"Brittany?" Her face goes from shocked to enraged before she forces the door shut but Brittany juts her foot between the door to stop it from slamming in her face.
"Wait!" Brittany places her palm on the door to try and inch it open. "I just want to talk."
"I have nothing to talk to you…
We were snoozing in bed around ten the next morning when Santana’s phone started to play that Darth Vader song from Star Wars. The beat went well with the pounding in my temples. I groaned and nudged Santana closer to her nightstand.
Santana picked up the phone. “Good morning, Quinn.”
I hid my eyes in the crook of my elbow and tried to will my hangover away while they discussed meeting for lunch.
"How does Spago at eleven thirty sound, honey?" I heard Santana ask.
"I’m gonna assume that question was for me, unless you’ve taken your relationship with Quinn to the next level."
"Quinn does know how to treat a lady," Santana said. The little minx actually sounded wistful.
Who da boss?
Were you wondering what the heck Kirsch was yelling about at the end of episode 17?? Watch episode 18 and find out NOW!
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You’re not sure if it’s like this for everyone, but for you, there was a moment. A split second that shifted your thinking from Brittany will always be my girlfriend to I’m ready to make Brittany my wife. Sure, you’d had a vague feeling about it for awhile, ever since you’d gotten back together, really, but that singular moment was different. It came when you were in San Francisco, on some seemingly ordinary afternoon, after she’d plied you with orgasms and copious amounts of coffee to get you out of bed earlier than you’d have liked. You’d done a late show the night before, but you had two days to yourselves, and she wanted to see the city with you (and you wanted to see it with her too, truthfully, you couldn’t be happier that you were taking on the world together). Together, you’d made your way to Golden Gate Park, with her teasing you about your terrible choice in footwear, after you’d complained about the walk, and you’d told her you were far too young for sensible heels, but maybe if you could just sit for a few minutes, you’d feel better.
On a bench facing the carousel, she’d wrapped an arm around your waist, and you’d dropped your head on her shoulder, thinking about how the thrill and excitement of a new city every few days couldn’t even come close to comparing with the butterflies that you got in your stomach just sitting there with her. You were quiet for a long while, both of you, just watching the rainbow whirl of the spinning horses, lost in your individual thoughts. When she’d jumped up from her spot, you hadn’t even seen what happened, but on long legs, she’d leapt like a gazelle, and when you looked up, your eyes widened, watching her catch the string of a bright red balloon between her two fingers, just before it flew out of reach. It entirely amazed you, her skill, and you smiled, watching her spin around in victory after she’d closed the catch tightly in her palm.
You’d heard clapping, and when you’d had managed to tear your eyes off of Brittany doing a fist pump, there was a little sandy haired boy, who couldn’t have been older than four, furiously applauding, looking at your girlfriend as if she’d hung the damn moon in the sky. She grinned at him, and you felt your heart quicken as you watched her approach the child, kneeling down to tie the string around his wrist. He’d continued to stare at her, his eyes wide, almost as if he was so amazed that he couldn’t speak, and to be honest, you could absolutely relate to the way he felt. You’d heard his mother thanking Brittany profusely, having obviously averted a major disaster in the life of a small child, and she’d just shrugged it off like it was no big deal, and held up her palm for the boy to slap.
She’d exchanged a few more words with the pair, pointing over to you, and you’d offered a small wave, but you couldn’t really process what she was saying, the heartbeat pounding in your ears was too loud to hear over. Watching her, watching your girlfriend, the love of your life, laugh with that tiny little stranger made something shift inside of you, like suddenly, your entire future was right before your very eyes. You’d pictured her tying balloons on the wrists of your little humans, pictured her dancing around with them in your kitchen, pictured her with a tiny little belly, snuggling into you so you could feel them move, pictured doing the same to her someday, with your own tiny belly, and your mind spun. You knew that kids were a long way off, you were both still way too young for that, you both still had careers to build, but you were certain that there’d never be anyone else you wanted that with, certain that there’d never be anyone else you wanted to build a life with. When she’d sat back down beside you, you had to press a kiss to her lips, you had to let it linger there, because it was the only thing in the world that kept a four word question from slipping out of your mouth right then and there.
You’d managed to control yourself then, hard as it was, but the thought wouldn’t leave your mind, that desire to ask her to be yours, for the rest of time. It was in Cincinnati, so close to home, that you’d finally summoned the courage to walk into a jewelry store, while Brittany was in a dance rehearsal. You were alone when you’d bought it, and you were okay with that, you didn’t want anyone else’s opinion, because you knew Brittany the best, and you wanted to choose the piece she’d (hopefully, if she said yes, though you strangely weren’t doubtful of that) wear for the rest of her life on your own.
As soon as you’d re-entered the city limits of Lima, Ohio, glittering band tucked in a box of tampons in your suitcase, you were sure that’s where you were going to do it, and you’d breathed a sigh of relief that you’d only have to keep a secret for a few more days. Somehow, you’d managed to talk to her parents, hands shaking and every part of your body sweating, and they didn’t even question how young you were, they gave you their blessing, told you that you made their daughter happy, and they celebrated, offering you a glass of wine, because you’d save the champagne for after, but toasting anyway. Your parents were significantly more subdued, though they always were, but after a two hour conversation, your mother cried happy tears, and your father had smiled at you, pulled you into a hug, offering to store the solitaire diamond that was burning a hole in your suitcase in his safe until you were ready to ask Brittany to be your wife.
Rachel was the last piece of the puzzle, Funny Girl hatchet long buried, and you’d called her, telling her to check whatever she might have to say and listen to you. Fundamentally, you had a strong opposition to public proposals, but you were giving yourself an exception, allowing this, because Brittany had once called those people your family, and it was true. You’d wanted to do it in front of them, because you wanted to come full circle. You were long past “it doesn’t mean you can put a label on me” and “sex is not dating.” You were proud, so proud to call that amazing girl yours, and you wanted to show her, in the best way you knew how, the with actions, more than words.
"You’re quiet tonight, honey." Brittany murmurs, breaking you from your thoughts as you lie tangled together in her childhood bed. Something about it felt entirely domestic, in the best way possible, pajama pants and t-shirts on, the sound of her parents watching re-runs of Everybody Loves Raymond downstairs obvious. Your head is on her chest, listening to the thump of her heart, and her fingers run lazily though your hair, making you feel like you could lay just like that, absolutely forever.
"Just really happy, Britt." You tell her, and you feel her jaw pull into a reminiscent smile. She’s warm, and safe, and wonderful, and you just lean up to kiss the underside of her chin, knowing that tomorrow’s the day, knowing that the next time you lie in bed together like this, you’ll entwine your fingers with hers and pull them up to look at the glittering band there, the symbol of the promise you’ll ask her to make, and the promise you’ll make in return.
Now remember people, National Coming Out Day is on its way. If you “come out” on facebook as straight and/or cis, an ally, a brony, a fucking whovian, or anything other than a marginalized sexual orientation and/or gender identity, I will ram my boot so far up your ass you’ll be tasting Vans for weeks.
Hey! So, Coming Out Day is coming up soon (Oct. 11) and I just want to post a very stern reminder to NOT out anyone without their explicit permission.
Do NOT out anyone.
this is also a less important point, but still worth noting: DO NOT “come out” as an ally. don’t you dare.
Also - don’t feel pressured to come out. You don’t have an obligation to put yourself in an unsafe situation for any reason.
I have been rereading and brainstorming and trying to figure out where the hell I was going with that damned story for the past two weeks. Going is so goddamn slow, but someday it WILL be continued. Promise.
CAUSE I SERIOUSLY NEEDED SOMETHING LIKE THIS WHEN I WAS YOUNGER. I HOPE THIS HELPS YOU GUYS.
Don’t forget that drinking plenty of water and tea, eating a healthy diet and daily exercise will make a HUGE difference with your complexion. Touching your face frequently is also a big no-no. Everyone’s skin is different, so experiment with your own treatment routines and find what best suits you!! I think this is a topic that’s almost taboo to talk about, but everyone has it, so we might as well help each other out with what we’ve found successful, right!?
an actual helpful guide for acne, plus its actually really adorable