#the bushwick three

[simsstoryteller]

Just in time for San Myshuno Fashion Week, Pilar Vega unveiled the new home of Vega Fashion House along the city docks.

“When I found The Old Salt House, it just spoke to me. I knew this was going to be our new home. I wanted to celebrate its industrial roots but still put my own stamp on it. I lucked out when @pixelddump agreed to be our designer.”

We got a personal tour of the new space, including the runway which will host her biggest show to date.

previous / next

[charlottan]

dj cognitohazard is basically real and is playing with three all-trans bands in bushwick this saturday

OH MY GOD

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

do you know of any fics that exist in an au we’re the s4 breakup never happened? like blaine hanging out in the loft with rachel santana and kurt while he was still at mckinley in s4.

From a previous ask, where Blaine didn't cheat in season 4, we have these three below. However, most writers tend to follow canon that they broke up for some reason in season 4. ~Jen

The Secret About Blaine’s Cheating byMadPie

After reading everything I could possibly find, this is what I think actually think Blaine did that night with Eli, and this is how I believe how Kurt will find out.

~~~~~

Loneliness Found Me by  CoffeeAddict80

Instead of cheating on Kurt, Blaine finds himself singing about his feelings to what he thinks is an empty auditorium.

~~~~~

Exhibit McKinley by @tonks42

AU Season 4. Living so far apart from NYADA student Kurt, Blaine decides to send his boyfriend a series of letters and objects to chronicle his senior year.

~~~~~

The Air in My Lungs By JButler

Kurt wasn't trying to be perfect, just honest.

~~~~~

Check the Season 4 tag for fix it fics.

Scenes During the Break Upby misqueue

A collection of vignettes set in season 4 across the time in which Kurt and Blaine are broken up. Not in chronological order. For the Klaine Advent 2013 challenge. Stories are consistent with my The Architects of Life canon ‘verse.

Note: Many of the stories have the friends-with-benefits tag.

~~~~~ 

There are lots of season 4 fics where Blaine hangs out with the newbies, Sam, Tina and Artie when they are split - Killerqueen80 on AOS writes some great stories.

Glee Gen Fictlet #2 Graduation Party By Killerqueen80

The remaining four seniors plan a graduation party, all of new ND and some of the graduates who have helped them at competitions and such are invited to attend. it ends up being biota 2.0. basically just shenanigans with former grads witnessing the drama free family dynamic the current seniors helped create.

~~~~~

If you want Blaine hanging with Kurt, Rachel and Santana, here are some that are set in season 5.

Drunk on You by flaming_muse

It takes Kurt three times to fit his key in the lock of the apartment’s door, partly because Blaine is swaying heavily against his side, a warm, drunk weight keeping him off-balance, and partly because the alcohol in his own system is making the lock swim just enough in the plane of the door that he can’t quite catch it.

Bushwick futurefic, set within the next year or so, after Blaine’s graduation, no spoilers past 5x03

~~~~

Bushwick Game Night by flaming_muse

Pictionary in the Bushwick loft is serious business.

Bushwick futurefic, set sometime in fall 2013, spoilers assumed through but not past 5x07 (“Puppet Master”)

[terrainofheartfelt]

Dair + 9

Dair + 9…in public.

I wrote this as a sequel to this flash fiction I wrote for the last time I did a tumblr prompts meme. what can I say, I was inspired. and I could have written a wayyyyyy better breakup arc than the show. there I said it.

it got long (typical) so continue reading the whole bit under the cut <3

The party is already in full swing by the time Dan and his group get there. The subway would have been faster, but someone insisted that the lowest she would stoop to get to Bushwick was a cab. 

“Why did we agree to this again?” Dan asks out of the side of his mouth. 

“Not like she gave us much of a choice,” Vanessa mutters back. “Maybe we can get her to do something really low brow, like drink PBR or sing karaoke.”

Dan snorts, watching as the third member of their reluctant trio stomps into the crowd, clad in the tunic and pleather leggings Vanessa loaned her. 

A lot has happened since Dorota and Vanya’s wedding: Serena skipped town and came back with her dad, Eric hasn’t spoken to Serena since she came back with her dad (or their dad, but only in the biological sense). Vanessa got into Tisch, Dan didn’t. They evaluated their relationship at the three-month mark and decided that it just wasn’t working.

And, strangest of all, in the wake of her breakup—and Dan decking her ex across the face in public—Blair has seemingly attached herself to Dan and Vanessa and NYU as a whole, like she’s using the whole of Greenwich Village as a shield against the reach of Chuck Bass. 

“Hey, by the way,” Vanessa adds under her breath, “Willa is probably gonna make a move on you tonight.”

Dan blinks slowly, unsure how to answer. Breaking up was the right choice, he knows that. He spent most of his time as Vanessa’s boyfriend missing his best friend, Vanessa. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel weird about how she’s been pushing him into the path of other girls ever since. Like he’s a loose end she needs to square away before she starts at Tisch. 

“I’ll try to stick to a minimum six feet distance then.”

“Better make it ten,” Vanessa advises as they approach the bar, “she seemed pretty determined.”

Dan inwardly cringes, then orders two shots of tequila. Tequila and Vanessa have been somewhat of a dangerous combination for him these past six months, but if he’s going to endure the awkward ordeal this party is turning out to be, he cannot be sober for it. 

Vanessa’s pulled into a conversation with other Tisch people soon after, and Dan lets her go and tries not to feel too bitter about it. 

He’d really wanted it, but honestly, he can’t really explain why. He guesses that if he had to, then he’d have to admit it was because if he could break into the prestige of the Tisch name, it would make losing out on Yale sting a little less. Which is just fucking embarrassing—that was a year ago. What is it with Dan’s inability to move on anyway?

“Humphrey,” Waldorf greets him with a cursory nod, “holding the wall up all by yourself?”

He tips his beer bottle towards her. “Tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.”

She gives him a withering look. Fair, not his best material. 

“This has been a bust so far,” Waldorf declares, unprompted, slumping against the wall next to him. “The so-called art here is terrible, and there isn’t a single guy in this room I would even think about kissing.”

At a loss for how to reply, Dan just asks, “What?”

Waldorf heaves out a sigh. “To get around Chuck’s fatwa? That was the whole point of this exercise, Humphrey!”

He shakes his head, like Waldorf’s obstinance is something that’s possible to shake off. “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”

“Whatever,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “The point is, no matter what I do, or where I go, he’s just –” she gestures wildly, “there.”

Dan follows the direction of her wave, and nearly spits out his drink when he sees Chuck Bass lurking in the corner. There could only be one reason for Chuck to come to Bushwick, and it’s certainly not to see Willa Weinstein’s performance art on corporate coffee chains.

“That’s…” he trails off, searching for an apt descriptor, “fucked up.”

Waldorf snorts at his eloquence, hands tightening around her elbows. “Yeah. It just – makes it impossible to move on. Him being around all the time.”

Dan looks at her carefully, holding herself in that defeated-yet-determined way she had been at Dorota and Vanya’s game night, and feels that same impulse to reach out, to try and make it better somehow, even though he hasn’t a fucking clue where to start. 

“It’s hard having an ex that’s always around,” he offers, eyes finding Vanessa in the crowd, laughing with the theatrical writing majors they met at the cabaret. “It’s not even that you want them back, you just…could do without your history popping out around any corner.” 

Blair looks at him curiously, her hard protective gaze softening into something more contemplative. Dan gets a sudden flash of deja vu, to a different year, a different heartbreak, a different warehouse wall. 

“For what it’s worth, Blair, I’m sorry.”

Her eyes cast down at the floor, at her boots that are disproportionately expensive to the rest of her outfit. She hasn’t said any more about why she and Chuck broke up, but Dan’s seen enough to know that it must have been really bad. 

“And – you know –” he stammers, “if there’s anything I can do –”

Blair’s eyes shoot back up, questioning. “Kiss me.”

“What?”

“Yes. Yes that would do it,” she continues, as if that explains anything. “Come on, Humphrey, hop to.”

“I…”

“Don’t worry, I’m not expecting you to write a sonnet or whatever it is you do. This is just a favor.”

He arches an eyebrow. “A favor would imply that we’re friends. Are we?”

She blinks at him, nonplussed. “Does it matter?”

He shrugs. He doesn’t really care about the answer, it’s just that it’s easier to debate Blair on semantics. It’s a dynamic that makes sense to him. 

“Fine,” Blair huffs, “if it helps you sleep at night, then yes.” She pushes away from the wall, turning to face him. “So?”

Dan blinks. “Like – now?”

“That would be the idea, yes.”

“Okay,” Dan lets out a breath, and turns to face her, eyes dropping to her lips. She is pretty—it’s not like he’s never noticed—and there’s something about seeing her outside her typical Edith Head dress code that heightens it, or shines a light on her from a different angle. Or maybe he’s just drunk. 

He’s apparently stalled too long, because Blair mutters. “Oh, for crying out loud, Humphrey,” and yanks him in by the collar. 

A shock runs through him, then another, then another. First from: oh, she’s kissing him now, then from: oh, he’s kissing Blair Waldorf, then finally: this is actually a really good kiss. 

He opens his mouth on instinct, her lips moving with his. She tastes like cheap booze and expensive lip gloss, like every contradiction and complexity that makes his life interesting, that’s ever made him want to pick up a pen or sit at a keyboard. 

They break away to breathe at the same time, inhaling in tandem. It’s hard to tell in this lighting, but Dan’s sure Blair’s face is ruddier than when he was last looking at her. 

“Thank you,” she says bluntly, stunned.

“You’re welcome,” Dan automatically replies, blinking dumbly as Blair turns tail and disappears into the party. 

He’s going to need another drink. 

[ereardon]

There is something so odd about moving on.

Tonight is our last night in our apartment. We've been here the entire time we've lived in the DMV. Almost three years. But somehow, I never fit in here. I never felt like it was home. I spent a little over four years in New York, but that was home to me. I still very much feel like a New Yorker inside. I don't feel that way about DC at all.

Maybe it's because of COVID? Maybe it's because my vibe is so not DC girlie. Maybe because I go back to NY a lot for work, and it's where my friends are. Maybe because I always knew that being here was a means to an end — that my husband would finish law school and we would move closer to his parents or to my dad. Buy a house, start a family, turn 30.

Either way, feeling a little sentimental as I sit on my mattress on the ground like some Bushwick-IPA-drinking-guittar-playing-fuccboi. I've also very hypocritically declared, mid-packing crisis, that I like minimalism, to which my husband BARKED with laughter and looked at me and said, "You have two walk in closets full of clothes and forty purses" and promptly put me in my place. But hey, that's Sugar Mama to you, bud.

Tomorrow we're officially moving South. So please send any and all North Carolina reccos! xx

[leaahhh]

here are some of the songs that soundtracked my summer

maps by the yeah yeah yeahs because i have a secret theory that you must pay attention to the songs that play in the background of a first date because they might be premonitions. it was one of the first that came on the day we met. you were quieter then and everyone knew your name. i overslept far past my welcome that first night and maybe that should have been more telling than the song. maybe i shouldn’t have given myself over so quickly. maybe i should’ve listened to tyler. maybe maybe maybe a lot of things. still, i laughed the whole way home. my kind's your kind, i'll stay the same.

acolyte by slaughter beach, dog because it is one of the only unabashed love songs i can listen to several times in a row without recoiling. it is the best song to wash the dishes to, to walk into the sunset with, to believe in kinder things because of. 

group four by massive attack because the man i was seeing at the time played it once at the bar he worked at. i visited several nights a week, it became part of my routine: something to rush around for, a soft place to land. i was mesmerized from the jump, it was all i could fixate on for its full eight minute runtime — the song and also him, flitting back and forth in the dim red light. (i played it for S a few days later, saying it was the best thing i’d ever heard — he didn’t like it, said it was scary.) i remember going into the bathroom and stabilizing myself in the mirror prematurely thinking that i’d miss coming here when it all ended. each time i was met with eyes a little more vacant. a self-fulfilling prophecy. (i’m at a different bar alone now writing this. your coworker spotted me, came over, and reminded me that you’re working there tonight. i shook my head and he said “oops” three times.)

lost angel nights by james blake and alphabet city by the national because they say the quiet part loud. they made me feel justified in my self-abandonment and my masterful act of pretending to be okay with distance and mistreatment. “away from me is just fine.” “if anybody asks, i’ll say you’re coming back.” “i’ll still be here when you come back from space.” it’s not true. it shouldn’t be. but love is this way sometimes. 

montana by youth lagoon because J brought it up around 3am at a bar in bushwick and before then i hadn’t thought of it in many, many years. she joked that i should play it next to your ear while you were asleep that night because it might rewire your brain. i laughed hard then but later it made me want to cry. a couple months after, her and i sat on a couch backstage with T before he played a sold out show in brooklyn. i told him i think i might’ve met you just so i could meet her. i do believe it. 

this house by japanese breakfast because a friend posted it on her instagram story right after going through a bad breakup and i listened to it eating dinner alone at the neighborhood fast casual korean restaurant staring out the open front door while hot air hit my face and it felt like i was hearing music for the first time. what if one day i don’t know you? what if one day you leave? i could sense it was coming but i came over for a kiss despite it all. i really learned about liquid courage with you and i probably never needed to befriend it so closely. when we were together, my head was always spinning; my nose always stung. 

very overdue goodbye by runo plum because my friends all know i prefer dragged out, tortuous storylines over clean-cut endings and rightfully shake their heads. i’ve never gotten over a thing in my life, i tell david in a frankly unhinged voice message that closes with me laughing pathetically, squeezing in at the end that i hope the baby is healthy. it is the last friday night of summer. he says that 26 is the new 18, that i am the one making bad decisions, *i* am not the bad decision. he tells me to stand up for myself. it takes me several weeks but i listen. you made being alone feel so clean. i see you more as a pile-up of my own grief. 

to me it was by samia because the guitar gives me goosebumps all over. eliza and i have used the format “everything with ____ is totally fine/don’t freak out, it’s gonna be alright” back and forth all month to punctuate every nervous interaction. we ended up being wrong a lot of the time, there was absolutely reason to freak out. samia was right though; maybe i didn’t need tequila for that. someday i think i’ll look back and remember this as a good time. right now it just hurts. 

blue flower by mazzy star because it reminds me of my favorite line in that other song that makes me think about that other guy: i had a fever when i met you; now you make me cool. you were a superstar in your own private movie and i wanted just a minor part. ang is the first person to call it by its name: cruelty. i sweltered and seethed while you slipped away. 

street rat by blondshell because i fell back into my old habits as quickly as i’d tried to kick them as soon as you entered the scene. if a doctor put her hands over my liver she would tell me my resentment’s getting…bigger. i felt a lump, hard and unforgiving, growing there. my back tooth turned brown and started rotting the day you disappeared. Z yelped at me from across the street when he saw me and said i’m withering in front of his eyes. it’s a race to see who dies first and you’ve got five years on me. (as i’m typing this, the bar has begun playing sepsis by blondshell. it feels almost evil. it really should’ve taken a whole lot less to turn me off.) 

split up by boyish because i could have said all of this word-for-word in that text message. i kept it short for both of our dignities. 

aspirin - slight return by tropical fuck storm because christian responded with just the link to that after i ranted for 5 minutes straight about my rapid descent into madness. it was a perfect response. i’m a harrowing rest stop for the men i date. disarming enough to trip them up. not enough to make them stay. 

moon song by phoebe bridgers because after three years of knowing it so well, i heard it entirely differently one night and it nearly rendered me immobile. you asked to walk me home but i had to carry you. you pushed me in and now my feet can’t touch the bottom of you. i would have stuck around, by the way. like a dog with a bird at your door.

[fiiregaze]

davika hoorne. 31. demi woman. she/they. ┊┊ VALERIA NIRAN, better known as agent ANDROMEDA has been with cerberus corp as an eo since 2015 and is LEVEL 2. PUSHING A CHILD OUT OF THE WAY OF A SPEEDING CAR AND GETTING HIT HERSELF has gifted them LIFE FORCE MANIPULATION, though WHEN HEALING ANOTHER SHE EXPERIENCES THE PAIN OF THE OTHER'S WOUND has also been noted. when they aren’t protecting the tri-state area, they are fond of PHOTOGRAPHY and are never seen without A SILVER LOCKET. civilians think they are HEADSTRONG & FEARLESS, but some of the other agents see them as RETICENT & CUNNING. cerberus corp should consider the fact that their last mission status was successful due to a spontaneous decision made when their partner was knocked unconscious when giving out the next one.

001.  GENERAL

name  valeria niran.

nicknames  val.

age  thirty one.

date of birth  april 6th, 1992.

zodiac  aries.

place of birth  brooklyn, new york.

current residence  bushwick, brooklyn.

gender  demi woman.

pronouns  she/they.

sexuality  bisexual.

occupation  agent for cerberus corp. freelance photographer.

languages spoken english, thai.

physical.

faceclaim  davika hoorne.

height  5 feet 9 inches.

tattoos  stars on her right bicep.

piercings  right ear, three lobe, daith, high auricle. left ear, three lobe.

personality.

positive traits  headstrong, fearless, compassionate.

negative traits  reticent, cunning, stubborn.

mbti isfj - the defender.

likes  pastries, romance books, sitting under the stars.

dislikes  bitter food, warm weather, losing sleep.

hobbies  photography, reading.

habits  fidgeting, biting at her nails, tapping her foot.

002.  EXTRA ORDINARY

near death experience…  her mother had once said that her caring heart might one day be the death of her. she couldn't have known how true that almost was. it had been a day like any other, a commute to school for a teenage valeria. living in the new york city for all of her life, walking the streets and taking the subway was nothing new to her. waiting at a light to cross the street to her high school, valeria had always been the type to be hyper aware of her surroundings even as music filled her ears through her earbuds. in a bustling city as new york, it was ever more important for one to look both ways before crossing the street. a young girl, probably no older than seven did no such thing, stepping into the road the minute the light changed. a decision that could only be made in a second, valeria's brain telling her that if she pulled the child back it wouldn't be fast enough. instead she reacted and moved to push the child out of the way, ending in herself in the line of fire as a car collided with her body. there had been pain immense pain, her body broken lying on the ground, gaze desperate to look and see, eyes falling upon the young girl frightened but unharmed. after that she lost consciousness.

power…  life force manipulation. the first part relates to the healing of others. this part of her power seems to centralize itself to healing others possibly a result of selfless act of her near death experience. there are varying levels of healing that she can perform, the worse the injury the more it takes from her in healing them. simple cuts, scrapes, and bruises aren't really that difficult for her and do not take much effort. this can also be the case with ailments that are not so apparent on the body such as headaches, aches, and certain sick feelings such as in the stomach. when she is using her ability, her eyes will briefly shimmer and glow akin to something like starlight and the glow will also emit from her fingertips, the worse the injury she is healing the brighter the glow.

but where there is yin, there is also yang. the second part of her power relating to death is not as apparent to her. she hasn't delved as far into it as she has with the healing aspect but it manifests in the ability to harm others through touch. if it were to be described as a type of damage, it would be something like necrotic damage. perhaps it is easier to describe her power as allowing her to adapt and manipulate the forces of vitality and necrotic influences.

drawbacks / vulnerabilities…  the biggest drawback to her power is that when she heals someone, the pain of the wound weaves its way into her and she will feel it for a moment. the pain is as strong as how the other felt it, meaning any wounds that come from fighting or missions can be particularly painful in the moment meaning that sometimes she may need to take a moment to center herself before moving on. wounds that are near fatal can often take a lot more energy for her to heal, consuming more stamina and energy as a result. another aspect is that valeria is unable to innately herself as she can others, instead if she wishes to heal herself then she must take vitality from another to do so. it is a part of her power she tries not to use as much and something cerberus keeps a secret from the public.

cerberus corp…  valeria never had intentions of joining cerberus. she was fully intent on living a normal life, finding a normal job perhaps as nurse due to her abilities but fate had other ideas. walking home one night, she happened upon an injured agent whom had been tracking down a dangerous criminal. without thinking she decided to help and heal the agent which in turn allowed them to finish their mission. the agent of course reported this in their debriefing and it wasn't long before someone at the company reached out and recruited her. considering that she mostly uses the healing aspect of her power, she has been largely been relegated to support roles in missions though not to diminish her hand to hand combat skills. as a level 2 agent she is fairly active in the company and most of her missions work with others which she doesn't often mind. perhaps if she explored the more morally negative aspects of her power, maybe one day she might be able to do more.

codename…  considering her love of the stars and the starlight esque glow of her ability, valeria chose andromeda. with it being the name of a constellation and another galaxy she thought it would be a fitting codename for herself. it doesn't hurt to also have the greek influence as well.

003.  EXTRA

connections.

a childhood friend that she's still super close with.

someone who inevitably goes to her a lot for healing.

exes, hookups, flings.

a good old enemies to lover situation because you already know i'd love that.

a negative influence??? someone who pushes her to explore the morally negative parts of her power?

let's plot if nothing catches your eye!

[amazonworrier]

Not sure if you are taking prompts but I saw your reblog so I am shooting my shot. Quinntana for kissing prompt 4 or 5 please :D

I am today! Trying to break out of a writing slump, so thank you for your help 😊 I don’t love number five for them so let’s go with four…

The wedding isn’t their first kiss.

It stands to reason that it wouldn’t be, given Quinn is easily one of the most attractive people Santana’s ever laid eyes on outside of her own reflection. If Santana were being totally honest with herself, she probably wouldn’t have minded if Quinn was her first real kiss. Period. But, you know, some lesbians take years to realise they aren’t straight, and with Quinn being a diehard Christian too, they were pretty much hanging out in opposite closets for a few years there. Besides, Brittany transferred to McKinley pretty early on in sophomore year and- Well, everyone knows that side of the story. She doesn’t have any regrets.

So, they don’t kiss at any parties in freshman year because Quinn’s too religious to drink and too straight to experiment sober. Then sophomore year Quinn stops partying altogether because she gets pregnant - also a very straight move. Junior year she knifes Santana in the back on day one, so even if Santana weren’t totally hung up on Brittany by then, the odds of getting her mack on with Quinn were decidedly low. Maybe if she’d been single in senior year, and skank Quinn knew how to shower… but she wasn’t, and Quinn didn’t, so that was that. The bottom line is, they didn’t kiss in high school. No matter whether Santana thought about it or not.

But they do kiss before the wedding, and it’s all Rachel Berry’s fault.

See, they were supposed to just be in New York to shop. Kurt calling while they were there was a total coincidence, but both Quinn and Santana figured if they were ever gonna redeem themselves for years of tormenting Rachel, making a concerted effort to stop her from getting naked in front of some weirdo film geek’s camera would be a good start. And hey, if it didn’t work, at least they’d get a funny story out of it.

The problem is that absence really does make the heart grow fonder, and neither of them remember quite how f*cking annoying Rachel can be until they’re already halfway through dinner. It’s the longest three hours of Santana’s life.

“Was she always that exhausting?”

Quinn slumps down on the king bed in their hotel room, sighing into the pillow. It’s a lavish suite, paid for courtesy of Mrs Fabray and her neverending guilt over having kicked Quinn out that one time. Unfortunately, her guilt doesn’t quite stretch to covering two beds, but it sure as hell still beats some crappy old couch in Bushwick.

“Yes,” Santana tosses her jacket aside, heading straight for the mini bar, “You just couldn’t look past your Berry-boner long enough to see it.”

“That’s disgusting” Quinn rolls her eyes, reaching for the first drink Santana offers. “And completely untrue.”

“Sure it is.”

It’s not long at all before they’re both totally hammered, and it takes even less time for them to start reminiscing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Quinn raises a finger to Santana’s lips, effectively shushing her. “Mike Chang? How did I not know this?!”

They’re sitting cross-legged on the bed, surrounded by countless empty cans and bottles. Quinn’s other hand has been resting idly on Santana’s thigh for a while now, but she hasn’t said anything. She’s not sure why.

“It’s no big deal,” Santana chuckles, pouring them both another glass of cheap red. “It was him or Puckerman. Mike’s lips looked softer.”

They are, of course, discussing their first kiss.

Quinn pauses, lips teasing the rim of her glass. “Mine was Tina.”

“Tina?” Santana chokes on her drink, “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“It was an accident,” Quinn shrugs.

And, in all her bewilderment over the when and the where, Santana only gets so far as to ask, “How do you kiss a girl by accid-” before she’s accidentally throwing what’s left of her wine all over them both.

“Shit,” she leans forward, rubbing frantically at the rapidly forming stain on Quinn’s new designer dress. That thing nearly cost her an organ.

“Stop,” Quinn catches her arm, “There’s no point.”

But Santana persists, swaying unsteadily as she works to remove the damage done with little more than her bare hands, and sheer force of will. She shakes Quinn off in a huff, “Sit still.”

So caught up in the mess is she, that Santana barely registers how close they are until she feels a puff of Quinn’s breath hit her cheek. It strikes Santana like a splash of cold water, and she falters in surprise, shuffling back on the bed into safer space.

The problem is that they really are drunk, and there’s nothing graceful about Santana’s movements whatsoever anymore. She stumbles back, only to have her ass land firmly on her empty glass of all places. It’s a comedy of errors that follows, Santana’s body flying all over the place in what can only be described as a dizzying blur, until she ultimately finds her mouth falling forward to land on Quinn’s waiting lips.

Seriously, it sounds ridiculous, but that’s exactly what happened.

“Ah,” Santana topples back again, heat rising to her cheeks. “Sorry, I-”

But Quinn doesn’t give her a chance to explain. She’s already lunging forward, hand closing around the back of Santana’s neck to reel her in, and connecting their lips once more in a searing kiss.

Perhaps in spite of herself- No, definitely in spite of herself, Santana is the first to pull back. Breathless, and gasping for air.

“So,” a wary smirk teases at the corner her lips, “That’s how you accidentally kiss a girl.”

Quinn’s eyes darken, voice thick, as she lifts a hand to trace the smug outline of Santana’s mouth with her thumb. “Who said this time was an accident?”

The wedding isn’t even close to their first kiss.

With any luck, it won’t be their last either.

[aym-nowen]

Pleasure and Uneasiness About Being in New Orleans

Not sure if that's grammatically correct.

I am a little uneasy living in a city that is probably the gun murder capital of the world. (As it is apparently the murder capital of America).

I really enjoy the quiet here in New Orleans, but I'm constantly wondering if I'm going to get shot, because I see it so much in the news. The quiet was surprising to me, as everyone said this city is loud. It reminds me of France in this way, with the riverfront park full of families partying and playing music on a humid, sunny Saturday.

I haven’t been to a city in America yet where I've liked the parks. I checked out the parks of New York City — BLESSED BE BUSHWICK, look up Maria Hernandez Park and you’ll see why — Philadelphia — the Wissahickon seems beautiful and I only explored the TIP of it in the winter when all the trees were sleeping — Hawai’i’s Big Island — you don’t picnic easily on lava rock/spiky grass and with mosquitos that eat you alive, to which I believe I am allergic — and Los Angeles — spectacular super bloom this year but don’t let the aesthetics of the Instagram posts fool you. It is fucking loud over there. So many cars. So much agitated, on-the-go energy. BZZZ BZZZ BZZZ.

I love the pace of New Orleans, which seems too good to be true. Slow driving, small roads. An open-air street trolley, warm wind caressing my face. Colorful buildings, majestic old trees covered in vines. Trees everywhere. A beautiful French quarter, once you get to the quieter streets and can actually observe calmly. I can hear cicadas in the park, and an occasional crow cackling into the humid hot air, which feels like being constantly wrapped in a blanket, or being back in the womb.

I do wonder about the safety of the buildings here. I am currently Couchsurfing and the apartment’s floor slopes downward until you get to my room, which has three beautiful large windows. Cars barely pass by on the street. It’s pretty quiet, though I can hear a rush of cars in the distance. My hearing and body in general are very sensitive, so I’m trying to find a nice place to live where I don’t feel stressed out. I feel the building wobble sometimes when I or my host walks around. In my last post I talked about how the institutional HARD ROCK HOTEL crumbled and killed people. I wonder if I am living in a city that doesn’t protect its people. Europe felt so safe to me, so safe. We had a social system, and Daddy Government did a better job at honoring the social contract (between taxpayers and tax collectors and managers — aka the government).

I keep reading about people, mothers, getting murdered here, and I’m wondering what’s the whole story. A few days ago I read that the tenth woman has been shot dead this year.

Why are mothers getting murdered? Do people have no respect? What values do people live by here? In Hawai’i, it was “Aloha Spirit” which kept people from killing one another. I think about and notice these things, the values and myths which keep people from descending into flesh-eating “anarchy” in every place I’ve lived. (Though I am interested in anarchy as a form of collective living.) I’m also interested in the norms on social media and how trust can be formed with others over the internet, when you are one of the unfortunate digital nomads who keeps up a sense of community through the Internet. And yet here I am, writing for your eyeballs, instead of creating connections with the people who surround me…. Ta Ta for Now…

[thnxforknowingme]

I'll Drink to That

Okay @cerriddwenluna, here is your prize for tricking me. A little kublam ficlet about Sam coming to visit his friends Kurt and Blaine in New York. You could maybe imagine this happens a couple years before Naughty and Oh So Nice. Rated, like, T. There are implications but nothing uncouth actually happens.

They’re eating dinner on the third night of Sam’s visit when he finally can’t take it anymore.

“All right,” Sam says, setting his glass down firmly. “When are we going to talk about this?”

Kurt and Blaine share a look, in that way they always do. Sam sometimes swears they have their own secret, silent language.

It’s spring break back in Ohio, so Sam finally got the chance to come visit Kurt and Blaine in New York. It’s funny - it seemed like right after high school they were all constantly traveling back and forth, getting on a plane at the drop of a hat to hang out with each other. But now that they’re real grown-ups with jobs and responsibilities, it’s taken him months to return to New York and stay with his friends for a few days.

It's been a jam-packed trip so far - eating street food and seeing a Rangers game and going to theaters and bars. But at the end of every day they've said goodnight, and Sam has retreated to the closet-like guest bedroom by himself.

“Talk about what?” Blaine asks, completely innocent. Or at least, he’s acting clueless.

Sam gestures emphatically between the three of them. “About how it’s the three of us, together, alone in your apartment. And that used to, you know, mean something.”

Even though this is Sam's first time seeing this apartment, there are familiar elements - decor and furniture he recognizes from the Bushwick loft, or from Kurt and Blaine’s parent’s houses. It’s weird to see familiar items in a new place, but it also makes it feel more cozy. This tiny apartment he’s never been to before still conjures up good memories from the past.

Kurt clears his throat. “Just because that used to be the case doesn’t mean it still has to mean that,” he says slowly. “We enjoy your company regardless.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” Sam repeats, his eyes flicking from Kurt to Blaine and back. “But it could be?”

He sees the smile Blaine fails to hide, the slight widening of Kurt’s pupils. They glance at each other again. “It could be,” Blaine confirms.

“Good,” Sam says, leaning back in his chair. “I’d like that.”

The air feels different around them now, more charged and heavy as they finish eating. After Kurt pours the last of the wine into their glasses, he raises his up. “To good friends,” he toasts.

“To great friends,” Blaine corrects.

“And empty apartments,” Sam adds, and they all drink deeply in appreciation.

[tuiyla]

for Brittana: 2. 15. 20. 34. and 36! xx

2 - How’s their team work? Do they share well?

I’m once again reminded of that “left-handed, right-handed” fic akshjk. They’re very much in sync even after the time they spent apart. They complement each other well so there are no issues with that. As they go more into adulthood I can see a few smaller issues with sharing but really nothing worth highlighting. They’ve been joined at the hip since 15 and they shall still be at 85.

15 - How adventurous are they?

Oh very. They spend a lot of their twenties travelling. Whether that’s on tour or spontaneous trips to Europe, or getting lost and going the long way home they collect many memories over the years. Brittany’s unstoppable because she has no limits and as much as Santana side-eyes everyone they meet along the way, she’s more than up for new experiences. More often than not the adventure is accidental but that’s what makes it fun.

20 - What does their home look like? Their room?

Hmm I imagine a very chaotic decor from all their travels. Brittany has moodboards, Santana her posters and various furniture. It becomes slightly more streamlined as they mature but they’re never gonna go minimalist. It’s a clash of bright colours from Britt and dark ones from Santana but they make it work. Funnily enough the bedroom is much more lowkey and feels more cohesive, a true shared space. Initially, I see them living in a small studio in New York before they settle down from all the travelling. Not nearly as spacious as the loft in Bushwick but it’s enough. Not like they wanna be more than five feet apart anyway.

34 - Do they have any pets?

You mean besides Lord Tubbington? Haha the rascal. Well I don’t know where Lady T goes but it’s just the three of them for a while, but unfortunately cats don’t live forever and Tubbs can only hold on for so long. When he eventually passes, and Brittany is d e v a s t a t e d. Santana, self-proclaimed hater of cats gets a kitten as a present a couple of weeks later and Brittany quickly warms to it - they both do. And so begins a Dynasty of Tubbingtons where Brittany keeps adopting more and more cats and Santana complains but accepts her fate. They stop at about 8. The naming system is another thing to behold: Earl of Tubbington, Prince Tubbington, Duchess of Tubbington, Marquess of Tubbington. Might as well be the royal family with how Brittany keeps giving out titles but it becomes easier to follow than if they were all just named (Lord) Tubbington, which was a possibility. So instead it’s Earl, Duke, etc. for short.

36 - What’s their greatest strength as a couple? Their weakness?

Answered here!

[simsstoryteller]

This week, Vogue magazine gets one-on-one with four of the hottest fashion designers showing at San Myshuno Fashion Week. Our cover features Pilar Vega, who is making quite a name for herself in haute couture. Even if she swears she just makes "pretty dresses". Her highly anticipated runway show kicks off SMFW on Sunday.

lot by @katesimblr

poses by @iammoonblue

story summary / next post

[beardedmrbean]

A straphanger was stabbed in the back during an unprovoked attack at a Harlem subway station early Friday, police said.

The early-morning attack was the latest in a series of violent encounters in city subways, cops said.

The 43-year-old victim was waiting at the A/B/C/D platform at the W. 125th St. subway station near St. Nicholas Ave. about 4:30 a.m. when a man in his 20s stormed up to him and attacked, cops said.

The suspect stabbed the commuter once in the back and ran off.

EMS rushed the victim to Mount Sinai Morningside Hospital with a minor wound.

His attacker, who was wearing a black sweatshirt, ran out of the station. No arrests have been made.

Cops have been combatting a 41% jump in crime in the city’s transit system this year compared to last year.

As of Sunday, nine people have been murdered on the rails, three more than this time last year. In addition, 445 people have been attacked at city train stops — an 18% jump over the 376 assault complaints the NYPD fielded this time last year.

Recent attacks on the subway include an incident on Friday in which Lamale McRae bum-rushed David Martin, 32, at a Manhattan-bound L train platform at the Myrtle-Wyckoff station in Bushwick, knocking him onto the tracks. Martin suffered a broken collar bone in the fall. McRae was arrested Monday for the attack.

On Oct. 13 at the Third Ave./138th St. station in the Bronx, a man crept up behind an 18-year-old straphanger and punched him in the back of the head an another unprovoked attack, cops said. No arrests have been made.

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

Any fics where one of them gets extremely drunk and does stupid things? I read (b)romance by klaineanummel and loved it sm. Any similar fics? Thank you very much and have a great day.

Here's a previous post with drunk Klaine stories, and some more! ~Jen

‘Til I’m Screamin’ For More by @caramelcoffeeaddict

College friends!Klaine get drunk, talk about sex, and jerk off together. ((thanks to the lovely ladies running the GPM tumblr for the summary!))

(title comes from the song “Talk Dirty To Me” by Poison)

~~~~~

My heart, it pounds yeah, you got me by nineofhearts4

Kurt gets drunk and records a TikTok entitled “Guys I Had A Crush On In High School”, in which he talks about, rates, and shows pictures of his various crushes— embarrassing, unrequited, and otherwise — thinking he set it to friends only or private. When he wakes up the next day, he has a flood of notifications that prove otherwise, a hangover, and a text from Blaine Anderson. The longest part of Kurt’s now viral video.

~~~~~

Drunk on You by @flamingmuse

It takes Kurt three times to fit his key in the lock of the apartment’s door, partly because Blaine is swaying heavily against his side, a warm, drunk weight keeping him off-balance, and partly because the alcohol in his own system is making the lock swim just enough in the plane of the door that he can’t quite catch it.

Bushwick futurefic, set within the next year or so, after Blaine’s graduation, no spoilers past 5x03

~~~~~

Drunk on You by @flowerfan2

Part of a series of “Season 7” ficlets that look at events in the early married life of Kurt and Blaine.

This is the one with the vodka.

~~~~~

Kurt and Blaine wake up married by @seeroftodayandtomorrow

A drunk marriage in Vegas, a divorce temporarily out of the question and his new husband someone he’s been a fan of forever: Blaine Anderson’s week just got a lot more exciting. If only he wasn’t still so hung up on his ex…

~~~~~

I wanna sex you by @spaceorphan18

Klaine- "How was I supposed to know sexy striptease was going to be hazardous"

[askaniritual]

my roommate’s friend is doing this queer dating party where at the end of the night u write the three ppl you were most attracted to and give it to the host and if you match w anybody they’ll set u up on a date and they’re like let’s go!!! n i’m like bestie ily however if i were deemed ugly and unfuckable at the bushwick queer dating party i would actually end it all right there

[josiejohnscn]

My Love ( @aarontaylorjohnscn ),

Happy Father’s Day to the best dad in the world! I don’t think it’s a coincidence that your birthday and Father’s Day always seem to align, because I’m convinced that you were put on this Earth do be a dad, and the best one at that. This may be our second Father’s Day spent together, but this time it’s a little more special for me as it’s the first one celebrated with not one but TWO of our babies together. It’s wild writing that out, but a true blessing. It’s easy for me to gush about how great of a dad you are, but what makes it real is seeing the love in all three of our girls’ eyes every time they look at you. Each one of them has their own special bond with you and that’s a true testament to how deep your love runs for them. When I constantly praise you for your unmatched dad skills, I mean it. There’s no one else I’d want to raise my kids with because you’re it, baby. The whole package wrapped up in the body of a true god. The girls and I had so much fun picking out these little gifts, and we hope you love them. The last one is a bit of a wild card, but here’s to hoping Thumper makes his or her entrance to the world on time! Happy Father’s Day, baby!

Love,

Josie, Wylda, Romy, Collins & Thumper

Gifts:

Card from Josephine

Card from Wylda, Romy and Collins

Duke + Dexter Ritchie Capri Sneaker

Two Roads Hat Co. Bushwick Rancher Hat

Breitling Navitimer 8 B01 Automatic Chronograph 43mm Stainless Steel and Leather Watch

David Yurman Leo Amulet in 18K Gold (to add to his amulet collection)