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tnlbarth-blog · 1 year ago

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Aug 7 2023 - 12:31pm

Warning: All people places and things resembling any real people places or things are merely coincidence and are not to be taken as such.

Man I am not doing anything I thought I was supposed to be doing by now. There are good reasons for all of it but to be honest I never thought in a million years I would be here and not there.

When I was younger adults and media and others in my life showed me what my life was supposed to be like. They told me what I was supposed to do where I was supposed to go and how I was supposed to do it. It was laid out in front of me easily. A cookie cutter path.

When I was a little girl my parents put baby dolls and Barbies in my hands. And as they had hoped I liked them.

My favorite was a babydoll I named Sarah. She was very realistic having little nipples, a butt, and a vagina. I appreciated the realisticness of the doll even to this day. The boy version of that doll brand had a penis. I really enjoyed how faithful they were to the anatomy.

I brought this little doll around with me everywhere and acted like her mother. I changed her clothing and diaper. I fed her food and even pretended to breast feed her until my father told me to stop. I am pretty sure it made him uncomfortable. I loved this baby of mine. I was told I would be an awesome mother some day and I was happy and proud of myself. Identifying that I was going to be a mother some day.

In school I was told to get good grades and I could be whatever I wanted. I was very excited because I wanted to be a dancer or an artist or an actor maybe even an author. My parents told me no I need to do something practical. I needed to do something that would bring in money. They told me I needed a stable job that gave me a good income. So I changed my mind and I wanted to be a scientist or a doctor or maybe even a professor.

Unfortunately I had a learning disability in reading writing and math. Did we find out what it was? No but they decided to say that I was lazy and didn't want to learn the material and if it wasn't me it was my teachers teaching me wrong. Now I am positive I was undiagnosed with Autism with PDA or pathological demand avoidance and ADHD-I attention deficit hyperactive disorder-inattentive type.

I ended up getting C averages in school the whole while hearing my teachers and parents getting after me for being smart but being too lazy to actually do my school work. I excelled at my art and music classes though, but those aren't the classes that matter when you're trying to get into college to get a degree so I can have a sustainable job.

When it came to going to college I had decided in high school I wanted to go. I didn't but my sister was in college and my mom was going too. My father told me every day he regretted not going. And the idea was shoved down my throat. So obviously that's what I was supposed to do.

I didn't have good enough grades to go to any ol' school but I was a very talented artist for my age. My friend talked about how he was going to college to be a video game designer so I decided to do the same at a very nice art school in my state. I got in but not even a week in I knew it wasn't for me and I dropped out.

I need to mention as well that I was raised a Christian. I was the perfect Christian too. I went to church every Sunday going to Sunday school and even going on Wednesdays. I went with my best friend at the time. I was dedicated to the board for a long time. And I knew I was going to be a Christian for the rest of my life.

None of this stuff happened. Because deep down I didn't want it.

I didn't want to be a mother. I felt neglected and wanted to be treated like my baby doll. I wanted the attention I gave her all the time. I wanted to cooing that I did to her. I wanted my parents to hug me and hold me and bring me everywhere with them. I didn't actually like kids. I definitely didn't like the kids I went to school with. They were loud and sticky and annoying. And even to this day I don't want children. I just wanted someone to get the love and affection I was missing out on.

As for school half way through second or third grade I gave up on having good grades. I had bad teachers that gave me bad grades whether or not I should have been getting good ones. I was stuffed into a learning program so they didn't need to bother with me. Also in Second or third grade I'd been raped by the school principal multiple times and I had never told anyone and in fact blocked it out of my memories actively telling myself it was all a bad dream.

As for college I never really wanted to go I was pressured into going. But I didn't know what that was at the time. I thought that was what I was supposed to do. I was excited at first. But being in the classes was overwhelming and being around new people and teachers. I was a whole state away from my family and I had gotten a new boyfriend who would not stop messaging me.

I dropped out because I was too overwhelmed. I didn't get over my need for special accommodations but the college didn't know that. I had just nearly been approved for not having to be in special education my senior year of highschool.

After dropping out of college I lived with my boyfriend. He turned out to be abusive. I stayed with him for five years. All the while I continued to draw and write. I wasn't allowed to work or do anything for myself for the whole five years I was with him. I did attempt to publish three books I'd written. I succeeded but the publishing houses I used basically scammed me and then closed before I could get any money from them. Making me feel like a failure.

After I left him I moved into my grandmother's house she had left my mom after she died and lived with my mom and brother.

I ended up dating another guy about mine months later. He was also abusive. But with him I was actually able to get a job. I worked at a store for almost three years while I was dating him. In the that time I had a mental breakdown and tried to kill myself. I stayed a week in the hospital and came home.

Then Covid struck and I lost my job. I was still with my boyfriend and didn't realize how abusive he was because of how badly I'd been abused by the previous guy. He asked me to move in with him and his family and I said yes because by that time my abusive sister and her son moved in with me my mom and my brother. After I moved in with him I was abused by not just him anymore but by his father as well. So six months later I moved back in with my family.

Living here with my family again I began to realize what was going on with him and I broke up with him last year.

I also left Christianity and became a Pagan witch and I haven't been happier with a decision.

My life has been nothing but chaos and nothing like the cookie cutter life I thought I was going to get. And for a long time I was upset about that. But not anymore.

I have learned to accept and love myself more than I have ever been my whole life by others. I may have a lot of mental and physical problems right now stopping me from being able to live my life the way I want but it won't be that way for long. I will get better and I will leave this place one day and I will be able to enjoy my life away from my family and under my own control.

Don't get me wrong I appreciate the life I am living right now. I am at peace with my life. I am thankful for where I am and where I was. I am shocked though at how different my life has been versus how I thought my life was supposed to be.

And I know no matter how hard or difficult my life may look I will always get through it. I am a strong and amazing person.

Regards

TNL Barth

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omg-im-such-a-masochist · 2 years ago

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What You Can Learn Ch. 2

Summary: After being suspended from AEW, Max’s dad decides to give him a life lesson by sending him to one of the poorest parts of Long Island to get a small taste of what real life looks like. What seemed to be a nightmare soon turned out to be quite the journey when he meets a single mother and her nosy offspring. And for the first time in his life, Max will quickly realize that what truly matters in life might not be his beloved money after all.

Word Count: 675 words

Pairings: MJF x OFC Ella

Warnings: None

Editor: @thenightmareismyreality

Tag: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @aerynscrichton , @daddyhausen , @damnnhausen , @starwithaheart , @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @cuzimacomedian , @baysexuality , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @sldghmmr , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch

A/N: Thank you @letsgivethisonemoreshot and @theworldofotps for the undying support 😘

Chapter 1

Ever since their last encounter, Max began to pay close attention to his hot neighbor and her annoying offspring. He learned that she was a single mother and had some kind of night job since a woman in her mid thirties - who he later found out to be her older sister - came over to stay with the child overnight three times a week.

He tried to approach her, to get some intimacy, but since he apparently somehow offended her little beastie that day in the garage, she made sure to ignore him every time he tried to greet her.

But this though…this was his chance to make up for his “rudeness” and somehow finally convince the sexy next door neighbor to come over for dinner. The kid was running barefoot around the street, pulling an old plastic toy dog by a string behind her.

Max waited, and when she ran in front of his garage, he called:

“Psssst. Hey, little rascal! Over here”

The little girl stopped in her tracks and stared at Max, who was holding a cherry popsicle in his hand.

“Hi” Max smiled with fake innocence “Does your mom know you’re out here by yourself?”

“Yes. And she told me that if you talked to me I should tell her so she can come over here and kick your ass”

Max narrowed his eyes at the little girl’s audacity “Shouldn’t that three letter word earn you fifty cents in the cussing jar?”

“I don’t know what a three letter word is. I just know how to write ‘mommy’, ‘sun’ and my name”.

He took a deep sigh before rolling his eyes in annoyance “Why am I not surprised?” He offered her the popsicle and the little girl gladly accepted.

In less than two minutes she had already successfully painted her whole face a dark cherry red color. Max quickly glanced at her dirt and dust covered feet and winced “How does your mom let you walk around barefoot? That’s gross”

“Antibodies” She hiccuped.

“Great, so you don’t know how to write ‘ass’ but know what antibodies are?”

“Mommy said they help you to not get sick, and she also says that walking around barefoot helps you to get them because if we have them then we don’t need to go to the hospital.”

Max was about to say something but the little girl continued “I don’t like the hospital. There’s too many people, it’s noisy, scary and it smells funny”

“Ok?” He frowned and quickly shook his head before plastering a fake smile on his face “So what’s your name and how old are you?”

The girl hiccuped again before answering “I’m five years old” She showed him five fingers “and my name is Violet. V-I-O-L-“

“Yeah yeah yeah. I know how to spell it, ok? I’m Max” He offered his hand and the little girl just stared at him in confusion.

“Yeah, you’re Mr. Fancy Shoes…that’s nice. I don’t have fancy shoes. I do have Barbie sandals that my aunt Jenna got for me-”

“Cool” Max squatted down to the ground and asked “Would you like to be my friend, rascal- I mean, Violet?”

Violet’s blue eyes narrowed, copying Max’s early actions “Are you gonna be mean to me again? Because mommy said you were mean to me”

“I wasn’t being mean, you see, your mom got it all wrong. I was actually trying to be your friend” Max smiled and it took Violet a few seconds to consider his proposal.

“Okay, Mr. Fancy Shoes, I want to be your friend” She smiled “But if you are mean to me I’ll make sure to tell mommy so she can come over and kick your ass! She’s very good at that”.

“Weirdly enough, I don’t doubt that” Max sighed before he went back into his house to get another cherry popsicle for Violet.

Little cub was an easy one to win, now momma bear…well, Max had a feeling it would take him more than a couple cherry popsicles to win her over.

#what you can learn series #mjf fanfiction #mjf aew #mjf x reader #mjf imagine #mjf #masochist writes

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mcmansionhell · 4 years ago

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Underground, Part 1

[Author’s Note: A year ago, when waiting for the DC Metro, I came up with an idea for a short story involving two realtors and the infamous Las Vegas Underground House, typed up an outline, and shoved it away in my documents where it sat neglected until this month. The house recently resurfaced on Twitter, and combined with almost a year of quarantine, the story quickly materialized. Though I rarely write fiction, I decided I’d give it a shot as a kind of novelty McMansion Hell post. I’ve peppered the story with photos from the house to break up the walls of text. Hopefully you find it entertaining. I look forward to returning next month with the second installment of this as well as our regularly scheduled McMansion content. Happy New Year!

Warning: there’s lots of swearing in this.]

Underground

Back in 1997, Mathieu Rino, the son of two Finnish mechanical engineers who may or may not have worked intimately with the US State Department, changed his name to Jay Renault in order to sell more houses. It worked wonders.

He gets out of the car, shuts the door harder than he should. Renault wrinkles his nose. It’s a miserable Las Vegas afternoon - a sizzling, dry heat pools in ripples above the asphalt. The desert is a place that is full of interesting and diverse forms of life, but Jay’s the kind of American who sees it all as empty square-footage. He frowns at the dirt dusting up his alligator-skin loafers but then remembers that every lot, after all, has potential. Renault wipes the sweat from his leathery face, slicks back his stringy blond hair and adjusts the aviators on the bridge of his nose. The Breitling diving watch crowding his wrist looks especially big in the afternoon glare. He glances at it.

“Shit,” he says. The door on the other side of the car closes, as though in response.

If Jay Renault is the consummate rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xer trying to sell houses to other rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xers, then Robert Little is his millennial counterpart. Both are very good at their jobs. Robert adjusts his tie in the reflection of the Porsche window, purses his lips. He’s Vegas-showman attractive, with dark hair, a decent tan, and a too-bright smile - the kind of attractive that ruins marriages but makes for an excellent divorcee. Mildly sleazy.

“Help me with these platters, will you?” Renault gestures, popping the trunk. Robert does not want to sweat too much before an open house, but he obliges anyway. They’re both wearing suits. The heat is unbearable. A spread of charcuterie in one hand, Jay double-checks his pockets for the house keys, presses the button that locks his car.

Both men sigh, and their eyes slowly trail up to the little stucco house sitting smack dab in the center of an enormous lot, a sea of gravel punctuated by a few sickly palms. The house has the distinct appearance of being made of cardboard, ticky-tacky, a show prop. Burnt orange awnings don its narrow windows, which somehow makes it look even more fake.

“Here we go again,” Jay mutters, fishing the keys out of his pocket. He jiggles them until the splintered plywood door opens with a croak, revealing a dark and drab interior – dusty, even though the cleaners were here yesterday. Robert kicks the door shut with his foot behind him.

“Christ,” he swears, eyes trailing over the terrible ecru sponge paint adorning the walls. “This shit is so bleak.”

The surface-level house is mostly empty. There’s nothing for them to see or attend to there, and so the men step through a narrow hallway at the end of which is an elevator. They could take the stairs, but don’t want to risk it with the platters. After all, they were quite expensive. Renault elbows the button and the doors part.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he says as they step inside. The fluorescent lights above them buzz something awful. A cheery metal sign welcomes them to “Tex’s Hideaway.” Beneath it is an eldritch image of a cave, foreboding. Robert’s stomach’s in knots. Ever since the company assigned him to this property, he’s been terrified of it. He tells himself that the house is, in fact, creepy, that it is completely normal for him to be ill at ease. The elevator’s ding is harsh and mechanical. They step out. Jay flips a switch and the basement is flooded with eerie light.

It’s famous, this house - The Las Vegas Underground House. The two realtors refer to it simply as “the bunker.” Built by an eccentric millionaire at the height of Cold War hysteria, it’s six-thousand square feet of paranoid, aspirational fantasy. The first thing anyone notices is the carpet – too-green, meant to resemble grass, sprawling out lawn-like, bookmarked by fake trees, each a front for a steel beam. Nothing can grow here. It imitates life, unable to sustain it. The leaves of the ficuses seem particularly plastic.

Bistro sets scatter the ‘yard’ (if one can call it that), and there’s plenty of outdoor activities – a parquet dance floor complete with pole and disco ball, a putt putt course, an outdoor grill made to look like it’s nestled in a rock, but in reality better resembles a baked potato. The pool and hot tub, both sculpted in concrete and fiberglass mimicking a natural rock formation, are less Playboy grotto and more Fred Flintstone. It’s a very seventies idea of fun.

Then, of course, there’s the house. That fucking house.

A house built underground in 1978 was always meant to be a mansard – the mansard roof was a historical inevitability. The only other option was International Style modernism, but the millionaire and his wife were red-blooded anti-Communists. Hence, the mansard. Robert thinks the house looks like a fast-food restaurant. Jay thinks it looks like a lawn and tennis club he once attended as a child where he took badminton lessons from a swarthy Czech man named Jan. It’s drab and squat, made more open by big floor-to-ceiling windows nestled under fresh-looking cedar shingles. There’s no weather down here to shrivel them up.

“Shall we?” Jay drawls. The two make their way into the kitchen and set the platters down on the white tile countertop. Robert leans up against the island, careful of the oversized hood looming over the electric stovetop. He eyes the white cabinets, accented with Barbie pink trim. The matching linoleum floor squeaks under his Italian loafers.

“I don’t understand why we bother doing this,” Robert complains. “Nobody’s seriously going to buy this shit, and the company’s out a hundred bucks for party platters.”

“It’s the same every time,” Renault agrees. “The only people who show up are Instagram kids and the crazies - you know, the same kind of freaks who’d pay money to see Chernobyl.”

“Dark tourism, they call it.”

Jay checks his watch again. Being in here makes him nervous.

“Still an hour until open house,” he mutters. “I wish we could get drunk.”

Robert exhales deeply. He also wishes he could get drunk, but still, a job’s a job.

“I guess we should check to see if everything’s good to go.”

The men head into the living room. The beamed, slanted ceiling gives it a mid-century vibe, but the staging muddles the aura. Jay remembers making the call to the staging company. “Give us your spares,” he told them, “Whatever it is you’re not gonna miss. Nobody’ll ever buy this house anyway.”

The result is eclectic – a mix of office furniture, neo-Tuscan McMansion garb, and stuffy waiting-room lamps, all scattered atop popcorn-butter shag carpeting. Hideous, Robert thinks. Then there’s the ‘entertaining’ room, which is a particular pain in the ass to them, because the carpet was so disgusting, they had to replace it with that fake wood floor just to be able to stand being in there for more than five minutes. There’s a heady stone fireplace on one wall, the kind they don’t make anymore, a hearth. Next to it, equally hedonistic, a full bar. Through some doors, a red-painted room with a pool table and paintings of girls in fedoras on the wall. It’s all so cheap, really. Jay pulls out a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket along with a pen. He ticks some boxes and moves on.

The dining room’s the worst to Robert. Somehow the ugly floral pattern on the curtains stretches up in bloomer-like into a frilly cornice, carried through to the wallpaper and the ceiling, inescapable, suffocating. It smells like mothballs and old fabric. The whole house smells like that.

The master bedroom’s the most normal – if anything in this house could be called normal. Mismatched art and staging furniture crowd blank walls. When someone comes into a house, Jay told Robert all those years ago, they should be able to picture themselves living in it. That’s the goal of staging.

There’s two more bedrooms. The men go through them quickly. The first isn’t so bad – claustrophobic, but acceptable – but the saccharine pink tuille wallpaper of the second gives Renault a sympathetic toothache. The pair return to the kitchen to wait.

Both men are itching to check their phones, but there’s no point – there’s no signal in here, none whatsoever. Renault, cynical to the core, thinks about marketing the house to the anti-5G people. It’s unsettlingly quiet. The two men have no choice but to entertain themselves the old-fashioned way, through small talk.

“It’s really fucked up, when you think about it,” Renault muses.

“What is?”

“The house, Bob.”

Robert hates being called Bob. He’s told Jay that hundreds of times, and yet…

“Yeah,” Robert mutters, annoyed.

“No, really. Like, imagine. You’re rich, you founded a major multinational company marketing hairbrushes to stay-at-home moms, and what do you decide to do with your money? Move to Vegas and build a fucking bunker. Like, imagine thinking the end of the world is just around the corner, forcing your poor wife to live there for ten, fifteen years, and then dying, a paranoid old man.” Renault finds the whole thing rather poetic.

“The Russkies really got to poor ol’ Henderson, didn’t they?” Robert snickers.

“The wife’s more tragic if you ask me,” Renault drawls. “The second that batshit old coot died, she called a guy to build a front house on top of this one, since she already owned the lot. Poor woman probably hadn’t seen sunlight in God knows how long.”

“Surely they had to get groceries.”

Jay frowns. Robert has no sense of drama, he thinks. Bad trait for a realtor.

“Still,” he murmurs. “It’s sad.”

“I would have gotten a divorce, if I were her,” the younger man says, as though it were obvious. It’s Jay’s turn to laugh.

“I’ve had three of those, and trust me, it’s not as easy as you think.”

“You’re seeing some new girl now, aren’t you?” Robert doesn’t really care, he just knows Jay likes to talk about himself, and talking fills the time.

“Yeah. Casino girl. Twenty-six.”

“And how old are you again?”

“None of your business.”

“Did you see the renderings I emailed to you?” Robert asks briskly, not wanting to discuss Jay’s sex life any further.

“What renderings?”

“Of this house, what it could look like.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Jay has not seen the renderings.

“If it were rezoned,” Robert continues, feeling very smart, “It could be a tourist attraction - put a nice visitor’s center on the lot, make it sleek and modern. Sell trinkets. It’s a nice parcel, close to the Strip - some clever investor could make it into a Museum of Ice Cream-type thing, you know?”

“Museum of Ice Cream?”

“In New York. It’s, not, like, educational or anything. Really, it’s just a bunch of colorful rooms where kids come to take pictures of themselves.”

“Instagram,” Jay mutters. “You know, I just sold a penthouse the other week to an Instagram influencer. Takes pictures of herself on the beach to sell face cream or some shit. Eight-point-two million dollars.”

“Jesus,” Robert whistles. “Fat commission.”

“You’re telling me. My oldest daughter turns sixteen this year. She’s getting a Mazda for Christmas.”

“You ever see that show, My Super Sweet Sixteen? On MTV? Where rich kids got, like, rappers to perform at their birthday parties? Every time at the end, some guy would pull up in, like, an Escalade with a big pink bow on it and all the kids would scream.”

“Sounds stupid,” Jay says.

“It was stupid.”

It’s Robert’s turn to check his watch, a dainty gold Rolex.

“Fuck, still thirty minutes.”

“Time really does stand still in here, doesn’t it?” Jay remarks.

“We should have left the office a little later,” Robert complains. “The charcuterie is going to get –“

A deafening sound roars through the house and a violent, explosive tremor throws both men on the ground, shakes the walls and everything between them. The power’s out for a few seconds before there’s a flicker, and light fills the room again. Two backup generators, reads Jay’s description in the listing - an appeal to the prepper demographic, which trends higher in income than non-preppers. For a moment, the only things either are conscious of are the harsh flourescent lighting and the ringing in their ears. Time slows, everything seems muted and too bright. Robert rubs the side of his face, pulls back his hand and sees blood.

“Christ,” he chokes out. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” Jay breathes, looking at his hands, trying to determine if he’s got a concussion. The results are inconclusive – everything’s slow and fuzzy, but after a moment, he thinks it might just be shock.

“It sounded like a fucking 747 just nosedived on top of us.”

“Yeah, Jesus.” Jay’s still staring at his fingers in a daze. “You okay?”

“I think so,” Robert grumbles. Jay gives him a cursory examination.

“Nothing that needs stitches,” he reports bluntly. Robert’s relieved. His face sells a lot of houses to a lot of lonely women and a few lonely men. There’s a muffled whine, which the two men soon recognize as a throng of sirens. Both of them try to calm the panic rising in their chests, to no avail.

“Whatever the fuck happened,” Jay says, trying to make light of the situation, “At least we’re in here. The bunker.”

Fear forms in the whites of Robert’s eyes.

“What if we’re stuck in here,” he whispers, afraid to speak such a thing into the world. The fear spreads to his companion.

“Try the elevator,” Jay urges, and Robert gets up, wobbles a little as his head sorts itself out, and leaves. A moment later, Jay hears him swear a blue streak, and from the kitchen window, sees him standing before the closed metal doors, staring at his feet. His pulse racing, Renault jogs out to see for himself.

“It’s dead,” Robert murmurs.

“Whatever happened,” Jay says cautiously, rubbing the back of his still-sore neck, “It must have been pretty bad. Like, I don’t think we should go up yet. Besides, surely the office knows we’re still down here.”

“Right, right,” the younger man breathes, trying to reassure himself.

“Let’s just wait it out. I’m sure everything’s fine.” The way Jay says it does not make Robert feel any better.

“Okay,” the younger man grumbles. “I’m getting a fucking drink, though.”

“Yeah, Jesus. That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.” Renault shoves his hands in his suit pocket to keep them from trembling.

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#architecture #design #fiction #las vegas #underground house

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maxwell-grant · 3 years ago

Note

What are your thoughts on Jekyll/Hyde and his archetype of the human periodically changing into a monster ?

Jekyll & Hyde was the 2nd horror story I read following Frankenstein, I got it off the same library and it always stuck very strongly with me even before I got into horror in general. I even dressed up as Jekyll/Hyde as a kid for a school fair by shredding a lab coat on one side and asking my sister to make-up claw gashes on my exposed arm and paint half of my face, although in hindsight I think I ended up looking more like Doctor Two-Face than Jekyll/Hyde, but I was 12 and didn't have any Victorian clothing to use so I had to make do. The first film project I tried doing at film school was intended to be a modern take on Jekyll & Hyde, and I didn't get much farther than a couple of discarded scripts

Much like Frankenstein, Mr Hyde as a character and a story is something that's kind of baked into everything I do artistically. And it's not just me, as even in pop culture itself, none of us can escape Mr Hyde. I would go so far as to argue Mr Hyde may be the single most significant character created by victorian fiction, if only by the sheer impact and legacy the character's had.

(Fan-art by guilhermefranco)

Part of what makes Mr Hyde such a powerful and lasting icon of pop culture is that the very premise of the book invites a personal reading that's gonna vary from person to person. Because everyone's familiar with the basic twist of the story, that it's a conflict of duality, of the good and evil sides, but everyone has a more personal idea of what those entail. Some people make the story more about class. A lot of readings laser-focus on sex and lust as the driving force, and there's also a lot of readings of Mr Hyde that tackle it to explore a more gendered perspective, and so forth.

I don't particularly take much notice of the Jekyll & Hyde adaptations partially because the novel's premise and themes have become baked so throughly into pop culture and explored in so many different and interesting ways, that I'm not particularly starving for good Jekyll & Hyde adaptations the way I am for Dracula and Frankenstein. The Fredric March film in particular is one that orbits my head less because of the film itself (although I do recommend it), but because of one specific scene, and that's when Jekyll first transforms into Hyde on screen.

Out of all the things they could have shown him doing right that second, they instead took the time to show him enjoying the rain.

Just Hyde taking off his hat and letting it all cascade on his face with this sheer enthusiasm like he's never been to the rain before, never enjoyed it before, and now that he's free from being Jekyll, he gets to enjoy life like he never has before. It's such an oddly humanizing moment to put amidst a horror movie, in the scene where you're ostensibly introducing the monster to the audience, and it makes such a stark contrast to the rest of the film where Hyde is completely irredeemable, but I think it's that contrast that makes the film's take on Hyde work so well even with it's diverging from the source material, even if I don't particularly like in general interpretations of Hyde that are focused on a sexual aspect.

Because one, it understands that Jekyll was fundamentally a self-serving coward and not a paragon of goodness, and two, it also understands one of the things that makes Hyde scary: He wants what all of us want, to live and be happy. He's happy when he leaves the lab and dances around in the rain like a giddy child, he's happy when he goes to places Jekyll couldn't dream of showing up, he's happy as a showgirl-abusing sexual predator. Hyde is all wants, all the time, and there's not that much difference between his wants, his domineering possessiveness, and the likes exhibited by Muriel's father and Jekyll's own within the very same film, which also works to emphasize one of the other ideas of the original story, that Edward Hyde doesn't come from nowhere. That no monster is closer to humanity than Mr Hyde, because he is us. He is the thing that Jekyll refused to take responsability for until it was too late.

(Art by LorenzoMastroianni)

While many of the ideas that defined Mr Hyde had already been explored in pop culture beforehand, Hyde popularized and redefined many of them in particular by modernizing the idea. He was the werewolf, the doppelganger, The Player On The Other Side, except he came from within. He was not transformed by circumstance, he made himself that way, and the elixir merely brought out something already inside his soul. To acknowledge that he's there is to acknowledge that he is you, and to not do that is to either lose to him, or perish. Hyde was there to address both the rot settling in Victorian society as well as grappling concerns over Darwinian heritage, of the realization that man has always had the beast inside of him (it's no accident that Hyde's main method of murder is by clubbing people to death with his cane like a caveman).

I've already argued on my post about Tarzan that the Wild Man archetype, beginning with Enkidu of The Epic of Gilgamesh, is the in-between man and beast, between superhero and monster, and that Mr Hyde is an essential component of the superhero's trajectory, as the creature split in between. That stories about dual personalities, doppelgangers, the duality of the soul, the hero with a day job and an after dark career, you can pinpoint Hyde as a turning point in how all of these solidified gradually in pop culture. And I've argued otherwise that The Punisher, for all that his image and narrative points otherwise, is ultimately just as much of a superhero as the rest of them, even if no one wants to admit it, drawing a parallel between The Punisher and Mr Hyde. And he's far from the only modern character that can invite this kind of parallel.

The idea of a regular person periodically or permanently transforming into, or revealing itself to be, something extraordinary and fantastic and scary, grappling with the divide it causes in their soul, and questions whether it's a new development or merely the truest parts of themselves coming to light at last, and the effects this transformation has for good and bad alike. The idea of a potent, dangerous, unpredictable enemy who ultimately is you, or at least a facet of you and what you can do. That these are bound to destroy each other if not reconciled with or overcome.

You know what are my thoughts on the archetype of "human periodically changing into a monster" are? Look around you and you're gonna see the myriad ways The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde's themes have manifested in the century and a half since the story's release. Why it shouldn't be any surprise whatsoever that Mr Hyde has become such an integral part of pop culture, in it's heroes and monsters alike. Why we can never escape Mr Hyde, just as Jekyll never could.

It is Nixon himself who represents that dark, venal and incurably violent side of the American character that almost every country in the world has learned to fear and despise. Our Barbie-doll president, with his Barbie-doll wife and his boxful of Barbie-doll children is also America's answer to the monstrous Mr. Hyde.

He speaks for the Werewolf in us; the bully, the predatory shyster who turns into something unspeakable, full of claws and bleeding string-warts on nights when the moon comes too close… - Hunter S. Thompson

There is a scene in the movie Pulp Fiction that explains almost every terrible thing happening in the news today. And it's not the scene where Ving Rhames shoots that guy's dick off. It's the part where the hit man played by John Travolta is talking about how somebody vandalized his car, and says this:

"Boy, I wish I could've caught him doing it. I'd have given anything to catch that asshole doing it. It'd been worth him doing it, just so I could've caught him doing it."

That last sentence is something everyone should understand about mankind. After all, the statement is completely illogical -- revenge is supposed to be about righting a wrong. But he wants to be wronged, specifically so he'll have an excuse to get revenge. We all do.

Why else would we love a good revenge movie? We sit in a theater and watch Liam Neeson's daughter get kidnapped. We're not sad about it, because we know he's a badass and he finally has permission to be awesome. Not a single person in that theater was rooting for it to all be an innocent misunderstanding. We wanted Liam to be wronged, because we wanted to see him kick ass. It's why so many people walk around with vigilante fantasies in their heads.

Long, long ago, the people in charge figured out that the easiest and most reliable way to bind a society together was by controlling and channeling our hate addiction. That's the reason why seeing hurricane wreckage on the news makes us mumble "That's sad" and maybe donate a few bucks to the Red Cross hurricane fund, while 9/11 sends us into a decade-long trillion-dollar rage that leaves the Middle East in flames.

The former was caused by wind; the latter was caused by monsters. The former makes us kind of bummed out; the latter gets us high.

It's easy to blame the news media for pumping us full of stories of mass shootings and kidnapped children, but that's stopping one step short of the answer: The media just gives us what we want. And what we want is to think we're beset on all sides by monsters.

The really popular stories will always feature monsters that are as different from us as possible. Think about Star Wars -- what real shithead has ever referred to himself as being on "the dark side"? In Harry Potter and countless fantasy universes, you have wizards working in "black magic" and the "dark arts." Can you imagine a scientist developing some technology for chemical weapons or invasive advertising openly thinking of what he does as "dark science"? Can you imagine a real world leader naming his headquarters "The Death Star" or "Mount Doom"?

Of course not. But we need to believe that evil people know they're evil, or else that would open the door to the fact that we might be evil without knowing it. I mean, sure, maybe we've bought chocolate that was made using child slaves or driven cars that poisoned the air, but we didn't do it to be evil -- we were simply doing whatever we felt like and ignoring the consequences. Not like Hitler and the bankers who ruined the economy and those people who burned the kittens -- they wake up every day intentionally dreaming up new evils to create. It's not like Hitler actually thought he was saving the world.

So no matter how many times you vote to cut food stamps and then use the money to buy a boat, you could still be way worse. You could, after all, be one of those murdering / lazy / ignorant / greedy / oppressive monsters that you know the world is full of, and that only your awesome moral code prevents you from turning into at any moment. And those monsters are out there.

They have to be. Because otherwise, we're the monsters - 5 Reasons Humanity Desperately Wants Monsters To Be Real, by Jason Pargin

(Two-Face sequence comes from the end of Batman Annual #14: Eye of the Beholder)

For good or bad, Hyde has become omnipresent. He's a part of our superheroes, he's a part of our supervillains, he's in our monsters. He lives and prattles in our ears, sometimes we need him to survive, and sometimes we become Hyde even when we don't need to, because our survival instincts or base cruelties or desperation brings out the worst in us. Sometimes we can beat him, and sometimes he's not that bad. Sometimes we do need to appease him and listen to what he says, about us and the world around us. And sometimes we need to do so specifically to prove him wrong and beat him again.

But he never, ever goes away, as he so accurately declares in the musical

Do you really think That I would ever let you go...

Do you think I'd ever set you free?

If you do, I'm sad to say It simply isn't so

You will never get away FROM MEEEEEE

(Art by Akreon on Artstation)

#tw: injury #tw: blood #tw: disfigurement #replies tag #dr jekyll and mr hyde #the strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde #robert louis stevenson #two-face #batman #monster tag #universal monsters #horror tag

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imanativeofswlondondahling · 4 years ago

Text

Being A Stark (3)- Peter Parker x Stark!femReader

Word Count: 1852

Warnings: None I think...

Author’s Note: Honestly I love this chapter so much, so I hope you all enjoy it. Let me know your thoughts or if you want to be tagged in the future.

Becoming A Stark || Chapter One || Master List

“Hey kiddo.” Your dad’s voice was the last thing you were expecting to hear while reading A Brave New World to get you ready for when you head off to classes. Technically this was the summer reading and you had already read it for the start of freshman year, but restarting ninth grade seems like a good reason to prepare yourself again. But you almost throw the book across the room at the sound of your dad’s voice.

“Dad?” You set the book aside, flipping it over to hold your place, and stand up to walk over to the bed. “You’re awake.”

“Sure am.” His left hand reaches up to scrub at his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’ve spent all your free time here.”

“Ok, I won’t tell you then.” You say as you look him over. He’s worse for wear, but you’ve never been so happy to see his eyes open. He reaches his good arm to take your hand.

“I’ve missed you kiddo.”

“I’ve missed you being awake.” You say, knowing he’s talking about the five years you were gone. It still doesn’t feel like you missed all that time, but there’s little things that are different. People’s haircuts, tech updates… Morgan. You have an updated pump coming to the cabin since yours is out of warranty now. “I hear you did it.”

“Mastered time travel to get you back? Yeah I did.” He smiles at you as he takes in the fact that you haven’t changed even though you were gone for five years.

“I meant the closed loop system, but that’s cool too.”

“Oh yeah, that. Did that about a year after the Blip. Figured I’d make sure you came back to something better. Spent the next four years focusing on…” he trails off. “Doesn’t matter. But then Capsicle, Nat, and Pissant show up telling me that they want to try and get everyone back. I couldn’t give up a chance to get you back. Get everyone back.” You sit down on the side of his bed, holding his hand in yours, his thumb running along the ring Pepper had given you for your birthday.

“I met Morgan.” You say and you see worry and joy both wash over his face.

“What do you think?”

“Well she took me by surprise. The whole Blip made everything feel like not even a day had passed. So having a five year old sister? That wasn’t something I was expecting. But she’s a pretty great kid.”

“She reminds me a lot of her older sister.” Tony says with a smile.

“I should let Dr. Cho know you’re awake. And Mo- Pepper.”

“Hold on a second.” His good hand holds onto yours. “What’s with this calling Pep by her name and not Mom?” You shrug, not wanting to voice your thoughts. “Come on. Spill. Talk to your old man about it all.”

“She’s got her own kid now. It’s different.” You shrug again, feeling unable to fully explain that you don’t feel like your mom will want you anymore now that Morgan is here.

“Y/N, she was just as upset as I was when you Blipped. Even more upset when she found out she was pregnant and you weren’t going to get to be there when Morgan was born. You’re her kid too. There is no not wanting you just because Morgan is in the picture now too. Same goes for me. We both love both of you equally. Our little misses are just going to have to get used to sharing their mom and dad.” His hand tightens on yours. “Now I don’t think I’m supposed to be moving a ton, so you’re either going to have to come here so I can hug you or I’m going to break a lot of rules, because I’ve waited for five years to hug my kid.” You smile at him before diving towards your dad. Your arms wrap around him, careful of the arm that is just laying there, and you hold onto him. His good arm wraps around your back, holding you to him. “This is what I missed the most while you were gone.” He says before kissing your cheek.

“I hear you hugged Peter.”

“I may have.”

“So does this mean you accept my boyfriend now?”

“If he makes you happy, I will put up with him.”

“Good.” You place a kiss on his cheek. “I’m going to grab Dr. Cho and call Mom.”

“You don’t have to go anywhere.” He says holding onto your hand, stopping you from getting up. “FRIDAY, tell Doc I’m awake.” You roll your eyes at not thinking about using FRIDAY. “Kiddo, you better know I’m not going to let you go very far for a while now. I spent five years without you.”

“I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.” You pull your phone out and shoot a message to your mom about Tony being awake. She’s only upstairs, using the kitchen in what used to be the apartment you lived in to make Morgan and you some lunch. “Did you know I have to restart ninth grade? I have to take Biology and Chemistry all over again and I’m going to die.” You say dramatically.

“I’ll be there every step of the way. Peter and I’ll make sure you pass. Just like last time.”

“I was barely passing last time.”

“But you already have the head start of having taken the first half of the semester.”

“That means nothing.” You say before another voice comes into the room.

“Daddy!” Morgan climbs up on the bed on his other side and gives him a big hug. “You slept longer than when I was sick.” She stares Tony down as if asking him to explain himself. She’s leaning away from his marked up arm, although most of it is covered by his hospital gown and the sling.

“I was really tired Morgana. Will you forgive me?” She nods her head before looking over at you.

“Daddy, Y/N came back like you said she would.”

“She did, didn’t she?” Tony smiles at his youngest, wanting to reach out with his right hand to push her hair back, but it’s currently trapped in a sling and not wanting to do anything.

“She played Barbies with me yesterday. She’s much better at it than you are.” Morgan states as if it’s a fact. “You should have come back sooner.” She says to you.

“I don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon. I think Dad might get mad if I do.” You stage whisper the last part to her. She shakes her head.

“He won’t get mad. He would just be really sad. He always got sad when he talked about you.”

“She’s got you there kiddo. I would miss you a lot if you left again.” Pepper sits next to Morgan, a hand drifting to place itself on Tony’s leg, needing to touch him.

“Hey.” Tony says, looking at Pepper. “Your eyes are red. Few tears for your long lost boss?” Tony smirks at her as if it’s an inside joke that you and Morgan won’t understand.

“If you ever do that again… I won’t be looking for a new job. I’ll be looking for a new husband, you understand that?”

“I missed the wedding?” You can’t help but interrupt. You should have caught it when Peter called her Mrs. Stark, but now you’re realizing what happened. Pepper turns from looking at your dad to looking at you.

“You didn’t really miss much. We eloped.” She explains.

“Wanted to be married before a certain miss, but didn’t feel right doing a whole big ceremony when all the important people would be missing.” Tony adds.

“Couldn’t have a wedding without my maid of honor.” Pepper smiles at you. “So now that you’re back, guess we can do a vow reunion or a real wedding or something.”

“Wait you’re serious? Me? Maid of honor?” You stumble over the words not fully believing what your mom was saying.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I have my daughter be my maid of honor?”

“Because you want someone older to do it?”

“If there’s going to be a wedding can I be the flower girl?” Morgan interrupts.

“Of course you can.” Tony reaches over to ruffle Morgan’s hair as Pepper comes to sit next to you.

“There is no one I would rather as my maid of honor than you.” She wraps an arm around you. “You’re the only one I can trust to make everything perfect. Honestly the only people that have to be at the wedding are you, Tony, and Morgan. Anyone else who is there is just a bonus. That’s why we couldn’t have the wedding without you.”

“I understand that. I just... I’m fifteen. You want a fifteen year old as your maid of honor? You could have anyone in the whole world. You could have one of the Avengers.” You point out.

“I could. But I want my daughter. And she’s back. So let’s plan a wedding.” She places a kiss on your cheek. “Sound good Maid of Honor?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“So I hear our patient is wide awake now.” Dr. Cho’s voice comes from the door.

“What’s the diagnosis Doc? How soon can you break me out of here?” Tony asks.

“Got to run a few tests, but I would say hopefully next couple days?” Dr. Cho looks at all the people sitting with Tony. “I may have to ask a few people to get off the bed so I can look you over.”

“Lunch was basically ready upstairs. How about the girls and I go eat and we’ll be back after?” Pepper suggests trying to get out of Dr. Cho’s hair.

“I’ll take Morgan upstairs. You stay with Dad.” You suggest. You know Pepper will want to know what’s going on anyway. This makes more sense. “You can come join us for lunch after the tests.”

“Ok.” You stand from the bed, stick your bookmark in your book you had forgotten about, before reaching for Morgan. You swing her off the bed and she squeals with laughter.

“Come on Momo. Let’s go upstairs. Maybe we can find some juice pops.” You whisper the last part loudly. Morgan giggles as she grabs onto your hand.

“Can we bring Daddy one later? He got hurt. He deserves a juice pop.” Morgan looks up at you with doe like eyes.

“I think we could probably do that.” You and Morgan walk towards the elevator as Morgan rambles on about different things. You honestly love the chatter of your little sister. Over the past few days, it’s filled the silence that your dad normally would and that calmed you some.

“Daddy’s going to be all better now right Y/N?” Morgan asks as you step on the elevator. “His arm still has a booboo.”

“His arm does have a booboo, but Dr. Cho is going to look at it and do what she can to help it. But Dad is going to be around for a long time.”

...A Stark Tag list: @persephonehemingway @iamaunicorn4704 @furiouspockettoad @daughter-of-stark @eternalharry @huntective-kyeo @riiis-stuff @sunnyoongles @cosmicqueenieb @sovereignparker @bbarnestan @teenwishes08 @iamthescarlettwitch @skyfallstilinski @cutie1365 @a-mnd @youarethereasonimsmiling @thefemalestorywriter @krazykendraisnotinsane @cathy8taffy @letssee2468 @babyreads @riyanna @theatregeek @bubblebunbun

Permanent tag list: @wormonastringonastick

strike won’t let me tag

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satrangee-ray · 3 years ago

Text

Meet my MC: About the Past

Inara Hepburn (she/they)

Trigger warnings: Mentions of queerphobia, bullying, loss of family member, sexual harassment.

More below the cut—

All characters and events depicted are fictional, any resemblance to real incidents are purely coincidental. The writer has no intention to throw allegations on, or hurt the sentiments of any community.

Background and family dynamic:

Inara Hepburn was born in 1992 at Los Angeles, California, to Manimala B. Hepburn and Thomas Hepburn, mainly as a last attempt to save their drowning marriage. Their birth merely delayed the inevitable, and two years later Thomas split with Mani for another woman, leaving her free from a toxic and abusive relationship.

Jobless in a big city all on her own, Mani decided to move back to her paternal residence in Kolkata with her two year old, to ensure them a happy and safe life. She took up a teaching job at a government school to cover for their expenses.

Growing up, Inara had a fairly good relationship with their mom, even to the extent of calling her their best friend. This, however, changed drastically when Inara came out to their mom. She was highly disappointed in them for "turning out" the way they did, and she kept searching for means to try and "change" them. Inara, on the other hand, had never felt more misunderstood, and hence, the easy dynamic between the two turned into a rocky one, with both of them dancing around the queer topic for years.

When Inara was 16, she was first diagnosed with anxiety and depression. Unfortunately, her therapist too turned out to be quite tentative in their approval towards her identity. They believed they could make her feel differently with pills and a couple of sessions. Feeling alone in a huge fiasco with no cooperation whatsoever from her family, friends, or doctor, Inara took to flushing pills down the toilet, and channeling all her feelings into journaling in her diary. It was from here that she found an idea forming, and two months into it, she started writing her first novel.

For one and a half years, Inara secretly worked on this novel, pouring her heart and soul out into perfecting every word. Finally, when it was done, Inara asked her mom to give her one last chance to explain everything, and gave her this book to read. Conditions being, no questions should be asked until the entire book has been fully read. Mani agreed, and by the end of it, she was in tears. The book had successfully managed to change all her inhibitions regarding people of different identities. Touched by Inara's talent and dedication, she helped her publish the book under the pen name Indradhanush.

Things had started to change for the better in the Hepburn household. At 21, Inara flew abroad to attend medical school. Four years later, a week before their graduation, they found out that their mom had passed away in a car accident on her way to the airport.

After their mom's demise, their aunt from Northern Irelands re-established proper connection with them, as she was their only parental figure left. Their aunt, uncle and cousin still keep touch with them, through occasional chats or video calls on Whatsapp.

Education and career path:

Inara completed her primary and secondary education from St. Jonathan's Convent, Kolkata (fictional). Throughout her school years Inara was equally good in science and literature. History-geography was not her forte, and the only reason she took up physics-chemistry-bio after her 10th boards along with the compulsory literature subjects is to avoid those two.

Outside of strict school studies, Inara had always been an inquisitive kid, questioning and introspecting everything in and around them to the degree that people called them crazy. Their mom had a masters in Bengali, hence they grew up in the environment of understanding and appreciating fiction. This led them to write poems and short stories from a very young age. They had almost decided on pursuing a literature based career.

In her school days, Inara was bullied for being "different"; aka both partially white and queer. She found it difficult to fit in, and hence the constant taunts became a part of her childhood trauma. She was also groped and sexually harassed by her math teacher in his office when she was in the 9th grade. Inara and her mom tried to report, but couldn't file a complaint as they were threatened by the said math teacher who held an important position in the church.

After 12th, Inara spent two years pursuing a bachelor's degree in English literature, and writing their second book. But by the first year, she had already encountered her life changing medical book 'Diagnostics Principles' by Dr. Ethan Ramsey (source: her family friend/physician), and her mind about her main career plans had begun to change. As soon as she made a decision, she quit college and took a year off to prepare for a medical entrance examination.

Having obtained a scholarship to study abroad, they took up their seat at a medical school in Boston, and completed their 4 year MBBS course. In the second year, their mom got another book of theirs published, this time a spy thriller, and that too recieved an overwhelming response. No one in their school or college knew it was them, cause it all happened under their pen name.

After graduation, she took up an internship position in Edenbrook Hospital, Boston.

Personal life:

The only best friends Inara had in school were Ayan and Vaani, a family outside of family. They were the ones to always defend her and have her back whenever they would get bullied. Later, Ayan too came out as gay, and Vaani is still questioning her sexuality, but between them three, there are never any judgements.

Inara fell in love with their classmate Pranani when they were 14, and they dated secretly for 4 years. Pranani's mom was a teacher in the same school and had an influence in the administration. Inara looked up to Pranani's mom a lot, until they realized she was the one to deliberately put them under that math teacher, to replace her own daughter's seat and transfer her to another section. Pranani knew, and did nothing to change it. On being confronted, Pranani tried to gaslight Inara and forcefully kiss her to dissolve the situation. Soon after, Inara broke it off.

Inara always had feelings for Vaani, and they had a short fling in their college days after she confessed. It mutually ended after they realized Vaani wasn't ready to commit, and they were better off as friends.

Inara held a key position in the LGBTQ+ committee of their med university. They ran several campaigns funded by the college over the four years, in and outside of the campus, to spread awareness, as well as aid and advocate for people of the community.

Childhood obsessions timeline— (in order of which one started first, cause none ended till date).

Disney musicals, Barbie movies, Tinker Bell

Akbar-Birbal

Rabindrasangeet

Sherlock Holmes

Western country music

Bio-chem (started early on, distinguished later, reignited at the start of their medical career)

Agatha Christie

Shakespeare

Queer fanfiction

Diagnostics Principles :).

About the books:

Phoenix– The first book by Indradhanush, based on an NRI queer couple in California who after several life turmoils find themselves and have a happy ending that the author felt she and her then girlfriend deserved.

The blurry insides of Truth– Second book by Indradhanush, and the last published till date, about a woman whose marriage gets interrupted due to attempted murder of one of her guests on her wedding day. Her to-be husband, a CID officer, stands accused. To what lengths will she go to defend him? Is she really defending him though, or is nobody who they seem to be?

That was my entry people! I had to change the name of my MC's school, because I can't put allegations on any real and existing one.

Hope you got a good insight into the past of my dearest Inara's life.

Tagging: @openheartfanfics @adiehardfan @barbean

#choices oph #open heart fanfiction #choices open heart #open heart #meet my mc #Inara Hepburn

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aliwritesfic · 3 years ago

Note

So since you did the cutest job with my mini golf ask…wondering what the TF boys would be like while tie dying with Frankie and his daughter?! I’m attempting to do that tomorrow with my son lol. Please and thank you if you’d like to explore the idea. 🥰😘

First of all, I am SO SORRY this took so long, I've been so busy with uni and forcing myself to actually do the work this semester (who would've thought I could actually apply myself) but I really enjoyed this, and it's actually made me want to go out and do some tie-dying of my own.

Anyways, here's Tie-Dye Tueaday

W/C: 1.6k

T-Minus 5 Hours Until Disaster

“Daddy?” a soft voice rose Frankie out of his fitful sleep. He distantly felt a tiny, warm hand rest on his cheek.

“Yes, cricket?” he mumbled voice heavy with sleep, struggling to open his heavy eyes. He had stayed up until the small hours of the morning frantically researching for the day, watching YouTube videos, making notes, doing whatever he could to prepare.

“Mommy’s going and said I should wake you up,” Everly pulled herself up onto the bed and sat down directly on Frankie’s bladder. He winced and pushed her off gently, wondering just how she always managed to find the worst spot to sit.

“Have you had breakfast?” Frankie asked, and Everly nodded. He said a silent thanks to his ever-amazing wife, who would be spending the day getting massages and facials and whatever else her heart desired before pushing out twins in less than two months’ time. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around that – there would be two more tiny humans in his life soon. The thought left him exhilarated and riddled with anxiety all at once.

Frankie carried Everly downstairs on his back, grabbing his cap from the dresser on his way. The boys would be here soon – they had agreed that tie dying alone with a hyper four year old was a terrible idea, so they were coming to dye something of their own and help Frankie keep a handle on things. Benny was especially excited to dye his shorts to wear to his next fight.

They were halfway through Coco, Everly’s favourite movie, when the front door opened and in came his three best friends, men he had no relation to but considered brothers. Everly went straight to Benny, who was undoubtedly her favourite of them. Frankie had his suspicion that is was because Benny loaded her up on sugar whenever he could. Sure enough, Frankie could see a packet of candy in the plastic bag Benny carried.

“You ready for this?” Will asked, placing a six pack in the fridge. Frankie sighed and nodded.

“Ready as I can be. It can’t go too badly, right?”

T-Minus 3 Hours Until Disaster

The sun was bright and hot on their backs as they set up. Everly sat in the shade of the oak tree, a cup of lemonade in one hand, and her favourite doll in the other. Frankie had forbidden her from coming out in the sun until the sunscreen was fully absorbed, which according to his watch wouldn’t be for another few minutes. It occurred to him that since becoming a father, his mind was filled with worries that he never even considered beforehand.

Frankie had brought dyes in every colour he could, several plastic tubs had been fished out of storage and so many ties that he was sure he would be finding them all around the yard for weeks to come.

“Whatta ya dying, Ev?” Santi called to Everly.

“Purple!” She responded, holding up a pristine white pair of cotton shorts and a shirt.

“Just purple?” Will asked.

“And pink and blue and green!” Everly jumped up, setting her cup down carefully and ran over. “I want it swirly. You should be rainbow wiggles.” She told her father seriously. Will grinned.

“She’s a natural born leader,” he said with more than a touch of pride.

“Just like her mother,” Frankie replied. He took the clothes that Everly held out and began to scrunch and fold them according to the instructions he had written down while watching YouTube last night. The whole thing seemed a lot easier when he was watching through a screen.

Everly chose her dyes as Frankie folded, occasionally handing a certain colour to one of the boys, telling them that they hadto use it. None of them wanted to defy the four year old, so each accepted his colours without protest. Benny seemed quite thrilled when he was given a colour labelled Hot Barbie Pink.

“So many guys will be so fuckin’ embarrassed to get their ass beat by a guy in pink shorts,” Benny grinned.

“Language, Ben!” Frankie darted a frantic look towards Everly, who stood with a cunning smile on her face. Frankie knew that she knew exactly what she wasn’t supposed to say.

“Fuck! Ass!” she declared. Will snorted and Santi had to turn away, face turning bright red from holding in laughter.

Frankie gaped, lost for words for a moment. “Everly, don’t ever say that, but especially the first one, and especially not in front of mommy, okay?”

“Why not?”

Frankie shot a look to Benny, who at least looked a tiny bit sorry. “They’re big people words. Each time you say one your . . . hair gets less curly.”

Everly, who loved her curly hair, looked stricken. Frankie felt bad about lying to his kid, but not as bad as he would’ve felt if his wife came home to a child cussing like she had just strolled out of the military.

The words seemed forgotten as the dye was applied. Everly was surprisingly artful in the way she applied the dye, carefully creating patterns that didn’t make much sense to Frankie but must have made sense to her.

T-Minus 30 Minutes Until Disaster

The group of them sat around the dining room table, beers for the boys and juice for Everly. Most of them had small flecks of multi-coloured dye on their hands, but Frankie was sure they would come off easity. Everly had scoffed down her lunch, and now sat staring outside, looking antsy.

“Go play if you want to,” Frankie said, “you don’t have to sit here.” Frankie was confident there wasn’t anything in the backyard that could pose a danger to her, and besides, he had a view of almost the whole yard from the table.

Everly tore off like a hurricane, juice forgotten as she ran outside, doll in hand.

“If the twins are anything like her . . .” Santi began, taking a sip of his drink. “Fish, you’re gonna have your hands full.”

“If they’re anything like Ev, they’ll be great kids,” Benny said. Will rose his beer bottle. ‘But yeah, you’re definitely gonna have your hands full.”

“Amen, I’ll drink to that,” he said. Frankie nodded and had a sip himself. They talked for a while about football, Benny’s next fight, Santi’s new flame.

Then a thought occurred to Frankie.

“Is it quiet out there?” he craned his neck to investigate the yard and saw . . . nothing. Frankie shot up from his seat, panic rising in his chest. “Everly?” He almost tripped over himself in his haste to get to the backyard. Every worst case scenario was forming in his head.

“Ev?” Benny was beside him in an instant.

“Daddy?” Everly wandered out from behind the tree, and Frankie took a deep breath, calming himself. She was unscathed . . . except for the dye that now stained her arms, legs, face, hair. She was grinning widely, and held up her doll, who was also covered in a rainbow of dye.

“Cricket, what did you do?” Frankie gaped, wondering just how she managed to get almost every inch of exposed skin in such a short amount of time.

“Miss Mildew wanted her hair to be pretty,” Everly explained.

“Your dolls name is Miss Mildew?” Santi asked, red in the face with held back laughter. Everly nodded proudly. She had heard the word on television one night and latched onto it.

“What do you think is worse,” Will murmured to Benny, “Ev swearing, or Ev covered in dye?”

“Swearing,” Benny said snickering, “you can wash out the dye, you can’t unlearn a word.”

“What word?” Everly asked. Ears of a hawk, Frankie thought.

“The word you’re not allowed to say,” Will said.

“And what word would that be?” A smooth voice behind them almost made Frankie jump out of his skin. His wife, beautiful and terrifying all at once, stood on the patio, one hand on her stomach, the other on her hip.

“Fuck!” Everly declared loudly and proudly.

“Teaching my child new words, I see, Benjamin.”

Benny to his credit, at least looked more apologetic than he did with Frankie.

Frankie’s wife waddled down into the yard and set her gaze on her husband. “That dye won’t make her sick will it?”

“No, no, not at all,” he said. He had specifically brought kid friendly, skin safe, non-toxic dye.

“Good. Then I’m gonna go lie down and try and forget my four-year-old just said the eff-word and is every colour under the sun.” His wife shook her head and rolled her eyes at Benny. Once she was inside, Frankie turned to Everly.

“C’mon, we gotta clean you up,” he reached to pick Everly up who shook her head.

“We gotta see what they look like first!” she said. Frankie considered her point and nodded.

“Alright, cricket,” he said. They unravelled the clothes to a chorus of oohs and aahs, Everly clapped her green hands together as her multi-coloured shorts and top were revealed.

Benny sheepishly wandered over to Frankie as he put everything in the washing machine. “Hey man, I really am sorry about that.”

Frankie shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Just buy the missus as much caffeine as she wants when she’s done breastfeeding and she’ll forget all about it.”

“I hope so. Her bad side is not a place I wanna be.”

Frankie laughed and scooped up Everly in his arms. Her curls were streaked with blue and her cheeks were magenta. “Trust me, she won’t stay mad for long. I don’t think she’s that mad to be honest.”

“You don’t?” Benny sounded unsure.

“Well she didn’t yell, and it looked like she was trying not to laugh. All things considered, I think today was a success story.”

Tagging @sharkbait77 because I think you’d enjoy this

#i love it when kids swear #frankie fix #frankie fic #triple frontier

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dustonmylips · 4 years ago

Text

I don't understand.

You were the only parent I had, it would've been your job to give my childhood the safety it was lacking.

I don't blame you for not stepping in when I told you they abused me, I get that you were a single parent and needed your rest, at least on the weekends.

But instead of using the weekdays to teach me self worth, to show me unconditional love and support, instead of that you ridiculed my feelings, refused to listen, made fun of my sensitivity, yelled at me and told me to shut up.

It would've been your chance to show me that love is not supposed to hurt.

Every time I only got a annoyed "I'm busy" when I clinged to you, every time you told me to stop telling you how much I love you all the time, every time something inside of me hurt, it was a dull and heavy pain and I didn't know what it was.

I was a child, feeling unloved by the people who were supposed to love me the most, the ones who were made to protect me.

I felt so alone, so so alone.

I felt alone when you brought me to visit them and didn't listen to my cries and begs, when I had stomach aches the day before, you ignored it.

I felt alone when I was at their house, when they were moody and threatened to hurt me, when I was fearing for my life one day, lying on the kitchen floor.

It was cold, oh so cold.

I felt alone when they forced me to sleep in their bed, I felt alone when they took me to the pub, full of old drunk men talking about playboy magazines and fishing.

I felt alone when they humiliated me in front of others, when they made me sit on their lap.

I felt alone when you just laughed it off as I told you about them making inappropriate comments about my body, that their partner hit me.

I felt alone when my stomach started aching as I heard them coming upstairs and when I cried as they went back down again.

I felt alone when they forbade me to play with the boys from their town, because they didn't like my "slutty behavior".

I felt alone when my sibling called me into their room to "try something fun".

I felt alone when I woke up crying because of the nightmares, waiting for someone to come to save me, but none came.

Ever.

I felt alone when I told you I was bullied and you said I should grow up and stop being so sensitive, that life wasn't all fun and games.

I felt alone when I hit my barbie dolls and made them commit crimes without anyone noticing.

I felt alone on my 8th birthday.

I felt alone when you started telling me all about your grown-up problems, but didn't allow me to talk about mine.

I felt alone when I caught you in the bathroom, throwing up on purpose for the first time.

I felt alone when I cut myself for the first time.

I felt alone when you made fun of me for getting lost.

I felt alone when you forgot to pick me up and then told me that I was "exaggerating" it and that I could've "just walked home".

I felt alone when the person who told me we were best friends abused me and turned all my classmates against me when I refused to endure it any longer.

I felt alone when I cried in the school restroom because I got a B.

I felt alone when the other kids told me to kill myself, to fuck off, that I was ugly, stupid, worthless.

I felt alone when those boys forced me to kiss him.

I felt alone when those men at the parade molested me.

I felt alone when my siblings' ex partner started sending me inappropriate messages.

I felt alone when you explained that r*pe victims were partly to blame for wearing revealing clothes/ sending the wrong signals.

But I went along with it, I went along with it because none ever respected my boundaries, because none ever listened to me to tell me that those things were wrong ,so very wrong that no child should ever experience them!!!

I went along with it because I was seeking validation, unconditional love and a listener.

And to this day, the small child that is trapped inside of me, longs for those things.

Now, tell me you can't understand why I became so emotionless, cold and hallow.

Say it, say it.

Right. in. my. face.

I always felt empty and it wasn't my fault.

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years ago

Text

Best Part of Me -Chapter 80

Warnings: none

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007

Her body is comforting; the warmth and the familiar weight of it laying atop his own. The feel of her skin pressed against his and the light, yet always alluring scent that lingers in her hair. His fingers more through it now. Slowly and gently combing through the silky, dark tresses; still damp with sweat following an intense and attentive session of love making. It had been so easy to lose himself in the moment. The escape. The sensation of hands and mouths moving over each other’s bodies as they took turns both worshipping and devouring one another. The way her touch alternated between gentle and greedy as her fingers and palms explored every inch of his shoulders, chest, and arms; legs securely wrapped around his waist and her heels pressing into the small of his back. It had been slow and tender at moments; long, soft kisses that saw closed mouth moving upon closed mouth, accompanied by whispers of love and praise. Other times it had been more frantic; a desperation behind aggressive, grabbing hands and tongues battling for dominance and much rougher, dirtier talk. Each minute...each SECOND...had been nothing short of perfection. The taste of her kiss and the digging and scraping of her nails against his skin. The noises that escaped from her mouth; the sound of his name, both soft sighs and whimpers, much louder begging and pleading and then her eventual release. His own had been powerful. His entire body locking up and then shuddering; eyes closed and his forehead pressed against hers as her heels dug into his ass as he emptied himself inside of her. She’d clung to him afterwards; arms tightly wound around his neck while he buried his face in the side of hers. And when he’d pulled back to look at her, there’d been tears in her eyes. There was no way to dismiss what he saw there; the fear and the worry and the anxiety. The realization that -whether it be through his demise or her own- it may very well be the last time they experience that kind of moment together. He’d done what he could to squash those thoughts; softly kissing her and quietly professing his love and adoration; fingertips moving over every inch of her face as if committing it to memory.

Now he lays on his back with her tightly pressed against him. That warm, supple body spread along his; breasts flattened against his chest, her eyes closed and her lips and the tip of her nose against one side of his jaw as her knuckles repeatedly grazed along the other. The pain hasn’t subsided, but for the time being it isn’t as intense; the three glasses of whisky he’d ended up consuming, the intense orgasm, and the heat radiating from her body all working together to successfully take the edge off his suffering. And he knows he should move; climb out of bed and get dressed and back to business. Despite Rata and Koen being there and heavily armed guards on high alert, she’s still his responsibility; promising nearly seven years ago to always protect her no matter how high the stakes or how extreme the costs. She and the baby growing inside of her are his sole priorities, and he has to keep them safe and get them through the next few days and then back home safe and sound. Even if it means sacrificing himself. Whether physically OR mentally.

“Boy or girl?”

Tyler’s eyes flicker open at the sound of her voice, finding her gazing up at him with her chin resting on his chest. “What?”

Her knuckles continue to brush against his jaw. “Boy or girl? What do you want?”

“I want a healthy baby. And a healthy momma.”

“You say that every time.”

“It’s all that matters to me; that you and the baby are okay.”

“Humour me,” she says, and drags the nail of her index finger down his chin. “Boy or girl?”

“Boy.”

“You would do that to me. Stack the house with testosterone. Isn’t it sufficient that you have enough testosterone for the entire male population of New South Wales? Do you really have to add more?”

“You’re going to say a girl, aren’t you. So what? Stack the house with estrogen? Thanks.”

“Better than testosterone.”

“I don’t think so. And why would you do that to ME? Another girl?”

“Look buddy, it’s your sperm that decides this. So you really only have yourself to blame. Besides, would another little girl really be that painful? You’re an amazing girl dad; a total study in contradiction. You’re big and strong and you have all those scars and tattoos and you’re so bad ass. Yet there you are, braiding hair and playing Barbies and attending tea parties and glitter stuck in your beard. And you never complain about any of it.”

“Why would I complain? She’s my little girl. Nothing I won’t do for her. Except wear the tiara.”

“She’ll break you yet. Or Addie will, when she’s old enough. Something tells me your little peanut will be able to convince you to do ANYTHING.”

“Well she is just like her mother and you’ve had me wrapped around your baby fingers since day one, so…”

“Do you remember when we found out that Millie was in fact going to be a girl? I thought you were going to have a coronary. You looked so scared.”

“I was scared. Me? Having a girl?”

“What? Did the sins of past transgressions with women come back to haunt you? Make you realize that there’d be guys like you after your daughter when she’s older?”

“That was part of it. It just scared me. The thought of having a girl. I didn’t know anything about raising a girl.”

“You have asked the ultrasound tech three times if she was sure. You were so spooked. But you got over it quick. The second she made her entrance into the world. The way you held her and she looked at you with those big blue eyes. You were a goner. You had your miracle baby.”

“Yeah,” he smiles, and pushes his hands through her hair, moving it off her shoulders. “She IS a miracle. In a lot of ways. I never thought I’d get that chance again; didn’t think I was worthy of being a dad again. And when you think about how she was made and where? During all that fucking craziness? The fact that something could have happened to you and we never would have known we were having her? She’s definitely a miracle.”

“I remember how cute you were while I was pregnant,” Esme muses. “I mean, you’ve been cute and gentle and so sweet with all of them. But with Millie, you were extra...well, you were EXTRA.”

“I was a total newbie. I didn’t get to experience all of that with Austin. I was pretty much gone the entire time she was pregnant with him. And I was in Kuwait when he was born, so I didn’t even get to see that.”

“You were just so adorable. You were always touching my tummy and you’d always talk to her or read to her. And she’d always kick or squirm when she heard your voice. Not that I blame her; it’s a very nice voice.”

Grinning, he tucks her hair behind her ears and then cradles her face in his hands, kissing her softly.

“And you always had the goofiest grin on your face when people would ask about her. That ‘hey, look what I did’ grin. You were so pleased with yourself. Like it was some great achievement; putting a baby in me.”

“At that time it was. Now all five of them are. Well, six. If we count little bean.”

“And you always made sure they gave us pictures at the ultrasound; you’d put every one of them on the fridge. I don’t think I’ve seen a prouder daddy-to-be. And you’ve been like that with every single one.”

“I am proud. I finally did something worthwhile with my life. I finally have things I can brag about. Didn’t have anything to be proud of until Millie came along.”

“I don’t know about THAT. Surviving half a dozen tours in the Middle East is pretty impressive.”

“It was my job. I did what I was told to do. Or what I had to do to survive. Let’s not romanticize it.”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” she complains. “You know how you always wish I could look at myself the way you do? Well I wish that you could see yourself the way I see you. The way your kids see you. Because we think you’re pretty amazing and we love you. More than you could possibly know. Life would be miserable without you.”

“Well hopefully you guys won’t have to find out just HOW miserable.”

She frowns. “You said we wouldn’t talk about that. That we wouldn’t talk fatalistically. You promised me that. For one night.”

“You’re right. I did promise that. I’m sorry.”

She presses a kiss to his lips. “You’re forgiven. This is some serious deja vu, huh?”

“What is?”

“This. Us in bed like this. When you’re supposed to be working.”

“Well if it wasn’t for you and your uncanny ability at distracting me while I’m working…”

“I will not be blamed for your hormones. It’s not my fault you’re incessantly horny and insatiable.”

“It’s your fault for lying in bed with your pants half down,” he argues.

“You’re so unprofessional, Tyler,” she teases. “You should really be written up. You should not be getting your rocks off on company time.”

“Technically, it’s our company so we can do whatever the fuck we want.”

“That is a very good point. I think I’m going to love being in charge. Does that I mean I get to boss you around sometimes?”

“Like you don’t already?”

“I do not boss you around!” Esme objects. “You wouldn’t let me do that. Boss you around.”

“I think you’re underestimating the power you have. You’ve been bossing me around for about seven years now.”

“Well you must enjoy it. I notice you stick around.”

“It’s not that I enjoy it, it’s that I really enjoy other things so I tolerate the bossiness.”

“When have I bossed you around? Name a time.”

“Four months ago when you made me paint our bathroom purple.”

“I couldn’t do it myself! I was pregnant. And for the record, it’s not purple. It’s mauve.”

“Mauve is a shade of purple.”

“It’s not purple like Barney the Dinosaur or like an eggplant. It’s a very subdued shade.”

“Yeah, a shade of purple.”

“Okay, so that’s ONE time! One time I’ve bossed you around.”

“Are you kidding me?” Tyler chuckles. “It’s been more than one time. Way more than I like to admit, actually.”

“So the big, bad mercenary is whipped. Your secret is safe with me. You can’t be a hard ass all the time, right? You might as well come home and be my bitch.”

“Excuse you? Your bitch?”

“Listen, if I have to be a snack and meal bitch for five kids, you can suck it up and be my bitch once in a while. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“The things I won’t do for you.”

“You do a lot for me,” she smiles, and pecks his lips. “You always have. You always step up and take care of me; no matter how bad you’re feeling or how much pain you’re in or shitty circumstances are. You ALWAYS step up. For me, for the kids. You’re just always there when you need you, without even having to be asked. I appreciate it. And you.”

Laying a hand on the back of her head, he pulls her into him and presses his lips to her brow. “Thank you.”

“You’re a good man,” she says, as she once more places her head upon his chest. “And I’m very lucky. That I even found you.”

“I don’t know; I think I’m the lucky one. If you hadn’t have taken the job with Nik, if you hadn’t been on the bridge that day…”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“I wouldn’t have what I have now. I’d be dead. I wouldn’t have gotten a second chance or the opportunity to fix my shit. And I wouldn’t have this life; you, my kids. And when I think about them or you not existing…”

“But we do. Exist.”

“Yeah, because you took the job. You could have taken one look at me and saw what a mess I was and said ‘fuck it’ and turned it down. But you didn’t. And now look. Look where we are.”

She scowls. “Yeah, back in Dhaka.”

“That’s NOT what I meant. I meant look where we are as in us. As a couple. We’ve come a hell of a long way since the first time we were here.”

“And since that little apartment in Sydney,” she muses.

“Seems like so long ago. Longer than seven years, that’s for sure.”

“We’ve been through a lot since then,” she reasons. “But I like where we’ve ended up.”

“Yeah,” he runs a hand over her hair and down her back, settling it at her tailbone. “So do I.”

Tyler relaxes once more as she settles against him; his knuckles repeatedly skimming up and down her spine, the fingers of his hand softly tracing random patterns on her shoulder and down her arm. It feels so good; being with her, The way her hair tickles his face and chest and how her warm, soft breath wafts against his skin. It’s the quiet, unassuming moments of intimacy that he sometimes enjoys the most. When they connect through something other than sex. There’s a bond between him that he can’t even begin to explain. Something so powerful and seemingly unbreakable that began on that bridge seven years ago.

“What do you think you would have been?” Esme asks, once more breaking the silence. “If you had never one into the military?”

“I don’t know,” he admits.

“What did you want to be when you were a kid?”

“Away from my father.”

“You must have had a dream. Something you wanted to do.”

“Well the unrealistic side of me wanted to be a professional surfer or football player. The realistic side of me always went back and forth between a cop and a firefighter.”

“I could see you being either of those. I mean, you’re big and strong. Athletic. And you have no damn fear.”

“Believe me, I have a lot of those. I just don’t tell you about them.”

“You would have made a really good policeman. In that uniform? All intimidating with your eyes and your take no shit attitude. You could have told me to assume the position and I would have obliged right away.”

He chuckles at that.

“A cop or fireman are both very fitting for you,” Esme concludes. “They’ve both got that edge; high intensity at times. That danger. Definitely good jobs for you. Or a construction worker. I could see you in construction. In a pair of well worn jeans and no shirt and all sweaty and tanned.” She sighs dreamily.

“Is that your fantasy?”

“Baby, you ARE my fantasy. I don’t need to imagine anything other than what I already have.”

“You’re really good for my self esteem, you know that?”

“How a man that looks like you has self esteem issues, I will never know. But you’re perfect the way you are. At least to me.”

“Even with all the scars?”

“They’re part of who you are. Where you’ve been, what you’ve gone through, what you’ve survived. I don’t like the stories behind most of them, but I love YOU. And they’re part of you, so…”

Smiling, he drops a kiss on the top of her head. “What about you? What would you have done? If you’d stayed in college?”

“I would have probably changed my major. Maybe went into English Lit or something like that.”

“I was NOT expecting that.”

“You thought for sure I was going to say teacher or nurse, didn’t you.”

“Well you did mention teacher once. And you did a damn good job of nursing me back to health seven years ago. And your sponge baths are second to none.”

She giggles. “You only think that because you got special treatment during your sponge baths.”

“You were very good to me. And so were your hands. Sometimes even your mouth.”

“You’re such a pig,” she laughs. “I hope you know that if I had been a nurse, I would NOT have given that kind of treatment to all my patients.”

“Just tall Australian guys with muscles and blue eyes?”

“They would have to have an amazing ass and the stamina of a God, too.”

“And you say I put YOU on a pedestal.”

“You’re worthy of your pedestal. But yeah; I would have gone into English Lit. Or maybe psychology. But I did have one long standing dream when I was young. Sometimes I even still think about it.”

“Yeah? What’s the dream?”

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Why would I laugh?”

“You might think it’s funny.”

“Try me.”

“I’ve always wanted to own a bookstore.”

Tyler glances down at her.

“Weird, right?”

“No, it’s not weird. I’m just surprised. It’s the first I’ve heard about it in seven years.”

“I’ve never had a reason to talk about it. It was just a silly dream. Or at least it was until we got back to Australia and I got a look at all the little shops in town. They’re quaint and they’re cute and it’s such a nice, picturesque area. It makes me think of my little bookstore whenever we’re there.”

“Really?”

“Really. I know; it’s silly. Tell me it’s silly.”

“I don’t think it’s silly at all. I think it’s a nice idea.”

“And not just any bookstore, either. Not one of those stuffy, uptight kinds. But where people can come in and relax; cozy chairs and tables to sit at and a place where they can buy baked goods and other treats and get something to drink. With a fireplace and an awesome kids section; bean bag chairs and aquariums with fish and turtles. And a sensory area for kids with special needs. It would be bright and cheerful; lots of windows and natural light. And a little garden out back where people sit and get fresh air if they want.”

“Wow…” he grins. “...you’ve really thought about it.”

“Just a dream. I had it all figured out when I was ten. I mean, I’ve added ideas through the years. I even made a floor plan when I was fourteen.”

“What did you call it?”

“It’s never had a name. I could never come up with one.”

“How come you never did it?”

“A lot of things went to shit after my dad died and my mom got even MORE toxic. Life went in a different direction. And then I met Mark and…” she shrugs. “...well we know how THAT turned out. I brought it up once to him; he thought it was stupid.”

“HE was stupid.”

“Among other things. You don’t think it’s stupid?”

“No. I think it’s pretty cool, actually. And if you wanted to do it, we could make it happen.”

“It was just a dream.”

“Doesn’t HAVE to be just a dream. If it’s something you want to do…”

“Don’t enable me, Tyler. You’re supposed to be the one talking me out of these things.”

“No, I’m supposed to be the one encouraging you to do things.”

“Have you been listening to Barack Obama’s podcast again? Was he giving one of his talks about treating Michelle like the queen she is?”

“I don’t need him to encourage me to treat my wife like a queen. And if something you want to do...the bookstore…”

“I’m too busy raising five little kids right now; in five or six months, there’s going to be a new baby in the house. And we already have a business, remember?”

“You could still have one of your own and help with the other one.”

“Baby, I love you so much for wanting this for me, but we both know now is not a good time. We’re having another baby; that’ll be six kids under seven. I won’t have time to do anything extra. And I’m happy the way things are right now. Maybe when they’re all in school and you’re gone a lot. It would give me something to do and I won’t be so lonely.”

“So ask you again in another few years,” he concludes.

“You’ll forget in a few years.”

“Esme, I don’t forget anything when it comes to you. I still remember what you were wearing when you showed up at the shack, and that was almost seven years ago. I remember it like it was yesterday. And I remember every bit of every conversation we had during those five days.”

Her lower lip and chin begin to wobble. “Don’t make me cry, Tyler James. I’ve cried enough today.”

“I remember how I promised I’d never make you cry. I fucked that up pretty good, didn’t I.”

“For what it’s worth, you’ve made me smile and laugh more than you’ve made me cry.”

Smiling, he tangles his fingers in her hair and pulls her into a kiss; long and deep, her body sliding along his she reaches up to curl her arms around his neck. “I should get dressed,” he says, and rubs the tip of his nose against hers.

“No. You shouldn’t. In fact, it should be illegal for you to ever wear clothes.”

“Man, your hormones ARE going crazy.”

“I can’t help it. I can’t help that I find my husband amazingly sexy. That I can’t get enough of him. Maybe you should have been uglier if you didn’t want me objectifying you so much.”

“You wouldn’t have bothered with me if I was uglier.”

“That’s a fair point.”

“I really should get dressed.”

She pouts dramatically.

“I’m sorry. But I am working.”

“We’re in the same room. What is going to happen to me when you’re THIS close by?”

“I should at least have pants on if the shit hits the fan.”

“If you leave them off, you’d defeat them with sheer humiliation. Or maybe seeing you naked would turn them on and they’d be so uncomfortable with it, they’d just leave.”

Smoothing her hair away from her face, he keeps it clasped in his hands and presses a kiss to her lips. “You’re weird.”

“Maybe. But you secretly enjoy my weirdness. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have hung in for seven years. You either like it, or you’re a glutton for punishment.”

“Maybe it’s a bit of both,” he teases.

“You definitely enjoy it. That’s why we have five ids. And one on the way. You enjoy it a little too much.”

“There’s no such thing as too much. And as much as I want to stay here like this all night…” he pecks her lips and runs his palms along her arms. “...you need to get off me.”

“Fine.” She gives another pout and then rolls off him and onto her side; elbow on the mattress and the side of her head in her palm. Watching him with a mix of admiration, appreciation, and lust as he slides out of bed and begins gathering up long discarded clothing. “Baby, you are so sexy.”

Tyler grins. “And you call me biased?”

“It’s the truth,” she declares, then laughs when the shirt he tosses her way lands on top of her head. “Walking sex. That’s what you are. Which is another reason we have so many kids. That and you have very determined swimmers. Not even birth control or a vasectomy could stop those suckers! And don’t you dare say it…” she slips the tee over her head. “...or I WILL throat punch you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“I could take you. And you know it.”

“Mmm…hmmm…” He clips the holster and gun to his hip, then stands at the side of the bed, hands gentle as they rest on the side of her face; tilting it up towards him. “I love you.”

“I know.” She presses her lips to his heavily calloused palm. “I’ve never once doubted it. And I love you, too. So much.”

He kisses her. So soft and so tender it brings tears to her eyes.

****

The text comes at ten in the morning as they lounge on the couch in the living room; half eaten plates of breakfast resting in their laps. It’s nothing more than numbers on the screen, a simple yet effective message that opens the gateway to the path that leads home. And she hurriedly sets her plate on the coffee table and scrambles to gather a notebook and pen; uncapping the latter with her teeth as she clicks dials the number provided and then places the phone on her thigh and the call on speaker.

“You don’t know how to mind your own business,” a male voice scolds in way of greeting.

“And you don’t know how to play fair,” Esme retorts. “Taking the wife and kid of a man who died seven years ago? Threatening another woman and her children? That’s pretty low; even for bottom dwellers like you.”

“Mouthy. Typical western woman. Nothing that a good backhand wouldn’t fix. Perhaps we should teach your husband a thing or two; about how to control his woman and teach her how to respect men.”

“You can kick a dog to make it stay, but it stays out of fear, not respect. And I’m not speaking to a man right now; I’m speaking to a boy. A cowardly little boy. Because no man would sink to what you have. A man...a REAL man...wouldn’t idolize trash like Amir Asif.”

“You keep that name out of your mouth,” he growls. “You keep it out of your whore mouth.”

“You know what, fuck you buddy,” Tyler snaps. “Don’t fucking talk to her like that. You may talk to your girl like that, but don’t EVER talk to mine like that.”

The man on the other end of the line chuckles. “I should have known you’d be listening. Always the protector. How have you been enjoying the games? We made them up. Just for you.”

“How about you meet me in person and I show you a whole new game,” Tyler suggests. “That kind that ends with me putting you in the fucking ground.”

Esme reaches out and lays a comforting hand on the back of his neck, repeatedly squeezing.

“You object? To our games? You object to her being called a whore? Isn’t that what she was? When you first met? Your whore?”

“I will fucking kill you. I will find you and rip you apart with my bare fucking hands. You hear me? I’ll…”

“Enough with the games,” Esme orders into the phone. “They’re not clever, they’re not cute. They’re ridiculous and they’re boring and they scream of desperation. We don’t intimidate easily. If at all. So how about you knock this shit off and we get down to business. The people we’re working for are willing to meet your demands; twenty five million dollars for the woman and the boy. You can keep the mercenary; we don’t want him. He’s damaged goods now. And you can tell him I said that.”

“You don’t want your own man? Your own employee? That’s cold.”

“We know he’s in on it. We know he’s working for Mahajan. That you’re using him as bait. You really don’t think we’re stupid, do you? You’re not dealing with street thugs; we’ve been in this business for a long time. We’ve seen and heard it all. From bigger and better. We were able to get Ovi Mahajan out. And we killed Amir Asif in the end. So your threats and your games mean nothing. They’re not scary. They’re laughable.”

“You won’t be finding it very funny if we get to your children, will you. That won’t be so laughable, will it.”

“I will fucking kill you and everyone you love,” Tyler fumes. “I will hunt every last one of your relatives down and make you watch while I put a bullet in each of their brains. And then I’ll fucking drown you in their blood. And that’s a promise.”

Another chuckle. “You act and talk so tough. But it only took one of us to bring you down last time. And you should have done everyone a favour and died on that bridge. In the end, you needed a woman to come to your rescue. To fight your battles. Now THAT’S pathetic.”

“Do you want the money or not?” Esme inquires. “Twenty five million. For the woman and the kid.”

“You know what we really want. WHO we want.”

“And I made it very clear that that is non negotiable. You won’t get that. You won’t get HIM. That offer got left on the table and died there. Twenty five million dollars. Take it or leave it.”

“And if we agree to take it?”

“I want proof of life, and I want it today. Within the next few hours. And it has to be current; today’s date and time stamp. You try and fuck me on this, and I will send a whole army to take you and your friends down. Because I have that power. I have the power and the money and the resources to do it. Do you really want to test me?”

“You’re not able to do that,” the man scoffs. “Bring us down.”

“Oh, I DO have that power. I can get it all done with one phone call. You really didn’t think we’d be in this alone, did you? That it would just be the two of us? You have no idea the amount of people I have at my disposal. Or the weapons or the tech. I’m in charge here, not you. How do you know I haven’t traced this call and already have snipers with you in their crosshairs? You have no idea what I can do. So fuck you and your games. You want the money or not?”

A heavy sigh. “Thirty.”

“No,” she refuses. “Twenty five. That was your original demand and that’s all you’re getting. Not a single goddamn cent more. I don’t take orders from you. I don’t take orders from ANYONE. And I especially don't take them from gutter rats. Twenty five. Take it or fuck off.”

“You want proof of life?”

“The deal won’t happen if I don’t get it. You’ll get nothing but a death sentence. I want a video. A live one.”

“You want to see them with your own two eyes?”

“That’s EXACTLY what I want.”

“You can have that. Under one condition..”

She snorts. “You don’t give me conditions, kiddo. That’s not how this works.”

“Do you want your friends alive or dead? It’s up to you. Do you want their blood on your hands?”

Tyler leans into her, lips pressed to her ear. “Ask what they want.”

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll play. Just this once. What’s your condition? Humour me.”

“You can have proof of life, but only in person.”

“Fuck no,” Tyler whispers harshly. “Tell him to go fuck himself. You’re not doing that.”

“Fine,” she ignores him, and her husband glares at her and sighs in exasperation, then springs up from the couch and rakes both hands through his hair before pacing the floor. “Tell me where to go. Give me the address.”

“Do you think WE’RE stupid? That we’d just give you the address and then you’d send your people there? You come here, to where we are, and we take you there. Blindfolded. So you can’t see where we are talking.”

“Tell them no,” Tyler orders. “Tell them no and to shove it up their ass.”

“You know I can’t do that,” she addresses the man on the phone. “That’s a setup. You want me there so you can grab me and hold me hostage because that will bait my husband. You really do underestimate me, don’t you. I don’t go anywhere alone. If I agree, someone goes with me.”

“You bring him. Your husband.”

“Nope. It won’t be him. So you can grab BOTH of us? Or kill him on sight? I won’t play these games. I’ll come, but I’m not bringing him. Someone else, but NOT him.”

“Then he keeps his distance. If any of my people see him even remotely close by, we kill you. No hesitation. Understand?”

“Where do you want me to meet you?”

“Amir Asif’s house. You come here, we take you to see your friends. Simple as that. I give you my word that no harm will come to you.”

“Your word means shit,” Tyler speaks up. “Tell us where they are. Or I will grab all of you one by one and find ways to make you talk. I’ve got all the time and the rage in the world, believe me.”

“We haven’t hurt her or your children yet, have we? But we COULD. I think we’ve shown that; no? With the baby? She really is the cutest little thing. Such an adorable smile. And your other daughter? So pretty. Blond hair and blue eyes. We could keep her for a few years; she’d make a good child bride.”

“You fucking asshole!” Tyler storms across the room and snatches the phone from Esme’s thigh; hands trembling as he takes the cell off speaker and presses it to his ear. “ I will fucking hunt you down...every last one of you...I will fucking torture you in ways you can’t even begin to imagine. Then I’ll beat you within an inch of your life, stop, and then torture you all over again. And maybe I’ll put a bullet between your eyes. If you’re lucky.”

“She has six hours; to make up her mind. She hasn’t decided by then, we will kill all three of them. And then we’ll kill your children. One by one.”

“You fucking prick. How about you man up and you meet ME face to face. Or are you that much of a coward?”

“Six hours,” the other man insists, then disconnects the call.

“Motherfucker!” Tyler roars, and tosses the phone onto the couch; slamming into the cushions with enough force that the cell bounces violently and hits the floor. The rage is intense; his entire body drawn tight and trembling, fists tightly clenched and jaw painfully set. And he can hear the rush of blood in his head; feels the throbbing of the surgically repaired vein in his neck.

“Okay...Tyler…” Esme’s on her feet, rushing to him and laying her hands on his chest; palms moving slowly and soothingly over the expanse of hard muscle and the fabric of his shirt. “...you need to calm down...you need to breathe...just breathe…”

“You heard what he said?”

“I heard. I heard every word.”

“That’s my daughter.”

“She’s my daughter too. I heard what he said. And it’s vile and it’s evil and it’s disturbing. But he said it to get to you; to fuck with you. Break your brain, then break your body, right? Don’t let them do it. Don’t let them win.”

“That’s my little girl…” he speaks through ragged gulps of air, tears of both rage and fear streaming down his face. “..if they get to her….”

“It’s just words. That’s all it is. They won’t touch her. In the same way they didn’t touch Addie. They’re doing this to break you. And you can’t let them, okay? You can’t. I need you to calm down. Just to try to breathe, okay?”

“I can’t...I can’t breathe...I can’t…”

“You’re really close to having a panic attack and I won’t be able to get you out of it. Can you at least sit down, please?”

He nods, and she grabs a hold of the front of his shirt and yanks him towards the couch. Waiting until he drops down onto it to lay a hand on the back of his head; encouraging him to place it between his knees. “You need to breathe, Tyler. Just breathe.”

She leaves him momentarily, rushing for the box of meds in the kitchen; hastily dumping them onto the counter before selecting the bottle she wants. Then returns to the living room with several small, white pills cradled in her palm.

“Take them,” she gently orders, then places her hand over his lips. Forcing the pills into his mouth and then grabbing a now lukewarm mug of coffee from the table and using it as a chaser. “It’ll pass,” she confidently assures him. “Just try and relax.”

His eyes are closed as he rests his forehead against her, and she drops a kiss on the top of his head; gently stroking his hair and his ears and the back of his neck. Feeling the way his body slowly begins to relax as the meds act quickly; a strong force combined with the comfort -and security- she effectively provides him with. And when the tension and the rage finally release, he begins to sob. His entire body shaking, arms wrapped tightly around her slender waist.

“It will be over soon,” Esme promises, her voice quivering with emotion. “It’ll all be over soon.”

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #tyler rake fan fic #extraction #extraction 2020 #extraction fan fic #chris hemsworth character #best part of me

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myownsuperintendent · 5 years ago

Text

New Fic: “Faith” (Welcome Series)

In Wyoming, Scully considers her own faith through her conversations with Emily. Part of my Welcome Season 11 AU (based on the false Emily casting rumors), set between “Conversations” and “At the House.” Rated G. Also here on Ao3; the whole series is here.

.....

When they go downstairs in the morning, both of the kids are gone.

Of course, Emily’s an adult, and William’s not exactly a baby either, at seventeen. And it’s not as though she and Mulder have any authority over them, Scully thinks. There’s no reason to expect them to consult with two near strangers about where they go or what they do.

None of that keeps her from a rising feeling of panic, when she looks around the house and doesn’t see them anywhere. Emily’s door is ajar; even William’s isn’t tightly shut as usual. Something has happened, she thinks. Someone’s taken them. And then, when her rational mind points out that they heard nothing, that there are no signs of a struggle: They’ve left. They’ve gone. They don’t want to be here with us. Because William’s made that clear enough, and maybe Emily threw in her lot with him, even though she’s seemed to want to get to know them. She wouldn’t blame her, might even admire her for it. But having this chance, even if it felt slim and complicated and heart-breaking, and now having it taken away again…

“Are their things here?” Mulder’s face is pale.

“We can’t go through their things,” Scully says.

“But if something—”

“We can’t go through their things,” she says; she hears her own voice sharp, rising. “We need them to trust us and we can’t go through their things!”

“Do you think they left?” he asks, pain in his voice. “You don’t think Emily…”

“I don’t know,” she says. She looks out the window; there’s so much land. So many places for two kids to get lost. They must have loved growing up here, she thinks, and almost hates the thought. “Should we go out and look?” It sounds like a wild goose chase even as she’s saying it, but she doesn’t want to sit here and do nothing.

They’re collecting their shoes from the guest room when they hear a car. When they rush downstairs, Emily and William are just closing the door behind them. She’s wearing a blue skirt and cardigan set; he’s wearing a button-down shirt and khaki pants.

“Oh, good morning!” Emily says, smiling. “Did you two find everything for breakfast? Will, don’t—” But he’s already pushing past them, on his way up the stairs. They hear his door slam. It still hurts, but the relief at knowing he and Emily are alive and home makes up for it a little.

“Where—” Her voice still sounds shrill, and she makes herself steady it. “Where were you two?”

She still sounds frightened, she thinks, because Emily’s face takes on a look of concern. “Oh, gosh,” she says. “We didn’t mean for you to worry about us. We were at church.”

At church. She was thinking abduction, abandonment, and they were at church, where many people go on a Sunday morning, which this is. “Oh,” she says. “Of course.”

“I’m really sorry if we frightened you,” Emily says. “You weren’t downstairs yet when we left, and I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“It’s okay,” Scully says. She’s clinging on to the kitchen island, she realizes; she lets go.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Mulder adds.

“We didn’t want to miss again this week,” Emily explains. She doesn’t say anything more, but Scully does the math; last Sunday was the day after they arrived. Things were probably too chaotic for Emily and William to think about church.

“That makes sense,” she says. “We just…I forgot what day it was, I guess.”

“It happens,” Emily says. “I should have mentioned it to you last night. We should have invited you.”

Now that’s a thought. She imagines sitting in a pew beside the two of them. Somehow, she doesn’t think it would make her relationship to her faith any more straightforward.

“It’s all right,” she says again. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Emily studies them, her brow furrowed. “Do you go to church, usually?” she asks. “I mean, you don’t have to…I mean, we do, but…”

“It’s not really my thing,” Mulder says, lightly. From the look on Emily’s face, Scully can’t tell if this is what she expected.

“I do sometimes,” Scully says. “Mostly at the holidays. I used to go to mass then with my mom. Your grandmother,” she says, wondering what that relationship would have been.

“Oh, you’re Catholic?” Emily asks, and Scully nods. “And your mom…is she…did she pass or…?” She, too, seems unsure how to navigate this relationship at second hand.

“Yes, she passed away a couple of years ago,” Scully says.

“I’m so sorry,” Emily says. “That’s…that’s very sad.” Scully’s struck by the words she chooses. She wonders if Emily is sympathizing with her or mourning for herself.

“Thank you,” she says.

“You could still come with us if you wanted to,” Emily says. “Everyone is very friendly, at our church. But you don’t have to,” she adds quickly.

Scully thinks about the two of them coming through the door this morning. William had been smiling, until he caught sight of her and Mulder. Maybe church is a place where he’s happy. Maybe it’s one where she shouldn’t intrude. She settles for, “Thank you for asking us,” which isn’t a yes or a no.

Emily knows she’s being diffident, she can tell; her daughter is no fool. But she doesn’t press it. She just says, “Did you have breakfast yet? Do you want to make something together?” And when they nod, she opens the refrigerator.

.....

Scully wakes up early the next Sunday, but she doesn’t approach the kids. She watches the car pulling away before she goes downstairs. Thinking about Emily’s cooking, she decides that she’ll make breakfast today; Mulder and Emily will want to share it with her, she thinks, even if William doesn’t. And even if he doesn’t, at least she can offer. At least she can let him know that she’s going to keep trying.

They come through the door, dressed nicely again, talking to each other. “…think about it,” Emily is saying. “Because I think it would make all of you happier…” She breaks off, when she sees Scully.

“Good morning,” Scully says. “How was church? I thought we could have breakfast…” William starts for the stairs.

“William!” Emily calls after him. “You’re not paying attention to anything I—” But her voice fades as he disappears from sight. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m trying.”

“You don’t have to,” Scully says. “Mulder and I will. It’s not your job.”

Emily doesn’t look as if she much cares for the idea of something not being her job, but she nods. “I try to keep telling myself,” she says, “that it’ll happen when it’s meant to. And it will.”

“Yes, when he’s ready,” Scully says. “We can have breakfast, anyway. The two of us. And Mulder will be down soon.”

“That sounds nice,” Emily says. “It was sweet of you to make this, Dana.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Scully says, even though it sounds kind of silly. “Well, one of the things I’m here for, anyway.” Emily laughs and takes a piece of fruit.

“Did you have a nice morning?” she asks Emily.

“Yes, thank you,” Emily says. “There was a good sermon. It…well, I think it helped me.” Scully wonders if she herself could say that kind of thing, openly, to someone she really didn’t know that well yet. She wonders if she wishes she could.

“Did you go to this church with your…?” She wishes she knew what to call the Van de Kamps. “Well, have you been going since you were kids?”

“Yes, since I came here,” Emily says. “I guess pretty much everyone around here goes there, if they’re going.”

“That makes sense,” Scully says. She forgets they’re not in the city.

“So we know everyone,” Emily continues, “and that makes it like home.”

Home. A fraught proposition for all of them. “Have you told anyone,” Scully asks, “about us?”

“Just Steve,” Emily says. “Otherwise no. Not yet. And I don’t think Will has either.”

“You know it’s okay for you to talk about it,” Scully says. “This doesn’t have to be a secret.” She doesn’t want it to be, but more than that she doesn’t see how it can be. Not forever.

“I know,” Emily says. “And I’m sure people would be nice about it. It’s just hard to explain.” That’s an understatement. “I’m doing all right, though. Like I said, the sermon helped.”

“What was it about?” Scully asks.

“Meeting people where they are,” Emily says. “So you can help them.”

A topic seems like it could hold meaning for more people than just Emily. “That sounds nice,” she says, hoping it doesn’t sound too weak, too vague.

“It was,” Emily says.

.....

Emily comes through the door on Saturday morning with a large shopping bag. “Toys,” she announces, setting it down on the kitchen island.

“I’m sorry?” Scully says.

“We’re a little old for toys,” Mulder says, grinning, “but it was sweet of you to think of it.”

“They’re for the church drive,” William announces. It’s still unusual for him for address them when he’s not responding to a direct question; Scully wonders if he’s trying to show them how much they still don’t know about their children.

“Yes,” Emily says. “I bought them yesterday after work. I thought maybe we could wrap them here.”

“Sure,” Scully says. “That sounds good.”

“Will, could you get the wrapping paper?” Emily asks. He nods, darting out of the kitchen quickly. But he returns soon enough, with Christmas wrapping paper, covered in wreaths and bells and smiling Santa Clauses.

They take the paper, a roll of tape, and Emily’s bag into the living room, and the four of them settle around the table to wrap the toys. It’s easier this way, Scully thinks, when they have a project to work on; they can just talk to the kids about the task at hand, not try to elicit feelings or deeper truths. Emily’s bought a range of toys: Barbies, stuffed animals, little toy cars, art supplies. “Wow, you got a lot,” Mulder says. “Aren’t other people bringing toys too?”

“Of course they are,” Emily says, tearing off neat strips of tape and lining them up along the edge of the table. “But I always like to get things. The more the merrier.”

“This is cute,” Scully says, taking a stuffed bunny to wrap. Looking at the toys here makes her think of all the years she missed. She’ll never wrap toys for her own kids, even if she’ll wrap them alongside them.

“Thanks,” Emily says. “They give us a list of things kids are asking for, so I try my best to get them.” She’s wrapping an art set. “I used to love these things. It’s so much fun, getting Christmas presents.” She and Mulder have gotten the kids presents, at least, Scully thinks. But she’s not sure if they made the right choices. After years of no presents, the first one holds too much weight. “I’m going to take them over to the church tomorrow,” she adds. “Maybe you could come?”

“If you’d like,” Scully says. In some ways it seems safer, going with the kids at Christmas instead of a regular weekend. There’ll probably be a lot more people there; they won’t have to face as many questions. Yet it feels loaded, too, this season of joy and miracles. You might say she’s got her miracle now: her children, found. Her family, together. It’s a miracle that she wants to believe in, that she desperately wants not to lose, but it’s work, too, every day. Of course that’s partly her own fault. Another complication. She shakes her head, sticking a piece of tape to the wrapping paper. “Are there any other special things your church does at Christmas?” she asks. “Besides the toy drive.”

“We have special decorations,” Emily says. “Lots of holly and all that.”

“And cookies,” William adds. “After the service.”

“Well, there are always cookies,” Emily says, “but the Christmas ones are especially good. And we have lots of singing.”

“Do you like singing?” Scully asks.

“Well, I like it,” Emily says, “but…” She pauses as if deep in thought.

“But she’s terrible at it,” William says. “That’s what she’s trying to find a way to say.” He grins. Scully tries to think whether he’s included them in a joke before. She doesn’t think he has. Maybe that’s another miracle.

“I am bad,” Emily says. “But that’s not the point, when you’re singing in church. Being good or bad, I mean.”

“I’m not a good singer either,” Scully says. She likes finding these commonalities, however tenuous.

“Aw, you’re not bad,” Mulder says. He’s wrapping an unwieldy teddy bear, and her heart surges with love. She’s been feeling that a lot when she looks at him lately, when so much else is uncertain.

“I bet the kids are really going to like these,” Scully says. “You’re…” She’s not sure what to say. You’re a good person, she wants to tell Emily, because she’s learned in the past two months that she is, truly good. She’s afraid the words will sound overly simple, that she won’t be expressing what she really feels. But she wants to be honest with the kids, to not hold back. So she says it. “You’re a good person.”

Emily smiles. “Thank you,” she says. “I try to be. I don’t think I’m anything that special. But Christmas should be about doing good things for people. That’s what we’re meant to do.” She ties a ribbon around one of the packages, carefully.

Maybe Emily’s right; at least, Scully feels a pull from the words. She knows that Emily’s faith is of a different brand from her own. Emily doesn’t have the doubts she has. Emily has things she knows she has to do—go to church, spend what looks like a week’s rent on toys for kids who don’t have any, be endlessly kind to the rest of them even when things are unbearably tense—and she does them. But the idea of Christmas as a time of goodwill is one that Scully can share.

“I’ll go with you tomorrow,” she tells Emily. “At least to bring the presents.”

“Oh, that’s great!” Emily says, and she’s smiling now.

.....

Yesterday was a hard day. They still have those. They’re not uncommon. They still hurt like hell.

It started off as a simple conversation—about baseball season coming up, about William playing, about going to see his games. And then it turned into a discussion of how they’d never seen any of his games before, how they had no right to be excited to see him play now, it had nothing to do with them, because they left him, they gave him up, maybe the Van de Kamps had ulterior motives but at least they had been there to help him learn to catch a ball, which was more than could be said for Mulder or Scully, and that was their fault, and they couldn’t just come in and start to care now and expect everything to be great. William slammed his door. Emily followed him, but when she came back downstairs, she didn’t say anything, only looked troubled. Scully cried in the bathroom that night, when she was getting ready for bed; Mulder knew she’d been crying, of course, and they held each other tightly in the guest room bed in the home of their children’s other parents, her head tucked under his chin.

They decided to give him space this morning, so they didn’t come down until after the kids left for church. When they get back, William gives them a tentative smile as he comes through the door. “Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Mulder says.

“Hi,” Scully says. Maybe it’s enough. They eat breakfast together, the four of them, and talk about watching a movie that night.

Scully can feel the tension dissipating as she washes the breakfast dishes with Emily; Mulder and William are taking a walk. “Are you okay?” Emily asks, looking at her as she passes her a dish to dry.

She’s promised herself that she won’t make Emily her sounding board, but she doesn’t want to lie either. “Better,” she says. “Thanks.”

“Do you…” Emily pauses, scrubbing at a plate. “Do you…sorry if I shouldn’t be asking…do you have anyone who can help you? Or anything?”

She’s touched, but she doesn’t want Emily to be worrying about her. “Thank you for asking, sweetheart,” she says. “I have Mulder.”

“Oh, of course,” Emily says. “But…I guess I meant someone more outside.”

“You mean like a therapist?” Scully asks. “I don’t right now. But you’re right. It wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

“Or even…I don’t know,” Emily says. “It’s just that you’re always trying to take care of us. And that’s good, don’t get me wrong. And I think I kind of know what it’s like…not exactly, of course…but I try to help Will too.”

“You help a lot, Emily,” Scully says. “I just worry that it’s too much—”

“See, that’s what I mean,” Emily says, and Scully has to admit that she has a point. “But maybe if you had something to take you out of it all. Crocheting’s like that for me. And church.”

Crocheting and church aren’t necessarily analogous activities, in Scully’s mind. “What do you mean?” she asks.

“Well, when I crochet,” Emily says, “I don’t really worry about things, because I start concentrating on the pattern. And even when you don’t do a lot at once, at least you get something done, you know? There’s more there than there was before. And I think it’s the same way, with church.” She almost laughs, as Scully looks at her. “I’m really not explaining it very well. But I guess—well, it’s like the pattern. There’s a place for everything, even if it doesn’t look like it at first. I was upset about last night too, today, but it helped to be there and remind myself of that. And that we can work on things a little bit at a time. Just to think about being part of something, with other people…” She breaks off again. “It’s hard to explain. It’s just something that helps me.”

“That’s good,” Scully says. She means it, even if it can’t be true for her.

“So I just wondered if you had something that takes you out of things like that,” Emily says. “You don’t have to tell me what it is or anything.”

Scully thinks. “I don’t know if I do.”

“I hope you don’t think…I’m not trying to make you come to church with us,” Emily says. “It’s just that’s what really helps me. But it doesn’t have to help you.”

“It’s complicated,” Scully says. “There are…sometimes it’s comforting and sometimes it isn’t.” Emily nods. “Maybe because of everything I’ve seen,” she says. “In the FBI and…everything.” She doesn’t know quite what everything encompasses for her.

“That could be hard,” Emily says.

“Sometimes,” she says, “it’s hard for me to know what to believe in.” She doesn’t know if she should be saying this. She doesn’t really want to get into a whole theological discussion with Emily. She doesn’t want to shake Emily’s faith with her own unsteady fumblings. She doesn’t know if she wants to believe or not.

Emily’s face is concerned, as she looks at her, and Scully wishes she could say something to make her stop worrying. That shouldn’t be Emily’s job. She wishes it were easy, that she could just say, Of course, you’re so right, I’ll go back to going to church every week. She used to wish she could say that to her mom sometimes. Apparently, the ability to make her feel guilty spans the generations. (And it hasn’t skipped her, either. She’s very, very good at making herself feel guilty). She thinks about the times her faith has helped to free her and all the times it’s helped her pile that guilt on. “Sometimes I just feel small,” she says. That’s not what she meant to tell Emily. She doesn’t know, herself, if she means it as a good thing or a bad thing.

Emily nods but doesn’t say anything, as they finish putting the dishes away. “Well,” she says, “maybe I could teach you to crochet.”

She’s never been much of a one for craft projects (they seem like something she should like, but she always finds herself lacking the patience), but in this moment that seems nicer, simpler, and she nods too.

.....

Scully’s known all along that Emily would like to have her join them at church, even though she hasn’t said it right out. But it hasn’t been a place she’s wanted to go. She helped Emily bring over the toys at Christmas, but that was as far as it went; she didn’t stay for the service or take one of the (very delicious-looking) cookies. She’s not sure why that is. Maybe because it’s not the church she grew up in. Maybe because it’s hard for her to express her own faith. Maybe because it’s part of the lives her children have led without her.

But it’s Easter. They’ve been here six months now. Emily’s got a new dress and sweater; they’re bright yellow, and she looks beautiful. “Do you want to come with us, Dana?” she asks, and Scully thinks maybe she should do this for her. That this isn’t about herself.

“Sure,” she says. “I’ll come.”

They ride to church in Emily’s car, that morning. Emily’s in the new dress, and Will looks spruced up too: even his shoes are clean. Scully hadn’t really thought about church clothes when she’d packed to come here; she plucks at the collar of her blouse. They get some stares when they walk in, which isn’t surprising. It’s a small community, and she’s sure people have heard exaggerated versions of their story, which is wild enough as it is. But they sit down in a pew, the three of them in a row.

The order of the service is unfamiliar to her—more than she expected, maybe. There’s no Latin. She folds her hands in her lap, over the prayer book.

She looks over at the kids, sitting next to her. They look calm, at ease. When Emily catches her looking, she reaches out and touches her hand.

She tries to lose herself in this moment, like Emily said. In being here with her children, and in sharing something they might all believe in, even if it’s not in the same way. Maybe there can be a kind of faith in that.

#my fic #the x files #alternate universe #Dana Scully #emily sim

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lovemesomesurveys · 4 years ago

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Do you sit on the couch or the floor? I’d definitely choose the couch over the floor.

How many different colleges have you gone to? Two-- a community college and a UC. How much stress can you handle? It doesn’t take much at all before I get overwhelmed.

What is something you have to do before you go to sleep every night? I like to listen to ASMR.

How confident are you in achieving your dreams? Sigh. I’m a mess. I don’t even really have any dreams I want to achieve right now. I don’t have the motivation or the energy. I don’t have any confidence in myself. I really need to get my shit together.

What is one thing you thought you’d never do but have done or are doing? I didn’t think I’d end up like this. I didn’t have a definite plan with what I wanted to do after college, but I can assure you this wasn’t it.

Have you ever disowned a friend or family member for their beliefs? No.

At what point in your life do you think you will be truly happy? I don’t know. :(

Do you ever make pictures or shapes out of the markings in the ceiling? I did that as a kid sometimes.

Do you ever feel like your life is too boring or predictable? It most definitely is.

Do you really think money will buy your, or anyone else’s, happiness? It can certainly help. I think it could bring some happiness, like happy moments and things that bring joy, but it wouldn’t cure my depression and the other stuff I’m dealing with. It wouldn’t just go away. At the end of the day, I’d still be left with those things. The thoughts and feelings would still be there. Those feelings and thoughts hit me in the middle of doing something I like or if I’m having a good time now and I don’t see that changing if I became financially better off.

Is shopping a form of therapy for you? No.

Do you have to take medication for any mental illness? I’m not currently taking anything for it.

Do you believe it is possible for someone to change? Yes, of course.

What is your favorite food to snack on when watching t.v.? I’m not a big snacker, but lately I have been into sourdough bread and spinach and artichoke dip.

Do you like looking at pictures? Yeah.

Have you ever set 2 people up and it actually worked out? It did for a little while.

Are you good at persuading? Uhh. Depends.

How do you feel about tattoos and piercings? I’m not super into them for myself, but I think they can be cool.

Do you care what people think? Yes and no. Not as much as I used to. I wish it was because I’m now this happy and confident person, but no.

How many dirty looks have you received today? None.

If a loved one who’d died showed up at your door, what would you do? Uh, I’d be scared and freaked out to say the least and extremely confused. I honestly don’t know what I would do or say. I think it’d be a roller coaster of emotions. If it really were them then I’d be overwhelmed and cry and want to hug them and talk to them and omg I’d be a mess. It would feel so surreal. I’d also have a lot of questions.

Do you believe the dead can have connections with the living? I like to believe they give us little signs.

How many times have you looked at a picture and wished you were there? Many times.

And your name is? Stephanie.

How do you like your coffee? With flavored creamer or cream and sugar.

Do you have a job? If so, what do you do? No.

If unemployed, what do you do to keep yourself busy? My days consist of rest, social media, TV, YouTube, Tumblr, reading, playing Animal Crossing, surveys, and spending time with family.

Top 3 favorite foods, go: Wingstop’s garlic parm and lemon pepper boneless wings, ramen, and breakfast sandwiches.

What does the person who texted you last mean to you? My mom means everything to me.

How do you feel about polyamory? Not something I would be okay with.

When did you last have sex? Was it good? Never.

Which apps on your phone do you use the most? YouTube, Twitter, Facebook, TikTok, and Kindle.

Do you go through phases when it comes to music genres, or are you pretty consistent in what you listen to? I’m consistent.

Does death scare you? Yes.

If you could change one thing about your life, what would it be? I’d have good health, mentally and physically.

Which family member do you get along with the most? My mom and brother..

Do you like horror movies? Why or why not? Yesss.

Do you play video games? If so, what are some of your favorites? I’ve been playing Animal Crossing: New Horizons for the past year.

How often do you eat fast food? Quite often.

Do you like sushi? Nooo.

Would you ever be able to become a vegan? No.

How often do you drink alcohol? I don’t. I haven’t drank going on 8 years now.

What was your favorite toy as a child? I was obsessed with Barbies.

Who was your first best friend? What is your favorite memory of/with them? Are you two still friends? These two girls, Crystal and Starr, in preschool. I remember they came to my birthday party at Chuck E Cheese; that was fun. No, we lost touch after preschool.

If you could see anyone in concert, living or dead, who would it be? I wish I could have seen Linkin Park with Chester. :(

If you were to get married, would you rather have a big extravagant wedding or a small private affair? Explain your answer. I don’t plan on getting married. I really just don’t see it in the cards for me.

Do you want kids? Why or why not? No.

How did you meet your newest friend? I don’t have any friends.

Have you ever watched the show Teen Mom? What did you think about it? Yeah, I watch Teen Mom OG and Teen Mom 2.

Are you old enough to remember MySpace? Yeah, of course. I’m old.

Where is the boy you want most? There isn’t one.

Where will you be 2 hours from now? Right here.

How old is the last person you kissed? He just turned 30.

Who was the last person of the opposite sex to text you? My brother.

Can you make yourself sneeze? No. Tilting my head back and looking at a bright light doesn’t seem to work for me.

What is your current mood? Blah.

What are you doing tomorrow? Same stuff, different day.

Who was the last person to sleep in your bed besides yourself? I’m the only one.

Do you think you would make a good boyfriend/girlfriend? Not at this time, no.

Where were you at 9am this morning? I was in bed, asleep.

Whose bedroom were you in last? I’m in mine. Do you think you’ll be a good mother/father? I don’t want to have kids.

Do you talk to the person you like everyday? I’m not interested in anyone right now.

Do you have trouble deleting your text messages? I’ve never had a reason to delete them.

Is there something that you haven’t told anyone that you actually would like to tell someone? Ehhhh.

Would you rather rent or buy movies? I like watching them through a streaming service.

What is the best part of your own body? Nothing.

Would you rather watch a full season of American Idol, or So You Think You Can Dance? American Idol, I guess.

Do you like to take walks? No.

Have you ever gone anywhere for spring break? Yeah, my former best friend and I took a few small trips.

Do you worry a lot? Yeppp.

Would you rather have big or small dogs? Medium dog.

Do you mind being cold? I much prefer it to being hot. I like wrapping up in a blanket or lounging around in a sweatshirt or drinking a warm drink.

What is your favorite sports drink? I don’t drink any sports drinks.

Do you keep a diary or journal (offline or online)? This is it.

What is your favorite candy? White chocolate.

Do you document everything in pictures? Not everything, but I do like taking pictures of things I want to remember and having those memories.

Have you ever waited for something for so long and then had it snatched from right underneath you when it seemed so close to grasp? Yes.

Choose one: being able to teleport yourself anywhere in the world at any given time or being able to fly? Teleport, hands down.

Do you feel more comfortable in public wearing jeans or sweatpants? I’m a leggings gal.

What is something that most people wouldn’t know about you from simply looking at you? I take surveys. <<< Ha, true.

Do you fear growing older? Yes.

Have you ever been called a tease? Yes and I was like wtf? I wasn’t the one leading them on or playing with their emotions like they were.

Is there something that reminds you of someone every time you see or hear it? Yeah, many things like that with different people.

Do you trust all of your friends? I don’t have any friends.

Does The X-Files theme song give you the goosebumps? It did when I was a kid.

Have you ever taken the batteries out of a Ferbie only to have it come alive in the middle of the night? Omg, that did happen once! Those things were freaky.

Don't you find those black cat clocks with the moving eyes and tail just a little creepy? lol yeah they kinda are.

When things get bad, are you more likely to blame yourself or somebody else? Myself.

Are most of your friends' biological parents married or divorced? Do you remember those commercials that scared kids into not playing around railroad tracks? No?

Do you ever wish your life was a sitcom, just so all your problems could be solved in thirty minutes? That would be nice.

Have you ever noticed how different everybody's 1st, 2nd, and 3rd bases are? I feel like it’s the same general idea.

Do you tend to set yourself up for disappointment? I’m always expecting the worst case scenarios, so.

Would you ever call a guy back and say, "Oh, sorry. I was taking a hot shower"? No.

Who do you get most of relationship advice from: guys or girls? I used to get it from both. Although, oddly, I was the one people came to for relationship more often and I had none.

Have you ever put your all into someone and got nothing back? Yes.

Do you think that you, personally, have been more shaped by experiences or by people? Experiences.

Do people ever make fun of your religion or lack thereof? Not to me, personally, but yes people do make fun of Christianity.

Have you ever put the television on mute and tried dubbing in new dialogue? No.

Do you say/do things a lot for shock effect? No.

If you were in an iPod commercial, what would you want your background color to be? They don’t make those commercials anymore, but rose gold.

What was the last compliment you gave a guy? I don't know.

Do you usually follow your head, instincts, or heart more? They all play a role, it just depends. I suppose my emotions do probably play a bigger role.

Where do you spend most of your waking time at home? In my room.

Does your jaw ever crack, pop, or lock? It pops sometimes.

With just your life, are you more optimistic, realistic, or pessimistic? Definitely pessimistic.

Is it hard for you to ask for help? Yes.

Have you ever thought of how you would give your kids "the talk"? No. I don’t want to have kids.

Do you ever feel like you're missing out on something? Yeah, life.

Is your high school ANYTHING like the ones in the movies? My high school experience was nothing like that, but I feared it would be going in. Movies never paint high school in a good light.

Are you going to be totally screwed if pigs start flying tomorrow? I don’t recall ever really saying I’d do something if pigs fly or anything like that. I don’t think...

Have you ever finished taking a shower and realize that there are no dry towels? I always grab a towel beforehand.

Do you love listening to sad piano solos? Sometimes.

Was one of your grandpas in a war? My paternal grandpa was.

Did you ever actually try to find the end of a rainbow? As a kid, I’m sure.

Are you afraid of jinxing things? Sometimes.

Do you ever write/draw on windows that are fogged up? I did that as a kid.

If you were married, and your spouse's parents became ill, would you let them move into your home? I’m very close with my family so I would certainly understand and would want to do what we could to help.

Have you screamed in a pillow before? For sure.

If a guy put his jacket on a puddle for you, would you actually walk on it or just look at him like he was crazy? lol aww I would be like you really didn’t have to do that now your jacket is all wet and dirty. We can just go around. I’m in a wheelchair, so that wouldn’t do much good anyway lol.

Would any of your friends dress up like a cow for a free chicken sandwich from Chikfila?

What do you like more, acoustic or electric? Acoustic.

Have you ever ordered something off a commercial on television? Nope.

What do you notice more, somebody's eyes or smile? Smile.

Did you actually have a cookie jar? We did when I was little.

Have you ever put on a shirt that came straight out of the dryer? Yessss. I love that.

Sometimes, does it feel like your life isn't going anywhere? That’s exactly how I’ve felt these past few years.

You've reach a fork in the road, do you go left or right? Hm. Right.

Do you ignore people when you're mad/upset with them? Not flat out ignore, but I become distant and short. I don’t initiate conversation with them.

What's worse, having someone mad or disappointed in you? Disappointed, definitely.

Have you ever gotten up early the next morning to do homework or study? Yes, but I usually just stayed up late and finished instead. I didn’t want to risk waking up late or running out of time and stressing about it.

Do you still consider Pluto a planet? I always still include it.

Right now, are you at a high, leveled, or low point? “And I’m at an all time low low low low low low low....”

When things go from bad to worse, have you ever been afraid of what kind of person you would be when it was all over? These past few years have made be become someone I absolutely do not want to be. :/

Do you honestly believe that good things come to those who wait? It can for some. Sometimes it seems like people are really just handed stuff with minimal to no effort, but generally speaking you have to work at it. I don’t think you can just sit around waiting, you have to get up and do it. And that’s something I need to do. I go on about how each year nothing changes and I’m worried about wasting away and doing nothing with my life, but I am doing anything to try and change that? Am I taking any steps?

What do you bite on more, your tongue, lip, or nails? I’m always biting my lips. I pick at my nails constantly, but I don’t bite them.

Have you ever wanted to fast forward your life so you could see if it was worth it? Sometimes, but I’d be afraid to actually do that if given the chance.

Do you think that knowing when and how you're going to die would ruin your life? I really don’t want to know.

Did you ever feel bad for Tom and Sylvester? Jerry and Tweety did often tease and provoke. You can’t help but feel kinda bad for Tom and Sylvester sometimes.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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