jaiaelle:

Safer in the Long Run - missing scene from Duets
Description: After rolling away from Brittany in the hallway, Artie runs into Quinn - literally.
Notes:  I just wrote this in the last hour and I think it could be longer and more descriptive but I don’t have time to do it more justice.  Regardless, it is now canon in my mind that this happened!  

~~~

As he rolled down the hall away from Brittany,  Artie couldn’t stop thinking about what a fool he’d been.

To sleep with someone he didn’t love and didn’t even like.  Someone he barely knew and who thought he had been a robot.  And apparently someone who would sleep with just about anyone. 

He always thought his first time would be special, not something that he would forever regret.  Not with a girl who was forgettable.  

So lost was he in his thoughts that as he came around the corner, that he didn’t notice a body standing directly in his path.  Head down, eyes focused on his knees, he crashed into her, and she went down, onto his lap.  Surprised, Artie let out an “oof” then lifted his gaze to make eye contact with -

“Quinn?  I’m so sorry.”

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quartieonglee:

Never Can Say Goodbye

The train had just taken off from the station; all of New Directions lined up to wave their goodbyes to Rachel as the train pulled out. Finn chased it down as best he could; a romantic (albeit cheesy) gesture. Artie couldn’t help but smile at the sight though. For a long time, he wasn’t sure about Rachel and Finn— their entire relationship had seemed like a mess. However, here Finn was, letting her go to live her dream without him, and Artie admired it. He understood what it felt like to let something go. Maybe his circumstances had been for different reasons, but still. He never held a grudge over all the heartbreaks— the cruel nicknames and whispers. He always showed that his heart was gold and tried his best to help others, regardless of their differences.

The group had begun to dissipate now that Rachel was on her way to New York. Mike and Tina lingered; fingers threaded together as they began discussions with Sam and Mercedes - about what, he didn’t know. Apparently something humerus, considering how much the group was laughing; Sam was probably doing another impression. Pinkies linked, Santana and Brittany headed back out to their car— he’d overheard talk of Brittany begging to go see the pandas at the zoo for the day, so he assumed that’s where they were headed. Kurt and Blaine were comforting Finn and already mourning the loss of their shining starlet. The rest, he wasn’t sure where they had taken off to, but that left only two: he and Quinn.

Artie wasn’t complaining.

“Are you excited about Yale?” he asked, breaking the strange but not uncomfortable silence between them. Quinn had always been his favorite, despite their differences; Artie felt they actually had more similarities than one might imagine. And she was flawless. At least, in his eyes.

“I’m so excited Artie. I’ll finally be out of Lima— away from the drama and everything this place has done to me,” she answered, hazel eyes burning brightly with eagerness. Expressive blue stared up at her, listening intently and glowing with pride. As much as he was going to miss Quinn— miss sitting next to her in glee and hearing her soft, husky singing voice melt his heart… he was happy for her. Proud that she had managed to muddle through all the cap she’d been dealt, and finally on her way to better things.

“I admire you, Quinn,” he said softly, flashing one of his boyishly charming smiles - not faltering in the least. “You’ve been through so much and look at you now. I just… I’m proud of you, Q.” Artie glanced down for a moment, adjusting his glasses and internally scolding himself not to shed a tear. Instead, she did - golden eyes glistening as she watched the boy whom been through just as much as she had, pouring admiration for her. A delicate smile lit up her features, and Quinn gingerly stopped a tear from cascading down her cheek.

“That means so much, coming from you, Artie. You see, I think of you as the strongest person I know. Hearing you say that about me, makes me feel like I did something right.” Quinn’s words had Artie’s heart fluttering; for a moment, he felt like he meant so much more to the blonde than ever thought imaginable. Then, he remembered he’d actually brought a small token— a graduation gift for her. Maybe they hadn’t grown close until the end of the school year neared, but they were… close - that is; which is all that mattered.

“Thanks, Quinn,” he murmured, fingers fishing in the pocket of khakis for a small box. Upon finding it, Artie gently tugged her hand forward, placing it in her palm. Raising an eyebrow, the blonde proceeded to pry it open, beaming as she saw its contents. Inside lay a charm bracelet with a sole charm— a crown. “I just… I heard what you did for Rachel. And Quinn… I know you didn’t always go about things right, but you know that too, and you fixed them. You deserve a crown; you are a queen. So… take this with you to Yale and remember me? Consider it a— a parting gift.” Artie was smiling again, his eyes widening as Quinn leaned in closer to him.

“This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me,” she whispered, leaning in to ghost supple lips over Artie’s now blushing cheek, lingering. As Quinn pulled back, her smile softened, eyes locking with his for a moment. “I’m sorry, my gift for you is at home— I was hoping to bring it by sometime before I leave,” she explained, a look of worry crossing her features.

“Quinn. That right there, was the best gift I could receive,” Artie replied on a wry smirk, index finger lifting to point at his cheek - now covered in a light sheen of pink gloss.

Jokingly, but with a small ounce of hope shining through just within his chuckle, Artie offered: “Wait for me at Yale?”

This time Quinn was the one blushing; her head shook playfully as she grinned, a hand taking Artie’s and giving it a light squeeze. “You know it, Abrams. I’ll see you next year.”

Quartie Week - Take Two, Day 1: Missing Scene Quartie —By Carrie

purrpickle:

Swooping in to kiss Rachel, Santana pulled back and licked her lips. “Cherry?” she cocked her head, “You been kissing Mike?”

Rachel smirked up at her. “Well, it’s better than last week’s puckleberry, hmm?”

Frowning, Santana folded her arm around Rachel’s shoulders. “Damn right. Puck needs’ta learn you’re off-limits. So why did Mike kiss you? Do I need to kick his ass?”

 “He said he wanted to know if I tasted like Pez.” Grinning, Rachel snuggled in.

Santana rolled her eyes. “And did you?”

Pulling her down, Rachel kissed her securely. “What do you think?”

“Mmm… I think we should do some more research…”

*

Later, Rachel shook her head, smiling despite herself into Santana’s neck. “You know, you guys have way too much fun with my surname.”

Santana grinned and surged up to roll Rachel onto her back. “I’m just waiting until they think of Berry Pie. I mean, you and B? Smokin’ hot.”

“It’s a good thing you’re not the jealous type, hmm?” Rachel arched an eyebrow as she slid her arms around Santana’s neck.

“Oh yeah… Not jealous at all…” Nuzzling Rachel’s nose with her own, Santana pulled back. “Tell Mike to keep his mitts to himself afores I have to break every dancin’ bone in his body, kay?”

A wide, amused smile split Rachel’s face. “Okay. Besides, Pez is the only flavor I want on me.” She lowered her voice. “Even if Berry Pie sounds intriguing…”

Santana kissed her. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“Gladly.”

pezberryagainsttheworld:

Rachel hung up her heavy black peacoat on the hanger casually slipping off her flats to the right of the front door of her up-scale New York apartment. She sighed,

“Another Christmas Eve alone, huh, Barbra?” she huffed, leaning down to pet her cat’s little tawny head.

She moved over to the couch, plopping down lazily, and reaching with all her might to grab the remote without moving. She sighed, she was sadly unsuccessful. She settled for her “misfortune”, laying down on a red throw pillow. She curled her feet up at the end of the couch, thinking over her day, planning ahead for the next one.

She licked her suddenly dry lips before lifting herself up to the kitchen. She glanced over at the framed pictures clinging to the beige walls. A picture of a beautiful Latina woman disrupts a light blue sky behind her. Rachel grows a bittersweet smile, admiring the picture. She looks over at the next picture, a picture of herself and the Latina girl from the previous picture playfully fighting in a kitchen over a bowl of what looks like cookie dough. A dewy tear slips down the diva’s cheek. Her teeth tug at her bottom lip, words of the past tugging at her throat. She clears her throat, wiping a tear graciously off the underside of her chin. She zipped past the hall into the kitchen. She yanked open the fridge, navigating through the mess of organic vegan foods. She grabbed an apple biting into it vigorously, grabbing a magazine off the kitchen counter.

A rap on the door breaks through her steady rhythm of eating her apple and reading an article about Idina Menzel. She looks curiously at the door from her seat on her bar stool. She lifts herself off her seat and walks over to the door slowly. She raised herself on her tippy-toes and looked through the peep-hole. A strong-jawed man in a uniform waited with a quiet pose at her door. She raised her thick brown brow and opened the door consciously.

“Mrs. Lopez-Berry?” The man bellowed.

“Uhm… yes, hello. That’s me.” She said with an uneasy tone.

“Mrs. Lopez-Berry, I’m so sorry.” He said lifting his cap off his head, revealing a shiny bald head. Rachel’s eyebrow lowered itself from its pedestal, her look softened, and her eyes glazed over.

“Your wife, Santana Maria Lopez-Berry, has fallen in battle.” He said promptly looking down at his feet.

“Thank you…” She said quietly, reading his name tag before finishing. “Colonel Morris.”

He nodded grimly, offering his hand for a handshake. Rachel glanced at his hand and shook it weakly. She closed the door, the second tear of the night slipping down her face. She fell to her knees on the ground, sobbing heavily.

“Santana!” She screamed through depressed tears. She curled her fingers through her brunette locks, whirling around on the floor.