Dear Internet: Please to be less boring. Kthxbai.
2011 is almost over. Crazy talk. I'm planning for 2012 to be The Year Of A Lot Less Fic No Seriously I Mean It This Time, and if that's not cool with you, I will totally understand. I'm just pretty burned out on mean girls and banging my head against brick walls, and I figure that's as good a sign as any that I should just finish my fucking novel already. So 2012 is The Year Of Finishing My Fucking Novel Already, and also The Year Of Losing This Fucking Weight. (Again. Shut up.)
It's not going to be a fun year. You know where the defriend button is.
But it's not 2012 yet, and I'm still feeling kind of poorly, so what better way to waste time recap 2011 than to do the WIP meme? It's probably pretty representative of the complete waste of time 2011 has been, and also a good reminder to me of why I'm not going to spend 2012 doing more of the same.
Here's how it works:
Post an excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.
I'm not really looking for inspiration so much as purging all this stuff so I can stop thinking about it, but there are a couple things here I haven't given up on completely yet.
Those Who’ve Waited In the Wings (aka that one Chris/Mark fic I was going to write for that one fic exchange but didn’t):
For awhile being on set feels like season one again. Darren’s around all the time now, but the rest of the Warblers are gone along with Chord. Chris misses Ashley, but he still talks to her all the time, and they never had any scenes together when she was on the show, so in a way it’s almost like they’re back to the original cast.
Except Idina’s there and Vanessa too, and the Glee Project kids turn up every once in awhile. Grant’s recurring but Max is out, so maybe the only thing that’s really like season one is the fact that Chris gets to spend time with Mark again.
~
Untitled Chris/Mark sequel to Situation Comedies:
Chris wasn’t avoiding Mark, exactly. He was just...keeping a safe distance, just until he could stop remembering the feeling of Mark’s lips on his cheek every time Chris looked at him.
~
Untitled Parks & Recreation fic I started (also for that fic exchange) and will never finish:
It starts with National Women’s Appreciation Day.
It’s not really national; that’s just what Leslie’s calling it, mostly to make it sound like something important instead of just another one of her ideas to convince the citizens of Pawnee that women are just as capable as men. She claims it’s good for town pride, but everybody knows she’s only doing it to court female voters.
She makes Ann and April and Donna pose for the promotional materials, fanned out in the background while Leslie’s front and center. Tom takes the pictures, and they come out pretty well despite the fact that April looks annoyed and Donna looks bored and Leslie’s ‘powerful woman’ smile makes her look a little crazy.
~
Puppyverse, aka the Winn-centric sequel to Trains I will probably never finish. There's waaaaaay more of it than I am c&ping here*, and yet it is neverending:
Hey, Mr. Schue,
How’s life at McKinley? Things here are okay, I guess, I mean, college is kind of weird. It’s a lot bigger than McKinley, for one thing, and there are a lot of people like Rachel here. People who know the answers and want you to know they know them, I mean.
My classes are going okay. I don’t get a lot of the stuff the T.A. keeps talking about in my Freshman Comp class. Like, we’re supposed to be writing papers on this book called The Heart Of Darkness. You’re smart, you’ve probably read it. I bet you’ve read like everything. Probably even in Spanish, huh?
Anyway, we’re supposed to be writing papers. A paper already, can you believe that? I’m trying to read the book, honest, but I don’t get it. I mean, it’s a bunch of guys on a boat. What’s so interesting about that?
I’m taking Spanish, did I tell you that? They make us take a language, and I figured since you passed me I must have learned something. Plus, if I have trouble with any of it I can just ask you for help. Is that cool, if I ask for help sometimes? I mean, not all the time or anything, I know you won’t do my homework for me, but just if I get stuck. My teacher’s kind of hard to understand. I don’t know where she’s from, but it’s definitely not Ohio.
I took your advice and went to Chorus tryouts. That’s why I haven’t been in touch all week; I wanted to wait until after tryouts so I could tell you whether or not I made it. I got into the University Chorus. It’s not as big a deal as Glee Club, but I don’t think they let a lot of freshmen into that. Maybe next year.
It’s okay, I like singing and everything, but it’s not as fun as New Directions. We don’t really do much popular stuff, and the teacher’s not like you. There’s no rapping or Journey obsession or dancing or anything. But that’s okay, because he’s kind of old. I always thought it was kind of hot when you really got into a song and like danced and stuff.
Is it weird to say that?
Stay awesome, Mr. Schue.
Finn
~
Finn,
If you’re going to say stuff like that, you really have to stop calling me Mr. Schue.
I’ll help however I can, with your Spanish and with The Heart Of Darkness as well, if you like. I have read it (in English) and at its most basic, it’s about the dangers of Imperialism. The river symbolizes White man’s separation from the natives in the book; it allows them to hold themselves apart from a race they see as beneath them, while at the same time gaining wealth by trading with the natives for ivory. There’s a whole sub-theme about madness too, but the racism might be the easiest theme for you to tackle.
There are plenty of books about Conrad’s themes at the library. If you can’t find them, just ask the librarian for help. That’s why they’re there. If you’re still confused after you take a look at some of the literature, give me a call and we can talk about it. Do you still have my cell number?
Will
~
Will,
It feels kind of weird to type that. I practiced saying it out loud a few times already so it wouldn’t feel so weird when I say it to you the first time. I know it’s your name and all so you're used to hearing it, but it’s hard to stop thinking of you as Schue.
I mean, it hasn’t been hard to stop thinking of you as my teacher. You were always kind of more of a friend anyway, at least once you took over Glee, so it doesn’t really feel weird to e-mail you about stuff. Anyway, I’m glad you don’t mind.
I was thinking about going home this weekend, just so my mom can see I’m not starving to death or anything. Is it cool if I give you a call? I still have your number.
Finn
PS: I had to look up ‘imperialism’. I’m still not sure I know what it means.
~
Finn,
Why don’t you give me a call when you get into town. If you have time maybe we could talk about Imperialism over dinner. Breadstix might ease the pain of trying to dissect Conrad a little.
Will
~
Will,
It’s a date. Talk to you tomorrow.
Finn
* Roughly 13,000 words more. The entire thing isn't written in e-mails, but this is the part I wrote first, so I love it best.
~
Wedding Planning for Beginners (working title), DIWWCF verse:
They spend the week leading up to Sarah’s visit arguing about how to get her from the airport to the apartment. Puck insists that it’s stupid to waste money on a cab ride when he’s got a perfectly good bike sitting right outside, and whenever Kurt reminds him that Sarah’s a girl and the chances of her showing up for a week in L.A. with little enough luggage to fit on Puck’s bike are next to none, Puck just rolls his eyes and changes the subject.
~
Rope Ladders, aka the Puck/Kurt sequel to Like Longing Feels which is all wrong and needs way more work than I am prepared to put into it:
Kurt didn’t see Puck again for a few days. He knew the team was in Wisconsin playing the Packers, thanks to Finn, and it wasn’t like he cared or anything, but he still checked the ESPN website to see if they won, just because he had a little time to kill. And since he was online anyway, it was easy enough to pull up Google and type in Noah’s name.
There were plenty of pictures, mostly of him in his uniform, but there were a few shots people had taken at clubs on their cell phones, too. Finn was even in one of them, looking bored in the background while Puck slung an arm around a man Kurt didn’t recognize and mugged for the camera.
Kurt clicked on the picture to go to the source page, scanning the article until he spotted Noah’s name. It was one of those gossip sites, so he knew better than to take anything it said as gospel. Still, the more he read about Puck’s -- apparently notorious -- promiscuity, the more his stomach tied itself into knots.
Not that it mattered to him. It didn’t; he barely knew Puck, and just because he was attractive and flirted with everything that moved, that didn’t mean Kurt was dumb enough to fall for it. He clicked a few more links, just to prove to himself that it didn’t matter to him what Noah Puckerman did, but most of the press was about his football career, and none of it meant anything to Kurt.
When he found himself on a fan board about the players Kurt shut down the web browser, wishing for the first time since he got back from New York that he had some homework to distract him. He could call his friends, but most of them were neck-deep in midterm projects, and anyway he’d started to get the impression they were tired of hearing him rehash his failed attempt to land a spot on Project Runway.
Which meant the only thing he had to distract him was Finn. Finn and his inability to take care of himself, and Kurt supposed he should be grateful that at least someone wanted him around.
That was the only reason Kurt showed up at Finn’s place again the next day, and the day after that. And if he happened to be there on the day that Puck got back from Green Bay, it was just a coincidence. He was just being a good brother, and it didn’t matter to him whether or not Finn’s friends were hanging around.
He was unloading the makings of a perfect roast from the back of the Navigator when he felt someone stop next to him, and Kurt looked up to find Puck grinning at him. And Kurt wasn’t blind, nor was he dead, so he could admit to himself that Puck was looking especially rugged in a worn leather jacket and faded jeans.
There was a fresh bruise under his right eye, and Kurt frowned and stopped himself from reaching out to touch. “What happened to your eye?”
“Occupational hazard,” Puck answered, grinning like he was proud of it or something. From what Kurt knew of him, he probably was, and he rolled his eyes and turned back to his groceries.
Before he could pick up the second bag Puck was reaching for it, then he reached up to shut the back of the Navigator, and Kurt decided that if he was going to hang around, it was just as well that he make himself useful.
“So how’s the cripple?” Puck asked, and when Puck raised an eyebrow at him he grinned again.
“Still pining for his physical therapist, from what I can tell.”
“Right, business as usual,” Puck said. He followed Kurt onto the elevator and leaned back against the wall, glancing in the bag he was carrying before he looked at Kurt again. “So what’s for dinner?”
“Chuck roast and root vegetables. I thought he could use some comfort food.”
Puck let out a soft laugh, and Kurt smiled in spite of himself. The elevator doors slid open and he stepped into the hallway, Puck on his heels as Kurt made his way down the hall to Finn’s door.
“So am I invited to dinner or what?” Puck asked as Kurt fished Finn’s key out of his pocket.
He paused with his hand halfway to the door, raising an eyebrow at Puck’s hopeful expression. “And I should feed you because...?”
Puck smirked again, and when he swayed closer Kurt felt the blush creeping up his neck and into his face. But he didn’t let himself take a step backwards, because he wasn’t going to give Puck the satisfaction of a reaction.
“Dude, I’m at least better company than Finn.”
Kurt considered defending Finn purely on the basis of fraternity. But they weren’t biologically related, and anyway Puck had a point. Finn spent a lot of time moping around lately, and when he wasn’t doing that he was usually asleep. Which meant Puck was better company simply by virtue of staying awake, and anyway, it wasn’t like Kurt was the one paying the grocery bills.
“It’s Finn’s house,” he finally answered, sliding the key into the lock and pushing the door open. “So I suppose it’s up to him to choose his dinner guests.”
He walked into the apartment before Puck could answer, and when Finn glanced up from the couch Kurt nodded in his direction before he headed into the kitchen to start cooking. He didn’t look back to see if Puck had followed him in; Puck never needed an invitation, and his lack of manners was just one more reason to stay away from him.
Kurt heard voices from the living room and let out a breath, then he pursed his lips and pulled out the Dutch oven he was fairly sure Finn didn’t even know he owned. He was cutting up vegetables when he heard footsteps on the tile, and Kurt looked up in time to watch Puck lean against the counter next to the fridge.
“You need any help?”
“No. Thank you,” Kurt added, turning back to the vegetables he was chopping.
“You sure? ‘Cause I’m pretty good with a vegetable peeler. If you don’t believe me you can call my Nana; she’ll back me up.”
Kurt pursed his lips to kill the smile that was threatening to form, then he turned his back on Puck to drop a layer of parsnips into the Dutch oven. “That won’t be necessary. Anyway, I’m sure you and Finn have plenty to talk about.”
“Not really.” Puck shrugged when Kurt looked over at him again, then he glanced toward the living room as though he was making sure Finn wasn’t lurking around before he leaned in and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I mean, Finn’s my boy and all, but all he talks about lately is the hot PT. I figure the company’s better in here.”
Kurt didn’t ask why. He wanted to, but he had a feeling Puck was just flirting for something to do, and the last thing Kurt needed was to display his painful naivete to his brother’s best friend. “Suit yourself.”
Kurt didn’t look up, but he heard Puck take a step closer, then another one, and Kurt held his breath while he waited for Puck to touch him. When it didn’t happen Kurt looked up, expecting to find Puck smirking, maybe, but instead he was looking at Kurt like Puck had never seen him before.
“Listen, Kurt…”
That was as far as he got before Finn called from the living room, and Kurt let out the breath he’d been holding and willed himself not to blush.
“Dude, are you brewing the beer in there or what?”
Puck let out a frustrated breath behind him, but a second later Kurt heard the fridge open. The silverware drawer was next, and Kurt glanced over in time to see Puck popping the caps off two bottles.
He told himself he was glad that Puck was ditching him to go drink with Finn; he could work better without an audience, and he certainly wasn’t interested in continuing their conversation. It was a little flattering to know that Puck wanted him, but that didn’t change the fact that Kurt wasn’t interested in a casual relationship, and that seemed to be Puck’s only setting. He’d read enough online to know that, and he had no reason to believe Puck had suddenly turned over a new leaf because of Kurt.
He was congratulating himself on his self-control when Puck reappeared in the kitchen, setting his beer on the counter without a word and reaching for the peeler and a potato.
“What are you doing?” Kurt asked before he could stop himself, but instead of making a dumb joke about gracing Kurt with his presence, Puck just shrugged and got to work.
“Making myself useful.” Puck shrugged and looked over at him, and when he smiled Kurt felt it all the way to his toes. “I told you, I’m awesome with a peeler.”
~
Chapter Four of Tanglewood Days, and yes, this is really all I have written:
Will’s room was nicer than Kurt’s. It made sense; he was kind of famous, after all, and the show probably shelled out more to keep the choreographers happy than it did for the dancers. His room was a few floors higher than Kurt’s, too, with one big bed and a view of practically the whole city.
~
The Street Where We Began, aka the final installment in the Traveling Shoes series:
They don’t talk much on the way back to Kurt’s place. Puck’s hands are balled into fists, pressed against his thighs and his leg’s kind of bouncing with all the nervous energy left over from not taking a swing at Finn. Then Kurt reaches over the console to close his hand around Puck’s, fingers threading together and pressing hard against his thigh to stop him from shaking. Like he knows what Puck’s thinking, and that’s scary enough to make him want to pull his hand out of Kurt’s, but instead he threads their fingers together and holds on.
It takes less than ten minutes to get back to Kurt’s house, and when they pull onto Kurt’s street Puck half expects to find Mrs. H’s car still sitting in the driveway, just because the universe has been trying to cockblock him since they got together. But when they pull up there’s no one else there, and when Kurt lets go of Puck to kill the engine Puck takes a deep breath and climbs out of the car.
He’s not even sure why his stomach’s doing cartwheels, because it’s not like this is the first time he’s been alone with Kurt. It’s not even the first time today, so really all they’re doing is picking up where they left off this morning.
It feels different, though. It feels like he’s got something to prove, and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the whole thing with Finn or what, but Puck figures it doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s got Kurt all to himself for at least a few hours, and that’s a long time to show Kurt just how serious Puck is about them.
And yeah, it’s only been a couple weeks, but that’s the longest he’s ever dated dated anybody, so he figures it counts as serious. The fact that he’s not looking for an exit means something too, he’s pretty sure, but Puck doesn’t think too hard about it. Instead he follows Kurt into the house, ditching his leather jacket before he lets Kurt lead him downstairs.
Down to Kurt’s room, where they woke up together just a few hours ago. Where Kurt made Puck a promise, and Puck’s planning to hold him to it. He grins and reaches for Kurt, hands on his waist and backing him toward the bed because it’s right fucking there, and why the hell not? And Kurt’s right on board with that plan, hands sliding down Puck’s chest to land on his hips and drag him forward. He sits down hard on the edge of the mattress and scrambles backward, making enough room for Puck to crawl over him and stretch out, pressing Kurt into the mattress from his chest all the way down to his ankles.
It feels fantastic, just like it did last night, then Kurt parts his legs to let Puck settle between them, and that feels even better. He moans into Kurt’s mouth and grinds against him, dragging their hard-ons together through way too many layers of clothes. And yeah, okay, he’s always been easy, but he’s never been this fucking needy, because all it takes is one kiss and the hard press of Kurt’s dick digging into his thigh and Puck’s right back to tear all Kurt’s clothes off rightthefucknow.
~
Untitled Lauren-centric story I started for rinnia for help_nz, but then I ended up writing that threesome fic instead, so I probably won’t ever finish this one. Canon has long since jossed it anyway.
She gives it until prom. She told Puckerman she wanted to be wooed, after all, and she appreciates that he’s been trying, so she gives him enough time to put in an effort. She doesn’t even hold the fact that he’s not all that good at it against him, because she’s a woman with very specific needs, and it’s not just any guy who can fulfill them.
So she gives it a couple months, but once prom night comes and goes without any sign of that spark that’s been missing since the beginning, she knows it’s time. Time to figure out a way to let Puckerman down gently -- well, gently for Lauren, anyway -- because she likes the guy and all, she’s just not attracted to him.
They break up right after Nationals, and it’s mostly a drama-free affair. And okay, that’s probably because it takes awhile for Puckerman to figure out that she’s breaking up with him, which is maybe her fault for letting him get so used to dating somebody without ever getting any.
Still, she stops letting him carry her books, and she stops sitting next to him in Glee, and when Rachel brings up something about getting together to practice over the summer to keep up the momentum of their winning streak, Lauren laughs and says, “I’m not hanging around you losers all summer.”
It’s direct -- also kind of true -- and it turns out insulting his friends is the thing that finally gets Puckerman’s attention.
“Babe, we’ve gotta hang out with them sometimes,” he says, turning in his seat next to Kurt to look at her. “They might be losers, sure, but they’re our friends.”
“Your friends, not mine,” she answers, and sure, maybe it’s a little harsh, but it’s not like she has anything in common with any of them. They’re not going to hang out at her house and watch wrestling, and they’re definitely not going to volunteer to take a turn in the ring her dad built in their backyard so she could practice during the off-season.
“So what are you saying here? You’ll go out with me, but you won’t hang out with my friends?”
Lauren rolls her eyes when she realizes he’s going to make her spell it out for him in small words. Which is just another example of why things would never work out between them, because ‘dumb and cute’ only works for her in theory. “Yeah, about that...”
That’s as far as she gets before Kurt’s talking, and when Lauren looks over she sees that he’s got his hand on Puck’s arm. Which is kind of interesting, but she knows they’ve been sort of hanging out when Kurt’s not with that preppy attention whore boyfriend of his, so she lets it go.
“Puck, I think what Lauren’s trying to say is that you’re not going out anymore.”
“What?” Puck says, then he turns back to Lauren and she figures the weird pain in her stomach is probably guilt and not the cafeteria pizza she had for lunch. “You’re breaking up with me?”
“It’s nothing personal,” she says, and it’s true, but she gets that it would be pretty hard not to take being dumped by her personally. “Look, you tried, okay? You just don’t do it for me. That’s nobody’s fault.”
“But I did everything you said. I broke laws for you. I’m still on probation.”
And she wasn’t really planning to do this in front of an audience -- truth is, she was kind of hoping not to do this at all -- but she feels a lot worse about it when most of the Glee club is staring between her and Puckerman like they’re at a really good wrestling match. And she doesn’t do guilt, so it’s not like she’s going to apologize or anything, but she still kind of wishes he’d stop looking at her with those big, dumb eyes of his.
Lauren shrugs and looks away, right at Kurt -- not that she’s really planning it or anything, it’s just that he’s right there next to Puckerman -- and when she catches him glaring daggers at her she kind of forgets to feel guilty. Because there’s hanging out with Puckerman when he’s at Kurt’s house to do whatever he does with Finn, and there’s even the arm touching and the patient voice when he explained what was happening here.
But this isn’t just Kurt being bored and smarter than Puck. This is Kurt being righteously pissed -- at somebody would could break him in half -- and the fact that he’s pissed about something that he shouldn’t even care about is what stops her in her tracks.
“I hardly think this is the place for this conversation,” Kurt says, still glaring at her, but his hand’s on Puck’s shoulder now, kind of patting him and when Puck doesn’t shove it off or give him a weird look Lauren wonders exactly what she’s been missing while she was working on being broken up with Puckerman without his consent.
He doesn’t back down when she scowls at him, which is pretty stupid, but she has to hand it to the guy. He’s never been afraid to stand up for himself, even though it’s cost him pretty much every time. Still, he mostly lets it go, and Puckerman’s not even looking at her, so yeah, drama-free.
Exactly the way she planned it.
~
The next part of 99 Problems:
Improv class doesn’t get better. It doesn’t get any worse, either, but after two weeks Finn’s positive he can’t last a whole semester. His Intro to Theater class isn’t so bad, but considering it consists of a two hour lecture every Wednesday and Friday on the history of theater, it’s not exactly making up for Improv.
And the thing is, he doesn’t need the credits to graduate, so if he’s not going to minor in Theater then there’s no reason to keep showing up for class every week. There’s no reason to pay for a full semester of credits he doesn’t even need, not when he could use that time to pick up more shifts at the shop.
~
Currently untitled Winn-centric prequel to Home Is, which went angsty on me and I bailed:
There was a time when Finn actually liked football. He used to love it, used to eat and sleep and breathe it. The guys he dated in high school bitched about it almost constantly, mostly because he never dated guys from the team, so they didn’t get why it was so important to him.
That was before college, before the insane amounts of pressure to win and the constant questions from scouts and reporters and coaches about where he saw himself in four years, what teams he was most interested in, who he wanted to play for. Before football stopped being fun and started being a job, and suddenly Finn didn’t like it so much anymore.
Now he kind of hates it, but man, he really misses when he didn’t.
Which is the only reason he can come up with for his obsession with fantasy football. Not that he’d ever admit to anyone he knows that he plays fantasy football, because he’s the starting quarterback for Ohio State, for fuck’s sake, which makes this about the lamest hobby he could come up with.
It started as something to do during the summer before his senior year, mostly because his stepbrother was in Europe on some kind of fashion tour, and his other friends were either working all the time or had left town for the summer. So Finn found himself with a lot of time on his hands, and there was only so much porn he could watch before it just started to feel creepy. Before it started to remind him of exactly how long he'd been single, and thinking too much about that just made him feel like a loser.
So when he clicked on an article about the draft, just to see if he was mentioned, and saw the link on the ESPN website for the fantasy league, he got curious. And hell, he didn’t have anything better to do, so he took a look at the message boards and when he figured out that the leagues only dealt with current NFL players and not college prospects, Finn figured it couldn’t hurt to sign up.
Sure, if anyone ever found out he’d be laughed right off the team, but there are days when he thinks he wouldn’t mind all that much. Then again, there's that guy on the Redskins -- Cooley, he thinks -- who plays in a bunch of fantasy leagues, so maybe no one would really care that some college player wastes what little free time he has on the ESPN fantasy football boards.
~
(Looking For) A New England, which is the My Bodyguard Glee AU I started before I bailed and wrote the Project Runway AU for au_bigbang instead.:
Kurt was trying to be strong. He wasn’t happy about moving to the middle of nowhere, but he understood why his father needed to do it. So he was trying not to hate everything about Lima, Ohio on first sight; he really was. But Lima didn’t feel anything like home, and when he climbed out of his brand new Lincoln Navigator and looked up at William McKinley High School, he felt like he was on a whole different planet.
Kurt sighed and smoothed down the front of the Michael Kors cardigan he’d picked up at last season’s sample sale. It was a little dated, of course, but this was Ohio; it wasn’t like anyone here was going to know he was wearing a sweater from last fall’s line.
He passed a group of what looked like football players gathered around the dumpster, and when one of them took a step forward Kurt caught sight of a much smaller student standing in their midst. “Come on, guys,” Kurt heard the kid say, “I don’t have it.”
“It’s not cool to show up unprepared, Israel,” the ringleader said. “You know there’s a fee for our services. But I’m a nice guy, so instead of rearranging your ugly face I’m going give you some time alone to think about what you’ve done. And tomorrow you can pay double.”
He gestured toward the kid and the Neanderthals on either side moved in, lifting the kid called Israel and tossing him in the dumpster. The whole group laughed at the kid’s pleas for them to let him out, then one of them closed the lid and the jock squad turned away from the dumpster.
The one who seemed to be in charge caught sight of Kurt, gaze wandering down Kurt’s frame in a way that made his skin crawl a little before his features twisted into a scowl. “What are you looking at, faggot?”
Kurt clutched his messenger bag a little tighter and turned away without answering, hurrying toward the entrance to the school ahead of the jocks. He made a beeline for the office, and he wasn’t glancing over his shoulder to make sure they weren’t following, but he still let out a deeper breath than strictly necessary when he reached the safety of the office.
“Hi,” he said, flashing his most winning smile at the the harrassed-looking woman behind the desk, “My name’s Kurt Hummel. I just transferred from New York.”
“Welcome to McKinley, Mr. Hummel,” she said, but he could tell she didn’t really mean it. “Just a minute and I’ll find your schedule.”
She turned to face her computer, fingers flying across the keyboard and Kurt glanced over his shoulder toward the hallway while he waited. Just outside the windows he caught sight of the Head Neanderthal from earlier, just leaning against the lockers across from the office and watching him. When their eyes met the guy pushed himself off the lockers, then he made a fist with one hand and pressed it into his other palm.
Kurt swallowed hard and turned away from the windows just as the secretary pulled a sheet of paper off the printer. “Here we go, you’ve got homeroom with Mr. Schuester. Room 18, down the hall and to your left.”
“Thanks,” Kurt said, ignoring the way his hand shook as he reached out to take the paper. He took a deep breath and turned to look out into the hallway, but the football player wasn’t anywhere in sight.
Kurt didn’t have to wait long to find out where he’d disappeared to. No sooner did he turn the corner that took him out of sight of the main office than he was assaulted with an icy blast of something wet and sticky and unbearably sweet. Kurt gasped at the shock and inhaled a mouthful of artificial raspberry flavor, his cheeks burning under the freezing sludge and laughter ringing in his ears.
“Welcome to McKinley, freak,” one of them said, and Kurt wiped slushie out of his eyes in time to watch the football team high-fiving each other on their way past.
“This is a Michael Kors sweater, you cretins,” he called after them, but they were too busy congratulating each other on their brilliance to hear him.
Kurt looked down at the damage, staring mournfully at the neon blue dye soaking into his off-white cardigan. He was too upset to react when a hand closed around his arm, but when he heard a female voice he looked up to find a girl standing on either side of him. They were both frowning at his ruined sweater as though they’d seen this sort of collateral damage before.
“Guess the Welcome Wagon found you already,” the girl holding onto his arm said as she steered him toward the restrooms. “Don’t worry, you get used to it.”
“This happens regularly?” Kurt asked. “Why doesn’t the administration put a stop to it?”
“Please, boy, the teachers here don’t care. They think it toughens us up, prepares us for the real world or something.”
“And is tossing underclassmen in dumpsters part of the daily ritual around here as well?”
“It’s b-best not t-to g-get involved.” The other girl hadn’t spoken since since they latched onto Kurt, and once he heard her stutter Kurt understood why.
“This is Tina,” the loud one said, gesturing toward the girl with glossy dark hair streaked with blue. “My name’s Mercedes.”
“Kurt Hummel,” Kurt said, managing a weak smile as they steered him into the girls’ restroom and pushed him in the direction of the sinks. Tina turned the water on while Mercedes dragged his sweater off him, then she pushed until he bent over the sink and let her rinse the slushie out of his hair.
“So where you from, white boy?”
“New York,” Kurt answered, lifting his head out of the stream of warm water in time to see the two of them exchange a look.
“Really? Like, New York City?”
“Not exactly. We lived on Long Island, but my friends and I took the subway into the city as often as we could,” Kurt said, letting out a heavy sigh at the memory. “I think I’ll miss the shopping most of all.”
“You’re right about that,” Mercedes said as she tugged on his shoulder until he straightened up. When he did she started wiping slushie off his face and neck, shaking her head at his ruined shirt. “The closest we get to real shopping in Lima is the Macy’s at the mall.”
“Well I suppose it’s just as well you don’t have access to designer fashion, if it’s just going to end up covered in sugar and truly offensive shades of food dye,” Kurt said as he frowned down at his shirt again.
He looked in the mirror above the sink, taking stock of the damage to his hair and the hopeless state of his outfit. “So should I start carrying a change of clothes or is this just some bizarre hazing ritual every new kid goes through?”
The girls exchanged a look behind him, then Tina gave him a sympathetic shrug, and Mercedes patted his sticky shoulder. “We all keep extra clothes in our lockers. Better safe than sorry, if you’re not part of the popular crowd.”
~
Moments In the Woods, aka 99 Problems Finn and Will finally take their romantic weekend trip to see Into the Woods, which I also started for help_nz but then wrote...something else instead:
They’ve been together almost two months now. And yeah, their relationship’s been on fast forward pretty much since the start, but Finn figures that’s okay, considering how long it took them to figure out how they feel about each other.
Well.
Considering how long it took Finn to figure it out, anyway, and he feels bad about that -- he does -- but it’s not like Will was all that much help. Still, once they finally figured it out, things started moving pretty quickly, and Finn’s totally okay with that. Most of his stuff is at Will’s place now, and he helped out with the rent for the first time at the beginning of the month, which makes it their place, even if his name’s not on the lease yet.
Figgins knows about them, along with the rest of the teachers at McKinley, and it was a little weird at first, but people seemed to get used to the idea of them pretty quickly. Finn tells himself it’s not because Will was perving on him when he was still in high school, so they were all expecting this to happen eventually. But even if he was...well. Finn figures they’ve been important to each other for a long time, so it doesn’t really matter if other people could tell.
So they’ve been out together plenty of times, enough for them to feel comfortable touching in public or for Will to let Finn kiss him goodbye in his truck on the mornings the weather’s bad and Finn drives Will to work. But this is a little different; it’s the first time they’ve gone out of town together to do anything besides visit the occasional scrap yard in search of Camaro parts, and maybe that’s why Finn’s been a little on edge since they got in the car.
When Will suggested they make a weekend of their trip to Cincinnati to see Into the Woods Finn had said yes without even thinking, because hello, it’s not like he’s going to turn down hotel sex with Will. But once he got past the hotel sex -- and the room service and his secret hope that their room has one of those big tubs, and he hasn’t even mentioned that to Will -- he started thinking about being with Will in a new city, around people who don’t know them.
~
The beginning of a series I was calling 'drunk dial', in which Will learns to regret giving his phone number to the entire Glee Club:
The first time it happened wasn’t that long after Will gave out his cell number. It was Santana who called, which was a bit of a surprise, because of all the kids Will had expected to take him up on his offer, she wasn’t at the top of the list. He knew she appreciated the gesture, and he was glad she took the lead in signing the agreement, but until the night his phone rang just after midnight, he’d assumed that was the last he’d hear about it from her.
When he answered and heard her voice on the other end of the line, tearful and insisting that he come get ‘them’ immediately, Will didn’t ask questions. He just wrote down the address and pulled on a pair of jeans and an OSU t-shirt, and he was out the door. Half an hour later he had Santana, Brittany, and Quinn in his back seat, all three of them pressed together as though they were all afraid to be seen riding up front with him.
~
A Home Is future fic I started waaaaay before the one I posted the other day, but it started going kind of angsty in my head and making me ::sadface:: so I put it on the back burner. It would still work, but it would still be kind of angsty, obviously, so who knows if I’ll ever get around to finishing it:
“I think it’s time we got married.”
It was the first morning they’d both been home for at least two weeks. Kurt had spent most of the month in New York, consulting with Sam on a new line of fabrics and taking meetings with vendors all over the garment district. The textile plant in Toledo was almost ready to start production, and tomorrow Noah would leave for D.C. and Kurt would go to Toledo to make sure all the final details had been taken care of.
They didn’t see much of each other now that Noah was a junior Congressman, but every time Kurt got frustrated about the fact that their relationship was still taking place mostly over the phone, he reminded himself that he’d known what he was getting into when he encouraged Noah to get into politics. He’d known it was going to entail a lot of nights spent apart, but Noah was good at his job and Kurt wasn’t going to hold him back by making him feel guilty about that.
“That’s not much of a proposal, Princess,” Noah said, lifting his coffee cup off the breakfast table and raising an eyebrow at Kurt.
For a second Kurt just frowned at him, trying to decide if Noah was kidding. Because they’d been engaged for years, and Noah was the one who’d done the actual proposing, so technically they’d gotten that part out of the way a long time ago.
~
Here's one I don't even remember! Apparently the working title was 'Both Sides Now', which I came up with before Rachel’s canonical Joni Mitchell fetish, I think. Anyway, I don’t think anything ever came of this, but it’s set way too far back in canon to bother finishing now (apparently I started it just after the Christmas episode last year.) Pity; I actually don’t hate it:
The thing about trying to be a nicer guy is that it takes a lot of effort. It takes thought, which has never really been one of Puck’s strong points, and he’d be the first to admit it. But he promised God, and granted, Finn’s not a Jew so technically he doesn’t count, but he is Puck’s boy, and he probably deserves better than he’s gotten from Puck in the past couple years.
So when Puck hears that Finn and Rachel are, like, officially over, he doesn’t take that as blanket permission to make out with her or anything. It’s kind of his first impulse, sure, but old habits die hard, right? The important thing is that he remembers about being a better person before it’s too late and instead of hitting on Rachel again, he tracks down Finn instead.
It takes awhile, but finally he finds Finn out on the track, running laps in seriously cold fucking weather and looking like he’s about to pass out. When he sees Puck he doesn’t even slow down, which is pretty annoying, but Puck figures he probably kind of deserves it. So he waits for Finn to come around with him and falls into step with him, matching his pace even though he’s always hated sucking cold air when he runs.
He’s no good at this sort of thing, mostly because he doesn’t have a lot of practice, but he figures he better get it out there before his lungs start burning so much that he can’t even talk. “Look, bro, I’m sorry.”
Finn glances over at him, face all red and it’s probably just the wind making his eyes water and his nose run, but it kind of looks like he’s been crying.
“It was a momentary lapse or whatever. Rachel’s the second hottest Jew at McKinley, and sometimes when the blood starts flowing, you know, I forget to think. But you’re my boy, and it’s bros before hos from now on, I swear.”
“Whatever,” Finn says, and he doesn't even sound winded, so maybe he has been crying. “Just...stop making out with my girlfriends, dude.”
Puck nods and for awhile that’s it, but he keeps jogging along next to Finn anyway, because he figures a little show of solidarity can’t hurt. They’re bros, after all, and Finn’s obviously feeling pretty lousy, and Puck knows how much that must be pissing him off.
“You know what the worst part is? She had to go and ruin Christmas.”
Puck doesn’t have to ask who Finn’s talking about. He’s blaming Rachel for the whole mess, and Puck should probably be grateful he’s off the hook, but the truth is it sort of makes him feel worse. He doesn’t really get why Finn’s so heavily into the monogamy thing or whatever, but he’s, like, aware of it, and he should have remembered to respect it. Or something.
Seriously. All this thinking is starting to give him a headache.
The point is that no matter who Finn’s blaming, Puck knows he screwed up. He tried making up for it by helping out when Finn decided to deck out the choir room for Christmas. He didn’t bitch about how not everybody’s into creepy fat dudes who sneak into your house at night the way he usually does; hell, he even risked his probation by lifting those presents from the mall, and granted, they’re just empty boxes, but if his parole officer finds out about it he’s in trouble.
Still, Finn’s been moping around since the whole Rachel thing went down, and Puck knows it’s not just about her. He’s known Finn practically his whole life, after all, so he knows how Finn gets about Christmas. He’s the reason Puck knows as much as he does about it; he knows the words to all the fucking carols, thanks to Finn and his lame Christmas mixes, and he’s eaten the baby Jesus' weight in Christmas cookies baked with love by Finn’s mom.
He doesn’t celebrate or anything, but he’s spent enough time hanging around Finn to know how it works, and he’s pretty sure Schue’s wrong about Christmas being the time of year you’re supposed to give thanks for your blessings. Seems to him Christmas is when you’re supposed to hang out with the people who love you best, and maybe steal them something they’ve really been wanting, just to show them you pay attention when they, like, talk about their interests or whatever.
Problem is, what Finn wants this year, Puck can’t steal for him.
“Dude, Christmas isn’t, like, totally ruined. You’ve got a dad this year, right? That’s pretty cool. And your mom’s probably at home right now, baking like twenty different kinds of cookies.”
“What I’ve got is a brother who’s scared to come home and a stepdad who’s stressed out about how he’s going to pay Kurt’s tuition next year just to keep him safe. What if he worries himself into another heart attack? I don't think cookies are going to make that better.”
Finn shrugs and starts running again, and this time Puck doesn't try to go after him. He knows he can’t fix Finn’s girl problems or his family problems, just like Santa can’t fix Artie’s legs. If there were a Santa, which there isn’t. So Puck’s not planning to head down to the mall and ask the dude in the red suit to bend the rules just this one time and do a Jew a favor, no matter how much a part of him wishes it would work.
Still, he has to do something to cheer Finn up. He just doesn’t know what yet.
~
‘Love’ is probably a strong word. Kurt knows that; he does. The fact that he only said it to Mr. Schuester and not someone who's likely to judge him for it -- someone like Mercedes or Finn or, perish the thought, Blaine himself -- only makes him feel slightly less pathetic.
But regardless of the strength of whatever word he may have blurted out to Mr. Schuester in a moment of indiscretion, he can’t deny that he’s developed a crush on Blaine. It started weeks ago, the first time Kurt laid eyes on him, really. He can hardly be blamed, considering; Blaine’s the one who took his hand and sang directly to Kurt as though he meant every word, never mind that they’d been rehearsing that number long before Blaine even knew he existed.
Blaine’s the one who sent him text messages and drove all the way to Lima to help him confront Karofsky -- a noble gesture that in hindsight made the situation far worse -- and then again, just to hang out with him. Blaine’s the one who tried to include Mercedes that one time she crashed their...not a date, Kurt reminds himself, sighing a little and reaching up to smooth his bangs into place.
They’re friends, and friends don’t go on dates. So what if Kurt has a little crush; it’s to be expected, really, and at least this crush doesn’t come complete with the risk of potential bodily harm. At worst he’ll humiliate himself and lose a friend, but he won’t get himself killed, so at least his father’s money won’t have gone to waste.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Kurt starts at the sound of Blaine’s voice, glancing up to find Blaine smiling at him in that way that makes Kurt’s heart tap out a little drumbeat in his chest.
“My thoughts are worth more than a penny, I assure you,” Kurt says, flirting back in what he hopes is an easy manner. Something that could be just friendship, if that’s all Blaine wants. And considering how long they’ve been at this now, even Kurt has to admit that all signs are starting to point in that rather disappointing direction.
Blaine laughs but doesn’t answer, which is probably all the answer Kurt needs. He swallows another sigh and pastes on what he hopes is a charming smile -- not as charming as Blaine’s, certainly, but he does his best with what he’s got.
“So this performance of yours,” Kurt says, changing the subject as gracefully as he can, “is it an actual professional gig?”
Blaine shrugs, but Kurt can tell by the way he’s grinning that he’s excited. “It doesn’t pay much, but it’ll help pad my resume. Every little bit helps, right?”
Kurt knows Blaine’s got his hopes pinned on acceptance to the Berklee School in Boston. He’s been talking about it almost nonstop since Kurt transferred, obsessing over what they look for in their applicants and what it’s going to be like once he gets there. Kurt doesn’t know anything about Boston other than it’s not New York, but it’s close to New York, at least close enough for train rides on long weekends, and fine, he might have spun a little fantasy or two about following Blaine to the coast and rekindling the romance that currently only exists in Kurt’s head.
It’s not that he’s obsessed or anything. He can’t help that he has an extraordinarily active imagination.
Before he can embarrass himself by saying any of that out loud, his phone rings somewhere in his bag. He knows it’s probably just Mercedes or possibly Tina alerting him to some useless gossip that doesn' affect him anymore, but there’s always the chance that it’s about his father. Ever since the day Mr. Schuester pulled him out of French class his heart beats a little faster every time his phone rings, and now that he’s so far away from home it’s even worse.
He flashes an apologetic smile in Blaine’s direction and digs his phone out of his bag, frowning at the unfamiliar number on his screen. Not the hospital, he chants silently as he presses ‘send’ and lifts the phone to his ear. “Hello?”
“Kurt?”
Kurt frowns for a second as he tries to place the familiar voice, and when he finally recognizes it his stomach drops. “Puck? Why are you calling me? How did you even get my number?”
“Stole it out of your girl’s phone,” Puck says, like it should be obvious. “Look, there’s a surprise ‘cheer the fuck up already' party for Schue tonight, and I’m here to pick you up.”
“Here? You’re here?” Kurt asks, heart beating too fast as he looks up and down the hall for the tell-tale signs of a tacky letter jacket and a stupid mohawk.
“Yeah. Well, I’m outside. I tried going in there and looking for you, but everybody’s wearing the same clothes and it was starting to freak me out. So just grab your shit and meet me out front already. I’m freezing my balls off out here.”
“As charming as that invitation is,” Kurt says, rolling his eyes and glancing over to discover that Blaine’s still standing in the middle of the hallway watching him argue with Puck, “I have a test tomorrow. I can’t just drop everything and run home because you say so.”
Puck lets out a sigh on the other end of the line, and Kurt can practically see him rolling his eyes. “It’s not about me, dude, it’s about Schue. Everybody wants you there, and I’m here to make sure that happens. Don’t make me get out the boombox.”
There’s a witty comeback right on the tip of Kurt’s tongue, something along the lines of surely not everyone wants me there, but the thought flies right out of his head at Puck’s last sentence. "Boombox?”
“Technically it’s iPod speakers, but whatever. I mean, I know you go to a magic gay robot school now where everybody’s all about peace and love and shit, but I bet it’ll still be embarrassing to be serenaded by a dude standing on top of his mom’s Volvo holding iPod speakers over his head. Trust me, Hummel. There’s nothing cool about people thinking you’re being stalked by a dude driving a Volvo.”
Kurt blushes and looks over at Blaine again, but he’s not really seeing him. Mostly he’s seeing the image of Puck standing on top of his mother’s car belting out the lyrics to some tragic rock ballad and telling anyone who will listen that he's there for Kurt. Just the thought is humiliating, and it would probably tank whatever small reputation Kurt’s managed to build for himself so far.
“Why...what on earth would possess you to do such a thing?”
“I saw it in a movie once. Hurry up, man, the party starts in like two hours.”
The line clicks and then goes dead, which means that Puck just hung up on him. Kurt frowns down at his cell phone for another second, wondering if this is all some elaborate prank. That theory makes the most sense, certainly, but if so it’s a pretty dumb joke, because all he has to do to discover the ruse is walk outside and see that Puck’s mother’s Volvo isn’t actually parked in front of the building.
“Kurt? Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” Kurt says, though he’s not altogether sure that’s true. “I...would you excuse me? There’s something I need to do.”
He turns without waiting for an answer and hurries down the hall, weaving his way through the press of students headed for the dining hall until he finally reaches the foyer. He pulls open the front door, ignoring the rush of cold air and blinking a few times at the sight of Puck leaning against the side of a silver Volvo sedan, arms crossed over his chest and...dear God, there’s an iPod speaker sitting on the hood of the car.
Kurt lets out a noise that he’d never admit to, even on pain of torture, and closes the front door. Well, he thinks, his heart beating fast as he hurries up the stairs to his room, this certainly changes my plans for the evening.
~
Here’s one I don’t think I ever even mentioned to anyone! It’s a Winn AU that I started based on a challenge over at the Winn comm, but they were kind of dicks to me over there, and the idea was getting complex, so I dropped it. It was going to be a ghost story, though, and I still like the idea, so maybe I’ll use it someday. Finn was a football player recovering from injury, because I’m unoriginal that way (though in my defense I started this loooong before Like Longing Feels) and Will was the curator of the local history museum this time, IIRC:
Finn gets lost three times before he finds the road he’s looking for. When he finally does spot the turn-off it’s an accident; he’s swerving to avoid a raccoon just sitting in the middle of the road like it’s never even seen a car before, and his car dips off the shoulder and noses toward the treeline. He’s scrambling to right himself before he crashes into one of the towering pines surrounding him when he realizes that there’s an opening in the trees, and the ditch his car’s sliding into isn’t a ditch at all, but the road that leads to his new place.
Well. It’s not a road, exactly. Not in the traditional sense, anyway, and considering the only thing out here is Finn’s place, it’s technically just a driveway. It has a name, though: Beacon Hill Road. Not exactly imaginative, but Finn doesn’t much care what it’s called, as long as it’s just as hard for reporters to find as it was for him.
There was probably a sign at the end of the road at one point, because there’s an empty wooden post sticking out from the treeline. The actual sign’s long gone, and Finn doesn’t have any plans to replace it while he’s here. He came all this way in the hope of some privacy and a little space to think, and the harder it is for people to find him, the happier he’ll be.
He follows the road through the trees, keeping his speed to a minimum as he winds his way down a gradual slope until finally the pines start to thin out. A minute later the trees end completely and he can see the ocean stretched out before him, his wheels crunching across what he assumes is crushed seashell lining the road up to the house.
Finn pulls up next to the building and turns off the engine, letting out a low whistle as he looks up at the only thing he has left of his father. For a minute he just sits there, taking in the building and the water beyond and wondering what the hell he’s doing out in the middle of nowhere.
“Guess you’re a long way from Cincy now,” he says, then he steps out of the car.
His bad knee’s stiff from the long drive. He winces and stretches his leg, gritting his teeth as he waits for the pain to ebb. And it hasn’t been that long -- his doctors keep telling him to be patient, that he needs time to heal -- but he still wants to scream every time the pain flares up again.
Waves beat the rocky shoreline in a steady rhythm, and Finn keeps his eyes shut for a minute and listens to the sound. It’s a weird beat, hollow and sort of sad, like he’s somehow landed himself on another planet instead of just a deserted bit of Maine coastline.
He tastes salt in the air as he straightens up, opening his eyes and reaching into the back seat for his bag. He slings it over his shoulder and swings the car door shut, not bothering to lock it because if anyone actually finds him out here, they’re welcome to his ride.
He reaches into his pocket for the keys the lawyer sent him, then he looks up at the building one more time. There’s a single story section jutting off to the left, and Finn assumes that’s where the actual living quarters are. He knows from the lawyer’s instructions that there’s a door around the side that leads into the kitchen. Directly in front of him is another door that used to be white, but years of weather and salt air have faded and cracked the paint until it’s a dull, chipping gray.
The building itself is dark, almost black but when Finn looks harder he can see that it’s a dark gray. Finally he looks up, tilting his head back and cupping his free hand over his eyes to block out what little sun is left as he takes in the sight of the lighthouse itself.
It’s not operational anymore, according to the lawyer. Most of these old lighthouses aren’t; they have technology to help boats navigate these days, and there’s no need to rely on some guy in a building on shore to remember to leave the light on in case it storms. So now it’s just an old building, run down and probably drafty and not worth all that much. But it’s as good a place to lay low as any, at least until he figures out what to do next.
His head’s starting to spin a little from looking up at the top of the lighthouse, but just as he starts to turn away he sees something move out of the corner of his eye. Finn’s head whips back automatically to the narrow catwalk around the light itself, but it’s just as empty as it was a minute ago.
He watches for another few seconds, ignoring the ache in his neck and the drumming of his heart against his chest. Whatever he thought he saw doesn’t make another appearance, and finally he gives up and turns away.
“Great, now you’re seeing things, too,” he mutters to himself. He considers going in the door that leads directly into the lighthouse; it’s closer, and the temperature’s been dropping steadily since the sun started sinking toward the horizon. But there’s something about the lighthouse that makes him hesitate, and finally he hoists his bag further onto his shoulder and rounds the house to find the other door.
He finds it in the far end of the house, and after fumbling with the unfamiliar lock for a few seconds, he pushes it open to find himself standing in a small kitchen. A few seconds later he locates the light switch on the wall, sending up a quick prayer that the lawyer had the power turned on before he flips the switch.
Instantly the kitchen’s bathed in yellow light, not quite bright enough to chase the shadows out of the corners. Finn frowns at the depressing scene and makes a mental note to pick up some decent bulbs when he heads into town for a supply run. For now, though, all he wants is a hot shower, maybe some ice for his knee, and a decent night’s sleep. Everything else can wait until morning.
It's not going to be a fun year. You know where the defriend button is.
But it's not 2012 yet, and I'm still feeling kind of poorly, so what better way to waste time recap 2011 than to do the WIP meme? It's probably pretty representative of the complete waste of time 2011 has been, and also a good reminder to me of why I'm not going to spend 2012 doing more of the same.
Here's how it works:
Post an excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.
I'm not really looking for inspiration so much as purging all this stuff so I can stop thinking about it, but there are a couple things here I haven't given up on completely yet.
Those Who’ve Waited In the Wings (aka that one Chris/Mark fic I was going to write for that one fic exchange but didn’t):
For awhile being on set feels like season one again. Darren’s around all the time now, but the rest of the Warblers are gone along with Chord. Chris misses Ashley, but he still talks to her all the time, and they never had any scenes together when she was on the show, so in a way it’s almost like they’re back to the original cast.
Except Idina’s there and Vanessa too, and the Glee Project kids turn up every once in awhile. Grant’s recurring but Max is out, so maybe the only thing that’s really like season one is the fact that Chris gets to spend time with Mark again.
~
Untitled Chris/Mark sequel to Situation Comedies:
Chris wasn’t avoiding Mark, exactly. He was just...keeping a safe distance, just until he could stop remembering the feeling of Mark’s lips on his cheek every time Chris looked at him.
~
Untitled Parks & Recreation fic I started (also for that fic exchange) and will never finish:
It starts with National Women’s Appreciation Day.
It’s not really national; that’s just what Leslie’s calling it, mostly to make it sound like something important instead of just another one of her ideas to convince the citizens of Pawnee that women are just as capable as men. She claims it’s good for town pride, but everybody knows she’s only doing it to court female voters.
She makes Ann and April and Donna pose for the promotional materials, fanned out in the background while Leslie’s front and center. Tom takes the pictures, and they come out pretty well despite the fact that April looks annoyed and Donna looks bored and Leslie’s ‘powerful woman’ smile makes her look a little crazy.
~
Puppyverse, aka the Winn-centric sequel to Trains I will probably never finish. There's waaaaaay more of it than I am c&ping here*, and yet it is neverending:
Hey, Mr. Schue,
How’s life at McKinley? Things here are okay, I guess, I mean, college is kind of weird. It’s a lot bigger than McKinley, for one thing, and there are a lot of people like Rachel here. People who know the answers and want you to know they know them, I mean.
My classes are going okay. I don’t get a lot of the stuff the T.A. keeps talking about in my Freshman Comp class. Like, we’re supposed to be writing papers on this book called The Heart Of Darkness. You’re smart, you’ve probably read it. I bet you’ve read like everything. Probably even in Spanish, huh?
Anyway, we’re supposed to be writing papers. A paper already, can you believe that? I’m trying to read the book, honest, but I don’t get it. I mean, it’s a bunch of guys on a boat. What’s so interesting about that?
I’m taking Spanish, did I tell you that? They make us take a language, and I figured since you passed me I must have learned something. Plus, if I have trouble with any of it I can just ask you for help. Is that cool, if I ask for help sometimes? I mean, not all the time or anything, I know you won’t do my homework for me, but just if I get stuck. My teacher’s kind of hard to understand. I don’t know where she’s from, but it’s definitely not Ohio.
I took your advice and went to Chorus tryouts. That’s why I haven’t been in touch all week; I wanted to wait until after tryouts so I could tell you whether or not I made it. I got into the University Chorus. It’s not as big a deal as Glee Club, but I don’t think they let a lot of freshmen into that. Maybe next year.
It’s okay, I like singing and everything, but it’s not as fun as New Directions. We don’t really do much popular stuff, and the teacher’s not like you. There’s no rapping or Journey obsession or dancing or anything. But that’s okay, because he’s kind of old. I always thought it was kind of hot when you really got into a song and like danced and stuff.
Is it weird to say that?
Stay awesome, Mr. Schue.
Finn
~
Finn,
If you’re going to say stuff like that, you really have to stop calling me Mr. Schue.
I’ll help however I can, with your Spanish and with The Heart Of Darkness as well, if you like. I have read it (in English) and at its most basic, it’s about the dangers of Imperialism. The river symbolizes White man’s separation from the natives in the book; it allows them to hold themselves apart from a race they see as beneath them, while at the same time gaining wealth by trading with the natives for ivory. There’s a whole sub-theme about madness too, but the racism might be the easiest theme for you to tackle.
There are plenty of books about Conrad’s themes at the library. If you can’t find them, just ask the librarian for help. That’s why they’re there. If you’re still confused after you take a look at some of the literature, give me a call and we can talk about it. Do you still have my cell number?
Will
~
Will,
It feels kind of weird to type that. I practiced saying it out loud a few times already so it wouldn’t feel so weird when I say it to you the first time. I know it’s your name and all so you're used to hearing it, but it’s hard to stop thinking of you as Schue.
I mean, it hasn’t been hard to stop thinking of you as my teacher. You were always kind of more of a friend anyway, at least once you took over Glee, so it doesn’t really feel weird to e-mail you about stuff. Anyway, I’m glad you don’t mind.
I was thinking about going home this weekend, just so my mom can see I’m not starving to death or anything. Is it cool if I give you a call? I still have your number.
Finn
PS: I had to look up ‘imperialism’. I’m still not sure I know what it means.
~
Finn,
Why don’t you give me a call when you get into town. If you have time maybe we could talk about Imperialism over dinner. Breadstix might ease the pain of trying to dissect Conrad a little.
Will
~
Will,
It’s a date. Talk to you tomorrow.
Finn
* Roughly 13,000 words more. The entire thing isn't written in e-mails, but this is the part I wrote first, so I love it best.
~
Wedding Planning for Beginners (working title), DIWWCF verse:
They spend the week leading up to Sarah’s visit arguing about how to get her from the airport to the apartment. Puck insists that it’s stupid to waste money on a cab ride when he’s got a perfectly good bike sitting right outside, and whenever Kurt reminds him that Sarah’s a girl and the chances of her showing up for a week in L.A. with little enough luggage to fit on Puck’s bike are next to none, Puck just rolls his eyes and changes the subject.
~
Rope Ladders, aka the Puck/Kurt sequel to Like Longing Feels which is all wrong and needs way more work than I am prepared to put into it:
Kurt didn’t see Puck again for a few days. He knew the team was in Wisconsin playing the Packers, thanks to Finn, and it wasn’t like he cared or anything, but he still checked the ESPN website to see if they won, just because he had a little time to kill. And since he was online anyway, it was easy enough to pull up Google and type in Noah’s name.
There were plenty of pictures, mostly of him in his uniform, but there were a few shots people had taken at clubs on their cell phones, too. Finn was even in one of them, looking bored in the background while Puck slung an arm around a man Kurt didn’t recognize and mugged for the camera.
Kurt clicked on the picture to go to the source page, scanning the article until he spotted Noah’s name. It was one of those gossip sites, so he knew better than to take anything it said as gospel. Still, the more he read about Puck’s -- apparently notorious -- promiscuity, the more his stomach tied itself into knots.
Not that it mattered to him. It didn’t; he barely knew Puck, and just because he was attractive and flirted with everything that moved, that didn’t mean Kurt was dumb enough to fall for it. He clicked a few more links, just to prove to himself that it didn’t matter to him what Noah Puckerman did, but most of the press was about his football career, and none of it meant anything to Kurt.
When he found himself on a fan board about the players Kurt shut down the web browser, wishing for the first time since he got back from New York that he had some homework to distract him. He could call his friends, but most of them were neck-deep in midterm projects, and anyway he’d started to get the impression they were tired of hearing him rehash his failed attempt to land a spot on Project Runway.
Which meant the only thing he had to distract him was Finn. Finn and his inability to take care of himself, and Kurt supposed he should be grateful that at least someone wanted him around.
That was the only reason Kurt showed up at Finn’s place again the next day, and the day after that. And if he happened to be there on the day that Puck got back from Green Bay, it was just a coincidence. He was just being a good brother, and it didn’t matter to him whether or not Finn’s friends were hanging around.
He was unloading the makings of a perfect roast from the back of the Navigator when he felt someone stop next to him, and Kurt looked up to find Puck grinning at him. And Kurt wasn’t blind, nor was he dead, so he could admit to himself that Puck was looking especially rugged in a worn leather jacket and faded jeans.
There was a fresh bruise under his right eye, and Kurt frowned and stopped himself from reaching out to touch. “What happened to your eye?”
“Occupational hazard,” Puck answered, grinning like he was proud of it or something. From what Kurt knew of him, he probably was, and he rolled his eyes and turned back to his groceries.
Before he could pick up the second bag Puck was reaching for it, then he reached up to shut the back of the Navigator, and Kurt decided that if he was going to hang around, it was just as well that he make himself useful.
“So how’s the cripple?” Puck asked, and when Puck raised an eyebrow at him he grinned again.
“Still pining for his physical therapist, from what I can tell.”
“Right, business as usual,” Puck said. He followed Kurt onto the elevator and leaned back against the wall, glancing in the bag he was carrying before he looked at Kurt again. “So what’s for dinner?”
“Chuck roast and root vegetables. I thought he could use some comfort food.”
Puck let out a soft laugh, and Kurt smiled in spite of himself. The elevator doors slid open and he stepped into the hallway, Puck on his heels as Kurt made his way down the hall to Finn’s door.
“So am I invited to dinner or what?” Puck asked as Kurt fished Finn’s key out of his pocket.
He paused with his hand halfway to the door, raising an eyebrow at Puck’s hopeful expression. “And I should feed you because...?”
Puck smirked again, and when he swayed closer Kurt felt the blush creeping up his neck and into his face. But he didn’t let himself take a step backwards, because he wasn’t going to give Puck the satisfaction of a reaction.
“Dude, I’m at least better company than Finn.”
Kurt considered defending Finn purely on the basis of fraternity. But they weren’t biologically related, and anyway Puck had a point. Finn spent a lot of time moping around lately, and when he wasn’t doing that he was usually asleep. Which meant Puck was better company simply by virtue of staying awake, and anyway, it wasn’t like Kurt was the one paying the grocery bills.
“It’s Finn’s house,” he finally answered, sliding the key into the lock and pushing the door open. “So I suppose it’s up to him to choose his dinner guests.”
He walked into the apartment before Puck could answer, and when Finn glanced up from the couch Kurt nodded in his direction before he headed into the kitchen to start cooking. He didn’t look back to see if Puck had followed him in; Puck never needed an invitation, and his lack of manners was just one more reason to stay away from him.
Kurt heard voices from the living room and let out a breath, then he pursed his lips and pulled out the Dutch oven he was fairly sure Finn didn’t even know he owned. He was cutting up vegetables when he heard footsteps on the tile, and Kurt looked up in time to watch Puck lean against the counter next to the fridge.
“You need any help?”
“No. Thank you,” Kurt added, turning back to the vegetables he was chopping.
“You sure? ‘Cause I’m pretty good with a vegetable peeler. If you don’t believe me you can call my Nana; she’ll back me up.”
Kurt pursed his lips to kill the smile that was threatening to form, then he turned his back on Puck to drop a layer of parsnips into the Dutch oven. “That won’t be necessary. Anyway, I’m sure you and Finn have plenty to talk about.”
“Not really.” Puck shrugged when Kurt looked over at him again, then he glanced toward the living room as though he was making sure Finn wasn’t lurking around before he leaned in and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I mean, Finn’s my boy and all, but all he talks about lately is the hot PT. I figure the company’s better in here.”
Kurt didn’t ask why. He wanted to, but he had a feeling Puck was just flirting for something to do, and the last thing Kurt needed was to display his painful naivete to his brother’s best friend. “Suit yourself.”
Kurt didn’t look up, but he heard Puck take a step closer, then another one, and Kurt held his breath while he waited for Puck to touch him. When it didn’t happen Kurt looked up, expecting to find Puck smirking, maybe, but instead he was looking at Kurt like Puck had never seen him before.
“Listen, Kurt…”
That was as far as he got before Finn called from the living room, and Kurt let out the breath he’d been holding and willed himself not to blush.
“Dude, are you brewing the beer in there or what?”
Puck let out a frustrated breath behind him, but a second later Kurt heard the fridge open. The silverware drawer was next, and Kurt glanced over in time to see Puck popping the caps off two bottles.
He told himself he was glad that Puck was ditching him to go drink with Finn; he could work better without an audience, and he certainly wasn’t interested in continuing their conversation. It was a little flattering to know that Puck wanted him, but that didn’t change the fact that Kurt wasn’t interested in a casual relationship, and that seemed to be Puck’s only setting. He’d read enough online to know that, and he had no reason to believe Puck had suddenly turned over a new leaf because of Kurt.
He was congratulating himself on his self-control when Puck reappeared in the kitchen, setting his beer on the counter without a word and reaching for the peeler and a potato.
“What are you doing?” Kurt asked before he could stop himself, but instead of making a dumb joke about gracing Kurt with his presence, Puck just shrugged and got to work.
“Making myself useful.” Puck shrugged and looked over at him, and when he smiled Kurt felt it all the way to his toes. “I told you, I’m awesome with a peeler.”
~
Chapter Four of Tanglewood Days, and yes, this is really all I have written:
Will’s room was nicer than Kurt’s. It made sense; he was kind of famous, after all, and the show probably shelled out more to keep the choreographers happy than it did for the dancers. His room was a few floors higher than Kurt’s, too, with one big bed and a view of practically the whole city.
~
The Street Where We Began, aka the final installment in the Traveling Shoes series:
They don’t talk much on the way back to Kurt’s place. Puck’s hands are balled into fists, pressed against his thighs and his leg’s kind of bouncing with all the nervous energy left over from not taking a swing at Finn. Then Kurt reaches over the console to close his hand around Puck’s, fingers threading together and pressing hard against his thigh to stop him from shaking. Like he knows what Puck’s thinking, and that’s scary enough to make him want to pull his hand out of Kurt’s, but instead he threads their fingers together and holds on.
It takes less than ten minutes to get back to Kurt’s house, and when they pull onto Kurt’s street Puck half expects to find Mrs. H’s car still sitting in the driveway, just because the universe has been trying to cockblock him since they got together. But when they pull up there’s no one else there, and when Kurt lets go of Puck to kill the engine Puck takes a deep breath and climbs out of the car.
He’s not even sure why his stomach’s doing cartwheels, because it’s not like this is the first time he’s been alone with Kurt. It’s not even the first time today, so really all they’re doing is picking up where they left off this morning.
It feels different, though. It feels like he’s got something to prove, and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the whole thing with Finn or what, but Puck figures it doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s got Kurt all to himself for at least a few hours, and that’s a long time to show Kurt just how serious Puck is about them.
And yeah, it’s only been a couple weeks, but that’s the longest he’s ever dated dated anybody, so he figures it counts as serious. The fact that he’s not looking for an exit means something too, he’s pretty sure, but Puck doesn’t think too hard about it. Instead he follows Kurt into the house, ditching his leather jacket before he lets Kurt lead him downstairs.
Down to Kurt’s room, where they woke up together just a few hours ago. Where Kurt made Puck a promise, and Puck’s planning to hold him to it. He grins and reaches for Kurt, hands on his waist and backing him toward the bed because it’s right fucking there, and why the hell not? And Kurt’s right on board with that plan, hands sliding down Puck’s chest to land on his hips and drag him forward. He sits down hard on the edge of the mattress and scrambles backward, making enough room for Puck to crawl over him and stretch out, pressing Kurt into the mattress from his chest all the way down to his ankles.
It feels fantastic, just like it did last night, then Kurt parts his legs to let Puck settle between them, and that feels even better. He moans into Kurt’s mouth and grinds against him, dragging their hard-ons together through way too many layers of clothes. And yeah, okay, he’s always been easy, but he’s never been this fucking needy, because all it takes is one kiss and the hard press of Kurt’s dick digging into his thigh and Puck’s right back to tear all Kurt’s clothes off rightthefucknow.
~
Untitled Lauren-centric story I started for rinnia for help_nz, but then I ended up writing that threesome fic instead, so I probably won’t ever finish this one. Canon has long since jossed it anyway.
She gives it until prom. She told Puckerman she wanted to be wooed, after all, and she appreciates that he’s been trying, so she gives him enough time to put in an effort. She doesn’t even hold the fact that he’s not all that good at it against him, because she’s a woman with very specific needs, and it’s not just any guy who can fulfill them.
So she gives it a couple months, but once prom night comes and goes without any sign of that spark that’s been missing since the beginning, she knows it’s time. Time to figure out a way to let Puckerman down gently -- well, gently for Lauren, anyway -- because she likes the guy and all, she’s just not attracted to him.
They break up right after Nationals, and it’s mostly a drama-free affair. And okay, that’s probably because it takes awhile for Puckerman to figure out that she’s breaking up with him, which is maybe her fault for letting him get so used to dating somebody without ever getting any.
Still, she stops letting him carry her books, and she stops sitting next to him in Glee, and when Rachel brings up something about getting together to practice over the summer to keep up the momentum of their winning streak, Lauren laughs and says, “I’m not hanging around you losers all summer.”
It’s direct -- also kind of true -- and it turns out insulting his friends is the thing that finally gets Puckerman’s attention.
“Babe, we’ve gotta hang out with them sometimes,” he says, turning in his seat next to Kurt to look at her. “They might be losers, sure, but they’re our friends.”
“Your friends, not mine,” she answers, and sure, maybe it’s a little harsh, but it’s not like she has anything in common with any of them. They’re not going to hang out at her house and watch wrestling, and they’re definitely not going to volunteer to take a turn in the ring her dad built in their backyard so she could practice during the off-season.
“So what are you saying here? You’ll go out with me, but you won’t hang out with my friends?”
Lauren rolls her eyes when she realizes he’s going to make her spell it out for him in small words. Which is just another example of why things would never work out between them, because ‘dumb and cute’ only works for her in theory. “Yeah, about that...”
That’s as far as she gets before Kurt’s talking, and when Lauren looks over she sees that he’s got his hand on Puck’s arm. Which is kind of interesting, but she knows they’ve been sort of hanging out when Kurt’s not with that preppy attention whore boyfriend of his, so she lets it go.
“Puck, I think what Lauren’s trying to say is that you’re not going out anymore.”
“What?” Puck says, then he turns back to Lauren and she figures the weird pain in her stomach is probably guilt and not the cafeteria pizza she had for lunch. “You’re breaking up with me?”
“It’s nothing personal,” she says, and it’s true, but she gets that it would be pretty hard not to take being dumped by her personally. “Look, you tried, okay? You just don’t do it for me. That’s nobody’s fault.”
“But I did everything you said. I broke laws for you. I’m still on probation.”
And she wasn’t really planning to do this in front of an audience -- truth is, she was kind of hoping not to do this at all -- but she feels a lot worse about it when most of the Glee club is staring between her and Puckerman like they’re at a really good wrestling match. And she doesn’t do guilt, so it’s not like she’s going to apologize or anything, but she still kind of wishes he’d stop looking at her with those big, dumb eyes of his.
Lauren shrugs and looks away, right at Kurt -- not that she’s really planning it or anything, it’s just that he’s right there next to Puckerman -- and when she catches him glaring daggers at her she kind of forgets to feel guilty. Because there’s hanging out with Puckerman when he’s at Kurt’s house to do whatever he does with Finn, and there’s even the arm touching and the patient voice when he explained what was happening here.
But this isn’t just Kurt being bored and smarter than Puck. This is Kurt being righteously pissed -- at somebody would could break him in half -- and the fact that he’s pissed about something that he shouldn’t even care about is what stops her in her tracks.
“I hardly think this is the place for this conversation,” Kurt says, still glaring at her, but his hand’s on Puck’s shoulder now, kind of patting him and when Puck doesn’t shove it off or give him a weird look Lauren wonders exactly what she’s been missing while she was working on being broken up with Puckerman without his consent.
He doesn’t back down when she scowls at him, which is pretty stupid, but she has to hand it to the guy. He’s never been afraid to stand up for himself, even though it’s cost him pretty much every time. Still, he mostly lets it go, and Puckerman’s not even looking at her, so yeah, drama-free.
Exactly the way she planned it.
~
The next part of 99 Problems:
Improv class doesn’t get better. It doesn’t get any worse, either, but after two weeks Finn’s positive he can’t last a whole semester. His Intro to Theater class isn’t so bad, but considering it consists of a two hour lecture every Wednesday and Friday on the history of theater, it’s not exactly making up for Improv.
And the thing is, he doesn’t need the credits to graduate, so if he’s not going to minor in Theater then there’s no reason to keep showing up for class every week. There’s no reason to pay for a full semester of credits he doesn’t even need, not when he could use that time to pick up more shifts at the shop.
~
Currently untitled Winn-centric prequel to Home Is, which went angsty on me and I bailed:
There was a time when Finn actually liked football. He used to love it, used to eat and sleep and breathe it. The guys he dated in high school bitched about it almost constantly, mostly because he never dated guys from the team, so they didn’t get why it was so important to him.
That was before college, before the insane amounts of pressure to win and the constant questions from scouts and reporters and coaches about where he saw himself in four years, what teams he was most interested in, who he wanted to play for. Before football stopped being fun and started being a job, and suddenly Finn didn’t like it so much anymore.
Now he kind of hates it, but man, he really misses when he didn’t.
Which is the only reason he can come up with for his obsession with fantasy football. Not that he’d ever admit to anyone he knows that he plays fantasy football, because he’s the starting quarterback for Ohio State, for fuck’s sake, which makes this about the lamest hobby he could come up with.
It started as something to do during the summer before his senior year, mostly because his stepbrother was in Europe on some kind of fashion tour, and his other friends were either working all the time or had left town for the summer. So Finn found himself with a lot of time on his hands, and there was only so much porn he could watch before it just started to feel creepy. Before it started to remind him of exactly how long he'd been single, and thinking too much about that just made him feel like a loser.
So when he clicked on an article about the draft, just to see if he was mentioned, and saw the link on the ESPN website for the fantasy league, he got curious. And hell, he didn’t have anything better to do, so he took a look at the message boards and when he figured out that the leagues only dealt with current NFL players and not college prospects, Finn figured it couldn’t hurt to sign up.
Sure, if anyone ever found out he’d be laughed right off the team, but there are days when he thinks he wouldn’t mind all that much. Then again, there's that guy on the Redskins -- Cooley, he thinks -- who plays in a bunch of fantasy leagues, so maybe no one would really care that some college player wastes what little free time he has on the ESPN fantasy football boards.
~
(Looking For) A New England, which is the My Bodyguard Glee AU I started before I bailed and wrote the Project Runway AU for au_bigbang instead.:
Kurt was trying to be strong. He wasn’t happy about moving to the middle of nowhere, but he understood why his father needed to do it. So he was trying not to hate everything about Lima, Ohio on first sight; he really was. But Lima didn’t feel anything like home, and when he climbed out of his brand new Lincoln Navigator and looked up at William McKinley High School, he felt like he was on a whole different planet.
Kurt sighed and smoothed down the front of the Michael Kors cardigan he’d picked up at last season’s sample sale. It was a little dated, of course, but this was Ohio; it wasn’t like anyone here was going to know he was wearing a sweater from last fall’s line.
He passed a group of what looked like football players gathered around the dumpster, and when one of them took a step forward Kurt caught sight of a much smaller student standing in their midst. “Come on, guys,” Kurt heard the kid say, “I don’t have it.”
“It’s not cool to show up unprepared, Israel,” the ringleader said. “You know there’s a fee for our services. But I’m a nice guy, so instead of rearranging your ugly face I’m going give you some time alone to think about what you’ve done. And tomorrow you can pay double.”
He gestured toward the kid and the Neanderthals on either side moved in, lifting the kid called Israel and tossing him in the dumpster. The whole group laughed at the kid’s pleas for them to let him out, then one of them closed the lid and the jock squad turned away from the dumpster.
The one who seemed to be in charge caught sight of Kurt, gaze wandering down Kurt’s frame in a way that made his skin crawl a little before his features twisted into a scowl. “What are you looking at, faggot?”
Kurt clutched his messenger bag a little tighter and turned away without answering, hurrying toward the entrance to the school ahead of the jocks. He made a beeline for the office, and he wasn’t glancing over his shoulder to make sure they weren’t following, but he still let out a deeper breath than strictly necessary when he reached the safety of the office.
“Hi,” he said, flashing his most winning smile at the the harrassed-looking woman behind the desk, “My name’s Kurt Hummel. I just transferred from New York.”
“Welcome to McKinley, Mr. Hummel,” she said, but he could tell she didn’t really mean it. “Just a minute and I’ll find your schedule.”
She turned to face her computer, fingers flying across the keyboard and Kurt glanced over his shoulder toward the hallway while he waited. Just outside the windows he caught sight of the Head Neanderthal from earlier, just leaning against the lockers across from the office and watching him. When their eyes met the guy pushed himself off the lockers, then he made a fist with one hand and pressed it into his other palm.
Kurt swallowed hard and turned away from the windows just as the secretary pulled a sheet of paper off the printer. “Here we go, you’ve got homeroom with Mr. Schuester. Room 18, down the hall and to your left.”
“Thanks,” Kurt said, ignoring the way his hand shook as he reached out to take the paper. He took a deep breath and turned to look out into the hallway, but the football player wasn’t anywhere in sight.
Kurt didn’t have to wait long to find out where he’d disappeared to. No sooner did he turn the corner that took him out of sight of the main office than he was assaulted with an icy blast of something wet and sticky and unbearably sweet. Kurt gasped at the shock and inhaled a mouthful of artificial raspberry flavor, his cheeks burning under the freezing sludge and laughter ringing in his ears.
“Welcome to McKinley, freak,” one of them said, and Kurt wiped slushie out of his eyes in time to watch the football team high-fiving each other on their way past.
“This is a Michael Kors sweater, you cretins,” he called after them, but they were too busy congratulating each other on their brilliance to hear him.
Kurt looked down at the damage, staring mournfully at the neon blue dye soaking into his off-white cardigan. He was too upset to react when a hand closed around his arm, but when he heard a female voice he looked up to find a girl standing on either side of him. They were both frowning at his ruined sweater as though they’d seen this sort of collateral damage before.
“Guess the Welcome Wagon found you already,” the girl holding onto his arm said as she steered him toward the restrooms. “Don’t worry, you get used to it.”
“This happens regularly?” Kurt asked. “Why doesn’t the administration put a stop to it?”
“Please, boy, the teachers here don’t care. They think it toughens us up, prepares us for the real world or something.”
“And is tossing underclassmen in dumpsters part of the daily ritual around here as well?”
“It’s b-best not t-to g-get involved.” The other girl hadn’t spoken since since they latched onto Kurt, and once he heard her stutter Kurt understood why.
“This is Tina,” the loud one said, gesturing toward the girl with glossy dark hair streaked with blue. “My name’s Mercedes.”
“Kurt Hummel,” Kurt said, managing a weak smile as they steered him into the girls’ restroom and pushed him in the direction of the sinks. Tina turned the water on while Mercedes dragged his sweater off him, then she pushed until he bent over the sink and let her rinse the slushie out of his hair.
“So where you from, white boy?”
“New York,” Kurt answered, lifting his head out of the stream of warm water in time to see the two of them exchange a look.
“Really? Like, New York City?”
“Not exactly. We lived on Long Island, but my friends and I took the subway into the city as often as we could,” Kurt said, letting out a heavy sigh at the memory. “I think I’ll miss the shopping most of all.”
“You’re right about that,” Mercedes said as she tugged on his shoulder until he straightened up. When he did she started wiping slushie off his face and neck, shaking her head at his ruined shirt. “The closest we get to real shopping in Lima is the Macy’s at the mall.”
“Well I suppose it’s just as well you don’t have access to designer fashion, if it’s just going to end up covered in sugar and truly offensive shades of food dye,” Kurt said as he frowned down at his shirt again.
He looked in the mirror above the sink, taking stock of the damage to his hair and the hopeless state of his outfit. “So should I start carrying a change of clothes or is this just some bizarre hazing ritual every new kid goes through?”
The girls exchanged a look behind him, then Tina gave him a sympathetic shrug, and Mercedes patted his sticky shoulder. “We all keep extra clothes in our lockers. Better safe than sorry, if you’re not part of the popular crowd.”
~
Moments In the Woods, aka 99 Problems Finn and Will finally take their romantic weekend trip to see Into the Woods, which I also started for help_nz but then wrote...something else instead:
They’ve been together almost two months now. And yeah, their relationship’s been on fast forward pretty much since the start, but Finn figures that’s okay, considering how long it took them to figure out how they feel about each other.
Well.
Considering how long it took Finn to figure it out, anyway, and he feels bad about that -- he does -- but it’s not like Will was all that much help. Still, once they finally figured it out, things started moving pretty quickly, and Finn’s totally okay with that. Most of his stuff is at Will’s place now, and he helped out with the rent for the first time at the beginning of the month, which makes it their place, even if his name’s not on the lease yet.
Figgins knows about them, along with the rest of the teachers at McKinley, and it was a little weird at first, but people seemed to get used to the idea of them pretty quickly. Finn tells himself it’s not because Will was perving on him when he was still in high school, so they were all expecting this to happen eventually. But even if he was...well. Finn figures they’ve been important to each other for a long time, so it doesn’t really matter if other people could tell.
So they’ve been out together plenty of times, enough for them to feel comfortable touching in public or for Will to let Finn kiss him goodbye in his truck on the mornings the weather’s bad and Finn drives Will to work. But this is a little different; it’s the first time they’ve gone out of town together to do anything besides visit the occasional scrap yard in search of Camaro parts, and maybe that’s why Finn’s been a little on edge since they got in the car.
When Will suggested they make a weekend of their trip to Cincinnati to see Into the Woods Finn had said yes without even thinking, because hello, it’s not like he’s going to turn down hotel sex with Will. But once he got past the hotel sex -- and the room service and his secret hope that their room has one of those big tubs, and he hasn’t even mentioned that to Will -- he started thinking about being with Will in a new city, around people who don’t know them.
~
The beginning of a series I was calling 'drunk dial', in which Will learns to regret giving his phone number to the entire Glee Club:
The first time it happened wasn’t that long after Will gave out his cell number. It was Santana who called, which was a bit of a surprise, because of all the kids Will had expected to take him up on his offer, she wasn’t at the top of the list. He knew she appreciated the gesture, and he was glad she took the lead in signing the agreement, but until the night his phone rang just after midnight, he’d assumed that was the last he’d hear about it from her.
When he answered and heard her voice on the other end of the line, tearful and insisting that he come get ‘them’ immediately, Will didn’t ask questions. He just wrote down the address and pulled on a pair of jeans and an OSU t-shirt, and he was out the door. Half an hour later he had Santana, Brittany, and Quinn in his back seat, all three of them pressed together as though they were all afraid to be seen riding up front with him.
~
A Home Is future fic I started waaaaay before the one I posted the other day, but it started going kind of angsty in my head and making me ::sadface:: so I put it on the back burner. It would still work, but it would still be kind of angsty, obviously, so who knows if I’ll ever get around to finishing it:
“I think it’s time we got married.”
It was the first morning they’d both been home for at least two weeks. Kurt had spent most of the month in New York, consulting with Sam on a new line of fabrics and taking meetings with vendors all over the garment district. The textile plant in Toledo was almost ready to start production, and tomorrow Noah would leave for D.C. and Kurt would go to Toledo to make sure all the final details had been taken care of.
They didn’t see much of each other now that Noah was a junior Congressman, but every time Kurt got frustrated about the fact that their relationship was still taking place mostly over the phone, he reminded himself that he’d known what he was getting into when he encouraged Noah to get into politics. He’d known it was going to entail a lot of nights spent apart, but Noah was good at his job and Kurt wasn’t going to hold him back by making him feel guilty about that.
“That’s not much of a proposal, Princess,” Noah said, lifting his coffee cup off the breakfast table and raising an eyebrow at Kurt.
For a second Kurt just frowned at him, trying to decide if Noah was kidding. Because they’d been engaged for years, and Noah was the one who’d done the actual proposing, so technically they’d gotten that part out of the way a long time ago.
~
Here's one I don't even remember! Apparently the working title was 'Both Sides Now', which I came up with before Rachel’s canonical Joni Mitchell fetish, I think. Anyway, I don’t think anything ever came of this, but it’s set way too far back in canon to bother finishing now (apparently I started it just after the Christmas episode last year.) Pity; I actually don’t hate it:
The thing about trying to be a nicer guy is that it takes a lot of effort. It takes thought, which has never really been one of Puck’s strong points, and he’d be the first to admit it. But he promised God, and granted, Finn’s not a Jew so technically he doesn’t count, but he is Puck’s boy, and he probably deserves better than he’s gotten from Puck in the past couple years.
So when Puck hears that Finn and Rachel are, like, officially over, he doesn’t take that as blanket permission to make out with her or anything. It’s kind of his first impulse, sure, but old habits die hard, right? The important thing is that he remembers about being a better person before it’s too late and instead of hitting on Rachel again, he tracks down Finn instead.
It takes awhile, but finally he finds Finn out on the track, running laps in seriously cold fucking weather and looking like he’s about to pass out. When he sees Puck he doesn’t even slow down, which is pretty annoying, but Puck figures he probably kind of deserves it. So he waits for Finn to come around with him and falls into step with him, matching his pace even though he’s always hated sucking cold air when he runs.
He’s no good at this sort of thing, mostly because he doesn’t have a lot of practice, but he figures he better get it out there before his lungs start burning so much that he can’t even talk. “Look, bro, I’m sorry.”
Finn glances over at him, face all red and it’s probably just the wind making his eyes water and his nose run, but it kind of looks like he’s been crying.
“It was a momentary lapse or whatever. Rachel’s the second hottest Jew at McKinley, and sometimes when the blood starts flowing, you know, I forget to think. But you’re my boy, and it’s bros before hos from now on, I swear.”
“Whatever,” Finn says, and he doesn't even sound winded, so maybe he has been crying. “Just...stop making out with my girlfriends, dude.”
Puck nods and for awhile that’s it, but he keeps jogging along next to Finn anyway, because he figures a little show of solidarity can’t hurt. They’re bros, after all, and Finn’s obviously feeling pretty lousy, and Puck knows how much that must be pissing him off.
“You know what the worst part is? She had to go and ruin Christmas.”
Puck doesn’t have to ask who Finn’s talking about. He’s blaming Rachel for the whole mess, and Puck should probably be grateful he’s off the hook, but the truth is it sort of makes him feel worse. He doesn’t really get why Finn’s so heavily into the monogamy thing or whatever, but he’s, like, aware of it, and he should have remembered to respect it. Or something.
Seriously. All this thinking is starting to give him a headache.
The point is that no matter who Finn’s blaming, Puck knows he screwed up. He tried making up for it by helping out when Finn decided to deck out the choir room for Christmas. He didn’t bitch about how not everybody’s into creepy fat dudes who sneak into your house at night the way he usually does; hell, he even risked his probation by lifting those presents from the mall, and granted, they’re just empty boxes, but if his parole officer finds out about it he’s in trouble.
Still, Finn’s been moping around since the whole Rachel thing went down, and Puck knows it’s not just about her. He’s known Finn practically his whole life, after all, so he knows how Finn gets about Christmas. He’s the reason Puck knows as much as he does about it; he knows the words to all the fucking carols, thanks to Finn and his lame Christmas mixes, and he’s eaten the baby Jesus' weight in Christmas cookies baked with love by Finn’s mom.
He doesn’t celebrate or anything, but he’s spent enough time hanging around Finn to know how it works, and he’s pretty sure Schue’s wrong about Christmas being the time of year you’re supposed to give thanks for your blessings. Seems to him Christmas is when you’re supposed to hang out with the people who love you best, and maybe steal them something they’ve really been wanting, just to show them you pay attention when they, like, talk about their interests or whatever.
Problem is, what Finn wants this year, Puck can’t steal for him.
“Dude, Christmas isn’t, like, totally ruined. You’ve got a dad this year, right? That’s pretty cool. And your mom’s probably at home right now, baking like twenty different kinds of cookies.”
“What I’ve got is a brother who’s scared to come home and a stepdad who’s stressed out about how he’s going to pay Kurt’s tuition next year just to keep him safe. What if he worries himself into another heart attack? I don't think cookies are going to make that better.”
Finn shrugs and starts running again, and this time Puck doesn't try to go after him. He knows he can’t fix Finn’s girl problems or his family problems, just like Santa can’t fix Artie’s legs. If there were a Santa, which there isn’t. So Puck’s not planning to head down to the mall and ask the dude in the red suit to bend the rules just this one time and do a Jew a favor, no matter how much a part of him wishes it would work.
Still, he has to do something to cheer Finn up. He just doesn’t know what yet.
~
‘Love’ is probably a strong word. Kurt knows that; he does. The fact that he only said it to Mr. Schuester and not someone who's likely to judge him for it -- someone like Mercedes or Finn or, perish the thought, Blaine himself -- only makes him feel slightly less pathetic.
But regardless of the strength of whatever word he may have blurted out to Mr. Schuester in a moment of indiscretion, he can’t deny that he’s developed a crush on Blaine. It started weeks ago, the first time Kurt laid eyes on him, really. He can hardly be blamed, considering; Blaine’s the one who took his hand and sang directly to Kurt as though he meant every word, never mind that they’d been rehearsing that number long before Blaine even knew he existed.
Blaine’s the one who sent him text messages and drove all the way to Lima to help him confront Karofsky -- a noble gesture that in hindsight made the situation far worse -- and then again, just to hang out with him. Blaine’s the one who tried to include Mercedes that one time she crashed their...not a date, Kurt reminds himself, sighing a little and reaching up to smooth his bangs into place.
They’re friends, and friends don’t go on dates. So what if Kurt has a little crush; it’s to be expected, really, and at least this crush doesn’t come complete with the risk of potential bodily harm. At worst he’ll humiliate himself and lose a friend, but he won’t get himself killed, so at least his father’s money won’t have gone to waste.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Kurt starts at the sound of Blaine’s voice, glancing up to find Blaine smiling at him in that way that makes Kurt’s heart tap out a little drumbeat in his chest.
“My thoughts are worth more than a penny, I assure you,” Kurt says, flirting back in what he hopes is an easy manner. Something that could be just friendship, if that’s all Blaine wants. And considering how long they’ve been at this now, even Kurt has to admit that all signs are starting to point in that rather disappointing direction.
Blaine laughs but doesn’t answer, which is probably all the answer Kurt needs. He swallows another sigh and pastes on what he hopes is a charming smile -- not as charming as Blaine’s, certainly, but he does his best with what he’s got.
“So this performance of yours,” Kurt says, changing the subject as gracefully as he can, “is it an actual professional gig?”
Blaine shrugs, but Kurt can tell by the way he’s grinning that he’s excited. “It doesn’t pay much, but it’ll help pad my resume. Every little bit helps, right?”
Kurt knows Blaine’s got his hopes pinned on acceptance to the Berklee School in Boston. He’s been talking about it almost nonstop since Kurt transferred, obsessing over what they look for in their applicants and what it’s going to be like once he gets there. Kurt doesn’t know anything about Boston other than it’s not New York, but it’s close to New York, at least close enough for train rides on long weekends, and fine, he might have spun a little fantasy or two about following Blaine to the coast and rekindling the romance that currently only exists in Kurt’s head.
It’s not that he’s obsessed or anything. He can’t help that he has an extraordinarily active imagination.
Before he can embarrass himself by saying any of that out loud, his phone rings somewhere in his bag. He knows it’s probably just Mercedes or possibly Tina alerting him to some useless gossip that doesn' affect him anymore, but there’s always the chance that it’s about his father. Ever since the day Mr. Schuester pulled him out of French class his heart beats a little faster every time his phone rings, and now that he’s so far away from home it’s even worse.
He flashes an apologetic smile in Blaine’s direction and digs his phone out of his bag, frowning at the unfamiliar number on his screen. Not the hospital, he chants silently as he presses ‘send’ and lifts the phone to his ear. “Hello?”
“Kurt?”
Kurt frowns for a second as he tries to place the familiar voice, and when he finally recognizes it his stomach drops. “Puck? Why are you calling me? How did you even get my number?”
“Stole it out of your girl’s phone,” Puck says, like it should be obvious. “Look, there’s a surprise ‘cheer the fuck up already' party for Schue tonight, and I’m here to pick you up.”
“Here? You’re here?” Kurt asks, heart beating too fast as he looks up and down the hall for the tell-tale signs of a tacky letter jacket and a stupid mohawk.
“Yeah. Well, I’m outside. I tried going in there and looking for you, but everybody’s wearing the same clothes and it was starting to freak me out. So just grab your shit and meet me out front already. I’m freezing my balls off out here.”
“As charming as that invitation is,” Kurt says, rolling his eyes and glancing over to discover that Blaine’s still standing in the middle of the hallway watching him argue with Puck, “I have a test tomorrow. I can’t just drop everything and run home because you say so.”
Puck lets out a sigh on the other end of the line, and Kurt can practically see him rolling his eyes. “It’s not about me, dude, it’s about Schue. Everybody wants you there, and I’m here to make sure that happens. Don’t make me get out the boombox.”
There’s a witty comeback right on the tip of Kurt’s tongue, something along the lines of surely not everyone wants me there, but the thought flies right out of his head at Puck’s last sentence. "Boombox?”
“Technically it’s iPod speakers, but whatever. I mean, I know you go to a magic gay robot school now where everybody’s all about peace and love and shit, but I bet it’ll still be embarrassing to be serenaded by a dude standing on top of his mom’s Volvo holding iPod speakers over his head. Trust me, Hummel. There’s nothing cool about people thinking you’re being stalked by a dude driving a Volvo.”
Kurt blushes and looks over at Blaine again, but he’s not really seeing him. Mostly he’s seeing the image of Puck standing on top of his mother’s car belting out the lyrics to some tragic rock ballad and telling anyone who will listen that he's there for Kurt. Just the thought is humiliating, and it would probably tank whatever small reputation Kurt’s managed to build for himself so far.
“Why...what on earth would possess you to do such a thing?”
“I saw it in a movie once. Hurry up, man, the party starts in like two hours.”
The line clicks and then goes dead, which means that Puck just hung up on him. Kurt frowns down at his cell phone for another second, wondering if this is all some elaborate prank. That theory makes the most sense, certainly, but if so it’s a pretty dumb joke, because all he has to do to discover the ruse is walk outside and see that Puck’s mother’s Volvo isn’t actually parked in front of the building.
“Kurt? Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” Kurt says, though he’s not altogether sure that’s true. “I...would you excuse me? There’s something I need to do.”
He turns without waiting for an answer and hurries down the hall, weaving his way through the press of students headed for the dining hall until he finally reaches the foyer. He pulls open the front door, ignoring the rush of cold air and blinking a few times at the sight of Puck leaning against the side of a silver Volvo sedan, arms crossed over his chest and...dear God, there’s an iPod speaker sitting on the hood of the car.
Kurt lets out a noise that he’d never admit to, even on pain of torture, and closes the front door. Well, he thinks, his heart beating fast as he hurries up the stairs to his room, this certainly changes my plans for the evening.
~
Here’s one I don’t think I ever even mentioned to anyone! It’s a Winn AU that I started based on a challenge over at the Winn comm, but they were kind of dicks to me over there, and the idea was getting complex, so I dropped it. It was going to be a ghost story, though, and I still like the idea, so maybe I’ll use it someday. Finn was a football player recovering from injury, because I’m unoriginal that way (though in my defense I started this loooong before Like Longing Feels) and Will was the curator of the local history museum this time, IIRC:
Finn gets lost three times before he finds the road he’s looking for. When he finally does spot the turn-off it’s an accident; he’s swerving to avoid a raccoon just sitting in the middle of the road like it’s never even seen a car before, and his car dips off the shoulder and noses toward the treeline. He’s scrambling to right himself before he crashes into one of the towering pines surrounding him when he realizes that there’s an opening in the trees, and the ditch his car’s sliding into isn’t a ditch at all, but the road that leads to his new place.
Well. It’s not a road, exactly. Not in the traditional sense, anyway, and considering the only thing out here is Finn’s place, it’s technically just a driveway. It has a name, though: Beacon Hill Road. Not exactly imaginative, but Finn doesn’t much care what it’s called, as long as it’s just as hard for reporters to find as it was for him.
There was probably a sign at the end of the road at one point, because there’s an empty wooden post sticking out from the treeline. The actual sign’s long gone, and Finn doesn’t have any plans to replace it while he’s here. He came all this way in the hope of some privacy and a little space to think, and the harder it is for people to find him, the happier he’ll be.
He follows the road through the trees, keeping his speed to a minimum as he winds his way down a gradual slope until finally the pines start to thin out. A minute later the trees end completely and he can see the ocean stretched out before him, his wheels crunching across what he assumes is crushed seashell lining the road up to the house.
Finn pulls up next to the building and turns off the engine, letting out a low whistle as he looks up at the only thing he has left of his father. For a minute he just sits there, taking in the building and the water beyond and wondering what the hell he’s doing out in the middle of nowhere.
“Guess you’re a long way from Cincy now,” he says, then he steps out of the car.
His bad knee’s stiff from the long drive. He winces and stretches his leg, gritting his teeth as he waits for the pain to ebb. And it hasn’t been that long -- his doctors keep telling him to be patient, that he needs time to heal -- but he still wants to scream every time the pain flares up again.
Waves beat the rocky shoreline in a steady rhythm, and Finn keeps his eyes shut for a minute and listens to the sound. It’s a weird beat, hollow and sort of sad, like he’s somehow landed himself on another planet instead of just a deserted bit of Maine coastline.
He tastes salt in the air as he straightens up, opening his eyes and reaching into the back seat for his bag. He slings it over his shoulder and swings the car door shut, not bothering to lock it because if anyone actually finds him out here, they’re welcome to his ride.
He reaches into his pocket for the keys the lawyer sent him, then he looks up at the building one more time. There’s a single story section jutting off to the left, and Finn assumes that’s where the actual living quarters are. He knows from the lawyer’s instructions that there’s a door around the side that leads into the kitchen. Directly in front of him is another door that used to be white, but years of weather and salt air have faded and cracked the paint until it’s a dull, chipping gray.
The building itself is dark, almost black but when Finn looks harder he can see that it’s a dark gray. Finally he looks up, tilting his head back and cupping his free hand over his eyes to block out what little sun is left as he takes in the sight of the lighthouse itself.
It’s not operational anymore, according to the lawyer. Most of these old lighthouses aren’t; they have technology to help boats navigate these days, and there’s no need to rely on some guy in a building on shore to remember to leave the light on in case it storms. So now it’s just an old building, run down and probably drafty and not worth all that much. But it’s as good a place to lay low as any, at least until he figures out what to do next.
His head’s starting to spin a little from looking up at the top of the lighthouse, but just as he starts to turn away he sees something move out of the corner of his eye. Finn’s head whips back automatically to the narrow catwalk around the light itself, but it’s just as empty as it was a minute ago.
He watches for another few seconds, ignoring the ache in his neck and the drumming of his heart against his chest. Whatever he thought he saw doesn’t make another appearance, and finally he gives up and turns away.
“Great, now you’re seeing things, too,” he mutters to himself. He considers going in the door that leads directly into the lighthouse; it’s closer, and the temperature’s been dropping steadily since the sun started sinking toward the horizon. But there’s something about the lighthouse that makes him hesitate, and finally he hoists his bag further onto his shoulder and rounds the house to find the other door.
He finds it in the far end of the house, and after fumbling with the unfamiliar lock for a few seconds, he pushes it open to find himself standing in a small kitchen. A few seconds later he locates the light switch on the wall, sending up a quick prayer that the lawyer had the power turned on before he flips the switch.
Instantly the kitchen’s bathed in yellow light, not quite bright enough to chase the shadows out of the corners. Finn frowns at the depressing scene and makes a mental note to pick up some decent bulbs when he heads into town for a supply run. For now, though, all he wants is a hot shower, maybe some ice for his knee, and a decent night’s sleep. Everything else can wait until morning.