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Title: There's a drumming noise inside my head
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me.
Summary: Brittany and Santana both want the same thing. They just have to find out. [Six-words-lines drabble].
Spoilers: None
Rating: G
A/N: After reading some fics following a six-words-per-line format, I decided to give it a try. It's actually very interesting having to write with such a limit, I hope that shows in the result. Also, the title is from the song Drumming song, by Florence + the Machine


Every time Brittany speaks, Santana shakes.
She fears what she might say,

or worse, what she might do,
when she feels like kissing her senseless.
So she clenches her fists tight
and keeps her thoughts a secret.

Every time Brittany speaks, she hopes.
She wants Santana to say something,
or better, to do something extraordinary,
like kiss her. So she waits
with her eager heart pounding fast,
thinking maybe there’s a small chance.

Deep down, they share one longing:
Santana wishes she were brave enough
and Brittany wishes she were right.
But they don’t know it yet,
that they both want the same:
a tender kiss, their hopeful wish.

Nice day to pop the question

Civil marriage between people of the same sex is legal as from today in Argentina. I'm just so proud of my country right now.

Also, I stopped by the act some organizations arranged in front of the Parliament to wait for the votes -it was a 15-hours-long debate- and they had some bands to pass the time and the polar wave (nice picture of the event here). I can't stop sneezing right now, but freezing my ass out there was worth it because there was a very good band playing -Kevin Johansenn and the Nadas- and Liniers, a draftsman I love, was there. He sketched as the  using the songs as inspiration, and then he folded each drawing into a papel plane a threw it to the audience. Awesome.

Little comic strip from his series Macanudo:

Call of the wild

My dog has this really weird habit which I find both amusing and extremely endearing.

First of all, I should say that my dog is a small-sized pup, around 10 years old, with a dopey look to his face and a massive white (most of the time grey from dirt, actually) curly coat, which pretty much makes him a ball of wavy hair with two dark shining eyes. As for his personality, he might as well be a cat: absolutely lazy, naps about half his time and thinks it twice before coming when you call him. He likes fetching ball, though. And cuddling when he wakes up from one of his recurrent catnaps.

This is him with his winter coat on (yeah, we wrap him up even if he has as much wool as a sheep)

 doggy

 

So, that being said, he's got this thing when, every time someone sets some pet food on his tray, he'll go next to it, smell it in a seemingly disinterested way and then he'll just bark at it, arching his back as if he were getting ready to jump or play with it. He yaps a couple of times, then he grabs some grains with his mouth and he spins them around, making them fly a couple of meters, and he runs after them, barking at the little grains excitedly. 

He'll usually eat them afterwards, usually not until someone kneels by his side and watches him bite them down. Once this little display is over, he swallows the rest of the food without any other eating-drama.

My mom says it's because he's trying to get our attention. I say it's because he's got wolf instincts rooted deep inside of him and he's just hunting his prey (even if that prey happens to be the tiniest little piece of pet food).

Everyone laughs, because honestly, that cuddly ball of fur looks nothing like a wolf, but then, who knows?

ficlet: Cabbage slices

Title: Cabbage slices
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine.
Summary: Sometimes, when the weather is not too cold and not too hot, Brittany eats thin slices of cabbage.
Spoilers: None
Rating: G
AN: Honestly, I'm not sure where this came from, I just wanted to take a break and write a short drabble or something and this came out. It doesn't actually have much sense, except for fluff's sake. In fact, I'm not even sure why I picked cabbages instead of other vegetables. Probably because of the crunch...
On a side note: I've noticed that it is a sort of fanon established thing that Brittany's kisses taste like oranges (well, more like I've read it in a couple of fics), so I've decided I'm sticking to the tradition because it's a cute thing and because fanon!Brittana is too amazing.


Cabbage slices

Sometimes, when the weather is not too cold and not too hot, Brittany eats thin slices of cabbage. They make a weird, crunching noise against her teeth as she pops them into her mouth mechanically, like some sort of assembling machine.
The first time Santana sees Brittany munching on a piece of cabbage, she asks what is she eating. The second time, the third, she asks again, because she forgets, and because people don’t eat raw cabbage on strips. The fourth time she’s about to ask, then she remembers.
She doesn’t like cabbage, or most vegetables for all it matters. When she kisses Brittany, she has a strange taste in her lips, something between the scent of wet grass and the bitterness of un-sugared tea. It’s a change from the usual tang of oranges and buttered toast that she’s used to relate to Brittany, but it’s not bad. It beats the sour cream and gum from Puck, and the green Skittles and salty bacon from Finn.
“Why are you eating that?”, she asks once.
“Why not?”, Brittany says, biting yet another slice of cabbage, her cheeks full and her eyes dreamy, as they always are. And then there’s only the perpetual crunch coming from her mouth, her hand travelling routinely from the plate to her mouth.
“Why do you like cabbage?”, she asks another time.
“Why not?”, Brittany says, the crunching noise growing louder and louder, and Santana feels like she should give it a try, even if she doesn’t like it.
Every time Brittany eats cabbage, she’s bound to day-dream more than on regular days. Santana feels a bit left out, but she scolds herself for that, because it’s not like she’s leaving her to hang with someone else; Brittany’s there, she’s just strolling along a labyrinth made of cabbage strips.
Then, the weather turns too cold or too hot again, and Brittany comes out of the maze and kisses Santana, maybe because she’s happy she's found the exit or maybe because she’s sad there’s no more cabbage left. But each kiss tastes a lot like oranges and buttered toast, and a bit like wet grass and tea, and each kiss is strong and heavy, like that of a sailor who has finally found his compass and is heading home after a long journey. Sometimes, when it’s late at night and she is too tired to think it is stupid to feel that way, Santana is thankful for cabbages.
Since before the World Cup started, my city has been sort of drowned in a parade of flags hanging from every building, light-blue-and-white rosettes in people’s coats and a general excited atmosphere that doesn’t quite match the damp winter weather in Buenos Aires. Argentina turned 200 years last May, and it was quite the celebration, with our main avenue closed to cars and dedicated to a five-day-long party with many bands and artistic productions. I spent a good amount of time there and it was quite impressive. But I’m losing track of my point, which is that this general mood has made its way up to these days, enhanced by the performance of our team in the World Cup.

I travel by bus every day, almost crossing the entire city from my house to my work place, so I guess it could be said I get a good glimpse of it on a daily basis. Every single place in Buenos Aires has a flag. Bakeries, banks, offices, grocery stores, you name it. I’m not a particularly big fan of football; actually, I rarely watch a game and almost never go to see a football match live. But this atmosphere is contagious, and I find it impossible to resist. Everyone is talking about the World Cup: men, women, kids, even old ladies walking their dogs. And even if it is just to complain about it, it’s still wonderful that every single person in this city, hell, in this country, is brought together by a handful of matches.
Of course, it does have its ups and downs. Like, you shouldn’t even think about passing out on a day Argentina plays, because there’s no chance you’ll ever get an ambulance. Everything stops, most people don’t have to go to work, kids can skip school. But then, things like what I saw today happen, and I can’t find it in me to be upset about the craziness that spreads around like some weird contagious virus.
We had Uruguay-Ghana and Brazil-Holland today. Both Uruguay and Brazil are neighboring countries and potential opponents (well, Brazil isn’t anymore, I still can’t believe they lost). Argentina wasn’t even playing today. But every bar had the TV on and they broadcasted both matches. People were crowding on the streets outside of the bars, looking through the windows with their mouths hanging open. Complete strangers shared their views on the teams and the plays. Drivers honked their horns when someone made a goal. It was just plain crazy, and Argentina wasn’t even playing.
Tomorrow we run against Germany, and I don’t know a single person who isn’t going to be glued to their TV.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that this speaks for who we are, even if not everyone is a big fan of the game. We’re a bunch of people who just like to stop in their tracks and share something, whether it is with a complete stranger, outside of a bar or on a rainy day. Or all of them.

drabble: Right as rain

Title: Right as rain (Three drabbles)
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Disclaimer: These are not my characters
Summary: Three short drabbles on Brittany and Santana. Rain/water is the main theme.
Spoilers: None
Rating: G
AN: It's been raining a lot around here and I wanted to write something connected with it, or at least with water from the shower haha. Also, this is sort of a (late) birthday gift for overkill_max . Espero que te guste Bou! Y feliz cumpleaños!


Right as rain

Brittany srunched up her nose as she eyed a sweaty Santana who was rummaging inside of her bag to find some clean clothes after Cheerios practice.
'You smell dirty'.
Santana furrowed her brow, looked at her with a humorous glint in her eyes, and retorted:
'You smell funny'.
'I am funny'.
Santana smirked as she recalled what they had been doing in those very same dressing rooms that afternoon instead of going to Glee club.
'Well, I am dirty'.

-------------------------------

'I like it when it smells of rain', Brittany said, lifting her head and sniffling the scent of wet grass.
Santana grabbed her by the wrist and tugged.
'Hurry up before it starts raining'.
'I like rain'. She looked at her with meaningful eyes. 'Even if everyone hates it'.
'We're going to be late'.
She slid her hand into Santana's and squeezed it. 'They can wait', she hummed, as the first rain drop trickled on her forehead.

-------------------------------

'What are you doing here?' Santana gasped, barely able to stop herself from stepping over her friend on her way out. Brittany was sitting crosslegged on the stairs from the front door of her house, and she only deviated her eyes from the sky to give her a brief glance.
'I was waiting for you', she said.
'Why didn't you call then?'.
Brittany shrugged sligthly. 'I forgot', she added simply, gaze fixated on the grey clouds the wind was blowing away.
Santana sighed and sat on the floor next to her. It had been raining heavily, but it had stopped some time ago. Brittany's hair was loose and completely wet, her locks plastered to her face.
'You look beautiful', Santana whispered, not realizing she had lowered her voice, as she reached out to sweep one of her blonde tresses away from her cheek.
There was the faintest blush on Brittany's face, and Santana felt a sudden urge to kiss her, but instead she waited.
Brittany smiled slightly and said: 'I wonder where clouds go to die'.
Title: But baby how we spoon like no one else
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Song: You and I by Ingrid Michaelson. Youtube link here.
Disclaimer: Neither the character not the song belong to me.
Summary: Let's get rich and buy our parents homes in the South of France. Let's get rich and give everybody nice sweaters and teach them how to dance.
Spoilers: None
Rating: G
AN: The idea for this songfic was inspired by thecityisonfire , who wrote an amazing fic: We will put the lonesome on a shelf, where Santana sings this song. I loved the song and it seemed so appropiate for Brittany/Santana that I just needed to write something. The result is a sort of recollection of little moments between them, with the song as the main thread joining all of them. I strongly suggest you listen to the song, because it's awesome (in fact, you can picture me looking over your shoulder in a stalkerish manner, making sure you do listen to it). I really enjoyed writing this, hope you like it!


But baby how we spoon like no one else

 Santana's been frowning ever since Coach mentioned Cheerio's summer camp. They had gone together last year, and it was one of the best weeks they'd ever had. But this year Santana's parents have been short of money, because her mom was recently fired. So she just frowns all through practice, and she keeps her brow furrowed even as they say goodbye. The Latina girl doesn't say anything, but she knows how to see beyond her glare and her crossed arms. Late at night, Santana tosses and turns in her bed, unable to put her mind at ease. Her cell phone beeps, and she reaches out to grab it, squinting at the light from the phone. A text, signed with a B: Don't you worry there my honey, we might no have any money, but we've got our love to pay the bills. Santana sighs, finally closing her eyes, as she feels sleep drifting over her with her phone held close to her chest.

 

It's all hazzy and sort of a blur since she and Brittany start having sex. Every time that they talk or touch each other seems to make sense now. It feels so right that it's almost overwhelming. And they just can't take their eyes off each other. Tuesday afternoon, at Cheerios practice, Santana feels her spine send pleasant shivers all through her body as Brittany's warm breath blows over her neck and her soft voice drifts smoothly to her ears. Maybe I think you're cute and funny. She manages to hold her composure, even if her thighs suddenly seem to be made of jello; she doesn't want to run extra laps if Coach catches her slight tremble. But then, just as she's coming down from the human pyramid they've practiced over a thousand times, she feels a rush on her nape and a low whisper in her ear. Maybe I wanna do what bunnies do with you, if you know what I mean. When she turns to look at her, Brittany has a cunning smile on her lips.

It doesn't take long before Santana freaks out. They are making out in her room and her mom arrives unexpectedly at her house, leaving almost no time for them to break off the kiss and pretend they’re working on their homework. Nothing happens, her mother doesn't realize anything. But Santana cries that night, because she's scared, because she's angry, because she's confused. She doesn't understand how something that feels so right can seem so wrong for other people. The next day, Monday, they have a pop quiz in Literature. Santana watches from the corner of her eye as Brittany plays with her pen and then slides a folded note to her side of the desk. She opens it, certain that it will probably be a request for the answer on T.S.Elliot's poem which they were supposed to be reading the previous day. Instead, the note, filled with doodles of rainbows and ducks, reads: Let's get rich and buy our parents homes in the South of France. Let's get rich and give everybody nice sweaters and teach them how to dance. They both flunk their exams, but none of them cares.

Cheerios practice has just finished and all the girls gather around in the dressing rooms, chattering about Nationals and laughing loudly at the underdogs from school. Santana joins in the fun with her trademark smirk after every snide remark. But then they start talking about man-hands. And her two gay dads. A voice comes out of the gossiping crowd and says something that echoes loudly on Santana's ears. 'Dyke', it says, and it sounds like a death sentence. She tries to keep her smirk on, but her smile falters. She shares a knowing look with Brittany as the rest of girls start to scatter. Santana's the last one to shower, and when she finishes there's no one left in the dressing rooms. She puts on her hoodie and when she buries her hands in her pockets, her fingertips brush against a small piece of paper. Let's get rich and build our house on a mountain making every look like ants. From way up there, you and I. Santana vows not to call Rachel any names this week, as she kisses the note and mumbles the three last words to herself. You and I.

A cool breeze is blowing in the late afternoon, as the bright sun finally sets after a particularly warm autumn day. Her back resting on a tree, with Santana's head lying comfortably on her lap, Brittany can almost realize that this is one of those moments that will be held in their memories forever. They've thought about what is it exactly that keeps them together, what's the thing that makes them one. It might seem like they have nothing in common on the surface, but that just makes them grin. Deep down, they both know why they've chosen each other. Santana’s soft words are breathed against Brittany’s skin: Well, you might be a bit confused. There's a cute smile on her lips as she mutters her response against dark hair: And you might be a little bit bruised. A shared look follows and there’s a smirk on Santana’s lips as she snuggles closer on her lap with a wicked glint in her eyes: But baby how we spoon like no one else.

Brittany's been going through her books over and over again, but it's useless: there's nothing on there that will help her write her book report on Wuthering Heights. Pages and pages filled with small written conversations shared with Santana, drawings scattered all around the sides of the paper. A defeated sigh escapes her lips, as she sends her best friend a text that says maybe she is stupid, like everyone else thinks. Later on, at two o'clock in the morning, Brittany seats in front of her computer to try and write something. There's a new message in her e-mail box. So, I will help you read those books if you will soothe my worried looks and we will put the lonesome on the shelf. Brittany softly runs her fingers over the screen, caressing the S at the end of the message, as she thinks there are much more important things than book reports.

High school is coming to an end. There's not much time left, and everyone's talking about careers and colleges and far-away cities that have nothing to do with Lima. Brittany isn't, and she's not swept over by the graduate-craze that seems to have taken control of every other senior. She won't tell anyone, but she doesn't know what she wants to do after school, or where she wants to study or even if she wants to move. And seeing everyone else make plans makes her nervous and sad, because she's afraid of the change. Brittany feels she's the same old self when everybody is changing. Everyone, including Santana. When she learns that, Santana immediately thinks of the set of notes filled with doodles that she keeps in a shoebox in her closet and she knows exactly what to do. The next day, when Brittany opens her locker, there's a piece of paper resting on top of her Maths book, signed with a curled S. After she reads it, she knows Santana is still her same old self. Let’s get rich and buy our parents homes in the South of France. Let's get rich and give everybody nice sweaters and teach them how to dance. Let's get rich and build our house on a mountain making everybody look like ants. From way up there you and I, you and I.

Their two bodies lying entwined on one bed, hands held tight, blue eyes fixed on brown ones. The air is warm around them as they whisper, sealing their pledge with a kiss. Let's get rich and give everybody nice sweaters and teach them how to dance. Let's get rich and build our house on a mountain making everybody look like ants. From way up there you and I, you and I.
'Promise?', she asks, brown eyes shimmering as she hold out her pinky.
'Promise', she answers back, locking her own with hers.

fic: Ignorance 3/3

Title: Ignorance [Part Three]
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Disclaimer: Not yours, but mine... No, just kidding, not mine.
Summary: So she rummages inside of her, trying to find a reason not to believe the small voice in her head that’s been repeating its condemnatory truth: You’re in love with your best friend.
An insight into the events on Laryngitis from Santana's POV.
Spoilers: Laryingitis
Rating: PG-13
AN: Back over at Part 1. 
This is the final chapter, I'm pretty excited with the way things got around, and writing Santana was fun, even if a little difficult at times. I hope you all enjoy this!

Part 1
Part 2


Ignorance

Just like that, it all washed out on her. Blink your eyes and you’ll miss it. Brittany had broken up with Kurt. It turned out he was a capital G gay after all, as her friend put it. She feels something in her chest, it’s lighter now, like some heavy burden has been lifted off of her and she can breathe properly for the first time in ages. It’s like she had been holding her breath until now. When Brittany told her the news, she had to stop herself from bursting into song, as if she were in one of those cheesy romantic comedies she hates so much. She couldn’t conceal her happiness completely though, as a huge contagious smile spread across her face. She was lucky that Britt wasn’t too run down over the breakup, because it would’ve been pretty difficult trying to keep a serious face at that moment.

That’s why she decides to leave her argument with Mercedes behind (it’s pretty easy now that she’s broken up with Puck and quit the Cheerios), and she hugs her in a friendly way when they sing One over Glee practice. That'll get her message across, let her know she's over their little argument. She’s not apologizing though, everyone has a limit, and that’s hers. It all falls into its place now: Mercedes is the same old sassy diva, followed closely by Kurt, who’s laid of the flannel shirts and has gone back to his knee-length sweaters. Coach ran some thoughts with her about the routine for nationals, which means she’ll probably get the lead. And the thing that's most important to her, even if she won’t admit it to herself (but the flutter in her chest says otherwise): Brittany’s sitting next to her again in Glee. Not a bad change, if you ask Santana.

Even if this feels good, and as fun as listening to Brittany go on about the wonders of dating a baby is (which is only fun now that she’s no longer dating baby-hands), this momentary peace also highlights the reason behind everything that’s happened over the past week. She hasn’t sorted out all the thoughts stirring inside of her, and she feels very much like a giant pot, filled with many things and bubbling up. Shoving Mercedes was just the result of overheating the pot. But now the fire is burning softly, and she wants to close the lock of the chest that used to keep her feelings away. Still, wanting ain’t getting: awareness is a scheming bitch, and there’s no way her mind is letting her just sweep everything she’s been pondering about under the carpet.

Something’s clenching inside of her, and now that everything’s back to normal with Brittany, it’s hitting her on the face real hard. This is what getting slushied must feel like, all her muscles tense and ready to spring into action. The relative peace has given her some room to think, and she definitely needed that, or else she would’ve ended up shoving her way into a fist fight, or worse, getting expelled. She sees it clearly now: she was so annoyed before that she didn’t even consider thinking Kurt was using her friend as his gay beard. Brittany was to Kurt what Puck was to her. And that is a scary thought. That every boy she's slept with was just a cover-up planned to deceive everyone else, and even herself, from the real truth. That she’s falling for her best friend.

She has to be. Because even if she’s never loved any other boy like that before, she’s sure all the butterflies-in-you-stomach crap and heavy sighing don’t even begin to compare to everything she feels when she’s around Brittany. Holding pinkies isn’t just a regular best friends thing, it’s become so much more for her. She catches herself gasping for air every time she and Brittany are paired up together over Cheerios practice. She’s been having a fitful sleep for weeks now, haunted by dreams of blonde-haired girls that run too fast for her to catch up with. Everything has a deeper meaning, which has come out to the surface and teases Santana every time she tries to act normally. But if this is real, if she dares put what she’s feeling into words, then it crushes against years of bitching other people, and she’s sure this will turn on her. So she rummages inside of her, trying to find a reason not to believe the small voice in her head that’s been repeating its condemnatory truth: You’re in love with your best friend. She needs to come to terms with that idea.

And when she finally does, a blanket of ignorance covers her thoughts and her actions: she’s not sure of anything anymore. She simply doesn’t know. It’s like resignation, but it really isn’t, because she’s willing to get to core of this. She’s never felt so out of place in her life, it’s like the old, self-confident Santana is looking at this new, shaky and insecure one, who’s only clear about one thing: she’s in love with Brittany. But she cannot even say it out loud to herself, her throat catches when she tries to. And if putting it into words is excruciatingly difficult, there’s no way she’s going to lay it out in the open, at least not as long as she feels like a total stranger in her own body.


Santana doesn’t know who she is anymore. And all she wants to do is go up to Brittany and ask her, and watch her smile and frown slightly, like she does when she finds something adorable, and say something like “You’re my best friend” or, when she’s feeling more positive, something like “You’re the person I love the most”.
Santana doesn’t know who she is anymore. Maybe Brittany knows.

fic: Ignorance 2/3

Title: Ignorance [Part Two]
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: She's sure she wasn't thinking properly when she shoved Mercedes during Glee.
An insight into the events on Laryngitis from Santana's POV.
Spoilers: Laryingitis
Rating: PG-13
AN: Back over at Part 1. Let me know what you think about this new chapter.

Part 1

Ignorance

She's sure she wasn't thinking properly when she shoved Mercedes during Glee practice. Well, she never thought things properly before shoving anyone, but, seriously, Mercedes? Of all the girls in Glee club, she had to jump on the one that could take her down -or at least have a decent attempt at it-. She's sure she could beat Tina and manhands up with her eyes closed, and she had a good chance of kicking Quinn’s ass now that she was preggo (that wouldn't be very nice, though). Mercedes, though? If there was one girl in WMHS that could measure up to her own fighting skills, that was her.

It all happened in the blink of an eye, they were going for each other's throat while they sang and then she was just seeing red and her body reacted. All by itself, like her mind had no control over her hands. And now that she stormed out of the room leaving a very pissed Mercedes and a very pleased-looking Puck behind, she couldn’t help but want to smack her self. Why had she even shoved Mercedes? 

It’s not like no reasons jump to mind. She could think of a few, actually. If she was being true to herself, it had all started the very same day Puck had first appeared with his shaved head. She was waiting for Brittany to have lunch together before Cheerios practice. They always did so on Mondays, just the two of them. Quinn used to sit with them two, but things were weird between them now. That was something she needed to sort out too. But that was beyond her present problem. Last Monday she had looked for Brittany for over an hour, until it was time to go to practice. She’d found her seating in the field, surrounded by some of the other girls. And she was laughing. When she had pulled her aside and asked her why she hadn’t shown up, Brittany’d simply said: “Oh, we were singing with Mercedes and I just forgot. She’s so much fun. Sorry, S”. And she had laughed. Again.

Still, she had been willing to let it go, because they did fairly well at their routine and because Brittany came over that afternoon and made her forget she was even upset at her. She was really good at making Santana forget things, come to think about it.

That was until Glee practice the following day. After Finn’s obvious performance (he’d clearly been faithful to Mr. Schue’s assignment. Talk about expressing your feelings and shit. Jesse’s girl? Seriously, what was wrong with these people) it was Puck’s turn. And he looked hot. Because even if she’s certainly not interested in him, he is still super fine, there’s no denying it. The hat, the moves, it all suited him in a good way, it made her forget about what she had told him the day before, and he made her laugh. Until it happened. Singing for her? A duo? WHAT? It’d been bad enough when he had sung Sweet Caroline to RuPaul, but this was even worse. There was singing and dancing and hand-holding. Santana Lopez was the girl to go to if you were looking to harvest some mojo. Mercedes was trying to steal her spot as top dog. And she was not loosing everything that was fought tooth and nail for.

Since then, everything had been brimming inside of her. Brittany’s constant chatter about “how awesome M is” (now we are calling her M?). Coach choosing Mercedes over her to be the lead for the nationals number. Brittany sitting next to her in Glee practice that Thursday.

Still, that hadn’t quite pulled the trigger. It certainly had been a good amount, but it wasn’t the last drop on her glass. He was. He had sung that song, very much unlike his usual favorites. And Brittany had gotten up, walked up to him and told him something. She wanted to know what she’d said, but of course, she didn’t, because freaking Mercedes was seating between them! Then, on Sunday, Britt had called her up and had told her where she’d been the previous night. They were hooking up. Brittany and Kurt.  Brittany and Kurt.

And then it clicked. Kurt was Mercedes’ best friend. She and Brittany had sat together before Brittany made a pass at him. It was all Mercedes’ fault. She had to get her revenge. Right now, after she had let some of her rage out, this seems like a really stupid train of thought. But it made so much sense when she saw her at the beginning of the week, walking in with Kurt and Brittany.


Of course, she wasn’t supposed to be jealous of him. Sex and no dating meant she and Brittany had freedom to do whatever they wanted. She knew that, she was OK with that. Or not. Because the nagging feeling she had in her chest had a lot to do with a certain boy and her best friend. Puck was an excuse to jump on Mercedes. And the girl was just the scapegoat at hand to let out her frustration and her jealousy. She should’ve shoved Kurt, not her. But that wouldn’t make her feel any better either, because deep down she knows she’s mad at herself. She’s confused and she’s hurt, and she hates herself for feeling all these things, because she knows she shouldn’t be, because she knows she should be jealous for Puck when all she really feels is fear. And even if she is struggling to shove her feelings back down where they belong, she can’t deny it to herself anymore. The fear that’s making her cry right now has something to do with her best friend.

fic: Ignorance 1/3

Title: Ignorance [Part One]
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: She's way too confused. And Santana Lopez doesn't do confused. She likes to know things, to be in charge and handle what happens around her, and she cannot help but feel powerless
An insight into the events on Laryngitis from Santana's POV.
Spoilers: Laryingitis
Rating: PG-13
AN: This is my first attempt at an angstier fic, which is not my usual type of writing, so I'd love to read your opinions.

Ignorance


"Who's that guy?", she hears Brittany whisper in her ear as they both turn around to look at a now un-mohawked Noah Puckerman. And while her mind grins at Brittany's comment, she cannot help but scowl at the boy's new look. His mohawk was half of his badass image. Losing it? Not a smart choice.
Still, even if that means Puck's rep will probably drop wildly, and therefore hooking up with him won't be as profitable for her own personal image as it used to be, deep down she can't bring herself to care that much about it. Months ago, she would've probably had a fit at the sight of the dooming haircut, but she's not the same girl as she was months ago. Or well, maybe she is, but there's something out of place with her. Something has changed, but she can't figure out exactly what it is. And this thing is making her act like a whole different person, one she barely recognizes sometimes. Like, for example, not caring too much about what Puck does or doesn't do with his life -or his hair, on this particular event-. And Santana feels like she should care, because... well because they are sort of an item, even if they haven't been dating officially since that time she broke up with him because of his credit score.
But still, they've hooked up more than once after that, just sex, no dating. Come to think about it, she ditched him because she simply didn't care that much to put all the effort that was needed into keeping a serious relationship. It was only natural that she would dump him, because the only positive thing she got from hooking up with Puck was the rep-bust, and the mildly satisfying sex (because, there was no fooling herself, none of the school boys were any better at bed than him). So she was just being true to herself when she cut him off with that lame excuse. Really, she wasn't the type of girl who enjoyed holding hands with her other half while walking to classes and making love eyes. There was only one person she liked to hold hands with actually, but that was only because they were best friends and they'd been holding pinkies since she could remember, and that didn't mean anything else. Nor did that Brittany was certainly the best sex she's ever had.
No, she wasn't all lovey-dovey with Puck, or with any other of the guys she flirted with, because she was not in love with them. They were super fine and available (well, every guy was available for her, she was smokin' hot). And she'd done Puck a favour by ending their short-lasting 'romance', he wasn't a one-girl person either. How had he put it that one time? Oh, right, he was a sex shark.
But all of this led her to the quid of the problem, which was that she couldn't care enough about any of the boys she slept with. Not even Puck, and she's known him since they were kids. She does care for him as a sort of friend, but not in the romantic way she is supposed to. And even if she racks her brains trying to come up with one good reason why she just won't find the girlfriend material inside of her, she can't find any. Well, it is true that she dumped Puck a month or so after she and Brittany started having sex, but that couldn't be the reason. She still slept with guys, hell, she still slept with Puck. She knew, and Brittany too, that what they were doing was just for the mere fun of it. Sex was not dating. They both understood that. It was just... well, that was another thing she couldn't figure out. What exactly were they doing? She didn't know. And she certainly wouldn't ask Britt, because that would mean labelling it out, and Santana wasn't sure she wanted that to happen. What if Brittany didn't think of what they had as she did? And what exactly did she think of what they had? She didn't even had that sorted out.
Now she's just rambling. How is it a posible that a simple haircut had her thinking all sorts of nonsense?
She's way too confused. And Santana Lopez doesn't do confused. She likes to know things, to be in charge and handle what happens around her, and she cannot help but feel powerless at this... this thing that has taken control of her and that makes her stomach churn and her palms sweat every time she sees Brittany getting too friendly with someone else.

It's like she cannot get a grip of what she does, what she says, even what she thinks. She feels that very same way when, later that day, Puck explains the reason behind his new look. Some lame doctor shaved his head because of a freaking mole?! And he looks so defeated, hell, he looks like one of the kids he tosses into the dumpster, complaining about his lost mojo and his mom, who still washes his hair (seriously, if that leaks he'll be getting a goddam slushie spa treatment, not just a facial). Santana wants to say a comforting word, maybe pat his shoulder or something, but she can't. Her words blurt out of her mouth before she has time to think about what she's actually saying. "Actually, I don't know if it's the missing mohawk or the whining, but I'm not turned on at all right now". Really, was she such a bitch? It's like she has no control of her body sometimes. She wants to apologize, but she just walks away, leaving a broken Puck in the choir room, by himself.
As she closes the door behind her, Santana realizes she's scared, she just doesn't know of what.

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