because one day naya will put ice packs in lunchboxes and make cupcakes for the bake sale and yell about wearing a seat belt and hide money under pillows from the tooth fairy and fold huge piles of laundry and those thoughts alone are enough to make me melt into a neat little puddle on the ground.
Mrs. Hudson has to move Santana into rooms above Drizzle so drunken customers don’t follow her into the kitchen. The staircase is safely behind the bar that is always guarded by Mrs. Hudson. The rooms are Santana’s first experience with indoor plumbing; Santana is quite sure that heaven is paved in one inch hexagonal white tiles and everyone there has hot and cold taps. The rooms are sparse, as Santana has very little in the way of possessions, and very clean.
Santana scrubbed floors and washed dishes and tried very hard to remain unnoticed. The Hudson’s weren’t nearly as demanding as the Sisters at Sacred Heart, and Santana found it easy enough to earn her keep. Attention, however, she couldn’t seem to avoid. Where Father Dunn smelled of Sacramental Wine, the Husdon’s clientele smelled of whiskey. No amount of hiding in the kitchen seemed to protect her from wandering eyes and hands.
I possess the true Dharma eye, the marvelous mind of Nirvana, the true form of the formless, the subtle [D]harma [G]ate that does not rest on words or letters but is a special transmission outside of the scriptures. This I entrust to Mahākāśyapa.
-Sakyamuni Buddha (Siddhartha Gautama)
I believe the best analogy for the interactions between Brittany and Santana within the Glee group dynamic is that ofdirect prajñā (wisdom) oftathātā (suchness) via silent communication. (The Buddha transmits direct knowledge of the true nature of reality by a silent sermon; In this case, holding a white lotus flower). Where only Mahākāśyapa understands the Buddha’s lesson, Santana is the only one who understands Brittany.
randomcanbian prompted: Brittana ice-skating with [Heather] lifting Naya at some point
You can’t believe she’s never gone ice skating before. OK, maybe you can because her dad’s not exactly the hockey type and her mom’s from the Dominican Republic and do they even have ice there anyway?
So you teach her. Baby steps: how to hold on to the rail around the rink, how to fall down and get back up again, how to glide.
She’s laughing now, her black hair streaming behind her, and she’s so beautiful that you don’t even know what you’re doing until you’re doing it, catching up to her from behind, whispering Trust me in her ear, lifting her up, and she’s so light, so fragile but you know you’ll never let her fall, and then she’s flying…
Your legs are tucked beneath you on the bed. Hers curve to the side like a question mark.
Want to practice kissing? you ask. You shrug, a cool flick, breathing steadily, as if your ribs weren’t ready to crack from the hammering of your heart.
The two of you have made a dark nest of your blankets; they rustle as you shift. Whisper—like a warning.
She leans in slowly—hovers hummingbird-close, so the air between you vibrates with heat and shared breath.
Her eyelashes quiver like wings when she closes her eyes.
These moments hum, quick and iridescent; they float, unmoored. Only the metronome of your heartbeat—and her pulse against your thumb, where it strokes the down just beneath her ear—keep time. Syncopated. Allegretto.
Dear followers, I love you all so much and I ask that you not be offended if I don’t follow you. Mostly because I think it’s more important to ask that you not be creeped out when I stalk your blogs for several pages while you sit there wondering why I’m creepy enough to reblog something that you posted months ago.
Wow can you imagine the shit storm he would get from Sugar when she found out he hit on her mom? Unless of course you wanna go down the root where she trusts nothing would happen…ohh the possibilities.
My headcanon about Sugory is based off of this piece of drabble by JJ. JJ describes a boy whom Sugar has a crush on at her school (in 2030s, 2040s NYC), and I took that further and thought, “Wait…what if he kinda looks like Rory?” I started fic’ing something that explains Sugar’s behavior in “Heart” - not only does Rory look like the boy she misses back home, but she also knows what it’s like to be homesick. In my head, that clears up the messy “Rory hit on Brittany ew” angst I felt earlier, because Sugar doesn’t necessarily stay close to Rory because she has feelings for him.