Quinneths - 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕖𝕒𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕣'𝕤 𝕡𝕖𝕥

g: you try so hard, quinn. but the truth is, you still always resented me, didn’t you? g: well, let’s see if we can fix that. i dare you to actually let loose and have some fun - go convince someone to switch tops with you. 

“Am I free? There is some thing still holding me. Or am I holding it?”

— Clarice Lispector, tr. by Stefan Tobler, from Água Viva (via feral-ballad)

Mistress America (2015) directed by Noah Baumbach

          ———      ⁂      This year at Ogden, Quinn had bought herself a townhouse in the local area as a birthday present. Living in dorms freshman year without somewhere to escape to had driven her half mad. A librarian had given her the idea; one of the many mornings she showed up groggy and incoherent from lack of sleep. You're rich rich. Why not buy somewhere? It hit her like a train. Veering on the sensible side, she still kept paying her dorm [ Waverly #206 ] for when she needed to be on campus. Tonight was one of those nights, with a biochem midterm stupid early in the morning.                                       She didn't know what had triggered such a petty tactic... other than the fact she merely existed. At exactly 10pm her dorm mate had decided it was the perfect time for flute practice. He just continued, getting louder and louder. Eventually, after leaving the dorm for a walk and coming back, she had enough and jumped up from her bed — grabbing the flute from his two hands and smacking it against the wall. The head joint fell to the floor with a clang. It was probably dented. He just laughed and said Bianca was right.                                      The phrase ringing through her head carried her slippered feet all the way to Linden. Quinn was FURIOUS. The sophomore didn't know if this was a Greek rivalry thing or a Pre-Med thing but whatever it was, tonight was not the night. She wrapped her knuckles furiously against Bianca's door. After she answered, Quinn dropped the rest of the flute at her feet.

                       ❝  I  need  you  to  stop  giving  your  minions  ideas  !  ❞

open / closed starter location: late night at linden housing / bianca’s dorm

the loud knocking on her door nearly made her jump out of her skin. she scrunched her eyebrows together as she hurried to finish moisturizing her face before leaving the bathroom. bianca didn’t want whoever to get the chance to pound on her door again. besides, it was late and she wasn’t expecting anyone, or was she? if she did, she forgot about their plans. bianca opened the door and plastered a smile on her face before speaking, confusion still written on her face. ❝it’s nearly midnight and you knocking on the door like you’re the police,❞ she shook her head. the pace her heart was beating would’ve given an old man a heart attack. ❝you needed something?❞

BROOKLYN NINE NINE SEASON 4 EPISODE 16

@defavorise

Sharp Objects (2018)

          ———      ⁂      Quinn had spent the day now gone at her apartment in town. She needed to decompress. The amount of studying she was forcing herself to do wasn't healthy. She knew that, she did, and yet she carried on. Part of it was the same anxiety she had carried her whole life: that at some point, she would get complacent and fail horribly for everyone to see. She had come so close a few times. Mostly it was a distraction. If Quinn worked herself to the bone, there wouldn't be time to think about her missing cousin, the heightened public interest in her family, her tangled feelings. It had taken accidentally crashing in the library last night for her to finally take a day off. Was it a waste of a day? Absolutely. But that was what she needed. Challenging herself to a chocolate macaron recipe by Pierre Hermé, the sun had long set by the time she had 24 little iced meringues she was content enough with. 

                                     Walking back to campus, sealed tupperware hugged tightly in her arms, Quinn was wrapped in a thick woollen coat that grazed her ankles. She imagined she might cut an intimidating figure in the shadows if she wasn't the height of nothing. The sophomore hadn't noticed it was Ollie walking ahead of her until he turned around. She grinned.                        ❝ Would you like to bleed out fast and get it over with           or nice and slow so you can ponder over all your terrible life choices ? ❞

Near the dorms, Late Wednesday Night. ( open ! )

It was colder outside than Ollie had thought as he walked from the dorms to the nearby 7-11 to get a Big Gulp late at night, and back again. He’d spent more than enough time in his room, really only leaving for one of two reasons. Going to class, or visiting Monty(/replenishing his supply). But he couldn’t last all week in a dark room sitting in front of a computer screen working out this phone tracking issue, and sorting out any pre mid-term issues he was having before that time of the year came up out of no where, like it seemed to every year. It was one of the busiest times of the year for his business, but also one of the most lucrative, so he wouldn’t complain. It was nice to get some fresh air, despite the nearly freezing temperatures as he walked along the campus sidewalk back towards Waverly, chewing on the bright red straw from the large plastic cup in his hand, slowing when he started to notice foot steps behind him. “Please tell me you’re following me because you’re planning on stabbing me, that will solve so many of my problems,” he said, turning to see who it was behind him. “Please?”

aceofportsmouth·:

Booker recognized the loathing in her eyes. The prickly ones are always the most powerful. While not the queen herself, a Morrison still holds a certain amount of sway. He smiled, choosing to ignore her bad manners. Booker raised his hands in defence. “It was merely a suggestion. I thought a dip might make things more fun.” Or remove that frown went unsaid. Quinn being off by herself was an odd sight at a party as big as this one. Booker never missed an opportunity to schmooze and something told him this would be more difficult than normal.  “Not the social type, I see. More of small gathering type?” He questioned.

            one   eyebrow   quirked   up.   "more   of   a   party-when-appropriate   type.   my   cousin's   missing.   for   all   we   know,   in   danger."   quinn   pulled   her   sandalled   foot   out   of   the   way   as   a   small   wave   rippled   through   the   pool   towards   them.   "it   leaves   a   bad   taste   in   the   mouth   —   no?"   she   stared   at   his   eyes   as   if   daring   him   to   disagree.