#its why Chris will often remind his god husband

[p---ink]

White.

Author’s Note: First Chris Oneshot. It was supposed to be a blurb/drabble, but I think its a bit too long for that now. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this filth. Also you ever get that feeling, where you feel like you've came up with an idea in your head originally, but also feel like you may have seen it somewhere else? Yea that's how I feel about this piece. So if you've read something similar to this, please link it and let me know so I can edit or delete this post altogether.

Summary: Chris greets you after a long day at work, with some TLC.

Word Count: 2.9k.

Warning: Fluff and Smut. Oral (female receiving), fingering, Semi-mean Daddy Chris, over-stimulation, multiple orgasms, and I think...maybe that’s it? Please let me know if I forgot something.

Disclaimer: Gif is not mine. 

“The kids are asleep?” You whispered, when he held his finger to his lips upon your arrival. 

“Yea, I just laid Ezra down. That is one rowdy little person.” He said chuckling, leaning down to plant a kiss on your mouth. He held you by your waist to pepper more along your face. 

“Chris baby, you are a God-send.” You sighed, leaning in to his touch. “You will not believe the shitty day I had.”

“Hold that thought and take a seat, doll” he ordered, urging you towards the living room by your shoulders. “I’ll be right back.” He promised. 

You sighed as you threw your work bag down on the love chair beside you, kicking your shoes off in the process.  When you crossed the room to drop down on the sofa, the weight of today’s events crushed you instantaneously, as you waited for your husband to return. 

You’ve been married for six years, and he’s been good to you for all of them. Great even. He always listened, and almost never complained. How could he when he was usually away, due to his job? 

He was forever busy with filming, press tours and whatnot. It made him feel guilty to leave you and your sons so often. So any time he was at home for a break, he took full advantage. He spent time with his boys, and then the rest with you, spoiling you all with his love. 

Preoccupied with your stress, you almost failed to notice Chris taking a seat in front of you. He took hold of one of your legs, and that’s when you noticed your spa-kit placed next to him. 

“Baby, you don’t have to do this.” You cried, scrunching your face in relief when he rubbed your calf in just the right spot.

Chris flashed those pretty baby blues at you, along with that signature smug smirk. “You know I do. And you know I want to.” He said, before dousing his hands with oil. 

As he firmly massaged the coconut into your skin, you couldn’t help but marvel at him. Taking a pillow into your arms to hug, and hide your giddy smile, you reply with, “What I did I do to deserve you?”

“Well I would tell you, but I don’t have enough time, because you’ve got to tell me about what’s got my girl so upset.” He informed you with a stern look that read who do I have to kill? “Before you do that,” he started, placing your newly moisturized leg down before grabbing the other, “Choose a color.” 

You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth, peering over to take a look into the open basket. It had an assorted amount of different nail polishes and products for nail care. Your favorite color currently decorated the bottom of the basket, and it made you recall the time your oldest son Jeremy spilled its contents over while playing a game of “paint” about a week ago. That boy. You thought, shaking your head playfully. Well I guess I won’t be choosing that one. 

After a moment of close examination, and scrutiny, you chose “White”, which made Chris immediately stop his measures against your legs, to peer up at you through hooded lids. 

“So its one of those days, huh.” He smirked. “I was hoping you’d pick that one.”

“What do you mean by that?” You questioned. You hadn’t known he preferred certain colors on you. 

“I’ll tell you later, but first tell me about your day baby.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice. You were dying to get it all off your chest.  You spilled out your hearts content, as your husband massaged your legs, then your feet, and in between your toes. As he delicately removed the old paint from your last session, and proceeded to paint your feet, you were almost finished relaying the message. 

“…and its just like they treat me like I’m insane! But you know what? The way i’m always overlooked, and ignored, makes me feel like I am going insane. Every time I suggest an idea, its stupid. But let some asshat say the exact same thing, and they praise him like a god.” You complain, rolling your eyes, at your memories from your work day. 

Chris offered you the occasional nod or two, humming softly at your cries of frustration when needed. And as much as he wanted to offer his two cents on the matter, he knew that what you wanted most was to be heard. You just wanted to be listened to. And while you wouldn’t of minded him beating their asses, he knew you needed his tenderness. His love. His care. And so that’s what he gave you. 

“And you know why they do it right? It’s because I’m a woman! A black one at that. Lord Jesus, it pisses me off so much.” You sigh, finally bringing your eyes down to him, after they had been trained on the air and nothingness around you; you had a habit of re-living stories as you told them. “But honey, this has really helped out a lot.” You say, cupping his chin lovingly. 

“You know I’ll do anything for you doll. And fuck those sons of bitches. They’re idiots if they can’t see how amazing you are. If you quit, like I suggested a while ago, that’ll really show ‘em.” Chris exclaimed, applying a second coat of white.

“Now you know I love what I do. I just wish I was more appreciated is all!” 

He gave you a sympathetic look before saying, “well you know me and the boys appreciate you.”, running his fingers along the ridges of your toes to remove the misapplied dye on your skin. 

“I know you do baby. I mean look at what you’re doing for me now.” You said, gesturing towards the care he took with your feet. 

Chris just smiled in response. He only felt slightly defeated when you rejected his idea to stay at home. You told him many stories about the jerks you worked with. You were among one of the only women at your company, and you paid for that fact daily. You told him, how they would talk to you, and treat you, even though you had the same amount, if not more experience as they did. He didn’t want you to have to put up with that. He wanted you to kick your feet up and enjoy the life he would provide for you and the kids you both created. But, like the supportive husband he was, he honored your wishes to pursue your passions. He knew that was what made you happier at the moment. The time would come, where he could spoil you completely, though. 

“Speaking of this,” You started, motioning towards your feet once more. “What’d you mean when you said “So it’s one of those days, huh”” You asked, putting on your best impression of him. 

Chris put on a smile that could light up a room, as a deep throaty chuckle erupted from his chest, and vibrated through your body via your feet. “Is that what you think I sound like? No matter, I’ll tell you what I meant. I can predict exactly what it is you need, and how you feel, based on the nail polish color you choose.” He said confidently, picking up a clear polish to apply the final coat.

“Is that right?” You ask, failing to take him seriously, even when he flashed that cocky grin and brow twitch that he often used to back his claims. “You’re so full of shit.”

“Seriously. I can. Listen.” He informed you, opening the clear polish, and brushing the access paint along the insides of the bottle. “I can prove it.”

“Fine! Go ahead.” You state, becoming intrigued.

Delicately holding your left foot against his knee, he starts explaining his theory while applying polish. “You see, when you choose a pale blue or orange, I know you just wanna forget about things with a movie or a cuddle session. Forest green or black, when you feel like throwing a couple of shots back with your girls at a bar. Mauve and a nude of any kind are your favorites, and you request them when you need to feel in control, classy, or sophisticated. And you always choose a soft pink, or yellow, when you need a happy reminder, or a burst of energy and inspiration. Lavender, is a color I wish you’d choose more, since it represents your happiness. Gray, is a color I wish you’d choose less, since it means you’re sad. And then there’s plum purple and candy apple red, two colors I can’t get enough of. You want those, when you’re feeling sexy. See, baby I can read you like an open book.” He declared, moving on to your second foot. Feeling quite sure of himself. 

You just stared at him in awe. Then you realized he didn’t mention, the one he just spent  ten minutes applying. “You forgot about white.”

“Oh I didn’t forget angel.” He corrected, smirking as he finally finished painting both feet. “I’m just waiting on your toes to dry.” After he says this, he begins to sensually blow cool air on your toes. 

“Chris! Tell me what it means!” You pout playfully, growing fed up with his secrecy. Also tickled from the air he blew. 

“Fine. But be quiet, you don’t wanna wake those little demons.” He warned, fixing you with a stern look that made you erupt into quiet giggles. He always made you laugh with his juxtaposed funny-seriousness. He was seriously funny. “White is my absolute favorite. You wanna know why? Its simple, and doesn’t drown out your pretty personality. It goes with every outfit, purse, and hairstyle. You wear this color, when you’re frustrated. Exasperated. Annoyed. You choose white, when you need me to wrap those pretty little legs around my neck, so I can make you cum till kingdom come. Or until you see, ‘white’. Whichever comes first”. He finished, staring at you seriously all of the sudden. A thick silence had befallen the two of you, and you almost didn’t know how to escape it. 

After a moment, you break out into a smile, despite Chris’ unmoving features. “Are you sure that’s what I want? Or is it something you want?”

“It’s what you need.” He affirmed, finally matching your expression, only his smile held a lot more lust than yours. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I’ll tell you something alright, Chris. I think you paint my nails entirely too much.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, moving to pack up the spa kit, before saying “So in other words I’m right.” He rises to his feet, peering down through his long lashes with a knowing grin, before turning to leave the room. But not without saying, “Don’t worry baby, I’ll give you what you need.” Leaving you an anxious mess.

You start squirming in your seat, waiting with anticipation for him to return. You try to sit in your sexiest pose, but it makes you feel awkward. Then you start to wonder if you should remove your underwear. But you know he likes doing that. You even wonder if you smell okay, after such a long day at work. A million thoughts race through your mind, and you barely register his presence when reenters the room. You slightly jump, when you feel his warm hands brush against the nape of your neck.

“Shit baby.” Chris laughs, as he rounds the couch. “I knew it was bad, but I didn’t realize how bad. Let daddy, handle this for you.” He says kneeling back in front of you, knees tucked firmly under his person. He smoothes his hands over the expanse of your soft supple skin, leaving a burning trail of desire in his wake. When he hooks his fingers underneath the waistband of your panties, your breath hitches as the cool air hits your moistened sex. 

You lift your thighs and legs, so he can carefully remove the lace without ruining his handwork on your feet. When Chris surveys your dampened panties and inhales their scent, his grin grows wider. “You’re already this wet for me?” 

He gives you no time to answer as he’s pulling you closer to his face, by your thighs. The sudden movement caused a whimper to escape your throat, soft sound making his cock harden. He’s working his kisses up against your thighs with a quickness, ready to produce more sounds like the last. 

Your head’s position on the couch has you feeling a bit awkward, and you go to say  “This is uncom—” but cut yourself off with a moan, as he dives his thick tongue between your petals, writing love notes against the skin.

“What’s that, doll?” Chris asks, hot breath dangerously close to your bud.

You just mewl in response, wetting his beard with your juices, as he eats you like you’re his last meal. “Right there baby.” You groan, grinding yourself against his mouth when his tongue darts against your nub. 

“Right here?” He questions softly, repeating the same gestures, sending a jolt through your body that makes you buck against his face. 

Your words leave your throat, as he sucks harshly against the problem areas, shocks of pleasure emitting through your person. And just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, he adds his fingers. First two, but then three as he starts fucking your pussy. 

“D-daddy!” You cry, voice coming out shaky as you writhe against his lips and fingers. His actions have you climbing up the couch. 

Then he removes his lips, warning you to keep quiet. “My babies are upstairs, I’m gonna need you to keep your pretty mouth shut.” He commands, placing your soaked panties between your lips. 

As he quickens the pace of his fingers, and makes his tongue dart from left to right relentlessly against your clit, you approach your first orgasm of the night, and he knows it too, when your hole clenches around his fingers. 

He smiles, and tells you how proud of you he is, but he isn’t done with you yet. 

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Your muffled moans ring through your ears, as you clamp your teeth down around your underwear. Your jaw was becoming slack from keeping it open so long, and you were feeling sore.

Chris was still continuing his assault against your sex. He had long moved from his position on the floor, and now sat beside you on the couch. 

He had your legs sprawled open, keeping them from closing with one hand gripped on your thigh, and the other rubbed fast and hard circles against your clit, while he whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

“What number was that one, baby? Five, six? I lost count after the third time, when you squirted on daddy’s chest.” He growled, biting his lip, as he quickened his pace against your nub. “Do you think you can do that again?”

You moaned in protest, shaking your head from left to right, as you approached another orgasm. You couldn’t take anymore pleasure, your sensitive bud was going through too much.

“What’s that baby? I can’t hear you.” He teased, face as serious as it could be. He was testing you. You knew not to remove the underwear, or you’d be there all night. When you made no moves to pull them out, he did it for you, a string of spit connecting your lips to the fabric.

You immediately pleaded with him to ease up. “Daddy I don’t think I-I can take an-nymore.” You cried, now a blubbering mess.

“You don’t think you can take anymore?” Chris repeated, mocking you. “Well that’s too bad. Daddy thinks his princess looks too pretty when she’s cumming. So suck it up, because I’m not stopping until we have to replace this couch.”

You  felt that familiar coil in your stomach again, threatening to snap, as you threw your head back. You were a sweating mess now. You had hair glued to your face, and neck, and your shirt was drenched, as it clung to your stomach. But still, it wasn’t quite as drenched as your pussy, thighs, and couch cushions were. 

Chris was as hard as a rock, but you knew if you touched him, he’d get angry. He wanted to play with you, until you were begging him to stop.

“What happened today at work again baby? What was it Chad said to you? I bet if I have you fucked out like this every night, I’d be the only man on your mind.” He whispered against your ear.

Your stomach began spasming, as you clenched painfully around nothing. This would be your last one too, before your body gave up. 

Tears streamed down your cheek, as you contorted your face into the sexiest expression Chris had ever seen. And then, just before your screams of pleasure could rip through your chest, he covered his mouth over yours, as you squirted all over his hands, your thighs, and stomach. When you finally opened your eyes, you could only see white, before your vision came back into focus.

Massaging the wet, between your folds, Chris bought his fingers up to your lips and said “open.” And you did, sucking all your juices from his digits without breaking eye contact. “Attagirl.” He praised, wiping your tears away. Feel better now?” He asked, small smirk playing on his lips.

You nod tiredly, throat dry from your previous activities.

He brushes your sweaty hair behind your ears before saying, “Good. Now, let’s paint those pretty pink walls white, too.” 

[lesbian-fabray]

Quinn Fabray Sits In Her Parked Car

This is the first fanfiction I’ve written in years. It’s essentially my take on what would have happened if Quinn had never got in her accident and Finn and Rachel went through with the wedding. It’s a little long, I think. I hope it’s not awful.

Also, I’m surprisingly kind to Finn in this.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Quinn Fabray sat in her parked car, trying to discreetly change into that god-awful pink dress. She had no idea why she was about to subject herself to this.

Because Rachel’s happiness is more important that how you feel, Quinn.

She sighed and reached for her phone to text Rachel.

“Here. Am I too late?”

*Buzz*

“No. Hurry”

Quinn swallowed down the hopes that that two word answer provided, and exited her car, entering the Lima Justice of the Peace. as fast as she could without outright sprinting. She navigated the winding hallways, finding the room where Rachel stood with all their friends. It took Quinn a second to realize Finn was there.

She stood there, just watching the exchange. The couple seemed to be pleading with each other, both of them tugging on opposite ends of the metaphorical rope of whatever this was.

Quinn made eye contact with Santana, whose face was contorted into some sad, knowing look that Quinn couldn’t read. After glancing between Quinn and Rachel a couple times, Santana looked up at Finn.

She has a feeling that somehow, whether it be today or twenty years from now, the boy would get hurt because of that tragic unspoken thing between the two girls she was looking at. She briefly wondered who would be there for him when shit hit the fan. It was with a deep sadness that she realized that she realized she wouldn’t be able to be there for him, because she understood what existed between Quinn and Rachel and could never fault them for that.

Unable to handle the wave of empathy washing over, Santana cleared her throat.

It was that sound that broke Rachel out of her unspoken battle with Finn. She blinked and her eyes drifted over to Quinn.

The girl Rachel saw in front of her was not the Quinn she was familiar with. This was a Quinn she had only seem once before, when the two of them stood, dressed in bejeweled gowns and sporting intricate up-dos, in the bathroom on the night of their junior prom. This Quinn was small and pale. Her eyes, that often gave away exactly how she felt around Rachel, were now glassy and had quite obvious walls up behind them. Her shoulders were no longer pushed back to create that handcrafted elegance that followed the blonde. They were instead curled forward, giving the girl the appearance of a small kitten found in a drain pipe. This was a Quinn only reserved for Rachel. 

Locking eyes, both girls fixed their expressions, Rachel being far more successful than Quinn. The ex-cheerleader gave a small nod and Rachel sprung into action, grabbing Finn’s hand and ushering the entirety of the wedding party to where the ceremony would take place.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When Rachel drifted out of her sleep, she found tears on her face and her husband of six years sitting next to her, a concerned look on his face.

“Rach, what’s wrong?”

Rachel had no idea how to answer that. There were so many things wrong. There was the fact that Rachel had known for six years that she had made a mistake, There was the reality that she’d have the life she had dreamed of if she hadn’t said those two words all those years ago.

The thing that was wrong right now was her dream she had just had.

How was she supposed to tell her husband that, for years now, she’d had the same recurring dream, that was really more like a memory, of Quinn and that single tear that rolled down her face before she got up and left.

Rachel’s pretty sure Quinn didn’t even look at her for the rest of the year.

“Nothing, really. Just a dream. A nightmare.”

Finn relaxes a bit, placing a kiss on Rachel’s forehead, and takes a look at his phone to check the time. He gets up out of bed and turns around, catching her eyes, She raises her eyebrows slightly. “I should probably start getting ready for work. Burt is gonna kill me if I’m late again. Do you want to get Chris ready for school or do you want me to take care of it?” Rachel blinks and wipes at her eyes. “Uh, I’ll take care of it.” Finn flashes that grin that should fill her stomach with butterflies and remind her why she married him, but it doesn’t. It hasn’t for years.

As Rachel makes her way to her son’s room, she allows herself think about her life more than she has in years. She never wanted to stay in Lima. New York had been the plan, and maybe one day it could be again. She had meant to stay a year to sort out Finn’s future plans, but then they ended up having Christopher and moving into a small home, and by then, New York wasn’t reasonable. Now, Finn ran the tire shop with Burt and Rachel taught music to elementary schoolers.

It wasn’t all that bad though. Rachel loved her son more than anything, and her job was alright. It helped that Sam taught at the school too. Even though she felt so removed from who she thought she was, she wasn’t alone. She figured that could be good enough.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Quinn really had planned on being herself after she got out of Lima. The thing about promises like that is that, when you make them to yourself, there’s nothing to stop you from folding.

The intention had been to be true to herself, but once she got to New Haven, she got so scared. She tried so hard, but she relied on safety nets because she didn’t know what else to do.

That was how she ended up dating Noah again, and now, four years in, she couldn’t escape it.

She had allowed herself little moments over the years, but nothing more. There was the moment at Mr. Schue’s wedding with Santana five years ago, the moment with Tina all the way back in Lima three years ago, and the moment with Santana and Brittany when she visited last month. Those were just the moments that stood out to her. The past six years have been filled with little moments with any girl that seemed like she could make Quinn forget for a night. It didn’t matter if they were old friends, girls from her classes, or strangers she met in bars when Noah was away on business trips. All Quinn needed was a couple of drinks, skin to touch, and brown hair to get lost in.

It was then, when she risked falling into thoughts she’d rather not think, that Quinn sat up in the bed she hadn’t left all morning. Maybe that’s because she didn’t want to get up and risk searching for a moment like she always did when Noah wasn’t home.

The two of them lived in a small house in California, where Noah had been able to expand his pool cleaning business. Quinn had never seen herself in California, but she honestly had never thought of herself in a place where Rachel wasn’t.

There was that dangerous name again. Quinn couldn’t risk that one.

She reached for her phone and saw a single notification. A text from Noah.

“I mailed them, Q. Can’t believe we’re doing this. I love you. I’m so excited to take this step with you.”

Quinn felt the blood leave her face. She knew that she was marrying Noah soon. She felt she owed it to him, and figured that it was something she needed to do. But the invitations being sent out meant her friends would know.

Rachel would know.

That thought alone was enough for Quinn to want to remove her brain from here head and never put it back. But since she couldn’t do that, she flopped back down on her bed and pulled her covers up over her head, hoping to forget what her life was, even if just for a little while.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Rachel wishes she had been alone when she opened that envelope, but she wasn’t.

Her son watched with a confused look on his face as she dropped the piece of mail on the table and covered her mouth. With shaky hands, she opened it up and scanned its contents. As she takes a moment to breathe, she feels tears streaming down her face.

“Mommy, what’s wrong?”

It took a second for Rachel to realize her son asked a question. Temporarily wiping away her tears, she turns towards him and smiles as big as she can.

“Nothing, sweetie. I just got reminded of someone I haven’t talked to in a while. Do you want to go play in your room?”

Christopher smiles and runs off to his room, Rachel shouting a quick “Please don’t run!” after him.

She stares at the invitation on the kitchen table and gets lost in memories of the day that changed her life forever.

When Finn comes home, Rachel doesn’t know how long she’s been crying. All she registers is Finn picking up the invitation. She almost misses him saying “Are you okay? What’s wrong, babe?”

Almost.

She’s only able to choke out one syllable.

“Quinn.”

She sees a certain sadness on his face. A sadness that understands and doesn’t judge.

A sadness representative of what everyone who knows the girls understands.

Finn is not the angry, selfish boy he was in high school.

Instead of lashing out with words or attacking a chair, he simply kneels next to Rachel’s chair and wraps his arms around her, nuzzling his nose into her hair. His tears were silent and slow. More importantly, they weren’t tinged with rage. They were simply composed of the knowledge he couldn’t fill the Quinn shaped hole in her heart. But he’d known since he saw Rachel’s eyes meet Quinn’s when the blonde showed up at the Justice of the Peace. He knew he’d be okay eventually.

It’s so hard for him to hear the pained sobs Rachel makes as she seems to burrow into his chest. 

“I know, Rachel. I know it’s hard.”

She shakes as she cries.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Quinn thinks it’s odd when Noah tells her that Finn and Rachel RSVPed separately.

Puck knows why. He knows he and Quinn would be going through what Finn and Rachel are if they were in their position.

Because of that, he makes the admittedly selfish choice of not telling Quinn. He fears he might run out of time with her soon, so he holds on.

He knows it’s wrong.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The divorce was hard.

They decided to try and explain the truth to Christopher to the extent that an almost-six-year-old could understand.

At the same time, the divorce was easy.

The first night back with her dad, Rachel sleeps through the night for the first time in months.

LeRoy Berry understands the divorce. He’s done it. He knows there’s something Rachel won’t tell him, but that is okay. She’ll take her time.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Quinn Fabray sits in her parked car. There’s a big Glee reunion going on inside because everyone’s here for the upcoming wedding.

Her upcoming wedding.

She knows Noah is waiting inside, and she knows it’s wrong to want to leave, but she’s terrified to see him and Rachel. And Finn.

Quinn looks down at her pink dress and everything feels a little too familiar.

She decides to go in.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It’s the third time Rachel sees the Quinn that’s reserved just for her, but this time it’s different.

The first two times, it was momentary. But this doesn’t feel momentary. Rachel looks her over and sees the bags under Quinn’s eyes and the way she’s slouching more than Rachel’s ever seen her slouch. 

It’s as if she never left this state after the wedding. Rachel never got the chance to patch her back up, so she never returned to normal.

In this moment, Rachel can only think back to the day everything got bad.

She thinks back, not to the wedding, but to the hallway. She was high off of the Regionals win and was so sure she was about to make the right choice. She felt that, if only one choice could ever be right, it would be that one.

She thinks of Quinn’s question and of how hopeful she looked. She thinks of how crushed Quinn looked the second after she answered. She thinks of how fast Quinn hid that.

She thinks of how her answer wasn’t true. How she wouldn’t know it wasn’t true until she saw Quinn walk out of the Justice of the Peace.

Rachel looks at the Quinn in front of her. The Quinn that’s almost unrecognizable now that that Fabray certainty is gone.

“I wasn’t.”

Rachel watches as, even in this hollow state, Quinn’s eyebrow raises in her signature gesture. A gesture that demands an answer.

“That day. The day things went wrong. I wasn’t just singing to Finn.”

Quinn’s features soften in front of her eyes. Rachel’s heart pounds as the blonde reaches out and grabs her hand for the first time in almost seven years.

“Thank you.”

In that moment, those two tell each other everything without saying a word.

That night, Rachel sleeps more peacefully that she ever has in her life. She knows there’s plenty of loose ends and unanswered questions, but she doesn’t care.

She knows and Quinn knows, so Rachel feels like it’s worth everything.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

That night after she goes home and talks with Noah, Quinn knows peace for the first time since she was seven. She knows there’s work to do, but now that she has a chance at a future where she can just be Quinn, she breathes.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Quinn Fabray sits in her parked car. As she looked out from the parking structure, she sees the apartment building she calls home.

It’s not much, but it’s enough for them.

She thinks about how Rachel is in New York, the city she is meant for, and how she’s there with her.

She thinks about how Beth, now twenty, comes to visit every couple of months.

She thinks about how Christopher probably has Rachel on the phone with Finn and about how they’re all probably arguing about him wanting to go to school somewhere in Europe.

She thinks about how Delilah is probably bouncing up and down because she can’t wait to tell her moms about her very first day of kindergarten, but she won’t talk about it until Quinn is home.

Most importantly, she thinks about how she’s finally happy and how she has a family. She needs a minute to privately feel what happiness means to her, so Quinn Fabray sits in her parked car.

[justsmilestuffhappens]

Day 5 (14th of February) - Valentine’s day gone wrong @buddietinesweek

Coincidence for your thoughts

Eddie couldn't believe he was doing this. Yeah he'd tried to dated one nice woman a few months ago but was this okay. He didn't know how he felt entirely about this.

Tía Pepa: Eddito try it. You don't have to sleep with them just mingle and take it from there.

Eddie rolled his eyes as he stood in front of the restaurant. He couldn't believe she signed him up for this.

Tía Pepa: Don't roll your eyes at me like you do sometimes chico.

He huffed as he walked in. He got seated at his station for the speed dating. He felt like this made him look desperate but Eddie didn't want to judge the others here everyone had their own reasons. Maybe some of them were looking for meaningful connections and not just a lay on valentine's.

The first round began. As he started talking to a sweet red head he heard a distinct laugh. Huh?

Eddie turned from where he was seated on the outside corner of a square seating arrangement with the guests facing outwards towards their moving dates.

"No one's ever said that about my birthmark before. An angel kiss huh. That's a new one." Buck said with a smile to a tall brunette.

"Well that's what we call them in babies where I work. Some fade but not always. My sister has one by her lip. So what kinda name is Buck?" She smiled and squinted.

"Well Meg it's my nickname from my last name Buckley." He laughed.

"Umm. Eddie was it? Look if you'd rather wait for her to come around then fine. It was nice meeting you." Layla said as she checked out of the conversation and pulled out her phone.

"Sorry." Yikes. Way to go Eddie.

He didn't correct her that his attention was actually drawn to Buck and not the woman. It wouldn't have made much of a difference he felt. Buck was here too?

The bell dinged. Eddie had one more person before the brunette was at his table.

"Hi. I'm Reina. What's your sign?" His new date asked with dirty blond hair and a streak of blue.

"Umm. I don't really know that. I think it's scorpio or taurus." Eddie answered with a shrug.

"Uh. No. I'm sorry. I'm not DTF or whatever. I've got a strict no sex on the first date policy now." Buck chuckled then nervously looked down from his date.

"You're wasting my time? If the sex is bad then why would I bother." Another blond said throwing her hand up in annoyance. "Ring the bell already!"

Wow. Eddie didn't know whether to be happy or sad buck was having a bad time with this one. He decided he could be both if she wasn't willing to wait it was her loss. Buck was worth waiting for.

"Oh God. Help!" Meg the first girl paired with buck who was between them now shouted.

Both Eddie and Buck got up and moved together to help her date now.

The guy between them was clutching at his throat.

Eddie lowered him down on the ground with Bucks help who didn't even question Eddie's presence. They fell into their usual routine.

"Anaphylaxis?" Buck asked as he kept people a safe distance from them for breathing room.

"Yeah buck. Sir I'm gonna check your pocket. Do you have any kinda EpiPen?" Eddie was already checking both. Nothing.

"I've got one!" Reina pulled it out of her purse.

Eddie injected his thigh as Buck was already on the phone for an ambulance to be dispatched.

"Peanuts." He rasped.

"Okay sir. An ambulance is coming. They're gonna make sure you're okay. We don't know if you'll need another dose before you get to the hospital." Eddie looked at the table.

There were no peanuts out to trigger his allergy though.

"Meg?" Buck asked as if he'd read his mind.

"I ate some earlier. Fuck! I didn't know." She was crying. "I'm sorry"

"He's gonna be alright. It's not your fault. We've got him." Eddie tried soothing her worry.

It was an easy but dangerous mistake. She was still a stranger to him after all and he didn't know to tell her.

The paramedics from another station took the guy and nodded at the handoff as they strapped him to a gurney .

Blake, as they'd learned was the man's name, had insisted on giving Meghan his business card with his cell written on the back.

The speed dating session had sorta broken up in all the chaos. Only a few were still willing to stay and went back to their seats.

Buck, Meg, and and Eddie among the ones to leave.

"Dude that was crazy. I feel bad for the guy. Reminds me of my bad valentine's day experience. Choked on a breadstick. Abby managed to give me a tracheotomy, it didn't scar too bad." Buck was standing with Eddie outside.

"Wait. That was on valentine's? I just remember it being bad. Holy shit Buck!" Eddie's glad she saved him. It sounded horrifying and must have been worse to experience or remember.

"Yeah. I think it was just us both being nervous. Took it as a sign from like god trying to help me not have sex after our date. I was still Buck 1.0 back then." Buck turned to his name being called.

"Are you two paramedic?" Meghan asked as she walked over.

"Uh, well my partner Eddie here is more so than me. We're firefighters for the 118. It could have happened to anyone. He'll probably be fine. Don't beat yourself up." Buck said.

"Oh wow. Maybe it's fate you two saved him. Thanks again. I woulda been scarred for life and Blake would be dead." With that she left to her SUV.

"Hey. Wanna grab a bite? Chris is with Pepa tonight since she wanted to make sure I had no excuse for not coming."

"Dude I'm starving. When Maddie told me about this I thought it included dinner. I couldn't even enjoy happy hour because of my blood thinners. It's bogus." Buck laughed making Eddie laugh too.

"Well if you'd read the letter at the door. So follow me back to mine or wanna go to yours?"

"Definitely yours. If you drink too much you won't have to drive." Buck patted Eddie's arm before going to his jeep.

Eddie's truck read out a voice command text he got from Buck. He'd order wings and rice that'd get there a little after them.

Once they were at Eddie’s they went inside.

"So. I didn't know you were gonna be there, it's good you felt to trying. Maddie had to threaten posting my karaoke routine if I didn't agree to try it. My own sister blackmailing me, can you believe that?" Buck joked as he got the door paying.

"I know how you feel. It could've been worse. That could have happened to us or we might not have been there." Eddie helped sort their order after Buck brought it to the table.

Buck could have one of his egg rolls since he always gave Eddie a few of his wings.

"Maybe Meg was right? Fate brought us together to help save that guy. And got us out of Amelia's love is a battlefield warpath. She’d have gotten to you in a few rings of that dumb bell." Buck poured some of the hot sauce Eddie liked and had gotten him into.

"Dtf?" Eddie joked.

"Oh man. You heard that? We're be being that loud?" Buck cringed.

"No. Umm. I'm just good at picking you out of a crowd. Gotta be able to find my partner to have his back Buck." Eddie said

He was avoiding saying how he'd been drifting to listening to Buck and his date thought he was interested in the woman with buck but she was wrong.

Buck drank from his glass before talking again.

"You ever seen Love Actually? Me and Mads watched it for the first time the other night. I think it's running again tonight or we could look it up." Buck waited for a replay.

"Only pieces of the beginning. We can look after we're done."

Watching a romcom sounded good. After they could see something else.

They both ended up passed out on the couch a little after the movie was over and they'd switched to an action movie with spies fighting over a girl dating both of them.

Neither had said much after the first movie was done and the revelation that the guy was coming home from overseas to return to his boyfriend or husband. They’d been starting to doze off.

They'd wake up after an hour to lay down properly as Eddie reminded Buck of his back.

It was a great pseudo date even if neither of them wanted to risk calling it what they felt.

Eddie couldn't tell if it was the beer, him being rusty, or him feeling comfortable when Buck but he woke to him in the morning without being startled.

"So. I'm gonna start on breakfast if you want first shower." Buck said from Eddie's doorway as he turned to him knocking on it.

"You're the best. Be our live in chef Buck." Eddie half joked before yawning.

"Careful or I might take advantage of sleepy and hungry Eddie's offer." Buck teased with a wink.

"You say that like it's a bad thing" Eddie grinned.

Was that too flirty? Uh.

"I'm sure we could work something out. Living here. Getting to see you guys more. Commuting to work. Sounds like it'd have its perks." Buck shrugged and laughed. "Alright sleepy head. Get up. I've got pancakes and eggs to make."

With that buck left to the kitchen.

Eddie thought about it. Buck's place was nice but they had room here. He wouldn't mind if Buck actually did take up his offer. Eddie would tell him again later, sans sleep in his voice.

For now he needed to get ready. Buck could go with him to pick up Christopher and drop him off at school. Chris would love that.

Eddie knew Christopher would love Buck moving and being around more too. It felt right.

He let the water wake him fully as he heard Buck whistling and singing while he cooked. Eddie wouldn't mind waking up like this more often, that's for sure. He hoped Buck would think about it.

[izayoichan]

Vy smiles at Hayden, then looking at the others, wondering how they did this whole present thing. He had seen some Christmas movies, but it seemed to differ a little how it was done. 

“How's the present part done? Do we pick the presents up and give them?” “I think it depends. In most movies, I have watched they open presents on the morning of day 25. My mother told me where she's from they'd open today at night. How do you guys do it?” “When they were younger, they got to pick one, see who it was too and then opened it, later years its been more random. So I guess any way you feel works for you?” “We normally do it today, my parents got tired of us nagging for presents I think”

Rylan chuckles

“Do you want to pick them Vy?”

Vy fidgets a little, afraid he'll mess up and do something completely wrong. 

“Maybe it's best mister Hayle or mister Chris does and I watch how they do it then I can maybe do it next time?”

Chris nods, walking over to the tree, finding a present and reading the note that is on it turning towards Vy. 

“This one is from me and my Husband, we hope you like it.”

“Me? You got me a present?” “ Of course, we have gifts for all "our" kids. And if they don't fit, we can just exchange them with the right size later. “

Hayle smiles, as he watches Vy, who looks surprised as he takes the present.

“Thank you!”

Vy jumps up and hugs them both tight, sitting on the floor and opening his present.

“Oooh! Clothes!”

He picks up the hoodie and pants and smells them.

“New clothes! Thank you, mister Hayle, mister Chris!”

He gets up, and once again goes quickly over to them to hug both, very surprised they got him something in the first place. Chris takes another package, reading the note, looking slightly surprised.

“To me from Hayle... “

He looks at his husband who smirks, it being the package River helped him with

“Fascinating”

He sits down next to his husband, unwrapping the present carefully. Hayle winking at River who winks back. 

“Ohhh! Not often I get books I never read before. “

He smiles, giving his husband a kiss, Rylan looking at River noticing the wink, wondering if this was something he did with Hayle when Hayle went to get him earlier. Vy putting on the new hoodie after Hayle mentioning if it fits or not. 

“Fits! Oh, book? Which is it? The Hogfather! "Human beings make life so interesting. Do you know that in a universe so full of wonders, they have managed to invent boredom?"

He giggles very proud of himself, River smiling, winking at Rylan confirming his idea this has happened when Hayle picked him up. Hayden simply watching them, just enjoying seeing Vy so happy and relaxed. As Chris picks another gift, all the attention goes back on him, as he turns towards River. 

“To you from your princess.”

He winks at Rive as he hands him the present, Rylan watching him, hoping he will be happy with it.  

“Oh? for me?”

He takes it and slowly unwraps it, laughing brightly.

“Oh! Awesome! Now I'm set to play with you guys! Thanks, princess, I love it!”

He smiles, and kisses his princess, then suddenly notices the beastmaster statue.

“You even got me, Flynn! Okay, it's official, this is awesome!” “Wouldn’t be right without a mini Flynn” “So this means I no longer have a frog companion?” “Yeah, sorry Hayden.”

Chris just smiles, picking out another package, before the entire evening ends with a D&D discussion like it tends to when his kids get started. 

“To Vy, from Hayden”

He smiles and hands Vy his second present of the evening. 

"Another present?!”

takes it and smiles at Hayden and gives him a big hug. Then unwraps the package, eyes sparkling.

“Hayden's sweaters! I did want them!”

he holds the sweaters, again, like he did with the new clothes, sniffing them, glows pink as they still smell like Hayden and that makes him happy.

“Thank you, Hay hay!” “You said they were your favorites, so I figured it was better than more new clothes.”

He smiles, keeping the other little present for when they have a moment to themselves later, hoping they will actually get one at some point. Chris nodding and picking up another package, it beeing one was one of the hardest for them to figure out, but after talking with Rylan, they decided it was a good gift. 

“This one if from me and your newly appointed steed..." “EY! I am no steed!”  “Fine, but from us to you River. We didn't quite know what do get you, but Rylan said this was a good idea.”

He holds out a package, it is a small a bit oddly shaped box, that doesn’t really weigh anything when River takes it from Chris. 

“Wait, for me? You guys got me a gift?”

He genuinely surprised.

“And don't be sad, mister Hayle, you're the best dragon steed in the world! Thanks, honestly, means a lot and here I didn’t even get you any gifts, I’m sorry.”

He laughs a bit embarrassed and opens it, inside a small gift card from a local mall that he can use it at. 

“Oh! Cool! I can buy some things for the shelter!” “Well, we got something for Vy, it seemed only fair to get something for you as well. And well my husband loves to surprise people when he can, I guess he learned it from me and then surpassed me somewhere along the way.” “And not for the shelter you silly Frog, for you!”

Rylan chuckles, as his dad gets another present from under the tree.

“Hmh... to Hay hay? I think I know who that is.”

He smiles as he hands the package to Hayden, who just looks at it for a while, smiling, as it is wrapped in a way he was sure only Vy could manage, the leaves being a very sweet touch in his opinion, for a little just pressing it here and there to try and guess what it could be, savoring the moment of actually being more than a thing on a sofa for once. Vy watches nervously, fidgeting.

“I'm sorry... I know you wanted the dragon book but I couldn't get it on time...”

he is too ashamed to admit that more than getting it on time, in reality, it was more that he couldn't afford it. Hoping he will like his handmade embroidered box and all the handmade and hand-carved guitar picks, five made of wood, and two special ones made off his feathers, crystallized.

“I hope you like it though... if you don't it's okay... I can get you something else like books...”

Hayden opens the gift, staring at the box for a while amazed by the handwork, turning it around, before finally opening it. 

“Wow... Did you make these Vy?” 

He takes up a few of the guitar pics, noticing his dad instantly eyeing them as well. 

“Oh, no.. these are mine dad! Thank you, Vy! These are wonderful! 

He takes up the ones that looks crystalized, almost wanting to pick up the guitar and test them.

“And no saying you are sorry, this is the best gift anyone could give, something they made!”

He takes Vy's hand and pulls him into a hug, holding him tight for a bit. Vy surprised by the hug, but hugs back tight, hiding his face on Hayden's shoulder and nodding, glowing green, just so happy Hayden has liked the gift. He wanted so much to thank Hayden for everything, for having given him so much for having given him "parents", even if borrowed, a "home", and more than ever, Vy just wanted to tell him how he felt, but he decided to wait for the presents to be done. 

Chris smiles at the two, picking up the two last gifts under the tree, turning towards River

“Oh yea, River, our kids decided that our Christmas gift to them this year was a donation to the shelter, in our names, it should be on the shelter account by the morning. It's maybe an odd gift, but I can see why they both love working there, and I think if my husband hears one more story about a cat in need he will get all of them... “ “A donation to the shelter? My mom is going to be ecstatic! Thank you so much! We'll be able to hold afloat for a while more!” “Good, that was the plan.. my work also donated their yearly donation to the shelter, since they all loved certain pictures we took”

Rylan smiles, and to him most importantly, it meant Hayden kept having a place where he was needed, where he had the feeling of being useful. Chris looks at the two gifts in his hands, then hands a gift to his husband, only having one left. 

“Ooooh..!”

He tears the wrapping in seconds, a multicolored crystal that shimmers in different colors in his hands, staring at it for a bit, before looking at his husband. 

“You found it!? “It took me a while, but yes.” “I LOVE it!!”

He smiles, it being a small crystal much like the ones that were in the waters of Sulani, but the ones they had found before were just a little too big to bring home. To Hayle, it reminded him of all the good times they had there, his kids being born and just all of it. Vy looking at the crystal from Hayden’s lap, Hayden just watching him watch the crystal. Clearly, his dad and he had the love for shiny things in common.

“One day... I hope I can take you and show you the big ones..” 

He sighs slightly missing his home in the sun somewhat, not that where they lived wasn’t nice but it wasn’t Sulani. 

“Take me where?” “Sulani, where I was born and where we lived until, well we became teenagers, and moved here. It is a very pretty place, but it is warm.”

Their talk gets interrupted as Chris hands the last present to Rylan. 

“From a frog to a princess.”

Rylan blinks and looks at the package, the wrapping paper catching his attention, the green with the dice, running a hand over it deciding this needs to be taken off carefully and saved. River presses lips to a thin line, eagerly waiting for Rylan to open his present, begging internally Rylan hasn't decided to buy that when he got him his gift or that he got the right campaign Rylan wanted. He carefully opens the paper, making sure not to tear it, stopping as he notices what is in it. 

“You are joking.. you found it?” “I just had to catch three trains and a bus and explore half of San My, then scare an asshat with a very angry dragon god for it. But all worth it to see you smile like this”

He looks at River surprised.

“Everywhere I checked it was sold out, or they wouldn't get it until later...”

Putting the paper away carefully, opening the book flipping through a couple of pages.

“Ooooh your beastmaster is going to get into so much trouble now”

chuckles and pulls River into a kiss.

“Thank you, it's perfect!”

River smiles brightly, relieved and happy Rylan loved the gift, wraps arms around Rylan's waist kissing him back pressing his forehead to his

“Can't wait for the adventures that await him. And I even get to kiss the Game Master, ain't I a lucky frog. Merry Christmas, Rylan.” “Don't be so sure about that, just ask Rylan what happens to characters that can heal. But Yeah... Merry Christmas River.”

Hayden just chuckles, knowing well how Rylan has a tendency to kill healers, just to make things harder, happy to see his brother as carefree and happy as he seems right now.  Chris sits down next to his husband, looking at his book, the tradition for them now was a walk together as long as Hayden is well enough for them to leave, but for now, he was happy just looking at his book. 

“I guess you have to head home? I mean.. I would love for you to stay, but your mom is all alone.” “Yes, she is. I don't really want to go, but it'll be really shit of me if I leave her all alone. As much as we clash, she's still my mom... “

he gets up and pulls Rylan up-

“I'd love you to walk with me though?” “Of course I will walk you there, can give your mom a Christmas hug as well for letting me have you all evening.

he smiles and turns to the others.

“I'll be back in a bit then, you guys enjoy yourselves.”

Chris nods, knowing well that Rylan would have loved for River to stay, but also seeing how leaving your mom all alone for the whole day would be a bit to much. 

“If you want your welcome here tomorrow, for more food and music, since today was a bit cut short by a certain.. well you know happening.”

He smiles at Hayden, mostly happy he was still sitting up and looking fairly okay. Hayle looking at his husband, pulling on him until he leans down so he can whisper something in his ear.

“Wish your mom a Merry Christmas from me as well?” “I think my mom will like it, me coming home I mean. she may be angry about me sneaking out though ... and I will Hayden. Mister Chris, mister Hayle. Thank you for everything and I'd love to come tomorrow also. Good night.”

The two off them walk outside, Rylan taking a bit of a breath as the cold air hit’s them even though the house was quite chilly, to begin with. 

“Hopefully she will let you come tomorrow too, even if she is a bit angry with you, she also seemed a bit sad she hadn’t believed you.”

In the living room, Chris stands up, pulling his husband with him. 

“You two will be okay, won’t you?” “Yeah, dad.” “Good, then I’m taking my dragon for our Christmas walk” “Sure, enjoy your walk.”

Hayden looks at a tired Vy resting against his chest, knowing there is no way he has the strength to carry him, on the other hand, just being like this was fine. 

“I have one more present for you if you think you can stay awake long enough?

He smiles gently at him, putting a hand on his chin, the fact that he still feels warm worrying him a little. Also, he knows he has to get said gift, but until he knows if Vy has the energy to, he will just wait. 

🎶

Beginning - Previous - Next

[theangelofhorrors]

The Opossum (Deadly Premonition Fan Exchange 2019)

Summary: Polly asks York to help out with a pest problem at the hotel. It’s proving to be a little harder than catching the usual suspects.

Word Count: 1331 words

A/n: He have class, he give sass, but most importantly he scream at own ass.

Okay but seriously......

For the Deadly Premonition Fan Exchange/Secret Santa, I got @meme-queen-lucy. I heard you like opossums (a word I’m slowly still learning how to spell), so hopefully you’ll like this too. I also legit thought about making an opossum a deputy of Greenvale because I thought was something Swery would do lol. Too bad that didn’t make the final cut.

Also a special thanks to @michaeltillotson for beta-ing for me. I absoltutely appreicate anyone who takes the time to look at any of my stuff. Thank you again for helping me out. You are also the person who had set up this whole exchange thing for such a weird, niche game. This one’s for you too.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“This isn’t what I expected when I signed up for the FBI. Isn’t that right, Zach?”

It was nearly 9 am and the rain spattered with rhythmic force against the window pane in the dining hall.

With a half empty cup of coffee, York was thinking about what Polly had said moments ago,  before they finished breakfast and she excused herself from the table.

“Agent Morgan, if it’s not too much trouble…”

“What is it, Polly?”

There was an infestation problem in the hotel.

“But don’t you worry, it’s nothing too serious.”

It was an opossum. Just the one.

“Just the one?” he asked.

“Yes, I think so.”

She mentioned that she had spotted this particular little thing digging around the trash cans outside the hotel over the past few days. At first, she paid no attention to it. Animals never bothered Polly, especially not living in this part of the country. It reminded her of the times she and her husband had gone out on hikes through the woods many years ago. They took many photos of themselves with nature and her companions with a polaroid she still had in her possession.

However, this little rascal made it through the door.

This...could cause some issues with the hotel and its guests.

What to do…?

“Again, Agent Morgan, if it isn’t too much trouble. I’m much too old and slow to do it myself.”

“Of course, Polly. I’ll see what I can do. It’s just one possum. How hard could it be?”

Polly also made sure that he would not kill the animal once he found it.

Possums. They’re like raccoons or oversized rats. No different than any pest York had met in the city. Plus, it should be easier to catch this than any of the criminals he had pursued.  

Why didn’t I listen to you, Zach?

That was three days ago…

“Having a hard time there, Agent York?”

It was Emily. She was completing eating it up alongside lunch at the sheriff’s department.

“An agent of the bureau can’t catch one little possum.”

York rolled his eyes.

Just like grade school…

“I’m an officer of the law, Emily. I catch people, not animals. I’m not a hunter.”

“I know you’re not,” she smiled. He didn’t mind the sight of her like this, especially during this horrid investigation, but not at his expense. “But it’s pretty funny that you’re having so much trouble. Have you thought about asking for help? Maybe Thomas knows something about possums.”

Dammit, why haven’t we thought about that before?

Thomas did in fact know something about possums.

“Well, first off, it’s ‘opossum’ and not possum.”

“What’s the difference?” York shrugged.

“Only that opossums live here in North America while possums live in Australia.”

During another break in the late afternoon, near evening, Thomas went deep into detail about what he knew about them.

They are not rodents, but marsupials, and have pouches to carry their young. They have opposable thumbs and use their tails to grasp things.

“They have a vast diet too,” he mentioned, “and by that, I mean they’ll eat anything, including garbage. Every so often we get a call from someone asking if we could remove one from their trash bins.”

“I didn’t know the sheriff’s department handled animal control.”

“We don’t. We just don’t have anyone else to handle it. It’s a small town after all.”

After some further consultation, by the time the day was over and everyone had said their good nights, York was brainstorming his plan.

“I think, Zach,” he said on the drive back to the hotel, “we’ll need a trap of sorts. Maybe we could use the snacks we’ve collected in our room. We need a box or a cage or something like that…” The car neared Greenvale’s edge by the waters, the moon a bright crescent in a lonely sky.

He chuckled.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t turn out like Mouse Trap. Remember, Zach? 1997. I’m not planning on becoming Chris Walken here.”

It was nearing 8 by the time he made it to the hotel. He greeted Polly by the front desk and asked about her day. The television playing in the background droned on about tomorrow’s forecast as she answered.

“I saw that darn opossum again. He scurried past me in the kitchen earlier today. I think I saw him go down one of the corridors here. God knows where he is now. I hope he isn’t making a mess in one of my rooms.”

“Don’t worry about it, Polly. I’ve been hatching up a plan to catch the thing. By tomorrow morning, I’ll get a trap set up.”

Naturally, Polly was delighted to hear this.

After a late dinner, York said his good night to Polly before heading to his room.

“If I have to be honest, Zach, all I can think about is whether I should shower now or in the morning.”

With a yawn and his eyelids drooping, the agent opened the door to his hotel room. He took off his suit jacket, his hands slipping out the sleeves, and went to shut the door behind him and find the light switch.

That’s when he noticed the crumbs on the floor.

He almost missed it.

They were as plain as day in the light under York’s sleepy gaze. They looked like bread or cookie crumbs and they made a trail that led to the bed, just a few feet away. Near the foot of the bed, crumbs and various other scraps of food and packaging were scattered in a mess around the suitcase he had brought his clothes in. The suitcase itself was open and on the floor. His shirts and pants were scattered, thrown around the floor. 

By now, York was wide awake, gun in hand.

Each careful step warranted a wide sweep of the eyes across every possible hiding place.

A hotel room is an odd place to rob. Not to mention the fact that nothing looked to be stolen. The only item that was out of place was the suitcase. Nothing else was opened or turned over. What was the motive behind this strange crime scene?

There was a squeak, like one of a small animal, and York’s arm snapped forward, hands ready to fire his gun. 

By the far side of the bed, near the windows, one of his shirts had piled up. However, there was something hiding underneath it. It was rising and falling, like the rhythm of someone’s breath.

With a nimble hand, the other remaining on the gun, he went to pluck the shirt away.

There in the open was the opossum. And he appeared to be asleep.

That, or he had eaten too much, and was or on the verge of passing out in front of the agent in his own room. He laid on his side, little pink paws outstretched, tail curled against him, and tongue out on the floor, drooling himself a pool of spit. His eyes were half open, and his ears twitched every so often.

“Well, Zach,” York sighed, putting his gun back in his holster, “looks like we found the little rascal.”

Despite himself, York poked the animal with a pen from his pocket. He obviously wasn’t dead, but he definitely wasn’t quite conscious. He let out another squeak upon contact with the pen.

“He must have found my stash of snacks. That’s what I get for hiding them in my suitcase. Better call Thomas.”

He got up and headed for the phone.

The opossum remained where he was and continued his nap on the floor, gurgling into his little puddle of drool, while York dialled.

[carrietrekkie]

Always Remember Us This Way.

This goes through my mind the last few days. It really didn´t fit in my timeline for Cathrin, its a little outstanding but I found it worth sharing. 

The other story goes on, the two had a way to go and the next parts are more romantic but for now...

Sometimes there is need for a sad story, so you warned!

And if you don´t mind, let me know what you think of it! Or if you want me to tag you!

A hectic remark than the shuttle bay exploded in red warning lights and panic screams.

“Everybody out here!”

The damaged shuttle crashed to the ground, teared everything in its way with it.

God, which one aloud this hothead to fly!

Behind her she heard someone stumble and felt to the ground.

“Oh no no no!” Cathrin jumped to the Ensign. “Leave it here! Get out!” She grabbed her arm, pulled it and the young woman slides over the floor to the door. Right in front of her the shuttle stroked against some heavy cargo boxes and transformed them into bullets. Deadly and fast.

To fast.

„Pike!“

She didin´t saw the box coming. She just felt how it hits her, teared her off her feet and slamed her into the wall behind her.

Cathrin heard a scream but it was not hers. She just felt how the weight of the cargo pressed the life out of her crushed body.

“Oh please no.” She felt a hand grabs hers that was free and still intact. “There is help on its way, don´t.” Una sobbed lightly, than raised her voice. „Someone needs to call the Captain!“

„I...“ „Don´t speak, save your power.“

Slowly Cathrin blinked at her friend, unable to say something comforting, then she knew were this goes. She was already dead, nothing here could save her. Every sound became duller, the pictures before her eyes vanished, her body gets number with every breath she managed to take.

Right before everything turned to silver glass she saw him. Chris stormed into the hanger, his eyes wide, heavy breathing. She breathed in, opened her moth as he replaced Una, grabbing her hand but it was too late.

As Chris fingers touched her, he could felt how her breath left her. There was a short glimmer in her eyes, as she saw him, a glimpse that she recognized him, but it disappeared in the blink of an eye and took her with it. She didn´t saw anymore how Chris collapsed, felt to the ground, right into Spocks arms and she didn´t heard him scream. This heartbreaking, painful and desperately scream that took every noise from the hangar before it took the heart of the USS Enterprise.

++++

Pink roses. There were all around this place. From a pale tone all the way to a dark, rich tone. Like her lips, when he kissed her too much. It seemed like everyone brought some for her, except him.

In his hand he holds a single white calla lily. Like the one that was her bridal flowers, the one she planted at their house in Mojave, like the one that always makes her smile.

 He heard the steps behind him. He didn´t need to turn around too knew to whom they belong.  There were always behind him these days. And he was thankful for that and it would come the time were he could say thank you for that, but not today.

“Chris.” It was strange for Spock to address him like that, but the Captain had asked for and he had consented it. Pike stood still there where he had left him. He heard him breath heavily, maybe he cried again, even if Spock wondered how he still had left tears to cry.

“I´m sorry, but it´s about time.”

“Yes.” His voice was rough, broken. “I know.”

A few steps away Spock stopped. The coffin was still open. Until an hour ago her friends had said goodbye, then Chris requested everyone to leave, since then he stood there. Now he moved infinitely slowly. His hand trembled as he turned to face her.

“She looks, like she´s sleeping.” A tear rolled down his cheek, gets lost in all the ones he cried before. “How could it be, that she is dead?” Chris looked briefly at Spock. He knew that this was not a question for which Pike expected an answer and he had none.

Carefully Chris strokes away a strand of hair, that strand that never stayed in that place she wished for. A small red line on her temple was all that could be seen from her injures. Her uniform covered, her smashed body. Chris fingers glided over her cheek, he wanted to remember every detail till forever. He grabbed out for her hand, closed his fingers around them and hold them.

How many times had those hands held him up, guided him, saved him, and now? It was missing, he felt like he was falling into infinity.

He stroked her wedding ring, than he pulled it gently from her finger. At least he wanted to keep it.

Then he leaned over her and kissed her lips before he put his forehead on hers.

“I love you, Cathrin.” His words vanished in his faint sobbing. „You saved me, so many times.” Chris wanted to say so much, but he couldn´t, he didn´t manage to express his feelings, the mourning overlaying everything.

 Spock's firm grip on his shoulder scared him to death, but he was grateful he was here. He reached for this hand and hold on tight, then straightened up and realized that not only Spock was with him. Just a few steps away stood Una. Her eyes tear-stained and tired.

“Everyone would understand if you can´t be there.” She approached toward him. “This here is for Starfleet not for her.” She raised her hand to dry some tears on his cheek. “Not for both of you.”

“I´m coming.” He put his thumb and forefinger to his eyes, took a deep breath, then Chris took one last look back to her. He did not need words, she could not hear them anymore. “Not like this Chris.” Una laid one arm around him, pulled him away. “That should not be the way you  remember her.”

 She was right. He didn´t want to remember her like that. Chris want to remember the beautiful things of her life.

 The first time he saw her in her blue Discovery uniform, so unsure because she didn’t knew, what it means to wear one.

As she stood before him in her light blue Enterprise Uniform, the feeling in his heart, that she never left him, even if they don´t were together at those time.

That Moment he found her on the seashore, wearing those staggeringly ball gown, her gaze into the stars, not knowing that he watched her and that look in her eyes as she gazed back over her shoulder to smile at him.

As she told him, she would stay with him, although there was a way back into her reality.

Her smile as he asked her to marry him.

The slight trembling of her hand as she put her in his to become his wife.

How proud she was on the day as she took her Hippocratic Oath.

Seeing her the first time as Commander, emerge from the command chair of the Enterprise after having the conn in his absence.

How she whispered his name when they slept together.

Her scent, her smile, her sense of humor. She so perfectly in his arms when she danced to their song.

Always remember us this way.

Yes, that was the way he will remember her and at some point he would be able to smile again if he thought about it, even if that day was not today.

Today he had to let her go, need to watch how Starfleet said goodbye to her, hopping that something carried him through this ceremony as it was expected from him. As Cathrin had expected it from him and so he turned around, grabbed Unas hand, grateful for that hold and walked away.

“Spock?” The Commander looked at him, he nodded, than he looked at Cathrin one last time. “Farewell my friend, I will never forget, what you have done for me.”

Then he unlocked Una and escorted Captain Pike outside und somehow they all made it through this mourning ceremony, heard the loving and emotional words, comforted friends and comrades, prepared her a worthy farewell. And as soon the protocol allows it, they managed to get Christopher away from all that.

He didn´t knew how many hands he had shaken, how often he had heard condolences and well-meaning words. Chris appreciated it but he was tired of hearing them, exhausted from his sorrow and this day. He only knew one thing clearly and now he must tell it to this two wonderful people.

“I´m not going back to Enterprise.”

“Captain?” Spock found his voice as first again.

„I can´t, it´s impossible.“

What could they said? Of course they understood it and yet it broke their hearts at all. He loosed more than just the love of his life on this day and everything on board would remind him of her. There was no place, no corner, no deck that wasn´t part of their story.

 And so Captain Christopher Pike left the USS Enterprise and on a peaceful afternoon on his ranch he handed over the command to Captain James T. Kirk. Just the two Captains, a few warm words and the hope that there where brighter days to come.

 “For you.” Chris handed Jim a leather bounded notebook.

“What´s that?” The young captain closed his hand around it.

“Cathrin left it to you.” He gazed towards the sinking sun.

“Ehm.” Kirk was unsure about that gift.

“It’s a book Jim.”

“I know what it is but why me?” Carefully he opened it up.

“These are her legacy, everything she brought with her from her reality.” He raised his hand to interrupted Kirk. “It´s for you, you and your first officer, no one else.”

“Only Spock and I?” Kirk softly shocked his head. “Are you sure you will gave it away?”

“I am.” Pike smiled lightly. He was able to do that a little bit more again, than he got serious again. “So she left?”

“Yes.” Kirk nodded. “She never get over it. I guess she goes back to her home world, her husband collected her things form her quarter a few day ago.”

“How´s Spock?”

“At least, from the point that I have, he´s doing fine.” Kirk gazed on the flowers that growing around the stairs. “He had one of them in his quarters.”

“You learn to know him better.” Pike shortly placed a hand on Kirks shoulder. “It took its time but anyway.” He brought on a little smile. “Thanks for coming here.”

“It was an honor, Sir.”

“Chris.”

Kirk nodded than turned to go but hold himself back al last time.

“Are you really sure Chris?” Kirk couldn´t believe it as he received the replacement order a few days ago. Him, the Captain of the Enterprise? How could he fill out such great footsteps? He saw the gaze of the man before him gets lost into the sinking sun.

“Her heartbeat drives me on and now.” Chris tired eyes turned towards him. “There is a long story behind this, that I couldn´t tell you.”

Jim understood. There was something around Chris and Cathrin everyone could feel but no one ever gets behind it.

“The Enterprise was once my home, our home, it is still, but not for me.”

“I will take good care of her.”

“Of that I´m sure.”

 That was there goodbye. Kirk never expected to see him again, at least not in this way he did finally. He carried this hour in his heart forever, back on Enterprise he closed away the notebook, it would take years if he started to read in it.

 Chris was not surprised by the offer that was carried towards him a few weeks later. A vacation replacement for an old friend. Just babysit some cadets on a J-class vessel. An easy training flight. No away missions, no plans of unexpected things.

 And so he walked on through the engine room that day knowing what was the next thing that comes. The inescapable, the fate he sealed so long ago, right in front of him. He always wondered what´s him finally made to go back into this hell of gamma rays and fire to save the cadets. On this morning as he opened his eyes he instantly knew it.

 It was Cathrin, it was always her. More than Starfleet she was his drive, his guiding light, her love had made him go through the most terrible things and even she was gone, she was still in his heart, mind and soul and so he could do this.

 Could carried the wounded girl out of the flames, catches the burned boy as he felt from the gallery and accepted his fate as the heavy doors shut down before him, cut him away from the students  screaming at him, trying to save him, hopelessly.

 The year past that day vanished in pain and sorrow. Every day like the day before, on and on as an unending time loop, till that rainy morning the door opened and two old friends entered his room.

  It took Spock month to collect everything he needed, to write down all that he know about Cathrin, to get the letters, pictures and memories of all her friends but he did it and he did it well. Chris memories are the last piece to this puzzle.

 After a rollercoaster ride he found himself laying on a blanked under a cherry tree, a softly breeze around him and a well-known and long missed touch in his hair. Chris was afraid to open up his eyes, scared that it was just a dream, like hundreds and thousands nights before but he pulled himself together and moved his hand to reach for the fingers in his hair.

Gently he touched it, they didn’t vanished, instead they closed around his and seconds later he felt a soft kiss on his fingertips. His nerves exploded, finally in a way that didn´t hurt him and then he heard that voice he missed so badly.

 “Wake up sleepyhead.”

“I can´t.” He felt a single tear running down his check.

“Why?”

“What if I open my eyes and you´re gone.” He breathed in. “Left me again.”

“I never left you.” A slightly giggle go with these words. “Or will.”

And then she whispered those words, she once sung for him.

“The part of me that´s you would never die.” “Cathrin.”

Then he opened his eyes. And there she was, like she never was away. That warm, loving look in her eyes, a lightly smile on her lips, her hair moved slowly in the wind.

“This is an illusion.” It must, Kirk and Spock brought him to Talos. But it felt so real, she felt so real and after those years of pain, sorrow and loneliness he was ready to get involved, to abandon himself to this world they created from him. And with no hesitation he leaned towards her, pulled her in his arm and kissed her, as his life depended on these single kiss. She broke off the kiss, smiling at him, tears in her beautiful green eyes as he gazed into his blue ones.

“You miss me?”

“You can´t imagine how much.” His fingers running through her hair, over her neck, along her collarbone. “I lost you and its hurts so much.” He felt how it broke out of him. With her fingers he catches the tears on his face. God, how he missed her touch.

“I´m so sorry for...”

He placed her fingers on her lips, she stopped talking.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

 Again they merged in an affectional kiss, mixed up with tears and Chris hold her so firmly in his arms that he could felt the unusual effort in his muscle but he didn´t care, everything he cares in this moment  was her in his arms and from know on it would never be different again.

 And so, even if it was an illusion, they live her life together on Talos, far away from Starfleet and everything that could separate them. But Chris body was still damaged, it was not possible to heal him anyway, like hers so long ago.

Cathrin holds his hand, whispering to him and lays beside him as he closed his eyes forever and passed away on a cloudy day on Talos.

And with his last breath, they both fade away, together, right into the stars, forever…

[chrysolina]

My million dollar man

A/n - I know that its kinda random and doesn’t lead to anything but I hope you guys enjoy this non-Steve or Chris fic just as much!!

Summary - In such a relationship as yours and Sebastians’, secrecy is vital - so is good foundations. Due to separate issues, neither of you could ever advance further than an in-and-out of office relationship but could things all be up for change soon?

Word Count - 1.9k

Warnings - fluff, breakdown of a marriage, kisses, nothing too bad at all

M A S T E R L I S T

“Yes sir, I’ll be there right away,” The invigorating hum of business oozed through the levels of the tall skyscraper this morning, an accompanying tune to a call you had just finished having a with your boss Mr Stan - the CEO of Marva Finances - and were requested by demand to see him in his office as soon as possible.

Between your other colleagues, you and Mr Stan happened to have a very productive, easy and well understood boss-to-secretary relationship but behind the doors of his office and in the dwellings of private locations within the building, this was quite ‘on the contrary’.

The two of you had a very close, loving and intimate relationship blooming that was indescribably beautiful in every way. Given whatever time of the Mr Stan had, whether it’d be his lunch break or a pre-meeting rundown, the two of you would routinely exchange adoring kisses and would hold each other dearly - as if you’d never see each other again.

If anyone ever knew about your shared innermost feelings with Mr Stan, they could easily say you were deeply in love with each other - however, there was one small problem that your heart couldn't get to grips with.

Sebastian was, indeed, a married man with a doting wife and had a one-year old daughter with her as well.

He claimed it wasn’t a happy marriage, ‘we are unrepairable’ was the phrase he’d say constantly whenever the touchy topic came up but for you, it’s always be a bitter reminder of what you could yet couldn’t have all in one breath.

For such a wild thought, you never dared to dwell on it too much - fearing it’d get into her head and ruin what you had with Sebastian. To you, what you and Sebastian had couldn’t be priced, it was too valuable to the both of you to let slip in an elevator of by a coffee machine - so you kept your walls high and your fences even higher in attempt to conceal the truth.

The walk from your desk wasn’t long enough to calm the raging butterflies in your stomach as you thought over what could happen whilst the two of you were in there. You gave the large metal door three firm knocks and like that, Sebastian had flung the door open and yanked you by the arm quickly into the pristine office space, shutting and locking the door behind.

From what you could vaguely tell, Sebastian wasn’t very happy; the way his usually steel blue eyes shone in admiration at yo had changed into something far darker than lust - even when he paced back to his desk, his stepping was much more rigid and tense than you’d ever seen.

So what on Earth had caused him to act like this?

“Tell me Y/N, have you ever lived in a mansion before?” Sebastian’s deep rugged voice had cut through the well conditioned office space and startled you out of your thought bubble, making you only look at the well dressed man with utter confusion etched on your face.

Sebastian knew damn well that you had only a mere thousand dollars to your name and could barely afford to run your place in the heart of Queens. Not only that but with immigrant parents who escaped their torn up home-country in hope of a better life, he also knew that’d you’d never known what living in the lap of luxury was remotely like - so why the dumb, suppressing question.

“I think you know the answer to that question, sir.” Informalities be damned, you were getting well pissed at your boyfriend’s childish and snarky behaviour and didn’t want to have any more of his - he may be your boss but he certainly wasn’t your keeper.

“Alright, how about this then. Have you ever wanted to live in a mansion before, Miss Y/L/N?” Sebastian’s eyes never strayed of his girlfriend’s delectable form before him, he watched your clasped hands clenched together in some fit of annoyance or rage - deep down he knew what he was doing, he just wasn’t in the mood to go about this any other way.

“Oh c’mon Sebastian! You know the answer to that too. What’s the matter with you this morning?” You found a minute break in his annoyance and whined in aggravation at it, your hands coming to rest on your hips whilst your face turned from stoic to pleading in a matter of seconds. Sebastian merely ignored your question and hunched himself over his glass desk and allowed his head to hang tiredly between his shoulder blades.

“I just want you to give me an answer Y/N!” He huffed in what you knew as a slow bubbling anger - it was only 11am in the morning and he was already this pissed?

You knew straight that this was a big red flag; Sebastian’s usually such a calm and focused man in even the toughest of business or not-so business situations, meaning that this attitude of Sebastian’s was very hard to digest for yourself.

“Then yes Seb, I’d absolutely love to live in a mansion.” You exhaled wearily and ran your fingers through your hair, tugging at the odd strand or two in an attempt to calm your incoming headache and pressure you felt in your temple.

“Y/N, how would you feel if you lived in that house? With me?” Sebastian watched his stressed girlfriend like a hawk and rounded in on you, closing the space between the two of you in a matter of seconds.

You whipped her head back around to Sebastian and stared longingly into those deep steel blue eyes; still not understanding what he was getting at but knowing somewhere deep down that he wanted something from you. “I think I’d feel very very happy Seb,” You all but mewled at the warm touch of Sebastian’s palm resting on your cheek.

“And how would you feel about raising and looking after little ‘Becca with me?” Now you were getting the picture, it may have taken a while but you finally knew what Seb was trying to get out of this exchange. In milliseconds you could feel your Y/E/C eyes widen with astoundment at what he was alluding onto - he couldn’t had been, could he?

Was he really talking about a…future for the two of you?

You grasped Sebastian’s hand into your own and nuzzled into his touch “I’d be absolutely honoured Sebba,” That name - the dragged out Romanian version of his name was his undoing - without a thought, he crashed his lips onto your plush, soft, moist lips with a certain hunger that could never be matched. The two of you had no need to exchange words to finalize the idea he was proposing, Sebastian knew you had caught onto the idea he was alluding to and he couldn’t wait any longer.

After all this time, he’d finally get to openly call you his; his soon-to-be fiancée, his soon-to-be wife and one day if all prevailed, the mother to his children - his heart swelled at the mere thought - the new Mrs Y/N Stan.

God his mother would be so proud once he comes home with you in his arms and a ring safely secured on your ring finger.

Sliding their lips away from each other, you had to reel back in shock over Sebastian’s bold kiss that sprung out of nowhere. Although everything around you seemed heavenly and dream-like, you just couldn’t help but wonder about her - Sebastian’s actual wife.

“Seb, please, just one second.” You tried to detach the eager brunette’s lips from sucking on your neck and jaw any further but was met with harsh resilience, making you sigh in aggravation.

“What’s the matter, my love?” Sebastian muttered into the apex of your jaw and began to suck a hickie into the spot he had stopped at.

“What about y..your wife?!” You gasped at the sensation of Sebastian’s lips on your sensitive skin and clung to his suit in a fit of mercy, the euphoria of the situation and his touches cranked everything up to ten.

“She filed for a divorce at 9 o’clock this morning. Turned out she had been cheating on me for almost four years of our marriage and left ‘Becca all alone in the house last night, unaccompanied.” Sebastian covered his cracked voice in your shoulder and allowed you to rub your soft hands soothingly around his back, the thought of his precious little daughter being left alone for hours upon hours without his knowledge brought the CEO to raging yet heartbroken tears.

He didn’t want to show you those tears, they weren’t meant for you or your compassionate heart but boy did he need to cry right now.

You could feel the laboured breathing on your shoulder and cooed the ex-husband into a whimpering lull, whispering that he was more than allowed to cry at the horror of his daughter being alone nights at a time.

For a good 30 minutes or so, you two stood there in your own bubble blissfully unaware of the world around them, the sound of Sebastian’s cries accompanying your shushes in a harmonic silent masterpiece.

After a lengthy ten minutes stuck together, reeling in the reality of yours and his position, Sebastian refused to move when you asked him, his desires to just hold onto you and pray that the toxic pain would cease and soon go away.

It was true, although he loved you he did love his wife once upon a time, in which during those years together - before you had even came into his life - he tried so hard to cram in as much love, time and affection into their marriage as possible - but alas, she failed him more than he could ever imagine.

He tried so hard and for what? Four out of those five years meaninglessly thrown away; it was a horrific thought for Sebastian - that was until he realised he had you now.

You gave him the love, kindness, time and affection he needed without lifting a finger; you knew what pain and heartache felt like and knew exactly how to console the CEO when he got depressingly drunk and couldn’t stop crying - a sight you’d often have to restrain yourself from getting overly invested in.

And most of all, Sebastian knew you knew how to stay grounded through all the promotions and raises you’d receive from him and his board of executives - it always seemed to be that the more he looked at you and your personality, he found more and more reasons to fall in love with you.

“How are you feeling now, Sebba?” You mumbled into the Romanian’s hair in a hushed soft voice and scratched lightly at his skull with your nails, making the said man hum in utter content at the feeling - even the way you said his name was enough for his heart to skip a beat or two.

He did think, on occasion, how ridiculously much he had given of himself to his own personal secretary - a weak move, he thought; but after raising his head to look into your loving Y/E/C eyes, he hadn’t known such strength before.

You watched in slight pity and confusion as Sebastian quickly brushed himself off and wandered back to his desk and watched as he dialled a quick number and spoke curtly to person on the other side, saying something along the lines of ‘bring her up’ or “bring them up’. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was really bringing up his ex-wife to see the two of you but judging by the coy smile on Sebastian lips, he wasn’t going to do anything of the sort.

“Now, let's introduce ‘Becca to her new mommy to-be, shall we?”

Permanent tags - @multireality @its-a-pretty-interesting-wall​ @coffeebooksandfandom​

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Teacher’s Pet

Chapter One

Pairing: Chris Evans x OFC  |  Word Count: 3638 Warnings: None.

Summary: Annie Erikson and her daughter Teddy have always been a family of two. When a job opportunity arises Annie just can’t pass up, she and Teddy leave their small town of Dillon, Texas to move to Boston, Massachusets. Maybe the hot kindergarten teacher at Teddy’s new school will make them a family of three.

“Baby girl, everything is gonna be okay. You're gonna love you're new school. I'm sure your teacher is gonna be just wonderful. There ain't nothing to worry about,” Annie assured her daughter for the third time.

The move from Texas had been rough, but Boston was where her job opportunity had arisen, so Boston was where they went. That didn't mean Teddy liked it, nor had she understood why suddenly they had to move away from their little yellow cottage in Dillon and into the stately brick house in Boston's North End.

Theodora “Teddy" Erikson clutched Annie’s hand like a lifeline as they walked down the hall of her new school toward her kindergarten class. Principal Dickson was supposed to accompany them but had been called away last minute by a phone call which couldn't wait.

In the end, Annie preferred it this way as Teddy was too nervous for Annie to contend with the man trying to flirt with her. As a single mom, Annie had to deal with flirty men more often than she liked. But she and Teddy had done alright on their own.

Her husband Jack had died in a car accident shortly after Annie had learned she was pregnant with Teddy. It had been devastating, but Jack had come through for them in the end. His life insurance had set them up handsomely, but there wasn't much call for an Art Restoration expert in a town like Dillon.

Jack had coached football there, and Annie had given up her career to teach art at the local high school. She'd only stayed as long as she had after his death because Jack’s family insisted.

But when Annie had started painting again, it had reminded her of her love of art. After five years of wallowing in Jack's memory and legacy, she needed a change.

The Museum of Fine Art in Boston had offered her a lucrative position she couldn't say no to, Jack's life insurance and her savings from before their marriage allowed her to buy the house of her dreams, and see Teddy got into one of the best-rated schools in Boston.

And all it took was ripping her child away from the only home and family she’d ever known. Fresh guilt soured her stomach.

“Do I have to go?” Teddy whined.

Annie squeezed her hand. “Yeah, baby. But you're gonna make tons of friends and have the best time,” she promised, praying to God she wasn't lying to her daughter.

The principal had given her directions to Mr. Evans’ class, and Annie prayed a second time the man wouldn't terrify her daughter.

At the door, she paused for it was covered in colourful cutouts of different breeds of dog. The noise coming from the slightly ajar door was loud but lively, and she pushed it tentatively inward.

Mr. Evans had his back to the door and hands on his hips as he looked down at the grinning boy before him. “Really, Chris?” Voice laced with amused exasperation, the man shook his head. “I highly doubt your turtle ate your toes.”

“It's true!” the boy giggled.

“And if I were to turn you upside down and tickle your foot, I'm pretty sure they would wiggle around in your sock. Go on now. Play nice with Julie.”

“Mr. Evans! Door!” cried another little girl sending Teddy scurrying behind Annie’s leg.

The teacher turned around, and Annie tried very hard not to whimper. It was wholly unfair for a man who looked like him to teach kindergarten.

Broad shoulders beneath a white button up. Trim waist and muscular thighs in fitted jeans. Fluffy blond hair neatly trimmed, and a light scruff of facial hair. It made Annie’s mouth bone dry.

“Hi,” he smiled kindly, making his way closer. “You must be Annie Erikson.”

He held out his hand you somehow managed to shake. “Yes. Sorry to just barge in, but Principal Dickson got held up.”

“Not a problem. I'm Chris Evans. Welcome to Eliot Elementary School.” His handshake lingered a moment too long before he crouched and smiled at Teddy, peeking past Annie’s skirt. “And you must be Theodora.”

Again he held out his hand, but Teddy only hid her face.

“I'm sorry. She's pretty shy with new people, and the move has been hard on her.”

“That's okay,” Chris smiled. “Robin?” he called into the classroom and had a girl with pigtails skipping over.

“Yes, Mr. Evans?” she said with a slight lisp.

“Robin, this is Theodora-"

“Teddy,” Teddy whispered.

“Teddy, my apologies,” the teacher smiled. “Robin, would you like to be Teddy's buddy and show her around our class? Help her find her cubby and hang up her coat.”

“Okay, Mr. Evans!” Robin grinned. “C’mon, Teddy.” She held out her hand.

Teddy looked up at Annie in fear. “It's okay, baby.” Annie crouched and hugged her tightly. I'm gonna stand here and talk with y’alls teacher for a few minutes before I have to go to work. You go on and get settled.”

Reluctantly, Teddy released her to hurry after Robin and take the child’s hand. “Bye, mama," she whispered, breaking Annie’s heart.

Chris pushed to his feet then held out his hand to help Annie up. “Don't worry. This happens all the time. She’ll be fine,” he said kindly.

“Will I?" Annie asked, wiping away a tear. “I feel like I'm abandoning my baby.”

“Your first?” he asked.

“My only,” she sighed. “And without her daddy around, it's all the harder.”

“Mr. Erikson works away?”

“Jack died before Teddy was born.” Annie’s phone beeped, and she dug it from her purse. “Shoot. I've really gotta go. It's my first day too.”

“Give me your phone,” Chris said. “I'll put my number in it and text you a couple of pictures to show you Teddy’s doing great.”

Annie handed it over even as she frowned. “Do you do this for all the parents?”

A bit of a cocky grin flashed. “Not at all. But you're new to Boston, Teddy's all you've got, and I know what anxiety can do to a person.” He sent himself a text and handed back your phone just as a T-Rex appeared to roar from his pocket. “Got it. Go. Good luck on your first day. Teddy’s going to do great.”

She sent a glance at Teddy, already playing with a group of girls and sighed. “Thank you, Mr. Evans.”

“Call me Chris,” he smiled, shutting the door as she walked away.

Annie made it to her car before murmuring, “Chris. Least he’ll be easy on the eyes this year.”

***

Thirty minutes later, Annie was finishing up with security, getting her ID badge and passwords for the lab and computers when her phone vibrated in her pocket. Excusing herself for a moment, she pulled it from her suit coat and turned it over to find it was from Teddy’s teacher.

He’d put his info into her phone as Chris Evans, but her immediate thought was hot teacher. Then she unlocked the message and giggled for Mr. Evans was wearing a fuschia feather boa and sparkly tiara, while Teddy had on a pair of aviator shades which could only belong to the man crouched and smiling at the camera with her. Arms crossed, Teddy was giving her best sassy face as she leaned into her teacher's shoulder.

“Damn that’s cute,” Annie whispered, smiling at the image.

Teddy had insisted she had to wear her favourite dress, a red one with white polka dots, and her cowboy boots. Annie had given in on the boots but only because Teddy had agreed to let her braid the strawberry blonde mass of unruly curls the girl had inherited from her father.

A second image came through as she was admiring the first. This one was the same, but instead of smiles both student and teacher were making faces.

Annie snickered and typed out a quick reply.

A: Thank you for those.

C: No problem. She’s a sweet kid.

A: Takes after her father.

C: Pretty sure there’s a bit of her mother in their too.

Annie felt a blush burn her cheeks.

A: I would certainly hope so. She added a laughing emoji and put her phone away when Mark St. Pierre, her new boss arrived.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

In his mid to late thirties, the man wore tweed with leather elbow patches, had receding dirty blonde hair, and was round of face and waistline. He leered a little, and Annie made a mental note to wear shirts with higher necklines to work from now on.

Not that what she had on was in any way inappropriate. The peach blouse was comfortable, easy to work in because of its short sleeves, but the v-neckline did show a little cleavage. Her pencil skirt was beige, her heels short and sensible. A dark green suit jacket rounded out the ensemble and complimented the sleek chignon she’d managed to use to tame her chestnut locks. But just because she looked professional and put together didn’t seem to matter to her boss when his eyes lingered on her breasts.

“Fine,” she clipped the word and let her disapproval show on her face when his gaze darted up.

He only smirked. 

Great. She was working for a lecher. Fabulous.

“We’ve got her sorted, sir,” Stanley the older security officer said, giving Annie a sympathetic look.

Evidently, the museum’s curator was known for his roving eye. As long as he didn’t have roving hands, Annie could live with it. She was about to start her dream job. Nothing was going to take that away from her.

“Excellent! I’ll show Mrs. Erikson through to the lab and get her squared away with Anton.” Mark held out his arm for her, but Annie shrugged and held up papers, purse, and ID badge.

Mark frowned. “Here let me clip that on your jacket for you.”

“I’ve got it,” Annie said, pulling her hands away when he reached for the badge.

“It’s no trouble,” he insisted.

“Mr. St. Pierre,” she said sternly. “I am perfectly capable of pinning on my own badge, but I would appreciate directions to the lab.”

He looked taken aback before an angry flush filled his face. “Well, then. Right this way.” He turned on his heel and marched from the security office.

“Have a good day, Annie,” Stanley murmured.

“Thanks, hun,” she gave him a wink and a smile, having enjoyed her time with him. He’d been pleasant company and had grown up in a town not too far from Dillon. It really was a small world.

“Annie?” he called before she went out the door. “You be careful now, ya hear?” He shot a sharp look at the door.

“Ain’t nothing new, Stan,” she murmured, tilting her head in understanding.

***

Anton LaRoche, her direct supervisor, was beautiful, French, flamboyant, and very, very gay. Annie adored him.

He’d taken one look at her, shot a glare at Mark, and began to fawn, flutter, and touch the Museum’s curator in a way which clearly made the other man uncomfortable.

Mark muttered something about being needed elsewhere and hurried out of the sterile white lab.

“Annie, ma petit chou! You look très chic!” Anton complimented, taking her purse with one hand and raising her hand to his lips with the other. “Come, come. Anton will show you to your office, and then we will drink. Tea because these Americans frown when I drink wine at work,” he huffed indignantly. “Then, you can tell me all how you and your darling Teddy are settling into Boston. Oui?”

She laughed and let him lead her where he would. Anton had been the one to interview her, both via teleconference and then again in person. She’d liked him then, but after he’d rescued her from Mark, who had again tried to take her arm on their way to the lab, she was utterly in love with him now.

“Hun, if you weren’t happily involved and played for the right team, I would snatch you up for myself outta thanks for that timely rescue,” she giggled.

“Bah! That man is a chauvinistic pig!” he spat. “But he is good at what he does. Brilliant even. Still, if he gets out of line, you will tell Anton.” He pushed open the door to her new office.

Annie smiled in relief. While she loved the sterile white of the lab and its clean room, her office had been decorated in soft tans and dark woods. Walls of shelving were top-lit to highlight whatever art or items she chose to display. A large and sleek computer monitor sat on the wood and glass desk, and Annie made her way over to it.

Setting her papers down, she opened the monstrosity she called a purse and pulled out the picture of Teddy on her last birthday. An eight by ten of her with cake on her face and a smile the size of Texas, and a smaller five by seven of Jack standing on the fifty-yard line smiling at the boys he coached.  Both were set with pride beside the monitor before she turned back to Anton.

“She’s a beautiful girl,” he said, his smile soft.

“She’s my angel,” Annie agreed, touching the frame.

“And she likes her new school?” Anton asked.

Annie tugged her phone from her pocket. “Seems too,” she chuckled, showing Anton the first photo Chris had sent her.

“Mmm, bella! Is that her teacher?” He fanned his face. “Do not tell my Travis, but rowr!”

He made a clawing motion, and Annie burst out laughing.

“I know that feeling, hun,” she chuckled. “He’s even prettier in person.”

Laughing together, they went to have tea in Anton’s office, while Annie made a mental note to bring a few of her as of yet unpacked boxes to the Museum.

“I still cannot believe our good fortune of snatching you up, Annie,” Anton smirked as he pushed open the door to his office and made his way to the sideboard.

“I still can’t believe I’m back working,” she sighed. “But… I couldn’t stay in Dillon any longer. And I miss it. The work.”

“You were the best. When I heard you’d left the Louvre seven years ago, I will admit I shed a tear at your loss.”

Annie shrugged and smiled sadly when he came to sit in the chair beside her. “I fell in love. And Jack was never gonna leave those kids. It didn’t matter that I made four times as much as he did. Dillon was home. Those kids were his life, and for a while, the school and teaching art was enough.”

He reached out and patted her hand. “Well, I am most excited you are here. Tell me, are you painting again?”

She shook her head. “Not like I used. Maybe now with the house and all, I can have my studio again, but…” she sighed. “It hurt too much after Jack… and setting up at the school used to irk the parents who thought their son or daughter had so much talent and my work would upset their delicate feelings.” Annie rolled her eyes. “It was a crock of shit because the kids used to love to watch me work.”

“Bah!” Anton huffed. “People are assholes! Is why we work behind the scenes in the lab, non?”

Annie chuckled and nodded. “Oui.”

***

Three hours later, Annie had discarded her jacket in her office and was bent over staring through a magnifying glass at a horribly yellowed varnish on a Greco canvas when her phone buzzed.

A quick glance had her heart jumping when she saw Chris’s name again. Was something wrong? Did Teddy need her?

She swiped the lock screen away and breathed a sigh of relief when the short video played. Teddy and a group of three other girls were playing hopscotch laughing and giggling away. Then the camera turned, and Chris was there, wearing the aviator shades from earlier. “I wanted you to know she’s made a few friends. See you soon, Annie.”

He smiled, and she felt it on a visceral level.

“Ma petit Annie. That man has a wee crush, I think,” Anton chuckled.

“After a five-minute conversation in which I blubbered a little?” She snorted. “I think you’re romantic side is slipping.”

“We shall see. When the hot teacher asks you out, and that is a when not if, you will owe me lunch,” he teased and wandered off to continue cleaning the statue he was working on.

***

Promptly at three, Annie was waiting outside the school for the bell to ring. It had been a bit of a hassle to get out of the building when Mark had, again, caught her in the corridor and asked her to dinner.

Annie had tried to be nice, let him down with a simple, “I’m sorry, but I really need to pick up my daughter,” but Mark had continued to follow and hound her and ask after different dates and times until Annie had come to a stop a few feet away from where Stanley and another security guard stood watching. At that point, she’d had enough. “Mr. St. Pierre. I am not now, nor at any time in the future will I ever be interested in dating you. Please do not ask me again, and I would thank you to keep your hands to yourself from now on. Good day, sir!”

She stalked off fuming and still had not calmed sufficiently to be dealing with her excited five-year-old. When her phone rang, and she glanced down to find Janice, Jack’s mama and Teddy’s grandmother calling, Annie sent her to voicemail.

That was the last thing she needed to deal with right this second. Janice could wait until after dinner, giving Annie time to gird her loins and Teddy time to calm down after the excitement of the day.

When her phone rang a second time, Annie sighed, shut off the ringer and rubbed her forehead before pulling her hair out of the sleek updo. Janice was going to be impossible to deal with after ignoring her twice, and her hair was giving her a headache.

The mass tumbled down to the middle of her back, and Annie breathed a sigh of relief.

When the bell rang, Annie pasted on a smile and walked closer with the other waiting moms, or in some cases, nannies she was sure, but then the doors burst outward, and all the troubles of her day vanished in the light of Teddy’s smile.

“Mama!” she cried, arms out as she raced toward Annie.

“Hey, darling! How was your day?” Annie asked, crouching down to hug Teddy so tight the girl giggled.

“It was great, mama! Mr. Evans is so nice!” She leaned closer and whispered in Annie's ear, “Don’t tell no one, but he let me wear his sunglasses.”

“Did he now?” Annie smiled and glanced up to see Mr. Evans making his way through the sea of children and adoring women.

They all touched him, a hand to his arm or shoulder, but he excused himself each time, stating he would have to speak with them later, avoiding everyone with skill.

“Teddy! Wait!” he called, a package of papers in his hand. “Annie,” he said with a slightly crooked smile.

“Mr. Evans,” she smirked.

“Chris, please,” he murmured, holding out the papers. “We need you to fill out these forms for Teddy’s school record. Health insurance, emergency contact, all that.”

“I'm pretty sure I already did that,” Annie said, cocking her head. Damn the man had the sexiest blue eyes.

“Really?” he asked, the surprise almost passing as genuine. “Must be some mistake at the office. Would you mind filling them out again?”

A dimple appeared with his cheeky grin which had Annie reaching for the paperwork. She’d always been a sucker for dimples.

He crossed his arms over his chest afterward, causing his shirt to stretch when his incredible pecs seemed about ready to tear straight through the cotton. “How was the first day?”

She licked her lips and lifted her gaze back to his, the boyish grin stating he knew exactly what she’d been admiring. “Had its ups and downs,” Annie said cryptically. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Evans.”

“Chris,” he said, his grin never wavering. “See you tomorrow, Teddy.” He held out his hand, and she gave him a high five.

“You betcha, Mr. Evans!” Teddy chirped and skipped toward the car.

“Annie.” Chris tilted his head, his smile softening.

She arched a brow as she turned away. “Mr. Evans.”

He only laughed and watched her walk away before wading back through the sea of women and kids on his way to the school.

As the door was open, Annie heard him say, “Now, Ms. Cooper. There's no need for a private chat when Duncan is doing just fine. And while I'm flattered by the offer of dinner, Ms. Jones, I'm afraid I'm going to be busy for the foreseeable future.” He smiled, but dismissed them both with a curt nod and headed inside.

Annie made sure Teddy was buckled in before pulling away from the curb, allowing her daughter's cheerful chatter to wash over her on the short drive home.

Annie. Chris hadn't called her by her last name, not once. He always called her Annie.

Next Chapter

[daresplaining]

Luke Cage Countdown: 6 Days

Misty Knight, Armed and Dangerous

    At long last, MCU Misty Knight is getting her sweet bionic arm! This is essentially her origin story, and as such, it will have huge consequences for her life moving forward. Here’s a brief look at her disarming, recovery, and powers in the comics.

    As in the show, in the comics Misty Knight starts her career as a promising young cop, top of her class at police academy, ready to change the world. She serves on the NYPD for six years... until the unthinkable happens. 

Caption: “Memories... years gone now, yet still terribly fresh, clear... Patrolwoman Misty Knight, twelfth precinct, NYPD, working the day shift.”

Bystander: “My god-- that man-- he’s thrown a bomb!”

Caption: “Reaction. Fast... instinctive. Futile.”

Iron Fist vol. 1 #6 by Chris Claremont, John Byrne, and Karen Mantlo

    Misty is unable to dispose of the bomb in time, and her right arm is caught in the ensuing explosion. Her partner, Rafael Scarfe, manages to keep her alive until paramedics arrive, but she wakes up in the hospital irrevocably changed.   

Misty: “Damn you, Colleen-- I’m half-a-woman now, a freak!”

Deadly Hands of Kung Fu vol. 1 #33 by Chris Claremont and Marshall Rogers

    Misty is shattered by the loss of her arm. She sinks into a deep depression, feeling like she is now weak and worthless. Her best friend Colleen attempts to bolster her spirits and help her regain her self-confidence, both through encouragement and some well-intentioned butt-kicking, but Misty remains convinced that she’s damaged goods and no use to anyone. This attitude, along with the painful memories of her accident, haunts her for years afterward. The violence in her life often plunges her back into that moment of pain and loss, and she harbors a sense of anger and loathing about everything surrounding the event and anything that reminds her of it-- including her own perceived deficiencies. 

“Misty Knight, first in her class at the academy, B.A. in criminology at John Jay... holder of the NYPD Medal of Honor... twice wounded in the line of duty... and forcibly retired after six years service. After all, what good is a one-armed lady cop?”

Iron Fist vol. 1 #7 by Chris Claremont, John Byrne, and Bonnie W.

    Much later, when Misty's arm is damaged again, she reacts in much the same way, showing that on a subconscious level, she’s still recovering.  

Colleen: “You’ve crawled up inside your head... again. Focus your anger on something positive.”

Misty: “Colleen, save the zen master speech. Seriously. I don’t want to hear it.”

Colleen: “Your father wouldn’t understand why you’re not a cop anymore. [...] You could go back to the force right now and they’d be happy to have you, but the problem isn’t in your arm, it’s in your head.”

Daughters of the Dragon #4 by Justin Gray, Jimmy Palmiotti, Khari Evans, and Christina Strain

    Misty leaves her police career behind, and starts a slow healing process, largely facilitated by the creation of (K)Nightwing Restorations, a freelance detective agency she co-runs with Colleen. This new career gives her a chance to prove to the world, and more importantly, to herself, that she is still capable of working and making a difference. 

    In addition, though it serves as a daily reminder of what she has lost, Misty’s life is also improved by her brand-new super-awesome robot arm! 

“The girl had said Misty’s arm had exploded. Well, why not? Why shouldn’t a robot arm explode when it’s riven with nuclear fireblasts? Because that’s what it is-- a robot arm. On a human woman.”

Iron Fist vol. 1 #3 by Chris Claremont, John Byrne, and Don Warfield

    In the comics, by the time we meet Misty she has already had her arm for several years, so we miss out on the details of its initial installment. But we know that it is Stark technology, and thus state-of-the art for its time. It is super durable, operates with all the ease of a real arm, and it grants Misty a degree of super-strength only limited by basic physics. Since the rest of her is squishy and human, she can push, pull, and smash with her arm, but it doesn’t allow her to lift extra heavy things, or do anything that would put tension on other parts of her body. 

Misty: “Blast! I’m overshootin’ the wall. Gotta grab this stanchion as I go by-- use my bionic arm to stop me-- an’ hope the non-bionic rest o’ me can take the strain.”

Power Man #49 by Chris Claremont, John Byrne, F. Mouly, et al.

    However, over the years her arm has been upgraded to be more than just extra muscle. 

Tony: “This arm is a superior design. I should have called Misty for an upgrade sooner, but I’ve been busy. The exterior is diamond interlaced with Vibranium. It is harder, lighter and stronger. I’ve had them install a pain dampener so if something like this happens again her nervous system won’t be harmed.”

Daughters of the Dragon #4 by Justin Gray, Jimmy Palmiotti, Khari Evans, and Christina Strain

    These days, it can do such fancy things as generate magnetic fields and energy blasts, and interface-- both physically and at a distance-- with computers. It operates as essentially a Swiss Army arm, making Misty an even more formidable crime-fighter than she already was. 

Misty: “These originals were mechanized, a mix of Stark tech and counterfeit crap. Plenty of brawn. But no common sense, apparently. Fine. I’d just have to do the thinking for them. [...] I had Stark tech of my own. Made me very persuasive to A.I.”

Black Panther and the Crew (2017) #1 by Ta-Nehisi Coates, Butch Guice, and Dan Brown

    Plus, of course, it looks awesome. Initially, likely due to her insecurities, Misty had a flesh-colored coating over the arm, disguising its true nature. But nowadays, she usually keeps the metal exposed-- probably for a variety of reasons: It’s common knowledge among the superhero and supervillain communities that she has a bionic arm, so hiding it would be pointless, it looks cooler this way, and her attitude toward it has changed. The arm is a part of her now, and she is no longer ashamed of it. 

    99.9% of the time, Misty’s arm is presented as a permanent fixture. It is attached to her body the way a biological arm would be, when it is damaged she experiences pain, and it presents serious problems when it... say... gets caught on giant electromagnets. 

Misty: “It’s no use! That magnet is stronger than I am. The only way I’ll get free is by pulling my own arm off.”

Power Man and Iron Fist vol. 1 #66 by Mary Jo Duffy, Kerry Gammill, and Glynis Wein

    However, the remaining 0.1% is Jeremy Whitley’s approach in his Secret Wars: Secret Love story. Here, the arm is presented more like a typical prosthesis, and is removable. In the final scene, we see Misty relaxing with her arm off-- which seems way more comfortable than the alternative. 

Secret Wars: Secret Love, “Misty and Danny Forever” by Jeremy Whitley and Gurihiru

    Since this interpretation is in the minority, and directly opposes the way her arm is presented everywhere else, it likely will not stick. However, there is something appealing about it. Misty is a disabled character, and her bionic arm tends to feel like a quick fix-- a super cool quick fix, of course, but there are a lot of comics where, in terms of both art and writing, it’s easy to forget that she’s even an amputee. “Misty and Danny Forever” does a great job of spending what little time it has on exploring Misty’s life experience as a disabled person. It doesn’t rehash her trauma and self-loathing from the earlier comics-- she has largely healed from that, as is natural-- but it does bring up little day-to-day inconveniences that most Misty comics don’t address. 

Misty: “It looked so beautiful in the store.”

Colleen: “It is beautiful.”

Misty: “I know. It’s me. It’s the arm. It slides right off the metal. [...] Colleen, I can’t do this.”

    Whitley discusses his reasons for this change in this interview: 

“I think for the most part that comics view disability as a thing to be fixed. If a person is injured, their parts can be swapped out for cybernetic ones or they can be magically healed and everything is better. The reality of living with a disability is much different. While her cybernetic arm makes her super strong, it is also bound to have effects on her life. Self-image is just one of those things. [...] It was also very important to me that in the last page, Misty does not have her arm. She is having an intimate night with her husband, getting her hair done, and snuggling up to go to sleep. First off, we’re talking about a large, bulky metal arm. Secondly, the thing has a lot of moving parts and is sure to make noise. I think the visual of a superheroic woman of color with her arm missing is very powerful.” 

    Again-- this is one isolated, unique interpretation. But we’ve always found it compelling. 

    Now, we are finally getting Misty’s sweet robot arm in glorious live action, and we cannot wait. To start, it looks great. The design is fantastic-- still futuristic, as it should look to emphasize its state-of-the-art-ness, but it also looks realistic. The fact that it seems to be some form of plastic/carbon fiber rather than metal, and the sleeve-like part where you can see how it’s attached to what’s left of her biological arm, both provide the illusion of this being actual prosthetic technology. It’s possible that this arm will, just like 616 Misty’s first arm, only be super strong. But there ain’t nothing wrong with that.  

    (The level of detail on this thing is breathtaking. Wow.) 

    We also know that this new arm will be-- gasp-- Rand technology! We’ve been excited about this idea for a long time, so we were thrilled when it was hinted in the last episode of The Defenders. Usually we’re sticklers for comics accuracy, but this change makes perfect sense. It keeps Misty’s story tied to the Netflix corner of the MCU (we’d love for these shows to cross over with the movies, but in this case staying close to home will allow for more freedom in telling this specific story). It is also a wonderful bit of bonding between Misty and Danny, who have had distressingly few interactions so far in this universe. The whole idea of him commissioning the arm for her makes us all warm and fuzzy, and regardless of whether this will actually lead to them interacting in this show, it still presents a form of personal connection, which we appreciate. Go check out this delightful Rand Enterprises spotlight on Misty, if you haven’t already! 

    This will be a new chapter in Misty’s life emotionally as well. She will have to cope with having lost a limb, and all that that implies. Like in the comics, she should be in for a difficult time, because experiencing this kind of trauma is world-altering. There have been several shots in the trailers that suggest a Misty who is coping well and recovering, which is a big relief. But that can’t come too quickly, because that’s not realistic. We also have moments like the one above, which suggest turmoil. We also have this great Daughters of the Dragon scene, which suggests that Misty may be suffering from insecurity, and which Colleen may be using tough love to treat (just like in the comics). And while we know that Misty will still be operating as a cop in some capacity, it will be interesting to see how she approaches this, and how long it will last. Misty’s story is only just beginning, and for us, she is one of the people we’re most excited to see again this season.   

[myselfinserts]

“You have been particularly nasty on this one.”

“And just where the hell are you going?”

“Back to play pretend. Dinner’s in the fucking fridge.”

“And that’s what happened,” Étienne concluded. “After that, he went back to the SF, and since then I’ve been staying later at the Atelier just so we don’t aggravate things further. He’s usually asleep by the time I get back, and in the mornings we usually alternate between who leaves first based on his cafe menu and how long I need to work on a project on site, so avoiding him in the morning has been easier”

“I see…” 

Grégory had just gotten off a session with Ceri at the Secret Felines the day before, having heard the entire story from his perspective. He didn’t want to end up telling either side if they were right or wrong, but he wanted to get both sides of the story to find out for sure if there was a right or wrong. In the meantime, he simply told Ceri what he felt would be most helpful; be honest about his feelings and apologize for the hurtful actions he took. 

By the looks of things, Grégory was on the right track. 

Étienne let out a sigh, taking another sip of his coffee. “Did you really call me out here just to hear about a fight I had with Ceri? I’d have thought he told you everything.”

“As a therapist to your lover, Ceri is my main concern, and his focus and point of view is important during our sessions.” Grégory smiled fondly. “But as both his friend and your old college pal, it hurts to hear when my friends are fighting. So I wanted to make sure I had all the details before I settled on anything concrete.”

“Last I checked, we weren’t exactly ‘pals’ back then,” Allard grumbled. “And what exactly have you concluded, dare I ask?”

Grégory shook his head. “You’re not gonna like it.”

“Just spit it out.”

“Alright.” He leaned forward slightly. “To be completely frank, Étienne, you have been particularly nasty on this one.”

Étienne glared at him. “Excuse me?”

“I just never expected you of all people to insult someone’s work. At least, not the work of someone you care about, I mean. Especially considering how often I’ve heard you praise Ceri’s cooking and customer service skills before.”

“I…hmph.” He glanced away, focusing on the last few drops of his drink. “Perhaps I did go a tad too far…”

Grégory cautiously reached out, lightly giving his friend a pat on the head and letting his quirk work its magic as he lightly ran his fingers through his hair. “You weren’t the only one in the wrong here, however. Ceri also pushed to far and crossed too many boundaries this time.” When he was certain Étienne was fully relaxed, he removed his hand from the blond curls. “By the looks of things, it seems like this goes beyond household chores. What it’s really about is communication and boundaries.”

“Seriously?”

“You remember what you told me? You told me Ceri wanted you to actually talk through the issue. He wants you to open up to him about things. And based on what I’ve heard of this little incident, you have been pretty closed off as of late.” He took another sip of his drink, motioning politely for a refill when the waitress walked past. “At the same time, there’s something you feel you can’t communicate to him. As for what that could be, I don’t know. I’m not your therapist, so you’re not under any pressure or obligation to tell me as a medical professional. But as your friend, I can only assume it has something to do with the Atelier. Maybe something to do with level of involvement? Too much perhaps?” He raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe…not quite enough?” 

“…You always were annoyingly perceptive,” Étienne said coldly. “Hours spent stalking the support students paid off, I suppose?”

“Very much so.”

“Fuck off, Laplace.”

Grégory let out a chuckle. “Look, how long has it been since you two actually talked? Or hell, even looked each other in the face?”

Étienne paused mid sip. “I suppose four days. Five if you count today.”

“Then just start small. Apologize for calling Ceri’s work a game. And maybe give him a hug. Then the two of you can work it out from there at your own pace.”

“…I didn’t ask you for a therapy session, Laplace.”

“This isn’t a therapy session,” Grégory assured. “This is just two friends talking about love life troubles over coffee.” He smirked playfully. “Want me to tell you about my recent heartbreak? It’s quite the tearjerker.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely not.”

“Was worth a shot.” He finished another cup quickly. “And though I’m not your therapist, I appreciate it that you felt that you could talk to me about this.”

Étienne let out a soft ‘tch’, setting his cup down and pulling out his wallet. “I had already talked to someone else before you. A few others in fact.”

This is new. A total departure from college. “And what did they say?”

“Nothing to concern yourself with.”

They told him something similar, I’m assuming. “Well, it’s nice to know you have a support circle. Having friends you can talk to about these sort of things is nothing short of a gift.” Grégory swiped the tab. “And coffee’s on me, today.”

“You know, I liked you better when you barely talked in school.”

“I get that a lot.” 

Grégory stood at the door, trying to mentally prepare himself for whoever it was that answered. It’d been nearly three weeks since he’d heard from Ceri, and he had to go down to the SF and speak with the staff to find out what exactly had happened. While he was glad to hear his patient and friend was safe and sound, he was irritated that no one thought to call him. 

Still, given Ceri’s past history with disappearing unexpectedly, Grégory didn’t feel confident enough to leave it there. He had to see with his own eyes that he was okay. No one was answering his calls either, which only added to his paranoia. 

And so, that brought him to the Allard residence on that very rainy day. If it turned out that Ceri wasn’t even home, and no one could confirm it, he’d call on the nearest hero to find out the truth. If it turned out Ceri was fine, he’d work with him to continue their sessions as before the best he could. 

With a deep breath, he rang the doorbell. 

Please be okay. Please be okay.

Slowly, the door opened. 

“Um…hello?” Ceri looked the man over in confusion. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

Grégory smiled, finally relaxing. “I’m Grégory Laplace. I’m a friend of Étienne‘s. Is he home?”

“Just a moment.” Ceri looked over his shoulder, just in time for Grégory to see Étienne come into view. “Love, this person says he knows you. Do I use my quirk on him or the knife? He doesn’t seem hostile, despite the scary face.”

This is certainly a more blunt Ceri than before, Grégory thought. Still, progress has happened even without me. Never heard him ask to use his quirk before.

Étienne immediately let out a groan. “Yes, we know Grégory. Let him in.”

“Alright,” he said. Ceri stepped aside, letting him in with a smile. “Come on in and have a seat in the living room. We’re about to have some coffee. I made sachertorte too if you want some.”

“That sounds lovely, thanks.” Grégory stepped in quickly, hanging his coat up and following Étienne to the living room, watching as Ceri hurried into the kitchen again. “So how much does he remember?”

“Enough that he knows we’re married, not enough to remember you, apparently.” Étienne pinched the bridge of his nose, relaxing only a little when the little blonde cat started climbing up to his shoulders. “With everything going on, calling you completely slipped my mind. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m just glad Ceri’s okay.” He smiled fondly. “Is it just the two of you?”

Étienne shook his head. “No, his father is also here, but he’s out with L at the moment picking up a few things. They’ll be back soon. And Chris is keeping me posted on things at the Atelier, so I’ll be able to make arrangements if I have to go in suddenly.” He gave the cat a few scritches under her chin, smiling at the softness of her fur. “It’s been exhausting. I don’t know how we’d have managed without them all.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Grégory said. “Still, try to at least have your assistant shoot me an email next time. I was half-ready to call a search party for Ceri when he stopped showing up at the SF.”

“I’ll be sure to do that.” He looked him over carefully. “I’m guessing that’s why you’re here at my house, soaking wet.”

Grégory looked at himself, finally taking notice of how damp his shoulders and ankles had become. Thankfully, his shoes prevented further leaks. “I suppose I did get a little splashed.”

“Honestly, you’re hopeless.” 

“Not as much as Henri.”

“Oh god, don’t remind me.”

Ceri came back not too long after, carrying a tray with three cups of coffee and a cake ready to be shared. As he started to serve, he stared at Laplace with a curious gleam in his eye. As though he were waiting to ask something. 

“So…uh…” Ceri mumbled. “How do I know you?”

Grégory smiled. “You can check if you’re uncertain, but I’m your therapist.”

“No way. I couldn’t-” he paused, looking slightly confused, before turning bright red, his face looking guilty. “Oh. Oh goodness.”

Étienne rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t have let him in otherwise.” He shot their guest a warning glare. “Please don’t make showing up here unexpectedly a regular thing. Or at all.”

“Noted.” Grégory took a bite of the cake. “Hmh. It’s good.” He noticed Ceri was staring at his husband. “Ceri? Something wrong?”

“Was the fight really that bad?” Ceri asked hesitantly. 

The room went silent. Grégory silently cursed himself for this. He hadn’t realized Ceri didn’t remember that yet. 

Étienne, however, didn’t waste a second. “It was. But we worked through it.” He smiled softly, lightly taking his hand in his. “You needn’t worry. It’ll come back in time. Just know that whatever amount you remember initially, it doesn’t change the outcome. We got through it together, and it doesn’t change how I feel about you. Okay?”

Ceri nodded, lightly leaning against him. “Okay.”

Grégory watched them quietly in awe. He honestly didn’t know what to expect when he got there, but this? This was certainly not at all near even the middle of the list. To see Étienne Allard so…gentle? Soft? Almost tender? He didn’t quite know the word for it. None of those seem to fit what he saw before him. Never did he ever think that the guarded support designer would show such a side of himself so openly. Perhaps it was just because his husband was scared, or that they were alone in their own home and that they knew Laplace wouldn’t gossip about it. Whatever the reason, he couldn’t be sure.

But one thing he knew for certain, was that Ceri was in good hands. 

I guess I got worried for nothing. 

Grégory ended up staying later than expected. Right through dinner time. The conversations were pleasant, and the atmosphere was relaxing, despite the amnesiac elephant in the room. After a brief discussion, it was agreed that Ceri would continue his sessions with Laplace, though they’d be held at the office until he got his whole memory back. 

The rain had cleared up by the time Grégory left them, and as he walked away from the house, he felt a strong calming sensation in his heart. 

Without a doubt, it’s going to be okay.

[iammarylastar]

The Exception. 6. Epilogue 

They had 4 kids, Britany their little Bree, Luke, Adam and Chris. Life took the third back to God just a week after he was born. 

They cried, they mourned, weeks turning into months and Chris came unexpectedly, bringing happiness and joy back to the family.

Stefan stroked the old picture with his thumb.

Mieke and he were standing on the Sydney Bridge, Bree in his arms, Luke in his mother’s. Adam was still growing inside his mother’s womb, little angel who had been ghosting his memories for more than 50 years. 

Cora, as she was used to on each Sunday, took this picture in May 1945, Adam was born in June, about two months early.

They were celebrating the end of that damn war, the World sighed in relief but there was so many wounds to heal.

Europe, Russia had been devastated; Germany and Japan would pay for their faults for decades. Mankind would recover, maybe, and have its dignity and faith in humanity bringing goodness back.

Chris was missing in the black and white picture. He came the year after Adam died. 

Stefan felt a stab in his heart at the reminder. Mieke and he had been more devastated by his lost than any city blown up to ruins by bombings. 

They cried again and again, fighting hell to get up in the morning, trying their best to keep up a smile on their tired faces and raise their other children. Mieke had acted like a ghost for months and all his attempts to cheer her up failed miserably. She closed her heart and her thighs to him, slowly fading away. 

One night where she was silently crying, he took her in his arms and rocked her gently; his chin on the top of her head, whispering soothing love words in her ear as she finally let it go. 

She cried and hit her fists on his chest, biting his shoulder to keep herself from screaming too loudly. She dug her nails deep into his skin, leaving marks, and then slapped his face with all the force she had left. 

Like it was his fault. Like it could be someone’s fault. 

He let her straddle him as she was beating him up, until she crashed down on him, exhausted and panting. He wrapped his wife close to his chest and sat up; combed back her hair damped with tears, stroked lightly her perfect lines, then brushed her lower lips, red from being bitten to blood.

“Mieke, I love you.”

He just said.

She stared at him for a solid minute, reading deep sadness in his eyes, along with hope. And love.

She leant over to brush her lips on his, and then pushed him back to the mattress. Grabbing the hem of her nightdress, she rolled the cloth up her thighs and lifted her ass up to line up with his shaft. Her fingers grasped his pec, and she sighed as she slid down his cock, her eyes never leaving his.

She made love to him, the same way she always had, in their other life.

Chris came 9 full months later. They welcomed this strong young boy, healthy and bald. Happiness filled their house again, along with the cries of the newborn, hungry both for life and milk.

The Kaiser was right; they fought for human rights and equality on each occasion. 

They fought for the rights of the natives, and drove to Canberra that day in 2008, when Kevin Rudd apologized officially for the shameful way Australia treated Aboriginals and the stolen generation.

They fought for the equality between men and women, between all human beings, whatever colour their skin was.

They fought against the ‘gay panic defense’ law, which allowed people to justify a murder in the name of their fear of homosexuals.

More recently they fought for gay and lesbian’s rights, hoping for them to be allowed to get married one day. Love was love after all.

They were involved in several causes and proud to teach this to their children. Goodness and justice as a legacy. 

And Australia was on its way to the fairness she claimed.

Mieke died the year before, in her mid 70s. Breast cancer. At least, he had all his family back home for the funerals.

Stefan let a sob out, it still hurt so much. They had a good life together; they could tell they knew love and happiness. Which he wished to all his children and grand children.

Brittany married twice and gave birth to three girls. She had to follow her latest husband to Perth and he missed his little Bree so much. She called her mom and dad every day by phone or Skype. 

Handwritten letters and much awaited mails were bygone days. He wondered how things would have gone if Mieke had been able to call the Kaiser with her IPhone and get an answer by fax or e-mail within an hour. 

Anyway, the two or three times a year he had them home was never enough to enjoy his beloved daughter and her team, to which he loved telling stories of their mother as a child. She still thought she was born here in Sydney, as written and stamped on her certificate of birth.

Luke had always been a lonely and introvert child, only fully alive when talking about ocean and what’s beyond. He was eager to travel the world, dreaming of being a sailor or working on an oil rig. He loved staying all by himself and told his parents he didn’t feel like he belonged there. He was only 6.

Mieke had cried many rivers, blaming herself not to have been able to take care for him after Adam died, foreseeing their son leaving their household at an early age, which she wouldn’t survive as she repeated again and again. 

She survived though, when he came home at 17, hired as a steward on a yacht, bound for a cruise to French Polynesia. He was over excited, about to ‘live the dream’ , jumping up and down through the house, packing his stuff and shoving them in a big duffle bag.

Pulling his crying mother in a huge hug, he begged, subtly delivering the speech he had prepared for the occasion.

“Mom, this is what makes me happy. I promise I’ll send you postcards from every single place I land on. Mom, please, let me go.”

Stefan looked at the wall where thousands of cards were pinned. There was no country in the world Luke had not put a foot on. 

He tried to settle down in Sydney when he was 30, even took a wife and had a son. But this was not a life for him. He had stayed at bay for 4 years but the ocean screamed his name so loud every fucking day and he had to struggle too hard not to pack and leave within the second.

Chris had always been his favorite. Not really his fav but they always had been very close. Thinking alike, same sense of humour, same skills in teasing and winking, same no skill in taking pics. Mieke was use to mocking them, saying they couldn’t take a good picture to save their lives. 

Chris married a blonde beauty who brought two children into the world. A girl and boy. 

They named their first born Bree, after Chris big sister. And the boy was weirdly called Jai, a name he had never heard before, Stephen as a middle name. Like his beloved grand pa.

Bree had dark eyes and hair, she reminded him of Mieke so much. Smart and beautiful, she wanted to become a teacher like her mother. She was surprisingly -not that much- very skilled in foreign languages.

The boy was the perfect Aussie bloke, blonde curls, amazing blue eyes, sporty, cheeky and kind of a womanizer. He had inherited his frame but looked so much like his mother. Pretty allergic to each foreign language that was not deep accented australian.

He often paid a visit to his grand parents, shamelessly skipping school to sip a beer with his grand pa, chitchatting about girls, life and acting. It had always been his passion, playing someone else, telling stories.

He was chasing the gig, dreaming of a career in Hollywood.

Stefan chuckled. He and Mieke had been very talented at it. Being someone else, telling stories, lying about their roots.

Mieke made him swear to never ever speak about their former life. Too dangerous. The shadow of what happened when they arrived in Sydney haunted her brain and she told him she’d rather kill him than relive those bad times. 

Their deepest secret had laid under a floorboard since they moved in this house, after Luke was born. Sealed like their lips. 

The ID they made whilst in London before leaving, Nietzsche’s 'Beyond good and evil’ he still remembered Mieke’s note and the first page by heart. The letter the Kaiser wrote to save Stefan’s life. The official court decision that made him a free man. Their wedding pic. Few pics of them taking pose with Cora or Marvin before they had to cut ties with them. To keep the secret.

It was a miracle that none of their children or grandchildren ever asked about their roots, their story, where Mieke’s name came from or why she kept calling his husband Stefan instead of Stephen.

The rules of family secrets. No questions.

At some point, he would have to tell his family the truth. 

Stefan Brandt and Mieke De Jong. 

The Kaiser Willem II. The spy, the murders, the war, the run. The real story of Bree’s birth. Her real name. The reason she named all her dolls Cora. The real reason why Luke lived for sailing. Running from Oz to find where he was really from. 

The reason why Jai wanted to be somebody else for a living.

The real story of the Courtney’s.

@captstefanbrandt @kenzieam @beautifulramblingbrains @pathybo @beltz2016 @bookwarm85 @jaicourtneyseyes @oddsnendsfanfics @frecklefaceb @writingismyhappytime @badassbaker @anditcametopass @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995

@tigpooh67 @societalfailure @singingpeople

[j-hankim]

A Father’s Love

I woke up this morning crying. Rubbing the crust and tears off my eyes, I was grateful to be alive. I was relieved to be back in reality. The clock shows 9:30 and just another Sunday. The date marks June 9th, 2019. It was all a dream and no I never did read Word Up! Magazine.

I suppose I’ve always been a vivid dreamer. Sometimes I wish I had an artist’s soft and controlled touch so I could paint these pictures I see in my dreams but I suppose only words will do for now.

Closing my eyes again takes me back to the apocalyptic world that I dreamt about. Raindrops give kisses to the windows like a jazz percussionist’s soft touch on a snare. The sound is almost hypnotic if you were to listen carefully. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Your feet could bounce to its cadence if you paid close enough attention. Outside the confines of this vehicle however, the outside world is less serene. The sky bleeds with grim, dark clouds. You could almost smell it in the air. You might even be able to taste it if you tried hard enough. “It” being an impending storm and It’s stewing in the background. A tornado spins off in the distance, picking up wind and the water around it, but being who I am, I glanced at the danger, glanced away, and minded it no attention.

The van we’re sitting in isn’t the most comfortable either but it’s serviceable. We as in, my dad and I. It’s probably a good time to mention that my dad and I are one of many passengers on this van. My trance from nature’s percussion breaks as my dad tells me to be careful as if he can feel some impending doom. Per usual, I don't mind it much attention. At that moment, I shake my head and thinking, "So random. He's always such a worry wart..." A lot of my redeeming qualities are from my dad but in this case and comparison, I suppose I'm more of the type to just roll with the punches and take things as they come. Why worry? Everything in this life is up to the Man upstairs anyways. The only certainty is rooted in Christ. 

Uncertainty is bounded by anything and everything else.

Where are we going in the first place? Why am I in a van? Our destination is unknown but it feels like a trip we had been planning for a while. The worn, grey cloth seats in the large passenger van welcome crashing waves of nostalgia. It's the same kind of car I've taken countless road trips with my second family, the church. A fond memory of my childhood it is, falling asleep on the shoulders of friends (and childhood crushes. Oops.), belting Chris Tomlin lyrics, and the excitement of traveling with the people near and dear to you.

After a few moments of daydreaming and pensively looking out the window, I snap out of my daze and see that our vehicle approaching a narrow bridge. As we reach its midpoint, I instantly feel a shadow creeping behind me. The temperature drops and there's a chill like a winter's breeze but I know it can't be just wind. This wind is more than just bite. There's no way it’s the twister I saw before but minded no attention to. I’m right but I wish I was wrong.

I look outside and a tidal wave extends past my uppermost view of the back window.  

The towering wave beings to casts a shadow over our van and I think, "Is this it?"

My dad shouts “우리 하나. 안돼!” and everything goes black as the tidal wave engulfs our van.

*** For those of you readers that aren’t Korean, he said, “No! My son”, using my Korean name.

Everything turns black and we're submerged. Fight or flight kicks in as I quickly gather my senses, shelve my emotions, and remind myself there’s no time for panic. I immediately look for my backpack and grab the black Avtomat Kalashnikova pocket knife I always carry on my person. With its metal handle, I meet the back of the van’s window with desperation. After a few valiant attempts, the window runs deep with hairline cracks like a spider's web and cold-water rushes as if it’s in a hurry. Such a thin line between Life and Death, both wait for no one.

As the vehicle starts to sink and the water rushes in from above, I abruptly get pushed up from below. Without a question, I climb out and start swimming to the surface. The push for survival feels like an eternity but I begin to see a hazy light off in the distance and above me. Bearing resemblance to an abandoned streetlight on a foggy night’s day, I know it’s the light at the end of the tunnel. These feeble arms grow heavy but I continue swimming upwards, refusing Death’s tempting arms. As I gasp for air above the water and finally pull myself ashore, a vision comes and brings me to my knees. In some way, the truth makes me wish I succumbed to temptation and welcomed Death’s arms. Like a movie flashback, a scene shows our van slowly sinking to the bottom of the water with several other windows broken in.

It’s hard to say what exactly happened in the van (it’s a dream after all…) but in that moment, I knew that my dad broke the other windows for the rescue of others. I knew he was the one behind the aforementioned push from below. I knew he gave his life to save his only son. Only until I met fellow survivors ashore did the reality of his sacrifice hit me. Like a horror move on VCR, the scenes rewinded on loop in my headspace and I broke down. End scene.

It's not like I had some sort of life epiphany on a Sunday, 9:30 in the morning. Rather, the whole experience and the rollercoaster wave of emotions was sobering. Moving. Refreshing.

I cried not only because of the mourning of my father in this dream but because I was moved by a father's love for his child. I know without a doubt that if this situation played out in real life, he would have done the exact same.

I come from a background of immigrant parents that left everything they had in their home country, familiarity and especially comfort. All this for the pursuit of happiness and a better opportunity. In the 1980s, my father fled the streets of Seoul knowing the fast-life led to only two options: death or behind bars. Around the same time, my mother had left her cushy corporate career to pursue her life-long dream to become a fashion designer. Her uncle lived in New York as a pharmacist at the time and said, “Come here and follow your dream. I’ll provide room/board for you.” She ended up studying in New York for a year until she ran out of money and her visa neared its expiration date at the same time. They were introduced by a mutual friend at a Korean immigrant church in the city of Rockville. Church wedding bells would ring only three months later. Their decision to get married was driven by necessity and a lack of choice rather than “love”, a common theme in many immigrant households. 

A Greybound bus rumbles down the New Jersey Turnpike as I wrap up this blog post. The timing of it all is a bit poetic, having this dream a week before Father’s Day and finishing it at the conclusion of our weekend trip. This getaway to New York City is significant and sentimental because it’s the first vacation my dad has had in over 30 years. His brother’s shop, a quiet dry cleaner’s in Southeast DC, is currently going through some re-leasing so he’s been decommissioned from his humble duty of cleaning and pressing garments for a few weeks now. His callous hands date back to the 1983. You could tell if you met him. His body and demeanor is inked with hard-work and diligence. The wear and tear of his job approaches 40 years now. We shared an embrace earlier today. We hugged for a moment after packing our things in our cozy hotel room in Korea Town, NYC. I told him Happy Father’s Day. He smiled and told me this weekend is the happiest he’s been in a long time. 

If you knew me when I was in my early 20s, you’d know this weekend would’ve been something conceived out of pure fantasy. I think we often get naïve with blinding pride and a lack of knowledge. Our young age usually shows when with a lack of understanding, ignorance in other words. Until a couple year ago, the relationship with my father was very distant and broken due to misunderstanding, largely by me in retrospect. If you’re close to me or life has compelled me to open to you, you might know how God has turned a new leaf within me. 

My change of heart wasn’t just a transformation of faith but a newly formed relationship with my dad. A relationship that is now grounded in faith, understanding, and listening. 

Back in 2011, University of Maryland quoted 19th-century writer/philosopher Henry David Thoreau and asked its college applicants, “What’s your something?” What’s your purpose in life? 

In ignorance fueled by blinded bitterness and angst, I stated that everyone can be a father but not everyone can be a Dad. A long 8 years ago, I wrote how my purpose in life is to become the man my father never was. The father he never was. The husband he never was. I wanted to give my children everything that I didn’t have growing up. I scorned my father and slandered his name. The passion I had but the knowledge I did not.

Since then, I’ve learned that forgiveness is a two-way street. After a rocky first year of college, God stirred something within me and compelled me to live with him in 2012. In that time, my father asked for forgiveness which I begrudgingly accepted. Living with him was hard and that relationship was never fully healed until 2014 or so.

At that time, Corey Matthews was a humble, soft-spoken manager at CarMax. We crossed paths because I worked here part-time while attending school. On a slow weekday night, we ended up candidly shared our life experiences and history. To my surprise, I found out he was also a professing Christian and we shared our testimonies. He would reveal to me that he also had a broken relationship with his father. That relationship never progressed until he asked for forgiveness. Not his father but COREY himself asked for forgiveness. He encouraged me to do the same, ask my father for forgiveness.

What?!?!

Me ask for forgiveness? Why? He’s the one that wronged me. He’s the one that wasn’t around. As I grew into my adolescence and teen years, I was envious of all the other dads I saw around in school and even at church. All those sports I played in high school, where was he?

Who taught me how to ride a bike?

Dribble a basketball?

Throw a baseball? I got onto Varsity HS baseball all by myself as a pitcher.

How about how to go on my first date?

How to drive stick? All ME…

If you’re a 90s baby, you’ll probably think fondly of The Fresh Prince of Bel Air.

In season four, there’s an iconic scene from the episode “Papa's Got a Brand New Excuse”.  

Will's father, Lou Smith, returns to his son's life after 14 years. Will is very happy about the chance to reconnect with his father, and the two start to plan a cross country trip together. Uncle Phil however, is not happy about the situation, believing that Lou has returned for his own selfish purposes and will most likely disappoint Will again. This proves to be true as Lou tries to leave again without telling anyone, and after building up his relationship with his son, but is caught by Phil. Lou is forced to explain the truth to Will and leaves, leaving Will heartbroken and wondering why his own father doesn't want him.

If you’re reading this, I highly recommend checking out the episode or at least the scene on YouTube. 

I even remember I got into a big argument with him in elementary school and I told him, “Why are you talking to me? Do you even know my favorite color? My favorite animal?” He quietly went away after my outburst. I knew what I was asking of him and knew he would be speechless. I was so young and so naïve… At times, little children can be more hurtful than adults. 

Corey challenged me to look within myself and ask where I fell short of perfection. All the time, no? Where I fell short as a son. Where I fell short as a sinner. In His 5th commandment, God called His people to honor your father and your mother. Corey challenged me to show grace because He showed us grace first. In 1 John 4:19 it says, we love because He loved us first.

My righteous justification slowly dissolved to humility at that moment because I realized Corey was right. Corey said with confidence that the relationship with my father would NEVER progress and reach full circle unless I ask him for forgiveness. I had sinned against my father in my bitterness, slander, and hatred and I needed to ask for forgiveness to both fathers, earthly and Heavenly. I did indeed ask him for forgiveness and there has been a 180 in our relationship.

Remember that statement I made in 2011? How my “something” in life is to be the man my father never was? 

After asking for forgiveness and softening my calloused heart, I quickly realized what my father had done in all those years. Those lost hours in my childhood was due to his selflessness rather than selfishness. He worked 10 to 12 hour days to put food on the table as the owner of a small dry cleaner while my mom came home at 2:00pm like clockwork to pick me up from school. Those experiences I missed out on? He dearly wished to share those with me but being a small business owner didn’t allow him too. The laundry list goes on with what he wished he had done but couldn’t due to circumstance. 

The beauty behind the turned leaf is how my something is now to be the man my father is. My purpose in life is to be like the man already was. He was never just a father. He was always my dad…

For those that are reading and have broken relationships with your fathers, I challenge you to look within yourself and see where you have fallen short. Grace and love go a long way and our Creator calls us to forgive. I’m not saying you should try to change 180 degrees overnight. My change was a gradual process that started with a changed mindset. A mindset that stemmed from open-mindedness and humility. I believe that if my calloused heart changed, with some dedication and perspective, yours can change too.

For those that are reading and do not have a father, whether they have been absent or no longer alive, know that you have a Heavenly father that desires to be present in your life. People in this life will always let you down but God never does. He is always present and always there. This God created you in His image and with a purpose for that reason. The Gospel presents a Father that gave his only Son, Jesus, to die for us sinners. Sinners that are undeserving of anything good and deserving of eternal condemnation because of the fall of Man. However, because of His love for his creation and his people and the sacrifice of His son, you are greeted with open arms and an eternal purpose if you believe this to be true.  Jesus paid the price through His blood and it as because of His unconditional love for us.

For those that are reading, have a present father, but you’ve been neglecting your Heavenly Father, I challenge you to reconnect with Him. Christianity is the only religion that emphasizes a true relationship with your God. I know I fall short every day and I tell myself I’ll do better. Some days I do and some days I don’t. If you can get into the cycle of self-loathing like I do at times, be reminded that God shows us love and grace so we should do the same for ourselves.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading and I really hope these words speak truth into you. My inbox is always open for a wholesome DM if you’re curious about the Christian faith. This is the Good News and this is the truth if you’ve been searching for answers your whole life with no luck.

Happy Father’s Day.

- Josh

06/16/2019

[imyourliquor-youremypoison]

Off Limits (Skam - Chris x OC) Epilogue

Pairing: Chris x OC

Synopsis: Mara Magnusson has always had everything she ever wanted in her life, except for one thing. The boyish charm of her brother’s childhood friend had wrecked her poor heart and ruined her for any other guy – you can trust her, she has tried. She could see the way he looked at her, though she knew there were rules about not hitting on your best friend’s little sister. Luckily for her, there were no restrictions when it was the other way around.

Word count: 4.9k

A/N: THERE IT IS i’m sorry it took so long, I never thought it’d turn out this long. This ‘short’ epilogue somehow became the longest part of the story and I genuinely can’t say what happened. It could be a oneshot on its own - it’s detailed like that. There’s a big time jump at the beginning but I made sure to fill in what you missed ;)

Warning: all the otherfucking fluff; I hope you have a sweet tooth or else this is gonna give you some raging toothache.

MASTERLIST

Part 21 <<<

A few years later...

Mara continuously tried to grab the salt from Chris' hand while he kept adding some to the vegetables but he raised the hand holding the salt jar too high for her to reach it. He laughed when he heard her use her threatening voice and call his name as she gave him the look.

“Stop adding salt!” She pestered him but it served only to make him smile wider as he watched her struggle to try and grab the salt – and fail.

“I'm the cook and I say it needs more salt,” he replied, stepping closer to her only to look at her from under his nose as if he were a great chef whose authority no one could contest.

He motioned to add another sprinkle of salt when Mara literally threw herself at him and grabbed his arm to stop him.

“It'll be too salty, Chris!” She argued, miserably failing at her attempt to keep him from reaching  the jar of salt.

Even with their arms entangled and Mara's constant screaming, Chris managed to do as he pleased. He was smirking in victory and momentarily lowered his guard – it was enough for Mara to ceased the opportunity and confiscate the salt once and for good.

“Ha! Ha!” She exclaimed, holding her trophy against her chest so it would be safe from Chris' light fingers.

“Get out of my kitchen you vertically challenged thief!” Chris told her, chasing her off and he grabbed a napkin and threw it over his shoulder.

He was still much more skilled in the cooking field than Mara, although she tried her best and often helped him – even if she suspected he enjoyed his role of chef and only assigned her simple tasks which never allowed her to actually improve. With a twirl and a laughter Mara left him to his task – with the salt – and Chris had to repress a somewhat annoyed but fond sigh.

She didn't go farther than the other side of the kitchen island, where William sat and rolled his eyes at his sister and his best friend's antics. He felt like he was intruding but at the same time he wanted to be included a little more.

“Stop it, you guys!” He told them. “I didn't come all the way here from London to watch you go all domestic on me,” he said with a dramatic tone.

Chris ignored him – or maybe he simply didn't hear over the sound of the stove and the food cooking – and Mara merely shot him an innocent smile and took place on the seat beside his, leaning on the counter and letting her hand hang from the edge. William's eyes automatically switched to the eye catching ring on his sister's finger, like every time it caught the light, and was once again reminded of the fact that she was married to this dumbass over there.

“Why did you come then, brother?” Mara asked him, nudging him playfully. She set the salt down on the counter and chuckled, “certainly not for Chris' salty cooking.”

“I heard that!” Chris shouted. “And it's not too salty, it's perfect salty.”

“You're doing it again!” William cut them off before Mara could answer something silly and endearing, because he still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that his little sister was married to Penetrator Chris. He sort of got used to it, but it still blew his mind away.

“Says the one who looks at Noora like she's the sun and stars of your world!” Mara replied, poking Will's arm. “I know you think nobody notices when you gaze at her in awe, but we do.”

“So what? At least I keep quiet, you two are horribly keen on PDAs, it's like Senior year all over again,” he said in disgust, even letting a shiver run through his body.

“Shut up, or I'll take your beer,” Mara warned him and William, although he seemed unimpressed, brought his drink slightly closer to him.

“If you do that I'll go grab the Tequila – we already have the salt,” William shot back but still lifted the beer to his mouth.

It was the only beer left because Chris had invited his friends over this week to watch a game on TV, and they drank all of their alcohol. And he forgot to buy more, which meant they were left with one beer, and various kinds of strong alcohols – but Mara was nowhere near pouring them a glass of vodka on Christmas Eve before dinner. If the others wanted to make the most of the night and get hammered afterwards while singing vulgar versions of Christmas songs then so be it, but not before dessert.

“When is Noora's plane supposed to land?” Mara inquired, moving the conversation to a safer subject. “Should we pick her up?”

“She said she'd take a taxi,” he said. He didn't like the idea, it was written all over his face. “She should be there soon,” he declared after taking a look at his wrist watch and frowning.

He was so protective of her, Chris often teased him for it then asked Mara to slap some sense into him if he ever turned into an overprotective mother bear with her. Most of the time she snorted and reminded him that it was needless to tell her because chances were she would do it with or without his permission.

“Glaring at your watch won't make her come quicker,” she reminded him, laughing silently. “She's a big girl.”

“She's twenty minutes late,” he stated flatly, apparently not in the mood for jokes anymore now that he noticed how late it was.

“It's Christmas Eve, she probably had some trouble finding a taxi, 'is all,” Chris said when he walked round the island to grab the salt from under Mara's nose and squeeze her waist in the process. She gestured to her eyes then to his to show him she was watching him and his abusive use of salt but smiled thankfully for his intervention.

His word always weighted a lot in the decisions William was taking. Whether it be professional or personal, ever since the huge fight they had when Mara and Chris told him they were dating – it felt like a lifetime ago – they made it their priority to never hide anything important from each other again and asked for one another's opinion all the time.

Mara felt a little discriminated against since she was concerned too and was still left out of this tacit deal – though she still applied it with Chris. William on the other hand, had taken his distance since he moved away, and even if the two siblings were tight and loved each other, it wasn't the same as when they were foolish teenagers living together and throwing parties like no one else – no one but Chris, that is.

“Will, relax, I can see the vein on your forehead throb,” Mara pointed out with a faint wince and William finished his beer. “Well I hope you enjoyed it.”

He hummed in response and pulled out his phone to check if Noora sent him a text he might have missed. A soft knock on the door sufficed to make the tension leave his features and William jumped off the kitchen stool so abruptly he almost knocked his empty bottle of beer down. Mara caught it right before it fell, out of sheer reflex and when she looked up, ready to throw the bottle at Will's face, she met Chris' stunned expression as he was giving her an impressed little smirk.

“Ninja,” Mara said, placing it back on the counter. “He needs to chill, he's tight as a string!”

“Let it go Mara, you know how he is when it comes to Noora,” Chris told her with a shrug. “Come help me while he greets her, it'll probably take a while-”

“-especially if they decide to hide in the closet to make out,” she finished his sentence for him and they laughed at the expense of their friends, referring to the early stage of their relationship when they tried to hide it from everyone – besides Mara and Chris who were let in on the secret.

“Do we have a closet in the hallway?” He asked in a much too serious tone for someone who's been living here his entire life.

“Yes we do, Chris!” Mara said, her brows shooting up. “You are way too used to having a housekeeper.”

He shrugged but didn't say anything, what was there to say anyway? He really was a spoiled brat, he knew that, she knew that, everybody knew that.

“Will you call me stupid if I tell you I like it when you say 'we'?” She asked out of the blue. “I don't even know why I'm asking, of course you'll make fun of me.”

“It's so corny, Mara,” Chris joked. Mara leaned against him before helping him finish dinner as they kept talking. “You realize we're married right? Like, I'm your husband of two years, haven't you gotten used to the 'we' thing?”

“I just love to be reminded,” she said dreamily, though a little grossed out by her own lameness. She couldn't help herself.

“Contrary to William,” Chris coughed out, just in case his friend was within earshot. “His left eyebrow twitching every time he looks at your hand.”

“Oh my god, are you serious? I'll make sure to play with my glass during dinner, I need to see this for myself,” Mara giggled while stirring the pot of vegetable.

The conversation fell silent for the next couple minutes. There wasn't much left to do, the meat was in the oven, the sauce ready, the veggies cooking, the salad on the table and Chris' hands had nothing to do except grab Mara by the waist and pull her away from the stove and right into his arms. A breathy yelp tumbled from her lips when she felt herself being pulled from the middle and she dropped the wooden spoon seconds before her back hit Chris' chest. She felt his breath brush against her ear and his hands move up and down her body, from her navel to her plexus, making her melt in his embrace.

“Now's not the time to have wandering hands, that's for later,” she reminded him, biting on her lip and turning around to wrap her hands around his neck.

She always played with the hair on his neck and Chris had to admit it was the little things like this that drove him crazy about her. Mara also hadn't stopped biting her lip and if she genuinely wanted to make him stop touching her, she should cut it too.

“How many meals do you think we burnt because we somehow end up having sex instead of eating like normal people?” He wondered out loud. “Also, how boring are other people's lives if they have dinner instead of sex?”

“I stopped counting, and I'll think about this philosophical question later because today we can't afford to burn the food.”

“Did somebody say food?” Noora asked in excitement as she finally walked in, William following her shortly.

“Noora!” Mara exclaimed and rushed toward her friend to hug her. It had been so long since the last time they saw each other in real life.

Skype calls simply didn't do the trick when you missed your best friend. She hadn't changed one bit apart from her new haircut – she still wore that dark red lipstick Mara adored and her fingers immediately reached for her short hair. Noora made a funny face and shrugged, having no good reason to give her for this change in style. Mara's hair grew longer on the other hand, and though it was the at the very bottom of the list of reasons that made her grow it out, she knew Chris loved it too much for her to cut it.

Without taking her left arm off Mara, Noora used the right one to reach into her bag and pulled out a bottle of wine.

“I'm sorry for being a little late, but I didn't want to come empty-handed and alcohol is not authorized in planes. And even if it was I wouldn't have had the time, I almost missed my flight because my boss kept me at work longer than I expected!” She explained.

Mara smiled and took the bottle of her hand.

“You're perfect,” she said, smacking a kiss on her cheek. “Look Chris, someone thought about buying wine,” Mara said, giving a pointed look to her smirking husband.

“Did I miss something?” Noora asked and William leaned in to whisper in her ear.

“Only two hours of nonsensical banter,” he told her, making her laugh.

“William!” She slapped his shoulder. “I wanna hear it!”

“I threw an improvised party this week and forgot to refill our stock of beer... and wine,” Chris admitted with a guilty look on his face. “And Mara-” he emphasized her name and once again reached out for her, letting his hand dance on her shoulder and play with her hair “-hasn't stopped reminding me since this morning.”

This year Christmas Eve was on a Sunday, and all the stores were closed. This too she had made sure to remind him a good hundred times. Chris made it difficult for her to stay mad at him though, he knew an infinite amount of tricks to tame her quick temper and she was sad to say that she was easily manipulated when he did stuff like play with her hair, touch her thigh and constantly hold her against him. He was insanely good at avoiding conflict, he had wriggled his way out of crazy situations thanks so his sweet talking and charming smile.

Mara was usually immune to it, but sometimes he caught he in a weak moment and she gave in. Noora saw her inner conflict when Chris mentioned his forgetting, and she hardly managed to bite back her grin when Mara pursed her lips and gently bumped her hip against Chris' as a gesture of peace making.

“Don't you have a secret wine cellar full of expensive vintage wines?” Noora asked to tease him further.

“If there is one I don't know where it is, my parents never mentioned it,” Chris sighed. “Which was... probably wise.”

“Probably yeah,” they all said at the same time.

“It's a little late to search for a secret lever to a potential wine cellar at this point,” Mara continued. “We've already started packing and we're slowly moving into the apartment.”

Most of Chris' childhood house was empty now, except for their room, the basic stuff they needed to live, and the kitchen. They didn't need to furniture, everything would be left as it is and they would finally move to a place of their own and leave the house of Chris' parents. For a long time he struggled with the idea of leaving, but they left tied down here, and it was a constant reminder of the fact that his mum was unreachable and his dad too busy with work to even make it to their wedding. Schistad father made a quick appearance to give his best wishes and was on the phone no sooner than they thanked him.

Now all Chris wanted to do was move on and not look over his shoulder ever again. As it turned out, his side of the church was far from empty, it was filled to the brim with his friends and the former Penetrators who wildly cheered when they saw him wearing a suit and tie.

Mara's parents weren't really present either – though they did show up at their only daughter's wedding, and did pay for the whole ceremony. William now worked with their father in London, and Mara sometimes got a random phone call of her mum, telling her of her adventures and the new friends she made during her travels. She mostly talked about herself and rarely asked Mara how she was doing, and almost never bothered to ask her about Chris. But then again, she didn't really care about maintaining some sort of bond anymore. Mara and Chris were both adults now, and they came to terms with the idea that they would never have a picture perfect family. They had the financial stability they provided, and they had freedom because none of them gave a damn about their children it seemed.

“At fifteen we were making fake IDs to buy booze and at twenty-six we drink coke at a party,” William said as he pulled out four glasses, and Mara took the coke out of the fridge.

“I think I'll drink to that: a well spent youth we made the most of!” Noora proposed a toast and raised her glass of coca cola with a straight, solemn face, like they weren't cheering with soda.

Without questioning it for a second, they all mirrored Noora and raised their glass as they cheered and drank together. Noora and Mara caught up while eating pretzels and laughed quietly, meanwhile the boys had their own conversation and downed the first bottle of coke as if it were liquor. The girls tried to fill the other in about all the things they have missed during the months they haven't seen each other.

Noora finally got the job she dreamed of and became a journalist, which was great because it kept her busy and allowed her to travel so she wouldn't be waiting home while William worked late hours – they both tried to balance work and personal life. Sometimes it felt like they were neglecting one another because they spent so little time at their shared apartment, but they loved each other to pieces and the absence made their time together all the more precious. Noora cherished it, as much as she loved her job, she loved William more and if he ever needed her to be present, she would be – and everyone knew it worked the other way around as well.

Mara couldn't place a word on the feeling, but she felt something between pure shock and utter bewilderment at the thought that these two hadn't made things official. Among the Penetrators – she couldn't help it, she still thought of them as the Penetrators, even if the group of friends didn't call themselves that anymore – there used to be a bet going on, the boys bet on who would get married first, and only two bet on Chris.

Mara didn't even bet on Chris – she genuinely didn't see it coming, and to be perfectly honest it still felt surreal sometimes. It was nothing spectacular, not a grandiose proposal with a lyrical love declaration – it wasn't anything special per se. One day Chris came home with a funny look in his eyes and he was in his thoughts for most of the night, to the point where it frustrated Mara because she was talking to an unresponsive Chris – might as well be talking to a brick wall – and suddenly he blurted out – completely out of the blue – that he loved her. Now Mara wasn't easily endeared and he knew that it wasn't enough to make her forget that he spaced out during their conversation throughout the whole evening but then-

Then he grabbed her hand and told her to get up, and they grabbed their jackets on Chris' demand. It was late already, too late for them to go out during the week when they had to go to work the next day, but fatigue was kept at bay by the curious restlessness that took them over. Before she knew it, Mara realized Chris had led them at the diner where they once ate waffles at in the middle of the night. She laughed and they talked for over an hour while order waffle after waffle and suddenly he just said 'marry me'. He sounded a bit tired now, and excited, and impatient – the words in themselves sounded like one of those crazy ideas you get when you stay up way past your bedtime and you can't think straight anymore. This could have been a disastrous idea, the worst ever; it could be rushed, and he might regret it in the morning when the sun and his common sense are back in the picture. But the same restlessness that brought them here was still in the air. Chris was smiling – for a second time froze and Mara saw everything she loved about him: the crinkles at the corner of his eyes when he smiled genuinely, the fact that his hair fell in front of his face at the end of the end, the way he looked at her, the way he loved her.

Chris was crazy, but so was she. Mara couldn't think any straighter than him; she said yes, yes, yes.

The first time Noora heard this story she cooed every two minutes and listened intently, her head resting in her palms, her eyes filled with stars – Mara rolled her eyes at her and told her to chill because there was nothing to say about this, it wasn't very romantic, it was just them.

Even today Noora mentioned it sometimes, Mara didn't know if she did it merely to push her buttons or because she wasn't over it either. Chris Schistad tied the knot before all of his friends, and if that wasn't a good example of character development then Mara wasn't a Magnusson.

Well, she wasn't anymore on the paper, only at heart.

“Mara,” Chris called her while Noora laughed at something Mara said.

The two girls stopped talking and Mara looked over her shoulder right when Chris' hand came to squeeze it. Contact. Constant contact. It wasn't a reflex, nor was it a habit. It was a necessity. Chris became restless and unease when he kept his hands off her for too long. Mara grew fidgety and unfocused if she couldn't touch him. They were addicts.

He didn't add anything after gaining her attention, but Mara followed his eyes and she saw the clock.

“Alright, time for dinner!” She announced, clapping her hands and hopping off her stool. “Will, you set the table while Chris and I take care of the food,” she gave her instruction like she was born to give orders – which wasn't a far-fetched idea at all, and also a little bit of professional deformation.

“What?” She asked, raising his hands. “I'm a guest!”

“No dude,” Mara said sarcastically. “Noora's a guest, you're just my brother.”

Chris muffle a laughter and Noora didn't even bother to try and hide hers. William grumbled something but went to grab the plates anyway.

“Oh, I'll help you William,” Noora said as she joined him and took everyone's glasses. Soon they were out of the kitchen and in the living room to set the table.

No sooner they left than Chris placed a hand on Mara's waist and pulled her toward him. She gasped at the gesture, not expecting it, and crashed against his chest, finding him smirking down at her – she knew that smirk, it was his mischievous smirk.

“What is it? Why are you smiling like that?” She asked.

“For nothing.” He shrugged but the smile was still there. “I'm just... in a good mood, I guess?”

Happy. The word he was looking for is happy.

“Christmas spirit and all that shit?” Mara stuck her tongue out and laughed at her own words.

“Maybe.” He shrugged again, remaining vague. Mara frowned a bit but kept quiet since she wasn't going to complain about Chris' pleasant state of mind.

He didn't give a flying f- about Christmas, he cared about the woman in his arms. The sexiest wife on earth, the cheekiest life-partner he could have dreamed of, the equally insufferable little brat who share his life.

His fingers curled around the tender flesh of her hips; his lips brushed against her cheekbone when he leaned in and gently teased her before kissing her. Chris constantly flirted with his own wife – some people found it silly or even pointless, but he never took her for granted and liked to know that he could drive her crazy anytime.

Mara melted in his arms whenever Chris did that. The fact that he kept seducing her, every day, all the time, it was sweet, it was hot. She pressed herself up against him as though she wanted to merge their bodies, and wrapped her arms around his neck t bring him even closer to her if it was only possible. Their kiss deepened quickly; as their breaths mingled the became intoxicated by one another. The separation was all too abrupt.

“To be continued,” Chris said when he pulled away; he punctuated the sentence with a final chaste kiss. “You naughty,” he called her and booped the tip of her nose and he smirked wider and winked.

Mara had to bite back a comment and reminded herself she had her whole life ahead of her to get back at him for booping her nose. A smile rivalling his spread her face and in a common gesture, they went to grab the food and carry it to the living room.

Once the food was on the table conversation came easily and everybody roared with laughter and told stories and ate and drank. Chris fetched the single bottle of wine in the fridge and began to pour some to Noora and William who were too caught up in a conversation to even notice. Chris went to pour some in Mara's glass but she placed her hand over her glass.

“What?” Chris asked in a high pitched exclamation. “You can't be serious, you've been nagging me all day about not having any wine!” He said in a chuckle. “C'mon, have some, there's enough for all of us and William can't even drink too much because he's gotta drive tonight.”

He motioned again to pour her wine, but Mara replaced her hand on top of it and shook her head firmly.

“No Chris. It was for them-” she explained, making a little head movement to designate Will and Noora who were still paying to attention to their surroundings or their hosts. “I'm not drinking.”

It sounded rather final, and Chris' brown shot up in a confused frown. His hand was still raised mid-air, holding the bottle of white wine. He placed it down, accepting that Mara wasn't going to drink any. He was beginning to wonder if she wasn't feeling sick when he spotted the sheepish little smile on her lips, and the way she bit down on them.

“No-” Chris said, in disbelief when he finally added two and two together. “You can't- no-” he repeated, shaking his head. “Mara?” He asked for confirmation, a growing smile making a featuring appearance on his face. He almost cracked with joy and was suddenly a bit scared of her answer.

“I'm not sure yet, but- yes,” she admitted.

“Yeah?” Chris asked again – no way this was real; it couldn't be happening, his body couldn't contain that much joy he was going to burst.

“Yeah,” she whispered.

The whole exchange had been quick and discrete – the couple sitting across them had no idea what just unfolded before their oblivious eyes and it was fine this way. Mara moved her chair slightly closer to Chris, and he placed a hand on her leg while doing a terrible job at not grinning from ear to ear.

“Hey,” Mara hummed to get his attention. Frankly he wasn't sure he could give anyone his full attention anymore tonight, at least not until he got over the shock of it all. “I promised that you'd never spend another Christmas alone, right?”

“Well, you sure don't fuck around with your promises, do you?” He snickered, tightening his grip on her.

“A Magnusson always-”she started but Chris cut her off.

“Are you seriously going to use a Game of Thrones line on me right now?” Chris huffed. “Also, you're hurting my feelings you know? You're a Schistad now.”

Were it in any other context, Mara would have rolled her eyes at his being dramatic and said something about her going from being the hottest Magusson to the hottest Schistad and start bickering back and forth with Chris – there was never any winner to their pointless arguments, they just liked teasing each other and taking it to bed.

“I meant it, Chris. I still do.” Her tone was solemn. Chris fondly pinched her chin and Mara licked her lips and looked down – she hated that this made her blush.

When she looked up Chris mouth three little words that only made her cheeks redden a shade darker. Then they both realized it was oddly silent, and when Chris and Mara tore their eyes away from each other, they saw Noora and William staring at them like two emotional parents, both proud and a little grossed out by the moment of intimacy they witnessed.  

If you like my work please consider buying me a coffee <3

A/N:

[dontfollowinmyfootsteps-really]

There’s a thousand places, (to match the thousand pieces of my broken heart) where I want to start this writing, but I’m so fucking mad, and sad, so so sad, that THESE THINGS about which I must write (or be crippled by the confusion, and pain) are things at all, that words come to me in rushes, and I think them, and write them, hate them, then delete them. And I have emotions colliding against each other with such ferocity I’ve felt literally for the first time in my life, over the last few days, that I might pass out. If this is where I am at, I can’t begin to imagine where must be those whose pain is mine only by association, admiration, and friendship. By history. By love. This writing which had started out about 2 heartaches, I am refining, which is not to say making shorter, to be about just 1.

I want to be very clear about something; I am gutted by Chester’s death, and it is a HUGE  loss for everyone who knew him, loved him, and loved his music. And this time “one of us” for me, for my huge extended Arizona family of ridiculously talented creative feelers, really was ONE OF US. But I do not seek to appropriate the pain of those who REALLY lost him. The one who lost her husband, the children who lost their father. The parents who lost their son. The friends since youth, business partners, and band mates. To them I send endless amounts of love, because if my pain is at 11, theirs must be at 11,000,000.

Chester and I were not BFF’s. We were more like super casual F’s, (friends, just in case that might read other than intended) who were part of a brilliant, ridiculously talented, absolutely insane in the best, and worst ways, group of people in the music scene in Tempe, (really metro-Phoenix) AZ, at the same time. “Tempe Jangle Pop” was big then, with bands like The Gin Blossoms and The Refreshments making names for themselves on the national stage. But also, The Meat Puppets and their punk/country thing, and Jimmy Eat World, were (and are in the case of Jimmy’s band) kinda big time too. DJ Z-Trip, The Phunk Junkeez, Dead Hot Workshop…these are just some of the bands/artists who “made it” to varying degrees, from that time, and place, and only representative of a small percentage of the talent that existed then, in the Valley of the Sun.

By now the world knows that Chester in the mid to late 90’s, was the vocalist for the band Grey Daze, with his Club Tattoo business partner, Sean Dowdell on drums. I, when we first met, was working as an independent Booking Agent/Band Manager, and then later as the Local Marketing Representative for a record label group. Having also been a singer, and writer,  most of what we shared was the arsty fartsy creative thing. I was later to find out we also shared being molested at age 7, and drug addiction.

Its not very often I know the exact date I first met someone, but thanks to how we met, and the internet, I know the first time I met Chester was September 10th, 1994. I think he was 18, but maybe 17. I was the Booking Agent for, “Tripping With Grace” and Grey Daze was the support act for them that night. It was my first show with Tripping With Grace, and my first show in the Phoenix scene. Literally in the hundreds is the number of shows I’ve been to in my life, so thousands is the number of bands that I’ve seen, and I will NEVER forget that night. Not because he became CHESTER BENNINGTON of LINKIN PARK, but because “who the f is the skinny kid with the braids and the HUGE voice, radiating raw passion, and energy as he sings?!” Truly he was riveting to watch, to listen to, even then. That voice. THAT voice. And him, on stage, so young, unpolished, not yet having perfected the front man thing, but riveting none the less.

Forever in my mind I see his stance, singing, bent at the waist, leaning forward, which anyone whose had any vocal lessons knows is the exact opposite of what you’re supposed to do when singing. Cupping the mic in his hands, which anyone who has done any singing into a mic know is the exact opposite of what you’re supposed to do. Unless you’re Chester Bennington.

This is DAYS worth of writing, attempts at writing, and so little said. Because I stop to cry, and remember, and wonder, and to FEEL my sadness and my anger.  I find myself unable to read most of what is written in the last week about him, except the memories written by my friends, his friends, our friends, and the tributes paid to him by fans. These precious memories we carry of this man who touched so many. Not just with his music, but with his genuine kindness, and humility. I’d say I’ve strolled down memory’s lane, but it has been more like a sunshine filled day – running through broken glass. Looks shimmery and pretty in the light, but hurts like a bitch.

I wrote a blog a few weeks ago, after Chris Cornell committed suicide titled “Who Cares if One More Light Goes Out? In A Sky of a Million Stars… I do.” Taken from the Linkin Park song which Chester, with great emotion, sang the day after Chris’s passing. This particular blog is about how us ridiculously talented creative feelers are sort of fucked up in our own ways. But how some of us, inexplicably, make our way around, or through, our fucked-upness, to the other side. The side where we’re still fucked up, but we’re not actively, or passively, trying to off ourselves because of it. And I wrote of  3 (anonymous)  people whose lives to greater or lesser degrees I have been privileged to be a part of. These 3 people who have had certain situations and circumstances  sadly similar to each other, and mine, and each rose to such amazing heights, in spite of bullshit, and pain, and for a couple of them, (and me) in spite of stupid choices. And Chester was one of those of whom I was speaking. The one of whom I wrote “Rise doesn’t begin to describe this story’s (not yet finished) end.” Because he had “made it.” Until he didn’t.

The last time I had a real conversation with Chester before he became CHESTER BENNINGTON OF LINKIN PARK, has always been for reasons I could never quite understand, indelibly etched on my brain. 4 years had past since the first meeting. I’d been to who knows how many Grey Daze shows, gotten my first tattoo by a Club Tattoo artist at an event called “Club Sex” which was basically live music and tattoos happening all under one roof, on my birthday (known to some as Valentine’s Day), and had seen him out and about every now and again because; music scene.  Now working for Never Records Group, I had one of our bands playing a show at Gibson’s in Tempe.

At one point in the evening I was outside the venue, and Chester came walking up. We hugged, exchanged hellos, and “what are you doing here” sort of questions. And then we talked about real life, and heartache. His heartache. And I see him now, just like I do every time I’ve thought of this the last 20 years, I see him, leaning up against the wall, hands pushed in his pockets, back curved, leaning forward, head down, one knee bent, and one foot on the wall behind him. When he’d look up, the emotion, the hurt around what he was sharing with me, was written all over his face, and reflected in his eyes. His life, and hurt at that moment in it is not my story to tell the world, and is ancient history now. What I can say is that he told me of new opportunities, and changes he was going to be making because he had to make them. I don’t recall what I said, but I’m sure I offered some words in which I’d hoped he’d find comfort, and hugs, and wishes that all would turn out for the best. Then we went inside, him to enjoy a show, and me to work my show.

Within a year or so of that is when he started to become CHESTER BENNINGTON OF LINKIN PARK. Every time I’ve thought of that conversation over the years, I’ve thought about how desperately sad he was. How he had no idea that the choices, and changes he felt he had to make, were going to lead him to heights none of the rest of us ridiculously talented creative feelers in Tempe, Arizona, could in our wildest dreams imagine achieving. I know by his own admission that even in his happy moments, he was prone to self sabotage, but I’d like to believe that there were at least some periods of time where he was able to ride the wave of happiness.

Grey Daze was set to do a reunion show in Tempe on September 23rd this year, and I was flying home for it. Having only seen Chester a couple of times since 1998, and always in some sort of mob fest meet and greet situation, I’ve never had the chance to remind him of that day, and how sad he was, and how far he’d made it. Not just in music, but in life, with the work he did with MusiCares, and in love with Talinda, with his kids, with Club Tattoo. I wanted to tell him how much hope he’d always given me, and how privileged I’d always felt that he, the human being Chester, not the eventually famous guy, had shared something so deeply personal, and allowed me to hold that space for him. And like so many others around the world I wanted to thank him for music, and lyrics, that brought me a measure of comfort in so many moments in time when nothing else could. Even if it was just because his was a voice from home, and a challenge to “scream” with! In this last week I have mourned the loss of that opportunity to say those words, which I do know he is aware of anyway.

This really has been a tough one that has brought back around my lifelong deep think about why so many of us ridiculously talented creative feelers go so low, even when soaring so high. I have grieved for him, for the pain he must have felt. I have cried copious amounts of tears. And screamed. And sang, And danced, And walked. And run. I have asked WHY god bless it WHY? I’ve sent waves of love, and peace, and healing, to the hearts that need it most, so that I could at least do something. I’ve been moved by the tributes to him from ALL OVER THE WORLD! Over and over reading words, or watching videos in which someone is talking about how they owe their life to Chester, and Linkin Park. I have had coworkers, and friends tell me that they directly credit Chester with getting them through some of the worst times of their lives.

Tonight, the day after the memorial for Chester, I have found myself in the place I feel I have to be, and that feels right, with all of this. I, as usual, have no answers, but, what is a possible truth that resonates for me, even while knowing it doesn’t comfort those he left behind, is that his work here was done. He has touched thousands upon thousands of lives with his music, and with his heart. He has been a voice to give courage to those struggling with depression, and addiction. He has literally saved lives because of those things. And now, he has “leveled up.” With his passing people from all over the world are coming together to celebrate him, to mourn the loss of him, and to comfort one another.  Funds are being donated in his name, which will help a someone in need someday. People who may not have reached out for help, are doing so. Suicide prevention information is being spread across social media at a rate I’m certain is much higher than usual. Chester’s friends in music are openly speaking of his passing, and urging anyone who needs help to seek it, and to reach out to each other for support, and friendship.

For me the loss of Chester has brought about the renewed desire to have the conversation about how the paradigm of the tortured/suffering/starving artist is played out. How there must be a way to create, and be happy, all at once. Not always of course. Not fake “church lady” happy. But that we don’t need to be unhappy because its what we’re “supposed” to be. We don’t have to self sabotage when we do find ourselves happy. We must tell the ridiculously talented creative feelers that it is OK to be those things when they are tiny humans! Nurture that. Give them the opportunity to explore that. Don’t bullshit them about it either. It’s not pretty, and it sure as hell isn’t always fun. But don’t tell them they have to be a Dr,/lawyer/scientist whatever. Teach them the value of taking care of reality, while pursuing their dreams!

I get that I’m not solving the problems with this very 101 “choose happy” sort of thing. See above and “I don’t have any answers.” But I am willing to shine a light, to be a light, to give a hug, or be the ear or shoulder that is needed. There can’t be anything more important to do in this life than that, right? If I never remembered another time when I made a difference in a persons life, I will always know that even for just a minute, I helped a sad someone feel, if not better, heard.

The last thing I want, need, to say, is Thank You to that skinny kid, with the braids, and the HUGE voice. Thank you for crossing paths with me in this reality. Thank you for the music that was the sound track for so many moments large, and small in my life, and not just sad moments, at all!! So many happy memories of you, with Grey Daze, and Linkin Park. Thank you for writing lyrics that I understand at a soul level. Thank you for your courage in being forthcoming about your abuse, your addiction, and your depression because it helped me when I was in my deepest, most dark place, where I didn’t care if I woke up the next day, feel quite so crazy, knowing it was just me who’d ever gone there.. Most importantly, thank you for giving me your trust, and the opportunity to be whatever you needed at that time, all those years ago. I will not say goodbye to you, I will simply say see you later, for whenever later may be, and I love you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Photos not mine but were found via Google search.

                                                    -I was privileged enough to be working in the (son of a bitching, eat souls for breakfast, and puppies for lunch, but has always been my love) music industry in the mid to late 90’s in metro-Phoenix, where Chester was in a band called Grey Daze.

  For Chester, For Me, For You There's a thousand places, (to match the thousand pieces of my broken heart) where I want to start this writing, but I'm so fucking mad, and sad, so so sad, that THESE THINGS about which I must write (or be crippled by the confusion, and pain) are things at all, that words come to me in rushes, and I think them, and write them, hate them, then delete them.

[minimin1993]

S/M 55

Warning: Finally.

“Well look who finally blessed us with their presence.” Anthony said raising his eyebrows at the pair who finally got dressed and came back out to their friends who were all sporting the same smirk on their face. 

“Come on don’t be jealous, if I had a girl like that I would have done the same thing.” Toby said winking at Sebastian who sits down pulling Min on his lap again. “But I gotta admit you guys are not trying to even hid it, god damn look at those marks.” 

“What can I say, my girl likes it rough.” Sebastian said grabbing his drink. 

After that the pair just starts to enjoy the rest of the night which their friends certainly made it interesting when they both got put on the spot when 2 strippers came in dressing in a skimpy Bucky and Linda outfit for their lap dance, before the night came to an end with everyone clearly drunk out of their minds.

Wedding day 

“Damn Sebastian stop pacing you are going to put a hole in the floor.” Sebastian mother said as all the groomsmen watch Sebastian pace almost frantically around the hotel room. 

“Ma, what if she gets cold feet and doesn’t show up? What if she realize what a mess I am and doesn’t want to marry me anymore? Oh my god… What if….” 

“Sebby calm down, anyone with eyes can clearly see how much she loves you. Funny enough I already knew she was going to be the one the first time I met her. So don’t worry because when the time comes she will be walking down that asle.” 

“Thank you ma.” Sebastian said giving his mom a kiss on her cheek.

“Now if you excuse me I have to go check my soon to be daughter-in law.” 

Gloria excused herself from Sebastian room heading over to Min hotel room only to find all her bridesmaid knocking frantically on the bathroom door. “Minnie come out, everything is going to be fine.” Tiffany said trying to calm Min down who can be heard crying on the other side of the door. 

“What happen?” Gloria asked walking over to Tiffany and others. 

“She scared.” Tiffany sighed. 

“Let me talk to her. You guys wait and get ready in the other room.” 

“Thank you Gloria.” Tiffany said as they head to the living room to finish getting ready.

“Min dear open the door its Mom.” Gloria said softly, hearing the girl on the other side sniff and unlocks the door. Gloria walks in and sees the girl's eyes buffy looking sad and lost giving her a hug. “What's wrong dear?” 

“I’m scared that the moment I walk out there Sebastian will realize he doesn’t want me anymore because of how broken I am.” Min cried out hearing Gloria laugh lightly. 

“Oh dear, you and him are almost identical it's hilarious.” 

“What do you mean?” Min pulled away looking at Gloria who was softly wiping away her tears with a smile on her face. 

“When I was over their with Sebastian, he was pacing the entire room going on about what if you get cold feet and not show up.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes, and guess what my dear. In the years I have watched my son grow up I have never seen him this happy nor talk about anyone like he does about you. Trust me when I say this that boy loves you with everything he's got and he isn’t going to stop anytime soon if ever.” Gloria said pulling the girl out of the bathroom to the vanity where they were dolling her up for the wedding. “Now if you agree let's finish getting you ready before we give that boy a heart attack thinking you won’t show up, even though I think he still might have one from how beautiful you look my dear.” 

“Thank you mom.” Min smiles brightly at her. 

“Anytime.” Gloria said before calling in the bridal team back over to finish the girl up. 

When it was time for the Ceremony to start Sebastian was a sweating mess but his boys assured him everything is going to be alright. After Sebastian walked down the aisle with a huge smile on his face looking at his friends and family in the crowd he watches their groomsmen (Chace, Chris, Charles, Ethan, Paul, Will, and Toby) and bridesmaid (Tiffany, Jennie, Key, CL Eunji, Jin, and Linji) walk down the aisle looking dashing as ever.

(Bridesmaid dresses, minus Key who is in a suit)

His brain was starting to get negative thoughts once again until the music changed and everyone turned to look at the door. The moment the door opens, Sebastian swore his heart stopped and nothing around him existed but Min.

Min had her head bowed down nervously gripping Mr. Hwang's arm until she looks up and looks eyes with Sebastian who had the most beautiful smile on his face causing her to break into a huge smile herself. The closer she got to him the more her heart was rapidly beating until Mr. Hwang handed her hand over to Sebastian.

“She is all yours now son.” He said before taking a sit next to his wife. 

“I love you beautiful.” Sebastian whispered smiling down at her twinkling eyes. 

“I love you too handsome.” Min winks at him causing him to chuckle before they both look over at the priest. 

“To all present I say: We are gathered here, not to witness the beginning of what will be, but rather what already is! We do not create this marriage, because we cannot. We can and do, however, celebrate with Sebastian and Min the wondrous and joyful occurrence that has already taken place in their lives, and the commitment they make today. I have been told that they have written their own vows. Sebastian would you like to start us off.” The priest gesture to Sebastian who turns back to Min grabbing both her hands taking a deep breathe. 

“I remember the first day I met you and I swore since that day you are going to be the death of me and till this day I still stand by that and more because I have never expected that that was the day I met the love of my life. Growing up I never imagine myself ever getting married but dam was I wrong, here comes this 5’3 girl who snatched my phone out of my hand and ran around the studio so fast I never expect to catch her. But here I am standing under god promising myself to her because I have caught something more valuable. Her heart; even though I still wonder why on earth did this woman choose me when I have nothing to offer her. I promise to be the best husband I can be even though I have no stinking clue how to do that. I promise to love you and cherish you till the end of time and more. I promise you my mind, body, and soul even though you already owned that like how you already own my heart. I can’t imagine my life without you and I can’t wait to continue this crazy journey with you by my side forever. I love you.” Sebastian vowed wiping the happy tears that Min was slowly shedding. 

“Wow that is such a tough one to follow. And like your mom had told me how we are identical because I also started my vows with the first day I met you too. I remember how I was talking to Chris and Kevin when this perfect specimen walks over to us with the cutest smile I have ever seen and lets not let me forget the most gorgeous pair of eyes I will never get tired of looking into. But like you said I also never expected to meet the love of my life. Throughout my life I have gone through many horrible things and if I was given a choice to redo everything I will still choose to go through that again if it leads me right back into your arms. I promise to be the best wife I can be to the best of my knowledge. I promise to love you with everything I have and more because you deserve someone better than me but you still somehow decided to choose me. I promise you my mind, heart, body, and soul because I would be nothing without you by my side. Sebastian Stan, I love you.” Min said now wiping Sebastian tears.

“You've both chosen to wear rings as a reminder of these promises. People often say wedding bands are a perfect circle, with no beginning and no end. As you look at these rings over the years, I hope you remember that. You've created something invaluable, and just as I know you'll protect these rings, I'm confident you'll protect the commitments you've made to one another today. Sebastian, as you place this ring on Min’s finger, repeat these words after me: This ring symbolizes my love for you and the commitments we made today.” The priest said as Sebastian slips the ring on Min finger repeating the words. “Min, as you place this ring on Sebastian's finger, repeat these words after me: This ring symbolizes my love for you and the commitments we made today.” 

“By the power of your love and commitment to each other, and by the power vested in me I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now seal your vows with a kiss.” Sebastian was beaming with happiness and joy as he pulls Min close to him dipping his head down to give her a kiss that their friends and family started to hoot and holler nonstop. “Congratulations. Family and loved ones, I now present to you the newly married couple and . Let's hear it for 'em!” 

“I love you Mrs. Stan.” Sebastian whispered into her lips who was grinning up at him. “I love you too Mr. Stan.”   

Reception

“I am blessed to know these 2 idiot for a decade and lets just say that it has been a journey for sure waiting for them to admit their feelings for each other. I have watched them start out as just friends pretending to not acknowledge that they literally needed each other presence like water. Even when they both were in other relationships they still can not lose the other person, like come on who has each other house keys to even having a personal closet in each other's house. Sebastian I hope you know you are one lucky ass person and I swear if you ever hurt our little princess which I know you won't but you will have the entire Marvel family come after you. I love you both and I wish you both nothing but the best. To Sebastian and Min.” Chris said raising a toast to the newlyweds for everyone to join in with him.

“Now if the time is right I welcome the bride and groom up to have their first dance.” The MC announced as Sebastian pulls up a blushing Min over to the dance floor and the music starts to play. Julia Michaels Heaven. 

Heaven ^^

(Listen to the song in this part, it literally how I describe Sebastian Stan and this whole story was inspired by this song. Even if I didn’t portray him as a bad guy but you know what I am talking about *wink*) 

“I love how this song kind of represents our relationship in a way.” Sebastian said as they swayed to the music. 

“I can’t help it, you are my bad boy who brings heaven to me.” Min said smiling up at him. 

“So you would do anything for me?” 

“Would you do anything for me?” 

“Without a question babygirl.” Sebastian said looking at Min in her eyes, she pulls him down and gives him a loving kiss that took his breath away.

[tarmacadamsurfacingcontractors]

Legal Eagles

When UNISON won its employment tribunal fees case in the Supreme Court last year, the landmark victory thrust the union’s in-house legal team into the limelight. U met two of them, head of legal services Adam Creme and his colleague Shantha David, the legal officer who ran the five-year case against the government.

Shantha David

It was two days after the biggest legal case in her life, the judicial review in which UNISON defeated the government in one of the most important decisions in the history of employment law. After a string of media interviews talking about the victory, Shantha David was finally sitting alone, at home. And she burst into tears.

“I was so overcome,” she recalls. “It was all the feeling of four and a half years of work – the grafting, the slog, the legal arguments, witness statements, the last-minute dashes to court. As solicitor teams go, ours was small – it was just me and my secretary Kate Osborne. And the bundles [legal papers] we prepared ran to thousands of pages for each hearing.

“You’re so consumed by all of it. And you’re so tired. Winning or losing, it’s always a strange anti-climax. You’ve spent all this energy fighting for something, and then it’s over.” She laughs. “It’s like the end of a season of Game of Thrones.”

She admits that on that August morning the “magnitude” of the result still hadn’t sank in. Though, yes, there was satisfaction amid the tears. “There was definitely a sense of relief that we’d won, and elation.”

Shantha is one of UNISON’s small, in-house legal team, which comprises four employment lawyers and one personal injury lawyer in London, an employment lawyer in Scotland, two paralegals (unqualified lawyers) and two non-legal staff, all led by head of legal Adam Creme.

While the outside solicitor firm Thompsons handles most of the personal injury and employment claims for individual members (winning millions of pounds in compensation each year), the in-house team handles all appeals in the higher courts, as well as strategic employment law cases, often far-reaching actions that involve issues such as TUPE, equal pay and the national minimum wage.

They’ve had some significant victories, but perhaps none more so than The Queen (on the application of UNISON) v the Lord Chancellor, the formal title of the legal challenge to the employment tribunal fees introduced in 2013 by former Lord Chancellor Chris Grayling.

UNISON immediately saw that the fees would destroy members’ right to seek justice in the employment courts. The union’s single-handed battle to reverse that decision spanned six unsuccessful hearings – three in the High Court and three in the Court of Appeal – before the seven judges of the Supreme Court unanimously found in the union’s favour.

Our case was about access to justice. It’s really odd, but you can’t use words like that in the lower courts, you can’t talk about Magna Carta or they’ll kick you out

When Shantha recounts the torturous mechanics of the case, it’s evident that the shenanigans of legal TV shows like Ally McBeal and The Good Wife are not so far from the truth – whether, for her, it was endless government gamesmanship or one, early and unsympathetic judge who told a government barrister in a public hearing: “I don’t understand what you’re saying, but I’m on your side”.

At the same time, when she explains why UNISON was counting on the highest court in the land to do the right thing, it’s an evocative reminder of why the law, at its most idealistic, can be so captivating.

“Our case was about access to justice. It’s really odd, but you can’t use words like that in the lower courts, you can’t talk about Magna Carta or they’ll kick you out. But the Supreme Court is the law-making forum and the judges can do what they like, frankly. They can talk about Magna Carta, they are willing to discuss basic principles, the things you learn about in law school, justice, that you get all ‘ooh, ahh’ about.

“Their judgment is not just important for workers in Britain, but also for access to justice in other parts of the law, where the government is trying to raise costs for ordinary people – in civil courts, where legal aid has pretty much gone, in immigration tribunals. People are now looking at ways of targeting those areas using the UNISON judgement. That’s our legacy, which is brilliant.”

Her parents are Sri Lankan, her father a former diplomat and Sri Lankan ambassador, which meant that childhood was on the road – including Malaysia, where she was born, Paris, Egypt, India and London, where she took her A-Levels and then remained, studying history at university, then a conversion course to law.

She was drawn to the law partly by the “higher thinking behind it, the philosophy, the jurisprudence. I was interested in why people do what they do. How do you deviate from the path, how do you become a criminal?”

But she was also considering a career in international relations. Around that time she spent a memorable three months as an intern at the United Nations in New York, just as Tony Blair gave his first speech to the General Assembly, followed by Nelson Mandela (“I was, ‘Oh my god, this is awesome’”) and Princess Diana’s landmines bill was being passed. She also worked on the establishment of the International Criminal Court.

These are all people who need support: who don’t know what’s around the corner for them, who live in a heightened state of anxiety

The fact that she qualified as a solicitor while temping for UNISON (having earlier qualified as a barrister) may seem like fate. “I was working on some amazing cases for the union, and it all seemed to make sense – employment law made sense, the union made sense. It was the right fit.”

That was 15 years ago. Looking back, she thinks that her childhood, during which she experienced conflict situations first-hand, may have sewn some of the seeds of her future career.

She was just 10 at the outset of the Sri Lankan civil war in 1983, when hundreds of Tamils were being killed and her family, Tamils themselves, briefly had to go into hiding. “There were cars and houses burning everywhere. It was quite a scary experience.” Just a year later they were in New Delhi when Indira Gandhi was assassinated, after which thousands of Sikhs were killed in retaliatory violence.

There is a strong emotional connection, for Shantha, between those people she encountered as a child, caught in civil wars and other violent conflicts, and UNISON members struggling in their jobs, whether it’s because of pressures of funding and under-funding, low pay or zero-hours contracts.

“These are all people who need support: who don’t know what’s around the corner for them, who live in a heightened state of anxiety, which is the same whether you’re facing violence, or uncertainty at work. And it’s very unhealthy.”

Shantha has to contend with a different problem – trying to balance a secure, but highly demanding job with family life and two children, nine-year-old Ella and seven-year-old James.

Somehow she finds the time – for work, family, to be a school governor and a Law Society committee member, and to indulge her life-long love of singing: a serious soloist as a child, she still performs at weddings and the like (as it happens, she was listening to the soundtrack of the musical Moulin Rouge during that tearful moment in August).

“Family life can be tough. My husband – without whose support I couldn’t have run this case – and I both work full-time. I work flexibly, which means I get to pick up the kids, but also have to work when they go to sleep. But I’d rather that, than not get involved in the work we’ve been doing at UNISON.”

And despite making a little piece of history, that work continues. She’s currently fighting a case in the South West, involving three local authorities who have banded together in a company and are trying to cut the terms and conditions of their care workers.

“The legal process is very slow. This case has been going for over a year, but things are hotting up now. So yeah, onto the next one. Reality bites.

Adam Creme

In June 1993 Adam Creme was a young lawyer, establishing himself in what was then a comparatively new strand of his profession – employment law – when he saw an advertisement in the London Evening Standard.

“The ad said, ‘UNISON has just been born and we need a locum solicitor for six weeks’. It was about a month into the formation of the union. I thought it would be an interesting and fun thing to do for a few weeks, so I came for an interview.” He smiles. “And that was more than 24 years ago.”

At first the legal departments of the three founder unions were joined together, then a few years later that department was split in two. All the while, Adam’s contract “was extended, then extended, then extended” and by the time the two parts became one again, he was put in charge.

“It’s fate, isn’t it? I never intended to work for a trade union. But where better to do employment law and labour law and industrial relations – all thrown together – than a trade union?”

Tools of the trade for a trade unionist – talking. Tools of the trade for a lawyer – talking. Put the two together….

UNISON’s head of legal was born into a family of Russian and Polish immigrants in Manchester. His father, like his father before him, sold shirts. “He was a brilliant salesman,” Adam recalls proudly. Yet he remembers that, even as a youngster,  “I always had an inkling that I wanted to be a lawyer.

“I think I had quite strong feelings about social justice from a really early age,” he adds. “I was born in 1960, so grew up through some interesting times – a Labour government for a long time, and then in the Seventies lots of industrial action and other problems.  And I was always aware of it. I think I was always vaguely political. I don’t know where that came from, my parents are not like that.” He laughs. “I think I’m probably a bit arsy.”

As for many left-leaning young people, the Eighties proved formative. “It was the time of Thatcher, it was a time of strife. And it was an interesting time to be a student. I studied history at Manchester, which was a hotbed of politics. I was heavily involved in student politics, and my feelings about social justice bloomed even more as a result of that.”

He recalls a lot of CND activity, and also the infamous visit of Home Secretary Leon Brittan to the university during the miners’ strike, when some of his friends were among those beaten by police and arrested.

He followed history with a post-graduate course in industrial relations – again at an opportune moment, as it coincided with the Tory government’s attempts to restrict trade union activity, including what became known as Tebbit’s Law.

“They started the ball rolling and we’re still living with the effects of it,” he observes. By the time he’d finished the course, he knew what he wanted to do, namely employment law. And because at that time there were very few firms that had the specialism, and they were all in London, the Mancunian moved South.

He’d qualified, and worked in private practice for a few years – which meant representing mostly employers – when UNISON entered his life. “I do this because I believe in it,” he says. “I believe that we’re doing something really useful here, on behalf of other people. And that’s why I’ve stayed so long.”

We had a lot of people contacting us, including employment law judges and people from big practices, who wanted to say that what we were doing was great and that strongly supported us

Adam is virtually never to be seen in a suit and tie, his casual image light years away from the power-suited portrayal of lawyers on television – wealthy, coiffed men and women who appear more concerned with their position in the firm than their clients.

But Adam says that image doesn’t tell the whole story. “I was in private practice for nearly six years before I started at UNISON, so I know what it’s like. What you see on TV is an exaggeration. It definitely exists – if you went into a large or even medium size legal firm you’d find [office] politics going on and people battling to become partner, and then senior partner, and to make more and more money. What they don’t show is the grind.

“At UNISON we grind too, we work long hours. But for those people in private practice it’s a regular thing. And you can’t continue to look 20 and glossy in Armani suits when you’re doing 15-hour days, seven days a week.

“My partner is a lawyer and was a partner in private practice, so she experienced that,” he adds. “And she doesn’t any more. She wanted to have a life.” The couple have twin daughters, 13 years old. “I have a good perspective about work generally because of my other half’s experience. And I have a good perspective on life generally because of my children.”

Given his experience on both sides of the divide, he has a particularly relevant take on his area of the profession. “Most employment lawyers are lefties, even if they work for massive commercial firms who act for employers almost exclusively. They are not usually Tories, they have liberal or left wing values. And an awful lot of them believe in access to justice.

“That’s been one of the very interesting things about UNISON’s employment tribunal fees case. We had a lot of people contacting us, including employment law judges and people from big practices, who wanted to say that what we were doing was great and that they strongly supported us.”

He describes the judge’s verdict in the Supreme Court as, “like that moment in The Italian Job, where Michael Caine says ‘You’re only supposed to blow the bloody doors off.’ When we started doing this case I just wanted to get rid of ET fees. I could not have predicted it would become this enormous constitutional thing, which will touch many, many areas of UK law.”

That wide-ranging significance is no doubt why his team have already scooped three awards for their work on the case. First they were voted The Lawyer Magazine’s ‘best employment team’ in 2014, merely on the back of bringing the claim against the government; then in 2016 another employment team gong, from The Solicitor’s Journal – despite at that time getting “slaughtered” in the courts; and finally after the victory, when Adam was named lawyer of the year by Liberty, which he also sees as an award for the team.

His daughters were at that last ceremony. “For five minutes they thought dad was way cool, then five minutes later they weren’t bothered,” he smiles. He says that they were taken aback at how he turned four bullet points into a 10-minute speech. “Tools of the trade for a trade unionist – talking. Tools of the trade for a lawyer – talking. Put the two together….”

Both Adam and Shantha have high praise for Dave Prentis and the UNISON leadership who, with Adam, decided at the outset to contest the tribunal fees and supported the team throughout, not least when the case was at its rockiest.

And of the woman he charged to do the “heavy lifting”, Adam says: “I decided that Shantha would be a good fit. And what a good choice that proved to be. She’s a terrier, she gets her teeth into something and doesn’t let go. She has a very strong attention to detail, and an extremely strong work ethic.

“But I’m lucky. I’ve got a bunch of people in my team, all younger than me, who really know what they are doing and are committed. I would say this, but we are by some distance the best trade union legal team that’s ever been.”

Images: Ralph Hodgson

          The article Legal Eagles first appeared on the UNISON National site.

from UNISON National https://www.unison.org.uk/news/magazine/2018/03/legal-eagles/ via IFTTT