#(Now knowing how nervous and concerned he was for Paul after the interview when they were back in their rooms…) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thetriggeredhappy · 3 years

Note

in the dadspy au, what if jeremy was just going to be an assistant/cook/janitor at the base while his dad was being the mercenary (since spy didnt want him to follow the "career" but didnt want to be separated from him), but then jeremy turned out to be even better than the hired scout so they promote him to that position and spy is not happy with this at all

ok i was gonna put this in the queue to post but im impatient because im happy with this one. only thing i didnt have was spy being upset by this development

(warnings for canon-typical violence, discussion of mercenary-type things, paranoia, alcohol, and exactly one proper fight scene. consider this pg-13)

“Would you prefer the good news first, or the bad news?” Dad asked.

Jeremy looked up at him from where he’d snatched up the sunday comics from his dad’s newspaper and was doodling little hats on the characters while they waited for their food to arrive. “Uh,” he said, “good news first.”

“Alright. The good news is, do you remember that line I’ve been tailing? The one in New Mexico?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jeremy said, then nodded a little more confidently. “Immunity, safehouse, somethin’ like that, right?”

“...Something like that,” Dad agreed carefully, and that made him raise an eyebrow. “It went well, and I think there’s the very real possibility that I’ve all but closed the deal, all they want now is an interview.”

“...Interview, singular,” Jeremy said slowly.

“That’s where the bad news begins. Unfortunately... merde, how to phrase this?” He drew a hand down his face. “They’re fully willing to hire me on, but this is a more... corporate affair than I’m used to. They have rules, stipulations. Long story short, they will not hire you as a mercenary on the basis of your age.”

Jeremy tensed. “What?” he demanded. “That’s stupid, I’m old enough to drive and buy guns and whatever the hell else.”

“But not rent a car, at least in many places in the United States.”

“But—“ he started, and remembered they were in public, and lowered his voice to a hiss, leaning in. “We’re hired killers, thieves, criminals. Do they really think we’re above having fakes? False documentation?”

“Actually, that is one of their requirements,” Dad said dryly, taking a paper from his jacket and consulting it. “I’m not happy about it either, mon lapin, but those are their rules. Already they have slightly bent them for one individual, and already I am on thin ice. But I may have a way to manage this.”

“Yeah?” Jeremy asked, nervous now.

“I know the woman responsible for new hires and managing the team I’ve applied for. She owes me a favor—a fairly hefty one. When I go in for the interview, one of my demands will include you being hired on, not as a mercenary, but for... for custodial purposes, something like that. Cook, janitor, security guard, secretary—whatever job there is that needs doing there, and I am sure that there will be one. Something to allow you to live there. Pay will likely be her stipulation, and the play I hope to make is that really, you’re overqualified for the position and she’s lucky to have someone so competent available, and in the worst case scenario, the pay is still good enough even for just one of us that we will not cut too deeply into the savings.”

The savings. That made Scout blink, because they only ever brought up the savings when—

“You think this could be it?” he asked quietly. “Like, it it?”

A hard exhale, and he leaned his cheek on his hand. “Potentially,” he finally said. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but the job promises a variety of things. Medical attention available, extremely low levels of danger, and most of all, confidentiality. The only people who will know any name we give them would be the woman in charge of hiring us and their singular medical professional. There is no mode of communication to or from the compound outside of emergency lines to the organization and a single secure payphone located two miles away, there is no civilization within a twenty-five minute drive minimum, and this operation has been going long enough that the local authorities have long since grown used to being paid off, and likely don’t even remember what for anymore. I cash in a few valuable favors and ask this employer to turn a blind eye, we’d have somewhere remote and secure to spend our time after our deaths are faked and once the contract is over, we can start over. No ties to the past.”

“Freedom,” Jeremy marveled.

Silence for a few seconds, broken only by the quiet chatter of the rest of the diner. “I want to warn you, this work may not be glamorous. It may not even be particularly easy. I’m giving you the option of saying no,” Dad said.

“What?! Yes, hell yes, are you joking? To get us to living like normal people? Steady work? Livin’ in one place? Count me in!” he laughed.

“What if the job is something you won’t enjoy? Long hours, boring work?” Dad asked, entirely serious.

“I’m still on board.”

“What if the other people working there are rude to you? Disrespectful?”

“Well most of the people I meet through our job now try to kill us, so really it’s an upgrade.”

“What if there’s no diner nearby?” he asked, and there was a glint of humor in his eye.

“Damn, sorry, that’s the dealbreaker,” he joked right back, and that made him snort, shake his head, greet the waitress as she came back with their coffee and soda and then informed them that their food would be out shortly.

“I’ll ask,” was what Dad said once she was gone again, and that was that, and they started driving to New Mexico two nights later.

“—A warm welcome to our two newest recruits. This is the Spy, and this is the Guard.”

“Guard?” asked one of the men at the table, his accent thick and distinctly Russian. It made Jeremy tense slightly, but he didn’t let it show.

“Night Guard,” Jeremy answered, voice clipped.

“He’s not technically hired on as a mercenary like you all, he won’t be joining you on missions,” the short woman apparently named Miss Pauling (Jeremy was fairly sure it was a fake name) said, hands folded in front of her neatly. “He’s here to work security. Keep an eye out during the night, filter through the camera footage, handle the archiving, things like that.”

“We’re hiring on a civvie now?” asked another man, thick Scottish accent a little harder to digest than the eyepatch and the grenade he was in the process of fiddling with the internal mechanisms of.

“He’s combat ready, and will still be armed. His job is to essentially make sure you’re all safe enough to sleep through the night,” Miss Pauling said.

“I’m not some chump,” Jeremy agreed. “I know my stuff.”

“How old is he?” another man asked, this one in a hardhat with a heavy drawl, looking concerned.

“Twenty, for your information,” Jeremy said, a little sharply, eyes narrowed.

“If you have any other questions, there’ll be time later on. For now, I do need to show our two newest recruits where they’ll be staying,” Miss Pauling cut in.

There was an audible scoff from one of the men at the table, a dramatic rolling of eyes. Jeremy glared at him. He unfolded and refolded his extremely tattoo’d tree-trunk-like arms, tugging the visor of his hat between. “Sorry,” he said, accent thick and distinctly Californian. “I just don’t have the most trust for some scrawny kid in slacks and creep in a ski mask.”

“Scout, don’t start,” Miss Pauling warned.

“Just saying,” this man, apparently called Scout, muttered under his breath regardless.

“Don’t,” she said again, more firmly, and ignored the second eye roll she got for the trouble. “If you two would follow me.”

And they were shown around the base, and Jeremy in particular was shown into a room stuck behind three locked doors, where he found camera feeds and recording equipment. She gave him a basic overview and a thick packet of instructions and policies labelled ‘highly classified’ and a phone number to call if he had any further questions, and a set of hours that were apparently meant to become the new standard for him (with the quiet addendum that if he finished early that was alright, and that technically he could turn in early if two or more members of the team were already awake for the day and he was caught up on the archiving of old tapes).

Then he was left to “get used to the equipment”, which he assumed meant his dad was getting a similar rundown of his job, and it took a pretty quick glance through the packet to understand that clearly this place ran on an extremely secretive and closely monitored series of systems. In the packet, between the sections on camera maintenance and operation hours, were a few sheets detailing what were apparently the movement patterns of the various members of the team, including frequented locations and previously recorded large-scale infractions (mostly on the part of the Soldier, the Medic, the Scout, and one from the Demoman).

He wasn’t the one with the title Spy, but fuck, it seemed like he might as well have it. His entire job wasn’t even necessarily to keep the team safe overnight—he was just meant to watch all of them to make sure nobody was anywhere or doing anything out of the ordinary.

The next time he saw his dad, waiting outside the infirmary to get some sort of physical evaluation, his face was arranged carefully enough that he could tell he’d figured out something was up, too.

“Got your job assignments?” he asked quietly in French, glancing towards the door into the infirmary.

A nod, a glance. “I’m intrigued by the methods used in employee evaluation,” he deadpanned. “Especially the fact that apparently, they’re willing to assign employees for the explicit task of doing them.”

“How often?”

“Weekly.”

“Thorough,” Jeremy deadpanned, and glanced towards the hall at the distant sound of laughter, echoing from somewhere else on the base. “That’s basically mine too.”

There was a long silence, and when Jeremy looked back over, his dad was giving him an almost expectant look, waiting. All he had to offer him was a shrug, which was returned after a moment with a vague shake of the head. “I don’t believe it will be a problem,” his dad said simply. “Not for us, at the very least.”

Jeremy nodded. “Yeah. Uh, anyways, good luck with the… physical, or whatever,” he said, and received a pat on the shoulder before he walked back off down the hall, hoping to figure out what exactly he was supposed to do with an entire room all to himself. He’d almost never had one before.

He was used to time changes and jet lag, to needing to switch his sleep schedule on the regular, but the switch to a straight up night shift was a rough one.

His nine-to-five was actually a ten-to-six, as in 10 PM through 6 AM. This meant that, assuming he managed to get his schedule in order, he’d be able to join in on the team dinners if he woke up early and could eat breakfast with them before he went to bed.

Very quickly he realized that going to dinner and breakfast with the team was going to become a staple part of his routine, because it didn’t take long before he began to feel extremely lonely all of the time. In a dark little room, everyone else asleep, scrubbing through tapes from during the day while half keeping an eye on the live feed from around the base that never showed much of anything, it was brutal. It was suffocating.

It was easy, at least. It didn’t take long before he got efficient at it and could start zoning out, and it wasn’t like he was under much pressure. His was the only room without any cameras in it. Security risk, apparently.  And to be honest, what small amount he and Dad interacted with mercenaries and other criminal types, Jeremy didn’t really tend to like them much. A lot of them were loud and rude and had the potential to turn around and try and kill them whenever they felt like it. He didn’t expect that he’d like the team as much as he did. He especially didn’t expect to like them so much without ever really talking to them.

But watching the camera feeds from throughout the day, seeing what they were up to, they were just... nice people. Soldier out by the dumpsters practicing rocket jumps and wrangling raccoons and apparently trying to learn how to spin a rifle, Pyro’s regular minor explosions in the kitchen while cooking and the surprised and frantic way they cleaned it up every time, the Demoman’s tendency to whistle wherever he went, watching through the feed as they all played cards and argued and jostled each other. They all seemed really nice. Really cool. Really dorky, too, but mostly just really nice and really cool.

And there were a few of them he was less sure about—he couldn’t get eyes on the Medic most of the time, what with the one camera in the Medbay being tilted down at an angle that made it hard to see much of anything but the occasional bird (probably by those same birds). The Heavy tended to just sit and read, and was pretty much silent most of the time otherwise. The Scout tended to leave the base pretty often. And the Sniper didn’t even live on base, he had a van outside that he could only occasionally see movement in when he squinted at the far edge of the camera leading outside. But even then, Heavy and Sniper mostly just seemed quiet, and Medic just seemed busy, and the Scout just seemed like a little bit of a dickhead.

But then one day when Jeremy was at breakfast the Heavy caught him leaning to try to get a look at the cover of the book he was reading, and he blurted that he was just wondering what book was so great that he’d stay up until like four in the morning reading, and then the entire team was gawking at him and asking questions and insisting that it was insane that there was someone actually watching all those cameras, and he shrugged and said there was always supposed to be someone watching the tapes back it was just usually some office worker type a hundred miles away. And they seemed almost... upset with him. And maybe that was fair, it wasn’t like he ever talked to any of them much, mostly he just spent breakfast and dinner half-asleep and listening to their chatter. And Demoman admitted that he’d honestly assumed that Jeremy slept his entire shift, he just always looked so tired at breakfast. There was almost this discomfort. This distrust.

And so, now that the jig was up, he made it a point to say some things to certain members of the team. To tell the Medic that his camera was tilted down so that he couldn’t see most of the room, and to very pointedly say that it was weird how that happened and that he didn’t know why they set it up like that in the first place, but it was really none of his business. Made it a point to warn the Engineer in the morning that the previous night, Soldier had been doing something in the fridge for a while, and to maybe check the labels before he made breakfast. Made it a point to tell the Demoman that the camera in his workshop was right in plain sight, and that if he moved one of his blackboards an inch or two to the left, it would obscure the room a pretty hefty amount. Made it a point to tell the Sniper that the camera on the rooftop seemed to be glitching out, and it’d just sort of lost the tapes of the previous two nights, and that it was really unfortunate since for all he knew there might have been someone ignoring the signs about there being no personnel allowed up there.

In return, he found that Pyro would sometimes make little sparkly notes with smiley faces on them and stick them to the door to the security room. That Sniper started tipping his hat at the camera above the door into the base from the garage. That on occasional drinking nights, the team would suddenly turn and start waving at the camera, laughing the whole way. On one night in particular he could hear through the low-quality and tinny speakers that they were trying to cajole him into leaving the security room for a while to join them for cards, and god, but he wanted to.

And he noticed more things. Soldier walking with a slight limp some days when rocket jumps had rough landings. Being able to count the doves in the infirmary and even tell them apart to some extent through blurry close-ups. The Engineer making it a point to sweep really regularly regardless of what project he was working on.

And then he noticed a weird thing.

It took him a long time to get used to the patterns of hallways, the cameras not really lined up linearly after a while, too many branching paths. He learned to follow progress, to flick from one camera to the next as someone walked around corners. And for a while he thought maybe he wasn’t very good at it.

Until he realized two things. First of all, that in a hallway where he knew there were five doors, he could only see four—apparently the door to Pyro’s room was just barely out of sight of the camera. He only figured it out because one day it swung open wide enough to almost bang against the wall.

And then, when he realized there was somehow that massive blindspot, that there was a corner with a blindspot too. One where that Scout kept disappearing.

He watched a few more times to make sure, and yep. He’d see the Engineer walking around the corner, flick to the next screen, and there he was, continuing down the hallway. And then later that same day, the Scout, walking, and flick to the next camera, and he wasn’t there.

One of the worse parts of the job was that he never got to see Dad anymore, never got to just sort of hang out the way they did all the time when he was growing up, and he knew he would miss it but he didn’t know how much. And he found it was even worse when he had something important to say, doubly so when he had something important to say but no idea if it was actually important.

He tried to bring it up casually, in the like ten minutes of time he ever got alone to talk to Dad. Dad was fighting the kettle trying to make some tea and he was trying to stay awake long enough to figure out how he was going to say this.

“Uh,” he said, and Dad looked at him. “So, uh, what’s the read you’re getting on that Scout guy?”

“Lazy,” Dad shrugged, looked back at the kettle. “Arrogant. He seems to care very little about doing his job correctly and has horrible communication on the field.”

“Right, right,” he nodded, fought a yawn down. “Uh. So like, kind of a dickhead.”

“Indeed,” Dad said, nodding vaguely.

“So uhhh... not the best.”

“Where are you going with this?” Dad asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

“I, I dunno, the guy just likes hanging out in this one blindspot in the cameras, and it’s kinda freaking me out,” Jeremy said, scratching at the back of his neck.

Dad frowned. “Strange. I wasn’t aware that there were any blindspots in the cameras.”

“There’s only a few, and only for pretty small spaces I think? But apparently he just likes hanging out in one of them.” Jeremy scuffed his shoe on the ground, glancing over as voices started echoing down the hall towards them. “Just thought it was weird.”

“I’ll look into it,” Dad muttered, voice quiet, and then raised it again slightly. “I refuse to keep up with sports.”

“C’mon,” Jeremy said, knowing this game well, changing subjects into something more normal as people entered earshot. “I’m not even asking you to keep up with sports, I’m just saying, I’d kill to go to a baseball game right about now.”

“The American Pasttime!” Soldier called from the room over.

“Exactly,” Jeremy agreed, nodding at Soldier as he also entered the kitchen, a half-asleep Demoman in tow.

“Any ghosties or ghoulies on the cameras last night, lad?” Demo had enough energy to ask, blinking blearily at the contents of the fridge.

“Oh, a billion,” Jeremy said.

“Guard!” Soldier barked, the most awake person in the room. “Should these ghost-ghouls appear again, don’t be afraid to point me in their direction! I have significant experience with them already and do not fear the likes of them!”

“Yeah sure,” Jeremy shrugged.

“You’re a champion, Guard,” Demo said with what was either a really disoriented blink or a wink, slugging him on the shoulder and wandering back out into the common room with the entire carton of milk in his other hand. Jeremy gave him a mock-salute that Soldier copied with absolute conviction. He and Dad shared a glance after the two of them left, and Jeremy was the first one to break, snickering under his breath.

“I’ll look into it,” Dad said, and also left the kitchen, and Jeremy nodded and started trying to remember what else he’d been planning on doing before bed.

“So,” Dad said a few days later, materializing next to Jeremy when he was in the middle of his jog and making him almost jump out of his skin, skidding to a stop.

“You’re enjoying that new watch way too much,” Jeremy panted, out of breath and still very much startled.

“Maybe,” Dad said, and he was smiling. “But as I was saying.”

“All you said was ‘so’,” Jeremy pointed out, giving him a look.

“There’s a juvenile joke here about how I’m your father and so of course I say ‘so’, but if you wouldn’t mind it, I did have something important to say, mon lapin,” Dad replied, and Jeremy rolled his eyes hard at the horrible joke and cheesy name, fighting back a smile of his own.

“Go for it,” he said, and took the opportunity to bend and tighten his shoelaces.

“So. Regarding that Scout and his habits. You mentioned he spends time in blind spots of the cameras, oui?” Dad asked.

“Yeah. Keeps, uh, I guess he keeps getting infractions for going off base too much, too. I’ve logged him leaving like three times this week already,” Jeremy nodded.

“Indeed. Well, considering how new we are to the team, I did not want to jump to conclusions, and so contacted Miss Pauling and asked on your behalf for any older records, and I found out something very... intriguing.”

Jeremy looked up at him, blinking. ‘Intriguing’, historically, had always been a very, very bad thing.

“Apparently, it has been two years since they last had a Guard situated on base. The previous one was a much older gentleman, retired from being a full member of the team due to health complications but not entirely ready to part with the company. The previous guard was somewhat strict, and the Scout—the same as we have now—very much disliked the man. He continued acquiring near-constant infractions under the man’s watch for leaving when he was not meant to, so much so that the previous Guard proposed enstating trackers on the team when they went off-base. And before this policy could take hold, the previous Guard left the base one day and did not return, and finally was found dead a state over, one month later.”

Jeremy blinked once, twice. “Holy shit,” he said, and took note of the wary look on his face. “Okay. So we’re thinkin’ the same thing, right?”

“I would assume so. And…” Dad hesitated, moved to fidget with his cufflinks. “And I would not be particularly concerned about this, as I’m confident that you wouldn’t have gotten his attention from what you’ve been up to lately, and therefore wouldn’t be in danger yet should history attempt to repeat itself, but… he’s already taken a disliking to you.”

“What?” he asked, eyebrows shooting up.

“I believe it’s something as simple as some sort of shallow jealousy. Another American on the team, also relatively young, filling the position of someone he disliked previously. He regularly complains about the fact that you don’t need to go do the same job as the rest of us.” Dad shrugged, glanced over at him. “That, combined with the fact that you have somewhat conflicting duties, well, he tends to rather tetchy. He claims that considering he’s meant to be the first line of defense, they shouldn’t also need a guard at night.”

Jeremy had a number of opinions about that, but he stuck to the most relevant ones. “I really don’t like this guy,” he said. “Might be, uh. Worth keeping an eye on.”

“Agreed.” Dad glanced back over his shoulder towards the base, then at his watch. “Enjoy the rest of your run. Don’t forget to eat.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, hit the bricks already, old man,” Jeremy scoffed, waving him off, and Dad rolled his eyes, disappearing again in a cloud of smoke. “You’re gonna be using that thing all the damn time now, aren’t you?”

“Oui,” came a voice from nowhere, and Jeremy huffed a laugh, meandering his way back into the rest of his jog.

Jeremy hummed along to the radio, flicking between cameras on autopilot and wondering when exactly to take his lunch break.

He didn’t face the clock or anything, so he wasn’t sure, but he thought he had a pretty solid rhythm at that point. Click, click, click, between the camera to the road, the camera to the main entrance, and the camera in the hall towards the middle of the building, for about one second each. At just about any time after 11 or 11:30, those were the only three in real time that he needed to keep an eye on, mostly for people coming back late from bar hopping or if Miss Pauling was rolling in on a delivery. All the other cameras he could see out of the corner of his eye, and any movement he’d pick up on pretty quick, even if it was usually just the doves fluttering on the camera to the Medbay. After he cycled through those (and there was almost never anything there) he’d cycle back through to the tape he had in, put it on high speed, and watch it for about two or three minutes, get through a chunk of that time. Mostly he’d just be making sure nobody had been in the base while the team was away ni o(which indeed there never was), so there wasn’t much of a reason to take it off high speed, and the second part of the night would be watching the tapes for the time the team was back on base.

Movement on a camera made him click the pause, and he glanced off to the side. One of the doves had shuffled to face the other direction. He rolled his eyes, looking back at the bigger monitor again and pressing play.

The second half of the night was a little more interesting. He just had to look at the tapes for the time the team was there, check for discrepancies that might point to Dad messing with the disguise technology off-the-clock or the enemy Spy having infiltrated. For the most part things were straightforward, but he at least got to see his teammates up to funny things sometimes. Pyro’s antics were usually entertaining. Soldier he only caught some of, on the basis of him often walking off out of range of the cameras when he went on his excursions. Demo was funny sometimes. Honestly, just seeing the Sniper anywhere but as a fuzzy distant shape was interesting.

Movement on a camera. Same dove. He ignored it. Click, click, click, all three cameras clear, back to the fast-forward of the same empty hallway as before.

He really needed to figure something out, for the Scout. Maybe he and Dad were just being paranoid. It would be insane for him to try to outright kill anyone who inconvenienced him, not to mention reckless, and stupid to boot. Acting like that in their line of work would make him a lot of enemies extremely quickly. It would make more sense for the old Guard disappearing to be unrelated, to be honest.

Yeah. Hell, he barely knew the guy, and here he was assuming he’d straight up whacked a guy for getting a little too on his case about something. Maybe they were wrong.

Movement on a camera. He glanced over and froze outright.

It took him five seconds to come to his senses enough to pause the playback on his screen.

Figures. Shapes. Not at the front entrance, in the hallway, there next to the back way, by the garage. At least three, moving carefully, hard to make out in the darkness.

Okay. Okay, don’t panic, focus.

Jeremy ran through a few things in his head. He’d already done a headcount, the only people he wasn’t sure about were the Sniper and the Medic, but he hadn’t seen the Medic in any of the hallways out of the infirmary. Three figures were two too many to be any of the team, and besides that, they didn’t look like the Medic. Too short to be the Sniper, moving differently. Different clothes.

Three people. He hopped up, rushed over to the wall, yanked open the panel he had there. Three buttons, which he needed to hit in order. The first would send an alert to Miss Pauling, the second to whoever was assigned to be on alert that night, the third would set off the alarm.

He hit the first, hit the second, and hesitated on the third.

Okay. Technically if he didn’t hit that third button, he’d be breaking protocol, which was, according to the manual, ‘grounds for termination’. He was pretty sure that meant a long swim with some concrete shoes. And it was apparently recorded every time he hit these buttons, so they could deduct from his pay on false alerts. So they’d know if he didn’t hit this third button. He needed to think fast.

This was a different button than the alert button. The alert was more subtle, set for just one person. The alarm was throughout the entire base, over every loudspeaker. Louder than a fire alarm. If he hit this one, these intruders would hear that there was an alarm going off. Anyone smart would book it, high tail it the hell out of there. But he still didn’t know where they came from.

There hadn’t been movement on any of the screens, and he looked at the camera feed facing the road already, a few times even. He should’ve seen them. And if they found their way in once, they could do it again.

If he didn’t hit the button, on the other hand, whoever was on alert would wake up and wonder why they’d gotten an alert but the alarm wasn’t going off. If they were clever, which they probably were if they’d lasted this long, they’d come to the security room to see what was up and they could work from there.

He closed the panel again and moved to wait.

A minute later, still no movement from the hallway where most of the rooms were. That was fine, they’d just woken up, and probably needed to get dressed and grab their guns.

Another minute later, no movement, which was fair, they just needed a second to get their bearings. The intruders, meanwhile, were just lurking, slowly making their way down the hall.

Another minute later, no movement, and he opened the panel to press the button again before he continued waiting. Maybe they didn’t hear him the first time.

Another minute later and he took to standing next to the panel, mashing the button rapidly, eyes on the screen where the intruders were passing the kitchen, starting to get pretty far into the building.

Another minute later and he stomped his way into his sneakers, grabbing his flashlight and gun and guard cap from where they were hung on the wall. “Fine, I’ll fucking do it myself,” he grumbled, and carefully shouldered open the door, taking one last glance at the camera before he shut the door behind himself.

He kept his footsteps quiet, squinting into the darkness, waiting for his eyes to finish adjusting as he crept towards where he’d last seen the figures. It was near-silent in the base at night except for the distant, quiet hum of generators and occasional shift of plumbing. It was getting more and more familiar, and he found himself able to tune it out somewhat, instead listening intently for footsteps besides his own, making sure to click the safety off his gun while he was still alone and not when he was close to whoever had decided to break in.

Okay. Dad did this all the time. He could handle this.

He slowed as he approached the corner near the kitchen, peering around as carefully as he could, tugging down the brim of his cap to try and hide any potential shine from his eyes. He caught sight of a vague shape standing near the doorway, hesitating before it crept inside, into the common area.

Not ideal, on the basis of that being their goddamn kitchen, but at least there would be cover.

By the time he managed to sneak up to the doorway, he could make out the sound of vague whispering. It was far enough that it gave him the boldness to peer into the room, and just slightly lit by the glow of the clock on the oven he could see two shapes there in the kitchen, the third lingering nearer to him, there by the table.

Jeremy was only just starting to make a plan, relieved to have the jump on them, when there was the distant sound of a generator humming to life, and all the figures stopped, paused for a moment.

“Fucking spooky here,” one whispered, barely audible.

“Calm down,” another whispered. “What, scared of ghosts?”

Jeremy inhaled, exhaled, shifted onto the balls of his feet and started creeping a little further into the room. If he could just get all three of them to one side, so he wouldn’t need to pivot so much…

“You don’t know, maybe there’s ghosts here,” the first protested, and swore quietly at what sounded like their winging their elbow against the corner of the tale, and Jeremy tried to stick near the wall, managed to creep half-behind one of the chairs, trying to keep his silhouette indistinct. “These guys kill people.”

“So do we,” the third mumbled, moving out of sight in the kitchen, and Jeremy bit down on a swear, starting to inch behind the couch. “Don’t be a coward. And stop making so much noise.”

“You can’t shoot a ghost,” the first pointed out, moving a bit closer to the kitchen, giving the table a wide berth now. “Or punch it.”

“I can try,” the second said, and stopped at the sound of a rustle.

Jeremy held his breath, weight half-balanced against where he’d tried to step, newspaper trapped beneath his foot.

“That one wasn’t me,” the first whispered. There was another, more significant rustle throughout the room, and Jeremy could see a glint as the intruders drew their weapons.

Jeremy inhaled, exhaled, and just barely managed not to swear out loud.

The first one was the closest by, lingering beside the arm of the couch Jeremy was crouched in the shadow of. “Do they have a cat here?” they asked, voice quiet.

The second was approaching into the main room more carefully. From the sound of the footsteps, trying to keep a shoulder closer to the wall, clearly paying more attention to the door. “Are you stupid or something?” was the reply, voice also quiet.

The third didn’t speak, but huffed out a laugh, which was enough to tell Jeremy that he was out of the kitchen.

Jeremy inhaled shakily, exhaled shakily, shifted his grip on his handgun and flashlight, and took a split second to think. Inhaled one more time.

He leapt to his feet, swinging his flashlight like a billy club and clobbering the first figure across the side of the head, sending them tumbling to the ground. From the sound of the impact, a dislocated jaw at the very least. One down.

A shout from the other side of the room, arms moving to try to aim, clearly struggling to see him, but that third figure was in the doorway, silhouetted against the faint light from the oven’s clock, and that was enough to figure out where the head and chest were. He aimed, fired, got what he was pretty sure was the neck considering the brief spray of blood that splattered against the oven, darkening the room completely.

A swear from the second figure, and Jeremy wanted to swear too, because he’d hoped that second figure would be stupid and try and charge him, but now he was ten steps away and didn’t have time to fiddle with and cock the gun again, other hand full with a flashlight and no way to—

Oh, duh.

“Stay where you are,” the second figure ordered, but Jeremy’s eyes were a little better adjusted and besides that, he wasn’t the one talking. He lifted his flashlight and clicked it on.

The second figure cried out, recoiling at the sudden blindingly bright light in what had been near-darkness, and Jeremy had time to finagle his thumb up to cock his gun again, now able to aim with absolute accuracy, this shot connecting with the figure’s head.

He exhaled.

It took Jeremy two minutes to remember to fire a bullet into the chest of the unconscious guy, and another minute for the other mercenaries to start showing up, half-dressed and armed. Dad, presumably to prove a point, showed up pretty close to the middle of the pack almost fully dressed. Jeremy wasn’t entirely sure how long it took before Miss Pauling showed up, but he wasn’t even halfway through their questions by that time.

“Guard, headcount?” she asked before she even bothered saying hello, still wearing her motorcycle helmet and looking more than a little bit miffed.

“Uh,” he said, eyes drawn away from where Medic was assessing the bodies on the kitchen table, “seven present and accounted for. Sniper’s probably out at his van, don’t know about the Scout.”

“Alright. Pyro,” she said, and Pyro stood at attention, bunny slippers squeaking at the movement. “go wake up Sniper and get him in here.”

Pyro nodded, handing their weird unicorn plushie thing to Jeremy as they passed by, giving him a solemn nod before hurrying away.

“Okay. Guard, hit me with a rundown, then,” she said, and shot a glance around the room. “No peanut gallery needed. And Medic, please don’t take them apart too much. I gotta get rid of those later.”

“Uh. Spotted these guys on the cameras, hit the first and second alerts,” Jeremy said.

“And not the third?” she asked pointedly.

“They were, like, right next to the door, and—here’s the thing, Miss P, is I dunno how the hell they got in here,” he said, and there was a general balk from the room. “No, seriously. They didn’t come in on the main road, they were in one of the back hallways by the garage. There’s gotta be a hole in the cameras or something, because I seriously don’t know where they came from. And if they booked it, they’d take whatever vehicle they used to get here, too, and we might not figure it out. Thought I’d just wait for whoever the hell was supposed to be on alert so we could… I dunno, at least see which way they went.”

“Guard,” she admonished, and he shrank a little bit. “That was incredibly reckless. What if nobody had shown up to help you?”

“Uh,” he said, blinked, “but… nobody did show up.”

A pause. She blinked. “What? You’re the one who did that?” she asked, entirely shocked, pointing towards the three bodies on the table.

“Uh, yeah? Isn’t that my job?” he asked carefully, shifting the stuffed animal under his arm.

“No, you’re—you’re just supposed to be the Guard, you’re supposed to watch cameras, not—“ She paused, taking a second to push up her glasses and rub at the bridge of her nose, inhaling, exhaling. “Okay. Points for… going above and beyond, here, but Guard, don’t do that again.”

“Sure thing, Miss P,” he mumbled, tugging on the brim of his guard cap, and sighed to himself as Miss Pauling moved away to try and stop Medic from attempting to covertly steal a few organs from the corpses. Dad clapped him on the shoulder supportively, and that did make him feel a little better. He wasn’t expecting a clap to the other shoulder, and looked up, surprised to see Heavy there, looking just slightly less grim than usual.

“Little Guard man is credit to team,” he said simply, solemnly.

Jeremy straightened up slightly. “Oh. Hey, thanks,” he said. Heavy nodded at him.

“It’s true,” Demo called, and he looked over, got another approving nod. “Really saved the lot of us, lad.”

“I, I mean, hey, it’s… what I’m here for. Or, uh. I thought that was it, anyways,” he shrugged, glancing away. “I mean, yeah, I’m pretty cool, though.”

Dad bumped his arm for the last part, and he snickered. “My question,” Dad continued, doing his best to ignore him, “is primarily regarding who, precisely, was supposed to be present to help Guard with this. Who is meant to be on alert?”

“It’s meant to be Scout, ain’t it?” the Engineer asked from nearby, frowning. A general murmur of agreement. “Could he have slept through it?”

“Heavy doubts this,” Heavy grumbled, looking troubled.

“Why’re we awake?” asked Sniper from the doorway, and various teammates called out a greeting. Sniper seemed half-gone, and completely grumpy, but not as grumpy as Pyro, and not nearly as gone as the man leaning heavily against Pyro’s shoulder.

“Hey,” the Scout managed, grinning, speech garbled, visibly sloppy and unbalanced. “What’s up, guys?”

Groans from parts of the room. “Drinkin’ again, Scout?” the Engineer drawled, visibly irritated.

“That’s my trademark, lad, go on,” Demo laughed, but the enthusiasm wasn’t entirely there.

“Scout,” Miss Pauling said, voice firm in a way that made Jeremy almost flinch in sympathy. “Are you aware that we’ve had a situation here while you’ve been sleeping?”

“Weren’t sleeping,” Sniper murmured, and eyes turned to him. He scratched at the back of his neck. “Came stumbling in ‘round when I was heading in. He was out for the night. Bar, looks like.”  “What?” Jeremy demanded. “Why the fuck didn’t I see him leave on the cameras?”

“Alright,” Miss Pauling said, and Jeremy looked at her. Her expression was hard to read. “It’s possible he went through the back tunnel.”

“Back tunnel?” Jeremy asked, and glanced around. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t heard of it.

“For emergencies only. Scout’s the only one who I’ve given a key card to. I have one too. It’s supposed to be used for transporting especially sensitive information, most of the team isn’t supposed to even know it exists. If there’s a gap in the cameras around the back of the building, he might have been using it to… sneak out to go to town, even though he knows he’s already in hot water for leaving the base so much,” Miss Pauling said, glaring at Scout, who was looking increasingly annoyed.

“Whatever, it’s not a big deal,” he protested, scoffing.

“That tunnel is for emergencies only,” Miss Pauling stressed. “I trusted you with the privilege of knowing about it account of having worked here for so long, and you’re using that privilege and key card to mess around?”

“He was coming back from around the front of the building, at least,” Sniper chimed in, and Pyro nodded. “Not that I’d understand the point of sneaking out if he’s going to just walk back in the front door.”

“Key card?” Medic repeated from near the table, eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, it’s, it’s a magnetized card, that can be read by a card reader, used like a key,” Miss Pauling explained, deflating a little bit.

His eyebrows furrowed further. “Would it happen to look anything like this?” he asked, picking up a lanyard from the table and holding it up, showing the room the card clipped onto the end of it.

Two beats of silence. “Spy, would you mind?” Miss Pauling asked politely, nodding towards the Scout, who had gone pale.

“Not at all,” Dad said just as politely, and walked over towards the Scout and Pyro, then circled around behind them, and sank a blade into the Scout’s spine. He promptly crumbled to the floor, dead.

“Well. At least that’s that mystery solved,” Miss Pauling sighed, and rubbed at the bridge of her nose again. “Now I’ve gotta block off time tomorrow to get rid of three bodies, and then hopefully that’s the last we’re gonna hear of this or else the Administrator is gonna kill me.”

“What about the Scout?” Heavy rumbled.

“…Scratch that. Four bodies,” she mumbled, face dropping into her hands. “And then I need to find his replacement. Ugh.”

“Can’t imagine you’d need to go far,” Demo said, and Jeremy looked up, and Demo was very obviously tilting a thumb in his direction.

“He’s proven himself to be better at this job,” Dad agreed, shrugging. “And I would say on a bad day he’s still a better runner than the previous Scout on a good one.”

“He can clearly handle a firearm well,” the Engineer noted, looking over one of the bodies.

“And a blunt object,” Medic chimed, just a bit too pleased. “This jaw is almost completely shattered!”

“Okay, okay, fine, sure,” Miss Pauling waved off, one hand still pressed to her face, clearly overwhelmed and tired. “We’ll get his paperwork in tomorrow. Congratulations, you’re the new Scout, any questions? Can the questions wait until morning? Great, thank you. Good night, everyone. Medic, have the bodies in bags for me at least, okay?”

A distracted thumbs up from Medic, and Miss Pauling was groaning, wandering back out of the room, and most of the team followed, yawning amongst themselves. Sniper half-attempted to ask again why the hell any of them were awake, but gave up halfway through. Pyro, for one, made sure to at least retrieve the plushie from Scout’s arms before wandering off, giving him an appreciative pat on the shoulder.

“So,” Dad said, and when he looked over, he was smiling. “A promotion, mon lapin. Congratulations, new Scout.”

“Do I gotta wear that stupid outfit he always wears?” Jeremy asked, entirely serious. His reply was a laugh and a pat on the shoulder before he disappeared in a puff of smoke. “Pops, I’m serious. Do I? Dad!?”

“—So that’s why I figured, y’know, might as well tell you guys,” Jeremy finished rambling, hands in his pockets, continuing down the hallway. “Because… I dunno. I could tell Miss P, but it’s nice having secret stuff, y’know?”

“You think this is how they actually got in?” Demo asked, looking dubious. “Little blind spot in the cameras?”

“Only a couple feet wide, you said?” Sniper grumbled.

“Sounds possible,” Heavy said hesitantly.

“I dunno. Maybe. But if I tell Miss P about it, they’re gonna fix it,” Jeremy shrugged, turning the corner and stopping. “There. I knew it.”

They stopped with him, following his line of sight. “You’re takin’ the piss, mate,” Sniper deadpanned. “You want to tell me he’d been climbing out a window like a teenager?”

Jeremy shrugged, moving to open the window in question. It swung open easily, just large enough to push through with only a little bit of a problem, barely needing to turn his shoulders. “He’s not much bigger than me, and what the hell else would he be doing here?” he pointed out.

“Heavy cannot fit through that window,” Heavy deadpanned.

“Yeah. Sorry, big guy,” Jeremy apologized, leaning back inside and closing it again. “But hey, mystery solved, right?”

“Well, if I ever need windows to climb out of, now I know just the lad for the job,” Demo said, nudging him. “Thanks, Guard. Or, er, Scout. Och, now that’s going to take getting used to, aye? Might just stick to calling you ‘laddie’, laddie.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he laughed, nudging him right back. And as much as they ribbed him for it, he did see a kind of appreciation there. Just like he’d figured, they seemed to take note of him taking their side and not just Miss Pauling’s.

Now he just needed to switch back over to the day shift.

#father-son bonding au #dad!spy #tf2 #team fortress 2 #shut up me #my fanfiction #everybody talks #really happy with this one even if it took Way Too Fucking Long

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tocrackerboxpalace · 3 years

Text

Le Rêve - Part 3

Summary: John demands an explanation for what happened in part two. The only problem is the response that the explanation is met with.

Warning: NC-17-rated (Buckle up!)

Paul was a bloody mess.

He and John had not directly talked to one another since the car ride. Their interview answers had been chaste and polite, and they had sat as far away from one another as possible, ignoring the persistently quizzical looks from George and Ringo. Paul had desperately tried to act as typical as possible but had felt overwhelmed with humiliation and confusion—and the concerned looks of the interviewer coupled with the “get-it-together” jabs of George’s elbow didn’t do much to reorient him.

They had finished the interview in a hurry, tensions high. On the way back, the boys wordlessly altered their seating arrangements as Paul crawled first onto the floor, curling up as much as possible as Ringo now took his spot on John’s lap. Paul held his face in his hands the entire ride, murmuring a flurry of “I’m all right” and “Maybe a sort of stomach bug, that’s all” to the others’ concerns.

John didn’t seem upset with him, just… indifferent. Which was almost worse. He didn’t scowl at him or try to hit him or mutter bitter, backhanded comments in the interview. He also didn’t curl up next to him tickle his ear or thump the back of his head or straighten his tie, as was typical. He just sat there, as if Paul had never existed. A bad reaction, Paul felt, would be better than this. He had absolutely no clue whatsoever what was going through John’s mind. Was he angry? Confused? Paul’s breath hitched. Disgusted?

Maybe he was just waiting until later to confront him. Away from the others.

The thought of being alone with John made Paul’s stomach churn. God, he had royally screwed up this time. He was alone with John more than anyone in the world, and there was no way he could wholly avoid his songwriting partner for too long. A discussion was inevitable, but that didn’t mean that he wanted it to come any sooner.

Paul threw the pen and pad down on the carpet in a sudden burst of frustration, running his hands through his hair. As soon as they had exited the car upon arrival back at the hotel, he had hurried to his room, buttressing his distress with an “I’m going to be sick” call. He had been hunched over on his bed ever since, staring at the utterly blank paper pad in front of him. He had immediately locked the door—not that he thought John would try and come in anyway, after earlier. Just to be safe.

In all fairness, Paul did think he was going to be sick. His sudden infatuation with John pulled at him from every which way, filling him with questions. Notably: What did all of it mean? For him and John, yes, but more importantly: for him. For his own sexuality and future. His mind was racing at the prospects.

He had tried to get some writing done, but it was no use. Usually, it was a soothing process for him, but he was stuck at a particularly heavy part of the song and couldn’t bring himself to ask for John’s help on the verse, especially after John had approached him with the task. He had had something earlier, but today’s—ahem—disastrous turn of events had left him distracted and empty-handed.

Paul stood, pacing the room frantically and kicking John’s strewn-about clothes to the side. God, what he would give to shamelessly watch John strip them off—

No. Paul’s mind snapped in response. He gave himself a light smack on the forehead, as if to swat the thought away. That’s John, your best mate. Your best male friend. You can’t think about him in that way.

It was one thing for him to show up in the dream, and for the dream to taunt Paul’s waking thoughts. He reckoned if it had been George or Ringo in the dream, he’d be in the exact same struggle—with something that sensual and realistic and wrong playing out in his unconscious, it’d only be right to worry. To obsess over. To over-analyze.

But he just couldn’t start thinking of John in that capacity, outside of dream-state John. He had started off as a bird, anyroad. The real John could never be so eager an interested in Paul in-in that way. Paul had watched his mate bloody lads up time and again for calling him queer when they were younger. So, it would do him no good to start fantasizing about Real John. Dream John would have to be compartmentalized until Paul could get over whatever the fuck was happening to him.

Paul suddenly sighed defeatedly and gathered up the pen and paper from the ground. He rehearsed the incomplete ballad in his head, hoping that with the flow of the song would come the next few lines.

If I fell in love with you

Would you promise to be true

And help me understand?

‘Cause I’ve been in love before

And I found that love was more

Than just holding hands…

Paul groaned in frustration. Nothing. John’s verse was so natural, so pure and beautiful: hey, love isn’t what I’ve always thought. Could you help me figure it out? Paul felt he was dirtying up the ballad, every thought paling in comparison to the vision he knew John wanted. But they’d both been stuck there for a reason, and it was now Paul’s duty to push them forwards.

Than just holding hands…

“Any progress, mate?”

Paul’s head whipped around at lightning speed. He had never heard the door open, but there John stood in its frame, leaning against it with the most casual aura Paul had ever felt. His heart was pounding, chest rising and falling theatrically, almost offended by the carefree picturesque model of John in front of him.

“I—uh, no. Sorry,” Paul spluttered, holding the pen and paper out to John as an offering. “I thought I’d locked the door.”

John ignored the latter comment, slipping into the room and shutting the door behind him. “It’s all right. I kind of dug me self into a hole, there. Sounds like a definitive ending.” He took the items from Paul and set them on the bedside table.

Paul nodded, his voice shaking as it rang impossibly loud in the small room. “Yeah. Maybe launch into a pre-chorus or something, I don’t know. Shake up the rhythm a bit. But I wasn’t sure what you wanted.”

“Doesn’t always matter what I want,” John answered. Plainly.

“It’s your ballad,” Paul countered. “I know how you can get with these things. Ask me for help and expect me to read your mind, you do.”

John chuckled, almost to himself. “Sometimes,” he started, toying with the pen on the nightstand. “I’m more interested to hear what you want.”

His eyes found Paul’s, and they were curious. There was something testing in them, and Paul began to panic. He had a feeling they weren’t necessarily talking about the song anymore.

“Why?” was all he could think of to say.

John shrugged. “Because sometimes it’s something new, and daring. Something… that I didn’t think you were capable of.”

Paul cocked an eyebrow at what felt like a backhanded compliment. He almost hoped they weren’t talking about the song. Because, if they were, he was pretty sure John had just called his writing boring. A stubborn defensiveness rose in his throat. “What’s that supposed to mean, now?”

John blinked. “What the hell happened in the car, Paul?”

Paul froze. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. They were stuck in his throat, every word that had ever been. The entire alphabet circling his mind, the infinite possibilities of combinations, the skill of language on the tip of his tongue. But it all eluded him.

John continued slowly when it was clear he wasn’t going to receive an answer. “Because, based on the way you’ve reacted since then, I don’t think I’ve misinterpreted it. I think I know exactly what happened, but what I want to know is—why. Or-or how.”

Paul could lie. He could tell John that he didn’t have any idea what he was talking about. Or that it was a misunderstanding, and he had thought John was acting strange. Or that he had popped a magical pill that was also an aphrodisiac, and it wasn’t anything personal or weird, because it was magical. Or he could tell the truth.

With his options laid out side by side like that, the answer felt quite clear.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Paul’s voice came out about eleven octaves higher than normal.

John quirked an eyebrow at him. His eyes surveyed the whole length of Paul’s body skeptically, as if trying to read his inner thoughts and feelings and desires. Paul squirmed under the gaze.

“That’s not true,” he decided finally. He was still standing across from the bed, his looming presence beginning to feel like one of dominance and control. He had the upper hand now, and whether Paul liked it or not, he was going to tell John the truth.

“It was a misunderstanding,” Paul tried. “But then you were acting strange, so I got nervous and reciprocated.”

“Wrong again.”

Paul was beginning to feel desperate. “I took a pill—”

John laughed suddenly, bizarrely. He cast his gaze to the side and bit his lip. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, Macca.”

Paul was quiet for a long time. The words were there, it wasn’t a matter of lexical access anymore—now he had to get his heart to say it. Because there was only one right answer to John’s question, and it wouldn’t answer a thing.

“I don’t know.”

Now it was John’s turn to be quiet. He simply stared in wonder as Paul continued unsteadily. “I-I had this dream. A few nights ago. And in the dream, I was getting on with a bird, and we were in the room, y’know? A-and we were. You know. But she was real strange at some parts, like she-she kept changing, and then…” He hesitated. “And then it was you. And you were doing everything that she was. And I woke up, w-with you, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I try, I swear, and I-I’m not gay, it’s just—”

“Why don’t we give it a go, then?” John said softly.

Paul’s words died in his throat. “I—what?”

“You heard me.”

Paul blinked wildly. “John, if this is some sort of sick joke—”

“No.” John stepped closer now, his expression impossible to read. “If it was so damn good that you can’t get it out of your head, and you can’t even control yourself around me… Let’s give it a go, then.”

Paul swallowed. When he spoke, his voice was small. “What if I don’t want to?”

John thought about this for a moment. “You can stop me at any point. We act like it never happened. You say the word, mate, and it’s off.” He paused. “But I don’t think you want that.”

To his dismay, John was right. Paul didn’t want that. His heart was pounding, blood rushing in his ears and almost drowning out the unbelievable things that John was suggesting. John had no idea what happened in the dream, and yet he was a wholly willing participant in the recreation? The idea, despite the whirlwind in Paul’s mind, sent a shock of tingles to his crotch.

“But… it’s… I’m not gay,” he tried again.

“Don’t think so much,” came John’s voice, gentle, as he caught Paul’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. Paul’s breathing slowed. This was that side of John that he rarely got to see: soft, comforting, calm. Loving. It felt bizarrely out of place in the situation. “Just… just don’t worry about it. If you think, you’ll ruin it.”

Paul nodded quickly, his mind buzzing.

John lowered himself onto the bed, his gaze never leaving his mate’s face. “What did she do first?”

The question caught him off guard. “Who?”

“The bird.” John chewed his lip tentatively. “What did she do first? In the dream?”

“Oh! Erm…” Paul thought for a moment. He knew very well that the dream had started with them making out, but part of him held that thought back. For some inexplicable reason, kissing felt more intimate, more queer, than whatever was about to happen. So, he refrained from mentioning it. “She—um, sort of got in me lap, like.”

John’s eyes flashed in recognition. “The car.”

“Yeah.” Paul winced. “The car.”

“Oh.” John’s voice was curious, and he looked down at himself for a moment before his eyes reconnected with Paul’s. They were wide, intrigued, but somewhat shy, too. A nervousness that Paul had never seen in his friend before. A tremor ran through Paul’s body as he recognized that same piercing stare from the dream.

“Why don’t ya…” John scratched his face apprehensively. “Erm… move back. Against the headboard.”

Paul gradually obliged. He swung his bare feet over the side, shifting himself higher on the bed until his back comfortably rested against the cushioned headboard. John kicked his own shoes off as he did so and climbed up after him.

Both boys paused for a moment, eyes locked, and something passed between them. An understanding that wherever this was going, it was all right, because it was John and Paul. Lennon and McCartney. And everything would be all right.

Emboldened by the exchange, John swung a leg over Paul’s outstretched body and planted himself directly in his lap.

“Like this?” He breathed.

Paul’s fingers found their way to John’s hips, watching the scene in wonder. His voice was ragged and humiliating, cracking at the sudden contact that flooded his mind with millions of filthy thoughts and images. “I—yes. Like that.”

“Then what?” Their faces were mere inches apart, John’s face flushed and almost eager. His eyes continually darted around Paul’s face and body, as if he too couldn’t believe the position they were in. His lips were wet and parted, slightly swollen from his nervous chewing habit. He sucked in the tiniest breaths of the shared air between them, as if he was terrified that Paul would pull away and he’d be left to his own solemn airspace once more.

In the moment, Paul wanted nothing more than to kiss him.

But no, that was too far. The desire in his crotch could be written off as greedy, randy, sexual—a biological need, perhaps. It could be satisfied, and maybe that was all Paul needed to get over the fantasy. The wild, twisted pull in his heart was not so easily dismissed.

“Paul?” John repeated. His pupils were dilated, his chest slowly heaving.

“Right. Erm… then she started, sort of, rocking a bit, I suppose.” He cringed inwardly as the words spilled out now, both humiliated at his own forwardness and betrayed by the almost desperate response his body was giving to John’s presence.

John didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed, however. He simply shifted to where his knees straddled Paul’s hips and placed his backside directly on Paul’s hardening member. A whisper of a groan escaped Paul’s lips as John slowly began rocking back and forth, grinding down into him.

“Like this?” John said again.

“Just like that.” Paul murmured as his eyes fluttered shut, cocking his head back against the bed. The feeling was all too familiar and quite simple to deal with—if Paul closed his eyes, he could nearly pretend that it was a female. One of those ladies from a Hamburg club giving him a lap dance. While the thought was entertaining and calming, part of Paul was alarmed at how easily John mimicked those movements, how convincing it all was.

“Paul,” John said suddenly, halting his movements.

Paul’s pulse quickened again. “Hmm?”

His friend broke out into a reluctant grin, chuckling at his own perplexity. “I can feel it. Already.”

Paul looked at him uncertainly. He knew he was hard as a rock now, all of the blood having rushed dizzyingly fast to the lower half of his body. The arousal and sudden shame made it hard to think. “Is it bad?”

John took a moment. “No.” He gave an experimental twist, slotting his body against Paul’s as he grinded down again, his face in the crook of Paul’s neck. A hand laced its way up the back of Paul’s neck and into his dark locks, giving a quick tug.

Paul couldn’t bite back the “ah, fuck,” that was pulled from his throat. The dizzying combination of sensations sent buzzing shocks through his dick, which now felt as though it was frantically trying to push its way out of his slacks.

“What next?” John asked, pausing the shift of his hips. There was an edge to his voice now as shaking fingers reached up to tease at Paul’s shirt buttons. “Maybe… she got you a bit undressed, is all.”

Paul nodded lazily. Why the hell not? It would make sense. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t really recall that happening. “Yeah… yeah, I think she did.”

John continued to rock in Paul’s lap, letting out curious hums at the minute twitches and moans coming from his friend. His long, delicate fingers struggled to successfully pop Paul’s buttons free, but Paul refrained from offering any assistance. He was amazed, shocked even, by the submissive display John was putting on show. A sudden jolt shot through his chest as he realized that John might do anything he asked him too.

John inhaled sharply as he undid the last button. Paul leaned forward a bit to shrug the white dress shirt off of his shoulders, casting it to the floor as it joined its friends.

John’s eyes wandered over his shirtless frame. They had seen one another in the most compromising of positions before—hell, they’d walked in on each other in the middle of a good shag countless times—but something was different now. This looking, feeling, touching… it was intentional, and it was just them. And it felt strange: an intoxicating concoction of arousal and desire and fear and confusion. Paul couldn’t help but wonder if he had wanted this for much longer before now and simply never realized it.

John’s calloused fingertips traced their way down Paul’s jawline, onto his neck, chest, stomach. Paul simply watched and felt, felt the way the touch that ran over him made his skin prickle and his face warm. John was regarding him cautiously, deliberately, as if he was a work of art that John was afraid to mar.

“I’m sorry if she teased you for this long,” John’s voice came, breathless. His fingers found the waistband of his trousers and hooked inside them. “When do I come in?”

“Right about now,” was Paul’s reply. His mind had entirely disregarded the remainder of the dream, not recalling and not caring. It was just him and John now, real John, who somehow really wanted to do this with him just as much as he wanted it to be done. Perhaps Paul had fallen asleep again while working on the song, and this was just a recreation of the first time. Another lucid fantasy.

The feeling of his cock popping free as John undid his zip let him know that this was all but a dream, though. He arched up off of the bed to help John shimmy the remainder of his trousers down his legs, kicking them off with fervor. The sudden change in John’s mood as the reins were passed to him caused Paul to check any reserved guilt or shame at the door. The tent in his boxers was no longer a burden but a beacon, an invitation for an inexplicably fervent John to do whatever he desired.

Then, the boxers were gone too. Tossed to the side with a particular carelessness that made Paul’s skin prickle with sweat. And that was that. Paul laid there, entirely naked and exposed under the watchful gaze of his best friend, his partner. John.

“I’m going to try something, Macca,” John started nervously, shifting so that he was directly between Paul’s thighs. Paul’s eyes went wide at the implication, at the scene. John’s mouth was only centimeters away from his flushed cock. And he eyed it, almost hungrily.

The sight made Paul moan, and John’s eyes flicked up fearfully. “You can stop me, Paul. Just tell me to stop, and I will. Tell me to stop…”

John almost sounded like he was talking to himself.

“Go on,” Paul whispered hoarsely.

John shot him one last daring glance before reaching out at grasping at Paul’s dick. The sudden sensation caused Paul to arch forward, brow knitted in roused concentration. His hands clutched at the bedsheets to steady himself as John began wanking him in an encouraging rhythm. “Bloody hell, John,” he groaned.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” A note of confidence, arrogance even, laced John’s voice.

“Y-yes. Very.”

Paul forced himself to open his eyes and jerked at the heated gaze that met his in return. John’s expression was dark with arousal, and his tongue flicked out teasingly between his teeth. The dynamic had wholly changed, John’s assuredness growing with every new step he was allowed to take, every dirty sound that was elicited from Paul’s throat.

When a bud of precum began to spill over, John wrapped his lips around the head and dipped his tongue over the slit, sucking it dry like the last few drops of an ice lolly.

Holy fuck.

“Shit. Ah, Christ!” Paul was babbling now as the sensation and notion struck him at once: John was giving him head. And it felt damn incredible. “God, John.”

The feeling of his throbbing member inside of John’s mouth was unreal. He could see it pulsing against the inside of his cheek as John bobbed his head, tongue and cheek muscles massaging him slowly to insanity. Paul cocked his head back and tossed it back and forth, unaware of how to respond to the situation.

Paul decided he had never gotten a blowjob before this. All those others were a silly game. Maybe it was John’s willingness and enthusiasm. Maybe it was that he, a male, probably knew how to best please another male. Maybe it was the taboo nature of the extremely explicit act they were engaged in, adding further logs to the fire. Whatever it was, Paul didn’t care. This—this was head.

John pulled off for a moment but continued stroking, the mixture of saliva and precum making the slide all the more easier. Paul felt lightheaded at the immense pleasure. “Christ,” John murmured, his voice unsteady. “Look at you, Paulie.”

Paul only moaned in response, hoping to draw John’s wonderful mouth back down.

John happily obliged, licking a long stripe up from his balls to the tip of his dick and swallowing it all down once more. Paul could note his inexperience, from the length he could take in and the variety in his movements, but somehow, the knowledge made it all better—the idea that John was doing this for the first time (or, one of the first times) to Paul. He made extra sure to gasp and groan loudly when John did something he particularly enjoyed, as if to almost teach the man what to do.

When John began to pull back for a breath, Paul hooked his ankles around the small of John’s back without thinking, pulling him closer.

“Fuck, Paul,” John groaned back. “God, I want you. I want you, Paulie.”

Paul hardly paid the confession any mind. John was babbling now, just like him, but Christ he would be lying if it didn’t turn him on more.

He let out another broken string of incoherent curses as John took more of him into his mouth than he thought possible. He grabbed a fistful of John’s hair and pulled him up aggressively, relishing in the light “Ah!” of surprise that escaped John’s lips.

“Dirty-talk me, John,” he practically begged, whispering into his mate’s ear. “Just—fuck—tell me what you want.”

Paul could feel John grin knowingly against his jaw. Uh-oh. The lad had an idea.

“You know, Paul, you’re not very quiet during sex.” John spoke into his ear teasingly, sensually. He began to pepper his jawline with kitten licks and nibbles. Paul only whimpered in response as John’s hand slowed to work him lazily. “Actually, you get quite loud. Make a whole fuss of it.”

“I—hadn’t noticed,” Paul panted.

John’s eyes glinted dangerously as he momentarily lifted himself. Their faces were only centimeters apart. “Paul? Do you want to know a secret, Paul?”

Paul’s mind barely registered the question. He nodded hazily, letting out another soft moan as John bent back down to lick at his earlobe.

“The thing is,” John started slowly, his hand beginning to pick up speed. “Sometimes you bring a bird up. Usually at a hotel, just like this. And we all know—me, George, Ritchie—we all know what’s going to happen when we see her come up.” John moved downward and began paying special attention to the junction of his neck and jawline. “But knowing what’s going to happen is different from hearing it.”

Paul immediately blushed, trying to discern where John was possibly going with this. Did he want him to be louder now? Or quieter later? Did he… Oh God, was John suggesting that they should—

“So here’s the secret,” John interrupted. “The other night, in Glasgow. I’m sure you remember.” He paused, as if to give Paul a chance to recount the night. His hand began pumping furiously, and he bit experimentally at Paul’s jaw. The mix of pleasure, shock, and pain, coupled with the words John was saying and the way he was saying them, was beginning to feel overwhelming. A string of filthy moans and groans were drawn out of him as he began to feel a familiar pull in the pit of his stomach. John looked at him expectantly for a moment, and Paul wasn’t sure if he was gauging his reaction or waiting for a response. Paul opted for the latter.

“I—fuck—remember.”

“Good. I do too,” John replied simply, sounding almost like a schoolteacher. Suddenly, his voice dipped low, and he placed his mouth directly in Paul’s ear to whisper the next bit. The second the words flowed out, John grinded down hard into Paul’s thigh, and Paul could feel an erection perhaps more pressing than his own.

“I gave me self a wank to it. And it wasn’t the girl.”

“Shit, John.” Paul’s mind instantly flooded with obscene images of John touching himself to the sound of Paul’s broken moans. His cock twitched in John’s hand and another series of moans and curses spilled out. He felt so close, John’s firm fist feeling so good around him, but part of him wanted to hold back. He began to panic.

If Paul let John touch him, that was one thing. It didn’t have to mean anything. They’d seen each other jerk themselves off countless times. He could convince himself that this was basically the same thing, just a slight shift of hands. He could ease his conscience by saying nothing had really happened.

But if Paul came on him, by his hand? He didn’t know if he could reconcile that one.

Paul bit his lip and tried to focus on anything but the image of John that was now burned onto his eyelids. It didn’t help that John was now rutting against his thigh and letting out involuntarily groans of his own. He couldn’t hold off much longer.

“John,” Paul started insistently. Before he could speak again, however, John pulled his face from where it was buried in his neck and pressed his lips against Paul’s own.

Paul was struck with surprise, but John wasted no time waiting for him to adapt. His tongue forcibly parted Paul’s lips and he licked into his mouth with fervor, as if this had been something he’d needed his whole life. Paul hesitated momentarily, but the roughness and intensity was impossible to ignore. He let his own tongue dance around with John’s. In a spur of dominance, Paul pushed back against John and licked into the other’s mouth, running his tongue along his mate’s teeth as if he wanted to trace every part of the man. Teeth clashed as both impossibly fought for more. When John retreated for air, Paul bit down on his bottom lip and grabbed him by the waist to pull him back in.

“Fucking hell, Paul,” John mumbled against his lips. He thrusted down particularly hard against Paul and moaned into his mouth, and Paul decided in that moment that it was the most sensual thing he’d ever experienced in his life.

“John.” He pulled back as much as possible from the kiss, turning his head so that John was met with his cheek when he went back in for more. “John, I can’t—” He thrust up weakly into John’s fist as if to emphasize his point. “John, stop, I-I’m gonna come—”

Just then, the door flew open.

Paul and John froze in their compromising position. Although it was only seconds later when John pushed himself off and scrambled to the other side of the bed, Paul grasping at the bedsheets to cover himself, it was too late.

George stared at them, open-mouthed, his hand still on the doorknob. No one spoke.

Paul, in that moment, solemnly decided they had no alibi. His mind ever-so-helpfully constructed an image of what they must have looked like: Paul, completely naked, his cock trapped between John’s skilled fingers, tongue-fucking each other as John dry humped his leg.

George’s eyes flitted between the two as their chests heaved. He made no motion, no effort to speak. Paul almost begged him to say something, watching as his mind worked furiously to come up with some excuse for what he just saw his mates doing.

Without a word, he turned and shut the door behind him.

“How could you not lock the fucking door?”

Paul turned his head towards the voice. His fingers trembled as he pulled the sheets tighter to his chin, twisting onto his side so the tent in the sheets wasn’t so humiliatingly evident. He felt dumbfounded. “What?”

“What do you mean, what?” John’s gaze looked frighteningly angry. “Are you absolutely daft? Are you actually just the pretty one? Paul, how could you not lock the fucking door?!”

Paul felt his own anger begin to rise in his chest. He felt helplessly defensive. “Are you mad? You started this! You’re the one that closed us in here. If anyone should’ve locked the door, it should have been you!”

“How was I supposed to know you were begging me to shag you? I just wanted to know what the hell was up with the car ride.”

Paul was aghast. “Begging you to shag me? I didn’t want to fucking tell you, John! I knew what would happen. You forced it out of me.” His voice grew cold. “You wanted it just as much as I did.”

John stared at him for a moment, his words faltering. Paul wondered if he had learned something tonight about John that he wasn’t supposed to know. He felt a sudden sick pride in his ability to shake him. The feeling, however, was short-lived when he noticed with a start how glassy John’s eyes were.

John sat up and ran his hands through his hair. His voice was shaking. “Shit, shit, shit. I bet he’s in the other room talking to Ringo right now. Telling him everything. There’s no other explanation for what he saw, Paul. They’re gonna tell Brian. Someone must have heard us, too, and they’ll get ahold of the press. Or the police. It’s over, everything we have is all over—”

“Hey,” Paul interrupted, softening his voice. He couldn’t bear to watch John spiral, especially in the tornado of emotions that was tearing through the room already. If John lost it, he would too. “It’s not going to get out. We’ll go get George and Ringo, and tell them what really happened, and—”

“What really happened, Paul?”

John was quiet now. His eyes were burning into him, pleading. Paul tensed up at the question, feeling his mind falling blank on any possible response. He didn’t know what answer John was pleading for. So he didn’t answer.

John met Paul’s eyes with the iciest stare Paul had perhaps ever seen. It suddenly felt as if a chill had come over the room.

“You’ve ruined everything.”

Paul watched numbly as John bent over on the edge of the bed, putting on his boots. He knew John was furious and spewing things he would soon regret, but another part of him knew that John was right. He had ruined everything.

“Where are you going?” He asked quietly, already fearing the answer.

John paused by the door. When he turned to look at Paul again, his expression was hard and unreadable.

“I’m not fucking queer.” And he slammed the door behind him.

Paul could only stare.

#the beatles #beatles fanfiction #john lennon #paul mccartney #george harrison #beatles smut #mclennon smut #mclennon #part 3 #chapter fic #ao3 #smut warning

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hockeylvr59 · 4 years

Text

Life Changes Part 7 || Paul Bissonnette

Summary: It’s crazy how quickly your life can change...one minute you’re a struggling personal injury lawyer and the next you’re working for one of the hottest sports podcasts to supplement your income. A new job and the end of a long-term relationship was just the beginning for Leigh Thompson when it comes to life changes. Thankfully she has the one and only Paul Bissonnette at her side to help her handle them all.

Authors Note: I’ve been sitting on this for about a month because I was going to finish writing the entire day in one chapter but I really think this can stand alone and has a different tone to it than the rest so I’m just gonna post the finished portion as is. I’d love love love thoughts on it. Again, please feel free to send me any songs that you think I should add to the series playlist.

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no || Warnings: cursing, anxiety || Word Count: 2,634

~~~

“When things change inside you, things change around you.”

A large booming laugh sounded from the next room an hour or so after I’d dozed back off to sleep, waking me immediately. I knew that laugh by heart and cursed myself when butterflies erupted in my stomach at the sound of it. Turning my alarm off, I slipped out of bed, once again reminding myself that it was just the hormones causing all of these crazy feelings and that they weren’t real. Pushing myself to my feet, I felt the butterflies start again, stronger this time, and tears instantly pricked at my eyes. My hand flew to my bump rubbing gently as I stood frozen in place, my mind processing what I’d just felt. That wasn’t some crazy hormonal feeling, that was my baby moving inside of me, a sensation that I’d been waiting weeks to feel.

The sensation was gone as quickly as it had started until another laugh sounded from the living room. Walking toward the bedroom door, I opened it quietly and stood there just listening and waiting for another laugh, hoping it would make this little girl or boy move again. Though the boys were in the middle of an interview, the moment Paul saw me and the tears rolling down my cheeks he sent me a concerned look and moved to get up. Shaking my head, I motioned for him to continue, now drawing the attention of the rest of the boys and their guest. Keep laughing. I mouthed, causing Paul’s eyebrow to raise in confusion. The story being told continued on and after a minute or two Paul’s laugh sounded through the room again, followed by the rapid flutterings of the baby’s movements.

I remained in the doorway to the living room until the boys wrapped things up a few minutes later and as soon as they were done recording, Paul was out of his chair and moving over to me.

“Is everything okay?” He murmured softly and I found myself laughing softly as I nodded.

“Your laugh woke me up because apparently dustbunny likes it. I just felt the baby move for the first time Paul.” His eyes grew wide as he looked down at me, his hand falling to my waist.

“Wait what? The baby moved?” He questioned.

“Yeah... I’ve been waiting to feel it because all the books say you should by 22 weeks and I was beginning to worry that I hadn’t yet.” I knew without him even asking that he was wondering if he’d be able to feel it and I shrugged softly. “It’s not a kick or anything yet...more like a feeling of bubbles or something. It’ll be a few more weeks before someone else could feel but god Paul...it’s incredible.”

The smile on my face made him smile, though I knew he was slightly disappointed that he couldn’t feel. Hugging me gently, he murmured that he was glad that everything was okay and then looking at the clock murmured for me to go get my shower.

“Fine...if you insist.” I teased softly, leaning up to kiss his cheek before turning to slip back into our room to gather my things for a shower.

_____

Half an hour later I was clean, shaven, and moisturized. After quickly blow-drying my hair I returned to the bedroom, smiling when I found a button down shirt laid out with a scratchy handwritten note on top of it.

Here’s the button up I promised. Also Brie expects you to take your things over to get ready with her just FYI. The boys and I will bring you back some food in a bit but I probably won’t see you until it’s time to go. Enjoy your girl time.

Paul

It made me smile that he remembered our conversation from a few days ago where I’d demanded he bring me a spare button up because none of my own fit anymore and I didn’t want to have to struggle with getting a normal shirt off over completed hair and makeup.

I was a little surprised that Ryan’s wife, Brie, wanted to get ready together because I actually hadn’t met her yet. Still, I gathered up my makeup bag, hair supplies, dress and sandals and headed across the hall, knocking gently at the bedroom door that Ryan had walked out of this morning.

Brie was so welcoming as she took my things, hanging my dress over the door before taking the rest into the bathroom where her things were already spread out over the counter. As soon as her hands were free, her arms were wrapped around me in a hug.

“I’m so glad I finally get to meet you. Ryan has not shut up about you since you started working with them. He’s constantly bragging about the events you’re planning and how revenues have grown already.” She exclaimed, causing me to blush having never been one to take compliments well. As she pulled back her eyes widened for a moment. “And oh my god. The baby. Look at you...you’re glowing.” Her excitement was a little bit overwhelming but nice all the same.

“I just felt the baby move for the first time so that probably has something to do with it.” I explained.

“It’s the most incredible feeling isn’t it?” She declared rhetorically and I nodded trying to fight back the tears that were threatening again.

“Yeah it really is. God I am so emotional lately that it’s driving me crazy.” I admitted, and my confession made her laugh as she nodded in sympathy.

“I know that feeling well.” Looking over the supplies gracing the counter I realized that her hair was already mostly done and she looked absolutely beautiful. “So..this is your first big event right?” She asked, looking over her shoulder at me.

“Yep. And I wouldn’t be here if I knew how to tell Biz no. But he’s so goddamn insistent and he’s done so much for me that I guess this is the least I could do.” For a moment I couldn’t read the expression on her face before she turned back to me.

“We’ll get to all of that…” She trailed off, smirking a bit which scared me just a little. “But first, please tell me that you’ll let me do your hair and makeup.” Neither of those areas were really within my expertise, especially not for something like this so I bit my lip for a moment before sighing.

“Yes please...I honestly have no idea what I’m doing and I’m already nervous enough about tonight.” Her face was giddy as she quickly looked me over once more, paced out of the room to look at my dress, before returning to plug the curling iron I’d brought into the wall.

“What are you so nervous about?” She finally asked as she quickly finished up her own hair while waiting for the curling iron to heat up.

“That the entire world is gonna take one look at me on camera and immediately rumors will be flying about my pregnancy. I mean everyone who matters already knows, and I know I’m going to have to make an announcement eventually because I don’t think I can avoid it working this job, but I want to do it on my terms and not because millions of people see me on the arm of Paul Bissonnette and jump to conclusions. That’s the last thing that either of us need.” Brie was silent through my rant before resting a hand gently on my shoulder.

“It’s all gonna be fine. You and I can sneak down the red carpet ahead of the guys if we have to and once we’re inside there isn’t anyone who would dare say a word about it even if they did notice.” Her face was reassuring as she took two steps out of the bathroom again before returning and motioning for me to sit on a chair she’d brought in from the living room. “But you’re wearing a maternity dress and your bump isn’t that big so I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” She added, quickly sectioning my hair before spraying a portion with heat spray and beginning to curl it.

She worked in silence on my hair for a few minutes, leaving me to my own thoughts. Now that I was fully awake, my brain started to wander. Brie had mentioned vaguely that we’d get back to the subject of Paul and what she was implying by that made me nervous. Then Grinnell’s assumption about Biz being the baby’s father and Ryan’s comment about Biz being differently lately both popped back into my head and suddenly it felt like I couldn’t breathe. My hands started shaking and didn’t stop until Brie was squatting in front of me, her hands holding mine.

“Hey...what’s wrong?” She murmured. “Take a deep breath….in…..out….again.” Following her guidance I forced myself to start breathing again though the implications that everyone was making wouldn’t leave my mind. Brie didn’t say anything else right away, letting me try and put my thoughts into words.

“Sorry....” I whispered, taking a few more deep breaths. “Just fuck...Mikey assumed Paul was the baby’s father and your husband commented on Paul being different lately and just...what does all of that fucking mean?” Brie’s hands were still resting on my own until I finished and then she stood up again.

“Well...I mean we all know Mikey isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed…” She declared. “So I wouldn’t really read into that. That assumption is probably more on Biz anyway than it is on you.”

“Still...that assumption is premised on the idea that Biz would even have sex with me…” I trailed off, flushing slightly.

“What...you don’t think he would?” Brie asked and when she looked down at my face she nearly gasped. “You really don’t think he would…”

Flushing further, I shrugged. “I’m just...I think it’s clear that I’m not his type okay. We’re talking about the man that has been with models and porn stars…” Ducking my head, I brushed a hand over my bump and sighed. “As much of a man whore as he is, no I don’t think he’d have sex with me. So Mikey’s assumption could not be further off.”

For a moment it seemed like Brie wanted to push but then she decided it wasn’t a good idea and instead picked the curling iron back up.

“I think you’re wrong but I’ll drop it at that.” She murmured curling a few more strands of my hair before speaking again. “As far as my husband’s comments go... you have to at least admit that he is different lately because of you.” My face crinkled with confusion, causing Brie to sigh and continue down her train of thought. “Okay so obviously you didn’t know him before he met you...but Ryan and I did and he is so different now. He doesn’t go out as much, doesn’t talk about his hookups as much. Instead, he’s constantly talking about you. You do realize that he spent the entire morning while they weren’t recording talking to Ryan about the baby right? And he’s happier...so much happier than I’ve ever seen him. He cares a lot.” I couldn’t help but think about all of the nights that were spent with Paul on the other end of the phone. But with the time difference I’d assumed that he was just having his fun once I was asleep.

“I know that he cares about the baby...he’s been such a great friend with all of that.” I could see Brie purse her lips from above me before shaking her head.

“He cares about you too you know...not just the baby.”

“I mean yeah...we’re friends…” I breathed and Brie got that look on her face that suggested that I was completely daft.

“Oh...Leigh...I don’t know whether you’re lying to yourself or if you honestly don’t see it.” She mumbled under her breath. Setting the curling iron down for a moment again she leaned against the counter in front of me. “Just...keep an open mind. I know you’re going through a lot but....don’t write things off yet.”

After a moment’s pause she quickly changed the subject to the baby, what plans I had, when and if I was finding out the sex. She continued curling my hair until there was a knock at the bedroom door and when she called out that it was okay to come in, Grinnell appeared carrying a take out bag from Chick-fil-a and a container of fruit. Brie eagerly grabbed the food from him before shooing him out of the room with a quick thanks.

I munched on the fruit, somehow knowing that Paul had picked it up specifically for me, while Brie finished my hair. After that, we took five to finish eating and so Brie could start on her own makeup. Scrolling through social media I couldn’t help but laugh seeing the chiclets page’s latest update on Instagram.

Brie was much faster with her makeup than I could probably ever be and so it wasn’t long before she was digging through my bag and her own figuring out what she was going to do to enhance my look for the night. We talked about her and Ryan’s baby boy who was at home with his grandparents and I couldn’t help but smile thinking about that sort of future with my own baby. It was definitely going to be hard, everything she dealt with when Ryan was on the road would be my life all the time but I loved this baby so much that I couldn’t wait.

By the time she finished with my makeup, we had about ten minutes before we needed to leave and Ryan had already come banging on the door once to insist that we were ready on time.

Thankfully, with Brie’s help it didn’t take me more than a minute or two to change from the button down and shorts into my dress. With my bump in the way, putting on my shoes took me a little longer but we were still ready to go and grabbing clutches with a couple of minutes to spare.

Brie left the room ahead of me and I heard her murmur something to the guys but when I stepped out of the room I wasn’t prepared for the reaction I received. Immediately my ears were met with teasing catcalls coming from RA and Whit. When I looked up, Grinnell wasn’t even paying attention but Paul’s eyes were focused directly on me. Brie smirked at me and motioned to the silly little grin on Paul’s face while she worked on fixing her husband’s tie. If asked, I wouldn’t admit that my heart skipped a beat at the way Paul was looking at me, his eyes soft with a twinkle I’d never noticed before. Still, when he didn’t say anything I was worried that he didn’t like the dress or something.

“So…?” I whispered softly, trying not to bite my lip and ruin my lipstick. Hearing my voice, Paul blinked rapidly for a moment before striding across the room toward me, his hand falling to my hip.

“Wow...you look wow.” He breathed, dropping a kiss to my forehead as he looked me up and down. “You look incredible.” He eventually added, a lazy, happy grin taking over his face. A warmth spread through my entire body at his words, but before I could comment on how well he cleaned up, Whit was practically dragging us out the door declaring that we were going to be late.

Chapter 7 Outfit:

#paul bissonnette #paul bissonnette imagine #Arizona coyotes #arizona coyotes imagine #former player #former player imagine #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #014.1

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

The Goode Case, 13/14 (Jaida/Jan) - Juno

Chapter summary: With the Goode Case finally closing, all that is left is for Jaida to do is survive the interview into what happened, and find out if Jan ever wants to see her again.

(A/N: So we’re nearly at the end now! Thank you all so much for all your support. Here is part thirteen. I hope you enjoy!)

Wednesday 1stNovember

5.54PM

They’d spent most of the day in separate interviews, needing to keep away from each other as was custom, to confirm their stories were all straight. Jaida had had to keep away from Brita and Jackie while they went between interviews, around the building; even taking separate lunches – Jaida going at twelve. Jaida had missed her teammates more than she could put into words. It had surprised her, really, how much closer she’d grown to Jackie and Brita in the last four days, but spending the day without them felt like losing a leg.

The only person she’d spotted in passing was Crystal, as she’d walked past the window of the café she’d gone to for lunch. Crystal hadn’t seen Jaida, but Jaida knew she was only in the area for the interview; and thinking about it, Crystal probably had the most information to give out of the eight of them who were there yesterday.

Between the eight of them that had been there – three detectives, four members of public, and of course the victim’s statement from hospital – it sounded like the volume of stories would corroborate with each other. No matter how far fetched the story itself sounded.

At four thirty, interview process was done.

Jaida had entered their usual meeting room, finding Brita and Jackie had arrived before her, and were sat side by side, their arms linked, Jackie resting her head on Brita’s right shoulder; but neither of them looked at each other, or Jaida as she came in, both of them staring glassy-eyed at the opposite wall.

Jaida had simply understood. She’d crossed the room, and sat in the empty chair on Brita’s left, linking her arm through Brita’s. Brita squeezed Jaida’s arm to her side, and the three of them stayed still, silent for a long time, content to just be in each others’ company.

It was Brita who had come out the worst out of the three of them. She looked utterly exhausted, bags forming under her eyes, her skin still pallid, her hair covered by the hood of her favourite grey hoodie. She was far less exuberant than usual, her brown eyes dull, and when she spoke, her voice croaked as though she were recovering from a cold.

“Pizza?”

“Mantione’s?” Jaida had said hopefully.

“Yeah,” Jackie had replied.

Jackie had still parted her fringe to the left, although the bruise on her forehead from Sunday was starting to turn yellow and fade away. She looked pale, and was wearing an extra hoodie, shivering with cold as they stepped outside into the November evening.

The cold air seeming to rejuvenate them all, Jaida found herself overcome with emotion all of a sudden, and pulled Brita and Jackie into a hug; they both paused, dazed, before reciprocating, and the three of them stood in a hug for what seemed like hours.

“Huh,” Brita said eventually, when they broke apart. “What a day.”

At Mantione’s, Jan was on shift, but mentioned she was due to stop at six when Brita asked. She seemed nonplussed at their appearance in the diner, and didn’t seem to want to stay with them for very long, although the diner was quiet.

Instead she went to sit with Crystal and Aiden, who had appeared in the diner about ten minutes after they did, and was still there, deep in conversation with Crystal, nodding earnestly every now and then.

Jaida felt a pang, thinking that Jan might not even want to know her any more. And could she blame her?

It was Jan’s brother Paul who actually brought them their pizzas, giving Brita a rub on her arm as he put them down, concern written all over his face. How much did he know? What had Jan told him? But they didn’t have time to think much on it, as the smell of pizza seemed to bring them back to life. Jaida hadn’t felt able to eat much at lunch, and her stomach growled.

Two or three slices later, the three of them begun to speak a little more freely again.

“Did the hospital report back on Gigi?” Jackie asked.

Brita nodded. “The good news is she was totally fine, apart from being a bit dehydrated. They’re pumping her with fluids and stuff, and she’s getting released tomorrow, all being well.”

“That’s great news,” Jaida said, looking over at Crystal. “I bet she’ll be happy to get her girlfriend back.”

“Since there is no one to press charges against – no one alive, anyway – the Goode Case is officially closing. Thank God,” Brita added with a groan.

“So …” Jaida asked, putting a hand on Brita’s forearm, “what do you remember?”

Brita laughed bitterly. “Like, almost nothing. When I went to the house on Monday, on my own, I told myself I’d left my torch. But as soon as I stepped inside, I knew I’d made a mistake. Michelle just kind of …” Brita clamped both her hands on either side of her head and squeezed, unable to explain in any other way. “I felt like I was in a … a really deep sleep, most of the rest of Monday and all Tuesday. I remember a few bits, but they feel like dreams.”

“I bet the interviewer loved that,” Jackie muttered.

“I was fine after Michelle left me, it’s all crystal clear memories after that. But … I’m really nervous to do anything else like this now. Seriously. All this projection stuff has made me freaked out.”

“I meant to give you this on Monday, speaking of that,” Jaida reached into her bag and took out the book that Dahlia had given her.

Brita turned it over. “Astral Projection For Beginners: A Complete Guide.” Brita laughed nervously. “Thanks. You still owe me a Christmas present though.”

There was a loud gasp from one of the booths on the other side of the diner. Brita turned to crane her neck, before turning back to Jaida and Jackie with a sigh.

“Seriously, though, why are they both avoiding us tonight?” Brita asked.

Jackie and Jaida turned around to the booth twenty feet away on the other side of the diner. Jan was still sitting with Crystal and Aiden, nodding emphatically, listening to whatever it was they were saying.

“Have you spoken to either of them?” Jackie asked.

Brita nodded. “I messaged Aiden. She said that Crystal was talking to Jan last night, which was great as I was too. I think she’s gonna be fine. It was just a shitty experience for her. I really owe her big time for what Michelle did to her. Dragging her to a plane with a fire in it! That’s Jan’s biggest fear.”

“It is?” Jaida put a hand to her mouth.

“Yeah. Jan says she just remembers fainting, and then coming round with Dahlia putting those smelly things under her nose. Not a great Tuesday evening.”

Jaida watched as Jan stood up, still out of earshot, and walked out from the booth with Crystal and Aiden, making her way back behind the bar and disappearing into the back area.

“She’s as into you as you’re into her.” Brita grinned.

“What you talking about?” Jaida tried to feign nonchalance.

“Sis, Jan swore to me that she wouldn’t do any dating until she’d landed a part, and she said you’re taking her out this Friday.”

“Wait, what? Why would she break that for me?”

Brita gave her a cynical smile. “Come on Jaida, have you seen yourself in a mirror?”

“Girl I know, I’m hot, I make all the ladies go wild,” Jaida joked, pushing her braids back over her shoulders, “but that don’t mean all the ladies want to actually date me.”

“Well, Jan’s sole focus is her career,” Brita said. “All the wants is to perform. When we were kids, that was all she wanted to do all the time. She’d put on musical numbers to all her Barbies. And me. I was an honorary Barbie.”

“Honorary Barbie!” Jackie shrieked with laughter.

“Shut up, Jackie! But – the point is that Jan doesn’t break her focus for anything. Including girls, normally. This is a big deal for her.”

Jaida tilted her head cynically. “Is it the uniform as well?”

Brita paused. “Maybe a little bit.”

“I knew it! It always is!”

Jan emerged, her hair freed from the bun she wore it in for shift, and her apron and shirt discarded, replaced by a purple hoodie. She pottered around behind the bar, grabbing herself a bottle of coke.

“So – what’s the next step?” Brita asked.

Jaida finished her bite and stood up. “Probably this.” She strode to the bar, as Jackie and Brita looked confusedly after her.

Jan tensed a little when she saw Jaida approaching the bar.

“Oh, Jaida,” she said, a small forced smile gracing her face, but her eyes were wary.

“Hey, Jan,” Jaida replied. “Can I get a Pinot, and whatever the beautiful lady behind the bar wants?”

“Sure.” Jan stopped at the fridge and looked up. “Wait. Are you buying me a drink?”

“Yeah,” Jaida shifted from one foot to the other. “Your shift ends now, right?”

Jan poured herself a Pinot as well, and within a few minutes they were in a booth of their own. The diner was still quiet, a few people starting to bustle in, but they were mostly hidden, although Jan’s eyes kept darting amusedly around the diner.

“I think we’re being watched,” Jan murmured, a glint in her eye.

“I know, Brita looks far too happy with herself right now.” Jaida looked over at Brita and Jackie, Brita giving them a thumbs up while Jackie put her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

“Well, not just Brita,” Jan said, pointing to Crystal and Aiden, on the other side of the diner, who both turned from staring at them to looking down at their food in feigned innocence.

“Have you spoken to Brita since – since yesterday afternoon at all?” Jaida said quietly.

Jan sighed. “Yeah, we had a long call late last night, so I know she was, like, possessed or something when she brought me to the house. It sounded really strange at first, but then Crystal was calling me with the same news, so I said I’d meet them today. Crystal told me about what happened.”

“And you’re fine with her explanation? You believe us?”

“I think …” Jan paused. “I think I’ll just need a bit of time to process it. I mean, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find it weird, but I’ve known Brita since we were kids,” Jan shrugged. “She wouldn’t lie about something like that. I know that whoever it was who brought me to that place wasn’t Brita. Brita would never – well, she knows how scared I am of fire.”

“It wasn’t Brita,” Jaida shook her head fervently. “She’d never hurt you. She’s really beating herself up about the whole thing.”

Jan looked suddenly curious. “Do you guys always do paranormal stuff together? Like, Scooby Doo and Mystery Inc or something?”

Jaida choked on her wine. “How much did Crystal tell you exactly?”

“Well, I know Crystal sees ghosts and stuff – she tells practically anyone, you know – and she said you did the same thing! And that you – you had to leave your body and go between astral planes or something to get me!”

“Something like that,” Jaida shifted in her chair. “Yeah, I guess. But we all helped. Crystal probably helped most of all. Are Crystal and Aiden both alright after yesterday?” Jaida asked tentatively.

“Crystal’s over the freaking moon to have Gigi back, she’s so happy you wouldn’t believe. But … Jesus, she’s so sweet – she literally rang me from hospital last night to check up on me. Said she was pretty much the only person in the building not to have something spooky happen to them, so she felt it was her duty or something.”

Jan shook her head, smiling into her glass. “She does too much. Like – she always says if she was in an action movie, she’d be the one with the sword running screaming into the middle of a battlefield.”

“She needs some time for herself too,” Jaida replied.

“Aiden said Crystal kind of broke down at lunch, after their interviews. Because – because Crystal was trying to explain it all to Aiden; she remembers nothing! I think she had to take her home for a bit before they came out here.” Jan glanced at Crystal, who was deep in conversation and not looking at them any more. “She does too much.”

“Oh,” Jaida lowered her voice. “Don’t look now, but an interesting development is happening.”

Jackie was pulling Brita by the sleeve of her hoodie, along to the other side of the diner, and Jaida watched them say something to the students before climbing into the opposite seat to them.

“Oh, Jesus, finally.” Jan looked relieved. “Honestly, they’ve both been driving me nuts.” She motioned to her phone. “I’ve had to give Aiden one lot of advice and Brita another.”

“Wait, they’ve both been sending you messages about each other? Instead of just – sending them to each other?” Jaida held back a laugh.

“They’re useless. Both of them.” Jan shook her head, exasperated. “Brita’s thinking too much. She wants the freaking planets to align or something, and all the details to be completely perfect. I’ve already told her that I haven’t seen Aiden this cheerful since we all dressed goth and went to see Marilyn Manson for her birthday. Aiden won’t care about the minor details. But Aiden just won’t say out loud what she’s feeling, and I think that’s what Brita needs to hear from her.”

“They’re both worrying about nothing,” Jaida agreed.

“So – maybe this is a good sign. If they can both pull their heads out their asses.”

Jaida snorted with laughter. “Why are we talking about Brita and Aiden, anyway? They’ll work things out. I just –“ Jaida held her eyes, “I just want to sit with you for a while.”

But Jan’s grin started to fade from her face, and she averted her gaze.

“What?” Jaida asked.

“I’m …” Jan laughed, but all Jaida heard was nerves. “I’m nobody, really – I’m just working here in my parents’ restaurant, saving money, auditioning every spare minute, not really getting anywhere, but you – you’re the real deal! You got a job, and an apartment, and an exciting life! And ghosts and stuff!” Jan looked awed. “It’s fascinating. I never saw a ghost. My brother Charlie says he did once, but we just tease him about it.”

“Believe me, fascinating is putting it nicely,” Jaida murmured, suddenly worried at where this conversation was going.

“You’re –“ but Jan didn’t finish her sentence, looking back up at Jaida and laughing humourlessly, shaking her head. “Sorry. I’m being stupid.”

“You’re not!”

“To think that someone like you …” Jan paused, waving her hand to try to articulate, but giving up and sighing. “Never mind.”

“Jan,” Jaida took a breath. “I – and I’m being honest! – I really, really think you’re great, and …” Jaida’s tongue was tying, but she swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the dry feeling in her throat. “And if you’re happy, I really don’t want this to change anything for us. I’d still like us to go out, on Friday. But if you’re uncomfortable …” Jaida exhaled, trying to keep her nerves in check, “if you’re uncomfortable, because of everything that happened yesterday, I totally understand.”

Jaida took a deep breath, preparing for the inevitable let down.

Instead, Jan leant across the table in the booth and kissed her gently on the lips.

It took a second for Jaida to realise before she returned the pressure; Jan’s touch was so gentle that Jaida held her breath, hardly daring to believe this was happening. She lifted a hand to Jan’s jaw, threading her fingers into her hair …

Jan pulled away sharply when a whoop came from the other booth, and Jaida leaned over to see Crystal waving her fists in the air, a huge grin on her face, while Aiden hid her face in her hands in embarrassment at her friend.

“Oh, yeah,” Jan shrugged apologetically. “I think they’re excited about this as well.”

Thursday 2ndNovember

6.21PM

“Salut Nicky. Hi Heidi.” Jackie unlocked the door without looking up, and was so distracted as she entered the apartment with hanging up her coat and kicking off her shoes that she didn’t even realise Jaida was there too.

JACQUELINE!

“What?” Jackie cried, almost dropping her bag. Her eyes darted to the couch, where Jaida was sat.

“What are you doing here?” She frowned. “Not that I’m not happy to see you!”

“Getting fashion advice for my date with Jan tomorrow. I asked Heidi and she said that Nicky was the expert, so here I am!” Jaida motioned to the rest of the couch, which was empty. Jackie looked all around the room.

“Where are they then?”

“They went to Nicky’s room about …” Jaida checked her watch. “About twenty minutes ago, said they were just going in to get some clothes. I thought I’d leave them to it for a while.” She grinned knowingly at Jackie, who grinned knowingly back.

“If you’d told me you were coming over, I’d have put some food on for us all.”

“I shouldn’t have to tell you!” Jaida cocked her head. “You should read my mind!”

“Don’t,” Jackie sighed. “I’m trying not to at the moment. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Do you know what it’s like, sitting in the office next to Brita, when she’s just trying to read messages from Aiden and then decipher in her head what they all mean? If I hear her thinking ‘but what does this mean, what does that mean’ much more I’m going to throw my laptop at her.”

“She’s gonna be mad when she finds out you’ve been hearing her thoughts!” Jaida teased.

“I think the idea has grown on her since last week,” Jackie shrugged. “Just … in moderation.”

Heidi’s raucous laughter came from Nicky’s room, followed by Nicky’s far more polite giggle, and then silence.

“I know when Nicky is at home now! I like Heidi a lot, she’s great – but then she got hold of my big French dictionary and started looking up rude words.” Jackie laughed. “Now all I need to do is listen out for Putain, Merde or anything else that comes out of her mouth.”

Jaida snorted with laughter. “Sounds like Heidi.”

“I’ve moved my Farsi dictionary to my room. I’m not taking any chances!”

Nicky’s door opened and Nicky and Heidi spilled out, carrying a small pile of clothes each, both looking a little flustered, Nicky’s blonde bob dishevelled.

“Here they are,” Jackie announced, cocking an eyebrow at them both.

“Your closet goes to Narnia, does it?” Jaida grinned.

“No, we were just Heidi, in the closet!” Heidi screeched with laugher, while Nicky, a little more restrained, giggled next to her. “Get it? ‘Cause I’m Heidi and I was just in a closet?”

“Comedy gold, sis.” Jaida was laughing along with them. “Have you got anything I can try out?”

“We found a few things you might like,” Nicky winked at her, laying her pile on the back of one of the chairs of the dining table. “But this one was our favourite!”

She held it up in front of Jaida, whose eyes widened. Between them, Heidi and Nicky had settled on a sparkly gold mini dress with capped sleeves, and a longer train at the back that almost reached the floor.

“Alright, let’s give it a try.”

Once Jaida changed into it, emerging from the bathroom in an exaggerated catwalk strut, Nicky clapped her hands gleefully while Heidi gave her a whistle.

Jackie, however, was frowning at it.

“I don’t know – I mean, you look stunning, Jai, but it doesn’t really scream first date, does it?” Jackie said, scratching the back of her neck. “It says a nice formal occasion. But you’re only going for coffee. I think it needs to tone down a bit.”

“Check with Brita, she knows Jan better than we do,” Heidi suggested, grabbing Jaida’s phone to take a picture.

Jaida:Brittany!!

Jaida:How about this for tomorrow evening? X

Brita:Girl you’re like SMOKING hot! Maybe not for coffee though xx

Jaida: What do you think Jan will wear?

Brita: Jan’s really chill. Denim jacket, skirt and sneakers

Brita:Maybe one of her Patriots shirts if she gets stuck x

Brita:She just sent me her outfit: denim mini and hi tops xx

“Yeah, I need something more casual,” Jaida said, reaching for the zip on the dress.

Friday 3rdNovember

6.12PM

It had been too confusing with all the conflicting opinions. Jaida had settled with black jeans and a deep red blouse, and threw a warm jacket over it. It was a little too cold to go without one. She’d managed to get away early, but then her bus was late, congestion and New York traffic making her twitch nervously and watch out the window.

By the time she got off the bus, it was ten past six. She hurried along the street, hoping she wasn’t too late. Hoping Jan was still there, or maybe Jan was late too.

But Jan was already there, looking in the opposite direction, hugging her lilac jacket around her, her blonde hair shifting effortlessly in the wind.

No time like the present.

Jaida crossed the road and approached Jan from behind. She saw Jan catch sight of her reflection in the window, before mimicking nonchalance and letting Jaida approach.

“Boo!”

“Aah!” Jan turned in a half-hearted display of horror, before breaking into a warm smile. Her light brown eyes crinkled at the corners as she looked at Jaida up and down, drinking in her figure.

“You look incredible!” Jan grinned.

“So do you,” Jaida smiled back at her.

“You’re so lying. I’m in a Pats shirt!” Her laugh filled the air around them.

“You still look incredible.” Jaida tried to inject all the sincerity she felt into her voice. Jan was inadvertently making it very difficult to focus on anything else but her. The radiant smile, the perpetual changing movements in her face.

Jan directed Jaida into a corner in the coffee shop, on a couch that just became free as they walked in, and went to order for them. Jaida noticed how concealed they were, a small wall between the couch and the rest of the world, their own cocoon, almost entirely sheltered from people around her.

The sound of light jazz in the background and the people a few metres from them, intent on their own conversations, let Jan and Jaida submerge themselves into their own world. Jaida was starting to unwind, and Jan seemed to as well, leaning into the couch with her and resting her elbow on the back of it.

“I can only drink one now,” Jaida said, “and that’s it. Or I can’t sleep.”

Jan shrugged. “I don’t even like coffee!”

“What! What are you drinking then?”

“Hot chocolate!”

They both laughed at that. Jaida chanced a movement of her foot towards Jan’s sneakers under the table, determined to remain in control of the situation, while Jan responded by catching Jaida’s ankle between her own calves. Damnit.

“You’re a Sagittarius?”

“A sexy Sagittarius,” Jaida said with a wink. “You need to get it right.”

“I don’t think I’ve dated a sexy Sagittarius before.” Jan’s voice was becoming husky, Jaida was unsure if Jan realised it; but it was making Jaida’s skin tingle.

“What are you then?”

“Uh, a Gemini, but don’t hold that against me, we get such a bad rap.”

“What are Geminis like then?”

“Well,” Jan thought, “we’re very, uhm, there are many qualities, uhm -”

“You don’t know a damn thing about it!” Jaida cackled.

“I do! We’re quite diverse, we can seem like two different people, but we’re really, like, bubbly and energetic, sociable!” Jan nodded. “But there’s like, two different characters sometimes.”

“Like how?”

“Like, sometimes we like to be sociable with lots of people and lots of friends, and sometimes … sometimes we like a quiet time, with a hot chocolate, with maybe one gorgeous woman for company instead of a big crowd.”

“That’s Geminis, is it?” Jaida heard her voice starting to purr.

“It’s definitely some Geminis,” Jan chuckled.

“Do some Geminis also enjoy light jazz, detectives, and the occasional ghost?”

“Apparently so,” Jan murmured, that husky quality returning to her voice. “What about Sagittarians, then? Do they like pizza, getting drinks spilled on them, and the Patriots?”

Jaida tilted her head, placing a finger to her chin, pretending to ponder the question.

“Meh,” she said nonchalantly.

“Hey! Don’t call me ‘Meh’, Jaida!” Jan playfully batted at Jaida’s arm.

Neither of them could help laughing, Jan batting at Jaida again, when Jaida caught her hand this time and pulled Jan in a little closer, staying in place until they forgot to continue laughing, their faces edging nearer.

“Anything else Sagittarians like?” Jaida heard Jan breathe.

Jaida was close enough to see a scattering of freckles on Jan’s nose. Flecks of amber in her eyes.

She was getting close enough to losing herself now, and she realised that it was exactly what she wanted to do.

“I’m sure I can think of a few things,” Jaida purred, words getting harder to form, fighting to keep control. Jan was inches from her, eyelids fluttering a little, and Jaida raised a hand to stroke Jan’s jawline.

It was Jan who finally gave in, reaching forward to close the gap between their lips, her eyes falling closed. Jaida kissed her back, so slowly that it seemed to last half a lifetime, weaving her hand into Jan’s hair to make sure she was real, while her skin tingled and her mind relinquished all coherent thought, content to just lose herself in every sensation that was Jan.

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sqviidboy · 3 years

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⧼ michael cimino, demi male, he/his & they/them / kodachrome - paul simon + a CAMERA. it’s owner’s prized possession, carefully tucked away amongst the plushest of sweaters. a CAMERA that’s owner will never again hold it. a CAMERA destined to be forgotten until a boy, desperate to hold on to the brother he lost finds it. the same CAMERA now the prized possession of another boy, just as eager to capture the world around him. a broken BOY, unsure if he’ll ever manage to put himself together again. the same BOY, persevering against all of the odds. and that BOY who is slowly but surely becoming the MAN he was destined to be. nervous HANDS of a nervous boy, picking at the frayed edges of worn-out sweater sleeves, almost always tapping, turning a scrap of paper over and over. angry HANDS slowly clenching and unclenching behind the back, shaking at the sky as a string of expletives leave the mouth. gentle HANDS tenderly holding a camera, taking all precautions to insure it won't be dropped. steady HANDS, strong, confident, capable of taking on the world. ⧽ ━━ hey, isn’t that DENNIS CREEVEY? i read a daily prophet article on them, once ; the TWENTY year old muggle born WIZARD is a GRYFFINDOR alumnus who has gone on to be an PHOTOGRAPHER FOR THE DAILY PROPHET / PODCAST HOST. i’ve heard they can be quite ASSIDUOUS & STEADFAST, but i don’t know… they came off very CREDULOUS & FALLACIOUS in that interview. it really is hard to know what to believe these days though, isn’t it?

meet dennis patrick creevey,

about:

dennis is the second of three children born to shane creevey and marisol santos-creevey, and the second of the couples two magical children. needless to say, live in the creevey household was often chaotic. but shane and marisol loved their children, doing everything they could to provide for their children. and when the rumors surrounding the unusual creevey children began to circulate through their community, they relocated to london when dennis was five.

shortly after the family’s move, marisol gave birth to the couples third and only non-magical child a little girl who they named bridget.

the next four years were fairly normal, with the exception of a few strange occurrences like lights magically turning on when they were definitely off, the baby sitter finding colin and dennis playing in the backyard even though she swore they were in bed, just your standard stories of magical children.

and then colin turned eleven- and suddenly the lives of the creevey family were changed forever. he was a wizard, and suddenly all of the strange occurances made sense. and their parents, though they didn’t fully understand, couldn’t have been more proud. dennis shared his brother’s excitement more than anyone, for he knew that soon it would be his turn to go off to hogwarts.

it took a while for the family to adjust to colin being away, but they got used to the weekly owls. and eventually, they even figured out how to send a response- granted they all received several pecks in the process. dennis loved to hear his brothers stories, eagerly awaiting his eleventh birthday.

but unlike colin’s eleventh birthday, dennis’ was almost uneventful. he woke early, wanting to make sure he looked presentable for professor mcgongall’s arrival. but she never came. instead, an extra letter arrived with his birthday letter from colin. he was a wizard after all! but it seemed, that after your first child- hogwarts didn’t see the need to sent a representative.

but he didn’t let that keep him down, he began to eagerly count down the days until he would accompany colin to hogwarts. he even went through colin’s old books- learning everything he could. and when it came time to visit diagon alley, well, he couldn’t contain his enthusiasm as he visited the various shops. he even insisted on wearing his robes home, marisol had to wrestle him to take them off.

and then, before he knew it, he was off to hogwarts, nervously trailing behind his brother as colin insisted on introducing him to everyone on the train. and eventually, he found himself unable to contain his excitement- and he fell into the lake. and the giant squid rescued him- something that he still considers to be the coolest and most frightening moment of his life!

his first year went by relatively uneventful after such an exciting start, it would have been harry’s fourth year so he watched all of the tasks alongside his peers- loudly cheering for harry.

dennis was one of the students who believed harry, joining the d.a. alongside his brother and classmates, despite some concerns that he might be too young. but it didn’t matter, dennis was eager and willing to fight. thankfully, he didn’t have to.

dennis’ third year was spent eagerly watching his coin, waiting for the numbers to change. and despite the fact that they never did, he never lost hope. he remained optimistic. he tried to answer the call to the astronomy tower, but he was told to stay in bed and he did.

it was after the death of albus dumbledore, that dennis’ life was really changed. suddenly being muggleborn was a crime, and returning to hogwarts was no longer a viable option. and soon- staying at home became too dangerous. the ministry was rounding up muggleborns and forcing them to undergo questioning, and though their parents didn’t really understand, they knew they didn’t want their children to go through that. so colin and dennis were sent to ireland, to stay with some relatives.

colin tried to shelter dennis from the truth, but the younger male wasn’t a fool, he knew what was going on. and he was terrified. but he tried his best to remain strong, and then, they got the call about the battle. which led to about the only real fight he and colin ever had, and before he knew it dennis was being left behind.

underaged, stubborn, and wanting to help, dennis set out to reach hogwarts. and eventually he made it, but by then it was over. and by then, colin was dead. and harry was dead. and so many people were dead, and suddenly dennis collapsed- overcome with grief.

what happened next was a complete blur, but he found his way home and broke the news to his parents. and they grieved for colin, and dennis felt like his life was over. colin was dead- his brother, his best friend, the most important person in his life was dead.

but with the encouragement of his parents, he was able to return to hogwarts where he was allowed to continue with his classmates, as long as he studied the previous years material in his free time. and suddenly, his life became studying. all he did was study

and then, one of his dorm mates suggested that he take his camera to the quidditch match. and despite every bone in his body telling him not to, he did it. and to his surprise, dennis discovered that he loved photography. and while he had a ways to go, he was slowly on the way to recovery.

sometime around the end of his fifth year, dennis allowed himself to begin moving on and he found a new group of friends and he even started dating someone (wc below). and things were great.

and when time came for dennis to finish hogwarts, he left happy, and ready to take on the world. he accepted a position at the daily prophet and he’s loved every moment of it.

sometime in here he came up with the idea for his podcast titled a new history of magic in which he talks about figures of the second wizarding war alongside his co-host hazel graves. it’s his pride and joy, he devotes hours to researching his subjects.

and for a while, everything was great. but then the rumors of war started to spread, and dennis found himself returning to the darkest period in his life. but unlike before, he didn’t fall apart. he stood tall, and he told himself that he was ready to fight alongside his fellow D.A. members.

and then he was attacked on halloween, and subsequently cursed with lycanthropy. this is a relatively new thing, he hasn’t even had his first full moon. needless to say, he’s having a crisis. it’ll be a while before he learns to accept this new reality.

this is a mess and i will hopefully edit it later to make everything more concise/write a more detailed background but for now, enjoy dennis !!

fun facts:

dennis has always had a big sweet tooth, but it grew larger once he heard about all the magical sweets the wizarding world had to offer. he bought one of everything on the hogwarts express and spent a good part of the ride trying each one, even going as far as ranking them. his favorite being bertie bott’s every flavor beans, theres just something about them that never fails to make him smile. he has also kept every chocolate frog card he’s ever received.

during his time at hogwarts, dennis was a very dedicated student- earning top marks in nearly every subject. yet, people always seemed to think he wasn’t that bright, it didn’t help that he never bothered to correct them. in fact, it wasn’t until his fifth year that he finally learned that he didn’t need to hide how smart he was.

before colin’s death, dennis had never tried to take a picture. he had always considered photography to be colin’s thing. but he soon discovered a love for it, and a natural talent as many would claim. he even decided to pursue it as a career.

he has a podcast alongside hazel graves called a new history of magic, which talks about various figures of the second wizarding war as well as some favorites like moaning myrtle. it’s his pride and joy, and he spends a lot of time researching his subjects.

he has always maintained a strong love of muggle culture- in particular music and movies. he will take an opportunity he gets to share it with his friends that grew up in the wizarding world. he especially loves showing the star wars movies to people. he also owns a record player that he uses frequently.

while his father taught him to drive and he does hold a license, his preferred method of transportation is the bicycle that he uses to get around muggle london. when he’s in the wizarding world, he uses the standard means of transporation.

he has a tik tok, which he made to watch content. but somewhere along the line he started to create his own content and i like to think he has a somewhat decent sized following, despite his odd content.

he loves loves loves comic books and he has often thought about why there aren’t any wizarding comic books, he thinks that should change asap!! his favorite comics are the spider-man ones.

pinterest board: (x)

playlist: kodachrome - paul simon, thistle & weeds - mumford & sons, go your own way - fleetwood mac, losing my religion - r.e.m., i’m just a kid - simple plan, hold on - wilson philips, carry on wayward son - kansas,

wanted connections:

DENNIS CREEVEY ( michael cimino ) is looking for their EX-BOYFRIEND who resembles LUCAS WONG, FROY GUTIERREZ, OMAR AYUSO, DIEGO TINOCO, KHYLIN RHAMBO, QUINCY FOUSE, VERNON, OTTO FARRANT, ANY MALE OR MALE ALIGNED NB FC and should be 19-21. applicants do have to contact MAEVE to talk over the details before applying. ( dennis has had one serious relationship in his life- during his sixth and seventh years of hogwarts (the exact time can be discussed). he was still struggling to find himself, to put together the pieces. but things were looking up, and for the first time he was feeling like himself again. and he opened up, he allowed himself to love. and while it lasted- it was great, amazing really. he forgot how to breathe. and then it was over, and dennis found himself struggling to cope. how the relationship ended, is the reason i’m requesting to be contacted! my thoughts are they broke up amicably because their post-hogwarts plans were taking them in opposite directions and dennis just wasn’t able to handle it. or maybe they had a falling out, truly, i’m open for anything and that’s why i think this needs some discussion! as well as discussing what things are like for them now. )

DENNIS CREEVEY ( michael cimino ) is looking for their WORK PARTNER who resembles UTP and should be UTP. applicants do not have to contact MAEVE to talk over the details before applying. ( dennis is a photographer for the daily prophet, meaning your character would be a reporter. essentially i was thinking they could often be paired on work assignments since they work well together. i don’t have much past that, but i think it could be fun if they didn’t get along whatsoever or they could be friends! really i’m not picky, i just thought this would be fun. )

DENNIS CREEVEY ( michael cimino ) is looking for their OLDEST FRIEND who resembles SHAMIR BAILEY, CENGIZ AL, ASA BUTTERFIELD, JADEN SMITH, KIERNAN SHIPKA, ANYA CHALOTRA, CHINA ANNE MCCLAIN, UTP and should be 19-21. applicants do not have to contact MAEVE to talk over the details before applying. ( this one is pretty straight forward- your character is dennis’ longest and oldest friend- apart from colin. i have this idea of them meeting on the train and immediately clicking- perhaps they could’ve alerted hagrid to dennis falling in the lake! what matters is they’re thick and thieves, and dennis would have clung to them after colin’s death. their current dynamic is completely up for discussion, i just think this would be fun! )

DENNIS CREEVEY ( michael cimino ) is looking for their FLINGS (PAST & CURRENT) who resembles FROY GUTIERREZ, LUCAS WONG, OMAR AYUSO, JUSTICE SMITH, SURAJ SHARMA, TOM HOLLAND, MIGUEL BERNARDEAU, ANY MALE OR MALE ALIGNED NB FC and should be 19-24. applicants do not have to contact MAEVE to talk over the details before applying. ( i couldn’t write up wanted connections without including some sort of fling. dennis has had one serious relationship, and he’s never been anxious to get into another. so instead he’s turned to flings to fill his need for emotional and physical support. depending on how he’s feeling i could see these lasting from a few days to upwards of a month?? and maybe it’s reoccuring i don’t know !! let’s go wild )

DENNIS CREEVEY ( michael cimino ) is looking for their WILL THEY WON’T THEY who resembles JUSTICE SMITH, FROY GUTIERREZ, DIEGO TINOCO, LUKA SABBAT, RYAN POTTER, OTTO FARRANT, ANY MALE OR MALE ALIGNED NB FC, and should be 19-24. applicants do have to contact MAEVE to talk over the details before applying. ( okay, i did hesitate to write this up but ultimately i decided that dennis deserves love !! however- he’s been hurt before and he’s very against forming any sort of attachment. this person would be the one exception, which is p cute in my opinion. i really have a lot of ideas as to how this could go which is why i think discussing it is best ! but think a pair of close friends that everyone assumes are a couple and they’re like no !! but then they’re like “what if” or one of them is so hopelessly in love and the other doesn’t realize. really so much potential for this !! )

#❝ ᴅᴏɴ·ᴛ ᴄ��ʀʀʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅᴇʀs — ⟪ dennis patrick creevey ⟫#this is kind of a mess but like i needed to get this posted #nox.intro

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redpandanewsnetwork-blog · 5 years

Text

EXCLUSIVE: Former Pentagon Chief of Staff, Kevin Sweeney, Validates Controversial Conspiracy Theories Concerning the Moon Landing, 9/11, and Extraterrestrials

WASHINGTON — On Sunday the former Pentagon chief of staff — Kevin Sweeney — resigned. The news of his resignation comes days after James Mattis, former Secretary of Defense, announced his departure from President Trump’s administration.

In an exclusive interview with Red Panda News Network reporter, Melissa Mahoney, Sweeney validated some of the wildest conspiracy theories, such as the faking of the Apollo moon landing, 9/11 as an inside job, and even the existence of reptilian aliens.

A transcript of the conversation is below.

Good morning, Mr. Sweeney. Thank you for agreeing to this interview.

Good morning to you, Ms. Mahoney. It’s no problem at all. It’s nice to air out old laundry anyway [laughs].

So firstly, a question that I’m sure is on everyone’s mind: Why did you choose to resign?

Well, to tell you the truth, Ms. Mahoney, it’s because I didn’t want to be there when everything collapses on the Trump administration. [Laughs heartily]

I’m glad to see you’re in good spirits this morning. I can imagine it must be tough working under a president who’s been known to shut out any sort of criticism.

Ah, well, thank you. I smoked a fat joint about thirty minutes before coming into this studio. I love this newfound freedom I have. Normally I’d be nervous, but anyone who leaves this batshit insane administration is bound to land a book deal anyway. Case in point, Sean Spicer’s new book, The Briefing, and whatever piece vitriol Scaramucci released this past Fall [referring to Anthony Scaramucci’s newest book, Trump: The Blue Collar President].

Well, they do say that there’s no such thing as bad press.

Unless you’re Hillary Clinton, that is.

Point taken. Anyway, you told me before the interview that you wanted to shed some light on “matters of grave importance.” You mentioned that one of these “matters” is the staging of the Apollo missions and the moon landing. Can you tell me more about how this was staged?

Oh boy, yes, the Apollo missions were a whole bunch of baloney. Honestly, they just had some kids from NYU’s film and theater department covertly work with the Johnson and then Nixon administrations to stage a moon landing in Los Angeles. They just got a bunch of sand and juxtaposed some images of the beach and ran it through some filters. It was the height of the Cold War and the Soviets were launching apes into space and well, we had to respond to that. I mean, a monkey in space? How cool is that?! America really needed to one-up them, so we did with some good ol’ fashioned Hollywood magic. Getting the lighting and flag motions on photograph was rather hard though. As you can imagine, it’s not easy to recreate the moon on earth, but somehow they managed.

Wow, so you’re saying that Americans have never visited the moon?

No American has ever visited the moon, but the lunar rover in the 90s was the real deal. By that point, we really did have the technology to send humans to the moon as well. But we already had the victory so it didn’t make sense for the government to fund NASA to send more people to the moon when rovers and satellites could collect all the samples needed.

Unbelievable. Honestly, I’m not sure what to say. That really must be a tough pill to swallow for Baby Boomers.

Yes, it is indeed. But swallow the pill we must if we’re to move on.

There’s no shortage of wisdom from you, it seems. Another popular conspiracy theory is that the “Planes Plan” was a cover-up for the attacks on the World Trade Centers and the Pentagon, which for the former was a controlled demolition, and the latter a missile strike. Do the conspiracies here hold any water?

Absolutely. The Planes Plan was a complete and utter lie. My cousin, Todd Sweeney, was one of the demolition experts in charge of the towers. Sure, actual planes were involved in the Twin Towers attacks, but do you really think jet fuel could melt steel beams? That’s just ludicrous. The way those towers collapsed looked like something out of a Tonka Truck commercial. It was way too clean — the kind of controlled construction project our dear leader could only dream he was capable of orchestrating.

And what about the Pentagon?

Oh, yeah, we just shot that son-of-a-bitch with a MIM-104 Patriot missile. That baby is a true work of American ingenuity right there. Probably the most iconic SAM [surface-to-air missile] in our Republic’s arsenal.

How is it possible that all of this remained such a closely guarded secret?

Same way that the CIA-sponsored assassination of JFK remained secret: through careful planning, big money, and vacuum-sealed lips.

Wait, JFK was assassinated by the CIA?

Yes, but I don’t think we’re going to have time to get into that one.

That’s true. Ah, but now I’m so curious... But back to the point; tell me who was in charge of the September 11 attacks?

It was mostly a threesome between Cheney, Wolfowitz, and Rumsfeld. Cheney’s got a long history of making money off of warfare with Haliburton. He goaded President Bush into following his lead. He manipulated Bush by attacking his insecurities. You see, George W. Bush was terribly anxious about living up to his father’s expectations. I mean, his father was a beloved president and George W. Bush knew he didn’t have the chops. But still, his father sort of pigeonholed him into the presidency. It’s a sad story about an even sadder man.

That’s a shame.

It sure is. As for Wolfowitz and Rumsfeld, well, they’ve had a neoliberal — or as I like to call it, a neolibtard — circle jerk for quite some time. They’ve always been war brokers and this was just another business plan as far as they were concerned.

Well, this is all just so much to take in. If what you’re saying is true, it would change everything. And you’ll be going into far more detail about these and other conspiracies and government secrets in your upcoming book, right?

Absolutely. I know it may seem presumptuous to think I’ve definitely got a book deal coming, but come on. If that jerk off Scaramucci can land a deal, then any idiot can. I mean, It’s a crazy time we’re living in. Hillary Clinton’s book [referring to Clinton’s book, What Happened], is a New York Times Best Seller, for crying out loud. This is the age of hack writers, I’m telling ya.

Is there any other conspiracy you’d like to confirm before our time is up?

The earth has been visited by extraterrestrial life. Roswell? Full of aliens. Our nation’s capitol? Also full of aliens. The whole “grays” thing is hogwash, though. The reptilian conspiracy theorists got it right. However, neither the Clintons nor the Obamas are themselves reptilians as some claim. No, they just work with them directly. But don’t hold your breath, Republicans, cause plenty of folks in the GOP work for them too. I’m sure he won’t admit it, but Paul Ryan plays pool with them every Saturday night. I’ll leave the rest up to the readers’ imaginations until the book comes out. But if you really can’t wait to find out then I suggest you find yourself a dealer and start smoking some DMT [referring to the potent psychoactive hallucinogen].

Well Mr. Sweeney, it’s been a pleasure. Thank you again for agreeing to this interview with me.

Anytime, Ms. Mahoney, anytime.

#conspiracy #conspiracytheories #fakemoonlanding #bush did 9/11 #reptilians #CIA #news #satire

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doomandgloomfromthetomb · 6 years

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An Interview with Dan Bejar — 2004

Sunday interview! I remember feeling nervous about this one -- there weren’t a whole lot of interviews with him at the time and Bejar seemed kinda mysterious! But he was very friendly and receptive ... I still think Your Blues is one of the best Destroyer records. So there!

Under the ominous moniker Destroyer, Dan Bejar has released some of the most adventurous and iconoclastic indie rock of the past few years. Never content to settle on one particular sound (or backing band), Bejar's already impressive body of work displays an artist with a gift for infectious melodies, a unique lyrical voice, and a fearlessly experimental streak. Your Blues, the latest Destroyer release, sees Bejar flinging himself wholly into the alien world of Roland synthesizers, MIDI guitars, and highly orchestral song forms. It's almost the polar opposite of his previous record, the sprawling, messily brilliant This Night. But once the shock of this jarring sonic shift wears off, Your Blues reveals itself to be another idiosyncratic masterpiece. On the eve of a rare North American tour, Bejar talked about the genesis of the new album, among other topics.

I understand you just played SXSW? How'd that go?

Well, it was with the incarnation with the band that's playing songs off of Your Blues, which is basically this band Frog Eyes who have learned the songs. It was our second show ever, so keeping that in mind I thought it was really good. I just started practicing these songs in the last couple months, and we've got a little ways to go, a couple more songs to learn. We did one show in Vancouver just before we played SXSW.

So are there challenges in presenting these new songs in a live setting? The album certainly isn't a "rock band" type of record.

There's no challenge, because the idea of trying to replicate or even approximate what's on the record was the first thing that we threw out the window. I mean, on some songs the vocal melody is the same, the lyrics are the same, the chords generally stay the same, but they bear no resemblance whatsoever to what you might hear on the record. For the most part, it's a full-on rock band. I'm in the middle of it right now, so I feel like I can't quite describe what exactly is happening to the songs. And also, it's really being shaped by Carey [Mercer], who is the main guy in Frog Eyes.

How'd you hook up with Frog Eyes?

A few years back, the New Pornographers played a show in Victoria and [Mercer's] band at the time, Blue Pine opened up. I met him briefly then, and heard his record and was a big fan of it. Then he started this new band Frog Eyes, and when I moved back to Vancouver I went to go see them play. We corresponded a bit, and when it came time to figure out how to tour the record, Nic [Bragg], who played a real integral part of the This Night experience, had the crazy idea that using Frog Eyes might be an interesting way to decimate the songs in a cool manner. And he ended up being right.

I'd like to talk a bit about the new record. Obviously, the production and execution of Your Blues is radically different from This Night. Did you go into recording this new one thinking you wanted to do something completely different?

You know, it was an idea I had even when we were making This Night. I don't think it was purely reactionary to the last record. I liked the idea of actually sitting down and composing something. But the idea I had is actually a fair bit different than what came out. I wanted it to be along the lines of a weird, crooning record. Lots of orchestrations, though I had a feeling I'd have to go down the MIDI road, because I knew I wouldn't be preparing charts for an orchestra or anything like that. So yeah, the idea was growing for a while. That being said, I don't think it's something I'll ever do again. I'm pretty sure of that actually.

Was it a pleasurable experience to make it? I know you've worked in more "band" settings in the past.

Yeah, it was fun. And in some ways, it was kind of leisurely. In other ways, it was nerve-wracking. But the set up was pretty easy. You just pick up your MIDI guitar and plug it into the computer and you do your metal riffs and you punch in the 101 strings setting and there you go. But at the same time, I was questioning from beginning to end whether the whole thing was completely misguided. Like, was there some sort of strange death wish I had in making the record? And I still listen to it with a certain amount of trepidation. I think it came out way more palatable than I first thought it would be.

Did you know you could get a good sound out of all of these synthesizers? Or was it more of an experimental thing?

With the MIDI technology we were using, we really didn't want to court some kind of eighties nostalgia. We got the highest end sound module we could find. Hopefully the one that ["Late Show with David Letterman" band leader] Paul Schaffer uses or something like that. And I really did want to approximate the sound of strings, or the sound of a woodwind section as much as I could. And with the synth settings, I was thinking more along the lines of new age settings more the New Wave settings. But also, my ears are worse than most people's, so you could probably play me a fairly chintzy violin sample and I'd be like "Oh man, that sounds so great!" Meanwhile everyone else would just be rolling their eyes. Having heard the record a few times, I can see where people are hearing synths where I'm hearing strings. Maybe that kind of backfired a bit. But I always knew that would probably be the case, and I wasn't too concerned with it.

Are there any sonic touchstones for Your Blues? Any records that you used as reference points?

I've always been a big Scott Walker fan. And I've listened to certain Richard Harris records that Jimmy Webb did.

Are those spoken word records?

No… well, the way he sings, it could be debated [laughs]. He did try his hardest to infuse some sort of drunken melody into the thing. And I would listen to somebody like John Cale, who I've always really liked. Just the way he used classical instruments. He always ends up being a specter on whatever record I do.

Is there any reason you're drawn to his stuff?

I just really like his solo records. There's kind of like a marriage of this old world austerity with this unavoidable pop sensibility. I can't seem to shake that.

That makes sense actually. I hadn't thought of it before, but his early eighties stuff like Music For A New Society is kind of similar in tone to Your Blues.

Exactly. When I had the idea for the record I pictured it being way more desolate and kind of barren and brutal. But the songs that I brought to the table, for the most part, were just too busy. Too many major chords. Too wordy. So things changed.

Is that the case with most Destroyer records? Do you have ideas for them that change through out the recording process?

For the Thief and Streethawk records, we were essentially trying to put forth what the band ideally would sound like if we just walked into a room and played the songs. And that was always a bit of sleight of hand, because we were always a messed-up lineup. But [producer] John [Collin]'s pretty good at creating those kinds of illusions.

And with This Night, I just wanted to make a sprawling, fucked-up record. And that was easy - I just practiced with some people who I knew would be really good at that kind of thing. And we just totally messed up the songs and didn't practice much. I went in the studio and just threw stuff at them. Those records actually ended up pretty close to the way the initial idea of them was. While this one, because it had a definite conceptual basis, changed a bit. And also, I had no idea what it would be – I'd throw around the word "MIDI" and I just didn't know how it would work or what it would sound like. And John and Dave [Carswell], who were pretty integral in shaping the record, they'd never done anything like this either. I walked into the studio with the chords and the vocal melodies and the lyrics. The rest was just us sitting down and saying "Oh, well how about this here," and John coming in at the end of the day to edit it to make it sound… not completely embarrassing. Once in a while he'd have to say, "You know, maybe MIDI congas aren't a good idea." [Laughs]

So it wasn't a free for all. But I think it definitely came out sounding a lot more melodious than we were originally thinking. And that has a lot to do with Dave as well. Once you get him on a guitar -- even if it is a MIDI guitar – he's gonna come up with catchy parts.

You mentioned the "sonic" concept of the record, but I was wondering if you'd dare call Your Blues a "concept" record? I mean, is there a narrative going on in the lyrics?

No. Lyrically I've never approached having a concept. A theme, maybe in some ways. I've kind of dabbled and waltzed in and out of this idea of a record that addressed, I don't know what, some kind of abstract bankruptcy in underground music and culture [laughs]. But I wanted to get away from that as soon as I did it. But any conceptual basis for Your Blues is purely a musical idea.

I guess the reason I ask is that a lot of the tracks have this theatrical, dramatic feel to them. I can almost see them being sung on stage.

That's funny. I'm always hesitant to mention this, but a lot of the songs on Your Blues are to be used in a play.

No kidding! But that came after the fact?

No, that came before the fact. But I have a) no ability and b) no interest in writing narrative songs. So it wasn't like I sat down to write a libretto or something like that. It was more like, here's a bunch of songs, and maybe you can use them to color the play somehow and see if somehow a Destroyer song would make sense with someone other than me singing it. And also I was pretty adamant that I had this idea for making this record that some people might mistake as like "The Sound of Music" [laughs], and that in no way would that be the way I would envision the songs being played onstage. The songs that do get used will hopefully be really stripped down and just will shine some different light on the songs.

But anyway, I think there's always been a certain amount of theatricality, if that's the word you want to use, to Destroyer songs going way back. And the songs on Your Blues, if I look at them, don't seem that atypical from the rest of the stuff I've written.

Your lyrics have always been really strong and distinctive. Are there lyricists you admire?

Yeah, of course. Somewhere in the heart of me there lurks an indie fan boy, I think. There's always a couple songs off of a Smog record that I'll hear, I'll just shake my head and walk away from it. Just like, "This fucking guy." And then I'll wonder if you can really approach writing [those sorts of lyrics] without being some kind of sociopath. And there's stuff that I really love that most people don't associate being really lyrically based music. Like the Plush records or the Neil Hagerty records. There hasn't been anything in recent years that's really leapt out at me. Frog Eyes I think are really awesome. I like the Cass McCombs record, I think that's really good.

Do you consider your songs autobiographical, or confessional in any way?

I would never write something down just to confess it. Usually it's a pretty conscious effort to create something of aesthetic value. You know what I mean? I mean, my approach to language is not super conscious in that I sit down and have some over-arching idea that the language has to fit into. It's actually really instinctual. But the aesthetic is one of using language that just works. You write it down, and somehow it's just working for you. It's not what the words mean, but what they do, I guess. How the phrasing interacts with melody, and how meaning can change once you throw that in there. That being said, you could probably comb through my lyrics and find a handful of threads that would piece it all together.

One thing I think that makes your lyrics stand out is that often they're really funny. Not in a novelty sense, but more like Bob Dylan can be really funny.

Yeah! That's cool that you think that. No one has ever said that to me. That's really good. It's not something I'm striving for, but there will be times when I look at something [that I've written] and -- I won't laugh at loud -- but I think it's just… yeah, I'll use the word "funny." In the same way that like Leonard Cohen can be funny. And Dylan can be really funny. I think that any writing I really like walks the line between severity and playfulness.

#dan bejar #destroyer #new pornographers #sunday interview

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fuckyeahalexjo · 7 years

Note

Can you write a Fanfiction where alex tells jo about what happened with Paul?

Alex drummed his fingers on the steering wheel rhythmicallyas his mind raced. He had been staring at the entrance of the loft he had onceshared with Jo, trying to summon the courage to go in and knock on the door. Hehadn’t expected her to be here, thinking she wasn’t supposed to arrive backfrom fellowship interviews until tomorrow. Yet something had drawn him here,and when he saw her car he knew he could not put off this specific conversationany longer. He sighed to himself and exited his car, still rehearsing hisapology in his mind. He knew she would be angry and she had every right to be,but he hadn’t known what else to do after months of knowing about him.

The lift creaked horribly as the motor spun to life. Alexfelt his heart start to race as he swallowed nervously. His feet felt as if hehad lead in his shoes as he walked the few feet to her door and timidlyknocked. He almost hoped she wouldn’t answer, that he didn’t have to tell her.Jo’s smile when she saw him just made his stomach flip even more; she seemedhappy or maybe relieved? He cursed himself for what he was going to tell her,unable to even hear her greeting.

She stepped aside and gestured him in. He awkwardly shovedhis hands in his pockets and stepped to the side, “How was your interview?”

“Good I think. I felt prepared so I wasn’t as nervous as Ithought I would be.”

He looked around nervously as he followed her into the loft,taking in how empty it seemed with his things missing, “You hear about thefire?”

“Yeah, Leah and I went to visit Steph when we got in. Howcrazy is that? You know when you and Yang would call it Mercy Death I alwaysthought that was funny, but Jesus bad stuff really is always happening.” Shepointed over her shoulder, “Do you want a beer?”

He nodded, unable to form a real answer to her. She made herway over to the refrigerator, seemingly still talking about Stephanie, but heonly heard every few words, “Jo, I have to tell you something.”

She narrowed her eyes at him as she cautiously handed himthe bottle, “Okay…”

He looked over his shoulder across the loft, unable to meether eyes, “You wanna sit?” Jo watched him carefully as she rounded the couchand slowly lowered herself, tucking her feet up under her. Alex watched herwarily, his mouth suddenly completely dry. He hummed in nervous energy beforelooking away, “I…”

“Alex, you’re scaring me,” she stated softly as her fingerstrembled slightly, “Just tell me. Did something happen with the kids? Yourmom?”

“No, no nothing like that…”

“Did someone else get hurt tonight? Ben? Andrew?”

Alex shook his head, trying his best to ignore herquestions, “You know I went to that conference in L.A., right?”

She nodded her head slowly, “The one on minimally invasivetechniques, right? Isn’t that what it was?”

“Yeah,” he answered simply as he ran a hand over his faceand sat down on the couch, “that’s the one.” He leaned forward to rest hiselbows on his knees and took a deep breath, “One of the speakers was PaulStadler.” He didn’t look towards her at first and waited on her response. Whenshe didn’t say anything, he looked over and took in her pale face and vacanteyes, “Jo?”

The beer bottle she was still holding in her left hand crashedto the floor as she remained still in shock. Alex jumped up to retrieve towelsand the broom and dust pan to sweep up the shards, “Don’t move.”

The instruction would have seemed comical if the situationwas not so serious. She was sitting like a statue, and he was sure she wasn’tabout to move. He knelt down beside her to start cleaning, every so oftenglancing up to see her still looking pale and stricken. He sighed and tried tothink of something to say when her voice pierced the silence, the hollowness ofit hurting his heart, “You met him.”

Alex looked up at her as she continued to stare straightahead, her face not relaying her emotions. He looked back at the floor, “Yeah.”

Jo slowly turned her face towards him, her eyes blazing withmore anger than he had ever seen. He quickly stood and backed up, deciding togive her some space. She remained seated on the couch, but was now glaring athim, watching every move he made, “So all these weeks of spending more timetogether and talking and me….sharing so much with you…that was all a ploy toget information on him? To track him down?”

Alex blanched at her harsh tone, “I know it sounds bad,but…”

“You knew I didn’t want this to happen. I told you I kept ita secret for a lot of reasons but number one was I knew you wouldn’t be able tokeep that anger in. Jesus Christ, Alex.”

“I didn’t talk to him.” He gestured wildly, trying to conveywith his eyes his deep regret, “Look, I wanted to. I wanted to threaten him andembarrass him and kill him, it’s all I’ve been thinking about for weeks, but Ididn’t. I didn’t, Jo.”

She stood up and crossed her arms over her chest, “Do youwant a medal or something? What the hell were you thinking going down there? Doyou realize what you could have done? Tell me everything, Alex.”

He shrugged helplessly, “I sat in on his talk, I drank atthe bar while he was there, but I swear I only spoke to him once.”

He watched as she paled once more and terror glazed over inher eyes, “Tell me exactly what was said. Verbatim.”

Alex sighed and shook his head marginally, “He cut in frontof me to get in a cab and then offered to share it. I told him he could have itand then he left.”

Jo shook her head quickly as she rounded the couch andwalked to the bed. She pulled a half-filled bag out from under the bed andstarted throwing more items in as quickly as she could, the whole time mumblingto herself. Alex watched with concern as he slowly made his way towards her. Heworked to make sure his voice was soft as to not alarm her, “Jo, what are youdoing?”

“Leaving,” she stated simply, “I’m leaving.”

“I swear, that’s all that happened…”

“You don’t get it!” He stepped back in surprise as shescreamed at him, her hands balled into fists in her hair. “You spent the wholetime down there watching him, do you really think he didn’t notice that? Youthink you were completely casual when you finally got a chance to speak to him?You think it’s coincidence that he cut in front of you of all people? That wasby design, Alex.”

He shook his head with a slight smile, trying to calm her,“Come on, Jo. It wasn’t like that.”

She slammed the suitcase shut and leaned on it, glaring athim helplessly, “You don’t know him, Alex. You don’t know how he is.”

“Jo…”

“Why did you go down there? What, you thought he wouldreally listen to threats?

“I felt helpless,” he yelled back, all the emotions he hadbeen working so hard to hide from her coming to the surface, “You tell me thisstory, and I…I…damn it, Jo, what am I supposed to do?”

She bit her lip as her eyes fluttered closed. Jo ran herfinger along the seam of the suitcase, taking deep breaths for several secondsbefore her eyes popped open to stare at him directly, “You could have at leastrespected me enough to not look for him even if you didn’t understand it.”

He watched as she walked quickly to the bathroom, him twosteps behind her, “Oh so now I don’t understand abusers? Give me a break, Ionly lived with one every freaking day my entire childhood.”

She slammed the cabinet door and brushed past him going backtowards the bed, “You never ran from your father, and Jimmy never came for youlike this.” She stopped at the bed for a moment and swiped at her eyes,resignation hanging deeply in her soft voice, “It’s different, Alex…it’s just…it’sdifferent.”

The emptiness in her voice tore at his heart, “Hey…” Sheturned towards him slowly, her lower lip trembling slightly, “I swear, I just…Isaid maybe ten words to him. Tops.” He smoothed his hands down her shoulders,trying to calm her, “I swear, it was nothing more.”

He waited for her to speak, his anxiety rising at everysecond that went by without her responding. He was so focused on her rapidbreathing that he almost missed her speaking to him, “Did you still have on youlanyard?”

Alex blinked a few times in confusion as she stared at him stoically,waiting for a response, “I…what?”

“Your lanyard. Is that what they gave you? Or did you have asticker? What did this conference do to broadcast your name and hospitalaffiliation with the rest of the attendees?”

Alex’s breath caught, bile rising in his throat at thethought of the asshole Stadler knowing his name, “You know I hate those things.”

Jo put her hands on her hips, her tone more challenging, “Howlong was he behind you at the cab? Before he cut you in line?”

Alex shook his head and stepped back, his eyes narrowed inthought, “I don’t…I’m not sure.”

Her lips were now pressed in a straight line as she shovedtoiletries into her suitcase, “Long enough for him to read your luggage tag?Maybe remember your address? This address? Trust me, he has found me beforewith less than that to go on.”

Alex’s heart dropped at her words. He wanted to argue, toreassure her, but he wasn’t sure what to say, “Jo…”

“I have to go.”

She set the suitcase on the floor and began walking aroundlooking for her keys as he watched helplessly, “Let me drive you.”

Jo shook her head as she rummaged through papers anddrawers, “I need to get as far away as I can. I don’t know where yet, just…awayfrom here.” He watched sadly as she pulled a package for a new phone from theback of a drawer in the kitchen and quickly turned the device on, “I don’t knowwhen or if I’ll be back here, and you can’t put your life on hold like thatjust to trip around the countryside, not knowing where you are half the time…”

“I’ll be with you,” he cut her off simply. She looked up athim in shock, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly agape. He pulled the handleof her suitcase to be able to roll it easily and shrugged, “I want to be withyou. Period. But I also need to know you’re okay and…well I can’t exactly dothat after you dump your phone.”

Jo stared at him questioningly, seemingly trying to decideif he was serious, “You can’t. Your patients…”

“I’ll handle it,” he reassured quietly as he reached up tocradle her face and touched his forehead to hers, “Let’s just get away for afew days. I know someone who can check around and see if it appears like he gotmy name or address and then we can go from there, okay?”

She looked at him with eyes full of a strange mixture ofterror and hope, “Okay.”

He gave a crooked grin as he pulled away to walk towards thedoor. She surprised him by taking his hand in hers and squeezing it tightly. Ashe pulled the loft door open he turned to her, his voice low and comforting, “Justthink of this as us finally starting to travel some.”

#fanfiction #alex karev #jo wilson #jolex #grey's anatomy #ask #anonymous

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cutsliceddiced · 5 years

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New top story from Time: The TIME for Kids Guide to Talking About Tough Topics

At TIME for Kids, one of our goals is to help equip children with the skills they need to navigate the news. We also want to make sure educators and families feel supported in this mission. Below, you’ll find two interviews that ran earlier this year in TFK. The first talks to children about how to handle their feelings if the news is upsetting. The other looks at how kids can help stop cycles of anger and misunderstanding. There is also a set of resources to help you talk about tough stories in the news with the children in your life.

Gun violence is an all-too-frequent reality in our country. One way to create change is to build a community in which our children feel safe and validated. Let’s work together to achieve this goal.

—Stacy Bien, Curriculum Director, TIME for Kids

Child Mind Institute

Share Your Feelings

If something in the news makes you feel worried or upset, what should you do? TFK asked an expert, Dr. Harold Koplewicz, president of the Child Mind Institute. Here, he offers some advice.

I hear people talking about the news. How do I know whom to trust and what to believe?

Turn to the trusted adults in your life—parents, teachers, and coaches—to speak about topics that concern you. If a friend shares information, make sure the source isn’t just someone’s opinion passed along through social media. Seek information from reliable sources, such as newspapers. Your school librarian can help you assess a news source’s trustworthiness if you are unsure.

I saw a TV report that upsets me. What can I do?

Sometimes, when you go on the Internet or you watch news on TV, it’s not completely accurate. The news on TV is fast-paced. When sad news affects our nation, all of us need time to understand it and process it. The best people to help you do that are your parents, teachers, and other adults you trust.

The news made me feel sad. What should I do?

Sadness is a normal emotion. Even someone strong and powerful weeps when he or she is very sad. It’s part of being human that sad events make us personally feel sad. That doesn’t mean we need to fall apart. We just have to acknowledge that we’re sad and move forward.

The news made me feel worried. What should I do?

When we have upsetting news, people respond in different ways. There are certain kids who are very private and don’t want anyone to see how they feel. Other kids share their worries. If you feel worried, talk to your parents and teachers. Getting information can make you feel more comfortable.

I spoke to my parents and teachers, but I still feel worried. What else can I do?

If you’re still very nervous, another way to feel better is to take part in activities that help others. Go with your parents to a soup kitchen, or think of ways that you or your class can help other kids. Also, make sure to keep your normal routine. Go to sleep at the right time, play with your friends, and go to the movies. It’s okay to feel sad, but it’s not good to stop doing the things you usually do.

Jessie English for Unicef USA

Show Respect, Model Kindness

Understanding and inclusion start with you. TFK talked with Caryl M. Stern, president and CEO of UNICEF U.S.A. and coauthor of a book called Hate Hurts. Here’s her advice on how to handle hurtful comments and find common ground.

Be a part of creating the world you want. That means thinking and planning ahead. Do not wait until hate happens to talk about hate.

There’s no time limit for responding to a hurtful comment. You don’t have to respond right in the moment. Sometimes, you are so angry or hurt or shocked that you can’t respond. Or sometimes, it would be such a public response that you would humiliate the offender. That might not be the best way to get them to hear what you have to say. Make a plan as to when you are going to respond, and follow through with it.

Open the ears of the listener. Start by pointing out why you’re bothered and how you feel. Make sure the person knows that they matter enough for you to talk to them.

Use I statements, not you statements. Explain to the offender that you are not talking about what they said. Explain that you are talking about how what they said made you feel. You are not trying to get them to defend what they said. You are trying to explain to them why it was hurtful. You can’t necessarily change a person in one conversation. And you can’t ask someone to change who they are. But you can ask them to change the way they act around you.

Learn how to ask questions. I consider there to be two basic diversity skills. One is how to ask questions, the second is how to give answers. You want to be able to ask about things you don’t understand, but you need to know how to ask in the right way. Part of that comes from learning how to give answers and finding the right vocabulary.

Learn about cultures you know nothing about. As a class project, look at what’s happening in your community to find out what’s different from what you normally do. What festivals, concerts, or plays are happening? How many different houses of worship are there? See if each of you can get the adults in your life to take you to one of them.

Peter Hapak for TIME

Parent Resources

Our kids are exposed to so much more information than previous generations were. How do you explain to them the scary and difficult events that they no doubt hear about, without making them anxious or fearful? Our immediate instinct is to shield our children from such events. While this is perfectly natural, especially as parents are also having difficulty wrapping their heads around the events, it might not always be the best approach, according to experts.

Figuring out what your child has learned and answering his or her questions in understandable terms is usually the best approach, according to Harold Koplewicz, president of the Child Mind Institute: “By initiating this dialogue and allowing and encouraging your children to express their feelings, you can help them build healthy coping skills that will serve them well in the future.”

It’s important to stay calm as you talk through the events. Children pick up their cues from their parents, so if you act anxious, they will be anxious. Psychologist Paul Coleman, author of Finding Peace When Your Heart Is in Pieces, says parents should follow these SAFE steps.

Search for hidden questions or fears. Ask what else is on their mind about what happened, what their friends say about it and what their biggest worry is right now.

Act. Keep routines going—homework, bedtime rituals, and so on—because they’re reassuring and distracting. “It is a good time to have them do kind things for others,” says Coleman. Little things, like opening a door for a stranger, “remind them that there are kindnesses in this world.”

Feel feelings. “Let them know their feelings make sense,” says Coleman. Let them talk it out and show that you understand.

Ease Minds. After you’re sure they’ve talked through their fears, you can assure them of their safety.

Every week, TIME puts out a free parenting newsletter that quickly summarizes the latest interesting and important parenting stories of the week. It’s a compendium of new studies, different approaches, and a shared conversation about the joys and difficulties of parenting. I invite you to subscribe, at time.com/newsletter/parents. In the meantime, rest assured that the key thing your child needs from you in difficult moments is your time. If you’re there, your child will sense that not much can go wrong. — Belinda Luscombe, TIME Editor at Large

Selected Additional Resources

Explaining the News to Our Kids

Tips for addressing disturbing news with children in different age groups

Table Talk: Gun Violence and Mass Shootings

Guidelines for families to understand and discuss violence with children

Talking to Children About Violence: Tips for Parents and Teachers (Available in 10 languages)

A guide for adults on creating a sense of security in response to a violent event

Helping Your Students Cope with a Violent World

Strategies to help children understand their emotions when they are exposed to hard news

via https://cutslicedanddiced.wordpress.com/2018/01/24/how-to-prevent-food-from-going-to-waste

#Time #top stories #IFTTT #news

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sickficsbypyroyoshi · 7 years

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Pyro’s archived fics #1: Carl gets carsick

Hey guys, long time no post. I apologize for neglecting this blog. I’ve finally got not just a job but a career (electrician, and I’m really enjoying it), plus I’ve been working on a lot of other creative projects that aren’t related to sick fics at all. Financially I haven’t been doing so great, but now that I’ve got a better job, that’ll change. I still haven’t completed any new sick fics, as I just don’t have as much time as I used to.

So, I’ll try holding you over by posting a series of puke without plot stories I wrote in the past. Like my newer stories, their all OC centric, there won’t be any fan fiction. Here’s the first.

Carl bit his lip as his stomach clenched in anticipation. Not because he was sick, but because he was both extremely exited and a little nervous.

He was exited because tonight he was going to see Nile, his favorite band, live for the fourth time. Each time he saw them, the experience was better and more mind blowing. In his opinion, they were some of the most talented musicians in modern technical death metal, and few bands put as much effort into their work as they did. Tonight they would be playing a double set, which was guaranteed to be twice the epicness.

The nervousness came from the fact that he had been given the opportunity to meet and interview George Kollias, the drummer for Nile. He wasn’t a journalist, nor did he want to be, but this was a once in a lifetime chance that he couldn’t pass up. He just hoped he wouldn’t say something incredibly stupid during the interview or do something else to make an ass out of himself in front of his musical prodigy.

Apparently, his friend Danica knew Nile’s tour manager, and she had secured a pre show interview with George. She and Carl hadn’t seen each other in a few months, but they were close friends, like brother and sister almost, as he had been the first person she called.

Carl’s iphone buzzed, and he got a text from Danica saying that she would be at his house in approximately ten minutes. All he’d really need were his iphone and his wallet, and since he had both of those things, he made sure his outfit was appropriate. He wasn’t a very high maintenance guy, as he had thrown it on in about a minute. A Nile tour shirt from last year, black pants, and his work boots. He considered putting on a hat, but decided that would be stupid, because it would come off anyway.

Content with his look, he waited outside for Danica to show up. She had a tendency to always be a few minutes late, but there was more than enough time. It was a little past two in the afternoon, and the show didn’t start until eight.

It was at Station 4 in St. Paul, so it would be a long drive from his currently location of Fergus Falls. He had lived in St.Paul last year, but couldn’t keep his apartment since he was unable to find a decent job due to the crappy economy. Thus, he was currently living with his parents at age twenty three. Not that it was a bad thing, as he knew plenty of people older than him who still lived at home. He just didn’t like living so far from the cities.

He didn’t know what kind of car she would be driving, but he hoped that it had a good air conditioning system, as it was a hot day. It was very humid and had to be near ninety degrees, as he had only been outside for a few minutes, yet he already felt like he was sitting in an oven.

Sure enough, Danica was about five minutes late. At about two thirty, she pulled up in an old nineties Toyota and waved from the window.

Carl got up and excitedly bound towards the car.

“Hey you, it’s been to long. What’s going on?” Danica asked him eagerly when he got in. Before he could answer, she jumped at him from across the seats to give him a bear hug.

“Take it easy, it’s only been four months, you act like you haven’t seen me in years.” Carl smirked.

“It felt like years.” Danica pouted.

“Oh come on, you know I missed you too.” Carl squeezed her shoulder. He knew that she liked him as more than a friend, though he didn’t return those feelings. It’s not that Danica was an unattractive girl, she definitely wasn’t. In fact, she was fairly good looking. She was average bodied, with blue eyes and dark hair cropped into a 1920’s flapper girl style bobcut. Like Carl, she was clad in a Nile tour shirt, though hers was a little older. No, he simply didn’t return those feelings because he thought of her as a sister. Dating her would be too risky, as if they broke up, the friendship would suffer.

As Danica started the car, Carl looked around the interior. It was definitely dated, as it still had a working cigarette lighter in the control panel. It did have a modern touch in that the CD player had been ripped out in favor of an MP3 player and ipod dock.

“I’ve got to ask, what’s with the old car?”

“It was my cousin’s. She gave it to me after she got a brand new mini van. Why she got that thing, I’ll never know, as its a vehicular eyesore. Anyway, we have a long drive ahead of us. It’ll probably take about four hours to get there, so we’ll have plenty of time to get something to eat along the way.” she informed.

“Sounds good to me.” Carl said. However, as exited as he was, he didn’t really like spending many hours inside of a car. He had been prone to motion sickness as a kid, and one particular incident stuck out in his mind. When he was ten, he went with his parents and siblings on a road trip to Canada, and had gotten carsick on the way. Eventually, he had puked on his younger brother and sister, which in turn made both of them puke as well. He had stopped getting carsick around thirteen, so he knew he didn’t have anything to worry about. Pushing those thoughts out of his head, he hooked his ipod up to the dock.

“I think some preparation is in order.” he had every Nile album on his ipod, but was undecided as to which song to play.

“Oh! Play Unas, Slayer Of the Gods!” Danica suggested.

“Good idea. I was just thinking about playing that one.” Carl highlighted it on his ipod and turned the volume way up.

The two of them proceeded to thrash along to the music and snarl the vocals. Or tried, in Danica’s case. The sad truth is that women’s vocal chords just aren’t made to produce such sounds.

People in other cars stared at them like they had a disemboweled hooker in the backseat, but they didn’t care. After they had been driving for about forty five minutes, they decided to stop and get something to eat at a Noodles & Company.

Carl wasn’t terribly hungry, as he strangely still felt a bit full from lunch, which he had over two hours ago. This wasn’t normal for him, but he shrugged it off, as he wasn’t the type to turn down food.

He had the pesto cavatappi sans mushrooms, and Danica had the pad thai. They conversed about various things as they consumed their food, catching up with each other in the process.

They both decided to get refills on their drinks before they left. Since there was a considerable line in front of the touch screen soda machine, they had to wait a few minutes.

After they both got some more Coke, they were all set. Once they were on the road again, the music resumed, as did the casual bantering.

About half an hour later, they were on the freeway, but as luck would have it, a massive traffic jam had formed. Apparently, there had been an accident several miles up, and traffic had ground to a near halt, with cars bumper to bumper further than the eye could see.

Danica scowled at the vibrant orange electronic road sign, which displayed how long they should expect to wait. “You’ve got to be kidding. There’s miles of this? That sucks.”

Carl didn’t pay very much attention to her ranting. He felt bloated and uncomfortably full, which was odd since he hadn’t even eaten all of his food. The seatbelt felt extremely tight, almost like it was firmly squeezing his torso, so he fidgeted with it in an effort to loosen it. His effort was in vain, as it snapped back in place, bringing more discomfort as it did so. Not only that, but the sweltering heat was beginning to get to him. Even though Danica’s window was all the way down, the car was incredibly stuffy, and he was beginning to feel a slight twinge of nausea.

“Can you turn on the AC?” he asked.

“I’m afraid not. Sorry, but this car is a hunk of crap. The AC is pretty much shot and the passenger window only rolls down halfway.” Danica said.

Figuring that was better than nothing, Carl rolled his window down as far as it would go. It did nothing to lessen the humidity, but it did let in even more exhaust since the traffic jam was still in full swing.

Normally exhaust didn’t bother him, but it wasn’t exactly making things better. The small twinge of nausea he felt increased slightly. Not by much, but just barely enough to cause him to notice. Another twenty minutes passed before the jam lightened, and they were on their way once more. Even though they were now cruising along at seventy five miles per hour with both windows down as far as they could go, Carl still felt hot, bloated, and a little sick. He wasn’t terribly concerned, as he was sure it would pass before too long. However, as the minutes went by, the unpleasant feelings remained the same. He wasn’t feeling much worse, but he wasn’t feeling better either.

Danica seemed to take notice of this, as she turned down the music and glanced over at him. “You’ve gotten quiet. Are you alright?” she asked.

“I don’t feel so good. It’s probably just the heat.” Carl said.

“Yeah, it is pretty stuffy in here. At least we’re halfway there.” Danica reassured. “Maybe some Rotting Christ will take your mind off it.” she stopped the song that was currently playing and put on Rotting Christ’s A Dead Poem album.

Carl sat back and tried to focus on the music. Usually hearing his favorite songs always helped when he had a cold or a respiratory flu, but it wasn’t helping much now. His confidence that the feeling would pass was beginning to wane, and he felt hotter than ever. He noticed that he was sweating, and his shoulder length hair was adhering to the sides of his face. Since his window only rolled down a few inches, he was denied any possibility of cool air.

“I think we need some ice cold water. That might help reduce the heat just a little.” Danica offered. “We can stop at the next town.”

“How far is it?”

“Uh, to be honest, I have no idea. Sorry.”

Not liking that information, Carl wordlessly looked out the window. He tried to distract himself from the growing pain and queasiness in his stomach by attempting to count how many cows were in each pasture they drove by. His thoughts drifted from the cows to the BBQ pulled pork sandwiches he’d had for lunch, and he could almost taste them. Usually he relished the thought, but at the moment the mere thought of food made him feel sicker.

All he saw outside was grass and cows, which kept reminding him of food. Every time he thought about it, he felt just slightly worse. This continued until he was experiencing full blown nausea. He shifted positions, facing the side and resting his head on the window, but it did nothing to help.

“Do you still feel sick?” Danica asked.

Carl nodded. “I feel considerably worse.”

“Just lay back and shut your eyes. Try to sleep. If you need me to pull over, tell me, okay?”

“Okay.”

Silence fell over the car as Danica unhooked the ipod. Carl leaned back against the headrest and shut his eyes, attempting to fall asleep. He must have dozed off somehow, as sometime later he was awakened by Danica prodding him. It was then he noticed they were stopped at a gas station.

“You’ve been asleep for awhile.” Danica said, presenting him with a cold bottle of water.

As he became fully awake, the nausea came back full swing, and worse than ever. He was about to inform Danica of this, but she was already pulling out of the parking lot and speeding down the road.

Hoping the water might quell the sickly feeling, Carl opened the bottle and took a sip. So far, so good. A few small sips didn’t seem to hurt. He took a larger swig and regretted it immediately, as his stomach churned in protest. He grimaced, put the water in the cup holder and shut his eyes again. He hadn’t felt this bad in several years, as not only did he feel sick and a little dizzy, he could feel everything he ate earlier moving around inside of him.

All the excitement he had felt earlier had evaporated, and he was having second thoughts about this whole thing, especially the interview. He’d let Danica do it instead, because the last thing he wanted was to throw up in front of George Kollias. Or even worse, on him. Then what would happen? Would he get escorted out by security? Would he start a chain reaction? He didn’t want to find out, but the terrifying thoughts came anyway. He imagined himself puking on George, who would puke on Danica, who would puke on someone else, until every single person in the building either was or was on the verge of puking.

His thoughts were interrupted as he felt a wave of really intense nausea wash over him, causing him to sit up with a start. As he did so, he saw that they had arrived in the cities, and were driving through uptown Minneapolis.

After a few seconds, it seemed to be subsiding. Figuring he’d make it after all, he deemed it safe to have a little more water. He’d only downed two gulps when it hit him again, even stronger this time.

Carl sat strait up, feeling the acid begin to crawl up his widening throat. “Danica, stop the car, I’m going to puke!” he said with urgency in his voice.

Danica’s eyes widened. “Oh shit! I can’t stop here, we’re in the middle of an intersection. Look for a bag or something.” she said.

As much as he wanted to, Carl felt too sick to move, and there was so much pressure in his belly that he knew he was only a few seconds from exploding. He felt the car jolt to a start again as Danica peeled out of the intersection to find a suitable place to pull over, but she wasn’t quick enough.

Carl clamped his hand over his mouth in a futile effort to hold it in, but he retched and felt warm puke start to run through his fingers. The second retch was the one that did it. He couldn’t hold it back anymore and forcefully threw up all over the inside of the door, sending it splashing onto the window, dashboard, and himself.

The car screeched to a stop beneath an underpass, and he flung the door open and leaned out halfway. Before he could even yank the seatbelt off, Carl heaved again, producing a torrent of chunky brown liquid. It spread out over the pavement, forming a pool.

He realized that Danica was leaning over him, as he felt her gather his hair in one hand and hold it back out of his face, while she massaged his back with her free hand. He wanted to thank her for doing that, but was in no position to speak. His stomach contracted and he brought up two more voluminous waves, then he used the small gap between heaves to catch his breath before puking again. It still had lots of solids, as he could make out fragments of pulled pork, pesto cavatappi, and whatever else he had eaten. Since it hadn’t had time to digest fully, the taste wasn’t as sour or acidic as he expected it to be.

The heaving ceased for a couple seconds, but Carl still felt very sick. He didn’t move quite yet, as he figured he probably wasn’t done. His head was spinning, so he squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the rest to come up. About ten seconds later, his whole body convulsed and he continued puking. Another sizable wave came up, followed by two smaller ones and a dry heave. No more appeared to be forthcoming after that, so he spat out the lingering string, wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand and slumped back into the car.

Danica caressed his shoulder. “Are you going to be okay?” she asked, concern evident.

“I guess so, but I still feel sick.” Carl said. As he recuperated, he realized the extent of the damage.

There was puke all over the door, on the window, dripping into the cracks, and streaking down the dashboard. The car hadn’t been the only victim, as he had also gotten it all over his shirt and right hand.

Danica furrowed her brows as she took in the sight. “It looks like a murder scene in here. But don’t worry about it, just wipe off what you can, I can get it professionally cleaned tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” Carl inquired.

Danica nodded and fished around in the backseat until she found a travel pack of kleenexes. “You’ll have to use these.”

Carl took them and wiped off as much of the puke as he could, dropping the tainted tissues outside into the pool on the ground. When he was done with that, he climbed into the backseat and laid down for the remainder of the drive.

Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at Station 4 and were lucky enough to find a good parking spot. A long queue of people waiting in line stretched from the front doors down the block. Since they had RSVP tickets, they could bypass the line and go right in.

“How are you feeling? A little better?” Danica asked.

“Still shitty. This isn’t going to go well, I just know it.” Carl replied. Even so, he joined his friend outside, and the two of them walked towards the venue.

He started feeling uneasy again as they neared the door. In addition to still feeling queasy and knowing he’d probably be due for a repeat performance, all the nervousness he felt earlier came rushing back. Even though he was about to meet the man who inspired him to start playing the drums, his instinct told him it wasn’t going to end well.

#emetophilia #puking #my ocs #carsick #sickfic

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adorkablepeter · 7 years

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The Interview

Asa Butterfield (Actor):

Rose and her co-star Asa are getting interviewed about the kissing scenes in their new movie.

×××

I was prepared for the interview. As usual. I mean, an interview is the perfect opportunity for Asa to bring me in embarrassing situations.

I am an actress who ignores hate comments but still, I can’t handle embarrassment really well and Asa knows that. He loves to tease me and uses every given possibility. Especially in public.

Our relationship is really difficult to explain… I think “Teasing is a sign of affection.” fits the best, even though we’re just friends. Maybe there is something more but I don’t know. It’s a bit complicated at the moment.

The interview was going well, though. At least so far. We answered a lot of questions concerning the context of the movie and the character development of my character Lindy. But there weren’t any questions about the relation between our characters yet…

“So, let’s talk about kissing scenes.”, Paul, the interviewer, started. Okay, here we go. “First things first: Did you two kiss before the filming?”

“No.”, Asa said truthfully and then pointed to me “She wanted to practise but I thought it would take out the surprise.” He smiled innocently at me knowing that he was making me nervous.

“That is not true!”, I said firmly emphasizing every word and playfully hit Asa. “Already at the beginning of filming we knew we wouldn’t have to practise it. We agreed that -like he already said- it wouldn’t be surprising anymore.”, I clarified and when Paul looked down at his papers I shot a quick warning glance at Asa who was still smiling innocently.

“Yeah, that’s true. I mean, the kiss was so unexpected. I love how Lindy just pushes him against the lockers to kiss him.”, Paul stated making us laugh a bit.

“I think… that’s exactly the moment where she steps out of her character. She’s so shy and quiet at first… and then she kisses Sam in front of so many other pupils… Plus, Sam is this popular boy in school. This whole scene shows her strength, her courage and her ignorance of the others. I think it actually reaveals her whole character.”, I explained hoping that I was making sense. I looked at Asa, who was also looking at me but turned to Paul then.

“It was also about embarrassing Sam, I think… She really hates him at this point because his behaviour is so different. So she wants to hurt him somehow.”, Asa added.

“And was it hard for you to portray this?”, Paul wanted to know and I nodded. “Yes, this is a really important scene in the film and it took us some time to get it right.”

“Oh, so how many times did you film the scene?”

“Loads of times! I lost count!”, Asa laughed “We always did something wrong.”

“Why was that?”, Paul asked, chuckling.

× FLASHBACK × Filming the first kiss

“Okay, everyone on his mark! And action!”, I heard the shouting and stood on my mark. Stop thinking, just act.

“Sam, wait!”, I yelled running to Asa who stood on his mark as well. “Sorry but my friends are waiting for me.”, he said, closing his locker and started to leave.

I grabbed his arm. “But you said you wanted to spend the day with me.”, I mumbled nervously and looked to the ground. Okay, made it without laughing. Check.

“Yes, Lindy, I know but…”, Asa whispered looking to the side to the others, the actors who played Sam’s friends that stood at the end of the hallway.

I looked up into Asa’s eyes and- Don’t get distracted. firmly stated: “You seem different in school. Am I embarrassing you?”

I saw the right corner of his mouth going up and he started to laugh. Shit. “I’m so sorry.”, Asa laughed and even though I rolled my eyes I couldn’t help but laugh, too. “Cut!”, someone yelled and I took a deep breath. “Jesus! This was like the 100th time.”, I said a bit annoyed but I was still grinning.

“I can’t help it, sorry. It’s so funny.”, Asa defended himself while I went back to my mark. “This time we’ll get it right!”, he assured and turned to the locker.

Here we go again. “Sam, wait!”, I yelled…

I looked up into his eyes and firmly stated: “You seem different in school. Am I embarrassing you?” This time Asa, as he was supposed to do, looked to the side again.

Now, my turn. I grabbed his shoulders, pushed him back against the locker and pulled myself up to kiss him. And all that within a brief moment. You could hear the sound of him banging against the locker and he groaned.

I waited a few moments, waiting for him to push me away but he didn’t. Instead I felt his lips move against mine. So soft and slowly. Why is he doing that? My face got hotter every millisecond and I wanted to break the kiss but my body didn’t move. Is he doing that on purpose?

For a moment I forgot the movie and simply kissed him until I heard the “Cut.” I pushed myself away from Asa avoiding eye contact and I tried to control my heartbeat. “You’re blushing.”, he chuckled. “I’m supposed to! But you’re not supposed to kiss me back.”, I rolled my eyes and went back to my mark. We just had our first kiss! “I’m sorry. I forgot.”

“Everybody on his mark? Okay, concentrate now! And action!” […]

And again, Asa kissed me back. And again, it was hard to let go. I mean, he is such a good kisser. But I’m an actress. I’m able to act like this isn’t affecting me.

“Stop doing that, Asa! We need to finish this scene.”, I laughed and then saw him licking over his lips. Oh, this is affecting me. “I’m really sorry. It won’t happen again.”, he claimed but didn’t sound very convincing.

Like I expected, it happened again. And we needed about to five takes more to finally get it how it was supposed to be.

× FLASHBACK OVER ×

“At first, we weren’t able to stay serious… So we didn’t even get to the point of kissing.”, I anserwerd. “But then, Asa kept kissing me back.”

Then, I grinned at Asa. I was proud to embarras him for once.

Paul laughed a bit while Asa shifted around on his chair. “Yeah, I… um, was a bit off that day.”, Asa cleared his throat. “Oh, really?”, I smirked, backing my head up on my arm. “I thought you were doing that on purpose to annoy me.”

“Rose, I would never do something like that.”, he claimed and held up his hands in defense. “Sure. Never.”, I mumbled sarcastically and rolled my eyes.

“You did seem to enjoy it, though.”, he laughed and I scoffed. “I’m an actress, sweetheart.”

Paul laughed seeming proud to have our teasing on tape. “So, how did the other kissing scenes go then? Did they took as many takes as the first kiss?”

“No, they didn’t. They went quite good actually. Well, mostly.”, Asa replied “It’s always hard to do kissing scenes for best friends… It’s simply funny.” I am his best friend?

“I can imagine. So, I still have one question left. I’m sure most of the fans want to know… Rose, is Asa a good kisser?”, Paul wanted to know and I could feel Asa’s gaze burning on my side. Ugh, I should have been prepared for this question…

“Don’t say anything wrong.”, Asa warned me and grinned. But I ignored him.

“I would say so, yes… He’s an unexpectedly great kisser…” - “Unexpectedly? Thanks a lot.”, Asa laughed after he interrupted me.

“Yeah… Also, he’s very gentle and he knows what he’s doing… So yeah… But he’s definitely not the best kisser.”, I answered, chuckling to hide my nervousness.

“This was a funny interview. Don’t you think?”, Asa questioned poking my side as we walked along the hallway of the studio.

“No, I don’t. It was horrible… Ugh, do you ever get tired of embarrassing me?”, I whispered angrily, not knowing if someone was around who could hear our conversation.

“You do know what they say, don’t you? Teasing is a sign of affection.”, he chuckled, grabbed my hand and stopped walking. Okay? What exactly was he implying?

“Yes, I know that saying. But it doesn’t answer my question.”, I murmured and looked up into his eyes. “Well, I think it does.”, he claimed smirking.

Then he just leaned down quickly and gave me a brief kiss on the lips. Oh my God…

Leaving me -completely puzzled- behind he went along the hall way as if nothing had happened. He turned around and perked his eyebrows up.

“So do you fancy some tea?”

×××

Feel free to send in requests! :)

#asa butterfield #Asa butterfield imagine #Asa #butterfield #imagine #Asa Butterfield oneshot #actor #actor imagine #British actor

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nerdgurl22 · 7 years

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Election Night 92′ - Part 3

I am so glad people are liking the story so far. It is a little light on substance and story at first because I was a bit nervous writing but in later chapters I really start to feel more comfortable. I was very nervous writing a Bill and Hillary fanfic, the way I see them and have come of age during their time in the White House I have the utmost respect for them both and I was nervous the story wouldn’t reflect that. I am happy about the way the story came through.

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Paul reaches the the top of the steps and he has a piece of paper in his hand that he grabbed from his stack before he made his way up the steps, studying the numbers ever so carefully. It never dawned on him to knock on the door, he is so completely focused on the numbers he is reading, always the political strategist and today understandably nerves are high and on edge. He reaches down to grab the door handle and he twists it and the door swings wide open...

At first neither Bill nor Hillary notice the new figure in the room, still in quiet the precarious position figuratively and literally.

Hillary just so happens to remove her gaze from her husbands eyes and she stops cold and let's out this extremely high pitched scream... and she quickly latches herself to Bill and he turns to see why his wife had panic on her. Her face now flush for an entirely different reason.

Quick thinking by Bill he rips the sheet from the bed to wrap his wife with it. He turns his head and yells "Get out Paul, Jesus Christ man don't any of you know how to knock?" Paul so completely mortified, "My apologies Governor... Ma'am." He turns and high tails it out of their private bedroom and closes the door behind him, he runs down the stairs and around the corner to the dinning room/campaign room. "Did you get the Governor?" James now really annoyed that they are missing perfect drive time interviews. Paul completely out of breath trying to explain. "Ugh, he and the First Lady are possibly going to be a bit delayed." "Dammit Paul we are running out of prime time real estate here." James' voice began to fall off when he saw the look on Paul's face. It had finally registered what his friend had witnessed. "Well I'll be, you know it's always good luck to do it the morning of the election, way to go Governor... We are gonna win this!"

Bill has a hold of Hillary tight, "Honey are you alright?" Her head buried deep in his neck and all she can do is shake her head from left to right, she is so embarrassed and mortified and she can't bring herself to remove her head from his neck. He has his right arm wrapped around her waist and his left hand rubbing her head. "Bill, my god. Why was the door unlocked?" Now he is gently rocking her in his arms, "I don't know sweetheart...". His voice tales off and Hillary raises her head to look into his eyes. "Why wasn't the door locked Bill?" He is trying to hold back one of his southern boy grins but he can't any longer, once Hillary sees it her blood starts to boil. "William! Answer me why was the door not locked?" He takes her tiny hand in his and whispers, "I got so completely lost in you, that I guess I must have forgotten my girl." How she wanted to be mad at him, but in all honesty they both got so lost in each other. Feeling a little less embarrassed she let out a chuckle and then Bill followed.

"Hill, you go ahead and jump in the shower and freshen up and I'll head down stairs. I will talk to Paul in private and then you come down when you feel you are ready. I'd like for you to actually lie down and nap because this is going to be a long night." He wanted to make sure she was ok to face Paul after what he walked in on, he wanted to spare her more embarrassment.

In all fairness she was still a bit embarrassed and she was now really feeling her exhaustion and talking a hot shower and curling up in bed sounded ideal. "I think I will do that honey, you won't really need me for a while anyway." She stood up, her soft pink pale flesh looking at him and he quickly had his hands on her waist and pulled her close to his face so her stomach was where his lips were. "I always need you." He then kissed her stomach, and her butterflies returned instantly, she leaned down and kissed his lips and turned to head into the washroom.

That day would change their lives forever in so many ways...

Bill was dressed and down with the staff, doing interviews and looking over numbers. Hillary was upstairs out of the shower and she decided to fall asleep in Bill's now button free dress shirt that she ripped open earlier. The early exit polls were looking very strong, and the staff was starting to feel the anticipation of this historic day. Chelsea arrived home and Bill went to the front steps to greet her as she arrived, "Hi Dad." "Hello sweetheart, how was school?" he replied, no matter how busy he may be with the campaign or even with his work as Governor he always made time for his little princess. He has always said that Chelsea is the greatest gift Hillary ever gave him. "It was great, I have a bunch of homework but my teacher said it was ok if I wasn't able to get it done tonight. I told her that I shouldn't be given special rules." Chelsea is head strong like her mother and never was raised to think she was better than anyone else just because her father was the Governor. "I'm proud of you honey, why don't you head into the living room to do your homework." Bill was feeling a bit nervous and excited but when he got to have this time with Chelsea it really calmed him down and brought him back into balance. Chelsea then wondered, "Dad, where is mom?" "She is upstairs napping, we got in early this morning and she was so exhausted, so I am letting her sleep as late as she wants." Bill did say it with a bit of smile. "Good job dad, we certainly don't want mom cranky." They both let out a huge laugh.

Bill is walking through the halls of the Capitol, surrounded by so many people, the Speaker of the House and members of Congress as he is making his way to the west side of the building. Flashbulbs are going off and the camera crews are trying to keep up. Hillary and Chelsea have made their way to the west side and a uniform solider is about to escort them onto the platform, it is all about to become very real in a matter of moments. Chelsea will be the First Daughter and her mother with be the First Lady, and it comes will an awesome responsibility, on so many levels. Before they announce Hillary onto the platform she takes a deep breath, today the nausea was a little more intense, most likely because of the excitement of the day. It was a brisk cold January day, they expected it to be in the low 30's but the sun is shinning bright and it has pulled the temperature up to low 40's, Bill was incredibly worried about the temperature and what it would do to Hillary's health. He insisted she wear an outfit with pants, but Hillary refused, no way was she going to have her first image as the First Lady be in pants. Bill tried not to argue with her because he knew better after all these years, but he would worry about her immensely throughout the day. Just before Hillary walks out she feels a twig in her stomach... she has felt that before and she winced, the dress Marine turned to make sure she was alright. "Ma'am... Are you alright?" he said very concerned. "Yes, thank you Lance Corporal, it's just the baby."

Hillary awoke and sat straight up, still encompassed with Bill's shirt, just staring at the space in front of her with her right hand now rubbing her stomach. So rattled and confused by the dream she just had, what did it mean? And why did Bill kiss her stomach before leaving her to her shower earlier?

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I really hope you like Part 3 of the story and I look forward to posting Part 4 hopefully tomorrow.

#bill and hillary #billary fanfiction #teambillary #hillary clinton #bill clinton

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maxwellyjordan · 4 years

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SCOTUS spotlight: Deanne Maynard on ‘split-second decisions’ as an oral advocate

Deanne Maynard, co-chair of Morrison & Foerster’s Appellate and Supreme Court practice, has argued 14 cases before the Supreme Court since her first oral argument in 2004. On this week’s episode of SCOTUStalk, Amy Howe interviews Maynard on how she prepares to argue before the justice, how she pivots away from hostile questions, and why hypotheticals can be the toughest questions of all. Howe also takes Maynard back to her first oral argument — accompanied by live audio — and what went through her mind when Justice John Paul Stevens asked Maynard a question before she even made it up to the lectern.

Listen on Acast

Full transcript below the jump.

[00:00:00] Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!

Amy Howe: [00:00:03] This is SCOTUStalk, a nonpartisan podcast about the Supreme Court for lawyers and non-lawyers alike, brought to you by SCOTUSblog.

AH: [00:00:13] Welcome to SCOTUStalk. I’m Amy Howe. Thanks for joining us. Today, we are continuing our series on Supreme Court advocacy and we are delighted to have as our guest, Deanne Maynard, who’s a partner at Morrison & Foerster and the co-chair of the firm’s Appellate and Supreme Court practice. Before joining Morrison & Foerster, Deanne was an assistant to the US solicitor general. She’s argued 14 cases before the justices dealing with everything from bankruptcy to Indian law. Deanne, thanks so much for joining us.

Deanne Maynard: [00:00:43] Thank you so much for having me, Amy. It’s my pleasure.

AH: [00:00:46] You’ve argued many times before the justices, but you’ve also argued more than 65 times in the courts of appeals. Do you approach arguing at the Supreme Court differently than when you’re in the courts of appeals?

DM: [00:00:59] Well, many things are the same, of course, but I think there are at least two key differences. The first is, in the Supreme Court, you you always know from the beginning, even before you start briefing, even before you do the cert process, who your panel’s going to be. So, you know, the identity of the decision makers, you know, throughout the entire time. And you can think about that as you frame your arguments, as you draft your briefs, when you’re reading the precedents and you’re looking back at old arguments about what the justices are concerned about and who’s concerned about what and when you’re trying to count to five, which is what you’re trying to do in the Supreme Court. In the courts of appeals, most of them you don’t know. Sometimes you don’t know. Like in the federal circuit, for instance, you don’t know until the very morning of oral argument, you know, basically an hour, maybe two hours notice, which three judges you’re going to have on your panel. And so you just you have to approach it, getting prepared differently. You have to approach the briefing differently. You have to brief for the entire court and that, you know, that is a difference. Secondly, I think in terms of the way you think about your case and the way you prepare for oral argument is different, because in the court of appeals, they’re much more bound by precedent. There’s much often and they’re more concerned about the facts of your case just deciding your case. And so you you it’s much more important to know the key cases that they may feel bound by, the facts of your case and the record and, you know, the fact that they may be willing to decide your case in your favor without issuing a precendential decision, for example. So they’re not always thinking about what rules is going to create, you know, how do we approach this case now?

DM: [00:02:49] Sometimes they are, of course, and sometimes, you know, and I think often you kind of know which kind of case you are. You’re in a case that’s…this is a fact specific case and I didn’t need to win my case. And a lot of times in the courts of appeals, you’re thinking about like what is the narrowest way we can win this case? This is all we need to win this case. In the Supreme Court, of course, you need to know your record, always, and you need to know all of the precedents. But, almost by definition, when the Supreme Court takes a case, there is no governing precedent, because if there was a direct, on point, you know, governing precedent as a general matter, it should be a summary reversal or not a case that they’re hearing on the merits. And so the justices are often thinking about what should the rule be? How will this play out? How do we write a precedent that lower court judges can apply to the next case? And they’re often very unconcerned with who wins your particular case. And, in many decisions, as you know, they don’t actually decide the case, but they issue the new rule of law or they pronounce how they decide the legal questions and remand for the lower courts to apply it to the facts of your case.

AH: [00:03:59] So you have argued your first case in 2004. Has your approach to arguing at the Supreme Court changed over time, either because of what you’ve learned as you have gone along or because the court has changed? I mean, the makeup of the court is different. Or both?

[00:04:19] I’ve definitely gotten better at predicting the kinds of questions that I’m going to get asked. And I feel like as a result, I’m often better prepared for the questions. So, and I do think that helps focus my preparation on the right kinds of questions and the right kinds of concerns and shoring up, you know, our position in important places to be more ready. I also am more comfortable now, you know, having done a number of arguments, I know my first argument, my one of my fears before my first argument was what if I stand at the podium and open my mouth and no sound comes out? You know, if I’m just, like, overwhelmed by the stress and I freeze? And I definitely don’t have that level of worry anymore, so I still do, you know, get nervous and I’m stressed by it.

DM: [00:05:18] And I think that it’s that fear of not knowing the answer or not being adequately prepared that, you know, drives one to get really ready because it’s a lot of work to get really ready. But I no longer worry that no sound will come out.

AH: [00:05:34] So tell us about a little bit more about your first argument. Sound did come out?

DM: [00:05:40] Sound did come out! One of my friends says at first it didn’t sound like me to him. But I have two arguments to share about. One is the about the argument itself. Which, the case involved Ohio’s prison system and the procedures that Ohio uses to place inmates in their highest security prison and whether or not those procedures comported with due process. And I was representing the United States as an amicus to Ohio, and I had not actually written the briefs in this case. The case I was supposed to argue as my first argument – it was one of those rare instances where the Supreme Court denies the United States’s request to participate at the argument. And so the office reshuffled the planning and I argued this case. So I was supporting the lawyer arguing for Ohio. And after, you know, and I had been given advice by, you know, experienced advocates in the office to get to the podium and settle my things on the podium and then take a deep breath when I was ready and look up and say, the traditional Mr. Chief Justice, and may it please the court, you know, so to get composed. Well, during the first 20 minutes of the argument, the court and the justices were probing really hard on what Ohio tells its prisoners before they trigger a potential move into the high security prison and weren’t entirely satisfied, I don’t think, with the responses. And I think the advocate for Ohio missed the fact that Justice Stevens asked him a question while he was trying to reserve time for rebuttal.

DM: [00:07:23] And so there was a question pending when he sat down. Which, as you know, you know, as an advocate yourself, is ideally, you would try not to leave a question pending.

[00:07:34] I was basically on my way to the podium.

[begin oral argument audio]

Chief Justice William Rehnquist: [00:07:38] Ms. Maynard, we’ll hear from you.

[end oral argument audio]

DM: [00:07:39] And Justice Stevens, who had asked the question, leans forward and says, “Ms. Maynard…”

[begin oral argument audio]

Justice John Paul Stevens: [00:07:45] Ms. Maynard, before you start, maybe you could answer the question I tried to ask at the end of his argument. Where in the record is the report?

[end oral argument audio]

DM: [00:07:51] And so, I haven’t gotten to the podium yet. I haven’t gotten my things settled. I haven’t taken my deep breath. And this I have this like split second. What do I do? Do I say, “Mr. Chief Justice, and may it please the court” or do I answer Justice Stevens? And I couldn’t recall, I mean, you know, this was this must have been like a microsecond in my brain. Right. But I didn’t know what to do etiquette wise.

DM: [00:08:15] But Justice Stevens, he had asked me a question, and so I opted for answer the question.

[begin oral argument audio]

DM: [00:08:22] JA-58 is the form. And if you look at that, you’ll see that it has a line that says…”You are being considered for transfer for the following reasons,” colon, and there’s a blank to be filled in.

[end oral argument audio]

DM: [00:08:37] And so I did know where in the record he could find that document. And I tried to succinctly say, you know, Yes, your Honor, it’s at JA-58, and here’s what it says and “Mr. Chief Justice and may it please the court.”

DM: [00:08:50] So when I got back to the office, the office was about split evenly on whether I had made the right choice. And, um, but I think in hindsight, for me, it was the right choice. Because, you know, Justice Stevens, I think, you know, wanted the answer to his question. I knew the answer to his question. I didn’t want to spend the first part of my argument talking about Ohio. I wanted to give my opening. And so by doing that, by answering Justice Stevens’ question, stopping…and and I saw Justice Breyer, I remember him picking up the book and, you know, looking in the joint appendix to find the documents. And so the justices were clearly looking at what I had said.

DM: [00:09:27] But then I was able to reset and then give the opening I had planned for, my, you know, for myself. So that was, so I was I’m happy in hindsight with how I did it. But…

AH: [00:09:37] Yeah, I mean, it was a little bit of Justice Stevens putting you on the spot there.

DM: [00:09:42] Well…

AH: [00:09:42] But I’m not going to ask you to to criticize Justice Stevens, but…no one should criticize Justice Stevens.

DM: [00:09:49] Well, well, I clerked for Justice Stevens, as you may know.

AH: [00:09:52] I know, exactly.

[00:09:52] So, I’ve warm, fond feelings for Justice Stevens.

AH: [00:09:57] I do as well.

DM: [00:09:57] But I have…I’m very happy that I knew the answer to the question.

AH: [00:10:04] There you go. There you go.

DM: [00:10:06] If I hadn’t known the answer to the question, it would have been a very, very poor start to my first argument.

AH: [00:10:14] But I’m certain you would have known the answer.

DM: [00:10:17] So…and the second memory, is more, of a, personal one, which is: I was eight months pregnant when I did my first argument and I had chosen to wear the traditional garb of the solicitor general’s office, the morning suit, to do my arguments before the court. When I was clerking, we used to call that, you know, “the credibility suit.”

DM: [00:10:43] The, you know, I know you know…but for those who were listening who don’t know – the morning suit is…like the kind of suit that traditionally a man would get married in in the morning. So it has sort of white and gray and black striped pants and a cutaway gray jacket, almost like a tuxedo. But it’s a long jacket that’s gray.

DM: [00:11:03] And I wore a black vest and uh…so Marshall Talkin, she wears the same, so, you know, I modeled it what I bought after what Marshall Talkin wears.

DM: [00:11:15] And, but I had purchased it before knowing that I was going to be pregnant. And so, by the time of my first argument, the pants that I had purchased no longer fit. And for, men who have rented tuxedos know it was those kind of rental pants where you can open the buckle and make the belt, like, bigger.

DM: [00:11:38] But, um, even the leeway allowed by the rental tuxedo pants I had bought did not…was not sufficient for my eighth month, um.

AH: [00:11:49] You were eight months pregnant.

DM: [00:11:49] Eighth month body. And so, I had to rent pants. And I still remember they were, they were square pants. So they were like 40 by 40, or something. 30 by 30. I don’t remember exactly, but I just thought it was so funny that I was like arguing in square pants.

AH: [00:12:10] That is a great story. So, you alluded to this a little bit, but walk us through your preparation for a Supreme Court oral argument. How many moots do you do? What else do you do in the month or weeks leading up to an oral argument?

DM: [00:12:27] So I think the sort of big picture approach is to start wide and then funnel to narrow, so that by the time of the argument, you know, you’re just really focused on the things that are most likely to happen and most likely to come up.

DM: [00:12:43] But at the beginning of my prep, I like to go back and read everything, making notes as I go. And then as I get closer and closer, you know, hone in to the ten most likely questions and the, you know, ten points I really want to make. And oftentimes those two things tend to merge into one in the same. The ten most important points are also likely to be the ten most important, the answers to the ten most important questions. So, so, so a lot of preparation is personal. You know, it’s like me and my desk and my books and my computer. But then, certainly,you know, as is as tradition of lawyers who have trained in the solicitor general’s office, I like to do real live-on moots, in role, for as long as the advocate, you know, the questioners have questions.

DM: [00:13:39] And so I like to do at least two for a Supreme Court argument. And I like the mooters who are the pretend justices to be people who…like me, know the kinds of questions that the justices are going to ask, you know, have done themselves arguments in the court, have seen arguments, done arguments, been to a lot of arguments. And they know what kinds of questions the justices ask, but — they have not been involved in helping me with the case so far.

DM: [00:14:07] So they are cold. So when they read the briefs, they see, you know, they’ll pick them up just like the justices and the law clerks will pick them up.

AH: [00:14:17] Right.

DM: [00:14:17] Not, having, like me, drunk the Kool-Aid already.

AH: [00:14:20] Right, right.

DM: [00:14:21] You know, [who don’t] already know why we’re right and why we should win, and then have them ask questions. And I don’t usually do it, with, you know, I don’t do it with…I know people do it differently. I don’t do with nine justices. I, you know, I find that if you have people who really know how the court asks questions, you know, you really only need three, three people, four people to grill you and then they that, you know, then they just all ask more questions than they would if they were, you know, really the justices.

And then I stay in role and I tell the people, of course, the people who have helped with the case and who are right there with me as the Kool-Aid drinkers, they you know, they’re there and listening and taking notes. And then I tell them, though, don’t help me. You know, don’t help me while I’m in role. That’s…the point of this is…to step in all the potholes, and learn where they are, and see what lines of questioning and what answers take me down some rabbit hole we’d really rather not be in.

DM: [00:15:23] And, so, don’t save me in the moot because I want to, like, fall on my face in the moot, not in the argument.

DM: [00:15:30] And, you know, sometimes that can be really tough for…clients and people…who’ve litigated the case and want to jump in and help you when it seems like you’re desperately flailing for the answer. But I think it’s really important to let those things play out in the moot and see how they go and then have as soon as…we usually do that, until, I mean, for much longer that time than I’ll have at the argument…an hour or more until the questions kind of peter out, right?

DM: [00:15:58] And, and then, you know, have a discussion section of a session after that. And that’s where everybody can tell me, “well, you really shouldn’t have said this” or “that’s not right” or I can get you that cite from the record. And that would be a better place to go with this question and really talk about…with the experience advocates, you know, “okay, that that you’re probing on this”, you know, “what’s your concern there?” “What do you think is my best response here?” “The three possibilities we’ve thought of…” You know, and chat about it and try to figure it out in advance. And I think, you know, if you do that well, then you, you know, the moot should be much worse than the real argument.

AH: [00:16:38] Yes, yes, indeed.

AH: [00:16:40] Do you have any traditions on the morning of the argument itself, eat at a certain place, listen to a certain song on the radio?

DM: [00:16:48] I know people have those…I don’t really, to be honest. I do… my one tradition which isn’t really, is more practical than anything else, which is…I get up like really early, like at the crack of dawn and get in my car and get all my things and get to the office. So in case something nightmarish happens, I can like, walk to the court if I have to.

AH: [00:17:07] That’s actually a great idea.

DM: [00:17:10] Um…and then once I get to the office, you know, it’s so early, there’s no one there and I do tend to then just sit with my own thoughts and, you know, review my key points and say out loud, my, you know, my introduction and the answers to the questions I think are most likely and just sort of run through a practice that way.

DM: [00:17:28] We do…have sort of more of a night before tradition, which started…when I was in the solicitor general’s office, my mom and dad would come. They came to I think almost every single one of my arguments when I was in the solicitor general’s office, which was really special. And so they would usually arrive the night before and stay with us. And my mom would always bring a chicken pie from this place in North Carolina that, you know, near our house and that I that I liked a lot. And so she would make that. So she would always make that, that was the traditional, like sort of, I mean, she, as she would say, she made it possible. She didn’t make it. You know, she went got it. And then, but she baked it!

DM: [00:18:08] And so then when when I would get home from my last day of prepping, you know, mom would have be in the kitchen, should have dinner all made, and we would sit down and eat it. And so um my mom died about six or seven years ago, but my husband still makes chicken pie often the night before.

AH: [00:18:23] Aw, that’s really nice…and now I’m hungry. That sounds really good. Talk about your opening statement. Do you memorize it? Sort of internalize it? It’s a little different now, you know, now that that advocates have, you know, whatever it is, two minutes, three minutes uninterrupted.

DM: [00:18:46] So I do memorize it. I try I think you’re internalizing it is a good way to put it. I think it’s memorizing and internalizing. But I try to do it in packets. So especially back in the day, as you say, when there wasn’t the preset amount of time, you know, 45 seconds was often the most you could hope to get out, maybe sometimes not even that.

DM: [00:19:08] And so it’s it was very important to front-load the thing that you most wanted to say, then the thing that you second most want to say and then the thing that you third most want to say. And then if, you know, if they let you go on for a little while, then you get it all out. But if they interrupt, you said the thing that you most want to say. So you didn’t want to spend any time spinning your wheels or clearing your throat or anything, because there you may only have 30 seconds before they jump in. And I think even, you know, obviously last term was an experiment of sorts. But even then, you know, sometimes the justices would would, you know, forget the new rule and jump in. My, my coach here, Joe Palmore…had an argument last year where, I believe it was Justice Sotomayor, started to ask him a question and then, and then remembered about the rule and stopped. And so he was able to finish his planned remarks. But I think it’s a word to the wise that maybe packets is still a good idea.

AH: [00:20:07] Yeah, it will be interesting to see how long it takes them to sort of break that habit. It was sort of a constant source of watching entertainment for the press corps who’s who’s going to mess up today.

DM: [00:20:21] But it’s understandable in mooting. I had the same instinct, which is as soon as the advocate would say something that I wanted to challenge, it’s really hard not to jump in, especially when you sort of trained up in this world…of challenging as soon as you hear something that sounds challengeable.

AH: [00:20:39] It’s hard to break, you know, literally, sort of a decade long habit. I mean, it’s going to take time. What do you take up to the lectern with you? Do you take a binder? Do you take a sheet? Do you take nothing at all?

DM: [00:20:53] I take a narrow binder and I always have. It’s what I, you know, first learned to do when I did my very first oral argument. And I still do that. I tend to use hard pieces of paper so that when you turn it, if you need to turn the page for some reason, it doesn’t make a sound in the microphone and it has, you know, I use those card stocks with the tabs on them. And so often I have different tabs. Maybe if a case has several different kinds of arguments.

DM: [00:21:23] Then, that way if I want to look at the notes for a particular argument, then to look down and grab that tab and turn to it without any delay or fuss…but generally it’s more of a crutch than something I actually use. It was the book that I was using as I got prepared and I refined and refined and refined it, and it’s the book that I look at when I get to the office early that morning to refresh, but it’s very rare that I actually use it much at the podium. The one thing that I do tend to use it for…on the left-hand side of the first page, I have all the most important record cites. Or if it’s a case where I think I might want to quote a snippet of a case, I might have that and the cite, so things that probably I’ve committed to memory. But sometimes, in the moment, you know, and also if you’re going to give them a cite, you want to be really sure you’re doing the right thing. But almost as important as the binder and I think more important than the binder for actual use of the argument — and what I use more than the binder — is a tabbed version of the joint appendix and the APP pages from the brief with the statute in it. And, especially in a really complex statutory construction case…where, if you’re making a point and you want them to look at it while you’re making it, it’s really helpful to give them the page.

DM: [00:22:51] And, you know, you don’t have to say to them, “if you’ll just” — well, it may be helpful now that they can’t see you — but just reaching over to the table next to you and picking up, you know, the brief that has the statutory appendix in it and saying, you know, “A8 of our brief, there’s this language and if I can walk you through it?” Oftentimes, if the advocate picks up the joint appendix or picks up a brief and looks at it…the justices will too just because they’re following along. Right? And and then if you have a really complicated — and I have argued a number of cases with really reticulated statutory schemes where my argument’s very complicated and related to how this provision relates to that provision and I think it’s very important to understand the interlocking nature and the whole — it is useful to, you know, really have handy those pages, tabbed, and where you want to point them to while you’re discussing your points about the statute.

AH: [00:23:56] And…I’ve seen this done. And it also seems like they’ll really listen while you’re doing that.

DM: [00:24:04] Well, hopefully. Right?

AH: [00:24:07] As opposed to interrupting, you know, they’ll sort of give you some time to walk through this.

DM: [00:24:12] I think sometimes in the cases with very complicated statutory schemes, they they are also struggling with how to read the statute and they want to hear your explanation of it. And it is effective, I think, to have a visual aid to walk them through it.

AH: [00:24:25] So let’s talk a little bit about, sort of, argument strategy, for lack of a better word. What do you do…the Supreme Court’s known as a hot bench. You’re, you know, up at the lectern and you’ve got somebody who’s really peppering you with questions, but at the same time, you know that his or her vote probably isn’t in play. How do you deal with it with that situation?

DM: [00:24:51] Well, I think it’s important to remember that everyone’s still listening to what you’re saying. And so even if you’re looking at one justice who you think you’re unlikely to…get, but you know that what you’re saying still might persuade others, it doesn’t really matter that you’re answering the questions of someone you think you’re really unlikely to get as long as everyone else is still, you know, listening, which they, of course, are. And so it’s important to keep in mind that, you know, the others may be open and they may have the same concerns or they may want to know…they may already be inclined to vote with you, but they want to know how to write the opinion that response to this justice’s concerns. And so you’re…the one who’s given the most thought, hopefully, to how to answer those, and why it’s not a problem for your case and what the responses are.

DM: [00:25:45] And so I think it is best to try to answer. Now, sometimes if you feel like, well, I’ve …tried the same point several times, and it’s not…then I think you do want to try to pivot away. And one of the things that you practice in running through your points in preparation is, you know, well, I might get this hostile question. This is my crisp answer to that question and I’m going to pivot to this other point that I want to make. I mean, another strategy is to try to invoke another justice’s name: “This is the answer, but if I could, I’d like to go back to what justice so-and-so asked earlier and often if if one does that, they’ll allow you to move away.

AH: [00:26:35] Yeah. And that actually…especially the first part of…your answer sets up a related question, which is, you know, when you’ve got a hot bench and you’re sort of responding to the questions, how do you get out your affirmative case? And so we’re going to play an excerpt from your argument on behalf of the federal government in Watson v. United States. This was a case about whether or not someone who trades drugs for a gun uses the gun for purposes of a statute that would add five years to his sentence. And so, it looked like you did a really nice job shifting to try to make your case. So, I’m going to play an excerpt. Here’s Deanne Maynard, then an assistant to the solicitor general in Watson v. United States.

[begin oral argument audio]

Justice Antonin Scalia: [00:27:26] They refer to crimes in which there’s been a receipt, but there’s also been a conveyance. Why do you focus on the receiver rather than the conveyor?

DM: [00:27:35] Because our reading, Justice Scalia, gives full effect to the provisions that Congress has carefully chosen to place in D3. And the and the petitioner’s reading does not.

JAS: [00:27:43] What are they?

DM: [00:27:44] And if I can…can explain it? In D1, it’s on page 8A our brief, D1 is set forth. In 924-D1, Congress provided two principal ways in which the government can forfeit firearms. The first is, if an offense is completed, the government can forfeit a firearm that is involved in or used in that offense.

JAS: [00:28:08] Involved in? That broadens that enormously, doesn’t it?

DM: [00:28:11] Yes, it does, Your Honor, but that actually strengthens my point.

JAS: [00:28:15] But cuts the other way. Congress knows how to say “involved in” if it wants to reach that broadly. And it didn’t do it under the provision in which Mr…pursuant to which Mr. Watson was indicted.

DM: [00:28:26] Well, yes, Your Honor. But, if you allow me, to continue on…further on in D1, Congress used a narrow subset of crimes, some of which include receipt crimes, where it only used the word “use”. And that’s the logic of this court’s decision in Smith. And it applies equally here. Further down in D1, Congress allowed the government to forfeit crimes intended to be used in certain, very specific listed crimes. And, in other words, to forfeit the firearms before the um…the crime actually is committed. Some of those crimes include receipt crimes include the very receipt crimes listed by this court in Smith. And so given that Congress believed that the firearms intended to be used in purely receipt crimes were ultimately going to be used by the receipt, Congress employed the term here very broadly, including to receive the firearms.

[end oral argument audio]

AH: [00:29:21] So talk a little bit about what you did in this case, and sort of a little bit more about sort of techniques for making your affirmative case rather than playing defense, so to speak.

DM: [00:29:32] In that clip that you played, what I tried to do was say, answer the question, but if you’d let me explain it, you’d let me explain my answer, because it was a complicated statutory scheme again, like I was referencing earlier. And I had points that I wanted to make that related to that piece of the of the statute. But I needed to walk through it to make it clear. And so I think sometimes in responding to hostile questions, you can say, “I want I want to answer that question, but if you’d let me take a step back first?” or “I’m gonna answer, but I’d like to take a running start.” And oftentimes then they will let you explain.

AH: [00:30:12] Right. They just want to know that it’s coming. What kind of questions are the hardest to answer?

DM: [00:30:18] I think hypotheticals are the hardest to answer.

AH: [00:30:21] Justice Breyer’s hypotheticals…

DM: [00:30:25] So, and I…in some cases, you know in advance, they just lend themselves to hypotheticals and you expect that this is a case where it’s going to be all about hypotheticals. And especially in that situation, I ask my mooters in advance, “please think of some hypotheticals to spring on me at the moot.” Often you won’t get the exact same hypothetical one as mooters asks, but the principles that you’ve thought out in your head will still work with any hypothetical. And, in particular, you need to know in advance: “What’s the rule my client needs? “What is, where do I have to, like, stand my ground no matter what?” Because we can’t give in to this or that hypothetical, because we need that. And that changes depending on the case and it changes depending on the client.

DM: [00:31:11] Some clients, this is their only case like this. They just want to win this case. They don’t need a broad rule. They need a really narrow rule. And you all you have to defend is winning this case. Other clients – this isn’t their only case like this. And they have many cases like this, some of which may have different facts, and you can’t give up their future case. And so you have to hold a broader role. And that’s, I think, a really important thing for advocates to work out with their clients during the preparation in advance so that, you know, at the podium with confidence…what you can give up and what you can’t.

AH: [00:31:50] Yes. Yes. So when you’re the petitioner, you get a rebuttal, which is usually somewhere around three to five minutes, mostly, if you’re lucky, uninterrupted time to sort of wrap things up and state your case one last time. I’m going to play a minute or so from your rebuttal in Sandoz v. Amgen involving the interpretation of — here’s one of your complicated statutory schemes – Biologics Price Competition and Innovation Act. Here’s Deanne Maynard of Morrison & Foerster, representing Sandoz in Sandoz v. Amgen.

[begin oral argument audio]

DM: [00:32:24] Thank you, Your Honor. There can be no doubt that the judgment that we’ve petitioned on is a federal judgment that the federal circuit issued a federal injunction and dismissed their state law claims. Two: the statute Congress, when it wanted to provide for an injunctive relief of the L procedures, it did so. It provided, for it, in only one instance, violations of the confidentiality provisions in L1H and significantly, that’s also the only provision that Congress called a failure to do something in L1, a violation. Yet Amgen wants you to read the statute and to read those…the rest of the provisions as implicitly entitling them to an injunction that Congress chose not to provide. And instead they want to call the remedies Congress did provide, as the backup. I…that’s a very odd way to read the statute. The rights here are patent rights. The remedies they were given were patent remedies and they’re forceful. They gave them artificial infringement actions in the case where you participated in exchange and in the case where you don’t…

[end oral argument audio]

AH: [00:33:26] So what…what were you trying to do here and what do you generally try to…accomplish in your rebuttal?

DM: [00:33:34] Well, I think it’s…it’s one in the same. Which is, it’s really important to remember, first and foremost, it’s a rebuttal, right? So it needs to relate to what’s happened since you sat down.

DM: [00:33:47] What you’re trying to do is respond to the arguments that the respondent’s counsel has made or the questions respondent’s counsel’s been asked, to hit your most important points. And it has to be really crisp, and it has to be concise and it has to be only the most important things that have happened since you sat down.

AH: [00:34:08] What advice would you give to someone who is arguing before the court for the first time?

DM: [00:34:14] Listen to previous arguments before the court. And if you can, listen to the arguments in cases, you know, in and around what you’re gonna…what you’re arguing about. Because you’ll get a really good sense of the kinds of questions you might get. Also, maybe some ideas about the answers you should give, depending on how close the case is to your case. And you’ll also hear different styles of advocates because there’s more than one way to be a stellar Supreme Court advocate. There’s…the advocates have different styles and you can listen and try to pick and choose. You know, if you’re arguing the Supreme Court, chances are you are an experienced advocate already, elsewhere, and you have your own style already. And you should go with your style. You should be yourself, learn your case, go in, be confident. And I think, right before you start, take a deep breath and don’t forget to enjoy it. It’s an incredible professional experience and a privilege.

AH: [00:35:12] Deanne Maynard, thanks so much for joining us.

DM: [00:35:14] Thank you so much for having me, Amy. I appreciate it.

AH: [00:35:16] That’s another episode of SCOTUStalk. Thanks for joining us. Thanks to Casetext, our sponsor, and to our production team: Katie Barlow, Katie Bart, Kal Golde and James Romoser.

The post SCOTUS spotlight: Deanne Maynard on ‘split-second decisions’ as an oral advocate appeared first on SCOTUSblog.

from Law https://www.scotusblog.com/2020/08/scotus-spotlight-deanne-maynard-on-split-second-decisions-as-an-oral-advocate/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

#law #justice

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attredd · 4 years

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Amid weeks of civil unrest following the police killing of George Floyd, Oklahoma state Representative Regina Goodwin witnessed a disturbing sight on Wednesday: masses of Donald Trump supporters—some in Confederate gear—lining up blocks from the site of the 1921 race massacre on “Black Wall Street” in Tulsa.Some of the assembled fans, determined to attend the president’s first campaign rally in months, sang pro-Trump anthems and told local reporters they set up tents in order to ensure they got good seats inside the nearly 20,000-person arena. After all, it promised to be the largest indoor public gathering in the country since COVID-19 sent a shockwave of lockdowns and quarantines throughout the world.“The point is to rally his base, and they are out there on this sidewalk wanting to be the first in line,” Goodwin, who serves as chair of the Oklahoma Legislative Black Caucus, told The Daily Beast. “I’ve seen people out there sleeping with the Confederate flag symbol. Because of the racist elements that he attracts, you’re adding fuel to the fire of the racial tensions in Tulsa.”But that’s not the only problem facing Goodwin’s constituents. The state’s COVID-19 numbers are “continuing to climb and climb and climb,” as she put it, and the rally is likely to be populated by uniquely COVID-19-skeptical hordes amid a surging pandemic that has hit communities of color with horrific force.The Race Massacre Trump Ignored Because America Tries to Hide Its SinsAs of Thursday, Oklahoma had 8,904 cumulative cases of the virus, which had caused 364 deaths. Compared to other states, those numbers were relatively low. But compared to Oklahoma’s previous numbers, they amounted to an ominous trend. Authorities reported new record-high case counts in the state at large—and in Tulsa specifically—in recent days. In fact, at least one recent cluster made national news when it forced a 1,600-employee factory for home appliances manufacturer Whirlpool to temporarily shutter. Adding to the concern on Thursday, local authorities reported that a technical error would delay its COVID-19 reporting numbers.Gov. Kevin Stitt reopened Oklahoma’s economy on June 1, and Dr. Bruce Dart, the executive director of the Tulsa County Health Department, told The Daily Beast last week that an increasing number of residents have stopped wearing masks or staying home due to “quarantine fatigue.” “The state was open too soon and this was predicted, and that’s what we’re getting,” said Goodwin. A plethora of scientific studies and media reports have shown the Black community is being hit disproportionately hard by COVID-19. Meanwhile, many Black Tulsans work in Greenwood, the setting of the 1921 massacre where roughly 300 people were killed, 35 city blocks were burned, more than 800 people injured, and 10,000 Black Tulsans were left without homes. The fact that the neighborhood is mere blocks away from the setting of the rally, which was initially scheduled on Juneteenth—the oldest nationally celebrated commemoration of the end of slavery in the country—has not escaped anyone’s attention. Nor have the epidemiological risks.Local public health authorities all the way up to the top infectious disease experts in the country have sounded the alarm in recent weeks over the risks of Trump’s rally. Even the typically party-line hosts of Fox and Friends appeared nervous about it on Thursday morning.Dr. Anthony Fauci, director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases and the public face of the nation’s coronavirus response, told The Daily Beast earlier this week that he would not personally be willing to attend the event since he’s “in a high-risk category.”“Of course not,” Fauci said, noting that a good rule of thumb is that “outside is better than inside, no crowd is better than crowd” and “crowd is better than big crowd.”Days earlier, Dart, the executive director of the Tulsa County Health Department, urged people not to attend and told The Daily Beast he asked Tulsa Mayor G.T. Bynum to “postpone the event until it’s safe for large crowds to gather indoors.” Mayor Bynum’s office only responded to a request for comment this week from The Daily Beast by noting that he was “not available,” though the event appears to be within the city’s control. The arena hosting the rally, the BOK Center, has been closed since March “out of an abundance of caution,” according to its official website. And the City of Tulsa website declares that it must grant a permit for any event at the facility, though Bynum has said he did not know about it until after a permit was already given.“I’m not positive that everything is safe,” Bynum said on Wednesday.Dr. Irwin Redlener, director of the National Center for Disaster Preparedness at Columbia University and an expert on U.S. readiness for pandemics, called the rally “unconscionable”—especially in a state where he described the COVID-19 situation as “not exactly stable.”“It’s likely that an event like this, at this particular moment, is going to be a super-spreader event,” said Redlener, painting a portrait where even one infected attendee could transmit the virus to dozens, who could in turn infect their friends, families, and coworkers. Deadly clusters started by just one asymptomatic or presymptomatic person have been documented all over the country in recent months, in Arkansas, in Chicago, in Washington state, and in New York. In many of those cases, all appropriate precautions were followed, and people still died.To that end, the BOK Center, which is hosting the event, has reportedly hired a private firm to conduct temperature tests, while event staff will pass out masks and hand sanitizer. But attendees will not be required to wear masks—and given the president’s own behavior and the cascading culture wars over mask use, it’s fair to wonder how many people would willingly oblige.Redlener noted attendance at all is still a gamble, even with protections, and a significant number of people will likely be forced to work at Trump’s event.“What if just one person dies who had nothing to do with the rally?” asked Redlener. “Is that worth it? It’s a very cold calculus that they are taking, and I would do everything in my power if I was a public official to put an end to it.”To be clear, like Fauci, the Republican mayor has said he would not be willing to personally attend the rally—but would greet the president beforehand. But in addition to the nearly 20,000 people who can fit inside the BOK Center, an overflow audience is reportedly set to be held in the nearby Cox Business Convention Center, according to The Tulsa World. Trump said this week that more than one million people had requested tickets, though that had not been verified. While at least 100,000 people were expected to attend the related events, it was not yet clear on Thursday how many people would be attending the overflow rally.The Tulsa County Public Health Department declined a request for an interview with The Daily Beast this week but provided the agency’s public health recommendations, which note that “any large gathering of people in enclosed spaces where social distancing is difficult to maintain” is cause for concern, and urge residents to avoid such events and to continue to wear masks and practice diligent hand hygiene.Despite the apparent consensus from bipartisan lawmakers, doctors, and public health experts—and an unwillingness from even the city’s mayor to attend the dangerous event—the community’s best shot at preventing the rally was, for better or worse, in court.Lawyers Clark Brewster and Paul DeMuro filed a writ on Wednesday morning on behalf of four plaintiffs—Greenwood District Limited, the general partners of the neighborhood’s Chamber of Commerce, in addition to the John Hope Franklin Center for Reconciliation and two immune-compromised Tulsans—to the Oklahoma Supreme Court, seeking an injunction against the companies holding the rally.The BOK Center is owned by the city and managed by a firm called ASM Global. Doug Thornton, executive vice president for Arena, Stadia and Theaters at ASM Global, said during a Thursday special meeting of the Tulsa Public Facilities Authority that the company was “told at the time by city officials there were no concerns from a public safety standpoint,” according to The Tulsa World. A spokesman for the company did not respond to a request for comment from The Daily Beast last week, and voicemails left on Thursday were not immediately returned.The underlying lawsuit was initially filed in Tulsa County District Court, where the petition was denied after a set of COVID-19 cases among workers at the courthouse led to new protective measures, Brewster told The Daily Beast. The suit seeks to force BOK Center management to abide by safety protocols amid the pandemic, including temperature screenings, social distancing, limited seating capacity, and attorneys’ fees and costs, The World first reported.Brewster said that he and his co-counsel were set for a Thursday afternoon hearing and were told to expect a ruling on Friday.“As a lawyer I would strongly defend [Trump’s] right to have that assemblage and the right of free speech for his supporters,” Brewster told The Daily Beast on Wednesday. “The problem is that Tulsa has had a sharp escalation in infections. It looks like a hockey stick.”“You can’t even have a jury trial right now, and this event is going to pack in up to 20,000 people inside the convention center,” said Brewster.In an apparent acknowledgement of the rally’s danger, the Trump campaign made national headlines in recent weeks after it required people to sign a waiver assuming “all risks related to exposure to COVID-19” and agreeing not to hold the president or the arena responsible for any “illness or injury” before entering the BOK Center. “Nothing prevents them from infecting the rest of us,” as Goodwin pointed out. “That doesn’t protect those of us who don’t want to be infected.” “We don’t have any waivers that we’re obliged to sign,” she added.As Brewster put it: “Even if you wanted to attend it and signed a release, that doesn't mean you aren’t going to take it to the nursing home where you work.”“They’re going to hand out masks and hand sanitizer, but we have a reasonable expectation that people in attendance will not be wearing masks,” he added. “This isn’t about politics. It wouldn’t make a difference if this was a Garth Brooks concert. I’d be filing the same injunction.”What does make a difference is the cultural moment in which this potentially deadly experiment is taking place.As Goodwin put it, “You’ve got the COVID-19 virus and the virus of racism, and somehow there seems to be a collision of the two in Tulsa.”Read more at The Daily Beast.Got a tip? Send it to The Daily Beast hereGet our top stories in your inbox every day. Sign up now!Daily Beast Membership: Beast Inside goes deeper on the stories that matter to you. Learn more.

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#Tulsa Can’t Opt Out of Trump’s Massive Coronavirus Gamble

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preciousmetals0 · 4 years

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Danger Signs, Aurora Climbs, Morgan Stanley’s Fine

Danger Signs, Aurora Climbs, Morgan Stanley’s Fine:

IPOooo … Oh My God, We’re Going to Crash!

Hey, I heard you missed us … we’re back! (Yeah.) I brought my pencil. Gimme something to write on, man!

Sorry about the two-day hiatus, but life happens. While I was away, the market broke out to fresh all-time highs. The Dow is above 29,000, and market bulls are eyeing 30,000. Jeez, I’m out of it for a little while, and everyone gets delusions of grandeur!

But there’s one thing that didn’t change while I was out. As usual, with the advent of new market highs come the inevitable “the last time this happened, everything went to hell” articles. Today’s “clear danger sign” example comes from MarketWatch.

The article interviews AdvisorShares Ranger Equity Bear ETF (NYSE: HDGE) manager Brad Lamensdorf. It opens with the comical line: “When pigs squeal, feed them.”

Excuse me while I try not to have Deliverance flashbacks here.

The “pigs” comment refers to an age-old adage on Wall Street. When investors are craving overhyped initial public offerings (IPOs), investment bankers will feed those “pigs” with more overhyped IPOs. But, as Lamensdorf notes, this can be a “clear danger sign.” He elaborates:

Over-priced IPOs usually occur toward the end of a long bull run when stocks in general become very overpriced. Why does this happen? Generally because investors have lost their sense of reality. They are willing to buy stocks on hyped stories instead of the facts.

(It kills me that we can’t edit direct quotations. Why two different spellings for “overpriced,” Brad? Why?)

The last time we saw this kind of excessive exuberance and resurgence in failed IPOs was 1999, aka the dot-com bust.

The Takeaway:

The dot-com bust is the new “Black Monday” (which was the new 1929 crash, which was the new Panic of 1907, yada, yada, yada). It’s brought up every time a new indicator gives the impression that the current bull market run is ending. It’s the Godwin’s law of finance.

Now, I agree with Lamensdorf that many investors in the IPO market lost their ever-loving minds last year. Following the WeWork debacle, the IPO market all but imploded. Speculative venture capital investors became much more conservative after former WeWork CEO Adam Neumann took them for a ride.

The problem with screaming “the sky is falling” every time an indicator throws off a bearish signal is that, eventually, no one will believe you … Chicken Little.

This indicator is no different. Unlike 1999, the entire market isn’t driven by IPOs. Back then, investors were fixated on any and every internet dot-com company. It didn’t matter that most of those companies’ business plans were written on fast food napkins — if they had one at all.

Dot-com companies were the market back in 1999. IPOs are not the market in 2020, nor were they in 2019. If they were, we would be talking about WeWork like we talk about Bear Stearns and the financial crisis.

Is this explosion of losses in the IPO market concerning? Sure. Is it bad for speculative IPO investors? Definitely. Will it stop the current bull run? Nope.

The current market is so much more than just overhyped IPOs. It will take more than this one indicator to give a “clear danger sign” for the market as a whole.

In the meantime … you know what to do after you feed the pigs, right? You make bacon!

I can think of no better way to bring home the bacon than by joining Paul Mampilly’s True Momentum research service.

Paul sifts through the stock market’s scruff so you don’t have to. Instead, he recommends standout stocks that are primed to soar higher.

And as this bull run continues, you’ll need stocks with true momentum to keep the bacon — er, gains — rolling in.

Click here to see why Paul’s True Momentum is your perfect companion for the 2020 bull market.

Good: It’s All About the Benjamins, Baby

What you wanna do, be traders? Investment bankers? Gains-makers?

Morgan Stanley (NYSE: MS) just made bank on earnings … we’ll call it money for short. The investment banking giant blew Wall Street’s expectations away, posting a profit of $1.30 per share in the fourth quarter. The consensus was looking for $1.02 per share.

Revenue soared 27% to $10.86 billion, bro. Now that’s some green. Know what I mean?

But Morgan didn’t make its money wheeling and dealing in equities and trading, no. Morgan got paid in the fixed-income market, where revenue surged 126% to $1.27 billion.

It’s certainly an unexpected turn of events, given that we’re 10 years into a bull market, but being less aggressive paid off big-time for Morgan Stanley.

It’s also a nice contrast to the woes plaguing the IPO market right now. A word to the wise from Morgan Stanley: You don’t need to be aggressive across the board to grow your wealth.

Better: Lifting the Cannabis Haze

Dude … wait … what happened? Oh, we were running a business! I guess we should, like, fix it or something.

I’m not sure if the cannabis market has fixed itself yet or not, but investors certainly think the sector has baked long enough.

Pot stocks have made a comeback in the past week, and former Great Stuff favorite Aurora Cannabis Inc. (NYSE: ACB) is showing signs of life … thanks to Cowen analyst Vivien Azer.

Azer reported on the ICR Conference this morning, telling clients that Aurora’s management was working with creditors to restructure its debt.

She also noted that the Canadian cannabis firm looks to control spending and focus on sales. (Focus on sales?! Duuude … that’s a great idea! We should totally sell this stuff.)

As part of her note to clients, Azer reported that sales of Aurora’s Cannabis 2.0 products (such as gummies and chocolates) exceeded expectations. Azer then reiterated her outperform rating with a $4.61 price target on the stock.

So far this week, ACB shares are up nearly 40%. While this is good for investors, the stock remains down more than 70% in the past year. What’s more, Wall Street may not be convinced to buy back into ACB until the company reports earnings next month.

Best: Squeezing Mr. Robot

iRobot Corp. (Nasdaq: IRBT) is about to go on a rampage, and there’s nothing Will Smith can do about it this time.

Beaten down by an escalating trade war between the U.S. and China, iRobot finally got some relief this week when both sides signed the “phase 1” trade agreement.

Doing so lessened tariff pressures on iRobot, which has an extensive supply/manufacturing chain running through China.

With a sigh of relief, investors returned to this outperforming home-robotics specialist in droves. The stock is up more than 15% in the past two weeks, with bullish sentiment driving IRBT above psychological resistance at $50. (And you thought psychology and robots didn’t mix!)

While the rally has investors excited, short sellers are more nervous than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. According to ShortSqueeze.com, more than 46% of iRobot’s float (i.e., shares available for public trading) are sold short. In other words, nearly half of all IRBT shares on the market are shorted.

This is a powder keg just waiting to explode for IRBT. All it’ll take is one little spark to send the shares skyrocketing as short sellers rush to avoid potentially heavy losses. (Just look at what happened to Tesla Inc. (Nasdaq: TSLA), which more than doubled in just a few months due to short sellers covering their sold positions.)

The catalyst for such a move could be something as benign as IRBT shares moving above technical resistance at $55. Or, it could be next month’s quarterly earnings report. Either way, IRBT is primed and ready to run.

You Marco. I Polo.

It’s Reader Feedback time!

It’s been a bit of a rough week, and I feel like we could use some encouragement around here. (I know I could, at least.) So today, I’m going to be a bit shameless and share some of the great things you have to say about Great Stuff.

Let’s start with this short-but-sweet email from Barbara M.:

Thanks for all the laughs! Love, love your writing! Keep it up. Get your mind out of the gutter, as someone just said.

Thank you, Barbara! But I’m afraid that if I took my mind out of the gutter, there wouldn’t be anything left of it. (My mind or the gutter … I’ll let you decide which.)

Next, we have this delightful feedback from Dawn B.:

OK, I admit, I just read my first Great Stuff email — love it! But tell me again, what happened to the little boy who said the king had no clothes on? (Isn’t that what the derivatives excuse was all about? “Don’t worry, I can’t explain it and you wouldn’t understand it anyhow, just the brainiacs in the financial markets, the nerds!”)

Love your sense of humor and your no-nonsense assessment of the information. What I’m curious about is all this information and misinformation — some of it coming from the president himself! So, how do we know what’s real and what’s Memorex?

Thanks again for a refreshing, witty, delightful read!

I completely forgot about those commercials! “Is it live, or is it Memorex?” Here’s a little Ella Fitzgerald commercial for those who don’t remember.

(For you young’uns out there: Back in the day, we had to record music and videos on these things called cassette tapes and VHS tapes. It was barbaric, and we liked it.)

I’m glad you love Great Stuff, Dawn! And if you’re worried about all the misinformation out there, just keep it dialed in to Great Stuff and BanyanHill.com. We’ve got you covered.

If you wrote in and I didn’t get to you, it might be because you cursed too $%*?@#! much. I still really appreciate the feedback, even if they won’t let me publish it.

And if you haven’t written in yet … what’s stopping you? Drop me a line at [email protected] and let me know how you’re doing out there in this crazy bull market.

That’s a wrap for today. But if you’re still craving more Great Stuff, you can check us out on social media: Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

Until next time, good trading!

Regards,

Joseph Hargett

Great Stuff Managing Editor, Banyan Hill Publishing

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