#Part IV

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Part IV

Fern spread out an enormous star chart on the ground. The map was an Atlas-sized deep blue sheet of paper. Stars were stylized as golden bursts of light connected by thread-bare lines and little circles. The sun had a face.

I leaned forward to make out the full chart. Fern smelled strongly of gunk and woods and I refused to wrinkle my nose because I too was covered in gunk and woods. The last few days had been a blur. I barely knew why these people had abandoned their homes and yet we talked nonstop: A mermaid. A real mermaid. What was she doing here? Where did the puddles lead? How many were there? What had I seen? What had I seen? What had I seen?

I had seen the world, I said, the whole other world. The next day and the day after that was a steady downpour. The mermaid did not run from puddle to puddle during these days. We hung out inside the couple’s camper and chatted away and at least, on the third day, the sun broke out once again and we nodded at one another.

The mermaid needed to go home. Home had to be on the other side of the puddles. And by god, maybe we could help find the right one. 

“We’ll begin at sunset,” Sven announced in his serious, bumpy voice. He rubbed his beard.

Fern nodded and she grinned, wide and real. “And I bet I’ll be able to pinpoint the right one if I get the stars right. It’s got to be the stars, right? Or else she wouldn’t need the sky to be clear. I’ll make my own map.” Her voice was rapid-fire, that breathy rasp, and all teeth and sparkling eyes behind her glasses.

I grinned back. “I’m just glad there are more of us than just me. We’ll cover more ground if we all check.”

“Maybe, uh, keep a record?” Sven offered, still rubbing his beard.

I had considered this too: taking video. Stealing my dad’s old camera and figuring out how the damn tapes worked. I kicked my feet back and forth. “I was thinking that too. I was planning on going home today anyway.” 

Sven and Fern had been sharing their food with me, but I was starting to get in the mood for some beef jerky. And besides, the showering situation had become somewhat dire. We were on day six and I smelled something that morning only to wonder, “God, what the hell is that?” Only to realize it was me.

The couple exchanged a darting look between the two of them, and maybe they really did have a bit of psychic link. They spoke in a river-smooth back and forth.

“Back home?”

“How is home?”

It took me a long moment to put together the hesitancy in their voices and the entire world held in their gazes. Clicking all at once, I wanted to kiss them. I shot down that instinct quickly and kicked my feet back and forth.

“Nah. It’s not like that. I’ve just been . . . keeping an eye on the mermaid. I mean, she’s a mermaid.” A part of me hoped they’d keep asking questions like, what have you been doing up until now then? (Hanging out. Wandering.) Is it hard to get here? (Sure. But the drainage ditch isn’t bad.) How is your summer homework (all done, thank you very much!).

Sven and Fern did not pepper me with any more questions and I left by midday. The rain had been fierce the day after I met Fern and Sven, and the puddles down main street were wider than my arm span. I jumped and splashed through one after the next. I had never been gone for this long before—six days! It was like a sleep-away camp for myself.

Though, I wouldn’t admit to my new 20-year old friends that I had been longing for my bed on that last night. The rain turned into a curtain, silver-black strings plucking the earth to the heavens, and pelted the top of my pup-tent with a constant plunking. My tent was sturdy and I was no slouch with set-up, so no water flooded the bottom of my tarp, but I couldn’t help the thoughts pouring in all the same: I didn’t have to be here.

The flashing of Samantha’s fangs in my mind’s eye kept me in place. If I was feeling miserable, how was she feeling all by herself in the world that didn’t hiss or croon or screech back at her? 

Miss Maudlin was on her porch, across the street from our house, and I was reminded that maybe I did have to be out there. I didn’t give her a second glance and trooped to my house. 

“Where have you been off to?” Nosy Miss Maudlin asked in her not-mean but not-nice either voice. I kept my head down. “Harper, honey, there is a worry in my mind that you don–”

“Hello Miss Maudlin!” I called over one shoulder. “Goodbye Miss Maudlin!” I shut the door behind me and the quiet of the house entombed me on all sides. I exhale a long breath. My mind roamned to whether or not our car was covered in parking tickets or not since I abandoned that too, but I didn’t give it a second glance.

I turned the shower all the on, thanked whatever deity looked after the wayward that it was still hot as could be, and got in. I can truthfully say it was one of the best showers of my life. My dad used to claim that every time he quit sugar, the first chocolate was a revelation. An entire holy event. I imagine this was a lot like that too. 

Water sloshed off my shoulders in dirty waves and I created big balls of suds like a wig and a beard. I thought about how this week might have been the longest I had ever been happy. You don’t notice things like that when you’re a kid, but 14 had given me time to think. When I got out, fresh and roasted and thinking about happiness, the clank of the door froze me solid. I was still a freeze kind of person.

Footsteps came from down below.

My stomach rumbled as if on cue. Door clattering, wrapped in a fluffy towel, and I needed a big sandwich. Singing carried up the stairs and my shoulders relaxed. Soft, barely-there singing. I dressed and when I came back down, the basement door was locked tight. My heart did funny things in my chest at the sight of that, like the way Miss Maudlin said, “honey.”

We didn’t have much left in the fridge, but I made myself a huge omelet with the wilting vegetables and packed everything I could think of from the closet: extra flashlights, blanket, army headlamp, oreos, and a very dead camcorder. I plugged the camcorder in and messed around with the tape like I knew what I was doing.

It was 3pm by the time I was geared-up and in a fresh set of clothes and two pairs of socks. My boots were amazing, but there is nothing worse in the world than wet socks. I got something for Samantha too: my grandmother’s silver hairbrush. It was a lot, but what if this really was it? What if we lost her to the puddles and they only went one way? Everyone needed one nice thing to remember someone else by.

If you grow up in a rainy place, you get a sense of certain things. Like cows that lie down before a hurricane or cats that hide in your closet before a thunderstorm. I had a feeling, deep in my gut, that the rain had passed. That this was it.

Chains clattered against wood and the basement door scraped open. I jumped and clutched at my chest like my soul had left my body and I needed to drag it back in. I didn’t let out a peep, though, which I was proud of.

She drove into the room like a stormfront, and I gaped at her as if I was seeing a mermaid all over again. 

“You’re up.” I blinked. She was upstairs. My mom spoke like she always did, like she was trying to get the words out all at once before they traffic-jammed in her mouth.

“Harper? What are you doing? Have you been here? I’ve been looking for you. It’s been raining. Have you seen how much rain? My word. Why have you been out?”

I gaped, mouth growing wider and cheeks flushing red-hot. I regretted the words before I even said them: “You’re the one that was out, stupid!”

You have to know, above anything else, that my mom was not a bad person. She wasn’t dangerous. She was just my mom. She had curly carrot-orange hair like me, but it was darker and longer. Her hair was gnarled into a ponytail at the nape of her neck and she wore army surplus pants and an army surplus shirt and a kind of wire-mesh hat over her head.

Her face fell, going pale and gaunt, and I felt bad immediately.

“I’ve been looking for you.” She hurried over to me. “I’ve figured it out. It’s all going to be alright now. The second I saw the rain, I knew it was time and I had to start working. I’ve been messaging with them and they’re going to help. We’re going to be alright!”

My eyes prickled and I opened and closed my mouth. “I took some of the stuff from downstairs when you were gone. Drank some of the water, too.” I don’t know why I said that first, all pleading and small. Like I was five again. “Sorry.” “Oh? What? That doesn’t matter. The basement isn’t going to be safe soon.” She slipped her hand in mine and tugged. “I’ve gotten us a deal, a good deal, but we have to leave as soon as possible. They only have so much room.” Oh no. It was happening. I looked between her hand and mine and swallowed against the fist in my throat. 

“I can’t go. I told you, my friends are here,” I said lamely. “Dad is here. Somewhere.” 

She’d gotten worse, so much worse, when dad left. He couldn’t live like this, he said. The spending on supplies, the expansive bulk toilet paper they weren’t allowed to touch, the constant chatter. The computer, always bright at 2am and 3am, and it wasn’t even on anything fun. I always wondered too, though, if he couldn’t live with her, or if it was the both of us.

My friends were here. And so was my mermaid.

Her eyes were elsewhere. “Harper. Your friends are important, yes, but we don’t know if they’ve gotten to them.” I knew what she meant by that, even when I never wanted to.

“You know, there’s also, you know, I met someone you might want to meet.” She tugged me to the door and I got a look of the car in the driveway. Maybe I should have been happy she was moving it herself now. “You might even be interested in them! We could help them.” The block around the word “mermaid” was a physical tug in my mouth. My mom, above anyone else, would believe me. She swung open the front door to a pleasant summer breeze and the chains of the basement door clattered gently. My mom’s eyes were bloodshot and she fumbled for her car keys. She had always been clumsy, clumsy and beautiful like the lead in a romantic comedy movie.

I take my hand back. “Do you want to help her? She needs me.”

She froze at those words, clumsy, beautiful, eyes elsewhere in the distance. “Harper, I have to save you first. Us. This is what we’ve been preparing for, don’t you understand?” “Sure,” I said and blinked until my hands turned to blurs at my side. I clenched them and drew a deep breath. “I have to pee!”

I scrambled back to the kitchen, grabbed my bag, and hoofed it out the back door. What else was there? My boots slopped in the giant puddles all the way to the drainage ditch and beyond.

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It's Raining in Portland

PART I

It rained in Portland for 45 days straight. They say this might still be normal—even for the off-season. I’ve gone out wandering, as I have every day of summer since I was a kid. My house was empty and the days dragged. I insisted on my green rain boots with frogs on them, showing them off was as good as a downhill bike ride. My bike was broken by then. The other kids were sometimes around, but the days grew longer. They went off to summer camps and vacation and YMCA soccer programs and it was still raining.

I began to bring the lady things on the tenth day. The puddles were turning into little lakes and I needed to make sure to move the car every five days–so I counted. I found her the day Liz left for camp. She was lying face down in the old Target parking lot. Target was supposed to come back to the building but it never did and the place was good for wandering. She was filthy. Hair tangled, coat an unnamable color, gnarled long skirt, and skin rash-y and fever-bright. She was also beautiful, like a fairy tale princess. A storybook face.

The woman had to be middle-aged at least, a weather-beaten kind look about her and silver hair; her high cheekbones and vivid dark eyes captured the soul as my dad might say. She moaned the first time thunder cracked across the sky. She dragged herself across the parking lot and rolled over into a puddle. I circled the area, pointy stick in hand, peeking out behind trees and heel-toe-ing around the cement.

I kept my distance during the first few visits, pretending we were strangers on the bus or like my childhood cat when she followed you into the same room. The woman remained like a corpse on the ground.

The first present I gave her was a can of soup. Everyone needed soup when the weather was bad. I placed it above her head, inching as close as I dare and pushing the can the rest of the way with my stick. Her liquid dark eyes flickered up, searching and wide. She returned to lying face down on the pavement. I frowned. Sure, I didn’t expect a thank you, but still.

The second day I brought her one of my mom’s old raincoats. Everyone needed a raincoat in the freaking rain. I placed it on top of the untouched soup can and didn’t wait to let her groan or moan or look at me with her spooky eyes. I ran off.

When I returned, the campbells can was standing proud and untouched but the lady was covered in my mom’s bright orange raincoat. I bounced on my heels.

“Is it a good fit?”

She didn’t answer. 

I thought of telling someone about the lady in the parking lot. Afterall, she probably needed help and if she took the coat, she might need more. But I stopped in the same breath. Bethany and Liz were at summer camp, the sleep-away kind, and they are the only ones I would trust to not start tattling immediately. If anyone else came, an adult or anyone with a badge, they might start asking questions about my situation. Why am I out wandering? What am I doing all the way out there on my own? You have to cross the big highway to reach the abandoned Target and really it was such a headache to explain the drainage ditch-crossing.

The lady might get in trouble too. What’s with all the headless pigeons in the parking lot? They’d say. That didn’t have to be my lady, though. She just didn’t like soup.

We were on day 20 of the rain and day 10 of me bringing her things. I had to move the car that morning and Miss Maudlin was giving me the stink eye the whole time. I arrived early, bird-early since that’s when I’m supposed to move the car, and didn't even bother to pick up the sharp stick. The mud was thick as honey and the lady dragged herself to a different spot face-down next to the biggest puddle.

“Hey!” I called out like I always do. “Don’t get up or anything. I brought you some socks . . . sorry they’re not shoes or boots or whatever, but they’re dry. I bet you’d like something dry.”

I set the pair of my mom’s good woollen socks next to the soup and backed up, still feeling bad I didn’t have boots. Good boots made a world of difference—my frog ones were testament to that. The lady didn’t even look up this time. She just lay there. I rubbed the back of my neck.

“Are you asleep?” My heart squeezed in my chest. I was going to feel awful if I didn’t tell Miss Maudlin about the corpse-like lady and she became an actual corpse on my watch. Though, Miss Maudlin would be impossible about the pigeon-thing, I already knew.

I sat cross-legged under my umbrella and started munching on my oreos, waiting for her to moan or groan or twitch. “Do you want, uh, something other than soup? I realize I didn’t even leave you a can opener.” The corpse-lady made a valiant effort of acting like a real corpse.

I scooched closer. “I won’t be able to come around every day soon so you’ll have to speak up. Want some Oreos of your own? Blanket? I’ve got some bottled water too, so much bottled water,” I chuckled, “but you’re probably sick of water by now.” The hand at her side appeared to twitch and a part of me relaxed. That was a good thing. I could leave now. But the thing was, I didn’t really want to go. Miss Maudlin wouldn’t even be on her porch giving me the stink eye and I’d already been to the grocery store twice yesterday. I brought out my book.

“I have this summer reading—did you ever do summer reading?—I’m already finished,” I puffed out my chest just a little bit, not enough for the lady to notice, but enough, “but the IB teacher grades like a motherfucker, I hear,” I giggled. The lady’s hand twitched at her side but she didn’t say anything about the swear word which was good of her. “So, I’m, like, reading this one again before term starts.” Which was not entirely true, we wouldn’t be reading One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich until the second semester. She didn’t have to know that. The book was short and punchy and made me say things like, “well, at least I’m not eating rocks in a gulag this fine morning,” which was something. I situated my umbrella, opened the book on my lap, and began reading. At first, I read silently to myself, but the lady had stopped so much as twitching and it worried me all over again.

I flipped to the beginning and read out loud. 

Her big dark eyes dragged up from the pavement. They were red-rimmed and wide as coins. My skin crawled and I cleared my throat. “Did you like it? It’s my favorite of the books.” She, of course, did not answer.

I decided to finish reading the first couple pages to her because I started this whole thing and I didn’t want to bail just because her eyes were big and weird and staring. We got through the opening sections. I left, like I always did, when I got bored.

I avoided the parking lot for the next few days. I wasn’t really in a place to keep bringing her stuff she didn’t want, I told myself, and it had to stop raining eventually. After nearly a month of rain, I went to our basement and knocked hard on the door. I had another note in my hand, this one mostly about the lady and how super done with my summer homework I was, but I found the last three notes still jammed under the door. I glared at the folded pieces of paper until I gave myself a headache and shoved the fourth one in after it. 

When I went back to the lady, I brought the book and a cushion to sit on. Let her find the damn house empty. I sat on the kitchen chair cushion, letting it sink into the soggy ground and not really caring, and cracked open the book. The lady rolled over onto her back and her big dark eyes were focused on the clouds.

“PAGE FOUR,” I said loudly and began reading. Her eyes dragged over to me in a molosess-drip and I offered her a tin of oreos.

Over the last few days, I stuck to my summer reading list, but by the time the weekend arrived I decided there were only so many pages of eating rocks and being mad at guards you can stand. The lady was already out in the rain. I switched over to one of my favorite books. My friends would have made fun of me for a baby book, but I was sure the lady had never read The Tale of Despereaux, and everyone needed to read that once in their life.

She liked it, I thought. I was sitting, as usual, doing what I was going to be doing at home anyway, and introducing the mouse that got me through a lot of boring classes in elementary school. Her hand jerked out in a blur. I jolted and the woman had a bird by the throat. My mouth fell open. The pigeon.

Her teeth were sharp as fish hooks and gently curved. They dug into the neck of the bird in the same way I imagine sharks dug into seals. My mouth fell open. The woman gobbled down the head and belly of the creature and it didn’t have time to make a sound.

“Woah,” I said. In a flash, she tossed aside her meal. You have to admire anything with that kind of efficiency. She scrubbed her face down with the back of her hand, moaned, and rolled over a second time. I scooted to the edge of my cushion.

“Um.” I gripped the book in both hands, raising it like a shield. “Do, uh, you only do that to, uh, birds?”

I didn’t really give her a chance to answer to be fair. I ran off so quick I imagine a little puff of dust came out of my heels. I spent the rest of the day with the curtains down and the door locked like my mom wanted. 

And I would have stayed gone too. However, the next day I got up, got dressed, put on my rainboots, and went to the door. It was another grocery day. My umbrella was missing. My one good umbrella–that also had a frog on it–was gone, and it was still raining. Thirty days of rain and no umbrella!

At least I knew a little more about the parking-lot lady. This time, I brought her a good cloth napkin. Everyone needs a napkin no matter where they live. I should admit I arrived late, very late since I had to spend most of the day talking myself in and out of going. She ate a bird right in front of me! Raw! And probably wasn’t too fond of mice, I had to bet, so The Tale of Despereaux was really not going to be her thing.

Birds cawed and the setting sun broke through the haze. Bits of orange light turned the puddles into watercolor splashes and set the misty air all to golden dust. Some things can be too beautiful–abandoned Targets and grungy puddles cast in orange.

I darted between the pine trees, keeping my head down and eyes wide. Crows, not knowing to fear for their lives, pecked at the ground. The Target stood unlit and empty, surrounded by piles of trash like a noble dying king. There was no one else in sight. I crept toward the largest puddle, eyeing the ground and wishing my lost umbrella wasn’t green. It could have flown off anywhere by now and blended in with the trees.

The light drained out of the world and the first meager stars popped out. I recounted my steps, one, two, three, and swept the area. At least, on the other side of the lot my umbrella was resting at the base of the Target. The top was weighed down by water, and the handle sticking up like a new plant growth. I sped into a run. Without breaking pace, I grabbed the handle, flung the water out, and sprinted into the foliage. My chest heaved and I glanced around, maybe also to check if anyone had seen that.

A shriek split the air. I dug my heels in and teetered to a halt, animal fear shoving its way into my higher functions. Apparently, I was a freeze kind of girl between the fight-flight kinds. My heart pounded dangerously close to being a medical problem and my ears rang. The shriek had the quality of stone against stone, grating and sharp. Sweat dripped down my temple and a long, dark shape dragged itself across the ground in the corner of my eye.

I swallowed a painful lump. She heaved herself across the space and I wished for the life of me that she remembered those wool socks fondly. The lady moved more quickly than I imagined, belly scraping the concrete and face contorted. I took a step back, she really didn’t need socks, actually.

Out from under the long skirt and dirty coat and much cleaner and nicer orange raincoat, was a thick black tail the color of oil spills. Dark as night and shiny, little rainbows catching the last of the light, a muscled tail whipped back and forth. The mermaid dragged herself across the cement and my mouth gaped.

She moved in the way of dreams: unearthly and fast–much faster than expected. A puddle the size of a small minivan pooled near the base of the Target. The mermaid planted her hands on either side, let out a fantastic shriek, and stuck her head into the water. You’d think she’d give herself a concussion, bonking on the ground, but she plunged her princess-pretty face up to the shoulders. She was gone for only a second and then back yowling like a stray cat.

I didn’t run this time. I took one wobbling step back and then another, clutching the handle of my umbrella like a sword. A mermaid! The brightest part of my brain said. You’re about to be alone in the pitch black out here, said the other part of my head. 

The mermaid was crying, I think, crying very hard, when I left her.

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[jigencaps]

[randomfoggytiger]

The Mulder Family In-Depth: (Part IV-3) Bill Mulder and the Biological Question

I have long maintained my unflinching prejudice towards Carl Spender-- more specifically, against Chris Carter, Frank Spotnitz, and the other writers' late-canon decision to turn him into Mulder's biological father. Unbeknownst to me, CC himself was against the notion-- it was, in fact, David Duchovny's idea. And while I can agree with a lot of DD's criticisms, critiques, and additions to the show, my Rubicon was this and the "Mulder was previously divorced" thought experiments.

Until, unfortunately, it dawned on me that Travelers's timeline-- not Musings of a Cigarette-Smoking Man's-- was considered canon by the top dogs themselves.

What does all this mean, then?

BILL MULDER'S HISTORY

Bill Mulder was born in 1926 and died in 1995.

We are given two conflicting backstories for his character:

In Musings of a Cigarette-Smoking Man, Bill is a low-ranking soldier, already proudly married to Tena Mulder and the father to one-year-old Fox Mulder (whose first word was "J.F.K.") He is, by all appearances, still on the lower rungs of his career-- untainted by the horrors he will one day face (i.e. Apocrypha's flashbacks and Anasazi's allusions) and only lightly familiar with Spender as a bunk mate and friend (from his perspective.) This flashback takes place in 1962, which would make Bill Mulder 36 years old-- quite old for a "young", low-ranking soldier.

In Travelers, Bill is a married man already entrenched in the government, presumed married with a ring on his finger and no military background to speak of. He is weighed down by the secrets of the Consortium and tries to rope in Arthur Dales to put an end to the mad hunt after Edward Skur (too afraid for himself and his family to directly disobey orders.) This flashback takes place in 1952, which would make Bill Mulder 26 years old-- a decade younger than his alleged "baby-faced" military days.

We are left, then, with an inescapable problem: which narrative is the correct one?

Luckily, Chris Carter solves this puzzle for us-- or, more accurately, for Glen Morgan (who went above-and-beyond to undermine CC's final say, on and off the set, post here):

October 1997:

Another problem arose when William B. Davis announced he hated the script. “I thought Bill was going to be thrilled to have a show about him,” Wong said. “I had dinner with him, and basically he spent the entire time telling me, ‘This is a terrible script! This is horrible! I can’t do this!’ He didn’t like anything about it. He thought it didn’t make sense, that that he didn’t know who this person was, that it wasn’t him. He hated it.” Davis promptly called Carter to ask if this was the real history of the Cigarette Smoking Man (Carter told him no), and he continued to express his concerns with the script throughout the shoot. And then there were the timeline inconsistencies, which Morgan and Wong didn’t even know about until the episode aired and Morgan logged on and was bombarded with dozens of internet posts complaining that the events of “Musings” couldn’t be for real, because they contradicted the teaser to “Apocrypha.” In the “Apocrypha” teaser, which is set in 1953, a young Cigarette Smoking Man (already smoking), a young Bill Mulder, and a third man, all in civilian dress, question a horribly burned submarine crewman who had encountered an alien in a flashback shown in the previous episode, “Piper Maru.” Morgan’s version proposed an entirely different history, with the young Cigarette Smoking Man and Bill Mulder, both Army officers, first meeting in 1961 at Fort Bragg, North Carolina. The Cigarette Smoking Man doesn’t even smoke, until he takes his first nervous puff late in the first act. Although Morgan and Wong had seen “Apocrypha,” they didn’t remember the events of the teaser.... 

“The Cigarette Smoking Man’s flashbacks were my idea, because I indeed wanted the episode to be a memoir,” Morgan said. But the idea that Frohike could be the real narrator was a Carter-imposed addition to the script, to make it seem as if the events of the episode were not real. Carter even changed the name of the script, from “Memoirs of a Cigarette Smoking Man” to “Musings of a Cigarette Smoking Man.”

[Wong]: …“The line where Deep Throat says, ‘Maybe I’m not the liar’ was another change imposed on the script so you could make the leap that perhaps this is all. a dream, or the ramblings of Frohike.”

Musings, then, is a retelling of "historical" facts, not the facts themselves. And since the mytharc continued to build off Travelers-- including Agua Mala's and The Unnatural's pit stops-- then we are left to assume that Travelers, indeed, is the correct timeline.

Which throws a wrench in the biological question.

THE MULDER FAMILY'S EMPTY NEST

From Traveler's 1952 to Fox Mulder's birth in 1961, Bill and Tena Mulder were-- for approximately ten years-- childless.

What are some possible explanations?

Bill and Tena suffered a series of miscarriages before Mulder was born.

Bill and Tena had a previous child who died sometime before Mulder was born. (This seems extremely unlikely, since Mulder was not only never informed but also never stumbled upon mementos or burial records while digging deep in the FBI.)

Bill or Tena was infertile.

The first and third points are particularly salient: with only a three years' difference between Fox and Samantha, it's easy to dismiss Point 1's premise to favor Point 3's theory-- that infertility plagued Bill and eventually led to Tena's "miraculous" pregnancy (in the possible arms of one Carl Spender) instead of a series of unfortunate, though tragically common, events.

In order to weigh these theories correctly, we need to pick apart the evolution of the Paternity Question.

THE X-FILES WRITERS' BUILDING BLOCKS

To properly unwind the spool of mystery around Mulder (and Samantha's) parentage, we have to establish two basic principles:

Chris Carter-- and the writers by extension-- had no conclusive plans for The X-Files: only a vague sense of its direction and a fainter glimpse of its fairy-tale conclusion (post here and here.)

Chris Carter did not intend for Mulder to be CSM's son as late in the game as Season 6.

Chris Carter did intend for Samantha to be CSM's daughter as early as Redux II.

Principle One

Kim Manners summed it up best after One Son wrapped: "I've said for years that the show really resolved itself, if you will, by accident. The whole story line of the Syndicate and the bees and the aliens and the chips in the neck, they all seemed to just accidentally fall into place and create an intriguing, mysterious story line that eventually got so mysterious and so intriguing that Chris had to blow it up [One Son], because he couldn't deal with it anymore." (Post here.)

Carter also admitted, "…I feel like Lewis and Clark: I know where I’m going, but I don’t know what the hills and valleys and streams that I have to cross are.... Everything else I do past this is a big question mark to me,” he says thoughtfully. “I don’t know if it’ll be a hit or miss. It’s a business of failure mostly. While I’ve got this garden growing, I want to make sure that I tend it and that it represents my best efforts.” (Post here.)

Principle Two

CC maintained consistently, for years, that CSM and Mulder's father were separate identities: to David Duchovny (who kept lobbing the idea of a merger)--

Brian Lowry's The Official Third Season Guide to "The X-Files":

The exchange between Mulder and the Cigarette-Smoking Man [in "Talitha Cumi"]... was not surprisingly generated considerable speculation even within the show as to whether the shadowy character-- in a 'Star Wars'-like twist-- might really be Mulder's biological father. "Oh, people will say that," Chris Carter sighed prior to shooting.

For his part, David Duchovny considers that a very real possibility in adding to the series' epic mythology, and William B. Davis says he has contemplated such a scenario in the past and that such thoughts were guiding him in part when he played those scenes....

"I know that I've talked about it with Chris," Duchovny concurs.

--to the public (who were clamoring for theories after each mytharc tease)--

April 1999:

“We all know that Agent Spender is the Cigarette Smoking Man’s son, so that creates an interesting dynamic and if you’ve paid attention, you know that Mulder’s father and the Cigarette Smoking Man have some history together. We’re playing with a big, familial story here that I think enriches the idea of The X-Files in a very personal way for the characters.”

I wrote up a thorough (and compelling) timeline that tracks Carter's static ideas on the topic here; but that still leads us smack against his sudden pivot in Amor Fati, his abandoned 180° turn (again) in a deleted Requiem scene, and his final line-in-the-sand "revelation" in William (scripts and meta here.) CC wanted to flirt with "the truth"... until Season 9's numbers proved that the show's plug would have to be pulled. That, then, sealed Mulder's biological ties to Jeffrey Spender-- there would have been no time to shift again, realistically-- which, in turn, knotted him to CSM forever.

Principle Three

What about Samantha's paternity?

February 05, 1999:

Left unanswered: the burning question of Fox Mulder’s paternity. (Duchovny is going the Star Wars route, assuming CSM is Mulder’s Darth Vader of a father: ”It makes mythological sense.” Carter will only add, ”We haven’t said definitely not. What we have said is that he is definitely Samantha’s father.”) 

Post Fight the Future and the narrative crafted in Demons and Redux II has not changed; post One Son, the narrative has not changed; post Closure, the narrative remains firm. Samantha Mulder, then, is canonically confirmed to be Carl Spender's daughter-- which makes sense why he kept her with him, and aligns with his twisted form of love (inflicting pain on those closest to him ala Jeffrey and Cassandra and Mulder and Tena and Deep Throat and Bill Mulder and etc.)

Although Mulder's paternity was in a constant state of flux, Samantha's was not; and even though CSM shifted his opinions on Mulder's paternity ("Bill Mulder's son" in One Son, "my son" in Amor Fati)-- and canon still waffled as late as Requiem-- his beliefs of Samantha's did not.

Which makes the Clone!Samantha situation in Redux II that much worse... especially considering that even William B. Davis thought she was the real deal:

May 1999:

What about the scene in Redux with Samantha, for example? Well, he certainly thought she was the real Samantha and that’s how he played it. Then a year later, he heard someone say, “No that wasn’t her,” and his reaction was “huh?”.)

The Conclusion to This Mystery

In short: the writers did not plan for anything; Samantha was cemented as CSM's before they extended the patriarchal branch to Mulder; and Mulder's biology was an afterthought-- like many aspects of the show-- that became crippled in service to the "next big thing."

So: what does this mean for Bill and Tena Mulder?

WHAT IS THE TRUTH?

The X-Files's writers originally wrote Mulder and Samantha to be normal, though tragically separated, siblings; and would have created (and cast) their parents with that idealized conception in mind. However, as canon evolved, so, too, did their aspirations; and so, too, did the bounds of believability.

If Bill and Tena Mulder are the biological parents of both children, then either one (or both) would have had to suffer from infertility until the successful birth of Fox Mulder. Streak now broken, it would-- theoretically-- have been easier to conceive Samantha three years later: a bump enough in the timeline to logically point to another round of fertility struggles.

Or their quick turnaround could serve as proof that Samantha was CSM's-- a shortcut for Tena, exhausted and unwilling as she might have been to wait another ten years to (perhaps) become successfully pregnant again.

If CSM and Tena Mulder are the biological parents of both children... that raises more questions.

At what point did Carl Spender suspect that both Mulder children were-- if they were-- his?

Samantha was traded in her brother's stead, but that was a decision that came directly from Bill Mulder. Did he suspect that Samantha wasn't his? I don't believe so: Bill was genuinely fragile after "Samantha's" return in Colony; and genuinely grieved, shattered, and angered after her "death" in End Game (projecting that pain onto Tena to guard himself.) Further, Mulder stated that Samantha's disappearance "tore the family apart": the comfort and love both children received from their father (as shown in Dreamland II's family videos) came to an end as Bill retreated into his alcohol and Tena into her bitter condemnation. It was a matter of time before Mrs. Mulder and young Mulder moved out, leaving Mr. Mulder to his broken misery.

To add more credence to my claim, I defer to the Well-Groomed Man's revelation in Fight the Future:

"Without a vaccination, the only true survivors of the viral holocaust will be those immune to it - human alien clones. He allowed your sister to be abducted, to be taken to a cloning program, for one reason..." [to survive.] "Your father chose hope over selfishness. Hope in the only future he had, his children. His hope for you was that you would uncover the truth about the project. That you would stop it, that you would fight the future."

Bill Mulder, then, believed both children were his; and Bill Mulder, then, died believing both children were his-- his daughter who he traded away, and his son who he lied to and begged to "forgive me" on his deathbed.

TWO FATHERS, ONE SON

Despite canon's later solidification, I find One Son rather fascinating to study through the lens of Bill Mulder as Fox Mulder's biological father (as was originally intended):

In a deleted flashback (with Mulder's father arguing where Krycek now stands), Bill predicted the holes in his compatriots' plans, horrified in the face of the anticipated trade:

The scene then immediately transitions back to Mulder, the parallel between their dispositions and circumstances carefully planned and executed: parallel father and son, yet distinctly different men--

What's particularly striking is that the script actually had purpose for Fort Marlene's ill-fitting shoes: symbolism. Mulder has to (metaphorically) take up his father's mantle; and finds that it doesn't provide enough room-- Bill Mulder was a "smaller" (though well-intentioned) man than his son has become--

During the confrontation in Diana's bedroom, CSM refers to Jeffrey Spender as "my son" and laments that Mulder has turned Jeff against his sire-- as Bill Mulder attempted to do with the Syndicate, all those years ago:

CSM continues to draw parallels between both Mulders, establishing that he, himself, does not know Mulder is his biological child (if he is....)--

--and after psychologically subduing yet another Mulder--

--he leaves the younger man defeated and broken in the dark: history repeating itself.

And, as a thought exercise, I went back even further to Colony and End Game: Bill Mulder was severe and cold and unfeeling in both scripts (thanks be to the actor's decision to inject some nuance and personality)... except for one moment:

Mr. Mulder briefly cracks through the crust he'd built up in self-protection at the thought-- the culmination-- of his daughter's return. Bill Mulder, then, still needs her to come back but is too burned, beaten, and fearful to truly believe or hope (unlike his son.)

Although Chris Carter, Frank Spotnitz, and the rest changed their minds later, this "tell" stands as a powerful moment, nonetheless. (...And proves that CSM was still in the dark about Mulder's paternity. I wonder if he found out after Jeffrey Spender's bloodied DNA matched Mulder's in the system? Who knows.)

THE LEGACY OF THE MULDER CHILDREN

Fox and Samantha Mulder were born into a destiny neither of them chose: parents who threw them into the jaws of a Conspiracy in an attempt to save the future. Fate, then, decreed they were doomed to a dark world on the brink of teetering hope.

Freewill, however, fought it back: Bill Mulder was sucked into a game beyond his control, yes; but he let Edward Skur go (Travelers), tried to save both his children through a convoluted stratagem (Fight the Future, One Son), and was willing to face death to regain his son's last shred of respect and understanding (Anasazi.) Samantha Mulder was bartered to an alien race (Pilot, One Son) and returned to brutal tests inflicted by her biological father, yes (Sein und Zeit); yet, she escaped, and ran for help, and chose her own end (Closure.) Fox Mulder inherited his father's quest and expectations, yes (Travelers, Pilot); but he chose to trust in "the truth" as a principle and Dana Scully as his touchstone.

In a way, the nature of Bill Mulder's life-- and his children's, by extension-- can be fulfilled (fate) or subverted (freewill) with interesting degrees of similarity: either Fox Mulder and Samantha Mulder share CSM's tainted blood but choose to rise above it, or Fox Mulder (at least) carries on Mr. Mulder's legacy (genetically-- via his DNA-- and characterologically-- via the same impulse to expose the truth.) And perhaps both can be true: that the spirit of Bill Mulder lives on in his children-- his children, no matter what.

Regardless, Bill Mulder left his mark.

CONCLUSION

And that concludes the last of the Mulder Family meta saga (hopefully.)

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[agent-whiskeys-sweetheart]

Oxytocin (iv)

Pairing: Egon Spengler x F!Reader

Summary:  While looking for a new research assistant Egon finds you, a parapsychologist whose always wanted to be a Ghostbuster. Little did you both know that there would be a lot more than research and ghostbusting that would bring the two of you together.

Warnings: Suspense, injuries (reader), fluff.

When you woke up that morning you had a dreadful headache. You weren’t sure if it was from stress or if perhaps you were having a sympathy hangover. Needless to say, you didn’t feel very well at all. Turning over to pick up the phone, you dial Ray’s number. Something told you that if you were to call Egon he would shower you in apologies and frankly, you just didn’t want to deal with that now.

“Morning Ray. I’m sorry to do this but I’m not feeling good today. I was hoping I might be able to rest and come in tomorrow.” 

“Oh my gosh, of course! Whatever you need.” 

“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He affirms the same and you hang up. Now that you don’t have to go into work you honestly feel a million times better. You suppose it might have just been the anxiety of having to face Egon after the previous night’s debacle. 

After what felt like hours of laying in bed you finally decide to get up and make some kind of breakfast. A bowl of cereal sounds like the most appetizing thing so you make one for yourself and sit at the kitchen table. For most of the day you take up residence in front of the TV, watching whatever is on. When a Ghostbusters commercial comes on, you flip the channel. You couldn’t even look at him. 

Just as you were about to lay down, there was a sharp knock at the door. Your brow furrows as you check the peep hole. Oh. My. God. It was Egon. You cursed, taking a breath before opening the door.

“Egon. Hi.” You say. 

“Good afternoon, Y/N. May I come in?” Why the hell not at this point?

“Sure.” You open the door up further, letting the man into the living room. He stands there for a moment, taking in his surroundings.

“This is a lovely apartment.” He compliments. 

“Thank you.” You cross your arms. “Um. Why are you here?” 

“Well, Ray told me that you were sick and I know of a place that makes an excellent chicken noodle soup so I thought I’d bring you some.” Of course. Of course he had to barge into your apartment and act like the sweetest, kindest, and most gentle man ever. You could just beat your fists against his chest with how much love you felt. 

“Oh, thank you. That’s very sweet of you.” You took the bowl of soup from him, jogging into the kitchen to put it in the fridge. 

“Well, it’s the least I could do.” The air hung heavy with the implications of the night before. Here we go. “Y/N, I’m very sorry about what happened yesterday. When Ray told me you weren’t going to be at work, I was afraid it was because of last night. I know I was terribly out of line. I don’t drink. Ever. It was uncalled for.” 

“Look, Egon. No apology needed.” 

“Now, Y/N--” You stop him. 

“You really don’t need to say sorry. I’m not mad, I promise. In fact, I think in some way I kind of understand why you did it.” 

“You do?” This caused him to seem nervous. 

“Yes, I do. There’s nothing wrong with the way you’re feeling. I just wish you would talk to me about it instead of getting drunk on a Monday night!” The man stood there, lost in thought for a moment. 

“How do you know what I’m feeling?” Was what he managed to say. You couldn’t help but laugh at the way he beat around the bush.

“God, Egon. I mean, you are something else. Really. How do you think I know how you feel?” You waited briefly for a response and when you didn’t get one you continued. “Because I feel the same way about you!” As hard as it was, you were getting closer to the truth.

“How can you know I feel the same?” Now you were frustrated. 

“I don’t! Why do you think I’m ‘sick’ today? Because I couldn’t stand the thought of another day of this! Of you not telling me how you feel, of not just being honest with yourself about the fact that you like me! And maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you don’t feel the same way. If that were the case, well-- Jesus, I don’t know which one is worse. Realizing you don’t care at all or knowing you do and you still not acting on it.” Egon was taken aback by your outburst, unsure of what to say next. So you continued. “Don’t you think it just eats me up inside to know that I could have you, truly have you the way I want, but you’re just out of reach? You’re keeping yourself distanced.” 

“Stop.” He said softly but you couldn’t. Not now. 

“Do I really need to be the one to say it? I like you Egon!” 

“Y/N, stop.” 

“I like you more than I’ve ever liked anybody and I’m tired of hiding it!” 

“Please.” 

“I am in love with Egon Spengler! I--” Before you could finish your statement he was gripping your arms tightly, pulling your body flush against his own, and kissing you. Deeply. Passionately. Exactly how you’d dreamt it. Surely a dream was all this was. However, you could feel every sensation. The warmth of his lips, the strength of his hands, his skin on yours. His breath on your face as he pulled away. You were silent, eyes closed. His voice roused you from your trance. 

“Y/N, don’t you dare think that I don’t love you.” God, that sounded so good coming from him. “I’ve loved you from nearly the first moment I met you. I think about you every second of every day. I think about you when you’re with me, I think about you when you’re gone. That’s terrifying for me. You know that my brain is my biggest asset. To have it consumed with you is difficult for me. I’ve been trying to learn how to deal with that. I’m a genius in many ways but not with this kind of thing. I’ve wanted to blurt it out for weeks now but I just ... can’t. I’m not brave like you. But I do want you too.” 

The two of you stood there in stunned silence, realizing what had just happened. You had both just said it. It was finally out there in the world, the fact that you loved each other. Now there was no taking it back as much as some part of you wanted to. The deed was done. The only thing left was ... what should you two do about it?

“Okay. I love you. You love me. You just kissed me. We’ve done the confession bit. Now what?” You inquire. He looks down at his feet.

“Well, the best course of action would be for us to go on a date.”  

“I agree.” 

“How about Friday at 8pm? I can come pick you up.” 

“That sounds lovely.” 

“Would you like to organize the evening or should I surprise you?”

“Surprise me.” You said with a smile. 

“Alright then. I’ll see you Friday at 8.” 

“Well, actually you’ll see me at work tomorrow. And the next day. And then date time.” You correct him, unsure of what the week would be like in anticipation of your date with Egon Spengler. 

“Right. Of course.” He really wasn’t kidding about not being able to think around you. It endeared your heart to him even more. 

“Well, thank you for stopping by.” 

“Thank you for having me.” With that you escorted him to the door, ready to lie down for a while and think about the afternoon’s events. However, just as you were about to close the door his foot lodged in the threshold, effectively stopping you. With one strong hand he pushed the door open again and took a few steps back inside. 

Then he was kissing you again. Just as passionately as before. One hand found your cheek and the other rested on your hip as he pulled you as close as humanly possible, his lips soft on yours. When he finally pulled away it was like the first time all over again. You were breathless, eyes closed as you lost yourself in the moment. 

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t leave without doing that one more time.” 

“No apology needed.” You echo your earlier statement. He gives you one last longing look while carressing your cheek and then he’s out the door. You close it behind him, pressing your back up against it as you contemplated everything that had just occurred. You finally knew his real feelings. He had told them to you. He had said it right to your face and you had acted like he said those kinds of things every day. God, you felt like an idiot. It was the best moment of your life and you hadn’t even handled that correctly. You would have to make a better impression on your date. However, he did say that he liked you. He hadn’t given any stipulations, he just said that he liked you. Exactly for who you are. That was the shining beacon of hope that you clung to as you climbed into bed, falling asleep fairly quickly.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Much to your surprise, it was Friday before you knew it. You had been looking forward to it all week but you couldn’t admit that to Egon. Instead you simply went about business as usual. It wasn’t completely the same though. You noticed that he moved a bit closer to you as you worked together. He would do everything in his power to make contact with you as the two of you worked. It was very endearing to you, finding his efforts quite sweet. 

Electricity hung in the air as you both continued your experimentation on Friday. It was all you could do not to jump out of your skin. You wanted to kiss him again and again and again. What you really wanted was to push him back on the work table to see what he could really do. He had been a tease all week with his tantalizing touches, you were yearning for more. However, after the events of Monday night you weren’t even sure if Egon’s mind was in that place anymore. And now that you had confessed your feelings for one another, would he want your first time together to be for the sake of an experiment? You knew you wanted it to mean more than that and you were sure now that he did too. Who knew. Maybe the two of you would never be intimate. All you knew was his touches were driving you up the wall. It was impossible to focus on work. 

He noticed this but didn’t say anything, simply assuming that you were nervous about the evening’s upcoming date. And you were to an extent. However, at the same time, it was Egon. You had known him for several months by this point and now that you two knew you were in love, what was stopping you from simply enjoying your first date together? Nothing. You were free to be as happy as you wanted. 

The day was a blur and before you knew it Egon was saying goodbye to you. Of course you both knew that he would be seeing you again in a few hours but that wasn’t any big deal. Not anymore. The hard part was over. Now, it was on to the fun stuff. You went home and changed into the nicest dress you had after taking a shower. You felt clean and confident, taking a seat on your couch as you anxiously awaited Egon’s knock. When it finally came you were bolting for the door, taking a deep breath before you opened it for him. Upon seeing him in all his glory, dressed up in a tux, you were speechless. He looked so breathtaking it took everything in you to speak. 

“You look ... God, you look good.” You said. When you looked in his eyes you realized that he was having a very similar reaction upon seeing your outfit. You blushed at the sight of his enchantment. 

“Y/N.” As he said this he took a step into the threshold, taking a soft grip of your waist to pull you closer. “You are the most stunning woman I have ever laid eyes on.” Before you could take time to respond his lips were greeting yours happily. Your eyes fluttered closed as you took him in. When you both pulled away you each had a deep red blush blooming in your cheeks. “Should we go?” 

“Yes.” He led you outside to where the Ecto-1 was parked. You giggled at seeing the vehicle. You were being escorted to your dream date in the most attention drawing car you’d ever been in. It was perfect. He opened your door before sliding into the driver’s seat. 

“The boys let me borrow the car just for the occasion.” He added with a grin. There was that dry witty humor that you loved so much. As the two of you rode in the direction of wherever Egon was taking you his hand found your knee, resting there gently. You glanced down at it every now and again, scared that it would disappear. However, it didn’t. This wasn’t a dream. This was real life. And it was all yours. 

Whenever you pulled up outside you saw that the two of you were at one of the nicest restaurants in town. He walked around to your door and helped you out before you could open it for yourself. Once you were outside the vehicle you went to make your way up the steps that led into the restaurant. As you did so, the toe of your heel got caught on a step and you stumbled, nearly falling over. This did not escape anyone’s attention and you wanted to scream. However, the man beside you didn’t make you feel embarrassed at all. He simply extended his arm to you with a smile. You took it as his opposite hand came to rest on top of yours. “Sorry. I don’t wear heels very often.”

“That’s okay. Neither do I.” The two of you laughed alongside each other as he passed off the keys to the valet. Once inside, the waiter escorted you to a table by a window giving you a perfect view of the city at night. “This place is so beautiful Egon. Thank you.” 

“Of course. You deserve nothing less.” Such a gentleman.

“It’s so odd being here with you. I don’t hardly know what to say.” 

“Why don’t you just tell me about you? I want to know every facet of you and your personality.” Just as you go to open your mouth, he holds up a finger to stop you. “Just make sure you tell me very slowly so that it takes a very long time.” He smirks, causing you to blush. You swallow, not sure how to continue after his blatant flirting. After a minute of dancing around your own words, you both find a comfortable pace of conversation. Once you’re over that initial slump, it’s so easy to talk to him. It’s like you’ve known him your entire life. The two of you exchange anecdotes and stories, getting lost in one another’s company. You’re so lost in each other that you almost miss the waiter coming up to your table to take your orders.

“I’ll have the--” You start but Egon politely cuts you off. 

“Could I actually order for you? I have something in mind I think you’ll really enjoy.” You smile, unable to hide how cute you find the gesture. 

“Of course. I did say to surprise me.” The waiter leans over Egon’s shoulder as he points out what he’d like to order. With that, the waiter disappears back into the kitchen, leaving the two of you to continue your delightful conversation. It went on like that for a while until the waiter came out with your food. When he came back out you saw that Egon had ordered you an assortment of Chinese entrees. You smiled. It was a reference to your first lunch together. That first awkward, terrible lunch. What a change from then to now. 

“I knew this place had a Chinese platter that I thought you’d like.” 

“I do. I like it a lot. Thank you.” You both smile up at each other before digging in, not worrying about seeming polite. At this point, you both know that you’re comfortable in front of each other so you felt no need to put on airs about the way that you both eat. 

The meal is heavenly. The two of you continue to talk as you pick through what’s left, commenting on how much you both enjoyed it. “I would order us some wine but I feel like maybe I shouldn’t.” Egon laughed, referencing his little drunken outburst earlier that week. You couldn’t help but laugh as well, remembering what a disaster that night had been. Just as you were about to tease him about it, the waiter came up to your table again beckoning your attention.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Spengler, but you have a call at the front desk.” The two of you exchanged a wary glance. 

“Of course.” He sets his napkin down beside him before getting up and following the waiter to the front of the restaurant. 

You sat there patiently, finishing the rest of your food as you waited for Egon to get back. The minutes seemed to tick past endlessly. As you sat there you couldn’t help but feel the pitiful gazes of the other customers. Another waiter even came up to ask if you were alright. You affirmed that you were, feeling embarrassed at the attention. Eventually he came back to the table however he didn’t look happy. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. That was Ray. There’s something urgent that needs my attention. The guys are out on a call but Janine just got another emergent request. I have to go take care of this. We’ll have to cut the date short.” He extends a hand to help you up. You take it. 

“Of course, Egon. Whatever you need.” The two of you walk out of the restaurant arm in arm, jogging down the steps to where the Ecto-1 was waiting for you. He was about to open your door for you when he seemed to get a sudden realization. You watched the wheels turn in his head for a minute and then he turned to you excitedly. 

“Would you accompany me on this job?” As soon as the words came out of his mouth you could swear you heard a chorus of angels in your head. He was really asking you to go ghost busting with him. This was a dream end to your date which was already perfect. 

“Yes, Egon! Yes. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I’d love to.” Seeing your happiness made him blush and he helped you into the vehicle. You were practically vibrating in your seat as Egon slid into the driver’s seat, looking over at you excitedly. Both of you were beaming. As he drove off, turning on the sirens overhead, his hand returned to your knee. Your mind buzzed as you sped down the Manhattan streets in the direction of your first real job with the Ghostbusters. 

When you arrived, you were outside of a hotel. It was one you’d never seen before. It was several stories tall and it looked old and nearly abandoned. Looking up at the building, you almost didn’t notice that Egon was opening your door to help you out again. When you stepped out of the car, you both headed around to the back where the proton packs were stored. They almost always had them in the Ecto-1 in case they should need them. Tonight was a perfect example of that fact. He pulled out the first pack and turned towards you. 

“Alright. I’m sure you’re familiar with our equipment.” 

“Yes. Very familiar.” 

“Then this should be no problem. Let me help you into it.” With that, you spun around so that your back was facing him. When you turned around he noticed a particular feature of your dress that he hadn’t caught onto before. The entire back was open, exposing your skin to him. You waited for him to strap you into the pack however before he could you felt his fingertips graze over your skin, making a trail up and down your bare back. The sensation made you shiver. You turned around slowly to look at him. When he saw that you were looking at him he began to blush. “Sorry.” He mumbled before hoisting the pack up onto your back. It was lighter than you expected. As soon as you were successfully strapped in you took a hold of the particle thrower, pulling it from the rest of the pack. It was like you’d been handling one of these your whole life. Egon was silently impressed as he watched you navigate your way around the equipment. 

When you turned back around, Egon had also strapped into one of the proton packs. With both of you well equipped you headed up the steps into the building. As soon as you made your way into the lobby you were greeted by the hotel manager. He almost did a double take upon seeing you both in your nice attire. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. I’m sorry to have interrupted your plans but this couldn’t wait. There’s ... something ... on the top floor that is terrorizing our guests. I need help. Please, do something!” 

“Of course. That’s why we’re here. Do you know what kind of a ghost you have on your hands?” Egon asked the manager. 

“If I knew what kind of ghost I had I wouldn’t be calling you!” 

“Well, we’ll take care of it.” The two of you jog over to the elevator, pressing the up button. Luckily it was late enough that the lobby was fairly clear. When the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, you both stepped inside and pressed the button for the top floor. As soon as you were situated Egon began to walk you through how to work the proton pack. You listened intently, finding all of the various parts and figuring out how it all worked. By the time you arrived on the top floor you knew exactly what to do. You both stepped out of the elevator. All seemed fairly quiet. No guests were wandering about. It was just silent. “Alright, keep an eye out. We don’t know what we’re dealing with here yet so be prepared for anything, okay?” 

You nodded as the two of you began to creep down the hall, keeping your eyes peeled as you looked down each and every corridor. Just as you were about to the end of the floor that’s when you saw it. It looked like a woman but it had no legs. It was a deep pinkish purple, levitating near the wall. It wasn’t facing either of you, turned towards a vase of flowers. Your eyes became wide as you realized what you were looking at. It was really a ghost, before your very eyes. You had studied them religiously yet you had never seen one in person before. This date just got better and better, you thought to yourself. 

“That’s a Class 5 full torso apparition. Be careful. These things can be awfully destructive.” Egon whispers. You nod, unable to speak. 

The two of you take a step closer, trying not to alert the entity to your presence. It’s all you can do not to jump out of your skin from excitement. With particle thrower in hand and the pack already powered up, all you had to do was aim and shoot. However, some part of you didn’t want to. Some part of you wanted to keep observing. You wished you had your notepad so you could be taking notes of its behavior. That was just the research assistant in you. 

You awaited Egon’s signal, knowing that he would tell you when it was time to throw the stream. His hand hovered in the air, waiting for the right moment. You were almost close enough to touch her and yet Egon still hadn’t given the go ahead. Before he could she floated in a circle, turning to face the two of you. You both stopped in your tracks, terrified beyond belief at suddenly drawing her attention. However, she did nothing. Simply floated there, looking at you. Right at that moment, Egon gave you the signal you had been waiting for. The two of you threw your streams in her direction. However, as soon as the packs kicked into gear she disappeared. The streams ran along the wall, leaving a streak of fire and ash in their wake. 

“I’m so sorry!” You told him instinctively, feeling bad about the damage you had just caused. You were sure that their bills were through the roof from how much destruction they caused on the job. 

“It’s okay. Occupational hazard. Don’t worry about it.” He assured. 

You both ran back down the hall you had come down as Egon pulled out the PKE meter, trying to find where she had gone. In the middle of the floor was a large open lobby. There were four large columns on all corners of the open space. The middle had a piano and a few furniture pieces. In the middle of that lobby you found her floating, close to the piano. Egon’s hand went up again however, he didn’t wait nearly as long to give the signal this time. He gave you the go and you turned on your particle thrower, a stream of light coming from one end in the direction of the ghost. This time you actually made contact with her, your stream tangling around her form as if it was a net. Egon began fumbling for the trap as you held her there. 

“That’s excellent! Keep holding her!” Egon yelled out over the sound of the stream. However, what you hadn’t anticipated was how hard it would be to keep her still. She was powerful, much stronger than you thought she would be. Just as Egon was sliding the trap onto the floor she overtook you and snapped the stream away from her. The both of you exchanged a worried glance as you struggled to aim at her again, thrown off guard by her strength. When you glanced back up at her, she was charging in your direction. Thinking fast, you ducked, watching her fly over head. However, what you didn’t realize was that she had run head first into the column behind you. 

You stood to your full height, happy that you had avoided her. That’s when you heard Egon’s voice. “Y/N! Watch out!” Then you heard the crumbling sound from behind you. You turned just in time to see the column fall apart and collapse directly towards you. You sprinted for the other side of the lobby but you weren’t fast enough. A large chunk of rubble came crashing down on top of your calf, instantly shattering the bone. You let out a piercing cry and fell to the floor. Everything around you started to become blurry as you fought against the giant piece of column. Just as the edges of your vision became dark you saw Egon’s terrified face. Then you were gone.

Tags: @localsimpmigraine​ @theespookybitch​ @twinkie-buttercream​ @fizzyfazzy420​ @boneless07​ @holewithinahole​ @spengler-in-a-jar​ @the-hidden-pages​ @the-mechanical-angel​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @egonscalculator​ @sporesmoldsfungus​ @tedesquire​ @killerheelsonadiscodancefloor​ @emeraldborealis​ @bisexual-thoughtss​ @notquitecanon​ @finniestoncrane​ @lonelyridesinecto-one​ ​​@tinyvesselhearts    

[cinemgc]

Obi-Wan Kenobi (1ª Temp.)

Episodio 4: ''Part IV''

• Dirección: Deborah Chow

• Guion: Joby Harold, Hannah Friedman

• Cinematografía: Chung-hoon Chung

• Cast: Moses Ingram

[spellsword177]

Thoughts on Fence: Redemption Part IV

With this conclusion we are now at a very different spot from where we were after Fence: Disarmed. Some things were done better and others not so well. While there was no live fencing this time, we did see some major character development for the King's Row fencing team.

Starting with most intriguing change, it was great to finally see Coach Williams fencing even if it was an incomplete clip of the 1992 Barcelona Olympics. There is clearly more to this story, and I'm very interested to see how it all plays out.

Seiji had a decision to make, and Nicholas's meteoric rise in the fencing world inspired him to stick with King's Row. I loved how he's finally starting to see the potential Nicholas represents and what he could do if he just wants it enough. It's amusing his casual wardrobe seems to match the rut he finds himself in. Perfectly put together, but very uncreative and predictable. Some spontaneity wouldn't kill him and might actually give him an edge.

I loved the greater insight into Nicholas's world and the little peek into his friend group before King's Row. It was great seeing Coach Joe again and a good reminder to Seiji that fencing can just be for fun. Love the subtle touch of Seiji wearing his jacket at the park. They are becoming a couple whether they admit it or not. As for Kyle, I don't believe he'll represent as much of a challenge to Nicholas the next time they face off. His reaction is the one I'm most looking forward to when the truth about Nicholas is inevitably revealed.

If there was one thing done better in the novels it was Harvard and Aiden's relationship; I was not so fond of seeing the will they or wont they strung out again between these two. Still, it was great to see Harvard work on himself for once instead of constantly giving his best to other people. Likewise, I did enjoy seeing Aiden help out Seiji for his date.

Bobby and Eugene unfortunately did not get as much development this time around and I would like to see more growth from both of them. I still enjoyed seeing Bobby turning into a bit of the resident detective in uncovering the clip of Coach Williams. Will it lead to Detective Rodriguez uncovering Nicholas's secret? Time will tell.

Overall, this story arch has been great. Nicholas is starting to come into his true potential as a fencer, and Seiji is coming realize Nicholas is the only one who can get him where he needs to be. Harvard might actually start to improve his own weaknesses, and Aiden might have to start picking up the slack by helping the rest of the team. I look forward to the next step in our favorite fencing team's journey to the state championship and victory.

[seoul-bros]

I'm no longer afraid of the thought of picking myself up during difficult moments - GQ Interview Part IV

Post Date: 18/10/2023

[fivekrystalpetals]

Glen, Children of Misfortune, Juries and the Baskervilles

[When I say Glen, I am referring all Glens- past and present: Levi, Oswald, Gil and Leo. Hella lot of lore is here that I wanna write about ;-; so I might divide this into different posts let's see. Also fair warning: I might criticize Oswald's actions-past and present- a bit, since I love looking at characters from an unbiased pov. Also, maybe some characters' past actions in order to point to their character development so that too.]

[ Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 ]

4] Oswald and Lacie

Truth be told, Oswald has always been “passive”. He doesn’t know what he really wants. He had already been training to become the next Glen (ref: Part 1) and it was drilled into his mind that he was to cast Lacie into the Abyss right from the beginning. He doesn’t question this rule.

Not even when Lacie hints that the purpose of the existence of a Child of Ill-Omen might not be what it is said to be (Retrace 101):

And his answer to this theory of hers is:

You are not crazy. If that’s the answer you came to, it is doubtlessly the truth for you.

That’s… that’s not the right response to it!!!

“The truth for you,” he says, basically responding: “Oh if what you say makes you happy, then so be it. But the truth is different.” (No! It is not!)

Why won’t he grasp at straws to save her if he loved her and cared about her? Why won’t he even try to research the possible truth of her words? Why won’t he at least make an attempt to stop the needless execution of his dear sister? Lacie has grown up beside him; what great ‘threat’ did she cause to the condition of the Abyss in all those years she was alive? But he doesn’t dare question any of it; he simply, quietly, “passively” goes ahead with what was asked of him.

[Whereas, in Retrace 91/92, it’s proven Lacie had been right all along. Nothing like Child of “Ill-Omen” exists and all of those lies had been set down as “rules” for the Juries’ selfish purposes.]

Again, I’d also, well not exactly excuse him, but, as Oz and Break say, there is always the chance that he couldn’t have known the truth about the Child of Ill-Omen. Not until after Lacie had died and perhaps, during his short stint as Glen, he must have come to realize that the Jury had more to do with this affair than met the eye, the reason why he brought along Vincent to the final Gate in the last Arc.

.

Okay, but this aside, his response to her every word is always so... resigned?

See, Retrace 72:

Why does Lacie have to be the one to do this? She is the sinner here, your prisoner due to be executed in five days; why would you ask something like this of her? If Oswald truly wanted Lacie to survive, he should have been the one to tell Jack everything and ask him to take her away with him if he can't protect her anymore. But he keeps quiet.

(He does regret this, in Retrace 101.)

I chose being the head of Baskervilles over being Lacie's older brother. And yet I did not drive Jack away, even after I realized how twisted he had become.

He is ruthless in some places, soft in some. Like if he was ruthless to Lacie, he'd have been the same to Jack as well. The reason he was not, because that was the only way he could be soft on himself and lessen his own guilt.

Continuing from there, (Retrace 73), Lacie is the one to apologize for being "too harsh on him" and then goes on to tell how she has never regretted being born with red eyes or living in this world. "I love this world," she says.

Okay, this is a panel of so many contradictions, you know. Oswald says Lacie is strong, but she disagrees and says she is "ten times more cynical than other people."

Both of them are wrong.

Lacie was neither strong nor cynical. She was scared. Yes, scared. Terrified. Lacie was terrified of dying, of being cast into the Abyss, so terrified that she woke herself up from nightmares of their first day at the Baskerville estate, of learning her fate from the Jury and Glen...

....just mere days before her execution: (Retrace 67/68)

I am going off a tangent to do a quick character analysis of Lacie (I will do a longer one later, but just this one aspect of her characterization) that both Oswald and Jack had the wrong impression of Lacie. Oswald assumed her to be so strong that she could shoulder the burden of loneliness and death all by herself. He assumed she didn't want to live any longer, that she had already seen so much and experienced all that the world has to offer that she no longer had any more worldly desires. In short, he saw her as some sort of motherly saint.

As for Jack, she is his Dream Girl to put it simply. At the most depressing and most vulnerable point of his life, when he chanced to meet such a vibrant girl like Lacie, he latched onto her for his life, absorbed every word she uttered, learnt the song she sang once on a whim and sang nothing but that for the next eight years. The casual advice she gave him as a turbulent, rebellious and frivolous teenager... okay, but, let's be real here. Lacie was simply spouting whatever came to her mouth atm in the name of 'advice'. She was passing time till her brother apologized to her and she'd be brought back home. She most probably didn't think Jack, being one of a kind, would accept her words so literally that he obeys them verbatim, even if he was disgusted by what he was forcing himself to do. He put her on a sky high pedestal that he was scared to even touch her lest she loses her "magic" in his mind. That's also the reason why he never questions her lie (her lie about the Succession Ceremony) because he was scared whatever image he had of her might shatter if he pressed on. (Yeah, I gotta write a longer post about Jack's and Lacie's relationship, bc it's one of the most fucked-up yet tragic, most hollow yet sincere relationships if ever there was one)

I guess, of all people, as sad as it is, only Levi got to see her at her most vulnerable? (Retrace 68):

Neither Oswald nor Jack have seen her like this—a scared girl, full of loneliness and regrets of not being able to live longer. And yet, when Levi casually mentions about her death in another five days, she grins as if she's looking forward to it. Which, in reality, is just a mask to cover her terror.

Why I am saying this is—as context for Oswald's line "I shall be lonely if you disappear" and her midnight walk later to the tree where the three of them used to hang out. Lacie says big things like I love this world, I love the Abyss, even when Levi asked her to assist his 'experiment', her only query was if the Abyss won't be lonely anymore,,, but she doesn't let her own loneliness or regrets to surface. She bottles up all of it. Why? Because she has to be strong for Oswald and pretend like she is taking all of this in stride to lessen his guilt.

Whereas Oswald does not ask her if she is alright. If she is lonely. If she is scared of being cast into the Abyss. If she wants to run away.

(In fact, if you see the hug, it's Lacie who is hugging Oswald in a comforting, motherly hug as if he's in greater need of comfort than her, because, of course, she must be completely, totally at terms with her Fate, right?)

In that regard, I am sure Jack would definitely have inquired after her if only he didn't place her on an otherworldly pedestal and realized things might go wrong with his Dream Girl too. Moreover and most importantly, Jack was kept in dark about most things connected to the Baskervilles and he had also promised not to dig too much if he was only allowed to meet Lacie. So I won't blame him for not pressing when she lied. He must have assumed it's Something Baskerville Ritual, not that it'd be something that'd directly affect his Lacie.

But Oswald is her big brother. Oswald knows everything about the Baskervilles. He is going to become the next Glen. Yet... he does nothing, asks nothing. Almost like Oswald had long given her up for dead. Like he can't do anything for her anymore whereas she is still alive and chatting right there with him.

He is always thinking of the days after she'd be gone, and never ever gives any thought to their present.

Remember Rufus Barma's words from Retrace 86 and I must agree:

You speak as if you've already given up.

Exactly. As I said in Part 1 of this long essay, Oswald was the full-fledged Glen when he cast Lacie into the Abyss. With the title of Glen, even if he simply brushes aside the rules and sets new ones for his reign, who could possibly question him? He had five black-winged chains of the Abyss in his possession. The Juries might protest,, but if Lacie is there, they can't do anything. They are scared of the Child of Misfortune.

Even Leo points this out correctly:

He is always waiting for someone with a stronger will to come help him out of problems he needs to solve on his own.

In his penultimate appearance, he finally, finally, takes a decision and drops his sword. He decides to not kill his sister a second time. And, immediately, people who have always cared for him (if only he ever gave them a chance) gather around him to assure him that he had done well, done enough.

Well, tl;dr, what I am trying to say is that Oswald should have stuck firmly to his decision whatever it was. If he had cast Lacie into the Abyss, then he should have dealt with the consequences appropriately. If he had stopped her execution, then he should have been strong enough to face off the Juries. Whatever his decision, he should have been thorough with it instead of being half-hearted, passive and resigned about everything.

Ending this loooong essay (;_;) on a funny yet interesting note (this omake from Vol. 19) which presents the kind of Oswald I actually wanted to see. The premise might be absurd but he, for once, drops his air of resignation and faces off the Glen himself for his sister, going to the extent of dropping formality and addressing him by his name lol

[ Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 ]

[jkpancake29]

I always forget Lupin III has supernatural elements in the movies and shows so when they do come up I'm always caught off guard. Like I've been watching part 4 and there is an episode where he just straight up talks to a ghost and asks no questions. And I just got past the midway point but I don't want to spoil what's happening now.

[peonierose]

Once (4/5)

**This story takes place before it was revealed that Addison would come back/is alive **

Book: The Nanny Affair & Open Heart Crossover / AU

Characters involved: Sam Dalton (M!MC), Ethan Ramsey (M!MC) and Robin Flores (M!MC)

Part IV of V / Miniseries

Words: 4,000+

Rating: Mature

TW: Cancer, character death, mental illness

Summary: It’s the day of Addis funeral. Thankfully Sam isn’t alone he has his friends and family to be there for him.

A/N: This is in honor of my friend Mira who died from ovarian cancer. May you rest in peace 💜

A/N part 2: @annieruok94 Thank you for proofreading 💚

Music Inspiration: You can check out some songs I posted for @moodmusicmonday Here’s a complete list for all the songs of all chapters 🥰

Part IV

The evening before Addie's funeral started with heavy rain, pelting mercilessly on the windows of our apartment in New York.

Then I correct myself. It's now my apartment, not ours, since Addie…is gone. I lean my head against the cold glass and just breathe out through my nose.

I can hear thunder rumbling in the distance as lightning illuminates the otherwise dark room with white and purple light.

I lift my head and look up.

With my hand in my pocket, I stared outside at the skyscrapers rising high in the air. City lights glow from down below.

I saw my reflection staring back at me in the glass of the window. Looking tired and forlorn. I feel like a piece of me died with Addie. We might’ve had our ups and downs but I love her. No matter what happened.

God, I miss her so damn much.

I look down at the glass of scotch I poured earlier. Losing count of how many drinks I’ve had tonight. Not giving two fucks if I’m hungover the next day. At least it’ll numb my pain for a little while.

I’m swirling the scotch in my hands that I poured myself a while ago. The ice cubes have already melted inside. Watering down the taste of the scotch.

I take a sip, as it smoothly runs down my throat burning its way down.

“Getting shit-faced. Is that how you’re spending your days now, Sam?“

I hear an angry voice. That voice belongs to my non-biological brother Robin. A pain-in-the-ass if you ask me.

Unbothered by his presence I take another sip and keep staring outside.

He comes to a stop next to me. I don’t even look at him. Just continue looking outside. Not seeing anything.

“Anybody home?“ He taunts me.

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye.

“What do you want?“ I ask not caring how I sound.

“Oh, so he speaks? That’s nice,“ he says sarcastically.

I roll my eyes at that. Robin has never been very subtle. I always admired that about him in a way. He’s passionate and doesn’t hold back when it comes to the people he loves.

“Again what do you want?“ I just want him gone and to be left alone. So that I can finish my drink in peace.

That’s when my drink is yanked out of my hand.

“The hell, Rob?“ I glare at him. My voice is dangerously low. But he either ignores that or doesn’t care. I’d say it’s a bit of both.

“What is wrong with you? Addi died and all you seem to care about is getting shit-faced?“ He almost shouts at me. His fists clenched at his sides, anger rolling off of him in waves.

“Do I look drunk to you? No? Then kindly fuck off.“

I’m holding out my hand for him to pass me my glass.

He just scoffs.

“You know what? No. I’m not just going to leave you here. So that you can wallow in misery,“ he pauses for a second, before continuing.

I raise my eyebrows at him. Not care why he’s here. I love him, but right now? I want to get drunk. Not having a heart-to-heart.

Robin continues unperturbed.

“As for why I’m here. Mom called me. Since you don’t know what a phone is these days and how it works. She asked me to check in on you. You ghosted everyone. Our parents are worried. So are Mickey and Mason. Remember? Your kids? Whose mom died?“ He punches the bridge of his nose and breathes out a deep sigh.

My breath hitches at the mention of my boys. But I don't want to talk to Robin, because once I start? I won’t be able to finish. Because I know I’ll break down and weep like a little baby.

So I school my features.

“Our parents? You mean my parents? We're not blood-related, Robin.“

I know that was a low blow. But I just want him gone. If there is no other way than hurting him so that he leaves? So be it.

He inhales sharply at my words. But then a look of understanding and softness enters his espresso-colored eyes.

“I know what you’re trying to do, Sam. You’re trying to hurt me with words so that I’ll leave. Nice try,“ he just looks at me.

“Who says I was lying?“ I raise an eyebrow and bite my inner cheek.

“Really? What would Addi say if she could see you now? Drinking? Being an ass? Pushing family away? That’s not you Sam!“ He sighs.

“I’m not in the mood for a fight.“

I say in response.

He shakes his head at me.

“Color me surprised. I thought for sure, that’s where you were going with your little insults. But what do I know? I’m your not-brother who still gives a damn about you. Even though you act like a complete asshole right now,“ he says.

“Just because I don’t react the way you want me to, doesn’t mean you can just come in here and belittle me. I love Addi. Not one minute goes by that I don’t miss her. The hardest part was to know she won’t make it. Do you know what that’s like?“

My voice is rising. And Robin sighs in turn.

“No, I don’t know. But don’t shut us out, Sam. We all love and care about you and the twins. Let us help. Let us carry some of the burden for you. You’re not alone,“ he places a gentle hand on my shoulder. I don’t instantly shake it off.

Seeming to consider his words carefully.

“Look, Sam. Nobody is trying to make this harder on you than it already is. We’re all just trying to process this and find a way to move on. I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you. Everything you’ve been going through since Addi was diagnosed with cancer. We all loved Addi. And now she’s…gone,“ he sighs at the last word.

I let my head fall overcome with suppressed emotions.

“I was trying to numb the pain. That’s why I was drinking. I was halfway there when you barged in.“

I chuckle but it sounds bitter and sad.

“You could’ve at least offered me a drink. No one should drink alone. Come on.“

Robin attempts a smile, that’s more of a half-smirk. But a small smile creeps into the corner of my mouth and stays there.

He pats my back and I look at my brother. Who is a friend whom I’ve been a dick to, just because I needed to lash out at someone.

Because I’m angry, sad, frustrated and just so fucking tired. As if all these months of pain are pouring out on me. Like heavy rain.

This little cloud of swirling emotions is spinning through me and I don’t know what to do. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I should let my family help and carry some of the burden.

I sigh again. So much for thinking that drinking was a good start.

Maybe a vacation or going someplace that doesn’t remind me of Addi would be better instead.

Just to relax and spend time with my boys who are grieving but don’t understand what the fuck is happening because they’re too young.

As Robin and I sit down he looks at me, as if he knows exactly what’s going on inside my head.

“Let’s get drunk,“ he waggled his eyebrows and moved into the living room to find the bottle of scotch I opened earlier. Or was it yesterday? I laugh silently. Not even knowing where yesterday went.

“Aren’t we a little too old for hangovers?“

“Speak for yourself, old man! I don’t have hangovers,“ he gets himself a glass from the cabinet and pours each of us a drink. I watch as the amber-colored liquid fills our glasses.

Clinking our glasses together. We both take a sip.

“This is some good stuff.“ Robin whistles.

I shrug.

“Did you really expect me to get drunk on some cheap liquor? Who do you take me for?“

“God you’re such a snob. But at least I know where to find the good stuff if I ever need a stiff drink,“ he smiles to himself.

We drink in silence. Consumed by our private thoughts.

Robin clears his throat. I look up. He wets his lips looking away. He’s nervous about something.

“Just say it.“

“I heard Addis' parents are coming to the funeral. You never really talk about them. Is there bad blood between you guys?“

He almost whispers the question, as if he’s afraid of how I would take the question.

I take another gulp before answering.

“Not bad blood in and of itself. We just never got along, that’s all.“

Not willing to say more. Robin doesn’t seem convinced.

“There’s got to be more to the story,“ he pushes.

I put my glass on the table immediately, missing its weight in my hands. I lean back in the chair.

“There’s not much to tell. Ever since Addie introduced us there’s been tension. Why? I don’t know. I‘d guess they thought I wasn’t good enough for their daughter.“

“What? You? Not good enough for their daughter? What gives?“ He asked.

“All I know is they come from old money and they probably had someone else in mind for Addie. But she went and married me. Which pissed them off. We never had a peaceful dinner together. One that didn’t end in an argument. They never visited us or gave a damn about Addie. And when Mickey and Mason were born…“

Thinking back to that day. Holding them both in my arms. Those tiny and fragile little humans. My heart is swelling with love.

I knew then and there that I would always love them. Never be their cause for doubt. Yes, I might be strict sometimes. But only because I love them and don’t want to lose them. Like I lost Addi. I take another sip from my drink.

Those boys? They are the most precious gift of all time.

Seeing their smiles every day and being excited about those god-awful experiments? Addie always encouraged them in that regard. I’m smiling to myself lost in thought.

I haven’t noticed the silence that was stretching for far too long.

When Robin’s voice brought me back.

“What’s that smile for?“ He points in my direction with his glass.

“I was thinking of the day when Mickey and Mason were born. And how happy I felt while I was holding them. Being scared of what to do, you know? Then they opened their eyes and just looked at me. It was love at first sight. Holding your child in your arms, it’s incomparable,“ smiling fondly at those memories.

“I’ll take your word for it brother,“ he sips from his drink while glancing down at his watch. He notices my stare.

“Hot date?“ I ask curiously.

He almost chokes on his sip.

“Yeah, right.“

I smirk.

“Don’t tell me you’re losing your touch?“

“No. I’m just busy.“ That is all he says.

I arch an eyebrow at that explanation.

“Right. Of course.“

He sighs loudly.

“Don’t be smug, okay?“

I hold up my hands, smiling.

“I’m just looking for something different. So far I haven’t found it,“ he looks into his glass as if it was holding all the answers.

He gets up from his seat and puts down the glass.

“I should be going. I am busy.“

It looks like he wants to say more. Opening and closing his mouth.

He continues in a soft voice. One I don’t hear often.

“Don’t push the people who care about you away. You don’t have to go through it alone. We’re all here for you. Whatever you need. Just don’t shut us out. Please. The twins can’t lose another person. Neither can we. We love you Sam,“ he smiles softly.

About to leave, when I get up and give him a tight hug.

He didn't expect it and stood still for a moment. Then he relaxes and returns the hug.

“Thank you.“ I whisper.

“I’m sorry about earlier…You are my brother, even if not by blood. Family don’t end with blood.“

He takes a step back and just stares at me.

“Are you quoting Bobby Singer from Supernatural?“ he asks, grinning at me.

I smack him on the arm.

“Don’t make me feel weird about this.“ I say.

He throws his head back and laughs out loud.

“Oh my god. Samuel Alexander Dalton. You watch Supernatural?“

I scoff embarrassed.

“So what? A lot of people do. There’s no shame in that. And why are you giving me shit for that? I know Addie got you hooked on it too,“ I flushed beet red.

“What are you talking about?“ He’s trying to deflect the question.

“What am I talking about? When you both had the flu and were sick for almost a week you sat down and watched seasons 1 through 11. Nobody was allowed to talk or say anything about Sam or Dean. Also, Addie told me that you made some friends online and discussed the episodes with others.“

His cheeks are flaming red and he’s trying to flee.

“Okay, I admit it. I love the show. It has great dialogue and Dean and Sam are hilarious. Happy?“

He throws up his hands in the air and asks impatiently.

“Very.“ I smile.

He rolls his eyes at that.

“Oh and Rob?“ I can’t help saying one last thing, as he’s waiting for the elevator to take him downstairs.

“Yeah?“ He turns around expectantly.

I laugh delightedly.

“SupernaturalFan_67? Does that name sound familiar to you?“ I ask jokingly.

“How…do…you…When…What?“ He stammers.

Tapping his foot impatiently on the marble floor as he’s waiting for the elevator.

He’s clicking the elevator button several times for good measure.

“You left your laptop open when you visited that one time, and Addi saw it and showed it to me. We just couldn’t resist.“

I bite my lip to not burst out laughing when I see the dirty look he gives me.

“That’s why those weird comments appeared. You two made those,“ he points an accusing finger at me.

He sighs.

”I thought I was being hacked. Damn, you’re such a dick, Sam,“ he says as he gets into the elevator.

I wink at him and he rolls his eyes but smiles.

He’s mumbling something under his breath which makes me laugh even harder.

Even after the doors close I’m still laughing.

When I sit down again to enjoy the rest of my remaining drink. I see an old record peeking out from the table.

When I lean forward to see which one it is. I see it’s one of Addie's favorites.

Linda Ronstadt - Long, Long time.

Ah. That woman? Such a gifted singer. We’ve always loved to dance to her songs. Whenever we had some alone time.

With some new vigor, I put the record on and the first tunes of the song play out.

»Love will abide«

»Take things in stride«

»Sounds like good advice«

»But there's no one at my side«

»And time washes clean love's wounds unseen«

»That's what someone told me«

»But I don't know what it means«

»'Cause I've done everything I know«

»To try and make you mine«

»And I think I'm gonna love you«

»For a long long time«

»Caught in my fears«

»Blinking back the tears«

»I can't say you hurt me«

»When you never let me near«

»And I never drew one response from you«

»All the while you fell all over girls you never knew«

»'Cause I've done everything I know«

»To try and make you mine«

»And I think it's gonna hurt me«

»For a long long time«

»Wait for the day you'll go away«

»Knowing that you warned me«

»Of the price, I'd have to pay«

»And life's full of flaws«

»Who knows the cause?«

»Living in the memory of a love that never was«

»'Cause I've done everything I know«

»To try and change your mind«

»And I think I'm gonna miss you«

»For a long long time«

Letting the music and lyrics wash over me. Healing some of the fissures that have opened up. Somehow I feel closer to her with every passing note.

Making me smile even though Addie’s no longer here. But her memory will always stay in my heart, and in the crinkle around my eyes.

Telling the story of how we shared a bond and a love for each other that can’t just be broken. The memories we made? They will never fade.

I fell asleep to the sounds of Linda’s song - Long, Long time.

The Next Day…

The funeral happened in a blur. I don’t even know how. It felt as if I was wading through water.

Not seeing anyone or noticing anything. The boys are with my parents. I asked them if they could watch them.

I don’t want them to be exposed to any gossip. There are some at any funeral.

At least at Addis's funeral I can try and control the narrative a little.

They’re going through enough, they don’t need to hear people talk shit about Addie.

I move through the crowd in the living room and smile politely as I make my way toward the table with drinks.

“I’m not a big fan of people either. I hate making small talk. It’s completely unnecessary. Either say what you have to say or shut up.“

A deep voice rumbles next to me, as I’m trying to pick my poison from the array of alcohol.

I turn around slightly, and my eyes widen in shock at seeing Dr. Ramsey standing next to me.

In an all-black tuxedo, a golden square pocket peaking out.

I gape like a fish with my mouth hanging open.

“Surprised to see me? Yeah me too.“

Ethan replies, already nursing a drink. Though when I look down it looks just like plain water.

I look up and raise a questioning eyebrow.

“Dr. Ramsey I haven’t expected to see you. Least of all at my wife’s funeral.“

I’m still staring at him like I’m seeing him for the first time.

He winces at that.

“Just call me Ethan.“

I exhale.

“Alright, Ethan. But then you should call me Sam. Mr. Dalton sounds…“

A corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk.

“Old?“

Now it’s my turn to wince.

“I wouldn’t go that far. Though I feel old today.“ My shoulders droop.

He pats my shoulder encouragingly.

“I know what you mean.“

I nod in thanks.

“Thank you for coming. We’re literal strangers, apart from seeing each other at the hospital that one time….I….mean you didn’t have to come out here. But I appreciate it nonetheless.“ I smile at him.

He nods in the direction of the library. Which is closed off to visitors. Family only.

“Of course. So should we escape the crowd? I think I was promised a drink. Shall we?“ He asked me.

I slowly nod in agreement and lead the way to my family's study.

Once inside I softly close the door. I don’t want anyone overhearing a private conversation. And then later gossiping about it. I’ve had enough of those already.

What is it with certain people who find joy in other people’s misery? I will never understand that.

“They’re worse than the interns.“ Ethan comments.

I look at him in confusion.

He smiles.

“You were mumbling about people gossiping,“ he says.

I close my eyes for a brief second and draw in a long breath. Letting my head fall on the leather couch and just letting the cold fabric cool down the fire in my blood.

“I guess I’m just wondering about how it can bring people joy to gossip. At a funeral, no less. We’re here to mourn Addi and say goodbye. Not to spread rumors and talk bad behind someone’s back, who can’t even defend herself anymore.“

Getting frustrated and angry, I’m trying to rain my emotions in, since I don’t want to explode. Then people would have something to talk about.

I shudder. I don’t even want to think about that. The reactions about my outburst would be awful. My parents would never shut up about it.

Ethan’s voice brings me back to the here and now.

“You know, people will always talk. No matter what you do. I work at a hospital, where gossip spreads like wildfire. Trust me. I’m still amazed I haven’t gone and thrown someone out the window.“

He grunts as he leans into another one of the leather armchairs. Unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt.

I laughed for the first time today, and I’ve got to admit it feels freeing. Not being judged for smiling or laughing, because it’s “inappropriate“. Fuck them.

Addi wouldn’t mind if I laughed today. She’d welcome it.

She’d say ”If someone laughed at some lame joke I made? Yeah, I’d call that a win. Funerals shouldn’t feel like a goodbye. They should feel like a celebration of the person who’s now in a better place.“

She’d be right. So screw them. How do they know how I feel? I grin.

I get up and turn to the glass cabinet in front of me. I get two glasses out and pour each of us a drink.

Ethan takes a sip while I watch his reaction.

“Not bad Dalton. Not bad,“ he takes another sip, this time a bigger one.

“Not bad? I’d hope this was better than not bad. But I’ll take it.“

We sit in silence. But it’s not uncomfortable. Quite the opposite. I lean my head back again and just close my eyes. My glass dangles from my fingers.

Ethan clears his throat slightly.

“So I take it from us drinking at…“

I hear the rustling of fabric, and then “…11 in the morning that we both needed a hit?“

I open my eyes and put my glass down.

“You can say that again. This whole day has been a nightmare.“

I rub my eyes.

“Care to elaborate?“ he asks.

“I don’t know where to start…“ I drift off.

He shrugs his shoulders.

“At the beginning would be good.“ I laugh despite myself.

“Yeah I guess so.“

I draw in a breath, readying myself.

“Addi was diagnosed with ovarian cancer a few months back. I still don’t understand how it could’ve gotten to stage 4 without us not noticing anything. It didn’t make any sense. That’s when the fighting started. She…just wasn’t taking care of herself. I tried cutting back at work. So that I could be there for her and the kids, but all it did was make her angrier. She said she doesn’t need a babysitter. She stopped listening to her doctors. She didn’t spend as much time with the kids anymore. I’m not trying to paint her as a bad mom or person. It’s just…“ I trail off.

“You were worried about her,“ he says matter of factly.

“Yeah. Of course, I was.“

I take another sip, the burning sensation a welcoming feeling.

“What about her parents? I didn’t see them.“ He inquires.

“They weren’t really on speaking terms. They barely visited. Mickey and Mason didn’t like spending much time with them. One time Mason said how they always looked down on them. I mean they’re little kids for god's sake.

He nods in understanding. He’s about to say something, when we both hear the door opening and Robin appears in the doorframe. Looking from me to Ethan he just sighs, shakes his head, closes the door, and takes a seat.

“So what are we drinking to today, Sam?“ He asks no one in particular. And then looks in Ethan's direction.

“You’re new,“ he eyes him suspiciously.

“Nice to meet you too. And I was new 36 years ago. Thank you.“ Ethan mutters sarcastically.

Robin looks at me.

“Where did you find him? Is he your new drinking buddy? I thought that was my job?“ He pouts a little. Which makes him look ridiculous.

“I didn’t find him. He’s a doctor at Edenbrook hospital in Boston,“ I reply to his question.

“You still haven’t answered my question,“ he replies.

Ethan and I share a look. He points between us.

“What’s that look for?“ He asks.

“Ethan was there the day Addi died,“ I explained slowly to Robin.

I can see a mix of emotions in Robin's eyes. With a heavy sigh, he plops himself onto the leather sofa. Crossing his legs.

“I guess that warrants an excuse for a drink, pour me one would you?“ Robin asks and I can’t resist teasing a little bit.

“What am I your servant?“ I say.

Robin laughs at me and says.

“You’d make a nice one,“ and holds his hand out for a drink, but I’ll humor him for today. I get up and get him a drink.

We all hang onto our own thoughts and drink late into the night in my family's study.

I’m glad I have my brother by my side and my new friend or as Robin called him “my drinking buddy“.

I smile as we keep talking and exchanging jabs at each other‘s expense. All in good fun of course.

Life doesn’t seem so bad when you have friends and you’ve won a new drinking buddy over.

The smile is still in place as we go home. I ask Robin and Ethan if they want to stay at my parent's place. There are enough rooms to go around.

They both agree and we all head upstairs to catch some sleep.

Because tomorrow is a fresh start into a better day, with my family by my side.

[randomfoggytiger]

React: A Late-Canon Reviler Gives the Revival a Try (Home Again), Part IV

This is the one Revival episode I was semi-curious about: it may drum up a lot of heartfelt ~emotions~, but my glasses-on-emotions-off side is dying to be intrigued or surprised or… placated. 

It’s gotta happen at some point during this series. 

Part I (My Struggle I), Part II (Founder's Mutation), and Part III (Weremonster).

Let's go!

HOME AGAIN

It’s Home Again tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiime~. 

Oh, no. 

(Note from the future: Looking back, this sign makes me want to rage.)

…Why are the firemen antagonistically hosing down the homeless?

“You people?” In D.C.? In 2015? Sure, Jan. 

This man’s career woulda been over in five seconds. 

The firemen’s careers woulda been over in five seconds. 

The police wouldn’t be standing by eating food on the job while supervising, what? 

Does. 

Do the writers remember how police procedurals work?

Do….

Do the writers not care about the casefiles anymore? Well, yes; but… do they not care… at all?

Guys, if I read this in a fanfic I’d have already skipped to the end, skimmed through the last paragraph, and closed the tab. 

Solomon Grundy or the avenging Angel of Death or the Homeless Havoc Haver got off a dumpster… truck… and. 

I’m not taking any of this seriously. 

If the MSR is really good, I’m going to save all my snark for the plot. 

It’s a stinky one already. 

THE POLITICIAN GUY STARTS SCREAMING, THE BAD GUY STOMPS IN, RIPS HIS ARMS OFF, AND THAT KILLS THE POLITICIAN GUY?? RIPPING HIS ARMS OFF???? REALLY???

And no, he didn’t rip him in half-- he ripped his arms off.

All the homeless people zipped up their tents knowing the dead garbage... thing was coming-- so, do they have protection from it, or are they afraid of it? 

Also, why did that soda can crunch up before the garbage truck even arrived? A visual that the Garbage Gargantuan was coming? …Before he actually, physically arrived? Even though he apparently can’t manipulate matter in that way himself? Or hasn’t shown himself to do so, yet?

It’s all kinda… shoddy. 

“Sir, are you there?” said the most unconcerned voice on the other end of his discarded phone. …You couldn’t give me… something? 

Wait, the garbage truck dropped him off, drove off, then had to drive back, I guess, to pick him up mere minutes later. Less than five. Less than three, even. 

That makes no sense. 

Here they cooooooooooooooooooooome….

Oh, that’s where these outfits came from. This episode. 

Scully still has her middle-aged wine mom low-cut, very unprofessional-- and your girl knew how to be hot and professional back in the day. (I’m not even saying she has to be prudish, I’m saying why that shirt? Leaving it unbuttoned would work for a softer blouse, but hers has stiffer fabric, which makes the shirt bunch weirdly. You can see it particularly in the uneven collar and wrinkled lapels:) 

Wait, what’s that weird, discolored stripe on Mulder’s left chest? It’s not a shadow from the tie, I don’t think. Is it a wet patch? A thinning patch of fabric?

Also, yes, this episode is a rip-off of Arcadia, who cares. 

“Well, it looks like this person was born with no footprints. …Which is impossible, by the way.” Yes, Mulder, the team knows, THEY ASKED YOU ON THIS CASE. Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh. 

It wouldn’t be so bad if the cuts didn’t hold too long or end awkwardly. Whoever was in the editing room really hampered the already questionable quality of their material. 

Scully’s voice isn’t as “smoker” anymore. 

WAIT, WAIT, HOLD UP. NONONONONONONONONO.

Mulder just looks out a window and sees a MURAL of the KILLER??????????

WHAT, DID THE HOMELESS POOL THEIR POCKET CHANGE, BUY PROFESSIONAL GRADE ART SUPPLIES, AND PUT GARBAGE GARY UP ON A BILLBOARD?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

MULDER AND HIS HOMELESS ART, TAKE TWO, I GUESS. 

Maybe it was a local artist who heard the homeless stories and put it up, but.... 

Wait. 

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaait, wait, wait, wait, wait. 

Scully has Bill’s name. In her phone. As William. 

As. 

William. 

AS. 

WILLIAM. 

That was purely to tease the fans because there’s no way Bill goes by William. 

Scully doesn’t even call Bill ‘William.’

Wait. 

Those aren’t Scully’s nails. 

Did the hand model casting department even try. 

I WAS RIGHT, oh, look, it changed due to Scully’s ~trauma~, I guess. 

The writers and cinematographers and directors didn’t even try. 

Why would Scully have Bill in her phone as ‘William Scully, Jr.’ and not Bill? He’s Bill to her, not ‘William Scully, Jr.’ the 2nd, ™. 

She didn't: it was a ~ trauma mirage~.

And a badly done one at that.

The writers tried to have a little “oh, look, it’s William!” moment, but the caller layouts are completely different. 'William' is front-and-center whereas the 'William' in 'William Scully Jr.' is shoved off to the left.

They should have done an extreme zoom-in on the ‘William’ part of ‘William Scully, Jr.’, then a snap over to Scully, then a snap back showing Bill's full name. It would get the point across without being nefariously baity. 

(Note from the future: This makes even less sense in retrospect.)

Shoddy scene splicing, what’s new?

Bill was in Germany, huh. Guess he’s still in the military. 

WAIT. 

Maggie, who is in Maryland, next to D.C., had BILL listed as her emergency contact. (Note from the future: Not even that, it's worse.)

Who was supposed to be in Germany. 

Instead of her daughter who is in D.C.

~~~~~~Tensions~~~~~~ I see. 

Mulder immediately notices the slight change in Scully's voice and intuits Something’s Wrong. Good, good. The bare minimum, but good. 

Wait, the EMTs found Bill's number on Maggie, or…? 

So, did Maggie not have anyone listed as her emergency contact? ...And the writers want us to think Scully would stand for that in case of an emergency??

Well... that could be a valuable character beat, we’ll see. 

Mulder telling Scully to immediately go and her “Yeah”ing and going is a good beat, too. They’re acting more like themselves... they’re acting like a 50-something version of themselves, at least; it’s good. 

Don’t ruin this for me, writers. Don’t do it. 

Scully’s gone and DID NO ONE THINK TO CHECK THE SECURITY TAPES??? NO ONE’S DONE THAT, YET????? NO ONE EVEN BOTHERED TO LOOK FOR A SECURITY CAMERA???

Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh. 

(WHY are we down but looking up into Scully’s face with really weird jumpcuts as she clops out of the building????

WHAT IS THIS. 

This is not displaying her anxiety. It’s portraying impending madness.

THERE ARE FOUR. FOUR. MOUNTED SECURITY CAMERAS. 

Mulder’s gauging the perpetrator's height based off of basketball players; but is this supposed to be a "heehee, haha, that's weirdo Mulder for ya" bit? Because his method is just... sensible and smart. (The other investigator has a split-second “what’s up with this dude?” expression, but that wouldn’t fit here because what Mulder did was, dare I say, normal.) 

None of this is offensive, and it’s not drumming up real anger, so. That’s a win, I guess. 

That street art was put up… this morning? THIS? Morning? How did someone scale and paint and get it all done before Mulder and Scully arrived? 

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaatever. Probably supernatural, anyway. 

Mulder stepped in gum, then had the brilliant idea to preserve it as evidence. Smart. 

Scully’s at the hospital. 

Maggie’s in the hospital, alone. Ah, man. 

This scene’s shot really well thus far. It has the right balance of music, the right balance of silence, the right balance of camera cuts. 

And it’s immediately ruined.

WHEN MAGGIE GAINED CONSCIOUSNESS, SHE REPEATEDLY ASKED FOR "SOMEONE NAMED CHARLIE" AND NOT HER OWN DAUGHTER WHO LIVES IN D.C.

THIS ISN’T MAGGIE, WHAT. 

There had better be a real-- and THOROUGH-- explanation for any of this. Maggie LOVED her little Dana and her daughter Melissa and Bill. But here we’re to assume Charlie has supplanted Melissa as the outcast or Dana as the favorite???

Really. 

(Note from the future: Nope. It might be worse, though.)

To me, Dana was her "favorite"-- her "baby girl"-- all these years. The two always drew comfort and strength from each other, growing closer when Captain Scully passed and the other Scullys drifted away or died off.

But now Maggie wants Charlie. To what, right a wrong???

Scully has been shoved into this new reality of her mom not listing her as an emergency contact and only asking for Charlie-- NOT FOR HER, FOR CHARLIE-- and perhaps having suffered from health complications for a while now without filling her medical doctor daughter in on the details. 

It’s so. Cruel. 

“They’re estranged.” 

CHARLIE’S ESTRANGED FROM MAGGIE. 

WHAT. 

WHERE DID THIS COME FROM. 

I knew there were fandom speculations that Charlie was estranged, but I never knew it had confirmation in canon (well, the Revival canon.)

SO. 

All this time, Charlie didn’t have a problem with his father-- since Bill is Captain Scully’s carbon copy and Charlie always called or communicated through him-- but with his mother. 

What’s Maggie ever done? Honestly, what’s Maggie ever done for this to be her ending? What in canon pointed to estrangement or secrets from her children or whathaveyou?

If anything, this is Tena Mulder 2.0: estrangement from her son, asking for him to come before her death, keeping a health complication secret, dying without providing closure. But that’s not Maggie’s character and never has been. 

I don’t understand this, Morgan and Wong or Morgan or Wong. At what point did you think this was the right decision to make for this character??

I can pick up what the writers are putting down-- no one truly knows another person, even if they think they do, etc.-- the FLAW with that logic is, we know enough about a person to notice if they're acting differently or out-of-character. And Maggie has always been a flamingly consistent person: she can’t hide her feelings and doesn’t feel shame in expressing them, she’s terrible at keeping secrets, and she’s torn apart if excluded from her loved ones’ personal lives. These traits have consistently remained the foundation of her persona. Changing them now-- so suddenly and completely-- is poor if not lazy or "hack" writing.

My fury is not solely because I like Maggie and want her to have a happy ending but because that’s not Maggie-- never has been-- and Maggie Scully would never act the way this Maggie has. 

Regarding Charlie, he was never portrayed as “separate than” the Scully clan-- that was Melissa-- just always busy on military tour or whatever he was doing. He kept in contact with Bill, he let his sister babysit in Home (heh, Home Again, GET IT), and he sent presents to the family through Bill in A Christmas Carol. Maggie never seemed perturbed or disturbed or saddened or emotional when hearing his name or talking about him; and she would have been if there were something amiss. 

“She, she didn’t ask for me, or for Bill, or for her grandchildren?”

The implication here is that Bill has children and Charlie doesn’t-- if Charlie had children, Scully would have assumed Maggie were trying to get in contact with his kids-- her grandchildren-- by calling him. Scully doesn’t say “all her grandchildren” or “her other grandchildren.” Nope. 

So, Charlie’s not a dad, and Bill has more than one kid.  

I do understand he was written as the lone guy with a wife (while Bill had a wife and kids) in Beyond the Sea, but times and lore have changed; and I’m disappointed Morgan and Wong or Morgan or Wong didn’t update their memory, too. 

In a deleted script, Charlie was also, supposedly, single. And yes, that script was never produced, but I find it interesting that he and Melissa were kind of the “unattached” Scully kids, with Melissa being considered the black sheep and Charlie being considered largely absent. 

“Hey, Mom. I’m here. I’ve been where you are. I know Ahab is there. And Melissa.” Um, okay. Something feels off about this, but I can’t pinpoint what. 

“And Mom. I’m here.” That part can stay, wow it kinda got to me. Okay, Revival, you got something out of me. Huh. Don’t butcher this. 

(‘Kay, so, I thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiink the problem I had with the first statement was that it was a little clunky, a little “remider”y. But it bridges the gap between redundant and old X-Files dialogue, sooooooooooooooooooooo. I’m not sure how to sort it.) 

“Bill, Jr.’s” (guess he’s forever called ‘Junior’, huh… that’s kinda hilarious, but also out of character) “here. And William.” Her crying over William a little, realizing she talked about him voluntarily for the first time, is also a nice touch. “And Charlie. Charlie’s here.” 

Too bad I’m not invested in Maggie because… welp. Review criticisms above. 

“Please, Mom, don’t go home yet. I need you.” 

I do wonder why this is called Home Again-- I get it, it’s a wink-and-nod to M and W’s Home title, but the material doesn’t reaaaally sync. Unless, of course, Maggie’s real proud of “her boys”, and is tossing aside Scully’s importance aside because she never had children.... Well.

…Oh, my word, the two politiciany people on the scene are so highschool play. Stop, please. “Are you threatening me?”/”I’ve been threatening you for six months.”/”Well stop.” UGH. 

Lady calls police-politician-whoever a name and Mulder jokes, “You married?” and mumbles a little as the lady stumbles over her words explaining…. That’s David-humor, not Mulder-humor. 

Mulder having to become the voice of the homeless while hashing out this not-married couples’ couple banter aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand. Snore.

This is like a little Professor Layton sideplot where you can’t pass down the alley you need to get to if you don’t solve a random villager’s puzzle. Groovy. 

Random homeless guy says “Band aid nose man” to Mulder and walks off. That’s a clue if I’ve ever been beaten upside the head with one. 

Oh, look, the mural’s gone. Groovy. 

WHY are we getting a flashback to Scully’s bedside from One Breath? I get it, I do, nostalgia, etc. etc. HOWEVER, I think this scene would have been better served if we heard Mulder’s voice instead of seen his hand because, I don’t know, Scully was in a coma and didn’t see this happening, I don’t think. Unless she had a bird’s eye view above her body and just hovered there for days, I guess. 

Maggie has a new coin necklace, ooooooh, the woman without secrets had secrets, ooooooooooooooooooooooooooh. Ugh. 

Bill called, and Scully finally called him ‘Bill.’ 

Bill needing to know if Maggie will die before he gets there and demanding expertise from Scully IS a Bill thing to do-- he’s probably not meaning to inflict more trauma on his sister, but he’s never paid attention to what does traumatize her. Nice, nice. 

Maggie wanted to remain on life support, nice, nice, that fits with her  One Breath experience and Catholic values, good. 

That was a REALLY good scene, I will admit. Just having Scully watch someone else’s body be packed up for the morgue while Bill continually leeches answers from her on the other line, I wish that’s how the One Breath flashback had unfolded, too. 

OH, it was a band aid, not gum, that stuck to Mulder’s shoe. 

Why does the undead man need to wear a band aid on his nose. 

Deadman’s neither dead nor undead. ‘Kay. 

Scully’s being hyper-vigilant and boundary crossing into "doctor mode" while keeping an eye on her mom. Bored, trying to distract herself with work, nice, nice. 

MAGGIE MADE A NEW DIRECTIVE WITHOUT TELLING SCULLY ABOUT IT. WHAT IS THIS, PAYBACK FOR WHAT HER DAUGHTER DID?????? But if this is payback to Scully, why is she ALSO punishing Bill??? Because Bill is being inadvertently punished: he was left in the dark, too, and only called incidentally. And even if that's the case, Scully's punishment is still WORSE. Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. Because of William???

Sorry, that’s not a Maggie thing to do. She mended fences between her husband and youngest daughter, embraced her despite the chaos of her life, even forgave her after the whole cancer debacle (being kept in the dark then forced into secrecy without the healthy outlet of discussion.) 

MAGGIE’S JUST NOT VINDICTIVE, SHE’S NOT. WHY IS SHE NOW????????????????????????????????????????????????

Dudes are collecting the homeless paintings and selling them. 

So the painting wasn’t---

OKAY, WAIT. 

The mural (plural?) isn't supernatural. 

Despite being completely finished and all materials being cleared away before Mulder appeared on the crime scene. 

Despite two arthouse dealers swiping it before Mulder even walked away from the crime scene. 

Despite them swiping it (hauling a ladder over, climbing it, unpinning the painting or whatever, climbing down, and scooting off) within minutes of Mulder seeing it from the window, checking the cameras, and going out to investigate.

With police swarming everywhere. After Mulder let the head of the team know he wanted to investigate the mural.  

What. 

Scully’s still dealing with this alone, ‘kay. 

Not against that, either, because Mulder is busy and that is a thing he would do, even in his 50s. It’s how he operates. It’s how Scully expects him to operate. It’s how he operated when his own mother was on her deathbed (and after.) So, nice. 

Maggie’s gonna get extubated. 

The William screen thing keeps happening. Wish it WOULDN’T. At least do a zoom-in or weird camera angle then, not when Scully’s weirdly stumbling down the stairs. 

Mulder’s here. That’s nice. Another thumbs up from me. 

THIS is how you do character development: both characters acted on their modus operandi, but Mulder has grown enough to set aside time for Scully, to be there for her and help her. This isn’t after her mother’s death or after tragedy or after the truth has slipped through his fingers, this is during the long wait. Mulder’s still himself, but he’s also grown, too; and that growth hasn’t been shoved in our faces or jumped from A to B without proper explanation. Here, we get to see him make the choice and grow as a person. Further, Scully’s reaction lets us know this is NEW for her partner; and that she’s immensely grateful and touched to know he won’t leave her to do this alone.

THAT’s how it’s done. 

Case stuff, who cares. 

Mulder can’t stay. Scully’s going through it, doesn’t understand why her mother’s done what she’s done. Even Mulder’s surprised. 

Disclaimer: this isn't The X-Files of old. These scenes may be good-- excellently acted, not too shabbily written-- but Mulder and Scully still don’t feel like Mulder or Scully. The characters (when not poorly written or wildly butchered) don’t even come close to the essence of IWTB, at times: as badly as that movie fell apart, at least Mulder and Scully retained a spark of their original selves. Here? DD and GA act as twins or doppelgangers. They’re not Mulder and Scully, they’re Clone!Mulder and Clone!Scully who exist separately from the juvenile nature of the cases they investigate, who exist only to sit near each other and talk over their past, and whose very existence and nature are determined by the writing flavor of the week. There’s no cohesion and no point to the plots-- there’s only a hint of Mulder and Scully, and, hopefully, a quiet second for the characters to absorb. And that’s not even a guarantee, anymore. 

Mulder following after Scully and gently pulling her back when Maggie needs to be extubated-- good character moment. Scully not caring about the bigger questions right now-- also a good character moment.

The unfortunate darting on Scully’s top makes it look like she’s really cold in that hospital. (What an oddly constructed shirt, anyway. …Kinda just want to stare, marveling that it’s both: stiff and silkyish, has buttons and doesn’t, and isn’t naturally low-cut but is? ...I don’t miss 2015's fashion.)  

A Home music number as someone gets murdered? Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh. 

Buuuuut why the lady and not the politician-police-guy? What? Why? 

ANOTHER bit of character growth: not only does Mulder show up, but he stays. Ding, ding, ding! Good writer, that’s a good writer! 

Though this all washes over and away because it’s in service of a Not-Maggie, so. Consider my investment shot. 

Here are the lines I always read in gif sets:

“Back in the day, didn’t we ever come across the ability to just… wish someone back to life?”

“I invented it. When you were back in the hospital. Like this.” 

“You’re a dark wizard, Mulder.” 

See, those lines coulda been cheesy; but they were tempered and calmly handled. (Good writers, good writers, who’s a good writer!) 

“What else is new?” Mulder adds, and laughs at his own joke. Self-deprecation and amusement in that one. And Scully is cheered up a little by it, too. Thumbs up, DD and GA.

Charlie called. Scully begging Charlie to “do what I can’t do” caught Mulder’s attention, as it did mine. That’s an interesting dynamic that could have been explored: she said it quite flippantly; and that’s a VERY big “I’ve just held you back” tell.

Aww, well. A question for a better series, I suppose. 

AND Scully thinks Maggie will come back if Charlie talks to their mom. WOW, okay, that’s a lot... and will never be explored again. Ah, well. Again, a better series. 

Charlie sounds how I expected him to, huh. 

OH, NOW Maggie wakes up. 

They all think it’s a miracle and then Maggie thinks Mulder’s Charlie. That made me laugh, I’m sorry. …Or am I? 

WAIT, she didn't, scratch that. It's worse.

Maggie came back to say, “My son… is named William, too.” 

Um. 

Uuuuuuuuuuum. 

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUM. 

She really woke up, recognized both of them, then ignored her daughter, grabbed onto Mulder, and commiserated with HIM about their sons named William. As if she related to all of Mulder’s hardships and gave Scully absolutely zero grace or mercy. 

That’s cold.  

AND SCULLY’S SO DEVASTATED because she woke up that morning not knowing her mother had effectively cut her out of her life. Because of the past. Because of William. 

WAIT. Wait. wait WAIT. 

None of this makes sense. 

Scully has been seeing ‘William’ all day on her phone. At first, we the audience assume that’s her continual guilt. 

It’s revealed Maggie has open wounds over ‘William’, as well. 

Maggie wakes up only to utter “My son… is named William, too”, which suddenly introduces a supernatural element to the messages on Scully’s phone. 

But the only time Scully’s gotten supernatural messages in the past is from MELISSA. 

So did Melissa try to connect with Scully to prepare her for Maggie’s final message before Maggie woke up? Did Melissa do that ever since Maggie collapsed, from the very first phonecall Scully received? 

And if that’s the case… did Melissa hang out with Maggie in that forest with Ahab, but try to make connections with her living sister to prepare her?

And if so………………….. That’s the worst possible way to do it, giving Scully new layers of guilt and depression from failing her mother and reliving the moment she failed her son. 

That’s… that’s. Melissa levels of unawareness, but she’s supposed to be all-knowing or less… Melissa in the afterlife, right???? If this is even Melissa????

And if it wasn’t Melissa, WHAT WAS THIS ALL ABOUT?????

Maggie wanted Charlie, she wakes when he talks, she ignores Scully completely-- who’s been by her side since coming back from being on-the-run, supposedly-- and talks about WILLIAM with MULDER. 

It’s all so tangled and confusing. And, just. Mean. So unbelievably mean-spirited. To come back from the brink not when your daughter begs you to but because your son called while keeping said daughter and your other son out of the loop-- Bill was called by chance, after all-- and never leave clearer answers or messages or love or anything.... 

Wow. 

Wow, wow, wow. 

Tena’s was the worst death, but this angers me just as much because they did this to Maggie. 

Yep, she’s dead. 

SHE NEVER SAID A WORD TO CHARLIE, EITHER. 

Her estranged son finally called and she died without speaking a word to him, or looking around for his voice, or anything. 

Wooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooow I’m mad. 

At least the episode’s not pretending to be a casefile. 

UH OH, here comes the (can’t remember the name, help me out) morgue bed. Scully’s panicking over it, Mulder has to go wrangle her (gently) AND THIS IS THE FIRST TIME I’VE FELT THE ESSENCE OF SCULLY other than a smirk or a smile. THAT’s Scully-- the fire, the fury, the indignation. 

“Margaret” is what Mulder calls Maggie. Can’t remember if that’s canonical, either. Oh, wait, he called her “Mrs. Scully” in the past. Eh, it makes sense he changed it to Margaret. 

Wait, does that mean “Maggie” was her husband’s endearment, and everyone else called her “Margaret?” The “Scully” and “Dana” nicknaming duality got a little more layered. If, if, if.  

Scully’s beating herself up about William, but at least she says, “That we gave away” which means she considers Mulder a part of herself and her decision (and that he’s drilled that truth into her head until it stuck.) 

“Why did she say that?” Because the script told her actress to do so. “Why did she have to say that?” I know, cruel, isn’t it?

Not getting Mulder from this scene, either. David can act, but he’s tooooooooooo… muted, here. Mulder would have given a little more. 

The last frame hanging on his face is okay, though. Still too… muted. 

Only one type of spray paint on crime scene evidence, one search on Scully’s part, next clue found in three seconds. Because that’s how life works. 

Scully still struggling with her mother’s death, not clued in. Mulder whistling after leaving the shop, really subtle, but a fine character tidbit. 

SCULLY JUST DROPKICKED THE--

NO. 

NO. 

NO. 

THAT’S NOT HOW PHYSICS WORK. 

SCULLY’S LITTLE TWIG ARMS AND LEG AREN'T TAKING ANYONE DOWN-- LET ALONE A GROWN MAN-- WITH A TEENY TWIST-FLIP-KICK MANEUVER, ON STILTS. 

WHAT. I thought that scene happened in the computer simulation whatever episode. WHATWHATWHATWHATWHAT. 

I can hear 90s David screaming about feminism from here. 

The case continues to descend into “who cares?"ville.

The kid gets away because Mulder doesn’t do stairs anymore. And though we're all with Mulder in spirit, this is his job.

“Mulder, back in the day I used to do ‘stairs’ and in three-inch heels.” ‘Kay, Barbie. But Ken didn’t. 

“Back in the day…. Scully, back in the day is ‘now.’” …..

………..

……………

……………….

What. 

What did that dialogue have to do with the kid getting away and Mulder not chasing him? If “back in the day is now”, then Mulder would have done stairs and caught the kid.

“Back in the day is now” doesn’t make sense even if you two flash your lights over it. 

OH, LOOK, THE FLASHLIGHTS ARE CROSSING AGAIN, GET IT. 

We’re, like, four episodes in and Mulder and Scully are still slowly getting back in the groove of The X-Files. 

OH, LOOK, THE CAMERA SHOT IS HOLDING ON THE FLASHLIGHTS MAKING AN X, DID YOU NOTICE IT YET???? Yes, yes we did. 

WHAT WAS THAT. A rubber mask and suit popped out, hit the wall in front of them, and fell back into the shadows????

That was as convincing as the rabbit fur puppets mauling Gillian’s face. 

Hurry it up, I don’t care about the case. 

Mulder doesn’t do stairs but can kick the door in with one try in his tight, tight Patriarchy Pants. 

I can hear 90s David screaming about feminism from here. 

Grotesque clay masks, got it. Okay. All right. I’m bored. 

A new character, the garbage man, is going on about homeless being treated like trash. ‘Kay. 

He’s the artist? What. Doesn’t... what. He wouldn’t have time to put up the art after the murder but before--

Forget it. 

Oh, it wasn’t him. They were… supernatural? What. 

THIS TRASH GUY MADE A TULPA OUT OF TRASH. 

HOW DARE YOU RIP OFF MY TRASH BABY TULPA EPISODE. HOW DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARE YOU. 

I DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR THIS TRASH RIPPING OFF MY TRASH. 

GET OUTTA HERE. 

ACTUALLY GET OUTTA HERE. GO ON, SHOO. BEAT IT. SCRAM. GET LOST. 

AND NOW THEY’RE SAYING 'TULPA' WAS A MISTRANSLATION????? OH, THAT’S RICH. SO WHAT HAPPENED IN ARCADIA WASN’T A TULPA, BUT THIS ONE MIGHT BE. 

THAT’S REAL CUTE. 

A realized Tibetan thought form would never harm someone or kill. 

But what if… hang on with me a second… what if it already did? 

This guy willed it, so it happened. 

This is giving Scully an idea. Guess she’s gonna manifest Maggie from the dead. Or manifest William from the clouds, I suppose. Or manifest herself a better wig, I reckon. 

WHAT IN THE EXISTENCE FLASHBACKS IS THIS. HOW IS SCULLY COMPARING HER SON’S BIRTH TO WILLING A MONSTER INTO EXISTENCE?????? I, I, WHAT. NO. NO, DON’T DO THIS. THIS IS BAD, THIS IS VERY NOT GOOD. 

“He came to me,” the guy explains, and Scully now thinks William came to her???

Is… is this a revelation or a mental breakdown????????

“But in the end, he told me what he wanted to be.” 

ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW??? IMPLYING THAT WILLIAM WANTED TO BE PUT UP FOR ADOPTION-- SHOWING HIM CRYING IN S9-- IN ORDER TO GIVE SCULLY SOME CLOSURE ON THAT MATTER AFTER HER MOTHER’S RECENT DEATH???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

NO ONE TOLD ME THIS. NO ONE WARNED ME. 

THE AUDACITY OF THE WRITERS.  

SHAME, ACTUAL SHAME, ON THEM. 

…I will take all this back if the script does, but WHAT IN THE WORLD. THIS IS INSANE. 

Never have I EVER seen Scully so broken mentally. Wow. Morgan and Wong or Morgan or Wong love her character? I’d think they view her as the band aid on their shoe. Wow. 

(Note from the future: They don't take back any of this implication, only gaslight us into believing Scully was thinking a totally other, very normal thing about "responsibility." Which is utter doodoo.)

“All we do, is hold the pencil. All we do, is hold the clay. I think there must be spirits or souls--” GET OUT OF HERE WITH THAT FIELD WHERE I DIED GARBAGE. GET. OUT. YOU BUTCHERED THAT EPISODE THROUGH YOUR OWN SHEER INCOMPETENCE, YOU CAN’T TRY TO REWRITE IT NOW THROUGH ANOTHER LENS TO MAKE US SWALLOW YOUR POISON LIKE PUNCH. 

GET. 

OUT. 

OF. 

HERE. 

“And if you think so hard, if you want them real bad, they’ll come to you.” 

Stunning. 

A thought experiment that would be interesting to tap into when explaining the *insert words* of The Field Where I Died’s plot, but is ABSOLUTELY. IRRESPONSIBLY. IDIOTIC. here in light of the sheer amount of trauma you are putting Scully through, right this second. 

Full disclosure: I don’t care how many bad things are done to the characters-- I really don’t-- IF those experiences give weight or add to their stories or history. THIS, HOWEVER, DOES NOT. 

I’M FURIOUS. I’M SO FURIOUS I MIGHT TEAR UP. 

HOW DARE YOU INSERT EXISTENCE FLASHBACKS TO--

i’m done. let’s just move on. 

I’m struck anew with how these characters aren’t Mulder and Scully-- not even S9 Scully-- when both scenes are positioned back-to-back. 

I just knew this episode would be butchered, but never would I ever…. 

By the way, to catch us back up to speed, Scully’s having this… revelation while a garbage man rambles about the MURDERING THOUGHT FORM he dreamt into being. 

Also, the cuts and flashbacks A. reinforce my disdain of this series, B. are cheesy and corny, and C. are ham-fisted and clunky. You know how it should have been done? Without the flashbacks. Not one soul who is watching this episode needs to be hand-held through Scully’s memories, especially ones we’ve already seen mere minutes ago. 

Scully’s clutching her cross after remembering her mom’s words, ‘kay. 

I LAUGHED AGAIN. 

Mulder’s been listening to this guy and looks over and does a doubletake because Scully’s frozen LIKE THIS: 

Mental. Health. 

Also, considering what happens to Jackson’s character later on… this episode is kind of implying Scully was so terrified by the constant tragedy in her life that she willed a tulpa-alien-god baby into existence (or WOULD have, if given the opportunity, which is worse) for her own selfish reasons, or for the world’s protection; then yeeted it to the adoption agency, anyway. (Note from the future: This implication doesn't make broad canonical sense, and is kinda reverted, later, but:) ...Which plugs dangerously well into her disavowal of William in My Struggle IV. Which makes me hate Home Again even more.

(Also also, that turns Scully into Arcadia's Gogolak. Stellar writing.)

Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh, have to break this down. 

If Scully thought William into existence, he wouldn’t be a normal baby in S8. Which he was. He also wouldn’t be a magic baby with independent will in S9 (who is closer to the alien DNA kids in Founder’s Mutation that cut themselves out of their moms to survive, but ANYWAY.) He’d be a thought form controlled by one impulse. A tulpa. Or-- let’s extrapolate-- a Supersoldier like Billy Miles. Which he wasn’t.

If Scully is comparing herself to the Syndicate that brought beings into a tormented existence for their own ends (or to the garbage guy’s intent) and is… freed? by that thought…. She needs help-- not “go to therapy, babe”, no, actual, real, extensive help outside of the FBI and away from work, period, for awhile. That’s so incredibly unbalanced it’s… kinda scary. 

Also, again, if Scully willed Jackson into Existence-- say, by touching the alien spaceship?-- the timeline wouldn’t match her late S7 pregnancy-- but what else is new-- but would condemn her for Jackson’s later erratic actions, anyway. 

And therefore, Scully becoming pregnant in My Struggle IV would have to be an actual, literal miracle because she didn’t taint it with a thought-form or alien DNA or any other thing this episode or Founder’s Mutation or the other Struggles are suggesting.

Any of these possibilities are foul. If William exists, he’d have to be a normal baby (as he was until the writers changed him) or it would crumble the very meaning of his birth and the leadup to it from Requiem to Existence. 

It. just. doesn’t. make. sense. and. continues. to. be. cruel. 

Scully now thinks she’s responsible for “making the problem” and Mulder’s like “huH” and “UHOH” at the same time. 

Okay, let’s say M+W or M or W take the aforementioned implication back: this scene is utterly and unfathomably cruel, a cherry on top of the other cruelty they put Scully through this episode. 

I’m gonna say it: at least Chris Carter gave William to Scully. 

“You’re just as bad as the people that you hate,” a.k.a. "You did a bad thing by playing god and creating life only to abandon it." 

Thanks M+W, I really needed “Scully comparing herself to the Consortium” on my list of Unexpected Things to Hate, that was nice. 

NOW the tulpa’s going after the politician-policeman. Not before killing the woman who wanted the homeless on the streets if they preferred, but after, now that he's moving them into a nicer facility. 

Oh, the guy’s soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo evil because one of the homeless people's dog’s temporarily at an animal shelter. Well, yeah it was kinda evil to separate them (temporarily.) Had to make politician-police dude eviler, I guess. 

He smells something bad, oh, nooooooooooo…………….

Guys, gonna be honest. How’s this politician-police-whoever guy bad? He’s callous, but he’s moving the unhoused into housing where they can, hopefully, have better access to resources to get back on their feet. 

…What’s the moral here? That no one treats them like people, therefore the tulpa or thought form will kill indiscriminately? Even if the homeless might be benefiting? That the garbage man just didn’t like HOW policeman-politician-whoever was operating, so thought up a tulpa to kill him and the others?

Slow clap for the stupidest morality tale I’ve seen in a bit. 

I. just. Can the writers craft an episode where the homeless are actually being victimized? 

Oh, wait, the 90s already did that. Huh. 

Poli-man’s about to be murdered. Mulder and Scully arrive and gently jaunt down the hall towards his screams. That’s cute. 

They were literally FOUR. SECONDS. too late. Then don’t express a sense of remorse or whatever that they were. And this guy isn’t villain- enough to be given zero remorse, c’mon, save that for the big 'uns. 

Tulpa’s vanishing instead of walking away, I guess. 

Scully’s too calm for acknowledging they just heard politician-policeman die. He was screaming for help and you two didn’t speed up. 100% they wouldn’t be able to pass the FBI field tests. A witness-victim-whatever just died because they were FOUR SECONDS late, that shouldn't have happened.

The gymnastics of this plot, summed up: 

Monster always leaves band aids behind, I guess. 

Garbage man made the band aid sculpture’s face into a smiley so it's gone forever, I GUESS. 

Wait, LAKE SCENE??

THAT’S IT???

THIS IS IT??????????????????????

“I know now why Mom asked for Charlie even if he was out of her life.” OH, THIS HAD BETTER BE GOOD and not  A. “she’s a mom, so she loved and missed him” or B. “she created him so he mattered.” Because neither of those answers explains what she did and didn’t do or say to the two children that stuck by her. 

*sharpens harpoon*

*THUNK*

I KNEW IT. 

SHE WANTED TO KNOW BEFORE SHE LEFT THAT HE’D BE OKAY. 

Then WHY did she ignore Charlie on the phone and TALK TO MULDER while laying on another layer of guilt about William WITH HER DAUGHTER, who'd been pleading for Maggie to come back to her, RIGHT THERE???

Just because Maggie “gave birth to him” doesn’t mean anything. 

Like. 

Guys. 

Of course she wants to know her son’s okay, of course. She raised him, she loved him, etc. 

But. But but but. 

If she’s the loving mother we all knew from the OG series that SUDDENLY took a dive into secrecy and distrust and guilt-tripping, there would have been signs. Scully missed all of them, didn’t even know her mom had her living will signed by other veteran sailors (AND WHO ARE THEY?), doesn't even know what the quarter lore is.

 You can’t have Maggie want to know her baby’s okay while actively neglecting and ignoring the others. You can’t. 

*sharpens second, third, and fourth harpoon*

“She made him. He’s her responsibility.” 

*THUNKKITY THUNK THUNK*

OH. MY. WORD. 

THIS IS SO TWISTED. 

Scully is now being guilted for giving up William, AGAIN, because she needs to "take responsibility" for him. 

Canonically, she gave him up because she was taking responsibility for him-- to protect him, to take care of him. 

And whether that decision was justified or not-- it wasn’t-- S9 Scully and IWTB Scully and pre-this-episode Scully and Mulder made the best they could of that decision for their son’s sake.

A.k.a. Responsibility. 

HOW DOES THAT TRANFSER ONTO MAGGIE? What responsibility does she have to take?? Perhaps she drove Charlie away?? But none of her behavior thus far would have driven him away. 

So, not only has Maggie’s character been harpooned on her deathbed, but her past off-screen behavior must also be harpooned in order to justify that "responsibility" line: a.k.a., she must have been a horrible person to Charlie, and must want to take responsibility for that action now. 

Because “responsibility” doesn’t fit IF Charlie walked away of his own accord for his own reasons, separate from his mother’s actions or behavior. 

Also, “responsibility” doesn’t fit PERIOD with either scenario: Scully already took responsibility for William when she sent him away (as stupidly as that decision was written, it wasn’t written for any other pretense) but Maggie DIDN’T take “responsibility” because she didn’t even apologize or question or talk to or whatever with Charlie. She did it WITH MULDER, and even THEN she was urging HIM to take responsibility of William, if anything. 

Know what’s worse? They’re saying all the pain Scully is going through (and put Mulder and her family through) is because she hasn’t taken responsibility for William, and that she needs to go find him and make it right. IGNORING THE FACT THAT IT WAS REVIVAL MULDER, NOT SCULLY, WHO PUT WILLIAM BEHIND HIM. IF ANYTHING, IT WAS SCULLY WHO TOOK RESPONSIBILITY ALL THESE YEARS. 

Which means Scully is culpable for everyone’s emotions and pain and trauma because she gave her son away for his safety. AND I DON’T EVEN AGREE WITH HER DECISION-- there’s no way she would have given William up, and most certainly not that way-- BUT YOU WRITE SCULLY INTO AN IMPOSSIBLE SITUATION, THEN PUNISH AND REVICTIMIZE HER AT THE HANDS OF HER OWN MOTHER IN ORDER TO "OWN UP" TO "RESPONSIBILITY." 

I’m... pretty mad.

I should be furious, really, because this does unfathomable damage to… everyone. But My Struggle I's and Founder’s Mutation's brain rot runs deeper-- by comparison this is a 0.5 to its -1,000,000. 

At least we know what the coin necklace date was supposed to mean: the date Charlie walked out of Maggie’s life. “Responsibility” and all that garbage.  

“She wanted us to be responsible…. To make sure William’s okay, even if we can’t see him.” That is NOT what Maggie said, and that is NOT what she meant. “My son… is named William, too” was a commiserating statement spoken to MULDER, indicating he, like her, suffered from an estrangement. And who would be the enforcer or creator of that estrangement? The same woman who broke up with Mulder over depression (before he had a meltdown or breakdown, despite knowing his history of suicidal tendencies.) 

The Revival does Scully (and her mother… and Mulder…) so dirty it’s. Ugh. 

Can someone knock Not-Maggie's ashes over onto the ground or something? That way she can join her brethren, the dirt.  

Let’s be honest, this Home Again should have been further down the season. ‘Cuz if Babylon’s next… guess they didn’t look for William. 

Scully’s smoker voice makes its first appearance, ugh. Code broken: GA uses smoker voice when Scully is feeling teary or depressed. 

UGH. 

“...To keep him safe. That it was for his own good to put him up for adoption. But I can’t help but think of him, Fox.” The requires the special 'what', *ahem*: WAHT. 

“I believe you will find all of your answers--” ALL. OF. YOUR. ANSWERS?

“And I will be there when you do.” WHEN YOU DO?! What is she, an elementary school teacher holding Mulder's hand while he explores around the gymnasium??????????????? Where’s the Scully who insisted this was her quest, too???? ...wwwwwWHAT.

This is. This is. Guys. Why. 

“But my mysteries… I’ll never have answered.” 

Um. Scully can’t figure out how to find William?

She can’t, just, go back to the agency and offer to connect with her son? 2012’s over-- the world might end, still, but CSM’s dead (as far as she knows), APPARENTLY there are no aliens or Supersoldiers, and no one’s cared about her and Mulder getting back on the files.... Where is THIS coming from???? Just ring up the agency, Scully! 

UUUUUUUUUG.

“...If he’s ever been afraid, and wishes I were there. Does he doubt himself, because we left him?”

While Scully continues to speak, I must add: Mulder looks like a browbeaten 50s housewife. I love watching DD’s acting as much as GA’s, but David’s giving nothing here. I KNOW it’s a direction issue because he’s been consistently this key the entire episode (except for the... comedy or “dark wizard” scene) so SOMEONE wants Mulder to be this way. But.  

But it doesn’t line up with his character from the previous eps.  

And the previous episodes don’t line up with each other. 

And all the Revival eps. don't line up with IWTB.

Or S9.

Or canon.

Etc., etc.  

“What… questions does he have of me? The same that I have of this quarter?” Um. I thought we concluded that was the date Charlie walked out. 

Isn’t Scully the investigator, here? Maggie kept that quarter necklace secret, Maggie kept her health secret, and Maggie only wanted to talk to Charlie-- ergo, Charlie’s connected to the quarter necklace. And if it’s not his birthday, it’s the date he left. Ergo, voila. 

“And I want to believe--” yeah, yeah, yeah, “--that we didn’t treat him like trash.” 

This doesn’t match. 

The writing treated him like trash because Scully was written to give him up for no reason. (Perhaps "like garbage" is a fun dig at CC's decision, but Scully ends up taking the damage for it.)

Scully herself didn’t treat William like trash-- she was trying to protect him. 

In short: writers = trash; Scully = not trash. Scully’s decision = trash, Scully’s canonical reason = not trash. 

Are we following canon now, writers? Have you caught up WITH YOUR OWN SHOW?

Mulder decides against talking, opting to pull her into a hug, instead. 

Um. 

Whhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhere’s the reassurance, Mulder. You reassured her in Founder’s Mutation quite soundly, but not. Here. When she’s in crisis.

Groovy. Stellar. Ugh.  

...WELP, that’s the end, I GUESS. 

CONCLUSION

What. was. that. 

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[vvatchword]

Chapter 1: Take the Head

You remember Pa teaching you how to pop the head off of a chicken. You weren’t very big yet, maybe five. You had always been taught to treat the animals with respect, so it jarred you to yank the chicken up by the throat. The chicken flapped and kicked; the golden eye latched on yours, a panicked pinpoint.

You couldn’t break her neck. You tried and you tried but you just rubbed her throat in a circle over and over like you were trying to give her an Indian burn. She frantically scratched your arm up and down, her beak gaping in a terrified pant. You know now that you could have done it easily—a chicken’s spine is little more resistant than a dry stick or a pencil—but that was just the problem: she wasn’t either of those things.

Then Pa took her from you, wrapped his fist around the throat, and popped the head clean off. He held the head out to you. The eyes had closed. The lids were soft and pink. Her face was peaceful. Her body still kicked.

“See?” he said. “Easy. She didn’t feel a thing.”

There was blood on Pa’s hands. When he pointed out the cockerel for you to try again, there was blood on your hands, too.

** You aren’t much of a conversationalist. You’ve gone on dates where you barely spoke a word. Your coworkers don’t know your name. You work in a factory line, screwing in one piece at a time. Dull work, monotonous work. Lets your brain run on its own time at its own pace.

You like to remember lists during such times. Pa taught you about something called a “mind palace,” a detailed map you build in your mind and store thoughts inside of. Somehow recall is easier when you can imagine them in a physical space. You store your shopping lists there. You also store guns—lists about makes, models, ammunition.

Guns have been a special interest of yours since childhood. You would save pages out of the Sears catalog as a child and tape them on the wall so you saw them when you woke up. You were fascinated how they went together and would draw them in their disparate parts before drawing them put together again. You liked drawing them from all different angles just to admire the geometry. You checked out books on guns from the library so often that the librarian started setting aside new offerings for you. You had never been able to own guns of your own, but you practiced with your father’s Mark I Sturm Ruger and the old .22. You could ping prairie dogs like a pro.

You like to think that eventually, you’ll buy one of your own. You know just the model—the BAR, or Browning Automatic Rifle—full-aut, carried by Bonnie and Clyde, running second-fiddle to the M1 Garand throughout World War II. When you repeat the gun list, you think “BAR” before any of the others; it is the highest honor you can bestow.

You like monotony for the same reason you like lists. There’s something relaxing about rhythms. It’s like music, like dance. You can’t dance, of course—you never learned. You don’t own a record player, either—you don’t spend money on frivolous things. The Depression is still a heavy black cloud in the back of your mind. You lived on a farm, so your belly never went empty, but you also didn’t grow up wearing shoes.

You are 28. Or is it 29? It’s been a while since you’ve thought about your birthday. It’s on July 3. “Our independence baby,” someone said. It may have been Pa, but you don’t remember exactly; you were very small. You do remember Ma replying that it was one day off and they weren’t in America anyway, so it didn’t count. You were disappointed for some reason; sure, you know it doesn’t make a difference either way, but it would be nice to have something special that was just your own. Oh, Ma and Pa told you you were going to do great things someday—that’s something you could believe when you were, say, eight. But then you had to make your way in the world and all the world offered was a factory line, a small dark room, and the weather. It’s hard to believe in anything magnificent at the bottom of a hole.

**

You live in sparsely-furnished rooms in cheap apartments near the ocean. On weekdays, you make your bed, eat breakfast (eggs, toast, coffee with cream), shave, dress, go to work (screw, screw, screw), come home and turn on the radio (evening news, then whatever entertainment strikes your fancy, usually action and adventure programs), drink a beer while completing the evening ablutions (wash dishes, pack lunch for tomorrow, shower, set alarm clock, read evening edition in bed until you get tired).

Sometimes you go to your neighbor’s to watch their television in exchange for a beer; you sit side by side and quietly drink as Lucy gambols and the laugh track rolls. On Saturdays, you go shopping for the household essentials and stand in lines while the grocer bags produce and the butcher cuts your lunch meat.

If it’s nice enough, you walk down to the ocean to stretch your legs. It’s not a pretty place by any means; a sodden gray beach where colorless rushes thrust insistent heads and sun-bleached shells lie. In winter, it’s even more dreary; the Atlantic is a sullen gray sweep and the nasty cold steals your breath. It’s the kind of cold that makes you feel wet and heavy even if you haven’t touched water.

You have never felt as though the sea is a nice place; you distinctly remember deciding this back when you first entered the town. Even in the summer, when the water is glassy green and the beach crowded with tourists, you feel as though the sea is a vast and apathetic monster—apocalyptic in size, in scale, in potential. Apocalyptic: you don’t go to church, but that’s the word that comes to you. The sea feels as though it should be the focus of worship, the kind of thing you sacrifice to; you’ve never held much by spiritual claptrap, but you will grant one place worthy of godhood.

You did not grow up near the sea. You grew up in Kansas, a land so flat you used to roll up papers like spyglasses and try to see Japan. You moved to the coast of New Jersey because you’d wanted to see the ocean. No—no, it may well have been because of the factory job. They do pay well and they probably printed something in the help ads. A family friend in New York often sends newspaper clippings with his letters just to be of service. Yes, that would make a great deal more sense: “I heard Jack is looking for a job,” he’d say. “Here are some local ones that are right up his alley.”

Yes, now that you think about it, that’s exactly what happened. The sea was a bonus—until you saw it. But how were you to know what the sea was really like until you went there? It’s too bad someone couldn’t have told you.

Sometimes you think you should move away, but learning new routines is such a pain that you just put up with it. Someday you’ll probably get tired enough to leave. The way the cold weaponizes itself with humidity tires you down to your bones.

You know, you haven’t thought of the family friend in a while. What was his name again? Joe? Jim? John? One of those common names. You’ll have to check your address book. It’s been a while since you’ve heard from him. You should write sometime to make sure he’s all right.

For that matter, you haven’t heard from your parents. When did they last write? Hell! Maybe it’s your turn to write. Yes, it’s your turn to write for certain; that would explain why you haven’t received any letters recently. You do tend to forget minutiae with the humdrum flow of everyday life. Your parents are older now; you know better than to leave them without a word every now and then. Your mother must be worried sick.

You decide to purchase some stationery and stamps that weekend, but you forget until the invitation comes, and by that time, it’s far too late. You didn’t know that then, of course. You didn’t know much of anything, if you have to be honest.

UPRISING: BLACK SCRAPBOOK HUB

[cinemgc]

Obi-Wan Kenobi (1ª Temp.)

Episodio 4: ''Part IV''

• Dirección: Deborah Chow

• Guion: Joby Harold, Hannah Friedman

• Cinematografía: Chung-hoon Chung

• Cast: Vivien Lyra Blair, Ewan McGregor

[mybooksandlittlemore]