Kurt wakes up thinking it’s too warm and he whines into the pillow because the window needs to get opened, but then there’s an even warmer body pressing his own into the mattress and if it wasn’t hot before it most certainly is now.
“Morning, sunshine,” Blaine says, far too chipper with a smile in his voice.
Kurt gruffs into the pillow, arms wriggling out from where Blaine’s got them pinned to slide them in under his head. “Too hot. Sleep.”
“You’re so eloquent in the mornings,” Blaine says and kisses the top of his head before the bed bounces with the force from Blaine getting up. “Wake up!”
Klaine Father’s Day future!fic with pregnant!Blaine (◡‿◡✿)
rated NC-17 for mpreg and blowjobs.
Blaine shuffles into the kitchen after he wakes up and can’t find Kurt, following the smell of food - bacon and blueberry pancakes, and there’s fresh fruit on the table as well.
“What’s all this for?” Blaine asks, and Kurt spins around in surprise.
“Blaine! I didn’t hear you get up.” Kurt frowns, turning back around to poke at the pancakes. “I was supposed to bring you breakfast in bed.”
“Trust me, this is already…” Blaine trails off, leaning back against the counter and resting a hand over his round belly. “What’s the occasion?”
“Father’s Day, silly,” Kurt says, nodding over to the table until Blaine takes the hint and sits down.
College AU: Castiel is a radio presenter, known as Angel for any callers. Dean is his fan.
What’s your name, mystery man?”
“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,”
“Nice try, let’s just stick with ‘Angel’.”>
“Well, in that case, call me ‘Demon’.”
“Fair enough, Demon.”
The quote and idea come from Angel on the Radio. You all should read this amazing story!
PWP. Kurt discovers something new that he likes, thanks to Adam. Warnings for spanking and rimming.
The first time it happens, they’re fumbling towards Kurt’s bed and Adam lifts him up with next to no effort. Kurt clings to him, his legs slipping around Adam’s waist in an entirely instinctual way. Adam bounces him up, settling Kurt’s weight more comfortably in his arms, and that’s when his hands slap against the curve of his ass with a reassuring smack.
It’s not hard, not when it’s a simple touch to catch him, but the sensation has him moaning against Adam’s lips, his body already strung tight and that little jolt of something more has Kurt aching as Adam follows him down onto the bed.
Look, I made a gif of this most awesome wizard at the Leaky Cauldron!
DUDE IS READING ‘A BRIEF HISTORY OF TIME’ BY STEPHEN HAWKING
I NEVER REALIZED
are you serious
I always assumed wizards just ignored science, because the fact that “magic” exists, can explain anything. But there are MuggleBorn wizards, ones who, until they were eleven, lived in the real world and learned science and things. Did they all just abandon that normal, muggle knowledge, like Harry did? It’s always been there, itching in the back of my mind.
FOUR FOR YOU SCIENCE WIZARD
YOU GO SCIENCE WIZARD
can we point out that he’s doing wandless magic too
like voldemort couldnt even do that shit
molly fuckin weasley couldnt fuckin do that
who are you
Quick, somebody write a book series about the adventures of Magic Prodigy Science Wizard!!!
PLEASE SOMEONE JUST DO IT
Alan Baker had no use for wands, of course. If one were to Prior Incantato his outdated, duct-taped rod of walnut wood and dragon heartstring, its most recent use would have been the enchantment of the long-lived neurons in Alan’s own mind. This enchantment, possible only for those who were capable of seeing themselves as a complex amalgamation of neural impulses, allowed him to bypass both wands and words. Alan did this, not for show, not for power, but because wandwork distracted him from his reading.
Unfortunately, there was no legal spell to get rid of barflies.
“Hey- hey mate, you gotta- gotta minute to-“
Sobrius, Alan thought, placing one hand on his neighbor’s forehead without looking up. He pondered whether or not to cast a silencing barrier, even in violation of the Leaky Cauldron’s safety code.
“Thanks,” said the now-sober man, “Readin’ more of that Muggle trash, I see.”
Alan closed his eyes and counted to three, but when he opened them, the man was still there. Alan lowered his “muggle trash” in defeat, meeting the baggy, bloodshot eyes of the wizard sitting across from him.
Alan leaned forward, placing his hands steeple-like on the table. “Mr. Fletcher, do you know why time turners don’t send you into space?”
“The sky, y’mean? Cause they’re fer time turnin’, not apparation.”
Alan had to take a deep breath. “No,” he replied, “If time turners weren’t anchored to anything, the Earth’s rotation alone would be enough to ensure a time traveler’s demise. But someone at the ministry was clever enough to anchor them to a carefully guarded object that never moves relative to the Earth.”
“Fascinat’n,” slurred Mundungus, whose eyes had glazed over once it became clear that Alan didn’t actually have a time turner on him.
“But time turners are still very limited,” continued Alan, more to himself than to Mundungus, “They can’t go more than seven hours back, and not forward at all, and only in increments of one hour, and they only work on Earth… no, they’re very clumsy, if one truly pauses to think about it.”
“What’s yer point?”
“My point is that while wizards are slowly stagnating in their backwards remnant of the Dark Ages, Muggles are making progress, ever reaching for the light. Do you know that they don’t need magic to craft a hand of living silver?”
“Bah,” was Mundungus’s only reply, “You’d be best mates with that Weasley nutcase at the ministry, you would.”
Alan stood up, silently casting an infantes gelata to check for paradoxes. “I don’t know why I bother with you,” he sighed, “you’ve just wasted another two minutes of my time. Perhaps I bother because I have time to waste.”
And he twisted, as if to apparate, but instead faded out of existence with a distinct vworp. The air swirled in the wake of his departure, blowing back Mundungus’s straggly ginger hair.
“Muggleborns,” the short wizard muttered, then turned back to his drink.
Thirty minutes earlier, Alan lounged contentedly within his quieting barrier, stirring his cup of tea absently and rereading one of his favourite Muggle books. He wondered, vaguely, which planet held the nearest sapient life, and what their magic would look like…
This rereading, however, would be slightly shorter than the last. Even within the barrier, the presence of another at the table tickled at Alan’s consciousness. He set down his book (rather forcefully, he had to admit,) and looked up. The bloodshot eyes of Mundungus Fletcher didn’t meet him when his own rose.
“Hello,” mouthed the man. Finite Incantatum, thought Alan.
“Hello,” he answered, “Can I help you?”
“No, not really. Well, maybe. Well, probably. Have you seen anything strange lately? Disappearing cats, people moving backwards, variances in the time vortex causing precise and intentional reversal of the course of events?”
Alan couldn’t help but stare. “Er…now that you mention it, I was just…” he trailed off as he glanced out the window and did a double take. There was a 1960s-style Muggle police telephone box in the middle of Diagon Alley. “…Is…is that a telephone box?”
“No. Yes. Recreation. Mock-up. Don’t worry, nobody will notice,” the man said, waving his hand dismissively even as he pulled on a pair of what appeared to be cheap 3-D glasses. “What I want to know,” he murmured conspiratorially, “is what’s giving you that floaty, aurary, bizarrey stuff all over you, because that should not be happening to a human. Person. I said person”
Alan’s eyebrows furrowed. “First of all, this is Diagon Alley. Most people out there wouldn’t know a police box from a pillbox, especially given it’s bright blue. Second of all, those glasses shouldn’t give you the ability to see what you’re seeing. And thirdly, Expelliarmus.”
“Expelliwhat?” the man squawked, just as a long, chunky metallic object with a blue tip shot out of his jacket pocket and into Alan’s hand. A quick Identification spell told him all he needed to know.
“Fuzzy logic neural interface configured for ease of use, limited nonverbal manipulation of mechanical and electronic objects…Interesting. And leaps and bounds beyond anything wizards or Muggles can conjure up. What are you?”
The man stared at him for a few minutes before breaking out in a wide smile. “Hello. I’m the Doctor. Let me tell you a little bit about the universe…”
IT GOT BETTER
I am done, this is the end of the world, it’s all downhill from here
And this is why I always come back.
innypocket asked: Characters 10 and 6 sitting together on a bus on a field trip.
[ted mosby (how i met your mother) and kurt hummel (glee)]
“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”
Ted glances up from the latest issue of New York Magazine to find a tall, pale kid clutching the strap of his messenger bag. “Uh, no,” Ted says politely. “It’s all yours.” He scoots a little closer to the window even though it really isn’t necessary and offers his hand. “I’m Ted.”
The kid (not even really a kid, college age, maybe) offers him a tight smile and shakes his hand. “Kurt.”
“Where you headed?”
“Lima,” Kurt answers shortly, and it’s clear that he’d really rather be staying in New York.
“Shaker Heights,” Ted supplies, nudging Kurt’s arm. “Near Cleveland. You grow up in Ohio too?”
Kurt nods. “Headed back to see family?”
“No, actually,” Kurt sighs. “My dad’s in DC —”
“Wait,” Ted cuts in. “You’re Congressman Hummel’s kid, aren’t you?” Kurt hums at him disinterestedly and digs through his messenger bag. He unearths a sketchpad and flips it open, revealing an array of intricate fashion designs. Ted leans in a little closer, he can’t help it. “Wow.” Kurt blinks over at him in surprise. “Sorry, it’s just — those are really good.” He leans in conspiratorially and grins. “I’d know. I’m an architect.”
“Oh, well… thank you.” Kurt colors a little, clearly pleased. “What are you headed back for?” he asks politely. “Class reunion?”
“No,” Ted laughs. “My twentieth isn’t for another four years. Aaaand I just showed my age.” Kurt actually smiles at him. “Family reunion. What about you, if your dad’s in DC?”
The smile disappears from Kurt’s face as his lips thin into a line and he turns his attention back to his sketches. “My boyfriend’s the lead in the school musical. Today was the only day I could get time off to see him.”
“That’s nice of you. Long distance?”
Another look of surprise from his seatmate and Ted’s starting to get the feeling that Kurt doesn’t usually have many positive interactions with strangers. “Yeah, actually,” Kurt admits, leaning back in his seat and studying Ted a little. “I haven’t seen him since I moved out to New York last month.”
“Long distance sucks,” Ted empathizes. “I tried it once, with this girl Victoria. I thought it’d be really romantic to beat the odds, you know?”
“God, no,” Ted laughs. “No, that was a disaster. I ended up cheating on her and she’d pretty much fallen for someone else — she married him, actually, back in May.”
“So you’re not a believer anymore, then,” Kurt says thinly.
“No, it’s not that — I am,” Ted enthuses, turning in his seat a little. “Fate, destiny, epic romance — I believe in all of it. It’s just — long distance is hard. And sometimes — a lot of the time — it doesn’t work out. But that doesn’t mean it never does. My best friend Marshall — he and his wife Lily met our freshman year of college. Lily studied in Paris for a semester and they survived it.” Kurt’s silent, and Ted shifts in his seat, trying to diffuse the awkward tension. “How long have you and your boyfriend been together?”
“A year and a half,” Kurt says quietly. A beat, and then he’s digging in his pocket for his phone, thumb flitting across the screen. He hands the phone to Ted gingerly, who takes it and glances down at the photograph on the screen. It’s a picture of Kurt with another kid, short with slicked back hair.
“Very nice,” Ted says with a smile. “Very dashing.”
“I miss him,” Kurt admits softly, taking the phone back. “I — it’s hard. We both want to be in New York, he’s just a year behind and —”
“You’ll be fine,” Ted says encouragingly. “Look, you’re already making the effort to see him and you’ve only been apart a month. If you both keep doing that, you’ll make it. Marshall visited Lily while she was in Paris.”
“And you didn’t?” Kurt pries. “With Victoria?”
Ted shakes his head. “No. She was on a cooking fellowship in Germany, I was working — the whole thing was just a mess. It was hard to envision a future together when we were that far apart.”
“He gave me a ring,” Kurt blurts, and he looks a little embarrassed at the admission but keeps going. “Last Christmas, he made me a promise ring out of gum wrappers. I thought — I thought he was proposing.”
Ted offers him a small smile. “Sounds like a love for the ages.” Kurt grins. “Hang in there. Marrying your high school sweetheart? That’s the kind of love story I’d kill to have.”
THE MOST ADORABLE THING. BECAUSE YES.
For the anon who requested “the first time Blaine realizes he has submissive instincts”. First time D/S stuff. Very light. :)
The first time it happens he doesn’t even understand what “it” is, not really.
Kurt is straddled over him, kissing him, and they’re keeping their bodies carefully apart because that is what they do, because they agreed to take things slow. It’s nice; it’s so nice, to just kiss Kurt, taste Kurt’s mouth and tongue, to figure out the dozens of different ways that they can press their mouths together.
He sprawls, letting his arms out, letting them curl above his head and Kurt’s hands follow, tracing the softness of his inner arms all the way to his hands. He threads their fingers together and Blaine whimpers; he loves that, loves when Kurt’s hands find his. And then Kurt presses their hands down into the bed, almost aggressively, and kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him.
Summary: AU Soulmate verse. When you look into the mirror, you see only half of your face and body. The half other missing. As you grow older, you begin to see the other half, not as clear as your own face, but there. You can make out hair color, eyes, lips - but its not all there and quickly fades. But when you see your other half in person, you know it’s them. Then your reflection becomes clear: the two halves meet. Your soulmate. Klaine.
“But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life.” - Elizabeth Gilbert
Also inspired by Justin Timberlake’s “Mirrors”
‘Cause I don’t wanna lose you now
I’m lookin’ right at the other half of me
Kurt’s alarm goes off waking him from his dream and leaving him fumbling with his phone on the side table next to his bed. Once the sound has been silenced, he lays back, staring up at the ceiling as the details of his dream cling to his memory.
He’d been looking into his mirror, but he was whole. The details of his left side were suddenly clear as his right and he felt like everything was suddenly in place.
Everything was right.
They’re taking a break from trial number three when Charlie knocks on their door, clutching a carrier bag like it holds the secrets to the universe.
“Charlie?” Dean says, opening the door.
“You have to read this,” she says, barrelling past him. We really need a better security system, Dean thinks with a sigh, closing the door and turning around.
“No offence, but I don’t really have time for reading,” Dean says, rubbing his eyes. Cure a demon. It’s six in the morning and Sam’s still asleep, but Dean’s had a restless night. The tapes they watched play out over and over again in his head, Sam’s rattling cough forming constant, unwanted background music, and Cas - well, the less said about him, the better.
Charlie clearly doesn’t agree. “Where’s Castiel?”
“How should I know?” Dean says with a shrug. “Who ever knows what that asshole’s doing?”
Charlie turns and looks at him, her eyes growing wide and desperate. “Dean, read it.”
She pulls out the book and pushes it into his hands, and all he registers are the words ‘Carver Edlund’ before he drops it again.
“Nope,” he says easily.
“It’s really, really important,” she wheedles. “Please.”
“Whatever it was, Charlie, I was there for it. I don’t need to re-live it again.” Besides, he doesn’t want to. The memories of Sam going to Hell, of Sam losing his soul, of Cas betraying them all without a second thought- no, Dean can’t handle it. It nearly killed him the first time around; he’s sure as hell not trying it a second.
“That’s the thing,” she says. “It’s not written from your POV.”
“Your point of view,” Charlie says impatiently. “Most of the books are written from your perspective- this one isn’t.”
“Sam’s, then?” That’s hardly a big deal. From what Dean’s read, Carver likes to try and give them pretty equal representation. But Charlie’s shaking her head.
“No, it- would you just-!” she says in frustration, picking up the book and holding it out. Dean glares at her, but she holds his gaze, defiant. Finally, with a sigh, he admits defeat.
“Fine, whatever. I’ll read it.”
“Good,” Charlie says, sagging in relief as he takes the book from her. Turning it over in his hands, Dean looks down at the title.
“’The Man Who Would Be King’?”
Title: Say My Name
Characters: Inias, Samandriel
Spoiler/Warning: spoiler for 8x07, mentions of torture, unbeta’d
Disclaimer: If the angel family belonged to me I would spend a lot less time worrying about them.…
For the anons who requested animal hybrid/breeding.
Kurt is a human born as a breeder, capable of impregnating hybrid carriers. Blaine is a hybrid carrier, a canine male capable of being impregnated. He’s brought to a clinic to be bred as necessary—if hybrids don’t mate during their heat they can die—and Kurt is assigned to him, though he gets a lot more than he bargained for and finds himself instantly drawn to the young hybrid.
Warnings for: puppy!Blaine, hybrid sex, mating in heat, knotting and, obviously, barebacking. Kurt is 19 and Blaine is 16 if that’s an issue for you.
The breeding rooms always smell unpleasantly of the cheap, bought-in-bulk hybrid-friendly cleaner that the janitorial staff uses to sanitize the rooms in between visits. It’s made worse by the air freshener that they use to cover the antiseptic odor; the two combine to form an absolutely noxious scent that Kurt can never seem to get out of his clothes.
True be told, there’s very little about his job or his place of employment that he actively enjoys. There’s nothing to be said for the breeding program aside from the fact that it’s necessary; breeders like himself are genetically built to fertilize carriers and carriers, whether male or female, are genetically built to breed.
The only difference is that he can breed at will and has control over himself; the carriers, when they go into heat once a month, have to come to a clinic to be bred or their heat will either put them into a coma or kill them.
Blaine knocks on the door when no one answers even after he rings the doorbell twice, rapping his knuckles sharply against it. They said 5pm and it’s a little over that, and Blaine can’t imagine Santana being the kind of girl who goes for long walks with the cat while she looks after it, so she should be home.
He knocks again and there’s a loud yell of something in Spanish before he hears the sound of footsteps on the floor and then the door cracks open, Santana’s head peeking out at him.
“What do you want?”
“Hello to you too, Santana, dear, you look lovely today,” Blaine says and smiles brightly at her. “I’m here to get my cat.”
“Ours. Kurt’s.” Blaine waves his hand. “Fernandez. The tiny monster. You know what I mean.”
It’s after a week of Castiel sulking and generally being miserable that Dean slaps down a piece of a paper and a pen on the kitchen table in front of him.
Castiel stares uncomprehendingly at it a moment then peers up at Dean. “What’s this?”
“You think being human sucks so bad? Fine. I’m gonna show you just how awesome it is.” Dean’s voice is forcedly optimistic, and Castiel knows that it’s for his own sake and is grateful. “Write down the top 5 things you want to learn as a human, and I’ll teach you how to do them.”
“You’re not serious.”
“Yup, I am.” Dean’s eyes brighten and he grins. “Hey, I can be like your, uh, your human Yoda.”
This, Castiel thinks, cannot go well.
Sebastian is a successful, ‘anonymous’ blogger who writes cynical and dirty posts about the NY gay scene - it’s very Queer As Folk in the age of social media and in a bigger city. Kurt is the Lifestyle Editor at a small monthly publication that wants to give Sebastian a regular column.
Kurt and Sebastian meet after corresponding briefly online. Sebastian has, until this point, refused to attach his real name to his blog and is therefore less than thrilled when his hopes of anonymity are damaged by his past with Kurt. They eventually work out an arrangement where Sebastian will write for the magazine under a pseudonym, and Kurt agrees not to tell anyone who he really is.
After the initial meetings, their only contact is Sebastian sending in his copy for Kurt to edit. Kurt then sends back the document, heavy with modifications and snide comments.
This goes on. Sebastian’s column is a hit and the extra readership gives Kurt more budget.
Over the months, much to his horror, Kurt finds himself intrigued and impressed by Sebastian’s retellings of his adventures. He’s also drawn in by the level of insight Sebastian shows not only into strangers, but also into himself. There often a subtle theme of self-deprecating loneliness evident in Sebastian’s writing.