Best Knight

Best Knight.jpg

Best Knight

an original fiction

by avenger-nerd-mom

This drabble was inspired by this photo I found on Pinterest.  In the short story, Brandon spends a rainy Saturday with his daughter, Bailey, while they wait for Mom to return from yoga class.

Warning: Fluff, divorced/blended families, parenting

Word Count: 1361

“It’s raining again,” she complains, resting her head on her chin and slowly lifting her spoon to her pouty little mouth.  The milk dribbles over the side and dots the formica counter.

“I know; another rainy Saturday,” her father replies, pushing away from the counter to get the bread from the toaster.  “What should we do today?”  He asks, wiping the toast crumbs on his gym shorts.  Scratching his chest through his t-shirt his mood quickly drops to match hers.  Sighing deeply, he tries to turn it around for the both of them.  “Let’s do something fun; whatdya say?”

Languidly, she drops her spoon into her bowl.  “It’s no fun when Steven goes to his other family.  I can’t do what I want if he’s not here.”

Being the baby of a hers/mine and ours family must be difficult he thinks to himself.  He misses his girls all the time, only seeing them on vacations and in summer.  He can’t blame their mother for taking the promotion when it was offered, even though it killed him to know the girls were eight hours away.  Steven goes to stay with his biological father every other weekend, and poor little Bailey always stays home.  Always stuck with Mom and Dad.

Resting his elbows on the counter, he lowers to her eye level and steals a colorful loop from her cereal bowl, munching on it.  “What did you have planned with Steven?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she huffs pushing her bowl to her father.  “Can I be done?”  He nods and she eyes his toast.  “You gonna put jelly on that, Daddy?”

He chuckles, “Would you like me to put jelly on it?”  Her smile brightens and she nods.  Crossing to the fridge he shows her the strawberry and grape, and she points to the strawberry.  She watches with awe as he smears the toast with the thick sticky mess and he hands it to her.  “You’re a sneak.” She giggles when he taps the end of her nose.  Opening the bag, he makes more toast, prodding her again.  “I’m just as fun as Steven.  I’ll play whatever you want.”

Her little legs swing back and forth and tap the base of the island.  “That’s not it,” she says sadly.  “He won’t let me use ‘em when he’s not here.  He says I’ll break ‘em.”

Ah.  Not a game but a thing.  Preparing his toast, he cuts it into squares just like his mother did when he was Bailey’s age.  Maybe they should call her and see if she wants to join them for dinner tonight?

Tossing the knife in the sink he says, “If I play with you, Steven can’t get mad, and if whatever it is breaks, we can find a way to fix it.  Is it something he hides?”  The little eight year old is always worried his “baby sister” will take his things.  She nods.  “Do you know where?”  He chuckles at her wide smile and bright eyes as she nods vigorously, her tangled hair bouncing around her head.  “Bailey, I give you permission to go in his room and get whatever it is from the hiding spot and carefully bring it to me. But only ‘cause I said so.”

Hopping down from her chair she quickly bounds across the room and he hears her rushing up the stairs.  Cleaning the morning mess and making sure there’s coffee ready when his wife gets back from her morning yoga class he curiously waits for the return of his littlest girl.


The living room looks like a disaster.  Pillows and blankets are everywhere.  A photo frame on the wall hangs precariously in its spot like it could fall at any moment.  Celtic melodies play from the speakers and a dragon perches on top of the couch.

“Hurry to help the villagers,” she shouts, running from the dining room, sword high in her hand.  He follows behind her swishing the foam.  He wonders if it’s considered ‘swashbuckling’ if he’s a knight and not a pirate.  In her commanding voice, she yells,  “Kill the beast Sir Knight!”

“Where is it?” He asks, “I’m blinded by the smoke; I can’t see anything.”  He shakes his head at her active imagination and holds in his laughter.  He’s tried to kill the damn beast five times and each time she says ‘not there!’  Fortunately the ‘forest’ was up in smoke because the dragons breathed fire to call the monster out of hiding.  The monster has been running free for over twenty minutes now and he’s exhausted. Not to mention his knees are killing him from crawling through the blanket fort.

Climbing to the top of the table, she spins and twirls and he stands close enough to catch her if she falls.  Her crown tumbles to the ground and she waves her sword wildly, jabbing downwards repeatedly.  “I KILLED THE BEAST!” she yells at the top of her lungs and he covers his ears as it echoes through the open room.  “THE BEAST IS DEAD!”

“Oh, sweet Princess Bailey,” he bows to her.  “You saved all the people and didn’t even need my help.  You’re truly amazing!”

She rests the sword on his shoulder and bestows him the honor of Best Knight Helper.

“A good royal always needs help,” she proclaims.  “Raise your sword to mine as we rejoice the end of the Beast and the beginning of our eternal spring!”

They cross the foam swords in revelry.  Where does she get these ideas; this vocabulary?  She brushes her hair from her face, her skin flushed and her eyes dancing and she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.  How the hell did he get so lucky to create such an amazing creature?  His eyes mist slightly and she narrows hers at him.

“Sir Knight, are you crying for the Beast?” Her tone is incredulous.  “He was mean to the villagers and ate them.  Why would you cry for him?”

Laughing, he wipes his nose, pinching it and pulling away. “Sweet Princess, I’m not crying for the beast, I’m crying because I am amazed at the lengths you go to in order to care for the townspeople. How do you know such things, oh wise one?”

Resting the tip of her sword by her feet she leans on the hilt.  “Everyone knows the Princess learns everything from the Queen.”

Throwing his head back in laughter, he nods and agrees.  “Yes, my sweet, you are just like your Mother, the Queen, a fair and just ruler.”

The front door opens and the dog runs into the room, totally ignoring them and running straight to his bowl.  Bailey freezes in her spot and waits to see what mood Mother might be in after class.  Some days it’s unknown.  They both grimace as she grumbles about the mess she can see from the entry.

“Brandon?” she shouts.  “Is she on the table again?!”

Reaching his arms out, Bailey jumps into them and he sets her down to the floor gently.  “No, of course not, dear.  That would be ridiculous and unhygienic.”

Handing her his sword, he pats her bum and Bailey runs off to the back set of stairs to return them to their hiding place.

Still pink-cheeked from her workout his beautiful wife rounds the corner with her hands on her hips.  Giggling she replies, “You are the worst liar, you know that, right?”

Pushing the chair back to the table, he steps to her, digging his fingers in the base of her ponytail, inhaling her sweet scent of sweat and baby powder.  “I’m shocked and offended.  I’m the Best Knight Helper.  I don’t tell lies, my Queen.”  He nuzzles along her neck and kisses tenderly in the crook above her collarbone.

“Will she need a nap soon?” she whispers.

Biting back a groan, he breathes warmly against her neck, “God, I hope so.”

“Brandon,” she sighs as he nibbles along her outstretched space and his hands start to roam down her arms and across her back.

“Mmm?” he asks lost in sensual thoughts of his desirous wife.

“There are little bitty footprints on the table top.”

Copyright © 2017  avenger-nerd-mom.  All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom




* a Chris Evans fan fic*

By avenger-nerd-mom

Actor Chris Evans has some tough decisions to make and has to deal with consequences of his actions

Warnings: Language, Angst, Adult Situations

Inspired by a vision I had while driving and listening to “Unsteady” by the X Ambassadors

Word Count: 1055

Sitting on the back porch he watches the lights of the cars driving down into the valley, like little ants with lights strapped on their heads. He pushes away at the cigarette box, knowing he needs to stop, but now isn’t the time.  He bites at his lip.  “Fuck it.”

He taps the side of the box and one rolls out across the table and he grabs it between his fingers, lifting it to his pouty red lips. He lets it dip low as he pulls the lighter from his pocket.  Cupping his hand around the end, he bites the filter and lights it up, pulling a long sweet draw into his lungs, like mana from heaven.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, disappointed in himself again.  The song echoes on repeat from his phone, and as much as it cuts his soul, it’s the only thing grounding him right now.  The lighter flips between his fingers, a talent he acquired at an early age to show off to the older, cooler boys in the neighborhood when he was just a kid.  He watches the silver flash and shine in the night and is lulled by the sound of crickets and the dog’s lazy, sleeping breath at his feet.

His thoughts roam and he drops the lighter with a clang against the glass patio table.  He can’t control the itching in his fingers, the pain in his heart and he opens the locked file on his phone.  Her face springs to life on the screen.  He leans back in the chair and takes another deep inhale of the toxins poisoning his system.  Scrolling through each picture, her smile greets him; calls to him.  Makes him remember…

The sliding door opens and he doesn’t even look up.  “Hey.  Are you coming to bed?” she asks, her voice small and unsure, child-like.

He scoffs quietly, but does his best to hold in his venom.  “No; I told you to go to sleep.  I’ll be in when I feel like it.  I’m sleeping on the couch anyway.”

Not looking her way, he can feel her hover there for a moment longer, debating if it’s even worth a fight anymore.  She must decide it’s not because the door clicks closed without another word.

His finger pushes ahead forcefully and stops as if by magic on his favorite photo.  She’d been caught in the rain and her hair and make-up were a mess… The moment in time frozen inside his phone, in his memory.

He stares at it for what seems like hours.  The cigarette slowly burns away and his throat feels scratchy from the smoke.  Looking at the time; he realizes she might still be awake and he takes a chance.

Dialing her number, he waits.  It rings and rings.  Just as he’s just about to give up, she answers, her voice groggy.

“Chris; I told you not to call me anymore.”

Hearing the rustle of sheets, he pictures her in her bed, sleepy and hair tousled.  It pierces his mind at that moment that she may not be alone, and he clutches his chest from the pain.  His voice is true and honest.  “I couldn’t help myself,” he sighs weighed down with his emotions.

The dog stirs at his feet and stiffly gets up, resting his head on his master’s lap.  Chris reaches down and scratches between his ears.  “Don’t hang up,” he pleads.

She sighs and he hears the click of the light switch.  She’s invested in conversation for now.  “What do you want?” she asks, quiet but not cold or harsh.  Sympathetic.

I want you back.  I fucked up.  I threw away too many good things.  I don’t know how to fix it; how to make it better.

The song begins another play on the infinite loop he has set. “I just needed to talk; to hear you.”  A firefly lands on the table and he watches the blinking light, mesmerized by the beauty of nature.  Resting his head against the back of the cushioned patio chair, he closes his eyes again and she fills his thoughts.

“I can’t do this, Chris.  It hurts too much,” she admits.  “It’s not good for you and I’m trying to move forward…” her voice dwindles away, stretched thin with her own pain and suffering.

He listens to her quiet breathing.  “Tell me how to fix it,” he quietly begs, tears forming in his eyes and pooling against his thick lashes.  He solemnly decides to let them wash over him if they spill from their hold.  To let her hear his torment…

A faint rattling sound is heard through the phone and he again wonders if she’s alone.

“I don’t know if you can…” she replies.  “If half the things on the gossip pages are true…”

He sighs bitterly.  “You never used to believe the things you read.”  The dog bores with his affections and wanders out to the yard for a late night romp and Chris begins to fumble with the lighter again.

“I also believed you’d never hurt me.”

Her words cut and sear at his wounded heart.  “You never gave me time to explain; I never meant to hurt you and it wasn’t-”

“Stop.  I’m not doing this, Chris.  You don’t get to call me late at night, when you’re sad and lonely.  You don’t get to invade my head….”

Her tone changes, grows in strength.  “If you want it bad enough, you fix it.  You get your head out of your ass, you make the changes you know you need to make.  But you have to do that for YOU, not for me, or your other fans, or your family, but for YOU… maybe in a few months, you can call me again.  At a normal time of day, and we can talk.  Or you come out to visit and we go to dinner.  But I want no part of this now, not like this.  Don’t do this to yourself again…”  She pauses and he waits.  She sniffles and his heart surges.  “I love you Chris, but don’t do this to me.  I can’t.”

The line clicks dead.  She said ‘I love you.’  Hope.  Hope springs to life again and he begins to think of the changes ahead for the coming days…

Copyright © 2017  avenger-nerd-mom.  All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom


Birthday Treat

Birthday treat feb 1 2017.jpg

Birthday Treat


*a Chris Evans fan fic*

by avenger-nerd-mom

Chris and his wife, Emery, are in Houston a few days before the Super Bowl to celebrate her 34th birthday

Word count: 1938

Drabble inspired by @faye22.  She messaged me this morning to show me that today (February 1) is the birthday of actress Rachelle Lefevre, the ‘face claim’ for Emery Thomas Evans.  I’ve never written Emery’s birthday, and since Faye admitted how much she missed Emery, I was inspired to write a quick lil something, something. Just some fun fluff!


When she enters the restaurant, every head in the room turns to watch the lovely redhead. In a black cocktail dress with a cut out design at the neck, her curls cascade down her back and her skin radiantly glows.  Enjoying the warm air of the Southern city, her sweater is draped over her arm as she scans the restaurant.  Seeing her handsome husband waiting at a table, she signals to the greeter and makes her way to the back, all smiles, only for him.  He rises to greet her and all sense of decorum is lost as he picks her up off her feet and swings her around, hugging her tightly.  Anyone sitting nearby can hear his declarations of love as he tells her how much he missed her.  Setting her back down on her tiny heels, he towers over her as he bends for a kiss.  Her lips are soft and pliant and meld to the shape of his.  He pulls back slowly, remembering they are on display in one of Houston’s finest establishments, and with the Super Bowl only days away, paparazzi and media are everywhere.

He waves the waiter away, and gently pulls out her chair, waiting as she gracefully seats herself.  He watches as she slowly crosses her legs, and wonders if she actually caved to his wishes.  It may be her birthday dinner, but no panties would be a gift they’d both enjoy later.

She laughs at the wicked grin on his face, “No, Christopher.  I totally ignored that text message,” she informs him as he sits down, instantly reaching for his hand.  Sighing, she caresses her thumb over the back of his hand.  “God, it’s good to see you.  I don’t know how you do it.  I’ve been in three cities this week, and it’s only Wednesday.”

Chris pulls his chair closer to his lovely wife, making sure his leg brushes against hers.  Lifting her delicate hand, he admires the brilliance of the lovely engagement ring and sparkling wedding band that adorns her dainty fingers.  Leaning for a kiss, he tenderly brushes his beard over the backs of her fingers and feels the tremble of her hand at his touch.

‘How long do we have to stay here?” he quietly asks.

She shakes her head, flipping his hand over in hers so she can also kiss the back of his hand, quickly touching her lips to his thick wedding band.  ‘You scheduled the dinner; you tell me?”

“Let’s order dessert and leave,” he chuckles watching her eyes dance.  “I know, I know.  You’ve been traveling for days.  I want to make sure you’ve got real food; sustenance.  You’re gonna need it,” he promises.

“I’m exhausted.  Is it wrong I just want to soak in the bubble bath, you wrapped around me making sure I don’t actually sink and drown?”

She eyes the wrapped box on the table, but ignores it, knowing it’s driving him crazy.  He loves to give her little gifts, and she’s sure her birthday is his chance to go all out.

“Kitten, if that’s what you want for your birthday, that’s what you can have.  You’re always so patient with me when I get back from traveling… So, like a 20 minute bath, forty minute nap, then birthday sex?”

Blushing when the waiter coughs to get their attention, Emery hides behind the menu, gently kicking him order the table for his crass behavior in a public place.  She wouldn’t have him any other way.  Chris waits for her to order, and she shakes her head.  “I don’t care.  I’m in Texas.  Give me beef, medium rare, and potatoes,” she declares, laying the menu on the table.  “Oh,” she exclaims, clutching the waiter’s arm, “and if he told you it’s my birthday, ignore him.  I don’t want a scene.”

The waiter tilts his head to Chris.  Chris chuckles.  “Fine.  Bring out the dessert in a to-go box later.  Don’t make a big deal.  It’s her birthday, she gets what she wants.”  He clears up her order, ordering the steak exactly like she likes it, and requests the steak cut fries, because only Emery would want those in a five star restaurant, but it’s her birthday.  He then decides filming for him is still a few weeks away, so he’ll take the same, forget the salads.  “And add ice cream to go with the cake if you have any,” he requests.

“Because it’s her birthday?” the waiter smiles, making a note in the black leather portfolio.

“Because it’s my birthday,” she laughs.  When he walks away, Emery takes a sip of her wine and asks, “Does a place like this even have ice cream?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Chris laughs, “No clue, but I told him earlier I wanted to make sure you were very happy tonight.  Last year’s birthday was shi- not good.”

She laughs at his censoring, a hearty noise he misses when they are apart.  Last year they had been apart on her birthday and she’d had the stomach flu.  Due to a mishap with his phone, he’d been unable to reach her, and if it hadn’t been for Scott having her number, he probably wouldn’t have been able to talk to her at all for her big day.  Not that she’d thought it was that important.  He’d vowed he’d always make her birthday special, because if she’d never been born, he’d have no one to truly love and call his own.  He’d even sent a big bouquet of flowers and a nice bottle of Scotch to her parents earlier in the day, thanking them for creating such a lovely woman just for him. He decides to ask her about that…

“Have you talked to your parents today?” he asks, sipping his drink and placing the glass back to the table, his hand grazing against her arm.

She giggles, “Of course, Mom thought it was beautiful and she cried.  Dad wondered if you realized it was like thanking them for having sex?”

Blushing, Chris shakes his head.  Sighing, he says, “Ugh, no actually, I did not think of it like that.”

She pats his arm to console the horrified look on his face.  “It’s okay.  He loved the Scotch.  He says he’ll enjoy it Sunday while watching the game.”

Emery’s birthday had turned into a weekend long event, thanks to the Pats playing in the Super Bowl.  She had scheduled some training session in schools between Savannah and Houston, and had been on the road all week, lecturing to math departments about how to be better teachers.  She was scheduled for another presentation the next day, but would have off Friday to spend the day with Chris, with his family and her siblings arriving Saturday morning.  Her parents would be unable to attend due to her father’s recent knee surgery.

“How’s the training going?” he asks, nodding his approval to the waitstaff when they deliver their meal to the table.

Placing her napkin in her lap, she sighs.  “They don’t really care about the math; they wanna see Captain America’s wife.  That’s all I am these days, babe, your wife.”  Cutting into her steak, she sighs happily holding the bite to her lips.  “And I am totally fine with that.  I should put it on my website ‘Captain America’s Wife: Teaching is my Super Power.’”

“So instead of talking math and teaching, they ask… about me? Us?” he cringes.  “I’m so, sorry honey.  I know that’s not what you thought the consulting would be like.”

Shrugging her shoulders, she takes another bite of steak, holding in the sinful sound she longs to make.  Real food.  Not fast food or convenience store fare like she’s ‘feasted’ on all week.  “It’s not so bad.  I’m getting jobs; more and more schools want me to come give motivational presentations.  I like the challenge of working with other teachers than just the ones in my district and I meet with some leaders at the state board of education next week.  I’m going places!” She jokes.

“No retirement yet?” he asks, dipping a fry in the steak sauce.

She makes a face at him.  “Chris, we’ve been over this before.  I can arrange my schedule and be with you in Atlanta, but what’s the point of me quitting a job I like so I can travel around the country and sit in your trailer on set?  I hate to be away from you, just as much as you hate being away from me-”

“No.  No,” he interrupts.  “I think you still like your times of solitude,” he accuses her.

She gives a wry smile, caressing the side of his cheek and scratching at his beard.  “It’s too thick.  I don’t wike it.  Time to thin it down.  Yes, ok.  You’re right.  I like being alone sometimes, not having to always pick up your socks; but that means I don’t love you any less than you love me.  I’m just… independent?  You’ve always known that… “ Taking a drink of her wine, she clears her throat and pushes her plate away.  “I don’t wanna give up my job until we’re ready to start our family.  I like the challenge.”

“Then let’s go start it now,” he smiles.

“We can practice,” she wiggles her eyebrow at him and they both dissolve in laughter as he signals for the check.  “Bubble bath first, though.”  She reminds him.

“Present first,” he replies.  “You’ve waited long enough.”  Leaning back he wipes his hands on his napkin as the waiter clears away their plates and Emery signals to box them up.

“You mean you’ve waited long enough.  You wanted me to open that the minute I sat down.”

“You’re mean,” he teases, tugging on one of her red curls as he hands her the gift.  “Why’d you make me wait?  You know I love giving you presents.”

Playfully turning up her nose, she sniffs.  “I’m not interested.  It’s not a big enough box to be the Captain America crock pot I want.”

“You are certifiable, you know that?” he chuckles.  “The crock pot and toaster will be waiting for you when you get home.  I promise.”  Placing his hand over his heart, he watches as she carefully unties the ribbon and lays it aside.   Dropping the tone of his voice, he tells her, “Uh, don’t leave that here.  That’s part of my gift for later.”

“I’m certifiable?” she teases.  Leaning forward, she places her hand on the lapel of his suit and whispers quietly in his ear.  “You’re the crazy sex fiend… Who’s tying up who?”

Throwing his head back in laughter, he reminds her it’s her birthday, so she gets whatever she wants.

Winking, she says, “Hmm… I’ll have to think on that.”  She lays the box on the table and lifts the lid, dropping her chin to her chest to hold in her laughter at the gift in the box.  Covering her mouth a giggle escapes as she pulls the new t-shirt for her collection out of the box and Chris says, “Babe, I thought it was just perfect for you!  Happy Birthday, Emery…”

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Click here for the next Emery&Chris story, Baking Cakes

Copyright © 2017 avenger-nerd-mom. All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom