#blam fics

[lifegrowsfromashes]

Scar stares up at the moon, from where he lays down in his bed. Grian’s across from him, muttering into the darkness, laying on top of the covers and tucking his head into his wings.

The air smells like dirt.

He thinks of the past day. Of the shouting. He wonders whether Grian will talk to him tomorrow.

He didn’t mean to lose a life. he never does, but something always happens. Grian knows he’s not as strong as the other hermits, but he still refuses to recognise it, and always expects more from Scar than he’s able to give. It was once they’d gotten to the desert that his face became harder, that something began to set behind his eyes.

He sighs. The perfectly arranged checkerboard of stars stare back at him, silent. Grian’s snoring, but just a little. He wonders if avians usually snore.

Scar breathes in the smell of their dirt house, and wonders whether he’ll be able to make it up to him.

He was joking around, when it happened. The sand was getting into his armour and he felt creaky all over. He’d known it was getting to Grian, but hadn’t realised the extent of his annoyance. Communication was… never a strong point.

They had started getting snappy with each other, at about midday. Scar’s limbs were aching, and he needed to rest, but Grian kept talking about how there were no torches around here and if they stopped now, they’d get eaten alive. And Scar didn’t want to think about that, so he tried to tell a joke, and Grian went all tense and funny, and said, through gritted teeth, ‘you’re seriously making a joke right now?’ and he didn’t have time to see the creeper coming up from behind him.

Something had hardened in Grian’s eyes. The urgency when he told him to run. The enchanted shine of his diamond sword coming out of its hilt.

Scar hadn’t realised. The sand had slowed down his reflexes. Once he turned around to fight, he only heard a hiss, and then- white.

The funny thing about dying here was that you didn’t feel the pain, specifically. It’s more, like, God, this should hurt. But nothing comes. Just a choice, to keep going, or to leave. 

Scar hated the artificiality of it. Death always felt so- unreal. For some players, it was the end of everything, but to him, it was more of a reminder. A taunt. He knew he'd never last long enough to escape its clutches.

When he came back, he felt lighter. Emptier. Something, some intangible thing, had withered his soul, a little. He looked up at where his nametag resided to see it was a sickly yellow. And then, coming over the dune of sand- Grian. Sat there, in the crevice the creeper had made, sorting his belongings into a chest.

Grian’s fists were curled tightly over the lump of gold in his hands. The totem. The totem Grian had told him, over and over, to use in an emergency, to keep by him at all times. The totem Scar had stored in a shulker.

Scar did his best to pick everything up off the floor, and to sort it all out into his inventory, But Grian had such a tight hold on that totem of undying, and when Scar asked for it back, Grian’s eyes began to shine with tears. And then he started shouting. 

It was all the usual things. Scar didn’t react fast enough, Scar couldn’t pull his weight, Grian was always picking up the slack, and why couldn’t he last longer than five minutes? And didn’t he know he’s only got three chances, and he’s already down to two? 

Scar got pretty good at taking it. The thing was, he knew the reason why. the real reason. 

Grian hated watching him die.

But he’d never say that. Instead they were trapped in this loop of Scar messing up, and Grian exploding, and him doing everything, everything he could, to fix it.

Usually, Mumbo would be the one to sort out their differences. Mumbo would tell them somthing to calm him down, something easy, about their explosive personalities. 

Scar wonders where he is, now. After the Warden had appeared, anyone who was able to survive that first attack had ran as far as they could. They hadn’t heard anything for the other Hermits for- well, it had been too long to tell.

Scar turns over to face Grian again. He looks so peaceful when he slept. There's still that fire, though, behind his eyes, the memory of his voice scorching Scar’s ears. But, as Mumbo said, that was how you knew he cared. Scar knew he cared. He just wishes he could show it in a way that was less… aggressive. He feels like the only way he could find out how Grian really felt about something was through fighting. And, God, he's so tired of fighting.

[doyelikehaggis]

7 Days of Scarepairs: Blam | Blaine Anderson x Sam Evans (Glee) + “Vampire”

Requested by Anonymous

"I have to compel you. If anyone found out-"

Sam stared back at him, his eyes as big as saucers. "Who would believe me? I don't even think I believe me."

"Trust me," Blaine said gravely, "plenty of people around here would believe you, and that wouldn't end well. For anyone. It's not just me."

Sam got out of his chair. "Wait, there are others? Like, here? In Lima?"

Reluctantly, Blaine nodded. He knew shouldn't be telling him any of this. It was too much of a risk. He should compel him now, like Mr Schue told him to.

But then he caught a glimpse of Sam's face. He was grinning from ear-to-ear as he sank back into the chair and shook his head. He looked up at him.

"This is so cool."

"It's really not," Blaine tried to protest.

"Dude, you're a freaking vampire!" He glanced around them, his face taking on a more serious look as Blaine motioned for him to keep his voice down. "Sorry. It's just... I don't understand. You're this awesome, supernatural being with awesome powers. You're like a superhero."

Every disadvantage and negative side to it rolled right back down Blaine's throat. His mouth quirked and Sam's grin widened.

"I guess, in a way..." he said, his brow furrowing. "Wait, you like superheroes?"

"Are you kidding? I love them," Sam said with barely contained excitement but, to his credit, he managed to keep control of his volume. His eyes grew impossibly wider and he was out of his chair again, standing in front of him. "Could I be your human sidekick?!"

The answer to that question should, undoubtedly, be a resounding no. Letting him keep his memories was bad enough. But actually involving him in any of it? Mr Schue would never let it slide.

He opened his mouth to shoot him down, but... he just couldn't bring himself to do it. The truth was, it was a pretty lonely existence. He'd only been a vampire for two years, but he barely had anyone to talk to anymore. His parents didn't want to know him. It was better they forgot about him entirely and went on pretending he had actually died that night.

Even his brother was better off like that.

Sure, he had a few friends at Dalton, and they knew what it was like, but... he was still really lonely. They had all gotten used to in their own ways, but he never could. Mr Schue was always telling him he couldn't have human blood because of the ripper gene, so he couldn't exactly tag along with David and Jeff when would sneak out.

He never even talked to Kurt about it because he thought it might freak him out too much, with all the history between witches and vampires, and now he wasn't even there anymore anyway.

He felt completely alone, even in his own world.

But here was Sam, looking at him like he was the coolest person he had ever met. Asking to be his friend. He wasn't afraid of him or what he might do, not like everyone back at Dalton or Mr Schue.

"I'm sorry." He sighed as Sam's face fell. "It's too dangerous. I need to make you forget all of this."

Sam pressed his lips together and nodded. "Can I just ask one thing? Don't take everything away."

Blaine opened his mouth, already shaking his head, but Sam lifted his eyes to him, freezing him to the spot with his next words.

"Leave the part where we met today."

Sam took a deep breath and nodded one more time, letting him know he was ready, even if he wasn't really. And he wasn't the only one.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't make him forget.

Worse than that: he didn't want to.

[madroxed]

CALIFORNIA IN THE SPRING [ glee ∙ sam/blaine ∙ 13k ]

If he's honest, Sam expected Kurt and Blaine's inevitable divorce to shake continents. It's almost sadder that it just fizzled and died without a closing Act. [Years after they last spoke, Blaine moves in with Sam.] @AO3.

a/n: written for the wonderful @thinkof-england as part of the @fandomtrumpshate 2024 auction. set several years post show.

[lusthurts]

desperately trying to find a way to make the blamtina friendship canon to the how bright we burn universe

[cyrus-badman]

I've got a little scene from my loft AU for you guys!!! Hope you like it!!

Game night

Over the last two months, Kurt, Rachel, Santana, Blaine, and Sam have fallen into an unintentional yet rigid routine of sorts.

Mondays are the quiet, stay-in nights. On these days, everyone is tired from the day, still decompressing after the hard shift from weekend to work or school.

On Tuesdays, the five of them all go out together, either to Callbacks―the karaoke bar Rachel was so eager to introduce them all to, frequented by all of her NYADA friends, Brody included (Sam likes Brody; he’s nice, he’s hot, and they both understand what it’s like to compromise yourself for money)―or just out to dinner for a nice evening. Typically, they opt for the former, though that inevitably morphs into Rachel Berry Diva Hour, wherein the diva competes with herself for Best Bar Performance of All Time™ and “allows” everyone else to participate by being her “adoring audience of loving fans”. One time, Rachel and Kurt dragged them all to yet another Broadway show, though Sam can’t remember its title. He was reluctant at first―he has this thing where he pretends to hate all musical theater, and he’s pretty sure Blaine has to resist the urge to throttle him every time he does it; Sam wouldn’t worry too much about that, though, as Blaine looks adorable when he’s pretending to be upset with him―but after the show, he was vibrating in place, and even engaged in an enthusiastic conversation with Rachel―Sam is still surprised that that ever happened anytime he thinks about it―wherein the two of them practically talked over each other in all their excitement.

Wednesdays are movie nights. It’s a little unconventional, but in their case, they have other plans for the last day of the work week. Every Wednesday, the five of them (sometimes six, if Sebastian is over) alternate between who gets to pick the film. Most often, this results in a rom-com from Kurt, a Broadway classic as Rachel’s choice (Funny Girl more times than not), a superhero movie for both Blaine and Sam and some obscure indie film about feminism and “hot bitches” as Santana’s pick.

On Thursdays, Blaine and Sam typically have the loft to themselves because Santana takes late shifts at the Spotlight Diner, Rachel’s Funny Girl rehearsals run until seven on those days, and Kurt goes out somewhere with Sebastian (now that Sam thinks about it, there’s probably a reason for that―one that starts with B and ends with lam). Sam loves Thursdays for that reason. His and Blaine’s constant presence at the Hummelpezberry loft is a nuisance to their three friends, a fact that encourages them to stop by more often than they normally would, which is already a lot.

That means that Fridays are reserved for game nights. It wasn't intentional at first, and it's not like they've always done it. In fact, Kurt once mentioned that he, Rachel, and Santana had never had game nights before Blaine and Sam’s arrival in New York.

But one Friday a couple of months ago, the five of them were in the parlor, watching yet another of Rachel’s guilty pleasure films, when the power suddenly flickered out. It was late August, the rain was raging outside, and the electricity in Bushwick really wasn't that reliable―it still isn't, one of the many reasons Blaine and Sam picked an apartment just outside of the neighborhood―so naturally, they were bathed in darkness for the unforeseeable future. Of course, that was, until Blaine pulled out flashlights and lanterns and Rachel lit candles. Sam always used to roll his eyes when people gave each other candles as gifts, but at that moment, his opinion shifted―man, those candles sure smelled good, almost as good as his boyfriend and his raspberry hair gel.

So, of course, someone―probably Blaine, because of course it was Blaine―busted out a stack of games that had no business being in an adult household (“Who even put these in here?!” Rachel had demanded, followed by the evil cackle of Santana). They started with Uno, but that soon morphed into Sorry! and then Monopoly. It had devolved quickly into Rachel accusing Santana of stacking the deck in Uno (“HOW?!” Santana had cackled, flinging cards like throwing stars). It was fun and allowed them to spend quality time together where they could talk and interact. The week after, they’d been debating their next movie choice when Sam suggested they play another game because it had been a fun, pleasant experience the week before. Santana griped and grumbled, but ultimately, she was out-voted as Rachel jumped in glee (heehee) at Sam’s request.

When Sebastian started becoming a regular face at the Hummelpezberrys (a term coined by Sam for Kurt, Rachel, and Santana’s apartment), he would join in on their group activities, and soon enough, it became a thing. And Sam loves game nights; he savors the moments when they can all just disconnect from the electronics and enjoy each other’s company.

In high school, his family couldn't afford luxuries like game consoles and cell phones, so they’d spent a lot of time making memories, telling jokes, and just generally having fun as a family. Game nights were a regular occurrence, too, and Sam thinks it’s nice to “go back to his roots,” in a way.

This week is different.

Normally, Blaine and Sam pair up for team games automatically, and Sebastian forces Kurt to be his partner, leaving Rachel and Santana as the third, reluctant duo. Game nights like these usually consist of Rachel and Santana bickering endlessly about the most mundane aspects of the game (because Rachel insists on following the rules and apparently, Santana doesn’t see the logic in that), Sebastian self-sabotaging his and Kurt’s team with the royal goal of annoying Kurt (an objective he reaches every time), and Blaine slipping into Sam’s lap, which leads them to make out indiscreetly and quite loudly. By the end of the evening, Blaine is always a giggling mess in Sam’s lap, Kurt’s glaring daggers in Sebastian’s direction, and Santana is making fun of everyone while tossing popcorn at her friends. This is all while Rachel paces in the corner because she’s an OCD subject, and not only is there popcorn scattered on the floor, but the pieces of what used to resemble a game of charades are strewn about on the couch, under the coffee table, and―somehow―in the doorway to the kitchen. The chaos is fun, Sam argues, and Rachel turns her murderous stare on him.

...

Tonight, the volume of the apartment hit a maximum before the games even began. The plan is to play charades, a setup that Blaine happily complies with, adjusting the game pieces on the coffee table with that cute, irresistible grin of his. Just like last week, and the week before that, Blaine is wearing another of Sam’s sweatshirts, the sleeves drowning him. The neckline of the sweatshirt hangs off Blaine’s smaller frame loosely, exposing his pale, olive-colored collarbone. Sam tries not to drool, pushing the fresh swarm of memories from the sight to the back of his mind. It’s game night. He’s gotta stay locked in.

Before Blaine and Sam can even exchange more than one glance―yes, they're always partners, it's an unspoken agreement―Kurt clinks his wine glass, drawing everyone’s attention. “Teams, everyone,” he announces, wine glass and hourglass in hand. He scans the group solemnly like he’s about to make a crucial battle strategy assessment. “This time, we’re being strategic.”

Already hyped up on her third glass of wine, Rachel whirls on the only couple in the room, exclaiming, “Yes! We have to be strategic. Samuel and Blaine can’t be on the same team again! We don’t need a repeat of last week.”

“Why not?” Blaine asks, bottom lip protruding in a dramatic pout. Sam leans back into the cushiony couch, urging Blaine to relax further into him. The brunette is leaning against Sam’s chest, his dark, curly hair tousled from where Sam’s fingers have been carding through it, Sam’s sweatshirt now hanging off one shoulder. Sam can’t help but soak up the warmth of his boyfriend against his body. Blaine’s head is tucked beneath the blonde’s chin, his dark curls tickling Sam’s jaw with their soft whispers. For a moment, it’s entirely too easy to forget the madness around them and slip into the bliss that wraps around him and Blaine.

Rachel narrows her eyes, glaring, a passionate fire burning in her gaze. The look is scathing on its own. “Because you never actually play, Blaine. You get distracted!” Her eyes pointedly flick to Sam at that.

“By what?” Blaine prods again, batting his lashes with faux innocence. His hand snakes up to rest a tad too high on Sam’s thigh.

“That.” She jabs a finger at the brunette, then at his blond boyfriend. “That’s what.”

Trying to suppress a laugh but failing miserably, Sam tucks Blaine further into his side. Blaine grins and tilts his head up to kiss Sam’s cheek. As he pulls back to rest his head on his boyfriend’s shoulders, his smile turns soft. “Can’t help it,” he explains, shrugging.

Properly ruining the moment, Rachel’s voice cuts through the romantic haze. “Well, you’re not on the same team tonight,” she declares, voice firm. “You’re with Kurt.”

The boy in question jerks his head around to gape at her, practically choking on his wine. “What?!” he shrieks. “Rachel, no! You know I can’t―”

“Too late,” the short girl interrupts, cutting off whatever inevitably rude and offensive comment Kurt was about to make. She herds Blaine over to Kurt’s side of the room. Blaine’s ex sighs exaggeratedly but protests no further, shooting Blaine a glare that clearly screams don’t ruin this for me. Blaine just shrugs and smiles innocently in response.

Turning back to Sam, Rachel grabs the blonde’s arm with surprising strength. “You’re with me. We’re going to win this.” And then all of a sudden, she’s pinching him―which really hurts, by the way―while Kurt whisks Blaine away. Sam’s not too sure how he feels about that; yes, he knows Blaine is completely, one hundred percent over Kurt and head-over-heels for him, but still, the insecurity lingers. Blaine and Kurt were together for a long time. Blaine used to insist that they were soulmates. The fear is justified in Sam’s mind.

Sam blinks at Rachel, who is still pinching Sam’s arm (This is abuse, Sam thinks distantly). She announces yet again that Sam is her partner, which he never agreed to, but oh, well. He can feel Blaine’s puppy-dog eyes burning a hole in his skin. But Sam can’t exactly do anything about it, so he merely shrugs helplessly. “Sorry, B. Rules are rules.”

A loud snort reminds them all that Santana is still here and banking on a win tonight. “Oh, this is gonna be good.” She turns to Sebastian, leaning against the kitchen counter and tossing back popcorn like he’s watching a soap opera: prime entertainment. “What do you say, Smythe? You and me?”

She doesn't even have to ask. The boy in question is already smirking as he replies, “Obviously. Let’s ruin their lives.”

Apparently, Kurt and Rachel didn't think this through all the way. Sam can see both of them pale instantly when they turn to the Latina and her counterpart. Santana and Sebastian are wearing matching evil grins, and Sam knows he should probably feel dread pooling in his gut right about now, but he really doesn’t. Tonight is guaranteed to be even more chaotic than last week, and that’s a plus in Sam’s book.

He can understand her concerns, though. With Tana and Seb working together, it’s surely possible that no one will win this game. Either that or one of them will end up rage-quitting and/or flipping the board game over. The mental image of Santana Lopez and Sebastian Smythe overturning a table is apparently so hilarious that it deserves an outward reaction; Sam barks out a laugh when he pictures it, and everyone turns to stare at him like he’s crazy―well, Rachel does. Santana appears unsurprised, Kurt just looks exasperated, Sebastian’s amused, and Blaine rolls his eyes fondly and curls into Sam’s chest. The blonde wraps an arm around his boyfriend’s waist and drops a kiss into his dark curls. He loves Blaine’s natural hair and spends every waking moment making sure Blaine knows it.

Sam supposes it wouldn't be the end of the world if they were on opposing teams for one game of charades. In fact, that might even make it easier to win; Blaine is terrible at this game, whereas Sam has been working on his impressions for years and finds it quite easy to translate voices into body language, hand gestures, and expressions.

Seemingly, Rachel has been trying to argue against the Sebtana duo for the last few minutes. It doesn’t seem like she’s had any success.

“I’m just saying,” Santana’s voice cuts through the comfortable atmosphere encasing Blane and Sam like a scalpel, “if I’m stuck with him―” she jerks a thumb towards the tall boy, whose smirk only widens, “―we’re guaranteed to win. Because, as much as I despise admitting this, Smythe’s clever stupidity might actually come in handy.” She pauses then, flashing a wicked grin at Rachel. “Unlike your usual partners, Berry. Dead weight is, unfortunately, not conducive to victory.”

Wide-eyed and gaping, Rachel splutters at the implications, hands flying to her hips in the universal gesture of I’m about to unleash the wrath of a thousand stage moms. In other words, Super-Saiyan, Sam thinks. “Excuse me? I am an excellent teammate.”

“Riiight,” the Latina drawls, drawing out the syllable as she tosses a kernel of popcorn down the hatch. “Just like you’re an excellent person to sit next to during a movie when your constant running commentary makes me want to toss myself off the fire escape.”

Rachel’s eyes widen further at that, mouth opening as if she’s about to fire something just as long and offensive back at her. Sam wouldn't doubt that she would if not for Kurt’s intervention.

The countertenor pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes rolling hard. “I thought this was supposed to be fun.”

Blaine, ever the optimist, takes the opening to chime in brightly, “It is!” Sam doesn't know if it’s because he's trying to diffuse the situation or because he’s just genuinely fucking oblivious. He’s willing to bet it’s the latter. His boyfriend claps his hands together as he beams at their friends. “And if we could all just channel our inner holiday spirits―”

Santana cuts him off, already shaking her head dismissively. “Unless the spirit is tequila, I don’t give a shit.”

Up until now, Sebastian has been twirling a pen in his fingers lazily, obviously having repeated the gesture enough times to be a pro at it. Now, he grins and pitches into the conversation. “What’s the matter, Lopez? Afraid I’ll upstage you in front of your little Broadway BFF?”

“Please,” the Latina scoffs. “You couldn’t upstage a rusty tambourine.” A laugh escapes Sam at the odd choice of words; sometimes Santana can be so random.

Blaine’s quiet chuckle vibrates in Sam’s chest. “Think we should referee?” he questions privately, craning his neck to look up at his boyfriend. Sam pats the brunet’s thigh and shakes his head.

“Nah, let them go at it. Adds flavor.”

Sam can tell that Santana’s preparing to interject once again, hands poised to gesticulate animatedly and eyes gleaming with fiery intent, but Kurt beats her to it, stepping between her and Sebastian. “Enough!” he demands, fixing them both with his best I’ve had it with your nonsense glare. “We’re here to have a civilized game night. Not to recreate an episode of Real Housewives of Bushwick.”

His comment may not land exactly the way it was intended, but it does ease some of the tension. Santana cackles, head thrown back as the evil gleam in her eye resurfaces. “I’m definitely Teresa,” she claims with a smirk. “Blaine can be Melissa.”

The boy in question nods as if accepting his fate, while Rachel, clearly grasping for some sense of order, inserts herself into the discussion. “Fine. If we’re all done now, can we just―”

“You never answered my question," Blaine points out. His tone is innocent, but there's an impish lilt to his voice that betrays his intentions. His hand, moments ago resting on Sam’s thigh, now inches upward marginally. “What distracts me during the game?”

Biting back a laugh, Sam watches as Rachel narrows her eyes at Blaine, her expression scandalized and accusatory in equal measure. She points at the two of them wildly, screeching, “That! That right there is exactly what I’m talking about!”

Blaine gasps dramatically in response. “Rachel Barbara Berry, I am appalled! Are you suggesting that I―”

“Stop it.” Sam thinks it was a pretty good Rachel impression and offers his boyfriend a thumbs up. Grin widening, Blaine latches onto Sam’s thumb and tugs it toward himself, hugging it to his chest in an adorable gesture. Sam knows he's smiling like a dope and he couldn't care less. Rachel goes on, unfazed by Blam’s display of affection. “You’re not charming your way out of this. We all know exactly what happens the second you and Sam end up on the same team.”

Sebastian, who has been reclining against the arm of the couch, perks up. “Oh, this is so much more entertaining than charades.”

“You,” Kurt says sharply, pointing at Sebastian, “zip it.” At that, Sebastian smirks but makes a show of miming zipping his lips, locking them, and throwing away the key.

Then Rachel stands and takes a deep breath, clearly summoning every ounce of patience in her body. She grabs Blaine by the wrist and tugs him toward the coffee table, where Kurt is already arranging the charade cards. “You’re on task tonight, Blaine Anderson,” she orders, leaving no room for discussion. “No distractions.”

As Blaine takes his place, dropping to the floor next to Kurt and crossing his legs, he turns to Sam. The brunette’s cheeky grin is already firmly in place like Sam knew it would be. The blonde wiggles his fingers in an exaggerated wave, mouthing, Behave. It’s wishful thinking, really, but the least Sam can do is try.

“Only if you promise to stop being so distracting,” the shorter boy retorts. They both laugh a little, just subtle enough to avoid prompting an icy glare from their respective teammates. Sam sighs as Blaine shifts across from him, trying to get comfy. It’s going to be a long night.

He rubs his hands together and leans forward on the couch, hanging off the edge of the cushion. “Alright, let’s get this game on then!”

...

Predictably, the game devolves almost immediately.

The room is an explosion of noise and motion. Rachel is too competitive for Sam to keep up with. She keeps barking guesses at Sam’s dramatized impressions like she’s auditioning for a role in a war film, and it’s confusing as hell. Meanwhile, Blaine and Kurt are bickering intently over whether Blaine’s charade for tap-dancing penguin is accurate (of course, Sam knows it’s not, but he values his sexytime and so he’s not going to say anything). In the background (or amidst the chaos, depending on your perspective), Santana and Sebastian are making the game into a gigantic gag, using every turn to act out increasingly suggestive gestures worthy enough to make Kurt turn red.

It all goes completely to hell when Santana grabs a stack of cards and decides to fling them about, tossing them at her partner like ninja stars. With dramatic grace and inelegant yelps, Seb manages to dodge most of the artillery, though Santana’s able to land the occasional hit square in his face. And where Blaine is terrible at guessing, Kurt is apparently shit at miming. Kurt’s pulled the Phantom of the Opera card from the deck and is nearly in tears desperately trying and failing to imitate it.

“You’re useless,” Blaine mutters under his breath, standing next to Kurt to offer his own interpretation. He proceeds then to deliver a melodramatic rendition of The Phantom Sam has ever seen (which isn’t really saying much, considering Sam hasn’t even seen it on Broadway, but still). Kurt scowls at him.

Sam turns back to his own task; he and Rachel are trying to decide whether Titanic counts as only one word or two. “I’m pretty sure it’s two,” Sam claims, scratching his head. “Like, there’s Titanic the movie, and then there’s the boat.”

Rachel narrows her eyes at him, and it sends a little chill down Sam’s spine. That girl can be really spooky when she wants to be. “Do I look like a dictionary to you, Samuel?” It’s supposed to be a rhetorical question, Sam knows, but he can’t resist.

“I dunno, you kinda look like you could fit in a dictionary,” the blonde quips with a grin. The girl’s icy glare is the last thing he sees before a book is flying at his face, whacking him in the arm when he uses his forearm as a shield. “Ow!” he whines, rubbing the injury with a wince. Rachel shoots him a prim, smug smile, clearly the victor. But only because she didn’t get thwacked in the arm with a book!

“B!” Sam calls, because throwing books at each other is fun and all, but they are playing a game, after all. His boyfriend turns to him, expectant smile on his lips, and Sam feels a grin forming when he sees the brunette. “What’s the ruling? Titanic, one word or two?”

He seems to consider the question for a moment, finger on his chin as he contemplates. After a few beats, the curly-haired boy smirks. “Whatever Rachel doesn’t want; we’ll do the opposite.” At this, Santana bursts into a fit of laughter while Rachel releases an indignant squawk.

After Rachel claims to disown the group, Sam lets himself grin, leaning back into the couch. He watches his boyfriend light up the room with his easy charm and disarming smiles that always steal Sam’s breath. Regardless of how unpredictable and utterly chaotic these game nights are, Blaine somehow always manages to make them perfect.

By the time Blaine’s next turn rolls around, he’s already a giggling mess, falling apart at the seams. Sam watches him try to mime “Superman” and it’s not even half-bad. Sam’s surprised, if not slightly impressed even. Of course, it was too good to be true because halfway through, the curly-haired boy slips on the carpet, landing sprawled out on the floor. The game cards flutter around him, one landing on his nose somehow. Blaine stares at it, going cross-eyed, and Sam wonders once again how the boy doesn’t get headaches from that. Crossing his eyes has always made Sam’s head hurt! It isn’t very fair, is all. His boyfriend blows at the piece of paper, trying to get it off him, but he only manages to launch it straight up in the air and back down on his face. The brunette huffs in mock-annoyance for a beat before bursting into laughter. His attempts to rise back to his feet are futile, as his shoulders are shaking so hard that he can’t keep his balance.

“You’re useless!” Kurt hisses, hands thrown up in indignance. His glare slides over to Rachel for a second before snapping back to Blaine. “I don’t know why I even―”

Yeah, like that is going to end well. Sam steps in, cutting Kurt off before he can go on a whole-ass tangent like he inevitably would if no one stopped him. “Alright,” the blonde says, stepping over to help Blaine to his feet. “Time out. Someone’s had too much wine.” Despite his words and the playful tinge of annoyance in his tone, Sam chuckles fondly as he scoops Blaine into his arms with minimal effort. The shorter boy reflexively wraps his arms around his boyfriend’s neck, still laughing as he buries his face in Sam’s shoulder.

Hands on her hips, Rachel stares at them expectantly. “Samuel. Put him down,” she says cooly. “We’re playing to win.”

From somewhere to his right, Sam hears a snort followed by, “Yeah, like that's gonna happen, Berry.” He tries to hide his smile by nuzzling into Blaine’s hair, pretending that he’s kissing Blaine’s head rather than secretly sniggering at Santana’s comment.

“I think Blaine needs a break,” Sam says once he’s regained his bearings. He does not put Blaine down. Take that, Rachel! He grins down at his boyfriend, who’s already gazing up at him, his wide, glossy amber eyes filled with affection and awe. It makes Sam’s heart skip a beat, being looked at like that. So tenderly, so lovingly. The blond clears his throat. “He’s, uh, clearly too drunk to keep up the game.”

Santana smirks, jabbing a finger at the pair. Her fiery eyes are dancing with knowing amusement. “Oh, that’s your excuse? What are you two sneaking off to do, huh?”

Kurt wrinkles his nose while Rachel scoffs indignantly. Sam can almost hear her squeaky upset voice, The audacity! Blaine just giggles, nuzzling Sam’s neck. “I don’t think you want me to answer that,” he responds, the mischief in his voice clear as day.

“Gross!” Kurt exclaims, throwing a pillow at them as Sam carries Blaine toward the hallway. He misses by a landslide as predicted, and when Sam passes by the weapon of choice, he kicks it back toward the living room, flashing Kurt a wink, his tongue poking out.

With a mock-salute, Sebastian shakes his head and says, heavy with amusement, “Godspeed, Evans. Don’t break anything.”

Sam grins at that. This is one of the main reasons he and Blaine love crashing here so much; the commentary is hilarious! Sebastian’s approval is always welcome and feeds Sam’s pride a bit, Santana’s sexual remarks are funny and somewhat accurate, and Kurt and Rachel’s indignant exasperation has the ability to bring Sam up from any bad moodswings he may have. Not that Blaine’s company alone wouldn’t fix that immediately.

As they disappear around the corner, Sam can hear the glare in her voice as Rachel addresses the remaining players. “That’s it. We’re locking them out next time.” Although her voice is resolute, Sam knows it’s not going to happen. Rachel and Kurt have been bullshitting about revoking his and Blaine’s loft privileges since the first time they'd been caught in action, but they’ve never actually followed through with the threats.

Santana’s cackle echoes through the corners of the apartment. “Oh sure, Berry. Like that’ll stop them.”

[aloera]

aloera oh my fucking god (<- just woke up to the notification of a new aloera fic posted (r/offmychest) and read it immediately ofc)

aloera OH M Y G O D

aloera OH MY FFUCKINJ GOF

anyway ty for sharing you are the captain of krbk fics to me it is literally a law of nature that i will read the fic as soon as i see the notif i d o n o t c a r e what is going on irl i will sit in the corner with my phone and READ do not talk to me so yeah. ty lol <3

you are. so sweet shut up i had the same oh my god reaction reading this... this means so much to me!!! i appreciate it so much!!!! i am so grateful that we r all unfortunately still stuck in the krbk pit even in 2024!!!! mwah <333333 thank u sm for reading im glad you enjoyed it

[buildarocketboys]

Also resharing this Blam Halloween fic that I wrote last year, I'm quite proud of it so check it out if you're interested! 🎃👬

[samgelina-jolie]

Random opinion but I dont want Hopper to be reinstated as police chief at the end of s5, I want him to just be some guy who came back from the dead and has a weird bald kid now and suddenly hes married to Joyce Byers??? Everytime someone asks him what happened he tells them a different story. Their family live in a dinky little cabin in the woods (a little bigger than before with some extra bedrooms). Joyce is the breadwinner, Hop lives off his huge annual government pay off and does odd jobs for people around town. He participates in the school's bake sales.

[katyobsesses]

The worst part of outlining a fic as a multishipper is trying to decide what ships to have 😭

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

do you have any fics where kurt is jealous of blaine and sam’s friendship?

Here are some. ~Jen

What's a Little Competition Between Friends? byHadelli

Sam is sure that Kurt doesn't like him.

It makes sense, really. He’s Blaine’s best friend, Blaine’s best friend who Blaine totally wants to bang. And also, while Sam hasn’t seen Kurt shirtless, he’s pretty sure he’s got more abs than him. So.

~~~~~~

All You Need is Love by KokoKitsune

Based off the prompt: Blaine calls Kurt up one evening and Blaine spills that he has a crush on Sam, Kurt feels jealous but he lets it go since he has no right anymore, but he assumes that when he visits Blaine wont like Sam anymore and he lets his jealously take over and starts insulting Sam and Blaine. Blaine calls him out on it and they fight.

~~~~~

Dude, Where’s My Tent? by vosje and beatlebun

Trying to get away from the city, Kurt finds himself stuck on a campsite with Rachel. Luckily, also with cute (shirtless!) and seemingly dating neighbors Blaine and Sam.

Here is part 2.

[volivolition]

Is the Wip game finished? Can I still ask for stuff? If I still can, can I get a snippet from the one that give me the most rot (meet the parts)? If no, then I'm just swinging by to say hi how are you doing? <3

HI RED!! thank you for swinging by, im doing better than earlier!! my ear is getting better and im eating pizza :]!

okay so TECHNICALLY it's no longer wednesday, but i LOVE spoiling my fics so of COURSE you can have a snippet from Meet the Parts hkjh <33 you are always free to ask anytime, i will always be happy to share bits of my stories <3 AND SINCE THERE'S NO RULES I CAN SHARE MORE THAN THREE LINES!! here's like, a whole React Speed thing i just wrote :]

LOGIC – Along with Coach and Sparks – Flighty and Fingers too, I suppose – they're why you have trouble sitting still for long periods of time. The attention deficiency disorder... Or are they exacerbated by it? I still haven't figured out which is the cause and which is the effect...

REACTION SPEED – Point is, we got zoomies! Can't sit still. Always more to do, more to see, more to say.

YOU – "Are you why my leg is always-"

REACTION SPEED – Bouncing, yep! Fingers tapping, hands flapping, feet moving, words flying- hey, if you had wings like me, we'd never be touching ground.

YOU – "You have wings?"

KIM KITSURAGI – He jots this down with an interested hum.

REACTION SPEED – Yes! Books, what- which animal–

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Medium: Success] – You have the hovering wing type of trochilidae – hummingbirds, colloquially – with their ability to rotate their wingspan at the shoulder and elbow joints to create maximum lift. However, though you exhibit some iridescent feathers associated with the birds, your wings also connect to membranes, which share the Voronoi tessellation of the species anisoptera, the common dragonfly.

REACTION SPEED - Yeah, exactly! I'm a hummingbird and a dragonfly. Both of 'em. :)

[lifegrowsfromashes]

Grian can taste Death.

The metallic, cast-iron taste of Death, lingering in the back of his throat. The schizophrenic visions of Death, in the corners of his eyes, flickering like static.

Death follows Grian, like the last thing that’ll stay with him. His friends can get sick of him, his enemies can disappear, but Death, Death remains. And Death is out for him.

He can’t let his friends help; can’t let them get in the way. This fight is between him and the End, only. So, no, he won’t let Scar save him. And no, he won’t let Scar run off, like he’s trying to right now.

They’ve been keeping their distance from each other over the past few days, but Grian can tell when Scar’s planning something. He’s been unpacking less and less, when they settle down to sleep. His agreements to Grian’s plans have been more and more reluctant.

So, yeah, okay, Grian’s been hard on Scar recently. But Scar doesn’t get it. 

Ever since that incident, with the creeper, he’s kept his guard up. He can’t let him go down to red. And, okay, maybe shouting at him and calling him useless isn’t the bast way to do that. But- If Grian doesn’t save him, doesn’t tell him what to do, he knows that Scar will die. 

And he cannot let Scar die. Not again.

So cannot let Scar run off, like Grian knows he’s trying to.

He tries to confront him, when they’re settling down to sleep, in the dirt house. 

Hiding behind his wings, Grian shares across at Scar. The wide, jagged lines of burns raise the skin over his face, distorting his eyes. He’s staring up at the stars. 

“Are you going to leave?” The words startle Scar out of his stupor, and he looks across to where Grian’s laying on top of his sheets.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen you, these past few days. Since that creeper. You’ve been unpacking less and less.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to leave.”

“Well, what- what about the way I acted? The way I was, with you. After. Didn’t you think- you’d be better off alone?’

“No.”

Grian tenses. He watches Scar’s eyebrows knit together.

“Is this your way of trying to apologise? Because it’s not working.”

“I just-“

“I’m not leaving, Grian. What do you want me to say?”

“Well-“

“That you’ve been acting like a dick? That you haven’t been taking my feelings into account? That your brashness hasn’t just jeopardised me, but both of us? I know this is stressful and I know it’s scary, but we have to work together on this. There’s nobody else we can turn to. So no, I’m not going to leave you. And you’ve got to stop thinking like that.”

Scar’s breathing heavily, now. His voice is raised. They both turn towards the door, and watch for something to happen. And then he sees it. 

The shriek. The death call. 

The darkness.

[doyelikehaggis]

"You wrote me a song?" for Blam!

TW: mentions of "Shooting Star"

Blaine isn't surprised when he finds Sam alone in the auditorium at lunch. He's been steering clear of the cafeteria nearly all week, and he's pretty sure it's for the same reason that he's been claiming to have an identical twin.

Sam lifts his head when he hears the side door close, and Blaine smiles. He walks over and pulls himself up to sit beside him on the edge of the stage, guitar in his lap. Blaine offers him a muffin that he snagged from the cafeteria after doing a sweep of it and realizing that Sam wasn't there. Unsurprisingly, Sam shakes his head.

"Okay," Blaine says gently, and he places it in the small gap between their thighs. Just in case. He then nods at the guitar. "Am I interrupting...?"

"No, no, it's cool," Sam says, running a hand through his hair. "I was just messing around. Marley talking about doing original songs for Sectionals just got me thinking, which I've been trying not to do a lot of, but I thought that working on a song might help clear my head a bit."

"That makes sense," Blaine says, watching him stare blankly at the empty seats. "Did you come up with anything?"

Sam just shrugs. "Not really. I started trying to write down everything I was thinking, but then it all got jumbled, so I started writing something else instead." He meets his eyes, finally. "I kinda wrote it for you."

Blaine is taken aback. "You wrote me a song?"

"Yeah, you know, like that song that Bernie wrote for Elton," he says, resting his arm on his guitar with a shrug. "Except I obviously can't call it 'Your Song' because that's probably got some copyright infrigement or something. But, basically... last week was terrifying, and it made me realize how important everything is, especially people. You're my best friend and like the most important person in my life, and I guess I just wanted to make sure you know that."

He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't even know if he can speak and he's afraid to try in case all that comes out is the wave of emotions flooding him and threatening to drag him under. He presses his lips together then parts them again to give it a go as his eyes sting.

"That's... the nicest thing anyone has done for me," he breathes out, and his voice betrays him with a quiver. He tries to laugh it off, but for some reason that only brings another wave of emotion crashing down on him. "Thank you."

Sam sets his guitar aside and pulls him in; Blaine crumbles as he wraps his arms around him and holds on for dear life. He can feel Sam doing the same as he inhales a sharp, halting breath before burying his face in his shoulder and hugging him tighter. He could squeeze all the air out of his lungs (and he nearly does) and Blaine wouldn't care.

"I love you, Sam."

His heart squeezes, and he knows he shouldn't have said it. They both know he means it in a way he shouldn't. But he doesn't care, because he needs to say it, and he needs him to hear it.

After a second, Sam sniffles, then he murmurs, "I love you, too."

It doesn't matter in what way. It doesn't. Blaine hears those words and has never felt them so sincerely, and that's all that matters. He knows he is truly loved, and that's more important than anything.

He tightens his arms just a little more, and Sam does, too.

When they know they should probably let go, Sam breaks the heavy silence between them and says, "You haven't even heard the song yet. You might hate it."

Blaine chuckles as he pulls back; there are still tears shining in his eyes, blurring the lights of the auditorium but he blinks enough to keep Sam's face in focus.

"That's true," he jokes. "Maybe you should play it, then."

"What, now?"

"Well, yeah. We still have about ten minutes, we're in the auditorium and you have your guitar, so, I don't see why not." Widening his smile, he tilts his head and says, "Come on, Bernie."

"Okay, but it's not completely done yet, so..."

He picks his guitar back up, throws him a hesitant glance, and then he takes a quick breath before begining to play. Blaine sits and watches, and he listens as he starts singing. His heart follows along, but with every word and glance, he falls even further.

Send me a glee ship and a prompt <3

[genghisthebrain]

attention wednesday/glee fans

denial and rain have the same smell. I like to toast them over a fire and then drink them in a milkshake. if you like humour, chatfics, crack, denial, fluff, etc etc etc, then you like me. read my fic. it's good I swear

[cyrus-badman]

Basically, these were my very early notes as far as the Glee Season 5 AU goes. I have many more notes and highlights on a Google doc, but this bit here are the beginnings of my vision, so enjoy!

This fic actually started as a Pezberry 5+1 because I wanted to broaden my horizons by writing Pezberry (I still struggle a bit, so if anyone would like to help me out, it would be greatly appreciated ����). I had this idea for a little ficlet where rachel and santana were being domestic in the loft without even realizing, and well, this is the result. Below are my notes on that!

[micahdotgov]

im thinking of rewatching glee so someone needs to put me down like a lame horse