Reed had barely noticed when Lynn slipped out of the room, too preoccupied with flipping between songs on their iPod to pay attention. At some point, they realized that their girlfriend had been missing for an odd amount of time, but quickly dismissed the thought. After all, it was her home. She’d probably just left to do laundry or something, the way she always did when Reed was chilling there, so they kicked back on the couch and lost themself in music once more.
When Lynn appeared again, hovering in the entrance to the living room, they definitely took notice. She was hunched over, hovering shakily in the doorway with one hand on the frame to support herself, her free hand gingerly clutching her stomach. Two bright spots of color stood out on her cheeks, and her eyes and nose were red, as if she’d been crying.
Reed yanked their earbuds out, sitting up with a start. “Woah, what’s up? You okay?”
“I just –” The hand that wasn’t on Lynn’s stomach had crept up to cover her mouth, and when she spoke, her voice was muffled as she pressed her fingers against her lips. “I just threw up.”
Before Reed could react, Lynn doubled over, gagging wetly as streams of vomit dripped through her fingers and onto the floor.
This is actually a birthday present for wordstrings! I love it when I get things done. Two months late, but I got it done before the end of the year, so it counts!
Fluffy fluff fluff fluff!
Dean had come to feel safe in the bunker. Relaxed, with his guard down. That’s why when he walked into his room and promptly took what felt like a fluffy baseball bat to the face, he was pretty surprised. The world flashed white, and he was on his back.
anonymous prompted: ok so what if klaine meet when they’re in their mid-twenties in NY and they’re dating and as they’re learning about each other kurt is endeared amd confused about some of blaine’s habits like being really frugal and always giving his change to the homeless… and blaine eventually tells kurt that he was homeless when he was 18-20ish. hurt/comfort, current fluff with past blangst… guh. yes please.
(part of the alternate meeting ‘verse)
Love had come a lot later in life for Kurt Hummel than he would have liked—though when it finally did it was with such an amazing, perfect companion that Kurt thinks he doesn’t mind that he’d had to wait until he was twenty-six. After all, his high school goal had been to get married by thirty, and twenty-six gives him just enough time to meet it, or so the eternally optimistic romantic inside him says.
He’d met Blaine Anderson a few months ago at a bar, where he’d been avoiding his extremely drunk coworkers during an ill-advised karaoke night. He’d been hunched over the wide mouth of his martini glass, staring at the bright green appletini inside and wondering if he should’ve ordered something stronger, when the stool beside him had creaked as someone sat in it.
“Okay,” Harry mumbled, gripping your hands as you took the final stair with one heavy step, sighing in relief when you reached the landing at the top. “I’ve got you.”
Everything ached. Muscles you didn’t even know that you had, ached, throbbing tenderly, the ache, wrapping around your body in an unforgiving grip. It was an indescribable feeling, almost like things were passing in a hazy blur that you couldn’t keep up with.
You couldn’t remember ever feeling both this elated and this exhausted all at once. Leaning heavily again the curve of Harry’s body, you took a moment to steady yourself, blinking your heavy eyes, and letting your fingertips rest against the wall to keep from toppling over. Your chest, tightening anxiously as you peered down to the end of the hall, where the bedroom sat, beckoning you in.
You tried to get your brain to tell your feet to move faster, but your overworked body, had other ideas. Your limbs feeling heavy. Your steps were shuffled, each making your body protest with another stinging ache. You just wanted to curl up in the loosest items of clothing you could find and sleep for a while. With all of the previous day’s adrenaline, having worn away, the ache had set in firmly, weighing you down, mixed with the bone-deep tiredness. The walk up the drive to the house had felt like a half-marathon. You hoped desperately that your next labor stuck to fitting into one day’s time, instead of nearly two.
You hissed, almost losing your balance, and falling into Harry, who tightened his grip. The arm he had wrapped around your back, tensing. “Ouch,” you whimpered.
“Go slow, baby, it’s fine. Take your time,” Harry murmured, sensing your growing distress.
“Go get the baby,” you worried, bracing the palm that wasn’t encompassed by Harry’s own hand, against the wall.
Harry’s lips were on your temple. “She’ll be okay in the lounge for a minute, love. She’s fast asleep. Let’s just get you settled first.”
Wanting to protest further, but also knowing your legs were starting to quiver, you nodded, swallowing thickly before continuing to shuffle down the carpeted hall towards the bedroom. You wrinkled your nose, both at the soreness, and that you smelled heavily of antiseptic and hospital sheets. That crisp, bleach-laced and dry scent caught on your skin. It was a relief to be home where everything smelled warm and familiar and lived in. That quintessential ‘home’ smell. Cinnamon and brewed coffee, laundry soap, and fresh sheets all melding together deliciously.
Harry pushed the door open, noticing the bed was freshly made, no doubt by his mother, who had come a few hours prior to give the house a nice deep clean, despite his efforts to convince her otherwise. Much like him, she was fiercely protective and caring for others. But your mother-in-law was fiery and ready to take charge diligently.
With the growing popularity of casual sportswear for both men and women, sweatpants are not what they used to be. No longer reserved for the couch on lazy Sundays, sweats are not only now acceptable in public, but encouraged. Just know when to trade them for a nicer pair of jeans or slacks (work, dinner, a date and anything formal). Kanye West helped popularize the drop-crotch style, and brands like J.Crew made tailored styles look clean and, dare we say, classy. It’s time to upgrade your old, worn sweats with a few fresh pairs from brands like Diesel and T by Alexander Wang. Take a look through our edit of sweats you can wear at the gym and on the street.
J.Crew Fall 2014
Wear your sweats with a white button-down and a sleek black jacket like blogger Tommy Lei of My Belonging.
Y-3 Fall 2014
It’s time to upgrade your old, worn sweats with a few fresh pairs from brands like Diesel and T by Alexander Wang.
Blaine is sitting cross-legged on Kurt’s hospital bed, mirroring Kurt, a shining red and green Macintosh apple on the blanket between them. The sadness in Kurt’s voice physically pains him, and he rushes to apologize.
“I’m sorry, I should have known better.” His throat is tight. "I’ll bring it home.“
He reaches for the apple but Kurt stops him, a hand on his wrist. "No, leave it. It’s pretty.”
Blaine blinks, wills himself not to cry. "That’s what I thought, too.“ He had spent an hour at the farmer’s market, looking for the perfect apple to bring his husband. This one was lovely, just the right shape and color, a masterpiece of nature’s art. It didn’t seem fair that Kurt was missing these crisp autumn days, the bright blue skies, the arrival of the dreaded pumpkin latte. But he was.
This wasn’t the first time Kurt had practically stopped eating, but it was the worst. He had never had to be hospitalized before, never been a prisoner to the IV needle for so many weeks.
For as long as Blaine has known him, Kurt has liked being in control. The first time Blaine noticed it affecting Kurt’s eating habits was during Kurt’s second year at NYADA, after Kurt was beat up saving someone else from being bashed. It didn’t seem to last long, though, and although Kurt had lost some weight at the time, he certainly hadn’t seemed unhealthy to Blaine’s eyes.
There were several bouts of similar behavior over the next few years, but Kurt always seemed to pull himself out of it. And unlike most things, he simply refused to talk to Blaine about it, or even acknowledge that there was anything to be concerned about. During one fight, Kurt even accused Blaine of confusing his own body issues with Kurt’s. This would have upset Blaine more if he couldn’t tell from the horrified look that passed over Kurt’s face that Kurt didn’t mean a word that he had said.
Then Kurt got cast in the Broadway revival of Rent. He immediately began dieting. He researched methods other actors had used to lose weight for parts (if Matt Bomer could do it for The Normal Heart, he could do it too, he explained) and wound up skinnier than Blaine had ever seen him. It frightened Blaine. It kept him up at night as he watched Kurt sleep and wondered what was going to happen. Blaine was relieved when the show’s three month run came to an end. He slowly tried to bring things back to normal, stopping to pick up a pizza on the way home, making pancakes for breakfast. But Kurt couldn’t let go of it, couldn’t stop policing his every bite. And he kept on losing weight.
Concept: Hannibal catches a cold and can no longer smell. Cue Hannibal freaking out bc he can't taste anything and can't smell people before they enter a room, and Will taking advantage of this
Concept: I see this message and scream because it’s my new favorite idea
Just think of the shenanigans, my friends:
1) Hannibal no longer knows who anyone is because he mainly identifies people by smell.
2) His sense of taste is totally messed up (since taste is largely scent-reliant) and he spends all night trying to make SOMETHING to satisfy his sophisticated palette…and ends up crying into a delivery pizza because it’s the only thing that tastes the way it’s supposed to.
3) Intense sniffles prompt Hannibal to ask Will for a handkerchief. Will grabs the first thing remotely hanky-like and hands it to Hannibal, who has a gloriously intense sneeze into the proffered item. “Will…this is a $200 pocket square. MY $200 pocket square.”
4) Hannibal ignores the warning on his cold medicine that he should avoid alcohol and opens a bottle of wine during one of his sessions (Bedelia, Will, or even Franklyn would work particularly well) and he gets entirely wasted. Like, he may or may not tie his suit jacket around his neck like a superhero cape and draw his dark anime OC on his left arm and swear he’s going to get it tattooed there…
5) Hannibal gives up completely and spends the day hunkered down in his house, wearing fleece sweatpants he bought at the Gap in 1998 and buried under his collection of imported afghans while he watches ‘Dr. Phil’ all day on the sofa.
The best part about this is that WE CANNOT LOSE. Any headcanon is absolute gold.