Activity level: If I’m not online, be afraid - be very afraid.
Ships: Fuck, Puckleberry, all of the other ships.
Name: Noah Puckerman
Relationship status: Dating Rachel Berry.
Personality: Broken, moody, distant, angry, sad.
Bio: Puck tried to go to school after he graduated. He went for a little while, sat in the back of his classes and didn’t understand a thing he was being taught. Frustration led to him dropping out and for awhile he took up a job in Burt Hummel’s shop. It wasn’t long before Noah was tired of Lima though and he decided to go to the place all his old friends seemed to gravitate towards: New York. It wasn’t as easy there as they all thought when they were just hopeless teenagers. But Puck caught his footing, got licensed as a bartender, and found a job, sang on musician night sometimes. And then he found Rachel Berry.
Something inside of Puck had broken long ago. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly. It could be any number of things - his broken family, the daughter he gave away, his failures in life, the fact that who he thought he was happened to not be who he really was. Within the last year it had all started to weigh heavy on him and Puck began reacting. He drank a lot more than he used to, was cold and distant in times when he shouldn’t be and he didn’t treat his relationship with Rachel with the respect it deserved (namely because he wasn’t being faithful). It were as if he just didn’t know how to function anymore. What is really wrong with Noah Puckerman?
Location: SoHo, Manhattan.
Sample: Blinding and hot, the sun peeking in through the window reached across Puck’s bed and landed directly in his face. He’d tried to shield it with the pillow that smelled like Rachel’s shampoo but it seeped in through the places where it didn’t touch his face. It was a horrible way to wake up and Puck was instantly pissed off. He’d been saying for weeks that they needed better curtains. Sleeping in the day time surely constituted darker curtains. It wasn’t as if this place was just Rachel’s. He wasn’t mooching off of her so surely he could have some say on if they had dark curtains in their bedroom or not. But, no, the wispy white fabric that hung in front of their window did no good. Puck rolled over onto his back and reluctantly opened his eyes. There was no sleeping now.
He sat up, letting his feet hit the ground before he even bothered to look around. The lights were all out, there was no music playing, no singing, no noises of Rachel being around. A sharp, panicky, pain slashed through his stomach and Puck was off his ass in no time. He pulled open the first few drawers of Rachel’s wardrobe before a sigh of relief escaped and he leaned his whole body against it. For a minute he’d thought she’d done it - left him, left all this, gone off and taken all her things - but her stuff was still there. She was probably just out or, if he would have looked at the time, at rehearsal. He was unsure of why he cared. She should have left him already and he wasn’t sure if she did that it would illicit any response from him. But, he assumed, he’d rather have her do it when he was conscious enough to witness it. Definitely not while he was passed out. Snatching his jeans off the floor and throwing them over his shoulder Puck made his way out of the bedroom and back into the world of the living and mostly functional. He needed a drink already.