Ramblings and Wanderings

thepetcollective: Puppy Attacks Camera

Sat, 18 May 2013 18:30:44 -0700

thepetcollective:

Puppy Attacks Camera

"Stay loose and flexible, and keep your expectations very low."

Sat, 18 May 2013 18:01:23 -0700

“Stay loose and flexible, and keep your expectations very low.”

- Chris Baty (via writingquotes)

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Sat, 18 May 2013 17:30:36 -0700

heytinafey: omg just watch

Sat, 18 May 2013 17:01:27 -0700

heytinafey:

omg just watch

activelyarielle: Be YOU, you magical being you!

Sat, 18 May 2013 16:30:45 -0700

activelyarielle:

Be YOU, you magical being you!

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Sat, 18 May 2013 16:01:20 -0700

explore-blog: Modern Art Desserts – from Mondrian cake to...

Sat, 18 May 2013 15:30:38 -0700

explore-blog:

Modern Art Desserts – from Mondrian cake to Donald Judd tomato soup, edible masterpieces by the pastry chef at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art.

"Your story might be firing on one cylinder, when really, it needs to fire on three: the goals of the..."

Sat, 18 May 2013 15:01:51 -0700

“Your story might be firing on one cylinder, when really, it needs to fire on three: the goals of the protagonist and the conflicts that work against him must cross three axes: physical, emotional, philosophical.
Physical: “I am in danger of being eaten alive by a starving were-badger.”
Emotional: “But the starving were-badger is my true love, Betty McGoohan.”
Philosophical: “If I cannot reconcile this and the story demands I slay my true love, then love cannot succeed in the face of evil and I am forced to accede to a cynical worldview in which monstrousness is ascendant and all my victories are Pyrrhic and were-badgers are neither cuddly nor sexy.”
Harness all three axes for powerful story-combo power-up extra-life ding.”

- Chuck Wendig (via writingquotes)

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Sat, 18 May 2013 14:30:40 -0700

blackbirdsigh replied to your post Duh always! Excellent. Hi. Hope you liked it. It’s not...

Sat, 18 May 2013 01:22:54 -0700

blackbirdsigh replied to your post

Duh always!

Excellent. Hi. Hope you liked it. It’s not my usual style or pairing, but you know, I go where the voices tell me to go. :o)

dapperdick: jaylie12: Read More …

Sat, 18 May 2013 00:57:49 -0700

dapperdick:

jaylie12:

Read More

…

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Fri, 17 May 2013 18:30:26 -0700

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Fri, 17 May 2013 18:01:12 -0700

Blaine Anderson + Cheerios

Fri, 17 May 2013 17:30:30 -0700

Blaine Anderson + Cheerios

dapperdick replied to your post I will come upstairs and pout at you don’t tease me when we’re in...

Fri, 17 May 2013 17:26:36 -0700

dapperdick replied to your post

I will come upstairs and pout at you don’t tease me when we’re in the same house.

You better be reading super fast because we leave in like 10 minutes.

Fic: Standing Next to Me (rpf)

Fri, 17 May 2013 17:23:00 -0700

Title: Standing Next to Me (rpf)
Pairing: CrissColfer (yes, you read that correctly)
Rating: PG

Disclaimers/Warnings: Nothing is mine. Song is Ho Hey by the Lumineers. Feel free to listen to that on repeat as you read. Allusions to certain other RPs but no explicit mention. Angsty and fluffy. And this was written fairly quickly, so I apologize for the tense shifting and what not.

A/N: Because Emily wanted this so long ago and I couldn’t for a while. But now I can, so here it is.

__________

I’ve been trying to do it right
I’ve been living a lonely life

The first time they hear the song together, Chris is reading, glasses low on his nose and head tipped toward the armrest of the couch where his ipad is balanced and his fingers hover to scroll the screen every few minutes. He flexes his feet, crossed at the ankles and propped on the coffee table. The music is quiet, a low current to a rare night in.

Darren is lying on the couch, his head in Chris’ lap, eyes closed and hands loosely clasping Chris’ to his chest. His chest rises and falls slowly in sleep, and Chris can’t help sliding his thumb gently across Darren’s sternum every now and then. When he does, Darren sighs and his fingers tighten around Chris’ for just a moment.

“I like this song,” Darren mutters, voice scratchy with sleep and barely there. Chris looks at him, but Darren’s eyes are still closed.

“It’s sad,” Chris remarks.

“Romantic,” Darren counters sleepily and turns his head toward Chris’ stomach. “I belong to you, you belong to me,” he breathes out more than sings, and Chris can feel the warmth on his abdomen.

“You’re my sweetheart,” Chris chimes in wistfully. Darren’s hands tighten around Chris’ and when Chris looks down, he can see the edge of Darren’s lip turn up.

Darren’s back asleep seconds later, his warmth around Chris’ hand and on his lap spreading throughout his limbs. Chris listens to the rest of the song, feeling content as the last chorus comes on. He takes a deep breath, rubbing at Darren’s chest just to feel the other man’s happy sigh and reassuring squeeze.

“You’re my sweetheart,” Chris whispers.

…..

I’ve been trying to do it right
I’ve been living a lonely life…
I don’t know where I went wrong
But I can write a song

Darren’s humming along to the song before he realizes what he’s doing and what the song is. It’s what he does, catching a melody before two bars have passed.

When he figures it out, the song’s already in the second verse and he’s yanking the earbuds from his ears. He refuses to acknowledge the curious glances from everyone in the car and turns to look out the window. It doesn’t do any good—the song’s in his head now and the words stab at his mind without hesitation, mocking him.

It’s been weeks now, maybe months, but Darren refuses to count. Weeks that he’s been sleeping in his own bed alone. Luckily, work runs to all hours and he goes home too exhausted to think about what it really means. All he knows is that nothing is the same without Chris and he’s actually glad that they’ve not been filming together too much. He knows it’s not professional, surely not the mature thing to do, but he avoids Chris at work and doesn’t go out with the cast when he knows Chris is going. It had been mutual, for the best, maybe if they’d met in another life. Darren repeats the words over and over, but he’s not ready. He’ll have to face him soon though—they’re due to film the last episodes of the season in a few days.

Of course, he had written a song. Barely an hour after Chris left with a sad smile and a too-tight, too-brief hug, Darren was at his piano. He’d written jumbled and poignant words, pen dragging hard across the paper as he wiped viciously at the tears that blurred his vision. Coming home late from work, he had stayed up for three nights getting the melody just right, getting the words untangled and flowing along with the notes, before he sat back with a slow intake of breath. Finished, hands falling from the keys to his lap, he stared at the wrinkled sheets of paper. Time passed without his knowledge and when he finally looked away, the sun was peeking over the horizon. He had tucked the pages into the bench then, already overflowing with music books and random snippets of long-forgotten songs, and dragged himself to bed.

His friends didn’t ask, don’t ask, but Darren is sure they know. They find him at home almost every night, each of them stopping by on the pretense of hanging out. But he knows the real reason, and he’s grateful for them. So when a hand slides over his now, in the car, and squeezes, Darren takes a deep breath. It’s not Chris’ but he’s glad it’s there all the same. He squeezes back as the southern California desert slides past the window.

…..

I don’t think you’re right for him
Look at what it might have been

Chris is keeping a low profile, keeping his cap and sunglasses on when he passes from party to party. He’s glad for them when he sees Darren for the first time, because he goes unnoticed. He takes advantage and watches Darren talk to the other partygoers, his smile and laughter easy. A lump forms in his throat, and Chris swallows hard against it. Darren’s fine, of course he is. But then Darren looks around and sees him, his smile disappearing and his eyes blinking too quick. Chris’ breath catches at the flashes of recognition and sadness on the other man’s expression. But they are gone quickly and Darren is smiling bracingly instead. Chris sighs and waves back lamely, and Darren says something to his conversation partners before stepping around them and toward Chris.

Chris takes a deep breath, trying to calm his fluttering heart. He’d been putting this off for too long, knowing Darren had been avoiding him and Chris letting him because they had time. But he wants to—needs to—get back to being friends. He misses Darren.

Chris blinks his attention back to Darren just in time to see him pause, the tentative smile slipping from his face. Chris raises an eyebrow in question though it’s hidden behind his sunglasses, but Darren just nods curtly and turns away. He doesn’t have time to think about it when a hand slips around his waist.

They pass each other a couple times at the various parties after that, only sharing tight smiles and stilted greetings. Chris catches something new with each chance encounter— the tense lines around Darren’s eyes that could easily be laugh lines but Chris knows different, his usual enthusiasm subdued in ways unnoticable by anyone else but Chris, and the hesitation at each encounter.

He’s sure he catches another glimpse of Darren after all the parties are done, sure he sees Darren’s worn canvas bag and the familiar slope of his back among the half-naked bodies. But he doesn’t seek him out, knows now isn’t the time with all the people around and all the people with them. Neither of them needs a reminder that Darren had promised to take Chris to Coachella months ago when the tickets first went on sale. So, he lets himself be pulled away.

There’s no way Chris could find him in the crowd of thousands, but still, he refuses to look when the song comes on. Instead, he sticks close to the stage and focuses on the band, ignoring the lyrics—ignoring the way his heart races and his chest tightens, and his eyes water—in favor of bobbing his head to the pounding bass.

…..

Took a bus to China Town
I’d be standing on Canal
And Bowery

Darren paces the empty New York City apartment set, half-heartedly going over his lines as he listens to music out of one earbud. They’re filming the last episode and he’d just come from finishing the scene at Breadsticks. Last week had been torture—seeing Chris so seamlessly fall into Kurt, watching him perform, and seeing him be close to everyone but him. He had been genuinely nervous during the scene in the hallway, and despite being in character, Darren couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit of hope when Kurt waited eagerly for his question. But when the scene was over and Chris slipped away without a word, Darren had shoved his hurt away in favor of doing the job—the job he loved—and singularly dived into the singing and dancing as best he could.

This week is better. He’s working with Patty Duke, and his reverence for her had kept him focused on playing the part. And Meredith Baxter. He could watch those two forever. But Kurt’s words—“we’re not a couple”—stab at him as if Chris is trying to convince him and not just Blaine. The hurt had dulled with each take, and now that the scene is done, hours sitting in a booth next to Chris talking but not really talking, he feels bereft, incomplete.

So, he’d sought out a quiet, lonely place to mimic his mood. He still had two more scenes to film that day, and he needs to refocus himself.

His thoughts are still jumbled minutes later, and he’s angry at himself. He tells himself to just get through the next few days and it will be over. He’ll have a break and he can focus on his music, on the tour, and getting a chance to reconnect to people again. But then the song comes on, and no amount of pep talking brings him back to the present.

He hums the simple melody, can’t help it anymore. It doesn’t hurt to hear the words anymore, it’s just sad. Darren huffs a laugh at that—Chris had said that exactly when they’d first heard the song together. Still, he closes his eyes and lets the song flood his mind. Let’s the words slip over him as his hand lands on his chest and he feels the phantom touch. He taps out the rhythm against his sternum, singing words and phrases here and there, lost in it.

“I belong to you, you belong to me,” Darren sings with the last chorus, but can’t bring himself to say the last of it. He swallows around the lump in his throat. With the last “hey,” Darren stands there, eyes still closed, and takes measured breaths. It’s easier now, he realizes, and that’s both sad and relieving.

The song ends and in the brief space before another song comes on, he feels it. He feels someone else there and his breath catches when a warm hand covers his and squeezes. He opens his eyes, blinking away the blurriness.

“You’re my sweetheart,” Chris whispers.

Darren squeezes his hand back.

…..

Love ‒ we need it now
Let’s hope for some

The sun’s bright outside, but Darren is just making his way to the kitchen. It’s a weekday and the tour’s over. For as much as he’d loved every minute of it, now that he’s home, he’s exhausted and wants to sleep for a day or two. But hunger sends him in search of food, which thankfully, he finds plentiful in the refrigerator.

He flips on the little radio he still keeps in the kitchen and bobs to the music as he heats up the stove and cracks a couple eggs into the pan. A new song starts and Darren’s smiling before the first measure is through. He sings quietly as the eggs sizzle, shaking his head at how apt the words are for what his life has been these past few months.

A voice joins in from behind and Darren’s smile grows ridiculously wider. Darren bobs his head, singing the “hey’s” and “ho’s” as Chris takes on the third verse. Darren flips the eggs and grabs the loaf of bread. Chris comes closer just as the verse finishes and slides his hand along Darren’s hip. Darren sings the chorus, and Chris takes the offered slices of bread and slides them into the toaster.

Chris’ voice joins in again on the last verse and when he changes the word, Darren looks at him curiously. Chris smiles back with a shrug and breaks back into the last chorus. Darren sings with him, loud and exuberant.

Chris kisses him as soon as the last “hey” is sung.

Love ‒ we have it now
Let’s be ourselves
So, we’re healing up

Who wants some CrissColfer?

Fri, 17 May 2013 17:17:18 -0700

Who wants some CrissColfer?

For if you suffer your people to be ill-educated, and their...

Fri, 17 May 2013 17:01:16 -0700

For if you suffer your people to be ill-educated, and their manners to be corrupted from their infancy, and then punish them for those crimes to which their first education disposed them, what else is to be concluded from this, but that you first make thieves and then punish them.”
― Thomas More, Utopia

"Write your goddamned book now. The world awaits."

Fri, 17 May 2013 16:31:03 -0700

“Write your goddamned book now. The world awaits.”

- Dave Eggers (via writingquotes)

Favorite Kurt Outfits↳ Season 1

Fri, 17 May 2013 16:01:21 -0700

Favorite Kurt Outfits
↳ Season 1