Pairing: Klaine
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 7622
Status: Complete
Summary: Blaine Anderson didn’t know what he was getting himself into when he found an interest in the aloof Kurt Hummel, McKinley’s resident recluse.
Warnings: Oh so AU. And language. Somewhat altered characters; Kurt as a hipster, or as Makenna clarified, “self-imposed loner.”
A/N: Because Flirtykurty and I can never commit to our epic WIP’s, we decided to try out one-shots. And so we bring to you the newest A Knave Manner collab!If he messed with his bow tie one more time, he was going to give himself a complex. But it was his first day back to a public school.
Blaine looked into his side view mirror critically, and sighed. As always, this was as good as it was gonna get. He pushed back a stubborn cowlick and pulled his door open, stepping out of his car and into the brisk wind.
Rated: M
Summary: Five one-shots that connect of the Christmases Kurt and Blaine have spent and will spend both apart and together.
Blaine always got presents delivered to his room. They were stacked in a pile just outside his door. That’s the way it had always been. He’d be in the hallway, joyously marveling at his wall of brightly-wrapped gifts, running a reverent finger over the creases and carefully opening them and folding the discarded paper. When he was younger, his mother would lean against the banister in her red robe, a cup of steaming coffee in her hands, and she’d watch her son open whatever Tonka truck he had been given that year. She’d return his delighted smile whenever he’d open something that particularly wonderful.
His mother hadn’t watch him open gifts in years.
Chock full of Harry Potter canon characters, original characters, and of course, Klaine. (If only you could have seen our sorting ceremony of sorts for the glee characters; shit got intense.)
Written in equal parts by me and Makenna (flirtykurty on both tumblr and fanfiction.net).
“I trust that you’ll represent us well at Hogwarts.”
Blaine nodded solemnly at his father. The ends of his father’s mustache quirked upwards slightly, but only for a moment.
“We’re counting on you, Blaine,” he said lowly. He held out his hand for his son to shake. Blaine grasped it, his manner businesslike. It was awkward between them as he let the hand fall. He turned to his mother, who was seated in her armchair with a long cigarette.
“Write often,” she schmoozed, waving said cigarette in the air in lofty circles. Blaine nodded once more, feeling a lump swell up in his throat.
“Everything’s set then. Bonkie!” barked Mr. Anderson.
With a loud crack, Bonkie appeared before them, bowing low at his masters. “Bonkie, take Blaine to the platform.” With another gracious bow, Bonkie grasped onto Blaine’s trousers and they Disapparated.
