jenny shortfic

Fic (Critical Role): Rubble

Title: Rubble
Pairing: Pike & Lady Kima of Vord
Summary: “You okay?” Kima is squinting at her as she sips from a waterskin, looking a little concerned. “You were all…” she trails off, waving a hand at Pike’s head in a way that reminds her of Grog more than ever.
Words:  ~1050
[Also on Ao3]

Previously on Critical Role Relationship Role Week Extended Period of Time:

Day 1 – Cassandra & Vex’ahlia
Day 2 – Pike & Scanlan
Day 3 – Shaun Gilmore & Vax’ildan
Day 4 – Cassandra & Vax’ildan
Day 5 – Jarett & Percy

And now Day 6: Pike & Lady Kima

(This vaguely references events of episode 88, as well as covering the aftermath of episode 79 more directly)

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"Sitting Pup" a puppy!Blaine drabble for ohblainers

If I have a puppy!Klaine canon, this is separate from it. This is fast, cracky, and not entirely thought out (or even a little bit), because basically Andie made me.

**********

Sitting Pup, by aspiringtoeloquence

“Blaine! Blaine!”

Blaine knew that tone. He froze with his ball in his mouth and glanced towards the hallway, where the voice was coming from. Maybe if he stayed still -

“Blaine, sit!”

Damn it.

Ever since Finn had gotten that book from Rachel-human it had been like this. Every time he did anything…“sit, Blaine!” “Blaine, you need to sit!” “Blaine, you’re getting pawprints all over Rachel’s sweater, why are you climbing up there?”

Well, okay. The pawprints were on purpose. He and Kurt had agreed that the sweater was really, really ugly, as well as, Kurt had pointed out, inaccurately representing Cats and their feelings on sequins.

But anyway.

He sat, because he knew if he didn’t he might not get a treat, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

He growled in what he hoped was a menacing manner. Kurt had told him when he was practicing that he would have been scared. He’d been curled up with him, though, so he wasn’t sure he believed him. But the cuddling was nice.

He forgot to keep growling, because now he was thinking of how much he liked cuddling Kurt.

Kurt was perfect. The most perfect kitty there ever was.

It wasn’t until he heard the sound of paws coming down the hall that he realized that Kurt was there. Finn was gone (he thought he’d heard Rachel-human saying something shrill down the hall), and there was a treat in front of him. He gobbled it up (he would have shared, but Kurt said those treats were disgusting. They tasted good to Blaine) and scampered over to where Kurt had appeared in the doorway.

“Hi, hi, I missed you! How are you?”

Kurt purred and nuzzled him, licking a little at his nose. “Mmmm, hello. Have you been sitting again?”

Blaine made a face. “It’s rude,” he whined. “I’m just playing. I don’t like it.”

Kurt licked his face again. “ ’s okay,” he said comfortingly. “He’ll get bored of it. Rachel will bring some new thing over, and then everything will be back to normal.”

“I hope so.” Blaine idly nudged the floor with his nose.

“Blaine?”

“Yes?”

“Would it make you feel better if I scratched him?”

Blaine considered this. “I don’t think so,” he decided. “Then you might get into trouble.” When Kurt seemed undeterred he continued. “Besides, you just being here makes me feel better.”

Kurt smiled, and that was the best thing ever. Better than treats, even.

“Blaine,” Kurt asked a little shyly, “would you maybe like to… cuddle, or something?”

The speed with which Blaine tugged Kurt over to the comfy cushion he’d smuggled into the corner of the living room was an indication that, for the moment, at least, Blaine had forgotten all about sitting.

The Twenty Meter Puppy Dash, a puppykitty drabble

The Twenty Meter Puppy Dash, by aspiringtoeloquence

Based on leafy’s doodles: x and x

“It’s a big one, this last lap, and it’ll mean everything to our com-pet-ors today. Blaine in the lead, tail wagging, and the people at the finish line are holding their breath. It’s close, so close, and as he said before the race, this pup is in it for his kitty, who’s here with us today. Kurt, what do you think?”

Kurt batted a paw at Blaine’s nose as he lifted his head sleepily in the shade of his favorite tree. “What’re you doing?”

Blaine paused in his race and bounced a little. “Playing Lympics, Kurt. I’m racing, and I’m going to win the gold.”

“Oh,” Kurt purred, resting his head back on his paws. “Alright.”

“I just have to climb over the last hurdle.”

He eyed the garden skeptically. “The lawn chair?”

“It’s tough,” Blaine said with a growl in his voice. “But I can beat it. It’s the last lap.” He turned back to Kurt. “Will you cheer for me?”

“Of course,” Kurt flicked his tail.

“Will you wait by the finish line?”

“Where’s the finish line?”

“Right by that tree.”

Kurt settled down again. “Then yes." 

Blaine set off again, his commentary picking up as he clambered over the lawn chair, setting off back across the grass. "And they’re so close, Blaine’s just a few paws away from -”

It was a small rock. Not enough to cut, but enough to make him stumble, fall over into the grass with a small yelp. He tried to get up again, but it hurt too much, and in a moment Kurt was with him, mewing worriedly and licking his ears while they wait for the humans.

“I didn’t win,” Blaine said sadly, looking at the tree, his dreams of a gold medal fading away.

“Yes you did,” Kurt mewed with certainty. “You won ‘best puppy’.”

He looked up and his tail wagged cautiously. “I did?”

Kurt left kisses all over his nose. “Always.”

*

Later that night, when his paw was all bandaged up and he was curled up in his and Kurt’s special blanket, Kurt dropped something shiny into their bed. He recognized it - it was on a very high shelf upstairs, and even Kurt had always been afraid to go up there.

“Best puppy,” Kurt said, and Blaine nuzzled him, yipping quietly because he didn’t think it was possible to love anyone as much as he loves Kurt.

*

The humans eventually find the medal, but Blaine discovers he doesn’t mind all that much. 

Kurt thinks he’s the best puppy, after all, and that’s good enough for him.

Part of the Family, by aspiringtoeloquence

Let me jump on this bandwagon - I just posted this as a reblog to another drabble, but it’s easier for me to title/tag it like this. Based on blaineandersons’ photoset in which Blaine and Rachel are siblings.

Three Months Later:

“Blaine, have you seen - OH MY GOD!” Rachel’s hand flew to her eyes. “Blaine, I told you. Tonight is sleepover night, it’s time for our lady chat. You two get to see eachother every day -“

Blaine just grinned. “Hey, I stayed in my room…”

Kurt smoothed his hair as he unfolded himself from the bed, straightening his shirt. “I just came by to chat with Blaine before I got my toothpaste out of the car,” he said serenely.

“Seriously, you two, I think you both should respect the boundaries that I have -“

“Oh,” Kurt scoffed, “like we haven’t had to watch you and Finn swap spit at every restaurant in Ohio.”

“Finn and I -“

“Rach,” Blaine said, turning to her with the pout that she’d taught him so many years ago, “we just wanted a few minutes alone. You know it’s hard at school, we can’t even do any of the stuff that you guys do - hold hands, even - without getting looks, so Kurt just decided to come say hi -“

Rachel took in his pleading expression, and then the way Kurt was looking at him from across the room, like he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

She let out a breath through her nose. “Fine, but our parents are downstairs, and they think Kurt’s with Mercedes and me, so don’t do…” she trailed off, not particularly wanting to continue that train of thought. She spun to Kurt and held up a warning finger. “Fifteen minutes, and then I -“

“You’re the best, Rach.” Blaine had jumped off the bed and was pushing her towards the door. “You’re my favorite sister.”

“I’m your only -” The door swung shut.

“So,” Blaine said breathlessly, turning back to his boyfriend. “Where were we?”

Caretaker, a puppy!blaine and kitty!kurt drabble by aspiringtoeloquence

Caretaker, by aspiringtoeloquence

A/N: So, I have another puppy!blaine story in the works, which is actually the first thing that ohblainers prompted from me, but she asked for this today (five days ago oops), and I really just could not resist her charm. Further evidence can be found here, where there is a puppy!blaine/kitty!kurt section. And if you think that this slightly resembles ‘Home’, you’re right, because I realized after the first paragraph that the prompts were incredibly similar, but this takes place later.

It is undeniable that Blaine’s desire to climb tall things, along with his relatively short stature and tendency towards over-enthusiasm, had led to him being injured, and having to go to the vet, more often than might otherwise be necessary. However, it wasn’t all that often, and those times, along with the various times he got sick for other reasons, weren’t nearly as numerous as one might think. The night he’d eaten the chocolate had been bad, but Kurt had stayed with him all night and licked his ears comfortingly, and it had worked much better than that horrible stuff the humans gave him, because Kurt was magical. Overall, Blaine was a very healthy puppy. He was just quite exuberant.

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Pretty Perfect, a puppykitty drabble

In this one, Finn and Rachel are the humans, because it was necessary. You’ll see. I suppose this is more of the “fuck you, I’m a cat” kitty!kurt persuasion. This is really short, and is lacking the way of plot… just a few moments inside kitty!kurt’s head. Ain’t that a sentence…

Pretty Perfect, by aspiringtoeloquence

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June 24th, 2011, by aspiringtoeloquence

Kurt sat on the couch, his eyes wide and filled with unshed tears. The TV was on mute, the laptop on the coffee table still open.

“Oh my god,” he said hoarsely. “They did it.”

Blaine took his hand and pulled him close, burying his tearstained cheek in his boyfriend’s hair. “They did it."He pressed his lips to Kurt’s forehead, his nose, his cheeks, intensity building. "I love you,” he whispered.

Kurt smiled. “I love you too.” He closed his eyes briefly. “And now, maybe one day, everyone can know it.”

Blaine touched a finger to Kurt’s lips. “Everyone already knows.” He touched their lips gently, but let the intensity, the fire, build for a few seconds. “But now thousands of people - us, and so many others, can have something - a legal something - equal to what any other loving couple has.”

A tear rolled down Kurt’s cheek. “I can’t believe it.”

Blaine held him close, and as they sat there they thought of the people all over the country, all over the world, recognizing this moment. Couples who had been waiting twenty, thirty, fifty years to be able to say that their marriage, their love, was, in the eyes of the law, equal to a man and a woman’s. “We won,” Blaine whispered. “We all won.”

Kurt touched his lips to Blaine’s cheek. “This is so much better than a trophy.”

*****

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Nemesis, a spy!klaine AU

emmybiscuit:

AU: Spy!Klaine. Kurt and Blaine are from enemy organizations. They fight each other and fuck each other. Their one rule: no feelings.

who loves me and wants to write this yes?

Based on this photoset, posted in its own post now for purposes of tagging and convenience. (Thanks to G for looking it over)

There’s a white rosebud on the desk in his hotel room when he checks in, and he lets his eyes linger on it for only a moment before he goes about his business, drops his bag on the bed (king sized, insanely comfortable, someone up there must like him - he’ll have to remember to thank Mercedes) and sweeps the room for surveillance equipment.

He goes down to the bar for a drink - just one, he has to meet his contact in the morning - and it only takes a few minutes for someone to move into the space next to him.

“You’re slipping,” he says without looking over. “The Anderson I know doesn’t conduct a blatant rendezvous with the enemy where anyone can see.”

“Uh…”

He turns, blanches when he sees a nervous looking waiter. “I’m - my apologies, I thought you were someone else.”

“I have… a message.” The waiter swallows, arms stretched out as he struggles with the language. “You are Mister Lain?”

“I am,” Kurt says in Italian, and the kid - he can’t be more than sixteen or seventeen - immediately relaxes.

“It is… it’s from a Mister Warbler?”

Kurt smiles, fights the urge to roll his eyes. “Is he here?”

“It was a phone message. He said to tell you he…” 

“Yes?”

“He said he couldn’t meet. And that he’ll be detained indefinitely.”

Kurt tries very hard to pretend that he doesn’t feel a swoop of disappointment. “Right. Thank you.” He downs the rest of his drink, moves to leave. He suddenly feels a little tired, and Rome - a city he’s seen before, for god’s sake - doesn’t seem as shiny as it did half an hour ago. Besides, he has work to do tomorrow. Work that shouldn’t - can’t - be disrupted by his goddamn rival (no matter how good he looks in a suit. Or out of it).

He slides his keycard - twice, he always seems to get the ones that don’t work on the first try - and is wondering if he can justify taking another hot shower before bed when he hears a creak from a corner of the room; his hand has drawn his gun before he’s even consciously recognized it.

“Clumsy, Hummel,” Blaine says from the armchair, pistol casually pointed in his direction. He’s fingering the rosebud in his other hand. “I see you got my message.”

“Both of them,” he says warily, and goddamn it the overgrown puppy looks even better than he did in Prague how does he do that? “What are you doing here?”

“Afraid I wouldn’t make it? I just wanted to surprise you.” He’s grinning now, pistol dipped, and this game Kurt at least knows.

“Right. Because we both know that running into you is the highlight of my travels.”

Blaine scrunches up his nose and it is unfairly distracting. 

Three minutes later Blaine’s three piece suit is lying haphazardly over the armchair, his dress shirt is somewhere on the floor, and Kurt’s finding it very difficult to remember where their guns ended up and also possibly his own name.

*

In the morning he wakes to a room service knock (just like in India, although he’d done the same to him in Hong Kong), his briefcase open on the desk, and an empty bed. Nothing is missing - he isn’t stupid enough to leave anything where a rival agent - even one with slightly privileged access - might find it, but Blaine has organized his travel documents and dotted several of the ‘i’s with smiley faces.

His pancakes are delicious, and they come with a white rosebud. The transfer later that morning goes off without a hitch, but Kurt finds himself a little distracted at the airport, looking closely at a few passengers with dark curly hair, and surreptitiously feeling for a rose petal in his pocket.

*

After the fiasco in Brazil he vows that Blaine Anderson will rue the day. Getting that informant out from right under his nose in Morocco helps, but he transfers hotels every time he sees a white rose in Toronto and Paris, ignores veiled messages in Venice and Barcelona. He doesn’t make an effort to make contact the few times he knows where Blaine is, just does his job and leaves. He’s really not sure who he’s punishing or for what - he doesn’t really take any of the work personally. But he’s becoming unnaturally preoccupied with a man - an enemy, even if they’ve had some unbelievable nights, and those nights are the closest thing to a love life that he can claim since he started working for the agency. It’s better to cut off all contact.

*

When the rosebud in London is red he moves from the Marriott to a small hotel off Hyde Park - his favorite ever since his family went on a quick trip to Europe after graduation. He opens the door to his room to find a bouquet of red and yellow roses, a giant pink bow wrapped around the crystal vase, and he nearly faceplants onto the mattress. 

“You’re mad at me.”

He shouldn’t be surprised, really. He himself had done the same in Los Angeles, had practically started the whole dropping-in-unannounced thing, and it wasn’t like Rome had been a first.

“Did you want something, Anderson?”

“I don’t understand. Is it about Paris? Because after Singapore you had to know I’d -“

“This may shock you, Blaine, but not everything is about you.”

He makes the mistake of looking up, and god, that look on Blaine’s face hasn’t gotten any less heartstopping.

“I missed you.”

“You work with any number of pretty people, Blaine, although there’s no accounting for taste. I’m sure at least one of them would -“

“I missed you.” 

And there’s no mistaking that look. They don’t do this. They don’t do red roses, or yellow roses, or feelings. They do amazing nights in expensive hotels, long looks across crowded streets, stealth and satisfaction and sweat and sex until the sun rises and they remember who they are.

He watches Blaine from the roof of a building, takes notes on his movements, tries not to remember their eyes locking in the bathroom mirror as Blaine tries to smooth his sex-mussed curls back into shape.

He works, stays close to home if he can - New York has always been off-limits for both of them, because every city reminds him of what shouldn’t miss (he never had).

And now Blaine is standing in front of him, red jacket open, hands hanging by his sides, looking a little lost.

Human, and wanting, and inescapable gorgeous, and at this moment Kurt has to decide what he wants - who he wants to be.

He holds out his hand. 

Blaine takes it, and there’s a red rosebud in his palm.

Drabble Prompt for rnstudentandagleek "Pajamas"

Goodnight, Sweetheart by aspiringtoeloquence

Truth be told, Blaine had kind of expected Kurt to sleep in silk pajamas. Possibly pajamas with a matching robe that complemented the (likely) fabric drapes all around his room. In his particularly daydream-addled moments he thought about Kurt singing as he awoke, Pav providing chirps as back-up and woodland creatures perching on the branches outside.

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He Does (post 6x08)

A/N: This started as lolzy 6.08 reaction fic, but it turned into a whole thing. No sp0ilers for future episode(s). (Thanks to idoltina for the read-through!) Featuring Wes Warbler and facebook likes.

When Blaine wakes it’s late morning and the hotel’s brightly patterned curtains have long since surrendered to the glow of the sun. He pulls himself up to sit against the headboard, sheets pooled around his waist, and looks over to see his husband (husband, wow, that’s still weird) sprawled with his face firmly planted in his pillow.

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A Place Called Home (A puppykitty drabble)

Based on this fanart, because I had feelings, and then Andie wrote it in her tags and sang encouraging songs in my direction. A hybrid story, which I have never done before, written quickly and unbetaed. 

***

It was always hardest in winter, with snow on the ground and their tiny brown blanket wrapped around both of them, feeling thinner with the chill. They’d sleep wherever they could - the few shelters that would take them, yes, but mostly in alleys, with whatever makeshift shelter they could find.

It was worst when one of them got sick - last year it had been Kurt, sniffling and insisting that he didn’t need anything, he’d be fine as long as he had Blaine. Sweet Blaine, who had found him oranges, stroked his ears softly, brought him anything he could beg for or steal, and had begged Kurt to let him find a doctor, eyes wide and ears drooping. 

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