I wouldn't call myself an "expert", per se, but you can if you wanna xD Writer, Dominatrix, musician, freestyle skater, and Pokemon Master. Here you'll find my stories, photos, and anything else I find remotely interesting. NSFW. Don't say I didn't warn you...
"Oh, Kurt. Kurt, Kurt, Kurt." The sympathetic but sarcastic voice echoes from the doorway to Kurt's club before he sees the face it's attached to. "What on earth is going on with you now?"
"Jesus Christ!" Kurt groans, both happy and annoyed as hell to see one of his best friends, Adam, saunter in. "Are you here to lecture me, too? I thought interventions happened all at once. Not one person at a time showing up in drips and drabs."
Adam grabs the chair across from Kurt at his table, spins it around, and straddles it. "I wasn't originally planning one, but yes. Now I think I need to."
"And why is that?"
"Because I love you."
Kurt scoffs. "Well, if you love me, then do me a favor and talk about anything except what you came here to talk about."
Adam nods. "Fair enough."
"Thank you!" Kurt relaxes back in his chair, secure that, for the moment, he wouldn't have to think about Sebastian, or everything he's losing. Adam has always been one of his most loyal friends. He'll keep his promise.
"So what the fuck is this about you staying here in cow town, as you used to call it, when a gorgeous young man and a big empty building await you in New York City?"
Kurt scowls. "Wait - you promised to talk about anything except what you came here to talk about."
"Yes, and I originally came here to talk about your next High Protocol dinner, with a side of the rising price of Nectar mattresses. But you asked me not to. So I decided to talk about your epically atrocious decision-making skills."
"You're not as cute as you think you are, you know."
"Really?" Adam grins. "Because I thought I was adorable."
A Dalton Boy Given Advice (WIP)
It is my goal to finish this this year for anyone who is still reading it <3
Kurt and Sebastian discover that some people can still surprise them...
And others, not so much. (571 words)
Notes:
So, this is a follow up to #38 Common Courtesy. At the time (2018) I had a few people ask for a redemption arc for Melanie's mom. I started writing it, then my computer went belly up. But here it is.
Read on AO3.
Part 76 of Outside Edge.
“Melanie! Come on, Melanie! Stop fooling around, it’s time for your lesson!” Madison isn't scolding Melanie. The smile on her face is evidence of that. The scene on the ice playing out right now is so... unusual, so incongruous, Madison has to play into it.
Just a little.
“Okay, Coach Madison!" Melanie calls, holding back a giggle behind gloved hands. "I'll be there in just a second! I have to help my mom… ”
"MELANIE!! Whoa! Whoa, whoa, WHOA!!"
Melanie spins quickly, gasping when she sees her mom's arms windmilling, her feet threatening to fly out from beneath her. "Mom!"
“Melanie!" Mrs. Dickerson - Melanie's mom - makes her way across the ice, outfitted in at least three layers of sweatshirts and a coat, with a beginner pair of Jackson skates on her feet. Knock-kneed and pigeon-toed, she walks more than she glides. But, as with a lot of adult beginners, one foot works better than the other, so she starts spinning - slowly but uncontrollably. "Melanie, dear... "
"Snow plow, mom! Snow plow!" Melanie yells as she speeds her mom's way. "Grab your knees! Try to stop!"
"I am trying. I'm - ah!” Mrs. Dickerson goes down on her rear before Melanie can reach her. Luckily, she was prepared, wearing a pair of crash pants so thick she probably didn't feel a thing.
“Oh! Mom!" Melanie snorts, even though she's still worried for her mother. "Are you okay?”
“Yeah!” Mrs. Dickerson chuckles, trying to get her arms underneath her. “I just… me and gravity are having issues, I guess.”
“I can see that,” Madison says, gliding over to help. She reaches down to help her newest student back onto her blades. “But don’t worry. In a few more lessons, we’ll have you landing Axels.”
Melanie’s mom looks up from brushing off her pants and grins sheepishly, remembering that the subject of her daughter landing a double Axel is where all this began. “Is that before or after I break a knee?”
“You’re not going to break a knee,” Melanie assures her mother.
“Of course not,” Madison agrees. “Most adult skaters break a wrist long before they break a knee.”
Melanie’s mom stands up straight and glares at Madison. “Nice.”
"It's truth time."
"I bet---" Mrs. Dickerson falls back down on her butt, and the three of them burst out into a fit of laughter.
From the hockey box, Kurt and Sebastian watch, mouths agape.
"Did you have Melanie's mom's redemption arc on your 2019 bingo card?" Sebastian asks.
"Nope," Kurt says, laughing to himself when Mrs. Dickerson goes down a third time. She opts to stay on the ice, splayed out like a starfish. "Not in a million years."
"It's nice to know that people can still surprise us. Especially parents."
"Yeah." A sharp sound, like a slap, breaks through the mirth and captures Kurt's attention. He looks over his shoulder towards the locker rooms, their doors open since there's a workshop going on on the ice next door. Kurt leans right to peek in and catches a boorish man loudly dressing down his hockey player, a boy probably no more than ten. He's dangerously close to tears, a trembling hand pressed to his cheek. "I wish it happened more often."
Sebastian tracks Kurt's gaze, sees what he sees, and sighs. His shoulders slump, hope for humanity gone, and he heads for the door. "Don't worry, babe. I'm on it."
Aziraphale and Crowley are trapped in a room with no conceivable way out... (761 words)
Notes:
This is a little blurb of a story where I sort of wrote myself into a corner and didn't do anything about it XD
Read on AO3.
"Having any luck, dear?" Aziraphale asks, gingerly turning the page of a yellowing manuscript, utterly unfazed with whether his husband finds an answer to the puzzle he's working on or not.
"No. Not yet," Crowley says, strolling around the perimeter of the room for the 50th time. Nothing has changed, of course. It's a standard study: mahogany desk covered in papers, walls lined with bookcases, a leather sofa and a matching wing chair, a large globe in the corner, a sextant on a pedestal, and a few odd crystal carafes that Crowley has already sampled from... excessively. Something new catches his eye, and he makes a beeline for it. "Wait a minute, wait just a minute!" Crowley starts cranking a lever on the wall, spinning it clockwise, then counterclockwise with all his might. It makes a horrid grinding noise but accomplishes little else. He lets the lever wind down, then looks around, but nothing in the room has changed. "No. No. That's... not it."
"Would you quit puttering and give it a rest?" Aziraphale groans. "All you're doing is making an awful racket."
"At least I'm trying to get us out of here! You're reading! How is that going to help us?"
"You never know... "
"I bet you those books are props, here for aesthetic purposes. There're no clues in there!"
"I didn't think there would be," Aziraphale replies haughtily. "But that doesn't matter. I strongly suspect that this may be a first edition Sartre!"
"Marvelous," Crowley grumbles, retreating to a small table and pouring himself yet another drink. "Some use you are."
"I am a great deal more use than you - banging on walls and jiggling door handles! And may I point out, if these books are props, so is that cognac."
Crowley knocks back his glass, then pours another. "Can't be. Tastes just like alcohol."
"Yes, well, chalk that up to your vivid imagination, my dear, because I'm fairly certain that's lantern oil you're ingesting."
Crowley examines the remaining dark liquid critically. "No. Can't be. Then what were the first three?"
"A lava lamp, glycerin dyed to look like bourbon, and surgical spirits."
"Spirits? Alcohol! One out of four ain't bad!" Crowley proclaims proudly.
"Isopropyl, dear. Not the drinking kind."
"For the love of... !" an exasperated voice barks over their heads. "You guys have been in here for three hours! And you've made no progress whatsoever!"
"To be honest, though, that's got to be some sort of record," a quieter discorporated voice adds.
"Shut up! Don't encourage them!"
"So?" Aziraphale mumbles, not looking up from his book.
"So... " the first voice mocks. "This is a beginner-level escape room! This puzzle is the first of four! It's supposed to take twenty minutes tops!"
"I barely think it's our fault that we can't solve it," Crowley says. "You've obviously miscalculated."
"Urgh! A class of 3rd years was in here yesterday! It took them five minutes!"
"A whole class of educated youngsters?" Aziraphale scoffs. "Well, there you are. There were far more of them than there are of us. They had numbers on their side."
"Argh!! Just... get out! We have another group waiting!"
Crowley springs up angrily from the corner of the desk. "That's rude, innit? Treating paying customers this way. I'm going to write up one of them Yalp reviews about you. Let everyone know you're being unnecessarily mean."
"Good for you! As long as you do it OUTSIDE!"
Aziraphale carefully closes the book and sighs, running a hand sadly down the cover. "I apologize. I know we're all quarreling and that apparently we're at fault or something. But do you think I could... ?"
"Oh, take the book!" the voice bellows. "As long as you leave, take it and go!"
"Oh, bless you!" Aziraphale leaps giddily from his seat. Book pressed gently to his chest, he heads for the door, which has magically opened at the other end of the room. "May your day get infinitely better from here on out!"
"It will once you two leave," the beligerent voice mutters. "And for God's sake, you! In the dark glasses!"
Crowley's head snaps skyward. He spins two complete circles in a vain attempt to see who he's talking to. "Me?"
"Yes, you! Go to A&E before your insides melt!"
"See, dear? You can't complain about them now," Aziraphale says, subtly nicking another book on his way out. "They care about you."
"Ngk. Probably afraid I'll sue. Besides, I've had my insides melt before. It's not all that bad a thing, but I wouldn't recommend it."
Kurt consoles Harmony after she gets a bronze medal, even though he believes she deserved a gold... for more reasons than one. (1338 words)
Notes:
This story is also based on a series of things that happened down at the rink where my daughter competes and skates. My daughter's best friend and skating partner once exchanged his gold medal for her silver for a similar reason <3
Read on AO3.
Part 75 of Outside Edge.
“But… she scratched. They both did,” Harmony mutters, staring at her bronze medal and shaking her head in disbelief.
“I know, honey. I know.” Kurt has been saying that on repeat. He doesn't know what else to say. He learned a long time ago that, at this level, the medals don't actually mean anything. Scoring in figure skating is so damned subjective. Coaches from rinks all around score the competitions, so skaters might end up getting screwed over by a case of rink loyalty.
But it goes deeper than that.
One judge might not like your music. Another might not like your dress. A third might not like your over-the-boot tights, while another coach prefers them. And if your tights don't exactly match the color of your skin (regardless of the fact that maybe the pro shop didn't have your color and there was nothing you could do about it last minute), another judge won't like you, either. Too much makeup? Too little makeup? Glitter in your hair? Using bobby pins instead of sewing your bun? For female skaters especially, the list of grievances is never-ending, even though there are no official rules governing any of these things.
Kurt marks Harmony receiving a bronze medal up to rink loyalty. Two of the four coaches judging her event teach at the rink where they're competing. In terms of competitive skating, her competitor's scratches were heinous. One girl landed fully on her rear. The other stumbled, touched the ice, recovered, and then landed an Axel, which should have been downright disqualifying since, at the level they are competing, an Axel isn't allowed. The fact that the competition admins let this flagrant show of favoritism slide is disgusting.
But there's very little Harmony or Kurt can do about it unless they don't mind being blacklisted. Small rink politics are a difficult thing to fight when they exist literally everywhere they skate.
“It's one of the sad truths of these competitions," Sebastian says with a sympathetic smile. Like Kurt, he can't think of anything else to add. Nothing that will make Harmony feel better, at least.
Kurt knows that a lot is riding on this medal for Harmony. The poor girl is killing herself doing competitions and extracurriculars up the yin-yang, with two goals in mind: either she saves her parents' rapidly declining marriage through the power of her hard work and accomplishments, or she gains enough notoriety that she can go to college anywhere in the country she wants and be free of the stress.
Like Kurt and Sebastian.
The irony is that Kurt, who coaches her on the ice, used to compete against her in Show Choir. It's strange for him to see someone so ruthless on stage be so timid in skates. But she works hard and puts 100% into everything she does.
Kurt respects that.
He looks down at the medal he's been holding this entire time - the medal he won two hours before he put Harmony on the ice for her event. He'd gotten gold, but he never doubted he would. The same favoritism that gave Harmony bronze gave him gold, since no one in Ohio would want to own up to giving Kurt Hummel anything less.
“You know, they buy these in bulk," he says, turning it over in his hands. "When I first started competing, these medals had the year engraved on them. But then they stopped that and printed it on the ribbons only. Now, so many people compete, it’s more cost-effective to buy hundreds of them blank and keep them in storage."
"Yeah," Sebastian agrees. "I have a grip of these hanging on my wall, and I couldn't tell you which competition year specifically any one of them is from."
Harmony looks from her bronze medal to Kurt's gold. They're exactly the same except for the color. There's a kiosk set up at the double doors to the rink that will engrave whatever you want on your medal, but the fact that, after you spend so much money to enter this competition, the skaters have to customize their medals on their own dime, seems like the admins don't really care. She understands the need to save money. The sport of competitive figure skating has bloomed in recent years. But then what did the host rink do with the money they saved? The price to enter this competition has gone up since last year. They didn't use the money to renovate the rink. The paint on the walls is peeling, the sinks in the bathroom don't have hot water, the microwave in the cafeteria has been broken for ages, and that one a/c unit over the Lutz corner sputters and wheezes like an old Chevy engine.
But getting a handful of parent volunteers with engraving pens to scrawl her name on the back of her medal? That would definitely break the bank.
"That's... kind of sad," she says.
"It is," Kurt agrees, watching Harmony's face as any inch of joy seems to bleed away. It's not just the medal, but also it didn't have to be the medal. This could have been one thing in her day that went right, not because of luck or favoritism, or even because her parents learned how to sort their shit out.
But because Harmony earned it, all on her own, with her blood, sweat, and tears.
"Harmony, you definitely deserved a gold medal. You landed every single jump, all of your spins were centered, and your spread eagle defied the laws of physics. You worked hard to get here. So here.” Kurt slips the ribbon for his gold medal over Harmony's head.
"Kurt!" Her eyes pop, scanning the arena left and right, as if she expects someone to rush over and stop him. "I can’t take… !”
“Yes, you can, Harmony. It's not a holy relic. It's a medal." He untwists the ribbon at her neck and turns the medal so it lies flat. "I am as impartial as any judge here... ”
Behind them, Sebastian chokes on his tongue. Kurt considers kicking him in the shin, but since he is still in his skates, he decides to wait till later.
"I have watched you go from a girl with Bambi knees to a bona fide figure skater. You were flawless, Harmony. You deserve that medal."
Harmony stares down at the medal, pressing her lips together to hold back a sob. She looks up at Kurt with tears in her eyes, and Kurt pulls her into his arms.
"You deserve that medal. And don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Ok?"
"Thank you, coach."
"You're welcome. Now, take your skates off, run a few cool-down laps, and go celebrate. Eat something fattening."
Harmony chuckles, stepping out of Kurt's embrace to wipe her eyes. "Sure thing, coach. And next time, they're going to give me that gold medal because I'm going to get better. I'm going to be so good, no one will be able to deny it!"
"That's my girl!"
"In fact, I'm going to be so good, next competition is going to be a blood bath!"
Conversation nearby stops dead. Several heads snap their way, and Sebastian snorts.
"Probably not the best reference to make when you have blades on your feet," Sebastian points out, "but I'm on your side."
Harmony turns and bounces off to the benches to take off her skates, holding her gold medal close to her chest. Kurt can't help but notice that Harmony's parents didn't make an appearance at this competition, but it probably worked for the best.
They haven't been doing a stellar job at being parents lately.
Sebastian wraps his arms around Kurt from behind and squeezes him tight. “Do you know you’re the most amazing human being I’ve ever met?”
“I do," Kurt says, turning into his boyfriend's embrace and hugging him properly.
Sebastian snickers into Kurt's hair. "Humble, much?"
"Not at all. You forget, I know the people you ran with. The bar wasn't set that high."
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