#catch me sobbing at the seven bells death for the rest of my life

[bisexuallilapitts]

every on-screen klaus death (so far)

part 2/2

#tuaedit #uaedit #umbrellaacademyedit #klaushargreevesedit #Klaus Hargreeves #The Umbrella Academy #Umbrella Academy #TUA #TUA S3 #raysgifs #tw: blood #this isnt even all the car ones just the ones that were longish enough i- #catch me sobbing at the seven bells death for the rest of my life

[matronoftheblackrose]

The King of Death

The souls swarmed around Thresh. The eternal Harrowing, the fall of Viego, all of this immense power. Truly, he could now truly and fully understand the meaningless nature of mortals and their struggles. After all, who could oppose him? His lantern shone with a brilliant, green light. Even the gravedigger could do naught but shamble away-

“Warden,” Yorick rumbled.

Thresh’s eyes snapped down and glared at Yorick. He dare stand here? In front of him?

“What are your thoughts, Gravedigger? Dare you think you can oppose me?”

Yorick shrugged. “What is your goal, Warden?”

“I know of your goals, Gravedigger. You cannot oppose me.”

“My goals?” Yorick stroked his beard, not making eye contact with Thresh. “Do you know them, Warden?”

Thresh cackled. He threw his lantern down on the ground in front of him, held his arms out to his sides and cast in the eerie glow of the Ruination itself, he demanded, “All you and the rest of Runeterra can only writhe, like a worm on a hook, before me. What need do I have to know of your goals?”

With a sudden, violent swing, Yorick struck Thresh’s perfect jawline with his shovel. Thresh had withstood the entire barrage of every single bloody Sentinel of Light with ease, he made no effort to resist a shovel.

Bone cracked.

Thresh’s head twisted from the impact. His eyes burned with rage as he slowly looked down at Yorick, who returned the intensity with a glare of his own.

“You get that one. Now to see what is still flesh, and what is bone, as I flay you.”

Yorick shook his head. “No. You do not,” turned around, and hobbled away from Thresh.

Thresh tried to pull his arm back to prepare his scythe, only to find his body unable to move. In fact, now that he thought about it, he was staring at his body from a wholly unique perspective. Thresh could not comprehend the literal, out of body experience, he was undergoing.

“There is a reason why Viego shed so much of the souls, and why it was so hard to ‘catch’ him. An ancient secret, even older than the Blessed Isles themselves,” Yorick said, the Maiden of the Mist encircling him, laughing and sobbing. “I may not be able to kill you yet, but when I can, I will. For now, I can cut down your misinformed ego.”

Thresh was about to howl his curses at Yorick when an iron gauntlet grasped his spirit’s throat. As Thresh was yanked back, Yorick gave Thresh one more disinterested look, but his words were colder than the deepest grave.

“Give Sahn-Uzal my regards.”

---

Thresh felt his soul fly through time and space, with all of his hundreds of thousands of souls scream in unison as they trailed behind him. Eventually, Thresh was thrown down onto an ephemeral ground that felt as solid as any stone. 

‘My liege, I bring to you an oddity,’ a voice whispered.

Thresh snapped his hands down, his scythe and lantern blasting into view, and he swung at the one who dared manhandle him. Strangely enough, the offender was similar to Hecarim and the Iron Legion- a foe built almost entirely from a humanoid suit of plate mail with a pale blue light that bloomed from within, but as Thresh’s scythe sank into a soul, the Warden knew this was just more food for his lantern. With a hard pull, Thresh ripped out the soul from the armor and guided it to his lantern, and absorbed it.

Dead silence as Thresh finally took in his surroundings: It was a new realm for him, sure, but it was... actually wonderful. All mimicries of life, all built entirely from the energy of mortal souls, from the paved ground of a castle and the tapestries depicting battles on the walls, that seemed to be simultaneously as close to Thresh as they were far from him, to the hundreds of armed, heavily armored soldiers surrounding him. That Yorick was a strange fellow, but the Warden could see he was in fact, being rewarded by the gravedigger. Thresh would make sure that Yorick’s torture would be delightful agony for such a beautiful gift.

‘He has power here?’ a soldier whispered.

‘No. He dares have power here,’ another whispered.

Thresh looked about, rattled his chain a little bit, and asked, “Which one of you brought me here?”

‘You know not?’

The soldiers laughed in unison at Thresh, making his sickly blood boil.

‘Foolish Banquet of Delights, only an emissary, or our liege, can do so,' another soldier answered.

“Liege?” Thresh spat the title out with a cackle. “There is a king here? How curious. What is a king to a god? Bring him here, I will claim this realm for my own.”

The soldiers went dead quiet. They pulled their spears, bows and their entire armoury of weaponry free and pointed at Thresh.

Thresh struck first. Swinging his scythe, he cut swathe after swathe of soldiers down with ease. Each spirit detonating as he pulled himself into them, absorbing hundreds of souls. Even here, Thresh could feel his strength grow, the power of the lantern absorbing souls with every strike he made.

“Kneel before your God, you wretched mongrels. I will give you the leash that you all deserve.”

A single toll of a big black bell roared in the distance. The soldiers pulled back, sheathed their weapons, and knelt to the ground. Thresh could not help but grin- he already conquered an entire realm in such a short time.

A voice sang, “When the bell begins to ring, it means the time has cometh for one to go to the temple of the king.”

A wild haired man walked towards Thresh, pointing at him, mania in his eyes as he continued, “There! In the middle of the circle of our legions he stands! There he stands- searching! Seeking!”

Thresh swung his chain once, twice, then heaven the scythe at the man. 

And with just one touch of the man’s trembling hand, Thresh’s scythe stopped midair, and fell to the ground.

“The answer will be found,” the man continued as he brought his hands up to the sky of silently screaming souls. “Heavens, help us. Spare us the daylight of life this man brings.”

And like the rush of a thousand, metal wings grinding and screeching, a mace the size of a colonnade slammed into the ground. Along with the mace, with a flick of iron wings that sent a cascade of shrapnel flying every which way, a giant of a man appeared from the soul-filled air.

“Nightfall has arrived,” the man concluded, bowing to the ground in supplication.

A head or two taller than the gigantic mace, swathed from head to toe in the heaviest armor, with the framework of a ribcage composing of his chest plate, an iron revenant stood before Thresh.The iron man stared at Thresh, who may have been dwarfed in stature, but the Warden certainly puffed his chest out like a boy trying to impress his date, in response to the giant’s arrival.

Thresh pointed at the man before him, “Are you the so called king of this realm?”

The iron revenant did not respond.

Thresh tightened his grip on his scythe. “Are you or are you just another pitiful soul for my collection?”

The iron revenant looked to its side, at the prostrated man, and said in a deep voice, that sounded eerily similar to the toll of a bell, “Dio, I request a song: Hymn of Valor.”

Dio stood up, bowed again, scuttled to the back and in seconds, a song that quickened the heart and pumped one’s adrenaline flooded the realm.

Thresh pointed at the iron revenant and said, “Come out and play, liege.”

“I will ask this once: Who marked you to be brought here?” the revenant asked in response.

“It does n-?’ was all Thresh could manage before a spectral claw the size of the revenant grasped him, pulled him forward with loud, shrieking steel on steel, and threw him to the ground.

Before Thresh could respond, he felt the full weight of the mace slam into him. He felt his body creak, his soul crack, and it would have been a fatal blow if it were not for all-

“One million, three hundred fifty seven thousand, six hundred and sixty seven souls empower you.”

Thresh’s eyes went wide. He threw his scythe out, hooking the revenant’s armor, and tore his chain with all of his might. There was the clink of metal breaking, which elicited a gasp of shock from onlookers. Thresh was about to say something when he felt his body leave the ground, and he saw he was about to be golf swung in the face by the mace.

Thresh threw his lantern and pulled himself towards it, his face narrowly missing the swing- but his legs felt the full impact and shattered instantly.

“One million, three hundred fifty seven thousand, six hundred and sixty six now empower you,” the iron revenant continued.

“How dare you do this to me- I am your god! You will kneel before me and I will add your soul to my collection!” Thresh spat out as his legs reformed and he stood back up.

The iron revenant went quiet. It hoisted its mace up to its shoulder, and pointed at Thresh. “You may be a collection of souls, but not a single one of them is perfected, Thresh of Helia.”

Thresh felt something in his head- it must be the newly formed flesh. An ancient, long forgotten sensation that the Ruination discarded alongside the lizard brain mortals had.

“Though misery loves company, you have what is mine. I will take them back.”

The iron revenant swung his mace down again, almost clumsily so. Thresh was able to sidestep the strike, only to find the giant mace change trajectory mid-air, and aimed directly at his lantern.

With a loud crack, the lantern burst with a flood of souls that all flew to the iron revenant and prostrated themselves to it.

“Hobbyist of Helia, of the Blessed Isles- what is a false god to the true King of Death?” The iron revenant raised his mace above his head, and with a bellowing bell toll, demanded, "Who am I, my children of the grave? Who is your liege, sing my praises, conquered souls.”

And the voices chanted,’Mordekaiser! Mordekaiser!’

Thresh felt a bead of sweat drip down the side of his head. What in all of the hells was this? Wait, he remembered something- Yorick said something about Sahn someone? Duke Vladimir of Camavor related an old legend about a warlord-

Then Thresh was struck yet again. This time Thresh braced himself as best as he could, but his lantern could not sustain the force.

“One million, two hundred fifty five thousand, five hundred and thirty two left,” Mordekaiser stated as more souls fled from Thresh’s collection and swirled about him in a cacophony of metal shards. “I will accept your servitude whenever you decide, godling.”

Thresh decided he did not care who this thing was- no one steals from his collection. Whipping his chain about, Thresh let out a torrent of vicious strikes- each blow detonating a soul that could tear entire buildings down. Yet after the tenth blow, Mordekaiser grasped the chain, and snapped the scythe, which joined his encircling aura of metal and death.

“Your sickness sustains me. Your pain delights me. Your lifeline is severed, death is creeping, and there is none to save you.”

“For there is none as great as he, the Kaiser of Morde!” the soldiers all cried out in unison.

Thresh staggered back. He could get out, his lantern beamed with the energy of souls when he was struck in the chest- collapsing it a thousand times over as more souls fled from his collection, repairing his broken and battered body.

“One million, seventy nine thousand, eight hundred and seventy nine left. You shall serve me too, spirit.”

Thresh hissed, “What are you? How can you have this much power? Not even Viego-”

“I am the metal that Noxia was built on. I am the monster that is whispered in the ears of children. I am the reason that man fears the dark of the forests and the light of fire. The songs of sirens are sung to my appeasement, and I bless alll with great suffering. I am Mordekaiser, and the same magic that chains you to this realm frees me to walk between.”

Thresh looked about, realizing the full error of his ways. This really was the realm of death, and this man- no, this creature, was not only able to exist here, but it cultivated the power of death itself. The Shadow Isles may be undeath, but that was why Mordekaiser was able to harm him at all. He needed to escape, he needed a moment-

Thresh narrowly avoided the next mace strike as he backed away from the advancing Mordekaiser, his mind racing. So long as Mordekaiser was focused on him, Thresh could not really concoct anything remotely clever. Wait.

“Yorick the Gravekeeper has asked me to send his regards to Sahn-Uzal,” Thresh threw out, hoping it would land.

And it did. Mordekaiser paused in his stride. “Yorick, you say. So that is how you were marked. I see.”

That was enough breathing space. Thresh detonated his lantern once more, cursing at how many souls were about to be lost, as the spirits ripped open a portal to the living world. With enough energy utilized, so long as the souls themselves were fully consumed, Thresh could walk between these realms at the mere cost of a couple hundred thousand or so souls in theory.

Mordekaiser’s gauntlet snapped out, almost grasping Thresh, but his fingers caught nothing but air as Thresh disappeared from view. Whatever this Mordekaiser was, he needed more information. He needed to interrogate Vladimir, he needed to collect more souls, he needed more power. How dare someone lay claim to his realm, when Thresh was the Warden- nay, the God of Souls.

“Mordekaiser, my liege...” Dio started, but said nothing else. He would not dare question the King of Death.

“The Gravekeeper, one of the only men to earn respect, has marked him as a target of interest. When I return, the hobbyist shall collect more souls.”

“And the more souls one dare has, the more power you have against them, Kaiser of Morde, a 6v4 you could say,” Dio said with a nod and a smile.

Mordekaiser glared at Dio, silencing the man. What a strange statement to make when everyone here knew about it. But that was the problem, only people here knew about his might. Mordekaiser was now in deep thought- perhaps it was time to return to Runeterra and take back what was rightfully his.

#Thresh #Yorick #Mordekaiser #League of Legends #They did Yorick dirty #So I did this and I wrote about Morde #cause fuck stupid sexy Thresh

[spideyspence]

i swear you’re here; peter parker

peter parker x reader

summary: It’s nice having Peter with her when she wakes up in the morning. He’s been so much closer to her after he went to space, much clingier. He sleeps over a lot more, but she doesn’t go over to his and May’s place for dinner every Friday night like she once did. She’s unsure of why her mum hasn’t commented on Peter staying at theirs at much as he does.Y/N doesn’t have an issue with Peter being with her as much as he is, until she finds out why.

warnings: this is very sad im sorry, hallucinating, mentally ill!reader (but there’s no diagnosis)

A/N: this is is set after infinity war but before endgame so y’all can guess what’s happening right?

i have come to love this fic so much because it was a support through some of the tougher times with my mental health since the start of april, so this fic is my baby

tagged: @hey-its-grey (thanks for dealing with my rants about this fic), @poetrypeter, @hollandroos, @kiwispideys, @plushparker, @naturallytom

my masterlist

the playlist

-

Y/N walked into the train carriage with her best friend and boyfriend, Peter Parker. The train was packed as it usually was at 3:30 after school, so the two lovebirds stood and held onto one another, trusting each other to not fall.

Earphones were plugged into her phone and extended out with one earbud in Y/N’s ear and one in Peter’s. Some kind of alternative music was playing that could be heard due to the set volume, but they both still talked to one another, electric guitar playing in the background.

They maintained eye contact throughout the train ride back to Y/N’s apartment. When they first started dating, eye contact was hard for the both of them, but they both found out later on that while talking, the eye contact meant everything to them (they’d also be cheesy and would always say that they would ‘get lost in each other’s eyes’ and their friend MJ would gag every time). They denied it, but many of their friends labelled them as a cheesy couple.

After a thorough conversation about a new episode of a cartoon the two recently had become obsessed with and had binge watched over the weekend, the train came to their stop and they both hopped off.

The walk back to Y/N’s home included hand holding and more alternative music but at a lower volume this time. The streets of Queens weren’t as loud as the train was, especially on this sunnier afternoon.

Peter was always staying at Y/N’s place after school. He would come over and study with her and they’d go out for dinner some nights. One particularly warm night, they walked around the city as the sun was setting and buy some street food they would find. Any nights that Y/N would end up being a little bit clingier, Peter would be happy to stay the night.

It was like everything was going Y/N’s way, but she didn’t question it.

Her usual school routine was waking up in the morning, Peter would grab his own breakfast while Y/N got changed and then she would grab hers as her boyfriend got changed. They always brushed their teeth together as they looked at one another at the mirror and danced around listening to some of Peter’s playlists. They’d catch the train together and they’d go to their classes together.

Ned and MJ were different though. Y/N sat with them at lunch, but they didn’t really talk much. Y/N wanted to know why there was always silence between the four of them for nothing had changed. Ned and MJ still sat on the seats opposite Peter and Y/N in the cafeteria. It wasn’t like any of them had died in the snap.

Y/N knew about the real Stark internship. She was always worried about what would happen to Peter when he went out on patrol. She feared him coming to her room with some horrible wound or him not coming back at all. At the same time however, she knew that this is what Peter wanted. He loved helping others and even though he was putting his life at risk, he felt good about how he was helping the city he lived in. (Also, he had a great relationship with Tony Stark and Y/N loved hearing Peter talk about Tony and what they worked on with his suit).

She was scared when she turned around in the city, seeing people turning to dust around her. She called Ned and MJ to make sure that they were okay, but Peter wasn’t answering her calls. She feared that he may have turned to dust, and she couldn’t handle that thought. She couldn’t bear to think of a life without Peter by her side. So, when she returned home that afternoon to see Peter lying on her bed, doing his chemistry homework and his endearing smile appearing on his face when he noticed her come into her room, she knew everything was going to be alright.

Later that night however, when her Mum returned home with the news that her father was one of the victims of the snap, she held her face in her hands as she sobbed and ran back to her room. Peter had whispered to her that he had heard the news through the wall, as he hugged her as Y/N wept on her bed all night long.

-

There were quiet whispers shared among the two teens sitting in their chemistry class. They were writing some new equations that they had just learnt as the bell rang. It was their last class for the day and like usual, the two packed their school bags and caught the train back to Y/N’s home.

They opened up their chemistry textbooks and notebooks to do the rest of their work and Y/N was confused at one moment, so Peter helped her out.

‘Babe, you’ve forgotten to balance the equation here, that’s why you aren’t getting the right answer. See with phosphorus, you’ve got it written as seven when it should be 3.’ Peter explained.

‘Thanks Pete,’ she smiled as Peter went back to doing the rest of his work.

‘I love you.’

‘I love you too Y/N. I’ll love you for as long as I live.’ The brown-haired boy smiled.

She laughed as she leant in and gave her boyfriend a kiss on the cheek and they went back to their homework.

-

Y/N’s mother came home from work and said to Y/N that she needed to go see someone about her father’s death. Her mother wanted her to talk about how she was feeling because she wasn’t talking about his death all that much.

Y/N was confused because she did talk openly about it to her mother. She had grieved and she still missed her father, she always would but she didn’t understand. She grieved every night for a month but now she thinks of her father daily, and she hopes that he would continue to be proud of her.

She ate dinner with her mother as Peter went back to his and had his dinner with his Aunt. They weren’t going to hang out tonight because Y/N was tired, and she wanted to do some reading for English that night and wanted to read some of her own novels.

She wanted some downtime to herself, which she always valued a lot.

Before her appointment with the counsellor, she didn’t realise how much ‘downtime to herself’ she would have after the session.

-

Her first class was English for the day. Writing notes on the themes of the novel, colour coordinating. Peter and Y/N didn’t have the same English class, but it was nice to have some distance while at school.

Class felt like it went on forever, but when it ended, she walked to her locker and had planned to go to library for her spare periods to study. Peter also had spares at the same time and on these particular days they would go out for lunch. Some days it was a pizza, some days it was going to Delmar’s Deli-Grocery where Peter and Y/N played with the cat that sat on the counter until their sandwiches were done.

Y/N wasn’t looking forward to her appointment with her councillor. She hadn’t seen her in a few months. She saw her after the snap when her father had passed and if it wasn’t for her councillor, she wouldn’t know what kind of mental state she would be in currently.

Peter and Y/N studied together, Y/N writing a few more notes for her English and Peter studying for his Spanish test the next period (classic Peter style).

They then walked through the streets of NYC, making their way to Delmar’s that day. Peter and Y/N were ordering separately that day. They petted Murph as they were waiting and sipped their soft drinks.

When they returned back to school, Peter went off to his Spanish class and Y/N wished him good luck with a kiss on his cheek and he walked off down the corridor, the sun coming in through the windows in front of him.

-

Peter had told Y/N earlier on that day that he was leaving straight after school to help May with something, so she didn’t need to wait up after class.

It worked well for Y/N because she needed to go to the appointment which was about an hour later after school finished.

Prior to their appointment, she browsed her favourite second hand book shop and managed to find a really nice edition of her favourite book, and also a cool looking comic that she knew Peter didn’t have. She’d give her boyfriend the comic next day at school.

Y/N then walked a couple more blocks until she was standing outside the councillor’s door and she was nervous. She would have liked to have Peter holding her hand in this moment to calm her nerves.

She didn’t understand why she had to talk to someone right now. Y/N was doing well in school and her mental health was fine. She didn’t need a check-up.

But her mum thought otherwise.

-

Y/N sat on the couch while her councillor asked her how she was. She told her that she didn’t understand why she had to be sitting there. Y/N was alright. She hadn’t had a panic attack in couple of months, so things weren’t adding up.

‘Well, your mum called, and she told me to discuss with you a few things that are concerning her.’

So, she asked some of the usual questions. How she felt about her Dad and his death. Of course, Y/N still missed her father and her heart still hurt but at least her heart rate didn’t increase at any mention of him anymore. She had become stronger and moved on, just like her dad would have wanted her to.

Then she asked Y/N about Peter.

‘What? Peter, my boyfriend? Yeah, he’s doing well. We’ve been studying together lately but since the whole ‘half the world dying’ thing, he has been a bit more clingy than usual, but nothing has really changed.’ She rambled.

‘What does Peter have to do with this anyway?’ She questioned, confused on why the person opposite her, who knew so much about her would be asking about her boyfriend.

What direction was this conversation taking?

‘See, your mum wanted me to talk to you about Peter.’ The councillor smiled softly.

‘Okay look, if she’s wanting to say that we need to spend more time apart, why she would ask you to talk to me about it?’ Y/N asked with a puzzled face, but a small laugh to cover up her nervousness.

Her councillor laughed but their face then turned into a frown.

‘Peter didn’t survive the snap.’

Y/N knew she didn’t hear that sentence right.

‘Sorry?’

‘Peter died in the snap. He was one of the victims. He isn’t with us anymore.’ Her councillor said softly, cautiously.

‘Okay you see, that isn’t true. He helped me out with my chemistry homework a couple of nights ago!’ She stood up, infuriated that someone was telling her that her own boyfriend was dead, even though she saw him walk into his Spanish class for his test only a couple of hours prior.

Y/N started to feel the familiar tightness in her chest that she hadn’t felt for months. Her heart rate increased. Her councillor’s voice sounded like a dull, echoey sound in the back of her mind but she couldn’t hear it over the thudding of her heart. Y/N could hear someone calling out her name, but she didn’t feel like she was in the moment.

She looked at her councillor dead in the eyes and said ‘no’ as she walked out of the room, blinded by tears.

Now it wasn’t her smartest idea to walk blindly through New York at one of its busiest times, but Y/N jumped on the train and headed home. She wiped her tears away as her councillor’s words swam through her mind. She hit shuffle on her music to hopefully take her mind off everything only for the song to play was one that Peter had recommended to her.

‘You have to listen to this artist they’re so good Y/N’ Peter smiled. He had her computer sitting on his lap as he went through her Spotify. He had created a playlist called ‘peter p’s recs’ because he thought it was cool and Y/N needed a ‘music education’. He had chosen a silly photo of him that was on her computer as the photo for the playlist.

She looked at that playlist now, realising that it hadn’t been touched in months. She didn’t want to believe it, but she needed to find out herself.

She felt her tears return as she hopped of the train and headed to the direction of Peter and May’s apartment.

She walked up the stairs, headphones no longer playing music, just listening to her unsteady breath as she looked at the door she hadn’t seen in so long.

Y/N was debating on walking away and not dealing with the situation that was arising, but before she could stop herself, she had knocked three times on the door.

Moments later the door opened, and a familiar face appeared.

‘Hi Y/N, how are you? I haven’t seen you in so long’ May said to her but her smile quickly disappeared when she saw the tears in Y/N’s eyes.

‘Is he here? Or have I just been imagining all this time that Peter is still next to me and that we’ve gone to grab lunch together only for the reality to be that I go to Delmar’s alone?’ She sobbed.

May opened her arms and Y/N fell forward into her embrace and the teenage girl cried.

‘I don’t want it to be real but now I can see that everything is pointed towards him not being here. I haven’t seen you in so long which is completely out of the ordinary, I don’t see Spider-Man on the news anymore, but Peter wouldn’t want to fight after everything, I know that, but MJ and Ned don’t even talk about Peter anymore. It’s just silence.’ She ranted.

‘He can’t be dead because he held me. He held me when I cried for my Dad to come back when he died. He was there. I could feel him.’ She said, tears falling from her eyes as May was at the bench, making the two of them cups of tea.

May had sent Y/N’s mother a text saying that her daughter was over at hers and that she was safe, she just needed to talk. It was a part of the female guardian code.

Y/N heard the door open and she heard the keys being placed on the small table by the door.

‘Hey babe, I didn’t realise you were gonna be over.’ Peter smiled at Y/N but just like his aunt, his smile faltered when he saw her red eyes.

‘What’s wrong honey?’ Peter asked, worried.

That’s when she turned to May.

‘Can’t you-? He’s right there.’ Y/N pointed to the chair opposite her at the table and she looked at May. She shook her head as she placed the two mugs down on the table.

‘May please, he’s right there. Can’t you see him? He’s there okay. He helped me with my chemistry homework okay. He’s alive.’

‘Y/N, he’s not here.’

She looked back to where Peter was standing, except he wasn’t there anymore. Her eyes widened as her boyfriend disappeared.

‘Pete? Peter? Where’d you go?’ She called. She could hear the panic set into her voice.

She felt arms wrap around her and she cried into Aunt May’s chest.

‘He was telling me jokes in class and- and-’ Y/N hiccupped.

Peter was now gone, and Y/N had finally come to terms with it, and she let out all the pain.

She fell onto the floor, wailing loudly. The pain, it was unbearable. It was scorching hot but ice cold at the same time. It was nothing but everything at once.

May helped her up and guided her towards Peter’s bedroom. May knew that Y/N needed to rest and was unsure whether sleeping on Peter’s bed would be good for her or not, but it was the best and easiest place for she to stay for tonight.

May again, let Y/N’s mum know that she was staying over because she was in no position to go home but to let the school know that she wasn’t going to be at school the next day and to pick her up late morning.

Peter’s scent filled her nose when she entered her dead boyfriend’s room. Everything was left the exact same, nothing had changed.

She fell onto Peter’s bed in the corner of his room and cocooned herself in his cold blankets. She was wrapped in his scent and she knew that this was the last time she would feel whole in a long time. So, she fell asleep to try and numb the pain.

She hadn’t just lost her boyfriend, she was feeling the pain of losing her best friend and her mind.

-

'Cause I'm bringing you back to life And I know that you're gone, but I swear that you're here It's a feeling that won't disappear

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #post infinity war #pre endgame #marvel imagine #peter parker #spider-man #spider-man x reader #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fanfiction #spider-man fanfic #spider-man fanfiction #peter parker x you #spider-man x you #spider-man imagine #peter parker imagine

[milomeepit]

Diamond In The Rough: Chapter Seven

Roman has always wanted better. Has always believed that there’s a better life, a better world, just out of reach. Just beyond the veil of shitty teachers who don’t care, angry classmates that scream insults and slurs at each other all day, and drug-hazed parents who are more concerned with their next hit than looking after their ten year old son.

When he runs away after a particularly bad night at home and finds a quiet little cafe/bookstore tucked away in a back alley of the city, the sweet couple who run the joint (an odd pair; a quiet, gloomy man with a wry sense of humour and a cynical gleam in his eye, and a bouncy man who smiles like sunshine and laughs like a storybook king) help show him that maybe- just maybe- he really can have the life he always dreamed of.

Masterpost (to be added soon!)

Word Count: 2448

Chapter Warnings: Nightmares, parent death mention, dysphoria and coming out mention

Over the next couple of days, between tending to customers, cleaning tables, baking treats, and snuggling his husband, Patton spent his time pretty much glued to Roman’s side. The two of them talked for hours about movies and jokes and cartoons. The child’s laughter and delighted surprise every time Patton whipped out a pun or a reference warmed his heart.

It was a late Thursday night when Patton was startled awake by Roman shrieking. He fumbled for his glasses as Virgil stirred beside him. “Shh, it’s okay, I got it,” He whispered, awkwardly patting Virgil’s shoulder.

“Mm... call me ‘f you need me,” Virgil mumbled, his voice rough and sleepy.

Patton’s heart swelled with love for the protective, caring gleam in his husband’s half-closed eyes. He kissed him on the cheek before stumbling out of bed, then made his way down the hallway towards the guest room where Roman was staying. “Hey, sweetheart, it’s me,” He called softly as he nudged the door open. 

It took a moment of bleary eyed blinking for him to realise that Roman was not, in fact, in bed. The covers had been flung off, left in a chaotic tangle that hung off the side of the bed. 

“... Ro? Where are you, hon?” He asked softly, running his gaze over the room.

“Closet,” A muffled voice responded nervously.

Patton made his way over to the closet set into the wall of the bedroom across from the door and bobbed down in front of it. “Can I open the door?” He asked.

The sliding door slowly slipped across with a faint squeak, revealing a pale and shaky looking Roman curled up in the corner. “... Hi,” He said. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“Oh, honey, it’s okay,” Patton soothed. “What’s wrong?”

Roman hesitated, then scooched to the side, making room in the small space underneath the coats hanging above him. Patton took the invitation and crawled in, his legs curled awkwardly under him, and opened his arms. Roman cuddled up to him, letting out a soft sigh and relaxing against him as Patton started to gently run his fingers through his hair.

“I had a bad dream,” He whispered.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Patton pressed his face into the boy’s hair, his arms wrapped gently around him.

Roman nodded, the words spilling out of him in a rush. “I, um... I was with my parents. And they were yelling. There were other people there, some of their friends, I think. They were all yelling at each other. And I was standing behind them all, and I couldn’t breathe, and they were all so angry, and I started crying, and Dad yelled at me to shut up, and... and-”

He burst into tears, and Patton’s heart throbbed. “Oh, Roman, sweetheart, it’s okay. Let it all out, honey, you’re safe. I promise, everything’s okay.” He murmured, rubbing Roman’s back as he cried, his small body jerking violently with each sob.

Every fibre of his being ached for Roman, every jolt of his shoulders sending another sharp needle lancing through Patton’s heart. There had to be some way to help him, better than sending him home or abandoning him to the cold chaos of the foster care system. They had to find some way to keep him safe and happy and warm and-

He cut off his own train of thought with a deep breath. No use getting worked up, he scolded himself gently. That isn’t going to help anybody. So he sat there, his hands lightly tracing shapes over Roman’s back, peppering kisses into his hair as Roman cried and clung to him.

Eventually, gradually, Roman began to quiet. His sobs ebbed into sniffles, and the shuddering of his shoulders faded into a slight tremble. Patton didn’t move, not yet. The last thing he wanted was to disturb Roman before he was ready. He clearly needed hugs, needed love, needed kisses and toys and warm food and stories and songs.

Roman shuffled, and he loosened his grip so that he could move back a little. It was hard to see in the dark of the closet, surrounded by jackets and scarves, but Patton could still see his face, red and streaked with tears. “Thank you,” He whispered.

“Anytime, Ro. Really,” Patton promised, brushing back his fringe and leaning forward to kiss his forehead again. “Would you like to sleep in our bed tonight?”

Roman brightened, and Patton’s heart fluttered happily at the faint smile on his face. “Really? You’re sure you don’t mind?” He tilted his head to the side, his grip on Patton’s pyjama shirt tightening.

“Of course!” Patton chuckled. “Come on, my legs are gonna fall asleep if we stay squeezed up in here, cozy as it is.”

Roman scampered over his lap, popping out of the closet with a giggle. “That’s just ‘cause you got old man legs!” He teased as he poked his tongue out at Patton.

Patton gasped in mock offense, placing a hand against his chest as he crawled out of the closet. “Hey, well these ‘old man legs’ can still catch little princes!” He growled playfully, advancing on Roman, who shrieked in delight and dodged to the side.

“No way! You can’t get me!” He declared, vaulting onto the bed and bouncing up and down on it. 

“Oh, really?” Patton winked before pouncing, scooping Roman out of the air mid-bounce and attacking his belly and sides with probing fingers. Roman squealed, twisting and wriggling in his arms to try and get away from the assault of tickles. “Nobody escapes the tickle monster!” Patton exclaimed with a grin.

He shifted Roman so that he was held over his shoulder, the pair of them still giggling as he carried him out to the hallway, almost bumping into a very sleepy Virgil who was making his way towards them, his hand pressed to the wall to find his way in the dark.

“... Heard yellin’,” Virgil yawned and leaned against the wall, scrubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.

“Tickle fight,” Roman informed him solemnly, twisting to meet his eyes over Patton's head.

Virgil took a moment to process, then nodded. “I see. Serious business then, eh?” He nudged Roman, who burst into another fit of giggles. He glanced to Patton while Roman was distracted, a clear inquiry for an explanation.

Patton shook his head and mouthed, ‘Bad dream’. 

Virgil nodded again, then paused, looking between Roman’s doorway and the doorway to their room. ‘Our bed?’ He mouthed, raising an eyebrow.

Patton flashed a sweet smile, hoping it would be enough to win him over. ‘Just tonight?’

Virgil rolled his eyes fondly and jerked his head towards their room. “Alright, kid, if you’re coming, let’s go. You might have the luxury of being carried, but these floorboards are colder than a midsummer Arendelle."

Roman snorted. "Yeah, right, Grim Burton." He wriggled out of Patton's grasp, landing on the floorboards with a gasp. He immediately clung to Virgil, and scrambled to climb up him. "Ohmygoshthat'sabsolutelyfreezing!" He whined.

Virgil rolled his eyes, easily plucking Roman off the ground and swinging him around so he clung to his back like a baby koala. Patton giggled at the sight, clasping his hands together in delight. “Come on, then, Sleepless Beauty, let’s get back to bed before you get any more hyped up.” With that, Virgil turned on his heel and carried Roman back into the cozy warmth of his and Patton’s bedroom.

Patton smiled dreamily after them for a moment before he followed. There was something so sweet about seeing the two of them together, teasing and playing and cuddling. It warmed him to his core, sent tickly tingles of happiness from his toes right to the tips of his hair. The urge to bake rocketed through him, but he settled for waving his hands in front of him in excitement, giggling quietly for a few seconds. 

He was worried that the sudden flurry of movement would disturb the other two, but when he peered through the half-open door of the bedroom, Virgil was already sprawled across the bed in his usual gangly fashion, his long limbs sticking out at odd angles. Roman had burrowed into the blankets and was curled up in a ball with his back against Virgil’s side. He reminded Patton suddenly of a kitten.

He hung back in the doorway, watching the pair of them. Virgil reached over to rest a hand on Roman’s back, mumbling something which made the boy laugh again, a sweet, soft laugh like tinkling bells. Patton’s stomach fluttered pleasantly at the sound, like he’d swallowed stardust that danced and twirled and twinkled inside him, and that took him a little by surprise. He’d had that feeling exactly three times in his life. 

The first he could remember was when he was quite small, feeling his father’s large, strong hands throwing him up into the air. If he closed his eyes, he could still picture the layout of their backyard, strewn with toys and gardening tools. In those moments, he’d felt like Daddy was teaching him to fly, like if he learned the secret to hang in the air just a half-second longer then the two of them could soar up into the endless sky for forever. (‘Like birds, Daddy!’) Patton had, of course, always come back down, into his father’s arms, the two of them laughing and clinging tightly to each other, their cheeks pressed together, until Mom called them inside for dinner, and Patton loved him so much he felt that his heart would burst.

The second was after his mother died. It was a painful time for the whole family. His father had been away on a business trip, and Patton was staying with his grandmother. He could only recall vague, painful snatches from the day. Daddy had appeared on the doorstep, his coat already half-off his shoulders, his face red and cracked and painful, and swept him up into a tight hug, so tight he could hardly breathe. (‘I love you so much, Pippa.’) He remembered sitting on the living room floor, his legs splayed on either side of the dollhouse he had in front of him, and his grandmother being too distracted with whatever it was Daddy was explaining to her in a low voice to tell him off for sitting in such an unladylike way. 

He’d stayed with Abuelita that night, and the next, and the night after that, and every night Daddy promised that he’d pick him up before long. (‘I just need to sort out a few more things, princess. I’ll see you soon.’) Eventually Daddy stopped calling. Patton understood. Talking was painful, both of them always holding their breath and waiting for that third musical voice to join their conversations. For a long time, Patton hated Abuelita’s house, hated the lace and the dainty trinkets and the biting lemon air freshener, hated eating the food that wasn’t his Mom’s, hated Abuelita. He came home from school one day, just a few months later, to find her sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, tears rolling down her face, a scrapbook from Mom’s quinceañera sitting open on the table, they hadn’t spoken. He’d slid into the chair next to her, and the two of them had held each other as they cried. The next morning he’d woken up to find Abuelita with a brand new recipe book, flicking through the pages to make something for breakfast. (‘We’ll make new foods, chiquita. New foods and new memories.’)

The third was when he came out. It was just after his 14th birthday, and Abuelita was already loudly planning his own quinceañera. Everything about it just... rubbed him the wrong way. He wasn’t sure if it was the whole coming-of-age thing, the cost, or... something else. Something he was pretty sure he knew, but didn’t want to think about. He’d been over at Virgil’s house, pacing back and forth, his hands tightening into fists, clutching the powder blue skirt swishing around his knees. Virgil lay on his bed, his legs up against the wall and his head hanging upside-down off the edge of the bed, watching his best friend rant. He’d let Patton go on for a few minutes, his face gradually darkening into a concerned frown, before interrupting and asking the question that had brought what Patton thought he knew about himself crashing down. (‘Pip, you love cheesy parties and fancy outfits and sappy customs... so why are you really against this?’) 

Virgil had stuck right by his side as they poured over internet articles and forums, as they watched movies and shows and read books, as they flicked through books of names and their meanings. He’d held Patton’s hand in a comfortingly tight grip as he explained to Abuelita, in a voice thick with tears and anxiety, that he wasn’t a girl. That he wanted to be called by a different name, to cut his hair and get chunkier glasses that didn’t make his face look so round and soft. That he didn’t want a quinces, or dresses, or makeup. Abuelita had gazed at him silently for a long, tense second, and then requested to speak with him alone. Virgil had bitten back, refusing, but Patton squeezed his hand and nodded, and Virgil had, after a moment, stepped back, the protective flame within him down but still smouldering.

Once he was out of the room, Abuelita had gotten up from her chair in the kitchen, gathered him into her arms, and kissed the top of his hair. She had cooed softly in Spanish as Patton trembled in her arms, tears spilling over to drip down his cheeks. (‘Oh, darling, I love you. Chiquita, I-’ She paused. ‘Chiquito, I’m sorry that I ever made you feel like I wouldn’t accept you and love you, for always.’) They’d called Virgil in, both of them crying and smiling, and he’d immediately wrapped his arms around Patton in a tight hug. Patton had blubbered near-incoherent words of gratitude into his shoulder, and Virgil had rubbed his back and whispered comfortingly. (‘Anytime, Pat. I got your back, always. Promise.’)

Looking in from the doorway, it dawned on Patton exactly what it was Roman needed. Hugs and food, sure, but what he really needed was family. He needed that love. That safety and security that no matter how high he flew, how much he hurt, how scary something seemed, someone would be there to hold him and be by his side. And in that moment, Patton made up his mind. 

Come hell or high water, he would be that person.

#TS-Storytime 2019 Submission #milo writes #ditr #gemstone tales #roman sandals #virgil sanders #patton sanders #sanders sides

[meloday6]

A Thousand Words

Reader X Jae

| Masterlist | 

Words: 2820

Warnings: Angst

Side Note: “A Thousand Words” is a series that explores 5 different scenarios with 5 members.

Jae | Sungjin | Young K | Wonpil | Dowoon

Saying goodbye shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.

/

Sobs tear from your throat, filling the white room with their grief. Comes as if you cry hard enough, your dog will jump right off the metal examination table and look at you as if to say, “I’m okay, let’s go home.” But the Golden Retriever lies there, breaths coming out slow and labored, death just a shadow in her big brown eyes.

Stay, you nestle your face into the fur around your dog’s neck, cling to the life of your best friend as if it was your life to be lost. Stay, you know the thought is selfish, that your dog is in pain and you have to let go.

“Stay,” your voice breaks as you try to memorize the little scar on her nose, the doggy odor of her fur, the softness of her ears. Try to burn the memory of her life behind your eyelids.

“Kkul, I love you,” you say. At the sound of her name, Kkul manages a wag of her tail before summoning the rest of her strength to raise her head and look you in the eye. You cup your dog’s face with gentle hands and bring your foreheads together. “Thank you for everything,” your voice cracks but Kkul has to know, “you made me so happy.” You kiss the little scar on Kkul’s nose and the Golden Retriever lets out a sigh.

There is no fear in Kkul’s eyes, just exhaustion and love, her gaze unfaltering almost as if to say:

I’m ready to go.

I know, I know your heart shatters. You know that the cancer was spreading too fast. Know that thirteen years should be enough. So why does it hurt this much?

Kkul rests her head in your arms one last time, eyes already beginning to close.

“Goodbye.”

/

“(Y/N),” your puffy eyes focus on Dr. Park as he guides you to a chair and hands you a water bottle. “Do you have anyone to drive you home?”

When you blink blankly at him, he kneels in front of you.

“It’s almost 2am,” he reminds you gently. “You need to rest.”

Dr. Park wears a smile reserved for hurt animals and more than once you catch him using it on you. You clutch Kkul’s red collar closer to your chest, ignoring the pity in his eyes as you watch snow begin to fall.

“My neighbor drove me here.” Park Jaehyung, the tall, lanky boy that lives next door with his awkward Korean and sleepy eyes when you had pounded on his front door at midnight. When it all began to fall apart. Your car wouldn’t start, Kkul was struggling to stand and the only thing you could do was panic. Jaehyung asked no questions as he helped carry her to his car and drove you to the animal hospital far faster than the speeding limit.

You were sure that he had gone home by now, likely in the warmth of his bed.

You don’t miss Dr. Park’s frown when you shake your head, but tonight you don’t care where you sleep, don’t care if you sleep at all.

“I can walk home.” You say despite all logic and Dr. Park’s frown deepens because there’s a blizzard outside and you are dressed in a thin sweater you barely managed to throw on in the rush and sweatpants, and sandals.

“Where do you live?” Dr. Park asks, as his hand disappears into one of the pockets of his white coat for keys, his mind seemingly made up. The high tinker of a bell rings through the deserted waiting room before he can fish them out. Both of you stare because who comes in at this time?

There Park Jaehyung stands, slightly out of breath with snow dusting his bangs and eyelashes. A long beige winter coat is draped over his frame and you unwillingly shiver as cold air escapes into the room. Jaehyung’s eyes soften as they notice the collar in your grasp and he wraps the blanket he brought over your head and tucks it tightly around your body. The two men exchange a glance as Dr. Park steps back and helps Jaehyung guide you to your feet. A strange feeling washes over you because you don’t know Park Jaehyung all that well, but every part of you trusts him and, well, f*ck it. He’s seen you at your worst, it’s nearing 3 in the morning and he’s driving you home.

You don’t have time to brace yourself before he opens the door. The cold hits you hard, but your eyelids are heavy and by the time you are seated in the passenger seat of the heated car, you’ve lost consciousness.

When you wake up 45 minutes later on your couch in your living room, everything hits you like a brick wall. Jaehyung welcomes you back to consciousness with a steaming cup, the clock reading 4am and you’re really starting to feel guilty.

“I found your keys in your sweater,” he explains quickly as he gestures to the keys lying on the coffee table next to the water bottle. You’ve already figured that much, ready to see him out. But when you stand, you see her leash on the door, the food and water dishes in the corner and her bed by the wall and it’s all too much because she’s gone.

A sob unwillingly forces its way out your throat and you almost surprise yourself when you crumble down as all the strength in your legs give out. You’re shaking as each sob wracks your body. You’re tired, already so tired of crying, but they come out beyond your control and you wrap your arms around yourself.

She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone.

A gentle touch on your shoulder shocks you to look up as tears escape the corners of your eyes. Jaehyung doesn’t need to ask, he already knows you need a hug. His long arms wrap around your back and waist and he pulls you into his lap on the floor, wrapping his legs around yours until he’s squeezing you tight. It’s just so warm and comforting that you lean your head on his chest to let it all go. You both lay there, splayed on your living room floor until it’s almost 5 in the morning and Jae’s English I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry finally stops. He nuzzles against the top of your head to see if you’re awake.

“Wanna sleep?” He asks with a yawn and you shake your head as you unravel from around him, rubbing your eyes. He almost smiles at the sight but sighs instead as your eyes widen at his tear-soaked shirt. “It’s okay.” There’s exhaustion in the color of Jaehyung’s face and heaviness in his body as he sits up beside you.

“Jaehyung, I’m so sorry,” you start, but he interrupts with a smile so soft and forgiving, you stop. You’ve seen that smile before, through the blur of memories, before your parents gave ownership of the house to you, before you moved out abroad for high school when you knew nothing other than the joys of playing in the rain and eating popsicles on summer days.

“(Y/N)! Apologize!” The five-year-old you is blinking back tears as the daycare teacher is pointing an accusing finger. The skinny boy’s bright yellow Mr. Sun t-shirt is sporting a pink stain from where you had plunged the pink popsicle in your anger.

“He was in the way,” you mumble as you glare at the giggling girls behind him. Mrs. Kim, the teacher, doesn’t seem to hear as she’s trying to keep the stain from spreading on his shirt. She turns to glare at you.

“What am I supposed to tell Jaehyung’s mother?” She scolds you, but Kim Jaehyung struggles away from her before beaming brightly.

“Mommy’ll think it’s pretty.” He points at the pink bleeding into the yellow. “It’s like pink lemonade!” Mrs. Kim rolls her eyes as she storms off to make a phone call.

At that, you begin to cry because you never meant to hurt him, but the girls were calling your mom a cheater and everything at home isn’t the same anymore and you really, really don’t want to get in trouble.

A hand on your shoulder has you looking up at Jaehyung, who’s wearing a soft, forgiving smile. “Don’t cry, (Y/N)! It’s not your fault.” He leans closer and glances around as if to see if anyone was listening before saying, “Those girls were being a bunch of meanies.” When you blink the tears away, he reaches a hand out for you to shake.

“Call me Jae.”

“Call me Jae.” With that, he scoops you up and opens the door to your bedroom, plopping you gently down onto your bed. He tucks you under the blankets. Maybe you’re running on the last bit of energy or you’ve just completely lost your mind, but before you can properly register what you’re doing, you tug on his sleeve.

“Stay.”

The word whisks you back into a room with white walls, with Kkul lying on the examination table. For a moment you’re scared that he’ll leave you alone in the dark of your room with nothing but your thoughts.

“Stay.” You’re begging Jae. But he’s beginning to cry too and you don’t want to lose your only friend, your best friend. “You don’t have to go to California. You can live with me, you can sleep in my room, we can watch mo-”

“I can’t!” Jae snaps and he immediately regrets it because you begin to cry and you know you shouldn’t be crying because you’re already seven years old and it’s your birthday today and everything's just falling apar-

“Here,” Jae hands you a large box and before you open it, a little face appears. A Golden Retriever with a little scar on her nose and big caramel brown eyes. You’re shocked speechless, so Jae does the talking instead.

“My aunt’s dog had puppies and I knew you’ve always wanted one,” Jae says sheepishly as he scratches the back of his head. “But I promise you, when I’m older, I’ll come back and find you and we’ll do everything together. We’ll walk her, we’ll feed her, we’ll pl-”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Jae!” He doesn’t get to finished and you’re engulfing him in a hug but he’s so skinny that you easily bowl him over.

“Happy birthday,” he says when the puppy begins to lick your face and you erupt into giggles. “And I mean what I said.” You hold the puppy at arm's length as she struggles to lick your face.

“You promise?”

“Of course.”

“Of course.” He says it like it was his plan to before you asked, like leaving you on your own wasn’t even an option. And maybe it wasn’t.

“She used to sleep beside me,” you say, trying to explain why you won’t be able to sleep with the memory of burying your head in her fuzzy chest to block out her snores and feel her heart beating against your ear into a rhythmic lullaby. To your surprise, Jae makes himself at home as he pulls the blankets over him and you’re both engulfed in warmth before Jae tucks his arms around you and pulls you to his chest.

“Do you remember me, (Y/N)?” Jae finally breaks the silence and you nod against him, reminiscing in memories.

“When did you turn into Park Jaehyung?” You ask.

“Since my mother married another man,” he says after a pause and there’s a moment before he breaks the pregnant silence again. OH.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise.” You’re not mad, but the silence leaves something bitter in your mouth so you let him explain. “I couldn’t, I couldn’t talk to you. Not when she was sick, I couldn’t do that to you, I couldn’t do that to her. She needed you, and only you.”

“Okay.” You say because you know that he is right. She deserved all your attention in her last days, the days that Park Jaehyung was beginning to move in and was nothing more than a foreign neighbor.

Jae then begins to say in his awkward Korean, a thousand words, apologies that seem like nonsense to his ears, but mean everything to yours, and you begin to find a home in the rumble of his chest and smoothness of his voice as his heart beats, beats, beats against your ear. As you drift off in his arms, for the first time that day, the tips of your chapped lips curl up.

/

It’s been a month since you lost Kkul, but a month since the start of a rekindling friendship between you and the lanky neighbor next door. Every day, Jae would drop by and make himself at home on your couch where you would listen to him talk about his day, well, more complain about his friends and how Brian doesn’t let him crash on his couch (even though he has a perfectly fine couch in his own house) and how the Wonpil kid is too clingy (but you don’t miss Jae’s fond smile). Through it all, you wear a smile for when you’re utterly in love, and more than once you catch yourself smiling at Jae. Jae seems to notice too because he finds himself holding you in his arms as he lets you hear the beating of his heart while you both fall asleep. Only because you have trouble sleeping alone. Well, that’s what Jae tells himself.

One day, Jae doesn’t barge into your house and make himself at home on your couch like he always does and it’s Christmas Eve so you understand, but you’re still wearing a frown because he would have told you.

You’re beginning to feel awfully alone with the Christmas decorations that no one is going to see and the room begins to feel too big without Jae to fill the silence. The lights on the tree blink slowly, almost teasingly, and you turn to look at the clock on the wall. It’s almost midnight and you’re starting to wonder if you were wrong to believe that this Christmas would be different. A Christmas without Kkul.

Every Christmas was with Kkul. You would dress her in a Santa Claus hat and both of you would watch the snowfall as you baked cookies. The memories squeeze your heart and your throat.

You don’t even notice the tears that cascade down your face when the doorbell rings because there on the other side of the door is Jae.

“Merry Christmas!”

Jaehyung is grinning the biggest grin you’ve ever seen, but it turns into a frown as his eyes scan your face. A Golden retriever puppy squirms in his arms. Shocked and speechless, you plop onto the floor as you begin to bawl. You know you should be at least a little bit embarrassed, especially since there’s a Golden Retriever puppy and your crush at your door. But you can’t bring yourself to remotely feel anything other than love. The puppy launches itself into your lap and stops wiggling, settling its little face on your hand as it peers up at you in concern.

“I’m so sorry,” Jae begins, a little taken aback by your reaction, but you’re hugging the puppy tight against your chest and pulling Jae down. He lands in an awkward sprawl of limbs.

“Jae, stop,” you interrupt and hug him closer, “this is the best gift.” Jae wordlessly wraps his arms around the both of you.

“He’s a boy. I hope you don’t mind.” Jae says against the top of your head and you almost snort because of course you don’t.

“J,” you say.

“What?” Jae asks, but you shake your head.

“J, right here,” you show him as you trace a small black J marking on the puppy’s cheek.

“J.” Jae rolls it on his tongue and J barks happily. You nuzzle into his creamy fur.

“I have two Jaes in my life now,” you give him a cheeky smile and Jae leans closer.

“But I only have one you.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, but Jae is completely serious as he leans back to look at your face. The comfortable silence stretches so long, J gives a little yip before struggling out of your grasp and into Jae’s lap. Smiling, you lean over the puppy to wrap your arms around Jae’s neck.

“Thank you,” you say as you shyly lean up and give Jae a little peck on his cheek. Before you can pull away, Jae pulls you back and it’s a shy touch of lips and fluttering of eyelashes as eyes close.

“Merry Christmas,” Jae whispers against your lips when you finally pull apart, blush dusting over his pale cheeks.

“Merry Christmas,” you pause, “both my j’s.” You smile when Jae groans.

/

Hello everyone! This is Spyce here! I hope you’ve all had a great holiday! 

If you've made it this far through my story and finished it to the end, I want to sincerely thank you, but there's one thing that I would like to ask of you. If you have a pet, please stop whatever you are doing right now and tell them you love them. Even if it's a fish, if it's a hamster, get up and tell them, maybe through an extra treat, because you never know what will happen in the future. Don't ever take them for granted.

"He might be only a small part of your life, but for him, you are his everything, the only person in his whole life."

#day6writersnet #jae #pets #angst #childhood friends #dogs #christmas #puppies #death #day6

[loversandantiheroes]

Jigsaw - A Whouffaldi Fic - Part 4

Author’s Note: I know, it’s been eighty-four years, I’m so sorry guys.  Still not quite the end, but I’m bound and determined to get there before Christmas.  As ever, this is just my own flavor of wishful thinking, pieced together with a few headcanons and ideas.  Thanks again to @veradune  @sansaoftheborealvalley and @kingandcrook for their support and feedback.  You guys are fantastic <3

Summary: Because some pieces can’t be kept apart forever.  Post- Hell Bent reunion fic.  Part four of I’m-really-not-sure-anymore.

Rating: T

Warnings: Angst, suicidal ideation (in a vague fashion), general sappiness

Word Count: 2517

AO3 Link: here

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3

       before...

The stones beneath her are cold.  She kneels anyway, unfazed, not unfeeling but unaffected by the chill.  The Doctor's coat is rough under her hands, his shoulders steel-straight beneath.  He's cold too.  Frozen and cracking.

Four and a half billion years.

The tears come in a warm flood as she locks her fingers together behind the Doctor's neck, pulling his face as close as she dares.  She calls him by name; a name she shouldn’t remember, a day that never happened, but somehow here it fills her head like strange music, a half-forgotten melody.  

His hands shake, but his eyes settle on her properly at last.  A cold trickle from his mind to hers, like a draft in a haunted ruin, and she senses the hard fact of it, seven days all told between when he last stumbled out of the transporter and the breaking of the wall, but beyond that she feels the rest.  Borrowed memories.  His and not his.  Echoes  An ocean floor made of the skulls of his predecessors.

How many times had he died for the chance to save her?  How many times had she died to save him?

Her own death is one stilled heartbeat away, and the Doctor has endured something far more cruel just to bring her back.  If this is their last chance…

In her heart, she makes one last apology to the memory of Danny Pink for the promise she’s about to break.

These words, from me, are yours.  Forever.  After time stops.  After the last star goes dark.  Nothing but these words remain.  Do you understand?

His face softens; thaws.  The shadows in his eyes lengthen.  The hands that cup her face are trembling.

His name on her lips again, quiet, secret.  Part of her knows what it means to his kind, this kind of confession, this promise.  She has to get it right just this once.  She'd bind their hands if she could.  Her fingers curl into his hair instead.  Please God let me get it right.  

And then the words come, finally, with them an enormous sweep of relief.  Unlocked at last, the half-secret she'd kept caged in her chest.  Words she's said a scant handful of times before, and always wrong.  First time a weapon, second time a deception, third time a promise made as the phone line cut, clattered, the last thing Danny Pink had heard in his too-short life.  A declaration twisted into a death knell in her head, and her heart locked it up so tight she hasn’t dared speak it again until now.

I love you, she says, a rush of breath as he brushes her tears away.

After the last star goes dark, he says, and his voice breaks.  With all I am, and ever could be.  I love you Clara Oswin Oswald.  After the end of everything, I love you.

　　now...

The memory flitters around them, cold and sweet, and Clara feels the Doctor's hands grip her tighter.  He says nothing, but he doesn't need to.  What he feels, she knows.  There is a lightness in her chest, every heartbeat like the beating of wings.

Let me be brave, she thinks, the lightness unfurling, wings made of promise and memory.  I love you.

- Always.  I love you, too.

They fly.

　　then...

"Are you sure?" Me asks when Clara walks into the console room.  She's put on her clothes from Trap Street - death shroud by Marks and Spencer.  The unflappable immortal has a look of almost apologetic kindness on her face.

Clara smiles, a tight half-sickle.  The outfit's old enough by now it should've fallen to dust a few times over.  Perks of living in a time machine - saves money on mothballs and garment bags.  She's fished it out a handful of times.  After long days and bad days and close scrapes, but she's always wobbled at the last second.  Something would come up, or Me would give her one of those long looks of infinite patience that was her way of offering an out, her way of saying it was ok to not be ready.  This time, though, there was no bad day.  Nothing happened.  She'd just swung her legs over the edge of the bed and a part of her had said softly, but with great finality; now.

"Yes."  The certainty of the word gives both women pause.  "I'm-"  She falters.  What is she?  Sure?  No.  Tired.  Tired more than anything.  "Ready," she says.  "I'm ready."

She plunges her hands into the psychic interface on the console and the TARDIS lurches violently.

The landing is so gentle it's nearly anticlimactic. The lurch-and-shudder settles and Clara's already halfway to the door.  She's in a hurry now, get it done and over with, and as her hand settles on the doorknob she remembers where she's going, really going.  Not Gallifrey, but Trap Street.  And with a lurch, she remembers he would be there.  In the doorway just behind her.  The Doctor.  For the first time in so very long she would see his face again properly, and there is a sinking feeling in her chest.  One last look.  It almost feels worth the cost.

The light that streams in from the Diner's windows is burnished gold, the ground beyond that powdery and red.  In the distance there is a barn.  She's gone farther out than she's meant to, landed in the wastes.  The barn wavers in the heat and suddenly she can smell old hay and pungent earth, remembers the three of them standing there, the Doctor in triplicate, solemn as pallbearers in the coppery sunlight, can hear the phantom of the child he had been, sobbing in the cold darkness.  Her stomach does a neat backflip.  Too much.  Too many memories.  Things she thought she'd left behind.  They followed, that was the hell of it.  Slow enough, but they pick up and followed, doggedly, unwaveringly.  But always just behind, waiting to catch up.  There is a pressure behind her eyes, heat and pain, a knot in her throat.  Move, she tells herself.

Without another thought she storms out the doors and into the wastes, corners of her eyes prickling.  Outside the wind is hot, sun just a bit too bright through unshed tears, and she turns, stumbles, trying to get her bearings.  Surely they can't be so far from the citadel she wouldn't be able to see it - and then the bells sound.  She wheels at the sound and there it is, a red-gold spire under glass, and it holds her attention for just a second.  Because there are people coming.  A bloody great horde of people moving out from Citadel across the wastes towards her TARDIS.

"We've overshot," Me calls out.  She jogs up, hands thrust deeply into the pockets of her jacket.  "Twenty or thirty years, give or take, but....oh.  Were you expecting a welcoming party?"

"Not particularly, no."  Clara shrugs.  "Come to make sure I don't run off again I suppose."

They meet in the middle; two humans and hundreds of Gallifreyans.  And that's the bit that puts a furrow in Clara's brow.  Not Time Lords, just ordinary people.  There are no raised voices, no torches, no weapons, but all seem to regard her with a worrying intensity.  Folded in the arms of more than half of them is a book stamped in circular Gallifreyan script, but Clara can't make out the writing.  Too far away.  Rassilon's Guide to Proper Mob Etiquette for all she knows.  

"Not here for a fuss," she says.  Brave face on, she puts her hands up, turns slowly on the spot.  A mob might not be able to kill her, but she knew from experience that it could still hurt like hell if they decided they were angry enough at you to give it a go.  "I've come to turn myself in."

They stare back at her, solemn and yet...

Her step falters.

They are crying.

I don't understand, she starts to say, and then several things happen at once.

A rumble starts, something she doesn't hear so much as feel, a funny pressure in her ears.  And then, sliding over the horizon, a broad, insectile ship barrels towards them at great speed, skimming low over the hardpan.  The Doctor had told her about these, when Rassilon had sent a company to bring him in after he broke through the confession dial.  Sky tank, he'd called it.  Big ugly thing, like a helicopter made up to look like a mosquito's head.

"No!" a small voice wails.  "Clara, no!"

From the crowd, a little girl darts out.  A plump woman with greying ginger hair tries to snatch at her arm, mortified, but her fingers catch only empty air.  The sky tank bears down and Clara finds herself staring down the barrel of three probiscus-like canons as the little girl drops her book and throws her arms around Clara's waist.

The com crackles on and a tight, weary voice says, "ATTENTION ALL NON-MILITARY PERSONNEL, STEP AWAY FROM CLARA OSWALD."

Without a word, the crowd shifts out, surrounding the outsiders.

"Clara," Me says incredulously.

She cranes her head around.  "What?"

"The books," she says, a look of amused puzzlement on her face.  The unflappable has been flapped.  Clara follows her eyes to the volumes many of the crowd still clutch protectively.  The little girl's copy rests at her feet, traced in delicate, swooping lines of flaking gold leaf.  

The Hybrid, it says.

"What the hell is going on?"

"I REPEAT, ALL NON-MILITARY PERSONNEL PLEASE STEP AWAY FROM CLARA OSWALD."

"Oh for pity's sake," sighs a second exasperated voice.  "Is the Doctor with you?"

Not for a long long time.  "No," she calls out.  "The Lady Me and myself, that's all.  Scan the TARDIS if you like."  She points behind her, catching a dizzying view of the diner again surrounded by desert, painted in deep crimson and purple.  "Nobody here but us chickens."

The little girl tightens her grip on Clara's waist, small fingers pinching.  "No!" she wails.  "Don't let them!  Don't let them take her."

"MA'AM PLEASE," starts the first voice, "STEP AWAY FROM THE CROWD AND -"

"Oh will you just land the damned thing, boy!" a third, familiar voice says.

The com clicks off.  The cannon barrels rotate once, twice, then retract as landing platforms extend.  A hatch at the back opens, stairs descending.  

The General steps out onto the hardpan, grim-faced.  A shorter, red-draped woman with long graying hair follows in tow.

"Miss Oswald," the General says with a minuscule nod.  "Welcome back."

"Spare me."  The taste of copper floods her mouth.  The urge to spit in the General's grim, pretty face is almost overwhelming.  The General straightens, raises her head even as her eyes flick away to the dust.  A hint of shame.  Good.  Ohila stares straight on at Clara without so much as a flinch, not angry, not defiant, but scrutinizing.  She feels as if she's being puzzled out.

"What the hell do you think you're doing running at your own people with that thing?" she asks finally.  "They're unarmed.  We're unarmed."

"No offense, ma'am, but so was the Doctor.  Precautions had to be taken."

"Your shadow has grown long in your absence,” Ohila says, spreading her hands at the crowd.  “People have been telling stories."  Eyes tick over, taking stock.  Clara stares back.  Something registers in the old woman's face, and for half a second before she resolves herself back to an affectation of mild interest, she looks as if she might burst out laughing.

"Stories?  What stories?"

"What else?  Yours," Ohila says.  "And his."  She plucks a book from the hands of one of the crowd, begins to read.  "'The Hybrid: A true account of the deeds of The Doctor and his companion Clara Oswald in the wake of the Last Great Time War.'  First copies started circulating a few months after the two of you ran off.  It's grown quite popular."

The General steps forward and the crowd closes ranks tighter around Clara and Me.  "Ma'am, please," exasperated....no...worried.  "If you'll just accompany us back to the Citadel.  The extraction chamber is being prepared.  None of us wish to prolong this any more than it need be."

"A bit late for that, I should think," Ohila mutters.  A small smile tugs at her mouth.

“Please,” Clara says, not to the delegation but to the crowd fencing her in.  “I came back to do this.  It’s why I’m here.  If you’ve read that book, if you know my story then you have to know that.”

“Of course we do,” the plump old woman says.  The girl at Clara’s waist is sobbing now, and the woman places a gentle hand on her head.  “That’s why we came.  We wouldn’t be standing here if it weren’t for you and the Doctor.”

There’s fire in the old woman’s eyes when she looks at the General.  “We owe them better than this.  How many hearts on this planet still beat because of them?  How many lives saved?  I want to see you count them just this once.  We are all of us still drawing breath because of what they did.  And then you damned robed cowards repay them with traps and torture and death.”

Clara watches the General’s eyes drop again, sees the color creeping up her cheeks.  Such shame.  She’s almost proud of the old woman.  But right or wrong, it makes no difference now.  

“There’s no way out of this,” Clara says, putting that jagged streak of steel that’s always been in her into the words.  If she says it right, she’ll believe it.  If she says it right, maybe it will stop the tears that she can feel prickling the back of her eyes and the cold hard lump sticking in her throat.  “Believe me, the Doctor tried.  I tried.  I’ve been going on borrowed time long enough.  I didn’t come here to fight for my life.  I came here to end it.  I’m not afraid, not anymore.”

The plump woman shakes her head curtly and turns to Ohila, lips pressed to a tight, thin line.  “This isn’t right,” she says, pointing a crooked finger at the General.  “And you know it!”

“Her death-” the General began.

“Was senseless, pointless, and utterly your fault,” the other woman finished.

The General gawped.  “I -”

“Enough of this,” Clara says, and pushes the crying girl into the arms of her grandmother.  “Let’s go,” she says to Me, pushing her way through the crowd.  She turns to them once, eyes on the ground.  The little girl is still crying.  ��Thank you for trying,” she says.  “It’s good to know there’s still decency on this planet somewhere.  But this has to happen.  Everything ends.”

A small, quavering voice.  “Not everything,” the little girl says between hitching sobs.  Tears cut clean streaks in the red dust on the girl’s cheeks.  “N-n-not,” she stammers, the rest is lost as she buries her face into the old woman’s apron.

Not love.  Not always.

Her feet can’t carry her onboard the ship fast enough.

#whouffaldi #twelve x clara #doctor who fanfiction #twelfth doctor #clara oswald #sorry it literally took me almost two years to update #I am a bum

[writerspink]

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5.2

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7.2

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8.2

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9.1

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9.2

feasible teem pang vice tycoon succumb capacious onslaught excerpt eventful forfeit crusade tract haggard susceptible exemplify ardent crucial excruciating embargo disdain apprehend surpass sporadic flustered languish conventional disposition theme plunder ignore project complaint title dramatic delivery litter experimental clinic arrogance preparation remind atomic occasional conscious deny maturity closure stressed translator animate observation physical further gently registration suppress combination amazing constructive allied poetry passion ecstasy mystery cheerful contribution spirit failed gummy commerce prove disagreement raid consume embarrass preference migrant devour encouragement quote mythology destined destination illuminating struggle accent ungrateful giggle approval confidence expose scientist operation superstitious emergency manners absolutely swallow readily mutual bound crisp orient stress sort stare comfort verbal heel challenging advertisement envious sex scar astonish basis accuracy enviable alliance specific chef embarrassed counter tolerable sympathetic gradually vanish informative amaze royal furry insist jealousy simplify quiver collaborate dedicated flexible function mimic obstacle technique archaeologist fragment historian intact preserve reconstruct remnant commence deed exaggeration heroic impress pose saunter wring astound concealed inquisitive interpret perplexed precise reconsider suspicious anticipation defy entitled neutral outspoken reserved sought equal absorb affect circulate conserve cycle necessity seep barren expression meaningful plume focused genius perspective prospect stunned superb transition assume guarantee nominate

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install reticent corroborate regretfully strength murder concise cunning intention holy satire query confused progression disillusion background mundane abrupt multiple enormously introduce emulate harmful pragmatic pity rebut liberate enthusiastic elucidate camaraderie disparage nature creep profitability impression racist sobriety occupy autonomy currently amiable reiterate reproduce cripple modest offer atom provincial augment ungratefully expansion yield rashly allude immigration silence epitome exacerbate somber avid dispute vindicate collaborate manufacturer embellish superficial propaganda incompetent objective diminish statistics endure ambivalent perpetuate illuminate phenomenon exasperate originality restrict anxiety anthropology circumstances aesthetic manufacturing conventional dubious vulnerable reality precedent entity success term critical repair underscore stepmother republican hesitantly classic wary contents prediction immediate invoke notorious implicit excluding input skeptical foster element punish frank humanity profound dessert orthodox substance disappear encourage neighborhood elder superfluous naive ascertain complacent resilient deafening military tend prudent glare acceptance skillfully induce monster beam gullible conciliate vessel petty cantankerous disclose archaeology anecdote disdain electronics substantiate subjective tourism advisable joyful incredible provocative psychological ruins discipline condone indifferent misfortune judgmental industrialize tasty assume astute mission mar protective definitely escape oppress shocked virtual zealous endorse qualification hostile eccentric abstract disparate geographical scrutinize generalization tolerate activity claim dogmatic influential obsolete extol implausible subsequent resource chronic benevolent improve confidential ambiguous seriously dearth perplex hatred throughout dine contemporary evoke essentially economic flagrant obscure alleviate eloquent dreaadful clumsy sympathy victim condemn vigor condescend spontaneous quell reprehensible substantially sleeve equivocal ironic decry errand articulate progressive eradicate refreshments elicit aspiration recently exemplary bribery theoretical disingenuous partisan revere particle nostalgia self-aggrandizement debunk tyranny rhetoric hierarchy warning whimsical venerate commend assert miserable awful vibe constrain undermine explicit differentiate compliment scrupulous contempt erroneous ideal refute imply cynical rash presume insight revival vary delay renounce indignant offensive temperate circumstantial export peep logo advertise suppress distort chunk convoluted denounce overwhelming fertility rigorous acquire arrogant university antagonize profitable indulgent strategic breathing idiosyncrasy profession frugal discern accommodation adversary incredulous disturbance digress social belie roam smug continual pertinent voluntarily elite subtle blame sincerity lick horror censure involvement candid infer futile impetuous exploit bewilder sustain diligent sincere protect sealed musical empathy callous parenthetical insure acorn sarcasm seize sacrificially allege emphatic irrelevant progress diplomatic stunned improvise deride reconcile meticulous deject scientifically incontrovertible pressure justify gloomy depict supplant endurance analogous diary bolster slip contemplate pesticide glow religious advocate negligent creator lament fundamental embrace throne inherent inferior valuable thrive trivial pretense reserved capricious refresh refusal flight boost explanation coherent prevalent tenacious official royalty assassin rub poach delete

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warrant circumscribed somewhat explosive optimistic mandate previously detract opinion intuitive feasible intimate persistent humble simplicity tempt deliberate painful unethical fundamentals discrepancy remorse pessimistic possibility conclusion acknowledge impregnate soberly creation paralyze suitability oblige tranquil medal arbitrate pacify illusory susceptible vibrate vengeance infection democratic stressful grave speculative sample identification stifle obligation revenge organization namely mediocre practical scream weaken consensus affectionate deficient treacherous console isolation ingenious memory melodrama despair awestruck composition regret recommendation celebrity decision devoid opaque ornamentation longevity participate dread restore interrogate aid accordingly mislead embarrassment optimism domestic apt funds virtue geography fundamentally thoroughly press despite horrible chilling rental esteemed disappointment innovative contemplation assign popularize haunt deafen serene percent estrangement suffer extravagant throng estimate comment priesthood mass dreadfully promote periphery animated saying relate clarity triple derivative succeed distortion register suicide improvement discreet inquisition probable curative incident praise convenience baffle covet dreadful genuinely weary undisturbed disgruntled humility renown nonchalant monopoly comedy vague decisive inconsequential announcement fabricated nevertheless vigilant scarce neglectful hushed attainment tedious explode snatch pslm agency sentimental tension adhere meanwhile sacred avert conformity likewise challenger accessible responsibility peril contact event roast fallible catastrophic competitor violate resolute deceive exaggeration discredit intolerable approve paste dimly novelist demeanor norm politician satisfaction obvious vehicle reservation defer involve restoration crush audible assistant backpack attain inanimate commemorate confrontation emigration parasite disperse quantitative laughter policy vulgar occasionally repay effective eulogy starvation empty therapeutic overall immortal encompass inappropriate opportune engagement illustrate turmoil observatory classification expression reminiscence comedian invention depress remedy protagonist gesture texture diplomatic election prolong conducive emotional invigorate curiosity expressive %

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