hey! this idea just came to me randomly, also some inspiration from 2.19 when jacob ben isreal asked if santana an karofsky were "soul mates" (gag) and i thought, what if santana could tell everybodys soul mates or something? its complicated...lol. well its a little AU. also, faberry, brittana, and maybe some OCs i may or may not include later on. also, im writing in the dinidng room, and i have a view of the kitchen, and i saw palmolive soap, so thats why the fortune telling ladys name is and she may be a sole chracter later on.
disclaimer: i dont own glee. but i do own this kind of weird idea for a story.
"Come, discover your soul mate!" said a voice, coming from one of the booths in the corner, titled "Madame Palmolive's Fortune Telling."
"Should we go, Santi?" asked Brittany, shifting her pinkie around where it was intertwined with Santana's.
"Eh. Why the hell not?" Santana said. Of course they would have one of these stupid fake fortune telling booths. It was an elementary school carnival after all.
"Just make sure your little sister knows we left the booth for a minute."Santana said, but her words were lost as Brittany scurried into the dimly lit booth.
"Hello there!" a lady said. She had on a deep purple scarf shawl looking thing, which wrapped around her so her face wasn't visible. It swirled around her like an icy silk blizzard.
"I am Madame Palmolive." she said, ushering them to a small table stooped low to the ground. There was a fragile crystal ball placed in the center, wrapped safely around a blanket.
"This is Santi! And I'm Brittany." smiled Brittany as an annoyed groan emitted from Santana.
"Hey." said Santana, smacking her Trident spearmint gum between her jaw so she felt like that girl in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
"Well, you have come because you want me to tell you your soul mates, correct?" asked Madame Palmolive.
"Yeah. Well, Brittany does." Santana looked at Brittany, drowning in her curiously adorable baby blue eyes.
Your my soulmate, Britt britt. thought Santana, thinking about how insanely beautiful Brittany was.
"Well, here, let me look into this ba-" she was cut off by the sound of a phone trilling. It was My Humps by the Black Eyed Peas.
"Not me." shrugged Santana.
"What's a lovely lady lump?" asked Brittany.
"Excuse me. Go ahead, tell your fortune, I don't care!"Madame Palmolive grabbed her phone and rushed outside into the night, "Hello?" she called.
"Wow. That was a waste of two tickets." Santana muttered, standing up to leave. She was done with this.
"No, Santana, wait! Look into the ball!" Brittany grabbed Santana's wrist, sending fireworks rocketing into the night.
"Fine." she sat back down.
"Now see your soul mate!" said Brittany excitedly.
"Whatever you say, B."
Santana gazed into the ball. At first it was a thick wall of dense fog, just swirling around and around in a medley of forms, purple fog, blue fog, black. Then she leaned in a little closer, and what she saw almost knocked her off the small stool.
Brittany.
Eight letters, etched into the fog, written in precise, neat cursive, exactly like the handwriting of someone a little too organized. Then her face popped up in the crystal ball, just a floating head, bobbing along right next to Santana's own, until Santana was freaking out a lot more than she was two minutes ago.
"Do you see that?" screamed Santana, waving her arms frantically and cowering behind Brittany, pointing at the ball, suddenly frightened on the brink of insanity.
"What, Santana? It's a crystal ball?" Brittany peered closer, "I don't see anything there."
"No! You don't get it! It's your name, B! See it! And you and me together. Well, technically just our heads, but who freaking cares! Can't you see that!"
"Santana, maybe we should go." Brittany didn't know what the deal was, but if Santana was freaking out it was a dire situation and Brittany sure didn't want any harm coming to her best friend forever and ever.
"Hell yes!" and Santana was up and out of the booth and into the Pierce's minivan that they came in, shivering and shaking and scared in a matter of thirty seconds.
Little did she know her life just got a whole lot weirder.
School was not fun. She kept seeing the image of that crystal ball appearing in her head, over and over and over ahead. She couldn't get that image of her and Brittany out of her mind, two floating heads, two freaking smiling heads.
"Santana, preste atención por favor! Sé que se habla español, pero que does'nt significa que usted puede aflojar." Barked Mr. Schuester, "Y deja de tocar con su lápiz en contra de su portátil!"
"Sorry for 'tapping my pencil'" snapped Santana rudely, a pair of air quotes formed around 'tapping my pencil' as if to make a point about how lame it was.
"Santana, please. Pay attention." Mr. Schuester said, speaking in English this time. He rarely switched languages when he was teaching Spanish.
"Yes, Mr. Schue." Santana muttered, too low for anyone to here. She was preoccupied. There, on top of Mr. Schuester's head, was the word Emma. Emma? And it was just floating their, neat, uncluttered handwriting, right above Mr. Schuester's head. Wait. Wait. Wait, wait wait.
That was the same cursive that was in the crystal ball.
So…this Emma woman was Mr. Schuester's soul mate?
Yep. Maybe.
And then everything faded to a thick wall of black.
"Santana? Santana?" asked a sweetly innocent voice, whispering in her ear, breathing lightly.
"Whuh?" Santana's eyes flitted open like she was an awakening butterfly.
"You passed out. So Puck carried you to the nurses office and I was super deeduper worried. But Mr. Schue said you were still breathing." Brittany nestled close to Santana, ignoring the eyes of about five of their fellow glee club members, all watching on with widened worried eyes.
"Are you fine, Santana? Because, I was trained in CPR, and I took a course, so in case you stopped breathing, but I kind of forgot how to do it, and—" Rachel blabbed.
"Berry. I'm okay." Santana tried to sit up, but she winced a little as a throbbing pain erupted atop her head.
"You hit your head hard." Brittany stated, caressing a huge lump that took residency on Santana's head, much to her painful distaste.
"Shit. That hurts like hell!" Santana gasped.
"It's okay, Santi. I'll kiss your boo-boo." Brittany reached up and kissed the painful lump.
And, somehow, that made her feel better.
"Holy shit!" she screamed, for the first time really seeing everyone crowded around her. All of those weird cursive bubbles bobbing around above their heads.
"What is it, Santana? Are you having trouble breathing, are you feeling okay?" Rachel asked, gesticulating frantically.
"Uh, no! But, but, bu—your head!On your head!" she wailed, seeing the words Quinn floating above her in that same cursive. Wait, Rachel was a lesbian? Rachel Berry?
"Ha, Berry! Santana has a concussion, and she still makes fun of you." Laughed Quinn, and, much to Santana's anticipated half-surprise, the words Rachel danced above her head. Rachel. And Quinn. Life these days.
Puck had a random girl, some lady named Shannon.
Mike had, quite obviously, Tina. And vice-versa.
Artie had...Brittany?
Suddenly, she felt more weirded out then before. If that was even freaking possible.
Brittany was her soul mate, right? Not Artie's?
Hopefully.
how was it? please, R&R. REVIEW. i like reviews :D. and tell me if i should continue please! and those of you following some of my other stories, an old hope will be continued shortly. happy mother's day!
~CJ out