#I refuse to chat when I’m in a negative and bad head space and lately that’s all I’ve been tbh

[rosicheeks]

Are you still on snap?

Yes and no

[remsmoonlight]

— title : battle scars

— word count : 2.1 k words

— pairing : daryl dixon x reader

— summary : during a quick run, you fall into some trouble with some walkers though daryl’s love language is spoken with actions and not words.

— warnings : mentions witnessing death, near death experiencing, extremely minor cursing, mentions of blood and gore

           ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　requested     　/     requests are open    *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

okay so i requested this a while ago to someone else and they said they’d write it but i never found it  and i forgot who i asked so i might of missed it, but maybe a walker grabs readers hair or something so she looks for something to tie it up with and daryl gives her his bandana and she just decides to claim it or some cute shit like that??? it’s okay if you don’t wanna♥️♥️

Shap rays penetrate effortlessly through the barred windows, the tatty scraps of cloth providing little protection against the blinding morning sunshine. You pull your arm to cover your eyes, not quite ready to be released from the grips of your slumber.. the nights before a run have always been the most troublesome. Your mind running through every which way the day could turn out, pleading to your mind to focus on the positive outcomes that are always on the table of possibility. Both the positivity and negativity keeping you awake into the late hours.

The only consolation being when you were gifted the image of a blanket of stars over the dark sky, free from any light pollution that was known among many.

“ time to get your ass up, sleepy head. “

You don’t need to remove the arm that lays heavily draped across your head to know who’s familiar drawl that belongs to. Daryl Dixon. His voice in being a quite distinct quality about him. Though there’s more than that you think humorously as a smirk that lazily snakes its way onto your lips.

“ yeah, yeah. I’m up. “ you respond to him as you find yourself focusing on his form in the doorway, clutching the bed linen that serves as a makeshift door in his grip. Your mind wonders if you’ve ever seen him in a state of inactivity that held no tension .

Members of the group continue to filter into the main hall at a leisurely pace, sleep still clinging to their backs in a losing battle.

Sitting off to the side, your gaze settles to the lone male. Daryl nods from you to the space across from him, a bowl laid across from him.

“ thanks for saving me some breakfast. “ you speak, breaking the silence as you pick up the spoon and lifting a heap of oats onto it. Knowing you would need the energy, of course, the world ending brought a new meaning to breakfast being the most important meal of the day.

“ yeh, don’t need ya collapsin’ on me now. “

Amusement tugged at both corners of your mouth as you peer at him, even after all the time had passed, he still doesn’t want to show how much he cares for the people in the group. Even the newcomers from the Woobury group. Of course, you know.. you see what it means to him see everyone safe, to avoid losing yet another member of his new found family to the rotting fingers of death. The finality of death landing heavier blows on his already bruised heart over again is not something he wishes to fall victim to.

“ you know you’ll never get rid of me, I’ll haunt you from my grave! “ you say, joy lighting up your features as you chuckle, momentarily forgetting your breakfast.

A silence embeds itself comfortably between the two of you, something that becomes less and less awkward every time you find yourself in the vicinity of the man. Human contact and communication had to be quickly developed and it wasn’t long before you became comfortable chatting with everyone as if you had known them for years, but Daryl isn’t completely like those members in your group. He speaks with his actions and it took you long enough to realise that, which is why you found no awkwardness sneaking itself around your throat to force words to fall from your lips unwillingly.

“ so, where are we going first? “

“ ‘saw there was a sports store a few miles out a few days ago. they’ll have some’a those bike chains for those fences. “

Nodding in response, you understand it’s nothing more than a simple task. Though, nothing is truly simple now, even something so minor can cost you your life. The first few days you had spent up at the quarry were plagued with nightmares, every day when you saw the sun begin to dim roused a deep fear that bled into your heart, opening a deep pit in the bottom of your stomach, thinking about the rotting corpses and the frenzied deaths of those you loved. The night time cradled your worst moments, to have to close your eyes and to only be left alone with your thoughts would haunt you endlessly.

Shaking your head to yourself, you rid yourself of that dark energy clouding above you. You have dedicated a lot of time and drive to make progress, it’s not something you yearn to be thrown away as if it were nothing.

“ are we going to pick anything else up, or is it just those? “

“ nah, no use gettin’ ourselves killed. “ he responds, focusing on eating breakfast.

You nod your head swiftly, you certainly can’t argue with that logic! Knowing others have lost their lives or have been horribly injured attempting to go the extra mile.

“ well, I won’t be disagreeing with that plan. quick and simple. “

“ sounds like.. “

He lifts his line of sight to stare at you as his sentence trails off into silence, a passing moment crawling along almost uninterrupted before the realisation of what he meant erupted in your mind. He’s talking about you!

“ that’s so rude! “ you say with wide eyes, creasing up and shaking with laughter.

“ I ain’t wrong. “

Even Daryl begins to ease up and chuckle to himself, a small part of him had been cowering in the corner thinking that his words may have been too offensive, even for you. But seeing the sparkle in your eyes as you find amusement is enough to banish it permanently.

The two of you leave the confines of the prison, your arms are locked around his midsection as you are settled behind him on the motorcycle. The speed of it hit a steady pace, the scenery around you nothing more than passing blurs merging into a melting pot of Earth tones.

Slowing to a stop, the two of you get off the bike and make your way into the abandoned store, your eyes scan it in its entirety. Confidence fills you in the thought that it is older than you and definitely had seen better days. Dirt and grime lined the structure from the bottom, sliding up the walls to the top of it. Your brows burrow in repulsion, though surely it can’t be as bad as the prison. Or how it used to be..

“ stay back. “

You watch as he bangs a hand against the grungy window, hardly anything could be seen through the layer of dirt that had made its home there. A visual picture certainly would not be helping either of you this time.

It took around two minutes for a series of slams against the windows to startle you, your heartbeat begins to speed up slightly at the suddenness of the noise. Even when you’re expecting the arrival of walkers, they still manage to catch you off guard. The two of you nod to one another, you move to open the door for four walkers to pile out. Your attention is kept to the two who made a beeline for your body. You step backwards with your knife now in your hand, hoping to create distance between the two of them for you to be able to stab one of them.

One of them grabs your shoulders, immediately your hand goes to shove one of its away from yours. Momentarily it loses grip and trips into you, luckily your hand with the knife is faster than you realise and you feel the resistance its skull and brain give you but you’re stronger and ensure it hits the mark. The change is instantaneous, the walker descends quickly, taking you with it. All your strength and fight is dedicated to pushing the dead weight off of you, your arms make progress as it falls next to you with a thud.

Scrambling to the space next to you to retrieve the knife still sleeping snugly within its head, your breath is ragged from the physical exhaustion and stress of the situation. Your eyes are wide with fear and it takes more strength than you realise to pull it out with a sickly squelch, a darkened liquid coats the once shining blade. Though you have little time to study its form before you feel fingers clawing at your hair, the surprise causes you to drop the knife and your hands to move towards the decaying ones who have secured their grip.

Screams erupt from your lips as your fingers move upwards, pushing what you guess is the walker’s snapping mouth that feels so close. Close enough that you’re unable to distinguish if the breaths you feel close to your neck is from the walker or your imagination. Never before had you felt like a prey animal before, you’re too close to death for your liking, you’d seen people turn from being bitten and to be seconds away fills you with dread. Your fight becomes less and less by the passing second, your body is too tired to fight itself and the walker at the same time, incapacitation is becoming your reality.. warning to confront you one step at a time.

One moment all you can hear are snarls and a warm pain that shoots through the roots of your hair, the next it feels like time has stopped. The grip that was once securely locked is now absent, you don’t know where to look.. all you know is you don’t want to look behind you.

“ y’alright? “

Your sight moves upwards, squinting as you take in the face in front of you. It’s Daryl.

“ uh, I -- “ your voice breaks at the end as you reply, shock overwhelming your body. You drop your head towards the ground in disturbance, refusing to allow your emotions to spiral, you focus on a spot on the ground.

Daryl moves towards you, his gaze checking you over, though begins to search through your hair to make sure the walker has not scratched or punctured your skin with its filthy teeth. Seeing you in that state with the walker so close to dimming your light pushed him, pushed him to fight harder than he has with a few walkers. He knew he could have sent a bolt through its skull, but rage filled his entire being as it drove him. Sending him in its direction and sending a blade through it with his entire force.

“ hey, it didn’t get ya. y’hear me? it didn’t get ya. “ he says, bringing your attention back to him. Though whether it was confirmation more for his benefit or yours, he can’t tell.

“ I never even.. I knew, I.. “

“ y’ain’t got your battle scar yet. “

“ not with you around, luckily. “ you reply with a shake of your head, a soft tone is all you can muster in that minute.

Even in spite of yourself and how you feel, a light chuckle coming from you dusts the air gently as if it never occurred. Shaking your head with a smile that barely registers you push yourself onto your knees and make a move to stand. He’s there to help you up, a tender force clutches your upper arm that you almost fail to associate with him.

The both of you share the same thought unknowingly, that your entire being feels nothing but sensitivity. Shock from enduring the ordeal leaving your body made from nothing more than glass that could shatter at a moment’s notice.

“ hey.. “

A bandana is dangling in front of your vision, confused, you take it into your fingers. Your touch feels the rough material as you run your fingertips across it. Like a light bulb, understanding lights your features up with the power of a thousand suns. Your hair is gathered over to one side, collected to form something of a braid now rests over your shoulder.. with the bandana keeping it together.

“ thank you, Daryl. “ gratitude coats your words, you are extremely thankful for his intervention “ this is mine now though.. “ you inform him, a hand moving to finger the material that now has a new home in your hair.

“ yeah, y’wish. “

“ I meant what I said though, thank you. if you weren't here I’d be one of them. “ a sigh from your mouth releases, a shudder crawling its way through yourself. The shake being easily visible.

“ that ain’t ever gonna happen, I ain’t gonna let it. “

A dull smile pulls at the corners of your lips, a sadness coating your expression at his words. Moving towards him gradually, your arms slide around his midsection. Knowing that those promises can’t always be fulfilled, but that’s Daryl a thought crosses the centre of your mind. He always wants to save everyone. You barely register the light weight of two palms on your back, but a warm light grows in size within you at the realisation.

“ you can let this bandana be mine though.. my good luck charm when you’re not around. “

“ fine. “ Daryl gives in, a hint of laughter in his response as he speaks to you.

[joheunsaram]

To Make A Power Couple - 06 (knj)

Chapter 6: Garlic Pasta and I Miss You-s

THIS IS A REPOST SINCE I LOST ACCESS TO MY OLD ACCOUNT. PLEASE FOLLOW THIS BLOG FOR UPDATES ON THIS SERIES.

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Summary- Namjoon visits his parents and Yoongi and Y/N bond over their past.

word count- 4.5k

pairing- idol!namjoon x ceo!reader

rating- R

genre- series, fluff, angst, action, slightly smutty, strangers2lovers

warnings- drinking, talk of mental health and panic attacks, violence, blood, stalker

a.n- sorry for this chapter being late! i had major burn out this last few weeks but I finally got it out. Tell me what you think!

taglist - @beach-bitch-bitch-beach, @sscheherazadee, @rjsmochii , @jinjccns​ , @joyful-jimin @sideblogger @agustdpeach @diamonddia-mond

—

“I hate you Kim Namjoon! Get out!”

Namjoon looks at you with an amused smile as he drops his bags at the door of your bedroom. You’re sitting in your bed, your comforter fully around you, even on top of your head, as you loudly blow your nose, some show blaring on the television. Even though he feels bad about passing on his cold to you, he can’t help but find your red nose and whining adorable. The past few months since Namjoon returned from tour had been few of the best you’d had in Korea. Although you both still had remarkably busy schedules, you had found a routine of spending time together at least once a week, usually ending your Saturdays together to spend as much of the Sunday together as possible. It didn’t matter how you spent your time, whether it was spent going out on dates or sitting silently reading or cuddling, all that mattered was that you were together.

“Aw baby, I’m sorry!” He sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping his arms around your burittoed body. He kissed all over your face obnoxiously, much to your chagrin as you groaned and tried to get him off you, worried to get your snot on him. “Okay. Tell you what. I’ll cancel going to my parents and stay here to take care of you!” He punctuated that with another kiss on your lips. Hey, he’d already suffered through this cold, might as well take advantage of being able to be near you now.

“No! Shut up! You’re not cancelling.” Since things were slower at work, the company had decided to give Namjoon and the boys the week off. He had spent the first day with you, going to the most recent Ji Hye Yeom exhibit yesterday, and was going to go visit his family for the next four days. When Namjoon told you he was planning to spend the majority of his vacation with his parents, he was bracing himself for a negative reaction, a learned response from his previous relationship. His ex would always hate that he would visit his family for extended periods when he got time off and wouldn’t prioritize his relationship with her. He was surprised and relieved to hear you not only excited that he was visiting family but encouraging him to spend more time, upping his initial ask of two days to four. He liked that you always encouraged him to call his mom when he was on tour, as did his mom, so much so that she had started to say ‘my beautiful daughter’ whenever she referred to you in front of him.

Namjoon stood up as he watched you rant about the importance of visiting family, one arm out from your duvet heaven as you waved it about to emphasize your points. He almost giggled at how endearing you looked sniffling through your tirade, hair a mess and voice a little hoarse. Taking off his jeans to get comfortable, he chuckled at your wide eyes and dramatic gasp.

“No! We’re not having sex right now you maniac!” You whine as you lie down with the covers over your head. Namjoon gets into bed, pulling the comforter from over you to sneak inside, his arms snaking around your grumbling form to pull him to his chest. Although you complained, you snuggled into him, feeling the safe comfort that only Namjoon provided you.

“I just wanna nap with you before I leave.” He kissed the top of your head as he tangled your legs with his. You poked your head up from where it was hiding in his chest to look up at his smiling face as he cupped your cheek to place a chaste kiss on your lips. Caressing the skin once he leans away, he looks at you adoringly.  “Sorry for getting you sick, baby.”

———————————-

“Your boyfriend is a tyrant. Please never get sick again.” Yoongi took off his beanie and mask and shook his head to fluff his hair as you went through your phone to finish placing the order for takeout. After talking to Namjoon about how you had spent all of yesterday recovering, and even facetiming to ensure him that you were fit enough to be working again, he still didn’t believe you, forcing the only member of his band that was in Seoul during his vacation to make sure you were truly alright. You would be annoyed if your heart didn’t skip a beat at his overt concern. You were glad to spend time with Yoongi - he was pretty similar to you and you both had been slacking on hanging out lately. A few months ago you had decided to host a whiskey exchange where you would share bottles of your favourite liquor together, only for it to fall apart after two hangouts due to your busy schedules and Yoongi’s new relationship. It was nice to be in his company again, his mellow energy a great contrast to your usually loud friends.

“What did he say?” You question, laughing. Yoongi had called Namjoon many funny nicknames before but hearing him call him a tyrant made you laugh, picturing your boyfriend getting stern and demanding someone pay you a visit.

“You wanna see?” Yoongi chuckled as he pulled his phone out, navigating to the group chat and handing it to you. You couldn’t help but smile as you read Namjoon pleading to the group to check in on you, asking if anyone was around. Yoongi said he was around but refused only to relent once the other boys pressured him and Namjoon pulled in a favour Yoongi owed him from 2015.

“Ooof. Honestly, it’s not that bad. Good to know Jungkook would literally kill for me though, and that you hate to hang out with me.” You threw an ice cube at him from where you were putting them in your glasses.

“He wouldn’t. He’s just a suck up.” He dodged your attack, sticking his tongue out in triumph. “And you know I had to make Namjoon suffer a bit.”

Rolling your eyes at him as he smirked, you watched him pull out his bottle from his backpack. Your Craigellachie 16 no match for his Glenfiddich 30, you chastised him for buying such an expensive bottle for just the exchange. However, you were not going to say no to a glass of that and the two of you sat in a comfortable silence as you enjoyed your drinks. You were the first to break the silence.

“How’s your bae?”

“Oh haven’t you heard? Bae is no more! Broke my heart and left me to suffer.” Yoongi scowled as he dramatically grabbed his chest, before downing his drink. If you didn’t know any better you would’ve thought he was joking but his usual deadpan was missing.

“Shit… I’m sorry Yoongs.” You looked at him softly, making him scoff.

“It’s fine. Going to get a sick album out of this.” Yoongi waved you off, as he reached in his backpack again to bring out three bottles of soju. “Let’s get drunk!”

“That’s… one way of looking at things. You want to talk about it?” You knew he didn’t want to talk about it, it was probably still fresh and you didn’t want to impose but you wanted to give him the opportunity to share if he wanted to.

“Nah it’s fine. It was the usual anyways. ‘You’re always busy.’ ‘Why won’t you share your feelings with me?’ ‘Do you love me more or your career?’ I say good riddance.” He scoffed once again as he poured himself some more whiskey, sipping it blissfully.

“Well good to know you’re not hiding your pain.” You narrowed your eyes at him, but decided to get drunk with him anyways, taking up his offer to refill your glass. You had an extremely light day at work tomorrow with it being Friday and all, plus you knew that once Yoongi got drunk he would tell you how he was feeling. He was a very talkative drunk.

“Oh you know it. I’m nothing if not in touch with my feelings!”

Soon you and Yoongi were wasted, sitting on opposite ends of your couch as the television played the ‘important videos’ playlist on Youtube, laughing maniacally at each random short video that popped up. The food you had ordered was sitting on the coffee table, half eaten and getting cold. Having not heard Yoongi’s giggle in a while you looked away from the screen to see him staring into space, a slight frown on his lips.

“Dude. You good?” You poked him with your foot to break him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah. Sorry just realized I’m single again. Fuck.” He looked at you with wide eyes, as if he had just had an epiphany. You frowned at him, sad that he was feeling this way. In the past six months, you had come to learn that although Yoongi often talked about how much he loved being alone, in reality he put a lot of pressure on himself to find someone to be with.

“You know you’re worth more than a relationship, right?” You placed your hand on his, smiling reassuringly.

“Don’t go all Dr. Phil on me. I’m not that sad. It was like two months but it felt nice to call someone mine, you know?” He rolled his eyes at your concern, but held your hand tighter as he finished his sentence, averting his gaze with a melancholic look. He looked at you again sighing. “How did you get over your last breakup?”

“Um… not healthily. I almost sold my company.”

And so for the next hour, you told Yoongi of how messed up your previous relationship had made you. You don’t think you had talked about it in depth about your breakup with Beomseok for years now, but somehow drunk off extremely expensive whiskey and extremely cheap soju it felt natural to share the details about your most toxic relationship with Yoongi. Beomseok and you met when you were initially still in Canada, visiting Seoul in hopes of expanding. You were busy and he tried to help you as you adjusted to a new country, but as your relationship grew so did his tendency to ensure you relied on him. As hard as it was to admit to Yoongi, Beomseok had made you dependent on him, so much so that when he left you after two years of you accommodating him, you broke down. You started having terrible anxiety, using alcohol and cigarettes to take the edge off. Panic attacks became the norm so much so that you had contemplated leaving your position. You couldn’t see your friends, worked from home, and just buried yourself away. It took half a year of self destructive behaviour and for you to wake up in a bed with someone you didn’t remember to knock some sense into you and get yourself into therapy. Yoongi then talked about his own relationship issues, the two of you bonding over your struggles with mental health and shitty coping mechanisms. It was weird to think that Yoongi hadn’t been one of your close friends before this night.

It was around two in the morning by the time Yoongi left and you felt the emotions of the night catch up to you. You hadn’t thought about Beomseok in years, and thinking about him made you feel extremely sad for past you. You didn’t deserve how he treated you and you wished you could go back in time and shake some sense into yourself, and save the heartbreak. Lying in bed, drunk and emotional, you mourned for your old self and her faith in the world. However, looking at your phone you saw the photo of you and Namjoon - him standing behind you with his arm on your shoulder as he pretends to take a bite off your cheek as you grimace - and you were reminded that you were in a much better place now with a much better man. To say you looked forward to Namjoon returning tomorrow would be an understatement.

———————————-

Namjoon: I’m back!!! Namjoon: I miss you!!! Namjoon: Come over!!! Namjoon: I’m cooking for you!!! Y/N: Um… should I call poison control now or later? Namjoon: I’m back after almost a week and this is the welcome I get? Y/N: Babeeeee you know I love you! Namjoon: Prove it. Eat the pasta I’m making Y/N: Did anyone at least help you cook it? Namjoon: IT’S GOING TO BE GOOD. COME OVER. Y/N: Ok ok. No need to yell… Namjoon: Good. See you in an hour? Namjoon: I’m at the dorms btw Y/N: See you soon jooooooonie Y/N: I miss you too btw Namjoon: I love you too btw

You punched the code to the dorm and were greeted by a very excited Moni as you entered. The white dog jumping up at your legs, his tail wagging wildly behind him. You bent down in the entryway to give him a few scratches behind his ears, cooing and calling him a good boy.

“All this love for Moni, what about Joonie? I’m a good boy too!” You heard Namjoon shout out as you made your way through the large living room towards the kitchen, Moni playfully following.

“Aww is my good boy jealous?” You set your eyes on your boyfriend huddled over a cutting board, concentrating hard on cutting what seemed to be garlic, his jaw set. Namjoon was dressed in a blue overalls under which he wore a black sweater, the hood atop his head, the hair of which was now back to his natural dark brown, his nose scrunched as he attempted to keep his glasses from slipping. You don’t know if it was not seeing him for a while or the fact that he looked so cuddly, but you felt butterflies, your stomach somersaulting. You hadn’t felt them since the beginning of your relationship, and you were a bit unnerved that he still had that effect on you six months later.

“Holy shit. You look like a hot minion!” You almost yelled as you walked towards him, startling him enough to look at you with wide eyes under his black rimmed glasses and yelp.

“Don’t scare me like that! I almost cut my hand off!” He tried to glare at you but was soon smiling widely as you ducked under his arm to stand directly in front of him between the counter, putting your arms around his neck as you pulled him into a kiss. It felt amazing to have his plush lips against yours again, his familiar scent enveloping your senses till it felt like you were drunk off of him.

“I missed you,” you whispered against his lips. Your hands found your elbows as you pulled him in closer and deepened the kiss, making him moan, his tongue massaging yours as his hands went to your hips, pulling you to him. Before you could lose all your senses you felt a sharp poke on your lower back, and you reluctantly pulled away to look behind you.

“Joonie! You’re still holding the knife!” You said in alarm as his eyes widened again and he dropped it on the counter immediately before looking at you sheepishly and apologizing. “Control yourself. I don’t want to spend the night in the hospital!”

“Then stop distracting me! Go sit there and watch me make you the best pasta of your life.” He smirked and his eyes followed as you moved around the island to sit at the stool, bending down to pet Moni as he settled at your feet. Namjoon knew he was a terrible cook, but he had spent the time at home perfecting this recipe, subjecting his mom to the first few horrible tries, till he figured it out. It was a simple five ingredient dish but it was the first he’d learn and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to impress you. You always cooked for him, from experimental recipes you had found online to traditional Korean food that was second best only to his mom’s, and though he was always happy to do the dishes, he wanted your reunion to be special. He cooked almost quietly, blushing slightly at your words and looks of encouragement, plating it like restaurants would before placing it on the dining table and sitting next to you with a bottle of wine, anticipating your reaction.

“What the fuck? You can cook!” you exclaim as you dig in for another bite. Namjoon lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he grinned at his success, finally digging into his meal. “I love the garlic. But damn, is this your way of telling me you don’t wanna kiss tonight?”

“Baby, I find even your gross morning breath irresistible, a little garlic’s not gonna stop me.” he laughed and you scowled at him, nudging him with your shoulder, as he leaned over to peck your lips. You weren’t trying to placate Namjoon, this pasta was absolutely delicious, the right amount of seasoning and everything. It warmed your heart that despite his firestarter tendencies he went through the effort to make you a home cooked meal.

As you ate, you talked about your days apart. You recovered from your cold within a day and had been back at work, and even though he scolded you for going back too fast Namjoon loved the way your eyes lit up when you talked about how you had managed to renew a contract with a client today, switching the period from their usual 1 year to 5 years. You had been working on this for a whole month, taking it upon yourself to attend meetings with not only the directors of this company but even the interns. He squealed with you at your success, high-fiving you and finding your excitement extremely adorable. You also talked about how after two bottles of soju Yoongi had finally admitted you were now his closest female friend and he agreed that you both should now tease him about it relentlessly.

Namjoon told you about how excited everyone was to have him home for that extended period of time, and how healing it was to be around them after the cacophony of tour. Apparently his sister had recently started learning how to make loom bracelets and he showed off the purple one on his wrist, telling you about how he had a matching one for you in his bag. Namjoon looked refreshed and you were glad you convinced him to spend the extra time home. He had also managed to bring back another bonsai tree to add to his collection, taking the time to explain how in a few years he could potentially tap the mini maple for some syrup. The image of your clumsy boyfriend trying to tap a tiny tree made you laugh. As the conversation continued and you both finished your food, you saw his mood dip a little. You silently lean forward cupping his face, as he nuzzles into your touch.

“My beautiful, hardworking boy. What’s wrong?” You coo with a soft smile on your face as your thumbs stroked his cheekbones and he pouts exaggeratedly before his hands go around your waist pulling you into his lap.

“I missed you.” He whispers as he nuzzles his face in your chest, his arms tightening around you. Namjoon felt cocooned in your sweet floral vanilla scent, and even though he’d been home just this morning, this felt like home too - just being in your embrace. He felt his heart swell with adoration as you stroked his hair slowly, whispering affirmations into his ear, slowly forgetting his worries about not spending enough time with you.

Usually when you both met after being apart, it was all desperation to get naked, but for the first time this felt much more intimate. He could hear your heartbeat and it soothed him. He suddenly envisioned both of you old and weathered in each other’s arms and he couldn’t fight the grin that made it on his face. He showered you in kisses, moving from your chest to your neck to your jaw and finally to your lips, where he stayed, kissing you firmly as his arms wind tighter around your waist. You lost yourself in his touch, wanting nothing more to be consumed by him as you tugged lightly at his hair, swallowing his moans. Before things could escalate you get startled by a loud thud.

“Wow! Right where we eat!” Jimin clicked his tongue in disapproval, as you both sheepishly stared at him.

“Noona!” Jungkook exclaimed as he came over to Namjoon and you, dragging you into a hug as he kissed the top of both of your heads. The two men seemed overly excited, and as Namjoon explained to you how he thought he was alone in the dorms tonight since no one has been around in weeks, the two interrupted to say that they had come to start a movie marathon, hoping to stay up all night since they had the day off tomorrow to marathon the Batman franchise as they had a bet going on as which one was the best.

“Do you guys want to join us?” Jimin asked politely as he munched on leftover pasta on the table. You excitedly opened your mouth to speak but before you could get a word out, Namjoon looked at you sternly.

“Nope.” He refused the boys as he looked at you, leaning in close to whisper in your ear before he nipped at it. “Baby, ignore your obsession with Batman. I want my dessert.” His voice was a few octaves lower than usual and his words made you shiver, a blush creeping up your face as a nervous giggle escaped your lips. Maybe you could skip rewatching these old movies, just once.

Bidding a quick goodbye to the boys and ignoring their smirks, you both made your way to Namjoon’s room. As soon as you were out of sight, Namjoon pulled you into another kiss, slotting your lower lip between his, making your heart race as he walked you down the hallway towards his room. You almost tripped over his bags haphazardly strewn in front of his door.

“Sorry, didn’t have time to go to my room yet.” He chuckled against your lips as his grip on your hips stabilized you. You giggled as you turned around to open his door, his lips on your neck instantaneously as he rubbed his growing bulge against your butt. His touch had you breathless as you moved in his room, Moni following closely behind you. Removing himself from you he picked up his dog and moved him outside murmuring an apology to the whining canine as he shut the door.

Without wasting any time, he pinned you against the door, your makeout session getting heavy. Your eyes were screwed shut as you mewled, his lips along your neck igniting a fire in you. Your hands moved from his hair to the buckles of his overalls, snapping them off as they fell to the ground unceremoniously. “Oh look! Easy access!” you exclaimed as he smiled against your skin.

His lips met yours again, his hands kneading the flesh of your sides under your shirt. You could kiss him like this forever, the way his tongue explores your mouth as if he doesn’t already know every crevice of your body, as if he’s worshipping you. His kiss slows down, turning from a sloppy fiery heat to intentional moves made to make you moan as he moves you towards the bed, dropping you to the middle as soon as your knees hit the back of the bed. He stands above you removing his shirt with one hand as you move backwards and soon he’s slotting himself between you.

“Fuck I love you.” He whispers as he kisses your cheek, moving towards your ear. You moan loudly as he grinds against you. Your hands run over his back, feeling the muscles as he continues to kiss your neck, biting it before soothing it with wide licks of his tongue. You used to be embarrassed by the marks he left behind but somehow as time passed you craved them. Jiyoung had even nicknamed him your vampire, and you’d be lying if that didn’t make you giddy.

Realizing you were still fully dressed you pushed at his chest, making him lie next to you as you straddled him, one of your knees almost slipping off the edge of the bed. You giggle at your clumsiness as he holds your hips to steady you and you slowly unbutton your shirt. As your skin becomes visible he runs his hands up your stomach to your chest, squeezing each breast as he reaches your neck before pulling your face to his.

“Mhmm… my pretty girl.” He almost growls as he pulls you into another heated kiss, his hands cupping your face as you grind on him. Suddenly you feel a tug at your hair, making you moan into his mouth, breaking the kiss. Before you know it you are on the floor, laughing at your clumsiness as you see his confused face, eyes still closed, lips puckered.

However, your laughter dies as you hear a loud screech. That’s when you feel that your hair was still being tugged as you looked up to see a tall, bulky woman, probably in her late thirties calling you a slut. Before you can even register what is happening you feel a sharp pain across your face as you realize you’ve just been punched. You taste the iron before you notice drops of bright red on your chest.

You cup your nose with one hand as you hear chaos ensue. Namjoon yelling your name as Moni barks loudly outside the room. You are aware that you are still lying on the floor but your eyes refuse to open as you hear scuffling before the door being slammed and Jungkook’s voice.

Everything’s a blur and you hear a loud blood curdling scream. Before you can register that that noise came from your mouth you hear your arm snap just as the most pain you have ever felt in your life turns your arm numb. You don’t remember much after, only grunts and shouts of your name. The last thing you hear is Namjoon’s voice calling your name repeatedly as he holds your head.

——

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[joheun-saram]

To Make A Power Couple (knj) | 6

Chapter 6: Garlic Pasta and I miss you-s

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Summary- Namjoon visits his parents and Yoongi and Y/N bond over their past.

word count- 4.5k

pairing- idol!namjoon x ceo!reader

rating- R

genre- series, fluff, angst, action, slightly smutty, strangers2lovers

warnings- drinking, talk of mental health and panic attacks, violence, blood, stalker

a.n- sorry for this chapter being late! i had major burn out this last few weeks but I finally got it out. Tell me what you think!

taglist - @beach-bitch-bitch-beach, @sscheherazadee, @rjsmochii , @jinjccns​ , @joyful-jimin @sideblogger @agustdpeach @diamonddia-mond

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“I hate you Kim Namjoon! Get out!”

Namjoon looks at you with an amused smile as he drops his bags at the door of your bedroom. You’re sitting in your bed, your comforter fully around you, even on top of your head, as you loudly blow your nose, some show blaring on the television. Even though he feels bad about passing on his cold to you, he can’t help but find your red nose and whining adorable. The past few months since Namjoon returned from tour had been few of the best you’d had in Korea. Although you both still had remarkably busy schedules, you had found a routine of spending time together at least once a week, usually ending your Saturdays together to spend as much of the Sunday together as possible. It didn’t matter how you spent your time, whether it was spent going out on dates or sitting silently reading or cuddling, all that mattered was that you were together. 

“Aw baby, I’m sorry!” He sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping his arms around your burittoed body. He kissed all over your face obnoxiously, much to your chagrin as you groaned and tried to get him off you, worried to get your snot on him. “Okay. Tell you what. I’ll cancel going to my parents and stay here to take care of you!” He punctuated that with another kiss on your lips. Hey, he’d already suffered through this cold, might as well take advantage of being able to be near you now.

“No! Shut up! You’re not cancelling.” Since things were slower at work, the company had decided to give Namjoon and the boys the week off. He had spent the first day with you, going to the most recent Ji Hye Yeom exhibit yesterday, and was going to go visit his family for the next four days. When Namjoon told you he was planning to spend the majority of his vacation with his parents, he was bracing himself for a negative reaction, a learned response from his previous relationship. His ex would always hate that he would visit his family for extended periods when he got time off and wouldn’t prioritize his relationship with her. He was surprised and relieved to hear you not only excited that he was visiting family but encouraging him to spend more time, upping his initial ask of two days to four. He liked that you always encouraged him to call his mom when he was on tour, as did his mom, so much so that she had started to say ‘my beautiful daughter’ whenever she referred to you in front of him.

Namjoon stood up as he watched you rant about the importance of visiting family, one arm out from your duvet heaven as you waved it about to emphasize your points. He almost giggled at how endearing you looked sniffling through your tirade, hair a mess and voice a little hoarse. Taking off his jeans to get comfortable, he chuckled at your wide eyes and dramatic gasp.

“No! We’re not having sex right now you maniac!” You whine as you lie down with the covers over your head. Namjoon gets into bed, pulling the comforter from over you to sneak inside, his arms snaking around your grumbling form to pull him to his chest. Although you complained, you snuggled into him, feeling the safe comfort that only Namjoon provided you.

“I just wanna nap with you before I leave.” He kissed the top of your head as he tangled your legs with his. You poked your head up from where it was hiding in his chest to look up at his smiling face as he cupped your cheek to place a chaste kiss on your lips. Caressing the skin once he leans away, he looks at you adoringly.  “Sorry for getting you sick, baby.”

----------------------------------

“Your boyfriend is a tyrant. Please never get sick again.” Yoongi took off his beanie and mask and shook his head to fluff his hair as you went through your phone to finish placing the order for takeout. After talking to Namjoon about how you had spent all of yesterday recovering, and even facetiming to ensure him that you were fit enough to be working again, he still didn’t believe you, forcing the only member of his band that was in Seoul during his vacation to make sure you were truly alright. You would be annoyed if your heart didn’t skip a beat at his overt concern. You were glad to spend time with Yoongi - he was pretty similar to you and you both had been slacking on hanging out lately. A few months ago you had decided to host a whiskey exchange where you would share bottles of your favourite liquor together, only for it to fall apart after two hangouts due to your busy schedules and Yoongi’s new relationship. It was nice to be in his company again, his mellow energy a great contrast to your usually loud friends.

“What did he say?” You question, laughing. Yoongi had called Namjoon many funny nicknames before but hearing him call him a tyrant made you laugh, picturing your boyfriend getting stern and demanding someone pay you a visit. 

“You wanna see?” Yoongi chuckled as he pulled his phone out, navigating to the group chat and handing it to you. You couldn’t help but smile as you read Namjoon pleading to the group to check in on you, asking if anyone was around. Yoongi said he was around but refused only to relent once the other boys pressured him and Namjoon pulled in a favour Yoongi owed him from 2015.

“Ooof. Honestly, it’s not that bad. Good to know Jungkook would literally kill for me though, and that you hate to hang out with me.” You threw an ice cube at him from where you were putting them in your glasses. 

“He wouldn’t. He’s just a suck up.” He dodged your attack, sticking his tongue out in triumph. “And you know I had to make Namjoon suffer a bit.”

Rolling your eyes at him as he smirked, you watched him pull out his bottle from his backpack. Your Craigellachie 16 no match for his Glenfiddich 30, you chastised him for buying such an expensive bottle for just the exchange. However, you were not going to say no to a glass of that and the two of you sat in a comfortable silence as you enjoyed your drinks. You were the first to break the silence. 

“How’s your bae?”

“Oh haven’t you heard? Bae is no more! Broke my heart and left me to suffer.” Yoongi scowled as he dramatically grabbed his chest, before downing his drink. If you didn’t know any better you would’ve thought he was joking but his usual deadpan was missing. 

“Shit… I’m sorry Yoongs.” You looked at him softly, making him scoff.

“It’s fine. Going to get a sick album out of this.” Yoongi waved you off, as he reached in his backpack again to bring out three bottles of soju. “Let’s get drunk!”

“That’s… one way of looking at things. You want to talk about it?” You knew he didn’t want to talk about it, it was probably still fresh and you didn’t want to impose but you wanted to give him the opportunity to share if he wanted to.

“Nah it’s fine. It was the usual anyways. ‘You’re always busy.’ ‘Why won’t you share your feelings with me?’ ‘Do you love me more or your career?’ I say good riddance.” He scoffed once again as he poured himself some more whiskey, sipping it blissfully.

“Well good to know you’re not hiding your pain.” You narrowed your eyes at him, but decided to get drunk with him anyways, taking up his offer to refill your glass. You had an extremely light day at work tomorrow with it being Friday and all, plus you knew that once Yoongi got drunk he would tell you how he was feeling. He was a very talkative drunk.

“Oh you know it. I’m nothing if not in touch with my feelings!”

Soon you and Yoongi were wasted, sitting on opposite ends of your couch as the television played the ‘important videos’ playlist on Youtube, laughing maniacally at each random short video that popped up. The food you had ordered was sitting on the coffee table, half eaten and getting cold. Having not heard Yoongi’s giggle in a while you looked away from the screen to see him staring into space, a slight frown on his lips.

“Dude. You good?” You poked him with your foot to break him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah. Sorry just realized I’m single again. Fuck.” He looked at you with wide eyes, as if he had just had an epiphany. You frowned at him, sad that he was feeling this way. In the past six months, you had come to learn that although Yoongi often talked about how much he loved being alone, in reality he put a lot of pressure on himself to find someone to be with.

“You know you’re worth more than a relationship, right?” You placed your hand on his, smiling reassuringly.

“Don’t go all Dr. Phil on me. I’m not that sad. It was like two months but it felt nice to call someone mine, you know?” He rolled his eyes at your concern, but held your hand tighter as he finished his sentence, averting his gaze with a melancholic look. He looked at you again sighing. “How did you get over your last breakup?”

“Um… not healthily. I almost sold my company.”

And so for the next hour, you told Yoongi of how messed up your previous relationship had made you. You don’t think you had talked about it in depth about your breakup with Beomseok for years now, but somehow drunk off extremely expensive whiskey and extremely cheap soju it felt natural to share the details about your most toxic relationship with Yoongi. Beomseok and you met when you were initially still in Canada, visiting Seoul in hopes of expanding. You were busy and he tried to help you as you adjusted to a new country, but as your relationship grew so did his tendency to ensure you relied on him. As hard as it was to admit to Yoongi, Beomseok had made you dependent on him, so much so that when he left you after two years of you accommodating him, you broke down. You started having terrible anxiety, using alcohol and cigarettes to take the edge off. Panic attacks became the norm so much so that you had contemplated leaving your position. You couldn’t see your friends, worked from home, and just buried yourself away. It took half a year of self destructive behaviour and for you to wake up in a bed with someone you didn’t remember to knock some sense into you and get yourself into therapy. Yoongi then talked about his own relationship issues, the two of you bonding over your struggles with mental health and shitty coping mechanisms. It was weird to think that Yoongi hadn’t been one of your close friends before this night.

It was around two in the morning by the time Yoongi left and you felt the emotions of the night catch up to you. You hadn’t thought about Beomseok in years, and thinking about him made you feel extremely sad for past you. You didn’t deserve how he treated you and you wished you could go back in time and shake some sense into yourself, and save the heartbreak. Lying in bed, drunk and emotional, you mourned for your old self and her faith in the world. However, looking at your phone you saw the photo of you and Namjoon - him standing behind you with his arm on your shoulder as he pretends to take a bite off your cheek as you grimace - and you were reminded that you were in a much better place now with a much better man. To say you looked forward to Namjoon returning tomorrow would be an understatement.

----------------------------------

Namjoon: I’m back!!!

Namjoon: I miss you!!!

Namjoon: Come over!!!

Namjoon: I’m cooking for you!!!

Y/N: Um… should I call poison control now or later?

Namjoon: I’m back after almost a week and this is the welcome I get?

Y/N: Babeeeee you know I love you!

Namjoon: Prove it. Eat the pasta I’m making

Y/N: Did anyone at least help you cook it?

Namjoon: IT’S GOING TO BE GOOD. COME OVER.

Y/N: Ok ok. No need to yell...

Namjoon: Good. See you in an hour?

Namjoon: I’m at the dorms btw

Y/N: See you soon jooooooonie

Y/N: I miss you too btw

Namjoon: I love you too btw

You punched the code to the dorm and were greeted by a very excited Moni as you entered. The white dog jumping up at your legs, his tail wagging wildly behind him. You bent down in the entryway to give him a few scratches behind his ears, cooing and calling him a good boy. 

“All this love for Moni, what about Joonie? I’m a good boy too!” You heard Namjoon shout out as you made your way through the large living room towards the kitchen, Moni playfully following. 

“Aww is my good boy jealous?” You set your eyes on your boyfriend huddled over a cutting board, concentrating hard on cutting what seemed to be garlic, his jaw set. Namjoon was dressed in a blue overalls under which he wore a black sweater, the hood atop his head, the hair of which was now back to his natural dark brown, his nose scrunched as he attempted to keep his glasses from slipping. You don’t know if it was not seeing him for a while or the fact that he looked so cuddly, but you felt butterflies, your stomach somersaulting. You hadn’t felt them since the beginning of your relationship, and you were a bit unnerved that he still had that effect on you six months later. 

“Holy shit. You look like a hot minion!” You almost yelled as you walked towards him, startling him enough to look at you with wide eyes under his black rimmed glasses and yelp.

“Don’t scare me like that! I almost cut my hand off!” He tried to glare at you but was soon smiling widely as you ducked under his arm to stand directly in front of him between the counter, putting your arms around his neck as you pulled him into a kiss. It felt amazing to have his plush lips against yours again, his familiar scent enveloping your senses till it felt like you were drunk off of him. 

“I missed you,” you whispered against his lips. Your hands found your elbows as you pulled him in closer and deepened the kiss, making him moan, his tongue massaging yours as his hands went to your hips, pulling you to him. Before you could lose all your senses you felt a sharp poke on your lower back, and you reluctantly pulled away to look behind you.

“Joonie! You’re still holding the knife!” You said in alarm as his eyes widened again and he dropped it on the counter immediately before looking at you sheepishly and apologizing. “Control yourself. I don’t want to spend the night in the hospital!”

“Then stop distracting me! Go sit there and watch me make you the best pasta of your life.” He smirked and his eyes followed as you moved around the island to sit at the stool, bending down to pet Moni as he settled at your feet. Namjoon knew he was a terrible cook, but he had spent the time at home perfecting this recipe, subjecting his mom to the first few horrible tries, till he figured it out. It was a simple five ingredient dish but it was the first he’d learn and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to impress you. You always cooked for him, from experimental recipes you had found online to traditional Korean food that was second best only to his mom’s, and though he was always happy to do the dishes, he wanted your reunion to be special. He cooked almost quietly, blushing slightly at your words and looks of encouragement, plating it like restaurants would before placing it on the dining table and sitting next to you with a bottle of wine, anticipating your reaction.

“What the fuck? You can cook!” you exclaim as you dig in for another bite. Namjoon lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he grinned at his success, finally digging into his meal. “I love the garlic. But damn, is this your way of telling me you don’t wanna kiss tonight?”

“Baby, I find even your gross morning breath irresistible, a little garlic’s not gonna stop me.” he laughed and you scowled at him, nudging him with your shoulder, as he leaned over to peck your lips. You weren’t trying to placate Namjoon, this pasta was absolutely delicious, the right amount of seasoning and everything. It warmed your heart that despite his firestarter tendencies he went through the effort to make you a home cooked meal.

As you ate, you talked about your days apart. You recovered from your cold within a day and had been back at work, and even though he scolded you for going back too fast Namjoon loved the way your eyes lit up when you talked about how you had managed to renew a contract with a client today, switching the period from their usual 1 year to 5 years. You had been working on this for a whole month, taking it upon yourself to attend meetings with not only the directors of this company but even the interns. He squealed with you at your success, high-fiving you and finding your excitement extremely adorable. You also talked about how after two bottles of soju Yoongi had finally admitted you were now his closest female friend and he agreed that you both should now tease him about it relentlessly.

Namjoon told you about how excited everyone was to have him home for that extended period of time, and how healing it was to be around them after the cacophony of tour. Apparently his sister had recently started learning how to make loom bracelets and he showed off the purple one on his wrist, telling you about how he had a matching one for you in his bag. Namjoon looked refreshed and you were glad you convinced him to spend the extra time home. He had also managed to bring back another bonsai tree to add to his collection, taking the time to explain how in a few years he could potentially tap the mini maple for some syrup. The image of your clumsy boyfriend trying to tap a tiny tree made you laugh. As the conversation continued and you both finished your food, you saw his mood dip a little. You silently lean forward cupping his face, as he nuzzles into your touch.

“My beautiful, hardworking boy. What’s wrong?” You coo with a soft smile on your face as your thumbs stroked his cheekbones and he pouts exaggeratedly before his hands go around your waist pulling you into his lap.

“I missed you.” He whispers as he nuzzles his face in your chest, his arms tightening around you. Namjoon felt cocooned in your sweet floral vanilla scent, and even though he’d been home just this morning, this felt like home too - just being in your embrace. He felt his heart swell with adoration as you stroked his hair slowly, whispering affirmations into his ear, slowly forgetting his worries about not spending enough time with you. 

Usually when you both met after being apart, it was all desperation to get naked, but for the first time this felt much more intimate. He could hear your heartbeat and it soothed him. He suddenly envisioned both of you old and weathered in each other’s arms and he couldn’t fight the grin that made it on his face. He showered you in kisses, moving from your chest to your neck to your jaw and finally to your lips, where he stayed, kissing you firmly as his arms wind tighter around your waist. You lost yourself in his touch, wanting nothing more to be consumed by him as you tugged lightly at his hair, swallowing his moans. Before things could escalate you get startled by a loud thud. 

“Wow! Right where we eat!” Jimin clicked his tongue in disapproval, as you both sheepishly stared at him. 

“Noona!” Jungkook exclaimed as he came over to Namjoon and you, dragging you into a hug as he kissed the top of both of your heads. The two men seemed overly excited, and as Namjoon explained to you how he thought he was alone in the dorms tonight since no one has been around in weeks, the two interrupted to say that they had come to start a movie marathon, hoping to stay up all night since they had the day off tomorrow to marathon the Batman franchise as they had a bet going on as which one was the best.

“Do you guys want to join us?” Jimin asked politely as he munched on leftover pasta on the table. You excitedly opened your mouth to speak but before you could get a word out, Namjoon looked at you sternly.

“Nope.” He refused the boys as he looked at you, leaning in close to whisper in your ear before he nipped at it. “Baby, ignore your obsession with Batman. I want my dessert.” His voice was a few octaves lower than usual and his words made you shiver, a blush creeping up your face as a nervous giggle escaped your lips. Maybe you could skip rewatching these old movies, just once.

Bidding a quick goodbye to the boys and ignoring their smirks, you both made your way to Namjoon’s room. As soon as you were out of sight, Namjoon pulled you into another kiss, slotting your lower lip between his, making your heart race as he walked you down the hallway towards his room. You almost tripped over his bags haphazardly strewn in front of his door.

“Sorry, didn’t have time to go to my room yet.” He chuckled against your lips as his grip on your hips stabilized you. You giggled as you turned around to open his door, his lips on your neck instantaneously as he rubbed his growing bulge against your butt. His touch had you breathless as you moved in his room, Moni following closely behind you. Removing himself from you he picked up his dog and moved him outside murmuring an apology to the whining canine as he shut the door.

Without wasting any time, he pinned you against the door, your makeout session getting heavy. Your eyes were screwed shut as you mewled, his lips along your neck igniting a fire in you. Your hands moved from his hair to the buckles of his overalls, snapping them off as they fell to the ground unceremoniously. “Oh look! Easy access!” you exclaimed as he smiled against your skin.

His lips met yours again, his hands kneading the flesh of your sides under your shirt. You could kiss him like this forever, the way his tongue explores your mouth as if he doesn’t already know every crevice of your body, as if he’s worshipping you. His kiss slows down, turning from a sloppy fiery heat to intentional moves made to make you moan as he moves you towards the bed, dropping you to the middle as soon as your knees hit the back of the bed. He stands above you removing his shirt with one hand as you move backwards and soon he’s slotting himself between you. 

“Fuck I love you.” He whispers as he kisses your cheek, moving towards your ear. You moan loudly as he grinds against you. Your hands run over his back, feeling the muscles as he continues to kiss your neck, biting it before soothing it with wide licks of his tongue. You used to be embarrassed by the marks he left behind but somehow as time passed you craved them. Jiyoung had even nicknamed him your vampire, and you’d be lying if that didn’t make you giddy. 

Realizing you were still fully dressed you pushed at his chest, making him lie next to you as you straddled him, one of your knees almost slipping off the edge of the bed. You giggle at your clumsiness as he holds your hips to steady you and you slowly unbutton your shirt. As your skin becomes visible he runs his hands up your stomach to your chest, squeezing each breast as he reaches your neck before pulling your face to his. 

“Mhmm… my pretty girl.” He almost growls as he pulls you into another heated kiss, his hands cupping your face as you grind on him. Suddenly you feel a tug at your hair, making you moan into his mouth, breaking the kiss. Before you know it you are on the floor, laughing at your clumsiness as you see his confused face, eyes still closed, lips puckered.

However, your laughter dies as you hear a loud screech. That’s when you feel that your hair was still being tugged as you looked up to see a tall, bulky woman, probably in her late thirties calling you a slut. Before you can even register what is happening you feel a sharp pain across your face as you realize you’ve just been punched. You taste the iron before you notice drops of bright red on your chest. 

You cup your nose with one hand as you hear chaos ensue. Namjoon yelling your name as Moni barks loudly outside the room. You are aware that you are still lying on the floor but your eyes refuse to open as you hear scuffling before the door being slammed and Jungkook’s voice. 

Everything’s a blur and you hear a loud blood curdling scream. Before you can register that that noise came from your mouth you hear your arm snap just as the most pain you have ever felt in your life turns your arm numb. You don’t remember much after, only grunts and shouts of your name. The last thing you hear is Namjoon’s voice calling your name repeatedly as he holds your head.

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[writing-fool]

Hey, real stressed out right now, if you're not too busy can I get the Mlqc boys with a stressed out s/o? I'm in some need of some serotonin, love your work x

mlqc | so will i

Hi hun, I’m very sorry to hear that. I hope you’ll feel better soon. If this doesn’t end up giving you enough serotonin, I have something a little similar up on my blog: here

That said, I think I’m becoming a comfort writer, and I can’t really complain about that. So, here’s a couple of quick and loving headcanons for each boy.

Much love,

R.

Victor

Victor isn’t actually all that cold as a husband anyways (and we ALL know author Ré likes their moody boys just a little gooey) 

but when you’re stressed? oh boy this gentleman is ready to do anything in his power to make you feel better

he was deadass about to buy a whole spa before you stopped him and told him you just need him to hold you

“Oh. I...guess I can do that.” be careful, this man will not let you go until you feel better

as an excellent chef, he’s also The Person to ask when you need comfort food

mac & cheese? you got it. congee? already done. chicken noodle soup? yes yes.

the way to a person’s heart is through their stomach and mine is currently growling

on occasion, he’ll be the cause of your stress, and while he doesn’t want to favour you over his other employees necessarily, he does understand that sometimes you need a break

for once, he’ll be the one pulling you from your work

how does he notice you’re stressed? your reports become dangerously subpar. sorry hun, it’s the truth

if you don’t listen to him and keep working yourself to near death, he’ll just have to use drastic measures

did he swing you over his shoulder? yup.

did you low-key enjoy it because his ass is Immaculate? also yup. 

he knows you like it when he pampers you, so when you’re stressed out, he’ll run you a nice bath with expensive oils and soaps

he’ll wash your back for you, digging his large fingers into those knots at the nape of your neck

afterwards, Vic will brush your hair for you, making sure you’re all cozy in your fluffy robe

he doesn’t like to admit it, but seeing you relax warms his heart and makes up for all the mediocre reports you write

Lucien

our favourite perceptive professor notices right away

i mean, everyone has tells when they start getting stressed out, and Lucien knows yours like the back of his hand

sometimes, he even notices before you do. how does that even happen?

prepare for the endless amounts of chamomile tea he’ll make you drink

Lucien’s very supportive of what you do, but he also reminds you that you need to rest like a filthy hypocrite~

so he’ll jot down cheeky notes in your agenda

14:00 / come have a relaxing walk in the park with me. ~L

7:30 early morning online meeting 8:00 have a lie-in with your favourite scientist. for research purposes, of course

you confront him about it and he’s just staring at you with this innocent look that’s absolutely illegal because you’re not innocent Lucien, not in the slightest i won’t believe it i’m not going to fall for it—damnit i fell for it

“Am I not allowed to take care of my little flower?”

is really good at clearing your schedule

like, suspiciously good

he’ll probably help you with anything you’ve got going on regarding paperwork, and instead of having to do research for a production, a whole stack of highlighted and marked articles will already be on your desk, waiting for you to quickly sift through everything

on a more serious note, he does know a lot about destressing and ways to relax

so he’ll suggest practicing mindfulness together, or something similar 

from experience, these things may sound silly, but breathing exercises or meditation can really just refocus your brain on the tasks at hand to lessen stress. obviously though, this is all very personal

but he knows he can’t love your negative emotions away, so most importantly, he’s always there for you

whether it is to listen to you rant, to give advice or even just to soothingly rub his thumb over your shoulder

Lucien’s always right next to you, and that’s one less thing to worry about

Gavin

Birdcop! lately i’ve been associating him with bnha’s Hawks/Keigo, and i don’t know how to feel about that. but i digress

Gavin’s not the quickest to pick up on your emotions

like, he knows there’s something going on because his mind is filled with you all day, but he can’t really decipher what’s wrong

will just straight up ask you what’s going on, how you’re feeling, etc

i always turn Gavin into this really understanding and communicative, healthy relationship poster boy, but y’all deserve it

“Babe? Are you feeling alright?”

if the answer is no, this man just clears his schedule for a week, or a month, or a whole year Gavin you can’t ignore your responsibilities don’t—

not really, but he does go out of his way to spend more time with you

clocks out earlier, only does missions that require him,...

flies to you the moment he’s got time to spare

does so recklessly. gets caught by some people who, fortunately, are convinced it’s just some very weird humanoid bird. gets reprimanded by STF. does not care.

at home he doesn’t really do more than give you space when you need it, offer a listening ear when you need that. he’s really not doing anything grand, because that’s not really Gavin, but he lets you know that he cares, and that’s good enough.

Gavin will force Minor to look out for you at work, and will stage a freakin’ intervention if you’re getting overworked

“MC, you’re getting kidnapped.” wraps you into a blanket like a burrito and flies home with you in his arms

actually flying seems like a relaxing thing to do, especially at night

when the stars are twinkling, the moon is glowing, and you’re high above the city, all your problems seem just a little smaller

Kiro

the chances of him not knowing you’re feeling bad aren’t very small

he’s obviously very busy, and if he’s overseas...

being concerned that you’re going to be lonely without him like he is without you does make him call you as often as he possibly can

he’s a clingy pupper, what can i say

he picks up the stressed out tone in your voice though, even when you try to hide it

“Oh, Miss/Mr. Chips, you can’t fool me, The Best Actor Of All Time. Now, tell me...are you alright?” imagine him saying that last bit in like a hushed, slightly worried tone. i wouldn’t even be able to lie

he’ll let you complain as long as you want on the phone, even when Savin’s been calling him

he’ll just hide in the closet so he doesn’t get found

when he goes back home, the first thing he does is trap you in a big hug

he refuses to let you go, pouting about how worried he was, and how much better he’ll make you feel

“Because I’m your brightest star after all!”

if he’s free while you’re feeling stressed, for example, when you’re at home together, he’ll do something silly to cheer you up

like dance on the coffee table

yup. that’s why it broke.

i don’t think he’d be too focused on your problems, as in, he doesn’t need to know 100% of what’s going on

Kiro just kind of zooms in on the fact that you’re feeling sad, overwhelmed, stressed out, and he’ll do anything in his power to relieve that feeling

and that’s one of his qualities, to be fair

you’re not going to do stuff like have long chats about your feelings, but he is going to propose doing face masks together to calm down

maybe you’ll play a couple of video games together

at the end of the day, how could you worry when your sun is right next to you?

Shaw

look, i don’t know if you’re of legal drinking age...but Shaw’s coping mechanism is drinking and going out

so the moment you say you feel bad, he’s whipping out the wine, hun

lowkey wants to drag you to the club to make you forget about your problems...but even he realises how inappropriate that type of behaviour is

he’s actually a lot cuter when he’s a little tipsy

“Hm, beautiful.” “What?” “Nothing.”

Shaw’s also a huge diva, which is canon now you guys can’t stop me from making it canon

so you guys will have matching head bands on, face masks, glasses of wine, bottles of nail polish, talking about how horrible life is

you’re venting to him, and he vents back, and you just both come to the conclusion that life sUCKS, work sUCKS and Shaw...doesn’t suck at all

the next morning, you wake up slightly disheveled and a bit disoriented

but you feel significantly lighter

well, not physically, since there’s literally an arm slung around your waist

he doesn’t really change much about his behaviour...but you notice he’s a tad more affectionate

and a lot less mean

like, forehead poking suddenly turned into teasing hair ruffling.

tickling turns into soft kisses in the crook of your neck while you’re cooking

his rough hands intertwine with yours

“Don’t just overwork yourself, stupid.”

ahh, his words don’t match his actions at all

I had very little inspiration for Shaw...but I wanted to get this out ASAP. Feel free to send in any requests!

[minutemens-incorrect-files]

How would the FO4 companions react to Benny Gecko?

forgive me for scheduling this a day late, i somehow spaced the dates.

ach, this took a while, I never took much time to interact with Benny past seduction and murder, but here’s my guesstimate of “Sole is super defensive of Benny too” like ya said (Undoubtedly there’s a bias, as I hate a Mr. Gecko)

Simply put, no one likes him. Unsimply put:

Ada: He confused her. He used many terms that were not in her vocabulary, and she didn’t have anything to cross-reference to help her find definitions. He seemed nice enough, but what did he mean when he said something was ‘ring-a-ding’? Or why did he always use terms like ‘Charlies’ or 'fink’? After a while, she gets a little irritated whenever he shows up, still unable to understand what he’s saying half the time.

Cait: He reminds her of some of the contract owners when she was back at the ring. Full of themself, and thinking nothing could hurt them. So, she did what any sensible person would do: walk right up to him and punch him in the face. She caught him off guard, and she knew for a fact she broke his nose. What she didn’t expect was for Sole to rush over and chastise her for it. She didn’t try to defend herself as Sole tried to tear into her. She was focused on the arsehole Benny’s shit-eating grin. It took a lot of restraint not to punch him again mid-lecture

Curie: She finds him very… She doesn’t want to say manipulative, but he is very rude. He said she reminds him of some Yes Man, and she doesn’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult. He says it’s a compliment, she knows the term origins. He asks her to do a lot of stuff for him, and she tends to, but only because he asks nicely! She just wishes he wasn’t so rude to everyone!

Danse: Danse doesn’t trust him as far as he can throw him. There was just an air about him that screamed threat. He voiced these concerns to Sole, and they said he was trustworthy. So, he dropped the subject. He keeps tabs on Benny, though. Watches how he treats people, starts seeing through his casual banter. This is a man after something, something big. He doesn’t know what, and he doesn’t like it.

Deacon: Hey! He’s heard about this guy. Benny, the guy who used to be head of the Chairmen, but shot the wrong person and only barely avoided crucifixion! His first introduction, he disguised himself, casually chatting up a storm while Benny got drunk. Found out quite some int-er-esting information. Its old news that the guy’s a scumbag and egotistical, but he’s smarts up there. No one randomly thinks of hitting a securitron with a grenade and reprogramming it to do what he wants. He’s got big goals and he’s easy to write off as an idiot, which makes him an all-around threat. It wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on him..

Dogmeat: Pets? Pets? Dogmeat Pets? Dogmeat can and does pick up on the animosity from the other companions, but instantly forgives Benny if he gets pets. He loves pets :-)

Gage: He knows a raider when he sees one. Raider, tribal, what-fucking-ever. Same thing at heart. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been since you were, some things never fade. Porter can see it in the way he carries himself, below that “sophisticated” appearance is the soul of a killer. It’s a damn shame that he’s such a prick with an ego that fills the room. If they’d met sooner they probably would’ve gotten along.

Hancock: Hancock tried to get along with Benny at first. Emphasis on tried. Turns out Benny’s not only a general threat, but a bigot. Y’know, Hancock’s got a knack for looking past the ego, looking past the general demeanor. He’s looked past all that and all he sees is an asshole. He isn’t shy about his dislike, but he’s probably the most chill about him out of everone

Longfellow: Young, stupid, and ugly to boot. Longfellow doesn’t give a rat’s ass about him. He’s not gonna initiate any conversations, and he’s not adding much to them. He calls him nicknames like 'checkers’ or 'Potato head’ just to fuck with him

MacCready: Oh great, a sleazebag. Just what Sole needs in their life. At first, he was impressed, keeping an appearance like that in the Wasteland would take a lot of work. The first word left Benny’s mouth, and Mac found himself groaning. Of COURSE, someone who looks as put together as that would have an ego larger than the Gunners’ arsenal. He doesn’t hate him, but his personality is quite grating. Worst part is he got Mac to swear.

Piper: Mysterious Stranger From the West Arrives in Diamond City. THERE’s an article if she ever wrote one. Where in the west? Is he really from the west? How’d he make that travel? Was there a reason? Is he hiding from something? Why has he taken such a liking to the General? Is he going to kill the general and try and take their place at the top??? Unfortunately, this Stranger refused to answer any question past, “New Vegas.” and “Yes, I’m from New Vegas, would someone lie about that?” After about of week of getting nowhere, Piper went to talk to Nick to see if he knows anything. Turns out he was working on it, and turns out Benny’s a bad egg and Sole didn’t care..

Preston: Preston always tries to find the good in people, he really does. He believes that it isn’t fair to immediately assume that someone is a bad person. Mama Murphy even said that Benny brings negative energies, but he only half believed her. No one can be BAD.. He’ll draw a line and move it back a little to give someone a second chance. Benny ran out of second chances two weeks after he arrived. UNFORTUNATELY, a certain SOLE said that, NO, he wasn’t allowed to kick Benny out and NO, he wasn’t allowed to arrest him. They said they’d have a word with him, but Preston still greatly disliked him

Strong: He likes Benny as much as any other human: he doesn’t. It amused him whenever he startled Benny. It stopped working after a while, and Strong gets bored and goes back to basically ignoring him.

Valentine: If two personalities were going to clash, it was Valentine and Benny. Nick knows Benny’s type, he’s been putting them behind bars for years, pre and post war. Hell, the personality was a stereotype at this point. It was difficult to figure out where he came from or why he left, but it got a whole lot easier when Piper brought up New Vegas. Nick brought it up once he got a private moment with Sole, but Sole ASSURED him that COULDN’T have been Benny, and, even if it was, he wouldn’t do something like that again. Doesn’t stop him from keeping an eye on him though.

X6-88: the first encounter ended with a gun up to the other’s head. X6 may not have been programmed to be social, but it doesn’t take a genius to recognize that this 'Gecko’ was dangerous and manipulative. Or so he thought, as Sole yelled at HIM for threatening BENNY. Which didn’t make sense to him? Not only was Gecko just as guilty for threatening someone with a gun, he could clearly see through his demeanor, style, confidence, and language that he nearly certain that he was a threat. and he was being yelled at? X6 tried to explain such, but Sole wasn’t listening and told him that Benny was not to be almost-shot or threatened again. X6 didn’t have any power to say otherwise, but they didn’t say he couldn’t fuck with him. He approximates 56 times he’s managed to trip Benny, and 128 times he’s purposely burnt his food. So far, each time equally satisfying.

[bibliophilicwitch]

alright kids. time for an update.

after a 12hr day at the library for some unknown reason i struggled to fall asleep wed evening. luckily i didn’t have to work until noon, so i didn’t mind too terribly. though i do really prefer to get a good nights sleep with the hope to get up at a decent time in the morning and have time to relax in addition to puttering around the apartment and get a few things done. so that didn’t happen lol.

what did happen though was that i was unable to hold myself back and comment on a post from my cousin on facebook about people wanting better pay needing to go into trade jobs. i definitely feel that minimum wage needs to be upped, but recognize that there are issues with simply raising the minimum and other things need to be taken care of for it to be helpful and that trade jobs do need to get more attention and people need to be better educated on the opportunities in such careers. i feel that, while no one seemed willing to understand anyone else’s opinion, the discussion was still pretty good and didn’t get too hostile at all. i did unfollow my cousin’s feed though lol. back when trump was elected i got into many arguments with him and unfollowed his posts then to just remove myself from bad feelings with family and make everything better for myself. his posts for about a year or so have been very mild, but the last month or so there have been more and more that have raised my hackles. one other person did mostly support what i was saying though and helped me in my argument which made me feel better tbh.

and then i had to work at the pharmacy. shortly after arriving my pharmacist ended up taking a call with a patient in minnestota. there is no kroger very close to him, but he wants to use our savings program and have scripts mailed. unfortunately wisconsin law is that medication cannot be mailed over state borders and this patient had not been told this in addition to medications having been mailed once already. our young pharmacy manager tried to explain to the patient that it is against the law, that he apologizes for the patient being told one thing and that unfortunately though we had mailed out once we would be unable to continue to do so. the patient was surely and wouldn’t understand that he had been told the wrong thing and that we would be unable to continue because the pharmacist could possibly loose his license if he would continue to break the law. our pharmacist even explained that if there was anyone the patient knew in the area, they could pick up the medication for the patient and they could then mail it to the patient - we would even give them the packing stuff. he was providing the patient with a loophole that the patient refused to accept. the conversation was just bad with the pharmacy manager being yelled at. he ended the phone call my practically slamming the phone.

the worst part of that was that someone had told the patient this would be okay and it had been done once already. it was me. i had taken the initial call. thing is shopko had mailed scripts to snow birds in florida and such so i had no reason to suspect it was illegal. i know in the midst of the first fill it was mentioned that we weren’t suppose to mail over the border, but i was never told to call the patient and tell them we could not actually mail to them. so it went under the radar until now. due to how angry my pharmacy manager was i did not own up to being a part of this issue. usually i admit to mistakes so others don’t get in trouble and accept it as a chance to learn. but yeah, he was way too damn angry to feel comfortable stepping up.

so shortly after the call a patient at release decided to be unruly also. the patient had been in the day before raising a fuss about his script refills being weird - i didn��t catch the extent of this situation. my pharmacist did his best to explain that yesterday’s pharmacist had called around and gotten it as straightened out as he could and that what the patient now had would need to be taken up with his doctor if he still felt it was an issue. the patient just would not understand what my pharmacist was explaining to him and kept insisting there was something else wrong that needed to be corrected. it ended with my pharmacist saying that he couldn’t help patients like the one in front of him if he was stuck arguing with patients at the window......

one of my coworkers and i in the back immediately whipped our heads and looked at one another with our mouths wide. because holy shit you don’t say that in customer service lmao. so my pharmacist spent most of the day until maybe 6ish stewing about those specific negative interactions all day on top of a few other feisty patient comments and feeling overwhelmed with falling behind on processing scripts, performing vaccinations, needing to find a minute to make a compound, having notes from yesterday’s pharmacist on things to be addressed, amongst many other odds and ends. and then there was me having to close with him just not excited about the foul mood. 

we talked a little bit in the evening because he finally started to cool off. he said the first situation was so frustrating because he had been caught in a mistake he had not had part in and that the second one his temper had gotten the better of him because he had still been riled up from the phone call. he apologized recognizing that his anger was surely felt by the rest of his staff and i admitted that i had been wary of him all afternoon. i had given him space while he simmer not wanting to get caught in any crossfire. additionally i’m to empathetic for that negativity and was just doing my best to not get dragged down.

we also were struggling to keep up and i ended up staying an hour and a half late to finish filling everything for the next day and put away most of the scripts ready for picked up since they were piled and likely to fall all over.

and then i realized the back of my throat was acting stupid and sure enough as i was trying to fall asleep i was able to determine i had the start of a cold and the irritation kept me up until like 2am. my coworker and i ended up chatting via text. i knew for the last oh month or so i’ve been feeling like we do not have enough staff and/or time and consistently overwhelmed, but she shared that it has been really bad on the days i’m not there as well. in fast last week she had a panic attack from how overwhelmed she was on top of our pharmacy manager being shit at constructive criticism and working with us to learn. we’ve discussed how difficult he can be, but he is also young and brand new to management, so we are both understanding of giving him slack and trying to communicate with him when he does or says something that was out of line or what have you. 

so huh can shopko reopen please????

today i’m working at the library and it has been quiet and calm. but man that was a rough like 36hrs lol

[joannaofportugal]

JOANNA DE BRAGANZA / / CHALLENGE 004 

eleven tests completed & eleven explainations wrote out. 

SOUL TYPE TEST | the sage

A Sage soul is one whose role in life is collective expression, communicating big ideas with as many as possible. Natural extraverts, playful expression is fundamental to the Sage’s nature, though they are more adept at entertaining an audience than in coming up with original ideas. They are born attention-seekers, very much at home in front of an audience, taking centre stage. The bigger the audience the better, but any audience will do. The natural goal of any Sage is to express the highs and lows of life for all to see, sharing lifes lessons in an appealing way to create shared understanding. All soul types can manifest positively or negatively in any given moment, as the individual chooses. When manifesting negatively, Sages lapse into ORATION, i.e. hogging the spotlight, loving the sound of their own voice. The positive manifestation is COMMUNICATION, being on the same wavelength as the audience. Famous Sages include Mae West, Oscar Wilde, Bill Clinton, Jim Carrey

NOTE: reading through the soul type was very on-par with joanna’s very person, i would class her as a YOUNG SAGE who chases fame as nowdays celebraties do. she hogs the spotlight, the loves the sound of her own voice - what else could she be? 

MBTI TEST : entp-a ( the debater )

The Debater personality type is the ultimate devil’s advocate, thriving on the process of shredding arguments and beliefs and letting the ribbons drift in the wind for all to see. Debaters don’t do this because they are trying to achieve some deeper purpose or strategic goal, but for the simple reason that it’s fun. No one loves the process of mental sparring more than Debaters, as it gives them a chance to exercise their effortlessly quick wit, broad accumulated knowledge base, and capacity for connecting disparate ideas to prove their points.

NOTE: i was surprised, i thought her mbti would come out as something a little more dramatic rather than chasing knowledge or logic in it’s most intense form. i’m not too agreeing with the result, but maybe i can use this information to strengthen her person - and i like the ‘devil’s advocate’ side to it. 

CREEPIEST THING ABOUT YOU TEST: your possessiveness is really uncomfortable

It’s obvious to everyone around you that you feel the need to keep everything just the way you like it, and that insistence often borders on obsession. Your persistence, materialism, and sentimentality can prevent you from ever letting things go, and the more you care about them, the more stubbornly you defend your right to own them forever. Sorry to say, but there are some things, like memories and loved ones, you simply can’t own, and trying to stake your claim over them just makes you seem unbalanced and creepy. It probably wouldn’t hurt to quit being such a hoarder, too - none of your guests enjoy trying to find a seat in a room piled high with reminders of everything you refuse to let die.

NOTE: this is quite onbrand but wouldn’t be the creepiest thing to me when it comes to joanna - though she is posessive i don’t agree that it’s overwhelmingly disgusting.. i’d say it’s her rudest, or need to be right all the time.

TEMPERAMENTS TEST: sanguine 23/24 choleric 18/24 melancholic 05/24 phlegmatic 05/24

Your temperament is sanguine. The sanguine temperament is fundamentally spontaneous and pleasure-seeking; sanguine people are sociable and charismatic. They tend to enjoy social gatherings, making new friends and tend to be boisterous. They are usually quite creative and often daydream. However, some alone time is crucial for those of this temperament. Sanguine can also mean sensitive, compassionate and thoughtful. Sanguine personalities generally struggle with following tasks all the way through, are chronically late, and tend to be forgetful and sometimes a little sarcastic. Often, when they pursue a new hobby, they lose interest as soon as it ceases to be engaging or fun. They are very much people persons. They are talkative and not shy. Sanguines generally have an almost shameless nature, certain that what they are doing is right. They have no lack of confidence.

NOTE: this is a much easier answer for me to digest, though joanna isn’t evil she certaily has a rudness that can come across as evil to some people - or perhaps she truly is just a bully. and the last quote, ‘they havae no last of confidence’ is right on the target! though of course, as a young girl there may be bouts of insecurity.. which may evolve into humility or down-right foolery. 

LAWFUL ALIGNMENT TEST: chaotic neutral

A chaotic neutral character follows his whims. He is an individualist first and last. He values his own liberty but doesn't strive to protect others' freedom. He avoids authority, resents restrictions, and challenges traditions. A chaotic neutral character does not intentionally disrupt organizations as part of a campaign of anarchy. To do so, he would have to be motivated either by good (and a desire to liberate others) or evil (and a desire to make those different from himself suffer). A chaotic neutral character may be unpredictable, but his behavior is not totally random. He is not as likely to jump off a bridge as to cross it.

NOTE: in terms of alignment i think this is the safest option to describe joanna, she is no hero but she is no villain either.. she looks out for herself more than anthing else, though most choices come at random and at various paces.

GREEK DIETY TEST: poseidon

He was god of the Sea and other waters; of earthquakes; and of horses. In pre-Olympian Bronze Age Greece, he was venerated as a chief deity at Pylos and Thebes. Poseidon was protector of seafarers, and of many Hellenic cities and colonies. He is noble and powerful, and is recognized as a figure of leadership.

NOTE: like what happened when i took the same quiz for marius, i lost my first results. my first was aphrodite, which i didn’t necessarily agree with - then came poseidon. i’m happier with this result because poseidon was such a crass and awful man who made hell a lot worse than hades ever could’ve - he killed many whilst at sea, and in my opinion, was one of the most powerful gods of greek mythology. 

ENNEAGRAM TEST: type 7 / 7w8 ( the enthusiast )

People of this personality type are essentially concerned that their lives be an exciting adventure. Sevens are future oriented, restless people who are generally convinced that something better is just around the corner. They are quick thinkers who have a great deal of energy and who make lots of plans. They tend to be extroverted, multi-talented, creative and open minded. They are enthusiasts who enjoy the pleasures of the senses and who don't believe in any form of self-denial.

NOTE: she is certainly a pleasure seeker and planner for distraction and i think this is the closest i’d get to describing joanna though i wouldn’t call her creative due to the fact that she has little skill to anything!

SEXUALITY TEST: 40% heterosexual 30% bisexual 20% asexual 10% homosexual

this needs no description though i will write that of course she hasn’t had sex with anyone yet due to her position? it would be wrong for her to do that as a princess and thus has not experimented with anyone either than taking a few kisses from princes and noblemen. also, she has yet to be awoken to the sense that being attracted to girls is normal, so this quiz is entirely random to the point that it’s made for modern day human beings, not ones from 1455. 

POKEMON TEST: flying type

The Flying type is all about the self. You possess traits that are often sought-after: Confidence, self-respect, and bravery radiate from your being. You are a very self-aware individual, and that knowledge can be employed to great use both alone and socially. Remember, however, to not get too big of a head, Flying-type: Your confidence is good, but empathy is better. Often, you may find yourself at the whimsy of society. You are honorable, but also constantly worried about your self-image remaining pristine. If you allow yourself to become too wrapped up in what others think of you, you may become too flighty and scattered for your own good. Remember to relax, and let your spirit soar!

NOTE: though i find it hard to relate joanna to a pokemon the description is pretty good and i can fit joanna into it - though i’d rather see her as a spoilt and messy jigglypuff. 

TEA TYPE: hibiscus tea

You’re a *lot*. But that’s not a bad thing! You’re unafraid to take up space and make your voice heard. You love being the center of attention and are willing to cause a scene to swivel the spotlight toward you. You’ve got a sharp tongue (you’ve probably been called sassy at least once in your life) and you can use that for good or evil. Your tartness might not be for everyone, but those who get you love your larger-than-life presence.

NOTE: once again it’s pretty lose to joanna’s character and i particaly like the line ‘your tartness might not be for everyone’ 

BIG FIVE PERSONALITY: 

of course i wasn’t going to pay for this quiz so i only have a little information to share: OPENNESS 52% CONSIENTIOUSNESS 10% EXTRAVERSION 100% AGREEABLENESS 21% NEUROTICISM 33%

NOTE: extraversion is a funny one, and i really like the look of this type of quiz but alas i’m poor and i’m not gonna spend money on a made up character! 

and as i did with marius i ended up making a birth chat for her, who was born 29th may, 1438 at 17:39am. 

[grell-writes-stuff]

I finished chapter 28 and I’m posting it here because I did so many bad things

Tag List: @fenfaerie @arieswriting

I spent the week avoiding my phone as much as possible, and immediately deleting any notifications that popped up from that group chat. To keep it all confined to that forbidden, digital space, I tried to distance myself from the guys at school. Kelley had a lot to say about that yesterday.

“Do I have to bribe you into doing stuff?”

“Using what?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far yet. Maybe I just need to start smacking you with a newspaper until you do the thing that I want you to do.”

“You said we’re not hitting people.”

“I said you aren’t hitting people. I have free rein to do whatever is best for your health, and, at this point, I’m thinking of getting a little spray bottle–”

“Seriously?”

“You’re like a misbehaving cat, and I’m training you to stay off the kitchen table.”

She let up when I told her what my plans were for today.

At around six, I receive the “Here” text from Cole as his Cherokee rolls into our driveway behind – avoidance – something that I decide not to think about. Not today. For the sake of getting through this jam session and keeping it a good day, I can’t let myself focus on anything except drumming. That’s it. Nothing else.

That’s also why I slip my headphones in before leaving the house. I don’t have any music playing, but it keeps the ride to West Hills quiet – with the exception of Cole’s screamo. I say a polite “hey” to him and Matt, but that’s about it.

In approximately fifteen minutes, we’re pulling into the Mechis’ driveway next to a sleek, black Lexus that I refuse to look at. I don’t notice it, or the person walking from it to the entrance to the garage. I wedge a broom through the handle, because I refuse to open that door in my mind and let the memory of the screaming match ruin this day. Frankly, I’m determined to block out her shrill voice in whatever way I can. I fight against the ever-present urge to give myself tinnitus.

The three of us get out of Cole’s car, and I hang back for a moment as they grab their guitars. Together, we enter the garage, and I tug out my earbuds.

I swallow back the lump in my throat, but that’s tough when my windpipe is constricted.

It’s such a familiar place. It used to be comforting, but now it feels tainted and hollow. The old, duct-taped couches that are falling apart seem like dusty relics of some long-forgotten past for which I am the sole historian. The boxes of Full Stop. merch lying around feel like clutter now instead of a celebration and achievement, like some ancient memorabilia that no one will ever purchase, not even the most dedicated collectors. The band binder is still just hanging on by a thread, but it feels like it’s already exploded and setlists and notes are paper shrapnel raining down from the sky. My drum kit feels like a foreign technology that I don’t understand. This room is infested with age. It’s an abandoned ghost town, and I feel haunted.

As we enter, Bryson greets me. Cole and Matt say hi back, but I’m still finding it hard to make words, so I just nod and try to put my attention elsewhere. I try to remember the workings of my setup. I’ve been visualizing the placement of cymbals, and toms, and the kickdrum while I’ve been recovering. I know where everything is. I can figure out how I’d once played music on this strange contraption again. Maybe someday it’ll feel the same.

I head to one of the sofas as Matt and Cole go about tuning their instruments.

And I ignore the screeches that she calls vocal warmups. In fact, I do everything within my power to forget her presence all together.

“Okay,” Bryson interrupts after a few minutes have passed. In that time, I’d listened to the twangs of the guitar and bass, and not her shrieks into the microphone. “I guess we can start.”

Since we don’t have a gig lined up, and this is just an unofficial jam session for something like fun, there’s a difference in his tone. It’s not as desperate. That’s probably a good thing. He’s not stressed, and there’s less pressure on us to be perfect. We’ll be far from it. The walking boot on my leg acts as a constant reminder of that fact as I rise and move over to my kit.

“We’ll probably be a bit rusty,” he elaborates. “But everyone just try your best. We don’t have to sound filled-out. Just let us know if you need a break, Scott.” He gestures to my leg, to the boot.

I nod. There was no hope of us sounding full anyway, and I haven’t tried drumming with a cast ever, but I doubt it will help my limb coordination and timing, and it probably won’t feel too great after a while, so I’ll definitely be off. And we’re painfully lacking in guitars, but I force that thought out of my mind.

I don’t purposefully bump into her shoulder as I pass. It’s easier to pretend she’s not there – that she’s not even furniture – rather than acknowledging her as an obstacle.

“All right. So, Scott?” Bryson says to grab my attention. Once I’m sat on my stool behind my setup, I look at him. It’s tough to define what’s in his expression, but his words are rather transparent. I didn’t text him back at all the past few days and he knows that was a deliberate choice. “We all picked songs this week that we want to run today, and, after that, we’ll focus on originals, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Cole wants to run Ocean Avenue – so we’ll start there – and Selena picked Told You So.”

Of course it’s a Paramore song. Of course it is.

“Matt chose You Think You Know It All by Red As Dusk. What’s your pick?”

It takes me a second longer than normal to peruse my mental music library because now it’s shrunk in size, and so many songs have been filed away and are now off-limits. Kelley’s suggestions are background noise as I search the stacks. Purge the excess negative energy. Purge the anger. Hitting my sticks against my drums will help, but only if I can find a way to throw everything that I possibly can into it. It’s a good thing that I’m battling rage because those tracks are the safe ones now, and anything rebellious will do.

“The Anthem – Good Charlotte.”

Bryson gives me a brief nod, but that’s ruined immediately. Every hair on my body seems to rise in defense.

“Um, I don’t know that one!” It’s her sharp voice speaking, and I shove my earplugs in to filter out some of the volume and annoyance. “I would have learned it if you’d picked sooner.”

“Sucks to be you!” It slips out of me, and I realize that means I’ve broken my vow for the day, and now Selena’s materialized in the garage, and my glare lands on her, which she matches with one of her own. In my peripheral, the rest of the guys look like they’re getting ready to break up the resulting physical fistfight that seems to be inevitable.

But that will get me in trouble in some way. I know it for a fact. I’ve already reacted, so retreating is tough, but I grapple for a way to deescalate.

“I’ll fucking sing it then. Why does it even need lyrics anyway? It just needs to be cynical and loud.” My fingers clamp around my sticks, the tools that will help me feel better and prevent me from punching her square in her contoured cheek.

“You just want Vikki to come in here and yell at us again, don’t you?” Bryson asks, deadpan, probably so Selena doesn’t have a chance to retaliate.

“Yes,” says Cole.

“Oh, my God,” he sighs. “Really, Cole?”

“Dude, I can’t be the only one who’s told you that your sister is hot.”

“She’s hot,” Matt agrees.

“See? Verdict’s in: she’s hot.”

“Why am I friends with you?” That knocks the desperation back into his tone, and it almost feels like a normal detour from practicing. Like we have a gig soon, but we’re all screwing around, and Bryson’s the only one with a sense of urgency and deadlines. I almost make myself savour it. “Can we just start the song? Please? Just play the fucking song?”

At that, Cole shrugs slightly, and his gaze sweeps over us to find confirmation. I signal back, my limbs still humming with everything I had to repress a second ago. They’re vibrating with the need to get it out, and I feel ready to drum to release it all before it boils my blood. She injected the steam into my veins and it wants out.

When everyone’s ready, Cole’s guitar plays the chugging, palm-muted intro to Ocean Avenue. Finally, my sticks hit and my foot stomps the kickdrum’s pedal. Matt’s bass fills it out a little bit, but we still sound empty. We’ve played this track before, but it doesn’t sound anything like it used to when it came out of our instruments. Selena’s unstable voice wails without a care, and I try to block it out and focus on my drumming so I don’t sound so off even though I totally am.

My limb coordination is flawed because the boot is throwing off my time-keeping and I haven’t put my formerly-sprained wrist to much work until now. I knew that I wouldn’t be perfect, but it’s bugging me nevertheless. My brain is telling me that it shouldn’t be like this. As a whole, we should sound better. My limbs shouldn’t feel so stiff as if I were a marble statue, as if I’m turning to stone. I hope for a second where I get the chance to shake it off, except–

Except my throat has a tight knot in it, and it hastily, heavily drops down into my chest. It’s so sudden and strange, but I feel something stirring and then curdling within me, rising up and bubbling through every artery before solidifying into a heavy, black mass that weighs down my arms. I remember a moment too late that I should be breathing, and I only accomplish that because I haven’t been taking in air and it already feels like my lungs have been set on fire after being filled with concrete, so it’s tough to shove into my subconscious. My eyes are stinging so bad that I can’t see my sticks where they rest in my shaking hands. The knot launches itself up from my chest and I feel like I have to gag. My pulmonary function fails and I become as empty as the music that falls silent.

Not all at once. It dies off in pieces, but I stop first, right at the start of the chorus. Then, everyone else cuts off too. The sticks slip through my loose fingers, but I barely hear them hit the hard floor with a soft clatter because a song is echoing in my mind now, and it’s not Ocean Avenue.

But it’s close. Too close. Ahead of me, I see blurs.

But also, an endless horizon of blue.

“Scott?”

Bryson’s voice penetrates my earplugs, but it still sounds twenty-thousand feet away from me. My mouth feels like it’s been filled with sand, and my stomach hurts, and everything is blocked by the firm, congealed sludge living inside of me. My hands are caught up in earthquakes, and I hear my hollow attempts to breathe as something between gasps and augmenting sobs.

I suddenly feel his hand on my shoulder and I don’t know how because his touch is light and everything is hot and numb.

“Are you okay?” he asks in a distorted voice.

No. I’m not. I’m not okay, but I can’t speak to lie and say that I’m fine, or to, for once, tell the truth. My mind is not a blank whiteboard. Instead, someone has written lyrics on it in permanent marker, and now the words are tormenting me along with dark chords, and a frantic, panicking drum beat that’s pounding against my skull.

“What’s wrong, Scott?” One of them questions me. I can’t even tell which one of them it is anymore. Matt, I think. Maybe.

I want to throw up. Or I need to. Or I just need to take in air. Any fucking air at all. Before everything finally shuts down, I have to get it out. Quavering. Quiet.

“Yellowcard.”

There’s some silence. Or it would be, but my ears are ringing, and my cheeks feel wet. After a few hundred, frenzied heartbeats, Bryson stiffens beside me, which I know because the hand that’s on my shoulder is attached to a body that I feel go rigid. His voice mingles with the deafening tone and my tears, and I hate how horrified and sorry it sounds. How lost and guilt-ridden it is.

“I was playing Lights And Sounds when they jumped…”

It’s not even the same fucking song! So what?! I’m just never going to be able to listen to Yellowcard again?! Because now they are tainted with tragedy and I’ll always remember in some crevice of my mind that that stupid song was playing, and I can almost feel our arms locked, and the salty breeze as it all rushes up ahead of us–

“Shit, man. I-I’m sorry.” I hear Cole say, and I hate the way that it sounds too because he shouldn’t have to apologize. “I didn’t know–”

I can’t even tell him to stop because I won’t be able to make any words, and I can’t breathe. Nothing’s going in and reaching my burning lungs even though I’m gasping for it. It’s not his fault, but those words stop on my tongue. It isn’t Cole’s fault. He doesn’t have to say sorry. He was in the water. He couldn’t have heard it. It’s not Cole’s fault. It’s not Matt’s fault. It’s not Bryson’s fault.

Because maybe it’s mine. We did it together, and one of us tripped, and what if it was me? Maybe if we hadn’t jumped at the same time, things would be different. He would be here, and this would be a practice for a gig instead of a failed jam session, and his guitar would have filled out Full Stop. and we would feel like Full Stop., and I wouldn’t be breaking down over a fucking Yellowcard song! But it’s too late now, and it’s all my fault.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Fuck it! Move!”

Such a loud voice that slices through my earplugs like a razor blade and splits the air with the shrill metal sound of an axe hammering down. If I wasn’t shaking so terribly, I’d flinch at it because it hurts, but it also makes every trembling muscle inside of me tense painfully.

It’s sudden, but Bryson’s hand withdraws quick, and my vision finally goes dark, and then talons dig into my flesh and sear it, and I’m yanked up violently to the sounds of muffled protests surrounding us. My own laboured, raspy, wailing gasps rise above the guys as I try to bring in anything at all, but it turns out to just be another futile attempt because there’s not enough air in the atmosphere to keep me alive.

My skin burns where fingernails dig in and inflict agony like they’re steel nails instead, and I don’t know how I stumble when my legs have turned to rubber, and my feet feel weighted down. I could crumble and snap and break at any moment like a building ready to topple. All the retentions are groaning, the supports failing, and I’m about to fall, and I can’t fucking breathe!

There are bewildered and demanding words coming from the dark blurs around me, and I try to blink the water away, but it’s coming too fast. Only one forceful voice has the volume to rise above, and it’s almost clear, and so close to me, and shoving me harshly as if the sound itself has become a physical entity, and it’s so damn annoying. It pushes and pulls me, and I’m running out of the strength to fight it because everything I have left is trying to suppress the bile gathering in my stomach and threatening my useless esophagus.

Then everything is bright, like the sun on that horrible, unsuspecting day. I’d say I feel blinded by it, but I didn’t see anything before anyway. There’s more forced stumbling and a muddling of voices and sounds. Another rises over them, so loud, and shrill, yet it can never hit the notes it sets out to despite always trying to rise at the end of every line.

“Get in,” it demands.

“Selena, what the fuck are you doing?!” Bryson. I think it’s Bryson. It sounds kind of like Bryson, but so far away.

I think there’s a response, but I’m trapped in a fishbowl and everything is half muted. I’m sitting, and all I hear before someone else speaks is a loud slam right beside me. Then there’s something that sounds like angry arguing, but I can’t make it out because my thundering heartbeat and broken lungs are trying to kill me. Another harsh slam, then a jingle, sputter, and hum, and then the whole world lurches forward.

And my gut lurches forward and upwards again, and that forces the blackness clouding my eyes to dissolve into dizzy, sparkling fragments. I barely have the air to heave, but I manage to start gagging, rocking forward in my leather seat, and then her voice shrieks:

“Don’t you fucking dare puke in my car!”

I’m in Selena Walton’s stupid, expensive Lexus. There’s that small, sane part of me clinging to the thought that blowing chunks inside of her Lexus is a bigger fuck you to her than smearing Vaseline on the door handle, but it’s microscopic because the acidic needles of the bile are pricking the base of my empty windpipe, and it’s so fucking hot in here, and no matter how much blinking I do everything is blurry, and those lyrics are stuck in my mind.

“But make it loud, cause nobody’s there.”

Nobody’s there.

He’s not there. He’s not here. One. I’m alone in the chapel with a monument to destruction, the end of an era. Two. Together, we jump. Three. My leg feels like it’s been severed. Four. My head has exploded. Five. I shatter into pieces. Six. I’m gripping the porcelain sides of a bathroom sink to keep from falling. Seven. In the nightmares, I’m falling. Falling, falling, falling. Eight. I’m suffocated by the emptiness of a black abyss and closed-in walls of my bedroom without him in it. Nine. The futon is in couch mode. And that’s not ever going to change again. Ten. There’s not enough air, but I can’t seem to drown. Eleven. We hit the ledge over half-way down a thirty-foot fall, and it was all my fault. He’s gone, and I should have gone with him, but I didn’t and he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone – You’re never going to get rid of me, Morgan – and why can’t I fucking breathe–

And then something unimaginable happens.

It’s fast, unpredictable, and unprompted, and my boiled blood becomes lava because the second I realize what’s going on, I am furious.

Her arm smacks into and lays across my chest and pushes me back harshly against the seat, pinning me. She’s leaned over the console in the middle with her other hand still stretched to hold the wheel, but I only notice that after the fact, and it’s still not the most terrifying thing. My tear-blinded eyes go wide, and probably vault out of my skull like a cartoon because this is a new kind of unwelcome proximity.

Her lips are on my lips. She kisses me with her greasy, scalding, obnoxious, red mouth and suddenly my trembling limbs freeze in place. The world pauses for a second – or it feels like it except she’s also fucking driving in West Hills, which is just as uneven and winding as Woodland Hills and Bryson’s street is no exception, and her fucking foot must be pressing the accelerator to the floor.

But I am less focused on fearing for my life and more focused on the fact that I have now kissed Selena fucking Walton.

“What the FUCK?!”

[mrbiglong3000]

My wife disappeared a few weeks ago, and she isn't coming back

The night my wife disappeared was... rough, for a variety of reasons.

I've lived my life to this point with the faint suspicion that I may be cursed. Bad things just... happen to me. A coffee will spill on my lap when I'm wearing white slacks. I won't notice cat hair on a dark blouse until I'm nearly at work, and just as I pull into a parking space, I'll remember that my wife borrowed it and put it into her purse instead of mine. I've purchased randomly generated lottery tickets with every single number just one digit away from the jackpot on more than one occasion.

'But wait,' I can already hear you saying, 'if your life is so cursed, then how have you managed to see any kind of success? If you wear a blouse and slacks to work, surely you must at least make a decent wage.' Well, that boils down to two factors, factors that have made me question both my suspicion and my sanity on numerous occasions- negativity bias, and the frequency at which my 'curse' strikes. I can remember plenty of times where I've been shot in the foot by what, to the uninformed, appears to be simple coincidence, but these instances are spaced out just enough to keep onlookers chuckling and shaking their heads. 'You just need to look on the bright side of things!' I've heard it a million times, and even if it's frustrating at times, it's true, really. Once you live like this long enough, you learn to laugh some of the less painful missteps off. It's easier that way.

That was how I met my wife, hilariously enough. It was a hot day- August, if memory serves- and I was just out of work. There was a little popsicle cart that typically rolled through the park around 5pm or so, and well, hey, I'm a sucker for cherry. I had my prize unwrapped and was just about to cram the thing down my throat in an attempt to drop my internal temperature as fast as possible when my phone's message ringtone went off. In retrospect, it was kind of a dumb move, but I let my popsicle hang from my mouth as I fished my phone from my purse and hurried to respond to what was surely an urgent email and not some shitpost from my younger sister. Turns out, though, that it was indeed the latter- and, well, shitpost or not, my sense of humor's been warped for years. I don't remember what it was precisely, but whatever it was, it was enough to make me snort without thinking, and that action let my already-melting popsicle slip from my mouth. I dropped my phone back into my purse on instinct and juggled the popsicle for a few seconds, but it slipped from my hands and onto the ground with a heart-wrenching smack, stopping just long enough on my lap to leave a nice, bright-red stain on the knee of my brand new khakis.

The pants I didn't really care about- spend enough years spilling anything and everything on yourself and you'll eventually learn what Borax is and how to use it- but the popsicle? That was heartbreaking. Sure, it only cost, what, a dollar? But I was hot, I was tired from a long day, I hadn't eaten lunch at work since that time I got food poisoning on the clock and lost my cookies on my desk so my blood sugar was probably low, and my favorite flavor of popsicle just splattered all over the nasty, pigeon-shit covered path. I'm not too proud to admit that I almost started crying. Almost. I didn't actually cry, just... stared at the broken popsicle on the ground, the way the sweet, melting juice cascaded between the brick pavers before it reached the grass and leached into the soil. Maybe I was grounding myself in a way, following the juice's path with my eyes to keep from focusing on the disappointment, but I sure must have looked like a fucking lunatic doing it. I leaned my elbows on my knees and closed my eyes for a minute, for the sake of maintaining composure, and I didn't look up until I felt a tap on my shoulder.

She was gorgeous- dark hair pulled up in a curly ponytail and a warm, if somewhat tired-looking smile. A brief glance at her clothes told me she was a jogger, but that wasn't really the important part. She was offering me something- a popsicle. I could even make out the red through the wrapper. Apparently, she'd seen my little juggling act from a distance, and she said the look on my face made her feel bad enough to buy me a replacement. She got one for herself, too, and we ended up sitting for a while and just chatting, Borax and daily exercise be damned. Before she left, we swapped numbers, and that was how it all started, with a random act of kindness for an exhausted stranger. After a month, we were at each others' apartments constantly, within six, we'd moved in together, and by the end of the next year, I was looking at rings. We balanced everything about each other. I was neat where she was a bit on the messy side. I couldn't cook worth a damn- and I still can't- but her oldest brother went to culinary school and taught her everything she knows. I had a tendency to think about myself, to worry about how I looked and how I stood out, but she was the most giving person I'd ever met. She even made a habit of giving blood every two months or so. She said she'd started to make ends meet, but once she was financially stable, she just kept doing it. She said she liked knowing that she was doing something good. My luck even seemed to get better after that day, believe it or not. It was almost funny to think about, but in a way, my curse had blessed me with the chance to meet her, and once I did, it was almost as if it dissipated entirely.

That brings us to now- we've been married for two years, and we were even looking into fostering. We agreed we were going to seek older children, both for the sake of moving a kid out of the system and to be sure we wouldn't need to juggle a puppy and a baby. Who needs to potty train one tiny life after another, y'know? Plus, it would be nice knowing we got a kid out of a pipeline to failure. We weren't rich by any means, but we were comfortable, and we could certainly grant an elementary-age child a life they may not get somewhere else.

I had to stay late at work that night. One of the downsides of moving up the corporate ladder is, well, sometimes it means there's more work to be done, I guess. I'm not sure if it's my direct superior offloading tasks he doesn't want to do onto me, or if I'm just adjusting, but I digress. I was late. She knew about that- I'd texted her saying as much- and dinner would be on the table just as I was getting home. Or, it would have been, if I hadn't needed to stop for gas. Oh, well. I'd be a few minutes later than I'd promised, a habit I was doing my best to break, but at least I caught it before my car ran dry entirely and I wound up out of gas somewhere stupid again.

In retrospect, I should have sped home. Maybe if I was there, I could have done something. I keep telling myself that it wasn't my fault, that I had no way of knowing what was going to happen, because that's the most logical way to see the situation, but...

The apartment was still when I got home. Dinner was on the stove, still warm in the pot and covered to keep it that way, but the television was off, and the silence burned in my ears. She liked... likes. She likes to listen to music when she cooks. She told me when we started dating that too much quiet unnerved her, and in that moment, I finally understood what she meant. I left the kitchen, flipping the hall light on as I passed the switch, and the smell started to reach me just as I got to the bedroom door. It was closed, and I stopped with my hand on the knob. I knew I didn't want to open that door. The feeling in the pit of my stomach told me that this wasn't some romantic surprise. There was a taste in the air not unlike the one a nosebleed leaves behind, metallic and tacky and unpleasant, overpowering the heavy, savory scent of garlic from the alfredo sauce left on the stove. Still, I knew that if I didn't open it, I couldn't rest. Almost as if I was on autopilot, I twisted the knob and pushed inward.

The room was dark, lit only by the ambient glow seeping between the blinds from the street outside and a dim arc cast through the doorway by the bulb down the hall. As soon as the door was open, the smell hit me like a freight train; if I'd thought it was strong in the hallway, this was overbearing, as if someone was kneeling on my chest and forcing me to breathe with my head in a sack full of hot, wet pennies. I was so thrown by the stench that I almost didn't notice the sound at first, a faint squish in the far corner. I did not turn on the light, and what I could see, I wish I hadn't. The carpets that were lit were stained deeply, almost the same bright red as my knee some three years prior, but not quite. It's almost funny, the way memories tie together like that. I did not laugh.

I wish I could say I turned on the light, confronted whatever was in that darkened corner, done... something. I wish I could say that I'd lifted the bedside lamp and hurled it at the shuddering mass in that bedroom, if only to stop the sound of its chewing for a second. I wish I could say I'd done anything at all, but I can't. And I didn't. I closed the bedroom door, stepped back into the hall, and left the way I'd came, not even bothering to lock the apartment behind me or so much as close the door. I didn't snap out of that trance until I was in the car again, driving nowhere in particular, just... somewhere that wasn't home. I got a call from the police not long after. Apparently, a few neighbors heard screaming and called the cops, and when they arrived and investigated, they found our door wide open and a trail of blood leading from the bedroom out to the balcony. Nothing else. No body, no perpetrator, nothing. Just a bloodied floor and a puppy cowering in the corner of the bathtub in a puddle of his own piss.

I came back later that night to pick up my dog. Poor guy was shaking like a leaf for ages, practically refused to leave the bathroom on his own. The cops ended up carting him out in my jacket, if only to make their investigation a little bit easier without a puppy in the way. I don't know why I wasn't shaking, too. I guess that made them suspicious, but when they questioned me, I had an alibi. Around the time the first neighbor called, I was still getting gas. I'm on CCTV feeds from three different cameras, all timestamped and verified by the cashier working that evening. I found out next that it was, indeed, my wife's blood in the carpets. The tests came back later and, when compared against her donor records, it was a match. That's... that's where the investigation ran dry. They never found a body, nor any witnesses other than the neighbors who heard the scream.

In the silence of the car trip to my parents' house that night, I found myself falling back into old thought patterns, obsessive ideas that refused to leave my brain no matter how little sense they made. I managed to keep them at bay until I pulled into the driveway behind my little sister's car and my phone rang out with the quiet chime of a message alert. Numb, I lifted my phone from the center console and unlocked it. I had one new text message, from a number I recognized. It was my wife's, and in that moment, I knew that what I saw was real, and no amount of searching would ever bring her home.

12:51 AM-

Thanks for dinner.

[saficsky-blog]

Her One Good Thing (bechloe  pp3 one-shot) ~

Description: Beca walks away from DJ Khaled's offer, unwillingly to abandon the Bella's, unwilling to abandon Chloe. OR Bechloe fluff, angst, and the Cups song duet we all know we wanted taking place in a hotel room. Words: 6828 Ao3 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13167213 I decided to post my fic here too(but this site is weird and I don’t know if I’ve posted it on here right). I just really wanted a bechloe version of the cups song. I’m such an unmotivated human...but I also really want to create a multi-chapter story with these two in canon verse eventually. It will just take planning, which is hard T__T. Anyways....

Her One Good Thing ------- Beca walks at a pace not much slower than the rate at which her heart is pounding. The sound of her heels hitting the hallways reflective tile floor echo throughout the increasing space between her and the room she just left. She refuses to even entertain the idea of looking back at what she is sure are the shocked faces of Theo and DJ Kahled—or…apparently Billy? “God, why are important and successful people always so weird?” Beca lets out a breathy huff with the thought. Exasperation leaks out of her tiny body, more so than usual, making her broody aura just a bit more intense. She’s sure they think she’s crazy, because how could anyone turn down such an offer given to them by the DJ Kahled, famous DJ, record producer and label executive. The great Billy himself? Beca falters a bit in her step. “Am I being…?” She slows to a stop, the hallway becoming eerily silent in the absence of her steps forward. More thoughts begin rising in her head, doused in the waves of uncertainty rolling through her mind. “Ugh!” She groans aloud, as she shakes her head in a poor attempt to rid herself of the storm in her head. “No Beca,” she mumbles to herself as she continues her trek down the hall, “Just…no.”

-------

Beca makes her way through the hotel and up the elevator, until she finds herself walking down the hallway she’s been sharing with the Bella’s. The floor here is covered in dark carpet and appears well kept, but Beca is sure if one is really looking they could make out the darker spots with causes she would prefer to remain unknown. Still, the hotel is nice, and they thankfully aren’t stuck having to fit nine girls into just one room again. Beca shudders at the memories of waking up with Jessica’s foot shoved in her face. Even worse, the time she woke up screaming “Snake” and yanking the covers off the bed just to find Lily staring at her blankly, Beca’s big toe fit snugly in her mouth. Then there was that one time…with Chloe. A blush begins creeping its way up Beca’s face at that specific memory. “Ugh, God,” Beca shakes her head hard for the second time in what she considers to be way too short of a time span, “What is up with my head today?” Swallowing thickly and forcing heated air out her nose, she makes her way to the door of the room she has been sharing with Chloe.

As soon as she opens the door she is hit with the smell of citrus and cinnamon. Really, Chloe’s most beloved body spray is called Cinnamon Citrus. In her mind Beca thinks the combination odd, imagining sticks of cinnamon floating in a glass of orange juice. A concoction that sounds disgustingly sweet and bright to Beca. Yet, on Chloe it is palatable. She smiles softly, wallowing in the fragrance that her body instantly recognizes as home. The thought of Chloe reapplying the scent for a certain military hunk rises, along with an increasingly familiar heat of jealously between her ears. Beca forces the thought and feeling down, an action she has repeated multiple times since first landing on the military base. “So not needed now,” she thinks to herself whilst kicking off her heels by the door. There are two full sized beds in the room. Beca makes her way to the one furthest into the room and closest to the window. She flings herself backwards on the mattress, letting herself sink in as far as she can go. Her eyes close and for a few moments she feels utterly relaxed atop the plush hotel comforter, the dark serenity behind her eyelids, and the sweet and recognizable air she breathes in.

Of course, this moment of peace is interrupted by a sudden vibration in her right back pocket. “Fucking, technology,” Beca grumbles and puts in the most minimal amount of squirming to remove her phone from her pants. She brings her phone above her face with her hand and see’s that it is a new update from the Bella group chat. Unlocking her phone, she sees the message and the picture attached. It is a message from Stacie that reads, “Here with baby Bella and rooting for all you Bella’s!” A picture of Stacie holding the brown-haired infant against her cheek, snug in her arms, falls below the message. Beca can do nothing to stop the smile that spreads across her face at the sight of Stacie and her little girl. A new message pops up from Ashley, ‘Too frikin adorable Stace!’ Followed soon by another from Aubrey, ‘Thanks Stacie <3! Bella looks so beautiful! Just like her mommy!’.

Beca lifts her other arm out of its hibernating state at her side and attempts to type out her own message, but instead finds her thumbs trembling. She rereads Stacies message. Zeroes in on how Stacie is rooting for all of them, not just one, not just Beca. She thinks back to less than fifteen minutes ago when she stood alone before DJ Kahled. She thinks back to her moment of hesitation in the hallway and feels guilt churning in her gut. The uncertainty makes its way back to the forefront of her mind like storm clouds and suddenly the phone in her hands seems to weigh a ton. She only makes out the first few words of a message just sent by Cynthia Rose, before she tosses her phone away from her with a loud sigh.

Beca covers her eyes with her hands and rubs slow heavy circles around her eye, before slowly dragging her fingers down the sides of her face. Her hands cup her cheeks as she stares up at the white ceiling above her. While the view in front of her in blank, in her mind all she can see is the faces of the girls who have become her family over the years. She hears Cynthia Rose’s laugh, feels Fat Amy’s incredibly rough, but somehow still affectionate touches, she sees the sparkling blue of Chloe’s eyes. Thinks of the banter between them. Remembers the jokes—many of which have been directed at Beca’s height—and swears she can feel the love in her bones, but maybe that is just the sensation of her phone vibrating constantly on her bed right now. “I’d never leave you guys behind. I promise,” Beca thinks with as much steel as one could muster up for a thought. With that, Beca flings herself into an upright position and moves to grab her laptop and wireless headphones off the nightstand between the two beds in the room. “Screw the competition and Theo and DJ Billy,” Beca says under her breath as she opens up her laptop to clear her mind of everything. Her hands move through the familiar motion of placing her headphones over her head, and the sensation of the ear pads against her ears is also one that makes Beca feel like she is at home. With a new smile on her face, a mind set on unwinding, and a few clicks, Beca opens up iTunes and starts playing her “My Mixes” playlist. She sits on the edge of her bed facing the window with closed eyes and a rhythmic sway to her head.

Of course, this blissful moment was ruined approximately seven minutes later when the first few notes of a certain mix came on. It wasn’t that this mix was bad or unenjoyable, actually quite the opposite. This mix was amazing. This mix was something that Beca spent a week of late nights on, in the studio at her workplace. Hours of layering and mashing beats and vocals, hours of tweaking to assure ever pitch was perfection. She is a Producer and she produced something amazing, something ACA-fucking amazing, not that she’d ever describe it that way to anyone outside her family of awesome nerds. Still that little guy, little shit, had the nerve to call her mix trash? The worst part is he isn’t the first one to give her their false opinion on her mixes. Beca loves making music, she does, she really truly does, but— “FUCK I hated that job!” Beca groans loudly into her hands, before jabbing her finger at the laptops spacebar to silence her amazing mix. The negative memories of her job resurfacing in her mind, drag her memory of the offer just made to her along with them. Beca loves the Bella’s and she means that silent promise towards the ceiling with every fiber of her five feet and one inch body, but she can’t pretend that the offer still isn’t appealing. Beca knows this opportunity is huge. She knows the creative freedom she would be allowed in her new career would be miles above her old job. Still, the idea of leaving the Bella’s behind and performing without them tears her apart. After all, she would never be where she is without them. Beca thinks back seven years, to when she first came to Barden University. Unmotivated, unwilling, and with an aura even more broody than the one she carries now. She thinks about the hard time she gave her father back, and how far their relationship has come since. She silently thanks him for pushing her so hard to just leave her room. She remembers how ridiculous, but endearing Fat Amy was since the moment she met her in front of what she mistakenly thought was a booth for a DJ club. Walking across the green back to her room after signing up for the college radio station, Beca never had any intention of stopping. She’d already coldly ignored multiple students trying to get her attention by shouting and shoving fliers in her face, but then there was Chloe. Chloe who’s twinkling blue eyes managed to melt just enough of Beca’s cold exterior to stop her in her tracts, reel her in, get her to simply listen. Then there was Chloe again, in her shower…naked. Heat rises to Beca’s cheeks at the memory, but the warmth on her face is nothing compared to warmth she felt singing with Chloe back then. It was like layers of ice were melting off her heart and dripping down the drain next to their bare feet.

Beca likes to pretend that it wasn’t the connection she felt to Chloe in that moment that drew her to auditions, but she knows it was. Without Chloe, she’d probably be broke and friendless in LA. Now she’s broke in Brooklyn…and technically unemployed, but she has friends! She has Chloe, the girl who not too long-ago was sitting at a bar, crying, because she wanted to be with the Bella’s more than anything. Now here Beca was, toying with the idea of leaving the Bella’s behind. She couldn’t possibly be a worse friend. Beca swings her feet back and forth against the side of the bed, and glances around the room, trying to get a bit of her mind off of all the self-loathing she’s been doing within the past hour. Her eyes glance down at a rumpled sleeping shirt on the floor by her feet she told herself she’d pick up a day ago and up at the blue sky through the rooms window, then to the two folded up towels on a table by the door that look like swans kissing. Finally, her eyes land on a small plastic cup sitting on the nightstand between the bed that Chloe had been drinking out of the night before. The sight puts a small smile on Beca’s face. She gently closes her computer and stretches across the bed to grab the cup, before returning to sit back on the edge of her bed. She turns the cup in her hand, rubbing her thumb along the ridges circling the cup and trying her hardest not to think about how absolutely weird she is being by staring at this cup so longingly. She knows why Chloe brought that blue cup with her to the Bella’s reunion. Chloe has never held back from letting Beca know she loves the music she has created, and the cups song is something Chloe loves. There have been multiple occasions over the years where Chloe has tried to get Beca to perform the cups song for her again. Something that she has always declined, only ever feeling total embarrassment when thinking back to her impromptu audition in her freshman year. The closest she has come to doing it again was in her senior year at Aubrey’s camp, and well how could she resist joining in when Chloe’s voice was both melting and reeling in her heart at the same time? Chloe isn’t even here now, but still Beca can’t help but feel something tugging. That same feeling from the shower, and at auditions, in the tent, during the campfire, hiding from Theo, and all the in between moments at Barden and in Brooklyn. This sensation too, feels like home. Beca doesn’t want to ever do something to make it end. “I got my ticket for the long way ‘round,” Beca begins to sing softly to the cup in her hands, bobbing her head along to the familiar tune. “Two bottle ‘a whiskey for the way,” she continues to sing, and while she is staring at the bright red plastic in her hands, the red she is imagining it a completely different shade. “And I sure would like some sweet company, And I’m leaving…tomorrow,” Images of the Bella’s looking broken over Beca taking the offer spill into her imagination. Chloe is there in the front, the same twinkling eyes that drew her in at the activities fair are dripping tears. Wetness begins pooling in Beca’s own eyes. Her hands tighten around the cup, creating uneven noisy folds where her finger tips press in. “Wha-do-ya-say?” Beca asks aloud the question ending the first verse. Of course, not expecting an actual answer, but this past hour hasn’t gone exactly as expected for Beca to begin with.

-------

Beca loves her headphones, she loves them because they’re wireless, play both the highs and lows of her beats beautifully, and have amazing active noise cancellation that can drown out Amy’s loud singing in the shower even without music playing. So of course, Beca didn’t hear the red head opening the door behind her. Nor did Beca see her eyes and grin both widening to a hypnotizing size as her ears heard the lyrics flowing from the girl sitting on the edge of her bed, completely unaware she was being watched. Beca surely didn’t hear the slow approaching footsteps behind her, and she wasn’t in the slightest bit aware of the woman gently placing her hands on the soft bed and slowly leaning towards her. So of course, when Chloe placed her head just inches behind the brunette and sang out the next lyric, “When I’m gone,” Beca nearly had a heart attack.

“DUDE!?” Beca shouts in the middle of literally flinging herself off the bed to the floor below. She barely manages to get her hands out to catch herself before her head slams too hard against the floor, headphones flung off mid-flight, the cup jetted off to a corner somewhere, and the sleeping shirt lying close by as unceremonial as its owner. Beca looks up at the bed from her position on the floor to see Chloe’s big blue eyes staring down at her, with an upset furrow in her brows. “Why’d you stop singing?” Chloe says, almost pouting. Beca scoffs. “Dude, there is a literal chance I’ve been concussed and that is what you care about?” Beca asks in exasperation. Chloe reaches out a hand for Beca to take and rolls her eyes. “Oh please. We both know you’ve been through much worse.” Images of a militant Aubrey and Lily cutting Beca down from a bear trap spring up in both of their minds as Beca takes Chloe’s hand, pulling herself into an upright position. She picks up the headphones lying next to her, checking for damage, before tossing them gently on the bed. “Right. Never ever going camping again,” she says while rubbing the back of her head and standing up to go sit on the bed next to a guilty looking Chloe who looks at the spot Beca hit her head with genuine concern. Beca sighs and intercepts what she feels to be an unnecessary apology. “My head is fine Chloe.” “I’m still sorry. I just couldn’t help myself when I heard you singing that song,” Chloe says with raised sheepish shoulders. Beca huffs out a laugh, trying not to stare at the way Chloe nervously bites her lower lip. “Yeah, I guess I should be used to you invading all my personal boundaries over a song by now,” Beca replies in her usual sarcastic tone. She expects Chloe to smile at the obvious reference to their shower duet, but instead her shoulders drop as she stares at Beca. The little crease of a scar on Chloe’s forehead deepens from the furrowing of her brows, the sight putting a frown on Beca’s own face. “Chlo, I told you my head is fine,” Beca says, making sure to put extra emphasis on “fine”. She shakes her head from side to side. “Nothing rattling inside. Nothing to worry about.” Beca even throws on a big grin to try to wipe the sad look off of Chloe’s face. It doesn’t work. “You were crying,” Chloe states. “Oh shit,” Beca thinks. If there is one thing Beca hates more than crying, it is other people knowing she has cried. It isn’t that she doesn’t trust Chloe enough to cry in front of her. Truthfully, she has cried a handful of times in front of Chloe over the years. After graduation and before the Brooklyn apartment arrangement was made, when she didn’t know when she’d see her best friend next. When her and Jesse broke up, and when she found out how fast he moved on. The time Chloe somehow talked her into watching a compilation of sad Disney movie scenes on YouTube in their bed, and when Beca made her promise to take the fact that the Beca Mitchell cried over Bambi with her to the grave. It is just that she doesn’t like people worrying over her, especially not Chloe. Beyond that, she totally isn’t interested in explaining to Chloe that she was literally crying over a plastic cup while thinking of her, and that she has spent the past hour drowning from the guilt of just her thoughts. “I, uh—.” “And don’t you go trying to deny it!” Chloe snaps before Beca can finish stuttering out a half decent excuse. “I couldn’t tell from when I was behind you, but now that I can see your eyes, I know you were crying.” Beca finds herself faced with steely blue eyes full of resolve, daring her to lie. Releasing a heavy sigh, Beca says, “Listen Chlo…OK…OK sure. I was, but it isn’t a big deal.” Unfortunately, Chloe isn’t at all willing to accept Beca’s desire to shrug off whatever emotions she was feelings that led to her state. “Beca, every time you cry is a big deal!” Beca scoffs in response. “Um, need I remind you of the Bambi incident mam,” she says waggling a finger at Chloe who gasps in disbelief. “Beca! Bambi is totes a big deal!” Chloe says in a tone so serious that Beca can’t decide whether to laugh, or stare in awe at how absolutely unreal the woman next to her is. “Anyways don’t you go trying to distract me away from the situation,” Chloe says causing Beca to groan loudly. “Dude, there is no situation. I just…” Beca trails off and Chloe leans towards her in response. As if their closer proximity would allow her to hear the cause of pain Beca so stubbornly refuses to vocalize. “You just…?” Chloe dip her head down, trying to gently coax the words out of the brunette. Beca exhales and squeezes her eyes tight, seeking some kind of refuge from Chloe’s intense stare. Instead she finds herself back at the campsite, standing before Chloe, fighting with her. She remembers the way Chloe told her to never be afraid of being honest with her after the campfire, and the silent nod she gave her best friend. Beca takes in a deep breath before opening her eyes to meet Chloe’s. “We just...we didn’t make it OK?” A huff of an exhale leaves her mouth and her eyes drift downward, trailing one of the colorful patterns of the comforter. Chloe squints her eyes and shakes her head in confusion. “We didn’t make it? Beca what do you mea—.” Realization enters Chloe’s mind cutting off her question. “Oh….oh...” Beca refuses to look up, afraid of the expression that would match the hurt tone to Chloe’s voice, and her fingers begin pulling at a loose thread on the bed. Suddenly she feels a familiar hand on hers, and watches the way she allows Chloe to sneak her fingers in the spaces between her own. “Becs?” Chloe calls out softly, and Beca finally looks up at the sound of her voice. “You know it’s OK, right? We all did our best.” Chloe gently squeezes the hand she holds, trying to pour as much comfort as she can into the small gesture. She is more than aware of how hard Beca can be on herself when it comes to anything music related. Having spent nights holding her hand in a similar fashion after Beca finds out a piece she made wasn’t as well received as she imagined it to be. “This isn’t your fault. Besides I know I and the rest of the girls were just happy to be togeth—. ” “No, no, no Chloe. Y-you don’t get it,” Beca says interrupting her with a shake of her head. Chloe’s eyes take on a steely sheen once more. “No Beca, I do. I know you’re blaming yourself for us not being good enough! But we all—“ “There is no we OK!?” Beca finally says, her raised voice causing Chloe to flinch slightly. Beca slips her hand out of Chloe’s, and instead grips the bed beneath her. Chloe pulls her hand slowly back to her own lap, not understanding what her friend is telling her. “What do you mean there is no we?” Her voice is soft, and instantly Beca feels guilty for just shouting at her. “I mean…just…we didn’t make it...,” Beca says, voice more of a low mumble than anything by the end. “I did,” she says, and the admission widens Chloe’s eyes and parts her mouth in shock. Beca continues, “Yeah, me. Just me. Stupid Theo and DJ Billy—Khaled, whatever, think that I should just abandon you guys for some stupid label signing. How could they think that? Who do they even—OH!” Beca shouts as she suddenly feels Chloe’s warm body pushed into hers, arms circled around her shoulders, and a curly strand of red hair poking her in the eye. “Dude, can you for once in your life just give me a warning before invading all of my personal space!?” Beca says breathing in a hefty scent of Chloe’s sweet perfume. “We both know if I did that, you’d run,” Choe says into Beca’s neck, her warm breath sending a tiny shiver down the spine of the girl she has wrapped herself around. Beca swallows and blows out a breath trying to push the feeling down. “Well could you blame—woah!” Beca exclaims in response to Chloe gripping her shoulders and pushing her back, till she is directly facing Chloe at an arms distance. Beca is about to complain about being tired of people thinking they can manhandle her just because of her size, but the expression on Chloe’s face stops her. She stares at the way Chloe bites down her trembling bottom lip and how her eyes glisten with unshed tears. A frown stretches across Beca’s face. “Oh no. Chloe please don’t. I said I’m not taking the lame offer.” A short laugh of disbelief escapes Chloe’s mouth, along with the first slow stream of a tear. Shaking her head she says, “Becs…I’m crying, because I’m happy.” Her mouth upturns in a smile and Beca looks at her with her in slight confusion. “You’re happy? Because I turned it down…right?” “What? No, no! I’m happy because,” Chloe grip tightens around Beca’s shoulders, “because you’re amazing.” Beca stares in wonder at the way the woman in front of her is able to say those words as if they were universal fact. To Chloe, Beca is amazing in the same way the sun is aflame and rises every morning. There is no uncertainty Chloe holds about the amazingness of the girl before her. The only time she second guessed Beca was as the girl walked away from her at the activities fair years ago. Their duet in the shower quickly proved to Chloe that the feeling that pulled at her heart the moment she first laid her eyes on Beca years ago wasn’t a fluke. Chloe always knew Beca was special, and now… “And now you’re getting truly recognized for that.” Beca spends a second lost in the pure adoration radiating off of Chloe eyes, before reaching up to pull off the two hands on her shoulders. Chloe’s smile falters as Beca releases her hands. Without shoulders to grip on she falls slightly back away from Beca, watching her throw her hands up in a frustrated gesture. “You guys have already recognized my talents…or whatever! You guys are the reason behind why I’ve gotten as far as I have. Chloe, you’re the reason I’m here right now. And I’m not gonna just—I can’t just, leave the Bella’s behind,” Beca finishes sounding emotionally drained from the harshness of her breaths. “Beca, you aren’t leaving us behind by taking that deal,” Chloe says trying to assure her friend. “More than anything we just want you to be happy.” Beca stares at her in disbelief. “Really dude? Just a few weeks ago you were in a bar crying and saying how you’d do anything to sing together again,” Chloe flinches a bit, remembering how low she felt that night. “There is no togetherness in a solo performance Chlo. The last thing I want is you guys sitting in some audience watching me the way we watched the New Bella’s. I’m not…I’m not doing that to you Chlo.” Chloe stares at the woman in front of her, trying her hardest to take in the care she feels pouring off Beca in waves. She knows that Beca comes across as cold and unapproachable to many people, but Chloe knows her aura of dark, gloomy sarcasm only runs so deep. Chloe understands the way Beca’s heart built up walls to defend itself from all the pain she faced as a child. However, when you are one of the lucky few who find themselves on the other side of those walls, like the Bella’s and Chloe have, you find yourself met with a heart far bigger than most. She knows Beca doesn’t want to hurt her or any of the girls, and she is so appreciative of the woman before her, but she also knows she’s so wrong. “Listen I already told them no, so we should just—.” “You know,” Chloe cuts her friend off, “I spoke with Chicago a few days ago.” Beca tries her hardest to not grimace at the sudden mention of the man’s name. “He helped me realize something. I mean maybe not realize exactly, more like…remember.”

For a moment Chloe’s eyes lose focus, placing herself back in the hotel lobby just days ago. The girls are spread throughout the expensive looking room. Jessica and Ashley attached at the hips and pointing to something outside the tall windows in awe. Cynthia Rose and Aubrey are leaned up against a wall laughing. Closest to her, Fat Amy, Flo, and Beca are huddled together for a silly picture. Beca is smiling through the cookie Fat Amy just put in her mouth, while Flo giggles at the act. Chloe looks on, smiling through watery vision, her heart brimming with the love she feels towards each and every one of these women. Then she is back in the present, heart still spilling over with love, but towards the one women before her. “I remembered that no matter what, we will always be family Becs.” “But—” “No! There is no but Beca. It doesn’t matter what we do, nothing could ever tear us apart! I mean…” Chloe trails off quickly reaching for her phone in her pants pocket. She unlocks her phone and opens up the Bella’s group chat. “Look!” Chloe exclaims and Beca finds herself facing the lit-up screen of Chloe’s phone. Seeing the picture of a smiling Stacie with baby Bella for the second time. “Stacie isn’t even here. She is a mother now, with a whole list of new priorities, but don’t you still feel it Beca? The connection we have to her, the connection that we’ve all held on to since leaving college?” Beca feel her eyes widen at Chloe’s words as she stares at Stacie’s smile, baby Bella’s perfect skin, the words of love trailing after the picture in the chat. The letters suddenly look a little muddled and Beca know her eyes are watering up, knows that Chloe can almost certainly tell. She watches Chloe put the phone down next to her. “I love performing with the Bella’s Beca, I do, but more than anything I just…I just love you all,” Chloe says as a few tears spill down her face, she swipes a few away with her hand. “We are a family, and all I want is for my family to be happy,” she says as Beca feels a tear escape her eye. “Also…I know how much you hated your job,” she tells Beca as she breathes out a giggle. Beca responds with a small chuckle of her own, smilingly helplessly at Chloe. “Yeah I really hated that fucking job huh?” Beca says and the two spend a moment staring into each other’s teary eyes, before laughter spills out of both of their mouths. “Oh God...I can’t believe I’ve done a year’s worth of crying in less than an hour,” she groans while rubbing at her eyes with her sleeve. Chloe just smiles endearingly at her friend’s typical sarcastic attitude, before reaching to take the hands in front of her again. Beca lets them be taken, finding solace in the way Chloe’s fingers intertwine with her own. “So, you’ll do it right?” Chloe asks, worrying her bottom lip in fear that Beca might still be afraid. Beca lets out a long sigh. “I mean…I guess—GOD!” And then Beca finds herself once again with an armful of Chloe Beale, this time squealing next to her ear in a pitch Beca isn’t entirely sure she should still be able to make since getting nodes. “Jesus dude! We really need to develop some type of warning system between us.” Chloe just seems to squeeze her tighter in response. “And I mean I want to talk to the rest of the girls first, just to be sure.” “Sounds aca-amazing,” Chloe whispers in her ear and Beca is stuck between wanting to roll her eyes at how absolutely nerdy that sounded and groaning at what the breath in her ear just made her feel. Then Chloe releases Beca, but doesn’t retreat too far from the brunette. “So…” Chloe begins in a voice dripping so heavily of innocence that Beca knows she is planning something that is the complete opposite. Chloe tilts her head away from Beca, her eyes landing upon on an item in the corner. Beca follows Chloe’s gaze. “Oh no.” Upon realization of where Chloe was looking, Beca lets out an overdramatic agonized groan. “Absolutely not,” she says adamantly. “Please! Just sing it for me!” Chloe pouts in Beca’s direction with the biggest puppy eyes she can muster. Beca feels her will crumbling beneath Chloe’s adorable expression. “Chlooooo,” she begs. “You were doing it before. Just pretend I’m not here!” Beca scoffs at the idea, as if she could ever just forget about Chloe’s existence in a room. “No!” She manages to force out, clinging to the scraps of will left within her. “Why not?” Chloe asks, somehow managing to pout even more. “I just! I don’t….I….”Beca trails off, eyes landing on the cup on the floor, then back to meet Chloe’s. She stares into the same big blue eyes that drew her in that day, the ones that changed Beca’s life completely. Chloe’s eyes are staring at her with such a sharp intensity, but the way they tug at her heart is the gentlest Beca’s ever felt. She thinks of the way she held the cup in her hands earlier, thinking of Chloe, feeling at home.

Beca sighs, then reaches out, softly taking Chloe’s hands in her own. “I got my ticket for the long way ‘round,” Beca sings quietly as Chloe’s soft gasp hits her ears. “Two bottle ‘a whiskey for the way,” she continues in a soft voice. Her eyes never leaving Chloe’s as she goes on, “And I sure would like some sweet company. And I’m leaving tomorrow, wha-do-ya-say?” “When I’m gone,” Beca smiles as Chloe sings out the lyric alone, then joins back in for the next. “When I’m gone,” they both sing in harmony, with hands still clasped between them. “You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone. You’re gonna miss me by my hair. You’re gonna miss me everywhere. Oh, you’re gonna miss me when I’m gone.” They finish together, both smiling at each other, Chloe’s own smile similar to the same one she gave Beca that day at auditions, total adoration. “Thank you Beca,” Chloe says with genuine gratitude. Her heart is soaring from the moment she just shared with the woman in front of her, but something about her thanks rubs Beca the wrong way. “Why is she thanking me?” Beca thinks to herself. “Chloe you know that you’re…” She falters, squeezing the hands held by her own, trying to gather as much strength as she can from them. “You know that you’re the best thing to ever happen to me, right?” Chloe just stares at her, lips parted in shock. Beca swallows, listening to her heart pounding in her ears, while waves of regret begin rolling throughout her body. Then Chloe is smiling, and the waves slow to a stop. “Oh Beca,” Chloe breathes out, pulling both their hands up so they’re resting on her chest. Beca can feel Chloe’s heart beating beneath her palms, and while the sensation sends something nerve-racking through her body, it also sends strength. She uses that strength to get the rest of her thoughts out of her. “I-I mean it! Like, if you weren’t there that day! And if you hadn’t barged into my shower, as absolutely insane as that was, I would’ve never met the Bella’s. I would totally be depressed and alone somewhere in LA right now.” Chloe squeezes Beca’s hands against her chest. “I would’ve found you eventually,” she says with complete confidence, unable to believe there could be a universe that exists where she doesn’t know Beca Mitchell. Beca smiles softly at Chloe’s assertion. “I hope so,” she responds, and she catches the way Chloe’s eyes flicker down her face, then back up again. Beca can feel a rhythmic pulse throughout her body, but she isn’t sure if it is coming from her own heart or the one beneath her hands anymore. Beca’s own eyes flicker down to Chloe’s lips, feeling herself pulled in by the pinkness of them, feeling that gentle tug at her heart. Her eyes land on Chloe’s once more, something swimming in the woman’s bright iris’s.

 Is it nervousness?

 The two are so close. The air between them is heavy and buzzing. Beca watches Chloe slowly lean towards her.

 Perhaps anticipation?

 Chloe is so close, still clinging to Beca’s hands as if her heart would stop beating without them. Beca can feel Chloe’s breath hit her face. She peers into the pupils of the eyes in front of her. They’re the darkest she’s ever seen them. Her own eyes begin to flutter shut. Desire? “God this woman will be the end of me,” Beca thinks to herself before Chloe’s lips press softly against hers. There is a part of Beca, the part of her that put up her walls and pushed people away, that is telling her to run. Telling her to stop before she gets hurt, gets her heart torn apart by the people she loves again. Maybe a few years ago she would’ve listened to that voice, but Beca is different now. Beca met Chloe, and she is the best thing to ever happen to her. So Beca ignores that voice and presses further into Chloe, lips upturning into a smile. She focuses on the way Chloe’s lips are moving slowly against hers, her sweet scent, and the shared pulse between them. Beca would be more than OK with ending this way. She doesn’t, but the kiss does. Chloe pulls back slowly, eyes spending a few extra moments locked on to the lips she just kissed. Chloe smiles and Beca blushes beneath the intensity of Chloe’s stare, but returns a smile of her own. “Chlo…that was…” Beca begins before a thought pops into her mind. Chloe’s brow furrows at the concern that takes over Beca’s features. Beca takes back her hands, causing a frown to form on her best friend’s face. The brunette casts her eyes downwards, only making Chloe worry more. Was Beca having regrets? “Uh…what about….Chicago?” Beca asks, wondering about the guy Chloe’s been blatantly flirting with this entire trip. Realization slowly washes over Chloe, smoothing the worry out of her brows. “I’m not into him Beca. He’s just cute,” Chloe explains and Beca exhales as a wave of relief washes over her. “Oh,” she says, looking back up at Chloe to find her carrying her own expression of concern. “What’s wrong?” “What about Theo?” Chloe asks, worrying her lip over Beca’s possible response. The response Beca has however, is to burst out laughing at Chloe’s question. “Theo!? Dude, no. He looks like a fucking turtle!” Beca exclaims with a smile. The worry drains from Chloe’s face and then she’s smiling again too. “You know he kind of does look like a turtle,” she says in agreement, smiling and giggling at Beca’s comparison. Smiling, because Beca isn’t interested in Theo, smiling because she just kissed Beca Mitchell, smiling because the best thing to ever happen to her too, is right by her side. “I know! It is kind of weir—Mm!” She finds herself once again cut off by Chloe, as the red head throws her arms back around Beca, fitting herself over Beca’s lap, and pressing their lips back together. Sure, Beca could come up with a dozen snarky comments about the amount of times she has had her boundaries aggressively crossed today, but she doesn’t. Instead she presses further into the lips against her own, wrapping her arms around Chloe, and pulling her in even closer. Chloe is the best thing to ever happen to her. She can cross all the lines she wants, Beca will always let her in. Chloe pulls back slowly again, staring lovingly into Beca’s eyes and finding the same intense affection mirrored in them. Her arms are wrapped around Beca as a smirk begins tugging at her lips. “I still can’t believe I got you to sing my Lady Jam 2.0.” “Y-your what!?” Beca sputters out, as Chloe hops off Beca’s lap running to the room’s bathroom, leaving a trail of giggles behind her. Beca can do nothing but stare with her mouth agape from her bed, heat rising to her cheeks. “Oh, you heard me,” Chloe says, turning back to send a wink in her direction, before disappearing into the bathroom.  With burning cheeks, Beca gets off the bed, and bends to pick up the plastic cup in the corner of the room. She holds the cup in her hands and turns to look at the closed bathroom door, behind which Beca swears she can hear Chloe humming Titanium. With a small shake of her head Beca falls back against her bed. She lets herself sink into the mattress, holding on to the cup with one hand. Her lips stretch into a lazy smirk. “Yup. Totally gonna be the end of me.”

[little-maynard]

Twelve Days of Jack (December 15 - Day 2)

Summary: When Sarah is invited to casually hang out with her Friend With Benefits, Jack, and his group of friends, things suddenly get a lot more serious than she bargained for.

Word count: 2.1K

[A/N] This mini series all takes place in the run up to Christmas. Each chapter takes place the day it is uploaded.

Day One

Sarah had a 9AM seminar and stuck around in a study area to get some homework done. She would stay there until Jack and his friends picked her up around two so they could all go to Winter Wonderland together. It was quiet in the room, apart from the occasional cough and the uninterrupted typing of a boy a few tables over, and when her phone buzzed in her bag and broke the silence she scrambled to get her hands on it to make it shut up. A few people shot her annoyed glances and she gave them what she hoped was an apologetic smile. It was a message from Kailee.

The night before, after dinner, the two girls had sat in Kailee’s room together, discussing the whole thing again. Sarah had shown her best friend pictures of Jack to judge, which had naturally led to Kailee telling a story about a boy she’d slept with a few times the year before. She had broken it off when the boy tried to get serious, even though he was a sweet guy. “There was just no connection”, Kailee had explained. Sarah wasn’t sure what to make of that. Here her friend was, trying to get her to give Jack a chance, while she herself hadn’t done the same thing. Then again, Jack and she did have a connection of sorts. She enjoyed spending time with him and liked hearing about the things that kept him occupied, and he was a good listener who also made her breakfast.

The text she’d just received was some meme to which Sarah replied with an emoji. Just as she was about to put her phone back in her backpack, a new text came in. This time from Jack.

We’re about to leave. Have to pick Mikey up along the way because the lazy fuck refuses to walk, but we’ll be there in 25 mins or so

Twenty-five minutes was plenty of time to get some more work done, but now that her mind had drifted to Jack it was hard to get it back onto linear algebra. Eventually she gave up on trying, shoved all her stuff in her bag, and went outside, where she sat down on a low fence surrounding the bicycle parking area.

“Hey, Sarah.”

Sarah turned around to see Ryan, one of her housemates, put his bike in a stand and walk up to her. “Are you coming out with us tonight? Celebrate Nick’s friend’s birthday?”

“Nick’s friend?” Sarah looked amused. “Do we even know this friend?”

“No, but it’s a good excuse to party.”

She checked her watch, as though that would give her answers, and then nodded, “I think so. No promises, though.”

“Cool, we’re doing pre-drinks in Ella’s room at about eleven and then we’ll head out whenever.”

“Save me a beer.”

He laughed, “Will do, Sares. See you around.”

She said goodbye to him and hopped off the fence. No one had told her how long they’d be staying at Winter Wonderland for, let alone whether they would be going out after. Knowing Jack, they probably would. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted her friends to meet Jack. It seemed to serious, even though she also knew his friends. It was complicated.

--

There was a single spot saved for her in the car; wedged between Josh and Conor in the backseat. Jack and Mikey were sat in the front, babbling about whatever it was that those two boys found interesting. She tossed her bag in the boot of the car and climbed over Conor to get to her seat.

“How was geometry?”

“My lecture wasn’t on geometry, but it was alright. Thanks.”

Conor seemed to have an easy time chatting to whoever about whatever, whenever. She’d noticed this the first time she’d met him, when she realised after half an hour that she’d been talking to this complete stranger for a full 30 minutes without it getting at all awkward, and now that she was tuned into it she was always on the lookout for his tricks. Having someone explain something to him seemed to be one of his top choices for conversation starters.

Despite the fact that she knew how he worked, she still took the bait and explained some things about probability to him during the drive to Winter Wonderland.

--

Finding a parking space at a large festival is always a hassle, but Sarah had never seen anything as bad as this. They drove around for almost half an hour before Jack finally spotted a car pulling out of a spot and immediately jumped on it. By that time the car had gotten nice and warm, and getting out of it was horrible. Sarah zipped her coat up as far as it would go and retrieved her bobble hat from her bag before they left the parking lot.

By the entrance of the park they met Joe, Byron and Will, who had taken a bus, which in hindsight would’ve been a better idea than this whole car ordeal.

“Finally. We’ve been here so long, Joe’s grown a beard.” Byron complained.

“Looks more like pubes on his face to me.” Jack responded.

Joe’s stubble could hardly be called a beard, but it looked good on him. It framed his face and made him look mature, which, if you knew him, maybe didn’t suit him that well.

As soon as they entered the grounds, Sarah spotted a drop-tower. Her absolute favourite ride in any theme park. “Can we go on there?” She asked, trying to play it cool. This genuine hangout with Jack’s friends still felt weird to her and she was unsure of how to behave. Was she supposed to keep to the background or act like one of the guys? Fortunately, the others the others didn’t seem to mind her presence at all.

Will immediately said he’d go with her, and after some convincing Jack, Conor and Byron agreed to go too.

She ended up, how could she not, next to Jack, who was nervously eyeing the tall structure from the queue. “You okay?” She asked him.

“Not a fan of heights.” He responded.

“If I recall correctly, you dangled off a pretty high building during I’m a Celeb.”

He laughed, “Ah yeah, my only trial. Didn’t have a good time. I heard that it was cut down a lot in the episode, ‘cause I must’ve been up on that stupid plank for at least fifteen minutes.”

“Toff totally outdid you on that one.”

“Well, if I’d actually done any other trials I know she would’ve outdone me on those too.” “The ones with the spiders?”

“Every single one. Except for maybe the eating. I think I could do that.”

It was their turn to get on the ride. Jack doublechecked his safety belts, and then checked them again. Just for good measure.

“You know you don’t have to do this right?”

“Bit late for that now.” He responded. “Feel my heartbeat.”

She reached out and placed two fingers on the side of his throat. His heart was pounding away as if he was running a marathon untrained. “Sorry for dragging you into this, but it’ll be fun. I promise.”

“Yeah, if we don’t die.”

“You’re such a drama queen.” She laughed. She dropped her hand and he grabbed it before she could put it to rest on her safety harness. He was shaking a bit – poor guy- and squeezing her hand as if his life depended on it. To him, it probably did.

The ride started moving, slowly gaining height. Jack closed his eyes. Usually Sarah would use the ride up to enjoy the view, but this time she couldn’t look away from Jack. When they were together, they were either having sex or just chilling. She had never seen him experience any negative emotions, and the fear on his face was piteous, but also cute.

“You’re okay.” She said. He shook his head but didn’t respond.

On her other side, Conor and Will were joking around, clearly out of nervousness, pretending to undo each other’s safety harnesses.

She used to be afraid of heights too, when she was younger, but when she was seven years old her brother persuaded her to go on a drop-tower with her and it had done away with her fear at once. The elation she felt during the drop completely diminished any kind of unease she felt. She’d gone on the ride eleven times that day.

The most dreadful part was when the ride stopped at the top and you had to sit and wait until you would inevitably come crashing down. “Do you want to look at the view?” She asked Jack when they were there.

“No, I want to die.” He said.

“I thought you were afraid of dying. Isn’t that the whole point of a fear of heights?”

He was quiet for a moment. “Shut up.”

When the drop finally came, she was surrounded by screams. Jack let go off her hand to grab onto his harness as he screamed his lungs out with his eyes still tightly shut.

The wait and the way upwards were always endlessly long compared to the actual fall, which lasted eight seconds max. Sarah undid her harness and jumped to her feet, “You coming?”

Jack stayed put for a few seconds, catching his breath and trying to calm his heart down. “I’m never doing that again. You can’t make me.”

She laughed, “I won’t. I’m sorry.” She started to undo his harness for him and eventually he raised his hands to help her out.

Behind them, Conor was dramatically prancing around like he was ten beers deep into a night out and struggling to stay right side up, while Byron was steadying himself on the barrier around the ride.

“How are you okay? That was a nightmare.” Will exclaimed.

“I’ve been on this ride more times than I can count.” She said. “These things can’t scare me anymore.”

Jack finally got out of his seat when the operators went around to see if anyone needed help with their safety belts. “Let’s go do something fun now. Like a rollercoaster.”

As if high speeds were less scary when they were horizontal.

--

Two rollercoasters, eight hotdogs, and thirty-seven pounds wasted on claw machines later, they were strolling towards a Christmas market. Jack was a few yards ahead of her, walking with Josh and Conor, while she lagged behind with Mikey.

It was getting close to five, and they had already decided they would be going to Nando’s after the market. They were going out tonight, too, and had acted disappointed when Sarah said she wouldn’t be joining them. She really didn’t get these people. Were they just so laidback that they didn’t care whom they hung out? Or did they really want her around? Was it normal for Jack to bring his flings with him on friend group outings? He wasn’t making things any clearer on her.

--

“Have fun tonight.”

“You too.”

“Maybe we’ll run into each other somewhere.”

“Not if I can help it.” They both laughed and she kissed his cheek, “Bye, Jack.”

“Bye bye.”

He’d given her a ride back to her hall, the gentleman, and was now taking his friends back to his own place for pre-drinks.

It was shortly after ten when she finally walked into the TV room, where most of her corridor was gathered to watch The Hangover.

“She’s alive! Did that boy keep you occupied?” Amber called.

Sarah groaned, “Kailee told you?”

The accused gave her a guilty look.

“I should’ve known.” Sarah laughed, tossed her coat and bag on the floor and sank onto one of the couches. “Yeah, he’s keeping me busy.”

“Is this the boy you said you were ‘casually making love to’?” Tommaso asked.

“Yeah.” “Not so casual anymore?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know.”

“Sam and I started out ‘just sex’ first. We all know how that turned out.” Ella had been with her girlfriend for two years and had told Sarah from the start that Friends With Benefits never came without complications. Sarah had told her she’d prove her wrong back then, but she was turning out to be right.

Fortunately, the others took this as their cue to all start talking about their own love lives, and Sarah gladly took this opportunity to get out of the conversation and talk about the boy Vada had been dating instead.

--

Sarah and Kailee spent the night playing a game to see who could kiss the most boys, so she could get her mind off Jack.

She won, with four against three.

[stilestilikeslydia]

A Totally Objective and Unemotional Recap of Teen Wolf Episode 6x12: Raw Talent

@wellsjahasghost hasn’t gotten a chance to watch the episode yet, so I told her I’d write her a recap, and....... yeah, this is about as far from objective as it gets.

friends, i really hated this episode, and this recap is almost entirely negative, so if you really liked the episode, you probably want to skip this post lol. if you're also bitter and want to enjoy 2.5k of someone else ranting, please read on!

The real title of this text post: 

Anya Discusses Plot Holes, #recycledplotlines, and Casual Racism in Episode 6x12

*ahem* 

The show begins. The0 R@eken, sleeping in his car because he is homeless and friendless and irredeemable, is awoken multiple times, in multiple locations and at multiple times of day, by police officers rapping on his window and telling him to get up and leave. It takes me three minutes to figure out that it's him for sure because he's grown out his hair a bit to look more Boyish, Unkempt, and Vulnerable and I can no longer tell white boys on Teen Wolf apart. By the time I've reached 95% certainty that it is, in fact, the white boy who literally killed Scott and is still stanned by tw fans everywhere, he's waking up in the middle of the night to a spider crawling on his hand. He watches it, fascinated and unafraid, probably because he's like "yo this thing looks as evil as I am lolol." Then the spider burrows under his skin.

Cue The0 breaking into Deaton's vet office to stab the spider crawling around in his back with a scalpel and pull it out of him. Cue me gagging. Then the spider disappears in a puff of black smoke/gunpowder dust bc like... why not.

The police montage continues. And continues. I'm bored. Then - gasp! - the next police are nOt In fAcT CoPs bUt mEN wItH gUnS wHo wAnT To kiLL thE0. They shoot into his car repeatedly, and the scene ends.

(This would be a good cliffhanger if tw trailers didn't already show him appearing in future episodes smh.)

I refuse to watch the episode again, so I'm just going to say that I'm pretty sure the mcmartate scene is next. I'm not going to recap it fully because it was actually pretty good and this recap is not about Accuracy, it's about Salt. In short, the Scott laser scene happens but it turns out that the lasers were actually police flashlight beams (why were they in the woods?!?! who the heck knows. oh wait p@rrish exists, i forgot. maybe he told them about getting beat up by a hellhound wearing matching boxer briefs) and he was hallucinating. he's panicked enough to wolf out before he realizes it's a hallucination and the entire police department sees his eyes glowing red. great great great my son is hallucinating yET AGAIN, i really needed him to suffer more. also he pockets the Argent bullet shell case and mcmartate decides to talk to Chris Argent before they involve Papa Stilinski.

Mcmartate is a Good group. "Maybe this episode won't be so bad," I think.

*sighs*

idk what order the next scenes happen in, so i'm just going to tackle each subplot separately lol.

2.0:

Mason and Liam are chatting in the boys' locker room before lacrosse practice about the supernatural evil threatening Beacon Hills, surrounded by tons of freshmen who could easily overhear them. Liam's giving an extra practice to the freshmen so they have a chance of making first line, even though Mason thinks this is foolish. Liam explains that Brett is helping him, which makes no sense, but I don't mind because this sequence happens:

M: Brett? Incredibly... HOT Brett, with the 8-pack abs?

L (sounding mildly disgruntled... iS SOMEONE JEALOUS R U SURE UR STRAIGHT KIDDO): Pretty sure it's just Brett.

M: He has an 8-PACK. Do y- do you know how hard it is for the human body to have an 8-pack??? *music swells dramatically and then cuts off* ...God.

Also, at the end, Liam tosses Mason over his shoulder and carries him out of the locker room because he was accidentally discouraging the freshmen.

This is the best scene in the episode.

Next, both Liam and Corey failing to do a decent job at playing lacrosse. This is ostensibly an extra practice for the freshmen, and yet Brett, Liam, and Corey are the only ones playing. Brett outclasses them both in looks, swagger, and skill. Liam has no control as usual and Brett tells him to get it together. Audience reaction: Writers are recycling Liam's s4 plotline bc they ran out of ideas for his character; Brett is so clearly superior to Corey that we don't understand why Mason and Corey didn't break up during the hiatus so Brason could happen. Also, guidance counselor watches Brett score on Corey and hears Corey reply, "Wait, I'm not actually invisible right now, am I?" Nice subtlety, Corey.

Liam is pissed bc #recycledplotlines and punches out a locker. Somehow stays there all day because by the time Mason and Corey go to find him, it's after dark??? And since it's summer, it must be like 9:30??? "We need to study for a history test" hOW IS THE SCHOOL STILL OPEN THIS LATE i will never understand.

Oh yeah I forgot, while Liam was still working through his anger issues on the lacrosse field, a bunch of spiders crawl into a freshman boy's helmet in the locker room, and when he puts it on, they invade his body and then start crawling out of his mouth. So when Mason and Corey go to find Liam, they notice a smeared blood trail on the locker room floor and follow it to the showers, where there is an..... unidentifiable bloody mass on the floor. I am disturbed.

Brett:

After obliterating Liam and Corey, it is somehow magically nighttime and he's heading towards his car when the guidance counselor shows up, holding a lacrosse ball that rolled off the field. She compliments his abnormal skill level and tosses him the ball.... which turns out to be covered in wolfsbane. She claims it's "nothing personal,” but no one deserves that much power, and then tries to kill him. I think she stabs him??? I forget the details of their fight. Anyway, he manages to escape.

Scott and Malia:

They go looking for Chris at his... house? bunker? who knows. He has crates full of guns, surprising no one. They have #wittybanter and #chemistry, surprising no one. (i’m sorry i’m sorry i just feel like sc@lia is forced i’m sorry) Scott tells Malia it's okay to break into Chris's computer to find his calendar, and she is turned on by his rule-bending. All of the passwords she guesses involve her capitalizing the first word and adding spaces, because that's how passwords work. Scott picks up a bow and has a Revelation, immediately going to Chris's computer to type in ALLISON as the password. It's the second #recycledplotine of the night. Not to mention that as much as Chris loves his daughter, he is much too practical to have such an easily hackable password.

Questionable computer security aside, they show up in the middle of one of Chris's gun deals right after his fake military buyers pull out their guns, realizing that Chris knows they're fake military and is trying to find out who their boss is. Chris is annoyed with them for intervening and claims that he had an inside man that they just took out while trying to help him, which is yet another plot hole bc Chris shouldn't need to ask about bosses if he has an inside man. In the following chaos-ridden action scene, Scott drops the Argent shell casing. Chris says it's okay and they'll just find the actual bullet in the woods.

Best line of the episode: After Scott and Malia ask if the shell casing belongs to him, Chris says, "I haven't stamped a bullet since Allison died." Our hearts all break a little.

Anyway, despite their plans to go to the woods TOGETHER, Chris is mysteriously nowhere in sight so Scott and Malia can have ~time alone~. Malia shows concern for Scott's well-being. They smile at each other, and thanks to compulsive heterosexuality, this clearly means they've just caught feelings. I'm definitely not still bitter that the writers didn't bring back Kira and give Malia a girlfriend instead.

(in all honesty, however, i can admit that this scene was objectively cute, and it was great character development that already happened in s5 but again #recycledplotlines to see Malia actively caring about other people. I’m really happy for sc@lia shippers because I know you were all really excited about that scene.)

Chris comes back. They find a bullet in a tree thanks to its infared heat signature or smthg (idk i'm spaced out at this point). It's a silver bullet, meaning that the guidance counselor is just a wannabe Hunter, not the Genuine Article.

Lydia and Toast:

At the sheriff's station, Lydia??? hears some noise in her premonitions and decides to tell Toast and not her bf's dad for??? some completely valid reason i'm sure??? tbh i have no idea what the premise of this scene is, but Lydia realizes that the noise she keeps hearing is the key card reader from Eichen House. Apparently that means something bad is happening there so she tells Toast that they need to go check it out. Toast tells her that there's no way he's "letting her" go back there - because clearly he owns her and she can't make decisions for herself - and decides to go alone instead, because once again, that clearly makes so much more sense than telling the Sheriff. The whole scene is written to make it sound like Toast is the only one who cares about Lydia's well-being - because it's definitely not like she has a pack full of friends who care about her and a boyfriend who would do anything for her - and therefore is in charge of protecting her in a creepily possessive way. Aka, tw writers are still pandering to M@rrish fans even after Stydia is canon, and I don't know why I'm surprised.

So Toast goes to Eichen, meets Creepy Doctor who accidentally released Other Hellhound last week, and tells him to let him into the closed ward after hearing a woman begging for help. Doctor refuses. Toast shows him his glowing eyes as an... intimidation tactic??? Doctor complies but locks the door behind Toast after he enters.

Toast finds the woman in a communal-shower-type room (which???? okay), lying on the floor with an open electric cable sparking her body every few seconds, surrounded by a bunch of other apparently dead supernatural creatures. When Doctor arrives and Toast tells him to help, plot twist! Doctor is the one who put them there. (Oh, look, electricity........ I wonder who would be helpful....... in this........ situation........)

Doctor gets Toast locked up in room where Other Hellhound used to reside and turns down the temperature, telling Toast that he'll freeze him from the inside out or smthg.

Meanwhile, Lydia's just been hanging out at the sheriff station and waiting for Toast instead of registering for MIT because according to a reminder on her phone, this is the ~last day~ for her to do so and Lydia "IQ of 170" Martin OBVIOUSLY would have put off registration until the last minute. OF COURSE. She ignores the notification bc apparently college isn't important and steals one of the deputies' walkie talkies after she hears strange noises emitting from it. Her absurd attempts to sneak casually would have made Stiles Stilinski proud af.

However, her next move would NOT have made Stiles Stilinski proud af, as she hears the Doctor threatening Toast and immediately decides to go after him alone instead of

1) calling Scott so that Scott and Malia can come with her or

2) taking the Sheriff, seeing as he is her BOYFRIEND'S DAD and also CONVENIENTLY LOCATED IN THE SAME BUILDING AS HER AT THAT MOMENT.

So. Naturally. She goes to Eichen alone, and every sound she hears, every sight she sees, is immensely triggering. For the first time, Teen Wolf actually somewhat addresses the fact that Lydia has PTSD after everything she's been through. This is a good thing. I would be happy with this development if, again, Lydia wasn't alone throughout the entire experience. Clearly, Teen Wolf writers have decided that Strong Female Characters must always face their fears alone if they want to remain Strong Female Characters. Clearly, having her friends there to ground her would have taken away from her character development. Clearly, it wouldn't have been amazing to see Lydia accept her friends' help when s1 Lydia Martin never would have shown weakness around others. Clearly, having a support network when you've faced immense trauma isn't important at all. CLEARLY.

(Clearly I didn't have to pause my TV at this point because I was so horrified and angry that the TW writers placed her in a situation where she was surrounded by a myriad of triggers, on the verge of a panic attack, and completely alone.)

Anyway, Lydia reaches a turning point where she is somehow able to push aside all of those horrible memories and find Toast, who's been slowly freezing to death while watching Doctor hold a gun with shaking hands. Doctor's been explaining that he hates guns and has always been opposed to violence, but his fear of supernatural creatures has led him to believe that eradicating them all is the only way to ensure normal humans' safety.

Lydia runs into the cell just as Doctor raises the gun to shoot Toast in the head. She screams, knocking Doctor back and killing him. GREAT. LET'S ADD ANOTHER TRAUMATIC EICHEN MEMORY TO THE PILE. LYDIA DEFINITELY NEEDED TO KILL SOMEONE ELSE. THAT WOULDN'T BE EMOTIONALLY SCARRING AT ALL. OF COURSE STILES IS ENTITLED TO AN ENTIRE SEASON OF ANGST AFTER KILLING DONOVAN IN SELF-DEFENSE, BUT LYDIA KILLING MULTIPLE PEOPLE WOULDN'T HAVE ANY EMOTIONAL RAMIFICATIONS. OF COURSE.

End scenes:

2.0: Suddenly realizing that freshman boy (I think his name is Aaron) is missing, they go running around the school looking for him and eventually find him in a classroom, magically unharmed. "What are you doing here?" they ask. "Just remembered we have a history test," he replies. I thought this boy was a freshman. smh.

McMarTate: Clearly not scarred from her experiences at all, Lydia rejoins Malia and Scott to discuss their discoveries. Cue "what is everyone afraid of?"/"us" scene combined with a montage of everyone looking away from Liam in slow motion at school the next day, apparently afraid of him. Which is definitely because they magically know he's a werewolf, and not because they don't want to catch the disease that gave him his awful haircut.

Brett: Brett pounces on the guidance counselor, who's looking for him in the woods, and they start fighting. It looks like he's going to win, but then he gets shot in the chest with an arrow and runs off.

The arrow was shot by Gerard.

He tells wannabe hunter/guidance counselor that she has potential.

Huzzah, what a great episode.

Bonus casual racism: Now that Kira's gone, wannabe hunter/guidance counselor (who still doesn't have a name...... oh hey, look, mORE CASUAL RACISM) is the only woman of color on the show... and she's a Black antagonist. This is clearly Not Problematic At All.

Of course, thanks to theories that will be discussed in this week's episode of stydiacast, it's possible that this casting decision is entirely legitimate.

HOWEVER, one other poc was introduced in this episode...... and Aaron, poor young freshman lacrosse player, is now possibly being possessed by spiders and will likely also be a Black antagonist, albeit one with no control over his actions.

Oh, hey, doesn't..... that...... sound..... familiar? It's.... almost like..... another problematic #recycledplotline. *looks at s5 Mason Hewitt*

Thanks, Teen Wolf.

[fantau]

MariChat May Day 9: Bell Collar Words: 1104 FF.net|AO3

Chat can admit that he has a problem. Ladybug had recently taken up a habit of flicking his bell whenever she was pleased with him. A ‘good job’ gesture that didn’t take much time. It wouldn't be a problem if she hadn’t started doing it all the time. When he did a good job, when she was bored on patrol, on the nights she lay her head on his lap and look up at him with those gentle eyes that killed him.

Each ring of his bell started bringing dopamine flooding his brain and his tail would start twitching in anticipation of the physical reward that followed.

A hug, a pet, and one late, treasured night, when his lady was clearly sleep deprived, a kiss on his cheek.

So

Of course.

One night Marinette had flicked his bell and immediately noticed the blush that came as a result of her finger lightly flicking his bell.

Of course she had managed to pull from him the reason that he seemed he wanted to pounce her and then laughed at him.

Then exploited it relentlessly.

The next time he came over to her house he doesn't know what he was expecting except a matching bell collar to be around her own neck. All he knows is that it is absolutely unfair.

She doesn't say anything about it, but he can see her playful smile when his gaze slides from her face down to the collar and locks on the shiny bell that hangs in the hollow of her collar bone.

Its mocking him. She’s mocking him. Playing games with his head and his heart at the same time.

“Princess.” He greets, every hair of him standing on edge, every muscle tense, every beat of his heart carefully monitored

“Yes, Chat?” She leans forward and Chat stiffens in anticipation of a ring of the bell but none comes. The bell remains mercifully silent, and her smirk only widens, watching him as he frowns and forces himself to relax.

“What is that?”

“It's a bell.” she answers. “I thought you might like it. Reminds me of you.”

Oh he does.

But he also hates it.

Very quickly he finds out two things about his princess, One, she’s awfully alluring when she doesn’t mean to be. Two, she’s a tease and he should start expecting this.

He steps down from her bed, and she turns back to the project on her desk, something he can't be bothered to pay attention to. Especially when he notices that she's tied her hair in a bun specifically so he could see the clasp. It's just two buttons, but her message to him is clear

‘You could take it off.’

But that would be losing.

Which he refused to do. He wouldn’t let her know that her teasing was working, that even now he was wondering if the pitch of her bell would be the same as his, wondering what might happen when it finally rings out. Wondering how she’ll feel, wondering how he’ll react.

So Chat settles down, watching her carefully, bristling every time her hand goes near her neck, sighing when she pulled it away.

Finally, after finishing with the obviously staged something -probably created specifically to rile him up- Marinette turns in her chair and looks at a fairly antsy Chat Noir.

“What’s wrong?”

‘You know damn well what's wrong I'm conditioned to act like a love struck idiot whenever that thing goes off.’

“Nothing, princess, Merely distracted by your radiance.” he says, his voice totally not cracking on the word radiance when her hand goes upwards and traces one thin finger along the golden curve.

“My radiance, huh? Nothing else?” she asks. His eyes go from her teasing finger to her teasing mouth and back again. Watching how her tongue moves when she says nothing and then to her finger as it pokes the still silent bell lightly. Back to her lips where she licks him and back down to her fingers as they just barely push behind the leather of her collar.

What god decided this is the bad luck he deserves?

Probably Plagg.

“Mmhm.” he answers, still staring at the collar until he felt it should’ve burst into flame.

Marinette seems to smirk and stands up.

That does it.

It rings.

Chat’s entire body goes from tense to languid in the space of three seconds and soon enough he's laying on Marinette’s lounge, fully taking over the space. Now that the bell has rung everything’s going to be fine, and he has no reason to stress.

Or, that’s whats supposed to happen.

Marinette still hasn’t come over and pet him, telling him that -yes- everything is okay now. His whole body starts buzzing with anxiety the longer it takes for her to walk over. When he looks up she's walking around the room pointedly not looking at him. He has to get her attention.

“Purrrincess?”

“Yes, Chat?”

“Are you okay?” because she’s not petting him. He’s probably done something wrong.

“Yes, Chat.” she answers and continues walking around the room doing god knows what. She’s ignoring him. That much is apparent, and she’s not smiling, just moving items through her room. He’s done something wrong. He can feel it.

“Princess?” he asks again, voice cracking as his head fills with negative thoughts and his eyes fill with tears.

“Yes, Chat?” She glances over and then immediately drops the yarn she’s holding and rushes to him, pushing her fingers into his hair. “What’s wrong?” He pushes his head more into her hand and sniffles. He know’s he’s being too sensitive but…

“I thought you didn’t want me.” he whispers and Mari yanks off the bell and glares at it as if it's done something wrong.

“No that’s not true at all, Chat. You’re my kitty, and I’ll always want you.”

Chat gently takes the collar from her hands and snaps it back onto her neck. Adjusting it so it rested to where it was before.

With one claw, he taps the outside and then lifts it upwards and lets it swing back into place with a ring.

Although his body reacts in much the same way as usual, relaxing and feeling everything is alright he’s much more interested in Marinettes reaction. Rocking back on her heels and slapping her hand over the bell even though her pupils dilate at the same time. A slight blush is covering her cheeks and she looks away from him.

It’s not the full blown red he’s used to, but he could get there.

He smirks, revenge will be sweet.

[itshummelswitch]

KURILEY | Explosion.

When: May 2nd, 2020.

Where: Riley’s house.

Who: Riley & Kurt Hummel. | @rilcyhummel

Event: Riley admits something, Kurt lashes out out of frustration and hurts himself accidentally. 

Triggers: Mentions of suicidal thoughts and attempts. Self-harm. Blood.

Their sister had left an hour ago, the dishes had been cleaned off the table, and Kurt was now in the spare bedroom of Riley's with his arms folded with a judgmental squint. He had brought over equipment they needed to set-up his new play area for the new job he was going to be doing. Trading the mothballs and dust for sweat and questionable bodily fluids. It would make him more money, as that's what his main concern was right now. Needing to feel more sated in his wardrobe. Idly from that knowledge does his mind jump back to his and Riley's brief text conversation. About the white sweats. About the staining them red. Something that tightened in his chest. It wasn't like they hadn't done that before, but god. Maybe it was the recent conversation with a submissive who had just brushed off death and tried to justify his argument with religion that left a bad taste in Kurt's mouth. Before he can stop himself, he opens his mouth. "Were you serious about staining your white sweats?" 

Riley had chosen to focus his energy on the ring light for the moment. He was sitting on the floor of the spare room surrounded by the pieces. Screwdriver in hand. He was so focused in fact that he almost missed the question that his brother let fall from his lips. “Of course I was. When have I ever not been serious about something like that?” He was hoping to gloss over the real reason behind the fascination but something in Kurt’s tone said that it was going to see the light of day sooner rather than later. “Why do you ask?” He looks up from his work briefly and raises his brows.

Shifting on his feet as the question gets redirected back at him, Kurt can only give a helpless shrug. Why did it matter? Why did he ask? He knew his brother like the back of his hand. Anything more sinister and sadistic was his thing. It always had been. But it had been stuck in his head, the vivid image of the white speckled and painted with bits of red. Maybe the whole topic of death was what had him on edge. After the whole Easter debacle. The brush off that being dead was better than here. "I don't know." He kicks his socked toe against the hardwood floor, avoiding the look Riley was giving him over the top of those glasses of his. "I've just been on edge lately regarding...stuff like that. Been hashing over the fact that I almost lost you forever once, and the knowledge that you did that thing where Sylvester had to step in."

His heart sunk when Kurt brought up his first attempt. Riley closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. This conversation was not going to end well. He could sense it. Especially with the bomb that he was going to have to drop. Even though he didn’t want to. He just wanted to go on keeping that locked away. Taking out his frustrations and sorrows through his sadistic headspace. It’s how he’d been coping since that night. Why change it now? Because Kurt deserved to know, that’s why. “Twice.” His voice is low, almost embarrassed. A pause, eyes starting to sting but he refuses to let tears get to the point of falling. “She’s had to intervene twice.”

It was like a bomb had gone off that left Kurt's ears ringing. Twice. What did that mean? It was like swimming through molasses to get the connection with the words. Everything dimming darker around the edges, and suddenly he was back in high school. Looking down at his late mother's prescribed medicine bottle in his parents bathroom. He was back there. For a moment. And then he was back, staring hard at Riley. Rising to his full height, which of course would be towering over his brother in the floor, but even so. "What's that now? Twice?" His eye twitches. Remembering the video chat they had last time when he had Blaine over and couldn't leave him. But this time, he was here. Now. No phone separating them. "And you failed to mention this WHY?!"

He suddenly felt so small from his position on the floor. It was a weird shift within him and he hated it but he was rooted on the spot. Fingers turning the screwdriver over and over while he tries to reign those emotions back in. “Because it never comes up organically in conversation?” He starts, hyper focusing on a screw on the floor. “Did you want me to bring down the mood of chats we’ve been having lately with — Oh hey, by the way, I decided to throw myself off a building once because I found out I was never going to have an heir on this island. — And then continue on like nothing happened? That I didn’t just say that?”

Kurt's eyes stung. Hard. He couldn't keep them from rising to the surface, spilling over. He didn't know what to feel, or how to take this new information. It was processing very slowly in his head and making everything hurt. Suddenly feeling vulnerable, he wraps his arms around himself with a deep and controlled breath. The vision of Riley falling, alone and upset. "I would've thought we were more open and honest about this stuff, Riley!" He snaps, or really shouts, at his brother. He isn't meaning to lash out. This was obviously upsetting, but why did it bubble in his stomach like anger? Or was it nausea? Hard to tell. He has to take a calming breath through his nose, needing to try and keep himself from hyperventilating. "How did she intervene this time?"

He doesn’t want to relive the moment. Didn’t want to bring up another thing about this island that was hidden from the masses. Known only to those who had been so stupid and reckless to attempt what he did. “She, uh...” Riley started, eyes falling shut. “Distracted me with...you.”

Kurt blinks rapidly, as if that is going to make him hear better. But it was a natural reaction. To try and process what he was hearing. Him? How? Did she use blackmail somehow? How would she even — "She didn't have a cardboard cutout of me that she waved in front of you did she?"

He lets out a snort of laughter despite himself and shakes his head. “No...it was more of mirage. It felt so real, Kurt. Somehow she managed to get your voice and face perfect. I don’t know how the hell she pulled it off. Or why she has that type of technology or magic but...it clearly worked.”

Deflecting. Something Kurt's good at doing. Heading Riley's snort of laughter is all he needed to confirm he's still good at using humor as a way to avoid further negative emotions. Keeping the boiling down in his gut. A mirage? Sylvester literally got him to appear before Riley to pull him back? Was that all it took? Despite himself, he lets out a choked sound of disbelief, caught in his throat as he steps back to rest against the dresser drawers, bringing his hands to his face. "Oh my god...I'm so sorry, Riley. You wouldn't have been here if we didn't have that fight —" that damn fight he has to replay over in his head. Every well, leave then and fuck off, you mean nothing to me anymore. "— You have to promise me. You won't leave me! You can't leave me!" God, he sounded so selfish. "Promise me!"

“Stop apologizing for the fight that I started.  We can’t go back and change anything that happened.” A pause, fingers flexing around the screwdriver. “Now we’re here. We’re together. I don’t plan on doing anything stupid again.” His tone was a little clipped. There were too many emotions flowing through him in that moment to focus on what way his voice came out.

Whatever the reason, Kurt feels himself trying to make himself smaller. He hated when Riley used that tone on him. With anyone else? Could care less. With him? He wanted to disappear. Maybe it was reflex, but he wants to hit something and chooses the top of the dresser to do it. And that was how he broke a hand mirror against the side of his hand. His first reaction wasn't to do much except wince, until his hand stared feeling wet. Warm, and throbbing. Ignoring it, he clenches his jaw. "Don't snap at me. I just found out my brother tried to...tried to...twice!"

Riley’s head snaps up when he hears the loud thud with a hint of glass breaking. It was also when he realized that he hadn’t been making eye contact with his brother the whole time. It was decidedly out of character for him. But once he finally caught on to what had happened he was up on his feet and in Kurt’s personal space. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.” He grabs for his hand to inspect the damage. “Let me see what you did.”

Pain was flowing through his hand, traveling up his arm even as his body signaled of the damage. A piece of glass was embedded in his hand, nothing too deep but enough to cause a nice flow of red pooling around the area and on the broken hand mirror. Not wanting Riley to change the subject, not when they had gone this far and he hadn't even promised - he needed to promise him he wouldn't do this again. "I'm fine!" He tugs his hand free out of his brother's hand, only to throw more weight behind the action which slams his whole forearm back against the vanity mirror, making things worse. His arm went through the reflection, sending shards raining down on the dresser top, and through his alabaster skin. If the piece in his hand wasn't bad enough, he got larger ones shredding over his arm. Well, fuck. Not even caring now, he holds his arm securely against his chest, watching the usual pale skin tint red. "...I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

Riley didn’t say anything. Instead he led Kurt out of the room, through the hall and into the car as quickly as he could. Usually he would have been able to administer first aid on his own but with the amount of glass embedded in his brother’s arm and how many cuts there were, it was best to get him professional help. “We will continue our conversation once they get you patched up, okay?”

He was too shaken. Too pumped up on adrenaline from so much happening at once. He didn't even realize he was being guided out of the room until he was being directed into the car. He felt sick. Cold. Sinking in his seat more, not bothering to respond to Riley as he could only stare blankly at his arm. Any slight bump in the road would cause another shock of pain spreading through his arm, over his shoulder, and making everything ache. Tense and pulled tight.

[gyrlversion]

I had a brain tumour the size of a golf ball: Nikki Chapman

TV Presenter Nicki Chapman, 52, is not hosting the BBC’s coverage of The RHS Chelsea Flower Show this year because she is recovering from brain tumour surgery 

TV presenter Nicki Chapman is as much a fixture of the Chelsea Flower Show — that annual extravaganza of horticultural brilliance — as its glorious perennial blooms.

Piloting viewers through the show gardens, interviewing medal winners, chatting to guests; her sunny commentary has brought a dash of down-to-earth charm to the programme for the past 13 years.

But next week, when the show opens, for the first time since 2006, she will not be hosting it. She has kept the reason secret until now, but today I can reveal that she will be absent from the BBC’s presenting team because she is recovering from major surgery to remove a brain tumour.

Just a week-and-a-half after her operation, I visit her at her home in West London.

I expect to find her wan, listless and reclining on a sofa with her head shaved. Actually, she’s standing in her sun-filled garden laughing. She looks as though she’s just returned from a restful holiday — fit and glamorous, her blonde hair sleek — not recuperating from a four-and-a-half hour op to remove a tumour the size of a golf ball from her brain.

‘Yes!’ she agrees brightly, ‘I thought I’d have to wear a comedy bandage round my head and look like a Smurf for two weeks, but they took it off after two days.

‘And I’m flabbergasted at how well I feel and how quickly I’ve recovered. I feel fantastic.

‘Two days after the surgery I was hallucinating slightly. People had funny Disney cartoon noses and there were things like fireworks at the corner of their eyes. It was just my sight re-adjusting. (It had been affected by the tumour.)

Nicki noticed a change in her vision and suffered worrying memory lapses before her diagnosis. She underwent the operation at Charing Cross Hospital in London at the beginning of May

‘Now I’m not even taking pain-killers. I walk a mile every day by the river and hope soon to do some gentle exercise at the gym.

‘The NHS care I’ve had at the Charing Cross Hospital in London has been first class. Amazing. And I’ve found an inner strength. My mum said: “I’m a tough old bird and you’re like me, Nicki.”’ She laughs.

‘But although I feel fine, my lovely surgeon has told me I shouldn’t go back to work for six weeks. You have to give yourself the best possible chance to heal, so I won’t be presenting the Chelsea Flower Show this year.

‘You start at 5am and it’s five 12-hour days, and I don’t think I could manage that yet. I’m devastated. I watched the preview and it made me cry. I’ve done it since 2006 and, of all the shows I present, it’s the one I really regret not being able to do. But I have to follow my doctor’s advice. You don’t get a second chance to recover.’

Everyone warms to Nicki — ‘that nice lady off the telly’, as she’s been known ever since she was a judge on Pop Idol in 2001 and refused to find fault with even the direst amateur contestants on the TV show.

This year will be the first since 2006 that Nicki Chapman is not presenting at the RHS Chelsea Flower Show (she is pictured at the 2015 show with Prince Charles)

And she is lovely: she’s there in the airy kitchen/living room of her glorious Victorian house cutting cakes into bite-sized chunks when I arrive, setting platters of fruit on the counter, cajoling me to eat.

The room is festooned with ‘get well’ flowers and cards, although only a close coterie of trusted friends and family know about her brain tumour. This is the first time she has talked publicly about it. Even her Chelsea Flower Show co-hosts are unaware of why she’ll be absent this year.

‘Joe Swift (the gardener and one of her co-presenters) said: “You’re not on the call sheet this year. Why aren’t you doing the show?” And I just said: “I’ve had an operation.”’

‘The NHS care I’ve had at the Charing Cross Hospital in London has been first class. Amazing. And I’ve found an inner strength,’ Nicki told Frances Hardy

She’s been similarly evasive with others. Announcing an operation to excise a brain tumour is jaw-dropping news. It is difficult both to impart and respond to.

‘But I’m talking about it now because, although I was petrified, I tried to stay positive. It was the worst news I’ve ever had in my life, but I thought: “We’re going to find a way through it.” And I really hope that other people who get a similar diagnosis have the excellent treatment I had, and find the same inner strength.

‘Someone told me: “If you go into an operation crying, you’ll wake up crying.” So my husband, Shacky (record company executive Dave ‘Shack’ Shackleton, 51, who also co-manages the rock band Iron Maiden) and I had a rule: you can only cry for 30 seconds.”

‘And I found a cutting in a magazine about the jockey Frankie Dettori. Before every race he’d say “I remain happy. I banish negative thoughts”, and I put it by on my bedside table in the hospital ward the night before my operation.

‘I just knew I was going to be fine.’

However, the onset of the symptoms of her tumour had been sudden and unnerving. The first sign that all was not well came at the end of March this year. Nicki noticed a change in her vision.

‘I couldn’t seem to move my eyes across a line of words to read them on my computer. And I struggled to type a response to emails. Shacky said I was probably just tired. Then I went for coffee with a girlfriend and asked her: “Do I look funny to you? I’m only looking at you with one eye.” But she said I looked fine.’

Nicki Chapman is pictured with her neuro-surgeon David Peterson two days after her operation to remove a golf ball sized brain tumour 

Nicki, 52, also suffered worrying memory lapses. ‘I went to do a voice-over for Escape To The Country (one of the BBC shows she co-presents) and I couldn’t remember the name of John, the executive producer. I’ve known him for 15 years. I had to look it up on my phone.

‘Then I realised my speech was subtly affected. I was talking about a holiday we’d just had in Dubai. I could see the word Dubai in my mind, but I struggled to say it. I told myself it must be the menopause.

‘I told John about it and he asked if I suffer from migraines — I don’t — because he does and has similar problems. I did the voice-over, went home, did some housework then put on the computer and the words on it were blurred. Really, it all happened in the space of a couple of days.’

The next day Nicki rang her GP. Describing her symptoms — the memory lapses, speech problems and impaired vision — the doctor said she thought Nicki had suffered a stroke and urged her to go directly to A&E at her nearest hospital, Charing Cross in Hammersmith.

Nicki leaving Charing Cross Hospital in central London four days after the operation earlier this month 

‘She asked if my husband was with me and said we should go straightaway, so we raced down. Other than a thumping stress headache, I felt absolutely fine.

‘When we got there they saw me within ten minutes. They asked me why I hadn’t come in the day before, and I explained that I thought my problems were menopause-related.

‘They swung into action, took bloods and scans and I started to think: “This is serious.” Then they called another doctor, a neurosurgeon, and he said: “You haven’t had a stroke. It’s a brain tumour and you’ve had it for years.”

‘I was in a cubicle with Shacky and my first reaction was complete shock. When you hear bad news, it’s like a gush of wind coming towards you. I remember thinking: “Just concentrate on what they’re telling you.”

Nicki Chapman at home in London, less than two weeks after her brain operation

‘Shacky went pale. A big, fat tear was running down my face. I said: “I’m really sorry I’m upset. Just tell me what I need to know,” and the doctor was fantastic. He said I’d need more tests, an MRI scan and surgery.

‘I didn’t think I was going to die. It was just: “Who would have thought it?” It would never have occurred to me.’ By the time Nicki got back home late that afternoon, she knew she had a tumour on the back, left-hand side of her head. She and her husband called it Burt and resolved not to succumb to misery.

But she took the precaution of making sure her will was in order: ‘I owed it to Shacky and my family in the worst-case scenario,’ she says. ‘And it was then, too, that we made the 30-second rule. You couldn’t cry for longer than that, otherwise you’d never stop.’

Nicki, who has no children, called her parents, Carol, 77, and Barry, 78 — divorced and both happily remarried — ‘and I could hear Dad catch his breath when I told him. Mum processed the news in a very logical way. No histrionics, no tears. I knew they’d be supportive and I was amazed at how calm they were.

‘And my sister Shelley’s best friend had come through a similar operation. She was very positive and informed.’

Events then moved quickly. Nine days on, she was seeing neurosurgeon David Peterson. ‘He told me the MRI scan had revealed a tumour the size of a golf ball pressing on my brain, and he said: “We need to operate quite soon. But we won’t be cutting off your hair!”

‘At that point, I told him I loved him.’ She beams. Actually, she says, this was the least of her concerns.

After being told she could suffer a bleed on the brain during the surgery, Nicki said: ‘If anything goes wrong, I don’t want to be resuscitated and come back in a body I can’t use’

‘He said within six to eight weeks I should be carrying on with my life, but there were areas of concern: I might lose the sight in one eye and there could be issues with speech and mobility.

‘I’d already been told I couldn’t drive, because of the risk of seizures, but frightening as these things are, I knew I’d be fine.’

And the best news of all was that it seemed — although they wouldn’t know conclusively until a biopsy was carried out — that the tumour, a meningioma that grows on the membranes that surround the brain, was benign.

‘When Mr Peterson told me this, I felt I’d been given my life back,’ says Nicki. ‘Whatever the final outcome was, I could deal with it and eventually move on.

‘When you know what you’re dealing with, you can face it. It’s the unknown that’s truly terrifying.’

A couple of days later, at the beginning of May, she was called in to Charing Cross Hospital — which, by sheer good fortune, is a centre of excellence for the treatment of brain tumours — for her operation.

Charing Cross Hospital in Hammersmith, London (pictured) is, by sheer good fortune, a centre of excellence for the treatment of brain tumours

She chose not to go privately: ‘I truly believe in the NHS and felt strongly that this option would give me the very best possible treatment and care. Mr Peterson said: “That’s the right decision,” and, through the whole process, everyone was just brilliant.

‘Some of the hospital staff said: “Oh! We know you from the telly!” But everyone was discreet. Not a word leaked out.’

Settled into a six-bed ward — armed with a new dressing gown and a turban bought by friends — on the evening before surgery, she recalls: ‘I had my rosary from my school days with me, a St Christopher my father had given me, and a card from my mum with the meaning of my name — strong and brave. Shacky sat with me and we talked about everything and nothing.

‘They’d said I could suffer a bleed on the brain during the surgery and I’d told him: “If anything goes wrong, I don’t want to be resuscitated and come back in a body I can’t use.”’

Nicki Chapman at the Chelsea Flower Show, in London on May 2016

Her brown eyes brim with tears when she says this: it is the only time her cheerful composure deserts her. We’re sitting on a sofa by doors that open onto her terrace garden — inspired by designs from the Chelsea Flower Show — where palm trees riffle in the breeze. There’s an occasional thwack of tennis balls from the courts behind. Birdsong fills the air. It is a golden afternoon.

She recalls the relief of coming round from surgery and finding the worst had not happened — she could see from both eyes and speak. Her first thought was to contact Shacky, to whom she’s been married for 20 years, and a ‘very kind’ member of staff in the resuscitation room called him.

‘Then Mr Peterson came through and I said: “Is that my handsome consultant?’ and he smiled and said: “We’re all right, Nicki. We’ve got most of it out.” Part of the tumour — which was benign — had grown next to one of the main cerebral veins and they’d left a little bit there because there would have been a risk from removing it.

‘And I know it might come back, but if it does they’ll deal with it before it gets too big. We’ll address that if we need to. I’m quite happy.’

There is no evidence of the surgery save for a neat four-inch scar and eight tiny disc-shaped shaved patches on her head where incisions were made.

By the end of June, she hopes to be filming Escape To The Country again, piloting would-be home buyers round their dream properties in bucolic corners of Britain. Then — as long as she’s allowed to fly — she’ll be off to Oz for a series of Wanted Down Under. She also starts filming a new gardening show, Great Garden Challenge, in July.

‘Oh, and I’m off to Glastonbury for the first time — I’ve always wanted to go!’ she says, smiling.

‘I don’t know about the future,’ she adds, ‘but I’m as optimistic as I possibly can be. I feel I’ve dodged a bullet. I’m really lucky: a week-and-a-half after brain surgery, and just look at me.’

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