deep breaths and relax so as to not let the Hell around her brought upon by her classmates to get to her. Nothing would be achieved if she got angry at everyone. In middle school and freshman year, she’d lashed out at the entire world in her frustration at those around her and she barely made a dent. All it did was waste energy and time. Just, hold her breath, count to ten.

All she had to do was survive for nine more months. Nine months, thirty-six weeks, two hundred and fifty-two more days. Just count them down one day at a time and before she knew it she’d be graduating.

College was going to be a paradise in comparison if she wasn’t dead by June.

Peridot took another deep breath to calm down when she felt a student shoulder check her and trip, yelling out that she needed to watch it despite her being seated and not at fault. Just another day of the same things. Despite how self-centered and conceited these people were, they were still people. They could be good people again like when they were all little. If they changed into such jerks, who was to say they couldn’t change to be good and kind again once they were older?

Maybe she was just a hopeless optimist.

She wanted desperately to believe that everyone could be good despite how horrible they were. But, high school really made it hard to believe that. No matter where you were on the totem pole, you harassed and abused someone else. The ones at the top were the ones that made her have the hardest time trusting that there were good in these people.

The blonde glanced over at the table at the center of the lunchroom where the group resided. The Queens of the high school and two of the most infamous football players on the team.

She glanced at the first, a behemoth of a woman with a long mane of bleached white hair. Her skin was dark, but it had lighter patches which gave her an almost tiger-like appearance. Jasper Gartner. One of the two females on the football team and one of the biggest students in the entire school. Third year as a linebacker for the Beach City football team and fifth year of smacking lunch trays and being a huge clod. She was one of the worst bullies in the entire school, terrorized anyone and everyone just for the joy of it.

Honestly? Jasper hadn’t always been so bad. She was just another example of how drastic people changed. The woman had been for the longest time a grade ahead of Peridot. But, she’d been held back a year in the seventh grade after failing, and the two had been in the same grade ever since. They’d known each other for even longer before that. Back in elementary school, the two had been friends, she’d looked up to Jasper as a big sister. While Jasper had always been the biggest of her class, Peridot had always been the smallest. As a little kid, she’d been rather weak, she got sick pretty easily and was a bit on the frail side. Jasper had taken to looking after her in school, acted as a bodyguard.

Back then, Jasper was always watching out for Peridot and Amethyst, who was Jaspers younger sister. Despite being a year ahead of her, she always played with the two on the playground. Made sure no one harassed or picked on the two. Sometimes she’d carry Peridot around on the playground if she was too tired, and during the winter she’d join them for snowball fights and snowmen construction. But, somewhere around the fourth or fifth grade, she had started putting distance between them. By middle school, Jasper became a bit of a bully and cut all ties with Peridot, and apparently, she started picking on Amethyst back home too. Once she hit high school, she’d become an active jerk; harassing and beating students, threatening them and instilling fear into them.

It was hard to imagine that she was the same girl Peridot used to share her cookies with.

Beside her was her best friend, Bismuth Julian. One of the receivers on the football team and just as big and strong as Jasper. Her most noticeable trait being her rainbow dreads and God awful 'Bismuth' jokes. She and Jasper became friends during freshmen year and had become inseparable ever since. While she wasn’t necessarily as hostile or aggressive as Jasper, let alone malicious, Bismuth could be just as terrible a person as the other.

She’d beaten people up, had a pair of brass knuckles she’d called the Breaking Point that she’d use if someone got on her bad side. She could be nicer and friendlier than Jasper, but she wasn’t much better. Even more, she was the smartest person on the football team and considering Peridot had seen her test scores, it was kind of a sad. The only classes Bismuth excelled were ones where she built things in, everything else she barely passed.

Those two were a team made in Hell. Always seen by one another, no one could control what they did. None, except for maybe the queens of the school, that is.

At the table also were three tall, thin women who turned heads wherever they went. Looking perfect, acting perfect, acting as if they were the center of the universe, and as far as they were concerned they might as well be that. The Pearls. No matter what kind of Hell the school was, no matter what kind of problems or chaos was happening, the three would float above it all.

Her eyes fell on them each one at a time.

Pearl Crystals. Part of a ballet group and during the winter she was part of a local, yearly figure skating tournament. Had plenty of awards for the both of them and was pretty good at both. She was skinny as a stick and weighed as much as one. Her peach hair had gotten cut into a pixie cut sometime during the summer, complained endlessly last year about how it being so long would get in the way during her dance routines.

Pearl Bleu. No real known personality and nobody outside her circle of friends had ever heard her say anything more than a few words at a time. Her hair was dyed a light blue and always covered her eyes, honestly, Peridot couldn’t remember a day she’d ever seen those hidden eyes. Her hair was in some relatively cute shy girl style and she had the same shy girl air about her. Always wearing blue and acting like a timid puppy. All Peridot knew for sure was that she ran the school yearbook and newspaper.

Then there was Pearl Goldsberg, the fearsome leader of the group. The Almighty. The smug leader with yellow-as-can-be blonde hair in an updo and an attitude of absolute authority. She was a mythic bitch.

Those three, they’re as high as can be on the social food chain. Student or teacher; no one bothers them, no one harasses them, not even Jasper dared get on their bad side. They’re untouchable, unstoppable. Peridot would give virtually anything to be like that just for one day. To go a day where people left her alone, where no one picked on her because of her size or that her interests or appearance. 

It would never happen, but hey, a girl can dream.

Shaking her head, Peridot got up from her seat at the table and grabbed her backpack, making her way out of the lunch room to find somewhere more private and peaceful to spend her remaining time for lunch before continuing with classes. Somewhere far away from the other students of the school where she couldn’t be bothered by them.

A new school

How many schools does this one make it? Ten? Twelve?

She honestly wasn’t sure; she’d stopped keeping count after the fourth. What’s the point of keeping track of how many schools you go to anyways, when you’re only there for six months at most before you’re off on the road again to a new town and new school? There wasn’t a point to keeping track of schools, of names or faces. They were gone in a flash anyways.

Lapis Lazuli sighed as she sat in the bathroom stall, backpack on the ground as she buried her face in her hands. Her head throbbed.

Just seven more months. Seven months and she’d be eighteen. She could cut herself off from her mother, stay in this town if she felt like it or move to someplace she actually enjoyed living at. Seven months and she could be done with all of this.

Her birthday couldn’t come sooner.

It was the first day of school and already Lapis was suffering. She didn’t like these students; they were no better than the countless other schools she’d been to. Everyone in this school, student or teacher, were awful. Awful, disgusting little monsters that she couldn’t wait to be done with. Students were wild demons and the teachers, they didn’t, couldn’t do anything to help anyone even if they tried. All anyone here cared about was themselves, it was painfully clear to see. It made her sick to her stomach.

People noticed right away that she was new, even if it was the first day of school for everyone, she stood out as the new kid. The one person no one recognized. They whispered not-to-subtly to one another about her, not caring if she could hear them or not. Comments, underhanded remarks, and already the rumor or two. All done as though she wouldn’t notice. God, it disgusted her.

Her hands were shaking; her head was pounding. Fuck, she shouldn’t have skipped her meds today.

These next several months were just another round of Hell for her. Summer had been a nice little break; she didn’t have to deal with other teens. She could just go bury herself in whatever safe haven she’d found in the last town she lived in with her mom. She could hide away from the world and not have to deal with anyone.

But now that school has started up again, she would have to deal with these assholes for eight hours a day, five days a week. Freedom from this Hell, it was so close but so far away at the same time. Screw school, once she hit eighteen, she was dropping out of school along with cutting ties with her mom. She’d find a way to survive without a high school diploma somehow. Maybe she could sell her art or something, something that could allow her minimal interactions with societies filth.

God, her head felt like it was spinning.

There was a spot outside, a little corner away from the prying eyes of school cameras. There might not be anyone over there.  She still had a bit of time before class. Plenty to sneak out and release.

It was a miracle her breathing was still steady as she sat up on the toilet seat, flushing it just to give the pretense that she’d been using it. Grabbing her backpack, she made her way to the sink and began to scrub at her hands with a bit more force than was necessary, leaving her skin red and raw. The sting would tide her over until she reached that spot outside of school.

Glancing up at the mirror, she took note of her appearance. Her blue hair was a bit out of place, her eyes were a bit bloodshot from insomnia, and heavy bags marred her skin. She hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in God only knew how long. She hadn’t had a good night or day in even longer.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Lapis turned off the water and quickly dried her hands before hurrying to the door. She threw it open and stepped out without any hesitation, only to ram into someone as soon as she stepped out, both tripping and colliding into the floor.

While Lapis ground her teeth against the sting when her knees hit the tiles, the other girl let out an audible and pained yelp.

“Oh, sorry,” Lapis muttered as she picked up a pair of glasses that had hit the ground and handed them to the other girl who was rubbing her lower back. Must have landed wrong when Lapis barreled into her. She didn’t feel bad about it, too numb inside to really care about the opinions and feelings of others. But still, it was good manners to at least act like she was concerned and sorry.

The girl looked up and Lapis was greeted with bright green and tired eyes, “No, it’s okay,” she said in a slightly nasally voice as she reached out to take the glasses from Lapis. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

As they stood up, the bluenette took this moment to give the girl a once over. She was quite short, only coming up to Lapis’ shoulders, though if she counted the height her hair added on, the blonde tufts seemingly defying gravity in their messy, untamed, almost triangular appearance, then Lapis would say she reached her chin. She was practically drowning in an oversized green hoodie with a few alien themed pins on it, and apart from that… there wasn’t really much that Lapis could say stuck out to her about this girl.

She was pretty small, maybe a freshman?

“You okay? You look like you hit the ground pretty hard,” Lapis said instead, moving out of the way so some other girls could come and leave the bathroom.

She shook her head, “I’m fine, thanks for asking though,” she added with a smile. It was kind of cute if Lapis was being honest. In the same way a sad, soul-crushed puppy was cute.

But, if she was any judge of it, then Lapis would say she had spent enough time being nice and polite with manners and such garbage. The girl was okay, no serious injuries. Time to move on, she needed to move on. “Well if you say so, then I’m going to get moving. See you around,” Lapis said, maybe a bit curtly, moving to walk around the blonde. She heard a faint ‘bye,’ as she moved down the halls.

There was urgency in her steps as she walked down the cold tiles, past the loud students as she made a beeline for the doors. She had maybe fifteen minutes before class started. Her hands were shaking; her head was throbbing. She needed to find a release before she got back to class or she might not survive the rest of the day.

Dealing with the student had only delayed her in her mission. She should have just gotten up and left, not stuck around to make sure that the girl was okay. Well, what’s done is done.

Stepping outside of the school into the fresh air was like freedom, even if it was just brief, and she wasted no time finding that hidden corner of the school, away from the cameras and prying eyes of the students and faculty.

[purplesurveys]

205

What is the title of the strangest book you own? I know I have an old book somewhere entitled Sing a Song of Tuna Fish, which I got when I was I think 8. Enjoyed quite a bit at the time and reread it a few times too. That’s the weirdest one I have. How often do you actually wake up in a good mood? Kind of rarely these days. I hate 6 AM call times EVERY DAY. What can we usually find you doing on a Friday night? Friday nights are always reserved for Gabie, whether we’re staying in or eating out. We mix up the itinerary every week, so there’s no usual. What would you say is your guiltiest pleasure? Right now that title belongs to Charlie Puth, but I don’t necessarily feel guilty about enjoying his music... Tell me all about your special lady/gentleman. She has just the prettiest, the purest, and the sweetest soul. She has this vibe about her that makes her loved by everyone; even all of my orgmates love having her around. She’s great at reading and making poetry, and is the smartest person I know.

What is the highest outdoor temperature you've ever had to endure? Malaysia was pretty hot and dry, but I was never able to note the temperature. Here in the Philippines, the worst was probably 36-37ºC. The humidity made it worse too so technically that would increase it to around 42ºC. And the lowest? That belongs to either Japan (too cold I couldn’t even speak and stayed clinging to my dad so I could walk properly) or Sagada at 4 AM. Japan at the time had a one-digit temperature in Celsius, and Sagada was 10ºC. What is the funniest thing a child has ever said to you. I don’t actually know...Filipino kids aren’t all that witty. I just remember being entertained by my godson one time, who genuinely cared for ants and thinks they should be left undisturbed. It was even funnier the way his eyebrows were knitted so much in concern. Do you let your pets on your furniture? Sure, the only exception being the dining table. Can you usually tell when someone has feelings for you? The fact that I don’t know anything right now means I probably can’t, haha. I had no slight clue Mike liked me the way he did and how serious he was about it, that’s another case. I can read people very well, but I’m just very oblivious when it comes to this. Do you know what things your pet(s) prefers to eat? My dog loves his rice and his meat. In other words, human food. That’s what he grew on and that’s what he ended up loving most. What would you plant in your dream garden? Please don’t trust me with plants. Do you believe in fairies, gnomes, or elves? .....No? What does your wallet look like? Filled with pieces of paper that I know I have to throw out but just can’t be bothered to. Some bills in it too, and tons of coins. What is your favorite thing to cook for someone else? I can only make instant noodles for Gab but thankfully she never gets tired of it. Tell me about the last book you read. It talks about Asian imperialism and touched on how the Japanese basically became the bully in the entire continent. It was annoying to contemplate on it in the first place since I definitely knew what my country had to go through under them, come to find out even more of their atrocities in China. Apparently they liked raping women and either cutting children in half or burning them, so that was an absolute joy to read. Who was the last person to leave you flustered? Haven’t felt that recently. What's the last thing you ate that was made with phyllo dough? I’m not sure. Have you ever bought underwear simply because it made your underwear drawer look nice? I guess, yeah? Describe the outfit that makes you look and feel your best. I have a variety of those that I just whip out whenever I want to have the feeling that I know I look good. A tight black tank top and ripped jeans usually does the trick most times though. What can you see from where you're sitting? The entire dining area and part of the kitchen. I would also see the guest bathroom from here but the door is closed. When you have a chance at happiness, do you allow yourself to take it? Yes, but most of the time I can be wary at first; and generally I don’t let myself wallow in being happy for too long because it’s always taken away from me harshly at some point. What are some bands others would be surprised to find in your music library? I never let anyone know about my punk taste to begin with so I’m sure they’d be most surprised if I suddenly tuned into my Misfits or Cro-Mags discography. How do you feel about kettle cooked chips? I’m not familiar with the name. I might know what they are as chips, but I never bother learning about what they are called most of the time haha. Tell me something about yourself that you're most proud of. I study in the top university in the country. What do you like to dunk in your coffee, if anything? I dont dunk my food in it. What was the subject of the last documentary you watched? Haven’t sat down to view a docu in so long but the last one was probably about the feral child, Genie. What sort of things do you do when you have the entire evening to relax? Surveys, call my girlfriend, watch YouTube videos, sometimes sleep early. Are there any books I should check out next time I'm at the library? Yup, not really the person to go to for book recommendations. Opinions on cold pizza? The only way to eat pizza. Do you have a favorite brand of tea? I don’t even drink tea. What's the last stupid question you were asked? (Besides these.) Hahahaha good save. Gabie asked me who Gianina (an org-mate) was even though they have met each other like five times. Her memory is so bad but sometimes it’s just asking for an eyeroll from me lol. What's been on your mind lately? How I’m going to see Paramore up close in three months. Tell me about the best thing you created with your own two hands. A pot! I made one from clay on my trip to Ilocos last August. I’ve wanted to do it since I was maybe 5 and was sooooo excited to get my hands on the wet clay. Definitely not as easy as it looks on screen but I loved how mine turned out. I couldn’t take it home though since it had to be baked and everything for a week, but I was only staying there for two days :( How strong do you like your coffee? Not strong. I want milk in my coffee. Do you feel like you need to get something off your chest? Not right now. Describe your morning routine. Sluggish. Always lazy. Always grumpy. What strange food combinations do you thoroughly enjoy? I would experiment mayonnaise on anything edible. What's your favorite Elvis song? I don’t have one. Are there any songs you wish your favorite band would cover? Welp not really into covers, so. Paramore’s Fleetwood Mac and Drake covers are all a solid 12/10, though. Do you enjoy talking on the phone? Only with my girlfriend. Otherwise, it’s dreadful. Are you currently waiting for something to come in the mail? Nope. Would you rather see someone of the opposite sex naked or nicely dressed? Away from me. What makes your best friend the best? They are patient with me. That’s all I’ve always asked for. When was the last time you felt incredibly stupid or embarrassed? Ughhhhh fuck, awhile ago because I’M THE WORST. I was at a buffet and this waiter guy is making small talk, being super friendly. Unfortunately my ears decided to be the biggest pricks right at that moment and when he asked, “Have you been seated?” I couldn’t get myself to understand him and had to ask ‘sorry?’ FOUR. TIMES. Four times to repeat the freakin’ question. I couldn’t believe my guts. I suck. Made up for it by being just as friendly after that slipup. How do you go about cheering someone up? Depends on the person because they all have their own solutions. Others want to be left alone, some want to be hugged, to be listened to, to be given advice, need a shoulder to cry on, or just need a companion to stay silent with. I do all of those with or for my loved ones. How would you react if someone told you they had feelings for you? Yikes. Serenade me with some lyrics from the song currently stuck in your head. “If I smile with my teeth, bet you’d believe me / If I smile with my teeth, I think I believe me.” What is the last thing you wrote down? (continuing this from last night) Notes I’ve written on my readings for history class. Tell me something great about the day/night you're having. ...I had just woken up. Get back to me with this question later on in the day.

Would you ever participate in a suspension? Of? What was the last thing to annoy you? My schedule doesn’t work with everyone else’s today. :/ Name five things that begin with the letter C. Cactus, coconuts, credit card, claw, cane. What's the title of the last book you bought? Yeah about that... Would you ever consider visiting Texas? I would, actually; but mostly because I have family living there. One of my second cousins that I’m really close with, Ate Joelle, urges me every year to come hang in Texas so I probably would once I’ve the money to. I don’t know much about the state though except Christianity is kind of huge. Where do you go when you need to escape? My room, Skywalk, or the college library. How big is your town's library? Ask that to our government, who never allots enough money for institutions like that :----) We don’t have any local libraries, nor parks, nor memorials, nor a museum save for one. Which bands would play in your dream concert? My favorites won’t merge well in a concert so meh. Do you know of any home remedies that work surprisingly well? No. If you could make a movie, what would it be about? I’ll leave that to my girlfriend, the bigger film major between the two of us. Tell someone something they need to know. That they’d have to be a huge dick to wake me up the way they did earlier. What's something you've never been able to live down? When I sang for a hundred or so party guests on my 7th birthday party. My parents definitely would never let me forget it–the entire thing is on CD. What's something that's been on your to-do list for awhile? Hahahahaha ughhhhh the mockery of this question. I guess do the stuff that I’ve been needing to do in Filipino. How do you take your mind off things? Surveys usually. YouTube videos sometimes. Tell me a joke. Eh, all the good ones I know of are in Filipino. Do you own a battle jacket? Nope.

[letterstochristopher]

Letters to Chris. May 5th. Day 27

Hey Buddy,

I survived my first week back in my “normal” life. It was a long, difficult week and I’m glad it’s over. I did okay for the most part. I only cried at work once. My poor boss. I felt it coming on and didn’t want to leave the front desk unattended, so instead of running to the bathroom I ran to his office and told him I needed a minute. Poor dude wasn’t quite sure what to do. He told me to take all the time I needed, said he’d get me some water if we had any, ran out and sent my sweet coworker in to console me. I’m sure as a man nothing is worse than getting cornered in a tiny office by a sobbing woman. But I’m doing the best I can. And while I did get in a bit of trouble because I was late two days, I actually was pretty productive. I was able to laugh, to joke around with patients and get shit done. I’m honestly amazed. And I had very few ditzy moments. My brain isn’t working like it should so I figured I’d be in a nonstop fog. I always joke about being in a constant state of confusion (you know this…you’ve been known to tease me about it), so I’m relieved it hasn’t gotten worse (or maybe I’m in denial and people are too nice to point it out). I’m beyond thankful for my coworkers. They have been rocks through it all. One of them had a close friend who committed suicide a few years back, so she’s been here. And one of our patients just lost her sister so we shared about you two. The similarities were odd. Her sister was 25 as well, and passed only four days before you. It felt good to talk to someone else who has just lost a sibling. I would never wish this suffering on my worst enemy, but a huge part of me is so grateful that I’m not alone. 

Nights are the hardest now. I think because I try to keep my shit together during the entire day, I’m emotionally and mentally exhausted by the time I get home. And I miss you so much while at work. I’ve been used to spending all day with you in my thoughts, and obviously I just can’t do that while working. So during lunch break I’ll look at your pictures, or talk to you when we have quiet moments (in my head..I can’t let people think I’m losing it by talking to myself). Surprisingly, yesterday was my best day yet. I still cried, but it wasn’t until I went to bed. I had to get up and go to the kitchen so I wouldn’t wake Clay (not that he would have cared, but I haven’t been the most awesome bed buddy lately and didn’t want to keep him awake another night. He’s been so tired all week). I honestly wasn’t sure how I felt about not crying until so late. I felt guilty, like I was a bad sister for holding it together so well. It wasn’t that it hurt any less. I guess maybe I’m starting to get used to this constant ache..feeling this hole in my chest. It’s not like it goes away. No matter what I’m doing, even when I’m joking around and laughing, it’s still there lurking. Almost like it’s waiting to pounce. I read somewhere how at first the waves that hit you are 100 feet tall and back to back while you cling to this wreckage that was once a beautiful ship. Over time, the waves, while still 100 feet tall, become more spaced apart. And in those spaces is life. I think maybe that’s where I am right now. I’m still clinging to this wreckage like my life depends on it. I’m still fighting the urge to allow myself to drown whenever the waves hit. But in between, I can laugh. I can look at your pictures and not cry. I can almost see my old self coming out. I think this is the way the rest of my life will be. I’ll be okay one minute, but something will be a trigger and I’ll lose it. Something as simple as smelling your cologne somewhere, or someone talking about the National Guard or firefighting. Right now it’s anything. Or nothing. I’ll just be standing there not doing anything and it will hit.

The night before last, I went through all your pictures you uploaded on Facebook, taking screenshots of them so they are all on my phone. I had no idea you had a goatee at one point in time. I wish I had…I would have given you so much grief :) Like, dude, what’s that on your chin?? I love the facial hair you had the last few months. I’d never really seen you with any. I remember when you were 14-15 and you had that patchy scruff you were so proud to shave (must be a right of passage as a young man). I couldn’t believe you were having to shave. But now you have a full fledged beard. Or did. You know what I mean. But it suited you. 

My handsome boy.

Something new I’m noticing is my anger. Not just at you, but at anyone who irritates me. I noticed it a bit in Missouri, but it’s gotten worse. I raised my voice at an employee at Costco today when asking if they were out of coconut milk. He didn’t believe me when I said they usually carried it, saying he had never seen it and he always stocked the dairy aisle. I tried to explain it isn’t ever with the dairy and I literally buy it every week, but he kept trying to run away before I could explain. Finally I just snapped and yelled that he was acting like I was crazy but I knew what I was talking about. Something like that wouldn’t have bothered me to that extent a month ago. People around probably thought I was simply super passionate about coconut milk. It’s not like you can explain to everyone why you’re having a minor meltdown. The guy WAS being a dick, but I should have let it go. I just feel like the general public sucks right now. People are so self involved, worrying about all their petty little problems. I desperately want to yell at everyone, “Oh yeah? Your mother-in-law is visiting? You have to work late? You’re worried about bills? Boohoo. My brother just killed himself. Go f*ck yourself.“ 

Obviously this isn’t the best attitude to have. But it’s so hard not to resent people at the moment. And I know that everyone’s issues are valid. And I know that anger is normal right now. But this isn’t me in the slightest, and I hate feeling this way. So one of my goals tonight is to find a therapist who specializes in bereavement counseling. Before I make an even bigger scene over another unstocked grocery item. Or Clay locks me out of our apartment.

It’s also difficult to not get irritated with people who have things going awesome for them. I’m not talking about friends or family. I mean strangers. For whatever reason, strangers seem the safest people to hate right now. So I’ll overhear someone talking about their awesome vacation they just got back from (”OMG Paris was AMAZING!!) or how they are buying a new house, and I want to throw things at their face. And I hate that. Because, like I said, this is so not me. Clay reminded me that I have no idea what’s going on in people’s lives. Maybe they are going through the same thing as our family. He stepped on dangerous territory by asking if he just shouldn’t point out when I am being negative. Yeah, probably not. Definitely not the wisest thing at the moment. I know I can be an a**hole right now. I’m working on it. It’s a stage of grief and I know I need to get through it. I don’t want to be a ball of fury for the rest of my life.

Speaking of anger, after Costco I went out to my car and another wave hit, and I started yelling at you. I haven’t done that yet. Not like that. Anyone who walked by my car would have thought I was crazy. But it felt so good to yell at you. Because it’s you that I’m really angry at. I screamed at you for leaving us, that we f*cking told you things would get better, and that I’m absolutely devastated that you didn’t text me goodbye. Yes, I’m still stuck on that. I was always the one you listened to. Mom would ask me to talk to you about things because you actually listened to me. We always had that relationship our whole lives. But you didn’t tell me goodbye. I’m grateful you texted Mom, but why not your sisters?? I just can’t let that go. My phone had been right in front of me that night. Perhaps me begging you to live wouldn’t have changed anything. I know any therapist would say it wouldn’t have made a difference. But at least I could have told you how much I loved you. You would have died knowing I needed you and loved you and would have taken your place in a second. I would have told you I’d be flying out to see you that very night. Or beg you to come stay with us for a while. I would have told you that my life would be meaningless without you and that if you died I would die, too. That our family would be devastated, left picking up the pieces and never able to get closure. But you denied me that. So I’m angry. More than that. I’m p*ssed. And I hate how much our family hurts. Mom called a couple days ago and I could tell she'd been crying. She said she washed the rest of your laundry which took all day. And she cried and cried. Nikea has had a few difficult days this week. And while Dad is more the suffer in silence type, I know this is hell for him, too. We all know you never meant to hurt us, but it doesn't make it any easier. 

Yet I know you understand my anger, and love me regardless. You knew I needed to scream at you. And honestly, I’ll probably do it again. I apologized because I hate yelling at you, even though you probably deserve it right now. But I have this feeling you understand everything way better than any of us can on this side of Heaven. You’re way wiser than we are. You understand how we feel. You know what you put us through. I can’t explain how weird it is to realize you now know things that we cannot begin to comprehend. Nikea has always been the smartest of us four kids, but now you’re the wisest. If you were here now, I’m sure you’d gloat about how you know all the secrets of the universe.

Know what I miss most? Family dinners. Dad always making weird Dad jokes that still made us laugh, Bethany enjoying her food so much she’d look like she was falling asleep or in a trance. I know some kids don’t like being forced to eat dinner with their parents, but I’ve always loved it. It gave us a chance to connect, without our cell phones (which you were always on..ahem)…like really connect as a family. Then we’d always help clean the table afterwards while Dad rinsed the dishes. God I miss that. I always meant to record those conversations because you never quite knew what anyone was going to say. Nikea was saying how you teased her during dinner last time you were home because she was drinking Pepsi. Since you worked for Coke, you pretended it was a great betrayal. 

God, I’d give anything to have been at that table.

I’m so frustrated because I still can’t pull any specific memories from recent years. I understand this is caused by grief. You know I’m the one who remembers the most random stuff, so it’s beyond heartbreaking that I can’t get my brain to work. It’s like this stupid mental block that just refuses to lift. It’s funny how you don’t realize how you’re going to react to grief until it hits. I know it’ll pass and the memories will come flooding back…I just wish I knew when.

Of course I remember things from years ago. Your first car, a Ford Taurus that you loved to work on. The muffler was nonexistent so we always knew when you were pulling up to the house. You were so proud to show me the alterations you made in that car. And remember when you hit that curb and jacked it up? I felt so awful for you. Then I remember when you were super little and grabbed one of my many "Titanic” books and threw it at me laughing. You ripped Leo’s face in half and I yelled at you and made you cry (I’m sorry). I remember how you’d always eat Mom and Dad out of house and home but never gain any weight. I remember road trips to Grandma and Grandpa’s, yearly visits to TanTarA. Key West. I’m still not recalling as many memories as I normally would, but like I said, I know this will pass. I just don’t want the strongest memories to be of your last few months when you were so distraught. I still go back and read your texts, even though they break my heart, just because they are you. And Katrina sent me some voicemails you had left her. I wasn’t sure if I could bear to listen to them, but I was able to. I miss your voice so much, so it helps to hear it even if your words weren’t directed at me.

I took the dogs on a walk tonight. I was grateful for the weather. It was beautiful out. The sun was setting behind the mountains which were all these different shades of deep blue. I was walking on this path I hadn’t known existed before near our apartment. This field of white cattails caught the sun, glowing bright white. I stopped on this old bridge and watched the sun set. It looked like Heaven. Your Heaven. I know you loved the mountains (you were so excited to see them in Montana and when you visited Colorado a couple years back), so I feel so close to you when I look at them. I felt your presence. It was so strong I felt like I could touch you. I’ve felt it before, but it has been getting stronger the brief seconds I’m able to experience it. I’ve read of people experiencing the same thing with departed loved ones, and it’s so encouraging. Like I’ve said before, those brief moments when you reach out get me through.

Anywho, Buddy…I love you and miss you. Clay grilled some steaks for us (hey remember how you cooked me steak that one day when Carter was brand new? It was DELICIOUS. First time I’d ever had your cooking and I was so proud), so I better get going. He’s been waiting patiently for me. But again, I LOVE you and I MISS you so damn much. Talk to you soon.

Your big sis.