#so i had to pretend like santa existed as they opened presents marked from him

[ill-skillsgard]

The Countdown - Henry Deaver x Mistress

Warning: 18+ mentions of sex/cheating/mature themes **This part contains anal sex**. Please read at your own discretion.

Note: Merry Crisis, my loves! I know a bunch of you have been waiting for this part and I’m sorry it took so long for me to write. I’m glad you’re still into our not-so-good Christian boy because I love writing him and I adore the prompts you send in. Let me know what you think with a comment and/or a reblog! Happy holidays and I hope you all have a safe new year! Much love and kisses!

Read more Henry x Mistress imagines here > Masterpost

She pulled the stem off a cocktail cherry nestled between matching lips. Watching her from afar, covered in glitter, wearing a paper crown and licking the sugar off the rim of a glass was all the excitement he needed in one evening. But the night was only picking up. One hour remained until midnight, and Henry’s buzzing head flooded with emotions. He turned down another round so he would be of sound mind to celebrate the ball drop with her in crisp, clear memory. 

 First, he thought about Christmas.

 It had been a special one. Christmas was the holiday Henry loved the most. He liked to decorate, enjoy seasonal candy cane drinks, work parties, gift shopping, gift wrapping, and watching all the classic holiday films. It did not surprise her that Henry had a fondness for Christmas pageantry. 

 He told her about the traditions in his family; how nobody could go near the tree until they had their yearly pancake breakfast with hot chocolate and the old animated Christmas movies playing in the background. Then they would sit around in a circle after electing one family member to be “Santa.” Santa would pick the gifts from under the tree and pass them out in a steady, rotating order, so everyone had their moments to open and revel in the glory of receiving a magic eight ball or cabbage patch doll or a Lite-Brite. Then they cleaned up before dinner. Henry explained how he would sneak away from chores to play with his new toys and have them taken away until after dinner.

 It didn’t surprise her when Henry planned out an elaborate Christmas that started with pancakes. She woke up to the sound of Christmas music playing all over the condo and the warm, cinnamon and chocolate waft of batter frying in a buttered pan.

 “I like mine with chocolate chips and bananas, but we have strawberries, blueberries, and I bought some—” Henry looked at the package. “English cream? The kind they give you at brunch places.”

 “Surprise me,” she said, standing on her toes to kiss his jaw.

 “I can do apple. I can do caramel!” He pointed a greasy spatula at her, and she froze in place.

 “Whatever you’re making now smells great.”

 “Okay, okay. I got you covered. Coffee?”

 “Please.”

 She hopped up on the barstool and watched him cooking with an apron on over a basic grey t-shirt and navy blue boxers. Once in a while, when Henry had his back turned, she would stare at his backside and bare legs.

 “You should cook naked for me,” she giggled.

 “What?” He chuckled. “No way. I’ll get burnt! Grease will fly at me.”

 “But, it’s Christmas.”

 “Not a reason to have my nipples burnt off.”

 “Your cute little apron will cover them. You’ll be fine.”

 “Forget about it. Today is a wholesome day. We will spend it rejoicing in the season’s magic.”

 “Fine... Guess I have to return the gift I got for you then,” she leered in Henry’s direction.

 His skin warmed, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the stove or because of the way she stared at him. “Wholesome. Day. Wholesome. We are not spending it having sex all day long. There’s a lot to do.”

 “Maybe I’ll give it to you after you’re all Christmas'd out.”

 Henry pretended to ignore her and served up a massive plate of pancakes with hot coffee and a side of fruit. She ate her breakfast while Henry made his own, stealing glances at him and trading smiles. After they ate, Henry sat her down next to the tree, and they exchanged a few gifts.

 Her eyes lit up every time she opened a present, and by the time she finished, his cheeks were buzzing with kisses, his hand squeezed many times in excitement. 

 “I hope you like everything,” he said.

 “Like? I love it all. Everything. You’re so thoughtful, baby. I love you.”

 The best part was not receiving gifts, though he was grateful for all she had given him, it was hearing her words of appreciation. It was seeing the joy on her face and getting kissed every time she was pleased, which was often that day.

 She held the last gift behind her back, skeptical about handing it over until he promised he wouldn’t be angry.

 “Why would I be upset about a gift from you?” He asked.

 “You said today was wholesome.”

 Henry squirmed in his seat, smothering a grin as he stared into his coffee mug. “Well, I can make an exception... As long as it doesn’t encroach on our plans for the day.”

 “Oh, no. It won’t. It’s for a later time,” she snickered.

 “All right, beautiful. What is it?”

 She held a red envelope in her hand, thrusting it toward him so he would take it. The paper had no markings, but he eyed it cautiously while she sat down on the adjacent sofa to watch him read its contents.

 “Gift certificate redeemable for any sex act of your choice. Please fill in the blank and submit at your leisure. I love you,” Henry read the paper, his cheeks turning pink as he stared up at her. “Of course, this would be one of your gifts.”

 “Anything you want,” she hinted at the fine print, eyebrows wiggling.

 “Yeah,” he chuckled. “I got that. Thank you, baby. I’m not sure what I would use this for since you already take care of me so well.”

 She straightened her back, and a seriousness took over her face. “You can use it for anything. Surprise blowjob at work, BDSM, a roleplay, I can play with your ass again—”

 “H’okay, why don’t we turn up this music and get to cleaning up? We have some ice skating to do!” Henry interrupted her, but she settled back into the sofa with a satisfied smirk.

 Their first Christmas together rejuvenated his love for the holiday. She didn’t complain about anything he bought her or ask if he had gift receipts. He didn’t want to think about Mary, but his girlfriend’s appreciation and gratefulness made him recall a time when his thoughtfulness was overlooked or ignored.

 The coming days were a mix of get-togethers and late mornings. They were on vacation until the first week of January, and they spent every waking moment of it unabashedly together.

 Second, he thought about how beautiful and approachable she was. 

 People seemed to flock to her, and strangers felt comfort in her presence. It was amazing to watch. She engaged with others so seamlessly, and he wished he had her natural flair for socialization. He always had a knack for talking to people, but she possessed all the capabilities of a well-travelled, well-spoken individual. And clients loved her, just as he knew they would.

 Henry perched on a barstool, sipping an Old Fashioned when he saw a man approach her. The way he leaned in and scooped her into a hug told him they already knew each other. He was a tall, lanky fellow wearing a black denim jacket, slicked-back hair, and bawdy rings on several fingers. When he turned, his side profile caught the low light and made Henry tilt his head.

 The man talking to his girlfriend was at a height with him and had eyes wide as silver dollars. He laughed with her, leaving a quarter-foot of space between them, which was appropriate, as the bar jammed up with party-goers, but something didn’t sit right in Henry’s gut. He leaned into her, and she smiled as he said something close to her ear. When he pulled away, he spread his long arms open for a second hug. This one lasted a long time, and he rocked her back and forth and lifted her off the floor. When he set her back down, those arms didn’t stray far from her waist. 

 Henry’s drink disappeared fast, and he requested a top-up as he observed the man talking her ear off. She looked up at him with a familiar sparkle in her eye. The voices and music all whirred into a low thrum of noise as Henry watched him lift her hand to his lips. He kissed her knuckles, eyebrows high on his forehead, and she looked away, blush cresting her cheeks.

 She took her hand back, said something that caused him to give an exaggerated nod, then pointed across the bar. They both looked at Henry. Seeing the man head-on made Henry’s stomach twist. He was handsome as they come, and Henry couldn’t piece together why he had kissed his girl’s hand so fervently.

 The music and noise picked up speed as the two of them approached Henry’s seat.

 “Henry! I want you to meet my friend. This is Axel!” She projected her voice over the clamour. “Axel, this is my boyfriend, Henry.”

 Axel shot his hand out, and Henry shook it as he would meeting any new person, but he was wary. “Nice to meet you.”

 “Likewise. Hey, you must have seriously good taste if you landed this one,” Axel jabbed his thumb in her direction. She hit his arm, and he shrugged. “What? It’s true!”

 “Oh, shush,” she dismissed.

 “How do you know each other?” Henry asked.

 They both spoke, laughed, nudged each other and tried to allow the other to talk before she shook her head and took over. “Axel and I used to date awhile back.”

 There it was. Henry knew something was extra touchy about their dynamic. Axel had been inside her, shared her bed, existed in the light of her love at one point. Not one to resent something out of his control, Henry smiled and brushed it off without a hiccough, but inside, he was praying for Axel to wrap up their visitation.

 It grew worse when she excused herself to go to the restroom and left Axel in front of him, grinning like an idiot. “Whatcha drinkin’ there, champ?” Axel pointed at the glass.

 “Whiskey,” Henry raised his cup.

 “My kind of man. Hey, she says you know everything there is about business. Let me run something by ya.”

 Henry listened to Axel rattle off some dodgy business plan he had supposedly been incubating for years, but could only wonder what she had ever seen in a guy like him. He was loud, a touch arrogant and reeked of cigarettes and stale beer. He wondered if this was the ex that had instilled her skewed ideas of sex. All he could remember was how appalled he was when she told him one of her ex-boyfriends used her for a long time. Henry hoped it wasn’t the man shouting in his ear.

 The hour ticked away and Henry consumed more Old Fashioned cocktails than he intended. For a reason unbeknownst to him, Axel took a liking to him and didn’t leave his side unless it was to step outside for a cigarette, but he found Henry as soon as he returned.

 “Yeah, she’s a wild one, eh?”

 “What?” Henry called over the building din of drunken bustle.

 Axel nudged his head toward her. She was dancing to the live band, too busy to attend him or her ex-boyfriend. It pleased Henry to see her happy, carefree and uninterested in anything but letting loose and having a good time.

 “Our little firecracker over there.” Axel swung a brown bottle toward the stage where she danced.

 Henry chuckled only to stifle the yearning to scoff in Axel’s smug face.

 “I mean, she’s yours now, so I’m sure you’re aware of how crazy she is,” said Axel.

 “Are you sure you’re talking about the right girl? She’s not crazy.”

 “Crazy in bed, I mean. I have fond memories of her. Such a little nympho, eh?”

 Henry’s lips pressed together in a slight frown. He wished Axel would leave for another cigarette or disappear altogether. The tattooed man smothered Henry's good mood, so he turned his back and ordered another drink, ignoring the inappropriate comments. Sweetened whiskey warmed his stomach and spread upward, leaving his shoulders and neck prickly, settling in his cheeks as a red tint. 

 “Yep, we had some good times. Threesomes and shit. God, she loved that kinda stuff. And the ass on her... You’re in good hands, my man. Very good hands.” Axel elbowed Henry in the ribs. "Hey, she let you throw it in the backdoor yet?"

 With his tipping point breached, Henry whirled around, brows creased, mouth set in a severe line. “Are you fucking kidding me? On what planet do you believe it’s appropriate to talk about my girlfriend like that?”

 Axel raised his palms, chuckling. All the beer in his bloodstream lubricated his eye socket, making one murky green eye drift while the other stayed affixed to Henry. “Easy there, hombre! I meant nothing by it. I just figured since we’re Eskimo brothers—”

 “Don’t! I don’t want to get into a fight tonight. I came here to have a good time with my girlfriend, not to listen to some drunk fuck talk about her like she’s a piece of meat!”

 The fuzz of guitars and raspy singing encased Henry and Axel inside a private bubble of contempt. Nobody could hear what Henry was yelling or understand why Axel’s brow crinkled as he plucked the half-smoked cigarette from behind his ear to flip into his mouth. Nobody but her.

 By the time she weaved through the crowd, Henry had taken off toward the washrooms.

 “What’s wrong with him?” She asked Axel.

 The tall man shrugged, eyes narrowing at the girl he used to know intimately well. “He freaked out and left. I dunno. Guy has a stick up his ass.”

 She scowled at him and smacked his bicep. “Axel! Why do you always have to stir shit up?”

 He plucked the unlit cigarette from his lips, pieces of charred tobacco falling to the floor like brown confetti. “I didn’t do shit, all right? Whatever. This place is full of fuckin’ zipped, prissy-ass losers. Can’t believe you’ve been spending all your time with a fuckin’ suit.”

 “Shut up, Axel,” she shook her head and headed toward the restrooms to find her boyfriend.

 Henry locked himself in the washroom, went to the mirror and stared at his reflection. The thoughts whirling in his head floated on a sea of whiskey, deceptive and rising steadily. He didn’t want to think about her with anyone else, least not the dead-beat with the throat tattoos. What Axel told him soured in his stomach, tainting his entire perception of their relationship. 

 How could she be happy in the long run if he wasn’t adventurous and paled at the thought of asking her for something as insignificant as a blowjob? He bet Axel had no qualms demanding sex, and she would have obeyed, too. He abhorred the notion and spat into the sink before pulling out his wallet to find the coupon she gave to him on Christmas.

 His eyes coasted over the printed lettering, blurring in the wake of excess alcohol consumption. He shook his head, took a capped pen out of his pocket, popped it and scrawled along the dotted line. His eyes bulged when he glanced at his watch and saw the shorthand coming dangerously close to midnight. He had less than two minutes to find her.

 A loud banging on the bathroom door irked him even more, and he threw it open to glare at the next drunken fool waiting impatiently for their turn. He breezed by the line of bar patrons, catching shoulders with somebody but not turning to apologize.

 He found her in the middle of the bar. Axel was nowhere in sight, and that let out the tension from his shoulders. 

 “There you are!” She exclaimed. “What’s the matter? Did Axel say something to upset you?”

 “No!” He lied. “I mean, yes. But who cares. Here, I have something for you.”

 Henry placed the piece of paper in her hand, and she looked down at it, realizing what it was the moment she saw the print. She read the single word he scratched along the line and looked up with wide, sparkling eyes. She leered at him and stuck the piece of paper in her back pocket.

 “Are you sure?”

 “Yes, I’m positive.”

 “Why?”

 “Because! I want to. I want to have fun together. I don’t want you to think I’m boring or... Or...”

 “Or what?”

 “A prude?”

 She stood on her toes and kissed Henry’s cheek, pulling him in so she could rest her head on his shoulder. “You’re not a prude, and you’re far from boring, Henry. You’re the most interesting man I’ve ever met, and I love you!”

 The crowded bar grew tighter as the seconds ticked away. People off the streets scrambled indoors to be a part of any countdown nearby. The band stopped playing, and the frontman went to the microphone to lead the countdown.

 Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!

 “I love you, too! I want you to know you’re the best thing that's ever happened to me. From the moment I saw you at the hotel... God, I loved you!”

 She beamed at him, arms around his neck while he poured his feelings on her. He was drunk, she could tell, but honest. 

 Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One!

 “Happy New Year!”

 Pops of confetti and glitter flew, raining down on the people hugging and kissing as the clock struck midnight. She kissed him deeply, and he kissed her back deeper than that.

 Then January 3rd came so soon, it almost felt like no time had passed at all.

 She was ready for him, though that was the bottom rung of his worries. Henry knew she would be willing; it was himself he had to worry about.

 He spent most of the day troubling over losing his nerve. If he changed his mind at the last minute, he'd let her down and make her realize he wasn’t as wild as her ex-boyfriends, nowhere close to how brash Axel was, incapable of taking charge the way she liked.

 She reminded him of the time he had taken her in his office and how much it turned her on when he made her call him Daddy. 

 Pretend like we’re in your office again. You’re the boss. You can have it any way you like, baby, you’re in charge.

 She emerged from the closet wearing a flimsy ensemble, and his breath hitched. It was red, lacy and strappy all over, breasts barely hidden under a thin layer of crimson. Henry’s eyes travelled up the straps holding stockings up and froze when he saw that her panties were missing one vital part—a crotch. When she turned and bent over, it left nothing to imagine.

 “What do you think, Mr. Deaver? Do you like it?”

 Henry felt a stirring in his belly. It melted and dripped down, taking all of his blood with it. “Baby... Christ, you look amazing. Come here. Come to me now.”

 She strutted closer to the bed, heels clicking on the floor until she reached the carpet. He beckoned for her, and she crawled onto the edge, slithering her way between his parted legs to receive a long, languid kiss. Henry’s hands went off their own flight path. His brain turned off, devoid of blood and clouded with arousal. She was wrapped up for him like a present, and he was eager to open her up.

 Perched on his lap, she swirled her hips in circles until she was sure he was fully erect. Then she kept rocking until he stayed her with his hands on her hips. The lace was soft beneath his fingers, but it was her skin he wanted to touch.

 “I’m so ready for you to fuck me, sir. I’ve been so naughty.”

 “Yeah? You don’t look like a bad girl, though,” Henry answered, swallowing the excess saliva under his tongue.

 “Oh, but I am. And I’ll prove it to you.”

 Henry laid back as she swung her leg over, turning around, so her back was to him. She arched her spine and flashed him a glimpse of the open panties. He ran his fingers over the material, admiring the way it looked on her smooth skin. 

 Underneath, she was wet enough to leave a blot on the front of his boxers where she ground against him. Henry pressed his head back into the pillows, moaning from the pressure on his cock. 

 “Mm, I believe you. Only bad girls with those dirty, dirty thoughts make that kind of a mess. And I’ve barely touched you.”

 She looked over her shoulder and smiled down at him. “I can’t help it, sir. All I’ve been able to think about is your cock. I need it so bad.”

 He let two fingers travel up her slit and moaned when he saw how much shine he collected along the way. His moistened fingertips met his tongue, and a gentle moan made both of them shiver.

 “God, I love the taste of that pussy. But, that’s not what I want,” he whispered, feeling the heat rising to the surface of his skin.

 “What would you like, sir? I’ll give you anything you want.”

 “You know what I want, princess. I want that ass. I want to feel that tight little hole swallowing my cock.”

 Impressed by his tone of confidence, she gave him a measured little gasp. He smirked and squeezed her cheeks with both hands, prying them apart and purring at the sight of it. His cock twitched hard enough that she felt it. Lust grew until he shimmied his boxers off and waited for her to sit down on his lap again.

 “S’that okay, honey? You like a nice big cock in your ass?”

 She nodded with fervour.

 “Is it because you’re a bad girl? Are you a dirty fucking slut that likes having her asshole fucked?”

 With another nod, she circled her hips against his once more. “Yes, sir. I want it. All I want is to please you.”

 Henry knew there was preparation done out of sight. She was ready for him. All he had to do was take her. The contracted entrance beckoned him, and his balls tightened over how snug it looked, but there was still a thin barrier preventing him from taking charge. He traced it, revelled in her moans, even pressed the first half-inch of his finger inside, but he couldn’t throw her down and fuck her no matter how much she assured him she could handle it. So he went slow.

 “Please, please, sir,” she whined. “I know you want it.”

 “Yeah, baby girl, I do. I want it. But you’re just so tight and delicate. I don’t want to hurt you.”

 Puckered skin stretched over the tip only a bit before he pulled back. She stayed propped on her knees, hands parting her cheeks so he could see every little part of her. He tried again but met with resistance. As his chest inflated, he closed his eyes and eased in until they popped back open.

 “Jesus fucking Christ on the motherfucking cross, baby. Holy shit,” Henry droned. “That is so goddamn fucking tight. I can’t believe how fucking tight that is.”

 Air drew in sharply through his teeth, and he closed his eyes again, stars exploding even with veiled vision. The surrounding tension was powerful as a five of his own grips and warm enough to spread throughout his body. She rocked forward and back once, and Henry clutched the sheets.

 “No, no, no, fuck. That’s too fucking tight. Jesus, baby, I’m gonna fucking come way too soon.”

 “Shh,” she soothed him. “You’re fine, you’re fine. I know it feels so good, but you can handle it.”

 As much as he wanted to believe she was right, that he could hold back and handle the immense pressure squeezing his cock, she was wrong. The moment she lifted and dropped her hips, and he saw his shaft disappear inside of her, a frenzy of nerves crackled in his groin, contracting his balls and tensing every muscle in his body. If it weren’t for the blood thrumming in his cock, she would have thought he passed out.

 Henry sat up, stilled her hips and tried to distract himself by kissing her shoulders.

 “Good God, baby. I’ve never felt anything so tight in my life. I swear to god that little hole will make me come any second.”

 “Yeah?” Her voice tinted with a challenge. “Gonna come already? That big, fat cock can’t handle it?”

 “Come. Come on,” Henry lifted her as though she weighed nothing, scooting them both to the edge of the bed so they faced the mirror.

 Henry instructed her to stay still on his lap while she played with herself. Any amount of friction sent him careening into a tumult of ecstasy, so she could not bounce, grind or pulse on him until she made herself come. 

 The image was pure bliss to him. Mounted on his cock, stockinged legs spread wide, her hand at her pussy rubbing and spreading her wetness around, he enjoyed the view from the back. And every once in a while, Henry thrust his hips up, and she would let out the most endearing squeak of pleasure.

 “Come on, play with that clit. Play with that gorgeous little pussy and show me how you make yourself come, bad girl. Do it for me.” His hot breath at her neck felt more like a cascade of water flowing down her body, carrying her out into a sea of pleasure.

 There were men before Henry, but none so concerned for her arousal, none as attentive to her desires. She wished he would realize it wasn’t about the kink-play or his ability to throw her down and snatch the control whenever he wanted. It was the way he held her and whispered soft encouragement against her skin. It was the time he took to soak up all the warmth he could until she was ready.

 “Tell me when you’re gonna come. I want to come with you. We’ll come at the same time, hm? S’that okay? Can Daddy come inside that sweet ass?”

 “Yes, please,” she breathed.

 “Good. Look at me when you come. I want to see your face.”

 She reached for his hand and replaced her fingers with his. “You make me come.”

 Henry planted his feet on the floor, kept two fingers pressed firmly against her swollen clit and bucked his hips up with shallow strokes. He nodded his head, kissing her when she craned her neck and fell against his chest.

 “That spot right there? Is that what you like, baby girl? Tell me what feels good, baby. Tell me how you like me to play with your pussy.”

 “Just like that,” she gasped. “Mm, just like that, sir.”

 “Yeah? You gonna come for me? ‘Cause I’m about to. Oh, fuck. Yes... I’m going to bust so fucking hard in that ass. God, you make me so fucking hard, baby.”

 Her lashes fluttered as two long fingers worked her until she was dripping. The sticky fluid dribbled down, down, until he felt it on the ridge of his cock. His snapped up faster than before, thigh muscles clenching, teeth grinding together while she whispered in his ear she was approaching the end.

 “Mm, I love it when you fuck my ass, Daddy. I want your cum.”

 “Yeah, you want it? You want all that hot fucking cum?”

 “Mm-hmm, yes!”

 His fingers flickered back and forth until she bit her lip and squealed. The sound of her orgasm pushed him to the edge, and he stiffened until it became too much to bear. They both groaned, gasped and fought for air, wrapped tightly in their rapturous climaxes until their muscles gave out. Henry held her against his chest and slipped out of her after the pulses weakened. He hauled her into the centre of the bed, where they laid until they caught their breath and settled under a blissful haze.

 “That was unbelievable.”

 She giggled and flipped onto her stomach, kissing his jaw and cheek. “You’re unbelievable.”

 “If I weren’t so sure I’m dead, I’d fight you on that one. But I’m fairly certain I’ve gone to heaven.”

 “Heaven, huh? I don’t think they do those kinds of things in heaven," she giggled.

 “Probably not.”

 She nuzzled into his neck, soothed by his natural scent while encased in his arms. “I’m proud of you.”

 He chuckled, sighed and ran his hand through his damp hair. “I’m proud of myself, too. I thought for sure I’d bust instantly.”

 “You came close.”

 “Thank you for... For letting me do that.”

 “I’m happy to be your first,” she whispered.

 “I love you, baby.”

 “I love you, too, my sweet, innocent little Christian boy.”

[mythicalsecretsanta]

Until We Meet Again (T)

This gift is for: Ruby (AKA @sinister-servant)

Happy holidays!! I hope you enjoy your gift.

From your Secret Santa, Ellie (AKA @elliefcutie)

Link to AO3 or read below:

The first time Link met Rhett he was 6 years old. It was a warm June afternoon and Link was playing outside so he wouldn’t disturb his mom who was sleeping inside. He’d brought some of his favourite G.I. Joe’s to play with. He had almost finished arranging the figures to his liking when a large white dog came running up and grabbed Medic who was Link’s favourite. “Hey,” Link called out.

“Drop that it’s my toy, not yours.” The dog paid him no mind and ran off. Link chased after it determined to get his toy back. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up with the dog for long. He was almost ready to give up when the dog trotted up a driveway flopping itself down on the front porch. It began to chew intently on Medic’s hand. Without thinking Link stepped onto the yard to rescue his beloved toy. Then he hesitated knowing he wasn’t supposed to go into stranger’s yards yet he didn’t want to leave Medic to become the dog’s chew toy. Link stood there for several minutes agonizing and then the front door of the house opened. A man stepped out, Link stayed quiet and watched as he closed the door crouching down to pet the dog.

“Lila what are you chewin’ on now you little devil,” the man said. Then he played a little game of tug o war with her trying to free Medic from her grasp. Which he eventually did. He inspected the toy while Link stood there still watching desperately wanting to say something but too scared to speak to someone he didn’t know. The man must have felt Link’s stare because suddenly he looked up right at Link. “Is this yours boy?” he asked. Link nodded still too scared to speak or to run. The man began walking toward him.

“I’m sorry about that kid. Lila is real troublemaker chews anything she can get her mouth on,” he said handing Medic back to Link. Link held out his hand trying unsuccessfully to stop it from shaking. Medic was wet covered with dog drool and teeth marks. Lila had even managed to gnaw off his hand. Link turned and ran without saying a word. He didn’t stop until he was back on his yard. Then he looked down at his ruined toy again and the tears began to fall. He tried his best to hold it in which only resulted in him making loud gasping noises. He didn’t want to be caught crying the other boys sometimes made fun of him for being so sensitive or as they put it for being a crybaby.

“What are you doing?” someone asked. Someone who was very close to Link. Link jumped a little startled. He quickly wiped his tears on his sleeve.

“Nothing,” Link answered as he sneaked a quick to look at the intruder. It was a boy who looked to be his age with wild red-blonde hair and odd grey-green eyes.

“Who are you?” Link asked.

“You can call me Rhett,” he said. “It was strange you had water running down your face and what funny noises you were making,” Was this boy teasing him? Pretending not to know what crying was. How strange.

“It’s called crying ok, I was crying,” Link said. He tried not to shout because his mom said shouting was not nice.

“What purpose does it serve this crying?” Rhett said. Link was really confused now this boy, Rhett, didn’t sound like he was teasing Link. Could he really not know what crying was?

“It something you do when you’re sad,’ he said.

“Sad? Rhett said sounding confused. “What are you sad about?”

“This dog took my toy and chewed on him. Now he’s wrecked,” Link said. Rhett nodded.

“I could fix that for you,” he said. Link stared at him in disbelief. He was certain the toy was beyond repair.

“How?” Link asked.

“Magic,” Rhett said. “But I would need something in return. It is a small thing so I will only need a small payment. A single tear will do.” Link was still skeptical could this boy really have magic? He loved to read books with magic and play make believe but could it really exist? Link was deep in thought when Rhett interrupted.

“So do we have a deal or not?” After a few more moment’s consideration, Link decided it was worth losing a tear for even the smallest chance at have his toy back.

“Deal,” Link said. Rhett nodded again walking up to Link and placing a finger under his eye to catch a single tear. He took a step back gesturing with his other hand conjuring up a whirlwind of leaves that surrounded him making Link unable to see him. When they fell he was gone and Link looked down at Medic in his hands to find him good as new.

The second time they met Link was ten years old. It was an unbearably hot summer day the kind that left you with a permanent layer of sweat. So when Link heard some of the other boys in the neighbourhood discussing plans to ride down to the Cape Fear River he wanted to go too. He ran inside right away to ask his mom for permission.

“Mama,” Link called as he walked into the house.

“I’m in the kitchen pumpkin,” she replied. Link rolled his eyes at her use of the pet name. He was an only child and his mom doted on him.

“Hey mama so of the other boys are gonna ride down to the river can I go with em?” he asked.

“Alone? I don’t think that’s such a good idea honey what if someone gets hurt?”

“No one’s gonna get hurt mama. We’re just going for a swim,” Link said. It was pointless arguing with her but that never stopped Link from trying anyway.

“Why don’t you invite those boys over and we can set up the hose in the backyard. I’ll even make y'all some lemonade. How does that sound?”

“Mama we’re not five nobody wants to play in the yard with you hovering over us.”

“Charles Lincoln Neal don’t you talk to your mama like that.”

“It’s true, everybody else is allowed to go but you still treat me like a baby,” Link yelled.

“That’s quite enough now you won’t be going anywhere except up to your room.”

Link stormed up the stairs and slammed the door to his bedroom. He threw himself down on his bed face first. Link really wanted a best friend. He had made several unsuccessful attempts at getting one over the years. He had plenty of friends but none of them was his best friend. He was convinced it was because he missed out on so many outing like this one. Well, not today Link decided he would go permission or not. The others had probably left already but he could catch up to them if he hurried. Link walked over to the window pulling it open. There was a tree outside his window close enough to jump to though he’d never been brave enough to try it. Well, today he would be he thought as he crouched on the windowsill. He pushed off and easily landed on the nearest branch. Link grinned to himself as he began his descent to the ground. Once he was down he grabbed his bike from where he’d carefully propped it up against the side of the house. The bike had been a present for his birthday. His mom hadn’t let him ride it farther than the end of the street. He would go much farther than that today. Link decided on taking a shortcut through the woods in an effort to catch up with the others. He pedaled as fast as he could, his wheels flying over the pavement. Link didn’t slow down when the pavement turned into the grass and dirt of the wooded path. Without warning Link found himself flying over the handlebars he instinctively put out his hands to catch himself. White hot pain hit him as soon as he landed. Starting in right palm and radiating through his whole body. Link couldn’t bring himself to do anything but writhe in agony for several minutes. When the pain receded a little Link dared a glance at his arm. He regretted it instantly he arm was bent in a way it was not supposed to bend. The pain returned with a vengeance bringing tears to his eyes.

“There you go crying again.” Link looked around for the source of the words and his eyes landed on a strange looking boy. He was wearing nothing but leggings and a shirt so long it looked like a dress, maybe it was a dress for all he knew. That unruly hair and those unusual coloured eyes somehow seemed familiar to Link. He’d had an imaginary friend with those same features when he was younger.

“Rhett?” Link said. “You can’t be here you’re not real.” How could someone he made up appear out of nowhere like that? He looked older than Link remembered too close to his own age.

“I’m as real as you are perhaps even more so,” Rhett said in reply. “Are you sad about something again?”

“I’m not sad. Sometimes you cry for other reasons like when you’re hurt or afraid.”

“I see,” Rhett said. “Would you like to make another deal?”

“What kind of deal?” Link asked. He was still unsure whether Rhett was real or not but he might as well hear what he had to say.

“I can make this all go away. Fix your arm, transport you home but in return, I shall require your most prized possession.”

“My most prized possession,” Link repeated a little confused. “Do you like mean my favourite toy?”

“That shall do,” Rhett said. “So mortal deal or no deal?” Link hesitated giving up his favourite toy meant sacrificing his bike. He really didn’t want to do that but his choices were rather limited. Besides who knew if it would even work anyway or if this was some pain induced hallucination.

“Deal,” Link said.

“Alright, until we meet again Link,” Rhett said. Suddenly Link was lying face first on his bed. He sat up feeling disoriented. Hadn’t he just been in the woods? His arm it had been broken but it was perfectly fine now as he twisted it this way and that. The alarm clock showed the time as 1:30 pm which was the same time he had been sent to his room. Link jumped up to look out his window and sure enough, his bike was missing.

Rhett had been right they did indeed meet a third time. Link was alone in his bedroom. He was fourteen years old and had just broken up with his first real girlfriend Amber. He was crying because he didn’t feel like crying. They had been going together since September nearly a whole year. He should be sad that she’d dumped him. Instead, he felt indifferent. He had shrugged when after she’d done it. Shrugged, like his mom was asking him whether he wanted fried chicken or lasagna for dinner. Like it didn’t matter. Was he some sort monster incapable of feeling emotions?

“You’re crying again,” someone said interrupting his thoughts.

“Rhett,” Link said. “Why do you only ever show up when I’m crying?” Rhett smiled at this.

“I’m here whenever you need help,” he answered. What a weird thing to say to someone who was basically a stranger.

“I don’t think you can help this time Rhett,” Link said.

“You’d be surprised at what I can fix, “Rhett said. “Tell me what’s wrong.” Link was a little taken aback by this. Rhett seemed different from their previous two encounters. Of course, there were the obvious physical differences he’d sprung up like a weed, his face was less boyish than before but it was more than that. He had never asked Link such personal questions before. The kind a sympathetic friend might ask. So Link told him, probably told him a little too much actually. Once he started talking it seemed as if he couldn’t stop. Rhett was a surprisingly good listener letting Link babble on while appearing genuinely interested in what he was saying. After he was finally finished Rhett spoke. “So would you like to hear my offer?” Rhett said. Link nodded.

“I can erase Amber from your mind but in return, I ask for your next kiss,” Rhett said. Link sat mouth gaping open in surprise. Rhett wanted a kiss from him. Kissing a boy was something Link had never let himself think about before. He knew it was wrong or at least that everyone he knew thought it was wrong. Then why did it not disgust Link but instead spark excitement in him sending tingles up and down his spine?

“Wh-why would you ask for that?” Link asked.

“What’s given and what’s taken must be of equal value if I’m taking the memory of your first kiss you must give me a kiss,” Rhett said a gentle smile forming on his face. It made sense in a strange way. Stranger still was the way Link had come to just accept Rhett’s presence in his life. To believe that he would show up whenever Link needed him.

“Who or what are you? Link asked. “Why do you keep helping me?”

“ The answer as to what I am is simple and yet not. I am fae, faerie, one of the fair folk some mortals even call us elves. However, those are only names what we are is always more complicated than that. We are immortal beings. We are wielders of magic but that magic is part of the very world we live in and is wildly unpredictable. We cannot tell a lie yet believing every word we speak is unwise. As for why I help you I know not myself why I do that.”

“Holy crap,” Link said. He was completely dumbfounded. Rhett was an elf, like in freaking Lord of the Rings. That was crazy and totally impossible. Yet Link believed it even though the dude had just told him not to believe him.

“Deal,” Link said. Rhett nodded walking over to Link and placing his palm gently on his forehead.

The fourth time they met it was Link’s eighteenth birthday. His mom had insisted on throwing him a party. All of his friends and family had been there. Link hadn’t minded he liked being around people well enough. After hours of answering prodding questions about his future from nosy relatives, Link needed some quiet alone time. So once the party winded down Link climbed out his window and headed to the Cape Fear River. He brought a little something to celebrate with too. One of his friends from school had been bragging about making wine. He had talked in detail about the process. It seemed simple enough, so Link had brewed some up in honour of his birthday. He’d chosen a strawberry banana flavour which had turned a very unappealing pinkish brown colour. It wasn’t long before he arrived at what he thought of as his spot. An out of the way place in the river marked by two rocks, one much larger than the other. Link sat on the smaller one eager to uncork his wine. He sniffed it, recoiling instantly. Gracious, he hoped it tasted better than it smelled. He took a swig and began to gag almost immediately. Clearly, there was a reason they didn’t sell strawberry banana wine because it tasted horrible. Link would hate for it to go to waste so he swallowed as much of it down as he could. It got a little better once the alcohol kicked in. Link slide off the rock and lay down in the long grass of the riverbank. The stars twinkled in the sky above him, the moon, a crescent shining brightly among them and the sound of the rushing water all added to the buzz the wine was giving him. Link’s mind began to wander. Graduation was less than a month away and then he was off to get a degree in engineering. Which didn’t really excite him but then again nothing really excited him. The world seemed out of focus something felt wrong as if he was missing something but Link didn’t know what it was. He tried his best to seem normal. He dated girls but after only a date or two they would break it off saying he was cold and disinterested. They weren’t wrong no matter how beautiful or interesting they were, Link never fell for any of them, had never even kissed any of them. So here he was eighteen never having been kissed, lying by the river alone, tipsy on terrible homemade wine. A tear slid down his cheek, great now he was crying too.

“Sorry I took so long,” said a voice. Link sat up panic blooming in his chest, his heartbeat roaring in his ears and his whole body vibrating ready to react. Before him stood a boy, a very tall boy with a solemn expression on his face. He was empty handed which made Link relax slightly but not that much. This guy could easily overpower him without a weapon. There was nothing around for miles and Link doubted he would get very far running by the dim light of the moon. The other boy must have sensed his panic because he spoke once again.

“Don’t worry I won’t hurt you,” he said his voice was low and soothing.

“Do you not remember me Link?” Any sense of calm Link had completely left him at that point because holy crap the guy knew his name but Link sure as hell didn’t know who he was.

“How do you know my name?” Link said. The boy’s expression changed to one of confusion.

“ You don’t remember me?” he asked. “I’m Rhett we’ve met before surely you must remember.”

“No, how could I remember you we’ve never met,” Link said.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen. You were never meant to forget me and I never intended to be away for so long,” Rhett said quietly. He seemed to be talking to himself more than Link. Suddenly Rhett moved towards him quickly. So quickly it was inhuman. Before Link could react Rhett was in front of him placing a hand to his forehead. When his hand made contact the strangest feeling came over Link. He felt as if he’d been untethered from his body. Then he felt himself return to it. Something had changed Link could feel it even if he couldn’t put a name to it.

“What did you just do to me?” Link said. He backed away from Rhett his feet unsteady beneath him. Rhett’s look of concern from before had returned except now it looked familiar to Link. Rhett’s hand gentle and frankly a little damp on his brow seemed to recall something in him too. It was like dominoes falling one memory triggered the next and soon enough he remembered everything.

“Rhett,” Link said. “What? Why? How? he sputtered his racing mind unable to form a full thought.

“I suppose I owe you some answers, don’t I?” Rhett said. At this Link lost it and began laughing uncontrollably. He was half convinced this was some sort of hallucination from that half bottle of wine he’d choked down. The alternative seemed too unbelievable that he had some sort of fairy godmother who granted him wishes.

“Yeah you erased some of my memories and have been generally screwing around with my life since I was six. So yes I think we should talk about that,” Link said. Rhett rose to his feet but didn’t attempt to approach Link. Which was fine by Link he wasn’t in a particularly trusting mood right now.

“Do you really expect me to believe you’re a fairy?” Link asked.

“Whether you believe it or not doesn’t make it any less true,” Rhett said.

“Ok so let’s say I do believe you’re a fairy. Why did you erase the memories of Amber and yourself from my mind?”

“We made a deal about Amber if you recall. The part where I erased myself was unintentional. I was very young and fae magic is unpredictable at best even for those of us who are experienced with its use.” “Are you here to collect on our last deal then?” Link said. Finally working up the nerve to ask the only question he’d really wanted to ask.

“Yes. Our agreement is binding you will be unable to kiss anyone else until I kiss you. I never intended to leave for so long. Time works very differently where I’m from. How long has it been exactly? Rhett asked.

“A little more than four years.” Link said. “But you returned my memories shouldn’t that make us even?”

“I thought it would be easier if you remembered. I can erase everything again once it’s over. Then you’ll be free to go on with your life I won’t interfere anymore. No matter how much you cry. We can’t lie so you can believe me,” Rhett said. Link was not the best at picking up on people’s emotions but the way Rhett was rambling on he’d could’ve swore he was nervous. Why would Rhett be nervous? Could it be about the kiss? That would mean he actually wanted to kiss him and Link found he was not opposed to that idea at all. So he took a play from Rhett’s book, closed the gap between them and place a chaste kiss on Rhett’s lips. Even in the faint light Link could see Rhett’s face turn cherry red as he pressed his fingers to his lips.

“Well,” Rhett said clearly flustered but trying to hide it. Link liked it that he had elicited a reaction like that from Rhett. He always seemed unfazed by everything.

“I guess that settles it. I’ll just take care of those memories once again and then I’ll take my leave.”

He moved to once again place his palm on Link’s head. Link however had other plans. He grabbed Rhett’s arm to stop him and instead intertwined their hands together.

“I just did that to get the obligatory kiss out of the way. So we could have a real one,” Link said. Then with a boldness that even surprised him Link once again touched their lips together. There was nothing chaste about it this time. Rhett’s free hand slid up into Link’s hair gently tilting it so their mouths met more closely. Link had never expected kissing to feel this good. Suddenly all he felt was the overwhelming urge to be closer. He untangled their hands so he could put both his arms around Rhett’s neck. Grasping at the spot where hair met skin desperate to bring them closer together. Rhett obliged willingly bending down so Link could reach him easier and placing his other hand on the small of Link’s back pulling them even closer. Then Rhett broke the kiss causing Link to whimper as he desperately tried to reconnect their mouths. Rhett was stronger than he looked because he held Link back without a struggle.

“Why did you do that?” he asked. They were so close Link could feel Rhett’s warm breath on his face as he said it.

“Why do you think?” Link said. “Because I wanted to. Because I’ve spent the last four years wanting too and not being able to even remember what it it was I wanted. You wanted it too. Didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Rhett sighed his reply in Link’s mouth. As they began to kiss again more frantically with tongues tangling in mouths hands slipping under shirts to roam over bare skin then moving to tug on hair and then moving back to bare skin again. Somehow nothing felt close enough even when they were pressed together so tightly there was no space between them. Link was the one who stopped this time but only so he could lay down on the grass pulling Rhett down on top of him. He seemed hesitant hovering over Link as if to ask are you sure? Link moved up to capture his lips in a kiss in answer. They made love by the river night and Link fell asleep in Rhett’s arms contently afterwards. When Link woke in the morning he was alone.

The last time they met was the day before Link’s wedding. It was just past midnight and the rehearsal dinner had ended a few hours ago. Much later than expected due to Link’s embarrassing stunt of personally thanking each person in attendance. Honestly he’d only done it in an attempt to make things slow down. Just hours from now he and Christy would be standing at the altar before all their friends and family saying I do. Christy was great and Link loved her he truly did but not the same way she loved him. The person he did love had abandoned him after one night together and hadn’t been heard from since. He moped around for months afterwards. Wandering the woods aimlessly always ending up at the rocks he would lay down in the grass where they had lain and he would cry. Rhett never came. Eventually he gave up his sadness turning to anger. He felt foolish for thinking that Rhett had really loved him. He was probably laughing at Link back in fairyland or wherever the hell he was. So he moved on with his life or he tried to anyway. He went to university did what was expected of him by getting a degree in something safe and he continued to date women. Even though after Rhett he had less interest in them than ever. When he had met Christy they had clicked instantly. Link had never felt any sexual desire for her however. Until now he could fall back on the conservative, true love waits ideals they had both grown up with. Tomorrow night would be there wedding night and intimacy was to be expected, anticipated even. It was thinking of this that had kept Link awake lying in his old room at his mom’s house. So he climbed out the window like he was a teenager again and not a 22 year old man about to be married. Somehow he’d ended up here again by the river. How had things gotten so out of control? It felt like his life was a runaway train speeding down a track he didn’t want to be on. He didn’t realize he was crying until he felt wetness on his cheeks.

“Crying again I see.” Link turned to see Rhett standing before him bathed in the soft light of the moon looking as handsome as ever. He froze of all the times for him to show up now was possibly the worst. What the hell did he mean by crying again I see, so nonchalant like it was a joke? While it might be a joke to him but Link did not find it funny at all.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Link asked.

“I’m here to see you of course,” Rhett said evenly. Evidently his habit of remaining calm hadn’t changed. He had once found that mysterious and cool. Now it just infuriated him.

“Well I’d rather not see you so piss off.” Rhett nodded slightly not surprised by Link’s reaction.

“You’re angry I understand that but I’m here now so can we at least talk? If you still want me gone I’ll go and you’ll never have to see me again. Deal?” Link was still furious at him but Rhett’s using that phrase like he had in the past made him hesitate. Damn him for extorting their past to manipulate him and damn him a second time because it was actually working.

“Fine,” Link said. “You have ten minutes, so start talking.”

“I haven’t been exactly truthful about who I am. I am fae but I’m also the oldest child of the Summer King.”

“So what exactly does this have to do with your little disappearing acts?” he said.

“It means when my father journeys to the forest of everlasting night I will be Summer King. At least if one of my siblings doesn’t kill me before then. My father would rather that not happen and I spent my childhood being raised as a future ruler. Then I met you. It changed me I kept going back to you when you needed help. I fell in love with you Link.”

Those words sent fireworks through Link’s whole body so much so he was sure Rhett could see him shaking like a leaf. He didn’t want to forgive Rhett that easily. How could he say he loved him and yet leave him so completely without a word.

“You can’t just say that and think it makes everything alright because it doesn’t,” Link said. He clenched his shaking hands silently willing them to stop.

“I know it doesn’t make things alright. I just need you to know I didn’t leave you of my own free will. I can’t say why or how but I promise I didn’t. I can say that if you’ll have me I’m here forever. No more disappearing.”

Link wanted to believe him so desperately but could he? He would be giving up the safe life he could have with Christy. Sure their relationship may not be the all-consuming passionate affair that he and Rhett had had but it was good. Choosing Rhett would also likely mean losing all the people closest to him, homosexuality wasn’t exactly acceptable to them.

“You’ll never leave me?” Link said. Rhett smiled nervously as he slowly moved towards Link.

“I won’t,” he said. Those two words were all it took to convince Link. He took off running to jump straight into Rhett’s arms. Rhett caught him giving a big rumbling laugh. Link knew this because he could feel it as Rhett pressed him close to his chest. He didn’t stay there for long. He was aching to be kissed again. To whisper I love you too against Rhett’s lips. He pushed away from him just enough to roughly pull Rhett’s mouth to his. There was no guidance required this time Link knew what he wanted and he wasn’t afraid to take it. Rhett gave willingly allowing full access to Link’s greedy tongue as it licked at his bottom lip. Link lost himself in the pleasure of the kiss. How could he have ever thought to settle for anything less than this. Although Link would have liked to continue kissing, and more for that matter, much longer he did break the kiss off.

“I may have to leave you though,” Link said. Rhett’s face fell instantly. “No I don’t… I didn’t mean it that way,” Link stumbled over his words. “It’s just I’m supposed to be getting married tomorrow. I need time to sort everything out but I’ll come back to you the minute I can.”

“I understand,” Rhett said concise as always. Link continued to cling to Rhett not ready to leave him quite yet.

“So how is this whole faerie- human relationship thing gonna work anyway?” he asked.

“Doesn’t matter it’s going to be a human-human relationship.” The shock on Link’s face must have been clear because Rhett answered the question he’d been thinking without him saying it aloud.

“Don’t worry about it I made a deal of my own.”

[douxreviews]

Arrow - ‘My Name is Emiko Queen' Review

“I’m not Oliver Queen.”

While that quote is true in the strictest sense, Emiko Queen is doing a damn good imitation.  

From the cold open it was obvious The Powers That Be were going for an OG Arrow esthetic.  From the voiceover,  and (camera) shot selection to the little book of names, and a wounded Emiko going to Rene for help as Oliver went to Felicity.  The similarities didn’t end there.  She has just as many trust issues as Oliver and a stubbornness that up till now I had associated more with Moira’s side of the family.    

There is one profound difference between Emiko and her half-brother.  Where Oliver sought to bring justice to the people his father had wronged, Emiko wants justice on behalf of the wrongs done to her.  This is neither surprising nor unexpected.  Oliver grew up with every advantage.  His time in “hell”  taught him humility and gave him an appreciation for those without silver spoons.  Emiko grew up with little except the unconditional love of her mother.  Her loss would drive anyone to desire vengeance.  

That is what we are talking about here.  For all Emiko’s talk of justice, her war on crime in The Glades is not born out of benevolence.  She has systematically eliminated everyone who had a hand in her mother’s death as she searches for the person who pulled the trigger.  She can wrap it up in as much talk of the downtrodden as she likes.  Revenge is not justice.  I'm not judging.  I'm just stating facts.

That knowledge aside we are left with a host of unanswered questions.  Chief among them why would a woman abandoned and forgotten by her wealthy father imitate her half-brother?  Unlike Oliver, she’d always known about the existence of her half-sibling and the “other” Queen family.  And considering Oliver’s checkered past, he seems an odd choice for emulation.  And how?  I can see her learning to defend herself out of the necessity of growing up in a rough neighborhood.  But I can’t imagine archery being her weapon of choice.

Oliver must come to grips with the fact that the latest person to don the Hood does so out of more than just admiration.  Even after all the suspect deeds committed by Mama and Papa Queen, this is a new low.  To know his father severed all ties to his own daughter makes Oliver question all of his father’s motives.  Especially when he did so while knowingly raising another man’s daughter as his own.  Although I doubt that realization has hit Oliver yet.  Moira’s behavior is just as bad.  It’s not surprising she resented Robert’s other family.  But the idea she would go out of her way to ensure that Robert’s child was not only discarded like an old toy but deliberately kept poor is unbelievably spiteful.  So why is most of Oliver’s anger directed at his father even after Felicity and by extension the writers repeatedly lay the blame for Emiko’s abandonment at both Robert and Moira’s feet?

Speaking of marriage issues, what is up with Diggle?  After years of questioning Lyla’s morality, in large part due to her involvement with the “Ghost Initiative” AKA The Suicide Squad, he unilaterally decides to bring it back? And to force Lyla to defend a policy he knows she disagrees with is unlike him. Is his hatred of Diaz that intense or is his moral fiber fraying?  Does Dig really believe Diaz will flush out Dante.  And is that be before or after Oliver and Felicity find out that Diaz is alive and “free.”

While Diggle’s motives may not be clear, we clarified a few unresolved issues.  Deputy Director Bell is indeed subordinate to Lyla.  However, her superiors at The Pentagon have appointed him as their watchdog which not only explains his apparent autonomy but also the deference that both husband and wife have been giving him.  It also explained Ben Turner’s appearance in Slabside.  He saves Lyla’s life at the risk of getting his head blown off and she repays him by scrubbing The Suicide Squad and sending him to a Supermax prison. No wonder Ben was pissed.

That brings us to Rene, both present and future.  In the present, Emiko’s pursuit of her mother’s killers dovetails with his desire to protect his neighborhood and Lord knows Rene can relate to her anger issues.  Besides, partnering with her fills the void left by his former teammates and offers him the means to make a difference.  However, the fact Emiko is neither part of the flash-forwards nor mentioned as part of Oliver’s Mark of Four pact leads to the suspicion that their partnership is short-lived.   So it is not hard to draw a line from the current iteration of Rene adrift from his former teammates and frustrated by his inability to protect his home to the future Mayor bent on protecting The Glades at the expense of Star City at large.  What is still in question is the identity of future Rene’s mystery friend and murderer of Felicity (IMDB has him listed as Kevin Dale)?  Who does he represent and are they pulling Future Rene’s strings or do they just think they are?

To be honest, this episode left me with mixed feelings.  I appreciated the old-school feel.  And the explanation of Emiko’s abandonment gave more depth to the Queen family dynamics years after Robert and Moira’s deaths, and Walter’s departure.  Yet Oliver’s anger troubled me.  Not only because of its one-sidedness but because his anger on his own behalf felt petty and his anger on Emiko’s behalf felt unearned.  More important than that, the episode meant to introduce us to Emiko gave us more questions than answers and spent far more time on the people affected by her existence than on the woman herself.  

3 out of 5 quilt forts

Parting Thoughts:  

How is Emiko bankrolling this little enterprise?  Bribing mobsters ain’t cheap.

In that same vein, did Curtis borrow an A.R.G.U.S. van or does a tricked out van come with the secret lair and the Hood?

We won’t discuss the whole chain of custody issue of giving crime scene evidence to the wife of an SCPD deputy.  Can we say inadmissible in court, boys and girls?

Emiko threatened to put an arrow through Rene.  Oliver’s been there and done that.

It was a nice touch having Jamey Sheridan read Robert Queen’s letter.  It was bizarre that it was the only time my close captioning specified who was talking - wrongly stating it was Oliver.

I could find no mention of Talis Global in the world of DC Comics.  However, William Glenmorgan definitely exists. So does Santa Prisca.

Future Rene doesn’t have his scar.  Did The Glades Mayor get plastic surgery?

The Archer program wiped out crime in The Glades.   And somehow Zoe almost ruined everything when she got her hands on it.  Color me curious.  

And I meant to ask this in Unmasked.  When did the Queen Mansion get destroyed?  Was Isabel Rochev so vindictive that she burned the place to the ground?  

Quotes:  

Rene: “I guess stubbornness comes with the suit.”

Diaz: “Let me be real clear for the cheap seats.  Screw you.”

Felicity: “Some husbands bring their wives home flowers, and mine brings me blood from a crime scene.  They say romance is dead.”

Oliver: “My father was always very good at burying secrets.”

Felicity: “One more thing.” Oliver: “Just one more?”

Lyla: “Are you questioning my decision, Deputy Director?” Bell: “Of course not, Madam Director.  That kind of radical out-of-the-box approach is exactly the shot in the arm A.R.G.U.S. needs.  I’m sure the Pentagon will be very excited to hear about this.”

Emiko: “People can’t let you down if you don’t let them in.”

Rene: “At least as mayor, I’m actually getting things done, not wasting my time running around the city in a hockey mask pretending that it mattered.”

Lyla: “And here I thought I was the one in danger of becoming Amanda Waller.”

Curtis: “I can knock out the whole system – cameras, motion sensors, the whole shebang.  But it’s up to you guys to deal with that army of terminators yourselves.”

Emiko: “I’m still not looking for a team.” Rene: “Ok, fine.  Then how about a partner?”

Dale: “Star City is a cancer.  The only way to get rid of a cancer is to destroy it.”

Diaz: When I agreed to this deal, no one said anything about sticking a bomb in the back of my head."

Shari loves sci-fi, fantasy, supernatural, and anything with a cape.

[aion-rsa]

Watchmen Episode 4 Easter Eggs Explained

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Watchmen episode 4 introduces Lady Trieu and deepens the Adrian Veidt mystery. Here's all the Easter eggs and references we could find.

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This article contains Watchmen episode 4 spoilers.

HBO’s Watchmen did most of its comic book referencing, additional worldbuilding, and character introductions in its first three episodes. So you would think that by the time we got to Watchmen episode 4, they���d be done mining the book for little flourishes of backstory to reference or use to make this new world even richer. You’d be wrong. There’s still plenty of Easter eggs to hunt in Watchmen episode 4, and we’re here to try and find all of ‘em.

Let’s start at the beginning...

THE FARM

The Superman vibes are strong in this episode once again. Just as episode one felt like it snuck elements of Kal-El’s escape from Krypton as it was destroyed into young Will Reeves’ escape during the Black Wall Street Massacre in 1921, “If You Don’t Like My Story Write Your Own” plays with other elements of the Superman origin story, particularly his adoptive Earth parents, the Kents.

Let’s start with their names: the farmers we meet are the Clarks, and they own Clark Acres Farms. Of course, Superman adopted the human identity of Clark Kent, but there’s a reason Jonathan and Martha Kent chose that first name: Clark was Martha’s maiden name. Perhaps not coincidentally, the husband here is named Jon (his wife is named Katie, and I’m having trouble finding any additional significance for that name, but there you go).

The “egg” theme that has been recurring through all of these episodes is once again present here, as that seems to be one of the primary products of Clark Acres. That also plays into the matter of fertility, as the Clarks are unable to have children of their own, just as the Kents were, and have a child miraculously brought to them via super science. Here, the Clarks get their child thanks to advanced genetic technology pioneered by Lady Trieu, while the Kents got theirs via an interstellar rocket.

And whatever it is that crash lands on Clark Acres sure feels like it could be a vessel from another world. The rocket containing baby Kal-El in the comics always landed in the fields of Kansas, while here, whatever it is that Lady Trieu is so interested in, comes to the fields of Oklahoma.

- At one point in the opening montage (set to “Islands in the Stream” by Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton), Katie Clark can be spotted reading a novel. That novel is Fogdancing by Max Shea. Shea was the author of the Tales of the Black Freighter comic book story that runs parallel through the Watchmen book. Shea disappeared in 1983, but was in actuality sent to an island to help design the giant squid that Adrian Veidt used to kill millions of New Yorkers on Nov. 2, 1985. You can spot another novel on Katie’s bedside table, and while I can’t make out the title, it has a similar jacket design to her copy of Fogdancing. Presumably, it’s a copy of Shea’s other novel, The Hooded Basilisk.

DOCTOR MANHATTAN

- Cal displays an incredibly atheism with the kids. He tells them “heaven is pretend,” as matter-of-factly as he might tell children that Santa Claus isn’t real. This isn’t met with much more than a raised eyebrow by Angela. Is an almost complete lack of religion in the Watchmen universe perhaps another byproduct of the existence of Dr. Manhattan? I’m having trouble thinking of much in the way of appeals to the divine or even the presence of churches in the book.

- Laurie Blake refers to a “thermodynamic miracle” to explain (and even intimidate) Angela about all of the coincidences that keep popping up around her. Dr. Manhattan had told Laurie that her very existence, being that it was a product of a consensual union between two people who had every reason to dislike each other (as Dale Petey points out, Edward Blake had previously sexually assaulted Laurie’s mother, Sally Jupiter). 

LOOKING GLASS

Once again, the Rorschach parallels with Wade Tillman/Detective Looking Glass are somewhat unavoidable. Looking Glass seems to keep a genuine survivalist’s bunker in his yard, the kind of weird reactionary behavior that would make Rorschach proud. On the other hand, Tillman has a sense of humor, and is clearly capable of having genuine friendships, and even romantic relationships, as we learn here that he has been married.

But who was his wife? Apparently she was some kind of scientific mind. Is it possible that she was also a costumed police officer?

- Looking Glass has a hobby, though, and that’s studying the squid rain that periodically falls on the Watchmen universe. You can see the photos he takes and develops in his darkroom (again, note the lack of widespread use of digital technology in this world), and up close, they do indeed look exactly like the giant psychic squid that killed millions of New Yorkers in 1985.

- Looking Glass is wearing a Tulsa Tornados hat. The only reference I can find to a sports team like that was for a professional soccer team that existed for exactly one season...in 1985, the year the original book takes place. Is it possible that one other detail of Watchmen’s alternate history is that soccer is far more popular in the United States than it is in OUR America today? And if so, did this team that struggled to eke out an existence in 1985 continue to thrive into modern day Tulsa sportsfandom?

NITE OWL

We’re now four for four in Nite Owl references on this show, even though we seem no closer to having Dan Dreiberg actually appear in the hooded flesh. Nevertheless, while it’s far less overt than what we saw in the previous three episodes, Nite Owl is once again here in spirit. How, you ask?

When Laurie is driving Angela and Dale Petey to Lady Trieu’s headquarters, the song playing in her car is Billie Holiday’s rendition of “You’re My Thrill.” That was a favorite of Dan’s, and it was the song playing in the Owlship when they had their first costumed hookup (we will never, ever speak of the horrid and unsexy abuse of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” in the misguided movie adaptation of the book). Laurie is still dealing with feelings for Dan, just as she is for Dr. Manhattan.

We wrote more about the possible whereabouts of Nite Owl right here.

WILL REEVES

Our mysterious old man now has a full name: William Reeves. That last name seems significant, as it ties him to the real life fictional lawman he idolized as a child: Bass Reeves. But “Reeves” also brings up those Superman vibes again. George Reeves was an actor who played Superman for seven seasons of the (excellent and available on the DC Universe app) The Adventures of Superman TV series in the 1950s. And young Will escaped the Black Wall Street Massacre just as baby Kal-El escaped Krypton.

But as we’ve surely all noticed by now, Will is fond of Hooded Justice’s preferred colors of purple and red (just as Will’s possible ancestor, Bass Reeves, looked suspiciously like Hooded Justice in that silent film portrayal in Watchmen episode one). Will was apparently a police officer in the 1940s and ‘50s, but “retired young and fell off the grid.” Could that have happened around the same time Hooded Justice stopped adventuring?

We wrote more about the history of Hooded Justice right here.

LADY TRIEU

While we still don’t know much about Lady Trieu, she certainly seems to idolize Adrian Veidt. In fact, it’s possible that she holds Veidt in the same kind of regard that Veidt held Alexander the Great. She purchased his old company, dedicated her mysterious Millennium Clock project with a quote from Percy Bysshe Shelley’s “Ozymandias” (which, of course, was Veidt’s superhero name), and keeps a statue of him in full superhero regalia in her vivarium.

In fact, just the fact that she has a domed vivarium at all is a nod to Veidt, who had one in his arctic fortress, Karnak. There it was to prove that he could keep tropical flora and fauna alive in the most inhospitable environment. Here, Lady Trieu has brought a little of Vietnam into America’s heartland.

Veidt was fascinated with the old world, particularly the exploits of Alexander the Great. Trieu seems focused on creating “the first wonder of the new world” with the Millennium Clock. Veidt felt that Alexander the Great, despite conquering roughly half the known world, had fallen short of a truly lasting impact. Is it possible that Lady Trieu feels the same way about Veidt?

Anyway, speaking of Adrian Veidt...

ADRIAN VEIDT

Veidt confirms in this episode that he has been wherever he is for four years. So any speculation I may have had that time passes differently wherever he is appears to be nonsense. Instead, those “anniversaries” are indeed real, and each episode we’ve seen has indeed taken place one year apart for him. But keep in mind that Veidt has been missing since 2012, so unless additional anniversaries are going to be marked in upcoming episodes, that doesn’t necessarily mean that he has been in his mysterious “prison” since 2012.

Veidt also makes it clear he was “sent here” so he is absolutely in some kind of prison, and the lake and “baby microwave” stuff should be enough to make it obvious that “here” isn’t our usual earthly realm.

He also makes comments indicating that he knows who created where he is, referring to Mr. Phillips and Miss Crookshanks as “flaws in this thoughtless design” (as opposed to “intelligent design” nonsense) and that he is “not your maker.” At the conclusion of the book, Dr. Manhattan claimed to be departing our galaxy, and seemed to contemplate the possibility of creating human life. Are we witnessing the result here with Adrian Veidt?

There’s also this continued weirdness about how he seems to need to get these “flaws” to perform a set of actions in a certain sequence in order to make his mistake. In this episode, it’s a horseshoe that he doesn’t “need yet.”

MISCELLANEOUS STUFF

- Who is the weird silver runner? Red calls him Lube Man. This show absolutely gets the quaint, weird vibes of the regular people who try to be superheroes in this world.

- Can anyone make out Keene’s lapel pin? It looks like it could almost have elements of the Comedian’s badge in it, but I can’t seem to get a close enough look.

- Cal is reading Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe. This episode’s title, “If You Don’t Like My Story, Write Your Own” is a quote from that book.

- The lamp in the Abar household living room looks like the face of the squid.

- Petey’s fandom shows pretty strongly with his “that show is garbage” critique of American Hero Story: Minutemen.

- The episode closes with Irma Thomas’ powerful 1964 rendition of “Time is on My Side.” It was Thomas’ arrangement that the Rolling Stones rode to considerable success a few years later.

Did you spot anything we missed? If so, drop it in the comments or let me know on Twitter!

Mike Cecchini is the Editor in Chief of Den of Geek. You can read more of his work here. Follow him on Twitter @wayoutstuff.

Read and download the Den of Geek NYCC 2019 Special Edition Magazine right here!

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Feature

Books

Mike Cecchini

Nov 10, 2019

Watchmen

HBO

from Books https://ift.tt/2O2czd1

[vcg73]

5 times Burt and Kurt were on their own as a family, and 1 time where they weren't

To my patient Anon, sorry this took me so long! This was the second response to my request a few weeks ago for 5 and 1 story prompts. I started writing this one on Easter, so I decided to just use a theme of father and son holidays.  

I also chose to keep the story in Burt’s POV and set the final piece within my Bus Boy AU.  

1. Burt’s Birthday

- It had been just a few weeks since Katy’s funeral and the last thing Burt wanted to do was celebrate growing another year older, knowing that his wife would never be able to do so again.

He thought about just staying in bed, returning to a heavy and hopefully dreamless sleep that would allow this day to pass unnoticed and unremarked. It’s the way he begins every new day lately.

But he doesn’t do it, because there’s someone else to think about. Someone else to get out of bed and join the world of the living for. Thankfully, blessedly, there is Kurt. Burt still has someone else to think about and take care of. Someone else to care about. A little boy who does not deserve any more reasons to worry. They’ve both had enough of that, with a long year of cancer treatments and hospital visits behind them.

His eight year old understands loss and sadness better than anyone his age should, but Burt thinks that he might not understand his father’s need to hide from the world, especially on his own birthday.

Because as much as Kurt misses his mother, he is a caring and optimistic little soul. He had recently expressed some doubts about the existence of God, wondering if He might not be in same league as Santa Claus, but he liked the idea of Mommy being in a pretty place with no pain, where she could run and laugh like she used to do. Even though he couldn’t see her, Kurt had very solemnly told his father that he would rather do without her if it meant that she could be happy and well again.

If a motherless little boy could be that brave, that selfless, then what right did his father have to do less?

With a feeling of resolve Burt got out of bed and took a shower, allowing a little extra time under the hot spray just because it felt good. He even used a bit of Katy’s leftover vanilla bodywash, the kind that Kurt loved because he thought it smelled like cupcakes, inhaling the scent and pretending for a moment that she was still with them. Then he got dressed in a pair of comfortable blue jeans and a gray t-shirt, putting the blue and green plaid flannel shirt that Kurt had given him last Father’s Day over the top. It was a small thing, but he wanted his son to know that he still cared.

When he got downstairs, Burt was glad that he had made the effort. Kurt was just finishing laying out breakfast for two on the dining room table. He had dressed himself in one of those funny little suits he favored, with the shiny vest and clip on tie, and combed his hair just-so. He was not allowed to operate the stove without supervision, so he had poured them each a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice, and it appeared that he had made a pot of fresh coffee and a few slices of buttered toast as well. There was a small bowl filled with strawberry jam set between their breakfasts, complete with serving spoon. The place settings themselves were neatly set with spoons, butter knives and napkins. Those fancy cloth place-mats that Katy liked for holidays, each set with a paper doily for the bowls, cups and toast plates to rest upon, marked each of their places.

And next to Burt’s, much to his surprise, was a small stack of haphazardly wrapped gifts.

He must have made some kind of noise, for Kurt looked up. “Happy Birthday, Daddy! Do you like it?”

“Looks great, son. You really outdid yourself.”

The little boy surveyed the table with satisfaction. “I know!” he agreed, making Burt laugh. He pointed to the setting with the gifts and said unnecessarily, “That’s yours. I made you Cocoa Puffs. With a banana!”

“Mmm,” he said, settling himself in the chair that Kurt helpfully dragged out from the table for him, trying not to wince as the child struggled with the heavy oak chair, scraping it loudly against the floorboards. “I didn’t know we had any Cocoa Puffs.”

Burt would swear that Kurt’s little chest puffed out like a bullfrog’s as he proudly announced, “I went to the dollar store yesterday after school and spent my whole allowance! I got cereal, and spaghetti-o’s, and a card, and a two-pack of Hostess cupcakes for tonight. Oh, and presents!”

A painful bubble of emotion welled up in Burt’s chest at that. Spaghetti with meatballs was his favorite dinner, and Katy had made it for him every year on his birthday. Kurt must have remembered that and done his best to carry on the tradition without her. Canned mini-noodles in crappy sauce would not be remotely the same, but it was the thought that counted, and maybe it was for the best that the meal would be a little different this year.

He cleared his throat. “Wow, that’s a lot of shopping on eight bucks. Should I open this stuff now?”

Kurt’s little nose scrunched up. “Maybe we should eat first. These lose most of their chocolate if they get too soggy.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” he agreed.

Burt actually hated Cocoa Puffs. Give him a jelly donut and a can of Coke for breakfast any day. His wife had usually avoided buying the kinds of cereal that would cause their son to bounce off the walls all day, but like most kids, Kurt thought those little chocolate sugar bombs were the best thing ever. So Burt fished out the banana slices and ate those first, then manfully swallowed a few spoonfuls of chocolate cereal, washing them down hurriedly with coffee - wondering how it was that his kid made better coffee than Burt himself had ever managed - and bites of slightly burned toast. 

Oblivious to his struggle, Kurt happily slurped up every bit of his, right down to the sugary brown milk. And if he used too generous a serving of jelly on his slice of toast? Well, what the heck. They were celebrating. At least he ate his fruit and drank all of his orange juice.

Kurt finished eating first and then sat there, staring expectantly at his father. Burt was happy to set aside his half finished breakfast. “Can’t eat another bite,” he said honestly, disguising how little he had consumed by laying his napkin over the top of the bowl. “What should we do now?”

Bouncing a little in his chair, Kurt grabbed the blue envelope at the top of the little gift pile and held it out. “Start with this.”

Nodding, Burt opened the envelope, pausing a moment to note the addition of several stickers decorating the envelope. Some kind of aliens, he thought. A big blue furry dinosaur thing and a little round green eyeball on legs. The same creatures decorated the wrapping paper on his gift. “What’s this?” he asked, pointing to the blue guy.

“That’s Sully, and the other one is Mike. They’re the characters in a new movie that started last Friday,” Kurt told him. “All the kids at school were talking about it. It’s called ‘Monsters, Inc’.”

And just from the tone of Kurt’s voice; that slightly too nonchalant tone that came out whenever he really desperately wanted something that he had already made up his mind that he shouldn’t ask for; Burt knew that he really wanted to see that movie. Burt had somehow stopped paying attention to things like movies and other popular entertainment when his wife got sick, but hearing the name made him vaguely recall one of his mechanics going on about this film and how much his daughter was looking forward to it. “Oh, right. The same people who made that one about the toys who come to life when nobody’s around did this one, right?”

Kurt looked impressed. “Toy Story,” he clarified with a nod.

“Right, right, I remember. We took you to see that when you were four or five. You were convinced every morning for weeks that your action figures and stuffed animals weren’t where you left them when you went to sleep.”

“I was just a little kid then.”

Burt laughed and ruffled his hair, smiling when Kurt scowled and immediately set it to rights again, then smiled back as if he could not help himself.

Burt looked at Kurt. Really looked at him, for what felt like the first time in months. For once not seeing a reflection of Katy, or a child who needed something from him and therefore required him to keep functioning. For once he was really seeing Kurt, the eight year old boy who somehow had remained sweet and enthusiastic and caring in the face of an incredible tragedy. Seeing a son who was already starting to act too grown up for his age, but who still had enough of the child in him to long for things like cartoons and sugary cereals, and who, just maybe, needed a day out with his dad where neither one of them was forced to dwell on what they had lost, instead of appreciating what they still had.

“That was a good show. Kinda like to see if this new one lives up to it. What do you say we get these presents opened and then you go put on something comfortable and take your old man to a movie for his birthday?”

Kurt’s eyes lit up. “Okay!” Then his enthusiasm dimmed as he remembered, “Oh … but I don’t have any more money.”

“Pretty sure I missed a couple of allowances this year,” Burt said half apologetically, knowing he had probably missed a great deal more than that. “What do you say to some back-pay?”

“Okay,” he said again. “Do you think I have enough back-pay coming to buy us some popcorn?”

Burt grinned. “The extra-buttery kind.”

Kurt launched himself out of his chair and into his dad’s arms, too excited to express himself in words. Burt’s heart swelled as he held that warm little body close, knowing he would be happy if he had no other birthday present than this.

Speaking of which. “Let’s see what we got here,” he suggested as Kurt let go of him but stayed standing close by. 

Picking up the card, Burt opened it, careful not to rip the stickers holding the flap closed. The card looked like a little shirt and tie - ironic considering that he never wore formal attire unless he absolutely had to - and the inside just said ‘To the Best Dad Ever’, and was signed with a hand drawn heart and Kurt’s name in large but careful cursive lettering.

“Thank you, son. I love you too.”

There were also not one, but three little packages. The first held a four inch long Phillips-head screwdriver, probably about the best size one could buy for a single dollar. Still, a guy could always use a new tool and this one just might come in handy for adjusting small engine parts. The second gift contained a sealed plastic package of Slim Jim’s. Burt nodded his thanks. One could never go wrong with beef jerky. And the third present revealed a two-pack of bubble soap complete with plastic wands.

Seeing his blank look, Kurt explained, “One is for eating, one is for working, and one is for playing. Because you always say you don’t know what you want to do on your birthday, so I decided to give you a choice.”

Burt chuckled. “You know me too well, son. Okay then. It looks like a pretty nice day for fall. What do you say we put on our coats, go see that movie, then head on over the park? We’ll grab some lunch on the way, then play on the swings and blow a few bubbles.” He picked up the cereal box and looked askance at the ugly cartoon bird who was hawking the sugary treats and suggested, “Maybe we’ll take these with us and feed the ducks.”

If Kurt was disappointed at the idea of losing his beloved Cocoa Puffs in such a way, he did not show it. On the contrary, he looked thoroughly delighted at the prospect. “We’ll have such a good time!”

Burt smiled. “Y’know what? I think we just might.”

2. Thanksgiving

- There was something weird about Thanksgiving with only two people. 

Last year they had not really bothered with the holiday. The loss of Katherine Hummel was too fresh for either of them to be able to spend a day among people who would be urging everyone to be thankful for good health and family.

Burt had just not been in the mood to spend time with his well-meaning relatives, and accepting the invitation to spend that day with Katy’s family had been even less appealing. They were also suffering from her loss, and it had felt cruel to even consider spending a day reminding them of the daughter and sister they would never see again. He had briefly considered that maybe it would be good for Kurt to go alone, and spend the holiday with his grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, but when he had suggested it Kurt had grown nearly hysterical. Burt had backed off fast when he figured out that Kurt thought his father meant to leave him there. Kurt had insisted that Burt needed him and then burst into tears and begged him not to “go away like Mommy”. 

Kurt usually acted so solemn and grown-up for his age that the fit of childish panic had startled Burt, making him see for the first time how much time he had been spending wrapped up in his own grief to the exclusion of his only son. He had been pulling away from Kurt just when he was needed most, and boy if that did not make him feel like a world-class heel.

So that was the end of that. The unexpected sensation of relief he felt when he assured Kurt that he did not have to go anywhere, that they would make do with just the two of them, had allowed Burt to realize that he needed Kurt just as badly as Kurt needed him. The idea of spending the first big holiday completely on his own was depressing as hell, never mind throwing in a little boy’s fear of abandonment. And what the hell. Kurt had never gotten along that well with his cousins anyhow. He was just as pleased to avoid them, and also his great-grandmother on Katy’s side, who always grabbed Kurt’s rosy cheeks between pincer-like fingers and demanded to know if he’d been a good boy in the same tone one might use to interrogate a murder suspect. 

Splitting a turkey sandwich and slice of pumpkin pie at Denny’s had been good enough for both of them.

But that was last year. Enough time had passed for their loss to become a bit less raw and sharp, though it was still painful and probably always would be. This year, though they took a vote and decided that they still weren’t quite ready for the big crowds that always attended the family shindig, Kurt was determined that the two of them would have a real family Thanksgiving. At nine years old, he had grown a little taller. He was still small, but with the occasional help of a step stool he was now big enough to do most of the family cooking. 

It had come as something of a surprise to Burt to discover that Kurt’s talent for making good coffee was no fluke. He was a darned good cook. He seemed to have a natural affinity for it. Something he had not inherited from either parent. Burt tried, but anything that did not come from a can or required something more complicated than boiling, typically came out either burned beyond recognition or half-raw. Occasionally both, though he had never figured out how that was possible. Katy had had a handful of specialty dishes that she made for big occasions, but had otherwise been a microwave and crock-pot cook. Everything else they ate had always come ready-made from a restaurant or grocery store.

Kurt, on the other hand, actually seemed able to translate the mysterious hieroglyphics in Grandma Hummel’s hand-written recipe cards, following the directions carefully to create honest-to-god edible meals. Burt was enlisted for the moving of heavy roasting pans, or the cast-iron skillet some clueless soul had given to him and Katy as a wedding gift, but Kurt did all the spicing, chopping (once Burt was convinced he was not going to sever a finger), and cooking himself. He even seemed to like it.

Still, Burt had his doubts about a small boy’s ability to put together an entire Thanksgiving meal. Wasn’t a turkey a little more complicated than a roast chicken? 

He had tried to suggest that a simple turkey breast would do for just the two of them. Perhaps a couple of mashed potatoes and a can of corn to go with it. But Kurt was determined. Thanksgiving was one time of year when his mother had gone all out, frequently even hosting the family gathering. They needed to have turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, rolls, potatoes, yams, gravy, green bean casserole, corn, and both apple and pumpkin pies with fresh whipped cream.

It would be much too big a job for one boy to do alone. On that much, Burt could get his son to agree. It was also way too big of a meal for just two people, but Kurt had already thought of that. The little scamp proudly announced that he had invited Cassius, Mary, George, and Leon to Thanksgiving dinner at their house. They could come over to watch football, have dinner and pie, then play games until bedtime! 

And damned if every one of them didn’t happily confirm their acceptance of the invitation when Burt checked with them the following day. None of the group had families of their own except for George, and his wife and kids were going to be away visiting relatives in California this year. Kurt had been visiting the garage since he could first toddle a few steps on his own, and the gang all viewed him as a surrogate son or baby brother. They were happy to spend the holiday with him, and to Burt’s relief, Mary had already organized the others into bringing side-dishes. Kurt accepted this offer with amusing gravity and a small but manly handshake for each mechanic. 

In retrospect, Burt knew that he should have listened to his own common sense and just purchased a pre-cooked turkey. He had allowed himself to be swayed by Kurt’s (over)confidence and now he was paying the price. 

Not that it was Kurt’s fault that the stupid 20lb bird had refused to thaw all the way through, or that their temperamental old oven had chosen today of all days to have a fit and go cold in the middle of cooking it. And the puddle on the floor? Well, neither of them had noticed they were spilling when they’d juggled the heavy bird into the roasting pan and put it into the oven, so that was nobody’s fault either.

When Burt had heard the distressed cry of “Oh no!” from the kitchen, his first thought was not a cold oven, but a hot one and a possibly injured son. He leapt up from the sofa and charged into the kitchen, barely having time to note the tragic look on Kurt’s face and the lack of obvious bodily harm before he was sliding across the kitchen floor, arms flailing and legs flying like some kind of cartoon character as his foot found the unnoticed spill and went out from under him. He yelped in alarm as he went down, then cursed in pain a moment later when his back registered its unexpected impact with the floor.

Kurt’s blue eyes went round as saucers at the flurry of bad words. Burt did his best to bite them back. He was usually careful not to get too salty around his young son, but damn it that had hurt. 

“Are … are you okay, Daddy?” Kurt peeped, kneeling next to him and patting Burt’s shoulder with a sort of there-there solicitude. 

Burt gritted his teeth and attempted to sit up, nearly releasing another volley of swear words when his back told him what a stupid idea that was. Still, nothing felt broken, so he persisted and scooted back to rest against a handy cabinet door. “Yeah,” he gritted out. “I’m okay. Are you? I heard you yell.”

The little boy looked at the ground as he realized what had brought his father charging into the kitchen. “The turkey is cold. The oven didn’t stay hot, so it didn’t get cooked. And the stupid stuffing is gummy and gross. And my pie I made last night is all goopy in the center. Dinner is wrecked, and now I got you hurt, and nothing is how it’s supposed to be. Everything is wrong.”

Kurt sobbed out the final word and plopped down next to his father. He cried out his feelings of sorrow and frustration into Burt’s soothing shoulder, and Burt just put an arm around him, wincing as he lifted it but not about to deny the comfort his son was seeking. He did his best not to cry along with him. He got it now. Kurt’s determination to make Thanksgiving perfect had never been about wanting a big holiday. Not really. It had been a desperate attempt to make life seem normal again. To feel closer to the mother he loved and missed on what had been one of Katy’s favorite holidays. Having everything going so wrong had instead just reinforced her absence.

“I know,” Burt sighed, kissing his son’s hair. “I’m sorry, Kurt. I wish she could be here too.”

Apparently, his understanding of the problem helped a little. Kurt’s stormy sobs quieted and soon he just sat, sniffling occasionally and wiping his hand across his eyes or nose. Burt managed to reach the pile of cloth napkins Kurt had set on the countertop in preparation for setting the table and encouraged him to blow his nose. 

Kurt resisted for a moment, not wanting to ruin his count for dinner, then sighed as he remembered that there was no dinner anyway and did as he was told.

Now that the shock was wearing off, Burt found that he could move a bit easier. He was going to be crazy sore for a couple of days, but it did not feel like he had done himself any permanent harm. “Help me up. Maybe we can salvage this dinner yet.”

“How?” Kurt asked, scrambling to his feet and bracing himself as he grabbed Burt’s arm and pulled with all his might. Between them, they got him upright and after a moment of self-assessment, Burt decided he would stay that way. 

Burt smiled down at him. “Well, I’ve never tried it before but I’ve heard that you can barbecue a turkey and have it come out pretty good. Why don’t you go into the office and fire up the computer? Go online and see if you can find a good recipe while I dig out the grill and get ‘er started. Between us, we’ll figure things out.”

Dashing away a final few tears, Kurt smiled and scampered off to boot up the PC his dad had recently installed in the tiny home office where he did the paperwork for his business. Burt trusted him to find what they were looking for on his own. Like most of his generation, Kurt had taken to computers like a duck to water, and was actually a lot faster at using it than his father was.

Sure enough, he came back within ten minutes, waving a sheet of printer paper overhead like a triumphant flag. “I got it,” he announced, holding out the sheet to his dad.

Burt had wheeled the black kettle barbecue out from the garage and into the back yard. They’d still had half a bag of charcoal left over from summer, luckily. He read over the print-out and nodded, shaking out a modest amount and setting it in small piles around the perimeter of the lower grill. Looked like they were supposed to maintain an even medium heat, adding new coals about once an hour around the already filled roasting pan. The pan had its own rack so they wouldn’t have to worry about grease drips.

It took a little while to get everything arranged the exact way the recipe recommended (thankfully there were a couple of pictures included with the instructions) but soon their dinner was roasting away in its little outdoor oven. Best of all, Kurt looked very impressed by his father’s successful Thanksgiving improvisation.

“It’ll be your job to watch the time and make sure we add new charcoal every hour,” Burt told the boy solemnly. “Don’t let me get too caught up in the game and forget. After a couple of hours, we’ll start testing it with a meat thermometer to see how it’s doing, but I’ll handle that part.”

Kurt nodded with equal seriousness. Burt had to fight the urge to smile, knowing that he had better be prepared to add briquettes every hour on the hour and that Kurt would be overseeing every check of that bird’s temperature with growing excitement as it cooked.

Luckily for him, the doorbell rang just then. Burt shooed his son off to greet their guests, using the distraction to hitch his way slowly inside the house. He would be fine, but he would rather his mechanics not see how much effort it was taking to walk without wincing. By the time he got inside, everyone had their coats off and were getting their ears filled with a dramatic recreation of his fall and heroic rescue of Thanksgiving dinner in the face of “excruciating” pain.

Burt snorted, wondering where the kid had picked up that word. I mean, sure his back was pretty sore, but Kurt made it sound like he had rescued the turkey from the top of a burning building or something. Still, the pride in his son’s face did make the pain seem a bit less sharp.

“Thanks for coming, guys,” he greeted, shaking hands and directing everyone to set their potluck dishes on the table. They could reheat anything that needed attention later on. After he made sure that the kitchen floor was clear of any more unexpected hazards. “Anyone need a beer or a soda before we turn on the game?”

Kurt had kept a sharp eye on the clock, and Burt had checked their dinner at regular intervals until the meat thermometer showed the correct temperature. They got everything dished up and reheated, set the table, and Burt solved the shorted-napkin dilemma by finding Katy’s old set of white linen napkins, which he alternated with the brown set Kurt had picked out, resulting in a very nice effect that even his picky nine-year-old pronounced perfect.

By the end of the evening, the two-man Hummel Thanksgiving party had been pronounced a success by all who attended. The barbecued turkey came out beautifully, even without any stuffing. The mashed potatoes and gravy were fluffy and perfect. The pumpkin pie was declared a lost cause but the apple was delicious. And Leon’s green-bean casserole, Cassius’s candied yams (grandma’s secret recipe), George’s home-made biscuits, and Mary’s pumpkin cheesecake added to the festivities perfectly. The way Kurt looked at Mary after he had his first taste of that cake made Burt question his private assumptions about his son being gay. The kid looked at her like he was already planning out the details of their wedding.

After dinner they all played a rousing game of Monopoly, then Kurt coaxed the mechanics into a quick game of Murder Mystery. (Actually just a Clue game that Kurt liked to play out live when they had enough people.) The child’s happiness at figuring out that he (aka Mr. Green) had murdered the victim by whacking them over the head with a candlestick, and the drama of his subsequent ‘confession’ had left the four mechanics in stitches.

Burt had preferred to watch the game and rest his still mildly sore back, but after seeing everyone out and getting Kurt washed up and into his PJ’s, he happily tucked the sleepy boy into his big leather chair and popped in the VHS of ‘The Sound of Music’ to watch with him.

Kurt only made it as far as the Von Trapp puppet show before he was sound asleep, snoring against Burt’s side, but Burt let the movie run and just enjoyed the feeling of that warm little body next to him.

There had been a few rough spots, but as holidays went, this had been a damn good one.

3. Easter

-“I don’t want to do the egg hunt this year.” 

Burt looked up from the magazine he had just received in the mail. Kurt was holding up a flyer from the neighborhood civic association, his expression suggesting that the innocent piece of paper had done something offensive. The association had apparently been stuffing mailboxes again with reminders of the big weekend event. “But why not? You love that thing.” 

The boy grimaced like he’d tasted something sour. “No, Dad. I loved it when I was six. I liked it when I was ten. Last year it was a complete drag. I was one of the oldest kids there. I only got away with it because I’m one of the smallest in my class, but I’m almost a teenager now. I’m going to look ridiculous out there hunting for Easter eggs with all those babies!” 

As much as it pained him, Burt had to admit that his son probably had a point. Baby-faced and on the shorter side, it was easy to pretend that Kurt was still a little boy, but he would be 13 at the end of next month. He was wearing a set of braces on his teeth and beginning to show the signs of teenage acne around his chin and forehead. Burt thought his voice might have changed a bit this year too, though so far it was still pretty high. “Guess it’s not as much fun at your age, huh?” 

The boy plopped down on the sofa with an aggrieved air. “It’s miserable.” 

“And I suppose it doesn’t help any that the thing is always church-sponsored.” 

At this, Kurt looked startled. Before he could stop himself, he blurted, “How did you know?” 

Burt shook his head. “I may not be the smartest guy on the block, but I’m not an idiot. You started having doubts about God when your mom got sick, and every time we’ve gone to church since then I’ve seen the disbelief go a little deeper.”  

Kurt flushed and refused to look at him. Burt sympathized. He had never been a big church enthusiast himself, but he had continued going from time to time out of respect for his wife’s memory. Katy had been a believer. However, his own attendance had dropped off quite a bit when he started noticing how often the pastor seemed to work in messages against ‘sinners’ who should ‘repent’ being gay. He didn’t need to hear that crap in a place of supposed divine love. And Kurt definitely did not need to hear it. Though they had never spoken of it, the suspicion he had held since Kurt was a toddler was by now a bona fide certainty. It would be up to his son to talk about all that when he was ready, and Burt could not deny to himself that he was willing to put that conversation off for as long as humanly possible, but when the time did come he did not want Kurt to think that his father agreed with those bigots at church. 

So maybe he should stop acting like a big old coward and try putting out a feeler.  

“Y’know, there’s nothing wrong with being the way you are,” he ventured. Kurt looked up, such horror springing to his eyes that Burt hastily backpedaled. Crap, the kid looked terrified. Clearly now was not the time. “An atheist, I mean. You don’t have to believe in religion or even in God to be a good person. Free will is still a human prerogative, and if you’re trying your best to do good by other people then I figure you’re ahead of the curve, regardless of what you believe about the here-after. Do unto others and all that.” 

“So I don’t have to go to church anymore?”

“No,” he said calmly. “Y’ don’t. And you don’t have to do the egg hunt either. You’re getting old enough to make your own decisions about stuff like that. If you don’t want to go, I won’t try to make you.”

Kurt relaxed. “Thanks for understanding. So … it’s really okay if we don’t do anything big for Easter?” He smiled a little. “Even if it means missing out on the chocolate bunnies they always hide inside those big plastic eggs?” 

Burt chuckled. “I’m good. Besides, there’s no rule against being your own Easter bunny. I can go over to the store today and grab us a stash of chocolate bunnies, marshmallow chicks, those little caramel eggs.” 

The smile became a bit wider. “You can have mine. Chocolate makes me break out. But if you want, I’ll hide some plastic eggs around the yard and you can search for them this year.” 

He pretended to consider it. “Nah. I’ll take the candy, but egg hunting is really for you kids. But suppose I were to stash a little cash in some of those eggs and then hide ‘em around the house. Would you be interested then?”

That gave Kurt pause. He had been trying to save up enough for a designer sweater he had seen at the mall. And his father knew it. “How much are we talking about?”

“You’ll have to go searching and find out,” Burt hedged. “But even if it’s only a few bucks, that’s more than you have right now.”

Kurt made a face, clearly not sure that it was worth risking his near-teenaged dignity for a possible pittance. 

Burt grinned. Gotcha. “On the other hand, it might be more than that. Who knows?”

“You do, if you’re the bunny,” he pointed out, then he sighed with the martyred air of one who is reluctantly humoring a ridiculous idea (that he secretly loved). “Oh,  okay, fine. I’ll do it.”

“Great!  Give me until 8am on Sunday morning to get everything set.”

Finally, Kurt smiled big enough for a gleam of metal to show. “Deal. And Dad? If you really want me to do this, you don’t have to bribe me. I’ll do it for you.”

Burt felt a bubble of pride well up in his chest. He had a damn good kid. Maybe he would buy Kurt that sweater instead and just hide a few clues in those eggs to help him find where it was hidden.

“Thanks, son. I appreciate that.”

4. Mother’s Day

- Family picnics at the cemetery might seem a little strange to most people. Particularly on Mother’s Day. But Kurt Hummel’s situation was a little more unusual than most people’s. This is where his mother was, so this is where he came every 2nd Sunday of May. Rain or shine. Just as he had for the past 6 years.

Kurt’s father understood perfectly. Who better to know just how much it meant to his nearly 15-year-old to spend such an important day with the woman they both loved most in the world?

Kurt would pack a basket just-so, including placemats and dishware, linen napkins and real silverware. He would cook and bake all day Saturday, all of her favorite foods, and a flask of sweet iced tea. Katy had been from the South originally and she had always taken her tea with enough sugar to make Burt feel a bit sick. Kurt did not like his tea ultra-sweet either, but on Mother’s Day he made an exception. He would pack her favorite blanket, and a ground-cloth and umbrella too if the weather was not conducive to sitting in grass out in the open air.

And even though it was Kurt and Katy’s special day, and Burt always gave him the first few minutes to talk with her alone, Kurt always wanted him to join them sooner or later. He would urge Burt to tell her about the garage, or what movie he’d been watching on television, or anything else that came to mind.

Burt did so with a grateful heart. He had felt a bit silly that first year, a bit morbid and even angry to be sharing a casual monologue with a cold uncaring headstone when he really wanted to be talking to the living, breathing woman again. But he had eventually opened up and found himself sharing thoughts and even feelings with that quiet grave, allowing Katy’s memory to heal the gaping wound in his soul.

Kurt always returned the favor and gave his parents a few minutes together while he went in search of the best blossoms from the flower vendor who kept a little shop at the edge of the cemetery for just such occasions. The lady’s name was Laura, and she charged very little for such high-quality flowers. She had people here too, Kurt had told him. She understood.

This year, Kurt took a little more time than usual in talking with his mom while Burt stood back patiently waiting his turn. It was a lovely sunny day this year, and he found himself content to stand by and let Kurt take his time. The boy had been quieter this year, more introspective and sad. He seemed to be struggling more in school, and he rarely went out anymore. Burt had not been able to get him to open up and they seemed to be drifting further apart all the time. Kurt would start high school next fall and Burt worried that the problem would only get worse. 

Maybe Katy could help him in some small way.

When it was time for Burt to join them, he found himself unexpectedly without anything to say. There was Kurt, kneeling on the picnic blanket with his hands in his lap and his long lashes brushing his cheeks as he looked down and studied his twisting fingertips, looking so much like her for a moment that Burt had to fight back a lump of tears. How was it fair that a boy so young, a boy so lost and so damned different, who needed a mother’s understanding love, had been forced to grow up without her? Without anyone but a blunt, clumsy, emotionally tongue-tied father who couldn’t even understand what made him tick half the time?

“She would have been proud of the man you’re becoming,” he found himself saying. The words surprised them both. Kurt looked up, eyes wide and questioning. “I see her in you. Her strength, her smarts, that wise way she had of dealing with things, like she always had an angel on her shoulder whispering the right way to go. You got that too.”

The boy smiled a bit shyly in the face of such unexpected praise. “She used to say I was like you. Stubborn, and determined, and generous, and kind.” He bit his lip, staring off to the side for a moment as if wrestling with some inner dilemma. “I’m not sure I’m any of those things, except for stubborn, but Mom thought I was, so I try to be. I don’t want to give up.”

Burt did not know what they were talking about exactly, but the quiet words sent a chill down his spine. He reached out and grabbed Kurt’s folded hands with one of his own. “Then don’t. And if it ever gets too tough and you need someone to be stubborn for you, you just reach out and I’ll be there. Okay?”

Tears glistened in Kurt’s eyes and he nodded. “Okay.” He sniffled and dashed at his nose. Abruptly, he stood  up and said, “I’m going to see if Laura has any daisies this year.”

He walked away quickly and Burt watched him go, hoping and praying that he would have whatever strength his son would need in the coming years. “Help me watch over him, Katy,” he whispered. “Watch over us both.”

Burt held his breath in surprise when a warm breeze suddenly caressed his cheek, and a second small draft reached out to ruffle Kurt’s hair. Well, if that wasn’t an answer, he didn’t know what could be!

Jumping to his feet, Burt jogged to catch up with his son. He slung an arm around Kurt’s shoulders and said, “What do you say we get your mom some roses too? Think she’d like that?”

Kurt just smiled and slipped an answering arm around Burt’s sturdy waist, giving him a little sideways hug.

That was enough answer for them both.

5. Christmas

-Kurt walked into the garage, pausing to exchange pleasantries with Cassius and Leon on the way to his father’s office in the back. When he got there, Kurt tossed his leather satchel on the sofa and executed a neat pirouette that ended in a dramatic sprawl across the little couch. “Vay – cay – shuuuuun,” he moaned.

Burt shook his head, smirking into the paperwork he was filling out on the classic ’65 Dodge Charger he and the boys had just finished tuning up. Dave Lewis had restored that car from a junker himself, but he always brought it by Hummel’s when his pride and joy needed servicing. It was a show of faith in his work that Burt did not take lightly, so he finished the service tally in full before allowing himself to be distracted by his son’s attention-grabbing antics. “Don’t you have one more day before Winter Break starts?”

“Only a half day, and it’s pretty much just everyone goofing off and exchanging holiday plans,” Kurt said with a dismissive wave of one hand.  “Semester finals are over so the teachers are mentally on vacation already. All I have is biology, English, and glee club until the assembly at 11. Then I’m free for two glorious weeks.”

Burt laughed. Anyone would think from his rapturous tone that Kurt was kept chained to his school work with no breaks 24 hours a day. Though he could remember feeling the same way whenever a school holiday loomed, so Burt couldn’t exactly blame him.

Kurt sat up and said, “Hey, I have an idea. Want to meet me for lunch at Zoom’s after I get out tomorrow? I’ll buy you a cheeseburger and then we can go Christmas shopping!”

Burt considered it. He had bought a couple of gifts for Kurt already, but it was rare for his son to invite him to do stuff he usually did with his gal-pals from Glee. Not that Burt objected to being left out of things like that. A shopping trip with Kurt Hummel was not for the weak!  Never had been, but it was especially true since he had come out of the closet and no longer felt the need to hide the things he truly enjoyed. And it was really good to know that Kurt finally had friends to spend his free time with, instead of always being on the outside looking in.  

Still, that did not mean that Burt didn’t occasionally miss the days when they were basically a two man operation. “Sure, why not? Sounds like fun.”

The boy bounced up from the sofa and gave his father a big hug from behind, taking the opportunity to steal one of the doughnuts from the box on his desk while he was within reach. That told Burt that his son was in especially high spirits. He usually avoided processed sugars like the plague. 

Although … maybe there was more to it than just a good mood. Burt considered his happily munching offspring, eyes skimming over his form from head to toe. First Kurt suggested going to Zoom’s Burgers (’Home of the Fastest Food in Town!’) and now he was eating doughnuts. Experience suggested that that meant a big growth spurt was about to hit. Those were almost always heralded by a couple of months where Burt could not refill the cupboards and refrigerator often enough. His normally sensible eater would basically become a locust horde on two skinny legs.

“Maybe we’d better start with a visit to the Outlet mall,” Burt told him. “Those pants are already looking a little short and something tells me the clothes you’ve got now aren’t gonna fit too much longer. I know it’s supposed to be a Christmas shopping trip, but I want you to try on a few things for size. We’ll see if we can get ahead of the game before you end up wearing high-waters and designer tents to school.”

Kurt’s expression was comical, caught somewhere between delight at the idea of buying new clothes, and worry at the thought of not looking his best. He looked down at his current ensemble of cherry red jeans and a layered variegated sweater. “Is it that bad?”

“Not yet,” Burt said honestly, “but all that dancin’ seems to be filling you out a little. You’re built just like your Uncle Andy. When he was just about your age, he suddenly got wide through the shoulders, skinny through the waist, and grew legs like a friggin’ giraffe. He put on a good six inches of height between sophomore and senior year.”

Kurt beamed at this news. He had always hated being one of the shortest boys in school, and the idea that he might get a new wardrobe along with a more impressive physique clearly thrilled him. “You really think I’ll grow that much?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me a bit,” Burt told him. 

After that conversation, Kurt remained in a wonderful state of cheer throughout his vacation. Burt caught him several times preening into handy reflective surfaces, pulling himself up as tall as he could and attempting to flex his shoulders and suck in his stomach. Clearly envisioning the fine figure he would cut once the promised growth spurt began. He did not even seem to mind being steered away from scary-expensive garments on their shopping trip, content to believe that he would not get enough wear out of them to be worth the purchase. 

This did not, however, deter him from hinting strongly for gift cards to his favorite clothing stores. It was a good idea, really, so Burt bought a number of them on the sly and packaged them all up together in a little flat cookie tin left over from another Christmas.  

As he wrapped the gift in shiny paper and stuck a bow on it, Burt reflected ruefully that the saying about good things coming in small packages definitely applied. This particular present was tiny compared to the ergonomic seat cover for Kurt’s SUV, new boots for the upcoming ski weekend he had planned with some of his singing friends, the heavy winter parka Burt had bought to replace that silly piece of fashionable nothing Kurt had picked out for himself last fall, and the new bookcase Burt had built in the workshop behind their house; but it was easily the most expensive.

He’d gone a little overboard shopping for his son this Christmas. He was definitely going to be feeling some sticker shock when the credit card bill came next month, but it was hard not to spoil him sometimes. Kurt was such a good kid. Sure he was a little mouthy sometimes, and he had attitude to spare when he thought he was in the right about something, but he was also generous and good-hearted, caring and brave. He deserved good things, and Burt thought he didn’t get damn near enough of those from the outside world. 

Plus, if he was entirely honest with himself, Burt felt the need to make up in some small way for the fact that he had been so distant and stand-offish regarding Kurt’s sexuality. He had known since the kid was three for God-sake, and yet he had still made himself so unapproachable on the subject that it had taken his son all the way up to his second year in high school to feel confident enough to talk to him about it. In retrospect, Burt knew he had been a damn coward and he wanted to let Kurt know that he was sorry. No one could buy forgiveness; not that Kurt seemed to hold his actions against him; but it would make Burt feel better to offer an apology anyway. A solid show of contrition in the form of kooky runway model clothing that Kurt could pick out for himself. A sign that Burt was okay with him dressing and being exactly like he was, on Kurt’s own terms.

What better gift could any parent give to the child he loved?

1. Kurt’s Birthday

-Burt watched with a smile as Kurt leaned closer to his husband, laughing at something Adam was whispering in his ear. In Kurt’s lap he was cuddling eight month old baby Katie, automatically tugging her pudgy hand back as she reached for one of the intriguing blue frosting flowers on the cake Carole had just set in front of them.

Adam held five-year-old Austen in his own lap, bouncing his stepson on his thigh and giving him a good view of the festivities as Carole used an automatic lighter to set 30 tiny candles alight.

The entire room sang an enthusiastic rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ to their shining eyed guest of honor, then Kurt took a deep breath and blew the candles out in one mighty gust that brought cheers and applause. 

Whether it was the extinguishing of the pretty little flames or the fact that her Daddy still wouldn’t let her grab one of those tempting roses, Katie suddenly let go a piercing shriek of discontent. The whole room winced, then laughed when Burt called out, “As you can tell, she inherited her dad’s lungs!” 

Adam set Austen down and took the baby, bouncing her and making funny faces until her bad mood changed to sweet baby laughter. Kurt gave him a grateful peck on the lips as he stood to begin cutting the cake for his guests. 

Kurt lifted Austen up to stand on his abandoned chair, assigning his son the task of placing a plastic fork on each newly filled cake plate. Kurt liked to make his little boy to feel like an important part of any event, and as Burt watched his grandson smile brightly and offer the plates to each approaching guest, he enjoyed a feeling of warm nostalgia. The child looked so much like his father had at that age, when Kurt had delighted in trotting back and forth between toolboxes and cars, handing screwdrivers and small wrenches to Burt and his mechanics whenever Katy brought him by to visit Daddy at work. 

The sight of his son, handsome and confident, surrounded by a loving family and a host of good friends, made Burt feel suddenly choked up. He excused himself from the room with a muttered excuse about finding the restroom, then retreated to the small deck of the restaurant Adam had reserved for Kurt’s party today. 

He needed a few minutes to get himself back under control, taking a few breaths of warm late spring air to push back the feeling of wanting to cry. Damn, he must be getting old.

“Dad?” a gentle voice interrupted. “I saw you duck out. Are you okay?”

Burt turned to look at Kurt, smiling to erase the concerned look on his face. “I’m fine. I’m great, actually. Just feeling a little sentimental all of a sudden, I guess.”

His son came all the way out, shutting the glass door behind him and leaning his forearms on the railing in imitation of his dad’s pose. He smiled. “Is it weird to know your little boy is 30 years old now?  It’s kind of weird for me.”

Burt nodded. “A little bit, yeah.” He paused, considering how much to share, then decided to just go for it. “I was really just thinking how happy I am that you’re at such a good place in your life. Friends, family, a good job that makes you happy, a guy who lights up every time you walk in the room and treats you like gold. You waited a hell of a long time for those things, and it kinda gets me right here when I see that you finally got ‘em.”

He thumped himself on the chest in demonstration, and as he put his hand back down, Kurt reached out to clasp it. “I wouldn’t have any of it if you hadn’t been there for me, to see me through all the hard times and push me to keep trying even when I wanted to give up.”

Burt squeezed his hand back, but said, “Nah. I was just kinda stumbling through half the time, not knowing what the hell I was doing. And sometimes you can’t deny that I made some seriously wrong decisions where you were concerned. Practically paved the road to hell with all my good intentions.”

They were quiet a moment, then Kurt said, “Nobody makes the right choices all the time, and you just wanted me to be happy. You still let me follow my own path, even when it wasn’t one you knew how to walk with me. I wouldn’t trade any of the bad times back if it meant I wouldn’t be where I am today.” He laughed lightly. “Besides, it’s kind of reassuring to know that when I eventually fuck up with Austen and Katie, there’s a pretty good chance they won’t hold it against me long term.”

Burt chuckled. “There is that.” He smiled. “We been through a lot together, you and me, and I wouldn’t trade any of it either. Your mom would have made some of it a lot easier, but I know she’d be as proud as I am of the man you’ve become.”

“She’d be proud of you too,” Kurt said. “You didn’t know how to be a single parent, or the father of a gay son, or how to encourage dreams that would never fit in a small town like Lima; but somehow you figured it all out and did it anyway. I couldn’t have had a better start in life than being your son, and thanks to you, I think I’m turning out to be a pretty good dad.”

“A great dad,” he corrected, brushing a hand across his nose to disguise the teary sniffle that emerged. “And one hell of a great son. I love you, kid. Happy Birthday.”

“I love you too,” he said, straightening up to give his dad a tight embrace. As he let go, he eased the moment by saying, “Shall we go see if Adam left us any cake? I asked him to make me a chocolate one this year but when they were baking it together, I think he and Austen ate half the batter and about a cup of icing.”

Burt laughed, grateful for the emotional reprieve. “That would explain why my son in law was talking three times faster than usual when he picked me and Carole up from the airport yesterday.” 

“Did you see that bouquet of balloons he got me?  I bet I could untie it and float away like the house from “Up!” if I tried.”

Laughing now, father and son left bittersweet memories behind them and walked back inside to celebrate the beginning of many more wonderful years.

THE END

[idsungyeol-blog]

—as promised.

(alternatively, a visit from a ghost of christmas past or the many christmases of kim sungyeol) — wc. 1.165

where did his resentment of christmas come from? who the hell knows. most bets were on his character, the one that needed to prove something to others. the one that overcompensated and certainly felt like he was hovering three steps above sea level. quite peculiar.

he really wanted to make fun of the kitsch, pretend to be smarter than anyone else. stupid marketing strategies and decorations in the middle of october seemed useless and out of place. because that’s what christmas was to him. sparkles, fake snow and tasteless sequence all wrapped around a holiday version of capitalism. it was the single holiday that pretended to be something it wasn’t and it pissed sungyeol off. most likely because it hit close to home. he is the equivalent of christmas? wrapped in a nice ribbon for the eight year in a row. except that christmas came and went. meanwhile, he did not really have a choice. at least none that would leave him dry.

thirty christmases have passed. and, truthfully, nothing good ever came out of either one. or, at least, he didn’t remember and could not peace together any fond memory from the past from the little remains of memories lingering in the back of his mind. behind mental notes of which milk to buy in the grocery store and a vague recollection of olympus’ member birthday celebrations. it was of the lowest importance.

the first christmas that left a mark was the one of 1998. simply because he was old enough to understand what was happening and rack it through his own head. dinner, first and foremost, some western dishes served on the table. his father came home to hot food with a christmas tree that looked a bit like a toilet brush with a sharp end, pridefully announcing he cut it himself somewhere. the multi-coloured fairy lights looked ugly wrapped around it, making it glow a yellow tint that coloured the entire living room in a colour akin to urine yellow. the only good thing in his head of that day was the present received from his father (good thing his parents were smart enough never to delude him with santa claus, he figured). a beautiful maple back and ribs, reflecting the multi-coloured christmas lights right into the ten year old’s eyes. much too big for his frame yet so fascinating. he’s been playing for a year, a borrowed instrument from the music school he’d attended. now he has his own, with his english initials engraved on the neck and the date to commemorate. that violoncello is with him to this day, sitting in the corner of his living room like a decoration.

the other christmas he remembers is around his thirteenth year. or somewhere between happiness and tragedy. there’s no particular reason he remembers it other than the heavy snowflakes falling into the streets of seoul, the smell of cinnamon buns and his father bringing home a pine instead of a christmas tree. they all look the same. sungyeol nodded to that from his spot in the living room before dragging the bow against the strings again. o come, o come, emanuel rung throughout their apartment as his mother cooked dinner.

the next year was, well, shitty. his cello collected dust in the corner and all he could do was glare at it from the dinner table. one of the many problems he had at that time, between the newly healed wrists and the cramps that made his chopsticks unwillingly fall out of his hands. his head banged against the dinner table periodically, hands shooting close to his gut as a fourteen year old sungyeol hissed in pain. charming, really. his parents gave him a flute that year. a fucking flute. he had to keep himself from taking out a steak knife from the second drawer and chopping it in half. would have worked, surely.

there was a recital he was invited to at sixteen. apparently, some of his older friends were graduating and therefore were offered center-stage during the christmas concert. the one thing they prepared for all year long. that was the one and only time sungyeol did not feel happy for his friends.

what happened at the remaining christmases at home was a blur. the next thing he remembered was decorating lush christmas trees in the midas headquarters along with some trainees that did not went home either. how could he, where there was no home to go back to. he came back into his dorm room to open up a book and study for exam sessions in university, thinking to himself that christmases in orphanages must must be quite bittersweet. the company surely felt like one.

when debut came, time blurred. the only time he remembered a christmas tree was the one when olympus, all huddled up and playing their roles of the family, decorated one for a christmas vlive broadcast. the only one they ever held, due to too much daggers and bitter words spewed during the filming of the live event. 

military christmases were fun simply because between ornaments and ribbons they were allowed to sneak some alcohol in. he made some lifetime friends in those moments.

spending two years away from the group meant disassociating with their success. it also fast-forwarded the moving out process, sungyeol skipping a large period of their group’s career but getting to move out just like the next member. the stifle was enough to do so within the fist week of permission. and that’s where the significance ended. his outlook on the holiday shrunk to some symbolic gifts given to a few friends here and there. eventually, he started forgetting that the holiday exists. maybe last year he would have forgotten at all, hadn’t he received a neatly wrapped box with no return address on it just a few days after christmas. he know recognize the handwriting anywhere.

his mother was keen on the idea of starting passing ornaments to generations to come. when he was around nine, she took sungyeol into a small market in the outskirts of seoul and had him pick out the ornaments he liked the most. the ones he pointed to were large ovals, mixing the colours red, blue and gold with a mirror finish. that’s exactly what sungyeol found in the box, astonishment sweeping his breath away. rotating one between his digits, sungyeol observed how the daylight reflected off of it. “you are ugly, what was i thinking.” so he hides it in a cabinet in his bedroom. not because it’s actually ugly. the ornaments really weren’t as bad as they seemed. he simply did not want to face the ghosts of the christmas past, which just happened to be his parents.  not after eight years. it seemed pointless.

thus, he slipped his mother’s card into the bookshelf, snug between a plumbing manual and dante’s tragedy. it lays there forgotten to this day, a soft stroke of a hand reading ‘as promised, with love.’