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luviedovey · 4 years ago

Text

the you i fell in love with

connor murphy x female!reader

a/n: not me writing a fic about mike faist’s connor murphy 2 years after he left the show...... also Connor is probably ooc

summary: you were Connor’s girlfriend who lived in the next town over, a little over a half hour away. his family didn’t know about you, no one did. he didn’t want his family or anyone he knew to scare you away. in the end, it didn’t really matter. he was gone. when the Connor Project came to be and Evan resigned from being co-president, you ran into him. you questioned him about his “friendship” with Connor and he told you everything.

set after the Murphy’s find out the truth and before the Evan/Zoe reunion at the orchard.

second person pov

warning: a few swear words, also very brief mention of depression and taking your own life, and Larry Murphy kind of being a dick

word count: 5,573

______

“Who are you exactly?” Evan questioned the girl who pulled him off to the side of the supermarket where no one else was around. To say he was a little nervous would be an understatement, he was freaking out on the inside.

“I’m so sorry! I probably scared you half to death dragging you along like that.. I just have some questions for you, if you don’t mind answering..?” You smiled at him sheepishly. Something about your awkward smile eased his mind a bit, but not enough. “No, sorry my mom actually is waiting for me by the-” “It’s about Connor!” You interrupted, looking at him through sad, heartbroken eyes. “..Please. Evan Hansen. I know you weren’t really friends with him. I know you weren’t even secret friends with him.. Because if you were, I would’ve known.”

Evan looked around before looking back at you, confused. “Who are you?” He asked for the second time. “I’m- I was Connor’s girlfriend. Y/N L/N. I met him 2 years ago at the apple orchard you guys rebuilt? We both went there because we thought that no one else would be there and that it would be the perfect place to escape. His family and classmates never knew about me because he-” you laugh slightly,” he was afraid they would take me away from him. Or that his family would fight in front of me and he’d lose his cool or that his sister would say nasty things about him to ‘spare me from being in a relationship with him’ or even that the bullies at his school would turn me against him even though he knew damn well I could never.” You stopped rambling and passed him a Polaroid picture of the two of you, sitting against the chain link fence that surrounded the old abandoned apple orchard. You were looking up at Connor with heart eyes as he smiled back down at you. A real smile. This was the real Connor Murphy.

Evan looked up from the picture at you, shocked before quickly returning it to you. “Oh my god... You must think I’m such a h- horrible person for doing all this and pretending to be best friends with your- your dead boyfriend- I’m so sorry for your loss by the way- and making up all these stories about things we never really did and starting a whole online campaign about-” “Evan!” He stopped ranting, breathing heavily. “Breathe, okay? In through your nose, out through your mouth. Relax.”

It was silent for a moment before Evan mumbled a quiet, “Thank you.”

You smiled knowingly. “Now. Mind telling me everything?”

The two of you sat in your old beat up truck, as Evan told you everything. And by everything i mean everything. He started from the very beginning, “My dad left when I was 7 so now it’s just me and my mom. She works all the time at the hospital to support us and to pay for her education- she’s studying to be a paralegal- and so I’m usually home alone. I have anxiety so I take medication and go to therapy where I have to write a letter to myself hyping myself up for the day and trying to be positive and stuff-” “’Dear Evan Hansen’...”

He looked up from his hands at you, “Yeah.. Connor had one of my letters when he- um.. he took it from me earlier that day..” “It was your therapy letter? Why did he take it from you?” “Oh! You see he didn’t actually know it was a letter to myself for therapy he just thought I was being creepy and writing about his sister in a letter to print it out where he would find it and freak out and explode or something- That wasn’t why though, I didn’t even know he was in the room with me, I thought I was alone. He signed my cast before he read my letter, though. He said, ‘Now we both can pretend we have friends.’ Which is why I thought doing what I did would be okay but it wasn’t and it never will be and I really shouldn’t justify my actions because it was-” “Evan breathe.” “Right, sorry.” “Don’t apologize, it’s okay.” “Okay sor-” You gave him a pointed look.

“O-okay...” You giggled slightly, looking out of the window at the supermarket parking lot, “So.. he ran out with your letter, pissed because he thought you were fucking with him... And then he killed himself.” “Yeah.”

“So what happened after that?” “The Murphy’s showed up in the principal’s office three days later. I knew something was wrong because Connor and Zoe both weren’t in school and I know Connor skips but it’s not likely that they would both be out on the same days. Zoe doesn’t really skip school- she’s not that kind of person.” You nodded, gesturing to get to the point. “Right, they called me into the office because Connor had my letter and my name was on it so they thought the letter was for me. I tried to tell them it wasn’t- that I was the one who wrote it, but they were in denial. They kept reading parts of my letter back to me from memory, trying to make sense of it but I couldn’t tell them- I couldn’t get through to them....” He sighed.

“They invited me over to dinner and I went because I wanted to set the record straight but when I got there, they wanted to hear everything I knew about Connor. But I didn’t know anything, so whenever they brought something up I just nodded and agreed. Zoe was getting suspicious so I started to make things up. ‘Connor loved to talk about how much he hated skiing.’ ‘Connor took us to A La Mode and we ate our ice cream in the apple orchard where we climbed trees and raced across the open fields.’ ‘We would quote songs by our favorite bands.’ ‘We’d tell jokes no one else would understand.’ All lies. And they believed them. They wanted me to keep talking, they needed me to. They were broken and I just wanted to help them. I told them that we were friends on the internet where we’d email each other to talk about our day and stuff. And Connor would use a secret email account because he knew his dad was checking his regular email, and he didn’t want anyone to know we were friends.... Now that I think about it, this kind of sounds like your story.” You laughed, lightening the mood, and nodded.

“You know, you really aren’t that far off from who Connor was, despite the fact that you were making it up as you went. He wasn’t the monster that everyone thought he was. I mean sure in 2nd grade he pushed over a printer because he had a little tantrum about being skipped for line leader, but what kid doesn’t have a tantrum at least once in their life? It definitely didn’t help that all those kids grew up, making the story sound worse than it really was. He was always angry and stand-offish because everyone in his life would say shit about him that wasn’t true or be nice to him to get close enough to learn something new about him and then turn around and make fun of him for it. He was battling depression and needed help but his family didn’t want to believe there was anything actually wrong with him. I was the only one to believe him. To believe in him. But I’m just one person, and I guess that wasn’t enough..” You trailed off. Evan awkwardly put a hand on your shoulder, rubbing it with his thumb as a way to console you.

It was silent for a moment. “I think he would’ve liked you. It would’ve taken him a while to warm up to you, but I really do think the two of you could’ve been friends.” Evan smiled slightly, before frowning. “I pretended to be his friend for so long, but Alana- she’s the co-president of the Connor Project- started getting suspicious about our friendship, saying that the letters didn’t make sense because it sounded like Connor was getting better so I showed her Connor’s ‘suicide note’-” “Dear Evan Hansen, It turns out this wasn’t an amazing day after all. This isn’t going to be an amazing week or an amazing year. Because, why would it be?”

“...Yeah. She believed me too. I told her not to show anyone because it was a really private thing, but she just said that was exactly what people needed to see. She posted it and people on the internet started to attack the Murphy’s, saying things like ‘They’re a rich family who couldn’t bother to pay for their son to get help?’ and ‘I’m not saying to do anything illegal but their house is the pale yellow house at the end of the cul de sac with a red door.’” Your hand flew to your mouth in shock. “They even leaked Zoe’s phone number and their house phone! Everything was just spiraling out of control and I didn’t know what to do. I panicked and the only thing I could think of to do was just.. them the truth. So I did and I told them everything. I wrote the letter, Connor took it from me, we weren’t really friends, and it was all a lie. I haven’t spoken to the Murphy’s since.” He fiddled with his hands in his lap and sighed. “And.. I’m scared. Scared that one day I’ll go to school and everyone will hate me or that the Murphy��s will ruin my life.. Not that I don’t deserve it, after what I did? I deserve worse.”

“Evan.. No one deserves that, especially not you. What you did wasn’t exactly the right thing to do but you had the best intentions.” He nodded silently, “What did you want to ask me earlier anyways?”

You turned, facing down at the wheel in front of you. “I wanted to ask you if you knew where he was buried.”, a tear slipped from your eye as you sighed, smiling sadly, “I didn’t exactly get to say goodbye..” “I could go with you if you’d like. To show you the way?”

“Thank you, Evan.”

___

During the ride to the cemetery, You and Evan talked, trying to lighten the mood, and quickly became best friends. The two of you didn't have so much in common but you were both very comfortable and supportive of each other. You were like the siblings neither of you had.

The two of you stepped out of the truck, and begun walking to Connor’s grave. “Oh! Hold on..” You turn back, grabbing a beautiful bouquet of red roses and pink tulips, with a small white card that said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you enough when you needed it, Connor. I will never forget you, mon amour. I love you, always.” Connor didn’t have a specific favorite flower but he did appreciate their meanings. Roses represent love, and tulips represent a declaration of love. You hoped that even though he was gone he would still appreciate the thought you put into it.

The two of you walked up to his grave. It was at this moment when it hit you that he was really gone forever. You dropped to your knees, carefully placing down the flowers. Tears streaming as you silently sobbed, Evan’s hand on your left shoulder and the ghost of Connor’s hand on your right.

“I’m sorry, Connor. I love you more than you’ll ever know..”

The two of you sat there in silence for a while, before agreeing to leave in case the Murphy’s decided to visit. Neither of you really wanted to run into them and have to explain who you were and why you were there. “Do you want to come over to my house? You look emotionally exhausted.” You laughed and nodded, starting up the car.

___

“Why didn’t you come to town sooner?” You sighed, “I just.. I didn’t want to believe that he was really gone, you know? And coming here, seeing his grave, and his grieving family just confirmed what I prayed wasn’t true.” You sipped on the hot chocolate in your hands, staring out of the window at the pouring rain and cloudy night sky. “Have you met them yet?” Evan mumbled, typing on his laptop on the couch beside you. He pulled up the Connor Project and read about all the many different things Alana was doing. “No.. But I feel like I should? Like I know things about Connor that would give them closure but I can’t bring myself to go over and talk to them.”

“If only there was a way for you to show them what Connor was really like so you wouldn’t have to talk to them...” It was silent for a moment, “Actually... Connor and I used to write each other handwritten letters and take a lot of pictures together..” “Well what are the odds..” he giggled, “Maybe you could give those to them? The ones that aren’t super personal?” You sat together deeply in thought.

“But I can’t exactly bring myself to just give them away... Maybe I could copy them and white out all the personal stuff? Like the things between me and Connor only, and my face and name?” Evan nodded, agreeing that that would be the best option. You’d create a box filled with things Connor wrote and pictures of when he was truly happy, then leave it on the Murphy’s doorstep. It was a safe, no-contact interaction.

___

The next night, you went over to Evan’s house with the box labeled “The Real Connor Murphy. (i’m so sorry for your loss.. i thought maybe you would like to have these to know who he really was.)” Evan gave you directions to the Murphy household. Eventually, you parked in front of the pale yellow house, all three cars were in the driveway. “You better be quick if you don’t want anyone to see you.. Just.. keep the car running, drop off the box, ring the doorbell, and book it back here and drive off. Don’t turn back.” “Okay super spy.” You laughed nervously.

You walked up to the door, placing the box neatly on the ground with a single rose and tulip tapped on the top, rang the doorbell, and ran off. You jumped into the car and drove off just as Evan, who was previously hiding away from the car window, saw the red front door begin to open.

___

“Larry!” Cynthia Murphy exclaimed, picking up the box from the front porch to the dinner table, placing it beside the small card they had found on a mysterious bouquet of flowers they found the day before against Connor’s gravestone. “What is that?” He asked, looking at it with disinterest. “I found it on the porch, it says ‘The Real Connor Murphy. I’m so sorry for your loss.. I thought maybe you would like to have these to know who he really was.’ It’s in the same handwriting as the note we found on that bouquet of flowers. It even has the same two flowers! It has to be the same person. Someone who really loved him...” “What’s inside?” Zoe asked while reading and rereading the small card.

Cynthia opened the box to find handwritten letters from Connor and a mystery girl, photos of Connor laughing, smiling, pouting, hugging and kissing someone with a scratched out face. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. This was the real Connor, a whole different version of him that the three were completely unaware of. Seeing him like this was just so unfamiliar to them, they couldn’t believe their eyes for a moment. Zoe picked up a letter, reading it aloud,

“Dear Y/N

Things haven’t been going so well lately, my parents are always fighting, my mom pretends like there’s nothing wrong, my dad doesn’t pay attention to anyone but himself anymore, and Zoe hates me.

Not that I blame her, I hate myself too. But I don’t hate myself when I’m around you. I’m so glad to have you around. You make life just a little easier every day.

It’s harder when you’re not around, I get angry easier when I get bullied at school or when Zoe says something awful about me. I just feel like I’m an airplane about to crash, but with you around I feel like I’m flying. Smooth sailing. Floating even. You are the most perfect girl I’ve ever met.

Thank you. I love you.

Sincerely, Con”

“He.. he had a girlfriend..?” She said, in shock. The three began to shuffle through the letters, photos, and little post-it notes, putting them in piles. “These are all copied..” “Maybe whoever left them didn’t want to give the originals away..?” “Maybe because she still cares about and loves him and didn’t want to give these away. They seem so.. personal.” Cynthia picked up a post-it note,

“Tu es belle Y/N, je t'adore.”

“What does that even mean?” Zoe pulled out her phone going straight to google translate, “It’s says ‘you are beautiful, i adore you.’.. I didn’t know Connor knew french.” “He never took a class for it. Maybe he learned it on his own?” Larry picked up a photo this time, Connor was standing in front of the apple orchard’s rotting old sign in the middle of the field, fake pouting and wearing a thin little flower crown you had made him. “I didn’t know Connor had any feelings other than anger.” Cynthia hit his arm. “Wait,” Zoe said, grabbing the attention of her bickering parents, “This letter has a picture and a post-it note attached to it.”

“Dear Con,

Thank you for the painting, it’s absolutely beautiful. You are so so talented. The way you put so much thought into every detail is truly admirable. You make everything you paint so exciting and captivating, even if the thing you’re painting isn’t very exciting at all. You see the beauty in the things that most people never give a second glance.

It kind of reminds me of the way I look at you.

To most people that don’t know you, you are a “freak” or “school shooter chic”. But, when I look at you, you are none of those things. You are beautiful, you are captivating, you are perfectly imperfect. You are worth it. Don’t give up on me darlin’.

I love you.

Sincerely, Y/N/N”

Attached to the letter was a photo of the painting mentioned. It was a painting of your beaten old navy blue truck parked beside a chain link fence that blocked it off from the open field. In the background, the sun was setting in a perfect blend of yellows, oranges, and reds. It was so detailed that if you weren’t already aware that it was a painting, you would’ve probably thought it was a photo taken from a fancy camera. “It really is beautiful..” Cynthia trailed off, wiping a stray tear that fell from her eye, “He was so talented. I didn’t even know he liked to paint! I mean I knew he took an art class but because he skipped school so much, I never even thought he went..”

“I guess we really didn’t know Connor at all..” Zoe begun to get angry, “What kind of family does that?! I mean we lived with him, I grew up with him, you two raised him, and we still didn’t even know who he was?! This.. this stranger even knew more about him than we did! Do you realize how sad this is? We have to learn about our dead family member from a complete stranger because when he was alive, we were too busy pretending like he was just acting out for attention instead of actually needing help! He needed help and we didn’t give it to him! It’s not like we couldn’t afford to take him to therapy! We just pretended like he was a monster and if we ignored him, he would stop..” She took a deep breath, “Maybe we were the monsters and his anger and tantrums were his cries for help...” “Zoe..” Cynthia reached for her arm but she pulled away, running up to her room while choking back tears. “..She’s right.”

The two were quiet for a long period of time, reading and rereading every letter and every note, memorizing every photo.

Cynthia held up a photo of Connor and a girl, whose face was completely scratched out, “Who are you..”

___

The next day was a particularly warm day so you and Evan drove over to A La Mode as a victory ice cream run of sorts. You really believed in treating yourself after small, seemingly insignificant, victories such as dropping off a box of precious letters to a grieving family. They needed closure, and you were willing to give it them. Evan, despite talking about A La Mode with the Murphy’s before, had never actually been. You two talked and ate your ice cream sitting in the back of your truck, looking out at the orchard across the street. The orchard was renamed the “Connor Murphy Memorial Orchard”, which made your heart a little heavy. Another reminder that he was really gone.

In the distance, on the other side of the fence sat the Murphy’s who were packing up from their weekly picnic. As they got up to walk out of the orchard, Zoe looked across the street. “Wait a minute..” Her parents stopped walking. “What is it Zoe?” Larry asked. She pointed at the car parked across the street, “Isn’t that the car that Connor painted his girlfriend in that letter? And Evan?” They looked across the street to find the same navy blue truck and a familiar face.

Evan paled, “The Murphy’s are looking at us!” he whisper-shouted. You began to turn around, but Evan stopped you. “No don’t look!” Your head whipped back to him as your face paled, “They recognized my car..” “How could they? It was night time when you dropped off the box and the door barely begun to open as you drove away..”

You smiled sheepishly, “I may or may not have given them a picture of a painting Connor made me of my truck parked beside that exact fence...” Evan facepalmed and gave you a deadpanned look. “Well they’re starting to walk across the street now.”

You shot up, “Let’s go.” “I mean would it be so bad to meet his parents?” Evan asked as the two of you scrambled into the front seats. “I’m just.. I’m not ready to have that conversation just yet.” You reversed out of the parking spot and drove back onto the road.

“Wait!” The Murphy’s shouted to the car as it begun to drive off. “There was a girl driving. Maybe that was her?” Cynthia asked, hopefulness clear in her voice. “She was with Evan, do you think the box of letters were fake?” Larry, always the optimist. “They couldn’t be, they were handwritten in Connor’s handwriting. Even the french notes.”

Zoe thought for a moment, “Well if we’re going to find her, we should probably start with Evan’s place first.” “Who said we were going to look for her?” Larry asked, “I’m not wasting my time on a wild goose chase. She’s already shown us enough about Connor.”

Cynthia turned to her husband, “How could you say that? She could be the one thing to bring us closer to our son. Our son who took his own life because he felt that that was the only path left for him. And you don’t want to try to find her? Find closure? Honestly Larry, what is wrong with you lately!” “I’m sorry. We’ll find her.”

___

The Murphy’s found themselves at the Hansen household. They knew you were there. After all, your truck was parked in the driveway. Inside were you, Heidi, and Evan. You had just met Heidi, but she loved you. She was thrilled to find that Evan had made a friend like you. You hung out with Evan even after learning he lied about being friends with your recently deceased boyfriend, and helped him when he started to rant and breathe heavy about it. You were so kind-hearted, forgiving, and calm by nature, that he was finally comfortable around someone. You were quickly best friends.

A knock at the door startled the three of you. “Are you guys expecting anyone?”, Heidi stood up to get the door as you and Evan turned to each other. He placed a hand on your shoulder to comfort you. “I suppose now’s a good time as ever, even though I really only had 24 hours to prepare myself..” You muttered, the two of you walking towards the front door.

The Murphy’s stopped and stared at you. “Are you.. Were you Connor’s girlfriend?” Cynthia asked. You nodded slightly, rubbing your arm as a nervous habit. “I’m Cynthia, this is Larry and Zoe.. We’re Connor’s family.” “I know.”

Heidi invited them in, everyone heading to the living room. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.. We just wanted to thank you for all the letters and photos of Connor. It feels like we’re finally getting to know who he really was on the inside.” You looked up from your lap, “No offense ma’am, but shouldn’t you have gotten to know your own son when he was still around?”

Zoe laughed, awkward and uncomfortable. “I really don’t think that’s funny.. especially considering you didn’t bother to get to know him either.” You said getting defensive, sticking up for Connor. Even if he was gone, you would never stop fighting for him. You did truly love him after all. “And before you say ‘Connor wasn’t easy to talk to. He would always yell and storm off.’, just think about the fact that having a relationship with someone is a two way street. You can’t expect someone to make an effort if you don’t try to do the same.”

The three looked at her in shock. Heidi and Evan smiling sheepishly in the background. “I..”, Larry started, but trailed off, not being able to come up with a proper response. Cynthia and Zoe looked deep in thought, unable to do the same.

It was quiet for a long amount of time.

“You’re right. You’re right and I wish it wasn’t true, but it is. And the only thing we could do now is learn from our mistakes. We don’t exactly know how we’re going to do that but we’re willing to try. And we’re hoping that you could help us? Help us figure out what to do and help us learn about who Connor was?” Zoe finally spoke up, her parents nodding along in agreement.

You were trying to heal from everything that happened and them putting all their hope on you wasn’t really helping. But maybe grieving together would allow everyone to heal and remember him in a more positive way? At least you hoped.

There’s a lot of hope pinned on others here.

“I suppose helping you all would let us heal.. together?” You said, slightly questioning your own words, turning toward Evan. He shrugged, giving you a thumbs-up. “But I don’t feel comfortable talking about Connor unless Evan is around.” You paused, “It’d be nice to have a familiar face around and we’re practically best friends now.. so..” “Yes of course.” The three stood up, walking to the front door, “We’ll come back here at 11AM tomorrow and drive to the orchard for a picnic if that’s alright with the two of you?” You and Evan nodded simultaneously. “Are you allergic to anything dear?”

With the shake of your head and a quick goodbye from Evan and Heidi, the Murphy’s were off.

“Am I doing the right thing here? Connor didn’t even want his family to known I existed! And now we’re going on a picnic with them? Where I have to talk about him?” You sat down, head in your hands as a headache begun to grow. Heidi placed her hand on your shoulder gently, “It’s going to be tough right now, and it’s going to be emotionally draining, I’m sure. But, if you really think that they deserve to know who he really was, that how they perceive him is wrong, then I think you are doing the right thing. You’re helping them, you’re helping yourself, and you’re helping Connor. You did say that he wanted to change the way people saw him. And you’d be doing that for him, even if he’s not physically around to see it happen.”

“Thank you, Heidi.”

___

“It’s really nice of you to agree to meet us here, Y/N. And Evan, it’s nice to have you here too.” Cynthia smiled, putting down a blanket for the picnic. Everyone sat down in an awkward silence.

“So... is.. is there anything you wanted to know that wasn’t already in the letters?” You asked, picking at the blades of grass beside you. Evan slapped your hand away from the grass, silently scolding you in true forest ranger fashion for messing with nature. The Murphy’s turned to each other, silently debating what to say and who would say it. No surprise to you and Evan that the one to speak up was Cynthia. The past couple of hours really showed that she was the only one who seemed to care, at least a little bit, about Connor when he was around, though Zoe and Larry were trying their best now.

“Why didn’t Connor bring you around to meet the family? It really seemed like you brought so much light to his life. I mean, you brought out parts of him that we didn’t even know existed!” “We thought he was a monster...” Zoe muttered sadly.

Your heart ached for this family, they really knew nothing about him.. “Connor didn’t bring me around because he was afraid you’d all ‘scare me off’,” you laughed slightly, “And Connor may have been a monster to you, but the real Connor was never a monster, to me or to anyone in my small town. In the next town over, no one knew who Connor was or what he’d done in the past. It was like a fresh start. Which I knew he desperately needed. I mean, with all the people bullying him, hurting him physically or emotionally or both, and spreading fake rumors about him since he was in the second grade? He was angry and hurting and he didn’t know how to deal with it, so he would lash out. But wouldn’t you react the same way? Build up walls so people wouldn’t hurt you? Isolate yourself so people couldn’t get close enough to?”

It went silent again, the only sound was the wind blowing in the summer breeze and the trees rustling in the background.

“She’s right.”

Everyone looked up, faces showing some form of shock. Larry continued, “All that stuff was going on in school and we made it worse for him at home. He asked us for help and we always assumed he was doing for attention. No matter how hard we tried to be a perfect family, we never were and we probably never will be.”

Zoe wiped away a stray tear. “Even though you couldn’t save your kid, maybe there’s a way you could save someone else’s?” He turned to you with a questioning glance. “I mean you have to admit, you’re a pretty wealthy family, maybe you can spend some time donating to suicide prevention hotlines and foundations that were created specifically to help those who are suffering from depression and suicidal thoughts like Connor was? I know for a fact that Connor hated the way that he felt, and would never want anyone to go through what he’d been going through, no matter how much of an asshole they were.”

Cynthia reached over to you, placing a hand on your knee, smiling as tears fell freely from her face, from all of their faces. “That’s a brilliant idea, Y/N.”

___

The picnic went on as you told them stories of your’s and Connor’s adventures together. Jumping over the fence to lay around in the yellow fields of the old orchard, helping your mom arrange flowers in her flower shop (he would always make sure his bouquets were well thought out in their meaning), buying junk food and snacks when having movie marathons on a Saturday night, sketching and painting moments together so you two would never forget them.

With each little story, his family knew more about him and you felt as close to him as you had been before that heart-wrenching summer day.

You fell behind from the group as you all walked out of the orchard. Turning back and taking one last look at the entrance, the fields, and the growing trees of the Connor Murphy Memorial Orchard, you notice a figure dressed in black standing with his back against the fence. He gave you a smile, a genuine yet sad smile, mouthing the words “thank you” and “i love you”, before disappearing in the wind.

#connor murphy #connor murphy x reader #deh #dear evan hansen #mike faist #broadway #dear evan hansen x reader

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itgetsdarksometimes35 · 5 years ago

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For Freedom

Warnings: This chapter: none; the series: non-con, dub-con, depression, forced marriage, angst, forced pregnancy, 18+

Word count: 4,237

Pairings: Dark!Bucky Barnes / Reader

Summary: Reader is the youngest girl in her family. After being sold to Bucky Barnes, and forced to have his child, she and her sisters look for a way to escape.

~ indicates time change

- indicates a POV change

A/N: Hey you guys! I know I planned on this being the ending, but I thin this will be a small series. The next part will be the ending for sure, though. Hope you enjoy, next thing out will be Love In True Form, and then I’ll get to work on challenges. Then after that, I may have a new series for you all...

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It took months to save up enough money. You only needed enough to get two one-way tickets to Germany, but you were scared to take out too much in fears of James finding out. In that time, your oldest sister, Lucille, had twin boys. She had 5 sons altogether now, and you couldn’t wait to see her again. You hadn’t spoken to her since she was married and taken away years ago; Anne seemed to be the person who was doing all the communicating for you all. The second oldest, Vienna, had 3 daughters before she finally had her son. Her husband refused to give up until he had an “heir.” Anne had only 3 children, two boys and a girl. All the names to your nieces and nephews were a mystery, along with their faces and ages. You could guess Lucille’s twins’ ages were less than a year, but you could never be sure. Anne knew you had your son, but she didn’t know his name. She never asked, and she told you not to tell her. You weren’t sure if your other sisters knew, but it would only be a matter of time before they did.

Bucky had turned 1 years old a month prior to you both leaving. James threw a small party at a local amusement park that he had rented out for the entire day. His friends and family were the only in attendance, as usual, and the older kids enjoyed the rides while Bucky smiled at all his guests and messed his face with icing from his safari cake. James had been so happy to plan the party; balloon animals, a small petting zoo, and face painting areas all decorated the park. You couldn’t deny the way he beamed at Bucky as he screamed in affection at the baby goat drinking from the bottle or the way he giggled at the stuffed rabbit James’ friend, Natasha, had gifted him. James wasn’t loving with you, but you were thankful it didn’t carry over to Bucky. You wished yours and James’ situation was different. Maybe you’d love him in different lights.

When James thought you were buying groceries one day, you went out to get you and Bucky’s passport and buy your tickets. The passports would be ready and shipped to your house in 5 weeks, you paid an extra fee to get the expedition processing, and our flight would be the following week.

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

“See ya tonight, bud.” James caressed Bucky’s head while speaking to the pouting toddler. Bucky was always upset to see his daddy leave for work, and overjoyed when he came back. Your heart clenched. Were you doing the right thing? Then James turned to you and you shook the thought away. Of course you were.

“Have a good day, dear. We’ll miss you,” You chirped as you kissed James on the cheek. He turned his mouth up in a small smile before kissing you on the lips.

“Can’t wait to get back.” He winked at you and your stomach turned at his crud intentions. You were nothing but a walking toy for him, something to cook him food and bear his children. You faked a smile before dipping into the house while James drove off.

You shut the door and quickly walked upstairs, your cab would be here in an hour. Plenty of time to pack. You set Bucky in his playpen and he looked at you as you frantically moved around yours and James’ shared room trying to throw useful items into the suitcase you brought to the house the day you moved in.

“Da-da,” Bucky cooed from the pen as he picked up a block to start stacking.

“Da-da went to work, baby. Now you and mommy are going to go on a trip,” You turned to your son and smiled at him, “Are you excited?” You talked in your baby voice and your son smiled back at you. His 3 teeth on full display for you.

Your suitcase was filled with as many clothes as you saw fit. Everyone had specific items to bring, and your job was the clothes. Anne and Lucille would bring baby supplies, diapers, sippy cups, toys, etc; Vienna shared your job. The plan was to pack light, anything other than what you absolutely needed had to be left--including photos, and then drain your husband’s bank account for money. Finding out James’ banking information was the hardest thing for you to do, he kept it all locked in a safe in a room that was always locked. After snooping on him one night after he thought you were asleep, you were surprised to see the combination was the day of your marriage.

As you were leaving the bedroom, you saw Bucky’s baby book. It wasn’t big, and you could fit it in your purse. There were millions of photos on the walls, but none of them were personal to you. They were high tech and flashy photos James had spent too much money on. None of them looked natural. Then again, you had never felt natural with him. But that book held photos you had captured with an old polaroid you found in the basement. The film was just as old, but there was enough to last you years. You grabbed it and stuffed it into your purse as the Taxi started honking. You picked Bucky up from his playpen and left. You would just have to deal with Anne’s complaining when you got to Germany.

The taxi dropped you off at the airport 45 minutes before you were supposed to board. You rolled your suitcase over to the bank that was next door, and entered with Bucky on your hip. James listed you as an account holder in the case of an emergency. You were positive he hadn’t seen anything wrong with this, you’d still need to know his information, and he probably thought he had broken you beyond the point of willing yourself to run. Little did he know.

“Good morning, I’d like to withdraw some funds from my husband’s account,” You said to the older woman with a blonde bob and bright red lipstick. She smiled and set the glasses hanging around her neck on her nose before turning to the screen ahead of her.

“Alright, name please.” You told her and she typed a few times. “And his?” She looked at you, and you noticed a bit of lipstick in her teeth.

“James Buchanan Barnes.” The woman nodded and typed away.

“Da-da,” Bucky yelled and you looked down at him with a smile.

“That’s right, honey, that’s daddy’s name.” Bucky smiled up at you before grabbing at your hair to play with.

“Oh, he’s a cutie,” The older woman exclaimed, “Can he have a lollipop?” She reached into a brown bowel on the counter separating the two of you before pulling out a blue sucker.

“I don’t see why not. Thank you.” You took the blue lollipop before turning to Bucky who was eyeing the candy with intensity. “What do you say?”

“Tank to!” You unwrapped the lollipop before handing it to Bucky. He grabbed it with his chunky hand before greedily sucking on it, already getting a blue sticky streak on his mouth.

You turned your attention back to the blonde, and she asked you for your name and bank information. You gave it to her as she continued to type away at her computer. “Alright, can you tell me the amount you’d like to withdraw today?”

You cleared your throat before answering, “All of it.”

The woman’s eyes got big. “Ma’am, there’s 2 million dollars in here. Can you give a reason?”

“Yes ma’am.” You adjusted Bucky on your hip as you tried to remember your lie. “My husband, James, was recently in a horrible accident at his job. I understand the hospital can take the money from the account, but they’ve given me the option to give it to them in person as well. I was on my way to catch a flight to him, and decided this was a route I’d like to take. Our insurance wouldn’t inflate because they wouldn’t have to pay anything, too, and now that we have this little one,” You lifted your hip that carried Bucky a bit higher, “I want our insurance as good as possible. We never know, you know?”

The blonde looked as if she were about to cry. “Oh, you poor thing! Yes, of course I understand completely. I have 2 daughters, and when their father got sick our insurance and healthcare went completely down the drain. I wish I could’ve had the money you have, I know it can be terrifying to have bad policies when raising children. Especially young ones.” You were nodding your head, trying to look pitiful. You felt bad for lying, especially to this woman. She looked so bad for you and was able to relate to your fake story. Your stomach flipped, and you felt like you were going to be sick.

“Thank you, I’m sorry about your husband. It’s a horrible situation that some of us are put in.”

The woman agreed and typed on the computer again. A register was opened and she counted out taped together stacks of money. She put them in a cream colored bag along with a receipt and handed it to you.

“I hope everything goes okay for you and your little one. Us moms have to stay strong and do what’s best.”

You held back tears at the woman’s words. “That we do.”

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

You made your way back to the airport as Bucky babbled a song from a show you both watch together. The bank teller, who’s name you learned to be Camille, informed you that your husband would be emailed by the bank about the deposit due to legal protocol. You knew James checks his email religiously and that he got notifications on his phone. You knew that he was probably on a phone call with the bank right now, screaming into the phone. But you didn’t care.

By the time he figured out you’d left, you’d be in Germany. Or close to it. You planned on destroying your trail once you got there. Anne had planned it all out. She deleted her history and told you to destroy all your letters by burning them. She led her husband to believe you all had traveled to Greece with undeleted searches. It would throw all of them off for a bit, but eventually you knew they’d figure out you went to Germany. You all knew that you couldn’t stay together after a while, it’d be too risky. You knew at some point one of you might get caught, and the rest would have to save themselves. You were fugitives, trapped in your own homes, with men that were supposed to provide security as the guards. But, until then, you’d stick together as long as possible. You were stronger as a team during the weaker parts of the beginning.

As you boarded the plane you felt a wave of nausea hit you. You rushed to the plane bathroom with Bucky still in your arms. You threw the door open, and emptied your stomach into the toilet bowl.

“Uh oh,” Bucky said, making you laugh at his purity.

“It’s okay, honey, mommy’s just a little nervous,” You reassured your son. You flushed and washed your hands before stepping out of the cramped room to find your seat. The plane took off soon after that.

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

You were jerked awake as a flight attendant tapped your shoulder, her brown hair pulled tight into a low bun.

“Sorry to wake you, ma’am,” She had a smooth voice that you felt could put you right back to sleep, “But you’ve arrived at your destination.”

“Okay, thank you.” She smiled at you before standing up straight to move to the back of the plane to wake up other passengers. Bucky was asleep in your arms, and you planned to keep him that way. He had been good throughout the entire flight, but you weren’t surprised. He was such an easy baby, you couldn’t have been blessed with a better one. Especially not in your circumstances.

You got off the plane and went in search of your suitcase in the bag return. You quickly found it before you headed out of the crowded airport. Bucky was quick to wake up after hearing the commotion of the early Wednesday morning traffic. Taxi drivers were yelling in German and English to the people exiting the airport, offering them a ride for a “price they couldn’t get elsewhere.” You would’ve taken the offer, but knew that you had to wait for the bus. Anne had said it’d be easier to hide that way. The taxi driver would ask for a direct address while the bus would drop you off at another station. Miles from your true destination. Plus the bus driver was less likely to remember you.

Your stomach growled as Bucky bounced in your lap. You had eaten on the plane, but had vomited nearly everything up. Your stomach wasn’t agreeing with anything today, but you knew it was just the guilt and nerves you felt. Everything would go back to normal once you were with your sisters, and plus they would have something good for you to have at the house.

The bus smelled and was cramped with loud people on their way to work. They spoke words you couldn’t comprehend loudly in your ear, and Bucky sat amazed at them. When your stop came, you eagerly grabbed your suitcase, bag, and son and all but jumped off the bus, glad to be rid of it for now. You followed a path Anne described in great detail until you came to houses with numbers. You dragged your tired body along them until you found the number that had played in your head for the past few days. Number 39. Your new home

You climbed the three steps up to the brown, wooden door, and grasped the iron knuckle. You pulled it up and down several times emitting loud thuds to echo in the small community of homes. Bucky grasped the front of your chest and stuck his face into it to represent his hunger.

“I know, baby, mommy will feed you soon.”

Your heart beat loudly in your chest as you waited for an answer. You counted 23 seconds before you considered your possible mistake. Did you go down the wrong street? Was 39 the house number or was it the bus number you were supposed to take? Was there any way to contact your sisters? Could you somehow convince James that you had been kidnapped in hopes he’d believe you? Just then the door creaked open. Your worries came to a halt as you saw Vienna standing in the doorway. She had, of course, aged a bit since the last time you saw her. Her hair was shorter and a little bit dull in color and she was skinnier than the chubby teenager you were used to, but there was no denying that was her.

“Oh my God, Vienna?” Her droopy tired eyes held tears as she took you in. Her lip trembled and she whispered your name. She opened the door wider as she held out her arms to you. “It’s been so long!”

You held her tighter to you with the arm that didn’t hold Bucky. She pulled away from you as tears escaped from her eyes. Your own were starting to conjugate in yours. Vienna stepped aside so you could step into the small house. She took a peek outside before shutting and locking the door behind you.

“Where’s everyone else,” You asked, setting your bags down at last.

Vienna didn’t have to answer as you heard your name being called behind you. You turned and adjusted Bucky into your other arm as you see Lucille stepping out of a room. Her back is a bit hunched over and one of her eyes seemed to lazily shut now. Gray hair was sprinkled across her scalp, and wrinkles were setting under her eyes. She was only 36.

“Look at you, you’ve grown so much,” She exclaimed, stepping closer to you. You were only 1 when she was married off at 16. She was the youngest one wed, but she was also the prettiest. Your father had no problem finding a man to sell her to. She was the only one auctioned off before 18. Vienna left at 19 and Anne left at 22. None of you were as strong as Anne, she had held on the longest. You had left at 18, too.

You hugged her tightly. You never got to know her, but you still loved her deeply. You hated the cards you all had been dealt for keeping you apart for so long. You let go as Vienna stepped closer to you both. She rubber Bucky’s small back.

“And who is this little guy?” She smiled down at him as he gave a 3 tooth grin back.

You sniffed before handing Bucky to your sister. “This is Bucky. My one and only.” Vienna mimicked the name before bouncing him on her hip a bit.

“Well, Bucky, I think it’s time for you to meet your aunts and cousins.”

Lucille took your hand as Vienna carried Bucky into a room filled with kids and a crib with two babies sleeping. They all were watching a TV, but turned to you as you walked in.

“Kids, come meet your 4th aunt,” Vienna said as she cooed at Bucky. 3 girls and a boy walked over to you and Lucille. “That’s Jade,” Vienna pointed to the girl with dutch braids, “Josephine,” The one with big curls and floral dress, “June,” The one with a ponytail and a sports jersey, “and Jared,” The only boy. They all waved to you, all looking a bit uncomfortable. You didn’t blame them, they had traveled from God knows where to a weird house, and now they were meeting people they had never met before. Probably never even heard of. “And this is your other cousin, Bucky.” Josephine, she looked to be the oldest-- probably 13, smiled at the child.

“Oh, he’s so cute! Can I hold him?” She looked to her mom for confirmation before looking at you. Her big eyes soft, just like her mother’s.

“Yeah, of course. He’s hungry, do you want to feed him?” Her eyes lit up.

“Yes!” You chuckled at her enthusiasm, and she gave a shy smile once realizing how excited she sounded.

“He can eat crushed up fruit, do you guys have any?” Your eyes searched Vienna and Lucille.

“In the kitchen. I can go do it for you,” The girl replied, scooping up your son before moving through a door that led into, what you assumed to be, a kitchen.

“We left just in time,” Vienna said, “Her father had already found a man to marry her. She’s sweet, and I know she’d make a great mom one day, but she’s also so smart. She has a life to live before she should even think about a baby,” She sighed, “But of course, women in our situation don’t hold any other value.”

Vienna’s children had gone back to watching the TV, and Lucille called her children up.

“Boys, come here please.” 3 boys walked over to you. “This is my oldest, Tennessee,” The boy with dusty hair nodded to you, he looked about 16, “Then Anthony,” the one with curly hair and glasses, “And Kyle,” He had freckles and a dimple on his chin. Lucille pointed to the crib. “Over there are Michael and Ian, they’re 3 months old. Didn’t think I had it in me, but I guess it’s not over until the big change, huh?” You smiled at her as she squeezed your hand.

“It’s nice to meet everyone,” You say and they nod at you, taking their seat on the floor and couch yet again. There were still 3 kids that were taking steady glances at you, and you were about to ask about them when you heard your name yet again. You turn to the left to see Anne walking down the stairs.

“Anne!” You ran over to embrace your sister. You and her had by far had the strongest relationship, being closer in age and spending the most time together. You felt yourself crying once again. Anne broke the hug and held you at arms length, looking you over.

“Wow,” She breathed out as tears flowed freely. She looked exactly the same as she did 7 years prior. You giggled at her and she joined you. A little girl, no older than two, ran to hug her legs. “This little stinker,” Anne said lifting the girl up, “Is my youngest Brooke.” She kissed the girl’s cheek before waving the last 2 boys over. “That’s George,” The oldest one with shoulder length hair, “And Evan.” He looked exactly like your father. Had the same lifted left eyebrow and everything. Anne looked like the man she hated the most, and you knew she’d never be rid of the man who she blamed all her sorrows on. Especially not now that her son looked like him, but you knew she’d never neglect her child.

Josephine was walking out of the kitchen while wiping Bucky’s hands. You grabbed your sister’s hand and led her over to your son.

“And this is Bucky.”

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After the tear filled reunion, you found yourself at a small dinner table with your sisters. They were all huddled around it as your nieces and nephews sat in front of the tv and had dinner. They giggled at the silent screen that flashed cartoons at them. Bucky lay asleep in Anne’s arms as she bounced him.

“Alright,” Anne whispered loud enough for just you all to hear, “So, does everyone know the plan?” You all nodded. Anne had planned this all out. Every time something was needed outside of the house, somebody different each time would leave to retrieve it. It would go in rotation from oldest to youngest. You would carry a burner phone with you and would only use it if there was an emergency. The phone would have one number on it, the house phone, that another sister would be right by until the other one returned back safely.

After dinner, you helped Vienna clean up. You both had insisted Anne and Lucille get some rest, saying they had gotten there the earliest and were tired. Anne took Bucky to the room you, her, Bucky, Brooke, and June would sleep in. The house only had 3 bedrooms, and 5 people would have to bunk in the small bedrooms with only one king size bed together. It would be a squeeze, but it was all definitely better than the Hell you all had escaped.

While cleaning, you found yourself not being able to focus on the story Vienna was telling you. Your stomach was turning, fighting the peas and chicken you had just ate, and your head was suddenly hurting. You were sweating too. Were you having a panic attack?

“You okay, sis?” Before you could answer, you were vomiting up your dinner into the sink. Vienna soothingly rubbed your back as you finished off the remnants. You turned on the faucet to wash away the mush.

“I’m s-sorry. I guess I’m a little scared still?” Vienna looked at you and gave a knowing smile before resting her hand on your shoulder.

“How far along are you?”

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The day had been a shitty one. James was in the middle of an important business pitch with Sam Wilson, a promising company from Louisiana that he wanted to partner with, when his assistant rushed in. He tried to order her out, but when he heard “money” and “gone” he had to apologize and excuse himself. After seeing the bank’s email, and hearing the voicemail they left his assistant after she called them, he rescheduled his meeting with Sam, explaining vaguely what was happening.

James believed someone had stolen your information in order to rob him blind. He didn’t think you would do that, what reason would you have? Name anything on this Earth and James would have it in your hands the very next day. He was clutching the steering wheel with a vice-like grip that was turning his knuckles white. When James got home, he looked on terrified at how it was left. He called your name out while he ran around looking for you and Bucky. Once he found it empty, he started dialing 911. You both were missing.

James was tapping his foot waiting for the operator when he saw it. The picture album that you begged him for when you first found out you were pregnant. It was gone.

The metal hand clutching the phone crushed right as he heard the female voice on the other side greet James. You and Bucky weren’t kidnapped, you had run away.

James went downstairs to call his friends, Steve and Natasha. He was going to need their help tracking down his bratty wife. She was smart, he’d give her that, but she’d have to try a lot harder if she wanted to get away from an ex super soldier.

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@jtargaryen18 @coconutqueen21 @collette04 @stayhazey @nsfwsebbie @official-and-unstable-satan

#non con #dub con #dark!fic #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes #dark!mcu #dark!marvel

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tylercamebackyes · 5 years ago

Text

i adore you, Cy.

surprise!! @imonlyhereforgay this is your gift!! i was stressing over it because everyone has so many parts and amazing stuff but i worked really hard on mine so im not changing it anymore. happy pride! also i used When too many times but i dont think TJ would care if he wrote a letter to Cyrus.

TJ writes a confession to Cyrus.

Dear Cyrus,

These are 10 of the times I got lost in your eyes.

When we went out for milkshakes after my first game of the season. You were telling a story about how your cousin drank his milkshake in 4 minutes flat, only to realize he was lactose intolerant. He never went out to eat with you again because you laughed at him for weeks. You laughed so hard telling the story that you started crying, but your eyes were lit up with joy.

When you came out to me in your basement. I made a joke about how girls would love a ping pong champion. You said you hoped the guys did too. The guys most certainly do. I was stunned into silence because I realized you wouldn't find it so weird that I thought your eyes were pretty.

That time we went on the Ferris wheel at Adrenaline City. You wouldn't look away from the spinning wheel, but I made you have a staring contest with me. You looked like you were about to cry until Marty spun the wheel and you screeched with your head in your hands.

When I had dinner at your house for your dad's birthday. I was helping serve cake when you said I had gotten frosting on my nose. You wiped it off with a napkin because I "wasn't getting the blue off." The blue didn't even come off after.

When I was getting you do do the high jump into the foam pit at Bouncy Castle Land. Andi and Buffy had always let you sit out, but I made you count to 10 with me before you let me push you off the platform.

When my cat had kittens and you were holding one, but it sneezed and you look at me smiling like a goof. I thought I could look at you smiling like a goof forever.

That time we were studying for my math test and you laughed at the drawing of my cat. When you laugh you get a sparkle in your eye. I got B+ on that math test and you took me to the Spoon to celebrate.

When we were playing the second championship game and I looked over at you during the last timeout. Your smile made me want to win the game to make you proud even though you would be proud either way.

When Andi was thinking about going to New York for an art school, so you went to the swings to think about it. I told you that you were allowed to be upset about it because she was your best friend and you would miss her more if you were here instead of with her. Andi decided not to go.

When you got a brain freeze from eating a snow cone too fast at the fair.

9 times I almost held your hand. Mostly times I missed my chance to.

When we went on that roller coaster and you said you couldn't feel your hands. I thought about it for a long time, but then we were upside down and I missed my chance.

When I watched your dance final and you were shaking when you finished, because when I'm shaking people holding my hands make me feel better but you were being hugged by Buffy before I got the nerve to.

When you came out to Amber at the Spoon, because she said she was frosting everything rainbow for pride month and you said you would definitely but a piece of cake for that, and she asked if you were LGBT+ and you paused and said you were gay. I didn't want to reach over the table so I didn't hold your hand.

When we were both laying on the couch but we couldn't reach the remote, so we both reached out to get it. I ended up falling off the couch.

When my cat scratched you and I helped you clean your hand, and I did technically hold your hand but I almost really held your hand.

When Andi was up for an art award and they were announcing winners. I started clapping to snap you out of peeling your fingernails. She didn't win, but she got 2nd place.

When we were having a sleepover and you turned over on the air mattress just to say "TJ, I LOVE dinosaurs." You started showing me shadow puppet dinosaurs, but you were too tired to do it right.

At Andi's slumber party, you were doing everyone's nails with Amber, and you painted mine yellow. "You're like my lemon boy, Teej. Or a sour-patch kid. Because you're sweet now," you said.

When Andi was upset about her parents not getting married and Buffy was hanging out with Marty again, you told me that you were afraid it was straining your relationship with them. I told you that if you could survive Celia becoming Ce-Ce and Buffy moving you could survive some change.

8 times I almost kissed you.

When we were at the pool and you did the big water slide, and you were so excited that you choked on the water. You laughed so hard that you had to get out of the pool.

When we met Amber's dog for the first time, and you thought he was the cutest thing in the world.

When we got churros at the fair. You got cinnamon on your nose and I still have no idea how.

When we had that pillow fight and you somehow got a hold of every pillow and it was like you had 3 pairs of nun-chucks.

When we were at the drive-in and you were holding all of the candy because Jonah had a broken arm. He said you wouldn't let him hold anything, but you said his arm was hurting. It was probably both.

That time at the lake when I jumped in, and you didn't want to jump in after me so you tried just walking into the lake but you slipped on the mud.

When we were swimming for Buffy's birthday party, Marty and Jonah flipped your floatie over. You complained about your hair the whole day, but I thought it looked better.

When you saw the shooting star on July 4th. Right after you saw it the fireworks started and the sound scared you.

7 times I almost told someone I liked you.

Buffy asked me after my first game of the season if I liked you, and I almost said yes. I said I didn't know.

My mom asked me why I had become so much happier lately. I said I was just having fun hanging out with you and everyone. Part of it was me being happy about coming out, but it was also being around you that made me so happy.

Jonah asked me how long we had been dating. He really thought we'd been dating for months.

I was paying for a Queen record when Bowie asked about the drawings on my hand. He asked me who drew it and when I said that you drew it, he said, "You two are pretty close, huh?" I just smiled and said yeah.

My cousins came over for Christmas. Addie is 8 years old and when she saw me texting you she said, "Why are you smiling so much? My mamma says people only smile that much when they're in love!" I thought it was really funny that she pointed it out before Buffy or Amber.

Jonah, Marty, and I were watching Love, Simon and they asked why I knew all of the emails by heart. It was nice to think of having a love story like that, even if it wasn't with you.

I almost told Amber's dog once, but Andi walked in before I said it.

6 times I did hold your hand.

When you were over and my parents started fighting while we played Mortal Kombat. I didn't want to feel scared like I always feel when they fight, even though I had never done it when they fought before.

When I came out to my dad. Or before, I guess. It made it easier having you there because I had someone there for me if my dad wasn't.

When you had a sleepover and we tried to watch all of Supernatural in one night. I fell asleep after a few episodes, but the first scene always makes me nervous.

When I was going into math class for the last test of the semester. You had worked with me the most and you believing that I could pass made me really want to pass the test.

When we listened to Paris by Sabrina Carpenter for the first time. It was more of me grabbing your hand and spinning you around to the music, but it counts.

When you brought me the blueberry macadamia muffin. That was one of the best muffins I've ever had, by the way.

5 times I almost called you at 2 am.

When my parents were fighting and I wanted to distract myself, but I ended up watching YouTube.

When Khalid announced his tour and I saw the post. You actually ended up calling me first.

When my cat threw up on my bed. I was really stressed but I got worried about the cat and told my mom instead.

After you dislocated your thumb when I tried to teach you how to play basketball. I was so worried that I couldn't sleep, but your mom posted on Facebook that you were fine so I let it be.

When I realized the song stuck in my head was Electric Love by BØRNS. Then I realized you were probably asleep, so I didn't.

4 times I did call you at 2 am.

When my dad told my mom that I was gay. I thought he was cool with it, but while they were fighting he said, "So YOU can have our abomination of a son." My parent decided to get a divorce later that week. I probably called you every week because I couldn't handle it.

When I realized another song that was stuck in my head was Maneater by Nelly Furtado. You didn't know what song I was talking about until I sang the "you wish you never met her at all" part.

When I had that nightmare where a clown came and attacked the whole town but you had an alliance with him but he was set on killing me so you died defending me then the clown died because he wasn't allowed to kill you.

When you texted me saying you hated crying at 2 am. You were crying about your stepdad making a homophobic joke. I said that he probably didn't mean it, and would stop once he realized he was directly hurting you. It still wasn't okay, though.

3 times I thought I had lost you.

When Reed brought that gun. I know I've said it dozens of times, but I didn't think he would bring it while you were there.

When your dad was thinking about moving to Texas and you got really excited, but your mom said she didn't want to give up custody so he stayed. I wanted you to be happy, but I also wanted to be with you forever and I wouldn't really want to be in Texas for months or years on end.

When Kira outed me to the school, and she looked at you when she said I was really obvious about it. I thought you weren't ready to come out in any way at school, but you said that our friendship was worth more than avoiding humiliation.

2 times I almost confessed.

That day when we couldn't reach the remote from the couch. Me falling off the couch made me forget about it, though.

When I came out to you. I was crying and you were almost crying and I have no idea why I was so terrified.

1 time I did.

Right now. I don't know why it's taken me so long, but with enough reassurance from Jonah and Andi, I'm writing this letter to you right now. I adore you, Cy. I want to be around you all the time. I would really, really like to kiss you. I know you might not feel the same, but I also know our friendship would survive a crush. I don't like keeping secrets from you. The last one is this: I like you. I like you more than I've ever liked anyone. And I had a teddy bear named Blueberry for 12 years until Reed blew it up. That's all.

Love, TJ. aka Tyler James.

#andi mack #tyrus #pride gift exchange #my fic #cyrus goodman #tj kippen

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dfnm-mnfd · 6 years ago

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i haven’t seen you in forever, but you still feel like home

Inspired by this post by @xandertheundead

“We’ll keep in touch, Eds.” That’s what Richie had said. “I’ll call you every night, maybe even video chat for those more risqué conversations.” Even now, Eddie couldn’t help but chuckle at Richie’s antics, even though he hadn’t talked to the boy in eight years.

He and Richie had been best friends for as long as he could remember, meeting on the first day of elementary school, bonding immediately over a shared fascination in the way their teacher’s mole on her lip moved when she talked, and, since then, they’d always been at each others’ sides. Until ten years ago, that is.

Eddie had always dreamed of becoming a chef. He’d always been fascinated in cuisine, and had been forced to cook for himself since he was a child- due to his mother’s inability to function as a normal human. So, when he received an offer to spend five years in France learning how to master French cuisine up-close, how could he say no?

Apparently, that was Richie’s exact query. In high school, the two boys had gotten even closer than best friends. Richie had crossed the line of platonic love, stepping into the zone of romance, and Eddie had been more than happy to let him. The boys were happily dating for a good few years, they even moved into an apartment together in the summer before their freshman year of college. All was going splendidly- the two boys had never been more in love, until-

“Richie, oh my gosh, you’ll never guess what came in the mail!” Eddie practically skidded into the living room of their apartment, waving an envelope in the air, eyes glowing with excitement. On the floor, where he had been absently plucking at his guitar, Richie looked up curiously, a few stray curls hanging over his forehead. Even in his excitement, Edie couldn’t help but notice how beautiful he was, the morning sun streaking through half-closed blinds to highlight the flecks of gold in his green eyes, to accentuate the freckles scattered across his pale skin. Richie cocked his head, blinking up at Eddie in silent (for once) question. “I got a letter from Le Cordon Bleus!” Though it was clear Richie had no idea what that was, he fed off of Eddie’s excitement, a large smile growing across his face. “It’s a french cooking school,” Edie explained, “they offered to let me transfer there for five years!” Just like that, Richie’s smile was gone.

“They- like, you’d go to… France? For a whole five years?” Eddie blinked.

“Well, yeah. Is that a problem?”

“N- no. I mean. I’m proud of you!” Eddie could tell that his smile was fake, the sadness in his eyes betrayed him. “I’m just… five years is a long time, I’ll miss you, Eds.”

“Oh.” Eddie blinked, and, just like that, all of his previous excitement was gone, like someone had flipped a switch, draining all of it from him. “Shit- Rich. I didn’t even think about that…” The sunlight didn’t look so pretty in Richie’s eyes anymore, all of the pain in them was drowning out the gold flecks. He wished that he could say he wouldn’t go, to make all of that pain go away, but his was the opportunity of a lifetime. He wasn’t about to pull a Rachel from Friends and ditch a golden opportunity for a man, was he? When he looked into Richie’s beautiful, sad eyes, he wasn’t so sure. He had waited his whole life for something like this to pop up, sure. But he’d loved Richie for his whole life, too. It was an impossible decision, giving up one dream for another.

“I- It’s all right, Eds. We can make it work, right?” Eddie wasn’t so sure. He’d heard all the horror stories about long distance relationships- the cheating, the distractions, the emotional distance. It was hard to believe that, even though he and Richie were close, they wouldn’t be affected by such things, and Eddie’s anxiety definitely wasn’t helping the situation. “We can call every night, text all the time. It’ll be just like it is now, but… really far apart.” Richie tried to make that sound less depressing than it was, pairing it with a meager smile. And Eddie, being the lovesick fool that he was, let Richie convince him.

Looking back, he would try and curse himself, he would try and wish that he had decided to stay. But he couldn’t deny that he loved his life now. Sure, he refused to date anyone, or even think about romance, but hey, that was just because he was so busy all the time, right? And when he saw pictures of Richie and his band- which had gotten to be quite popular over the past few years- pop up on Instagram, or even in magazines, his heart didn’t hurt so bad that he wanted to rip it out of his chest, right?

Okay, maybe Eddie could think of one way that his life would be better. But he was doing swell! After moving to France, Eddie had adjusted to life there easily, making friends in his classes, winning the favours of his professors. He managed to get good grades all the way throughout university, and snagged a well-paying job at a fine-dining restaurant. His life was packed to the brim, busy with exciting opportunities and happiness. Too busy for Richie, it turned out.

Richie had broken up with him through an email, of all things, breaking countless social codes, and Eddie’s heart, in the process. Though it wasn’t exactly out of the blue, that didn’t make it hurt any less when Eddie opened up the email, and blinked back tears as he read it. It didn’t make Eddie’s chest ache any less as he sobbed on the floor of his dorm, curled up for hours.

Eventually, Eddie stopped checking his phone for cheesy good morning texts when he woke up. He stopped leaving his ringer on at night, in case Richie decided to call him, forgetting about the time-zone difference. But, somewhere, though he hated it, he knew that he never stopped loving Richie.

Now, ten years after he had moved to France, Eddie was back in America. Having saved a decent amount of money over the years, he was opening a French cuisine restaurant, a high class one at that. He spent months perfecting everything- from finding the perfect location, all the way down to selecting the cutlery. And, having finally realised his plans, he was able to open the restaurant.

His restaurant was amazingly successful, generating loads of people, and bringing in thousands of excellent reviews. It wasn’t entirely unusual for the occasional celebrity to even wander in, and Eddie couldn’t have been happier.

About a month after Eddie had opened the restaurant, on one of the less busy days, a popular band arrived in a black car. Of course, as Eddie was in the back, cooking, he had no clue what awaited him. Even when an order for beef bourignon and chocolate mousse was passed back to him, which had always been Richie’s favourite things for him to make, Eddie suspected nothing. He let himself get caught up in the memories of cooking for Richie, sure. He let himself remember when Richie’d somehow managed to get chocolate mousse all over himself, and how Eddie had playfuly licked some off of his neck. Eddie’s cheeks reddened a little as he remembered what happened after that, and, by then, he was on to the next order, quick to be pulled from his nostalgia.

Eddie was in the middle of making a dessert crêpe, one of his favourite, and easiest, recipes, when he was called to the dining area by a somewhat flustered looking waitress. Compliments to the chef, she’d said. Though compliments weren’t entirely rare, Eddie was still incredibly pleased, and made sure he looked somewhat presentable before following her out.

He saw Richie just a few seconds after walking out of the kitchen, freezing in his place with wide eyes. The waitress turned to look at him, head tilted inquisitively, but Eddie couldn’t even begin to form words to explain himself. As a matter of fact, he could hardly breathe. And, fortunately or not, Richie noticed.

If Eddie hadn’t been silently wheezing and regretting all of his life choices, they probably would’ve made romantic eye contact, maybe ran into each other’s arms sobbing. However, Eddie felt like he was literally about to die, and probably looked like it, too, and so Richie just kind of stared at him, eyes wide with shock.

The entire restaurant was watching them now, several forks suspended mid-air on their way to some pompous customer’s mouth. But Eddie hardly cared, eyes huge as he stared at Richie, and Richie stared right back. They stayed frozen like that for a good few seconds, Richie’s bandmates all looking at their friend in confusion and concern, their bewilderment increasing as Richie pushed himself out of his chair, and strode towards Eddie, his shocked expression melting more into, what- intrigue, maybe? Eddie let him take his arm, and lead him back through the double doors of the kitchen, still hardly processing the situation he found himself in.

“Eds.” Richie’s voice was breathy, as if he could hardly believe that this was real. To be fair, it hardly seemed real. From the far end of the kitchen, the sous chef stared at them curiously, not that either of them noticed.

“Hi, Richie.” Eddie marvelled at how his voice didn’t shake when he spoke, despite the anxious churning of his stomach, and the panicked screeching that had become background noise in his mind from the moment that he saw Richie. For a while, they just blinked at each other, taking it all in.

Richie’s style didn’t seem to have changed one bit since Eddie last saw him- he wore an obnoxious hawaiian shirt over a Hozier shirt, paired with bright orange jeans and an entirely different shade of orange converse. He still wore his yellow-framed glasses, and his hair was still a beautiful curly mess. In other words, Richie was still absolutely hot and a complete dork, it seemed.

Eddie figured he probably looked much the same as well. As far as he could tell, his sense of style hadn’t changed much- his wardrobe was still comprised of oversized sweater and mom jeans. And, physically, the only change was that Eddie had gotten maybe half and inch inch taller. Basically, he was still exactly the same. Richie, it seemed, shared his sentiments.

“You look the same.” Eddie noticed how Richie’s hand seemed to twitch towards him. “I- I mean. You look great. I’m glad you look the same,” he stumbled over his words, wincing a little. “Not that I would be upset if you looked different, change is good! But-” Richie took in a deep breath, his words deflating. “I just… missed you, is all.” Eddie couldn’t help but smile at that, a whole flurry of butterflies taking flight inside him at Richie’s words.

“I missed you too, ‘Chee.” They both blinked at the pet name that slipped from Eddie’s lips, almost startled by the familiarity of it all. It was like they were suspended in air, wrapped in this careful conversation, and one wrong breath could send them crashing back to reality, back to when they hadn’t spoked for years, back to how Eddie had sobbed all alone, and how Richie had stared numbly at his ceiling, itching to call Eddie.

“Are you… um.” Richie took in a deep breath, and Eddie could tell that he was nervous. “Are you seeing anyone?”He smiled, letting out a relieved sigh when Eddie shook his head, and the butterflies that fluttered around inside Eddie multiplied. Did Richie still feel the same? It seemed that way.

“Are you?”

“Oh, god no.” Richie shook his head adamantly. “I haven’t been with anyone since we-” he blinked, uncertainty in his eyes as he looked at Eddie, his words falling short.

“Me neither,” Eddie said, his tone cautious. They slipped into silence, a million unsaid words hanging in the air between them.

“Are you-

“Would you-” They both spoke at the same time, breaking off with a few awkward laughs.

“Sorry, you go,” said Eddie, looking up at at Richie, who shifted restlessly from one foot to the other. Seeming nervous, Richie shook his head.

“No, it’s fine. You go, Eds.”

“I-” Eddie stuttered, mouth opening and closing soundlessly as he gaped up at him. “No, no, it’s not important. You… you can go.” Richie, seeming to understand that literally nothing on Earth would make Eddie talk, sighed, nodding.

“Ok, um” He shifted from one foot to the other, wetting his lips. “I was uh… just wondering if maybe you’d like to go get dinner with me sometime?” Eddie beamed, eyes lighting up.

“I’d love that.” Richie beamed as well, his forest green eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Awesome! I can pick you up on Friday, if that works.”

“Yeah, sure.” Eddie couldn’t agree quickly enough, nodding emphatically.

“Great!” Richie nodded, eyes alight. “It’s a date, then.”

“I can’t wait.” He smiled up at Richie, and the two stood there for a few moments, just beaming at each other until Richie blinked, lifting one hand in the air to point vaguely at nothing.

“Ah! Well.” He let his hand drop. “I believe I have an absolutely delicious beef bourignon waiting for me, so I must be off, but um…” He shot Eddie a crooked smile, taking his breath away. “I can’t wait for Friday.”

“Me neither.”

#eyyyyyy hmm if you want a part two #also this was fun to write yeet #reddie #reddie headcanons #reddie au #i think this turned out quite well actually #tho i had to look up how to cut text #uhhh ye hope you liked it #i might put this on ao3 #if i do i'll link it here probs

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daggerzine · 7 years ago

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NOTES FROM THE UNDERGROUND: Nick Adams from M.I.A. tells us after the fact about the band’s history.

I think it must have been the Summer of 1985 when my pal Bill, who had been turning me on to a lot of music at the time, handed me a cassette with the new MIA record on it, Notes From the Underground. I loved it immediately. It was similar to a lot of the hardcore I had been listening to, but ….different. Darker, moodier but still just as melodic and hard hitting. I ended up finding their previous record, Murder in a Foreign Place (from 1984) and loved that one as well. I then was really blown away by what would be the band’s last record, 1987’s After the Fact, a gorgeous melodic masterpiece (Flipside Records). I ended up seeing the band once in the 80’s at City Gardens in Trenton, NJ where they put on a terrific set and then….that was it. I never heard about the band again and had heard they’d broken up. In 2001 the Alternative Tentacles label released Lost Boys, a compilation of the band’s early material and then I’d heard the sad news that vocalist/guitarist Mike Conley had died in early 2008.

Fast forward to earlier this year when I’d gotten an email from James Agren at Darla Records stating that he was going to be reissuing two of the band’s records, Notes From…. And After the Fact (he’d said he got interested in the band again after I’d posted a song on Facebook earlier in the year). One of us, (probably James) suggested that I interview guitarist Nick Adams who is a working musicians/photographer now living in Utah. I jumped at the chance and Nick was more than happy to answer any questions I threw his way. Gracious all the way through. Thanks so much to James for helping set up the interview (and for the reissues) and especially to Nick. Read on and find out about the early days of Las Vegas and So Cal hardcore….

The early daze.....

Where were you and raised in Las Vegas? If so were your parents in the casino business?

I was raised by a single mother (kind of a punk thing to do in the 60s!), and she was a high school teacher. Growing up in Vegas the casinos, even the slot machines in grocery stores, were no big deal to me, just a part of life that was around me but not interesting. On my street I think most of the parents were not involved in the gaming industry, they were Nevada Test Site workers, accountants, car dealers, etc. When I left Vegas in 1980 it had maybe 200,000 residents, now it is ten times that, and the gaming industry is bigger than ever, so a lot of the people I know, people I went to school with, are involved in it. But it’s also like any other city, there are teachers, doctors, lawyers, beggars, thieves, everything.

Do you remember the first record you ever bought?

Meet the Beatles in early 1967. I was five.

When did you first pick up an instrument? Was it a guitar?

I first got a toy drum kit, but that was not popular around the house. Soon after I got a guitar, a small Decca classical acoustic, I think I was 7 or 8. But I didn’t really get serious until I got into high school.

How did the punk rock bug bite you? Was it early on? Was there much of a scene in Vegas?

We were a bit culturally isolated in Vegas, and it was before the internet so ideas and movements traveled much more slowly. I was always into rock music – Beatles, Stones, Kinks, Zeppelin, Elton John (my first concert in ‘75), stuff that got played on the radio, and I would stretch a little with what I saw in Circus Magazine or Creem. They had photos and stories about Bowie and Iggy Pop, along with the stuff I was more familiar with. I remember seeing a photo of Iggy probably right after Raw Power came out, that freaky one where he has long straight white hair, white pants and no shirt, screaming at the camera. Later I bought it, took me a while to wrap my head around it. I remember when the Sex Pistols were touring the U.S. in ‘78, I was barely 16, and it was on the TV national news, my mom said, “I don’t care WHAT you do, just don’t get mixed up in that punk rock.” Heh, heh. I heard that album and was blown away, instant fan.

Nick tearing it up in Guerneville, CA. (photo by Rhoda Rohnstock)

How/when did you meet Mike Conley?

Mike was an instigator. He was a few years older than me, really scrappy with a lot of street smarts (which I never had). He was the guy you wanted by your side in a fight. He was always scheming, thinking, and bringing people together. He was industrious. He became a great songwriter and musician through sheer force of will. I was 18, out of high school and in the process of dropping out of my first semester of college. Paul (M.I.A. bassist) and I were in a band together that was loud and loose, somewhere in between rock and punk, and we rented a room over an office building in a real seedy part of town. Other bands rented rooms there too. One evening we were practicing and heard a knock, it was Mike, he wanted to find out who it was that had the coolest sounding amp in town (it was my 77 Marshall JMP 100w half stack, crunchy and louder than shit). He invited me over to hear his band, The Swell. They had gone all out decorating their rehearsal space, painting a floor-to-ceiling Union Jack on one wall, and hanging cool fliers and posters everywhere. That alone made a big first impression. Mike played bass, Chris Moon (who was in the very first Vegas punk band, Bad Habits, with Vegas legend Eric Hill) was on drums, Todd Sampson was on vocals (Todd looked just like Johnny Rotten, and was pretty menacing for a 16-year-old kid), and a guy named Jim on guitar. They were looking to replace him, or at least his amp. So Mike asked if I would sit in one night. It was really fun, I was hooked. I joined when they asked.

Tell us about the beginnings of M.I.A. At what point did you leave Vegas for Southern California?

Shortly after I started playing with The Swell, we decided to change our name to M.I.A. We rehearsed a lot and played a party or two, not really much. But being in a punk band and dropping out college made things difficult for me at home. When a musician friend invited me to room with him in San Diego, I took the opportunity and moved there and M.I.A. broke up. I had only been there about two weeks when my friend got an offer to play in a band somewhere up in LA, so I ended up being poor and alone in San Diego. A few miserable months later I got a call from Mike – he and Chris had moved to Newport Beach, and he said, “Hey, why don’t you come live with us.” So I did. We started going to the Cuckoo’s Nest whenever we could and up to LA for some big shows, and we started playing again, only Todd was still 16 and couldn’t move out from Vegas. We tried out some singers (Mike was still on bass) when finally Mike said he would sing and we’d look for a bass player. I called Paul, I knew he was a great bass player and musician, and convinced him to move to OC with us, and that was the band that recorded Last Rites. This all happened within about 6 months of my moving from Vegas, and really it turned out great because I don’t think as a band we would’ve ever moved to California together, we had never talked about it, though Chris says he and Mike did. The OC and LA scenes down there were so influential and I feel lucky to have been a part of them, as well as part of the nascent Las Vegas scene.

Anything notable happen during the recording of any of your records? Do you still listen to them these days?

Our first demo was made in 1981 with a $300 donation from friends. We wanted to record something that maybe Rodney Bingenheimer might play on his Rodney on the ROQ show, you know, decent sound quality. We walked into a local studio at the beach, JEL, and said we wanted to record 9 songs and walk out with a finished tape. Bill Trousdale was the engineer, he said, “no way, you might get two.” So using eight tracks we blasted through nine songs, and mixed seven before we ran out of money (if you listen too carefully you can tell that the last two songs on Last Rites were mixed by someone else). We played it for a friend, Bad Otis Link, and he said he could get us a show in Reno. So we got a show in Reno with 7 Seconds and The Wrecks! How lucky is that? From that show our demo tape wound up in the hands of folks at Maximum Rock n Roll, Bomp and Smoke 7, and suddenly we were on records.

Murder In A Foreign Place was made in the same studio with a larger budget (plus a new drummer, Larry Pearson, that Mike recruited), and a solid record deal from Alternative Tentacles, which was cool. It was a distribution deal, which meant that we handled all of the recording, artwork, album cover jacket printing, mastering and album pressing ourselves, and the finished product got drop-shipped to AT for distribution. I did a lot of the footwork myself with our financier, Jon Shines. It was a great learning experience and very true to the DIY ethic of the time. Biafra and AT have always been great to us.

Notes From the Underground took us in a moody direction, I think reflecting some conflict in the band, helped along by the darker post-punk tones of 1985. It has some great songs on it, though, and has us exploring some different sounds with Thom Wilson producing. One of his favorite songs from the session was Write Myself A Letter and he put a little extra time into it, and it turned into a slightly psychedelic jangle. My favorite song from that album is Shadows, one that Mike and I wrote from an idea he had. It was a great live song back in the day and I still love to play it. I’ve been listening to Notes a lot lately because we are working on the reissue, and there is a lot of really great stuff going on there.

The lost boys.

Did you do much touring back then? Overseas? I’m guessing you played with every notable So. Cal punk band?

Never made it overseas. We did a lot of small regional tours – you could hit a few cities over a few days, so we’d do Vegas-Phoenix-Tucson-San Diego, or Reno-Sacramento-San Francisco-Santa Cruz-Santa Barbara. That helped us get a decent regional following. Sometimes we would do these regional tours with other bands, like TSOL, Circle Jerks, Angry Samoans or Dead Kennedys. Sometimes we would take our Vegas pals, Subterfuge, or double bill with other great bands like Decry or Mad Parade. I remember watching Ron Emory (TSOL) at soundchecks, I would always try to be there because he would pull out some great Hendrix riffs or blues stuff. His technique was inspiring. Ron has so much depth as a player, he’s one of my heroes. We did another one of these regional tours in Northern California with Dead Kennedys and Butthole Surfers, that was amazing. I was glad we didn’t have to go on after the Butthole Surfers, their show was insane at that time. There were so many great bands back then, and we got to play with many of them. We played a bunch of the big Goldenvoice shows in and around L.A. too.

When Murder in A Foreign Place came out in the spring of 1984 we had friends at Goldenvoice and they were starting to book national tours, so we did a three month summer tour of the US and Canada, booked by Jim Guerinot and Mike Vraney, both legendary guys. Only trouble was, the punk scene was still very young in many areas of the country – sometimes we would pull up to the venue and find it boarded up, or sometimes a whole string of shows would be canceled. We’d have to buy paper city maps and look for phone booths to make calls and hope to catch someone, there was no voicemail. It was a very rough tour, but we had loads of fun and when we came home we were battle-hardened and road tight, we were a kick-ass live band by the end of that tour.

We did another US tour just before recording Notes From the Underground. A tour had been booked for Social Distortion and they had to back out, so it was given to us. It was a winter tour, so it had different challenges, but we hit a lot of cities we hadn’t been to on our first tour. I loved being on tour. M.I.A. did one last national tour supporting After the Fact in 1987.

How did M.I.A. end?

It ended with infighting and disagreement, like bands usually end. Shortly after recording Notes From the Underground things came to a head and I walked away. Mike was angry at me, I was angry at him. But one thing about Mike, any kind of adversity like that just made him try harder. He brought M.I.A. back with a vengeance and made M.I.A.’s 4th album, After the Fact with Chris Moon (the drummer on Last Rites), Mark Arnold and Frank Daly (both would later form the great OC band Big Drill Car). He came to me and asked me to record a guitar part, he said he wanted something noisy and atonal with whammy bar dives like I did in Used to Know Me from the Murder album. I was actually a little annoyed but he insisted. I’m so glad he did – that is what opens the album, and it serves as a kind of meaningful transition from the old band to the new, and to what Mike would go on to do later. A lot of the lyrics on that album are very personal to me because I feel like Mike is singing about us, our conflict, the bitterness, the feelings of betrayal. There is a lot of me on that album even though I didn’t participate in making it, save for that intro. It took me a while to come to terms with it, and now I love it – it is a great album, and Frank and Mark were really good on it, as was Chris. Mike really grew as a songwriter, but he also held a lot of control in the band. After this version of M.I.A. toured, Frank and Mark wanted to be more involved in songwriting, so they left to form Big Drill Car. After M.I.A. Mike made a couple of great bands, Naked Soul and Jigsaw, there are videos online if you search for them.

Tell us about a few of the bands you were in post-M.I.A. (Arab and the Suburban Turbans?)

Arab and the Suburban Turbans was kind of a way for some of us to explore different musical influences. It had varying membership over the years, but the core was Arab (Love Canal), Jeff Newlin, Bob Gnarly (Plain Wrap), Dallas Don Burnet (Plain Wrap, later Lutefisk), Raggs Adams and me. We played some traditional blues and soul covers, plus we turned some punk into blues and we also had a few stellar originals. We recorded Black Flag’s Nervous Breakdown, which was selected for a Flipside Vinyl Fanzine compilation, but the person who owned the publishing had a beef with the record label (not Flipside) and would not allow it. But we played some great shows with the likes of Jane’s Addiction and Thelonius Monster, and we actually got accepted into the Long Beach Blues Festival, quite a mean feat. They were bummed because we ended up being more punk than they imagined and kind of crashed the mellow vibe. We had a great crowd response though!

I was in another band in 1989-90 called Flatbed with Bob Thomson (Big Drill Car) on bass and Miles Gillette (El Groupo Sexo, Fluf) on drums. Kinda grungy, I guess. Those two were the best musicians I have ever played with. I played in several other projects with notable players (Don Burnet, Sean Greaves, Mark Stern, Bad Otis, Chuck Biscuits) but nothing that stuck.

Tell us about the M.I.A. reunion? I’m guessing Mike’s death is still a shock to you all.

Mike’s death was so unexpected, it was a huge shock. He had worked so hard to build a really cool bar in Costa Mesa, the Avalon. He had so many friends, so many people that loved him. He just had that great kind of personality -- gregarious, friendly, thoughtful. He helped people, and they were and still are, after nearly ten years, very loyal to him. So his death was a huge loss for many people. I was astonished at the number of people who came to his memorial on the beach, it was amazing. I was standing there dumbfounded when this guy walked up in a suit wearing reflective aviators walked up and said, “Are you Nick Adams?” It was Jello Biafra. Hadn’t seen him in over 20 years, I couldn’t believe he made the effort to be there.

As it turned out, Mike’s girlfriend and kids were left in a bad way financially from his death, so we were approached to do a fundraising reunion. Joe Sib (SideOneDummy Records) helped set it up, and worked with Jim Guerinot (Time Bomb Records) to get Social Distortion on the bill. They played an amazing acoustic set. Also on the bill were Cadillac Tramps, and tributes to two of Mike’s later bands, Jigsaw and Naked Soul. It was a stellar night for sure. As for M.I.A., we had our original Vegas singer Todd Sampson do vocals, supplemented with Kevin Seconds on a few songs and Jello Biafra on a few more. We also got to play a few Dead Kennedys songs, which was unreal! Biafra was so cool, he let us pick the Dead Kennedys songs we wanted to do.

We continued to play a few shows with Todd on vocals, but then he died of heat stroke after a show in Vegas in 2011. That sucked. Now we play as a three piece with me handling most of the vocals, Paul doing a few. It’s actually a good band, and though we can never replace Mike’s energy, voice and creativity, I think that it is the best compromise that stays true to the band. In other words, we’re not trying to replace Mike, we are just trying to stay true to the music and let people hear it. We got a great reception at Punk Rock Bowling in 2016.

“Want our autographs?”

..and tying in to the above question, how about the upcoming reissues on Darla? How did that come about? Did you know James?

I’m very excited to get the last two M.I.A. records re-released. They need to be heard! I met James Agren (Darla Records) in the summer of ‘83 or ‘84 I think. We were roommates for a bit at the beach with a mutual friend. A while back he contacted me on social media about the possibility of re-releasing Notes From the Underground and After the Fact. Since I knew him from way back and I could tell he was really professional (plus he was persistent!), I agreed. I’m so glad to have the opportunity to work with James, he has great attention to detail and is treating these two albums with the utmost respect. It’s a very personal relationship, even though we are hundreds of miles away. I can’t say enough good things about James. The remastered tracks (by Mark Alan Miller at Sonelab) sound amazing, exceeding the original releases in my opinion – a lot more depth and nuance, you can hear each instrument with more clarity. And there are some bonus tracks too.

Who are some of your favorite current bands or musicians?

I’m all over the map, and not super current. Back in ‘82 I fell in love with the Birthday Party and Tom Waits (Waits inspired the song Murder In A Foreign Place) and have been a fan ever since. Saw Nick Cave perform last month, it was great. I saw the Damned on their most recent tour – twice! – and that was amazing. Iron and Wine, Black Keys, Jack White, Off!, Paul Westerberg. Things have changed so much in terms of how we get exposed to new music and how it is delivered that it is pretty overwhelming sometimes. Add to that the sheer volume of music that has been long out of print coming back. It’s a great time to be a music listener! But also, with the ubiquity of technology and how quickly information spreads, I wonder if anything like the punk scene we experienced could ever emerge again.

Please tell us about your career as a photographer.

After M.I.A. I went back to school and earned a degree in Anthropology from U.C. Berkeley, graduated in ‘93. I was planning to go to grad school when I got into photography by accident. I had a job at a cabinet shop that I was not cut out for, so I applied at the local newspaper for a menial desk job in the photo department. I was in the right place, right time; within a year I was a full time staff photographer. It was great, I got to shoot every day, learning photography while getting paid for it! Being a photojournalist was interesting and fun, but also very hard and sometimes difficult work. I photographed presidents and senators, but also tragedies, homeless people, city council meetings and kids at the fair. Around 2004 I started my own business, and I’m still doing it – mostly portraits and magazine work nowadays.

Care to tell us your top 10 desert island discs?

In no particular order (and if you asked me next week it would likely be different):

The Damned – Strawberries

Bowie – Hunky Dory

The Germs – (GI)

Stooges – Funhouse

Rolling Stones – Beggar’s Banquet

Tom Waits – Bad As Me

The Birthday Party – Prayers On Fire

Gun Club – Fire of Love

Velvet Underground – Velvet Underground

Roy Orbison – Greatest Hits

Radiohead – Amnesiac

The lost boys- part 2.

BONUS QUESTION- Do you have a favorite of the M.I.A. records?

Though I love the raw, stripped down sound of Last Rites, and the fan favorite seems to be Murder In A Foreign Place (which I love), right now I would have to go with Notes From the Underground. It’s not as even as Murder, but it has some stellar moments and it moves me.

BONUS QUESTION TWO- Did you ever meet Genocide’s Bobby Ebz? He’s sort of a NJ legend (I’m originally from NJ).

No, we never met any of the Genocide guys. I’d like to!

www.darlarecords.com

www.miaband.com

Catching air. (photo by Rhoda Rohnstock)

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yellow401 · 6 years ago

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In His Defense, Evan Already Hated Himself

I remember the first time I listened to Dear Evan Hansen, really listened. Up to that point, I had heard snatches of it here and there. It sounded catchy, but I was under the impression that it was a bit too first-world-problemsy for my taste. Oh, no, an angsty teenager is angsty! More touchy-feely musical theater that wouldn't interest me.

I'm not a huge musical theater listener, but my wife does have a couple of Pandora channels that delve into modern musicals (don't knock doing family history to the Hamilton mixtape 'til you've tried it). So it was that one day when my house was unusually quiet (the children not being at home) I was in the room when "Waving through a Window" came on Pandora. I listened:

I've learned to slam on the brake

Before I even turn the key

Before I make the mistake

Before I lead with the worst of me

and I thought, oh no. Oh no. I like this. I really, really like this.

Give them no reason to stare

No slippin’ up if you slip away

So I got nothin’ to share

No, I got nothin’ to say

I was unmade. I was not okay. If Dear Evan Hansen was too first-world-problemsy, then so was I, because Evan Hansen's problems were my problems. I identified with Evan Hansen on a level I wasn't comfortable with. I wasn't okay for days. This was middle-school me, sung by someone with a much better vocal range than I had, but it was exactly how I felt. Exactly. And I suddenly understood why so many people were going cuckoo for this musical. Because I was hooked.

I listened obsessively to the music. I wept. I apologized to my family for not treating them well enough. I've referenced it every time social anxiety comes up in conversation. It's been go-to listening for me when I'm in a bad mood ever since. It speaks to a part of me that I didn't know still existed. I've since graduated high school, and college twice; I successfully interact with scores of people each day at work. I can have the whole room in stitches when the mood is right. I regularly teach classes and give talks at church. I have three kids, a house, and a minivan, and we go to CostCo in our minivan, and I wonder what happened to my life as I'm loading boxes into the back of the minivan--but underneath all that, it turns out, is still a scared, socially anxious teenage boy. I've learned to deal with him, even befriend him, but he's still there, and Evan Hansen's words might as well be his. I didn't realize he was still there, but I feel more whole now that I can recognize that fact.

Because, for me, Dear Evan Hansen is ultimately a story about healing and forgiveness. In explaining why, I'm spoiling everything but the last thing--so if you aren't familiar with the plot, you could go listen to the music for free on the official Dear Evan Hansen YouTube channel. That's a good start.

When Connor Murphy tragically takes his own life at the beginning of his senior year in high school, Evan Hansen must overcome his crippling social anxiety and self-doubt to make sure his best friend's life is not forgotten. Nobody knew Connor and Evan were friends, but after Connor's family finds a note to Evan in his pocket and Connor's name written on Evan's cast, they learn the story and welcome Evan into their lives. With his friends Jared and Alana, Evan launches the Connor Project, a school-wide initiative dedicated to preserving Connor's memory. Evan speaks at the school assembly about how Connor was there for him when he broke his arm the previous summer. His story goes viral, softening hearts and driving home the message to people all over the country that no one ever has to be alone, or as the song puts it, "You Will Be Found." Evan gains confidence, finds love, and learns that he matters—he can make a positive difference in the world.

Except that it was all a lie. Connor and Evan weren't friends at all. A set of unfortunate coincidences combined with Evan's abject inability to stick up for himself leads to ever more convoluted manipulations of reality. The suicide note Connor's family found? A therapy letter from Evan to himself. Connor being there for Evan and taking him to the hospital after he fell? Nope—Evan was alone, and his boss drove him. And so it goes—Evan digs himself deeper and deeper; the cracks begin to show in his story and he becomes increasingly desperate to hang onto what he has gained. His efforts backfire: the original "suicide note" gets shared online, prompting a frightening internet backlash against the Murphys.

Evan finally comes clean to the Murphys in the song "Words Fail." He makes a last-ditch effort to explain why he let the lie go on for so long: he wanted to be part of the Murphys' perfect family.

I guess . . . I thought I could be part of this

I never had this kind of thing before

I never had the perfect girl who

Somehow could see the good part of me

I never had the dad who stuck it out

No corny jokes or baseball gloves

No mom who just was there

‘Cause mom was all that she had to be

This hail Mary fails utterly—the Murphys all walk out without saying a word. It is here that some critics have taken issue with the story, because they believe Evan got off far too easy. There is no retaliation, no public humiliation in store for Evan Hansen, just silence and loneliness. Evan manipulated the lives of Connor's grieving family for his own benefit, including dating Connor's sister, Zoe, on whom he's always had a crush. He manipulated the sympathy of other students and many people on the internet for his own fame and gain. He ruined his relationship with his hardworking single mother because he wanted something better. And his defense for this is that he didn't come from a loving, stable, two-parent household? That's it? Screw you, Evan. And screw all the fans of the show for being taken in by all this.

I understand where these critics are coming from, but I think they are wrong. I think this is because they hate themselves insufficiently to truly understand Evan Hansen.

Previous to his confession to the Murphy family, Evan has been conversing with the demons in his head via Imaginary!Connor, who has visited him before under happier circumstances. Connor mocks Evan's desire to come clean, stating that Evan can't even be honest with himself and reminding Evan that if he confesses, he will lose everything he has gained by lying. He will be all alone. And indeed, when the Murphys all wordlessly walk away from Evan's confession, the light slowly goes out on Connor as well, and Evan is left alone onstage to finally indulge his self-hatred.

I use the word "indulge" deliberately, because it matches my own experience. In our society, we are often encouraged to "stay positive" and to "believe in yourself." There are expectations that we will react positively to certain events deemed "good" and negatively to others deemed "bad." These expectations are not in and of themselves evil, but can break us as it is simultaneously exhausting to keep up appearances and unrewarding to be honest about our situation. For example, last year when we found out we were expecting a child, the traditional response was presumed to be one of joy. But we were also worried because the doctors had identified potentially life-threatening complications with the baby. It ultimately became too tiring for me to pretend to be excited about the baby or explain away why I wasn't, so I wrote a sappy email to my co-workers explaining some things. And it was awkward, and I'm sure it was TMI, but it was much easier emotionally after that, because I didn't have to pretend anymore.

Easy for me to say. But Evan is seventeen and has been pretending one way or another for most of the show while hiding his true insecurities and dark feelings from a world he has found through experience will be unsympathetic. After all the whirlwind of emotions and changing relationships as Evan became someone he wasn't, after ignoring all the lingering feelings of guilt and inventing ever-more-complex fixes for growing inconsistencies, after being "encouraged" to be positive by his mom and lifted up as a viral example to a fickle society, it must feel good to let it all fall away and just sit and HATE himself for a while.

Because here's the thing. Evan already felt that way about himself.

Make no mistake, Evan has effed up pretty bad by this point. But all this is just that he has found a particularly good reason to hate himself today. Even if he hadn't been involved in a large-scale deception involving the family of a classmate who took his own life, he would have found some minor error to loathe himself about. The lines

I never meant to make it such a mess

I never thought that it would go this far

could have been sung, for all we know, about the fact that he had an awkward conversation with Zoe at the beginning of the show. I know I've beaten myself up at length before for things that would be embarrassing to admit because of their triviality. I have practiced no large-scale deception, but the other day at work when I was discussing an upcoming unpopular decision, I sardonically said, "I've spent some time alone in the dark thinking about this," and one of my employees said, "Calm down, Evan Hansen."

So Evan is left alone in the dark to sing his anthem to self-loathing:

This was just a sad invention

It wasn't real, I know

But we were happy

I guess I couldn't let that go

I guess I couldn't give that up

I guess I wanted to believe

'Cause if I just believe

Then I don't have to see what's really there.

No, I'd rather

Pretend I'm something better than these broken parts

Pretend I'm something other than this MESS that I am,

'Cause then I don't have to look at it

and NO ONE gets to look at it

No, no one can really see

including a devastating reprise of the words he sang at the beginning, with soft piano and guitar-as-percussion replaced by passionate strings and devastating silence:

'Cause I've learned to slam on the brake

Before I even turn the key,

Before I make the mistake,

Before I lead with the WORST of me.

I never let them see the worst of me!

'Cause what if ev’ryone saw?

What if ev’ryone knew?

Would they like what they saw?

Or would they hate it too?

(emphasis Ben Platt's)

All has come crashing down. "The mistake" is no longer an abstract concept. It's just as he feared, just as the Connor in his head warned him. Or is it? At the end of "Words Fail," Evan finally confronts his real self:

Will I just keep on running away from what's true?

All I ever do is run

So how do I step in

Step into the sun?

Step into the sun

Evan goes home, where it turns out the demons in his head were wrong about one thing. Evan's not alone. His mom is there, and she's figured everything out. But despite Evan's asserted fear to the contrary, she's not mad at him. In fact, she apologizes for not being there for him when he most needed her. She sings him a song about the day his dad left, ten years before—a song that would make me ugly cry even if I'd just been handed a check for ten million dollars. (As an eclectic pal of mine remarked, "What do [people] mean, 'He got off too easy?' He's been punishing himself for the last ten years!") She promises him this will one day all seem like a distant memory. Evan just walks away, as she says, "You'll see. I promise."

So begins the redemption of Evan Hansen. Most of the rest of his redemption is shown off-camera, because it's not actually all that important just how it happens. There are plenty of other stories about how someone is redeemed, and we can assume it was heavy work for Evan to confront his demons and face life as a real person instead of a constructed one. Rather, we are granted a glimpse into life a year later that shows evidence of progress, but also an act of forgiveness. Because forgiveness, as I mentioned 1,666 words ago, was actually the point.

It's clear from Evan and Zoe's conversation that it's been a hard year—they both admit it out loud; Evan hasn't been on speaking terms with the Murphys since his confession; he's never even seen the orchard he spent so much time talking about earlier in the story.

But there's also evidence of progress. Though Evan is feeling a range of emotions here, being intimidated by Zoe isn't one of them. Their conversation is bracingly honest. Evan's working in retail—so much for social anxiety! And when he starts another therapy assignment, the letter he writes is as to a friend: ". . . today, you're you . . . And that's . . . that's enough." He's clearly not done progressing, but he accepts himself, which was unthinkable at the beginning.

None of this should really be a surprise. Even in middle of all the lies, the fear Evan overcame when he spoke to the school assembly was real, and the relationships he formed were real while they lasted. The message of hope he shared resonated with thousands because it is, in fact, a message many of us need. Even though it didn't go well, he's been able to stand up to people, including the "voices in [his] head." Even in the midst of his despair, Evan has grown and can find new strength to stand.

And it is enough, honestly, that Evan's progressing, because who didn't have something to regret or move on from, here? Larry and Cynthia Murphy, whose marriage was on the rocks and who were deferring their guilt over the loss of their son by replacing him with Evan? Heidi Hansen, who flaked out on her son so many times he's not even surprised by it anymore? Jared and Alana, who each had their own personal reasons for prodding Evan further down the path he was on?

No, I'll tell you who—Zoe. Zoe, who got treated like trash by her brother and was told that it was she who needed to be more “constructive” with him; Zoe, who reached out to loser Evan in compassion when he got shoved to the ground; Zoe, who forgave her brother as soon as Evan mentioned that they said nice things about her; Zoe, who assured Evan that he was relationship material even as he apologized for apologizing. There's a poignant irony in the fact that Evan spent the whole show trying to build up Connor, who shoved him to the ground, who freaked out at his therapy note, as a nice guy, as his secret best friend; but it's ultimately Zoe, who was only ever good to Evan and who was truly hurt by his lies, who shows Evan the orchard, who tells him that everything turned out all right in the end. It's a small glimpse, but Zoe's act of forgiveness toward Evan ultimately shows us that everything can turn out okay.

If there's a moral to the story for me, it's that everything turned out all right—but maybe it didn't have to happen at all. It's hard to imagine how Evan would have gotten himself out of the mess he was in, knowing what we know about him, but we aren't him; we don't have to be him. We can stick up for ourselves. We can speak the truth, even when someone desperately wants it to not be true. We can take a good, long look at ourselves and accept ourselves for who we are—and we can work to change ourselves and our circumstances rather than simply pretending to be something we're not. Unfortunately, it won't be enough to "just believe [we] can be who [we] want to be," but it will be infinitely better in the end when we do achieve lasting improvements in our lives.

And we can reach out to the Evans in our lives. It turns out that, as much as teenage me identifies with Evan Hansen, 34-year-old me is closer to Heidi. I have three beautiful children that miss me when I'm not home and pester me when I'm on my phone. I can "just gimme a minute" my son out of playing a game together until it's past bedtime unless I consciously make an effort not to. The stresses of my day don't matter to my kids. They just need to be loved (and put back to bed 1,000 times, which is an expression of my love for them, I guess). I am, against all probability, a leader in my own congregation, and the responsibility is partly mine to help these people feel God's love and understand they don't need to be a different person to be a better person. I'm not a licensed therapist, but people do ask my advice about being gay and a Latter-day Saint, and I hope I'm helping them get their questions answered in such a way that they loathe themselves, maybe, a bit less when we're through. I've received much and now I must give much, probably for the rest of my life.

When I hear Evan sing "And oh, someone will come running," I weep inwardly with weariness at the thought that I have to be the one who comes running, and that there are so many people "broken on the ground." And then I have to look at myself honestly, make sure I am not "[running] faster than [I have] strength (Mosiah 4:27)." What can I do? So little. But it's something. "And that's . . . that's enough."

(Thank you, Evan Hansen.)

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ghostbustermelanieking · 8 years ago

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the truth we both know (3/3)

emily au (season 9)

one /// two

warning for events of the truth.

They don't win.

Scully visits Mulder's cell right before the trial to see him in private for the first time in months. She tries to bring Emily, but they refuse to let a seven-year-old see a purported murderer so she goes on her own and holds him on the dirty floor and fills him in on the past eleven months (only the happy parts; she leaves out the kidnapping and the fear and the blood on the floor). She testifies at his trial and tries to stay for the rest of it, but they won't let her.

When she gets out of the prison, she finds several messages on her cell phone. Emily's school has called her because Emily's gotten into a fight.

The principal gives Scully a weary, irritable look when she comes into the office; she's resented her ever since she took Emily out of school for a month for no clear reason. Emily slumps in the chair next to the boy she punched and his mother, nursing a black eye and bruised knuckles. The boy is holding an ice pack to his swelled bloody nose and the mother is ranting about the possibility of it being broken. If Mulder were here, he'd make a joke about Emily inheriting her fighting skills from her mother. Scully apologizes to the mother and the principal, makes Emily apologize to the kid, and shuffles her out of the office. She has to serve a three-day suspension that Scully plans to make permanent, more or less; if things go the way she hopes, Mulder will be found not guilty and they'll be leaving Virginia soon.

“Hey, hold up,” she says sternly outside when Emily tries to go straight to the car. She motions for Emily to sit down on a bench outside the playground and kneels in front of her. “What were you thinking, Emily? You know better.”

“You punch people all the time,” Emily mutters, poking the empty space where she lost her first tooth with her tongue.

She's a little stunned. “Only when they're dangerous or hurting me or someone I love. And the principal told me that Jason punched you after you punched him, so it’s definitely not the same thing.”

Emily pokes her bruise. “It hurts,” she says in a small voice.

“We'll put some ice on it when we get home, but consider it your temporary punishment. Now, do you want to tell me why you punched someone? Did he say something mean?”

Emily’s lip quivers, just a little bit. “Yes.”

“What did he say?”

She rubs her purple-black knuckles. After she's been mad for an appropriate amount of time, Scully is going to teach her how to punch; with the lives they've led thus far, it seems like an important skill. “His dad is a soldier who's guarding Mulder at the prison,” she says finally, worrying her lower lip between her small teeth. “He said…” She sniffles. “When he found out Mulder was my dad, he told me that they were gonna kill him because that's what happens to people who kill soldiers.”

Scully understands in an instant. “Sweetie, c’mere.” Emily hugs her stiffly, probably indicating that she is still mad. Scully hugs her back tightly, rubbing her back.

“Did Mulder really kill someone?” Emily mumbles into her shoulder. “A soldier?”

Scully bites her lip. “No, sweetie,” she says. You can't kill a man who won't die, Mulder had said. “They think he did, but he didn't. You don't ever have to worry about that, okay? Your father is a good man.”

Emily sniffles. “Then why do they wanna kill him?”

“Listen,” she says softly when she pulls back, tipping Emily's chin up to look her in the eye. “That was really mean of Jason to say, but you can't just punch other kids because they say something mean to you. You can punch people, but only if they're physically hurting you or someone you love. That's when you punch and kick and scream. All the rules go out the window then.”

Emily wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “Like Will. I'll use my fists to protect Will.”

“Screaming is the most important. Remember that.” Scully hugs her again before standing and heading to the car. Emily trails after her, staring at the ground. She'll stop and get Emily some ice at a gas station; home is too far away. “No books for the rest of today or tomorrow, okay?”

Emily nods. She looks up nervously. “Mom, Jason was lying, wasn't he? They're not going to kill Mulder, are they?”

What kind of person tells their first-grade kid that? she thinks, and then remembers she is in no place to judge, since she brought her kids into this shitty life they lead. “Yes,” she says, and she's not lying. “He was.”

She'll make sure he doesn't die. They can't take that, not when their little family is already crumbled at the seams. Emily won't look her in the eyes anymore if Mulder dies, will resent her for a long time, and William will grow up with questions about who his father was, why there are no pictures of them together. Maybe he'll resent her, too. She can't take it; she's loved Mulder catastrophically for too long now. This is one of the things she can't save him from.

She visits Mulder in his cell that is too dark for time to matter the next morning before the next session of his trial. The first thing he says is, “I know what you want and I can't give it to you,” and she's immediately filled with some unexplainable rage about the fact that he won't confide in her. Still, maybe he'll save himself. If not for her, then for their kids.

“Make them a deal, Mulder. Guilty on a lesser charge. Maybe they'll go for it and they'll let you walk out of here,” she says tightly, balling her hands into fists in her blazer pockets. She's been dressing like she's still an FBI agent (and not a practically single mother who resigned to protect her kids and carries a gun everywhere over her desperately un-FBI jeans) like it'll make the guards, the committee judging whether or not Mulder should live, take her seriously.

“I'd rather die, Scully,” he says, and it's like a slap in the face.

“How can you say that?” she snarls. “How can you say that, Mulder? To me. When we have kids together who are waiting for their father to come home! Goddamnit, all you could talk about was not wanting to leave them, and now you can't save your life for them? Fuck you.”

He flinches, to his credit, looking down at his white prison shoes. But he continues, quietly: “Because this is greater than you or me. This is about everything we worked for for nine years. The truth that we both sacrificed so much to uncover and to expose.”

She kneels to meet his eyes. “Well, then, expose it, Mulder!” she snaps. “Take the stand. Whatever it is that you're withholding take the stand and hit them full force.”

“I can't.”

Fuck his martyr complex, his self-sacrificing personality. He can't do this anymore, not with everything at stake. “Why?” she says tightly.

“I just can't.”

Something twists in her stomach. “You say this is greater than us, and maybe it is, but this is us fighting this fight, Mulder, not you,” she says in a dangerously quiet voice. “It's you and me. That's what I'm fighting for, Mulder. You and me. Our family.” She bites her lip to keep more, nastier things from floating to the surface: you should've backed out a long time ago if you didn't want this, you bastard, no one made you stay and love me and my daughter but you did and now we can't do this without you. You selfish fuck.

Mulder just shakes his head. He won't look her in the eye.

She leaves. She feels slightly sick.

///

Gibson Praise testifies at Mulder's trial and Doggett brings him to stay at Scully's after. Years ago, she'd looked at Gibson and thought of Emily, and now he stands in front of her, a gangly teenager, while Emily stares warily at him over William's head. “I guess you heard the trial didn't go well today,” Doggett says.

Scully curses under her breath, and then remembers Gibson. “Sorry.”

“I've heard worse,” Gibson says mildly. Living with Mulder for months, she's not surprised.

She nods, pressing her sharp fingernails into the palm of her hand. Part of her wants to yell at him for hiding her emails. “Come on in, make yourself at home,” she says instead. “We have cable TV. I don't guess you got a lot of that where you were.”

He looks her seriously in the eye. “Mulder's scared,” he says. “He's afraid of not coming home to you. He wanted me to tell you that.”

She nods and says nothing. She doesn't trust whatever she'd say. Gibson nods back and enters the apartment awkwardly, going to join Emily and William in the living room.

At the kitchen table, Doggett gives her a recap of what happened in the day’s portion of the trial. “He's doomed, isn't he,” Scully says softly. “There's no way to save him.”

Silence for a moment. Behind them, she can hear Gibson and Emily argue over the TV. “Why do we have to watch this?” Gibson asks, and Emily responds, “I like it, and it's my house, anyway.” Their voices along with the white noise of the TV provide a quiet lull in the background of the treacherous thoughts in Scully’s head.

“I don't believe that, Dana,” Doggett says. “Monica and I are going to testify to everything we know. Mulder still has a few good chances. We can still save him.”

She's so tired she can barely think straight. She rests her head on the table and says nothing.

///

The next night, Doggett babysits the kids while Scully and Monica go to autopsy Knowle Rohrer. She gets the evidence, brings it to the trial, but it's dismissed and she's dragged out. She thinks whatever hope she had left stays behind. She thinks Mulder could use it.

She goes home and waits for the verdict. Doggett and Monica come with her. Emily and Gibson have formed something of a tense, strange friendship, and are playing cards at the kitchen table, punctuated by frequent bickering. Monica plays with William on the floor, stacking lettered blocks into nonsense words. Doggett paces the tiled kitchen floor uneasily. Scully sits motionless on the couch. She blames temporary paralysis. All she can picture is worse-case-scenarios. It's a learned and hated habit.

The phone rings, a shrill knife cutting through the noise of the room. Emily goes back to what she’s doing easily; Scully hasn’t told her what they’re waiting for. Monica looks down back at William. Doggett picks up the phone. Scully stares at him, unable to move. Behind them, Emily says, “Raise you five cents,” but she can feel Gibson watching them. Unlike Emily, he knows what's going on. Like Emily, he cares about Mulder.

“Yeah,” Doggett says, gruffly. Regrettably. Pauses, says, “I'll tell her.” He hangs up. The only sounds are Emily shuffling the card and William gurgling on the ground, making nonsensical sounds. Doggett doesn't look at her.

“Who was it?”

“Skinner,” Doggett says, and stops.

“Agent Doggett?” God, her voice sounds unfamiliar to her. Who is she, now? Who is she? What can she do?

Finally, he turns to look at her. “Death by lethal injection.” He says it quietly, like that'll change something. Soften the blow, the goddamn truck running her down.

Monica looks up in horror. Oblivious, William grabs for a block - M - with his chubby fingers. Oblivious, Emily yells, “You're totally cheating, you read my mind!” at Gibson. Scully doesn't feel real.

She disintegrates a little, muffling her sobs with her palm. Monica reaches for her, but she stumbles to her feet and towards the bathroom. She doesn’t want Emily to see her cry. She slams the door behind her, grabbing a towel and pressing her face into it.

It’s finally silent outside. “What happened?” Emily asks, stunned. Scully pushes the cotton hard against her face. God, she can’t tell her, she can’t comfort her when she herself is falling apart. How the hell is she supposed to do this.

There’s a polite tap at the door. “Dana?” Monica asks softly. “It’s me. Please let me in.”

Scully ignores her. She feels like she’s going to collapse. She slides down the wall, leaning heavily against the wallpaper Mulder had said he hated the day they’d looked at the apartment (she’d said, That’s not exactly a deal breaker, Mulder, and squeezed his hand when he pouted). She sits there for a long time.

Outside, she can hear Monica sending Emily to bed. “What’s wrong with Mom?” she asks, sounding small, and Monica tells her that it’ll be okay. But she doesn’t tell her what’s wrong.

Scully sits crumpled on the floor, twisting the towel between her fingers. Her stomach hurts. She wonders how hard it is to break someone out of federal prison.

She stands, finally, on shaky legs and stumbles out of the bathroom into the living room. Doggett, Monica, and Gibson’s heads all snap up in unison. “Dana?” Doggett asks tentatively.

Scully sniffs, wiping her cheek. “I’m not giving up,” she says. “It’s not over until he’s gone. And I’m not letting him go.” Doggett and Monica look a little dumbfounded, but she continues. “I’ve had bags packed for the kids since he left. I’m ready to leave.”

///

He’d known the verdict was coming, but that hadn’t made it any easier to hear. His stomach had twisted like he was going to vomit, and all he could think about was how he was never going to see Scully and Emily and William again. He hadn’t even known his son for more than three days before he’d left; what kind of father is he? He fucked up and now he’s going to die and there’s no way to save them from what he knows is coming in ten years. He can’t save anyone.

He’s going to tell her, he decides, because he knows she will come. Just yank her up against him and hold her and say, The world’s going to end, Scully, and you and the kids need to be ready. December 21, 2012. Don’t stop fighting. He’s going to tell her because even if they are listening, he has nothing to lose: they are going to kill him. He wants to tell her, but as soon as he sees her slumping form, the words dry up in his mouth. He is a goddamn coward and always had been, but oh god, how can he tell her?

Scully doesn’t say much when she comes. He isn’t sure if it’s because she’s mad or speechless. He crushes her against him, whispers, “I’m sorry” into her hair repeatedly and run-together until all of his words sound like nonsense, gibberish. He thinks he cries. She holds him on the floor of his dark cell and rocks him back and forth. He holds her, tries to memorize her, inhales her shampoo scent. He whispers apologies into her neck and she runs her hand up and down his back.

There’s a sharp rap on the door. He kisses her before they stand up, long and fierce. “I love you,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she whispers back. “It’s okay.” She thumbs his wrist, kisses his forehead gently. She presses a sheath of photos of Emily and William paper-clipped together into his hand. “It’s going to be okay,” she says again, in a way he can’t misunderstand. She smooths his hair back. “I love you.”

///

She sat Emily down, the night before, and asked her what she’d be willing to do so they could be a family again. “Anything,” Emily said immediately, fixing the barrette in her hair.

“Would you leave Virginia? Would you leave this apartment and never come back to it? Never go to school here again?”

Emily chewed her peeling-pink-nail-polish nail nervously. “Yeah,” she said finally. “Like… moving away?”

“Sort of,” Scully said. “And you’re telling me you’d be okay with that.”

She nodded. “I want things to be like they were before,” she said, and that was enough for Scully.

She’s packed bags for the kids - changes of clothes, toiletries, some of William’s toys and a pacifier, some of Emily’s favorite books - and has them waiting by the door the day of Mulder’s jail break. Monica’s agreed to take them over to her mother’s for the night. (Scully had thanked her for everything she’s done for them - “Words aren’t enough, Monica, I swear…” - and Monica had given her a hug and said she was glad to have a chance to say goodbye to the kids, and glad to help her in whatever way she could, she’d been a good friend.) For herself, she packs the bare minimum of what she needs: clothes, toiletries, her father's copy of Moby Dick. She wraps her gun in a t-shirt and hides it under her folded jeans. She takes all of the keys off of her key ring, but keeps the Apollo 11 chain on. She straps her holster on under her coat and slips Mulder's gun into it.

Emily goes to school for the first day since her suspension and Gibson settles in front of the TV, eating Cheetos and watching a marathon of The Simpsons. Scully spends the day with William. They sit together on the floor of his room, the one Mulder and Emily had painted. “I want you to remember this,” she tells him, though she knows he won't.

“Ga,” William replies, grabbing a handful of her hair. She assumes this is some sort of sound of agreement.

When Emily gets home, she gets a box of graham crackers and eats at the counter. Damn, they'll have to do something about the food. Scully shakes some fish food into the tank and goes to sit across from Emily. “Listen, sweetie, you and Will are gonna go to your grandmother's for a night or two, okay?”

Emily dunks a graham cracker in her glass of milk. “What about you?” she asks, eyeing the suitcases by the door.

Scully shakes her head. “No, I'm not going. I'm going to be… getting things together so we can leave.”

Emily pokes the empty space of her new tooth, crumbling the graham cracker between her fingers. “Is it dangerous?” she asks, hushed.

Scully shakes her head.

She smushes the cracker beneath her fingers. “I don't believe you.”

“Em, honey…” Scully rounds the counter and pushes back her hair.

She sniffles. “I'm sorry I've been mad at you, Mom. Please let me come with you.”

“Oh, sweetie.” She pulls her daughter into her embrace, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We're not leaving you behind. We're going to come get you as soon as it's safe, me and Mulder. We're going to be together again, like we were before. It's gonna be fine.”

Emily presses her face into Scully's shoulder, tears soaking into her coat. “I'm sorry,” she hiccups. “I love you, I don't hate you. Even though I said it that one time and you didn't hear me, I didn't mean it.”

She strokes Emily's hair soothingly, rocking her back and forth. “It's okay,” she whispers. “I know, sweetie, I know. It's all going to be better soon.”

Emily sniffles again. Scully holds her until there's a knock at the door. “I think that's Aunt Monica,” she says, tucking a strand of hair back. “Why don't you go let her in?” Emily nods, wiping her cheeks and jumping off the stool to go open the door.

Scully goes to get William, lifting him up out of the crib. “Mamamama,” he babbles.

She kisses his head. “It's okay.”

She carries William down to Monica's car and straps him in, kissing him first and then Emily. “I love you both,” she says. “I want you to spend lots of time with Grandma tonight because it'll be a while before we see her again, okay?”

Emily nods her consent, chewing her thumbnail. “Are we ever coming back here?”

Scully tells them the truth: “No.”

Emily nods seriously and leans up to kiss her on the cheek. “See you tomorrow, Mom. I love you. Tell Mulder I love him, too.”

Gibson is waiting in the kitchen when she comes up. “You're a good mom,” he says, not turning to look at her. He's eating a messily-made sandwich and looking at the fridge. She's pinned up pictures of the kids and Emily's scribbly drawings and the picture of her and Mulder at a crime scene that she'd collected from his office the day after he left and mailed in his resignation.

“Thank you,” Scully says, dropping her house key on the counter. Although I’m not, she adds silently, temporarily forgetting the mind reading thing.

Gibson turns to look at her. “My parents wanted me to be a perfect little chess prodigy,” he says. “You know why you've never met them? Because they didn't stay around when things got tough. I haven't talked to them in years because I've been trying to protect them. Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? Why didn’t they ever come looking for me after all that brain surgery bullshit? Trust me, you're a better mother than that.”

Scully nods awkwardly, swallowing. This kid has been through the wringer, she’s seen it. “Gibson, where are you going when this is over?”

He shrugs, straightening his glasses. “Back to New Mexico, I guess. Or wherever Monica and John decide to take me. One of them mentioned witness protection or whatever.”

“Would you want to… come with us?”

Gibson shakes his head instantly. “I like Mulder and all, but living with him for longer? No thanks, he’s a terrible roommate.” He takes another large bite of his sandwich, mayonnaise splatting on the floor, and turns back to the fridge. “You need to teach that kid how to play cards, though. She's good, but not great. She needs a better poker face.”

Out of some need for protection, Scully takes Gibson with her to go pick up the new car. She pays in cash for the van, a conspicuous gray: big enough to house a family temporarily, she thinks. “I love the shadiness of all this,” Gibson says, eating Chicken McNuggets with his feet up on the dashboard. “FBI agent prepares to go on the run.”

Scully flips on her turn signal, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. (The upcoming Teenage Years will be interesting in her family, she senses, especially with the Mulder genes as a factor.) “Former FBI agent, thank you very much.”

As darkness falls, she calls her mother to check on the kids, packs the car, leaves a Sticky Note on the fish tank that says, Skinner: Mulder wanted you to have the fish. Thank you for everything you've done, sir. We owe you our lives. She pulls her ID and credit cards out of her wallet (having already closed her bank accounts) and cuts them into pieces, Friends style, before flushing them down the toilet. She replaces her ID with several fake ones that the Gunmen made and a new debit card under a fake name that she transferred Mulder's money to. She takes the picture of her and Mulder and a picture of Emily and William on Christmas off of the fridge and folds them before tucking them in her wallet. Gibson hovers anxiously in the doorway, watching her.

When it’s time to leave, Scully lingers in the threshold of the apartment. She's barely been in it a year and a half; she can still see it the way it was on the day they moved in, stacks of cardboard boxes that Emily ducked behind, Mulder's couch shoved haphazardly in the living room, and the way he pushed her up against the counter before he kissed her. Her fingers curl around the door.

“Scully?” Gibson asks, his voice cracking awkwardly.

She turns, holding onto her bag tightly. “Okay,” she says. “Let's go.”

She drives them down a dusty road near the prison. They get out of the car and wait.

Almost fifteen agonizing minutes later, a car approaches and Mulder gets out, nearly running towards her. Something behind her ribs unclenches with relief, then clenches again when she sees who gets out of the car with Skinner and Doggett: Kersh. Oh, God, we're screwed, she thinks as she hands Mulder a jacket. It's all over now. She hopes her mom will take good care of William and Emily. “Mulder?” she asks, voice tight with terror.

“You've got to move out,” Kersh says.

“What's he doing?” she asks, reaching for his hand. Their fingers brush, and his curl around hers.

“What I should've done from the start,” Kersh replies. Scully blinks, but she clutches at Mulder's hand and nods.

Mulder nods, too, looking around at the cluster of people on the road. “None of you will be safe now,” he says.

“You let us worry about that,” Doggett says.

“Good luck,” Monica adds.

Skinner says nothing, but jerks his head in a way that clearly says go.

Scully moves away from Mulder to hug Monica tightly. Behind her, Mulder claps Gibson on the shoulder. Then they turn and climb into the car, Scully in the driver's seat and Mulder beside her, buttoning the jacket closed over the prison uniform. When she starts the car, he touches her arm gently. “Scully,” he says softly. When she turns to look at him, he kisses her messily, hands curling in her hair. “Thank you,” he whispers against her lips.

She smiles into his mouth, cupping the back of his neck briefly before turning to face front. “We have to go. There's some clothes in the backseat, crawl back there and change when we get far enough away.”

He places his hand over hers on the gear shift. “What about the kids?”

“My mom has them. We're meeting her in a rest area in Maryland at two in the morning.”

He strokes the back of her hand. “Scully, if they catch us…” he says quietly.

“They won't,” she says firmly. “This was our plan all along. We're going to be fine.”

As a response, he kisses her on the cheek, right below her eye.

///

Once they reach Maryland, Scully pulls off into the woods and they curl around each other on a quilt she'd spread in out the back of the van. After setting a battery-powered alarm clock, Scully falls asleep for a few hours with her head on his shoulder and her hand pressed to his chest. Mulder can't sleep. He holds her close and watches the stars; he'd missed them in the prison. They looked closer in New Mexico; maybe he should take his family there.

///

Maggie waits with the kids outside a blue-white lit rest area. Mulder's heart seizes a little when they park in the nearly abandoned parking lot; he's seen the pictures, but how the hell did they get so big? William's propped on Maggie’s hip, playing with her cross that matches the one Scully gave Emily. Emily is leaning into her side, a musty jacket that must've belonged to Scully as a kid buttoned over her pajamas. “She's so tall,” he whispers to Scully. “When did she get so tall?”

They climb out of the car and Emily's eyes widen. She barrels towards him, practically shouting, “Mulder!” He manages to catch her clumsily, stumbling back against the car, but he hugs her back gratefully. “I missed you,” Emily sniffles into his shirt.

“I missed you, too.” He kisses her temple.

“Are you okay? Where did you go?”

“It's a long story, baby, but I'm okay, I promise.” He hugs her again before lowering her to the ground.

Scully's approaching with William, whispering quietly to him. “Will, here, look,” she whispers, handing him to Mulder. “It's your dad.”

Mulder holds the baby gingerly, afraid he'll move wrong and this will all melt away. William babbles, wriggling in his arms and pulling at his hair. “Hey, buddy,” he whispers.

“Isn't he cute?” Emily whispers, still clinging to his side. “He can already stand up, it's so cool!”

He blinks back the burn of tears, kissing the top of William's wispy head. “He looks just like your mother.”

Emily shakes her head, braids hitting her shoulders rhythmically. “Mom says he looks like you.”

Scully is hugging her mother and she motions Mulder and Emily over to say goodbye. Maggie takes turns kissing her daughter and grandchildren. She even kisses Mulder on the cheek, which he's slightly surprised at; he's never been able to deduce whether or not she likes him, and he can't imagine she's too fond of him now, what with the fact that he's taking away her family. “Take care of them, Fox,” she says sternly, and he promises that he will.

After Maggie leaves, driving away with tears shining on her cheek in the streetlight, the kids climb into the car. Scully straps William into his car seat while Mulder helps Emily. They're both exhausted; William falls asleep almost instantly, and Emily's drowsy, head lolling against the back of the heat. “So where are we going now?” she asks sleepily.

“Anywhere we want, Em,” Mulder says from the driver's seat. Scully grins and grabs his right hand in both of hers. “Anywhere we want.”

///

They drive for hours, shifting between drivers. Emily sleeps for hours, the seat pressing creases in her cheek. They eat breakfast at ten in the morning at another rest area, sitting on top of picnic tables. Emily helps William stand up in the grass, holding onto his small hands.

Mulder tries to take care of William as much as possible, but his son barely seems to know him. At one point, he reaches for Scully from Mulder's arms. Mulder hands him over, trying not to be hurt - he has been gone for nearly a year, hasn’t he? “It's okay, sweetie,” Scully soothes, trying to get Mulder to take him back but he shakes his head. Emily hugs him, burying her face in his side.

They drive until they hit Missouri. Scully finds a conspicuous hotel and rents a room. Mulder and the kids settle in the room while Scully runs out to get dinner and hair dye. Emily plays with William on the bed while Mulder sets up the portable crib. When he finally gets it finished, he sighs wearily and comes to sit beside the kids on the bed. “Here, Mulder, hold Will,” Emily says.

Mulder lifts the baby gingerly and sets him on his lap. William looks somewhat suspicious, but he doesn’t wiggle away.

“Did you see anything cool?” Emily asks, swinging her legs, her feet bumping the side of the bed. “Where’d you go?”

“Not really.” William grabs Mulder’s finger and he smiles a little. “I was in New Mexico. It was boring.”

“Really?”

“Really. Although I have some pictures you might like.” He jiggles his finger a little and Will yanks it to his mouth. “What about you? What's with the black eye?” (He'd asked Scully about it after she'd felt asleep, stomach twisting with nervousness - had someone hurt her when they tried to take William? - and she'd said quickly, “Oh no, it's okay, just a fight at school, it’s nothing”, and relief had washed through him.)

“I helped Mom with William,” she says. “And the black eye is from a stupid fight. I punched a guy, and he punched me back.”

William sinks his tiny teeth into Mulder’s finger and he tries to jar it loose. “Why did you punch him?”

“His dad was guarding you, and he said his dad said they were gonna kill you.” Emily looks down at her dirty sneakers.

Mulder puts a hand on her small back. “Hey, it's okay, Em. I’m fine.”

She peels back the Velcro on her shoes. “I know.”

“And you shouldn't punch people,” he tries. He pulls his finger free and William scowls at him, grabbing it back; his glare is identical to Scully’s.

“I know, Mom told me. Only if someone's in danger. She had to pay for Jason’s nose. Or maybe not now that we're gone.” Emily grins evilly.

He's strangely proud, but he obviously can't tell her that. “Come on, kiddo, you know better,” he scolds, tousling her hair.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Emily makes a face. “Mom already lectured me. And then she taught me how to punch in case someone tried to hurt me.”

It might be funny if the situation wasn't so dire, if she hadn't already been in danger or if she won't be in the future. Mulder smooths her rumpled hair from where he mussed it and says nothing.

“You’re not gonna leave again, are you?” She rests her head against his arm.

“No,” Mulder says, sure of himself for once. “Never again. I promise.”

“Good.”

William is restless, grabbing for Mulder's finger again. Emily points. “Look, he’s saying your name!”

Mulder looks. William is making soft sounds (muh muh muh), but none of any particular dialect. “He’s just making noise, sweetie,” he explains. “Although I’m sure he’ll be talking sooner or later.”

“No,” she insists firmly, in a very Scully tone. “He’s trying to say your name. He tries to say mine all the time.”

Mulder studies William. He supposes that his grunts could somewhat be mistaken for as the first syllable as “Mulder”. But then again, he’d always expected William to call him “Dad”. Emily calls him Mulder, though. Maybe it’s just natural that William would, too. He's not sure how he feels about it; he's been wanting to be called Dad for a long time now.

“Very smart of him,” he says approvingly. “You want to hold him?”

“Sure.” Emily takes William like she has been doing it for years. Mulder feels some small pang of jealousy that a seven-year-old, sister or not, has more experience holding his son than he does.

The door scrapes open, and Mulder moves to shield the kids before he sees the bright color of Scully's hair. “It’sjustme,” she says quickly, free hand rustling plastic bags raised in the air. The other hand is balancing a pizza box. “I brought some dinner.”

“Mom!” Emily moves towards her, arms raised, and hugs her around the waist. William holds his arm up towards his mother, so once she's set the pizza box down, Mulder passes him over before wrapping his arms around both of them. Will tenses at first, but when Scully leans into the embrace, he relaxes against his father's chest.

“Hi,” Scully says, resting her head on his shoulder. She sounds happier than he's heard her sound since before he left the apartment to meet with Kersh.

He kisses her forehead, reaching down with one hand to tousle Emily's hair again. Emily giggles. William grabs a handful of his t-shirt for traction and holds tight. “Hi.”

///

They eat pizza cross-legged on the bed and watch reruns of Full House, which Emily loves and Mulder feels a bitter resentment towards because he can't stand how happy every damn character on that show is. Still, it's nice. Scully leans against him on their bed with William nestled in her lap. The baby doesn't seem nearly as suspicious of Mulder as before - comfortable, maybe. He amuses himself with Scully's car keys, gnawing on the Apollo 11 keychain. Mulder pretends to grab his nose at one point and Will grabs his finger with both hands.

Later, Scully disappears into the bathroom to dye her hair brown. “Most people know me with short hair, so I'm going to grow it out as long as possible,” she tells Mulder. (She's not wrong - they're both going shaggier, he's working on his beard.) She cuts Emily's hair in the motel bathroom - to her chin, shorter than it's been the entire time Mulder has known her. When they exit the bathroom, they look like different people. But their smiles are the same. “You look beautiful,” he tells them and means it.

While they're in the bathroom, Mulder plays with William on the bed. Will lies on his stomach on the bed, rolling a toy truck from McDonald's back and forth across the comforter. Mulder watches him quietly. He reaches to stroke his downy head.

“Listen, buddy,” he says quietly after a minute. “I know I haven't been a very good father so far. Hell, I've messed up a lot with your sister - I left her and your mom to try and save them, and your mom didn't want to forgive me for that one, and that was only a couple days. I left you for a lot longer, and I left them too. And there's no excuses and a million excuses and I know I fucked up.” He clears his throat, eyes darting towards the bathroom door. “Sorry. Screwed up.”

“Fuuuu,” William says, rapping the truck against his forearm.

“You hush,” he says, trying to be stern. “Anyway… William, this is my attempt at apologizing. And reassuring you that I thought about you and Emily and Scully - or Mommy to you - every damn day, and felt guilty about leaving you both. And promising you that I'm never going to leave again, not ever.” He feels awkward, desperately awkward around his eleven-month-old son. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. He waits.

William regards him curiously. “Muh,” he says finally, grabbing the doll - the one Mulder had dug out of the attic and given to Scully - and presenting it to him proudly.

“Yeah, something like that,” Mulder decides, leaning down to kiss the top of William's head. The boy doesn't squirm away.

“Very good speech,” Scully says from behind him, leaning down to kiss William as well. Her chemically-scented new brown hair brushes his face when she bends to scoop William up. The baby looks startled at first - probably a reaction to the hair change - but when he sees who it is, he snuggles into her gratefully. Scully kisses Mulder's cheek before taking William towards the crib in the corner. William holds onto the doll with one fist.

“I meant it,” Mulder says. He can't stop watching them. “I thought you should know.”

She doesn't look back, but he can see her smiling. “I know.”

Emily climbs up beside him on the bed, paperback in hand. “Mom was reading Because of Winn-Dixie before we left,” she says. “Can you read some?”

After Emily's been read to and tucked in, after Will has been sung to sleep by a tone-deaf Scully (“He likes it,” she says to Mulder, scowling at his cracks) and tucked in, Mulder and Scully crawl into bed together. She turns towards him, their arms wrapped around the other's shoulders and their foreheads nearly touching. “I missed you,” she whispers. “Thank you for coming with us.”

He kisses her nose. “Are you scared?” he whispers. If they're caught, the two of them will likely be killed and there will be no one protecting Emily and William from the Syndicate’s grasp. And then there's the other thing, what he hasn't told her and doesn't know if he can; how can they save the world, two federal fugitives with two kids under the age of ten? How can he tell her and not have Emily find out? It'll scare her, scare them both. But what if there's something they can do? He thinks about telling her. He thinks, What if there's nothing we can do? Ten years left.

“Right now…” She yawns, resting her forehead against his. “Right now, Mulder, in this moment, I'm the least scared I've ever been.”

It's almost definitely not true but they're safe, for now. Their kids are safe. They have each other. For now, that seems like enough.

Mulder nuzzles the top of her head. “Maybe there’s hope,” he whispers.

#xf fanfic #i wrote this #emily au

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wishingfornever · 6 years ago

Text

1/28/2018 – No Contact: Return From Absence

Hey, you. Been a while.

Four days. It’s been so busy. A lot of work. It’s my day off. Sunday. A lots been happening and I haven’t been talking about it. Last time we spoke, I was talking about my cousin. He was found a couple of days ago.

He had a black eye, and cuts from rope around his wrists. He was beaten, but otherwise he’s alright. He was released by his captors with… an apology. It would seem the people who had kidnapped him confused him with their target. He has the same car as their target does, so that’s what confused him. They took him, beat him, and later realized he was the wrong mark. Then they apologized and drove him back to his house.

He’s lucky. When I heard what happened, I laughed.

Looking back… it brought back a lot of memories about Alain. One of my earliest memories, I was in Gasquet. It’s a small town, near where I was born (Crescent City). I was young and I had this… problem. I pooped a lot. Perhaps one of the reasons I hate toilet humor today. I was like 2 or 3? Super young. I think I was in preschool or kindergarten… maybe I was older then.

Not the point.

The thing is, I crapped my pants. I didn’t want to ask my dad for help because he’d yell at me again. He was the least patient now that I think about it. He yelled at me a lot. Maybe that’s why my mom was so soft on me, because my dad was just so angry.

Anyways, I was sitting on the toilet, with dirty underwear and I was already a little upset. What do I do? So, I just sat there feeling bad. I hear a knock on the door.

Thing about this door. It’s a thin door with these sort of wood vents? I recall because I could see Alain’s outline. He was knocking on the door and trying to coarse me to open the door. He lightened his voice, told me he was a random name from school. I told him no one named that was at my school.

Honestly, I told him that with enthusiasm in my voice. It was funny to me. Got my mind off the issue at hand.

He said another name and thought he was just being silly. He kept trying to get in and I told him I didn’t know the person behind the name. Then he got tired and broke into the bathroom. The door was weak and not particularly reliable, so it just opened after a while of him trying to get in. Opened pretty easily.

Alain had a video camera and then started to film me, with dirty underwear and started mocking me. I was devastated. I was crying and told him to get out. I might have tried hitting him, but I was a toddler so that was fucking useless. I don’t think he was filming for some sort of weird, sexual fetish. I think he was just being an asshole.

Regardless, it’s one of my earliest memories with Alain. Not a very positive one. I think Alain thinks I don’t remember it. I haven’t told anyone. ANYONE. That’s not an exaggeration, I have literally never brought it up until now in any form.

Now that I think about it, I don’t like public bathrooms without privacy. I don’t do urinals without dividers. I use the actual stall if the urinals don’t have dividers. I’m not sure if that is because of Alain, but… maybe?

Eh… I’m changing the topic. Let’s talk about work.

Work is… meh. Busy. So busy. I think I’m starting to phone it in. I’m half assing my job and not thinking twice. Which is strange. I feel more misanthropic, of course, but I hide it well. I hide everything well.

I’m loved, however… within the last few weeks, I’ve had… the best compliments. “You are so nice.” “I hope my son grows up to be just like you.” “You’re like the best cashier ever.” Just shit like that. It’s weird. My charm is almost entirely pre-scripted and… it works. I’m not even kidding about the son growing up to be just like me, either. A lady said that and it confused me. I wanted to be like, “Lady, the love of my life dumped me because of my lifelong depression and I want to kill myself on a daily basis” but I kept my own troubles to myself.

I wish I didn’t. Sometimes, I just wish I could trust someone enough to open up like that. You don’t count, of course. You don’t know me. Everything I say could just be fake. Certainly has bias but everyone is a little bit biased.

This isn’t to say I don’t trust you, which I probably wouldn’t. I say this because you can’t trust me. No matter how real anything I say is, I can’t be trusted. I’m trying to treat this as my own personal journal but I can’t escape the fact that I know someone will read this. And you know this. So, you’ll have to take EVERYTHING I say with a grain of salt.

Regardless, everyone thinks I’m happy at work. Except for Diana. She… I don’t think she likes me anymore. I feel like she wants to avoid me. This could just be me, but I’m certain of it. I’ll give her space. If she wants to talk to me then she will. I won’t force her.

I had someone complain about me. She came back again. Was a fierce bitch. Only customer to not like me. I bagged salt with food items and it drove her crazy. The second time, I was bagging and she told me not to bag something with some cookies. I can’t recall what it was, I think it was in a can. Fabreeze maybe? Not sure. But I recall the cookies because I intended to bag it with something that wasn’t heavy. Something that wasn’t encased in metal, you know. So the cookies won’t break.

She, however, was telling me that the cookies wouldn’t taste right. What?

It’s in her head, but I’m not going to challenge her thoughts. Not because of professional courtesy but because… I’m actually a little sympathetic. Maybe empathetic. I can’t stand the idea of tasting something that has been tainted in someway. If I think something is rotten, I can’t enjoy eating it. I try to consume it as fast as possible. It’s not a good way to handle things, but… that’s life.

I can’t recall all the compliments I get by customers. They’re a lot but people adore me at work. It… baffles me. Just because I’m smiling and enthusiastic. Of course, the enthusiasm is more than faked. It’s fabricated. I can’t be enthusiastic without energy, and I have been the least energetic. Today, I slept nearly 12 hours because I’ve been… SO sleepy this week. I’ve basically been living off energy shots. Not fun.

Random, but Shane messaged me out of the blue on my way to work. It… stressed me out a bit. I have been avoiding him since what happened. It was simple, single worded message: Yo.

I wasn’t going to respond, but when I was told to go to lunch, I decided I should. He hasn’t blocked me flat out like Dennis and Esther. I mean, I thought he did a while ago but seems it was something on Facebook’s end. Whatever.

So, I open the message and see… a game invite. It says, “Yo” underneath it.

If he wanted to open contact with me again, he’ll have to work a bit harder than that. I don’t respond to game invites. -,-

Speaking of the old drama… I had this dream last night. With Esther, of course. She was in my life again and we were dating once more. Romantically involved and I couldn’t be happier. I told her that this must be a dream. I thought hard, focusing on the world I was in and decided it was reality. She called me a dork because I was seeing if it were a dream. I told her she didn’t understand. Whenever I dream of her, I wake up feeling so… broken. That I finally had her back… it was hard to believe it was really happening.

Of course, I woke up. I felt more broken than ever before. I didn’t cry, though, just… betrayed. Don’t know why she’s haunting my dreams again. I haven’t dreamed of her in a while. :/

I think I mentioned this but… I went on a spending spree a while back. I regret it. Especially since I spoke to Jonny today and he told me that the prices of computers went up because more people are getting into cryptocurrencies or whatever? Bitcoin, you know… Digital money. Fucking christ.

Capitalism is destroying my interests. Like… you don’t need a new computer to get Bitcoin. You just need a computer, and even then. Why would you increase things like graphic cards? What does that have to do with anything? That’s stupid. ><

Regardless, my current spending spree lead to me spending 120 on two games. Fuck. Really? Not including DLC. Eh… Maybe it’ll be worth it later. I guess I’ll start gaming every now and then. Once a week at the most, really. I need to get back into Rosetta Stone.

I need to exercise more, however. I did some arm curls with my new weights… they’re heavy. I never felt weaker. My arms look so skinny. Is it because I starved myself? Where did my muscle go?

It’s discerning. I used to be… strong. So strong. Has no will to live taken my strength from me? Have I allowed myself to sink so low?

Downloading some games from steam… whoa. I bought a lot of games. Never played many of them though. I don’t remember getting these games. Maybe I mentioned it here? Peculiar. :o

Most of these games are old. Classic games. Jade Empire, STALKER Shadow of Chernobyl and other games from the series. Interesting stuff… I really wanted to play all of these. Will I get to?

Asking a lot of questions… mostly to myself.

Which reminds me… THIS SHIT IS IMPORTANT: I’ve decided that I will write a letter. Write. With my hands. Write it, leave it in an envelope. I will leave my computer password and ask her to open up a file saying, “If I die” which will instruct her on what to do next. I will instruct her to send a SINGLE email to send this journal to my friend who has agreed to post this for me if I am unable. The email, will be a draft and it’ll be ready to be sent, just needs to have the file attached. If Adela wants to read this, then she can.

I suggest she doesn’t.

I will have the password to my Tumblr in this email and my friend will use that to post on. I’ll tell her to make two. One to strip and the other as a back up. The one that she strips should rely on copying and pasting. Or, really, CUTTING and pasting because a deleted chapter is a GOOD chapter. If there is a typo then a day is attached to a singular post. I’ll have her use the “Find” key and look for “Contact” as I’ve left “No Contact” on EVERY post thus far. It’ll be part of the title of every post made, hopefully.

In the event that I do die before the year is through, then the final post will perhaps notify when my friend got the email. So, maybe a few days later without posts means I’m dead? Maybe I’ve just been busy. What’s the purpose of this?

Really… it adds suspense! Ho, ho!

Why do we need suspense?

Eh… we don’t, really. But it better catalogs what happens as they happen. A year later, of course… but still. It’s not to make you panic, really. But it’s so you don’t know what happens next. As I said, this is my journal but I’m fully aware that it’s being read. So, unlike with making it biased or unbiased, I’d rather leave it somewhat more feeling how I feel. I don’t know if I’m going to kill myself. But you will if I don’t do this. You’ll know that I survived, or whatever because obviously.

You will see things as I do. So, from this point forward, who knows if I’m alive or dead at the time of reading this? Really… do you need to know? ;)

Eh… maybe you already know. It doesn’t matter, really. I work tomorrow and I really should be doing laundry. I haven’t showered in a couple of days. Might do that before bed.

I have… 120 in my drawer. Used to have more. I have even less in my bank account. I’m such an idiot… I’m such a fool when it comes to money. Just… why? :c

I guess… maybe I won’t see Ariel before I die. I’m such an idiot. I had to have another FUCKING pizza… God, I’m sure I’ve gained weight. ><

New Total War was announced. The Three Kingdoms. That’s Ancient China. Not TOO Ancient but I believe 200 AD? Might be wrong. Still, not quite medieval.

I’m… pretty excited, really. I should have been writing my Jade Empire-esque epic… I predicted that Chinese culture would become a little popular, or at least I have been talking about it a lot lately.

Hrm… Maybe if I’m quick I can get on the boat before it sails… The best time to plant a tree is 20 years ago. Second best time is right now.

This week, I shall dedicate time writing the new book. I shall set aside my historical novel and hope that this will be the book I need. I shall do whatever I can to write it. It shall be done. Tomorrow… Tonight, I dick around. I have to go to bed eventually. D’oh…

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pruittwrites · 7 years ago

Text

Barley Candy And Chicken Bones

“Barley candy and chicken bones for Christmas, it’s a Canadian tradition.” Zack told an unbelieving Emiko. “In Tokyo we drink barley tea, and eat fried chicken on Christmas.”

This dumbfounded Zack. “What do you eat for dessert, tuna ice cream?” Which he knew she had tried, but didn’t care for.

“It’s a whole lot better than fruit cake I’ll tell you that. Christmas dessert for us is what you call Strawberry Shortcake. Sponge cake shaped like a Christmas tree, with strawberries and whip cream.”

Zack smiled at his college bride. They had dated for six months before he proposed, and had planned a small wedding, with mostly family and a few friends. Through no fault of them, or their family, only friends made it to the wedding.

An emergency landing kept Emiko’s parents from making the ceremony. Thankfully they were all right. Zach’s Mom and Dad were both doctors at the same hospital, and emergency surgeries called them back at the last minute.

The couple had tried to postpone, but each parent insisted that the wedding not be ruined. The wedding was beautiful, and the Zach and Emiko’s friends had photographed and videoed every aspect of the wedding for each set of parents.

Anne and Marty, Aika and Hisashi had both felt horrible about it. So they reached out to the others and came with an idea to make it up to the two young people. They had went on a small honeymoon, putting most of the money towards a future home.

The Hobbs and Ishikawa families promised to give the couple a Christmas trip to anywhere they wanted. Now Zack and Emiko were dreaming of where that would be. They ruled out place by place, as they realized that this was one of those once in a lifetime family memory trips.

Family Memory Trips were what Marty had always called those adventures that Zack and his family talked about years later. Like the time they had went to Colorado to ski. It was the most fun he remembered anyone having with a broken leg.

His Dad had fell off the ski lift the first day, but he did his best to keep everyone else laughing. He didn’t find out til years later that his Dad was in severe pain, but didn’t want to ruin everyone’s trip.

Then there was the time they went camping in September. They didn’t tell the kids, but the reason for that trip were cut backs at the hospital, which eliminated the vacation budget that year. The kids didn’t know the difference.

Emiko listened for awhile, then added her own stories. Her Dad opened his own business when she was 13, and worked a lot of long hours. Still, for her birthday, he closed the shop, and spent the entire day with the family. He didn’t say anything, but her Mom told her he had lost a major client because of this.

Then she talked about the time her Mom had went through major surgery. That Christmas, they expected to be very low key, but her Mom decorated every room in the house. Story after story, they realized the sacrifices their parents had made for them.

“We can’t take the trip we were thinking about a few minutes ago can we?” Zack said, knowing her answer. “No, but we can do something much better.” As she picked up her phone to text her brother.

That night they both talked to their siblings, and worked out a plan. Instead of a major trip to some exotic place, they chose a small bed and breakfast near their home. Hank Crenshaw cut the price he charged Zack’s parents to almost nothing, just enough they hoped, for Marty not to make the connection. They split the remaining cost of the rooms with Sally, Zack’s sister.

Emiko called the local travel agent, and orchestrated her parents booking their tickets through her. Her brothers helped them with the cost for Aika and Hisashi.

Each set of parents didn’t say anything to them, but they were both suspicious. Still, they had promised to do whatever the kids wanted. So the four of them prepared for the Christmas trip.

Each were a little disappointed when the other siblings made excuses to keep their parents from buying their tickets. The two couples arrived a little sad, afraid the whole family wouldn’t be together for Christmas. It was a week before Christmas, but the kids had a plan.

Zack and Emiko knew they were the offspring of mystery lovers and crossword enthusiasts, so they had to give them an ‘aha’ moment without spoiling the entire surprise. So, when they got in the car that had been sent for them from the airport, Emiko’s oldest brother was the driver.

When they got to the hotel, Zack’s sister greeted them from the desk, where the hotel clerk would normally have been. Over the course of the first hour, each child surprised the parents with their presence. This was sure, they reasoned, to throw the four off their guard.

The next few days were a whirlwind of activity. Zack and Emiko had planned different things, but those turned out not to be more monotonous than memorable. It was the unexpected moments that became special.

Marty couldn’t sleep that night because of his acid reflux, so he slipped downstairs to sit in the lobby and look at the decorations. Zack’s sister got her Mother’s looks, but her Father’s stomach. She was popping antacids as she walked down the steps. “Dad, why are you up?”

Seeing the pills in her hand replied. “I didn’t have those. Share with your Father.” Then after a few minutes he pulled out his phone. Sally was disappointed for a minute, afraid the special moment would be ruined by distraction.

“I’m not tweeting, I’m getting your brother and his pre-middle aged stomach out of bed to join us.” It took three rings, but soon he joined them, unshaven and hair out of place, still smiling.

The three of them didn’t go to bed until long after the antacids had kicked in. The only detriment was, breakfast became brunch for everyone the next morning, precautionary meds were the first course. Late nights were one thing, burping up dinner was another.

After this, Aika and Anne decided they were going shopping. The men thought they’d stay back while all the girls attacked the mall. The ladies didn’t think so. For love of their spouses, Hisashi, Genzo, Haruto, Zack, and Tom, Sally’s husband, all went to a mall before Christmas.

These are the men who ordered everything online two months ahead just to avoid this nightmare. They walked into every store, were attentive as the women found nothing to wear, then carried the bags of “nothing” all through the mall.

Coffees, popcorn, and all sorts of sweets were sampled. Pictures were taken with Santa, and yes, they all waited in line for an hour to get the pictures. The men even purchased the ugliest Christmas sweaters they could find. Much to the detriment of each spouse. It was a wonderful afternoon.

That night, Zack surprised them all with a sleigh ride through the snow that he had scheduled. It was ok, but forgettable, until Tom lost his balance getting out of the sleigh, and tumbled into the snow.

That sparked a snowball fight, started by Genzo’s wife, Mina, which turned out to be the highlight of the night. It was another late night, only this time everyone joined in. Soon it was Christmas Day, and everyone gathered for a huge feast, spontaneous holiday karaoke, with very bad, off key, wonderful noise, and gifts.

True to tradition, the parents insisted the kids go first. The four had pooled their resources to give Zack and Emiko got two tickets to Hawaii. The parents had guessed the plan, and planned accordingly.

Not to treat the daughter any differently, Sally and Tom got the European trip they had dreamed about. Aika and Hisashi got their two sons, and daughter-in-laws each a trip. One to Alaska, and the other to Australia.

The last few years had been good to the elder Hobbs and Ishikawa’s businesses. They were able to give their kids what they hadn’t been able to years before. Each had raised good children, and were now able to reward the wonderful adults they had become.

After the money they knew had been spent on this special trip, they didn’t really expect large gifts from the kids. An while they weren’t that expensive, they were very special.

Marty got a banjo from Zack. Though an old one, it was a fairly inexpensive, used one, with one special feature. Zack had found it online, then brought it with him to a local bookstore to get an autograph from a musician that he knew his Dad loved. The banjo player had just wrote a book, which was the reason for Zack’s purchase of the banjo.

He knew his Dad would love an autographed book, but he’d love the autographed banjo more. Zack made sure it was just vintage enough to earn the interest of the musician and author, and he was right. Zach even got a song played by the artist on the banjo, and a video for his Dad.

Marty had tears, not so much at the gift alone, but the love behind it. Anne expected something more commercial, knowing it was hard to capture lightning twice. So she prepared herself for the huge smile, regardless of what was in the box.

What she didn’t expect, was a pack of assorted notes wrapped in ribbon. Confused at first, she recognized the writing almost instantly. It was from her best friend of over thirty years. The next was from another friend she hadn’t seen in almost that long.

“I emailed, called, and text everyone I could get a hold of. You never were much for gadgets, so I thought this may be special to put a little old fashioned into your Christmas. The last few letters are from each of us.”

Anne’s face soon matched Marty’s, as hugs were exchanged to everyone. Emiko handed her Mom her gift first. It was large, and Aika couldn’t figure out what it was. When she opened it though, she was ecstatic.

It was a portrait of her Mother in the traditional Nihonga style. “It was from that old photo you love. I think the artist did a really good job, but it’s unsigned.”

Her Mother laughed through tears. “It doesn’t have to be signed. I recognize my daughter’s brushstrokes. Don’t you know I’ve been a fan of your art since preschool crayons?”

Emiko blushed. Not used to painting this way, she was saving this little tidbit of information until she saw whether or not her Mother liked it. Her Mom insisted she sign it right away. Aika knew her daughter, who like most artists, were never far from their tools.

Emiko handed Hisashi his gift. Like Anne, he was prepared for, not a lesser gift, but a less spectacular one let’s say. He too, was pleasantly surprised. Hisashi, a Jazz fan, opened the box to see an original record and cover of “Ella and Louis”. Plus one of those portable turn table that he could hook to his laptop.

Each of the other siblings had gifts just as special, and the parents treasured each one. A vintage pocket watch for Marty from Sally. Plus, a doctor’s bag from the turn of the century for Anne.

Each of Hisashi and Aika’s boys, and their wives, got their Dad special records, including one of Bing Crosby’s Christmas records. Aika was given a classic typewriter for her office, plus a limited edition fountain pen. After telling each child they spent too much, records were played, and gifts were enjoyed.

The treasure though wasn’t the crackles of vinyl, clackety typewriter keys, or banjo strings. The real art in the room wasn’t even the painting, or the letters. It was the children, each parent looked at their most precious contribution to their legacy. Which was the happy faces of the gifts that God had given them.

Because of a Child, Christmas became a reality. An while no other is quite like Him, I do believe He intended for Christmas to always be filled with children. May your home, and heart, be filled with both Christ and the children, those precious gifts, He gives this Christmas.

Merry Christmas from PruittWrites!

from Barley Candy And Chicken Bones

#Barley Candy And Chicken Bones

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