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Entry tags:
armor up
Oh my God. Day. Worst. Do not even want to discuss.
Please take a second and leave me prompt(s). Multiples are cool. I'm most into Glee right now, so Glee prompts have by far the highest probability of being answered. I just want to write about things that are not my life right now! Show choir fits!
P.S. - Just because I'm cranky doesn't mean that prompts have to be sad to match or happy to compensate; I'm good with the gamut of emotions/ideas. For reals. I'll work with anything people throw at me! But, again, highest probability of answers for: Glee prompts, specifically ones that get a little more specific than, like -- listing a character and a color and saying the word 'go.'
Please take a second and leave me prompt(s). Multiples are cool. I'm most into Glee right now, so Glee prompts have by far the highest probability of being answered. I just want to write about things that are not my life right now! Show choir fits!
P.S. - Just because I'm cranky doesn't mean that prompts have to be sad to match or happy to compensate; I'm good with the gamut of emotions/ideas. For reals. I'll work with anything people throw at me! But, again, highest probability of answers for: Glee prompts, specifically ones that get a little more specific than, like -- listing a character and a color and saying the word 'go.'
no subject
:D?
(1/2)
"Dude, that's, like, the worst idea ever," Puck says, sprawled in his chair with his knees spread and his arms folded over his chest. "You can't just go strolling into the parking lot with a huge group of unarmed people. I've played Left 4 Dead; I know how this goes!"
"Feeding frenzy," Sam says, totally unnecessarily. Most of the group shudders.
Finn bristles. "Well, nobody else was suggesting anything!"
"You didn't exactly give us a chance to," Mercedes interjects sourly.
"I don't know why you boys are assuming that you're the only people in this room who are capable of coming up with a plan," Rachel snaps. "I've thought up no less than four separate escape plans while I've been sitting here." She flounces up out of her seat and heads for the whiteboard, and 10 students groan.
One doesn't.
"Look," Santana snapped, picking up a chair, "we need to get some food and water, then lock ourselves up and throw away the key."
"--What?" asked Brittany, and this wasn't her usual blankness; she sounded lost and scared enough that Santana stopped what she was doing and turned around. Brittany was standing in the faculty lounge doorway, hands hanging awkwardly at her sides.
She wasn't much of a lookout.
Santana lowered the chair and said matter-of-factly, "We're breaking into the vending machines for some food. Then we're running as fast as we can to the chorus room, where we're gonna barricade the doors and sit until somebody shows up with some damn guns. Okay?"
"... Okay," said Brittany. She didn't look or sound reassured.
"Brittany," Santana said, sharply enough that Brit jerked her head up and stared at her. Santana took the couple of steps necessary to bring them together, and then she leaned in and peered out the door over Brittany's shoulder. The halls were deathly silent; no sign of them here. She turned her attention back to Brittany, who hadn't made the slightest move to get out of her way. They were standing inches apart.
"I know you're scared," said Santana, choking back overwhelming impatience and looking Brittany in the eyes. "Ignore it. Fear doesn't get you anywhere. All it does is make you fuck up the footwork during a back handspring. Remember?"
Sometimes, Coach Sylvester's advice came in handy at really weird moments.
This one was probably the weirdest.
(2/2)
"It'll be fine," Santana said, like it was a death threat instead of a promise. She released Brittany's hands. "Just watch the hall and yell if there are any zombies coming."
"Okay," said Brittany. After a second, she thought to turn around in the doorway.
Santana picked up the chair again and, with no small amount of tightly-focused glee, used it to shatter the glass front of the vending machine. Somebody had left a backpack on the table. It only took a second to dump partially graded tests out all over the floor and then start filling the ugly thing with all of the food that Coach Sylvester would have her tanning privileges for if she saw.
The first thud was the only warning. Santana spun to look at the closet, candy bars and bags of chips spilling out of the backpack, and then the door flew open and something that smelled like the boys' locker room with the rancid dial turned up to at least 75 lunged out.
Santana shouted at the top of her lungs and barely registered an answering shriek from the doorway. The zombie made wet sounds when she battered at it with the backpack and it kept coming forward. She threw a chair at it and felt a terrible hand close around her arm. As it dragged her in, Santana shrieked, with all the desperate, furious authority of someone who had spent the last two years of high school making lesser beings piss themselves in terror:
"Brittany, run!"
"Fear doesn't get you anywhere," Brittany says, opening her mouth for the first time in three days and startling the entire shouting group into silence. She's sitting in the back row, staring down at her blood-spattered uniform and her hands resting in her lap. "All it does is make you mess up the footwork during a back handspring."
Silence reigns.
She mumbles: "It'll be fine."
Re: (2/2)
WHY MAKE ME ALMOST CRY, LEXIE?! THINK OF MY EYESHADOW!!!
Re: (2/2)
YOU CAN RIGHT ME A ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE ANY TIME
Re: (2/2)