#the box scene

[historyofglee]

On this day in 2012:

following a successful fan campaign, Ryan Murphy posted a deleted scene dubbed “The Klaine Box Scene” on his YouTube channel.

The scene featured Chris Colfer as Kurt Hummel and Darren Criss as Blaine Anderson, and was cut from Glee season 3, episode 9 “Extraordinary Merry Christmas”.

[klainegifs]

[cryscendo]

Merry Christmas, Kurt. Our first Christmas together.

First of many.

@giftober 2024 | day 18: gift

[carsonphillips]

Hiiiii, friends. I thought I'd share the version of the box scene that I upscaled into HD for @klainegifs. I am not at all a video editor and this is the first time I've upscaled anything at all but I did my best!! Because of the nature of upscaling (creating details that aren't really there), there are some parts/frames that I think look too smooth/unnatural. If you're going to use it to make gifs, I'd recommend doing some extra sharpening to offset it. If you'd like to use it for whatever purposes (and please feel free to do so!), you can download it here.

[datshitrandom]

Klaine moments by episode | 3.09 Extraordinary Merry Christmas ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

[whumpupthejam]

the Dune scene in question because I just think everyone should see it once and see it again and also I want it on my page forever okay goodbye 💋💋💋

[opal-apples]

does anyone have the cql xiyao box scene fake subs post bc I'm desperately looking for it and I CANNOT find it and it's making me insane

[ruporas]

… and it all came flowing to his brain, three years of his youth. (ID in alt)

[cak31ssuperi04]

Barbie protagonists but make it My Scene

[szynkaaa]

I think that would sum up their travel-relationship pretty well.

[humbug-demartino]

"Boxing Daria" [S5 Ep13]

[klainegifs]

[screwpinecaprice]

Movie Night 🍿

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Remember: The burning sensation is part of the process.

[datshitrandom]

Blaine D. Anderson in every episode  | 3.09 Extraordinary Merry Christmas ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

[wordsinhaled]

Charles loves Edwin’s little lopsided grin and the flash of his teeth because it means he’s truly relaxed.

He loves the sharp arch of Edwin’s eyebrows and the way Edwin slants his eyes at him in fond exasperation.

He loves getting Edwin to scoff at him, cares gone until all he can focus on is holding in the undignified snort Charles is about to coax out.

He loves how each time he darts to touch Edwin with his fingertips, to just barely graze him, he gets a different little bit of him, there and gone again.

There and gone, the slope of one shoulder. A patch of Edwin’s bare arm, a little shock of warmth like nothing else Charles ever feels anymore. The wool of his blue slipover, which Charles can’t really know the texture of, but it looks soft and worn-in and cherished. Charles lets his imagination run away with him sometimes, thinks about curling his fingers in that soft-looking fabric and tugging Edwin flush against him, close, close, closer, as close as Edwin would allow.

How close would he allow?

He has to know, doesn’t he, at this point? He has to, he has to, he has to. Edwin’s not much for boxing, Charles is well aware. But he doesn’t get better no matter how often they spar, though he ought to be at least as good as Charles, by now. Charles has to wonder: is this more than just indulgence, to him?

Because Edwin is patient, so patient and only a bit incredulous, as each time Charles has got a new story, a new and ever-flimsier excuse. The mad driller, the brassed-off poltergeist, the reanimated pugilist.

C’mon, Edwin, he says, every time, in the end. And somehow, that always seems to do it.

Edwin stands there in his boxing gloves time and again, still as a stone at first and then pulled into reluctant, tentative, elegant movement by Charles’ glancing touch. He lets Charles have this, brilliant, generous friend that he is. Lets Charles circle him, goad him, skirt the shape of him, lets Charles look at him, look and look and look and—

It would be worse, Charles thinks, without the gloves. More pretty pieces of Edwin to spin Charles in circles round. Still, sometimes he imagines unlacing the gloves. He’d let them fall to the floor. He’d catch hold of Edwin and never let him go, catch the impact of Edwin’s bare hands against his own—each of his half-hearted strikes landing because Charles wants them to.

Sometimes Charles thinks Edwin might let him do more than other times, when they’re like this. And he doesn’t want for much. Just to kiss him once would be enough. To press their mouths together and take into himself Edwin’s surprised gasp, his sardonic laugh, his muffled noise of assent.

It crashes through him, the want, sometimes, like waves against a shore, so strong this is the only way to dull it. He wants so badly he jitters, and darts from foot to foot, and can only take in Edwin in fragments—each one settling inside him to form an echo of an ache called—

Love.