#dana spare parts | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

13uswntimagines · 8 months

Text

Spiral (Alessia Russo X MMA!R)

Request: Could you maybe do something where less isn’t around to help r through something and r is spiraling more and more while needing someone to bring her back. One of Alessia's teammates has to kind of shout at r and tell her to kneel or something for her to be grounded featuring Mary (and Lucy slightly)

Part of The come Down universe

Warming: D/s elements. Blood and violence (mentioned but nothing graphic- R punches a wall several times).

It was easy for people to believe that you had an easy life, filled with nothing more than champagne problems and affluenza.

All they saw were the press conferences and interviews after fights where you were riding high on your success. They didn’t see the weeks where you trained upwards of 18 hours a day and ate so strictly that even your water content was measured.

They didn’t see how difficult it was to balance your career and Alessia’s, and the weeks you sometimes went apart.

They didn’t see the nagging injuries that followed you like old ghosts.

And they thought the 1% of your life they saw was enough context for them to make assumptions about the rest of your life, including your relationship with your girlfriend.

You had never been big on social media, but that didn’t mean you were entirely shielded from it.

Especially not when the date for your title fight against Justin Gathje was announced.

Dana wanted you to hype the fight, to make a comment about how wild Justin was in the cage, and how your far more technical style would be a good match.

And you thought the spare moments you had sitting in Alessia’s national team cubby while she did her final lap around Wembley for the fans was the perfect moment.

But as you flicked through your Twitter app, you, realized very quickly that it was a terrible idea.

Justin had already commented on the fight and accompanied his post with pictures of you in the stands a Wembley dressed in your girlfriend's jersey and one of him sweating in the gym.

I think a championship contender should at least be putting in the work instead of fucking off with a bitch who deserves better. #gonnasilencethegolddigger

You knew that it was a stupid post. It made no sense because the fight was 20 weeks away, and starting training camp now, three days post-fight, would only lead to burnout and injuries.

You knew that it was completely untrue considering you had met Alessia at UNC where you had a nice wrestling scholarship and she had a soccer one. There had been no gold to dig.

But that didn’t stop the general public from hopping on the hate train.

There were thousands of replies, and mentions and posts clogging your feed about how undeserving you were.

About how awful of a fighter you were.

About how Alessia deserved someone who could support her.

But it wasn’t the comments from the general public that bothered you.

It was the ones from her former teammates that dug into your brain and stuck.

Her own family didn’t want her so much they shipped her off to America, so it’s sad she’s dragged a stand-up baller like Lessie into her mess. She didn’t deserve her state championship either. #alwaysridingcoattails.

Her own family didn’t want her

Dragged Lessie into her mess

The words burned into your mind, so you saw them every time you closed your eyes, getting more and more bold each time the number of interactions went up.

1000

15,000

300,000

2,000,000

You launched your phone across the room, uncaring how it smashed into a million pieces on the stone like it would smash the image on the screen.

Like it would shatter the tweet and the shots coming from people who had never met you.

Like it would change how right they were.

You breathed in deeply, trying to quell the growing ache in your chest and soothe the feelings bubbling in your stomach.

Alessia’s scent surrounded you, filling your lungs and coating all of your senses. It was normally like a balm on an open wound or ice for a burn, the remedy to your anxiety and a promise that she was there for you.

That she would always be there.

That promise was part of the reason your relationship took the dynamic it did.

Except this time, her scent didn’t loosen the knot in your chest.

It just reminded you how much you took from her. How much better off she would have been if you had never run into her at UNC.

You shoved yourself out of Alessia’s locker, you didn’t deserve to sit in it and paced the small room.

The walls felt like they were getting closer together, and the air felt too heavy.

You couldn’t breathe.

You needed release.

You paused at the far end of the room, staring at the white concrete.

Your fist hit the cold concrete before you even thought about it, and you relished in the pressure of the hard surface on your exposed knuckles. It was more than when you hit pads, more than when you hit someone else.

It was perfect.

You did it again.

You weren’t enough. You hadn’t been for your parents. You wouldn’t be enough for Alessia either.

Your fist hit the wall again.

That’s what everyone had been saying for months. That’s what your father told you when you tried to make amends.

You could see how right they were.

Stupid worthless

You hit the wall again.

How much better off they would be without you.

“Y/n?”

You didn’t even blink at Ella’s voice.

You weren’t good enough. How could you ever be?

You had been birthed by two drug addicts more interested in their own highs than in raising a child. Your neighborhood MMA gym was the only place you had ever found food and safety. How could you ever be enough for Alessia who had been raised by loving parents? Who didn’t have to scrape and claw for food scraps?

Who didn’t crave the freedom you found in total violence. In the destruction of a human.

In the destruction of herself.

“Y/n stop,”

Hands gripped your shoulder, trying to prevent your arm from moving as you launched it again at the slightly pink wall.

It didn’t work.

Your hand slammed into the wall again.

It wasn’t enough. It didn’t hurt enough to ease the volcano in your chest.

You needed more.

“Y/n please,”

Ella’s voice sounded very close to your ear and stinger arms wrapped around your stomach, trying to force you away.

A guttural sound left your lips as the arms were finally able to pull you away, and Lucy stepped between you and your only solace.

You needed it.

“Calm down,” Mary hissed, her arms tugging you again.

You were too out of it to wonder when she had gotten there.

“Go get Alessia,” Lucy said, looking over your shoulder towards who you assumed was Ella. “Now,”

You fought against the arms restraining you.

Keeping you from the only thing that would make the ripping feeling in your brain go quiet.

The door slammed shut and you were forced back another step by strong arms.

“Y/n you need to relax, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Lucy held her hands up as she took a step towards you like you were a wild animal.

And you supposed you were.

Wild and out of control. Spiraling into oblivion.

Lucy Met Mary’s eyes when you fought harder in the keeper's hold, your eyes wildly flickering as your limbs flailed.

This was well out of their ability to fix.

“We have to do it,” Lucy said, and Mary instantly knew what she meant.

Mary nodded once.

She knew you better than Lucy did, so she knew it had to be her if they wanted it to work.

It was the only thing she could think of to help you.

The thing that Alessia would do for you

They had only seen it happen once.

It was the only time the keeper had seen your dynamic's heavier side. The only time Alessia looked truly dominant, and you looked submissive.

Mary squared her shoulders, drawing up to her full height, picturing in her mind the way Alessia had touched you and the tone that she had used. Soft, but dripping in authority that had shocked Mary.

She tried to remember the words your girlfriend had used, the way her fingers pressed perfectly into your skin to make you melt.

She pulled away from you slightly, drawing her hand from your stomach to land heavily on the space where your shoulder met your neck.

“Y/n,” She said mimicking the sheer dominance that Alessia’s voice held that night. “I think that’s enough darling. Kneel for me,”

You froze.

A shiver ran the full length of your spine at the familiar words, and your shoulders rolled like a physical weight had been added to them.

You blinked as the order filtered through the fog in your brain, registering that though it was familiar, the voice that had given it was not.

Her arm loosened around your middle as all of the fight left you, but she kept the grounding hand on your neck.

You leaned into it, breathing in through your nose and very slowly releasing it through your clenched teeth.

You sagged with each exhale, sinking very slowly until you were kneeling at Mary’s feet.

Your head bowed, and you rested your hands palm up on your knees as another rattling breath left you, pressing back into the hand still on your neck like it was the only thing keeping you from floating away into oblivion.

Mary stood frozen, staring at you as you fixed your posture (Alessia hated it when you slouched) and all of the tension, her eyes darting up to meet Lucy’s.

She hadn’t been sure that it would work. That you would listen to it because she wasn’t Alessia. But now that it had, she wasn’t sure what to do.

She didn’t know what came next, or how to navigate it without crossing your boundaries.

“Good job Y/n,” Lucy said, keeping her voice as soft as Mary’s. “We’re just going to stay here and calm down, alright?”

You let out another shuddering breath, more ripples quaking down your spine, and Mary very gently ran her thumb in circles at the back of your neck, hoping it would help to keep you settled.

She knew it was the touch Alessia always took when you were anxious or nervous, but she was also very much aware that she was not Alessia.

“And then we’ll get one of the trainers to look at your hand after Lessie gets here,” The defender continued, her eyes trained on where your jeans were slowly turning red with the blood from your hand.

“But for now, we’re going to just stay right here,” Mary repeated, letting her thumb graze the nape of your neck.

*******

“Less,” Ella’s voice cut through the sounds of the fans calling for Alessia’s attention, the panic in it drawing the strikers eyes before the midfielder skidded to a stop beside her.

“What’s happened?” Alessia asked, passing the shirt she was signing back to the young girl who had handed it to her.

“Y/n,” Ella panted, her eyes wide, afraid despite the cameras pointed their way. “I’ve never seen her like that,”

Alessia frowned, turning away from the fans and wrapping an arm around Ella’s shoulder to give them some semblance of privacy.

“Seen her like what?” She asked, her tone low with something… darker lingering under the surface.

Ella shook her head, unable to describe it with words. “I need you to come, quickly,”

“Ok,” Alessia agreed, following after the midfielder with little question.

She knew that whatever had happened had to be bad to cause that look. To have Ella say it in front of the fans.

Ella sprinted back towards the tunnel with Alessia on her heels, weaving between equipment people, and players until they reached the locker room.

Leah stood outside the door, directing players to the other showers.

Alessia’s frown deepened. “What’s going on?”

“We thought a smaller audience would be better,” Leah murmured, stepping aside for them. “Looks pretty brutal mate,”

Ella patted her back and she stepped towards the door, steeling herself for whatever was inside as she pressed it open.

Her breath caught in her chest as she took in the scene in front of her.

It looked like something out of a slasher film.

Red covered one of the white stone walls, dripping onto the gray floor in dime-sized circles to where you were sitting. No kneeling between Mary and Lucy, a dark patch forming from where it had soaked into your jeans.

Her jaw clenched at your position.

It was hard for people to understand but kneeling was something… intimate between the two of you. It was a show of the trust that you had for her to take care of you. A way to reinforce the power dynamic in your relationship.

It had taken you a long time to feel comfortable enough to let yourself be vulnerable enough to kneel for her, and she treasured how willing you were now. How you seemed to… crave the position.

For someone else to put you there didn’t sit well with her.

Neither did the way Mary’s hand was holding the back of your neck.

“What happened?” She grit out, her eyes flitting between your form and the two women on your either side.

“we’re not entirely sure. We just caught the tail end,” Mary murmured, her thumb rubbing soothing circles onto your skin.

Your eyes were closed, but Alessia could see the tension in your posture. She could see how on edge you were.

How close you were to subspace.

She snooker her head. “And you thought that this was the solution?”

She wanted to scream at her friends. To give them a lecture about consent and safety and trust (even though you wouldn’t be kneeling for them if you didn’t trust them).

They didn’t know your boundaries. This hadn’t been discussed. What if it went wrong and they didn’t recognize the signs of you passing the point of consent?

She knew you often leaned into the dynamic you shared to calm down. To let go, but she knew your limits. She knew your safe word.

She knew all of the signs to look for, because you craved pain when you felt unstable (a habit that had lingered from your childhood), and you wouldn’t always vocalize your limits.

She worried how far backward you would slip after this.

“It was the only way I could think of to get her to calm down. She wasn’t responding to anything else Less,” Mary explained, her voice very soft and gentle. “I tried to do exactly what you do,”

“We also stayed away from honorifics,” Lucy added. “We knew we were overstepping a bit as it was and didn’t want to push further than we had to,”

Alessia wanted to snort that overstepping was an understatement, but she didn’t.

That wouldn’t help you.

Avoiding honorifics had been a very thoughtful touch.

That would have sent you careening into sub-space, and she doubted either of them could have handled that.

“Alright,” She said, taking a deep breath.

She would need to talk to them later, but right now, her priority was you.

And getting to the bottom of what happened.

Of what changed in the 10 minutes you had been left alone.

She settled herself on the bench, placing her sweatshirt on the ground near her feet to act as a cushion for you, and taking a deep calming breath before she let her eyes fall on you.

“Babygirl,” Her voice came out stern, but not angry, and for the first time, you raised your gaze from the floor to meet hers. “Come here,”

She gestured towards the spot at her feet, and without hesitating, you carefully pulled out of Mary’s grasp and crawled to her.

Her fingers weaved through your hair, and she guided you to rest your cheek on her thigh once you settled on the sweatshirt. “What’s going on sweet one? Talk to me,”

You nuzzled into the soft skin of her leg as her nails dragged against your scalp, trying to remember how to speak.

How to form words that would accurately describe the tearing feeling in your chest.

“Not enough,”

The words were horse as they left your lips, heavy and wet like they had been pulled from the depths of your soul.

Alessia hummed, her nails digging more deeply into your hair. “What’s not enough?”

Your breath rattled in your chest, shaking through you to your core.

At the depths of it, you were not enough.

You would never be enough.

“I’ll go get a doc,” Lucy murmured before you heard the sound of the door.

“What is not enough,” Alessia asked again, more insistent.

“I’m not enough, Miss,” You said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Alessia tutted. “We both know that’s not true,”

You groaned.

It was true. The whole internet believed it.

“It is,” You insisted, pulling away from her warm hold to meet her eyes. “Everyone believes it,”

“Who is everyone?” Alessia pressed, staying calm and even. Being your stability.

“I think this has something to do with it,” Mary said, and your eyes snapped to her, where she was holding your demolished phone, the tweets still lighting up the screen.

You had forgotten she was still here.

“What is it?”

Alessia held her free hand out for it, using the other to settle you back against her thigh.

“Bullshit,” Mary answered, passing the phone to your dominant, moving slowly around you, like she was afraid to spook you.

Alessia hummed, flicking through the images on your cracked screen.

The room was silent as she read the words that had set you off, and you let your eyes slide closed, enjoying her closeness.

Enjoying the ability to let go, and trust that she would take care of it.

You ignored the sound of the door opening again, and feet approaching you and Alessia. You didn’t care if people saw you. You knew that she would defend you if you needed it.

“Sweet girl,” Alessia said, fingers tightening in your hair, and you opened your eyes to meet hers over the phone. “Let them look at your hands,”

Your eyes flickered towards the medics, kneeling in front of you, Lucy standing protectively behind them with Mary.

You hummed, slowly lifting your dominant hand and holding it out towards the medic.

He took it gently between his own and began to examine it with a frown.

“I think she needs x-rays,” He said, looking over you towards Alessia who was still scrolling through your feed. “And I can wrap it after that,”

“Alright,” She said, putting your phone down. “We’ll meet you in the training room in just a moment. Can you three give us a second?”

The medic nodded, retreating with Mary and Lucy.

“Take your time,” Mary paused in the doorway. “Me and Luce will get cleaned up and meet you,”

Alessia let out a sound of agreement.

She waited for the door to close before she very gently pulled you up from your knees and into her lap.

You rested your cheek on her chest, tucking your nose into her still-sweaty jersey.

This time her scent didn’t set you on edge. It joined the feeling of her warm arms wrapped around you and her chin on your head, making you feel safe and warm and cared for, even when you didn’t think you deserved it.

“You know all of those tweets are bullshit right?” She asked after your breathing had evened out. “They’re just trying to get under your skin,”

You made a low noise, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

“You are deserving because you are amazing. You are an incredible fighter, and a good human despite the shit hand you were dealt,” She continued. “I love you, and I will always be here for you. Whether you are the world champion, or we’re eating spam and crackers on my bedroom floor,”

Your eyes slid closed and you buried your face in her chest, your lips lifting just a bit at the mention of your favorite snack from college.

From when you were too broke to afford dinner on the weekends.

It didn’t entirely fix the crumbling feeling that accompanied each beat of your heart, but her words were like a tether holding you to reality.

She had loved you before you were a UFC star and she was England's Star Girl, and she would love you after.

That was all that mattered.

She squeezed you tightly and kissed your head. “Let’s go get your hands fixed and then we can go back to the hotel and watch Love Island before bed, alright?”

You hummed again.

You knew a talk about your coping mechanism, about the wall you had destroyed, would also be included after you had come down.

But you didn’t mind.

You and Alessia would get through it. Together.

#woso imagines #woso x reader #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #the come down universe

570 notes · View notes

randomfoggytiger · 2 months

Text

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part XIX): Eyes Averted, and Final Decisions

Thus far we've discussed the effect Scully's diagnosis has had on herself, her mother, and her brother. Yet, it's not until this scene in Redux II that we hear the Scully family bouncing off of each other in a crisis: what behavior they expect from one another, and what boundaries they do and don't push. It's an interesting portrait of resurfaced dynamics and shared familial traits.

More importantly, it sets up blink-and-you'll-miss-it explorations of their differing perspectives on Scully's odds of survival.

THE FIGHT

The scene opens on Bill’s building anger (“This is crazy, just crazy”) and Mulder’s somber, challenging response (“Well, crazy in what sense-- in that it might save your sister’s life?”)

The camera quickly cuts to Scully’s expression during their exchange. She closes her eyes in a controlled shudder at Mulder’s blatant acknowledgement of her illness, opening them only when she has regained mastery over her rocked emotions.

Bill is flabbergasted but contains his fury.

His control is very telling. In Gethsemane, he pushed and prodded his sister's motives-- why didn't you tell me? do you know what our mother's been through? "loyal to who, to this guy Mulder?"-- but never yelled. When he first met his sister's partner, he shook his hand and glowered but didn't tear him up (as he will later this episode.) And here, he's listened to Mulder's farfetched explanation of farfetched chips and cures but still refrains. Bill seems to have put himself under an injunction (be it his own resolve or Maggie's warning) not to provoke or punish; but that resolve requires restraint. As we see here, Mulder pushes his buttons and effortlessly dissolves that restraint in under two minutes.

“You’re not a doctor. You have no place even suggesting this… science fiction.”

Maggie and Scully bend their heads, their body language stiff and conflict-avoidant but not shocked or surprised. To them, a Navy man laying down the law is not a new phenomenon.

“It’s not science fiction,” Mulder insists, immovably calm.

This interaction is solidifying what Bill perceives to be Mulder’s character: insistent, thoughtless action followed by blatant denial of reality. For the first time, we hear Bill Scully holler.

“He’s never heard of it!”

Scully writhes in discomfort-- not wanting to be caught in the middle of her brother’s anger and Mulder’s last, pleading attempt-- and her mother catches it. Shaking off her role of quiet military wife immediately, she softly latches onto her son's arm and orders, "Bill."

Her son immediately complies, respectfully sighing out the bite in his voice. Turning to the doctor, he questions, “Have you?”

“No, I haven’t.”

Maggie takes the lead here, stepping in before Mulder or Bill can steer the conversation back to confrontation. “I think there’s an obvious… difference of opinion here,” she puts delicately, carefully laying down her unspoken expectations of both men.

Mulder nods, easily acquiescing; then turns to Scully when she quickly speaks up.

SCULLY'S DECISION IS HER OWN

Even on her deathbed, Dana Scully commands the respect to speak and to be heard. “I think… that everybody here has their heart in the right place.”

She spares a split-second smile towards her mother, affection and love pouring from her worn, red eyes.

Maggie's expression is not soft or warm: it's one of steely distrust. She is letting Dana advocate for herself but knows, already knows, she will disagree with the final decision.

It’s not a stretch to come to this conclusion, either: her daughter left medicine for the FBI, creating a rift in the family; her daughter signed a living will privately, leaving Maggie to grapple with the task of following it through without notice; her daughter was somewhere else in the wild when Melissa was shot and died in her place; and her daughter didn’t want to tell her about the cancer diagnosis at first, then swore her to secrecy after. She may respect that Dana has the right to make decisions for her own life, but she doesn’t trust her-- each choice Scully has made unintentionally wounded Maggie.

And since her husband’s death, Maggie seems less and less willing to “shove off” without question.

Bill, meanwhile, waits patiently for his sister to continue. However, when Scully insists, with strength in her voice, “But I need it to be my decision”, he shakes his head, attempting to break in with a gentle, “Dana--”

Here we see a Scully family tic. He looks down and away when something personally affects him. Here, when his sister considers putting "pseudoscience" in her neck; later, when he cracks himself open to weigh Mulder's motives in the hallway.

“I know you’re only looking out for me, Bill,” Scully begins, watching her brother's face fall, "but I don’t think you have all the facts.”

Her unbeatable spirit shines through-- faith in her facts and a little pride in herself. Assured, and believing she will pull through.

Mulder looks from her to Bill; and Bill, knowing he can’t budge his sister, looks down before laying the blame fully at Mulder’s feet.

It’s an important moment for his character: Memento Mori Bill would have blamed Scully for their father’s dashed pride and Melissa’s death. Instead, this Bill blames only Mulder for his family’s destruction. And even then, as much as he despises her partner, this Bill will still give him a opportunity to explain himself.

Seizing one last chance to countermand his sister's inclination, Bill looks to his mother, hoping she will talk her daughter out of it. Mulder catches this and swings his attention to Maggie's face, too.

“Don’t you think you should listen to your doctor?” she asks, diplomatically; tense, strained, and hoping Dana won't pursue the wrong path at the last hour.

“Yes,” Scully insists, taking a gulp of air for her weak voice, “I am.”

Mulder immediately reads between the lines, brokering her concerns to her doctor. “Will she have to stop her conventional treatment?”

An important incident occurs: Scully panics, terrified at the thought she will have to stop her treatment plan. Because, deep down, Scully doesn’t believe she will die: her treatment-- her science-- will save her; and if it fails, then Mulder’s magic tricks will cure her.

We know this to be the case because of her reaction to Bill’s incredulous, “You think you can cure yourself” in Gethsemane (post here); we know this because of her fright now that she will, perhaps, be disconnected from the medical safety net; we know this because she hasn’t, yet, accepted that death is imminent (and won't until Mulder’s chip “fails” and she falls apart in front of her mother.)

Scully desperately locks onto her doctor as he soberly explains, “To be honest, at this point, the only approach I have left with her particular cancer is… quite unconventional.”

Scully’s science has failed her; and she is crestfallen.

However-- as in everything that is too terrible to face immediately-- Scully brushes her desperation aside, shoring up courage by closing her eyes and clutching the chip tighter.

“I’d like to try this,” she determines, resolved.

The camera shoots back to Maggie, caught between shades of disappointment, frustration, and resignation; and she turns to the wall to hide her turbulent emotions from her daughter.

Maggie, like Dana, does not believe her daughter is marked for death-- she still wants her to fight, to take treatment, to turn to God and pray with Father McCue and trust to miracles. It’s a faith not unlike Mulder’s: they both believe, though she prefers to pray down the miracles and he to catch them in his hands.

Resigned, Bill resentfully snaps up his head to glare meaningfully at Mulder. Mulder, spotting the searing animosity from across the room, keeps his head turned, uncomfortably avoiding eye contact.

Bill, unlike his sister and mother, does not believe Scully will be cured-- the cancer is in her bloodstream, and all the family can hope for is a peaceful death. Hence, he buries the hurt and frustration her reticence caused, tries to steer the work away from her room, and intends to lay off of Mulder for Dana's sake. He is showing his love by guarding her last days-- not unlike Melissa’s bedside manner (posts here and here): both prepared themselves for their sister's death by looking out for her best interest (and by confronting Mulder mercilessly.) The difference between he and his first sister is that Melissa believed in the impossible, and Bill only in the probable.

And that's the reason he and Scully and Mulder butt heads: he's looking out for his little sister, but he doesn't have all the facts.

Scully, emotionally overwhelmed, takes a page from her mother and brother’s book by avoiding everyone’s eyes.

CONCLUSION

Maggie bears the scars of her daughter's decisions, calling in Bill to lean on his strength (while also keeping him wisely in-check.)

Bill has revealed that he prefers the status quo. Trusting that her doctor has done his best, he views Mulder's last-minute, untested, shaky-at-best cure to be a reprehensibly irresponsible suggestion. Without saying it out loud, he has resigned Scully to her fate-- and Mulder, brilliant man that he is, has noticed and resents it, picking at Bill's disbelief in small pokes or digs.

Mulder has doubled down on the untested and (seemingly) unscientific chip he picked up from the DOD as the cure-all for brain cancer. He’s already argued-- and won-- for it to be tried, handing out hope to the sick and dying. Bill, stubborn and distrustful, sees this trial as a moral failure; and hates his guts for it.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

#txf #meta #The Scully Family In-Depth #Part XIX #Eyes Averted and Final Decisions #In-Depth #S5 #Redux II #mine #Mulder #Bill Scully Jr.#Maggie Scully #Scully #xf meta #xfiles #x-files #the x files

30 notes · View notes

kerink · 1 year

Text

what i'd really love is them to ramp up to the summer hiatus, last episode before break being tamika handing over dana and her double's body, and janet and her team preparing to leave with her spoils. the town there in a protesting mob, cecil there with the mobile broadcasting equipment trying to get someone to do anything to make things okay again

only for carlos' car to pull up. for carlos to get out of it and be speaking to janet only. to tell her "you want to study doppelgangers. what good is a corpse to you? you can only get samples and dana's side of things. there's limits to what you can learn about the similarities and differences between dana and her double with such limited data points. but i've brought a trade for you: a pair of living doubles who have volunteered to be studied."

and kevin and charles get out of the car. kevin goes over and hooks his arm around cecil, chattering away about how much he's missed him and how they don't talk anymore. but carlos and charles are staring janet down thru the parted crowded. charles is, in his own way, a researcher too. he would also like to know. so there they stand, ready to be explained.

but janet knows carlos. she knows there's nothing strange or paranormal about him. he's mundane, ordinary, predictable. neither interesting nor complex. therefore, standing before him, this supposed doppelganger must also be mundane, ordinary, pedestrian. and now she's trapped. the thing she wanted most, to be able to explain doppelgangers, or to prove that they're real. a complicated case for her to wrestle with and solve, a puzzle worthy of her skills, has been taken from her.

"that's just your twin," and she hates to say it because she knows it's not true, carlos doesn't have a twin, never mentioned a twin, she's met carlos' family but she knows carlos is a simple, run-of-the-mill man.

and just like that there's no more doubles. and janet's seething and carlos is nervous, terrified of her, but knows he's won. "then that makes dana and her double simply twins too. there's no mystery to her, she's just committed fratricide. happens every day, nothing interesting to that. but we gave you her and her double. that was the terms of councilwoman flynn's arrangement with you. now hold up your end of the bargain and leave." and he knows he's saved dana, because janet won't leave with her if she too is simple, run-of-the-mill.

and janet and her team return to their lab to plot, but the tension eases out of everyone because at least another citizen's been spared janet wrath.

cecil asks carlos "so what was the point of bringing him here then?" and carlos smiles sadly "insurance, if janet and her team don't leave, i'm going to let kevin kill them."

kevin hugs cecil like "we haven't had this much fun together in sooo long! ^_^"

#anyway this is my 228 fanfiction #wtnv #wtnv spoilers /

115 notes · View notes

sigritandtheelves · 2 years

Text

All Along, Like Fire

Part 1

R | 1.8k words | MSR, AU

Summary: What if Mulder had been married to Diana Fowley when Scully joined the X-Files?

A/N: I know this story has been told before—I’ve read at least one version of it. But I wanted to tell it myself and the motivation aligned with the idea, so here we are. I plan on two more parts, I think, unless this gets out of hand. Be gentle, I’m very rusty.

—

1993

She really was looking forward to working with him. In that dank office overflowing with paper he had slides at the ready. He’d been waiting for her, rolled his sleeves like an arrogant schoolboy. He’d spent time thinking of a line to snare her or scare her.

In the glow of a projector bulb displaying the body of a dead Texan, she’d smiled at the challenge: hooked. And the crook of those lips revved his heart in return, in spite of himself, because he swore not to trust her. She was here to undo him, and he wouldn’t let that happen.

He wouldn’t.

And then, when she made herself vulnerable to him, against all his better judgment, he told her everything.

Like teenagers at a sleepover, in candlelight and to the sound of thunder, he spilled it all. He opened up his guts and poured them out in front of her.

The hook was in deep, but when he said the word wife, something in her wriggled like a worm.

She’d not known.

She felt different about coming into his room now, ashamed like she’d been in those moments just after her panic when she caught her breath and regained her composure and wrapped her robe around herself again. And the fact that this wife was FBI—had helped him find these very files, knew all of these deep secrets about him already—shook the still uncertain ground beneath her. The knowledge was like a splash of cold water, waking her up, reminding her: this was her job, only her job and not her whole life.

“She doesn’t work with you anymore?” Scully wondered if the Bureau had separated them because of the marriage.

Mulder swallowed and a look of discomfort crossed his face. “She transferred to an anti-terrorism unit about ten months ago. She spends a lot of time overseas.”

He told her no more, but the fact was that he hardly saw Diana these days. And he didn’t want that part of his life in the room with them now, not when they were onto something big. Not when a case hadn’t felt this right in years.

A phone call sent them off into the night again, and Scully tried to steel herself against what felt like a too-easy attachment to this boyish energy and earnest charm. Then cold rain in an Oregon cemetery brought a kind of euphoria that Dana Scully had never known. Her first case in the field and the excitement of unfolding a mystery—god, the elation of it—knocked her punchy, wired her like an electric fence. Was it like this for everyone? Was it always like this for him?

It wasn’t and it wasn’t. Mulder also tried to guard himself against this small, frizzy-haired creature who could belly-laugh beside an open grave, who wielded a scalpel like the sharp sword of justice. But if she wasn’t to be trusted, why did he want to tell her everything? Why did he feel the itch to call her just hours after they separated at the airport, to make sure she’d be in the office tomorrow morning so they could begin the hunt again?

They each tried to hold the other at arm’s length against the magnetic pull that yoked them ever closer. But in the end, that meant they were both still holding one another.

—

It was months before Scully met Diana Fowley. The tall brunette breezed into the X-Files office one day like she owned it, while Scully herself was barely comfortable perched at the spare work table.

“Where’s Fox?”

Scully’s mouth fell open for a moment before she could speak, and the other woman eyed her up and down conspicuously.

“He’s—he’s requisitioning a car.” She swallowed. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Diana Fowley,” the woman said. “His wife.” She said this as if it should have been obvious, which maybe it should have been. Scully realized that there were no pictures of the woman anywhere in the office. Mulder rarely spoke of her.

“Oh.” There was an awkward pause before Scully stood up to shake the woman’s hand. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Dana Scully.”

Diana gave her a pained smile and a limp handshake. “Yes,” she said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Scully’s eyebrows went up at this. She crossed her arms, unsure what to say.

“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

Scully looked at her watch. “I don’t know, he left about twenty minutes ago—“

And just then Mulder came through the door waving the approved rental form and holding a set of keys in his other hand. “Took me some wheedling, but I got the Taurus with the good air conditioning.”

He stopped short when he saw Diana.

“Hello, Fox.” Her smile was smooth like satin. Slippery.

She’d said almost nothing to him, but he looked chastened, arms flopping to his sides. “Diana,” he said like some wind had been knocked out of him. “You’re back.”

“Just this morning,” she said. “Can we talk for a minute?”

He nodded, and they stepped out into the hallway, closed the door behind them. Scully heard escalating voices, muffled through the closed door, but harried nonetheless. She concentrated on their paperwork and tried her best to withhold any judgment of Diana Fowley.

—

It was easy, at first, for Mulder to compartmentalize the passion he felt for his work, the strained affection he felt for Diana, and the simple pleasure of his growing friendship with Scully. Each had its place in his life and seemed not to rub too much against the others.

“I don’t think she likes me much,” Scully mused one day over a chicken Caesar. Her tone was casual, but it hung over a small stormcloud of anxiety.

“Who, Diana?” He was slurping a Cup-O-Noodles, unevenly heated in the basement microwave.

Scully gave him a look and turned back to her expense report.

Mulder cleared his throat. “She doesn’t know you,” he said, a half-truth to cover his own suspicion that Scully was right. Diana had made a few passing comments about his new partner, none of them pleasant.

Scully made a small sound in the back of her throat and left it at that.

Three days later they were isolated at the edge of the world, facing down death on the Icy Cape. They held loaded guns at each other, yet Mulder had never felt more fiercely protective of a partner. He was afraid for himself, but terrified for her. In the bald overhead light in a storeroom, he placed his warm palm over her neck and felt her shiver. She was small and fierce and painfully good.

He might die for her, he realized, and willingly. He wondered what that meant.

—

1994

The thing was, Diana was cagey about her work but eager to hear about his—if dismissive and cutting every time he mentioned Scully. She blew back into town a few times a month, fucked him so hard he thought his ears would bleed, and then stroked his back while he told her everything he’d been doing: every case, every lead.

“What about you?” he’d ask.

“Nothing exciting. Nothing I can talk about, really,” she’d say—or some equally vague non-answer.

“I miss you,” he’d tell her. “Can you stay longer?”

She’d give him a sad chuckle. “I wish I could. Only until Tuesday.” Or Sunday or Friday or whichever day gave them barely a few hours together.

“I love you,” she’d reassure.

“I love you, too,” he’d confirm.

Mulder held on to hope that this was just a phase, a rough patch.

Diana didn’t visit him in the hospital after he was shot. Instead Scully was there every day, hovering and checking his chart, asking him to lift the blanket so she could check the bandage and feeling his forehead, fingers lingering a bit too long. She carried his bags in the airport and drove him home to an empty apartment.

“Fox, I’m so sorry,” Diana said when she finally saw him again. He was hobbling on crutches and she held wine and his favorite takeout.

“It’s okay,” he said.

And it was, for a while—until everything came crashing down around them. Until they closed the X-Files and sent Scully away from him and he felt like he’d been ripped in half.

Late one night when Diana was home for once, he heard her on the phone: “He’s withdrawing. He’s losing interest.”

Mulder sat up in bed, rustling the covers more than he’d intended.

Diana’s voice fell. “Yes. … Yes. … I have to go,” and then the sound of the phone settled back in its cradle.

Who? he wanted to ask, but he was tired. So tired of everything. It wasn’t worth it to fight. He slept.

—

Mulder was off course and she was just so worried and she really truly never intended for this to happen. She would hate herself for it soon—already did, or would, if it didn’t feel so absolutely right.

His tongue was in her mouth and they were both wet from the hotel shower, the humidity, flying high on the thrill of escaping death again together. They’d made it all the way to Savannah in the rental she’d left in Miami before they pulled into a motel. One room was enough—with two beds, they thought they’d be fine.

They were, until she saw him dripping and alive, the light back in his eyes, and she’d reached to cup his stubbled jaw.

“You’re here,” she told him. “You’re back.”

“You brought me back,” he said, and then his lips fell to hers. She didn’t resist; the thought never crossed her mind.

Now he was hilt deep against her pelvis and her knees were in the air and even though she swore, swore, she’d never do this again, she wouldn’t let him stop because Jesus fuck it was so good, he was so good.

“Mulder, oh…” and then just whimpers because his lips were on her neck and one hand was palming her cheek like she was fragile porcelain.

“I’m sorry I ignored you. I’m sorry. You’re everything, Scully.”

She couldn’t think enough to make sense of what those words might mean, so she turned his head with her hands and kissed him again, kissed him quiet.

She knew she couldn’t have him, not really, but she followed him off the cliff anyway. She would save regret for Washington, where they’d both swear never again, no matter how good it had been.

—

Late at night in the apartment, and this time Mulder didn’t hear the hushed phone call—a tragic missed opportunity for the truth.

“He’ll never stop while he has her,” Diana whispered fiercely. A hot wave of jealousy lived beneath those words. “Take her out.”

And two weeks later, Scully was gone.

~ end part 1 ~

Read Part 2

#a thing i wrote #all along like fire #season 1 au #txf #msr

126 notes · View notes

all-these-ghosts · 1 year

Text

better late than never

for @txf-fic-chicks-blog, on their anniversary! see the rest of the anniversary fics here

Just as Scully is finishing her second cup of coffee, Mulder stomps through the front door. She hears his boots hit the floor and then watches him stride into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. He adds a bouquet of rather carelessly picked wildflowers — rhododendrons, mostly, probably from the bit of their property near the road, where they’ve run riot all week.

“Happy anniversary, Scully,” he says, depositing the makeshift vase next to her coffee mug.

She drinks the rest of it in one gulp. Scully appreciates, at least, that he is still full of surprises. “Okay,” she says. “The anniversary of what, exactly?”

He sits down next to her and props his feet up on the dining room table. She hates that, she loves him; she’s made an art form of ignoring his bad behavior. At least he took his boots off first.

“Thirty years ago today, you walked into my office.”

That feels impossible, but she can’t argue with the math, so she picks something else to fight about. “We’re calling that an anniversary?”

His grin is slow, easy. “Well, we never got married.”

“Still.” She purses her lips. “Thirty years.”

When she looks at him, she still sees the man who sat in that basement office thirty years ago. No one tells you this: that in your eyes, the people you love will never really age. In every moment he is every version of himself she’s ever known.

What a gift, to know someone so well.

“There’s something else,” he says. He stands up and heads toward the stairs.

As always, she follows him. “If it’s a cow slideshow, I’m leaving.”

But he stops outside the door to the spare room, which was Mulder’s writing room for a while, and which these days hosts the very occasional human guest and a rotating assortment of rodents that she can’t quite bring herself to kill. It feels unsporting to build a house in the middle of nowhere and then complain about the animals who were there first.

“Close your eyes,” he says, and she obliges.

The door creaks, and his heavy footsteps move away from her. She hears the lamp click on.

“Open,” he says.

Scully takes a few steps into the room. The spare bed’s made up more neatly than usual. There’s a new rug, and an armchair that she thought had been relegated to the basement.

And underneath the open window, with a view out to the horizon, there’s a desk. Parsons-style, practical and unshowy, with a lovely grain. There are framed pictures of her mother, of her nieces and nephews, even Bill. And there’s a standard-issue nameplate that says DR. DANA SCULLY in that standard-issue font.

He’s still smiling but he looks a little nervous, too, and it’s impossible to overstate how endearing she finds that, after all this time. “I heard you wanted one of these.”

“Took you long enough,” she deadpans, because even after all this time, sincerity doesn’t come easily to either of them.

Mulder looks over his handiwork, clearly pleased. “Better late than never.”

She crosses to him and wraps her arms around his waist. Better late than never should be emblazoned on their family crest.

It’s still the earliest part of spring, but the breeze that comes in through the window is warm and fragrant. He rests his chin on top of her head. “Thirty years,” he says, and she feels his voice down to her toes.

Scully smiles against his chest. “It’s not the worst way to spend a life.”

“We’ll see how you feel about that in another thirty.”

And she pulls him just a little closer. “I’ll be there.”

#msr #xf fic #my-fic #sap #desk

90 notes · View notes

blackswaneuroparedux · 2 years

Photo

So they’ve decided on you to fuck up my work.

- Ian Fleming to Sean Connery on being cast as James Bond

By the time auditions for the role of James Bond in the first 007 movie, Dr No, were held in 1961, Connery was a well-established and highly regarded serious actor, but Fleming reportedly didn’t think he was right for the part of 007.

Connery said that Patrick McGoohan, James Mason, Rex Harrison, Stewart Granger and Richard Burton (all approved by Fleming as being suitable for the role) were ruled out, for various reasons. The casting wasn’t going well and had even been advertised in stage magazines.

Eventually, Connery was taken in to see the casting directors and he got the part. However, Fleming wasn’t happy with their choice, reportedly saying privately he was nothing but an “over-developed stunt man”, describing him as “unrefined”. Connery reciprocated the feelings, calling Fleming “a real snob”, but admitting he was “interesting”.

Connery was surprised to get the part, because he had heard how Fleming felt about him. Apparently, Dana Broccoli, wife of producer Albert “Cubby” Broccoli, was instrumental in getting Connery the part, as she was convinced he was the right man. Fleming’s girlfriend, Blanche Blackwell, also said he had the right “charisma” for the role.

Fleming’s frustration over the direction his series was being taken was revealed when he confronted first time director Terence Young at a United Artists function in London.

Fleming squared up to the realities of an untested director guiding a half-known ex-labourer star into James Bond’s elegant world.

Mr Fleming vented: “So they’ve decided on you to fuck up my work.”

But Mr Young “was not shaken” and told him: “Let me put it this way, Ian. I don’t think anything you’ve written is immortal as yet.

Ian Fleming wrote relatively little about Bond’s style, sketching in only the briefest of descriptions while devoting pages to the overblown outfits of Bond’s foes. A little goes a long way. Terence Young took Connery to Anthony Sinclair, a tailor on London’s Conduit Street at the northern end of Savile Row. Sinclair was Young’s tailor. He specialised in what he called the “Conduit Cut,” a fitted hourglass shape to the jacket that suited fit, military men. It was deliberately at odds with the boxy fashion suits worn by most young men at the dawn of the swinging sixties. Cutting like that stood out as slightly behind the times but reassuringly expensive.

Next Young took him to Turnbull and Asser, his shirtmaker on Jermyn Street several blocks away south of Piccadilly. There, Connery was fitted with the same pale blue cotton poplin shirts and knitted navy silk ties that Young wore day in day out himself. It was Young who gave Bond his turned back “cocktail” cuffs, a sartorial detail that at the time defined a man as both well-to-do yet rather rakish.

Bond’s style was extremely precise, the spare but expensive, handmade wardrobe of a military man, not overtly fashionable but not fuddy-duddy, either. It met and exceeded accepted standards of dress while remaining deliberately unsensational. Fashion in all its preening frivolity was always reserved for Bond’s vain, egotistical nemeses like Goldfinger, Blofeld, or Largo. As a recipe for worry-free style, Connery’s Bond defined and still defines the clean-cut ideal of a wardrobe that transcends fashion and becomes eternal.

If Bond was the establishment man in town, the exotic and tropical locations around the globe were the backdrop for him to get a bit more experimental with his off-duty wardrobe. It didn’t always work. That said, Connery fares better than all succeeding Bonds as his wardrobe for the beach is still as spare and restrained as his working day clothes. Later Bonds fall prey to the gravitational pull of fashion and pay the price. Roger Moore suffers from this and unfairly, I think. It’s not his fault he got the gig in the hedonistic 1970s. But just about the only thing Connery’s Bond gets wrong is in Goldfinger, where he appears in Miami in a sky-blue terry-cloth onesie. Somehow, he gets away with it.

In the end it was a cocktail: Connery’s suave style with his own rough edges poking through that gave Bond his bite. It resonated with the socially and geographically expanding world of the 1960s; Connery was a forerunner of a whole generation of working-class British actors made good - like Michael Caine and Terence Stamp - who personified a rougher and racier sexuality on screen. In clothing terms, Connery’s Bond gave all young man an easily referenced visual encyclopedia of how to dress well without ever overdoing it.

The two didn’t meet until filming was underway. Connery’s performance won the writer over immediately. In fact, Fleming liked Connery so much that he later gave the spy a Scots heritage to mirror the actor’s own. In his novel, You Only Live Twice, published in March 1964, Fleming wrote that Bond’s father was from Glencoe.

Photo: Legendary actor Sean Connery photographed laying on a sofa while smoking a cigarette in London, United Kingdom on the 8 October 1963

#fleming #ian fleming #james bond #quote #film #movie #cinema #connery #sean connery #terence young #young #style #class #literature #spy #espoinage #clothes #manners #culture

153 notes · View notes

coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe · 10 months

Text

Brainwaves Bios: Doctor Egon Spengler (1984)

The Brain of The Ghostbusters Doctor Egon Spengler, PhD

The brains of the Ghostbusters. He designed all the team's equipment and normally comes up with the plan to trap the ghosts. Overly analytical, Egon comes off as colder and more distant than he actually is.

"I collect spores, molds, and fungus."

Name

Full Legal Name: Egon Malachi Spengler

First Name: Egon

Meaning: From the Old German name 'Egino' derived from the element 'Agin' meaning 'Edge, Blade'

Pronunciation: EH-gawn

Origin: German

Middle Name: Malachi

Meaning: From the Hebrew name 'Mal'akhi' meaning 'My messenger' or 'My angel'

Pronunciation: MAL-a-kie

Origin: Hebrew, English, Biblical, Biblical Latin

Surname: Spengler

Meaning: Occupational surname literally meaning 'Metal worker' or 'Tin knocker'

Pronunciation: SPENG-ler

Origin: German

Titles: Doctor, Professor, Mr

Nicknames: Egie, Spengs

Characteristics

Age: 40

Gender: Male. He/Him Pronouns

Race: Human

Nationality: American Citizen. Born in America

Ethnicity: White

Birth Date: November 21st 1944

Sexuality: Aromatic, Straight

Religion: Jewish

Native Language: English

Known Languages: English, Hebrew, Spanish, Chinese, Japanese, Russian, Portuguese, Latin, Greek, Egyptian, Arabic

Relationship Status: Single

Astrological Sign: Scorpio

Actor: Harold Ramis

Geographical Characteristics

Birthplace: Cleveland, Cuyahoga County, Ohio

Current Residence: North Moore Street, New York, New York

Appearance

Height: 6'5" / 195 cm

Weight: 175 lbs / 79 kg

Eye Colour: Brown

Hair Colour: Brown

Hair Dye: None

Body Hair: Hairy

Facial Hair: Clean Shaven

Tattoos: (As of Jan 1984) None

Piercings: None

Scars: None

Health and Fitness

Allergies: None

Alcoholic, Smoker, Drug User: Clean

Illnesses/Disorders: None Diagnosed (Possibly Autistic)

Medications: None

Any Specific Diet: None

Relationships

Affiliated Groups: Ghostbusters (Founding Member)

Friends: Peter Venkman, Raymond Stantz, Winston Zeddemore, Janine Melnitz, Louis Tully (Sort-Of), Dana Barrett

Significant Other: None

Previous Partners: None of Note

Parents: Edmund Spengler (70, Father), Esther Spengler (73,Mother, Née Schneider)

Parents-In-Law: None

Siblings: Elon Spengler (40, Twin Brother)

Siblings-In-Law: Eliana Spengler (37, Elon's Wife, Née Salomon)

Nieces & Nephews: Edward Spengler (4, Nephew)

Children: None

Extras

Level of Education: Anthropology PhD, Astronomy PhD, Chemistry PhD, Engineering PhD, History PhD, Metallurgy PhD, Mycology PhD, Parapsychology PhD, Philosophy PhD, Physics PhD, Psychology PhD

Occupation: Ghostbuster

Employer: Ghostbusters

Expertise:

Genius with an Eidetic Memory

Polyglot

Physicist

Mycologist

Chemist

Historian

Parapsychologist

Anthropologist

Astronomer

Engineer

Metallurgist

Faults:

Sweet-Tooth

Perceived Lack of Emotions

Doesn't Have a Driver's License

Backstory: Egon Spengler grew up with no toys because his parents didn't believe in them. For unknown reasons, he had part of a Slinky but he straightened it. On October 29, 1969, Egon graduated from Columbia University with a degree in Psychology in the faculty of Psychobiology. On May 10, 1972, Egon graduated from New York University with a degree in Parapsychology. On June 26, 1980, Egon graduated from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology with a degree of philosophy in Nuclear Engineering. Egon was very interested in paranormal phenomenon, and worked with Raymond Stantz and Peter Venkman at Columbia University's Paranormal Studies Laboratory in Weaver Hall. He and Raymond studied paranormal literature in their spare time and were interested in theories of reincarnation. Egon developed the P.K.E. Meter to detect paranormal entities and phenomena with. Egon and Raymond were usually the first to interview case subjects, even people Peter called 'Schizos' no matter how far-fetched their stories were.

#Brainwaves #ghostbusters 1984 #ghostbusters #egon spengler #Egon Spengler

17 notes · View notes

thoughtlessarse · 2 months

Text

There can be no doubt that Donald Trump united the GOP delegates, alternates, and hangers-on who gathered at the Republican National Convention here on Thursday night to witness his presidential nomination acceptance speech, the culmination of an evening that also featured Hulk Hogan, Kid Rock and Dana White, the CEO of the mixed martial arts promotion company Ultimate Fighting Championship. Even the bedraggled supporters of Nikki Haley—who famously dismissed the former president as “unstable and unhinged” and announced that “I do not need to kiss the ring” of her rival for the party’s nod—went along with the former United Nations ambassador in offering Trump a “strong,” if humiliating, endorsement. But there was something off about the night that was supposed to signal Trump’s triumph. Everyone else did their part. Speaker after speaker hailed Trump as “a hero,” “a tough guy,” “a champion,” “a gladiator” and an “American badass.” The Rev. Franklin Graham announced, “Last Saturday in Butler, Pennsylvania, President Trump had a near-death experience. No question. But God spared his life.” When Trump recalled last week’s assassination attempt, he told the crowd, “I’m not supposed to be here tonight.” They responded, “Yes, you are!” But after that compelling moment, the expectation was that Trump would launch into an epic address. That never happened. Instead, Trump delivered a rambling 93-minute speech (by far the longest convention acceptance speech in history) that was strangely subdued—”much more muted than usual,” observed the Associated Press—and unfocused. The former president spun off in so many directions that the technicians running his Teleprompter struggled, without much success, to keep up with the twists and turns. The coherence and natural flow Trump brought to his acceptance speeches at the 2016 Republican National Convention in Cleveland and on the grounds of the White House in 2020 were long gone.

Every speech he gives is an opening. They never take it.

#us #us pol #democrats #trump campaign #biden campaign

3 notes · View notes

pmsticaret · 1 year

Text

DÜNYA’NIN HER YERİNE HIZLI VE GÜVENİLİR TESLİMAT

PMS Dış Ticaret, İş makinaları yedek parça sektöründe her zaman gelişme göstererek pazar alanını her geçen gün genişletmeye devam etmektedir.

Carraro, ZF, DANA ve diğer markalardaki OEM kalitesiyle sektörün öncü isimlerden biri olan PMS Dış Ticaret yedek parça satışlarının vazgeçilmezi olarak Dünya’nın her yerine gönderim sağlamaktadır.

OEM yedek parçaların yanı sıra Carraro Yedek Parça, ZF Yedek Parça, Dana Yedek Parça ve diğer markaların orijinal yedek parça tedariğini yapan firmamız ihtiyacınız olan yedek parçaları Dünya’nın her yerine sorunsuz ve hızlı şekilde teslimatını yapmaktadır.

Şanzıman ve Diferansiyel yedek parça satışı yapan firmamız bünyesinde OEM ve Orijinal olarak iki kategoriye ayrılsa da kalite açısından hiçbir fark yoktur. OEM Carraro, ZF, DANA ve diğer markalarda dahil olmak üzere OEM ve Orijinal Yedek Parça arasındaki tek fark fiyattır. OEM yedek parçalar, orijinal yedek parçalara nazaran daha uygun fiyatla aynı performansı sağlamakta ve ihtiyaçlarınıza cevap vermektedir.

İhtiyaç duyduğunuz ilk andan sorununuzun çözüldüğü ana kadar PMS Dış Ticaret profesyonel ekipleri ile size destek olmaktadır. www.pmsticaret.com web sitemizi ziyaret ederek Şanzıman ve Diferansiyel yedek parçalarımızı inceleyebilirsiniz. Satış ekimiz ile Instagram, WhatsApp, Mail iletişim kanallarını kullanarak ekiplerimize ulaşabilir, yedek parçalar hakkında bilgi / fiyat / teklif alabilir, sipariş verebilirsiniz.

Siparişinizi verdikten sonraki aşamada ürününüz profesyonel ekiplerimiz tarafından özenli, dikkatli ve hızlı şekilde hazırlanarak en kısa sürede kargoya teslim edilmektedir.

Kargo süreci boyunca profesyonel Satış Ekibimiz parça, siz müşterilerimize sorunsuz teslim edilene kadar sürecin takipçisi olmaktadır.

Carraro, ZF, DANA ve diğer markaların yedek parça satışı yapan firmamız herhangi bir sorun ile karşılaştığınızda ekiplerimiz çözüm için bir telefon uzaklığınızdadır.

Dana Tapa

016.14.0594 , PMSC143-072 , 3551461001 , 734.07.015.01 , 335.14.611.02 , 712.06.015.05 , 020.01.1539 , 016.16.2972 , 8007824 , PMSC142-288 , PMSC142-553 , PMSC147-296 , PMSC143-990 , 334/F6512 , PMSC142-556 , 336/A7682 , 808.01.017.01 , PMSC143-753 , 016162972 , 1760103504 , 336F2710 , PMSC143-986 , 336/D4046 , 113.01.010.05 , 016.14.1177 , 016104218 , 111.07.052.01 , PMSC144-064 , 112.04.018.03 , 10/904120 , 1120161008 , 333C8842 , 334F6512 , 733.06.619.01 , 7340701501 , 332D4900 , 112.01.610.06 , 016454479 , 7330661901 , PMSC150-721 , PMSC143-697 , 246411 , 1710101504 , PMSC142-178 , 1710702102 , PMSC144-048 , PMSC142-305 , PMSC147-321 , PMSC142-372 , 4203567 , 10/301246 , 10/301247 , 112.01.610.08 , PMSC144-210 , 2110101401 , PMSC142-149 , PMSC148-207 , 458-7577 , 728.06.011.01 , PMSC143-695 , 10301336 , 332D5079 , 40K2 , PMSC143-913 , 10/301257 , 10904103 , PMSC142-509 , 8190161001 , 333/C8840 , 336/F2710 , 332/D4900 , 355.14.611.01 , 332D5058 , PMSC143-771 , 332/D5079 , 014.03.3539 , PMSC150-709 , 10904137 , 014033539 , 016141177 , PMSC143-121 , 24K2 , 016.14.1138 , 355.14.610.02 , 1110705201 , PMSC142-163 , 016.45.4479 , 223015 , 10/301228 , 10301257 , 10/904103 , 3551461101 , 239245 , 1120161001 , 5541851300 , PMSC142-501 , 3551461002 , 10301247 , 4204244 , 020011539 , 015.01.0361 , PMSC142-168 , 211.01.014.01 , 215757 , 16F12 , 336D4046 , 176.01.035.04 , 015.01.0360 , 112.01.610.01 , PMSC142-321 , 171.01.015.04 , 1120161006 , 10301242 , 7280601101 , PMSC147-295 , PMSC142-944 , 020.01.1538 , PMSC147-308 , 333/C8842 , 10301246 , PMSC142-254 , 333C8845 , 1760701201 , 336/F2713 , PMSC143-123 , 020011538 , 332/D5058 , PMSC142-751 , 133296 , 819.01.610.01 , 336F2713 , 9969019 , 016.10.4218 , PMSC143-847 , PMSC147-555 , 1130101005 , PMSC147-293 , 171.07.021.02 , 7412427 , 10904120 , 016140594 , 10904179 , PMSC147-459 , 10301228 , 016.10.2629 , 10/904137 , PMSC147-343 , 333C8840 , 10/301242 , 336A7682 , 10/904179 , 176.07.012.01 , 333/C8845 , 1120401803 , PMSC142-445 , 8080101701 , 016141138 , PMSC142-167 , 015010360 , 015010361 , PMSC144-225 , 4587577 , 016102629 , 10/301336 , D4203567 , 355.14.610.01

#dana #dana spicer #dana yedek parça #dana spare parts

0 notes

reallyromealone · 1 year

Text

Uhh here's a thing I'm writing, it's the first chapter

Chapter One

Rows of townhouses lined the streets, streetlights illuminated the wet streets, the area recently built as shells of houses could be seen in the distance. The smell of rain leaked through the slightly cracked window as people walked down the sidewalk of the newly developed area; only a few years prior it was empty land. The area was lively, yes but one couldn't help but feel a sense of loneliness as they gazed at the carbon copy townhomes without a sense of individuality to spare, the cars parked in the microscopic driveways looked nearly identical.

The developing Township once farmland was unrecognizable, it's once warm atmosphere exchanged for a faceless memory no one could recall, a cheap shot at life.

The sound of the train could be heard in the background, metal clanking against itself as it barreled through the track that connected in the middle of this new development without care, breaking the deafening silence that surrounds the area. Beyond the town stood trees upon trees, primarily oaks but pines could be seen peeking through the darkness as the sound of the wheels hit the wet dirt road, a loud crunching sound from the pebbles hitting the dirt.

Reaching over Dana turned on the radio, wanting to break the silence as music played, the radio station the same as she remembered it. It never could fully connect and had a slightly crackle to it while classical music along with the occasional pop song played through, she remembers when she was younger the hosts for the local radio station could never get along with what they wanted played through the airwaves.

The smell of old tea was faint, her to go cup forgotten as she focused on the shrouded darkness, the lights of her car barely pierced the trees that went on endlessly, no streetlights to guide as the lights of her slightly beat up red van with worn out bumper stickers from her teen years, quotes and references barely legible from years of being on and damage from the elements.

The radios static progressed as she got closer to her grandparents house, the car losing connection with the radio tower that Dana couldn't even remember how far, the clock in her car reading '10:38 pm' in the old digital font, the hazy green from the clock the only thing lighting the car.

Cursing the radio she turned it off, the static now unbearable and distracting.

A single car passed, a beige little car with a slightly rusted grill and a faded license plate that was barely legible.

The back lights of the car lit her car for a second as the car faded from the rearview mirror, she was alone again.

Though it wasn't technically real company, it was nice.

The road felt endless and she almost missed the turn to the house. It was an older house, built in the 1930s with mismatched bricks and white trimmings. She wondered if they installed the Air conditioning like they were talking about on the phone. She hoped so, the rain would only keep the air cool for so long. Parking into the dirt driveway she collected her things from the back, a duffle bag and laptop bag was all she needed.

The ground was muddled from rain, her steps collecting dirt and mud and a light splash from puddles hidden in the night staining her jeans causing her to curse slightly at the mess. Walking up the two wooden steps she looked around, noting the plants hadn't been watered in a few days, something that was strange to her as her grandmother was very particular with her plants.

Three knocks to the oak door she waited for an answer, she knew it was late but someone was home. They never were out past nine pm.

She stood for five minutes before knocking again, turning the knob and realizing it was open "they probably knew I was coming.." she mumbled, no one came around these parts so it made sense, her Grandfather had sleep apnea and her grandmother loved to sleep to the sound of nature so hearing a knock wouldn't be easy.

Keeping quiet she carefully took off her shoes, not wanting to get in trouble for making a mess on the floor as she glanced around before walking to her room. It hadn't changed, the posters from her teen years and girlish bedding and shades of pink and green everywhere and her swimming trophies on a shelf by the window. It hadn't been touched in years but her grandmother obviously came in and dusted, how kind of her. The mirror had photos of high school friends and celebrity crushes and an old concert ticket that was faded out but the words vaguely read Midnight cowboy, it was a good concert.

Setting her bags on the empty desk she changed into clean sleep clothes, Christmas pajama pants and an old shirt from college.

Her bed was cold, the smell of fabric softener fading as her vision clouded into darkness, the exhaustion from the drive overtaking her… she hoped her grandmother would make her something for breakfast tomorrow.

24 notes · View notes

sarcasticsciencefictionwriter · 5 months

Note

🧡💔💀 for the unpopular ask::

Thank you!! 😁

🧡: What is a popular (serious) theory you disagree with?

Damn it, are there serious Sanctuary theories? I joined this fandom way too late to be a part of the theories.

Sorry, I have to pass on this one because of lack of knowledge, but if anyone knows any, let me know and I'll state an opinion.

💔: If you had to remove one major character from the series, who would you choose?

Abby. Sorry, but there wouldn't have been a huge huge difference in how things went down if she were removed and we would have been spared that icky Will-getting-possessive-and-not-wanting-Helen-to-do-the-one-thing-that-could-save her thing.

💀: If you had to choose one major character to die, who would you choose?

Ask that in a fandom where several major characters die or are implied to die, meaning I have to choose another person. *huffs*

My knee-jerk reaction is to say Abby here as well, to be spared everything that went down surrounding her character in relation to the others, but it would have been worse if she did die after being introduced.

Does Erika count as major? Honestly, she would have the least amount of impact to this already ripped apart family that is the Sanctuary crew if she died.

Ashley, James, Nigel, John, Biggie, and Gregory were already killed or implied to be, this is so unfair. Ravi too. Adam, Dana Whitcomb, and Forsythe too, I suppose, since they were villains with huge impact.

(But if Wexford counts, stab that power-hungry lizard man in the gut)

This is what I'm going with, because the cast was so small, anyone who appeared more than twice in relation to the main group pretty much counts as major.

#sorry that last answer is so sucky #truedairship #thanks for the ask!#ask answered

5 notes · View notes

randomfoggytiger · 1 year

Text

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part VI): Maggie Scully and Mulder Meet

Ascension begins Maggie Scully and Mulder's relationship-- an interesting one, since they are reflections of each other at different stages of emotional development and grief in relation to Scully.

Ascension

When Mulder meets Maggie, he hears her before he sees her: “This is my daughter’s apartment. Let me go, I have to get through! I have to get in!”

Mulder intercepts gently (“Mrs. Scully?”) before she can erupt, snapping out of his woozy dissociated state briefly-- clearer eyes, firmer sense of direction-- to reach out and calm her. It doesn’t work how he intends: he hadn’t noticed Scully’s (or Duane Barry’s) blood on his hands, nearly planting it on Mrs. Scully’s shoulders.

Maggie notices first, zeroing in on his hand, then his face.

Mulder’s clear, compassionate answer-- “She’s not in there”-- marks him as Maggie’s only reliable source for answers. She settles back from her rage, trusting him to give an answer to her calm “Where is she?”

When he doesn’t immediately respond, Maggie swiftly reiterates, “Where is she?”

Maggie Scully (explored later in One Breath) has already suffered a devastating loss-- her husband-- and is now faced with having lost and maybe never recovering a child (the first of many Scully children to be taken away.) Her anger at being denied a straight answer almost escalates into rage, but a piece of herself immediately reacts to and understands that Mulder is there to help-- and further, Mulder is there to listen and understand (as he has already listened and understood the victims of crimes, evidential or paranormal.)

Maggie confesses, wobbling over tears: “I knew it would happen this way. I had this dream about Dana being taken away.”

Maggie is definitely more open than her daughter to displays of wild emotion and paranormal admittance: she expects Mulder to give credence to her dreams, despite being the Catholic mother of his partner and a practical stranger. Further, his compassion and natural empathy draws her closer to him, standing almost flush next to him and letting him guide her out of the room (so the forensic team can take photos for evidence.)

“It's so strange. I, uh, I was gonna call her. But I was afraid I was gonna scare her.

An interesting note: When she’s upset and stressed out, Maggie sweeps her bangs and hair aside to little effect. Most likely it's because of the blessing and curse of having thick, curly hair sweeping onto a hot, sweaty face; but it’s a detail she seems to have passed on to Scully, who sweeps aside her own thick hair whenever stressed or anxious.

“She would have laughed at me anyway. She doesn’t believe in that kind of thing, y’know?”

Maggie pulls herself more together at this thought, the reminder of her daughter’s endearing skepticism bringing a smile to her face.

When the episode concludes in disaster, Maggie meets Mulder in the park, hoping he has news about Scully. Mulder is too engrossed by his thoughts to be aware of her approach, giving Maggie one of the rare glimpses of seeing an unguarded Mulder this early in the series.

“Agent Mulder? Thank you for calling me.”

At Mulder’s “I’m sorry I don’t have better news”, she responds: “Do you know something? Is Dana okay?”

Mulder spares her feelings as best he can: “I don’t know anything more about her.”

Maggie collects herself with sheer, iron will:

“I know you’re doing all you can.”

Mulder doesn’t dismiss their conversation, motioning for her to sit and allowing Maggie to open more about her fears. He knows the horror of having no one to talk to about tragic loss; and he doesn’t want Mrs. Scully to go through it alone.

He swivels his attention back to Maggie when she begins to speak:

“I had that dream again last night about Dana being taken away? I can’t tell you how it scares me.”

Mulder’s hard-won wisdom shines through: “It’s probably scarier if you stop having that dream.”

Which would be true: Mulder has never stopped having those dreams; and, although his demons still follow him into his sleep, they keep Samantha’s memory alive and his dedication unwavering.

Maggie is struck with his insight.

Mulder is unassuming; and yet, in one simple statement, he reveals he has lived and understood an area of life that Maggie, despite her decades longer on earth, has yet to begin to fathom. He has learned-- is still learning-- these peculiar sorrows; and shifts her entire worldview with one thought. She knows this knowledge was gained through the harshest, most brutal of circumstances, intuits he has traveled this road longer than she has, and almost fears how long she will have to wait for her own to end. But through the fear shines the hope.

It is this moment that wins Mulder forever to Maggie:

her trust becomes immovable, letting him rage in the hospital for her daughter, taking up for him across the barrel of a gun, always pardoning him for the countless tragedies that occur in her life.

She even gives him a patented, sad Scully smile: eyes squinting, face pulled tight and to the side.

But the smile doesn’t last-- sad Scully smiles never do-- and grief overwhelms Maggie. She, unlike her daughter, is not ashamed to publicly crumble with grief (like she is not afraid to admit her paranormal dreams.)

Interesting to note: Mulder has not learned to hug somehow who is crying... yet: Irresistible is the first time; and it’s Scully who embraces him first, opening up that side of himself forever. But, for now, he sits here commiserating with a similarly grieving soul.

Mulder at first doesn’t want to-- remaining silent and contemplative for a stretch-- but finally struggles with words, then simply hands over Scully’s necklace (“Found this.”)

Maggie is stunned;

but even more so when Mulder spills his heart, voice softened, mournful, and reflective. She catches each of his meaningful words: “Something I never considered about her…”

the truth of the depth of their relationship dawning on her.

As it is never explicitly spelled out in canon what Maggie is thinking here, it is possible to conclude two things:

#1. Maggie realizes how deeply integrated Mulder is with her daughter, a far closer relationship than she had assumed.

#2. (I believe) Maggie realizes Mulder loves Scully. She listens, enraptured, as he metes out little treasured hordes of thought about her daughter; that he’d thought about, considered her beyond a coworker and is mourning her like a family member (and not just any family member) awakens a new (and heart-wrenching, judging by her expression) thought: this man loves her daughter. And, from her perspective, he either doesn't want to admit it for personal reasons or he doesn't know it yet.

Either way, Mulder is now learning the lesson she learned a few months ago: the loss of her own partner. And, for all of Mulder’s advanced wisdom in grief, this is one he hasn’t live through… yet.

To Mulder’s “Why did she wear that?” (when he recovers his normal mien), Maggie responds: “I gave it to her on her fifteenth birthday.”

The necklace is no longer just a touchstone for Scully, a mark of her wavering faith: it is now a talisman for her loved ones, something that ties their hopes together.

Here, Maggie makes an important decision, subtly stating her own thoughts on the matter and as good as giving her blessing (in whatever form the viewer reads it): she hands Scully’s cross back to her partner-- an acknowledgement of his superior right to her daughter’s life.

Mulder doesn’t get it (“Don’t you want to keep it?”), divining only a fraction of Maggie’s affirmative, “When you find her, you give it to her.”

Maggie has at least restored Mulder's faith in himself, though he misses her other motherly and deeply personal undertone to this agreement.

And so concludes Ascension.

Maggie is naturally weighed down already, quivering over her dreams and desperately wanting her daughter back now-- she is losing hope. Mulder, meanwhile, has lost faith in himself as he clings to hope; and he reaches out to restore Maggie's hope, which she reciprocates by restoring his faith.

However, as the months pass by, Maggie completely loses that hope, ordering her daughter's tombstone and Mulder completely loses that faith, giving up on himself and his X-Files. Interestingly enough, it's Melissa Scully that restores faith and hope by showing them that their choices have an effect on Scully-- and they'd better smarten up and choose wisely.

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

#txf #The Scully Family In-Depth #Part VI #Maggie Scully and Mulder Meet #x-files #xfiles #mine #the x files #xf meta #analysis #Ascension #S2 #Mulder #Maggie Scully #In-Depth

62 notes · View notes

nickmakura · 3 months

Text

VA-11 HALL-A - Mar 10

This is transcript for the scrapped extra day for the Nintendo Switch release of Sukeban Games' Va-11 Hall-A. Unfortunately, due to some disagreements between Sukeban and Nintendo for the following interpretations the deal fell through. All that was written here is still technically unfinished, only in the sense that Kiririn51 only wrote this draft of the script into the code before the failure of the deal. So, there are no alternate routes depending on drinks sold.

Jill: G'Evening.

Dana: Hey! Jill, how'd the date go?

Jill: Uh... good? I guess.

Dana: I guess? What's that supposed to mean?

Jill: No no no, it was a good date boss, she was just strange.

Dana: Define strange, Jill. We meet a lot of strange.

Jill: Well, she was like a... racist republican trans trucker.

Dana: That a euphemism for somethin'?

Jill: No, she was a racist republican trans trucker.

Dana: Eesh. That's like meeting a homophobic vegan.

Jill: Ughh... she was pretty too.

Dana: Had to have been to go out with you.

Jill: I-- sorry?

Dana: I said what I said. If you need me, I'll be in my office.

Jill: (... I'm gonna go setup the jukebox.)

Jill: Time to mix drinks and change lives.

Jill: Welcome to Va-11 Hall-A.

Samus Aran's design, found in the files of the switch release.

???: ... Hey.

Jill: ... Hello?

???: ...

Jill: You gonna order something, miss?

???: ... You'll have to forgive me; I don't spend a lot of time around other people. What do you recommend?

Jill: Well, that depends on what are you looking for. Do you want something sweet. something bitter?

???: ... Hmm. Something sweet sounds fine.

Jill: Got it.

(Something sweet... she looks like she could go for a Moonblast.)

Jill: Here you go, miss...?

???: Sam.

Jill: Sam?

Sam: Just Sam.

Jill: (Huh. Weird. The registry doesn't say anything here for name. The money is still being sent over though...)

Jill: Well, "Just Sam" what brings you in here today?

Sam: Drinking.

Jill: Yeah, no I got that part. I was asking what your day was.

Sam: ... Who wants to know?

Jill: I don't mean to pry. I'm just... striking up a conversation.

Sam: I see. Well, I just finished a hunt.

Jill: A bounty hunt?

Sam: Yeah.

Jill: Y'know we got a bounty hunter who comes in here from time to time.

Sam: Do you know his name?

Jill: Jamie, he's a nice guy. Y'know him?

Sam: No. I do know a couple of bounty hunters, but... to be frank I tend to keep my circle small. I can't let feelings get in the way of my job.

Jill: Surely you make some time for yourself?

Sam: What do you think I'm doing?

Jill: Fair point. Despite that, you seem quite somber.

Sam: ... I do?

Jill: At least, I think it is. You've hardly changed expression during this conversation.

Sam: ... Yes, I am in a fairly bad mood yes. I just... something about this last job was different.

Jill: How so?

Sam: I'm afraid I can't share too much. But a... kid saved me today.

Jill: A kid?

Sam: Yeah. We were deep into a fight. It was me and this other person. I was nearly on my death bed. The final shot was coming and... this kid I spared jumped in there. I got to my feet, I took out the bounty. But, there was just this dread in me. This unspeakable feeling in my stomach.

Jill: Wow. That's...

Sam: There's nothing you can say about it Bartender.

Jill: ... I didn't think there could be. Do you want another drink?

Sam: ... Do you have something bitter as hell?

Jill: Yeah, I got something like that.

(Sam wants something bitter as hell, huh.)

Jill: Here you go.

Sam: What's this one called?

Jill: That is a suplex.

Sam: Hmm... did you pick the music?

Jill: Hmm? Yeah, I did. We got an old jukebox that plays all day, but I gotta pick the tunes before it starts.

Sam: There's a lot of synthwave in this selection. Do you know the artist of some of these?

Jill Uh... Garoad, I think, did some of these. I know Kira*Miki did "Your Love is a Drug." Do you like synthwave, miss?

Sam: It's all I listen to when I'm alone on a planet.

Jill: Oh? You're not local?

Sam: No. I am a galactic bounty hunter.

Jill: Oh, what's that like?

Sam: Lonely. Music like this though fills the time. I think my favorite artist is probably Hip Tanaka.

Jill: Oh, I'm aware of that guy. Didn't he say he started making music because he was tired of the more poppy happy type music?

Sam: He said he wanted to write more atmospheric music yes. I love his work. It feels simultaneously triumphant and desolate at the same time. It really fits any mood when I'm out there in some sort of hell.

Jill: I'd sure hope so. Do you want another drink?

Sam: Hmm... no, I don't think so... I'll be out soon. Thank you Jill, I hope you have a nice day.

Jill: Mhm. You too. Please come back soon.

Sam: I'll do my best.

Jill: (I think she was built up stronger than boss is...)

???: --Look Luigi, alls I'm sayin' is dat there's no way Daisy doesn't like youse.

???: AND I'm saying it's my business whether I go for her or not Mario! Granted she's a nice ragazza, but fratello, I don't even know if I wanna be with anybody right now anyways.

???: Gah, Cazzo de mierda...

Jill: Hello, welcome to Va-11 Hall-A.

Mario & Luigi in the files. Curiously, they take after the 1993 Mario Movie designs.

???: Hey how youse doin' bartender. Can youse just get us a couple-a-beers.

Jill: Coming right up.

Jill: (Two beers. I wonder what's with the matching outfits.)

Jill: Here you are. Now what's this about relationship problems?

???: Just that my brother here is so fuckin' blind he doesn't see romance when it slaps him in da face.

???: He thinks this friend of mine, who is frankly very attractive, is interested in me.

Mario: Oh yeah, sorry. I totally forgot, uh... My name is Mario Mario, this here's my brother Luigi Mario.

Jill: Nice to meet you two. I'm Jill.

Mario: Nice to me youse Jill, but uh... youse ain't gonna comment on da last name thing?

Jill: Eh, it's not that interesting.

Mario: Ayy, whaddya know Luigi? First time for everything!

Jill: So anyway relationships?

Luigi: So, there's this completely platonic friend of mine, Daisy, she's a paleontologist. We talk a lot when we're at the gym, and we hang out a lot.

Mario: Youse was goin' out on dates man.

Luigi: Those weren't dates!

Mario: Whaddya call goin' out for dinner at a fancy restaurant and not inviting your big brother, huh?

Luigi: Okay, #1. Hoskin's is not a fancy restaurant. #2. We were just hanging out and talking.

Mario: Mhm. Yeah, sure, bro. We'll go with dat. Whaddya think Jill?

Jill: I think it's none of business, and it's none of yours.

Luigi: Ah-HAH!

Jill: BUT. Aren't you at least interested in pursuing a relationship?

Luigi: Well... I mean I've thought about it maybe sure. But I'm just a plumber and a technician, and she's... amazing. She's a freakin' paleontologist for christ's sake! Like that's dats amazing! She's going places I can't even dream of.

Mario: Basta! She respects ya just as much as youse respect her Luigi.

Luigi: Eh, maybe. What's your situation with relationships Jill?

Mario: Nice subject change.

Jill: Eh... well... I did just go out on a really strange date.

Mario: What was so strange about it?

Jill: Well, it wasn't what was so strange about the date, it was moreso the person.

Mario & Luigi: Ah...

Luigi: So, what was the deal?

Jill: Well, she was this lovely trans lady. She was incredibly attractive, and she seemed funny. She had this like... tattoo of one of the bad guys in Model Warrior Julliane.

Luigi: Oh, yeah, I remember seeing that on air.

Mario: It was aight.

Jill: ... Anyway. She was one of those bad guys that connected with a lot of the audience for having a tragic backstory or something, and that got me interested in her, so I asked her out.

Luigi: So, how'd it go?

Jill: Well, we went out for some coffee, and we're sitting down and chatting, and it turns out over the course of the conversation, it turned out she was racist and a republican. Also, she had no time for a relationship anyway. Chick was signing up to be one of those space truckers.

Mario: Eh? Why even go out on da fuckin' date den?

Jill: I forgot to ask. I did ask why they liked Lazula. Because she was quote "patriotic."

Mario: Dat... wow. Yeah, no dat bites. That's special.

Jill: Then she brought her gun out halfway through the date.

Mario: WHAT!? Ay, if youse being tracked by some chick with a gun, youse better go home safe or somethin'.

Jill: No, they weren't gonna USE it on me. They had just been sitting on it for the last minute or so. They wanted to put it in their purse.

Mario: Well, first of all, youse conceal your gun someplace safe on your side. The back is just uncomfortable.

Jill: But then they just kept bringing it up into the conversation. Like the gun was just so integral to who they were as a person.

Luigi: Do youse not like guns Jill?

Jill: Um... It's a bit mixed for me. I can't deny they have purpose in certain situations, and it's good to have if shit goes down. But it's also not good to have if shit goes down. There's also the whole fiasco with gun laws and how it affects minorities. It's a complex issue.

Mario: Yeah, fair enough. Fair enough. But what was so upsetting 'bout this chick ownin' one den?

Jill: It seemed like it consumed her whole personality the fact that she owned a gun.

Luigi: Dat'll do it.

Jill: You two want anything else to drink? Mario: Nah, we gotta get back. There's a couple of things we gotta get to. Thanks for asking though. Youse have a nice day Jill, aight? Jill: Will do. Come back soon. Jill: Boss, I'm gonna go and take my break, lemme know if anybody walks in! Dana: Got it!

Unfortunately, this was all that was written for the day. The second half is not present in the files. What do you think? Would you have liked more cameo characters in Va-11 Hall-A?

#pixel art #va 11 hall a #my art #super mario bros #mario movie #metroid #samus aran #nintendo #jill valentine #dana zane #mario #luigi #fanart #fake screenshot #misinformation #fanfic

4 notes · View notes

pulpman2 · 1 year

Text

Dandy Davies Takes Flight!

“Ha-hah! Catch me if you can, ladies!” and with a twirl of his ridiculous waxed moustache, the out of work actor, rear end of a pantomime horse at Christmas, children’s entertainer and part time street card shark, turned and bolted down the steep steps leading to the basilica, two at a time. Louise turned to Jean. “Come on, sis!” she urged. “We simply have to capture that awful man!” The other Dana Girl needed little encouragement and she actually raced ahead of her blonde haired sister. Both young women were glad that the warm air of the late Italian summer had led them to wear loose fitting dress and skirt and flat shoes that enabled them to quickly gain on the absurdly hatted figure fleeing down the medieval stairs. Nonetheless, Dandy Davies had a decent lead and the sibling detectives knew that once he reached the Piazza Nuovo he would soon lose his pursuers in the crowds of tourists.

But Dandy could not shake his love of the theatrical. He suddenly turned, no more than twenty steps from the square and gave Jean a triumphant look. “And so, my dear - adieu!” he called out to her at the very moment he collided with an overweight and breathless ice cream vendor, head down, climbing up the steps. Jean laughed despite herself. ‘He’s like Dick Dastardly!’ she thought as she watched the comic book villain tumble to the ground. In an instant both girls were on him while the ice cream man looked on completely bemused. While Jean sat astride Dandy, her patterned skirt billowing around the chest of the prone man, Louise sat determinedly on the crook’s legs. As Jean pinned her captive’s wrists to the stone of the steps, Dandy Davies gazed back up at her, the drama of the final curtain shining in his eyes. “Curses!” he cried, almost joyfully. “Foiled again… and by young fillies too!” Jean sighed and looked over her shoulder while continuing to hold the deluded criminal down. “Let’s get him tied up, Lou. Can you spare the belt to your dress?” Louise nodded and pulled the thin leather belt free.

“Ah, the ignominy! Bound by mere slips of girls!” wailed Dandy dramatically, his eyes twinkling.

My interpretation to the story behind this illustration to one of The Dana Girls Mystery Stories.

#pulp magazine #the dana girls #girl detectives #mysteries #man tied up by woman

7 notes · View notes

the-spooky-alien · 2 years

Text

Day 25 of Fictober !

Fandom : X-Files with the prompt "You know I'd do anything." (This fic is also heavily inspired by a deleted scene of Memento Mori where Bill visits Scully.)

Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2022

When she woke up for the first time in her hospital bed, she hadn’t expected to see her older brother standing in the doorway, watching her with an unreadable expression. Bill looked more tired than she ever remembered him being. His hair was cropped short in that military way she hated, and while he was wearing casual clothes, there was a stiffness in his posture.

He was standing more like a soldier than a brother, ready to confront rather than comfort.

She unexpectedly wanted to cry. ‘’Hey, Bill. It’s good to see you.’’

A small smile, faded and empty, made its way on his face. ‘’Hey, Dana.’’ Crossing the room to her bed, Bill gave her an awkward pat on the arm, before sitting on the chair beside her bed. ‘’You look good.’’

Was it what they were reduced to ? Small talk ? Lying straight to each other’s face ? She blinked back the burn in her eyes.

She was facing a stranger.

‘’Thank you,’’ she said, struggling to answer his polite smile.

Bill nodded, deflecting his gaze. For a long moment, neither talked. Then, as if remembering something, he raised his head and said, ‘’Charles couldn’t come, but he’ll try to call you tonight, if you’re up to it.’’

This wasn’t unexpected. She couldn’t remember how long it had been since she had last seen Charlie. Once, he had been her favourite sibling, when they were still young enough to huddle together on the couch, heads pressed together in conspiracy. Now, she barely remembered what he looked like.

Sometimes, the only face she could conjure when thinking of him, was the face of a seven years old boy brightening in delight as she shared her candies with him.

‘’Sad cause for a family reunion.’’

Bill tensed. His teeth made this irritating sound that she hated so much. ‘’Can’t be a family reunion without dad and Melissa.’’

He could have slapped her and it would have hurt less. She wasn’t blind. She could clearly see where he was going with this and she knew how much it would hurt to heart his words. She wondered when it became easier for him to hurt her than comfort her.

Once upon a time, Bill had been good with it. Holding her when she was sad, rubbing circles on her back, promising to hurt the motherfucker who made her cry. But somewhere on the road, they became distant. He didn’t know her, and she didn’t know him.

Strangers with a blood bond. An ersatz of a once happy family. Ghosts playing the part, until the curtain’s fall.

She hated it.

She hated herself for hating it.

It was family.

Wasn’t it ?

‘’I didn’t choose this, Bill,’’ she said, because this was the only thing she could say when he was dangling Melissa’s ghost between them. ‘’You know I’d do anything-‘’

He smiled. It was sad on his face. ‘’You made your choice when you decided to join the FBI.’’ His hands fell on his lap, large and calloused. If he wanted to, he could cradle her whole face in his hands. But Bill had always preferred hitting things. ‘’You could have had a great life. Saving people. Making mom and dad proud.’’

You could have spared Melissa.

It hung between them, unsaid words bringing acid on her tongue.

‘’It wasn’t my fault.’’ It sounded empty. She didn’t believe it herself. How could she convince him ? ‘’Dad- Mom said he made peace with my choice.’’

‘’He wouldn’t have if he had seen what happened with Melissa,’’ Bill snapped, and for the first time since he entered the room, his face betrayed the cold anger lurking in the shadows of his face.

Her heart crawled from her chest to her throat, the taste of blood springing in her mouth. Cancer, she reminded herself. She is dying.

‘’I didn’t choose what happened with Melissa.’’

The eyes of her brother fell on her, weary and cold. They both shared the same icy blue color in their irises. Briefly, she wondered if Mulder ever felt unnerved by the intensity of the color when looking at her.

‘’Didn’t you ?’’

She felt her face crumble. She had to look away, focusing on the dust swimming in the sun’s rays to keep the wail building in her throat from tearing her vocal chords. ‘’I didn’t choose this,’’ she repeated, like a broken vinyl, curling her fingers around the sheets.

When she looked back at him, Bill had closed his eyes. He seemed like an old man.

‘’It was good seeing you, Dana,’’ he muttered, standing on his feet without looking at her

She watched him leave, something heavy crushing her stomach. ‘’Bill,’’ she called, unable to help herself, unable to completely stop reaching out for the big brother she used to love so much. He stopped but didn’t turn. Her words tasted like blood. ‘’Will you ever forgive me ?’’

Bill stood there for a moment, quiet. She waited.

She waited until his footsteps echoed harshly in the corridor, until the door closed with a muffled click, leaving her alone with the growing lump in her head and the urge to cry.

#txf #dana scully #bill jr #not msr this time I'm afraid #Mulder isn't even here #although I did consider writing him in this so Bill could be punched #but eh #focusing on the Scully siblings for this time #i hope you will still like it despite having no Mulder #and thank you for reading !

31 notes · View notes