#quickleberry rp

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text ⇄ quick

Puck: We're good. Did the pitch. Pretty sure she was so surprised I was the one bringing her the idea that she would have agreed to anything.

[signingpuckermanarchive]

Someone wanna explain where the fuck summer went, because it was June five minutes ago. I’m calling bullshit.

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↳ INSTAGRAM: @studatumass uploaded a photo:

Upside, no school. Downside, paranoid Jewish mother. #happyfuckingmonday

↳ 12 LIKES, 4 COMMENTS:

@fhudson: Tell my mom I said hi. @cheeriolopez: What the hell did you do now? (view all comments)

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Numbers Game [Solo]

It's official. 70/30.

Puck grimaced as he sent the text. They weren't the numbers he'd been hoping for, but he'd been prepared for it as much as he wasn't. His hearing had been shit for years--and steadily getting worse--but he'd seen it coming like a flashing sign when he laid himself out with a nasty concussion the whole tail end of June. He knew head trauma made it worse. He'd had his mom hovering at his shoulder for years with worried eyes, because she hated him playing football. It was one thing when he was a kid and he just ran the risk of getting hurt, but he got handed a diagnosis too young and, then, it was her worrying about his hearing too.

That bad?

Ma wants to get me an interpreter next year. Or transfer me.

He sent the reply off to Finn and cast his mom a look. "I'm not switching schools," he told her again.

"Your studies-"

"I'm a shit student, anyway," he reminded her, because they both knew it was true. Struggling to hear the teachers didn't change the fact that he struggled with everything else. "I like my school."

The light turned green before she could reply and he slumped back in his seat. The conversation wasn't over--they'd been fighting about it all summer--but it was a minor victory for the moment. He could settle for that.

You'd slushie an interpreter.

Which is why it's not happening.

So you're transferring?

Fuck no.

He could handle it, same as he'd handled the Meniere's Disease for years. He may have been shit at managing the symptoms--too impatient for meditation and too forgetful to track a pharmacy of supplements--but it wasn't as if his body ever responded to the homeopathic crap much, anyway. Shit hearing was shit hearing. Between his mom's whole damn family being deaf and his dad losing his hearing--in one ear, the bastard--to the same disease Puck had, he'd always looked at his own ears like ticking time bombs.

Some days, he thought it was a blessing. He'd grown up in the deaf community, but at the same time, he'd never quite fit into his mom and Sarah's world. He was hearing before he tacked hard-of- at the beginning of it. The doc didn't want to say it, wanted to give him some kind of hope that things would level out, but he wasn't dumb enough to miss how bad his hearing had degraded in just a few months.

What are you going to do, then?

Puck paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard on his screen. He didn't know what he was going to do. Stick with football, definitely, because he wasn't going to live in fear of something that was already happening. Stick with Glee... Maybe. Rachel would probably skin him alive if she thought him and his hearing were putting her wins at risk, but he'd made it through Regionals without anyone realizing. Granted, his hearing had been better then, but Finn had helped him out in memorizing the pitch and the timing. They could do it again, broken friendship healed up by slashed tires and shared punishments, so long as they didn't talk about betrayals or the little person that came and left so fast that Puck hadn't had the time to think about chickening out.

He sighed.

Figure it out as I go.

What damn choice did he have?