shoot the moon

"Queerleaders" (3/?) - Glee - Quinn/Rachel, Brittany/Santana - (PG)

Thu, 24 Dec 2009 03:42:49 GMT

Title: Queerleaders (3/?)
Pairing: eventual Quinn/Rachel, established Brittany/Santana
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2351
Summary: Quinn enlists Rachel Berry's help in trying to make the Cheerios less homophobic.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters but I do own this plot.
Author's Notes: Not any legitimate spoilers (except maybe 1.04 Preggers but only kind of) since the fic is kind of AU. Quinn is not pregnant and is still on the Cheerios because I figured she should still have a little power over the girls to make the story work properly.

part one
part two
_______

Coach Sylvester excuses Quinn, Brittany, and Santana from Cheerios practice the day of the panel. Santana had almost cackled when she’d told Quinn over the phone the night before and Quinn had momentarily been a little worried for the rest of the squad. Well, worried until she had a flashback of the locker room and then a devious little smile had spread across her face. It’s not like it’s capital punishment or anything, just a little classical conditioning, well negative conditioning but the girls need to learn from their mistakes and Quinn’s always thought Coach Sylvester was the best at helping people in that kind of situation.

She passes a couple of Cheerios in the hall and they openly sneer at her but she glares right back, shooting daggers straight through them. Even though she doesn’t have the added bonus of her uniform today as a reminder of her power, the girls scurry off with their tails between their legs. Quinn waltzes into first period English with a smile.

Taking her normal seat in the very middle of the classroom she stares blankly at the board for all of two seconds when she sees Rachel Berry enter the room. The damn butterflies decide, exactly at that moment, that today is an excellent day for a party and Quinn grumbles in disagreement. The butterflies take no notice.

Quinn continually forgets that she has two classes with Rachel, and that Rachel usually sits near her in some capacity, and always, always smells of fresh vanilla in the mornings. She blames the butterflies for that last observation.

Rachel takes a seat to her left and looks over to Quinn with a warm smile. “I’ve reserved the Glee practice room for later tonight. I’ve told my fathers and the rest of the panel to be here near 6:30, you can come then too if you like. The panel itself doesn’t start until 7 but my fathers said they wanted to meet you.”

She tries so hard to focus on what Rachel is saying but it’s the tone she’s using that throws Quinn off completely. Rachel’s speaking softly to her, not a whisper but it’s low and almost a little breathy if Quinn listens close enough. Quinn catches herself staring at Rachel’s lower lip and she blushes lightly as she snaps herself free in time to hear the end of Rachel’s sentence. She repeats it slowly, “Your fathers want to meet me?”

“Of course they do. They’re very proud of you for wanting to do this for your friends.” Rachel’s smile gets a little wider and she turns her attention to the front of the room as the teacher begins with class. Quinn looks down at her desk and takes her bottom lip between her teeth, she feels a soft vibration at her thigh and reaches inside her pocket to fetch her phone. After putting it on silent she retrieves the new text, from Rachel.

I am too. :)

And then the butterflies start flat out moshing.

_______

It’s not like Quinn’s gay, well okay maybe a little, but that’s nothing she’d ever admit to out loud. If you catch her staring, Quinn’s explanation is as simple as this: she’s a teenage girl with a developing body; her hormones are going crazy, so she’s allowed to look at whatever she likes. And yes, she may be a Christian but it’s not like admiring someone from afar is anything close to accepting a homosexual lifestyle. And really, aren’t there all these churches who are accepting homosexuals as a welcome part of their congregation now? Homosexuals are allowed to believe in God, it’s not like it’s forbidden or anything.

So Quinn sits impatiently on her bed, fiddling with a stray thread on the pocket of her dress, and tries not to think of Rachel Berry’s lips or the way her legs look in her thigh-high skirts or how bright her eyes are when she sees Quinn or how her chest heaves after she’s just finished singing a solo at Glee. The last thought she isn’t supposed to be thinking makes her blush, the butterflies applaud.

Cursing herself inwardly, Quinn sits up and looks at her clock: 6:18pm. It’s almost as if the numbers are taunting her, they seem brighter, they burn into her eyes and she falls back onto her bed with a grumble.

Quinn knows it only takes 5 minutes to get to McKinley and she’s been ready to go since 5:45, dinner having been eaten, a shower taken, hair dried, curled slightly and makeup applied. Quinn doesn’t understand why she’s so nervous or why it took 3 full outfit changes to find the right dress. She kind of feels like she did just before the first date she went on with Finn, but this certainly wasn’t a date she was waiting for. She was going to a panel on homosexuality, created just for her best friends. She was going to support them and make sure the Cheerios understood that what they did was wrong. She was most certainly not going because Rachel Berry was going to be there, in a short plaid skirt.

The next 3 minutes are spent staring at the ceiling, trying, once again, not to picture any part of Rachel Berry. Quinn lifts herself off her bed slowly, one eye peering at the clock, daring it to change and once it does she all but leaps off of her bed. She slips her shoes on quickly, glances at her reflection in the mirror and then heads out to her car, a hollow goodbye echoed into the living room for her parents.

In the car on the way to McKinley, Quinn finds herself singing Colbie Caillat’s “Fallin’ For You” at the top of her lungs. She doesn’t consciously realize that she’s singing the lyrics whilst picturing Rachel’s smile from English that morning, the butterflies notice for her.

She pulls up to the parking lot and shuts off the engine, the radio dies out slowly. Quinn looks at her hair in the mirror, runs a finger under her bottom lip to wipe away a little excess lip gloss then heads into the school with her head held high. Once inside she heads down to the main hall towards the Glee practice room. Before she can even see the door she hears boisterous laughter emanate into the hall, doesn’t mean to notice Rachel’s laugh but picks it out easily. She shuffles forward along the hall and stands in the doorway for just a second before stepping inside.

“We have a visitor,” a tall African-American man says as he spots Quinn standing just inside the door.

Rachel turns around in wave of brown hair, all plaid skirt and knee socks. She bounds up to Quinn with a smile and takes the girl’s hand, leading her into the room a little farther. “Daddy this is Quinn Fabray. Quinn this is my father, Michael.”

Michael reaches out and clasps Quinn’s free hand with both of his own large ones and smiles, “It’s very nice to meet you Quinn. We’ve heard a lot about you.”

Rachel smiles sweetly and squeezes Quinn’s hand slightly before she lets go, “And this is my other father, Eli.” A shorter, balding man with glasses offers his hand and Quinn takes it once Michael lets go. He smiles at her and adjusts his glasses slightly, “Yes, very nice to meet you Quinn. We’re very proud of you you know. Not many kids your age would stand up for your friends the way you did.”

“I didn’t…,” Quinn starts because she hadn’t actually told Rachel all that happened. But as soon as she feels an arm slide around her waist she smells that familiar bubblegum scent and smiles as Brittany leans her head against Quinn’s shoulder. “I told them,” is all Brittany offers as she squeezes Quinn’s side lightly.

“Well actually I did most of the telling,” Santana says as she sidles up next to Brittany and grabs the blonde’s hand.

“I helped though,” Brittany says as she snaps her head up to glare at Santana for all of a second before she starts giggling.

“Of course,” Santana says with a smile.

“Debbie!” Michael shouts unexpectedly, his hands up in the air and a wide smile on his face as he looks towards the door once again.

“Oh Michael, always with the warm welcome. Come over here and help me with these would you?” A rosy-cheeked brunette trundles through the door carrying a couple of pink boxes and Quinn just kind of stares as Coach Sylvester follows the woman in carrying a couple of brown bags herself.

“Sue, sweetheart, just put those on the table alright, I’ll get everything set up.” Debbie calls to Sue as Michael helps her unload her parcels onto the table against the wall.

“Can do, Deb,” Sue says as she places the bags on the table and brushes off the front of her button down slightly. And still all Quinn can do is stare. She’s never seen Coach Sylvester in anything but a track suit, so that’s one thing, but when she goes over and presses a kiss to Debbie’s forehead Quinn has to use all the strength she can muster to keep her jaw from dropping to the floor.

Santana reaches around Brittany and pats Quinn on the arm playfully, “Stop staring, you perv.”

Quinn whips her head towards Santana with wide eyes, “You knew?”

“Of course I did, especially after this one,” Santana elbows Brittany lightly, “decided she liked it best right after Cheerios practice.”

“In the showers,” Brittany says flatly.

“She caught you?” Quinn breathes, mortified enough for the both of them.

“Jesus no,” Santana spits, “B’s just really good at kissing me when people are around.”

“Sorry,” Brittany says, ducking her head down, “but you’re just really pretty.”

“I know,” Santana smirks and kisses Brittany on the cheek, “and so are you.” Brittany perks right back up and her eyes go saucer-like as she looks over to the table and finds more than a couple dozen cupcakes being set out on the table by Debbie while Michael unpacks all the drinks.

“Cupcakes!” The blonde all but shouts as she squirms out from between Santana and Quinn to join Debbie.

Debbie just laughs and pats Brittany on the shoulder, “As many as you want darlin’, I’m sure Sue will give you a break from that dreadful diet she’s put you on.” Debbie smiles at Sue who shakes her head and smirks. “Go ahead B, Debbie’s cupcakes are heaven.”

Brittany’s smile gets even wider as she reaches for a rainbow-topped cupcake. She brings the cupcake to eye level and stares it down, eyes squinting as she examines every inch of it. Santana starts laughing and Quinn looks to her, confused. “Brittany’s really serious about her sweets,” is all Santana says and Quinn shakes her head with a smile.

“Ms. Sylvester I’m really glad you decided to participate in the panel,” Rachel says, moving forward to approach the woman, brushing against Quinn’s shoulder as she does so. Quinn can’t believe she’d nearly forgotten Rachel was in the room, inwardly scolds herself as she tries not to check out Rachel’s ass as the singer saunters a little forward to talk with Coach Sylvester.

“It’s my pleasure Rachel. I’m still in disbelief as to what Q told me about the girls and it is part of my job as their coach to set them straight, so here I am.” Sue smiles as Debbie comes up alongside her and grabs her hand, squeezing it tightly. Quinn wishes Rachel were still standing next to her.

“I’m glad you made it too Debbie,” Rachel says with a brilliant smile. “And thank you so much for the cupcakes, I’ve been craving them since we finished up the last of them at my birthday. I think a trip to the bakery might be in order soon.”

“Rachel your birthday was in August,” Michael starts in as he comes up behind Eli and wraps his arms around the smaller man’s torso.

“Yes, and I’ve been craving them ever since. My sweet tooth is all your doing,” Rachel says with a cheeky grin as she turns to face her fathers, and consequently, Quinn. The brunette glances briefly at Quinn and then to the empty space next to her and then squeezes her way between her fathers and Quinn.

Quinn tries not to sigh as the back of their hands rub gently against each other and Rachel starts to playfully fiddle with Quinn’s fingers.

“Where’s Kurt?” Brittany asks, her cupcake seems to have magically disappeared, well except for the fact that she’s got icing all along her bottom lip. Santana swoops in and kisses Brittany soundly, removing the icing and subsequently any other thought on Brittany’s mind, if there even were any.

“Kurt was having a bonding night with his father so he couldn’t make it,” Eli speaks up as he looks to the door and sees a couple Cheerios walk solemnly into the room, avoiding any eye contact.

Brittany clutches onto Santana’s hand and Quinn can see Santana physically steel herself and can feel her own steely gaze setting into place, her eyebrows knit as she follows the girls across the room. Rachel turns to Quinn with somewhat of a frown and grasps the blonde’s hand lightly in what Quinn would assume to be a steadying gesture but just proves to wake up the butterflies.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Coach Sylvester starts as she lifts Debbie’s hand to her lips to kiss it gently. She shoots a glare at a hushed comment from one the Cheerios and the girl practically falls out of her seat. Quinn laughs openly.

Santana sits at the end of the row with Brittany at her right. Quinn sits next to Brittany with Rachel at her right and the four of them watch as Michael, Eli, Sue, and Debbie take their seats at a couple of tables set at the front of the room. Quinn hopes the next hour will prove beneficial.

"Queerleaders" (2/?) - Glee - Quinn/Rachel, Brittany/Santana - (PG)

Wed, 23 Dec 2009 05:13:58 GMT

Title: Queerleaders (2/?)
Pairing: eventual Quinn/Rachel, established Brittany/Santana
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1588
Summary: Quinn enlists Rachel Berry's help in trying to make the Cheerios less homophobic.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters but I do own this plot.
Author's Notes: Not any legitimate spoilers (except maybe 1.04 Preggers but only kind of) since the fic is kind of AU. Quinn is not pregnant and is still on the Cheerios because I figured she should still have a little power over the girls to make the story work properly.

part one

_______

Rachel doesn’t even wait until the end of Glee practice to get started on her plan. The plan it took her all of three minutes to concoct once she and Quinn left the restroom to get to their respective classes.

Quinn sits staring as Mr. Schue tries to help Finn and Puck get down a couple more dance moves when she feels a wisp of air tickle her ear. Turning swiftly she finds Rachel Berry just about 3 inches from her face about to whisper something in her ear. Quinn was never all that good with measurement estimations but the proximity of their faces is close enough to make the butterflies almost fly out of her throat.

Rachel doesn’t bother to move away once she has Quinn’s attention. “We’re going to have a panel.”

Processing the ‘we’ is as far as Quinn’s mind gets once she looks down at Rachel’s lips. They’re recently glossed, but only slightly, and Quinn can smell strawberries. She blinks rapidly, lifts her gaze up to make eye contact with Rachel again and sighs deeply, to her own detriment.

“Hmm?” Quinn hums, thankful Rachel doesn’t scowl at her nor move away but simply repeats, “A panel. I’ll have my fathers come in and a few other guests. Maybe we could get Kurt or Coach Sylvester. Actually I’m quite surprised the Cheerios are so homophobic since it’s clear to almost everyone in the school that Sue Sylvester is the definition of a lesbian. I’ve met her partner, she’s actually quite nice. Her name’s Debbie, she owns a bakery on 4th street, they make delicious cupcakes.”

“What?” Is all Quinn can manage.

“Cupcakes. My fathers get them for me for my birthday. I prefer cupcakes to cake, the portion control is just perfect and Debbie always decorates them so beautifully.”

“No, not the cupcakes,” Quinn starts in again then pauses while her mind tries to form a coherent question, “Coach Sylvester is a lesbian?”

“Of course she is silly,” Rachel playfully taps her shoulder. “I could have sworn everyone knew, she’s usually very open about it. Very protective of Debbie though.” And then Rachel’s eyebrows scrunch in a very pensive manner and she purses her lips just slightly but then the whole façade drops and she’s back to her normal Rachel Berry state, all smiles and wide eyes (and still ridiculously close to Quinn’s face but it’s not like Quinn’s going to complain).

Quinn’s mind is reeling but Rachel’s smile kind of smoothes everything over and the questions will just have to sit back for a while as Quinn finally begins to process Rachel’s plan. “So what happens during a panel?”

Rachel does pull back then and moves around front to sit in the chair next to Quinn, their knees dangerously close to touching. “Well basically, as my fathers have told me, members of the queer community will talk about how they came into their homosexuality, experiences, whether good or bad, that they’ve had within the Lima community. They might even share their coming out stories if they’re comfortable enough and then will take questions from the audience. It’s more about education, teaching people that gays and lesbians are just as normal as they are, live in similar manners, like to do similar things but just have an attraction to a person of the same sex.”

“Oh,” Quinn says quietly, she had hoped Rachel’s plan would involve her a little more, Brittany and Santana were her best friends after all, but it seems the girl has all bases covered. Quinn offers her help anyway, “Would you need any help organizing it?”

“Well,” Rachel starts and worries her bottom lip gently as she thinks quietly for a couple seconds. “I think if you could talk to Coach Sylvester about having it be a mandatory meeting for the Cheerios I can get everything else set up. And of course make sure Brittany and Santana are there, I want to make sure they get apologies.” The singer sets her hand on top of Quinn’s and smiles, “don’t worry, I can handle it. We’ll make sure those girls are sorry for what they’ve said.”

Quinn looks down at their hands and can feel a blush creeping over her face as she looks up to try and meet Rachel’s gaze but instead finds the girl locked onto something on the other side of the room. Quinn turns and finds Brittany and Santana sitting side by side in a of couple chairs, Brittany’s head resting on Santana’s shoulder, their hands loosely joined in Santana’s lap. Quinn looks down at her and Rachel’s hands again and can feel the blush getting a little darker as Rachel absentmindedly runs her thumb along the top of Quinn’s hand.

A deep buzzing noise breaks Rachel from her reverie and her hand flies up off of Quinn’s as she reaches into her pocket to produce her cell phone. She mouths a sorry to Quinn and then stands up to take the call greeting the caller with an excited, “Daddy I was just talking about you. No of course all good, you know I love you.”

Quinn watches Rachel leave the room and then sighs deeply, slouching just a bit in her chair. Her newly acquired task would definitely be something of a challenge. If Coach Sylvester hadn’t thought it prudent to tell the squad that she was a lesbian and Quinn had to find out from Rachel Berry of all people it would be hard to broach the subject in general, not to mention talk to her about Brittany and Santana’s relationship or the incident in the locker room.

Steeling herself, Quinn looks once more at Brittany and Santana then stands and heads straight out the door towards Coach Sylvester’s office.

_______

The walk from the Glee practice room to Coach Sylvester’s office is shorter than Quinn remembers it and by the time she reaches the door she hasn’t really decided on how it is she’s going to start up this conversation she’s meant to have.

“Q get in here already, lollygaggers are a waste of my time, if you want to talk then sit your little butt down and get on with it.” Coach Sylvester’s voice shakes Quinn free from her stupor and she turns the handle and steps inside the office, closing the door shut behind her.

“Now Q, what can I do for you?” Coach Sylvester asks as she takes off her glasses, letting them hang from her hand as she leans forward over her desk.

Quinn seats herself promptly in a chair, looks down at her skirt, smoothes it out, settles her hands into her lap and looks up at Coach Sylvester. It’s really unnerving how scary a person can be by just looking at you, and Coach Sylvester has always had this piercing gaze. Her blue eyes are very unsettling and Quinn can feel her stomach clenching under the bit of stress that’s appeared by just sitting in front of Coach Sylvester. She swallows once, finds her mouth alarmingly dry but continues nonetheless. “There was an incident in the locker room today.”

“Elaborate.”

“Well,” Quinn starts, wringing her hands slightly while trying to come up with the right way to phrase the situation. She blanks entirely and decides, just like with Rachel, straight-forward is the only way to go. “Brittany and Santana have been dating for just over a month now and Brittany slipped up and kissed Santana in front of the squad.” She quiets then and waits to see if Coach Sylvester will say anything, she only nods curtly for Quinn to continue.

“The girls practically murdered them Coach Sylvester. Brittany was crying and Santana was in such disbelief she was quiet the whole time. I did the best I could to defend them but I want you to talk to the squad, or rather I want the Cheerios to go to the panel that Rachel Berry is setting up for tomorrow. Rachel said she’s going to try and get her fathers to come and maybe Kurt Hummel and I think she was going to ask you too.” Quinn stops herself short. She had hoped she wouldn’t have to talk about Coach Sylvester’s sexuality but she was so caught up in pleading her case that it just slipped out.

Coach Sylvester pinches the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger and closes her eyes, her head nodding gently up and down. “Q, I knew you were my favorite for a reason.” Coach Sylvester looks up with a smile and continues, “I’ll be there and so will the Cheerios, every last one of those ponytail-sporting little demons. I’m proud of you Q.”

The smile that stretches across Quinn’s mouth almost makes her lips hurt it’s so wide. She jumps up from her seat with as much grace as she can manage. “Thank you so much Coach Sylvester. Brittany and Santana will be so grateful.”

Without another word Coach Sylvester shoos her out the door and Quinn smiles her way back to the Glee practice room. It’s empty save for Mr. Schue whom she beams her smile at briefly while she gathers her things. She shoots out the door towards the parking lot and once inside her car, she texts Rachel, a newly acquired number she’s actually yet to use.

Game on.

Within seconds Rachel responds with a simple. See you tomorrow.

Quinn wants to squash the stupid butterflies but finds herself sighing for about the billionth time that day instead.

part three

"Queerleaders" (1/?) - Glee - Quinn/Rachel, Brittany/Santana - (PG)

Wed, 23 Dec 2009 03:28:56 GMT

I had a snippet of a dream where Quinn Fabray promised me she'd make the Cheerios less homophobic. Thus, this fic was born. I was hoping to finish this all in one day but it's proving troublesome, or at least my attention span is. Should have it all finished before Christmas though. :D

Title: Queerleaders (1/?)
Pairing: eventual Quinn/Rachel, established Brittany/Santana
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1630
Summary: Quinn enlists Rachel Berry's help in trying to make the Cheerios less homophobic.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters but I do own this plot.
Author's Notes: Not any legitimate spoilers (except maybe 1.04 Preggers but only kind of) since the fic is kind of AU. Quinn is not pregnant and is still on the Cheerios because I figured she should still have a little power over the girls to make the story work properly.

_______

“It’s no big deal!” Quinn shouts after the crowd of skirts pooling out of the locker room. Their cruel words linger in the air and a few of them throw backward glares at the three remaining Cheerios. She can only describe the look on their faces as disgust. Quinn reaches out and grabs at Santana’s arm just in time to lock her hand around the Latina’s wrist and keep her from leaping out and mauling any stray Cheerios. Not that Quinn would really mind, she’s actually surprised Santana hadn’t started after the girls sooner.

Brittany quietly whimpers at Santana’s side, gripping the Latina’s hand a little tighter, and the two turn to see her on the verge of tears. Her bright blue eyes are brimming with fresh liquid and her bottom lip is trembling so fiercely that Quinn can’t believe her cheeks are still dry. Santana immediately pulls away from Quinn to stand in front of Brittany. She brings her free hand to curve around the left side of Brittany’s cheek, the pad of her thumb brushing away the tears that have finally escaped. They lean their foreheads together and then Santana tips up the blonde’s chin and kisses Brittany so delicately that their lips could have only been connected for a tenth of a second but the contact is enough to bring the light back into Brittany’s eyes.

It takes a second for Quinn to register that she’s staring but she’s never seen Santana like this, so, well loving is the only word she can come up with. A sigh escapes Quinn’s lips as she starts to worry her bottom lip gently with her teeth and turn away. Almost immediately she feels the warmth of a body pressed against her back and a pair of arms wrap around her torso. She turns to see Brittany’s chin resting on her shoulder.

“Thanks, Q.” Brittany says and kisses Quinn softly on the cheek.

Quinn holds in another sigh, tries not to think about how warm Brittany is, how soft her lips are or how she smells like bubblegum. She squeaks out a simple, “no problem, B.”

Brittany lets go of Quinn and returns to Santana’s side with a smile. Quinn turns back around and finds that Santana finally seems to have snapped out of her Brittany-induced reverie and turns away from her girlfriend to look at Quinn. “Yea, thanks Q.” She looks over to the door, her eyes darkening a bit, that familiar scowl creeping back onto her face, “I don’t understand why they have to be such cunts about it.” Santana snaps fiercely and Brittany smacks her hand lightly.

“Sorry, bitches,” Santana corrects herself while half rolling her eyes. Quinn smiles and shakes her head.

“Don’t worry,” Quinn starts, her eyes drifting down to the two girl’s hands, their fingers interlaced, then nods her head, “I’ll work on it.” She grabs her bag and heads out the door, a plan slowly working its way into fruition.

_______

It’s when Quinn actually steps out into the hall that she realizes her plan isn’t really much of a plan at all. She’s determined to help Brittany and Santana though, she really should’ve been working on something, should have been prepared for when they actually decided to go public. But then again, today’s locker room incident wasn’t actually an active decision.

For Quinn it had been a relatively normal action, Brittany kissing Santana after the Latina made her laugh, she’d seen it too many times to count, but to a locker room full of girls it screamed lesbian. And a room full of Ohio-bred cheerleaders equipped with full-blown, homegrown homophobia at that, well the ensuing comments really should have been expected. What she hadn’t expected was how long it took Santana to react, how it had been Quinn to stand in front of the two girls once the first hateful word had been thrown. Though Quinn didn’t really find the word ‘dyke’ to be threatening it had been the tone with which it had been cast. The tone, not even laced but just entirely drenched in disgust, had set her off, lit a fire under her. She’d fended off every word, every comment, and every hiss the Cheerios had to spit at her two best friends.

There really was no way to explain any of it when the cheerleaders were so set on lynching the girls right then and there. Quinn had no choice but to put them in their place, had used everything she had within her to make the snarling girls withdraw and leave them in peace. She’d pulled out that side of herself she thought reminded her of Santana: harsh in every aspect, voice always at a roar, and it had worked.

Quinn rubs at her temples as she walks down the hall, the resultant headache from her shouting is making her a little dizzy so she turns into the nearest bathroom. She clutches at the sink, hands on either side and just lets her head hang for a second. She’s so lost in focusing her breathing that she doesn’t hear the door open, nor the shuffle of loafers make its way to the sink at her right. She only stirs when she feels a hand on her shoulder and practically jumps away from the sink before she looks up and settles into a set of deep brown eyes.

A surprising calmness spreads through her system as Rachel asks, “Are you okay Quinn?”

Quinn hears gay and she thinks Rachel Berry, okay well actually she thinks Kurt, then RuPaul, and then Rachel Berry, or rather her oft-mentioned gay dads, but that’s not the point. It’s really a surprise she didn’t think of this before.

The sneer of disgust that Quinn once had at even the thought of the singer has died out completely. Yes, Rachel was still after Finn, yes she had had a hand in Quinn and Finn’s break up (her ‘fat day’ with Puck and the following pregnancy scare were mostly to blame though), but there was just something about Rachel that had grown on Quinn. She’d never really been able to pinpoint what it was, but it wasn’t like they were the best of friends or anything. They were civil, as Quinn liked to tell herself, for the sake of Glee and definitely not because of the butterflies that beat rampant in Quinn’s stomach when she saw the brunette. Certainly not because of the stupid butterflies.

“I’m,” Quinn starts and then stops, leans down to turn on the faucet and splash a little water on her face. Rachel hands her a paper towel and she dabs at the water, trying to dry off her face without smudging her makeup. “I need your help.” Quinn says flatly as she stands upright. There really wasn’t any other way to ask and she was pretty sure Rachel would be more open to a straight-forward approach.

“With what?” Rachel says, finally lifting her hand from Quinn’s shoulder to turn off the running faucet in front of them. Quinn misses the warmth instantly.

“The girls, the squad, they know about Brittany and Santana now,” Quinn trips over her words a little and she bows her head slightly.

The Glee club knew, it was really hard for them not to notice after a while. Especially Kurt, that boy has an eye for gay that would rival the best of queens. It’s not like the girls are truly outcasts or anything, they are still Cheerios, so fitting in with the Glee club wasn’t that high on their list of priorities, but once their secret was no longer a secret (because Kurt caught them making out back stage during a break in practice and then casually mentioned once they returned that their skirts were both on sideways) they were kind of just welcomed a little more. It’s all open minds and genuine smiles at Glee, and sure the boys caused a little trouble at first but it’s only because they’re boys.

Rachel looks expectant, like Quinn’s supposed to iterate something more to her but when she realizes all she’s going to get is that simple sentence, she frowns. Quinn doesn’t know what to say, she’s so physically tired now that she care barely lift her head to make eye contact with Rachel. When she does, however, she can see that knowing glint in Rachel’s eye and offers her a half-smile. “I fought them off best I could but I don’t want to have to do that every day. It’s … I’m just so exhausted right now.” Quinn admits, sighing tiredly and leaning against the sink.

“What do you want me to do?” Rachel says in her best Rachel Berry voice, all determination and strong will. Quinn smiles a little wider. Rachel had finally started that gay-lesb-all thing or whatever with Kurt and Quinn knew that with her two gay dads Rachel would be an infinite source of all things homophobic when it came to small towns.

“I just want you,” she pauses, taking her lower lip between her teeth, biting just slightly as she tries to figure out what it is she wants Rachel to help her with. Rachel looks at her with a mix of confusion and hopefulness, a small smile creeping onto her full lips. Quinn replays the words in her head and feels the butterflies beating hard and blushes, then continues with a rather flustered, “Oh, I mean, I just want you to help me help them understand that it’s alright.”

Rachel’s smile drops slightly and Quinn feels the butterflies quiet (kind of wishes Rachel would smile again so they’d come back), the glitter in her eye shielded over. “I can do that.” She states flatly, steel determination set back into place.

part two

Mini-picspam, Rachel Berry's lips

Sun, 20 Dec 2009 22:53:51 GMT

May or may not have had a dream last night where my main focus was Rachel Berry's lips. Mini-picspam inspiration.

All My Dreams, Playlist

Fri, 18 Dec 2009 04:33:51 GMT

Playlist to make the ladies swoon. Hah, alright not really but it's a pretty lovey, super sweet little collection of songs.

1. Hackensack // Fountains of Wayne
2. Scared // Albert Hammond, Jr.
3. No Cars Go // Arcade Fire
4. Higher // The Cardigans
5. We Never Change // Coldplay
6. Love and Some Verses // Iron & Wine
7. Montreal // Kaki King
8. Throw Me A Rope // KT Tunstall
9. The Nearness of You // Norah Jones
10. Pink Bullets // The Shins
11. No One's Gonna Love You // Band of Horses
12. I Will Possess Your Heart // Death Cab For Cutie
13. Make You Feel My Love // Adele

all my dreams

Wallpapers (Various)

Thu, 10 Dec 2009 05:16:22 GMT

Rachel Berry [1]
Lea Michele [1]
Cory Monteith [1]
Lily Loveless/Kat Prescott [1]
Lady Gaga [1]
Paramore [1]

Most 1440x900.

"Escape" - Original Fiction (PG)

Fri, 20 Mar 2009 03:09:56 GMT

I just needed to write.
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The scenery flies past them, a blur of green and brown, blue sky bursting through slim clouds, sunshine hitting their wind-burned skin. They’ve been on the road for at least two weeks now, they’re at least 1000 miles from home and they’ve never been happier.

The road is smooth, the air is fresh, the light is bright and their smiles are wide. They left home on a Tuesday afternoon, unexpectedly, they just up and left. Packed a couple bags, made a quick stop at the grocery and then they disappeared.

Windows, hair down, wind rushes in, rushes through them and sets them alight. Bright eyes and raw emotion. They don’t stay in one place more than a day, except for that town three or four days ago where leaving the bed wasn’t really something they were willing to do.

They take pictures, send post cards and write, sketch, they doodle in tattered journals. They need to document the time, need to keep it with them. They press wildflowers between the pages. Use polaroids as bookmarks between dog-eared pages.

The music’s loud and so is their laughter. They’re shoeless, shirtless heathens in dry summer heat on deserted highways. They scream and sing until their lungs are raw.

They spend nights in campgrounds, the back of their car, in seedy motel rooms. Fool around in dim light and fall asleep in each other’s arms. They awake to lazy smiles and soft kisses. They’ve escaped, if only for a little while, and they don’t know why they hadn’t done it sooner.

"No More Pretty" - Original Fiction (PG-13)

Fri, 02 Jan 2009 04:37:16 GMT

I wrote this a while ago, hadn't really thought much of it but I figured I'd put it up. I kind of like the way it turned out. It's only PG-13 because of some cursing and violent imagery.
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Easy to dream, easy to wish, easy to imagine what the world should be like; what really should’ve happened after the incident. What she’d be like. But she doesn’t seem to matter anymore; nothing seems to matter since the world’s falling to pieces. It’s crumbling under pressure, succumbing to the hierarchy and getting fucked in the ass regularly.

She smiles and stares vacantly out the window. She smiles and nods, hums a tune that’s off tune and ugly and her smile’s crooked now. Quirks heavily to the left; and her laugh is monotone. She’s a fucking computer now.

It’s my fault. I got her into that mess.

I knew it wasn’t a good idea to let her follow me in there, but she insisted, smiled that pretty smile, the cute one that made me want to kiss the smirk off her face. Held my hand, let me pull her along and then she was gone.

Gun shots echoed through the building, the walls shaking, the ceiling falling down in clumps. I had her hand and then she was gone. It was a mortar. And then the hall behind me was gone. And she was gone with it.

She smiled that pretty smile and I didn’t get to kiss that smirk off her face.

I dug ‘til my fingers were rubbed skinless and bleeding, ‘til I could feel the dust in my veins, ‘til I could see her pretty face through the rubble. She’ll always be beautiful, but those mother fuckers took away that pretty smile, replaced it with a load of farce.

Same body, no mind, blank stare, crooked smile. She’s all crooked and broken but she’s still pretty. She hides those nasty scars under her clothes.

They say recruitment was necessary. They needed soldiers, needed people to fight the good fight. Needed people to fight against the other people fighting the good fight, except their good fight was more of a termination, more of a genocide, more of a global homicide.

Death trailed us around like a wolf on a doe. Always licking its chops and stalking in the darkness.

Always and never, couldn’t touch us, we’re elite, got the best of the best, trained and ready for any shit they throw. Much better than those civies trudged up from fuck south of no where. She was there, was there when I told her she should stay, told her to keep herself hauled up and safe, where I knew she wouldn’t get hurt. But she missed me, missed us, and missed what we were before they brought out the shooting squads, the bombs and the bio-hazards.

She appeared at my side in the middle of the night, dust-laden but still clean, still pure and sweet and gentle and soft. She smiled that pretty smile and then the first mortar hit, shook the block and I switched her hand for my gun, told her to stay put, told her to keep herself safe, even though there was no safe.

And then that pretty smile was joined with those pleading eyes and I took her hand and we ran. We ran until the building shook and her hand was gone. We ran until my heart stopped, stammered, fluttered and fell into my stomach. ‘Til tears welled up in my eyes and my hands found way to rubble, dust to blood and my eyes to her pretty face.

She was in the hospital for two months. She was in that ugly room for two months and she never moved without my help, without those drugs. And then her smile started getting crooked, and her eyes went kind of hollow. Pretty blue but vacant and she looked at me without looking at me. She smiled without smiling at me. And then her laugh was ugly and false and she wrecked me. She wrecked me hard, fire and screams and blood and tears and death. She killed that pretty image etched in my mind.

She doesn’t remember, can’t remember anything but me. Knows I’ll always be there for her and I will because she needs me, because she doesn’t have anybody else. Because nobody wants her crooked smile and vacant blues.

If the fight ended when it was supposed to I’d have seen that pretty smile again. I’d have been able to kiss that smirk from her lips and I wouldn’t have to deal with her ghost. Wouldn’t have to deal with my memories of that pretty smile and dazzling cobalt eyes, gentle humming and infectious laughter. Wouldn’t have to try and remember that she’s just a ghost of herself now, that she’ll never be back to her old self.

I trace the scars with my fingertips and try to kiss an invisible smirk from her face but she’s cold and still warm, still huddles against me in the night. Knows I’ll never leave her, knows I can’t leave her because my life ended with the fight, my fight ended with her pretty smile.

My smile is just as crooked as hers now. No more room for pretty in our life.

"Vodka Lust" - Transsiberian - Jess/Abby - (R)

Fri, 26 Dec 2008 04:15:22 GMT

I watched Transsiberian earlier in the day and was hoping for some chemistry between Emily Mortimer's character, Jess, and Kate Mara's character, Abby, and boy did I get it. There's a scene in the dinner car where they're smoking and chatting, the emotion, the eye!sex, I just had to write something. This is what I came up with.

Title: Vodka Lust
Pairing: Jess/Abby
Rating: R
Summary: Abby and Jess share lingering looks all night in the dining car and decide to do something about it in the cabin.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Brad Anderson & Will Conroy, I've just given them something to do on their train ride.

Abby’s mouth tastes like vodka and tobacco. The sting of the Russian liquor burns her tongue (it feels familiar) but right now Jess couldn’t care less. That pretty red hair is tangled and untamable, locks hiding their faces, getting in the way of Jess’s wandering hands.

Sure Abby is nearly 10 years younger (and prettier) than her but Jess doesn’t care. The smoldering look in Abby’s eyes was all invitation. The snarl in her forced smile. The forlorn looks. Disdain and temptation wrapped up in a pale runaway.

Buttons are undone with fevered movements (but still not fast enough) and their heaving breath is coating the window with a thin layer of moisture. Abby is sitting, legs spread (like a whore), on the mattress, jeans and panties in a crumpled mess on the floor. Jess is kneeling in front of her, hands on the tops of Abby’s freckled thighs gripping the skin tightly as Abby squirms under the peppered kisses Jess is planting on her inner thighs.

This kneeling, she’s done it before: she’s worshipping at the altar of lust (and it feels amazing). It’s something Jess had so often done before she met Roy. Nights of solid, non-stop fucking to clear her head, to make her forget. The liquor was a good lubricant but she’s given that up. Given it all up for Roy. Roy took all the fun out of her life, took away her demons (but she needs them). This isn’t serious (that’s what she tells herself), isn’t anything but a play fuck, something to satisfy her libido while Roy is on his pregnancy kick.

But then Abby moans and Jess is done playing.

A strong pull forward and Abby is levering on the edge of the frame with Jess’s face buried in her cunt. Abby cants her hips upward seeking more contact (if that’s even possible) and Jess obliges without a second thought. She sucks and swipes the tip of her tongue over the sensitized bud, relishing in the stifled groans and moans slipping from Abby’s (soft, kiss-reddened) lips. Jess is wet and throbbing, the dull ache at dinner is flaring now (fuck).

Her hand slides along Abby’s thigh, trimmed nails leaving gentle red lines on the tender flesh. But then Abby jerks unexpectedly as those gentle hands, gentle fingers force themselves inside her and pump.

The motion is fluid and Abby meets pace alarmingly quick (she is a whore). Her breath is heavy, thick and lingering in Jess’s ears. The pitch heightens and Jess is finally thankful for that damn radio as Abby clenches around her fingers (God it feels good), as she goes stiff and groans when Jess’s tongue flicks and licks at her clit drawing out the waves.

Abby collapses against the wall and exhales, eyes closed but Jess can still feel her heartbeat in her clit and she needs to get off (desperately needs to come). She sits up and slips her own hand down the front of her unbuttoned jeans, her fingers increasing friction on her slick cunt (the edge is so close).

She feels a hand on her forearm, pulling her away from the peak (fuck you) but she opens her eyes to find Abby in front of her. Their lips crash and Abby finally rips Jess’s hand from her pants, replacing it with her own. Only strokes later and Jess is biting Abby’s bottom lip (it almost bleeds) and groaning as her orgasm slams through her system.

As her high releases so does her hold on Abby’s lip. Abby’s head slips down to Jess’s chest, breathing still heavy, as she listens to Jess’s heartbeat contently. They won’t talk about it. Know it won’t happen again (it was a one time thing). They’ve got respective lovers, men that ignore (Abby) and smother (Jess) and this was just a quick release. A break to escape and feel free.

Jess kisses the top of Abby’s head and stands up to button her jeans. She runs her hands through her hair and slips out the door leaving Abby half-naked on the floor of the cramped cabin.

"Glow" - Original Fiction (G)

Sat, 01 Nov 2008 22:59:38 GMT

It's been a while since I wrote something not based on fictional (or real) characters and I kind of liked this piece so I thought I'd pop it up here.
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The liquid fluoresces brilliantly under the black light and drips slowly down past her fingertips. The streams slide down the lengths of her fingers coating them with an unnatural greenish-yellow that looks more like a radioactive chemical than the remnants of a broken glow stick.

She turns her hand under the purple light and watches the trails dipping in and out of the cracks in her skin. They slip down her life line, her love line and past her wrist as she holds her arm in front of her. The color on her fingertips glows faintly now and as she re-traces the liquid light's path she feels the warm tingle of the farthest drop hitting the crook of her elbow.

It pools slowly and as she bends her arm inward the liquid is compressed and smears on her bicep and forearm. The pattern she sees as she unfolds her arm looks something akin to a heart but the edgers are rigged like a paint splatter. She smiles and turns her arm in the light, watching the remaining drips cascade to the floor. A mess better left for tomorrow.

"Champagne Smiles" - Zooey Deschanel/Jenny Lewis - (R)

Sun, 28 Sep 2008 06:55:37 GMT

I have (forever and for always) had a big homo crush on Zooey Deschanel and have also recently been overdosing on Jenny Lewis. I got the October Nylon with Zooey on the cover and read it while listening to Jenny Lewis' new album Acid Tongue, I blame my excess of caffeine for the following fic....

Title: Champagne Smiles
Pairing: Zooey Deschanel/Jenny Lewis
Rating: R
Summary: Zooey and Jenny hit the champagne and get a little personal.
Disclaimer: I don't own people, it's kind of illegal. But if this actually happened while they were working on Jenny's album together I would probably faint.

There’s this awkward little giggle that spills from Zooey’s lips when Jenny asks her if she’s ever kissed a girl. She’s smiling into her glass of champagne and her glossy blue eyes are shining as she peers over the rim at Jenny.

Jenny can’t tell if that means yes.

Zooey is holding her glass loosely by the neck, its contents dangerously close to spilling until she places it on the coffee table and leans towards Jenny kissing her gently on the lips.

Jenny thinks that means yes.

Her own champagne glass is quickly retired to the table as Zooey’s slim fingers slide over Jenny’s thigh.

Zooey’s lips are soft and warm, but the champagne is still fresh on her tongue and as Jenny parts her lips she can taste the sharpness of the alcohol in Zooey’s sweet mouth.

Fingers fumble with the buttons on Zooey’s romper and soon she’s open to her bellybutton with Jenny’s hand firmly cupping a pink laced breast.

Zooey moans into her mouth and Jenny’s stomach is roiling with heat as Zooey places both hands on her hips balancing herself above the smaller girl.

A slender hand tucks down into Zooey’s romper and pets her gently over her underwear feeling the warmth emanating, fingers grazing the slick heat on her thighs. Zooey’s hips roll and Jenny slides her hand under the fabric fingers grazing clit as she plunges two fingers into the brunette.

Zooey groans against her lips and Jenny feels herself grow slick.

Fingers work deep and curve, the palm of Jenny’s hand is hard on Zooey’s clit, hips bucking with the motions and Zooey bites down hard on Jenny’s lip when she comes, long and slow like the exhale of breath against Jenny’s face.

Jenny kisses Zooey softly on her cherry red lips and pulls her hand free licking the fingers clean. She stares up at Zooey’s rosy cheeks and feels the girl’s fingers tapping gentle rhythms on her hip bones.

The heat is still rippling in her abdomen but Zooey’s fingers are quick to undo the button and zipper on her shorts. The pressure on her clit sets a shudder through Jenny. Zooey’s hips roll as she rubs circles at the redhead’s clit and Jenny comes with her face flush against Zooey’s chest, teeth on breast and breath ghosting hot across sweat-tinged skin.

“Yea,” Zooey finally answers and removes her hand, licking her fingers clean and then leaning back to take a sip of her champagne, “I have.”

"Wind" - Harry Potter - Hermoine/Luna - (PG)

Wed, 10 Sep 2008 01:25:24 GMT

2am, I was lying in bed staring at my ceiling when I heard the wind whistling through my window. Creepy? Yes. Annoying? Yes. Unexpected Muse? Yes actually. And after a Harry Potter filled day I satisfied my muse with a lovely little Hermoine/Luna fic

Title: Wind
Pairing: Hermoine Granger/Luna Lovegood
Rating: PG
Summary: It's a windy day and Hermoine is having a bit of trouble with her hair.
Disclaimer: Characters belong to JK Rowling but all the gushy cute lovey stuff is all of my creation.

The sticky breeze tugs at auburn tendrils, pulling them apart and causing mad havoc in a halo about Hermoine’s head. She smoothes her hands downwards over the mess trying to tame her mane but the wind is persistent and once her hands leave them the curls are free flying again.

She huffs and crosses her arms at her chest, tucking hands firmly against her sides, eye brows furrowed and gentle wrinkles forming between them. “I hate them,” Hermoine states gruffly.

A soft hand reaches up and brushes past her cheek grasping between index finger and thumb a particularly tight curl hanging above Hermoine’s left eye. The hand pulls down gently, stretching the curl taught enough to leave only slight waves as a clue to it’s true state.

Fingers release and the tendril flies upward, bouncing as it takes shape. A smile creeps across Luna’s face, her soft grey eyes squinting gently with the upward tug of her lips. “I quite like them,” she replies and twirls another curl ‘round her index finger.

Hermoine sighs and her distress liquefies as Luna presses a gentle kiss against her lips. “I quite like those though.” She smiles and leans in for another kiss, lips just brushing lightly.

“I do too.” Luna replies.

"Kill Me With Your Touch" - (R)

Wed, 20 Aug 2008 01:06:41 GMT

I'm obsessed with The Veronicas again. It's been two-ish years since the first time. It was bound to happen again.

Title: Kill Me With Your Touch
Pairing: Original character/1st Person POV
Rating: R
Summary: Encounter with a famous face.
Disclaimer: Lyrics belong to "Take Me on The Floor" by The Veronicas.

She’s famous enough to warrant a body guard. Famous enough to ignore the boys that paw at the velvet rope for attention. She’s pretty enough to be in fashion magazines. Pretty enough to make heads turn when she walks by.

Her brown eyes are shaded by the curtains surrounding her booth but when she finally looks up you can see the club lights glinting like stars in her gaze. Those plump lips are shaded with red lipstick, glossy and immaculate, and she smiles half-heartedly to the air-groping strangers. Her hair is in a low ponytail, the tips grazing against the bronzed skin of her open back as she turns away from her fans.

The lights are out and I barely know you
We're going up and the place is slowing down
I knew you'd come around

She’s standing now, the shimmering fabric of her dress hugging her curves as she slips from her booth. She sneaks onto the dance floor without much notice and her eyes are still heavy when she mingles with the pulsing bodies of strangers. Her hands are in the air, eyes closed and she’s swaying, pumping her hips with the electro-beat. Your hands slip over her hips as you pull yourself flush with her back. Your breath is hot in her ear but she doesn’t stop.

You captivate me, something about you has got me
I was lonely now you make me feel alive
Will you be mine tonight?

She dances like there’s no tomorrow, grinding with abandon against your body as your hands familiarize themselves with the supple curves of her thighs and hips. Fingers pull at fabric and graze against heated skin and even with the music screaming you can hear her moan.

My heart is racing as you're moving closer
You take me higher with every breath I take
Would it be wrong to stay?

She turns to face you, eyes now open and she’s got the tell-tale sign of a smirk forming at the edge of her mouth as you lean forward and capture those ruby red lips in a kiss. Her hand reaches up to your neck and she pulls you down, closer, fingers tangling in your hair and she deepens the kiss. Tongues slide as lips collide and you take her bottom lip between your teeth. She’s kissing you with reckless abandon, kissing you like she was dancing. She doesn’t care anymore, just wants to be close to something, someone and you just want her to be happy.

Take me on the floor
I can give you more

She pulls back, eyes flaring with want, with need and she tugs at your hand pulling you away from the dance floor. She’s pulling you into a back room, pulling you away from the crowd, away from the flashing lights and sweat-tinged bodies. There’s an office in the back, lights off and the door is open but once your inside she shuts it and you push her up against it. You pick her up and she wraps her legs around your waist, you can feel every degree of heat radiating from her body.

You kill me, you kill me, you kill me with your touch

Up against the door you’re kissing her again, running your hands against her thighs and up under her dress. Her breath is hot against your face, her kisses are hard, and her hands are still in your hair as your hands skim over her breasts. She groans against the touch and leans her head back against the frosted glass. Your lips attack her open neck as a hand slips down to lock the door. No intrusions, she’s all yours and you’re all hers.

You slide away from the door, hands up her dress again, pulling her towards you as your lips are still assaulting her neck. “Down,” and she’s standing on weak legs as you peel the dress from her body, up over her head, and your lips are at her breasts, sucking gently, tongue flicking over sensitive peaks and she’s moaning now, a hand on the back of your head pulling your mouth down harder. You bite playfully and lick a path between her breasts, the tip of your tongue grazing her flat stomach, dipping into her belly button. A kiss at her panty line and your hands slide down the skimpy fabric and she steps out of them.

Warm breath on her center, and she’s groaning for you, pleading silently as she looks down at you. You look up just slightly and smile as her eyes are screaming for you to be inside her. Your hands sneak up her thighs, fingertips barely making contact along the crease of her legs, then you’re gripping her ass and pulling her forward to meet your tongue. She shivers against your touch and you slip her left leg over your shoulder.

Clean lines up and down, not enough pressure to do anything but make her moan for more. Then, without warning your lips are enveloping her clit and she cries out, the sounds lost against the pulsing music that’s radiating in through the walls. Tight circles and then a finger slides inside her and she pleads for more, begs, one becomes two becomes three and you're pumping fast, curling and pumping and she’s almost screaming. Your tongue is still circling, flicking and then she’s there.

Muscles tighten and clench around your fingers and her full weight is against your shoulder. Your free hand reaches up to grasp her hip to keep her in place as your tongue still moves gently against her clit, gentle ministrations delaying the end of her high for as long as she can stand it.

She’s panting when you lick her and your fingers clean. Her eyes are closed when you kiss her, her slick heat still fresh on your lips and your hands on her hips, holding her up and against you. She opens her eyes and kisses you again, softly and sweetly and wraps her arms around your back, pulling you closer if it’s even possible. Her head is against your chest, her lips kissing your collarbone, the top of your breast just lightly enough for it to feel like a butterfly’s touch. You kiss the top of her head and pull away.

You reach down and grab her dress while she pulls her panties up her still weak legs and you help her slip the dress back on, adjusting the straps once it’s on. You tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear and kiss her one more time before you unlock the door and leave. You turn back and she’s standing in the doorway, a smile on those red lips. You slip through the dance floor and then you’re outside in the fresh night air, the music wafting through open doors.

"Our Endless, Numbered Days" - House M.D. - Remy Hadley/? (PG-13)

Fri, 18 Jul 2008 19:45:59 GMT

I love Remy Hadley, the end.

Title: Our Endless, Numbered Days
Pairing: Remy Hadley/Unknown Female
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Spoliers for House MD 416 "Wilson's Heart" ... Bad news baby.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hadley but I wish I did. Ungh. Title comes from a song of the same name by Iron & Wine.

She came home with a crumpled piece of paper clutched so hard in her right fist her knuckles were turning white. Her mascara is smudged, a quick clean up of tears shed on the drive home, but she knows it’s noticeable. She tries to play it off, hangs up her jacket and drops her keys on the table by the door, all without lifting her eyes from the floor.

She can’t make eye contact, she can’t connect or she’ll lose it. Her shoes fall from her feet without any help and she’s shuffling along the polished wood of the hall towards the bedroom, the paper just barely peeking out from her hand. She reaches up and unclips her hair, shakes it free and tosses the clip at the mirror. It bounces, tumbles, falls slow motion towards the ground where it rests silently against the carpet.

She follows in with quiet steps, carefully placed to avoid the squeaking floor boards. Her ears recognize the initial twitter and splash of the bathtub faucet. Water sloshes against the cool white and fills the tub with occasional bubbling from the now-plugged drain. Remy is completely naked when she reaches the door, her form casting an eerie shadow in the dimly lit bathroom.

She walks in slowly and rests against the door frame watching with a loving stare but pleading eyes. Remy turns slowly and drops the paper into the sink then climbs into the steaming bathtub, submerging completely. When she re-emerges her hair is slicked back, her face is pale and her eyes are red, she turns off the faucet.

She watches Remy in silence and walks forward towards the sink. Grasping the paper loosely in her right hand she undoes the crumpled ball carefully.

Huntington’s…………………………………………………………………………………………………………POS#

And then she hears Remy sniffle, hears the initial crack and she drops the paper to float gently to the ground. It lands on top of dropped clothing and is followed quite quickly by a second set. She climbs in behind Remy and strokes her hair gently, kisses the side of her head and hugs the woman close to her body. Remy holds tightly to the hands wrapped around her shoulders, leans backwards and releases.

She’s sobbing and shaking and clutching on for dear life. Mascara runs down her cheeks as she turns to face the body behind her. Hands frame her face and thumbs rub away dirty trails. Lips connect and bodies are hugged tighter, mouths are warm and safe, territory well-explored, well-learned, no surprises. A chaste kiss on the lips follows; one on her nose, to the forehead and she leans down, resting her head on the crook of neck and shoulder. Tears slide from cheek to collarbone and down a gentle slope as Remy’s body is cradled with worry, with care, with love.

“I will always love you Remy.”

"Azkadellia's Rage" - Tinman (G)

Tue, 04 Dec 2007 04:46:49 GMT

I've been watching the Tinman mini-series on SciFi starring my should be lover Zooey Deschanel. I felt the urge to write a poem and did so about Zooey's character DG's sister Azkadelia, played by Kathleen Robertson.

Great series, long, but great.

Winds whisper lilting phrases
Past the ears of a gentle girl
Standing high on a frozen citadel
Eyes hazy with memories
From a past that’s locked deep,
In a mind scattered between
Darkness and light.

Tears fall solemnly
Down paths already scarred
On rosy cheeks whipped
By cold gusts and harsh breathing;
The cost of her forgotten childhood,
Of the way she was before
When her smile was true.

A gentle girl now a ruling tyrant
With no pity for the weak,
But an iron fist and steely gaze;
And as she clenches her fists
A scream flows swiftly and violently
Through the freezing air
As her sorrow can never be overcome.

"She Takes to the Stars" - Original Fiction (G)

Thu, 11 Oct 2007 01:41:35 GMT

I wrote this short story for a friend for her birthday recently, thought I'd go ahead and put it up here.
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Every night she sets out into the woods armed only with a wool blanket and her imagination. Her job entitles her nights off, so with that precious free time, she takes to the stars. After all that she’s gone through and will go through to keep safe what she loves so dearly, the nights she spends under the stars are worth more to her than any material possession ever could be.

Her feet traipse upon pine needles, brown from the dry summer, and green grass, patched from that same lack of rain. She walks slowly through the trees, admiring the spattered patches of moonlight falling through open spaces in the treetops above. Shadows chase her from behind thick trunks but her vision is so scattered by the beauty around her, that she takes no notice.

It’s a cool night, with a slim breeze floating across the air and tickling her nose, but it’s a perfect night for star gazing. She’d much prefer to have company, but the night is too wonderful to pass up for a lack of companionship. She’ll just take the stars as her friends tonight.

Olive eyes glimmer with reflections of constellations in the midnight sky above her. The field she chooses is covered in tall grass that whistles softly in the breeze; it’s an eerie sound yet it’s actually quite comforting. Her blanket spreads itself out in front of her, commanding the grass to obey under its weight until the fabric smoothes out a place for her to lie. Once on her back she tries not to focus on any star in particular, choosing to survey the magnificent view all at once, but her attempt is to no avail. As her eyes catch Polaris she smiles and stares intently at the light that it elicits.

A sigh escapes her lips as she settles back against the grass pulling the blanket over her torso and tucking her hands under her head. The sky is such a magnificent place to get lost in and she knows it.

She imagines dancing in the breeze, being carried swiftly and gently towards the night sky on a cloud of pure silver. Her feet are damp with rain water but the smile on her face shows no concern. She twirls about slowly, arms outstretched and gliding upon the sweet-smelling breeze. As the cloud slows her motions mimic until she stops entirely and looks wide-eyed at the scene before her. It’s colder in space, but she feels no cold, and she feels no concern for the lack of oxygen either. Her foot dangles wildly over the edge of the cloud but a light rushes towards her and then another as she steps off of her haven.

She feels that she’s barely moved from her place, but as she looks down at her feet, she finds herself gliding along on the backs of two shooting stars. A trail off dust floats off into the abyss behind her as she jumps to dance lightly on the numerous twinkling stars in front, and all around her. Eyes fall on nothing more than nothing, but in actuality they see everything.

She’s now a mistress of the night, a celestial being herself and her skin radiates the energy of stars past, present and future. Her smile has increased its intensity and she now matches the light of Polaris, which she admires once more. It’s so far from her reach, and yet so close as she marches along Cassiopeia and reaches out to touch the burning star with an open hand. She leaps into the night and a finger skims the outermost ring of light as she falls back to Earth.

The atmosphere rushes past her layer by layer, the down of clouds to catch her softly as she floats down through the troposphere. The rain washes away the star glow but she doesn’t seem to mind, her eyes are still fixated on Polaris as she lands lightly back on her wool blanket. The scent of stars still lingers on her skin and the light of Polaris is still shining from her smile.

"Ever Strut Naked?" - Original Fiction (PG)

Tue, 09 Oct 2007 18:35:14 GMT

This is the first bit short story I've written in an incredibly long time, it's science fiction (my genre of choice), first person narrative (kind of) with a female lead. It's not my best work, I can guarantee, but I liked the little world I created. If I had any patience I'd try and get a real plot into it. Hope you like it.
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Come on I know you have. Any woman that’s got any kind of self-esteem: you strip down, admire yourself; feel damn good afterwards. Well that is unless you’re one of the flesh bags that can’t afford to mutilate yourself. But then again I strut and I’ve got shit for money.

Wiggle your hips in front of the mirror, watch how they sway. Follow the curve of your breast down to the curve of your ass. Hot right? You don’t find it hot no one else will; they feed you the opposite at those high class chop shops they call Reinvention Centers. You slam down a load of credit they’ll tell you what’s wrong with your body and then fix it; but no one’s ever satisfied with what they get. Those so-called “doctors” must fuck up stuff just so you come back to get it fixed right back up. How else do you think they get so much business?

Now myself, well I’d say my body is slammin’ and you ask just about any guy that sees me on the street and he’ll agree. You know what they say: “You got it, flaunt it.” Well I don’t like to keep myself held up in some gutter shooting trix or nova or some other tripped up shit like the rest of the down-and-out population of this fair city, I like to walk around on the upper levels in the sun, flaunt it.

I’ve got a friend Rawley, likes to fiddle with nova every once and a while, works with a couple of guys that sell parts to those Reinvention Centers. That’s right sell parts.

All you gotta do is stick the part in a Moly-Map and you can change the skin color, get rid of tattoos, freckles, whatever it takes to get it to match its new owner. They sell all kinds of parts to those centers, arms, legs; usually it’s hands. For some reason people lately have been very upset with the condition of their hands; could be that defect that’s been springing up. Some kind of webbed shit; a product of bio-tampering ‘bout 30 years ago during the Aryan Fix.

I never got what it was about, some kind of Hitler purification shit, lasted about a year but once you bring toxics into the picture shit will get serious soon. The government allowed it to happen, thought it would help “improve” the country or whatever. But then there were those pesky bio-bombs set off in New York and Los Angeles; a fuck ton of people died, really bloody shit, guts poured out of their mouths. I’ve seen pictures; make you wanna ralph really badly. People who survived had all sorts of defects afterwards, the webbed shit is the last I’ve heard of those though.

So anyways, Rawley and his friends they work with some local mobsters, getting rid of bodies and whatnot. I really have no idea how he got into it. Used to be a damn good kid; known him since we were about five. Real smart, read all the time, liked to write about the weirdest shit, loved chemistry. I guess it was when we went to university and he got hooked on nova, that shit will tear you apart, but he’s smart enough to keep it to small doses, well except when he parties. He’s so fixed on the stuff he created this bonding agent for his nova, keeps the buzz longer and doesn’t screw with your nervous system so much. He’s such a smart kid.

He told me once that he was getting rid of this girl this one time, some whore his bosses had had too much fun with, he was trying to dump her off in the local pile under a nearby bridge and he found this real shady guy there waiting for him. Rawley said the guy looked straight out of Sherlock Holmes, trench coat, derby, smokin’ a fag though. His face was shadowed the whole time they talked, had a real distinct voice, kinda raspy, little high-pitched, real recognizable. He wanted the body, offered Rawley two-hundred credits for it, that’s not something you turn down so he helped the guy get the girl’s body into his car, got his credits and the guy left. Rawley didn’t care really what the guy wanted with the body, thought crossed his mind he might be one of those necros or whatnot; wasn’t until later when he saw some clip on a telescreen that he realized the guy was some crackpot doctor at the Reinvention Center up top. The guy kept coming back for the bodies and Rawley thought it’d be easier for the guy if they lopped off parts beforehand, easier to transport. I know it’s pretty sick and if Rawley hadn’t always been fucked on nova he’d have thought better, but you give him money and he gets his nova.

As for other body mods, there are some people now-a-days that get a little too into their mechanics. We’ve got all sorts of robots wandering around the city doing their specified jobs, people think it’s great and it is, well at least it is up top. The robots we’ve got down here they’re old and fucked, don’t do much of anything except take up space. Some kids think these ‘bots are so great they want to incorporate some tech into themselves. Kids replace eyes with robotic ones: can see in the dark, heat sensitive, see through walls, it’s cool and all but the only shade they come in is grey. I, myself, have got a pair, really useful getting around down here, it’s so damn dark.

Other kids replace a whole limb, which is also kind of cool, but then again you can get jacked parts, filled with viruses and shit. My girlfriend Kit, her little brother got his leg done, the thing had a nano-virus in it, activated when the kid tried to use his “boosters” for higher jumps around the local dump when he was scavenging, ravaged his leg first then traveled up his body. The things are usually programmed to eat metal only, fiber optics sometimes too, but these were savage, he was gone within five minutes of his first jump. That’s when I met Kit; she got drunk at a bar I go to after her brother was declared dead by a couple of friends. I don’t usually go after the drunk girls but she was gorgeous and when I took her home later I found out that alcohol didn’t alter her sex drive in the least. She likes to strut naked too, preferably at the same time I do, then the strut turns into the horizontal tango, but that’s another story.

Back to those parts. See it’s not certified or anything, you’ve got to come to a chop shop down here, there’s only one place that does it: Pete’s Playground. “Dr. Peter Randall at your service,” say the posters he hangs around. He’s got a robot terminator next door, name of Jake, gets defective ‘bots from up top and gives the parts to Dr. Pete for cheap. Rumor is Jake used to work at the Reinvention Center up top fixing the machines’ got fired for taking trix on the job.

People line up for ages for their parts, costs less than those human ones, but of course they’re way more fucked up.

It’s hard to find a person up top without a body mod and the same goes for people down here as well. I tried to stay clean but my eyes were calling to me, I just gave in. But I’ve still got my figure, ain’t no body mod gonna touch that. I’m too good for other people’s parts.