FIC: The Thoughts and the Wants
Title: The Thoughts and the Wants (Are the Locks on the Back of My Brain)
Pairings: Background canon pairings
Warnings: fat hatred, internalized homophobia, Finn bashing from POV character
Word count: ~1215
Summary: Santana doesn’t know why she hates Finn so much right now. But as everything comes crashing down around her, something inside her slyly whispers, you deserve this.
AN: Working through what Santana is going through right now, and trying to understand where she’s coming from because as a character, I feel she deserves the exploration. I don’t condone her bullying. Title from “Mama, I’m Strange” from Melissa Etheridge. Which I wish they’d have her sing instead of Katy Perry’s ugly biphobic songs.
As it all comes crashing down on her, a sly, half-giggling voice whispers in the back of her mind:
You deserve this.
She knows she’s a bitch to everyone. She figured out a long time ago why she says the things she does, but that never stopped her. It just feels too good to see someone else brought down to her level.
“We mingle.” What the fuck is that? Why do other people have “I love you,” and she only has “mingling?”
What she doesn’t know is why she’s ripping into Finn in particular so hard this year. Aside from it being rollicking good fun, of course. Why it became so easy to just hit a note and ride it until she sees him gorging on one, then two, of those little fried “fruit” pies before practice because he’s feeling sorry for himself. Then she takes a breath and hits it harder. Maybe she can get him to bust a button by Christmas. She can’t wait to start asking him when the twins are due. Then their little Gleeva-Diva will have to admit that she does’t even love the blubberous drooling moron and stop with her over the top theatrics about her inevitable departure to New York and the dissolution of her epic(ally boring) romance that absolutely no one in the world cares about.
Santana wants so many things she can’t have.
Of course she gives Kurt a hard time, too. And it takes its toll. He doesn’t wear skirts anymore, even if he looks like he’s at a costume party some days. At least to school, he doesn’t wear them. Physically, it seems their little baby gay has grown up. His body’s sprouted, bloomed, reaching skyward like a hardy, graceful tree, that has grown firm and strong against the turbulent winds lusting to destroy him. A tree that will not be felled by mere children at play, and his bark is thick. Around audition time for the play, she could get a barb or two in. Lady this, lesbian that, back up that truck butt.
There was a chink in his armor. But since then, he’s marshaled himself. Mended his armor from some scrap pieces of confidence, made himself impenetrable to her attacks. And she hates him for it.
She just wants so many things.
And Finn is just such an asshole. He has everything and doesn’t even know it, the dick. This year he’s so pathetic, feeling sorry for himself, lashing out at Blaine like a jealous bitch, snapping at him over every little thing, like he can hold onto his sad little high school existence, if he just keeps Blaine from feeling like part of the group. But Finn gets to be a leader, has it handed to him on a platter, without having to share it with anyone even though he’s terrible. And he has this devoted girlfriend who he can hold hands with or mack on in the halls on a whim, and no one will say anything. And if he changes his mind tomorrow and sleeps with Quinn or Brittany or Mercedes or Sugar or any random Cheerio or any other girl, no one is gonna say boo to him about it. Hell, they’ll cheer him on, not smack him down.
He’s got so much shit that he totally takes for granted. An open relationship, respect, favor from his teachers, freedom to fuck whoever he wants, a sibling who will carry his considerable weight without a question.
She wants to make Finn fucking cry. Not even Kurt can hold his Lady Blaine’s hand outside of the choir room, not with all of his confidence and strength. He has to keep his affections out of sight... and as hard a time as she gives him... Santana understands why that sucks.
Singing with the Troubletones is easier. A relief. No one is in a relationship, for starters. It’s mostly defected Cheerios, plus defective Sugar. And Mercedes. So no bullshit relationship drama from people who don’t know what real drama over a relationship is. No Schue to pull bullshit and fixate on the white people while telling them how he understands what it’s like to be different, or give the club dumb advice that makes them lose. All the solos go to her and her girls. And no guilt from Kurt’s big doe eyes when he looks at her.
She doesn’t feel any guilt when Finn looks at her. Tool.
At least, not until she’s rushing down the hallway. Seeing that terrible ad replay in her head. Hearing the word burn into her ears. That word that speaks what she is and what she can’t be all at the same time, her illegitimate identity, her way of being in the world that her parents will say is a choice, her pride and her shame.
It are going to be all over the state of Ohio. People she doesn’t even know are going to be talking about her. Judging her. Saying things. Making arguments about whether she should or shouldn’t get to be head cheerleader of all things, whether she should be allowed to be in school, what she deserves or doesn’t deserve.
And that wicked voice, echoing echoing: This. You deserve this.
And it strikes against her soft spot, where she forgot to protect herself when she was running her mouth and building a shaky armor of words. Because Mr. Hummel was so nice, promising to take care of things for her, and he’s always been kind to her, probably because he’s kind to anyone not wicked to his kin. But that’ll end. She’s been so, so terrible to his son. Sons. To both of them, even if she doesn’t like one of them much, and now she feels sick to her stomach, remember the look in Kurt’s eyes all those times her words did land, striking him down just as he was trying to get to his feet. The confused anger from Finn as her vicious vicious words just. Don’t. Stop. Coming.
But it’s not time to feel sorry for herself. It’s time to change. Time to be a hot bitch. It’s time to sing. To dance. Time to bite down on the pain and stop glaring at everyone who dares to look her way. They don’t know yet. Can’t know. But they will, and soon. Soon.
Everything’s going to come down on her. And this bitchy outer shell that’s fooling no one? It’s going to crack under the weight of every insult hurled in retaliation and all the shame heaped upon her. And no one is going to feel sorry for her. Not even herself.
Especially not herself.
And then, and then.
She has to go home.
Pairings: Background canon pairings
Warnings: fat hatred, internalized homophobia, Finn bashing from POV character
Word count: ~1215
Summary: Santana doesn’t know why she hates Finn so much right now. But as everything comes crashing down around her, something inside her slyly whispers, you deserve this.
AN: Working through what Santana is going through right now, and trying to understand where she’s coming from because as a character, I feel she deserves the exploration. I don’t condone her bullying. Title from “Mama, I’m Strange” from Melissa Etheridge. Which I wish they’d have her sing instead of Katy Perry’s ugly biphobic songs.
As it all comes crashing down on her, a sly, half-giggling voice whispers in the back of her mind:
You deserve this.
She knows she’s a bitch to everyone. She figured out a long time ago why she says the things she does, but that never stopped her. It just feels too good to see someone else brought down to her level.
“We mingle.” What the fuck is that? Why do other people have “I love you,” and she only has “mingling?”
What she doesn’t know is why she’s ripping into Finn in particular so hard this year. Aside from it being rollicking good fun, of course. Why it became so easy to just hit a note and ride it until she sees him gorging on one, then two, of those little fried “fruit” pies before practice because he’s feeling sorry for himself. Then she takes a breath and hits it harder. Maybe she can get him to bust a button by Christmas. She can’t wait to start asking him when the twins are due. Then their little Gleeva-Diva will have to admit that she does’t even love the blubberous drooling moron and stop with her over the top theatrics about her inevitable departure to New York and the dissolution of her epic(ally boring) romance that absolutely no one in the world cares about.
Santana wants so many things she can’t have.
Of course she gives Kurt a hard time, too. And it takes its toll. He doesn’t wear skirts anymore, even if he looks like he’s at a costume party some days. At least to school, he doesn’t wear them. Physically, it seems their little baby gay has grown up. His body’s sprouted, bloomed, reaching skyward like a hardy, graceful tree, that has grown firm and strong against the turbulent winds lusting to destroy him. A tree that will not be felled by mere children at play, and his bark is thick. Around audition time for the play, she could get a barb or two in. Lady this, lesbian that, back up that truck butt.
There was a chink in his armor. But since then, he’s marshaled himself. Mended his armor from some scrap pieces of confidence, made himself impenetrable to her attacks. And she hates him for it.
She just wants so many things.
And Finn is just such an asshole. He has everything and doesn’t even know it, the dick. This year he’s so pathetic, feeling sorry for himself, lashing out at Blaine like a jealous bitch, snapping at him over every little thing, like he can hold onto his sad little high school existence, if he just keeps Blaine from feeling like part of the group. But Finn gets to be a leader, has it handed to him on a platter, without having to share it with anyone even though he’s terrible. And he has this devoted girlfriend who he can hold hands with or mack on in the halls on a whim, and no one will say anything. And if he changes his mind tomorrow and sleeps with Quinn or Brittany or Mercedes or Sugar or any random Cheerio or any other girl, no one is gonna say boo to him about it. Hell, they’ll cheer him on, not smack him down.
He’s got so much shit that he totally takes for granted. An open relationship, respect, favor from his teachers, freedom to fuck whoever he wants, a sibling who will carry his considerable weight without a question.
She wants to make Finn fucking cry. Not even Kurt can hold his Lady Blaine’s hand outside of the choir room, not with all of his confidence and strength. He has to keep his affections out of sight... and as hard a time as she gives him... Santana understands why that sucks.
Singing with the Troubletones is easier. A relief. No one is in a relationship, for starters. It’s mostly defected Cheerios, plus defective Sugar. And Mercedes. So no bullshit relationship drama from people who don’t know what real drama over a relationship is. No Schue to pull bullshit and fixate on the white people while telling them how he understands what it’s like to be different, or give the club dumb advice that makes them lose. All the solos go to her and her girls. And no guilt from Kurt’s big doe eyes when he looks at her.
She doesn’t feel any guilt when Finn looks at her. Tool.
At least, not until she’s rushing down the hallway. Seeing that terrible ad replay in her head. Hearing the word burn into her ears. That word that speaks what she is and what she can’t be all at the same time, her illegitimate identity, her way of being in the world that her parents will say is a choice, her pride and her shame.
It are going to be all over the state of Ohio. People she doesn’t even know are going to be talking about her. Judging her. Saying things. Making arguments about whether she should or shouldn’t get to be head cheerleader of all things, whether she should be allowed to be in school, what she deserves or doesn’t deserve.
And that wicked voice, echoing echoing: This. You deserve this.
And it strikes against her soft spot, where she forgot to protect herself when she was running her mouth and building a shaky armor of words. Because Mr. Hummel was so nice, promising to take care of things for her, and he’s always been kind to her, probably because he’s kind to anyone not wicked to his kin. But that’ll end. She’s been so, so terrible to his son. Sons. To both of them, even if she doesn’t like one of them much, and now she feels sick to her stomach, remember the look in Kurt’s eyes all those times her words did land, striking him down just as he was trying to get to his feet. The confused anger from Finn as her vicious vicious words just. Don’t. Stop. Coming.
But it’s not time to feel sorry for herself. It’s time to change. Time to be a hot bitch. It’s time to sing. To dance. Time to bite down on the pain and stop glaring at everyone who dares to look her way. They don’t know yet. Can’t know. But they will, and soon. Soon.
Everything’s going to come down on her. And this bitchy outer shell that’s fooling no one? It’s going to crack under the weight of every insult hurled in retaliation and all the shame heaped upon her. And no one is going to feel sorry for her. Not even herself.
Especially not herself.
And then, and then.
She has to go home.