losing myself;

'sup? call me q, the chick of your wet dreams or your honorary #wcw. you don't have to remember the name, but i reccomend you remember my digits.

[skankedbra-y]

[ quitty f2f ].

[awildecard]

“Yeah, whatever.” Kitty says to the rush of air Quinn leaves in her wake, not even bothering to argue with her anymore. It’s for both of their best interest to keep their lips sealed about this little rendez-vous. She can hear the sound of voices on the other side of the door, girls confused and no doubt intrigued by the locked door, and Kitty will be damned if she’ll be caught in the bathroom alone after Quinn makes her exit, so she quickly makes her way to the closest stall. Maybe if she can wait it out just long enough, no one will be able to connect the dots.

She pulls the stall door closed behind her, bunching up taffeta and crinoline as she falls back onto the toilet seat with a sigh. “I’m not even sure I have real friends.“ She admits just loud enough for herself to hear as impatient girls filter into the ladies room. Whatever. She needed to focus. She had a queen and her reputation to save, just as soon as she could actually get out of there.

[thedivaskanks-deactivated201605]

FACE TO FACE → FABERRY.

[thedivaskanks-deactivated201605]

Rachel was ready to argue, again, that she had to tell Blaine when Quinn’s name was announced, the room almost deafening in silence or applause. It wasn’t that Quinn didn’t deserve to win - Rachel was pretty sure she deserved it more than Santana did - but she hadn’t really fully expected her to…well, win. 

And though she’d probably deny it later on, Rachel knew Quinn better than even she let on sometimes. She can spot nerves on the other girl from a mile away, and though she has no idea why, Rachel’s smart enough to know that Quinn is wary about heading to the stage. 

It’s strange, seeing her faux boyfriend and her unlikely ally standing side by side, almost like a team. Her two favorite people, who couldn’t stand to be around each other if they were paid to, but her vaguely amused interest dies down almost immediately, her laughter dead on her tongue as the lights go out, the gymnasium on lockdown and all Rachel can do is think about pushing through the crowds, getting on stage herself. 

“Quinn!” she shouted, hoping to be heard above the crowd, though it’s useless when everyone is screaming for their date and friends around her. “Blaine!” 

But she couldn’t find Blaine, not even after she pushed herself to the stage to join them, though her hand wraps around Quinn’s as she leans in close enough to whisper in her friends ear; “Where’s Blaine? Where did he go?” 

[skankedbra-y]

It’s difficult to hear, see or make sense of anything amongst the deafening darkness. Adrenaline pumping through her veins, Quinn allows a long, slow inhale before she can compose herself properly. It does nothing for the confusion racking her, but it stifles a contagious panic. 

There’s unknown, anonymous shuffling all around her frozen frame, and just when she thinks that this is all part of the plan -- that maybe someone at least had the decency to turn of the lights before they covered her in a bucket of fake blood -- there’s a familiar hand grasping at hers. At her touch, Quinn turns around to where she assumes Rachel is stood.  

It's the voice and Rachel’s is undeniable. Even though she hasn't heard it so impossibly close and warm against her ear, warm enough to send a shiver down her cold spine, Quinn knows Rachel Berry’s voice like the back of her hand. Rachel’s voice is uncharacteristically weak and draws Quinn’s attention as she takes her mind away from her own concerns and transfers it to the brunette who’s clinging onto her hand like a lifeline. Sight flickering back to Rachel, whose grip is tense on her hand, she reminds herself that she’s not the only target or concern for Rachel. 

Hazel eyes glossed over with moisture, it makes her stomach hurt to hear her mumbling something about Blaine and his whereabouts, or maybe it was just her tipsy state and the surrounding hysteria. “How the fuck should I know?” Quinn spat harshly, voice low and thick with irritation, arm guiding Rachel away from the target and towards the left side of the stage. The quicker she reunites the two well-gelled love birds, the quicker she can head over to Graham’s place. “Okay,” a quiet and sure voice says, right into Rachel’s ear. “You’ve got your cell, right? You should text him, he’ll feel it vibrate.”

[thedivaskanks-deactivated201605]

FACE TO FACE → FABERRY.

[thedivaskanks-deactivated201605]

It’s Quinn who finds her first, and Rachel smiles involuntarily at the girl; she’s always admired her, even when she was bottom of the totem pole and Quinn was the one running the school, making her life miserable. They’d both changed a lot over the past year, and when Quinn was left all alone - well, Rachel wasn’t about to let that happen. 

Perhaps she should have thought more about the choices she was making, but when Quinn flashed that sly smirk in her direction, a look of challenge in hazel eyes…her stomach made an absurd twist and though she wouldn’t tell anyone about it, she was sure it was fairly obvious. 

She’d follow Quinn anywhere. 

Except for the moment. The only person more important to her was Blaine, and she wasn’t about to leave him alone at the dance without at least telling him, seeing if he would be okay with it. He might not have been her date, or even her boyfriend, but he was her best friend and no one loved her as unconditionally as he did. She wouldn’t feel right leaving him alone without knowing he had support, not with the history he kept so tightly locked away. 

“I have to find Blaine, first,” she explained, chewing lightly on the corner of her mouth. “I mean, of course we can go to your place - this dress is a little snug anyways, I couldn’t find it in a size bigger but - I promised him a dance. I can’t leave without him knowing I won’t be here.” 

[inforthegossip-blog]

[WILDCARD]

Keep reading

[skankedbra-y]

“Forget the dress and forget Blaine,” Quinn rolls her eyes almost instinctively (Rachel was never able to follow instructions) and shakes her head as she takes a step closer, says in a lower, stern tone -- “We need to go, Rachel. Now.” It’s not a command, almost like a please, a prayer, and Quinn doesn’t wait for her to comply as she takes a firm hold of Rachel’s smaller hand and turns with a smoothness that surprises her. She only has one destination, and she doesn’t wait for Rachel’s permission as she makes her way towards the exit -- until the sound of erupting clapping rang clearly in her ears and the disorienting flash of light that followed shocked Quinn out of the disgruntled daze she was in.

It was only the second time her name was called that she heard it clearly. Quinn Fabray. 

The recoil wasn’t completely instant, but when it did hit her, she could feel it: the almost deafening clapping, the flash of light, knocking the wind out of her tightened chest. Her hands instinctively tore away from Rachel, as if her skin was hot to the touch. Her head rushed away as her cheeks flared to a light shade of pink impossibly fast. Her heart, heavy and pounding so loud, it drowned out the party, fell deep into her knotted stomach and constricted there. 

Her mind was almost swimming in thought. The first thing that popped into her head when she was announced was God, she hoped that whoever was behind that curtain had the attention to listen and noticed the switch. The second was her mother’s face, beaming with pride when she would tell her the news the following morning. The third was how she almost forgot she had to do the stupid dance with the Prom King, but she figured a few minutes of dodging Blaine’s miniscule feet wouldn't kill her. Anxiety would, maybe. And the fourth was what on Earth possessed Santana to forfeit her crown. The only thing Quinn could do was to look for Kitty amongst the crowd. Everyone knew the importance the title held for the Head Cheerleader. Being Prom Queen was the ultimate price, and she’s one of three people who know exactly what’s waiting for her if she goes up to collect that crown.

It all made her a little uncomfortable and weirdly nervous, if she’s being honest, nervous enough for her nerves to show, which they basically don’t ever. All of her body prayed to go, to turn sharply and stop the embarrassment of a backfired plan, but then there are sure, knowing hands being placed all over her in guidance towards the stage, and she puts Noah to shame with the way the crowd parts like the red sea. Her legs felt like sludge, unable and unwilling to glide across the floor as gracefully as her mother would’ve envisioned. Quinn knew her awaiting fate.

X-marks the spot. She knows she’s standing right on position and Quinn braces herself for the impending, inevitable bucket of fake blood that’s about to dye pink hair red as she stood, forced to keep her head straight as the crown was placed over her head. Quinn closes her eyes, squeezes them impossibly tight as nimble fingers clench the fabric of her dress. It’s coming -- 1, 2, 3... 

But it never does, and then come the echoing screams. Thick lashes flutter open, but the darkness is still surrounding. 

[skankedbra-y]

[ quitty f2f ].

[awildecard]

Kitty’s gaze falters under the weight of Quinn’s threats. It’s not even that she’s afraid, not really. At the end of the day she knows where her heart lies. She’s as good at cheering as her wit as quick and she absolutely rocks the outfit more than she ever would a bad dye job and fishnets. No, what she can’t stand to see – what breaks her heart so completely – is someone she once so admired and aspired to be turn to something she no longer recognizes. And the knowledge that even now, against all better judgment, she knows she can’t turn on Quinn. Not completely. And she feels weak for it.

“You know I have your back, Quinn. However reckless you’ve gotten. I just…” She wets her lips, hazel meeting hazel again as she offers a half hearted shrug. “I wish you’d talked to me earlier. I could have helped…  maybe even thrown out some better suggestions.”

[skankedbra-y]

Kitty tries to reason, sounding small and insecure and just everything she isn’t, and Quinn can’t quite look anywhere but her hands that are loosely brushing through the ends of Kitty’s hair, because she know’s she’s about to say something she means. Quinn know’s she’s pailing on the spot and doesn’t say anything for a brief moment, it’s possibly one of the most genuine thing Kitty’s ever said to her. 

The silence is almost suffocating, but it’s necessary, and then there’s the rattling of the locked door that pulls Quinn from whatever trance she’s in. The time has come to leave: Quinn and Kitty will retire to their respective teams and pretend to be idiotically nonchalant when it comes to what’s about to go down. The truth is their most dangerous weapon. 

Quinn’s jaw works hard for a few seconds, then just takes a deep breath as she stares the Kitty’s reflection above the sink, and it’s silent as she pulls herself together again and then just picks up her bag, turning back around to face the shorter girl. “I wouldn’t stand too close to that stage if I were you,” Quinn shrugs, but her voice is softer than usual. “Splashback.” And she leaves it at that.

“Maybe it’s time you realised who your real friends are, because I’m not going to wait around forever.. Despite this arrangement being somewhat beneficial,” she settles on finally, and lets the blow resound in an echo across the empty bathroom; before she nods a goodbye, straightens her shoulders and sticks her chin up in the air, then just storms right past her – “This never happened.”

[thedivaskanks-deactivated201605]

FACE TO FACE → FABERRY.

Prom had never been Rachel’s thing, even before the decline of her barely known reputation she only daydreamed about having the guy and the dress and the tiara, knowing full well it was never going to happen. It wasn’t in the cards for her, not in Ohio, not at McKinley. Even as a Skank, she wasn’t exactly well liked - but there were two people who could at least tolerate her still. 

She went searching for either one of them after the crowning - Quinn, to mourn the loss even after Rachel had helped vote for her, Blaine, to congratulate him and earnestly tell him that she hoped it was what he wanted. But neither were in her sights, and despite the fact that nothing had gone tragically wrong yet…Rachel was still hesitant. 

She figured she’d check outside to see if either were there, but first she had to get through the middle of an overly crowded dance floor - without being potentially groped by JBI. Maybe she could even find someone to point her in the right direction. 

[skankedbra-y]

Santana Lopez and Blaine Anderson. 

She’s by the punch bowl when it’s announced, and it doesn’t come as much of a surprise. It seems almost inevitable that Quinn were to lose Prom Queen, but if she isn’t getting her hands on a crown, then like hell is she coming out of this completely empty handed and without a prize. It always come down to the same thing. Winning. The bucket would be the first blow, and Rachel would be the second. 

For two years now, she’s managed to convince herself that all she feels for Rachel Berry is severe distaste (re: her clothes, her voice, her personality) mixed in with very, very grudging admiration (re: her drive, her focus, her talent). Now, she can’t stop thinking about Rachel in that bathroom, reaching out to fix her make-up. She knows she leaned towards her hand, in an ultimate moment of weakness; she knows that Rachel knows it, too. It’s just going to encourage her to be even nicer, and she’s sick of rejecting Rachel’s friendship and -- She’s sick of rejecting Rachel, full stop.

It’s gotten her absolutely nowhere in the last few years, and it’s exhausting and she can’t even remember why she started doing it in the first place. Something about Brittany and Santana, or church, or maybe just not bucking the status quo too much. All things that seem incredibly fucking irrelevant now that she’s planned to have someone doused in a bucket of blood and has given birth (to a human being, it’s still mental whiplash a lot of the time).

Quinn spots her almost immediately, somehow turning an awkward shuffle through the crowd into something a little princess-like, and Quinn is by her side in an instant. “Rach,” Quinn calls above the music and reaches blindly for her hand, nimble fingers wrapping loosely around Rachel’s delicate wrist. Quinn is pining after her with a look she probably couldn’t interpret, smiling unwillingly, and hazel shifts between Rachel and the exit momentarily. She suspects Rachel wouldn’t find the prank as funny as she would, and she doesn’t want to risk finding out. “C’mon, let’s get out of here and go back to my place.”

[skankedbra-y]

[ quitty f2f ].

[awildecard]

She’s been wondering why her head feels so, and after using her hand to do a quick breath test she makes a note to avoid the punch for the rest of the night. She’s not a prude, she’s all for having a good time in moderation, but something tells her she’s going to want her wits about her tonight.

Kitty’s eyes narrow - eyebrows furrowed as she follows Quinn’s rambling - before growing momentarily wide with surprise when the pink haired girl drops the pig’s blood bomb. “Quinn, that’s,” Too much. Too far. Too personal. Too cruel, even for a war as cold as theirs. “Crazy!” She concludes, taking a step towards her once idol. “Forget a suspension, if they catch you Quinn you’ll be expelled, is this – is she – really worth it?” She asks, as though her only concern is Quinn. And true, despite whatever facade she may wear for her cheerios - and maybe even at times for Quinn herself - she really does care about what happens to the former beauty queen. But the knot in her stomach is growing for much more selfish reasons. If Quinn manages to humiliate the cheerio Queen (whether she deserves it or not) all her minions will be sitting ducks, herself included, and Kitty’s grown quite accustomed to her very cushy position in no man’s land.

“I totally gave you that lead on Brittany, I mean can’t you just ruin her prom?” Kitty questions, trying not to appear as desperate as she feels. She’s all for knocking Santana down a peg or two, she’s just not prepared to see the entire pyramid fall with her.

[skankedbra-y]

As if on command, Kitty’s reaction echos through the almost-empty bathroom, her eyes growing comically wide. She looks like she can't breathe or string together an intelligent sounding sentence together for that matter, but all Quinn can do is stand and watch through the reflection as Kitty head literally swims with thought, just for a second.

Kitty is at her side in a flash, and Quinn exhales slowly through her nose as she collects her discarded belongings and shoves them back into her purse. Looking at her now, closer, it’s so reminiscent of who she could’ve been that Quinn almost cowers instinctively, and then just lowers her eyes again to follow the rigid movements of her hands. “How stupid do you think I am? I’m not going to get caught,” she says, after a moment, with a bit more bite than before. It's the only sign that any of this is getting to her. It's Kitty’s stupid impulse she's always had: to show Quinn kindness, when Quinn wants none. Taking a step towards Kitty, she sizes her up with penetrating eyes. Her smile is bitter and vicious. “Besides, if Figgins didn’t expel one of you drones for the banner incident -- which fyi, was a legitimate death threat, then I doubt he’s gonna have me expelled over a bucket of fake blood.” Quinn’s jaw works hard for a few seconds, hazel shifts leisurely slow across Kitty’s slim frame, tongue peeking to lick suddenly dry lips. Quinn straightens abruptly, and that impeccable mask slides back over her expression with a bitter smile -- “It is Halloween Prom, after all.” 

She swallows audibly and when she nudges Kitty’s chin up with a pointed finger and arches her eyebrow, the challenge is clear. “I’ve got bigger fish to fry, and you’re either with me or you’re against me,” Quinn says, a little more calmly -- if he could see her, Finn would call her ‘Scary Quinn’. She holds her composure, even as her other hand falls from the edge of the bathroom sink and finds position trailing a single digit against Kitty’s shoulder. “It’s time to choose sides, Kitten.”

[skankedbra-y]

[ quitty f2f ].

[awildecard]

She spots Quinn making her exit from the Haunted Prom – hard not to when she’s been keeping a better eye on the Skank Queen than her own date since she rolled through the doors with Artie earlier that evening. She knows something’s up. Kitty has a sixth sense for drama and it’s been tingling all week. And what better place to exact some kind of twisted revenge than prom?

She doesn’t follow straight away. There are eyes everywhere, and Kitty’s made it too far into this war without being detected to get sloppy now. So she drinks some punch and shares approximately three increasingly awkward dances with her date – she’s short, but she really should have planned for the wheel chair – before she excuses herself to go to the ladies room and ‘freshen up’. She presses a kiss to his cheek, leaving a hot pink mark in its wake and offers him a genuine smile before she makes her exit surprised to find that she might actually almost be enjoying herself. A little.

Or maybe it was just the prospect of scheming that had her giddy.

She pushes the swinging door to the bathroom, visibly rolling her eyes when it reveals a pouting Fabray cradling a flask no doubt filled with some prohibited substance or another. For one so badass Quinn really did seem to know how to feel sorry for herself.

“Skankbray,” she announces herself, “I’m surprised you’re not out there haggling for some pity votes. Or does the lunch money approach not work for prom queen?” She checks to ensure every stall is empty before making her way back to the main door and throwing the lock.

“You know, you really shouldn’t be drinking.” She warns, her tone much more genuine now that she knows it’s just the two of them. “There’s still a chance you might actually pull off a win… I mean do you really want your first act as queen to be stumbling up to the podium and right into a suspension?”

[skankedbra-y]

‘Skankbray,’ she hears, from somewhere to her left.

Her initial reaction is something very snide and undeserved, but the reality of the situation is that Kitty was a victim of Santana’s incredibly unwarranted bullshit as much as she had been. Kitty’s the pawn in all of this. “Your duties don’t extend to stalking, Barbie,” she says, instead, when she catches sight of Kitty’s blonde hair and bubblegum pink duo through the mirror. It’s almost nauseatingly familiar in a way that leaves her unnerved, and Kitty moves from her line of sight to check the stalls before Quinn can put too much thought into what that might mean. 

She takes a deep breath and takes a sip from the flask she’s practically clutching. Self-pity isn’t the most attractive quality she has, and she hates when it comes out. It’s always around her friends as well, which is the worst, because nobody has fuck-all patience for it. “Don’t suppose you want some?” Quinn mutters mindlessly and momentarily offers her flask. “What did I say about your preachin’? Odds are that if you’ve been drinking from the punchbowl, I’m not the only one that’s been getting my buzz on.” Quinn doesn’t waste any time in noticing Kitty’s rejection, and instead takes another sip herself. Heat shoots pleasantly down the back of her throat and spreads through her chest, the container clinks against the porcelain sink as she sets it down.

She’s back to rummaging through her purse when she rolls her eyes at nothing in particular, her lips tweak a bit when her brows knit together, and Quinn figures that maybe they can finally find themselves the same page. She finds the kohl pencil she was searching for, a coy smirk playing at her lips, and turns to face Kitty from over her shoulder. “My intention was never to win, Kitty, and I’m actually hoping that I don’t. Surprisingly.” 

Kitty’s done the honors of checking for prying eyes, and it’s the fact that Quinn knows she isn’t wearing a wire that has her spilling what comes next -- “Although I’m sure being doused in a bucket of fake blood would somewhat spruce up my lack of a costume, I think that’s all the more fitting to Santana’s ‘devil’ get up, don’t you?” Right there. Quinn swept a confident black streak onto each eye, evening and smudging with her pinky finger, and mumbles distractedly. “Pigs blood for a pig, it’s supposed to be metaphorical or some shit,”

[skankedbra-y]

[ open f2f ].

Blaine looks absolutely ridiculous, it’s almost funny. He can’t dance worth a goddamn, which is why Quinn thinks it’s hilarious that he’s trying to win Rachel over with his ‘moves’, or whatever. Still, even though Blaine dances like a boyband member on steroids, she know’s that the classic stereotype of High School Royalty indicates that most girls want to be with him regardless. 

She’s next to Mackenzie by the punch bowl they're attempting to spike, who surprisingly isn’t wearing a flannel shirt, encouraging some dude to not stare at her cleavage -- which, honestly, compared to most of the other girls in the table, there isn’t even really anything to look at -- while carrying on a conversation about how Mack spent the night previous living up to her name, except for the part where all she can think of is that if Blaine’s hand dips any lower, he’s going to be cupping Rachel’s ass in a way that is definitely not friendly.

“Want me to take that cup away from you?” Tony asks, mildly, before recoiling at the look she directs at him. “Or not.”

The damage is already done, though, and she excuses herself before heading outside for some much needed air. She leans against a wall, a sneakered-foot coming to rest against the brick, and when the gym doors open as another couple heads inside it literally puts her in a small pocket of shadow, blacking out the flickering orange light at the end of her freshly lit cigarette. 

[skankedbra-y]

↳ INSTAGRAM: @skankedbray uploaded a new photo.

black is the new black. 

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[skankedbra-y]

[ open f2f ].

The corsage hangs limply from her wrist. She takes a deep breath and thinks about calling Russell. What would she even say? Sorry I won’t be bringing home a crown and that I failed. Again. Her loss is practically inevitable now that the tables have turned and she’s somehow second best to Santana, She’s not even sure that her father will care -- honestly, it depends on the amount of Dubonnet consumed at any particular time -- but she kind of cares. She’s trying not to. This was the goal she’d set. The one thing that she’d wanted for herself her entire High School existence. It had been in reach at one point, she could almost taste her victory up on that stage.

And then it had all blown up, just like sophomore year had turned into her worst nightmare just because she’d gone against everything she believed it for the sake of one night, and the year had just been an endless reminder that she still didn’t have any friends -- just backstabbing minions who would turn on her for any chance at the spotlight. 

Quinn has always wanted to live up to those expectations that her family set ages ago, but all she’s really good at is failing at the things she doesn’t want and failing to ignore the things she does. And it always comes down to the same few people.

She didn’t exactly plan on spending prom holded up in the girls bathroom on the first floor, but it’s better than searching suspiciously for a mysterious bucket while simultaneously avoiding Puck altogether; they can still barely look at each other, or maybe she just struggles with the way he looks at her -- like she’s a mother, as opposed to the girl he’s been dreaming about sleeping with since he had his first wet dream. She shivers, places her bag on the edge of the sink and starts rummaging around her purse for the flask of vodka she snuck in down her dress. 

[skankedbra-y]

↳ INSTAGRAM: @skankedbray uploaded a new photo.

anti-prom preparations aren’t complete without a skeleton onesie. 

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[skankedbra-y]

TEXT MESSAGE → QUINN FABRAY  ♕

KITTY: And here I thought I was showing genuine concern. My bad. I'll keep the 'preaching' to a minimum. I am happy with my choices, Quinn. I'm loyal to the people I care about, I get to do the things I love, and scheme to my heart's content. What's not to love?

KITTY: Fine. Whatever. Thanks anyway.

QUINN: Yeah, well I didn't ask for your 'genuine concern'. It's better for both of us if we keep this arrangement as impersonal as possible.

QUINN: S'nothing personal, Kitty.

[skankedbra-y]

TEXT MESSAGE → QUINN FABRAY  ♕

KITTY: I want to say the hair dye but it's probably the drugs, seriously Q you should really take better care of yourself. We only get one body, and one soul -- one life. Is this really how you want to live it?

KITTY: You know I will, whatever you need. Within reason of course.

KITTY: I don't know, breathing?

KITTY: [unsent] I just hate him for what he did to you.

QUINN: Give the preachin' a rest, Kitty. I'm perfectly happy with the choices I make, even the ones involving drugs and hair dye. How 'bout you take off the judging shades for a second and ask yourself, are you happy with yours?

QUINN: I try to ignore him for the most part, I suggest you do the same. Every time I bother to give him the time of day I'm quickly reminded what a mistake it was.

[hotpinkhummel]

I didn’t even have a tone, Quinn. You’re the one who was all pissy about me not wanting to campaign, ending with a passive-aggressive ‘have fun with Brittany’.

I’m dressing up, but I’m not going to go with the whole ‘haunted’ theme. I mean, that defies the point of it being a costume prom, because then every costume has to be zombiefied. My ensembles are a little more classy than that, thanks.

I wonder how long it’ll take for him to realize that we’ve been talking about him here?

[skankedbra-y]

‘Cause I figured that since we’re technically on the same side, you’d rather be doing me in a favour in honor of showing me where your loyalties lie, instead of taking Brittany to prom. 

You’ve never been one to stick to the status quo, so to speak. Fashion choices included. Though, you’re deff not the only one taking a ‘classy’ approach. Despite my converse, me and Rachel are dressing to impress. It’ll be kinda interesting to see what everyone decides to dress up as, and I’m definitely expecting more than a few dead Cheerios. They were never particularly an original bunch. 

Don’t jinx it, Hummel. If by some miraculous miracle he can suddenly read, I’m sure he’ll surprise us all with his charm. 

[misplacedmelodies-blog]

Visit Original Link

[skankedbra-y]

TEXT MESSAGE → QUINN FABRAY  ♕

KITTY: No.

KITTY: I mean maybe, I'm not really an expert in the elderly.

[ a pause ]

KITTY: Brittany.

[ another ]

KITTY: I can count the number of times Santana has cut me down on one hand and they've all been a direct result of something admittedly rude or judgmental I've said to her special friend. Brittany's literally the only person at McKinley she actually cares about. So if you want to hurt her... she's probably your best bet.

KITTY: I mean I would have thought you'd make the connection yourself, being as y'all used to be best buds but I do take my job as double agent very seriously.

KITTY: I'm also pretty sure they're in the midst of some weird fight right now, being as Brittany's been MIA at cheerios so it shouldn't be too hard.

KITTY: Take the info, or don't, whatever, just remember who has your back.

[ a beat ]

KITTY: Also if you could get Puckerdoofus to back off that'd be much appreciated because if he doesn't stop with the moron soon I'mma have to go full apocalyptic on his behind and I'm kind of enjoying being the middle man in this war. I'd hate to actually had to pick a side just because he's incapable of stopping the stupid from falling out of his mouth.

QUINN: How could I forget? Thank you, Kitty.

QUINN: I'll think of something, though I might need your help in it's execution. I'll text you the deets when the time comes.

[ a pause. ]

QUINN: Don't even mention that neanderthal to me. What's he doin' to piss you off?

[skankedbra-y]

text message → quick

Puck: He sounds like an old man, Quinn. At least Puck is better than Noah, and those nicknames are given to me by the cougars I bang on the reg. Talking about my Star Wars sheets after you've just sent me two pictures of yourself on Hello Kitty sheets... Okay. Bit rich.

Puck: You know, come to think of it, if you want shit done, you can find another dude to 'blindly' follow your demands. As idiotic as you think I am, two can play at that game. Thanks for the pics, Q.

Quinn: He's in his forties, so I guess you're technically correct. Sounds like we're both into making 'friends' who're a little older. And that doesn't matter. Least my sheets are cute and clean.

Quinn: Cut that shit out, Puck. Joking around like that isn't funny, not even in the slightest.

[ a long pause. ]

Quinn: Delete them.

Quinn: The pictures. Delete the pictures.