#nisei is a victim too.

[soubiapologist]

does anyone think it's kind of fucked up that seimei is absolutely doing to nisei what he did (and is still doing) to soubi and we're all just like yeah that's fine fuck that guy

[matthew-shiki]

Excerpt from "Those Successful Japanese", Bart McDowell

National Geographic March 1974

In large measure, though, the Japanese spirit explains current prosperity. "To understand Japanese business," an American Nisei friend had advised me, "you must start with Zen Buddhism. The values of Zen-diligence, self-denial, loyalty- shaped the knightly samurai character. These qualities make Japanese workers productive."

I tried my friend's ideas on a Zen Buddhist priest, the Venerable Zenshu Inoue, in the classic monastery gardens of old Engakuji Temple. "Responsible for the economic success? No, we are its victims, " the priest said. His gaze swept out beyond ponds covered with a skim of ice to an old plum tree, gnarled, propped with logs, but winking with a few early blossoms. "That tree is many centuries old," he added. "Those cedars are 400 years old, and dying from pollution."

The Venerable Inoue spoke of traditions Zen had brought from China in the 12th century: flower arrangement, the tea ceremony, kendo (fencing with staves). "But that is not well said," he corrected. "Kendo is Zen. The tea ceremony is Zen. Pursuing and devoting yourself to your own work-that is Zen.

Zen is only one of many imported ideas that the Japanese have embraced with both energy and alarm. Mainstream Buddhism, also from China, caused a great stir, and the Nipponese of the eighth century moved their capital from Nara to Kyoto to escape the influence of the Buddhist hierarchy. Christianity followed in the 16th century; the numbers of converts-sine 300,000 by the early 17th century-so convinced the ethnocentric Japanese rulers that they turned the archipelago into a hermit kingdom.

Questions:

China brought over cultural traditions to Japan, but Japan made it exquisite by making them Zen?

Are samurai here to sacrifice themselves for the good of humanity too?

When you're immortal, you're immortal; when you're not, you're not?

They were just traditions, now they became art forms?

Japan appropriates?

I have not mastered the craft and composition.

[scullydubois]

Only the Light Ch. 17

17/? | AU where Melissa moves in with Scully after Scully’s abduction | angst, msr slow-burn, occasional fluff | currently: Nisei adjacent | T | 5.7k | previous chapters | read on ao3 | tagging: @today-in-fic <3

Scully meets the Mufon women, who clue her into their shared fate; Mulder accompanies Scully to the OB-GYN after her car breaks down; A mysterious voicemail appears on Scully's machine.

---------------------

The murder of Mulder’s father--and attempted murders of the agents themselves--went the way of many X-Files, becoming another everlasting thorn in their sides. Skinner wasn’t happy with them, but he pitied them, so it was a two-week paper pusher assignment and then they were back at it. Lightning strikes, allusions to immortality from a mortal man, too many prisons and too much death; the calendar advanced, time marched on, and they saw it all but it couldn’t touch them. Wouldn’t, more like. Emotionally stunted, that’s what they are. Holding onto too much pain to process any.

And then comes Mulder’s $29.95 tape and its path to Allentown; a Japanese diplomat, a dead man, and a list of Mufon members wait in its wake. All of which lead Scully to Betsy Hagopian’s doorstep.

These women--whom she has never seen before, nor could not pick from any crowd--know her. They swear. She is one of them, they say, as if that’s supposed to snap everything into perspective. As if the semblance of belonging somewhere will make her spill her guts. But no; she wants to be nothing but herself, and sometimes not even that.

Then there are dozens of cars outside and women surround her, speaking of a place she didn’t know she knew until they said it. A blank slate flashes in her mind; an echo from some past life. She doesn’t believe in reincarnation, so how can that be?

Then the women--these strange women--speak of men & mysterious tests, and a drill sears Scully’s brain, and she’s coming apart, and is this annihilation or healing?

These images--she can hardly call them memories--expand until she’s living inside them. She is doubled, the victim and the spectator. She sees herself on a medical table, a tube spiraling from her belly button. It’s nonsensical, there’s no procedure of the sort. And then, before her unblinking eyes, her stomach grows. Inflated like a balloon. Her warped form...it looks pregnant, and her old fear comes back as a bitter taste in her mouth. Surely this is something seen in a dream, impossible to be reflected in any reality.

The rattle of metal pulls her back to the present. Every woman standing before her holds a capsule containing a microchip, barely perceptible to the eye. Marked...they have been marked. She has too, they say. They have all the scar, and it’s already been established that she is one of them.

Scully’s swept up by the crowd and taken to Betsy Hagopian at Allentown Medical Center. She’s unsure at this point whether she’s investigating the murder case or some vastly larger conspiracy. Or if those are even distinguishable.

She watches as the nurse slides Betsy into the MRI machine, wonders how Betsy feels about them being there as she disappears from view. Scully once thought of making oncology her specialty, back when she was bright-eyed and believed she could save the world. That path would have been paved with pain, sure, but there would be victory, and above all, hope. Her current job fails to put her in such close contact with miracles.

We’re all dying because of what they do to us, Penny Northern says. And how ironic it is, Scully thinks. She and Mulder want the truth--the proof--of some atrocity greater than themselves, and they may have it...once she’s packed into a coffin. How’s that saying go? Be careful what you wish for…

------------------------

The scar at the base of her neck had never stood out to Scully. She can’t see it, and her hair covers it anyway. She had felt it in the shower once, shortly after her return, but she wrote it off as a bug bite. No one had ever commented on it until Penny Northern and the Mufon women; not Missy, not Mulder, not her mother…

Missy had noticed it during one of their face-mask nights in the weeks after the return, but she chose not to say anything, figuring it wasn’t worth adding to her sister’s worry. If she had seen it again recently--known that it hadn’t gone away--she would have said something.

Mulder...well, he never noticed it, and holy shit, he would have given anything for a situation where he could have. Scully never wears her hair up, he’ll blame it on that though it's fruitless. Really, it’s on him. He has a mental map of the places he’s touched her--and the places he won’t. Her neck is on neither one. He hasn’t gotten there yet.

Margaret Scully never saw it, and frankly, she would have thought it was something inappropriate to mention and wished her daughter had worn a turtleneck that day. What else can be said about that?

Thus, as autumn breaks over Washington, the agents crowd into a Bureau lab with Pendrell (or Agent Nerd, as Mulder prefers to call him) to address the intruder put into Scully’s body. Scully’s calm, cool, and collected, but Mulder winces as Pendrell’s tweezers pierce her skin. He’s never had the guts (nor the patience) for the medical profession.

“Yep, I’ve got something,” Pendrell remarks, dropping it into a petri dish. Mulder inches closer to get a good look at the object, and sure enough, it’s a microchip. He’s met with the urge to pocket it and run so that his partner would never have to see it.

Instead, Pendrell presents the dish to Scully. “It looks like a computer chip to me,” he tells her. “Something manufactured.”

Scully squeezes the object between her thumb and forefinger. She looks to Mulder. “This must be what made the metal detector go off in Santa Fe.”

He clears his throat. “Yeah, I remember.” The handsy men at airport security still make his blood boil.

As Scully’s eyes meet Pendrell’s, he feels like he’s staring directly into a spotlight. And he’s not used to having the spotlight on him. “So it’s man-made, you believe?” she asks, as in need of an answer from him as she ever will be.

He blushes. “Well, I don’t know of manufacturing plants on any other planet, but it does look pretty technologically advanced.” He takes the dish over to a microscope and peers through. “I can’t say I’ve seen something of this complexity before.”

Pendrell moves aside so Scully can take a look. She’s not accustomed to using this sort of magnification for anything other than microbes, but the intricacy of the wiring speaks for itself. Loops upon loops upon loops of electric current, all contained in a space smaller than a pea.

She looks up. “It’s like it was storing something…” The idea of her thoughts being catalogued by some malevolent stranger is too terrifying to voice. Both men’s mind’s land on it without any prompting.

Mulder lays a hand on the small of her back and steers her away from the microscope. “We’ll get this all taken care of, okay?” he murmurs. “Pendrell will pinpoint the manufacturer, then we can track them down and help Betsy Hagopian and all those women.” He intentionally leaves out mention of Scully herself. She hates being helpless, he won’t frame her as such.

“Okay,” she squeaks out, and Mulder feels her shiver beneath her buttoned blazer.

Having received his command from Agent Mulder, Pendrell watches him usher Agent Scully out of the lab with complete control over the situation. It’s as if Agent Mulder knows what he’s doing, comforting Agent Scully with such composure. And right in front of Pendrell, too! Pendrell kicks himself for...well, being himself.

-------------------------

At ten to four, Scully grabs her purse and unclips her key ring as quietly as possible. Mulder’s in the midst of typing up a report about the Japanese diplomat who sold him the $29.95 tape, and she’d hate to ruin his flow. How alarmed Skinner would be if a Fox Mulder field report didn’t read like a Whitman poem! He’d probably assume the bounty hunter got to his agent.

She straightens her blazer and swings the purse over her shoulder. No need for a coat yet, her usual work attire combats the mid-October chill just fine. As she edges toward the door, the guilt of leaving Mulder without a goodbye stops her in her tracks. He knows about her appointment--knows she has to leave early--but still...it feels wrong to walk out without a word.

Hand against the doorframe, Scully tosses her hair over her shoulder. Her partner types at his desk with the ferocity of a teenage boy playing a video game. He even looks like one, with those wiry glasses. She can’t help but smile...these are the ordinary moments she will miss one day.

Setting her lips in a line, she pipes up--”I’ve gotta go, Mulder. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He’s instantly snapped from his trance. “Whoa whoa whoa.” He lays his glasses beside the computer, rubs the red mark on his nose. “Let me walk you down.”

“That’s not necessary,” Scully assures, one kitten heel out the door. “I can navigate the parking garage on my own.”

Mulder pops up from his chair, rounds his desk. “Well, the parking garage, yeah. But haven’t you heard that the Hoover Building is unaccustomed to beautiful women roaming its halls? Who knows what might happen if I send you up there by yourself.”

Scully gives him the unamused smirk he’s fishing for, tries to ignore the way his sleeves cuff over his elbow. “I only have to go through the lobby. I think I can hold any admirers off for those twenty steps.”

“You’re right, I should have faith in you.” He ruffles a hand through his hair. “At least let me escort you to the elevator.”

“If you must.” Scully turns sideways.

He slides past her, winking as he does. It’s infuriating, really, how smooth he can be when he wants to.

Scully follows him down the hallway, wondering if she’s finally grown into the giddy teenager her mother feared she would be. He hits the up button for her, then clasps his hands together--the only time he’s ever been the epitome of patience.

“I hate to pull you away from your next masterpiece for Skinner,” Scully teases, trying to break his gentlemanly bit.

“Oh, an artist knows no timetable,” he responds, barely taking his eyes off the elevator door. He taps his foot...they always joke that the FBI takes an elevator tax out of their paychecks for making it go all the way to the basement.

Scully looks at the floor. A moment ago, she felt like the object of Mulder’s affections. Now, she’s shut out again.

At the sound of the doors gliding open, she steps in. No need to wait for passengers to disembark; nobody comes down here. She hits the first floor button, offers Mulder a weak smile. “See you--”

He sticks his hand out as the doors begin to close and ducks into the space, taking his place beside her. She should have known...his goofy grin confirms that he’s been planning this all along. They begin their brief ascent to the next floor.

“You know, I’m having deja vu, but I’m gonna say this anyway,” Scully starts. “You’re crazy, Mulder.”

“And I’m sure I’ve said this before Scully, but it wouldn’t hurt to hear it again--thank you,” he replies.

Scully rolls her eyes, but god, this is much more fun than being alone. The elevator banks on the landing, and she looks to her partner as the doors open onto the lobby. “Did you lose your faith in me, or did you never have it in the first place?” she asks, taking extra long strides to keep up with him as they make their way toward the parking garage.

“What, about the whole holding off your admirers thing?”

Scully nods.

“I figured back-up wouldn’t hurt.” He slips his hands in his pockets, giving himself an air of pretension. As Scully watches him, she gets the notion that it’s all carefully calculated. It makes her feel both powerful and annoyed. She is the damsel, and he is framing himself as prince charming, though she is not in distress.

They make it to the parking garage and take another elevator up to Scully’s level. “Skinner’s gonna want that report before you leave tonight, you know,” Scully tells him, surprised that he has followed this far.

“I’ll burn the midnight oil if I have to,” he replies casually. And she can’t argue with that, cause she knows he will.

While he looks for her car, she takes a long glance at his face. He spies her sedan, and they set off in that direction.

“You don’t have to baby me,” she reminds him, almost apologetic. “I made it through med school and Quantico. If anyone is capable of--”

“It’s not about whether you’re capable, Scully. You are. But you should never have had to go through all that in the first place. It’s not fair, what you’ve dealt with.”

“Life’s not--”

“--fair. Yeah, I know, that’s why I don’t believe in God,” Mulder deadpans.

Scully gives him the infamous look. He shrugs. “It’s the truth!”

They make it to her car, and Scully lays a hand on the driver’s door. “Alright, Mulder. It looks like we’ve both learned something about each other. Very productive conversation.”

“Good thing I came all the way down here, huh.” He flashes a smile that would disarm a scorpion. Scully feels it in her core. She tightens her grip on the door, pulling it open.

“Bye, Mulder,” she prods, sliding into the driver’s seat.

He salutes her. “Bye-bye.”

He stays at the front of her parking spot as she cranks--or rather, tries to crank--her car. The engine gurgles at her in protest. One twist, two twists, three twists, nothing. She pulls the key out of the ignition and opens the door.

“It won’t start...battery’s dead, I think.”

Mulder leans against her door. “Let me try.”

Scully shuffles herself into the passenger’s seat and he settles in, finding himself squished against the steering wheel with her seat settings. He laughs and jams the key into place. The engine won’t give under his hand either.

He rests his elbow on the console and stares at his partner. Her eyes darken. “I don’t have jumper cables, do you?”

“I’m not a jumper cable man, no,” he mutters.

Scully knocks her head against the back of her seat, covers her face with her hands. “My appointment’s at 4:30. I got the latest one of the day…”

“Okay, okay, no problem.” Mulder taps her shoulder. “I’ll take you.”

She uncovers her face. “But what about the report…?”

“You really think Skinner’s gonna be surprised by another late report?”

She bites her lip. “Fine, fine. It’s off 6th Street, I’ll tell you how to get there.”

“And we can pick up jumper cables on the way back,” Mulder adds.

“Perfect.”

They hop out of the car and head for Mulder’s. Scully watches him out of the corner of her eye--he’s striding along, completely unbothered by this inconvenience. She is struck with the notion that he is a better person than her in some crucial ways.

“Do you have your keys?” she pipes up, always bringing reality into the picture.

He taps his pocket. “Right here.”

“You’re saving my ass, Mulder--thank you.”

“I was the ass hero of Oxford. I’m glad to be of service.”

Scully shakes her head, her smile eclipsing a laugh.  “Please don’t ever tell me the story behind that, ” she giggles.

“Your loss.”

And as she looks over at him in the dingy parking garage, she knows that this is exactly where she’s meant to be.

------------------------------

He wasn’t planning to go in with her--he expected that she’d make a fuss about it if he asked, and it wasn’t his business anyway. He’s surprised, then, when he pulls into a spot at the clinic and she raises an eyebrow when he doesn't turn the engine off.

“Are you coming?” she asks, one leg sticking out of the car.

“Y-you want me to go with you?” he stutters.

Scully shrinks back. “Were you planning on going back to the office? I’m not sure how long the appointment will take, but I hate to make you drive all over the place.”

“No, I was just gonna chill in here. I thought you wouldn’t want me…”

“Oh.” Scully’s out of the car now, her purse swung over her shoulder. “Well, it’s just an ultrasound, so you can come if you want. I bet you’ve never been to an OB-GYN before…”

Mulder shakes his head. “Never had the pleasure. You know I’m all for new experiences, though.”

“Come on, then.” She slams the door closed and starts walking toward the building, playing hard to get in her own little way.

Mulder cuts the engine, locks up the car, and jogs after her. Not a usual occurrence, but he likes the role-reversal.

“So is there anything I should know,” he pants as he catches up with her, “before I walk in? Is there some kind of universal girl code that governs these places?”

“The only naked women you’re about to see are in anatomical diagrams, if that’s what you’re referring to.”

“Oh, so it’s not a communal kinda thing?”

“Jesus, Mulder. That’s a male fantasy if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Hey, men have urinals and locker rooms, it’s only fair that women have some arena for comparison too,” he attests.

Continuing the role-reversal, Scully holds the door for him. “Clearly, we have different priorities,” she says as he strides through. He chuckles at her as he enters, feeling no insecurity about standing out. He’s not the lone man in the waiting room, but he is the only one without a visibly pregnant wife.

He looks around while Scully checks in. The room, he feels, is misleadingly similar to any other doctor’s office. Daytime housewife fodder on TV, issues of magazines that are barely from this decade, and posters preaching about the flu shot...some unsuspecting man might walk in here because he stubbed his toe and walk out with images in his brain that’ll haunt him for the rest of his life.

He takes a seat at the far edge of the room, Scully joining him a moment later with a clipboard.

He points at the entry to the back--“I feel like they should have a sign on that door that says ‘beware: health class flashbacks ahead. And not the good ones.’”

“If you’re a woman, it’s no flashback,” she tells him, focused on filling out the forms. “It’s just what you deal with everyday.”

“Okay, but imagine men had to go to a place like this, and you had to go back there.”

She looks up. “Mulder, you know I do autopsies on dead bodies, right?” Then, with a smirk--”Besides, I’ve never known you to be squeamish about naked women.”

“Right, but this is like...I’m used to looking at the completed painting, and now I’m seeing the paint-by-number. Not so pretty.”

“Maybe you should go sit in the car…” Scully says with a hint of a tease.  

“I digress.” He glances absentmindedly at what she’s writing, then looks away.

Scully notices and meets his eye. “You know what I’m here for, right?”

Without intending to, he read it off her paper. “Follicle ultrasound?”

“Yes, but do you know why? ”

Mulder holds his mouth open like he’ll catch an answer that way. “Uh…” he starts, classic caught-off guard college student.

Scully jots the last marks on her forms. “To check my egg reserve and see if anything’s changed since the last time. To see if there’s any possibility of me having a biological child, essentially.”

“Huh,” Mulder hums dumbly. Way to make an asshole of himself, cracking jokes at a time like this. He wishes it were socially acceptable to walk around with tape over your mouth.

“I’m sorry, Scully. I didn’t realize the situation was so dire.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

It’s funny she says that, because at that exact moment Mulder is thinking about how it is his fault, and where’s the nearest bridge? He realizes then, too, that maybe she wants him there so she’s not alone for whatever the results say, and boy, this is more than he bargained for when he offered to drive her.

He turns to her, his glance far shyer than usual. “So this is the follow-up to your first ultrasound?”

Scully nods. “It’s been almost a year.”

“But you…” he tries to arrange the words in as courteous a manner as possible. “Are you still premenopausal?”

Scully crosses one leg over the other. She’s pleasantly surprised that he cares about this. “No, I’m on birth control to regulate my cycles. But that doesn’t matter if I don’t have enough eggs left for potential fertilization. Fertility and menstruation are not necessarily linked.”

“But there’s an upside to that, right? Aren’t there health risks with early menopause?”

“Yep.”

Mulder’s not sure whether she’s answering his first question or his second one. He lets it be, and good thing, because a nurse calls Scully’s name moments later. He follows her into the back like an eager to please puppy, playing it cool until the nurse pipes up.

“Mr. & Mrs. Scully, how are you?”

“Not married ,” Scully clarifies, amused.

“Oh,” the nurse takes a stray glance at her clipboard. “I’m sorry.” She gestures toward Mulder. “You are…?”

“Fox Mulder. I’m her partner.”

“Oh, okay. I see. Gender-neutral language, very inclusive.”

“He’s my FBI partner,” Scully grumbles, giving Mulder a punch in the bicep for his purposeful vagueness. “I work at the Bureau.”

“Ah. Makes sense.” The nurse waves them into an exam room then closes the door behind herself. As she reads over Scully’s chart, Mulder’s presence makes less and less sense to her, and she addresses her patient with pitched confusion in her voice.

“So you are here for a follow-up antral follicle count...?”

“Yes ma’am.”

The nurse reads from the chart. “Your first one was roughly eleven months ago and indicated low fertility. Five follicles were counted.”

Scully nods.

“But since then, you’ve started hormonal birth control and now have stable menstrual cycles, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.” The nurse makes note of this, then looks to Scully. “If you could come with me for a moment, we’re gonna get your weight, and then Dr. Zapolsky will be right in for the ultrasound.”

Alone in the strange room, Mulder’s met with fascination, not fear. He’s never seen an exam chair with stirrups in real life, and it makes him chuckle, reminiscent of birth scenes in slapstick comedies. On the counter is a 3D model of the uterus, which is pretty cool if he’s being honest. Remove the labels and it’s a modern art piece...and he means that with all due respect. His reproductive system would not make a nice decoration, that’s for sure.

He’s reading a poster about each trimester of pregnancy when Scully and the nurse come back in. Did you know that babies can be frightened by loud noises while they’re still in the womb? he wants to ask, but Scully knows everything, so she probably already knows that.

Scully settles into the exam chair as best she can. She locks eyes with Mulder, and he winks at her--again. It puts a genuine smile on her face, which has never happened in this room. The nurse exits quietly, but they are still there, and so is the smile.

They don’t speak at first. Silence is good when it’s comfortable, they have learned, and it’s always comfortable for them. Until Mulder begins to worry that Scully’s head might be spinning with dark thoughts, and he can’t have that. He thumbs toward the poster. “Did you know that loud noises can frighten babies through the womb?”

Scully’s gaze falls upon him, warm and light. “I’ve always thought that was just an old wife’s tale. I never saw it demonstrated during my obstetrics rotation.”

“Well, it’s on the poster. It’s gotta be true,” he wisecracks.

The door opens, and the majestic Dr. Zapolsky saunters in.

“Let’s ask Dr. Zapolsky,” Scully suggests.

“What’s that?” The doctor rolls the ultrasound machine to the center of the room.

“We were wondering if it’s true that babies in the womb can spook at loud noises,” Scully explains.

“It’s on the poster,” Mulder adds.

“Oh! Yes! But not until around 28 weeks.” Dr. Zapolsky sits down on her stool. “You never saw that during your rotations?”

Scully shakes her head.

“It presents as a kick, and as long as the exposure to the noise is not continuous, it’s harmless.”

“Good to know...I guess,” Scully finishes, wondering why Mulder fixated on that of all things.

Dr. Zapolsky scoots toward her patient. “How are you doing, Dana?”

Scully musters a smile. “I’m okay. Much better than I was last year at this time.”

“And who is your guest…?” she asks, swerving toward Mulder.

“Mulder, my partner at the Bureau. My car went dead, so he had to drive me.”

“Ah! Hello Mulder.”

Mulder nods. “Nice to meet you.”

“I see you’ve gained some weight since your last visit,” Dr. Zapolsky tells Scully. “That’s a good thing--fueling your body allows it to put energy toward ovarian function.”

Scully tries to accept this as a compliment, though she’s been conditioned not to view it as one.

The doctor continues. “And you’re doing well on your birth control? Any problems with it?”

“Nope, everything’s working out.”

“Wonderful.” Zapolsky clasps her hands together. “Looks like we’re all set for the ultrasound. Go ahead and lie back.”

Scully does so.

“I’ll need you to pull your waistband and underwear down. Let me get you a sheet for cover.” She slides over to the cabinets and pulls out a disposable blue blanket, which she drapes over Scully’s bent knees.

Mulder turns his head away as Scully shimmies off her skirt of choice--black, pencil, from the clearance rack at J. Crew, per usual.  Not that he’d be able to see anything since she already has cover, but he’s not risking any disrespect. Scully’s not paying attention to him, and it’s a testament to the trust they have developed.

Dr. Zapolsky grabs the ultrasound wand and takes it under the sheet, using the image on the monitor to guide it into place. “Everything feel alright?” she asks Scully, who nods.

The three occupants focus intently on the screen; two of them have a clear sense of what they’re looking for, and one has no idea. A few circles appear on the monitor, narrowly standing out from the background.

“There they are, right?” Scully inquires with tension in her voice.

Dr. Zapolsky nods. “Those are your follicles. What do you notice?”

Scully’s eyes search the screen. “There’s not many.”

“I’m afraid not. Six. One more than last time, but not the improvement you would need.” Dr. Zapolsky frowns. “Two low antral follicle counts qualifies you for a diagnosis of primary ovarian insufficiency. There’s no clear treatment plan, it simply functions as a label for your condition.”

Scully sits with this numbness as her doctor removes the ultrasound wand and cleans up. She wants to look at Mulder, read his face, but he’s over her shoulder and she can’t bend that way just yet. She takes a breath and pulls her skirt back on.

“So there’s no hope, then?” Her voice shakes. “Of carrying a child with one of my own eggs?”

The doctor finishes washing her hands and turns back toward her patient. “There’s a five to ten percent conception rate for women with POI. If you’re dead-set on it, IVF using an egg donor is your best option. Personally, I don’t recommend it at those odds. It’s very expensive and can take quite a physical toll.” She pats her patient’s hand. “I’m so sorry, Dana.”

With tears threatening to break her composure, Scully cranes her neck toward Mulder. He’s her escape hatch, but he’s not doing much better. His hands are squeezed into fists, his eyes dark. “I’m sorry, Scully,” he murmurs. “You don’t deserve this.”

And even if he’s right it doesn’t make any difference, because this is what she’s gotten, and this is what she must deal with. Gravity’s full brunt bears down on her body and spirit, and she wonders once again if God intends her for heaven or for hell.

-------------------------

The sun is sinking below the horizon by the time Scully sets her keys on her front table. If she wasn’t exhausted before, she is after buying jumper cables and using Mulder’s car to start hers. She hears clanging pots and pans and can only hope it’s her sister home from the lunch shift.

Forcing her tired body into the kitchen, Scully finds Melissa at the stove. The smell of marinara sauce wafts through the air.

Missy looks away from the boiling pasta she’s stirring. “Hello jellybean!” Neither one of them knows where the new nickname came from, but neither one is against it either.

“Hey Missy,” Scully says as she plops into a dining chair. She slides off her heels and stretches her toes.

“How was your day?”

“Alright,” Scully sighs. “Paperwork and then my ultrasound appointment, but my battery died so Mulder had to take me.”

“Oh my goodness!” Missy turns the heat down on the stove and strides over to her sister. “I forgot that was today...how was it?”

Scully looks up through her lashes. “Not good, Missy.”

“No?” Missy slides into the adjacent chair. “Were your counts still low?”

Scully nods, picks a piece of lint off her skirt. “Too low. Doc says I have primary ovarian insufficiency. Basically, it’s highly unlikely I’ll be able to have a child with my own egg.”

“God…” Missy sandwiches one of her sister’s hands between both of hers. “I’m so sorry. That’s not what you wanted to hear, I know.”

Across the way, the boiling water sings a siren song, and Missy reluctantly makes her way back toward it. “You’ll have to accept my condolences in the form of food cause I’m too far into this to stop now.”

“Oh, I will.” She’d be having a salad or...well, probably nothing, if Missy wasn’t here. Scully leans back, examines the ceiling, then rubs her eyes. “Did you know that babies can spook at loud noises through the womb? At 28 weeks, at least.”

“No, I didn’t,” Missy answers with gusto, happy to distract her sister.

“Mulder read it on some poster, and I didn’t think it was true, but it turns out it is,” Scully rambles.

“Mulder read it...?” Missy echoes. “He went in with you?”

“Uh-huh.” Scully’s immune to the usual implications of her sister’s curiosity. She’s had too much of a day to argue that Mulder isn’t as integral a part of her life as he is. “It was nice...I was happy not to be alone.”

“I’m sure,” Missy says, pouring the ravioli into a colander. “Mulder’s a good guy.”

“Mm-hm.” Scully chews the inside of her cheek. She can’t discern whether she’s failing to repress a feeling or experiencing one anew, but it’s in that ballpark.

Having put the pasta in a serving bowl, Missy spoons sauce over it like she’s auditioning for a cooking show. “There was an interesting voicemail on the machine when I got in,” she begins.

“Yeah? A telemarketer? Scammer?”

“I don’t think so. It’s odd, but it sounds quite urgent.”

Missy hits a button on the answering machine. A gruff voice fills the room. “Hello, this is Agent Feniston from the California Bureau of Investigation looking for a Ms. Scully. I am contacting you on behalf of the California Department of Social Services foster care system. Please get back to me as soon as possible at 619-555-1334. Thank you.”

It does sound legitimate, Scully can’t argue with that. She raises an eyebrow at her sister. “You were in California for a while, weren’t you?”

Missy pops a ravioli into her mouth, wipes some wandering sauce off her lip. “The Bay area, mostly,” she says between bites. “The 619 area code is--”

“San Diego. I remember, that’s what our number started with when we lived by the shipyard.”

Missy nods. “I know I’m considered the free spirit in this family, but no child of mine is running wild in California. Let’s clear that up right now,” she chuckles.

“I mean, we don’t have any details,” Scully says. “They probably just need you to testify whether some friend of yours is stable enough to resume custody of their child.”

“Does that sound like something that would warrant a call from the Bureau of Investigation? ” Missy challenges, scooping a hefty portion of pasta into a bowl and handing it to her sister.

Scully takes it and grabs a fork. “If they couldn’t find any other way to contact you.”

Missy stops, looks at her sister with a pointed glare.

“What?” Scully shrugs.

“Darling,” Missy continues, “no one I knew in California has this number, nor any way to determine that I’m living with you.”

Scully lifts the fork to her mouth, freezing before it makes it there. “You think the call is for me?”

“I think it’s a possibility,” she says, taking a seat across from her sister.

Scully scoffs. “I haven’t been to California in ages. There was a case in Marin County, but it’s been two years now.”

“That’s funny,” Missy muses. “I was living there then.”

“Can we stay on topic, please?” Scully tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m not fond of having a random call from the California foster system on my answering machine.”

“Then call Agent Feniston back, and it won’t be random anymore.” Missy gets up, glances at the clock, and grabs the phone off its receiver. “It’s only 3:30 in Californiaaaaa,” she sing-songs, dangling it in front of her sister.

Scully pouts, but lets the weight of the phone rest in her hand. “Can you play the voicemail again? I need the number…”

Feniston addresses them for a second time, and Scully taps the keypad in concert with his directions: 619-555-1334.

[newhistorybooks]

"For far too long, Nisei with life experiences in Japan have been written out of Japanese American history. Michael R. Jin rescues them from the historical oblivion perpetuated by the nationalist narrative of singular loyalty. Based on in-depth bilingual research, Citizens, Immigrants, and the Stateless gives much deserved complexities to the experiences of forgotten Nisei beyond the label of 'disloyal' or helpless victims. A transnational history at its best!"

[katsens-writing]

Meeting the Team

Summary: You’re a SHIELD agent doing some research on your future co-workers... until you run into one of them.

Word Count: 2.1k (give or take a few)

Content: Fluff, maybe a little angst? Let me know if I need to add any!

A/N: This. This thing right here was supposed to be just a simple, short and sweet meet-cute. Three stories and three weeks later, I’m done. This and the second story, Meeting the Agent, are parallel running stories but you should read this one first. The third story is called Meeting the Sergeant. It should be read before or after Meeting the Team and Meeting the Agent. Let me know what you think! I might make more from it...

~

     As soon as you got through security at the museum, you went straight to the exhibit you were looking for. It’d been a while since you had been to the Smithsonian, but you knew the way from memory. You smiled wistfully as you walked past other familiar displays and cases. Weaving through them was like walking down memory lane for you. Finally reaching the exhibit you had come to see, you opened your notebook and pushed the brim of your black baseball cap up with the end of your pencil. You remembered the first time you went to see the Captain America exhibit with your mom. You must have been only four or five then, but you loved it so much that you wanted to go there for every birthday and special occasion. By the time you went to see it on a class trip, all the museum employees in that wing knew you by name. Eventually, you guys moved away when your mom was assigned to an embassy. You hadn’t been there in years when your mom heard from some old work friends back in D.C. that the Smithsonian had added an Avengers exhibit. As soon as she heard, she immediately booked some plane tickets to go see it opening day, as a surprise for your birthday. The second you saw it, your jaw dropped in awe. After walking through it you whipped around and told your mom that you were going to be an Avenger one day. You remembered your mother’s amused expression as you marched off to the Captain America exhibit.

     When you got your acceptance letter from the academy years later, you both jumped up and down screaming and crying. Just a month after that, you said goodbye to your mother and moved back to the States. Two years later, your mother wept in the audience as you walked across the stage to receive your badge from Nick Fury and shake his hand at the SHIELD induction ceremony. When you met her for lunch last week in Prague and told her about your new assignment with the Avengers, you could’ve sworn she was going to pass out. Now here you are in D.C., reading up on your future coworkers. You already knew so much about most of the team, but you wanted to refresh your memory before meeting them.

     You read over the story of Captain America again, even though you practically had it memorized even after all these years. As you walked through his exhibit, your eyes fell on the section dedicated to the Howling Commandos. You remembered hearing talks of the museum restoring the mural of Captain America and the Howling Commandos, so you quickly jotted down a reminder to check it out later before you moved over to the panel about them. You read through the brief articles on display about each of the commandos, for fun more than anything.

     ‘Caporal Jaques “Frenchie” Dernier, France, born January 2, 1911. Explosives and demolitions expert. French resistance.’

     Frenchie? You thought with a smirk. How original.

     ‘Private Gabriel “Gabe” Jones, United States. Born August 14, 1918, in Macon, Georgia. Translator and Communications Specialist. United States Army, 92nd Infantry Division.’

     I remember learning about him in high school. You blinked thoughtfully. I think he was the one that arrested Zola.

     ‘Corporal Jim Morita, United States. Born October 20, 1919, in Fresno, California. Marksman and Medic. United States Army, Nisei Squadron.’

     Brigadier James Montgomery Falsworth, Great Britain. Born January 2, 1914, in Birmingham, England. Tactician and Marksman. British Armed Forces, 3rd Independent Parachute Brigade.

     Huh. He had two kids. You blinked, pleasantly surprised.

     ‘Sergeant Timothy Aloysius Cadwallader “Dum Dum” Dugan’.

     Your eyebrows rose a little and you tried to stifle a laugh but it ended up coming out as a small snort. That’s a mouthful. No wonder he went by Dum Dum Dugan.

     You kept reading. ‘United States, born April 11, 1912. Transport specialist. United States Army, 69th Infantry Regiment.’

     You tilted your head curiously at a series of panels you hadn’t seen before, covered in newspaper articles, headlines, and various official reports. Drawing closer, you realized they were a replacement for the old panel ‘A Fallen Comrade’. You began reading the first panel titled ‘James Buchanan Barnes: War Hero, Winter Soldier, Avenger’. You casually scanned the headlines and titles until one caught your attention. Your eyes widened in shock and you froze as you realized just what exactly you were reading-- you had been there.

     You had been working for SHIELD for almost a year when it fell. You were in the control room when Alexander Pierce ordered the manhunt for Captain America and declared him a fugitive. You were in that same room when Captain America revealed over the P.A. system that Hydra had taken over and you did everything you could to fight back, passively and physically. After the helicarriers were launched, you and your coworkers managed to retake the control room, but it was too late. You contacted the aerial commander and told him to gather all SHIELD pilots. You lowered your head, a wave of guilt washing over you. One of them must have been Hydra. They never made it off the ground. 

     You were literally forced to watch helplessly as Steve fought the Winter Soldier on the helicarrier and your heart stopped when you saw him plummeting to the earth, watching in horror as the fiery wreckage rained down upon him from the sky above. You were five floors below where one of the helicarriers crashed into the building. The impact was bone-shaking and caused your Hydra captor to stumble, allowing you to gain the upper hand. After subduing him, you grabbed his radio. Without hesitation or authority, you took charge and immediately organized and coordinated search and rescue teams. You scattered the teams all over the SHIELD compound, the river, and its banks to look for any survivors, before joining one yourself. Now with SHIELD reforming, you were one of the first agents to return. After having already proven your loyalty, you were an easy choice for your new assignment.

     You shook your head to clear your thoughts. ‘James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, aka the Winter Soldier, possibly the world’s deadliest assassin and Hydra’s greatest weapon and asset.’

     You winced as you read that part. Why did they have to include that? You wondered. He’s not some tank or fighter jet.

     You continued reading. ‘Originally suspected in the terrorist attack on the Sokovia Accords Summit that led to the deaths of many ambassadors and political figures, Barnes was later found to be innocent, another victim of the real culprit, Sokovian nationalist Baron Zemo.’

     Your eyes narrowed as you read exactly how much the article had on the summit bombing. You were one of the few who knew the whole story. After SHIELD had fallen, you went to work for Stark Industries, where you met up once again with Maria Hill. When the news came out naming Barnes as a suspect in the bombing, you were one of those assigned to keep tabs on Steve, though you never found anything... as far as anyone knew. When Maria quietly slipped off the grid without a word to anybody, you were the only one to notice, and you made sure of that by covering her tracks.

     You never really believed that Stark honestly expected you to turn in Steve if you located him, not when he knew your history. He knew how painful it was for you to track Steve and how it reminded you of when Hydra had taken over SHIELD. He knew that for you it felt just as wrong tracking Steve then as it had before, yet he still assigned you to the task. You smiled to yourself, in spite of the painful memories. You would never forget the day when Tony received the call saying everyone had escaped from the Raft; you could hear Ross yelling at him on the phone from two rooms away before Tony sauntered into the main office with a barely concealed grin on his face. He definitely looked far more amused than he should have, considering.

     After you finished reading the new panels, your eyes drifted back to another old one about James. ‘Born in 1917, James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes was the oldest of four kids. He lived in Brooklyn where he was an excellent athlete and student. He enlisted in the Army shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor and was assigned to the 107th. His unit was sent to the Italian front where they were captured by Hydra. Separated from his unit, Barnes was starved and tortured...’

     You blinked your eyes and looked away; you knew what happened after that. Your eyes fell on a display of pictures of Captain America, Bucky, and the Howling Commandos. You drifted over to it. Scanning the pictures, you couldn’t help but smile as your eyes fell on one of Steve and Bucky at one of the allied camps. They were standing side by side with lopsided grins, but Barnes looked like he’d just woken up from a nap.

     “Ugh, of all the pictures they had...” you jumped at the sudden voice behind you and spun around to find a man shaking his head, looking down at the ground. “They just had to pick that one.”

     The man lifted his head, revealing his face that had been hidden by the brim of a grey baseball cap, and your eyes fell on a familiar lopsided grin accompanied by a pair of startlingly blue eyes. The man looked a little embarrassed. Your own eyes widened and your mouth opened slightly in surprise.

     “Bucky!” you gasped softly.

     The former assassin just stared at you blankly for a moment. Realizing what you had done, your face reddened in embarrassment. You began to apologize, but Bucky simply waved it off. Shaking his head with a grin, he reassured you.

     “No, it’s ok, really. People just don’t usually recognize me.” His smile faded slowly as his eyes shifted to the notebook in your hands, tilting his head curiously.

     You looked down at the notebook you had forgotten you were holding and quickly pulled it closer to yourself, realizing how you must look. “It's just some research I’m doing for work,” you quickly offered.

     Bucky’s face scrunched in thought before it lit up. “You must be the new SHIELD agent assigned to the compound.”

     “Yeah, I am,” you replied, relaxing a little, but still a bit uneasy.

     “I thought you weren’t due in until next week?” Bucky looked at you, still curious.

     “Well, I wanted to get some research in. I like to learn a bit about who I’m going to be working with,” you shrugged, a little embarrassed but not apologetic. Looking into coworkers was a habit you had formed in the aftermath of SHIELD falling, out of caution and perhaps a little guilt. You had been caught off guard and you vowed you weren’t going to let that happen again.

     “Well that makes sense,” he nodded thoughtfully, almost like he understood what you were thinking. He shook his head lightly and with another lopsided grin, he held out his hand. “I’m James Buchanan Barnes. Or Bucky.”

     You took his hand and shook it, your gaze rising to meet his with the slightest hint of awe. “Y/N. Agent Y/N Y/L/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

     “Y/N,” Bucky repeated, a smile growing on his face. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

     You lowered your eyes to the notebook in your hand, fidgeting awkwardly. Bucky cleared his throat, almost making you jump again.

     “Well Y/N, if you have any questions, I’d be happy to help. The information here isn’t exactly complete...” his voice trailed off.

     “I noticed,” you replied, glancing to the side at the section about the bombing at the summit. Clearing your throat, you turned back to Bucky. “They don’t really have anything on Black Widow or Hawkeye.” That didn’t really surprise you, after all, what good is a spy with their face on display at one of the world’s busiest museums?

     Bucky arched an eyebrow with only the slightest hesitation. “Well, if you would like, I can fill you in on the team.” He glanced down at his watch then rubbed the back of his neck before completely throwing away caution. “Heck, I can even introduce you to some of them if you want.”

     Bucky looked up at you and grinned again, his eyes shining, and you just couldn’t help the smile spreading on your own face as your shoulders relaxed. “I would appreciate that, thank you.”

     Bucky looked down at his watch again. “Great, I’m meeting Clint- that’s Hawkeye- for lunch in an hour. You’re welcome to come,” he looked up at you and hesitated. “In the meantime, have you seen the Howling Commandos memorabilia exhibit?”

     You nodded. “Yeah, it’s been a while though. Are you sure Clint won’t mind the extra company at lunch?”

     “He’ll get over it,” Bucky replied with a grin and you couldn’t resist a small chuckle. Turning back to the direction of the memorabilia display, Bucky nods his head. “Shall we?”

     With a smile you walked alongside the super soldier, laughing and asking questions as he told stories about the items on display. You may not have learned much about the team like you had wanted to that day, but as it turned out, you learned more than you could have ever hoped.

[barrenjars]

This week, I feel sorrow too heavy for words, 

I tell my childhood Nisei friend that the majority of victims have been female,

She says: we should have been smarter, better prepared to fend off attacks; 

We must prevail, not let this weigh us down.

I weep, and strive to understand.

[armeniaitn]

Book Review: The Story of B. Artin Haig, FDR's Photographer

New Post has been published on https://armenia.in-the.news/politics/book-review-the-story-of-b-artin-haig-fdrs-photographer-40366-29-07-2020/

Book Review: The Story of B. Artin Haig, FDR's Photographer

The Story of B. Artin Haig, FDR’s Photographer By Michael Boyajian Jera Studios Publishing, 2020 164 pp. Paperback $9.95 Retired attorney and former human rights judge of New York, Boyajian captivates readers with his maverick style of writing. He is down to earth, and you may not always agree with him. His humor is boundless which attracts various ages of readers. The 30-plus books he has written pertain to a broad spectrum of topics from ancient to modern times. He not only writes about Armenians and their history, but he also writes about American history. In the simplicity of his words, Boyajian makes you understand and analyze history. He is a master storyteller. The book reviewer’s three favorite books pertaining to the Armenians include the present work about Haig Artin Kojababian. The photographer later used the name B. Artin Haig in formal settings. He was also called “Bob” and later in life “Honey” by his children. Other admired reads include Roman Armenia: A Study of Survival and The Armenians In Paris: The Joy after the Sorrow. The reviewer also recommends Sybil Ludington: Patriot Ride of the American Revolution and Enoch Crosby: Master Spy of the American Revolution. These are two individuals who are not often mentioned in United States history texts. The author’s lens on these later two individuals manifest the dedication of the American patriots who sought freedom and independence against the British Empire. Why did Boyajian write about B. Artin Haig? To paraphrase the author, he was inspired to research the life of Mr. Haig as an immigrant and survivor of the Armenian Genocide. Furthermore, the biographical material is not well known, and the book reveals how the career of a man catapulted him in becoming the photographer for one of the greatest presidents in US history—Franklin D. Roosevelt. The book can enrich readers with an understanding of the human experience between two men totally different from one another in life experiences and their camaraderie.

The scope of the book covers two parts and six chapters. Part One is titled “Rise To Fame” and Part Two the “Love Of Family.” The first four chapters are diverse and humorous in parts. Boyajian discusses the infatuation Armenians and others have with different types of cameras and photography including his own. He tells of his own family’s interest with anecdotal stories. In the second chapter, he highlights the names associated with B. Artin Haig, his family and the Armenian Genocide. The legacy of the Roosevelt family clan being both Democrats and Republicans in Chapter 3 will enhance a reader’s knowledge of the familial relationships. The important point is regardless of how close the Roosevelt family bond appeared, Franklin D. Roosevelt launched his own policies outside of even his family’s expectations with a charismatic style and confident manner no presidential candidate could match.

The reader must remember his greatest supporter was his wife Eleanor who was also a Roosevelt. She became the First Lady admirably, but her views did not always coincide with her husband, the family or the public. Eleanor overlooked her husband’s shortcomings, although she was his closest advisor. Boyajian describes her as “the most consequential woman in American history. As a child she feared everything. As an adult she feared nothing.” Eleanor was a politically active First Lady in humanitarian advocacies, civil rights and labor. Other family members are discussed like Sara and James Roosevelt who were the president’s mother and father. Comparisons between various Roosevelt kin are also highlighted in drawing views of the family members in different eras in history.

The reader interested in Franklin D. Roosevelt’s legacy and engaged in understanding politics will favor Chapter 4. Throughout the book, there are several noteworthy photographs. The book reviewer appreciated the author’s inclusion of two major criticisms of Franklin D. Roosevelt and his administration. One was the incarceration of all Japanese Americans, a plan which may have developed in California and supported by Earl Warren. He was the Attorney General of that state circa 1938 and later became governor. During World War II, he took the leadership in not only the removal of Japanese Americans but the development of placing them in internment camps. The camps were widely spread out throughout mostly western states since the majority of the Japanese American population was in the west. In sum, the Japanese Americans called Nisei, who were second generation, became the most decorated combat team in World War II.

Another noteworthy point brought up by Boyajian was the Roosevelt administration’s rift with the Jewish community which was caused by not quickly responding to the destruction of European Jewry. Some blamed the President, but the fault was the antisemitic leadership in the State Department of the United States. One must keep in mind that Franklin D. Roosevelt had appointed more Jewish Americans to office than any other president before his time. Furthermore, Boyajian points out he also sought the advice of Henry Morgenthau, Jr. whose father Ambassador Morgenthau assisted the Armenians in World War I. Henry Morgenthau, Jr. brought Roosevelt’s attention to the Genocide of the Armenians in 1915. The President did react with the creation of the War Refugee Board, but some say to this day it was too late since many victims perished by 1943. Immigration restrictions were very tight on immigrants from Europe during the war years and the process of relatives in the United States applying for their loved ones was slowed down by the Nazi regime and American government bureaucracy.

“Part Two: Love Of Family” is about the personal experiences of Haig’s family. He loved baseball and witnessed Yankee greats Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig. The photographer moved several times, living in New York, the Washington, D.C. area, Dallas and Milwaukee. He photographed members of the Schlitz brewery family, the Rockefellers, the Duponts, the Mellons, the Vanderbilts and others. Fellow photographer and friend Sam Bogosian said Haig was “a Master Photographer Craftsman.” In his opinion, Bogosian, knowing of the famous Armenian Canadian photographer Joseph Karsh and Artin 

Haig, he wrote, “Karsh captured the grandeur of great people whereas Bob ‘Haig’ captured the intimacy of great people.”

In Chapter Five, Boyajian discusses how Haig copes with overcoming the trauma of the Armenian Genocide when he was a youngster. He discusses how Haig escapes in the desert and is saved by his uncle. The atrocities in Hadjin are also described, as well as how the Turkish general boasted of collecting the ears of the victims. Haig lost his parents and family members and attests to their beheadings in 1915. In Chapter 6, the author included a wonderful eulogy given by one of his four daughters Artyn Gardner about her father and the family. B. Artin Haig was born on August 1, 1914 and lived 104 years. He led a successful life and was praised by his family, friends, associates, professional organizations, and of course the many famous and unfamous he photographed in his lifetime. A poignant comment from a relative offers more context: “Bob Haig may have been 100, but he partied like a 20 year old.”

Boyajian’s book also has a useful bibliography for avid readers and further research. Boyajian concludes with a short tribute to Haig by reiterating his devotion to his loved ones and the profession of photography. His legacy is now known to others by the pen of Michael Boyajian.

Gary Kulhanjian

Gary A. Kulhanjian is a social historian and educator who holds three degrees in history, social science, and the humanities. Kulhanjian served three New Jersey governors on the New Jersey Commission for Holocaust Education representing the Armenian community. The reviewer is published in several journals, newspapers and books. He is the author of two monographs about Armenian immigration to the United States in the first half of twentieth century. He currently lives in California.

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Read original article here.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

monster dog

summary: Fox Mulder and his unlikely rivalry with a Pomeranian.

part of my series of fics i’m writing as i rewatch the x files. spoilers for the list, 2shy, the walk, and nisei/731. dedicated to banjo, my Pomeranian mix, whose life i plagiarized for this fic. 

They’ve taken to sharing cars everywhere when they go on cases - rental cars, driving to locations too close to fly to, driving to the airport. Mulder picks Scully up in the morning, on the way to the airport to head to the prison in Florida. He brings her a bagel in a white paper bag and uses his key to let himself in, because if he knows Scully, she won’t be ready for another ten minutes and their flight isn’t for another hour. They’re used to this, they’ve been doing this since last May, since his father and Melissa. But he’s caught off guard this time.

Usually, he calls out when he lets himself in so he doesn’t startle her. But he’s startled by the snarling and yapping from inside. Mulder shoves the door open, irrationally fearing some kind of werewolf for a split second. He finds, instead, a tiny ball of orange fur dancing around the floor and barking fiercely at him, white teeth exposed under grimy pink gums.

“Mulder, is that you?” Scully shouts from somewhere deep in the apartment.

Mulder suddenly realizes that this isn’t some kind of werewolf (although he’s not sure it’s not dangerous; it did eat a human after all, dead or not). It’s that Pomeranian thing she adopted after the psychic case. “Yeah, it’s me,” he calls. “Scully, I don’t think your dog likes me very much.”

Scully appears out of the bedroom, already dressed, hair wet around her cheeks. “Queequeg, hush!” she scolds in a tone Mulder’s heard all too many times. It takes him a second to realize that she is addressing the dog, who quiets, huffs, and jumps up onto the couch. “Sorry about that,” she says to Mulder, tucking strands of hair behind her ear. “I’m trying to keep him from barking every time someone comes in, but considering the apartment’s habit of getting broke into, I think it could be helpful.”

Well. It’s hard to argue with that, but it didn’t make the sound any less annoying. Most alarm systems are quiet unless there’s a burglar. “He’s very yippy,” says Mulder.

Affection fills her voice, the type he’s only ever heard towards kids they run into on cases: “Yes, he is.” Scully scratches Queequeg on the head. “Fifteen minutes, I swear. I just need to dry my hair.” She starts into the bedroom and Queequeg scrambles off the couch and follows her across the floorboards, right on her heels, toenails clicking on the floorboards. (Another annoying sound.)

Raising an eyebrow, Mulder sits on the couch, flipping on the TV. There’s nothing good on at eight in the morning, of course. And next on Bizarrely Domestic Scenes With My Partner, he thinks wryly.

The tea kettle whistles shrilly, and Scully yells, “Can you get that please?” He abandons the TV and pours two cups, automatically fixing Scully’s the way she likes it, before heading into the bedroom. Queequeg lies in front of the bathroom door, nose on his paws, and he glares at Mulder suspiciously when he knocks on the door. Scully sticks her head out and grabs the mug, thanking him.

“Your dog seems to be stalking you,” he says, pointing at him.

“He’s very clingy. I suspect it has to do with the loss of his last owner.”

“Didn’t that dog eat his last owner?” Mulder looks down at the fuzzball.

She makes a face. “I’ve got to finish up in here, Mulder.” The door closes. Queequeg whimpers and paws the crack in the door.

“He could be staking out his next prey, Scully!” he calls through the door. The hair dryer switches on, effectively quieting any further conversation.

Mulder figures as long as he’s going to be sporadically showing up at Scully’s apartment that he should make peace with the beast. He kneels and reaches out to pet him. Queequeg growls fiercely as soon as his fingers get close. Well, okay then. He sits on the edge of Scully’s bed and drinks his tea.

Scully exits the bathroom a few minutes later, automatically brushing her hair. Queequeg follows her across the room. “So what’s your theory?” she says, reaching for her cross on the bedside table.

He crosses his ankles. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“You mean you’re buying into the reincarnation story?” Her fingers scrabble at the nape of her neck, fastening the gold chain.

“Scully, do you know me at all?”

She rolls her eyes. “Just seems a little farfetched, that’s all.”

“We’ve seen cases of reincarnation before, you know. Remember that little girl, Michelle, who was taking out the people responsible for that cop’s death?”

“There was never any substantial proof of that.”

“Yes, there was, Scully, you saw…”

The doorbell rings and the dog goes into a barking frenzy, charging the door. Mulder jumps. “That’s the dog sitter. Queequeg, hush!” Scully shouts, going after him and scooping him up.

“You’re leaving that monster dog with someone else? Scully, how could you do this to that poor sitter?” He trails after them into the living room.

Scully tucks the dog under her arm, shoots him a glare and a, “You shut up,” before opening the door to reveal a girl with braids. “Hi, Ms. Scully,” she says meekly.

“Hi, Molly. Thanks for doing this. You have a crate at your house, right?”

“Absolutely. Hi, sweetie!” she coos to the dog. His tail wags wildly from under Scully’s elbow. (Of course the dog likes the sitter better than him.)

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone, but I’ll keep you updated.” Scully passes the dog to Molly before retrieving a bag by the door.

“It’ll be fine, Ms. Scully.” The girl’s eyes travel past her to Mulder. “Is this Mr. Scully?”

Mulder chokes on his tea. Scully looks like she’s about five seconds away from uproarious laughter, covering her mouth with her hand. “No, Molly, this is my partner. He’ll be working on the case with me.”

“Oh!” The girl’s cheeks pink. “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine.” Scully hands her the bag. “I’ll call you before I pick him up, alright?”

“That’s fine. Come out, cutie,” Molly says to the dog, toting him off down the hall and avoiding both of their eyes. Scully burst into quiet giggles as she closes the door.

Mulder goes for her suitcase in the corner. “Well,” he says primly, “is my wife ready for a romantic vacation in Florida?”

She jabs him in the side. “Shut up and come on or we’ll miss our flight.”

He opens the door for her. “You know, that monster dog would be like our child…”

Scully smirks. “Lucky us. I’m clearly the favorite parent.”

—

The case in Florida is closed, they pick up Queequeg from Molly’s on the way home from the library, and he paces restlessly along the backseat the whole way home. Mulder discovers it’s covered in orange hairs when he gets back to his apartment.

The next case is in Cleveland, a fat-sucking monster named Incanto who leaves Scully with a major headache from bashing her head into the mirror. The woman who was his intended victim leaves him in the hospital. The ambulances takes Incanto and his victim, Ellen, to the hospital, and Scully gets checked out at the scene and assured she doesn’t have a concussion. Mulder drives her back to the hotel and waits in her room while she takes a shower.

“The hospital called,” he tells her when she comes out of the bedroom, wet hair and white robe. “Incanto pulled through surgery. They think he’s going to be fine, he’s already awake and in excellent condition, they said; he might have some kind of healing abilities on top of his normal mutations.”

“I can’t say I’m especially happy,” Scully murmurs, sitting on the bed. She ignores his healing abilities theory. “All those women…” She pops two ibuprofens. “And Ellen?”

“She’s fine, too. They’ve never seen this condition before, but they’re treating her for chemical burns like you advised. Her friend is at the hospital with her.”

“Thank god.” Scully shifts onto the bed, leaning back against the pillows.

“You feeling okay?”

She nods, eyes slipping closed. “Just hurts, but I’ll be fine. Paramedic said I could sleep.”

Mulder touches her forehead gently. “Listen, local law enforcement has noticed some similar crimes around the country. They want me to stay and check it out. Incanto should be ready to interrogate in a week or so, we’d like to pin him down for as many murders as possible. I think you should go on and fly back.”

She opens one eye to look at him. “I’m fine, Mulder, really. It’s just a headache.”

“Yeah, but you should get some rest. And we don’t really need you here to look into cold cases.”

“Sure you do. Who else is gonna explain the autopsy reports?”

He chuckles quietly. “There is that.”

Scully groans a little, massaging her temples. “Tell you what. I’ll fly back tomorrow, meet with Skinner. Maybe see what research I can find on… things like Incanto in DC. Then I’ll head back up to help you out.”

“Sounds good. But try to take it easy, okay?” He stands, mattress shifting with the loss of his weight.

“Mulder, I’m fine,” she says, frustrated.

“I know.” He places his hand on the top of her head for a moment; his palm spans her entire scalp. “Call me if you need anything.”

Scully flies back to DC the next morning and calls two days later to ask if their hotel is pet-friendly. “Um… sure,” Mulder says, halfway nervous. “Why?”

“Molly’s busy, my mom’s in San Diego with my brother, and I can’t find anyone else last minute.”

“Scully,” he says. “Are you telling me that the monster dog will be joining us in Cleveland?”

“I don’t have a choice, I can’t leave him alone,” says Scully.

Which is how a yappy Pomeranian ends up sharing the thin hotel wall with Mulder. They spend the last few days before Incanto can be discharged at the police station going over recent missing women cases, Scully momentarily leaving to go let the dog out. It’s depressing, confronting that many cases. Mulder drives to some of the closest ones to interview the families, which only strengthens his hate for this creature. In the end, they find forty seven cases that fit Incanto’s MO. All of whom Incanto claim. The fucking bastard.

They spend one more night at the hotel before heading home. Mulder goes to Scully’s room to watch TV. He sits in the chair by the window, typing up the end of his report. Scully lies on the bed, Queequeg curled up at the end.

“I just can’t get past it, Mulder,” Scully says finally.

“This case?”

“The violence against women, all those innocent women who were just looking for companionship… I don’t know. It’s terrible.”

He’s quiet for a minute before saying, “Does he remind you of Pfaster?”

Her eyes shut in a weary way that makes him immediately regret it. “Maybe a little. It’s the same concept, you know… pure evil. Even in the sense of survival… like Tooms… it doesn’t make it any less evil. I guess it just seems different because he preyed on their emotions, too.” She covers her face with her arm. “I talked to Ellen, you know. She’s extremely embarrassed. I felt terrible for her.”

“I understand,” Mulder says. “It’s a terrible thing to go through.”

At the end of the bed, Queequeg lifts his fluffy head. He gets to his feet and pads up to curl on top of her chest. He licks the underside of her chin. She smiles, lowering her hand to his back. It’s a sweet picture. Mulder smiles a little. Maybe that little monster isn’t so bad after all.

Far away, sirens wail. Queequeg lifts his head in curiousity, throws his head back, and howls. Little black nose pointed at the ceiling, he makes an almost inhuman wailing sound. Mulder winces. Scully bursts into giggles under the sirens and howls, scratching his little back. “Hey, Scully, how do you shut this thing up?” Mulder shouts over the noise.

Somewhere else in the hotel, a bigger dog starts to howl. Scully laughs harder, covering her mouth with her hand. Mulder covers his ears. More dogs take up the song; someone pounds on their wall and shouts for them to shut the hell up. Scully closes her hand around Queequeg’s muzzle as the sirens and howls subside. “You hush,” she tells the dog affectionately, setting him down on her lap as she sits up. He wags his tail wildly, pawing at her arms and whimpering.

“I think that thing really loves you, Scully,” Mulder points out.

“I know you do, Mulder,” Scully says, focusing on petting Queequeg.

“Hey!”

“I’m kidding.” She offers him a small, coy smile. “I do think I needed that, though. I feel a little better now.”

“If all you needed was a howling dog all these years, I should’ve taken you on a werewolf case sooner.”

She rolls her eyes.

—

They don’t bother flying for the case at the VA hospital in Fort Maryland. They take shifts driving instead, Scully taking the second shift. “Queequeg is not going to be happy,” she says, fiddling with the radio.

“Are you really going to let that mutt dictate your life?” Mulder says lightly, rummaging through the takeout menus he’s stashed in the glove compartment.

“No, I’m letting you.”

He turns to her in concern and she smiles a little to show she’s kidding, eyes on the road. “I sense some hostility there, Scully.”

“Buy me some dinner and I’ll back off.”

He buys her dinner. They take it back to her place where Queequeg wriggles with excitement in his cage, yapping in a way that Mulder’s never heard before. (He hypothesizes that it’s delight.) As soon as Scully lets the thing out of the cage, he dances excitedly around her feet, little paws scrabbling at her pants legs. “Hey, buddy,” Scully says affectionately, scratching his head. “Mulder, will you hand me the leash?”

Mulder hands her the leash. “Hey, flesh-eating monster,” he says to Queequeg. The beast ignores him, whining and jumping on Scully’s legs. “TV trays?” he addresses Scully.

“You know what I like,” she says dryly. “We’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

They’re back in twenty. By then, Mulder’s hunger has gotten the better of him and he’s already halfway through his share of the takeout. “Mulder!” Scully protests when she catches him.

“Relax, I put yours in the microwave,” he says. “You can heat it up.”

“My hero.” She makes a face at him as she hangs Queequeg’s leash by the door and heads into the kitchen. The dog has spotted him eating on the couch. He’s at Mulder’s side in about five seconds flat, rocking back on his haunches, front paws in the air, and is giving him a pitiful, pleading look.

“Scully, your dog is staring at me,” Mulder calls, not taking his eyes off of the animal.

“He does that.” The keypad beeps under Scully’s hand. “You’re pathetic, Queequeg,” she calls without looking back at them. The dog whimpers plaintively, not taking his eyes off Mulder. Great, he’s locked in a staring contest with a Pomeranian.

They eat their takeout and flip through channels on the TV. Queequeg doesn’t leave Mulder’s side as they eat, continuing to shoot the pitiful looks. At one point, an actual tear trickles out of his eye. “Scully, the dog is crying,” says Mulder, astonished.

“He does that, too. You shouldn’t have any trouble resisting, though, since you clearly don’t like him.” Scully takes her plate to the sink to rinse it.

The dog makes no move to follow. He’s barely moved from his position since he came in, occasionally going on all fours only to go back to his upright position, his ears cocked, eyes pleading. Mulder sighs, grabs a piece of cold chicken from his plate and drops it on the floor. Queequeg eagerly gobbles it up.

“Broke you, huh,” Scully deadpans, leaning against the fridge and crossing her arms.

“Yeah,” Mulder says. It seems like an opportune time to scratch Queequeg on the head, so he does. “Gets that from you, the little bastard. Knows exactly how to break me.”

Scully grins, shakes her head. “Just wait.”

“What do you…” He looks back to the dog, who’s resumed his position from earlier, almost eagerly.

“You know what they say,” says Scully. “Feed an animal once, they’ll always come back for more.”

“I take it back,” he says. “This dog is clearly nothing like you. He’s pure, spiteful evil.” Queequeg whimpers adorably. Mulder ignores him.

—

Mulder jumps onto a train, gets hit over the head and is found in Iowa, and walks away with a concussion and several cuts and bruises. Scully gets the call and takes him home from the hospital. She’s told to monitor his sleeping schedule, to wake him up every hour, so she takes him home and makes up a bed on the couch. Mulder half-dozes, the TV flickering in the background. He’s in pain, but his mind is fixed solely on the train car, what happened after he was knocked unconscious. They’ll need to investigate, but Scully refuses to discuss it until he heals more.

Scully wakes him up at nine and he falls back asleep until 9:58. Scully pads out of her room a minute later, Queequeg right on her heels. Of course the damn thing sleeps with her. “I’m awake,” he mumbles, reaching up to rub his forehead and wincing when his fingers find the sore spot.

“How do you feel?” Scully sits by his side on the couch, checking his eyes with a penlight, pushing his hair back. Queequeg hops up by his feet.

“Fine. Hurts.” He closes his eyes. “Frustrated.”

“Stop thinking about that damn train car,” Scully says sternly. “You need to rest right now, recover. Be concerned with that.”

“Whatever you say, doc.” The pounding is steady behind his eyes and he remembers suddenly that - sans concussion - Scully was in a similar position a few months ago. He taps her side in the flickering dark of the room. “Hey, Scully, we have a penchant for head injuries, don’t we?”

“It would seem that way.” She smooths his hair again before standing.“I’ll be right back, I’m going to go get you some water.”

The sound of water running echoes underneath the TV. Mulder suddenly realizes by the tiny paws on his legs that Queequeg didn’t follow Scully. The beast seems to be sniffing his stomach, cautiously. He steps onto it, and Mulder grunts in protest - he’s still sore from jumping onto the fucking train. The dog ignores him, coming up to curl on his chest.

“Well, this is unexpected,” Scully says when she returns. “I never expected you two to form a truce.”

The damn thing is already asleep, snoring with his nose on his paws. “Want me to move him?” she asks.

“No,” Mulder mutters. “Might as well make a truce with this thing if I have a chance.”

Scully grins. “Good idea. Besides, he’s driving me crazy, he always manages to crawl under the covers.” She pats Queequeg on the head before heading into the bedroom, calling, “See you in an hour.”

Queequeg snores, a heavy weight on Mulder’s chest. The sound is raspy and annoying. “I still don’t like you,” Mulder tells the dog seriously before going to sleep.

[somethinglessfighter]

Don’t the people who constantly paint Seimei as being irredeemably evil ever consider the possibility that he is almost certainly a victim if abuse himself and that’s part of the reason he’s like that? (no that doesn’t give him a free pass and no that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have to take responsibility for his actons blah blah)

(I say this because of the ‘cycle of abuse’ thing which is hinted at with Misaki’s remarks about her own mother-yes Misaki was a victim too, it’s a very complex and morally ambigous aspect of the story world)

No one is two dimensionally evil in Kouga Yun. (I’ve made this point countless times before as if to a brick wall so here we go again). In Yun there is always but always a reason why people are the way they are. Complex psychological reasons pretty much always rooted in childhood. (The victimisation of chldren by adults is a major theme of hers, in all her works not just loveless.) -

We haven’t yet been given Seimei’s origin and the psychological effects it had on him. When we eventually do if we do we will learn a lot about why he is as he is. And again, in Yun there’s always a reason. The fact that we do not have this vital background contributes a lot to the picture of him as two dimensional black hearted villain/he’s evil and that’s it perception. (no in Yun it’s never ‘just it’.)

Not to mention the affect of the Beloved name on him. Which I strongly theorise prevents him from feeling emotional pain, (which mirrors Zero not feeling the physical equivalent) hence the more and more extreme behaviour to try and make himself feel something, anything. (He pretty much said this right out in chapter 131)

And in the last battle vs. Moonless he actually seemed to feel emotional pain for the first time that we have seen when Mikado said she pitied him. This is huge. You have to understand your own pain before you understand that of others. This is a theme that has been in this story since the beginning.

And why is this? I think the name is fading on him as the Zero mark did on Yamato. And I think it has been fading on Nisei too since he appears to be showing emotional distress for a while now.

Yes Seimei has done evil things. But is he himself beyond rehablilitation? (and for those who hate him please remember rehabilitation is not the same thing as redemption. There’s overlap between them but they are not the same thing.)

I don’t believe anyone is beyond rehabilitation at least in Kouga Yun. I think she’s a lot more forgiving and humane to her villains than most of her readers seem to be.

Also he is not the only awful person in the Loveless world-Natsuo and Youji are implied to have straight up murdered Ginka and Kinka! And no one is being condemning of them.

The seven moons/spell battle world seems to be a very morally murky one. Seimei’s not the only guilty one here. No doubt that culture and certain people have also had an effect on him. It’s probably shaped almost all the characters in bad ways (Ritsu and Nagisa too)

and this is getting too long so more anon

[lovelesswiki]

Post-Moonless predictions— Well-Kept Secrets (6/10)

previous part<–[here] –> next part

for the last week or so, i’ve been talking about a large theory i’ve been writing. since finishing it, i’ve decided to publish it in parts, since it’s actually about 10 different theories all on one subject. since it’s all written out, i’ll try to be publishing one part of this per day.

essentially, this is a set of theories about what i believe will have to happen in order to properly lead up to a climax–the one we’ve been building up to for years and years now. so, these are what i theorize will happen after the first moonless vs beloved battle, broken up into ten different parts. each theory is explained and theres images for each one.

table of contents (bolded is the post you’re looking at):

moonless and beloved will rematch (1)

soubi will fall into a deep depression and possibly become suicidal (2)

ritsuka will arrive at seven voices, SM’s activity will be revealed (3)

SM will reveal that there was a mole in their organization (4)

kio will be the one to take ritsuka to goura (5)

ritsuka will find things out about soubi and the aoyagi family (6)

SM’s true purpose will be revealed. ritsuka will have to make a decision about good vs evil (7)

seventh SM member will be revealed (8)

nagisa will find out what really happened to sanae (9)

ritsuka will be asked to join SM to fill the aoyagi seat (10)

Theory: soubi keeps secrets well for many reasons, but now that he’s gone, they’re going to have to come to light, and ritsuka will find out more about him and his own family, forcing him to realize just how strong and terrible seimei’s hold over soubi is.

Note: this theory heavily discusses the topic of rape in terms of soubi being both the victim and the perpetrator and in terms of nisei’s rape of mikado. proceeding with caution is advised. 

we’ve already been a little bit introduced to this. or, should i say, ritsuka has been a little bit more introduced to this.

soubi keeps secrets from ritsuka. soubi keeps secrets that he has not explicitly been told to keep. ill write up another post someday about this, but i suspect that soubi keeps secrets about his past from ritsuka because seimei already knew all those secrets and used them against him, and he thinks that not telling them to ritsuka will prevent them from hurting, so he can just ignore his past and pretend like it never happened. this actually isnt uncommon in people who have been through constant abuse, and it makes sense why soubi hasn’t told ritsuka (or anyone) anything yet.

not even kio or natsuo and youji seem to know about soubi’s complete past, involving mainly ritsu’s treatment of him, but also involving what soubi did under seimei’s rule. it is pretty clear from the angry, verbally violent way that he responds to tokino with that he did some pretty terrible things under seimei’s rule. when tokino implies that like nisei, it was soubi’s job to rape and murder enemies, soubi loses his shit but never really denies it. aside from this, we have hard evidence of soubi murdering other teams for seimei, including this being explicitly stated in a drama CD where someone that soubi took pity on comes back to haunt him, and the fact that one of the crimes seimei’s being prosecuted for includes murder, and seimei doesn’t do the dirty work to say the least. there’s also the fact that in the beginning, he kept asking ritsuka if he wanted soubi to murder their opponents, which strongly implies that he’d been put in a situation previously, where that question was necessary and appropriate, and where the answer was ‘yes’. this is a secret long-kept, and i do believe it’s key in understanding soubi, which is something ritsuka (and by extension kio) desperately need, and it’ll play into ritsuka’s later development of understanding that not everything falls into ‘good’ and ‘evil’.

(pictured: soubi starts an yelling argument with tokino over one comment, resulting in youji telling him to calm the fuck down.)

soubi has let a couple things go to ritsuka. he confirmed that ritsu raised him and was very cruel to him, but he didnt expand much on either point. with the few stories that soubi did tell ritsuka, ritsuka seemed a bit distressed and commented that the things ritsu did were horrible. in addition to this, ritsuka learning about seimei and nisei raping mikado seemed to be a huge turning point for him in the way he viewed seimei, and i suspect that there will be something similar when ritsuka learns that soubi was raped at a young age by the man raising him. and i suspect he’ll become very confused and disorientated when he realizes that seimei had soubi do many of the same things that nisei did. while i think their situations are different to where soubi had no capacity to enjoy it or even want to do it, whereas with nisei and in the case of mikado, nisei seems to have gone above and beyond whatever seimei ordered him to do and going along with his personality, enjoyed it, especially given his comments of liking it when listening to ritsuka cry through his wiretaps. 

(it’s probably safe to say that he enjoyed what he did to mikado.)

ritsuka is a particular character, because he’s young, and young people tend to view the world in terms of ‘black’ and ‘white’. for a long, long time, ritsuka viewed his brother as ‘good’ and in the series, mostly towards the beginning, he struggled with whether or not soubi was a ‘bad guy’. however, hes quickly discovering that the world isn’t so clear-cut, which we’ll get to in a hot minute (or more, in the next part of this series).  

by some way or another, probably by just directly asking ritsu or nagisa and by spending an extended amount of time at seven voices, ritsuka will find out about soubi’s childhood. he will also go deeper into what the flashback chapters introduced and we’ll find out what further transpired with ritsu, nagisa, akio, and the rest of the kids in that particular year. i say this because, at this point, it’s detrimental to the story. we’ve gotten to a point where we sort of need to know why these older characters act the way they do and why there’s so much bad blood between them. this will also help ritsuka understand SM more, too, but ill get to that in the next point. there’s also the fact that, you know, theres two potential people that could be ritsuka’s father, the fact that soubi’s mother and ritsuka’s mother were friends, and the fact that a kid suspiciously drown in knee-deep water. so, a lot of unsolved mysteries we haven’t gotten to yet.

so, we have ritsuka and kio finding out about the horrors of soubi’s past, and i think this will heavily impact the way ritsuka sees ritsu and septimal moon. right now, ritsuka seems to sort of respect ritsu, but i doubt he will after he finds out about everything, especially the fact that ritsu raped soubi when he was incredibly young and abused him in every way before and after that. this will cause ritsuka’s opinion of ritsu to drop incredibly low, which will affect what happens in the next part of this series.

ritsuka may also find out about the things soubi did for seimei and will find out that many of the crimes that seimei is held accountable for were actually done with soubi’s hands. i don’t believe in any way, shape, or form that soubi can be held accountable for this in this world, nor do i personally believe he should be held accountable, but i’m unsure if ritsuka will immediately see it this way. ritsuka will be forced to make a choice about good vs evil regarding soubi, and will be forced to come to the realization of just how strong seimei’s hold over soubi and nisei is and what the extent of his power is.

in addition, we’ll find out more about ritsuka’s family, too. i should say that im a firm believer that yun has been building up to something having to do with ritsuka’s father, who he is, and why he’s never present, and ive thought this ever since we got the indirect confirmation that seats are passed down throughout the family, meaning that it was most likely the elder aoyagi who held it beforehand. notice that i say elder aoyagi and not ritsuka’s father, because we don’t know if ritsuka’s father is seimei sr or aoyagi masaki, misaki’s biology professor in high school. this will play a huge amount into who ritsuka is and what he discovers about himself, and how it could even relate to seimei’s motives and his own memory loss.

the way i see it, ritsuka and seimei are masaki aoyagi’s kids. or, at the very least, seimei is his, but i personally believe ritsuka is, too. however, there’s a very real possibility that ritsuka thinks nowaki seimei--who will be referred to as seimei sr, mostly because i think it’s funny--is his father. i’m fairly certain that seimei sr is the one that ritsuka calls ‘dad’ and the person that we see for a couple panels in the early volumes of the manga, and im unsure if he knows that he was fathered by someone else. seimei jr alludes to knowing more about their family and why they’re named what they are named in an extra chapter about ritsuka’s birthday, but doesn’t say much about his family beyond that. regardless, there is something fucked up going on with the aoyagi family seniors, since misaki, ritsuka, and seimei jr all take the last name ‘aoyagi’. the kids look like aoyagi masaki, but the person ritsuka calls ‘dad’ is never home and is most definitely not aoyagi masaki. there’s also the fact that when seimei jr is being taken to the hospital for ritsuka’s birth in a flashback, we don’t actually see daddy. on top of this ‘dad’ is never home and ritsuka even states at one point while he’s tied up that he won’t come save him, and he doesn’t attend ritsuka’s school functions (in fact, soubi seems to be the person his school considers his parent, since he’s asked to come help out at an art museum and he offers to go to the dad event at school for ritsuka in early series loveless).  

i’m of the belief that something is going on with the aoyagi parental lineage, since i don’t really see any evidence that ritsuka’s father is just absent a lot. there’s too much pointing to the fact that something suspicious is going on. and i think this is something seimei knows, but ritsuka does not. i also think that ritsuka will be finding out more about his memory loss, and i theorize that ritsuka at one point found out something he shouldn’t have, resulting in seimei ordering to have his memory taken, and that soubi is probably the one to have done this, given that soubi is able to alter memories, since he did so to hitomi in relation to natsuo and youji.

to put it simply, there’s a lot of very well-kept secrets that i think are about to come out, and it’s going to be detrimental when they do.