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teylaminhToday, being bored, I wrote a lengthy entry because I was completely uninspired to do any more of Come Forward; the original, typed from my A4-pad hand-written version, is between the lines; new stuff follows.
12.13pm: So, here we go. Though, technically Sunday started twelve hours ago, at which time I was, if I recall, DJ comment tennissing with Eni (165 and counting!) about shippiness and, um, not being Jenny, and trying to remember what the Hell episode involved Mulder teaching Scully to play baseball. I found out, after trawling through trannies, at 2am. Go me and my complete lack of memory.
As a result, I think I had a vaguely X-Files-related dream last night, and, at the very least, woke up with suspiciously ficlike narratives ringing through my brain. I can feel myself becoming slowly re-obsessed. This is simultaneously a good and a bad thing. Bad because, quite frankly, I have enough new obsessions filling my brain, and enough other uber-shippy pairings to make my heart hurt, without bringing X-Files and the MSR back into the equation (because DUDE. When I say uber, I mean uber...) Good, however, because it'll be quite nice having it back in my life; I mean, it pretty much defined who I was for nine years, was my second big fandom (Red Dwarf being the first) and my first online fandom. In fact, I think www.thex-files.com was the very first website I ever visited or spent any consistent amount of time on.
So, a warning in advance. Future posts may be rather X-Filesian in nature, and believe me, if you were around for the first generation of this particular obsession and thought it was annoying, you ain't seen nothin' yet. :) I've been pondering it quite a bit, actually. It's weird watching semi-objectively from a more casual point-of-view. I realise how completely fantastic it actually was in its own right as entertainment, shipping aside, but I'm also noticing the more subtle nuances of Mulder and Scully's relationship, the complexity of the characters, and the way all of the various plot arcs fit together - not just the 'mytharc' (my word, but I'd forgotten how complicated that was...) but the M/S one, too. I swear, from Season 6 onwards, it was all leading up to the baby/Messiah arc and them finally ending up together. I think by Season 5, Chris Carter couldn't actually deny it any longer. For whatever reasons - writing, actors, fans reading too much into it - it developed beyond what he was intending, and, thank goodness, he took everything on board and made their connection a part of the show.
Gah, see what I mean? I could've rambled for Britain once upon a time, and all that old X-Files geekness was right there in the back of my mind, waiting for the time when I could understand it better...
*disappears to get crisps*
*returns with drink instead because lunch is nearly cooked*
So, resisting the urge to ramble s'more about x-Files, here's the promised nearly-running commentary...
I'm watching VH2's 100 Greatest 90s Anthems. They're up to 94, which is Supergrass's Sun Hits the Sky, which, amazingly, I do remember. I've also got my discman here, mainly to see how long the batteries last, and also so I can listen to music without getting inane comments. (Brought along Alanis - SFIJ - Katie Melua, and Seeter. Also bought Texas's Greatest Hits in Sainsbury's earlier for £8.99.) Oh! Yay! It's Blur's Coffee and TV video with the milk cartons! Uh, yeah, I'm a geek. Also, it seems that VH2 are using the rathergood.com singing kittens as part of their advertising.
I'm considering scanning this, but I may wait and see how long it ends up. In all honesty, it'd probalby be quicker to type it out...
Must... not... do... X-Files... fic... I don't need a ScullyMuse, darnit! Also, I figured out why I never suffered the same fate with Mulder as i did with, say, Spike, Niles, Joe Gillis, &c. Not because he's not tortured - because, dude, he's as tortured as they come - but because Scully's Tortured Soul Complex is probably vast enough to cope and mine fades in comparison. These medical types, so inherently compassionate. ;)
I'm going to end up writing fic, aren't I? I need to do chapter four of Broken Record and Come Forward both (though the one for the latter is at least started.) All this lovely time to write, and no inspiration. Ah, well. Clearly, I need to find something more constructive to do, then the ideas'll flow. My brain's just wired that way.
I've just noticed my father has a Harry Potter mug. I guess geek breeds geek. But somehow, his having a mug is much sadder than my generalised merchandise fetish.
I WANT MOST HAUNTED BACK NOW, DAMMIT!!
*ahem* Sorry. Withdrawal. It's only on once a week again and I've been spoiled with Ftn's daily repeats. I already mentioned on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
mosthauntedgeek how I saw a bloke in Ikea who looked like Jason Karl (series one's parapsychologist, a combination of the later series' Matthew Smith and Phil Whyman, in one superhuman being! Oh, wait. My mistake. That'd be Karl. :P) and then... someone else, possibly Rick, maybe Phil, a few seconds later. My brain is saturated.
Guh. 'Stenders isn't on til 3.50 today. Which means I'll end up watching it with them both. Joy. Hm. Well, VH2's boring me, so I'll give the new Texas CD a try. 'Tis now 1.19, so I'm sure my music and fic-writing urges will kill some time.
1.46pm: Woo, Texas! No lyrics in the booklet, but they'll be easy enough to find online. I blame Eni for this random piece of spending, by the way, because she put two Texas tracks on the non-mixy mix tape and reminded me that I liked them. SO, yeah.
I meant to say, my cassette player works again. Possibly, the heads needed cleaning. I didn't happen to clean them, but I did happen to test it again and it worked. So, yay, now I don't have to use my Walkman as a backup stereo...
Next door have acquired a new pet - to quote Eddie, "a small, yappy-type dog." Wow, that loses so much without the voice... but yeah. It's quite sweet, no idea what it'll grow up into, but it looks vaguely mongrel-like. I'm so not a dog-person. Actually, just prior to our barbecue yesterday (mmmm... meeeeeat...) I was petting one of their many neglected cats. I managed to elicit a purr from it; managing to approach one of them is a challenge in itself...
I have fallen, regrettably, into Will & Grace shipdom. And of course who else? Jack and Karen, obviously. Before you all yell at me, hear me out...
...
...all right, so there's really no excuse. The Inner Shipper has a mind of its own; rarely do I actually gain control over my pairings. I remember the night of her conception, BBC1's original airing of The X-Files' Season 2 episode, "Irresistible". Specifically, the ending of it, with the M/S hug. The first one. It's a milestone episode, and one of my favourites for that reason. What it boils down to is this: Nautica is Mulder and Scully's lovechild, and they're entirely responsible for the current state of my brain.
[insert random ramblings here about father that are too boring/lengthy to repeat]
Where was I? Oh, yes, Nautica. Entirely the twisted product of Mulder and Scully, so you have no-one to blame but them. And Chris Carter. And, y'know, all the other pairings-instigators for making her worse...
Dude. How can I have filled up four sides of A4 [no, really!] with nothing? Considering scanning and typing up just to see if everyone can read my handwriting.
Okay, methinks I shall try some X-Files fic. Bear in mind I've not attempted such a monster since... wow, probably late 1998/early 1999, and my old fic wasn't exactly... literary genius. Or particularly coherent, for that matter. or even well-characterised. So, this'll be an experience, I think...
Summary: Random piece inspired by late-night transcripts and waking dreams. No plot. Ramble. Scully-centric, apparently.
Disclaimer: Characters - obviously - belong to Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen. I haven't played with them for many years, so I'll wipe the dust off and promise to put them back where I found them.
Rating: PG, because it's bound to be at least a little angsty. And because it's wasn't a G situation in the first place.
Setting/spoilers: Set during and after the closing scene of "The Unnatural" (Season 6; aforeasid baseball episode.) No spoilers since I doubt I know the canon well enough any more to remember what happened, and because it's mostly suppositions...
Author's Notes: Yup, I really do write these things out before I even start the fic. :) Anyway, as noted, it's been absolutely years since I've attempted to write XF fic and as such, I apologise for any clunky characterisation, horrendous dialogue, or general badness... I just have this feeling that my newly adopted style may fit the fandom quite well. Also, I don't know how baseball pitching machines work, but I imagine there is some process of feeding balls into it... That being said, enjoy!
Untitled Ficlet
"Shut up, Mulder. I'm playin' baseball."
She remembers birthdays past, with chocolate cake, and just enough presents - thoughtful or otherwise - from her family to make the day memorable. Her mother would cook a special breakfast, but the cake was always pre-ordered at the bakery, because Dana didn't like generic store-bought fudge. One year, Missy tried to make one, covered the kitchen in flour, and presented the decidedly lumpy concoction to her younger sister with a proud grin. It tasted better than it looked, but she wasn't allowed near the baking utensils ever again.
Bill and Charlie would be nice to her for the day; they'd all play silly games in the backyard til sunset. Missy complained that she might as well have three brothers, for all the use Dana was in defending their female sensibilities. Birthday dinner was a pleasant affair, everyone smiling, nobody arguing; she recalled fondly the year her parents decided she was finally old enough to cut her own cake. Her mother was always on stand-by with the camera, while her father would stand stoically at the head of the table. At least, he did when he could be there.
This one, she thinks, is the most memorable birthday for a very long time. And it's not even officially her birthday for another few months, which he knows full well, and somehow that makes the semi-spontaneous gesture all the more special. Considering he knows her better than anyone - better than she knows herself, at times - she wonders where he got the idea to introduce her to that Great American Tradition of baseball. Certainly not from her. And yet...
She noticed as soon as she left her apartment building that it was a perfect night: clear sky, bright stars, perhaps a little chilly, but not so icy as to make her new coat impractical. Just the sort of weather for a midnight stroll or a hilltop picnic or any manner of other activities that could only end with cocoa and a warm blanket... and they're playing baseball.
Well, it's certainly original. Whoever thought hitting a piece of cowhide with a stick could be so romantic?
As soon as that word sounds in her head, something makes her heart stop and her entire body freeze in place. They miss the next ball; it sails straight past them and smacks into the wire fence behind them.
"Hold up a minute, Poorboy," he instructs, and the rounds stop firing. His voice sounds close to her ear. "You okay?
She nods, suddenly far more aware than before of his closeness. "Yeah, I'm... I'm fine."
"You want to take a break?"
"No, I-"
"I was gonna let you go on your own for a while. You're a pro, Scully."
He makes to release her, apparently sensing her discomfort, but she grips his hand on the bat as soon as she feels his warmth disappear from her back. She's more afraid of losing this moment than anything else right now.
"No, Mulder. It's just a cramp." So saying, she shifts position to back up the excuse, wondering, a little mischievously, if it'll result in his having to re-adjust her stance, hand to hip, hips before hands.
Hips before hands. Not your best line, Mulder. But damned if it didn't reel her in, and she's trapped in his arms until they run out of baseballs, and even then, she's almost convinced he'd send Poorboy off to retrive them all so they can play again.
"You're sure?"
She nods. "I'm sure. Let's play ball."
He chuckles. "Only if you promise me you'll never use that phrase ever again."
Following the gesture of his head, Poorboy feeds another ball into the machine. It takes a while to get back into the flow again, but with his hands either side of hers, guiding the bat, they're soon hitting home runs. [FYI, here's where the written draft ends, so from here it's unchecked...]
The action becomes routine and famliar, eventually lulling her back into her thoughts. Did he orchestrate all of this - the lesson, the 'birthday present' - just to get this close to her without the awkwardness of asking? Just as soon as she dismisses that thought, it comes back to linger. Why wouldn't he? In all honestly, it's a far more plausible explanation than just wanting to teach her how to whack a baseball.
Often, she tries to pinpoint the moment she fell in love with him. She always fails. But somehow, she knows that when she tries again in a few months' time, this'll be one of the moments to add to the list.
End... I guess.
Hm. I still suck at endings, it seems. I didn't want to make it too long, and I think I covered everything that was wandering aimlessly in my head this morning. Oh, God, this can't be good... Incidentally, for those that don't know: Scully family consists of: her father, Bill, a naval captain; her mother, Margaret; her elder brother, Bill Jnr., also a naval captain; her elder sister, Melissa, into New Age therapies; herself; and her younger brother, Charles. Bill Snr and Melissa are both dead (Bill in Season 1's "Beyond the Sea" and Melissa in Season 2's "Paperclip", shot by Krycek (who was, at the time, the actress' real life boyfriend...) Bill Jnr. hates Mulder. Charles was mentioned in "BtS", but has apparently been forgotten about, as he's not been mentioned since or even seen. So. Now you know. ;)
So, that's it, really. I'd also scribbled the following in the margins:
"17.31: My father, like Braca, defines 'anally retentive'." - he was consistently arguing his point whilst not realising that the counter-argument was all for fun anyway and he was being tormented...
Whilst watching 'Stenders - "No! Argh! Dot can't have cancer!!!"
And: "Eamonn Holmes quoted Sunset Boulevard on Song of Praise!!" - he was explaining about London's oldest custom-built picture house, dating back to 1910, and was talking about silent movies. He said something to the effect of, "this is what they would have looked like. But for all those people out there in the dark..." which is a direct quote, almost, from the final speech in the movie. :D I love when people reference obscure literature. I mean, most people've heard the famous lines ("I am big! It's the pictures that got small!" and "And now, Mr. De Mille, I'm ready for my close-up!" &c., &c.) but not many are going to get the more random ones. Hee.
But dude. X-Files fic. It's been so long. I realise none of you are probably qualified enough to pass judgement, but opinions would be appreciated...
I would give a list of the various random mini-aggravations, but... the fic's melted my brain, and they weren't that interesting anyway. :) I start the new job tomorrow, so here's hoping it goes better than the last one.
12.13pm: So, here we go. Though, technically Sunday started twelve hours ago, at which time I was, if I recall, DJ comment tennissing with Eni (165 and counting!) about shippiness and, um, not being Jenny, and trying to remember what the Hell episode involved Mulder teaching Scully to play baseball. I found out, after trawling through trannies, at 2am. Go me and my complete lack of memory.
As a result, I think I had a vaguely X-Files-related dream last night, and, at the very least, woke up with suspiciously ficlike narratives ringing through my brain. I can feel myself becoming slowly re-obsessed. This is simultaneously a good and a bad thing. Bad because, quite frankly, I have enough new obsessions filling my brain, and enough other uber-shippy pairings to make my heart hurt, without bringing X-Files and the MSR back into the equation (because DUDE. When I say uber, I mean uber...) Good, however, because it'll be quite nice having it back in my life; I mean, it pretty much defined who I was for nine years, was my second big fandom (Red Dwarf being the first) and my first online fandom. In fact, I think www.thex-files.com was the very first website I ever visited or spent any consistent amount of time on.
So, a warning in advance. Future posts may be rather X-Filesian in nature, and believe me, if you were around for the first generation of this particular obsession and thought it was annoying, you ain't seen nothin' yet. :) I've been pondering it quite a bit, actually. It's weird watching semi-objectively from a more casual point-of-view. I realise how completely fantastic it actually was in its own right as entertainment, shipping aside, but I'm also noticing the more subtle nuances of Mulder and Scully's relationship, the complexity of the characters, and the way all of the various plot arcs fit together - not just the 'mytharc' (my word, but I'd forgotten how complicated that was...) but the M/S one, too. I swear, from Season 6 onwards, it was all leading up to the baby/Messiah arc and them finally ending up together. I think by Season 5, Chris Carter couldn't actually deny it any longer. For whatever reasons - writing, actors, fans reading too much into it - it developed beyond what he was intending, and, thank goodness, he took everything on board and made their connection a part of the show.
Gah, see what I mean? I could've rambled for Britain once upon a time, and all that old X-Files geekness was right there in the back of my mind, waiting for the time when I could understand it better...
*disappears to get crisps*
*returns with drink instead because lunch is nearly cooked*
So, resisting the urge to ramble s'more about x-Files, here's the promised nearly-running commentary...
I'm watching VH2's 100 Greatest 90s Anthems. They're up to 94, which is Supergrass's Sun Hits the Sky, which, amazingly, I do remember. I've also got my discman here, mainly to see how long the batteries last, and also so I can listen to music without getting inane comments. (Brought along Alanis - SFIJ - Katie Melua, and Seeter. Also bought Texas's Greatest Hits in Sainsbury's earlier for £8.99.) Oh! Yay! It's Blur's Coffee and TV video with the milk cartons! Uh, yeah, I'm a geek. Also, it seems that VH2 are using the rathergood.com singing kittens as part of their advertising.
I'm considering scanning this, but I may wait and see how long it ends up. In all honesty, it'd probalby be quicker to type it out...
Must... not... do... X-Files... fic... I don't need a ScullyMuse, darnit! Also, I figured out why I never suffered the same fate with Mulder as i did with, say, Spike, Niles, Joe Gillis, &c. Not because he's not tortured - because, dude, he's as tortured as they come - but because Scully's Tortured Soul Complex is probably vast enough to cope and mine fades in comparison. These medical types, so inherently compassionate. ;)
I'm going to end up writing fic, aren't I? I need to do chapter four of Broken Record and Come Forward both (though the one for the latter is at least started.) All this lovely time to write, and no inspiration. Ah, well. Clearly, I need to find something more constructive to do, then the ideas'll flow. My brain's just wired that way.
I've just noticed my father has a Harry Potter mug. I guess geek breeds geek. But somehow, his having a mug is much sadder than my generalised merchandise fetish.
I WANT MOST HAUNTED BACK NOW, DAMMIT!!
*ahem* Sorry. Withdrawal. It's only on once a week again and I've been spoiled with Ftn's daily repeats. I already mentioned on
mosthauntedgeek how I saw a bloke in Ikea who looked like Jason Karl (series one's parapsychologist, a combination of the later series' Matthew Smith and Phil Whyman, in one superhuman being! Oh, wait. My mistake. That'd be Karl. :P) and then... someone else, possibly Rick, maybe Phil, a few seconds later. My brain is saturated.Guh. 'Stenders isn't on til 3.50 today. Which means I'll end up watching it with them both. Joy. Hm. Well, VH2's boring me, so I'll give the new Texas CD a try. 'Tis now 1.19, so I'm sure my music and fic-writing urges will kill some time.
1.46pm: Woo, Texas! No lyrics in the booklet, but they'll be easy enough to find online. I blame Eni for this random piece of spending, by the way, because she put two Texas tracks on the non-mixy mix tape and reminded me that I liked them. SO, yeah.
I meant to say, my cassette player works again. Possibly, the heads needed cleaning. I didn't happen to clean them, but I did happen to test it again and it worked. So, yay, now I don't have to use my Walkman as a backup stereo...
Next door have acquired a new pet - to quote Eddie, "a small, yappy-type dog." Wow, that loses so much without the voice... but yeah. It's quite sweet, no idea what it'll grow up into, but it looks vaguely mongrel-like. I'm so not a dog-person. Actually, just prior to our barbecue yesterday (mmmm... meeeeeat...) I was petting one of their many neglected cats. I managed to elicit a purr from it; managing to approach one of them is a challenge in itself...
I have fallen, regrettably, into Will & Grace shipdom. And of course who else? Jack and Karen, obviously. Before you all yell at me, hear me out...
...
...all right, so there's really no excuse. The Inner Shipper has a mind of its own; rarely do I actually gain control over my pairings. I remember the night of her conception, BBC1's original airing of The X-Files' Season 2 episode, "Irresistible". Specifically, the ending of it, with the M/S hug. The first one. It's a milestone episode, and one of my favourites for that reason. What it boils down to is this: Nautica is Mulder and Scully's lovechild, and they're entirely responsible for the current state of my brain.
[insert random ramblings here about father that are too boring/lengthy to repeat]
Where was I? Oh, yes, Nautica. Entirely the twisted product of Mulder and Scully, so you have no-one to blame but them. And Chris Carter. And, y'know, all the other pairings-instigators for making her worse...
Dude. How can I have filled up four sides of A4 [no, really!] with nothing? Considering scanning and typing up just to see if everyone can read my handwriting.
Okay, methinks I shall try some X-Files fic. Bear in mind I've not attempted such a monster since... wow, probably late 1998/early 1999, and my old fic wasn't exactly... literary genius. Or particularly coherent, for that matter. or even well-characterised. So, this'll be an experience, I think...
Summary: Random piece inspired by late-night transcripts and waking dreams. No plot. Ramble. Scully-centric, apparently.
Disclaimer: Characters - obviously - belong to Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen. I haven't played with them for many years, so I'll wipe the dust off and promise to put them back where I found them.
Rating: PG, because it's bound to be at least a little angsty. And because it's wasn't a G situation in the first place.
Setting/spoilers: Set during and after the closing scene of "The Unnatural" (Season 6; aforeasid baseball episode.) No spoilers since I doubt I know the canon well enough any more to remember what happened, and because it's mostly suppositions...
Author's Notes: Yup, I really do write these things out before I even start the fic. :) Anyway, as noted, it's been absolutely years since I've attempted to write XF fic and as such, I apologise for any clunky characterisation, horrendous dialogue, or general badness... I just have this feeling that my newly adopted style may fit the fandom quite well. Also, I don't know how baseball pitching machines work, but I imagine there is some process of feeding balls into it... That being said, enjoy!
"Shut up, Mulder. I'm playin' baseball."
She remembers birthdays past, with chocolate cake, and just enough presents - thoughtful or otherwise - from her family to make the day memorable. Her mother would cook a special breakfast, but the cake was always pre-ordered at the bakery, because Dana didn't like generic store-bought fudge. One year, Missy tried to make one, covered the kitchen in flour, and presented the decidedly lumpy concoction to her younger sister with a proud grin. It tasted better than it looked, but she wasn't allowed near the baking utensils ever again.
Bill and Charlie would be nice to her for the day; they'd all play silly games in the backyard til sunset. Missy complained that she might as well have three brothers, for all the use Dana was in defending their female sensibilities. Birthday dinner was a pleasant affair, everyone smiling, nobody arguing; she recalled fondly the year her parents decided she was finally old enough to cut her own cake. Her mother was always on stand-by with the camera, while her father would stand stoically at the head of the table. At least, he did when he could be there.
This one, she thinks, is the most memorable birthday for a very long time. And it's not even officially her birthday for another few months, which he knows full well, and somehow that makes the semi-spontaneous gesture all the more special. Considering he knows her better than anyone - better than she knows herself, at times - she wonders where he got the idea to introduce her to that Great American Tradition of baseball. Certainly not from her. And yet...
She noticed as soon as she left her apartment building that it was a perfect night: clear sky, bright stars, perhaps a little chilly, but not so icy as to make her new coat impractical. Just the sort of weather for a midnight stroll or a hilltop picnic or any manner of other activities that could only end with cocoa and a warm blanket... and they're playing baseball.
Well, it's certainly original. Whoever thought hitting a piece of cowhide with a stick could be so romantic?
As soon as that word sounds in her head, something makes her heart stop and her entire body freeze in place. They miss the next ball; it sails straight past them and smacks into the wire fence behind them.
"Hold up a minute, Poorboy," he instructs, and the rounds stop firing. His voice sounds close to her ear. "You okay?
She nods, suddenly far more aware than before of his closeness. "Yeah, I'm... I'm fine."
"You want to take a break?"
"No, I-"
"I was gonna let you go on your own for a while. You're a pro, Scully."
He makes to release her, apparently sensing her discomfort, but she grips his hand on the bat as soon as she feels his warmth disappear from her back. She's more afraid of losing this moment than anything else right now.
"No, Mulder. It's just a cramp." So saying, she shifts position to back up the excuse, wondering, a little mischievously, if it'll result in his having to re-adjust her stance, hand to hip, hips before hands.
Hips before hands. Not your best line, Mulder. But damned if it didn't reel her in, and she's trapped in his arms until they run out of baseballs, and even then, she's almost convinced he'd send Poorboy off to retrive them all so they can play again.
"You're sure?"
She nods. "I'm sure. Let's play ball."
He chuckles. "Only if you promise me you'll never use that phrase ever again."
Following the gesture of his head, Poorboy feeds another ball into the machine. It takes a while to get back into the flow again, but with his hands either side of hers, guiding the bat, they're soon hitting home runs. [FYI, here's where the written draft ends, so from here it's unchecked...]
The action becomes routine and famliar, eventually lulling her back into her thoughts. Did he orchestrate all of this - the lesson, the 'birthday present' - just to get this close to her without the awkwardness of asking? Just as soon as she dismisses that thought, it comes back to linger. Why wouldn't he? In all honestly, it's a far more plausible explanation than just wanting to teach her how to whack a baseball.
Often, she tries to pinpoint the moment she fell in love with him. She always fails. But somehow, she knows that when she tries again in a few months' time, this'll be one of the moments to add to the list.
Hm. I still suck at endings, it seems. I didn't want to make it too long, and I think I covered everything that was wandering aimlessly in my head this morning. Oh, God, this can't be good... Incidentally, for those that don't know: Scully family consists of: her father, Bill, a naval captain; her mother, Margaret; her elder brother, Bill Jnr., also a naval captain; her elder sister, Melissa, into New Age therapies; herself; and her younger brother, Charles. Bill Snr and Melissa are both dead (Bill in Season 1's "Beyond the Sea" and Melissa in Season 2's "Paperclip", shot by Krycek (who was, at the time, the actress' real life boyfriend...) Bill Jnr. hates Mulder. Charles was mentioned in "BtS", but has apparently been forgotten about, as he's not been mentioned since or even seen. So. Now you know. ;)
So, that's it, really. I'd also scribbled the following in the margins:
"17.31: My father, like Braca, defines 'anally retentive'." - he was consistently arguing his point whilst not realising that the counter-argument was all for fun anyway and he was being tormented...
Whilst watching 'Stenders - "No! Argh! Dot can't have cancer!!!"
And: "Eamonn Holmes quoted Sunset Boulevard on Song of Praise!!" - he was explaining about London's oldest custom-built picture house, dating back to 1910, and was talking about silent movies. He said something to the effect of, "this is what they would have looked like. But for all those people out there in the dark..." which is a direct quote, almost, from the final speech in the movie. :D I love when people reference obscure literature. I mean, most people've heard the famous lines ("I am big! It's the pictures that got small!" and "And now, Mr. De Mille, I'm ready for my close-up!" &c., &c.) but not many are going to get the more random ones. Hee.
But dude. X-Files fic. It's been so long. I realise none of you are probably qualified enough to pass judgement, but opinions would be appreciated...
I would give a list of the various random mini-aggravations, but... the fic's melted my brain, and they weren't that interesting anyway. :) I start the new job tomorrow, so here's hoping it goes better than the last one.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2004-07-26 04:56 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-07-26 09:14 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-07-26 12:01 pm (UTC)"Ooh, now I get to watch that... oh, bugger."
I wrote down all my X-Files dreams once; the person who I sent them to still has them, though, and now I only remember them very vaguely. At last count, there were 14; Buffy's coming a close second with... 6ish, and Sunset comes in third with 3. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2004-07-26 10:09 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-07-26 12:02 pm (UTC)