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bitbybitwrites · 3 months ago

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I really should change some of these banners . . because its always more than 6 sentences with me . . 😂

Thanks to the following lovelies who have tagged me for Six/Seven/Several Sentence Sunday and WIP Wednesday lately:

@porcelainmortal @iboatedhere @caterpills @nocoastposts @seths-rogens

@thesleepyskipper @onthewaytosomewhere @forabeatofadrum @alasse9

@blueeyedgrlwrites

Here are a couple of things for ya all: 1 Klaine and 1 RWRB selection for you under the cut:

Another snippet from my RWRB fic, Puppy Love

(cc @omgbarbiegurl )

Henry blushed ( way too prettily in Alex’s opinion). “I . . just help out here. It’s really Pez - He was the one who helped get this place off the ground. I don’t do that much. “ “Don’t belittle yourself, H.” Alex said as he stepped closer. “I can tell these folks here like you, look up to you. It’s a vibe. I can feel it.” Alex sidled up closer to Henry, slyly grinning as he slipped a hand to Henry’s waist, letting his fingers curl in that soft, sweet dip that he’s been aching to touch for so long. Henry shivered a little at the warmth of Alex’s palm, the closeness of him. “I . . I just want these kids to have what I never got . . .” Henry said softly. “My father died before I could come out to him. My mother is just a shell of herself since he passed. It was like I had lost two parents that day he left us. Of the remaining family, only my sister Bea is supportive. My brother Phillip is a knob and spends way too much time with my homophobic grandmother to remember that I happen to be his brother as well.” ‘H . .” Alex frowned, he didn’t like that slight tinge of sadness he heard in the other man’s voice. “ Well, fuck ‘em. Not Bea of course. She sounds amazing. But the other two.” His fingers gave Henry’s waist a supportive squeeze. “At least you have your sister and Pez . . the folks who live and run this place . . and, well, me.” He flashed Henry sweet, shy smile. Henry’s heart swelled as he leaned closer to whisper. “ I have you, do I?” “For as much and as long as you want me, baby.”

****

And this part of the next chapter of my Klaine epic: If I Can Make Your Heart My Home

(cc @datshitrandom)

Blaine’s arms reached out towards the other side of the bed. His eyes popped open as his fingers felt the cool bedsheets next to him. No warm body as he expected. No Kurt. His heart started racing as the panic started to set in. It wasn’t a dream. It couldn’t have been. Blaine’s body bore witness to that. Did Kurt leave? Again? The scent of cinnamon slowly wafted through the open doorway, causing Blaine to clumsily fall out of the bed and rush out of the room, down the stairs and to the kitchen. Breathless, he jogged through the doorway, stopping short at the sight of Kurt, wearing his bathrobe, bending over to take something out of the oven. “You’re here.” Blaine said, surprised and relieved at the same time. Kurt chuckled as he placed the hot metal tray onto of the oven to cool. “Of course I’m here, “ he said over his shoulder, all the while shaking his head. He took the oven mitt off his hand and tossed it on the counter. “I’m here and you’re . .” Kurt said as he shut the oven door and turned around . He blushed as he saw Blaine. “You’re . . . you’re . . naked.”

Annnnnnd tagging if you want to share anything you've been working on - and OPEN TAG for anyone who just wants to share:

@madas-ahatters-world @coffeegleek @little-escapist @wowbright @hkvoyage

@sophie1973 @theprinceandagcd @spaceorphan18 @annepi-blog @daisyishedwig

@tailsbeth-writes @thinkof-england @getmehighonmagic @cryscendo @special-bc-ur-part-of-it

@rockitmans @14carrotghoul @myheartalivewrites @caramelcoffeeaddict @1908jmd

@scatter-the-stars @yadivagirl @kirakiwiwrites @bowtiesnmusicals @shame-is-a-wasted-emotion

@cerriddwenluna @kurtsascot

#bitbybitwrites #klaine fanfic #klaine fanfiction #klaine fic #klaine #kurt hummel #blaine anderson #fic: if i can make your heart my home #rwrb fanfic #rwrb fic #rwrb fanfiction #rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #fic: puppy love

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olderthannetfic · 1 year ago

Note

https://olderthannetfic.tumblr.com/post/739381076510785536/so-it-seems-our-flag-means-death-has-not-been#notes

I liked OFMD and I'm sad it's not getting renewed, but I agree that the fandom was especially toxic, even by the standards of currently popular slash-heavy fandoms. I wanted to read fic after s1 ended the way it did, and I read a little bit, but along with it having all the tropes that I can't stand in a lot of what is currently big with the MSF crowd (and that I'd been happy to have a reprieve from in my current main M/M fandom), the toxicity of the online fandom discourse made me quickly realize it was one that I was going to discuss among my current-friends-from-other-fandoms who also watched it, and my sister who watches it, and pretty much ignore the rest of the Internet. It was such a perfect storm of everything awful, from people who are overly invested in it to an unhealthy degree (I think I realized I wasn't gonna be active in the larger fandom around a month or so before the s2 renewal announcement, when I saw earnest PSA tweets telling people to "stop threatening suicide in HBO's replies if they don't renew OFMD"), to bombarding and parasocial obsessions with the creators and actors, to all the classic "anti" and purity police crap that plagues anything that gets popular on here.

The fandom it reminds me the most of, honestly, is Yuri on Ice fandom at its peak in early-mid 2017. Again, a show I love, but a fandom I absolutely do not miss. In some ways they are kind of similar shows: ones with canon M/M romances where they were not billed as that, and they were hinted from early on but people didn't trust it due to years of dealing with queerbaiting, where that sort of thing slowly crept up on people and then became the defining feature of how it was discussed everywhere. I wonder if there's a particular level of insanity that that type of thing breeds in its fans - or maybe, more broadly, "canon M/M with a large female fanbase." Like, you don't see this kind of thing in canon M/M stuff that's mostly watched by queer men rather than women, but there are shades of the insanity I also remember from Glee fandom (I was more active on the F/F side of things there, which had its own unhinged drama, but the Klaine vs. anti-Klaine stuff was so explosive that it was hard not to notice it if you were anywhere in that fandom, like a mushroom cloud in the distance). But YOI and OFMD do seem very... singular in the particular kind of obsession that they generate.

And I really wish people would shape the fuck up, because if they're going to act like this over and over again, that's just going to de-incentivize showrunners to make shows like this for that audience.

Driving Con O'Neill off Twitter was one of the worst parts of it, too. There was something so refreshingly earnest about how much he embraced the fandom, even the weirdest parts - saying with regard to NSFW fanart that "art is art" and retweeting stuff like his character in a crop-top that said "babygirl." It was so nice to see an actor who didn't usually have that kind of following embrace it wholeheartedly rather than steering clear. ....And then people had to be awful and creepy and obsessive and he left Twitter. I bet he's going to be a lot more skeptical of dealing with fans in the future!

It's not just the canon m/m aspect: it's the wholesomeness.

Yes, yes, they're all evil pirates, I agree, but watching S1 did give me the feeling of something that was supposed to be very progressive and light-hearted in particular ways. I don't think that's bad, but it does tend to attract some very over-sensitive fans with some very rigid expectations.

It's sadly par for the course that one of the random side character actors is the fun one and people are jackasses and desperately want the leads they ship to be the fandomy ones and/or just start creeping on any actor they can get a reaction from.

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wowbright · 2 months ago

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Chapter 13: Feeling

Figureskating!Blaine/designer!Kurt Olympics AU for december klaine fanworks challenge. Also on AO3.

They didn’t end up at Garden of the Gods after their high tea. They toured the rest of Miramont Castle, Kurt expressing simultaneous delight and horror the building’s eclectic mishmash of Queen Anne, Romanesque, English Tudor, Venetian Gothic, Byzantine, and half a dozen other architectural styles. “I can't figure out any rhyme or reason to it. He just threw in whatever he liked with no regard for aesthetic unity. It's hideous. I love it! I mean, I could never live here. It's an architectural identity crisis. Two completely different styles of window in a single stairwell? It would kill me. But the audacity! The chutzpah! I hate his vision, but at least he had one.”

Just listening to Kurt made joy bubble up inside Blaine. Kurt was a delight. A force of nature. Blaine imagined how much more entertaining his visits to Turino and Vancouver, Tokyo and Sapporo and Nagano, Paris and Goyang and Gothenburg would have been with Kurt in tow, providing color commentary on all the sights and sounds and smells of each city, relishing even in the things that repelled him because their newness was enough to cause delight. He wished Kurt was going with him to Sochi. It was beautiful and strange and tacky and sad and utterly fascinating. Kurt would be so alive in it.

Almost a week later, they finally made it to Garden of the Gods. It had been a long week, the excitement of the looming games overshadowed too often by dull meetings, bickering between Sue and Sebastian, and that annoying young punk Sam Evans, who refused to let Blaine forget he had been named to the first spot, while Blaine only made it on the roster this Olympics because the third choice’s hip injury flared up after the nationals championships. Blaine tried to act like the adult he was and overlook the “gramps” and the “old man” and “Jar Jar” (because the first thing he’d said to Blaine upon arriving in Colorado Springs was “You’re kind of like Jar Jar Binks, though, aren’t you? Because nobody actually wanted you in the sequel.”) He kept telling himself that Sam was a kid who was clearly overcompensating for his insecurities about launching his senior career with the eyes of the entire world on him. Blaine had been sixteen once, and just as insecure.

On the other hand, Blaine hadn’t been an asshole. And he had never, ever thought it would be a good idea to waggle his hips on the ice like a second-rate nightclub stripper to a weird, saxophone-heavy instrumental mashup of Justin Bieber's greatest hits. When Blaine had politely suggested Sam tone down on the thrusting, the kid had come back with, “You’re not my coach, gramps. Sex sells. You’re just jealous because you’re an old geezer whose lost all his testosterone and his sex appeal.”

The kid was horned up and classless and, worst of all, rude. How was he competing for a spot in the team event with this brat?

But no. Blaine was not going to think about that. It was a perfect, sunny day, the light of the winter sun sloping through the red rock formations at low angles that painted crisp shadows against the snow.

Even better, he was here with Kurt Hummel: beautiful, delightful, amazing Kurt. They hadn't gotten nearly enough time together since the high tea—which means they saw each other every day but not all day, Blaine visiting the costume studio even when it wasn't strictly necessary, and Kurt hanging out at practices even when he might have been exploring the tourist spots, and eating meals together when they could (but very often not alone, thanks Sue and Sebastian and the entire U.S. figure skating team), and Blaine even inviting Kurt back to his apartment only to find that Mike and Kitty had formed an encampment in front of the television for a marathon session of watching the routines of every single competing pair they would face in Sochi. So he and Kurt had joined them instead of enjoying a quiet dinner like Blaine had planned and maybe, if Blaine was allowed to dream, enjoying each other in a different way that Blaine had to stop himself from imagining every time Kurt helped him remove the latest iteration of his costume.

“Thanks for bringing me here,” Kurt said as they made their way down the trail between two towering pillars of vividly striped rock. “I never would have thought to come on my own.”

“No?”

Kurt shrugged. “City boy. I forget it can be nice to be out in nature. I mean, I could do without feeling like my nose is about to fall off my face, but it really is pretty. And quiet. And …” he sighed contentedly.

“Here. I wouldn't want your nose to disappear.” Blaine tugged his scarf from his neck and draped it around Kurt’s, folding it gently to form a pocket of warm air over Kurt’s lower face. It felt both bold and easy—easy because they had stood this close many times as Kurt measured Blaine’s body or draped fabric over it or adjusted this and that bit of his costume, so that sharing such a close space had become second nature; bold because it was now Blaine doing the reaching out and touching.

“Usually, I would complain about this not coordinating with my carefully curated ensemble. But it's Burberry. And cashmere. So I’ll make an exception.” Kurt's eyes danced above the fabric, a dazzling contrast of blue and green above the pale yellows and grays of the checked scarf. “But what about your nose?”

In answer, Blaine reached into his collar and pulled the fabric of this turtleneck up over his chin. It was long enough that he could cover his whole face with it if he wanted to. He had, in fact, chosen it in the very hope that he might lose his scarf to Kurt. “I came prepared for every possibility.”

Kurt smiled. Blaine couldn't see his mouth of course, but he could see his eyes and the way they narrowed as Kurt’s cheekbones lifted, the skin on the outer edges crinkling into deep, happy furrows.

“You’re …” Blaine started to say, but the words caught in his throat. That’s how beautiful Kurt was. It made Blaine forget how to speak.

“I’m …?” Kurt said—curiously, not flirtatiously. He clearly had no idea what was going on inside Blaine at this moment.

Blaine shook his head to loosen his tongue. It only half worked. He couldn't get the words I out that he’d meant to. But the ones he spoke were perhaps even more inspired. “I want you in Sochi with me.”

Kurt stopped in his tracks.

“I mean, if you're free. If you want to. If you—” Was this another case of Blaine diving into concrete? It had really looked like water to him. “I fully trust you can get everything done before we go, but I think … I think I would feel better having you there. You're the only one who—”

“—knows the costumes well enough to fix them if you need any last-minute repairs?”

That was not what Blaine had been trying to say, but it was true. “Yes. And you understand my vision. Besides … seeing you at Miramont Castle, I couldn't help but think how much you would enjoy yourself there.”

Kurt’s eyes went wide. “You’ve been there before? And it’s transcendently tacky?”

“Only parts of it,” Blaine chuckled. “It’s mostly because you appreciate things that are … different, or— I don’t know. You just appreciate things in a way I’ve never seen anyone do before. And I … I just thought, we really should have you there anyway, because what if something changes? What if I hear something or feel something new and I have a sudden fit of artistic inspiration and you’re not there to help me bring it to life? And then I go do my programs and yes, of course the costumes are beautiful, because you made them, and they say most of the things I wanted to say, but there’s something else and … ” Blaine looked down at the dirt peeking through the tracks in the snow. He was so frustrated with himself. He wasn’t making himself clear at all. He probably sounded crazy. A needy prima donna demanding too much. “We’ll pay you, of course. And flights and lodgings and meals. An interpreter if you want. I know it must be an incredible inconvenience. But you’re so inspiring and …”

Blaine looked up. And Kurt was there, looking back at him. Blaine saw the answer in his eyes. Kurt was right there with him. He didn't think Blaine was crazy at all. “I'd love to go,” Kurt said quietly, his voice gentle and reassuring like the waves lapping up on Cabrillo Beach at low tide. He tugged Blaine’s arm, and pulled him forward, and Blaine’s heart started to pound out of his chest because he wanted to kiss Kurt so badly but also maybe he should have had a Tic Tac first and also would Kurt think that his bubble gum-flavored chapstick was gross and also there was a group of gruff evangelical conservatives just 50 yards ahead, and the one who looked like he was in the military was loudly explaining how the sedimentary lines were all formed in the great flood of Genesis 6 through 9 and—

It turned out Kurt’s face was not the destination he had intended for Blaine. Because Kurt stepped forward too, or backward—well, in the same direction Blaine was moving, so that they stayed the same distance apart—and Blaine realized that they were not kissing in the brilliant winter sun of the Garden of the Gods. They were walking again.

“So,” Kurt said. “How many times have you been to Sochi?”

It took a moment for Blaine to regain his bearings. He had to replay the question twice in his brain in order to understand it. “I've been to the Russia lots. But Sochi only once. The Grand Prix was held there last season.”

“Ah,” Kurt said with a tone of—disappointment? Not in Blaine, but like he had made some sort of faux pas. “I should probably know that.”

Oh. Blaine didn’t like the expression on Kurt’s face. It was almost sad. He never wanted Kurt to be sad. He stepped a little closer to Kurt, let their shoulders brush. “I kind of like that you don’t.”

Kurt still looked kind of sad. But also curious. “Is it hard?”

“What?”

“People knowing so much about you before you’ve even met them.”

It was and it wasn't. Blaine had spent so much of his life in the limelight that he had become used to it. And it wasn't like he was Brad Pitt or Obama or the Pope. He didn't get recognized by every single person every single place he went. The times when it was hard was when people thought they already knew him—when they filtered everything he said and did through the picture of him they had already built in their minds based on public appearances and TV broadcasts and news clippings—when nothing he said or did could surprise them, because they had already decided not to be surprised.

“Nobody knows who I am before I've met them,” Blaine said. “Sometimes they don't even know after they've met me.”

Kurt was silent. Blaine listened to the sound of their shoes crunching against the snow.

“I hope I don't make you feel like that,” Kurt said.

Blaine’s campaign to cheer Kurt up was totally failing. He could do better. “You don't make me feel like that at all, Kurt. You make me feel like … Talking to you, it feels like … like I’m new. To you. And to me, too. And you’re new, and fascinating, and … it’s like I'm discovering a part of the world that was always there but I never knew existed. Even myself, when we talk, when you ask me questions and you listen—you really listen, Kurt, you make me feel like the things I say are actually interesting and surprising and even delightful—it’s like I'm remembering things I forgot about myself or never even knew.”

Blaine looked at Kurt, and for the first time since he had draped Kurt in his scarf, he wished he could see more of Kurt’s face. There was something in Kurt’s eyes that Blaine felt like he would be just on the edge of understanding, if only he could see more.

“You are interesting and surprising and delightful,” Kurt said solemnly. “And you make me feel that way too.” He glanced over his shoulder before giving Blaine’s hand a quick squeeze, then let go. In a low whisper, he added, “I want it to be out in the open, though. I might not have been a super fan who tracked your every media mention in elaborately decorated scrapbooks and curated Delicio.us lists. But I did have some preconceived notions about you.”

A tiny flutter like panic quickened in Blaine’s chest. What if they were bad? No, he was being stupid. He knew it was stupid. Kurt's tone was soft, silky, alluring. That wasn't the voice of someone who was about to say something mean to you. And even if Kurt used to think bad things about him, it shouldn't matter, because Kurt certainly seemed to like him okay now. But still— Blaine made a quick verbal counter turn. “Well, I had some ideas about you, too.”

“You didn't know who I was.”

“Not for as long as you knew about me, but I saw your portfolio, and it spoke to me. And Sebastian told me some things.”

“Oh, Christ on a cracker. That couldn't have been good.”

“Quite the opposite. He told me you were dedicated and hardworking and witty, and that you always stuck to your principles, and that I should trust you, because he trusted you, and he does not trust very many people.”

“Really? Sebastian said all that?”

“Really. It was so glowing that—” Despite the cold, Blaine felt heat rising to his cheeks. “I asked him if he had feelings for you.”

The scarf loosened around Kurt’s face as he wrinkled up his nose. “Oh. God, no. It's never been like that with us.”

“That's what he told me. I believe the exact words were something like ‘Don't get me wrong, I would totally bang him if he would just uncross his legs for two seconds and let me, but the difference between you and me, Blaine, is that I know the difference between romance and sex.’”

“Sounds like Sebastian,” Kurt said. Well, at least the Sebastian he had known all his life until the previous Sunday morning. Apparently for the new Sebastian, romance and sex were starting to overlap, at least a tiny bit. “And I'm sorry he told you so many lies about me.”

“You know they aren’t, Kurt. You're all that, and then some.”

“Well, then.” Kurt looked away, his eyes batting like Bambi’s. He was so adorable when he was flummoxed. “You subject me to all that overwhelming flattery, but you won’t let me tell you my preformed impressions of you?”

Ah. So Kurt had noticed the counter turn. Apparently he was getting to know Blaine even better than Blaine had thought. Blaine momentarily closed his eyes against the bright sun and took a deep breath. “Okay, fine. Hit me with your worst.”

“Well, you're a wonderful skater, obviously. I mean, I know that can’t mean anything to you coming from me, I don't have the expertise to judge but ... I always feel something when I watch you skate. Figure skating doesn't always feel like art to me—maybe that's why I've focused more on costuming for ice dance until now—but it does, when I watch you. You have all this ... generosity and passion inside of you, and it spills out onto the ice. It's mesmerizing. And not just because you're incredibly good-looking.”

Blaine made a sharp inhale. “You think I'm good-looking?” He was not being coy. He was, on some level, honestly surprised. Even though they’d been flirting, even though he knew Kurt felt something about him on some level because he’d pretty much said so not three minutes ago, it felt revelatory. To have the words spoken—that made it real. Kurt Hummel, the most beautiful man the world had ever seen, thought Blaine Anderson was visually appealing.

Kurt laughed. “Well, yes. That's one of the other prejudices I might have brought into our first meeting.”

“I think I'm okay with that,” Blaine said, delight coiling his muscles. “Though you’ve seen me without make-up on now. And exhausted. And impatient with Sue. So I suppose I’ve managed to dissuade you a bit from your previous position.”

“Oh, no,” Kurt said—only it didn't really sound like words, but more like breath, or the sound of the air breezing through a crack in the rocks. “I find you quite attractive. Much more than I ever could have imagined anyone to be.”

#december klaine fanworks challenge 2024 #my klaine advent #wowbright writes fic #day 9: feeling #klaine fic #Figureskating!Blaine/designer!Kurt Olympics AU

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