#I like the idea but I am too hungover to do anything worthwhile with it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sterekationstation · 8 years ago

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Concept 4:

Stiles is drunk. The party slides around him in washes of color and sound– everything transient, nothing sticking. Bass thumps in his eardrums, turning his stomach. Derek appears as a blessing, half out the door before he even makes it through the foyer, but still the most solid thing Stiles has seen all night.

“I hate this,” Stiles whispers, his breath hot against Derek’s sensitive ear. “You’re the only person here worth talking to.”

“Okay,” Derek says, his hand settling solid and reassuring on Stiles’ hip. “So let’s go somewhere that isn’t here.”

EDIT:

"What were you even doing there?" Stiles peers at Derek curiously over the rim of his mug. The coffee isn't quite strong enough to dissolve tooth enamel, but coupled with the brisk walk from the rave to the diner, it's doing wonders for counteracting his buzz. "A warehouse party isn't really your scene."

Derek shrugs, placidly plowing his way through a mountain-high portion of chicken souvlaki. His knees keeps knocking against Stiles' under the chipped Formica tabletop, and Stiles can't find it in himself to pretend to mind.

"Didn't really look like your scene, either," Derek says, meeting Stiles' gaze unblinkingly. His wackadoo eyes make Stiles' head spin, and it's easy to blame it on the booze. Bourbon, Stiles thinks admonishingly. When will you learn that bourbon is not your friend.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," he huffs, darting his hand across the table to snatch a few of Derek's fries, nearly knocking a glass of water over in the process. Derek rolls his eyes heavenward with a sigh, and then rotates his plate so that the truly impressive mound of deep fried potato is facing Stilinskiwards. Stiles bites down on a victorious whoop, and grabs another handful to cram into his mouth.

Derek watches him chew happily, his ridiculous eyebrows drawn together in the expression Stiles has categorized as "exasperated but fond." It's much preferred to the look that Stiles used to get, which was better classified as "imminent manslaughter".

"So, this is nice," Stiles begins, at the same time Derek sets down his fork and says, "Scott told me about your fight."

All at once, Stiles feels the cold weight of sobriety hit him like an Acme anvil. Every muscle in his body clenches, his back snapping ramrod straight.

"That bastard," he hisses, shoving his coffee away like the blood offering it apparently is. Dread mixes with shitty whiskey in his stomach, threatening to curdle into nausea. "How dare he–"

"Stiles." Derek holds both hands up in supplication, his perfect mouth twisted in alarm. "He didn't tell me anything other than that. You guys fought, and you stormed out. When he couldn't get ahold of you, he called me."

The panic ebbs, slightly, and Stiles flops back against the diner booth, trying to get his jackrabbiting heart under control. When Derek seems sure that he isn't going to make a break for the door, he picks up his fork and goes back to demolishing his chicken. After a moment, he nudges the plate towards Stiles, nodding meaningfully at the fries.

Stiles grimaces, but takes one of the more burnt wedges and crunches on it furiously. At the counter, the waitress watches Derek eat with a dazed, heavy lidded expression, so Stiles turns his glower on her until she blushes and glances away.

It's never been easy for Stiles to hang on to anger as far as Scott is concerned, but this time it feels like a live wire in his chest. It's his fucking Romeo complex, that's the problem. Scott's got this over-simplified idea of love– always has– and the frustrating part is that because it always works out for him, he thinks it'll work out that way for everybody.

"Just tell him," Scott had yelled. The 'or I will' had gone unspoken. "You're miserable and it's making you lash out at everybody, and you're too chickenshit to do anything about it!"

Stiles watches Derek spear a hunk of souvlaki with his fork, careful to keep the cuff of his soft gray sweater out of his side of tzatziki sauce. He scoffs at the memory of Scott's words, and steals another French fry.

As if it were that easy. As if he could just tell Derek that he's been ass-over-elbows in love with him for the better part of five years. Wonderful, awful Derek, who goes to yoga with Lydia on Saturdays, who helps Scott study when he gets overwhelmed with work and veterinary school, who volunteers at the local women's shelter whenever he can and thinks no one's noticed.

"Scott's an asshole," he grumps, tugging a few packets of Sweet'n'low out of the sugar holder and stacking them like a house of cards.

"He's just worried about you." Derek's voice is uncharacteristically gentle, and Stiles steadfastly refuses to meet his eyes until he feels the pressure of a knee against his own. He immediately regrets it when he glances up against his better judgement and sees the look on Derek's face. His eyebrows are drawn in concern, eyes soft with affection and understanding.

Jesus.

Stiles stamps down on the fluttering of his heart.

"Stop that," he snaps, without really meaning to. Derek blinks at him, confusion wiping away the worst of his expression.

"What?"

"Never mind." Stiles sighs, dragging a hand across his face. "Sorry. Really sorry. I'm not mad at you."

"Okay." Derek fiddles with his napkin, picking at a tear in the paper. "If you want to talk about it–"

"No." It comes out more caustic than Stiles had intended, the possibility of Derek finding out sending a shudder of panic across his skin. Derek flinches at his tone, his eyes widening with a flash of hurt before the shutters come down, leaving an impassive mask in its place.

Stiles hates that mask.

"Derek, I–"

"It's fine." Derek shifts in his seat, digging into his back pocket for his wallet. He drops a twenty on the table and reaches for his phone. "I'll call Lydia to come drive you home. I know I'm not– I don't know why Scott called me."

Because he's a surprisingly manipulative asshole with unwavering faith in True Love, Stiles doesn't say, guilt flaring hot and shameful in his chest.

"Wait, that's not–"

"I get it, Stiles." Derek's voice is flat, his face expressionless as he slides out of the booth. The line of his shoulders are rigid with tension. "It's none of my business. It's not like– we're not friends."

Stiles jolts back like he's been slapped. Derek might as well have hit him– the pain twisting his chest into knots hurts more than a punch would have. Stiles knows his faults. He knows that he's abrasive, and irritating, and somehow always manages to take up too much space, but he'd thought that Derek was okay with that. He'd thought they'd gotten to a good place– nowhere near where he wanted them to be, but still better than he had ever dreamed possible. He'd thought–

"You don't think we're friends?" He hates how small his voice sounds. Derek's nostrils flare, and his mask wavers, frustration and guilt breaking through that awful blank.

"Do you?" Derek jams his hands into the pockets of his jeans, staring down at the tabletop. "You've been avoiding me for a while now. I make you anxious." His jaw clenches, and he resettles his weight like he's bracing himself.

"Look," he mutters, his voice raw and vulnerable in a way that Stiles has never heard it, "I'm sorry if I– if my feelings make you uncomfortable. I know you don't– I get that you don't feel the same way, I don't blame you, but I–"

"Woah." Stiles stands so quickly he gets head rush, although that might be because his heart is suddenly beating so hard that he can feel the thudding in his own temples. He holds his hands up in the universal 'time out' gesture. "Hold up, big guy. Rewind for a sec. What are you talking about? What feelings?"

Derek's glare is vicious. It could probably strip paint. It would have thoroughly intimidated any sane person it came into contact with. Because Stiles is a grade-A piece of work with some seriously crossed wires in the sections of his brain that control fear and lust, he has to bite back a sigh as his dick twitches in his jeans. He watches in fascination as a flush spreads from the tips of Derek's ears to his cheeks, disappearing beneath his full beard.

"Don't." Derek hunches in on himself, like he needs protecting. He turns to go. "You're an asshole, Stiles, but you're not cruel."

"We were fighting about you." He blurts it out without thinking, is just desperate to stop Derek from leaving. "Because I– I'm so gone on you it's stupid, and I didn't think you'd ever– I mean, why would you?"

Derek freezes, still half turned away, his face unreadable.

"You're right," Stiles says, laughing hollowly. "Scott's right, too, the fucker. I am an asshole. And I've been a dick to everyone for ages because it was easier than telling you that I–" he cuts himself off, clears his throat. Can't quite say the words, even now.

"I spent ten years getting my feelings thrown in my face, and that was okay because it was Lydia, and once I really got to know her it was like, nothing that I felt for her ever had a foundation, you know? We never even really knew each other until I let that stuff go. So that was okay." He scrubs his hands through his hair, trying to find the right words. "But I couldn't do that with you. You, uh, you know me. And I'm not– I know I'm not– well. You'd be, y'know, nice about it. It would kill me."

Silence stretches between them for a long, uncomfortable moment. For the first time, Stiles becomes aware of their surroundings. With a sick lurch, he realizes that he's just poured his heart out in the middle of relatively crowded diner. There's a vaguely familiar off-duty cop sitting at the counter, texting rapidly on her phone. Two teenagers have their heads bent together, whispering furiously. The waitress is gaping at him, eyes wide, frozen in the act of refilling a cup of coffee. And still, Derek is a wall of silence.

"Right," Stiles says. The room is too small all of a sudden, his breath not coming fast enough. "Cool. I'm just gonna–"

He grabs his coat and all but runs out the door. He makes it halfway down the block before Derek catches up with him.

"Stiles." Derek darts in front of him, blocking his escape route. "Stop. You forgot your phone."

"Great. Thanks," Stiles mutters, accepting the offered device and jamming it in his jacket pocket. He tries to step aside, but Derek uses his bulk to cut him off. "Get out of my way."

"Stiles. Did you listen to anything that I said?"

"Sure," Stiles says, through gritted teeth. "You said you had feelings, which I took to mean something it obviously didn't. And I just stood there and told you everything, like some kind of– like some kind of Scott."

Derek kisses him.

On the Richter scale of first kisses it barely registers, because Stiles' mouth is still open indignantly, so their teeth click and Stiles bites his own tongue when he jerks back in surprise.

"Ow," he mutters, grabbing at his jaw.

"I'm so sorry," Derek says, face turning a mortified beet red, "are you–"

""Shut up," Stiles says, and throws himself into Derek's arms. The second kiss goes a long way towards making up for the first.

After a while, Stiles pulls back, panting. His whole body feels sort of tingly and glazed over, like he might melt away at any moment. Derek looks wrecked, his lips swollen and flushed, his hair a total disgrace thanks to Stiles' roaming fingers.

I did that, Stiles thinks giddily.

"So," he says, and if he had any presence of mind he would be humiliated by how low and carnal his voice sounds. "We should do that more often."

"You–," Derek breaks off and shakes his head, like he's trying to clear it. Stiles crowds closer, lets his hands fall to Derek's hips, sliding under his sweater and shirt until his cold fingers meet warm, smooth flesh. Derek's nostrils flare again, and he drops his head into the junction of Stiles' neck and shoulder, breathing him in. "Jesus, Stiles. You make me crazy."

"Yeah." Stiles tries to get himself under control, with very little success. His heart feels like it's doing cartwheels in his chest. "The feeling is mutual. Um, the feeling is mutual. Right?"

Derek pauses, his mouth soft and hot against Stiles' pulse point. Stiles valiantly doesn't whine when he pulls away.

"Stiles, I–," Derek's face is so open it's almost painful to see. He's never looked quite so young. "I love you. It feels like I've loved you forever."

"Oh." Stiles' breath catches in his throat, and he clutches at the fabric of Derek's sweater. "Um, me too. Obviously. You're, like, it for me."

Over the years that they've known each other, Stiles has often lamented the fact that Derek almost never smiled. Sneered, yes. Smirked, definitely. Grinned that fake, shit-eating grin whenever he wanted to con someone, absolutely. But now, watching the soft, slow smile take over Derek's face like the rising sun, Stiles can't help but be grateful that he does it so infrequently. He'd never get anything done, otherwise. He's pretty sure that smile just obliterated any chance he had of not being ruined for literally every other person on earth. Lord knows what it would have done to him as a teenager.

He falls into Derek like a magnet, capturing that beautiful mouth with his own, letting himself cup Derek's jaw wth a gentleness he hadn't known he possessed, because that's allowed.

"Now what?" he asks huskily. He's close enough to rub his cheek against the scrape of Derek's scruff, shivering deliciously at the knowledge that he'll have beard burn to show for hours. Derek tightens his arms around him, nuzzling at his temple.

"Now I take you home," he says, "and you go to bed." He cuts Stiles' protests off with another kiss, this time nearly chaste, and Stiles can almost taste the sweetness of it.

"In the morning," Derek continues, "you'll call Scott, and you two will work out whatever it is you need to work out, because you always do." He chuckles softly when Stiles pulls away to scowl at him. His ridiculous eyes are bright. Happy, Stiles realizes, and his scowl melts away into a truly embarrassing smile of his own.

"Then tomorrow night, I'll come pick you up at six, and we'll go see that movie you've been telling everyone about for weeks, and afterwards we'll go get takeout and you can explain to me why it wasn't as good as the book." He brushes his thumbs across Stiles' cheekbones, searching his face. "Okay?"

"Yeah," Stiles sighs, letting himself lean back into him. "That sounds good to me."

He groans when Derek smiles that blinding smile again.

"Scott's going to be totally impossible about this, you know," he complains as they make their way to Derek's car, never straying too far from each other.

"I don't mind," Derek says mildly, his pinky catching Stiles', tangling their hands together. Stiles peeks at him from the corner of his eye and is delighted to see his cheeks flushing. The sap.

"Yeah," he sighs, squeezing Derek's hand in his. "You're worth it."

#can someone take this and run with it #I like the idea but I am too hungover to do anything worthwhile with it #fic prompt #eternalsterek #sterek concepts #otp: idiots in love

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ranwing · 6 years ago

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Kadam Fic: Learning to Fly (12/?)

Title: Learning to Fly Series: A New Direction (was Season Four Remix) Pairing(s), Characters(s): Kadam, Kurt Hummel, Adam Crawford, Burt Hummel, Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez, Carmen Tibideaux, Cassandra July, Artie Abrams, Tina Cohen-Chang, Elliot “Starchild” Gilbert, Dani, Adam’s Apples, Original Characters Rating: PG13 (rating may change) Genre(s): canon divergence. Parts: 12/? Summary: As another school year starts at NYADA, Kurt seemed to have it all. The respect of his teachers, a group of wonderful friends and best of all, getting to live with the man that he’d come to love. So of course the universe would throw a few curve balls in his direction.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven

On AO3

A/N - Sorry for the delay in getting this part finished. Getting sick last month set me back a bit. Thanks so much for sticking with me because I really appreciate all of my readers.

Rachel rushed down the block, knowing that she was running late. The mandatory hair and makeup workshop set up by the costuming team ran longer than she’d planned, and she had vastly underestimated what a chore it was to clean up when she’d made her date with Neil. The timing wasn’t great, but between both their class schedules and her every-increasing rehearsal burden, this was one of the few chances she’d have to see him before she went into tech. And after their successful first coffee date, she didn’t want to let it pass by. She’d have just enough time to see him for a cup of coffee and a snack before she was due back in school.

She finally arrived at the Third Rail Coffee Shop, chosen because it was conveniently between NYU and NYADA and dashed inside, hoping that she hadn’t kept Neil waiting too long. Arriving late so early in a relationship made a terrible impression, but so would showing up covered in thick grease paint looking suspiciously like she had some sort of unpleasant social disease.

Looking about the shop, she couldn’t help from smiling when she saw that he’d not only already beaten her there but staked out a table but had already procured refreshments. He noticed her hurried entrance and grinned, the brightness of his smile causing an intriguing tingle to bubble up within her. As should be expected from a proper gentleman, he stood at her approach.

“Hi Rachel,” he greeted happily, his warm eyes shining.

She felt her cheeks warming. How did she ever think he was plain looking? That smile was causing her stomach to flip in all kinds of interesting ways.

“Hi,” she said softly, smiling back. She stood up on her toes to press a polite kiss of greeting to his cheek. “Sorry I’m so late. Our workshop ran a bit longer than expected.”

“It’s okay,” he assured her, holding out her chair so she could sit down. “I’m just annoyingly punctual. I’m almost always the one kept waiting, so don’t feel bad.”

Rachel couldn’t help from thinking how adorable it was that he painted what anyone else would consider to be a virtue as some sort of personal failing.

“I hope I got your order right,” Neil said as he took his own seat.

Rachel took a quick sip, trusting that he did and marveling that he cared enough to even try after one date. “Vanilla latte with soy milk. Perfect,” she assured him, earning another brilliant smile from her suitor.

He pushed a plate across the table towards her. “I figured that you’d probably be hungry,” he offered, and Rachel nearly beamed in delight. He’d even remembered that she’d liked the hibiscus glazed donuts the last time they’d met.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “We have rehearsals starting at five, and I’ve got no idea when I’ll have a chance to grab dinner tonight.”

“Well, don’t forget to take care of yourself,” Neil urged, looking a little concerned for her. “Even if you just take some snacks for when you have a break. Honestly, I don’t know where you and Kurt find the energy to do this on top of your classes.”

She just offered a tired smile. “It’s easy when you love it,” she explained. “All the hard work really pays off when you’re standing in front of an audience and all they see is an amazing story that they’re transported into. That’s when it all becomes worthwhile.”

Neil nodded in understanding. “I know that you have to love it,” he acknowledged. “I mean, I live with two performers and seeing them absolutely living for those moments that they go on stage… there’s no way to do that unless it’s what you love.”

His smile grew wider and there was a teasing glint in his eyes. “Even if you end up walking around with makeup smears on your neck.”

Rachel’s hand shot up to her throat and she felt the telltale tackiness of the cosmetics that she’d applied earlier that afternoon. Her fingertips came away covered in the makeup that she’d used to simulate dirt over her exposed skin.

“Oh damn… I thought that I got it all,” she insisted. Wiping off her hands on a napkin he offered her, she reached for the mirror in her purse and saw that she did have streaks of brown and grey all over the side of her neck where her hair had hidden it. “Wonderful… it looks like I haven’t bathed in the past six months.”

Neil couldn’t help from laughing. “Wasn’t that the point,” he asked playfully. “What are you supposed to be int hat scene? Peasant number twelve?”

Rachel chuckled in response. “More like prostitute number eight,” she clarified. “And this after spending about twenty minutes cleaning up. I looked like a hungover panda.”

Neil laughed again. “Now that would have been something to see. You would be one skanky looking prostitute.”

Rachel couldn’t help from smiling. From anyone else that might have come across like an insult, but she immediately recognized it for the joke that it was. Neil might not have a real appreciation for performing, but he seemed to have a lot of tolerance and a sense of amusement about the foibles of the profession that so many of the people around him aspired to. She’d never really been interested in spending time with someone like Neil, but now found herself looking forward to every minute.

“So how’s that lab going for you?” she asked, remembering his playful complaints about one of his classes during their last meeting. “Is your partner still trying to make you neurotic?”

Neil shook his head. “No, he seems to be settling down,” he assured her with a chuckle. “I could do without having Erica in the class, but she seems as determined to keep things civil as I am.”

“Erica?” Rachel asked curiously.

Neil nodded. “She’s… well, we dated for a while,” he explained a bit cautiously, gaging Rachel’s reaction.

She felt a momentary pang of jealousy that there was someone that Neil had been involved with in the not too distant past, but she knew that it wasn’t something reasonable for her to get worked up over. At their age, there would be a good number of exes in both their histories and getting upset over Neil’s past relationships was a bit silly.

“What happened?” she asked carefully, not wanting to press if he didn’t want to talk about a breakup that she got the sense wasn’t that long ago. She hoped that he was really over it because she wasn’t looking forward to being a rebound.

“I think it was a class of just never getting a break from one another,” he admitted with a shrug. “We met at school and we’re in same program, so we hit it off really well. It seemed kind of natural since we’re both looking to work in the same field and we had a lot in common. Her dad is a cop and mine works for the government. It was easy for us to talk. I mean, I don’t usually meet too many women who are interested in what I’m doing, let alone understand much of it.”

Rachel nodded in understanding. “I can see why that’s appealing. My last boyfriend was also a NYADA student,” she admitted. “It seemed like the perfect situation, but it didn’t take long before I saw that we really weren’t well-matched outside of our career aspirations.”

Admittedly, that was a very sanitized version of what happened with Brody, Rachel considered. She wasn’t quite ready to blurt out that she’d dumped her last relationship because her boyfriend had a socially unacceptable way of funding his education. Neither of them handled the revelation well, with her judgmental nature and his defensiveness, so it wasn’t much of a wonder that whatever existed between hem quickly and permanently fizzled.

“It was kind of the same thing with Erica,” Neil explained. “Not that she wasn’t terrific, but I just found that even when we weren’t at school that all we tended to do was talk about our classwork. Or things that we read in professional journals. It was like our lives didn’t exist except for work. There wasn’t any real downtime for us, and I started to see that except for our work, we really didn’t have that much in common. We didn’t talk about anything else and I was just tired. And even though we broke up months ago, we can’t help from seeing each other all the time.”

Rachel nodded in understanding. It had been something of a relief to her when he got cast in a show out of town and she wouldn’t have to see him every day. She could only imagine how unpleasant it must be for Neil to be sharing so many classes with someone that he’d been involved with.

He sipped at his coffee thoughtfully. “I think that’s one of the reasons why I like living with Elliot and Dani,” he theorized. “Because we’re such different people, the time I spent with them is a real break from my work. It doesn’t matter that I don’t get half of what they’re up to… it’s just interesting being around a different kind of energy.”

Rachel found that admission utterly charming. “Pretty much everyone I’ve ever been involved with has been a performer of some kind. I have to admit that you’re probably the first guy that I’ve ever liked that wasn’t an actor or singer.”

“I’m just special like that,” he teased playfully, giving her a wry wink.

Yes, you definitely are, Rachel thought as she sipped her latte. She felt relaxed in his presence, knowing that she didn’t need to put on a show for him. While there as something that she’d always liked about the chemistry she could find with guys like Jesse and Finn who were performance as much as romantic partners, this felt oddly comfortable. And she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

But there was nothing wrong with seeing where this went and enjoying the ride.

* * *

Taking time to do absolutely nothing of consequence was not something that came naturally to Kurt. Not with his current schedule and the incessant demands for excellence. Having a rare hour with nothing planned or required during the day was something that Kurt very much cherished, and he’d learned the hard way to indulge himself when the moment was presented. His first instinct would always be to use that time to study or practice, leaving him exhausted by the end of his long days. Taking a bit of time to actually relax in the school common area with a cup of tea and doing a bit of frivolous web surfing did wonders for his mental outlook.

Kurt knew that no matter how demanding his teachers were, he tended to be more demanding on himself than anyone. It had taken him quite some time, but he’d finally come to accept that no matter how much pressure he felt in his classes and rehearsals that he still needed to give himself some time to rest mentally and physically. It hadn’t come easily but he could already see the benefit he was deriving from the self-imposed downtime. He was no longer facing the mounting challenges ahead with such dread. He was able to give a better effort in his classes and rehearsals because he wasn’t exhausting himself every waking second of the day.

Once he’d updated his fashion blog with a few pictures of an outfit inspired by the outfit he’d worn while performing at Elliot’s cabaret, he checked his social media feeds to see what was going on with his friends. He probably shouldn’t have been too surprised that the primary topic of discussion amongst his friends was confirming plans to come to New York and see their show, but it still warmed his heart. For all the drama and insanity that their group had seen over the years, it was gratifying to see that so many loyal friendships had been forged.

He’d known what Finn was, of course, coming to see them. Reading his brother’s latest posting on Facebook left Kurt chuckling to himself at seeing Finn’s excitement over his upcoming trip and bragging to the rest of the group that he’d get to see the show before everyone else since the Hummels would be attending the opening night gala. Plans had already been confirmed for him to fly first to Washington and spend some time with their parents since it had been a few months since he’d seen his mother. The three of them would travel to New York together and would be staying in a hotel not far from the theater.

As delighted as Kurt was to see his brother, it was tempered with the disappointment that Sam and Puck would not be joining them. Money for the three of them was tight and while the Hummels would have happily paid for their plane tickets and he had no doubt that Rachel and the others would have found a way to squeeze them into the loft, it just wasn’t going to work out. Their boss in Texas was a great guy, but the company was busy and he couldn’t allow all three of them to take off several days at the same time. In the end, there had been no argument that it was more important for Finn to have the chance to see his brother. There would be other chances for Puck and Sam to see Kurt perform in the future.

Quinn had emailed him, confirming that she would be driving from school and would be staying in the loft, giving Santana a chance to reconnect with one of her oldest friends and Kurt was looking forward to seeing her. But it was Mercedes’s email that brought a real smile to his face. For a few weeks, it hadn’t been certain if she would be able to attend at all since her album was nearing completion and her label would not tolerate any delays that might interfere with its release. It was entirely understandable, and Kurt had resigned himself being disappointed.

She wanted to make sure that there was still a ticket for her because she’d managed to work things so that she could be in New York in time to see the show at the end of its run. Her label wanted her to meet with their publicist in New York and she managed to coordinate her meeting with the show because there was no way that she was going to miss seeing her “boy”.

Kurt wrote back to let her know that he was thrilled to be seeing her and that, of course, there was a ticket for her. He was deeply appreciative that she went through so much effort to schedule a meeting that could be important to her own career around his show and knew that no matter how busy his week was, he really needed to find a way for them to spend a few hours together while she was in town. At the oldest and most enduring of his friends, he owed her no less.

Having so many friends traveling to see their show eased the disappointment over the ones that couldn’t attend. Besides Sam and Puck, Mike had sent his sincere regrets. He was too tied up with his own classes and performances and couldn’t take a few days off at this point. Brittany had taken a job at a local dance school while attending school herself and her students were in the middle of preparations for their spring recitals. Kurt emailed them both to let them know that he understood, and they would be missed. The sentiment was sincere, and he hoped that he would have a chance to see them performing in their own venues at a later date.

Blaine made no comment about the show and if he intended to see it or even showing even the most remote interest. His few recent posts made note of his own activities and bemoaning how he missed everyone but seemed to be deliberately avoiding any conversations about Kurt’s and Rachel’s upcoming show. In all honesty, Kurt was relieved over Blaine’s tendency to ignore anything that he couldn’t appropriate attention from. Neither he nor Rachel had made any overtures to him on the matter. While Kurt wanted to keep his ex as far away as possible, he could admit that he was just petty enough to hope that Blaine finds out just how well he was doing.

He and Rachel and decided to play a joke on their friends and not tell anyone that Kurt had been elevated from chorus to primary, hoping to surprise them. Of course, the secret would be out after the first performance and between NYADA’s social media and the very efficient New Directions grapevine, Kurt was fairly sure that the news would reach Blaine without too much delay.

He’d already found out from Rachel that Mr. Schuester would be arriving in New York to see their show and she’d arranged for him to see the Sunday matinee so that he wouldn’t miss work with his choir back in Lima. Part of Kurt wondered if he shouldn’t be more annoyed that it was Rachel’s invitation that their old teacher had responded to, but in the end, it just wasn’t worth losing sleep over. Rachel had always been Mr. Schuester’s special favorite and he doubted that anything would ever change that fact.

At least Mr. Schue’s wife had the consideration to repond to Kurt’s invitation herself. Emma Schuester apologized that she was not able to attend with her husband because their new baby was just too young to travel and she couldn’t leave him with a sitter just yet, but that she was very proud of him and wished him well for his performances. He wrote her back a short note, expressing that he understood and would miss her. He really would. Emma had a good and kind heart and he had not forgotten how she’d her best to try to help him back in high school.

Whatever slight he might have felt from Mr. Schuester was more than made up by the fact that he had his own McKinley faculty offering her peculiar brand of support. He hadn’t been sure if Coach Sylvester would actually want to attend his show, but he was pleased when she responded with a firm commitment that she would come. He offered to secure a ticket for whatever performance she found convenient to attend, promising the best seat in the house, but she assured him that she had made her own arrangements and was looking forward to seeing him. At his query over what night she was coming, her response was quick and typical of her usual bluntness.

None of your bee’s wax, Porcelain. You’ll see me when I get there. Just make sure you do a good job and make using my frequent flyer miles worthwhile. Remember… you’re still representing the Cheerios.

He couldn’t help from smiling, seeing the gentle teasing behind the brusque words. He knew Sue Sylvester well enough to recognize what a rare honor he was being paid. The abrasive woman was many things, not the least of which being at least a little insane, but he understood that he was one of the very few people who had managed to earn her honest respect and fully realized how special a tribute that was. Knowing that she was going out of her way to support him gave him a sense of satisfaction that few others could inspire. And he wondered what her response would be at seeing him the primary in such a significant role.

A shadow fell over his table as another student approached. “Hi Kurt. Got a minute?”

Kurt looked up to smile at Merry, always happy to see any of the Apples. “Hey… sure!” he answered brightly, moving his bad so she could sit. “Grab a seat. What’s going on?”

The tall young woman seemed quite happy about something as she grinned at her mentor. “Well, I did it,” she informed him with a twinkle in her eyes. “I did exactly what you told me to for my critique.”

Kurt sat up straight, his grin widening. “Seriously?”

She nodded, her haphazardly-done braid falling over her shoulder. “Yup!” she pronounced proudly. “I did both ‘Buenos Aries’ and ‘Rainbow High’ and switched up the key and arrangement to fit my voice better.”

“And? What did Madam Tibideaux say?” he asked eagerly, knowing that the response had to have been positive judging from the way Merry seemed too pleased.

“Well…. I do have to work on my projection more. And she warned that I can get a little screechy when trying to push my upper register. But otherwise… it was good!” Merry laughed, clapping her hands happily. “She said that I had presence and I understood the character and that I was finally starting to show what I am really capable of.”

He couldn’t resist reaching out to pull the young woman into a tight hug. “Oh, that’s fantastic,” he praised. “I knew you had it in you!”

She nodded, wiping at her eyes. “Well, I wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t pushed me to,” she insisted with a shy smile. “I figured after the way my last critique went that I didn’t have anything to lose.”

Kurt nodded understandingly. “I know how that feels,” he confided. “Sometimes feeing like you’re up against the wall is what you need to unleash what you need. You just needed to get out of your own way. I’m so damn proud of you!

“And you’re going to have to do them for us the next time the Apples get together,” he warned. “Once we’re done with the insanity of this show.”

Merry giggled and nodded. “Have you totally lost your sanity yet?” she teased.

He chuckled ruefully. “Not yet, but check after tech week,” he advised.

Merry smiled again, getting to her feet. “Well, I won’t keep you because I know that you’re crazy busy. I just wanted to say thanks for your help,” she said gratefully. “I’m not going to lie… I wasn’t sure if I could really hack it here. I don’t know what I would have done if I didn’t have the Apples and you.”

“It was my pleasure,” he assured her, delighted for her accomplishment. “I’m totally thrilled for you. And I promise that we will start having regular gettogethers once we’re done with the show.”

Merry nodded understandingly. “I’m going to hold you to that,” she warned playfully. “Have fun at rehearsal! I’m looking forward to hearing all your stories.”

As the younger student strolled away, a clear bounce in her step from having finally satisfied their most demanding teacher. Kurt smiled to himself, feeling great gratification on behalf of a kindred spirit and sipped at his tea. This was just the kind of good news that would set his mood for what promised to be a brutal rehearsal.

* * *

“A toast!” Analisa shouted, trying to be heard over the din of conversation and music around her. She raised her wine glass. “To our last successful rehearsal and the start of tech week!”

“Here, here,” Jamie called out, raising his beer.

“And farewell to sleep and free time for the duration,” Kurt quipped with a wry grin.

Rachel nodded. “Thank God we’ve got two days off before Hell Week begins,” she reminded the group, nodding in agreement at their grateful moans. They were certainly going ot need to rest up.

It was amazing how quickly the past few weeks had flown by, Kurt mused at his sipped at his drink and reached around Santana for the chips. Between classes, work and rehearsals, it had seemed like he was on a never-ending treadmill and there were times when he’d barely had a moment to look about and see where he was. Tech week promised to be brutal, then a set of dress rehearsals before their official opening night.

Everyone was absolutely exhausted from all the work and he was glad that Rachel invited their friends to the loft for drinks and dinner, so they could decompress a bit and celebrate what they’ve accomplished. Santana grumbled about her night off being invaded but was appeased by her girlfriend arriving armed with two bottles of Gewürztraminer and a promise to sleep over to soothe Santana’s ruffled feathers. Elliot followed along so he could see Kurt before his friend vanished into an endless cycle of tech rehearsals. When Artie and Tina arrived home from class, it turned into a veritable party.

Tina raised her glass. “Well, here’s to what’s going to be a fantastic show with the most amazing cast. You guys are certainly going to give the rest of us a lot to live up to.”

Rachel sat down next to Kurt, sipping at her wine. “I can’t believe it’s almost here,” she marveled. “After all the work we’ve done… it feels almost unreal.”

“Well, for all I’ve heard you bitching about it,” Santana teased with a lack of any real venom, knowing just how to needle her friend. “I’m just glad that it’s almost over and we can get back to our normal level of insanity around here.”

Dani was sitting on the floor, leaning against Santana’s legs so that her girlfriend could play with her hair. “Oh, knock it off,” she reprimanded playfully, giving Santana’s thigh a little pinch. “You’re just as excited as the rest of us about seeing the show.”

Elliot nodded in agreement. “True that,” he confirmed happily. “I’m always one for a big spectacle and this one is promising to be huge!”

“Shame that we can’t go to the opening night,” Artie mused regretfully. “I understand that they want the first night for press and VIPs, but that would have been something to see.”

“You’re all coming later in the week,” Kurt reminded him. Between the bank of tickets offered to himself and Rachel for family and friends, they’d managed to reserve tickets for all their friends to see the show at some point.

“I can’t believe that your dad gets to see opening night,” Rachel groused playfully, the glint in her eyes betraying her teasing. “Just because he’s a congressman. My dads were very put out that they have to wait until the second night.”

“At least we’ll have the opening night jitters out of the way,” Kurt consoled. “And any last performance kinks.”

Tina held out her wine glass to be refilled. “Kurt, when is Adam coming to see the show?” she asked. “Maybe Artie and I will wait to do that night, so he doesn’t have to go alone.”

Kurt’s smile froze just for a second, growing slightly brittle before he composed himself. “That’s very nice of you to offer, Tina, but you two should just go on the night you originally planned,” he advised with as much cheer as he could manage.

Rachel frowned, knowing Kurt well enough to see the subtle shift in her friend’s mood. “Adam is coming to see the show, isn’t he?” she asked gently.

Kurt sighed and shook his head, his disappointment over the matter readily apparent.

Santana’s dark eyes sparked with anger. “That asshole!” she spat furiously, offended on her friend’s behalf. “After the way you rushed to Boston to see him?” She started to curse in Spanish, her face becoming flushed as she ranted about the absent Englishman’s lack of consideration.

“Santana, it’s okay,” Kurt insisted, his eyes wide at her response. “I told him that it was okay.”

“Are you kidding me?” Santana snapped, turning a frustrated look to him. “I thought that we were done with you letting people walk all over you!”

Rachel nodded in agreement with their prickly friend. “Kurt, you know that we love Adam and normally, I think he’s really been good for you,” she insisted, not wanting to put Kurt on the defensive about his relationship. “But this is a really big deal for you. You’re not just in the chorus now, and it’s strange that he’s not making more of an effort to come.”

Kurt’s mouth drew into a tight line and Rachel realized that she and Santana had probably overstepped a bit. The mood in the room cooled at the sudden tension the others sensed in their friend.

“Look… I appreciate that you both are worried about me,” he said evenly, clearly making an effort to snap at them because his knew that his friends were acting out of concern. “But Adam and I already spoke about this and I told him that I understood why he wouldn’t be coming.”

He turned a firm stare to Santana, cutting off any chance she had to retort in response. “Adam’s show is moving on to Chicago while we’re in tech,” he explained with measured calmness. “Professionally, this is critical for him. They’re performing at a very prestigious venue, and there’s going to be a lot of media attention on their show. That means critics and agents. After Los Angeles, this is the most important stop on the tour for them and a good showing there might help the chances of them getting picked up for a run in New York.”

He focused his attention then to Rachel, wanting to make sure that he was being clear on things. “To see me, he’d have to fly to New York and then back to Chicago all in one day. And he’d still end up missing an evening’s performance. That’s just too much for him right now,” Kurt insisted firmly. “He can’t be missing shows at this stage and I was the one who told him not to come. I don’t want him stressed out when he needs to be focusing on his work.

That had been a painfully difficult telephone call, listening to Adam frantically looking at flight schedules and trying to work how he could possible fly in to see Kurt’s show without missing any of his own and growing despondent when no workable solution became apparent. Kurt had assured Adam that he wasn’t at all upset because he did understand that Adam would be there if there was any way possible. The timing just wasn’t in their favor this time around and he didn’t want Adam to beat himself up over something that he had no real control over.

Santana frowned, still clearly not happy with the situation but knowing better than to try arguing the point with Kurt. Rachel, however, couldn’t help from pressing the issue.

“Isn’t there any way he can come, just for one day?” she asked plaintively. “I know that he’ll hate missing out on seeing you perform.”

Kurt smiled sadly and shook his head. “He was ready to buy his plane tickets and take the red-eye back to Chicago afterwards, but I talked him out of it,” he explained. “The timing just wasn’t going to work and there will be plenty of other times he’ll get to see me on the stage. But I’m not going to allow him to be made to feel badly that he has to work. Is that clear?”

Santana bit her lip, looking like she was ready to argue the point but relented under Kurt’s adamant stare. “All right,” she granted reluctantly. “I’ll let Lord Fauntleroy off the hook. This time.”

Kurt reached out to pull Santana close, gratified by her willingness to defend him, even against his own boyfriend if need be. “Thank you,” he said gently, kissing her on the forehead. “But really… it’s okay. Don’t hold it against Adam. For me?”

She nodded. “For you,” she promised. “But if he misses your next show…”

Kurt smiled. “I promise that I’ll let you go all Lima Heights on him,” he assured her.

“Hey, just be grateful that your boyfriend at least appreciates what you do,” Analisa chimed in, trying to defuse some of the tension that had intruded on their celebration. “Michael won’t dare miss the show, but all of this just goes right over his head.”

Rachel laughed, nodding in understanding. “I know what you mean. This guy that I started seeing,” she added with a teasing glint in her eyes. “He’s the same way. Neil seems more amused than anything else.”

Elliot chuckled, reaching over to ruffle Kurt’s hair. “There, you see? You might be better off with someone who’s not an actor so he’d always be at your disposal.”

“I still can’t believe that you’re dating my girlfriend’s roommate,” Santana groused at Rachel. “This is incestuous, even by New Directions standards. All we need now is for Kurt to start dating the glitter vampire.”

Kurt shook his head, his mood lightening. “Nah… Elliot’s great but I’ll keep the man that I have,” he insisted lightheartedly, giving Elliot a mischievous wink. As disappointed as he’d been, he was more gratified by Adam’s sincere distress about missing his show that he would be by a partner who wouldn’t truly grasp how important this was for him and just went through the motions of showing dutiful support.

Rachel leaned in to give Kurt a quick kiss on the cheek before heading to the kitchen to refresh some of the snacks being devoured by hungry performers and their friends. As she poured out bags of chips into bowls, she considered just how differently her life had turned out from how she’d expected. She couldn’t say that she was unhappy despite the disappointments and setbacks she’d dealt with, but it wasn’t at all what she’d imagined.

It was with a heavy trace of embarrassment that she recognized just how childish her vision of what she’d thought her life in New York would be when she first stepped off that train with her little pink suitcase. Back then, her head had been filled with immature dreams of near immediate stardom. That she would set foot in New York and her unique talents would be immediately recognized, and she would be launched into nearly instantaneous stardom. And at first, it seemed that was exactly how things would go. Her invite to the Winter Showcase just proved how special she was and that she really did deserve the regard that she’d imagined was her due.

Even Kurt’s presence was imagined as being more of a supporter than a peer, she realized with shame. She hadn’t anticipated having actual friends because of her cutthroat image of what she believed the theater world was like. Her dreams hadn’t included real equals among her classmates and instead found people who were willing to support her but didn’t hesitate to challenge her. It had been difficult to recognize that their dreams and aspirations were just as valid as hers, and that fulling hers didn’t take precedence over theirs. Being taken down a few pegs and nearly flunking out on account of her own arrogance had been humiliating but opened herself up in a way that Rachel knew she never would have otherwise.

New Directions had come to be important to her back in high school. Maybe she had at first seen the group as simple props that allowed her a place to be featured as a performer, but over time they had become the first set of real friends that she could claim in her life. She hadn’t through that she might find a similar situation at NYADA. Not that they weren’t competitive, but she finally understood that it didn’t mean that they couldn’t be supportive of one another and ready to cheer on the successes of others.

Kurt came into the kitchen to help her carry the snacks back to the group and saw the thoughtful expression on her face. “Everything okay?” he asked, popping a chip into his mouth.

She blinked, her thoughts drawn back to the present and turned a warm smile to her dearest friend. “Yes… I was just thinking,” she admitted. She looked at the group gathered in her living room, old friends and new blending and getting along in an easy manner that she’d never experienced before.

“I never thought I would find this again,” she explained. Kurt would understand, she knew. Because Kurt knew her better than anyone else. “Back in high school, the way we all came together… I never thought that we would find anything like that here.”

Kurt nodded, placing his arm about her and pulled her close. “It feels good, doesn’t it?” he asked. “Opening yourself to real friendships. Stardom and fame are all well and good, but I don’t think I’d want any of that if it meant being alone.”

He wouldn’t, she realized, resting hr head against his chest and savoring his warm presence. “There was a time when that was all that was important to me,” she acknowledged. “I don’t know if that was because I didn’t have anyone that I was really close to and I was using being a star as a substitute for having friends.”

Kurt understood where Rachel was coming from. “You know, wanting to be a star isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” he reminded her. “But it’s nice to have people to share it with. You’re not pushing people away to protect yourself anymore.”

Rachel closed her eyes, enjoying the simple pleasure of having her friend with her. He was right, she knew. But then, Kurt was often right about most things. She knew that she could be foolish at times and tended to see success as a zero-sum game. Learning that celebrating the success of someone that she cared about could be nearly as pleasurable as enjoying her own had come as something of a revelation.

“Hey Rachel,” Katya called out, her cheeks rosy from the two glasses of wine she’d already drunk. “I was telling the others what great prostitutes we make. Tell them!”

Rachel laughed brightly, nodding in agreement. “I have to agree,” she confirmed playfully. “I suppose that if we totally fail at acting that we could fall back on that.”

“Uh, yeah… not happening,” Jamie insisted, hugging his giggling his girlfriend from behind and lifting her up as if to pull her away from Rachel’s bad influence. That got the whole group laughing.

Rachel grinned as she and Kurt carried bowls of snacks back to the group. While she couldn’t say with any real honesty that if the opportunity to play Éponine presenting itself that she wouldn’t fight tooth and nail to get it, she wouldn’t trade a moment like this for anything.

* * *

Niall looked to his roommate as he pulled on his jacket. “I’ll just go out with the others for a pint or two,” he confirmed. “That should give you both a little privacy.”

Adam smiled gratefully. “Thanks mate,” he said sincerely. “I owe you one.”

The other Englishman just shrugged. “It’s not like I haven’t kicked you out to get some alone time for Cynthia and me,” he reminded. “I know that once he goes into tech, you’re not going to be speaking with him much.”

Adam nodded morosely. If they spoke late at night after he got back from the theater for five minutes before they fell asleep, they’d be lucky. And then once Kurt’s show started it’s run… this might be their last “date night” for the next couple of weeks.

Niall patted his friend on the shoulder. “Say hi to Kurt for me,” he urged as he slipped into his jacket. “See you later.”

Refusing to dwell on his concerns about what the next few weeks might entail, Adam was determined that this would be a cheerful talk with his lover. He got out his laptop and checked himself in the mirror because Kurt deserved to have him looking decently. He combed his hair and checked that his shirt was clean before settling down on his bed and opening the Skype program, waiting for Kurt to log in.

It was about ten minutes later that a chime alerted Adam that Kurt was on-line, and a video screen appeared. When Kurt’s fact came into focus, Adam felt his spirts lift immediately.

“Hello sweetheart,” he greeted cheerfully, his smile so wide that he thought his face might crack.

“Hi honey!” Kurt chirped back, settling down comfortably in front of his computer. “How did your show go tonight?”

“Splendid as always,” Adam assured him. “We’re at the point where we’re all really comfortable with things and can play around a bit more with the staging.”

“And Dad and Carole are treating you well?” Kurt asked.

“If your stepmum feeds me anymore, I won’t fit in my costume,” Adam complained teasingly. “She seems to think that we’re being starved on the road.”

“I did warn you,” the younger man laughed. “But better you than me, right now. The last thing our costumers need is to completely remake my costumes because I put on a few pounds.”

“Ohh… does that mean there are tight pants?” Adam asked, waggling his eyebrows teasingly. “I mean, Enjolras is supposed to be very sexy.”

Kurt laughed brightly, reclining on his side so he could be seen more clearly. “You’ll just have to wait to see the dress rehearsal photos,” he warned. “But I do have it on the word of some of the girls that I should have nothing to complain about.”

“How are the girls?” Adam asked, leaning back. “Has Rachel totally lost her mind yet?”

Kurt grinned and shook his head. “Surprisingly, no. She’s actually been in a really good place,” he assured his boyfriend. “I can’t believe sometimes just how different she is compared to last year. I’d probably be going completely insane if it weren’t for her. She and Santana have been pretty amazing.”

Adam smiled, pleased that Kurt was getting the level of support that he needed.

“And I can’t believe how Rachel has really teamed up with Analisa and Katya,” Kurt informed him. “It’s like they’re forming their own girl gang.”

“That’s good, sweetheart,” Adam reminded him. “She needs to make more friends.”

“I do think it’s really helping her,” Kurt agreed. “I just never thought that I’d see her like this. You would think that she’d be going nuts, plotting how to get them to give her Éponine. But she really seems invested in her roles and I think she’s going to be amazing.”

Adam nodded, but it wasn’t Rachel’s well-being that he was concerned about.

“How are you, darling?” he asked gently. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate.”

Kurt sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m okay,” he insisted. “Just a little tired. At least I’ve got the weekend to relax before we go into tech.”

“Promise me that you will actually relax,” Adam urged, not hiding his concern for the younger man. One of the things that he loved best about Kurt was how dedicated he was, and his drive was nothing short of a wonder to behold. But he knew that Kurt would push himself to the point of breaking and when facing the kind of challenge that he was, Adam wouldn’t put it past him to spend the weekend practicing on his own.

“I will,” Kurt swore. “I know that if I don’t give myself some down time, I’m going to be totally burned out by the end of our run. And I still have the rest of the semester to get through.”

“Good. So, tell me everything,” Adam urged.

“What’s to tell?” Kurt commented, shrugging a bit. “The whole cast is absolutely amazing and when we do the big group numbers… it’s amazing to be a part of something like that. I’ve never heard those songs sound like that.”

Adam smiled, pleased that Kurt’s production was going well. “I’m so looking forward to seeing what the school elects to post on line.”

“Part of me is glad that I’m being kept so busy,” Kurt chuckled, the glint of self-deprecating humor apparent even over the computer monitor. “This way I don’t have time to worry that I’m biting off more than I can chew.”

“You’re going to be splendid, darling,” Adam insisted, smiling gently at his lover. For all the encouragement that Kurt had lavished on him over the past months, he was more than happy to return the favor.

“Well, if we’re not all totally insane by opening night, it’ll be a minor miracle,” Kurt claimed. “Professor Carmody is amazing, but she is such a perfectionist! I’m praying that one of her assistants is keeping a stash of Valium because if she’s this bad during general rehearsals, I’m kind of dreading what she’s going to be like during tech.”

Adam nodded understandingly, having just endured such a trial himself. “You’re going to be fine,” he assured the younger man. “I don’t know anyone else who handles pressure as well as you do. And knowing you, you’re going so focused on keeping Rachel and your friends from losing their minds that you’ll hardly have a moment to worry about yourself.”

Kurt turning a loving stare to his lover, the miles that separated them suddenly not so very apparent. Adam wished that he could reach out to take Kurt’s hand, to give him a bit of physical comfort. He so very missed the feel of Kurt’s lean body tucked in against his.

“I wish I was there with you,” he sighed longingly. “I just want to hold you and help you carry this.”

“You are helping,” Kurt claimed adamantly. “I would never have been able to get through this without you.”

Adam felt his throat tighten at the clear love coming through Kurt’s voice. “Don’t sell yourself short, love,” he warned gently. “You’re the strongest person I know. I don’t think that there is any challenge that you can’t win.

“But let’s talk about less stressful things,” Adam suggested, sensing that Kurt needed a bit of distraction. “It’s hard to focus on business when you’re sitting there looking so delectable.”

Kurt laughed brightly, the stress evaporating with the shift in conversation. “Well, be glad that I’m not there, because your roommate would have plenty to complain about by the time I was done with you.”

Adam licked his lips, feeling the front of his jeans growing a bit snug at the heated tone in Kurt’s voice. “Well, the same goes for you, darling,” he warned. “I think that the whole dorm would be well aware of what we were up do with the way I would have you screaming.”

Kurt’s eyes seemed to glaze over a bit at the teasing threat. “If I remember correctly, on our last night in New York I was the one who had you screaming. I’m surprised that our neighbors didn’t call the police.”

Adam shifted as the hardness in his pants pressed uncomfortably against his fly. “That’s not fair, darling,” he complained. “Starting something that you can’t finish.”

“Oh? Who said that I can’t finish it?” Kurt asked impishly with a sly look in his eyes.

Adam felt his mouth dry, realizing just what Kurt had in mind. That cheeky little…

“If I were there right now, I’d be knocking on your hotel door, knowing that you were inside waiting for me,” Kurt informed him. “And the instant that the door opened, I’d be on you.”

“Oh, I wish you would be at my door,” Adam moaned, closing his eyes. “I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too,” Kurt assured him with a warm smile. “Which is why when I see you, I just jump into your arms and start kissing you like crazy. It feels so good being in your arms and the world could end at that moment, but it would matter because I’m with you.”

“So, what would you do if you were in my arms?” Adam prompted with a grin, letting Kurt take control of the fantasy.

The younger man inhaled, and Adam could see the beginnings of an intriguing flush beginning to color his cheeks and throat. He wished that they could be in the same room, so that his lips and fingers could follow that line of color and see how far down he could make it go.

“We’d kiss for what seemed like hours,” Kurt informed him, a slightly breathy tone coming out in his voice. “I love kissing you… my tongue in your mouth and feeling you pressing me up against the wall.”

“Mmmm…,” Adam moaned agreeably, the image coming to life in his mind. Kurt loved all physical aspects of their relationship, but he especially loved the intimacy of kissing and would happily spend hours doing just that. He remembered how Kurt would writhe against him, their tongues wrestling and washing over one another’s teeth. Kurt would grasp at him, moaning against his mouth.

“We’d best close the door,” the older man advised with a wry smile. “No need to have the whole floor as an audience.”

Kurt shrugged, playing at indifference. “I’d be so turned on at seeing you that I wouldn’t care if the whole world was watching. But okay… I manage to kick the door shut behind me.”

“Thank you,” Adam granted with a wink. “Because when I have you flat on your back, I want you all to myself.”

Kurt raised a sardonic eyebrow in response. “Who said that I’d be the one flat on my back?” he asked. “I’m the one running this fantasy.”

“Yes, darling. Of course you are,” Adam chuckled. “Carry on, because it was getting interesting.”

Kurt laughed, his eyes shining mischievously. “Where was I? Oh yeah… you pressing me up against the wall with my tongue down your throat. So, while I’m kissing you, I’m trying to pull your shirt off. What shirt are you wearing?”

Adam knew that Kurt meant in the fantasy and not at the moment, so he selected something that he knew Kurt would immediately recognize. “I’m wearing my blue shirt,” he said, referring to an old garment that he liked to wear when relaxing or doing chores.

“I hate that shirt,” Kurt complained, wrinkling his nose.

Adam just grinned. “I know you do,” he teased, remembering the numerous times his lover threatened to “lose” it in the wash.

“Fine,” Kurt huffed. “Then I rip that ugly, raggedy shirt open and send all the buttons flying.”

Adam couldn’t help from laughing. “That’s one way to make me get rid of it, I suppose.”

“All in a good cause,” Kurt assured him. “I’m pulling the shirt off you and tossing it right into the trash.”

“Well, I’ll have to make you pay for ruining my favorite shirt, my lad,” Adam warned. “I shove you up against the wall hard and force my knee between your legs. My thigh is pressed up against your crotch and I feel that lovely cock hardening.”

Kurt swallowed hard, his breath visibly quickening. “I always loved how strong you are,” he mused dreamily. “You can just pick me up and do whatever you want.”

Adam grinned, seeing the flush deepening across Kurt’s face and knowing that his own hue had gone equally rosy. “You’re just as strong, sweetheart,” he reminded, a bit needlessly in his opinion. “That’s one of the things that always has me marveling. I feel that strong, young body pressing against mine and know that you’re only up against that wall because you’re letting me do that.”

“Well, I’m about to use my position to my advantage,” Kurt claimed with a playful wink. “I’ll pulling you against me, and that gives me the chance to spin you around so that you’re backing up against the bed.”

Adam couldn’t help from laughing. “Yes you did, clever boy,” he praised. He couldn’t resist reaching down to undo the button on his jeans and easing down the zipper, releasing some of the pressure on his cock. He gave the hard flesh a gentle palming, biting his lip to keep from moaning.

“You’re touching yourself. Aren’t you?” Kurt asked teasingly.

Knowing that there was no use lying, Adam nodded. “I can’t help it,” he claimed. “Just listening to you…”

“Well, it’s about to get better,” Kurt insisted with a chuckle. “I’ve got my tongue so far down your throat that I can feel your tonsils.”

“Which I had removed when I was eight,” Adam teased, earning a glare of admonishment from his lover.

“Just for that, I hook my leg behind your knee and knock you down to the bed and pin you there,” Kurt informed him. “And before you can do anything, I’m on top of you.”

“I can’t say that I’m complaining about this in any way, shape or form,” Adam claimed. He squeezed at his cock, enjoying the feel of his hand cupping the sensitive flesh contained in his underwear.

Over the screen, he could see Kurt shift and wriggle a bit. “What are you doing there?” he asked curiously, finding Kurt’s flexible writhing most intriguing.

“Getting my pants off,” Kurt grunted as he wiggled out of his snug jeans. “They’re cutting off circulation to my dick.”

Adam saw a flash of pale thighs capped by the soft dove grey of Kurt’s favored brand of boxer briefs. The front of Kurt’s underwear was straining to contain his swelling cock, and Adam’s mouth began to water in anticipation.

“Are you going to take those off?” he asked, his accent thick.

Kurt smiled and made sure that his computer was positioned so Adam could watch him slowly rolling down the band of his underpants and carefully sliding them down over his hips bones, showing off the lines of defined muscle that seemed to make an arrow pointing to what Adam really wanted. Adam could see the length of Kurt’s hardness freed, bobbing in front of his neatly trimmed pubes. He slid the briefs down over his long legs before tossing them to the side, letting Adam get a good look.

“You next,” Kurt ordered, looking no less commanding for sitting there wearing nothing but a tee shirt. “Let me see what you’ve got for me.”

It took some carefully maneuvering, but Adam wanted to make sure that he gave his lover a show. He peeled off his shirt, giving Kurt a good view of his bare chest dusted with dark blond hair over his sternum and trailing down to the top of his briefs. With a neat motion, he slid his underwear and jeans down his legs and kicked them away, leaving himself bare as the day he was born for Kurt’s viewing pleasure.

“Like what you see?” he asked playfully.

Kurt nodded. “Always. Damn… you’re gorgeous.”

“So… what else do you have in this little fantasy of yours?” Adam asked, leaning back with his legs spread comfortably. One hand lazily reached down to his groin, playing with the give of foreskin over his length.

“Not much,” Kurt admitted. “Just something about fucking you into tomorrow, but watching you do that is rather engaging.”

“You could join me,” Adam invited teasingly.

Kurt smiled wickedly, shucking off his shirt.

* * *

Tech week started Monday morning, bright and early. Kurt arrived an hour before the rehearsals were officially supposed to begin, carrying his makeup kit and a backpack that he filled with bottles of water and snacks to sustain him through what promised to be a very long day. Upon stepping through the stage door, he found a sea of what appeared to be barely organized chaos awaiting him. Several of Professor Carmody’s student assistants were trying to direct everyone to where they needed to be, with several tables set up for each of the groups to make some attempt at organization. He saw the sign for the actors and got on line to check in.

The harried student looked up at him and checked him off the list. “Okay, Kurt… you’ve got table number five in dressing room two,” he advised. “Just drop your stuff off and head back to the theater. You’ll have time later on to set up your table, but Professor Carmody wants to start promptly.”

“Thanks,” Kurt said sincerely, knowing that the students assisting the production side of things had have been run ragged in the leadup to tech. Hoisting the strap for his makeup kit over his shoulder, he set out to find his dressing place.

There were several dressing rooms and his table was assigned to one of the smaller rooms where he wouldn’t have to share with so many people. His name was marked on a piece of tape above the mirror and a rack with his costumes, neatly stored away in garment bags to keep them from getting stained while in transport from the school shop.

He placed his makeup kit down on the table and took a moment to get his bearings. He had to admit that the costuming team was very much on the ball in making sure that everything was neatly in its place, right down to the photos taped next to his mirror to show how his makeup and hair should be done. Nodding to himself in approval, he carried his backpack into the theater and looked about for his friends in the swarm of actors and crew.

He made quick greetings to his Apples and classmates before finding Rachel. “Sorry I’m late,” he apologized. “I needed to stop at the store to pick up a few things.”

“I just got here a few minutes ago myself,” she assured him, taking a sip of her iced coffee. “I was hoping to get here a bit earlier, but the subway was a mess.”

Kurt nodded sympathetically. With the long hours they were facing, getting to and from the theater was going to be a headache for all of them but it was part of the price that had to be paid in their profession. He was just thankful that he didn’t have to travel all the way to Brooklyn and he knew that he could be back in his bed an hour after rehearsals ended.

Rachel reached into her purse and pulled out a hair band, neatly pulling her hair into a pony tail and tying it off so that it wouldn’t be in her face all day. They were both dressed comfortably in clothes that they could move easily in. Fortunately, they didn’t expect to be doing anything in costume for another day or so.

They watched as the teach teams began to get things ready on stage, and musicians began tuning their instruments. This would be their first chance to rehearse the show with live music, and while that would enhance the sound of their performances it was another factor that they would have to adjust for. Learning to keep going if a note is played out of tune and both musicians and singers learning to keep in time with one another was something that they would have to always keep in mind.

“I’m not going to lie,” Rachel confided, a nervous smile touching her face. “I’m a little nervous.”

“Me too,” he confessed, taking her hand in his to give it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’ve never done a whole show with live music,” she admitted. “It’s not like when we just do one song with back up. This is so real…”

He nodded in understanding. Any of the plays and musicals they’d done in high school were with recorded music. And the music for his shows with the Shakespeare festival were recorded because live musicians would have been too expensive. This would be a new experience for the both of them.

“I know. But we’ve been working our whole lives for this moment,” he reminded her with a smile. “It’s just one more challenge to get past.”

“You know, I can’t wait for opening night,” Rachel insisted. “But I can’t help from worry that it’s so close and we’re not ready.”

Kurt understood Rachel’s reservations, because he knew that they were. They had all worked so hard for the past few months and he understood that seeing the light at the end of the tunnel could be frightening. You never could be sure if it was because you were reaching your goal, or that a freight train was bearing down on you. All they could do was continue to work to the best of their ability and face the challenge with as much confidence as they could manage.

When Professor Carmody stepped onto the stage to greet them, the entire group fell immediately silent. They’d had enough experience to be well trained and responsive at this point. She looked tired and a bit frazzled and Kurt knew that however hard the cast and techs thought they were working, it was likely nothing compared to the burden the teacher had been bearing.

“Good morning everyone,” she greeted, offering the students a warm smile. “Before we get started today, I wanted to commend you all for all your hard work and that we would never have gotten to this point without your remarkable talent, drive and perseverance.

“Now, the next few days are going to be very challenging,” she warned. “We have a big hurdle, bringing all the pieces of our production together and not a lot of time to do so. So these are going to be very long days and I’m sure that there will be quite a few stumbles. But I have no doubt that we will be more than ready by our opening night.”

Kurt nodded to himself, pursing his lip thoughtfully. It wasn’t anything he wasn’t expecting.

“Now our young actors will be joining when they’re done with school to do their scenes and I’ve assigned stand-ins so we can work until they get here,” Professor Carmody informed them. “Today we’re going to be focusing on individual scenes and working on blocking with the sets and props, but tomorrow we’ll be doing full run-throughs of the show. We have a lot to do today so let’s get started.

“Audio team, please get the players for the opening numbers set up,” she commanded. “Lighting and set teams, please get to your stations.”

As their director retreated to her desk set up at the center of the orchestra section, the group hurried to take their places. The students not on stage went to the backstage wings where they could watch and be prepared to be called upon. He watched as a student set up Rachel with her mic pack and carefully fastening the wire so that the tiny sensor would be nearly hidden by her hairline and not easily seen from the audience. As he watched the actors playing guards and prisoners took their places on the stage, Kurt felt a brief pang of regret that he wouldn’t be joining them. He was going to have to wait quite a while for his turn.

* * *

Maybe it wasn’t opening night, Rachel considered as she found her mark on the stage while the music began to swell around her. Maybe it wasn’t a lead part, but that didn’t lessen her excitement in the least. She wrapped a shawl about her shoulders and took a huddled, stooped pose so that she would look like the starving beggar that she was supposed to be. Around her there were other students taking their places as the downtrodden citizens, each wearing an expression of desperation as the music played, setting the tone for everything that would follow. With so many singers, she knew that it would be a pretty astounding performance.

“At the end of the day, you’re another day older,” they sang while the lights slowly came on to cast haunting shadows across the stage. “And that’s all you can say in the life of the poor. It’s a struggle, it’s a war. And there’s nothing that anyone’s giving. One more day standing about, what is it for?

“One less day to be living.”

The group began to move towards the front of the stage, showing the physical effects of freezing in the chill air and prolonged near-starvation as mist generated by the fog machines washed over them to give the impression of a freezing snap in the air. One young man limped with the aid of a crutch, while others tried to help the weaker among them along. Rachel shuffled with them, pulling her tattered shawl about her as tightly as she could.

“At the end of the day, you’re another day colder,” they moaned piteously. “And the shirt on your back doesn’t keep out the chill. And the righteous hurry past, they don’t hear the little ones crying. And the plague is coming on fast, ready to kill.

“One day closer to closer to dying!”

“Stop!” Professor Carmody ordered from her desk, and the action on the stage immediately ceased performing, waiting for her instructions.

“Audio, check your settings. We’re not getting clear sound from about half the group,” she instructed firmly, speaking into her microphone so that they could easily hear her. “There’s no sound coming from the left side of the stage. Get that sorted out, please. We don’t need sound issues this early in the process.”

Without argument, the group hurried to take their starting marks and the stage lights dimmed. Rachel took a breath to mentally regroup, trying not to scratch where the microphone was taped to her skin. It was hard to judge how they really sounded from the stage and she knew that there would be a lot of start and stop throughout the day and it would be a challenge to avoid getting frustrated at not being able to run through songs completely.

Once the audio team had finished their adjustments, Professor Carmody leaned forward in her seat. “Let’s take it from the start, people,” she ordered.

The musicians began to play the opening strains of the song and the actors took their marks and started the song again, giving as much effort as they gave the first time around and hoping that they could get through the number without more technical issues.

The stagehands lowered a gate made to look like wrought iron that prevented the beggars from moving closer and several of the cast ended up pressed against the bars, separated from the prospect of work in the factory. Rachel stretched through with one arm, reaching with desperate supplication, her expression pleading for help.

This was her favorite part. Where the chorus voices began to separate and layer, building upon one another to create a remarkable wall of sound. Even from the stage, it sounded absolutely gorgeous.

“At the end of the day there’s another day dawning. And the sun in the morning is waiting to rise! Like the wave crash on the sand. Like a storm that’ll break any second! There’s a hunger in the land. There’s a reckoning still to be reckoned and there’s gonna be hell to pay! At the end of the day!”

The factory foreman stepped behind his podium as the gate parted and the beggars scattered off the stage, letting the factory workers take their places at their work table. The student playing the foreman then began to sing his warning to the workers, who acquiesced to his unreasonable demands out of fear of being fired. The actress playing Fantine stoically endured the foreman’s course advances and the jealous sniping of her peers who seemed to be taking pleasure in her misery.

Rachel watched the scene from the wings, paying careful attention to the time. While all this was going on, she would have to be changing costumes and doing her makeup for the “Lovely Ladies” scene. Then she had another costume and makeup change for “Master of the House”. Managing her time off stage was going to be critical so that she didn’t miss her cues.

Now seeing the cast acting against the grand sets and hearing their voices fill the beautiful theater thrilled her in a way that she couldn’t have imagined. For however jaded they might be, seeing this production truly starting to come to life was one of the most exciting things she’d ever experienced. She could not be more proud of not just what they were all accomplishing, but her own contribution.

* * *

When they finally broke for lunch, Rachel felt positively drained. They’d had to stop multiple times, ironing out the technical and staging that showed as they ran through the first few numbers of the show. It was stressful with all the interruptions that didn’t let them run things through and the constant changes and corrections was already starting to wear on her.

Kurt had the opposite problem, as his character didn’t appear in the show until much later so he’d been standing around with nothing to do except watch the same scene played a few dozen times. She wasn’t quite sure what was worse.

“I warned you,” Kurt chuckled as Rachel slumped into her seat. “Being in the chorus is a more work than a lot of the major roles.”

“You don’t have to gloat,” she whined, stretching out her legs so she could rotate her ankles. “My feet are killing me.”

“Well, you’d better pace yourself,” Kurt advised. “We’re barely started.”

She nodded and sighed. They both had a lot of work ahead of them.

#kadam fic #learning to fly #kurt hummel #adam crawford #rachel berry #santana lopez #elliot starchild gilbert #dani #platonic starkurt #nyada students #original characters #tons of theater stuff #not blaine or klaine friendly

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toxicityrp · 6 years ago

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NARCISSUS ● THE SOCIALITE ● CLOSED

❝ When this little shit came into the group, I had no idea what was running through Anthrax’s brain. But after a while, you really see their worth. They’re charming and get the connections we need. They tell me the gossip, I dish it out. Perfect duo or what? ❞

THE SINNER. TW: SUBSTANCE & FAMILIAL ABUSE, DEPRESSION, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS

Here’s the thing about growing up in a house built entirely on looks and lies: a kid learns to get very, very good at things like working a room, hiding in plain sight, and flashing a grin so charming anyone could fall for it. Julian picked up everything they know about projecting confidence and style from their wreck of a home. Sure, it looked nice from the outside—both their parents had Wall Street ties, the houses they owned were huge and immaculate, and there was not a reason in the world that anyone could find to dislike them. All that money had to go to something, right? Too bad the smokescreen was only for outsiders. Mrs. Donovan was all smiles for everyone except her child, who could never quite seem to do anything right. Even when their skin was marred with bruises and cuts designed to sting unseen, who would believe their glamorous mother was anything other than perfect? Their father never seemed to care much for them, so no luck there either.

If that was just the way it was, then Julian would adapt. They became the perfect little prize to parade around at parties, dapper in little suits and a little too clever with sly jokes for their own good. They did well in school, they practiced hard at the piano, they did everything right. And it wasn’t enough. Still the criticism, still the accusations and insults and pain. They learned to dress so well because every single thread was nit-picked by their terror of a mother, and then that critical voice started to manifest inside of them, too. That’s too bland, that’s too trampy, you look like a sack, what’s wrong with your skin? Your hair? Your nose and teeth and shoulders and stomach? They tried so hard to keep being perfect anyway. They tried so hard they began to crack from the inside out. At the dinner table fourteen-year-old Julian would stare at their fork and think about all the places they wanted to jam it into their skin just to see what would happen. They never followed through on any of those impulses, not when their mother still followed them into dressing rooms and barged in on them showering to spout her spite. Any mark she could find was just another possible danger. No, the fantasy was less about pain (they already received so much of that) than about ceasing to exist as a physical entity. Being a perfect son, a fine young man, whatever everyone called them—it was all so exhausting. How did anyone do this?

Only two years later, they were clumsily picking the liquor cabinet lock and taking from it little by little. Never enough to get caught, but enough to get drunk. At first. Then they needed more, and more, and more and more, to drown out that horrid little voice in their head telling them everything was wrong. They’d wake up hungover as all hell and get trotted off to some rich man’s garden party, but somehow they always made it through with a smile and a thousand handshakes and no one the wiser. Or maybe, simply, no one cared enough to see.

In college they were supposed to be free, and sometimes they even felt like it. They had the chance to grow into their own identity for once in their life, and it constituted something of a radical shift. They found their pronouns and their people, bedmates and peers, hobbies besides networking and drinking. They still drank, of course, and it was celebrated as a fantastic party trick. Nobody notices the warning signs when they’re all also shitfaced! Julian tried so many drinks and drugs they thought they could rule the whole fucking world.

Then they ended up at home one winter break, locked up in the bathroom for making some unforgivable mistake. They’d been accused of so many over that they couldn’t be bothered to remember the details at this point. It always came back to them being a liar or a whore or something along those lines. If only she knew what a goddamn degenerate I really am, they’d thought, not bothering to wipe away the tears on their face. The eyes that stared back from the mirror looked lifeless. They would never be good enough. Why did they even keep trying? It would be so much easier to pick up that razor under the sink and just-

Oh. Their heart skipped a beat. That had scared them more than their own mother.

The next few years were a drunken, hazy blur, one big attempt to bury that frightening moment so deep in their soul that it never surfaced again. They graduated from college and business school while self-medicating with whatever anyone would sell them and got the hell out of the house as soon as they figured out how to leech from the family assets without being tracked down. All that training in smiling and smooth-talking helped them bounce from place to place without losing too many connections or giving up on their rather lavish lifestyle. Sometimes screwing preppy country club rats even made them feel good about themself, for an hour or so. Then it was right back to the oxy and rum. Did all that pretending to be pretty and charming and harmless do anything to help the spiraling emptiness in the pit of their being? No, but it was an effective enough distraction most of the time, and when even that failed they took up the kinds of hobbies rich people without much to lose could enjoy. They took cooking classes and learned how to screw around under the hoods of cars and found skill after skill to learn as if any of them made them feel alive.

They only went home once after that, when they got word that their father had up and left without a day’s hesitation. Stepping back into that gargantuan house was like walking right into a cage on their own free will, but something they hated inside of them drove them forward anyway. Maybe it was a desire to finally please their mother, just once. They didn’t accomplish it, since she spent the entire visit acting as if she was the victim of the whole universe’s cruelty. So he found out about the affair, she said. So I told him you’re not his. What did I ever do wrong?

That was a new and intriguing consideration. Though it pained them to spend a second more with her, they managed to wrangle out the name they needed to track down their real sire, only to discover a set of siblings to boot. Cruel trick, God, if you’re even there. You know I always wanted someone to play with.Anticipation lodged itself in every bone in their body as they planned out a trip to Dertosa to track down anyone who was willing to test the waters with them. Ben and Cecilia were such a surprise. They couldn’t fathom what they did to piss Nightshade off—usually they had to flirt with a girl before she went all icy on them—but the feeling was mutual, and that was fine. It wasn’t like they didn’t know how to smile oh-so-sweetly at a woman they despised. Ben was a different story. For the first time it was as if someone saw right through all the charm, right down to the weight dragging Julian down all their life. Ben got it. The word family finally felt like something.

After that, finding a fancy loft in Dertosa and joining up with the Poisons was a no-brainer. Julian had never had a clear idea of what to do with themself anyway, and it was like they had been sculpted and groomed just for this job. The job made them better, actually. That and being around Anthrax. Narcissus still binged on anything that sounded good in the moment and flirted their way into and out of every situation imaginable, but that voice in their head grew less powerful. They were good at this. They were doing something worthwhile and doing it well. If only they could rub that in their mother’s face now.

Almost five years strong, and then it all went to hell. Narcissus woke up in a cold sweat, tangled in their bedsheets as chaos raged around them, to the news of Anthrax’s murder. The voice surged back, drowning out everything else with one spiteful, sorrowful cry: it should have been you instead. It should have been me instead.

The past six months have been nothing short of rough. If there’s one thing Narcissus is sure about, though, it’s that Nightshade can and should pick up where their brother left off. They don’t want to lose the first real family they’ve ever had, or the first real sense of growth they’ve felt in pretty much their whole life. Besides, anyone who thinks they can run Toxic City’s resident keepers out of town with a couple petty scare tactics has clearly never met the Poisons before.

THE FACTS.

Narcissus is sticking by their sister and continuing their work as the Poisons’ marketing-and-sales brain. They’ve always got something to prove to someone. Gregarious and incorrigible, they’re good at making connections and digging up gossip, even if they sometimes cause a little gossiping with their behavior. They have a penchant for edible vices and a reputation for a long bedmate waitlist, though the former is a lot more serious than they make it sound and the latter is somewhat overblown by rumors. They’re covering up some serious issues that they should probably talk to someone about, but only Anthrax ever really knew what kind of darkness lurks behind that sly grin. Things were improving before his murder, but now Narcissus can feel themself slipping back into dangerous habits and they’re clawing desperately at any good thing they can hold onto. Maybe that’s the source of the sudden change in their attitude toward their sister—they may not admit it for fear of losing a few teeth, but they know the signs of someone sliding into a bad place. If they can’t help themself, why not help others?

THE MUN.

☾ Divya | PST | She/Her

#bob morley fc #narcissus #poisons #nb

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kierongillen · 7 years ago

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Writer Notes: The Wicked + the Divine #29

Spoilers, obv.

Weird issue this, for me.

We've been away for a few months, so this is the reintroduction. As I've said, the second half of Imperial Phase is more constricted in time than the first, so we've got to set all that up. And in terms of my “stuff to do” list, I obviously had a bunch. I also had a structure, which was putting the focus on Persephone and take her through her day (akin to 24). It's about that hangover, juxtaposing the realisation of Sakhmet's actions and the feeling of being sapped and wrecked and regretful.

(I'm writing this with a hangover, oddly, though it's the “last night was amazing!” sort of hangover, so not exactly right.)

Anyway – I have the story goals and the structural means and all that, and basically hit them. But I also didn't do something more than that, despite having plans for a Big Swing issue. I simply choked. I hit the point and just didn't want to write what I had planned. Not even “didn't want to”. Maybe “wasn't capable of putting myself through it.”

As such, even though the issue has gone down well – better than I would have thought – it nags at me. I suspect it was best for me not to do it, and may even show character growth on my part in choosing not to, but it's still mildly annoying. I suspect it'll be my least favourite issue of the arc... but that may have been true anyway. I am particularly fond of the rest of this arc.

Anyway – that ennui and reluctance fed into what the script ended up being: “I'm tired and I don't want to do this any more but what other choice is there?” is very much the mood and the point.

(Why has this gone down well? The character focus, I suspect. We've got 10 main characters, and all of them bar Baph (and arguably Woden) get meaningful scenes.)

Okay – remember back in issue 27 on Phased I talked about how I solved trying to fit all the information in by realising one sub-plot could be excised and then pushed later? That was the Sakhmet/Persephone relationship stuff from this issue and the rest of the arc. We obviously had some of it in 27, but it was the absolute minimum necessary for 28 to make sense and to establish their interactions. I realised the rest would be just as effective if it's stuff Persephone remembers, in terms of the ghosts of their past together. It integrated well with the themes of Waking Up The Night After And Thinking Back.

Jamie's Cover

Was mildly annoying that this was released online just before the last issue dropped, as the blood coated coat is something of a spoiler. But you end up shrugging, because “Sakhmet covered in blood” is very much her look anyway.

Jamie covered this one, due to Matt being away on well deserved holiday.

The breaking of the portrait is the theme for the second half of Imperial Phase, as those who've seen the future covers will know.

Jock's Cover

Very happy to get Jock doing a cover – one of the definitive cover artists of the 21st century, and one of the nicest people in comics. If I ever made a faustian deal, it was made on the floor of Jock's hotel room in Dublin, waking up and picking fluff off my tongue and thinking “you need to earn some money at some point, Kieron.” Jock had let Jamie and me crash on his floor, like the kind and lovely fella he is.

Anyway! Morrigan, in full fashion-sepulcharal. Obviously look at how Jock uses space here, and plays with the logo. That sort of awareness of the specifics of any individual cover is one of the reasons why he is what he is. Lovely stuff.

The 25 Issues In Future Cover

For Image's theme months, we normally say yes or no depending on whether it strikes us as a worthwhile idea in terms of the book – which normally means “do we have a good idea instantly.” In this case, Eric went “A hypothetical cover for your book 25 issues in the future.” Everyone on the team went “Well, by that point the book is over so...”

Original idea was a graveyard, but realised that a monument would be the way to go. It's based on one in Glasgow, which Jamie pointed out as we went past it.

One day I'll get the HUMANITY statue in London into the book, but not yet.

IFC

Deciding what information gets added to these is always an interesting challenge. What matters? What doesn't?

Page 1-2

We're back, and first panel is the Laura narration we haven't seen since issue 11. I miss that girl.

Jamie does this whole sequence so well. Matt too, in terms of mood. I'm always interested in the question Jamie asks me – in this case it was “why the hell is she living in a crappy room in the underworld? She's rich.” And then I have to justify it, which is nice, because it reminds me that my choices actually do have the justifications built in. I suspect I believe I used Bojack Horseman and Sid Vicious in crappy hotel as my references.

Yes, the Lucifer fangirl is cruel and unusual. That Persephone left the party saying she wanted to be alone and wasn't in the mood, and between then and now she's picked up someone else, and someone who reminds her of her old friend says a lot about her. Same as later, when she goes clubbing rather than go home.

Really interesting colour choices in the second panel of the second page by matt – that beige-y red of the cigarette light. And then look at the cold blue/white light when the phone clicks in.

I think a lot about how we hear about news, both personal and world news. Occasionally it's in person, but I think of refreshing the Warren Ellis Forum and then the top post being “Plane flies into World Trade Center” with one unread message or anything else. Just a line of text that is going to change everything. We do a lot of stuff like that – I find myself thinking of the climax of The Immaterial Girl.

Page 3

I believe I was thinking of Bananarama's Love In The First Degree. Bananarama were my original text pop band. Huge chunks of what I love in Pop Music can be traced back to Bananarama.

Page 4-5

Earliest scene in the current recurrence, I believe... at least in terms of showing gods.

This is in part to make sure the timeline was clear. As Baal's Death Day was revealed, we know when he must have appeared... which was before 2013 Ragnarock which still clearly believed the gods not have returned yet. If this is Baal's first gig, then we know he spent a couple of weeks not doing performances.

The question of when Sakhmet came is open. I suspect I'm never going to actually say it in the script, but I can see Sakhmet's appearance basically prompting Baal into doing his first gig just to make sure he gets to be first. Those would be fun conversations. I could talk about our choices in terms of when we started our story, but there's certainly another version of WicDiv which did everything in straight chronological. If I was writing it for (say) television, I suspect I'd take that route.

(The short version is that in a monthly comic “Gods reincarnating as pop stars” isn't a big enough hook. That's a theme and setting. I needed the specific big plot, which was the Did Lucifer Do It?)

Anyway – party in a Warehouse, but look at what Matt does with the colours here, which are brutal. In an issue with so little joy, this level of pop just shows what the book isn't now.

Page 6

I'm always interested in Jamie's choices for the gods when they're not on stage. Amaterasu's clearly herself, but not quite as loud.

Eight panel grid, which is my standard choice. I suspect I could have pushed either of these half scenes to longer scenes, but I have bigger fish to fry.

Jamie does great stuff here with the body language – being questioned by the police about your girlfriend murdering a bunch of folk when you're hungover can't be much fun, and panel 2 really shows it. And then there's panel 4 – Persephone holding herself as she trudges away. The contrast between that and the detective's words is a lovely bit of irony by Jamie – she really doesn't look like someone who could.

Matt's colouring in the fifth panel is just startlingly wonderful. Just look at that.

Chrissy's ongoing biggest regret is that we did PERSY instead of PERSEY when we first did Amaterasu's nickname for Persephone.

Page 7-9

The formalist in me is a little annoyed that I break the purity of “follow around Persephone on her hangover day” and have a scene which starts before her.

Jamie and Matt always realign their work between arcs, and Jamie is trying some slightly different approaches to the page. I mention, as for me, this scene is where it's most obvious in terms of “something is a little different to usual.”

Return to the I Can't Believe It's Not The Danger Room, introduced in issue 17. Also, Minerva and Baal in Valhalla, which says how seriously they're taking it – neither live there any more.

I smile at the hot pink in panel 4 on page 8. Hot pink! Hot Pink!

The last panel of page 8 took some tweaking – originally Amaterasu didn't have a line, which made it easy to overlook their entrance, which made Persephone appear to come out of nowhere in the next panel. Adding a line to her solves that problem, but does undercut the beat of Baal/Minerva – Baal had a line which we lost, which meant the reader's eye would treat the panel as two moments. The celebration of the two – a gap on the page – and then Amaterasu coming in on the right.

I think Marlboro Shite has been in my notes since issue 4 or 5. Everything eventually finds a home.

(It's so old I was worried I'd used it before somewhere. Baal repeating himself would be terrible.)

Writing that has also reminded me that I had a stress dream last night about a continuity error in Uber where someone pointed out we'd changed names of one character mid-through the story. My subconscious is totally crap.

Page 10-11

I don't use that sort of caption-dialogue transition a lot in WicDiv, even though it's a classic story writer trope. In terms of modern writers, I always connect it to Rick Remender. It's one of his main bridging devices.

More about the gig next issue, but it was important to set up a bunch of stuff here. It's been talked about, but not in this level of specific. Clearly it's going to be a big part of the plot. It's been a while since we've done a big performance scene, after all. Imperial Phase is all about getting to your Knebworth, after all.

God, Cass is almost translucent here. She works too hard.

I really like Persephone's necklace in this page. Just noticed it.

Page 12-15

Highbury & Islington, as seen in issue 5 and returned repeatedly to since then.

I'm still not bored of how we flipped Young Avenger's White Backgrounds As Aesthetic Device when dealing with the Underground. Which probably says everything about the two books.

Obvious setting up key stuff for the Underground we'll need later in the issue on page 12 – namely that we can find to places you've been before, but it is infinite down here.

I believe ”Crap Narnia” was a last minute tweak of the script, but it does please me. The Norns are not have it with these tropes.

Panel 3 on page 13: Awwwwkward.

I have no idea how Jamie keeps on doing these outfits. He's an amazing talent. I should do a comic with him.

The specific choice of “At least 3G” makes me smile, as if Cass is working out what signal is reasonable to get in a magical underworld. “Yeah, maybe you'll lose 4G, but 3G should be good” she thinks to herself.

Yes, nothing at all comfortable in any of this.

It's always interesting to me how Cassandra is as vulnerable as she clearly is. You choose the right places to hit her, and she'll be derailed. Some characters clearly understand that, and others don't.

The last panel is the point where people who read the solicits are thinking “wait – when Kieron said “Wherein Dionysus sits in the darkness for most of an issue, but in an awesome way. Honestly, you'll love it. Also: other stuff.” was he being literal?”

Last panel is great. Full bleed gets the sense of the endlessness of the dark, and Dionysus sitting there, facing it. Art against the void. Our comic in a panel.

Page 16-17

There's more interaction with the public in this issue for a while, but the crowd stuff is where we're trying to show the responses more. Some people are petrified. Some people are still trying to snap her. Some are both.

Yet more fine gods-casual-clubbing looks.

The club they're leaving would be the Buffalo Bar, as seen in issue 18 of WicDiv (since repaired in WicDiv). They're stairs leading down on the right. Also showed up in Phonogram: The Immaterial Girl.

Interesting flashback colour choices here from Matt. Teal and turquoise? Colourists are amazing.

The Bridge Reconstruction sign is 100% period Highbury & Islington sign. We moved dialogue over it to try and signal “I know this looks important, but it's not.”

Deciding which exact euphemism for sex Cassandra should use on 17.1 was some degree of thought. Originally I'd written “Fucking” but that jarred with Persephone's own Fuck. “Banging” was the most comic option – it just speaks to the lack of respect Cass has for Pers/Baph's act.

“I've never said that out loud before” echoes with Young Avengers, of course.

I wanted the hard – mid sentence to set up for a hard-cut to the club. I'm a fan of hard-cut jokes, but doing it as an anti-joke was kind of the point. Let's go home, as I need to OH NO I AM IN A CLUB AND HAVING A SHIT TIME.

Page 18-19

I look at the first page, and smile, in purely a “I love comics” way. When I talk about “Wanting to write comics” versus “wanting to write stories that get turned into comics” way, it's stuff like this I'm thinking of. If I didn't write full script, it wouldn't work like this. Well... not as easily. It's calling for specific effects that Jamie and Matt completely get. Matt bleeding the red in is pretty astounding – that third panel especially. The second one you can think it's just the club lights, but the third is saturating the image, and then it just takes over. And that expression on panel 5. Yay, jamie. Comics!

Thinking this was a pro-pantheon fan club, so the response is different than on the streets. These people are shook up. They mean well. But... yes.

Obvious call back to Baphomet's dialogue way back in issue 7.

I believe the last panel description was “Hmm. I do like coke?”

Page 20

A general sentiment, but dancing with Taylor Swift's Blank Space.

21-22

And we return to where we started.

How good was the coke? Will we ever find out? Stay tuned to The Wicked + The Divine, kids!

(Not the first time Coke has been explicitly referenced in Imperial Phase. It was implied in episode 24, and Woden's memorable nose-piece in 28. Imperial Phase, proggy double albums and all that shit is just connected with that particular drug for terrible people. Year 4 will be less coke-y, hopefully)

And Ruth's surname revealed.

It's odd – when writing this I'd completely forgotten the obvious fact that Persephone is disobeying the television's instructions. I am useless.

That this is the second time that data access in the underworld has been referenced in this issue makes me wonder whether my own router problems were working their way into the comic. All work is autobiographical, but not usually that crappily.

(Don't worry. It's solved now.)

Great Jamie expression on the final panel, of course. The colouring of the section was one of the most debated bits of the book, and I like where we ended.

Page 23

I suspect I've got some pun interstitials which are worse than this ahead, but not many. That would be impossible.

Anyway – back next month for top sitting in the dark adventures.

Thanks for reading.

#WicDiv #the wicked and the divine #Writer Notes

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scripturiently · 8 years ago

Text

i needed a break from writing papers so i wrote some one shot about princess rover. i miss them and was in a huge mood to write something insanely fluffy. prompt is from @wlwprompts “person A is drunk and decides to randomly call that cute girl from biology class to tell her she’s pretty”

enjoy :)

Amberle Elessedil is insanely pretty. Eretria hates her.

‘Hates a strong word’ she can hear Wil say when she sits next to her in the bio lecture. It’s nine in the morning and she’d much rather be sleeping in. Amberle’s soft face makes it worthwhile, she supposes. They don’t really talk throughout that first day of lecture, mainly because Amberle is really absorbed into what the professor is saying and Eretria is on her phone the entire time.

They don’t continue to talk for the first week of lectures either. It isn’t until Eretria comes in late that second week that Amberle says something to her.

“Why do you come to lecture if you never pay attention?” It’s bitchy and pious sounding and Eretria just scoffs.

“Why do you care?” She retorts back and Amberle sends her a little glare that makes her heart jump a little. They stare one another down for a good minute before someone behind them coughs and Amberle’s back to her notes. Eretria pulls out a notebook and just doodles.

She does try to listen to the lecture a little better after that.

The first test comes after about three weeks of lectures. Eretria groans at the professor’s announcement that it’ll be the next class and Amberle just rolls her eyes at her. They leave together and that’s when Eretria decides that maybe the nerdy bio girl can help her study.

She may also just want an excuse to spend time with Amberle out of class. Not that she’ll admit anything. “Hey, princess,” she grabs at Amberle’s arm before they’re separated, “wait up.”

Amberle jerks her arm away and turns around, crossing her arms. “What?”

“Tutor me?” Eretria means for it to come off flirty, raising her eyebrows a little. She notices that Amberle is slightly taller than her and almost pouts. What the hell.

Amberle’s cheeks go pink but she scowls at the other girl. “Why?”

“Because you obviously enjoy this nerd shit and I can’t afford to not pass class.” Eretria shoulders her backpack.

“Well, maybe you should pay attention in lectures more often.” Amberle walks away without another word and Eretria’s never really been rejected before so she just stands there dumbfounded for a couple minutes.

She’s trying to study with Wil when Amberle Facebook messages her. They aren’t friends, but somehow Amberle has found Eretria online and has reached out to her. It makes Eretria grin like an idiot for a moment until she remembers their previous conversation.

She opens the messages regardless. Amberle’s sent her a photo of her notes with the caption I was a bitch earlier, I shouldn’t stop you from passing the class. Here.

Eretria immediately saves the photos and scrolls through them. Later that night she messages back I owe you one, princess.

Amberle friends her on Facebook an hour later.

Miraculously Eretria passes the test and Amberle’s the first to know but only because their results are handed out in lecture and Amberle’s nosy. They talk more after that and okay Eretria maybe starts paying attention and taking notes.

She comes in hungover during the fifth week of classes. Amberle actually physically makes a noise in disgust. “You could have at least showered, gods.”

“Fuck you, Elessedil.” Eretria’s not in the mood. She puts her hood up and tries to sleep. Amberle mutters you wish and Eretria’s kind of thankful she’s got her head buried in her arms.

She arrives hungover every Friday after that and soon Amberle just starts accepting it.

They get lunch together about six weeks in, on a Wednesday. It’s accidental really, Eretria’s just stumbled upon Amberle’s little safe spot on campus.

“Are you stalking me now?” Amberle jokes, putting down her fork. Eretria laughs, smiling.

“Nah. You’re the one stalking me, princess.” she sits across from her and Amberle doesn’t complain. Just warns Eretria not to start making her regret allowing her to hang out with her outside of class.

They exchange numbers at some point, especially since Amberle only responds to Facebook messages when she’s on her computer, which is rare. It makes setting up study sessions easier. Eretria hates and loves the study time together. For one, she’s around Amberle more. For another, she’s starting to realize she’s crushing hard on the nerdy bio girl and she knows she’s setting herself up to get hurt.

But she tells herself to let it be. At least she has some time with Amberle before the semester ends, the class ends, and they’re going their separate ways.

She learns that Amberle has shit taste in music. Mostly mainstream sad songs and hipster bullshit. She learns that Amberle wears a pomegranate smelling perfume and she suddenly can’t get enough of that smell. Amberle’s her year, she’s studying marketing and communications, with a minor in science. She makes Eretria laugh at the stupidest shit, even when Eretria doesn’t get it as well as she could because it’s a science joke. She lives with her grandfather, who is a professor here, she constantly drinks coffee and watches dumb romance comedies on her free time. She’s smart, drives a rather old looking mustang, and is really pretty.

Eretria’s so fucked.

Eretria’s about five shots of fireball and some good awful sweet rum when Wil dares her to call Amberle.

And of course Eretria does. Of fucking course. She’s used to getting drunk but that doesn’t mean the no self control while drunk ever gets better. She shoves her phone into Wil’s face and he starts laughing, leaning against the counter and scrolling through her contacts till he finds Amberle’s number *’really, you put emojis next to her name?’ ‘shut up Ohmsford’* and hands it back to her when he hits the dial button.

“Get some, ‘Tria.” Wil teases and Eretria grins wickedly back at him before stumbling out of the frat house to get some fresh air.

Amberle picks up on the third ring, voice sleepy. ”Hello?”

At first, Eretria chickens out. She freezes, realizing as she’s starting to sober up in the outside air that this is a stupid idea but then Amberle says her name in the sweetest voice, asking if she’s alright, and Eretria just says it. “You’re really pretty.”

She’s drunk, but she knows she’s not imagining the little gasp Amberle takes on the other end of the phone. She smirks. “You gonna do anything about that?”

Amerble’s silent for a while, contemplating. Then there’s the rustle of sheets and the click of a light being turned on. “Yeah, I am. Where are you?”

Damn, okay. “You serious, princess?”

“Oh don’t get too excited, I’m picking your drunk ass up so you don’t hurt yourself. Wil obviously can’t take care of you,” Amberle says quickly, voice a little breathless but laced with annoyance. Eretria sighs.

“You ruin all the fun.”

“You just hit on me.”

“Touche,” Eretria hums, sitting down in the grass. She can feel the headache coming on now, her mouth getting dry. “I’m at Pykon. You know that one, right?”

There’s the clattering of keys being picked up from a ceramic bowl. “I’ll be there in fifteen, just hang tight.” Amberle promises and Eretria feels a rush of relief.

“I owe you, princess.”

“You’re always owing me.” Well, that’s true.

“Yeah, shut up.” Neither hang up immediately, even as Amberle’s car is started up and the seatbelt notification dings. It’s quiet, the only sound of them breathing. Finally, “I’m hanging up now,” Eretria concedes.

“Hang tight,” Amberle repeats.

Eretria ignores the swell in her heart, the rush of heat to her cheeks. She just hangs up, jabbing the end call button faster than humanly possible.

Amberle is thirteen minutes, not fifteen. Eretria has long since gone back inside to retrieve her leather jacket and let Wil know she’s leaving. When he asks who with, she doesn’t give him the pleasure of knowing, just shrugs and winks at him before heading out. Amberle is on her phone, scrolling through her music playlist and switching songs as Eretria clambers inside the passenger seat. “Hey,” Eretria starts, nonchalant.

“Hi.” Amberle’s voice is soft, like the music reverberating through the car. She hands Eretria a plastic water bottle. “Drink.”

Eretria scrunches her nose up. “I’m fine, princess.”

“Your voice is scratchy and I’ve seen you hungover in class one too many times to know you can’t take care of yourself when you’re drinking,” Amberle retorts, uncapping the bottle and handing it over. Eretria takes it, letting their fingers slip against one another’s for a brief moment. “Are you hungry?” Amberle asks.

Eretria shrugs. “Not right now.”

Regardless, Amberle drives to the shitty burger joint on campus and orders two burgers and a shake to share. “It’s mostly for me though, since you’ve fucked up my sleeping schedule tonight anyways.”

Eretria feels bad for a moment. It is midterms. But it’s Friday night and when Amberle takes them to a little hill near the football stadium, she starts to feel a little less bad and maybe a little bit more hopeful.

They sit on the hill munching on the greasy burgers in silence. Amberle’s still playing that hipster crap that Eretria can’t stand until now. Amberle’s leaning back on her hands, humming and looking up at the sky.

Eretria’s sort of ditched the burger, eyes glued to Amberle. She’s wearing a soft gray Arborlon U sweater and leggings, sneakers long ditched to run her toes through the grass. Her brown hair is in a braid, leaving her neck more exposed than usual. Eretria selfishly thinks about marking her neck for a moment, but it leaves quickly. She blames the buzzed state she’s now in.

“Wil texted you,” Amberle hums when Eretria’s phone buzzes between them. Eretria grabs the phone and shoves it into her back pocket.

“He’s probably just asking if I’ve gotten laid yet,” she jokes but it doesn’t stop the lump forming in her throat. Amberle laughs.

“So did he dare you to prank call me?”

“Not really,” Eretria mutters, picking at the grass. Amberle turns her head, eyebrows furrowed. Eretria quickly elaborates. “It was more my idea. Like, ‘hey, how can I make nerd princess panic a little tonight?’ kinda thing.” She shrugs.

“Well, you certainly did that.” Amberle admits. She smiles adoringly at Eretria. “Have you sobered up?”

“Yeah,” Eretria’s been mostly sober since she called Amberle, “but I kind of just want to lay here for a while.”

Amberle nods, looking down at the football field. “Okay.”

It’s quiet and not uncomfortable and Eretria starts counting the stars to get her mind off how badly she wants to kiss Amberle right now. Amberle’s out of her league, Amberle’s too prim and proper for her, too smart. Eretria gets drunk every week while Amberle’s finding her career at the age of 22.

Amberle kisses her first and Eretria’s so shocked that she doesn’t kiss her back at first. Amberle’s quickly pulling away and Eretria’s mind is short circuiting. She just wants to kiss Amberle again right now.

So she does. She hurries forward before Amberle can get up from her spot and her right hand comes to rest against Amberle’s, the other cupping her jaw. Amberle tastes like chocolate shake and American cheese, the smell of pomegranates overwhelming Eretria’s senses. Amberle hums into the kiss, pushing her forehead closer, letting their fingers intertwine. It’s not hurried and as much as Eretria wants to push it, hungrier than ever, she doesn’t. She wants to savor the moment, wants to lock it away in her mind forever. It remains soft and sure and gentle and Eretria’s never really been into that until now. Until Amberle.

Amberle’s giggling, breathless, when Eretria finally pulls away. “Why do I taste cinnamon and… is that coconut?”

“Don’t ask,” Eretria mutters, smiling goofily. Amberle doesn’t, just pulls Eretria into her lap and kisses her under the stars until dawn.

#i miss these two so much and i got really into the mood of writing about them especially after seeing this prompt #god it's been so long #so if any of it's ooc i apologize #anyways where are my princess rover fans @#amberle may be a tree but i'll always ship them #princess rover #my writing #writing #fanfiction #the shannara chroncicles #amberle elessedil #eretria #amberle x eretria #wlw #one shot #au #mine #ao3

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ninasnon-sense · 7 years ago

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Crossroads, Part 2

Nine years and ten months later.

Penny woke with her face in a pillow and a pounding in her head. With a groan, she tried to wriggle deeper into the bed, but found someone in the way. She frowned into the pillow before turning her head just enough to peer one eyed at the body beside her.

Fully clothed. That was good. That meant they had probably just drunkenly passed out together. She squinted, unimpressed with the meagre light that filtered through the curtains. A man. They definitely just passed out together. She tried to move her feet and found that they were pinned. Another shift and wiggle that was more effort that she truly felt she had to spend on such things and she saw why. One of the roadies (Molly was it?) was sprawled across her legs in a position that could not be comfortable. Now she remembered. The last night of her tour. Traditional beer and pizza night with the people that made sure she had a good show. The session band. The roadies. However many of them were up for it and would fit into her frankly obscene hotel room. Not all of them stayed the night, but enough of them did that it was always fun trying to pick her way through the passed out bodies when she was inevitably the first one to wake.

She would have liked to stay on the bed in the heart of the tangle, but her hangover was loud and demanding. Carefully, not wanting to wake anyone, she extracted herself and grabbed her handbag before stumbling her way to the bathroom as quietly as possible, stepping over two more people on her way and clicking the bathroom door shut behind her.

Weary and faintly nauseous, she dropped her handbag on the fancy marble counter that the basin was set into. A look into the mirror had her wincing. Yesterday’s stage makeup was smeared across her face, giving her panda eyes and mouth like a clown. That needed to be fixed. Going out in yesterdays eyeliner was one thing, but the makeup she wore for her concerts was made of stronger stuff and layered on bright and thick so people way back in the mosh pit could at least get the idea of what her face looked like. Fuck it. Baby wipes would get the worst of it off and she already had a packet of them stashed in here.

Three wipes later and she looked almost human. A hungover and possibly terminally ill human, but it was still an improvement. She shuddered to think of what her face had done to that poor pillow, but a place like this almost definitely had spares and if they didn’t they could afford a new one. There were still dark smudges around her bright green eyes, her dyed electric blue hair was still cloyed with smoke and hairspray, but now it sort of looked like it had been done on purpose. If the paparazzi caught her, her fans would just assume it had been another long night of partying. Well. They would if she put pants on when she left. Looking down to her bare legs, the memory or shucking off her leather trousers before ordering an ungodly amount of pizza was fuzzy at the edges, but undeniably there. Along with the memory of taking her bra off from under her red vest and throwing it at Joe just because she could.

The disaster of her face mostly taken care of, she rummaged through her bag for the aspirin she knew was in there, emerging in a feeble victory only to have to fight to get two of the pills out of the foil. Still groggy , she popped them into her mouth and turned the tap on to scoop up a hand full of water to swallow them down with. Her hand went into the stream, the flow of the cold water waking her up the tiniest bit.

Then it slowed down as her hand pulled out. The water stopping its flow mid air in a trail to her palm. At first she froze as well, not comprehending what she was seeing. Slowly, she tipped her hand, expecting the water to trickle out of her palm even as the aspirin began to dissolve in her mouth. Except it didn’t. It slid from her skin like a silk scarf and hung in the air above the basin.

No. No! She still had two months left! Staggering away from the sink, she nearly tripped over her own feet as she rushed for the door.

There. Lying on the bed where Penny had been, propped up on one elbow and running a finger down her sound guys back. The room was still and silent, time having stopped its flow, leaving only Penny and that creature free to act.

Not that she could do anything more than stare in horror at it. A smile touched the demons face, exposing those awful needle teeth she’d been having nightmares about for nearly ten years. Fuck, she still looked like one of her mums friends. That stupid fucking middle class couture shit. She’d had an agent that looked like that and had panic attacks every time she had to see them face to face.

“I have to say my dear,” the demon cooed. “I approve of your stage name. Penny Dreadful. How delightfully historic.”

“You’re early,” she ground out in response.

“Oh, I’m not collecting yet,” the demon assured her with a sickly sweet smile as she carefully climbed out from the mess of passed out techies and roadies. “I just wanted to make sure you remembered. A surprising amount of you people flat out forget their deal. Or try and weasel their way out of it.”

“You mean like you weaselled your way into it,” Penny found herself snapping. It was a bad idea. It was an awful idea.

She didn’t give a shit. Even as the demon’s expression darkened, Penny found herself grabbing onto the righteous fury that had fuelled her since she had made that stupid fucking deal.

“And exactly what do you mean by that?” the demon said, their voice deceptively cordial even as she bared those horrifying teeth and glared right at her.

“That you’re a fucking con artist that took advantage of a kid!”

“Are you accusing me of striking an invalid bargain?”

“Damn fucking right I am!”

A hand like a vice clamped onto Penny’s arm and yanked her close to the snarling needle toothed face of the demon. A motherly face turned monstrous. A flash of flame and the stink and sting of smoke bit at her nostrils, choking her as the floor fell away from beneath her feet only to slam back and weaken her knees. The smoke cleared from her eyes and Penny coughed to clear her throat before looking around their new surroundings.

It was an office, or perhaps a library. One wall was covered with thick green curtains from the ceiling that had to be nearly fifty foot high. Dark walnut shelves lined the other three walls, every shelf crammed with books and files arranged in perfect order. Orbs of light hung above them like fire flies, gently illuminating the space. In each corned stood a statue, each facing the centre of the large room. Two opposite depicted classical angels in white marble, their wings tucked in tight and their faces beatifically turned upwards. The other two were skeletons in tarnished brass, their bony wings spread wide and their skull turned downwards in a gaping grimace with pointing spears to the rich green carpet.

The other feature of the room was an enormous and elegantly carved desk, walnut to match the shelves and embellishment on the legs. Two antique chairs sat before it and behind it there was a severe looking woman who might have been in her thirties. Vibrant orange hair was pulled back into a tight bun, her white lacy shirt was tied at the collar with a thin green chiffon scarf and a black jacket was draped over the back of her impressive chair. A pair of not quite flamboyant glasses sat on the bridge of her nose and she rested her head against on delicate hand as she read through a thick document fiddling with a pen in her left hand.

“I’ll be with you shortly,” she said, her voice as severe as her expression. “Take a seat.” Penny wasn’t given a chance to argue, or to do anything else. She was roughly shoved towards the desk and stumbled her way into one of the chairs. As her bare skin hit the leather she because uncomfortable aware of the fact that she was sat there in nothing but a red vest and a pair of boring black knickers white the other women in attendance were all booted and suited. And uncomfortable squirm had her thigh pealing from the leather with a loud cringe inducing creek.

After a few minutes of awkward silence and heated exchanges of varying levels of glares between Penny and the bitch that had conned her, the third woman put down her pen and leaned back in her chair to look at them. The effect of the crossroads demon was immediate. She sat up straighter, more prim, wiped the pissy expression off of her face and even waited to be addressed. For her part, the other woman didn’t really seem to care as she swept her near grey eyes across the pair of them, equally ambivalent towards them both.

“I’m assuming you’re here to settle a dispute in the terms of your deal,” she said eventually, her voice dancing over Penny’s skin like ice.

“She’s accusing me of stealing her soul,” her demon near growled out, only just managing to keep her composure.

“On what grounds?”

“I was a minor when she made the deal with me,” Penny cut in, not wanting the demon to twist what she had said. The glare she got in return made it even more worthwhile.

“Show me the contract,” the other woman drawled with a bored sigh. The demon to Penny’s side clicked her fingers and another file appeared on the desk in front of them.

“We have a contract?” Penny added, more than a little bemused. She sure as shit hadn’t signed anything, in blood or otherwise.

“A contract is generated containing the terms and conditions of each deal as it struck,” the woman behind the desk explained as she skimmed over the document. “It also contains everything that the demon did in order to live up to their end.” A pause and the light drumming of fingernails.

“It says here that you sold your soul for success, not talent,” she added with a slight frown.

“I already had the talent,” Penny replied, trying not to be too defensive. She had no idea what the hell was going on, but she was almost sure that this woman was some sort of cosmic arbitrator.

“Really? Then you won’t mind singing a couple of bars for me while I go through this.”

“Seriously?”

“Do I seem like someone with a sense of humour to you?” the woman behind the desk said, her tone flat as her eyes ticked up to Penny for the briefest of moments. Penny blinked in surprised but ended up letting out a sigh.

“Fine, whatever. But I’ve only been awake for about half an hour and I’m hungover as fuck, so don’t expect me to sound like a nightingale.” The demon that had stolen her soul gave a disgusted grunt and the woman behind the desk gave her a nonchalant shrug without even looking up. What to sing? It would have be something she could practically sleep through, an old fall back for when she really truly couldn’t muscle up the pipes or the fucks.

“Please allow me to introduce myself

I’m a man of wealth and taste”

The demon flinched away, baring needle teeth, but the woman behind the desk smiled. A small thing. Barely more than a twitch. But it was there and it made the smoke of the words taste as smooth as a good whisky.

“I’ve been around for a long, long year

Stole many man’s soul to waste”

“You weren’t lying,” she said, interrupting the song before Penny had even really gotten going, making her nearly choke on the lyrics. “It says here that you were seventeen when you made this deal.”

“Yeah, a minor, like I said.”

“In human law, that would matter. Unfortunately for you my dear, celestial law assumes competence at seven. Your complaint is invalid.”

“What the fuck! Seven?”

“I didn’t make the law, I just know it,” replied the woman behind the desk, her voice cold and detached before she turned back to the demon with no small amount of distain. “I couldn’t help but notice the additional clause about making her an icon. The twenty seven club? Really?”

“It was a good faith freebee, I wasn’t exactly going to put any effort into it,” the demon snapped, shifting in her seat.

“And you didn’t exactly put much effort into the rest of this endeavour either. The most impressive thing you did was let down some agents’ tires so they would walk past where she was busking.”

“Her soul being an easy grab doesn’t invalidate the contra-”

“Of course it doesn’t,” the woman said with a sigh and a role of her eyes. “I’m just pointing out that you haven’t exactly invested a great deal into this arrangement of yours.” She leaned back in her chair, eying the demon critically as Penny tried to stealthily peal one of her thighs from the chair.

“I’d like to propose a trade for her.”

“What?”

“Don’t I get a say in that?”

“A cow doesn’t get to decide which butcher get’s its carcass, why would a soul get to decide who reaps it?” the woman behind the desk replied as she carelessly tossed the file onto her desk.

“What are you offering for her?” the demon asked as Penny watched on in horror.

“A favour.”

“A favour,” the demon replied dumbly. “An entire human soul for a favour?” The woman’s face darkened and the shadows deepened as she curled her lip in a sneer of pure distaste.

“Watch your tongue Crossroads Demon. A favour from one of Lucifer’s choir is worth far more than what you have to barter for it. Or do you believe I’ll cheat you?”

So that was what a demon looked like when it was about shit itself.

“No! No, of course not. You are generous beyond measure. Have her! She’s yours. Don’t need her anyway and at this point I’m pretty sure she’d taste like stale beer and really bad kebab.”

“Good. Now get out.” A foul puff of smoke and the lights brightened once more, leaving Penny alone with her new owner.

< Part 1 Part 3>

#wlw #love story #paranormal romance #slow burn #rock star sold her soul for rock and roll

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