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heartofsnark · 5 years

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This Is Love (Chapter One): Welcome to Hope County

Notes: Soooo, I’ve been talking about this for a bit and it’s time to just take the jump and start publishing my Far Cry 5 fic. I hope you enjoy. Also, i have like a series warning for this that will be on every chapter cause it needs it.

Summary: Dahlia Hale is the youngest person working at the Hope County Sheriff’s Department. Hailing from a small town in Louisiana, it’s going to take her some time to fully acclimate to the new environment and living on her own. Developing friendships takes time even for the most functional of people and for disasters like Dahlia it takes even longer. She gets along with her coworkers and there’s some religious family who’s taken a shine to her, for some reason. It seems like she’s on her way to getting the kind of friends she’s only ever dreamed about, even if it’s going to take some more time.

Then everything goes to shit.

Halfway through her six-month probationary hire and that nice religious family has kicked off a holy war with her becoming enemy number one.

To one side she’s a hero.

To the other she’s a monster. She’s not sure which is right.

Word Count: 9,290

Series Warning: I usually do not like to spoil endgame pairings in my fics, but this warrants being up front. This series is polyseed and involves heavy, recurrent themes of at times romanticized noncon, dubcon, large age differences, and stockholm syndrome that develops into a romantic relationship. The relationship between my oc and the Seeds is extremely unhealthy, toxic, and should never be replicated or sought out in real life. No matter how things progress or how they are portrayed at different points, this fact remains the same. i am comfortable exploring and enjoying these themes in fiction, not everyone is. If you are uncomfortable with or triggered by any of these things, please skip this and take the precautions you feel necessary to avoid this material. If you are an individual who struggles with separating reality and fiction; please do not read this. Otherwise, if you’re comfortable with and enjoy that kind of content, please enjoy.

Chapter Warnings: Bliss flowers, hallucinations, threats of violence (really not bad compared to whats to come)

A shiver rolls down Dahlia’s spine, the chill of the Montana night settling into her bones. A sign welcomes her to Hope County, her motorcycle tire spinning dirt at it as she passes. The moon shines bright in the sky, cascading silver light down on everything. It’s beautiful despite the cold, light reflecting off the lakes and streams that pass through the county.

It’s mostly woods and forests, fields of big white flowers and animals wandering through. The entire county is begging to be put on a postcard, from the animals, to the fields, to the…giant cement statue of a guy with a manbun…

Her tires squeal as she comes to a stop on the thankfully vacant road, she pushes the visor of her helmet up, as if the tint could cause her to see something like this. Sure enough, the white hunk of stone is still there. It’s of a man with his hair pulled back in a small bun, in one hand he holds a book and the other gestures outward.

Hair raises on the back of her neck and goosebumps collect across her skin, the statue is…eerie. It looms across the entire region, a creeping specter. Unnerving doesn’t even begin to describe it, her body has started to lean towards it, almost drawn to it.

Maybe it’s a historical figure for the county? People do that right, build monuments to founders or something. The clothes of the figure seem old fashioned, but she’s not sure about how far back the manbun goes.

She shakes her head and slaps her visor back down, she needs sleep. It shouldn’t be much further to her hotel. Dahlia revs her engine and rushes off that way, finally finding the large wooden hotel with its red roof. There’s a large wooden sign welcoming her to the King’s Hot Spring Hotel, the parking lot is decidedly vacant, and she comes to a stop by the smaller stone black sign that sits close to the larger wooden one, easy to overlook if someone wasn’t looking close enough.

“King’s Hot Spring Hotel

On May 12th, 1902 a 7.6 earthquake struck the mountain south of the hotel. It created a 10 million ton landslide that sliced a deep crevice in the earth and destroyed half the King’s hotel. 16 people were killed in the landslide, their bodies never recovered. To this day, their ghosts are said to haunt the site of the rebuilt hotel.

Built 1866.”

So, from a dirty cockroach motel to a haunted hotel, certainly a step up. She doesn’t really believe in ghosts, they’re cool as all hell, she loves creepy shit. But she doesn’t think any of it is real and if she’s wrong, maybe the ghosts will be nice enough to kill her. She parks her bike and shuts off the engine, unclipping her storage bag from it and making her way to the door.

The inside feels warm and welcoming, rustic. A large stone fireplace with a bear skin rug in front of it, wooden stairs leading to the upper floors. Her eyes scan the room and she finds a registration desk where a woman sits, reading from a white book. She stands out slightly in the old styled hotel, tattoos covering her arms. The woman’s light, almost milky, green eyes, look up to see Dahlia as she makes her way to the desk.

“I called ahead and reserved a room for tonight.”

“Hale, right?” The girl flashes a soft smile as she slides the registration forms across the desk and Dahlia finds herself looking down at the receptionist’s arms, SLOTH and ENVY with strikes through them; half tattooed and half scarred in the woman’s skin. Heavy-handed work.

“Yeah, that’s me, how’d you know?”

“Oh, not many folks check in here anymore, between the ghost tales and the new management.”

“Management?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow as she finishes scribbling in her info and handing her card over.

“Here,” the woman hands Dahlia’s card back along with a room key and a map, “I’m sure you’ll find the path.”

“Uhh…thanks…”

She shakes her head as she leaves the desk, doing a double take at the worker, who’s now back to reading the large white tome with a soft smile on her face. Dahlia is entirely too tired to deal with weird cryptic people, maybe she’s trying to play up the creepy factor of the supposedly haunted hotel. Probably intrigues the tourists or some shit. She takes her phone from her pocket, ringing Lloyd as she walks to her room.

“Hey, Stray,” He greets her with the nickname he gave her and she already feels a little better despite the chill and exhaustion.

“Hey,” Dahlia unlocks her room and strides in, there’s a deer head mounted on the wall and a vase of those white flowers on the bedside drawer, “just wanted to let you know that I am officially in Hope County.”

She tosses her luggage, along with the gunk the receptionist gave her onto the bed and does a fist bump for no one’s benefit but her own.

“That’s good, your interview is tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, hopefully it’ll go well, if not it might be another year of me eating cheese puffs on your couch.”

“You make it sound like you’re some sort of bum.”

“I mean…”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m gonna be a mess when you go.”

“If I go, still gotta get the job.”

“You’re gonna nail it, I know it, me and Earl were friends way back. He’s not dumb enough to let you go. And if he is, well, I’ll be having some words with him.”

“You can’t fight someone for not wanting to hire me.”

“I mean, I can, uh, yeah, sweetie it’s stray, I was kinda, oh Caroline wants-“

“Stray, did you throw your fucking phone away?” Caroline, Lloyd’s wife, is on the phone in a second, worriedly yelling.

“I talked to you when I stopped off in Denver.”

“Yeah, in a dingy nasty motel and then we didn’t hear a word from you for over twelve fucking hours!”

“I’m pretty sure I could handle myself,” Dahlia laughs and rolls her eyes, the concern is appreciated but unneeded. She’s a cop and despite her short stature, she’s got muscles and knows how to protect her. Maybe it’s cocky and arrogant, but at this point in her life, she’s not afraid of anything hurting her physically, mentally and emotionally is a whole other ballpark.

“Still, what if you were in an accident. Have you ate? Do you know where you’re eating tonight?”

She ate back in Denver and her stomach is growling now, but she mostly just wants a shower and sleep. She’d rather just grab room service for breakfast.

“I’m fine, I’ve ate and I will eat. Stop worrying, now I’m gonna get settled in for the night, I’ll call you after the interview.”

“Wait, ha-”

“Goodbye, mon cher,” Dahlia ends the call after her casual term of endearment, cher and mon cher as normal to her as bud or pal. Maybe it’s just a Cajun French Louisiana thing, or it’s one of the many things she picked up from her dad. She instinctively plays with the ring that hangs from a chain around her neck, he was always so proud of where he came from, teaching her Cajun French from the moment she could talk. Would he be upset with her leaving the state?

She shakes the thought from her head, she can’t concern herself with the opinions of people who aren’t here, as much as they’d mean to her. Dahlia finally has the tools to be independent and make her own way in this world, she needs to seize any and every opportunity. She double checks that her door is locked, before stripping out of her clothes.

Dahlia sets her phone to play music as she takes a shower, singing along to it as hot water eases her aching muscles. Once she’s cleaned, she dries off and starts to make her way to the bed where her luggage is.

The large white blooms on the table between the bed and window, draw her eye, her suspicion confirmed that they’re the same as the fields of flowers she saw on her way here. They must be a common flower here. She’s not a plant person, but she can appreciate pretty flowers when she sees them. The petals are soft against her finger and she pulls out one of the fresh flowers, sniffing at it. It tickles her nose, the soft scent pleasant, but it makes her want to sneeze. She tucks it back in the vase and scrubs at her nose.

Her vision swims for a moment, suddenly light-headed. She hasn’t slept much and has been driving a lot, her eyes must be tired as well.

Dahlia digs some comfy sleeping clothes from her bag to change into. Content in her shorts and tee, the hotel much warmer than the outside chill. She pushes her luggage off her bed and takes a look at the Hope County map.

Her vision is still swimming but she reaffirms where she needs to be tomorrow for her interview. It’s over in Fall’s End at the Sheriff’s Department. Dahlia fishes a marker out of her discarded jacket pocket and then starts to write directions down on her right forearm before tucking the map away.

She rifles a cigarette from her quickly emptying pack, most places don’t like their hotel rooms stinking like nicotine.

Cool air rushes in as she opens the window, she leans against the windowsill, appreciating the view of the moonlight reflecting in the pool of spring water. Montana really is beautiful.

She lights her cigarette, looking away for a second to ignite it.

“Ooooh ooooh~” A soft melodic voice drifts in, piercing the quiet, and Dahlia’s head snaps back to the window.

In the grass, a woman surrounded by green mist spins and dances, singing softly into the night. She’s young, but still older than Dahlia with dirty blonde hair that falls past her shoulders. A white lace dress with flowers across the waist and skirt. Illuminated by moonlight, a heavenly glow, angelic but singing a siren’s song.

Who would be out there at this time of night?

Dahlia’s the only one in the hotel and she doubts the staff indulges in nightly dance sessions.

When did Dahlia start leaning further out the window?

Every fiber of her being screams at her to run to the woman. To jump out the window if she has to, anything to get closer to the hauntingly beautiful woman dancing along the decks before the spring.

Dahlia slams the window shut, quick and hard enough to rattle it. It’s late, she’s exhausted, she’s ridden her bike almost twenty-eight hours straight. Only stopping for a late night in a shitty hotel in Denver before getting back on the road at eight am this morning.

Between ghost stories and exhaustion her brain is fucking with her.

The woman’s singing is still there.

Softer now but still present, still beckoning.

Every muscle in her body is tense, prepared to bolt in order to go find that woman.

She smashes her fist against the side of her head, the impact of her knuckles rattling her skull as she literally tries to knock sense into herself. Her visions seem to clear a bit and she can’t hear the singing anymore, but she also might have concussed herself.

Her cigarette is stamped out before she’s even halfway through it and she’s setting her phone alarm before jumping into the bed.

She buries her face in the pillow, no matter what she hears or thinks she’ll see, she’s not going anywhere until the morning. This interview is the most stressful thing she’s dealt with in years, so much rides on it, and she can’t be exhausted tomorrow from chasing fairy ghosts or what the fuck ever.

Her mind is just playing tricks on her, it’s an asshole, it does that.

She’s not certain exactly when she fell asleep, but the next thing she knows her alarm is going off. Dahlia groans and forces herself out of bed, she hates waking up. Her interview isn’t even late, but god, fuck waking up.

Her head is clearer now, no swimming in her vision and no singing or sirens. She forces her way out of bed, groggily trying to go about her day.

She’s running late, she’s always running late, time isn’t real.

After taking her sweet sleepy time to get herself put together and inhaling a room service breakfast, Dahlia is running down the hotel stairs and scrubbing syrup off her chin. Why does she do this to herself? The receptionist calls out something and she waves her off.

Helmet slapped on and engine revving, she guns it out of the parking lot and makes her way to towards the Valley. She comes to a bridge and pulls her arm from her jacket to read her scribbled directions, remembering too late that she can’t read her own handwriting.

She squints trying to decipher what the hell she wrote, her chicken scratch leaving a lot to be desired. It looks like it might say she’s going to Holland Valley or Halland Volley or Hallard, something to that effect by crossing the Honne…Benne…Rover….Dridge… Why does she do this to herself?

She’s probably on the right track, probably. Dahlia readjusts her jacket, confirming that her mess of directions won’t be getting any clearer the longer she stares at it and makes her way over the bridge. More signs hang from the inner framework of the bridge, half of them bearing a cross symbol with what looks like sunbeams coming from the center, the other half states The Power Of YES; Take The Leap.

Heebie jeebies nest in her gut, those goosebumps from earlier coming back. Religion…

Maybe it was too optimistic, but she had hoped further up North she’d see less of…that. She did searches online and was told based on some statistical thing that Montana was less religious than Louisiana. But apparently religion isn’t completely avoidable in the United States.

The crisp smell of apples manages to break through her helmet as she leaves the bridge. Apple trees as far as the eye can see, bright red fruit gleaming under sunlight, a giant orchard surrounds the road. People mill about the apple trees; couples holding hands and parents hefting their children up on their shoulders to pick the highest apples their little hands can reach. A few people look at her as she rides past, the rev of her engine and the music pounding from her helmet drawing attention. Some looks are judgmental, others unconcerned, a small kid waves at her as she passes by and she waves back, smile teasing at the corners of her mouth. There’s a constructed Apple Statue in the orchard, noting that she’s riding through the Gardenview Orchard.

Over the horizon, built into the hills of the Holland Valley is a giant Hollywood style sign that says ‘YES’. It’s infinitely less creepy than the weird man statue, but far cheesier. Whether that’s better or worse? Who knows, but Hope County is definitely…weirder than she anticipated.

She passes through the orchard and coming up on the left apple trees are replaced with pumpkins on the ground. Fields growing them, some clearly bigger and further along in the growing process, none fully ripe, however. A house is built among the fields, one fence with a sign that says Rae-Rae’s Pumpkin Farm.

There’s a couple walking around, holding hands, but more importantly there’s a dog. A mottled coat of black, white, and blue gray with a bandana around their neck. The dog’s head raises at the rev of Dahlia’s motorcycle engine passing by on the road, tail wagging but he doesn’t run out, a well-trained doggo.

She’s running late.

She doesn’t have time.

One pet can’t hurt.

Dahlia comes to a screeching halt, tires squealing and bracing herself against her handlebars of her bike so she doesn’t fly across the farm. The couple taken aback, staring wide-eyed at her as she kills her music and yanks off her helmet. The doggie is still wagging its tail, eager to meet their new friend.

“Can I pet your dog?”

The couple is older, by Dahlia standards, so probably around their thirties…or forties…or twenties…ages confuse her. A woman with short sandy hair and a man with a knit hat over his head, the woman’s dropped jaw becomes a soft smile, her eyes gentle.

“Of course,” a thick southern accent tints her voice, “Boomer’s doesn’t know a stranger.”

Dahlia stays outside the wooden fence, not wanting to step on crops or something, but she leans over it. Boomer’s big brown eyes landing on her, so cute, she already loves him. A few coos and he’s already rushing over, standing to put his paws at the top of the fence so he can get some much-deserved love. She pets the top of his head, scratching behind his ears and around his neck. He eagerly leans into scritch and pet, licking her.

“Awww, such a good boy, yes you are,” she praises and laughs, soaking it in. Even if she’s running late, this is more than worth it.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” The woman asks.

“Nah, here for a job interview,” Dahlia answers, hugging around Boomer’s neck as she snuggles him.

“Where you interviewing at?”

“Sheriff’s department.”

“You’re kind of young for a cop, ain’tcha?”

“I’m an adult,” she says, shrugging her shoulders through the hug. She is a young adult and that’s all that needs to be said on that.

“They finally trying to fill that deputy position?”

“Seems like it.”

“Sorry, to brush you off so soon, but we have to go pick up some equipment before noon and we’re already cutting it close.”

Shit, right, time. She’s running late too, but the dog was worth it.

“No problem, have a good one, you keep being a good boy, Boomer.”

She gives a final scratch to his head, then slides her helmet back on, waving off the couple as she hops back on her bike. Her nerves have eased slightly at having gotten some time with a dog and even if she’s late, she doesn’t regret it.

Her engine revs and she’s back to traveling down the quiet Montana roads. The sheriff’s department is in Fall’s End. A water tower baring the town’s name lets her know she’s arrived in the right area. It’s not a huge town. Along the main road, there’s the sheriff’s department, a general store, a bar, a church. There’s little streets and roadways showing that beyond those there’s houses and an apartment complex. Not huge, but certainly bigger than where she’s from, which…isn’t saying much.

Dahlia parks her motorcycle outside the sheriff’s department, all those initially dissipated nerves are bubbling back to the surface. Her stomach in absolute knots and her muscles tense with anxiety. She shuts off her bike and pockets her keys then pulls off her helmet, fiddling with her hair. A deep breath, before she finally steels herself to step into the building.

There’s a desk to Dahlia’s right when she enters the building, an older woman with a layered bob of red hair.

“There something I can help you with, darling?” Her southern accented voice asks.

“I have an interview with the sheriff.”

“Really,” the woman’s eyes scan Dahlia up and down, eyebrows furrowed in judgement, “can I get your name?”

“Hale,” she murmurs, once again fiddling with her messy strands of dark hair. She knows she doesn’t exactly look the most professional right now. But professional clothes and motorcycles don’t truly mix. The woman, her desk tag says N. McClure, shuffles through some documents and reads over something.

“Okay, just take a seat and I’ll let Earl know you’re here.”

Dahlia plops down in one of the reception area’s chairs, fiddling with the cat ears on her motorcycle helmet. Her leg bounces up and down, shaking out excess energy as the woman at the desk starts to call back, asking for Whitehorse. It’ll be fine, Dahlia reassures herself, Lloyd and Caroline have been talking her up to their old friend. All she needs to do is be herself, maybe, probably not. She’s kind of a mess.

The clock hand ticks slowly, Dahlia feeling like she’s about to go crazy waiting for her interview to start. Finally, the woman hangs up the phone she was calling back to Whitehorse on, a soft smile on her face that pulls at the wrinkles around her eyes.

“Earl’s ready to talk to you, come on back.”

The older woman steps out and helps show Dahlia to the office door, passing through a bullpen style office area to get there, Sheriff Whitehorse is scrawled on a plaque by the door. Dahlia knocks and he tells her to come on in, she slowly opens the door and steps in. There’s a modest sized quaint office with only a few personal touches. She’s only seen old photos Lloyd had of himself and Whitehorse, from way back in police academy. The man before her is much older than he was in those photos, weathered with wrinkled skin. He looks like an old sheriff pulled directly from a movie; green uniform, cowboy hat, scraggly brown hair, and a mustache.

“You’re Lloyd and Caroline’s Stray, right?” He says, standing up from his desk to shake her hand over it. He’s over a foot taller than her, probably close to a foot and a half. His hand swallows her own whole, it’s probably bigger than her face.

“Holy shit, you’re tall.”

That’s not a good way to start an interview, but he seems to be laughing and smiling. So, maybe it’s fine. Lloyd once said she has a charm about her despite her lack of tact or decorum. She’s still trying to figure out what that charm is, but still.

“Go ahead and take a seat,” he says, gesturing at the chair in front of his desk. She follows suit, leg still bouncing like it was in the waiting room. Whitehorse puts a manilla folder down on the desk, the little tab labeled D. Hale. It’s surprisingly thick for someone who’s never met her in person.

“Lloyd and Caroline talk highly of you, hell the whole town does.”

“The whole town…?” She raises an eyebrow, what’s that supposed to mean? Reinette, Louisiana is a small town, it’s police department has about six people in total and everyone knows everyone. But certainly, they wouldn’t call up Whitehorse to talk about her.

“I swear Lloyd must have handed out the stations number to everyone down there, we’ve been getting two, three calls a day of people who can’t say enough good things about you.”

“Oh god.” Heat flushes up Dahlia’s cheeks, god damn it, Lloyd.

“You’ve left quite an impression on the place.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” Dahlia pushes some hair off her face, fidgeting with the locks.

“And you haven’t been working there long, have you?”

“Not counting training, about a year and a half, I know I don’t have much experience.”

“Still making such an impact in a short amount of time, says something.”

“Thanks.” His words soothe her nerves and embarrassment a bit, maybe this will go well.

“But, there’s the issue of your record…”

“My record…?” She shouldn’t have a record, he opens the manilla folder and she feels bile raise in the back of her throat.

“Between what’s on the books and what everyone was saying, I was starting to wonder if there were two of you, Hale. Runaways, break in, fights, attempted grand theft auto, and petty thefts, the list goes on. Doesn’t exactly scream future cop.”

“I thought records got expunged at eighteen.”

“If you request it.”

“Oh…well then…”

“I know this all happened when you were a minor and you’ve been clear for the past two or so years, but…”

“It still looks bad, I know, I know. I’m not going to try to tell you some bullshit excuse or sob story. I did a lot of shit I shouldn’t have for a lot of reasons. I regret most of it, not all of it, but most of it. Lloyd and Caroline helped me get my life back on track, I know two years doesn’t seem like a long time, but I’m not the same kid I was when I did that shit.”

That what she tells him, but she’s not sure how much she believes it. It feels more like her situation’s changed than she’s changed, but if she just said that she’s no longer a delinquent because she doesn’t need to be, well, it wouldn’t sound as good or employable.

“What made you wanna be a cop?”

“Wanted to help people,” she answers with a shrug, it’s not really anything more complicated than that. Whitehorse huffs out what sounds like a laugh, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Okay, I gotta ask, why here? Lloyd and the whole town loves you. It’s a hell of a move and the pay raise ain’t much.”

“Look,” she sighs and folds her hands on top of her motorcycle helmet, calming her body down, “I love Reinette, I love Lloyd and I love Caroline. I owe them and the whole town a debt that I’ll never pay back. But, I’m twenty years old. I’m not their kid and even if I was it’d be time for me to go, I’ve taken enough of their time, money, and everything. Reinette, bless the town’s heart, it’s...dying. There’s more cows than people, our station has more cars than officers. It won’t be long before they do away with the town’s department and just do everything through the Parish. And the parish’s department doesn’t need any more officers.”

Her throat constricts as bile raises in the back of it, her stomach churning. After everything that town and its people have done for her, she’s leaving them. A traitor, betrayer.

“You figure any of those officers will even find work in the parish, at all?” He asks with a knowing, soft look in his eye. If he keeps in contact with Lloyd, he’s already well aware of the trouble in Reinette.

“I doubt it, town’s a sinking ship. Lloyd…he’s willing to go down with it,” her eyes sting and she clenches her jaw, containing herself, “I can’t do that. As much as they all mean to me, I can’t. Lloyd’s gonna retire when it goes under, I’m twenty, the fuck am I supposed to do? I’m trying to help people; I’m trying to make a difference. But my hands keep getting tied because of money, resources, anything and everything. Lloyd and Caroline gave me the means and the tools to make something of myself, I’m not gonna piss that away because some fucker decided we weren’t worth investing in, I…”

She’s clenching her fists and nearly smacking her helmet, anger and frustration welling up inside of her, a geyser of emotions threatening to break through. This is an interview, she can’t do this, can’t be emotional. She needs to stop this, a deep breath before she starts to speak again.

“I can do more here, I know no place is perfect, but I can do more here.”

“Well, no one can say you’re not passionate.” Whitehorse lets out another chuckle, seemingly amused.

“Sorry, certain shit, just winds me up.” She massages the back of her neck, why is she such a fucking idiot? No one wants to hire a cop who can’t keep their cool and throws a fit. She was supposed to tone down her dumbassery, not ramp it up.

“There’s nothing wrong with caring about what you’re doing.”

“Yeah…” She half-heartedly agrees, Whitehorse is trying to make her feel better. Her interview has become him trying to console her, absolutely pathetic. She might as well call Lloyd and Caroline now and tell them she blew it.

“You got any questions for me?”

“Uh…”

Did she just fuck this up as bad as she thinks she did?

“Not really, I just wanna get to work.” That earns her another chuckle from Whitehorse, even if he doesn’t think she’s competent, at least she’s entertaining it seems.

“Full of piss and vinegar, ain’t ya?”

“To say the least.” She lets out a dry laugh, but there’s no mirth of joy behind it. Not a shred of happiness as she thinks about what a fucking idiot she is.

“Well, if that’s all,” Whitehorse stands up from his desk, “I’ll go ahead and show you out.”

Dahlia stands up, the sheriff places a large hand on her back as they leave his office, finding their way back into the reception area.

“It was nice to finally meet you, Hale.”

“Same, thanks for taking the time to talk to me.” She’s sure that he’d rather be doing literally anything else, especially after that beyond trash interview.

“It’s no problem at all, I-”

The doors to the department open, a man and a woman in green deputy uniforms coming in. Another giant, the man is barely an inch of two shorter than Whitehorse, with shaggy dark hair and hazel eyes. More importantly, the woman while taller doesn’t absolutely tower over Dahlia, her long black hair is braided over her shoulder and her olive skin makes her hunter green eyes stand out all the more.

Dahlia’s throat feels tight and her heart race is a little faster. So…that’s a thing.

“We running a daycare, now?” The guy asks, looking down his nose at Dahlia, though that might just be because of the height difference. Either way, she glares at him, he’s been around her a grand total of five seconds and he’s being a dick.

“Pratt…” The woman, her name tag says J. Hudson, rolls her eyes at him. Her voice is warm and rich; why is Dahlia’s face so hot? Is she sick? Has the Montana weather already kicked her ass, what is this?

“This is one of the interviewees. Hale, these are my deputies.”

“Nice to meet you.” Hudson flashes a soft smile and what is Dahlia’s heart doing? It’s like someone’s squeezing it and filled her gut with bugs while they were at it. She fucks up an interview and now she needs a doctor, great.

“Same, I was, uh, just on my way out actually.” She needs to go sleep off whatever the fuck has just hit her.

“Good luck,” the taller woman gives a friendly tap to Dahlia’s bicep, “hopefully we’ll be seeing more of you around here.”

Dahlia is dying.

That’s the only explanation. She fucked up an interview and now she has the heart plague or some shit, hell of a day.

“Uh, yeah, I, um, ‘preciate it.” She’s avoiding eye contact and she doesn’t know why she's stumbling over her words and she doesn’t know why.

“Pssh,” Pratt scoffs, “she’s gonna need it.”

Suddenly, she can talk again. Weird. Hudson and Whitehorse shake their heads, clearly use to his bullshit

“Sorry about Pratt, he’s, well he’s Pratt.”

“Eh, every station has at least one cop who’s just trying to make up for his tiny dick.”

“I assure you, I-”

“Enough,” Whitehorse cuts him off, talking like he’s breaking up a child’s squabbling. Doesn’t really help make her look any more mature or competent, way to steer into the skid, Dahlia.

“For the millionth time, no one wants to hear about your dick, Pratt.” Hudson rolls her eyes, why is that being said for the millionth time?

“Well, that’s certainly my cue to go, have a good one.”

Dahlia quickly waves off the sheriff and deputies, making her escape. She takes the couple steps to her motorcycle with quick rigid movement, making sure she’s away from windows or the glass door, not wanting any of them to see her.

She lets out a low guttural groan muffled by how tightly her jaw is clenched jaw and knocks her knuckles against the back of her head.

Idiot, she fucked everything up by going on some huge ass fucking rant.

Despite the distance, this was a phenomenal opportunity the best she’s had. It’s not like she hasn’t looked into place in Louisiana, but something is always wrong. She’s never made it as far as the interview. Either she never gets a call back, maybe they’d seen her records the same way Whitehorse did and didn’t even bother giving her that chance. Or she’d learn the town, parish, city, whatever was no better off than Reinette. One of the sheriffs she talked to on the phone knew her stepfather and recognized her name, nearly making her puke before she hung up.

This was beyond a shadow of a doubt the best chance she’s had. Whitehorse has the Lloyd seal of approval which is as good as gold. And as much as the distance is guilt inducing…, the fear of betrayal and abandoning people who mean so much to her. But, she needs somewhere far away.

As many good memories as Lloyd, Caroline, and the people of Reinette have given her. There are still too many bad ones, too many people figuring out where she came from, one too many bad memories trying to be more than just that. As much as it may eat her up to leave, it’ll eat her up even more to stay. Between the impending unemployment and her own past, every good moment there has a shadow looming over it.

When she gets back to Reinette she’ll start working to get her record taken care of. Once that’s settled, it’s back to job hunting. A bump in the road, a moment of frustration, but she’ll come out the other end. She always does.

Her stomach growls, burning through a pack of cigarettes and stress binge eating sound like a great way to deal with this. She’ll find some place to stuff her face and call Lloyd once she gets back to the hotel.

There’s a general store, she doesn’t know if the bar lets minors in, so it’s probably her best place to grab some quick snack. She plops her helmet on and makes the short drive to the store, parking her bike outside and pulling her helmet back off to light a cigarette by the dumpsters. Her stressed brain is desperately craving nicotine.

She rips open her pack of cigarettes and lights one up, bringing it to her lips. Smoke pools in her lungs, clawing to her insides and easing her nerves if only for a second. Holding it there for a moment before breathing it out into the air. Her eyes are drawn to the neon sign of The Spread Eagle bar, even bright in the daylight. It also seems to have some activity despite the early hour. Well, early for a bar. A white truck pulls up in front of the building, a man with long grungy hair climbing out of the passenger seat.

Those odd pains in her chest and churns in her stomach fade as she inhales the smoke, looking up at the clear blue sky. A soft breeze blows through, carrying the gray trails away with it. Montana really is beautiful…

“Get back here!” A woman yells out, door to the bar swinging open violent as the man with long hair comes rushing back out, arms piled high with crates of alcohol.

Dahlia drops her cigarette and helmet, bolting towards the bar, as the thief tries to scramble into the back of the pickup truck. He gets the crates set down, but she’s grabbed the back of his shirt before he can climb in. A harsh yank, pulling the tall man back into her and away from the truck. She encircles her arms under his armpits and locks her hands behind his neck, grappling into a full nelson hold that keeps him from running off. The odd angle of these heights and the way he was yanked from the back of the truck leaves him on his knees in his grasp.

“Someone call the sheriff’s department!” She yells out, she doesn’t have any jurisdiction here or cuffs to actually arrest the guy.

He tries to fight back against the hold, attempting to break free, but all he manages to do is writhe and squirm. The door of the truck swings open, the driver jumping out, his feet hitting the ground with a heavy sound. Another man easily a foot or more taller than her.

“Help me, brother Theodore,” the man in her hold struggles to beg for help.

“We have strict orders from John Seed to confiscate this liquor.”

“Don’t know or care who that is, mon cher.”

“Someone like you doesn’t deserve to know him,” the guy tells her, sneering and she sees his finger twitch, brushing over the gun in his belt holster. She can’t have firearms going off in a residential area.

“All you’ll do is end up shootin’ your friend, don’t be stupid. Liquor ain’t worth bloodshed.”

He lets out a sigh and his hand relax, something clicking in his mind. The man, Theodore, chews his lip, eyes flickering as she nearly sees the gears turning in his head.

“What’s going on here?” A familiar rough voice asks over Dahlia’s shoulder, she doesn’t need to look to know Whitehorse has come to investigate. Even if she did, she wouldn’t dare look away from the man in front of her, not until she’s sure he won’t try to shoot.

“These pieces of shit peggies were trying to steal my liquor stash,” a woman explains, somewhere behind Dahlia.

“Liquors still in the back of the truck,” Dahlia tells them, none of it seemed to break, so hopefully it won’t hurt the bar too much.

“If it wasn’t for her, they would have cost me a month’s worth of sales.”

“Pratt, Hudson,” Whitehorse calls the names of his deputies.

“I got it here,” Hudson taps on Dahlia arm, cuffs in hand, and that weird heart thing is happening again.

“Um, yeah, o-of course.” She maneuvers away from the guy, she’s never stumbled over her words like that before. Hudson cuffs the guy and starts reading his rights off.

“Keep your hands where I can see ‘em,” Pratt barks out at the Theodore guy who's surprisingly obedient as he lets the deputy cuff him.

Dahlia scratches at her nose, watching the scene unfold. She’s finally gotten a good look at the woman who was being robbed.

And, not only is everyone here tall, they’re also apparently beautiful. The woman is than both Dahlia and Hudson, with honey blonde hair tucked up into a bun and soft blue eyes. Her features are soft, cherubic almost, with freckles over the bridge of her nose.

Have women always been this pretty?

When did women start being this pretty?

The fuck is her heart doing?

“Looks like it’s a good thing you were here,” Whitehorse tells her, a soft smile tugging at his lips, “you managed to get Mary May’s liquor back and stopped it from escalating.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess.”

“Someone you know, sheriff?” The blonde, Mary May asks. His smile gets wider and he squeezes Dahlia’s shoulder, a comforting touch.

“This is my new Junior Deputy.”

“I am?”

He’s not serious, there’s no way, he has to be fucking with her.

“Unless you changed your mind?”

“Hell no,” she shakes her head, “I am the new Junior Deputy, wait, Junior?”

“You’ll start with a six-month probationary hire, paid of course, manage that and we’ll take you on permanently.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“You’ll start next, c’mon down to the station Mary, we’ll book ‘em and get your report in.”

“See you around, stranger,” Mary May tells her as she follows after Whitehorse, Hudson and Pratt forcing the thieves along. Theodore shooting a glare Dahlia’s way.

“Look forward to working with you, Rookie.”

“Pfft, I give her a week, tops.”

And with that, Dahlia is left alone on the road of Falls End…with a new job.

She got the job.

She’s got to get through the probationary hire, but she got the job. Holy shit. Holy shit. And she starts in a week. She needs to call Lloyd and Caroline, she needs to find somewhere to live, there’s so much to do.

Dahlia is practically skipping back over to her helmet and bike. She’s gotta start getting her ducks in a row.

She speeds her way back through Hope County, making her way back to the hotel. She has so many fucking calls to make and shit to go through. Before she knows it she’s back in the Kings Spring Hotel parking lot, fumbling to get her phone. As silly as it may be, she’d rather call Lloyd and Caroline in a less populated area. She’s grinning ear to ear, enough to hurt her cheeks, she looks like a dork and that’s not going to get any better. Helmet under her arm, she dials Lloyd as she paces in the isolated parking lot.

“How’d it go?” Lloyd is asking before she even says hi.

“Six months, probationary hire, then we’ll go from there.”

‘So, you got the job?”

“That was the bummer way of saying I got the job, yeah.”

“I can hear you smiling!”

“Shut it!”

“Caroline! She got the job, yeah!”

“I,” she rubs a hand down her face, “I thought for sure I blew it.”

“What changed?”

“Some bar across the street got robbed right after my interview, I stepped in, next thing I know I’m the Junior Deputy.”

“Holy fuck, do you know what that is, Stray?”

“Dumb luck?”

“Fate, Stray, it’s fucking fate! The world telling you that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be!”

“You really are a sap, ain’t ya?”

“What are you doing now?”

“I’m staying another night here, but once I hop off I gotta start looking into where I’m gonna stay. I start in a week, so I gotta start moving, I’ll see you all in two or three days once I make the drive. It’s gonna be tight, but I’ll manage.”

“Man, you’re really leaving.”

“No crying.”

“Seems like yesterday Caroline found you in the barn.”

“No crying.”

“You were so thin, just a little bag of bones…” His voice is choking up.

“I’m hanging up, you cry baby!”

She does just that, smiling up at the sky. It’s happening, it’s really happening. It feels like the start of a new life, a new her. There’s a jump in her step as she makes her way back into the hotel, room service food and she’ll start making phone calls.

“Miss Hale!” The soft lilted voice of the receptionist calls out when she sees Dahlia.

“Oh, hey.” Dahlia walks to the desk, head tilted in question, what could she need?

“A heads up, we’re switching the water in the tank for the shower and bath system to water pumped in from the spring.”

“Oh, that’s cool.”

“It’s so much more relaxing than regular tap water, be sure to use it tonight.”

“Uh yeah, thanks, by the way can I order some room service?”

“Of course.”

Dahlia goes through her order for room service, being assured the order will be put in and delivered before she knows it. With that she goes back up to her room, she starts digging through the bedside drawer, searching for a phone book for the area. There’s a white book in the top drawer, with that same strange cross like symbol that was on the signs along the bridge. She throws it on the bed, finding a local phone book beneath it, much more important.

She starts rifling through pages. Hope County is mostly a trailer park town, for people who can’t afford to build or buy an actual home and land. There is an apartment complex in Falls End, but the rent is high for pretty small apartments. The prices probably jacked since housing is so limited. She’d rather get a whole trailer to herself for cheaper and just travel further for work.

Hours pass by her making phone calls, seeing about housing and stuffing food in her face when she’s not talking. The Silver Lake Trailer Park that’s nearest the station has no vacancy or trailers available for rent, but they refer her to the Moonflower Trailer Park. It’s some distance, but with how fast she rides her bike, it’s doable. It’s the only place with vacancy, she’ll drop by with a down payment and check out the trailer tomorrow before she heads back to Louisiana to get her stuff and everything tidied up there. The world outside the hotel window has gone dark, moon hanging bright in the sky.

That settled she finishes off her food and collapses back on the bed. She’s still smiling, grinning ear to ear.

“Wooooooo!” She yells out and pumps her fist up at the ceiling, fuck yeah, she’s got this.

She’ll grab one of those spring water showers and then pass out for the night. She grabs her phone and sets it up to play music in the bathroom while she washes up. Her clothes hit the floor, air conditioner chilling her skin as she waits for the water to heat up. It has a soft floral scent and is tinted slightly green, spring water.

She steps in under the hot spray of water, letting it wash away the sweat and dirt of the day. Her muscles relax under the water and steam, as she scrubs the hotel soap into her skin. She blinks her eyes open once she’s done washing her hair, finding her vision clouding, her body feeling heavier and heavier. Must be the exhaustion of the day. Dahlia quickly finishes washing, the last thing she needs is to fall asleep in the shower again.

Her steps are shaky, her body swaying as the world swims around her. Colors distort and shift in prisms before her eyes. It’s like the night before, but times a million. Her movements sluggish as she dries herself and quickly pulls on her sleep clothes. She was feeling ill earlier, maybe it’s catching up to her? But it doesn’t feel the same. Not panicky and nervous. One of her favorite songs starts to play through her phone, though its eerie tones aren’t as welcomed in this moment.

She grips the sink for leverage, steadying herself as she looks into the mirror

All our times have come.

Her dark brown eyes aren’t dark brown, not quite. She tugs at her eyelids, the iris growing milkier and lighter than she’s ever seen it. What the hell is this? A soft melodic laugh echoes through the room, like it’s near.

Here but now they're gone.

She stumbles out of the bathroom, finding her empty bedroom. Nothing unusual.

Seasons don't fear the reaper.

The laugh rings out again, a flash of white passing by her open door. When did it open? She didn’t leave it open.

Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain...

She’s walking out her door before she can give it another thought, looking back and forth across the hall, who’s there?

We can be like they are

Her feet pad down the hallway, steps suddenly sure and confident as she tries to follow the voice. Like her body is being drawn, pulled, following sheer instinct. She needs to find them.

Come on baby... don't fear the reaper

A flash of white, the swish of lace fabric, that laugh again vanishing into one of the rooms. Dahlia is there, trying to wrench open the door. Then it rings out from behind her.

Baby take my hand... don't fear the reaper

A woman stands at the end of a long hallway, the one from the tight before. Long sandy hair and beautiful green eyes. A blue butterfly perches itself on her fingers, the woman looking at it in awe. Dahlia takes slow steps forward, she wants to speak, ask who she is and what she’s doing here. But her tongue is heavy, her throat tight, vocal cords numb, not a sound escaping.

Baby I'm your man...

Green eyes flicker from the butterfly to Dahlia, a soft almost mischievous smile tugging at the woman’s lips. She laughs again as Dahlia nears her, then she runs, childish and giggling she runs towards one of the rooms. Dahlia is chasing her even after she vanishes from sight, legs moving without her permission, instinct driving her to reach this woman. She doesn’t know why, but she needs to reach her, touch her. Be closer.

La la la la la

The laughter turns into soft humming, singing echoing through the halls. Somehow the sound is everywhere, all consuming and right in her ear, but also distant the source too far away for her to find. She walks down the halls, taking turns and climbing up stairs, following her instinct that pulls her in each direction she goes.

Valentine is done

Flashes of white fabric, doors closing and shutting. It’s a game of tag that she can’t seem to win, the small hotel has somehow become a labyrinth as she tries to find the humming woman. Short hallways and few rooms have been traded for never ending paths with room lining them.

Here but now they're gone

Sometimes spacious and open, other times claustrophobic, choking, walls scraping the skin of her arms where she has to fear she might become stuck. More halls and more floors than she’s ever seen, winding paths that make her dizzy. But she can’t stop searching for that woman.

Romeo and Juliet

One more turn, the woman is at the end of a hallway. Standing before a door, softly singing to what is now two butterflies balanced on her fingers. Dahlia starts to walk down the hallway, tight, claustrophobic. She keeps her hands on the walls as if it will give her more space, as if she could force the walls to open wider for her.

Are together in eternity...Romeo and Juliet

Her heartbeat races as she walks closer and closer, the walls threatening to crush her between them. She can hardly breathe, every breath ragged and tight. Dying. She feels like she’s dying, air being stolen from her lungs and heart pounding lie it’s trying to escape her chest. It worsens with every step she takes near the woman.

40,000 men and women everyday... Like Romeo and Juliet

Some part of her brain, the small part that doesn’t have a thick haze of fog clinging to it, tells her to run the other way. That with this feeling only growing with every step towards the siren, with her heart pounding harsher, breathing getting raspier, she’ll die if she keeps going. That this truly is a siren luring her to death, but she can’t listen to that part of her. Her body won’t. She needs to reach her.

40,000 men and women everyday... Redefine happiness

She’s getting closer and closer; the woman isn’t running this time. Just calming singly, like she doesn’t even notice Dahlia. She tries to reach out for the woman, her fingers nearly brushing the woman’s dress sleeve.

Another 40,000 coming everyday... We can be like they are

Then the woman walks through the door, Dahlia could curse and cry if her vocal cords would only work. Once again, the woman evading her, being just out of reach. But this hall has no doors along its sides, no turns or twists. The only two options are going back or going through the door after her. It’s not even a choice.

Come on baby... don't fear the reaper

She wrenches the door open and she’s in another world. No more wood walls and floors, her bare feet touching lush grass that tickles her skin. White petals float in the air and scatter across the ground. Trees curl around the area and when she looks out at the horizon, she sees that large statue of that man looming over the area.

Baby take my hand... don't fear the reaper

When she looks straight ahead at the middle of the field is the woman, she twirls, short white dress fanning out around her hips. She stops, turning to face Dahlia, she smiles softly. Delicate and angel like, she stretches her hand out. An offer, a beckoning.

We'll be able to fly... don't fear the reaper

The feeling of impending death lifts the very moment she sees the woman. Her heartbeat and her breathing easing, relief and contentment filling her body. She’s smiling and she doesn’t know why she feels alive. Free, like she can do anything. She’s walking closer and closer to the woman, each step making her happier and happier. Her body lighter and lighter. Calm and peace, she’s never known. She’s right where she belongs, she doesn’t need to be anywhere else.

Dahlia reaches out, finally about to touch her, a touch of their hands is so simple, so minor. But it feels like the only thing she wants. All she’s ever want, like every moment in her entire life has been building up to this, being here with her, whoever she is.

Before skin can meet skin, the siren fades to mist.

No, no, no!

She grasps desperately at the air where the woman once was, her heart racing, her lungs stinging like the airs been knocked out of them. The world is crumbling, falling down, everything going out beneath her feet. It’s falling apart and she can’t stop it, she can’t fix it.

Dahlia takes a heavy gasp, desperately sucking in a heavy breath and she blinks, the world around her has completely shifted. Her vision isn’t blurred, no more prisms of color before her eyes.

Cold, goosebumps raising up on her skin, shorts and tee doing nothing to save her from the Montana breeze. She’s outside the hotel, in the world she knows. That damn statue looming still in the distance ahead of her.

Dull.

The landscaped she was so mesmerized by this day, seems so dull now. She feels dull, after so many emotions, so much intensity both in fear and happiness…she feels so numb. Dahlia rubs her fingers together, her craving for the feeling of another’s hand in her own…there’s an ache. She was so close, but now she’s been plunged back into reality.

She stands out in the field outside the hotel, staring at that cement statue, it still seems to call her. Her heart telling her to go towards that looming structure, but her head tells her to go back inside the hotel.

So, she doesn’t move.

She doesn’t know how long she stands there, just staring.

“Miss Hale!” A voice pulls her further back into reality, the hotel receptionist walking out towards her with a large blanket.

Dahlia blinks a few times, she no longer feels numb, the very real emotion of shame flooding in. She’s standing out in public, in her pajamas. Did she just wander out of her hotel room in her sleep clothes? She must look ridiculous.

“Hey…”

“Is everything alright? You just walked out of your hotel, looked like you were sleepwalking.”

“Uh…yeah, I guess.”

That makes sense, she must have went to bed and had a weird dream…yeah.

“Here,” the woman wraps the large blanket around Dahlia, “you must be freezing.”

“Thanks, sorry, I, just, weird dream.” She murmurs as they walk back to the hotel, Dahlia giving one last glance at the hotel.

“Dreams are nice, aren’t they? Sometimes you just wanna stay there forever.”

#far cry 5 #fc5 #joseph seed #john seed #faith seed #jacob seed #deputy oc #This Is Love #Dahlia Hale

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justal0wk3yg4mer · 4 years

Text

Things I’ve Said: Dishonored (Some Spoilers)

My words *Player/My actions* Character dialogue

I’m beginning to think that Unreal has a kink for darkness, steampunk, and protagonists that work in the shadows.

‘Rat Plague’? Do you mean the ‘Black Plague’?

A water elevator?! That’s pretty cool.

You know, I think I’m gonna recant my earlier statement. Everything is hella bright, and this dude is apparently a Lord.

Aw, that’s adorable. A tutorial in the form of hide and seek.

Oh I like her. A monarchy that actually gives a shit about ALL her people. Also, the title Empress? That’s more badass than Queen.

WTF! That was the quickest game progression I’ve ever been through, those fuckers are defiantly the villians. Who happens upon a murder, sees a man who is obviously upset about the death of his Empress, which I’m beginning to wonder if she was something more to him than just his Empress, and think ‘Oh yeah. He killed her.’

Guard: This meal comes from a friend. Oh does it now? The poisoning kind or the file in the food kind. *A few seconds later.* The kind that know how to hook a brother up!

Are the rats following me? Do I have some kind of connection with them like they help me or something? :D *Proceeds to watch as a group of rats attack and eat two grown men.* Nope, hungry. They are hungry. :(

What kind of black magic BS.

Thanks for the burn mark asshole, also all this power but at what cost. If this stuff is gonna make me go mental, I don’t want it.

Watching me with great interest? Okay, you do you boo.

Granny Rags, you are a delight. I hope I see more of you.

I’m sorry, you can’t be a doctor and have infected rats running around your home. That makes no sense.

Aw thank you Granny Rags, you’re such an angel! Even though you just had me poison most of the gang population.

*Reads graffiti* Not gonna lie, I thought that said send nudes.

Samuels, I feel like you’re the real OG.

Wait, I was just fucking with the mask’s optics just a minute ago. Now you’re physically putting the mask on which would mean I wasn’t wearing it when I was messing with the optics? That’s so weird GamingSins would sin that.

Slackjaw: Somebody put plague in the brew. Wow that’s terrible, I wonder who would do something like that. Now are you gonna help me or what?

First of all, you still don’t know who has it out for you and if you think it’s Granny Rags then I can’t help you there. Second, you said that you would get me into the Golden Cat. You gave me a key to the building beside the Golden Cat. Now I have to go to the roof of said building, get onto the Golden Cat’s roof and then I still have to find a way into the Golden Cat. You are useless to me.

*Looks all over the Golden Cat first before doing the mission.* Upstairs? I was just upstairs and I didn’t..............*thinks about it for a minute and realizes that I didn’t check a room because I thought a prostitute was in there and I didn’t want to waste a sleeping dart.*........ I am such a dumbass.

Excuse me? I just saved you, no way am I going to let you wonder off-- *Emily disappears* Disrespectful little shit.

I am an independent highly chaotic man who don’t need no Lord Regent.

*Kidnaps the physician and then ‘blinks’ my way down to Samuals* Not gonna lie, I feel like I just cheated the game.

Physician: My will is strong. Bitch, I got rats.

Tallboys? That’s too easy. *A few deaths later* Fuck tallboys, fuck ‘em.

I really don’t want to kill this chick, where is the nonlethal mission at? *Does the nonlethal mission and puts Waverly in a boat with a clearly obsessed man.* Maybe this was this a bad idea............... oh well not my problem now.

Emily, honey, I would die for you.

*I was on my 15th time trying to get into the Lord Regents building with NO health potions and trying my damn hardest to be sneaky* Fuck me. I CAN’T. No nonlethal alternative for you bitch.

If the Lord Regent really doesn’t know who I’m at this point, I’m gonna laugh.

I am definitely earning this high chaos rating.

I know I said no nonlethal for the Regents earlier but I’ve got this bitch’s confession tape and now I really want to put this on full blast and listen to his dumbass explanation. So it’s off to the broadcasting station!

*Walks around the party, talks to people and notices Corvo’s vision fading in and out* Corvo, I am so much younger than you and it takes me several drinks before I begin to get even slightly tipsy. What the fu-.........poison. They poisoned you didn’t they? *Scene cuts to the guys confessing that they poisoned Corvo.* You idiots.

Samuals you really are the real OG.

Corvo, Emily better be your fucking kid. Even if she isn’t, claim her as a dependent then get the fuck outta dodge.

I’ve only seen you fuckers (assassins) once when you attacked me out of the blue. Why are you a problem now?

Assassin: We have to watch out. This ones clever. *Me who is done with everyone’s bullsh*t and holding a full whale tank from a high vantage point.* You forgot vindictive.

*Woman tells me about the plague wagon.* Ha! Bring out ya dead! (Monty Python anyone?)

Granny, honey? What the fuck are you doing?

Can I please be done? Like seriously, most of this is not necessary.

*Enters the lighthouse* You know, for once, I would like to enter a place and not be assaulted by an orchestra. Also love the marbling.

Havelock’s diary! What juicy rumors will we read about today? *Reads for a few minutes.* And surprise, surprise. Corvo, you are the father.

*Saves Emily* Emily honey I’m so glad you’re okay! Don’t know how your doing mentally, but physically you look okay! Emily: I’m going to be Empress now. ................That tone you’re using concerns me.

All and all it wasn’t too bad of a game, it just got a little tedious for me towards the end. I did get a kick out of the fact that I was playing a game that had a virus that was very similar that what we have now (not exactly funny but more of an odd coincidence). Anyway, the tally for this game was kinda stupid. I didn’t exactly say this lot but I was stupid enough to say it, so I figured everyone would get a kick out of it. For those that are not familiar with the game, Corvo get superpowers (cult powers? IDK). Whenever you use them, there is a voice that says something (I have a ps4 so the voice came through the controller). That voice scared me.............many times (I really am stupid sometimes). So ladies and gents here is your tally for dishonored:

What did my controller just say? : 25

#Things I've Said #video games #gaming #dishonored #corvo #emily

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notesonnotes · 4 years

Text

Rosedale. Herkimer 2009. Some friends and I had followed Honor Bright; The Doppler Effect and Lacerda to a show in Herkimer, NY. We'd never seen Rosedale, or heard of them. We didn't know what to expect when we saw them setting up. I was in awe of the sheer height of their front-man, Mike. (I am a over a foot shorter than he is, and at that point he was the tallest person I'd ever met.)When they started playing, I was in awe of their drummer, Emerson Tavares (he played faster than most drummer I'd seen). After the show, we saw a big purple bus, and we had the chance to hang out with Mike and Emmo. A week later, we'd get to meet Mitch and Zan in Watertown, NY. We were hooked. Soon after, we got them to our college in Northern New York.Since then, I've watched Mike progress from the 4 man band to the last solo act in Toronto in 2018. He is multi-talented, and probably one of the most down to earth people I've met. He takes time before, during, and after shows to talk with as many people/fans as he can, and has been an inspiration to many that have followed his journey.Today, we're going to take a look at where he came from, and where he plans to go. Take a few and read through. It's the anniversary feature for Notes on Notes! What better way to celebrate that with the one who inspired it all?!

NON: Rosedale was an early project of yours as a teenager in Brampton, ON. What brought you and your then band mates together?

ML: Pretty much skateboarding sparked it all. The skate scene was really booming in Brampton (and everywhere) as I was becoming an adolescent. Tony Hawk Pro Skater was huge, all the skate magazines were doing well, all the local skate parks were packed and hosting contests, pro skaters were celebrities- it was wild! I've always been pretty awkward on a skateboard and could never really improve past the basics, but I was definitely making progress on the piano so my parents finally granted my wishes to switch to classical guitar, as I'd been begging for years and the skate culture was surrounded by a lot of guitar music. After about a year of struggling to figure out how to play "cool guitar" I started convincing my friends to learn drums and bass and would try to jam with them. That led me to connecting with a friend I hadn't really seen since kindergarten; Nick, who was a pretty solid drummer. So I started showing him songs I'd written and we'd jam at his place on weekends. I think it started lighting a fire for a few of my school and skater friends as they started getting more serious about learning instruments and starting bands. We'd eventually teamed up with Mitch and Jon's band, as their drummer, Emerson, was still figuring out how to drum. Fun fact, there was about a month or two where I was kicked out of the band because my squeaky voice, cheesy lyrics, shrill guitar tone, awkward stage presence, and thick wavy blond mushroom cut were all just too unbearable. (They were very blunt and honest with me on that phone call...) So Jon started singing and they eventually called me back into the new band to play guitar, piano, and sing super high emo backup vocals. From there; we replaced Nick with Sam, named the band Rosedale (because when our gear was stuck at Nick's house we'd walk up Rosedale ave to the local music store to practice and write). Then we eventually replaced Sam with Emerson. Me and Jon started taking vocal lessons from our friend Steve, who was a drummer and backup singer in one of our favourite local bands, By Permit Only. Eventually we just asked him to be our lead singer and after recording our first EP with him, he quit the band and I took over lead vocals again. I met Zan in our high school, Mayfield. He was a bassist in the music program so I'd jam with him from time to time during lunch in our school's practice rooms. He eventually replaced Jon... I guess I could have just summed it up with "Skateboarding and school" but we all have a little more time these days so why not take a trip down nostalgia lane!

NON: You've had 5 EP's and albums over the years; could you describe the progression of your creative process through the years?

ML: It's pretty crazy for me to look back on. We recorded Past Times With Old Friends in Sean Andrew's little bedroom on a Line 6 bean-shaped Pod with Cue-base on his laptop. We'd tried to record about 3 demos with 3 different producers prior to that EP but nothing ever got finished. Each time we'd record I'd learn a few more things about how to engineer. Back when we had Sam in the band, one of his dad's friends "Stereo Mario" (one of the 3 producers that we'd demo with) would teach me the basics of Pro Tools and I was very eager to learn more. Before ever using any real recording equipment/DAW I'd multi-track covers of my favorite songs onto three-and-a-half inch floppy discs with my Yamaha Clavinova (a multi-patch midi amplified keyboard from the mid 90s), drums and all! So I kinda came full circle back to being a solo, multi tracker, multi-instrumentalist after having several different band mates and methods. The big turning point in my progression as an artist and producer, though, came when I started an internship at Drive Studios in my senior year of high school. I believe everyone needs a roll model and mentor to really progress and the owner of that studio, Steve Rizun, took me under his wing and pulled me in the right direction. Not only did he train me to be a sound engineer and let me work with some world class punk/prog/metal/emo bands, but he also would show me how to make additional production for Rosedale's sound and how to bring it to our live show. I became obsessed with songwriting and production and as soon as I graduated I worked to save up for a Macbook and an audio interface...and a lot of other gear! Had it not been for Steve, I probably would have wasted a lot of money going to a college to learn a fraction of what he was teaching me for free; hands on in the most punk rock environment! Since that internship he's mixed and mastered all the Rosedale records, mixed a handful of my live shows, he even showed me the ropes of being a live sound engineer, and continues to be a great ear to for mixing and advice! I've had a lot of other great friends show me how to edit video, hold a drumstick, where to book shows, gear advice etc. Even though I'm kind of a "Lone Wolf" I guess my process has always been to keep creating and ask for help and advice along the way from those who are more experienced (and YouTube tutorials, of course). Now that I'm in a new market playing with a new band (Mainsail in San Diego) I feel like I'm teaching and working more often than I'm learning. And that's been really healthy too!

NON: How has the journey from "Past Times" to your most recent projects helped you grow/learn as a musician/artist?

ML: What a journey it has been! As I'm sure any artist or even entrepreneur could relate, The Faces sang it best; "I wish that I knew what I know now when I was younger!" I think the biggest difference is the decision making ability. I used to take so damn long to make such bad decisions! Debating who, what, where why- it's important to think things through but sometimes you gotta just leap and learn from it. If you keep questioning things you'll never know. Also, the more I learn the more I realize how much more I still don't know! And that's part of the climb. Even now, being in the beginning stages of getting my 10,000 hours on the drums, I look back to how I used to play, say, 100 hours ago- and shake my head. That can sometimes be humiliating and demotivating while knowing you're still at the bottom of the mountain- or even just dealing with the ongoing yin and yang of confidence/hope vs. doubt. But what usually gets me to keep on going is to remind myself to just be better than I was yesterday. For a long time I was holding myself to the standards of my heroes which usually just creates inauthenticity, bad technique, bad decisions, clutter, and setbacks. Sometimes I'm worse than I was yesterday so I need a little push and that's okay, too! The journey from Past Times to Again was a big balancing lesson of letting things go while learning you can always do more to improve. And it's no surprise; but the newer the album, the more proud and less embarrassed of it I am!

NON: You've played bass in Mainsail for roughly a year, maybe a bit more; how did you meet up with them? What spurred you joining?

ML: Yeah since February 2019 I've been in Mainsail. I've been friends with them since 2017 and they really helped me get my show in front of a lot of people in San Diego. When I finally moved out there Nick was really cool about bringing me out to shows and jamming together. They needed a new bass player so I figured I'd offer and it just all escalated really fast. Since finally accepting that it was time to move on from the name Rosedale I've had a lot of luck with being a sort of "yes man". I'm usually very strict with staying on the path to my vision, as it requires a lot of time, but since moving and letting go of the past I've been finding that sometimes letting the wind take you where you're needed can be really beneficial. And a lot of great things are starting to happen for Mainsail so it has been fun. It has also kind of kept a stream of new listeners seeing what Rosedale is all about too so that is a nice bonus.

NON: You've performed at the House of Blues in San Diego; how was the experience for you?

ML: It was one of the best moments of my life playing that stage in front of so many great SoCal people, some who have been supporting Rosedale over the years. That has always been one of my favorite venues and since moving to San Diego I've seen a lot of amazing shows there. House of Blues is always great in Boston and Anaheim too. I'm really grateful that they give independent acts like myself not only a chance to play there, but they really give you the same professionalism and respect as they do to the giant national acts, it's pretty remarkable. I really hope they're doing okay during this pandemic and I hope all venues find a way to pull through this. I can't imagine how tough it's getting for some.

NON: You've toured the U.S. and parts of Canada multiple times; played on a stage at Warped Tour, and toured Europe: What would you say is your most memorable moment?

ML: That is a great but very tough question. Playing in Vienna Austria in 2016 to a bunch of kids that knew my songs is definitely up there. But 2012 Warped Tour was probably the most fun and rewarding summer of my life. It was a grind and very uncomfortable at times, but there were so many epic moments packed into that summer that I look back on in disbelief. The biggest turning point was about two weeks into the tour in Minnesota (I think it was Minnesota...) I got called into the Warped production office and was told to check in with Kevin every morning for any open stage time, given a wristband, and some tasks to help out with in production. I played my DIY one-man-show in the parking lot that same night as kids were leaving the festival (as I would every night) and while I was standing at my merch table selling stuff and taking photos, I noticed that Ryan Dawson (from All Time Low) and Anthony Raneri (from Bayside) were hanging out watching. Once things slowed down they came over and bought 10 CDs each! It was so cool of them to even give me the time of day, let alone buy CDs to (probably) give out to people on the tour. I had a similar experience with Caleb Shomo (from Attack Attack/Beartooth) the year before outside of Cuyahoga Falls Warped tour. I had a drummer and bass player with me at the time and Caleb stood front & center to watch our whole set while kids kept coming up to him for autographs and I could see him pointing at us saying good things to all the kids. After our set he handed me all the cash he had in his pocked and apologized for not having more, I gave him some merch and we chatted for a good 15 minutes about how being an artist is a roller coaster and good things come and go, encouraging me to hang in there. He kept emphasizing how he just considered himself and everyone on the main stages lucky. All of those memories are enough motivation to last a lifetime and they're also reminders to pay it forward.

NON: Touring as much as you have, there must have been some odd things that have happened. What has been the strangest thing to happen to you while you were on the road?

ML: Lots of strange tour stories for sure. The little ghost girl I caught on camera in the former German concentration camp was pretty crazy. (You can find it in the RosedaleMike Europe Tour Blogs via Tumblr if you don't believe!) It always freaks people out when I show them. And I remember everyone's reaction in the van right after I caught the footage. But the craziest thing that happened to me...there's been so many hard luck slaps in the face, as so many touring bands have also experienced, I'm sure. One time I had this great opportunity to be the opener/direct support for Everlast in Colorado Springs. I had just released self-titled, the tour was going well, and this Everlast show was sold out at Black Sheep (a great venue!) I had a day off so I got to town a day early to be extra prepared. While at the gym I received an email from the venue that Everlast had to postpone due to weather conditions. So now the show was cancelled and I offered to find local bands to fill the night for the venue so that I can still play for my small crowd. I went straight to a library for wi-fi and started plugging away on my laptop, emailing bands asking if they wanna do me a solid and play a last minute show at Black Sheep tomorrow night. I had two confirmed, told the venue, and they announced on the Facebook event page that there will still be a show but Everlast will be rescheduled, and they made me a host so I could update the event as I confirmed new acts. Some kids in Montana saw this and started saying that Rosedale cancelled the Everlast show! It turns out that they just randomly decided to troll me. They were even sending pictures of these little ridiculous hand written notes they made that read something like "I am cancelling the show - Rosedale". They were leaving random comments claiming that they were Everlast and bashing my fans as they tried to help clear the confusion. People were messaging me asking "Why'd you cancel the show?!" I had to explain to them and the venue what was really going on. The venue was in shock watching it all happen too and they said they have never seen anything like that, ever. I went to a local show that same night and convinced a couple of the bands to play Black Sheep tomorrow. All four locals were really awesome and the show ended up turning out to be pretty well attended. Even some people that had Everlast tickets came out and had a great time. The venue was really impressed that I pulled an event together so last minute and I was stoked to have built another great venue relationship. I got in my van and started to drive to my next show in Flagstaff, AZ. As I was climbing a rocky mountain pass, some slick snow started coming down. I was pulling my trailer and sliding pretty bad until eventually I couldn't move anymore and was stuck on the side of the road. As the sun was coming up an emergency truck pulled up and started laying sand down in front of my van so I followed him until my wheels started spinning again and one wheel gripped to the sand while the other spun and blew my transmission and rear differential. I didn't make it to Flagstaff or the next five shows. $4600 repair bill. And the next show back in Encinitas was an afternoon show at a biker bar where I was told after my first set (of three) to pack up and only received one sixth of my guarantee as my fans started showing up for the second set. There ended up being some good intertwined in all of all of that but it was just such a frustrating and confusing week. Sometimes I swear I'm in a movie like The Truman Show.

NON: You draw a lot of inspiration from The Used; Blink-182 and Angels and Airwaves: Who else has inspired you along the way?

ML: I definitely have a lot of heroes. Death Cab For Cutie and The Postal Service, The Ataris, The Starting Line, Metro Station, Dashboard Confessional, Boys Like Girls, The Matches, Underoath, The Almost, Motion City Soundtrack, Red Hot Chili Peppers, All Time Low, The Band Camino, Owl City, Radiohead, John Mayer, Coldplay, Paramore, Yellowcard, Moneen, Boxcar Racer...That's probably 10% of them. I've been to a lot of great concerts and being six foot nine gives me a good view and very memorable experiences.

NON: Do you see yourself continuing making music or helping others in music in the future?

ML :Both!

NON: What song that you've written do you connect with the most?

ML: That's always changing to be honest. Depending on where I'm at, what I'm doing/going through. It's usually the most recent song or idea I've written which doesn't get released for sometimes a year or two after. Of the songs I've release, that would be Sustain. That is the most recent Rosedale song I've written. I wrote it right before we started tracking Self Titled and Again and its kind of about being in both shoes of that Warped Tour situation I just mentioned. People sometimes ask if I'm referring to myself as the Star or the Kid in that song and the answer is both! I'm still that star struck kid who can't wait to ask my favorite artists a thousand questions but I also get a lot of questions from fans who are trying to start their own thing or make their passion their career.

SHOUT OUTS

Mainsail, Palapalooza Podcast, Time & Distance, I Set My Friends on Fire, Alex Baker, Plans, The Home Team, OCML, FXav, Adam Sisco, my parents and family, everyone at Gnarlywood, Abby Lyn Records, Jonny Cooper, my old band mates and everyone who's ever come on tour with me- Thank you all. And all the bands, artists, venues, studios, street performers, restaurants that are trying to make it through this lock down. Hopefully all this is over soon and there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Believe things will get better eventually and use this alone time to improve yourself. Keep supporting live music even if you're stuck at home. And if you need help reach out and ask. Let's all stay safe and help one another

LINKS

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YouTube

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187days · 5 years

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Day Thirty-Seven

Me: *sees a student putting deodorant on in class* Can you not do that in my classroom? Student: Huh? Me: Put deodorant on in the bathroom, not at your desk. Student: ... You’re glad I’m putting it on, though, right?

So today was a bit chaotic and ridiculous. For starters, I was late to work because I realized I’d forgotten my lunch when I was halfway there, and I drove back to my apartment and got it. I still would’ve made it on time, but I got stuck behind the slowest driver eeeeever. So, yeah, I got to the doors as the bell rang. Mrs. T was back- and she brought me chocolate!- but Mr. F was out, and will be out for the next three weeks because his wife’s having a baby (yaaaaay!), and there was a scramble to find his sub plans. Plus, it’s PSAT day, which means our schedule was wonky to accommodate the fact that all the juniors- and many of the sophomores- were testing, and anytime there’s a change in the schedule the kids get squirrely.

But we managed! Actually, Mrs. T and I ended the day feeling pretty darn accomplished. The wonky schedule gave us more prep time than usual, and we both got way ahead on our work. Then, when our ninth graders came in for World/English, we went over what we expected students to do with their class time (draft, peer edit, and revise their narratives, then- if they’re ahead- study for their upcoming content quiz in my class) while we were conferencing. For the most part, students stayed on task and got a lot done, which enabled us to focus on the individual conferences we were having.

After class, we both said that the work we’re reading is really cool. My moment of triumph was conferencing with a student who’s seldom been in a regular classroom setting before this year, and finds reading and writing very difficult. He’s worked really hard all week to do this assignment; everyday, he’s shown me his progress, gotten my feedback, then gone back to work- sometimes with an aide, sometimes independently. Today, he had a finished story to show me, and that was awesome. It’s simple, but it’s got descriptive details, dialogue, flashback... and it’s probably more than he’s ever written in his life. I am SO proud of him. Like, my teacher heart is bursting.

It was good to go to a team meeting during Block 5 able to share that story. Unfortunately, Mrs. F came in bearing less fun news regarding some of our other students (truancy meetings, meetings with the SRO, that kind of thing...) Even so, this year’s so much better than last year; even the challenges seem like things we can handle easily, and it’s indescribably good to feel confident about that again.

#teachblr #edublr #educhums #teaching #teacher #education #social studies #high school #interdisciplinary fabulousness #The Latin America Narrative #PSAT #team meeting #Mrs. T #Mr. F #Mrs. F #cue the music of triumph #SRO #day thirty seven

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the-first-date · 5 years

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A conversation with Madison Leigh Mumma [22/NB/Cincinnati]

Madge Maril: Hello! How are you today?

Madison Leigh Mumma: Hi! I'm great, how are you?

MM: Doing OK! For those that don't know you (and your work), can you tell us about yourself?

MLM: Sure! I live in Cincy, just graduated with a BFA, and for the most part consider myself an artist. I recently realized that I actually have no desire to go back to school so now I'm just working in coffee and saving up money to move. Oh, also, my pronouns are they/them! And I'm a Pisces!

MM: Oo, were you planning on going back to school before? And move where?

MLM: Yeah, I was dead set on going into critical theory and getting a PhD, but it took a break from academia for me to realize that it exhausts me way too much to be healthy. I'm thinking east coast, maybe Providence or Hadley??

MM: Well I don't know what critical theory is and I don't know where Hadley is but I have heard of Providence!

MLM: It's very broad! I think I was mostly attracted to the idea of arguing and criticizing for a living.

MM: Pisces!!!

MLM: EXACTLY.

MM: I love it.

MLM: With an Aries fuckin moon, lmao. Constant combat.

MM: WOW. Rising?

MLM: Also Pisces!! Pisces Sun, Rising, Mercury, and Venus.

MM: Omg, that's so intense — what's it like for you?

MLM: Like you said — VERY intense. I'm either 0% or 100% and that can be... a lot. But I think it's exciting to feel everything as much as possible, too!

MM: Said like a true blue pisces. OK so seamless transition: What do you wear on the first date? And follow up: Do you think it's reflective of your sign?

MLM: I usually wear a lot of black and let my accessories do the talking — so on a first date I'd probably wear a trusty black velvet shirt, high-waisted skinny jeans with a cool belt, and Docs. I'm very superstitious and a heavy believer in luck so I'd be wearing aquamarine and maybe some red jasper, dagger earrings, and a pin or two. I think that makes sense as a Pisces — I have a solid base but otherwise can be pretty fluid.

MM: What do aquamarine and red jasper have to do with luck?

MLM: Aquamarine symbolizes courage, protection, and is meant to enhance communication (and it's my birthstone!). Red Jasper is the stone of ~empowerment~, I actually started wearing it because a friend told me it reminded them of my "fighting spirit.”

MM: That's so interesting. And I've seen your dagger earrings on IG before I think! Where did you get them, and what do they mean to you?

MLM: My friend gave them to me as a gift! I like that they're elegant but still a little spicy. They feel like they go with the jasper in that respect — like there’s beauty in self-protection and putting yourself first.

MM: Completely agree. And it goes with the black outfit, too. Why a black shirt?

MLM: Black seems very secure and calm to me, plus it's always flattering and the velvet elevates just a liiiitle above a T-shirt.

MM: There's a lot of emotion in your outfit. What are you typically feeling on a date, if you can make it generic?

MLM: I have to be fairly comfortable talking to somebody before I go on a date with them, and I'm very selective about who I spend my time with. So at that point I'm usually really excited to see if there’s any **spark**.

MM: That's so opposite from me lol. When I'm single, I just like to go out and ~experience.

MLM: Ahh sometimes I really wish I could do that! I mean, I COULD but I think it goes back to the Pisces/emotions thing. I exhaust myself so fast!

MM: How so, if you don't mind me asking?

MLM: Well, I tend to daydream a bit so I build up my ideas of strangers around their potential instead of what I know to be reality, and that can spiral real fast. I actually deleted Tinder this summer and made a sort of romantic vision board to break that habit.

MM: Tell me more about this mood board.

MLM: It's basically an incomplete list of things that are valuable to me in a partner, and things that I can't/won't compromise on. A couple of examples are like, being considerate and independent. Also, you can't be a cop lover. In the past I've just been attracted to people that make me beg for their affection because it feels like I'm winning something, but that high isn't sustainable or worth it! Having a physical list keeps me accountable.

MM: My mom actually told me to do the same thing when I was looking for a partner! So you have her sage wisdom behind you. I imagine it helps you reality check during the infatuation stage? Like oh, they're cute but they do XYZ and I promised myself that's a no-go.

MLM: Aw yay!! YES definitely, that actually just happened this past week. I had a crush on someone I don't really know and realized I actually just like the attention.

MM: God, preach. And also like, that's a deep thought, and kind of a hard one to unpack. How did it feel to realize that?

MLM: Honestly, really good and kind of relieving! It took a lot of conscious effort to get to this point and it was like "A-HA! I am not a slave to my impulses! Incredible!"

MM: I'm envious that you were able to realize that all right out of college. I feel like post graduation was my most murky, in-my-own-head time, especially romantically.

MLM: It was definitely rough. I went sober this January and I don't think I would have been able to make this much personal progress without that. Once I made that change it kind of had to be all or nothing.

MM: Congratulations on your sobriety!!

MLM: Thank you!! ❤

MM: I've done periods of sobriety, but had long-term partners for all of them iirc. What's being on the dating scene like when you're not drinking? I really can't imagine it.

MLM: It definitely slims down the pool, lol. I didn't realize how much of my social life involved drinking before, and I'm not currently in a place in my sobriety where I could be involved with somebody who drinks. That plus the fact that I deeply enjoy alone time has meant I go out way less. But I'm a lot kinder and intentional in the interactions I have now and generally enjoy myself more so I think it all balanced out!

MM: You know, I don't think I've ever heard someone say they really enjoy alone time. I think most people tolerate it at best. With so much changing and blossoming internally, do you think how you present yourself to the world through your personal style has shifted, too?

MLM: I relish it! I think my style has become slightly less chaotic, maybe a bit more monochrome. This sounds super corny, but now that I've gained some self-confidence and am more stable I don't use my clothes to speak for me, hahaha.

MM: It's not corny at all!! I've been ruminating on that lately, too. I used to look in my closet and think of it as costume pieces.

MLM: Yesss!

MM: Also I'm now realizing it's been like almost two hours somehow??

MLM: Time is not real!

MM: I'll wrap this up so you can get back to your evening! Do you have any social media/online places you want to shout out for people to follow?

MLM: Ooh yeah! I run @groundscoresofficial on Insta, and post my art at @chaoskewpie! You can find my personal through either of those but I mostly post cats and my roommates, ha. Thanks so much for having me in your online space :^))

MM: Thank you for coming to hang out at the digital pad!!

#first date #fashion blog #style

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thisdiscontentedwinter · 6 years

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Baby Daddy - Chapter 6

You can read the rest here on AO3, or check out the Tumblr Chapter Index here.

Stiles checks his phone for Laura’s address. It’s on Lincoln Street, down in the old industrial area of town. It takes two different bus rides to get there, but it’s a Saturday, so it’s not like Stiles has any other plans. And Laura’s going to give him five hundred dollars upfront, whether it takes or not, so at least he can get the Jeep running again after this, right?

Surely the thought of that should be enough to overcome any performance anxiety?

Not that Stiles has ever jerked off thinking about his Jeep. Although, if he’s honest with himself, he has jerked off thinking about messing around with other people in the back of his Jeep, so it’s a starting point, right?

He wipes his clammy hands on his shirt, rechecks the address, and begins the long climb up the stairs.

Laura said her place was a bit out of the way, and mentioned it was a semi-converted loft, but Stiles is getting all sorts of horror movie vibes. Like, is this really the kind of place to bring up a kid?

But when Laura opens the door to him when he knocks, it’s actually not that bad. The loft has a kind of industrial-chic thing happening, and the concrete and brick look is kind of cool when it’s been offset by a few of the soft furnishings around the place.

“It’s a work in progress,” Laura says, gesturing at him to come inside. “Derek and I don’t exactly have an eye for decorating.”

Right. Her brother. Laura’s mentioned him once or twice, but Stiles hasn’t pushed. He’s Laura’s friend. If she wants to talk about her family, she will. If she doesn’t, she won’t. And Stiles likes her too much to rip those scabs off. He’s got scars of his own; he knows how it feels. But he casts his gaze around the loft for the elusive and mysterious Derek anyway.

“He’s sleeping,” Laura tells him. “He worked last night.”

“So you’re both night owls?”

“More or less.” Laura looks different at home than she does at the diner. She’s barefoot, wearing jeans and a baggy t-shirt, and her dark hair is loose instead of being pulled back in a ponytail.

“Cool,” Stiles says, just for something to attempt to cover his rising anxiety, and then winces internally at how lame he sounds. He gestures to the stairs. “So, um, is the bathroom that way?”

Laura nods. “Yeah. First door on the left. Do you, um, need anything?”

Stiles is so, so glad she didn’t ask if he needed a hand. Because okay, that would have been hilarious, but he’s really not ready to laugh at this yet. It’s way too fucking awkward.

“Nah.” He likewise resists the urge to tell her he’s an expert. “I’ll go and ah… do the thing.”

Laura nods, holding her hands in front of herself and twisting her fingers. She looks as weirded out and nervous as Stiles feels right now.

Stiles climbs the steps, his face burning.

He finds the bathroom easily enough. It’s old, but it’s clean. The shower curtain has sharks on it, and how weird would it be if he asked Laura where she got it? He’ll have money soon, right? He can splurge on a new shower curtain.

There’s a glass jar on the sink, the lid left off.

Stiles looks at it for a moment, and then looks at his pale face in the mirror, and then pops the button on the fly of his khakis and tugs the zip down.

Right.

He can do this.

He’s been doing this since he was twelve.

He’s a freaking expert.

Stiles closes his eyes, screws up his face, and tries his hardest not to think about the fact that, downstairs, Laura knows exactly what he’s doing.

***

Stiles steers clear of Laura for about a week after The Event. Mostly because he has no idea what the hell to say to her ever since he awkwardly handed her a jar of cum and then fled. He tries to get back into a routine. He goes to his classes, and spends most of his evenings at home with Dad.

“You’re not washing dishes anymore?” Dad asks him one night as they sit at the kitchen table eating dinner. It’s leftover meatloaf and vegetables. Stiles is looking forward to buying his dad a steak at some point soon. It’s been so long that he’s prepared to relax his restrictions on red meat.

“Nah,” Stiles says. “I got a little extra cash coming in.”

“Oh,” Dad says, in a neutral tone that Stiles doesn’t trust for a moment. “Doing what?”

“Tutoring one of the kids at school,” Stiles says, and jams a forkful of pasta in his mouth in what turns out to be a vain attempt to discourage further conversation.

“Tutoring,” Dad says, narrowing his eyes. “You’re not selling papers again, are you?”

That had got Stiles into a fair amount of shit in sophomore year at high school. But only because Greenberg was a fucking idiot and had complained to their Bio teacher that he should have gotten an A on his paper ‘because Stiles wrote it!’ Even though Stiles had specifically written a C paper so nobody would get suspicious. He’d even misspelled ‘organism’ as ‘orgasm’ three times, because that was a totally Greenberg thing to do. Stiles still isn’t sure if Greenberg really was that stupid, or if he just thought he was funny. Point is, Stiles got into a lot of shit over that.

“No, I’m tutoring,” Stiles lies.

“For what? Your accounting classes?” Dad is still suspicious. “You don’t even like your accounting classes.”

And hasn’t that been a bone of contention between them? Dad didn’t want Stiles to give up going to GWU, but Stiles knows he made the right decision coming back, because Dad isn’t up to looking after himself yet, and hiring someone is still out of their budget. But in the end Dad had agreed that Stiles could stick around—if only because GWU was suddenly out of their budget as well. Stiles had got a few scholarships, but Dad’s savings had been going to cover the gap, right up until Dad’s savings were swallowed up on hospital bills. But Dad had been adamant he didn’t want Stiles to give up on college altogether—probably suspecting that if Stiles skipped a year, he’d never get around to going back—so Stiles pretended to be super-excited about accounting at Beacon Hills Community College.

Dad saw straight through him of course, but they both kept the pretence up. Dad was already guilty enough about getting hurt and derailing Stiles’s plans to go to GWU, and they were both dealing with enough other shit without Stiles whining about how much he hated accounting.

Anyway, he can change courses next year, right? Change colleges too, if the damn insurance money ever comes through. He probably won’t change colleges though. After almost losing his dad, he wants to stick close.

“Not always,” he concedes now. “But I’m good at them. Anyway, I don’t need to go back to washing dishes is my point. More early nights for me!”

“Well, that’s good, kiddo.” Dad sounds genuinely pleased.

“Right?” Stiles grins, and tries to ignore the twist of anxiety in his gut. Because it’s going ot be weird, right? If Laura is pregnant. It’s going to be weird stopping in at the diner to study and seeing her with a bulging belly under her apron, and knowing that it’s his. Sort of his. Not legally his, but just because he’s already signed over his rights, that doesn’t mean he signed over his feelings too, right?

This is all maybe messier than he thought it would be.

He likes Laura. He wants to stay friends with her. Can he do that, when she’s having a kid he knows is his?

This is probably shit he should have thought of before he jerked off into a jar in her bathroom.

“You okay, son?” Dad asks him.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, stabbing another piece of pasta. “I am totally awesomely amazing!”

Dad isn’t fooled for a second. “Anything I need to know about?”

“No. It’s cool, Dad, I promise. Just… school stuff.”

“School stuff,” Dad echoes, like he knows it’s a total lie.

“School stuff,” Stiles repeats firmly. He stands up, grabs Dad’s empty glass, and goes to the refrigerator to pour him another juice.

It seems safer, somehow, not to look him in the eye right now.

***

Stiles clears his browser history just in case his dad decides to check it and discovers his most recent search is “How long does it take to know if you’re pregnant”.

***

Laura gave Stiles two hundred dollars as an upfront payment, and he keeps twenty back for groceries and puts the rest on the electric bill. It’s weird to think that in a few weeks he might have eight thousand dollars—minus his two hundred dollar advance. He can get his Jeep fixed, pay off the rest of the bills, and dedicate his spare time to phoning the insurance company and yelling at them. It might not get them to process Dad’s claim any faster, but at least it’ll be somewhat cathartic.

So the money will be great. Weird, but great.

Even weirder than the thought of that much money is the thought that Laura might be pregnant.

Laura is awesome. She’ll be a great mom. And obviously she’s got the money to raise a kid if she can afford to pay Stiles eight grand for his contribution. But he worries that maybe he should have asked more questions. Like why him? Laura’s young, and she’s pretty hot, and she’s funny as hell, and seems like an all-round great person. So why did she want a sperm donor? She should have eligible guys lined up around the block for a chance to ask her on a date.

Maybe she’s been in shitty relationships before and she doesn’t want to date right now.

Maybe she’s a lesbian. Or maybe she’s ace and she doesn’t want to have sex with anyone.

Or maybe she’s a strong, independent woman who don’t need no man.

Actually, there’s no maybe about that last one. That’s Laura alright.

So okay, there are plenty of reasons she might want to get a baby this way instead of the more usual way. The real mystery, Stiles thinks, is why she chose him.

Lydia Martin always said there was no accounting for taste. Usually though, she said it with extreme prejudice, and in regards to Stiles’s fashion choices. When she was feeling particularly generous, she upgraded his sense of style from “regrettable” to “peculiar”. It probably wasn’t much of an upgrade, to be honest, but Stiles likes to think that he was very slowly winning her over. It would have only taken another decade or two, max.

He really should text her, he thinks, and find out how she’s enjoying Harvard.

He’s lost contact with most of his high school friends since they all scattered on the winds of graduation. It’s even been weeks since he talked to Scott, and they’ve been inseparable since elementary school.

It’s been…lonely, at least until Stiles met Laura, and Stiles doesn’t want to make it all weird and awkward between them.

So maybe Laura has “peculiar” taste as well, and maybe that’s why she chose him, but one thing Stiles knows for certain is that, whatever happens, he doesn’t want to lose her friendship. Not when it’s one of the brightest things in his life at the moment.

***

Three weeks after The Event, Stiles turns up to the diner after Laura texts him, and she presents him with a pink Hello Kitty backpack full of money. The money is in stacks of twenty dollar bills. It’s hefty, and also feels illicit, like this is a drug deal or something.

“It worked?” Stiles asks, his heart pounding.

Laura gives him a brilliant smile. “It worked!”

“Wow. Um, congratulations, I guess!”

Her smile grows.

“So, how about a celebratory milkshake?” Stiles asks, pushing past his swirling emotions and concentrating on Laura’s obvious joy. “Turns out I can afford it now!”

She laughs, and Stiles thinks that yeah, they can do this. They’ve got this. This is all going to work out great.

***

Stiles gets home to find his dad sitting on the couch with a bunch of old case files and evidence boxes spread out around him within easy reach.

“What’s all this?” he asks curiously.

“Hmm?” Dad looks up at him, peering at him over the frames of the glasses he only ever wears when he’s deep down some investigative rabbit hole. “Oh, I called Parrish and asked him to bring them over. I’m climbing the walls here, kiddo.” He grimaces. “Well, not literally.”

Right. Because literally he can barely climb the stairs.

Stiles steps forward. It’s actually great to see Dad actually engaged with something after so many months of inactivity. Stiles was starting to worry that he was getting depressed or something. This seems like a positive step.

“So what case is it?” he asks, leaning forward to pick up a photograph.

It’s the burned out remains of a house.

Stiles doesn’t have to ask which one. It was on the front page of the local newspapers for weeks after it happened.

“You’re looking into the Hale fire?” he asks, his stomach clenching as he thinks of Laura’s joy-filled smile. “I thought that was solved.”

“The fire investigator at the time said it was an electrical fault, so Sheriff Knox wrote it off. That never sat entirely right with me, but I was just a lowly deputy when it happened.” Dad shrugs. “I thought, well, one thing I’ve got at the moment is time. Might as well poke around in the files for a while, right?”

“Sure,” Stiles says, swallowing down his disquiet. “Why not?”

#sterek #discontentedwinter #my fics #baby daddy

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financiallymint · 6 years

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Experiment 8: Backpacking and Studying in South America

I’m back!

You may have noticed a little less activity on social media and generally on Financially Mint in the last few months. Reason: the author (yes me) went a little crazy, decided to go travelling and never come back (and now I’m back). It was an amazing 3 months: I started in Buenos Aires, Argentina, and went all the way through to Santiago, Chile, up to Peru and then over to Bolivia. 4 countries, one backpack and an intrigued solo traveller. Of course, it was amazing; I did things I had never dreamt of doing (touching dinosaur footprints) and met people I didn’t know could exist (a horse psychologist??).

But I also learnt a lot. Not just about myself, but about the world, and people. I learnt a lot and it wasn’t until I had been back for 2 weeks and had was back in a routine that I realised how much I had learnt. So, of course, I’m writing a post about it: 5 things I learnt backpacking round South America.

1. You can study and travel

This trip was an experiment; I wanted to see if I could study, work and travel at the same time. I study online at The Open University (post on that coming soon) and I work as a digital marketing freelancer on the side. Throughout the travels I had to keep studying, turning in assignments on time and keeping up to date. With the freelancing, I dropped most of my clients and told them I’d be back in a few months.

So did it work? Kind of. I was able to study and turn in my assignments, but any attempts to work went out the window. I answered emails and did admin, but proper work was pretty much impossible. Sleeping in hostels and with couchsurfers meant I hardly ever had some quiet time and couldn’t really concentrate. But that was fine, because I was ready – I had 3 months of blog posts written and not much freelancing to do.

I study maybe 3/4 hours a week with the OU, and what’s cool with travelling alone is that I could rearrange my day around getting my studying done – study in the morning, tourist in the afternoon. A pretty cool arrangement (which was completely shattered the minute my friend from the US came to do Peru with me, since it was harder to manage my time). I also must mention that I am half Spanish and therefore could communicate easily with locals – a great advantage, I realised during the trp.

So you say: ‘Great! Studying and travelling sounds amazing! I’d love to do that too, but how on baby’s Earth do I finance it? I’m already broke as a student, where would I get the money to travel around South America???’.

Well my dear student friends, let me tell you something: those three months cost me around £3,000, excluding the plane ticket. £3,000. Think about it. Is it really that much?

If you got a job, even a student job, applied the 15% rule and budgeted correctly, you’d get to that number in no time. Next thing you know you’re getting a degree and travelling! I’m not saying you have to do it, I’m saying is that it’s possible.

2. Travelling doesn’t have to be expensive

Moving on from the last point: my trip cost me £3,500 in total, this time including all plane tickets, accommodation, food, trips, tours and souvenir llama jumpers. At first it may seem like a lot, but the budget was £1,000 of expenses a month, which ain’t too bad if you ask me.

Related: Mastering the art of travelling on a student budget

So why was it so cheap? Mostly because I did quite a lot of couchsurfing, did a 2 week workaway, hostel home cooking and also the fact that South America is a cheaper continent (yay!). But the most interesting part is that I know I could have done this trip on an even lower budget. Think of all these options: working in hostels, doing workaways, au pairing, etc. When I told other travellers my budget was £1,000 a month, they were surprised; most people travel on way lower budgets. Once again… all I’m saying is that it’s possible.

3. Travelling is one of the best forms of education

Why am I so supportive of the whole travel and study idea? Because travelling is one of the best kinds of education you can find. Just as important as a degree (or even more…).

Think about it: you throw yourself into an unknown world, alone and ready to learn. You have to figure out how to get from X to Y without internet, you have to communicate with locals and understand their culture, you get to meet other travellers and make friends. All that is education, because you learn how to be independent, how to relate to others and also you get to know a little more of yourself – something universities don’t really offer.

I’ve done quite a bit of travelling in my short lifetime, but what was different about this trip was the people I met. Some of them inspired me, some intrigued me, and some became my very good friends.

I met this guy in a little town in the south of the wine province in Argentina (Mendoza) called San Rafael. It’s famous for having tons of nature activities and is great for family outings. This friend I made was living in this little town and worked as a rafter on the river. He loved the water and his job was to guide people down the river and save lives. But he was taking it a step further; after seeing how underdeveloped and disorganised tourist information was, he joined up with a developer and was started building an app. This app would help families figure out which cool activity to do, how much it would cost and where it was. I loved it. By day he was a rafter, and on the side he was an app developer – in this little town in the middle of the Mendoza desert. I simply found it inspiring.

You learn so much from the people you meet, it’s quite unbelievable. You learn about their culture, their way of living, their day to day activities (sacrificing a llama fetus before each starting a construction project – Bolivia). And it’s fascinating.

Another important lesson I learnt was how lucky I am to have grown up in a Western country. Peru and Bolivia are lovely places with lovely people, but seeing what corruption, poverty and inflation does to people is heartbreaking. Yes, we’ve got our crazy politicians, fake news and are addicted to technology, but it’s nothing compared to what I saw in some places of SA. Thanks to our society, I am able to travel, earn my own money, get an education, have my own thoughts and express my own opinions. And now I realise, that’s a lot.

4. Travelling alone is LIT

I did the entire of SA alone apart from Peru, where I had planned to meet my friend from California and do the country together. Most were surprised that I would venture into the wild alone – but I was looking for real adventure, and I knew the craziest ones are the ones you do alone.

Travelling alone means meeting a ton of people wherever you go, and it forces you to be sociable. When I travelled with my friend, we stuck together and enjoyed each other’s company – I couldn’t be asked to talk to others. His lack of Spanish meant it wasn’t easy to talk to locals – so we mostly stuck together. It was nice to mix it up with a friend (thanks Ryan), but I was still happy to be overall backpacking by myself.

So I was able to meet a lot of people and go where and when I wanted. After doing a canyon trip in Mendoza, Argentina, I fell in love with the place and wanted to go back and stay some nights there (San Rafael). And guess what? I did exactly that. Boo yeah.

It also meant I could work/study when I wanted to, and that I didn’t have to organise stuff every five seconds for those who didn’t speak Spanish (*cough cough Ryan ;)). So overall, pretty amazing. You should try it.

5. I wasn’t productive

Of course, everything is not always unicorn and rainbows. The trip was awesome, amazing, life-changing. But there was one negative side: I wasn’t productive AT ALL.

Ok yes I did manage to keep up with the studying and some reading, and I did learn a lot from the people and the countries. But I wasn’t making any money, I wasn’t advancing with my career or my ambitions. It may seem frivolous or obvious to someone else, but it wasn’t to me.

So the 3 months were more of a holiday than anything else – which is great, of course, but I felt a slight frustration that I couldn’t get on with my career ambitions, because the constant changes and lack of wifi made it pretty much impossible.

Financially Mint was updated once a week from my stock of pre-written articles. But pageviews considerably decreased due to the lack of marketing, social media activity and interaction with others. Oops.

So yeah, for three months I didn’t do any work, really. And since I’m someone who likes to keep busy and work on my ‘goals’, those hours without wifi stuck waiting for a bus were a little frustrating. I wasn’t challenging myself professionally, something I only realised I missed when I got back to work; that feeling of progress, of reaching goals.

I’m not complaining – I’m simply observing. The the lesson here is: backpacking = holidays. You can’t work online and keep moving about every 3 days. Now I know.

What’s the next trip?

So I’m pretty much done with backpacking – I want to get some real work done and start growing the FM community. Next time I go travelling, it’ll be for 6 months+, something called slow travel. I’m moving from Edinburgh to Barcelona for 4 months, where I’ll be doing an internship (my first 9-5!). And after that… who knows?

What are the plans for Financially Mint?

I put the website growth on pause for 3 months, which meant there was a lot of catching up to do when I got back. But my head is cleared and I feel focused. After an awesome FI meetup in London and talking to other people working on similar projects, I created some new goals and tasks for FM. This website is my baby, I ain’t giving up now.

So what are some of those goals?

Coaching: I want to try helping other students face-to-face or on Skype. Free of charge, just talking. Contact me if you’re interested in being part of the trial run.

Courses: Apart from the 6 day email course, I haven’t created anything else. In the process of creating budgeting, investing, saving courses. Step-by-step and actionable.

Community: Once I start the courses and coaching, I want to create a community of students – a place where we can all ask questions and learn from each other (Facebook or Slack?)

Social media: As much as I dislike checking my phone every 5 min, I’ve decided to take on a bigger presence on social media. Check FM out on Instagram and LinkedIn!

Projects: I love the topic of Financial Independence, I love how it changes people, gives them hope and teaches them how to enjoy life. We started a podcast with 2 other friends called Financial Independence Europe (yes very original) where we interview people who have reached FI in Europe, figuring out the best countries to work, retire and invest in. Also on track to organising more FI meetups and events in the UK and Spain – Contact me if you’re interested in helping spread the word and make it happen.

So there you go! A little update on Financially Mint and myself, and some interesting lessons on travel. Hope you’ve learnt something and would be interested in hearing people’s thoughts!

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yoreh · 6 years

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Why I don’t want Elsa to get a girlfriend in Frozen 2

And no, it’s not the reason you think.

Time to spill some... ice tea...

First of all, I’d like to point out I am a lesbian. Even though being part of the LGBTQ+ community doesn’t exclude you from being obnoxious, I think this is still a green flag that my post isn’t lesbophobic. I’m not going to list down why it’d be bad to have queer representation in a Disney movie. But I want to explain why I’m not too keen on the idea of Elsa, specifically, getting a gf.

The only reason why Elsa would be the best pick to get a gf, is because Frozen is a cash cow franchise. Disney knows it’s the safest choice. If they make an entirely new movie about a lesbian princess, they risk it becomes a flop (which I doubt tho, but you know how big companies are when it comes to ‘controversial topics). Aside from that, I assume Disney just want some sweet points for being inclusive.

Anyhow, here are my reasons:

1) Giving Elsa a gf, or even just a tiny hint at her being lesbian, will likely cancel out any chance of getting a movie that focuses on a queer lead any time soon. Tbh, this applies to all minorities, but I feel like Disney just has a checklist of what they still need to represent in their franchise. After they did, they’ll just pat themselves on the back being like: “Ahh yes. We’re so progressive.” Mulan is the proof of this. There was no reason to put Mulan in the Disney princess line, other than the fact that she was Asian. As much as I adore Mulan, I’d much rather see her in a line of kickass/warrior woman with characters like princess Kida. It just feels like Mulan was shoehorned in there because Disney was like: “Yeah but we already made a movie with an Asian girl in the lead... You’re expecting us to??? make?? another?? one???” Like sure, I’m glad Mulan gets the attention and love she deserves, but it saddens me she’s just used for commercial reasons. Why I bring up Mulan, is because it doesn’t seem like Disney is interested in producing another princess(like) movie with an Asian princess any time soon. And the same applies to any race other than white. Sure, race and sexuality are two complete different things, but we’re talking about representation here. I’d love to see a princess falling in love with her maid or something. Idk.

2) The strength of Elsa’s character is that she’s an independent woman. Putting her in a relationship could possible undermine that. A lot of movies keep on pushing this narrative that ‘getting the girl’, ‘having a relationship’, etc. is the ultimate goal. I feel like a lot of people are intoxicated with the thought that having no relationship means you’re a social failure. Elsa achieved a whole lot (with the help of her sister, ofc) and developed throughout the movie. She grew from this insecure girl, into a woman, capable of ruling a kingdom. One of the great things about Elsa was that she didn’t need a man. If they’d give her a girlfriend, they’re indirectly excusing the fact she had no interest in males. It’s hard to put this into proper words, but “oh, she’s a lesbian. That explains why she has no interest in me” is a pretty common, and toxic logic used by a lot of people, especially men. For some reason, people fail to understand that not wanting a relationship or turning down a guy, is normal and common. It erases the idea that Elsa didn’t need to rely on romance. And again, it pushes the narrative that romance is the pinnacle of a story. Sure, you could argue that Elsa’s arc was about her learning to open up to people and being true to her feelings. If you see it that way, sure, I get why you’d want her to get a gf. I’m sorry, I had a hard time to put this into words, so if you happen to read this and you can help me out, or discuss what I just said, feel free to do so.

3) I think it’d be just really cool to see an independent movie about a lesbian princess. Come on. Imagine this movie about a princess who has to marry prince charming. He’s rich, handsome, heck, he’s even nice. But for some reason it just doesn’t sit right with her. And at first she doesn’t really understand why AND YOU GET IT OK. Heck, I don’t even think it should be focused on romance.

4) One of the reasons why Frozen is that strong was because it focused on a non-romantic relationship for once. Yeah, sure it has this entire Hanz x Anna x Kristoff thing going on and it’s funny that the entire focus on siblings was a semi-coincidence, but that doesn’t change the fact that most people praised Frozen for focusing on siblings rather than love. (Not that it was the first time Disney pulled that off *cough Lilo and Stitch* *cough Brother Bear*, but I digress)/

5) Disney’s sequels are infamous for being... Not that good. I don’t want the first proper queer rep to be badly written. This one is very self-explanatory I guess.

6) I’d much rather see Pixar handling a lesbian princess. Doesn’t need too much explanation. I just feel like Pixar is better at characterization that’s all.

7) I’m just scared this’ll end up in some pretty bad queer-baiting.

8) Elsa is ‘the safe pick’. Like stop being cowards Disney.

In conclusion

IF Elsa turns out to get a girlfriend, I won’t complain too much. At the end it’s still representation and that makes me happy. Despite me wanting something else, at the end of the day, I’ll still be grateful.

At the end I’m just a whiny kid who has no influence on whatever tf Disney decides to do.

But hey, if Elsa ends up getting a girlfriend, they better make her bloody awesome so she and Elsa can slay like true queens.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk

#Frozen #Disney #disney princesses #Elsa gay #representation #LGBT #Lesbian #LGBTQ #Rant #Frozen 2 #Sequel #I kinda want Elsa's gf to have fire powers #Also if anyone and their homophobic ass tries to use this post against having LGBTQ rep. I want gay princesses ok.#Elsa froen #elsa #gay #elsa frozen #anna

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snickerl · 8 years

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Pater Vero

an X-Files fanfic

Please forgive me posting this midway through my other story Elixir Vitae but I believe many of your are familiar with the sometimes annoying concept of having more than just one story in the making. As this is the final chapter of this one, I can focus on the other from now on.

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five

Chapter Six

"That was fun!" William exclaims happily, letting himself fall onto the stairs of the porch. He's just outplayed Mulder at a best-of-five basketball challenge from the three-point line. "I wished my dad would shoot hoops with me."

'I am your dad,' Mulder wants to cry out but recollects himself. He's William's biological father, his begetter, his genetic roots, nothing else. A man has to earn the label 'dad', and Walter has done that for William. His own role in his son's life has been so picayune, it's close to non-existent.

"Do you have a hoop at home?" Mulder asks.

"Yes, we do. Dad put it up for my eighth or ninth birthday, I can't remember exactly. He even paved the driveway for me to be able to practice dribbling. It was a loose gravel surface before."

"That was nice of him."

"Yeah, it was. But he never played with me."

"Well, you can't have all the cookies," Mulder supplies. "He's a good dad."

"The best," William adds.

Mulder feels a sting in his heart and reprimands himself for it right away. That's what they always wanted, right? That William had the best adoptive parents in the world? So why does he secretly rejoice over the fact that shooting hoops is something he can do with his boy but not Walter? How come he wants Walter to not be the perfect dad? He feels bad for it but he wishes his son to see something in him he doesn't see in Walter. He craves nothing more but a special place in William's heart.

Simply having these thoughts makes Mulder sick inside. He knows Scully is much more selfless than he can ever be, taking comfort in the knowledge that Helen has been such a good mother to William all these years, that she has loved and cared for William just as she would've done. For Mulder, it's not so easy to accept that he'd been so easily replaced. Well, he hadn't put the bar up very high, so probably anyone would've been a better dad than he. Actually, he can't rule out the idea that the boy was lucky to have been spared a father like him.

He hears William apologize through his bitter contemplation. "Uh, what?"

"Sorry for having called him the best dad. I didn't mean to offend you."

"It's alright, Will," Mulder says, moved by the boy's sympathy but also feeling stupid because of the childish and uncalled for jealousy which had just been invading his thoughts.

Being a good dad means so much more than shooting hoops or making buttered popcorn, Mulder thinks. Walter has given William love and safety, he raised him, cared for him, taught him the lessons of life and protected him against its rigors. He gave him the roots Scully had to cut by giving him up for adoption. He was - and still is - the best dad.

"Did you ever think of having another child?" Mulder hears William ask him.

Mulder needs to collect his thoughts for a moment before he's able to answer. He might have, but he knew Scully would've never been able to cope with it. So he never lost a word about her demanding they care for birth control.

"Not really. Our lives were crazy at the time, totally inappropriate for an infant. We'd have to drag it through the country, buckled up in a car for many hours straight, with no chance to make friends and have fun like a normal child."

"Because you had to hide?"

"Exactly. The kid wouldn't have been able to go to school even."

"That sounds good, though," William says with a grin.

"Oh, Scully would've been a relentless private teacher, of that I'm sure!" Mulder grins back.

William is quiet for a moment, maybe trying to picture being home schooled by Scully.

"Is that what your life was like? I mean driving around the country for hours? Without social interaction? Without fun?"

"More or less," Mulder says.

They interacted and they had fun, but only with each other. It was enough for them at the beginning. They had a lot to catch up on. It was the first time they could act openly on their feelings, and they made the most of it. But as time progressed, isolation took its toll on them, especially on Scully. She missed her family, her mother in particular. And although she never blamed him for her situation, insisting it had been her own decision to join him in his flight, he couldn't help feeling guilty over having inflicted this on her. If William had been with them, it would've only doubled his guilt.

"Are you going to tell me why you and Dana had to hide?"

"Well, it's a very long and complicated story. We got into trouble with very powerful people and I overplayed my hand, made a lot of enemies. They threw me in jail based on false accusations and threatened to never let me out again."

No way is he going to tell him that he was convicted, albeit falsely, of having committed murder and condemned to death by lethal injection. Mulder doubts William would believe what he'd tell him about the survival capability of super-soldiers and an alien-human hybrid race.

Or maybe he would?

"Scully...Dana...she helped me break out of prison."

William's eyes widen. "Cool!"

William's excitement makes Mulder chuckle. Of course, to a sixteen year-old teenager this part of their lives sounds like one big, thrilling adventure story, like a Hollywood blockbuster he'd watch with his friends at the local movie theater. Only that in Hollywood blockbusters, in the end, the good ones obtain the upper hand while the evil ones get what they deserve. In their case, they'd sacrificed so much and had gotten almost nothing in return.

"Yeah, she was pretty cool," Mulder ponders. "She was the coolest babe you can imagine," he raves absentmindedly. William giggles.

Mulder remembers the way Scully took the stand and stood up to the men who put him on trial in that fake courtroom. How her efforts to get him out of there didn't wane a bit no matter how hopeless the endeavor seemed to be. How, after the guilty verdict had been spoken, she sent Reyes, Doggett and Skinner to pull him out of his cell and waited for him at the gates of the military base in the darkness, ready to leave her old life behind and follow him into an unsure future with nothing save the clothes she was wearing.

"Your mother...Dana...was...she simply was..." He lacks the words to describe what she was. She was his life buoy, his guardian angel, his light in the darkness that much is clear, but how can he explain the indefinite scope of his worship and admiration for her to a teenager?

"How come she felt it was okay for herself to live that kind of life with you but at the same time didn't want me to be there?" There's no offense in William's voice, no blame or accusation, only curiosity and urge for knowledge.

"Believe me, Will, she would've wanted you to be there! I bet she daydreamed you were in the back of the car, strapped in your baby seat, as often as I did."

Mulder caught her a few times staring in the rear view mirror at the spot where William's car seat would've been fixed. A cold fist squeezed his heart whenever they were in a grocery store passing the baby food aisle or trying to ignore children's apparel whenever they had to shop for clothes. On William's fourth birthday, he found her standing in front of a little supermarket's cake counter, staring at a cake covered in blue sugar icing, the words 'for our birthday boy' written across in joyful letters. He can't recall how they survived that day.

He shakes his head to dispel the painful flashbacks and continues explaining, "It was okay for her because it was an autonomous decision she made for her own adult life. She had to live with the consequences of her actions, and believe me she did with grim determination. It was not okay for you, though, because you were an independent human being, a little innocent boy having the right to lead a normal life far away from threat, fear, and chase. She couldn't bring herself to decide for you to have a life like ours."

"You could've had another child after you'd settled down in that country house you told me about. It sounds like a place similar to where we live. You were still young enough to have children."

"And do what? Replace you?" Mulder shakes his head. "No, Will, it wouldn't have been fair to the child. We would've put so much hope into it, it could've never lived up to that."

William looks at Mulder his eyes traveling from head to toe. He seems to evaluate the words he's going to say. Finally, he speaks. "You would've made great parents," he says, "I call myself lucky to have been your son."

Have been?

The words feel like a stab in his heart. Mulder takes a sharp inhale.

"I mean," William splutters self-consciously as if what hit Mulder so deeply was written on his forehead, "I still am, right?"

Mulder can't help but answer by pulling William into an embrace, folding his arms around the boy and pressing him to his chest. He kisses his hair and whispers to his scalp, "you are, buddy! You definitely are and always have been!"

Father and son remain entangled for a few moments, tears running down both of their faces. Whereas Mulder is not ashamed of them, he can tell William feels a bit awkward when he brushes them away eagerly with both hands as soon as they break apart.

"Will I see you again?" William asks.

"If you want to, and if your parents are okay with it."

William ponders for a moment, and Mulder can literally see the thoughts flurrying in his head. He furrows his eyebrows and wrinkles his nose just like Scully does when she's racking her brain about something.

"Of course, I want to! I have so many questions for you! And I'm pretty sure my parents won't mind. They helped me with my search for you," he grins sheepishly, "and I think they like you."

"Your parents are wonderful, Will. Don't ever forget that."

"Yeah, they are. Although sometimes I'd like to launch them up into outer space!"

Mulder gives a short, hearty laugh. "I can imagine! Who does not for just once want to launch their parents into outer space?" Mulder, on his part, had wanted to break his birth father's neck more than once, but that's another story.

"What are the X-Files?" William asks in such a casual way as if he was asking about what time it was, taking his father completely off guard.

Mulder chokes violently, hoping he misheard. "What?"

"What. Are. The X-Files?" The boy repeats his question, his voice signaling now that he's determined to get an answer.

"How do you know about them?"

"I Googled you."

Mulder is not an expert when it comes to internet search engines but he doubts that information about the X-Files can be found so easily. Scully's and his work was confidential, classified even within the FBI, how could a sixteen year-old get hold of them?

"And what exactly did you find?" he probes.

"Not much, that's why I asked. I found out that Dana and you worked for a unit called the X-Files for eight years before it was shut down. Interestingly enough, I couldn't find anything else. The only links I was able to follow lead to an organization called MUFON and a somewhat mysterious group under the name of The Lone Gunmen."

Mulder gasps. William found information about his three friends who'd been more than cautious when it came to covering up their tracks? How was that even possible?

"That information is available on the internet?" Mulder can't quite believe it.

"Well...it's not like it lies around there in the open, easy to access for everyone."

"I see. So how did you get hold of it then? You weren't hacking FBI servers, were you? That's a federal offense," Mulder hurries to tell his son.

"No, I didn't."

Mulder heaves a sigh of relief.

"A friend of mine was," the boy admits with a nonchalant grin developing on his face.

Mulder winces.

"Relax, dad, he's really good at it! He knows how to disguise his identity while online. He started hacking the servers of our school when he was ten to get the answers of upcoming exams. He never got caught!" he tells his father, and the pride about his source displayed on his face speaks volumes.

Why is Mulder so surprised anyway? William is their son, Scully's and his. They're both curious people, hungry to solve a mystery when it crosses their path. This is part of their DNA, and they passed it on obviously. William had set his mind on finding information about his birth parents and pursued the quest no matter what with the help of trustworthy friends, just like the younger version of himself. Mulder can't keep the corners of his mouth from rising into a slight smile.

He evaluates the situation. "So, you found out about MUFON and The Lone Gunmen, and you know that your mother and I worked for the X-Files. What else do you want to know?"

"Who were The Lone Gunmen? I read a couple of their magazines. Cool stuff!"

Mulder shakes his head and chuckles. He hasn't thought of them for a while and a part of him is thankful for William having called them back into his mind.

"They were really good friends of mine. Good people I could always rely on." 'Who helped me save your mother several times,' he almost adds. Without them, he would've never been able to retrieve the vial with the chip that cured her cancer, let alone understand what it was.

"And MUFON?"

"MUFON stands for Mutual UFO Network," Mulder explains.

"Aaand?" William probes, clearly aware that Mulder is holding back all the interesting stuff.

"And what?"

"What did you and Dana have to do with it? If the X-Files had anything to do with UFOs and what the Gunmen wrote about, it must have been pretty exciting to work in that field. The paranormal, the occult, the extraterrestrial have always interested me. Maybe I inherited that from you, Fox. I want to know everything about it."

Mulder hesitates to answer because he knows William won't like it, but what can he do?

"I can't tell you, Will."

"Why not?" William asks, disappointment written all over his face.

Mulder inhales deeply. He rakes his hair, jumps up from the stairs and starts pacing the porch.

"Because the information is not good for you! You've got to trust me, buddy, you don't want to know what Dana and I saw while we were working on the X-Files." 'And especially not what happened to us,' he manages to gulp down before the words could leave his mouth.

Mulder knows he sounds patronizing, and he remembers saying something similar to Scully many, many years ago, when he'd found out about the date the world would end and didn't dare to tell her because he thought she wouldn't be able to handle it. He was feeling as bad then as he is now, holding back information from someone who's seeking it so badly. It ate him up how fiercely Scully fought for him, for his life, begging him to open up to her, to help her in saving his life, implying it was not a lone wolf's fight. But how could he have told her that the apocalypse was imminent? That all their sacrifices had been for naught? That they hadn't been able to save a single life? That their son wouldn't live long enough to become a teenager? His heart was bleeding whenever he looked into her eyes, and he knew it would continue doing so as long as he lived, so his life coming to an end in the near future wasn't even such a dreadful idea.

At that moment, his remaining lifespan seemed so unworth living. His quest had been condemned to failure from the start, he'd lost his son, he'd never get out of that prison cell anyway, so why bother? He knew he was disappointing her, but he hoped that somehow she'd be able to lead a happy life after he was gone, in sweet ignorance of what was going to happen December 21st, 2012. He even hoped she'd find love again, with a decent man, not a weirdo like him. He really and truly hoped she'd leave him to his fate, forget him and fall in love with someone else. What a crazy thought that was! The forerunners of his depression had obviously made themselves felt already.

It was the darkest time of his life, the only person with an ability to heal him being Scully. Who else? She pulled him out of that black hole that was his prison cell as well as his mind and enlightened his existence by running with him. He seized every moment with her in the strong belief their world would collapse in 2012, and when it didn't, the hole he was falling into was even darker and deeper than the one he'd already been in. And this time, not even Scully could pull him out of it.

Mulder descended to his past so deeply, he's almost forgotten he's not alone on that porch. William pulls him back to the here and now, whining, "but daaad..."

He said it. He uttered the magic word. Dad. He is a dad. William's dad. And he has Scully in his life. Miraculously, she came back to him. Is this supposed to be the best time of his life now? Have the dark forces had enough with using him as a pawn in their sick plan to rule the world? He's having difficulties embracing the idea.

"What, William? The X-Files are closed and have been for many years. For the better, I guess." He lowers himself on the stairs again, not as close to his son as before.

William is not ready to give in yet. "Your lives are a mystery to me, dad! Yours and mom's! I mean, it seems to me you gave me up because of your work on those files, so wouldn't you say I have a right to know why that happened to me?" He gets really worked up. Now it's him who jolts up, towering over his father. He looks down on him when he goes on pleading his case. "I mean, fuck, if I lost my parents because of those shitty X-Files, I want to know all about them!"

"No expletives, young man!" Mulder says and is instantly dumbfounded by this unexpected outburst of fatherly teaching.

Father and son stare at each other for a moment, then both burst out laughing.

"Sorry," Mulder apologizes, "I don't know where that came from." He props his elbows up on his thighs and buries his head in his hands to keep it from spinning. "Jesus, I thought we closed this chapter years ago."

So many bitter emotions are resurfacing with a vengeance - the fear, the sorrow, the helplessness...the guilt. Somewhere in the back of his head Will's words still resonate.

"Did you really feel like you lost us? I was always under the impression that children who'd been given up loathed their birth parents for it," Mulder mumbles.

William resumes his place next to Mulder who's staring straight ahead, not able to look the boy in the eye. The teenager scoots close and slides his arm around his father's shoulder in a comforting gesture.

"Dad, I told you that I've been raised in the knowledge that I'd been given up for my own good. Walter and Helen have been very stubborn with this. Whenever I doubted myself, asking what was wrong with me that I'd been given up, they told me that I was perfectly okay and given up because I was loved and not because I wasn't. Eventually, I believed them, and as I became older, I was able to understand that only very special people, people who loved their child more than themselves, would do something like this."

Mulder swallows hard. He knows it had been one of Scully's worst fears that William grew up with the idea in his head that he was an unwanted child, unloved and uncared for, given up only to get rid of him. That he would never know how much he meant to his birth parents broke her heart.

At least, Scully had been able to give the child her love for ten long months, whereas he had only been allowed to pamper him for a few weeks. How much of an impression can a man make on his son in a few weeks? Especially if he hadn't known that it'd be all he'd get to spend with him, that he'd never see him again. As dreadful and deplorable as her situation was, Scully could at least seize those last days with him, could do all the things she wanted to do with him one last time. She could say goodbye to William. He was confronted with the fact his son was irretrievably lost at no notice. The missed opportunities, the time he wasted with reading or napping instead of nestling the baby up his chest or tickling his tummy, almost killed him.

"What I didn't understand," William continues, pulling Mulder out of his musings, "and still don't, is how it came to this? What happened to get you into a situation to be forced to give up your child? Obviously, neither of you has ever really gotten over it."

"No, we haven't," Mulder admits in a raspy voice. "Not me, nor you mom."

"Can't you tell me anything, dad? Anything that helps me understand what we had gotten into?"

We. 'We' is the key word. They had gotten William into the heap of shards their lives were at the time. "Don't you see, Will, that the sole reason Scully gave you up was to get you out of that mess? How can I pull you back in now? Knowledge can be an obligation, William. Your mother and I sacrificed a great deal of our lives for what we came to know, the greatest sacrifice of all being you. We don't want you to do the same."

William takes his time to let that sink in. He grinds his teeth. It's difficult for him to leave it there. "We're meeting in this fortress of a house with a fence and no network coverage. I wasn't allowed to tell my friends where I was going for the weekend, that I would be meeting my birth parents. Hell, I don't even know your home address or phone number! So the threat is still there, isn't it?"

"We're not sure. We simply don't want to take a chance," Mulder says powerlessly.

"Wouldn't it be good for me to know what to look out for? To protect myself?" As Mulder doesn't react, obviously lacking an answer, William probes further, "do my parents know what to look out for? Or who?"

"There's no reason for you to be looking out for anything or anyone. You're safe, Will. Your entire family is safe. Believe me, we discussed it a great deal after we got your letter. We evaluated the options and assessed all the risks. Scully would've never agreed to this get-together if it had involved putting you in danger. If we had been worried about your safety, we would've remained where we were...away from you."

William stares at Mulder. The last words hit the boy. His eyes darken and his lips are nothing but a thin line. For a moment Mulder fears he'd say 'I wished you had!', that the recurring pattern of his life once again proves to be well-founded. He's tainting the existence of every human being that crosses his path, and the closer the person is to his heart, the more dire the consequences.

But then his son's eyes assume that glorious blue color he sees in Scully's eyes when her heart is light, when she's cheerful and carefree. He hasn't been allowed to witness her in a state like that too often, the day William was born or when they got married being two of the rare occasions. He's more familiar with the darker shades of blue in her eyes, the blackish, dull blues. Blue in the color of a rain storm or a cloudy day, blue in the color of the deep blue troubled sea. But what he sees in the eyes transfixing him right now is the blue of a serene sky, the azure blue you'd expect at a Riviera beach or at the horizon on a sunny summer day.

"I'm so glad you didn't," William says eventually, voicing what his eyes have been telling Mulder already, grinning widely. "It's kinda cool to have two FBI agents as parents, even though I'm not allowed to tell anybody."

Mulder releases the breath he didn't even realize he was holding. "You know what's really cool?" he asks.

William shakes his head. Mulder turns to him, puts his hands on the boy's shoulders, and looks at him. "To have a son like you. I'm very proud of you." Also with a grin, he adds, "and I can't tell anyone either."

William averts his eyes, blushing profoundly. Mulder feels like telling him how much he loves him, how becoming his father had been the biggest adventure of his life, despite the pain the aftermath of his birth had brought along. How proud he really is to be a father, his father. But he knows he'd be embarrassing him. Kids his age don't really appreciate an open display of affection from their parents. So Mulder decides to keep his mouth shut and simply enjoys the physical closeness. He buries his nose in his son's hair and breathes in his smell.

From the corner of his eye, Mulder sees Scully step out onto the porch. She stops short in her tracks, one hand flies to her mouth, with the other she steadies herself against the banister. Her eyes connect with Mulder's and instantly fill with tears. The joy at having her son back in her life and seeing him in an embrace with his father is so obvious, it gives Mulder a sense of utter contentment. This is what he wanted to achieve, what he wanted to do for Scully. She deserved to be able to make peace with her decision to give William up for adoption. She deserved redemption for her sacrifice, and Mulder is more than happy that he'd managed to give her what she deserved.

But he has to be honest with himself. He's not only done it for her. He suffered from the loss of their son just like she had, felt like an orphaned parent like her, and thought he had, therefore, the right to pursue their reunion.

"Hey, Scully," Mulder makes her presence on the porch known to William, who instantly frees himself out of Mulder's embrace and hastily wipes the tears off his face with his sleeve. As willing as he was to let his father engage him in a hug, he's obviously unwilling to let his mother see his tears.

"Am I intruding?" Scully's voice is smooth as silk, full of love for her two men.

"Not at all," Mulder assures her. "C'mere, sit with us." He holds his now free arm out as an invitation.

Scully places herself on the steps next to William, the three of them sitting like roosting hens. "What were you talking about?" she asks.

"Will wants to know everything about the X-Files," Mulder answers to give William a bit more time to recompose himself.

Scully throws Mulder a worried look. He shakes his head to let her know he didn't tell him anything, at least none of the dreadful aspects of them. Scully nods back, their ability to communicate non-verbally sparing to voice any words. She picks up the thread to give William at least something. "Well, if it weren't for the X-Files, your father and I probably would've never met."

The boy looks up, his interest piqued. "How so?" He looks into his mother's face with still watery eyes. Scully suppresses the urge to cup his face and stroke his cheeks; she's still insecure about how close he wants her.

"I taught forensic pathology at the FBI Academy in Quantico. One day, I was summoned to the headquarters in DC and assigned to work with one Fox Mulder."

"Spooky Mulder, you wanted to say. And you were assigned to spy on me," Mulder interjects, "to provide them with the ammunition to shut the X-Files down!"

"Really, mom?"

"I was, but I didn't do it. Neither the spying, nor the debunking."

"No," Mulder agrees to her, shaking his head in agreement, "no, you didn't."

He's still amazed how fast he learned to trust her. In the course of their very first case in Bellefleur, Oregon, he already decided that this young, tiny, good-looking agent not only had a sharp wit and brisk pace but was also open-minded and willing to listen to him and his theories. He knew that as a working duo they would be like fire and ice - strict rationalism and fact-based science against improvisation guided by instinct and belief in the inexplicable. But he was looking forward to the partnership. He knew this woman would challenge him, would never let him take the easy path, that she would frustrate him, push him to the limit, even annoy him, but there was one thing she'd never do...betray him. She was a truthful, decent person and a good agent, something he couldn't say about all his partners in the past.

"So you didn't like each other in the beginning?" William misinterprets Mulder's testimony.

Scully laughs. "Well, let's say we had our preconceptions about each other, but you know, in our business, you have to learn to trust your partner quickly, otherwise you get into trouble. If you can't rely blindly on the person behind you, they can't be your partner."

"And you learned to trust each other quickly," William concludes.

Mulder throws Scully a knowing look above William's head. "I remember pouring my heart out to you on our very first case, in that dark motel room. You were lying on the bed and I was sitting on the floor, telling you about my sister."

William's jaw drops. "You shared a room on your very first case?"

Scully hurries to set things right. "We weren't sharing a room, I'd just gone over to Mulder's room because I was worried about some marks on my back and wanted him to have a look at them. We had separate rooms, of course," she assures.

"Yeah, we always had separate rooms. Could've saved the Bureau a whole lot of money on travel expenses from a certain point on onward, but your mother was very compliant when it came to sticking to the rules, and the FBI was very clear when it came to interaction between male and female partners out in the field. Actually, showing up in my room after 8pm...in a robe...already was a violation." He winks at William.

"Mulder!"

"What? Isn't it true that you came to me in nothing but your underwear and a thin red robe, exposing your lower back and asking me to look at you?"

Scully gasps and William frantically covers his ears. "Too much information, guys!"

"I was scared to death about what those marks were, what was I supposed to do?" Scully hisses through gritted teeth.

William is obviously amused by his parents' banter but also thankful to get at least some insight into what their lives used to be, even though they are not willing to tell him anything about their cases.

"I take it you trusted him already, mom!"

Scully's features soften. She shares a loving gaze with Mulder, telling both him and her son, "You're right, Will, I did. I trusted him with my life."

"I would've given mine for you," Mulder says, leaving no doubt he means it.

"Wow," William mutters, "sounds like you were a dream couple from the start."

Scully bursts out into a laugh. "Uh, not really, Will!"

"Oh, come on, Scully! They referred to us as Mr. and Mrs. Spooky! If that's not a name for a dream couple, I don't know what is!"

William snorts with laughter.

"You can't be serious, Mulder! We argued over almost every case! You with your tendency to go with wild theories making it impossible to approach any matter rationally and target-oriented."

"And you refusing to think outside the box with your stubborn, smart, pretty, little redhead of yours!" With his last remark, Mulder earns himself the famous Scully eye-roll-and-smirk, but continues nonetheless. "The solve rate skyrocketed as soon as we started working together."

"Going off from where? Zero percent?"

"No!"

"From where, Mulder?" Scully insists, ignoring his obvious displeasure at speaking of the numbers.

"Eight," he admits meekly.

"Exactly. The solve rate of the X-Files was eight percent. Any double digit percentage would be considered a major improvement."

"It was eight point seven, actually, so practically nine. That's almost a double digit, Scully," Mulder pouts. By the end of their first year, they had a solve rate of 75 percent for heaven's sake. They were way above the Bureau average. No matter where they started from - 8, 9 or 10 percent - it was a major improvement, only based on the perfect way they worked together.

Scully is still in a bantering mood. She blows a strand of hair out of her face, throwing her head back in annoyance. "I'm familiar with the rules of rounding up decimal digits, but thank you for clearing that up for me anyway, Mulder!"

William snorts again. "You two are just too cute," he tells them.

"Cute?" Mulder and Scully both cry out in unison, leaving an aghast question mark so huge, William feels the need to elaborate. He's also never skipped out on a verbal duel.

"Funny? Crazy? Loony?" he supplies more adjectives. "Hilarious? Amusing? Entertaining?... Some more? Let's see...Droll? Comical?"

"Great, Mulder! Our son thinks we're some kind of silly lunatics," Scully sighs.

"But he's very eloquent with an ample vocabulary at hand, so it seems," Mulder adds.

"I didn't say you were silly lunatics, mom! Rather a bit freaky maybe, but also sweet in a way. That banter was just immensely funny." He can't hold back another chuckle. After he recomposed himself, being stared at by his speechless parents, he continues in a more serious fashion. "I think you were great partners, both in your professional lives and in your personal lives. I guess you still are. You seem to be like the perfect opposites to each other, but also complementing the other like two very unique pieces of a ten thousand piece jigsaw puzzle that need to be assembled to complete the whole picture. Maybe that's why you've gotten along so well all this time."

Mulder's heart aches because of how well William has understood their dynamics, but it also aches because he has to think back to the time they didn't get along so very well, when the pieces wouldn't fit anymore, no matter how hard they tried to put them together. It was the time his depression had made him a different man, a man who didn't care for her anymore how he used to, who didn't bother pushing her away. A man who didn't trust her anymore.

"I once called your mother my touchstone, William, but there was a time I had forgotten all about it," Mulder shows Scully his contrite face, "and I screwed it up. But..." He licks his lips, then bites the lower one. He inhales deeply. Then, after a short moment of complete stillness, he claps his hands on his thighs and gets up. "...that's in the past. We're here now. Together. With you, Will. And I can't imagine wanting to be anywhere or with anybody else."

William and Scully look at each other for a short moment, then rise also.

"You're right, Mulder. Why muse over past conduct, when what we have right now is just perfect?" She beams at William and puts her arm around her son's waist. Timidly at first, but with more determination when she realizes he lets it happen. "Helen said she wanted to bake some chocolate muffins. Considering how wonderful she cooks, I take it she's a wonderful baker as well."

"Oh, yes!" William exclaims. "Her chocolate muffins are the best! They taste heavenly right out of the oven when the core is still molten," he raves.

"Then why don't we go inside and have a look whether there are some already?" Scully suggests. "I bet you wouldn't say no to boosting your blood sugar level a bit either, Mulder, would you?"

"Nope," Mulder agrees.

"I hope there's some whipped cream, too," William says. "With those chocolate muffins covered with whipped cream and a cup of hot cocoa in front of you, you feel like you're in paradise."

"What are we waiting for then?" Mulder asks, leading the way. When he reaches the knob of the front door with his outstretched hand, William stops in his tracks.

"Uhm, there's one thing I want you to know first." He straightens his back and looks at Scully and Mulder who have turned around, both looking at him with questioning eyes, unsure what to expect.

"What is it, Will?" Mulder asks, and when they don't get an answer, Scully adds a worried, "William?"

"I want you to know that I...I mean, that you...." He coughs and shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

Mulder and Scully share a quick look. She raises her left eyebrow, he shakes his head and shrugs.

"You can tell us everything. Come on, spit it out," Scully tries to encourage him.

William takes a deep inhale once again, then he looks from one to the other and back. "You told me you had to trust each other quickly. I just want you to know that I decided to do the same." He waits a moment for his birth parents' reaction, but as they seem to be petrified, he continues. "I trust you when you tell me that I shouldn't inquire further about the X-Files. I trust you when you tell me that I shouldn't worry about whatever was a threat then is still a threat now. I trust you when you tell me that you protect me. Me, and Walter and Helen."

Mulder lets go of the door knob and takes two strides to close the distance between himself and the boy. He puts his hands on William's shoulders, and says, "It's an honor you place your trust in us, and I swear to God, we will never betray it." He swallows hard. And then he says it, dares to say it although he's terrified he's pushing too hard. "We love you, son."

For a moment, a deafening silence surrounds them. Mulder holds his breath in anticipation of William's reaction, Scully works hard to keep the tears at bay.

After what seems to be an eternity to the somewhat anxious adults, William eventually saves them from their agony. "I love you, too, dad. And you mom," he says loudly and clearly, "you're my second set of parents."

Mulder could swear he hears church bells chiming somewhere in the distance. Has his son really just said that he loved him? He didn't say that he despised him, loathed him, wished he'd never met him. No. The son who he had so many problems with conceding him a place in his life when he was still cared for in his mother's womb said he loved him. Mulder feels the earth move beneath him.

It's Scully yet again who steadies him, helps him to cope with this moment in time which is in line with the moment he learned of her cancer having gone into remission, when she laid baby William into his arms, and when she accepted his proposal. He feels her hand sliding around his waist, pulling him toward her. At the same time, she motions for William to join them in their group hug.

“I had already abandoned all hope of ever being able to hold both of you in my arms. I can't tell you how much this means to me.” Her voice is surprisingly calm and serene.

Both the older as well as the younger of the two men give in to the emotional moment, bend down and rest their heads on the shoulder of the woman who is so much shorter than them. Despite her small frame, she's like a shield between them, helping them to mask how close to tears they actually are. As is always the case, when push comes to shove, women are so much more the master, or more precisely, the mistress of the situation than men.

Mulder allows himself to be infected by her elation.

Scully. His Scully.

She's always been his and will be forever more. He's forgotten by now what his life was even like before he met her. It's almost as if he hadn't existed before she entered his hemisphere.

And now, they are a set of three. Fox, Dana, and William. His family. The Mulders.

How wonderful life is, he thinks and isn't even aware that for the first time since Samantha was taken, he looks into the future utterly optimistic and carefree. He's not worried about a conspiracy, he's not racking his brain about alien-human hybrids, he's not even wasting a single thought about Cancer Man. His heart is light as a feather. He's simply and purely happy.

When they break apart, Mulder looks into two identical sets of crystal clear blue eyes and he sees his whole world reflected in them. This is all he ever needed, all he ever wanted. Nothing else but having the two most important persons, actually the only two important persons in his life with him at a place where nothing and nobody is threatening them.

The three of them remain motionless for a moment, holding hands on the porch. Nobody knows what to say, as there are no words to do justice to the magnitude of this moment. It's Scully who finally breaks the tension.

“As nice as this is, boys, I smell chocolate!” she says, displaying a mischievous grin.

“Me, too,” William chimes in. “I'll ask mom for some whipped cream and hot chocolate.”

The boy severs their connection, but not without a toothy grin on his face. Mulder looks after his son as he disappears inside the house. He's held on to Scully and is taking her other hand now that he is turning to face her.

"Fox?" Scully says when their eyes lock, calling him Fox, maybe for as much as the fifth time in his life.

"Yes?"

"I love you." She throws him a wonderful smile. One that reaches her eyes and lets them shine in the most beautiful color he's ever seen.

"I love you, too, Dana."

She holds out her hand. "Let's go inside and have some chocolate."

He nods, takes her hand and kisses the back of it. He lets her lead him them, following her willingly.

Everywhere.

END

#the Mulders #I love happy endings #msr #why couldn't season 10 end like this?

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