#cake and sip San Diego

[pretteboi]

Maid Cake Cafe; Coming to San Diego, August 26th, 2023

Combine a Maid Cafe and Paint & Sip = Cake & Sip San Diego Presents; Mini Maid Cafe!

The original, VERY FIRST Maid & Sip experience!

Learn how to decorate themed cakes in a relaxed environment, with an exclusive event coming up based on the famous Maid Cafes of Akihabara; food and refreshments (WE HAVE WINE GUYS) will be provided as well as all the cake decorating tools. Our colorful neko maids will serve the materials and help keep your experience a fun one!

Come in cosplay or even schedule your own little private event among friends!

Book now for the only Cake & Sip: Maid Cafe styled event in the world taught under our professionally educated pastry artist and cake decorator, Nicole!

cakeandsipsandiego.com

info@cakeandsipssandiego.com

[chrisbitchtree]

The One Where the Small Things are the Big Things and the Best Boyfriend is the One That Tries

For Harringrove Week day 1

Prompt - Pigs in a Blanket

1.4k - T

***

Steve sat up in bed, propped up by pillows and the headboard, sipping from a mug of hot, black coffee, watching Billy sleep on his stomach, his shoulders rising and falling as he snored lightly. Steve fought the urge to run his hands down the expanse of golden skin, instead opting to let Billy sleep a little bit longer before his shift at the campus library. He’d been up late the night before, studying for midterms, and Steve knew he needed every minute of rest that he could get.

Instead, he used the quiet time to fret about his plans for Billy’s birthday. It was their first year celebrating it in California, far from the bounty of friends and family that they’d left in Hawkins when they’d made the move the summer before.

They’d arrived here, in San Diego, just before Steve’s birthday late last July, and the kids had sent along a whole slew of gifts and cards for him to open when he woke up on his birthday morning, plus Robin, Dustin, and Max had gotten together to call him and sing happy birthday, almost bringing a tear to his eye as their voices piped tinnily through the phone line.

Max had assured Steve multiple times that Billy’s box of cards and gifts would be on it’s way soon, finally confirming that she’d delivered the package to the post office the day before, so he would have that, but Steve had wanted to do more.

Thankfully, with a little help from his friend Betty Crocker, Steve would be able to make Billy’s favourite chocolate fudge cake easily enough, and he’d requested a simple dinner of tacos from the taco truck they frequented, for dinner, but Steve was still worried that he wouldn’t be able to make Billy’s customary birthday breakfast, pigs in a blanket.

The first time they’d celebrated Billy’s birthday as a couple, the blonde had stayed tight lipped on any preferences that he had for his big day, shrugging and telling Steve that whatever he came up with would be fine with Billy. Steve had tried and tried to get more to go on, but even grilling Max hadn’t revealed much.

Billy had seemed pleased enough with the white cake with chocolate icing that Steve had made him, but Steve didn’t want to settle for pleased. He wanted Billy to feel joyful and have a sense of childlike happiness that he probably hadn’t experienced in a long time, so one night, while he and Billy were drunk at the quarry, he’d gotten Billy to open up.

At first, he’d shared simple details. How his mom had always covered the top of his cake in rainbow sprinkles and had baked coins inside for him to find, once he was old enough to not try to chomp down on them or choke, or how her voice sounded like an angel’s when she’d sing him Happy Birthday.

Then he’d shared a bit more. How one year, he’d wanted a Barbie so badly he’d told his mom she never needed to buy him another birthday present ever again. At first, she’d told him it might be better to pick something else, but after weeks and weeks of begging, she’d relented, and it had become their little secret, something Billy only played with after school, in the small window of time between his afternoon snack and Neil arriving home from the office.

Another secret that he and his mother kept between the two of them was that she would let Billy stay home from school on his birthday. They would spend the whole day together, just the two of them, going on an adventure of Billy’s choosing. But not before he ate his special birthday breakfast of pigs in a blanket.

The meal had been his choice. His mother had said that he could have anything that he wanted for breakfast on his birthday, anything at all. He’d seen her serve pigs in a blanket at a dinner party a month prior, and thought they were the height of luxury, so the request was made and gladly fulfilled. They saw Neil off to work, then curled up in Billy’s bed together, eating a whole tray of the little puff pastry wrapped cocktail wieners, using toothpicks to dip them in a mix of ketchup and mustard. It was a little thing that meant so much.

He'd shared that memory with Steve as tears fell from the corners of his eyes, glistening like jewels on his cheeks in the moonlight. Steve had filed that bit of information away, vowing to use it to give Billy a little bit of birthday magic the next year.

It had been easy enough to convince Claudia Henderson to make them the next year. All he had to do was bat his eyelashes a couple times and tell her that it would mean a lot to both Billy and him, and she was practically insisting that she whip him up a batch.

As predicted, Billy had loved them. He and Steve had laid in bed together, devouring the whole large tray while Billy regaled Steve with all sorts of stories from his childhood. Trips to the beach, warm chocolate chip cookies baked with his mom, karate lessons and hiking in the woods. They’d then spent the rest of the day watching movies on the couch before making their way back to bed for sex and birthday cake.

The next year had been much the same, with Claudia again providing the pigs in a blanket, but Steve had also thrown Billy a small party, with the kids and Robin and Heather in attendance, and Billy had cried in bed that night while thanking Steve for a perfect day.

Steve was on his own for the pigs in a blanket though. He’d practiced a couple times while Billy was at work, following Claudia’s instructions to a T, but he just couldn’t get it to turn out properly. The first time, the pastry was greasy and flat, and the second time, the pastry was burnt on the outside and undercooked and goopy on the inside. He just had to hope that it would turn out on Billy’s birthday.

***

Despite all of Steve’s hopes and wishes and crossed fingers, it didn’t turn out. Steve had hoped that by the time Billy woke up, he would be back in the room with a tray of piping hot pigs in a blanket, but instead, Billy found him giving a ball of buttery mush a death glare. He tried to get in front of the mess so Billy wouldn’t see, but he was too late.

“What ’cha got there, pretty boy?” Billy asked, a soft smile on his face, as he pressed his bare chest up against Steve’s back and peered over his shoulder. He pressed a kiss just below Steve’s ear, and Steve could instantly feel some of the tension in his body melt away.

“It was supposed to be your birthday breakfast,” Steve grumbled, punching the dough. “But I ruined it. I just wanted to do this one special thing for you and I can’t get the pastry right and it’s a mess. You deserve perfection.”

Billy spun Steve around and lifted his chin when he tried to duck his head. He looked right into Steve’s eyes. “You know the fact that you tried means more than any perfect breakfast could, right? Every single day you put in so much effort to make sure I have a good life. My life is amazing all because of you. Pigs in a blanket or no pigs in a blanket, this is going to be my best birthday yet, because I’m spending it with you. Got that?”

Steve nodded, and Billy kissed him, cupping his hands at the back of Steve’s head.

“I do have an idea though,” Billy said, a smile spreading over his face. “Do you have any wieners left?”

“Yeah,” Steve replied, confused. “But we don’t have any pastry, and we don’t even have hot dog buns. What are you going to do?”

Billy turned to the fridge, rooting around for a minute before reappearing with a tube of Pillsbury crescent rolls in his hand. “We are going to make pigs in a blanket. Together. Then we’re going to get back in bed and feed them to each other, then you’re going to fuck me good and deep, and then we’re going to eat cake and tacos. Lots of cake and tacos. Best. Birthday. Ever.”

Steve found that he couldn’t disagree.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Eccentricity [Chapter 11: You Don’t Come Around No More]

A/N: I apologize profusely for the long wait. Thank you all so, so, so much for your support. Every single reblog, message, comment, emotional rant, and/or screech of despair makes my day, and I couldn’t do this without you. 💜 Only THREE more chapters left!!!

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “More To Life Than Baseball” by Petey. 

Chapter Warnings: Language, angsttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt.

Word Count: 7.5k. 

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​​​​ @bramblesforbreakfast​​​​​​​ @maggieroseevans​​​​​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​​​​​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​​​​​ @escabell​​​​​ @im-an-adult-ish​​​​​​ @queenlover05​​​​​ @someforeigntragedy​​​​​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​​​​​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee​​​​​ @deacyblues​​​​​ ​ @tensecondvacation​​​​ @brianssixpence​​​​​ @some-major-ishues​​​​ @haileymorelikestupid​​​​ @youngpastafanmug​​​​ @simonedk​

The Rain

I wish I felt empty.

I’m supposed to feel empty, right? I’m supposed to feel steeped in grey, oceanic misery; I’m supposed to dip in and out of depressive naps all day and sob delicately over creased photos and fading, wistful memories. I always envisioned heartbreak as a soft and inherently feminine sort of affliction: the hems of nightgowns and bathrobes sweeping along hardwood floors, Kleenex boxes and concave couch cushions, weepy phone calls to friends and aunts and mothers, Queen Victoria wearing black for the rest of her life after Prince Albert’s death, Mary Todd Lincoln sinking into dark and hushed obscurity. Women, hollowed out by despair, cross the history of the earth like lines of latitude.

I don’t feel empty at all. I don’t even feel sad. I feel razored by sharp, red, ceaseless anxiety. I am consumed by thoughts of what I did wrong, what I said that started the wheels of doubt spinning in his mind, if he had known how it would end from the start. I dream of white, clawed hands dragging me down through cold waves. I hear words scream to me as I toss at night in my suddenly too-spacious bed, words that now hit me like knuckles to the gut: Shhh, hey, it’s just me, don’t get up, as Joe slipped beneath the Arizonan blankets, wrapped an arm around my waist, kissed my collarbone as I tumbled back into sleep; I love you to death, as his Subaru idled in Charlie’s driveway; Baby Swan, listen to me, nothing is supposed to hurt, okay, so if anything hurts, ever, at all, you tell me and we stop, deal? as we stood in the doorway of our hotel room at the Four Seasons in Chicago. And now...and now...

And now everything fucking hurts.

It doesn’t make any sense; and yet it does. Look at him. Look at me.

The Polaroid photo from Homecoming was still taped to the top of my full-length mirror. I peeled it free like a layer of translucent, friable reptilian skin, tore it straight down the center, burned both halves over a brand new three-wicked, lemon-scented Bath And Body Works candle—a gift from Renee and Paul—and closed my eyes like a child casting a wish over her birthday cake like a spell. I wished for my memories to vanish with the photograph. I wished to get hit by a truck and wake up in the hospital with no recollection of the past two and a half months. I wanted the Lees to dissolve into distant, enigmatic mystery; I wanted to join the rest of Forks in believing that they were nothing more than bewildering and yet harmless freaks, barely worth noticing, one of those glitches of the matrix that were better off ignored like liminal seconds of déjà vu. I wished to carve out every part of myself that they had ever touched.

And Joe’s voice came rushing back from where we stood by that star-lit fountain outside the Church of Saint Lawrence, accompanied by falling raindrops and a crooked grin: I can make wishes come true.

The three tiny flames flickered in the breeze that sighed through my open window. The bright, citrusy scent of the candle reminded me of Lucy. I couldn’t fucking win. What else is new?

I turned back to the mirror. I flinched when my gaze snagged on my reflection: bloodshot-eyed, swollen-faced, utterly unbeautiful, restless like a caged animal. Look at him. Look at me.

I ripped the last memento off the mirror—Official Citation!! No More Sad Spaghetti!!—and watched the yellow square of paper catch fire, curl up around the edges, become unrecognizable, turn to ash. And I wished over and over again, like a poem, like a prayer: Let me forget, oh god please let me forget.

Charlie keeps asking if I’m okay. The answer, of course, is no; but I can’t tell him that. So I wear a serene smile like clip-on fangs, a cheap polyester cloak, crimson smudges of lipstick like trails of spilled blood down the side of my neck. Every day is Halloween for me now. I dress up as someone who isn’t haunted, who hasn’t become a ghost.

And when Charlie turns up the World Series or I’d Do Anything For Love on his geriatric, staticky kitchen radio—the same radio he’s had since my mother was the one joining him for daybreak coffee and Pop-Tarts—I choke back tears like dragonfire.

Missing In Action (Revisited)

Joe wasn’t here. Neither was Ben.

Lucy, Rami, and Scarlett were sipping cups of tea at the Lees’ usual table, their eyes downcast, their voices low and murmuring, their pristine lunches neglected. Lucy and Rami were dressed in matching charcoal grey turtleneck sweaters; Scarlett had come from Fencing Club and was wearing royal purple yoga pants and a black tank top, her duffle bag of gear on the floor by her sneakered feet. Her hair was in a long fishtail braid. Archer hadn’t mentioned her since Joe broke up with me. That either meant that it was going blissfully and he didn’t want to injure me further, or that Scarlett had ended things as well.

Since Joe broke up with me. That sounds so fucking pedestrian.

I stared at the three present Lees, almost leered, commanding them to see me, to acknowledge me, to admit that I had once meant something to them, that this hadn’t all been some transitory delusion to fill the cavernous void of losing my home, my life as I knew it in Arizona. They took no notice whatsoever.

Jess kicked me beneath the lunch table. My attention snapped back to her.

“Sorry, what?”

“You want to go shopping with me and Angela tonight?” Jessica’s hands were folded just beneath her chin, her voice gentle, her eyes large and sympathetic and watery. This was her version of being supportive. I appreciated it...in a perpetually tormented and preoccupied sort of way.

“No thanks.” I forked my cold, sauceless spaghetti listlessly. I’d forgotten to pack a lunch. I didn’t have an appetite anyway. I had deleted the GrubHub app from my iPhone and had no intention of using it ever again in my comparatively short and calamitous human life.

“You could come to temple this weekend,” Jessica pressed.

“Uh.” Mingling with a churchful of sociable, wholesome, marriage-obsessed adolescent Mormons sounded like the absolute last thing I’d want to spend my evening doing. “That’s a really generous offer, but I’ll pass.”

“Well you have to do something,” Angela said. “You can’t just sit in your bedroom alone all weekend and stare at the wall and wallow in self-pity.”

We’ll see about that. I turned to Jess. “How’s Vodka Boy from your Indigenous Peoples of the Arctic class? Did he ever reappear? What’s his name again, Elmo? Ellington? El Chapo?”

“Ellsworth.” She frowned as she slurped her patron-drink-of-Mormons Sprite. “And no, he definitely failed out or overdosed or something, because he never came back.”

“Tragic,” I noted.

“But I’m pretty sure Mike’s coming over this weekend, so we’ll see if I can get some Netflix and chill action going.”

“Jess,” Angela chastised, widening her eyes and nodding to me subtly (but not quite subtly enough). No talking about getting lucky in front of the heartbroken single loser, that look said.

“I think I can be emotionally supportive without taking a goddamn vow of chastity, Angela!” Jessica hurled back.

“I gotta go.” I stood, threw on my backpack, discarded my nearly untouched lunch.

“You’ve barely eaten anything!” Angela protested. “You’ve barely eaten for a week!”

“I’ll live.” I picked my umbrella up off the slippery tile floor—peppered with muddy shoeprints and pearlescent drops of water fallen from coats and limp, sopping locks of hair—and headed out into the pouring rain. I hated the rain. I hated it. Maybe I had forgotten that for a while, but it all came hurtling back now like a hurricane, like a hand cracking across my face. I ached for the desert, for blatant and unapologetic heat, for palm trees and cacti and naked stars in the night sky. I had been researching marine biology graduate programs in the Southwest. There were good ones at UC San Diego, UC Santa Barbara, Texas A&M, the University of Southern California, UCLA. I would miss Charlie and Archer—and maybe Jessica and Angela on occasion—and absolutely nothing else about Forks. At least, that’s what I promised myself.

This is a no-giving-a-fuck-about-Lee-boys zone, I thought morosely.

Ben was brooding at our table in Professor Belvin’s classroom. It was the first time he’d shown up to Chemistry since that day Joe met me on the beach at La Push, since the place I’d once occupied in his universe had closed like a wound. I took my seat beside Ben. The window was shut today, the downpour outside torrential. Ben recoiled, just enough for me to notice; he was wearing his oversized black hoodie and practicing his Welsh, his handwriting messy and unbalanced.

“You could have warned me,” I said.

Ben didn’t glance up from his notebook. “Would that have made it any easier?”

“No,” I realized in defeat. I guess it wouldn’t have. I pulled my own notebook, my favorite pen, and a can of Diet Coke out of my backpack.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Ben said. “You really need to know that. It had nothing to do with you. And none of us are happy with the current situation. None of us.”

None of them. That included Joe. “Interestingly, that didn’t stop him from creating it.”

Ben was thoughtful, debating his next words. “We’re probably going to be moving soon.”

“What?” I startled; my turquoise blue pen dropped out of my grasp and rolled across the table. Ben snatched it up and returned it to me. “Really?”    

“Yeah.”

“And what, just redo this whole college thing?”

Ben shrugged. “We’ll probably start our junior years over again. Gwil will say there was some horrible family tragedy and we needed a few semesters off. I could use the extra time to figure out Calc anyway. Parametric equations make me want to kill myself.”

I just stared at him. It didn’t make any sense. “But...why would the whole family leave Forks? Because of me? One pathetic, aggrieved human? Do you all pack up and relocate every time Joe fucks and dumps someone? That must be exhausting.”

“It’s better for everyone if we get some distance. Put more space between our world and yours.”

“But...” I tried to imagine never seeing any of them again: no Mercy humming merrily as she tossed handfuls of homegrown carrots to the alpacas, no Dr. Lee dabbing away my blood with an ageless sort of patience, no Scarlett or Lucy or Rami, no brief glimpses of Joe as he avoided me in the campus library. It’s exactly what I wanted; and yet it wasn’t. It so, so, so, so wasn’t. It keeps getting worse. How is that possible? My voice was flimsy and quivering, absolutely pitiful. Disgustingly pitiful. “Who will be my lab partner?”

Ben peered over at me with wide, confused green eyes. And then—gingerly, awkwardly, like holding an acquaintance’s baby for the first time—he laid his hand over mine. “I’ll miss you too.”

Professor Belvin lectured about coordinate covalent bonds. I didn’t absorb a word. I conjugated Italian verbs with my turquoise blue pen, sketched disordered whirlpools of ink, tried not to think about whether this was my last-ever Chemistry class with Ben, whether it was my last-ever weekend sharing Forks with the Lees. Those rageful, frantic thoughts were back. What did I do wrong? What didn’t I do right? Why did he have to leave?

My nomadic gaze caught on a flier on the wall next to our misted window. I had assumed it was a leaflet for some club or protest or seasonal dance that I would definitely not attend, but it wasn’t. It was a missing poster.

Have you seen this student? the flier asked in bold, businesslike black font. It was urgent, but not quite despairing; not yet, anyway. I could hear a Dean of Student Affairs cajoling some affluent, strings-of-pearls-adorned mother over the phone: Yes ma’am, you have my full attention and I can assure you that we’re very concerned, but I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding...he’s probably gone backpacking or sailing with some friends and forgotten to call home. You know how college students can be. Beneath a large photo of a grinning blond kid—pink polo, flushed cheeks, clever crop job to nix a can of Natty Light clutched in one fist—was a name: Ellsworth Jonathan Griffin.

Ellsworth, I thought, my stomach plummeting. The guy from Jessica’s Indigenous Peoples of the Arctic class. He hadn’t failed out. He was missing. Missing like a 20/20 episode or a true crime podcast, missing like the pregnant stillness before a murder is confessed in some glaringly florescent-lit interrogation room, before a distended and bloodless corpse washes up on shore.

I turned to Ben. He noticed me eventually, crinkled his brow, shrugged in that way that seemed so petulant if you didn’t know him well enough to not be offended.

I pointed to the flier and raised my eyebrows. Ben twisted around in his chair to look. Then he sighed, scribbled a sentence in the corner of a piece of notebook paper, tore it free, and slid it across the table.

Ben’s note read, in atrocious penmanship: Are you seriously asking me if I ate that guy?

Maybe, I wrote back after a moment’s hesitation. Maybe that wasn’t exactly what I was asking; maybe I just wondered if he knew anything about it.

In either case, Ben’s reply was swift and resounding, and underlined three times: No.

Sorry, I wrote, abruptly remorseful. I am a jerk. And I added a frowny face for good measure. Ben chuckled when he saw it, shook his head, gave me a drawn little smirk. His words tiptoed around in my skull, leaving searing imprints like footprints in the sand. I’ll miss you too.

I have to forget about them. I drummed my turquoise blue pen against my notebook as Professor Belvin drew families of molecules on the whiteboard with squealing dry erase markers. I have to find a way to make myself forget.

Jessica was waiting for me in the hallway after class. It was part of her convince-Baby-Swan-not-to-jump-off-a-cliff initiative. “Hey.”

“Okay,” I told her with steely resolve. “I’m ready for you to set me up with one of those guys from your church or temple or whatever. I’m ready to be a nice wholesome wife, pop out like six kids, learn how to scrapbook, give up caffeine and horror movies, do the whole white picket fence thing. Sign me up.”

Jessica blinked at me. There were flecks of fallen mascara on her cheekbones like ashes. “What?”

“You’re a Mormon, right?”

“Girl, I’m not a Mormon,” Jessica said, puzzled. “I’m a witch.”

Lucille

I found Joe where he usually was these days: sprawled on the sofa, engulfed in the same blue Snuggie he’d been wearing for thirty-six uninterrupted hours, gazing catatonically at the big-screen tv. A 90 Day Fiancé marathon was on. Some rodentish guy named Colt was apologizing to his gorgeous, aspiring-green-card-holding Brazilian love interest for calling the cops on her during their last screaming match. He was also apologizing for the fact that they lived in a two-bedroom apartment with his mother. I didn’t need clairvoyance to see where their future was headed.

“Hey,” Ben said when he spotted me. He was sitting next to Joe and occasionally tried to shove pieces of popcorn into his mouth, which Joe accepted passively like coins plinked into a gumball machine. Ben had been his shadow for the past week; he was perhaps the best equipped of us to understand this degree of melancholy, of hopelessness.  

“Ciao.” And then, to Joe: “How are you?”

“Terrible,” he replied, not tearing his eyes from the tv.

“I figured.” I squeezed between them on the couch, curled up next to Joe, rested my chin on his shoulder. He ignored me completely. I could hear Mercy tapping at her laptop keyboard out in the dining room; she was browsing through Zillow listings in Portland, Buffalo, Pittsburgh, Cleveland. Dear god, please don’t let us end up in fucking Cleveland. “Guess what.”

Joe stared at the tv for a long time before he answered. “What.”

“I had a vision of you. Just now, as I was doing laundry. Crystal clear and very scenic too, I might add.”

“Fascinating,” Joe said flatly.

“What happened in this vision?” Ben asked, far more invested, which I was thankful for.

“It was pretty far away, maybe a year from now. I saw you in the desert at night, under a full moon. There were cacti everywhere. The shadow of the Milky Way was threaded through the sky, and the stars were very bright. I could make out the constellations Pegasus and Cassiopeia. You were filling up a tiny glass bottle with dirt.”

“That’s remarkably helpful,” Joe said.

“It is, a little bit,” I insisted. “It means you get through this. That you have a future. I get nervous when I go too long without a vision of someone in the family. But now I know you’re going to be okay.”

The reflections of the feuding 90 Day Fiancé couples danced in his glassy eyes. “Being alive doesn’t mean you’re okay.”

“That’s dark,” Ben said. “Even I think that’s too dark.” He pushed a handful of popcorn into Joe’s mouth. “Are you gonna hunt at some point or what?”

“No.”

“You’re just gonna sit on this couch and waste away?”

“Yeah.”

“You want me to bring you anything? Grizzly bear? Brown bear? Fuck it, I’ll get you a polar bear if that’s what you want. There’s probably some on the black market. Rami would know.”

“He what?” Mercy called from the kitchen. Her typing had stopped.

“Nothing, Mom!” I shot back.

“I don’t want anything,” Joe said. That was a lie, of course. We all knew what he wanted. Rami couldn’t stand to be around him; the thoughts were relentless, smothering.

I linked my arms around Joe’s neck, laid my head against his chest, sighed deeply and mournfully. “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I know that doesn’t fix anything. But I’m so, so sorry. And I’ll help however I can. We all will.”

And I had accepted that Joe wasn’t going to respond at all when he finally whispered: “I just wish I could forget.”

Cato

My rolling suitcase snagged on the cobblestone driveway. The tiny spinning wheels bashed against concrete as I scaled the front steps. As the taxi pulled away, I dug around in my suit pocket for my keys, found them, unlocked the enormous front door, stepped inside the palace as my suitcase trolled along the marble floor.

“Cato’s back!” Charity announced as she breezed down the nearest staircase, beaming and embracing me. She was a lovely, innately warm woman from Pointe-Noire, Congo; she still wore the silver cross necklace her mother had once given her around her neck. “Did you have a nice flight? Wait, let me check.” She pressed the fingertips of her right hand to my cheek. I felt the memories rush up like blood to a flushed face: the bite of sipped champagne against my tongue, the thin semi-transparent newspaper pages gliding between my fingers, the husky voice of the bearded, bearish naval officer who sat in the seat beside me, the misted silhouette of Vladivostok as it rose up out of the Pacific Ocean. “Uneventful, but pleasant enough. You flew commercial?”

“The jets were otherwise occupied, apparently.” Charity could see things with the predictability and precision that Lucy so often lacked, but only the past. I pushed her hand away. “Was that really necessary?”

“You’re not mad,” Charity declared, confident, impish, helping me shed my suit jacket and draping it over her arm. “You’re never mad.”

She was very nearly correct. “Where are the rest of the kids?”

“In the kitchen. Go say hello, they’ve missed you dreadfully.”

“I know the feeling.” I kicked off my Berlutis, ran a palm over the wiry fur of the Irish Wolfhounds that appeared to greet me before they resumed padding watchfully around the palace, and went to the kitchen, my black socks slipping a bit on the marble floors.

I could hear their voices before I reached the door: laughter, teasing, complaints, requests. The scents of pancakes and cold butter and maple syrup were thick in the air. Charity was one of our four newest recruits, and they all still had that energetic lightness of being human, a youthful enthusiasm, a relative normalness. I spent quite a lot of time with them. It was my job—to help with the transition, to keep them happy, to facilitate the welding of their individual parts into the beastly machine that was the Draghi—but oftentimes it felt more like a reprieve. Some would stay close to me as they matured, others would grow in different directions, like ambitious vines climbing the skeleton of a garden trellis. I usually missed them when they ‘grew up,’ so to speak...although there were exceptions. I had never liked Liesl. I had always liked Ben. I opened the door.

“Ah, you are home!” Ksenia cried from where she stood over the stove, a spatula in her right hand, bouncing excitedly in place on her small bare feet.

“Hey!” Max and Austin called together. They were both sitting with their shoes propped up on the unglamorous kitchen table. There was a massive formal dining room that could accommodate up to twenty-five guests, but we rarely used it.

“Good morning,” I said, aware that I was smiling for the first time in days.

Max groaned as he scrolled through his Google search results on a burner phone. “What the fuck. My name is one of the top five dog names again. I think I’m gonna have to change it.”

I ruffled his long blond hair, stealing a piece of bacon from his plate. Max had grown up a trust fund kid in Perth, Australia. His mother was old money; his father was a professional surfer. “Your name is fine.”

“Really, Kato Kaelin? Is it really? How am I supposed to intimidate people when I have a fucking dog name?”

“So make them call you Maximilian,” offered Ksenia in a heavy Ukrainian accent. She’d only been with us for eight months, but her English was coming along swimmingly. She flipped a massive A-shaped pancake on the sizzling griddle. That one was for Austin.

“Seriously?” Max said. “That is just way too many syllables. They’ll be halfway down the block by the time I’m done introducing myself. ‘Hey, come back mate, I haven’t killed ya yet.’”

“At least you aren’t stuck with a basic-white-boy-circa-1992 name for all of eternity,” said Austin Tyler McInerny, originally of Sheboygan, Wisconsin. He was chomping on a multicolored Fruit Roll-Up, which swung from his mouth like a lizard’s tongue. He’d been working at an ailing skatepark when Larkin found him. He still enjoyed showing off his kickflips, and kept insisting that he was going to teach me how to ollie. I didn’t have the faintest idea what an ollie was.

“Do you want a pancake, Cato?” Ksenia asked, passing Austin his plate and wiping her hands on her pink apron. Her black hair was tied in a high ponytail with a matching rose-colored ribbon. She looked so young. She was so young, actually. Nineteen. And she would be forever.

“No, thank you dear. I’m alright.”

“I like Alaric,” Max decided. “First king of the Visigoths. Alaric is a name fit for a vampire. Creepy, yet dignified. Or maybe Silas. Or Draco.”

Austin shook his head as he swirled a river of viscous maple syrup over his A-shaped pancake. “Definitely not Draco.”

“Why not?”

“Well, the Harry Potter connection is unfortunate. People will hear Draco and think of that obnoxious white-haired kid from the evil snake-people house or whatever.”

“Oh, right,” Max sighed. “Like I said. Alaric would work.”

“So many A-shaped pancakes!” Ksenia poured a K on the griddle for herself.

“It’s good for you,” Austin replied, pointing at her with his fork. “We’re practicing English.”

“Alaric Luther,” Max mused, scrolling through his phone. I didn’t think he’d find that on any list of trendy dog names. “Alaric Lothaire...Alaric Lucian...”

“I like your name, Max,” Larkin said from the doorway. None of us had heard him arrive. He was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, wearing a deep maroon suit and a ring on every finger, grinning hugely. He was exactly as I remembered him: stunning, captivating, terrifying. The kitchen fell quiet. I could smell Ksenia’s pancake beginning to burn.

At last Max chuckled nervously, pushing soggy pancake hunks around on his plate with his fork, averting his gaze. “Guess I’ll keep it then.”

“I thought I heard you come in,” Larkin told me.

“It’s always a pleasure to be home.”

He nodded out towards the hallway. “Come. Regale me with the stories of your travels.” Then his eyes flicked down to my socks, and he grimaced—slightly, briefly—before turning away. “And find your shoes.”

I followed him through the hallway, the living room, the grand front foyer with the crystal chandelier, into the elevator. Larkin did not speak, but he hummed as we ascended: House Of The Rising Sun.

It hadn’t always been like this. It was difficult for me to pick out the details of what had changed—the tone of his voice, the proportion of wonder and gratitude I associated with him versus fear, the way this palace (or the one in Reykjavik, or Juneau, or Ivalo, or Murmansk, or any of the others) felt when I stepped inside it—but I knew something had. It had begun before Ben left. It was much worse now. Older vampires, in my fairly learned opinion, are something like the stars. They mellow as they age, temper their character flaws, grow wise and patient like Nikolai or Honora or Gwilym Lee; or they rage until they burn away every last atom of humanity, until they destroy themselves and take entire solar systems down with them. Increasingly, I harbored fears that Larkin was a vampire of the latter variety. And we were all his planets.

In his study, Larkin dropped into the chair behind his desk, brought a hand to his forehead, surveyed a disarrayed flurry of papers: letters, notices, deeds and titles, meticulously managed accounts of finances and disciplinary actions. Larkin had a laptop and burner phone, of course, as we all did; but he liked to work in paper as much as possible. That’s how he’d done things for centuries, since long before the name of the inventor of the internet (or harnessed electricity, for that matter) was a whisper on his parents’ lips. The sky outside was clouded and seeping soft rain.

“Things have been busy?” I ventured.

He frowned, gesturing to the cluttered desk. “I’m in purgatory.”

“I’m terribly sorry to hear that. Can I help?”

“The Lancaster coven says they’ll need an extension for their dues. That’s the second year in a row, now it’s not just an exception, it’s a precedent. If you let one coven bend the rules, others will follow. So something will have to be done. Then there’s Stockholm. Anders’ coven has eaten a few too many locals—including the mayor’s favorite niece—and now the city is launching an investigation. Fucking idiots. They’ll probably all have to relocate. There’s some new territory dispute in Lima between Alejandro’s coven and a group of strangers that just came out of the Andes. We’ll have to make their acquaintance, of course. And as if all that weren’t enough, Rigel accidentally fed on a heroin addict and he’s currently detoxing in a cell in the basement. Would you check on him for me? I’m sure your presence will be a...” He waved his hand distractedly, almost dismissively, searching for the words. “A comfort to him.”

“Of course.”

“How are the Lees?”

“Fine. Typical. Gwil’s putting in a lot of hours at the hospital. Rami’s planning to get another law degree. Ben is, uh, adjusting. Slowly, very slowly. He’s not particularly content. But he hasn’t murdered anyone that I’m aware of.”

“How nice.” Now his eyes darted up to catch mine: focused, luminous, unreadable. “Nothing new at all?”

And instantly, I wanted to tell him everything. I forgot why I had ever planned to blunt the girl’s existence, to conceal her talent entirely; I felt her name rising in my throat. And then I remembered again. I’m doing this for Gwil, for Ben.

I pretended to ponder Larkin’s question, as if it was so difficult to remember, as if there was nothing left to sift through but a trunkful of mundane details from the trip like a grandfather’s tattered correspondence and tarnished war relics. That was something an average family might have squirreled away in their attic, I assumed; I’d never met my own grandfather, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have had anything to leave me if I had. “Joe’s got some new girlfriend, but I don’t think it’s serious. I doubt she’ll be around long. You know how Joe is. Scarlett’s seeing someone too, actually. A Quileute kid.”

“Poor boy.” And Larkin grinned like a shark beneath burning eyes. “He’s in for a lifetime of disappointment. Who will ever be able to hold a candle to those memories?”

Larkin had a moderate preoccupation with Scarlett’s beauty, her...tenacity. Her lack of talent was a great disappointment to him, a somehow more egregious fault than Joe or Gwil or Mercy’s. What a shame, Larkin often said. And I believed I knew what came after in his mind, although never aloud: What a partner she could have been.

He was still grinning at me. His expression was hollow, vacuous. A shiver clawed down my spine. He was waiting for something. No, he was searching. I stared back, and I willed for that intangible, contagious harmony I carried around like a wedding ring to hit him like carbon monoxide or bromine: undetected and yet inexorable, knocking him off his path of inquisition.

What does he suspect? What does he already know?

“Anyway,” Larkin continued abruptly, turning his attention back to his paperwork. “I’m glad there’s nothing to worry about in Forks. Liesl will be back in the next few days, Rigel will be ready to work again, I’ll come up with a plan to handle all this and my mood will improve tremendously.”

And where has Liesl been? I almost asked; and then I didn’t. It was a good sign that she was coming home. I had looked for her once while I was in Forks. When I made up my mind to find someone—when that switch flipped in my skull or in the tangle of nerves of my solar plexus or wherever it lived—it wasn’t like poking around on Google Earth: zooming in here, scrolling over there. A goldish trail lit up on the floor, a ‘Yellow Brick Road’ Honora and I sometimes joked, and I followed it. And I had no way of knowing how far that trail might lead. A route heading dead east from the palace might stop in the next town over or continue across the Pacific Ocean; my search might last one day or a hundred. In Forks—as I perched in a soaring western hemlock tree in the forest outside the Lee residence on a cool October evening—Liesl’s trail had led north. North to Vancouver, to Victoria, to Dawson, to Alaska? Who the fuck knew. I was just relieved it hadn’t led to the tree next to mine.

“Well, as always, I’m happy to assist however I can,” I told Larkin. “Just let me know and I’ll be on the next flight out of Vladivostok.”

“I appreciate that, Cato.” He smiled, paternally this time. And then he spun his chair around to peer out the window into the episodic flares of lightning that illuminated great dark clouds like neurons in a celestial brain. I hate thunderstorms. They remind me of South Carolina. “But I think you’ve earned a rest.”

After checking in on Rigel—irritable, frenetic, pacing, and yet predictably pacified somewhat by my visit—I trotted up the main staircase to the second floor of the palace. I found her in our bedroom: sitting at her easel, a paintbrush held in one graceful hand, an image like a photograph on the canvas. I promptly pried off my Berlutis for the second time today and tossed them into the closet.

“Ciao, amore,” I said.

“Ciao!” Honora replied, beaming. Her curly brunette hair was pinned up and away from her face; wayward tendrils spiraled down to brush her bare shoulder blades, the back of her neck. “Just give me five minutes...I have to finish the shadow of this tree...”

There weren’t many in the Draghi who survived the transition from Nikolai’s leadership to Larkin’s, but Honora had. She was gentle to a fault, a hopeless warrior, turned into an immortal on her forty-fourth birthday when Rome was still an empire; and she was without any talents whatsoever, except for one which was useless in combat. Her paintings, drawings, and sculptures adorned every palace the Draghi owned. Each year, Larkin would ask her to paint all of us together, incorporating any new faces, erasing the memories of those who had proven themselves unworthy. One such portrait, I knew, hung in Gwilym Lee’s home office.

I went to the woman I called my wife, laid my palms on her shoulders, leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “Take your time, love.”

“Everything’s alright?” Honora asked, looking hopefully up at me with large, wide-set jade eyes. No, not just hopefully. Trustingly.

“Everything’s alright,” I agreed, not knowing if I believed it.

Shadows And Spells

“He just...just...disappeared?!” Jessica sputtered, scandalized, gaping at me as she held a Styrofoam cup of spiked apple cider in her clasped hands.

We were on a quilt near the outskirts of the sea of beach towels and blankets that circled the bonfire. Women—wearing flowing dresses or robes or tunics or not very much at all—flounced around the flames banging tambourines and reciting chants that I didn’t know the words to. Some carried torches, beacons of heat and light in the darkness. Jessica was wearing a short black shirt, fishnet tights, and a black crop-top turtleneck sweater; I had opted for a bohemian blue dress patterned with stars, an old thrift shop find and the closest thing I owned to Wiccan festivities apparel. I had a cup of hot apple cider as well, enhanced with a generous splash of Captain Morgan, but hadn’t quite conjured up the rebelliousness to drink it yet.

I suddenly recalled Mercy bringing me an endless supply of virgin autumnal sangrias as Joe and I swam in the hot tub on the Lees’ back porch. As soon as you turn twenty-one, you can have the real thing. I frowned, shuddered, took a bitter and burning sip.

“Yeah,” I replied. “He told his roommate he was going to a frat party or something and never showed up and never made it back home either. The parents are blaming the university, the university is insisting he must be off with a girlfriend or on some hipster soul-searching nature adventure or whatever, it’s a mess.”

“Jesus,” she murmured. “What does your dad say?”

“He’s been helping the state police with the investigation. There’s really no evidence of anything. No witnesses, no footprints, no surveillance footage, no handy anonymous tips...”

“No body,” Jessica finished.

“That’s morbid.” I downed the rest of my cider. Was the world already beginning to list like a ship on choppy waves, or was that just my imagination? I guess it would be possible. I’d barely eaten all day.

“You were thinking it.”

“Well, one’s mind does tend to wander towards homicide under such circumstances.”

“It is the season of the dead.” She grinned wickedly, then took my empty cup. “He’s probably fine. I bet he wants to drop out to become a weed farmer and hasn’t worked up the guts to tell his parents yet. You want another?”

“Sure.”

“Cool. I’ll be right back.” Jess rose to balance on black boots with five-inch heels and staggered off to the foldable table piled high with cans and bottles and snacks. I was getting the impression that her Wiccanism was more of a novelty than a spiritual commitment.

The season of the dead. Now that’s VERY morbid.

There were some guys laughing, smoking home-rolled cigarettes, and toasting glasses of red wine on a nearby mandala blanket, bespectacled intellectual types who were probably getting PhDs in Anthropology or Medieval Studies at the University of Washington. One of them—curly-haired, pale-eyed, wearing a sweater vest and a cautious smile—raised his wine glass in my direction. I waved back without much enthusiasm.

“He’s cute, right?” Jessica asked, plopping back down onto our quilt and shoving a full cup of spiked cider into my grasp. She motioned for me to drink. I did. “That’s Sebastian, but he likes to be called Bash. He’s twenty-three and speaks fluent German.”

“Charming.”

“He’s very...uh...gifted. I’m not saying I know from personal experience, but I’ve heard it from a very reliable source. And his parents own a beach house in Monterey. You could go skinny-dipping.”  

“In the ocean?” The world was definitely wobbling now. I was warm all over, numbed, fuzzy; it was becoming difficult to picture Joe’s face, to hear his voice. This was good. I kept drinking. “No thanks. Too many sharks. They have great whites down there.”

Jess tossed her long, loose hair and sighed impatiently. “I’m just saying that the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. So you should pursue that.”

“I’ll totally consider it.” I lied. I would not consider it.

She smiled, sympathetically, fondly. “I can’t believe you thought I was a Mormon.”

“I can’t believe I’m out in the Washington wilderness commemorating the Gaelic festival of Samhain, but here we all are.”

Jess glanced over my shoulder. “Oh my god. He’s coming over here.”

“Ugh.” I craned my neck to see. Sebastian—whoops, my mistake, Bash—was approaching. “Please distract him. I don’t want to talk to anyone. Also I’m pretty sure I’m getting drunk and I don’t want to do anything humiliating, like sob uncontrollably about how much I miss my ex-boyfriend.”

“Don’t worry. I gotchu, Baby Swan.”

“Hey Jess,” Bash said, but he was looking at me. He pitched his cigarette off into the trees. What the fuck, who does that?

“Only you can prevent forest fires,” I told him in a woozy, mock-Smokey Bear voice.

“What?” he asked, baffled.

“Ignore her, she’s drunk,” Jess said quickly. “So what’s up? Come on, sit with me. Keep me toasty. Teach me some German...”

As they chatted and giggled and snuggled closer together—I’m starting to think that Jessica might have been her own reliable source—I studied the forest, watching to make sure the cigarette didn’t begin to smolder in the damp brush. The voices and crackling of the bonfire and sharp ringing of the tambourines faded into one muted, uniform drone. The trees reeled in the haze of the spiked cider; the cool wind moaned through them. And then, for only a second: a glimpse of something impossibly quick, something silvery and reedy and sunless.

What was that?

I blinked. It was gone. I blinked again, staring penetratingly. The swarming heat from the cider evaporated from my skin, my blood. There were goosebumps rising all over me.

What the hell was that?

I remembered how Calawah University students sometimes reacted to Ben: flinching, withdrawing, autonomically fearing him on some primal, evolutionary level. They knew he was a predator. They knew they were prey. It was chillingly similar to what I was feeling now.

I have to get out of here. I have to go home.

I shot to my feet. Oh, wrong move, that was too quick. I swayed, and Jessica reached up to steady me. “Are you—?!”

“I’m fine,” I said. “I gotta go home now.”

“What?! We just got here! Look, chill out, let me get you some vegan samosas or something—”

“No, seriously, I have to go.”

“Okay, okay,” Jessica conceded. “I’ll finish my drink and we’ll call an Uber, alright?”

“Really?” Bash asked, crestfallen.

“I’ll call an Uber,” I told Jess. “You stay, I’ll go.” Maybe she shouldn’t stay, I thought foggily, irrationally. Maybe it’s not safe.

“I can’t let you go alone. I got you drunk and now you’re a mess and if you end up murdered it would be my fault. There are unsolved mysteries going around, you know.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Girl, there’s no way I’m gonna—”

“I’ll call you as soon as I get in the Uber and I’ll stay on until I’m physically inside my house, okay?”

Jessica considered this. Bash leaned in to nibble her ear. I could smell the red wine and nicotine and animalistic lust sweating out of his pores. And unexpectedly, agonizingly: a biting flare, a muscle memory, Joe’s fingertips skimming down the small of my back and his scent like winter nights saturating the capillary beds of my lungs. Stop, stop, stop. “Okay,” Jess agreed at last.

“Awesome.” I was already opening the Uber app on my iPhone.

My driver was a Pacific Northwestern version of Santa Claus: wild grey beard, red flannel, L.L.Bean boots, rambling about his upcoming trip to hunt caribou in British Columbia. I honored my promise to Jessica and kept her on speakerphone for the duration of the twenty-minute drive. I rested my whirling head against the seat, let my eyes dip closed, watched the intermittent streetlights appear and disappear through my eyelids. I let myself into Charlie’s house when I arrived, wished Jessica goodnight (and reminded her not to get pregnant), and meandered clumsily into the kitchen for a glass of water and a cookie dough Pop-Tart to ward off a possible hangover. Charlie was snoring quietly on the living room couch. I watched him for a while, smiling and achingly grateful, before heading upstairs to my bedroom.

My window was wide open; that’s the first thing I noticed. I didn’t remember leaving it that way. I was always neglecting to lock the window, sure—I kept forgetting that there was no one to leave it unlocked for anymore—but I hadn’t left it open when I went to meet Jessica this evening. Icy night air flooded in. The stars were bright and furious in an uncommonly clear sky.

“You trying to give me pneumonia, old man?” I muttered, thinking of Charlie. I tossed my iPhone down onto my bed and crossed the room to close the window. And as it creaked and collided with the sill, I heard my closet door open behind me.

Someone’s here. Someone’s in this room with me.

I turned, very slowly; it felt like it took a lifetime. She was standing in the doorway of my closet, sinuous and white-haired, wearing black leather pants and stiletto heels and a long-sleeved lace blouse the color of blood, the color of her eyes. And she was harrowingly beautiful; not like Lucy or Mercy, not like Scarlett. She was beautiful like a prehistoric jawbone, like a serrated crescent moon, like a blade.

The owl. The goddamn albino owl.

I recognized her immediately. I heard Joe’s words as he introduced each vampire in the immense painting hanging in Dr. Lee’s upstairs office to me, though I desperately didn’t want to: She’s literally Satan, only blonder.

Her name tumbled from my trembling lips. “Liesl.”

“Wonderful, we can skip the introductions.” Her voice was like windchimes, cutting and brisk, with a hint of an Austrian accent like a shadow. Now she was at my bedside and picking up my phone, scrolling through it with lightning-quick and dexterous thumbs. “Hm. No texts from any of the Lees in the past week. So we don’t have to worry about them dropping by, I suppose. Joe got bored with you already, huh?”

“Evidently.” My own voice was brittle, anemic, weak; just like my ineffectual human body.

“That’s quick, even for him. How sad.” She sighed, tucking my iPhone into her red Chanel purse. “There’s a private jet waiting at the Forks Airport. Pack a bag. You have five minutes.”

“Please don’t hurt my dad,” I whispered, scalding tears brimming in my eyes.

“Of course not,” Liesl replied with a savage, saccharine smile. “Not yet, anyway.”

[admiralty-xfd]

I wonder what is Bill's opinion about Scully's runaway with Mulder and then living with him. Ohhh and what he thinks about William

Hi, anon! I don’t think he liked it very much. At all. I’ve written a scene post-IWTB where I tackle this and I’ll include it here for your reading pleasure. (Source: This Woman’s Work). 

It rarely snowed this time of year in DC, but as Scully looked out the front window of her mother’s house she could see it beginning. A white Christmas, in spite of everything. It felt like a sign of something hopeful.

Mulder came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. “Your mom says dinner is ready,” he said into her ear. She had no intention of moving an inch, and he stood there with her, both of them just watching the first few flakes begin to fall.

“We haven’t had a white Christmas in twenty years,” Scully observed.

“Really? Is this Fun Weather Facts with Dr. Scully?” Mulder chuckled.

She gently elbowed him in the chest. “It’s true. My mom and I were talking about it earlier. Seems so right that it would happen this year. It’s like a fresh start for us.”

She took his hand and held it close to her heart, closing her eyes and taking it all in. They were free, and safe. The FBI wasn’t after him anymore. He’d proposed to her in the Maldives. They married shortly after.

He was her husband now. Mulder.

“I just want to enjoy this,” she told him. “Everything feels perfect right now.”

“It really does,” he agreed. “It’s a nice change.” He leaned around to kiss her temple.

“Is Bill behaving himself?” she ventured, not really wanting to know the answer. She felt him shrug.

“He’s Bill. He hates me.”

She laughed. “Tara and Matty like you. My mom likes you.” She turned around in his arms and kissed him softly, slowly. “I like you.”

“Matty only likes me because of the Sasquatch.”

Scully smiled. Mulder had picked out the stuffed animal and it had ended up being her nephew’s favorite present, much to Bill Jr.’s annoyance.

“Kids are easy,” he continued. “Big brothers are impossible.”

She didn’t say anything, cognizant that Mulder must be thinking about Samantha. She knew Mulder put up with Bill’s nonsense as best as he could, but it still irked her. It probably always would.

“Shall we?” he offered his arm and she took it.

Maggie settled everyone into their seats and dinner began. After a couple courses, the topic of Mulder and Scully’s engagement came up. It had been a long time since they’d seen Bill’s family, and hadn’t had the chance to talk about it with them yet.

“So, Fox- I mean, Mulder,” Tara corrected herself. “Maggie mentioned you said you’d asked Dana several times before she said yes. How’d you finally do it?”

“Well, she was just waiting for the right moment, I think,” he smiled. “I’m sure she knew deep down I wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Maggie and Tara laughed. Bill cleared his throat loudly and looked at his plate, not making eye contact with anyone.

“Anyway, we were in the Maldives. I had promised to take her somewhere… far away. We haven’t really had a chance to go on vacation before.”

“Hmph.” Bill snorted. “Wonder why that was?”

Scully glared at him. Mulder politely ignored him, or at least tried to, as he usually did, and continued with the story.

“We wanted to find a place that was as far away from… well, here, as we could get. We took a globe and found the spot that came as close to matching that description as we could and we both said ‘that’s the place.’”

She put her hand on his thigh underneath the table. As far away from the darkness as they could get. He’d delivered on that promise, in full.

“We were just lying there on the beach and I knew it was time,” he said, and looked over at her. They rarely had the opportunity to be affectionate with one another around other people. It was unusual, but to Scully, it felt good. “I was right, too, because she said yes.”

“I didn’t say yes,” Scully shook her head and sipped her wine. “I believe what I actually said was ‘okay.’”

Maggie and Tara laughed again, and Mulder nodded, conceding that point.

“Okay, true. But you still ended up marrying me, so the joke’s on you, Scully.” He grinned at her and she smiled back. “We went down to the courthouse as soon as we got home.”

“So... you two kind of had your honeymoon before your wedding,” Tara pointed out.

“We did everything else backwards, so we figured why break with tradition?” Mulder replied.

He winked at Scully and all she could do was gaze at him; her partner Mulder, who, against every possible likely outcome was somehow now her husband, here in her mother’s house on Christmas. Mulder as a husband was something she’d never really pictured and now here he was, a reality.

“This is so wonderful,” Maggie said, clasping her hands together. “I’m so happy you and your family were able to make it up from San Diego this year, Bill. What an amazing gift to have you all here, and now that both Dana and Fox are in the mix again it truly feels like a real family gathering for the first time in a long time.”

She put her hand on Matthew’s head and ruffled his hair. “And having my grandson here is just icing on the cake!”

Bill piped up again. “Would have had one more around the table, too, if things had gone differently.”

The room went dead silent. A chill ran up Scully’s spine. Her body tensed, and Mulder noticed. His hand immediately went to hers underneath the table and held it tight. She couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. But Mulder could.

“What did you say?” he challenged.

“I think you heard me,” Bill replied. His face looked so goddamn smug Scully wondered if he actually got some kind of sick pleasure out of hurting her this way.

She knew Bill's comment was less about William and more about Mulder. She was so tired of this endless one-way battle her brother had waged against Mulder since the day he met him. He had endured Bill’s bullshit with dignity for years. She’d always assumed Mulder was just trying to keep the peace and she was grateful for that; most of the time he’d been in attendance as her partner, or as her friend. She knew it must have been awkward for him.

But now, however, it seemed to Scully like he’d had enough. Maybe it was the freeing knowledge that she was now his wife; their relationship had never been so clearly defined within the walls of the Scully home. Or maybe it was because Bill’s snide comment had been about William, the most painful topic he could possibly have dredged up.

More than likely, it was just that smug fucking expression on Bill’s face that did it. For the first time ever, it seemed Mulder wasn't going to let Bill get away with his behavior.

“What’s your problem, Bill? Why would you say something like that?” Mulder asked.

Bill shrugged. “I’m just calling it like I see it.”

Mulder looked him dead in the eyes. “Well, the way I see it is you’re an asshole. Why would you want to hurt your sister like that? And on Christmas? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Scully could see her mother tense up out of the corner of her eye. Tara put her fork down and corralled Matthew out of the dining room, knowing this wasn’t leading anywhere child-friendly.

“You’ve given me a hard time for years," Mulder continued. "I’ve stayed quiet because to be honest, I think I’ve deserved a lot of it. But Dana doesn’t deserve this vitriol, not from you.”

Bill was clearly in the mood for a fight. “She had to give away her own kid. Because of you. All of it is because of you.”

Scully had tried to explain her decision regarding William to Bill, she really had. Nowhere in her explanation had Mulder’s name even come up. It didn’t matter to her brother, maybe it never would. He’d never accept Mulder into their family, not ever.

“It was a very difficult time, for both of us-” Mulder began to explain.

“Why are you still here? Hanging around with my sister? You don’t work together anymore. She’s paid her dues with you, more than paid them. What more can you possibly want from her?”

Mulder stood up then, and glared at his brother-in-law. Scully didn’t want this to escalate any further. She reached for his hand and pulled softly.

“It’s okay, Mulder. Just leave it.”

“No,” he said. “It’s not okay. It’s not okay at all.” He turned his attention back to Bill. “I don’t want anything from your sister. Why is she still with me? Because I asked her to be with me and she said yes. I don’t feel like I should have to tell you this, Bill, but you should support your sister when she’s in pain, not make it worse.”

The air was as tense as Scully had ever felt it, and there had been many a tense evening in this house.

“My sister was taken from me when I was just a kid. Not a day goes by when I don’t think about her, and wish I could have her back for just one more day,” Mulder revealed. He’d never talked about Samantha to her family before. She was fairly sure they knew, but him bringing it up made it more real.

Bill had the good grace to appear chastised, at least for the moment.

“I know you lost a sister too, Bill. Believe me. I don’t want you to lose another one.”

Scully pulled on his hand again and he sat.

“Bill, enough is enough. This has to stop,” her mother finally spoke. “Fox isn’t going anywhere, and as long as you’re in my house I’d ask you to show him the same respect you’d give any member of our family.”

Bill looked at his mother, silently stood up, threw his napkin on the table and left the room. Everyone listened as he grabbed his coat and his keys and waited for the door to slam. Tara spoke first, having left Matthew in the other room with his Legos.

“I’m so sorry about him. I don’t know why he won’t just let all this go.”

Mulder shook his head. “No, I’m sorry for causing drama every time I come over. I wish I could set it all right again.”

Maggie turned to Mulder. “Fox, you are as much a part of this family as Bill is. You have every right to be here. And you have nothing to apologize for.”

Mulder smiled at her and Scully squeezed his hand in reassurance.

“Thanks, Mrs. Scully.”

“And we’ve known each other for a long time. I think of you as my own son. If you’re comfortable, I’d like it if you called me Maggie, okay?”

Scully felt Mulder twitch involuntarily, sensing the enormity of the moment. He appeared touched. Perhaps it was because he’d lost his own mother years ago. Perhaps it was because Maggie had stood up for him the way she did. Maybe it was only because it was Christmas. But what Mulder said next surprised her.

“Thanks, Mom,” he smiled.

Maggie smiled back, tears in her eyes. Scully felt like the watch they’d bought her for Christmas no longer mattered; this was the gift she’d really wanted.

***

“I don’t think you’ve ever been upstairs in my mom’s house, have you, Mulder?”

“No, I don’t think I have,” he said.

She led him down the hallway. “We moved here from Annapolis just after high school,” she explained. “I lived here while I was at UMD.”

She pushed one of the bedroom doors open. “We’re staying in here.”

She gave him a mischievous grin and pulled him inside. The bedroom door closed and Mulder pushed her back against it. Their lips met and he took her hands in his, moving them up above her head and holding them there.

“Are you telling me young college coed Dana Katherine Scully used to sleep in this room?”

“Not this room,” she mumbled into his mouth. “This was where Bill stayed, actually.”

He pulled back, his face already flushed, and gave her that look that made her feel her heart beating throughout her entire body. “Oh, is that so?”

Scully nodded, licking her lips. Her mother had turned this room into a guest room long ago, but the information seemed pertinent at the moment.

She closed her eyes and shuddered as his mouth moved to her earlobe and whispered softly. “I think I know a great way to stick it to him, Scully.”

“What, you want to have sex in my brother’s old room?”

“I was going to suggest sugar in his gas tank but your idea sounds more fun.”

She smiled and he released her hands, reached under her backside and lifted her up into him, pushing her backwards so she was wedged between him and the door. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he kissed her again, his tongue moving against hers in a rhythm they both knew by heart. God, he was so good at this. So good. They’d honed and perfected this particular dance so well he knew every little thing she wanted, responded to every urge she had whether she asked or not. He’d made it a personal quest of his over the past few years. It was times like these she stopped being annoyed by his obsessive nature and just fucking loved him for it.

He walked backwards to the bed, with her still wrapped around him, and sat down on the edge. Her hands were gripping his hair and she was practically mauling his face. Thinking about how he’d finally given Bill a taste of his own medicine and how he’d done it all for her got her incredibly turned on. She’d be lying if she didn’t admit she’d gotten a little thrill when he’d referred to her as Dana, too. It rarely happened.

“I’ve never had sex in this house before,” she breathed into his ear. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to my old bedroom instead?”

He shook his head. “Defiling your brother’s old bed sounds more fun, doesn’t it?” He started to unzip the back of her dress and she shifted her body to better sit in his lap, pulling the dress up around her waist.

“I don't actually think this is his, I’m pretty sure my mom replaced it at some point.”

“Hmm. Oddly enough, I am undeterred. We can do it in your bedroom next Christmas.”

“Thanksgiving is sooner,” she smiled as his lips captured hers again. For a few minutes they made out like teenagers and she reveled in how good it still felt to do that. Maybe it was because they’d denied themselves this physical affection for so many years, but even the foreplay was always a wonderful journey for them. And it always built to something even more amazing than before. It seemed like each and every time was better than the last. They’d certainly been blessed in that regard, she thought, as his hands slipped inside the back of her dress, exploring.

She wanted to focus on his touch but the conflict downstairs was still on her mind. “He’s such a fucking asshole, Mulder,” she said between kisses. “Why do you put up with that? Why would you even come here with me?”

His eyes softened and he leaned back to look at her. “Because your mom invited me.” He kissed her again behind her ear. “I have a soft spot for you Scully women.”

“You know what would be really scandalous?” she offered. It was something she’d always wanted to try during sex, and they never had. She could hardly believe it, now that she thought about it.

“You mean, besides what we’re already doing right now? Lay it on me.” He started to pull her dress down over her shoulders, kissing them as he did so.

“Well, we’re in my mother’s house, in my brother’s old room, on Christmas, and my family is downstairs.”

“Exactly,” he murmured into her hair. “That’s varsity-level, Scully. What could be more scandalous?”

She put her hands on either side of his face and held his forehead to hers. She kissed him purposefully, then whispered it into his ear.

“Call me Dana.”

He pulled away, looking at her, and raised an eyebrow. “That is scandalous.” He tucked a strand of her long hair behind her ear and grinned. “Have you been holding out on me? Is this some deep, dark fantasy you’ve never told me about?”

“No, actually,” she said, blushing a bit. “Honestly I always thought it might be weird. But I’m curious.”

“Now I am, too,” he admitted. He slipped a finger underneath her bra strap and gently pulled and released, snapping it. His voice dropped an octave. “Okay. Dana.”

Something fluttered deep inside her. It was a strange sensation, which she could identify as arousal but there was something else. They were already as close a pair as could possibly exist, she knew this. But something about doing something new that involved her given name made her feel like they’d taken a step even closer to each other. That alone was a huge turn on.

Who was she kidding? Anything that came out of his mouth was a turn on, especially during sex.

She wanted to laugh that something so ordinary like being called by her first name could be so scandalous. She closed her eyes and enjoyed this odd feeling of being normal with Mulder. Suddenly she wanted to get a step even closer. She didn’t know what he would think but from the state of his own arousal which she could feel beneath her, she figured the odds were good he wouldn’t deny her anything at the moment.

"Can I call you Fox?”

He closed his eyes, considering it. “Just this once,” she clarified. “Just tonight.” She ran her fingers through his hair, and then leaned in and bit his lower lip to sweeten the deal.

He was quiet for a second, then: “You can call me whatever the hell you want, as long as you keep doing that.”

She laughed and he laughed and it was one of those perfect moments she knew she’d always remember, in spite of the dust up with Bill, and in spite of everything else they’d been through. Right now, with him, she was perfectly happy.

“I love you,” he said. It was as if he knew just then this was an important moment for them, too.

“I love you too, Mulder,” she whispered. Then she grabbed him by the sides of his face and looked him directly in the eye, smiling mischeviously. “Now fuck me in my brother’s old room.”

“Whatever you say, Dana,” he grinned as she pushed him backwards onto the bed.

***

She awoke with his arms around her. It was just after midnight. It occurred to her that, other than the Maldives, it had been years since she’d woken up in a bed that wasn’t their own.

It smelled like home in here, and she smiled. It was a happy memory, and combining the scent with the feel of Mulder’s arms surrounding her made her even happier.

Suddenly thirsty, she slipped out of his arms quietly and threw on her robe to go downstairs.

As she got to the bottom of the stairs she stood looking at the tree for a bit, remembering Christmases past, so many happy memories from back when things were simple.

She thought about her father, but mostly she missed Melissa. She smiled, thinking of a conversation they’d had long ago about Mulder. It made her feel a twinge of sadness that Missy wasn’t here now, to see how right she’d been about the two of them. To laugh with them and be an ally in the face of all of Bill’s nonsense.

Just then she noticed Bill, through the window, sitting on the porch. She wondered how long he’d been out there in the cold.

She threw on her mother’s overcoat, hanging by the front door, and went out to sit with him. It was freezing outside, and Scully shivered and wondered how quickly she’d regret this decision.

“Have you been out here the whole time?” she asked him.

Bill puffed on a cigar. “No. Drove around a bit. Went to Spanky’s for a drink.”

“It was open? On Christmas?”

“You’d be surprised,” he said, staring straight ahead.

She wasn’t out here to make small talk. She wanted them to be okay. This all seemed so silly. They were family, after all.

Bill shook his head, staring straight forward. “I just don’t get it, Dana. What is it about that guy? What do you see in him? What could possibly make all this worth it?”

Scully wanted him to understand. What could she possibly say that could make him okay with all this? She could think of only one thing to say, something she’d never had the confidence to say to him before.

“We love each other,” she said, as she tilted her head to look at him. Bill still didn’t turn, and just sighed.

After a couple minutes of silence, the chill in the air started to get to her. “We don’t get many chances in life to do the right thing," she said to him. "We can try, but there just isn’t enough time.” He still wouldn’t face her.

“Look at me, Bill,” she said. He finally did. “This is it. We are all we have. Dad is gone, Melissa is gone. William is gone. Charlie is… who knows where.” Tears started to form in her eyes. “You, me, Mom. That’s it.”

He kept looking at her but still said nothing.

“And Mulder didn’t give up our child, Bill. It was my decision. If you want to hate someone, if you want to blame someone, make it me.”

“I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry I did.”

She could see his eyes starting to soften and wondered if something had gotten through.

“I was angry when Melissa was killed,” he admitted. “I wanted to blame someone, and I didn’t want it to be you. So I blamed him. Then everything that happened to you… I feel like so much changed. He’s the cause. He’s the cause of all of it.”

“Bill, you have to know Mulder didn’t ask for any of this. Especially what happened to me, and our sister. He’s lost more than you know.”

“I do know that, Dana. But you deserve better than him.”

Scully wondered if that were true. She came to the conclusion instantly that even if it were, it wouldn’t matter. “You don’t have to worry about me, you know. I’m happy. He makes me happy.”

She knew he’d never approve of Mulder, she’d never get him there. But if they could get to a place where they could have some peace, she’d be content with that.

“You once said to me we have a responsibility not only to ourselves but to the people in our lives,” she continued. “You may not like it, but he’s in my life too. He is a person in my life. And I have a responsibility to him.”

He said nothing more. Things may never get to where she wanted them; there was too much anger there, too much animosity. But she’d said what she’d needed to say.

She sighed and got up. “It’s cold, I’m going inside.” He turned away again to look out at the street. As she reached the door she turned back to look at him and was struck by how much he looked like her father, sitting in his chair, smoking a cigar.

She smiled at the memory. Then she opened the door and went inside where it was warm, where Mulder’s arms would be waiting for her.

Two months later, Bill and his family were stationed in Germany. They rarely crossed paths again.

[imagine-young-g]

FWB to MWB

Hello  G fam! It’s been a while but I’m back. I’m not too sure for how long but I am back. A lot has been happening in my life, and I have not been able to be as dedicated as I could be to this page. I hope you all enjoy this story about a gorgeous, normal, single mama that just so happens to be FWB with the one and only Young Gerald.

“Zay! Where are you hun?” I was calling my little sass for sometime now and she just wouldn’t answer.

“Zay….Zaybrie. ZAY!”

“I’m right here mommy you don’t have to yell,” she muttered.

My gorgeous little sass looked up at me while fumbling with the zipper to her favorite panda jacket. I never thought in a million years I would be here. 23years old, rollers in my hair, stressing over a trip to the grocery store, and staring down at my mini-me. I had Zay when I was 19 years old. She was the product of an mentally and sometimes physically abusive relationship. My ex was just not the ish like I had once thought. We were high school sweethearts and he wanted a military life, I on the other hand wanted to embrace the world. If it wasn’t for my pregnancy I most likely never would have made it out. She is my saving grace and literally only reason I haven’t been locked away due to insanity.

“UGH! Mommy I can’t do this! It’s broken.”

My train of thought is broken as my disgruntled 4 year old is completely over the zipper on this damn jacket. I didn’t even know why she wanted to wear this out. The jacket is worth more than gold to this little girl since her best pal G got it for her the last time he was in Tokyo at some hip Japanese boutique. The tag says it was an adult small but by the looks of it, it could have passed for a child’s shmedium. I easily guide the zipper together and with a little zrrrp its up.

“Baby. Why do you wanna wear Panda to the store today? It’s a little damp out, aren’t you afraid of getting it messed up?”

“Mommy we live in the Bay it’s always moist outside.”

Ugh! That word is like nails on a chalkboard for me, but of course G knows this and still decided to teach my 4year old to say this word to completely throw her mother off every chance she got. This cake is moist, my hair is moist. Mommy my skin is moist.” Any chance this little girl got to say it she took it.

“Because Mommy, we’re gonna meet up with Gerry today and I want him to see that I love my jacket.”

She was the only girl I knew in the world that could call him that. Gerry, or G as I like to call him, is none other than the Bay Area kid G-Eazy. I met him about 3 years ago when Zay was barely old enough to walk. I had been working at a local diner, and going to school full time when one rainy Saturday morning a mob of sweaty drunk dudes come barging in at 7am demanding coffee, pie, and whatever grease filled meal they could put in their bellies to prevent a hangover from hell. I was overworked, underpaid, exhausted, and at my wits end; so when this tall jerk of man tried to holla at your girl I was not having it. He tried the whole “Hey Ma!” Come here with one finger bit. I naturally walked over and asked if there was anything he needed. To his reply of “You see I made you come over her with one finger imagine what I could do with two.” I was so beyond pissed I through a glass of ice water and told his ass to cool down. My boss saw, asked me if I knew who this fool was, and fired me when I blantantly said I could give a fuck. As I walked out of the diner I heard loud steps running after me. I being the street smart girl that I am turned around and straight punched this dude in the face.

“Damn ma! First you soak me then you floor me? I gotta know who you are now that I damn near fell for you.”

At that point I lost my shit again. I went on a whole tangent of who do you think you ares and why don’t you fuck offs. I turned around after I thought I gave him a piece of my mind and he followed me asking me all kinds of questions. I don’t know when or how it happened but I began to answer them. We eventually got on the subject of me being single with a kid and how he admired that. He walked me the 8 blocks all the way home to my mom’s house. We exchanged numbers and have been “friends” ever since.

“Ohhh I see. You’re trying to look cute for Gerry?”

“No Mommy, you’re trying to look cute for Gerry since you got the rollers in your hair. I just wanna say thank you for my jacket.”

Damn my kid caught me. So what if I wanted my hair to look a little nicer than normal for when I saw G. I mostly wanted it to look nice because it never fails that when I’m with him we end up on some tabloid. Everyone pretty much knows that we just fuck each other, I mean even my own grandmother knows it. It turned into that after a drunk night I went on tour with him and Zay. I’m not sure what came over us but as she slept in my bunk I was in the back of the bus with G.

I’ll never forget that night, not because I have feelings for him, but because he has to be the best lay of my entire life. He had just finished his last number I mean It and every time he said “If I ever said I fucked your bitch…” he would look at me with pure lust in his eyes. He ended the show. Ran off stage to the back where we all followed. Zay was wearing her purple sound blocking headphones on the verge of sleep, but she stayed up to give Gewy a hug. As soon as she got it she passed out. The after party in the back of the stadium was cut short since we had to pile on the bus and head to San Diego. I was shocked when a group of girls that somehow managed to get backstage asked to get on the bus and “rock G’s World” were turned down and told to scram. Everyone began to go towards the busses when G grabbed my hand and guided me through the crown of groupies and photographers. Once we were safely on the bus G made an announcement.

“Yo if any of you motherfuckers wanna be loud go on the other bus. This is the quiet bus tonight. Zay’s gotta sleep and I ain’t in the mood for the bull shit.”

People began to pile of the bus into the other bus leaving only a handful of crew members, G, a few of his homies, me and Zay. Zay was fighting her sleep as we sat on the burgundy couches that were just before the bunks in the little kitchen area. She kept playing peek-a-boo with an exhausted raspy voiced G, but he kept playing with her. She sat on his lap facing him and just kept staring at his face. She would grab at his nose, poke at his eyes, grab his eyebrows, and put her little hand over his mouth where he would then play nibble on her fingers causing her to squeal. She kept rubbing her eyes till eventually she wrapped her arms around G to give him a hug and she passed out. Her little body was completely calm and at peace with him as she let out little soft snores. G stood up and took her to the bunk that was designated for her and I. It was a bottom bunk and he made sure no one was allowed to sleep on the one above. He laid her in the middle of the bunk covered her with her little peach baby blanket, and placed pillows all around her so she wouldn’t roll over or roll off the bunk. He even stuffed pillows on the side facing the aisle so that if she did roll there was a little wall there to protect her. I stood there watching him do all this in shock. He then motioned for me to come see the job he had done.

“She’s a stunner you know. In 15 years we’re gonna have to beat the dudes off with a stick to protect her.”

“We? G we’re homies, I told you I’m not looking to date. I gotta finish..”

“School. Yeah I know. I’m attached now. Just because we ain’t nothing doesn’t mean I’m never gonna be here for her.”

“G you say that but what happens when you keep going and touring? We can’t keep tagging along. I’m almost done with my degree and before you know it, I'll be a social worker working a 9-5.”

“True but come on Caily, you’ll be able to come out sometimes. You and Zay. I want you a part of my life even if we’re just friends. I love this kid.”

I could tell he was being honest despite the alcohol. I just wanted a stable figure in Zay’s life so I didn’t think a rapper could be that (I was eventually proven wrong.)

“Okay G. But if it gets too much, you’re the one that’s gonna have to tell Zay you’re out.”

“Never gonna happen!”

“Never say never.”

“I’m telling you it’s never and I never lie.” He smirked and bit his lower lip giving me those dreamy brown I want you eyes. I was wearing a cropped When It’s Dark Out T-shirt hand cut by me, some high waisted boyfriend jeans, kicked off the chucks a while ago so I was barefoot showing off my home pedicured black toenails. He on the other hand was freshly showered, hair wet and floppy, wearing a black hoodie, matching sweatpants, socks, and slides. He looked my body up and down again and licked his lips. I ignored this look having seen his crew do it millions of times. I walked back to the couch and he followed. I sat back and sipped on my water as he kept eyeing me.

“What?!”

“Nothing Cails. I just like looking at you.”

“That is so corny my dude,” I laughed-talked at him.

“I’m serious Cails.”

“That’s just the whiskey talking you dork.”

“Nah I’m dead serious, you’re just too stubborn and think your un-loveable to notice.”

“Oh so now you love me?”

“Yeah I got a love for you girl. You’ll never reciprocate it so I’ll just keep it,” he put his finger to his lips motioning a shhh.

“Hmm okay Gerald.”

“I like it when you say that. I like how you say it, Gerald,” he attempted to mimic the syllables like I say them.

“You’re drunk my dude.”

“Yeah maybe. But I know when I’m sober the pain feels worse because I can actually feel it.”

He looked at me with these soulful, sorrow filled eyes. I could tell in that moment he meant every word. He could tell I picked up on this vibe and leaned in. I felt the tip of his nose touched mine and pulled away. I quickly stood up.

“I better go check on Zay.”

As I walked toward the bunk he followed me. I was about to pull the curtain open when we grabbed me by my arm and spun me around. I was now looking up at him and seeing the intense lust in his eyes. His left arm was still holding on to mine as his right hand cupped my face and pulled me in for a kiss. His lips so soft and so sweet against mine as he just held them there against mine. He pulled away to see my reaction. I couldn’t move. The kiss stuck my feet to the floor causing me to be planted their hoping for another. He kissed me again this time with more passion making me kiss him back. We stood their in a full on mack sesh until he pulled away and walked towards the back of the bus where he sleeps. In that moment I had a choice. I could either crawl into the bunk with my daughter or run to the feeling I have been missing my whole life and give in. Before I could give it a second thought, I began to run towards him.

“Gerald.”

He turned towards me just in time for me to put my arms around his neck and kiss him. Our lips crashed against each other causing each of us to go completely numb and breathless. He mumbled “jump” while still in my kiss. I hopped up wrapping my legs around him as he began walking me towards the king size. He pushed the button to shut and lock the door behind him as we kissed. He plopped me on the bed and pulled his hoodie off over his head with one hand like all men do. I could feel myself getting wet as he then pressed his freshly bare torso onto my body. He gave me another hard passionate kiss, this time sliding his tongue over my bottom lip begging for me to allow him in. Begging to go deeper and begging to explore me. I gave in slipping my tongue into his ready opened mouth. This passionate kiss cause a throaty moan to escape from him. We kept kissing as he grinded his hips into mine, causing me to whimper. He began to kiss my neck and work his way up to my earlobe as his hand went up my shirt pawing at by titts making me moan and getting my wetter by the second. He pushed up my shirt and bra exposing my D cup titts and flush pink nipples. He admired them for a moment before giving one of my nipples a teasing lick. He stared deep into my eyes as he did this, then he began to suck on my titt as he rubbed and pinched my other nipple. I began to grind up my hips to meet his as he sucked all over both titts leaving raw love bites around each nipple. He licked at each bite causing a tinge of pain to go through my body. It was a good pain, a needed pain. By this point I was completely soaked and ready for more. He kissed down my faintly stretch marked tummy as he made his way take of my pants. As he pulled them down, I sat up on my knees, pulled my bra and shirt all the way off, wrapped my arms around him and kissed. His bare chest against my titts felt absolutely amazing. I could tell he loved it just as much as I did by the way he grabbed me closer to his body. He then brushed my hair away from my neck, then gave my hair a nice pull as he kissed my sweet spot on my neck just before my ear causing me to moan out and claw my nails along his back, and through his hair. As I clawed over him he moaned in my neck shooting warm air against my ear driving me wild. I turned his body to where I could lay him down on the bed. I pulled away from the kiss, gave him a good sloppy lust filled one ending in a lip bite before playfully pushing him on his back. I began to kiss his neck, and bite on his earlobes driving him wild. Doing so caused me to give my ass a smack shooting a tingle up to my nipples making my pussy twitch. I kissed down his body having him release little moans. I sit up on my knees again, giving him a lustful look as I began to rub his cock through the sweatpants. I pull them down revealing a beautiful pink hard cock dripping with precum. I pull the pants all the way down, removing his socks as well and begin to place kisses all over his cock as my hand caresses his balls. His breath begins to deepen as I kiss up his long thick cock towards the tip. I hold it up and look deep into his eyes and place it in my mouth. As it enters my mouth I hear his breathing change again. I wrap my lips around half of his cock and suck as I bob my head up. A moan escapes his now parted lips as I repeat the process a few more times, taking him deeper into my mouth each time. I suck up with a pop and tap the tip of his cock on my tongue.

“Ohh you dirty girl. You look so good with my cock.”

“MMMMhmmmm,” is all I let out as I take his cock back into my throat, the hum causing a vibration around his cock making him close his eyes as I begin to make oral love to his perfect 8 inch cock. Up and down, up and down, I can feel him throbbing as I bob my head taking him as deep as I can go without gagging. Ever so often I shove him all the way down past my tonsils to the point where is balls are practically in my mouth. A breathy “fuck” is the only thing that escapes his mouth each time I deep throat him down. I laid there on my belly sucking his cock for a good solid 5 closer to 10 minutes when he stopped me.

“MMMBaby stop...get over here.” He seductively growled as he pulled me up towards his face. I had my legs on either side of his body as he pulled me in for a kiss.

“HMMWhat’s wrong you can’t handle it.” I asked him as I placed kisses on his lips, along his jawline, and towards his neck.

“Uhhbaby I can it’s just I don’t wanna cum in your mouth.” He then guided my head back into the position where he could kiss my pouty lips. He slipped me the tongue and gave me a passionate french. I could feel his tongue dance with mine in my mouth in the most sexy ass way. I wanted to be cheesy and ask him where he wanted to cum but I couldn’t break from that kiss. We stayed in that position kissing like that for a while. During that time I guess I had slid down his body because I could feel the tip of his cock brush against my thong covered taint and swipe along my ass. When he felt that he let out a moan in my throat driving each of us wild causing me to grind down and hump his cock. I could feel his tip perfectly glide against my clothed clit sending waves of desire through both our bodies. I humped down on him only 3 times before he flips me over and in a lustful rush kisses down my belly to the line of my thong. You couldn’t tell how wet I truly was through the black cotton material until he rubbed his entire hand over my pussy.

“Damn Caily you’re so fucking wet.” He rubbed up and down admiring how flooded my pussy got at the sins we were committing. He quickly pulled thong off over my feet and discarding it God knows where. He began to give hard bites and kisses all along my thighs teasing my core with his warm breath. He gave a kiss right above my clit causing my hips to thrust up towards his face.

“MMMBaby you want this huh? You want me to eat this perfect pussy?” He looked me dead in the eye begging for permission and I nodded allowing him to begin his work. He licked a long straight line from my taint, between my wet lips, up past my clit leaving a kiss at the top of my pubic bone. This sent shock waves through my body. I grabbed my tits and began to toy with my nipples. This view caused a reaction in Gerald I never saw before. Like a rabid beast he began to devour my pussy. The combination of harsh licks, and clit sucking had me grinding my pussy in his face. He loved it. Every grind he would smirk and stick his tongue in my pussy, flattening it out once inside filling my pussy. Then came the fingers. He started by teasing my entrance with two fingers as he sucked my clit blowing my mind. He just kept toying with me as he sucked up all my pussy juices and grinding on his perfect face.

“Damn G finger me please.” I begged at this point. His face was in complete shock as he shoved his two long fingers up my pussy causing me to moan out and bare down hard.

“Fuuuck Baby you’re so damn tight.” My leg was now resting on his back as he made this statement. He was staring at my pussy in amazement as he now was knuckles deep in. He used his thumb to swipe my clit as he just completely finger blasted me. I was a wreck just moaning and grinding my hips feeling how amazing his fingers felt inside me. Then...he started eating my pussy again. The combination of licks and clit sucks while he was knuckles deep had me a complete mess. I was grabbing him by his hair begging him to stop or even slow down but he wouldn’t. This was right where he wanted me. He kept going and sucking to the point that I felt my entire body crash as I came. I came hard on his fingers, bearing down and trying to run away. He held me by one leg and kept sucking and finger fucking. It wasn’t long before I came again. I was a wet shaky mess as he began to slurp up all my juices. He pulled his fingers out of my pussy and I could see how wet they were. He lapped up the rest of my juice as I shuddered. When he reached my clit, I had to pull away because damn it was sensitive. He smiled as he sat up on his knees. I sat up just as he was about to lick me off his fingers. I grabbed his hand and began to suck my juices off his fingers. His face was priceless as he let out another “fuck” under his breath.

I kept licking and sucking his fingers as he watched for a seductive minute until he crashed his lips into mine. He wrapped his arms around me pulling my onto his thighs. I could feel is cock beneath my pussy just begging to enter in and explore me. I began to grind my hips down as he smacked my ass playfully. I little out a whimper causing him to smack a little harder. I moaned into his kiss as he now smacked my ass even harder but still the reserve in fear of hurting me. He began to maneuver his body as if he was going to lay me down, but before he got the chance I reached in between our bodies and guided his cock into my tight, dripping pussy. I looked him deep in his eyes letting out a gasp and creating a hitch in his breath. I slowly began to work my hips down causing his cock to climb deeper into my pussy with each small bounce. The slew of curse words spewing from his lips as I rode that fat cock, moaning and whimpering wanting him deeper yet. As I bounced up and down, his mouth met my tits and began to nip at my skin and nipples. I began riding sloppy as my legs were ready to give out due to the sheer pleasure being shot through my core and the hot spark of pain from my tits as he sucked my nipples to the point of being raw. He laid me down on my back, making sure to give me a deep long kiss as he began to pound into my pussy.

*Smack. Smack. Smack* is all you heard as he drilled his 8 full inches deep into my guts. With every thrust I whimpered into his kiss. “Fuck fuck fuck!” Is all I could let out as he fucked the absolute shit out of me. He went from kissing my lips to sucking on my neck as I clawed his back causing him to growl in pure sadistic pleasure. I don’t know exactly what he did, but with the slightest swivel of his hips, he was now hitting my spot at a different angle. Before I could even let out a sound I was seeing stars. It was the fastest build-up of electric butterflies sending currents down to my core releasing what felt like a million volts of earth shattering electricity throughout my body. He could feel me cum as my pussy began to drip even more and my walls strangled his cock.

“Fuck babygirl you’re so damn good. You like how I fuck this tight ass pussy huh?” He growled those words through clenched teeth as I begged him to keep fucking me just as he was. He swiveled his hips again sending another orgasm through my body. I bared down a little too hard and almost pushed him out.

“Nah-uh don’t you fucking push me out. Open up that pussy baby,” he begged. I did my best eventually coming down from my high in the slightest allowing his cock to go balls deep again. I knew he was getting close as his “fucks” were more frequent and his stroke was getting sloppier. I wanted him to cum so bad. No just because I didn’t feel like I could take another orgasm, but because the giver in me wanted to see pure pleasure rush over his face as he busts. I knew exactly what would push him over the edge. I reached down as far as my hand could and began to fondle his balls.

“FUCK! Oh my God, damn baby! Yes!” He was so close still. It was time to completely go for the kill.

“Cum for me Gerald! Bust that fat load in my tight little pussy. Come on baby fill me up with you cum! Nut in me baby!”

“Fuck you want that baby?!”

“Yes baby! Bust that nut all up in this pussy!” He began to grunt and thrust into me harder than he had before. I could feel the electric butterflies coming again but this time right from my pussy. I started to grind my hips the opposite of his hitting my spot a completely different way sending me to the moon. I squeezed his balls as hard as I could without hurting him and that was it. My body began shaking as I heard him pleading to God and calling out my name. I could feel his warm cum fill me up inside as he kept pumping and I kept grinding. My legs began to shake and before I knew it my entire body was a moaning quaking mess beneath G. Him seeing this decided it would be a good idea to reach down and rub my clit. If felt my whole body clamp up and a rush began to rise from my pussy. I felt like my clit was about to explode when all of a sudden, a shock wave left my body and squirt burst all over his cock. He was so turned on he kept thrusting until neither one of us could take it.

He pulled out his cock and fell next to me completely spent. I was still quivering feeling the aftershocks hit my clit like waves after a tsunami. I was a panting fool with no words being able to form out of my mouth. I could hear him next to me at a complete loss for words. With neither one of us speaking, he turned the ac down low and removed the top sheet I had completely destroyed, only leaving the fitted and the comforter. He covered the both of us and pulled me close to spoon. Damn, not only could he fuck but he wanted to cuddle too? I was getting comfortable and about to doze off when my mind went straight to Zay.

“Oh no Zay!”

“She’s fine.”

“How do you know G? She’s probably awake crying for all we know.”

“No she’s fine. Trust me!”

“G let me go check on her.”

“Listen you could do what you want but I know she’s ok.” Before I could protest he was rolling his body over towards the night stand. I assumed he was about to whip out a blunt and smoke it up, but instead he pulls out a video baby monitor. There she was. My little baby completely zonked out and snoring away.

“I put that in the bunk just in case you wanted to sleep in the bunk above her. I wanted you to have peace of mind and to rest easy.”

I could not believe how incredibly sweet he was. I ended up staying the entire night with him, fucking him one more amazing time before showering and going to lay down with Zay. Ever since then we had been fucking around whenever we got the chance. It was good for us. I didn’t have to worry about a random guy coming in and out of Zay’s life, he didn’t have to worry about a commitment. In the end we were just two friends with needs that could go to each other no matter what. We were both damaged so this worked for us.

*CHING CHING*

“Yay Gerry’s here! Gerry’s here!” I opened the door and there he stood. All 6’4” of him wrapped in leather. Smiling so big you though he won a Grammy.

“AHH Zay Zay! *muah* What’s up lil mama?” He wrapped her up in a big hug squeezing her like she was his own. He tickled her sides causing her to squeal in delight that her friend was here.

“What’s up Big Mama?” He said causing me to roll my eyes because he knew I hated that he called me that.

“Yup there she is haha.” He put Zay down and gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“You ready to go G? We gotta hit the mall while the kiddies are still in school so we can get everything done.”

“Yeah fo’sho. Let me just take a leak and we’ll bounce.” He made his way to the bathroom and I put on my official G-Eazy letterman from forever ago. I was fixing my lipstick in the mirror when I feel his presence behind me. He wrapped his arms around my waist and whispered how he missed me in my ear.

“G! Come on, not in front of the kid.”

“I know I know.”  We had made a deal that we would never act like a couple in front of Zay in order to keep the peace. We didn’t want to confuse her because she already knew who her dad was and we didn’t want to mess anything up. He gave me a weak smile as he picked up Zay and headed out the door. He had driven his mustang over so I was assuming that’s what we were rollin’ in.

“Really G? I thought we were going incognito?”

“We are! The black beauty is stealthy and sexy.”

“Yeah Mommy. She’s stealfy and sexy.”

“G! You look what you’re teaching her!”

“Zay Zay you can’t say that word till your 75.”

“What word?”

“That 2nd “s” word.”

“Sexy?”

“AHHHH it’s burning my ears,” he shouted as he covered his ears. Zay kept trying to repeat the word a few more attempts as he buckled her into her seat, each time causing G to “shout” and cover his ears. Eventually she stopped and we were on our way. We made our way to the mall and began to shop around. G buying anything and everything Zay wanted. He loved to spoil her no matter the cost. He would try with me but I just wasn’t into all of it. We walked up and down the mall for what seemed like 10 years. We bought snacks along the way but I was so hungry nothing was helping. We eventually stopped for a pretzel at a kiosk outside of a jewelry store in the mall. We were eating the salty treats and drinking the tart lemonade when Zay made a discovery.

“Look Mommy! Look at the pretty rings!”

“Yeah baby they’re pretty huh?”

“You should by one mommy!”

“No Baby mommy doesn’t need one.”

“Why Mommy?”

“Because Baby, only engaged people get those rings.”

“What’s engage?”

“It means people who are getting married.”

“Gerry you should buy one for my Mommy so you can get married!”

“No he shouldn’t Baby now come finish your pretzel.”

“Come on Mommy! You would look so pretty with one.”

“No Baby. Come sit down!”

“Please Gerry! Buy one so you and mommy can get married and have another baby, and you can live with me in my room and and and…”

“Zay! No enough. Now come and sit down.”

“I would Zay Zay but you’re Mommy won’t let me buy her one of those.”

“Why? Mommy why are you so mean?”

“G?! Seriously? Shut the Frick up!” I shot at him between clenched teeth and rage filled eyes. I could not believe that he had just said that to my 4 year old! Especially after all the talks we had about this. He asked a few times about why not? Why not? It’s like because dude! We can’t! I could feel my blood boil as Zay went back to eating her pretzel. I could tell G knew I was beyond livid because he wouldn’t even make eye contact with me. His jaw was clenched like he had something to be pissed about. We finished our snack in complete silence and G was so gone mentally even though his body was there.

“Come on, let’s get you guys home.”

“Gerry! Can we go to cheesecake house and get food? I hungry!”

“No baby we just ate.”

“No mommy we ate a pretzel, not dinner. Come on Gerry? Please?!” At that moment my stomach growled causing both Zay and G to look at me.

“You good?” He asked slightly concerned.

“Yeah I’m chill.” I coldly replied not making eye contact at all.

“Come one let’s go get you some dinner and call it a day.”

“Nah for real. It’s good G.”

“Nah we going and then we’ll call it a day.” He said with a little more force behind his tone. We walked to the car and G put all the bags in the trunk. I strapped Zay in and I could feel him staring at me as I did so. Normally he would make some joke about how good my ass looked but he was so beyond pissed he didn’t say a word. He zipped through traffic like a bat out of hell, white knuckling the steering wheel until we arrived at the restaurant. He handed the keys to valett, took Zay out of her seat and walked into the restaurant. I followed behind him and we were sat at a table in the back. G ordered some pasta dish, and Zay copied him ordering the kids version with chicken. I opted for some fettuccine and shrimp alfredo with a small salad. Zay sat next to G eating away and playing with him the entire dinner. G ignored me and continued to eat with Zay. He didn’t even bother me for a shrimp like he always does, instead he said:

“Ooh playing it safe now yeah Cails.” He never called me Cails unless he was pissed. Zay picked up on it but kept trying to lighten the mood. She kept poking G saying “tickle tickle,” getting him to fake laugh. I ate my meal in silence as the two of them carried on. Zay eventually ordering oreo cheesecake off of the pig girl menu so her and Gerry could share. I sat there continuing to be ignored till Zay quieted down. G finally cooled down enough to talk.

“So why did you blow up Cails?”

“We’re not talking about this right now. Not in front of Zay”

“She’s about to pass out soon then we can talk. Because we are going to talk.” He was right. It didn’t take but 6 minutes before she was completely passed out in the booth. It was now fair game. He looked at me and I had nothing to say.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“There is nothing to say? We have a good thing going why ruin it?”

“Really? You’re ok with what we got?”

“Yeah don’t ruin a good thing?”

“We’ve been fucking with each other for like 3 years and you can honestly tell me you have no feelings for me other than just friends?”

“Yeah. I mean, it hasn’t been 3 solid years. You had your girls in between. Besides you said we were good.”

“Only because you never give me a heads up as to what you feel.”

“I told you I don’t feel! I just go. I don’t have time to sit back and feel. I have to do what’s best for my daughter.”

“So what you think by having a loving man who would literally die for you and the kid isn’t the best thing for her?”

“Well if that loving man wasn’t always rolling out then yeah maybe?”

“I roll out to provide and because it’s my passion. Just like you stay behind as a social worker to fulfill yours.”

“She needs stability! You think living on a tour bus or from hotel to hotel is stable? Besides you can’t just decide you want a life with us just because you got a bond with the kid.”

“A bond with the kid? Well Damn? I thought every time I fucked you we had a bond? I’m not just here for the kid! I’m here for you to but you don’t want it!”

“You never let it be known! You always said we were good with how we were. You even had other girls and I had no one else!”

“I had other girls because you never made the effort!”

“I never made the effort? G I literally would fuck you any chance we got! How is that not making an effort? Hell no! You are not blaming me on this one!”

“I have told you I want to be with you multiple times! You keep saying nah we’re good. I always tell you I love you..”

“You always tell me you got a love for me! Never that you love me!”

“Because the last time I told you that I loved you, you didn’t say anything.”

“When did you tell me you loved me?”

“The very first night I fucked you! I told you I loved you and you just looked at me like I was some sad Son of Bitch!”

“I didn’t think you were serious! I literally thought you were saying that to get me to fuck you! But at the time it didn’t matter to me because I just wanted to fuck!”

“It didn’t even matter? Wow. I told you how I felt and it didn’t even matter?”

“At the time I didn’t think you were sure.”

“Well what about now? What do you think now?”

“I think you are just getting over another break up and you’re ready for the next.”

“I literally broke up with her because she wasn’t you. She wanted to settle down and I couldn’t because all I could think about is you.”

“G! You shouldn’t have done that. She made you so happy.”

“You make me happy! You are what I want! What do I have to do to prove..that to..you,” his voice cracked at the end of his sentence. The tears began to flood his eyes and my heart began to flutter. I knew he was being honest, and I knew deep down in my heart that he cared. But was I willing to risk it all. My stability, my job, my life, all of it would be changed if I decided yes. All these thoughts were flooding my mind when I saw movement from across the table. A wooden box was placed in front of me and a huge sparkler of a ring inside.

“Caily. Baby Girl. Big Mama. You are literally the reason I get up in the morning and take my raggedy ass to the studio when I don’t feel like going. I keep grinding so I can provide for you and Zay. Yes it’s my passion, but I would give it all up tomorrow to have a stable life with the two of you. I want to go to bed with you, wake up next to you, and be in your presence for the rest of my life if you will have me. Caily Rhiannon Zavalos; will you marry me?”

I sat there across from him with tears in my eyes and warmth in my heart. I wanted what he wanted but how could I ask him to give up his entire life for me? How could I give up my entire life for him? How did any of this make sense. Before I could say a word I heard the sweetest little voice:

“Mommy?”

I looked over to see Zay’s sleepy eyes wide with happiness at the site she saw. In that moment I knew that I would have to give an answer. Say yes and give Zay the family she deserves and finally find happiness for myself; or say no to save G from losing out on his passion. But which answer was the right one?

[ranwing]

Kadam Fic: Learning To Fly (18/?)

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: 18/?

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, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen

One AO3

A/N -  I'd like to both thank and apologize to all of my readers for the long delay in getting this chapter completed. I'd unfortunately been delayed by both a bout of writer's block and having surgery last month which set my plans to write back considerably. Thank you all for the wonderful comments and words of encouragement! I'm grateful to all of you for sticking with me.

Morning arrived with its usual clarion from Kurt’s cell phone alarm ringing at six, rousing him from sleep and reminding him that he had day filled with activities to get through awaiting him. Pushing off the sheets that had gotten wrapped about him during the night, Kurt sat at the edge of his bed and gave his body a long stretch to work out the sleep stiffness before getting to his feet.

With the semester starting to wind down, the students at NYADA were being put through the meat grinder by their instructors. Freshmen might have had the assumption that after all the work done on their spring musical that the professors might take it a bit easier on the upper classmen, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. The more that he and his classmates manage to prove themselves, the more their teachers demanded. Kurt figured that by the time he graduated, Madam Tibideaux would expect him to be able to climb to the top of Mount Everest while singing an aria from Rigoletto in full voice the whole way up.

Well, this was what he signed up for, he reminded himself with a self-administered mental slap upside the head. And if he didn’t dawdle too much, he had enough time to go for a run and burn off some of the cake that he and the Apples had gorged on the night before. That would leave him just enough time to shower before his morning classes. But first things first…

Kurt couldn’t help from smiling as he studied the map pinned over his desk, seeing the wave of blue pins stretching across the image of the United States. Each marked a city where Adam had performed; cities where his play had met with critical regard and where his reputation as an actor continued to grow. Kurt no longer looked at that map with dread, facing it as a reminder of just how long it would before Adam was returned to him. Now it was a confirmation of just how much his lover had been able to accomplish.

With only one lone red pin left, it was also a reminder that Adam would be home right around the time that Kurt was finishing his finals. The feeling of disassociation was being replaced by one of happy anticipation and now they both had plans for their shared future to look forward to.

Butcher’s Bill had just wrapped up its run in Seattle and Kurt had happily marked the occasion with a triumphant blue push pin. Now a solitary red pin marked the final city of the national tour and if they hadn’t run into any delays, Adam would be leaving Seattle for San Diego by midday. That would allow Kurt to exchange that last red pin for a green one, signaling that the tour was nearing its conclusion.

It felt oddly thrilling that he could now legitimately count down the days without being overwhelmed by their sheer number. That his perspective has shifted from only being able to see how long he would be apart from Adam to actively anticipating the day of their reunion. He could look at his calendar now and actually see the day that Adam would be returning to New York, just over four weeks away.

There was a lot that still needed to be ironed out for them. They didn’t have an apartment so finding a place to live was going to be first on their agenda. Kurt could stay in the dorms through the summer if necessary, and he would be spending a few weeks at Garrison during the festival. If he had to leave the dorms for some reason, he knew that could spend a few days at a hostel until he and Adam got an apartment lined up. After all, that’s what he did when he first arrived in New York with nothing more than his suitcases and his dreams. It hadn’t been so bad, and it would be a lot cheaper than a hotel until they got settled.

He was more concerned for Adam, who would be effectively homeless after the tour ended. If they didn’t have something lined up by the time Adam returned to New York, Kurt knew that Adam had friends with sofas that he could crash on until they signed a lease, and he also could room at a hostel for a few days if needed.

Still, finding a place would have to be a priority for them. They were in this together and would see it through.

For all his tendencies to try to control and micromanage every detail, he had his greatest successes when he threw caution to the wind. Whether it was his impromptu audition, challenging Rachel to Midnight Madness or letting himself accept the flirtatious overtures from a handsome Englishman, each time he’d let his carefully crafted defenses fall he’d been rewarded beyond anything he could have hoped for.

He would have faith that he and Adam would get their practical affairs sorted out relatively quickly. Kurt didn’t care if he and Adam found themselves living in another closet-sized apartment for a year or had to leave the neighborhood where he’d felt so at home in. He just wanted for them to be together.

After tying on his running shoes, Kurt plugged in his headphones and trotted downstairs to get in the exercise that his body very much was craving. By the time he returned a bit over an hour later, Kurt was feeling much refreshed with his head cleared of the usual morning cobwebs. He stopped by his room to grab his robe and toiletries and walked down the hall to the communal showers.

A half hour later found him in the dorm break room, reading through some notes he had jotted down for his stage movement class and eating his yogurt when he spotted one of Madam Tibideaux’s assistants enter the lounge and look about. This wasn’t unusual when the Dean wanted to catch a residential student before classes started, though he did feel a trace of concern when she approached him.

“Good morning Kurt,” she greeted pleasantly. “Sorry to disturb your breakfast, but the Dean would like for you to stop by her office this morning after your lesson with Professor Collins. There’s something that she needs to discuss with you.”

No, that didn’t sound good, Kurt thought though for the life of him he couldn’t think of anything that he might have done to warrant a call to the office. All of his classes were going well, and he’d been getting nothing more than positive feedback from Madam Tibideaux during his last few sessions with her.

“Is there something wrong?” he couldn’t help from asking. This wasn’t something he needed at this moment.

The assistant just smiled, clearly aware that most students naturally assumed that being summoned to the office didn’t mean anything good. “No, not at all,” she assured him. “The Dean has a guest coming in and she wants you to join them. It’s one of NYADA’s big sponsors and she likes to show off her favored talents.”

Kurt nodded, feeling a sense of relief that he wasn’t going to be called out on the carpet over something. But being invited to meet a sponsor could mean something serious for his career prospects and he needed to make a good impression. That meant a quick touch up to his post run grooming and a change of clothes to something a bit more polished.

His morning session with Professor Collins went well, the genial teacher putting him through his paces as he showed off the greater flexibility he’d been developing in his voice. He was smiling when he left the studio, his teacher’s praise raising his spirits and putting him in a good mind to meet this sponsor. If Madam Tibideaux wanted him there, he should be confident that it was something that he was up to.

Kurt paused at the bathroom, checking his appearance one last time before heading to the dean’s office. Madam Tibideaux’s assistant was seated at her desk outside and smiled and Kurt’s approach. “You’re just in time,” she greeted, rising from her chair to greet him. “Let me just poke my head inside to make sure they’re ready for you.”

Kurt smiled and nodded, waiting patiently for her to get permission for him to enter the office. He took the opportunity to smooth out any imaginary wrinkles on his shirt before he was granted admittance. He thanked Madam Tibideaux’s assistant politely as she ushered him in and closed the door behind him before facing his teacher.

“Good morning, Madam,” he greeted politely. “I hope that I’m not late.”

The Dean placed down the cup of tea she’d been daintily sipping from and offered him an encouraging smile. “Not at all, Mr. Hummel,” she assured him. “You’re right on time. How was your session with Professor Collins?”

Kurt couldn’t resist smiling. “It went well,” he insisted confidently. “I’m feeling much more confidence in transitioning through my entire range.”

“Excellent,” Madam Tibideaux said, looking quite pleased at his pronouncement. “I’m looking forward to testing that in our next lesson.

The person seated in the chair with it’s back to the office door turned in her seat and Kurt felt his breath seize at the sight of her cap of short red hair and a wryly arched eyebrow raised. June Dolloway looked him up and down as she had at the gala, her thin lips drawing into a smile that appeared far too predatory for comfort.

“Mr. Hummel,” she greeted, more than a trace of challenge in her voice as she held up a slender hand to him.

Kurt quickly forced himself to rally, pasting a pleasant if bland expression on his face and reaching out to gently shake the older woman’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to see you again,” he claimed as sincerely as he could manage.

She just snorted, clearly not believing him. “No one is pleased to see me,” she admitted with a sharp grin, picking up her teacup. “But they act like they are because I have an obscene amount of money and I like to throw it at what suits my whims. That makes everyone polite.”

Kurt couldn’t help from admiring her honesty and lack of caring that she was more feared than admired. There was something refreshing about that kind of clear-eyed perspective. That didn’t mean that he was dropping his guard at all around her, because he suspected that she would happily eat him alive if he gave her the least opportunity.

“Have a seat, Mr. Hummel,” Madam Tibideaux offered, clearly set in her role of mediator. “Mrs. Dolloway wanted to meet you again. She was quite taken with your performance.”

Kurt smiled blandly as he settled into the offered chair. He remembered her comments at their first meeting and while they might have been compliments technically, he didn’t miss the insults that were barely hidden in her words. But he trusted Madam Tibideaux not to steer him into a situation that he would end up regretting.

Mrs. Dolloway’s expression was schooled into a neutral pleasantness, but Kurt could tell that she was watching and testing him. To see if her comments that could easily be interrupted as affronts got a response. Kurt was determined not to let her win this little meeting.

“I always do like to keep an eye on performers that interest me,” Mrs. Dolloway reminded him, the barest hint of threat in her tone. “I found you to be very intriguing. You have a unique presence on stage and I’m sure that you know how unusual your voice is.”

Kurt allowed himself to smile. “I’ve been told that once or twice,” he confirmed a bit ironically.

She pursed her lips thoughtfully at how he didn’t seem intimidated by her. “I find it utter fascinating to see someone who doesn’t seem to fit neatly in a conventional mold manage to play those parts so well. Normally they’re so focused on showing how unique they are that they make themselves unemployable.”

The warning in her tone was unmistakable and Kurt already knew exactly how to counter it. “Maybe. But I also feel that being so unique lets me stand out from everyone else,” he insisted confidently. “A countertenor whose range can cover traditional tenor roles is going to be remembered. And some composers and directors will get a chance to take advantage of what I’m able to do that others can’t.”

Mrs. Dolloway’s expression lightened a bit, as if pleased that he wasn’t cowed by her demeanor. Madam Tibideaux nodded in approval at her student and added, “One of the things that we’ve been working on is developing Mr. Hummel’s singular talents while still making him as marketable as possible. I think that going by his success in Les Misérables and his performances at the Garrison festival, we’re on the right track.”

“I haven’t been to Garrison in years,” Mrs. Dolloway mused. “Is that old coot, Tillman, still running things?”

Kurt managed not to laugh, thinking that Mrs. Dolloway should be the last person in the world to call someone old. “Yes, he’s still directing,” he confirmed. “We’re doing ‘A Midsummer Nights Dream’ and ‘Troilus and Cresida’ this season.”

Mrs. Dolloway looked at him pointedly. “And what were you cast as?” she asked pointedly, her tone clearly issuing a challenge.

Kurt smiled proudly. “Well, last season I played Don John which was really exciting as it was my first summer with the festival. This year I’m Puck and Patroclus,” he stated confidently. “I’m rather looking forward to doing another nice dramatic death and putting my stage combat to practical use.”

The sponsor seemed almost impressed. “Well, there certainly does seem to be a lot more to you than pretty hair and a flashy wardrobe,” she granted, a trifle reluctantly in Kurt’s opinion. “I suppose that you’re wondering why I wanted to meet you today.”

“The question did cross my mind,” Kurt answered back, allowing a bit of fight coming out in his voice. He wasn’t inclined to give an inch, no matter how influential Mrs. Dolloway could be.

She just smiled, amused by his show of spirit. “I mentioned a showcase that I’m organizing when we met at the gala,” she reminded him.

Kurt nodded, indicating that he’d remembered. “When I didn’t hear anything, I just thought you’d changed your mind about me participating,” he said blandly, making it clear that he hadn’t been bothered by being omitted.

If Mrs. Dolloway was offended by his lack of interest in her connections, she didn’t show it. “Well, to be honest, I was vacillating between inviting you or not,” she admitted without a trace of shame.

Kurt managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. Of course, she did.

“The showcase is scheduled next week to benefit scheduled for next week to support the Lexington Home for Retired Performers. It’s an old age home for film and stage actors,” she explained, her tone becoming more matter of fact. “I’d scheduled a number of top students from various theater programs to perform, but one of the Julliard seniors flacked out on me. Something about a nervous breakdown…”

Kurt couldn’t help from arching a brow in response.

Mrs. Dolloway looked at him pointedly. “So now I have a hole in our performance schedule that I need to fill,” she huffed. “I was thinking ‘why not give that high voiced kid a shot’.”

Kurt didn’t respond immediately, not quite sure how he wanted to take her invitation. It was hardly worded in a flattering way and while he wasn’t offended that he wasn’t among her first choices for the benefit, he wasn’t sure if the performer who dropped out really did have some kind of breakdown or if he just wanted to get away from this difficult patron.

He mentally sighed, wishing that he could beg off with rehearsals or work for the festival, but she would be able to ferret out pretty quickly what his rehearsal schedule was. Being caught in a lie would just reflect badly on him.

“This can be an interesting opportunity,” Madam Tibideaux advised, seeing his reluctance. “Many of the residents of the home were quite renowned performers in their day. You can learn a great deal by speaking with them.

“And the home really is a great asset to our community. Sadly, it’s not uncommon for actors to be left with little financial support as they age. This facility allows them a safe and dignified place during their golden years.”

Kurt didn’t doubt her, and it sounded like the exact sort of charity that he would want to support. It was indeed a worthy cause and might just be worth the effort of dealing with Mrs. Dolloway for one day.

He looked to the older woman, who was watching him with a cool, calculating stare. “I’d be happy to help,” he claimed, smiling with all the charm he could muster. “It does sound like a wonderful cause.”

Mrs. Dolloway genuinely seemed surprised that he agreed to the invitation and Kurt rather enjoyed putting her back on her expensive heels a bit. He didn’t get as far as he has by letting small minded fools stand in his way. Even if he gained nothing personally, he would be pleased to help the elderly actors have a comfortable retirement.

She finally nodded, looking a little impressed despite herself. “Good,” she granted with no trace of reluctance in her voice, and Kurt couldn’t help from thinking that he just won this little confrontation. “I’ll let Carmen know the details. I’m fairly certain that you’ll be able to come up with two numbers that would be appropriate for the occasion.”

“I will,” he assured her self-assuredly. He was already making a mental list of potential material.

“Then I will see you next week.”

Mrs. Dolloway turned back to Madam Tibideaux and placed her teacup on the desk. “Carmen, it’s been a pleasure, as always.”

When the Dean began to push her chair back to get up, Mrs. Dolloway raised her hand to stop her. “Oh, don’t bother… I can show myself out,” she insisted blandly. She turned one last look to Kurt and nodded in his direction before walking out and closing the door behind her.

Once she had left the room, Kurt allowed himself a sigh of relief and couldn’t help from wondering just what he was letting himself in for. His teacher seemed just as relieved to have her troublesome visitor leave and turned a satisfied smile to him.

“I know that she’s a bit of a character,” Madam Tibideaux granted. “But she really can be an excellent sponsor. She’s helped launch a number of careers and she’s been a tremendous financial support for our school.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Kurt insisted. “But I get the feeling that her favor can be a double-edged sword.”

Madam Tibideaux chuckled at his clear-eyed view of the matter. “I’m not going to disagree with you,” she confided. “The ones who often run our profession are the wealthy. Whether they invest in productions or patronize the ballet and opera, performers have to decide for themselves how to navigate their influence. I know this is difficult, but I think that you would gain a lot more from this experience than Mrs. Dolloway will get in bragging rights since you’ve already technically been discovered.”

Kurt knew that his teacher was taking pleasure in that respect and wouldn’t begrudge her the honors. “I just want to make sure that I perform at a level where I won’t stand out in a negative way,” he said. “It’s rather on short notice.”

“Mr. Hummel, in all the months that I’ve known you I’ve never seen you fail to rise to the occasion.If I might offer my suggestions,” she proposed with a reassuring smile, earning an enthusiastic nod from her student. “For this crowd, I would stick to something classic. Using a song from the era that many of the home’s residents were active would be well received. There are certainly enough songs that take advantage of your natural range and your unique vocal qualities.”

That made a lot of sense, Kurt thought. And he suspected that Mrs. Dolloway’s tastes would lean towards the classical. He could work with that.

“I would also like to offer some advice,” Madam Tibideaux said carefully, and Kurt looked up at his teacher intently because he trusted her judgment.

“I know that June Dolloway can be difficult to deal with, and you shouldn’t feel obligated to accept her as a sponsor just because you agreed to perform at the benefit. Even if she offers,” the dean advised. “She does have a certain amount of influence. She built up a substantial bit of wealth from her various marriages and she has a lot of connections in the business, though how seriously she can be taken seriously is open to debate.”

“Then why is she one of NYADA’s biggest donors?” Kurt asked curiously. “If she’s that out there?”

The Dean offered him a confiding smile. “Because she is willing to help support our school financially. It’s sometimes worth it for me to humor her if it opens up her checkbook, but I know what I can and should expect from her. I always warn my students who catch her eye to be very cautious in how they deal with her. Yes, she can open a lot of doors for you. But she also can be very fickle, and I’ve seen her drop proteges as abruptly as she picks them up.”

Kurt nodded in understanding, recognizing that he would need to manage this opportunity with the same care that he did the options that Coach Sylvester presented. If he could gain Mrs. Dolloway’s respect, he might be able to take advantage of her connections while not putting himself in her debt. He knew that he had enough challenges in his path without having his career controlled by someone who looked down on him in any way.

He met up with Rachel and their friends for lunch, needing their support and feedback. “I want to do this,” Kurt insisted over pizza. “It’s a really good cause, but I really don’t want anything to do with that Dolloway woman. I think that I’d just be setting myself up for trouble.”

Rachel reached out and grasped his hand in solidarity. “I think you could handle her,” she claimed, having seen her friend outsmart and manipulate people to his own ends many times before.

“Kurt, you always could just do the show and call it quits,” Analisa reminded her friend. “There’s no law that says just because you’ve agreed to perform one time that you owe her anything more. Just take advantage of getting seen a bit more.”

Kurt nodded but insisted, “I just don’t want to make any enemy of her. I get the feeling that she can really go out of her way to screw me over if I offend her in some way.”

Jamie took a big bite of his pepperoni and mushroom slice and chewed thoughtfully. “She reminds of a director I had at arts camp when I was a kid. It was obvious to everyone that she had her favorites and would go to the ends of the earth for you. Until you weren’t one of her favorites anymore. Then you might as well not exist.”

“Is everyone in our industry crazy?” Katya asked. “I mean, it would be nice just perform and not have to deal with people in charge with attitudes like that.”

“I feel like it’s some kind of test,” Kurt bemoaned. “Like Mrs. Dolloway is setting me up to fail.”

“So, don’t fail,” Rachal said logically, as if it were truly that simple. “Kurt, you don’t need us to tell you how good you are. Just treat this as a chance to perform and do what you know you can do. You don’t owe her anything more than that.”

Kurt looked to his group, yet again grateful that he’d managed to find such a wonderful collection of supportive friends.

Analisa looked to her favorite duet partner and offered a bright smile. “Mind if we tag along for moral support?” she asked.

Mrs. Dolloway hadn’t mentioned anything about him bringing guests, but Kurt didn’t see the harm. He’d feel a lot better having a few friendly faces in the audience.

“I’d love you guys to be there,” he said. “I’m not going to hoard the chance to mingle and network.”

Kayta reached out to pinch his cheek. “So generous,” she praised.

Kurt playfully swatted her hand away, earning a round of laughter from his friends. Relieved that he wouldn’t be facing Mrs. Dolloway without some reinforcements at his back, he looked thankfully at his friends.

“I really appreciate this, guys,” he said sincerely. “But let’s dig in… this pizza isn’t going to eat itself.”

* * *

Adam looked at the theater marquee, feeling both a great sense of pride and a tremendous wash of relief. Their final opening for the national tour was just a few short days away. After this, it would be a countdown until they all were able to return home.

He hadn’t quite known what to expect from this job, but it had been both tremendously fulfilling and harder than he could have ever imagined. Still, despite how painful as his separation from Kurt had been, he honestly wouldn’t trade the experience he’d gained. He was learning a great deal more about himself as an actor and Adam knew that the connections he’d made and the regard he’d earned would serve him well in the future.

He walked over to the stage door, greeting the security guard pleasantly before being admitted and directed towards the dressing rooms. This was probably the largest venue that they’d performed in to date and with the relatively small cast, he’d only be sharing the dressing room with Niall. The racks with their costumes were already in place, the costumes wrapped neatly in plastic to protect them during the shipping process.

It would be nice to have the extra space and a bit of relative privacy, Adam considered as he set down his makeup kit and began to organize the dressing table to his liking. He pulled out a folder containing the photos that he would want to have close at hand. Some of them were getting a little battered from their months long journey around the country but were all the more precious to him as a result. There were his parents, who had never failed to support his aspirations and one with his big sister posing with a shaggy rescue pony. He had a photo of his Apples, taken as their last get together before he left on the tour and most importantly, one of his Kurt to be placed in a spot of honor so that Adam could see him at all times.

Adam smiled and couldn’t resist tracing the outline of Kurt’s features with his fingertip. He missed his lovely boy so much and couldn’t wait to see him again. So much had happened for the both of them and he was eager to see his young man having grown into the potential that Adam knew that Kurt possessed from the start. He had always known that Kurt was an exceptional being, both as a performer and as a man and now it appeared that the rest of the world was starting to catch on as well. He was looking forward to seeing how Kurt was handling the real recognition of his worth.

These final weeks of Butcher’s Bill was setting Adam on the course for his career and he knew that Kurt was likewise taking concrete steps towards his own. All of this was worthwhile, Adam told himself. They had so much to look forward to and Adam was never more confident that they would be facing their future together.

He had a few hours before their director would be arriving for their afternoon run-through. That should leave him a bit of time to relax and maybe do a bit of sightseeing with his friends. Now that the end of the road was clearly within sight, he found his normal optimism and good spirits returning in full.

Making one last check that he had everything that he needed, he stepped out of the theater into the bright sunlight. The anxiety that he’d felt for so long was finally easing and he looked forward to the challenges that these final weeks of the tour would present. For once, he felt more than ready.

* * *

“You look fantastic,” Rachel assured him as Kurt checked the lay of his tie for what was likely the nineteenth time in her estimation. She gently took his hands and forced them down to halt his fussing.

“Are you sure?” he asked, checking his outfit once again to make sure that the creases on his designer slacks were pressed straight and his shoes were polished to a gleaming finish. Rather than giving into his first instinct to wear one of his more conservative outfits, he’d decided to go with something that was truer to his personality. The bold herringbone pattern of his dress pants tailored to fit the line of his body perfectly and drew attention to his best assets while the button-down shirt had just enough stretch that he could wear it tight enough to take advantage of his shoulders. His hair had been freshly cut and styled, the sides neat and the top combed into a tall crest.

“It’s fine,” she promised with a warm smile. “You’re not nervous, are you? This kind of performance is right up your alley.”

Kurt sighed, knowing that he was being silly. Maybe his choice of material was a little ambitious, but he was confident in his abilities to handle it.

He knew what the issue was, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Mrs. Dolloway’s opinion of him still rankled. He didn’t know if she was actually homophobic or just enjoyed needling people where they might be vulnerable, but he was really put off by her attitude. If it hadn’t been for the cause that this showcase would be benefiting and Madam Tibideaux’s show of support, he didn’t know if it was worthwhile to put himself through this.

There were eight students performing, and he was one of three representing NYADA. Most of the others were from Julliard, and he could certainly admire their talents. These were students primarily focused on classical technique, with a good number of them on track for professional opera or recording artist careers. He was suddenly quite grateful for Madam Tibideaux insisting on him focusing on classical technique in his own development. He should be able to hold his own with a group like this.

He also couldn’t argue that Mrs. Dolloway wasn’t throwing a lot of money at this event. She’d rented out the Studio 54 theater space, setting it up like a nightclub venue with tables and seats arranged about the stage. There was plenty of room for the various guests and donors attending, but tables situated closest to the stage were dedicated to the residents of the actor’s home. The elderly performers had turned out in their best clothing, apparently eager for the outing and looking forward to seeing what the younger generation had to offer.

Kurt’s own friends were seated towards the back, and he was grateful for their presence. He hadn’t expected to find so many good friends at NYADA but felt very privileged to have done so. Between his classmates and the Apples, he had a solid base of support in New York. That his relationships didn’t boil down to nothing but rivals that would cheerfully kneecap him any chance they got had come as a deep relief for him.

Deep inside, Kurt felt a bit of a thrill that he would be standing on a Broadway stage, even if it wasn’t an actual Broadway production. Not that it looked much like a proper theater, but he knew the names of the famous actors who’d performed in that venue. Knowing that his small contribution to the history of this newer theater filled him with a sense of pride.

Rachel leaned up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, careful not to get any lipstick on him. “I’m going to go join the others,” she said, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “I’ll see you when you’re done.”

He nodded and offered his friend a thankful smile. “Rachel… thanks for coming today.”

She just grinned back. “Did you ever think that I would miss this?” she chuckled. “Break a leg!”

Left alone, Kurt moved to join the other performers, grateful that for once he didn’t feel completely out of his element. The two NYADA students were performers that he’d become very familiar with over the past months, having worked them during their run of Les Miserables. He wasn’t at all surprised that Mrs. Dolloway had invited Brett Sosa, given that he had the classic good looks and honey-smooth tenor that would appeal to a broad audience. He was a bit surprised that she’d invited the young woman who’d played Cosette rather than the more dynamic singers for Eponine and Fantine. But Abigail Thomas was gifted with one of the most gorgeous soprano voices that Kurt head ever heard, and he knew that she would make the audience very pleased.

He greeted them cheerfully, glad to have some familiar faces in the group. “I was wondering who Mrs. Dolloway would wrangle from NYADA,” he said confidingly. “I should have figured that you two would be her top picks.”

Brett gave him a warm pat on the back. “Good to see you, Kurt,” he greeted happily. “We were wondering ourselves since she was being so damned closed mouthed about things.

Abigail nodded in agreement. “I’m trying to figure out why I’m here since everyone knows she never sponsors women,” she complained lightly with a knowing smirk. “She likes to go after men who remind her of one of her husbands.”

Kurt couldn’t help from laughing. “I wonder which of them I remind her of,” he mused amusedly. “Because he must have really pissed her off at some point.”

Brett chuckled in response. “Madam Tibideaux did warn me that she was a character,” he advised. “But she can open doors and if she can get me in front of the right people, it might be worth it. I’ve been hitting auditions and I really need to nail down some work after graduation.”

“Me too,” Abigail sighed. “You’re lucky, Kurt. You probably aren’t facing the same kind of pressure just yet.”

No, he wasn’t, Kurt acknowledged to himself. But he had his own pressure to deal with. It didn’t pass his notice that, yet again, he was the least conventional performer in the room. Even so, he wasn’t going to allow that to bother him. He was looking forward to showing off his mettle against the kind of tenors and baritones that they audience expected to see and the song he’d chosen for the occasion would make the most of his full range as a singer.

Maybe it was petty and even a bit counterproductive, but he was looking forward to seeing Mrs. Dolloway’s self-satisfied smirk vanish when she realized that he wasn’t going to crumble in front of her. He wasn’t just going to match what the other students were able to do; he was going to be the best on that stage.

Mrs. Dolloway swept into the backstage area, dressed in a pale grey Chanel suit and Kurt judged that the jewelry she was sporting that looked like it could probably cover all the students’ rent for the next three years. She looked over the group and offered a smile that held nothing in the way of genuine warmth. Like all the interactions that Kurt had with her up until this point, her expression was predatory and slightly contemptuous of everyone she came across. He couldn’t help from wondering if she actually liked any of the prospects that she sponsored, of if she just enjoyed jerking their chains as she dangled prospects and possibilities  before them.

“I’m so glad to see you all,” she greeted benignly, if not with any great sincerity. “Before we get started, I wanted to thank you for supporting this very worthy cause. We’ve got a good-sized crowd and I’ve got them well primed for you. I certainly hope that that you all perform at the level I’ve come to expect from students of your caliber.”

None of the students missed the threat in her carefully chosen words, that whatever support they might hope for with this patron would evaporate if they didn’t perform at their best. Of what they could expect if their best was judged not good enough.

A few of the students looked genuinely nervous and Kurt suspected that at least a few of them sincerely wanted to gain Mrs. Dolloway’s support for their careers. He felt himself smile a little bit, relaxing when he realized that he honestly didn’t much care if the arrogant woman liked him at all. He just wanted to perform well for his audience, especially the elderly actors who deserved to have a pleasant afternoon. And for his friends who were so supportive of him. He didn’t want to disappoint them.

From their position offstage, he could hear Mrs. Dolloway greeting her audience and Kurt tuned her out. He didn’t care much about whatever spiel she pulled out of her finely dressed ass. He was sure that she would be able to coax some decent funds for the retirement home and his only purpose there was to perform to the best of his ability. Then he could hopefully put June Dolloway in his rear-view mirror.

One by one, the students were called out onto the stage and Kurt allowed himself to enjoy their performances. Mrs. Dolloway might be a total pill, but she did seem to have a real eye and ear for talent. Every one of the students she’d invited to perform were, to an individual, exceptional. He never had a problem admiring the talents of others and he felt rather privileged to be counted in a group like this.

There didn’t seem to be any set pattern to how they were called up, and he knew that he’d better be prepared at an instant’s notice. He’d done his warmups and just focused on keeping his vocal cords loosened and lubricated. Swishing some lukewarm water in his mouth before swallowing, he mentally ran through his performance notes, wanting to give his best effort.

Brett had just completed an absolutely stunning rendition of “Almost Like Being In Love” to great applause from their appreciate audience when Mrs. Dolloway stepped onto the stage, applauding him with a smile. Once the audience settled, she turned to them with a teasing smile.

“Well, now I think it’s time for something a little different,” she pronounced. “NYADA certainly has been generous with the talent we have this afternoon, so let me present Mr. Kurt Hummel.”

She looked to the stage wings and gave Kurt an appraising look, as if daring him to back out but he just smiled serenely. Not even taking a second to check his outfit one last time, Kurt stepped onto the stage and nodded his thanks to the prickly patron. Mrs. Dolloway just smiled and nodded a challenge to him before allowing him the stage.

Kurt turned his focus to the audience and the band began to play the opening strains to his first number. He wondered if anyone watching him would be surprised at his choice because this song had the potential to be a total train wreak if the melody got away from him at any point.

There was a gentle rhythm that felt almost like a heartbeat, and his voice rose out gently to match it. “Like the beat, beat beat of the tom tom,” he sang gently, each word falling neatly onto the percussion. “When the jungle shadows fall.”

His voice shifted octave just slightly, slipping into the next level of his range with smooth effortlessness, the words trailing elegantly. “Like the tick, tick, tock of the stately clock as it stands against the wall.”

The octave shifted again, and Kurt’s voice rose to meet it. “Like the drip, drip drip of the raindrops, when the summer shower is through,” he sang smoothly, his voice adjusting to the quick change from higher to low notes without any breaks. “So a voice within me keeps repeating you, you, you…”

The heartbeat rhythm was replaced by a warm jazzy tone and Kurt’s voice slipped easily into the new cadence. “Night and day, you are the one,” he sang passionately, allowing a faraway smile to touch his features as he thought about the man who was inspiring him. “Only you, beneath the moon and under the sun. Whether near to me or far… It’s no matter darling, where you are. I think of you…”

Kurt knew that technically had had it. His voice agilely danced through the various octaves and key changes without any hint of struggle. The song made use of nearly his entire range and required him to be able to bounce from octave to octave without hesitation or interruption.

But he was no mere technician. The warmth in his voice and the soul powering the words was what would set him apart. The singer was a man deeply, passionately in love and Kurt certainly had enough of those feelings to lend appropriate authenticity to his performance.

“Night and day,” he crooned, allowing all his feelings for Adam come out in his voice. “Day and night. Why is it so? This longing for you follows me wherever I go. In the roaring traffic’s boom. In the silence of my lonely room, I think of you.”

This separation had been one of the hardest things he’d endured, but his feelings for Adam had only grown. If absence did indeed make the heart grow fonder, then his heart was nearly overflowing with love for his absent partner. He could only express it now in his voice.

“Night and day. Night and day!” The key changed and Kurt voice rose elegantly as he slid into his upper range. “Under the hide of me. There’s an oh! Such a hungry yearning burning inside of me.”

He moved across the stage, doing a soft weave step that worked nicely with the flow of the music, letting himself get lost in the music and emotion. His voice slipped easily into his lower register, coiling like a spring.

“And its torment won’t be through, till you let me spend my life making love…” Kurt’s voice shot up to his upper register and he held the note for a long, dramatic second before letting it fall back into his middle range. “To you! Day and night! Night and day!”

He finished with a vocal flourish and couldn’t help from smiling when the audience applauded enthusiastically. Kurt thought that he’d sounded quite good but getting that kind of feedback from an artistically educated and appreciative audience… it would never get old.

Through the lights, he could see his audience. Mostly the seniors seated at the tables who seemed especially enthusiastic. One in particular caught his eye; a petite dumpling of a woman with short grey hair and grinning widely as she applauded. He smiled at her, nodding his thanks.

As for Mrs. Dolloway, standing in the wings… Kurt didn’t bother to look for her reaction, because it didn’t matter to him if she liked his performance or not. The band was already cuing up the music for his next number and he had an audience to focus on.

He was glad that he’d selected an upbeat number for his second performance, using songs from the same songwriter to tie his act together. He’d already proven that he was a singer. Now he could let them see just how much of a showman he could be.

He smiled beatifically looking out to the audience, using the older woman he’d spotted as a focus. “When the little blue bird who has never said a word, starts to sing, ‘Spring, spring’,” he trilled gently, letting his voice float on the music. “When the little blue bell in the bottom of the dell, starts to ring, ‘Ting, ting’.”

He did a little bit of dancing, moving across the stage as he sang. “When the little blue clock in the middle of his work, sings a song to the moon up above.” Kurt allowed a bit more power to come out in his voice but kept it carefully under control. “It is nature that's all, simply telling us to fall in love…”

He allowed a short pause to build up anticipation before continuing softly. “And that's why birds do it, bees do it,” he crooned delicately. “Even educated fleas do it. Let's do it! let's fall in love.”

Love might be the subject of ninety nine percent of songs written, he’d considered, but he didn’t know of many songs that so perfectly expressed the joy of discovering love. That one wasn’t above that heady emotion when sense could be tossed aside in favor of just feeling. Sometimes it would strike like a lightning bolt, but other times it came on more gradually. Like sinking into a perfectly warm bath. He’d been fortunate to have discovered love in both ways but having that moment when you truly fell was some of the most wondrous, terrifying moments of his life.

“In Spain, the best upper sets do it,” he confided playfully. “Lithuanians and Letts do it. Let's do it, let's fall in love.”

Kurt saw the plump little woman nodding approvingly, watching with the others seated at her table. An elegantly handsome black man leaned over to whisper something in her ear, his eyes focused on Kurt with the other man just watched with a slightly dazed smile on his face.

“Some Argentines without means, do it,” Kurt lilted, letting the best qualities of his voice shine. He knew that his voice was distinctive, and he wasn’t going to hide that fact no matter what Mrs. Dolloway thought. “People say in Boston even beans do it. Let’s do it! Let’s fall in love!”

Kurt had enough dance training under his belt that even though he hadn’t enough time to plan his choreography in advance, he could improvise and have it look thought out. He turned on one foot and danced across the stage as he sang, using the jazz technique that Ms. July had beaten into him and used the movement to accent his vocals. He could see the approval of the audience as they clapped in time to the music and cheered him on.

He gave a final spin, coming to stop in front of the older woman’s table and offered her and her friends a charming smile. “The world admits bears in pits do it,” he sang, letting more power come into his voice and giving the woman a sly smile and a little shimmy of his shoulders, causing her to giggle in response. “Even Pekingeses at the Ritz do it. Let’s do it! Let’s fall in love.

“The royal set sans regret did it, and they considered it fun. Marie Antoinette did it, with or with about Napoleon!” Kurt confided to his audience, glad that they were enjoying the bawdy nonsense. “Parliament pleasure bent did it. Mam’selles every time they’re short of rent did it.

“Let’s do it,” he belted, winding up for the conclusion and letting his voice soar. “Let’s fall in love!”

It might not have been the same thrill that he got from performing Les Misérables, but the audience was applauding and cheering, and Kurt couldn’t be more pleased. He gave a brief bow and waved to the crowd before stepping off stage.

Mrs. Dolloway was giving him an odd, appraising look but didn’t have the opportunity to speak with him right away. She stepped out to introduce the next performer and Kurt took the opportunity to make a quick escape.

He stopped by Abigail and Brett, the three of them quietly congratulating one another for their fine performances before Kurt made his way to where they audience was seated. Taking care not to draw attention to himself and detract from the young woman singing a glorious aria, he stealthily made his way to the table at the back where his friends were seated. They were all smiles and while they couldn’t immediately express what they thought without disturbing others seated around them, Kurt knew that he had done what he’d set out to do.

Rachel smiled at him warmly, her dark eyes clearly communicating how well she thought he’d done and reached out to grasp his hand. He returned the loving squeeze and allowed her to rest her head on his shoulder while they watched the remaining performers.

Once all the students were finished, Mrs. Dolloway took the stage again bask in the admiration of the audience, nodding her thanks at their applause. With practiced graciousness, she thanked all the performers and sponsors of the retirement home, urging everyone to stay for the reception. The house lights came on to illuminate the room and the band began to play a pleasant jazz set so that everyone could mingle and talk.

Now that the hard part was over, Kurt turned to his friends with a satisfied smile. “Thanks for being here, guys,” he said sincerely. “It was really reassuring, knowing that you were out here.”

Analisa got up to hug her favorite duet partner about his shoulders. “Don’t be silly,” she admonished playfully. “Did you really think we would miss it? We’re all in this together.”

Jamie clapped Kurt on the arm fondly. “Why don’t we go see what kind of food they’ve got,” he suggested.

Kurt smiled and nodded, offering his arms to both Analisa and Rachel, while Jamie happily escorted Katya. There was an open bar which provided Kurt with a very well-deserved glass of white wine while waiters circulated through the crowd with trays of finger foods. Taking a fried nibble that turned out to be brie and fig preserves, Kurt mentally prepared himself to do the whole meet and greet thing. While he’d much rather hang out with his friends and enjoy the free food, he knew that it would be stupid to waste the opportunity to network on June Dolloway’s dime. Especially if he could share the wealth with his friends.

After making the rounds, accepting compliments on his performance and pocketing a few business cards from some professionals who wanted to keep Kurt on their radar, he decided that he now had full right to relax and enjoy the party. A plate of munchies and Kurt was happy to sit at a convenient table with his friends to talk. They didn’t often have the chance to enjoy outings like this and he certainly wasn’t going to pass on the opportunity.

“I could use another drink,” he pronounced after finishing off his first glass of wine. “Can I get anyone anything?”

“No, we’re good,” Jamie assured him.

Kurt got up from his seat and took his empty glass with him to head towards the bar. He’d already planned to cut himself off after two glasses of wine, knowing that this was not the kind of setting where getting sloppy would be appreciated. The crowd was a bit thick and he carefully waded his way through but couldn’t avoid being collided by someone who’d been nudged into his path. Kurt quickly caught her, helping her find her balance again.

“I’m so sorry!” the woman exclaimed, alarmed as the glass she held sloshed a bit. “Did I get anything on you?”

Even in the less than ideal light, Kurt could see that his outfit was free of liquid stains. “No, it’s fine,” he assured her, offering a smile.

She inhaled a deep sigh of relief. “Thank goodness! I would have hated to ruin your outfit after that wonderful performance you just gave us,” she admitted with a smile.

Kurt quickly recognized her as the older woman that he’d focused on during his performance and realized that she was even more adorable than he’d originally perceived from the stage. With her round face and neat cap of grey hair, she looked like she would be perfectly at home baking cookies for a score of grandchildren.

That was until he caught the mischievous glint in her eyes behind her glasses. That indicated less an inclination towards baking and a nature more inclined to being the source of trouble wherever she went.

“At least this gives me the chance to thank you,” she said with a warm smile. “You were absolutely wonderful.”

Kurt couldn’t help from smiling back. “Thank you very much,” he answered sincerely. I’m so happy that you enjoyed it.”

“Well, it’s such a pleasure to meet you in person,” she said sweetly. “I’m Maggie.”

Kurt took her hand and shook it gently, amazing at how soft her skin was over joints that were clearly showing signs of advanced arthritis. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Maggie. I’m Kurt.”

The handsome black man that Maggie had been seated with hurried over, trailed by another man with a perpetually dazed smile on his face. “Maggie, here you are,” he exclaimed, a hint or reprimand in his voice. “We were looking all over for you.”

“Oh hush… I was just talking to my new friend here,” Maggie explained. “This is Kurt and he just saved me from being knocked to the floor.”

She sighed happily. “It’ been so long since I’ve had a handsome young man to take care of me,” she teased with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Despite how she overstated his rescue of her, Kurt couldn’t help from smiling back, flattered by her compliment.

“Oh, come on,” the handsome black man reprimanded playfully. “My grandson visited just last week. He did your hair for you!”

Maggie blushed and laughed, hand-waving away her friend’s protestations. She turned a teasing smile to Kurt. “Don’t listen to him,” she insisted, patting his hand. “He always tries to spoil my fun.”

She looked to her friend and explained, “This is that lovely young man that we saw in Les Misérables. Remember?”

The man’s eyes widened slightly in recognition. “I should have remembered that,” he said ruefully. “A voice like that, you don’t forget too quickly.

“I’m Andy and this here is Marty,” he introduced, shaking Kurt’s hand warmly. “It’s so nice to meet such a talented young man.”

“Thank you,” Kurt said sincerely. “I wasn’t sure if anyone here saw our show.”

Andy couldn’t help from laughing loudly at that bit of absurdity. “Son, I don’t think there’s anyone in this room that didn’t see that show,” he insisted with a broad smile that looked far too sexy on a man his age. “It was a nice surprise to see some of the performers from it here today.”

Kurt couldn’t help from laughing at their antics. “Madam Tibideaux told me a bit about your retirement home and I couldn’t resist wanting to help,” he said with a smile. “It sounds like a really nice place.”

Andy nodded, taking a sip of his drink that appeared to be scotch and water. “It is,” he assured the younger man. “Especially when you consider that all of the residents have a lot of shared life and career experiences. Gives us plenty to talk about.”

Maggie nodded in agreement. “They have a lot of activities for old actors like us. We get to see most of the new Broadway shows, and we go to a lot of school and local productions,” she explained. “There was no way that we would miss that one.”

Her smile turned a bit mischievous as she appraised him. “I recognized you the instant you came on the stage.”

Kurt couldn’t help from laughing a bit. “I’m flattered,” he said sincerely.

“It’s a lot of fun, watching all you youngsters,” Andy complimented. “Reminds me of our glory days. I probably wasn’t much older than you when I made my big debut.”

“Oh hush, Andy,” Maggie reprimanded playfully. “He doesn’t want to hear our old stories. And we’re being so rude, taking him away from his friends like this.”

“It’s okay,” Kurt promised with a chuckle. He glanced over at the table where his friends were seated and caught Rachel’s questioning gesture at what was keeping him. He nodded his head towards his current companions and Rachel smiled knowingly, rolling her eyes playfully. “I see them all the time at school.”

Before he could say anything more, he saw Mrs. Dolloway approaching them. Her face was set in a smile, but Kurt could easily see that it was just a front for the guests. The look in her pale eyes was positively steely and whatever hope he had of finishing the day without an uncomfortable confrontation with her was totally extinguished.

“I hate to rush away,” he said was honest regret, because he would much rather hear their stories about the old days than deal with the unpredictable sponsor. “But I see Mrs. Dolloway and it look like she wants to speak with me.”

“Well, it’s been a pleasure, Kurt,” Andy said graciously, offering another brilliant smile. “You were excellent today and we’re all looking forward to seeing more from you.”

Maggie leaned up and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks for rescuing me,” she said sincerely. “I hope that we see more of you soon.”

He smiled back, giving her hand a fond squeeze. “It was wonderful to meet you,” he said graciously before turning to face the difficult sponsor. He was mentally steeling himself when he jumped in surprise because someone just pinched his ass. He turned in shock to see Maggie strolling away with her friends to find new entertainments but not without turning a mischievous smile in his direction and giving him a quick wave. Almost before he had a chance to mentally regroup, he was faced with his biggest challenge of the day.

“Well, Mr. Hummel,” Mrs.Dolloway pronounced with obviously false sweetness. “That performance was certainly not what I would have expected from you.”

Kurt let himself smile, detecting the bare trace of hard-won respect in her tone. “I’m pleased that I was able to surpass your expectations,” he allowed himself to respond with carefully politeness.

Her mouth pursed thoughtfully. “Well, it certainly wasn’t anything I would have expected,” she granted. “And I’ve gotten some decent feedback from some of our donors on your performance.”

Kurt had the feeling that getting an actual compliment from this woman would be like trying to extract state secrets from James Bond. Nor did he think that it would be worth the effort. He knew how well he’d done and didn’t need the confirmation from someone that evidently didn’t respect him.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he granted with a smile, pouring on the sugar. “Especially since it’s going to benefit the retirement home residents.”

Something seemed to soften in Mrs. Dolloway’s eyes at his disinterest in trying to reap glory for his own benefit. He would have every right to be proud of what he’d brought to that stage but had the grace to recognize that this day wasn’t about him in the end. It was about those lovely old actors getting support and respect from a younger generation.

She quickly regained her mental equilibrium, pasting a tolerant expression on her face as if trying to reason with an unruly child. Gazing at him appraisingly, she stated “I have other performance opportunities over the next few weeks that might interest you. Perhaps we could set up a time to discuss the options.”

Kurt’s eyebrow arched in surprise at the offer. He would have thought that he would be the last person she would invite back to another of her showcases.

Trying to look apologetic and not sure if he was being totally convincing, Kurt gave a regretful sigh. “I wish that I could,” he said with as much sincerity as he could force into his voice without sounding saccharine. “But we’re getting to the end of the semester and I’ve got all my finals and critiques to get through. Then right after that, I start rehearsals for the Garrison festival and that will tie me up all summer. I’m afraid that I’m just not going to have any free time to take on any more committments.”

At least not any where Mrs. Dolloway was concerned, he said to himself with an internal smirk.

His excuse was plausible enough given the time of the year and not something that she could actually protest since he still had two years of school to go. “I suppose that your semester is winding down,” she granted with a huff. “And I doubt that Carmen would be forgiving if I distracted you from your studies.”

Kurt nodded, glad that she was buying it. To be honest, if he really wanted to, he probably could have found time to manage another showcase. He’d become very adept at juggling an overloaded schedule, but Mrs. Dolloway made it difficult for him to justify putting himself out in any way.

Still, she didn’t appear to be trying to be deliberately awful at the moment and he was glad to have helped support the retirement home. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to make nice to the old harridan.

“Maybe once school starts again,” he offered, wanting to end this on a positive note so that he at least didn’t have to worry about an enemy. While it would be idiotic for Mrs. Dolloway to try to hamstring his prospects, it would be equally stupid on his part to antagonize her unnecessarily.

“Especially if your showcase benefits a cause like this,” he added with genuine sincerity. “I was very happy to give my support today. Anything for old folks or animals… I’m pretty much a sucker for those.”

That got a genuine laugh from the cantankerous woman, and Kurt thought that just maybe he might get out of this with his professional reputation intact.

Mrs. Dolloway offered a brief nod, accepting both his refusal and the offered olive branch with a lot more grace that he would have expected. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind if the opportunity comes up,” she assured him with a sharp-toothed grin. “Even if it doesn’t, I’ll be keeping my eye on you. I’m curious enough to see how you develop going forward. You’re an interesting young man, Mr. Hummel.”

There was just enough warning in her tone to imply that she was being entirely truthful, and Kurt knew well enough not to poke a snarling cat with a stick. He reached out to take her hand, as if to shake it, but surprised her by pressing a feather-light kiss to her thin fingers.

“I’ll try to keep surprising you,” he assured her, offering a bit of a saucy wink that got another laugh from Mrs. Dolloway. She shook her head bemusedly as she walked off to find someone else to torture.

Walking back to his friends, Kurt allowed himself a sigh of relief at having managed to escape what could have been a very painful entanglement. He knew that he had handled things as well as he possibly could have managed and all things considered, it hadn’t been a terrible way to spend an afternoon. He got to offer support to a worthy cause, performed well before and appreciative audience and apparently had managed to avoid being mauled by a difficult patron.

All in all, he was rather pleased with himself. And he’d have some interesting stories to tell Adam when he returned home.

* * *

At one point, having a day off meant that Adam could rest. Being on the road and performing on tour was draining and he knew that if he intended to survive with his sanity intact, that he needed to take the opportunity to relax when presented with it. Certainly, he and his friends did sightseeing and took advantage of the various cities that they performed in. He was glad to have the opportunity to see so much of the country that he had made his home in.

But this day off would allow little time for decompressing or taking a long nap to recharge. Not when he had just a few weeks left of work and no flat to return to. He wanted to review the listings and narrow down some options before asking Kurt to take time from his studies to see them in person. Adam knew that Kurt would have his finals soon and had precious little time to go looking at apartments when he should be focused on his studies.

While staying in their old neighborhood would have been ideal for Kurt, as he could walk to school when the weather permitted and they were familiar with the area, he knew that they should also branch out a bit. Being closer to the theater district might work out and put him closer to work and auditions. And while he had a very nice chuck of his pay stashed in the bank, he knew that it needed to last until Butcher’s Bill started up in New York. Something that they could afford would be critical.

Adam had lived in New York long enough to know that the real estate market was cutthroat and apartments that seemed ideally suited to their needs would vanish from the market in an instant. It was frustrating to compile a list of prospects, only to have them snapped up before he could ask Kurt to see them in person.

Niall watched his increasing vexation with amusement, rolling his eyes as Adam ranted at another possible flat was rented before they could even check the apartment out.

“Mate, why are you driving yourself barmy like this?” he asked, watching from his bed as Adam was reviewing yet another group of listings.

Adam turned an irritated look to his friend. “Because NYADA isn’t going to let me move into Kurt’s dorm room when we get back to New York,” he snapped, aggravated by the lack of progress in finding himself a home. “I’m not fancying being homeless.”

Niall shook his head in amusement. “Just call an agent,” he suggested, as if the solution was so plainly obvious and Adam was three kinds of idiot for not noticing it sooner. “Let them do all the leg work. Just tell them when you’ll need your place by.”

Adam looked at the other Englishman, mentally kicking himself for not thinking of that sooner. Exasperated with his own stubbornness, he did a quick internet search and found an agent had very positive reviews from past clients. Speaking to her, he learned that her fee was paid by the landlords after the lease was signed, as they were saved time and work by having their prospective tenants cleared by someone else and Adam explained what he and Kurt were looking for.

A one bedroom at least, so that he and Kurt would have some wiggle room and not be living in one another’s pockets the whole time. Two bedrooms would be even better, letting one room stand as a study/guest room but he knew that would probably be out of their budgets. A decent kitchen with a dishwasher. They didn’t mind a walk up, but if the flat was more than three stories up they were prefer a building with a lift. He explained that while he wouldn’t be back in New York to sign the lease for a few weeks, they could put a deposit down to secure the flat until he returned.

She expressed confidence that she’d be able to find something for him that would be available when he returned to New York and that it would be no problem for Kurt to see the apartments in his stead. Within three days, Adam had a group of listings to review. He picked out the ones that he thought suited best and forwarded them to Kurt to look over.

“The Chelsea apartment is awfully expensive,” Kurt mused on their afternoon call. “And it’s pretty far from the subway.”

“I was thinking that myself,” Adam said regretfully. It was the largest of the flats they were considering and ticked off most of the boxes, but it was at the high end of their budget. Being comfortable didn’t matter much if they were left starving in order to cover the rent. “We can cross that one off our list. What about the one in Hell’s Kitchen? I know it’s a walk-up, but it’s only the second floor. And it’s a few blocks from the subway and the bus going downtown.”

The agent had been especially pleased to find that apartment and it would become available right around the time Adam was finishing in California. Newly renovated and in an area that she assured him had plenty of good restaurants and shopping and was very friendly to same-sex couples, it sounded like a fine place for Adam to land in.

Kurt took a moment and looked over the listing. “I like this one,” he decided. “I won’t be able to walk to school, but it shouldn’t take me too long to get there. And there’s a laundromat right down the block, so we won’t have to go too far for clean underwear.”

“And it’s not at all far from the theater district,” Adam noted. “It’s only one bedroom, but I think that it’ll be large enough for us to be comfortable. Maybe look at this one and two flats in the West Village.”

“Sounds good,” Kurt agreed. “I’ll make arrangements to see them and we’ll make a final choice. That is, if you trust me.”

Adam couldn’t help from laughing at the absurd nothing. “Of course I do, love,” he assured Kurt lovingly. “I have no doubt that you’ll pick the right home for us.”

Kurt fell silent for a moment and Adam couldn’t help from prodding, “Sweetheart?”

“It’s okay,” Kurt assured him. “It’s just… it feels like you’ve been away for so long. This just makes you coming home real.”

Adam smiled at the longing in his lover’s voice. He’d missed Kurt so badly the past few months and finding a new flat was the confirmation that their time apart was coming to an end.

“And this will be our place,” he reminded Kurt. “Not one of us moving into a space where the other had already set down roots. We’ll make it our home, together.”

He heard Kurt sniffle over the line and wished that he could be there to take his beautiful lad into his arms. Just a few short weeks, he told himself.

“I can’t wait,” Kurt insisted. “I just want to hold you and never let go.”

Hearing Kurt’s longing expressed so plainly caused Adam’s heart to tighten within his chest. They’d survived this trial and very soon would be reaping the rewards for everything that they’d gone through.

It would only be a few more weeks, he told himself.

* * *

Kurt looked about the empty apartment, glad that he’d brought Rachel along for both company and to offer an unbiased opinion. After sleeping in a dorm room, however comfortable, Kurt was desperate for some real privacy and his own shower. While Adam trusted him to make a good choice that suited both of them, Kurt worried that he’d take whatever apartment he was shown first. Having one of his closest friends who knew his tastes so well would help him to make a more reasoned decision.

He'd already decided that one of the West Village apartments might be a contender, having enough space for them to live in comfortably. The other was too small despite technically being a one bedroom and the bathroom was sorely out of date despite the high rent the landlord was requesting. Climbing up the steps to an old pre-war brownstone on the west side, he hoped that this apartment might suit them better.

“The apartment gets a lot of good natural light,” the broker, Monica, explained as she guided them around. “The windows are new and will muffle out a lot of the street noise.”

Kurt nodded as he checked out the kitchen that had clearly been recently renovated. While like most kitchens in New York apartments it was on the small side, there was more space than in Adam’s old place and he was confident that both he and Adam could be cooking together without tripping over one another. It had more than enough cabinet and counter space for their needs and all the appliances were brand new, including the coveted dishwasher.

The living area was decent sized, and Kurt thought that they could fit in an actual dining table that could accommodate more than just the two of them, as well as a sofa and loveseat so they could entertain guests. He loved the exposed brick wall and the honey-warm hardwood floors, listening to his shoes clicking as he walked through the place.

“Does the fireplace work?” Rachel asked, eyeing the space in the brick wall and the small mantle accenting it enviously. Kurt didn’t blame her, as he was already envisioning hanging up their stockings during the winter holidays and setting up an elegantly decorated tree or curling up on the floor together in front of a roaring fire.

Monica shook her head. “I’m afraid not,” she clarified. “The shaft is sealed off. But you can put in an electric log heater. I have one in my own place and it gives the feel of having a real fire. It’s also a lot safer.”

Kurt nodded absently, making a note of that to relay to Adam. A functioning fireplace was on neither of their “must have” lists and it certainly wouldn’t be something that would remove this apartment from consideration. They could still have romantic evenings together, even if their fire was electrical. Having a fireplace, even a non-functional one was a definite bonus.

The bathroom had also undergone recent renovations, with a cleanly tiled shower that looked like he and Adam could share if they didn’t mind being in very close quarters he noted with a pleased smirk. There was a linen closet right opposite the bathroom, giving them additional storage space. And the bedroom…

Kurt took measure of the size, seeing that they could easily fit in a large bed and a dresser for each of them. A peek in the closet confirmed that there was enough space so that they wouldn’t be fighting over every square inch. The room had been painted recently a pale beige that invited him to imagine their pictures on the wall and white blinds on the windows that would give the space a refined but homey feel.

He thought back to the day that he and Rachel first saw the Bushwick loft and that instant that they both realized that they could make that big empty space a home. That they were able to look past the bare walls and cheerless interior and see where they could build their lives in New York. The other apartments he’d been looking at were nice, but this was the first apartment where Kurt could actually see himself and Adam living.

If he gave the word, Adam would go along with his opinion. They would pay the deposit and sign the lease as soon as Adam was back in New York. Adam could get moved in and start setting up while Kurt was finishing his classes for the year. It was a huge responsibility that his partner had placed on his shoulders and Kurt didn’t wand to make the wrong choice. He took a few pictures on his phone to send to Adam so they could discuss their options.

Letting Monica know that he and Adam would think about things and let her know which apartment they’d choose, he and Rachel walked down the stairs and out into the lively neighborhood that surrounded the pretty ivy-covered building. The street was tree-lined and surprisingly quiet despite being the middle of a weekday. Just down the block was an appealing looking coffee shop and several interesting bars and restaurants.

It was the kind of area that he could see them building a life together. He could pick at the negatives, such as having to commute to school and not living close by their friends. But those were minor complaints when he could envision their lives there. Both of them had been flying on their own for too long, learning what the strength of their wings were capable of. Now it was time to build a nest of their own.

“So, what do you think?” Rachel asked as they explored the neighborhood around the building a bit. “You’ve got a lot of nice restaurants around here.”

Kurt took in the lively atmosphere, liking the feel of the area. He appreciated how the building was down a side street and insulated from the worst of the city noise, but a quick walk would get them to all of the amenities. The Clinton Gardens were just a few short blocks away, giving them a bit of green space to enjoy during the nice weather. Walking east would take them right into the heart of the theater district. It was as if this neighborhood were all but designed for their needs.

“I think I like it here,” he pronounced, allowing himself to smile. He spotted a bakery that the real estate agent had recommended and grasped Rachel’s hand. “Come on… I owe you a treat after all your help today. Then we’ll do a test drive to see how long it takes the bus to get me to school.”

They returned to Kurt’s dorm room forty minutes later with a box of assorted cookies to share. “Well, that wasn’t bad,” Rachel decided as she sat down on Kurt’s bed. “It’s a lot easier than coming from Bushwick.”

“Yeah, I think it’ll be okay,” Kurt agreed, sitting down at his desk chair and opening the box. “I hope you know that you’re taking most of these home… Ms. July will decapitate me if she sees me eating these.”

Still, the threat of bodily harm from his dance instructor didn’t stop him from picking out a large cookie studded liberally with chucks of chocolate.

Rachel laughed, picking out a carrot cake cookie for herself. “I’m sure that between Artie and Santana, I won’t have too much trouble finding anyone to take these off my hands,” she said good naturedly. After taking a bite of her snack, she looked to her best friend.

“You look like you’re thinking awfully hard,” she prodded gently, knowing that her friend had a huge decision to make.

“I am,” Kurt admitted. “I just don’t want to make the wrong choice.”

She nodded and nibbled at her cookie. “I don’t think you can really make a bad choice,” she pointed out. “All of the apartments were nice.”

“I was a little torn between the last one we saw and the one in the Village,” Kurt admitted. “But I really like the one in Hell’s Kitchen. Even if it is farther away from school. I think that the quality of life we can have there would be worth the commute.”

She nodded in agreement. “I knew that one was your favorite. From the moment you stepped through the door,” she advised thoughtfully. “So, you’ll take it?”

Kurt considered their options again, mentally weighing out the pros and cons of each place before nodding. “I’ll call Adam and talk it over, but I think that one is it.”

Rachel smiled at her friend. “I’m glad,” she admitted. “And we all can’t wait to throw you two a housewarming party. Don’t forget to tell us when you move in. You’ve got plenty of friends to help move things.”

That was a fact that Kurt was absolutely certain of. Between the group from Lima based out in Bushwick, the Apples and the group he’d found in NYADA, he and Adam wouldn’t be alone to break their backs moving furniture. Promising beer and pizza, they would have plenty of willing helpers.

That evening, he and Adam reviewed their options and made their final choice. Adam would be contacting their agent in the morning and would transfer the deposit to secure their new home. After speaking with his lover for what seemed like hours, Kurt rolled over in bed, clutching a pillow to him.

Only a few more weeks, he told himself.

* * *

The final performance of Butcher’s Bill went off splendidly, with the entire cast giving everything they had for that performance. Standing on stage and accepting the ovation of the audience filled Adam with a tremendous sense of pride. It had been a tremendous challenge, being on the road for so long and then performing to the best of his ability every night but he had succeeded beyond anything he could have hoped to accomplish.

Of course, his time with Butcher’s Bill wasn’t done just yet, with runs in London and New York to look forward to. But he would have time to rest, recalibrate and focus on getting his life in New York sorted out again.

The cast and crew celebrated their accomplishment late into the night. There was much in the way of congratulations and commiserations, not to mention numerous celebratory toasts. Adam awoke in his shared hotel room with Niall snoring nosily in the next bed and his own head feeling like it wasn’t quite attached to his neck.

Packing his bags for the final time felt odd in a manner that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He was, of course, delighted to be going home and could not wait to see Kurt. But after zipping up his suitcase, he felt a little lost as bereft. The pressure of his job was over for the time being, and he wasn’t quite sure what awaited him. He’d managed to find something of a routine that had kept him sane over the past few months and now would have to develop a new one going forward.

There would certainly be enough for him to do, he considered. Reconnecting with Kurt was first and foremost on his list, and there was their new flat to set up. He had his internship with the Garrison festival that would keep him busy over the summer, as well as allow him more time to spend with Kurt while they worked. He’d find a small job to keep the bills paid and himself busy until rehearsals started for their London run.

But for now… it was the malaise that came with the end of a production. The down that came after the incredible high of performing before an appreciative audience every night and doing what he’d spent his life training to do. Having the production end, even for just a few months, took a lot of the steam right out of him. It was a vastly different from his past experience with school productions and festivals. This felt much larger… more intense.

It was something that he would have to become accustomed to, Adam told himself as he checked about the hotel room to make sure that he hadn’t forgotten anything. His life would be a cycle of shows beginning and ending. Of hard work and downtime when he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. But for his first true foray into the world of being a professional actor, he was well satisfied with what he and his castmates had accomplished.

Niall pulled him into a tight embrace as they left the last cast luncheon where they’d celebrated having survived the experience. Adam found himself clinging back to the man who’d become such a close friend over the past few months.

“Now don’t forget,” Niall warned with a grin. “Cynth and I are claiming first rights for a couple’s night out once you’re settled in your place. No trying to wriggle out of that.”

Adam couldn’t help from laughing. “I won’t,” he assured his friend. “Kurt will have my guts for garters if I tried to bail on you.”

The other Englishman gave Adam another squeeze, as if reluctant to let him go. “Take care of yourself, you silly tosser. Safe travels,” he urged.

“You too, mate,” Adam returned, blinking away the tears that he swore weren’t there just a second ago. “Give Cynthia a hug for me.”

Adam was grateful to have made such a good friend on this tour, and that the whole case got along so well. It would have made for a miserable experience to live that closely with a group that he didn’t get along with for an extended period. Not that he expected that he would always bond so closely with castmates, and Adam had worked with actors that he didn’t like on a personal level, but the pressures of a tour magnified the dynamics of any cast. He was indeed fortunate to have his first experience be such a positive one.

The flight back to New York was uneventful, but as the miles of American landscape passed beneath him, Adam felt his excitement begin to swell. He watched out the plane window as mountains and grasslands passed by, speeding past cities and long stretches of road that etched their way through the landscapes. He would never cease to be amazed at just how big this country was, or how varied it was. He was wise enough to recognize what a treat he’d had, getting a chance to see more of the country than most people who’d lived their wholes lives there had.

He felt himself smiling as the pilot announced their approach to Newark Airport, knowing that it would only be a little bit longer before he was home. Or at least, in the hotel room that he’d reserved until their lease was signed and he could get into their new flat. When the jets wheels finally touched onto solid ground, he knew that he’d finally made it.

It seemed to take forever for his bags to appear on the carousal, but he soon enough had them in hand and was walking to the arrivals area. It would be just a short train ride into Manhattan, and hopefully into Kurt’s waiting arms.

After stepping through the last set of doors that let him out into the greeting area, he looked for the sign that would direct him to the train when he heard a familiar voice call out, “Adam!”

Adam looked at the crowd gathered to greet the arriving passengers and sat him standing at the front, waving to get his attention. What the hell..?

He hurried over and dropped the handle for his suitcase, catching up Kurt in a tight hug and not caring who was around to see them. Adam’s senses were suddenly flooded with all the familiar characteristics that he knew so well from Kurt and had missed so much these past months. The feel of his body, the scent of his skin and the cologne that he favored, the slight hitch in his breathing that sometimes happened when he was overcome with emotion.

Home wasn’t New York or their little flat. Home was Kurt.

He was finally home, and he never wanted to leave again.

* * *

Kurt's solos: "Night and Day" and "Let's Fall In Love" - Cole Porter

[beerselfie]

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[pretteboi]

San Diego Comic Con!

Sold some art more affordable than in the convention itself

Don’t look at me.

Someone please tell me whom this individual below is, I finished the commission but couldn’t find the person:

[roslinadama-sinequanon]

The Feast of the Seven Fishes-New MC Fanfic

This is just something I threw together for Christmas in my continuing effort to show how Sharon and Andy spent their first year of marriage together. I got the inspiration from Tony who talked about this Sicilian tradition in an interview and how he hoped to go back to his roots and host one in the future. Can totally see Andy embracing the whole family this way.

You can read here https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13157919/1/The-Feast-of-the-Seven-Fishes or here https://archiveofourown.org/works/17160020 or here:

Sharon gazed up at the 15 foot Douglas fir placed in the corner of their living room. It was so tall that her 6 foot 1-inch husband had struggled to get the angel straight, even on a ladder. It had been a long time since she’d had a live tree, let alone one this big. A high ceiling was one of the many attributes of their new home.  The tree was beautiful, filled with ornaments from their pasts and new ones they had purchased together—including the special stained glass shamrock ornament reading “Ireland 2018” that they had purchased on their honeymoon in Ireland.

Last year at this time, she was still recovering from the mild bout of cardiomyopathy that had thankfully turned out to be more of an annoyance than anything else. She’d had to take some time off to allow the virus to run its course and they’d decided to put off their search for a new home until she was feeling stronger. Now, they had this beautiful Spanish Revival, with its high exposed wood beam ceilings, wrought iron chandeliers and the extra spare rooms that would house some of the family members who would be descending on their home tonight. Boughs of holly were draped along the stone fireplace mantle where their stockings were lined up in a row. Live wreaths hung on the walls, filling the air with the scent of balsam pine. Gorgeous full poinsettias in red and white graced the coffee table, the end tables and the top of Sharon’s piano—her housewarming gift from Andy. A strategic sprig of mistletoe dangled in the archway leading from the hall into the living room, a spot where Andy caught her at every opportunity.

She could hear him now in the kitchen, just through another graceful archway off the living room. He was in his glory, preparing for the “Feast of the Seven Fishes” a seven-course traditional Sicilian Christmas Eve meal. It was something he remembered fondly from his childhood and for as long as she had known him; he had talked about wanting to do this for their family. However, until they bought this new larger home, it hadn’t been feasible. The condo wasn’t large enough for both their extended families. This house was.

She made her way into the kitchen, watching Andy slapping together crab and salmon cakes while humming along to “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year,” with Andy Williams. She ran her hand along his shoulders as she made her way to the stove, earning that pure Andy smile that always made her feel like she was the best thing in his world. She lifted the cover on the vat of bubbling New England clam chowder, stuck a spoon in, and took a taste. The chowder was her contribution, her grandmother’s recipe that always transported her back to summers on Nantucket.

Seven dishes was a lot of food so they were doing as much prep work as possible so all they would have to do tonight was heat everything up. They would start with bacon wrapped scallops along with traditional antipasto for hors-d'oeuvres, and then they would move into the meal. The chowder, followed by the crab and salmon cake appetizers, then a coconut shrimp salad with orange marmalade sauce, lobster rolls made with fresh Maine lobster purchased from ‘Cape Seafood and Provisions’ in West Hollywood, garlicky shrimp scampi, and baked flounder au gratin made with flounder  that Andy and Ricky caught on a fishing trip out to Catalina. Ricky and his girlfriend Tess had flown in a couple days ago and would be staying with them in one of the guest rooms. Emily was due to arrive any minute with her O’Dwyer grandparents, and Andy’s mother and his sisters Antonella, Maura, Peggy, and Gina, along with Peggy and Gina’s husbands and Gina’s daughter Sophia had settled in at a local B&B run by a friend of Sharon’s from her book club. Sharon’s sister Christine, her brother in law Ed and her nieces Jillian and Bridget were also staying at the B&B.

**********

It was Christmas Eve, the food was prepared and Sharon’s sense of occasion had the house looking like something out of a magazine spread. A fire burned in the hearth, white lights twinkled on the large Christmas tree and ran along the built-in bookshelves that flanked the fireplace. Christmas music played softly on the Bose surround sound speakers that Ricky had helped them set up with they’d first moved in. The families mingled, some carrying wine glasses, others cut glass miniature mugs of eggnog doctored up with a little vanilla ice cream, whipped cream, and nutmeg. A bottle of spiced rum sat next to the punch bowl for those who wanted a little extra zip in their nog.

Andy stood leaning against the fireplace sipping his non-spiked eggnog, listening to Celine Dion sing about another year having gone by. He had been talking with Nicole and Dean but as they moved on to get some cheese and crackers for the boys he took a moment to survey the room with pleasure. All the O’Dwyers, Raydors, and Flynn’s were under one roof. His roof. Their roof. His eyes fell on Sharon across the room near the piano. She was in a conversation with her mother, his mother, and his sister Antonella. She had changed into a red cashmere sweater dress that gently skimmed over her curves along with knee-high black suede boots. Sexy and elegant. That was his wife. As if she felt his gaze on her, she turned and caught his eyes, flashing him a broad beaming smile that lit her whole face and made him feel like the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet. When Sharon smiled at him like that, he felt like he could walk on water.

Later that night when they returned from midnight mass at St. Joseph’s and she had changed into a long white silk nightgown, he into pajama bottoms and t-shirt, he slid his iPod into the dock and clicked on one of her favorites, Michael Buble.

“Dance with me,” he said, holding out a hand. She took it and stepped into his arms, resting her head on his broad chest, swaying gently to “I’ll be Home for Christmas” thinking that Buble could even make that holiday favorite sound sexy.

“We are home, aren’t we?” she said, nuzzling into his chest. God how she loved this house near the sea.

“We are,” he agreed, rubbing his cheek against her soft fragrant hair. “But it’s more than this house. It’s you, Sharon. You’re my home. You always have been.”

She pulled back, hearing the catch in his voice. When she saw the sheen of tears displayed in his dark eyes by the moonlight shining through the French doors, she cupped a hand over his cheek. She knew he was thinking about last year at this time. “And you’re my home. As long as we’re together nothing else matters.”

“No, it doesn’t. And as far as Christmas goes, I’ve already been given the best gift ever. I‘ll never have to ask for anything else.”

She cocked her head with curiosity. “What’s that?”

“You. Here with me, healthy and well. When you were sick last year, I made a few deals with God. One of those was that I’d never ask for anything else as long as he made you well again. He kept up His end of the bargain and there’s nothing else I want or need that can ever compare to having you by my side. Forever.

Sharon felt the tear slide down her cheek and then his thumb wiping it away. “How’d I ever get so lucky to have a man like you in my life?”

“Me? I dunno. Provenza said I was the booby prize.”

Sharon gave a surprised little snort laugh. No one could make her laugh through her tears like Andy. “You’re not the booby prize,” she said. “You’re the blue ribbon all the way.  

******

Christmas morning brought more good news for the family when Dean and Nicole showed up with Tyler and Scottie who were wearing reindeer t-shirts that read “Oh Deer, I’m going to be a big brother” and the announcement that she was due in June. The entire family erupted with excitement, but none more so than Andy and Sharon who were over the moon at the idea of another grandchild.

Once the gifts were unwrapped, the paper balled up in boxes to be sent to recycling, everyone moved into the dining room for a large brunch. Casseroles, ham and cheese, sausage and hash browns, and French toast. Quiche, both veggie and bacon and Gruyere, and a variety of Danish’s, cinnamon rolls, croissants, muffins, coffee cake, and bagels were spread out on the table. It was sunny and in the mid-’60s so Sharon left the French doors open to the patio. Some ate outside under the pergola on the large farmer’s table or perched on the comfortable chairs Andy had placed in a cozy circle around the outdoor Chiminea, while others ate inside in the dining room or on the island bar in the kitchen.  

While they ate Ricky and Tess announced that they were moving in together and would be looking for a condo in San Diego or its surroundings. Tess had been working on her Master's degree in Psychology with a focus on refugee mental health and human rights at Berkeley and had interned with different programs helping refugee children and their families in the Bay area. Now with her Master’s completed, she had been offered a job working with traumatized children experiencing posttraumatic stress having come from refugee situations, many who had been tortured, abused or traumatized by watching family members killed in front of them. She would be working with the children utilizing Trauma-Focused Cognitive Behavioral Therapy techniques. It was an amazing opportunity and she had to take it, but it meant moving over 7 hours away from Ricky and that was something they both deemed unacceptable. This time it was Ricky who would make the sacrifice. He was lucky. With his computer savvy he could pretty much find a job anywhere in the world, and in many cases, name his price. So, moving had not been a difficult decision. In fact, he informed them that he already had a few interviews lined up in cybersecurity.

Sharon was thrilled that her son was in a serious relationship with a young woman she really liked and that Ricky had been willing to make sacrifices to make the relationship work. Even better, he was now going to be an easily drivable distance away. Less than two hours! He and Andy had already been talking about fishing trips and Dodger games.

A little later while everyone was relaxing inside and they were burning cardboard in the Chiminea, Andy slipped an arm around Sharon‘s waist. “Looks like 2019 is going to be another great year for us.”

“Yes, it does.” She rested her head on his shoulder with a contented sigh. “A new baby, Ricky getting serious with Tess and moving closer to home and our first full year in our new house.”

Andy looked inside through the French doors, his eyes falling on Emily who was laughing with his sister Gina. “Now if we can just get our girl closer to home, life would be perfect.”

Our girl. God how she loved him.

[littleharpethcrossfit]

Thursday, 5 May, 2022   Warmup Overhead Complex.....”Dancing Cindy”.

Yep, a perfect evening at the Barn.  AGAIN.

We had thunderstorms a couple of times right before our workout was due to start.  Despite this, over 2 dozen people came to play.   

 Warmup:

4 Rounds

Use thin yellow band    

5 Thrusters

10 Pull-aparts

Strength WOD:

7 Complexes 

One Complex  E 2 M O M 

COMPLEX = Military Press > Push Press > Push Jerk > Split Jerk 

Good Mechanics preferred over heavy weight.

Aiden=145     Ed/Nathan=135     Owen=125     Dyer=115     Tommy=105     Herb/Tom=100      Dana=95     Elisa/Coach=75     LSU=70     Warren A/Angel=65       Linda=55    Sue/Sandy=45     Christina/Linda/ Fernando/ Al/ Warren G=and Others    

The Metabolic Conditioner

50 Double-Unders

5 Rounds of Cindy

50 Double-Unders

3 Rounds of Cindy

50 Double-Unders

2 Rounds of Cindy

50 Double-Unders

( Cindy =  5 Pullups,  10 Pushups,  15 AirSquats )

(  100 Single-Unders is Scaled)

RXers:

Dana=11:16     TIMMY=13:47     Ed=19:45

The Rest:

Elisa=13:08     Owen=13:31     LSU=13:54     Herb=14:00     Dyer=14:14     Sue=14:19     Aiden=14:55     Nathan=15:16     Linda=15:43    Nathan=16:05      Tom=17:57     Angel=18:18     Sandy=19:54     Coach=24:57     Fernando/Al/Christina/Warren A and Warren G/ others.

Notes:

A Thursday wine tasting followed the workout.  What is CINCO DE MAYO ?  Does Armando know ??

Fernando and Al (SP) were REAL Mexicans here on CINCO DE Mayo.  Warren G was somehow sponsoring-ing them.  I bet golf had something to do with them.  They were really nice guys.  Not at all like like Armando.   They really enjoyed our wine tasting.  I won’t blame them, but someone made a couple of extra excursions to the basement wine cellar because we ran out at the picnic table.  It was certainly one of of our largest crowds and with people most interested in partying.   Unusually, Herb had to help me find my back door afterwards.

Additional reasons to party was that Zac was very far away in San Diego and yesterday was Christina’s birthday.  She even brought her own cake/cookies to celebrate with.  Yesterday was also Mr. Ed’s birthday, but he just ate Christina’s cake.  And also it was Owen’s 18th birthday.  Nathan told him since he was 18 he could get tattoo’s now, but somehow Mama Kennedy overruled all the men.  Also there were many cheeses and nuts and crackers.  It was  a very fine wine tasting.  Mama Kennedy let the older boy Aiden sip some wine.  That was really mixed up.  Did I already say that?

Saturday:  Old Medicare card people at 0730, but everyone else at 0930.    

[statesmanillusionist]

five times houdini didn’t honeypot

and the one time she did.

aka: lauren what have you done????

includes mentions of vomiting and drugging. 

more than mentions of dom/sub, breathplay, shibari/bondage, sex toys.. i think that’s it? NSFW. 

five times houdini didn’t go on a honeypot….

Chicago.

They thought they’d need her at first.

Houdini was excited about a honeypot - she’d always seen them in spy films and thought it’d be fun.

It also would keep her mind off of the breakup she had with Tim.

She had everything ready to go, even made sure she had an extra condom in her clutch. Honeypot missions in Statesmen were always good fuel for gossip, too, and Houdini couldn’t wait to join in.

But then Ginger was pulling her aside and telling her it was a no go - there had been a problem earlier in the day while she was down in her office and there would no longer be need for a honeypot.

Houdini pouted, and spend the rest of the night curled up in her office chair watching shitty movies and crying over her ex.

San Diego.

The second time was when there was a key investor they needed information from regarding a new technological advancement that was potentially being worked in favor of the black market. It was going to be easy; slip in, flirt, snog in the bathroom, plant a device, maybe fuck.

Houdini was, once again, itching to have her turn.

Something had gone wrong during lunch, though, and it left her puking into a bucket in the medbay. Tequila gave the girl a look of pity as he passed through with Sprite.

She was sick for the next three days, and the mission was passed to Brandy.

Boston.

Being back in her home turf was going to give Houdini a morale boost after the last two missions failed. (Well, let’s rephrase that - the last two honeypot missions.)

Her own personal hookups were also failures and she was really, at this point, looking for a good fuck while on the clock.

Bourbon accompanied Houdini to the bar on the West End for his own enjoyment. What he didn’t see, as Houdini held her drink against the bartop as she spoke to the bartender, was an accomplice of the target slipping something into her drink by knocking into her. It was something the drug detector ring she wore didn’t pick up on, and only when Houdini nearly slipped from the barstool did Bourbon realize something was wrong.

No wonder there was a caution attached to the file. Even being vigilant couldn’t stop the worst from happening.

Las Vegas.

This was supposed to be another good one, under the lights of the strip and the casinos sparkling all around them. The high roller table was going to be the target as Vodka gave instructions over the comm. He had requested a honeypot from Ginger while at the Vegas HQ and immediately sent the first available agent - Houdini.

She had dolled herself up quite nicely, looking blonde and made of money, her highlighter shimmering in the many lights of the gambling floor.

… until Vodka revealed that the whole thing was a joke and that he was trying to fuck her instead.

Ginger wasn’t too happy, either, and gave explicit permission for Houdini to kick Vodka right where it hurt.

Miami.

This mission was definitely not a flop for the reasons the other ones were.

Houdini was partnered with Rum - who everyone happened to call Rum Cake - for a mission to get information from a trust fundy who was tied to a CEO dealing a strain of coke that would cause far too many problems if they couldn’t stop them.

The target was very into pretty people. It couldn’t be helped that on the beaches of Miami, that they went for Rum. He was very pretty and if Houdini were in the target’s shoes, she’d go for him too.

So instead she sat on the beach, sipping strawberry daiquiris until Rum came back looking absolutely worn out.

...and the one time she did.

New York City.

The moment she landed back at the Distillery from a mission in New Orleans, Houdini was sent packing for a mission in New York City.

A honeypot mission.

Part of her wondered how poorly it would turn out this time given her track record, but the moment she read the mission brief she began packing as if she had to run for her life.

Most of the other agents did not feel comfortable with the requests of this mission. It required… a certain taste, which is why Houdini was so willing to jump on a plane and head out to NYC.

The file prompted that the target not only enjoyed holding power over others in a court of law, but he also had that taste dip into the bedroom.

A note of caution was marked in Stephen Tiller’s file: approach only if capable.

Capable? She kept reading, seeing notices of breathplay, dom-leaning, enjoys bondage, and other comments that made her wonder if she’d make it through the flight in one piece. To think that other agents passed up this mission!

Her cover was simple; she was applying for an internship within his law firm. This honeypot would be a little dragged out, too, as she needed to get access to the files saved on the firm’s server.

The only thing she changed about her look was the color of her eyes. It was noted that the secretaries of the office - some who willing spilled over drinks that they tried to sleep with their boss, only to bail when he asked to put a hand around one’s neck, or to use sex toys - all had dark brown hair and blue eyes. Simple enough to fit the aesthetic of the man she was going to milk.

Houdini was going to make the most of this mission as if it were making up for every other failed honeypot that came before it.

The day she sauntered into the office in her heels and wrap dress was the day she also happened to find that the man also had an affinity for shorter women. Tiller sized her up quickly, his handshake meeting her equally strong one.

He knew he had found the right intern when the corner of her lips turned upward at the mention of ‘staying late’ and dinner on the first day.

The first night was the first time Houdini came so hard she saw stars for the first time in a year. Sure, masturbation was nice, but a man coaxing her into orgasm by simply finger-fucking her across the desk (all while her bracelet hacked into the server) was way better. Tiller made mention of sex toys, and she tucked that into the back of her mind. Maybe they’d get there before Champ extracted her.

For now, she focused on the feeling of warmth that was spreading through her body as she held her breath, Tiller humming from his seat at his desk as she came around his fingers, hard and encouraging for further play. She slipped down to her knees, wobbly and practically high, to take his erection without even asking.

He was definitely going to keep that one.

The data she pulled during the finger-fucking and blowjob session proved helpful and sent Statesman looking in the right direction.

Two nights later, Tiller invited Houdini out to dinner before taking him to one of the apartments he had in Midtown. There were rules, this evening. Everything was ‘yes sir’ - and by god did that feel good, slipping from her lips as he pinned her to the bed by her throat. No one handled her that roughly in the bedroom - a small girl is simply frail, most men thought - and her ass hurt the next day after the spanking she got for cumming before she was allowed.

Tiller was more impressed with the fact that she was keeping up with him. His previous attempts, as he called them, were very vanilla in their taste and did not like adventure in the bedroom. He mentioned that he considered going to a kink meet of sorts in one of the bars nearby, but there was a feeling of uncertainty in his voice as he brushed Houdini’s hair from her face.

Before she slipped into the shower to clean up after three separate rounds of rolling orgasms, she placed a tracker in his shoes. Another instance of getting in bed with the man proving useful for Statesman as Tiller met with unknowns during lunch halfway across the city.

She had submitted so easily to him that Tiller wondered if it was because of the internship, that she was doing it just for the job.

When Houdini allowed him to tie delicate knots across her petite frame, he knew it wasn’t just to keep her internship. He was fascinated, watching her rut against the dildo as he fucked her mouth, arms carefully bound behind her back. He was equally fascinated with the way she hummed in approval as he handed her a bottle of sparkling water, pink lips parting in a way he never really noticed before as she sat naked in the bath after a rougher than usual night of fun.

It was a shame, having to pull out of the mission after it was completed. Her cover was that of a death in the family and a need to take care of her aging mother; Tiller lapped it up just like the few times he had done with her cunt throughout her three week stint as his intern.

In a way, he was thankful Houdini fucked him as well as he did, before the court came and fucked him the day after she left.

Houdini, on the other hand, still struggled to find someone who’d give it to her the way she wanted, hard and core-shaking with an intimate level of trust.

At least there were some nights from the mission archived for review.

[jpopitunes]

San Diego Take The Cake Shirts

San Diego Take The Cake Shirts

Meanwhile, Willow Smith continued to share her yoga journey, this time quizzing her followers to “name this asana,” while model and dancer Sonya Mohova was snapped mid-sway during a ballet session. Then, model and designer Mia Ghogho sipped down a green smoothie and shared what she’s learned from her own personal yoga journey. “You still have the San Diego Take The Cake Shirts it is in the first…

[twistednuns]

August 2020

My students all told me that they'd be watching Outer Banks over the holidays, a US teen drama. I got curious and now I'm hooked. Another excellent series I binge-watched is The Umbrella Academy. For me it was one of the greatest moments in TV history when Klaus shared a piece of wisdom as a guru and told his devotee: Don't go chasing waterfalls.  Stick to the rivers and the lakes that you're used to. (the divine TLC lyrics)

Finally finishing my macrame hanging planter. Cleaning up the balcony and my apartment. Listening to the rain from bed.

The Happy Medium winery has amazing branding. Two eyes to look - one eye to see.

A really nice, solitary summer evening after a very frustrating, infuriating afternoon (nobody wanted to go swimming with me and I felt all the feelings and was too stubborn and lazy to go alone - very mature). After a 4-hour-nap I made some roasted veggies with tsatsiki, lit some candles outside and enjoyed my meal in the dark.

Learning about malaphors.

I just found out that my favourite French summer comedy of all times, Les Petits Mouchoirs, has a sequel!!! I'm so excited. Need to organise a movie night asap. [edit: We watched it in Ibiza and it was perfect! Need to see it again asap.]

I made a crazy delicious pot of rice the other night. It was more like a risotto with lemon and white wine. Roasted vegetables with lemon oil. I wanted to add parmesan but frankly, that would have ruined it. And that says a lot about the quality of a dish in my opinion!

Getting out of bed in the morning. Starting to organise, declutter, throw stuff out. Very grateful for past me. I love it when I'm in the mood for tasks I usually put off.

My very own custom-made bottle rack. I couldn't find anything fitting so I just made one myself and it's perfect.

Finding out what okra plants actually look like. I'd always assumed they grow like green beans.

Drinking Aperol Spritz on Becky's balcony. Talking about boobs, embarrassing her kids, looking at a friendship book her colleagues had given her as a parting gift. Cake, a tour of Rosi's Playmobil empire, talking about the expression of psychological issues through art. Talking non-stop, in fact. We often don't even manage to finish a topic and jump from thought to thought.

A hardware store date with Manu on a Friday evening. At sunset. Flowers, soft hugs. Trying on hats, finding the right things. Him walking home, me on a bike, jousting with the wooden stick I had just bought, singing. Ending up outside an Italian restaurant, ordering truffle oil pizza. And the gorgonzola. Oh my.

A fantastic bi-anthem from the TV show Crazy Ex-Girlfriend.

An afternoon at Maria Einsiedel. With Diego, Lorena and Daniela. But I met Claudia on the subway and she also wanted to go swimming so we just went together. So we kinda reconnected? We all sat in one place, Manu L. and Frank as well. Floating down the Eiskanal was perfect. And in the end I spent the whole evening with Frank and Claudia. Interesting development. Somehow people keep coming back into my life this month.

Harvesting my very own sun-ripened tomatoes.

An afternoon at the lake in Feldmoching with Sash and Lena. Naked dancers, serious volleyball seniors, jelly shoes. The story about flesh-eating pineapple. Chocolate-orange muffins and leftover salad. An accidental wasp-murder (it was drenched in oil so I had to put it out of its misery). Talking about moaners (or: when men are really loud during sex). And about getting old and lazy. I really want a beach chair now. Posture, eh? And comfort. Yeah, comfort.

"We gain sustenance from nature’s regeneration." An article about the therapeutic power of gardening. I absolutely have to read Sue Stuart-Smith's book which they're discussing. Warm-colored kilims hung from ancient rafters above a seating area furnished with tapestry-upholstered couches, sculptures perched on tables, and tall bookcases. The space had the atmosphere of Freud’s famous analytic study, but on a giant scale. A huge picture window framed the countryside beyond. An enormous honeysuckle, which looked as if it had flourished as long as the Stuart-Smiths’ marriage, climbed a dark, shingled wall and crept over the roof.

Dreaming about being held tightly. A warm embrace. The perfect energy exchange. Feeling protected and loved.

An evening at the outdoor cinema in Munich's Westpark with my boys Frank and Manu. We watched a rather forgettable French comedy but I loved spending time with those two. I felt at ease, protected, special. Always a plus: Krupuk ASMR!

Spending time with my mum. Harvesting blackberries for breakfast. Going to the healthfood store together. Looking for an e-bike and swimming goggles for me. Talking about my brother, my dad. Issues. Dinner on the veranda. Picking some of her crystals to take home with me. Very lovely and peaceful.

An extremely lazy week in Ibiza. Getting up early (German programming, we can't help it), far too much breakfast food (fresh juice, fruit, lovely Spanish hazelnuts and my own personal chef to make me pancakes and omelettes). Snorkelling - playing with an octopus and hermit crabs, finding little treasures like a dead sea urchin and shiny sea shells. Diving through caverns. Nursing a bad sunburn. Reading the new Hank Green novel on the hotel veranda (it's such a good book again). A dip in the luke-warm pool once in a while. Cooling down in our room. Heading out for dinner. Drinking red wine. Falling asleep early.

Climbing up a hill. Watching the sunset on the cliffs with a bottle of rosé. Gorgeous.

Nightswimming (deserves a quiet night). Jumping into the pitch-black Mediterranean in our underwear after eating black paella (with squid ink). Humming the R.E.M. song accordingly.

Suddenly speaking Spanish. Well, broken Spanish, but they mostly get what I mean.

A huge glass of iced coffee after a long cycling tour. Lots of ice cubes and vanilla ice-cream. Lounging on the outside sofa. After having an outside shower. Nice.

Drinking red wine on a candlelit veranda. Playing my summer jam playlist.

Lots of animals. Watching the lizards fight each other. And the goats across the road. Cuddling with a needy cat in San Ferran. And Jaco the dog who belongs to the guitar workshop's owner.

Pizza night at the workshop. a) I love places that smell like wood and oil, places that are really lived in and you can see that people actually spend time and work there. Creative chaos. b) Damian, one of the teachers there, is man candy. Long, black hair and icy blue eyes.

The night sky over Formentera. You can actually see the Milky Way and shooting stars here.

Empty beaches. The dunes. Snorkelling. Spending time underwater has a very calming effect on me. It's like entering a different universe.

Creative projects. Flow. I was completely in my zone when I was building an octopus out of sand on the beach. Forgetting about time. Discomforts. The sun. Just digging in the sand with my bare hands. But I also played around with watercolour and chalk, made some pencil drawings, for example a still life with grapes and twigs from the garden. I developed some solar photographs, too. Experimenting is fun!

Alone time. I've been craving it so much lately. Being around 4 people all the time is incredibly exhausting for me. I'm not used to it at all.

Solving the New Yorker crossword puzzle one Friday morning.

Having Pomadas at Kiosko 62 during sunset. Really chill vibes. Getting drunk quickly. Taking selfies. The sea, the sun, some hippies. Nice.

Preparing dinner together. Singing along to the music. Feeling the effect of the sunset cocktails. It's interesting to see how much my usually so restrained friends change with a few sips of gin.

The availability of truffle products in Spain. Cheese, crisps, oil... I love it.

Talking about artists' muses with Flo - mostly Gala Dalí and Françoise Gilot.

[wineanddinosaur]

We Asked 11 Brewers: What Classic Craft Beer Are You Drinking Right Now?

With the majority of the world under varying degrees of lockdown as governments attempt to combat the devastating effects of the novel coronavirus and subsequent Covid-19 pandemic, many beer drinkers are seeking comfort, relaxation, and familiarity in their beer choices.

Whether it takes the form of drinking your cellar, raiding the stash of bottles squirreled away for a rainy day, or returning to old, familiar classics, brewers and beer consumers alike are looking for the liquid form of pulling on your favorite sweatpants, but in a pint glass, bottle, or can.

From the OG Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, to beloved Belgian stalwart Orval, here’s what 11 brewers around the world are reaching for during this scary time.

“I’ve been getting down with some Ska Brewing True Blonde Ale. Crisp and delicious, this low-ABV classic American blonde is perfect for an all-day drinking session, especially with the weather in Denver warming up. It has also been helping in quarantine to help feel connected to some of my favorite homies. Ska has been one of my favorite breweries for the last 13 years and the people there are some of the nicest and most modest in the industry. Cracking this beer brings me back to anniversary parties of years past, skanking in the parking lot to some legendary ska bands, celebrating with friends that are more like family. I can’t wait for the day when I can make the trek back down to Durango to dance, hug, and crack a cold one with all of the rude boys and girls of the ska fam.” — Bess Dougherty, Head Brewer, Grateful Gnome Sandwich Shoppe and Brewery, Denver

“The classic craft beer I’m currently drinking is Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. The quality, consistency, and deliciousness is undeniable. I’ve been fortunate enough to have visited both of their beautiful, awe-inspiring campuses over the past few years and to say the experiences are life-changing for a small brewer is an understatement. Each sip takes me back and renews my gratitude to be a part of this industry and community.” — Joel Kodner, Head Brewer, West Palm Brewery, West Palm Beach, Fla.

“These days, I find myself drawn by session beers in general. Currently I am drinking Verdant Brewing Co.’s Lightbulb. I think this beer is one of the true bridge builders between modern and postmodern beer. It embodies many of the fruity elements that the NEIPAs have come to symbolize but with a remarkably low ABV for the style, and body enough to keep you interested.” — Søren Parker Wagner, Founder, Dry & Bitter Brewing Company, Copenhagen, Denmark

“Recently I have been getting reacquainted with Adnams, and in particular, Broadside. It’s autumn down here, and lockdown means time to cook up hearty dishes that scream out for this fruity malty masterpiece. I’m not sure I get the whiff of the salty sea air that Roger Protz once romantically tasted in the Adnams beers, but it does taste like Christmas cake, and spiked prunes. Delicious.” — Kieran Haslett-Moore, Head Brewer, North End Brewery, Waikanae, New Zealand

“During quarantine, I’ve mainly been supporting local breweries but I recently bought four bottles of Orval, and it reminded me why it’s always on lists like these. It’s appropriate for any mood or occasion. I had one right out of the bottle while grilling in my backyard and I served it in flutes on my wedding anniversary because I didn’t have any Champagne handy. It was perfect both times. Like a Pixar movie, Orval can be enjoyed on multiple levels. On the surface, it’s a simple, balanced beer that you don’t have to think about to enjoy. But, if you do feel like thinking about it, there’s so much to appreciate. It’s one of the few beers to truly showcase each ingredient — water, malt, hops, yeast. They are all there in perfect balance, but somehow each stands out on their own. It’s all elevated by a prickly carbonation from the secondary fermentation in the bottle, which also gives it a nearly unlimited shelf life. A perfect beer for any occasion that lasts forever — what else could you ask for in a quarantine beer?” — Michael Graham, Co-Founder, Austin Beer Works, Austin, Texas

“The lockdown situation has made us anxious to linger in the supermarkets perusing the craft beers on offer (usually Scottish or behemoth, no in-between) and with no local speciality shops, we’ve been enjoying ordering from similar-size breweries. So rather than relying on classics we’re delving head first into trying completely new things. The communal hashtag #CraftBeerHour has introduced us to so many small breweries all over the place and we’ve been loving having weekly care packages arriving. Most recently, Simon was sent a case of Belgian goodies from his family including his all-time fave Orval and my all-time fave Tripel Karmeliet, which are undeniable classics… but I’ve been getting stuck into everything I can get my hands on, from The Wild Beer Co. and Brass Castle. Next on the wish list is The Kernel. It’s a pain living hours away from any real beer scene, but we’re hoping things are changing and everyone is really pulling together at the moment and which we’ll truly applaud. Slàinte!” — Freja MacDougall, Co-founder, Ben Nevis Brewery, Glenfinnan, Scotland

“Jaipur is one of my favorite beers. It’s always been a safe port in a storm and one of the beers that really changed the game for me. Back in my Marble Brewery days, myself and fellow brewer Dom Driscoll spent quite a lot of time hanging out with Kelly Ryan, who was head brewer at Thornbridge at the time, and I remember them trialing early keg batches when everything around us was in cask, it felt like a giant step for both the beer and the U.K. scene… But the cask will always be my love. The body, honey notes, bitterness, and citrus notes all present in exact amounts for perfect balance to occur. There are a lot of happy memories in that beer and I’m sure there will be many more.” — Colin Stronge, Head Brewer, SALT Beer Factory, Saltaire, U.K.

“In the midst of all the new breweries and beers hitting the market these days, looking back at classic craft brews is not a bad idea. The first De Dolle Brouwers (DDB) beer I had was the revered Stille Nacht (around 2005). However, my favorites of theirs are probably Arabier and Oerbier. But, it is springtime, so I’ll go for the Arabier today. Arabier pours a beautiful pale orange with a frothing, white foam. The nose is estery, herbal, citrusy, floral, and messy in that beautiful DDB way. Tripel meets a strong Belgian pale, you could say. Well attenuated (but certainly not anorectic) and perfectly carbonated (high!). I love the integration of light fruity notes, herbal/grapefruit hoppy goodness, and a firm, rounded bitterness that coats my entire mouth. This beer represents what is so great about Belgian brewing: Brewers do whatever they want (I am sure there is a Flemish word for “f*ck rigid beer style guidelines”). I was lucky enough to visit DDB for the first time earlier this year, fell in love with the 100-plus-year-old brewhouse, and can’t wait to go back. Kris and Els are running a magical and uniquely personal place. But please don’t tell anyone — we want to keep it that way!” — Rune Lindgreen, Beer Developer & Ambassador, People Like Us, Copenhagen, Denmark

“One of my favorite breweries is Pizza Port. I grew up down in Orange County [Calif.] and was introduced to them when I came down to San Diego for a marathon in 1999. I loved the pizza and brewery vibe in Solana Beach and have been a fan ever since. In more recent years, I have been fortunate to pour beers at the same festivals, connect with their brewers and sales staff (hi, Jill!) and visit their San Clemente spot a few times a year while visiting friends and meeting with our sales team and distributors down there. My go-to Pizza Port beer is Swami’s IPA. It’s a classic West Coast IPA that instantly brings me back to beach town vibes. Swami’s is vacation mode in glass. I was fortunate enough to secure a sixtel for my home kegerator just as we were entering this new normal of sheltering in place. Suffice to say it did not last long, and I’m once again longing for my next pint of Swami’s IPA!” — Phil Cutti, Co-founder & Brewer, Headlands Brewing Co., San Francisco

“Right now I’ve got a triple-decocted Czech Pils from Notch in my glass and it’s absolutely gorgeous. When I’m brewing something similar, I try to seek out fresh (local) versions of the style. I love trying what my peers are putting out and learning from it, especially when it’s clean, crisp, and delightfully nuanced like this Pils!” — Gordon Whelpley, Head Brewer, Twelve Percent Beer Project, North Haven, Conn.

“To be honest, I have been drinking a lot of lagers that fall out of the craft category, or some by craft breweries as they try to introduce more of the style into their portfolios, but as one-offs do not fit into the classic category, either. However, if we were to discuss craft classics, there is one I always have in my cellar, and that is Orval. Orval is like the Kinder Egg of beers, because every bottle you open is a surprise. For each pour it feels like a different and exciting experience, and I can never figure out the precise age in which I prefer it, though I can definitely appreciate it fresh with the DH being present as well as an older, more Brett-forward version. And regardless, it is always delicious and will always warm my heart, quench my thirst, and bring a big smile to my face. When in doubt, Orval <3.” — Mariana Schneider, Brewer, Amager Bryghus, Copenhagen, Denmark

The article We Asked 11 Brewers: What Classic Craft Beer Are You Drinking Right Now? appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/11-best-classic-craft-beers/

[johnboothus]

We Asked 11 Brewers: What Classic Craft Beer Are You Drinking Right Now?

With the majority of the world under varying degrees of lockdown as governments attempt to combat the devastating effects of the novel coronavirus and subsequent Covid-19 pandemic, many beer drinkers are seeking comfort, relaxation, and familiarity in their beer choices.

Whether it takes the form of drinking your cellar, raiding the stash of bottles squirreled away for a rainy day, or returning to old, familiar classics, brewers and beer consumers alike are looking for the liquid form of pulling on your favorite sweatpants, but in a pint glass, bottle, or can.

From the OG Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, to beloved Belgian stalwart Orval, here’s what 11 brewers around the world are reaching for during this scary time.

“I’ve been getting down with some Ska Brewing True Blonde Ale. Crisp and delicious, this low-ABV classic American blonde is perfect for an all-day drinking session, especially with the weather in Denver warming up. It has also been helping in quarantine to help feel connected to some of my favorite homies. Ska has been one of my favorite breweries for the last 13 years and the people there are some of the nicest and most modest in the industry. Cracking this beer brings me back to anniversary parties of years past, skanking in the parking lot to some legendary ska bands, celebrating with friends that are more like family. I can’t wait for the day when I can make the trek back down to Durango to dance, hug, and crack a cold one with all of the rude boys and girls of the ska fam.” — Bess Dougherty, Head Brewer, Grateful Gnome Sandwich Shoppe and Brewery, Denver

“The classic craft beer I’m currently drinking is Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. The quality, consistency, and deliciousness is undeniable. I’ve been fortunate enough to have visited both of their beautiful, awe-inspiring campuses over the past few years and to say the experiences are life-changing for a small brewer is an understatement. Each sip takes me back and renews my gratitude to be a part of this industry and community.” — Joel Kodner, Head Brewer, West Palm Brewery, West Palm Beach, Fla.

“These days, I find myself drawn by session beers in general. Currently I am drinking Verdant Brewing Co.’s Lightbulb. I think this beer is one of the true bridge builders between modern and postmodern beer. It embodies many of the fruity elements that the NEIPAs have come to symbolize but with a remarkably low ABV for the style, and body enough to keep you interested.” — Søren Parker Wagner, Founder, Dry & Bitter Brewing Company, Copenhagen, Denmark

“Recently I have been getting reacquainted with Adnams, and in particular, Broadside. It’s autumn down here, and lockdown means time to cook up hearty dishes that scream out for this fruity malty masterpiece. I’m not sure I get the whiff of the salty sea air that Roger Protz once romantically tasted in the Adnams beers, but it does taste like Christmas cake, and spiked prunes. Delicious.” — Kieran Haslett-Moore, Head Brewer, North End Brewery, Waikanae, New Zealand

“During quarantine, I’ve mainly been supporting local breweries but I recently bought four bottles of Orval, and it reminded me why it’s always on lists like these. It’s appropriate for any mood or occasion. I had one right out of the bottle while grilling in my backyard and I served it in flutes on my wedding anniversary because I didn’t have any Champagne handy. It was perfect both times. Like a Pixar movie, Orval can be enjoyed on multiple levels. On the surface, it’s a simple, balanced beer that you don’t have to think about to enjoy. But, if you do feel like thinking about it, there’s so much to appreciate. It’s one of the few beers to truly showcase each ingredient — water, malt, hops, yeast. They are all there in perfect balance, but somehow each stands out on their own. It’s all elevated by a prickly carbonation from the secondary fermentation in the bottle, which also gives it a nearly unlimited shelf life. A perfect beer for any occasion that lasts forever — what else could you ask for in a quarantine beer?” — Michael Graham, Co-Founder, Austin Beer Works, Austin, Texas

“The lockdown situation has made us anxious to linger in the supermarkets perusing the craft beers on offer (usually Scottish or behemoth, no in-between) and with no local speciality shops, we’ve been enjoying ordering from similar-size breweries. So rather than relying on classics we’re delving head first into trying completely new things. The communal hashtag #CraftBeerHour has introduced us to so many small breweries all over the place and we’ve been loving having weekly care packages arriving. Most recently, Simon was sent a case of Belgian goodies from his family including his all-time fave Orval and my all-time fave Tripel Karmeliet, which are undeniable classics… but I’ve been getting stuck into everything I can get my hands on, from The Wild Beer Co. and Brass Castle. Next on the wish list is The Kernel. It’s a pain living hours away from any real beer scene, but we’re hoping things are changing and everyone is really pulling together at the moment and which we’ll truly applaud. Slàinte!” — Freja MacDougall, Co-founder, Ben Nevis Brewery, Glenfinnan, Scotland

“Jaipur is one of my favorite beers. It’s always been a safe port in a storm and one of the beers that really changed the game for me. Back in my Marble Brewery days, myself and fellow brewer Dom Driscoll spent quite a lot of time hanging out with Kelly Ryan, who was head brewer at Thornbridge at the time, and I remember them trialing early keg batches when everything around us was in cask, it felt like a giant step for both the beer and the U.K. scene… But the cask will always be my love. The body, honey notes, bitterness, and citrus notes all present in exact amounts for perfect balance to occur. There are a lot of happy memories in that beer and I’m sure there will be many more.” — Colin Stronge, Head Brewer, SALT Beer Factory, Saltaire, U.K.

“In the midst of all the new breweries and beers hitting the market these days, looking back at classic craft brews is not a bad idea. The first De Dolle Brouwers (DDB) beer I had was the revered Stille Nacht (around 2005). However, my favorites of theirs are probably Arabier and Oerbier. But, it is springtime, so I’ll go for the Arabier today. Arabier pours a beautiful pale orange with a frothing, white foam. The nose is estery, herbal, citrusy, floral, and messy in that beautiful DDB way. Tripel meets a strong Belgian pale, you could say. Well attenuated (but certainly not anorectic) and perfectly carbonated (high!). I love the integration of light fruity notes, herbal/grapefruit hoppy goodness, and a firm, rounded bitterness that coats my entire mouth. This beer represents what is so great about Belgian brewing: Brewers do whatever they want (I am sure there is a Flemish word for “f*ck rigid beer style guidelines”). I was lucky enough to visit DDB for the first time earlier this year, fell in love with the 100-plus-year-old brewhouse, and can’t wait to go back. Kris and Els are running a magical and uniquely personal place. But please don’t tell anyone — we want to keep it that way!” — Rune Lindgreen, Beer Developer & Ambassador, People Like Us, Copenhagen, Denmark

“One of my favorite breweries is Pizza Port. I grew up down in Orange County [Calif.] and was introduced to them when I came down to San Diego for a marathon in 1999. I loved the pizza and brewery vibe in Solana Beach and have been a fan ever since. In more recent years, I have been fortunate to pour beers at the same festivals, connect with their brewers and sales staff (hi, Jill!) and visit their San Clemente spot a few times a year while visiting friends and meeting with our sales team and distributors down there. My go-to Pizza Port beer is Swami’s IPA. It’s a classic West Coast IPA that instantly brings me back to beach town vibes. Swami’s is vacation mode in glass. I was fortunate enough to secure a sixtel for my home kegerator just as we were entering this new normal of sheltering in place. Suffice to say it did not last long, and I’m once again longing for my next pint of Swami’s IPA!” — Phil Cutti, Co-founder & Brewer, Headlands Brewing Co., San Francisco

“Right now I’ve got a triple-decocted Czech Pils from Notch in my glass and it’s absolutely gorgeous. When I’m brewing something similar, I try to seek out fresh (local) versions of the style. I love trying what my peers are putting out and learning from it, especially when it’s clean, crisp, and delightfully nuanced like this Pils!” — Gordon Whelpley, Head Brewer, Twelve Percent Beer Project, North Haven, Conn.

“To be honest, I have been drinking a lot of lagers that fall out of the craft category, or some by craft breweries as they try to introduce more of the style into their portfolios, but as one-offs do not fit into the classic category, either. However, if we were to discuss craft classics, there is one I always have in my cellar, and that is Orval. Orval is like the Kinder Egg of beers, because every bottle you open is a surprise. For each pour it feels like a different and exciting experience, and I can never figure out the precise age in which I prefer it, though I can definitely appreciate it fresh with the DH being present as well as an older, more Brett-forward version. And regardless, it is always delicious and will always warm my heart, quench my thirst, and bring a big smile to my face. When in doubt, Orval <3.” — Mariana Schneider, Brewer, Amager Bryghus, Copenhagen, Denmark

The article We Asked 11 Brewers: What Classic Craft Beer Are You Drinking Right Now? appeared first on VinePair.

Via https://vinepair.com/articles/11-best-classic-craft-beers/

source https://vinology1.weebly.com/blog/we-asked-11-brewers-what-classic-craft-beer-are-you-drinking-right-now

[isaiahrippinus]

We Asked 11 Brewers: What Classic Craft Beer Are You Drinking Right Now?

With the majority of the world under varying degrees of lockdown as governments attempt to combat the devastating effects of the novel coronavirus and subsequent Covid-19 pandemic, many beer drinkers are seeking comfort, relaxation, and familiarity in their beer choices.

Whether it takes the form of drinking your cellar, raiding the stash of bottles squirreled away for a rainy day, or returning to old, familiar classics, brewers and beer consumers alike are looking for the liquid form of pulling on your favorite sweatpants, but in a pint glass, bottle, or can.

From the OG Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, to beloved Belgian stalwart Orval, here’s what 11 brewers around the world are reaching for during this scary time.

“I’ve been getting down with some Ska Brewing True Blonde Ale. Crisp and delicious, this low-ABV classic American blonde is perfect for an all-day drinking session, especially with the weather in Denver warming up. It has also been helping in quarantine to help feel connected to some of my favorite homies. Ska has been one of my favorite breweries for the last 13 years and the people there are some of the nicest and most modest in the industry. Cracking this beer brings me back to anniversary parties of years past, skanking in the parking lot to some legendary ska bands, celebrating with friends that are more like family. I can’t wait for the day when I can make the trek back down to Durango to dance, hug, and crack a cold one with all of the rude boys and girls of the ska fam.” — Bess Dougherty, Head Brewer, Grateful Gnome Sandwich Shoppe and Brewery, Denver

“The classic craft beer I’m currently drinking is Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. The quality, consistency, and deliciousness is undeniable. I’ve been fortunate enough to have visited both of their beautiful, awe-inspiring campuses over the past few years and to say the experiences are life-changing for a small brewer is an understatement. Each sip takes me back and renews my gratitude to be a part of this industry and community.” — Joel Kodner, Head Brewer, West Palm Brewery, West Palm Beach, Fla.

“These days, I find myself drawn by session beers in general. Currently I am drinking Verdant Brewing Co.’s Lightbulb. I think this beer is one of the true bridge builders between modern and postmodern beer. It embodies many of the fruity elements that the NEIPAs have come to symbolize but with a remarkably low ABV for the style, and body enough to keep you interested.” — Søren Parker Wagner, Founder, Dry & Bitter Brewing Company, Copenhagen, Denmark

“Recently I have been getting reacquainted with Adnams, and in particular, Broadside. It’s autumn down here, and lockdown means time to cook up hearty dishes that scream out for this fruity malty masterpiece. I’m not sure I get the whiff of the salty sea air that Roger Protz once romantically tasted in the Adnams beers, but it does taste like Christmas cake, and spiked prunes. Delicious.” — Kieran Haslett-Moore, Head Brewer, North End Brewery, Waikanae, New Zealand

“During quarantine, I’ve mainly been supporting local breweries but I recently bought four bottles of Orval, and it reminded me why it’s always on lists like these. It’s appropriate for any mood or occasion. I had one right out of the bottle while grilling in my backyard and I served it in flutes on my wedding anniversary because I didn’t have any Champagne handy. It was perfect both times. Like a Pixar movie, Orval can be enjoyed on multiple levels. On the surface, it’s a simple, balanced beer that you don’t have to think about to enjoy. But, if you do feel like thinking about it, there’s so much to appreciate. It’s one of the few beers to truly showcase each ingredient — water, malt, hops, yeast. They are all there in perfect balance, but somehow each stands out on their own. It’s all elevated by a prickly carbonation from the secondary fermentation in the bottle, which also gives it a nearly unlimited shelf life. A perfect beer for any occasion that lasts forever — what else could you ask for in a quarantine beer?” — Michael Graham, Co-Founder, Austin Beer Works, Austin, Texas

“The lockdown situation has made us anxious to linger in the supermarkets perusing the craft beers on offer (usually Scottish or behemoth, no in-between) and with no local speciality shops, we’ve been enjoying ordering from similar-size breweries. So rather than relying on classics we’re delving head first into trying completely new things. The communal hashtag #CraftBeerHour has introduced us to so many small breweries all over the place and we’ve been loving having weekly care packages arriving. Most recently, Simon was sent a case of Belgian goodies from his family including his all-time fave Orval and my all-time fave Tripel Karmeliet, which are undeniable classics… but I’ve been getting stuck into everything I can get my hands on, from The Wild Beer Co. and Brass Castle. Next on the wish list is The Kernel. It’s a pain living hours away from any real beer scene, but we’re hoping things are changing and everyone is really pulling together at the moment and which we’ll truly applaud. Slàinte!” — Freja MacDougall, Co-founder, Ben Nevis Brewery, Glenfinnan, Scotland

“Jaipur is one of my favorite beers. It’s always been a safe port in a storm and one of the beers that really changed the game for me. Back in my Marble Brewery days, myself and fellow brewer Dom Driscoll spent quite a lot of time hanging out with Kelly Ryan, who was head brewer at Thornbridge at the time, and I remember them trialing early keg batches when everything around us was in cask, it felt like a giant step for both the beer and the U.K. scene… But the cask will always be my love. The body, honey notes, bitterness, and citrus notes all present in exact amounts for perfect balance to occur. There are a lot of happy memories in that beer and I’m sure there will be many more.” — Colin Stronge, Head Brewer, SALT Beer Factory, Saltaire, U.K.

“In the midst of all the new breweries and beers hitting the market these days, looking back at classic craft brews is not a bad idea. The first De Dolle Brouwers (DDB) beer I had was the revered Stille Nacht (around 2005). However, my favorites of theirs are probably Arabier and Oerbier. But, it is springtime, so I’ll go for the Arabier today. Arabier pours a beautiful pale orange with a frothing, white foam. The nose is estery, herbal, citrusy, floral, and messy in that beautiful DDB way. Tripel meets a strong Belgian pale, you could say. Well attenuated (but certainly not anorectic) and perfectly carbonated (high!). I love the integration of light fruity notes, herbal/grapefruit hoppy goodness, and a firm, rounded bitterness that coats my entire mouth. This beer represents what is so great about Belgian brewing: Brewers do whatever they want (I am sure there is a Flemish word for “f*ck rigid beer style guidelines”). I was lucky enough to visit DDB for the first time earlier this year, fell in love with the 100-plus-year-old brewhouse, and can’t wait to go back. Kris and Els are running a magical and uniquely personal place. But please don’t tell anyone — we want to keep it that way!” — Rune Lindgreen, Beer Developer & Ambassador, People Like Us, Copenhagen, Denmark

“One of my favorite breweries is Pizza Port. I grew up down in Orange County [Calif.] and was introduced to them when I came down to San Diego for a marathon in 1999. I loved the pizza and brewery vibe in Solana Beach and have been a fan ever since. In more recent years, I have been fortunate to pour beers at the same festivals, connect with their brewers and sales staff (hi, Jill!) and visit their San Clemente spot a few times a year while visiting friends and meeting with our sales team and distributors down there. My go-to Pizza Port beer is Swami’s IPA. It’s a classic West Coast IPA that instantly brings me back to beach town vibes. Swami’s is vacation mode in glass. I was fortunate enough to secure a sixtel for my home kegerator just as we were entering this new normal of sheltering in place. Suffice to say it did not last long, and I’m once again longing for my next pint of Swami’s IPA!” — Phil Cutti, Co-founder & Brewer, Headlands Brewing Co., San Francisco

“Right now I’ve got a triple-decocted Czech Pils from Notch in my glass and it’s absolutely gorgeous. When I’m brewing something similar, I try to seek out fresh (local) versions of the style. I love trying what my peers are putting out and learning from it, especially when it’s clean, crisp, and delightfully nuanced like this Pils!” — Gordon Whelpley, Head Brewer, Twelve Percent Beer Project, North Haven, Conn.

“To be honest, I have been drinking a lot of lagers that fall out of the craft category, or some by craft breweries as they try to introduce more of the style into their portfolios, but as one-offs do not fit into the classic category, either. However, if we were to discuss craft classics, there is one I always have in my cellar, and that is Orval. Orval is like the Kinder Egg of beers, because every bottle you open is a surprise. For each pour it feels like a different and exciting experience, and I can never figure out the precise age in which I prefer it, though I can definitely appreciate it fresh with the DH being present as well as an older, more Brett-forward version. And regardless, it is always delicious and will always warm my heart, quench my thirst, and bring a big smile to my face. When in doubt, Orval <3.” — Mariana Schneider, Brewer, Amager Bryghus, Copenhagen, Denmark

The article We Asked 11 Brewers: What Classic Craft Beer Are You Drinking Right Now? appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/11-best-classic-craft-beers/ source https://vinology1.tumblr.com/post/618640234697080832