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Ficlet: Where do we go from here?

gleekto:

Summary: Kurt and Blaine and the evening after THE afternoon (where Blaine kissed Kurt for the first time). 

Rating: PG

Words: 850

He’s just turning into his driveway, an hour after Warblers’ practice, when his phone buzzes. He turns off the car, silencing the ridiculous break-up song Candles that Blaine chose for them in a gesture to be…romantic? Wow. And Kurt cannot wipe the smile off his face.

He looks at his phone. Blaine. And his cheeks flush. Because what is going on? Seriously, Kurt has just spent the entire afternoon with him -  kissing him, building a bird’s casket, kissing some more, Warblers practice, and then kissing for like ten full minutes before Kurt’s dad sent a text wondering if he was coming home for dinner. Can he say that they were making out? That seems so uncouth for describing what was actually happening. But that is so what they were doing. Kurt Hummel was making out with Blaine Anderson.

Kurt unconsciously touches his hand to his lips and smiles down at his phone.

Blaine: Hi Kurt.

Kurt: Hi Blaine.

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dnms at 2am… some things never change XD　

I didn’t write anything today.

I really, really wanted to. Body, fuck you. Okay. Just fuck you for being stupid. Hmmph.

Tomorrow.　

Blaine rubbed his forehead in a losing battle to stave off a tension headache. “Just tell me we’re not going fishing or… or camping because as much as I like you guys, I’d rather do that sort of bonding with Kurt.”

Silence reigned from the front seat and Blaine looked up. Puck and Finn were staring at each other, communicating solely with their eyebrows. Then Finn turned around and said, “See, Burt and Kurt have been talking about camping for years as if it’s something weird you don’t talk about and I never got what the deal was.”

Blaine could only stare at him for a really long moment before he dissolved into helpless giggles.

Blaine is me right now, my friends.

Oh my god I can’t breathe

sophistory:

So that whole ‘The Indian Sherlock’ thing got me brooding over the shitfit some parts of fandom tend to throw at the prospect of a Holmes and/or Watson that aren’t British - and how by ‘British’, they in fact mean ‘a very narrow idea of ~Britishness~ that includes the following attributes: white, English, and coded as upper to upper-middle class’.

And how, if you don’t think that’s true, you should try to imagine fandom’s reaction if the next big Holmes adaptation to come along had Holmes and Watson as British, yeah - young black British men, living case to case on a council estate in a dodgy area of London. How fandom would react if Sherlock Holmes didn’t employ street kids and homeless people like trained animals to do his bidding, but instead was part of that invisible underclass; if instead of having his eccentricities tolerated~ by Scotland Yard on account of being the Great White Genius, Sherlock Holmes, BME, school dropout, and sometime addict, was regarded by the police as practically a criminal already, one more thug, one more junkie, one more dealer in the making. If he had to choose between buying the week’s groceries or palming a twenty to a bored constable for the chance to spend five minutes on a crime scene, in the hope that whoever’s under enough pressure to deal with crime rates in the neighbourhood will pay him enough for a perp to feed himself and Watson for a month or two. If the greatest threat to his safety were police brutality, or the prospect of being done for a snitch; if his arch enemy weren’t Moriarty, but the systemic poverty and inequality that has him helping out his oppressors just to get by, and that makes the other side of the law look more tempting to someone with his skills every day.

And then I realised that I want this adaptation LIKE BURNING, that I have already headcast Holmes and Watson as John Boyega and Leeon Jones, and that from now on whenever I watch Sherlock I will be imagining this instead and crying softly deep within my soul.

ETA: so yeah