I think it hit my left ventricle...badforthefishNovember 25 2011, 09:05:38 UTC
Oh wow...you know how people say: "there are so many things I love in this story I can't quote them all"? (Which is IMO one of the most frustrating feedback you can give a writer)
Hell! I'm so quoting.
Mulder and Scully with their Martian invaders and their slow career suicide
This is such an accurate, punch packing way to describe their colleagues POV.
it was like two points on the huge Are They or Aren't They? scoreboard hanging above their heads.
Eheheheh, yes, it would.
Sweet Home Alabama, as Mulder called it,
I knew Muldler was a fan of Lynyrd Skynyrd. *nods*
in the deep attentive way they talked while in transit, the ground moving beneath them like a reminder that everything, life, was going past but that they remained motionless, caught in each other's sphere.
I really love the way you sum up their relationship with such lean and elegant turn of phrases.
and growl to herself that she was not going crazy with the horrible summer and the depressing job and the old girlfriends and the way she wanted Mulder like a hot, ticking time bomb packed with plastic explosives and rusty nails and the wretched fuse that just kept burning and burning and burning.
Oh, Scully, you simply break my heart here. *sigh*
Mulder couldn't go for a soda without getting her put on probation.
Ahahahahah! Excellent!
There were times when she enjoyed his challenge, and times when he just wore her out. But despite terrible risk or personal awkwardness she had to find a way to remain friends with him. She needed Mulder's friendship on a level of intellect that had nothing to do with the vagaries of career or geography and more to do with muse, in an experimental sense that would never be concluded. He was wild Crick to her Watson, Coleridge to her Wordsworth, the apple that conked her on the head. He was the well she stepped into while stargazing, like Thales of Miletus.
Oh my, this is what I call Tuning Fork Perfection. This just encapsulates them so perfectly, and it talks to me in more ways than I can count.
And the ending...guh, I can smell the inside of that book.
You so owe me a pacemaker after this one. Damn woman, you've been missed! Nobody writes them like you do.
Re: I think it hit my left ventricle...sladik79November 25 2011, 09:47:26 UTC
Thank you very much for posting this story! I have read all of your stories, you are my favourite x-files fanfic author ever. Your works have so many russians fans.=)
Re: I think it hit my left ventricle...penumbra23November 26 2011, 04:41:48 UTC
Spasiba. What's really cool about this is that a show chronicling the end of the Cold War has literally brought us into connection. It's very nice to hear from you.
How did I know that when I found Mulder & Scully again, I'd find something from you I hadn't seen (Christ, have I really been gone for over 3 years?). Beautiful, beautiful.
I miss you/them, and will always. The kids and I and other local teenagers have started watching XF again after long self-imposed hiatus. I have SO MUCH knowledge and lore to pass on.
Are you still at the same email? Email me! Hope you and the kids (who must surely becoming not-such-kids-anymore these days) are doing well. They're getting the important lessons, no doubt :)
Hell! I'm so quoting.
Mulder and Scully with their Martian invaders and their slow career suicide
This is such an accurate, punch packing way to describe their colleagues POV.
it was like two points on the huge Are They or Aren't They? scoreboard hanging above their heads.
Eheheheh, yes, it would.
Sweet Home Alabama, as Mulder called it,
I knew Muldler was a fan of Lynyrd Skynyrd. *nods*
in the deep attentive way they talked while in transit, the ground moving beneath them like a reminder that everything, life, was going past but that they remained motionless, caught in each other's sphere.
I really love the way you sum up their relationship with such lean and elegant turn of phrases.
and growl to herself that she was not going crazy with the horrible summer and the depressing job and the old girlfriends and the way she wanted Mulder like a hot, ticking time bomb packed with plastic explosives and rusty nails and the wretched fuse that just kept burning and burning and burning.
Oh, Scully, you simply break my heart here. *sigh*
Mulder couldn't go for a soda without getting her put on probation.
Ahahahahah! Excellent!
There were times when she enjoyed his challenge, and times when he just wore her out. But despite terrible risk or personal awkwardness she had to find a way to remain friends with him. She needed Mulder's friendship on a level of intellect that had nothing to do with the vagaries of career or geography and more to do with muse, in an experimental sense that would never be concluded. He was wild Crick to her Watson, Coleridge to her Wordsworth, the apple that conked her on the head. He was the well she stepped into while stargazing, like Thales of Miletus.
Oh my, this is what I call Tuning Fork Perfection. This just encapsulates them so perfectly, and it talks to me in more ways than I can count.
And the ending...guh, I can smell the inside of that book.
You so owe me a pacemaker after this one. Damn woman, you've been missed! Nobody writes them like you do.
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I have read all of your stories, you are my favourite x-files fanfic author ever. Your works have so many russians fans.=)
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