possibilistfanfiction:

[my last weekly headcanon reparations of the season. because faberry deserves their space on the page, and you deserve a fitting beginning of their continued story. i hope this does them justice.

title from “dead hearts” by stars (which is amazing, listen). because it’s the last one, bonus song rec: “atlas hands” by benjamin francis leftwich.]

…

kids that i once knew (they had lights inside their eyes)

.

we can spend our lives letting the world tell us who we are. sane or insane. saints or sex addicts. heroes or victims. letting history tell us how good or bad we are. letting our past decide our future. or we can decide for ourselves. and maybe it’s our job to invent something better.
—chuck palahniuk, choke

…

one. watch the skies, everywhere. keep looking. keep watching the skies

.

When Quinn says goodbye to Mr. Schue, she doesn’t think of when he never acknowledged how sad she was at the beginning of Senior year. She doesn’t think about how he ignored her sometimes, or how he said stupid things a lot of the time. She doesn’t think of his double-standards, how he supported Rachel and Finn’s (almost) marriage.

Because today she stands. She walks. She gives him a hug. She says, “Thank you.”

She thinks only of the Glist, and how he hadn’t told Figgins, and how, maybe that one time, he really had saved her.

He told her that she was Quinn Fabray, and that she could do anything.

Today, he tells her, “You’re amazing.”

“You helped make that happen,” she says.

He laughs. So does she.

.

It’s weird, when she kisses Puck. She’s a second away from telling him, from coming out to him—she’s been a second away from it for a year now—but then it dawns on Quinn that tonight isn’t about her.

Tonight is about Puck, and tonight is about PuckandQuinn, QuinnandPuck. But mostly, tonight is about Beth.

So she bites her tongue and smiles. She kisses him, for luck, for confidence. Mostly she kisses him because she knows the feeling of the desperate need for someone—anyone—to care.

Puck doesn’t taste like Santana, or Brittany, or the pretty girl who goes to Ohio State that Quinn had met over the summer at the mall. He tastes, mostly, like mistakes, but Quinn believes in him anyway.

A few days later, when he gets a C-, she is genuinely happy. She is genuinely proud.

He whispers in her ear, “We could be great together.”

She shakes her head, squeezes his forearm. “You don’t need me to be great.”

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