#brittany s pierce packs

[brittanagirlcrush]

The First Time Ever I Saw Her Face

The long awaited (okay, maybe not by anyone but me) NeverEnding Story is (partially) posted. First fifteen chapters are up on FF.net

Prologue

It was a beautiful fall day during the last week of September and Brittany S. Pierce was sitting under the big oak in the middle of the quad. It was her freshman year and she was snapping pictures to get a head start on her end-of-semester media project.

She heard a shout and swung her camera in the direction the shout had come from. Through her viewfinder, she saw a Latina snatch a frisbee out of the air and sling it back to the guys who had lost control of it. Brittany couldn't hear what the guys said but her breath caught in her throat as her camera captured the most beautiful smile she'd ever seen.

She wanted to catch up to the Latina; wanted to get to know her. But. She had a strict rule: when she was dating someone she didn't initiate or pursue anyone else. She sighed; she and Rachel had been dating for three weeks. Before she could talk herself into chasing the Latina, she was gone.

A week later, Brittany was cursing herself as she realized that she and Rachel weren't compatible and broke things off.

She spent the rest of her freshman year, unsuccessfully, trying to find the Latina

End Prologue

xoxoxoxoxo

Chapter 1

The second time she saw the girl, Brittany had stepped out of the first class of her sophomore year. She stopped cold. Not three feet in front her was the beautiful Latina. Brittany bounced on the balls of her feet and approached the pretty brunette.

"Hi! I'm Brittany. I was wondering if I could buy you a beverage of your choice. I mean, because not everyone likes coffee." She smiled brightly at the girl.

The brunette looked scared.

"Oh, I … I, um, I have to, um, get to class." she stammered out before scurrying off like a rabbit and getting swallowed by the crowd.

Brittany frowned in puzzlement. That wasn't exactly a 'no'.

Xoxoxoxoxoxo

The following day was a Tuesday and Brittany sat in the back of her Logic 101 class. She scanned the lecture hall to see if she knew anyone and was surprised to see the Latina sitting at the far side of the hall, by herself, looking like she was trying to hide behind her laptop. She was sitting alone and had placed her backpack on the seat next to her in an obvious attempt to discourage anyone from sitting next to her.

Brittany spent the entire lecture watching the girl. She kept her head down, hair curtaining her face. She appeared to be taking detailed notes – or – she was writing quite a bit anyway.

When the class was dismissed, the Latina was already packed up and scurrying out of the lecture hall.

Brittany tried to follow her but the girl was gone by the time Brittany exited the hall.

'Well, I know where to find her,' she thought as she headed to her Humanities I class.

She had just slipped into her seat when her housemates, Puck and Sam, flopped next to her.

"Hey, Britt! How was your logic class?"

"Eh, you know, prove the chair actually exists type thing. But, oh-my-god, that beautiful Latina was there."

Puck laughed. "The one you've been mooning over for, like, a year? Did you actually talk to her this time?"

"No. I saw her yesterday, though, and I asked her out and it was kind of weird. She looked scared that I'd asked her out and, guys, she actually scurried away from me. She didn't say 'no', though. Just stammered out that she had a class."

"That does sound a little weird. I mean, it's not like you're scary." Sam frowned at her.

"So, yeah ..." she trailed off, "holy shit … there she is!" Brittany nodded in the direction of the Latina who, again, was sitting at the far side of the lecture hall, alone, hiding behind her laptop.

"Damn, B, you weren't kidding. I thought you touched up those pics. I'd definitely tap that."

"Don't even think about it, Puck. I will seriously castrate you while you sleep."

"What if she's straight?"

"Then she's too good for you."

"Harsh," Sam laughed, "but probably accurate."

"With friends like you …" Puck grumbled with a smirk.

The professor called the class to order and, once again, Brittany found herself staring at her mystery girl.

Xoxoxoxoxoxo

Brittany snuck out of class a few minutes early to try and catch the girl when she left the lecture hall.

"Hi!" She slipped into step with the girl as she exited the lecture hall. "I'm Brittany. You wanna maybe have lunch with me?"

Again, the Latina looked scared. "Oh, um, I – I d-don't think … I, uh, don't think that's a good idea." She stammered, again, before scurrying off like a frightened rabbit leaving a very puzzled, very intrigued Brittany in her wake. 'And, again, not a no,' she thought.

Xoxoxoxoxoxo

Brittany looked for the Latina on Wednesday but didn't see her. She was a little frustrated that afternoon as she walked into the photo studio she worked at. She was also starting to wonder if she was becoming a creepy stalker. There was just something about this girl; this scurrying, stammering, beautiful mystery of a girl.

"Everything okay, Brittany?" Keith asked.

Her boss, Keith Derbins, was a sweet older guy; probably in his mid-to-late fifties. His sandy blond hair was streaked with silver and pulled back into a long braid that ended just above his tailbone. His eyes were a soft gray with laugh lines creasing the corners. He had hired Brittany last semester when she walked into his photo studio, showed him some of her work and asked if he needed any help. She was willing to work for free if he'd give her practical world experience. There'd been a brief negotiation and he was paying her a fair salary as well as teaching her things she wouldn't learn in her classes.

"Yeah, Keith. Just …" she hesitated, "there's this girl …"

Keith grinned. "Isn't there always?"

Brittany grinned back at him. "I caught her on film last year and spent two semesters looking for her. I just … I don't know … I mean … ugh, I swear English is my first language," she sighed.

Keith laughed. "You've got it bad, kid."

"That's just it! I don't even know her name," Brittany huffed. "I've seen her a couple of times and every time I try to talk to her she gets this scared look, stammers an excuse, and runs off."

Keith smiled slightly. "Sound like the girl may have been hurt in the past. You're a beautiful girl, Britt. You know this but you don't really act it. If this girl's been hurt, she may be wondering why a beautiful girl like you is talking to her.

Brittany nodded as she thought about what Keith had said.

"You may need to find a better way to approach her."

"Yeah. That makes sense. I'll have to make a plan instead of ambushing her in the hallway."

Keith nodded.

She put it to the back of her mind as she settled into work.

[kaisacobra]

RULES FOR REQUESTING ━━━━━━━━★

What i will write:

One Shots

Headcanons

Angst

Fluff

Polyamorous relationships

What i won't write:

Male reader

Smut (for now)

Extreme violence descriptions

Gore

In case you want to request something that isn't in any of these lists, feel free to ask me beforehand!

WHO I WRITE FOR ━━━━━━━━━━━━★

Cobra Kai

Sam LaRusso, Tory Nichols, Aisha Robinson, Moon, Yasmine.

PLL: Original Sin

Imogen Adams, Tabby Haworthe, Faran Bryant, Noa Olivar, Minnie "Mouse" Honrada.

Scream

Sam Carpenter, Tara Carpenter, Amber Freeman, Mindy Meeks-Martin, Anika Kayoko.

Teen Wolf

Allison Argent, Lydia Martin, Kira Yukimura, Malia Tate, Erica Reyes.

Wolf Pack

Blake Navarro, Luna Briggs.

Glee

Santana Lopez, Quinn Fabray, Brittany S. Pierce.

Fate: The Winx Saga

Musa, Beatrix, Stella.

Marvel

Kate Bishop, America Chavez.

Legacies

Hope Mikaelson, Josie Saltzman.

Yellowjackets

Lottie Matthews, Jackie Taylor, Shauna Shipman, Natalie Scatorccio

Modern Family

Haley Dunphy, Alex Dunphy.

XO, Kitty

Kitty Covey, Yuri Han.

High School Musical: The Musical The Series

Nini Salazar-Roberts, Gina Porter, Ashlyn Caswell, Kourtney Greene, Maddox.

Other Characters

Evie Grimhilde (Descendants), Daphne Blake (Scooby-Doo), Piper McLean (Heroes of Olympus), Maya Hart (Girl Meets World), Isabelle Lightwood (Shadowhunters/TMI)

I basically write for all of the female characters that I wish to see more fanfiction for. In case you wonder if I would write about a character who's not on the list, feel free to send me an ask about it!

[taylorswversion]

brittany s pierce headers

[mdverse]

No thoughts only her

[gleeszicons]

brittany s pierce icons with psd

like/reblog if you use or save ♡

[lunexcha]

𝙱𝚁𝙸𝚃𝚃𝙰𝙽𝚈 𝚂. 𝙿𝙸𝙴𝚁𝙲𝙴 + 𝙾𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴 𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚃𝚂

[packsclass]

c: @angel-hummel @stuffefy @agentsofedits @smoakedits @girlswithpsd @lovelyladiesarg

like or credits on twitter: @speatknow

muito obrigada pelos 4k, vcs são tudo!! // tysm for 4k, you guys are everything!!

[plotbunnyslayer]

One and Only

So I was re-watching Glee this week (thanks Netflix) and the 100th episode hit me in the feels once again. And the last Brittana scene reminded me of a ficlet I wrote a million years ago...

Song rec: Adele's One and Only *At least read the lyrics*

Santana fidgeted in her seat, anxiously clutching the bouquet of flowers in her lap as the lights dimmed and a muted hush fell across the packed auditorium. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Mr. Pierce fumbled with his digital camera while Mrs. Pierce and Brittany's sister, Emily, excitedly flipped through the show's program booklet.

"Welcome to the 2011 Summer Dance Showcase…Our talented young men and women have put in long hours to hone their dance skills and we are honored to share with you the results of their hard work and dedication…"

Santana tuned out the rest of the dance director's speech as she reached into her purse and pulled out the invitation Brittany had given her. It was strange in that the event didn't warrant a formal invite - Santana had attended every recital, twice a year, for as long as she could remember. Well, almost. She hadn't attended the previous winter recital, held the weekend before Christmas. Brittany had asked, but she declined using holiday shopping with her abuela as an excuse not to go. She couldn't; not when Artie would be there to cheer his girlfriend on.

But now Artie was ghost in their distant past and she and Brittany were… back to what they were? Non-girlfriends? Friends with benefits? There was a reason why Santana hated labels. There was a line that she, herself, danced around when it came to who she considered Brittany S. Pierce to be. She knew what Brittany wanted, but after the junior prom fiasco and their disastrous trip to New York for Nationals, she stopped pushing Santana to make that decision. For now, they had slipped back into the role perfected in years past: inseparable best friends. And best friends go to each other's important events like dance recitals.

But this particular show was different. Brittany had signed up for two additional classes per week in preparation for her senior solo performance. And unlike the group numbers that she regularly practiced in front of Santana in her garage on the weekends, everything about this dance was a secret.

Except for one very important detail...

The invitation that Brittany slipped into her locker a week after the Nationals trip had the usual layout: event name, date, time, location and even a printed map with directions to the theater. But written below was handwritten note that Santana easily recognized as Brittany's familiar, looping cursive:

Santana, I'm dedicating my solo performance to you. I really hope you can be there. -B

There was no question whether or not Santana would attend after that. So she sat at the edge of her seat, her body tensed in anticipation as performance after performance played out on the stage before her. Every routine was perfectly choreographed and executed, which was to be expected from a dance institution that prided itself on its nationally ranked competition team. When the last group of the night, the first year tap dancers, noisily shuffled their way off the stage, the house lights brightened and Mrs. Tulane, the dance studio director, walked out from the wings with a microphone in hand.

"This year's showcase soloist was chosen because of her dedication as a student, choreographer and student teacher. She has been a member of this studio since she was four years old and it has been such a joy for us to watch her grow and develop into the amazing dancer that she is today. Here to perform her own choreographed contemporary lyrical routine to Adele's "One and Only", please welcome Brittany S. Pierce back to the stage."

The house lights cut off completely and Santana turned to look at the Pierces, their faces bathed in the digital glow from the camera that Mr. Pierce was wielding. Emily was perched on Mrs. Pierce's lap, fidgeting in excitement. There was a long pause, as the production crew waited until the applause died down before cueing the music.

The first chords of the song's introduction rang in the large theater, and Santana was disappointed when she didn't recognize the tune. She wasn't the biggest Adele fan, but the album was relatively new and popular, and a few of the tracks regularly aired on the radio. She briefly wondered why Brittany had chosen it. In years past, her friend preferred to choreograph more up tempo songs from artists like Beyoncé and Ke$ha.

A spotlight came up and tracked along the stage before settling on Brittany, dressed in a simple lavender dress, hunched over onto her knees. She waited, her posture seemingly defeated and broken as Adele's powerful, soulful voice carried right out into the audience and pierced Santana's heart.

One line.

That's all it took for Santana to know why Brittany had chosen this particular song. This was Brittany's version of 'Songbird'. This was about expressing her feeling for Santana. Her private feelings. Santana found herself getting lost in the song, imagining Brittany saying the words, singing them to her.

Feeling them.

Living them.

It was a plea.

Brittany was scared.

She wasn't pushing anymore because she was starting to doubt that Santana would ever take that step beyond friendship. She doubted herself and her ability to be enough of a reason for Santana to let go of the secrets and embrace who she really was. She wanted to be able to show that she could be strong enough to hold them both up. Brittany wanted to prove her love.

The realization floored Santana. She had told Brittany that she loved her on numerous occasions. But had she shown her?

Was that really so much to ask after all they had been through?

Santana couldn't take her eyes off of the blonde as she moved across the stage, her body a flowing extension of the music. Brittany's eyes were closed and her face pinched into a determined grimace as moved in short, twisting steps. It almost physically hurt to watch Brittany's emotions laid bare in such a devastatingly powerful medium, but Santana found that she couldn't look away. She was so captivated by the sight, that she was startled when Brittany's features blurred before her and it took a long moment before she realized that she was crying. Embarrassed at her lack of control, she hastily swiped at her eyes, but it was all for naught as Mrs. Pierce reached across her husband to pass a tissue into her hand.

Brittany finally came to rest as the last notes of the song rang out and disappeared under the thunderous applause that followed. Ever the gracious performer, she acknowledged the praise with a slight dip of her head before quickly making her way off to the wings.

The applause continued to grow as the classes one by one came up on stage to take a final bow. Santana paid them no mind, her thoughts still wrapped up in Brittany's song choice, her dance and wondering what it all meant. There was no coincidence when it came to the decisions Brittany made. Everything she did was thoughtful and planned out. She was a genius, after all.

Brittany chose that song for a reason and the only question that remained was how Santana was going to react to it.

She followed the Pierces as they made their way backstage, navigating the throngs of proud parents and excited dancers. Emily had a firm grasp on the back of her shirt and Santana wrapped her free arm around the girl's shoulders pulling in tight and shielding her away from most of the unintentional jostling.

"Britty!" Emily spotted her sister emerging from the dressing room and she jumped into her arms, squeezing her arms tight around Brittany's neck. "You were amazing!"

Brittany laughed in delight at her sister's exuberance. "Thanks."

Santana stood back as Mr. and Mrs. Pierce took turns hugging and praising their daughter. Mr. Pierce handed Brittany a large bouquet of gerbera daisies, her favorite, before lifting Emily up into his arms. "Ok, Brittany Sue, we're going to go on ahead and get a table before all these people beat us to it." He turned to Santana. "You're coming to get ice cream, too, right?"

Santana pretended to think it over before nodding her acceptance. It was tradition for the family, Santana included, to go out for ice cream after an important event whether it be Brittany's dance recitals, Emily's soccer games or even the time Lord Tubbington came home from an extended stay at the vet after devouring an entire bag of Halloween candy and having his stomach pumped. "Britt and I will meet you guys there."

Santana watched as the Pierces disappeared down the crowded hallway, before turning her attention back to Brittany. She edged closer and tentatively extended her hand, offering the small bouquet of flower. "You were great, Britt."

Brittany beamed at the compliment but Santana could see the tell-tale blush that graced her cheeks. "Thanks, San!"

"Britt, that song—"

She faltered and when she looked up, Santana could see the smile slip from Brittany's face. She reached out and grasped her hand, giving it a gentle tug as she lead them away from the main hallway and into an alcove that shielded them from the noise. "Britt—"

Brittany shook her head and squeezed her hand. "I—I'm sorry, San." Her words were rushed and colored with regret. "I shouldn't have done that. I promised you that I wouldn't push you into anything but I chose that song anyway and I've been so, so afraid that you'd think it was too much and—"

Santana closed the distance between them and cupped Brittany's cheek, pulling her into a kiss mid-sentence. At first Brittany was too shocked to move. But awareness caught up quickly and she pulled Santana into a tight embrace. The kiss, their first real one in weeks, lasted only moments, but they both pulled away breathless.

"It was perfect," Santana whispered against Brittany's lips. "The dance, the song…everything was perfect, Britt."

"Really?"

Santana pulled farther back to rest her hands on Brittany's shoulders. "I've been so stupid—"

"I hate that word."

Santana smiled ruefully. "I know you do, but this time the shoe fits. I once confessed my love for you in a crowded high school hallway. And after you shot me down—," she lifted a hand to forestall the rebuttal that she knew Brittany was about to make. "After that, I just closed myself off and vowed never to put myself in such a vulnerable position again." She paused, trying to mentally shake away the painful emotions that the memories evoked. "When you and Artie broke up, I guess I just got scared again. I thought that I could be brave and face everything head on. That's why I sang 'Songbird' to you. But it was hard for me to do even that. And when you asked me to be on Fondue for Two so you could ask me to prom, I panicked."

"San, it's okay."

"It's not, though," Santana disagreed, pulling away completely. "I'm tired of feeling this way." She ran her hands through her hair in frustration. "I want everything to not be so hard. I want to be able to hold your hand in school and not worry if we're going to be slushied for it…or worse. I want to be able to kiss you and not be afraid that my parents will find out and throw me out of the house. I want to be accepted for who I am…who we are." Brittany regarded her with a look of such understanding and adoration that Santana had to look away.

"No, don't do that," Brittany urged, gently lifting Santana's chin. "Santana, just knowing that you feel that way is enough for me right now.

"I promise that I'll work on being brave."

"You already are." Brittany leaned forward and pressed a small kiss to the corner of Santana's mouth. "We're in this together. And when you feel comfortable and safe letting people know, then that will be the right time for you and for us. And until then, I'll be with you every step of the way."

The sudden rush of joy and hope Santana felt at Brittany's declaration. "Do you want to go out?" she asked.

"Now?" Brittany scrunched her eyebrows in confusion. "But we told my parents that we'd meet them for ice cream."

"No, not tonight," Santana hastened to clarify. "Maybe…maybe Friday night? We could go to dinner at Breadstix. Then maybe a movie or we can use our fake IDs to get into Murph's for some karaoke and dancing?"

"Yeah?" Brittany brightened. "I'd love to, San."

"C'mon, I wants to get our rocky road on," Santana said, nudging Brittany back towards the hallway. They made their down the hallway, playfully bumping shoulders as they made their way through the crowd.

Brittany brought the small bouquet of white flowers to her nose. "You've never given me flowers before."

Santana shrugged as she felt her cheeks flush with warmth and scuffed her shoe against the linoleum floor. "This time was different, and you know it. You're trying to embarrass me on purpose."

"Because you're so cute when you blush." Brittany ran a fingertip along the delicate line of a flower. "What kind are these?"

Santana regarded the flowers tucked under Brittany's chin and her blush deepened even further. "They're—uh, calla lilies. I'm sorry that I couldn't buy you more of them, but they're expensive as hell."

"No, they're great." Brittany I assured her. "They're so pretty. I love them!"

"Do you know why I chose them?" She waited patiently for a response, but when Brittany remained silent and shrugged, she leaned in close to whisper. "They're, like, the lesbian of flowers."

"What?"

Santana laughed outright, stumbling a little when Brittany suddenly stopped in her tracks. "Remember that movie we saw last summer? We rented it when your parents were out of town visiting your grandmother with Emily and you had to stay here for cheer camp. It was the one about the woman who falls in love with the florist who did the arrangement at her wedding; you know, with the girl from Coyote Ugly."

Brittany squinted long and hard, before realization kicked in and she couldn't help but laugh herself. "Oh!"

"Yeah."

"Are you daring me to love you?" Brittany asked shyly, reaching down to link their pinkies.

Santana shook her head, shifting their fingers into a full handhold and squeezed gently. "Not daring you, Britt. Just asking you to."

[acequidwrites]

They call her Diabla. They brand her a devil; maybe she is.

(Brittany doesn't care.)

FANDOM: Glee

PAIRINGS: Santana Lopez/Brittany S. Pierce

RATING: M 

They call her Diabla.

In the outskirts of the city, she is a fairytale told to children at night. 

Friend to the boogeyman. La Diabla is under the bed, she is hiding in the closet, she is the one tap-tap-tapping on the peeling wood siding outside the window. 

Don’t stay out too late, don’t stray too far, don’t wander too deep into the twisting alleyways of the city center.

The Devil will catch you. And she will not let you go.

To those on the outskirts, she is a handy myth used to terrify the young. Fear keeps them safe and away from the dirt and crime and sin of the city. 

But the young must grow older, and fear does not last forever.

In every myth there is a grain of truth.

~

They call her La Reina.

They are many, and they are poor. 

She is an ideal to them. She represents what is possible, what is powerful.

They sit on cracked concrete stairs and pass around a shakily rolled blunt packed with backyard-grown marijuana. 

If the sun is out, baking their sweat into the pavement and causing the outlines of the buildings in the distance to shimmer in the air, they will raise their voices and beat their chests and talk about how they will kill her, viciously, violently, and assume her mantle. They are boasting and beaten and desperate and still so small, though they fancy themselves full-grown.

(Many of them will die the way they live now: Angry. Young.)

If the cool night air surrounds them instead, in the deep night hours when the sky is bruised purple from the lights of the city and the crickets stay silent lest they are caught by mice, they will whisper of how they will find her and beg for their place among her legion. Fabricated oaths of fidelity pass their lips as they imagine lives of luxury and danger, bonds of loyalty and an ultimate sense of purpose. 

They pray as they sleep, and they pray to the Queen.

~

They call her Lucifer.

They are the ones who covet and scheme, who see a seat of power and cannot help but chase it once they know it can in fact be chased. They have left the outskirts to gather in the city: in basements and skyscrapers, offices and restaurants. In groups, always groups. There is strength in numbers, after all. 

They pass each other in the streets and may not even realize it. Though they have the same goal, not all of them are allies. None of them are friends. 

They are the ones who remember the old stories, faded fantasies of Diabla and her claws and her teeth and her magic powers. 

They now know that her powers aren’t magic, but they are very real nonetheless. Lucifer wields money and influence like Diabla hurled fire and spat poison. Lucifer directs men and controls drugs and hordes weapons and can be reached.

Lucifer is mortal, where Diabla was myth. 

They may not be well-educated, but mortality is one lesson they know too well. 

~

They call her Lopez.

Well, in private.

In public she is Boss, or Don, or Queen, or even Devil, if they’ve got a particular act of intimidation to take care of. They bring to her reports of her reputation outside the city, how people think of her as more creature than human. In these moments, she will bare her teeth in the imitation of a smile, and she will say “let them.”

In public they keep their distance, follow her orders, do their jobs. In public they are impassive, the very picture of invulnerability. 

Her status lends them strength. 

(Or perhaps it’s the other way around.)

In private, she is Lopez, and she is almost a friend. 

When the doors to the club are locked, and the towering men with the guns that look too large to be real take up positions outside, and the sniper on the roof is relieved for the night, the devil retires and Lopez appears. 

It doesn’t happen every night. It rarely even happens once a month. But when it does, when for once there is no business to attend to, no problems to fix and no threats to take care of, they are reunited with Lopez and they are reminded of the girl they used to know. 

She is taller. It could just be their imaginations, but they all swear she’s grown. Power suits her, they think.

She doesn’t smile much, but then again, she never used to often, either. Her sense of humor, already scathing, has been tinged with a sense of irreverence and mockery gained from years of experiences. 

When she’s Lopez, she’ll hold a bottle of rum in one hand and swig directly from it throughout the night. As the hours pass, she’ll roam the club, passing around and through the people who are almost her friends, like she’s stalking prey. The rum will gradually disappear, and she will eventually end up sitting on the bar, surveying her domain. 

The very ground floor of it, anyway.

Perched on the marble countertop, legs swinging and eyes shining too brightly, they will think to themselves that she looks far younger than she is.

And privately, in the safety of their minds, they will think that while power looks good on her, youth looks even better. 

~

She calls her Santana.

She is a dancer, and she is the only person in the world who calls her Santana.

Her name is Brittany S. Pierce and that is exactly how she introduced herself the first time they met. 

“Brittany S. Pierce,” she had said with a wide grin, blonde hair escaping a loose ponytail. The other girl had looked at her in confusion for a moment, as if trying to understand why she was so happy. “Santana Lopez,” she had eventually replied.

They had been six years old.

They were inseparable then, and they are inseparable now.

Brittany knows what Santana does, and Brittany tries not to care. Because most importantly, Brittany knows who Santana is. She knows better than anyone else, maybe even better than Santana herself. 

And it’s not some trick or delusion or anything. Brittany thinks that maybe she was born to do two things. The first, to dance. The second, to know Santana.

She’s had to work at dancing her whole life. Hours and hours of lessons at first, and then countless more hours of solo practice. It’s never felt like work, though, because she loves it. She loves dancing more than almost everything else in the world. 

She dances now at Santana’s club, on a stage that dominates the back half of the expansive room.

(“Custom-built, just for you, Britt,” she had said, the first time they had visited the completed building. They had smiled together, then.)

(Knowing Santana has never taken work. It’s just happened, naturally as breathing.)

Santana watches her most nights, when she wears a white suit and her Lucifer face to present to the rest of the patrons. She sits flanked by bodyguards in a corner booth, twirling an unlit cigar and nursing a scotch. Those are the nights when Brittany can’t figure out her expression, and it scares her, almost. Not being able to read Santana feels like losing a sense. Hearing, maybe. Brittany knows balance has to do with your ears, and when Santana looks at her as Lucifer, Brittany feels dizzy. 

As far as Brittany knows, Lucifer has one rule when it comes to her. No touching. 

In the beginning, men in the tables nearest the stage would grope her. She’d twirl away, focused on the music, but she’d always catch Santana’s face stretching tight, anger twisting Lucifer’s painstakingly ordered features. She’d lean over to one of her henchmen and mutter something. Brittany never knew what. But those men would never return to the club. 

No one touches her now.

Well, no one but Santana.

Sometimes, Santana disappears from the club floor early. Those are the nights Brittany finishes her set as quickly as possible, slipping out backstage and up to her room on the top floor of the building. She’ll open the door and Santana will be on her almost immediately, pressing her back against the wall and shutting the door with her foot. It’s always Santana in control at first, pinning Brittany’s wrists above her head and biting at her pulse point. Brittany never resists, because she knows soon, soon the positions will be reversed, and Santana will be begging “Say my name, Britt,” and Brittany will moan “Santana,” and the other woman will fall over the edge, arching into Brittany’s touch. Brittany thinks it has something to do with being reminded of who she is, like being someone else day-in and day-out drains her, and she just needs someone to know her, to tell her that her real self matters even if she can’t see it all the time. 

Other times, Brittany spends the whole night alone.

Usually, Brittany will be in bed for hours before Santana enters the room. She’ll pretend to be asleep, but Santana always knows, somehow. She’ll kiss the slope of Brittany’s neck, just above the shoulder, until Brittany gives in, giggling softly and shifting to pull Santana’s mouth to her own. Santana will smile into the kiss, and that’s when Brittany knows they’ll be alright. Those nights always end with Brittany curled around Santana, content but wanting more. Wanting that feeling of safety and peace all the time. She wants Santana next to her for the rest of their lives.

She’ll whisper, “Run away with me, San,” into the darkness, listening to the answering even breathing and the echoing sound of silence. She knows Santana can hear her. She knows Santana won’t answer. They’ve done this too many times for Brittany to not understand. 

Santana won’t answer, because she can’t. Saying yes means turning her back on everything she’s built, not only her own legacy but her family’s as well. Saying yes means relinquishing the power she’s worked so hard to obtain. 

Saying no means closing the door to escape forever, ending Brittany’s hope as well as her own.

Brittany’s not dumb. She gets it.

And she’ll keep asking until Santana says “okay.” 

~

Her name is Santana Lopez.

She is young, she is in love, and she is a criminal.

She has been called Devil and Queen, but she is honestly, overwhelmingly, simply human. 

She has been called Bitch and Whore and Lucifer and a thousand other names that mean hate.

She has been called Lopez and San and Mine and a hundred other names that mean love.

She has fought for everything she’s ever gotten, demanded every ounce of respect she now commands. She controls an empire, she is filthy rich, she can flex her finger and end someone’s life. She has everything she has ever dreamed of. 

And there is still only one thing that matters to her.

Her name is Santana Lopez and she thinks she might run away.

[taylorswversion]

glee girls icons with psd

[newdirctions]

brittany + chris evans packs | like or newdirctions ♡

headers: @maximoffedits

[bribedwithdots]

What have you been up to lately?

╔═ *.·:·.  🦄✧🌈✦Brittany S. Pierce✦🍭✧ 🦄 .·:·.* ═╗  

I've been pretty busy lately. But, mostly, I've been packing. It's a little difficult, though. There have been some really bratty fairies moving things in my room. Or, maybe it was Lord Tubbington. But, I found them eventually. So, my bet is fairies.

╚═   *.·:·.  🦄✧🌈✦Brittany S. Pierce✦🍭✧ 🦄 .·:·.*   ═╝    

[gleeszicons]

brittana headers with psd

like/reblog if you use or save ♡

[ao3feed-faberry]

Top Dog to Top Pup

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2yO5KW3

by Lexys23

Werewolves live in Lima, the Fabray Pack. Someone hates them, so they use magic to change the pack's alpha, Quinn Fabray, into a puppy. Now the pack must find a way to reverse the spell and take care of their puppy alpha.

Words: 7631, Chapters: 6/8, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of Top Dog (Glee Version)

Fandoms: Glee

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F, F/M

Characters: Quinn Fabray, Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez, Brittany S. Pierce, Noah Puckerman, Kitty Wilde, Finn Hudson, Marley Rose, Sam Evans, Mercedes Jones, Jesse St. James, Jacob Ben Israel

Relationships: Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray, Santana Lopez/Brittany S. Pierce, Noah Puckerman/Kitty Wilde, Sam Evans/Mercedes Jones, Finn Hudson/Marley Rose

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2yO5KW3

[lunexcha]

[hkvoyage]

Westerville Abbey - Hierarchy and Duties of Downstairs Staff

Before World War One, there was a complex hierarchy of servants working in great houses in Britain like Westerville Abbey. To give an example of the staff size needed, the real Highclere Castle — the filming location for Downton Abbey — had 25 maids, 14 footmen and three chefs in 1912.

The following post will hopefully give you some idea of the staff’s responsibilities, hierarchy and titles in Westerville Abbey. The main takeaway should be that Sebastian, as the first footman, would look after the first son, Lord Cooper. Kurt, as the second footman, would look after the second son, Mr Blaine. Sebastian doesn’t want to look after Mr Blaine - it would be seen as a step down in status.

For those who are interested, further details are under the cut.

Servants were  addressed by the upper-class and by their fellow servants slightly differently. I placed in italics below how they are addressed.

Male upper servants

Note: male upper servants were called by their family names by the upper class. All servants would address them with the title ‘Mr’ in front of their family names;  for example, the Anderson family addresses the butler as ‘Hummel’, but all the servants address him as ‘Mr Hummel’.

The Butler (Burt Hummel) is in charge of the male servants. He reports directly to the earl, Michael Anderson. His responsibilities include ensuring that the staff are presentable each morning and inspecting their bedrooms; overseeing the meal service, the service when the family is together or entertaining the guests, and the polishing of the silver. Most importantly, the butler has the keys to the wine cellar.

The Earl’s Valet (Sam Evans) is responsible for dressing Lord Anderson and maintaining his clothes. He’s aware of latest fashions and provides a link between the earl and the tailor. He wakes the lord up each morning; draws his bath; shaves him; cuts and styles his hair. He inspects bedroom cleaned by housemaids. When needed, the valet lights fires and prepares nighttime hot-water bottles. He also runs personal errands for the earl. He packs for travel and usually accompany the earl on trips. The valet helps out with footman duties when there are guests, as needed. He might look after male visitors who don’t have a valet with them.

Note:  Blaine calls him “Sam” in private because they are childhood best friends, but around others, Blaine calls him “Evans”. Sam always says ‘Mr Blaine’ as a sign of respect.

The Chauffeur (Finn Hudson) drives and maintains the car. He would also run errands on behalf of the family. The chauffeur typically lives in accomodation above the garage and not in the abbey.

Male lower servants

Note: Both the upper class and servants call them by their first name. All male servants would eat in the servants’ hall, but not all of them would sleep in the abbey.

The Footmen (Sebastian Smythe and Kurt Hummel) have a dual role - not only are footmen required to do a lot of manual work, but they are supposed to look good, bringing status to the family. They prepare the dining room and serve meals; answer the door for guests; deliver messages; polish the silver; hand wash expensive crystal-cut glasses. They help the family during outings. They carry the coal and logs upstairs for the fires. They also help male family members who are not the earl, in pecking order. So the first footman looks after the first son, the second footman looks after the second son, etc. The female counterpart is a housemaid.

The Stable Boy (Wesley) is not only responsible for the horses, but also for the hounds used for the fox hunts. They are responsible for teaching riding skills to the family’s young children, and help the stable master to break in new horses. They live in accommodation above the stables and not in the abbey.

Female upper servants

Note: both the upper-class and the servants would use the title ‘Mrs’ in front of their family name, regardless of their marital status. Downton Abbey made an exception for the lady’s maid, where the upstairs family used only her family name. I used this convention in Westerville Abbey. The upper-class call her ‘Lopez’ and the servants call her ‘Miss Lopez’.

The Housekeeper (Carole Hudson) is in charge of the female staff and reports directly to Pamela Anderson. She is responsible for the cleanliness of the house and the operation of the laundry scullery. With the cook, she plan food menus, and order food supplies. She keeps the household accounts. She is also responsible for the household china and linen. The only servant more senior in the hierarchy is the butler.

The Lady’s Maid (Santana Lopez) attends to her mistress's appearance. Basically, she does all the same tasks that a valet performs, but for Pamela Anderson.

The Cook (Sue Sylvester) is responsible for the meals, both upstairs and downstairs. They would have cook maids to do the food preparation and clean all the dishes. Interestingly, in the large estates, this role would typically be filled by a man. Downton Abbey’s cook is a woman, and so I cast a woman in this role as well.

Female lower servants

Kitchen Maid (Brittany S Pierce) prepares vegetables, game and poultry, does the dairy work, and bakes the bread. In some households, she assumes some of the plain cooking responsibilities. The kitchen maid would never venture upstairs.

The housemaid (Mercedes Jones) cleans the house. This sounds simple but it really isn’t. They rake out and re-lay the fires, blacken and polish the fireplaces, spread the carpets with damp tea leaves to remove the dust, and sweep up the tea leaves. They bring linens and clothing to and from the laundry scullery. For the most part, they aren’t seen by the family, working in rooms that were vacant. The head housemaid is assigned to the second lady of the house to act as a lady’s maid. For example, Mercedes is the lady’s maid for Lady Quinn. The male counterpart is a second footman.

Further reading

The ­Complete Servant, Being a Practical Guide to the Peculiar Duties and Business of All Descriptions of Servants, written in 1825 by Sarah and Samuel Adams, former butler and lady’s maid by trade, was considered the bible on how to run a manor house during the Edwardian area. It was my main reference material. Fortunately, it is available for free via Google Play.