half the sugar twice the spice
"You're passionate. When you hate someone, you hate them. When you love someone, it's the most they've ever been loved."

If I Run Out of Songs to Sing to Take Your Mind Off Everything 

spookyclaire:

Based off this post: “You know how in musicals the couple will start singing the same song no matter how far apart they are? What if that happened in real life? What if you were just at a restaurant one day and you started rANDOMLY SINGING because your soul mate decided to sing a duet in the shower” With bonus sprinkle of blangst because why fucking wouldn’t I

It wasn’t that big of a deal. It happened to everyone. Everyone knew what it was like. You just needed to excuse yourself and wait for it to pass. It was nothing to be embarrassed about.

It just…happened to Kurt a lot.

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alilactree:

anonymous prompted:  Blaine the distracted tour guide with a penchant for blurting out hilarious and slightly inappropriate thoughts 

(I went with terrible puns instead of hilarious thoughts. He so would.)

It’s totally touristy and not at all in the spirit of trying to become a jaded New Yorker, but when Kurt considers that he still spends a lot of time overwhelmed and goggle-eyed, still apologizes and gets flustered when he bumps into someone, still tries to pretend the blare of car horns at night is soothing cricket chirps instead, he feels okay about spending an afternoon on some enthusiastic gawking. 

He leans casually against the back of the ferry, arms crossed, one leg casually propped up. When it docks and everyone else crowds the exit, clamors to get there first, Kurt spends some time gazing at the spill of sunlight across the waves, checks his hair and teeth in the reflection of a window, takes his sweet time exiting out onto the island.

He has to look a little jaded.

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61. Accuracy (Klaine Fic) 

blainemas:

Summary: Shower sex is awesome… until someone gets hurt.

Written for the 100 Drabbles Challenge.

“FUCK!”

It was the first thing Burt heard as he entered the Hummel-Hudson household. It was definitely Kurt’s voice, high and loud, coming from upstairs. Burt hesitated in the doorway, contemplating whether or not Kurt was hurt or… something else was going on.

The sudden “SHIT!” that came from a very loud Blaine Anderson confirmed his thoughts.

With a groan and a mumbled “not again”, Burt flopped onto the couch, face down as he reached for the remote and turned the TV on. There was no way he was going upstairs for at least another hour.

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ohmygodstopit:

this photoset sent me off on a ficlet of artist Blaine

Sometime in the future Blaine’s reached a point in his life where he’s happily going around making art and helping people, dabbling in this and that like a sweet little duck, and trying his hand at everything.

Then Kurt and Blaine go home to Lima for Christmas when they’re twenty-five, and on Christmas eve Blaine has to go up to the attic to get out an extra trestle table for the backyard. He finds his dad’s old film SLR camera from before Blaine was born. It’s the camera that his mom and dad took Cooper’s grainy old baby photos with, and it’s dusty and neglected, but it seems to be perfectly serviceable.

So they go back to New York and Blaine goes crazy with their credit card on eBay buying old lenses and flashes and black and white film and instruction manuals, and boning up on photography, and Kurt yells at him for spending too much money.

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fic: In Cups of Coffee [Klaine] 

kissedmequiteinsane:

It was early in November when Blaine came home from class and dropped down on the couch next to his boyfriend, lifting Kurt’s legs to sit down and draping them over his lap. “Hi, honey.” Kurt mumbled as he highlighted paragraphs in his textbook, “Long day?” he asked without looking up.

Blaine hummed, fingers rubbing absentminded circles along the slightly-exposed skin of Kurt’s ankle. “We should go to Ohio this weekend.”

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Daddy!Klaine Holiday ficlet thing 

aelora:

I don’t think I posted this to Tumblr, and I am in a holiday mood for some reason…

****************

“I thought we agreed not to get the dollhouse,” Blaine whispers over his shoulder as he makes his way carefully and quietly down the stairs in the darkness.  He shifts said dollhouse in his arms, juggling it with the bags hooked over his arms filled with more gifts.  “What was it you said when I wanted to get London the PS6?  Oh, yes, now I remember ‘Blaine, honey, we don’t want to spoil them at such an early age’.” 

“He’s three, Blaine,” Kurt responds softly behind him.  “You wanted that system for yourself.  I told you to ask Santa for it but no, no.  For once you decided to pretend that you were mature, or something.” 

“Right.” Blaine rolls his eyes, foot slipping slightly on the last step, and he pauses, wobbling slightly as the boxes his husband is carrying press into his back.  Ignoring Kurt’s resulting cuss words at Blaine’s abrupt stop, he looks over his shoulder and adds as he holds the dollhouse box up, “And you didn’t buy this because you fell in love with the… oh, how did you say it? ‘The fleur de lis design so intricately patterned over the walls on the second story’.” 

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Fic: Shatter The Walls For A New Sun {5/10} 

whenidance:

Title Shatter The Walls For A New Sun 5/10
Rating R (will go up in later chapters)
Word Count 4,900/32,800
Summary AU in which Blaine was raised by highly religious parents and escapes to NYC with Quinn, moving in next door to Rachel and Kurt. (Alternately: Bible!Blaine meets NYC!Kurt. Shit happens.)
Notes Look, not too long of a wait! The next part should be fairly quick as well, I actually have a bit written as I started writing a chunk of it before anything, right after the prologue because it would not leave me. Also, because I’m seeing Valentina Wednesday and she might beat me if there’s no update before then.

Prologue // One // Two // Three // Four // LJ // AO3 

*

Kurt starts staying at work later for a few reasons. One, it never hurts to show his coworkers that he’s a team player now that he’s a salaried employee and his mornings are spent in meetings with human resources getting all kinds of things set up anyway (Kurt still doesn’t really understand what all of his investments and stock options are, but now he has them). Two, staying later affords him the excuse to meet Blaine after he gets off of work so they can ride the train back to Bushwick together. The huge rush of commute is over and they can usually find two seats next to each other, but even when they can’t, they stand close and talk quietly about their days as the train jostles and jolts down the tracks and Kurt has never been happier.

Blaine tells him about his coworkers, who he’s starting to get to know finally, or the kids and what he did with them. Some sit quietly and work on their homework, some he definitely has to plan things to entertain, and he and his coworker Amy put together a few weeks of Christmas activities - carols and crafts and one day, Blaine has macaroni and glitter stuck to his cardigan, Kurt spots beneath his coat. Kurt comments on it and the next day, Blaine shows up with a small red construction paper heart covered in glitter. He’s pretty sure they leave a sparkling trail the whole way home, but the smile never leaves his face.

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Fic: Shatter The Walls For A New Sun {1/10} 

whenidance:

Title Shatter The Walls For A New Sun 1/10
Rating PG-13 (will go up in later chapters)
Word Count 7,200/9,300
Summary AU in which Blaine was raised by highly religious parents and escapes to NYC with Quinn, moving in next door to Rachel and Kurt. (Alternately: Bible!Blaine meets NYC!Kurt. Shit happens.)
Notes Based on Blaine’s outfit in ‘Call Me Maybe’ from 4x01. I posted the prologue on here a few weeks ago, and then went on vacation for ten days and sketched the rest of this out. I’m going to try to update this weekly, we’ll see how that goes (this part is already over 2k longer than I planned and it was one of the shorter chapters). If you’d prefer, I’m updating this on LJ & AO3 as well. 

*

Kurt wakes up early Sunday morning, going through his clothes to find the perfect thing to wear for coffee with Blaine and Quinn. He moves quietly as not to wake Rachel, though after living together in the loft for a year, they’ve grown accustomed to the open floor space and opposite schedules. He finally settles on one of his tried and true favorites just so he can jump in the shower before Rachel wakes and he has her to contest with. By the time he emerges, she’s brewing tea, knowing they’ll get coffee with their bagels, and he happily accepts a mug from her.

“Thanks, and good morning,” he says with a smile, and she just smiles back, patting his arm in response and heading in the direction of the bathroom herself.

There’s a knock on their door promptly at ten, and while Quinn looks bright eyed and well rested, Blaine looks a little bleary. They’re dressed in almost exact replicas of the outfits they wore yesterday, Quinn in another sunwashed sundress and Blaine in another short-sleeved shirt (tight), cotton-blend slacks (also tight, there is a god), and a skinny tie. “You look like you could use some coffee,” Kurt says in greeting, and then realizes, he doesn’t even know if Blaine and Quinn drink coffee, though Blaine did suggest it. “Well, if you both drink it that is.”

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cubbybuddies:

Kurt loved being Blaine’s kitten. He always looked after him, always fed him well and gave the best back rubs. 

But sometimes, he wished he was more. 

There was only so much a little kitten like Kurt could do.

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whenidance:

borogroves:

heyblaine prompted: something really fluffy with blaine admiring and kissing kurt’s freckles after they’ve been out in the sun all day

“There must be a million of them.”

“Don’t exaggerate, Blaine.  There aren’t that many,” Kurt says, fighting the urge to turn onto his back so that Blaine will go back to kissing him on the mouth instead of his freckles, which have come out in their hundreds (not millions) after spending a day lounging around in the sunshine that pours into the back yard of their Cobble Hill house.  It had simply been too hot to wear anything except a layer of SPF 50, the damp heat that had pushed all the way up from Florida leaving every last New Yorker—including one Kurt Hummel—sticky and grouchy.

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freckles and fluff ohmygod help

aw this was precious