Old Archive

or: Nifty.

May 18th, 1998

After watching the season finale of The X-Files (entitled 'The End'), I have had an epiphany.

Mulder was married.

He was obviously married.

Consider, for a moment, the facts (or at least the ones I wish to present).

1)Once is accidental. Twice is planned.

Mulder has appeared in two different flashback episodes (Unusual Suspects and Travelers) wearing a wedding ring. Now once, I can understand. Maybe David forgot to remove the ring. But twice?

2)Diana Fowley

Hello. Mulder and Diana were sending out serious "we were married, but now we're seperated/divorced" vibes. And how do we know? Think of Skinner and his wife (this is what Sigmund Foreshadowing would describe as a hint). Not only do we discover that it's possible to have a spouse without anyone realizing it, but it occurs to us that perhaps Mulder hasn't signed papers yet, for the same reason that Skinner wouldn't. And we know how two characters in that situation act. So, let's review how Mulder and Diana acted.

Statement 1: She called him Fox. No one calls him Fox. Not even Scully calls him Fox. Only his mom calls him Fox, and who knows where she is. So the only person in the wide world that calls him by his first name is this woman. This implies a level of intimacy, accompanied by their conversation and body language, that Scully and Mulder have yet to achieve. Since Mulder and Scully are madly in love with each other, there are only a couple of levels I can think of . . .

Statement 2: She knows and accepts things that it took Scully four years to.

Statement 3: They were dripping RST (Resolved Sexual Tension). I mean, there they were, holding hands, looking deep into each others eyes, and yet there were no innuendos, no real deep feelings being displayed. Can you say 'been there, done that?'

Statement 4: She's jealous of Scully. Sure, she'd be jealous if she was just his "chickadee", but she's trying to validate the fact that Mulder is in some way living an unfulfilled life without her (fortunately for us, when she asks where he could ever find the same meeting of minds that he and she had, he immediately replies "Scully."), and that's what indicates that whatever they were, they aren't now.

3)Chris Carter's No Relationship Rule

For years now, we've been thinking that CC was an old curmudgeon with not a romantic bone in his body. But what if that was all just part of the great plan? Perhaps he didn't like what might've happened.

<MULDER and SCULLY are in their OFFICE, doing something UNMENTIONABLE. Enter DIANA >

D: Hello, Fox.
M: Diana! Wha-- What are you doing here?
S: "Fox"? We've been married and having hot monkey love for at least half a season, and you still won't let me call you Fox!
M: Please, please, call me Mulder!
D: "Hot monkey love"?!? Fox--
M: Mulder!
D: --I thought you loved me!
M: I do!
S: What?!?
M: I mean, I did!
D: What?!?
S: To hell with all of you! I'm going to Rio with Frohike!

<Enter FROHIKE. Regardless of their difference in height, he sweeps SCULLY off her feet, and they exit out the door.>

D: Fox, you can't let her talk to me like that!
M: Sorry, Dee-dee. <MULDER whips off what little clothing he had to begin with to reveal tight fitting leather and numerous chains> I've decided to stop going out with women all together. Alex Krycek, you hot Russian sex god, I'm coming!

<Exit MULDER. DIANA looks around the deserted office >

D: Well . . . poo.

Sounds rather like 90210, eh? And we know CC wouldn't go for that. So a Mulder marriage, handled in this fashion, fits perfectly with what facts we have and with what we know of the characters. I'm just waiting for when Scully beats Mulder to a pulp for not telling her. If we're really lucky, Diana will make it into the movie, and then we can have a good conversation between our characters.

On a side note, it turns out that CC wrote that episode. The fact that our intrepid heroes' feelings for one another were center (well, almost) stage only supports my marriage theory.

Please cue up the evil laughter.

June 8th, 1998

Vulcans. I love Vulcans. But they've got one big, major, horrible problem. Hey, everybody! Let's play a round of:

THE MATING GAME!

<cheesy music fills the area around your computer, a combination of Wheel of Fortune, Jeopardy, and Pachelbel.>

<a beautiful blonde in four inch heels and sequins pops up beside your monitor, and proceeds to lavish kisses upon you, despite any preferences you may have or wish to vocalize at this point.>

<you studiously ignore her pasties.>

<eight foot red and orange walls with flashing light bulbs attached surround you on all sides, and the blonde, momentarily leaving your side, drags in a platform upon which there are three gagged Vulcans and a grinning man in a bad suit. All are sitting on red velvet loveseats, shackles included, which are bolted to said platform.>

<the Vulcans are a quite amazing shade of green, which contrasts nicely with the decor, and the man's grin has just enough of a predatory edge that you wonder whether you should call the cops now or just make a run for it. Unfortunately, you discover now that the blonde, while making blatant advances, has tied you to your chair.>

<whoops.>

<to add to your difficulty, she's gagged you with the red bowtie she had been wearing only moments before. So now, regardless of any plans you may have had, you're forced to listen as the man speaks in an overly annoying and condescending manner.>

MAN:
Hey, everybody, I'm Dick Willster, and welcome to the show that lets you in on that wacky thing called Vulcan love! We've got three great contestants for you today in our special celebrity show. Do you want to meet the lucky aliens?!

<you look around in bewilderment as an apparently invisible crowd cheers wildly. When it stops, you notice the blonde wielding a tape player and a cassette labeled "Ratings/Ego Boost, Tape 1". You attempt to snort in disgust, only to have her stuff one of the loose ends of the tie into your nose. She ignores your pathetic attempts at normal breathing.>

DICK:
Well, let's get to it then! Sir, what's your name?

<the blonde nimbly steps up to the first Vulcan and ungags him. The cloth appears to be another one of her ties, slightly more purple than the one currently in your mouth and up your nose. The Vulcan glares in a Vulky fashion, though he too seems to be studiously ignoring her pasties.>

DICK:
Sir?

VULCAN #1:
You are aware the unwilling imprisonment of any Federation citizen is a capital offense, and that as a Starfleet officer I am not required to answer questions with anything other than my name and rank?

DICK:
Yep.

<Vulcan #1 gives the minutest of shrugs, which elicits a collective gasp from the other two Vulcans.>

VULCAN #1:
I am Spock, science officer of the Enterprise.

DICK:
Well, then, Mr. Spock, could you tell us a little about your experience in the matters of love? Remember, when I say experience, I mean everything; Pon Farr, marriage, if you've done it, we want to hear about it.

<Spock blushes a bright green and the third Vulcan on the end faints dead away>

SPOCK:
I do not wish to discuss it.

DICK:
If that isn't too bad . . . Well, I guess I'll just have to read it myself! Ahem: aside from small talk and numerous advances from fellow shipmates, Mr. Spock's first foray into the wild world of Vulcan love would be when--

SPOCK:
Stop!

<the one conscious Vulcan gasps. Spock resembles, in color, the Jolly Green Giant.>

DICK:
Yes? Do you wish to continue your love story yourself?

SPOCK:
No.

DICK:
Oh. So where was I? Ah, yes, Ensign Fiona--

SPOCK:
After approximately two years serving Captain Kirk on the Enterprise, I underwent the Pon Farr, requiring me to return to my home planet and marry my betrothed, T'Pring. She preferred my captain, and so I did not marry. Since then I have determined that meditation is an excellent way to spend one's time every seven years.

<Dick looks faintly troubled, as can be seen by the twinkle missing from his smile.>

DICK:
That's it? But what about--

SPOCK:
That was fanfiction. This is canon.

<the twenty-watt twinkle returns>

DICK:
Gotcha. Well, I'll get back to you in a minute. It's time now to find out the name of second contestant. Sir?

<the second Vulcan's eyes noticeably glaze over when the blonde leans over to ungag him. Whatever this guy is studiously ignoring, it's not her pasties.>

VULCAN #2:
Can . . . uh . . . I mean . . . what's your comm badge frequency . . . you, me, the stars, a bottle of Sikarian brandy and a couple of Risiian love slaves . . . ?

<the blonde giggles and playfully bats his pleading face, incidentally breaking his nose. This is studiously ignored by everyone.>

DICK:
Trixie! No accepting invitations until after the show! So, young man, how is it that you go all goo-goo eyed when my lovely assistant forgets that cable also follows the rating system, but don't start yodeling when your nose mysteriously bends out of shape? Has seven years rolled 'round again? Tell us your name, and about your love life.

<sounding stuffed up but otherwise normal, the second Vulcan twitches an eyebrow in a suitably Vulcan way. The third Vulcan begins to come to.>

VULCAN #2:
I am Vorik, an engineer on Voyager. While I am Vulcan, trained to repress emotion, I'm also the equivalent of a human 17 year old, meaning that while I can stay logical when the ship is exploding around me, I tend to go 'goo-goo eyed' when anything remotely female approaches me. Since I do not wish to have revealed what fanfiction has said of me--

DICK:
Actually, we tried to find something, but for some reason--

VORIK:
So I will say that after serving approxiamately three years under Captain Janeway, I underwent the Pon Farr and attempted to mate with B'Elanna Torres, chief of Engineering. She acted in a surprisingly . . . similar . . . manner as that of your assistant. In an attempt to purge my need, I spent several hours on the ship's holodeck with a holographic Vulcan female--

<the sound of booing and jeers fills the small space. You all find the blonde, Trixie, playing a tape with no label that manages to seem more realistic than the canned cheering did. She is wearing a bright smile, the malicious edge of which causes you, Spock, and Dick to flinch noticably. The third Vulcan faints again.>

DICK:
I think that's enough on you for now, Mr. Vorik. Trixie? Could you put down the tape player? Okay. We're going to need someone to ungag our last lucky contestant.

<Trixie gaily tosses the machine in a negligent manner, hitting you squarely between the eyes. Your vision doubles alarmingly. She giggles and pouts, letting you know it was quite unintentional, then merrily minces her way over to the third Vulcan, accidentally mincing her foot straight into Vorik's shin. His eyes start to water. Since these are rather close quarters, when she leans over the Vulcan on the end you can't quite tell what she's doing. Whatever it is, it's caused him to become conscious again with an amazing amount of speed. Vorik looks envious. You, for some reason, suspect she used smelling salts. It was a very large tape player that beaned you.>

DICK:
Thanks, Trixie! Now, sir, can you tell us your name and your love life?

<the third Vulcan looks unsteadily over to Trixie, then makes his reply.>

VULCAN #3:
I am Tuvok, likewise from the starship Voyager, and I am chief of Security there. I have a wife, four children, and a grandchild on Vulcan, though I have not seen them for the past four years, due to my being stuck-- being 60,000 light years away. Unlike Mr. Spock, I did indeed marry during my first Pon Farr--

<Spock twitches one pointy ear, something which Tuvok notices and studiously ignores. You, having no idea what Spock meant by that, assume that it's just a Vulcan thing.>

TUVOK:
--and unlike Mr. Vorik--

<you realize that there is probably a logical explanation for those ear twitches. A very logical explanation, which doubtlessly has nothing to do with Tuvok's comments.>

TUVOK:
--I have yet to undergo the Pon Farr on shipboard.

DICK:
What will you do if it should occur? Any dazzling females catch your Vulcan eye?

<Tuvok's gaze drifts over to Trixie, then drags itself back to Dick.>

TUVOK:
I anticipate our returning home before then. Within the next three years.

DICK:
Uh huh. Now, from what I understand, you were spying on the Maquis before being taken to the . . . Delta Quadrant?

TUVOK:
Yes.

DICK:
So, I would assume that meant you'd spent about two years gaining confidence, gathering intelligence, that sort of thing?

TUVOK:
Irrelevant. However, for the sake of argument, that is a plausible amount of time.

DICK:
Funny, you sounded like Trixie for a moment there. Anyway, so, I would assume that you didn't undergo the Pon Farr while playing the spy, right?

TUVOK:
Yes.

DICK:
Uh huh. Let's add up, shall we? Two years spying plus four years in space equal . . . how many?

<looking distinctly uncomfortable, Tuvok begins to drum his fingers against the loveseat.>

TUVOK:
That would equal six.

DICK:
Uh huh. When do Vulcans undergo that funky love syndrome again?

TUVOK:
Every . . . seven years.

DICK:
Well, whatdaya know?! That means you're gonna go through it next season! Imagine that!

TUVOK:
Yes. Imagine.

<Spock and Vorik are making noises akin to snorted laughter, though you realize that Vulcans don't laugh. Therefore they must be trying to sneeze. You studiously ignore the fact that Vulcans do not sneeze.>

DICK:
Let me ask you this again: who are you thinking about during those cold off-hours, when you realize that time is growing short and Vulcan dearest is at least three years away?

<a slight tinkling noise leads you to believe, in your still ringing head, that you can hear his defenses breaking down. You look around to see if Trixie is playing another sound effects tape, but she's mysteriously absent.>

TUVOK:
There is . . . one . . . an exquisite example of logic . . . the perfect monotone voice . . . excellent taste in implants . . .

TRIXIE:
I knew it! You could have asked me, you know!

<suddenly Trixie appears with her hair up, a full catsuit replacing the sequins, and numerous Borg implants covering her body. When she passes by you to stomp up to Tuvok, you can't help but notice that she forgot to remove the pasties. This leaves an interesting pair of lumps on her catsuit, which all, save Tuvok, studiously ignore.>

DICK:
Trixie! Get back into costume! Not that you don't look good, I can almost hear the male demographic rising, but we're not done yet! Are you listening, Trixie?

TRIXIE:
Trixie has been reassimilated. I am Seven of Nine. Resistance is futile.

<the Vulcans, far gone by this point, stare>

ALL VULCANS:
You got that right!

<Seven of Nine develops little syringes on her hand and injects Dick Willster, creating a new Borg drone. She audibly sniffs.>

SEVEN:
He might as well have already been Borg. He was just part of a different collective. One that wouldn't listen to the Beautiful Assistants Union!

<at the sound of her unexpected screech, all three Vulcans strain against their shackles, assuming that she's calling for a mate. You merely go unconscious.>

<you wake. You find yourself in front of your computer, a screen of text in script format greeting your eyes. In confusion, rapidly approaching blind gratefulness, you look around, noting the familiar surroundings instead of the trappings of a garish game show, a show for which there was no purpose.>

<a show of nightmares.>

<or at least a show with no noticeable production costs.>

<you rapidly turn off your computer, and then collapse into sobs at the horror of it all. Then you go have some cheesecake. And maybe a drink. And then you decide, as you sink down into a red velvet loveseat you don't quite remember ever buying, that it must have been a dream. A dream which . . . which . . . where's that music coming from?>

<maniacal laughter fills the room as you realize that the nightmare isn't over, will never be over. For this is . . .>

THYME'S TWISTED THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK!

Heh, heh, heh. See y'all next time.

June 26th, 1998

Hey everybody. Sorry for being late, but I think you might forgive me. Why? I saw the X-file movie on Monday, and, if you decide to read it, I have written a review of the flick. Now, it's completely spoiler-filled and as my memory for details is not the greatest, if you have seen the movie or will see it anytime soon, you might find things slightly different. But not by much. So, if you dare, you can read this week's pondering by clicking on the link below.

Go to X-file Movie Review

Since it took me a week to write, I'm taking a week off from pondering. This is gonna be it for a while. Enjoy!

June 30th, 1998

So I lied. Sue me. I'm just popping in to say that I saw the movie again this Monday, so I've redone my review/summary. Nothing's changed in the way of format or anything. I've just fixed the order some of the scenes, added more quotes (including the one I wanted to remember more of), cleaned up some of the more questionable bits, and fixed most of the spelling errors. I've also added one more thought to the THOUGHT section, though not a big one. And there are more in-text links, if you can find them (a few go to sections of the official movie site, and those have pictures and sound bites. it's worth the wait of downloading).

Anyway, I'll be back next Monday, with any luck. Tootles.

January 4th, 1999

<A forlorn writer sits at her computer and sighs.>

WRITER: Oh me! What I would not do for a plot, oh any, any plot!

<She puts her head on her keyboard and weeps bitterly.>

<A voice from on high calls out to the writer below, speaking thusly:>

VOICE: Child of the Typewriter, new Woman of the Laptop, why weepest thou?

WRITER: I weep for lack of plot!

<There is a short, puzzled pause.>

VOICE: You mean because this story has no plot?

WRITER: Not precisely, but close enough! O Voice above, tell me: is there no way for a story of decent worth to spring out from beneath my fingertips and onto this machine of mine, there to be saved and formatted and then released to the world via ways both strange and mystical?

VOICE: You mean through the publisher called Random House and the magazine bearing the name of Reader's Digest?

WRITER: Yes, O Voice! Please, favor me in my endeavor! Let me succeed! Let me gain fortune! Let me stop talking with exclamation points!

VOICE: Very well, my child. Thou shalt have a plot. But it will be . . . FANNISH!

<The writer staggers out of her chair.>

WRITER: No, not fandom!

VOICE: Yea! And, it shall be . . . RELATIONSHIPPY!

<The writer collapses on the floor in tears.>

WRITER: No, no, not relationships!

VOICE: Aye, and I will bestow upon thee one more gift of plotting, to make thy writing even easier.

WRITER: No, I beg you, no more. I can take no more!

VOICE: Your plot will -- nay, must -- be . . . SONGFIC!

<The writer screams. With her dying convulsions she touches the keyboard, and a story appears on the computer screen.>

<She crumbles into dust. The area darkens. Eventually, a figure appears from the sky and removes the megaphone taped to its face.>

<It settles itself down on the chair recently vacated by the writer, and looks smiling at the screen saver.>

<The screen saver is a pile of burning rejection slips. It spits ashes into the air, and every three minutes a dwarf with a wheelbarrow dumps on more paper.>

<The figure at the computer interrupts the screen saver and reads the writer's final texts.>

TEXT:

/Near, far, wherever you are/

"Scully, I don't think you understand," Mulder whispered, kneeling before her. He took her hand and kissed her fingertips. She giggled.

"Near, far, no matter where you are . . . "

"Yes, Mulder?" Scully crooned.

/I know that my love will go on./

Mulder gulped, and continued. "I just want you to know . . . my love will always be with you. And it'll never go away. My love will go on."

"Why, Mulder," she sighed dreamily. "That sounds almost like my favorite song. You know, the Celine Dion one?"

Mulder gasped. "You mean you like Celine Dion, too? Scully, this must prove our love!"

Scully started crying tears of joy. "Yes, Mulder! I swore to myself that I'd marry the man who knew the words to that song, who loved Celine Dion as much as I did. Mulder, do you know what this means?"

/Far across the distance,
And spaces between us/

"Yes, Scully, I do. It means that despite incredible odds, despite the distances the bad guys sent us to, despite the spaces that separated us for so long, we've found each other." He picked her up and twirled her around. "I love you, Dana Katherine Scully!"

"Oh," Dana squealed. "I can almost hear the song in the background! I love you so much, Mulder!"

"Call me Fox, my love!"

"Oh, I love you, Fox!"

"I love you, Dana! Let's sing together!"

Their love-filled voices wove together to create magic that they never knew existed before that moment. For in that moment, and for all eternity, they knew the magic . . . of love.

/Once more, you open the door,
And I know that my heart will
Go on and on./

<The figure rapidly keyed off the computer and sat staring at the blank screen.>

<It smiled, and began floating up to its domain once more.>

<Yes, it thought, if I can get enough of that sort out there, then no one will read fanfic anymore! It laughed insidiously to itself.>

<A card came floating down from its wispy form, and landed face up on the ground.>

<It read:>

TEXT:

Chris Carter
Voice on High
Destroyer of Fanfic

<Laughter filled the land as the card dissolved and yet another writer came toddling over to the computer . . . >

Questions, comments? Email Thyme.

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