Title: Tweet, Tweet
Pairing/Characters: Rachel and the fathers Berry.
Word Count: 2,600
Rating/warnings: K mainly. Perhaps slight T for crudeness.
Spoilers: None really. But if you didn't know about the short-lived Puck/Rachel and that Quinn is knocked up, I shake my head at you.
Prompt: From the glee_fluff_meme; the Rachel Berry behind the Broadway glitz - drabbles based on the tweets from here. /RachelBerryGLEE Crack!fic

A/N: Couldn't pass this up primarily since each and every one of these tweets made me laugh - although the swing one; given the way I took it, disturbed me. Sorry if they sound weird; I'm not used to writing in first person.


Redecorating my bedroom from scratch. So long, pink, hello CANARY YELLOW! (PS it's kinda kuz I listened to that Coldplay song.)

"Daddy? Do you remember that show we watched where it mentioned that people should surround themselves with cheerful colours in order to protect their self-esteem and insure future happiness?" I ask my father across the breakfast table as he reads his newspaper.

"Mmm." he murmurs, not tearing his eyes away from the text.

"Well, I've decided my bedroom needs a makeover. The colour pink has become far too childish, and this magazine I was reading says it signifies emotions such as lust, and romance, and as I know Dad and you would like my virtue to remain intact, I feel it isn't an appropriate colour anymore. I was think perhaps yellow, as it is both a bright, cheerful colour, meaning I will remain positive and optimistic as well as insuring my innocence. Any thoughts?"

He raises his coffee mug and gulps several mouthfuls down rather agitatedly. "If you go ask your Dad, he can drive you to the hardware store." he finally says and I jump from my seat and press my lips to his cheek.

"Thank you, Daddy!"

Skipping towards my room to put my shoes on, I blow a kiss towards my iPod. "I love you Shuffle option!"


Jul 6th, 2009 - I'm in my bathroom practicing my show-faces! My new favorite is what I like to call the "I just won a daytime Emmy!"

"Rachel, sweetheart, we need to leave!" my dad shouted from the foot of the stairs.

"I know! Give me a minute. Feminine issues!" I yell back, knowing he won't come up the stairs that way.

"Okay, Rachel." I whisper to myself, "Its showface time. We have the-"

Tony Acceptance Speech showface.

Mr. Schuester that was a great song choice showface.

It's alright, you didn't know I don't eat meat showface.

Oscar Acceptance Speech showface.

Finn just stomped on my foot, but I'm fineshowface.

Yes I know I'm very talented showface.

"Rachel! Sweetheart. Get down here!" my dad yells again. I roll my eyes.

The: Grammy Acceptance Speech showface.

Yes, Mrs. Puckerman, I get on quite well with your son at school showface.

That solo should be mine! showface.

Principal Figgins, thank you for agreeing to my ideas showface.

aaaaaaaaand...my newest favourite! The-

"You know if you spent as much time leaving the house as you do practicing showfaces, maybe you wouldn't be late to school so often." a voice breaks through my reverie. Turning I spot my dad frowning lightly. With one last glance at the mirror.

The "I just won a daytime Emmy!" showface.


I just got myfist stujck in a jar of Laura scudder'ss all jnatural paenut butterr! Can nayone Help?/?

"Hello, my preciouses." I coo towards the ferret cage as Mrs. Snuggleton and Valerie Bertinelli poke their noses out. "Yes I do have some peanut butter for you, if wait for me to finish first."

Scooping a lump of peanut butter onto my plastic spoon, I stick it in my mouth as I fumble around with the lock on the cage. Opening the door I reach for their food dish.

Pouring more grain into the dish, I scoop several lumps of peanut butter on the top, before taking another bite myself. By this time, both Mrs. Snuggleton and Valerie Bertinelli have began scratching at the cage in impatience.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." I murmur, sticking the spoon back into the jar, only to hear a snap as the plastic snaps in two.

"Damn." I whisper, pulling the broken end out. Reaching my fist carefully into the jar, I grope around in the spread for the broken-off piece. My slippery fingers soon clamp on and I hiss in victory.

"Got it!" I cry and tug my hand upwards, hitting the edges of the jar.

"Oh shit."


My gay dads took me to Glamor Shots at the mall and we found the photos to be SUB-PAR. I tried to tell them I NEVER wear cowboy hats!

"Sweetie. They look fine. You look adorable, doesn't she Leroy?" my dad says as we sit at the dining room table, pictures spread out across it. Daddy nods,

"You were always gorgeous when we took you to riding lessons. I think you get it from my mother."

"Daddy." I frown, "I was six and hadn't grown into my nose yet. Everyone looks good in a cowboy hat when they're six. And then they hit an age where it no longer is appropriate."

I pick up one of the other photos. "See this one? It's a good shot. You know why? Because I do not have a cowboy hat on."

"Rachel, sweetheart, I don't see the problem. You look beautiful as always." Dad sooths, patting my hand gently.

"Dad. It gave me really flat hair which does not suit my bone structure. And the wide brim just emphasised my nose and made it look even bigger."

Blank stares.

"She does have a point."

"Leroy!"


In honor of Michael Jackson's passing, I'm teaching my ferrets the choreography to "Thriller."

"Alright." I say, "We have the music, the lighting, the original video and the photographic shrine. You guys ready for our tribute?"

Reaching into the cage gently, I lift both Mrs. Snuggleton and Valerie Bertinelli out and set them on the dining room table, allowing them to each eat the small scoop of peanut butter offered. Hitting the play button on iPod dock, I begin.

Halfway through the dance, both Mrs. Snuggleton and Valerie Bertinelli have stopped eating and have each tilted their heads to stare at me. Laughingly, I switch off the music and skip towards them. Taking Mrs. Snuggleton's paws in my fingers, I gently lift her to her hind legs.

"Okay. Arm, arm up, leg, leg down." I chant, hitting the play button. Valerie Bertinelli has grown bored and I spot him crawling away quietly as Mrs. Snuggleton begins to squeak. Suddenly I jump back in pain as two spots of blood begin to ooze from my hand. I whimper lightly as she scampers to join Valerie Bertinelli at the food-dish.

Pressing a tissue to the cut, I start to fumble in the first-aid kit for a bandaid as Daddy walks in the room.

"Rae, sweetheart. What did you do?" he asks and I frown, pointing towards the eating ferrets.

"Mrs. Snuggleton bit me."

"Any idea why? If you were handfeeding them peanut butter again..."

I pout. "No. In honour of Michael Jackson's death, I was teaching them the 'Thriller' choreography."

"...oh dear lord."

(note: I have never had any experience with ferrets of any kind and to quote Marshall from How I Met Your Mother; they are like 'fuzzy tube-shaped rats' and I would rather never to touch one. As for the "Thriller" dance – tried and failed it once.)


Spent an hour trying to think of a style of performance I don't excel in and couldn't come up with one.

Singing? Of course I can do that; heard of MySpace anyone?

Dancing? Since I was three months old, thank you very much.

Acting? How do you think I got Mr. Ryerson fired and Hank in counselling?

Mime? Succeeded. I do an excellent box mime.

Poetry? Puh-lease. My rendition of 'Stop All The Clocks' had my English teacher in tears.

Stripping? While I am strongly against it, watching Mimi's scene from RENT really helped me.

Wow...I am very talented.


I think my didgeridoo is broken. It kinda only plays one note.

"Daddy? When can we go back to the music store? I think the didgeridoo is broken."

"Rae...why did you choose to pick up that instrument anyway?"

"The same reason why I took Irish Dancing. Every performer must be well-rounded. And this instrument only plays one note."

"I think it has something to do with breath control." Dad pipes in, looking up from the TV Guide.

"What are you talking about? I have excellent breath control. It's obviously broken."

"And it's a traditional male instrument; I believe symbolising male genitalia. If a woman plays it, it supposedly makes her infertile."

"..."


My dads just put a funny swing in their bedroom! What's that about?

"Dad, it's a quarter to one in the morning. Why are you drilling?" I blearily murmur as I stand in the doorway to my fathers bedroom, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. My dad's face flushes a deep red.

"It's alright, Rae. Just go back to bed. We're trying to...uh...fix the lightbulb in here." he stutters and I frown.

"And you need a drill for that? Whatever happened to a chair and a new globe?"

"We...umm...needed to fix the light fixture as well." Daddy butts in and I blink, my mind still foggy with sleep.

"Well, can you keep it down? I still need my beauty sleep." I slur and Daddy smiles, kissing my forehead.

"Sure can. Love you, Star."

I turn slightly; ready to trudge back up the hall when something catches my eye.

"Why have you a swing in there? Shouldn't that go outside?"

Dad's face flushes even deeper. "Errm...not this kind. We're getting a swing for the back porch later."

I raise an eyebrow, "And this one is needed inside because..."

"Someday when you're older, you'll understand. Now off to bed." Daddy answers, placing a hand on my back and steering me towards my room.

"Why do people keep telling me that? I'm perfectly old enough!" I argue and he chuckles.

"Not for this you aren't."


I just got a Valentine's Day card from my Rabbi. Is that sweet? Or weird?

"Rachel? Mail for you!" My dad calls up the hallway and I leap from the sofa and skip towards him.

"Excellent! It's about time my leg-warmers showed up!" I cry, only to be handed a slim envelope.

"Maybe it's a secret admirer. It is Valentine's Day after all." Dad teases and Daddy laughs from next to him.

I shake my head and slit the envelope open, pulling a gaudy pink and red card from inside. Next to me, Dad coos in happiness while Daddy pats him reassuringly on the shoulder.

I open the card slightly and a shower of glitter falls to the floor, causing an 'oooo' to echo from Dad's lips.

"Rachel. Happy Valentine's Day. From...Rabbi Greenburg?" I quote and Dad gasps slightly.

"Oh." I murmur and he hugs me gently. Next to him, Daddy shrugs.

"I think he sent on to little Sarah Puckerman as well." he says and Dad hits him warningly.

"Real reassuring, Leroy."


Valerie Bertinelli, one of my ferrets, got into my V-Day candy and had to be rushed to the Animal Hospital! Pray hard for him!

"Hey sweetie. How was your Valentine's Day?" my dad asks as he sits down next to me on the sofa, watching Valerie Bertinelli and Mrs. Snuggleton batting foil balls around on the floor.

"It was okay. I got that candy from you and Daddy, and the card from Rabbi Greenburg and couple more at school-" mainly from Jacob, detailing how he wants me to have his babies, a scrawled note from Finn and a crude drawing from Noah, detailing how he can use our shared-Jewishness to 'rock my world'. "-but it was okay. What are you and Daddy doing?"

He ruffles my hair slightly, "Going out for dinner. You alright here by yourself?" he askes worriedly,

I smile, "Its fine. You go have fun. I'll have Valerie Bertinelli and Mrs. Snuggleton here for protection."

He grins and kisses my forehead before meeting Daddy at the door.

"Love you, Star! We have our phones if you need us."

I nod and turn back to the television, Funny Girl blaring on the screen. Several minutes pass and I hear a soft choking. Looking around, I spot Mrs. Snuggleton curled on the carpet, fast asleep...and a gyrating, squirming Valerie Bertinelli hacking next to her.

"That doesn't look like he's doing 'Thriller'." I murmer, leaping down next to him. A crunch underneath my foot causes me to stop and stare at the crushed candy heart on the carpet.

Scooping up my phone, I hit the dial button. "Umm...Daddy? Is there such thing as an animal ambulance? Valerie Bertinelli wanted to have a good Valentine's Day too."


I wish someone had informed me earlier that "The Wiggles" are really for babies. Because I love them.

Standing in line at the ticket booth, I hum gently under my breath as I watch a small girl and boy whine impatiently as their mother taps her foot.

Sighing she leans down and hands each a fruit box before turning and smiling at me. "It's a nightmare, waiting in line." she says and I nod in agreement.

"Are you planning on taking your younger siblings to the show?" she asks kindly and I shake my head,

"Oh no. I'm an only child." I inform her and her smile droops.

"Oh. I didn't realise you had children. You're so young. How old are they?" she asks pryingly and I shake my head once more.

"I don't have children. I'm sixteen. I just wanted to get my ticket early. I love 'The Wiggles'." I say and her eyes widen.

"Oh right then." she abruptly says, turning away to pull her children back to her side.

I shrug in boredom and stick my earphones back in my ears. A large white sign catches my eye: THE WIGGLES IN CONCERT. AGES 0+

"0+...?"


Word to the wise: telling your dads you're two months pregnant is NOT a good April Fool's gag.

"Morning Star. How did you sleep?" Daddy asks as I wander into the kitchen. I shrug as I slump down into my chair and deny Dad's offering of orange juice.

"What's wrong, pumpkin?" he asks and I sigh heavily.

"I have something to tell you guys...I'm two months pregnant."

I'm met with silence before the kitchen explodes with voices.

"You're what!"

"I told you Leroy, that letting that Puckerman boy into the house was a bad idea! Everyone knows what he does with those trashy housewives!"

"Who says it's even Noah, Hiram? It could be that dense Finn Hudson! Lord knows it's not the first girl he's impregnated!"

"But everyone also knows he's a sweetheart who wouldn't think to cheat on his pregnant girlfriend!"

"Can we focus on what's important here? Our sixteen-year-old daughter is pregnant! Our dreams of her on Broadway have vanished!"

"I told you we should have gotten Hannah Puckerman in to give her the sex talk, instead of handing her that medical textbook. Maybe then she would have known to use protection!"

"And that's my fault?"

"Yes it-."

"Umm...Dad, Daddy?" I pipe up, "Errm...April Fools?"

Silence.

"Rachel...!"


Is Abilify safe for ferrets? Because Mrs. Snuggleton and Valerie Bertinelli do not seem satisfied with their current antidepressant...

"What's wrong with you?" I hiss as both ferrets frown at me from under their fuzzy little eyebrows, "I've given you your medication, and your feed. I refilled your water bottle and even ignore your new diet which said no peanut butter. So why are you acting like Quinn Fabray when she realises there's no more ice-cream?"

I'm met with silence.

"Fine then. Is it the medication? Isn't it working anymore? Because it seemed to work fine for Daddy after he had to do surgery on all those car-crash victims. why doesn't it work for you two?"

More silence.

"Is it the music? Because I can give ballads a rest and go back to mash-ups. You seemed to like them."

Even more silence and deeper ferret frowns.

"Alright, I'm going to find Daddy's medicine booklet and get you something stronger. You're beginning to creep me out and you have worse PMS than Santana Lopez and Kurt Hummel put together."


A/N: Tada! Any thoughts? I tried my best and well this is it. Again apologies if it's written weird; I really do not like first person. But if you enjoy it then virtual cookies to you all!