People I think should have dated Blaine in season 6, instead of Karofsky
Sebastian Smythe
Jeremiah the junior manager at The Gap
Nick and/or Jeff (heavy on the and)
Sebastian Smythe (yes, again, they’re unstable but its okay)
Someone random. His name is Todd. He works at six flags. That’s where they met.
Absolutely NO ONE and he just doesn’t want to get back together with Kurt right away because he’s in therapy and bettering himself and isn’t ready to forgive him yet
I simply cannot be normal about a character, no I have to get essentially possessed by an amalgamation of their canon self and fanon self. (Really weird cause I'm a girl but y'know)
This is about Sebastian Smythe, I wrote the backstory I gave him for my new AU (yeah I made a second one) from his perspective, it's a lot of metaphors but I kind of like it. (I got to thinking about the term closeted as a visual)
TW: Suicidal thoughts (it's one line)
[In this AU it was Blaine that outed Santana, because it helps with the metaphors and still fits his character #GAP Attack]
So imagine yourself as a room, okay? It showcases all of your memories, your interests, your hopes and dreams.
Now for some people the only door in that room is the front door, the door that lets people in.
But for some people there's a second door, and they aren't always aware that the door is there, it can be decades of them not even considering that there could be a second door.
But sometimes you know, but you don't know what the door means, it's just a door. And getting closer to the door makes you anxious so you stay away from it.
And you ask around about the door because you’re too scared to just open it, but the moment you even mention the concept of a second door, everyone gets really angry because you live in Ohio and the people there only like it when people have one door.
Right, so you make a very quick decision and decide that you’re never going to mention the door.
So you’re living your life, ignoring the door and just doing the things that you enjoy. And then someone comments that the thing that you like doing is liked by people with two doors.
And you panic, so you drop that thing and you stare at the second door, thinking that if you stare hard enough that it will go away. Doesn’t work.
So you cover the door with a poster, something normal and inconspicuous, like football or lacrosse, whatever is expected of you.
And things are good, you actually like lacrosse so you don’t really mind being known as the lacrosse guy, it’s better than the two doors guy.
Then you turn like 15, and you’re going into high school. The rules change a bit. People around you are starting to date each other.
So you go and you’re just thinking that you just want to get through the next 4 years alive. But things change, you meet a boy and he also has a second door.
But his is different, see because his door is open, it's a closet full of beautiful colors. And you think, wow but then you look at your door and think about opening it, and then you don’t.
You become friends with the boy, secretly of course, and at first things are great, because you have someone that understands what it’s like to have two doors.
But you start to get into fights with the boy, because he doesn’t understand why you still have your second door shut. He doesn’t get why you put the poster over it, and he hates that you’ve done those things.
He certainly hates when you ask a girl to the school dance, you asked her because she’s nice and going alone would make you look lame.
You fight with the boy one more time, he’s tired of seeing you do this, tired of watching you hide, but you tell him to go away, that you don’t want to be friends with him anymore. And it hurts because you’re alone again, it’s just you and your door. It’s silent, and you look at it, but still can’t bring yourself to open it.
So you go to school the next day, but it’s not a normal day. The moment you walk in, it’s not a normal day. Everyone is staring at you, staring past you, and you turn and see that the door is gone. The poster is ripped, and the hinges are torn from where they were. It was a closet, you can see all the things you didn't let yourself have because you were scared.
It feels cold, it’s terrifying, so you go look for the boy with the open closet and you find him.
You ask him why he did that, and he says it’s because he loves you. You hadn't put much stock into the concept of love, it was one of the things you denied yourself.
But right now? You're hurt and you’re angry, so you punch him. His face begins to bleed and your hand begins to sting. And you, you stare, because you’ve never really been a violent person, you can be mean and cruel, but it’s always with words not actions. All bark no bite, but this time you bit.
A teacher sees the two of you, his face bleeding, your knuckles bruised and the both of you are dragged to the office.
Parents are called, and you’re terrified again and you look at your door, or where it used to be. And it’s cold and you wonder how someone could do this to you and still say they loved you.
And your parents show up, your mom and dad, his mother. Your mom asks why you did it, but you can't bring yourself to say anything. His mother asks if it has to do with the closets, and she says closets in such disgust that it reminds you why you ignored the door in the first place. You look at your mom and you just break, you keep apologizing, not for punching the boy but for having a closet, because right then you feel like it's something to apologize for.
Your dad tells you to go to the car. And you listen because you aren't about to argue with your dad.
On your way to the car you get stopped by the girl you asked to the dance, her name is Lila. She says she understands but you don't get it until you realize she also has a door, it's covered by so many posters. You keep in touch.
You get to the car and now you're in the car, alone, and all you can think about is the closet. The room feels off, like things have shifted and haven't settled. The hinges are still broken, splinters through the wood, the poster is torn to pieces.
Your parents come back to the car, it's your mom's so she drives. Your dad looks at you but doesn't say anything. You don't say anything either.
Dinner is quiet, for a moment you understand what people say when they mention wanting to die.
Your dad is the first to bring it up, he doesn't ask, he doesn't push, he just says that it's okay. He gives you this long speech about how much he loves you and how that would never change, but you don't hear any of it, your ears are still ringing from, “it's okay.”
The next morning your mom keeps you from school, you don't care, you don't want to go back anyways.
She says you're leaving, you and her, Paris. Your dad has to stay behind because of his job. Your mom says it's just until things calm down.
And Paris changes you, you didn't replace the door, but you slowly fix the archway, you pull the pieces of yourself you locked away and let it join the rest of you.
And Paris is different, you find others with open closets, they guide you into a whole new world of possibilities.
So you went out a lot, and it was fun. For a moment you wonder why you were ever scared of the closet door.
But you remember the stares, words spit with venom, you got away from it all, but in a way you're still the little boy that asked about the doors all those years ago.
You come back to Ohio. Two years pass by really quickly, but you're back. Your dad got a new job and found a school that should be nice.
You meet two boys, their closets have photos of one another, they like to sing so you call them birdies, you join them because you miss the feeling of performing.
You meet a guy in a coffee shop, he wears the open closet like a badge, he reminds you of Paris. He doesn't belong in a place like Ohio, you tell him and he seems shocked.
You befriend your roommate, he's cool, you're just crazy enough to keep each other in line. He doesn't quite have a closet like you but something similar.
You look at where your door used to be, you took the old hinges of a while ago. It's no longer something you hide, it's just another part of you. You let go of the pain from before.
Then someone else gets thrown to the wolves just as you were, by a friend like you were, by someone who should have understood like you were. You don't know them yet, but you know the feeling, just the same.
You understand her fear, her rage, her hurt. But you don't know her and she doesn't know you, but you hope she knows that it will be okay.
It might not be today, or tomorrow, but it will be. And one day she'll look at the open closet as if it's always been that way.
