one breaks my body, and the other breaks my soul

the woods are just trees

More often than she would’ve liked to admit, she’d lie awake at night thinking about her last conversation with her grandmother, that last phone call before she’d gotten into her car and driven off to Kentucky.

"I just don’t understand, Santana," her abuela had said to her, that once familiar voice now filled with a foreign disdain. "How did this happen? When did you start to feel that you were…that way?”

The truth is, she couldn’t remember a time in her life when she didn’t feel that way. There was just the time before she knew what it meant, and the time after.

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into the woods

so.  after the very warm response my santana drabble post received last night (thanks, everyone!), i’m thinking of doing more santana stories in the same universe.  i sort of touched on my post-high school santana feels when i first posted the ill-fated “The Scientist” on ff.net, so that’s probably as good a starting point as any.

stay tuned.

ten steps behind; ten feet below

Santana awoke with a start and called out, “Quinn?”

But there was no answer.

Clutching the rough hotel sheets to her chest, she let out a long breath.  Although it seemed to have happened only a moment ago, it had actually been hours since the door had clicked shut behind Quinn’s sauntering step.  Santana had watched her go from the bed with a wry smile on her face.  In the moment, it had felt very adult, what they had done.  A champagne-induced hotel tryst with a friend and (former) rival?  Exquisitely adult.

But now, in the dim morning light, with the scent of sweat and sex and Quinn’s perfume shrouding her like a wet blanket, it felt like everything else in Santana’s life: empty.

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And then comes the afternoon she spots the girl talking with Finn at his locker.  Her natural instinct is to turn and run as fast as she can in the opposite direction.  But Finn’s already waving her over, and she can almost feel an iron hand on her back pushing her toward the pair.  Another punishment, she supposes.
“Babe, I want you to meet Rachel,” Finn says with a smile, gesturing toward the tiny brunette at his left. 
It’s a fraction of a second that feels like an eternity, the moment when Rachel looks right at Quinn with knowing eyes.  It’s not anything like the way boys always look at her, like they can see her naked body through her Cheerios uniform.  It’s not even that she thinks Rachel can see Lucy lurking somewhere beneath her newly-sculpted form.  It’s something deeper, something worse.  She’s being exposed in a completely different and unfamiliar way, and she knows if it goes on for a moment longer, she won’t be able to stop herself from letting Rachel see everything. 
What’s worse is the fact that Quinn likes it, likes the feeling of surrendering herself under Rachel Berry’s gaze. 
But before her armor slips away entirely, Quinn inhales sharply, breaks eye contact with Rachel, and turns to Finn with a scowl on her face.
“What are you doing with her?” she snaps.
It’s impossible for Quinn not to watch out of the corner of her eye as Rachel’s smile crumples then, and she walks away, delicately tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she goes.  Quinn wants to run after her and apologize, but she feels so frayed and confused it’s hard to tell whether she’d slap her or kiss her.  But she’s sure it would be one of the two. (x)

And then comes the afternoon she spots the girl talking with Finn at his locker.  Her natural instinct is to turn and run as fast as she can in the opposite direction.  But Finn’s already waving her over, and she can almost feel an iron hand on her back pushing her toward the pair.  Another punishment, she supposes.

“Babe, I want you to meet Rachel,” Finn says with a smile, gesturing toward the tiny brunette at his left. 

It’s a fraction of a second that feels like an eternity, the moment when Rachel looks right at Quinn with knowing eyes.  It’s not anything like the way boys always look at her, like they can see her naked body through her Cheerios uniform.  It’s not even that she thinks Rachel can see Lucy lurking somewhere beneath her newly-sculpted form.  It’s something deeper, something worse.  She’s being exposed in a completely different and unfamiliar way, and she knows if it goes on for a moment longer, she won’t be able to stop herself from letting Rachel see everything. 

What’s worse is the fact that Quinn likes it, likes the feeling of surrendering herself under Rachel Berry’s gaze. 

But before her armor slips away entirely, Quinn inhales sharply, breaks eye contact with Rachel, and turns to Finn with a scowl on her face.

“What are you doing with her?” she snaps.

It’s impossible for Quinn not to watch out of the corner of her eye as Rachel’s smile crumples then, and she walks away, delicately tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she goes.  Quinn wants to run after her and apologize, but she feels so frayed and confused it’s hard to tell whether she’d slap her or kiss her.  But she’s sure it would be one of the two. (x)

(Source: watsonsagron, via rachelpressedberry)

“I should really pissed with you, you know,” Santana said hours later, smoothly downing a shot of tequila.
“Why is that?” Rachel asked with a bit of a giggle, aglow from her third rum punch of the night.

“Because the only reason you’re even into this gig is because you’re trying to deflower some dishwasher.”

Rachel let out a full laugh then.  “I love how her job gets more degrading every time you talk about her.”

Santana just huffed and rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, “Fucking waitress.”

“Oh, come on, Santana.  Don’t be jealous,” Rachel teased, playfully running a hand up Santana’s arm.  “You had your chance.”

“That’s disgusting,” Santana growled, swatting Rachel’s tiny hand away.  “Not to mention, beside the point.”

“So what is the point then, huh?” Rachel asked with feigning innocence and taking another sip of her drink. (x)

“I should really pissed with you, you know,” Santana said hours later, smoothly downing a shot of tequila.

“Why is that?” Rachel asked with a bit of a giggle, aglow from her third rum punch of the night.

“Because the only reason you’re even into this gig is because you’re trying to deflower some dishwasher.”

Rachel let out a full laugh then.  “I love how her job gets more degrading every time you talk about her.”

Santana just huffed and rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, “Fucking waitress.”

“Oh, come on, Santana.  Don’t be jealous,” Rachel teased, playfully running a hand up Santana’s arm.  “You had your chance.”

“That’s disgusting,” Santana growled, swatting Rachel’s tiny hand away.  “Not to mention, beside the point.”

“So what is the point then, huh?” Rachel asked with feigning innocence and taking another sip of her drink. (x)

(Source: gleekcaps, via femshippingtrash)

Sometimes I did fantasize about finding her on one of those reconnaissance missions, all stunningly dressed for some big event with Jesse, but looking hopelessly lonely and sad.  She’d see me, though, and her face would burst into an open, glowing smile, and she’d break away from him, and run off with me…
I tried not to think about it too much, though.  Because the truth was that if she ever knew I was doing that, pushing my way into spheres of her life where I didn’t belong, I had very little doubt that she would retreat from me altogether.  And I didn’t think I could bear that.
I still don’t know if I can.  (x)

Sometimes I did fantasize about finding her on one of those reconnaissance missions, all stunningly dressed for some big event with Jesse, but looking hopelessly lonely and sad.  She’d see me, though, and her face would burst into an open, glowing smile, and she’d break away from him, and run off with me…

I tried not to think about it too much, though.  Because the truth was that if she ever knew I was doing that, pushing my way into spheres of her life where I didn’t belong, I had very little doubt that she would retreat from me altogether.  And I didn’t think I could bear that.

I still don’t know if I can.  (x)

(Source: candiceaccola, via justtripping)

diannaagronsdiary:

We’ve got tonight… This is how it should have been

"wait. rachel, wait," quinn manages to pant out. "we can’t do this."

"don’t you want it?" rachel whispers confidently into the skin along quinn’s collarbone.

"god, yes,” quinn groans, throwing her head back and reaching up to tangle her fingers in rachel’s hair.

"then i think we’ve been not doing this for long enough,” rachel says, punctuating her statement with a nip of her teeth. (x)

(via express-junkie)

“Your Papa and I wanted you so much that we wished and wished and wished on a star for you,” Dad used to say, lifting her higher and higher and higher into the air.   “And then one night that star came zoooooooooming down to Earth and crashed into the back  yard,” he’d continue, zooming her all around the living room before crashing them both onto the sofa.  “And you’ve been our little star ever since.”
The story of how she came into the world has evolved significantly over the years, but that first, uncomplicated version will likely always be her favorite.

“Your Papa and I wanted you so much that we wished and wished and wished on a star for you,” Dad used to say, lifting her higher and higher and higher into the air.   “And then one night that star came zoooooooooming down to Earth and crashed into the back  yard,” he’d continue, zooming her all around the living room before crashing them both onto the sofa.  “And you’ve been our little star ever since.”

The story of how she came into the world has evolved significantly over the years, but that first, uncomplicated version will likely always be her favorite.

(Source: scarletsaurora, via katuriankaturiankaturian)

suedetaxi:

Drive

It wasn’t the first time she’d done this, run out on him for a few days, just to get her bearings back. Just to see who she could be without him and the mess they’d made together shackled around her ankles. But it was the first time she’d ever truly considered not going back.
The day before, she’d been on her way home from Albuquerque with the cd case in her lap, the plastic wrapping rustling with every bounce of her knees. They’d agreed to do it this way, to forego iTunes and get the real deal. They needed something tangible, some little piece of something they could touch and possess, however trivial it may be.
Years ago, she’d memorized the route to New York, the roads she might one day take up and out of her self-imposed New Mexican exile. She’d imagine herself driving into the sunrise, wailing along with the radio to some old country tune about “goin’ home to your darlin’.”
It was all just a fantasy though, and she knew it. There was no home—no one—to go home to. Rachel had probably stopped waiting for Finn to come back long ago, and she’d never been waiting for Quinn.
And who was Lucas to Rachel? Nobody. A stranger dressed in familiar flesh. That was all.
Nevertheless, on that December afternoon, with Rachel’s face staring up at her from her lap, the list of roads came back to her in a whisper, and she’d driven right past her exit for La Cienega and crossed the border into Colorado. (x)

suedetaxi:

Drive

It wasn’t the first time she’d done this, run out on him for a few days, just to get her bearings back. Just to see who she could be without him and the mess they’d made together shackled around her ankles. But it was the first time she’d ever truly considered not going back.

The day before, she’d been on her way home from Albuquerque with the cd case in her lap, the plastic wrapping rustling with every bounce of her knees. They’d agreed to do it this way, to forego iTunes and get the real deal. They needed something tangible, some little piece of something they could touch and possess, however trivial it may be.

Years ago, she’d memorized the route to New York, the roads she might one day take up and out of her self-imposed New Mexican exile. She’d imagine herself driving into the sunrise, wailing along with the radio to some old country tune about “goin’ home to your darlin’.”

It was all just a fantasy though, and she knew it. There was no home—no one—to go home to. Rachel had probably stopped waiting for Finn to come back long ago, and she’d never been waiting for Quinn.

And who was Lucas to Rachel? Nobody. A stranger dressed in familiar flesh. That was all.

Nevertheless, on that December afternoon, with Rachel’s face staring up at her from her lap, the list of roads came back to her in a whisper, and she’d driven right past her exit for La Cienega and crossed the border into Colorado. (x)

(Source: respectly)

He’d plot out little scenarios in his head, sometimes, of what those first few days after the escape must have been like: Brittany trying to explain to a stoic Santana about the “Finn suit.” Santana allowing herself a small empathetic smile at what she had to guess was a story Brittany had made up in a well-intentioned effort to make sense out of the senselessness of it all. He knew everybody probably blamed their disappearance on Quinn. Maybe they even thought she’d gotten herself knocked up again, and rather than face the repeated shame, had scurried off in the night, dragging poor hapless Finn along with her. Kurt was the only one who really knew the truth, but she doubted he’d stand up for her. Why would he, when she’d never been bothered to show him the same kindness?
But that last night in Lima? Those last moments with Rachel? That was a box best left untouched. The one other time he’d let himself go through it, he’d woken up in the hospital, alone and terrified. When he was discharged, Vanessa brought him home again, but they didn’t speak for three days. And during that time, she made herself believe that he’d somehow known she’d spent that night chasing muscle relaxers with scotch to visions of Rachel, and that that was why he’d been so angry. It was just easier to accept his jealousy than to even begin to think about how badly she’d scared him, how pissed he was at her for trying to leave him again.
At some point during her stay at the Hudson-Hummel house as Finn, Carole had said to her that all that mattered was doing the right thing, even if it was months down the line. It had occurred to Quinn at the time that Finn had probably been raised on sentiments like that; it explained a lot about his complete willingness to screw things up and his ridiculous, blind faith that everything would eventually work out. But it ran totally counter to the Fabray philosophy in which the wrong thing, once done, was all that mattered, regardless of how many right things you tried to do to make up for it.
Still, Lucas wanted to believe that what Carole had said was true. Because for all the mistakes they’d made, they’d done the right thing, eventually, in leaving.
Lucas hoped that, somehow, that would make some sort of difference in the end. (x) View high resolution

He’d plot out little scenarios in his head, sometimes, of what those first few days after the escape must have been like: Brittany trying to explain to a stoic Santana about the “Finn suit.” Santana allowing herself a small empathetic smile at what she had to guess was a story Brittany had made up in a well-intentioned effort to make sense out of the senselessness of it all. He knew everybody probably blamed their disappearance on Quinn. Maybe they even thought she’d gotten herself knocked up again, and rather than face the repeated shame, had scurried off in the night, dragging poor hapless Finn along with her. Kurt was the only one who really knew the truth, but she doubted he’d stand up for her. Why would he, when she’d never been bothered to show him the same kindness?

But that last night in Lima? Those last moments with Rachel? That was a box best left untouched. The one other time he’d let himself go through it, he’d woken up in the hospital, alone and terrified. When he was discharged, Vanessa brought him home again, but they didn’t speak for three days. And during that time, she made herself believe that he’d somehow known she’d spent that night chasing muscle relaxers with scotch to visions of Rachel, and that that was why he’d been so angry. It was just easier to accept his jealousy than to even begin to think about how badly she’d scared him, how pissed he was at her for trying to leave him again.

At some point during her stay at the Hudson-Hummel house as Finn, Carole had said to her that all that mattered was doing the right thing, even if it was months down the line. It had occurred to Quinn at the time that Finn had probably been raised on sentiments like that; it explained a lot about his complete willingness to screw things up and his ridiculous, blind faith that everything would eventually work out. But it ran totally counter to the Fabray philosophy in which the wrong thing, once done, was all that mattered, regardless of how many right things you tried to do to make up for it.

Still, Lucas wanted to believe that what Carole had said was true. Because for all the mistakes they’d made, they’d done the right thing, eventually, in leaving.

Lucas hoped that, somehow, that would make some sort of difference in the end. (x)

(Source: jewls-verne, via twelveclara)

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