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kingwuko · 4 years ago

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Wuko in the Comics: Ruins of the Empire: Book 1, Part 1

Welcome to my second post on Wuko in the comics. In this post I’ll be discussing the first half of Ruins of the Empire: Book 1. Wu is a prominent character in this comic trilogy, and there is lots of character development and exploration for him. There are also a lot of scenes with Wu and Mako together, and what’s more, there are a handful of visual parallels to Korrasami!

Ruins of the Empire

Book 1 of RotE was released in May 2019. The art style is different from Turf Wars- the colors are very vibrant and it almost looks like stills of the animated series. It takes place 3 months after the conclusion of the animated series, and there is lots of continuity following the events of Turf wars. Some major plot points that carry from Turf Wars include: Wu has been governing the Earth Kingdom, Korra and Asami are in a firmly established relationship, and Zhu Li is President of the United Nations.

Plot Summary

The first half of Book 1 of RotE highlights the transition of the Earth Kingdom into a democracy by focusing on the first state to hold its elections, Gaoling. Gaoling’s election is at risk of being disrupted by Earth Empire general, Guan, who didn’t surrender when the rest of the empire did. The Krew decides to accompany King Wu to Gaoling to ensure the election proceeds without interference.

Major plot points in the first half of Book 1

We start out with a flashback that sets the timeline for the rest of the comic. In Gaoling, Commander Guan is running an earth empire “reeducation camp” and has just gotten word that Kuvira surrendered, but isn’t planning to give up so easily. He insists that his “experiments” and the Earth Empire will go on, with or without Kuvira as the Earth Emperor…. Then we jump ahead 3 months to Republic City, City Hall. We start out with an excellent frame, the first of many Wuko Korrasami parallels! Get excited, there are SO many!

Bolin is working for President Zhu Li Moon now, because, why not? He just quit his job working with Mako on the police force, and now he’s Zhu Li’s administrative assistant or something. Zhu Li is going to be introducing King Wu for a “big speech” to the citizens of Republic City. Korra gives Wu a friendly elbow nudge and asks if he’s ready. (the first of many wholesome friendship moments between the two of them)

Wu is not ready, he’s nervous. He asks Mako to read his speech for him, and Mako says no way- but then he reassures Wu that he’ll do great. “Just be yourself” Wu is immediately comforted and says that Mako always knows the right thing to say and that must be why he keeps Mako around! (I can think of a couple other reasons...) Mako’s expressions are very stoic and closed off. He’s got his arms crossed and looks grumpy (I feel like I’m always saying Mako looks grumpy. But that’s the best adjective I can come up with).

Wu begins his speech where he announces that it’s almost time for the Earth Kingdom states to begin holding elections, starting in the state of Gaoling. Grandma Yin and cousin Tu are in the audience and Yin is booing Wu, and also yelling “Long live the monarchy” while holding framed portraits of Wu and Hou-Ting.

Asami, Korra, Mako and Varric are standing behind Wu, applauding along with the crowd (well, the crowd minus Yin). Korra and Mako casually compliment Wu, saying that he's doing great and almost looks like a real leader! Wu says that within a year there will be a peaceful transition to democracy. He gets bombarded by questions and panics and starts singing. He tosses his stylish hat into the crowd, which Yin catches and says “you’ll always be my king!” Mako covers his face with his hands, Korra says ”well you did tell him to be himself” and Mako says “this is NOT what I meant”. Sorry Mako. You know Wu better than anyone so you should have known a song was coming. Zhu Li takes the podium and Wu dramatically faints/collapses into Mako’s arms. I presume on purpose.

We cut to a scene of Kuvira’s trial. Kuvira, after being read the charges against her, pleads not guilty (because every thing she did was for the “greater good”), Suyin confronts her and Kuvira apologizes but Suyin isn’t having it and forcefully tells her that apologies aren’t enough, she has to take responsibility.

We move on to President Moon’s office, where Wu is sitting on a sofa and Bolin welcomes Asami, Mako and Korra in. Mako lampshades Bolin’s many career changes. Bolin makes a comment to Mako that just because Mako has “found” himself it doesn’t mean the rest of them have. I, for the life of me, can’t figure out exactly what Bolin is trying to say here. Is he referring to the fact that Mako has “found” his career as a detective? Or something else, like his true feelings for Wu? Probably the first thing but us Wuko shippers will happily apply it to the other thing.

Once everyone is settled in, Wu asks them to come with him to Gaoling for the upcoming elections! Mako is actually not thrilled, and tells Wu that they aren’t going to be there for him to show off as his entourage. Wu is like No, that’s not it! Well, yes, kinda. He wants their help dealing with the Earth Empire loyalists being led by Guan. The Earth Kingdom army is understaffed and Wu is worried the Guan will try to prevent the elections from happening. The Krew agrees that it could be a problem, especially since it could cause other states to back out of holding elections and allow the earth empire to rise again.

So the Krew plans to come to Gaoling to show support for the elections, hopefully deter Guan from interfering, and Mako says they will keep Wu safe. Zhu Li encourages Bolin to go as well. Wu is very excited to team up with Mako again! After they leave the President's office, Korra suggests going to go speak to Kuvira to try to gather intel on Guan- Asami is not thrilled and doesn’t want to go with her because Kuvira was responsible for her father’s death. Korra is understanding and supportive and they share a lovely little kiss before Korra heads off.

Korra arrives at Kuvira’s prison with Naga. We catch a quick glimpse into Kuvira’s mind as she remembers a moment from her childhood when she ran away from her parents-after her parents accused her of breaking a vase, the take away her toys and lock her in her room “for her own good”, and she uses her earth bending to break the wall and escape. This and other flashbacks attempt to make us more sympathetic to Kuvira so we can accept her redemption arc in the remainder of the comics. After her little flashback, Korra and Kuvira discuss Guan. Kuvira says she didn’t know Guan hadn’t surrendered, and that Korra should consider him a major threat because he is cunning and strategic. Then Kuvira tells Korra if she wants to stop Guan, she should bring Kuvira along to reason with him and convince him to stand down and surrender. Korra is not convinced, but Kuvira tells her to take time to think about it, and she’ll be there to help when Korra asks.

Meanwhile, Guan is rallying his troops. He’s got a sizable regiment of soldiers along with tanks, and is giving them a big speech about taking back the empire and rising from the ruins of defeat. He and his troops head out of their fortress, presumably to do exactly what everyone is worried about and stop Gaoling’s election.

Mako and Wu Scenes

Mako and Wu are featured in many scenes of these comics, together more often than not!

The very first scene with Wu, he is standing right next to Mako, in the same frame as Korra and Asami. I realize “standing next to each other” might not actually be ground breaking evidence for Wuko, but it feels like a parallel to Korrasami, and most importantly creates kind of an establishing shot, planting Wu at the center along with Korra. This is kind of amazing considering he was in only one season of the show and he was largely a comic relief character that I don’t think the writers meant for us to take seriously. There is a pattern of parallels in RotE with Korrasami and Wuko, and we don’t really need to reach for them. They are right there, visually.

We also get to see some lovely moments of Korra’s and Wu’s friendship. She elbows him good-naturedly. She’s kind and supportive. She compliments him. He does seem a little awkward but overall it seems he really fits in with the Krew now, and I find it really sweet. His characterization feels very different from the show. He isn’t obnoxiously flirting with every 'dame' he lays eyes on. He isn’t bratty, or materialistic. He’s still goofy and lands some comic relief joke moments, but overall he is treated like an actual character with substantial development and plot-advancing roles.

During Wu’s speech, Mako is staring like, way too intently at him while casually complementing how he almost looks like a real leader. (Well, up until Wu starts singing, and then his second-hand embarrassment seems more intense than the others, who mostly just seem a little stunned, while Mako has his face buried in his hands). Also, the running gag of Grandma Yin being obsessed with royalty has it’s funny moments during his speech, but I really like it because the fact that Mako’s grandma is reverent, affectionate, AND outspoken with Wu would probably create an interesting in-law dynamic, right? Also, during his song, the tosses his hat out to the crowd which Yin catches like a single lady catching the bridal bouquet, and says “You’ll always be my King!” I like to imagine that she now wears his hat everywhere, along with Mako’s scarf. I know I’m reaching but Yin wearing both their accessories is another Wuko moment in my mind.

Let’s also talk about Wu fainting. After his panic-singing, Zhu Li quickly takes over and Wu steps back and dramatically faints, saying “Wu down”- right into Mako’s arms. Why into Mako’s arms? Did he step back and strategically aim himself at Mako? Technically the closest person to him was Varrick. So he had to stagger back diagonally and fall back toward Mako on purpose. Did Mako catch him with lightning-fast reflexes? Korra was also right there and she’s the Avatar, you’d think she’d react quicker than Mako. Nope. The best explanation is that Wu for sure was intentionally falling into Mako’s arms, and Mako’s ‘protect Wu’ instincts kicked in faster than anyone else's because.. Well. You ship Wuko. You know what I'm saying. <3

During the conversation in Zhu Li’s office, once again, visually Mako and Wu are parallel to Korra and Asami. They are sitting next to each other on a couch opposite Korra and Asami. However, there is this one moment where Mako is NOT HAVING IT with Wu. When Wu asks the Krew to join him, Mako is like, why? For show? No way. He says “We��re not your entourage, Wu.” Honestly that was kinda mean of him to say. I’m not sure what to make of it other than Mako is suddenly grumpy because his brother (who was visibly offended by Mako lamp-shading his career-hopping) snatched away a tray of cupcakes a moment before. Still, Wu is quick to reassure him that it’s not like that at all, and delivers the news of Guan and quickly makes a case that it’s the practical thing to do considering the political climate. Mako immediately agrees after that, and quickly flips his script to “we’ll keep you safe”. And Wu’s triple “yes” response with an excited fist in the air is enough of a Wuko moment for me.

When they leave Zhu Li’s office, yet another visual Korrasami/Wuko parallel. Korra and Asami are in the back holding hands, and Mako and Wu are in the front with Wu’s arm draped around Mako’s shoulders. Wu is very happy that Mako is coming along. Says they should get a smoothie to celebrate, and it’ll be just like old times! I’m sure Wu missed Mako. Mako doesn’t seem quite as thrilled but at this point it's really just Mako’s face. He just always looks like that. Who knows what he’s thinking inside.

What this means for Wuko

So if you are writing some fanfic or just coming up with headcanons with the comics in mind, there is a lot of material to work with right away. They are in close proximity for most of their scenes. Wu is accepted by the Krew, and he is buddy-buddy enough with Korra to presume he’s probably been talking to her outside of the scenes depicted in the comics. So there’s some potential for wingman or matchmaker Korra, or at the very least she will be happy and supportive of them getting together since she has warmed up to Wu a lot. Both Mako and Wu have matured enough that a healthy relationship is within reach. Wu clearly has affection toward Mako, and Mako still has that protective instinct toward Wu, even if he looks like he’s not having a great time (But like I said, he looks like that all the time, so I'm pretty sure he just has resting bitch face).

So that is about the halfway point of book 1. The next post I will talk about the second half of book 1. Some things to look forward to: a sauna scene, Mako, Bolin and Wu giving Kuvira the Bitchiest collective look ever, and Wu casually telling Mako that he loves him.

Wuko in Turf War

Wuko in RotE part 2

#Wuko in the comics #Wuko #Mako #Wu #RotE #Prince Wu

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tarithenurse · 5 years ago

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The good Villain - 11

Based on the prompt “You’re the villain and you know that you just want the ‘good guys’ to understand why”

Pairing: Loki x Fem!Reader Content: Worry/angst/tension, fluff. This is the last chapter. A/N: Thanks for reading and liking! Huge hugs for reblogs and comments, it really helped keep me motivated not just with the writing, but also with busy busy busy days. Love you all! (Sorry for the big gif. It was necessary.)

Chapter 11

The journey had been long and lonely, each moment tainted by the bittersweet dream of what could have been if you had not left him asleep that night. Oh, how you wish he was at your side during the trial. Not to vouch for you, as he had promised, but to look towards you with a trust that generally was lacking in the faces of the people – My people – while you explained the events and showed them the proof you had brought.

“We received a message,” the High Judge snarls, “that a witness would have come with you?”

That question stings.

The eyes of every judge, orderly, everyone are glued on you as words fail to come out your mouth. There is a prickle in your eyes and you instinctively know that if you were still on Terra, tears would be falling. Why now? You have no one to blame but yourself. Clenching your fists, causing the handcuffs to dig into the skin of the wrists, you power on down the road you started on when the airlock to the research station opened a long time ago.

“There has been a change of plan, your honour.” By some miracle your voice does not waver. “The written testimony will have to suff-“

Everything stops as the sound of scuffling emanates through the grand entrance to the courtroom. People are arguing outside. Loud and insisting but apparently to no avail as the doors are flung open, letting in a cold wind and…your heart skips a bit or two as it tries to come to terms with what you see. At the same time relieved and mortified to face the Asgardian whom you left in the dead of night without a word of explanation.

“Loki.”

It is no more than a whisper but he has already spotted you on the podium before the panel of judges, shooting the kind of smirk you have come to adore in your direction before stalking towards the High Judge. An outsider would think he belongs here, confidence coming off him in heavy waves as he respectfully (even observing the strict traditions of the Court of Sirius Beta) addresses the disgruntled panel of judges.

Satisfied with the intruder’s greetings, the High Judge dismisses the entourage of guards and orderlies that has trailed the new-comer with the intent of removing him from the room. Forcefully if needed. A significant amount of them look disappointed with the decision although they respect it wordlessly.

“I do sincerely apologize for my tardiness and manner of arrival, your honours,” the Asgardian continues to sweettalk, “hopefully, you of all people can sympathize with the urgency of dealing with the lingering threat of an invasive species bend on annihilating the indigenous inhabitants of a planet.”

He somehow manages to say it so casually that even you find yourself nodding before the complexity of the implication truly registers.

“Loki Odinson, formerly of Asgard – now hosted by the Terrans.” There is a titter of whispers rushing through the audience at the latter part of the announcement. “It is not customary to interrupt a trial – however as I had only just asked to your whereabouts…” here the High Judge pauses to send you a cold glare, “you will be allowed to be questioned.”

No! That is not – “Your honour!” you pipe up frantically, “if I may be granted a word with –“

“You may not.” Something heavy drops into your stomach at the dismissal. “In fact, you may sit down and remain silent.”

“But –“

“Silence the accused.”

A moment later, you are sitting on a small stool with a trifaerh leather muzzle tied uncomfortably over your mouth and jaws. Shame burns across your skin but there is nothing you can do to prevent Loki from taking the stand.

… Loki …

Cold fury had powered the Asgardian through the interrogation when every look towards his love nearly broke his heart over and over again. Muted and cuffed, she remained aloof and unmoved by Loki’s answers to the drilling questions – only the burning coals of her eyes proved she was still alive. As if to compensate, his own body itched with a desire to slaughter in and every Betan involved in the offensive trial.

Justice, the bold letters along the frieze all around the Court Room spelled out, though the spectacle that had unfolded was far removed from the notion and yet…disheartening as it might have been, the blame was not only that of the Judges but belonged to [Y/N] in equal measure. Wrapped up in the old, poisonous sense of guilt she had presented her case while downplaying the facts that could clear her name, leaving Loki hard-pressed to undo the damage.

As in a feverish nightmare, the Asgardian watches the Judges file into the court room after debating in private. Each face his gaze lands on is closed, revealing nothing else than the severity of the case – a ranking member of the Rescue Forces on trial is outrageously uncommon.

This is it. In his periphery, the High Judge stands. A hush whispers through the room, while the accused and Loki barely breathe. No matter the verdict, my love, you will not become a prisoner on this day. Black eyes flicker towards him and he wishes she could hear the comforting words rather than the longwinded speech. A speech that ends with the phrase: “The accused is deemed not guilty, all charges will be dropped and expunged from records”.

He is at her side in a matter of seconds. Rigid like a statue in his embrace at the shock of the judges’ decision, it takes a long time and many coaxing whispers before the Betan leans into him.

“What now?” she wonders in a sighed whisper. “I cannot stay here…whe- what will I do?”

Surely, she can feel my heart racing. “Come with me, please?” When there is no answer, he continues with determination. “Come back to Terra, to the Avengers. Stay with…you don’t have to be alone or on the run. You can have a home again…”

[Y/N] pulls back a bit to meet his gaze, a glimmer of something warm in her eyes. “A home with you?”

“If you’ll have me…”

Loki’s heart leaps as she snuggles against his chest, oblivious of the many Betans sending the pair odd looks as the pass by on the way out of the court room. Already, her heat has melted through his callousness and arrogance – habits built up over centuries – as well as thawed a Jotun heart. And he loves it. He loves the hot softness against the palms, the sweet burning of his old ideas and expectations as new hopes form.

“Yes, let us go home, Loki.”

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msjr0119 · 5 years ago

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Hold On

Epilogue

Nobody got injured at the Homecoming ball, they all get separated into different safe houses- for safety.

Riley and Drake had confirmed that they had feelings for each other, however Drake believed Riley should be with Liam. Heartbroken, she moves back to New York. Only keeping in touch with Hana, Maxwell and Olivia.

Riley meets lawyer, Nate Cooper and begins a relationship with him. In Cordonia, Drake begins to court Kiara.

Nine months after Riley had left Cordonia- there is a reunion, but not the reunion the friends had hoped for.

*Characters belong to Pixelberry*

If you are under 18 please do not read this series. If you do, you are consenting that you are over the age.

Series warnings: Suicide, domestic abuse, swearing, stabbing, smut 🍋. If any of these triggers affect you do not read!

Tags- @annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @drakesensworld @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bbrandy2002 @butindeed @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @pedudley @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @insideamirage @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @kozabaji @texaskitten30 @ibldw-main @kimmiedoo5 @nikkis1983 @dangerouseggseagleartisan @gnatbrain @walker7519 @lodberg @cmestrella @hopefulmoonobject @addictedtodrakefanfic @angi15h @liamxs-world @rafasgirl23415 @notoriouscs

I am so sorry it’s taken me forever to post this- I kind of got distracted 😜... For a Drake Stan, I hope the Liam stans can reassure me that I’ve done this series justice. Originally it was going to be a Driley series but somehow just swayed to Riam instead 🤣... It’s short but simple 😊Thank you to everyone who has read the series 😘

******

Ayah Rhys- our little miracle, she is beautiful, the true definition of Princess.

Liam has fallen asleep on the chair cradling her- he is such a doting father already. I know our country is eager to meet her, but we need this time to adjust to our new little family. I never thought I’d get a second chance at happiness, I suppose what they say is accurate ‘things come to those who wait.’ I’m so glad that I survived my suicide attempt- grateful for those people who saved me. Grateful for everything Leo and my friends have done me. Grateful that Liam could learn to love me again. He is not only a king, he is; my husband, the father to our daughter, but he is also my saviour. My family is complete, ‘hold on’- I did that and I have found my fairytale ending.

Taking the opportunity to have a shower, before the princess needed feeding- Riley looked at her body. The stretch marks appearing in front of her- wondering if they would disappear. Wondering if Liam would still find her attractive if not. If not they were a permanent positive scar- a scar that brought their baby into the world. A scar full of love. Returning to the room, she saw Liam place Ayah gently, in the cot.

“You look refreshed. And beautiful my Queen.” Placing a passionate kiss on her lips, he still couldn’t believe that he had a family- one that he had always wished for.

“Are you ready for the stampede to enter the room? Maxwell keeps texting me, eager to meet her. Get it over and done with then we can enjoy our babymoon?” Liam laughed, he wanted to keep his daughter all to himself and Riley- but as she said the sooner they all meet her the quicker they would leave- or so he thought.

“Ayah, my mini blossom. Uncle max loves you already my little doll.”

“Max stop suffocating her!” Panic ran through the new moms veins.

“Sorry blossom, but she is just so adorable. I can’t stop kissing her. She’s going to break some hearts.” The proud uncle stared at her, she had hold of his finger- which filled his heart with joy.

“Beaumont pass her here.”

“Liv? Are you feeling okay? You want a hold of a baby?” Riley said sarcastically, Duchess Olivia wasn’t the type to be maternal, so for her to ask to hold the baby shocked everyone.

“Riley, I will hold her at a distance then pass her over to someone else.” As Olivia held her, the group noticed a small smile creep on her face.

“Is that a smile I see?”

“No Hana! I’m a Nevrakis we don’t smile.”

Riley and Liam looked at each other, laughing- she was in denial. A while later, Drake was holding Ayah- Liam knew it would be tough on him after what had happened. He encouraged Riley to talk to him.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, she’s beautiful Ri. Congratulations.”

“She’s going to love her Uncle Drake and Aunt Hana.”

“Do you ever wonder what our child would have looked like? I love Hana, but that thought still ponders.”

“I think about it every day. I’ll never forget about him or her. I’ll always love you Drake.”

“I’ll always love you too. But we would have never worked would we?” He winked at her.

“No, you’re too grumpy.” She nudged his shoulder. “And you’re too bossy- Queen bossypants.”

“Why isn’t Hana drinking the alcohol that Max has snuck in by the way? Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

“We didn’t want to rain on your parade. But yes, myself and Hana are expecting a child.”

“I’m so happy for you both.” They both hugged each other, happy that they had both been able to move on and start new chapters in their lives.

*****

It had been a month since Riley had given birth. Today was the day for the big Cathedral wedding. The day that the whole of Cordonia had been waiting for. With the help from Maxwell, Riley had been exercising and doing yoga- she soon lost the excess baby fat. Ana De Luca had sent her a designer wedding dress from her collection and was grateful that the Queen had accepted the gift.

Walking down the aisle with Bertrand and Maxwell again, they gave her away to her husband.

“It’s not every day you get to marry the love of your life again.” Liam held her tight, baby blues focusing on each other- both sparkling.

“I could say the same. But this time we have Ayah celebrating with us.”

“By the power vested in me by the kingdom of Cordonia, I now pronounce you Husband and Wife again. The King and Queen Of Cordonia. May this blessed union be sealed with a kiss.”

Liam cupped Riley’s cheeks, placing a soft kiss on her lips- hearing the cheers and euphoric atmosphere encouraged Liam to deepen it into a more passionate kiss, as he did on their first wedding. It was deja vu. Exiting the cathedral, the three of them spent some time, talking to the people of Cordonia who all congratulated them. The country as a whole were thrilled to finally meet their King, Queen and Princess as a family.

*****

Six months since the cathedral wedding, Riley and Liam settled into parent hood - Riley was still on maternity leave, but had a duty to complete today. Settling into being Queen, she had impressed everyone - especially Liam who was in awe of his wife.

“Are you ready? Hana and Drake have collected Ayah.”

Looking at herself in the mirror, she took a deep breath. Straightening out her clothes she was ready to do her first individual speech to her country.

“As long as I have your love, and your support I’ll always be ready.”

Walking outside the palace, they entered the SUV which escorted them to the capitol. There was a podium outside the building which Riley was officially opening. Nerves started to kick in, but she knew what she was doing would help many people.

“Good morning, I am thrilled to see so many of you have attended. Before I was Queen, I was just a New York waitress known as Riley Brooks. During my time in Cordonia I fell in love with the country immediately and I am so proud of everyone here, how we all unite to make it a better country. I am here today to tell you a story about how I overcame fear I once contained before realising how much love and support I had.” Looking at Liam and her friends for reassurance, they all encouraged her to continue.

“I went through a hard time in my life, I believed I couldn’t live anymore. I believed I had no one supporting me. This is hard to admit and I hope that none of you will think badly of me. I went down a dark path in my life; full of sadness, regret, lack of hope. Many people would accuse me of attention seeking- but depression isn’t anything to be afraid of admitting. Nor do I want anyone to feel ashamed for having any kind of mental illness or ashamed for any abuse that they may be suffering from. These things are not a choice, and often they are treatable. We know that removing the stigma opens the doors to treatment as well as prevention. I look out at this crowd and I don’t see a bunch of numbers – I see a gathering of individuals who are willing to work together to ease the suffering of many – uniting together as I mentioned before. I thank you for your courage and your kindness. If anyone in my country feels that they need to talk or just gain some support, I am opening this building. I will often visit on a regular basis- providing my own insight and support for my people. In closing, I would like to offer you these words. May we all be happy. May we all know peace. May we all be free from suffering. Thank you for your time.” Cutting the ribbon, she was praised by everyone. Entering the building she mingled with people, whilst introducing her daughter.

Liam came behind her, placing his arms around her waist, and snuggling into her neck.

“I’m so proud of you.” He whispered, before taking Ayah into his own arms.

“I couldn’t have done it without you my king.”

“I love you, I always have and I always will.”

“And we all love you too.” Liam pulled her into his embrace whilst holding Ayah. Bending down to Riley’s stomach, both he and Ayah kissed her stomach. Last week they found out that they were unexpectedly expecting their second child.

My life is complete. I thought I’d lost you. Hold on, I kept thinking when you was in hospital. You held on, you survived. You came back into my life. You are my wife, my Queen, and my children’s mother. You are that woman who transformed my imperfections into perfections, just by the touch of your love. I don’t need the whole world to love me, as long as I have you, Ayah and bean I am a happy man - Who’s heart is filled with unconditional love.

#theroyalromance #choices trr #riley brooks #liam rhys #drakewalker #maxwell beaumont #hanalee #olivia nevrakis #trr hold on #trr hold on ayah rhys

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kagehinataboke · 5 years ago

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only time will tell - chapter 4

“You’re fucking late. Again.” As usual, Katsuki is waiting in the classroom when Todoroki arrives, fifteen minutes late and in a cold sweat. Katsuki is wearing a basketball jersey—he’s on the school team, apparently—red track pants, and sneakers. His ever-present scowl seems especially sour today.

Todoroki takes off his backpack and clips his sunglasses to the collar of his shirt. “Sorry. I had to run here from a shoot.” He turns to the remedial students scattered around the room, plastering on a smile. “Did everyone wait long?”

All the girls immediately shake their heads, and even some of the boys, albeit reluctantly. Todoroki flashes Katsuki a smug look, and he clicks his tongue in annoyance. Over the past week, Todoroki has been late to nearly every remedial session—and Katsuki isn’t happy, to say the least.

It’s not like Todoroki can help it: his agent basically ignored him when he asked her for an easier schedule. He has photoshoots or interviews nearly every day after school, so he has to run back to make it to the remedial lessons at six. He didn’t even have time to change today, so he’s still in the ripped jeans, collared blue shirt, and brown cardigan they put him in for the shoot. He even still has makeup on, although it’s probably been ruined by sweat.

“Now that you’ve deigned to join us, your majesty, let’s start.” Katsuki picks up a stack of papers on Aizawa’s vacant podium and passes them around. “These are practice tests. You morons are going to use what we went over during the last session and get over eighty percent on these, or we’ll do proofs for an hour straight. Got it?”

Silence.

Todoroki looks up after stripping off his cardigan and rolling up his shirt sleeves to find them all looking at him, including Katsuki.

Todoroki clears his throat, and everyone looks away instantly. “Sorry. Ah… You were saying, Bakugou?”

Katsuki, seeming significantly more annoyed than before, restarts his speech. Todoroki lingers in the background, only half-listening. He isn’t sure if he’s actually much help at these remedial lessons. His goal was to work closely with Katsuki, but there haven’t been any chances. On top of Todoroki always being late, Katsuki actually treats this like a job. He’s surprisingly dedicated to helping their classmates, to the point where Todoroki feels like dead weight.

“The hell’s up with you?” Katsuki demands after the remedial students leave—all having finished their tests with scores over 80, much to Katsuki’s pleasant surprise. His tone is more confrontational than conversational.

“I already apologized for being late,” Todoroki sighs. He already knows where this is headed: they’ve had the same exact talk every day this week. He doesn’t want to have it today. All of his energy is gone.

Perhaps Katsuki can tell—they did used to be close, after all—because instead of the inevitable scolding Todoroki was expecting, he receives a quiet, “Don’t be late again.”

It’s strange. More than strange, because Katsuki is being soft again. First it was back at the shed, and now this. Todoroki can’t deal with the way his look changes sometimes; the way his eyes seem to shift, becoming questioning, becoming different; with the way they eventually return to normal again, and the moment is gone.

Katsuki is just… so different. His hair, for one, and his piercings—and his attitude, most noticeably of all. Well, maybe second most noticeably. He’s also, to put it in simple terms, attractive now. Incredibly so. Todoroki obviously never saw him as anything more than a friend when they were kids, but now? Now it’s like the wool’s been pulled from his eyes. He sees all the things he couldn’t see before—like the curve of muscles under Katsuki’s jersey, and the way the veins in his arms flex as he picks up papers, or the way his black hair makes his eyes look a shade even deeper than red.

“What are you staring at?” Katsuki’s gaze settles on his face, and Todoroki thinks about not looking away. He thinks about staring back until he can find something recognizable in these eyes that he used to know so well.

But then he gives in; averts his gaze; clears his throat. “Nothing. I was just lost in thought.”

Todoroki does look up again, only briefly, to see that Katsuki has gone back to collecting papers. The ebony of his hair against the tan skin of his neck as he bends over the desks is strange and foreign.

“Your hair,” Todoroki finds himself saying. “I miss it being blond.”

“What?” Katsuki looks at him as if he’s lost his mind. Todoroki doesn’t fail to notice the way his hand flits to his scalp, then quickly back to his side. “Why the fuck are you saying that all of a sudden?” He snatches the last paper and roughly elbows Todoroki aside. “I’m going to put these away. Get lost already—and don’t be late tomorrow.”

Todoroki stares at the door for longer than he should. He isn’t sure if it was his imagination, but he thinks he saw faint red dusting the back of Katsuki’s neck. The black of his hair only made it stand out even more.

It probably was his imagination. And he should probably leave, because Katsuki will most certainly yell at him if he sticks around. ‘Damn Half n’ Half dumbass bastard, what the fuck are you still doing here? ’ or something along those lines. Half n’ Half is Katsuki’s new favorite insult. It’s because of Todoroki’s hair, which he started dying for his modeling career and never bothered to change.

Before Katsuki really does come back and scold him, Todoroki gathers his things and heads outside. It’s dark already—it’s nearing eight thirty—and the sky is a dark blue quickly encroaching on black. The night breeze is chilly enough that Todoroki stops by the front gate to put his cardigan back on. He’s got one arm in the sleeve when he spots someone vaguely familiar lingering just outside the gate.

It’s the guy Katsuki was talking to on the first day of school. What was his name, again? Shigaraki? It’s strange that he’s here so late, but if he and Katsuki are friends, maybe he can tell Todoroki a bit about him. Even if the guy is creepy, it’s worth a shot.

“Hey.” Todoroki approaches cautiously, waiting until he has Shigaraki’s attention to continue. “Are you looking for Bakugou? He probably won’t be out for awhile.”

Shigaraki’s expression is hard to read, but he’s smiling, at least. Even if it’s a strange, not-all-there smile. “Is that so?” He shrugs away from the wall, sticking his hands in the pockets of his gray sweatshirt. “He was supposed to go to a café with me. Why don’t you come instead?”

Todoroki frowns, fingers tracing along the edge of his backpack straps nervously. Why would they be meeting up? He remembers enough of their conversation to guess that Katsuki doesn’t like Shigaraki very much. But this is such a good opportunity… Ugh.

“Okay,” Todoroki agrees, pushing away every ounce of doubt. “What café?” He can’t pass up a chance to learn more about Katsuki—at least, not when he still refuses to talk about anything other than school.

“Just follow me.” Shigaraki is still smiling.

Todoroki tries very hard to convince himself that it's a reassuring smile and that he isn’t being lured into an alleyway or abandoned building to be murdered. Fuyumi would kill him twice over for being stupid enough to follow a stranger—even if that stranger knows one of his friends. Ex-friends? Whatever.

Ah, he was psyching himself out for nothing… The place Shigaraki brings him is a plain old coffee shop, with a pastel interior and comfy booths and the heavy bitter-sweet smell of espresso. They take a seat in the corner, surrounded by plush cushions and decorative paintings. Not sinister in the least. In fact, the place puts him at ease enough to get down to business.

“Sorry to do this right when we sit down, but…” Todoroki leans forward in the booth, glancing around to make sure that Katsuki isn’t somehow here to eavesdrop. He isn’t, obviously, but he still keeps his voice low anyway. “I was wondering… exactly how much do you know about Bakugou?”

* * * * * *

“Shouto, you’re home late.” Fuyumi glances up from her spot at the kitchen table with a raised brow. She’s got a laptop in front of her and several open files, as well as a half-empty cup of coffee. It looks like she’s expecting a long night.

Todoroki kicks off his shoes at the door. “Sorry. I went to visit a café with… a friend from school.” Better to lie than to have her asking questions.

“Oh, you made a friend? That’s good.” Fuyumi has already turned back to her work: crisis averted. Todoroki breathes a sigh of relief, but he isn’t in the clear yet. She snags his wrist when he tries to pass her to reach the stairs. “Hold on. Did you eat?”

“Fuyumi— “

“Don’t ‘Fuyumi’ me, you brat. I made you rice balls. They’re in the fridge, and if you don’t eat them all, I swear I’ll set your favorite sweater on fire—“

“Okay, okay.” Todoroki grimaces and switches directions to head into the kitchen. “I’m taking them. Geez.” He grabs the rice balls from the second shelf and retreats upstairs, sitting cross-legged on the floor to eat.

He’s exhausted after running from the shoot straight to the remedial lesson, then spending two hours at the café talking to Shigaraki—who isn’t actually a bad guy. He’s a bit awkward, and there’s definitely something strange about him, but he seems nice enough. He told Todoroki a lot about Katsuki. Apparently, they used to hang out in middle school.

Todoroki didn’t end up finding out what caused Katsuki to change so much, but he does know a few things about how to deal with him—courtesy of Shigaraki, whose number is now saved on his phone. The thing that stuck out the most was that he said to be ‘cute,’ whatever that means. Todoroki figures he’ll have to try out some different things.

It’s weird. For once, he’s feeling so hopeful that he can’t stop smiling. After he finishes the rice balls, he composes an email to his agent—and then deletes it and starts another one. He still isn’t quite sure how to quit. Can he just come out and say it? That somehow doesn’t seem like it’ll work. He’s never actually quit anything before, so he doesn’t know what one is supposed to say.

Ah, he’s getting a message. He'll worry about it tomorrow. Todoroki gets up from the floor and sits on his mattress before checking it.

from: Touya at: 10:36 PM.

>> Hey, I’m coming back to town this weekend. I tried to ask Fuyumi if she wants to meet up but she’s ignoring me. I think she’s pissed.

Touya, huh? It’s been a while. Todoroki last heard from him right after their dad died. Of course he’d only come to him when Fuyumi is mad.

to: Touya at: 10:38 PM.

>> She has a right to be mad. Did you apologize?

The answer is obvious, even before the response comes. Touya might be the most irresponsible person in the world.

from: Touya at: 10:40 PM.

>> No. She’s the one who’s overreacting. Why should I have to apologize?

Todoroki rolls his eyes. He’s not even going to bother responding to that. His brother probably won’t listen, anyway. Why is everyone so immature? Touya refuses to apologize, Katsuki keeps giving Todoroki the cold shoulder… The world is full of imbeciles.

Todoroki gets up to grab his bag with a sigh, pausing when he knocks something off his bed. His and Katsuki’s smiling faces beam up at him from the carpet, their arms wrapped around each other like they never want to let go. Todoroki forgot he had the picture on his bed. He’s been looking at it a lot recently, getting caught up in nostalgia. (He isn’t a very productive person.)

Katsuki really did look much better with blond hair. The black makes him blend in too much. Todoroki always thought he was the kind of person born to stand out, with his crimson eyes and hair the color of winter sunlight. In fact, the whole reason Todoroki chose his current look to trademark in the modeling industry was because of Katsuki. He was going for blond on the right side, but it turned out more white—and by then it was too late to change it.

Todoroki probably shouldn’t be obsessing over his hair so much. It’s pointless, especially when he’s been over about a million fantasy scenarios in his head—scenarios where things turned out differently. But Katsuki is a different person now: Todoroki knows that. He’s crass and unfriendly and completely impossible to figure out. He doesn’t want anything to do with him, but there are times when it seems as if there’s something between them. To put it simply, Katsuki’s hair is the absolute last of Todoroki’s problems.

But still, if even one thing were to return to how it used to be, then…

Ah, never mind. He shouldn’t get his hopes up.

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#finally updating chapters on tumblr rip me #there will be more chaps up on ao3 soon too #yay #uwu #calla.txt #my writing #tdbk #todobaku #bnha #model au

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xlady-saya · 4 years ago

Text

i’ve had a love of my own [ch 2]

Relationships: andrew/neil

Summary: Despite everything Neil could’ve imagined for his life, he never thought he’d be here, finally giving the world the interview they’ve always wanted.

It’s been decades, but even with his numerous accolades and sports wins, he finds that they’re the least important thing about his life.

Neil can’t help but laugh. Andrew would be so annoyed if he were here.

Of course, Neil only wants to talk about him, and the life they spent together.

Tags: interviews, post canon, major character death but not how u think I swear lol, neil is an old man retelling his memories about andrew, cheesy romance, post retirement, see more tags on ao3

Read on ao3!

"What do you remember most about the night you were inducted into the hall of fame?"

Neil's suit collar feels especially tight as he descends from the podium, his body pulling him in one direction and one direction only. The smile on his face feels too tight, but the hoard of smiling faces and applauding hands around him don’t seem to notice. The rabbit instincts, as Andrew would call them, surge up aggressively. Neil hates public appearances like this, especially when the event is partly focused on him. He can only hope his speech wasn't too terrible.

People shout out their congratulations as he passes, but they all blend together like an oil slick meeting water. Pretty on the outside, but otherwise devastating to the fragile nature of his mind. Bright lights above bounce off full champagne glasses, creating a blurry horizon he has to squint at.

Years of public exposure has done nothing for his dislike of crowds, and he chases the feeling of Andrew's protective bubble. Warm, safe, home.

It feels like that one time Nicky dragged him to a party hosted by the baseball team in college, and left him to go hurl his guts out over the side of the house. At a certain point, Neil had been so overwhelmed he had hastily retreated from the drunk mob into the safe haven of the bathroom.

It's an eerily similar feeling, except this time his safe haven comes in the form of Andrew, suave and bored as he leans against the back wall. Much, much better.

Neil nearly trips over his feet in an effort to reach him, but Andrew is always one step ahead. As if sensing Neil's distress, Andrew extends a hand, and Neil refrains from rolling his eyes at the muffled gasp he hears somewhere in the back.

Catching a glimpse of them acting like a couple is akin to seeing a shooting star in the daytime, according to tabloids. In Neil's mind, they all simply don't look hard enough. Sometimes just the way Andrew looks at him makes Neil feel like they should be behind closed doors, with how it radiates off both of them. He's not sure why people don't see it, because surely Andrew's denials aren't believable. He's incredibly affectionate, if all his gifts and gestures say anything. And more than that...

At the end of any given day, if someone checked, Andrew's fingerprints would be all over Neil. Some on the back of his wrist, trickling down his spine and ghosting over his lower back, dotted along his throat.

Skin deep, with heat that travels even farther.

He takes Andrew's hand gratefully, letting himself be pulled in by the relief of that unparalleled shelter.

"You call that a speech, Josten?" Andrew asks, though Neil catches the spark that sets his eyes aflame. Good—Neil missed it. These events sap the energy out of Andrew like a vacuum, and he knows he only puts up with them for Neil's sake. Neil is happy to be a compact little battery when Andrew needs it.

Neil readjusts their hands but doesn't pull away, giving Andrew a small squeeze to pair with his smirk.

"Like you could do better," he snarks, but moves against the wall anyways, shoulder pressed to Andrew's. They've both bulked up from years with the pros, but where Neil will always be somewhat lithe, Andrew is stocky and built like brick. Neil sighs, breathing in the scent of Andrew's cologne and the subtle mint of nicotine gum.

There are still some eyes on them, but people are mostly looking at the next speaker. Neil can't make out Kevin or Thea in the crowd, but that's probably a good thing given what's about to happen. "You didn't even give a speech," he remarks playfully, a hint for Andrew to chase.

Andrew purses his lips, not taking it until Neil leans further into his space. Neil knows he has the advantage here; he's dressed in a fitted suit, personally picked out by Andrew, with blue accents that match their team (and additionally, his eyes). However, that’s not Neil’s biggest advantage, considering he's wearing the watch Andrew bought him for Christmas—the one with a rabbit stamped cleanly into the back of the metal face. 'Now you can't use your dead phone as an excuse,' Andrew had said, but Neil had seen through it.

Neil nudges him cheekily, gesturing to the room full of people.

"Surprised you're even here," Neil adds, feigning shyness in another effort to break through Andrew's (flimsy) blockade.

It works. Neil's not sure if Andrew's gotten softer over time, or if he's gotten better at this. Though he guesses he's the same. There are not many walls left for Andrew to scale on his end either.

"Don't be stupid," Andrew replies, firm and sharp. It sends comfortable shivers down Neil's spine, Andrew’s sternness causing the joke to evaporate. Even the insinuation that he'd miss Neil's crowning achievement...he won't allow it.

Come to think of it, Andrew's probably thought about it more than Neil. Neil worked so hard for this moment, to make a name for himself in the sport he adores. And he's proud of himself, he is, and he deserves to be in the hall of fame with how much he's fought. Yet now that he's actually here, surrounded by people who want nothing more than to sing his praises, all he needs is...

Neil giggles, whispering in quiet Russian. "You're proud of meeee."

Andrew huffs, but Neil powers on. "Admit it or...you know what will happen, don't you?"

"Neil."

"You look really handsome tonight—"

"Neil, I'm serious," Andrew tries, and while Andrew isn't the type to blush, the way his entire body stills might as well be equivalent to a fire. Neil's hand drifts to Andrew's lower back, because casual touches are second nature to them now. Instead of pushing away from the touch, Andrew's back bends for him, and Neil's gives a subtle press.

Truly, this is Neil's favorite tactic, complimenting Andrew. He'd learned in their last year of college that Andrew can't handle it, and the blond can try to say he hates it all he wants. But Neil never hears a 'no,' does he? "I love seeing the way the suit jacket fits over your shoulders. It reminds me of how strong you are. You're my anchor, you know? You always keep me safe, I feel like I can do anything if you're there. I love knowing this is real, that you're here with me and you'd fight to keep us—"

Neil jumps when Andrew turns on him, but his triumphant grin sits firmly in place.

Andrew leans him in to cut him off with a kiss, like he's accustomed to, but that's not something he's willing to give the paparazzi today. He takes Neil's hand again, glancing around. "We're leaving," he says, because he knows that's what Neil really wanted all along. Duh, Neil already knows Andrew is proud of him. "I've had it with this place."

Neil's body sings at the word choice, at the words unspoken: 'but not with you.'

"Mhm," he agrees happily. When Andrew had been inducted into the hall of fame, they'd ditched the ceremony even earlier than this. So it's about time. "What's the plan?"

Andrew doesn't miss a beat. He tilts his head in the direction of the far doors, and Neil zeroes in on them. He'd clocked all the exits when they first arrived from force of habit, so he follows along with Andrew easily. "Reporters are at the west wing entrance, we'll have to sneak out the service entrance past the kitchens. It's handled."

Neil smirks broadly, and lets Andrew lead the way. One advantage to being so short? It's a hell of a lot more efficient to duck down behind people. "Did you already make a deal with the wait staff?"

Andrew's expressions in public are still quite reserved and closed off, but Neil can feel the smug energy radiating off his back as they push through the kitchen doors. None of the staff even bat an eye. In fact, some of them are trying extremely hard to not look at them.

Neil looks at Andrew, brow raised.

"You'd be surprised what a couple autographs can get you," Andrew says, pulling them around a corner to survey the last stretch between them and the outside world. They should be in the clear, but the last thing they want is to run into a security guard or overactive publicist walking through these back hallways. Neil can't contain his excitement though, his leg thumping uncontrollably against the linoleum. Andrew pauses when he notices, and there's that flash of amusement Neil loves so much. "Control yourself, bunny."

"Stop making me wait," Neil shoots back, because he rarely has the opportunity to be this rebellious. As much as he cusses out reporters and fights people on the actual court, he misses the giddy mischief of sneaking around with Andrew. It's like making out on the roof all over again, or trying to be quiet during movie nights with Andrew's hand caressing his thigh.

It's exhilarating, and he can read Andrew's physical cues so well by now. The shift of his feet, the tension in his shoulders...It's like when he's about to block a shot with his bare hands, except this time he pulls Neil down the hall in a sprint.

He knows he's supposed to be quiet, but the best he can do is muffle his laughter with his free hand as he lets Andrew carry them out of the venue.

If Neil bumps into a cart of metal trays, they're long gone before anyone can react to the sound.

The Lotus comes to a stop in the empty parking lot of the old football stadium. It's one of their favorite places to escape to, a project the city keeps claiming it will repurpose but never does. The lampposts lining the giant lot still work, but there's not a car in sight, the old building dark and menacing. To Neil, it's just...theirs.

Neil stumbles out of the small car, missing the backseat of the Maserati. He wishes they were driving their new Maz instead, but it's Andrew's signature car, and they knew they'd need to lay low.

Ha. To think they'd be invisible in a car like this.

Again Neil has to right himself, his pants still sitting halfway down his thighs. He's glad Andrew thought ahead with bringing them a change of clothes, but the cramped space isn't the best for changing into jeans. He has a feeling Andrew did that on purpose, forgoing Neil's sweats.

Doesn't help that Neil's legs are jelly for other reasons.

Andrew slides out of the driver’s side with a lot more finesse, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand as he comes around. Helpless, Neil drops his arms and lets Andrew pull up his pants.

It's the little things.

Neil smiles when Andrew sighs, loading some of his weight on top of Neil. He won't call it a recharge, Neil just knows. Neil plays with the loose strands of hair at Andrew's nape, at peace in the piercing cold, no real landmark in sight apart from the decaying stadium. It's weird; it reminds him a lot of when he and his mother would camp out in abandoned lots. Vantage points from all sides, but the risk of exposure and openness were high too.

Here though, more than ten years later, Neil basks in the vulnerability, because nowhere feels unsafe with Andrew in his arms like this. He lets Andrew sway them back and forth for a bit, and yeah, this is preferable to the sounds of clinking champagne glasses and excessive applause.

His publicist will give him shit for it later, but he wouldn't exactly be Neil Josten if he didn't cause problems.

Neil smiles into the distance, watching the flickering of a nearby lamppost. "The movie starts in an hour," he says eventually, and Andrew nods into Neil's neck once before pulling away. There's no disappointment in his eyes, and he taps Neil's watch to the beat of a song Neil can't place.

Instead, he just zips up Andrew's open fly, smirking at the unimpressed stare he gets. "You're a nuisance."

"I know," Neil says proudly, and watches as Andrew goes back to the driver's side. He looks a lot cozier and harder to recognize now, dressed in Neil's Palmetto hoodie and jeans.

"C'mon, we need to grab food still," Andrew says, and at the reminder, Neil's stomach growls. If they had stayed an hour more at the event they probably would've been fed fancy catered meals, but that would've messed with their Friday tradition of greasy drive in food.

Neil knows they’re showing a double zombie movie feature today, and he does not want to miss it. He straps in just in time for Andrew to hit the gas, and doesn't even speak up about all the traffic laws they break to make it there on time.

"How mad do you think Kevin is?" Neil asks when Andrew is passing him his soda. He fits it snuggly in between his thighs, jumping from the cold. It can't be helped; the lone cupholder is reserved for Andrew's milkshake, in danger of overflowing from whipped cream.

Andrew turns back to the cashier at the drive thru, and their eyes are still on the verge of popping out of their sockets. They must be new. The other coworkers regard Andrew and Neil with warm familiarity, a little too used to the two famous athletes rolling up for food their nutritionist would not approve of. Andrew takes their bag from the worker without much acknowledgement of his shock, peeling off before they can so much as stutter a sound of disbelief.

They'll get used to it.

Greedily, Neil digs through the bag.

"I think he expects it by now," Andrew answers, uncaring. His eyes flick to the side when Neil's rummaging pauses, and Neil sends him a suspicious look.

"Two fries," he states, not quite a question, but a confirmation of what he's seeing at the bottom of the bag. Two orders of fries.

Then, in the privacy of their car, Andrew lets his feelings shine through. He rolls his eyes, but the edge of a smile plays on his lips. "Don't act like you don't eat half of mine. I got you your own for once."

A 'hmph' escapes Neil's mouth, and he holds a fry in front of his face. He can't exactly refute Andrew's claims, he is a notorious fry fiend, but...

He doesn't have to like it.

"Aren't I sweet?" Andrew says, mockingly, and Neil hates that the answer is actually yes.

"Salty," he corrects, surrendering to pop the fry into Andrew's mouth.

That's all he's getting from Neil's stash though.

The Lotus roars as Andrew pulls away from the stand and up the nearby hill. Most people at the drive in come early, eager to get spots closer to the screen, but they have a special spot far away from the throng of people. The hill only houses one or two other cars who have the same idea, spaced out far and free to talk or fool around in the backseats.

Neil never pays them any mind; it's hard to give attention to anything that isn't Andrew once the blond actually starts talking, offering theories about the plot or characters on screen he may or may not actually believe.

Neil has a suspicion Andrew just likes giving him more reasons to talk too.

The first movie is older, remastered but still carrying that grainy quality old horror movies have. The colors are subdued, almost rusty, and Neil's fixated by the way the flashes dance on Andrew's skin. Whether it be splotches of red or the ominous sunset, just before the eerie music begins, the scenes reflect in Andrew's golden eyes to the point where Neil can hardly follow the story.

Not that it matters, it's zombies. What more is there to get?

"Are you satisfied with the effects for once?" Andrew drawls, though surely he knows Neil's been staring at him for the last ten minutes. He doesn't put up a fight anymore when it comes to that, instead playing with Neil's salt ridden fingertips and drinking his milkshake.

Smiling, Neil lets his eyes drift to the screen. A show of gore and fake blood has him nodding, not nearly as affronted as he usually is. The woman on screen is a good actress, though movies will never get true anguished screams exactly right.

"Mm, practical ones are better," Neil says, commenting on the lack of CGI. Another good thing about older movies: they had to build the monsters themselves, had to spend a lot more time on the makeup and fake guts. It's slightly more unsettling, considering what Neil has seen and done, but less annoying than the computer generated stuff.

When Neil zones out too long, he feels a fry poke his cheek, and he opens his mouth automatically. Andrew watches him with a small smile. Neil's not sure when Andrew grew more comfortable smiling, but somewhere along the way they both got used to it. It's a subtle, quiet expression on the blond, but that's how Neil likes it. Andrew's personality will never be loud, never cheery like Nicky's or Matt's. But it feels like a secret, something reserved for those that mean a lot to the blond. Neil can never feel anything but pride when he sees it, when Andrew lets himself express a bone deep contentment for those people in his life.

For Neil.

"What is it?" Andrew asks, and Neil waves at the screen, bored with it all of a sudden.

"I'll never understand the point of people who approach the first zombie," he says, and he says this every time. And alright, he knows that's the only way to truly kick off the plot but it always rubs him the wrong way.

"It's not like they know it's a zombie, Neil," Andrew replies, in reference to the next unfortunate victim to approach the zombified man in the park. The zombie had been stumbling around, and the older lady simply couldn't help but ask if the man was alright. Being a good samaritan will get you killed every time.

Neil throws Andrew a look, aware that Andrew isn't so much inviting Neil's rant as much as he's poking it hard with a stick.

"Excuse me, I'm already wary of normal people walking around," Neil points out. And that's justified in his mind, given what he's been through. People are weird and should be avoided unless absolutely necessary. Neil's therapist, who he's begrudgingly getting used to, might not agree but Neil's not quite ready to fully tackle the issue yet. Instead, he gestures to the way the poor lady's face is now being eaten. "I see someone stumbling around like that? I'm not going near them! At minimum you should consider them drunk and violent."

Or at the very least: real fucking annoying.

"I think you have more survival experience than most people," Andrew says, but Neil knows he's not actually defending the character's stupidity. Andrew agrees, and his smile grows when Neil huffs.

For effect, Neil slumps back into his seat, arms crossed. When Andrew tries to reach for his hand, he playfully swats it away, doing his best to not show cracks in the mask he's wearing. It's a skill he learned from his boyfriend, the complete lack of expression. Problem is he can seldom keep it up for longer than a few minutes.

Neil eventually smirks, right on cue, turning over in the passenger seat so his body is facing Andrew. It's not nearly as seductive as he wants it to be, what with the food wrappers and wrinkly clothes, but he knows it's enough to be infuriating. "You think it's hot," he sing songs, and Andrew sighs.

This time, when he reaches out, Neil doesn't refuse the offered hand. On screen, more unassuming citizens are devoured.

The image of the crowd reminds him of the banquet, of his switched off phone that's probably blowing up with questions about where they are. It's another world at this point—the expensive suits, dinner, the rehearsed words.

Here in their car, sitting in the dark in his hoodie with his boyfriend's hand in his, Neil feels far more spoiled. That doesn't mean he's not appreciative though, and the weight of his accomplishment sits warm in his chest, flowing through him to remind him it's not a dream. He's alive, he's here, he's with—

"Yes," Andrew interrupts Neil's train of thought, voice nearly a whisper. "But your downfall is obvious."

That gets Neil's attention, though he does preen from the compliment. "Hm?"

Andrew shifts in his own seat, and for the first time that night, Neil realizes how tired the blond must be. His muscles slump with exhaustion, his eyes blinking away the strain, but it's a good tired, the kind you feel when you can finally relax and sink into your bed. Home. Neil experiences that a lot, when it's the two of them, and the scope of the feeling is only intensified by Andrew's words.

"You'd go back," he reminds Neil, because that's now something that can't be debated. Neil's breathing stutters, and he hears the unspoken words: for me.

It's no surprise that no matter how things change, Andrew's first instinct will be to chip away at something, to present a flaw to protect himself. Neil's not sure he's even aware he's doing it, the need to value himself as something lowly and not worth fighting for.

Neil will keep proving him wrong, time and time again.

"That's not a downfall, that's strengthening my team," Neil quips, and Andrew huffs a laugh, rolling his eyes.

But Neil won't let him get away with that. He picks the buzzing insecurity swarming around Andrew's head right from the air, and crushes it until there's nothing left. At least for the moment; with them it always comes back, they just get better at dealing with it.

"I mean it," Neil says, and it's not him being a shit like back at the banquet. This isn't a barrage of compliments to make Andrew flustered, and from the way the blond stills, he understands that. Neil's tone holds an almost dangerous quality, ready to slash anyone who would dare refute it. It's hollow, haunting; he would've been a much better actor for horror films than the ones in this movie. "Andrew, if you're with me, I can do anything."

That hasn't stopped being true, and he doesn't think it'll ever be the case. He won't ever be without Andrew.

Andrew doesn't tell him to be quiet or stop, just lets the words settle between them and mix with the suspenseful music from the screen. There's a muffled scream below from an open window as soon as the jump scare happens, but neither of them flinch. Andrew's gaze bores into him as the blond shifts in his seat, mirroring Neil's awkward pose.

They're both still so compact though, they make it work. Neil pulls their hands up onto the center console, rubbing the back of Andrew's palm.

"Hey," he says stupidly, after he's been staring too long. Andrew's gaze turns sleepy, gooey, if Neil will be so bold. Andrew doesn't respond to his earlier claim, and Neil knows parts of Andrew's language well enough to know that the silence speaks more towards his agreement than anything.

Andrew may not accept all of it, but he'll hold it close, he'll remember it and chew on it as much as he needs to. That's all Neil can hope for.

"Hi," Andrew whispers back, during a lull in the on screen violence, and Neil scoots as close to him as he can. He doesn't want to miss a single syllable, a breath.

Without much else to say, Neil lets the giddiness from before rise up, finally speaking on it. His smile is too much to smother, but he tries and fails. "We're in the hall of fame together."

In an instant Andrew's smile falls, but it's an obvious show. And he calls Neil dramatic; it's a shared behavior. Neil laughs uncontrollably from it, from the way Andrew shakes his head up at the roof of the car.

"Junkie," he mumbles, because there's not much more to explain.

Or so Andrew thinks. Really it's less about Exy in that moment for Neil. The part that makes him so overjoyed, that pushes him over the edge into bliss...

"I'm proud of you," Neil manages through the laughter, and repeats himself with a few reallys thrown in for good measure. But still, Andrew doesn't get it. Or he does, and he's being a shit on purpose.

"Tonight was about you, you know," the blond tries, tone suffering, but the itch of a smile threatens his blank facade again, and Neil's main job is to poke and prod it out of hiding. It's a fun game, no longer difficult. Not that he ever minded, not that he could mind anything about what makes Andrew...Andrew.

Neil looks up at the ceiling too, as if he can see through it, like he can see far beyond their universe and beyond the cosmos. They're so insignificant, he knows, but funny how these moments never feel swallowed up by the weight of it all. One day though, he supposes they'll fade into that nothingness, and that's why it's such a comfort to him, to know their names will be next to each other in some way beyond gravestones. "I know, but I just like to remind you. Everyone is going to remember you now."

Andrew is one person he doesn't want to ever be forgotten, for how he makes Neil feel...it would be criminal for that to even be a possibility. Neil huffs a laugh; Andrew's more the type to wax poetic, to say sappy bullshit and then try to act like he hasn't. But here Neil is, heart singing.

There will never be a way to leave that feeling behind as evidence, so everyone who ever doubted Andrew will know, but Neil can wish...Neil can dream. He can do whatever he wants.

Andrew tilts his head, his free hand casting itself forward, gesturing to the world beyond the screen, beyond the ends of the planet. "There’s no point in being remembered like that. When we’re gone, we’ll just be gone."

And in some ways, Neil agrees, or at least understands. Legacies only mean so much, can only withstand so much time. There will be other sports heroes, new rookies and players with their own accomplishments, their own time in the spotlight. But that's not what Neil means, not what he believes in. His fame is meaningless, it will wither and die. So will Andrew's. But...but, he's not afraid now to have that spark of want, the need to preserve as much as possible.

Though if he's being honest, and he won't tell Andrew because he's sure to refute it, there will never be as good a goalie. Neil knows that.

Neil grins gently, squeezing Andrew's hand to call his attention back to where it belongs. Andrew listens, always bends for Neil in some way. Andrew extends his free hand across his lap, and in sync, Neil lifts his leg to drape it across the console. Andrew catches his ankle gently, thumb resting in the dip of bone. Neil shivers; he's been treated with such care for years, but it's never easy to fathom all the way. Andrew's hands are weapons, and yet he cradles Neil like glass, like he's not the tainted mess he is under these clothes.

"Normally I would agree, but you’re kind of my loophole," Neil whispers, shrugging in that infuriating way, the one that communicates clearly that nothing Andrew says can convince him otherwise.

Andrew is familiar with it, and is no longer dead set on fighting Neil every step of the way.

"You're ridiculous," the blond says instead, tracing through Neil's jeans, over the memorized lines and scars of his calves. Neil wonders if he likes to do that especially in these moments, to remember Neil is real. He's not going anywhere. "I don't ever know what to do with you."

"Kiss me? That might help," Neil offers, and in the next moment Andrew is meeting him halfway over the console. Neil wasn't even aware he'd shifted so close, but then he's surrounded by just Andrew. There's a hand in his hair, tangling the curls, and his mouth opens for Andrew's like a switch has been pulled. It's automatic, a craving satisfied. Over the years, Andrew's kisses became predictable, the taste of him no longer surprising or laced with desperation. Despite all that, Neil thinks they're even better now.

It's an exhilarating feeling, to know someone so, so well, down to the press of his tongue and the slot of his lips.

Neil sighs when Andrew pulls away, breath hot and eyes lidded, and alright, maybe they're not completely predictable. Neil is always taken aback by how quick his body is reduced to jello, barely keeping himself upright.

It makes him brainless, makes him ramble, so it slips out again. "I want everyone to remember you," Neil breathes into Andrew's mouth, chasing him as he pulls back. Andrew's hand on his chest stops him, Andrew's stare as intense as ever.

It's quiet; Neil has no idea what's going on around him, either with the movie or the crowd. That's unheard of for him, isn't it? But he's not scared, or nervous. Eventually the instinct will come back, the urge to check the locked doors and look behind the car for things lurking in the shadows. But right them, it's just the two of them, wrapped up.

Andrew tugs on his leg, pulling Neil forward until his thighs hit the console, and looks disappointed they can't be glued at the hip. It's cute, but Neil bites his tongue on the comment. Andrew must sense it, because his eyes flash back up to Neil's face, reaching up to cradle it. Neil can predict that trajectory too, the way Andrew's fingers brush the burn marks.

"Idiot," Andrew says. "Only you get to remember me like this."

Damn you, Andrew.

The edges of Andrew's lips quirk up, triumphant in the face of Neil's stunned silence, but Neil refuses to admit he's won. Only...partially.

Neil will hold these moments for himself, close and free from prying eyes. He'll do that for as long as he can, covet them until he can't keep it in anymore. He supposes that's the best compromise either of them could ask for.

The swell of need in his chest intensifies, and he reaches forward to tug on Andrew's sleeve. It feels so dumb; he's allowed to touch more than this, he's allowed to grab and cradle Andrew's skin. But it's too much in the moment, and he tugs again, like he's right back in college.

"Home?" he whispers, unsure. Andrew looks around them, back at the screen and then at the moon hanging high in the sky. Technically, this is a double feature, and it feels almost wrong to pop this bubble around them. Neil's not sure he wants the moment to end either, not even when the credits for the first movie roll and early birds start to peel out of the lot. Headlights ghost over them, but the only move Andrew makes is to lean down and lower his seat all the way.

Neil, smiles, and knows exactly what to do.

They reach a silent agreement as Neil hops into Andrew's seat, fitting snugly against him as the new movie opens up:

No. Not yet.

Neil notes with amusement how the reporters sit, slightly more relaxed, like they're not quite ready to let go of their professional personas in favor of pulling their legs up. Soon enough, they'll get there. Neil's barely begun to scratch the surface, and he hopes their matching looks of disbelief will fade too.

Neil puts down his water, throat already aching, but if that's the price he has to pay so be it. He's been feeling extra lethargic today, underwater and tied at the ankles, but it's not enough to dissuade him. Rubbing his throat, he smiles. "We ended up really sore from sitting like that all night, but we didn't regret it," he says. The purr of the Lotus is so loud in his mind he almost expects for someone to roll up to the building in one.

Andrew had driven them extra careful that night.

Blake jots something down in his notepad, skims it, then crosses out something else. A question he no longer needs answered, perhaps. When he looks up, Neil is waiting. "That's where you went? You got a lot of flack for that disappearance."

Oh he did, lots of speculations; a feud with Kevin Day, a PR war, a statement about the sports climate.

Really, he'd just wanted some snuggles.

"I've caused worse scandals," Neil says, brushing it off. Compared to all the other segments he's had in the tabloids and news media over the years, including the reveal of his bloody family business, the hall of fame incident is far from important.

And honestly, Neil doesn't care about any of that. Rayah seems to sense that the sports talk won't get them anywhere, and she offers him a laugh. "Andrew wasn't very social, was he?"

Ah, good. They're learning.

Neil's demeanor changes, happily steered in the direction of Andrew, and he leans back. An understatement.

"Neither of us were," he replies, examining his nail beds. That's not entirely it though, and he knew it then too. He's not sure why he never called Andrew out on it, maybe because it was so obvious he didn't need to. "But...I think in that case he was just trying to protect me. I was tired from all the preparations all week. Even when I was young, Andrew wasn’t really keen on letting me stretch myself to my limits."

In fact, after his freshman year of college, no threats in sight, Andrew's protectiveness was even more apparent. Neil endangering himself was a thing of the past, and Andrew made sure to keep it that way. After Baltimore, Andrew simply wouldn't tolerate it. He was aware of Neil's exhaustion, his fatigue, and while he never babied Neil, he wouldn't stop himself from intervening when he could sense Neil would not.

The stress of the hall of fame ceremony sapped Neil clean of any energy, that final speech pushed him to the edge. So Andrew took his hand, and pulled him away from it.

The two reporters share a look then, and Neil gets that surge of annoyance. Andrew would tell him to calm down, that it doesn't matter, but well...

Andrew isn't here, and Neil can be as angry as he wants when people misinterpret their relationship.

After a while, Rayah clears her throat, cutting the tension. At least she has the decency to treat him with the same respect he's giving them and not lie. Neil was never one for politeness. "I'll be honest, it’s hard to imagine someone like Andrew Minyard being that way. He sounds so gentle when you talk about him."

Though the insinuation was clear: to everyone else, he was the exact opposite.

"He had a lot of sides to him," Neil responds, because it's better than the petty response of well he was. He supposes that's not fair, not to them and not to Andrew. He plays with the watch on his wrist, now a little dated and not nearly as shiny. He's pretty sure the time is off now, so he's still the rabbit, running late.

"He could be so caring, but he never gave up his firmness, or his no bullshit nature. Believe me, if he didn't agree with me, he would've let me know. He had a way of snapping me out of bad decisions...not always kindly," Neil says, still grinning.

"You sound like you didn't mind," Blake says, though the confusion is still clear.

Neil had been deceived and led astray so much in his life, forced to swallow lies and spit them back out. Being with Andrew was so freeing; he never had to worry about those things ever again.

"No, I...I loved that about him," he says quietly. He's having a bad time with words, nothing new there. It's hard to make it sensical without having experienced the relationship first hand. He wishes Dan were here, she's able to convince people of anything. Still, he pushes, he needs to explain this if nothing else. "No one ever bothered to see Andrew beyond the hard exterior. Like you said...you can't see Andrew as gentle. Well, he was seldom anything but around me as we got older. I trusted him not to lie to me, and to take care of me, and I did the same in return."

He realizes his voice is taking on a desperate quality, but he can't help it. He could fill books with anecdotes, times where Andrew held him close or was just an absolute pillar of comfort. Try as he might today, he knows he'll never say enough.

People will still remember Andrew primarily as an unfeeling ghost, as the person who punched other players or was quick to anger, though that was far from the truth. Unless Neil makes his case here, that'll never go away.

"It's not that either of you ever provided proof," Blake says, and flinches at Neil's glare. It's a fiery thing, he hasn't used it in a while, but he assumes it's still just as acidic from how guilty the reporter looks. He stutters, and backtracks as best he can. "And based on what you said, I totally get why! It's just—"

Rayah, who is far better at making a case for the public's idiocy, is quick to lean forward. "There were only a few moments people ever saw him act like he cared as much as you say," she tells him, and it's followed by a wince. "One of them...wasn't exactly happy."

Oh.

In an instant, Neil knows exactly what they mean. It was all over the place, wasn't it?

He almost forgets that; he was too busy drowning in his own terror. It was over forty years ago and yet the memory is so strong, the same pain shoots up Neil's legs. The nausea is faint, a reminder of how unbearable and sleepless the following few nights were. He remembers a sickening crack and the shout of people, the flash of cameras.

And Andrew.

Always Andrew, running towards him.

Yes, he supposes it's hard to challenge that moment between them, to categorize Andrew's actions as anything other than fierce protectiveness and worry. Yet when Neil thinks of that incident...what the public saw barely scratched the surface.

He can still feel Andrew's hands digging into his shoulders, can hear the slow footsteps walking into their home...

The room is quiet for a beat too long, and Rayah and Blake exchange a look. It's Blake that eventually clears his throat, and Neil regards him slowly, trying to shake off the beast of a memory.

It's over, it passed. But...it was important, so...

"Are we allowed to ask about that day?" Blake asks, voice small and gauging Neil's reaction.

He sighs; he can't exactly avoid it. There's lots more stories to tell after the fact that won't feel the same without the context, but there will be some conditions.

Neil nods once, tightly. He spreads it out in his head, and an old beat of paranoia surges up in him. Stupid. He's not that dangerous anymore, no one is watching him, no one is looking for him. But it has him looking at the door anyways, wondering if the room is bugged or lined with cameras he can't see. Well, he'll just be careful.

He flattens his hands across the blanket, chewing on his words. "I suppose it would be a disservice to what I'm trying to do if I didn't talk about it," Neil answers, gesturing to Rayah. "Go ahead."

Neil braces himself before taking the plunge, and gets lost in his past once again.

"The day you were injured, what was it like?"

#andreil #aftg #all for the game #andrew minyard #neil josten

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theawkwardterrier · 5 years ago

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things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 13

AO3 link here

Fury has seen Peggy Carter twice: once at a podium during her speech at his SHIELD induction, and then again, from a distance and surrounded by higher-ups, when she had toured the new LA headquarters back in ‘86. He’d been impressed by her - she’d been exactly what he’d expected - but also had no doubt she wouldn’t be able to identify him in a lineup of two. She might not know all about his last few batshit days or be clued in on the alien species of it all, but Peggy Carter is so far above his pay grade that he couldn’t reach her if he climbed back into the spaceship he’d just gotten off of.

So it’s a bit of a surprise when she shows up at the Rambeau house.

“There’s a car coming up the road,” Monica shouts from over at the front window where she’s showing Talos’s daughter how to play Guess Who?, and Fury dries his hands on a dishtowel and follows Carol and Maria out onto the porch. The car stops in the driveway. Fury unlatches his gun holster and keeps a hand on it. A man steps out of the driver’s side; hard to see much about him in the dim light. He goes around to the other side of the car and opens the door for the woman sitting there. He bends his head close, as if speaking to her for a moment, then steps back as she exits the car to join him. She threads her arm through his and they walk together across the lawn. As they get closer to the porch light, Fury evaluates them more closely: the man is still unfamiliar, older but straight-backed, with hair going silver and some gentle wrinkles around the eyes and mouth, and the woman is Peggy Carter.

Oh, she’s not in one of her classic suits, dressed instead in gray slacks and a pink sweater (someone, his mother or Coulson or someone, would tell him that it’s a particular shade like salmon or peach or daiquiri or whatever the hell, but it looks pink to him) and appearing somehow fresh despite the southern heat. Her hair is iron colored by now and cut just below her chin, her gaze firm as the one in the portrait that hangs in the hallway outside Fury’s office. Until the man makes some remark in her ear and then she looks at him with fond exasperation that she doesn’t turn off until they’ve neared the base of the porch.

“Agent Fury,” she says, addressing him. He pulls his gun and raises it at her, even though it seems a little pointless with Carol and her laser hands beside him. Peggy Carter, or what looks like her, just raises a calm brow, seeming a bit amused. “I know you’ve had a trying time, but this really is quite the disheartening welcome.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Fury says, keeping his service weapon steady even as he tries to pretend that his eye isn’t itching like hell, “but I think our southern hospitality’s a bit tapped out today.”

“If they’re Skrulls, I think we actually just agreed to extra hospitality,” Maria points out.

Carol, tilting her head, asks, “So, are you Skrulls?”

The couple trades a glance. “No, mostly regular human,” says the man.

“Sorry if I don’t entirely believe you,” says Fury, knowing he sounds not particularly sorry at all. Hard to remember that about five minutes ago he was using a scrub brush to show off his knowledge of sixties Motown. “Maybe you’re good Skrulls who have reason not to want to show it off, maybe you’re the bad cousins we haven’t met, maybe you’re some other damn breed of aliens, but after the things I’ve learned, I think it’s reasonable to be a little wary about making new friends. Particularly those who didn’t start off asking, ‘What the hell’s a Skrull?’”

“Before you say anything you can’t take back, who exactly is this supposed to be that you’re threatening to shoot?” Carol asks him.

“Well, first, I think at this point you’ve been standing next to me long enough that we’re threatening to shoot her, or worse, in your case. Second, I’m not threatening anyone, just taking reasonable precautions. And third, this may or may not be Peggy Carter, the head of my organization—”

“Well, just barely,” Carter says. “The retirement party is scheduled for sometime soon.”

“She’s been saying that for years,” the man inserts. “And I have the feeling it’ll be a few years yet before anyone picks up a sheet cake at the bakery.”

Carter (potentially “Carter”) looks over at the man. “Certainly not. I think the last party I attended with a bakery sheet cake was twenty-some years ago - the neighbor’s daughter, the one who was always kicking everyone.”

The man looks back. “None of the kids ever had one?”

She laughs. “As if you’d ever have allowed it.”

“Well, there was some time there—”

“Not that this isn’t adorable and all,” says Fury, “but if you’re meant to be Peggy Carter, who exactly is he meant to be?”

“My husband,” she responds promptly.

Fury looks over at the guy, gesturing a bit with his gun. “You have anything more to say on that?”

The man shrugs. “Not really.”

“Is she supposed to have a husband, whoever she is?” Maria asks.

“There have been rumors,” Fury admits. “But like I said, I’m not trusting anything after the last couple of days.”

“Hey, Talos,” calls Carol, “Just checking, but I thought we’d met all of your friends.”

A version of Maria's neighbor Tom, now wearing the sweatshirt they’d given Talos, pokes his head through the still open front door. “It’s a bit insulting, you know, assuming that we’d all know each other.”

“Well, do you happen to know these two?” Fury asks, trusting that Carol will keep control of anything that might happen as he turns to glare over his shoulder. “I’d like to make sure we’re all on the same team, regardless of species.”

Talos shrugs. “Seem human to me.”

“Sorry if I can’t exactly take your word for it.” Fury knows he sounds grumpy, but he’d been feeling good, and now this. Either he’s going to have to deal with an alien impersonating his boss - again - or he’s about to get fired. Talos returns inside and closes the door, as if Fury's troubles don't exactly top his list of worries.

“How long have you been married?” Carol asks. Even though her tone is curious, unhurried - no need for that anymore, when he can practically feel the power radiating from her - Fury can hear the test in it.

“Forty-four years in September,” Carter answers back promptly.

“Kids?”

Her husband answers this time. “Four. Rosie, Drea, Emma, and Nate.”

“Or I suppose if you want to be more official about it,” Carter adds, “Rose, Andrea, Emma, and Nathaniel. And then there are the grandchildren...”

“Who’s the shortest of your kids?” fires off Maria, clearly trying for the element of surprise, and they both laugh, an established, private joke sort of laugh, before answering simultaneously, “Rose.”

Somehow that decides it. Fury finally stows his gun. There’s still a tiny chance that these are some new shapeshifters who’ve done their research, but if they are, they deserve credit for it.

“I apologize, Director,” says Fury, suddenly conscious that if she’s showed up here, she probably knows more about his actions over the past days than he’s comfortable with, and also that she’s probably noticed the scratches across his eye. Not the best introduction, overall.

She gives a deep, dignified nod. “As I said, I understand that things have been a bit trying for you.”

“So, if I can ask…” He forces himself not to scratch the back of his neck like a little kid. “Why exactly are you here?”

To his surprise, she turns to her husband. “Darling?”

He slips his arm out from the curve of hers and steps forward to the very base of the steps, his hands in his pockets. “I have some information for Captain Danvers, actually.”

Carol looks him over. “I’m guessing that this isn’t about back pay?”

He laughs, but somehow not quite. “Not exactly. I know that you’re about to head out there—” He gives a quick upward jerk of the chin, indicating the fullness of the velvet black sky. “And when you do, there’s someone you should look to run into. A Titan called Thanos.”

Carol and Mr. Carter, now introduced as Grant, sit on a pair of the porch chairs. He’s explaining something while Maria stands over them with her arms crossed and Monica pokes her head through the curtains to spy on them.

Fury brings a glass of lemonade to Director Carter, who is leaning against the car.

“Much appreciated, Agent,” she says, raising it to him before taking a shallow sip. Her hands are steady, but up so close he remembers that she’s been running the agency for decades, longer than he’s been alive, and that she fought in a world war before that.

He leans against the car beside her, crosses his arms. “Any chance you can tell me how your husband got ahold of all of these details about—” He points upward. “Things out there?”

He knows how insubordinate it is, nosing in on Grant Carter like he’s a perp, but he’s already held them at gunpoint so he figures he might as well. To his surprise, she actually smiles. It’s much more an agent’s smile than it is a mother’s or a grandmother’s - or maybe for her it’s both. She swirls the lemonade before sipping again. “He’s had quite the life, my husband,” she says. “And between caring for the children, taking courses, and lending a hand from his cubicle, he’s still managed to pick up a piece of fairly essential information here and there.”

Fury looks at the man on the porch, at his narrow frame, his khakis. There’s something familiar there; maybe just that central casting Nice Old Man look. Fury knows better than to judge solely on appearances, especially at the moment, but he can think of few people less likely to have “fairly essential information” than Grandpa over there. Still, the same could be said by an unsuspecting person in regards to Director Carter as well. “Balancing all that seems like a lot. Guess you married a real Captain America,” he says, sounding bland to avoid sounding sarcastic.

Her eyebrow flickers up and there’s a beat, but then she laughs. “Well, who else in the world would be able to keep up with me?” She drains the rest of her lemonade and places the glass on the hood of the car. She looks over at him, and he can see in her sharp eyes that regardless of what she says about cake and retirement parties, she has a fair few working years left in her. “Now tell me, Agent. What were you thinking would be your next step?”

“A nice vacation sounds just about right,” he suggests, despite knowing the futility.

And indeed, she tilts her head and says, “Really? And I was so looking forward to reading your report of the incident.”

“I’ll get on it, ma’am,” he says dutifully.

“I think those are her favorite words,” jokes Mr. Carter, walking back toward them across the lawn. Carol and Maria stand beside each other, watching him. Carol leans over to say something and Maria shakes her head fondly.

“Then isn’t it lucky I get to hear them so often,” the director tells him archly, a bit of a smile twitching at her mouth regardless. Fury picks up her glass and moves away from the car.

“It was good to meet you, Agent,” says the director, opening her car door and settling herself inside. Her husband walks around to the driver’s seat, but stops and looks at Fury over the roof of the car.

“It was very good to meet you, Agent Fury,” he says, the creases around his mouth deepening. Fury can’t quite tell if it’s from laughter or pain or something else entirely.

“Be safe out there,” he says to cover all his bases, and as Mr. Carter gets into the car and closes the door, there’s a definite laugh at that.

“Does anyone get the feeling we’re missing something?” Maria asks after Fury has waved off the departing car and returned to the porch.

“I think I’m going to be having that feeling a lot for the next little while,” Fury comments.

“Well, I’ll leave you to that,” says Carol. She’s grinning. “Apparently I’ve got a universe to save.”

More chapters here

#Steggy fic #Steggy #Steve Rogers #Peggy Carter #Captain Marvel #Nick Fury #things left behind fic

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matchaball · 7 years ago

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all that glitters is not gold

AN: HAPPPPPYY (late) BIRTHDAY @powerdragonmoon!!! ♥ ♥ ♥ You’re always so amazingly sweet and kind and I’m forever thankful that we somehow found each other in this big, strange world of fandom and became friends! I never could shake off the idea of spy au after talking about it with you, so here’s my gift to you ;) It’s my first time writing ChloNath, so sorry if the characterizations are off! ^^; This was SUPER fun to write though, so I hope it makes for an equally enjoyable read!! Happy birthday again my dear! ♥

Also: Chloé’s dress and heels!

( AO3 )

Chloé Bourgeois does not do subtle.

Subtle would kind of defeat the point of the sleek black dress ensemble gracing her figure for tonight’s assignment, where her every move glitters from the gold embroidery running along the sheer nude fabric covering her collarbones and dipping down over her left shoulder and breast. Spiky gold bracelets flash at her wrists, matched by the outrageously expensive earrings dangling daintily from her ears. Even the turn of her head attracts attention, from the smooth shine of her honey gold hair, to the gold glint of the singular hair comb pinning her complicated updo in place.

If anything else, the waist high slit up the side of her dress, loosely held together by slim strands of gold chain, shows enough leg to make anyone in the room momentarily forget their own name, especially since she’s brought her killer heels to the game.

She could do subtle. She probably should, given her line of work.

But she won’t.

“Doing all right there, Clo?” a voice crackles through the comms hidden in her earrings.

“I’m boooored,” Chloé sighs. A martini hangs from her hand as she surveys the crowd milling around the art gallery for whatever fundraiser they are all apparently a part of.

“You have to wait for the chairman to give his speech, that way all the security gets redirected-”

“-to him, I know, I know.” Chloé rolls her eyes as she drains the rest of her martini. As she signals the bartender for another, she mutters, “Keep me entertained then, Adrien.”

“I’ll do my best,” Adrien laughs. “What do your regular partners do when they’re paired up with you at this end?”

“They’re not partners.” The bartender makes eye contact with her as he prepares her next drink, but all it takes is a slow smile, a suggestive tilt of her head, and a small wink for him to fumble and accidentally spill a bit of gin over the edge. Too easy. “And I don’t know, they never last long enough for me to actually be entertained by them.”

“Except for one.”

She doesn’t answer that. Her original support, her very first, had been a partner to her, for as long as they worked together, for as much as he teased her during missions. Her hot temper and biting words only seemed to amuse him, and even though they knew each other, she’d only ever called him Red for how riled up he could get her in the midst of an assignment.

It was a strange partnership, but it was a good one. Until she went out on an assignment one day and heard another voice at the other end of her comms, another voice that was so nervous, so obviously new, that Chloé ended up silencing communications and going through her assignment solo rather than relying on such dubious support.

The new girl hadn’t lasted long. Neither had any of the other supports assigned to her since.

“You know what they call you here, back at HQ?” Adrien asks.

“Enlighten me.”

“Killer Bee.”

“I’m touched.” Chloé’s tone is about as dry as her martini.

“Yeah,” Adrien chuckles. “Everyone who’s been assigned to you looks like they got handed their death sentence.”

“Everyone except you.”

“Just this time,” he points out. “And only because I broke my leg and Ladybug broke three ribs and nearly punctured a lung during our last mission. Neither of us are very good at quietly resting up though.”

“Hmmm.” Chloé’s answering hum is deceptively non-committal, as is her ensuing comment, “So you being paired up with me for this is purely coincidental.”

“Yup!” Adrien chirps back. Too quick, too bright. No matter how long they’ve been in this business, Chloé can always spot his tells; the perils of growing up together since childhood. “Besides, I can’t help out an old friend every now and then?”

“You can,” Chloé replies as she slowly stands and sidles into the crowd. “You don’t.”

“Me-owch. Well, Fu thought this particular assignment could use some… delicacy.”

Any answer Chloé might’ve given is discarded along with her martini as she accepts a dance invitation from a man she already spotted eyeing her legs earlier that night. Despite his wandering eyes, his hands stay respectfully in place as they whirl and glide along the floor with the other dancers, so he’s spared of any suffering she could’ve gleefully devised for him.

Her smile is a dazzling thing, a tool in itself, and she uses it to full effect on her partner as she scans the room for cameras, exits, windows, air vents, and security personnel. Art museums are always a little trickier, with all sorts of hidden motion sensors and silent alarms that could betray her before she’d even know it, but falling for any one of those would be a disdainful, graceless rookie mistake.

Chloé sniffs. She has only ever been one of the very best.

“Eight more minutes,” Adrien sounds in her ear again. “Take the southmost exit. I’ll disable the keypad and the warning alarms, but there’ll be three guards patrolling the hallways. You’ll need one of them for a fingerprint and eye scan for the next set of doors. Hang on, let me find out which one…”

As the music draws to a close, her partner asks, hopefully, “Another dance?”

She smiles, a pretty, empty thing, as she steps away. “Another time.”

She blends back into the crowd and begins making her way to the back. She circles around sculptures, greets important politicians and businessmen, and picks up a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

“Ok,” Adrien finally says. “It looks like any one of the guys will do. Try not to kill anyone, Clo.”

“No promises,” she mutters as she drops her empty glass at a nearby table. Right on cue, the crowd begins to murmur and move as the chairman steps up to the podium, a beaming smile on his face and a prepared speech held in his hands.

“Go,” Adrien whispers, but she’s already gone.

The keypad at the door blinks from red to green and she slips soundlessly through before anyone can notice. The hallway she enters is empty, but she knows it won’t stay that way for long.

“Alright, two coming your way,” Adrien warns.

“Just two?” Chloé sighs as she languidly reaches up. She pulls her hair comb out, letting long golden curls cascade down her back, and twists two teeth from the comb out, revealing poison-coated needles. They hide between her fingers as she prepares to put on a show.

“Hey! You can’t be back here!” one of the guards yell as he turns a corner and catches sight of her. His partner is close behind, and one glance alone tells her they mean serious business. Bulletproof vests, at least three guns visible on their persons, and two, possibly three knives hidden on their shins, backs, and wrists.

Chloé gasps. “How dare you talk to me like that! Do you harass every woman who gets lost on her way to the bathroom?”

“Ma’am,” the other man’s partner takes over, his tone decidedly more polite. “I’m sorry, but you aren’t allowed to be here.”

“Too bad,” Chloé decides as she eyes him. A smile curls on her face, as if she likes what she sees. “Seems like you boys could entertain me a lot better than the stuffy old men in the exhibit back there.”

Trained professionals or not, she catches the way their eyes scan her once, twice, not with the gaze of a predator looking to take out its prey, but with the most basic and predictable form of want. Want, though, is easy. She shifts a little, hips swaying, legs sliding out of the high slit of her dress.

“So,” she whispers when she’s right in front of the closest one, “entertain me.”

He swallows and it’s his undoing as her hand slides up and jams a needle into his vocal chords. He chokes, the sound coming out strangled as the needle does its work, and despite his fingers twitching for his weapons, he stiffens up and drops to the ground as the poison paralyzes him.

The second man meets the same fate. With his partner’s back to him, he never even saw her coming until it was too late. He drops like a stone, his voice choking in his throat and a layer of foam coming to froth around the corners of his mouth.

Chloé sighs, decidedly unimpressed. She bends down and begins searching their pockets for anything useful she could use.

“Your 6,” Adrien warns, just as she hears the shout of “Hey!” coming from behind her.

No time to ready her needles, and no space to use them too as she hears the telltale click of a gun cocking in her direction.

“Hands up!” he yells as he stalks towards her.

“Oh please,” Chloé snorts. “Only point that thing if you actually have the balls to use it.”

In one smooth motion, she slides the small dagger hidden out from beneath the sole of her heels and whirls around. She grabs the guard’s arm and wrenches it around, not even blinking as a shot goes off and ricochets off the wall, before using her other hand to twist the dagger deep into his abdomen.

“Don’t even think about it,” she suggests pleasantly as he continues struggling. She brings her foot up and stabs her heel down onto his shoe. The sharp heel sinks through the leather and into flesh and bone, eliciting a strangled moan of pain from the guard before the poison takes him down too.

Unlike Ladybug’s legendary luck or Chat’s many fancy bells and whistles, distraction is her game; few ever think to look closer, to find the actual substance beneath. And the unlucky ones who do find the poison of her sting in lieu of the sweet honey they had hoped for.

“Just three?” Chloé asks as she wriggles her dagger back out. She wrinkles her nose as she wipes the blood off onto the guard’s clothes.

“Just three,” Adrien confirms. “Alright Clo, door at the back. And take one of them with you.”

“I heard you the first time,” she snips. She grabs the unconscious guard closest to the door and begins dragging him down the hall. Despite his size and bulk, she hauls him as easily as a rag doll. As she scans his fingerprint and his eye, Adrien’s voice crackles through her comms again.

“I won’t have eyes when you go in there,” he warns. His keyboard clacks furiously in the background. “I’ve disabled what alarms I could access but there’s still some stuff that’s rigged. I think mostly paintings, maybe one of the sculptures.”

“Mostly paintings,” Chloé repeats as the scanner beeps green. She drops the guard and pushes through the acquiescing doors. “Adrien, darling, you do know why I’m here.”

“I was briefed,” Adrien grumbles. “Your painting shouldn’t have any alarms around it. Your extraction will come to you when you’re ready.”

“I won’t be long,” she assures him as she steps into the pristine, cavernous conservation lab.

Enormous paintings lie in complicated contraptions that she delicately avoids, and smaller paintings waiting to be restored rest in easels on neat, organized work tables. As she passes them by, she snags a pair of latex gloves from a box off someone’s desk. Sculptures and statues occupy a large corner of the room, awaiting their own restorations, but she heads directly to the rows of storage racks stocked full of paintings, snapping on the latex gloves as she approaches her target.

The racks slide out noiselessly as they display their contents to her. Chloé had never been much an art connoisseur, but she’d picked up a few things here and there from her original- her first- partner. When things got tense, he’d always distract her by dropping an interesting tidbit about a painter, about a particular colour, about art history.

It always drove her nuts, because art was hardly interesting to her, but it’d always worked. She relaxed, when he talked to her.

Well, except for one memorable incident when he had actually painted something while he guided through her a mission. He had used whatever obscure colour hues he’d been painting with and his paint stroke patterns to warn her when security was coming or when she had to disable an alarm, and she had damn near blown the roof off of the chateau she’d been infiltrating. The moment the mission had finished and the objective was in her hands, she had railed on him, as angry as a whole horde of provoked bees.

And he had just laughed.

“Found it,” Chloé breathes as she finds a match for the painting she’d been briefed to find. It’s an original Turner, she can tell that much, encased in an ornate gold frame.

She slides the rack out all the way and carefully flips the painting over. The back is empty, just plain canvas against the flat back of the frame, but she carefully detaches a spike from her bracelet and unsheathes the needle thin knife encased within. Carefully, precisely, she digs into the top left corner where the canvas meets the frame until the canvas comes loose. She peels it back a little more and digs the needle into the crevice of the frame, rooting around until she finds what she’s looking for.

She carefully draws her prize out into the light and watches as the faint light shines upon the key dangling from the tip of her knife.

“Shit,” Adrien swears. “You tripped an alarm.”

“Adrien,” Chloé warns as she slides the key down her bra for safekeeping and sheathes the knife back into her bracelet. She flips the painting back over and slides the rack closed. “My extraction, now.”

“Hang on, he’s coming. Let me see if I can reroute security…”

As Adrien handles complications from his end, Chloé sinks into the shadows, her eyes on all the exits she can find. She palms her hair comb in her hands and hooks her fingers through the gold honeycomb design decorating the top until they adorn her fists like brass knuckles. One push of a button, and all the teeth retract, leaving poison-coated needles in their wake.

A noise from the ceiling redirects her attention. Her head snaps up, but there’s only a vent with its gate dangling wide open.

Another noise from behind is the only warning she gets before a hand grabs her wrist. Her fist shoots out behind her, poison needles ready to sting, but her surprise target evades her easily. It was only meant as a distraction though as she stabs her heels down onto her intruder’s feet and headbutts viciously back. Despite the added height of her heels, she only manages to hit his chin but her heels find their target as the sink down into his shoe.

She takes advantage of his momentary swear-filled pause and bodyslams him backwards. They clip a storage cart, sending it flying across the room but that’s only a passing worry as he twists her arm painfully up her back.

Chloé snarls and pushes into the pain by headbutting back again. A thunk and a moan of pain tells her she’s finally backed him against a wall, so she stabs her heel down again until his grip loosens enough for her to twist around. One hand grabs his throat, pinning him against the wall, as her other hand stops just a hair’s breadth away from the underside of his jaw, the honeycomb glinting from her knuckles and the needles just grazing along his skin like a kiss.

“You idiot,” she begins furiously before stopping dead in her tracks. Sky blue eyes blink back at her, unnaturally unruffled and infuriatingly casual about being threatened with instant death. Familiar, firetruck-red hair pulled back into a half-ponytail is the biggest tell though, and she almost wants to stab him again with her heels for the sheer gall-

“Chloé,” Adrien says calmly, delicately, “meet Nathanael: your extraction, and your new partner.”

“My what?”

“Good to see you again,” Nathanael smiles and Chloé swears she sees red all over again.

“You idiot,” she repeats, upping the intensity of the venom in her voice. “Where the fucking hell have you been? You were just- gone. No note, no message, nothing.”

“I was tapped for a new program,” Nathanael explains, apparently unperturbed about catching up while still under threat of instant death via poison needles by her. “It was on a need-to-know basis. And don’t worry, I was the best. That’s why I was assigned to you.”

“Of course,” Chloé sniffs, “I only ever get the best.”

“The only reason he was assigned to you, sure,” Adrien’s snickering filters through her comms and Chloé nearly rips her earrings out silencing them.

“I hear you’ve been through six supports since I had to step away,” Nathanael comments. A shit eating grin unfurls across his face. “I guess Queenie didn’t suit you as well as Killer Bee, huh?”

“Both are ridiculous,” Chloé sniffs. The sound of the door rattling jolts them both back to the situation at hand, and she finally steps away and sheaths the needles with the teeth of her hair comb. Nathanael steps after her, warming her personal space. He clears her by at least a few inches despite the towering heels she’s armed with.

She blames the adrenaline coursing through her system for the way the bottom of her stomach heats as he rakes back the flyaway strands of hair from out of his eyes. His impeccably tailored black suit certainly does not help either.

She blames the fact that he was her first, which is why he can so easily get under her skin.

“You’re my extraction,” Chloé snaps. “So, extract me.”

Instead of answering, he grabs her hand and tugs her along the shadows until they’re pressed up against the wall right beside the closed doors. The doors open into the lab, so she sort of gets what he intends: for them to just walk out the doors the moment security’s all swarmed in and left their backs unchecked.

“It won’t work,” Chloé mutters. “Even if Adrien’s disabled the cameras- which you should’ve, I know you’re still listening through Red’s comms- there’ll be too many for us to sneak by. Plus you’ve left fingerprints behind. They can trace you.”

“One: diversion.” Nathanael points at the open air vent at the ceiling. “They’ll assume we- sorry, you, escaped through there. And two: have I ever guided you wrong?”

Her deep scowl is answer enough, so she doesn’t give him the satisfaction of saying anything at all.

He chuckles, unexpectedly. Pressed this close together and she can feel the rumbles through his chest.

“Something you want to share?” Chloé asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Not really,” Nathanael answers, catching a lock of her hair and running it through his fingers. “Just missed you.”

“Now is not the time to be sentimental Red.”

The door busting open interrupts them and they both freeze and tense up as armed guards spill into the lab, guns raised and radios crackling at their sides. More and more come through the doors until the lab looks like a kicked anthill.

She was right. There are way too many for them to just simply slip on by behind their backs. She looks up at him, a question barely contained in her throat, but she waits to see what he does.

His hand moves to the pocket of his pants, and she watches as his lips move in a countdown from three, two, one-

A muffled detonation goes off in the ceiling and a thick plume of gas comes rushing out of the open vent, clogging up visibility in the lab. The guards directly underneath begin wheezing and coughing.

“Move it, I doubt they’ll be dazzled by your butt,” Chloé hisses as the gas fills every crevice of the room.

Nathanael looks at her, an amused twinkle running through his eyes. “Have you seen my butt? Especially in this outfit?”

Regardless, he allows himself to be pulled by her, and together, they simply walk out the door. The hallway is deserted and they slip back into the main gallery without any notice. They join the panicked crowd and allow themselves to be herded out the front doors.

Chloé eyes him out of the corner her eye.

Nathanael was with her, at the beginning. He saw her first fumblings, her first embarrassing rookie mistakes, and was there all the way when she rose through the ranks and completed her first assassination, her first high-security infiltration, her first deep cover op. He’s seen her grow from being a newbie greener than fresh cut spring grass to the Queen Bee she’s infamous for today.

And she had always assumed her growth, her victories, meant his as well. But now…

“What are you?” Chloé hisses as the distant and unmistakable sound of paint bombs go off, no doubt splattering all the security and artwork in the conservation lab in a rainbow of cheap acrylic.

Nathanael chuckles as they step into freedom. “I’m something of an escape artist.”

#miraculous ladybug #chlonath #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #powerdragonmoon #fanfiction #matcha writes #i have no idea how accurate to chloe's character this really is but she was SUPER fun to write hahahahaha #BUT: SURPRIIIISSSEEEE #HAHAHAHA THIS WAS THE FIC I WAS WORKING ON WHEN WE WERE TALKING THE OTHER NIGHT #HEHEHE HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN :DDDDD

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my-dear-hammy · 7 years ago

Text

Falling Through Time: Book 2

Masterpost

Jamilton Series Masterpost

Basking in Firelight

Part Sixty-One

Check

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Warnings: Bickering, and nsfw

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"-concluding, outwardly, public homosexual affections to be totally outlawed," Hamilton finished reading the draft of the bill Adams was currently dealing with.

"It's not outlawing homosexuals completely, but it's still disgusting," Thomas stated. He was lying on the couch, head propped up on an armrest as Hamilton lies on top of him, reading the bill from Jefferson's phone. Burr had texted it to him.

"It sounds like King George," Hamilton spat, tossing Jefferson's phone on the floor by the couch.

"Are you still going on with your theories?" Jefferson asked.

"Yes. If anything this only confirmed them."

"Remember the Sedition Acts he passed during his first presidency? These are the modern version of those."

"What? No, I agreed with those."

"They took away the freedom of speech, of the press. Not to mention making it harder for people to become free citizens of the United States," Jefferson reminded him.

"All necessary precautions for the upcoming war with France. This is completely different."

"Unnecessary precautions. They were refugees fleeing from the bloody streets of the French Revolution, not spies."

"I thought you liked the French Revolution?" Hamilton smirked. Goddamnit, Jefferson hated getting into these arguments with Hamilton, only because he loved them so much. They usually turned into heated, passionate debates and then paired with the fact that Hamilton was on top of him...

Not fair.

"I liked the idea behind it. I don't like what it turned into," Jefferson answered.

"They may have been refugees, but the acts were put in place to prevent spies and terrorists and the lot. If they weren't guilty, they had nothing to worry about."

"You just like them because if anyone refuted anything the government said, they'd get arrested and thrown in jail. Which gave your party a massive edge since Adams was a Federalist too," Jefferson pointed out as he absentmindedly ran his fingers lightly over the strip of Hamilton's exposed skin where his shirt had ridden up slightly.

"Not true!" Hamilton shot back, shifting slightly, accidentally exposing more skin.

"It is true and you know it," Jefferson hummed.

"Despite the consequences, it was helpful."

"All it did was just make the lives of hundreds of people even more brutal. Do you know how many people fled across the border in fear of being deported back to France? Do you really think they were spies?"

"The ones that stayed probably were."

"Alexander, you thought I was a spy."

"And how much sensitive information did you accidentally give the French Ambassador in casual conversation while complaining about me?"

Damn it, he had a point. "And what about everything you accidentally told the English ambassador that was always stuck to your hip while complaining about me, darling?"

Damn it, Jefferson had a point. "This has nothing to do with what's happening today," Hamilton redirected the conversation. Jefferson smirked.

"Let's not do this right now," Jefferson hummed in response, lightly kissing Hamilton's neck and gently sucking. That's the precise moment Hamilton noticed Jefferson fingers lightly grazing along his skin, tracing his scars, sending shivers up his spine, and the growing hardness pressing against his back. So Hamilton did what anyone would do in this situation. He carried on the conversation like nothing was happening, shifting his weight ever so slightly so it settled right between Jefferson's legs, just to drive him crazy. Jefferson hissed slightly but just continued working at Hamilton's neck.

"-and if you think about, it all fits together perfectly like a jigsaw puzzle," Hamilton finished reciting another conspiracy theory.

"You know what else fits together like a jigsaw puzzle?" Jefferson asked.

"What's that?"

"Us," Jefferson hissed in his ear, wrapping his arms around Hamilton's body and tightening them together. Hamilton could definitely feel the bulge underneath him now. Hamilton really wanted to see how long Jefferson could hold out, Jefferson was an extremely patient man. In fact, Hamilton wanted to see who would wait longer for something, Jefferson or Burr.

"And Lincoln Logs," Hamilton said.

"What?" Jefferson asked, stopping for a moment at the confusing comment.

"Lincoln Logs. They fit together like a puzzle too." Jefferson rolled his eyes and ran his fingers along Hamilton's ribs. Hamilton suppressed a shudder, "And Legos too, I suppose."

"Alexander," Jefferson said, pulling away from Hamilton's neck, "you're crazy."

"You know who's crazy? Mulligan. I love the guy. He's great."

Jefferson was beginning to wonder if Hamilton even had a train of thought and not just a cannon shooting random thoughts into his mind. "That's nice, darlin," Jefferson hummed.

"And when you get Lafayette drunk. Jesus Christ."

Jefferson knew exactly what Hamilton was doing and he was so not going to play his game.

Fairly.

Jefferson stepped up his game, letting his long, violinist fingers continue tracing his ribs. The other hand, however, slipped down and grazed along Hamilton's inner thigh instead. When there was a slip on Hamilton's utterings, Jefferson knew he had him.

"Without you and your lackies pressuring him into signing through something so unconstitutional, I doubt we'll have anything to worry about."

"You're just salty because I got the Sedition Acts to pass last time through those very same means."

®®®

Jefferson's fingers grazed higher and Hamilton couldn't help but open up his legs slightly. "Absolutely. I wanted to smack you around so badly. It was completely against the Constitution."

"Are you sure you weren't thinking of fucking me?"

Jefferson's hand stilled and he leaned forward into Hamilton a little more, ghosting his teeth over the skin of his neck. "I want to smack you for the Sedition Acts, but I wanted to fuck you for the debate you had behind it."

Jefferson could feel Hamilton's body flood with heat. Hook, line, now for the sinker. His eyes traveled long the smaller man's body and a satisfied smirk spread across his face once they fixed on the growing bulge in Hamilton's pants. It matched with what Jefferson was feeling delightfully.

"The impropriety," Hamilton simpered.

"Are you saying that when I dragged your ass in Washington's cabinet time and time again, you didn't feel the same way?"

"Dragged me? You mean I dragged you."

Jefferson grinned against his neck and slipped his hand higher, resting his hand on Hamilton. "This suggests otherwise."

Hamilton hissed, pressing back against Jefferson, which probably didn't help his evasion since that put his ass forcefully on Jefferson's own growing erection. "Thomas," he said, "Are we talking politics, or are we fucking? Because we can't do both."

"I'd beg to differ. I'm about to do both right now," he said, massaging Hamilton through his pants.

Hamilton exhaled, his hips twitching as he tried not to react to Jefferson's actions. "I don't hear any political talk," Hamilton ground out.

"Do I need to make my position more clear?" Jefferson asked. "Is my hand playing with your dick not enough to show that I'm against this new bill?"

"Maybe you should fuck me on stage while giving a speech," Hamilton smirked, placing his hand on top of Jefferson's and guiding it away from his dick and to the button of his pants.

"What a splendid idea," Jefferson replied, undoing his pants and smoothly pulling down the zipper. "How should I do it?" he asked, sliding his hand up Hamilton's stomach and back down, slipping his hand beneath the waistband of his boxers. "Lie you down on stage, straddle and just fuck you there?" His hand wrapping around the smooth shaft. Hamilton bit his lip and dropped his head back. "How about I put you on your hands and knees. Makes you face the crowd while I pound into you from behind. That way they can hear me speak, fuck you, and you moan my name the entire time." Jefferson's thumb ran up along him.

"Thomas," Hamilton said breathlessly.

"Or maybe, I should just bend you over the podium and take you like that," Jefferson stated, pumping Hamilton firmly. A small sound escaped the man's lips.

"Thomas," he started moving his hips, pumping himself into Jefferson's hand. "You've made your point."

Jefferson's own eyes were closed, just as Hamilton's were at this point, taking in the feeling of Hamilton's ass moving and pressing against him as the man pumped himself into Thomas' hands, steadily growing faster. Both their heads were hanging back and Hamilton's breathing was growing more rapid as his speed increased. "Thomas, are you going to do something?"

"You seemed to be doing a pretty good job of it yourself."

"You asshole," Hamilton growled quietly, thrusting more forcefully. "Least you could do is move your hand with me."

Jefferson smirked into his neck. "I thought you wanted to talk politics?"

"I thought you wanted to do both?"

Jefferson's unoccupied hand slid from where it rested under Hamilton's shirt, down and under his ass, squeezing, before starting to work his pants off. "I am doing both."

"I don't hear any politics."

"I'm afraid if I mention Adams, it'll turn you off."

"I can't believe you're friends with that man."

"You just don't like him because he won't let you control him."

"You're right. That was a turn off."

Jefferson chuckled, making his grip around Hamilton tighter. "Really? Because you don't seem turned off at all."

"Thomas," Hamilton breathed, thrusting into Thomas' hand and letting himself fall back down against Jefferson's hardness, forcing a grunt from the man's lips.

"As I was saying," Jefferson continued, having used the opportunity to bare Hamilton's ass and freeing his dick completely. "I highly doubt this anti-homosexual bill will pass. Adams has more sense than that."

"And if he doesn't?"

"He does." Jefferson loosened his grip despite Hamilton's noise of protest and simply rubbed his thumb around the tip, smearing precum. He was busy coating his fingers in saliva and didn't want Hamilton getting too far along before the fun started.

"You seem certain. What if there's someone pushing him to pass it? We could end up having to start all over again before we know it."

"Burr won't let it through. He has to sign it as well," Jefferson reminded.

"Oh yes, because we can be sure to count on Burr," Hamilton said sarcastically.

"I dunno. He's always seemed good at shooting things down," Jefferson grinned.

"Thomas," Hamilton said seriously, stilling. "That's not funny."

"I apologize," Jefferson said, starting to pump Hamilton again. "I have a feeling Burr won't let it pass for reasons of his own."

Hamilton breathed, starting to move with Jefferson's hand. "Which would be?"

"You haven't noticed," Jefferson asked, tightening his grip and pumping faster. "The way his gaze seems to linger on a certain someone?"

Hamilton bucked off Jefferson, moaning quietly. "No. Who?" He dropped his weight back down, only to gasp out sharply, arching his back.

Jefferson grinned, marking Hamilton's neck as the man squirmed around Jefferson's fingers, which he landed and penetrated himself on when he came back down. "Thomas," he moaned. "You sly asshole."

Jefferson wiggled his fingers. "Who me? You did that yourself. And my my, you're already nice and loose."

"That's what happens when you fuck me regularly."

"What else were we supposed to do? We were stuck in the house together by an unruly mob bent on our coupling."

®®®

***

"I'm surprised you weren't more upset about what Adams is trying to do," Hamilton said. They were lying together in bed while Hamilton traced circles on Jefferson dark skin.

Jefferson sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, stretching out his arms before standing. "I'm pissed. But not at Adams. I know he won't let it through. I mad that it got that far. All the way through Congress? So quickly? That pisses me off."

Hamilton rolled on his side and watched Jefferson pull on a robe, "You don't seem like it."

"That's because I don't start screaming in people's faces when I'm pissed like someone I know."

"Shut the fuck up."

Jefferson turned toward him and grinned, closed the distance between them with one long stride, and planted a kiss right on Hamilton's lips. "Make me," he growled and pulled away, going back to what he was doing.

"So what're we going to do about it?"

"We've gotta stop this bill in its tracks. There's only one course of action that's guaranteed to get us somewhere."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"We run for president again."

Hamilton smiled, "I thought you retired."

"I did. And now I'm going to spend my retirement making sure no one screws up this country before I die."

"Presidents then."

Of course, they still had a while before they could actually do that. Adams' term had to end and elections to take place. Until then, Jefferson focused on rebuilding his fortune and Hamilton got a job as a lawyer. Jefferson would have as well, but his business took him out of state a lot and he couldn't juggle cases along with it.

Hamilton ended up proving himself as an excellent lawyer once again and raked in a good income, enough for them to keep Jefferson's house and for Hamilton to book a hotel room, at a discounted price, of course, he was a war hero and ex-president after all.

As time passed, Jefferson slowly got his investments smoothed out and his income grew as well, allowing him to eventually rebuy all the land he had sold. Hamilton was extremely tempted to write to Congress and just ask for a reimbursement for Jefferson's lost money, so tempted in fact, that at one point he had a pen in hand and paper on the desk before him. He knew that Jefferson would be upset if he did and they had a livable income now. If it had been Hamilton's money, he would have done it ages ago, but it wasn't, so he set down his pen with a sigh.

That's when someone pounded on Hamilton's door. When he opened it, he was shocked to find a breathless Laurens bent over his knees, trying to catch his breath after running so hard.

"Alex!" he half yelled, half gasped for air, "Thank God you're home!"

"What is it, John?" Hamilton knew something was wrong, Laurens was pale and sweaty, shaking slightly. He wouldn't have run if there wasn't something wrong. Hamilton reached forward and steadied him as John gulped down air.

"The Manor. Trouble."

"Breathe, John. Tell me what happened." Hamilton was already dialing Jefferson.

"Goveys at the Manor. Adams, Burr and everyone else in trouble. Don't know how it happened," he said slightly more clearly, still breathing hard.

"Fuck."

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undertheaethier · 7 years ago

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A Grove of Vengeance, Ch. 1: Eulogy of the Century

I was sick of funerals. Sick of planning them. Sick of the apologies and the condolences. Sick of trying to “tone down” my appearance to fit in with the funeral crowd. Sick of flowers in vases I would end up donating, and casseroles I would not want to eat. Seriously, why were casseroles still a thing? If someone wants to comfort the bereaved, they should buy them a sack of breakfast tacos or a 50-piece chicken nugget box, not green beans in soggy breadcrumbs, right?

It was my third funeral in four years. Grandma when I was sixteen, Grandpa when I was eighteen and just starting college, and now Great-uncle Ward, two years later. It sucked.

I hadn’t even known Great-uncle Ward very well. He’d been closer to my parents, whom he’d worked with at the university, than my grandparents, with whom I’d lived. In fact, in the six years I’d lived with Grandpa, he’d only called his brother once, and Ward had once come over for a rather tense Christmas dinner. Other than that, I’d hardly spoken with him, either. I thought it probably had something to do with the fact that Mom and Dad chose Ward to guard their estate for me, instead of Dad’s parents. They’d always seemed a little hurt by that.

No matter. You don’t really have to know someone to plan their funeral, I guess.

Father O’Connell would conduct the service the way he had for both Grandma and Grandpa at St. Jerome’s. He had a nice template for me to follow that made things easier. I’d arranged the cremation, the flowers, the reception (with the help of a very insistent Mrs. Hart, from the church’s volunteer committee) and printed the pamphlets for the service. Now I just wanted to get it over with.

Greeters from the church led in attendees, and no one had yet come up with an excuse to come and talk to me at the front of the church. So Father O’Connell approached me, taking the seat on the pew next to me. I didn’t know him terribly well--I’d never been a super devoted church-goer--but I certainly preferred to talk with him than Ward’s old friends and colleagues that I didn’t know.

“Hello, Emrys,” he greeted. I smiled as warmly as I could, knowing he’d likely be the only person today who addressed me by my middle (and preferred) name, since the obituary for my great-uncle had called me Meredith, in a mix-up between the obituary writer and I. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m doing okay, Father O’Connell, thanks,” I said. Besides feeling lonely, anxious, and self-conscious, that was.

I was wearing my trusty black funeral dress, long-sleeved despite the warm June weather, in order to cover the tattoos on my shoulders and forearms. The dress couldn’t cover my many ear piercings, nose piercing, or my hair, dyed pink, but it had finally faded just to the shade I’d wanted it, and I wasn’t going to dye it to a natural color just because the old folks at the funeral might waggle their finger at me. Still, sitting in the imposing chapel of St. Jerome’s and the priestly gaze of Father O’Connell, I couldn’t help but feel a bit...judged. Or at least, I wouldn’t be surprised if I was being judged. I fingered the necklace that was probably the only “respectable” part of my outfit: a silver key on a chain given to me by my parents.

Father O’Connell gave me a look of understanding, then moved a little closer to take my hand. “You can do this, Emrys,” he said kindly. “I know what a rough journey you’ve been on.” And really, more or less, he did. Before the three funerals I’d had a hand in planning, he’d seen me at my parents’. “But remember what we talked about. We each have a path we must walk. There are twists and turns, and the destination may seem dark and unclear, but you are equipped for the journey. God never gives us more than we can handle.”

Father O’Connell was not the first person to tell me that. Yet still, I had the distinct feeling that God was testing that idea, waiting to see how far I could bend before I broke. I wasn’t even particularly broken up about Great-uncle Ward, but he’d been my only surviving family. I’d felt alone before, but now it was true. Truer than it had ever been.

I just nodded. “Yeah. Thank you, father.”

He patted my hand and gave me that sympathetic little funeral smile, then stood and left me in order to play his part in the pre-service activities.

No body meant no casket to visit, and the people at this service knew each other way better than they knew me--I recognized a few of them as mutual friends of my grandparents, or coworkers of my parents, but it was very few--so I was left alone on the front left pew reserved for family. Some of the people glanced at me, but I decided I needed to take the time of the funeral to prepare myself to have to speak to them later at the reception, and instead I fiddled with a loose string on the hem of my dress.

Father O’Connell began the service just a few minutes later in the way his template dictated: this welcoming speech, that prayer, this hymn, that homily…

“Now the great-niece of Ward Spencer would like to speak a few words in memory of her great-uncle.”

Oh shit. I did? Right… The template had family giving remarks during the service. For Grandma and Grandpa’s funerals, it’d been easy. I’d known them well enough, loved them enough, that while speaking about them had been painful, I’d managed ten-minute eulogies for both of them. What was I supposed to say about Great-uncle Ward, whom I’d only met a handful of times and about whom I knew almost nothing?

Father O’Connell looked at me encouragingly and invited me up again. My legs shaking, I tugged my dress farther down, hoping it really did cover the tattoo on my thigh completely, and walked up to the podium.

I cleared my throat. “Great-uncle Ward was…” I shook my head as if in reverence. “...indescribable. What a--what a man, you know? He truly lived every day like it was his last.” I hoped that was true. Luckily, a couple of the people in the pews tearfully nodded. Feeling like I was onto something, I continued, “Some people might be surprised, and others won’t be, but he was quite a risk-taker.” A few chuckles. Cool. What other overused phrases could I come up with?

“He really believed…” I took a moment to sniff and look at the ceiling, as though the words were hard to produce. “He believed that nothing is promised. You have to be the change you wish to see in the world. After all, life is what happens when you’re busy making plans, right? And you miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take. Life is too short not to be happy. I really think that’s what Great-uncle Ward would want us all to remember as we leave here today, thinking on his memory. Every day is precious, and every day is another chance to be happy. Remember…” I made my voice sound a little heavier, more meaningful, as I came to the finish line. “Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, and today is a gift...that’s why we call it the present.”

Boom.

The gathered crowd immediately began clapping. A few people had begun wiping at their eyes and noses. Father O’Connell grasped my arms in a very open kind of hug and I wondered if he’d realized my eulogy had basically been a thirteen-year-old’s motivation board on Pinterest. If he did, he didn’t call me out on it in front of Ward’s friends and God. That was nice of him.

We sang a little more, mumbled a few more prayers, and Father O’Connell invited the attendees to join us after the service at the next-door activities center for a short lunch reception. Way too many people accepted the invitation.

I mean, we had plenty of little sandwiches and cake for all of them, I’d just hoped to only have to speak to one or two people before heading home to the comfort of my empty bed and a package of Twizzlers.

Instead, I was passed around like a hot potato from mourner to mourner.

“Oh, Meredith, honey--” (I’d called it, remember?) “--how are you doing? You’re so grown up!”

“You’re such a strong young woman, Meredith Spencer. Why, by your age, I’d only lost one grandparent! I can’t even imagine…”

“Did you enjoy the casserole? I’ve got a recipe for another one I think you’ll like.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you, okay, dear?”

Empty promises from unaffected strangers. They would get to go home and forget about Great-uncle Ward and poor orphaned Meredith Spencer. I guess I could, too, but I had a reception to clean up and casseroles to throw away before I did.

I got a few minutes to sit alone with a plate of grapes and crackers, and someone ruined it by sitting down.

I recognized him. His name was Reid, I thought, but first name or last name, I wasn’t sure.

“Emrys. Right?” He raised an eyebrow. “I thought your parents called you that.”

That’s who he was, yeah: Dr. Jeremy Reid, professor of Elizabethan literature at the university. He’d been a colleague of my parents, and I was pretty sure I’d seen his name on an office door in the last couple of years.

“Oh. Yeah, it’s my middle name. Much cooler than Meredith, but you don’t find it on very many keychains.” I’d been named in honor of my mother’s late sister, but Mom and Dad had always called me Emrys. I wasn’t sure where they’d gotten the name, but I liked it better than my other option.

Dr. Reid smiled drily. “That was a nice eulogy you gave.” His tone told me that he’d seen through my bullshit.

“Thanks,” I muttered. “It was from the heart.”

“You didn’t know him very well?” He didn’t sound accusatory or critical. Just wondering.

I shook my head. “He and my grandfather didn’t speak much.”

“Hm.” Dr. Reid nodded. “Ward was kind of a weird guy. Always well-meaning--he had a heart of gold. Just also a little strange.”

I hadn’t realized they’d been so close. “How so?”

“He was always onto something, you know?” Dr. Reid chuckled. “Just caught up in his head. Daydreams. Or some new idea or story. He talked to himself a lot. And you know, sometimes it really seemed like he believed in all that faerie tale stuff.”

I laughed. “What?”

Dr. Reid grinned. “I know, I know. But Ward talked about faeries and elves and stuff like they were just in another country, instead of another reality. I probably just got the wrong idea. But I guess that’s what happens when you study something like that for so long. Become so dedicated. Hell, I have dreams where I’m having dinner with Christopher Marlowe. At some point, your study becomes your life.”

I stopped smiling. I knew what he meant. It’d been like that for my parents. Always caught up, always busy, always gone.

Dr. Reid seemed to guess what I was thinking. “Margaret and Edward were kind of like that, too, I guess. But I promise, their first priority was always you.”

I didn’t really want to think about that now. I didn’t need to have a stranger tell me how my parents felt about me. Whether I’d been their first priority or their last, they were dead now. Sans priorities. It didn’t matter.

“Thanks,” I said anyway.

Dr. Reid chatted with me for a few more minutes about school and the university, then excused himself to visit with another colleague.

Afterward, a couple of people stayed to help clean up. I assisted the church volunteers in wiping tables and stacking chairs, and then I, laden with plastic food containers, also returned home.

When I got back, my roommate, Daphne, was sprawled out on the couch with a bowl of Doritos, half-covered in a throw-blanket, watching a rom-com on Netflix.

“Hey.”

“Hey!” She peeled her eyes away from the TV and stuck them on me. Noticing the dress and the seven large plastic containers, she scrunched up her eyebrows. “Where’ve you been?”

“Great-uncle Ward’s funeral.”

I put my keys in their usual place on the shelf by the door and slipped off my shoes on the way to the kitchen. Only then did I notice that my casually comfortable flats didn’t actually cover the bird tattoo on my foot. Damn. At least I’d made the effort to look like a “good” kid for the funeral.

I heard the TV go silent. “What?!” Daphne clambered off the couch and followed me into the kitchen. I began to rearrange the food in the refrigerator for our new casseroles and assorted fruits. “That was today? What the hell, why didn’t you tell me?”

I had told her, twice. But Daphne was the kind of friend to invite to the mall, or to a football game, or to employ to stalk your ex to check out their new fling (that story was not mine, but it stands as a good example of Daph’s character). She wasn’t really the kind of friend who comforted you through a distant relative’s funeral.

“I didn’t want to put you through it,” I answered.

The moment of hesitant silence Daphne created was one of gratitude. I didn’t feel as though Daphne and I were particularly close, but I thought I knew how she worked. She’d feel shitty if she thanked me and admitted she hadn’t wanted to go in the first place, but she’d also feel shitty if she lied and said she’d wanted to be there.

To make her feel better, I said, “It’s fine, Daph, it was something I had to do for myself.” I didn’t mean it, but at least she smiled.

“Well, then, good. You should feel proud of yourself.”

I thought back to my speech. I was definitely not proud of myself.

“I guess. I think I’m just going to lie down and take a nap for a while.”

She leaned against the counter. “I thought you had a meeting with the lawyer today. To discuss the whole probate thing?”

“No, that’s--” I glanced at the calendar on the refrigerator. Indeed, on today’s date, I’d written Lawyer, 3:00. “Oh, shit.” How did she always know my schedule better than me?

Daphne looked at her phone. “It’s almost two-thirty, Em.”

I could get there in a half hour. But only if I left now.

I sighed. “Okay, I guess I’ll see you later, then.” I was partially talking to Daphne and partially calling out apologies to my bed. I ran from the kitchen and slipped my shoes back on, grabbing my keys and purse as Daphne laughed a little and wished me luck.

Fortunately, there wasn’t much traffic, though that was fairly usual for our college town. The warm June weather had everyone that wasn’t stuck in summer classes on vacation or inside to avoid the heat.

I parked my car and ran into the law office at two minutes to three, trying to calm my breathing and grateful my black dress wouldn’t show sweat as I took the stairs to the second floor. The receptionist looked a little startled at my appearance.

“Sorry,” I said. “Busy day. Uh. I’m here to see--”

“Miss Spencer,” a voice called to me from down the hall. A short black woman in a red pantsuit stood there, sporting a polite smile. “Come on in.”

“Oh. Never mind,” I told the receptionist. I went to the other woman and held out a hand. “Hi, I’m Emrys Spencer.”

“Kelly Grabel. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You, too.”

She gestured me into her office and I took a seat in front of her imposingly large desk. The cream-and-white walls and conspicuous lack of decoration put me a little on edge. Maybe it was just because I was a person who happened to vomit their personality on everything around them, but I found the lack of personalization of any space a little off-putting. At least the chairs were nice.

“First of all,” said Ms. Grabel, taking a seat opposite me and clicking her mouse before giving me her full attention. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

I nodded. “Thanks.”

“Second of all, we don’t actually have much to talk about today.”

“We don’t?” I’d made sure Ward’s bills had been paid, taken inventory of his assets, and all the right forms had been filled out. Surely I hadn’t done anything wrong; I’d watched Grandpa do it for Grandma, and the lawyer had helped me do all of this last time with Grandpa… I’d expected Ms. Grabel to re-explain the probate process to me, go over the inventory, and try to help me figure out how long it would take to receive my inheritance.

“No. Your great-uncle had good foresight, I guess.” Ms. Grabel opened a folder and held it out to me. There were several sheets of paper, but the two on top I read immediately as a house title and a bank statement. “A few weeks ago, he transferred the house to your name, and he moved most of his funds into a separate savings account that I believe your parents set up for you.”

He had what? But how had he known? Ward had died peacefully but rather spontaneously in his sleep. His heart had just stopped. How had he known to transfer those things in advance? The feeling of guilt again swept over me for not having contacted Ward after Grandpa’s funeral. I wished I’d known him a little better.

“Which means, if nothing else comes up, you should basically already have your inheritance. Everything else Mr. Spencer left to you in his estate isn’t enough to warrant a probate case, so as long as you already have access to it, everything’s yours. The bank should transfer his account to you soon, and you can close it. In your inventory of his estate, I think it was mostly just the house, the car, the accounts, and your parents’ account, yes?”

“Okay, yeah, but--why wasn’t I informed about any of this?” I asked. “My uncle never let me know he was going to do any of this in advance of his death. Wouldn’t I have been contacted if I suddenly owned his house?”

The lawyer just shrugged. “I’m really not sure, Miss Spencer. It’s possible they did attempt to make contact and you just missed it. If you have any issues with it, certainly bring it to me and I’ll do what I can to make sure you get what you’re owed. That goes for the other things, too--if the bank or anyone else gives you a hassle, just give me a call, okay?”

She looked at her computer screen for a moment, then to the folder, then back to me. “But this looks pretty straightforward. All I can say is that I think Mr. Spencer may have realized he wasn’t going to live much longer. He’s saved you a lot of headache by doing things this way, so I suggest just being grateful and moving forward.” She smiled. “You’re also going to want to transfer the utilities accounts from the house to your name as soon as you can, and check on that bank account situation.”

I nodded numbly. “Yeah, I will.”

“Okay. Then let me get you copies of a few of these documents, and I think we can be done here.” She smiled again, and stood up, taking the folder with her and leaving the office.

What?

Because Grandma and Grandpa had been married, a lot of things had been pretty easy with her will. She and Grandpa had had both of their names on a lot of things anyway, like the house, their cars, and their accounts, so there’d been no problem.

When Grandpa died, there had been more difficulty, but nothing awful. It had taken a few months for me to get everything, and a few months more to sort things out. It’d been another long process to get the house sold and pay off the bills, and then finally everything had been settled. As far as I’d been concerned, the state of Virginia was considerably helpful and easy to navigate when it came to inheritance. But this was crazy.

Why hadn’t he reached out to me? If Great-uncle Ward had suspected he wouldn’t be living much longer, wouldn’t he have wanted to reach out to friends and family? In the latter category, I was all he’d had left. He hadn’t wanted to see me, even then? As far as I knew, he hadn’t called on anyone. Did the poor man really spend the last few weeks of his life preparing himself for death alone? It was enough to make my lip wobble and my eyes burn, and I suddenly wish I’d thought harder about my words at the funeral. I could speak eight languages, but I couldn’t come up with words to even genuinely compliment my last living family?

Ms. Grabel’s return was the only thing that kept my emotions in check. I took in a deep breath and sat up straight, and she handed me a new manila folder. “Here you go. That’s a copy of everything I’ve got here, so you should be set. Remember to call the bank and the utility companies, and let me know if you have any problems.”

I took the folder and stood. “Thank you so much, Ms. Grabel, this is--weird.” I tried for a laugh. “Really weird. But I’m glad it could go so smoothly, so thank you for your help.”

“Of course. Have a good day.”

I returned the sentiment and left her office feeling lighter and emptier.

#a grove of vengeance #story #gov

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junker-town · 5 years ago

Text

See you soon, Hannah Roberts

How one of Team USA’s potential breakout Olympic stars is handling the wait.

Luscious green trees surround the outdoor skatepark and grandstands at the UCI Urban Cycling World Championships in Chengdu, China. Freestyle BMX star Hannah Roberts — atop her pink bike, rocking a black full-face helmet — drops in and pedals hard toward a spine ramp. As she launches off the ramp, Roberts begins a 360-degree spin. In the middle of her rotation, she uses the handlebars to whip the bike around separate from her body, becoming the first woman to land a 360 tailwhip in competition.

The historic trick, thrown down on her sport’s biggest stage, epitomized Roberts’ young career. She has never stopped building to bigger and better things.

Rather than give the crowd a fist pump, or take a breather to soak in the momentous occasion, Roberts immediately hits a vert ramp and busts a flair — a backflip with a simultaneous 180-degree turn.

The year before, she took a disappointing third in the event, behind fellow Americans Perris Benegas and Angie Marino. On Nov. 10, 2019, Roberts avenged the loss, winning her second world championship at just 18 years old with a score of 90.0 out of 100.

After wiping away tears, she stood above the rest on the podium, smiling as she accepted a gold medal and a stuffed panda with a leaf in its mouth. She wore UCI’s iconic rainbow jersey, bestowed upon world champions of every cycling discipline since the 1920s.

Just one week earlier, she had won her fourth straight FISE World Cups Series, which also held its final event in Chengdu. Roberts left no question whether she was the best women’s freestyle BMXer in the world.

youtube

“I wanted to have the rainbow jersey going into the Olympic year,” Roberts says. “It was more for myself. I put so much work in, and I was so focused on showing that I wasn’t going to take second or third again. I wanted that year to be all about me, so I threw down some of my bigger tricks.”

Her mother Betty made the trip to Chengdu to watch, after she and Roberts had spent half a year apart. In order to train for the world championships, Roberts effectively emancipated herself from her mother and father in June 2019 while she was still 17.

She moved in with long-time medical trainer Trish Bare Grounds and Trish’s 18-year-old daughter, Olivia, 750 miles away in Holly Springs, North Carolina. As she moved, she changed her diet. More importantly, she strictly budgeted her modest income. Being a teenage action sports prodigy with international acclaim isn’t as lucrative as one might think.

There was no giant check waiting at the podium in Chengdu to signify the €10,000 in prize money she earned, but the win was huge for Roberts. Just four months prior, she wasn’t sure she could sustain her freestyle BMX career into her mid-twenties unless the sport became more financially stable.

The World Championships are one of the few annual competitions to award equal prizes to men and women. By comparison, when she won the final contest of the world series, the Men’s Elite winner took home €8,000 while Roberts received €1,500.

And though Roberts’ accomplishments show how far women’s freestyle BMX has come in recent years in terms of talent and viability, they are also a reminder of the wage and sponsorship gap that persists between male and female athletes. As impressive as Roberts and her peers have been, the most famous annual extreme sports event, the X Games, still won’t let them compete.

The now-postponed summer Olympics were supposed to be a launch pad for the sport and for Roberts. The games drew an estimated 3.6 billion viewers for the Rio Games in 2016. Freestyle BMX will be an event for the first time ever in Tokyo, and Roberts is the clear favorite to take home gold.

“Women are the future of our sport,” says Nina Buitrago, a pioneer of women’s BMX who continues to be one of the sports biggest advocates. “They’re very marketable, and it’s a big thing that BMX has needed for a long time. It’s just incredible that with something like the Olympics, it’s catapulted all of us in to try to progress more and just own our journey.”

Roberts is ready to lead the charge; unfortunately, there’s only so much she can control. She did everything right heading into the 2020 games — kept herself afloat financially, trained relentlessly, won everything she needed to and then some.

But she couldn’t predict the coronavirus pandemic that has put her Olympic dreams, and those of countless others, on hold until 2021 at the earliest. Roberts is used to addressing her problems through sheer willpower. Being forced to wait, a budding star without a showcase, has been an entirely different challenge.

In South Bend, Indiana, around the back of an old brick chocolate factory, past a chain-link gate and barbed-wire fence, and at the other end of a parking lot with cracked concrete, sits an old mattress factory-turned-world-class skatepark. The indoor park known as “The Kitchen” is closed most weekdays, but on an unusually warm Monday afternoon in February, the front door is unlocked. Roberts is home for the first time in more than six months to enjoy her formative skatepark.

That evening, she will ride with three boys between the ages of 11 and 14 who she has mentored for years. Roberts was invited to the park for a private session for them and their parents. She practically had no choice — she happened to be in town, and they were blowing up her phone all day begging to celebrate.

The official Team USA Instagram account posted a photo of Roberts earlier that afternoon announcing she was the first American to ever qualify for the Olympics in freestyle BMX.

View this post on Instagram

WATCH OUT, 18-year-old @hannah_roberts_bmx is the first American to qualify for the Olympics in BMX freestyle ‼️

A post shared by Team USA (@teamusa) on Feb 3, 2020 at 9:33am PST

“They’re supposed to be in school,” Roberts says, “but they were on their phones during the day and took screenshots, sent it to me and asked, ‘Did you see this?’ The first three times I told them ‘no,’ but finally, I just responded, ‘Do you want to ride tonight?’”

For hours, Roberts and her young pupils film each other on their phones while they attempt high-flying tricks into a large yellow foam pit and eat slices of greasy pizza. She’s proud of how they have improved under her tutelage. Their parents comment on how much she has inspired them. Roberts also expects this will be one of her last carefree runs before she transitions to a training regimen suitable for an Olympic athlete. She sits and soaks in nostalgia from her surroundings instead of sending her own tricks into the foam pit.

“The last four years of me living here, I rode with every one of these kids almost every day,” Roberts says. “I’d pick them up from their house if they needed a ride or I’d take them to a skatepark. If I wanted to make a day trip to Ohio just to ride something different, they were always in my car going with me.”

According to her mother, Roberts is at her happiest when she’s working with kids, though she still fits within a broad definition of “adolescent” herself.

“[Hannah] was the first girl I saw do a tailwhip. Once she has a trick, she can just do it. It’s not like it’s luck.” - Nina Buitrago, freestyle BMX pioneer

Roberts grew up in the 4,000-person town of Buchanan, Michigan, a few miles north of the Indiana state border and a 20-minute drive from South Bend. Decades ago, Buchanan’s rolling terrain gave birth to RedBud MX, one of America’s signature motocross tracks and now an annual stop for the Lucas Oil Pro Motocross Championship. In the fall of 2018, the track even hosted Motocross of Nations, which is billed as the “Olympics of motocross,” drawing riders from all over the world.

The fact Buchanan produced a world-renowned extreme sports athlete like Roberts isn’t a surprise. But Roberts is unique because her success never came on a dirt bike. If not for her father’s disapproval, Roberts might have given motocross a real shot, but the closest she ever came was working a taco stand at RedBud MX during her summers.

Her passion for BMX was passed on from her older cousin, Brett “Mad Dog” Banasiewicz, once an up-and-comer on the Dew Tour. In 2012, as a shaggy black-haired 17-year-old, he won his first Dew Tour park event in Ocean City, Maryland. The following week, his professional career came to a devastating end. During a practice session, he landed on his head while attempting a 720° and wearing an uncertified helmet. He temporarily lost the use of his left arm, and his motor and speech skills will never fully recover.

“It was horrible. To me, he was gonna be the next Dave Mirra,” says Daniel Dhers, one of the most decorated BMX riders of all-time. “He just learned how to compete. He had all these tricks that he’d worked on for years. He had the looks, and he could talk, and was funny. If he were riding today? He’d be the guy in the Olympics, for sure. That would be crazy because then it would be him and Hannah.”

Via Hannah Roberts

Roberts herself has suffered numerous broken bones, but fear of suffering an injury like Banasiewicz doesn’t hold her back.

“You can take all the safety precautions in the world, but it still could happen,” Roberts says. “Brett fell on a trick that he’d mastered, that he’d been doing forever. It was five seconds and everything changed.”

Before the injury, a 16-year-old Banasiewicz self-funded and, with the help of his friend Glenn Salyers, designed The Kitchen. They equipped it with enormous ramps, foam pits, and “resi” ramps, which are covered in foam and a thick sheet of black rubber. By the time she was riding at nine years old, Roberts had access to one of the nation’s premier skateparks.

Swiss-American freestyle rider Nikita Ducarroz, five years Roberts’ senior and a likely qualifier for the 2020 Olympics for Switzerland, remembers trekking to The Kitchen from her Southern California home for a competition as a teenager. She almost froze at the magnitude of its jumps.

“The ramps at The Kitchen are huge,” Ducarroz says. “I remember going there, and I couldn’t even cruise the boxes and [Hannah’s] doing tricks over them.”

By middle school, Roberts was already performing tricks that seasoned veterans with sponsorships had never seen.

“She was the first girl I saw do a tailwhip,” Buitrago says. “Once she has a trick, she can just do it. It’s not like it’s luck.”

But as much as The Kitchen spurred Roberts’ BMX education, she eventually realized she had to leave it behind.

For years, Roberts believed members of her inner circle credited The Kitchen for too much of her success, disregarding her work ethic and determination. And she could only spend so much time mentoring other young BMXers without sacrificing her own progress.

“I love riding with the locals,” Roberts says. “I love helping them, but it comes to a point where, in every session, if you’re focusing on other people riding, which I love to do, your riding starts to fall.”

Roberts gave up her passion for mentoring, at least temporarily, to better her career. She had felt the pain of losing the 2018 World Championships and the rainbow jersey. She never wants to let that happen again.

Holly Springs — a pine tree- and strip mall-filled landscape similar to every other suburb in the Raleigh, N.C., metropolitan area — has quickly become the new mecca of freestyle BMX. That’s largely thanks to Dhers, who owns the massive indoor-outdoor skatepark known as the Daniel Dhers Action Sports Complex. Dhers, 35, is a five-time X Games gold medalist originally from Venezuela.

From the front, the DDASC looks like an office building or outlet store, industrial gray brick and dark windows covering the outside. The inside doesn’t look like what a typical sports fan might expect from an Olympic training facility. Plywood and two-by-fours are the predominant decor. But the 37,000-square-foot complex is considered one of the largest and best family-oriented, year-round skating and biking facilities in the world.

After spending her entire life in the Midwest, Roberts moved to Holly Springs to train at the DDASC because, unlike most other Olympic athletes, the best BMX riders like to train side-by-side, pushing each other.

The park officially opens to the public every weekday from 3 to 8 p.m. Dhers and the other pros do most of their riding in the morning to avoid crowds of young kids on scooters, but they often make exceptions on Tuesday evenings.

Recently, Roberts was joined by two other women riders: Ducarroz and Benegas, the winner of the 2018 World Championships. Roberts and Benegas are teammates and rivals. Their tug-of-war relationship only intensified after both became near-locks to qualify for the Olympics.

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“It’s very competitive now,” Roberts says. “We call it winning practice, which makes no sense because it’s practice, but everybody wants to win.”

The male riders include Dhers, Marin Ranteš of Croatia, American Justin Dowell and Australian Brand Loupos. All have finished on the podium at major UCI and FISE BMX events over the last two years.

During training sessions at the DDASC, each rider takes turns dropping in from the deck and riding for 30 to 40 seconds at a time, watching each other and offering criticism and encouragement. On one run, Roberts lands a tailwhip onto resi with relative ease. She then rides around the skatepark to pick up speed and hits the same ramp, performing a 360° tuck no-hander in which, while letting go of the bike, she leans her stomach against the handlebars before grabbing them again and landing.

Much of her competition would be thrilled with this short run, but Roberts is just getting started.

“Backflip bar spins over spines is her warm-up trick in sessions,” Ducarroz says.

Unfortunately, the sport of freestyle BMX hasn’t progressed as quickly as its athletes.

Freestyle BMX has been around since the mid-1970s, but didn’t achieve international prominence until the late 90s and early 2000s, after the X Games were started. Yet, to this day, women BMXers aren’t allowed to vie for a medal in the competition.

Instead, the most that X Games organizers have been willing to give them is an unpaid demonstration, the first of which occurred in 2014. For 10 years before that, X Games offered a girls BMX clinic. The riders hope that, one day, women’s freestyle BMX will have its own competition, similar to what women’s skateboarding and snowboarding have enjoyed for years.

It’s a big risk, especially the year before the Olympics, to ride at an event where you won’t make money ... [The X Games] are just a big slap in the face” - Hannah Roberts

“We’ve been working on this relationship with X Games for so long,” Buitrago says. “I feel like we’re so close, but they just were like, ‘Well, we’re just going to offer you another demo again.’ The deal that we made was [that] women are down to do the demo, so long as every year we’re working towards having an actual contest.”

But everyone has their limits. In 2018, when she was16, Roberts became the first prominent female rider to bail on the X Games, deciding her skills were worth more than a free hotel room and limited exposure. Some of the other professional riders protested her decision, saying it wasn’t best for the sport, but her mind was made up.

The following year, the entire women’s class agreed to boycott the event.

“It’s a big risk, especially the year before the Olympics, to ride at an event where you won’t make money,” Roberts says. “We barely get a crowd. They have it at like 9 or 10 a.m., so nobody’s really there. No events are going on. It’s just a big slap in the face.

“People should really open their eyes and realize that the class [of women] is growing. That people are getting better and it will take time for us to be on the same level as the men just because of the support. It’s hard to make [BMX] a career.”

Roberts learned from a young age that practice, more than exposure, would propel her career.

At the DDASC, Dhers is the unofficial coach of the group. He periodically pulls riders aside for extra one-on-one attention while they train. When Roberts first moved to Holly Springs, her day-to-day riding was inconsistent. One day, she might push herself beyond her limits, risking injury and wearing herself out. The next, she’d spend too much time on her phone or drinking an energy drink. Dhers and the other pros helped her change her mentality by pushing her to take a more mindful, calculated approach to practicing new tricks.

Now she’s deliberate about how much time she spends sending a trick to the foam pit, only moving to resi once she feels she’s ready, then moving to a wooden ramp when the trick is nearly perfect.

“I used to just send things [on a wooden ramp] and then go back on resi and then go back in the foam and work on them, which was a terrible idea,” Roberts says.

Her new mentality has paid real dividends. For instance, on a six-week training trip she took to Australia after her victory at the World Championships, Roberts learned more than two dozen new tricks, including what she called five or six “big tricks.” During that time, she traveled throughout the country, staying with Australian rider Natalya Diehm.

Roberts knew she had to evolve. She noticed other women catching up to her, and the number of competitors increasing exponentially. She’s stubborn according to those who know her well. She got to the top of her profession as a teenager, after all, even before she got to Holly Springs.

According to Dhers, Roberts’ persistent ‘send-it mentality’ came from her Kitchen days, riding massive ramps with no one to tell her she shouldn’t. On ramps that size, riders must possess a certain degree of fearlessness to commit to a trick. It was there she learned a fundamental lesson of the sport.

“If you baby it, you die,” Dhers says. “You don’t make it.”

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The Covid-19 pandemic first hit the freestyle BMX world Feb. 22 when FISE and the UCI canceled the World Cup event scheduled for May in Pu Yang, China. A few weeks later, a second World Cup event in Hiroshima was postponed indefinitely. After a period of insisting the games would be held as scheduled, the International Olympic Committee finally announced on March 24 the postponement of the Tokyo Games until 2021.

In the days following the news, Roberts spent more time in her bedroom than at the DDASC, moving back and forth from her bed, to playing video games, to her desk to email Team USA and other sponsors.

Focusing on a few companies at a time, she figured out which of her sponsorships were most impacted. The Milk Processor Education Program, the group behind the “Got Milk?” campaign, adjusted their contract with Roberts, but her contracted sponsorships within the BMX industry — Tioga, Alienation, Hyper Bike and Snafu — were still intact.

“It’s still just a little frustrating going through all the emails and making sure that we’re all on the same page and we all know what’s happening, who’s getting paid when and what is expected of me,” Roberts says.

Perhaps the biggest frustration was the notion that all the hard work she’d been putting in towards the Olympics — the stringent riding schedule, changes to her diet, dedication to the gym — wouldn’t pay off like she had planned.

“I was happy that the committee put in the consideration for athletes’ health,” Roberts says, “but it’s also disappointing and nerve-wracking because you have to keep the Olympic mindset for the next year and deal with all the same stuff over again.”

Thankfully, Roberts will not have to requalify. She will represent Team USA at the Olympics in 2021. And she’s still training.

Because of the pandemic, skateparks all across the country are closed to the public, including the DDASC. But all the pros agreed that if they only saw each other, and had all groceries and food delivered, that they could continue to practice together. Dhers turned the upper deck of the skatepark into a mini gym, equipped with dumbbells, a pull-up bar and two plastic trash cans attached at opposite ends of a workout bar.

Roberts still rides for three to four hours a day with the group, but she works out at home in the afternoons using exercise bands. She also tries to get up at 6 a.m. every morning for cardio and stretching. The UCI rainbow jersey hanging in her bedroom closet helps keep her focused.

“When I don’t feel like riding in the morning or when I don’t feel like getting up and going to the session or the workout, I look at it and it gives me that extra motivation,” Roberts says. “It’s like, ‘I don’t want to lose this again.’”

This should have been the year when Roberts’ profile skyrocketed. Through no fault of her own, 2020 feels like a step back, a disheartening tumble after a redemptive 2019. Still, it’s difficult to know how much an Olympic gold medal would elevate her career.

“CNN could pick it up and then boom, she’s a famous superstar, or no one could pick it up and then nothing ever happens,” Dhers says. “How many Olympic gold medalists are there for the women in other sports and no one knows they exist?”

Roberts doesn’t seem to be banking on superstardom, at least. For now, she’s being frugal, saving almost every dime from her contest winnings.

Certainly, the more visible Roberts is, the more popular she and the sport can become. For years, Roberts has been considered a leader in freestyle BMX because of her strong example. That ‘send-it mentality,’ again.

“One thing I’ve learned is that when you see a woman do something, you’re like, ‘oh, my gosh, it’s possible,’” Buitrago says. “For whatever reason, you see guys do the same trick but when you see a woman do [a trick] that you haven’t ever seen them do before, you’re like, ‘Oh, my God. Yes.’”

But Roberts doesn’t focus much on the stakes, only on how she’s pushing herself at any point in time. Others may see unlimited potential, and an opportunity for fame and possibly fortune, but her goals are intrinsic.

“I don’t necessarily want to be the best woman BMX rider,” Roberts says. “I would rather just be a good or great BMX rider, in general, rather than having the woman or the man label on it.

“I just do whatever I think is possible and if it works out, it works out. And if not, try it again.”

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pyrewriter · 5 years ago

Text

Schools Out

Balloons, lights, music and proud parents clapping and cheering as they watch their children dressed in suits and wrapped in dresses, get handed a scroll that declares them Graduates. One by one each class of students and their parents or attending guardians were ushered into their seats in front of the stage built in the courtyard. Every class had an elected representative that would give a speech after everyone received their diplomas. Adrien had been standing on the roof overlooking the courtyard watching as everyone graduated, he wanted to be there for one of the most important moments of their lives. Having grown used to her brother being just out of sight Fe' spotted him shortly after the ceremonies began, she waved giving a smile.

Adrien didn't know most of the classes that went on stage but he stayed nonetheless, Plagg found this boring but respected Adrien's decision to stay instead flying off to talk with Tikki. Really he only stayed to watch Marc graduate but didn't know which class they were in so he stayed to watch them all, while he waited he chatted with his precursors. When Marc's class was up Adrien was surprised and happy to see he had been elected class representative. Nathaniel had arrived early to be by his side along with Fe' while Marc gave his speech, which was met with great applause. It was dusk now and the cloudy sky was radiating with beautiful tones of orange and red, only one class remained, the class he had been waiting for all day. Watching from a distance left a slight tinge of sadness in Adrien's chest ,it was graduation, and here he was standing in the shadow of the sunset only able to show silent support.

Marinette had been elected class rep but she invited Chloe to the stand, placing one arm around her and smiling ,they had grown close, and together they delivered a short but inspirational speech.

M: "Hardships"

C: "Change"

M: "Disasters and Akuma's are all things we have endured but we keep moving, we've helped and supported each other through it all"

C: "We will not be stopped from living our best lives and choosing how we live them"

M: "Today marks the day we move on to the next part of our lives, I just wish we could have done it all together" she choked up clutching something tightly, holding it close to her chest.

Now Chloe put an arm around Mari continuing seamlessly "We just wish that a member of our class and dear friend went missing could be here and since this is being broadcast live-". The class, Marc and Fe' all gathered around the podium.

Marinette put on her best smile and held up another scroll, letting it fall open to reveal a diploma with one of the few photos that exist of him with a real smile. "Wherever you are ,if you’re watching, congratulations Adrien, you're an honorary graduate" she said looking into the camera that was broadcasting the ceremony live. On the roof Adrien was happy enough to make him shed a tear in gratitude to his friends, Nalma and other precursors placed their hands on his shoulder though he could not feel it. Shortly after the ceremony finished Plagg had returned and congratulated Adrien at a safe distance not wanting to get grabbed and hugged again.

Nino and Fe' met up with Adrien back at the tavern where he and Milo greeted them with shots from the same bottle of whiskey they had been drinking from since they finished renovations. And so once more they celebrated with a shot for everyone, unfortunately Chat Noir needed to go on patrol but before he left he grabbed the picnic bag he had prepared earlier. He knew that his partner had also graduated that day though he did not know from what grade nor school she was graduating from.

"Bonsoir Mon Minou, you seem happy" Ladybug greeted warmly as Chat Noir approached humming.

"Bonsoir Ladybug, of course I'm cheery, my partner and almost everyone I've known graduated today why would I not be" Chat replied.

She shrugged "Looks like you and I are in the same boat so I guess you're right, what's in the sack?" she asked pointing to the bag slung over her partner's shoulder.

"I made some celebratory meals for us and our Kwamis" he explained reaching into the bag, adding as he pulled everything out "I'll sit on your right and I brought a mask so you don't-". He was cut off by a flash followed by a hand reaching for his face, the distinct lack of a red suit with black spots let him know what she was doing. Before she could turn his face Chat forced his eyes shut and mentally muted his connection with his precursors, a displeased frown forming on his mask.

"Chaton, please our Kwami's know who we are and they want us to, why don't you trust me?" she asked pleadingly.

"Plagg, Claws In" gently ,with eyes still shut, he removed her hands from his face holding one in place as he reached into the bag and pulled out a sandwich holding it between them. In a relaxed yet caring voice he stated "I trust with my life-" placing the sandwich in her hand before letting go then pulling out a slice of Camembert and cookie "-But not my secrets". He was comfortable being de-transformed around his partner now because she didn't know who he was and revealing that he was Adrien could destroy her. But making up an identity would put him back at square one, he didn't want to revert to living two lives ,it would only become an intricate web, and he refused to weave another. Quietly unwrapping her sandwich and taking a bite Marinette silently accepted Chat Noir's bitter sweet words, it was to know that he trusted her.

Taking a bite and swallowing she was surprised at how good the food tasted "This is really good, are you sure you made this?" she asked jokingly trying to lighten the mood.

"You wound me Ladybug, I might not have gone to culinary school but I do know how to make basic restaurant food" he replied adding with a chuckle "-part of the job after all".

Marinette laughed at the dramatic movements he always did, "So are you going to eat something or am I going have to feed you?".

Removing his mask and leaning close enough to feel her breath Adrien channeled his inner flirt, opening his eyes he peered into her and in a voice as smooth as silk "If that is what you desire~". He was so close now that all she could see were the green eyes that were locked with hers rendering her unable to look away. She became flustered ,his eyes reminded her of Adrien's, and it had been so long since he had made a flirty comment she was caught off guard and couldn't form full sentences. They stayed staring into each other's eyes for only a few seconds before he once more closed his eyes. Pulling back he chuckled offhandedly remarking "You're still cute when you get nervous and flustered, reminds me of a girl I knew". Marinette's face went red from embarrassment, she took a large bite of her sandwich chewing it angrily as she tried to pretend like she was fine.

Out of curiosity she cast a glance over to her partner, she knew that he was Adrien's look alike but even in the dark the resemblance was striking. The four of them talked and joked between bites as they ate, enjoying the light and carefree atmosphere, they wished it was like this all the time. When the food was gone and their Kwamis were asleep a silence fell between them. Adrien was content with enjoying his partner’s presence but he could tell she was anxious. After a few minutes Marinette broke it thanking him for the meal and saying goodbye before transforming and zipping off as Ladybug. He stayed behind lighting an I.C. to relax with Plagg and connect with his precursors before he had to leave for his shift.

Nino had promised work in the Tavern when he was done with school and Fe' offered to lend a hand when she could so it wasn't the end of the world if Adrien was a minute or two late. He was wondering what Fe' planned to do now that school was out though, the distinction of 'when she could' had some implications to it that left him curious. After discussing it with Plagg and his precursors he pushed the thought to the back of his mind ,transformed, and headed for the tavern. It was a slightly busier than a normal night because of graduation but with an extra set of hands the workload was easy for them to handle. At the end of the night after everything was cleaned up and those who had drank more than their share were put to bed Milo volunteered to stay.

"I'll stay here with the 'sleeping beauties up stares" he said shooing them out the door.

"You sure uncle, it's the weekend" Nino protested.

Milo shook his head "It's graduation day and you all worked the night, I'll take babysitting duty tonight, you kids go home and relax" he told them smiling as he closed the doors.

The three of them looked at each other and shrugged, "I'll see you later Bro and maybe you too, Sis" Nino said exiting the alley with a wave leaving Adrien and Fe' alone.

"Plagg, you rested enough for the trip home, I didn't bring the bike" Adrien asked opening his jacket, the Kwami yawned but nodded silently "Plagg, Claws Out". In a flash he was Chat Noir "Hop on'' he said turning his back to Fe' and bending down slightly, she hopped on and wrapped herself around him tightly as he launched onto the roof. They didn't talk much during the trip back to her house but he did ask a question he remembered from earlier. "Hey Fe', school's out now, so what's the plan you don't seem like the type to work full time at the tavern".

"I've got my schedule filled, don't worry about me, what about you?" she asked.

"What about me?".

Fe' shifted "Well the tavern is a good night job and being a hero keeps you busy most of the time but what about when you finally stop Hawkmoth, what then?".

Chat was silent for a moment, "Haven't thought that far ahead yet but you know me ,always the one to think on his feet, I'll be fine" he told her.

"That's not what I asked" she retorted, they were almost to the apartment now. He was silent until the school was in sight, the large banner reading "Congrats grads" still hung above the entrance.

When he spoke his tone was serious and level, he had thought of what came Hawkmoth and he didn't like the implications. "Even when or if we finally find and defeat Hawkmoth this city will still need people to watch over it, crime rate in the city has gone down exponentially since our appearance. If we were to disappear with the threat that brought us there could be serious repercussions, all I can do is hope that is the one who granted me this power allows me to keep it. Fe' there are forces in play that I don't know how they will act when our job is done". All he could do was hope for the best ,but he hated that, he hated things so far out of his control when he knew the shortcomings of those who would take what they gave him. "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it, for now though I'm on the front line and I'll be damned if I won't protect this city" he stated assertively with determination in his voice.

Squeezing him tightly as they free fell to street level landing in front of her building Fe' whispered "That's the Brother I know and love" before getting off. De-transforming Adrien walked Fe' to her apartment picking up a now not so small Belial letting him lay over his shoulder before saying goodnight. Plagg was too exhausted to even eat the Camembert he was snuggling with in the pocket that he had chosen for the night. Adrien figured he would wake up and eat before morning, not quite being tired yet he decided to make the climb to his sleeping spot. The climb was enough to tire him out, lighting another I.C. he sat with his eyes closed petting Belial as he said goodnight to Plagg, his Precursors, and Belial eventually dozing off.

Inside Marinette found it hard to sleep, her mind raced trying to answer unnecessary questions that had formed during her time with Chat Noir. "Why does he wear s mask, what is Chat's real name, what secrets is he keeping?" all these and the one question that still gnawed at her after so many months "What changed while I was gone". She paced back and forth in her room for hours mumbling these questions aloud attempting to formulate answers from what she already knew. When nothing came to her she found herself desperately wishing that Plagg would come casually floating through her wall to tell her all his wisdom of the man behind Noir.

As if summoned by her dilemma Plagg did come floating in, he entered through the same wall he always did ,just about the round window looking out over the street, but something was off. Marinette greeted him quietly ,not wanting to wake Tikki, but he didn't respond in kind with his usual greeting, instead he mumbled unintelligibly and burped. Marinette approached him as he slowly floated across the room and immediately found what was wrong, he was asleep and possibly dreaming. She poked the Kwami to try and wake him which startled him causing him to yelp and fly straight up through the roof before she knew what happened.

Blinking a few times she looked up toward where Plagg disappeared to, with an annoyed sigh she grabbed a pair of socks and prepared to go onto her balcony. Plagg, who was confused and still dazed from exhaustion looked around at his somewhat familiar surroundings. After rubbing his eyes and taking a moment to orient himself he shrugged not knowing why he was floating over the Ladybug wielders balcony. Flying over the edge and back down to Adrien he phased his way back into the cheese pocket.

"Plagg?" Marinette asked in an only slightly hushed voice as she stuck her head through the balcony hatch, reaching up she turned on the string lights before climbing up. "Where did that crazy Kwami fly off to?" she thought to herself looking around, when there was no sign of him she was about to go back inside when something caught her eye. A small wisp-like trail of greenish purple smoke dancing in the breeze, it was coming from somewhere below the railing at the end of her balcony. Slowly she approached the edge looking down once she reached it to see a figure garbed in a familiar outfit with a cigarette that smelled of lavender burning in their mouth. "Chat?" she called over the edge confused ,there was no response, "Chat Noir" she called again louder this time, still no response.

She grunted in frustration before walking off, returning with a stress ball, throwing it at the figure she thought to be Chat Noir hitting him square in the head and bounced. The sudden impact jolted him awake causing him to convulse which shook Belial awake making him stretch and yawn. Looking around he noticed lights and a figure above him and a foam ball in his lap. Spitting out his I.C. he grabbed the ball he stood up and leaped toward the balcony grabbing onto the railing with one hand.

"Some people are trying to-" he snarled, his mask still removed, and arm raised ready to throw but stopped upon realizing who it was, Marinette was taken aback in surprise and mild fear. For a second the two they stared at each other, long enough for Belial to hop off his shoulder and onto the balcony. He broke the silence, "My apologies I believe this is yours" he said lowering his am and handing her the ball.

"It, it's fine, are you ok?" she asked, putting the ball down and reaching for his face, regardless of who this person was she was concerned.

Seeing her reach for him he realized that his face was still uncovered, turning from the light quickly taking out his mask and putting it on to cover his face. "I'd appreciate it if you furr-got what you saw" he said trying to salvage the situation with a weak laugh.

Marinette pulled her hand back, this was definitely Chat Noir but he was de-transformed and she didn't recognize his face, his resemblance to Adrien was striking save for the distinguishing scar. "Chat Noir?" she asked her voice unsteady and concerned, he didn't respond. She wasn't sure what to do, she could reveal herself to him now but that could scare him off for good but this was probably the only chance she was going to get to learn anything about her partner. "You are Chat Noir aren't you, why are you sleeping outside?" she pressed trying her best to play dumb but sound concerned.

Adrien sighed disguising his relief "Good she believed the ruse" he thought to himself but she had clearly seen his scar, he needed to make sure she didn't tell anyone. "Marinette, right?" he started waiting for her response before continuing.

"That's my name, yes"

"Adrien has told me a lot about you-" he said climbing up to sit on the railing like a cat.

"What are you doing sleeping outside Chat Noir, you should go home" She told him, probing.

Chuckling he replied sarcastically "Paris is my home" Belial walked along the railing to sit beside him "Correction, 'our' home" he added stroking his purring companion.

She scowled "That's not what I meant and you know it, we aren't strangers Chat what's wrong, what happened". Marinette was right that she and Chat Noir were not strangers, he had saved her on a number of occasions even going so far as to work together to defeat a few Akuma's. However they have never spoken in length unless it was to plan or Chat telling a group she was in what they needed to do. Her view of Chat had changed significantly since his shift to a more professional demeanor when he was with her as Ladybug, pieces were mentally beginning to slide into place. Chat's costume change, his professionalism, him ceasing to chase her romantically and his involvement in Adrien's disappearance all must stem from the event that scarred him.

Changing to a normal sitting position he said "I meant what I said Paris is my home and nothing short of a cat-astrophy could ruin today, I'm all smiles" tracing a smile across his mask. "But on the note of smiles..." his voice lowered "I need your word that you won't say a word of what you saw to anyone ,not even Ladybug, can I trust you?" he asked.

She froze for a moment, it was rare that Chat let his serious side show so openly, especially around civilians considering that he was still feared to a certain degree by the public. While Marinette was honored that he trusted her with the secret of what was behind his mask ,even if it was out of his hands, at the same time she was annoyed that he did. "Why are you hiding so much of yourself from Ladybug aren't the two of you partners?" she asked hoping if he trusted her civilian self enough she might be able to learn more.

Shaking his head he replied "I'm an old soul Marinette, I've seen and done some shit I'm not proud of but there is no doubt in my mind that I'll do and see some more. People who think that they know me believe that I'm 'above' stuff like that but the truth is I’m neck deep in it". He inhaled deeply holding it for a moment before releasing "People who know me through and through know that there are few things I truly hate to do. Hurting those I care about or trust because they thought I was something I'm not is one of them". Echoing what he said to Ladybug he told her "I trust Ladybug with my life but not my secrets" adding "-but it's for more than privacy, I do it for their sake".

Marinette clenched a fist, she wanted to slap him, she wanted to tell him that she was ladybug right then and there but didn't, all she could bring her self to do was say "Stupid cat".

"Hahahaha you sound just like her" he pulled out his phone checking the time "It's late you should get some sleep, I need to start patrol" he said feeling a tap on his chest. He whistled for Belial who jumped to his shoulder, "Plagg, Claws Out" turning to leap away he looked back "It was nice to finally meet you in a more casual setting. Maybe I'll drop by again sometime, till then 'Purr-incess'".

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#Bare Your Teeth #Chapter 16 #miraculous fanfic

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lookbackmachine · 6 years ago

Text

Disney’s Science Court History

Disney's Science Court

Listen to the Podcast Here: https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/the-look-back-machine/id1257301677?mt=2

00:03 Narrator: It was 1968, the Vietnam War was heading into its 13th year but in a quaint Newton, Massachusetts home another war was about to begin, only this time the battlefield was children's television. It was in January of that year that Peggy Charren formed the Action for Children's Television Group, better known as ACT. It only took one meeting to start, but her battle to increase the educational quality and moral values of television would last until her death in 2015. Charren's cause was noble, she saw that children spent more time in front of a TV than in a classroom and wanted television to be utilized as a supplementary education. She wanted something beyond cartoons that were prolonged commercials to sell product. Over the years she was successful with banning candy vitamin commercials and had many other small triumphs, but ACT's biggest win came with the Children's Television Act of 1990. Its most significant action was calling for three hours of educational programming a week on network. Unfortunately, there was very little enforcement. Then in 1996, more stringent rules for enforcing educational television were enacted with the backing of President Bill Clinton. It began on June 29, 1996, when a star-studded summit was held at the White House, with Clinton giving the opening remarks.

01:27 Bill Clinton: The ability of the United States to make the 21st century the age of greatest possibility in our nation's history depends in no small measure on our ability to build strong families today. To help our parents to succeed, not only in the workplace, but in their most important job; raising good well-educated, well-balanced, successful children. That is why we have worked so hard to give our families more control over one of the most influential forces in our nation, television. As all of you know better than I, it is now a major part of our national landscape. A typical child watches 25,000 hours of television before his or her 18th birthday. Preschoolers watch 28 hours of television a week and, at least during the Olympics, so do presidents. Now we have the opportunity to use the airways for something positive, educational programming as great as our kids.

02:22 Narrator: After finishing his speech Clinton sat down right next to Bill Cosby in a room full of ghosts from '90s past, LeVar Burton, Al Gore, Tipper, Hillary and Peggy Charren herself.

02:35 Peggy Charren: I'm here as a parent and even a grandparent and I was afraid I would float right by the podium 'cause I'm so pleased to be here today for what I think is a very historic event. This is the first time in 26 years that we have all parts of the problem agreeing that we really have to do something to put terrific TV for kids on the air. I didn't know when I went to the Federal Communications Commission 26 years ago, what a political problem children's television was. I thought, you know, I'd talk to the networks and a few stations and say, "Hey, parents, are ready for something terrific. Just give it to us and we'll work to glue the kids to the couch." It turned out that there were a whole lot of political forces keeping that from happening. When the Children's Television Act passed I thought, "This is it". That was six years ago. "We're gonna get what we need". Well, that didn't turn out quite as I had hoped because it didn't really set a level playing field for what's terrific. And what's wonderful about today is that it does just that. So it's as helpful to the broadcasters, I think, as it is to America's families.

03:47 Peggy Charren: And as far as thank you's go, what I discovered is that if the White House, if the people that are working to make the world work better in this country, aren't focused on a problem, it probably won't happen. And I wanna thank President Bill Clinton, and Vice President Al Gore, and their spouses, Tipper Gore and Hillary Clinton, for focusing on what some people may think of as a little piece of the problems of educating our children to grow up happy, healthy, wise and participating members of a democracy. It's not little, as the president said, "Anything they spend so much time with, we should spend as much time as we can making wonderful." And I think this is the beginning of a new partnership, and I promise I will supply glue to America's parents to glue the kids to the couch so they watch what's wonderful. Thank you very much.

04:43 Speaker 4: Great job Peggy!

[applause]

04:48 Narrator: The meeting broadcast on C-SPAN was rather uneventful and more like a self-congratulatory brunch with a few concerns for the future thrown in, but there were a few moments that stood out like how strange it is when Tipper Gore says her husband's name.

05:03 Tipper Gore: And I don't have to tell all of you that are parents that the television battles were only one of the many battles that are fought in the home. Now, when our children began to be at that age where they were engaged in critical viewing, I became more aware as did Al.

05:20 Narrator: And there was Ed Fritz, the President of the National Association of Broadcasters, who had the best quote of the night.

05:27 Ed Fritz: Let me begin by making clear, as broadcasters, we consider ourselves Americans first and broadcasters second.

05:36 Narrator: Though the real highlight of the ceremony was Fred Rogers, Mr. Rogers, who painstakingly recited an entire song from The Neighborhood without a single child being in the room.

05:48 Fred Rogers: There's a song that I sing on The Neighborhood that talks about feeling of anger and it just seems to me it's so important that we give children a whole wide variety of ways to deal with the things that they're feeling. And I say, What do you do with the mad that you feel, when you feel so mad you could bite? When the whole wide world seems oh, so wrong and nothing you do seems very right. What do you do? Do you punch a bag? Do you pound some clay or some dough? Do you round up friends for a game of tag? Or see how fast you go? It's great to be able to stop when you've planned the thing that's wrong and be able to do something else instead. And think this song: I can stop when I want to. Can stop when I wish. Can stop, stop, stop, any time. And what a good feeling to feel like this, and know that the feeling is really mine. Know that there's something deep inside that helps us become what we can. For a girl can be some day a woman and a boy can be some day, a man.

07:13 Narrator: In addition, he also requested another awkward 30 seconds of silence.

07:18 Fred Rogers: And I wonder if you would mind if we would take just a half minute to think about all the people in our lives who have helped us to become who we are. Anybody who has wanted you to know that you have value, would you mind taking a half minute to think of those people? Half minute of silence. I'll watch the time.

[chuckle]

[noise]

08:24 Fred Rogers: Well, whomever you've been thinking about, whether they're here, or far away, or even in heaven, imagine how proud they must be to think that you felt they made such a difference in your life.

08:39 Narrator: Only to redeem himself completely by the end of his speech.

08:43 Fred Rogers: It's people like the ones you've been thinking about who need to fill the hours of children's television. We need to let people know, let our children know, that such people are real and that our children can become such people. Of course, there are many other things that television can do, we can't mention them all here, hopefully we can get together. And those of us who make television, we can get together and talk about these things in small groups. But one thing is that the goal of healthy self-esteem must be other esteem. We need to help our children care for themselves so that they're able to care for others. And we also need to help children become more and more aware that what is essential in life is invisible to the eye. That and also the value of silence. The value of silence in all of our lives. Thanks very much for caring to continue this discussion that, I think, is so critical in all of our lives. Thank you.

10:17 Narrator: It's incredibly jarring how out of place his childlike genuineness feels in a room full of politicians who are supporting the Act because it gained popularity and Hollywood network types who support the law, in part because it's the law. Congress approved of the new enforcement rules and the FCC was now in charge and so, they released a statement. In enacting the Children's Television Act, Congress also determined that market forces alone had not produced an adequate amount of children's educational and informational programming on commercial television, and that government action was needed to increase the availability of such programming. The FCC enforced rules to make sure this happened in 1996. The main rules were as follows: Programming specifically designed to serve the educational and informational needs of children. Core programming is educational and informational programming that satisfies the following criteria: It serves the educational and informational needs of children ages 16 and under as a significant purpose, it is aired between the hours of 7:00 AM and 10:00 PM, it is a regularly scheduled weekly program, it is at least 30 minutes in length.

11:29 Narrator: As soon as you have rules, networks will find a way to bend them to increase their bottom line. Many took the root of educational programming hitting the emotional needs of children with shows like Doug and Recess. These shows were called pro-social programs, they didn't teach kids about arithmetic, but about morality, feelings and socialization. Pro-socials became the dominant form of educational programming within the Act because essentially they were more fun and less educational. The other problem was these rules did not apply to cable broadcasters like Nickelodeon, so the law also hampered networks competing for kid viewers, because educational television puts a vile taste in the mouth of kids and adults alike.

12:08 Narrator: Educational at its core seems directly opposed to entertainment. Educational television is usually categorized as those '50s, "This is your body" films run on old projectors; dry, boring and sterile. And yet, when an educational program undermines that cultural consensus, it is showered with a special reverence that few programs achieve. Bill Nye, Mr. Rogers and Sesame Street, all hold a unique place in the hearts of Americans. Another show that belongs in this category, albeit a little bit stranger, of educational TV done right was Science Court in 1998, which helped Disney's One Saturday Morning fill its educational quota from the Children's Television Act.

12:47 Narrator: Science Court was basically Law and Order, science victims unit. Each week a new case involving scientific principles was brought to the court room of Paula Poundstone. The fast-paced dialogue was heavy on dry wordplay, science and trashing trial lawyer Doug Savage. If NPR created a show for kids, this would be it. The show's animation was as sparse as you can get. The same year Disney created a dazzling sequence in the snow in Mulan. They also created squiggly and generally immobile lawyers. It was another case of Disney going to the opposite end of the spectrum from their previous Disney Afternoon hits. Science Court was more evidence that Disney's One Saturday Morning wasn't so much an extension of Disney, but a separate brand unto itself, it was a perfect storm of factors, governmental and otherwise, that led Disney to green-lighting a show that it sprung from the mind of the same man who brought the world Dr. Katz, Professional Therapist, Tom Snyder.

13:45 Tom Snyder: My career before teaching, I was a recording artist with Capitol Records. I was in a band in New York and we were cutting records and playing gigs at night. Toward the end of the band's career I applied to be a teacher just to get some cash for the band and then I stayed with teaching for 10 years. And while I was teaching, I bought a micro-computer back in 1979, and I taught myself to program, and I started writing educational software. So, I started a company and left teaching. So, in around our 12th year, by then, we had about 150 employees. I think to recreate the experience of being in college where I always worked in the Student Center, I would always go to bars to write all of the code. I was a programmer and therefore a lot of our employees started being bartenders. I would see great bartenders and I'd say, "Hey, you'd make a great marketing and sales person for our company." We needed a lot of them, we had a lot of bartenders working for us. By the way, I wasn't drinking in the bar, I was eating in the bar. One of the bartenders was a woman, whenever she waited on me she used to draw these cute little squiggles on my napkin of different characters. I had an idea one day, this was back in around '93, to start using the computer to do digital audio and animation on for our software company.

15:08 Tom Snyder: And so I created two characters, I created a doctor played by me, and then a son played by me. So it's a psychiatrist and his son. And our first guest in this was Joyce Carol Oates. I didn't know how I was gonna get the animation done, so I asked this bartender, waitress if she would draw the characters that I was speaking and I would create a form of animation where she didn't have to be an animator, I would animate the characters technically through some code I wrote. So all she had to do was draw the father and the son, with some different expressions and a background, like a kitchen and stuff like that. So I would record my voice as the dad, and as the son, it was like very disaffected. So I put together a little two-minute audio of myself, and I pitched my voices electronically, so they sounded like different people. And she gave me the illustrations, and I ran it through this software I'd written that squiggled them and made it look like they were animated.

16:07 Tom Snyder: And so I had this two-minute videotape, and I had a friend who lived in LA, it turned out he worked for HBO, the Sports, which was a sports network back then, but they had a new comedy channel, I think it was called Ha! Which would turn into Comedy Central. And he said, "Do you wanna show your little animated piece to them?" And I said, "Sure." So I showed it to them, they said, "Wow, this is really cool." Especially when I told them how much it would cost to develop because it was all automated, basically, I created the whole thing with just me and one woman. All these executives were sitting around looking at this two-minute thing and they said, "You know, what you really need is talent." And I said, "Hey fuck you, I thought you said I was talented." And they said, "No, no, no, we don't mean that kind of talent. You need professional talent to do the voices." And I thought, "Oh, oh, okay." And so they gave me a list of comedians and one of them was a guy I had a complete comedy crush on because I'd seen him in two movies, Jonathan Katz. I'd actually seen him perform live once in Boston but I didn't know him personally.

17:11 Tom Snyder: And they said, "Well he lives in Boston now. He's Jewish, he's a New Yorker, but he and his wife moved up to the Boston area, so since that's where your company is, stop by and talk to him." So I stopped by his house and showed him the video and I said, "I'll tell you what, if you wanna do this, I'll call it Dr. Katz." And it was while I was sitting right in his living room, I said, "I added colon, Professional Therapist," which I thought was very sort of ironic. He said, "Yeah, that sounds fun." So he and I became best friends. I invited him over to my company and started... Well, actually, all the original recordings were done in my house. I created a little studio down on the first floor in... We had an extra kitchen on the first floor that I converted to a recording studio with the... I took the pantry and lined it with sound insulation with the help of a kid. I had a big company already across town, but I wanted to do this totally independently. And I did the writing with Jon, and I hired a kid who was a bouncer actually at a night club, to be my assistant editor.

18:12 Tom Snyder: He's now become Loren Bouchard who... Have you seen Bob's Burgers? Yeah, he created that. But anyway, we made our first episode of Dr. Katz, and I said to the guys, "Look it, we can produce these things really cheaply." I said this to Comedy Central, "Really cheaply, like a 10th, no, a 20th of what you're spending on The Simpsons for a half hour. But I really wanna do it my way and I need nine months to create the first episode 'cause I have to figure out how it all works." So we started auditioning people, we auditioned Jon Benjamin who's in Bob's Burgers, and Sarah Silverman's sister Laura Silverman became our secretary. And then we got this young comedian who people didn't know except at comedy clubs, named Ray Romano [chuckle] to be our first patient, and we did this first episode. So after nine months, I sent it to them and I said, "This is the thing... " 'Cause I had a contract to do 13 of them, so they called me and said, "It's great, but when do we see the real thing?" And I said, "That is the real thing." And they said, "Oh it could be so much better."

19:14 Tom Snyder: And I said, "Well, I actually don't need this business because I have a software business, I'm doing this as kind of a lark right in my own home. I'll just break the contract, I don't care, because I don't wanna redo it. I think it's brilliant the way it is." I didn't like the crooked world of Hollywood that much. So, I didn't have that much need for it. And I wasn't in it for the blow jobs, the way a lot of people in LA are. They love the fame and fortune, and I'm a Quaker and we're very, very scrupulously honest, and we're not into Quakerism for the blow jobs, 'cause you just don't get that many. And so I didn't hear for them from a week and then they fired the producer that was on it, brought in another producer and they said, "Okay, we'll put it on." So they put it on and long story short, within nine months it had an Emmy, that episode that they said sucked. I think we did seven seasons with them, and we never got a single note from them again.

20:14 Dr. Katz: I remember when we stopped last week, you were telling me about the roles that you play in your household.

20:20 Ray: Yeah.

20:20 Dr. Katz: You were the noise checker, is that right?

20:22 Ray: Noise checker and bug killer.

20:24 Dr. Katz: Oh, you got promoted?

20:25 Tom Snyder: After Dr. Katz started doing well we started getting a lot of offers, and the first one, it wasn't another network, it was a producer, it was Steven Spielberg who loved Dr. Katz, and Katzenberg and Spielberg had just started DreamWorks. So they invited us out to LA, Jon and me. Jon said, "Oh I'm sure I'm gonna say something totally inappropriate." So I said, "Jon get it out of your system right now." Which was not a good idea because Jon started saying the most inappropriate shit I've ever heard him say. And so then we got inside and he said to... [laughter] He said to Spielberg, "You know, I really liked Amistad." It was the slave movie Spielberg had just done about the slave ship. I could tell it was a setup right away, just the way Katz said it. And I was giving the line across my neck sign to Katz, but he kept on going. And Spielberg said, "Really? Oh, that's very sweet of you to say. Why'd you like it?" And Jon said, "Well, I just thought it was such a balanced presentation because I walked out of that movie thinking, 'Hey, you know, slavery is not for everyone.'" Spielberg said, "Well, thank you very much."

21:32 Tom Snyder: He also did a worse thing, he said, "I saw Schindler's List, and that I did not like." And Spielberg said, "What was it about that that you didn't like?" And Jonathan said, "I laughed maybe five times, not funny." And Spielberg said, "Oh, okay," but he didn't realize Jon was kidding him. He also had a third one, because Katzenberg and Spielberg took us into their little studio and showed us the early tracks for DreamWorks first animated thing called the Prince of Egypt, which is the story of Moses, and they showed us the pencil test for it which was gorgeous. They had animators from all over the world doing the pencil sketches for the animation, it was really fun to watch, It was about 10 minutes long. Katzenberg at this point said, "What did you think?" And Jonathan said, "Too Jewish." [laughter] It's funny, even Spielberg didn't notice this, when we brought in Spielberg, he said, "Now how do you do your animation?" I said, "I just do it in my house." He said, "Well, how big is your house?" I said, "It's a little three-floor house in Cambridge."

22:30 Tom Snyder: And he said, "Well how do you... How do you do it? I said, "Well, 'cause we don't actually do animation." He said, "Yes, you do." And he described a scene he had just seen of the doctor and his son in the kitchen and the doctor was cooking, and then walks over the table, and then the son comes over the table, and they're eating scrambled eggs and cereal together. And I said, "You know watch it again, nobody moves, they squiggle but they don't move. No one has ever moved in one of my shows." I was just using a French film technique where you have the father cooking the eggs, and you're over Ben at the table sitting, leaning on his arms, at the table, and then you cut back to Ben, then you cut again and the doctor is sitting at the table, but you never saw him come over. And no one even realized this. We could create all of that motion without any motion. Because really it was more about the voices. Our cast came together and everyone recorded it at once, and we'd be in a... They were all in a big sound booth on separate microphones with partitions between them.

23:34 Tom Snyder: And then I brought all of the people who worked upstairs in the software company who were secretaries, and marketing people, and anyone who wanted to come to listen to the recording session. And I had their laugh track fed live, back into their earphones. So if they said something funny there wasn't dead silence, but it meant that all of the comedians, when they're saying the lines were getting laughs, live laughs. And so they were much better than just putting Robin Williams in a sound booth by himself and asking him to be funny. And we learned this with Ray Romano. We put him in the booth, he was alone and he was like, he said, "This is really hard, I'm not getting any laughs." And we said, "Well, we're trying not to get on your tape." So he was up for two days and we said, "Let us rearrange [chuckle] we are gonna rearrange the studio here, so that people could hear how successful they were.

David Letterman: The animation, Is that a specific style of animation on the show?

Jonathan Katz: Well, it's what my... It was an invention of my partner, this guy Tom Snyder he calls it Squigglevision.

24:35 David Letterman: Oh, 'cause it seems to move stationary shots, so it's kind of a moving around.

24:40 Jonathan Katz: It's... I don't know how much you know about animation, but are you familiar with Squagglevision?

[laughter]

24:44 David Letterman: No.

24:46 Jonathan Katz: Squogglevision?

[laughter]

24:47 David Letterman: No.

24:48 Jonathan Katz: Geez, I really can't help you then.

[laughter]

24:48 Jonathan Katz: But it's... The motions of the characters really represents the emotional turmoil that everyone is in, and it's cheap.

25:02 Tom Snyder: The first time we went out to DreamWorks, we pitched an idea for a show, called... Now don't tell me, it'll mean so much more to me if I think of this myself. What the hell was that show? It was called Giving Ben the Business, that was it. So it was about this kid who... Jon Benjamin was gonna play, who had inherited from his perished father, a talent agency right here in Boston but in a suburb of Boston. The whole joke was that there was actually no talent in that suburb. Jeffrey Katzenberg was calling me day and night, about this thing. And he said he wanted to send producers, to live with us. So, I said, "Alright, you can send your guys." And these guys with very expensive loafers, you know the kind of very expensive loafers that come up about a quarter of an inch on your foot, and they're made of leather so soft that you could rip it, and little tassels, and the shoes cost about $4,000. And that's what these guys looked like. They were in their late '20s, and they were producers there to sort of oversee us. And my entire job with them was to say, "Could you be quiet? We're trying to record." And they were busy playing foosball, 'cause we had set up the studio to be pretty hip, we were early in the hip internet thing. It was a cool studio, I had a bar right in it, and booze like you'd have at a Chili's restaurant, kinda thing.

26:26 Tom Snyder: And so we had these two guys there, and we made our first episode and I went out to DreamWorks. I got to really live in high-style because the unions and stuff. They had to fly me first class, they had to pick me up from a limo at my house, they had to deliver me to DreamWorks by limo. And so it was pretty easy going, but I went out after the pilot was done, and Jeffrey Katzenberg came in with his army of young guys, and they said, "It's good, so we wanna continue." And I said, "Yeah, a couple of things. One is you can't have your producers there because it's a waste of my budget to have to put them up, and I don't wanna waste my budget on that. And not only that, I don't want you to see my budget because... " The other show they were doing at the same time was costing them $2 million an episode, and mine was costing them about $150,000.

27:17 Tom Snyder: I was charging very little money because I thought that was a really interesting way to make shows and I was intrigued by not spending much money. And I said, "But the thing is, you can't be looking at our budget. That'd be like going to McDonalds and wanting to see the breakdown of why you paid a dollar for a burger." And Katzenberg said, "Well, maybe we can do the budget but we have to send our producers to be there." And I said, "Just a minute," and I ran outside 'cause the meeting had just started. And I looked outside and the limo that had delivered me, it was still there. And I said, "Wait here, wait don't go yet." He said, "Okay." I went back inside and I said, "So, is this a deal breaker? Because you love this show, it seems kind of nuts. Is this is a deal breaker? And he said, "Yeah, I think it's a deal breaker if you don't do it. And I said, "Well then I gotta run 'cause the limo is still here, I'm gonna get the limo right back to the airport and get back 'cause I've got a lot of work to do."

28:09 Tom Snyder: It was very sudden, I think it's the only time anyone ever said no to Jeffrey Katzenberg, that's my feeling. But I hopped on the limo and came back, so I had all this staff back there, and when I came back the company was just about to go out on a retreat. And on the bus riding to the retreat, I said to one of my producers, I said, "Well I have this entire gifted crew of people and I just said no to DreamWorks." So I said, "I've gotta come up with another show today," this is the day after I came back. And so, I came up with this idea of teaching science by using sort of a Perry Mason thing. It was a courtroom where one lawyer always won, one always lost, the guy who lost would be sort of... I'd hire a comedian to play him, and I would hire comedians to play my expert witnesses. And we're in Cambridge, and we were right near Harvard so I went to visit Peggy Charren. My wife was going into surgery that day because she'd fallen down the stairs with our newborn kid, everyone was okay, but my wife had to have her leg fixed. And I said, to my wife, "I'm meeting with Peggy Charren and I have to meet her today, but I'll be back to pick you up after the surgery."

29:21 Tom Snyder: So I showed it to Peggy, this idea, and she fell in love with it and she said, "Tom, I'm sure I can help you sell this." So I went down and pitched to ABC, this was all within a week coming back from DreamWorks, and we had put together a little demo of it. And I hired a guy named Bill Braudis to co-write it with me, and he was a writer who'd written for comedy shows. Yeah, I said, "I need one joke that everybody will laugh at networks when I pitch it," and I said, "There's gonna be a jury and the judge was gonna be Paula Poundstone," who I adored, I thought she was a great comedian. And I said, "She's gonna ask the jury: Have you found a verdict?" So I said, "Let's come up with a joke for that." And it was a simple joke but it was fun for parents and kids. So the Judge Paula Poundstone says, "Foreperson, have you found a verdict?" And she said, "Yes, we have found a verdict, the defendant is not guilty," she goes on and says, "And also we wanna recommend to the Court that the prosecutor never wear that shirt with those pants ever again." So we animated that, part of it, and we animated little other parts and showed it to ABC for a quick demo, and got picked up, and they said they would do... I think it was 13 or 22 episodes.

30:40 Judge Stone: Members of the jury. Have you reached a verdict?

30:42 Narrator4: Yeah. I think so...

30:43 Judge Stone: Just the Foreperson please.

30:46 Foreperson: Me?

30:46 Judge Stone: Yes, you.

30:47 Foreperson: Now?

30:47 Judge Stone: Yeah.

30:50 Foreperson: We the jury find Pip Peterson and her pipes, innocent, not guilty.

30:56 Judge Stone: Okay that...

30:57 Foreperson: One more thing.

30:57 Judge Stone: Oh, come one.

30:58 Foreperson: We recommend that Doug Savage never wear that shirt and those pants together again, ever.

31:04 Judge Stone: Good. I agree with the jury's decision. Science Court is adjourned.

31:09 Baliff: Science court is a germ? Ugh.

[music]

31:16 Tom Snyder: So we were out for The Luce one Saturday morning, and it was a white glove press event. So it was a huge room with hundreds of press people in there, and up on the panel were the creators of the shows. And I had Paula Poundstone sitting next to me too, 'cause I thought that would be fun. It came time for me to show my thing, and we showed our most recent episode, which was about a chemical spill. A guy raised his hand at the back, he said to me, "So you're anti-pollution, does that mean your anti-progress, your show is anti-progress?" I was stunned that such an asshole question could be asked. And Paula was sitting next to me, and I was fumbling for words a little bit, and she put her hand on in my hand and said, "Tom can I answer this one for you?" I said, "Oh God, yes Paula please do," and she says, "Hey, I have one question for you before I answer your question. When you wake up in the morning, do you know right away when you're waking up you're gonna be an asshole, or does it just come over slowly during the day?" The whole room exploded with laughter, and we didn't have to answer his stupid question.

32:31 Tom Snyder: They insisted that we have a science expert, and that was the thing that we all laughed about because we took, "It's gotta be educational," very seriously, and we noticed that, really, all the other shows were dodging the entire education mandate of Peggy Charren and the Congress by coming up with this term, pro-social, which meant it didn't have to be educational if it just taught kids to be nice. And that, by the way, is not my definition of educational at all. So I don't know if the other shows actually had to have a science physics sort of consultant but we had a physics consultant because we were actually educational.

33:09 Tom Snyder: And they brought him in on the second episode 'cause we'd already written our first episode. The second one was about atoms or something like that, but it was just the simplest treatment of atoms because this is Saturday morning TV, and the guy said, "Well if you're gonna talk about atoms, you really should talk about molecules," and then he said, "And if you talk about molecules you've really gotta talk about bonds," and I said, "You know what, If we've gotta talk about bonds, we really have to talk about the latent heat of vaporization, and we should really also talk about subatomic particles." 'Cause I could see the direction this was going, that I wasn't going to be able to do sort of fifth grade level kitchen physics science, I was gonna have to push it much too far. It was kind of just a drag to have a science consultant 'cause we were vetting the science ourselves, we had our own... All my buddies are scientists, we were laughing about the plots we were coming up with and... But yeah, so we did... That was the one kind of note we had at the end of the series, yes, they said that after three seasons, and they had...

34:21 Tom Snyder: I don't know how many we've done, maybe 40 or 50 shows, and they said precisely, they said, "We're gonna rerun these." And I'd lost a little bit of interest in the project, because I could see that we were the only real sciency one, and that it was losing some of its teeth. I felt it was kind of cheating because the people who were using the term pro-social were able to write just plain out comedies. If I had just been doing pro-social for ABC, I could have made a show that was so hilarious, but trying to actually explain how electric circuits work, and a break in the electric circuit causes the electrons to stop flowing, yada, yada. That takes a lot of time away from comedy, and narrative, and puts it into pure explanation. And I've always thought, "Oh it's kind of cheap that we're the only ones who are really playing by the rules here."

35:18 Tom Snyder: The Secretary of Education for the United States mentioned Science Court though, as an example of what they had meant by the Bill, and I was very pleased with that, because I'm as pro-social as the next guy, but when that's an excuse to just do comedy, when Congress has asked for educational TV, a certain number of hours. And I think I became cynical about that pro-social and I was very glad when the Secretary of Education said, "Hey, Science Court is kind of what we meant." The guy who I was working with... 'Cause he was a really great guy at ABC, he was so sad when he called he said, "I can't believe this is over," but yeah, it just kind of... It ended with a whimper. And it was alright with us because we couldn't take all the gigs we were getting. And then right at the end of that period, I sold my company to Scholastic. Yeah, the book company. 'Cause they had that big red dog whatever his name is. But they also had totally fucking lucked into Harry Potter. So Scholastic was just rolling in money, then they bought our company and...

36:30 Tom Snyder: So suddenly I had an owner that was trying to take over my animation division and it got to be absolutely no fun. So I left in 2000, I sold my company. I sold both, I sold the animation company and the software company. And I would have become a gentleman farmer, if I liked the outdoors. When we sold our company to Scholastic, they had real problems with the kind of comedy of Dr. Katz and other shows we were doing like... We had a show called Dick & Paula, that was an interview show where we were only interviewing famous people who were dead. Some of it got pretty... [chuckle] It got pretty raunchy. And so we started having battles with Scholastic's lawyers about that, and that was the time at which I said, "Goodbye." I had kind of a reputation. It was like, "If you complain too much, he's just gonna walk." Which made it fun for me to be in the business, that's why I enjoyed being in the animation business for the years I was in it, because we were just having a ball.

37:31 Tom Snyder: Once I sold my company I was doing sort of freelance. I did a thing for Fox. Do you remember American Dad, when that came out? It was Seth's next show, and we were competing with Seth for that time slot. And so, my show called Say Uncle, was up against Seth's show, and since we were doing it for Fox, they said, "We'll do the animation for you." And since I didn't have a company anymore, I said, "Alright, we'll design the characters and you can animate it over in Korea," which they did, and it cost so much more money than my stuff used to cost but um... Just to show you how cruel LA is. So I got a call from Fox saying we'd won, we'd won the thing... It was gonna be us in that time slot and not American Dad. So since this was network again, I went out in front of this very house and sat on the steps with my bag packed, because they wanted me to come out to the upfronts to introduce the show. And so I'm waiting for the limo to arrive and I get a call from Fox. They said, "There's no limo coming because actually we decided it's American Dad, not your show, since we called you, and so we cancelled your arrival and Seth is gonna go."

[music]

38:46 Tom Snyder: And so I'm sitting all packed up on my front porch waiting for a limo that didn't come. And I said, "You bastards, you knew, you knew... " You see, they said yes to the both of us, just to make sure we were both ready, before they had decided. It's really wonderful to get out of that world.

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hail-inspiration · 7 years ago

Text

Grove of Vengeance, Ch. 1: Eulogy of the Century

It was my third funeral in four years. Grandma when I was sixteen, Grandpa when I was eighteen and just starting college, and now Great-uncle Ward, two years later. It sucked.

No matter. You don’t really have to know someone to plan their funeral, I guess.

“I’m doing okay, Father O’Connell, thanks,” I said. Besides feeling lonely, anxious, and self-conscious, that was.

I just nodded. “Yeah. Thank you, father.”

He patted my hand and gave me that sympathetic little funeral smile, then stood and left me in order to play his part in the pre-service activities.

Father O’Connell began the service just a few minutes later in the way his template dictated: this welcoming speech, that prayer, this hymn, that homily…

“Now the great-niece of Ward Spencer would like to speak a few words in memory of her great-uncle.”

“Great-uncle Ward was…” I shook my head as if in reverence. “...indescribable. What a--what a man, you know? He truly lived every day like it was his last.” I hoped that was true. Luckily, a couple of the people in the pews tearfully nodded. Feeling like I was onto something, I continued, “Some people might be surprised, and others won’t be, but he was quite a risk-taker.” A few chuckles. Cool. What other overused phrases could I come up with?