#p:hr

[growinup-puck-blog]

Hotel Rendezvous|Puckleberry

Puck leaned back into the sofa, his feet kicked up on the rolling ottoman that had been stashed under the small coffee table in the room. It was kind of sad that the hotel room was almost as big as his studio apparent that was no infested, but he tried not to think about it since he liked his place. He’d definitely take it over this room, as nice as it was, because it was his. The only upside to this room right now that it’d given him an excuse to get Rachel to come over. 

Not that he really needed one. Just by the way she’d looked at him the last time he’d seen her told Puck that he could’ve called her from a dingy bus stop in Brooklyn for no reason and she’d have found a way to get to him. He didn’t feel great about it since she was still Finn’s wife, and likely would stay that way, but he also didn’t feel bad enough to tell her to stay away.

He was right in the middle of this thought when there was a quiet knock on the door. Normally, he wouldn’t jump for anyone but he didn’t like the idea of her being anywhere by herself, in the hotel’s hallway. Pulling the handle down, he met her eyes as she stood in the frame of his door. “Hey.” 

[constanceandrews-blog-blog]

hoorah, soldier || nick/connie

Connie was louder than the bus roaring beside her, louder than the sun that hadn't risen yet, louder than the screaming in her head telling her to go the fuck back to bed. "Fall in, let's pick it up!" she shouted, standing outside the doors of the bus with her arms squarely behind her back, feet planted like she was rooted to the ground, eyes watching, scrutinizing, each of the privates filing off of the vehicle. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen. "Faster, let's go! Do not drop your shit; if you fall behind, your platoon will start training without you. Fall in! Pick it up! This is not boot camp, gentlemen! Let's go!"

The new reserve privates formed two single file lines, and Connie watched as they stood to attention, seeing Nick join them. He stood out like a sore thumb at first, but maybe that was just because she knew he didn't really have the qualifications to be here--but something about his story tugged at her heartstrings. If he didn't have what it took to be here, he'd found out soon enough.

Her eyes scanned her platoon of thirty-three--well, thirty-four for the weekend. Each pair of feet was at a 45-degree angle. Each spine was erect. Each palm was curled and at their sides. They looked like a damn fine group. Standing before them, she called in her robust, husky voice, "Welcome to your first weekend at Savannah Reserve Base. You will be training for two days. You will be given three meals a day and six hours of sleep. Do you understand?"

Like clockwork, she received a unanimous chorus of, "Aye, ma'am!"

"You will not treat this like boot camp. I am not your babysitter. I am not your friend. I am your Lieutenant and you will not fall behind over the course of these two days, is that clear?"

"Aye, ma'am!"

"I said 'Is that clear?!'"

"Aye, ma'am!"

"Right flank," she called, "march!"

The platoon turned a perfect ninety degrees to their right, and began to march.

[slyjeong]

❝ ( bt ) herbal relief ☆ ckh / kjg

He couldn't hear anything around him, his small body wrapped in a thick blanket in an effort to stop the shivers. His eyes were unfocused, blank in his shock, and his breath was coming in short little gasps, pain aching in his chest as he struggled to breathe, though he wasn't consciously aware of his struggle. The only thing he could see was the pool of blood that had brushed his white socks when he'd walked into the kitchen, the stain spreading slowly across snowy fabric, the bodies of his parents lying on the ground, surrounded by their own blood -- his mother, sprawled on the ground -- his father, holding her in his arms, obviously having tried to protect her --

He couldn't breathe. It was tightening in his chest, the arteries constricting as they tried to squeeze blood cells through, but the blockage was building up -- he could feel it building up and he knew he had to relax but it no longer felt like he was in control of his body anymore.

Distantly, he could hear worried voices, but their words never made it to his brain, filtering in an ear and exiting out the other without being processed. He'd been like this for ... how long, now? He didn't even know. He didn't know a lot, anymore. Everything was blurred together, everything was foggy, and he couldn't stop seeing the image of his parents' dead bodies.