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christinescupofcoffee · 9 months ago

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Midnight Oil

Chapter Two: A Cup of Tea

Alex ran his fingers through his inky black curls and opened his eyes. Rich royal violet filled the sky overhead, and he could hear a soft noise next to him. He lifted his head and spotted the lithe German boy laying right next to him, and he smiled to himself when he remembered the night before. Indeed, his jaw still felt somewhat sore from the sensation, and he touched the edge of his chin with two fingers.

It was a feeling that he knew he would want to ask for more of when the time came. It was a feeling that beckoned him and coaxed him to let his eyes wander up to the side of the cathedral there next to him. Their candles had extinguished, but he had the glow of the city lights before him to see the bricks off to his right.

A couple of sensual boys laying out on the grass in the waning hours of the night next to a towering cathedral. Not a soul walked by, but he could feel their souls right there next to him. The taste of old flesh against his tongue. The sensation that he had lifted himself up out of the nearest grave and found himself next to this graying wolf.

The ghosts of the past emerged from the ghosts of the cathedral, from the points of the spires above their heads and shoulders. The feeling that he had about ten inches more with the ten miles he had given them.

That of which he had given her.

Alex rolled his head over the grass for a better look at Christian, who was still sound asleep there next to him. The glow from the streets of Cologne caressed over his slender face and his finely tailored shoulders.

He could still hear her laughter against the tunnels of his mind. Her laughter haunted him like the darkened pointed spires above him: the points deep into his back like a pair of knives. He thought she was the one but the chip on her shoulder proved to be the thing that caught fire. He knew he was going to get burned at some point and he swore that he loved her, but the chip was the kindling that wound up taking him down.

It was time for Christian to be the exorcist.

His exorcist.

Alex lifted himself up and took a look at the white box next to him. That lovely soft babka waited for him, there in anticipation to curl up next to him as the finest coil in the world. He needn’t give into temptation, however, especially in a time when he needed to be right next to Christian. But those apples were so warm and comforting. Those spices felt like the healing kiss of life itself. It wasn’t temptation if he had a pain in his chest and in his head.

Alex folded his hands over his chest. He almost felt delicate under his white shirt: a delicate little body with a sore jaw and raw fingers. Just a delicate soft boy under the towering darkness of the cathedral and the veil of violet over that; he felt even more delicate from the fact that the bottom hem of his shirt lifted up a bit and showed off the lower part of his belly to the cool morning air.

There was the dream that he had had prior to waking up, whereby he found himself in the tunnel of his own heart. It was like a big metal sewer pipe but the base was filled with his own blood as well as his own bullshit. He lay in his own blood and shit and there was nothing he could do.

It felt like an eternity, to make his own bed and lay in it even as she tormented him and dragged him along. The sweetness of his heart had nothing on the way that she slit his throat and stuck her head down inside to slip a finger into the aorta. She used him and left him there to drown, and that was all he could think about.

But no way could he make Christian his rebound, however. In fact, he never really thought of him as his rebound. He was a memory of a time bygone, and Alex needed to uncover the truth about him. If nothing else, they could find themselves in a hotel room with a nice shower and a few extra minutes on hand.

A soft groan caught his attention, and Alex turned his head right over the grass for a better look at the svelte slender German boy still sound asleep there on the grass. However, he looked as though he was about to wake up from the shifting of his weight and the soft noises in his throat. Alex reached over to touch him right on the arm; he rolled over onto his side so he could lightly stroke his arm better with the tips of his fingers. He moved his fingertips about as slow as he could possibly go: it was here he wished that he had longer nails just to make a roll of shivers run down Christian’s spine and all throughout his body.

It was a move that he never had a chance to employ on anyone before.

Christian meanwhile rubbed his eyes with one hand, and then he hoisted himself up onto his elbows for a better look at him there.

“Oh, it’s you,” he remarked in a voice riddled with sleep.

“Yeah, I just felt like touching you,” Alex confessed in a voice that sounded somewhat like velvet. “Your skin feels like alabaster when I really feel you now.”

“It’s what I get for relaxing and being the glue of my band and everything that encapsulates us,” Christian explained. “I’m going to sit down and lotion up once I find the chance.”

“You should rub some lotion onto me,” Alex said almost without even thinking about it, to which Christian snickered at that. Alex kept on with the stroke on that smooth skin: at one point, he spread his fingers apart and proceeded with a raking motion. He pivoted his fingers a bit to exert more pressure onto his arm. All the while, he kept on moving about at a slow pace. Christian lifted his arm so Alex could have more of a stroke on him, and he cracked him a little smile.

“That actually feels really good,” he remarked. “And more so after we have been laying out here out in the open for all the world to see.”

“Agreed. The whole world as well as the spires over our heads.” With that, Christian glanced up at the dark and shadowy cathedral towering up right next to them.

“We are next to a cathedral,” he pointed out. “A big church.”

“And?” Alex raised his eyebrows at him, and Christian nibbled on his bottom lip at the suggestion. Silence save for the river waters behind them swept over them. The river seemed to be flowing at a quicker clip than the mere few hours before; there was something hidden behind that cool demeanor, and one that piqued Alex’s curiosity no less. He stopped stroking Christian’s arm and ran his fingers through his inky black hair; Christian caught a glimpse of the gray streak at the crown of his head, all the way down to the roots in all of their silvery glory. Alex locked eyes with him. There had to be a way to break in through the ice.

“Shall we get some breakfast?” Christian offered him with a crackling to his voice.

“Please,” Alex promptly replied. The former stood to his feet first and offered a hand to him; once the two boys were on their feet, they began to pick up their mess, including the twin candles.

“Breakfast for the Arctic fox,” he decreed, to which Alex showed him a small smile. The air around them was cool and crisp, such that the two of them shivered and huddled up against each other as if a rainstorm was upon them. Christian never said what he meant by that before as they began walking along the cobblestones towards the nearest bakery opening for the new day. They were greeted by the lush smell of cinnamon combined with cardamom and coffee: all the aphrodisiacs.

The violet sky overhead gave way to a lighter orange and yellow paint job behind them, and Alex wondered what oil painting they had fallen into. He turned his head the other way as the sunlight kissed the crown of Christian’s blond head and enough to where it bestowed a light hall of gold over him.

It seemed like déjà vu to him, but his memory had been wiped clean of their previous encounter. The last time the two of them had met one another and when times were innocent.

The two boys reached the front door of the bakery right as the head baker turned the sign on the door to see for themselves. A light breeze fluttered their hair about a bit, and enough to make him stop in his tracks and lean in closer to Christian’s narrow face. Christian meanwhile held still with his back to the window so the bakers couldn’t see his face.

Alex closed his eyes, lightly parted his full cherry lips, drank down the essence on the side of his neck as well as his face. The essence of memory and persistence of time.

“I need to remember,” he whispered. “I must remember.” He opened his eyes, to which Christian showed him a little smile. He then grimaced from the sudden pain in his belly, and he let out a low whistle and ran his fingers through his hair again: a few stray tendrils of inky black curls sprawled down the side of his face onto his shoulder and collar bone. Christian’s bright eyes followed the winding shape of those little curls, and Alex shifted his weight at the feeling of his eyes on him.

Christian then reached to his right and made his way to the door. He tugged it open and held it for Alex, who then shook his curls about and padded into the bakery. There, he was met with the sight and smell of donuts straight out of the oven on the wooden display shelves on the right side of the room. The sight of the chocolate ones before his face felt like seduction, and he could sense what Christian was thinking right then as he joined him with his arm hooked around his neck. To think that they also had a babka with them as well.

“Decadence,” Alex remarked as his eyes wandered down to the shelf by the floor. The mere suggestion of rich chocolate donuts made him rest a hand on his stomach. “Complete utter unhealthy decadence.”

“Maybe later,” Christian suggested, and he guided him away from the potential Achilles’ heel. The two of them walked on towards the counter on the other side of the room, where they were greeted by the sight and smell of cheese croissants, once again straight out of the oven.

“Oh, my, yes!” Alex declared with a twinkle to his eye. He paid the most attention to the ones with what appeared to be chives on top.

“Oh, yes, we are—quite hungry, eh?” Christian showed him a playful little smile. “You are der aufgeregter Junge, after all.” He showed him a wink and the two boys pitched in together for their breakfast of croissants filled with Muenster and lush Gouda, topped with finely chopped chives, and cups of rich warm coffee. They doubled back out to the patio on the back side of the bakery just to enjoy the sunrise as well as their food. No sooner had they sat down again when Christian reached into his jeans pocket for something. He showed Alex the piece of thick parchment paper that looked as though he had taken it out of the cathedral back there.

“Perhaps this will refresh your memory?”

Alex sipped on his coffee, albeit with a glimpse over the rim of the mug, and then he set it back down again to take the paper for himself. He held the parchment in both hands and stroked the pads of his thumbs over the back to feel the smooth but heavy grains. He then turned it over to see the photograph imprinted on the bottom side.

“A knife?”

“A photograph of a knife,” Christian corrected him. “Rather, it’s a negative, I should say. But I do have the actual photograph itself back at my place. Perhaps the taste of blood will refresh your memory as well?”

Alex hooded his eyes and nibbled on his bottom lip at the sound of that. He knew that after breakfast, they would have to indulge on a little escapade of sorts together. The feeling of the parchment in hand, and he handed it back over to him so he could have a bite of his croissant. He lifted it up to his mouth as if to take a bite, but he instead held it close to his full cherry red lips.

“The taste of blood and the kisses of fire and iron?” he asked him.

“The taste of blood, the kisses of fire and iron, and the sweet caress of life itself,” Christian corrected him, to which he pressed a single finger unto those lips. Alex knew that taste from somewhere, just like how he knew that knife from somewhere.

He held on the idea that had manifested, and hopefully, Christian would be open to it far more than the ghosts in the tunnels of his past. As far as he knew, it was a dumb idea and one that he constantly struggled with, especially after the break up.

#fanfic #fanfiction #midnight oil #midnight oil fanfic #chapter 2 #new chapter #writers on tumblr #writeblr #my writing #writing #slash fic #slash fanfiction #alex skolnick #falk maria schlegel #testament #powerwolf #also on ao3 #text

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crazyyanderefangirlfan · 1 year ago

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Irene Song

"Underestimate me, so I can embarrass you"

---+---

BASIC

Name: Irene Song

Nickname(s): Witch (by close friends). My love, Sweetheart, Dear, Brat, Dear, Doll, Doll face (all by Shinsuke). Kuromi.

Alias(es): Vixen, The Fox Witch (in volleyball) Kumiho (in St. Trinians)

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Bisexual

Ethnicity: Korean

Blood Type: B

Age: 17

Birthday: September 17

---+---

APPEARANCE

Hair: Mid back slightly wavy black hair with fringe bangs

Eyes: Gold eyes with black eyeliner.

Height: 165 cm

Skin: Alabaster

Body: Svelte and slightly curvy.

Tattoo(s): None

Piercing(s): Black hoop earrings

Scar(s): Faded stab wounds on her left leg and faded gunshot wounds on her right side.

Other:

---+---

SCHOOL

Occupation: Manager

School: Inarizaki High

Year: 2

Class: 6

Club(s): Boys VBC

Number: None

Role/Position: None

Attendance Record: Good

Average Grade: A

---+---

STATISTICS (out of 5)

Power: 4/5

Jumping: 5/5

Stamina: 5/5

Game Sense (ability to 'predict' or 'sense' the opponents next move): 3/5

Technique: 3/5

Speed: 5/5

Overall (total): 25/30

---+---

CHARACTER

Personality: Irene often looks at things differently, giving her a creative way in dealing with situations. Irene is not afraid of tackling challenges with a steady and unswerving determination, of course, with a successful outcome. Generally, once she makes up her mind about something, there is no stopping her, however she is willing to compromise. Because of her background, Irene has developed a strong sense of empathy, she's the first the team often to for comfort, advice or just wanting to vent. When it's the last two, she's listen carefully and offer her own opinion.

She is a blunt person and not afraid to tell people off, even if they had more authority than her. She has a sharp mind and is an impatient person, preferring to do things herself instead of waiting. She has a strong sense of justice and doesn't ignore people in distress. She can always come up with a smart remark, specifically in reply to most of the twins antics and attempts at humor.

Irene is a fiercely independent individual. When she was young she was often left alone in her house as her mother works overtime to provide stable money for them, thus learning to cook and clean in an early age, and relying on her wits and abilities to survive and thrive in hostile school situations. This independence is a testament to her strength and resilience. Irene is also a very strong-willed woman who often speaks her mind, showing little concern for the consequences. She will not shy away from intimidating opponent's by boasting her athletic prowess, sometimes even making threats. Irene's strong sense of justice and duty with those in need is shown by her sheer amount of mental fortitude.

She's often compared to a fox due to her mischievous and rebellious nature, she combines this playful nature with her extraordinary people-reading and manipulative abilities. Because she likes to watch people squirm, she often pulls off intricate, drawn-out pranks and tricks with quite simple ends. This has caused many people, such as Tanaka and Nishinoya to become easily terrified upon seeing her. If not partaking in such affairs, she shows interest in those who get her attention. Despite this, she is one of high ranking students in terms of school curriculum, in par with Shinusuke.

Back in St. Trinians, she was a proficient 'witch', often conducting sacrifices, potion making and other witchcraft. This still carried with her when she moved but she's more low-keyed with it, both not wanting to scare her new friends and knowing it might disturbed some of them.

Though it takes a while for her to get angry, when she is; the individuals who are within her vicinity can feel electricity in the air. Depending on the severity of what has angered her, she can either be simply irritated or become extremely scary, the latter also causing her to dispense "appropriate" punishment.

Juliette commented that her relationship with Shinsuke was a 'rivals to lovers' trope. There at first at odd with each other, Kita being a model student and Irene being a bit of a delinquent, they're rivalry started in academics but the sexual tension got worse when she and Juliette sign up to be the VBC's managers. They respected each other but still made jabs, the sexual tension reached it's peak when the had an argument in front of the team, once they were done they proceeded to make out, much to everyone's shock. Since then, they're relationship took a more playful turn, with Irene finding way to tease him and get him to live on the edge and Shinsuke making exceptions only for her and providing her stability she needs in life.

Likes: Family and friends, Shinsuke, witchcraft, samgyetang, gardening, reading, music, movies, gothic jewelry, slime, scented highlighters, hot springs.

Dislikes: Messing up her garden, the twins being too rowdy, entitled and toxic fangirls, entitled people, her father and step-mother, people thinking she'll be a snob, sundae(Korean sausage), cheating of any kind, normal unscented highlighters, dramas where they take back the toxic ex, perverts.

Hobbies: Gardening, skateboarding, gymnastics, singing, hapkido, teakwondo, fencing, hunting, witchcraft, cooking, reading, watching movies, candle-making, poetry writing,

Goal(s): To get two college degrees and marry Shinsuke.

Current concerns: "I'm not sacrificing Atsumu to Satan."

---+---

SOCIAL

Mother(s): Sun Jong Song, Unamed stepmother

Father(s): Unamed

Sibling(s): Jin Myung (younger half-brother)

Relative(s): Unamed grandparents.

Friend(s): Boys VBC, Shoyo Hinata, Yukie Shirofuku, Kaori Suzumeda, Gloria Lewiston, Gwen Baldwin, Amicia Allard ,Ichika Kamisato, Emi Takagi Mio Nakano.

Best Friend(s): Juliette Chaveleir, Teresa Diamandis, Bridget Fortuné, Heather O'Cleary, Cat Tamami, Skyla Barretto.

Love Interest(s): Shinsuke Kita

Rival(s): None

Pet(s): None, but the foxes that come to her mother's restaurant are close enough.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hq #inarizaki #haikyuu inarizaki #kita shinsuke #shinsuke kita #haikyuu kita #irene song #hq!#hq kita #haikyuu!!! inarizaki

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monkeyssalad-blog · 7 months ago

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Elisabeth-Louise Vigée-Lebrun - Portrait of Aglaé Angélique Gabrielle (1787-1842) by Pau NG Via Flickr: Elisabeth-Louise Vigée-Lebrun - Portrait of Aglaé Angélique Gabrielle (1787-1842) In July of 1789, in the wake of the fall of the Bastille, Aglaé Angélique Gabrielle’s mother (the Duchesse de Guiche), grandmother (the Duchesse de Polignac) and some of the most unpopular members of Queen Marie Antoinette’s entourage fled France in the first wave of the Émigration. For almost twenty years, they led a peripatetic existence in European countries that had not been invaded by French troops. Aglaé Angelique followed her mother from country to country in search of a haven, finally ending up in Latvia and Russia. In August of 1804 she was living in Mittau (Jelgava), where the exiled Bourbon King Louis XVIII and members of his court, which included the Duchesse de Guiche, were in residence. There the girl married an officer in the Imperial Russian army, the somewhat older Colonel Aleksandr Lvovich Davydov (1773-1833).1 The groom was one of the sons of Lev Denisovich Davydov (1743-1801) and his wife, the prodigiously wealthy Ekaterina Nicolaievna Samoïlova (1755-1825), a niece of Potemkine and a sister of Count Aleksandr Nikolaevich Samoïlov, whose wife and children sat to Vigée Le Brun for a full-length portrait now in the State Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg. Davydov’s half-brother was General Nikolaï Nikolaevich Raevski. Aglaé Angélique and her husband had three children: Ekaterina Aleksandrovna (1806-1882), who in 1826 married Ernest de Cadoine, Marquis de Gabriac (1792-1865); Adel Aleksandrovna Davydova (1810-1881), who eventually became a nun in the convent of the Trinità dei Monti in Rome; and Vladimir Aleksandrovich Davydov (1816-1886), who also became an officer in the Russian army. Aleksandr Davydov took part in campaigns against Napoleon’s army and was present at Austerlitz (1805) and on battlefields in Poland and Finland (1807-1809). During the Campaign of 1812 he served at Winkovo, Maloiaroslavets, Viazma and Kraznoi. The following year he lead the troops under his command at the Battles of Lutzen, Bautzen, Dresden and Kulm. When France was invaded in 1814, Aleksandr Lvovich was assigned to Bar-sur-Aube, Troyes, Arcis-sur-Aube, Fère-Champenoise and Paris. He was promoted to the rank of major general in mid-June of 1815. After the Napoleonic wars had come to an end, Aglaé and Aleksandr Davydov spent considerable time with their children and other members of the Davydov-Raevski clan on their vast Ukrainian estate of Kamenka the Caucasus near Kiev, a center of the secret Green Lamp society whose membership was conspiring against some of the worst excesses of the czarist regime in their homeland, among them the system of serfdom, the Turkish domination of Greece and antisemitism. Aglaé Gabrielle de Gramont and her husband formed an odd couple. While she was svelte and physically attractive, he was a giant of a man, tall and monstrously overweight. In the course of her marriage, the flirtatious Aglaia Antonovna Davydova was a notoriously unfaithful wife. Russia’s greatest poet Aleksandr Sergeyevich Pushkin (fig. 1) was a friend of the Davydovs and a guest at Kamenka in late 1820. It was at this time that Pushkin was writing A Prisoner in the Caucasus, in which he gave vent to his liberal convictions. The writer, who was stationed as a translator with the army in the nearby Moldavian town of Kishinev, fell under the spell of both Aglaé (Aglaia) and her twelve-year old daughter Adel Aleksandrovna. Henri Troyat, Pushkin’s biographer, wrote of the general’s ravenous appetite for food and drink. He cites Pushkin: “Alexander Lvovich was a second Falstaff : gourmand, cowardly, a braggart but no fool, totally devoid of principles, full of self-pity, and obese. He had one distinctive feature, however, which gave him added charm: He was married. Shakespeare never had time to marry of his bachelor, and Falstaff died without knowing the joys of cuckoldom or fatherhood. In Eugene Onegin Pushkin wrote of A magnificent cuckold [an allusion to A.L. Davydov], Ever content with his person, His dinner, and his wife. (…) Repelled by serious manhood, Pushkin fell back on frivolous femininity. “Much champagne, few women…” True, there were not many women at Kamenka. But Mrs. Davydov, the “magnificent cuckold’s” wife, was as good as a harem. The fair Aglaia was born de Gramont; she was French, and thirty years old. She had a plump face, a pert nose, a soft and velvety mouth, a downy bosom. Her grace, her wantonness, her eternal coquetry turned the head of every general and cornet who came to the Kamenka estate. Aglaia was happy only when she was in the center of a ring of admirers, and there was always someone around to admire her. Pushkin himself fell in with the custom of the house and paid court to the pretty Frenchwoman, out of habit and because he had nothing better to do. But she wanted to play the romantic heroine in the grand manner, and the poet, frightened by her intensity, beat a hasty retreat before obtaining anything more from her than smiles and a brush of the lips. These flutterings with fat Alexander’s wife irritated Pushkin, and he relieved himself by composing epigrams [in “To My Promiscuous Aglaia” he quipped]: Some have had my Aglaia For their mustache and braided coat, Some for money—that I understand; Or because they were French. Leo was no doubt impressive, Daphnis sang so well; But tell me, my Aglaia, what Your busband had you for? Pushkin sent this epigram to his brother with the comment: “For the love of Christ, don’t let it get around. Every word of it is truth.” In another epigram, he preached restraint to the eager Aglaia: Let us leave impassioned fevers… (Our day is drawing to a close) You, my dear, to your oldest girl [sic, meaning Adel Aleksandrovna], And I to my young brother… Pushkin’s allusion to Adèle, Algaia’s eldest daughter, was not fortuitous. “She was a very pretty lass of twelve, and he was not above bestowing some of his attention upon her. Pushkin imagined,” [Ivan Dmitriyevich] Yakushkin wrote, “that he was in love with her, he kept ogling her, coming up to her, clumsily teasing her.” In December of 1834, after her Russian husband’s death and she had returned permanently to France, she wed the Corsican-born infantry general, Horace-François-Bastien Sébastiani della Porta (1772-1851), who in his youth had been so handsome that he was known as the ‘Cupid of the Empire.’ Having served in Italy in the revolutionary wars, he had been a high ranking officer in the Grande Armée of his fellow Corsican, the Emperor Napoleon; moreover, he had served as an officer in the Spanish (1808-1811), Russian (1812), Saxon (1813) and French (1814) Campaigns. In 1815, after Napoleon had returned to France from his exile on the island of Elba only to be defeated at Waterloo, Sébasiani alligned himself with him during the so-called Hundred Days. When Louis-Philippe d’Orléans came to power after the fall of Charles X in 1830, the liberal-minded Sebastiani served his government as Minister of War and then as French ambassador to Naples. By his first wife, Antoinette-Françoise-Jeanne de Franquetot de Coigny (1778-1807), he had a daughter, Françoise-Attarice-Rosalba (Fanny) Sébastiani della Porta (1807-1847). Aglaé Angélique died in Paris on January 21, 1842. Sebastiani della Porta survived her and went on to become Louis-Philippe’s Minister of War and his ambassador to England. Vigée Le Brun’s close relationship with Aglaé Angélique Davydova’s family were considerable. Prior to the revolution she painted several portraits of her grandmother, the Duchesse de Polignac,4 and her mother, the duchesse de Guiche.5 And during the period of the Émigration, she painted a bust-length portrait of Madame de Guiche wearing a blue turban, a red dress and a necklace of coral beads, a work done in Vienna in 1794, as well as pastel likenesses of two of her younger brothers, one of which, the profile portrayal of Jules de Polignac, was recently acquired by the Louvre. Finally, around 1805, Madame Le Brun painted a pastel image of Aglaé Davydova’s older sister, Corisande de Gramont, Countess of Ossultun and future Countess Tankerville (private collection). Vigée Le Brun’s portrait of the blue-eyed and still strikingly beautiful Aglaé Angélique Davydova, despite her thirty-seven years, depicts her subject in the open air against a cloudy sky. She is attired in a short-sleeved velvet gown with a deep neckline over a muslin chemise with gold trim, and around her long neck hangs a gold chain to which is attached a gold pendant. Her dark hair is styled in ringlets, or "anglaises" falling onto her brow, and those strands that are piled high on her head are held in place with a gold and coral diadem. Over this hairdo is draped a muslin veil she clasps to her bosom with the long, tapering fingers of the hands crossed over her breast, and the end of this length of sheer fabric floats in the wind behind her. The portrait was executed by the artist around 1824, the year of Louis XVIII’s death and the accession of his brother, Charles Philippe, Comte d’Artois, to the throne of France as Charles X. The portrait exists in two autograph examples: the present rectangular canvas and an oval version at one time in the Bartholini collection as a portrait of ‘Madame de Talleyrand’ and later with the Paris dealers Nathan Wildenstein and Arnold Seligmann (it is today in a private collection). An anonymous copy of the painting under discussion (oil on rectangular-shaped canvas, 81 x 65 cm.), in which Madame Davydova is shown without the gold chain, was featured in a recent Paris auction. Joseph Baillio www.sothebys.com/en/auctions/ecatalogue/2014/the-courts-o...

#Elisabeth-Louise Vigée-Lebrun #Art #Paintings #flickr

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ask-paper-clip · 6 years ago

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Happy St Paddock’s Day, everypony! As you can see, Paper Clip has decided for once to actually be sociable and enjoy herself. Yes, shocking we know.

Stay tuned, we’ll have a few other bits and pieces coming soon!

#Paper Clip #ask paper clip #Britannia #Svelte #Buckler #Freeze Pop #Sketchy Sounds #Copper Coeur #After Eight #Octavia Melody #Blacklight Shining #St Paddy's Day #St Paddy's #MLP #MLP:FiM

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diabolus1exmachina · 3 years ago

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Covini C6W

Covini isn’t a completely unknown quantity in the automotive world. They worked on the 1993 Cadillac STS and Callaway C7 Corvette. The company has worked on quite a variety of their own vehicles, including cars that broke the top speed record for diesel cars, twice.

Why put six wheels on a car? Strangely for a sports car, half the reason Covini gave for the layout were safety-related. Blowouts are far less dangerous. that hydroplaning is less likely to be an issue since the front axle can “clear the water” for the second axle. The ride quality is better since bumps are distributed across more points of contact. Braking is better even with smaller discs, because “the total swept area and the mass are greater” – and, obviously, your tires’ contact patch is 50% bigger.

They did it properly, too. The car boasts internal pushrod suspension like a Formula 1 car – an innovation from the manufacturer’s son, who races GT cars. Covini even got Brembo on board to develop a “six-wheel, six-channel ABS system” specifically for the C6W

.The C6W features a 4.2-liter V8 that can make 400-500 hp or more. Most items that spec say around 430hp and 350lb-ft of torque. This can be pushed through either a six-speed single-clutch gearstick or a six-speed manual. No one knows what the figures are for G-forces or stopping distance, though the car weighs in at a relatively svelte 2,500 pounds due to its partially carbon-fiber construction. Of the sites that give a figure, 0-60 comes in less than 4 seconds. Top speed is 186 mph. Although according to Throttle Xtreme claims the car can also be had with a V12 with over 900 hp.

#covini #Cadillac STS #Callaway C7 Corvette #six wheels

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lemonadearchived · 4 years ago

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🍋 OPEN LO STARTER

OPEN TO : m / f / nb PROMPT : based on this + just wanting to use this gif CONNECTION : tab*o, stepc*st, sugar daddy, parent’s friend, boyfriend’s parent / sibling, brother’s best friend / significant other, ex who still has the key, roommate, roommate’s significant other, intruder / stalker with prior connections, criminal she’s been having psychoanalysis sessions with who recently escaped, vampire / demon, etc. the possibilities are literally endless!

She’s only vaguely aware of the silk sheets being pulled from her svelte frame, shapely brows furrowing faintly in her sleep at the sudden rush of chill air to her golden skin. Lo presses her cheek into her pillow, each soft and dragging breath keeping her firmly in dreamland. The mattress shifts and she barely even registers it, fingers ghosting over her skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. The drinks that she’d had in order to make it through the holiday party earlier that evening certainly weren’t helping her awareness levels, a breathy sigh escaping her plush lips at the first feel of hands ghosts over her bare ribcage. Words that she can’t quite fathom flit through her subconscious, slowly teasing her back towards reality even as her body begins to shift and her back arches into the warm weight newly nestled against it.

#indie smut rp #indie kink rp

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lagrenouillere · 8 years ago

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#beach #svelte #diet #sabina socol #st tropez #marseilles

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josephinebardot · 4 years ago

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7 interesting facts about dolphins

In honor of these friendly marine animals, here are some of our favorite facts about dolphins. By the end of this article you will appreciate these amazing creatures even more and will surely book a tour on a sunset dolphin cruise in St Pete Beach FL.

1. Genetically, they're a lot like humans

Dolphins are at least as smart as apes, and can do many of the things apes can do, such as "mirror self-recognition, communication, mimicry, and cultural transmission," researcher Michael McGowen tells Discovery News. In fact, new research shows that dolphins' relatively large noggins can be explained by an evolutionary history that's remarkably similar to our own. After mapping 10,000 of the mammal's genes, McGowen and his colleagues discovered that dolphin minds evolved to allow for complex cognition just like humans' brains, as evidenced by a high metabolic rate that allows dolphin bodies to power large, energy-demanding brains.

2. They're gangsters

Dolphins are the gangsters of the sea, and have been observed patrolling small expanses of oceans in hierarchical pods. Each little swimming army comes with small subgroups assigned different tasks, such as protecting the group's females, recruiting other members to improve their ranks, or acting as peaceful liaisons to go out and communicate with rival pods.

3. They can sniff out bombs

Dolphins are the Navy's secret weapon for clearing underwater mines. They're employed in conflict areas like the Middle East's Strait of Hormuz, a key passageway for the world's oil tankers that's often dotted with bombs, thanks to mounting U.S.-Iran tensions. The military trains dolphins much in the way it trains bomb-sniffing dogs, teaching them how to spot hard-to-detect explosives and then mark them for the Navy's divers to disarm.

4. Dolphins have scary, hand-like penises

Male dolphins possess one of the stranger sex organs on the planet: A retractable penis used to navigate through the ocean, kind of like how humans use their hands to feel their way around. A dolphin's propensity to depend on his penis as a do-it-all multi-tool helps explain why the animals are known to "hump inanimate objects."

5. Killer whales are actually dolphins

It turns out Shamu and Flipper have more in common than you'd believe. Orcas, or killer whales, actually aren't whales at all, but are instead classified as the largest member of the dolphin family. That explains why the distinctive black-and-white animals are surprisingly intelligent

6. Dolphins are voracious eaters

An average-sized dolphin weighing in at 260 pounds eats roughly 33 pounds of fish per day. For an average-sized human, that's essentially the equivalent of eating 15 to 22 pounds of steak a day. And yet, the svelte dolphin doesn't gain any weight.

7. Dolphins are endearingly maternal

Until recently, dolphin births were largely a mystery. Then in 2007, at an enclosed pool in Italy, a photographer captured a few shots of a mother dolphin going into labor, only to see a baby emerge tail-first amidst a cloud of blood. "I was extremely lucky," says photographer Leandro Stanzani, who had been snapping shots of dolphins for 14 years. Shortly after giving birth, the mother was observed gently nestling her newborn calf to the surface for its first gulp of air, demonstrating that the widly complicated animals aren't just horny, mafia-like gangsters — they can be motherly, too.

#Dolphin cruise #dolphin activites #dolphins #cruise #sea beach

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lounesdarbois · 5 years ago

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A propos de True Detective

Le mythe des séries de droite

Parmis les dizaines de séries produites chaque année depuis les années 90 certaines furent décrétées "séries de droite" parce que des éléments de décor, d'habillement ou de comportement évoquaient vaguement une certaine tenue, un certain ordre. Mais tous ces Mad Men, Breaking Bad, étaient des manières de rabattage et d'appât. A l'examen ces séries véhiculaient exactement les mêmes valeurs mortifères et nihilistes que les Lost, Missing, Stranger Things et autres instruments grossiers de propagande.

La constante dans toutes les séries

Prenez deux cents séries crées depuis les années 90 et faites décanter. Vous trouverez les mêmes principes, les mêmes personnages confrontés aux mêmes situations, la même narration, le même esprit. Seuls les titres et les scénarios changent, et hélas à l'examen True Detective ne fait pas exception à la règle. Mari impulsif, épouse offusquée avec un regard qui accuse, enfants qui tournent mal, religions "renvoyées dos à dos", Blancs haïssables, Noirs intelligents, c'est la trame de toute histoire "américaine" quelque soit le support (exemple livresque avec l'immonde Affaire Henry Québert qui est un concentré de racisme anti-Blanc).

Le substrat de True Detective

Deux enquêteurs de la police enquêtent sur des meurtres rituels en Louisiane. Un faisceau d'indices les mènent à une secte pédophile secrète impliquant la haute bourgeoisie locale, qui enlève et tue des enfants blancs dans le cadre de cérémonies vaudous.

Coïncidences de la série avec des faits réels

Le mode opératoire renvoie aux affaires Dutroux et Lelandais, au martyr de St Simon de Trente mais aussi aux affaires Epstein et Pizzagate. Coïncidences troublantes des symboles, par exemple la spirale tatouée sur certaines victimes, trouvée dans nombre d'affaires réelles.

Rust Cohle nietzschéen

Il représente au premier abord le stéréotype du "Blanc que l'on veut être" (laissons de côté les catégories inventées récemment comme "alpha", "Karen", "féminazis", "incel", "PNJ", qui sont des catégories du Diviser pour Régner). Rust est svelte, érudit, laconique, c'est le personnage classique du dur qui a une conscience de soi aiguë et douloureuse, mû par un idéal moral gratuit. Il boit de la Lone Star (= étoile solitaire) et vit seul dans un beau logement sans meuble (E1, 9:21).

Rust Cohle nihiliste

Comme son maître allemand il est hanté par une philosophie qui devient pessimiste et mortifère à mesure qu'elle quitte le champ du pratique pour aller vers le spéculatif. L'esprit critique et la quête de certitude rationnelle agissent comme un acide qui dissout toute foi, toute fantaisie, folklore, enthousiasme. Scène classique d'un office religieux tourné en dérision (e3 à 3:37). "La philosophie de l'absurde est la gueule de bois de l'ivresse scientiste" (Nicola Gomez Davila) qui laisse l'homme seul dans une société du "tous contre tous", stérile et dépressif. (E1 à 16:17) et dont Rust Cohle exprime les fins dernières : "ne plus se reproduire, marcher main dans la main vers notre extinction". Ainsi le plus haut niveau d'intelligence et de culture mène au néant (cf le destin de Maupassant).

Efficacité historique concrète de la piété populaire envers et contre la Raison

Tant que les peuples européens ont dans leur majorité pratiqué la religion chrétienne ils ont porté du fruit. Chaque étape de l'apostasie générale a été marqué par une stérilité accrue, euphémisme pour dire "extinction".

A suivre...

#True Detective

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jeangreyce · 5 years ago

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The Best Way to Use Notepad++ Higher Level Text Editor for Windows

It does a sufficient job, though it is perhaps not really a word processor like Microsoft Word or LibreOffice Writer, nor is it that its intended function. It can be used to publish computer apps, but it isn't always ideal for that, possibly. For huge tasks, think about a program like Visual Studio Code.

However, what should you want a bit more from one's text editor, even without embracing the complete programming IDE or using wordprocessing computer software? Is there something total featured and thoroughly customizable, even though maybe perhaps not being bloated? If that seems intriguing, take a look at the open and free source notepad++ install silently.

Edit with notepad++ silent install

Notepad++ is written in C++ and utilizes pure Win32 API along with also st-l which ensures a high execution rate and smaller app measurement. By optimizing since much patterns as you can without sacrificing ease of use, notepad++ silent install is trying to cut back the entire carbon dioxide emissions. When using less CPU power, the computer can throttle down and reduce energy intake, leading to a richer surroundings.

That is probably not the introduction you were not expecting, but it will not highlight Notepad++'s svelte code layout, generated like your own endeavor by applications engineer Don Ho. You most likely will not observe the efficiency on your electricity expenses, however, the aggregate impact of each and every installation is very important. What you may notice is that it opens near-instantly. You'll also see that it occupies significantly much less than 10MB of driveway when installed. At a universe at which tens of thousands of megabytes is not anything for programs that do substantially less, it really is refreshing to observe signal created for efficiency.

Notepad++ Features

When you start notepad++ install silently you are greeted with a clean brand new text entry area. This operates just enjoy the standard Windows Notepad. However, in the event you start a brand new file or make one from the program, this pops in a tab that is new, such as, for instance, a browser.

When studying, it suggests voice for auto-completion, a probably huge time economies. Only press tab or enter also it finishes the word foryou personally. Additionally, if you save a document with a expansion such as .py to get Python, it color-codes based on exactly the programming language you are applying.

Notepad++ is also extremely customizable, and you also may pick a variety of show modes with all the Settings-- > fashion Configurator menu. I personally work with a theme named Black board, which features a dark background and gentle ribbon. The Default motif indicates a white background and dark letters, very similar to the majority of other editors. Read this: https://www.get-itsolutions.com/notepad-silent-install-exe-msi-version/ for details.

Yet another awesome feature is you can easily set a macro by clicking on the Macro key menu item, then Start Recording. Type in whatever you'd like; afterward you can play it back in the same menu place, or through Ctrl+Shift+P.

Notepad++ Raspberry Pi Configuration

1 thing that pushes a few people to make use of Notepad++ is the normal Windows Notepad line endings aren't understood by Linux-based systems such as the Raspberry Pi. The good news is the fact that Windows Notepad can currently open and edit those records, so that it's maybe not quite as much an issue because it was. On the flip side, this wont offer you the same sort of control over these typically concealed characters which you have with Notepad++.

To change line ending specifications new files, navigate to Preferences --tastes --New Document, where you could configure the program for Windows, Unix or Macintosh. You can also watch these differently hidden personalities together with View--display image --Show All Characters, that really can be a terrific device to get accessible when issues aren't working correctly.

Conclusion

Naturally, what is shown here is just scratching the surface of Notepad++'s skills and configuration choices. If there's one particular weakness about the program, it's that you'll likely not ever detect or use all it has to offer, especially since it is in active improvement.

#Use Notepad++#notepad++ silent msi #notepad++ silent install

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crazyyanderefangirlfan · 1 year ago

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Skyla Barretto

"Dancing is like dreaming with your feet."

---+---

BASIC

Name: Skyla Princessa Barretto

Nickname(s): Sky (by close friends) Babe, Baby, Princess, Beautiful Baby Owl (all by Kotaro) My love, Angel, Darling, My beloved (all by Keiji).

Alias(es): The Dancing Queen (in Fukurodani). The Living Weapon (in St. Trinians)

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Straight

Ethnicity: Filipino

Blood Type: AB

Age: 17

Birthday: Feb 23

---+---

APPEARANCE

Hair: Back length black hair dyed violet with black roots showing tied in a high ponytail.

Eyes: Mocha brown eyes

Height: 169 cm

Skin: Warm tan

Body: Lean and svelte

Tattoo(s): None

Piercing(s): Large gold hoop earrings

Scar(s): On her right side.

Other: Nude lip gloss and and gold wrap necklace

---+---

SCHOOL

Occupation: Manager

School: Fukurodani Academy

Year: 2

Class: 6

Club(s): Boys VBC

Number: None

Role/Position: None

Attendance Record: Good

Average Grade: A

---+---

STATISTICS (out of 5)

Power: 5/5

Jumping: 5/5

Stamina: 5/5

Game Sense (ability to 'predict' or 'sense' the opponents next move): 1/5

Technique: 3/5

Speed: 5/5

Overall (total): 24/30

---+---

CHARACTER

Personality: Skyla is an extremely open and laid-back individual who never focuses on the past in order to move on and keep becoming a better version of herself. In addition, Skyla exudes enthusiasm and energy, particularly when it comes to dancing, which is her strongest skill.

As a dancer, Skyla has a deep appreciation for beauty and artistry. Her performances are not just about skill but also about expressing emotions and telling stories through her movements. This artistic sensibility extends to her outlook on life, where she finds joy in the simple and beautiful moments. Whenever she dances she blocks out the rest of her environment and just focuses on the music and her body. This often leads to others watching her, much to her embarrassment.

She is kind and patient, but she doesn't sugarcoat her point or put up with being ignored. She rarely acts maliciously, but she values friendship much and would fight valiantly for those she considers to be her friends. She was selected to be the boy's VBC manager due to this and her tremendous expertise.

While Skyla is a detail-oriented and inquisitive girl who is getting ready for things like training camps and competitions, she may easily become sidetracked if she discovers something more engaging, like dancing, reading, or hanging out with old friends. Being in college preparatory classes, Skyla is highly intelligent and quick-witted, being first to call when one needs help or to get Bokuto out of his moods.

Skyla is incredibly resilient, having survived being with a narcistic and abusive mother until the woman tried to commit murder-suicide. This resilience is a testament to her strength and determination, as she had to adapt quickly until her father came back from overseas. Forced to fend for herself from a young age, Skyla is fiercely independent. She has learned to rely on her own skills and instincts to survive, making her a highly self-sufficient individual who is capable of handling extreme situations on her own.

Though Skyla loves to read and enjoys quietness, she cannot sit still for too long and will try to do something to stimulate her body, she's a skilled multitasker due to this.

Her relationship with Bokuto and Akaashi is a wild one. Originally she was dating Akaashi but as this time Bokuto also developed feelings for both of them, to which they happily return and include him. She deeply cares for both them, and wanting the best for both, she's a little sacred she'll be dumped by both or replaces but the both them always reassure her they'll never do it. She always teams ups with one if the other is down such as she and Keiji cheering up Kotaro from on of his moods and Bokuto and her getting Akaashi to relax. Though she doesn't get jealous often, she can act seductive towards them as a show of dominance to the intruder.

Likes: Family and friends, Kotaro and Keiji, dancing, fish sinigang, music, durable shoes, reading, ASMR, her budgie Amihan, musicals, comfy pajamas.

Dislikes: Entitled people, pranks that harm or make others uncomfortable, girls flirting with her boyfriends, belittlement, her relationship being called 'disgusting', stereotypes, sitting still for too long, durian, her mother, stuffy clothes, too cheesy movies.

Hobbies: Dancing, listening to music, watching anime and movies, reading, capoeira, arnis, aerobics, weaving, silat, muay thai, hunting, cooking.

Goal(s): To complete in nationals and marry both of her boyfriends.

Current concerns: Getting Amihan to stop hitching a ride in Kotaro's hair.

---+---

SOCIAL

Mother(s): Unamed

Father(s): Raphael Barretto

Sibling(s): None

Relative(s): Unnamed grandparents.

Friend(s): Fukurodani VBC, Shoyo Hinata and other girls in St. Trinians.

Best Friend(s): Yukie Shirofuku, Kaori Suzumeda, Teresa Diamandis, Bridget Fortuné, Heather O'Cleary, Irene Song, Juliette Chaveleir, Cat Tamami.

Love Interest(s): Kotaro Bokuto and Keiji Akaashi (poly)

Rival(s): None

Pet(s): Her budgie Amihan.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#kotaro bokuto #bokuto koutarou #akaashi keiji #haikyuu akaashi #hq akaashi #haikyuu bokuto #hq bokuto #fukurodani #bokuto kotaro #haikyuu fukurodani #keiji akaashi #skyla barretto

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randomoranges · 5 years ago

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* this is the First One. The Original One. Back when I was still getting a sense of these characters. Obviously, a lot has changed since then. I kept this one mostly as is once more. Also, remember those times I made an effort to write out dialogue in French and add the translation after it? Boy, I sure was motivated! Ha!

Perfect Cities

Métro

Samuel looked completely repulsed. He could feel the germs and bacteria on his hands. He couldn’t believe that he had been dragged in this peasant infested underground sewer yet again, but Étienne could be very conniving, when he wanted to.

“Oh, lighten up, veux-tu?”/ “Oh, lighten up, will you?” Étienne scowled at him. Samuel saw with horror his youngest brother sit down on the métro cart floor they were in. The floor where hundreds of thousands of people walked with their dirty shoes. He shuddered at the thought of all that dirt on his clothes, but it didn’t seem to bother his brother.

“Comment peux-tu t’asseoir là?! Plus important, comment peux-tu m’faire prendre le métro?”/ “How can you sit there?! More importantly, how can you make me take the métro?”

“Pis tu voulais qu’on s’rende en ville comment?”/ “And how did you want to get in town?”

“En voiture, comme des êtres humains normaux!”/ “By car, like normal human beings!” Étienne actually had the audacity to scoff at him.

“Please, ça nous aurait pris tellement plus de temps en char qu’en métro. Pis de toute manière, la marche va nous faire du bien.”/ “Please, it would’ve taken us so much more time by car, than by métro. And anyways, the walk will do us some good.”

“Pass y faut marcher en plus!?”/ “Because we have to walk as well!?”

Étienne rolled his eyes, exasperated.

“Yes. Au pire tait-toi, j’aurais pu t’faire venir en vélo.”/ “Yes. And anyways, shut up, I could’ve made you come by bike.”

“Pour quelqu’un qui fait ben du vélo, t’es toujours pas svelte.”/ “For someone’s who’s always biking, you’re still pudgy.”

“Pour quelqu’un qui s’dit s’y connaître en amour, t’es toujours aussi mal baisé.”/ “For someone who claims to know everything about love, you’re still as single as ever.” Étienne bit back. Samuel kicked his shin.

“Anyways... you agreed to meet me for lunch.” He mumbled and for a moment, Étienne looked rather alone and down. Samuel was reminded that this was his little brother, the greatest pain in his ass, but the person he also cared so much for. He sighed. It was a good thing he always carried a small bottle of hand sanitizer on his person, when he visited Étienne.

“Oui, j’ai dit que c’était correcte de t’rencontrer pour dîner, pas pour une tournée en métro. J’comprends toujours pas ton obsession avec le transport en commun.”/ “Yes, I said it was fine to meet for lunch, not for a métro ride. I still don’t understand your obsession with public transportation.”

“And you never will. T’es pas assez sophistiqué pour ça.”/ “And you never will. You’re not sophisticated enough for this.” He teased. Samuel kicked his foot.

“Dit celui qui prenait des tours de métro pour le plaisir.”/ “Says the one who took métro rides for fun.”

“Aye, ch’te f’rais savoir que c’tait ben populaire, quand l’métro a ouvert, pour la première fois, pis que ben du monde faisait ça, pour voir les différentes stations, pis pour voir l’art et la structure des stations aussi.”/ “Hey, I’ll have you know that it was very popular, when the métro opened for the first time, and that many people did that, to see the different stations, and to see the art and the structure of the stations, as well.” He deffended.

“Oui, oui, c’est bon, on va pas r’commencer une autre discussion.”/ “Yes, yes, I get it, we’re not gonna start another discussion.”

“You’re the one who brought it up. Anyways, where’s Jacques? Y pouvait pas venir, encore?”/ “… He couldn’t come, again?” Samuel shrugged. This wasn’t the first time their other brother had bailed on them. “J’ai l’impression qu’j’lai pas vu depuis Noël.”/ “I feel like I haven’t seen him since Christmas.”

“Tu l’sais qu’yé plus réservé.”/ “You know he’s more reserved.”

“Pis? Y pourrait au moins répondre à mes appels, ou mes messages, même si y veut pas m’voir la face.”/ “So? He could at least answer my calls, or my messages, even if he doesn’t wanna see my face.” Étienne pouted. Samuel didn’t say anything, for he knew his brother had a point.

“Tant pis, pas de dîner pour lui. Bon, on débarque à la prochaine.”/ “Oh well, too bad, no lunch for him. We’re getting off at the next stop.” Samuel let out a relieved sigh. Finally, he’d be out of this hell hole.

The walk to the restaurant wasn’t that bad, all things considered, not that he was about to tell his brother any of that. He was convinced Étienne was lost, but lo and behold, they stopped in front of what seemed to be a very nondescript looking restaurant.

“T’es sûr que c’est ouvert?”/ “You sure it’s open?”

“Mais oui. Tu m’fais vraiment pas confiance, des fois, c’est ridicule.”/ “Of course. You never trust me, it’s ridiculous.” He opened the door and Samuel was even more convinced that this was not a restaurant.

“Pass tu m’amènes toujours dans des places vraiment sketch.”/ “Because you always bring me to really dodgy places.”

“Shut up.” The waiter walked up to them and greeted his brother warmly. Étienne exchanged a few words with the man, before he was told to follow him. Samuel followed close behind, as they were led to a table in the far back, after going through what seemed to be the kitchen. Samuel was finally about to have a seat, when Étienne stopped him from doing so.

“Quoi?”/ “What?”

“Enlève tes souliers.”/ “Take off your shoes.”

“Pardon?!”/ “Excuse me?!”

“Tu dois enlever tes souliers, pour aller sur le tapis.”/ “You have to remove your shoes, in order to go on the carpet.” Étienne did just that, before taking a seat. Samuel looked at him indignantly.

“Pardon?! Si tu penses vraiment que j’vais marcher nu pieds dans cet établissement, t’as tors!”/ “Excuse you?! If you really think that I’m going to walk barefoot in this establishment, you’re wrong!”

“Oh shut up and sit. Did I tell you we eat with our hands and out of communal plates?” He grinned devilishly and Samuel almost fainted. Étienne was going to be the death of him.

FIN 1

La Khaïma!!

Started writing: October 28th 2014, 8:17am

Finished writing: October 28th 2014, 11:03am

Started typing: November 1st 2014, 3:00pm

Finished typing: November 1st 2014, 3:36pm

#pc: montreal #pc: quebec city #étienne maisonneuve #samuel desrosiers #fic #perfect cities #projocanondoko

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urmysodapop · 6 years ago

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Can I get a lil matchup for ST and marvel? I’m a svelte girl with brown eyes and red hair. I love fashion, animals, and dancing in grocery stores. I’m secretly shy, but I’m pretty bubbly and extroverted so people don’t tend to notice. I love music of all kinds, but really groove to 70s jams. I’m a high functioning bisexual disaster with a weakness for literally anybody who’s 2% nice to me. I have a hard time letting people in but once I do I’m like a barnacle made of love

I'd ship you with Johnathan. You two would easily get along because of your love for amazing music. Johnathan admires your shy personality, and also thinks you are so cute when you act all bubbly. You may not want anything to notice that, but he sure does. Hehe. He would have a liking to you ever since he laid his eyes on you, but he was too shy to ask you out and you were the same way. Then when you started dating...you both would open up to one another easily.

I'd also ship you with Nancy Wheeler. You are shy, but she isn't, therefore making you the perfect opposites attract couple. You would fall for her when she would come up to you and introduce herself and ask for you name. While dating, Nancy loves to make you feel happy and loves. She would give you some of her clothes that she rarely wears and would even buy you new clothes and shoes, since she knows you adore fashion.

I couldn't resist jot shipping you with this cheeky bastard. Peter Quill himself. You two would always dance around in the Milano, listening to his mixtapes his mother gave him. Him being quite bubbly himself and childish at times, finds your cute and bubbly personality really cute and fun.

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lady-plantagenet · 5 years ago

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A Bygone Era- Chapter 5

A fictional account of Isabel Neville’s told through her point of view and those who knew her.

Points of view written so far include Anne Beauchamp 16th Countess of Warwick, Anne Neville, George Duke of Clarence, Richard Neville 16th Earl of Warwick and Isabel Neville herself.

7th July 1469 - Richard Neville the 16th Earl of Warwick

It was in their dingiest castle at St Omer some leagues from Richard’s own Calais residence that the Duke and Duchess of Burgundy chose to hold their repast. The southern summer gleamed duller and heavier here than at Middleham and even at high none, the angry sun would only but greet the earth feebly in orange tawny blazes. The heavy sea clouds that passed swiftly, cast the maroon room in either rich shade or splendid light whenever it seemed to catch their fancies. The interchangeability marked the intervals of time which, here in the presence of the Duke seemed to Richard to grow longer with every uneasy glance exchanged between them.

His recollection of Margaret from one year past were that of a girl curious, impatient and anxious all in equal measure. It was rather Anthony Woodville with whom she passed most of the days leading up to her marriage to the Duke. The kinship he felt with Cecily’s girls always lacked in comparison with that towards her sons. For the better part of the journey he played the nursemaid watching as the queen’s insufferable brother was humouring the impressionable girl with fanciful recitals of Burgundian poetry, what this new generation dubbed humanist.

As much as she without a doubt enjoyed playing at cards with the Woodville boy and picking her trousseau with the witch, she is George’s sister in more than blood and when the hour comes, she will not be spared from partisanship. God knows I had to endure the ugly ordeal, though George appears to have never felt any qualms in this regard.

Margaret of York was presently with his daughters in the grand hall, no doubt dazzling them with her collection of hangings, among which was the latest unicorn tapestry. The needlework pronounced him finally killed and brought to the castle, though Richard doubted it would be the last in this seemingly never ending series, so beloved by Anne and his two girls.

She herself appeared a unicorn when he finally caught sight of her. She bowed under the square doorway when entering as to make space for her headdress, a gesture that his two daughters repeated despite their far slighter heights.

Charles chuckled and added ‘Our Carolingan ancestors doubtless never foresaw such fashions when they built those fortresses. I apologise to my wife for their shortsightedness on their behalf.

His accented English made it difficult for Richard to know if he was being sardonic or if his words were solely meant in jest. If the former, even he himself had to agree, the heights those deformed hats have begun to reach beggared all belief.

Taking her seat beside him she gaily retorted, ‘Now now husband, we need only be glad to be cleansed of the barbarism of that bygone age. Warfare does not advance as much as it regresses’, now turning to face all, she proudly added, ‘That is what my brother Edward and I were always ad idem. He avenged father where necessary, but now am I glad to see our two countries peaceably leading the northern continents into a true prosperous age of beauty and art’.

Anne, wide-eyed, appeared bewitched by the Duchess’ imaginings but Richard saw that Isabel shrunk in her chair, directing him an awkward stare undesiring in subtlety. Thank the Lord she had the good sense not to talk. He glanced at her bare white finger where George’s ring was placed these few days past and was once more reassured that at least one of his blood had inherited more than just nobility.

‘Your grace seems to have taken easily to your new land’ said Isabel politely

‘Why yes indeed! Flemish has proved a challenge, however, I am pleased to report that I have noticed a remarkable sharing of spirit between the English and the Burgundians. For this I find loving my husband’s people an easy task’

‘How so Duchess?’ asked Anne with the customary curiosity of her voice

‘For one, they are not tempestuous like the hot-blooded spaniards and the proud french. There is a determined industriousness in them. They are masters in art as they are in trade’. Richard noticed a twinkle break in the wide-set grey eyes of her father. From the hairline visible beneath the wimple and marengo headdress, he was reminded of her father’s pale yellow hair too. Her height she shared with Edward, but now gregarious as he had never seen her, he saw George plain and clear. A Plantagenet if there ever was one , he had to begrudgingly admit.

‘Dear wife, surely you do not speak so kindly of the bourgeoisie?’, Charles finally spoke. It was unclear whether he meant to ask her or tell her. ‘It is they, that seek to undo all that I and father had fought for and devolve the power back unto their petty provinces’

‘Ah the tis only the inevitable, I admire them but I never said I do not secretly ill-wish them. For you, wise as you are do too. Brother Edward was as much spurred by his desire to placate the English traders as he did to protect England from the French and allegedly now-‘ Margaret suddenly stopped and beneath the composure Richard could see her dig her thumbnail into her palm in self-chastisement. If only her face had matched her gesture. To protect England from the Kingmaker you meant .

‘Forgive me my Lord of Warwick, I meant no-‘ Yes you did. Your brothers did tell me how clever you were.

‘...no offence was given by your grace’ Richard said gingerly and a little too loudly. ‘I pray only that the king find’s his new mercenary alliances fruitful come warfare’.

Silence tumbled through the room, its gusts robbing the room of its rich hotness leaving it bony and stale with the passing of a stormcloud. Isabel attempted to relieve the room of its tautness by pointing out the intricacy of the wood-panelling to Anne, the floral brocades on her primrose sleeve straightening with each movement. Richard simply repositioned his legs in silence before pinching another morsel of munster from the trencher.

‘Something can indeed be said against a man who purchases a product at one price and sells it at another at greater cost but no greater value’ Charles once again mercifully interjected ‘It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God’, he quoted with a flourish.

‘If bare wealth be a sin than all our souls are damned’ retorted Richard ‘At least the old kind follows the commandments and treats their tenants fairly and cares for them as God would. Greed is as unnatural to descendants of Gaunt as selflessness is to the likes of the traders and the Woodvilles though they fancy themselves gentry.

‘If you say so my lord’ huffed Margaret disaffected by the course her well-meaning remarks did take.

Sensing the room grow darker with the sun’s ending journey Isabel asked ‘your grace was exceedingly kind to have recieved us here. Despite passing much of my girlhood in Calais, a tinge of saudade never eludes me when England is out of sight. Do you never miss home?’

Isabel’s roses and honey did much to sweeten Margaret in her dour humour. ‘Home is felt with the company one keeps, not the place and insofar as I have been fortunate in this regard...’ Margaret confided as she gazed at the Duke with gentle kindness ‘... I reminisce and when my lord husband was away quelling the revolts in Liége I felt my brother George’s absence keenly. When we were children Edward, Edmund and Richard would band together and play at war in the hills of Fortheringhay, while George and I would visit the markets and put on plays for our mother with the trinkets we had bought. Mine and mother’s darling but now I shall never know when I may see him again. Our agents in Rome do tell us a dispensation has been granted for him to wed though sadly not to our Petite Marie ’

Richard arched an eyebrow in retiscence at that. ‘Then to whom Duchess?’

‘Oh but wouldn’t you know, my lord of Warwick?’ flatly retorted Margaret.

11th July 1469 - Isabel Neville Duchess of Clarence

Damp air was rising from the sea, obscuring the lines of the Calais city streets to a mosaic-like delirium. The bride’s verdigris silk clung to her like moss to castle-stone casting off her jasmine scent even more strongly, the blue of purity and green of young love mingling with each movement but constrained under a wide golden belt. The heavy train trailing behind the svelte figure made many an onlooker recollect the legends of Mélusine risen from the Lusignan waters, pure and phantasmagoric in equal measure.

‘Oh Izzy, how beautiful you are!’ cooed Anne as she matched her granular steps to her sister’s long-strides. The Nevilles did not expect their prized flower to be lead to her wedding in a sorry procession made up of minor retainers and servants up a cobbled church street. They would have her carried in a gilded litter, surrounded by praises sung in English of queenly grace, not French silence and murmurs. Her father promised her grandeur but she felt like a village darling off to marry a apple-cheeked lad with two cows as her dowry more than anything else. ‘George will be besotted with you’

‘Of course he will Anne. He already is’ she wryly boasted as the modest journeyers came into the presence of L’Église Notre-Dame. A need for prayer precipitated over her, but she knew not for what. For father or for George perhaps? For them to not return defeated and spiteful at each other? Or for myself, and for George, for his destiny not to fail us? For this wedding night and pleasures not got with pain?

Yesterday, her mother’s natural prejudice led her to believe that Margaret bastardly-born, as she was, had already exposed her virtuous daughter to the salacious facts of what passed between man and wife. Availed of the unpleasant duty, she instead set on instructing her on childbearing matters, about which, (because, as life’s poetic ironic would have it) she was exceedingly knowledgeable in. Little did she know that Margaret was innocent entirely and the real transgressor was none but George. Isabel felt a shameful blush creeping over her cheeks for allowing such thoughts to permeate her attempt of prayer, but before she could communicate her penitence to god, she caught side of the two Georges, Plotting as ever.

‘Why Isabel, to think to find you already in prayer’, George gested at her clasped hands.

‘Why with only god to sanctify our marriage, how else?’ She smiled, drawing closer to the great door. ‘Why, how drôle that our wedding bans be posted in French’, her fingers traced the haggard letters of the parchment. ‘Have they been changed thrice?’

‘What difference would it make, niece?’ asked her bearded uncle the Archbishop of York ‘Here in Calais, your father’s just as a king, and as for those dissenting in England, well why trouble oneself?’

George nodded, ‘Why indeed?’. He offered Isabel his hand as a King would assist a queen in ascending the perilous stairs of a throne and the fabrics of their dress, so alike, mingled in one pluvious river. She now stood at his left as the rib that made Eve placed in Adam.

Five knights of the garter, among them John Tiptoft Earl of Worcester, assembled. French and English nobility united and her uncle George rattled off the customary inquiries - Were they of age? Did their parents consent? Is this union consanguineous? The latter to which her father had to respond by presenting the papal dispensation.

George presented her with a gold purse, pressing its weight confidently in her palm before the sermon was performed. Isabel deflected her gaze to the pleasant greenery of the tufts of grass. For such an old proud church, there were mounds of soil where burrowing rabbits tread, the brightest coloured pigments she had ever seen flashed beneath her eyes as the spiced breeze from the herber whisked the butterflies up in perfect frenzy. Every part of the tableaux that moved, even the clouds, appeared to conjure a whistful tune that more than made up for the absence of song. Many, her mother among them, would declare such a moment of beauty as a revelation of god in nature. But this day it seemed that the beauty of such providence took root in her heart before her perception admitted it in the surrounding nature, for she knew that such joy would never again be felt nor seen. Mayhaps George was right and god elevates such a marriage as this that would seek to establish his natural order. No love in any romance may rival this.

When it turned to her to make the vow, she freely expressed much of what she had just thought and to both her relief and anxious expectation, she saw George gold-tinged and affected.

Following a quick sermon and the perfunctionary exchanging of rings, Isabel knelt distributing the coins to the poor folk who accepted them graciously with whispery french prayers said behind wind-blown linen whimples. A particularly brave girl presented her a dozen poppies plucked off the opal coasts. With that they forsook the romantic for the angular confinement of the chapel.

The mass that ensued presented the giddy Isabel with another opportunity to beseech god to guide her through all the concerns, which earlier clouded her thoughts. Having all come apart like the seams of an unkept book, she chose to give thanks instead. The canopy George and her were under, obscured what little coloured strained light there was such that they could recognise none but one other as if in a catacomb. They were now Duke and Duchess of Clarence.

Far more eagerly than when receiving the kiss of peace from her uncle, George it his upon his bride. Cheers could be heard from all around her, they bent off curved walls in echoes so fierce that they resonated as strongly as if the guests numbered in the hundreds. Anne’s unusually trebled voice could be singled out and before the party hastened back to her father’s castle, Isabel slid off her ruby studded gold bangle from her wrist and showed it to her sister.

She held it in her small hands, confusion showing in her large brown eyes. ‘I would that you have it Annie. I know we have not been the closest of sisters at late, do forgive me’.

‘There is nothing to forgive Issy, you and father were occupied, I have learned to know my place’ replied a voice tinged a little too sadly for Isabel’s comfort.

‘Your place will be with me for the coming weeks’ Isabel smiled gently offering a hand. The girls’ arms were now linked and they were once again the bestest of friends, ‘So you see, I am not stolen from you just yet!’ joked Isabel. She saw questions taking root as Anne’s thin lips began to tremble and laughed ‘Oh yes’ I heard what you uttered to Richard when George came to Middleham that year. Oh Annie, your have a voice like father, no matter how quiet, it is always heard’

At their castle, news reached her father th at his dear friend King Louis and his brother Le Duc de Berry, were detained at court and would offer them their well-wishes tommorow. This was clearly to be what father planned would bring the requisite grandeur to this royal celebration. She fingered the strands of the braided gold belt and held up an opal rose pendant set in tiny sapphires, delighting in it like a satisfied magpie. I see George and Father shall revel with kings, hunt, make merry to their heart’s content to carry them through the fortnights of inescapable blood stench and I shall play at being Queen once the spider king arrives.

Nonetheless, lilies and white roses in their hundreds were strewn across the floor obscuring the rushes below, their fragrances filling the air as they were trod on by guests.

Fifty Anjou pigeons, 4 boar heads and five hundred manchet loaves were arranged on the longtable with a large cockentrice as the centrepiece. Astride it, a helmeted dwarf-like rooster bore the bear and the ragged staff spliced with the sunne in splendour.

When sliced into by her father, the whiff of saffron, powdered ginger and garlic mingled with that of the rushes in such an assault of the senses that Isabel brushed her veil over her shoulder as if to guard it from the smell. The white silk was so fine that while not concealing, it obfuscated the raven strands making her hair take on the form of a thin dark tower shrouded in fog.

By the time the minstrels had arrived, the night had itself become a murky pot of emotions, senses and wine. Isabel herself revelled in the Carola, where she joined hands with her father and husband and led the merry-makers in song jubilantly fancying herself Enide, and George the knightly Eric in the tale of sir Percival. More Enide the queen crowned at Nantes than Enide the pauper, of course.

Love within marriage, tests not conjured by it but borne through its strength, woman’s forbidden word offering salvation not peril. This shall be my life’s verse.

The night was advancing and Isabel shot a pleading glance towards her father, but to no avail. Her mother, in spite of her own experiences stared down at her goblet averting her eyes from the suppliant. It became clear to Isabel that the bedding ceremony was to happen.

A string of the minstrel’s lute was plucked, its twinge heralding a change in tune and bawdier lyrics. The wine loosened its grip over her senses and Isabel determined to retain her composure throughout. Her veil was clawed off by a ruddy laughing girl and her companions, freeing her hair from its confines, which to her dismay had developed kinks and irregular curls throughout the day. George was far more pliable and when his cape was snagged off his back he feigned falling back, which elicited a roses of laughter. By the time the party made it to the stairs, none placed as much interest in George’s blue garter as much as in claiming her matching one. After enough displays of modesty she surrendered it to a young gentleman who appeared to be the beau of the girl who snatched her veil. After much hullabaloo, tousled hairs and slipping clothes they were placed in bed. It was a mercy that after the sanctification of the marriage bed, all departed.

George’s cheeks were flushed and when he kissed her she found that wine dwelled in him still and let out a shiver. ‘Now Isabel, as good Christian people we may not have enacted tonight but I do know you do not come here a tight-lipped cold-blooded maiden’, to her relief there was focus in his large eyes and exactitude in his enunciation. ‘I do know you are eager, you have shown me as much’

‘Now husband’ she said in an imitating tone ‘I am not seasoned as you in this deed, I do not feign shyness as I do hide my anxiousness’. Not that I know of any women, not that he would tell me. But with a brother like Edward one could only infer.

He did not confirm nor refute and after she pulled her chemise over her head, he remarked the tightness of her waist and smoothness of her skin, for complements were never accepted as gladly by any as she. Feeling her curious and eager nature take over she wrapped her hand around his member and easily aroused as customary of a maiden and a young boy, it took not time before she willingly found herself ready and beneath him. Romantic notions, stolen kisses or caresses of times passed, however, did not prepare her for the unusual pain that followed. She whimpered holding her tears within for as long as she could. An odd assortment of thoughts on the prospective pains of childbirth clashed with what were forming to be unprecedented pleasant sensations. To her relief, she soon abandoned all notions of thought and pushing back against him, he willingly lau back enjoying her as she straddled him.

After they were both spent, Isabel headed her mother’s advice and slid a cushion under her hips. She then took to incessantly dabbing wet linen on the stains of the sheet, it was a futile task for hands that have never known greater strained than turning the pages of an illuminated manuscript.

George’s hands stopped hers, ‘Your prudishness will not bode well with queenship I dare say’ laughing at her dismayed face, ‘Edward’s wife gives birth surrounded by an audience of women’

‘Then it is a blessing that our son shall be born at one of my father’s castles in dignified privacy’ she said relieved and letting go of the cloth, letting him hold her in an embrace and indulge her in kisses. As the hours passed she let him pour her a goblet of the malmsey wine left for them and they joked and told stories of future kings with the naïve certainty that could only afflict thus, young newly-weds on their wedding night.

You may find the rest of the chapters on here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22268239/chapters/53175664

#isabel neville #george duke of clarence #richard neville #anne neville #historical fiction #fanfiction #the wars of the roses #please r and r #house of york #a bygone era #anne beauchamp #margaret of york duchess of burgundy #charles the bold

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sigritandtheelves · 7 years ago

Note

Hi!! I’m the anon that has bothered you about Simple before. I definitely have not forgotten about, but no pressure! Whenever you choose to gift us with the next chapter is great!!!

I’ve had this message for so long… thank you anon, and I’m sorry this took so long, but here you go. 💛

Simple

Chapter 5

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

PG-13 | 2k wds | pre-XF AU | MSR, Melissa/Samantha

A/N: I’m not sure if taking a break helped my writing at all—it still felt like pulling teeth to get any words on the page, but I did put them there, so… here? Sorry.

—

January, 1990 - Stanford

She was down to the wire now, and the pressure was on. Surrounded by books, diagrams, and piles of notes in a cocoon of preparation for her second licensing exam, Dana had barely made time to eat for weeks. Studying was both necessary and the only thing keeping her mind off of the deep, lonely ache inside her. In bed at night, she oscillated between feeling crushed by the weight of the uncertain future, which seemed to press her down into the mattress… and the light fluttering of hope, the pulse of joy and desire when she thought of Fox Mulder. She imagined him as he’d been on that last morning, touching her face, his eyes searching hers, the solid feel of his hips between her knees. Her mind was a storm of medical facts and the interrupting image of his face in her memory, lowering to touch his lips to hers as he made love to her on her sister’s guest bed.

Then, inevitably, she would think of the residencies she might be offered in St. Louis or Albany. She thought of the fact that long-distance relationships rarely worked out, in the end. She thought of Fox getting tired of late-night phone calls, and of all the other women who were right there in D.C. already. She thought of Daniel, who had found her twice now at the hospital, pulled her into an alcove, and dropped less than subtle hints that he thought she should stay with him.

(“You’re a brilliant doctor, Dana. Just imagine what it could be like, the two of us.”)

She’d been firm, but he’d dogged her about why, and she couldn’t answer. She thought of his teenage daughter, of his wife who’d done nothing to deserve this, of the sharp jealousy she’d heard in his voice the day she’d broken things off. (“Is there someone else?”)

“Damnit,” Dana mumbled when she caught a mistake in her work. She erased, blew away the pink-gray shavings, scribbled another string of names and symbols. She appreciated the clarity of the answers on these tests: there was right and wrong, true and false. Nothing like the foggy, dark path toward her future, which she could not see.

It was past four in the afternoon when the phone rang—she’d been hovering over her coffee table working on her notes the whole day, and the low-hanging sun through the kitchen window surprised her with the hour.

“Hello?” She answered.

“Ah, there you are.” Fox’s voice, like a cool breeze cutting through humid air, made her smile. “I thought maybe I’d imagined you.”

“I’m here,” she said, nearly breathless with the pulses of joy the sound of him brought her. “And you? Are you real?”

“I’m real. Lonely, but real. You okay?”

She hesitated a moment. “Yes. Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Hmm.”

“What about you? How’s that strange case you’re working on?”

“It’s fascinating. I wish I could get your opinion on some of these medical files, but I’m not sure how this other agent would feel about outside opinions. She’s kind of territorial about her work.”

“Oh.” Dana turned that sentence around in her mind several times. Territorial. She. “But it’s, um, it’s going well? Your new, ah… arrangement?”

“Yeah. It’s good. I can’t wait until I can tell you more about it. Speaking of which, I may not be able to call for a few days. We’ll be out in the field. Out of town, I mean, for the case.”

Dana swallowed and sat down on her kitchen chair. “Oh,” she said again. “Where will you be?”

“Ohio. Near Columbus.” There was another pause where she could hear him thinking, even as the image of him on the road with this other woman elbowed its way into her mind: on a plane, in a rental car, face to face over a table at some diner in some small town, in a motel room… “Dana,” his voice was a gentle interruption. “Are you really okay?”

She wanted to tell him that she was fine. It was silly, she thought: there was nothing to be done right now, and worrying could only make things worse. But the soft tug of his voice, the concern at its edges, made her want to confess. “I’m so scared,” she whispered.

He was quiet a moment. His voice, when it came across the line, was so soft she barely heard it. “Scared about what, Dana? About us?”

She squeezed the phone cord, wrapped its loops so tight around her index finger that her skin turned red. “About the future,” she said. “And yes. About us. I mean, is there an us? What will happen if I get placed in Reno or Boston? Won’t you get tired of this?”

She heard his deep breath over the line, heard the rustle of him changing positions. “Are you tired of it?”

“No!” She said, perhaps too quickly. “No. But you have another kind of life. You must want something more than whatever this is.”

“Dana, what I do… It takes a lot out of me. You haven’t seen that part of it yet, but it’s hard. I’m a mess most of the time. And Sam, she’s pretty good at pulling me out of it, but the thing is…“ he took another deep breath. “Since I met you, you’re the only thing that makes it better. Remembering you. Thinking of you. So no. I’m not going to get tired of it. Even if I only see you twice a year, I’m not going to get tired of it.”

Dana’s face was hot—she could feel its flush. Her heart hurt. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he said. “So if you want there to be an us, there’s an us. At least until you get tired of me.”

She imagined him broken after a case, unshaven and rumpled with those sad eyes looking at her. She imagined how she would hold him, kiss his eyelids, let him cry if he needed to. She imagined a lab where she might work, where he’d call her in the middle of the day, excited to tell her some impossible thing. She imagined a world where they fit together like this—complimentary. Interlocking. Seamless.

“I do,” she said. “Want it, I mean. I think—yes. I want it very much.” Her flush of affection was so surprising and strong, she’d almost said she thought she loved him. Too soon, she thought. I can’t possibly. But somewhere inside her, she knew that she did.

“That’s good. Then we’re an us. And the next time I see you, I’m going to show you what a good us we are. With wine and maybe some dancing and a kiss so long and slow you’ll forget your own name.”

“Oh god,” she said, glad she was sitting down.

“Yeah,” he said. “With some of that too.”

Then she was laughing and missing him so hard she felt it in her bones.

—

January, 1990 - Ohio

“Agent Mulder, tell me more about yourself. Why did you join the FBI?”

Agent Fowley drove the rental across a flat suburbia. They were outside of Columbus, now, heading to the site of three unexplained deaths. Fox fidgeted with the map in the passenger seat, aware of his new partner’s curious energy.

“I was recruited out of my PhD program,” he said. “I showed an aptitude for behavioral science, and I enjoy the work. Profiling, I mean. It’s like puzzles, only when you get it right, you save people’s lives.”

She nodded, with a half-smile that said she understood. “No power fantasies, then? No grand heroic ambitions?”

He smirked. “No.”

“That’s good,” she said. “I’ve known enough men in the Bureau like that. Not married?”

He cleared his throat. “Ah, no. Not married.”

“Hmm. Me neither.”

He watched her drive, svelte in her black suit and carefully adorned with understated but expensive jewelry. She carried herself well, shot daggers with her looks when she felt disrespected (a fact he’d learned while visiting the Arlington PD with her last week), and she missed nothing in the case reports. She was intimidating as hell, but she seemed kind at the same time. Kind in the eyes, and in the way she angled herself to listen.

Unless that was flirting. God, he was bad at this. As clever as he was at profiling, Fox had always had a terrible time discerning for sure if a woman was flirting with him or just being nice. With Dana it had been different, a kind of immediate magnetism that made every glance and word and gesture feel charged. It hadn’t been deliberate or game-like at all. He thought of Dana’s frank curiosity, her sharp confidence in her work that softened into subtle apprehension about him—about them. Because they were a them now. She was maybe even sort of his, and this realization warmed a place low in his abdomen. He could flirt freely with Dana just by being himself. But he would need to be careful around this other woman.

Hard-frozen and empty soybean fields appeared around them, gray and frostbitten, as they passed beyond suburbia. The fields then gave way to strip malls that dotted the lazy, rolling hills outside their small-town destination. He and Agent Fowley dropped their things in two adjoining motel rooms, then met at the diner across the street to go over their case notes. She was all business, strategizing the order of their interviews and examinations—except when she ordered a slice of pie with a guilty smile. “Just this once,” she said, offering, for the first time, a hesitant vulnerability. She offered some of the pie as well, but he declined.

Later, in a farmer’s small kitchen, she wielded questions like knives. while he collected careful observations. They worked well together, a harmony between studious and persistent. By ten, they were back at the motel with more interviews planned for tomorrow. “You were good out there today,” she told him. “Insightful. I wouldn’t have picked up on that thing with the pen.”

He shrugged. “I’m sure you’d have figured it out.”

Her eyes lingered, perhaps just a little too long as she fiddled with the key to her room. “Well,” she said, and now her voice was husky, just a tad playful. “Good night.”

He swallowed hard and wasted no time with his own key. “G’night,” he said.

In his room, he double checked that the adjoining door was locked and dropped onto his bed, face first into his pillow. It was definitely flirting, and that was bad. Bad news bears. The Danger Zone. He was terrible at rejection, miserable at letting women down easy, probably because he’d so seldom had to do it. He was usually the one undergoing the rejection. In some other time, some other version of the world, he knew this would play out differently. A weaker version of himself would give in, would fall toward her like a desperate lost animal until she grew tired of him and left.

But he had Dana now, and just the thought of her made him feel strong. He remembered the feel of her pajamas under his hands while they slept on the couch, how she’d come down the stairs in soft flannel, nervous at first, like he might change his mind when he saw her. But when they looked at each other across the living room, her socked feet quiet on the carpet, it was as if the tumblers of a great lock clicked into place and they were just them again. They watched A Christmas Carol on TV with her head on his chest, like they’d known each other a thousand years. He needed her now (needed her always), so he drew on the strength he’d found with her that night.

In the morning, Fowley drove again. “Is it a left up here?”

He checked the map. “The second one.”

“Agent Mulder,” she said. “Can I call you Fox?”

“Um.” He cleared his throat. “I, ah… I’d like to keep this professional. If that’s alright with you.”

“Of course,” she said, stiffer now, sitting upright in the driver’s seat. “I just wanted to say thank you. For taking time out of your work in BSU to do this, I mean.” She put on her blinker and made the turn. “Agent Mulder.”

He nodded, and they were silent for the rest of the drive.

Three days later they were on their way back to D.C. When Fox got home, he put in a request for two days off (a long weekend) and booked a Thursday morning flight to California.

—end chapter five—

go to chapter six

#a thing i wrote #simple #chapter 5 #i can't promise it's good...

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