and the last one is goodbye

Sequence [i]

pairing: chanyeol x reader
genre: angst
warnings: lots of sadness
word count: 4.8k
summary: every goodbye from him was another crack in your broken mirror, the last one leaving it shattered on the ground as he tried desperately to put it back together.


prologue [i]

Originally posted by porkdo-bi



His hands were rigid and stiff as he stared down at them, the muscles within the joints working uncomfortable hard to flex at the bend of the knuckles but failing. The air nipped relentlessly at his skin as he cursed himself for neglecting the gloves you’d mailed him so many months before, palms rubbing together with a deep sigh as he let his head drop backwards, his neck protruding from beneath the thick scarf surrounding it.

The metal adorning his left ring finger rolled around the skin with ease as he toyed with it subconsciously, the band itself managing a temperature even colder than the numb skin around it, a fitting comparison to the way the ring had lost value long before this moment. His eyes skimmed every face inevitably as they passed him, the feeling of guilt eating him alive, every pair of eyes feeling as if they were boring into him and digging out every secret he’d ever had.

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Prompt: Drake confronts MC
Notes: My MC’s name is Rosie Ellison, and her last name is used. This can be read as a follow up to my last fic.

“You’re leaving?”

There isn’t a hello or any form of greeting when he confronts her. He sees her standing at the terminal, a white slip of paper clutched so tightly in her fist that the paper is crumpling.

“Do I really have a choice?” She asks, hollowly, lifting the paper before his eyes. “It’s a one way ticket back home. They made it pretty clear I’m not welcome.”

“This is what they do, Ellison, but you can’t let them win.” He insists.

“Madeleine won, Drake. Maybe not how we all expected her to but Liam made his choice.” She returns, still not meeting his gaze.

He doesn’t understand her. She’s quiet, all the fire he had come to expect from her extinguished.

“Ellison, you can’t quit on Liam. We can’t let him marry Madeleine.” He shifts, moving directly in front of her, forcing her to face him. “Look if you care at all about Liam you’ll-“

That’s what does it.

“Of course I care about him! I’m so angry Liam got hurt and that I’m the one that caused it. And this definitely isn’t how I wanted things to end but I didn’t want him to say my name.” she’s spitting out words so quickly he can hardly keep up, “I haven’t been invested in this competition for awhile now. I haven’t wanted this for weeks because I don’t love him!”

“And you know that as well as I do.” She says lowly and the gravity of it weighs heavy on him.

Drake swallows thickly. “I know.” He agrees.

Her lips press thinly together and she turns her face from him again. She’s blinking away tears and his stomach twists in anguish.

The heel of her palm rises quickly to brush the tears away.

“I can’t do this to him.” He says.

She sniffs, nodding. “I know. And I actually love that you care about him so much.”

“But.” He fills in.

She sniffs again. “I can’t wait around for it to be okay for you to love me back. I’m tired, Drake, I’m tired and embarrassed and I just want to go home.”

“Now boarding, Flight 219 to New York.” A disembodied voice announces overhead.

She reaches for her bag. “That’s me.” She says. She doesn’t move, just stares at him for a moment.

He wants her to stay. He wants to kiss her and tell her he does love her and he wants- but he can’t. Liam, despite his sudden shift, was head over heels for her. And Drake wasn’t about to add another heartbreak onto the mounting list the Prince was already experiencing.

She stands on her toes and touches his cheek gently, pressing her lips to the opposite side. It’s soft, just a fleeting brush of skin, but it’s enough. She steps back.

“Tell everyone goodbye for me? And tell….tell Maxwell and Bertrand I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

Her eyes are shining when she looks up at him. “I’m going to miss you.”

A ragged breathe escapes his lips. “Me too.”

She catches her bottom lip between her teeth. “Goodbye, Drake.” And she turns from him, shifting her bag over her shoulder, and heads for the gate.



eyes are heavy feeling dizzy

world about to implode

ink is spilling time is killing

pages are running low

the last one in this chapter

what will i do when it’ gone?

will the record keep on spinning

when the power is wrong?

a new chapter must begin

so goodbye to this part

another dawn another era

be a new form of art

this has meaning, you can’t see it

spilling shapes and some lines

this has rhythm, you can’t hear it

just makes sense in my mind

a new chapter, a new saga

so my life will go on

Hello Tumblr,

Lots of shitty things happened these last few days. I got dumped, I had to move back to my mum’s house, to say goodbye to all the projects I had and all the things I built for the last few years and start all over again. Things are NOT great and I am as far from ok as one can be, but I guess I have no choice here right? After all I am not dead, just broken. 

And as a wise person once said : this too shall pass.

anonymous asked:

Mpreg angst idea; after the events of the end tom is the one who is left pregnant. Tord has no idea and doesn't find out until he's going to fight the 'rebels' and he's about to kill tom when the kid runs out to save tom?


Tom: Ghh..

Tord: I’ve finally found you, it was fun while it lasted but now it’s time to say goodbye~.

Tord: Goodbye old f-.


Tord: Huh?!


Tom: S-sweetie..!

Tord: D-did you call me papa..? Wait.. Are you..

anonymous asked:

im revisiting tbe demigod au. This ones kinda sad. Lcorn didnt know how to say goodbye to wes so he wrote him a letter and didnt tell him he was leaving. He left one night and put the letter wes's hand as he sleeps. When wes wakes up and reads it, its already stained with tears and wes is trying so hard not to get tears on it bc he dosent want to smear the words because theyre the last thing he has of lcorn. Hes found by the others sobbing Into the letter (Ill put the letter into another ask.)

CRIPES thats a sad one

He’s Weird

Pairing: tattooartist!Dean, teacher!reader
Word count: 834

Part 4 of Heart’s Ink

All day long there was a smile on your face, looking forward to that night.  It was also the last day of school before Thanksgiving break, so the kids in class were extra hyper. A few times you had to reign them in, but you didn’t mind. It wasn’t like they were little hellions. They were simply little kids with a lot of energy. You were sure that at least half would nap on the way home.

“Bye, Kayla. Enjoy your Thanksgiving!” You smiled at one of your students. “Have a good break, Billy.” As the kids filed out and into the hall to be ushered to either the bus area, or for parent pick up, you waved to them, saying goodbye to each. “Bye, Tucker.” You smiled to the last student. A little boy wearing a Metallica shirt.

He stopped and looked up at you. “My cousin is picking me up today. Can you walk with me?” He asked.

You nodded and he took your hand. “Why do you need me to walk you?” You asked, curious.

“I’ve only met him a couple times.” Tucker told you as you moved through the halls. “He’s nice. Mom trusts him, but he’s…weird.”

“Tucker? Last week you pretended to be the lead singer of a metal band and gave yourself a sore throat. I’m pretty sure that’s just a family trait.” You teased him gently.

He stared ahead, eyes wide. “Oh man. I hope I don’t look that old when I grow up…” He shuddered.

As you reached the parent pick up area, you looked around. “What does he look like?” You looked down at him.

“Well, well, well.” You heard a familiar voice behind you, causing you to turn. “If it isn’t Miss Fairy Princess.” Dean smirked.

Dean?” You were surprised to see him here. “I wasn’t aware you had a kid.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t. I’m here to pick up Tucker.” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “He gets to hang out at the shop for a couple hours until his dad picks up him.”

Tucker looked up at you. “You know him?”

“I’m her tattoo artist.” He explained.

Wait.” He looked to Dean. “Is this the lady you were telling mom about?”

Raising an eyebrow, you looked to Dean, amused. “Am I, Dean?”

Dean chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Come on, Tucker. I gotta get back to the shop.” He motioned for him to follow.

You knelt next to Tucker. “Alright, I’ll see you after break. My number is in your planner. If Dean here gets too weird, you can call me, okay? I’ll come save you.” You chuckled when you heard a ‘hey’ from Dean. “Have fun at the shop.” Standing up, you looked to Dean. “And I will see you tonight. Unless Tucker calls me in dire need of a normal adult.” It was clear  you were teasing him.

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hello !!!! i was tagged by @rosesau !! thank u syeda <3

rules: post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic/original/anything!) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence. 

“Goodbye, Lou,” Harry responds, shyly, the tips of his cheeks flushing a delicate pink. He turns away then, and walks off slowly, leaving Louis, breathless, in his wake.

i tag @moonlitlarrie @rbbsbb @becomeawendybird @allwaswell16 @smrwine @fondleeds @southerngothicau and anyone else who wants to do this bc i can’t think of any more people lmao 

Back then I swore I’d marry you,
Should I ever get the chance,
How was I to know back then that we would never last?
You anger was a red flag,
As was your disinterest,
In everything that I enjoyed,
Yet you couldn’t care much less.
It shouldn’t be a sacrafice to support the one you love,
It took me three long years,
But I’d finally had enough.
You can’t expect to receive what you do not care to give.
Changing yourself for someone else is not a way to live.

commission of two very special boys



A sampling of some of the many, many universes in which Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki didn’t somehow manage to avoid each other for TEN+ YEARS and are already happily married (Inspired in part by the musings of @kiaronna and @pearlo on this topic from this post):

  • In 2010, Viktor is leaving an Olympic after party because it has just more or less dissolved into an orgy and that’s not Really his scene. In this universe, he decides not to go back to his room and instead finds his way to an outdoor seating area, which is not very heavily utilized given the fact that it’s February. There is only one other person out there–an athlete with his back turned, curled up onto a bench. The lettering on his jacket says Japan.
    “Mind if I join?” he asks, and the other man turns to reveal dark hair and the deepest eyes Viktor has ever seen.
    “Oh,” he squeaks. “No. Go ahead.”
    They sit, and talk, and three hours later exchange phone numbers. Instead of going to America to train, Yuuri Katsuki goes to Russia to train under Yakov Feltsman. He takes National gold in 2011 and marries Viktor in 2012.
  • Phichit accidentally posts a video of Yuuri doing a bit of Viktor’s 2013 free skate to Instagram, instead of the hamster video he meant to post. The video makes its way through the figure skating grapevine until, obviously, reaching Viktor. Viktor immediately DM’s Phichit, begging to know who the man in the video is.
    Yuuri wakes up to six missed calls, 609 Instagram notifications, 49 texts and a DM from Viktor Nikiforov.
    “I WAS ASLEEP FOR AN HOUR,” he shrieks.
    Phichit takes complete credit for their marriage in his speech at their wedding less than a year later.
  • Through the careful and judicious saving of money for several years, and because in at least one timeline the main waterline in the onsen and the transmission on the family car don’t go kaput in the same year, Yuuri’s family is able to send him to one of Yakov Feltsman’s ice skating boot camps when he is fourteen years old.
    Viktor is there, all shining hair and huge smile and new celebrity. He has just placed at the Turin Olympics and is on his way to becoming a Russian household name, and Yuuri has been in love with him for two years already.
    “Yuuri!” Viktor coos across the ice, over the heads of the fifteen other skaters in the bootcamp. “Keep your hips even! It won’t make it so hard to turn into your Axel!”
    “Yuuri! Don’t hunch your shoulders on the spread eagle!”
    “Yuuri! Your thigh should be parallel to the ice on that sitspin!”
    “He’s incredibly skilled for his age,” Lilia tells Yakov in the back of the rink one day. “And Vitya has been behaving remarkably well, since he came here.” She fixes her eyes on Yakov, deep and determined. “He’ll be old enough to make his senior debut next year. If we groom him through his last year of juniors, he could bronze in his first GPF, or better. I want him, Yasha.”
    Yakov Feltsman is not in the habit of denying his wife those few things she asks of him.
    Yuuri Katsuki returns home after that bootcamp to pack his things and collect his dog and hug his parents goodbye.
    “I’ll take good care of him, Mr. and Mrs. Katsuki,” Viktor assures from a Skype call. “He’ll be getting the best training in the world. I even have a poodle, so Vicchan won’t be lonely during the day!”
    Hiroko and Toshiya just smile knowingly.
    Yuuri Katsuki is newly fifteen when he moves to Russia and begins sharing a condo with Viktor Nikiforov. He is sixteen when he wins his first GPF silver, and eighteen when the Vancouver Olympics roll around and he stands below his best friend on the podium and accepts silver for Japan as Viktor accepts gold.
    He is nineteen when, after five years of glances and touches and shared secrets and tears and laughter, Viktor pulls him into bed.
    “About time,” is the general consensus to that.
    They have only been dating, dating-dating, for five months when Viktor asks him to marry him.
    “I know it’s quick,” Viktor says, “but I feel like–I feel like we’ve known each other all our lives, anywa, so what’s the point in waiting?”
    Yuuri, of course, feels the same way.
  • Viktor makes a split-second decision to touch up his make-up before a press conference at the Trophee de France 2011, and as he’s patting the sweat marks off his temples hears the definite sound of someone crying.
    “Um,” he announces to the otherwise silence bathroom. “Are you okay?”
    “Yeah!” comes the answer, shrill. “I’m totally fine!”
    “You don’t sound fine,” Viktor says, and ducks his head to see which stall has feet under it. In the last stall, he sees a pair of badly-abused sneakers. He straightens up and knocks on the door. “I’ll leave you alone if you want me to, but I can–if you want, I can show you a better place to cry. Than here.”
    It takes a moment, but the door opens. The man in front of him has watery eyes and puffy red cheeks and Viktor isn’t sure he has ever found someone so beautiful.
    “Okay,” he whispers, and Viktor leads him onto the roof where instead of crying, he stares out over the skyline and tells Viktor about his home town.
    Viktor never does discover why Yuuri was crying, but he does get his phone number–and he does visit his hometown with him, a year later, to tell Yuuri’s family that they’ve decided to get married.
  • Yuuri is somehow convinced by Phichit to go out with a group after Skate America in 2013–Phichit is in his element, leading people around the city with expansive gestures and the effortless social confidence Yuuri has come to know of his best friend. 
    “You’re from this city too, aren’t you?” asks someone at Yuuri’s shoulder, and Yuuri turns from Phichit’s monologue to see Viktor Nikiforov of all people. Yuuri, distantly in the back of his mind, realizes that he didn’t see Viktor before because he is wearing a hat, scarf, and enormous sunglasses.
    “Um, not from here,” Yuuri says, trying not to squeak, “but I–we both live here, Phichit and I.”
    “But you know the city,” Viktor says, “so that means you would know a place where I can get the most disgustingly greasy food imaginable and you and I can go there and my coach never needs to know?”
    “Yes,” Yuuri says immediately, because he may be timid around most people, and especially around his idol, but he has more than enough sense to realize that His Time Has Come. “I can absolutely do that.”
    Yuuri takes Viktor to American Coney Island, where they eat loose burgers and chili fries and drink diet coke, which is the only cession to their diets.
    “Oh Yuuri,” Viktor laughs at the end of the night, a speck of chili cheese still at the corner of his mouth, “I could fall in love with a man like you.”
    And he does.
  • Celestino wins a radio lottery and receives tickets to Champions on Ice in Las Vegas–he decides to take Yuuri and a rinkmate. Yuuri’s rinkmate is nice, but he doesn’t know her very well, and he’s several years younger. She also has friends in Nevada who she wants to meet up with, and Yuuri doesn’t know anybody in the state for obvious reasons. On the first day they are there, Yuuri’s rinkmate disappears with her friends and Celestino takes his wife and goes exploring on the strip. Yuuri stays in his room and plays Pokemon and Skypes his mother.
    On the second day, Yuuri goes shopping for souvenirs for Yuuko and his family, and stares far too long at the billboard of Viktor Nikiforov’s face that is advertising the ice show. That night, he debates which of the three posters he brought with him he should bring to have Viktor sign, before deciding on none–the odds that he will meet Viktor Nikiforov tonight are practically not any higher than they were when the were on opposite sides of the world, and Celestino won’t want to wait in the long autograph lines.
    “Don’t you want an autograph, Yuuri?” Celestino asks after the show, and Yuuri thinks it’s nice of him even though they both know that the polite thing to do is say no.
    “No,” Yuuri says, staring at the long line, and continues out of the building. 
    They branch off then–Celestino has dinner plans with his wife, and Yuuri’s rinkmate is meeting back up with her friends for some clubbing.
    Yuuri is walking back to the hotel when he bumps headlong into somebody’s solid chest.
    “Oh, sorry,” they say, and steady him with hands on his shoulders. Yuuri looks up and finds the same icey blue eyes frm that billboard yesterday staring back at him.
    “Oh,” Yuuri whispers, wide-eyed. “You’re–”
    “Shhh,” whispers Viktor Nikiforov, pressing a finger to his own lips. “Don’t give it away, I’m hiding. 
    “VITYA,” someone from the alley leading back towards the ice center screams.
    “Come on,” Viktor laughs, and tugs Yuuri away by the hand. 
    It’s the spring before Viktor will cut his hair, and it flies out behind him in a magnificent cascade as they run.
    They find their way into a club, where Viktor buys them drinks and laughs and laughs no matter what Yuuri is saying, and then drags him out onto the dance floor. Yuuri has not yet met Phichit Chulanont, who will drag him to pole dancing classes and teach him how to move his hips like a weapon, but he and Viktor get by in the crush of bodies, pushing against each other.
    “I think I love you,” Viktor breaths against his neck, and they’re both three sheets to the wind, but Viktor is Russian and Yuuri is a college student and their tolerance is astronomical. They aren’t even stumbling. “I know we only just met, but I think I love you.”
    “Then let’s get married,” Yuuri blurts before he can help it, and Viktor beams.
    “Yes!” he cries. “Yes, let’s do that!”
    It isn’t hard to find a place that will marry them–even though Viktor’s signature on the certificate looks more like a drawing of a tree, and even though Yuuri’s tie ends up around his forehead halfway through the ceremony.
    In the morning, Yuuri wakes up with the worst hangover of his life, fully-clothed next to Viktor Nikiforov, and says, “We can–this happens all the time, we can have it annulled.”
    Viktor stares down at the ring on his finger, tangled hair all over one shoulder. Yuuri realizes that he doesn’t even rememer where the rings came from. How much did they cost? 
    “I would rather not, if that’s okay,” Viktor murmurs, and so they don’t.
    Yuuri carries out the rest of the year in Detroit, wearing the ring around his neck on a chain and thinking about his husband, half a world away, waiting for him.
you act like you still care and i act like the thought of you and her together doesn’t bother me
but truthfully i can’t settle for being friends and i think you know that too
maybe this entire situation is out of our control and neither one of us has a say in how things work out
but at the same time i was willing to put my entire life on the line to save what we had and you let it go as quickly as you moved on
you know, that last time i kissed you i didn’t want to let go
you said we’d see each other again but i could hear the goodbye in your voice
when you’re a 16 year old girl in love and in denial, you believe everything that will keep you from aching a little while longer
even now, after all we’ve put each other through, you still call me on your way home and i still think of you before i go to sleep
i don’t know what it means to be friends, but i know that friends don’t talk to each other the way that we do
i don’t think you can honestly tell me you don’t miss holding my hand or drinking my coffee
so, maybe i’m making all of this up in my head and i’m never going to hold your hand again
or maybe we’ll see each other again and it’ll be like no time has passed and you’ll kiss me like you did 4 months ago
—  i don’t want to sound like i’m having a hard time letting go, but i’m having a hard time letting go