#shaking and sobbing and foaming at the mouth i dont want to look at this ever again but i have to make a presentation on it

[possiblytracker]

academia win(?)! this weasel turned in their dissertation

[ieatsuffering]

‼️Ok so some obvious trigger warnings ahead‼️

❗️tw: Graphic depictions of suicide and death❗️

If you are struggling with this please seek help!

Suicide hotline: tel:+18002738255

So the game plan is to have an Mc with poor mental health, express their su*icidal thoughts to the Li’s, then get found unconscious from an ob, with both a good and bad end! I can do this!

**Lmao I’ve tried writing this for so long but I ran into some major writers block so all I could get out was Asra and Julian**

Asra

He knows somethings wrong, he can feel it with your shared heart

You’re just not your self, random fits of crying, spacing out constantly, not eat, spending whole days just laying in bed staring at the ceiling. Even the things you once loved bring you no joy.

It tears him apart to see you like this, an empty shell of who you used to be

He tries so hard to help you, to cheer you up and care for you, but nothing helps

He can feel your pain

One morning he lays with you in bed as you stare into nothingness. “How are you feeling today Mc, do you want to go for walk?”

“Asra...” you start to speak not looking at him “... I want to die...”

His blood runs cold

“I’m sorry Mc, I don’t think I heard you right...”

“Life just feels pointless, I’m done”

He can’t swallow the lump in his throat, his pulse is in his ears. This must be a bad dream

“I’m so sorry Mc...” he cries, it’s all he can do. Just hold you and cry

After you two manage to calm down and have a long talk he’s determined to heal you

He’s nose deep in spell books, never leaving you side desperately searching for something that may help you

Slowly with his support you start to do better, crying less, moving around more. Things start to go back to normal

Or so he thought

One night while he’s out visiting Muriel he suddenly feels this deep blinding pain in his heart.

“Friend?” Faust ask

Asra blots back to shop shop with heart in his throat runnings as fast as he can tripping over his own feet

“Mc!” He call your name as he busts through the shop door

When you don’t answer he freezes

Not again gods please no not again

Slower now he makes his way to your shared bedroom

There he finds you still and motionless on the your bed purple faces with foam bubbling out of you mouth clutching an empty bottle

Asra good ending

With out even thinking he rushes to your side pressing an ear to you chest, he almost breaks down when he hears the slow faint beat of your heart

He’s not too late

Asra springs into action pouring all of his magic into the most potent healing spell he knows

You jolt up right vomiting the potion as the magic forces you to purge it from your system

Both you and Asra are weak and shaking as you lay together

You’re barley conscious but alive

Once again you’re under asras constent watch however this time instead of trying to help you himself he reaches out to Nadia and Julian

With their help he’s able to get you on a medication for you’re mental health

Slowly but surely you start to be your best self again

Asra bad end

With out even thinking he rushes to your side pressing an ear to you chest, but there’s nothing. You’re pulse has stopped

He’s to late

He just lays there hoping you’re heart will start again

He’s in shock

How could this happen again he lost so much to have you back

He just lays there with you as your body grows cold

Until Faust leads Muriel leads to him holding your corpse

He won’t let you go he can’t. If he lets go you’re truly gone forever

Faust finds Nadia and Julian, it takes all of them to separate Asra from you

They all sit in the floor and hold him as guards come and take your body away for burial

Nadia makes sure you have a grand funeral, that you and Asra get the goodbye you deserve

He keeps up a strong front but Muriel knows, he won’t let Asra out of his sight

Between Muriel, his parents, Faust, and your friends everyone takes turns making sure Asra is never alone, no one wants to loose him too

He never truly heals always looking for someway he can give what’s left of his heart to have you back

Julian

He may ignore his problems but he’s very sensitive to others emotions

Between his own experience with depression and working with soldiers, he’s very informed on mental illnesses. PTSD, general anxiety disorder, depression, substance abuse... he’s seen it all

Out of everyone he knows how to help you the best

He’s seen suicide on countless occasions, he knows to signs

You haven’t expressed your suicidal thoughts to him yet, you don’t have to

He’s already watching you like a hawk, constantly by your side. When he can’t be with you he has people he trust watch you.

Of course he doesn’t tell them why just that your feeling down and he’s worried about leaving you alone

On day while he’s working at the clinic he has you spend the day at the palace which is usually the safest place for you between Nadia and Portia

Today however the palace was in chaos. Portia was running around as Nadia is in and out of meetings. You’ll be fine for a few minutes right?

Julian’s face looses it color as he starts to panic when neither Portia or Nadia know where you are when he goes to bring you home

The look on his face is all they need to know that something is gravely wrong

Nadia orders everyone in the palace to search for you and Portia follows with Julian as he runs through the halls screaming your name

Mercedes and Malachoir run up to him howling and crying. Portia tried to chase them off but they nip and bark at julians coat trying to get him to follow

The dogs lead him to a locked pantry in the kitchen

Portia turns to fetch the keys but Julian throughs himself at the door until he breaks it open

There he finds you laying on the pantry floor in a pool of blood with a knife you had grabbed from the kitchen

Julian good ending

He switches in to war surgeon mode rushing to your side to assess the wound on your arm

In truth it was really a pool of blood, but your life was still in danger as the deep gouge on your arm continued to spout blood

He rips his jacket into strips and calls to Portia to bring him wooden spoons for a make shift tourniquet

He uses the rest for the strips as a bandage your arm

He shouts orders to the servants to starilize a room and to fetch the things he needs to mend your arm

Even after he has your arm stitches up and is certain you’re not in any immediate danger , he stays calm and vigilant

Like a machine he cleans your wound, changes your bandages, and makes sure you don’t develop a fever

It isn’t until you come to that he let’s himself break down

He throughs himself around you holding you tight

He cries and screams in agony but also in relief. Heartbroken and furious that you would try to leave him but relived that this time he was there to save you

After this he never really trusts to leave you alone even years after when you’re healed he’ll still get anxious if he doesn’t know where you are

Julian bad end

He goes into war surgeon mode rushing to your side

He can tell it’s to late, he’s seen enough people bleed out in his life to know how much blood is too much

But he won’t let himself believe it. He was too busy the first time you died to save you he couldn’t let it happen again. He couldn’t loose you again because he couldn’t be bothered to care for you

Despite it being a hopeless effort he applies pressure to the gushing wound as your body grows cold

“Come on darling please you can’t leave me”

His hand are shacking covered in your blood

“Nononononono...please.... PLEASE... MC NO DONT LEAVE ME!”

Portia knees to his side placing a gentle hand in his shoulder, “Ilyushka, she’s gone”

He lets out a chocked sob holding your stiff body covered in you blood

He manages to stay strong just long enough to attend your funeral

But the moment they put the last bit of dirt on your grave he’s a wreck

He spends all day in bed and all night wasted getting into fights hoping someone and one will put him out of his misery

One night after getting into a fight with an especially rowdy thug he gets his wish

[nikkigrand]

There’s no easy way to say this, but I’m abandoning all of my works. Everything.

This post is going to be long, honest, triggering and deeply personal. So for those who don’t want to read through all of my bullshit, the gist is that I’m not emotionally or mentally capable of writing anymore.

TW ARE IN PLACE.

If you’ve followed me for a while, then you know that my boyfriend was killed in Afghanistan last year. Since then, my life has been a breathless decline into self destruction. I didn’t know—I still don’t know—how to recover from happily waiting for his return to painfully knowing he never will. I swear that some days I feel like he’s still out there and some day he’ll come home and this will all be just a bad dream. I want to wake up to a reality where he steps off that plane and into my arms, where I don’t keep a crumpled old t shirt that smells more of me than him under my pillow, where the shock of hearing certain songs doesn’t make me throw up. A reality where I don’t have to sit in front of his ashes every time I visit his mother and look at his singed necklace around her neck.

I wanted nothing more than to wake up. Just wake the fuck up and feel alive again because for so long I had felt this choking pain and grief and misery and then nothing.

Everything became an escape, something to fill that void in me. I tried all the healthy things. I ate, I worked out, I ran. I talked to people about how I felt and reached out, but nothing helped. I volunteered, i planted trees and flowers, I channeled my grief into kindness. I tried to take all this pain and turn it into something beautiful, and still I felt nothing. I was falling falling falling into this black pit and was reaching for anything to keep me from hitting the bottom.

So I started chasing highs. The standard shit at first. I drank so much alcohol that I’d wake up in bushes with my friends, limbs tangled in ways that left me sore and stinging for days because who the hell passes out in a Rose bush?

At first, drinking was fucking hell, because no matter how much I drank I’d always end up with my head cradled in the palms of my hands, fingers digging into my scalp as I screamed and wailed and asked why why why why when he was so close to coming home and why was life so goddamn mean??? I’d be in bar bathrooms, just curled in the corner and sobbing like a dramatic princess until my friends carried me out. This happened about a dozen times before it just stopped, because I figured I wasn’t drinking enough if I could remember everything.

So I drank more and more and more and then I realized that it wasn’t making me feel better, it wasn’t doing anything for me.

So I started smoking. Just weed, you know. Nothing too crazy at the time. But all that did was make me hyper-fixate on all of my failures and short comings. It made me hate myself so viscerally, so deeply that I wondered if this is who I truly am at my core. A mean bitch who drinks, smokes, parties. A maneater who fucks these poor kind hearted men to fill that hole her dead man left inside her and still finds herself cold and numb after because it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

I’m sure you know where this is going. But I hated myself. I’m a beautiful girl, I’m not blind, and yet I found myself to be so fucking ugly. So fucking ugly and grey and all I wanted—all I needed—was something to breathe life into me the way life itself did before.

I just wanted to feel happy and normal. Only for a little while. That need was so encompassing it would grip my insides and I’d cry from how much I wanted it, how much I had convinced myself I needed it. It was all I fucking wanted.

So the bumps came. And then the lines. And then whole baggies to myself. And it felt amazing, it was wonderful. The world was alive, things were different. I had more energy, more life in me than I had in months. Then the other type of lines came and it made me feel like I was floating away. There was no pain, no misery, no death hanging over my shoulder to remind me that the strength of your love can’t make people stay.

But soon, that too wasn’t enough. Like every other thing, I felt there was something better, something that could make me feel more. So here is where I tell you about all the pills I popped, all the different colored presses and how each one pulled me out of that hole I was falling into and deposited me above the ground —much higher than I could have ever dreamed of—and filled my grey world with beautiful gorgeous colors.

Then I can tell you about all the tabs I let dissolve on my tongue, or fully swallowed out of impatience, all of the lines of ketamine I combined with ecstasy and acid in one night. The things I saw, the way I felt—it took me far from this dismal life and was addicting. I was chasing something every weekend until it became every other day, chasing some feeling I still can’t name, and I knew that it was ruining me.

My grief and my drugs were killing me, and I knew it. With every cotton mouth, every clenched jaw, every pounding headache, I fucking knew and didn’t care. I’d look at my friends faces and I knew, I knew they loved me and would be devastated if they knew what I was doing, and I still didn’t care. What was life if it felt this empty?

My grades dropped, i turned down a contracting job I wanted for years, I spent all my money on psychedelics and stimulants, and it had gotten to a point where I’d pop a pill while sitting at home just because I didn’t want to be sober and didn’t want to think about how fucked up my life was becoming.

Then one day I was at a concert, high in the clouds with a joint settled comfortably between my lips and frizzy hair piled messily atop my head, when I saw a girl get carried out the venue by medics. She was probably a few years younger than I am, and i remember looking at her face impassively as they pushed through the crowd with her body thrown over this bear of a man’s shoulder as if in slow motion. She was pale and foaming at the mouth, with her arms dangling limply down his back, and she looked dead—she was dead. I knew in that same way you know that the sky is blue when the sun is up, I just knew.

And in that moment—those few seconds it took me to acknowledge that she had most likely overdosed and died—this intense yearning shot through me, so strong that I felt it in the crooks of my fucking elbows, like I wanted to embrace whatever the fuck it was that I desired to live inside me, and this voice cried out, “I wish that were me.”

And you know what, I didn’t even know I had spoken until the guy next to me shoved me in the shoulder and said, “no you don’t.”

And that terrified me. I remember dropping the joint, fumbling it in my shaking fingers, burning myself on the lit end, before handing it off to that same random guy and running off to get some air.

I’m not stupid and I’m not blind. I know I’m depressed, I know I’ve got issues, but I had never said something so suicidal out loud up until that point. I’ve never vocally wished for death and even as I sat there, as I looked out at the people outside the venue huddled together doing whip it’s and killing brain cells, I still wanted to be that poor dead girl on that man’s shoulders.

That was it for me. I remember calling an Uber home on the spot and taking everything I had and flushing it. Im not going to sit here and lie to you and tell you that it was easy. I had convinced myself that I needed these things to make me happy, and i don’t know if I can ever see life the same way after them. The feelings you get off these things are otherworldly, it’s so damn good, but they come at a price. You dont feel the same way you did before you took them, and you never will. You’ll never be who you were before that high, but you can almost convince yourself that it’s worth it. So it was pretty damn hard to take my neon presses, my rocks. my capsules, my bud and my tabs, and flush them down the toilet.

Almost immediately after I did it, I cried. Mostly because i had flushed hundreds of dollars down the fucking toilet, but also because I had become that girl in those cheesy college movies. You know the one, the one where the party girl gets addicted to drugs and goes on a bender and her whole life is just one big goddamn tragedy that won’t end. I hate those fucking movies and I, for the life of me, could not believe I was that girl.

I had been military, straight laced with a good head on my shoulders and a hard worker. I was smart, respected, the girl everyone wanted to bring home to mom. And now I was a hot mess crying in my bathroom because I had just flushed my addiction down the shitter.

Now I’m just home, trying to gather the pieces of myself in a way that doesn’t cause long term damage when I’ve yet to hit my 27th birthday.

I still go out with my friends. They know nothing about what I’ve done because I’ve always gone out and done things alone. This is the first time I’ve ever spilled my guts.

So where does FanFiction come into play in all this. Well, it’s simple, really, if you’ve gotten to this point and picked out all the mistakes in grammar. My brain is so fucked up that I can barely write a passable 3 page essay. I can’t remember words, much less how to string them together to form something beautiful in the way I used to. Trust me, it kills me and I’ve agonized over it for hours. I once tried to take this amazing idea I had and put it to paper but it would just not flow. Nothing made sense. Where before writing was effortless and focused, now my brain could barely concentrate on forming a sentence that didn’t sound like gibberish.

My attention span is so short that I literally have to isolate myself with no internet and my textbooks to get work done. It’s so bad that I have anxiety and panic attacks about the fact that I feel like a whole dumbass with one brain cell, where before I was proud of my intelligence and could hold decent conversation.

I’m still pretty, as if that fucking matters, but now I’ve got a stutter and can’t hold eye contact because my paranoia makes me think they’re judging me. And let me tell you, I’m so fucking pissed about that because I know it’s just my fried brain thinking these things, and there’s no one to blame but myself.

And I still feel empty and numb. How can I write about love and human emotions when I don’t feel anything? How can I write about looking at someone and loving them when the memory of love faded like my lover’s ashes in the wind? I just can’t.

I know love as it whispers against my skin with each interaction between me, friends, even other men, and yet I look at them and feel absolutely nothing.

So Yeah, I can’t write my stories if I can’t get my brain or my heart to work.

I’m really sorry to all my loyal readers. I really am. I wish I had been stronger. Thank you for all of your support throughout the years.

Don’t do drugs.

[ghosthouses27]

Until Someone Gets Hurt

Summary: Techno takes the bois on a field trip and yells at Wilbur :)

(some hurt/comfort after the storm but mainly more hurt :'))

(tw: a bit of crying and yelling and swearing)

  ~*~

The front door violently swung open, making Techno jolt up. He glanced up from his phone just in time to see Tommy storm into his room and slam the door close. Techno raised an eyebrow, confused, and looked over at Wilbur who hadn't even seemed to notice.

"Hey Wil?" The brunette looked up with a slight hum to let him know he heard him. "What's up with Tommy?"

Wilbur shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Probably still baby-raging over his broken gun," he snickered. "Did I tell you about that? I broke his Vlog Gun during MCC, it was hilarious."

"Vlog Gun?"

"Yeah, it's just one of those Nerf guns." Wilbur set down his phone and whipped a plastic gun out of his inventory, spinning it around in his hand. "He got two at the arcade but I broke one of 'em."

Techno gave him a confused look. "Wh- Wait why'd you break it?"

"We made a deal for MCC; if we got above fifth place then I'd give it back him. If not..." Wilbur pulled back the loading trigger and fired a foam bullet across the room, grinning. "Then I'd get to break it."

Techno hummed to show that he heard and turned to glance back at Tommy's room. "Well... I'm gonna go check on him."

"Okay then," Wilbur shrugged, getting back to his phone. "But don't blame me if he yells at you."

Techno got up, shoving his phone into his pocket, and went over to lightly knock on Tommy's door. "Tommy?" He opened the door and was almost immediately taken back.

The blond was crumbled on the floor next to his bed, face buried in his messy blanket and chest heaving for air. As Techno approached, he could hear quiet sobs that were muffled by the sheets and broke Techno's heart.

"Hey, Tommy?" He knelt beside the younger, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"

Tommy snapped his head up, glaring with bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks. "No, of course I'm not you idiot!" he snapped, voice cracking in the middle of his words. "I'm not fucking okay!"

He shoved his face back into the blankets, his voice breaking into sobs once again. Techno was never good at comforting people, but he at least knew when someone just needed to vent.

"Tommy. Look at me."

The blond lifted his head with a weak glare and Techno immediately pulled him into a warm hug. Tommy was frozen for a few moments before instantly breaking down in his arms, grabbing at the back of Techno's cape and burying his face in his shoulder.

Techno waited quietly, letting the younger cry in his embrace until he was ready to speak. Tommy's sobs slowly stifled to sniffles though he was still shaking slightly. Techno gently tugged away from him and gave him a soft smile.

"You okay now?" he asked, trying to keep his usually monotone voice gentle.

Tommy sniffed and rubbed his eye, wiping away some of the tears. "K-kinda..." he murmured, his breaths hiccuping slightly.

Techno smiled. "Good. Now, what happened?" he asked, before tentatively adding, "I heard Wilbur broke your gun."

That seemed to trigger something because Tommy's expression twisted into a glower and he looked down, blue eyes burning with anger. "Yeah, that... bastard destroyed my fucking Vlog Gun," he spat in a hoarse voice, almost making Techno wince at the amount of venom in his voice.

"Is that what you're mad about?"

"I- Well- Kinda!" Tommy exclaimed, barely able to form any words let alone a sentence. "But also not really... well no, yeah! Kinda? I don't know!" He huffed in frustration and crossed his arms.

Techno nodded understandingly. "What happened?"

"Wilbur broke my Vlog Gun, that's what!" Tommy yelled. "And now I can't team with Tubbo next time and we're gonna have to fight and I don't wanna fight but fucking Scott didn't quit the team for Tubbo and now Wilbur has my fucking Vlog Gun! I don't even know if I still want it, I just want Tubbo on my team..."

The blond sighed, hugging his knees. "I just... I wanna play with Tubbo... it's gonna be his first MCC but..." He trailed off, looking away.

"But what?" Techno tilted his head slightly, scarlet red eyes soft despite their glaring color. "We can always get you another gun you know-!"

"I KNOW I KNOW!" Tommy snapped. "But it's not about the stupid gun anymore!" He sighed and rested his head on his arms. "It's about winning. If I let Wilbur win he'll never let me live it down..."

Techno couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy. Tommy's round face, glowing with tears and bloodshot eyes, made him look so much younger and smaller in his arms. It made Techno realize that he really was still a child, no matter how mature he acted at time or how many "adult" jokes he made, he was still only 16.

Techno reached out and gently cupped Tommy's cheek with his hand, wiping away some of the tears and lightly brushing over the scar under his eye. Tommy had never told him how he got the scar, but he was certainly proud of it, showing it off to him all the time like it was a trophy.

"Tell you what Tommy," he said, breaking into a grin. "Call Tubbo and tell him to meet us outside the house. I'm taking you two on a field trip."

Tommy looked up at him, confused, but nodded. "O-okay... where're we going...?"

"It's a surprise," Techno explained with a small wink that made Tommy giggle. "But I'm sure you'll recognize it." He stood up and gestured for Tommy to follow, and the two made their way to the front door.

"You finally done baby-raging?"

The voice made Tommy physically flinch and pause in his texting, looking up to glare at Wilbur who sat snidely across the room. "Piss off Wilbur," he growled, his throat still raw from crying.

Wilbur rolled his eyes, seemingly not having noticed his hoarse voice. "Typical Tommy," he teased, sticking his tongue out with a snide grin. "When you gonna stop baby-raging over your toy?"

Tommy gripped his phone so hard his hand started to shake and Techno quickly stepped in. "Tommy, go wait for me outside," he ordered, casting a glare Wilbur's way. "I have to get something."

Tommy seemed to pick up the hint and snapped his head towards Techno. "I can't handle him myse-"

"Tommy." Tommy winced slightly and nodded, silently slipped out the door to go wait for Tubbo.

"So what'd you need Techno?" Wilbur's voice was cool which only fueled Techno's anger. How could he be so calm when Techno clearly wasn't happy with him?!

"What the fuck Wilbur?!" he yelled, red eyes glaring at the brunette.

Wilbur jolted, putting his hands up in defense and nearly throwing his phone in surprise. "What did I do?!" he exclaimed with a bewildered expression.

"Are you serious?!" Techno spat, stepping closer to him. "You made Tommy fucking cry, that's what!"

Wilbur froze, brown eyes going wide. "I... I did...?"

"Yeah you fucking did you asshole!" Techno's words were dripping with venom that made Wilbur physically recoil. "He was fucking crying in his room and it's your. Fucking. FAULT!"

"I-I'm sorry-"

"DONT SAY SORRY TO ME!" Techno yelled. He could feel his throat tightening and tears pricking t his eyes but he didn't care. "SAY SORRY TO TOMMY YOU DENSE IDIOT!" He sighed, putting a hand over his eyes. "Why would you do this Wilbur? He's your fucking friend, not to mention a child."

Wilbur looked down guiltily, clasping his hands together. "I didn't... I-I thought-"

"No you didn't," Techno interrupted, his tone cold and harsh. "You didn't think and that's the problem. You better fix this or else there will be consequences. Hell, there already are consequences but there'll be more."

There were tears in Wilburs eyes by the end he finished speaking and when Techno turned to leave, his last words completely broke him.

"Wilbur, I mean this in the nicest way but... you fucked up."

Wilbur was sent into sobs, hands covering his mouth to try and contain them. Techno's cold gaze wavered slightly but he didn't linger any longer and closed the door behind him. Wilbur reached into his pocket and fumbled for his phone, quickly dialing the first name he saw.

"Ph-Phil- *hic* I-I messed up..."

Techno closed the door, trying his hardest to ignore the sobs behind him that poked at his heart. Wilbur deserved it, he thought as he made his way out the house. There were tears in his own eyes, but because of his own anger. He cried because of Tommy's anger and the betrayal he felt.

Tommy and Tubbo were stood outside the house, talking in a way that probably could've been as arguing to an outsider. Tommy was the first to notice Techno and greeted him with a grin.

"Hey Big Man!" he exclaimed.

"Oh hey Techno!" Tubbo greeted, smiling. "Congrats on the win, Tommy was telling me all about it."

Tommy scoffed, muttering under his breath something along the lines of, "green bastard."

"Where were you taking us?" Tubbo asked, ignoring Tommy's grumbles. "Tommy said you had a surprise or something?"

Techno smiled at the two. "Yeah I did," he admitted. "I'm taking you two to the Minecraft Championships."

"WAIT WHY'D YOU TELL HI- Wait the championships?" Tommy cut off his own rant, confused. "What do you mean?"

Techno shrugged. "Well I thought we could get some practice in. Everyone's probably tired so it'll be empty anyways."

Tubbo stared at him for a moment before breaking into a grin. "Hell yeah! Thanks Techno!" he exclaimed. "I haven't even seen the place in person before, this'll be awesome!"

"Hey, I'll show you around!" Tommy said, slinging his arm over the shorter's shoulder. "Show you all the bastards we have to beat!"

"Yeah, bastards!"

Techno smiled as the two bantered about the championships. He was just happy to see Tommy finally smiling again.

[dilfhakyeon-moved]

coffee shop au 4 (the one with the different names written on the coffee on different days) with ralbert? :)

disclaimer: don’t give me shit for their names i am TERRIBLE at names

but yea here are the sappho de lesbos stans

Once again, the ‘mystery customer’ was striking.

That sounding pretty ominous, it was nothing that serious. It was just that every week, always on a different day, they’d get that girl coming in. And she’d come at times it was pretty dead, most likely to get the same barista. There she always went, leaning on the counter, giving these soft eyes and these sweet words, and she’d leave with her order. It was never the same order either, she just… drank of everything, apparently. Your fave could never.

Somehow, she was indeed having an effect on that barista she was messing with, but that didn’t make her any less frustrating to deal with. Yeah, the flirting was nice, but if she had a set name it’d just be so much easier, wouldn’t it ? Because giving a different name every week was getting a little old.

Of course, the barista would get quite frustrated after some time, how couldn’t she ? It’d been going on long enough. And the list of names… were similar, for some. Sometimes just complete unrealistic jokes. She could remember them all - Race, Racer, Racetrack, Antonio, Anthony, Tony, even Edmund and Ed,… Pretty Girl, too. Maybe this one was fitting, but Berta absolutely refused to believe any of these other names were that “pretty girl’s” name. For one, some of these weren’t names, and well… the others were masculine, and judging by that last nickname, she wasn’t a guy.

Either way, the redhead had a hard time staying calm as the blonde began babbling, her oddly squeaky voice fitting so well with her messy accent and pronunciation, her tripping over words and her obnoxious giggle sounding somewhat endearing… Okay, maybe she totally wasn’t paying attention to what she was being told and she got too busy getting lost in thought, but who could blame her ?

… Right, herself.

Once she woke from this kind of weird daydreaming phase, she tried to harden her expression a little. “Okay, yeah. And the order ?” She said, maybe a little harshly. But it didn’t bother her customer, whose grin widened despite her cheeks perhaps darkened a tad.

Quad venti blonde breve latte, extra hot, no foam, four pumps vanilla, three pumps cinnamon dolce, two white mocha, stirred, light whip, extra cinnamon topping.

This was ridiculous. Once again, the girl’s order had to be ridiculous. Maybe that was one time too much, and that “one time too much” the barista didn’t bother waiting for the girl to give her a name. No, she was choosing it herself. It was obvious to see on the blonde’s face that she wasn’t exactly expecting that, but did she really have a choice ? No.

“Look at it once you’re outside,” Berta muttered, groaning quietly when the girl smiled again and poked her cheek before making her way out, whistling pretty loud - and getting looks from other customers, although admittedly there really weren’t that many. It still grabbed some of them’s attention, enough for them to notice the  barista quickly yet quietly following after her, letting her coworkers take care of the place if even just for a few minutes.

Keeping sight of the blonde wasn’t the hardest task. She hadn’t gone far, just walked a few metres away and was now reading the name written on her cup with some sort of surprise.

Endearing, the shorter girl would tell you.

Casually enough, she made a few steps until she was close enough to the girl, before pausing and more or less working up the courage to talk. She wasn’t all that good at communication all the time, but she still tried. “So, Foxy,” she called out, causing the other to jump and turn around. Her gaze was always as captivating, perhaps due to how obviously emotional it was - reading her mind was impossible, but her state of mind was all too obvious at all times. What really got Berta though, it surely was how evident the blush on her face was. Striking, such a contrast with her blue eyes and her blond curls, that pink really fit well. Made her look softer, and maybe a little less insufferable.

Her lips moved incoherently for a few seconds before she frowned, and pointed at the cup. “Y'ain’t wrote that, it’s ‘Vixen’ on it,” she protested, getting the other to raise an eyebrow. Maybe it’d been easy to guess making that flirty girl flustered wasn’t hard at all, but it still gave her some satisfaction. Oh, and also it was cute.

“I know what I wrote and I know vixens are foxes.” That sure wasn’t the answer that girl had hoped for. Berta could see her bite down on her lip as she thought of a reply.

“… Yea, but– still. Why’s that anyways, I 'on’t look like a fox !”

“Reminded me of one.”

Could the girl make it any more obvious that she clearly wasn’t used to being teased ? Or, flirted with, depending on how she took it. Either way, just one more endearing, sweet thing about that cute fellow, and it kind of made the former more confident.

This time though, maybe she actually put some thought into what she was about to say. Nothing crazy, but she’d always worked on that “speaking before thinking” basis, pretty much ; having to really work out some sort of appropriate response, or even question for the situation. Because in the end, that barista had ended up following her outside, there must’ve been a reason. Yes, that’d be her question.

“So… What’s ya doin’ here ? Ain’t ya workin’ ?” She uttered, her accent somewhat worsened. Oh, maybe because she was chewing on the… the cup. Was that a stress reliever ? Whatever.

“I wanna get your name.”

“What, I gave–”

“Your real name, so I don’t sob to my friends about a cute girl named Anthony,” Berta insisted, almost mockingly - although that was all light-hearted. The poor girl seemed to whimper after “cute girl”. Haha, she found her cute, she could die happy was what the whimper meant.

“Well… 'f ya want my name, then I bet you should invite me for a sleepover some time !” The blonde tried. It probably came off as silly, even if Berta just thought it adorable.

“A… sleepover ?”

“Yea, like… the best kind'a date.” She continued, managing to sound genuine about it. “It ain’t too fast if I’ been comin’ to your shop for two months. We can totally have a sleepover.”

“But I could be a murderer an’ kill you in your sleep.”

“Bitch, wha’s the issue here ? I’d die a happy death.” She retorted - maybe a little too quickly. A chance she hadn’t pulled out the whole “oh, crush me with your arms” or any sort of stupid stuff she looked like she would totally say. And the redhead clearly wasn’t wrong about that, that kind of answer had definitely come out of that girl’s mouth a few times… Maybe she shouldn’t be thinking about it.

“So, name ?”

She seemed embarrassed to say it. “Anya.”

“That’s a real pretty name.”

“Yea, shut ya’ trap, spare me the compliments.” Anya groaned, her gaze wandering elsewhere. “ ’S just a name.”

“Sure, Anya,” Berta answered with a chuckle, shaking her head. “So you said a sleepover ?”

“Yea.”

“Then gi'mme your phone number or something.”

“Ya wrote yours on the cup.”

“… Ah, I did that.”

“Yea.”

It was her time to be embarrassed again, it seemed. Had she really forgotten so easily ? That was a shame for sure, but Anya wouldn’t be too bothered by it, she could tell.

“Anyway, I’m… I’m gonna need to go back to work. Maybe come more often. Oh, and you don’t have to run away everytime, you can drink it at the shop,” the shorter girl offered. But she was met with a head shake, and that bright, quite shit-eating grin the blonde always wore. Back to normal, huh ? Couldn’t stay away too long.

“Nah, I’m a busy gal ! Gotta get goin’ as well. I’ll catch ya later.”

“Oh, well…” Was that sadness ? Yes, maybe she’d have liked to talk to her some time, at the shop. But if she was busy, then… “Talk to you soon.”

Anya waved, blew her a kiss and then… ran away. And Berta watched her, frankly smitten. What a goddamn rowdy… cutie.

|Text| to: she alt deleted my ovaries

> hey> pretty girl here

|Text| to: pretty girl

> oh hey.> how do you spell yr name ?

|Text| to: she alt deleted my ovaries

> howevs u want idc> yknow if i didnt have no decency id have said such bs> like huge

|Text| to: pretty girl

> like ?

|Text| to: she alt deleted my ovaries

> crush me w ur arms

|Text| to: pretty girl

> oh my god> shut up> or i will

|Text| to: she alt deleted my ovaries

> pls do> >:3c

|Text| to: pretty girl

> you’re impossible

|Text | to: she alt deleted my ovaries

> ur used to it now suck it up> im even funnier thru text> i send memes> n shit> hey?> also> cats have three lips

|Text| to: pretty girl

> hey you know wht maybe u should sleep !

|Text| to: she alt deleted my ovaries and my heart

> lol maybe!!!!> wish me gn

|Text| to: pretty girl

> goodnight. dont dream of people crushing you

|Text| to: she alt deleted my ovaries and my heart

> hdskjdghsdh> ill update u on that

Tag list:@well-the-kids-do-too@racetrackcook@i-got-personality@imjusttheoutgoingsidekick@thatfancyclam@we-dont-sell-papes@ben-cook-can-cook@not-your-cigar@nverkept@jackhasdreams@racescoronas@suddenly-im-respecsable@purplelittlepup@hopeful-broadwaybaby@broadwayandbookblog@crazymecjc@maiawakening@awwwwwwdang@albertdasillva@daveys-pet-snake@be-more-chill-evan-hansen

[jamalam]

Hi, yes my shitty writing and I are here for the 500 celebration spinner thingamajig. Doctor who fanfic, away!

I had been at work for twelve hours. I was supposed to go home at four but it was six and Jimmy Stone still hadn’t shown up for his shift. My boss had made it clear that the shop was never to be unsupervised nor close early so I was stuck waiting for either Jimmy to get here or for the store to close. I would bet the four dollars and thirty two cents in my wallet that the latter would arrive first. I honestly just wanted to go home. I was making one of my regulars, Keisha, a small frappe when I heard a commotion from the ordering area. Putting the lid on the frappe, I walked over to see what was going on and were immediately yelled at by a tall man in a grey suit. “What the fuck? You the barista who made this shit?” I startled at the screaming, this man reminding me too much of him for comfort. “Yes, sir. I was the one who made your drink. What seems to be the problem with it?” I tried to keep my voice calm but I’m sure that the man heard it shaking. “ What’s the problem? I ordered a venti, half-whole milk, one quarter 1%, one quarter nonfat, extra hot, split quad shots, no foam latte, with whip, 2 packets of splenda, 1 sugar in the raw, a touch of vanilla syrup and 3 short sprinkles of cinnamon. How hard is that to make, you useless bitch? I demand to speak to your manager!” He rattled off the order so quickly that my head spun. “Um. Sir, my manager isn’t here right now but I’d be glad to make your order again, if you’d like?” And that’s when a scalding hot cup of coffee was thrown full force at my chest, burning my skin and splattering everywhere. I shrieked as I felt my skin start to blister as the hot liquid splattered against my flesh and stained my white dress, turning it transparent to the point of people seeing my bra and my face turned redder than my burnt skin in anger and shame. I felt my eyes start burning with unshed tears and I reached for my phone, which was safely stored in my back pocket to call my manager and tell him I was quitting when a man in line behind him stepped forward. You recognised him from the Acting class you take on Sundays, Spotlight. The one you should have been at right now. You couldn’t quite remember his name- Dennis? Devin?David?- but he played the Doctor and he was normally your acting partner. Why he was at Cafe Diem and not at Spotlight you didn’t know, but you were glad he was all the same. “Oi! Buddy, what was that? Why did you just throw a drink at my Rose?” His Rose? I thought. But, who was I to interrupt someone standing up for me. The Doctor turned to me, handed me his absurdly long trench coat and says softly, “Hey, you alright?” When I nodded that I was okay, he wrapped his jacket around my shoulders in an attempt to cover up my see through dress. “Uh, I’m alright. Thanks,” He turned back to the man whose coffee was on my clothes as I pulled his jacket on and lifted the collar up to my face, breathing in his calming scent. “What’s your name, man?” His eyes darkened and I could see why my friend had called him the oncoming storm when he was angry. He was tall and intimidating. I should’ve been terrified. But I wasn’t. His presence, even in anger, was soothing. “Mickey Smith. And who the hell are you? I dont remember anyone asking for your help. So get back in the fucking line.” He asks “ Ah, Mickey the Idiot. Now, I dont know how much you know about the law, but I think, and i might be wrong here but I rarely am, that throwing coffee at someone and yelling vulgar things counts as Assault and battery. And, Rose here is the worst possible target you could have chosen. Because I’m here.” At this he pulled out a billfold and shows Mickey the paper inside. “And so’s my partner. Officer Barrowman?” Jack, also from Spotlight stepped forward and was handcuffing Mickey and reading him his rights. I was trying to remember how to breathe correctly. He reminded me of him so much. I had been holding it together, but now I broke down. Tears ran down my face as I failed to hold back sobs and I stumble back into the wall behind me and slide down it. The Doctor and Jack turned to me and Mickey broke into loud cackling at seeing me in such a state and I flinched violently back into the wall. I pulled my knees as close to my chest as I could and buried my face in my arms. I realized that I was shaking and you can’t stop. There was someone talking to me, but everything sounded as if I was underwater. I forgot to breathe until someone touched my shoulder and I gasped and flinched again, slamming my head into the wall hard enough to see black spots dance across my vision. The pain helped ground me, keep me focused. I heard a man shout and, surprisingly, it didn’t frighten me. I lowered my arms slightly and saw the Doctor staring at me in concern. I saw his lips moving but all the sound is garbled. My breath came in quick gasps as he sat back on his heels and ran his hand nervously through his hair. He sat there for a few seconds before lighting up,and turning to address the group. When he turned back, he had paper and a pencil and he wrote out Can I touch you? When I nodded, he wasted no time in scooping me into his arms and I curled up against his chest, tears slowing but panic not subsiding. He gently rocked back and forth as I started to calm down. As I started to rejoin reality, I heard him whispering to me. It’s in a language that i didn’t understand, but the musical aspect to it calmed me down to the point that i could move again. I looked up to his face and he smiled down at me. “There are those eyes.” He must have seen the apology in my face because before i could even open my mouth, “Hey, don’t even think about apologizing. Jack has a t shirt for you, do you think he could come give it to you?” I nodded and Jack detached from the crowd and hands me the black shirt. I grabbed it and my purse and ran to the bathroom to change. I was lucky that the black leggings I wore underneath had been relatively unharmed. I threw the black t shirt on and pulled my hair from its braids and took off the Doctors coat, pulled on my leather jacket. I washed my face and reapplied my makeup so it didn’t look as if I had been crying. Taking a steadying breath, I stepped back out into the lobby and held my head high as I walked over to my boss, looked him dead in his eyes and said “I quit.” I then turned on my heel and stormed out, handing the doctor his jacket as I passed, not stopping. I heard someone shout my name as I ditched my former place of employment to go back to that empty, one bedroom apartment. On the street, people looked genuinely afraid of me. It was a strange feeling but I couldn’t say I minded not answering questions. Someone grabbed my elbow and spun me around. I was stuck looking into the eyes of the doctor. “Do you trust me?” he said “Yes.” I answered with complete certainty He smiled, reached down and grabbed my hand. “Rose?” he asked “Yeah?” His grin got even wider. “Run”

— HOW DID YOU KNOW I LOVE DOCTOR WHO