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lady-divine-writes · 6 years ago

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Klaine one-shot: “Fair Play” (Rated PG13)

Summary: Blaine has a crush on the head cheerleader from another school, so he does something kind of desperate to get his attention. Will pretending to be team captain for one game work out the way he hopes it will? (3244 words)

Notes: Okay, I'll admit I cheated on this one. It's another re-write. My brain is Swiss cheese, and it's been very difficult for me to think. But aside from that, as a person who has lived in the shadow of an older sibling who was always a few grades ahead of me, I have always been intrigued by the possibility of this dynamic between Blaine and Cooper. Plus, I love this story line. So, I hope you enjoy it. Dalton Blaine Anderson/Cheerio Kurt Hummel

Read on AO3.

“Please, Cooper?” Blaine begged, bearing down on his brother as the older boy tried to avoid him. “It’s just this one game.”

“I said no, Blaine!” Cooper veered toward the parking lot in hopes of losing his annoying sibling amidst the rows of cars. “You just made varsity this summer. You don’t have the stones to play team captain, even for one game!”

“It’s a scrimmage! No big deal!” Blaine whined, keeping pace with Cooper from one aisle of cars over. “Carter did it last year when his folks came down from Michigan!”

“They were getting a divorce.”

“Wes did it! And Jensen did it the year before that! It’s practically a Dalton tradition!”

Cooper shook his head in defiance, but Blaine was right. Hell, Cooper had tried it his sophomore year, trying to impress a girl from Crawford Country Day. The majority of boys who try to front as team captain do it to impress a girl. No harm in that. But Cooper swore as team captain he wouldn’t cave to ridiculous requests, and this one was about as ridiculous as they got.

“Why would you want to pretend to be captain of the lacrosse team for a lousy scrimmage anyway? There’s probably only going to be twelves of people in the stands. Leading the team to victory for this one? It’s not like it’s going to make you a lacrosse God or something.”

“I … have my reasons,” Blaine replied, his voice dropping.

“And I haven’t heard any of them. I mean, come on! You want me to go against one of my principle tenets of leadership and you won’t even tell me why? That’s not right, Squirt. We may be brothers, but we’re also teammates. And I thought we were friends.”

“We … we are friends! Coop, I …” Blaine cut himself off, waiting until he’d caught up with Cooper so he wouldn’t have to yell across the cars when he told him his secret. “It’s because … we’re playing against McKinley.”

“Yeah? So? They’ve only had a lacrosse team for about three years, and they suck. They suck hard. Why would you even want to …?” Cooper stopped short, a devilish grin overtaking his entire face. “Oh, I know what this is about!” He turned on his brother, jabbing his index finger accusingly at his chest. “It’s their head cheerleader, isn’t it? That guy … uh … Kevin! No, not Kevin. Kirk!”

“Kurt,” Blaine corrected, his voice going dreamy as he sighed the name. Cooper rolled his eyes. Oh God. It seemed that puberty had finally caught up to his little brother. It wouldn’t be any skin off Cooper’s nose to let Blaine do it. The odds of anyone in the stands knowing the difference was negligible at best. But he deliberated, searching his brain for a reason to say no. Blaine was his baby brother, after all. Cooper couldn’t let the guys on the team think he was doing him special favors because he was family.

But then Cooper realized, he couldn’t care less either way.

Let Blaine try to woo his cheerleader. Win or lose, this could be amusing to watch.

“Fine.” Cooper grabbed the shoulder of Blaine’s jersey and led his starry-eyed brother to the field. “But you know you’re going to owe me. Big time. This is my reputation on the line here.”

“It’s a scrimmage,” Blaine huffed, “against the worst team in the high school league. I would say that you owe me.”

Blaine followed Cooper to the Dalton side of the field. Spectators had started filling the stands, but huge gaps took up more space than actual bodies. Cooper was right. Barely anyone came to scrimmages, and the ones who did were killing time till later when the after parties would get underway.

Cooper motioned to the boys warming up and running drills on the grass. “Fall in, guys. Come on. Fall in, fall in,” he said, bringing his team in for a huddle. “Alright, gentlemen, we’re going to be changing things up for today’s scrimmage. In the grand tradition of Dalton boys who've ever wanted to bang an away team cheerleader, Blainey here” – Cooper put heavy hands on his brother’s shoulders and shook him like a rag doll – “will be taking over as team captain. Let’s try and make him look good. If he manages to get himself laid, drinks are on him.”

One boy bitched about nepotism being expressly against the Dalton Academy charter, but the rest of the team hollered, clapping Blaine on the shoulder and making suggestive remarks about the inadequacy of his ball and stick handling as they retreated to the locker rooms to suit up. They passed through the parking lot as the McKinley buses rolled onto the asphalt. Blaine dropped back, walking slowly and peeking over the cars to see if he could catch a glimpse of the cheerleaders’ bus. It was a long shot that the varsity cheerleaders would even be there. Sometimes only the JV cheerleaders accompanied the lacrosse team on away games.

The varsity Cheerios were National Champions, and the McKinley lacrosse team was that bad.

No need to send rock stars to cheer on a sinking ship.

The guys caught Blaine lagging and grabbed him. They surrounded him, dragging him through the parking lot, not giving him a chance for any further investigation.

“You … you jerks!” Blaine grunted, trying to pull away, but four boys had him, one on each limb, and that was enough to subdue him.

“Calm your tits, Anderson,” one of the seniors said. “Your cheerleader’s here.”

After that, Blaine gave up the struggle. That was all he needed to hear.

***

When the Dalton team came back out onto the field, geared up and ready to play, the McKinley team was already there, gathered in a huddle, talking over their plays. The cheerleaders had assembled on the sidelines, some of them stretching, some practicing cheers. In the middle, helping a junior cheerleader thread red and white ribbon curls into her high pony, stood Kurt. He looked as miraculous in his formfitting uniform today as he did the first time Blaine saw him, at their first Dalton/McKinley scrimmage, which took place at McKinley High last season. Ever since then, Blaine’s had been a long distance infatuation. He followed the cheerleading blogs, signed up for a fake student account on the McKinley website so he could view the team’s student access only webpage, and went to every cheerleading competition he could in order to cheer Kurt on. Blaine stalked Kurt on every form of social media, sending him anonymous messages on Tumblr and poking him on Facebook. And when Kurt’s boyfriend of two years broke up with him, Blaine ‘liked’ his Facebook status and silently cheered, hoping that this was the year he might get his chance.

Blaine had to come up with a gesture, something big to win Kurt over, but first, he had to make sure that Kurt knew he was alive. Being team captain was part one of that master plan. (There wasn’t really a part two. After Cooper’s initial ‘being a member of the Dalton lacrosse team is an honor and a privilege’ speech, where he outlined that under no circumstances would any player be receiving preferential treatment no matter who they were or how well they played, Blaine didn’t think he’d get this far.)

But it didn’t matter, since it didn’t seem to be doing the trick. Even when the Dalton team took to the field and the announcer went through the team roster, mentioning that Blaine would take the place of team captain for the scrimmage, Kurt barely looked his way, deeply embroiled in a discussion with two other cheerleaders over the correct way to land a round off-whip-double back handspring-layout, a move that Kurt demonstrated so effortlessly, so flawlessly, Blaine couldn’t keep his eyes off him.

Blaine didn’t know how much Kurt was paying attention during the actual game, but the opposing team figured out fairly early on that Blaine was distracted, and he became their main target - a critical failing of McKinley’s team. But the majority of their lacrosse team was made up of football players after McKinley’s ‘acting principal’ disbanded the football team in order to redistribute football funds to the cheerleading squad. No one knew the whole story. Most people assumed it was a joke. Regardless, the Dalton team readjusted their strategy, and it eventually worked to their advantage.

Blaine wanted to keep an eye on Kurt, to see if Kurt was watching him, or just to watch Kurt flip, which Blaine could do all day, but he had to keep his head in the game or he was going to make a bigger ass of himself than he had already. He only saw Kurt in snippets and side-glances, cheering for his team, one time performing a jump split that almost stopped Blaine in his tracks. The next time Blaine got a chance to look Kurt’s way, there was a guy standing beside him. Blaine didn’t know if Kurt knew the guy. He wasn’t wearing Dalton or McKinley colors. From what Blaine could tell, Kurt didn’t seem very comfortable around him. The boy introduced himself, and Kurt nodded politely. The boy talked to him, and Kurt took a few steps away. Then Kurt excused himself, going back to his bag for a water bottle, and while the other cheerleaders formed a pyramid, the boy grabbed Kurt. He put a hand over Kurt’s mouth and dragged him toward the bleachers. Dalton had control of the ball when Blaine saw, but whether they did or not, it only took him a second to decide what to do.

“Time out!” he screamed. “Time out! I’m calling a time out!”

“Dalton Academy has called for a time out,” the announcer said over the sound system, then continued to jabber on about how this was their first time out, what the score was, and yada-yada-yada. Blaine didn’t care. He’d stopped listening, zeroing in on the boy with his hands all over Kurt.

“Blaine!” he heard Cooper yell. “You can’t call a time out now!” but Blaine was already running across the grass towards the far bleachers.

The McKinley cheerleaders knew Blaine had a thing for Kurt. They’d been teasing Kurt about it for most of the game, which was why he had drifted away from the pack - to escape the persistent jokes for a while. When the giggling girls saw Blaine coming, face set as stone, eyes seething, they realized that Kurt wasn’t with them. They fanned out along the sidelines, looking for their missing captain. A brunette cheerleader found him and his attacker. She grabbed at the larger boy’s shoulders and shoved him. He stumbled forward, but didn’t let go. He had a firm hold on Kurt’s waist, and took Kurt down to the grass with him.

“Get off of me!” Kurt screamed, spinning around and getting in a right hook that made Blaine wince, both for the impact to the boy’s jaw and Kurt’s fist. “Let go of me!”

One of the other cheerleaders kicked the boy in the side while another tried to pry Kurt up, but the boy on the ground was too massive for any of it to be effective.

The people in the bleachers were too far away or too preoccupied to see the attack going on, but other players on the field began to take notice. One exceedingly tall boy (whom Blaine had heard referred to as ‘Frankenteen’ by one of his teammates) bellowed, “Kurt! Oh my God! Kurt!” from the field behind them.

“Hey! Butt wipe!” Blaine yelled, throwing down his stick. “Let him go!”

The boy on the ground looked past a fighting Kurt in his arms to Blaine standing over them and chuckled. “Or what, prep school?”

Blaine didn’t say. He simply walked up to the boy and planted his cleated heel into the boy’s crotch. The boy, wearing sweat pants, wailed in pain. He reached for his groin and Kurt took the opportunity to bolt from his arms.

“Or that,” Blaine said, more sadistic than smug, as he stood and waited for the boy to stand, or for an official, a coach, or a referee to come out and do something. Blaine could have left it at that. He could have walked Kurt away and let the officials take over, but then the boy on the ground sat up, and he had to open his big, dumb mouth.

“You can have the fucking slut,” he grumbled through gritted teeth. “He’s not worth it.”

That’s the moment when any shred of Blaine’s good judgment flew straight out the window and he slugged the boy in the nose with the force of seven years of boxing and three years of Dalton Fight Club behind it.

“Holy fuck!” the boy screamed, hands cupping his face, blood dribbling past his palms and down his chin.

Ironically, that’s when the adults took action. In about half-a-second after Blaine’s punch, the officials and the referees made a ruling.

“Acting team captain for Dalton Academy Blaine Anderson has been disqualified for un-sportsman-like behavior!”

The stadium roared, spectators from both sides who had witnessed the scuffle on their feet when the announcement was made. The McKinley cheerleaders rushed the officials’ box, both teams converged on the referees, everyone vying for a reversal of the call considering the circumstances. But Blaine knew it wouldn’t happen. He’d gone a step too far, and there was nothing he could do about it.

But he wasn’t going to apologize. No frickin’ way.

Blaine didn’t hear anything else. He didn’t look to see what was happening. He knew that Kurt was with his team and safe, and that was all that mattered. Aside from that, he didn’t want to be there anymore. He picked up his stick and walked off the sidelines, feeling the eyes of the school, the crowd, and Kurt, watch him go.

Blaine walked straight back to the locker room and started to undress. He packed his uniform in his gear bag, deciding he’d wait to take his shower at home. He didn’t want to stick around. He should probably just leave his gear there. He blew it this time. Not only did he not win the guy, he was going to get tossed from the team for sure.

And knowing his brother, he’d be hand-washing jock straps all weekend long to boot.

Somewhere between putting his sneakers on and starting to tighten them, he heard a throat cleared. He assumed it was Cooper, fresh off the field to mock him and tell him what for, rib him for throwing his high school lacrosse career away for a guy he didn’t even get. It would be dubbed ‘a classic Blaine maneuver’ from now on. Anyone who screwed up in anyway anyhow trying to get a date will be said to have pulled a Blaine.

And he had a whole year of hearing that to look forward to.

But Blaine didn’t have time to mope about that because he had bigger issues ahead. Without lacrosse, Blaine would have to search out other extracurriculars, like yearbook, or photography. Maybe stamp club was looking for a president, provided they were willing to have a loser of his caliber head their organization. But he needed something to pad his NYU application since lacrosse was off the table. The Warblers would be next after word got out. This isn’t a Warbler activity, but they have a morals clause. If he is caught displaying behavior unbefitting a Warbler at any time, he could be expelled.

Blaine had read the Warbler bylaws from cover to cover. Fighting was considered a one-strike offense.

He’d figure something out. He just didn’t want to figure it out now, and not with Cooper’s inevitable sarcastic excuse for help. Cooper was his only brother, so he should be sympathetic, but Blaine always got the feeling that Cooper thought he existed solely for his amusement.

“Look, Coop” - Blaine kept his head lowered as he tied his shoes so he wouldn’t have to see the I told you so grin on Cooper’s conceited face - “whatever you’re going to say, save it. I’m not in the mood for your crap.”

“I was going to say thank you.”

Blaine’s eyes snapped up. It wasn’t Cooper … thank God! Blaine smiled, surprised to see Kurt standing in the doorway. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Kurt said, stepping into the locker room. He had his red-and-white cheer duffle thrown over his shoulder, and he favored his right hand, which was wrapped in an Ace bandage. “I wanted to talk to you, but you left so quickly.”

“Being disqualified will do that to you.” Blaine tried to sound bitter but failed with this handsome cheerleader’s beautiful blue eyes gazing at him with admiration.

“They’re still discussing that, actually. The game’s a wash, but after all the people who rushed the field to vouch for you, you might get off with a warning.”

“Yeah?” Blaine felt relieved, not that helping Kurt wasn’t worth getting disqualified over. It totally was, but it was nice to know that so many people went to bat for him … which probably meant Cooper did, too.

Shoot. Now he owed him two.

“I just came by to … I wanted to … you know, thank you, for coming to my rescue.”

“You’re welcome.” Blaine let himself feel hopeful, but not too carried away. “But you don’t have to thank me. That guy was an ass. He got what he deserved.”

“And then some.” Kurt chuckled, thinking back on the boy lying in the grass with his hands over his nose, blood pouring out like a geyser.

“No.” Blaine stood and took a step up to Kurt with anger simmering behind his eyes. “No, he got exactly what he deserved. No less.”

Kurt bit his lower lip and nodded, taken back by Blaine’s conviction.

“Anyway,” Kurt said, “I thought that maybe since you forfeited a scrimmage to help me out, I might introduce myself. You know, properly.”

“Uh, sure. Okay.” Blaine held his right hand out for Kurt to shake, mildly uncomfortable now that the time had come for him to tell the truth. “I’m Blaine Anderson. I begged my brother Cooper to let me be captain for the scrimmage so that maybe you would notice me.”

“And it worked.” Kurt reached for Blaine’s hand, but at the sight of the bandage, he switched, shaking Blaine’s hand awkwardly with his left. “I’m Kurt Hummel. I spent the last hour or so watching you get your ass handed to you, and I wanted to know if maybe you’d consider getting coffee with me?”

“Don’t you have to go back with your bus?” Blaine asked, mentally kicking himself right after for not saying the words, “Yes! I’d love to!” instead.

“Well, I am head cheerleader,” Kurt said, rocking back and forth on nervous feet. “I can pretty much do whatever I want.”

Blaine liked the sound of that, since doing whatever he wanted might include dating a member of an opposing team.

“Yeah,” Blaine said, tossing the last of his stuff into his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Good,” Kurt said, taking Blaine’s arm when he offered it. “I didn’t want to think you were stalking me on Facebook because you were some run-of-the-mill creeper.”

#klaine fanfiction #klaine fic #klaine #frankie writes

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cvrnewsdirectindia · 6 years ago

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Ginger Baker dead: Cream drummer dies, aged 80

Ginger Baker, the legendary drummer and co-founder of rock band Cream, has died at the age of 80.

Last month, the musician’s family announced he was critically ill in hospital, but no further details of his illness were disclosed.

On Sunday morning, a tweet on his official Twitter account stated: “We are very sad to say that Ginger has passed away peacefully in hospital this morning. Thank you to everyone for your kind words over the past weeks.”

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Baker had suffered from a number of health issues in recent years. He underwent open heart surgery in 2016 and was forced to cancel a tour with his band Air Force after being diagnosed with “serious heart problems”.

The drummer, who is widely considered to be one of the most innovative and influential drummers in rock music, co-founded Cream in 1966 with Eric Clapton and Jack Bruce. The band released three albums before splitting in 1968, after which he formed the short-lived band Blind Faith with Clapton, Steve Winwood and Ric Grech. A fourth Cream album was released after the band disbanded.

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44/61 Michael Sleggs

Michael Sleggs, who appeared as Slugs in hit BBC Three sitcom This Country, died from heart failure on 9 July, 2019, aged 33.

BBC

45/61 Rutger Hauer

Dutch actor Rutger Hauer famously played replicant Roy Batty in Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner. As Batty, he delivered the iconic “tears in the rain” monologue. Hauer died on 19 July, 2019 aged 75.

TIZIANA FABI/AFP/Getty Images

46/61 Paula Williamson

Actor Paula Williamson, who starred in Coronation Street and married criminal Charles Bronson, was found dead on 29 July, 2019.

Getty

47/61 David Berman

David Berman, frontman of Silver Jews and Purple Mountains, died by suicide on 7 August, 2019, aged 52.

MediaPunch/REX

48/61 Peter Fonda

Peter Fonda died of respiratory failure due to lung cancer on 16 August, 2019. aged 79, his family said. He was the co-writer and star of counterculture classic Easy Rider (1969).

49/61 Ben Unwin

Home and Away star Ben Unwin was found dead aged 41 on 14 August, according to New South Wales Police. He starred as ‘bad boy’ Jesse McGregor on the popular Australian soap between 1996-2000, and then 2002-2005 before switching to a career in law

Getty

50/61 Franco Columbu

Italian bodybuilder, who appeared in The Terminator, The Running Man and Conan the Barbarian, died on 30 August, 2019, aged 78. The former Mr Olympia enjoyed a successful career as a boxer and was best friends with Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Getty Images

51/61 Kylie Rae Harris

The country singer died in a car crash on 4 September, 2019, at the age of 30. Harris, of Wylie, Texas, she was scheduled to perform at a music festival in New Mexico the next day.

YouTube / Kylie Rae Harris

52/61 LaShawn Daniels

Songwriter and producer LaShawn Daniels died 4 September aged 41. He was best known for his collaborations with producer Darkchild, and had songwriting credits on a number of pop and R&B classics by artists including Beyonce, Destiny’s Child, Janet and Michael Jackson, Lady Gaga, Brandy and Whitney Houston.

Rex

53/61 Carol Lynley

The actor, best known for her role as Nonnie the cruise liner singer in The Poseidon Adventure, died on 3 September at the age of 77.

Dove/Daily Express/Getty Images

54/61 Jimmy Johnson

Jimmy Johnson, revered session guitarist and co-founder of the Muscle Shoals Sound Studios, died 5 September 2019, aged 76.

55/61 John Wesley

John Wesley, the actor who played Dr Hoover on The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, died in September 2019 aged 72 of complications stemming from multiple myeloma, according to his family. His other acting credits included Baywatch as well as the the 1992 buddy cop comedy film ‘Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot’.

YouTube / Warner Bros Domestic Television Distribution

56/61 Daniel Johnston

Influential lo-fi musician Daniel Johnston died in September 2019 following a heart attack, according to The Austin Chronicle. His body of work includes the celebrated 1983 album ‘Hi, How Are You’.

ALAIN JOCARD/AFP/Getty Images

57/61 Ric Ocasek

Ric Ocasek, frontman of new wave rock band The Cars, died 15 September at the age of 75.

Ocasek was pronounced dead after police were alerted to an unresponsive male at a Manhattan townhouse. A cause of death has yet to be confirmed, though The Daily Beast reports that an NYPD official said Ocasek appeared to have died from “natural causes”.

Ocasek found fame as the lead singer of The Cars, who were integral in the birth of the new wave movement and had hits including “Drive”, “Good Times Roll” and “My Best Friend’s Girl”.

Astrid Stawiarz/Getty Images for Netflix

58/61 Suzanne Whang

The former host turned narrator of HGTV’s House Hunters died on 17 September. She was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2006 and initially recovered, until the disease returned in October 2018.

Rodin Eckenroth/Getty Images

59/61 Robert Hunter

The lyricist, who’s behind some of the Grateful Dead’s finest songs, died on 23 September at the age of 78. His best known Grateful Dead songs include ‘Cumberland Blues,’ ‘It Must Have Been the Roses,’ and ‘Terrapin Station’.

Larry Busacca/Getty Images for Songwriters Hall Of Fame

60/61 Linda Porter

Linda Porter, best known for her role as elderly supermarket employee Myrtle on the US sitcom Superstore, died 25 September after a long battle with cancer. She also appeared in series including Twin Peaks, The Mindy Project, ER and The X-Files

Tyler Golden/NBC

61/61 Ginger Baker

Ginger Baker, the legendary drummer and co-founder of rock band Cream, died at the age of 80 on Sunday 6 October after being critically ill in hospital. The musician co-founded Cream in 1966 with Eric Clapton and Jack Bruce.

Alamy

1/61 Dean Ford

Getty

2/61 Pegi Young

A singer, songwriter, environmentalist, educator and philanthropist, she was also married to Neil Young for 36 years. She died of cancer on 1 January, aged 66, in Mountain View, California.

Getty

3/61 Daryl Dragon

Getty Images

4/61 Darius Perkins

The actor was best known for playing the original Scott Robinson on Neighbours when the show launched in 1985 on Australia’s Channel Seven. Perkins died from cancer on 2 January, aged 54

Ten

5/61 Bob Einstein

HBO/Kobal/REX/Shutterstock

6/61 Carol Channing

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7/61 Mary Oliver

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8/61 Windsor Davies

Getty

9/61 Jonas Mekas

Chuck Close

10/61 Diana Athill

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11/61 Michel Legrand

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12/61 James Ingram

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13/61 Dick Miller

Warner Bros

14/61 Jeremy Hardy

Rex

15/61 Clive Swift

Rex

16/61 Julie Adams

Rex

17/61 Albert Finney

Getty

18/61 Peter Tork

GETTY IMAGES

19/61 Mark Hollis

20/61 Andy Anderson

Musician Andy Anderson, former drummer for The Cure and Iggy Pop, died aged 68 from terminal cancer, after a long and successful career as a session musician

Alex Pym/Facebook

21/61 Lisa Sheridan

Getty Images

22/61 Janice Freeman

Getty Images for COTA

23/61 Keith Flint

Flint quickly became one of the figureheads of British electronic music during the Nineties as a singer in the band The Prodigy. He died, aged 49, on 4 March.

EPA

24/61 Luke Perry

AFP/Getty Images

25/61 Jed Allan

Rex Features

26/61 Hal Blaine

Getty

27/61 Pat Laffan

28/61 Mike Thalassitis

Mike Thalassitis was a semi-professional footballer before finding fame on the third season of Love Island. He died aged 26.

Rex Features

29/61 Dick Dale

Getty

30/61 Bernie Tormé

YouTube

31/61 Andre Williams

YouTube

32/61 Scott Walker

Rex

33/61 Agnès Varda

AFP/Getty

34/61 Tania Mallet

Model and Bond girl Tania Mallet died on 30 March, aged 77. She earned her only credited acting role opposite Sean Connery in 1964 film Goldfinger, playing Tilly Masterson.

United Artists

35/61 Boon Gould (right)

One of the founding members of Level 42, Boon Gould, died on 1 March, aged 64. He was a guitarist and saxophone player.

Rex Features

36/61 Freddie Starr

Rex

37/61 Peggy Lipton

Twin Peaks star Peggy Lipton died of cancer, aged 72 on 11 May.

38/61 Doris Day

Doris Day became Hollywood’s biggest female star by the early 1960s starring in Calamity Jane, Pillow Talk and Caprice to name a few. Day died on 15 May after a serious bout of pneumonia.

Rex

39/61 Andrew Hall

Photo by ITV/REX

40/61 Carmine Cardini

Paramount Pictures

41/61 Leon Redbone

Photo by Chris Capstick/REX

42/61 Cameron Boyce

Disney Channel star Cameron Boyce died in his sleep on 6 July, aged 20. His family later confirmed the actor, who appeared in Jessie and descendants, had epilepsy.

Getty

43/61 Rip Torn

Rip Torn, the film, TV and theatre actor, died on 9 July, 2019, aged 88. His career spanned seven decades.

AFP/GETTY

44/61 Michael Sleggs

Michael Sleggs, who appeared as Slugs in hit BBC Three sitcom This Country, died from heart failure on 9 July, 2019, aged 33.

BBC

45/61 Rutger Hauer

Dutch actor Rutger Hauer famously played replicant Roy Batty in Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner. As Batty, he delivered the iconic “tears in the rain” monologue. Hauer died on 19 July, 2019 aged 75.

TIZIANA FABI/AFP/Getty Images

46/61 Paula Williamson

Actor Paula Williamson, who starred in Coronation Street and married criminal Charles Bronson, was found dead on 29 July, 2019.

Getty

47/61 David Berman

David Berman, frontman of Silver Jews and Purple Mountains, died by suicide on 7 August, 2019, aged 52.

MediaPunch/REX

48/61 Peter Fonda

Peter Fonda died of respiratory failure due to lung cancer on 16 August, 2019. aged 79, his family said. He was the co-writer and star of counterculture classic Easy Rider (1969).

49/61 Ben Unwin

Getty

50/61 Franco Columbu

Getty Images

51/61 Kylie Rae Harris

The country singer died in a car crash on 4 September, 2019, at the age of 30. Harris, of Wylie, Texas, she was scheduled to perform at a music festival in New Mexico the next day.

YouTube / Kylie Rae Harris

52/61 LaShawn Daniels

Rex

53/61 Carol Lynley

The actor, best known for her role as Nonnie the cruise liner singer in The Poseidon Adventure, died on 3 September at the age of 77.

Dove/Daily Express/Getty Images

54/61 Jimmy Johnson

Jimmy Johnson, revered session guitarist and co-founder of the Muscle Shoals Sound Studios, died 5 September 2019, aged 76.

55/61 John Wesley

YouTube / Warner Bros Domestic Television Distribution

56/61 Daniel Johnston

ALAIN JOCARD/AFP/Getty Images

57/61 Ric Ocasek

Ric Ocasek, frontman of new wave rock band The Cars, died 15 September at the age of 75.

Ocasek found fame as the lead singer of The Cars, who were integral in the birth of the new wave movement and had hits including “Drive”, “Good Times Roll” and “My Best Friend’s Girl”.

Astrid Stawiarz/Getty Images for Netflix

58/61 Suzanne Whang

The former host turned narrator of HGTV’s House Hunters died on 17 September. She was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2006 and initially recovered, until the disease returned in October 2018.

Rodin Eckenroth/Getty Images

59/61 Robert Hunter

Larry Busacca/Getty Images for Songwriters Hall Of Fame

60/61 Linda Porter

Tyler Golden/NBC

61/61 Ginger Baker

Alamy

Baker was named number three on Rolling Stone’s 100 Greatest Drummers of All Time list, and is the subject of the documentary Beware of Mr. Baker.

“Gifted with immense talent, and cursed with a temper to match, Ginger Baker combined jazz training with a powerful polyrhythmic style in the world’s first, and best, power trio,” said the Rolling Stone article. “The London-born drummer introduced showmanship to the rock world with double-kick virtuosity and extended solos.”

Lewisham-born Baker was known for being a mercurial and argumentative figure, whose temper frequently led to on-stage punch-ups.

His father, a bricklayer, was killed in the Second World War in 1943, and Baker was brought up in near poverty by his mother. He joined a local gang in his teens and when he tried to quit, gang members attacked him with a razor.

Baker suffered from heroin addiction, which he acquired as a jazz drummer in the London clubs of the late 1950s and early 1960s. He once told The Guardian he came off heroin “something like 29 times”.

Tributes for the drummer have been pouring in on Twitter.

Paul McCartney called Baker a “wild and lovely guy”, writing: “We worked together on the ‘Band on the Run‘ album in his ARC Studio, Lagos, Nigeria. Sad to hear that he died but the memories never will.”

Baby Driver director Edgar Wright wrote: “RIP the music giant that was Ginger Baker. The beat behind too many favourite songs from Cream, The Graham Bond Organisation and Alexis Korner’s Blues Incorporated.”

Rock journalist Mark Paytress tweeted: “Like Hendrix, Ginger Baker was a name synonymous w/ early days rock. Once you heard him play, saw pics & footage, he seemed to embody the music’s power, the culture’s adventure. Spending a day w/ him in 2014 magnified it all. Lost a big one this morning.”

Slipknot’s Jay Weinberg simply wrote: “Thank you Ginger Baker.”

from CVR News Direct https://cvrnewsdirect.com/ginger-baker-dead-cream-drummer-dies-aged-80/

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evermorelayouts · 4 years ago

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hiii can you do some taylor + blaine anderson (glee) layouts? i love your blog so much you’re really talented <3

done xx and thank you so much, it really means a lot to hear this after all these years here :’) ❣

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wingedfabray · 7 years ago

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More Than Memory || Quinnter

Tagging: Hunter Clarington & Quinn Fabray When: Thursday, Nov. 30th, 2017 Where: Notos Towers What: Hunter & Quinn finally talk about their first hurdle as an old married couple October 31st. Warnings: Blood, disturbing imagery.

Quinn stepped quietly through the halls of Notos Towers. It looked like Hunter, elegant, high class. The last time she’d been to Notos, she’d inched at drunk over champagne and breakups. She hoped this visit was decidedly different. In her hands was a brown take-out box, steam drifting lazily through the cracks. Her magic circle spun overhead slowly, and she did her best to focus on walking and heating. It was easier than focusing on Hunter, on a dark room almost a month ago; on pale skin against hospital pillows, or how as she approached his door, there was an uncomfortable tingle at the back of her head, phantom and distant. The smell of coffee mascarpone made her stomach churn, but she knocked anyway.

Hunter Clarington had to admit now that the sound of timid knocking was echoing through his ears that he didn't expect Ms. Quinn Fabray to show. There was such a great distance, and Hunter had not expected her to close it so soon. Perhaps it was a shorter time in his head. It had been a month almost to the day, but his days had been so short, never occupied by much but small decisions over the ongoings of the Oasis and playing chess against himself. As he opened the door, his senses were bombarded by luxury, and his eyes did admittedly fall to the take out box before the garnered the courage to meet Quinn's. "You remembered," He laughed, more breath than bass, "Thank you. Please, come in. Coffee? Tea?"

Quinn didn’t mean to, but she felt her foot scuff backwards against the thin hallway carpeting. It made a tiny zzzip, and her breath stalled. It didn’t actually put any distance between them, he was still just on the other side of the door, and she was still left willing herself to move forward, praying he hadn’t noticed. Hadn’t heard the subconscious retreat. She hid the lapse with a huffed release of breath, “Of course I remember.” She offered, breezing by him into the room. The layout was similar to that of another room in Notos, a room that felt much farther away, and somehow more comfortable. She paused just past the doorway, with more space between them than before. Her gaze drifted down and up, taking him in but never quite meeting his eyes. “Coffee sounds lovely, actually. And it’ll go well with your crepes.”

Hunter Clarington was grateful to have a task to busy his hands with. It was clear from her hurried entrance and averted gaze that it really hadn't been all that long, there was still quite a bit of settling to be done, and pleasantries weren't on the menu. He took a lovely painted mug from his cupboard and filled it with the steaming coffee, before setting it on a silver tray alongside a small dish with sugar and a small saucer with milk. Very carefully, so as not to spill a drop, he set it on the coffee table in front of the sitting area and sat himself down on the other side of it. "It's been a little busier, without Achilles here. He had moments of being a true oaf, but I do find myself missing him now and again." He confessed, pointlessly, plating some crepes, "The candles were... I used them. They keep the hospital wing cold. Thank you."

Quinn watched Hunter move around silently, only sitting once he’d placed the coffee in the sitting room. She remembered similar mugs from home, how her father never drank his coffee without a plate to catch any drops, lest it damage the their cherry wood coffee table. He had his black; Quinn carefully added two scoops of sugar and a splash of milk, stirring slowly. The spoon bumped against the glass jarringly once, twice, and she had to steady herself as she set it down. Finally, she looked up to Hunter, really looked at him. There was a distance between them that spanned farther than just the coffee table. “I’m glad they helped, Hunter. They were meant for healing and comfort, much like the spell I–“ She caught herself, remembering rotted floorboards, and a place where “peace” spoken in angelic tones seemed haltingly out of place. “I’m glad they helped. Where has Achilles gone?”

Hunter Clarington drank his coffee black. It had become a habit, in the last few months. He used to be very specific about the sweetening of his coffee, but he didn't care so much anymore. It was surprising, and wasn't at the same time. He felt like his father in a way he hadn't before. He felt like his father, sitting on the opposite side of the table from Cressida. They had a much larger table at home. It was a comfort, to think of the distance between them as common, but it was a comfort he knew he hadn't earned. "To the Amazon. To help with the construction of the facilities at The Oasis." He answered, studying the tremor of the spoon against porcelain, "Why did you come?" He asked, somewhat abrupt but very gentle. "I'm glad you came, but..."

Quinn wasn’t surprised that Hunter largely skipped the small talk, with very little to ease them into something much harder. She took it in stride, lifting her chin with a deep breath, taking a sip of the steaming coffee. Why was she here? It was too soon, but it felt too late. Too many answers fought against each other in her mind, some more honest than others. For a moment, she thought of the first time she’d left campus with Hunter Clarington. The man sitting in front of her seemed so far away from the one who’d taken her arm in his, charming and seemingly carefree. She wasn’t sure if that was a physical difference, or rather her own perception of him having seen past the glossy, static image of him in Lineage. She set her glass down gently, her posture softening. “I wanted to be here.” She started, before looking up. “I wanted to see that you were okay. And…I don’t know what you’ve been through, or what you’ve been telling yourself, but I wanted you to see that I’m okay, too.”

Hunter Clarington felt a very small smile play on the corners of his lips. He wasn't sure if it was born out of amusal or sadness, but it died in disbelief. If she wanted to show him that she was okay, why wasn't he seeing it? Was it a matter of his projection of his adopted wrongdoing onto her, or were his eyes undeceiving after all? "The Romans swore that the earth was the center of all things for millennia, even after they were proven otherwise, they swore that the earth was the center of all things and the sun revolved around it. Because when Galileo showed them the truth, he misplaced the Heavens. Suddenly, they didn't know where it was. They lost God. And they didn't know where He was. All because of some stupid scientist with a boner for the actual truth." He chuckled, mostly to himself, knowing it was too crude, "I spoke with Elliott Gilbert while I was in the hospital. Sometimes I think I... my family, and I... might be wrong about some things. So what do I do? If I tell you the earth revolves around the sun, do you still want to be here? Am I still Hunter Clarington?"

Quinn took a moment to listen, really listen, to what Hunter had to say. Despite the message, the insecurity that seemed to hide behind the words, she can’t quite quell the smile that tugs at the corners of her lips. It’s so incredibly Hunter. Not the Lineage photo, or the man who sat at the dinner table next to Judge Clarington. It’s just Hunter. “Galileo is seen as an innovator, posthumously lauded for seeing the world for what it was, and being brave enough to declare it so, despite opposition from the most powerful institution of the time.” Quinn started, meeting Hunter’s eyes for the first time since she’d left that room a month ago. They were green, not black. She looked away once more. Trying to answer far too many questions with one statement, she simply said “I’m here, and you’re every bit Hunter Henry Clarington.”

Hunter Clarington mouth dropped open, just a little. He had been solved by Quinn Fabray. It had seemed such a difficult dilemma before, but in these terms... well, it made sense. It was staggering. Galileo... posthumously lauded... bravery, institutions. Oh. He almost had to laugh that he had asked at all, although he knew that he was too quick to forget how Galileo suffered, the wretched and expelled. "Henry sounds so young," was all he said, for a moment, allowing a smile, "Maybe I'll be Henrik from now on. Or..." He trailed, fading, and his eyebrows furrowed together, "You really do care about me."

Quinn bit back on a ‘we are young,’ as it so often didn’t feel like it. But if she thought about it, she’d grown up at fourteen, and who was to say Hunter was any different? They knew their worlds all to well. She sat back against the soft cushions of the chair, legs crossed, hands working against each other in her lap. “I do.” She said on a breath, as though it had been held in, releasing in a soft rush. “I have cared about you, and I will continue to care as long as you’ll allow.” She sat up once more, pulling a breath in, one hand picking up the coffee more as a distraction than out of actual necessity. “This…I’m going to need time, Hunter. But I need you to know that I care, and you – you have given me no reason not to.”

Hunter Clarington hummed, staring into his mug. I do. Those were words. Those were dangerous words. He mused over them for several moments, half absorbed in breakfast, half watching Quinn fidget. "But my face has," He whispered, and bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. Stupid Halloween. He used to enjoy the holiday. Well, he used to enjoy most things. Blaine Anderson, for example. He used to enjoy his house, being waited on hand and foot. He used to enjoy that the earth was the center of all things that had been and were to be. He used to enjoy poetic rambling. And now he grew sick of the voice inside his head. "You don't think you'll always think of him when you see..." He gestured a hand over his face, and quickly rubbed the other hand over his mouth.

Quinn had managed to avoid looking directly at Hunter Clarington for the majority of their conversation. But his voice made her look. It’s just a whisper, but it carries. For the first time in a month, she really, truly looks at Hunter’s face; not just a brief glimpse as she set down a tray of candles, or as she walked through the door. She can still see it; his eyes are sunken and black, blood drips from a gauging wound on his head, his lips are set in a smile that makes her skin crawl. She can hear his voice shouting, feel the tug at the back of her head. Her breath catches, and her eyes squeeze shut, but the image isn’t real, it’s just an illusion, and it lives even after she’s closed her eyes against it. When she opens them again, it’s just Hunter; his eyes are green, and his hand is over his mouth. He looks indescribably haunted. “I don’t know.” She answers honestly. “But I know the difference between something you chose to do, and something you were forced to do. And I think that makes all the difference. I’ll just need time, and–“ She meets his eyes, holding his gaze for a moment before inevitably looking down to her coffee once more. “And to take…contact slow.”

Hunter Clarington has to clench his jaw when he watches her struggle. He knows the wrong thing to do is to send his chair flying backward, smash his coffee mug down against the wooden floor in a fit of frustrated rage. So, instead, he just clenches his jaw, and his hands come up to his face with his fingers interlocked, pressed part against his mouth right beneath his nose. Aether damned Halloween. He tried to just have a nice night out with some different friends, he did, he tried to keep himself out of trouble, but - "I understand," He nodded, swallowing hard, "Surely today you could accept some lunch. To-go, if you'd like. I know it's early. And perhaps a month from now, we could... I mean, I don't know if you should ever like t..." It didn't matter, "Well, not that any of that is important right now. Obviously, take your time."

Quinn sighed, a soft exhale that seems to take all of her energy with it. There was a time when she was nothing short of completely composed around Hunter, the picture of Bloodline grace. History, and NYADA, seemed to have a way of taking things like grace from her. She straightened, pulling herself from memories and madness. “I could accept lunch, and it doesn’t have to be to go.” She looked up, tired of feeling small and scared. It was just Hunter. “We’ve had this experience together, now we’ll work through it. It’s our first honest hurdle.” She pursed her lips, drawing another breath in, “And please, don’t feel as though you have to wait another month to contact me. I’m here.”

Hunter Clarington had to prevent himself from cracking a smile. Their first honest hurdle. They sounded like an old married couple, and they weren't even an old married couple yet. They would be. They would likely be. Thinking about it almost made Hunter shiver, but then again, most things about the New York winter made Hunter shiver. Whatever he did, he knew he didn't want to pity her, because she didn't want his pity. In his experience, Bloodlines didn't accept pity as a part of their lexicons as a rule. So, he leaned over the small coffee table and kissed her cheek - quickly, though not a smack, and as he didn't care to dwell on her reaction, stood and went to the kitchen to continue preparing the lunch in the oven. "Chicken or fish?"

Quinn wasn’t expecting the quick kiss on her cheek, so brief she didn’t have time to overthink it, to imagine something that wasn’t and recoil. As it was, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes against the twisting feeling in her chest, and said “Chicken” in the most even voice she could manage. Time, they just needed time. If they could get through this, then they would probably have all the time in the world. "Thank you, Hunter."

#paras #p: more than memory #tw: blood #tw: disturbing imagery

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louaylorstuff · 5 years ago

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blaine anderson icons.

♡ 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 or 𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀 if you save.

♡ follow me.

♡ request are open.

#icons #icons with psd #soft icons #glee layout #glee icons #glee #klaine #blaine anderson #blaine and kurt #blaine anderson icons

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miss-rosen · 8 years ago

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THE ARMORY SHOW 2017 | THE ROUND UP Miss Rosen for Crave Online

The 2017 edition of The Armory Show was a tremendous success, a testament to the vision of returning director Benjamin Genocchio for his second year. Taking a fresh approach to a traditional, somewhat stale format, Genocchio too the proverbial bull by the horns this year, doing away with the contemporary/modern division that has come to define previous editions of the fair. With the addition of new windows to allow in more light, wider aisles, and more spacious booths, the new layout has an open, luxurious feeling that gives it a more leisurely feel.

With a number of galleries showing single-artist booths, the result was a cohesive presentation of the crème de la crème in the art world. The VIP preview was packed with collectors and celebrities, including Sofia Coppola, Anderson Cooper, John McEnroe, Larry Warsh, Don Rubell, and Marty Margulies, among many others.

Read the Full Story at Crave Online

Artwork: Jonas Burgert, Anfrass (2017). Courtesy The Artist and Blain|Southern Photo: Lepkowski Studios

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evermorelayouts · 7 years ago

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I'm going to say some characters because I really don't mind which of them is on the layout, there's rachel berry, Brittany s pierce, Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel, Quinn fabray, santana lopez ♡

okay, that was helpful! haha hope you like them xx

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lady-divine-writes · 8 years ago

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Klaine fic - “All the Beautiful Pieces” (Rated NC17)

Blaine Anderson is spending the summer after graduation flipping houses with his brother for Cooper’s total home renovation show. The show features the worst houses Cooper can buy, with Blaine playing the role of lackey so that Cooper can torture him in front of his viewers. The last house Blaine has to renovate is an original Victorian House in San Diego, CA, which is in terrible condition. But this house turns out to be more than just another job. It was once owned by a famous Vaudeville ventriloquist by the name of Andrew Smythe. It houses a very interesting collection of items - among them, two life-sized puppets. Blaine isn’t sure exactly why, but he’s drawn to them - especially to the one with the beautiful blue eyes. He convinces Cooper to give him the puppets, and Blaine starts to restore them. In the course of the restoration, Blaine finds out that neither puppet is simply a run-of-the-mill puppet, and Andrew Smythe was hiding a secret that will be the key to saving two lives.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 4 (4432 words)

Blaine doesn’t go to bed when he leaves the puppets and locks himself in his room. He’s waited too long to take a shower. He can feel the bacteria crawling across his skin. He walks straight to his private bathroom, turns the shower to hot, and stands beneath the spray, not even flinching when the scorching water beats down on his skin. He wants to shut his mind off and put the day to rest. He hopes that the hot water, practically burning him, turning his skin red and splotchy where it touches, will give him something else to think about, but, as it turns out, it isn’t enough to erase all of the unnerving weirdness he experienced.

When the day had started, Blaine was ready to go through the motions of filming another house for his brother, and being humiliated before a live Internet audience. He had put on his favorite music to get into the right mindset, and had chosen his clothes carefully, building up his armor from the inside out. He had looked forward to the end of it, when all he had to do was come home and work out the finer details.

That seemed like ages ago.

Now that that day was over and a new one beginning (he hates to admit it, but one look at the time on his phone before he stepped into the bathroom proves that it’s true), he is stuck trying to resolve a multitude of feelings at war within him. In his living room are two puppets – one of which he is starting to have unorthodox feelings for, and another he believes wants to hurt him.

Blaine laughs out loud when that thought enters his head.

He can picture himself in a few years, bouncing from his brother’s terrible renovation show to TLC’s My Strange Addiction. His story can probably top that guy who admitted to having a sexual relationship with his car.

Blaine adjusts the water temperature to a less lethal level before third-degree burns can set in. He leans his forehead against the cool, damp tile, and closes his eyes, trying to imagine himself in a make-shift studio confessional, sitting on a red chintz sofa in front of a brown, sponge-painted wall, explaining how this demented relationship started – how he gave away his dreams of going to NYADA and becoming a performer on stage and screen because he fell in love with a puppet he found in the basement of a foreclosed house.

But the tail end of a dry laugh dies on his lips when he sees those eyes again – shimmering blue eyes that darken with desire as they gaze up at him through long, chestnut-colored lashes. Quivering pink lips whisper his name over and over like a chant. He can hear the voice in his head as clear as he can hear the shower water pattering against the tile.

Blaine…Blaine…

Blaine visualizes himself kissing those lips, claiming them for his own. They part for him, surrender to him. Beneath Blaine’s fingertips, unbelievably soft skin trembles at his touch – impossibly smooth skin…almost like porcelain.

Blaine hears himself moan. He feels his cock twitch, and his eyes pop open. He looks down at himself, and freezes with revulsion.

It isn’t the daydream that bothers him. It’s feeling his hands creep down his chest, heading toward an uninvited erection, that makes Blaine begin to feel creepy and pathetic.

In a last minute attempt to rectify the situation, he switches over to his go-to masturbatory fantasy, starring Adam Levine wearing a whole lot of leather, but it doesn’t work.

The battle lost, he turns off the hot water completely and lets the cold water take a turn at torturing him. He pounds the tile with his fist and grits his teeth, watching his boner die a painful, frigid death. When he has cooled off entirely, and those blue eyes no longer appear when he closes his eyes, he shuts off the shower and steps out of the tub.

His eyelids hang heavily over his bleary eyes, and he figures falling asleep will be simple at this point. He’ll close his eyes, and his sleep-starved body will simply drag him under. He gets dressed in a heather grey t-shirt and plaid sleep pants, and climbs into bed. He pulls his comforter up around his shoulders, all the way to his neck, tucking himself in tight. He feels so warm and cozy. The next few hours of sleep promise to feel so damn good. But the moment his head touches his pillow, he catches an unexpected second wind…then a third…and a fourth.

Blaine stretches out on his stomach, his arms crossed beneath his pillow. He closes his eyes, but a second later, he opens them and flips on to his back, crossing his arms over his chest. His head sinks deep into his pillow, but not in the way that he wants. He flips over again, this time on to his side, his head resting on his hands, but that’s no good either. He growls through clenched teeth, voicing his frustration to the darkness.

But there’s no one to hear; no one to help.

His body is exhausted beyond compare but his mind is infuriatingly wide awake. If he can only find a comfortable spot, his brain might get the hint and switch off. He twists and turns, at one point switching ends entirely, laying with his head where his feet should be, which feels so unnatural it actually turns out to be a step backward. Regardless of what position he tries, one thing stays the same - he keeps his eyes glued to his locked bedroom door.

This is ridiculous, he berates himself. He tries to exhaust himself by focusing on inane things. His eyes sweep his room and the few things in it – an Ikea desk, with a lamp and his laptop on it; a three-drawer dresser with only the first two drawers filled; the door to his closet; the door to the bathroom; and the bunk bed he’s sleeping in, with a full size mattress on the bottom, and a twin size bunk positioned perpendicularly above him. Blaine hasn’t slept in this room in forever. The Gargoyles and Sonic the Hedgehog posters on the wall attest to how long it’s been. But in the last few weeks that he’s been here, it’s begun to feel like home.

He likes the independence. He likes doing things for himself. He likes feeling competent.

But he doesn’t like being alone.

He sweeps his eyes back around, stopping on the clock radio on his desk.

3:59 A.M.

Blaine rolls his eyes and groans when he sees the time. It can’t possibly that early in the morning. He hasn’t even closed his eyes yet! He flicks his gaze over to the clock again, just to be sure.

4:00 A.M.

“Ugh!”

Blaine thrashes out, pounding his fists on the mattress and kicking his legs until his blanket tumbles off on to the floor.

“Fuck!”

Blaine isn’t normally a fan of cursing, but this particular bout of insomnia seems to warrant at least one four-letter obscenity. Today is going to be a big day, and he doesn’t need to spend it stumbling around like a zombie.

He suddenly thinks about what happened in the basement – the arc of lightning, the visions, the disembodied voices in his head. He hears a noise he’s certain came from the living room, and his eyelids fly open, no longer heavy.

Okay, maybe zombie isn’t the best comparison he could have thought up.

Maybe he is being ridiculous about all this, but recognizing that isn’t going to calm his mind enough to let him sleep. He stops fighting and lies awake, staring at his door, waiting for the dawn. While he does, Blaine lets his brain wander off on tangents of its own, touring the Victorian house in his mind. It astonishes him that he has so much of the layout memorized. Blaine thought for sure he’d end up have nightmares about that room in the basement, but his thoughts keep returning to the upstairs bedrooms.

He does his best to ignore the room with the broken picture frames and focuses on the other two rooms – rooms created for two completely different young men in a house that both celebrates and mourns childhood. Piles of toys and filth down below, memories crusted over by time, while upstairs, everything is immaculate - polished brass doorknobs, a Little League jersey mounted under glass, that exquisite suit hung up in the closet, the vintage sewing machine that probably works perfectly.

And that man with the sad eyes.

The same man who has already popped up in two unbidden fantasies.

A man who is unlike anyone Blaine has ever seen.

A man that Blaine needs to see again.

Blaine sighs. He’s never going to get to sleep this way, so he might as well start the day. He climbs out of bed, grumbling under his breath as he scoots off the mattress and puts his feet on the floor. He picks his blanket up from where it landed at the foot of his bed, shoves his pillow underneath his arm, and trundles off to the living room. He reaches the bedroom door and stops, halted by the dark wood, which reminds him of the green-eyed puppet. His heart speeds up, his hand hovering over the doorknob, intrusive thoughts filling his head. He doesn’t know what he’ll find in the living room. What if something he brought back from the house has moved on its own? Specifically, what if the green-eyed puppet has moved off the loveseat? What if it’s not in the living room?

What if it’s found the knives in the kitchen?

“They’re just ordinary puppets, Blaine,” he grumbles, knowing deep down inside that’s a lie. He’s not entirely ruling out the idea that he came in contact with some biological hallucinogenic inside that Victorian house, but those puppets are far from ordinary. He bites his tongue and unlocks the door, opening it and walking out into the living room in the same nonchalant way he would if he didn’t have possibly supernatural puppets lying around. He tries not to pay too much attention to them. He can see from the corner of his eye that the puppet pieces are right where he left them, the green-eyed puppet on the loveseat and the blue-eyed puppet on the sofa, but with one tiny exception. He had gone off to bed with them facing each other, but now, the blue-eyed puppet’s head seems to have turned away.

Blaine makes a point of not noting that detail. Maybe the two puppets weren’t facing each other when he went to bed. Or maybe something completely plausible happened that could have caused the puppet’s head to move. It could be a side effect of his walking heavily across the floor, or the porcelain head settling into the couch cushion, or a minor Southern California tremor that he didn’t notice.

There. Three normal, reasonable, and in no way supernatural, possibilities.

Blaine lays out his blanket and pillow on the floor beside the sofa, ignoring the feeling of eyes on his person, knowing rationally that this is all part of some strange, acquired phobia left over from being trapped in that depressing house all day long.

He walks over to the dining room table and finds the photo album. He picks it up and turns back to his blanket, jumping when he catches the green eyes of the wooden puppet glowing eerily in the light streaming in from outside. He chuckles at getting spooked, putting a hand to his speeding heart, but then furrows his brow in confusion…and stops laughing. The puppet had been looking straight at the sofa a second before, but now its eyes are staring directly at him. They can’t be following him, Blaine thinks logically, but the way they’re painted, they seem to. It’s the same phenomenon people experience with velvet paintings of Jesus…or Elvis.

Silly or not, he’s never going to be comfortable in here with those eyes staring in his direction.

Blaine puts down the album and pulls off his t-shirt, laying it over the wooden puppet’s head and tucking the fabric around it. He starts to feel physically lighter with the off-putting face and eyes covered. He makes his way back to the blanket, album in hand. He lies down on his stomach with his pillow shoved beneath his chest and the album flat in front of him. He flips open the cover and turns to the first page - a soft, black, rectangular sheet of aging paper that bends in the middle with the weight of the photograph on the other side. He turns it over and sees a single picture, beside which are the ghosts of spaces where others had been but had fallen out over time when the glue that held them to the pages disintegrated. This first photo is a black and white image of a beautiful young woman, smiling at the camera while holding a swaddled, sleeping newborn baby in her arms. The picture on the page opposite is of the same woman, sitting in a chair with an older baby on her lap. He turns the page again, and again, but the next two sets of pages are devoid of photographs. He flips ahead and finds a place in the album where some of the lost photos had been stuck into the spine.

He plucks the first photograph out and there he is – the young man with the blue eyes. He’s younger in this picture than the man in the suit that Blaine saw, but there’s no mistaking the curve of his mouth, the delicate slope of his nose, or his hair, styled high in the front, probably making him a whole three inches taller than his natural height. On a whim, Blaine flips the picture over. In the bottom right hand corner, written on the diagonal in fading pencil are the words: Kurt – age 14.

Blaine squints at the handwriting. It seems oddly familiar. It’s sloppy and rough - all edges and few curves - like symbols more than actual letters.

“Kurt,” Blaine says aloud. He turns to the puppet lying on the couch. With his head settled in its current position, the puppet’s one eye seems to look straight at Blaine. Blaine smiles up at him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kurt.”

Blaine replaces the photo and pulls out another one. It’s 14-year-old Kurt again, standing beside an older gentleman. The older man has an arm draped across Kurt’s shoulder. He’s smiling at Kurt proudly while Kurt beams at the camera. Blaine turns the photo over, curious as to the identity of the older man, but all that’s written there are the words Me and Kurt.

“Must be his dad,” Blaine mutters, putting this second photograph back beside the first and grabbing another.

There are two young men in this one. They look remarkably similar, but Blaine finds Kurt right away. This Kurt is slightly older, but still not the age of the Kurt he saw in the suit. Blaine’s gaze shifts to the man standing beside him. His eyes go wide.

Could it be?

He holds the picture close to his nose, angling it toward the light to get a better look.

Oh my…

Blaine’s eyes snap up for a second in the direction of the lump on the loveseat, covered by his grey t-shirt. Blaine flips the photo over. On this one also, at the bottom, are words scrawled in faded pencil.

Kurt – age 16

Sebastian – age 17

The green-eyed puppet finally has a name.

Sebastian.

Blaine peers at the picture, a swirl of jealousy pooling in his stomach at these two men standing side by side. Not that Blaine should feel jealous, he reminds himself. They were probably brothers. Blaine examines Sebastian closely, trying to pinpoint the familial resemblance.

Sebastian was handsome; Blaine will give him that. This photograph gives Blaine the impression that Sebastian was excessively proud. He’s standing straight and tall in way that’s looks like he’s trying to prove he’s taller than Kurt, which he was, but only by about an inch. A mischievous smirk pulls at his lips, almost as if he’s mocking Blaine…or whoever was behind the camera’s viewfinder. But Blaine has a suspicion that his demeanor might have been something of a front. He gets a sense from this photograph that underneath that cocky visage lies deep discontentment. It’s visible in the rigid set of his shoulders, and his jaw clenched too tight. It’s reflected in his eyes, where his smile doesn’t quite reach, and the way he holds his hands balled into fists at his side.

Blaine looks over at the puppet’s head covered by his shirt one more time.

“Sebastian.” He says the name out loud, letting it fill his mouth, feeling it roll off his tongue. “It’s nice to meet you, too,” Blaine calls out, feeling immediately stupid for doing so.

Blaine flips through the remaining pages. There are a couple more pictures of the woman, this time with a child standing beside her instead of on her lap, but the other photos are mostly the same - Kurt and Sebastian photographed together at different ages, or the two young men photographed with the older man. In each of those photographs, Blaine can’t help but notice how the older man always seemed to have his body turned towards Kurt, smiling at him as if he were the center of the universe, while Sebastian stood off to the side, somewhat out of the shot. Blaine takes his finger and gently traces a line between Sebastian and the older man. Yes, if Blaine takes a pair of scissors, he can cut Sebastian out of the photograph, and not a speck of him would remain.

Blaine doesn’t want to sympathize with Sebastian, but he can’t help it. His heart hurts for the young man.

Blaine yawns, covering his mouth with his hand and squeezing his eyes shut. He turns on his side to look up at the puppet Kurt.

“You two could have been friends,” Cooper’s voice echoes in Blaine’s head.

“We could have been friends,” Blaine repeats, staring at Kurt’s face, yawning again. “That would have been nice.”

His mind walks through the bedroom that must have been Kurt’s, with the sewing machine and the dress form, and those opera posters hanging on the walls. If Kurt were alive today, they could go to musicals together, watch old movies, or talk about fashion. Blaine has a lot of good friends back home in Ohio, but he’s always felt like there was something missing, something that didn’t mesh. Something about himself that he didn’t quite have in common with everyone else, even if, in general, they liked the same things. He always thought that that one thing was the fact that he was the only out gay guy at school, but he’s not convinced.

Maybe Kurt could have been that missing puzzle piece.

Blaine reaches out a finger and gently traces the line of Kurt’s mouth. How close to the real Kurt’s mouth is this one? he wonders. How close did the puppet master who made him get the blue of his eyes? Or the peach of his skin? Blaine gazes into Kurt’s face, planning on letting this jumble of thoughts, daydreams, and questions carry him through the final hours until he has to leave in the morning.

***

Blaine watches Kurt’s legs swing lightly against the square granite headstone he’s perched on.

“Do you really think it could work out for them?” Kurt asks hopefully, his eyes turning back toward the screen. “Do you think they can fall in love and live happily ever after?”

“I don’t see why not,” Blaine answers, tossing a piece of popcorn in his mouth. “Stranger things have happened.” Kurt turns to Blaine; Blaine gives him a wink, and a teasing smile.

Kurt looks at the bag of popcorn in Blaine’s hand. He licks his lips with the memory of it, but he doesn’t take a piece.

“Have you” - Kurt bites his lip as best he can, the move looking natural even though, for him, it’s not - “have you ever been in love?”

Blaine stops chewing his popcorn and swallows hard.

“Once,” Blaine admits, looking down at his shoes in the grass, his cheeks coloring, though Kurt can’t see the change in the dark.

“Ah,” Kurt says, nodding and turning away. “What happened? How did it end?”

Blaine chuckles a bit, his focus shifting from his shoes back up to the screen.

“It hasn’t ended yet,” Blaine says, placing another piece of popcorn in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. He watches the two lovers on the screen embrace, and then dares a glance in Kurt’s direction.

Kurt is staring at him, his mouth dropped open, his eyes wide. Blaine laughs at the startled look on his face. Blaine places a kiss on his own index finger, then presses that finger to Kurt’s lips. He curls his fingers beneath Kurt’s chin and closes his mouth.

“You shouldn’t sit with your mouth open like that,” Blaine says. “You’ll catch flies.”

***

Blaine wakes up to the sun warming his cheek and a faraway buzzing, like the incessant drone of a gnat, niggling in his ears. He blinks his sluggish eyelids open and looks confusedly around, having forgotten for a second that he was lying on the floor in the living room and not in his bed. He sees the bright sunlight streaming in through the curtains. He sees the dining room table laden with tools. He sees the green-eyed puppet – Sebastian – staring at him.

Blaine’s eyes pop open and he sits up straight.

Sebastian’s painted green eyes are staring down at him, the grey shirt that had been covering his head pooled on the floor.

Blaine does his best to recall earlier when he had gotten spooked, and all of the reasons he thought up to explain away these puppets’ odd “behaviors”.

“Southern California…earthquakes…tremors…nothing else going on at all,” Blaine mumbles, staring straight into the puppet’s eyes as if challenging him to prove Blaine wrong.

Blaine stares at the Sebastian puppet for a solid, uncomfortable minute, but it doesn’t move.

Still uneasy, Blaine stands and backs away towards his room, eager to turn off his obnoxious alarm and get a few more Zzzz’s. He slams his hand down on the alarm button, then checks the time.

9:15 A.M.

He brings a hand up to his face and rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“9:15…” he says out loud, wondering why that time in particular bothers him. He raises his arms over his head and stretches, hearing the vertebrae in his back crack one at a time. “9:15…” he says again, twisting back and forth. “9:15…” He stops stretching and smacks his forehead with his hand. “9:15!” he yells when he remembers. “I was supposed to meet Gary at the house at 9!”

Blaine shoves all thoughts of Sebastian’s puppet head aside and tosses on the first outfit within reach – a pair of dark wash jeans, a red bowtie, and a slate blue button down shirt with teddy bear heads on it.

He didn’t originally intend on wearing that shirt, but it seems appropriate.

He slips on his shoes and grabs his webcam, his Bluetooth, and his cell phone, a sinking feeling growing in his gut when he sees the message alert. Blaine decides to tear off the Band-Aid quickly and check them. There are already seven text messages from Gary and a missed call from Cooper (probably wondering when Blaine is going to get his ass rolling). There’s no live feed planned for today. Blaine is just recording the general goings on, which gives him some freedom to work without playing to an audience.

It also means that he won’t louse anything up too much if he’s, oh, an hour late.

He slips his Bluetooth into his ear and dials Cooper back while he grabs his various keys.

“Blainers,” Cooper’s voice greets him after half a ring.

That’s not good.

“Hey, Coop,” Blaine says, fighting to get the words out around a yawn.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Cooper scolds. “You sound exhausted. Long night tinkering with your puppets, Dr. Strangelove?”

“Not at all. I was busy working on the plans for your house,” Blaine lies.

“Right,” Cooper responds with a touch of skepticism. “Well, it’s a good thing I trust you and your artistic vision.”

“Yeah, good thing,” Blaine says wryly. He makes his way back to the living room while he talks to his brother, but he’s distracted by Kurt, by Sebastian, by beginning his day late, and he just wants to end this call as painlessly as possible. “Look, I’m heading out to the house now to meet Gary. I’ll call you when I get there.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Cooper says. There’s a pause, a tense silence filling the space where Cooper would otherwise disconnect the call, like he wants to say something. Blaine is about to ask if there’s anything else on his mind, but then the line goes dead.

Blaine shrugs it off. Cooper isn’t shy about his feelings. If he has something to say, he’ll say it eventually. Blaine heads to the front door, but he finds himself stalling - backtracking to his bedroom, to the bathroom, to the dining room table, double checking for things he knows he has. He shouldn’t feel guilty, but he does - not because he thinks Cooper knows that he didn’t do any of the things he was supposed to last night when he got back to the beach house.

He doesn’t want to leave Kurt alone again.

Sebastian, too, he guesses. Blaine might have strange, irrational ideas about Sebastian not liking him, but he’s broken, too. He was locked down in that basement room in the dark along with Kurt for all those years.

Nobody deserves that.

Blaine paces back and forth while he thinks, trying to find a solution so he feels comfortable leaving. He finally turns on the TV, switching the channel to AMC.

It’s not the same as human company, but at least it won’t be quiet.

He takes one last look at the puppets and walks out the door.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” he says as an afterthought, and then leaves, locking up the house and heading to his minivan.

#klaine fanfiction #klaine fic #klaine #frankie writes

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