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Summary
Blaine Anderson transfers to Dalton Academy, and there he meets Kurt Hummel. A remix of Narie's “There's Friends for Life and Acquaintances”.
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Self-explanatory title explains all. (Set sometime after 4.14, but not particularly spoilery.)
- Words:
- 1,286
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Kudos:
- 13
- Hits:
- 355
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“She’s a fairy, not an elf,” Charlie says. “And I asked for help to get a message to her. Organize a date. Not spend the rest of my life crossing the spookiest bridge in the Midwest.”
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When Blaine joined the acolytes of Aphrodite, there was respect for the art of matchmaking. Admittedly, that was a long time ago. These days, helping people recognise true love is a lot harder. (AU, set early s2. No spoilers.)
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The weekly challenge causes some friendly competition over Hall & Oates; Blaine has the most amazing boyfriend but somehow uses a double-negative to call him mediocre; Kurt doesn’t fight fair, but Blaine’s not complaining at all.
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It’s common knowledge that Blaine Anderson is only the Editor-in-Chief because he went to boarding school with the current CEO. Blaine’s quiet and conservative, and Kurt doesn’t approve of his dress sense – every suit he wears into the office is navy, black or charcoal – but he approves of his Armani-wearing boyfriend even less. An Armani suit is designed to be noticed, it’s attention-grabbing while playing it safe, and Kurt’s never admired anyone who chose the safe option.
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Not even Kurt Hummel can spin a three-month stint as a piano player on a cruise ship as a logical step to fame and success.
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"I love you, but I love all of you. Including the parts of you that get scared and angry and sad. I love the parts of you that love Katy Perry and charming bowties just as much as I love the parts of you that love Spice World and shouting at pointless sports on TV."
(Spoilers for episode 3.14 "On My Way") -
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He’s not a teenager any more, but it turns out there are still things he hasn't imagined. Things that feel good, things that he wants, things he's going to discover with Brian.
- Words:
- 516
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Kudos:
- 18
- Hits:
- 415
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After John's released and back home at Baker St, Sherlock still feels it. Down the centre of his chest there's an ache like a healing wound. A physical awareness of a body he usually ignores as much as he can. It's psychosomatic, nothing more interesting than that.
(Post-S1 AU)
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Everybody likes John Watson. He's down-to-earth and unassuming, and standing next to Sherlock, well... It's no wonder everyone assumes Sherlock's the horrific flatmate.
It's as irritating as any false assumption. Sherlock may be difficult at times, but John is hardly the flat-sharing ideal.
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Arthur knows that within a week, Eames will show up on his door, no matter which city he chooses. Like Arthur knows Eames kicks the covers in his sleep and makes perfect boiled eggs, white cooked and yolk still runny. Like he knows this visit will last for a month, maybe two, before one of them answers a call and has to be somewhere else.
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There are some things no self-respecting Marine would ever say aloud.
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As far as John's concerned, afternoon tea should be a cuppa and a few biscuits, not finger sandwiches and croissants, colourful macaroons and poetically described tea choices. He wants a cuppa, not an 'indulgent experience for the senses' that costs over twenty quid each. But come hell or high water -- or in Sherlock's case, mysterious disappearances and puzzling murders -- Sunday afternoons mean afternoon tea.
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If Michael needs a few days, a few weeks, a few months to get lost, so be it. If Michael wants to spend hours behind the wheel, squinting into the sunlight, following country backroads without saying a word, Alex can live with that. If Michael wants to avoid people, avoid motels and camping grounds, wants to spend alternate nights shifting in the passenger seat or twisted awkwardly across the backseat, that's fine too. Alex will defend his right to go a little crazy. If any deserves a good mental breakdown, it's Michael Scofield.
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"I love Sherlock," John says out loud, testing how the words feel in his mouth. It doesn't change anything. Sherlock's still the pillock who fiddled with his computer password.
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"Typical organisation bullshit. If you need to unfuck a situation, send in the Marines. Wounded convoy needed a guard and apparently we had nothing better to do than babysit a bunch of limey idiots too stupid to remember the 'don't get fucking shot' rule of enemy engagement."
Brad nods, adding, "That's how we met John. And we're friends because of his huge cock."
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Sherlock walks into a room and takes all the space right out of it. He does the same inside John's head.
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"What do you mean," John asked slowly, in case he'd misunderstood, "you don't do your taxes?"
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The Suit stands for law, social control and all the things Mozzie fundamentally opposes, but he's married to someone Mozzie likes and he's sleeping with one of Mozzie's best friends, so he should probably know that Kate's in New York again.
