Just an idea I came up with. What would the glee cast- mostly Faberry - be like in the Big brother house? This chapter was the result. More to follow, but I don't know how quickly, because Big Bro is a game with lots of components, as those of you who watch it will already know. It's an epic game, with too many stresses. I'd probably have a nervous break down if I went in there, but that's neither here nor there...
If you were to have called upon Rachel Berry, or even tapped her shoulder, she wouldn't have twitched. She was focused, her eyes warm yet fiery spheres as they hinged upon the twists and turns that played out across the muted television screen.
For years, this - the TV - was as close as she'd thought she would ever get to being a part of the ruthless reality TV show. But the audition tape that she'd submitted just six months prior - the one that would either see her secure herself a summer long stay in the Big Brother house, or not - had changed all of that.
With rapt attention, she watched the TV screen, which was running an old episode of the renowned reality show. She watched, not from the standpoint of a fan, but from the standpoint of a player; studious and analytical, all whilst hoping that her luck would stretch on just a little further, because she'd gotten this far after all, and today was the deadline.
She would either receive her key into America's most watched house, or she wouldn't. She would either get her shot at the half a million dollar prize money that she so needed, or she wouldn't.
And if she did make it into the house, well... Rachel Berry knew one thing. For her parents' health and emotional wellbeing, she was going to lie, backstab, and cheat her way to that money if it was the last thing that she did, regardless of who was stood in her way.
With decidedly less cheer than she had exhibited when it had first arrived, Quinn Fabray peered at the gold key that lay on her work desk.
She'd been on cloud nine when the CBS camera crew had - just over an hour ago - shown up at her office, and presented her with the news that she was going to be a houseguest on this year's Big Brother US.
That cloud had quickly darkened though, thanks to her co-workers, who'd had slowly chipped away at her elation with reminders of past Big Brother seasons. The back stabbing, the lies, the betrayals, the paranoia. The underhanded eviction plays. The strenuous emotional and mental taxation.
"Seriously, how hard can it be?" she asked, glancing at Miranda, who halted her fingers amongst the files that scattered her desk, and looked up.
"Do you even watch the show, Quinn? If you're a strong player, they'll vote you out. If you're a weak player, they'll vote you out. If you have a strong social game..." Miranda deadpanned, letting the dry silence speak what had apparently become her mantra. "And that's not even factoring in the twists that they come up with each year."
Quinn's pale forehead pinched, her full red lips briefly running without sound. With unmistakable forlorn, she looked at the key that meant that she'd been selected to be on television for the summer...
"Beth and I," she muttered, her eyes adopting a far off pensiveness as she glanced down into her lap, "we need the money. Even if I could just make a secret final two deal with everyone in the house, and walk away with the fifty-thousand dollar runner-up prize, that'd be enough cash to get us out of here!"
Miranda's gray eyes loosened of their previous cynicism, and she rolled closer to her blonde colleague in her office chair, placing a supportive hand to her knee. "Quinn, honey, I know that you're scared that he'll find you and Beth again. But going into the Big Brother house isn't the answer."
"What, and working this tedious office job for chump change is?" Quinn sniped, tugging her fingers back through the obsessively neat blonde strands that fell from her scalp and swept her shoulders.
Miranda's fingers fell away from the distressed blonde's knee. "Look, I hear you, but -"
Quinn held her hand up. "No buts, Miranda! Beth and I are going to get out of bumblefuck Ohio, and that half a million dollars is our ticket out of here!"
Miranda nodded, almost shrinking under the belligerent determination that radiated from her co-worker's lit hazel eyes. "Alright," she quietly replied, "but have you spoken to Beth about this plan?"
Quinn couldn't help but think of her daughter in that moment - how beautiful she was. What a miracle she was. How she deserved a happy peaceful adolescence, without fear of her lunatic father finding them.
"Beth doesn't need to know anything until that cheque's in my hand. She thinks that I auditioned for the show for mere shits and giggles. She doesn't even know that... I've been selected to go into the house yet."
Miranda raised her thick unkept eyebrows. "Well when do they fly you out?"
"Tomorrow."
"Clean your room, Noah! And quit leavin' food up there for days on end. Smell's like somebody took a dump in there! Jesus!"
Noah Puckerman closed his bedroom door and pressed his back to it, listening to the his mother's muffled scroll of complaints.
He was sick and tired of this. Being thirty and not knowing what it felt like to own his own space, and pay his own bills, was messing with his head.
He only had himself to blame; he knew that. He knew that his years of fucking up and shunning his responsibilities had caused him to be in this situation.
And he also knew that if he didn't get his shit together soon, he was going to lose all self-respect, along with his already tenuous sanity.
"Noah!"
At the sound of his name, which had been shrieked like it was a matter of life and death, Noah tugged open his bedroom door. "What now, mom?"
"There's a fuckin' camera crew down here with some key, claimin' that you're in the Big Brother house! Now tell me what the fuck's goin' on!"
Noah ruffled his mohawk, his dark eyes misting over with clouded realization, before bulging. "Shit, really?"
"You think I'd make this shit up, with the mood I'm in?"
Without further comment, Noah bounded down the worn creaking staircase, smirking like the cat that had gotten the cream. "Oh the fuck yeah," he purred, pumping his fist in the air. "Big Bro house, here comes Puckzilla."
Brittany slung her arms around her wife's neck, repeatedly jumping up and down. "San, we're gonna be on Big Brother! We did it, oh-oh, we did it!" she sang, in that goofy child-like way that people loved her for.
Santana chuckled, running her hand down her wife's back. "I know, B. That money's as good as ours," she foretold, smug. "We just gotta play it smart, is all. First up, we gotta fool the other houseguests into believing that we don't know each other. If they think we're working together, we're screwed."
Brittany calmed after a moment, pulling back a little to allow her gleaming blue eyes over her gorgeous wife's face. "Let's have sex."
Santana smirked, tugging her wife that much closer. But other than that, she made no move to undress. She just stood there, holding her ray of sunshine close, and smirking.
"What?" Brittany sort of whined. "We're gonna be on TV for, like, provincial three months."
"Potentially three months," Santana corrected her tall happy-go-lucky wife, always gentle and adept with her tone.
"Can you imagine, like, if they vote us out of the house 'cause we can't stop having sex in there?"
"Nobody's gonna vote us out, Britt-Britt. I'll make sure of it."
"Maybe if we let them watch..."
"Baby, no way is America - or my Abuela - gonna gets to see my sex face. You were right the first time. We gotta fuck ourselves silly before we go into the house. Get it out of our system."
To many, Jacob Ben Israel was a strange little specimen of a man. Residents in the neighborhood always warned their children away from knocking on his door when it came time for them to sell their homemade cookies.
That kind of strange.
Despite what the residents of Gorgon Street thought, the short little Jewish man was not one to prey upon children, but that said nothing for adult women, from which he'd accumulated countless restraining orders, over the years.
Jacob Ben Israel did not discriminate; he loved to pester women of all kinds. But it was the beautiful blonde-haired bombshells, who possessed legs that dwarfed his own, that were his main weakness.
Of course, none of those women ever looked twice at him.
It was such rejection from women, and his peers, that had dwindled his social interactions over the years, until he'd become a man of mere solitude. A hermit, who only had computers and reality shows with which to invest all time and energy.
And invest all time and energy he did...
For him, Big Brother was undoubtedly the king of all shows. No other TV show had ever wielded such an ability to make his heart gallop as it rooted for the houseguests that he'd garnered a fondness for. No other show had ever wielded the ability to make him bare his teeth and growl at his TV set, or bring his fist down into the sofa cushion.
No other television show had come under his scrutiny like Big Brother had. Jacob had been watching since the show's very first season; he knew all of the components of the game, and consequently, considered himself a master of the game.
Only, this year he was actually going to be playing it...
There was a dark side to Emma Pillsbury that very few knew about. Her big round honest brown eyes were innocence in physical form - her girly soft-spoken voice the melody of sincerity.
Few looked beyond this harmless, ditzy at times, exterior. However, if they'd cared to, they would have known that she was an almost perfect candidate for the ruthlessness that was required to play the Big Brother game...
Once the camera crew had left her home, Emma made her way to her bedroom. Hooped around her pale finger was her gleaming gold key.
With an almost haunting sparkle in her eye, she watched the golden object sway back and forth. Then she smoothed her soft auburn hair down, and gazed into the closet door mirror, smirking.
Unlike most people, Sam Evans had never worried about cost. The fact that he'd been born into riches had always meant that the handsome blonde bachelor could pick and choose how he spent his days, based on a criteria of fun and fulfillment, as opposed to obligation.
His quest for new heights of fun had led him to this point - CBS's camera crew recording as he span excited cartwheels and boastful back flips on warm California beach sand.
"Whoohoo!" he wolf-called, coming off of a flip that kicked a playful mist of sand up around his perfect landing. "The other houseguests better watch out, 'cause I'm coming for that Big Brother crown baby," he chuckled, face right up in the camera. "It's gonna be a blast!"
Indeed, Sam wasn't going into the Big Brother house for the money. It was just about doing something different and having fun with it, which he considered to be a huge advantage over those houseguests who would inevitably play too hard, become house targets, and get themselves evicted within the first few weeks.
Tina Cohen-Chang ran reverent fingertips over her worn copy of Feel The Fear And Do It Anyway.
More so than for others, fear had been a constant in the raven-haired Asian woman's life, eventually manifesting itself in a mortifying stutter, which in turn had isolated her even further.
Her relationships had perished, like the slow rot of wood, when she'd consecutively begun to refuse social invites from her friends.
A missed birthday here, a missed graduation party there, and soon enough those friends stopped calling.
It wasn't like she'd ever been the life and soul of the party; she was surprised that they'd bothered with her for so long in the first place.
But then Tina had stumbled upon Feel The Fear And Do It Anyway, and now here she was, stood in her lounge, holding her key into the ultimate social game, Big Brother, where she knew that she wasn't going to be able to hide herself away from the world when her insecurities flared up.
"Feel the fear and do it anyway," she whispered.
Finn's Hudson's jaw dropped, hanging before the four CBS Network cameras that had ambushed him.
"Uhh... hey?" he murmured, lifting his large pale floppy hand in a lackluster wave...
Pattie, his co-worker, nudged him. "I think they want you to say something about how excited you are, Finn," she prompted, leaning around the tall shell-shocked man in the hopes of glimpsing the gold key that lay in his palm.
"Uhh... I'm excited." Following those few words, Finn's face melded around an awkward smile. "Thanks for choosing me?"
Stood beside him, Pattie rolled her eyes. Still she managed a big smile, for the cameras, because someone had to. "Let's hope he lasts more than a week, right America?"
There had always been something different about Artie Abrams. At the age of five, it had been his love for rap music and snapbacks in a predominantly Caucasian neighborhood.
At the age of twelve, it had been his decision to rock preppy sweater vests with converses and snapbacks.
At age twenty, it was his indomitable will - his refusal to watch his life pass him by from a wheelchair. His refusal to let the car accident that had taken his cousin's life, steal his.
Doctors had said that Artie Abrams would never walk again...
Not only had Artie Abrams found a way to walk again, but he was going into the Big Brother house, with all of its strenuous physical competitions, for a shot at half a million dollars.
William Schuster was tired of being told that he was too old to participate in certain activities.
His own wife had laughed herself into a puddle of tears when he'd flippantly suggested that he should go into the Big Brother house, and win the half a million dollar prize money, so that they could finally afford to try to get pregnant via an alternative method.
It had all resulted in an argument and an audition tape.
And that audition tape had resulted in...
"I can still hang with the cool kids," Will chuckled in the face of his stunned wife, as he tossed his gold key up in the air, and caught it with a smug smirk.
Next, they'll all enter the house and meet for the first time. For those of you who have watched Big Brother, who do you think the alliances will be? Who do you want them to be?