Sorry I am never on here anymore, but, uh...here's some Glee fic?
“I just wanna be seven again. Back then, this never would’ve happened, because all the boys had cooties and I was afraid of them. And now moms get mad if I get on the swings, even though their kids take way longer turns.”
She and Santana used to exchange kisses on the playground, little warm presses on each other's cheeks that made Puck's--well, he was Noah then--eyebrows crinkle when he saw them, before Finn snuck up and tagged him from behind.
“I wish you could marry girls,” Santana once said, holding her hand as they watched Noah tackle Finn. “Boys are dumb.”
“Well, why can’t you?”
Santana frowned. “Because.”
It didn’t make any sense to Brittany, but she always believed Santana. And Santana was making her kind of sad, so she got up and did cartwheels until her teacher yelled at her that she was wearing a skirt, for heaven’s sake, and then she did some more after Santana pulled an extra pair of shorts from her backpack.
“I’ve known her even longer than I’ve known you, you know.”
She gives Lord Tubbington a covert glance before continuing, making sure he isn’t hurt by this revelation.
“I probably wouldn’t even know you if it weren’t for Santana. I thought I’d never be happy again after my other cat died, but she told me he had nine lives so he was fine, and anyway cat heaven’s not so bad.”
Sir Purrsalot had died in a tragic car accident involving the neighbors’ newly-licensed son and a minivan. Santana was outside when it happened, about to knock on the door, and heard the cat’s final, strangled yelp. When the boy stepped out of the car to survey the damage, she punched him in the face and told him the cat would’ve been a better driver.
She was only nine. He only needed three stitches.
She broke the news to Brittany’s mom first, but asked that she be the one to tell Brittany. Afterwards, she braided Brittany’s hair and whispered to her while she cried.
It was Santana who told her it was okay to get another cat and love him just as much, because if it wasn’t okay to have more than one friend, she couldn’t have had both a cat and a Santana in the first place.
Brittany pulls Lord Tubbington onto her lap. “Do you know what happens in cat heaven?”
He yawns, which she takes as a no.
She hugs him tight and whispers, “Everything is made of yarn and cupcakes,” before sliding to the edge of the bed and hanging off it with her ponytail brushing the floor. Lord Tubbington jumps down to stare at her.
His face is really weird upside down.
“No one else explains things as well as she does, you know? And she understands me. And she can do some really awesome stuff with her tongue.”
The cat takes that as a cue to lick her face. She scrunches up her nose and gives him a kiss.
“I love you too, Lord Tubbington, but that’s really not what girls mean when they say they like pussy. But Santana’s, like, totally worried about people knowing she wants to kiss girls, because people are really mean about it sometimes. Which is stupid, because even guys know it’s super hot. Wouldn’t you want to see two girl cats kiss? Wait, do cats kiss?”
Lord Tubbington licks her face again, and she shakes her head. “What am I even saying? Of course you do.”
She sits up suddenly, throwing him across the bed.
“Hey! You should talk to her. You’re, like, super smart, and I need to do my homework anyway.”
Lord Tubbington licks sticky marshmallow from his whiskers while she dials Santana’s number.
“Hey, Santana? Lord Tubbington wants to talk to you for a minute.”
There’s a sigh on the other end. “Okay.”
Brittany lets him sit on the phone. She sketches his portrait on a math worksheet as she watches the conversation. Lord Tubbington’s not saying anything to Santana. He’s such a good listener.
Eventually, she hangs up, because really, an hour and a half is a pretty ridiculous amount of time to talk to a cat, and she’s tired of doodling.
But you know what? She’s also tired of dawdling, and she’s ninety-percent sure those are two different things.
She hits redial.
“Oh, Jesus. Is this Lord Tubbington again?”
“No, it’s me.” She tries to sound serious and businesslike.
Santana suddenly sounds a lot less likely to start yelling in Spanish. “Hey.”
Brittany can’t remember what she wanted to say. “Uh....” She looks down. “Do you think you could maybe come help me with my math homework? It says something about the Pythagorean theorem, and I don’t know anyone from Pythagorea to ask.”
She can tell that Santana’s covering up a snort, but that’s actually something she was planning to ask Finn before class tomorrow anyway, so it’s not chickening out or anything. Not really.
“I’ll come over in an hour, okay?”
--
They don’t end up doing her homework.
“It’s like swimming in soda,” Brittany says, happily studying a rubber duck. Lord Tubbington glares at it from his perch on the toilet.
Santana’s smiling at her from the other side of the tub, and Brittany feels like Nicki Minaj, because her heart’s totally going boom badoom boom boom badoom boom and all that stuff.
She picks up a blob of bubbles and blows them at Santana, who doesn’t duck quite far enough. Brittany giggles. “You have bubbles in your hair.”
Santana shrugs. “The rest of me’s covered in them. I don’t mind.”
Brittany slides over to sit next to her. There’s really not enough room and she has to move pretty awkwardly to get there, but when their arms stick together above the water, Santana doesn’t flinch away. She lays her head on Brittany’s shoulder and closes her eyes, and for a minute, she’s almost smiling.
Brittany nuzzles her hair and links their pinkies. It’s perfect until Lord Tubbington breaks the silence with a fart, and then it’s perfect again because Santana’s laughing, and then Brittany kisses her.
And everything feels so much better.
She and Santana used to exchange kisses on the playground, little warm presses on each other's cheeks that made Puck's--well, he was Noah then--eyebrows crinkle when he saw them, before Finn snuck up and tagged him from behind.
“I wish you could marry girls,” Santana once said, holding her hand as they watched Noah tackle Finn. “Boys are dumb.”
“Well, why can’t you?”
Santana frowned. “Because.”
It didn’t make any sense to Brittany, but she always believed Santana. And Santana was making her kind of sad, so she got up and did cartwheels until her teacher yelled at her that she was wearing a skirt, for heaven’s sake, and then she did some more after Santana pulled an extra pair of shorts from her backpack.
“I’ve known her even longer than I’ve known you, you know.”
She gives Lord Tubbington a covert glance before continuing, making sure he isn’t hurt by this revelation.
“I probably wouldn’t even know you if it weren’t for Santana. I thought I’d never be happy again after my other cat died, but she told me he had nine lives so he was fine, and anyway cat heaven’s not so bad.”
Sir Purrsalot had died in a tragic car accident involving the neighbors’ newly-licensed son and a minivan. Santana was outside when it happened, about to knock on the door, and heard the cat’s final, strangled yelp. When the boy stepped out of the car to survey the damage, she punched him in the face and told him the cat would’ve been a better driver.
She was only nine. He only needed three stitches.
She broke the news to Brittany’s mom first, but asked that she be the one to tell Brittany. Afterwards, she braided Brittany’s hair and whispered to her while she cried.
It was Santana who told her it was okay to get another cat and love him just as much, because if it wasn’t okay to have more than one friend, she couldn’t have had both a cat and a Santana in the first place.
Brittany pulls Lord Tubbington onto her lap. “Do you know what happens in cat heaven?”
He yawns, which she takes as a no.
She hugs him tight and whispers, “Everything is made of yarn and cupcakes,” before sliding to the edge of the bed and hanging off it with her ponytail brushing the floor. Lord Tubbington jumps down to stare at her.
His face is really weird upside down.
“No one else explains things as well as she does, you know? And she understands me. And she can do some really awesome stuff with her tongue.”
The cat takes that as a cue to lick her face. She scrunches up her nose and gives him a kiss.
“I love you too, Lord Tubbington, but that’s really not what girls mean when they say they like pussy. But Santana’s, like, totally worried about people knowing she wants to kiss girls, because people are really mean about it sometimes. Which is stupid, because even guys know it’s super hot. Wouldn’t you want to see two girl cats kiss? Wait, do cats kiss?”
Lord Tubbington licks her face again, and she shakes her head. “What am I even saying? Of course you do.”
She sits up suddenly, throwing him across the bed.
“Hey! You should talk to her. You’re, like, super smart, and I need to do my homework anyway.”
Lord Tubbington licks sticky marshmallow from his whiskers while she dials Santana’s number.
“Hey, Santana? Lord Tubbington wants to talk to you for a minute.”
There’s a sigh on the other end. “Okay.”
Brittany lets him sit on the phone. She sketches his portrait on a math worksheet as she watches the conversation. Lord Tubbington’s not saying anything to Santana. He’s such a good listener.
Eventually, she hangs up, because really, an hour and a half is a pretty ridiculous amount of time to talk to a cat, and she’s tired of doodling.
But you know what? She’s also tired of dawdling, and she’s ninety-percent sure those are two different things.
She hits redial.
“Oh, Jesus. Is this Lord Tubbington again?”
“No, it’s me.” She tries to sound serious and businesslike.
Santana suddenly sounds a lot less likely to start yelling in Spanish. “Hey.”
Brittany can’t remember what she wanted to say. “Uh....” She looks down. “Do you think you could maybe come help me with my math homework? It says something about the Pythagorean theorem, and I don’t know anyone from Pythagorea to ask.”
She can tell that Santana’s covering up a snort, but that’s actually something she was planning to ask Finn before class tomorrow anyway, so it’s not chickening out or anything. Not really.
“I’ll come over in an hour, okay?”
--
They don’t end up doing her homework.
“It’s like swimming in soda,” Brittany says, happily studying a rubber duck. Lord Tubbington glares at it from his perch on the toilet.
Santana’s smiling at her from the other side of the tub, and Brittany feels like Nicki Minaj, because her heart’s totally going boom badoom boom boom badoom boom and all that stuff.
She picks up a blob of bubbles and blows them at Santana, who doesn’t duck quite far enough. Brittany giggles. “You have bubbles in your hair.”
Santana shrugs. “The rest of me’s covered in them. I don’t mind.”
Brittany slides over to sit next to her. There’s really not enough room and she has to move pretty awkwardly to get there, but when their arms stick together above the water, Santana doesn’t flinch away. She lays her head on Brittany’s shoulder and closes her eyes, and for a minute, she’s almost smiling.
Brittany nuzzles her hair and links their pinkies. It’s perfect until Lord Tubbington breaks the silence with a fart, and then it’s perfect again because Santana’s laughing, and then Brittany kisses her.
And everything feels so much better.