ɪɴᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅᴇɴᴛ ʜɪɢʜʟʏ sᴇʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴋᴜʀᴛ ʜᴜᴍᴍᴇʟ ғʀᴏᴍ ғᴏx's ɢʟᴇᴇ. ᴇɪɢʜᴛᴇᴇɴ+ ᴏɴʟʏ. ᴛʀɪɢɢ���ʀs ᴜɴᴍᴀʀᴋᴇᴅ. ᴍᴜʟᴛɪsʜɪᴘ, ᴍᴜʟᴛɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ.
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💚 …because they were dared to during a game
It was on record, that once upon a time, Kurt Hummel and Sebastian Smythe were honest to god best friends. It was because of this fact, that Kurt found some comfort, or truth in the multiverse theory Sam had presented him with ages ago, stuck in the back of French class with Sam scrambling to scribble off his page — the right answers. In this day and age, he would absolutely never allow said friendship, or see it because who was he? See even at a young and vulnerable age, Kurt knew far better than to give Sebastian the weapon of information that he held dear. This said tidbit was the fact that Kurt might have been in love with Blaine. And maybe he had been ever since they’d met. But Sebastian? With that news? Well, Sebastian would have made comments loud enough for the other to hear every time he passed. Not only that, that was of course over looking the fact that Seb had his own fascination with the bright eyed wonder. Much to Kurt’s absolutely not at all obvious dismay. One Sebastian since began thriving off of, longing for, and everything in between.
But this wasn’t the story of what went wrong with the fallen friends, no. This was the story of the first kiss, the first perfect (and not at all awkward) kiss shared between Kurt and Blaine.
Ah yes, Blaine Anderson, the keeper of hearts. Or, at the very least, the central nervous system and star of spank banks everywhere — Sebastian-love-is-a-joke-Smythe included; no matter how hard he had once tried to deny it. Dibs had been claimed and shot after shot had been downed. Simpler times. And yet it was that little moment that came back to haunt him; even if it was the fate of the bottle that had put him in the situation, not by his own doing either— it was Blaine’s fault if he had to be bluntly honest. And despite that, Kurt wouldn’t change a damn thing because it had only solidified the fact Prince Charming was real. He did exist and the fantasy wasn’t purely for torture purposes.
It was less of a dare, and more of a spin the bottle situation. Rachel Berry’s basement (which unbeknownst to Kurt was the only reason the red envelope decorated with medium drips and Warblers, and a wax navy seal found a home between the fingers of Blaine Anderson) that their first kiss was shared. The audience wasn’t needed but it was hard to acknowledge them with a drunken Blaine pressing closer with a grin, the fruity air wafting from his tongue, lips laced with sugar and utter bliss, along with the faint undertone of alcohol that he’d strayed away from for the evening. Didn’t want to get too sloppy, but boy, he wouldn’t have minded if they had.
For a whole two seconds, seeing Blaine brought that back along with the warm fuzzy feeling in his stomach, right before it sank out of his body at the realization.… Good god. No.No. Absolutely no. This wasn’t happening. Well, no, it was happening right before his eyes. It wasn’t uncommon for his eyes to wander to take in the details of the day, especially from those of which he admired. Blaine was one of the best dressed and seeing him sans uniform was always a sight for sore eyes; although this was pushing it. A simple once over had alerted him of a far bigger problem. In no conceivable Universe was Blaine Anderson supposed to ever ever so much as know it existed, let alone have the visibly open letter in his hand.
Kurt’s eyes snapped up to his, and the world had long since went to an odd sort of quiet. It was as if Blaine was talking underwater. He could see his lips moving, faintly take in his expression— but no matter what he was saying, Kurt still couldn’t quite get enough oxygen in his lungs to keep up with the demand of his heart which rivaled, if not surpassed, that of a hummingbird. Maybe it was that that caused his eyes to flutter, lips parting to excuse himself, but nothing came save from the swooping darkness that slowly took hold, sending him falling straight back against the polished floors of Dalton Academy.
Rachel Berry had sent the letters.
Finn. Sam. Blaine. Cedric. Simon.
Well, if she had any common sense, the letters to the apparent straight boys would be tucked away within the vintage Gucci box in the top of his closet, but he wouldn’t be able to confirm nor deny until he suffered through the awkward motions with Blaine, nor the horrendous run in with Sam that was hot on their tails. The one that undoubtedly push him deeper into the void, next to pinning Blaine on the ground in a heated kiss in attempts to stave off that conversation.
#pianokeysandbowties#i tried to make this college but it was giving me headaches like whaoaoaAOAOAaa#ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴀᴛᴇ ғᴏʀ sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅɢᴜᴇssɪɴɢ { meme responses }#ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪsɪᴏɴs ʜᴀᴢʏ { to be tagged / tbt }
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pianokeysandbowties: ★・・・BLAINE.
( mssg » kurt | sent ) I’m so sorry. I know. You’re right. I did this. All of this was my fault. Every mistake I made lead to this exact moment and I just keep making them. ( mssg » kurt | sent ) You, obviously, matter. Even though I did a horrible job at showing it. I tried to. I messed it all up. Please tell me you know deep down that you always mattered because you do. So so much. ( mssg » kurt | sent ) Do you know what it’s like to feel like you’ve been erased? ( mssg » kurt | sent ) To know you don’t exist to someone who means the world to you? ( mssg » kurt | sent ) It’s like you’re a ghost inside of yourself. Hollow and empty and not really real anymore. That your world isn’t all there the way it was a day ago. It’s gone and you have nothing to fill it up with. Parts of your life are just gone because you’re the only one who lived them but you weren’t and that part doesn’t matter.. ( mssg » kurt | sent ) I just didn’t want to be someone who was deleted anymore.
@tongueticd ; continued from here.
( mssg » blaine | sent ) I thought we were going to make it. ( mssg » blaine | sent ) How is having sex with somebody else showing me I mattered? Was that supposed to make me feel special? ( mssg » blaine | sent ) Not like it matters, but for transparency's sake, Sebastian has made everything abundantly clear. I shouldn’t be surprised given everything, but it doesn’t hurt any less. Glad to know he’s finally having his shot at redemption. ( mssg » blaine | sent ) Are you really asking me that question? ( mssg » blaine | sent ) That’s exactly how I felt when you told me. I was standing right there. I didn’t want to be real anymore because nothing made sense. So no, literally erased, no. To feel erased? To feel like everything that’s ever mattered doesn’t any longer? To feel like this special life we’d been building boiled down to nothing because it wasn’t enough for you? Because you needed more? That wasn’t me? ( mssg » blaine | sent ) What would you have to feel to consider erasing someone, Blaine? How many pieces would your heart have to be in to so much as consider it? I didn’t want to wake up. But I still did. ( mssg » blaine | sent ) I don’t even know what I should or shouldn’t be saying to you because I’m so afraid you’re going to try that again. ( mssg » blaine | sent ) I didn’t even know until weeks later. ( mssg » blaine | sent ) Promise me you aren’t going to try that ever again. ( mssg » blaine | sent ) Are you okay?
#pianokeysandbowties#ɴᴏ ᴡɪᴢᴀʀᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ᴏʀ ᴡᴀs { texts }#ɴᴏ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ɴᴏ ʟɪɢʜᴛ { v. forget me not }
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Send “♀” for a HEARTBREAKING text.
( mssg » blaine | sent ) You’re the one that broke my heart.( mssg » blaine | sent ) You’re the one who told me to go. ( mssg » blaine | sent ) You’re the one who cheated on me. ( mssg » blaine | sent ) I was hurting. I wanted to end it. I backed out.( mssg » blaine | sent ) And now I’m the one burning at the stake? ( mssg » blaine | sent ) I’m the one that has Sam, and Sebastian, and half the school telling me what a terrible person I am?( mssg » blaine | sent ) I didn’t do it because I couldn’t let you go, no matter how much you hurt me. No matter how badly I wanted to forget you, because forgetting you would hurt less than knowing I wasn’t enough. ( mssg » blaine | sent ) You don’t think this was hard on me? That this wasn’t scary? That I didn’t miss you?( mssg » blaine | sent ) I backed out, they didn’t tell me they went ahead and sent it all anyways. I had no idea. ( mssg » blaine | sent ) I just wanted the pain to stop. To unhear you telling me what you did, you singing, that night in the park— all of it. ( mssg » blaine | sent ) I didn’t think you’d … ever— do that, it hadn’t crossed my mind — on either account. ( mssg » blaine | sent ) I obviously didn’t matter, so why did you do it? Why Blaine?
#ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴀᴛᴇ ғᴏʀ sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅɢᴜᴇssɪɴɢ { meme responses }#pianokeysandbowties#ɴᴏ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ɴᴏ ʟɪɢʜᴛ { v. forget me not }#ɴᴏ ᴡɪᴢᴀʀᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ᴏʀ ᴡᴀs { texts }
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Send “ø” for a LATE NIGHT text.
( mssg » blaine | sent ) I know I’m going to hate myself in the morning for sending these, but I hate not talking to you more.( mssg » blaine | sent ) I hate you not being in New York. ( mssg » blaine | sent ) I hate you not being in the loft.( mssg » blaine | sent ) I hate you not being here with me.( mssg » blaine | sent ) I hate us not being engaged. ( mssg » blaine | sent ) And most of all, I hate myself for hurting you and ruining it. Us. Everything. It was all right there. ( mssg » blaine | sent ) We should have been married by now. ( mssg » blaine | sent ) It takes me hours to fall asleep because the moment my head hits the pillow, I roll over expecting to see you, and you aren’t there. ( mssg » blaine | sent ) And every night, I have to relive why you aren’t there. Every night I get to sit across from you and see your heart break all over again. Time and time again. But this isn’t about me, this isn’t me trying to make you feel sorry for me, you have no reason for that; I just want you to know I regret it. I regret everything. I regret hurting you. We should have talked about it, it just felt like there was no talking. ( mssg » blaine | sent ) It’s funny, well, it’s not funny, but in some sick round about way, I guess it is.( mssg » blaine | sent ) I’ve been planning my wedding since I was three years old and I could … I couldn’t have even imagined that one day I’d get to plan it with someone like you. And to know I fully had the chance, and I couldn’t bring myself to do it? To know you were doing everything? Alone? I’m sorry. ( mssg » blaine | sent ) I hadn’t ever wanted anything more except you. Nothing makes sense and … You dodged a bullet, okay? I’m sorry and I love you. I don’t think i’ll ever stop.
#ʜᴇᴀʀᴛʟɪɴᴇs { v. ill never forgive you for this }#pianokeysandbowties#ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴀᴛᴇ ғᴏʀ sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅɢᴜᴇssɪɴɢ { meme responses }#ɴᴏ ᴡɪᴢᴀʀᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ᴏʀ ᴡᴀs { texts }
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“kindness is what you showed to me.”
WAS THAT KINDNESS GOING TO STOP TATE FROM PULLING THE TRIGGER? Puck and Santana framed his shaking core in bloody piles, where he kneeled huddled behind the piano, fearful eyes brimmed with tears as Kurt’s eyes caught Tate’s in a silent plea. His ears were still ringing from the first four shots and though he was hyper aware of the world around him, it played in slow motion. Staring down the barrel of a gun wasn’t ever something Kurt had fantasized about, though given America as it was, and the insane stance on gun control, it’s not as if he’d never thought about the worst case scenario. He’d been suicidal once upon a time and for someone to pull the trigger for him taking the choice out of his hands? Well, that had all but been a dream on the really bad days, but it was the aftermath that followed that kept him from every truly wishing for that. His father would undoubtedly follow once justice was served, if he even survived the news of what had happened to his son, or even the news footage that broadcasted over the televisions of Hummel’s Tires and Lube.
“T—Tate, p—please. Please d— on’t.” This wasn’t standing up to face Karofsky in a wave of gusto, this was utter disbelief and incredulity. He was in shock and trembling under the weight of the other’s gaze. Who was going to take care of his father? This was going to destroy what was left of him. Daring to move, Kurt’s hand came up to cover his mouth— though he’d been aiming to meet the barrel and convince the other to lower it, but the thought of making him feel threatened had tapered off, “T— this isn’t you. Please stop, you don’t have to do this.” The plea from his blue blootshot eyes was far more convincing than his shaky words, but if anything, maybe he could stall him. Maybe the rest of the students could escape, flee, maybe help could come.
“Y—you’re my friend.” At least that’s what Kurt had thought, had considered him on numerous occasions. Their brand of cynicism aligned quite nicely and the sarcasm had lead for a plethora of tangents at the expense of the jocks and the cheerios, and anyone else that had set out to make their lives hell, or at least far harder. The school in itself offered an endless supply of eye rolling predictability that they’d taking to tearing apart. Then again, maybe he’d misunderstood. Maybe it was that kindness that he was about to get in return, though the details were hazy, blurred through tears just waiting fort hat click and explosion of the trigger.
#c0kehead#ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴀᴛᴇ ғᴏʀ sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅɢᴜᴇssɪɴɢ { meme responses }#ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪsɪᴏɴs ʜᴀᴢʏ { to be tagged / tbt }
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"Real life’s more fucked up than fiction.”
“That’s what I think every time I remember the Kardashians are only relevant because Kim dropped a sex tape deliberately leaked by her mother, and that E.L James made over 95 million dollars, and that the president is currently an oversize Cheeto that thinks he’s He-Man.” Could it be worse was all but implied by the dark sarcasm that clung to Kurt’s words. At the best of times it was never far from his lips, however the few drinks him and Elliott had shared over the past two hours certainly helped loosen matters.
“This dog makes more money in a week than we’re ever going to make in a year.” Kurt offhandedly derailed himself, flipping his phone around to show the other, a dead acceptance weighting on his eyes. The dog wasn’t even that cute, but evidently his ability to balance things on his nose has captured the hearts of the internet trolls everywhere. Even so, his observation really only carried Elliott’s observation along and hit home. With his phone in the other’s hand, he’d taken the opportunity to snatch up a pretzel bomb, the closest thing the dive bar they currently occupied offered as a specialty. Kurt tore at it and plopped it in his mouth then took his phone back.
“Another injustice? This is going to go to my hips and not my ass.”
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Send me a symbol to recieve the following from my muse
☺: for a happy voicemail
♥ : for a loving voicemail
♚ : for a confessing voicemail
☆ : for a drunken voicemail
✾: for a congratulatory voicemail
☽: for the final voicemail ever received (think death, etc)
ϟ: for a break up voicemail
♦: for an apologetic voicemail
♣: for a sad voicemail
☎: for a voicemail not meant for you
☃: for a holiday-centric voicemail
✉: for a ‘BIG NEWS!’ voicemail
♫: for a vague voicemail
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July 6th is international Day of the Kiss
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pianokeysandbowties ★・・・BLAINE.
Blaine had been going at this for hours now. Having decided to come in early just for something to do. Besides? Joe, the portly silver haired Italian with the thick white mustache speckled in remnants of the black it used to be needed a few things fixed inside the little bit run down and a whole lot of loved after piano bar in Little Italy Blaine started to call home a few years ago now. In that time, he’d managed to move closer just to be on hand for the man who felt a lot more like a father than his real one ever had. Older now and unable to do all the things he could when he was younger, Joe hated to ask for help so Blaine stopped waiting a long time ago. He’d spent the better part of the afternoon underneath the bar looking between youtube, google and ’I hope I’m doing this right’ but the new drink sprays were working like a charm by the time the crowds started to thicken up. Thank God, Blaine managed to pull that one off with minimal error on the trial and error part.
When the music started? His locals were already two sheets to the wind and having the time of their lives. His voice was just an added layer to their already loud laughter, singing and dancing. But as the night went on, the door had been propped open several times and the music brought more passerbys inside as it always did. Billy Joel, Coldplay, Michael Buble, his music and a virtual playlist of half routine, half ‘I haven’t sung that in a while’ poured out song after song until a random hair put a song in his head and until he sung it, it was going to be stuck there. Florence and the Machine wasn’t his usual go to but it was a random hit on his playlist somewhere between drip, drip, drip on his forehead and I don’t think that pipe is supposed to bend that way. Sleeping wasn’t going to happen until he got it out of his system. Strangely enough, the reactions he got with the first few notes had him grinning that two whiskey grin like he’d never would have thought this was going to work until it did.
Halfway through, his eyes were closed and the world slipped away as it often did when he was lost in the music. They opened to watch his fingertips dance across the keys, thick dark lashes a veil that blocked out the rest of the room covered half his gaze when his head turned to give the crowd a smile for the cheer from the back. One that faltered in mid-fruition when a ghost from his past stood in the middle of the crowd right near the center of the platform his piano was perched on. There was no way he was, actually, there. Not after all these years. The last he’d seen him, Kurt was standing at the top of the staircase that lead up to their his Bushwick apartment having come downstairs to collect the key Blaine handed over with a shaking hand. He waited when he told himself he wouldn’t. Two breaths to hear an, ‘I’m sorry. Please come back home.’ that never happened. Every step back down to the sidewalk felt like a thousand miles and a dozen broken promises. Then silence.
Handyman duct tape and the habit of cutting things off before they got serious (Joe was the only lasting ‘relationship’ he’s had..way to go Joe!) and a fondness for whiskey on the worst nights pieced him together. A lifetime later, he was different. Distanced from all things Ohio (except Sam, always Sam who never brought him up, Blaine asked him that on a rambling buzzed night and Sam promised thus remaining ‘clueless on all things Blaine’ if anyone asked). Now, he managed a normal that was routine, safe, comfortable. Kurt still stood there two blinks later and his heart felt like it was in his belly. His voice cracked from the surprise but their eyes met and could you blame him? Shell shocked and not looking away, brows creased together as if to say ‘is that really you?’, Blaine finished his song and promised he’d be back after a brief break. I see you.. The second time he met Kurt’s eyes after giving the patrons a wave of thanks for the bills tossed into his jar, his seven o’clock shadowed chin ticked towards the doorway underneath the glow of a red EXIT light he turned and walked towards right after.
Moment after moment, Kurt fell deeper. The track of time had long since replaced him and he never fell back into the groove he’d clawed his way out of. At least that’s how it felt at the time, for a split second. The words had spilled out and he’d never been able to shove them back in his mouth, his own insecurities taking the wheel, foot heavy on the gas until they had him slamming against the wall of regret at a million miles per hour. The damage was done in seconds and it had seemed irreparable. Funny how when he finally had everything he’d ever wanted, it became a point of fear, second guessing. There were plenty of emotions running through him, humming under the surface, but all he could focus on was Blaine. Eyelashes resting against his cheeks as his soul poured over the piano, filling the room and sinking Kurt deeper and deeper. He’d regretted ending it, and yet he’d spent every day since then regretting doing just that. At the time it had felt right. He’d wanted to do anything to just get back to them or end the tension that was a suffocating noose that he couldn’t rid his neck of.
The noose would have been a comfort had he of known what it would be like without him, again. But if it weren’t for everything, chances are he wouldn’t have been out celebrating, wouldn’t have been here, having the first incredible day in years. Whether that persisted or not, well, time would tell, but all he could do was . . . Follow the drunken lead of his heart, or brain? Whoever was operating him at the moment, though it was really his feet that carried him in here. All it took for Kurt’s heart to lunge from his stomach up into his throat was Blaine’s eyes to find his, for him to finally look up — voice cracking in surprise and recognition. The surprise was evident, clear as day on playwright’s face while his hand flipped around, falling from his lips in a dazed wave. Smooth. Kurt found himself nodding for a moment, before snapping out of the trance, reigning back the emotion and disbelief as best he could. There wasn’t a sliver of hatred (from what he could tell) present on Blaine’s features.
He had time to finish the song, and give his thanks — to which Kurt clapped — mostly on autopilot, mostly stuck in that same daze that had the moment slipping past and blurring all at once. He was trying desperately to take in as much of Blaine as he could, if only to memorize him before (if) he chose to disappear for good. But instead he was nodding to the back and Kurt was following as if a hook had been cast, caught in his shirt and tugging him through the crowd towards the exist on the ghost of Blaine’s heels. Truthfully, his mind had a million whirling at him all at once, demanding attention louder than the last that he couldn’t really process where to even begin in terms of a speech, a conversation starter — as if he wasn’t a writer. In the business meetings it was easy to disconnect, take a breath and think WWCBD? Disconnect and write the moment,how it would look on paper, and project that confidence forth. It had done him well, but these were all people with little knowledge of him.
This was Blaine Anderson and he wasn’t so easily fooled. To even be dissecting the moment on this level as he pushed through the crowd, was too much, but it all silenced the moment he pushed through the exit door that had just closed after Blaine, and it was as if the world shut off for a second. The chatter of New York, broken down to honking horns and jovial yells or laughter of streets and blocks away, the jostle of manhole covers as tires rolled over them and the odd flutter of pigeon wings seemed both muted and immediately loud at once, only shoved away by the hinge of the door clattering shut as his feet hit the broken cement of the alleyway in Little Italy, rounding about to come face to face, one on one with Blaine.
Where did he begin? “I. . . — that was beautif — what are you —?” Too much at once, and all of it sounded lame and had Kurt shaking his head apologetically, lips gaping in stilled disbelief, eyes glistening with the same emotion from before under the hanging lanterns from one of the tenants above. Kurt’s heart was pounding furiously and yet, it was the least distracting thing save for the blood it had pumped to every inch of his alabaster skin. “I’m sorry, it’s just really good to see you — “ and obviously he hadn’t been expecting it, “I was walking by and heard your voice and . . . I hadn’t thought it could be you — “ because the Universe seldom worked that way. “ —Wow, Blaine.” The alcohol curbed the embarrassment he would have had, and yet he was fully entranced, eyes locked on the other’s still — though he had plenty of time to take him in, but that was before they were stood outside, facing one another in the startling silence of New York, because it all fell away against him. “ — You . .. look — er, sound — you sound great.” I can’t believe it’s you was laced in every bit, mirroring back the surprise from earlier and yet, he was frozen, locked within the other’s presence as if Blaine had stilled quite literally everything but the heart that was about to leap out of his chest. “I didn’t think anyone could do Florence and the Machine justice — but . . . You. Wow.” This wasn’t just about the music. No, not at all.
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rpmememaker :
Send “✆” for a MORNING text. Send “✉” for a text that WASN’T SENT. Send “☎” for a RUSHED text. Send “⁇” for a DRUNK text. Send “✿” for a SUGGESTIVE text. Send “ø” for a LATE NIGHT text. Send “✘” for a HATEFUL text. Send “#” for a RANDOM text. Send “@” for a SCARED text. Send “&” for a LOVING text. Send “%” for a CURIOUS text. Send “ツ” for an EXCITED text. Send “$” for an ACCIDENTAL text. Send “♀” for a HEARTBREAKING text.
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・゚: *✧ ——— ❝ Sorry, uh, but if I wanted to sing about Jesus I'd go to church. And the reason I don't go to church is because most churches don't think very much of gay people. Or women. Or science.❞ *✧・゚:*
・・・ ★・・・ kurt hummel, from fox’s glee. 18+ only. canon divergent. ・・・ ★・・・
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“Ooooh-kay, but we both know I can’t be accountable for what I buy in my sleep. Sleep shopping is a very serious problem and what takes place on the credit card between two and seven in the morning is not my fault. We’re been though this.”
Though he was visibly wincing, a distraught and somewhat surprised twist shifting to apologetic because the delivery man had been so kind to bring in all the boxes, but the moment he had to actually come to terms with it... Especially given the perfect timing of the other walking in as he stood, trying to access the damage of what he even bought.
“I mean, just because it says ‘KURT HUMMEL’ doesn’t mean it was . . . me that ordered it.” Oh it absolutely did in this scenario however, and the charges absolutely backed up the sinking suspicion. “Maybe it’s a secret admirer.” DEFLECT, DEFLECT, DEFLECT, even if he was essentially caught. Trying to shift the attention from himself, he grabbed the scissors from the kitchen and started to take to a box. “Any bets what this all is?” As if they could afford to lose anymore money at this point.
★・・・open starter ★ based within a post-mckinley time, centered in new york.
#ɴᴏ ᴅᴀᴡɴ ɴᴏ ᴅᴀʏ ɪᴍ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ɪɴ ᴛʜɪs ᴛᴡɪʟɪɢʜᴛ { starters }#ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜɪs ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇᴀᴠᴇɴ ᴛᴏᴏ { v. canon timeline }
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"Dear god, please tell me you have nothing to do with the fact that the back room looks like a Jackson Pollock painting?” Kurt gritted out through disdain and dulled over disgust. Maybe the first time, or the first hundred times he had felt a little more passionate, but now it was just tiring to go with the intent to sit and breathe for a bit before they opened, only to find a sacrificial sex massacre. The used condoms, one of which was discarded on the couch, while the other had stuck to his shoe with utter disgust, only posed as ironic cues to make him hate this place all the more.
“Because if so, I might actually have to murder you.” Kurt grumbled, a bottle of Jack stolen away from the bar as payment for having to witness that. And maybe because he hadn’t had coffee yet considering he’d woken up an hour ago and made his way to work not long after. Most of the dancers liked to show up last minute and spend as little time as possible here, and Kurt couldn’t blame them, but he also had no where else that was worth going for a few minutes, knowing where he’d inevitably end up. Settling down in the chair beside Sam, the lights backing the mirrors only reaching his back due to the fact he’d turned, setting the shot glasses down on the counter with an unimpressed huff.
“Why are you here to early anyways?” Why was Kurt even here at all was a question in itself. But it had something to do with his parents dying long ago. A path he wasn’t meant to travel hot under his feet; a victim of circumstance, perhaps, but he’d made his choices. They just hadn’t been the right ones, nor did they offer a bright, shimmering and splendid world of possibility and potential, the one he was supposed to belong to. Much like Sam, though they all had their own reasons for being here; Kurt just never talked about his. Ever. “Do you really hate yourself that much?” Kurt asked, a dry sardonic cynicism curling over his words, almost sounding like a laugh as he poured two shots, shoving one over to Sam and downing his own without hesitation, without recoil. Another beautiful day at the office.
★・・・ @abulous ★ attn: sam evans
#abulous#ʜᴜʀʀɪᴄᴀɴᴇ ᴅʀᴜɴᴋ { v. private dancer }#( kept it short bc i love you and bc i need to go to bed )#ɴᴏ ᴅᴀᴡɴ ɴᴏ ᴅᴀʏ ɪᴍ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ɪɴ ᴛʜɪs ᴛᴡɪʟɪɢʜᴛ { starters }
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tag drop two.
★・・・TO BE ADDED
ʙʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴅᴏᴡɴ
ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴛᴡᴏ ʟᴜɴɢs
ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴏғ ʟɪғᴇ
ᴄᴏsᴍɪᴄ ʟᴏᴠᴇ
ᴅʀᴜᴍᴍɪɴɢ sᴏɴɢ
ɢɪʀʟ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴏɴᴇ ᴇʏᴇ
ʜᴇᴀʀᴛʟɪɴᴇs
ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀʀᴍs
ʜᴏᴡʟ
ɪᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀ ʟɪᴀʀ
ᴍʏ ʙᴏʏ ʙᴜɪʟᴅs ᴄᴏғғɪɴs
ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ɢᴏ
ᴏɴʟʏ ɪғ ғᴏʀ ᴀ ɴɪɢʜᴛ
ʀᴀʙʙɪᴛ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ (ʀᴀɪsᴇ ɪᴛ ᴜᴘ)
sᴋʏ ғᴜʟʟ ᴏғ sᴏɴɢ
sᴘᴇᴄᴛʀᴜᴍ
sᴛ ᴊᴜᴅᴇ
sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇɴᴇss & ᴄʜᴀʀᴍ
ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ ɢᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ
ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ɪs ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ
ᴠᴀʀɪᴏᴜs sᴛᴏʀᴍs & sᴀɪɴᴛs
★・・・VERSE CLIPPETS
ᴡɪsʜ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ: the time traveler’s wife au
ᴡɪsʜ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ: lost amongst alternate universes
ᴛʜɪʀᴅ ᴇʏᴇ: mind reader
ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏғ ᴍᴀɴ: post break up spiral
sʜᴀᴋᴇ ɪᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ: piano!blaine au, kurt sells his first play
sʜɪᴘ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀᴇᴄᴋ: darkest timeline variant
ʏᴏᴜᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ: ten years later, klaine renuites after s4 break up
ǫᴜᴇᴇɴ ᴏғ ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴇ : gossip girl inspired
ʟᴏɴɢ & ʟᴏsᴛ: supernatural hopeless wanderer
ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ : celebrity life
ʜᴏᴡ ʙɪɢ ʜᴏᴡ ʙʟᴜᴇ ʜᴏᴡ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛɪғᴜʟ: the lucky one au
ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜɪs ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇᴀᴠᴇɴ ᴛᴏᴏ: canon kurt, any season
ʙɪɢ ɢᴏᴅ: fallen gods, angels, and demons
ᴋɪss ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ғɪsᴛ: skank kurt au (orphaned)
ʜᴜʀʀɪᴄᴀɴᴇ ᴅʀᴜɴᴋ: private dancer au
ᴅᴇʟɪʟᴀʜ: spy au
ᴅᴏɢ ᴅᴀʏs ᴀʀᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀ: broadway star, wicked rewritten
ɴᴏ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ɴᴏ ʟɪɢʜᴛ: memory wiping au
sᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴅᴇᴠɪʟs: demon/possession/seeds of doubt au
ʟᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀ: desert town, post burt au
ʜᴇᴀʀᴛʟɪɴᴇs: season six redo
#ɴᴏ ʀᴇsᴛ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪᴄᴋᴇᴅ. { tag drop }#ᴋɪss ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ғɪsᴛ { v. wrong side of the tracks }#ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏғ ᴍᴀɴ { v. the darkest timeline }#ʜᴜʀʀɪᴄᴀɴᴇ ᴅʀᴜɴᴋ { v. private dancer }#sʜᴀᴋᴇ ɪᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ { v. red string of fate }#ʏᴏᴜᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ { v. reunion long overdue }#ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ { v. the pressure of fame }#sʜɪᴘ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀᴇᴄᴋ { v. no happy endings }#ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜɪs ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇᴀᴠᴇɴ ᴛᴏᴏ { v. canon timeline }#ᴅᴏɢ ᴅᴀʏs ᴀʀᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀ { v. the name in lights }#ʙɪɢ ɢᴏᴅ { v. the land of the fallen }#ᴡɪsʜ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ { v. time traveler's husband }#ʜᴏᴡ ʙɪɢ ʜᴏᴡ ʙʟᴜᴇ ʜᴏᴡ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛɪғᴜʟ { v. the lucky ones }#ǫᴜᴇᴇɴ ᴏғ ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴇ { v. legacies on fire }#ᴅᴇʟɪʟᴀʜ { v. a man of many names }#ʟᴏɴɢ & ʟᴏsᴛ { v. the curse of immortality }#ᴛʜɪʀᴅ ᴇʏᴇ { v. no secrets to keep }#ɴᴏ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ɴᴏ ʟɪɢʜᴛ { v. forget me not }#sᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴅᴇᴠɪʟs { v. holy water cannot help you now }#ʟᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀ { v. dark desert highways }#ᴀ ғᴀʟʟɪɴɢ sᴛᴀʀ ғᴇʟʟ ғʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴀɴᴅᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ᴇʏᴇs { asks }#ᴛʜᴇ sᴛᴀʀs ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀʟʟ ʙᴇᴇɴ ʙʟᴏᴡɴ ᴏᴜᴛ { inspo }#ɴᴏ ᴅᴀᴡɴ ɴᴏ ᴅᴀʏ ɪᴍ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ɪɴ ᴛʜɪs ᴛᴡɪʟɪɢʜᴛ { starters }#ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ʜᴇᴀʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛʙᴇᴀᴛ { threads }#sᴏ ᴅᴀʀᴋɴᴇss ɪ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴍᴇ { text memes }#ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇɴ ɪᴛ sᴛᴏᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴡᴀs ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋɴᴇss { verse to be tagged / vtbt }#ʜᴇᴀʀᴛʟɪɴᴇs { v. ill never forgive you for this }
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♫ . . . No. It wasn’t? Couldn’t be? Kurt Elizabeth Hummel was amid riding his celebratory wave, one that only came with selling his very first play; one where he’d made a splash. One destined for Broadway and currently about to begin the beautiful pre-production stage, one that he was very much involved in. After all, BLOWING IT was far too personal a tale to send off into the night and hope for the best, and that it was executed properly. To the world, a tale of the underdog working through the trials and tribulations of life, dealing with an internal struggle in a very external world, one theme at it’s core; loss and regret. Relatable hotcakes that everyone could take stake in. Yet to anyone that knew Kurt Hummel? Well. The life he was supposed to lead, once upon a time. One he desperately clung to in the only way he could; within the pages of his next venture. Writing it had been cathartic in some sense, a coping mechanism before he realized he could spin it.
Yet, the celebrating had stopped because in the center of Little Italy, in a mess of post fruity drinks and cheesecake celebrations, he found himself stopping in the warm June breeze that tickled over his palms and through his hair, as if the past few hours of solo debauchery and socialization with friendly strangers hadn’t already done it’s number on his hairspray. To be fair, he’d been out since this morning, and the celebrations had promptly started after exciting the meeting an getting off the phone with his Burt and Carole to share the incredible news. Even after all these years, Kurt’s ears couldn’t — wouldn’t deceive him. Two people had left the bar, opening the door as they went and six words had caused him to stop in his tracks. Looking slowly, eyes wide and oddly confused because . . . It couldn’t be. The front window wasn’t any help given the crowd but Kurt’s mind was already made up as he unglued himself from the street, and pushed his way in, thirsting to hear more than the brief snippet the door had since muffled when it had closed behind the escapees.
. . . It was. He couldn’t even see Blaine, but he heard him, and it was doing unmistakable things to his heart as he pressed deeper, the New York realness muting any apologies as he pushed through the crowd, almost in a daze. Really, he was, shrouded in disbelief too. Their fairytale hadn’t had a happy ending, and it was something Kurt had regretted every single day. The hurt had dulled over time, of course, but he had also stopped looking for Prince Charming and actively seeking out a relationship because every single guy fell short. His eyes fell upon Blaine when he made it to the front of the crowd and his heart followed suit, dropping from his chest as his mouth went dry. Blaine Anderson. The disbelief was wildly apparent, but all Kurt could do was watch in utter awe, lips parted ever so slightly with pink cheeks from hours of drinking. The top few buttons of his shirt had come undone throughout the evening, skin flushing in the same degree as his cheeks. His hand cradled his elbow as the other rested against his mouth, fingers finding solace gently pressed against his bottom lip as he took in the sight before him. Blaine didn’t look like Blaine, well no. Blaine looked like Blaine, just . . . Not the Blaine he once knew. The one he was in love with, and had planned on spending the rest of his life with. At least not until he’d ruined it all.
The source material was familiarity. Florence Welch, an ethereal goddess that had a tendency to find her way to his record player when he was drowning his sorrows with wine, and even she hadn’t ever brought him to tears so quickly. Well. Not tears, but there was emotion welled in his eyes, blurring Blaine as he sang, eyes focused on his fingers as they danced across the keys, so lost. Er, in the music. But . . . It was so much more, he was so much more and words were hardly something he could process. So instead he stood, eyes welled with emotion and locked on his just begging him to look up, utterly speechless with his heart beating a million miles per second in the pit of his stomach. Blaine Anderson had been a ghost. There had been no updates. Then again, there weren’t many to update him. And yet today, of all days, they crossed paths? None of it erased one little thing however. ‘I will never forgive you for this.’ or the fact that once upon a time, he had it all. They had it all.
★・・・ @pianokeysandbowties ★ attn: blaine anderson
#pianokeysandbowties#sʜᴀᴋᴇ ɪᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ { v. red string of fate }#ɴᴏ ᴅᴀᴡɴ ɴᴏ ᴅᴀʏ ɪᴍ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ɪɴ ᴛʜɪs ᴛᴡɪʟɪɢʜᴛ { starters }
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BASTILLE’S ❝ WILD WORLD ❞ SENTENCE STARTERS
GOOD GRIEF
“it goes in one ear, out the other.”
“what’s gonna be left of the world if you’re not in it?”
“now stop worrying and get dressed.”
“every minute and every hour, i miss you.”
THE CURRENTS
“i can’t quite believe my ears.”
“you’re making me feel nervous.”
“do you even know what year it is?”
“won’t you stop firing up the crazies?”
AN ACT OF KINDNESS
“kindness is what you showed to me.”
“you left me wanting more.”
“you want nothing in return - i feel guilty.”
“my back’s up against the wall.”
WARMTH
“never good, just the bad and the ugly.”
“i can’t stop thinking about it.”
“tell me, did you see the news tonight?”
“now draw me close.”
GLORY
“there’s no looking up for heaven.”
“we made the best of what we had, you know?”
“and was it feeling real?”
“i’ll take my chances on the curb here with you.”
POWER
“did you really think i’d fall to my knees?”
“i will never understand the power you were holding over me.”
“hurt the ones you love the most easily.”
“if you’re gonna hit me, hit me harder, ‘cause you better knock me out the first time.”
TWO EVILS
“who’s this man, who’s this act i hide behind?”
“this is a game, no wrongs, no right.”
“it pays to be the nice guy sometimes.”
“we’re not that different, you and i.”
SEND THEM OFF!
“set me free from my jealousy.”
“watch over as i sleep, through my darkest of dreams.”
“hold me closer than anyone before.”
“i should be thinking about nothing else when i’m with you.”
LETHARGY
“run away as fast as you can go.”
“you told me not to be like anybody else.”
“you checked out years ago.”
“what i’d do not to worry like you.”
FOUR WALLS (THE BALLAD OF PERRY SMITH)
“i don’t know, oh, i don’t know.”
“what you have done is terrible, and now you carry it with you.”
“now we’re faced with two wrongs.”
“there’s no view from here.”
BLAME
“there’s no room for you here.”
“send my regards to hell.”
“i can feel your pulse from here.”
“don’t pin it all on me!”
FAKE IT
“i wanna waste all of my time with you.”
“my love, we can never go back.”
“let’s destroy each mistake that we made.”
“help me turn a blind eye.”
SNAKES
“show me distraction even for just one night.”
“it’s easier to bury my head in the sand sometimes.”
“i pray for the ground to swallow me whole.”
“oh, i’m not ready.”
WINTER OF OUR YOUTH
“i’ve got nostalgia running through me, and i don’t like it.”
“i’m pedaling backwards.”
“when we pick over the past, we glorify it.”
“i’ve drunk too much to give you what you want.”
WAY BEYOND
“do you wanna be free of this?”
“i’m gonna dust you off my shoulders.”
“real life’s more fucked up than fiction.”
“i just wanna feel something, like before.”
OIL ON WATER
“they lie together, oil on water.”
“her mind, it was reaching out.”
“it’s a catalogue of modern mistakes.”
“warm affection runs through every word.”
CAMPUS
“someone else’s words in your mouth.”
“oh, never leave me out.”
“it must be so lonely, knowing what you know.”
“heaven, help me.”
SHAME
“i can see a change in you.”
“i don’t like who i’m seeing lately.”
“maybe i’m living in the past.”
“who am i to judge? i’m the worst of all!”
THE ANCHOR
“you cut through all the noise.”
“i think of you all the time.”
“bring me some hope.”
“you’re the anchor that i tied to my brain.”
FINAL HOUR
“how many more times will we all bear witness?”
“how many more ways are there to say this?”
“it’s always you that is leading us astray.”
“can’t you feel the temperature rising?”
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inaheartbeat-film:
In a Heartbeat - Animated Short Film (2017)
A closeted boy runs the risk of being outed by his own heart after it pops out of his chest to chase down the boy of his dreams.
© Beth David and Esteban Bravo 2017
It’s here! After a year and a half of hard work, we are both so excited to finally share our film with you. Thank you all for your support and encouragement - this film means the world to us, and your kindness and enthusiasm has made this journey all the more meaningful. It is our great pleasure to share with you this labor of love, and we hope with all our hearts that you enjoy watching it as much as we did making it.
<3
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2REkk9SCRn0 Vimeo: https://vimeo.com/227690432
youtube
#ɪᴛs ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʀᴜsᴛ ᴍʏ ɪɴsᴛɪɴᴄᴛs ᴄʟᴏsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴇʏᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴇᴀᴘ... { videos }#( ok the warm and fuzzies that just hmu gdi )#( if this didn't give me absurd klaine feels )
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