#lights will guide you home

[beseeingyouinmydreams]

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Well here we go bawling again 💔💙

[warmcupoflemontea]

[codyandhughlovers]

🤓 -

Good morning !! Do you think if I dream hard enough I can get cody to appear in real life?? 😂 I was daydreaming all day in class abt him.. he’s just so beautiful 😻!!

Guys should I be cody for Halloween omg !! 😱 I’m so serious btw ..

[sammiknowss]

I don't know if any of you here are following my newest fic - Lights Will Guide you Home, but if you are - update will be tomorrow instead of tonight!!

[unhealthy-amount-of-obsession]

This soundtrack is giving major OC vibes

[its-ener]

Lights will guide you home

-Fix you, Coldplay

Credit- @delicatecreates

[ayumoandlongani]

[hansoeii]

let time pass.

[enruiinas]

@climatact asked:

She probably should have called. Or at least sent a text. Nami didn't even know if Law was home, or even in town... but the moment she felt their child's first movement, she was ordering a train ticket. Within hours she was standing in front of his door, unable to bring herself to knock on it. And talking to herself, of all things. "Okay, we got this. It's fine." A hand ran along the small bump, just at that point between barely noticeable under a flowy black dress and jacket. After several minutes, Nami finally found the nerve to knock on the door. All the while she chewed on the inside of her lip nervously. What if he never forgive her for leaving? What if he didn't want to have anything to do with her ever again? She wouldn't blame him if he took one look at her and slammed the door in her face.

 ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Two hours and elbows-deep into a total laparoscopic renal bypass, nearing the end of of what had felt like one of the longer shifts of his surgical residency career a few blocks uptown, it would be several hours later before Law would know anything of the unexpected arrival of an orange-haired woman on his apartment doorstep.

 ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Several hours before months of the desperate habit he'd formed in her absence proved themselves a good decision despite every long minute spent wondering why he was wasting his time writing those notes out. Every day, the same brief sentiment - Mikans in the kitchen for you. Your things are in the top right-hand drawer. Back soon. The only thing that changed were the hours scrawled at the top of the folded sheets of paper. Each time he left, whether on shift or out to run an errand, the note would be replaced with a new one, tucked beneath a loose brick near his apartment door along with the spare key he'd once told her about.

 ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Several hours before he'd trudge his weary way past that very hiding spot, not bothering to check and confirm what part of him had long suspected would always be the case. The note and key would still be there: they always were. But they'd be there when he went to swap the sheet out in the morning, and at the end of a shift, the last thing he wanted was a reminder that another day had passed without her. He would face that in the morning, when he was on his way out and there was no choice but to get in his car and to keep on going. He'd learned that lesson the hard way - suffered one too many hangovers on shift the next day after checking on his way in in the evenings. Long hours of nights spent alone were not the time to think of the futility of it all; other than the disappointment, he knew if he thought about it too long on his own, he would eventually have to come to terms with reality and he knew he'd stop writing them.

 ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ And when that time came - when he truly gave up on her... What was he supposed to do, then?

 ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ So, no. Law did not check to see if note or key had been disturbed in his absence. He strolled determinedly past it, the two bags of groceries he'd stopped to procure on his way home tucked under one arm as he fished in his pocket and slotted the key into the lock to let himself in. He didn't let himself think about the night he'd spend on his own tonight, or how he'd realize, as he always did, how quiet the space seemed when he laid his head down on his pillow a few hours later. These things would creep up on him as they always did, but he wouldn't give them a second of his attention until they were upon him. Every day, it was the same routine: get through the door, drop the keys on the counter on his way through to the kitchen, put the groceries away on nights he'd had to stop by the little corner market. A shower to rinse the day away, the water warm to soothe the aches that followed long shifts on his feet and hands that ached from hours of operations. Dinner: usually what he'd stopped to pick up on the way home; sometimes something he'd bothered to put together for himself - occasionally leftovers from something a friend or coworker had prepared for him for the week. Depending on how late it had gotten, he might read or turn the TV on and unwind as he scrolled through his notifications to see if he'd missed anything eventful throughout the day. More often than not, this was where the thoughts would find him. Somewhere along the way, he'd grown to favor early nights, though sleep rarely came easily or lasted long despite his best efforts.

 ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ It was routine. Methodical. Habit. It had to be; that was what he'd clung to in the months since he'd awoken to the empty space beside him. Variation on that routine was highly inadvisable and never resulted in anything good. And it was for that reason that Law didn't notice anything was amiss until he was setting the bags down on the kitchen counter. It took a moment to place the strange feeling that crept over him - that sense that he'd missed a step in this rotation, but couldn't quite place what that step had been. Because it was one of the small things - the filler between those big steps he'd learned to focus on. He'd come through the door. Set his keys on the counter. Was moving to put the groceries away.

 ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ What he hadn't done was turn the kitchen light on. Or the hallway light, for that matter. One by itself, he might not have thought of; methodic as he was, even Law forgot to turn a light off here and there. Two was unlikely. Three was unheard of.

 ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Especially considering, as a glance at his surroundings revealed, the third light was the living room light. He didn't even bother turning that one on in the mornings; he certainly hadn't left it on that morning.

 ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Law's pulse had grown suddenly deafening in his ears, his heart lodged somewhere in the general vicinity of his throat. The groceries lie forgotten on the counter behind him, for before he'd even realized what he was doing, the doctor found himself moving numbly through the open-floored apartment, turning the corner until the living room came into view in its entirety - coffee table, dark-screened TV, couch, and the woman asleep upon it.

 ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ A woman he'd never thought he would see again and never stopped hoping might one day be there waiting for him.

 ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ His breath caught in his throat.

 ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Either Nami had come back for him, or this was both a dream and the cruelest trick the universe had ever played on him.

 ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Law froze on the threshold.

[checkadii]

mfs do anything but finish their wips . like startign another, for example

[moo-blogging]

Late night short thought #121:

You are a huge bookworm and you have a private collection of random books in all genres in the house. Levi had built you 2 bookshelves in different designs because you couldn't decide on one. He even allowed you to pick a few carpets for the reading corner he made for you. And, of course, Levi showers you with love by buying you books.

Levi would write love notes for you on the first page of each book he bought for you. He would ensure yours and his name were on the book. And your favourite love letter from him is:

"Even after we die, someone who got your books in the future will know that you were deeply loved by me. And our love will continue for eternity until the last book disappeared. ~Levi A. to Y/N A."

[the-herdier]

It's an actual crime that no one has done Burakhovsky animatics to Coldplay's "Fix You" and "The Scientist" yet.

[best-titan-7274]

in which jack continues to be a bit fucked up emotionally

“It’s okay,” Jack says. His voice shakes. His hands do too, but he can curl them into fists, try to feel like he’s not losing his grip, even as his nails, bitten short as they are, dig crescents into his palm. “It’s just a dream, I’ll be okay.” 

He says it to himself, as much as he says it to BT. Trying to convince them both. It’s not working on him, so he doubts it’s working on BT. 

“Your vitals are elevated,” BT says. 

“I know.” 

“I can call for medical assistance. I believe protocol requires it.” 

“No, don’t do that,” Jack hisses at him. 

There’s silence, besides his own panting breaths and pounding heart. Gradually, both things slow, until he feels… well, he can’t say he feels normal. But he feels empty and stretched, instead of vibrating with panic, and right now, he’s all right with that. 

“Pilot– Jack– are you all right?” 

He swears he hears Lastimosa’s voice in BT’s. 

He sits up, and lets out a breath, and slumps back down. Nobody can hear him in the cockpit, so it’s safe to talk. But no matter how much he knows that, it doesn’t feel right, he can’t just dump all this on BT without permission. It would be rude. It would… it would show how bad he really is. 

“Jack?” 

“I thought I wouldn’t be scared any more with you back, but I keep thinking of how easy it was to lose you the first time.” 

The words come out in a rush, and he scuffs his wrist across his cheek. He’s not sure if he’s crying from stress or shame or both or neither – but he’d give anything to make it stop. His body doesn’t listen to him. Guess it’s just that kind of night.