The Jersey tradition was stupid and archaic and honestly Castiel wanted no part in it.
Sure, Castiel may have thought it was cute when he first heard about it. The morning of every game day during football season, each player put their jersey (whichever one they wouldn’t be wearing for their game that night) on someone’s desk for them to wear in support. Because this was high school, this turned into a kind of courtship thing for the football players. If you got a jersey, it was so on.
Cute, right? Except, actually, no. There had been nothing more dramatic than when linebacker Gordon Walker put his jersey on Jo Harvelle’s desk instead of his then-long-time girlfriend, Bela Talbot. Especially when everyone knew that Jo Harvelle had been flirting heavily with lacrosse player Benny Lafitte. But he hadn’t been able to lay his claim because he didn’t have a football jersey.
Which turned into all of the other sports participating in Jersey Day. And with sports schedules having crazy inconsistencies, what with some sports having some kind of competition every other day, it wasn’t uncommon for someone to have some kind of garment on their desk several times a week.
Everyone except Castiel, whose desk had remained painfully naked for the past three years of high school.
Not that he particularly cared.
Actually, the one time he did have something waiting on his desk, Castiel thought he would collapse out of sheer embarrassment. The swim teams, both men’s and women’s, also wanted to participate in Jersey Day but, instead of defaulting to Letterman jackets like most other sports, the swim team got creative.
This resulted in Castiel coming into homeroom one day sophomore year to find a string bikini laying on his desk, a note attached telling him it was from Meg Masters.
So no, Castiel did not appreciate the Jersey tradition. He didn’t appreciate anything that had his gut twisted with anxiety every morning until he saw his desk, blessedly free of women’s swim things.
Today, however, Castiel felt he was in the clear. He knew, thanks to the unmanly shriek of Sam Winchester the day before, that yesterday had been the final swim match of the week and therefore he did not have to worry about clothing on his desk today.
Castiel smiled a bit as he made his way down the hall. Poor Sam. He was only a freshman, Castiel knew, and having finding Gabriel Odinson’s backup speedo on his desk must have been a shock. Sam seemed to be taking it in stride, though, as Castiel glimpsed him coming in from the parking lot, trailing his older brother Dean.
Castiel looked hastily away, turning into the nearest hallway that would take him to his locker.
Castiel supposed the Jersey tradition wasn’t as archaic as it could have been. As it used to be. Castiel vaguely remembered the scandal from his freshman year in regards to Jersey day: the JV kicker had just come out of the closet and, in an effort to head off any complaints from the school board, had been told he couldn’t give his jersey to anyone. In response to that, Aaron walked into homeroom on game day with the entire varsity team’s jerseys neatly folded on his desk, the ones that didn’t fit spilling over into a stack on his chair.
After that show of support, and the addition of other sports on the tradition, the rules for the event had gotten lax. Yes, there were always implications in getting a jersey, but there were also understood platonic forms of support. Instead of giving it to Benny Lafitte, Jo Harvelle’s Jo loved her mother and the jersey wouldn’t have fit Benny anyway. Everyone understood.
Similarly, Dean Winchester, captain of the wrestling team after having made varsity his very first year, always left his wrestling Letterman jacket on the desk of Charlie Bradbury. Charlie Bradbury was Dean’s best friend, and though people had had their suspicions about their relationship, it was clear to everyone that Charlie and Dean couldn’t have been more platonic as Charlie was gay as the fourth of July. Castiel suspected Dean always chose Charlie as a way of keeping the peace: Dean was what one would call the school’s “Wonder Boy”. Loved by everyone. Made friends easily. Dated easier. He had that uniquely universal charm and genuine kindness that made everyone feel as if they were his best friend. A sort of magnetism that made everyone want to be made special by him.
But even when Dean was seeing someone – even when he was seeing Lisa Braedan for the better part of last year – Dean had always given his jacket to Charlie. By Dean giving Charlie his jacket every match day, it was a way for Dean to announce that yes, Charlie was his favorite, but Charlie had always been his favorite. And everyone else was a very close second.
Or, at least, that’s how it’d been for the first three years. When Dean’s younger brother Sam had started high school this year, Dean had attempted to give Sam the jacket. Sam, of course, didn’t want it.
“He thinks I want to wear his sweaty jacket all day?” Castiel had overheard Sam telling his friend Kevin Tran one morning, when the three of them were seated in their advanced mythology class. “I live with Dean, I know he never cleans the damn thing.”
Castiel was sure that wasn’t the whole of it. While he believed Sam objected to the jacket’s smell (Charlie did always seem to walk around with her nose scrunched when she wore it), being a younger brother himself, Castiel suspected Sam’s reluctance had more to do with not wanting to live in his brother’s shadow. Literally swadled in Dean’s importance. Castiel understood that and respected it.
It came to the same thing, though: Sam wouldn’t accept the jacket. So, while Charlie continued to wear it, this caused a bit of a stir. When Charlie was the concrete recipient, no one could complain, but if Dean was willing to leave Charlie bare for his brother, who’s to say someone else couldn’t change his mind?
The school was shook. The draw to be Dean’s new favorite was pulling at everyone.
It was a draw Castiel was willing himself to be immune to.
Dean and Castiel weren’t friends. They barely associated, only speaking in their shared free period where they’d both volunteered to build sets.
Castiel chided himself, now with his appropriate books from his locker and once again making his way down the hall: Dean had been very clear. Sam was Dean’s favorite and, seeing as Sam didn’t want the jacket, Charlie got it because she was his second favorite. And everyone else, including Castiel, were tied for a very close third!
Castiel raised his voice inside his head to drown out the recent memories of shared smiles across a work bench. Tied for a very close third! Memories of Dean’s rumbling laugh in response to a comment Castiel had made about the wood clamp. Tied for a very close third! The memory of Dean’s hand on his waist when he’d helped him off the ladder after Castiel measured the awning. Tied for a very close third! The gleam in Dean’s eye when he offered Castiel a ride home from set building. Tied for a very close third!
Castiel made his way down the hallway, taking notice of the spots of purple and white that were the chosen few wearing their bequested wrestling jackets. Invariably, people who knew they were getting jerseys went to fetch their jerseys (or jackets, whatever) from their homeroom desks before going back out into the halls to visit their lockers or talk with their friends. This was to notify the rest of the congregation of their importance. The chosen versus the rest.
Castiel made his way to homeroom in a snit, getting through the door to the classroom and over to his desk without his eyes ever leaving his shoes. He may have been able to make it through the entirety of the fifteen minute homeroom period without looking up if not for the absence of the customary thump that was usually the various books in Castiel’s bag landing on his wooden desk. There was a thump when Castiel slammed his bag down, but it was muffled. The bag didn’t hit desk because it hit–
There was a jacket on Castiel’s desk.
There was a jacket on Castiel’s desk?
It was definitely a sports jacket: purple and white in their school colors and made of that same leather and wool combo of varsity jackets around the world. So it was a sports jacket. On Jersey Day. On Castiel’s desk?
It was just the wrestlers today, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it just the wrestlers that had a match today? So wouldn’t this have to be a wrestler’s jacket?
Castiel wasn’t sure of the wrestlers’ numbers, as he didn’t follow any of the school sports, but he was very afraid to ask any of his classmates as they were already glaring at him with envy and confusion.
Castiel tried to think of the wrestlers he even knew. There was Michael, who he knew from church, but they hadn’t spoken since they’d both been confirmed four years ago. There was Becky from the girl’s team that always loved to titter away at him when they shared a table in biology but this jacket seemed too large for her. There was Balthazar from French, there was Raphael from P.E. there was Alistair, there was Crowley, and there was–
Tied for a very close third!
Not knowing who this jacket belonged to and very much not feeling welcome to ask, Castiel put the jacket on, and hunched into it, not meeting anyone’s eyes as the morning announcements began.
Unfortunately for Castiel, he had no way of finding out whose jacket he was wearing before he saw Dean in his free period. Castiel had volunteered for set building as a college resume booster and to spend more time painting, a passion which he had been continually neglecting due to his scramble to apply to universities. Dean had volunteered to spend more time with Sam, who had auditioned for the play and was cast in the ensemble. And also because Dean liked woodworking and ‘working with his hands,’ a statement that did not make Castiel blush when Dean had told it to him with a wink.
Dean would probably ask about the jacket. They were friendly, even if they weren’t friends, and the jacket belonged to one of Dean’s fellow wrestlers so he probably knew them. It would be really awkward for Castiel to admit he didn’t know which of Dean’s friend’s jacked he was wearing.
Castiel firmly believed this was not Dean’s jacket. He was certain. Sam had said Dean’s jacket was sweaty and smelly and Castiel could not catch any unpleasant scents when he inhaled the collar deeply.
He wasn’t being creepy and sniffing the jacket. He wasn’t! Castiel just had a smaller build than the wrestlers - wiry from biking while they were broad and muscled - so he was very much enveloped in the varsity jacket he was wearing. It was very warm. And smelled nice. Not nice like cologne or laundry detergent but not bad like B.O. and sweaty gym mats. That’s what Castiel would have expected from Dean’s jacket based on what Sam had said. This jacket smelled nice like boy. And woodshavings. And apple pie filling.
Castiel subtly took another sniff just to commit it to memory.
Because surely, whoever’s jacket this was didn’t really mean to leave it on Castiel’s desk. Surely not! This was all a mistake, or some kind of prank, and after the incident had been corrected or laughed about, Castiel would never get to wear the warm and homey-smelling jacket again.
Castiel supposed that if this were some kind of prank – which seemed more and more likely the longer the day went – he would probably do better to not be wearing the jacket when its owner came to call.
And not just that: fellow students were looking at him. In every way imaginable. There were unfriendly glares and cautious confusion and angry surprise and, maybe in the most confusing place, excited happiness? Maybe that was so confusing because that reaction came from three people: Meg, Sam Winchester, and Charlie.
Castiel had not expected Meg to be excited because he had so adamantly rejected her jersey-like offering. But she just grinned, laughed loudly, and clapped him on the shoulder in congratulations. Castiel suspected the good humor was due less to him receiving a jacket and had more to do with who the jacket belonged to. She was gone so quickly he did not get the opportunity to ask.
Sam Winchester was perhaps easier to understand as he, Kevin, and Castiel had become something like work partners in their shared mythology class and it would make sense that Sam would be happy for him. The sheer joy in Sam’s face, however, was confusing to Castiel as friends they may be, surely they weren’t close enough to warrant that level of enthusiasm?
It only began to come together when the third jubilant cry met him followed by a flying tackle hug from behind. Castiel was stunned momentarily at the contact, not used to being touched, so it took him several more moments to react than it probably should have. By the time he turned around, Charlie had pulled away and run back up the hall, her red hair flying wildly behind her and her shoulders bare but for a long-sleeved t-shirt.
Charlie wasn’t wearing a jacket today.
Castiel was wearing a jacket today.
Castiel could see the conclusion but it didn’t make sense.
And then it was his free period. Time to go work on sets in the auditorium. With Dean.
He had a logical answer to the puzzle of the jacket’s owner. And worse, he had hope. He wanted to delay confirming or denying his hopes and suspicions for as long as possible.
Castiel figured he had some time as Dean always showed up right as the late bell was sounding, smiling winningly at the teacher and taking his seat across the table from Castiel before they were cleared to start working. This being the case, Castiel figured he would get to the room early and get himself settled before he had to face Dean.
Unfortunately, on this day, Dean was there even earlier than Castiel. Earlier than everyone as the room was completely empty, excepting him, sitting at a desk and sketching prop pieces.
Castiel toyed with the idea of going to the bathroom or back to his locker, anything to delay having to talk to Dean. Just as he was reaching a decision however, Dean looked up and saw him standing there, and the usual smile he greeted Castiel with froze on his face.
Castiel stilled, staring back at Dean.
Neither of them moved until a loud locker slam jolted them back to reality, Dean blushing and quickly looking back to his sketches and Castiel taking several deep breaths as he finally completed his walk to the table.
“Hello Dean,” Castiel greeted as he sat, hoping to ease the tension. Dean relaxed his shoulders but blushed even harder.
“H-hey, Cas.” Dean cleared his throat. “What’s up?”
Castiel shrugged as if to say there was nothing particularly noteworthy about the day. The movement of his shoulders, however, jostled the jacket and made it slip slightly on his frame, compelling Castiel to reach up and correct it. Dean noticed and his eyes tracked Castiel’s hands handle the jacket.
Dean cleared his throat again.
“I, uh, I wasn’t sure if you’d wear it.”
Castiel tilted his head in confusion, looking back down at the jacket.
There are several reasons Dean could be acting so nervously and be so considering of whether or not he’d be wearing this jacket. He could be asking in favor of a friend and be uncomfortable being involved in romantic matters. He could be knowledgeable of Castiel’s past reception of Jersey Day gifts and surprised Castiel had received this one well. He could be making a note about how impractical heavy jackets are when working with tools. He could be commenting on the temperature in the school.
He could be happy you’re wearing his jacket.
Tied for a very… close…. third?
“I wasn’t sure if it was meant to be on my desk,“ Castiel admitted. "Far more likely it was an accident. Or a prank.”
Dean’s mouth dropped open for a moment before he shut it again with a clenched-jawed frown. “Why do you think it would be a prank?”
Castiel shrugged again, hugging the jacket on his frame so it wouldn’t fall. “Why would a wrestler want me to wear their jacket? I don’t follow the sport. I’m not particularly close with any of the team members. I thought it far more likely that someone would think it’s particularly funny if I made a fool of myself thinking someone liked me only for them to snatch the jacket back and laugh about it later.” Castiel picked at the sleeve of the jacket, looking at it instead of Dean. “I’m not popular, Dean. Not particularly well known or well liked. Some of the only wrestlers I know personally are assholes I went to bible study with. They’d certainly find this an entertaining prank.”
Castiel still wasn’t looking at Dean so he wasn’t expecting the angry coolness that inflicted his words when he spoke. “You think I’d prank you?”
Castiel looked back at him, sadly. “No, Dean. I don’t think you’d be so cruel.” Dean deflated some, looking confused and Castiel sighed. “I admit, however, that I don’t know any of the wrestler’s player numbers so I have no idea whose jacket this is. For all I know, it could still be a prank and I shouldn’t be wearing it when the prank is revealed.”
Dean looked surprised again. Even more confused. “Why are you, then?”
Castiel flushed. Choosing to be brave, he admitted, “It smells heavenly.”
Dean grinned and punched out a startled laugh. Then a longer and louder one.
“Cas, man, that’s my jacket. I picked you for Jersey Day.” And Dean continued laughing even as he blushed. “I didn’t even think about you not knowing it was mine. I was so caught up in building up the courage to even give it to you I didn’t–”
Castiel smiled, small and happy, before he reached over for Dean’s hand, cutting him off. “I guessed it might have been your jacket when Charlie came at me in a flying hug and she wasn’t wearing it. I didn’t dare dream, though. Didn’t dare hope.”
Dean smiled shyly and Castiel’s smile broadened, his hand still grasping the top of Dean’s even as fellow crew workers finally started filtering into the room.
Dean started to pull away, ready to get to work, but Castiel held fast to his hand, needing to know–
“Why me?” he asked, desperately. “You’re notorious for jacket hoarding, only offering it to your very best friend in the world or your brother. Why do I get it today? I’m just tied with the rest of the school for your third favorite.”
Dean swore under his breath, laughing and shaking his head. “I knew saving the jacket would just build everything up.” His laugh trailed off and he looked Castiel dead in the eye, a smile still at the corner of his lips. “This isn’t, like, a marriage proposal or anything. It’s just like every other guy or girl on Jersey Day: I like you. I want you to come to the match and see me wrestle and then after maybe we can get some dinner and pie.” Castiel’s mouth twitched, understanding now why the jacket smelled like apple filling. “I wanna take you on a date and Jersey Day is the best and easiest and,” Dean grinned sheepishly. “the most public way for me to ask.”
Castiel didn’t smile, determined as he was. “But you never gave your jacket to Lisa. Or Cassie or Donnie or–”
“Yes, Cas, thank you.” Dean rolled his eyes, embarassed, turning a frown to Cas’s hand still clutching his. “Yeah, I dated them, but not seriously.” Dean paused, picking at Castiel’s thumb with his other hand and not looking up. “Not like how I wanna date you.”
Castiel let out a shuddering breath, watching Dean play with his fingers. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.” He looked up at Cas, eyes soft. “And I’m serious about being serious if you are.” He tried for a smile. “I mean you’re wearing the jacket so I’m pretty sure that means you’re contractually obligated–”
“Yes, I’m serious, of course.” Dean’ smile spread slowly and Castiel was helpless not to follow him into a grin. “Now tell me how to get to that place where you wrestle or whatever and I’ll be glad to come.”
Dean beamed and brought Castiel’s hand up to his lips to kiss it, making Castiel laugh softly and blush pinkly.
They spent the rest of the free period actually working but not without small touches and soft glances and shy smiles. Castiel also mentioned how he wasn’t sure it was Dean’s jacket because Sam said it would smell bad because Dean never washed it.
“Oh, well I haven’t.” He smiled. “Sammy and Charlie can’t stand it but when I knew I was gonna give it to you, I tried to let it air out or whatever. Google says to stick it in the freezer because cold gets rid of smells but my mom yelled at me when I tried to do that so I just let it hang outside my window.”
“Well it didn’t kill all the smells.” Castiel said, subtly turning his head to sniff at the collar. “It still smells like woodshavings, apple pie filling and–” in a daring move, Castiel pulled Dean where Dean was measuring a 2 by 4 and buried his face in Dean’s neck, inhaling deeply. He let out a loud sigh when he pulled back, grinning at Dean’s embarrassment that didn’t entirely eclipse his pleasure. “Yup, just like a suspected: you.”
Dean coughed, smiling slightly. “Well, you said, you liked the smell, so I’m gonna take that as a good thing.”
“The best thing.” Castiel stood back again as Dean returned to the footstool where he was measuring the archway, his back-side deliciously on view. “Well… a close second.”
Title: Letters of the Lost and Found Pairing: Chris/Darren Rating: G Word Count: 15k (ish.) Summary: Chris is sixteen and spending a month at a Christian military training academy trying to be who his parents wants him to be. It proves a lot harder when Darren comes along. Warnings: Religion, religion not portrayed in the best light, homophobia, internalized homophobia, bullying. A/N: Thank you to Sarah for the word wars, Robert for the art and hand holding, and Mav and mermaid for the many hours of listening to me whine about how hard this was to write.
I wrote this after seeing this video where Darren talks about going from LA to New York for the Toys for Tots concert then back to LA to be ready for filming at six am the next morning.
Bedtime Stories Rated: PG-13 Pairing: Chris Colfer/Darren Criss Summary: Darren is sleepy. Really, really sleepy. Notes: Because. Sleepy Darren, come on. Who can resist that. They’re not together yet in it. Consider it that friends who flirt and kind of want more but haven’t flat out said it yet stage.
“I need sleep.” Darren says as soon as Chris answers the phone.
“Then sleep,” Chris answers. “That’s my plan for the night, shockingly enough."
Indeed, he’s already in bed, tucked under the covers with his knees up and his laptop resting against them.
"I can’t. Fucking. Sleep.” Darren bites out each word, sounding exhausted and a little bit miserable. “There are a shit ton of people in my house because apparently I forgot about a get together."
Chris frowns. "Where are you now?"
"Sitting in my driveway seriously thinking about getting a hotel room if you won’t take my sorry ass in."
What Makes a Good Man Rating: R Pairing: Chris Colfer/Darren Criss Word Count: 24980 Summary: Chris is trying to make his way through high school. Darren is trying to make his way through life. Thanks: Thanks to Mav for endless cheerleading, and Jude for calling me an asshole when I totally deserved it and fixing all my typos! Big, big thanks to Lindsey and Cass for running the CCBB. This has been a blast. Go check out everyone else’s fic here: crisscolferbigbang. Warnings: Student/teacher, underage sex, age difference (17 and 24). Additional Notes: Amazing art for the fic (embedded within) is by Tayler! You can also access the playlist I listened to while I wrote it here, made just for this fic by Amy.
[Trip and Stumble] All We Need to Make It Through Pairing: Chris Colfer/Darren Criss Rating: R Word Count: 9194 Summary: The end. Notes: Follows One More Part for the Story Book. Check the masterpost for previous parts.
You can also check the masterpost for a bigger paragraph of thanks, but I’ll keep it short and sweet here: Mav, Scott, Jude - I owe you all a drink for what you’ve put up with this past year.
“I have no idea what I’m doing here,” Chris says into the phone, voice low. He’s in a hallway alcove and he doesn’t think there’s anyone around to eavesdrop but he doesn’t want to risk it. “There’s no way I’m qualified for this. I’m not even that great of a writer!”
I’m pretty sure there have to be like half a dozen fics with this plot already, but it’s so deliciously cheesy I couldn’t resist. Kurt works at the Spotlight Diner and Blaine is a regular with a crush.
“He’s here again,” Rachel says, flitting around the counter. “And I’m on my break so… Kurt, if you would-”
Kurt gives her a wry smile. “Yes, thank you, Rachel, I will cover your section.”
She winks and gives him a little finger wave.
Kurt grabs a menu and takes a deep breath, checking out his reflection in the side of a napkin holder. Even distorted he can tell his hair looks flawless, so he rubs a hand on his thigh and then heads over to to table seven.
The Scene aesthetic: beauty in the breakdown. Klaine (:
Come on love, run with me, Get the hell out of this town, So we can get a better feel for each other
The realization that they didn’t really know each other before they lived together is startling and hard to accept.
It’s only after six months in New York that Kurt realizes how very wrong it all could have gone.
It’s longer than that before Blaine will admit it, and longer still before they can talk about it.
High school love isn’t real life love. It’s not sleeping habits and laundry and a shared bank account and feelings that don’t get hurt so much as trampled over days and weeks of misunderstandings and chosen ignorance.
They fight. That first year, they fight so badly that Rachel and Santana each sit them down to talk. Sometimes they go a week barely talking because they can’t think of anything civil to say, but they come back to the same bed every night.
Kurt will never forget the way it felt to hold Blaine so desperately, to feel him shaking with fear and know that he didn’t have the words to tell him it would be okay. All he could do was hold him a little more tightly.
Sometimes Kurt thinks the only thing keeping them from walking away is the ring on his finger and the stubbornness to prove that they can do this. It’s not, though; of course it isn’t. Being in love is what keeps them from giving up on the days when it feels like that might be their only option.
And then they came through it; like a light at the end of the tunnel. Rachel moved out, onto a bigger and better place, closer to work. Santana moved in with her girlfriend.
There is no one hurdle to overcome, but they fall into patterns. They learn and they adapt to each other and what was hard was just - life. They find the joy in each other again in small moments, in having privacy again - for themselves, when they needed space, and to be with each other.
The love they build back bit by bit is nothing like the love they found in high school hallways. It’s a little more jagged, unforgiving and often flawed, and so much better.
Aaron knows nothing about werewolves until his boyfriend gets bitten by one in the woods near Aaron’s house.
He feels responsible, of course. There aren’t supposed to be any wolves in California, but there have been rumors about those woods and the creepy howling for as long as Aaron’s lived here. Aaron even hears the howls himself, but his parents always tell him it’s just a neighbor’s dog and Aaron never had any reason not to believe that.
Until they went into the woods for a leisurely mid-afternoon dry hump away from prying parental eyes, and one of them came back out a supernatural creature.
Chris stays up until eleven pm the night before baking cookies. Cake would be too hard to fit into his backpack, and too awkward to explain to his mother, but cookies - everyone likes cookies. He does a double batch so there are plenty for Hannah and his family, and then carefully sorts the other dozen into a box he stopped on his way home from school and bought.
There’s a card, too. He deliberates over what to write inside of it before only signing his name. He considers himself great with words, but apparently words that are supposed to mean something to someone he cares about are the new exception. It all feels like too much and too important, though he doubts he could really let Darren down in any way at this point.
What’s better than a non-canon crackship? Dropping the crackship into something totally and completely AU from either of their canons.
“You really don’t want to be here, do you?”
It takes Carson a few seconds to even realize that the guy standing beside him is actually talking to him.
“However could you tell?” Carson knocks back the dregs of the old fashioned whiskey he’s been holding onto for a couple of minutes, idly waiting until he could see a spot at the bar free enough to avoid having to work for.
Happy belated birthday, Vee! I’ll be honest, I’m pretty sure I forgot your prompt halfway through, but I hope you like it anyway. <3
Here it is - the last big blowout, one of the last lasts they’ll have for Glee. A panel presentation, the finale screened for a group of critics and contest winners, and then the big fuck-it-all Q&A with every last damn member of the cast. He spots some faces he hasn’t seen in a while - there’s Heather with her baby, there’s Fink giving him the side-eye, and he can hear Amber’s laugh somewhere in the area - and some he’s seen way too fucking much of over the past few years - Chord just a few feet away, catching Darren’s eye and lifting his eyebrow. Chord is like a loveable sheepdog sometimes, shaggy and sweet and out of his depth. He’s someone Darren’s found it easy to be around, a friendship he sinks into and walks away from both without effort. It might sound like a throwaway but those kinds of people are more rare than Darren had ever expected and he values it in a different way than… than certain other friendships, with certain other people.
Darren’s heart is already aching with jittery, nostalgic affection. He can’t stop looking around him, taking it all in. The side of him are warring over it, the one ready to be done and the one terrified because he’s just got no fucking clue what the next step is. A movie role, a music thing, it’s not really in his hands but he’s as involved as red tape and Hollywood hierarchy will let him be. After this he’s more his own artist, more his own man, than he has been since he signed that contract and two-stepped in a blazer for that very first time.
Chris Colfer and the Abnormally Loud Gryffindor (Chris/Darren, PG-13)
Chris Colfer and the Abnormally Loud Gryffindor Rating: PG-13 Pairing: Chris/Darren Word Count: ~4k Notes: Certain people expressed some interest in a Chris/Darren Harry Potter AU… and the idea kind of stuck in my head. Thanks to izziebell for the awesome Harry Potter info provided and beta reading it!
The Sorting Hat gives Chris Colfer a choice: Ravenclaw or Slytherin.
He wants to choose Ravenclaw but he remembers his last primary school teacher telling him that his marks are too low, that he can’t write well enough, that he’ll need tutors if he wants to make anything of himself.
Ravenclaws are smart. He knows that, everyone knows that. They’re clever and Chris isn’t sure if he’s clever enough, so he closes his eyes and thinks really hard: Slytherin.
The hat sorts him into Slytherin.
The Sorting Hat gives Darren Criss a choice, too: Gryffindor or Hufflepuff.
He thinks sort of longingly of wearing gold and black, about how badgers have always been his favorite animals, and how he’d really like a room close to the kitchens because, come on, who wouldn’t?
But his dad was a Gryffindor, and Chuck was a Gryffindor, and he knows they wouldn’t say they were disappointed but he’s also pretty sure they would be.
So he takes a breath and bounces his leg up and down and waits waits waits until the voice booms in his ear.
1200 words of homeless/prostitute Blaine with a crush on Kurt. Probably PG cause I don’t exactly focus on the prostitute part.
Lima is actually a pretty decent town to be homeless in.
It’s big enough that he can earn cash when he needs to with some semblance of anonymity, but small enough that he doesn’t get lost in. He can learn all the best places to bundle up when its cold outside, all the regular routes that the police take and when to avoid which places, and he’s even managed to get in good with the local coffee shop as a slightly hipster but otherwise charming regular. It’s worth the two bucks a day for a warm cup of coffee and the chance to sit there uninterrupted for a few hours after spending a night outside in freezing temperatures. When he hasn’t shaved he easily looks old enough that no one will accuse him of skipping school. He brings a book and if anyone has noticed that he always comes in with the same well-used backpack and his guitar care, they don’t care enough to comment.
Fix Tomorrow Pairing: Chris/Darren Rating: Mature Summary: Chris is single, broke, and crashing on his friend Lauren’s couch. Darren has way too much money, good intentions, and no idea what he’s doing. Notes: Thank you so much to Mav for the lovely art and Luckie for being basically the best beta ever!
Broken Hearts and Better Plans (Trip and Stumble-verse, Chris/Darren)
[Trip and Stumble] Broken Hearts and Better Plans Pairing: Chris Colfer/Darren Criss Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 7600 Summary: It starts with socks. (Warning for angst.) Notes: Follows Even Though I Felt It From The Start. Check the masterpost for previous parts. I was a total brat during the entire process of writing this, so in addition to the most kickass beta readers ever (Mav, Scott, Jude, and Helen) I feel like I also need to thank Becky and Erin for giving me much needed nudges along the way.
It starts on a Monday in late March, and it starts with socks.
Darren has this awful habit of keeping them on when he gets into bed because his feet are cold, but once he’s warm under the covers he’s too lazy to move the blanket and take them off. So he tugs and pulls using his toes and leaves the socks at the end of the bed.
He’s asked Darren at least half a dozen times to just take his fucking socks off before he gets into bed, but Darren keeps doing it.
When Chris takes apart the bedding so he can wash the sheets and finds five dirty socks at the end, it’s the last straw. Darren is in class so Chris fires off a rant in half a dozen texts.
He should probably have stopped after that, but it’s been a shitty day and it feels kind of good to take it out on someone. When he finds an empty milk carton and empty orange juice container in the fridge, he sends a couple more texts.
But of course, the real fight isn’t about socks, or orange juice, or any of the trivial things.
The real fight is about the paper that flutters to the ground when Chris knocks a folder off after somewhat enthusiastically slamming the full basket of freshly washed laundry (including Darren’s stupid socks) on top of Darren’s desk.
(It felt good, okay, and it’s not like the socks knew the difference.)
He glares at the folder for daring to fall and then reaches for it.
That’s when the paper falls out. Chris doesn’t mean to look, but he also doesn’t assume that Darren would be keeping any secrets from him.
Only, he is, right? He must be, because they definitely haven’t talked about this.