A collection of non-chronological moments from a different sort of happy ending. Family feels, pointless fluff, and important conversations. Rated G.
Read on ao3.
chapter 1 -- strawberry-stealing squirrel
“Hey.”
May blinked contentedly at him, lit up with warm lamplight. “Hm.”
Coulson got into bed beside her, slow and aching. There was warmth in that too, somehow. May curled up, setting her head against his shoulder, her weight solid and still somehow light against his side. She wasn’t actually reading any more, just flipping idly through pages.
There was moonlight fading gently through the curtains. It was like they could see all the world’s stars out on the porch, most nights -- but it was chilly out there on this one. The stars would still be there tomorrow.
“You tired?”
May’s voice was soft. She was in better shape than he was, these days, because of course she was, but the hot water bottle half-tangled in blankets said she ached, too.
“Mm. A little.”
Tired meant something kind of different, these days. It was the years weighing down his bones, the way everything was somehow going so much faster the more they slowed down. It was a good feeling, most days, the way certain kinds of melancholy wrap around you like a blanket.
May hummed again.
“How are you feeling?”
That slight shift of her weight was surprise. May leaned over to put her book down before she answered, switching off the lamp. She still insisted on sleeping on the side by the door, still carried those old specialist reflexes; unlikely reaction times and the almost cat-like effortlessness to it. He’d lost most of that to those months of deterioration, years ago; but the vigilance, the automatic, constant analysis was still there. They still went people-watching every once in a while, mostly to watch the world go by and be judgy old people in peace (May zeroed in on every leather ensemble that passed and ran background checks on stores instead of people, these days). They’d fought their wars.
May moved slower these days, limped more days than she didn’t, but she could still take Yo-yo’s entire STRIKE team. She didn’t teach much any more, but Yo-yo still wheedled her out to do demonstrations every once in a while. She said it kept the youngsters in their place.
Phil got to spend every day beside her steadiness, steadfast as the mountains, and that was as safe as he could ever ask to be.
“A squirrel stole all the strawberries off the plant,” May stated, as she curled up beside him again. Coulson wrapped long arms around her as she huffed, one arm draped warm over his belly. “All three of them.”
Phil jostled them both with a startled laugh. “That does not answer the question.”
“I feel like the squirrel.” May told the darkness, and also him, prim and matter-of-fact. The drowsiness in her voice was getting thicker by the moment. “Like I stole something nice and I’m happy about it.”
Phil was outright belly-laughing by then, trying to get the blanket untangled from around his ankles without having to sit up to tug at it. So much for philosophizing. May lifted her head in annoyance at all the jostling, dropped her cheek back on his chest once he paused to gasp for breath.
“Ask me how I’m doing next time,” she muttered, mostly asleep already. “ Please. ”
“Ohohoho, like hell. You, Melinda May, just told me you feel like a strawberry-stealing squirrel. I am never asking you anything other than how are you feeling ever again.”
There was no answer. May could feign sleep as well as anyone -- better, actually, since she’d finally trained herself to stagger the length of each exhale so you couldn’t crack the rhythm by counting to it. Phil lay still for a long minute, grinning into the darkness, just listening to the quiet snuffle of her peaceful breathing.
#InkSpinnerScoolOfCartooning was initially started thru the #ColoradoSprings #ParksAndRec in the late 80s - early 1990 to what I can recall. That was my first introduction to formal education in cartooning as a kid. A few years later a handful of schools would open, a couple in Southern Colorado here and at least one North towards Denver. Accreditation was sought for the schools in that first half of the 90s. I don't believe it was ever attained. The target was kids and teenagers, tho it was not uncommon to see older students and families in the mix of classes. All that ranged from your basic cartooning for kids and beginners to political toons, comic books and design, animation and dinosaur drawing. I was told one famous and noted Colorado native comicbook artist had some history with the school when they were younger, @jscottcampbellart. Local artists & cartoonists taught at the schools. Handfuls of National artists out of places like Disney and I think Marvel made short visits over the years to meet with the students for Q & As. The walls were decorated with a vast collection of #HannaBarbera animation cels. My time there was fractured but somewhat consistent in between high school, jobs I had taken and several trips to hospitals phych-ward visits, and strings of psychologists and neurologists. It was a chaotic set of years but #InkSpinner did set me up and down the road toward my ramshackle career in design and illustration. They were kind & flexible working with me thru my medics struggles setting me up with as much skills as they could before I started design schooling I am forever grateful to my time at #InkSpinner and the late #KenMillard.After Ken passed in the late aughts a former teacher would take the name "#InkSlingers" Cartooning and provide private cartoon art classes. Ken and the school were the first teachers that truly believed in my and my skills when NO other teachers did at the time. And they gave me chance to start honing my skills, it was not a perfect process --but it was something incredibly special. It was a type of very particular cartoon instruction for young artists that you really don't find around #ColoradoSprings anymore. (at Boot Barn) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cev0eFrOhcr/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
