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Lovers in the Backseat

Is it just me or is everyone hiding out between the lights?

amaxdear

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July 13th, 2012

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A/N: This is the final part of the Klaine fic And Sunset Adorned the West. It was semi-abandoned, which is why this chapter is incomplete, but pawndilene, whose art provided the inspiration and who wrote the letter to Kurt featured in this chapter, asked to see what was left. Sorry it took so ridiculously long!

Dear Mr. Anderson,

I do not know if you recall the circumstances under which we met; it was my perception, in fact, that you wished fervently you had been somewhere else at the time. If so, I apologize, but I must bring it up.

I have never met a gentler soul than you, my dear Blaine, a fact which I can no longer ignore. From the moment you approached me, as the only man in the room appreciative of music and, dare I say, beauty, as I was—from that moment, you have been on my mind. We spoke endlessly that night. You listened as well as spoke, you were attentive in every way, and I was too far gone to even categorize my own feelings. I am afraid that, although your letters are a spot of brightness in my life, they are no longer enough. If you feel the same way, I beg of you to write immediately and ease my mind. If not, then the letters will cease and I will at least be relieved.

Despise me if you will, forget me if you must. Know that every moment we are apart is a moment in which I suffer. I beg of you to reply hastily and end my torment. I remain

Yours most faithfully,
Kurt Hummel


Blaine stared at the letter in mute shock. It seemed—if he was not gravely mistaken (and he would throw himself into the Thames if he was, for deceiving himself so cruelly), it sounded as though Kurt was confessing an attachment that bordered on love. From that moment, you have been on my mind… Surely he was reading too much into it? Nothing Kurt had ever written or said had hinted at such great affection?

Or perhaps he was simply a fool. If the evidence had been in front of him and he had simply been too blind to see—? If Kurt had been writing to him this entire time in an attempt to—

“Anderson?” Santana strolled into the room

“I’m—I’ve been forced to reevaluate something,” he said weakly, setting aside the offending piece of paper. “And I would very much like some sort of deprecating remark on my character now, please. The world seems to have gone topsyturvy.”

“Has your family won the lots? Or failed in the stocks?” Santana quipped, sipping her coffee. “Or has your Juliet found and married her Paris?”

“No… actually… I think—it’s possible that my unrequited love is—somewhat—requited.”

For a moment, Santana simply gaped at him. Then, with lightening-fast speed that actually alarmed him, her hand darted out and snatched the letter from its place at his elbow.

(Missing scene: Santana is caught off guard at first, but she is very calm when Blaine tries to explain it away. She gives him tips on how to write the perfect letter.)

My dear Mr. Hummel,

Of course I recall that evening… with greater fondness than you may realize. I must confess that thoughts of you—the memory of your voice, your image carried so close to my heart—gives me courage as I count out the seconds until the next time we shall meet, hoping that I might be ever, humbly,

Your Mr. Anderson


(Missing scene: Blaine gets ready to leave)

Andrea kissed his cheek, simultaneously pressing something into his hand. Blaine glanced down and his face broke into a smile. It was a photo, a recent one, of Andrea and Mark.

“For your watch,” Andrea said shyly. “Whenever it’s empty.”

It wasn’t much. She hadn’t outright expressed congratulations or good luck, but he couldn’t imagine anything that would mean more. Blaine pulled her and Mark into a tight hug.

“Thank you,” he whispered in her ear.

---

Finally—finally, Blaine stood on the doorstep of the Hummels’ home, heart hammering wildly against his ribcage. He noticed, with a self-deprecating smile, that his hand shook when he raised it, and tried to make up for it by banging the knocker as solidly as possible, three times.

Within seconds, the door was answered by a frighteningly efficient-looking woman with iron grey hair.

“Blaine Anderson, to see Mr. Hummel, please,” he told her, pleased with his steady voice. The maid nodded.

“One moment, sir,” she said in a voice of utmost disdain. The door was shut in his face, and he waited. She returned presently. “Mr. Hummel is in the drawing room. If you would follow me.”

Meekly, Blaine followed her, a few paces behind, observing the house as he passed. It was furnished simply, but tastefully. From Kurt’s letters, he had formed a rough picture of the elder Mr. Hummel, and assumed (rightfully) that he had not had the final say in most of the decoration.

They reached the drawing room. The maid entered and introduced him, before disappearing silently.

(Missing scene: Kurt isn’t home. Blaine chats awkwardly with Burt, and learns that Kurt talks about him a lot, and has been missing him.)


Blaine turned, his heart pounding in his throat. Kurt was standing in the doorway, looking dumbstruck.

“How—how long have you been back?” Kurt asked.

“Not long. A day, perhaps. Lucky the weather’s been so fair, or it would have been longer.”

“Yes, it’s been quite mild for March. Last year I believe we still had snow on this date.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me. London’s been quite dreary these past few months.”

Their conversation was inane and stupid, but Blaine couldn’t even bring himself to care. Kurt was here, in the flesh, his eyes sparkling and the color high on his cheeks. When he spoke, his voice was slightly lower than Blaine remembered, but melodious and smooth despite his hesitation. The lines of his face were sharp, but softened around his mouth where the faintest smile was beginning to bloom. He stood taller, poised like an angel about to take flight, and it took Blaine a moment to realize that he was speaking again.

“Shall we take advantage of the weather and go for a walk? We’ve just had some of the paths redone. It’s a lovely view, if you ignore the distant drills.”

God bless your beautiful mind, Blaine thought, relieved.

“Yes, that would be excellent. Excuse me, sir,” he said. He nodded at the elder Mr. Hummel, who looked between his son and Blaine with a bemused expression.

“Of course. Although I don’t think the weather is that mild….”

Blaine followed Kurt through rooms and hallways until they exited through French windows and found themselves in a small garden littered with rosebushes.

“Kurt,” he said, pouring every ounce of relief and love and desire into that one word. It tasted like ambrosia on his tongue.

“Not a word.” Kurt turned with a pained expression. He reached out and grasped Blaine’s wrists.“Please, Blaine—my love—not here.”

With those words, he yanked Blaine forward, one arm wrapping around his shoulders. He walked again, quicker than before.

It took Blaine a moment to understand. Then a euphoric smile crept over his face, and he laughed. He leaned into Kurt, hugging around his waist. The sudden force caused Kurt’s arm to slip up to Blaine’s neck, pulling them even closer, and Kurt stumbled. A laugh was torn from his lips as Blaine’s snatched his hand. Soon they were nearly running to the line of trees at the edge of the garden, connected at every point and thoroughly delighted to be so.

They passed through the fringe of the trees and Blaine turned fiercely. Kurt yelped, caught off guard, and pressed back. They fell, laughing, wrestling on the ground, too happy to form words.

“A truce, a truce!” Kurt cried, when Blaine discovered the sensitive, ticklish spot beneath his arm. “Let go of me, you mongrel!”

“As you wish,” Blaine chuckled. He sat up and stood, offering a hand. “You’ll get your clothes dirty.”

“I don’t care,” Kurt declared, although he stood readily enough. “You’re here. You’re real, Blaine, you—”

“I am! Kurt—Kurt, you have no idea how long I’ve missed you, how long I’ve been waiting for this…”

“I believe I do,” he smiled, smoothing Blaine’s jacket.

Kurt lifted his hands, hesitatingly, and cupped Blaine’s cheeks. It was the most honest thing he could have done, and Blaine shivered. Months—months of ink on paper.And now this, the warm, solid feel of Kurt’s skin. He met Kurt’s gaze for just a moment, and then forced his eyes to close. He couldn’t bear it.

“Kiss me,” Kurt murmured. “Please.”

Blaine kept his eyes closed and leaned forward. He found Kurt’s lips blindly. It was clumsy and he didn’t have the courage to do anything but press their mouths together as firmly as he possibly could. His answer was a soft sound of relief, and he broke the kiss to wrap his arms entirely around his beloved.

“You never told me,” Kurt said breathlessly as soon as they parted. There was an accusation lurking behind the words. “I didn’t expect you to be back for weeks, at least. It’s very rotten of you.”

Blaine laughed, pressing another kiss to his cheek.

“I thought you liked surprises.”

“I hate surprises.”

“I love you.”

Kurt’s eyes widened, and a slow smile spread across his face. His arms tightened, briefly, before loosening, and he slipped out of Blaine’s embrace, averting his gaze. He strolled over to one of the oak trees, and Blaine could see him blushing.

“I love you, too,” he said simply. He looked up, and something about him—his pose, his happiness, the play of sunlight across his face—took Blaine’s breath away. “I never thought I’d say that,” he added, almost a whisper.

Blaine nodded. His throat was too constricted to speak.

“What is it?”

“It’s—nothing,” Blaine said, smiling with some effort. He stepped closer and brushed a lock of hair out of Kurt’s face. “I’ve never seen you in this light before. You look exquisite.”

“You’ve only seen me twice,” Kurt said sweetly. His lashes created a fringe of tiny shadows on his cheeks.

“No,” Blaine corrected. With clumsy fingers, he pulled his pocket watch out and flipped it open. He showed Kurt, who reached out almost automatically and held it in both hands, fingers smoothing the engraved face. “I’ve seen you every day since I left, dearest, and you’ve only grown more beautiful in my absence.”

“That’s a pretty speech. Have you been practicing?”

“No, that was pure impulse. You inspire me,” Blaine teased, pressing a kiss to Kurt’s temple. “And what have you done with my picture?”

Kurt blushed deeper and tried to look away. Blaine reached out to hug him again, and so they only swayed awkwardly before Kurt rested his head against Blaine’s.

“It’s at my bedside. Your face has been the last one I see these past three months. My dreams have been sweet.”

“Pretty speech,” Blaine chuckled, lifting Kurt’s chin and leaning up to kiss him lovingly. “I’m glad. Would you believe—doubt was the only thing preventing me from crossing the ocean the second I got there? I was anxious—desperate to know if you—cared for me, yes, but if you understood… I love you, more than you can imagine but—”

Kurt’s sweet, delighted smile stopped the words in his mouth.

“I love you,” he said simply, like that was all that mattered. “Really, I do. Do you really love me?”

Blaine tightened his grip even more and reached up with one hand, stroking Kurt’s silky hair. Kurt let his hands drift up his chest, wrapping around his neck, twining into Blaine’s hair and pulling him closer. The sun flared bright gold on the horizon and then faded, as night returned to the earth.

June 3rd, 2012

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Title: And Sunset Adorned the West (3/3)
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine
Rating: PG
Author's Note: Ok, this is a fic I wrote and abandoned literally a year ago, based on one of pawndilane's drawings. This chapter isn't finished, but I felt really bad for writing two-thirds of the fic and not posting it because it had a few holes in it. The greater part of the story is intact, so I just put in little notes to explain the missing parts.

(Missing Scene: Blaine gets a letter)

Dear Mr. Anderson,

I do not know if you recall the circumstances under which we met; it was my perception, in fact, that you wished fervently you had been somewhere else at the time. If so, I apologize, but I must bring it up.

I have never met a gentler soul than you, my dear Blaine, a fact which I can no longer ignore. From the moment you approached me, as the only man in the room appreciative of music and, dare I say, beauty, as I was—from that moment, you have been on my mind. We spoke endlessly that night. You listened as well as spoke, you were attentive in every way, and I was too far gone to even categorize my own feelings. I am afraid that, although your letters are a spot of brightness in my life, they are no longer enough. If you feel the same way, I beg of you to write immediately and ease my mind. If not, then the letters will cease and I will at least be relieved.

Despise me if you will, forget me if you must. Know that every moment we are apart is a moment in which I suffer. I beg of you to reply hastily and end my torment. I remain

Yours most faithfully,
Kurt Hummel


Blaine stared at the letter in mute shock. It seemed—if he was not gravely mistaken (and he would throw himself into the Thames if he was, for deceiving himself so cruelly), it sounded as though Kurt was confessing an attachment that bordered on love. From that moment, you have been on my mind… Surely he was reading too much into it? Nothing Kurt had ever written or said had hinted at such great affection?

Or perhaps he was simply a fool. If the evidence had been in front of him and he had simply been too blind to see—? If Kurt had been writing to him this entire time in an attempt to—

“Anderson?” Santana strolled into the room

“I’m—I’ve been forced to reevaluate something,” he said weakly, setting aside the offending piece of paper. “And I would very much like some sort of deprecating remark on my character now, please. The world seems to have gone topsyturvy.”

“Has your family won the lots? Or failed in the stocks?” Santana quipped, sipping her coffee. “Or has your Juliet found and married her Paris?”

“No… actually… I think—it’s possible that my unrequited love is—somewhat—requited.”

For a moment, Santana simply gaped at him. Then, with lightening-fast speed that actually alarmed him, her hand darted out and snatched the letter from its place at his elbow.

(Missing scene: Santana is caught off guard at first, but she is very calm when Blaine tries to explain it away. She gives him tips on how to write the perfect letter.)

My dear Mr. Hummel,

Of course I recall that evening… with greater fondness than you may realize. I must confess that thoughts of you—the memory of your voice, your image carried so close to my heart—gives me courage as I count out the seconds until the next time we shall meet, hoping that I might be ever, humbly,

Your Mr. Anderson


(Missing scene: Blaine gets ready to leave)

Andrea kissed his cheek, simultaneously pressing something into his hand. Blaine glanced down and his face broke into a smile. It was a photo, a recent one, of Andrea and Mark.

“For your watch,” Andrea said shyly. “Whenever it’s empty.”

It wasn’t much. She hadn’t outright expressed congratulations or good luck, but he couldn’t imagine anything that would mean more. Blaine pulled her and Mark into a tight hug.

“Thank you,” he whispered in her ear.

---

Finally—finally, Blaine stood on the doorstep of the Hummels’ home, heart hammering wildly against his ribcage. He noticed, with a self-deprecating smile, that his hand shook when he raised it, and tried to make up for it by banging the knocker as solidly as possible, three times.

Within seconds, the door was answered by a frighteningly efficient-looking woman with iron grey hair.

“Blaine Anderson, to see Mr. Hummel, please,” he told her, pleased with his steady voice. The maid nodded.

“One moment, sir,” she said in a voice of utmost disdain. The door was shut in his face, and he waited. She returned presently. “Mr. Hummel is in the drawing room. If you would follow me.”

Meekly, Blaine followed her, a few paces behind, observing the house as he passed. It was furnished simply, but tastefully. From Kurt’s letters, he had formed a rough picture of the elder Mr. Hummel, and assumed (rightfully) that he had not had the final say in most of the decoration.

They reached the drawing room. The maid entered and introduced him, before disappearing silently.

(Missing scene: Kurt isn’t home. Blaine chats awkwardly with Burt, and learns that Kurt talks about him a lot, and has been missing him.)


Blaine turned, his heart pounding in his throat. Kurt was standing in the doorway, looking dumbstruck.

“How—how long have you been back?” Kurt asked.

“Not long. A day, perhaps. Lucky the weather’s been so fair, or it would have been longer.”

“Yes, it’s been quite mild for March. Last year I believe we still had snow on this date.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me. London’s been quite dreary these past few months.”

Their conversation was inane and stupid, but Blaine couldn’t even bring himself to care. Kurt was here, in the flesh, his eyes sparkling and the color high on his cheeks. When he spoke, his voice was slightly lower than Blaine remembered, but melodious and smooth despite his hesitation. The lines of his face were sharp, but softened around his mouth where the faintest smile was beginning to bloom. He stood taller, poised like an angel about to take flight, and it took Blaine a moment to realize that he was speaking again.

“Shall we take advantage of the weather and go for a walk? We’ve just had some of the paths redone. It’s a lovely view, if you ignore the distant drills.”

God bless your beautiful mind, Blaine thought, relieved.

“Yes, that would be excellent. Excuse me, sir,” he said. He nodded at the elder Mr. Hummel, who looked between his son and Blaine with a bemused expression.

“Of course. Although I don’t think the weather is that mild….”

Blaine followed Kurt through rooms and hallways until they exited through French windows and found themselves in a small garden littered with rosebushes.

“Kurt,” he said, pouring every ounce of relief and love and desire into that one word. It tasted like ambrosia on his tongue.

“Not a word.” Kurt turned with a pained expression. He reached out and grasped Blaine’s wrists.“Please, Blaine—my love—not here.”

With those words, he yanked Blaine forward, one arm wrapping around his shoulders. He walked again, quicker than before.

It took Blaine a moment to understand. Then a euphoric smile crept over his face, and he laughed. He leaned into Kurt, hugging around his waist. The sudden force caused Kurt’s arm to slip up to Blaine’s neck, pulling them even closer, and Kurt stumbled. A laugh was torn from his lips as Blaine’s snatched his hand. Soon they were nearly running to the line of trees at the edge of the garden, connected at every point and thoroughly delighted to be so.

They passed through the fringe of the trees and Blaine turned fiercely. Kurt yelped, caught off guard, and pressed back. They fell, laughing, wrestling on the ground, too happy to form words.

“A truce, a truce!” Kurt cried, when Blaine discovered the sensitive, ticklish spot beneath his arm. “Let go of me, you mongrel!”

“As you wish,” Blaine chuckled. He sat up and stood, offering a hand. “You’ll get your clothes dirty.”

“I don’t care,” Kurt declared, although he stood readily enough. “You’re here. You’re real, Blaine, you—”

“I am! Kurt—Kurt, you have no idea how long I’ve missed you, how long I’ve been waiting for this…”

“I believe I do,” he smiled, smoothing Blaine’s jacket.

Kurt lifted his hands, hesitatingly, and cupped Blaine’s cheeks. It was the most honest thing he could have done, and Blaine shivered. Months—months of ink on paper.And now this, the warm, solid feel of Kurt’s skin. He met Kurt’s gaze for just a moment, and then forced his eyes to close. He couldn’t bear it.

“Kiss me,” Kurt murmured. “Please.”

Blaine kept his eyes closed and leaned forward. He found Kurt’s lips blindly. It was clumsy and he didn’t have the courage to do anything but press their mouths together as firmly as he possibly could. His answer was a soft sound of relief, and he broke the kiss to wrap his arms entirely around his beloved.

“You never told me,” Kurt said breathlessly as soon as they parted. There was an accusation lurking behind the words. “I didn’t expect you to be back for weeks, at least. It’s very rotten of you.”

Blaine laughed, pressing another kiss to his cheek.

“I thought you liked surprises.”

“I hate surprises.”

“I love you.”

Kurt’s eyes widened, and a slow smile spread across his face. His arms tightened, briefly, before loosening, and he slipped out of Blaine’s embrace, averting his gaze. He strolled over to one of the oak trees, and Blaine could see him blushing.

“I love you, too,” he said simply. He looked up, and something about him—his pose, his happiness, the play of sunlight across his face—took Blaine’s breath away. “I never thought I’d say that,” he added, almost a whisper.

Blaine nodded. His throat was too constricted to speak.

“What is it?”

“It’s—nothing,” Blaine said, smiling with some effort. He stepped closer and brushed a lock of hair out of Kurt’s face. “I’ve never seen you in this light before. You look exquisite.”

“You’ve only seen me twice,” Kurt said sweetly. His lashes created a fringe of tiny shadows on his cheeks.

“No,” Blaine corrected. With clumsy fingers, he pulled his pocket watch out and flipped it open. He showed Kurt, who reached out almost automatically and held it in both hands, fingers smoothing the engraved face. “I’ve seen you every day since I left, dearest, and you’ve only grown more beautiful in my absence.”

“That’s a pretty speech. Have you been practicing?”

“No, that was pure impulse. You inspire me,” Blaine teased, pressing a kiss to Kurt’s temple. “And what have you done with my picture?”

Kurt blushed deeper and tried to look away. Blaine reached out to hug him again, and so they only swayed awkwardly before Kurt rested his head against Blaine’s.

“It’s at my bedside. Your face has been the last one I see these past three months. My dreams have been sweet.”

“Pretty speech,” Blaine chuckled, lifting Kurt’s chin and leaning up to kiss him lovingly. “I’m glad. Would you believe—doubt was the only thing preventing me from crossing the ocean the second I got there? I was anxious—desperate to know if you—cared for me, yes, but if you understood… I love you, more than you can imagine but—”

Kurt’s sweet, delighted smile stopped the words in his mouth.

“I love you,” he said simply, like that was all that mattered. “Really, I do. Do you really love me?”

Blaine tightened his grip even more and reached up with one hand, stroking Kurt’s silky hair. Kurt let his hands drift up his chest, wrapping around his neck, twining into Blaine’s hair and pulling him closer. The sun flared bright gold on the horizon and then faded, as night returned to the earth.

May 7th, 2010

Title: Five Reasons That Kurt Hates Noah Puckerman
Author: amaXdear
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Puck/Kurt, various background OC’s, Finn, Santana, Brittany, Suzy Pepper
Warning: Mild swearing
Words: 3,041
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Not mine
Author’s Notes: Written for the May Diva-Off challenge at Team Puck/Kurt.
Summary: It started out cute. Then there was some angst, and Puck became an asshole. It ended with an epiphany, and maybe even a little bit of love.



1. Kurt sat very straight in his plastic chair and raised his hand as high and straight as he could. Ms. Johnson looked over and held up one finger for him to wait. Kurt sighed, but he kept his hand up. He was very patient. Finally, she walked over to him, her heels clacking on the tile floor.

“What is it, Kurt?”

“Do we have to use just crayons on our clovers? Because I have some ribbon in my backpack that will go very nice around this edge.”

He indicated the top part of his green, construction paper three-leaf clover and looked seriously up at the woman, who let her red hair slide forward to conceal her amusement. She did that a lot, Kurt noticed, sucking her lip in to make her smile look smaller than it was.

“Sure,” she said brightly. “I don’t see why not.”

“Thank you,” Kurt said with his nicest smile. He went to the cubbies and pulled a spool of thick, lacy ribbon out of his denim backpack. He had taken it from Gram-Gram’s sewing kit when they visited her last week. She wouldn’t mind.

Four minutes later, Kurt stared at his clover with satisfaction. It was almost perfect, but it lacked a little pizzazz. He screwed up his mouth like Mom did when she was upset, and looked around. His eyes fell on a container of green glitter, and he lit up.

“Noah, could I use that glitter please?” he asked politely, leaning forward to talk to the boy was sitting at the table in front of him.

“Sure,” Noah said. He had just lost a front tooth, the first out of anyone in the class to have done so, and the air whistled through it when he spoke. “Just a sec.”

Noah flipped open half of the top, and Kurt was just about to call out a warning when Noah overturned the container and every speck of glitter fell onto his clover. The boys stared at it in horror.

“You’re supposed to use the other side,” Kurt wailed. “The one with the holes in it!”

“Oops,” Noah said apologetically.

“Now my clover is ruined, just because you were being stupid!”

Ms. Johnson heard him. Kurt had to stand in the corner, and Noah wasn’t punished at all. Kurt crossed his arms and glared. He had made his first lifelong enemy. He was sure of it.



2. Kurt stared at the stark black text against the white paper, gripping the strap of his satchel so hard that the leather bit into his hand. He turned on his heel and walked to the gym teacher’s office. He rapped on the door.

“Mr. Bernard--”

The stocky man spun his chair around with a sigh. He tapped a pencil on his jaw. Kurt stepped into the small room that was the gym office, looking around critically. Sports posters with inspirational messages were plastered all over the large yellow bricks, but even they couldn’t disguise the cramped area, the overflowing file cabinets, or the deflated man who was the room’s sole inhabitant.

“I thought you might show up, Kurt,” the gym teacher said in a voice like a tired leaf blower. “Listen. I know you really wanted to make the team--even though I’m still not sure why--and your try-out was decent for a kid whose never played in his life. But baseball’s a popular sport at this school, and I don’t like turning down 8th graders who think of this as their last run, you know? So I decided not to accept a lot of sixth graders.”

Kurt glared at him--stupid, tan/sunburned, balding man--and the teacher stared back with basset hound eyes.

“But Puck is on the list,” Kurt pointed out, the words coming out rapid-fire before he could pull them back. Bernard’s sickly, uneven eyebrows pulled together.

“Puck? Oh--Noah Puckerman, you mean? Noah had a great try-out. The kid’s a natural. That’s the way it goes, you know?” he chuckled. “Some people got gift, and others need to work hard for it.”

A greasy hand reached out and patted Kurt’s arm. He barely restrained from dodging it. Throat tight, he nodded. “Okay. Yes. Thank you.”

He walked out of the open door and slammed it behind him. For a moment, Kurt almost stalked immediately up the stairs and went to class--but then he leaned against the wall for a moment of rest. He could be late to study hall.

The quiet rumblings of feet above his head and the occasional shrieking laughs offended his senses, but he adamantly forced himself to ignore them. He took a deep breath, held it for a count of three, and released it in a count of four to calm his frazzled nerves and quick, heavily beating heart. It worked, after a moment, although the metronome timing allowed for brief pauses in between his breath, awkward moments where he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to breathe, scream, or cry.

No, he told himself firmly. No crying. Even if Kurt couldn’t bench press a kitten, he was strong enough not to cry over something as stupid as a damn baseball tryout. He didn’t even like baseball. Every time a ball came toward him, there was that little panicky moment of What if I can’t catch it and it bashes my teeth in? He hated stupid Bernard for seeing that moment, and using it as an excuse. So what if he couldn’t pitch like Noah Perfect Puckerman?

Why did Puck have to be the one sixth grader to be put on the varsity team? He didn’t have to do it. He played basketball and Park and Rec. football and Park and Rec. baseball, besides. He didn’t have to impress his father with yet another school sport. (Come to think of it, did Puck even have a father to impress? Kurt always accompanied his dad to Parent-Teacher conferences, and he always saw Mrs. Puckerman there, alone.)

He didn’t need to do this like Kurt needed to do this. He hadn’t meant to lie about try-outs to make his dad happy, only to come home and find a brand new glove on the coffee table. He hadn’t spent hours online trying to figure out what the hell he was doing. He hadn’t wasted two whole weekends practicing with his dad in the park. He hadn’t dealt with the looks and the stupid jokes, he hadn’t felt more alone than ever when all the jock friends clustered around each other the entire time, he hadn’t ran past the point where his lungs burst, he didn’t care.

“No.”

Kurt said it very firmly, out loud this time, and let out his breath in a sharp, commanding huff that effectively silenced any raging, miserable thoughts in his mind. He repeated his breathing exercises, and was just getting ready to move when the nasally late bell rang over his head. Only his clenched fists betrayed his tension as he walked past the team roster, where Puck and his loyal sidekick Finn were waiting.

“Awesome!” Puck crowed, giving his friend a high-five.

“That’s so cool, dude,” Finn gushed right back, patting him on the shoulder. Kurt hesitated briefly, but completed his stride before the two other boys even noticed his presence. He couldn’t bring himself to say congratulations.



3. Kurt was on top of the moon. He was taking dance classes, he was wearing designer threads he wouldn't have dreamed of owning two years ago, and he might actually have friends! It was only the first day, but three girls in class had taken a liking to him. Two of them even lived close by, and they had all walked home together. He felt a shiver of excitement, imagining what it would be like to go into William McKinley High School the next year and already have friends.

With a few deep breaths, Kurt smoothed the Gucci shirt over his leotard and entered the YWCA where he had lessons. He was halfway through the lobby when he looked up. What he saw there turned him to stone.

Noah Puckerman stood a scant three feet away, with his hand on the shoulder of a girl with dark hair and ballet clothes who couldn't be older than five. And Puck was talking to Kurt's friends. Santana, Brittany, and Suzy crowded around him. Puck had gotten his growth spurt early, and they looked up at him with eager admiration.

Kurt stared in horror, trying to convince himself that this wasn't happening. Puck turned and sneered at him over his shoulder.

“Hey, Kate,” he said breezily. No one in school knew Kurt's real name anymore. He was just Kate. If his dance friends noticed, they didn't react. “This is really gay, even for you.”

An ugly blush spread across Kurt's cheeks.

“I-- I, um--”

“You ladies know this kid?” Puck addressed the girls. They fell over themselves for the chance to talk to him.

“Yeah, he just started dance with us. We didn't know you knew Kurt,” Santana said breathlessly. One of the reasons that Kurt had been drawn to these girls was because they all went to the other middle school, and there was absolutely no reason for them to know anything embarrassing about him.

Kurt crossed his fingers for luck. If there was any possible way that Puck could be in a good mood, just this one day--maybe to look nice in front of the girl who must have been his sister?--then he would be set. Connection to one of the cutest boys in town could get him in with exactly the right crowd.

Of course that was too much to ask.

“Oh yeah, Kate and me go way back,” Puck said. “Like, preschool. Remember that, Kate, when you threw a tantrum because your dad made you take off that tiara before class?”

Damn him! How the hell did he remember that? The girls burst into giggles, and Kurt tried to smile weakly. He could survive that, right? Kids did cute things when they were young. Except Puck kept talking.

“No worries, though--the rules have relaxed over the years. The other day he wore the prettiest dress to school--”

“Sweater," Kurt said hoarsely, paralyzed with fear, his cheeks painted red. “It was a... sweater, just too big for me…”

It had been the exact right size. Sweaters were supposed to stop at the knee, that was the fashion.

Kurt stood there, with his face burning, as Puck regaled the girls with stories, each one more humiliating with the last. Some of them even managed to make Puck look mature, dreamy, and masculine in comparison. Finally, finally the little girl at his feet looked up and tugged on the bottom of his shirt.

“Noah, that's my class,” she whispered, and she pointed at a small group of young girls being herded into one of the classrooms.

“All right, go on,” Puck said, pushing her gently in the right direction. “Dad just dropped us off and he's going back wherever he came from, so Mom'll pick you up, okay?”

She nodded, and skipped over to join the other girls.

“We should probably go, too,” Suzy said regretfully. “It was so nice meeting you, though.”

Santana and Brittany echoed her mindlessly, and Puck smirked when he turned around. He shoved Kurt with his shoulder and he left. Kurt stared forward without seeing a single thing. His life was ruined. The girls turned to go to class, but he didn’t follow. One of them looked back.

“Kurt?” Brittany said softly. She was looking at him kindly, but he could see Santana and Suzy giggling behind their hands. “What’s up? Don’t you feel good?”

“No,” Kurt said, even softer. “No, not at all. I think I’m going home.”



4. “That was cute,” Puck said when Kurt left the chorus room. Kurt stared at him.

“What?”

“Your little unrequited love-fest in there,” Puck explained, jerking his head at the door. He was leaning against the wall with both his plain white t-shirt and ghastly over-shirt untucked, playing casual. There was tension in his neck and shoulders, though, and his sneer looked carefully arranged on his face. “With Finn.”

Finn’s name fell like a rock into a well--it landed heavily, but left ripples in the empty hallway. For a moment, Kurt could only gape, but he quickly regained composure.

“I have-- you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He turned on his heel and started to walk away. Behind him, he heard the rustle of Puck’s clothing as the other boy stood straight, and called out, “It’s not going to work, you know.”

Kurt struggled with himself. Then he rounded on Puck, hating himself for doing it.

“What?”

“You and Finn,” Puck shrugged, strolling forward. “It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that you’re not meant to be, or whatever it is you’re thinking.”

Kurt opened his mouth, and closed it. He couldn’t think of anything to say, and unfortunately Puck seemed to take that as permission to say whatever the hell he wanted.

“First of all, the dude’s an idiot. He wouldn’t be able to keep up with you. A sweet idiot, maybe, but still an idiot. Secondly, Finn has people falling all over him wherever he goes, so he has way too many options to take a second look at someone like you, who he’s never considered in his life. Thirdly, like I said, he’s sweet. And whatever you are, Kurt, you are not sweet. Fourthly, you are all about games, manipulation, doing what it takes to get what you want, and if it doesn’t involve a ball bouncing around somewhere, Finn isn’t interested in games. Fifthly…”

Kurt wanted to yell at him, but he couldn’t make a sound. The rhythm of Puck’s voice, each word pounding against Kurt’s skull, was hypnotizing. He swallowed nervously. Puck was walking closer, his eyes locked on Kurt, and his final words were clipped short.

“He’s straight, dude.”

Everything else that Puck had said could be argued, except for that. Kurt nodded slowly, less in agreement than in acknowledgment that he understood Puck’s point, and he could shut the hell up. Kurt looked at the ground.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Okay. That’s-- thank you, for that. I just have one question.” He looked up. Puck was staring at him, and their eyes locked. It didn’t look like he was breathing, and his face was absolutely printer-paper blank. That blankness gave him away. It made it easier to spot the very faint lines around his eyes and his mouth.

Puck was angry and bitter, as he always was when Finn intruded on his life, and vindictive, but his eyebrows were pulled up slightly near his nose, and there was a slight twitch in the corner of his mouth. He was carefully monitoring Kurt’s reaction, and there was just a hint of soft compassion in his face.

Compassion. Puck wanted to make sure he was okay. Kurt loved irony, but this was just too much. He let out a shaky breath, and broke Puck’s stare. He looked over the other boy’s shoulder to get his bearings. When he looked back, his eyes were blazing with anger, and Puck stepped back automatically.

“What the fuck do you know about me and what I want?” There was a bite in his words that Kurt knew Puck had never heard before, and he decided that he liked it. The fierceness, the power of it, felt good on his tongue.

Puck was unable to come up with an answer. Kurt shoved past him and ran around the corner, going far enough that he knew Puck wouldn’t follow. He leaned against the wall and slid down.

By the time he touched the ground, Kurt was sobbing. He hid his face in his hands and cried as hard as he had ever cried, not because of what Puck had said, but because he was right. All of it, every last word. Kurt wasn’t in love anymore, and that hurt like hell.



5. Every year, the school paper interviewed nine or ten graduating seniors and collected the interviews in the only article that anyone ever read. Kurt wasn’t one of the favored seniors, but several Glee kids were: Santana, because she was also the head cheerleader, Rachel, because she loitered outside the paper’s office for two months, and, most importantly, Noah Puckerman.

In general, Noah had answered the questions with the rough flair that Kurt expected (“What’s the thing you’ll miss most about high school?” “Scaring freshman”). There was, however, one answer that offered a modicum of surprise. Kurt’s English teacher had handed out the papers in the last period of the day, and within five minutes everyone had located the unexpected sentence and zeroed in on Kurt’s reaction. He rolled his eyes, and turned the page to read the interview with the President of the Math Club.

When the bell rang, Noah was waiting outside the classroom. Kurt greeted him with a kiss on the cheek, ignoring the prying eyes, and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend’s neck.

“So,” he said casually.

“Yeah, babe?” Noah asked, trying to sound equally casual but grinning too much to pull it off.

“One of your long-term goals is to marry me?”

He shrugged. “Sure. Long-term because even I’m not enough of an idiot to marry some random guy I’ve only been dating for one year, seven months, and a week--”

“Six months,” Kurt corrected. “You can’t count the days of ‘you still owe me for the dumpster throwing’ and ‘you have no idea what a little bitch you were’ and ‘stop sexting Santana’ and ‘why are you such a drama queen’ and--”

“Hey! Trying to be sweet, here. Where was I? Oh, so… you know, six years down the road…”

Kurt kissed him soundly in the middle of the hallway, and when they stopped, Noah’s breath came out in a gasp.

“Five years, maybe. Three?”

Kurt laughed breathlessly and kissed him again, but it didn’t last long because he couldn’t help but laugh at something.

“I can’t believe you put that in the school paper!” Puck smirked, putting his hands on Kurt’s waist, and that smirk forced Kurt to continue. He touched their foreheads together. “You are such an overconfident smug inconsiderate bastard.”

“Fiancé,” Noah corrected.

“Fiancé,” Kurt agreed.

They kissed in the hall some more, but then Sue Sylvester yelled at them for blocking her way. Kurt grabbed Noah’s hand and dragged him to the Navigator to demonstrate the proper way to express gratitude when one’s boyfriend (sort of) proposes. He still hated Noah Puckerman--but not quite as much as he used to. In fact, he might even say they’re in love.

March 28th, 2010

(Note--this is a research paper I'm working on for my Civics class. I'm posting it here because I lost my jump drive, and it's viewable to everyone because I don't think my school allows us to log in to personal websites. If you want to read it, feel free, but please keep in mind that it is a first draft and is addressed to Florida governor Charlie Crist. The paragraphs are impossibly dense for livejournal because the real paper is double-spaced, and we're not supposed to have more than five paragraphs. All sources are cited properly and included at the end of the article, and taken from the SIRS database. The end.)


Every year, thousands of potential adopters are turned away by adoption agencies, some of them for legitimate reasons--because they lack the income, the resources, or the temperament to raise children. Others, however, are turned away for a different reason--because they are homosexual, and, under Florida law, “No person eligible to adopt under this statute may adopt if that person is homosexual.”  (Spencer-Wendel 3). This law, which was adopted in 1977, is unfair, unjust, and downright unconstitutional. Children need good homes, homes that they can thrive in, and gay or lesbian couples deserve the right to provide them with those homes. It is time for Florida to abolish this law and provide the children and parents with the rights that all citizens deserve.

As you are well aware, Florida is one of the leading states when it comes to adoption, with a record 3,700 adopted children in 2008 (Rich 1). The numbers are unbelievably high--and yet, they are not high enough. Due to federal regulations, foster children must be adopted within a year of entering foster care, but the average wait is more than two years in Florida. More than one thousand children have been waiting for over four years (Rich 1). More than one thousand have been forgotten by the state and left stranded in foster care, instead of being placed in loving homes. By not allowing gay parents to adopt, the state is abandoning the children. As an attorney in Broward said in a statement to the Palm Beach Post, “Florida’s children deserve good parents and if they happen to be gay, so what?” (Spencer-Wendel 3) So what? Are three year olds going to be prejudiced about someone who feeds them, tucks them in at night and kisses bumped elbows or scraped knees? Are older children going to refuse a happy couple and a gentle home just because of homophobic views inherited from their parents, who are unable or unwilling to support them anymore? It will not matter to the children who gives them a home, as long as they get a home, and therefore it should not matter to anyone else either. Their lives are the ones affected by these laws--those children, and the couples who adopt them. They are the ones who deserve the support of the law, not bigots who would refuse them homes based on unfounded accusations.

Because gay couples cannot have children on their own, adoption is one of the only options left to them, which makes their condemnation more than just cruel or prejudiced. According to many, it is unconstitutional. No other state in America still exclusively prevents gay citizens from adopting children (Maxwell 1), and many Floridians agree with this viewpoint. In a January 2009 poll, 55% of Florida citizens oppose the ban (Rich 1). Furthermore, at least two judges in recent court cases have declared that the law is unconstitutional: Judge Cindy Lederman, who tried to grant Martin Gill and his partner the right to adopt two boys whom they had fostered for five years (Spencer-Wendel 1), and Judge Maria Sampedro-Iglesia, who ruled that Vanessa Alenier had the right to adopt her nephew. These cases are now under appeal, though most experts agree that they should not be. Social workers, psychologists, neighbors, teachers, friends, and in Gill’s case the children themselves have spoken up in support of the two couples (Maxwell 2) (Spencer-Wendel 1). According to court records, social workers in Gill’s case ruled that he would be immediately “approved for adoption, but for the law.” (Spencer-Wendel 1) Rob Rosenwald Jr, and ACLU attorney, has been quoted as saying that many of the recent court cases “present, for the first time, the world’s foremost scientific authorities on children’s welfare to demonstrate that gay households are as conducive to raising children as straight ones.” (Spencer-Wendel 1-2). These parents are ready, willing, and able to raise children, and yet the state is refusing them that right, as if they would inexplicably become better parents if they were straight. Why should sexual orientation matter? In July 2009, you yourself were quoted as saying that an adoptive parent only needs “an open heart and the willingness to be a parent to a child who has experienced abuse, or neglect, and needs a safe and loving home.” (Rich 1) As members of a minority who have doubtless experienced neglect or abuse themselves, gay people are certainly ready to comfort those needy children.

One of the only credible arguments against gay adoption is that children cannot do well in lesbian or gay households—or at least, it would be a credible argument if it was not based on rumors and smoke. The people who reject gay parents in the name of the children’s welfare have no reliable studies that support those so-called facts, and many studies actually disprove it. (Rich 1) For example, in the cases of Martin Gill and Vanessa Alenier, psychologists were brought in to testify on the interests of the children. In both cases, they determined that the children were thriving under the care of their guardians, and staying in those households would be in the best interests of all the children involved. (Spencer-Wendel 1, Maxwell 1). The attorney for the two boys whom Gill was trying to adopt was quoted as saying, “What can be lost in that debate is the rights and best interests of two children… who are at the heart of… Florida’s absurd… ban on gay adoptions.” (Spencer-Wendel 4) Some people worry that children in gay-parent households might be subjected to bullying, but many parents find that it is not the case. “I don’t think our kids even see us as different, and other kids don’t seem to notice,” says Peter, who adopted two children along with his partner (Seal 2). Even if they do face some negative speech, gay parents, who have almost certainly been discriminated against in their lifetime, are more than prepared to empathize and console their children. Most children in foster care will already have some sort of stigma attached to them, whether because of race, family situation, economic status, or simply the fact that they are adopted. In fact, Peter has found that “being gay or lesbian should help you relate to the experiences of these children, because they’ve experienced difficult starts in life, they feel different and excluded and aware that other children haven’t had similar experiences.” (Seal 1) Other people agree with Peter, and actually take it one step further: they think that excluding gay and lesbian parents from adopting can actually have a negative effect on children. “Excluding a class of people is harmful to children, particularly those in our state who have had gay foster parents,” says ACLU spokesman Larry Spalding (Aasen 1). Imagine, for a moment, the confusion of a child who has been in the loving care of a gay foster parent. More than anything, that child wants a good home, and she knows that adoption is the only permanent solution. Imagine the pain of a devoted guardian having to tell that child that they cannot adopt her. Imagine the questions running through the child’s head--is she not good enough? Is her guardian not good enough? Has she been put into a home as dangerous as the one she just left? When it comes down to it, this law is only causing pain. It is not protecting our children--it is further harming them.
 
It as unquestionable fact that homosexuals are citizens of the US, as are the children whom they want to adopt, and as such they are guaranteed the rights to Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness. Allowing orphaned or abused children to find homes with gay or lesbian parents is clearly the path to happiness for all involved, and in order to protect your constituents, you must abolish this unfair and unconstitutional law. In the past, supporters and opponents of the adoption law have dithered over what is right and wrong, what is to be done, but the children and parents whose futures are hanging in the balance don’t have time to wait. They need justice now, and it is no less than they deserve.




Aasen, Adam. "Florida Gov. Charlie Crist Gives Different Answers on Gay Adoption." Florida Times-Union (2009): 1-2. Web.

Maxwell, Scott. “Crist’s DCF Still Trying to Stop Gay Adoption.” Orlando Sentinel (2010): 1-3. Web.

Rich, Nan. “Letting Gays Adopt Opens More Loving Homes to Foster Kids.” Sun-Sentinel (2009): 1-2. Web.

Seal, Rebecca. “The Rise of the Gay Dad.” Guardian Newspaper Limited (2009): 1-6. Web.

Spencer-Wendel, Susan. “Challenging a 32-Year-Old State Law.” Palm Beach Post (2009): 1-4. Web.


(PS--If you happen to be living in Florida and reading this journal, please encourage your town, city, or state government to abolish the ban on gay adoption! I really hope my persuasive paper has persuaded you to oppose the ban, but it won't happen unless people speak up.)

February 13th, 2010

To Whom It May Concern:

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Attention anyone I'm betaing for/responding to a fic request from/requesting a fic from: I will not have the internet for SEVEN MORE DAYS! (sob) Because I'll be on a cruise where internet is $0.75 a minute, and I am so not made of money. So, farewell, lj, I'll miss you!

(I will also be missing the Olympics. I don't usually watch them, but Johnny Weir is flipping fantastic, isn't he? I may come back with a fic about Kurt on skates...)

January 24th, 2010

Fanmix

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A Puck/Kurt fanmix I made at about eleven o'clock last night. There's no accompanying story, but if you follow me for the lyric samples, the story kind of tells itself...

Love me, too?Collapse )

I tried to embed an online playlist, but that failed, so here's a link to the playlist: http://www.playlist.com/playlist/19062020107/standalone
Except for 'Once Upon a Time.' Bare is still a fairly new musical, so I couldn't find an mp3 of the recording, but here's a YouTube video of a very good singer performing it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uX1mKaG86b0

December 1st, 2009

Making My Case

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I recently discovered "fantasy casting" on the Glee wiki, and, whilst trying to add page edits to my credit, I accidentally stumbled on the perfect Glee guest star. Seriously, he's, like, ideal: Jesse L. Martin. For those of you who don't know, he was Tom Collins in the OBC and 2005 movie versions of RENT, he was on Law & Order for nine seasons, he's doing a movie on Marvin Gaye--dude's awesome. Seriously.

And he would be beyond perfect. First of all, he's got a dreamy voice. His voice is deeper than any guy on the show so far, and anyone whose ever heard the reprise of "I'll Cover You" from RENT (if you haven't, YouTube it) knows that he can control that voice perfectly. I get chills listening. Unfortunately, RENT is the only musical he's been in to date, so I really only have five songs with his voice on my iPod, which is totally not enough.

He's also an unbelievable actor. You can tell when an actor gets really into a role, and Jesse has the most expressive eyes I've ever seen. He completely absorbs the characters. In RENT, his voice is kind of goofy and buddy-buddy, very stoner-friendly guy. In L&O, his voice was lazy and threatening, like a bad-ass cop. He's in character in every scene without stealing the scene, and he's got about thirteen different smiles, all of which make me want to hug him.

But of course, this is Glee, and I would never want him to be on the show if he couldn't dance circles around the rest of the cast. I've never seen a guy pirouette as awesomely as Jesse does, though, so we're cool. Again, for those of you who haven't seen RENT, YouTube Santa Fe. It's his other big fun solo, he spins, he does a backflip, he's practically twirling around a stripper pole... except on the subway.

Also, because I'm the queen of dorks, I have planned out how he would fit into the show... in detail.

The quirky substitute. JLM's only real defect is that he's 41, so he can't be cast as a student. Bummer. So, he becomes the new long-term substitute teacher for I dunno, English or something. And, because he's great at playing enthusiastic and adorable characters, he can offer to help Mr. Schue with Glee. Let's face it, that's a hell of a lot of work. Will is flattered by Jesse's eagerness, and says sure, give it a try. The only thing is, he didn't realize that Jesse is incredibly talented, and soon all the kids are totally in love with him and pretty much ignoring Will.

Will gets kind of paranoid and jealous and thinks that he's a spy for Sue, and eventually confronts him and is all "What the hell, man? You're stealing my students!" Jesse is seriously affronted by the accusation, and storms off. Later, he learns about all the whack things Sue's done. Also, Will asks Emma to check out Jesse's record--he really is a devoted teacher who wants to help kids. They apologize. Jesse makes the adorable face and uses the adorable voice he used in the L&O scene where he found out his partner was leaving the force, and says "Man, I'm sorry, I had no idea." They part as friends... accompanied by a huge magical musical number.

HOW AWESOME WOULD THAT BE?!!/?!1!

Fox, are you listening?

November 30th, 2009

Why Do I Like Glee?

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I don't like Fox. I don't like modern television at all, really; it's turned into a corporate-fueled, status quo-creating hypno-machine. And a show like Glee should be the worst, seeing as it's a joint-endeavor that encourages people to spend ridiculous amounts of money on iTunes once the show is over, and it takes place in high school. High school shows SUCK.

...Although Glee does sort of make fun of high school.

But that's not the point! There's a cliche two popular/one unpopular person love triangle! The gay kid is a fashionista! There are secret pregnancies! Everything I hate about realistic fiction can be found in this one show, and yet I watch it every week. What is wrong with me?

After much deliberation, I've concluded that it's not what's wrong with me, it's what's right with Glee. (Evertything) It turns out that the love triangle doesn't dominate the show, the gay kid is made of love and I would marry him if we weren't both gay, and the pregnancies are easy to ignore. Excellence.

Not to mention the whole secret Kurt/Puck romance going on. Don't deny it. It's happening.

So, I guess Glee is my guilty pleasure. It's like John & Kate Plus 8, only with less idiots and more music. And dancing. And secret hot gay sex. This makes me happy. The end.

May 2nd, 2009

"We don't mean it."

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In one of my classes, we recently put on a production that was all about words. Why people react to them, which ones have power, how their meanings can be changed. It was a very powerful piece. We began by chanting the familiar line, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me," and then turning to face the audience, throwing hurtful words at them--fag, bitch, freak, nigger, spic, pussy, failure, douche. I am reasonably confident that the members of our audience appreciated the performance, and are going to be more careful with the words they use. Now, my problem is this: How do I get the rest of the world to understand?

There's a kid who I have to deal with for a measly two hours a week who annoys the hell out of me. The first time he caught my particular attention was when we were forced to work on a project together with my friend Hannah. We disagreed on a name for a character we were writing, so finally, after five minutes of pointless arguing, Hannah I suggested we just use "John Smith," heavy on the sarcasm. Alex's immediate response was, "That's so gay."

Hannah and I both took offense to that, and told him that he shouldn't use "gay" as an insult, just as we had told him yesterday that he shouldn't call something retarded. He reacted the same way he had the other day. "Well, I have more of a right to be offended than you, so--"

"NO, you don't!" we both interrupted, rightfully exasperated. Alex thinks he is bisexual. Personally, I am unconvinced. He makes sexual remarks to all the girls in class, and none of the guys. He goes around calling things "gay." During the Day of Silence, he gave up halfway and his first words were "Fuck this, it's so stupid." He thinks kids are stupid for not coming out, because his life has never been better.

Option 1: Alex is bisexual, and just has no sympathy for other homo/trans/bisexual kids who struggle to be accepted. He is a bit of an ass.

Option 2: Alex is just saying he is bisexual because he wants more attention. He is a huge ass.

Either way, he uses offensive words casually and with no discretion. He doesn't care to ask if Hannah and I were gay, or if we know someone who is retarded. The words have degenerated into insults.

Less than half an hour ago, I was again reminded that most people just don't care. This time, I was at my softball game. The team we were playing against wore pretty short shorts. No big deal, right? 95% of the girls in my school wore shorts that length in the summer, and most of the team had longer compression shorts underneath anyway. Belle, one of the girls on my team, immediately declared that they were sluts. Then Lauren--who is usually pretty nice--said, "When we're on base, we should just say 'Hey, there aren't any guys here so who are you trying to impress?'"

Then, our team's first out occured because of a technicality. Our runner, Kristina, was too late getting back to the base when the pitcher was ready to throw. Lots of girls were annoyed, because it wasn't a very common rule, but it was a rule. Kristina was pissed off. She stormed back to the dugout, calling the umpire a "fucking homo," and then wondered why I was so upset at her language. Later on, Belle tried to motivate us as we were losing by saying, "Come on guys, you're playing so retarded."

I briefly considered telling her about the mentally-challenged softball players I had played with the previous season; we had to go into the field with them to keep them from getting hit in case they didn't see the ball, or keep them from wandering off during the middle of the game. Even so, they all had better attitudes than our team. They didn't call the other team names when they lost. Instead, I went to the coach. They had already asked me twice why I was freaking out so bad, so obviously I didn't affect them. The coach promised to send out an e-mail to all the girls later.

I resolved to leave it at that, but at the end of the game, I couldn't. We lost by two runs, and the team met in center field for a post-game pep talk. Two of them actually started yelling at the other team to get longer shorts. I will admit that I acted more like an adult than a fellow player, but I couldn't help it. I do not want our team to be labeled bitches just because of those few girls. Lauren said, "It's just softball. We don't really mean it."

I am saying this to you now--if you don't mean something, don't say it. Please, please, please, think about the words you are using. Because that phrase is wrongs. "Sticks and stones may break bones," but I can't remember all the bruises I got in third grade--all I remember was crying in the bathroom because my best friend called me a bitch. We've developed thick skin, and insults aren't considered wrong anymore, but they are. Calling someone a slut, a retard, or a fag may not hurt them directly, but it hurts the person next to you, whose only thought is "What if he says that to me?"

Your words can say just as much as your actions.

March 10th, 2009

Death and Apprehension

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I'm dying.

No, really.

I have standardized testing all week, homework in every class, and an enormous project due next week. Like, eighty poems, written and typed by Wednesday. Of course, I did volunteer for it.... but still. Not to mention, for the first time in a few weeks I've had enormous fanfiction cravings. You see, I have recently discovered delight, the likes of which can only be experienced by a Tonks/Lupin shipper of extreme dorkiness.

I mean, all of us read Harry Potter when we were little, but WOW! I feel like I never really appreciated how awesome they were until I read all seven books in seven days. And seriously, TL is one of those things where the first time I read it, I was like "....okay." And by the time Deathly Hallows was over, I was like "Oh yeah, they're actually pretty cool together."

And then came the second or third reading, and I was like "HOLY SHIZNIT, how did I not notice how awesome they were????"

I'm a little disappointed that Tonks will only be in one scene for the Half-Blood Prince movie... but as long as Loony's there too, I'll be happy. It's amazing how a really good pairing can take my mind off of boring, anxiety-prone things like school, especially when I'm writing fanfics under the desk when I'm supposed to be taking math notes. It can also take your mind off of boring, anxiety-prone concepts, like failing math. Seriously, who needs math anyway? In a few days Hogwarts will write to me and apologize for taking so long to send my letter, so I'll be cool.

But still, ten poems a day is sort of harsh. I should be working right now. Damn.
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