the past was much more fun

Slipping out of the hotel room at five thirty in the morning, the last person Quinn expects to run into is Rachel. But she does. Literally.

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From this post, and Katie’s reply to it.

Quinn sat on the couch staring at it, as she had been for the past twenty minutes. She was still mulling over the why and how of Rachel owning such a thing. Apparently, if the label was to be trusted, at least twelve such things. Also, she knew she needed to discuss it with Rachel, but wasn’t quite sure how to bring the subject up. So she had going for the passive-aggressive approach of positioning herself on the couch, it on the coffee table, and aiming her best glare towardsit, just in time for Rachel to return home from rehearsal. The dramatic scene would provoke a question from Rachel which would open the discussion, then Quinn would be free to launch into a tirade (she had several planned, and was leaning heavily towards one she liked to call ‘Is my butt not enough for you?’)

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between the sunset and certified darkness

Maybe it was because she was feeling a little fuzzy from the two and a half glasses of wine she’d drank. Maybe it was because Rachel had been even more cuddly than usual while they watched Brave. Maybe it was because of the way Rachel’s face had lit up when she’d appeared unannounced at her door with a complete (vegan) pre-Thanksgiving dinner the night before she was scheduled to fly home the holiday.

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fabromance:

bashinginminds:

That smile she gives you, the one you’ve never seen her direct at anyone else, gives you hope.  It’s now or never.  You can do it.  Just ask her.  Say the words.

“When you were singing that song,” you begin.

You take a breath, trying to prepare yourself.  You can’t stop now.  “You were singing to Finn, and only Finn, right?”  You get your answer before you even finish the question.  That little almost nod just confirms it. 

It’s the look on her face that tells you everything.  At first it’s a familiar one.  The one that says ‘I know you love me Quinn, but I just don’t feel the same way’.  It’s like a punch in the gut, but you’re used to it.  It doesn’t feel nearly as bad as the one that follows. 

It’s the sad, regretful expression she gets when feels like she’s hurt someone she loves.  And she does love you, even if it’s not in the same way you love her.   

I know what you did last night

Late fill for Faberry Week Day 3: Drunk.

~2800 words

When Rachel woke up, her first thought was ‘Oh god, why?’.  That was followed quickly by ‘Why why why?’ and ‘Am I dead?’  After a few seconds of thought on the matter she came to the conclusion that she was in fact alive.  She also got the vague feeling that tequila could go die in a fire, but she wasn’t sure why.

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Alternate ending to my Zombie Apocalypse fic.

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For Faberry Week, Day Two: Zombie Apocalypse

Warning: Contains graphic violence, death

(An alternate ending)

Rachel counted off her steps as she paced around the dingy front room of their latest hideout.  One, two three, four, five steps past the coffee table.  Another four took her past the chair where Quinn sat reassembling her rifle and into the hallway.  She spun on her heel, briefly glancing out the gap in the boarded up front door before counting off another nine long strides back to the window at the far end of the room.  She stopped at the window to survey the yard through a crack in the boards.

“Rach, just sit down.  They’re only ten minutes late.  You know how Santana likes to be careful,” Quinn said.

Rachel stepped back from the window.  She followed her path through the room, this time stopping to drop her shotgun on the coffee table.  She perched herself on its edge across from Quinn, her legs bouncing nervously.

“I just have a bad feeling like something’s going to happen.  I am –”

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Two Weeks

Quinn surprises herself when they get to the train station.  She expected Rachel to be the one clinging onto her hand and crying her eyes while she surprise hugged her for the tenth time since exiting the taxi.  That’s what she’s been doing for most of the week.  But Rachel, surprisingly, holds herself together.

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Prom Quinn

A short Faberry prom fic.  I started this a couple weeks ago and meant to post it on the weekend but I forgot.

~

Senior prom had just kicked off when Quinn saw Rachel rushing off to the girls’ bathroom.  She made her way across the crowded dance floor as quickly as she could while in her wheelchair.

When Quinn entered the bathroom, Rachel glanced at Quinn then quickly turned back to the mirror.  She was reapplying her makeup, but Quinn could still see evidence of tears on her face.

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Dream is Collapsing

When she first wakes, nothing makes sense.  It’s not that she can’t remember things, she can.  She can remember names and see faces, but she can’t match them together.  Everything is fuzzy and out of place. 

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