Fic: Brown Eyed Girl
Mar. 31st, 2011 10:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
karatamTitle: Brown Eyed Girl
Rating: PG
Pairing/Characters: Brittany/Santana
Spoilers: up to "Sexy"
Word Length: 1000
Summary: Santana will always be her brown eyed girl.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Fox and Ryan Murphy. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from this work of fiction.
A/N: based off a prompt from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dealan311 who also betaed this for me, so a big thanks to her.
/ /
Words get mixed up sometimes in Brittany’s head. Not all the time, but there are some that are just so close that she’ll mean to say one and the other will come out or she’s not sure which one is right in the first place.
Things are easier, because there’s this physical object that she can just picture in her head and in a nice little label underneath, there’ll be the name. Sometimes the handwriting is hers because she figured out the word by herself years ago – those are the more common words and a few of the hard ones. But some of the labels will be in her mom’s handwriting or her dad’s or her brother’s. Lately, a lot of them have been in Santana’s, because her best friend is smart as a hip. Or whip or maybe lip.
Names are usually easiest, because every face is different, little things that added up all together makes this whole person and they don’t even need labels in her mind, she just knows them. If she meets someone once, she’ll remember their name a full year later with no problem.
Except for the Vans. She can never get them straight because, really, Van is such a weird name and why would one (let alone two) parents name their kid Van? So whenever Santana absentmindedly asks Brittany to put on her dad's vinyl record of that guy who sang “Jump” or maybe “Brown Eyed Girl”, Brittany will have to tap her on the shoulder and hold up both the Van Halen and Van Morrison albums with a little wrinlkle between her eyebrows. Santana will almost roll her eyes – but not quite, not like everyone else – and reach out to grab the Van Morrison record and pull it out of its cover.
But then, one night Santana invited Brittany over for their weekly sleepover and her dad is there. Mr Lopez – she can’t call him Gabriel like he wants her to because he’s a dad right? – isn’t usually home until after the girls go to bed, he works so late. So Santana smiles a little brighter when he ruffles her hair in a way that would normally make her scowl and Brittany can’t help but giggle.
In the morning, Brittany is all snuggled up under three layers of blankets, head buried under Santana’s second pillow when a soft sound gets to her ears. She raises her head and glances around to ask Santana what’s going on, but the other side of the bed is empty, only a shallow depression in the sheets left. She sits up and rubs absently at her eyes to try and wake up a bit more, then swings her legs over the edge of the bed and slips down until her sock feet touch the cool wooden floor. Brittany peeks her head around the corner of the bedroom door and listens carefully to figure out where the sound is coming from.
She wanders down the stairs and hallway until she’s standing at the entrance of Santana’s kitchen, watching Santana hold her mother’s hands and dance around the kitchen table. Mr Lopez is leaning up against the counter with an old guitar in his arms, hands strumming out chords and a smooth voice singing out “Brown Eyed Girl”. His eyes catch Brittany’s and as he smiles, it lights up his whole face and suddenly he looks like a Gabriel, not a Mr Lopez.
Santana finally sees her standing there and rushes over to grab her hand and pull her into the middle of the room. Their fingers intertwine and Santana’s brown eyes are bright and happy looking back at her. Santana’s mom starts to make blueberry pancakes – Brittany’s favourite – at the stove and keeps singing along with Santana’s dad.
Brittany grins and picks up the next line, looking straight at Santana. Her very own brown eyed girl.
Laughin' and a-runnin', hey hey
Skippin' and a-jumpin'
In the misty mornin' fog
With our, our hearts a-thumpin'
And you, my brown eyed girl
You, my brown eyed girl
Do you remember when
We used to sing?
/ /
Brittany doesn’t confuse the Vans anymore, not since that morning. She knows every word to “Brown Eyed Girl” and used to hum it in Santana’s ear when they lay back on the couch to watch a movie together.
She can’t remember the last time Santana touched her voluntarily, but maybe she deserves it for being the reason for tears. For being the reason that Santana’s heart is bleeding for everyone to see.
Life used to be easy. Santana was her best friend. Their parents would cook them blueberry pancakes in funny shapes (Santana’s) or scrambled eggs with a weird fruit on the side (Brittany’s) in the morning after their sleepovers. They watched silly movies and laughed with mouths full of popcorn. They sang and danced around Santana’s kitchen table. They held hands and everything was happy. Or, at least, Brittany was.
Looking back, maybe there was a moment that she could have changed, a touch she could have done differently, a kiss that could have been done in private as opposed to in front of a crowd of eager boys. Maybe there was some moment that could have prevented this twisted ache in the middle of her chest whenever Santana would look at her with those dark eyes, something lurking behind the masking indifference.
Because Brittany knows that it’s a mask, no matter what Santana might say to her face. She saw the tears in Santana’s eyes when Brittany said that she would stay with Artie; she heard that break in Santana’s voice when she said she just wanted Brittany. No matter how hard Santana might try, she can’t take any of that back all the way, or even part way, really. But no matter how much the memory of Santana saying out loud, where other people could have even heard, that she loved Brittany made a warm glow appear just under Brittany’s ribs, it doesn’t change the fact that she hurt Santana.
She made her brown eyed girl cry and it just breaks her heart.
Cast my memory back there, Lord
Sometimes I'm overcome thinkin' 'bout it
Makin' love in the green grass
Behind the stadium
With you, my brown eyed girl
You, my brown eyed girl
Do you remember when
We used to sing?
Rating: PG
Pairing/Characters: Brittany/Santana
Spoilers: up to "Sexy"
Word Length: 1000
Summary: Santana will always be her brown eyed girl.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Fox and Ryan Murphy. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from this work of fiction.
A/N: based off a prompt from
dealan311 who also betaed this for me, so a big thanks to her./ /
Words get mixed up sometimes in Brittany’s head. Not all the time, but there are some that are just so close that she’ll mean to say one and the other will come out or she’s not sure which one is right in the first place.
Things are easier, because there’s this physical object that she can just picture in her head and in a nice little label underneath, there’ll be the name. Sometimes the handwriting is hers because she figured out the word by herself years ago – those are the more common words and a few of the hard ones. But some of the labels will be in her mom’s handwriting or her dad’s or her brother’s. Lately, a lot of them have been in Santana’s, because her best friend is smart as a hip. Or whip or maybe lip.
Names are usually easiest, because every face is different, little things that added up all together makes this whole person and they don’t even need labels in her mind, she just knows them. If she meets someone once, she’ll remember their name a full year later with no problem.
Except for the Vans. She can never get them straight because, really, Van is such a weird name and why would one (let alone two) parents name their kid Van? So whenever Santana absentmindedly asks Brittany to put on her dad's vinyl record of that guy who sang “Jump” or maybe “Brown Eyed Girl”, Brittany will have to tap her on the shoulder and hold up both the Van Halen and Van Morrison albums with a little wrinlkle between her eyebrows. Santana will almost roll her eyes – but not quite, not like everyone else – and reach out to grab the Van Morrison record and pull it out of its cover.
But then, one night Santana invited Brittany over for their weekly sleepover and her dad is there. Mr Lopez – she can’t call him Gabriel like he wants her to because he’s a dad right? – isn’t usually home until after the girls go to bed, he works so late. So Santana smiles a little brighter when he ruffles her hair in a way that would normally make her scowl and Brittany can’t help but giggle.
In the morning, Brittany is all snuggled up under three layers of blankets, head buried under Santana’s second pillow when a soft sound gets to her ears. She raises her head and glances around to ask Santana what’s going on, but the other side of the bed is empty, only a shallow depression in the sheets left. She sits up and rubs absently at her eyes to try and wake up a bit more, then swings her legs over the edge of the bed and slips down until her sock feet touch the cool wooden floor. Brittany peeks her head around the corner of the bedroom door and listens carefully to figure out where the sound is coming from.
She wanders down the stairs and hallway until she’s standing at the entrance of Santana’s kitchen, watching Santana hold her mother’s hands and dance around the kitchen table. Mr Lopez is leaning up against the counter with an old guitar in his arms, hands strumming out chords and a smooth voice singing out “Brown Eyed Girl”. His eyes catch Brittany’s and as he smiles, it lights up his whole face and suddenly he looks like a Gabriel, not a Mr Lopez.
Santana finally sees her standing there and rushes over to grab her hand and pull her into the middle of the room. Their fingers intertwine and Santana’s brown eyes are bright and happy looking back at her. Santana’s mom starts to make blueberry pancakes – Brittany’s favourite – at the stove and keeps singing along with Santana’s dad.
Brittany grins and picks up the next line, looking straight at Santana. Her very own brown eyed girl.
Laughin' and a-runnin', hey hey
Skippin' and a-jumpin'
In the misty mornin' fog
With our, our hearts a-thumpin'
And you, my brown eyed girl
You, my brown eyed girl
Do you remember when
We used to sing?
/ /
Brittany doesn’t confuse the Vans anymore, not since that morning. She knows every word to “Brown Eyed Girl” and used to hum it in Santana’s ear when they lay back on the couch to watch a movie together.
She can’t remember the last time Santana touched her voluntarily, but maybe she deserves it for being the reason for tears. For being the reason that Santana’s heart is bleeding for everyone to see.
Life used to be easy. Santana was her best friend. Their parents would cook them blueberry pancakes in funny shapes (Santana’s) or scrambled eggs with a weird fruit on the side (Brittany’s) in the morning after their sleepovers. They watched silly movies and laughed with mouths full of popcorn. They sang and danced around Santana’s kitchen table. They held hands and everything was happy. Or, at least, Brittany was.
Looking back, maybe there was a moment that she could have changed, a touch she could have done differently, a kiss that could have been done in private as opposed to in front of a crowd of eager boys. Maybe there was some moment that could have prevented this twisted ache in the middle of her chest whenever Santana would look at her with those dark eyes, something lurking behind the masking indifference.
Because Brittany knows that it’s a mask, no matter what Santana might say to her face. She saw the tears in Santana’s eyes when Brittany said that she would stay with Artie; she heard that break in Santana’s voice when she said she just wanted Brittany. No matter how hard Santana might try, she can’t take any of that back all the way, or even part way, really. But no matter how much the memory of Santana saying out loud, where other people could have even heard, that she loved Brittany made a warm glow appear just under Brittany’s ribs, it doesn’t change the fact that she hurt Santana.
She made her brown eyed girl cry and it just breaks her heart.
Cast my memory back there, Lord
Sometimes I'm overcome thinkin' 'bout it
Makin' love in the green grass
Behind the stadium
With you, my brown eyed girl
You, my brown eyed girl
Do you remember when
We used to sing?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-03-31 02:23 pm (UTC)Great job all around~
no subject
Date: 2011-04-06 01:56 am (UTC)Thanks for reading!
no subject
Date: 2011-03-31 03:20 pm (UTC)Per. fect. ion.
no subject
Date: 2011-04-06 02:18 am (UTC)I've always thought that even though Brittany doesn't really see the world they way most people do, she sometimes sees more than anyone else does.
I'm so so glad you liked it :)
no subject
Date: 2011-03-31 03:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-06 02:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-31 04:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-06 02:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-31 05:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-31 05:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-06 02:20 am (UTC)I'm glad I could add to your head canon.
Thanks for reading!
no subject
Date: 2011-03-31 07:33 pm (UTC)N'aww. ♥
no subject
Date: 2011-04-06 02:23 am (UTC)Thanks for reading, though!
no subject
Date: 2011-03-31 07:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-06 02:25 am (UTC)Thanks for reading :)
no subject
Date: 2011-03-31 09:56 pm (UTC)Also, Brown Eyed Girl and the image of Santana and Brittany dancing around in the kitchen with Santana's parents, PERFECT.
Excellent job as always.
no subject
Date: 2011-04-06 02:34 am (UTC)Oh man, I had such worries about writing this from Brittany's POV because I usually have such issues with writing her in general, so I'm glad you like it.
I rather like that image myself :P
Thanks Coll <3
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Date: 2011-03-31 10:06 pm (UTC)*insert santanacreys.gif*
no subject
Date: 2011-04-06 02:36 am (UTC)Thanks so much for reading :)
no subject
Date: 2011-04-01 01:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-06 02:49 am (UTC)Thanks for reading :)
no subject
Date: 2011-04-01 02:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-06 02:51 am (UTC)Thanks for reading!
no subject
Date: 2011-04-01 02:35 am (UTC)I'm actually in love with it, but I can't figure out if it's because you used that song or because I loved your Brittany (and your Santana...and their parents) OR if it's just because you're awesome.
:D
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Date: 2011-04-06 02:53 am (UTC)And I'll be happy if you loved just one of those things :P
Thanks for reading!
no subject
Date: 2011-04-01 05:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-06 02:54 am (UTC)Thanks for reading!