title: when the music’s gone.
pairing: kurt/blaine. hunger games AU.
summary: blaine’s only vaguely aware of sam’s hand clamping around his wrist; a strangled noise rises to the front of his throat but he can’t get it out, can’t do anything other than gape.
title: when the music’s gone.
pairing: kurt/blaine. hunger games AU.
summary: when blaine anderson was was twelve he experienced his first reaping, and he’d turned to his parents and whimpered pitifully, “i’m scared,” he’d said, like a child, the child he wasn’t supposed to be anymore, and his father had started forward but cooper had pushed him aside and reached blaine first, wrapped his arms around him and told him that big kids didn’t cry, what if they got him on camera, he didn’t want the other districts to see him like that, did he? and blaine hated being a baby so he’d dried his eyes and they’d walked into town and his name wasn’t called — year after year his name was never called, and when blaine was thirteen cooper had moved out of the house and blaine had pretended he didn’t need him anymore, and he continued to pretend until eventually it became true. because he’d found kurt instead.
more hunger games fic! can’t stop won’t stop. this is gale/katniss/peeta and it’s my first time attempting threesome fic. the prompt was ‘frosting.’ spoilers for catching fire.
tomorrow won’t be kind. ~3000 words. light r.
It’s weird for me, being in conversations with both Peeta and Gale, but they seem to have set aside whatever issues they have about me.
One night, as I’m walking Gale back into town, he even admits, “It’d be better if he were easier to hate.”
- catching fire.
i wrote hunger games fic! because i couldn’t not.
title: the war outside our door keeps raging on
pairing: finnick/gale.
spoilers: for all three books, though not the ending of the series? set during mockingjay.
note: can also be read at AO3.
*
They give him a rope to keep him grounded in reality, and it works, the way that most distractions do. He ties knots instead of thinking. He ties knots instead of sleeping.
It’s not easy to say what’s worse. His eyes close only in short, fitful bursts. She plagues his nightmares. She’s there when he’s awake, too, though, just out of reach. He can’t save her. He can’t do anything but work the rope around his fingers. (He remembers her screams more vividly than her laughter. He can’t conjure an image of her face unless there are sharptoothed muttations tearing the flesh away from her skin.)
TODAY IS A REALLY SPECIAL DAY. it’s, um, amber riley’s birthday. which is wishyouwould’s favorite holiday, in case you didn’t know. and even though i’d never thought i’d write this in a million years, i guess it’s the least i can do for someone who is one of my closest friends and pretty much one of the greatest people i know. (i’m only being nice because it’s amber’s birthday. after tomorrow i go back to being a jerk.)
SO, WISHY, THIS IS FOR YOU. i love you. happy amber riley’s birthday. <3
i said what about breakfast at tiffany’s
darren criss/lea michele, rated r.
There are a few things in life Lea Michele takes really seriously. Red carpets, for instance. The crusade to end animal cruelty on New York City streets. Properly emoting during ballads. Exclamation points at the end of tweets. And at this point, nine hours and forty-seven minutes into filming an exhausting dance number, Darren’s pretty sure he can add cuddling to the list.
There’s a rare few minutes of downtime, and most everyone’s wrapped up in their own worlds, texting or checking Twitter or googling pictures of birds, whatever Mark does when left to his own devices, but Darren’s spread out across two foldout chairs when Lea comes up and drapes herself over his lap. His eyes had been closed so he starts, surprised, but she just lets out a heavy little sigh and rests her head against his, linking her arms around his neck.
domestic!holiday overcriss. 600 words. i don’t even know.
—-
“What,” Chord says, sounding horrified, “is that?”
Darren barely glances up from his seat at the table. “Hi to you too,” he murmurs, preoccupied, mindlessly scribbling addresses on envelopes. One after another after another. His fingers are already starting to cramp; he probably shouldn’t have put this off until now, but then, it’s not like he’s ever got free time just lying around.
“Hi,” Chord says, leaning over his shoulder for a better view, his nose scrunching up. Like what he’s seeing is actually physically painful. Like he’s being punched in the balls by an inanimate object. “Now what the hell is that?”
“They’re Christmas cards, Chord.” Darren rolls his eyes, but doesn’t stop writing. “What do they look like?”
“They look like something my grandma would frame and put over her fireplace. You told me you deleted that picture.”
“No,” Darren says, “I told you that I wouldn’t put the picture online. Does this look like the Internet to you?”
Chord drops down into the seat opposite Darren’s. There are ten envelopes stacked in front of him, already sealed. “How many of these did you make?” he asks, and he’s still got that disgruntled tone, that same expression.
“Twenty-five. You have a big family, Chord.”
“You’re not—you’re not seriously sending these to everyone.”
That makes Darren pause. He sets the pen down, rubs the stiffness out of his fingers. “Your mom called earlier,” he says, and Chord lifts his eyebrows skeptically. “She was upset that we weren’t going to be able to make it for Christmas. So she asked when I’d be sending out our card, and I—I didn’t have the heart to tell her we hadn’t made one. So I called Lea and she promised she’d whip something up and, well. This is the result.”
Chord’s forehead wrinkles. “They’re so…”
“I know. I know.” Darren glances at the cards on the table, arranged in a nice little stack. They’re cheesy and corny and way too serious for guys who haven’t been dating all that long, for guys who have only been living together since October. Even if it’s going really well. Even if Darren is starting to think in future tense, in we and us and ours.
“I kind of like them, though,” Darren admits a second later, and he doesn’t look at Chord. Because he does. He likes that they’re cheesy and lame and probably better suited for an old married couple. Sometimes he feels like one-half of an old married couple, like when he has to remind Chord to pick his socks up out of the living room or when Chord spends twenty minutes on the phone with Darren’s brother, talking about mindless things like they’d known each other their entire lives. He likes being corny. He likes them.
“Yeah,” Chord says after a moment, and he grins and puts his hand over Darren’s. Casual and easy. Natural. “They’re not that bad, I guess.”
“You guess?”
It’s Chord’s turn to roll his eyes. “They’re the best things I’ve ever seen in my whole entire life,” he says, deadpan, and Darren laughs and tugs him out of his seat, pulls him in for a kiss. Chord’s arms wrap around Darren’s shoulders and he fits perfectly in between his legs and the kiss is short and sweet but not that short or sweet, and when they pull away Chord rests his forehead against Darren’s. “Our brothers are never going to let us live this down, you know.”
“Like we don’t have blackmail on them.” Darren steals another kiss or two before pushing Chord away. “Now here,” he says, all business, “help me address these envelopes. I still have fifteen more to go.”
spoilers for episode 3.09, extraordinary merry christmas. sebastian smythe watches the glee club’s christmas special.
enjoy!
—-
From: Blaine Ex-Warbler @ 8:01 pm.
turn on the TV.
Sebastian’s doing homework on his bed when his iPhone vibrates against his leg, and he’s comfortable and the remote’s on the other side of the room and he doesn’t feel like moving. He’s not particularly fond of American television, anyway. The last time Blaine had sent him some variation of that same text it was because The Little Mermaid was playing on the Disney Channel. Like he’d never heard that joke before.
He’s about to text back why? when his door bursts open. Dalton apparently has an open-door policy, because no matter how many times he reattaches the ‘knock before entering’ sign it somehow manages to mysteriously disappear overnight and the guys on his floor have no sense of privacy whatsoever. The only thing that’s proven to keep them out so far is a sock around his doorknob, and even that’s only got a sixty-five percent success rate.
“You are not going to believe this,” Nick says, heading straight to the television set in the corner. “What channel is PBS?”
part two of the glee/parks & rec crossover fic. in which blaine meets his new boss and pawnee smells a little bit like sewer.
* you can find part one HERE. the song used here actually belongs to Dalton School, not Dalton Academy, but i’m stealing it anyway. enjoy!
—-
The journey from Lima to Pawnee takes a little over three hours, which isn’t bad. Blaine’s dad insists on driving him even though Burt had said Kurt could borrow his truck. “I’ll call you as soon as I get there,” Blaine had promised, which didn’t seem like enough, and he’s spent the better part of the ride staring out the window in sulky silence. If his dad notices, though, he doesn’t let on. He’s tapping his hands against the steering wheel and humming low under his breath and he keeps on pointing out roadside attractions, except that they’re the sort of roadside attractions that no one in their right mind would care about, like, “Look, there’s the sign for the world’s largest ball of paint.”
He’s got a room booked for eight weeks—eight long weeks—at something called the Pawnee Super Sweets Hotel. The website had boasted Graetest Hotel in All of North Pawnee!, but they also spelled ‘greatest’ wrong, so he’s not sure how trustworthy their slogan can be. It wasn’t like there were a lot of options in a small town in Indiana, though. The only room-sharing ad on Craigslist was created by some guy named Jean-Ralphio, and Blaine’s pretty sure he didn’t actually want to share an apartment, he just wanted to brag online about his “super sweet diggity-digs.”
this was begging to be written. i’ve needed a glee/parks & rec crossover fic since wishyouwould brought it up on her tumblr, so finally i decided to go ahead and write it myself. it’s kurt/blaine, with a friendly heaping of ben/leslie, andy/april, chris/exercise, jerry/comic sans, etc etc etc.
kurt’s just finished his freshman year at NYADA and blaine just graduated from mckinley, where he’s landed a summer internship… in pawnee, indiana. this is a prologue of sorts. we’ll call it part one.
“Tell me,” Kurt moans. “Tell me I’m going to wake up tomorrow and realize that this was all a cruel practical joke. Elaborately crafted, I’ll give you that, but extremely cruel.”
Blaine rolls his eyes. “Do you really think I’d go to these measures to play a joke on you?”
“No,” Kurt says, toeing a cardboard box out of his way. That’s actually the closest he’s come to helping all afternoon, unless nose-wrinkling and snide remarks somehow counted as helping. “But until yesterday I didn’t think you’d abandon me for an entire summer to work in a small town in Indiana that I’ve never even heard of, either, so clearly my judgment isn’t quite up to par.”
