#why did they ever remove the poke feature on facebook way to make everything less fun quirkless &BORING -_-

[derpinette]

there should be a poke feature here like there used to be on facebook

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine one-shot - “The Heart of the Matter” (Rated PG13)

After graduating high school and marrying the love of his life, Blaine discovers that he needs a heart transplant. But there's a reason he doesn't want his heart removed.

If he doesn't, he will die. But if he does, will that mean losing the man he loves more than life itself? (2965 words)

I had started writing the premise for this a while ago, but stopped when @sunshineoptimismandangels wrote her amazing fic "Soulmate Script", which I think eclipses this one by far. It's much more fleshed out, more adorable than angsty, and who doesn't like adorable Klaine? This is a bit more personal on my end, but I wasn't going to finish it. After reading sunshine's recently for about they 80th time, I was inspired to polish it off for her birthday. So here it is. Let me know what you think. And make sure you read hers because it's amazing <3

Warning for talk of hospitalization and heart surgery. 

Read on AO3.

Beeping monitors.

Cords and IVs.

The sharp smell of alcohol and industrial disinfectant.

The draft from an overhead vent where a steady stream of cold, conditioned air bleeds in nonstop.

Rough sheets beneath his fingertips that he can’t help straightening, can’t stop adjusting.

The urgency hidden beneath the tension-steeped calm, that even as they wait in this one, quiet room, in other areas of the hospital, nurses and doctors are scrambling. Prepping.

Fighting against the clock.

It reminds Kurt too much of the days when he stood by his father’s bedside, waiting for news about his condition.

How bad was his heart attack?

Would the damage be permanent?

Would he ever wake up?

That was a long time ago. Kurt’s father ended up being fine. Better than fine. After his heart attack, he became more health conscious. He ate better (mainly because Kurt harped on him, but as far as Kurt was concerned, it counted), exercised, and saw his doctor regularly. Kurt considered his father (and himself) lucky that they came out of that experience more or less unscathed.

So it seemed like a sick, existential joke on the part of the universe that lightning would strike his way twice.

The memories of that near-tragedy with his father crowd Kurt’s chest, make his heart ache, but his isn’t the heart he’s worried about.

Nor is it his dad’s.

“How do you feel?” Kurt asks, trying to hide the tremble in his voice by forcing a smile onto his face – a smile that, he’s afraid, is fooling no one at this point.

Blaine looks up from his bed, drugged-droopy eyelids struggling to stay open, and shakes his head.

“What?” Kurt asks, frowning at Blaine’s setup – the position of the IVs in his arm, the cuff around his bicep, his nasal cannula. They had rushed to the hospital within a minute of getting the call that a heart had become available. There was a flurry of activity when Blaine walked through the doors – undressing, re-dressing, cleaning, sticking, pricking, and poking – a lot of hurry up, hurry up, hurry up just so that they could sit in here and wait. It made Kurt want to scream. He can’t even imagine how Blaine feels. “Does something hurt? Do you feel uncomfortable? Do you want me to call the nurse?”

Blaine continues to shake his head – a gentle roll left and right on his pillow, very little strength but plenty of conviction. “I can’t, Kurt. I can’t do this.”

Kurt chuckles, too sad and anxious to be humorous. “Well, it’s a little too late to do anything about it now.”

“Kur---rt” – Blaine’s voice, a slush of vowels and consonants mushed together in an attempt to form words, gets caught in the lump of despair building at the base of his throat – “I don’t want to do this.”

“Why not?”

“Because, it might change everything.”

“Of course, it’s going to change everything.” Kurt keeps his tone light, dismissing this argument that they’ve had over and over, and has gone far beyond ridiculous. “With this new heart, you’ll live longer.”

“B-but … but what will happen to us? What if …?”

“What if nothing, alright!” Kurt snaps unintentionally. Numb from the preliminary round of anesthetics working their way through his body, Blaine barely flinches, but Kurt sees it in the flutter of his eyelids, and sighs. They’ve exhausted this conversation, and Kurt can’t take it anymore. He can’t lose Blaine. No matter what the risk, Blaine has to live. That’s not even a question. “You’re not making sense right now,” he says, putting a hand gently over his husband’s, hovering so as not to dislodge anything important. “I know you’re scared. I’m scared, too. But I would rather lose you as a husband than go on the rest of my life without you existing on this planet. And if it comes to that, then I will stalk you till the day you die, Blaine Anderson-Hummel.”

Blaine smiles, but he doesn’t have the strength to do that and keep his eyes open, so his eyelids throw in the towel and drift shut. “Then you’re a better man than I am.”

“Was there ever any doubt?” Kurt brushes a tear off his cheekbone, thankful that Blaine can’t see. So much for being strong for his husband.

“Hmm,” Blaine murmurs, finally succumbing to a drug induced sleep. “I guess not.”

***

Waiting to find out if Blaine would be okay, if he would make it through, and what that would mean for them if he did, is harder for Kurt than it was waiting for his father to wake up from a coma. As Kurt retreats to the private CTICU waiting room where he’ll stay until Blaine gets out of surgery, the façade that is his courage dissolves.

As awful as it sounds, Kurt has more to lose if Blaine doesn’t make it than he had if his father didn’t. His father means the world to him, but at the time of his heart attack, he and Kurt had had fifteen years together. Kurt has only known Blaine for half that time, and they only knew for certain that they were soulmates within the last three years.

They’d always had feelings for one another. Since the day they met, they felt it – that spark that everyone talks about. And it was mutual. They knew that somehow, even though neither one of them had their marks yet (they met when they were sixteen – marks don’t materialize on the body till eighteen), they had a closeness. A special connection.

If they weren’t soulmates, what could that connection possibly mean?

When Kurt got his mark first, on his chest above his heart, which very clearly read Blaine Anderson, Kurt knew that it had to be his Blaine. And he was relieved. Fate hadn’t been kind to him for most of his life. He had lost his mother, almost lost his father, had his own life threatened by a school bully. It would be cruel if he lost Blaine. But since Blaine didn’t have a mark (which should have been over his heart, too, since soulmate marks traditionally matched in placement), Blaine wasn’t as certain. There was always the possibility that there was another Blaine Anderson somewhere in the world, and that Kurt was meant for him. Kurt was adamant that that wasn’t the case, but Blaine was stubborn.

But Blaine turned out to be wrong.

And Kurt had underestimated the kindness of fate.

Not long after Kurt and Blaine graduated from high school and moved to New York, Blaine started suffering symptoms of a heart defect he’d inherited from his father – a defect that doctors had assured him his entire young life would more than likely turn out to be just a nuisance, fixable by a minor, relatively low-risk procedure when he got older, if need be. But Blaine’s heart had started to malfunction, two chambers shutting down almost simultaneously, and that’s when they found his soulmate mark – the name Kurt Hummel written directly across the front.

Kurt has loved Blaine forever. Being soulmates, he loved Blaine before they even met. He’d dreamt his entire life of him without ever knowing it, and not just his striking features, which he’d only glimpsed in part - his golden eyes, and his dark, curly hair - but his love of music, his passion, his grace, his elegance, his sincerity.

His drive and ambition.

His beautiful soul, and how much their souls belonged together. Because that’s what soulmates means – finding your other half. That one person on the planet whose existence makes you whole.

Preparing for the possibility of Blaine’s new heart had brought them together over the past few months in a way nothing else in their relationship had before. Exercising together, preparing meals together, going to classes at the hospital together, planning a new future together, took them to a higher level of intimacy and devotion, outlined in their wedding vows that they had chosen to recite traditionally because they applied in the simplest but most poignant terms – for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and health; until death do us part.

Except in their vows, they had said till death do we wait, till we’re reunited.

Kurt doesn’t believe in God. He doesn’t really believe in an afterlife. But he believes in Blaine, and he believes in those vows. He’s held on to them from the day he said them, made them into his own religion.

Their love is his faith.

If Blaine doesn’t make it, or if removing his heart means what Blaine fears it means – that his soulmate mark will go with it, severing the connection between him and Kurt irreparably - then they might as well just remove Kurt’s heart as well.

Because he won’t need it any longer.

***

Kurt doesn’t know how he fell asleep. Aside from the fact that he swore to himself he wouldn’t, he wasn’t even remotely tired after they wheeled Blaine to the OR. But to ensure there was no chance that he would nod off, he found the narrowest, most uncomfortable chair in the private waiting room, right beneath the brightest, most obnoxious white light, and set up camp. He immersed himself in mindless busy work, checking his text messages and his emails, then his Facebook feed, then his Twitter, and finally his Tumblr, keeping close friends and random followers alike updated regularly on Blaine’s progress.

He finished writing responses to the comments he received on his posts - mostly thank yous along with various emojis depending on the commenter. He closed out his apps, rubbed his brow, and shut his eyes for a second to block out the harsh light overhead.

A second later, a hand on his shoulder shook him awake.

He jerks up from his hunched over position, elbows resting on his knees, his head hanging from his neck like an overripe fruit on a too thin branch, and his phone on the floor, presumably where it landed when it fell from his hands.

“Hmm? Wha---Blaine?” Kurt mutters, assuming it must be Blaine waking him, wrapped up and ready to go home. He was just talking to Blaine five minutes ago. Who else would it be? He kicks his phone as he sits up, waking it from its slumber. The time on the screen reads 7:26.

But it was just past noon a minute ago.

“Mr. Hummel?” a voice says. It’s not Blaine, but it’s familiar.

Kurt blinks at the man standing over him, wearing teal blue operating scrubs and a weary expression.

“Mr. Hummel,” the man continues, even though Kurt has yet to acknowledge him. “We’ve just brought your husband out of surgery. He’s been taken to observation. You’ll be able to see him once he starts coming out of anesthesia.”

Kurt nods, taking the words in even though half his brain seems to believe that they should be heading home. Blaine gets a new heart, and then they go home. It’s as simple as that, right? Because if Kurt has to spend another minute in a hospital worrying about someone he loves, he might go insane.

But if Blaine’s body rejects this heart, there may not be a second time.

“So, he made it through all right?” Kurt needs clarity, wondering why, if everything’s okay, his doctor looks like there’s a problem. Shouldn’t he be smiling, relief pooling in his eyes with a thin stream of tears, like the doctors on Grey’s Anatomy when surgery is a success? Why does Blaine’s doctor seem so … dour?

“Yes, he did. We’re going to keep him under careful observation, but from the outset, things look promising.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Kurt asks, because the unreadable look in the doctor’s eyes makes Kurt think otherwise.

“Mr. Hummel, before I take you to see your husband, I need to have a word with you.”

***

“How do you feel?”

“I feel like an elephant sat on my chest and cracked my ribcage.”

Kurt chuckles. It’s been a day. One whole day of sitting by Blaine’s side and watching him sleep, watching him breathe. A day of holding his hand to make sure that his body is still warm. A day of waiting to hear his voice again, and, when they finally removed his breathing tube, reveling in every harsh, raw attempt at a whisper. A day of not sleeping comfortably so he could make sure Blaine kept breathing while he did. A day of not eating because he didn’t want to leave Blaine’s side. A day of hoping and praying and bartering with the universe. A day of trying to lend Blaine strength because Kurt knew he’d need it to get better.

A day that’s felt like a lifetime.

But Kurt will take it, and every day after. He loves Blaine. He loves Blaine’s sense of humor. He loves his over-the-top displays of affection. He loves his outlandish apologies. He loves his smiles, even the tired, slightly pained one he’s wearing right now.

And he loves that he has a beautiful reminder of Blaine pulsing on the skin of his chest with every beat of Blaine’s brand new heart in the form of his soulmate mark - Blaine Anderson.

“Well, aside from that,” Kurt says. “What I mean is … do you still love me?”

Blaine’s smile goes from pained to flawless in a blink. “Yes,” he says, squeezing Kurt’s hand as best he can. “Yes, I love you.”

“And what do you think that means?” Kurt asks with a knowing smile, as if whatever lesson Blaine is supposed to learn from all of this, Kurt knew all along.

In reality, he only learned recently, but he’s not about to tell his husband that.

“It means that me being desperately and hopelessly in love with you had nothing to do with any silly mark on my heart. Or anywhere else on my body. It has to do with you and me. Who we are together. I loved you long before that mark ever showed up, and nothing is going to change that.”

“Good.” Kurt sniffs to banish the tears threatening his eyes. “It’s nice to see that you’ve finally come to your senses.”

“And it only took about six hours in surgery for me to get there.”

“Better late than never.” Kurt leans over to kiss his husband on the forehead, wishing he could kiss him on the lips instead. But Kurt’s on the verge of tears as it is, and he hasn’t even gotten to the best part of the lesson. “Oh, and here. The doctor gave me this for you to keep.” Kurt turns to his chair and picks up an envelope sitting there, about the size of a small poster, that Blaine had somehow managed to overlook. Though, to be fair, with his gorgeous husband standing by his bedside, there wasn’t anywhere else that he wanted to look than in Kurt’s eyes.

“What is it?” Blaine takes the film Kurt hands him, trying to hold it steady. Kurt keeps hold of the upper edge, lending him a hand. “Ah.” Blaine nods once when he sees the image clearly. He’s seen it so many times, he should have known what it was when he saw the damned envelope. He looks at this x-ray of his heart, like the countless he’d taken before it, with his soulmate mark, his husband’s name, written across it in Kurt’s impeccable handwriting.

“We’ll have to frame it,” Blaine says with a sigh. “This way we can always remember what was, hmm?”

“Well, you’re partially right. We should frame it, right next to this one.” From the envelope, Kurt pulls out a second x-ray of Blaine’s heart. This one bears the mark as well, except the last few letters of Kurt’s name are obscured, the organ in this x-ray darker on one side. Damaged. Blaine compares it with the first, the heart in that one completely healthy, Kurt’s name clear as day. Kurt doesn’t explain it right away. He watches Blaine’s eyes bounce back and forth between the two images, his fuzzy brain struggling to make sense of both x-rays in relation to one another.

“Wait a minute,” he says, his head throbbing behind his eyes as he forces himself to think. “I don’t … I don’t understand.”

“It’s your heart, darling,” Kurt says with a self-satisfied little smile that would come off as superior if it weren’t keeping him from crying. “What is there to understand?”

“But the mark …”

“That’s your soulmate mark,” Kurt points out, starting with the damaged heart first, “on your old heart, and here, on your new heart.”

Blaine shakes his head. He’s trapped in a daze, wondering if he’s actually awake or if he’s still under anesthesia, dreaming that this is real. Because if it is real, it’s the most amazing, fantastical thing he’s ever heard in his life, second to finding out that the donor registry had found him a new heart.

And third to the day Kurt said, “I do.”

“The surgeon told me it appeared after they had the heart implanted,” Kurt explains when the blank look on Blaine’s face becomes blanker. “The second they began to suture and the heart became yours, it appeared.”

“But … how?”

“Because it was never about the heart, Blaine.” Kurt moves the x-rays to the chair and leans in, forehead to forehead, carding careful fingers through his husband’s hair as Blaine’s face begins to crumble, quiet sobs shaking his sore chest. “You said so yourself. You never loved me because my name was written on your heart. Your soulmate mark is a part of you because you love me. It was never going anywhere … and neither was I.”

[miss-icarus]

DataFields-It’s a weird day

The room was quiet. More quiet than usual. This was an asylum after all but it was not like these cliche horror movie asylums where patients were screaming in pain left and right. But usually there was always something going on. But not today. In fact, the only sound she could hear right now was the rain crashing against her window. It was a weird afternoon. It has been some weird months but today was particularly weird. Not even in a bad way. Just... weird. She looked out of the window into the grey sky. The dimmed light that coated the world in everlasting melancholia was strangely soothing to her. It reminded her of the rainy days at the coast. Wind in her hair, hands in the pockets of her big sweater as she stood at the beach with the little wodden house. The feeling of the ice cold water flowing around her ankles like a thousand needles poking her skin. She would always treasure this feeling, the feeling of being alive. And it pained her to know that the last time she got to experience it, it feeled different. Because it was not real. It was part of a simulation. It was part of her brain trying to make sense of the data fields that she spend almost her whole life in. But maybe she would in fact spend her whole life in here. Or maybe this room, this world was real after all. She didn't know. How was she supposed to know. Deep down in the depths of her brain was the aswer. But it was covered up by images of white masks, hanging corpses, the death cramps of her electricuted friends and all the sins she commited that led to her sitting in a white hospital room watching the raindrop's race on her window. She frowned. Today was one of these weird days where she felt to tired to try to kill herself in order to return to the real world, she did not want to ruin it by indulging herself in melancholic thoughts of wooden houses at the beach. Or maybe she was not tired after all. Maybe there was a small spark of hope in her heart that the images with the faces and the voices of her friends where real afterall and she was not trapped in a simulation made by her brain so that it woun't get fried by the sheer amount of information recieved by it through the data fields. But just as she thought she could forget about the crippling memories of stormy coasts, her past seemed to come back at her once more in the shape of a young man entering her room after a small knocking on her door. He was dressed in all black. Black jeans, black leather jacket with silver studs, black hoodie covering large parts of his face and a black face mask covering the other parts. But the silver sunglasses he would usually wear weren't there so she could see his eyes. It was undoubtedly him. But seeing him here was even weirder than anything she could have imagined. After all she never really met him. And still he was one of the closest friends she had. He knew things about her noone would ever know about her. "I could swear you look taller in the fields." Judging by the surprised expression on his face, he was definitely not expecting such a warm and heatfelt greeting. But then he started laughing and responded with: "Well, and I could swear your hair used to be blonder." She was looking at the mess on her head in her reflection in the window. "Well it definitely used to be cleaner..." After a small moment of silence, the two started laughing. It was definitely him. Weather this was the best imagination her brain could come up with or the real one. She did not care. Just for one moment she did not want to question him. Just for one moment she wanted to accept. He took seat in the small chair at the end of her bed and got rid of the face mask and the hood covering his face. His black hair was slicked back and his full lips where curved into a slight smile. "I'm glad to see you. I have to admit, I would have loved our first meeting to be under slightly less depressing circumstances but I figured we can not longer postpone it." "Depressing cicumstances?" He looked at her with a blank stare. "Oh yea, pardon me, that cut on your neck is a sign of pure happiness." She chuckled looking at the bandage around her throat in her reflection once again. She smiled at him: "I see what you mean." She continued smiling at him while he looked at her with an expression impossible for her to read. "It's not time for visitors right now. They don't know your here, do they?" He grinned at her so she could see his dimples. "You have been knowing me for a while now, do I seem like the type of guy to say hi at receptions?" The thought of him patiently sitting in a waiting room awaiting his name to be shouted by the overworked receptionist made her laugh out loud. "So you hacked yourself into the reception computer and found out about the time scedule and the room plans." His grin got even wider. "By the way, you dont have anyone checking up on you today anymore, apparently somebody already did that this morning." The silence returned as she looked out the window but it was more of a soothing silence rather than an akward one. "What now?" The question seemed a bit out of the blue but she immediately knew what he meant. "I don't know. If I would, I would probably not be here." He rose from his chair and started to inspect the window. "Don't bother. It's closed so people like me can not jump out of it in an attempt to fly. What are you trying to do anyway?" He turned around with a mischievous smile while taking a small leather case out of his pocket. "Please. You think so little of me?" He turned around and started to work on the small mechanism on the window that was supposed to prevent patients from opening it for more than a couple of centimeters. "We both know that you can not stay here for much longer. We need you. The fields got a litle bit...crazy over the last year." Her gaze followed his hands quickly changing between the small tools out of his leather case. "But what if I don't want to return? What if I just don't care?" With a small click he removed a small gear from the window. "Panther, I don't even know what's real anymore. Maybe I just want to pretend like nothing of all of this is concerning me. Everybody else is allowed to look away and pretend like everything is fine. Why am I not allowed to do that? Just because I'm not using Facebook? Just because I'm not selling my identity to every single social media and new world gadget out there? Just because I'm trying to be smarter than that? I'm not trying to change the world. I tried at some point. But I learned my lesson. We should not expect to much of our impact on this planet. We should all just not care. It would be better for us. The sweet ignorant bliss...I don't know who I am anymore, Panther. I don't know whats real or not. I don't know who to trust, hell, I don't even know who you are..." With a second click, Panther removed the second part of the mechanism and opened the window to let in a wave of cold and wet air. "You are right. You don't own them shit. Noone. You don't have to return to the fields. Over the years, I'm pretty sure you made enough money and collected enough blackmail material to disappear forever on a caribbean island and to never come back. And if I were you, I wouldn't think twice before leaving all of this behind and not giving a damn just like everybody else. But that's not your style. I've known you for a long time now and you are not the type of person to just run away like that. I would understand it, you have absolutely no duty to do any of this. Especially after being here. But you are to stubborn to take a break. The fields are a part of you. They are a part of me. Even if we would never enter them ever again, they would always stay this part of us that we can not deny. They would hunt us for the rest of our lives. This feeling of absolute control and no controll at all. This feeling of standing in the middle of absolute wisdom but not being able to catch even the slightest bit of it. We were the first to go that far, Sarah. We crossed the line. Our implants are just a sign of our addiction. Because that is just what it is. That is what we are. Junkies. Even if we could get away from it, our minds would always wander back to that place where humanity shows itself in it's absolute worst. And once seen, you can not forget about it and all of a sudden you find yourself standing in the middle of a crowd staring at it. Knowingly. And there is nothing bittersweeter than this kind of wisdom. And you know that." He climbed on the windowsill and for the first time in what felt like ages he turned aroud to face her. His black hair was now perfectly framing his angular features. His usual cool gaze was now completely honest and serious. She has only seen him like that once before. His eyes were piercing in an almost uncomfortable manner. "I don't care about all of this. If shit goes down, I'm long gone. And I'm also not here because of that. I care about you, that's why I'm here. When you were gone for so long, I knew something was up. And I was right, so here we are. And about me..." His gaze turned softer. "I'm the same as always. And even though that probably does not say a lot to most people, I know it does to you. And I want you to know that whatever you are planing on doing, no matter how you will decide, I will help you. If you decide to return to the fields, I will be by your side. If you decide to leave, I will personally be the one to carry your bags. I owe that to you. But before you decide anything, we should make you feel better first." He reached out for her hand in order to pull her onto the ledge. She looked at him confused. "You want me to climb out of the window of my hospitalroom into the rain to follow you, a person that I only know through the internet, to a place I don't know?" He laughed out loud and with a beaming smile he responded: "I never took you for the cautious type. I just want to take you on a small trip down memory lane, I swear this creepy dude from the internet here is not trying to get into your pants." The two chuckled a bit at his commentary but as he saw her still slightly unsure expression, he added: "Do you trust me Sarah?" For a moment she just looked at him and his hand and her mind began wandering. 'Today is a weird day' she thought to herself as she took his hand and was pulled out of the window into the cold rain.