wips!
I feel like this should be a meme. Post about 200 words out of each of the last five story-related documents you've been working in, no matter what they are, fannish or original. I feel like I should be tagging people for this. Instead, let's just say if you're reading this, consider yourself tagged.
--
file name: biartie
Actually, I sort of doubt he and Kurt are still virgins; while I was gazing fondly at Blaine’s newest bowtie the other day, the boy went to scratch his shoulder and moved his shirt a little, inadvertently revealing the world’s largest hickey. So. You know. Props to Kurt. I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall when that was happening.
That was another problem I was having recently. While I had a crush my fondness for Blaine, I also really liked Sugar.
Actually, I really sort of liked everybody. That was the problem.
I wanted to lick Sam’s abs, and I wanted to nuzzle Mercedes’s breasts. I wanted to put my hands down Sugar’s pants, and I wanted Rory to whisper sweet Irish nothings into my ear while he gave me a hickey. I wanted Mike Chang in eyeliner. I wanted to nuzzle with Rachel Berry’s animal sweater-encased chest. I wanted to be the man-meat in the middle of the delicious Brittany-Santana sandwich.
I wanted to hold Blaine Anderson’s hand. Preferably while he was going down on me.
“Oh God,” I whispered, wheeled outside of the choir room in horror. “I want to have an orgy with my glee club.”
Puck bumped me with his shoulder. “Dude, I think that, like, every Tuesday.” Then he held out his fist.
I fist-bumped him, but at least I had the decency to feel ashamed about it afterwards.
--
filename: hapafic
Blaine’s quiet, though, just sitting on the corner of Cooper’s bed, taking up as little space as possible. Cooper rolls his eyes because seriously, research paper, but he gives Blaine his space and the silent comfort of his brother’s room.
Finally, Blaine speaks up. “What’s a fag?”
Cooper blinks. “What?”
“Fag. F-a-g, short for-“
“I know what it means,” Cooper blurts out. “Why do you want to know?”
Blaine hugs his knees to his chest. “Because it was written on my locker this morning.”
“What? Blaine, you can’t let them do that, that’s-“
Blaine doesn’t stop, though. “And Mr. Godfrey in second period gave us a lecture about how God hates fags and how they’re going to burn in hell and I just, I don’t understand, God’s supposed to love everyone, He’s God, if He wanted to hate someone why would He even make them in the first place-“
“Blaine.”
“-and why would He hate me.” The last part comes out as a choked sob, and before Cooper really knows what he’s doing he’s on the bed beside Blaine, holding him as he sobs quietly into Cooper’s university sweatshirt. Cooper lets him cry it out, the house silent around them for several long minutes, only Blaine’s sobs breaking up the monotony of the darkness.
--
filename: wildcard
“I thought the person you wanted to ask out on Valentine’s Day was…me.”
Blaine freezes in the middle of the coffee line, his mouth hung open in shock. Before he can get his act together to form actual words, Kurt’s mouth seems to start running miles ahead of him.
“I mean, maybe I’m just making this all up in my head, but we spend an awful lot of time together and we sing flirty duets together and I just, I really like you, Blaine, and I know you would have rather spend this evening with Jeremiah, but that doesn’t seem likely to happen now so maybe we could spend Valentine’s Day together instead as boyfriends oh my God I am shutting up now please ignore me.”
“Kurt,” Blaine laughs as Kurt’s cheeks turn redder and redder. His smile is coy and mischievous and oh-so lovely, teasing and slightly flirtatious; Kurt sort of wants to crawl in a hole and stay there forever. “Are you asking me out on a date?”
Kurt takes a deep breath. “Yes. Maybe. I mean, if you don’t have anything better to do. No pressure.”
In the middle of the overly-crowded Lima Bean, Blaine takes Kurt’s hand into his own and squeezes it gently; Kurt thinks he might just pass out. “Okay.”
He blinks. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Is that a yes?”
Blaine squeezes his hand again and smiles. “That’s a yes, Kurt.”
Kurt breathes. “Are you sure? I mean, I’m not dreaming, am I? Maybe you should pinch me-ow!”
--
filename: fairytaleau
You see, Prince Blaine liked boys, when he ought to have liked girls.
And his father, the King, was ashamed of his son’s peculiarities. He loved his son a great deal, but he also knew his kingdom would never accept a King who loved another King.
So the King went before his magical mirror, and he asked the mirror if his son-the fairest lad in all the world-would ever be happy here.
And the mirror said no.
Which is why, on the boy’s fifteenth birthday, when the Prince arrived at the ball on the arms of another boy, the King allowed three huntsmen to kidnap his son, with orders to take him far away from home, so that the boy might have a chance to be happy. The huntsmen were cruel men, however, and while they took the boy far from home, they also beat him until he was bloody, leaving him in the forest to die. They cut out the heart of a doe and brought it back to the King and Queen, telling them that their son was dead. Devastated, the King and Queen mourned their son, believing he was lost to them forever.
And he would have been, too, had not a kindly bird come across the Prince’s body. Recognizing the boy’s gentle spirit, the bird called for its friends, who then went out in search of other humans to help save the boy. The birds found a group of schoolboys not far away, and brought them to the young Prince. The boys, who would eventually be called Warblers in honor of the bird who led them to the prince, found the boy and nursed him back to health.
So for two years, the Prince had a new home, at the Warblers’ dwelling of Dalton, where he was safe and happy and loved, but wasn’t exactly home.
--
filename: fightclub
Two weeks after the Warblers disband, Blaine punches Nick so hard in the face that he almost breaks his nose.
It feels good.
He doesn’t say that, though. What he says is “Oh my God” and “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hit you that hard!” Nick laughs it off, and the boxing coach makes him sit out for the rest of the match, but Blaine doesn’t care. For the first time since Glee ended, he’s felt something other than numbness.
He’s not the only one.
When practice is over, Nick comes up to him without any gloves on. “Fight me.” He says, like he’s asking to borrow a pencil instead of asking if they can beat the shit out of each other.
So they fight. It is both exhausting and exhilarating. Blaine has never been in more pain in his entire life.
But he’s also never felt more alive. Singing to a sold out crowd will never feel this good.
Nick helps him off the ground, and they shake hands, like gentlemen do, with no hard feelings.
They walk away reborn.
--
file name: biartie
Actually, I sort of doubt he and Kurt are still virgins; while I was gazing fondly at Blaine’s newest bowtie the other day, the boy went to scratch his shoulder and moved his shirt a little, inadvertently revealing the world’s largest hickey. So. You know. Props to Kurt. I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall when that was happening.
That was another problem I was having recently. While I had a crush my fondness for Blaine, I also really liked Sugar.
Actually, I really sort of liked everybody. That was the problem.
I wanted to lick Sam’s abs, and I wanted to nuzzle Mercedes’s breasts. I wanted to put my hands down Sugar’s pants, and I wanted Rory to whisper sweet Irish nothings into my ear while he gave me a hickey. I wanted Mike Chang in eyeliner. I wanted to nuzzle with Rachel Berry’s animal sweater-encased chest. I wanted to be the man-meat in the middle of the delicious Brittany-Santana sandwich.
I wanted to hold Blaine Anderson’s hand. Preferably while he was going down on me.
“Oh God,” I whispered, wheeled outside of the choir room in horror. “I want to have an orgy with my glee club.”
Puck bumped me with his shoulder. “Dude, I think that, like, every Tuesday.” Then he held out his fist.
I fist-bumped him, but at least I had the decency to feel ashamed about it afterwards.
--
filename: hapafic
Blaine’s quiet, though, just sitting on the corner of Cooper’s bed, taking up as little space as possible. Cooper rolls his eyes because seriously, research paper, but he gives Blaine his space and the silent comfort of his brother’s room.
Finally, Blaine speaks up. “What’s a fag?”
Cooper blinks. “What?”
“Fag. F-a-g, short for-“
“I know what it means,” Cooper blurts out. “Why do you want to know?”
Blaine hugs his knees to his chest. “Because it was written on my locker this morning.”
“What? Blaine, you can’t let them do that, that’s-“
Blaine doesn’t stop, though. “And Mr. Godfrey in second period gave us a lecture about how God hates fags and how they’re going to burn in hell and I just, I don’t understand, God’s supposed to love everyone, He’s God, if He wanted to hate someone why would He even make them in the first place-“
“Blaine.”
“-and why would He hate me.” The last part comes out as a choked sob, and before Cooper really knows what he’s doing he’s on the bed beside Blaine, holding him as he sobs quietly into Cooper’s university sweatshirt. Cooper lets him cry it out, the house silent around them for several long minutes, only Blaine’s sobs breaking up the monotony of the darkness.
--
filename: wildcard
“I thought the person you wanted to ask out on Valentine’s Day was…me.”
Blaine freezes in the middle of the coffee line, his mouth hung open in shock. Before he can get his act together to form actual words, Kurt’s mouth seems to start running miles ahead of him.
“I mean, maybe I’m just making this all up in my head, but we spend an awful lot of time together and we sing flirty duets together and I just, I really like you, Blaine, and I know you would have rather spend this evening with Jeremiah, but that doesn’t seem likely to happen now so maybe we could spend Valentine’s Day together instead as boyfriends oh my God I am shutting up now please ignore me.”
“Kurt,” Blaine laughs as Kurt’s cheeks turn redder and redder. His smile is coy and mischievous and oh-so lovely, teasing and slightly flirtatious; Kurt sort of wants to crawl in a hole and stay there forever. “Are you asking me out on a date?”
Kurt takes a deep breath. “Yes. Maybe. I mean, if you don’t have anything better to do. No pressure.”
In the middle of the overly-crowded Lima Bean, Blaine takes Kurt’s hand into his own and squeezes it gently; Kurt thinks he might just pass out. “Okay.”
He blinks. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Is that a yes?”
Blaine squeezes his hand again and smiles. “That’s a yes, Kurt.”
Kurt breathes. “Are you sure? I mean, I’m not dreaming, am I? Maybe you should pinch me-ow!”
--
filename: fairytaleau
You see, Prince Blaine liked boys, when he ought to have liked girls.
And his father, the King, was ashamed of his son’s peculiarities. He loved his son a great deal, but he also knew his kingdom would never accept a King who loved another King.
So the King went before his magical mirror, and he asked the mirror if his son-the fairest lad in all the world-would ever be happy here.
And the mirror said no.
Which is why, on the boy’s fifteenth birthday, when the Prince arrived at the ball on the arms of another boy, the King allowed three huntsmen to kidnap his son, with orders to take him far away from home, so that the boy might have a chance to be happy. The huntsmen were cruel men, however, and while they took the boy far from home, they also beat him until he was bloody, leaving him in the forest to die. They cut out the heart of a doe and brought it back to the King and Queen, telling them that their son was dead. Devastated, the King and Queen mourned their son, believing he was lost to them forever.
And he would have been, too, had not a kindly bird come across the Prince’s body. Recognizing the boy’s gentle spirit, the bird called for its friends, who then went out in search of other humans to help save the boy. The birds found a group of schoolboys not far away, and brought them to the young Prince. The boys, who would eventually be called Warblers in honor of the bird who led them to the prince, found the boy and nursed him back to health.
So for two years, the Prince had a new home, at the Warblers’ dwelling of Dalton, where he was safe and happy and loved, but wasn’t exactly home.
--
filename: fightclub
Two weeks after the Warblers disband, Blaine punches Nick so hard in the face that he almost breaks his nose.
It feels good.
He doesn’t say that, though. What he says is “Oh my God” and “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hit you that hard!” Nick laughs it off, and the boxing coach makes him sit out for the rest of the match, but Blaine doesn’t care. For the first time since Glee ended, he’s felt something other than numbness.
He’s not the only one.
When practice is over, Nick comes up to him without any gloves on. “Fight me.” He says, like he’s asking to borrow a pencil instead of asking if they can beat the shit out of each other.
So they fight. It is both exhausting and exhilarating. Blaine has never been in more pain in his entire life.
But he’s also never felt more alive. Singing to a sold out crowd will never feel this good.
Nick helps him off the ground, and they shake hands, like gentlemen do, with no hard feelings.
They walk away reborn.