#i love me some david duchovny

[autisticshadowthehedgehog]

Nobody asked me for my opinion on the controversy that dropped today when the Sonic Movie cast pay rate was revealed, which is fair ig since I try to stay positive on this blog. But in case you're wondering, yeah as a certified AFAB™ I'm pissed, but not really specifically at the Sonic crew. Actor pay rates are usually negotiated between agents and the production companies so just like all the other problems with the Sonic movies, this is most likely an issue with Paramount and their patented dumbfuckery. Disclaimer that obviously it could very well be a Sonic crew issue as well, obviously I don't know the inner workings of the entire film production.

Also, if you're mad about this: please be mad about the pay gap that has been going on as long as Hollywood has been alive. This isn't a problem unique to the SCU. I know the phrase "pay gap" is thrown around a whole lot but do you guys actually know how big an issue it is?

Recent percentages are that male and female actors have "a wage difference of about 25 percent," with an estimated difference of $1-2million between star-power men and star-power women.[x][x] Basic Instinct star Sharon Stone said she made $500k to Michael Douglas's $14mil– and when she was asked to be lead in a film being made in ~2022, the lead male, who was "new", was going to be paid $8-9mil, with her salary still at $500k. Last December, Biggest Monopoly In The World Disney was sued by 9,000 women over their pay gap.

This article is from 2019 but brings up some big fucking pay gaps between leads– for instance, Gillian Anderson was offered half of what David Duchovny was for the X-Files reboot as one of the two main fucking characters, Amanda Seyfried has disclosed she made 10% of what her male co-star made on an undisclosed film, Natalie Portman made 1/3 of the salary of Ashton Kutcher in No Strings Attached, and Ellen Pompeo, the titular character of Grey's Anatomy, was paid less than the actor playing her love interest, Patrick Dempsey. In fact, Dempsey was being paid almost double what she was.

However, BIG issue with the 2019 article: it only focuses on what White actors are being paid. Research shows that Black actresses make 57 cents to every dollar white actors make on a good day. Viola Davis, one of the most popular and talented actresses of our generation, has said that black women "get probably a tenth of what a Caucasian woman gets. And I'm number one on the call sheet." Octavia Spencer had to collaborate with Jessica Chastain to make sure they both got paid the same amount of money on a film they both worked on, and revealed that her new salary increased 500% afterwards.

At the end of last year, while promo-ing The Color Purple, Taraji P. Henson broke into tears while talking about how little she's being paid when compared to her white and male contemporaries. And when she talked about the gap, I find it so fucking frustrating that the general audience response was to immediately blame the only Black female producer on the film. I have a million gripes with Oprah Winfrey but TCP cast has said that she herself managed to fix a lot of the problems on set and was nothing but supportive to them. Oh, and there were a lot of problems on set, including a lack of food and dressing space for the main actors. And this is all from celebrity women. Just think about how Hollywood is treating women who don't have the star power to speak up.

Of course this isn't even a problem solo to Hollywood, let alone Paramount, let alone just one movie. And honestly it was probably really sad that when I saw the pay rate for the Sonic 3 cast, I wasn't even surprised, because I've seen worse on bigger projects.

[bakedbakermom]

i am nearly to the end of season 7 in my rewatch, and i want to tell new fans something that they may not have known about the original run:

we had no idea, until basically the day the finale aired, that there was going to be a season 8. the actors didn't know even while they were filming it.

see, turnaround times for network tv shows used to be MUCH shorter. they would spend usually 8 days shooting, a couple days in editing and post, and then it would air. often they were still editing in the MINUTES before airtime.

gillian anderson did an interview with letterman on the late show (i had to tape it because my mom wouldn't let me stay up to watch!) on like the thursday before Requiem aired saying that she had no idea what was going to happen. they had filmed one ending for if the show would continue, and another if it wouldn't. she said there was "this thing that i say" and if she says it, that would give us our answer. (it was "i'm pregnant" and when i say i DIED... like if i still had my diary from age 13/14 i would scan it for you just so you could see how unhinged i was about this.) (she was completely adorable in this interview and if anyone can find it i would love to watch it again. it was in may 2000.)

fox was in negotiations with the xf team for weeks leading up to the finale. they had no idea if Requiem was going to be a season or SERIES finale. david duchovny didn't want to come back, they didn't know if they could continue without him, they had NO IDEA what the plot for 8 would be if he didn't come back.

(this is why i laugh when fans try to say they planted clues about the ivf arc in s6-7. no they didn't. they did not think that far ahead. i love that you're trying to make this make sense but please don't tie yourselves up in knots about this, because no one else involved did.)

the weeks leading up to the finale were some of the most nail-biting times i have ever experienced in a fandom.

if you're wondering why og x-philes are all insane, this is just one of many reasons.

[dd-is-my-guiltypleasure]

David Duchovny: ‘The X-Files took up my life, but it was a miracle’

It's behind a paywall so if somebody has access I would love to read the article

Update : got it, thanks @aimsies-mctaymellburg

David Duchovny: ‘The X-Files took up my life, but it was a miracle’

As Fox Mulder in the hit sci-fi show, the actor and singer peddled fringe conspiracy theories. Now the 63-year-old says Mulder’s paranoia is everywhere.

In hindsight it wasn’t a great idea for me to kick off an interview with David Duchovny by suggesting that he was a musical dilettante. You’re most likely to know Duchovny, of course, as Fox Mulder, the conspiracy-theory-guzzling FBI agent in The X Files, one of the biggest shows of the Nineties, watched at its peak by 30 million in America alone. Perhaps you saw him as the womanising writer Hank Moody in Californication or the 1960s detective Sam Hodiak in Aquarius. You may even have read some of his five books.

Duchovny, a New Yorker living in Los Angeles, is less known for music, although he’s been making rather decent folk-rock for a decade — songwriting, playing guitar and singing in a honeyed drawl. His 2015 songHell or Highwater has been streamed more than a million times while Layin’ on the Tracks, from 2020, has pointed lyrics about a certain politician (“It’s a killing joke that no one laughs at/ A stupid orange man in a cheap red hat”). He has released three albums, with a fourth due next year, and this month plays Latitude festival in Suffolk and the 2,000-capacity Shepherds Bush Empire in London.

So does the 63-year-old feel that he should no longer be seen as just a musical dabbler? “That’s part of a lazy person’s perception,” he says, bristling slightly. “It’s a lens through which people want to see me. I think music is an innocent art form — you listen to it and you have a response. To bring any kind of baggage to bear on it in the beginning seems to me to be dishonest, but that’s the way things go.”

YouTube clips of recent shows suggest people were having a lovely time, I say. This doesn’t have the soothing effect intended. YouTube footage lingers “because of the horror of the cell phone”, Duchovny says. “It’s a pet peeve of mine.” Is he tempted to ban them at his shows, as artists from Prince to Bob Dylan have? “I don’t know that I can enforce that view on anybody.”

For Duchovny, it’s as much about phones limiting his performance as it is about the audience not living in the moment. “To do something unique or for the first time, to reach for a note or play a different melody — all these are chances you might take if you weren’t inhibited by the fact that somebody is [recording] it,” he says. “You’ve got to be able to fail and the ubiquity of cell phones makes failure scarier than it needs to be.”

Failure is the key to another of his jobs: podcasting. In his series Fail Better, he adroitly interviews guests including Bette Midler, Ben Stiller and Sean Penn about their failures. “I feel like I’ve been failing my entire life,” Duchovny said on launching it in May. That may sound strange from a man with English degrees from Princeton and Yale, who has won a Golden Globe for The X Files and another for Californication.

Is he familiar with Elizabeth Day, the British journalist who has hosted a successful podcast called How to Fail since 2018? When Duchovny announced Fail Better, Day tweeted: “I might invite David Duchovny on @howtofail to discuss his failure to be original.”

“This is the first I’ve heard of it,” he says. “If she wants to be rigorous in her thinking, she would investigate what my approach to failure is. I don’t know what her approach to it is. My sense, since failure is universal, is that there’s room out there for more than one discussion.” This is a rather po-faced response to what seemed like a playful comment from Day, and surprising because Duchovny has a wicked sense of humour. He can also afford to be more magnanimous, given that his podcast is at No 12 in the UK chart and hers is at 54.

Gillian Anderson, his X Files co-star, certainly likes his podcast, writing this week on Instagram that she had listened to all of the episodes and found them “intimate and vulnerable … very smart questions, although I wouldn’t expect anything else from you [David]”.

“It’s very sweet,” Duchovny says. “I will email her and thank her. I’m sure somebody running my social media is … I don’t really like to be on social media.” Later that day his Instagram account replies to Anderson’s post: “Thank you for listening, you have an open invite [to appear on his podcast]!”

That encounter would be worth hearing because his relationship with Anderson is fascinating. Despite their chemistry in The X Files there were rumours of friction — although they looked to be getting on swimmingly when they appeared on Jimmy Kimmel’s talk show in 2016 to publicise the return of the show, which ran for two more seasons.

When asked by Kimmel about frostiness between her and Duchovny in the Nineties, Anderson collapsed into giggles, laid her head in Duchovny’s lap and put any froideur down to the dampness of Vancouver, where the series was shot. Her hair kept going frizzy, she explained, and “for every single take we’d have to stand there and blow dry my hair again”.

“And I got pissed at that?” Duchovny asked.

“Well, I think it added to the tension,” Anderson said.

“It kinda makes me sound like an asshole,” Duchovny replied.

Anderson had nothing to do with him leaving The X Files in 2002, he says now. “That was just me wanting to have a family, but also to try other things. It had kind of taken up my life. There was no animosity with the actual show and the people that I worked with. I am proud of the show — it was culturally central in a way that it’s very hard to do these days in a fragmented landscape. There’s so many lightning-strike aspects to it that I can’t help but think of it as some kind of a miracle.”

The X Files gave conspiracy theories a kind of nobility — “the truth is out there”, as its tagline ran. Now they are more widespread and pernicious. “Mulder’s way of looking at the world was through conspiracy and that was the fringe at that point,” Duchovny says. “It doesn’t seem to be so fringe any more. It’s really the world that [The X Files creator] Chris Carter foresaw happening almost 30 years ago. He’s almost clairvoyant in that case.” Is Duchovny more evidence-based than Mulder? “Not at all. I’m an artist — I am associative-based and I see poetry as science and science as poetry.” So are there some conspiracy theories that he buys into? “No, I’m talking about art. I think conspiracies are mostly just lazy thinking.”

One failure that has shaped Duchovny is that of his marriage to the actress Téa Leoni, who starred in Bad Boys and Deep Impact. They married in 1997 and have a daughter, West, 25, and a son, Kyd, 22, but divorced in 2014. “That darkness does deepen you. It makes you more empathetic and humble,” Duchovny says. One of the themes of his podcast is “the difference between humiliating and humbling. Often we focus on humiliation in our culture. I don’t see any positives coming from humiliation, but I see a lot of them coming from humility.”

One wonders if the reference to humiliation has something to do with Duchovny checking into rehab for sex addiction in 2008. Could him playing the bed-hopping Hank in Californication be a case of art imitating life? “People never tire of trying to figure that out,” he says with a sigh. “But to me, that’s not what acting is about. I don’t look for things that are mirroring my life in any way.”

Well, there are parallels in Reverse the Curse, the 2023 film that Duchovny directed, starred in and adapted from his book Bucky F***ing Dent. He plays a would-be novelist who has “sacrificed his artistic dream to put food on the table”. His father, a publicist, did the same, publishing his debut at 75, the year before he died. The film has some really funny scenes, including one where Marty and his son have a farting competition in a motel room that ends up smelling like “an aquarium that fed a sock”. That may have come from a line in Aquarius where someone says something similar about a police station. “I might have ripped it off, I’m not sure,” Duchovny says. “ You can ask Elizabeth Day about that.”

David Duchovny will perform at Latitude festival, near Southwold on July 25 and 02 Shepherd’s Bush Empire, W12 on July 27

[randomfoggytiger]

Reverse the Curse: David Duchovny's Heartfelt Period Piece

Stephanie Beatriz succinctly described Reverse the Curse's tone, I believe, when discussing the film's costume design: "It didn't feel like a Halloween costume of that time, it felt like real people, real clothes, lived-in."

THOUGHTS

I never finished the novel Bucky Dent; and I'm grateful for that, now.

Part of that gratitude stems from my preferred media intake: movie or tv adaptation first, mad dash to the book for more, more, more second. It keeps the world alive just a little bit longer.

The other part of that gratitude is tied to the fact that I'll be able to read David Duchovny's book through his lens-- voice, tone, atmosphere, heart.

Gratitude aside, knowing David wanted to play Ted when the screenplay was first written, and seeing him play Marty now, struck me as its own kind of beginning and end. Well played-- be it luck or fate or the God of Marty's Sunday school ditty.

FIRST IMPRESSIONS AND REVIEW

It's not sappy, or hokey; neither chintzy, nor trite.

Its script is poignant-- though a little overdone at first, a little too focused on explaining and hammering home the message. That heavy-handedness fades after a few introductions, thankfully.

Its cinematography is capturing; and cozy; and breathtakingly beautiful, when needed.

Its coincidences aren't too fairytale: either carefully acknowledged or reasonably balanced. For example: Mariana's funny but telling "The problem with getting into the habit of not knowing what you know is that eventually you lose touch with what you do know and you don't know it anymore; and you don't know what you know" can not only point out Ted's narrowed perspective but also subtly explain Marty's almost unnatural gullibility.

THE FAULTS, WITH FAIR CAVEATS

A beat here or there seems sudden and a tad unsupported. They aren't too hasty or rushed-- they just happen. Yet, what happens is always tied to or softened by a previous conversation; and, all together, the cracks are prevented from widening further.

Yes, the "wounded duck" scene lasts a bit too long (although it's nice to know David kept the gag in because his son liked it.)

And lastly, while Marty's decline and temporary recuperation is part of the fairytale, I do acknowledge that some (or most) viewers might disconnect from the gravity of Ted's heartfelt apology because of it. However, David skillfully reels the movie back into believability by quickly changing scenes and shifting the pace. A good cover; but a cover, nonetheless.

CONCLUSION

I love David's period film with a fierce fondness; because, at the end of the day, Reverse the Curse is a piece filled with bygone sentiments that our current era is slowly disconnecting from.

And-- to loosely quote the movie-- God bless David Duchovny for it.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[b0oker18]

Happy 31st to The X Files! (some rambling thoughts on what the GOAT show has done for me)

A very happy 31st birthday to the X Files!

I will never forget the first time I discovered TXF. I remember way back in the day when Netflix still had DVDs, my dad (also a huge X Files fan) rented "I want to Believe". I had heard of the show before and watched an episode or two but it didn't do much for me, perhaps I was still too young. It wasn't until I watched the second movie that I became enthralled with Mulder and Scully and the universe that surrounded them. I was completely blown away by the on screen chemistry masterfully done by Gillian Anderson and David Duchovny. I was hooked, obsessed even. I remember going to MegaUpload (LOL) and finding a bunch of episodes and watching them over and over again, completely immersed in the MSR the MOTW and Mythology. Eventually I saved up enough money and bought every season on DVD and finished the series from the beginning to the end in probably 2 months... then I did it again!

I love all types of TV shows, movies, and video games but I think The X Files will always be my #1. It changed the way I think about life, relationships, the paranormal, politics. I made me a better person, a better thinker and I will always be thankful for that!

Never would I have thought a TV show would make me feel such joy, such frustration (looking at you season 9 and revival), sadness, and every emotion in between and because of that I will love The X Files forever!

[stubblesandwich]

Return To Me - Chapter 4

A/N: It was requested I post this here, as well, so here ya go! (Sorry if I double tagged anyone.) I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thank you endlessly to anyone still following this story. You have all my love.

Summary: Emma Swan is dying. Her last remaining hope is a heart-transplant, and those aren't easy to come by. But, as luck would have it, fate finds her worthy, and on a stormy autumn night, Emma is given a second chance at life.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Boston hospital, Killian Jones has been devastated by the sudden loss of his wife.

Inspired by the 2000 film of the same title with Minnie Driver and David Duchovny. Find on A03 here

++++++

Chapter Four - Don't Get Around Much Anymore

Three Weeks Post-Op 

Emma had been called a cynic plenty of times in her life. As it turned out, being pushed through the foster system for a decade and a half hadn’t exactly turned her into a beaming optimist. Like most cynics, she claimed she was actually a realist. She planned for the worst, because things tended to not work out that great for her, and hoped for the best. Sometimes she was pleasantly surprised. 

But in the litany of potential outcomes Emma had been preparing herself for, a new heart had never actually made the list. It was akin to winning the lottery, in her mind. Life had not been particularly kind to her. Yet, she had always taken her blows in stride, and she never took handouts. And the prospect of finally making it to the top of the transplant list at the age of twenty-six, after almost a decade of waiting, felt like a handout from life. 

Emma Swan had never been one to sit around waiting for handouts. 

There were other things she had prepared herself for. Increasing the handful of pills she took each day to keep her body from failing on her any faster. Moving from her full time job and supporting herself completely on her own to working part time, then very part time, to not at all. Getting on a government disability program. Each new punch to the gut from life she took in stride, as best she could. 

And through it all, righting her each and every time she stumbled, were David and Mary Margaret. They were some of the best, most genuine and caring people ever to be placed on planet earth. She didn't deserve them—there was a small, cruel voice in the back of her head that affirmed this for her every day. But they just kept showing up for her, and they wouldn’t leave, and they wouldn’t let her quit. 

As it turned out, after the first week, getting a whole new vital organ sewn into her chest wasn’t as bad as she had thought it would be. By the third week, the pain was starting to subside, transitioning into a residual soreness, and her biggest struggle currently was not clawing at her incision every time it itched. When the skin itself didn’t feel like an odd mixture of both tight and numb, it felt ablaze with itchiness. It was all she could do not to scratch at it. (Every time she did, Mary Margaret would bark at her to stop it, or David would throw a random item in her direction. Most recently, it had been a box of tissues that had narrowly missed her head, and he threatened to get an extendable fly swatter to swat her with, as needed.) 

For the first time in her life, Emma was well and truly doted upon. She had family members who inarguably refused to leave her side. That is, of course, until Mary Margaret was forcibly removed by way of her impending school year start. 

She’d had almost a month left of her summer break when Emma had had her operation, and she had been able to push almost all of her classroom prep off until the very last minute. David helped her ready her room when he could, but Emma knew her friend was fraying at the seams from trying to do so much in such a short span of time. Mary Margaret had a handful of vacation days, but she hoarded them like a dragon for true emergencies, and worried constantly that if her students started off the school year with a substitute teacher, they would just end up watching movies all day instead of actually learning something. 

This was their last weekend before the new school year started and Mary Margaret went back to working full days. Emma was lounging on the couch, dozing, lidded eyes half focused on the episode of Friends quietly playing on the living room TV. She and Mary Margaret had just finished putting together twenty-five “Welcome back!” folders for her incoming students, as well as a second set for their parents. 

“Why couldn't they have been ready for you to have the surgery during the start of summer?” Mary Margaret lamented, as she plopped her last folder down on the pile.  “I would have had three months off to be here with you!” 

David glanced over at them from the pile of pans he was washing at the kitchen sink and gave his wife an odd look. “You do realize you're wishing the woman whose heart Emma has now had died earlier in the year instead of later, right?” 

Mary Margaret looked aghast. “No! Of course I don’t wish that. I didn't... I just meant...” 

David raised his eyebrows at her, but by now he was smiling gently at his wife. Mary Margaret huffed. A slightly awkward silence settled between the three of them. The fact that another person was dead and Emma was still alive because of it was something they all knew but typically left unsaid. David had said it out loud, and now the strangeness of that fact settled over them all heavily. 

“I wonder what she was like,” Emma murmured from her spot on the couch, puncturing the silence. “They couldn't tell me much. Well, couldn't or wouldn't, not sure which. All they said was that she was older than me, but not by too much, and in great health. Obviously we had to have the same blood type. But they couldn't tell me how she died, just that it didn't affect her heart.” 

“Probably head trauma,” David said sagely. Emma winced at the thought, but he was likely right. He had seen enough as an officer to know. Especially working night shifts, when the majority of car accidents took place in the area. 

“That sounds awful,” Mary Margaret said quietly.

“I'd never say I was glad someone else died,” David said after a while. “But I'm glad Emma's still with us.” The fact that these things were one in the same went unsaid. Mary Margaret reached over and squeezed Emma’s arm in gentle agreement with her husband. Emma glanced over at her and offered her sister-in-law a small smile, trying to convey to her without having to say it aloud that it was okay. 

But in truth, Emma was uncomfortable. It just made her feel so strange, knowing that for every happy moment she now got to have here with her family, someone out there was living new moments, making new memories, without their own loved one to share them with. Someone out there was grieving a tremendous loss—had lost a daughter, a sister, a mother, a wife. The woman whose heart Emma now had could have been any one of those things, or all of them at once. She was presumably loved, adored, missed dearly. And Emma just didn’t know what to do with that information, how to carry these feelings with grace and proper gratitude. Often they \manifested in the form of guilt. David and Mary Margaret were quick to talk her out of that whenever it came up. That woman’s death meant something, they assured her. Part of her lives on, and part of her saved a life. That has to mean something to her family, right? 

They were right, Emma knew. David saw so much meaningless death in his line of work that she inherently believed him when he told her that it was a gift, her being able to use someone else’s heart. (She didn’t have the courage to ask him how he would feel about any of Mary Margaret’s vital organs going to someone else, if she died.) It was a guilt she carried nonetheless, and she carried it poorly. It was an awkward shape, this guilt, and heavy, and she didn’t know how to carry it well. It all too often made her fumble. 

“I’m gonna take a shower,” she said Mary Margaret looked over at her sharply, instantly suspicious that Emma was still feeling off from the previous conversation, but Emma was quick to wave away her worry. “I’m fine,” she assured her. “Really. I just feel grimy, and I don’t want to taint the epicness of Last Dinner with my stink.” This was their last evening—Last Dinner—before Mary Margaret returned to work full time, and they were marking the occasion with David’s mother’s famous lasagna recipe, a favorite from David and Emma’s semi-shared childhood (and coincidentally the only meal David really knew how to make, but that was beside the point). 

“I second the vote for a shower,” David said, raising his hand in mock vote. 

“You would,” Emma said with a roll of her eyes that David didn’t even need to see to know was there. Mary Margaret started to rise with her, as if about to help her to her feet. “Relax, woman,” Emma said, putting her hand on her friend’s shoulder gently to stop her. “I’ve got it. I’m not a complete invalid.” 

“Jury’s still out,” came David’s response. 

Emma looked at Mary Margaret, half expecting her to admonish her husband, but Mary Margaret just stared up at her with poorly veiled anxiety. “I’m not!” Emma said. “Guys, it’s been almost a month.” 

“Three weeks,” Mary Margaret corrected. “Since you got a new heart. Not since you got your tonsils removed.” 

“Okay,” Emma said, stretching out her back a bit as she stood there, chasing a kink out between her shoulder blades. “Sure, it was a big surgery.” David scoffed from his place by the sink, and Emma shot him a warning look. “But the doctors even said I have to try to do more on my own. I think it’s safe to say that includes showering.” There was no argument from David on that one. Mary Margaret, on the other hand, looked unconvinced. 

“What if you slip and fall?” 

“I’ll be sure to have my Life Alert button handy,” Emma retorted wryly. “Seriously, guys, it’s okay. I can handle showering.” Before they could argue any further, Emma slipped away, locking herself in the bathroom.   

“Let me know if you need any help, okay?” Mary Margaret called through the door in a singsong voice only a few moments later. Emma swore she heard the doorknob jiggle, like her friend was testing to see if it was locked or not. It was, thankfully. Emma was already halfway undressed, and the last thing she needed was for her brother to get an accidental peep show because his wife thought Emma had already gotten stuck behind the toilet and died or something. “Emma?” 

Oh, my God, Emma mouthed to herself. “Thanks,” she called out. “I will!” That seemed to appease Mary Margaret. But the faint squeak of the bar stool at the kitchen island assured Emma she hadn't gone far. It was endearing, how much they worried about her. At least, that's what she told herself in the moments like this, when it was almost impossible to find even just two seconds of privacy. Sometimes, she really did feel like she was a little kid again. Only now, she was re-living a much different version of her childhood. A sweeter, kinder version wherein people actually wanted to take care of her and didn't think of her as a monumental burden. 

The tub's faucet squeaked shrilly as she turned on the water. When she’d first gotten home a week ago, just that motion, gripping the handle and giving the antique metal a yank, had left her arm feeling like a limp noodle. She was doing much better now, but she still felt pathetically weak and exceptionally out of shape. At one point, long ago, she had been fairly strong. A thin child, but always scrappy. Now she was a pale waif, muscles atrophied over the years as she'd gotten sicker. She vowed to herself that was going to change. Despite how frail she was, at the same time, she legitimately felt like she could take on the world now, with this new heart. She could finally breathe, take a breath fully in and out, without feeling lightheaded. That alone was a miracle.  

Gingerly, she lifted her tank top up over her head. Her scar, where a surgeon had cut into muscle and bone and forcibly ripped open her sternum, stood out, an angry red slash against alabaster skin. For the first few weeks, it had been concealed by gauze. By this point, it was still tender, but her doctor encouraged her to air it out often. She even had some skin mobility exercises she was supposed to be doing daily, to help the layers of tissue beneath the scar not permanently adhere to one another. The scar itself stretched from the top of her chest, dropping down in between her breasts, all the way past her sternum bone. It was a thick, gnarled thing, aesthetically ugly; but she found herself overwhelmingly grateful for it the longer she looked at it. As ugly as it was, this scar meant she was going to live to see her next birthday. 

Washing herself was still a slow, cautious process, but much easier than it had been when she’d first gotten out of the hospital. She took the time now to do her full, luxury, self care princess shower routine, something she hadn’t had the strength to do in months.  The venting system in the loft's tiny bathroom was terrible, and by the time she stepped out of the shower, steam cloaked the room like a fog. The sheer dampness of the air made her cough when she inhaled. Emma didn't care; she felt amazing. It was easy to underestimate how much better a good shower could make a person feel. She felt human again, instead of the fresh-from-the-hospital, invalid goblin she’d been feeling like for the past few weeks. Humming to herself, she dried off, turbaned her wet hair, and started to dress. 

David had the water running at the sink, and the apartment’s ancient radiator had kicked on next to the bathroom; when Emma finally opened the bathroom door, her brother and sister-in-law didn’t hear the faint creak of the old wood on its hinge as it started to open. 

“But you love your classroom.” David was saying in a low voice. It was clear he was trying to be fairly quiet, but this felt like intruding in on a conversation that had been going on for several minutes. Possibly the whole time she’d been in the shower. 

Emma didn't hear Mary Margaret sigh, but she could tell by the tone of her voice that her words had come on the end of one. “Of course I do,” she said, “And I really do miss my kids. But Emma needs me here. I can't just leave her! She just got a new heart, David. A heart. It's not like she had her wisdom teeth removed and just needs a day or two to get back on her feet.” 

The aforementioned heart skipped a beat in Emma's chest. A familiar, sinking feeling of guilt settled low and heavy in Emma's stomach. 

“But she will get back on her feet,” David said gently. “You know she will. She just needs time.” 

“Exactly! And she needs me here to help her until she does.” 

“No, she doesn't.” 

“David—” 

“Mary Margaret,” David interrupted lovingly. “She's going to be okay. Better than okay. This is the day we've all been waiting for, don't forget. She's getting a second chance at life here.” Unexpected tears welled in Emma's eyes at that. “And Emma knows that,” David continued. “You and I both know she's going to be chomping at the bit to get back out there. It's going to be hard enough keeping her here the six weeks it'll take for her to heal. She's not going to need our help half as much as you think she will.” 

Mary Margaret started to respond, but Emma couldn't take it anymore. She took the bathroom's old doorknob in her hand and gave it a good rattle, like she had just started to open it, and the door creaked loudly as she pushed it fully open. David and Mary Margaret grew hush until Mary Margaret piped up with, "Oh, hi Emma!" a little too brightly. David noticeably busied himself with cutting the garlic bread he’d pulled out of the oven moments before. The guilt at having eavesdropped coiled in Emma's chest like a snake ready to spring, and she swallowed around the lump that had grown in her throat. “Hey,” she said, trying her best to sound normal.

“Everything go okay?” Mary Margaret asked. “No dizziness?” 

“I didn’t hear the Life Alert alarm go off,” David said dryly, shooting his sister a wink. 

“I feel amazing,” Emma said earnestly. “Seriously.” She sidled up to her brother and successfully bumped him out of the way, taking over the cutting of the garlic bread despite his weak protestations. 

“Oh, good,” Mary Margaret breathed, and the relief was evident in her voice. She shared a glance with David, which Emma pointedly ignored, and moved to grab the stack of dishes waiting on the island so she could start setting the table. 

“I was thinking,” Emma went on, “Maybe I could come help you set up your classroom later today. If you think you need the help. Or I could just come keep you company, get a change of scenery.” 

“That sounds like a great idea,” David said, as he watched his wife’s expression. 

“That would be great, honestly,” Mary Margaret said, but was quick to add, “As long as you’re feeling up to it.” 

“I mean, as long as you don’t have me lugging around twenty-pound carts of Crayons or something,” Emma laughed, “I think I’ll be okay.” 

“Do fourth graders still use crayons?” David asked, as he popped open the oven one final time and withdrew the lasagna. The cheese on top was browning and bubbling and a minute away from burnt, just the way his mother had always cooked it, and the whole thing looked wonderful. 

“Not really,” Mary Margaret said with a shrug. “But it doesn’t matter. I have a big, handsome deputy to do all my heavy lifting for me.” She batted her eyes at her husband a few times, who grinned back at her. 

“All right, lovebirds,” Emma said, as she clicked the salad tongs at them a few times in playful warning. “Let’s eat. I’ve got my appetite back and I’m actually starving.” 

“Jeez,” David said, “You’d think she’d gotten a new stomach with the heart. She’s gonna eat us out of house and home now.”

Table set, food out, they took their respective seats. David uncorked a bottle of red wine he’d been saving for a special occasion, which Emma was definitely not allowed to have, but she told Mary Margaret to enjoy it for her. 

As Mary Margaret spooned squares of lasagna onto everyone’s plate, Emma took a moment to try to find the right words to say to convey how she was feeling to these people who would seemingly do anything in the world for her. But what she wanted most is for them to get back to living their lives, too. They had put off so much for her sake, and she was more grateful than she knew how to say. But it was time to move on now, to heal, for all of them. 

“I know it can suck, having such a huge surgery,” Emma started, pausing to clear her throat. “But this is different.” She glanced up at Mary Margaret, who was watching her closely. “I mean, a month ago, I was dying. I never told you guys this, but it just felt like the end. I was working on drafting a will.” 

“Oh, Emma,” Mary Margaret said quietly. 

“That’s so morbid,” David said.

“I know it’s stupid.” Emma toyed with the end of her napkin as she stared down at her plate.  “I don’t really have anything to will to anyone. I was just going to leave anything I had to you guys.” She cleared her traitorous throat again and took a moment to blink back some tears. She needn’t have bothered; when she glanced up at her family, they were both openly tearing up as they looked at her. “Okay, stop,” she said, pointing her fork at them, “Or I’m going to lose it. Absolutely no crying in baseball.” 

“Got it,” Mary Margaret said, her voice watery and absolutely unconvincing. 

“Just… Thank you,” Emma said, when she finally got her voice back under control. “I don’t want to think about where I’d be without you both. From the bottom of both my hearts,” she said, with a wry little smile she couldn’t keep at bay, “Thank you.” 

David chuckled, wiping at his eyes, and Mary Margaret continued to stare at her, smiling and barely holding back the floodgates. “We love you, sis,” David said, and a moment later he raised his wineglass. “To Emma’s new lease on life.” Mary Margaret’s wine glass followed, and Emma clinked her water glass with theirs. 

“And Mary Margaret’s new school year,” Emma added. 

“Hear, hear,” Mary Margaret agreed. “I’ll take prayers, good vibes, anything you’ve got.” 

“You’re going to do great,” David assured her, as he put his arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer to kiss her cheek. “Those kids are lucky to have you.”

Dinner was splendid, and the company even better. It was the first full meal Emma was able to enjoy without feeling nauseated, which was a win in her book. She literally couldn’t think of the last time that had happened. Mary Margaret did indeed have Emma’s wine, and was perhaps a little tipsy when they later ventured out to put some finishing touches on her classroom, which just made it all the more enjoyable for Emma and David. 

And as Emma settled into bed that night, for the first time in a long time, she felt well and truly good. She felt full, warm, strong, and loved. And she knew, felt sure in her bones, that this was the start of one of the best years of her life. 

+++++

The funeral went as well as a funeral could--especially considering there was no actual body to bury. Milah had set it up long beforehand that all salvageable organs were to be donated to the nearest hospital at the time of her death, then the rest of her body donated to science. This made planning her funeral and memorial service a unique affair, as there was no body for a wake, no urn of ashes received. That he would receive later, whenever the hospital saw fit. So Killian honored his wife's memory the best way he could. 

Everyone who had ever known her in the past few years since she and Killian had moved Stateside was crammed into a small funeral home to celebrate her life and speak well of her. Her parents were long dead, but he had managed to get his hands on some childhood photos from her aunt who still lived across the pond; a small smattering of her extended relatives had sent cards to pay their respects. But the room was filled primarily with her coworkers and friends she’d made in the few years they’d lived in Boston. 

Milah had been a truly gifted photographer, both in her work and personal life, evidence of which sat neatly framed and displayed on nearly every available inch of table space in the room. All the best photos Milah had ever taken through her work had been printed and framed and displayed, tucked neatly between bouquets of flowers. One table was so long, it took up the entire back wall. 

Killian had almost, almost, completely lost the last tenuous grip he had on his sanity when the wrong flowers had come in that morning. He had distinctly ordered stargazer lilies, his wife’s favorite flower, for the table arrangements. Instead, what had been delivered to him were a rainbow assortment of Gerber daisies, of all things, which he viewed on this particular day as nothing short of an abomination. As it turned out, there had been a mistake with the delivery trucks, and his order had been sent to a birthday party instead. It probably should have embarrassed him, how angry a simple mix up of flowers had made him. But as he had very little pride left, he was literally seeing red, until Robin showed up beside him, placed a hand on his shoulder, and gently steered him out the side door and outside for some fresh air. Will took over, his general belligerence a helpful and actually useful tool that day, and tried to get the flowers sorted out with minimal shouting. 

As Killian stood now, gazing down at the myriad of perfect photos his wife had taken over the course of her career, he belatedly realized he had been the star of many of them, unbeknownst to him. His wife had apparently been a ninja behind her viewfinder when he wasn’t paying attention. It should have made him feel awkward, being the focal point of so many of her photographs; the last thing he wanted now was attention. And yet, he couldn’t help but smile at most of them. One of him leaning over the railing of a dock, for instance, staring pensively out at sea, squinting slightly in the light of the sun. Another of him from behind, a shadowed figure standing on the beach with his toes buried in the sand and his hands in the pockets of his shorts, staring out at the red slashed sky of an oncoming storm. He was the blurred, black clad figure in the background or at the helm in several photographs of the ships he and his brother had helped restore. 

It was visible, tangible proof of how much she had loved him, how often her camera found itself pointed in his direction, focused on him. And God, if that didn’t make him miss her all the more. His heart was an open wound, and he was never going to be able to staunch the flow from it. Day by day, he felt like he was bleeding out, until soon there would be nothing left of him. 

One photo, his favorite, and one that was already framed in his home, stood out prominently. His and his brother, Liam, in front of their first real score for the ship restoration foundation, a beautiful, towering piece of history in the form of a stunning antique merchant vessel. Liam’s arm was thrown over Killian’s shoulders, his face alight with absolute joy (and possibly the buzz from the beers they’d had over lunch). They were both squinting, laughing like fools at having finally pulled it off. Towering behind them, not to be overshadowed, was the ship, herself: the Jewel of the Realm. Milah had been sent by a local paper to get photos of the ship, and her new owners, as a focal point for a story on local maritime history. 

Killian felt fortunate he remembered that day so well. It had felt like the best day of his entire life, at the time. Seeing his brother so elated, after everything they had endured together, had been enough to send Killian to the moon. It felt like things were finally, finally going their way. He had taken to Milah instantly, and spent the hour regaling her with the history of the ship. A merchant ship, originally, but thought to have been used for piracy at one point. He leaned heavily into the implications of the latter fact, as he felt—rightly so—that it added intrigue, and Milah had been enamored with the Jewel. He'd joked that day about renaming it the Jolly Roger, much to his brother's chagrin. She’d had other work to get to that day, so she hadn’t stayed long, but she’d given him her business card, which he still carried in his wallet. Liam had been killed shortly after, on one of his last missions with the Royal Navy before his scheduled retirement. Everything had changed, then. But Killian had always felt especially lucky that it had been Milah that day who had come to take their photo. For one short hour, she had been able to meet his brother, before Killian had lost him forever. The stars had aligned, and for one short span of time, the man who had meant the most to him and the woman who would come to mean everything to him had met, briefly. It wasn’t much, in the grand scheme of things, but to Killian, it had to be enough. 

And then there were the glorious photos of the rest of the ships he had brought on through the years. He had always marveled at Milah’s skill behind a camera, her ability to find just the right angle, at just the precise time of day, to truly capture the essence of the ships he restored. Through her eyes, even the in-progress pictures never made them look like pieces of floating shit, which some of them very much were at the start of the process. She managed to make them look like hidden treasure, just waiting to be uncovered. Pieces of history waiting to be lovingly restored to their former glory. That’s what he’d felt like, with her. She’d been the one to see past his flaws after the death of his brother, to see something worth loving in him, something worth restoring. 

And now what was he, without her? 

The frequent looks of sympathy that came his way over the course of the memorial service were one of the worst parts of the day. Each and every concerned glance that flit in Killian's direction was threaded not only with heavy condolences, but something much worse: pity. And he knew he was a pitiable sight, indeed. He was dressed well enough, in a deep black suit Milah had bought for him after his business had another big break. But, his arm with the broken collarbone was still in a sling and had no hand at the end of it. Dark circles cradled his eyes, which seemed to be permanently bloodshot these days. He had given up almost entirely on sleep.

Sleeping felt impossible, an insurmountable task despite its simplicity; the bed was too big, too cold, and too empty when he was the only one in it. He tried—really tried. Each night, he made a valiant attempt to sleep in his own bed. He'd toss, turn, and generally do a lot of staring up at his ceiling. Eventually, he resorted to Netflix. But his “recently watched” list was full of her favorite shows, episodes half finished, series just begun. It was a terrible distraction. 

The first week after he arrived home from the hospital, his recliner chair in the living room had been the only place he could comfortably fall asleep with his arm in a sling. It was a lumpy, unsightly thing he had inherited from his brother (it was this reason and this reason alone his wife had allowed him to keep it.) Milah had called it his old man chair. These days, he’d often fall asleep in the chair, wake up with a start an hour later, and make his way to the couch, where he’d try to fall back asleep, but would mostly lie awake, staring into the dark, letting his mind off its leash and letting it wander to dangerous places. 

Often these thoughts centered on what he would do if he could track down the driver who had hit them head on, then fled the scene. What he would do when he found him or her varied. Sometimes, he pictured lighting him on fire. The next moment, he'd revel in the thought of running him through with a knife, watching him slowly bleed out on the floor. Or he’d take his hand from him, too. Such thoughts kept him company and carried him through until morning. 

Now, with the lack of sleep and the general dissociation he felt, he often didn’t feel cemented in reality. When he looked around the room, taking in the funeral parlor, it felt like this was happening to someone else, and he was merely observing. It didn’t help that he was surrounded by a sea of people who didn't know what to say to him. The moment never came that he was spared the awkward indignity of a conversation with someone who had little else to say other than I'm sorry. 

She was a lovely person. 

(Each time, he bristled at the use of the past tense.)

She'll be missed. 

Pity had overtaken the room, lingering like a dense fog. Everywhere he turned, his friends, her friends, co-workers, even a handful of people he had never seen before in his life, were all wearing the same expression on their faces. It transcended simple pity. It was next-level pity, flashing from their eyes and those slight down-turned corners of their mouths like a brightly-lit billboard in the night that read "YOUR LIFE DEPRESSES ME." 

He couldn't blame them. He pitied himself, too, when he wasn't numb, pulled down so deep into his own despair he could no longer think straight.

At least the food was decent—or so he had been overhearing. One quick glance over at Will Scarlet in the back of the room, face stuffed with h'orderves, told him the funeral parlor's appetizers couldn't have been terrible. If there had ever been a time he appreciated his friends more, he couldn't think of it. Of all the people who had shown up to the service, Locks and Scarlet were the only two who didn't make him want to scream. Or run. Or throw a punch. All of it, all at once. 

Will and Robin sat apart from the rest, in a pair of wingback armchairs in the corner of the room. Killian hadn't had a chance to speak to either of them, apart from initial hellos and quick hugs when they'd first arrived, and of course the ordeal with the flowers, but somehow, he knew without even asking they intended to stay for the entire affair, likely planning to take him out for a drink when this was all over.

What else do you do for your best friend after his wife's funeral?

All in all, it wasn’t a very hopeful affair, and too often bordered on bleak. Killian had no words in honor of Milah he wanted to share with a roomful of people who didn’t know her very well, and he didn’t trust himself to speak without breaking down. So, people ate, drank, and made a reserved and somber form of merry. They swapped stories back and forth, each offering up little pieces of the woman they had known.

Milah's parents had died years ago, and she had no siblings, so the room was occupied primarily by people she had thought of as friends. That was a nice thought, and in the coming weeks, Killian would be touched by the food, flowers, and cards that continued to arrive on his doorstep in memory of his wife. 

But here, in this moment, he couldn't bring himself to find hope in anything. 

+++++++

One Year Later 

Was a house truly haunted if you didn’t mind the ghost?

It felt like a haunting for months after Milah’s funeral, this limbo state he found himself in, where he couldn’t bring his heart or his brain to fully comprehend that she was gone. They traded shifts in misunderstanding, his heart and brain. There were days where, logically, he understood his wife was dead. And yet, his heart still leaped at the sound of a car door shutting outside, or an imagined creak in the floorboards that sounded like her coming around the corner in the hall. Other days, his heartache was so profound, he could barely muster the strength to get out of bed. All too often, he’d forget, and for a few blissful minutes, reach for his phone to call her and ask her a question. Those were beautiful moments, the forgetting. But the remembering that followed took his breath away. 

Then there were the things around the home he couldn’t bring himself to toss. Notes she’d left on the fridge, a grocery list on the table. Leftovers from her favorite meal at their favorite restaurant he couldn’t bring himself to throw away until they were fouling up the whole kitchen. Her phone was recovered from the accident and eventually made its way to him, via the detectives working the hit and run case. He went through her email drafts, texts, anything he could get his hands on that held pieces of Milah. He'd saved every voicemail she'd ever left him, had them memorized, and he'd play them when he missed her most, poking the bruise in his heart over and over until it numbed and didn't hurt so much. It all felt relatively harmless, like doing this to himself couldn’t possibly be a bad thing. 

Until he found himself practically sobbing the floor of the shower one morning over a soggy clump of her hair he’d pulled from the drain. 

He just couldn’t seem to pull himself together. 

How do you bring yourself to purposefully excavate traces of someone from your life, after they’re gone, until it was like they weren’t even there at all, the life you shared existing only in snapshots and memories? How exactly does one get to that place, force yourself to loosen your grip on all you have left of the person you love, the person you’d give anything to see one last time? Killian couldn’t fathom it. He couldn’t picture himself ever ridding himself completely of Milah’s memory. 

But he could stop leaving land mines for himself. 

He’d always run a tight ship at home, in terms of cleanliness. He had never had much, by way of possessions, and wasn’t sentimental about keeping things. Now he found himself debating whether or not he should keep a note in the bathroom his wife had scrawled out for herself to remind herself to order new contacts. These were the silly, useless things he stared at for minutes on end, debating what to do with. This little scrap of her pretty handwriting he recognized and loved. The thought of it winding up in a landfill somewhere made him ill. 

Eventually, he gathered these random scraps and pieces of her he’d found (except the clump of hair from the drain—that one did make it into the waste bin, thankfully) and gently shepherded them into a large Ziploc bag, which he kept in a box on her side of the closet. 

Robin and Will called often, texted even more often, and even dropped by now and again. They offered their help constantly, gladly would have helped with menial tasks like this (like throwing away scraps of paper Milah might have touched, God, he was a mess), but he turned them away each time. He just wanted to shut the world out, encase himself in a tomb of his own grief. 

He hadn’t even been able to see her, to say goodbye to her, because he hadn’t been bloody conscious for it. He had no memory of Robin telling him of her death; in the week following the accident, he left a slew of traumatized nurses in his wake as people had to tell him again and again for what felt like the first time that his wife was gone. 

Milah, bless her ever-loving soul, had signed herself up to be an organ donor. Of course she had. On some level, he knew this. It was marked on her driver’s license, and it was surely something they had talked about at one point. But now he resented it, resented the whole idea of it. He resented anything that didn’t allow him to see his wife one last time. One doctor had had the absolute audacity to tell Killian that he didn’t want to see his wife, anyway; the damage from the accident had been too great, the brunt of which had gone to her head, and that it was a miracle her heart was still beating enough to allow for any organ transplants. Killian, for his part, had an entirely different definition of the word “miracle”. 

So he waited to receive her ashes, held a funeral without her body. But he certainly didn’t wait patiently. 

He wonders sometimes what she would think of what he's become. No doubt there would be times she'd laugh at how ridiculous he was being, debating on keeping an old, wet clump of her hair like some kind of serial killer, and the subsequent guilt he felt at throwing it away, this gross little piece of her DNA. 

And yet, he reminds himself that there is, oddly, more of her DNA out there somewhere. Somewhere, out in the world, a select few of her vital organs are in new bodies, presumably thriving and keeping their hosts alive and well. Presumably, there are people out there who will be forever grateful for these pieces of his wife. Actual, living pieces of her. Killian has no idea how to feel about that, truly. There will come a day, when he is able to pull himself out of this darkness that perpetually feels more crushingly inescapable by the day, that he is able to see the true and abundant beauty in it. Milah, gone, but literal parts of her living on, providing life-giving support to someone else’s body and soul. That's the true miracle, really, and something he’d know she would be proud of. 

For now, in the depths of his despair, he feels annoyed, indifferent at best. Her benevolent medical and scientific donation was, for many long months, the thing standing between him and a proper burial for his wife, the thing that stood in the way of closure and him being able to say goodbye to her properly. This is the thing his mind latched onto, chooses as a target for his blame. 

Closure arrives on his doorstep one afternoon, boxed and bubble wrapped, in the form of an unassuming black urn. When he finally received her ashes, half a year after her death, he knew what he would do with them, knew immediately what she would want him to do with them. But he can’t yet bring himself to say goodbye, and the urn sat above their fireplace for months. This is the moment it hits him, truly, that she is gone. This is what it takes for it to finally sink in. He spends a long time building up the courage, brick by brick, to do what he needs to do. And as what would be her 37th birthday approaches on a warm July day, he finally gathered the strength to lay his wife to rest and honor her the way she deserved. 

What he doesn’t appreciate about the day, however, is the weather, which turns out to be an absolutely perfect New England summer day, which Killian very much resented. 

It was almost like it was mocking him. Jabbing a bright, sunshiny finger right into his face and laughing at his grief, which still, even almost a year after the death of his wife, was still a wound that had left him hollowed. When his brother had died, suddenly and with too much life left unlived, he'd felt like the ground itself had been pulled out from under him, and he'd been left in free fall. Now, with Milah gone, it felt as if his heart had been ripped right out of his chest and crushed in front of him. 

How did people live like this? 

If he were truly honest with himself, Killian wasn't certain what he was doing each day could actually be called living. He was alive, sure. Most days, the only thing that kept that from being true was the unknown lurking behind the veil of death. He had his own theories, his own hopes, for what awaited in a possible afterlife, but of course, no one really knows for sure until their time comes. He couldn't be sure what would happen to him, whether or not he'd see Milah, if he died tomorrow. Hell would be dying and not being reunited with her. And that was a hell whose existence he was not quite ready to test. 

The closest thing he had to his wife now was resting in his lap, ashes encased in ceramic. He had taken a small, private sailboat out to sea, sailed until there was no one else in sight, trying to find a good spot to release her ashes to the ocean she had loved so much. It had been close to two hours, now; he knew he was putting off the inevitable. If he didn’t do it now, he feared, with good reason, that he never would.

The best part about giving someone’s ashes to the sea was that there wouldn’t be one particular spot where her body would be laid to rest. The waves would take the dust of her and spread it for him, from shore to shore, just like they had taken his brother’s ashes. There would be no headstone, but the ocean itself would remind him of her, and he could visit her anytime he liked on a sea that had always brought him a sense of serenity. 

Killian Jones had never believed in soul mates until he’d met Milah.  And he still didn't quite believe in them, in the traditional sense. He didn't believe in a ready-made mate just waiting for him to find her. No, in his experience, life was far from ever that easy or that simple. But things had changed for him when he'd met his wife. Then, with her love, the broken pieces in him, irrevocably shattered the day his brother had died, shifted together into something that could almost be held together again. With her, he’d felt more whole than he could ever remember feeling in his life. 

She had been married at the time, when they’d met. Daydreaming of leaving her terrible husband, dreams which grew in intensity with each passing day. And while she hadn't exactly left him for Killian, she may has well have. Everything had changed for her that day, too. 

For while Milah had been his partner, they hadn't met each other and been perfectly content. But they had made each other stronger, in all the ways that counted. Now he believed wholeheartedly that soul mates existed. But they weren't found, ready made and prepackaged. They were made, forged through love and hard work working hand in hand. 

These were the things he thought, as the gentle salted breeze ruffled his hair and brought stinging tears to his eyes. As he looked down at the urn that held the last physical piece of the woman he’d loved, would always love, was lost and adrift without. 

“I love you, Milah,” he whispered to the wind. The tightness in his throat and jaw wouldn’t let him say more, but he knew he didn’t need to. She’d known how much and how fiercely he’d loved her, and he had to think that wherever she was, she still knew the hold she had on him. 

He held the urn against his chest with his prosthetic hand, working to unscrew the top. The breeze calmed at just the right moment, and as he leaned over the side of the ship to release Milah to the sea she'd loved, the dust of her settled gently down into the water. 

=========

gonna tag a few folks who I think might care this is up (again, sorry if I already tagged you!) @spartanguard @sunbeamsandmoonrays @caprelloidea @kmomof4 @queen-mabs-revenge @ahsagitarius @galadriel26 @t-tamm-

@lavendersoapsuds @its-imperator-furiosa @midnightswans @cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky @withheartfulloflove @captainswan-middlemist @sarahreadsff @princesseslikepirates @winterbaby89 @pirateherokillian @wordslovedreams

@hannah-mic @thecraftyartist @blackwidownat2814 @once-uponacaptain @kylalovesbabeme @swiftmicheles @emmaswanstlk @captainswanslay

@the-tones-of-wallflowers @kday426 @krystalsficpage

[carefulfears]

I am so curious about your David Duchovny feelings. Like the longform version, not the digest.

omg hi babe....this is a crazy question tbh like i have no idea how to go about answering this. like i really appreciate you reaching out and being curious but i have been through too much...i've seen too much...i know too much... and i was talking with a friend earlier about how like, i don't consider myself a Fan, i really think of it more like i'm studying his work the way you would study someone in school. i'm a fan of his work, absolutely, but i know that i have some (lovely) actual fans of his that follow me and i know that i have some (lovely) haters of his that follow me, so sometimes i'm unsure of what to share or say, in a medium and community like this.

but i have really grown to love studying his work, i know a lot about his writing and a lot about his acting and a lot about his music. i know a lot about his press and his podcast and his interviews and the way he speaks and thinks. i have really enjoyed having a large context and understanding of a creator while interpreting their art, which i think can be missing in discussion sometimes, but that i don't think should be missing in any kind of "serious" (even self-serious like my dumb ass occasionally) analysis or criticism.

i've said it briefly before but this "project" really just started as me making up something dumb to do while i was really struggling, and it's become something that's very interesting and stimulating and important to me. i think that's insane and i really appreciate it. and i really appreciate taking questions from you guys who care about learning something about his work, and who care about me and my insights. i hope to be able to (and to get better at) sharing both my objective "findings," and my completely personal and intimate and subjective opinions, of which i have so many about so many specific things.

sorry that this is kind of the digest version and answered nothing but those are my david duchovny Feelings.....i have many many many more david duchovny Thoughts and am always open to any questions/curiosities if it strikes anyone. as of today i've seen 31 movies, read 4 books, watched 4 tv shows if you include my current aquarius viewings, and dug through decades of press and hours of podcasts. and i'm still goin :)

[mindibindi]

hey! sorry for bothering you, but i as a fellow x-phile i would like to ask how credible it is that gillian anderson and david duchovny hated each other back in the day? there are probably quotes or something but i can't really judge anything this late after the fact. i did watch the show when it aired but i was too young to get into internet culture. anyway, i'm hoping for some wisdom from fans who remember this. :) thank you!

Hey Anon,

It’s no bother and thanks for the ask. And actually, after the fact is a good position from which to view this matter since, as we all now know, Gillovny’s story has a happy ending. I was around for the original run too but internet culture was very different then. Not everyone was constantly online, I certainly wasn’t. The internet was expensive and hard to access so I got a couple of hours per week tops, which I mostly used to read fanfic. (Fanfic for this show/ship was basically my fanfic writer origin story: I was like WHAT OTHER PEOPLE DO THIS TOO???!!! And btw: readers complain these days about the pressure to respond to fanfic. Back in the day, you had to compose a whole fricking email if you wanted to badger your fave author for more. And there was certainly no easy kudos button option to make you feel like you’d done your bit to encourage community. Anyway.)

There were fan sites, message boards and lots of different fanfic archives. And sure, there was some gossip but it still mostly came via old print media. Pre-social-media, there wasn’t a direct line to celebrities or any great expectation placed on them interact with fans in regular, intimate ways. The advent of social media has created these parasocial relationships in which (some) fans think they know or have a right to far more than they do. Back in the day, and istg this is true, I posted a picture of DD with Blue in the surf on some now defunct message board. The moderators removed it and v kindly said: nope, against our guidelines, no images of private moments taken without the person’s consent. I mean…. talk about boundaries! My baby fangirl ass was properly chastised and learnt a valuable lesson. I think we can learn a thing or two from early internet culture and original fans, some of which are still knocking about this site.

Anyway, all of this is to say, I don’t have any special insight here. The only people who know in any great detail what truly went on in DD and GA’s relationship is them, and maybe a few people in their immediate vicinity. But XF fans are lucky enough to stan two very honest, emotionally thoughtful people who have shared with us some of the challenges they faced during the show’s original run. And, for better or worse, when people tell you who they are, I tend to believe them. Yes, there are other fans that can probably provide you with quotes and timelines and (wild) speculation, but I think I know enough to give a fairly objective opinion on what I think actually occurred. For me, the most pertinent quote here is Gillian’s characterisation of their relationship as being like “a forced marriage”. I take this to mean that, like any marriage, there was great intimacy, respect, cooperation and commitment. Maybe even love. But there was also a lack of choice that caused tension, despite multiple positive relational elements.

“Tension” is a word that has also been applied to their late-90s relationship and I think it’s probably more accurate. I don’t think they HATE hated each other. But I think they probably had fleeting moments of feeling: OMG this person is getting on my last sane nerve, I cannot stand to be around them another fricking second. I think the protracted and concentrated intimacy of their circumstances gave rise to SOME super understandable negative feelings that ultimately, did not define the true nature of their relationship, either then or now. I don’t think those feelings were all there was, even back then. I don’t think these two were epic lovers any more than they were bitter enemies. I think they were just two human beings attempting to function under super intense scrutiny and an extremely gruelling work schedule. And that at times resulted in tension or irritation which they found ways around. Talking to each other only as Mulder and Scully may sound terrible to some but I think it’s a rather ingenious way to conserve their energy for their jobs. It shows an incredible commitment to their characters, to the show and to the contribution the other was bringing to that celebrated dynamic. They knew it was important so that's where they focused.

We have all had times in relationships where we’ve needed some space, even from someone we like, love, respect and value. If anyone was struggling to understand this dynamic between DD and GA then recent experiences of lockdown should have provided some insight into this kind of intense forced intimacy. Now, I have never been married but I’ve lived with people and that experience will make you loathe how a person walks, breathes, sleeps, eats, does the smallest, most insignificant things. It’s not the permanent state of your relationship. It’s just a passing reaction. It does not matter how much you might like or appreciate this person. In one bright flash, they become the most infuriating person to ever walk the planet. Then you go into another room or go to work and the feeling fades. But what happens when you can’t get away, you actually can’t get the sort of space a healthy relationship needs? We all saw how lockdown increased the pressure on all relationships, especially partnerships and marriages. There was pressure within and without and people reacted naturally to profoundly unnatural circumstances. That’s all that happened here.

Now, it must be pointed out that even during periods of the original run when their relationship was supposedly suffering, there is footage of them having fun on-set and ruining takes by making out. This supports the idea that any “hate” was an understandable but impermanent reaction for both. Actually, I think it is highly admirable that they were able to collaborate together and remain individually sane while experiencing such relational tension. It shows incredible personal fortitude and professional commitment. They stayed focused and pragmatic and, to me, there is never any indication that their personal struggles impacted the final product. In fact, I believe they actually enhanced Mulder and Scully’s relationship in those middle years of the original run when they too were experiencing some growing pains in their relationship. I’m thinking of the raw emotion in that end scene of “Elegy” and the palpable impatience and antagonism in “Gethsemane”. I’m thinking of the division and sadness in the hospital scene in “The Red and the Black” and throughout “The End”. Like Mulder and Scully, David and Gillian have some fundamental similarities and some very distinct differences. For the first few years of the series they were living very different lives. It took them time to attune to each other, just as it took Mulder and Scully time to fully absorb the many intricate dimensions of their relationship. As DD and GA grew older, their lives became more similar and their understanding of each other likewise grew. And honestly, I think it’s somewhat hypocritical and inhuman to appreciate the many complex beats of the M/S relationship as it plays out on-screen, but then judge their real-life counterparts as they tread an equally complex path towards true understanding, appreciation and love.

I haven’t watched TXF in years and in my recent rewatch, I was surprised actually at just how combative this relationship could be. I had only remembered all the sweet, shippy bits! But (and I should not really have to point this out) that's also what is so compelling to watch. The conflict. The contrast. The difference (not just in height, although their physical difference does act as a powerful symbol of their mismatched but ultimately complementary dynamic). The difference and yes, even at times tension, between David and Gillian only adds to a dynamic that so many have tried and failed to emulate (RIP to any reboot of this show. This show IS DD and GA’s chemistry. End of.). I can’t be mad or disappointed about Gillovny’s 90s tension, so carefully navigated by both actors, because fuck me does it work for the MSR angst! D’you think we’d have so many delicious angsty fanfics if these two had been sunshine-y, tension-less best buds every step of the way?? Not only is some tension an understandable human reaction that I believe they have every right to, it adds dimension to an epically URSTy relationship that could have gotten boring (and kinda did towards the end, let's be real). There is an added, honest, brave truth to the moments of impatience, frustration, disagreement and division in the M/S relationship because DD and GA experienced these things themselves in the context of their equally intense working relationship. I think the actors continued to mine their own tension and express it through Mulder and Scully, which again is a super creative and healthy way to protect their working relationship and serve the M/S relationship. A relationship in which they were invested, but also a relationship that was central to the show and important to so many fans.

In time, the more intense M/S moments lost their bite. The relationship became softer, less combative, more appreciative. The LA move decreased the actor’s isolation and gave the show a new tone. Gillian is on record saying how strange it was for her when David disappeared in later seasons. And we all know the story of the 10 min post-"Existence" embrace (if you don’t let me know). So this story has a neat and satisfying ending even if Mulder and Scully never really got theirs. As evidenced by the second movie and reboot, nothing was destroyed. The chemistry remains (even if it’s not served by quality plot, development, context and characterisation). These human beings and artists did their best under difficult circumstances. They protected the work, the characters and their relationship. In fact, I would venture to suggest that the wild appreciation they show for each other now, the enduring chemistry we see on-screen and the palpable enjoyment they feel at the other’s presence any time they get the opportunity to reunite is in part due to how they navigated their early years as mismatched colleagues thrown together and expected to work closely under immense pressure. Thanks to David and Gillian, hate never took root. And now, in DD’s words, all that’s left is the heart.

[wittyno]

X files season 3 thoughts

I’m back bitches. I wanted to reblog the original one but tumblr’s search function is dog shit.

Some random stray thoughts

Big fan of Scully kidnapping herself in Wetwired, breaks the trend of others kidnapping her.

I like how big Scully's gun is. This is a genuine thing because women seem to get smaller guns in a lot of media. In real life I get getting a gun that fits your hand, but this is TV land where the points are made up and the rules don’t matter. It’s big and it looks cool.

I do hope we get to see detective chow again. While I can’t speak to the sensitivity of the episode, I really like his caught between two worlds outburst. Not [insert culture] enough is a common experience for 3rd culture people.

I'm really loving IMDB’s behind-the-scenes trivia.

Have I talked about the bomb on the train episode? If not, just know that it’s fire.

Are the wheels completely off the wagon on believability? Absolutely! @thebookofmaev was absolutely correct on that. I’m actually excited cause this was season 3. There are like 11 seasons or some shit. This is gonna go atmospheric in its insanity and I can’t wait. It does however make both the ending and beginnings of season a little less compelling, which is interesting.

Pusher, Jose Chung's 'From Outer Space', and Oubiette were highlights.

The fact that Queequeg never shows up again after this season is a crime!

I am sure you could write a whole paper on how the show used David Duchovny's boy-scout look to make a lot of the alien stuff more palatable for audiences. It just reminds me of all the times in other shows were the "guy-who-knows-about-aliens" is played by someone who is not conventionally boy-next-door attractive and its treated very differently.

Yes, Clyde Bruckman's Final Repose is very good. I realize that's not groundbreaking, but it is an excellent hour of TV.

X is so fucking cool and I was so sorry to see him die. I feel like there was much more they could have done with him.

[luimnigh]

2001 for films

send me a year and i'll tell you my favourite movie of that year

Ah, 2001. The first time I saw a film in theatres.

It was Jurassic Park III. My teenager sister took me to see it.

Probably a bad choice for multiple reasons.

I remember a lot of kid's movies from this year, lots of them were in rotation in my household. Atlantis: The Lost Empire, Monsters Inc, Shrek, Cats and Dogs, Spy Kids. Very good year for kids movies.

Besides that, some real fun movies that year too. The Mummy Returns is good, but unfortunately it's legacy is simply "Bad CGI Rock". The Knight's Tale is a great film, as is Moulin Rouge! I've also never forgotten The 51st State, released in the US as Formula 51, which is a film where criminal chemist Samuel L. Jackson goes to Liverpool, wears a kilt, and is taught the nuances of the word "bollocks".

Legally Blonde and The Princess Diaries are naturally iconic, and John Carpenter's Ghosts of Mars is a fun dumb action-horror.

And, of course, everyone's favourite fantasy story featuring wizards premiered it's first film this year: Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring.

But ultimate, what has been my favourite film of 2001 for decades has to be Evolution. The sci-fi comedy starring David Duchovny, Orlando Jones, Julianne Moore and Sean William Scott. Fucking brilliant movie. So many iconic moments. From luring an alien dragon into a trap with bad karaoke, to the emergency surgery to get the bug out, to the shoplifting woman who gets saved and swears never to shoplift again, and the fucking Head and Shoulders ad oh god.

I love that movie.

[pjstafford]

30 Years of The X Files. Celebrate The Pilot / Find Some Love For The Revival

It’s the thirtieth anniversary of the first airing of The X Files pilot. I love seeing all the love and celebration. What I find annoying is every article says something like “despite the disappointing revival”. I actually think season 11 has some of the best episodes of the series. I have written about that in other blogs. So today I want to move away from the objective, critical question about the quality or story worthiness of season 10 and 11 and make the argument that, while the enthusiasm of the fandom was responsible for bringing back the series for two more seasons, the revival seasons were responsible for revitalizing the fandom. There are fans active in the fandom today who were not yet alive on September 10, 1993. There are folks who were alive and, for what ever reason, hadn’t watched the show before. In some cases fans first introduction to the series was the revival seasons and they liked it enough to go back and watch the first 200 episodes and two movies. There were forever fans, active in the day, who became reinvigorated and re-involved in the fandom. Then there were original fans of the show, like me, who had not been part of the FANDOM in the nineties and now, to greater or lesser degrees, are active. As we celebrate the thirtieth year since the pilot aired, let’s remember some love for the revival.

For me, since 2015, much like the original fandom members, I have made some of the closest friends of my life. I have tried my hand at fan fiction, wrote a disability focused blog on the X Files, ran a David Duchovny fan site for a while, was briefly “famous in the fandom”, was complemented by a star of my favorite series (who is now my favorite 21st Century author) about my own writing. I had an adventure that literally saved me during the most difficult time of my life. It’s not that my crazy life isn’t still crazy and sometimes f*cked up. It is. But I understand the importance of play in a way that I had forgotten for about twenty years. I started writing again. I give myself time daily to connect with my friends, to play silly games, to have long discussions about things that are “unnecessary”, to relax, to smile. I practice self care. I actually view life differently now.

In the year of 2020…. Well, I’m sure I’m not the only one who found some comfort that in the isolation, I had an online community still accessible to me.

Don’t tell me the revivals were disappointing. Without them, I might see an article about The 30th year and remember when. Now, because of the revival, The X Files is always part of my consciousness. So, while in in 1993 -at 32, The X Files was my favorite show, it didn’t shape me or form me like so many younger fans. In 2015, at 54, watching the series again in preparation for the revival and searching online for more information, being part of the fandom, helped me to reassess my values and reflect on how I want to age. Let’s start showing those seasons more love.

With love, I dedicate this blog to my original 😍4David Gals and all those who consider themselves 😍4 David today.

[skullsmuldon]

Is it true that David is drunk at his concerts? Are there any reviews?

He always drinks. Vodka orange or beer from what I know. I don’t know if he was drunk drunk but he definitely has some drinks…

As for a review I saw one in a German paper. And it’s pretty accurate if you ask me but judge for yourself 🤗

The headline : Known from "The X-File”

David Duchovny convinces humanly in Cologne and flops vocally.

The well-known actor was a guest at the Carlswerk and inspired his audience with his fame. Through his voice, on the other hand, certainly rather less.

If someone depicts their own character in the Simpsons, he has come a long way, you might think. David William Duchovny, who played the role of Fox Mulder in the cult series "File X - the eerie cases of the FBI", is such a person. And because it is therefore completely surreal to stand physically in front of him this Monday evening together with around 300 guests at point nine o’clock - Duchovny is not only a successful actor and Golden Globe winner, but also a musician - one screams to his friend with all the happiness "So awesome , incredible!" In their ear.

So it takes a few minutes to realize that it is really him for whom you stood in the cinema queue for hours for the last time almost 15 years ago. His "The truth is out there" poster, which always hung over him in his basement office, was legendary.

Sloppy dance to meager tones

His dance performances to the folk rock numbers, which will now follow in the next almost an hour and a half, are not and probably never will be. They seem rather clumsy, almost sloppy. You can't get rid of the impression: Here, some high school graduation band from the 1980s is just celebrating their revival. And Frontman David still looks as good as he did back then. That he can't sing to this day: Who's bothered? Even if the range of his voice is narrower than the mouthpiece of a clarinet. "I love you!" some women from the front rows call out to him. Mister Duchovny doesn’t miss a beat and replies: "I love you, too. Wherever you want." With a wink, of course.

Nevertheless, you can't get rid of the feeling that David William Duchovny might have drunk a little bit over his thirst before the concert (German proverb). Sometimes you don't even want to look closely when he dances back and forth up there between all the potential stumbling blocks. And suddenly, yes, suddenly the man who once wanted to complete a doctorate in English literature - before his acting career - stands in front of you. He just gets off the stage, makes a round through the Carlswerk and sings "Sweet Jane" by Velvet Underground. Unbelievable how fearless this man is. And how much he doesn't seem to care about his musical deficit.

You have to leave it to Duchovny: He really radiates joy in what he does. Like a small child who meets his new friends in front of the daycare center for the second time in the morning. Taking oneself seriously, is foreign to him. Conclusion: Musically a flop. Humanly top.

[gingerteaonthetardis]

Wait have u seen what happens later?! Is it good?

yeah, i did see it, i saw it in theaters yesterday! i went with my mum and we had such a good time!

as for if it's good or not... oh boy. let me start with the disclaimer that i am the judgemental bitch of the universe, i can't turn it off, i am insufferable and i know this. also, i was squinting the whole time because i need new glasses. embarrassing.

SO. there are absolutely good things about it, i would say. there are several scenes that will be sticking like fucking glue in my brain for the indefinite future. the premise is hella cute and the acting was good overall (in my extremely uneducated opinion)... both meg ryan and david duchovny are so ruthlessly endearing it makes me want to actually scream, and together they cooked up a few really magical moments.

when dd's character got tears in his eyes talking about his daughter, i wanted to throw up. never let that man cry in front of me again, i can't take it!!!!!! and any time they spent laughing together was, like, electric to me. meg ryan has such a warmth to her that hasn't faded in her time away from filmmaking, and seeing her again just filled me with good happy feelings. (also, some parts of it gave me the good old au brain itch, which is always a sign i'm invested.)

however, i will also say that the movie is rather long and does occasionally feel long. mostly because the writing isn't, like, spectacular. not bad, just not quite as glittering as i would want for a film with only two actors in it. i don't want to get into the writing too much, because then i will start going on forever, because like i said, i'm insufferable.

also. okay. this is probably such an annoying nitpick, but damn this movie reused a lot of b-roll. like, they recycled this one establishing shot (which reminded me of the shot of the arctic base in the x-files episode 'ice', by the way) what felt like fifteen times. which is a bummer, because they kind of used exterior shots like paragraph breaks. since, you know, there were no other characters to fall back on. that sometimes made the pacing feel weird. it did add to the kind of liminal, claustrophobic vibe of being stuck in an airport with your ex, though.

i read an interview with them about how they didn't have time or budget for doing loads of takes or reshoots, and i think that constraint was both a blessing and a curse. they got a lot of really good, organic moments that felt very alive that way! but there were also moments that didn't quite hit, moments that should have had more time in the editing bay or time to be worked out on set. i also seriously wish someone had punched up the writing a tiny bit more.

on the whole, i would say that it's pretty good. if you go in with hallmark movie expectations, you are sufficiently parasocially attached to the actors, or you just love romcoms, you will probably have an excellent time. if you want to see david duchovny hit a blunt and then choke, like me, you will have an especially excellent time. the characters were flawed and occasionally frustratingly out of touch (on purpose?? i don't know, i am simply too young and silly 😌), but they also had moments of depth and warmth and sincerity.

i liked it, in spite of my rabid need to critique everything on god's green earth. i will probably watch it again not on the big screen and see if i prefer it that way (i suspect i will).

also did i mention they get drunk and flirty. because they get drunk and flirty and it's soooooo damn cute.

[dd-is-my-guiltypleasure]

A LIFE IN THE DAY

David Duchovny: ‘Love can happen at any age, right?

The actor, 63, on The X Files, songwriting and snacking

EKATERINA GERBY

Interview by Helen Cullen

Wednesday January 17 2024, 12.01am GMT, The Sunday Time

Duchovny was born in New York City. He studied English at Princeton University and Yale, before breaking into acting in the late 1980s, starting in TV adverts and working his way up. In 1993 he began playing the role of the FBI agent Fox Mulder in The X Files, which ran for nine years. He later played Hank Moody in Californication. He has also released three folk-rock albums and published five novels — last year he directed a film adaptation of one of these, Bucky F***ing Dent. Duchovny has two grown-up children from his former marriage to the actress Téa Leoni. He lives in California, with his girlfriend, Monique Pendleberry, and his two dogs, Brick and Rookie.

I like to get up at dawn because those are my best thinking and writing hours. I love the sunrise but it also means I can get some work done before the sun gets too much. That’s the best time of day for me. I have a coffee that makes me think I’m brilliant for ten minutes and that’s all I need to get going.

Food to me is just fuel and I don’t have very advanced taste buds. I think everything kind of tastes OK, which people react to with suspicion. For breakfast I like oatmeal — what my Scottish mother called porridge.

If I’m filming I still like an early start, but I shot my recent film What Happens Later, with Meg Ryan, all through the night because we filmed in a regional airport after it closed at 9pm. That’s a bit of a nightmare for me as a morning person, but we developed a great camaraderie from working while the world was asleep. My daughter, West, thought it was great to see a romantic comedy film with people my age, but I don’t think of myself as any age, so I hadn’t thought about that. Love can happen at any age, right?

Everybody wants me to have a hobby, but I’m blessed because I love my work. I’ve been able to branch out into music, writing and directing. With songwriting I can pick up the guitar at any time. If you wait for inspiration to hit, you’ll be sitting on your ass for ever.

I knock off for lunch about 12pm. That’s when I have the one big meal of the day that would be recognisable to other humans as a proper meal — vegetables and a protein such as fish. The rest of the time I snack.

In the afternoon I work out. I love the games I played when I was younger — boxing, tennis and basketball — but as I get older I tend to get hurt doing those, so I’ve found Pilates is best for me. It’s still super hard but the least dangerous.

I live in Malibu and the height of my fame has passed, so it’s not difficult for me to move around any more. It’s a different era now because everybody has a phone, so paparazzi are more a thing of the past. I tend to go to the same places where people are bored of seeing me.

There are always different reasons why fans might stop me — it could be still because of The X Files or Californication. I am very proud of The X Files. I can’t think of another show like it in terms of cultural impact and longevity. I just thought we were making good, goofy TV but Chris Carter, the creator and director, saw what was coming in terms of the culture of conspiracy theories. Gillian Anderson [his co-star] and I went from being unknown to globally recognised in a couple of years. We don’t get to see each other that much as she lives in London, but there’s no one else I can share that with.

West is an actor now too. It wasn’t something that I would have charted out for her because I know how difficult it is, even more so for a woman, but I want her to do something she’s passionate about. There are still dark corners in Hollywood but the pitfalls and dangers are much more upfront.

I do enjoy a party, but I’d rather spend time with friends in the evening. Because I like to get up so early, I go to bed early also. I feel electric light has really f***ed with our sense of mind and body, and that we were made to hide in the cave at night from predators and wake up with the sun, so I try to do that. Constitutionally, I feel like that works for me.

Words of wisdom

Best advice I was given

It doesn’t matter if people laugh; it matters if it feels funny to you

Advice I’d give

There’s no such thing as good advice — you have to come to it on your own

What I wish I’d known

Take a moment to appreciate what you’ve done before worrying about the next thing

What Happens Later is in cinemas now and available to stream in spring. The Reservoir by David Duchovny is out now (Akashic Books £19.95)

×

[randomfoggytiger]

GA: MSR and her Early Friendship with DD

It's interesting to go back in time and read old interviews.

1996 Gillian Anderson's thoughts on MSR and sex--

She said: "It would be great to get in the sack with David and let everyone see Scully and Mulder enjoy the greatest sex in the world with each other. We could have an entire hour devoted to us in bed together - with a half- hour of foreplay and then raunchy sex with everything from handcuffs to chandeliers over our heads.

"After all, Mulder has been to bed with three women - including a vampire.

"All Scully got is one date with a wimp. I think it's time she let loose some of that hidden passion.

"But I'm afraid it'll have to remain a dream. If David and I did make love on screen, it would spoil the chemistry that has built up between us. The producers know this and have banned any romance."

AND despite her dream, Gillian admits: "I agree with that. You can't sleep with friends because it ruins the friendship. Most people, once sex happens, can't be the same with that person again."

--and reminiscings on her and David's early friendship--

Off screen, Gillian is close friends with Duchovny, 36. He was an experienced actor when they started The X Files, she had been receiving unemployment benefit and had been in front of cameras only once before.

And she admits: "I desperately needed someone to show me the ropes and David did. He was wonderful."

There were rumours of a secret romance, which would have got them both fired on the spot. It is a strict studio rule that there will be no intimacy between the stars - off screen as well as on.

But Gillian did find love on The X Files, in the shape of assistant art director Clyde Klotz. And she did turn to Duchovny for advice after acting spontaneously on her wedding night, taking no precautions and finding herself pregnant.

She was horrified, believing she would get herself fired and ruin her career.

But her co-star, who was the only person she confided in apart from her husband, put Gillian's mind at ease.

He advised her not to have an abortion - that things would work out. And they did.

He kept her secret while Gillian thought things over for a month.

[theoriginalsupermodels]

Ya know that terrible feeling you get when you finish a TV show you absolutely love?

I'm currently experiencing that.

I just finished all 11 seasons of The X-Files and I'm so sad there's nothing more to watch. God, I love me some fucking David Duchovny. That man was fine in his 30s when the show first started in 1993 and still fine when it ended in 2018. Ugh love me some Spooky Mulder.