For the song lyric, how about anything from I've just seen a face by the Beatles
This wasn’t the plan. That’s what was on repeat in Beca’s mind as she begrudgingly changed out of her lounge-wear, pulled on her coat and fastened her shoe-laces. It haunted her as she closed the door to her apartment, waited on the elevator before ultimately taking the stairs because it took too long to get to her floor, and dragged herself down the street.
Her plan had been a lazy day of doing absolute fuck-all. She’d looked forward to her day off for well over a week. Had even bragged about it to Jesse when he asked if she was free on Sunday.
But like with everything else these days, her work had taken priority, and so Beca had found an almost empty fridge with little to eat and far less to drink before she’d even had her morning coffee. Which she would have had, but she was also out of sugar, and even though she loved to joke a lot about drinking it the way God intended, she was not going to drink it straight out of the machine like some kind of gremlin (or whatever the fuck that freak from the Lord of the Rings was supposed to be) going through withdrawals.
By the time she reached the store, she’d already remixed her mantra in three different ways and was work shopping a fourth, when she realized she hadn’t made a list like she promised herself she would and growled, to which a young grandmother quickly pulled her grandchild behind her and shot Beca a worried look.
Beca fought the urge to flip her off, quickly grabbed a basket and hurried into the first aisle. Whatever. It’s not like she needed much to survive today, and the sooner she was done, the faster she could rot on her couch. All she needed was some drinks, some breakfast foods, frozen dinner and—fuck. What was the last thing? There was something else, something important, it was nagging in the back of her head, but the buzzing chatter of families, screaming children and cluttering wheels on carts was too loud to hear it.
Already pissed off beyond oblivion, Beca filled her basket with some instant noodles and a large carton of ice tea, turned the corner towards the freezer section to get the first pizza she laid eyes on, and stopped dead in her tracks.
Because there she was.
The most gorgeous woman in existence.
Her red hair thrown together into a messy bun, some strands sticking so far out that they framed her face in a chaotic manner. Her blue eyes bare-naked, accentuated by the few freckles that dusted her round cheeks. Unlike Beca, this beauty hadn’t really taken the time and effort to trade her lounge-wear for something more socially acceptable, but she wore it like she was supposed to; like she did her laundry when it called for it, and not when she managed to scrape the last bit of energy together to tackle ever-growing pile on top of her basket.
And she was singing.
At first, Beca was convinced the redhead was just singing the words to a song only she could hear, but in the next few beats, as the redhead turned in her direction, Beca could softly hear the whispered tune from hidden speakers in the ceiling. She briefly wondered if the woman had super-powered hearing.
Their eyes met.
The brightest smile split that stunning face in two while her lips kept moving. To her own horror, Beca felt the corner of her mouth twitch up in response.
“Did you hear me?”
She blinked. “What?”
A giggle. An honest to God giggle, and it made her stomach honest to God flip, too.
“I said: sorry, am I in the way?”
She gave Beca a look as if she understood what was happening. She should share that info, honestly, because Beca had no clue why she felt so done for. Or why she felt like someone had caught her stealing when she fully intended to pay for her groceries.
The redhead frowned. “Are you okay?”
“I!” Jesus, what was that for? “Sorry, no—I mean yeah, fine. Totally fine. I’m good. Sorry.” She grimaced.
“Not having a good day?” Perfect blue drowned in worry. Like she actually cared to hear the answer. It made Beca feel warm to believe in that lie. Maybe that was why she felt so weird.
Maybe that was why she actually answered. “No. Today’s my day off and I’m spending it in a gross, busy supermarket.”
The woman offered her a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, I hear you. I wanted to do this yesterday and completely forgot. I just got out of bed too, in case you hadn’t noticed I kinda look the part.”
“You’re beautiful,” Beca blurted. She turned shades of red only poets could dream writing about, she was sure.
The redhead laughed, gentle and soft, as if Beca had just paid her the biggest compliment she’d heard. “You make my day very much worth it, too.” Her smile turned into something more crooked, a little like a predator eyeing her prey, and it finally clicked that she was flirting. Back, Beca realized with a start, because that’s what she’d done. She’d flirted. In her weary grogginess, clad in an outfit that probably could have already used a wash last week, trying to find frozen dinner. Truly the epitome of an eligible bachelor.
“I won’t take up more of your time,” the woman said, as she stepped out of the way. “Hope your day off will get better soon.”
“Wait,” Beca said, surprising herself. “What’s your name?”
“Chloe.”
“Cool.” Words. She needed more words. “Uh, Beca.”
Chloe grinned at her one last time. “It was nice meeting you Beca. Maybe I’ll see you around?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
And as Chloe turned on her heel to pay for her own frozen dinner, Beca took a deep breath to restart her system, already looking forward to her next visit.
Warnings: Medicinal drug reference, panic attacks, self deprecation
Roman who was never diagnosed as a child because he was a bright kid and never had issues learning
Roman who didn't see anything wrong with giving the people at his table the answers to worksheets
Roman who would always blurt out the answer before anyone else could
Roman who never had an inside voice
Roman who spent the entirety of second grade at a desk alone by the door because he was "too distracting"
Roman who was always high energy, but also developed subtle tics like rubbing his nose or shaking his leg
Roman who constantly fidgets with anything he can get his hands on
Roman who never seemed to be able to get his homework done one time
Roman who began to struggle in middle school when it came to finishing tasks and getting organized, but still managed to pull through
Roman who tried hard not to cry in eighth grade when he got his first-ever B on a report card in English, solely because he forgot to turn in a singular assignment
Roman who begins to muddle through freshman year
Roman who may be easily distracted, but isn't dumb
Roman who has to tell himself this when more Bs and even Cs follow
Roman who realizes he has a problem in tenth grade when final projects roll around and he has to do them all in one night
Roman who doesn't sleep that night and still doesn't finish everything
Roman who's on the brink of panic but still can't force himself to concentrate
Roman who can't "buckle down and do it" like his parents tell him to
Roman who turns in his first incomplete essay and buries himself in Patton's sweater, trying his best not to cry on the bus and failing as he writes his English teacher an email of apology
Roman who can't keep a schedule and can't conceptualize time
Roman who grows so terrified of failure he can barely start an assignment
Roman who turns in another incomplete essay
Roman who makes the conscious choice not to take AP English because he knows he can't handle it, and it hurts him
Roman who knows he's only doing so well because of his impeccable memory and good test taking skills
Roman who's so frustrated with himself because he's better than this, he knows he could be better if... if something...
Roman who won't move on from a topic until he understands it completely, hyperfocusing on a math problem for twenty minutes trying everything he can to work it out, even when people tell him to move on and come back to it later
Roman who acts out grand stories alone in his room and leaves homework to the wayside as he stays up unholy hours
Roman who gets the sudden urge to write poetry instead of sleeping
Roman who fixates on fandoms for years at a time until a new one forcefully yanks away his interest
Roman who gets complimented in theatre for being smart because of how quickly he memorizes his lines, but can't memorize a math formula
Roman who goes to the therapist for fear of having OCD and is shocked when she mentions ADHD instead
Roman who takes the tests and goes through the motions and is genuinely surprised that his IQ is as high as it is and wonders if there was a mistake on the sheet
Roman who's finally officially diagnosed, though it's not what he expected
Roman who insists on getting the first medication he can be on to "fix himself"
Roman who doesn't notice a huge difference in himself on adderall, though Patton swears he's more relaxed and less fidgety
Roman bringing this up at a med evaluation and the doctor suggesting he take a higher dosage
Roman who goes from ten total milligrams to forty over the course of one day
Roman who can't sleep that night
Roman who takes another twenty milligrams the next morning
Roman who can barely eat the whole day
Roman who's almost fine until his hands and face start to feel as though they're vibrating in last period
Roman who tries so hard to stick it out and see the class through, but looks at the clock and realizes he can't take another half an hour of this
Roman who has to rationalize everything aloud to himself or else he can't process it in the moment of adrenaline
Roman who has to talk himself down from a panic attack in the bathroom
Roman who tells the teacher this, and luckily she lets him sit outside in the hall and try to eat something
Roman who's absolutely petrified, but doesn't show it
Roman who's packing up his things and talking to his friend Virgil about what's going on with him, verbally reassuring himself just as much as Virgil that he was going to be fine
Roman who hates how he starts to panic again and tear up when Virgil makes a passing joke about Roman landing in the hospital, even as Virgil profusely apologizes once Roman told him how much that comment set him off
Roman who makes a comment about his current state to his kinda friend Logan, who tells him he has ADHD too and knows exactly what he's going through
Roman who almost wants to cry with relief knowing that what was happening to him was normal and that he wasn't headed to an early grave due to an accidental overdose
Roman who guiltily tells his mom that they're going to have to cancel their college visit that night due to his current state of still feeling the effects of the panic attack
Roman who's mom knows her son and takes him to the urgent care to quell his overthought worries
Roman who nervously rambles and over describes his symptoms along with their probable causes to the nurses and doctors as they run a few minor tests
Roman who realizes with relief that the effects wear off with time, just as they said they would
Roman who comes home absolutely wiped out and wants to sleep for twelve hours, but unfortunately has school the next day
Roman who doesn't take any meds whatsoever for at least week for fear of that happening again
Roman who's mom gives him paperwork to turn in to the special ed department to work out any accommodations he might need
Roman who almost doesn't turn it in because kids are mean and kids will talk and they tell him that special ed was a place for the dumb kids, and no matter how untrue that may be, he fell into a pit of self-consciousness and insecurity
Roman who outwardly insists with gusto that he's just fine and won't ask for help
Roman who has to assure himself he's not dumb every time he struggles to finish a late night assignment or finishes a test last because he spent a good portion of the time thinking about how he would direct a production of Newsies
Roman who is smart, but disorganized. Creative, but struggles with executive dysfunction
Roman who's got a long way yet to go, but is trying his damnedest to be the best he can be.
Pairing: Bechloe
Rating: T
Summary: A single one-shot for all the prompts from Bechloe Week 2025!
Moodboard: done by the lovely @shikariix!
Excerpt: “We can still make a difference.”
“Can we?”
“It’s not a question anymore, Becs.”
The end of the world could have been the end of their morals, and yet here they were — sharing, offering up their hand, even when nobody would hold it against them if they didn’t.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a natural?” Beca asked, small smirk gracing her lips.
“At what?” Chloe asked back, her smirk less certain.
A low hum brushed past Beca’s lips while she very clearly pretended to ponder her answer. “Being you.”
Her fingers dug into the back of the wicker chair as if it was her lifeline, before dragging it over the poor lawn of her sister’s backyard. The legs, buried deeper than she expected them to be, clumsily unearthed the grassy patch they rested on, and Beca nearly threw the damn thing to the other end of the yard just to get rid of the excess adrenaline. Instead, she angrily checked to see if any of the dirt ruined more of the otherwise perfect chair (it did), and if she somehow managed to scratch loose any of the wicker on them (thankfully, she had not).
“Covered in dirt now. Great. I’m sure that’s what my sister meant when she wanted them decorated.” She rested her forehead against the palm of her hand, weaving her fingers through the brown locks that normally hid her features. Beca could feel the dirt on her cheeks even if she didn’t touch them, and suddenly longed for a long, hot shower.
“Beca.”
Somewhere behind her, Chloe tentatively approached. Beca had known she was there, had adamantly forbidden Chloe from touching any of those godawful chairs, but she couldn’t help tensing up at the sudden intrusion of her personal space. She tried very hard to keep the change subtle, but Chloe noticed.
Of course Chloe noticed.
“She just wants everything to be perfect.” The hand that came up to rest on Beca’s back halted mid-air when Beca threw a glare over her shoulder. She ultimately pulled back. Beca couldn’t help but feel like an ass, either. “It’s her baby girl,” Chloe added, sounding weaker now. “Of course she wants it to be perfect.”
Beca scoffed. “Yeah, well, she doesn’t have to make it everyone else’s problem.”
If anything, Beca understood. She wanted everything to be perfect for her baby sister, too. It’s just that she used that energy to be helpful, instead of criticizing all the little details that were made by human hands, not machines. Ironically, the gift that was burning in the depths of her suitcase was made by both, and she hadn’t shared any of that info with her mother because despite being semi-successful in what she did, her mother would always find something off on her tracks.
When Chloe didn’t say anything, Beca knelt down and started scrubbing the dirt away with the sleeve of her button-up. “You saw how she underhanded the goddamn bride,” she continued through gritted teeth. “God, I don’t need this. I don’t need any of this. You know, there’s a reason I came to Barden. She’s walking around on her high horse criticizing–I don’t know–the fucking doilies.”
Chloe snorted. “There’s doilies?”
And despite everything, the corner of Beca’s mouth twitched up. She stopped scrubbing to look up at Chloe. “If it were up to my mom, yeah.”
Chloe’s hand reached out. This time, Beca rested her dirty fingers on that warm palm, allowing herself to get pulled into a one-armed hug, but still too grumpy to return the gesture.
“I can’t imagine your sister picking out doilies for her wedding,” Chloe giggled.
And just like that, the tense energy dissipated. It shouldn’t surprise her, Chloe had always been good at it. Maybe it came with the friendship of the most uptight blonde bitch Beca had ever laid eyes on. But she’d never say that out loud, not to Chloe.
“She doesn’t,” Beca said, baring her teeth in an amused smile. Chloe rested her head against hers and let out a small, secretive breathe. Barely there – but Beca heard it. She always did. “If we’re lucky, she’ll see them and start a bonfire before the wedding.”
Chloe’s laugh rolled through her entire body. Beca felt it rumble through her shoulder, her ribs, and finally her belly, where it chose to settle.
And just like that, Chloe pulled away from her. “There’s that Mitchell anarchy I’ve grown so fond of.”
Chloe’s smile was so wide, so genuine, so encouraging, that Beca’s dry mouth felt too out of place. It felt natural to stare into baby blue, to get pulled into Chloe’s gravitational orbit, to have her lips brush excruciatingly sweet chap-stick. As if it was routine to watch Chloe’s eyes flutter closed in anticipation, and to keep herself from rushing forward to truly relish in the fact that Chloe was hers.
But Chloe wasn’t.
And Beca realized it a beat too late.
She jerked back, fighting off the heat that started to crawl towards her neck and ears. She wasn’t sure she was succeeding. “I–um, I’m so–”
And for a moment, Chloe looked devastated. Defeated. Then she shook her head, and schooled anything that resembled disappointment from her face. “It’s okay, Bec. We’re good friends. Best friends. We’re close.”
Chloe forgot to take a breath.
Beca forgot how to breathe.
And just like that, Beca rushed forward to close the gap.
I let Musicbee pick a random song for you!! I hope you like working with this :3c
Want ergens tussen haat en liefde
Zit iets explosiefs, en
Je kan niet voor altijd doen alsof het niet bestaat
(you can pick the ship. unless you really don't want to fghjsdkl)
She should hate her.
For stealing the attention of her boyfriend—well, ex-boyfriend—and then a kiss, for accusing her father of siding with a terrorist (and regrettably being correct), for stealing back their shared ex-boyfriend while her company was going through a major crisis, and for never really extending that helping hand further than the two brothers.
By all means, Asami should firmly and desperately hate Korra.
But she didn’t.
She wanted nothing more than to have Korra’s undivided attention. To have her name on Korra’s lips, that undeniable trust both in combat and outside of it, for Korra to praise every breath she took.
For nights following her break-up with Mako, Asami had laid awake agonizing over what she’d missed. What Korra had that she couldn’t give.
Now, her sleepless nights were spent feeling giddy over Korra’s voice, the shape of her body, her stubborn willpower and that goofy smile—counting down the hours for when she’d be able to see it again.
She should hate her, Asami was well aware.
And though she might have at first, she felt that burning desire twist and turn into something much more alive. Maybe it would take her countless more sleepless nights to have enough courage to name those feelings, but for now, Asami was content to relish in it.
Pairing: Bechloe
Rating: T
Summary: Series of prompts to write in 2025. Third prompt: at the violet hour
Excerpt: “Hey, Bec?”
“Yeah, Chlo?”
She swallowed. The lump was still there. Bigger. But she did the only thing she knew how to do. “Once you’re a bigshot in LA and if I ever land a good role in New York, will we still talk like we used to? Like this?”
Pairing: Bechloe
Rating: T
Summary: Series of prompts to write in 2025. Ninth prompt: March is a month of storms and lust
Excerpt: “Clearly you need to talk.”
Chloe nearly jumped out of her skin as she swung around. The hand that rested on the handle of the freezer came away as if it had shocked her – the other, which had rested against its side, slid over the top, where she rooted it in place to stay steady.
Beca’s brows shot to her hairline. “Okay,” she drawled. “I wasn’t even that quiet. Been here all morning, Chlo.”
