#humbug!

[badjohnspeakeasy]

Saitama facing his greatest foe; Christmas.

But seriously, it starts earlier and earlier, don't it?

Link

[photozoi]

"This is my 'Bad Bugs that don't know the Lyrics' costume. You know, from that Grumpy Guy in the Hollyday Song movie! Screwed! Anyway, I'm him and it is three days til 'Good Boiz getz gifts Day'! Better be good, coz you don't wanna be Screwed! He isn't nice and he haz a ghost infestation."

the Imp, Silken Windhound I wish he wouldn't paraphrase, he isn't as good at it as he thinks.

[maglor-still-lives]

[alilactree]

Humbug!

Klaine Advent: Stir

(Jumping in a little late, don’t mind me. Based on the summary of a cheesy holiday movie that I’ve never seen. Also, omg I’m writing Klaine fic?!)

Following years of bit parts and near-misses, aspiring New York actor Blaine Anderson is about to throw in the towel and move to Chicago to take a real job when he auditions for the lead in a new production of A Christmas Carol. He nails the part and finds unexpected romance with his director, TV star Kurt Hummel. But when the historic theater loses its lease and the show is set to fold before it even opens, Blaine and his cast mates find themselves in need of a Christmas miracle.

He nailed it. Blaine leaves the stage exuberant, certain that he gave his best out there, his entire heart and soul belted out to the audience of two; emotions were stirred, notes were hit, lines delivered flawlessly. And whether or not he gets the part, he’s pleased. 

God he hopes he gets the part. No, hope is not a strong enough word. He needs this part. This part is his last chance, the final fraying string that he’s desperately clinging to. If he doesn’t get it, he’s— He has to get this part.

It’s been a long dry spell of background and one-line and no-line bit parts, lucky to get chorus member number twelve. His brother has been on him to give up on acting like he did and join the family business, but Blaine just knows his big break is right around the corner. Of course, he’s been saying that for years now. He may well be out of corners.

The theater is older and small, with that distinctive musty old theater aesthetic of dark velvet curtains and dark green carpets, a scuffed black stage, creaky wooden seats, and a maze of darkness backstage leading on to more darkness. Blaine takes a wrong turn in finding the exit and ends up in a narrow hallway in the very back of the building that’s become a graveyard of old props and busted lights and has definitely also become the de facto smoke break spot. Blaine wrinkles his nose, turning to retrace his steps and figure out where he went wrong, when he overhears the director and assistant director in one of the offices. Someone says his name.

“What about Blaine Anderson?”

He should not be listening to this. Blaine presses his lips flat, hesitates, then ducks behind what appears to be the styrofoam crow’s nest of a fake pirate ship to listen. 

The AD, Rachel, says, “As Scrooge? No way. Too young. Too boy next door.” Blaine’s heart drops into his stomach. But he has an advocate: Kurt Hummel, director, former TV star, just so happens to be gorgeous and talented and wears the hell out of a cravat. Kurt tuts. “You lack imagination, Rachel. Think about his range, his emotional resonance. Forget about what he looks like.” 

Blaine bites down on a smile. That’s exactly why he went for the role of Scrooge in the first place instead Bob Cratchit or Fred, or a safer bet like one of the carolers. More than just a cranky old man, Scrooge is the emotional core of the show and the audience needs to find Scrooge captivating in order go along on his journey. Blaine can do that. Plus, his songs are the best ones.

“I think the problem is that you can’t forget what he looks like,” the AD huffs.

“Excuse me?” Kurt says, his voice jumping high. Blaine’s heart goes with it. “Are you implying that I am being unprofessional in my casting, Rachel Berry?”

“Kurt,” Rachel says, in a placating tone, likely realizing she’s heading down a dangerous path. “You rely on me to advocate for the audience while you bring your brilliant vision to life. And I am telling you, no audience will believe Blaine Anderson as Ebenezer Scrooge.”

Shoulders slumped, heart plummeting down somewhere below ground, Blaine slips out from behind the pirate ship prop and makes his way back out to the stage. The stage he’ll apparently never perform on. He manages to find the exit this time, pushing the heavy metal door out onto a bright afternoon, of New York City covered in fluffy white snow and festively decked out for the holidays. It’s his favorite time of year here, usually, but today the winter wind just feels stinging and bitter, the Christmas cheer hollow and cheap. If I can make it there… Blaine laughs, rueful. He can’t, as it turns out. He can’t make it here. It’s finally time for him to get serious, join the family real estate business, and put this little acting experiment behind him. 

He’ll call Cooper tonight.

[alilactree]

Humbug!

Part Four ( One / Two / Three )

Klaine Advent: Variation

He’s fired. That’s that. Well, it was fun while it lasted— most of it anyway. Kurt leads Blaine backstage, expertly navigating the dark hallways and stairs, ending up at the office where Blaine accidentally but not really overheard his casting discussion. He’s tries to not let on that he’s been there before.

“So,” Kurt says. Inside the little office the walls are covered with show posters and headshots of iconic theater actors going way back. Blaine knew this theater was old, but that’s a impressive amount of history. Kurt leans back against the edge of the metal desk, crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows.

Blaine refuses to allow himself to fidget nervously, so he stares over Kurt’s head at a black and white photo of Ethel Merman and holds his breath, awaiting whatever variation of Kurt’s wrath is sure to be coming his way.

“What are you doing tonight?” Kurt says.

Blaine releases a too-loud gust of air. “I— Sorry?”

“Tonight?” Kurt repeats. “Are you busy?” When Blaine chances a look back down, Kurt’s head is cocked, his eyes narrowed.

“Um. I have a shift at the Spotlight Diner…” Why does his director want to know what he’s doing tonight? Extra rehearsal after he messed up so badly? Does he want to fire Blaine in public so he won’t make a scene? “After that I’m free.”

“Excellent.” Kurt’s face shifts into his usual neutral-yet-stern expression. He turns to scribble something on a post-it note, broad shoulders twisting, the long, strong lines of his back straining against his thin dress shirt. When he turns back and holds the note out, it takes Blaine a second to register that’s he supposed to take it. 

There’s an address written on it in a cramped, looping script. Blaine tucks the post-it into his pocket. “Meet me there. After your shift… Which is…”

“Oh.” Blaine says, still very confused by what’s happening. “I should be all set by eight-thirty at the latest.”

“Great. See you at eight-thirty.” The corner of Kurt’s mouth twitches up. Is he smiling? No, can’t be. Unless he gets some sort of sadistic thrill out of firing people?

Oh god.

Blaine barely has time to get home and change into his uniform. He puts Kurt out of his mind. What he wants with him, or wants to do with him, or— He can’t go there. The diner is packed, so his shift passes quickly, and Blaine realizes only as he’s running out the door to meet up with Kurt that he told him the time that the shift is over and not when Blaine would be ready to meet up. He has no time at all to change out of his uniform. Blaine hesitates, cab or train back home— He decides to go home, if he’s going to get fired he will not smell like onion rings while it happens.

The address turns out to be a bar that’s small and dimly lit with a band playing soft rock in the back. Blaine sheds his coat, adjusts his bowtie, double checks his hair, and looks around for Kurt. It’s not terribly busy, with mostly small groups and couples quietly chatting, so if Blaine makes a scene it will certainly be noticed. Kurt is at a table in a corner, next to a window. There are two glasses set in front of him, one full and one nearly empty.

“Sorry, I’m late,” Blaine says, sliding into a chair. “I—“

Kurt cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “It’s not a problem.” He looks relaxed, leaned back in his chair with his eyes lowered and mouth quirked up again. Clearly he’s been drinking without Blaine. “I ordered you an Old Fashioned. You seem like an Old Fashioned kind of guy.”

Blaine doesn’t really know how to take that, so he dips his head in thanks and takes a sip of the drink. Kurt smiles as he does, and either he’s getting Blaine drunk before firing him, or this is something else entirely. He doesn’t know how to broach the topic, so he waits for Kurt to explain. But Kurt just keeps looking at him with that heavy lidded stare, and Blaine just keeps sipping his drink. The band goes on break, and Blaine is down to ice cubes and a lemon rind. Finally Kurt speaks.

“You know I’ve never done that.” He nods to a couple passing by outside the window, with ice skates slung over their shoulders. “Here, I mean. But even then I was a kid.”

They aren’t far from Bryant Park. Blaine’s glass smacks down onto the table. “Seriously? Never?” Kurt shakes his head, and Blaine is out of his seat before Kurt can protest. “We have to go. Right now.”

Kurt is wobbly on his skates, but Blaine does this every year so he loops around Kurt, letting him figure out how to get himself steady. “I think I got oh—“ Kurt starts, getting overconfident and wobbling backward. Blaine catches him around the waist to hold him steady. They skate like that, Blaine singing along to the music with a hand securely on Kurt’s hip, and Kurt huffing as he wobbles unsteadily. He’s grinning though, and even laughing, and by the time they stop for a hot chocolate break, sitting side by side on one of the narrow wooden benches behind the rink, Blaine is having so much fun he no longer cares if he is or isn’t getting fired.

“I looked like a baby penguin out there,” Kurt says with a laugh.

“Oh I dunno,” Blaine sips his hot chocolate, hiding a smile. “I think baby penguins are probably steadier than that.”

Kurt laughs and shoves at his shoulder, then licks whipped cream off of his finger. Blaine swallows heavily at the sight, and Kurt smirks a bit. “Thank you for this,” he says. “This is not what I was expecting to happen tonight. At all.”

You and me both, Blaine thinks. And probably he should just let it go, maybe Kurt’s changed his mind, but Blaine’s curiosity wins out. “Can I ask why you wanted to meet with me in the first place?” Blaine turns to face Kurt, bracing himself. 

Instead of answering, Kurt kisses him.

[alilactree]

Humbug!

Part Two (Part One Here)

Klaine Advent: Talk

Blaine is still in his uniform that’s stained with strawberry milkshake and mustard, his dinner of a sent-back slice of cherry pie and side of overcooked french fries sitting untouched in their styrofoam container as he sits on the edge of his bed, head dropped in his hands as he prepares to do something he swore he never would: tell his brother that he was right.

Cooper’s line rings and rings and rings, and Blaine remembers with irritation that Cooper has a policy of never answering his phone to “create an air of desperation” for his clients. Blaine has no idea how Cooper has managed to sell a single property, let alone become one of the most successful real estate agents in the Chicago metro area. A square jaw and an overinflated sense of self will take one far in life, apparently.

Blaine takes a a steadying breath after suffering through Cooper’s obnoxious and disturbingly sexual voicemail message. “This is Cooper Anderson. I know you want me. Let me serve all of your needs. Leave a message.”

“Coop, It’s Blaine…” He waits to see if Cooper, who is almost certainly screening his calls, will pick up. He doesn’t. Blaine sighs. “I want to talk about—“

He’s interrupted by an incoming call, a local number he doesn’t recognize. Blaine moves to decline the call, but what if… He shakes his head. It’s probably a telemarketer. But what if… Stubborn optimism wins out, and he cuts his message to Cooper short.

“Hello?”

“Hello, this is Rachel Berry, assistant director and rising Broadway star, to whom am I speaking?”

“Um,” Blaine says, hope mixing with confusion. Did she not mean to call him? “This is Blaine,” he answers, as if it’s a question, like he isn’t sure of himself at all.

“Excellent. Blaine, I’d like to personally welcome you to the cast of Humbug! A Christmas Carol Musical. I hope you’re prepared to drop all other responsibilities and focus solely on the show, starting this Saturday. The rehearsal schedule will be as follows…”

Blaine barely registers Rachel’s rapid-fire schedule details, then the rehearsal protocol, and then her expectations for performers and Kurt’s expectations of everything. His mind is spinning, disbelief slowly giving way to excitement as he grins, stands from his bed and squeaks out, “I got the part?”

Rachel pauses her instructions, with a short, “Yes.”

He has to be sure. “Scrooge? The part of Ebenezer Scrooge? Me? Blaine Anderson?”

“Yes.” Rachel’s voice is softer this time, sweet even, and if she still thinks he’s terrible for the role she doing a great job of hiding it. “You got the part, Blaine.”

After he hangs up with Rachel, Blaine finds his appetite again, happily scarfing down his pie and cold french fries. If the show does as well as he thinks it will, maybe he’ll be able to afford fresh vegetables and full meals again. This is it, his big break, he just knows it. And he knows, as well, though he wasn’t supposed to, that Kurt is the one who chose him and took a chance on him. Blaine owes Kurt a huge debt of gratitude; he will work harder than he has ever worked in his life. And though he will of course keep things strictly professional, it is flattering to know that his attraction to Kurt isn’t one sided. Blaine cues up some music and celebrates as much as he can in his teeny tiny apartment, all by himself.

He got the part.

[alilactree]

Humbug!

Part Six (One / Two / Three / Four / Five)

Klaine Advent: Year

Let’s all just pretend like I finished this in time, okay? Okay.

Christmas comes and goes, and with it the last gasps of Blaine’s hope. He tried so hard, even debased himself by asking Cooper to help and for what? The play is dead, his relationship with Kurt a nonstarter, his determined optimism as gray and trodden as the snow pushed up against dumpsters and curbs. A fitting crummy end to a crummy year.

“Welcome to the Spotlight Diner, I’m Blaine your singing waiter for the evening can I start you with anything?” Blaine rattles off, robotic, clicking his pen to start the order and scowling at the faded scribble it produces. Of course his pen is running out ink. How apt.

“Is there anything here that won’t give me a coronary?”

Blaine knows that voice. “Kurt?” Kurt gives a quick little smile, then glances back down at the menu. A coincidence, that’s all. Kurt didn’t come looking for him because there’s no reason to, no Humbug! A Christmas Carol Musical, no them, no hope. 

“Um," Blaine says, flipping Kurt’s menu over for him. “There is a salad. If you order it without the fried chicken strips and croutons and onion rings…”

Kurt hands the menu over. “I’ll take that then.”

Blaine barely gets Kurt’s order in when there’s a request for a Katy Perry song. Those always go to him, but he’s having a hard time mustering up the energy needed. Not even Katy Perry songs are cheering him up, things are that bad. Still, Blaine is a performer, sort of, so he puts on his show face and gives it his all anyway. He keeps looking at Kurt during the song, though he doesn’t want to. This isn’t the stage he wanted to be at, literally and figuratively. It’s embarrassing.

“One fried chicken and onion ring salad, minus the fried chicken and onion rings.” Blaine sets the food down quickly, doing his job and no more than that, but Kurt calls his name before he can scurry off.

“You were really good up there,” Kurt says, peeling the paper ring off of his fork and knife. “Not that I’m surprised.”

Blaine thanks him and looks down. He’s having trouble believing whatever Kurt sees in him, saw in him, lately. “That’s kind of you.” Blaine says politely, heading off to his other tables. Kurt stays through Blaine’s entire shift, picking at his salad and texting with someone, his eyebrows furrowed and mouth pulled flat. Blaine wants to kiss the tension from his lips, make his eyes twinkle with a laugh. He has nothing to offer but water refills and a dessert menu.

“All right,” Blaine says, taking a chance once his shift is over, sliding into Kurt’s booth on the opposite side. He almost just left, ignored the pull towards Kurt, the tiny glimmer of something he feels when Kurt looks at him. Whether it’s hubris or that stubborn, stupid determination that’s kept him going this long, he decides to talk to Kurt instead. “So you’re the slowest eater in the world or you wanted to talk to me…” Kurt arches an eyebrow. “Or I’m way off base and you were just busy working and I’m an idiot.” Blaine slides across the booth to leave, reaching for his apron.

“No,” Kurt darts a hand across the table, touching Blaine’s, then pulling it quickly back. “I did actually want to talk to you.”

Blaine nods, settling back into the shiny vinyl seat. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Kurt heaves a breath. Is he nervous? The commanding and confident big shot director Kurt Hummel is nervous… About Blaine? “Look, I know this was a fun little fling with the director deal and now that I’m not your director it’s—“ He flicks his fingers, as if casting something carelessly away. “But I was hoping you’d be interested anyway.”

Fun little fling? Wait. “Kurt, no I—“

One of Blaine’s coworkers chooses that moment to launch into You Give Love a Bad Name, which is seriously so ill-timed; interrupting Blaine and drowning out his protest. Kurt’s face falls, and he takes out a business card from his coat pocket, scribbling something onto the back with the crappy pen from Blaine’s wadded up apron. He’s gone before Blaine can grab his stuff and scoot out from the booth, gone before Clint finishes wailing the chorus way too enthusiastically.

If you change your mind… The card says, he thinks, the ink fades in and out on the words. There’s a barely legible date, and half of a time. Then the… something something theater. Blaine holds it up to the light. The theater? The soon to be a parking garage theater? The theater that will be no more, where they almost had the play that never was?

Weird.

The day comes, and Blaine’s best guess at the time. He's had a week to puzzle out what’s going on and is no less confused as he approaches the theater. It looks the same outside, not a construction zone just yet, and inside—

“Scrooge!”

Blaine blinks, adjusting to the darkness inside. Only the track lights on the aisles are lit up, the few exit lights along the walls. As if a show is just about to begin. He approaches the stage, more confused than ever. “What are you guys doing here?” The entire main cast from A Christmas Carol is gathered on the stage, plus Rachel.

“Nobody knows,” Mercedes says. “Kurt just asked us all to come.”

Blaine hops up onto the stage to join them. It’s almost as if the show will go on, but that’s impossible. It’s too late. Right?

“Hi everyone.” Kurt enters from the wings, and every head turns suddenly in his direction. “Thank you all for coming,” he glances at Blaine, then back onto no one in particular. “I know when everything went down, some of you were disappointed in me. Maybe you thought I wasn’t fighting for you or the theater, but I want you to know that I never—“

A spotlight blasts on, and all heads swing out towards it, a huge bright circle trained on the center aisle. Blaine shades his eyes, squinting against the glare. There’s a person. A tall, strutting, square-jawed person who looks an awful lot like…

“Cooper?”

[alilactree]

Humbug!

Part Three (One / Two)

Klaine Advent: Underline

Blaine arrives bright and early to the first rehearsal. Rachel is there already, putting tape on the stage for marks and handing out scripts as the cast trickles in. Blaine takes his, then scopes out a spot to sit and underline all of his dialogue for easier memorization. He notices that Kurt has come in as well; sitting in the center of one of the empty rows of seats beneath a dim light, making notes on his own script. His face is drawn and serious, his tongue swipes across his lower lip every so often. Seemingly aware of being watched, Kurt looks up. Right at Blaine. Blaine’s cheeks go hot and he looks away, embarrassed at being caught obviously ogling the director. He sits over on the far edge of stage right, well away from Kurt’s seat on the other side of the theater.

As Blaine reads through and marks up his script, the full cast assembles onto the stage. Blaine notes how diverse the cast is, how Kurt went against conventional choices not just with Blaine, but with everyone. He’s familiar with Kurt’s work, how he’s both praised and criticized for pushing the envelope, but it’s still gratifying to see that even with a classic beloved holiday story, Kurt is determined to create an experience that’s for everyone.

Blaine hears giggling a little ways down the edge of the stage, and scoots over to join in. “Hi, I’m Blaine,” he says brightly, and is greeting with a three-part cheer of, “Scrooge!”

Mercedes, Unique, and Tina are playing the roles of the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future, respectively. They run some lines for a bit, chat about other things they’ve all done— the three of them are all much more accomplished than Blaine is, which makes him nervous.  

“Kurt’s tough, but he knows what he’s doing,” Unique says.

“Really tough,” Tina adds in.

But,” Mercedes says, with a look towards the other two, “If he picked you for the part, then he knows you’re up to the task.” She’s worked with Kurt multiple times before, and is probably right. Still, it makes Blaine that much more anxious about being able to live up to Kurt’s expectations. If he fails, then Kurt will regret taking a chance on him as the lead and Blaine will drag the whole play down with him. He sits on his hands to make them stop shaking.

Rachel is busy wrangling the child actors and their parents, so Kurt announces that it’s time to to get started and asks everyone to gather center stage. He walks back and forth as he speaks, and Blaine’s eyes helplessly track Kurt’s confident, long-legged stride.

“I encourage you re-familiarize yourself with the original Dickens story, as well as the movie. But do keep in mind that the musical is not the film, which is not the book, so the most important thing you can bring to the table is flexibility and an open, ready mind.”

Kurt walks from end of the stage to the other, pivots and goes quiet. He catches Blaine’s eye with a raised eyebrow and Blaine realizes with a flush of heat that his gaze had been downcast on Kurt’s body before snapping up to meet his eyes. 

“We’ll quickly introduce each part today,” Kurt goes on, as if Blaine’s inappropriate interruption hadn’t occurred. “And then a quick run-through of act one’s musical numbers. If you are not in act one, you may leave after the character introductions have all been completed.” There’s excited murmuring from the people who will get a surprise afternoon of freedom, but Kurt holds up his hand. “However, I do encourage you to stay.” The tone of his voice immediately quells all excited murmuring.

A sudden hot twist of arousal at Kurt’s commanding voice joins the rising anxiety heavy in Blaine’s gut and stays there, churning, through all of the character intros. By the time he steps up to the piano to try his first run through his first solo, Blaine is queasy and light headed and hot all over. He misses his cue, flubs the first line, then goes too sharp on the second. The piano player stops the song again with look of bored irritation— though so far he seems to always look like that. Kurt stands in front of Blaine, shoulders squared and spine straight, one arm crossed over his chest, the other set thoughtfully on his chin. 

“Let’s try Link By Link instead. Artie?” Kurt nods to the actor playing Marley’s Ghost, and jerks his head to the side, indicating his desire for Blaine’s immediate exit.

Offstage, Blaine groans, hiding his face in his script. Tina and Unique rub his back and Mercedes tries to comfort him. “You were just nervous. Happens to the best of us.”

Luckily his next song is with the three of them, so Blaine is able to focus solely on playing off of their characters, letting himself slip into his own role more easily, and he manages to get through it with minimal mess ups. Not bad considering it’s everyone’s first time performing it. The rest of the rehearsal goes fine, thankfully, and by the end Blaine is back to feeling as excited as he did this morning. The cast is amazing, all of them, the energy on stage fantastic, and Kurt’s interpretation of the story is remarkable. This show isn't just Blaine’s big break, it is truly something special.

Blaine nets himself an invite to Tina’s next game night and Unique’s next nightclub performance and one of Mercedes’ Friday night dinner parties, grinning and waving goodbye as he walks backward to collect his bag. Behind him, someone touches his elbow.

“Oh!” Blaine spins around. His eyes widen. “Kurt. Uh. Mr. Hummel. Um.”

“Kurt is fine,” he says. His voice is even and emotionless, his face unreadable. “Blaine, can we talk? Privately?”