Faithfully
A/N: Okay. I think I'm gonna die if I don't get this story out of my system. It was inspired by some comments I saw on live journal about a tattooed Quinn and I was thinking, "holy shit that sounds sexy", so I formed some words and created this concoction of a first chapter to a very odd story.
It's my first Glee fiction and I'm slightly obsessed with Dianna Agron, so you will find that it is a little Quinn centered.
Enjoy!
BTW: This chapter is named after Adele's "Hometown Glory". Great song, really...
Chapter 1
The inhabitants of Lima, Ohio would tell you to this day that when they met and encountered the youngest daughter of Judy and Russell Fabray, Quinn was her name, they pictured her becoming some famous doctor, or lawyer who married a nice blonde man and had a few blonde kids and lived old and happy with her god oriented family.
They were pretty much sure that with the intent watching of her parents, the perfect social life led with precision and dedication, head cheerleader, president of the celibacy club, etc., she would grow up to be just like her mother and father.
They were wrong.
From the pregnancy, to the disowning of her parents, to delivering and then adoption, to packing all of her things up and disappearing from the little town of Lima, they were wrong about every perception that they had gathered of the once "wholesome" Quinn Fabray.
They never would have guessed that she would end up covering most of her left arm up in a tattoo, or that she would have a small diamond stud pierced atop her nostril. They never could have told you that she would become a tattoo artist and open up a chain of parlors in L.A, Dallas, New York City, and West Hollywood, where she lived.
They never could have told you that she fell in love with a woman, and enjoyed women, and indeed was a lesbian.
They never, ever, would have thought.
That was their problem.
They didn't think.
But she could have cared less, to be honest. Quinn Fabray had decided once her car had crossed the state line of Ohio, she left every thought about everything that involved her past life with it.
Every now and then she allowed the thoughts of Glee, of Regional's, and of her baby Beth to fill her mind slot.
Other than that, it was the buzzing of her needled pen as she created some theatrical drawing here and there and everywhere on various people's body.
She thought of how she loved the way the ink would stain on her customers body wherever she was specially requested to place it, and she would under a large amount of payment.
Ink was like a sustained addiction to her.
She much preferred it in her college days over any other means of writing, it seemed ink was permanent…unable to be erased. And something about that really sunk into her.
She was hooked under the pretense that it took a great amount of effort to get rid of ink. It was hypnotizing…poisonous yet yearned and loved overall. Easy to get addicted to really, and in a sense favored.
It was like a muse that allowed her to think, when she was rewarded the time to come in to her home shop in West Hollywood and give a special creation to someone, and the buzzing would surround her ears and she would let her mind wander in a sense of enjoyment.
She credited it to her best ideas…and to her worst memories, memories of happier moments, of bronze eyes gazing into hers and auburn strands of hair felt on her fingertips, of song lyrics being sung lovingly to her in her own world…and then the buzz of ink etching those words onto her, forever, burning in her arm…
"Wake the fuck up, Q." A voice snatched her from her comforted place of unspoken hell, and she snapped her head up from the sketch she was transferring to the big burly arm of a very rich man to glance to her best friend and colleague.
"Good morning to you San, you're always so happy and bright in the morning time…" She said as the Latina she was referring to raised an eyebrow and sat a steaming cup of coffee down next to that of Quinn.
"Yeah, sure, Britt thought it would be nice if brought you some coffee on the way to the office…" She spoke running her fingers through her mane of long dark hair.
"I'll have to be sure to thank Brittany for promising you hot crazy sex when she gets home from rehearsal…" Quinn spoke with no emotion as she returned her gaze to her work.
"At least I'm getting hot crazy sex, let alone any sex at all, Mrs. Frigid." Santana spoke sipping her coffee and allowing her heels to click as she strutted over to the front counter of the shop.
She allowed her eyes to trace all the appointments that filled the list and glanced up at her best blonde friend.
"Fuck, Quinn do you plan on seeing light, today?" She said with a conviction and hard, tough, eyes.
Quinn momentarily considered answering the question, but then decided to leave it in the air, because to be honest…no she didn't plan on it.
"Whatever bitch…let me know, Britt and I are going to a club tonight-"
"No San."
"Quinn you've got to get out there sometime soon and meet you a hot one with a nice ass…or something." Santana pitched as if some sort of sales commercial.
"Is that supposed to be tempting?" Quinn asked with a raised eyebrow.
Santana shrugged her shoulders, and concluded her scanning of the appointments…but only to make her presence better known aside Quinn.
"Lopez, please…your invading my personal space."
"Does is look like I give a fuck? Look tubbers, Britt and I seriously haven't had enough time in our post honeymoon to figure out why the hell you're moping so much but we've decided that enough is fucking enough."
Quinn allowed her mind to settle over the fact that to anyone else's ears this was harsh and very unsettling, as a matter of fact, it was way too contradictory and rude to be a friend's comfort in anyway, but to Quinn under all that Latina hard-ass nonsense, Santana Lopez was saying, 'I'm worried about you, please come out with us'.
In all of her years of knowing the girl, from high school to meeting up with her now with them being 'all grown up', she knew how the girl worked.
She got shit done, her way.
It was one of the many things that kept their relationship solid, Quinn concluded. Because they both were stubborn and didn't know how to not be.
Well, unless Brittany was around.
The Latina had not changed. She was still head bitch in charge, only now instead of a cheerios outfit, and occasional glee costumes, she donned suits and a wedding ring.
Brittany had finally tamed the shrew.
It was laughable to anyone from Ohio, because it was all so obvious that those two would eventually become too close for anyone to squeeze their happy asses between them to break them apart.
Santana was a rude lawyer wearing many hats, she took all types of cases, always won, and didn't ask any questions in between. She also owned half of Quinn's business and took care of all the financial behind-the-scenes stuff.
A year into all of this, Brittany proposed, and now they were officially stuck with each other.
Quinn hadn't decided yet if it was nauseating or slightly disgusting, either way she always had the urge to throw up in their presence.
"Seriously Q, I have no idea why you feel the need to be all hormonal and shit, but it's annoying and upsetting my wife, and when my wife's upset she never wants to have sex, so therefore it's your fault I couldn't get any last night and so I'm just a little fucking pissed at your white ass-"
"When are you ever not pissed at my white ass…"
"Quinn! Stop acting like you don't want to hang with us, your two best friends who have stuck with you through thick and thin, drunken one night stands and bastard babies-"
"Fuck bitch, I'll go! Just please…for the love of god shut the hell up…" Quinn muttered truly exasperated with her useless rambling, and Santana smirked in true thanks.
"I figured so, be ready around about eight, Britt and I are carpooling," Quinn rolled her eyes focusing on the arm of this huge man still somehow in her line of vision allowing her slightly far off mind deal with permanent ink and his skin. Hmm, how wonderful he hadn't thought she was a psycho crazy bitch.
"Love you Quinn!" Santana called, waltzing out of the door.
"Fuck you." came her reply to the departure.
Quinn hadn't been out in nightlife since she first resided in West Hollywood. She was all for the Lesbian bars and stuff, but she wasn't into dating.
She just wasn't.
And it was an unspoken rule to not question it.
But in her solemn head she questioned it every single day, she wondered why she was shutting her self off from nice, sexy females whom she could have.
But the questioning was short lived, she answers were there in front of her.
She was in love with one girl.
And it figured that the last time she even witnessed the female was at her high school graduation beaming in the picture they had taken together and telling Quinn that she would be simply exceptional at UCLA.
Quinn almost replied to girl, 'I love you',
But she nodded and kissed her on the cheek and allowed herself the pain of missing and longing to see the gorgeous but undeniably straight friend she had fallen in love with.
It was some suck worthy bullshit.
Seriously.
Finishing the touches on the big burly man's "masterpiece", she snatched the pen from his arm, set it on the tray beside her. She stared at the work she had created in her short moment of musings. It was quite morbid…but strangely beautiful in its own scary way.
"Is it finished darlin'?" He questioned, excitement undeniable in his low undertone of voice.
"Yes sir, it is…it's fucking awesome too, an obvious Quinn creation." She grinned at her own statement, before grabbing him a mirror.
"Well that's what I hoped for…" he said while staring at the new vision taking refuge on his arm.
"Wow…that's gorgeous. Ms. Fabray, you're simply exceptional." He said smiling a big gangster grin towards her.
Someone else once told me that.
"Thank you sir, I appreciate that, go get yourself wrapped and Kim up front will handle all that other complicated shit." The blonde kicked her stool backwards and shook hands.
"Pleasure doing business with you," She said genuinely.
"I'll be back." He stated firmly with a big smile and she found the contradicting of this man's appearance with his actually great personality and intelligence quite refreshing in the big judgmental state of California, she could see why he was seeking residence in the open minded place of West Hollywood.
Quinn grabbed a towel to clean her hands off before allowing her gaze to travel around the large space that she started all of this coping and sketching of her dreams. She had entitled the franchise, Ink Inspiration. Since it was her only inspiration and the feeling of giving someone else the same message from what she did gave her an unspeakable amount of joy.
Inside her iced heart was happiness somewhere, you know like, true shit-eating grin happiness?
It just needed to be unlocked, and she was going to allow someone to do it…but she just had a few more years of mourning to do.
She had all this success, all this great achievement, but she wasn't satisfied. Because she couldn't share it with the one person who really lied in her mind, she couldn't give her all because it lied within the person that truly was the inspiration behind the ink.
She was the reason there was a giant gold star placed next to every 'inspiration' on every sign.
She was in love with Rachel Berry, and every day it grew stronger.
Lesbian tattoo artist, head over heels in love with someone who probably didn't even remember her name.
She had been devoted to this insanely talented and exuberant singer ever since high school, and she knew the exact moment, and replayed that moment every day in memory, in missing and in mourning.
Because after all there was nothing she could possibly do about it.
She didn't know the location of one Rachel Berry, she didn't know if she was married or engaged or happily dating someone, some man probably…not the gay type. Quinn knew.
It was all so real in high school. She liked men, and Quinn was a woman. It was straightforward and to the point.
It wasn't getting any more bittersweet than that. There would be no confession, no heartfelt running into each other's arms revelations in some sort of dramatic romance movie type fashion. There would be no gorgeous make up scene with her declaring her missing and apologies for not finding her sooner, as made popular by those gorgeously false fairytales.
Because after all the assuming and all the wondering, and maybe even some slight prying here and there, people were sure of one thing.
Quinn Fabray's life, wasn't a fucking fairytale.
A/N: There is so much more coming from that…I've got plot bunnies running circles in my brain and they are excited about tattooed Quinn, trust me. So if you're yearning for more please let me know! I love reviews!
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