30 Days of Writing - Klaine: Order 

beginning. accusation. restless. snowflake. haze. flame. formal. companion. move. silver. prepared. knowledge. denial. wind. order. thanks. look. summer. transformation. tremble. sunset. mad. thousand. outside. winter. diamond. letters. promise. simple. future.

(Marginally inspired by this and this and this, because it was all over my dash last night and it is flawless. In which Rachel’s future child is a menace to society. Or, at least, to Kurt and Blaine’s peace-of-mind and personal property.)

Kurt has relegated himself to the fact that he will never be able to find anything again. Ever. 

He understands that Rachel has her hands full; between intermittent flights back to Ohio to care for one of her fathers (They Skyped and Blaine sent a truly beautiful care package. He still feels guilty), working in one show and overseeing another (Kurt is jealous, yes, but he thinks he does a fair job of keeping it to himself), juggling her kids and her job and her own health needs (He likes to think he does his part, surprising her with a large coffee and a homemade muffin whenever he can). 

Most importantly, at least to Kurt, she’s suddenly finding herself doing all of it alone. Derick’s off working in California for a few months; Kurt’s not sure how either of them are doing it. He lasted all of a week in New York freshman year before he had to drive back to Ohio to see Blaine. 

And so Kurt, the only friend of hers left in New York not currently employed – Kurt likes to think he’s simply between creative avenues, thank you – ends up babysitting Katie. And he figures it’s probably kismet, because he was the one who talked Rachel out of naming her Yentl, much to Derick’s silent, wide-eyed appreciation. 

When Katie first starts hiding things, he thinks it’s cute. In the beginning, it’s usually small shiny baubles – a pair of cufflinks Kurt’s left on the coffee table, or one of those sparkly pens Blaine gets as gifts from his students. Blaine will dig something out from under her blankets and grin at her, say “There you go, rugrat,” ruffle her hair and listen to her giggle. 


Then things get steadily bigger. Car keys, cellphones, coffee mugs, photo frames, cookbooks, pots and pans, the blender, for god’s sake. Kurt’s pretty sure she somehow got her hands on his autographed copy of The Fame Monster, even though it was sitting on the top shelf of a six foot tall bookcase, because he hasn’t seen it in weeks. 

“Oh, come on, sweetie. Just tell me where you’ve hidden the keys? Uncle Blaine has to go to work now,” Kurt will say, and Katie will just gurgle at them, stuffing her little hand into her mouth and looking up at them shining with pride, like the little criminal mastermind she is. 


“Isn’t that a little harsh?” Blaine says, after a particularly long-winded rant about the fate of Kurt’s collection of spangled designer bowties (half were tied into knots around chunks of her hair so tightly that he had to cut each chunk off completely; the other half were stuffed in the garbage disposal, and weren’t found until they’d been reduced to food-drenched shreds). 

“They cost over three hundred dollars, Blaine. Three hundred dolllars.”

Blaine just sighs. He mumbles about how maybe Kurt shouldn’t have left them out – and he hadn’t, he hadn’t; they were in a box on the shelf in his closet, he will swear it until the day he dies, put him on the stand and he will testify god damnit. 

Then the day comes when Katie gets her hands on one of Blaine’s vintage car models. She stealthily rips it apart, and scatters the pieces to the four corners of the Earth (or, at least, the four corners of the apartment). 

Blaine’s holding the cannibalized chassis in his hands, looking a bit like he’s trying not to cry. “She’s an adorable little menace,” he finally agrees. 


It’s been three months and they’re still finding pieces. Blaine decides to package all of his cars and robots and Warbler trinkets and hide them in off-site storage. 

“Just to be safe. There’s no harm in being extra safe,” he claims as he hauls his boxes out to the car, stopping to grab an old polo trophy out of Katie’s hands as she gnaws on the gold-plated rider’s head. 

“Right,” Kurt replies, looking around the room absently and trying to decide what he can live without - what he needs to hide. 


“I think she’s a mutant.” Blaine is cradling his face as he tugs absently at his hair, an exaggerated pout on his face. They’re at the four month mark and he’s just found another car piece – a tiny headlight in one of his coffee mugs. Kurt’s long since given up trying to figure out how she does it. 

Kurt snorts. ”Oh my god, Blaine.” 

“No, seriously, hear me out. She reaches ridiculous heights,” he says, counting off on his fingers, “she has super-human strength – “ 

“Blaine, it doesn’t take super-human strength to pull apart one of those cars.” 

“But for a baby?” Blaine says, incredulous. “She’s, like, three.” 

“Two and a quarter. Rachel’s very particular.” Kurt smiles and sinks his hand into his husband’s hair, grin growing wider at the little groan of appreciation Blaine makes as Kurt’s fingers scratch at his scalp. “And wouldn’t Rachel or Derick have to be one, too?” 

“Nope,” Blaine mumbles. He leans his head back and cracks open his eyes to look at Kurt. “Your mutant power is clearly superior head massages.” 

“Hm,” Kurt says, leaning in to press a kiss against Blaine’s temple. He lets the pitch of his voice slink lower. “I like to think my talents go a lot further than that.” 

Blaine looks up at him with darkened eyes, and Kurt’s just starting to enjoy that familiar swoop in his stomach when Katie rockets out of the study, waving a half-damp piece of construction paper in the air, shouting, “Look! Look!” 

Kurt shoots Blaine a look – the look he likes to think says, “This is why we don’t have kids of our own, Blaine” – which Blaine ignores, scooping Katie up to sit in his lap. 

“Whatcha got there, Katie-Lady?” 

She responds by thrusting the paper into their faces. It’s a picture, made out of glue and dried macaroni and crayon – and Kurt takes a second to mentally count to ten, because where the fuck did she get macaroni in his house – of her family. Rachel and Derick are on the end holding hands (he can tell because of the unibang made out of one overlarge upturned noodle, and the thick-lined glasses actually bigger than Derick’s teeny macaroni head) holding hands; little Katie is in the middle, arms thrust up in the air, cropped hair flowing in the breeze; and on the right … 

On the right, also holding hands, are a little macaroni Kurt and Blaine. Kurt can tell which one is him, because she made his hair ridiculously big and swoopy, and Blaine has a little bowtie and his hair is drawn in black glitter crayon so it looks all shiny. 

It’s probably the sweetest thing he’s ever seen. 

He leans over and gives her a big hug while Blaine gushes over how amazing and talented she is, and he tries desperately not to cry. 

Listening to his spiritual niece giggle, and let her ‘thanks’ slip out sounding a lot more like ‘tanks,’ he thinks maybe it’s okay that he’ll never find any of his old stuff. The new stuff is much, much shinier. 

(But Rachel still owes him for that goddamn CD, adorable kid or not. It was signed! By Lady Gaga herself. There’s no way he’s letting that shit go.)

ashe writes fic    klaine    fanfiction    glee    30 days of writing    
  1. brocadearcade reblogged this from brocadearcade