#bfd

[awesomesauceblehhh]

freesmart love them woo

sorry about needle I forgot to draw her then I realized it was too late to add her in so she's just there now

[dilflover6996pasc]

Friends Dad

BFD!Joel Miller x you

Summary: Your friends dad comes into her room when she isn’t there...

18+ Dom Joel, friends dad, bulge, pervy, cum on pussy.

There will be so many errors in this but i don't really want to edit it...

GIF by coastielaceispunk

Joel enters, in nothing but a pair of stripey boxers. “Hey Sweetheart”. He moans. His legs are spread apart and his arms crossed, you couldn't help but let your gaze fall down his body, past his chest and over his bulging mushroom head. Despite only having a shitty side lamp on, you could still make out its details. The veins, the way his balls separate under his tip and his pubes slightly poking out the waistband.

“Is everything okay?” You ask, your friend had decided to sleep on the couch as she had work early the next morning. “I’m okay.” he takes a step forward, running his fingers under the legs of his boxers, clearly adjusting his dick. “My daughter told me you were thinkin’ of doing a Chemistry degree.” Hm. Random.

“Yes Mr Miller, I was.” You nod. 

“Oh no no no sweetie, no ‘Mr Miller’ in this house, call me Joel. - Wow, you must be smart pumpkin.”

You didn't know how to respond, instead the low buzzing of the refrigerator filled the background. 

Joel chuckles, taking one more step towards you, he lifts his left leg up to the bed. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knee. You couldn't help but let your eyes wander down, his cock and balls were now squashed between his thick, hairy thighs. Your fingers crawl down your tummy, prodding at your folds. 

The bed covers lay thick over your body, you looked down to where you guessed your pussy would be, just to check that he couldn't see your hands there. “Eyes up here puddin’. Joel smirks. “Oh no, Mr Mill-... Joel, I wasn't looking, I promise.” Joel stares at you in the eyes, his lips turning up as he lets out a quiet laugh. “You know, it's normal to wanna look. Why'd you think I came in here with just my underwear?”. Joel stays silent, his smirk slowly growing. All of a sudden Joel rips the covers off you, exposing your fingers under the waistband of your shorts, as well as a small wet patch on the sheets below. “Youve been a very naughty girl, masturbating over your best friend's dad. Mhh *tuts. What do you think my daughter would say now that I've found you touching your pussy in her bed. Mhh” He lets out a long, deep, manly groan. “Look what you've done, look what you've done to me sweetie, look at it.” Joel flares his nostrils as he palms his cock aggressively. His cock pops up under the pressure of his touch, creating a slapping sound on his skin. 

He leans forward, grabbing you by your shorts and places you on his knee. He pulled you so hard, he gave you a wedgie, your panties now swallowed between your folds. “You’re gonna do what I say? Okay.” Joel whips out his cock. “You’re gonna be silent”.

Your body pulsed with excitement, the thought of your friend hearing him fuck you drove you insane. He pushes you onto the bed, towering over you. He releases a long, thick string of saliva onto your lips. Joel grabs his stiff cock, gently rubbing it over your slicked shorts. He lays down, putting his whole body weight onto you. He humps your pussy, his cock sliding between your covered folds. He groans loudly, not caring that someone might hear. “You're so wet sweetie, so wet.” The sound of wetness filled the room, and probably the whole house. You watched him in the mirror opposite, watching his hairy ass tense as he rubbed over your clit. 

He pulls your shorts to the side, revealing your perfect little pink pussy. Joel doesn't wait a moment before he thrusts his cock inside, leaving no mercy. You feel his tummy tense up as he shoots his load inside, it spilling out of your slit, on the bed. Joel gets up, putting his underwear back on and leaves…

[shamrockqueen]

Father figure : Chapter 5

Pairing : Best Friend's Dad Bucky (James/Mr. Barnes) x Reader

Warnings : R18, Eventual Smut, Angst, adult teenager (18 and green), taboo desires

Word count : 2309

First Chapter : Previous chapter

Masterlist

Even after opening the wound, letting a small amount of truth bleed free, you still felt so sick. Infected by this secret. His presence just in the driver's seat in front of you didn’t make that feeling any better.

The drive back would be short, but an unending few minutes at that until her house pulled back into view. Your bike had been moved from the driveway, pulled up to lean against the house. No doubt done by Mr. Barnes after finding it thrown in a pile behind his car.

As quickly as he parked, Becky was pushed from her seat, ready to leave the truck and run through the rain towards the front door, your arm tightly held in her grasp. You’re pulled, the socket of your shoulder creaking as she dragged you forward with her, and you’re met with another shower of rain. Cold and unforgiving.

She’s laughing, amused by the whole predicament. Although her spirits were now heightened by a weight having left her shoulder, yet your chest still felt so heavy, dragged down further by the drench of the rain.

Becky let you borrow some clothes, letting you bag your wet ones to take home and clean. A big t-shirt, being a hand-me-down from her dad, and an old pair of gym shorts kept you warm and dry.

You sat back on Becky’s untidy bed, holding your stomach as she excused herself to the bathroom. It was something you’d done a thousand times before, but now being in this space felt sickly foreign.

This time you can’t run away from it, not unless you want the world to collapse on top of you all over again.

He would be nearby, and you could only imagine whether his mind was racing as well. Whether he was gripping the arm of his old sofa and gritting his teeth while you were lying in the other room.

Becky reemerges from the bathroom, flopping onto the bed beside you and tapping an unseen message onto her phone. “There’s a horror movie marathon tonight; can you stay and hang out?”

“I don’t think my mom would like me to be out that late.” A very true statement on your part. She'll be home tonight, and if you weren’t home before her, you’d have to explain where you’d spent your day.

“Is it because you think my dad is still mad at you?” She lamented.

“What, no. Becky, don’t be like that.” You swat at her arm before grabbing at a towel in her outstretched hand to dry your head off.

“How late is the marathon on, anyway?” Again, you crumble to her whims; if not to avoid disappointing her, then better to change the subject entirely.

You didn’t make it far in the night last time you agreed to stay. Having run off, one thing hadn’t gone as you hoped.

You couldn’t evade this any longer, and you wanted things to be normal again too. But, a few other thoughts clawed through your stomach. A need to shake any further suspicion after what you’d told her today and a desire to see him again. No more lingering glances giving only a feeling of shame. You wanted to actually talk about what happened and how it made you feel, what it made you want.

You didn’t want to run away again.

Becky was able to steal back your attention, answering you about the movie. “Stay till like 9 or something; I won’t keep you too late.”

“Alright, but I have to go home, like, right after.”

“Deal,” she shouts in triumph, grabbing you by the elbow and kicking off the bed towards the living room.

She leaves you by the couch as she trots off towards the kitchen, calling at you from behind, “I’ll make some popcorn if you want to pull up channel 34.”

“Ok…” you call after her meekly, walking slowly behind until breaking your stride away from hers to enter the living room.

Her father sat at the edge of the couch, hand wracked through his hair, fingers nearly tugging at the root as his head was turned towards the floor.

The low light glowed a dull orange and yellow over the scene, glossing over the small patch of sweaty skin at his shoulders on either side of his tank top.

The thatch of old black fabric framed the back of his neck as he held his head in his other hand, as if to nurse some ache that rattled within it.

You try not to disturb him, reaching for the remote that sat by his thigh only to see his bushy head of brown hair turn. The thatch of stubble that ran along his chin and jaw came into view, his cheeks catching the light with a thin sheen of perspiration from the humid atmosphere of the room, and then there was his gaze. It caught you, bent at the waist with your arms outstretched and your fingers barely grazing the necessary chunk of plastic. A dark, dim azure pool that swept you under its paralyzing current.

You stared back, waiting for the moment his soft pink lips parted to address you and break this short spell.

But, his voice never came. You stood stock still, knees locked and back arched in an uncomfortable position, a wriggle of warmth and embarrassment crawling along your skin as you mustered the courage to speak.

“I…I’m just grabbing the remote…” a soft, barely audible squeak like a mouse squished under a tire.

He never spoke back, slowly pulling his hands from his face to place them beside him on the couch, the muscles of his arms giving a partial flex as he pushed himself up from his seat to leave you still standing like a slumped fool reaching for the clicker.

You stoop back upright, a small crack sounding from your back with the quick motion. You watched the flutter of his pajama pants as he lumbered towards the kitchen, a subtle moment. Of red and black plaid disappearing behind a wall of beige.

You fell back with little grace, slumping towards the sofa, hoping to be swallowed up in the scratchy orange upholstery.

Rebecca emerged from the same door that had swallowed Mr. Barnes, a bowl of popcorn hugged against her body as she approached to sit down beside you.

“You forgot to turn the TV on.” She said nonchalantly, calling you out of your stupor.

“Oh shit, right.” You snatch up the remote and switch on the TV, watching as the big black box buzzes to life with a soft sound of static breaking off dry wool.

The hours drag through one movie and out to the next, an 80s horror slopfest of Hellraiser antics. By the time 9pm rolled around, Rebecca was already sound asleep beside you on the couch, your own eyes fighting to stay open against the soft glow of the television screen.

You looked at the clock to see the final hour, pushing Becky on the shoulder to wake her up a bit, if only to say goodbye for the night.

“Becky, I have to go home,” you said, stifling a yawn.

She rolled to the side, arm holding the throw blanket you had tossed over top of her tightly to her chest. “Seeya later… thank you for staying.”

I smile at her sentiment, content to see her happy. “It’s no problem. Seeya”

I waved, pushing up from the couch to grab my bag. I sling the old backpack over one shoulder as I walk towards the front door. I grab a shoe, slipping it onto one of my feet before following suit with the other.

The door was within reach, a beaten brass handle easily turned to open the house to the outside world once again.

Just as your hand had reached the cold metal, you heard him.

“Need-a lift home?” His voice was soft, yet still startling. You hadn’t heard him leave his bedroom nor a single footstep leading him to the living room in such a short amount of time.

“I was just going to take my bike.” You answered back, another mousy inflection to your voice.

“You can’t go out in the dark by yourself.” He waved your statement away, uninterested in letting you wander the darkened streets on nothing but a bicycle.

You turned the knob, eager to leap away from a much-needed heart-to-heart like a coward. “I don’t live far. I…” but, as the door fell open, the full picture came into view. The road ahead of the driveway was a total washout, a heavy sheet of rain pouring out from a black night sky to flood overtop of it.

Your house wasn’t close enough to bike home in this, and as if on cue, a tired voice behind you called out.

“I’m driving you.” He said, standing closer now. He pushed his bare feet into his slippers just beside your toes.

You took a second to breathe before coughing out an answer. “Uh…I can just walk my bike home; it has to let up at some point...”

You looked out at the wet night with melancholy as you spoke, and he answered you back with, “Just get in the car, Doll.”

The exasperation in his voice wasn’t subtle; the last word billowed out with a tired sigh as he reached for his keys on one of the hooks by the door.

You relented, accepting the defeat with a mild sense of shame as you stepped out onto his concrete porch. You watched, waiting for him to pull on a jacket before walking past you to his truck, a small, meek little you following behind him.

You pick the passenger seat beside his as he positions himself behind the wheel.

The ride is slow and painfully quiet. Until, unfortunately, the silence is broken.

“You and Rebecca have been friends for a long time, and I know how much you mean to her.” His voice seemed pained, but not entirely for his daughter's sake.

“But, you know you don’t always have to do what Becky says.”

“I know.” You answer back curtly.

There are another few beats of silence as the truck rolls over a small pothole. The cab shakes as the tire thumps in and out of the crack of broken asphalt.

His breathing falters, a heavy inhale coupled with a ragged puff of breath. It was weighing on him, something sharp and unyielding, until he finally let it go, dropping that same heaviness into your lap instead.

“I am more sorry than you can imagine for what I did that night. It’s something… It will never happen again, and I don’t want you to be afraid of visiting Becky.”

You feel your pulse quicken, thumping along your veins sloppily.

“I’m not afraid.”

“I’m just worried about you. I know that you can take care of yourself, but you’ve been through a lot, and I don’t want to be one of those things that makes your life difficult.” Adult-esque conversations were always hard, making your tummy flutter as you spoke. You turned your head, taking in the profile of his face as he stared out at the road.

Finally you see the wet smudges under his own eyes and right above the line of his beard. The faint wet lines of tears staining his perfect skin.

“You have never made anything difficult, Doll.” He takes another unsteady breath, bracing his hands against the wheel as the truck dips into another uneven chunk of road.

“You’d always been such a good girl.” He says, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his steering wheel so hard you almost thought it might crumble.

He slowly came to a stop at a red light before turning towards you to meet your gaze. It gave you a moment to take in the finer details of his face with him so close, just a center console away.

His rough-cut jaw was hidden by a thatch of dark facial hair, more prominent when you saw him clench it. Then there were his eyes, two deep pools of a dark, sad blue. They stared right into yours, and something in you wanted to drown in their icy water.

You hadn’t noticed your hand had moved towards his cheek, seeking to softly caress the prickly skin of his short beard. When your fingers came into view, he already had a hold of your wrist to pull it away.

“Ah, I’m sorry… That was…" wrong? Inappropriate?

You couldn’t hide the way you were admiring him, the flush of your skin at his close proximity, and the quickening pulse of your heart that thrummed under his thumb as he held your wrist.

“Why are you doing this to me?” He spoke so softly with a heavy breath, like he was pulling a weight from his chest as he spoke.

“What?..” you tried to ask before the blare of a horn pulled you from the moment.

The light had turned green without either of you noticing, angering the one driver behind him.

He pulled his eyes from you to steady them back on the road, blinking away a single tear before wiping it up.

You still had more questions, but as he brought his hand up to grab at the center console, no doubt in search of a quick cigarette to calm his nerves, you stopped him from opening it. You placed your fingers tightly over his, pushing down so the lid closed again.

You sat there for a second in silence; he didn’t pull away from you. In fact, you could feel his muscles actually starting to relax. It began with his knuckles going slack under your fingers, then his wrist falling flat, and the stiffness in his elbow and the lock in his shoulder all came undone.

Chapter 6

Tag list : @bjwmastermind-writes @allthenobodypplfics @brianheadsworld @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @funkybarnes @mayusenpai666 @societyfolklore @cadencejames87 @wintrsoldrluvr @mrs-marc-spector @buckysgirl27 @buckitostan @areadersworld @kjah97 @buckysdoll85 @allmyfanficfaves @lovehotch87 @reelovesbuckybarnes @winterslove1917 @missvelvetsstuff @roguelioness-blog @quotesprincess-blog1 @shortayye @notyourtypicalrose @walkingwithoutreason @allthenobodypplfics @capstarlight @alex-cheraya

[woedig]

These tulips opened Wednesday and by Thursday morning there were 6 missing. I put this web material over them last year and it seems to work.

[gloomdoomsmells]

crackship hehehe

[chococrepes-art]

Yo! Y'all remember that theory that the last digit of a number is an important part of how they're like?

Like Five and Fifteen for example: both of them get easily annoyed by things, scenarios, and other people, or Four and Fourteen: both of them are crazy, eerie and dangerous, or the Zeros and Ten: they're all being and trying to be helpful to other people when they're in need.

(Example: Ten saving Nine's and Six's cats from the tree as well as saving Seven from that tree, Zro (I really doubt it was any other Zero because it was exactly Zro's voice and the Zeros including Zro do have small difference between eachother's voices) saving Pie from Pi, and and the other four Zeros saving all those puppies and cats from that burning building)

Well I was thinking ... or wondering, does that mean that Two Thousand Seven Hundred and Sixty-Three's personality could be somehow similar to Three's personality in some way? (Since 2763 ends in 3) The thing is, we don't really know anything/enough about Three's or Two Thousand Seven Hundred and Sixty-Three's personalities yet. And as we all know a new Bfdi:Tpot episode is coming out soon, and it's possible we might see Three there finally, and that could tell us about how Two Thousand Seven Hundred and Sixty-Three's personality might be like by finding out more about Three, but it's also possible we might not see Three yet, and if the continuation of the subscriber special comes out before Three's more official reveal, then perhaps Two Thousand Seven Hundred and Sixty-Three's personality could be telling us about Three's personality instead and what to expect or not expect from them.

This theory could still be wrong and just a coincidence of course, but I still think that this theory that the last digit that's a part of a number influences their personality more, is more accurate than the theory that the first digit influences the number's personality more, since we all know how 1 and 2 are like and none of the algebralien's we know seem to be that much like them (10, 14, 15, 2763) it's more likely that the bigger the number the more popular and scary they are among smaller numbers.

Anyways as a sidenote 2763 probably just has lots of layers to their being and personality because of all those digits that make this number up.

But basically what I wanted to say is that this could be an opportunity to learn more about both 2763 and 3, depending on who we're gonna see more of first.

Also completely off topic, but do you guys think that maybe Fourteen also has Thirteen trapped inside them, and it's like "tradition" for 4 ending numbers to trap 3 ending numbers inside them (not actually tradition but y'know what I mean), or do you think even Fourteen would find that really creepy and weird and terrible, like a sort of "professionals have standards" sort of thing (since they are a cannibal) or do you think Fourteen wouldn't do it but wouldn't care if others did it either? Because the only time we've seen Thirteen was when one of the people animating for the show doodled Thirteen on a Livestream and it was non-cannon. Or do you think that Thirteen actually literally does bring so much bad luck that they're exiled and have to live alone far away from algebralien kind, or maybe they've been actually sentenced to death even? Unless Thirteen hasn't been born yet, since we don't really even know how algebraliens are made (but considering the Zro scene I think it's obvious more than just romance exists, or at the very least heavily implied, I do think algebraliens would be hermaphrodites because they don't have gender AND they are aliens, but I talked about that in another post, but anyways I'm gonna stop thinking about that scene now)

[rainpattle]

Sorry treehole shipper i had to

(i hate this background AAAAAGH)

[pjstafford]

A Comparison of Bucky F*cking Dent (Novel) to Reverse the Curse (Movie version)

Please note this contains spoilers for both the movie and the book. 

Bucky F*cking Dent (BFD) is a novel written by David Duchovny which was published in 2016.  It is his second published novel.   Reverse the Curse (RTC) is a movie based on the novel which is written, directed and starring David Duchovny.  It first premiered at the Tribeca Festival in 2023 and then was released in June 2024. It is the second David Duchovny film written and directed by him.  After Duchovny’s first movie was released in 2004, when asked what his next written and directed by film would be, he described the plotline for BFD/RTC.  He did not anticipate twenty years between.  His first movie, House of D, was panned by critics; although it has gained more appreciation in recent years and funding for the second film came and went as often happens in Hollywood.  When first conceived, Duchovny planned on playing the son, Teddy, in the film.  I confess that upon reading the novel I had a very hard time picturing Duchovny as the son.  After the success of Duchovny’s first novel (New York Times Best Seller, Holy Cow), he decided to write the novel BFD based on his earlier screenplay.  This second novel also received critical acclaim and he went on to write two additional novels and one novella.  When the time came to adapt his novel into a movie, he was too old to play the son and instead played Marty, the father. 

In general, I can enjoy both a film and the novel on which the film is based, but there have been times, depending on if I read the novel or seen the movie first, where I prefer one to the other and, possibly, have decided I don’t like either the movie or the book as much.  As a for instance, it is impossible for me not to love Henry Fonda’s portrayal of Tom Joad from The Grapes of Wrath movie which I first saw as a child, but reading the book years later made me realize how inadequate the movie was when compared to the novel.  With that in mind, I was simultaneously enthusiastic about the movie RTC and terrified I would not like it; especially as I heard from people who were at Tribeca about some changes made in the adaptation to screen.  BFD is the novel that made me a fan of Duchovny, the writer.  It is a novel which months after reading would wake me in the middle of the night with a remembrance of a passage that I felt compelled to read again (not uncommon for me with my favorite writers).  Also, his first written and directed by movie is one of my favorite movies ever. So, I was putting a lot of pressure on RTC as an Indie movie that did not see a wide film release. 

Remarkably, perhaps because Duchovny is both a novelist and a script writer, I found the movie and the book (which I reread in its entirety after seeing the film for the first time), are complementary towards each other in their differences.  Seeing the movie enhanced my enjoyment of the book and rereading the book made the movie more enjoyable for me on subsequent rewatches.  In my review of the movie, I said I would do a comparison.  It took me a few months to decide on an approach.  Cataloguing what was different and the same, the sequence of events between say where the first scene of the movie happens vs. its inclusion in a more middle sequence of the book, might be illustrative of the technique utilized for adaption, but it left me not embracing the heart of the work as well and what is common in both the novel and movie is the heart of the story.  So I’ve decided to take a less prescriptive approach and instead compare what works better in the film and what works better in the novel. 

What works better in the film?

The barbershop boys and the condensation of some material.

In the book, Marty goes to a news kiosk on his block where three guys his age often gather to talk over the news of the day.  In the movie, it’s the same three characters who gather in the barbershop.  In both, these old guys are part of the scheme to keep Marty healthy by creating a bubble in which the Red Sox are winning including sometimes “faking” rain outs by convincing Marty that it’s raining.  (Remember this is set in 1978 before cell phone and constant online news). This was always my least favorite part of the book because, even in 1978, this is a stretch for my suspension of belief and because I have never, really, been around old guys who are lifelong friends to understand the rhythm of the banter.  The character who keeps asking people to loan him $50 was lost on me.  In the movie, this is one of my favorite parts.  Duchovny calls on his Californication co-stars Evan Handler and Jason Beghe (Pamela Adlon also has a small part as Teddy’s literary agent) and adds Santo Fazio to make these characters come to life.  According to an interview with Beghe all scenes were shot in one and a half days.  The rhythm of their banter is so real, interrupting each other, finishing each other’s sentences, that when I read the book now, I can hear this rhythm.  I can visualize the rain creating sequences which in their absurdity is hilarious but also become more realistic and possible as viewed in the film.  I have watched very few movies where the least favorite part of the book becomes better because of the movie.  I am grateful for Duchovny’s decision to use “old guys” who he already has a rhythm of banter with to make this happened so convincingly.  It also brings the heart of these guys into focus.  In this way it reminds me of the Bonnie Hunt written and directed movie, Return to Me, in which Duchovny stars and in which there are four old guys.  These are old guys whose wives are no longer with them, and they are each other’s support network.  It’s quite beautiful and unexpected in both Return to me and in RTC. 

The condensation of material can be one of the most challenging parts of adapting a novel to screen.  Beloved characters and subplots are often lost.  Here again, this is done quite well in this movie.  Instead of the Jamaican guy who Teddy buys his weed from in the book and eventually purchases tickets to the Red Sox/ Yankees one game tie breaker, it is the barbershop old guys who give Teddy the tickets.  It includes the story of why one of the guys still carries his wife’s purse.  She has been dead ten years, but love conquers death.  He pulls from the purse the tickets to give to Ted.  It makes this, additionally improbable plotline, of Marty coming back from a coma to be able to travel with Ted to see the game, more poignant and possible – because love defeats death and makes anything possible.  In the book, the broader subplots and characters are important for depth and understanding of the characters.   Another example of this is that far more of Ted’s work life and ultimate termination from the job is detailed in the book.  It is an essential point of his journey.  However, stealing the VCR machine and game videos would have been clunky in the pacing of the film.  Simply solving the problem with, “I took the tube out of the TV” eliminates the need for this. 

Additions to the movie

As we will get to in the next section, there is one area where over condensation occurs -especially as it affects the backstory of Mariana.  Duchovny adeptly makes up for this by adding one conversation with Mariana and Ted which was not part of the book, but rather was part of his X Files research.  In talking to an FBI agent to prepare for Mulder, the agent told him that sometimes agents will die from gunshots that do not need to be fatal because their mind convinces them that they will die.  In the movie, Mariana considered becoming a FBI agent and, upon hearing the story, decides that the mind can be a more powerful protection than a gun and becomes a grief counseling nurse- helping people to die.  She tells Ted this and, later, when Ted calls to tell her Marty has died, he says “just because you were shot doesn’t mean you have to die” to entice her back into his world of the living. 

What works better in the book including what was left out of the movie

Use of music, flashbacks, poetry and stream of consciousness.

In the novel, Ted is a Deadhead.  Mariana loves disco.  I previously wrote a blog about the careful placement of Grateful Dead songs in the novel.  I even managed to have a conversation with Duchovny about the use of Box in Rain as the song that plays in Ted’s mind as his father dies in the car on their way back from Boston following the game.  The correlation between the fact that this song was written by Phil Lesh and Robert Hunter as Lesh was caring for his father who died of cancer made the use of this song in the book more poignant.  In the movie this is short handed by one scene about Mariana’s tattoos where she confesses to being a Grateful Dead fan with Box of Rain being her favorite song and Ted wearing a “disco sucks” shirt. This is, I believe, a nod to the fans of the book that the writer and director understands that, for some of us, this lack of a single Grateful Dead song would be a disappointment.  They were on a budget.  Grateful Dead songs are expensive.  Their substitution of the song Father Song by Keaton Simon is a wonderful choice.  The inclusion of Duchovny’s original song The Rain Song which references a Box of Rain also has a poignancy for those who know the backstory of that song.  Duchovny’s ex wife loved the rain, and her favorite movie is an older movie about a man creating the illusion of rain for a woman he loves who loves the rain.  That movie is a clear inspiration for creating the illusion of rain sequences in the book and movie.  The line in the song “it will always be raining in this song” is a declaration of love and speaks to the heart of the movie.  However, this movie would have been better, in my opinion, if there had been a budget to include some Grateful Dead (at least for this old deadhead). 

The book includes several flashback sequences spread throughout the book of when Marty was younger, and Ted was a baby and in the hospital.  It also includes flashbacks of when Mariana’s daughter was dying.  There are some brief flashbacks of Marty and Ted which leads to the big reveal in the movie about why Marty had problems reattaching to Ted.  This scene might be the best of Duchovny’s acting career.  If there had been time to include more flashbacks that might have been better.  There are no flashback scenes of Mariana and her daughter in the movie.  I don’t know how those might have been included except for perhaps as Mariana is telling Ted goodbye.  However, there is one chapter in the book where the daughter is trying to think of how to tell her mother not to die too which is heartbreakingly sad and speaks to the heart of Mariana’s character who has trouble attaching to people who are not dying.  As mentioned earlier, the FBI addition went a long way to compensating.  I still would suggest that everyone should read the book in order to bring the awareness of those flashbacks to the scenes – especially the Marty asking his son’s forgiveness scene. 

The last two things – poetry and stream of consciousness are best left in the novel.  One of the most touching scenes in the book is after Ted arranges a reunion of Marty and an old romance when they are returning from Brooklyn and recite Walt Whitman’s “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry” to each other.  One of the things that book does better than the movie is show how these two men – estranged for so long – were so similar.  Even with all the things Marty had never given Ted were the things he had: a love of baseball, a love of writing, a love of poetry and a character trait of being oppositional. It’s a nuance that is missing from the movie.  Yet, I cannot imagine in the movie that reciting poetry would feel anything but contrived, but in the book it is very natural with the groundwork laid in advance. 

Finally, the novel style is of internal character dialogue and Ted’s internal dialogue is stream of consciousness.  One of my favorite paragraphs in the book begins “What a day for a daydream.”  I think it was wise of Duchovny not to fill the movie with poetry or try to capture a stream of consciousness approach.  It does make the book a wonderful distinct thing (filled with words and wonderful writing) from the movie.  If you’ve read the book, you can bring all of that to the movie and, if you haven’t, the movie stands alone. 

Summary

Returning to my earlier example of really enjoying Grapes of Wrath the movie and yet knowing that the book was far superior.   In the case of BFD vs. RTC, I can make no claim of superiority.  I will rewatch the movie.  I will reread the book.  In some ways the things left out of the movie, means the book remains dear because it is an experience so different from the movie and, yet the movie is visually appealing, and the actors bring forth the emotions in a way that words might not adequately express.  They are the same story told in different ways to fit the medium in which they are being told.  It is the rare example of adaptations where it is possible to love each version of the story more because you have experienced the other version. 

If you haven’t read the book or seen the movie, I encourage you to do both- maybe read the book first.  Congratulations to Mr. Duchovny for this achievement.