ok so at least there’s going to be a watts brax scene next episode (flashback maybe? idk) so there’s that. cant wait for someone to gif or clip that so i can watch that and nothing else
Further to my Due South/Murdoch Mysteries ancestral headcanon post the other day, it seems the show was indeed kind enough to help confirm my theory at least partially by showing us Jasper Linney with not just one but two daughters in the Season 11 Christmas Special that I just watched this evening.
Headcanon Therefore Even More Confirmed That Murdoch Is Actually Benton Fraser’s Great-Grand-Uncle Because Jasper’s Future Crime Fighting Daughter Will Be Robert Fraser’s Mother And Then Benton Fraser’s Grandmother Thank You Very Much And Goodnight
You all are gonna get tired of me with this shit but I stg I fucking love Murdoch Mysteries and the sly connection they made to Due South with Sgt. Jasper Linney. Like seriously, when you have two Canadian series you ADORE make implications that both worlds are connected through a common ancestor it makes me SUPER EXCITED and happy and incoherent with love.
Jasper Linney is obviously going to have a smart as fuck daughter who marries Bob Fraser’s father, leading to Sgt Bob Fraser and then Benton, which renders William Murdoch his great-grand-uncle (assuming I read family relationship charts right, idk). This is my crossover headcanon and it will never be shooketh. NEVERRRRRRRR
p.s. okay also Merry Yulemas folks, I’m off to see the latest season of Murdoch Mysteries on Acorn~
Here’s my honesty, then: I am afraid of being known. I swallow my tongue when I smile, and the right words never come to me when people cry. I’m sure someday I will suffocate on my regrets. I killed someone once, though they refuse to stay dead, and blood pours from my eyes when I beat them back in their grave. I think I used to know them, but I cannot remember their name. I am afraid of being seen, perhaps not in the way you would think—would you stay, if I showed you where I buried them? It is not your truth, but the only truth I know: that some days I feel barely human.
Here’s my honesty, then: I am afraid of being known. I swallow my tongue when I smile, and the right words never come to me when people cry. I’m sure someday I will suffocate on my regrets. I killed someone once, though they refuse to stay dead, and blood pours from my eyes when I beat them back in their grave. I think I used to know them, but I cannot remember their name. I am afraid of being seen, perhaps not in the way you would think—would you stay, if I showed you where I buried them? It is not your truth, but the only truth I know: that some days I feel barely human.
