Riona (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rionaleonhart) wrote2011-02-18 08:22 pm
rionaleonhart) wrote2011-02-18 08:22 pm
Entry tags:
Fanfiction: Hypothetically, Probably (Glee)
Title: Hypothetically, Probably
Fandom: Glee
Rating: PG
Pairing (blacked out due to spoilers from the 2.14 promo; highlight to read): one-sided Rachel/Blaine
Wordcount: 600
Warnings: SPOILERS FROM THE PROMO FOR EPISODE 2.14, i.e. the episode airing next Tuesday (22nd Feb). If you've already seen the promo, you'll be fine. Just a quick speculative ficlet.
Notes: I'm trying to get back into writing again, after a dry spell of a couple of months, and apparently this has resulted in my writing a short piece for a pairing that contradicts my OTP from an episode that hasn't aired yet. That's, erm, new. (I'm tempted to blame this on the fact that there's a community for this pairing with no fanfiction in it. I can never resist an idea that hasn't been written. Haven't yet decided whether I'm actually going to post this there, though.)
Rachel is an emotional person, and, yes, she will concede that sometimes she needs to pour some of that emotion into the nearest pair of ears. Moments of high stress, such as – to pick an example entirely at random, completely hypothetically – the morning after drunkenly kissing a very, very unavailable boy and maybe enjoying it very slightly more than she probably should have. Maybe. And possibly not being entirely opposed to the idea of doing it again. This is all still hypothetical, of course.
The problem is that, sometimes, the nearest pair of ears is attached to someone who is unlikely to offer much support.
Santana rolls her eyes. “He’s gay.”
“I’m aware of that, thank you, Santana.”
“He didn’t stare at my boobs once all evening,” Santana says. “He is as gay as a basket of rainbow kittens. I’m surprised he didn’t break out in gay hives when you touched him.”
Rachel stares miserably at herself in the mirror. Santana is right, no matter how hard she might wish otherwise. And the best thing to do here would probably be to try not to think about it, but if a blockbuster film of her life is ever released this would be a perfect place to insert a flashback, and she doesn’t want the dramatic morning-after flashback scene to be inaccurate.
She closes her eyes and tilts her head back (that’s probably what the actress playing her is going to do here; she knows how these things work) and allows herself to picture Blaine the night before: Blaine barely managing to keep singing through his giggles, Blaine’s drunken grin at her from across the spin-the-bottle circle, Blaine’s fingers in her hair...
But he didn’t break out in hives, did he?
“Are you done brushing your teeth?” Santana asks. “Because some of us actually need to use the bathroom.”
Not that a lack of hives proves anything on its own. The chances of Blaine actually being allergic to girls were always going to be extremely small. But he didn’t seem to hate it. And that doesn’t necessarily mean he not-hated it as much as Rachel didn’t hate it, but it’s something. Maybe.
“Do you know what ‘need to use the bathroom’ means? There are a lot of people regaining consciousness out there, and I’m guessing you don’t want them all to pee on your carpet.”
But then there’s Kurt.
Oh, no. Kurt. She hadn’t even thought about him. Finn, and all those solos, and now this. She’s lucky she woke up at all this morning, and not just because she drank enough last night to make her skull feel like Mr Schuester’s moved rehearsals there.
The loose floorboard outside the bathroom creaks and she whirls around, opening her eyes, convinced that her accidental romantic rival is stalking towards her with a fixed smile and a sharpened microphone stand, but it’s just Santana giving up and leaving.
Okay. Rachel’s still alive. Now she just has to figure out how to stay that way.
The thing is, Kurt is her friend now, or was until probably about twelve hours ago. He’s her friend, and he’s madly in love with Blaine (of course he is; who wouldn’t be? asks an unhelpful voice in her mind), and... well, she liked having friends for once. It was nice. Mercedes is her friend as well, but Rachel isn’t naïve enough to think there’s any doubt about which way Mercedes will go if it comes down to a choice between Kurt’s friendship and hers.
And that’s not even getting started on the lead-singer-of-a-rival-glee-club thing. She’s learned her lesson about that. Or she should have.
Okay. So dating Blaine isn’t an option on about fifty different levels. Rachel can deal with that.
She splashes water onto her face and starts to brush her hair, but the tug of the brush makes her think of Blaine’s hands again, so she has to stop.
She can deal with that. Probably.
Fandom: Glee
Rating: PG
Pairing (blacked out due to spoilers from the 2.14 promo; highlight to read): one-sided Rachel/Blaine
Wordcount: 600
Warnings: SPOILERS FROM THE PROMO FOR EPISODE 2.14, i.e. the episode airing next Tuesday (22nd Feb). If you've already seen the promo, you'll be fine. Just a quick speculative ficlet.
Notes: I'm trying to get back into writing again, after a dry spell of a couple of months, and apparently this has resulted in my writing a short piece for a pairing that contradicts my OTP from an episode that hasn't aired yet. That's, erm, new. (I'm tempted to blame this on the fact that there's a community for this pairing with no fanfiction in it. I can never resist an idea that hasn't been written. Haven't yet decided whether I'm actually going to post this there, though.)
Rachel is an emotional person, and, yes, she will concede that sometimes she needs to pour some of that emotion into the nearest pair of ears. Moments of high stress, such as – to pick an example entirely at random, completely hypothetically – the morning after drunkenly kissing a very, very unavailable boy and maybe enjoying it very slightly more than she probably should have. Maybe. And possibly not being entirely opposed to the idea of doing it again. This is all still hypothetical, of course.
The problem is that, sometimes, the nearest pair of ears is attached to someone who is unlikely to offer much support.
Santana rolls her eyes. “He’s gay.”
“I’m aware of that, thank you, Santana.”
“He didn’t stare at my boobs once all evening,” Santana says. “He is as gay as a basket of rainbow kittens. I’m surprised he didn’t break out in gay hives when you touched him.”
Rachel stares miserably at herself in the mirror. Santana is right, no matter how hard she might wish otherwise. And the best thing to do here would probably be to try not to think about it, but if a blockbuster film of her life is ever released this would be a perfect place to insert a flashback, and she doesn’t want the dramatic morning-after flashback scene to be inaccurate.
She closes her eyes and tilts her head back (that’s probably what the actress playing her is going to do here; she knows how these things work) and allows herself to picture Blaine the night before: Blaine barely managing to keep singing through his giggles, Blaine’s drunken grin at her from across the spin-the-bottle circle, Blaine’s fingers in her hair...
But he didn’t break out in hives, did he?
“Are you done brushing your teeth?” Santana asks. “Because some of us actually need to use the bathroom.”
Not that a lack of hives proves anything on its own. The chances of Blaine actually being allergic to girls were always going to be extremely small. But he didn’t seem to hate it. And that doesn’t necessarily mean he not-hated it as much as Rachel didn’t hate it, but it’s something. Maybe.
“Do you know what ‘need to use the bathroom’ means? There are a lot of people regaining consciousness out there, and I’m guessing you don’t want them all to pee on your carpet.”
But then there’s Kurt.
Oh, no. Kurt. She hadn’t even thought about him. Finn, and all those solos, and now this. She’s lucky she woke up at all this morning, and not just because she drank enough last night to make her skull feel like Mr Schuester’s moved rehearsals there.
The loose floorboard outside the bathroom creaks and she whirls around, opening her eyes, convinced that her accidental romantic rival is stalking towards her with a fixed smile and a sharpened microphone stand, but it’s just Santana giving up and leaving.
Okay. Rachel’s still alive. Now she just has to figure out how to stay that way.
The thing is, Kurt is her friend now, or was until probably about twelve hours ago. He’s her friend, and he’s madly in love with Blaine (of course he is; who wouldn’t be? asks an unhelpful voice in her mind), and... well, she liked having friends for once. It was nice. Mercedes is her friend as well, but Rachel isn’t naïve enough to think there’s any doubt about which way Mercedes will go if it comes down to a choice between Kurt’s friendship and hers.
And that’s not even getting started on the lead-singer-of-a-rival-glee-club thing. She’s learned her lesson about that. Or she should have.
Okay. So dating Blaine isn’t an option on about fifty different levels. Rachel can deal with that.
She splashes water onto her face and starts to brush her hair, but the tug of the brush makes her think of Blaine’s hands again, so she has to stop.
She can deal with that. Probably.