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padfootagain · 11 days ago

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Love in Verses (L)

Chapter 50 : ‘And I’d wonder sometimes if I’d ever find you.’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! Our babies are getting married!!!

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

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Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so no minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3526

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

If I Had Three Lives

If I had three lives, I’d marry you in two. The other? Perhaps that life over there at Starbucks, sitting alone, writing — a memoir, maybe a novel or this poem. No kids, probably, a small apartment with a view of the river, and books — lots of books, and time to read. Friends to laugh with, and a man sometimes, for a weekend, to remember what skin feels like when it’s alive. I’d be thinner in that life, vegan, practice yoga. I’d go to art films, farmers markets, drink martinis in swingy skirts and big jewelry. I’d vacation on the Maine coast and wear a flannel shirt weekend guy left behind, loving the smell of sweat and aftershave more than I did him. I’d walk the beach at sunrise, find perfect shell spirals and study pockmarks water makes in sand. And I’d wonder sometimes if I’d ever find you.

Sarah Russell

Fuck traditions.

Fuck traditions and fuck you for wanting to respect this one.

Alright, maybe… just maybe Andrew was being a little overdramatic because he was tipsy and it was almost midnight, which meant that it was almost the day he would fucking marry you. But as he stared at the clock on the wall of the pub where he was celebrating his bachelor party, all he wanted was to go home and hold you, and kiss you, and fuck you senseless and then…

“Hey! Is our groom being a little nostalgic of good old celibacy over there?” Rory joked, nudging Andrew in the arm and making him laugh again.

“God no!” he answered. “I just… I’m tired, I think we should call it a day. Thank you all for tonight, it was good craic.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” Alex grinned, satisfied that his simple plans had made his friend happy.

They hadn’t done anything crazy for their night together. They had spent some time playing some music, had eaten a nice dinner and then headed to a few pubs. Nothing fancy, nothing crazy, but they had a lot of fun, and Andrew didn’t want to do anything crazy anyway. Alex had made sure they would all drink responsibly so they would be ready for the big day.

“Yeah, it was grand. Thank you, for planning all this for me.”

Alex was a little emotional when drunk, but still, Andrew was surprised when his best friend hugged him tight.

“I’m really fucking thrilled for you, you know that, right?”

Andrew merely chuckled.

“Yeah, I know. You must be relieved too, that I’m never going to mop around in your flat again…”

“You can’t imagine how relieved I am that you’ll spare me from now on.”

They both laughed, both of them trying to hide how emotional they truly were.

“I’ll be waiting for your call for me to be you best man soon enough…” Andrew teased his friend, making him roll his eyes.

“Argh… we’re not there yet.”

“You live together, you spend all your time together… last week, you were talking about babies…”

“Oh… Siobhán’s the one, don’t get me wrong. I just… we’re good as we are for now. Although… I’m sure I’ll be the next one celebrating the end of celibacy…”

“I’m glad to hear you say that. I’m happy for you.”

Alex gave him a grin.

“And who knows… we’re thinking about a baby… maybe you’ll have a call to be godfather too!”

Andrew tried to hide his teary eyes, failed miserably at it.

“I would be honoured.”

“Good. Cause Y/N would obviously be the godmother so… would be easier.”

“You really imagined for a second that I would say no?”

Alex laughed.

“No, no! I knew you’d say yes. I’m just… happy to hear it. But we’re not there yet! So don’t get all excited!”

“I already am!”

“You’re such a sap…”

“Always.”

“Come on, time to go home,” John proclaimed as he got up, and pulled his younger brother by the sleeve. “I’m taking you home.”

“Wait, I’m gonna call Y/N before we go.”

“You’ll see her tomorrow! You said you were respecting the ‘not seeing the bride the night before the wedding’ thing.”

“Calling her is not seeing her.”

John rolled his eyes, but he was fondly smiling at his brother too.

“You are addicted to her, huh? She got you wrapped around her finger…”

“She’s my fiancée… what did you expect?”

“In less than 24 hours, she’ll be your wife.”

Stars and tears shone in Andrew’s eyes.

“Yeah… yeah…”

“Come on, call her, then! I’ll wait for you in the car.”

Everyone gathered for one last bit of joking around, and then Andrew bid his friends goodnight. While everyone was heading home, he pulled out his phone to call you.

You answered on the third ring, you wore a smile on your voice.

“Baby! How are you? Where are you now?”

“Hey, honey,” he answered with a smile on his voice too, and he wasn’t ashamed to show it, not to you… never to you… “I’m outside a pub… I’m going to head to my parents’ now, John didn’t drink and he’s driving. But… I just wanted to call before going to sleep. You’re alright? How was your evening?”

“It was fun! Siobhán outdid herself. We ate a lot, went to a pub and then watched a movie while eating again. It was amazing. We played games too. Everyone’s gone home, they left like… ten minutes ago to let me have my beauty sleep for tomorrow.”

Andrew hummed, grinning.

“I’m glad you had a nice evening, love.”

“What about you? You went to a pub then?”

“Hmm… yeah! Played some music at Alex’s, then we went out for dinner, and then we went to a few pubs.”

“You sound tipsy,” you stated in a giggle.

“You too,” Andrew answered, his laughter matching yours.

“Hmm… yeah, I am, a little bit.”

Andrew pushed his tongue against his cheek, but didn’t say what he longed to express. That he loved you more than anything. That he wanted to go home now and be with you instead of going to his parents…

“I should let you sleep, then,” were the only words he spoke aloud.

“Yeah…”

You sounded disappointed.

“Baby?”

“Yes, love?”

“I miss you,” you confessed.

God, how could you make his heart melt this way over and over again?

“I miss you too, darling. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

A short silence, before your voice came back to the phone, shy and hesitant.

“I… I know that I wanted to do that traditional thing of not seeing you tonight and all but… can you come home now? I… I want you to be here. I really miss you a lot.”

“You’re sure?” Andrew asked, even though a wave of relief washed over him at your words.

“Yeah… I want to fall asleep with you. Please, come home. Fuck traditions.”

He chuckled, trying to hide how eager he was to come home too.

“Alright, I’ll come home then. I should be there in twenty.”

“Okay, be careful on the road.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too, babe.”

Andrew hurried to his brother’s car, climbed in the passenger seat and fumbled with the seatbelt.

“Alright, change of plans,” he started, but John quickly cut him off.

“Oh, let me guess… you’re going home because you can’t stay away from your fiancée more than five minutes?”

Andrew grinned.

“Yeah…”

John merely laughed, a fond expression on his face.

“I knew it. When you told me about this plan staying at our parents’, I knew you’d end up going home.”

“Yeah, we just… we need to be together tonight.”

“Yeah… I get that.”

The rest of the ride was quiet, and Andrew thanked his brother again when he dropped him home. He would come and pick him up the next day at nine, so he would get ready for the ceremony.

Andrew hurried to your front door, fumbled with the keys in his haste. When he opened the door, he called for you.

He had barely taken off his shoes and jacket that you were appearing at the bottom of the stairs, a relieved smile on your face.

“You’re home,” you let out in a breath, hurrying towards him.

He welcomed you in a tight embrace, kissing your hair.

“I needed you tonight,” you explained. “I just… I need you here…”

“I’m here. I’m here, love.”

“That tradition sucks.”

“Yeah, it does,” he nodded with a chuckle.

“I need to be close to you. I think… I’m stressed about tomorrow.”

“Why? It’s all gonna be fine.”

“Aren’t you anxious?”

“A bit,” he admitted. “But I’m… excited, rather. I can’t wait.”

You remained quiet.

“It’s all gonna be fine. Everything is planned, we have our friends and families to help us, and we only invited the people we love… it’s all going to be fine. And even if some things don’t go according to plan… as long as I get to marry you tomorrow, I don’t care about the rest.”

You moved in his arms, pressing your body against his. When you started kissing his neck, he knew where this was heading.

“Love?” he called as he pulled away just enough to look at you properly. “Are you drunk?”

“No… I only had like… two glasses of wine during the evening. Didn’t want to risk a hangover tomorrow. You?”

But Andrew shook his head, already leaning down to kiss you.

“I’m barely tipsy, I know what I’m doing.”

“Me too.”

And then he was kissing you, and God… it still felt the same. The best feeling in the world…

Your kisses quickly turned desperate. Somehow, Andrew lost his shirt and undershirt in a matter of minutes, while you were now pressed against the wall. You ran your fingers down the length of his chest, and Andrew trembled under your touch.

But then, you stopped, and he froze as well, throwing you a questioning look.

“This… this is our last time as… fiancés,” you whispered, something emotional weighing on your voice.

His expression changed from hungry to tender, he softly stroked your cheek with his thumb.

“Better make it memorable then,” he answered with a suave voice, and he noticed the way your breath staggered.

You bit on your lip, something tempting and mischievous in your eyes. You gently pushed on his chest so you could move out of his embrace, took his hand and pulled him towards the stairs.

“That, we can do…”

That was it.

You looked at yourself one last time in your dress, feeling beautiful, feeling like none of this was real, and yet it was.

You were getting married.

“Andrew’s here!” Siobhán announced. “He did, indeed, arrive on time for once!”

“His parents and brother were driving him,” you explained, teasing in your voice.

“That explains everything! Do you need anything?”

“A hug?”

Your friend laughed, but hugged you without a second-thought anyway.

“I’m so happy for you and Andy! You’re going to be so happy together,” she whispered in your ear, making you emotional again.

“Yeah… I know…”

“He’s not going to believe his eyes when he sees you, you look so beautiful!” she complimented you, pulling away and readjusting one of the flowers in your hair.

“Thanks.”

“Alright, you stay here, I’ll get everything ready and I’ll come get you to take a first look at your groom, alright?”

“Okay.”

She gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before leaving. But despite her reassuring gesture, you couldn’t help the scenarios that played in your head. Even though you knew Andrew loved you, you knew that he was earnest, you knew that he wanted to marry you. Still… all you could think of as you stared at your own reflection in the mirror was the fear that he would leave…

Frank had bailed out, what if Andrew did the same?

But then Siobhán was back, a grin on her face.

“Alright, come on. Andy’s waiting for you. And if I might be allowed a spoiler… he’s so fucking hot…”

You laughed at that, a mixture of excitement and apprehension twisting your stomach.

What if Andrew didn’t like your dress? But you couldn’t wait to see him in his suit, your imagination was running wild at how handsome he must be…

“Alright, you close your eyes,” Siobhán instructed as you reached the back door of your friends’ house, and you obeyed.

She guided you a few meters away from the house. Your photographer had set up some cameras to catch the moment when you and Andrew would see each other in your wedding clothes for the first time, and your friend guided you at the right spot.

“Alright, you two!” she instructed in a louder voice so that Andrew could hear. “I’ll go now, I have a handsome Best Man to enjoy! You’re not the only ones looking stunning today, and I intend to enjoy seeing my boyfriend in a suit. So… you wait till I close the door, and then you both countdown from ten and turn around.”

“Okay,” you heard Andrew’s voice coming from behind you, it was deeper than usual, you guessed his throat had tightened.

“Okay,” you nodded as well.

“Alright, have fun!”

You heard her moving away, and when you opened your eyes, you were facing a tall oak tree in the middle of a patch of grass.

You heard the door slamming shut.

“Alright, ten,” Andrew spoke behind you, and your heart sped up even more as you started counting with him.

Your hands were clammy now, and your stomach was a mess of knots, and you hoped he wouldn’t leave, you didn’t want him to leave, what if he left…

“Three, two, one…”

You took a deep breath, and then you turned around.

And God… he was so… divine…

His dark suit suited him perfectly, the white of the flower pinned to his chest matching the bouquet you would soon be holding. His hair was partly up, and he just looked so handsome in his three-piece suit, with an elegant bowtie and shining black shoes, and…

And that was your groom right there…

You caught his hazel eyes when he was blinking, letting tears escape his eyes. And you read it all in his eyes then, the same adoration you felt for him, the same love, the same devotion, the same utter joy to see you standing there, ready to marry him…

All the doubts you had left vanished when he started walking over to you, crying, looking at you like you were something divine, something out of this world…

Your feet moved on their own accord, and the next second, you were in Andrew’s arms, breathing in his scent, holding tightly, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“God… Andy, you’re so handsome,” you whispered, crying as well now. “You’re gorgeous, God, you’re so beautiful, you look so good…”

He pulled away just enough to look at you. Your hands moved to hold his face, to run your thumbs over the sharp edge of his cheekbones.

He shook his head, opening and closing his mouth. He chuckled as he cried, looking at you like he couldn’t believe his own eyes.

His gaze travelled down your body, and then back up to your eyes. And he tried to speak again, but merely cried some more instead. He had a lovestruck grin on his lips, though.

“You’re so handsome,” you repeated yourself, and he sniffed, cleared his throat, tried to summon his voice back.

“You’re gorgeous,” he finally let out in a hoarse whisper. “Christ, baby… you’re so beautiful… The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen…”

You both chuckled, and cried, too happy to believe it was all real.

“You’re so beautiful… so beautiful…” he kept on repeating, before taking your face in his hands as well and crushing his lips to yours. “You’re gorgeous… God… love… my love…” he kept on mumbling between kisses.

You kissed and hugged and giggled and tried to realise that this was all real for a few minutes. Andrew seemed calmer, at last, and dried his cheeks on a tissue.

“Told you I would cry,” he chuckled, blushing hard.

“I cried so much too,” you reassured him.

“Yeah… but you must give me a spin. Give me a spin!” he insisted, taking your hand and making you laugh as you spined around. “God, you’re gorgeous…”

“You like my dress?”

“You’re perfect… you’re breathtaking.”

“Thank you…”

You hugged for a while longer, whispering sweet nothings and repeating how much you loved each other…

And there was no doubt left. When Raine arrived a few minutes later to let you know you needed to get ready for the ceremony, you left feeling nothing but happiness, love and a deep sense of peace.

Andrew was the love of your life, and he would stay, you were safe with him. You knew he would stay, no matter what…

The ceremony itself happened in a blur.

The next day, Andrew would remember every moment, every detail. But when it happened, all his brain could register was the silence that meant he needed to say ‘I do’, your voice when you spoke those words too, the moment when he slipped a ring around your finger and you did the same for him. And then the words ‘I now declare you husband and wife’, and then he was kissing you, and kissing you again, and again…

You were married. You were fucking married…

The papers were signed, and everyone hugged him, and then you escaped for a couple of hours to get some photos taken of the two of you. Then it was time to party, and he sang a song for you, because it would make you happy. For your first dance, he was worried to walk on your feet, clumsy as he was with his long limbs, but you seemed so happy all his worries faded the second your gaze caught his.

There was delicious food, drinking, games, some nice speeches from Alex and Siobhán, and a lot of love… so much love… so much happiness…

You never left his side, all day long the two of you remained glued to the hip. He didn’t want you out of his sight, and several times throughout the day he would glimpse at his wedding band, and then yours, and remind himself that you were married now.

She’s my wife.

Every time he looked at you, that simple truth slapped him in the face, and he couldn’t believe this was real…

Around midnight, while everyone was dancing, Andrew managed to sneak out of the tent with you, wanting to be alone for a moment.

The air was cold, September announcing Autumn and its colder weather. You had been lucky though, it had been sunny all day. Andrew put his jacket on your naked shoulders, and you thanked him with a tender smile. There were lights shining in the park, and you walked a little further away from the tent. You could still hear Alex and his band playing, but you were alone now, and Andrew held your hand in his, running his finger over your wedding ring as you settled behind a pine tree. The light was dim, but the full moon was bright, and paired with the yellowish lights of the nearby path, he could perfectly see your features.

You looked up at him with a radiant grin.

“Can you believe that in two days we’ll be on our honeymoon?” you asked.

“Not really, no,” Andrew shook his head, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you close.

“You’re my husband,” you whispered, running your fingers through his hair.

“And you’re my wife,” he answered, a stupid grin on his face.

“You make me so happy, you know? I’m so lucky you love me.”

He kissed your cheek, your jaw, your lips.

“You make me happy too,” he whispered, emotions making his voice hoarse. “You’re the love of my life.”

“And you’re the love of mine.”

“Today was perfect,” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours and closing his eyes, letting your perfume make his head spin.

“It was…”

“The cake was the best part, by the way.”

You laughed at that.

“You’re so silly…” you said with so much fondness in your voice.

He kissed your closed eyelids.

“I know that we should get back, have fun with everyone for a little longer…”

“But?”

“But I want to go home and be just with you now.”

You bit on your lip, pulling away just enough to look for his phone in the pocket of his jacket.

“Text your mom, and then we’re getting a cab.”

“You’re sure? We can stay…”

“I want to go home. I want to enjoy some alone time with my husband.”

He giggled like an idiot at your words.

“Jesus… it’s gonna take me a while to get used to that…”

“Are you very drunk?”

“No… tipsy. Why?”

“Because… it’s our wedding night…”

He wiggled his eyebrows, making you giggle. He tried to hide the warmth that spread throughout his body at your innuendo, but failed.

“Hmm… I see…”

“I think you’re going to like what I’m wearing under that dress…”

“Yeah, okay, you’re getting the cab, I’ll sneak back in the tent to get your purse, you text my mom.”

He was already heading back towards the tent when you called for him, making him turn around.

And you were so beautiful in this dual light, golden and silvery, in your wedding dress, with flowers in your hair and joy making your entire body glow…

And you were his wife. He was your husband. You would love him for the rest of your lives… when did he get so lucky? How…?

“I love you, baby.”

He grinned, falling in love with you a little bit more… he would spend his entire life falling more and more in love with you…

“I love you too, darling. I love you so much…”

#hozier #the hoziest #andrew hozier byrne #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #hozier fanfiction #hozier series #hozier professor au #professor au #hozier fic #hozier au #series #fanfiction #fanfic #writing

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ombre-ame · 4 months ago

Text

If I had three lives, I’d marry you in two.

The other? Perhaps that life over there

at Starbucks, sitting alone, writing — a memoir,

maybe a novel or this poem. No kids, probably,

a small apartment with a view of the river,

and books — lots of books, and time to read.

Friends to laugh with, and a man sometimes,

for a weekend, to remember what skin feels like

when it’s alive. I’d be thinner in that life, vegan,

practice yoga. I’d go to art films, farmers markets,

drink martinis in swingy skirts and big jewelry.

I’d vacation on the Maine coast and wear a flannel shirt

weekend guy left behind, loving the smell of sweat

and aftershave more than I did him. I’d walk the beach

at sunrise, find perfect shell spirals and study pockmarks

water makes in sand. And I’d wonder sometimes

if I’d ever find you.

Sarah Russell

After “Melbourne” by the Whitlams

@ombre-ame upload

Oct 11/24

#Spotify #my posts #ombre ame uploads

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gripefroot · 1 year ago

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Sleepy Law?

For once, he doesn’t wake when the sun hits his face.

For all his pretending and blustering and attitude, he’d been tired. Of course. The more he protested something, the more it was true. Something about a man that saw danger around every corner if he lowered his guard for even a moment, even with you.

There was something comedic about the juxtaposition. His barking from the afternoon before: “No, I’m not tired! I’m fine!” compared to the sun rising long past dawn after he’d been out cold for nearly fourteen hours. But it was less amusing when the dark lines beneath his eyes were so visible, when the bright sun cleared his face into something almost boyish.

He pushes himself too hard. He always did.

The sun warms the bed, too, making it too hot for this time of year. But rather than get up and disturb Law’s rare rest, you stick a foot out of the blankets for some coolness and move closer to him.

Every moment is precious. Every stolen evening, every late morning pried from the clutches of fate and time. “I’ll be back in three days,” or “I’ll try to be back by summer solstice.” Sometimes he made it, sometimes he didn’t. When he was late, the nights he should have been there were spent at the window, watching weather roll across the sea. Each blot was his ship returning - until it wasn’t. Anger and resentment broiled like hurricanes, then, but by the time he eventually came, gratitude that he was alive and safe and present overwhelmed everything else. Besides, greeting him by throwing a pot at his head wouldn’t guarantee he’d ever come again.

This parting had been the longest yet. A year at sea, with only two headlines months apart to prove he had drowned or been killed or wasted away from some disease. No, he was whole, relatively healthy (if thinner than before) and walking up the crooked steps to your house, he’d even smiled.

“I was worried you’d moved away,” he’d said. His sword balanced on his shoulder, which was unusual. Before, he’d left it on his ship.

“How would you find me then?” you’d teased back. Clay dried on your hands from a half-finished project, but it could be completed later. Law could only be greeted now.

“I’d follow the dead greenery.” He nodded at the yard; yellow patches now outnumbered green, the first victim in dumping leftover glaze that didn’t fire the right color or scraps of impure clay. He hoisted the sword from his shoulder to set by the doorframe, where you stood, and that was when he’d smiled.

It was fortunate he’d never minded mud on his clothes.

He smelled of brine and fresh air. Not the most pleasant, but beneath it was him, and difficult to pull away.

“Mind if I stay over?” he’d asked between kisses. Your foot had caught on the lip of the door, stumbling backwards, but his arms had kept you upright and squashed against his chest.

“Have I ever?” The words came out strained. His kisses stole breath as much as they stole sanity. Rugged as his worn coat, harsh as the tattoos long-memorized.

“There’s a first for everything.”

“Well, not today.” Your hands on his chest, feeling him like you would mounds of fresh clay. Something he’d joked about before: his lips twisted, ready to joke again. “Do you want to wash up first?”

“Yes. Then I have a present for you.”

Surely not the sword. What use would you have for a sword? Spending days and nights with clay, turning pots and glazing and firing them in the tiny hut nearby wasn’t the life of a warrior, and living alone in a rickety cottage on a bluff above a port town so small it could scarcely be called a port not the prime target of pirates.

Law had ducked his head beneath the water pump in the yard, not even waiting for you to fetch a bar of soap, and yelped at how freezing cold the water was.

He had, miraculously, survived.

But no present came. Dinner had been eaten early between yawns and crabby remarks about how he wasn’t tired. Then he’d gone straight to your bed, knocking into tables on his way, and halfway through what had sounded like a salacious invitation he’d started snoring. Pants still on and everything.

So you’d smiled and washed up quietly before crawling into bed next to him. It was easier to sleep when he was there…

He clutches a worn pillow to his face, stretched out on his belly with his torso bare. Lingering flakes from a sunburn grace his shoulders, and a new scar stretched over his ribs. Your fingers want to trace it, but you don’t, hovering in the air above the graceful shape. You’ll learn it better soon enough.

“Were you going to say anything or just keep staring?”

Oops. His even breathing had ceased. Lifting your head, you see his eyes slitted open, glinting beneath his long lashes.

“You have a new one,” you say.

“Of course you noticed.” His voice is a rumble, fresh from slumber.

“Of course I noticed,” you repeat, cheeks warming with embarrassment. But the corners of his mouth lift in a lazy smile. “It’s huge.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Can I?” A vague request, but he understands. Law responds with a grunt. His kind of affirmation.

The new skin is smooth beneath your practiced fingertips, but where new meets old a thick, calloused rope of skin rivers around his ribs. Like a snake of clay to be shaped into a handle or a spigot. A handsome scar, to add to his others. Your fingers trace back up around his waist and to his back, to the very end of the scar. His skin breaks out in goosebumps, his ragged inhale breaking your concentration.

Immediately you pull your hand away. “Does it hurt?”

“No.” He rolls onto his side, taking the interest of the scar away to face you. His eyes are more open now, but not by much, his hair sticking out every which way. Law props his head on his hand, surveying you with just as much scrutiny as you had him. But why? You have no scars, no discernable differences to clock from last year.

The bed is small, not really built for two, but it has never bothered you or him. He can never be outside of arm’s reach. Instinctively your hand traces over his chest, finding comfort in the pattern of him. Patterns that find their way onto cups and mugs and bowls whenever missing him hurts too much. Most sold, some kept. You stop over his heart.

He’s smiling again.

“How long can you stay?” you ask.

His smile disappears. It takes your contentment with it.

“I have time,” Law says.

Time. The only thing that could give you enough of him, and the only thing he couldn’t give. He gave his attention, his company, his loyalty, and his affection. Your hand rises to his face, stroking over old whiskers on his cheek with your thumb. He catches your wrist, holding it to nuzzle your palm with his nose, and then his lips.

“You smell the same,” Law mutters, eyes closed. “Like the earth.”

“You smell the same,” you whisper back. The effect of his nuzzle is the same as you touching his scar: goosebumps race up your arm and down your back. “Like freedom.”

His eyes open. Dark and assuring, and always a little sad. “C’mere,” he grunts, and reaches for you.

It was like he’d never been away. Nothing forgotten, nothing misremembered. His mouth finds the right places on your throat, your shoulders; skillfully he thumbs away the sleeves of your shirt to bare more skin to him. If anything proves his absence, it's how quickly the heat between your bodies becomes unbearable, how your blood pulses almost painfully. With a whimper of a sigh, your fingers hook into the waistband of his pants, his hair tickling your chin.

“All in good time,” he promises your breasts, hand coming up to cup one. If you weren’t already so dizzy from the prelude, you’d tease him for addressing them rather than you. It had been an excellent joke for so long…

Soon the only noises are your soft pants, his quiet groans as the reacquaintion became clumsy. Clothes hit the floor, blankets pushed away, the awkward patters of skin-on-skin. No matter how bright the morning light through the window, there is no time to feel shamefully naked: only wonderfully so, and perfectly worshipped. His hair is thick between your fingers, his mouth hot on your sternum, and then your belly button.

“But,” you lick your lips, wishing your throat wasn’t so dry and creaky. “But, we just - ”

“Just what?” Law kisses the inside of your thigh, eyes darting up to your face with a quirk of his brow. “Don’t want me to?”

“I do, it’s only - ”

“Only what?” He prompts when words fail you. His hands cradle your hips, lifting and straightening them before him like a treasure map.

“I want you,” you manage to whisper. The sun makes his black hair red at the edges, a trick of the light.

“You’re getting me,” Law says. “And I’m getting you. Let’s start slow, huh?”

As if you could refuse him when you aren’t a puddle on the bed. Slow is the last thing you want, but he made it sound like a dream. It is a dream; fast or slow or hurried or lazy. Always enough to make the little time you have sweeter. And never enough. Always and never, always and never.

“Let me know,” his voice is as jagged as his scar, his hands shaking until he digs his fingers into your thighs. “Let me know…if you want me to stop.”

He doesn't look like a man who could stop. And the pounding, the rushing - you couldn’t have asked him to stop for anything.

His knees hit the floor with a thunk. Yours go over his shoulder as he sucked in a trembling breath, his shoulders twitching enough to make the dark lines look like they were convulsing.

“Oh…” is all he says, and it’s the same noise you make when his lips touch yours, his tongue barely a hint of a caress. Your spine arches, pushing yourself closer to his mouth. He takes the hint, delving in with less ‘slow’ and more ‘I-haven’t-seen-you-in-a-year.’ He remembers. He remembers; every bit that makes your head spin and he does it like a conqueror, until the sheets are fisted in your hands and your breathing has gone frantic.

“Law.” Your head twists to the side, air growing scarce and body feeling out of control. Wild and frenzied like an animal, jumping at every stroke of his tongue. “Please, oh - ”

He knows. He knows, he remembers. With a reverberating grunt that you can feel through your legs and belly, his fingers grip your thighs. It doesn’t feel possible, but the intensity swells and grows like the waves of the sea.

“Stop biting your lip.” Law’s pause is enough to bring you down enough to comprehend his words. “Stop that. I wanna hear you. Here.”

One of your fists is unclenched from the sheets, to weave your fingers between his, instead. A grip on reality, an anchor while sensation crashes through you. It’s only a moment later the wave hits: the force of pleasure battering through your body again and again. He doesn’t stop. He never does, not while each of your cries echo to the roof and back down again.

When it becomes too much you gasp, and he stops.

He knows.

Law lifts his head, kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed and wiping his mouth on his discarded shirt. He smirks. “If nothing else,” he says casually, as if he hadn’t just made you climax with more fervor than a hurricane, “that makes me want to take you with me.”

Take you? With him? Where? Not on his ship, surely.

Your expression must betray your bafflement, because he gives a rough laugh, tossing his shirt back down.

“Oh, come on,” he says. “Surely you’ve thought of it yourself.”

You hadn’t.

His head tilts to the side, smirk fading.

“You don’t want to come with me,” Law says.

“No!” you blurt. “I mean - yes! I mean…that’s not what I’m saying. I’ve just never thought of it before. I hadn’t thought it was…possible.”

“And if it is?”

Your heart hammers, from the aftershocks of orgasm and his question. “Possible?”

“Yeah. If I asked you to come with me.” He climbs over the bed on all fours. Normally you admire him; his tattoos and sculpted muscles. But your eyes are riveted on his face, on the strange sincerity shining in his eyes.

“What would I do?” you ask.

Law stops, hovering above you. You’re effectively trapped, but rather than confining, it’s comforting. Boundaries to bump up against, walls to keep you safe. His hair flops over his forehead, shadowing his features from the sun.

“Let me lick you anytime I want,” he jokes.

So maybe it wasn’t sincerity after all. But you laugh, anyway, because laughing with him is always delicious, despite the heavy disappointment in your stomach. Reading into his joke would only hurt more. So you wind your arms around his neck, bringing him down for a languid, salty kiss. The weight of his body resting on yours transcends everything else, the craving for him lighting through your veins like popping fireworks.

“How do you want me?” he asks before his teeth sink into the side of your neck. With his erection jabbing into your leg, the idea of options is surprising.

“Like this,” you say. “Just like this.”

Law releases your neck, his hips tucking between yours with familiarity. When his forehead rests against yours, his eyes are deep and bottomless for a moment before he closes them.

“I mean it,” he murmurs. His hands unwrap your arms from his neck, bringing them down to the pillow to pin in place. “I’ll take you with me. You don’t have to do anything.”

Does he mean that? Would he take you to sea just to…to what? Is he tired of coming back to this small island? Are you no longer worth it?

Where is this going? A question flung into the stars, night after night, when Law is there and when he isn’t. Hope is difficult to cultivate year after year, but it blooms all the same at times like this.

Where will you take me?

A few thrusts gets him inside, enough to keep going. A few more have you moaning, tense in his grip as you move your hips to take him further. He groans, the further he gets, adding his own noises to yours. If this is where time stopped, if this could be forever, this is what you’d choose. Time and time again you’d choose. The sense of fullness, of complete joining - nothing has ever, ever, compared.

Law stops when he’s fully sheathed, panting for breath as his grip loosens on your wrists. Then his eyes open again; a mix of fierceness and tenderness that makes your heart want to explode.

“Hey,” you say softly, wriggling your arms free to cup his face. He blinks several times.

“Hey,” he says back, uncertain.

“Thank you for coming back.”

He huffs a laugh, a hint of a smile bringing more brightness than the sun. Resting his elbow by your head, he dips his to kiss your mouth. “I can’t stay away,” he says between that kiss and the next.

His thrusts start slow, almost teasing. But they build fast, soon stroking a speed that breaks free as his kisses turn biting and his fingers find your hair. However he did it, each touch is a thousand starbursts at once, deepening the sensation in your core to spread across every limb, every muscle, every cell. Each stroke brings a small gasp from your lips to spill between his.

“Don’t stop,” you beg at a higher-pitch than normal. Fingernails dig into his shoulders, hanging on for purchase as the legs of the bed scrape across the floor. Not the first time he’s done that, but it makes you want to laugh, all the same.

“I’m not gonna!” His tongue is heavy against yours, his taste filling your senses. Touch, smell, all of it. With a shudder the bed hits the wall, and your shriek of unconstrained laughter has Law dragging himself away from you with a glare. But who wants to glare in the middle of sex? With another laugh you pull his head back down, lifting your hips against his for an angle that turns that kiss into a careening gasp.

He knows. He knows, and remembers. He doesn’t stop, and he doesn’t slow. Your climax springs without warning, unable to continue the kissing in this condition. He doesn’t seem to mind, his head lowering to rest by yours as his groans start with a rumble.

He continues long enough after the end of your orgasm for the delicious sensation to begin again before he jerks to a stop. A few more thrusts break his voice into a shivering bleat.

The battering against the wall stops. And aren’t you so glad you have no neighbors?

Your fingers run up and down his damp back, noting every rise and fall of muscle as he catches his breath. Even now, his weight isn’t uncomfortable. Because it’s him. It’s him and he’ll never be too much or too heavy. Blissfully your eyes drift shut, blocking out the morning light the tufts of black hair trying to cover it up.

Law litters kisses along your hairline. Behind your ear, above it, and to your forehead, which must be as sweaty as his back. It doesn’t stop him.

Then he kisses your eyes; first one, then the other.

“Look at me?” A soft-spoken request.

Look at him. And see what you don’t want.

Your eyes open, hating that time brought this back.

But Law smiles. He smiles as he gently smooths down your hair, his eyes skating over your face as if to memorize every pore. “Do you love me?” he asks.

Now that is a question! Tempting you laugh, but you don’t.

“Do the stars love one another?” you ask back, not quite hiding the bitterness in your voice. “Tracing and chasing their paths across the sky, never to touch except in dreams?”

Law says nothing to that, but waits.

“I love you,” you say.

“That’s all I need,” he says.

“What about what I need?”

His face untwists from his smile into something confused, something a little belligerent. “I asked if you want to sail with me,” he says. “But I…”

“Didn’t mean it,” you finish. These conversations were like walking on broken glass. Delicate. Tentative. Someone was always bound to be hurt if rushed through. “The sea isn’t for me,” you tell him, hoping it will prevent a shard from breaking skin.

But it seems to, anyway. Law frowns. “I wish it was,” he says.

So do I. But more than that, I wish you were for me. Not just sometimes, but always.

He peels away at last, though if you had your way, he’d be in your bed forever. But he doesn’t go far: striding to the side of the bed where his pants had been tossed irreverently, scooping them up to rifle through the pockets. He pulled out something glinting, concealing it in his fist as he grins, returning to bed. Curious, you prop yourself onto an elbow.

“Hold out your hand,” Law says.

Dubiously you look for deception in his face, and see none. You put out your hand.

Something cool and clinking drops into it. When he moves his hand away you see gold. Gold coins, strung together on a gold chain. A small one.

“I can’t wear bracelets,” you say, bubbling into laughter. “Law! It’ll get covered in clay in ten seconds!”

“It’s not a bracelet, you menace.” Law laughs, too, seizing your hand to pull your arm straight. He takes the bracelet-not-a-bracelet back. Evidently you’ve been judged too nonsensical to appreciate the gift yourself: he loops the chain around your upper arm, securing it with warm fingers.

Oh. Not a bracelet.

“I’m not stupid enough to get you a bracelet,” he says, quirking a brow in your direction. “Or a necklace. You’ve complained about those hanging into your work too. This won’t fall or dangle, so I thought it was the best option.”

“You know what else doesn’t dangle?” Your fingers trace the gold coins. They’re hammered for texture; thin and delicate, reflecting the sunlight beautifully. “A crown. Next time, I want a crown.”

Law’s laugh breaks into a bellow, filling every corner of the room with his mirth. You can count on one hand how many times you’ve heard that noise coming from him, and it prickles your skin with pleasure.

“Fine,” he says, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Next time, a crown.”

“Thank you,” you tell him. “For the gift. I mean it. I’m sorry for teasing.”

“Don’t be. I love it.”

“Do you love me?” The question blurts out without thinking. He jolts in surprise, eyes widening. “It’s only fair,” you say, trying to soften the abruptness of it. “You asked me. I get to ask you.”

But his answer doesn’t come. Not right away.

“Well, I’m not bringing jewelry for every woman in town,” Law says at last.

“I hope you’re not licking them, either.”

He glares. You smirk.

“I’ll answer your question,” he says. “But not today.”

“When?”

“When I return.”

“Is there a reason you’re delaying?” you ask. “Do you need to break a prior engagement first? Let down any other lovers?”

“No,” Law says. “None of that.” His teeth dig into his bottom lip. Something your teeth would like to do. He runs his fingers through his hair, sticking it on end. “If I tell you I love you,” he starts. Pauses. Takes a deep breath. “If I tell you I love you then I can’t leave. I wouldn’t.” Another pause, one that sinks his words past dread and into misery. “And I can’t…I can’t stay. Not yet.”

“So,” you say. Your voice cracks a little. “You get to know I love you, but I have to wait in suspense for however?”

His smile returns like the dawn. He leans over to kiss your forehead, wafting his manly scent over you. Inhaling deeply, the scent brands itself on your lungs. Never enough. “Luckily I know you like surprises. Besides, I thought you’d figure it out by now.”

Figure what out? Could he be any more vague? It was like searching for answers from a squirrel. A handsome, generous squirrel, but a squirrel all the same.

“Oh, stop pouting,” Law laughs, attempting to smooth out your frown with a thumb. “Does the stream out back still have fish in it? I’ll catch breakfast.” He rises before you can answer, grabbing his pants once more. This time to pull them on.

Ugh. Pants are the worst.

“I’ll cook them too, if you want,” he says, buttoning the waistband with nimble fingers. You drag your eyes from his navel up to his face, with a very intelligent,

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” He smiles. “You have clay beneath your fingernails.”

Law disappears out the door before you can retort, and the view of his backside in his tight pants erases all thoughts from your head.

#trafalgar law #trafalgar d law x reader #one piece #drabble requests

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thecinderninja · 2 months ago

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Stardust

On Ao3 as The_Cinderninja

Holiday Truce gift for @astatia-ghast

The house is quiet now. Quieter than I can remember it ever being. There’s the hum of the refrigerator, the creak of the foundation shifting as the house breathes, the muffled sounds of life outside the old window panes and the even older, thinner glass. But the spaces between these sounds stretch long now. They ache in a way they never did when I was alive.

At night, when they sleep, I drift through empty rooms. The kitchen where I’d steal snacks and argue with Jazz over the last slice of pizza. The living room where I’d sit, my legs thrown over the arm of the couch while Mom tried to make me sit properly. My room, where the silence is comforting and suffocating all the same.

I drift down the hallway where my sister used to chase me, red faced, shrieking my name and threatening violent retribution for whatever crimes I had committed against her books, her dolls, her hair. Now she shuffles to her room, her shoulders rounded, her face pale and hollowed. She doesn’t slam her door the way she used to.

I wish she would.

My room is the same, but it isn’t. They haven’t touched much - my books still lean haphazardly on the shelf, my posters still cling to the walls, curling at the corners. My glow stars remain in the places they were glued ten years ago when we first moved in, when we first painted the walls robin’s egg blue, when my four year old self stood perched on the headboard dictating the placement of each star, in each constellation, until my ceiling was - to me - a perfect mimicry of the night sky. But it smells wrong now. Stale. Like absence.

Mom walks by sometimes and pauses at the doorway, her hand brushing the frame as though she wants to step in but can’t. Sometimes I think she’s trying to conjure the courage to push the door open. Other times I think she feels me there, and is trying to tell herself she does not.

Dad hasn’t set foot in my room since the day he cleared out my laundry. He keeps busy fixing things around the house - things that don’t need fixing. I watch him through the window as he tends the garden he never used to care about. Our yard was nothing but half-yellowed grass for as long as I could remember. A storage space for spillover junk, spare parts, odds and ends that didn’t have a home in the house or garage.

Now the old kiddie pool is gone, and in its place are neat rows of pepper, cucumber, and tomato.

I’ve never seen Dad spend so much time outside before. Now I know where Jazz and I get our freckles from.

It’s Jazz I follow the most. She’s the one I worry about. She stays locked in her room, staring at the ceiling. She doesn’t read anymore. Sometimes, she talks to me. Her voice cracks when she says my name, but she talks.

“I miss you, you know,” she whispered yesterday. “Even if you were annoying.”

I wanted to tell her I miss her too. I wanted to tell her I wasn’t gone, but I didn’t. (I couldn’t).

Would it help?

Mom and Dad have always been firm: Ghosts don’t rest. Ghosts are what’s left when you cling too tightly to a life already ended. “They suffer,” Mom said once, years ago, when Jazz asked if Grandma had become a ghost. “It’s not a fate you should wish on your loved ones. It’s a hollow, selfish comfort to wish for.”

Would knowing I’m still here bring comfort? Or would it break something already fragile?

I don’t know.

Today, Jazz sits on her carpeted floor, her back to the door, her shoulders shaking. I reach out, knowing I can’t touch her, but wishing I could.

“Please…” she says, so softly I almost miss it. “I feel crazy, but… I swear…” She trails off. “Please, don’t be gone.”

I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t.

What good could it do her? Knowing I’m still here? Mom’s words play on a loop in my mind: Ghosts don’t rest. They suffer.

But I’m so tired of being alone. Tired of watching them grieve while I’m still here. My fingers curl around the nothingness that’s left of my life, and something inside of me feels angry at the unfairness, of how wrong it all is.

How none of this should have happened in the first place if our parents had paid more attention to their own children than to ghost stories. In a way, they’d always loved ghosts more than me, hadn’t they?

I… don’t know where that thought came from. I know it isn’t correct, but… it feels true in a way I can’t shake.

I stretch out, and it takes every ounce of will I have to brush my hand against the photo frame on her bookshelf. A photo of her and me - her and I? - from some family trip I was too young to still remember. It is a candid photo, neither one of us are smiling. I don’t know what was so special about that day that she chose to frame it and keep it all these years. Now, I’ll never be able to ask.

The photo frame shifts. Not enough to topple over, not enough to fall from the shelf. But it shifts.

Jazz freezes.

Her voice trembles. “It’s just the wind,” she murmurs. Her eyes dart to her closed window.

I watch her try to convince herself as her heart thunders in her chest. But then she swallows hard, her jaw setting with fragile determination.

“If you’re here,” she says, louder this time, “do it again.”

I hesitate, but only for a moment. I nudge it again, anger forgotten but this time fuelled by adrenaline - or whatever the ghostly equivalent is in my non-existent endocrine system - tipping it forward until it clatters softly against the wood.

Her breath hitches and stops.. “Oh my god,” she whispers. “Oh my god, oh my god.” She stands up, backing away until her knees hit the edge of the bed.

She’s afraid. My chest tightens with the wrongness of it, but I can’t stop now.

“It’s not real,” she mutters to herself. “Coincidence. It’s just - coincidence.” Her voice cracks. “Do it again.”

I flick her lamp off, plunging us into darkness. She gasps, stumbling back onto the bed.

For a moment, silence. And then -

“I knew it.” Her voice is soft, shaking.

She sinks onto the mattress, her face in her hands. Her breath comes fast, ragged, and then the dam breaks and emotions spill out, flooding the room.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so, so sorry. For everything. For every stupid fight. Every time I yelled at you. Every time I wasn’t fair, or kind, or-” Her voice shatters. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me.”

Her sobs shake me, filling the room, and the air, and my soul like wine overfilling a cup, liquid starlight, and I feel like I’ve been hollowed out and refilled with luminiferous aether. I reach toward her, instinctively wanting to offer comfort, but my hand falls short of her shoulder. The space between us is immeasurable. Her room is small but the quintessence contained between its four corners is vast.

How do I tell her she has nothing to apologize for? That she was everything a sister was supposed to be? We bickered because we cared. We fought because we trusted each other to survive the fallout. It was always us against everything else. Her and me against the world.

And now she’s crying, and it sounds like a sky of stardust.

“I miss you,” she whispers into the darkness. “I miss you so much.”

I want to tell her I’m sorry too. Sorry I can’t be the brother she needs anymore. Sorry I can’t protect her from this hollow grief.

I thought I could comfort her. Thought I could soothe my own loneliness by showing here I’m still here. Instead, I’ve torn open wounds that were barely beginning to scab over.

I want to reach out, to tell her that none of this was her fault. That there’s nothing to apologize for. That every fight, every shout, every frustrated sigh was just a part of us. Part of what it meant to be her little brother.

But I have no voice.

Instead, I watch as my silence - the only answer I can give - drags her deeper into the shallow grave of grief that’s already swallowing her whole.

Mom and Dad’s voices echo in my mind. Ghosts suffer. They make others suffer.

I didn’t believe it then. I didn’t think about it much at all, really. Ghosts were just another bedtime story, another way to make sense of the unknown. My parents’ weird obsession. But now...

The house is hollow, and I’m the thing rattling around inside it. This place is too big for the people left inside it, but too small for me. I can’t move without brushing against memories.

Jazz is still crying in her room. Every instinct I have screams to stay, to do something, but what’s the point? I’ve already hurt her more than I ever did in life. Mom and Dad were right - ghosts are no comfort.

I leave her there and drift into the kitchen. It’s empty, dark but for the faint green glow from the stove clock. The hum of the refrigerator fills the space, steady and indifferent, the sound of life continuing without me, underscored by the air conditioner kicking on.

There’s no hum of electricity coursing through the walls like blood through veins. No blinking red light from the primed security system. The crash of metal-on-metal, of tools and machinery, of hands and minds at work behind the basement door - those sounds are gone.

All of it buried behind the heavy steel door. Locked away, dismantled, abandoned.

This house was a living thing once, but now it feels almost as dead as I am.

Mom and Dad sit in silence at every meal. They don’t say anything, don’t even look at each other. The long pauses between words have become whole dinners, their work abandoned like old habits. Dad’s hands no longer twitch toward his tools. Mom’s gaze no longer lingers on the basement door. They’ve boarded up the pieces of themselves that once defined them.

Mom and Dad have lost so much. Not just me - they’ve lost their purpose, the drive that once filled this house with noise and light and endless activity.

They don’t speak of ghosts anymore.

I wonder if they sense me pacing the rooms I used to fill. Haunting them. Do they know I’m still here? Do they hope I’m still here? Or do they pray to all of the gods they’ve never believed in that I’m not? Maybe they sit across from each other at night, heads bowed, praying that I’ve found peace.

I don’t know.

The silence is loud.

They were right all along about ghosts. Ghosts carry their unfinished lives like anchors. Ghosts suffer. And they make the living suffer with them.

I don’t want to be that. I don’t want to be the reason my family fractures any further than they already have.

But here I am.

I know that it’s selfish to stay, but I don’t want to leave.

The hum of the refrigerator. The creak of brick and beam. Their mercurial grief flooding the house with quicksilver.

I don’t want to leave.

#danny phantom #phandom #phanfiction #danny fenton #phandom holiday truce #phandom truce 2024 #original post #original post date dec 30 2024

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emmyinjapan · 1 month ago

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Just a few thoughts since moving to Hakata, Fukuoka...

This was the very first photo I took when I moved into my apartment in Fukuoka. I remember standing there, gazing out of the window, and thinking, Wow, this is going to be so peaceful compared to London! I imagined quiet evenings and restful nights, far away from the hustle and bustle of the city life I’d grown accustomed to back home.

Oh, how wrong I was.

It didn’t take long for me to realise that quiet is a relative term. While Fukuoka is certainly smaller and less chaotic than London, my apartment is far from the sanctuary of silence I initially envisioned. For one, I live right next to a playground and a school. The sound of children playing—laughing, shouting, and sometimes screaming—echoes through the air in the mornings, often jolting me awake far earlier than I’d like.

And then there are the sirens and alarms at night. At first, I was startled, wondering what could be happening. But now I’ve come to accept them as part of the rhythm of life here. It’s almost comforting in a way, knowing the city is alive, even after dark.

The walls of my apartment are another surprise. They’re thinner than I expected, which means I sometimes hear my neighbours going about their lives—conversations, footsteps, the occasional muffled TV show. It’s not always ideal, and yes, it can be a little frustrating when I’m craving peace and quiet. But, oddly enough, it’s not a bad experience.

What my apartment lacks in quiet, it more than makes up for in convenience. There’s a Family Mart right downstairs, which has become my go-to for late-night snacks or when I need something in a pinch. Shops, restaurants, and other amenities are just a short walk away, making it easy to grab whatever I need without much effort. And the best part? Hakata Station is only a 15-minute walk from my apartment, giving me quick access to the city and beyond. Having such a central location means I’m always close to the action, and it’s made exploring Fukuoka so much easier.

And you know what? Compared to Tokyo, I definitely prefer Fukuoka. Tokyo is incredible in its own way—vibrant, fast-paced, and overflowing with endless things to do. But it’s also overwhelming, crowded, and expensive. Fukuoka, on the other hand, feels far more balanced. It has all the conveniences of a big city, but with a slower pace and a friendlier atmosphere. The cost of living is more reasonable, the streets are less crowded, and there’s a real sense of community here that Tokyo sometimes lacks.

There’s a certain charm to it all. The hum of the playground during the day, the distant chatter from next door, the unexpected sound of sirens breaking the stillness of the night—it’s a constant reminder that I’m in the heart of a vibrant, living city. Fukuoka has its own pulse, its own soundtrack, and my apartment is perfectly placed to hear it all.

In a way, this noise has become part of my new normal, part of what makes life here feel real and authentic. While I occasionally miss the tranquillity I imagined, I’ve come to appreciate the lively, imperfect beauty of it all. Life in Fukuoka isn’t quiet, but it’s full of energy, character, and charm—qualities that make me feel like I’m truly part of this wonderful city. And compared to the overwhelming buzz of Tokyo, Fukuoka feels like home.

—Emmy

#日本 #japan #japan photos #japan travel #Life #Fukuoka #Hakata

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bookished · 2 years ago

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( a collection of villain x hero sentence starters. adjust phrasing as necessary.) feel free to make edits to better suit your muse, but please don’t edit or add on to the original post ♡

“You call yourself hero, but you are a shadow of what you were. I called you family… yet your pride and lust for glory overshadowed your morality and virtue. Now you call me enemy with no other reason than that I stood in your way. So come on, hero! Finish your path to the throne!”

"You haven't even listened to my side of the story yet. Shall I tell you, hm?"

“Since you hate heroes... i'll become the one you’ll hate the most.”

“One more dance?” “One last dance.”

“Ah. How fun to be a liar.” “I guess that makes two of us.”

“But, why not use that power to do good?” “My dear. To do good in a world that thrives on being bad would be a terrible waste.”

“What are you doing here?” “Thought I’d join the most alluring lady in the room for a dance.” “You tried to kill me!” “Please. I’d do no such thing.” “Really? Then, care to explain when you-” His left hand had found the small of her back, just low enough to make her breath hitch and any accusations towards him die in her throat. Silence. “Hm?” He was smirking.

“You see those guards stationed at the gate? They’ve been ordered to not let you leave this room alive. I thought we’d change that.”

“In my right breast pocket is a dagger. You will take it and use it on the guard. Do you understand me?”

“I will kill every single person in this ballroom while letting your father watch, and then I’ll kill him too. No one will ever hurt you.” A pause. “Ever.”

“I always thought this dress would look better in red. Bloody red.”

“She might be mad at me for the rest of her life, but at the end of the day, I'd be the one to keep her alive.”

“To breathe or die, dance and fight, these are the concepts that run with love and war.” “Are you always this poetic?” “Not always. Only when I’m trying to woo you, my dear.”

“Was this just a ploy for me to fall for you?” “Is it working?”

“You died.” “Oh, I missed you too.”

“We shouldn't be doing this.” “Yet here we are, doing this.” “But it's not right...” “Yet you're enjoying it.”

“You know the expression, right?” “A date with destiny...” “A dance with death.”

“I’m so glad that the lack of invitation didn’t deter you from attending. What drew you to it? The opportunity of spilling blood? The publicity of assassinating the king at the most public ball of the year? Or was it to have a fair little chat with the guards?” “What do you deduce, princess? From the scene before you? Would you still say that I am the villain?”

Your old friend turned enemy joins you in a dance after recognizing you, saying, “you have always liked red.”

“Remind me again, my love; which one of us do they believe is the hero and which is the villain?” “I’m afraid I’m not quite sure, dearest. The veil between those worlds grows thinner as we grow closer. Just hold me for this one last dance and promise me that when it’s all over that you’ll never forget the way we felt in each other’s arms…”

“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” he breathed against her skin. He twirled the knife in his hand and pressed it to her pulse. She did not beg him to stop or scream at his betrayal.

“My sweet, I do not want to destroy the world. I merely want you to stop wasting such a beautiful mind, body and soul trying to save it.”

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skywxikers · 11 months ago

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Do you think Hunter is going to die? If so, how do you think it happens?

If not Hunter, do you think anyone else will? Who and why or why not?

Id put this as anon but youd know who i am anyway

OH MY GOD YES WE TALKED AB THIS

this is a giant rant sorry u have to read all this jesse

i’m not 100% sure if hunter is going to die, but out of the whole batch i’d say he’s the most likely to. this is bc wrecker already got injured in the marauder explosion, if he were to get killed off after even tho he was revealed to be ok, that would be not the best writing. i also don’t think cross would die, he’s still developing as a character and going thru his redemption arc and healing (both physically and mentally). omega is essential to the plot bc of the m count transfer and needs to be kept alive, so she’ll live as well.

that leaves hunter, and his death would make sense. he’s the leader of the batch, but i saw another post on here (i couldn’t find the user sadly) saying that his character is somewhat flat, and i’d agree. throughout the seasons, hunter’s only purpose has been to lead his brothers and take care of them; he doesn’t have any goals of his own. during the clone wars, his loyalty was to the republic, after the empire rose it was to his brothers, and omega when she joined. after omega was taken, hunter was noticeably thinner and less like himself. i wouldn’t chalk up his lack of development to bad writing, as the writers have done amazing, imo, when it comes to all the other characters EVEN BATCHER who’s an animal. that being said, i wouldn’t be surprised if hunter’s death is used to push the others’ development.

as for how he’ll die, he seems like the self sacrificing type. project necromancer is somewhat successful, bc the palpy clones are a thing, meaning omega will be affected. that will prob escalate into the final fight. something ab the oldest brother keeping his sister safe, letting her have a chance and live a life he couldn’t (since omega isn’t in any other star wars projects taking place after so i’m assuming she stops fighting)

but ngl i hope no one dies (wishful thinking tho 😔) and hunter gets to discover himself, what he wants, and be selfish for once.

if u disagree tho feel free to lmk, i love hearing other ppls opinions :D

#star wars #bad batch season 3 #the bad batch #tbb hunter #tbb omega

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freakshowtwopointoh · 10 months ago

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A Gathering Storm - All I've Ever Known Part 10

The wind is changing

There's a storm coming on

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And that’s when Sam stepped out of the shadows. I was frozen in place, staring at my brother, unable to process what I was seeing. At first, I thought it must have been a hallucination. Some strange combination of lack of sleep and stress had caused me to imagine my younger brother standing in this dingy room. But he didn’t look exactly as he did in my memory - he looked thinner, warier. And his clothes... entirely unfamiliar. I just looked at him for a minute - trying to comprehend the truth I had always felt but not always believed.

“Sam?” I said, my voice cracking as I stared. And then I was sprinting across the room, throwing my arms around his neck, hugging him as tight as I could. “Oh my god, Sam, you’re alive.” My heart was thudding against my ribcage, tears streaming down my face without interruption. “I fucking knew it.”

“Heya, Mags.” Sam muttered, and I swear hearing his voice just made me cry harder. I was vaguely aware of Jordan muttering something to Hughie but it didn’t matter to me. I pulled back, taking in his face. We’d both been through hell in the past year, but here we were.

“How long have you been here? Why didn’t you find me? They said you were dead, Sam. You have a grave. There was a funeral. How-” I hugged him tight again, being pulled back and forth between anger and relief. “What happened?” I asked finally.

“They were experimenting on me. I was only there for a few days before The Boys broke in, looking for information. They got me out, and I’ve been working with them and hiding out here since then.” He sounded tired, his voice worn and gruff. “But it wasn’t safe. For any of us. I’m sorry, Mags. It had to be this way.” My jaw clenched involuntarily.

“I know.” He sounded exhausted and strained - like he was holding back a lot of emotions, or like he was feeling too many things at once.

“It hasn’t been safe either way, Sam. I...” What could I even tell him? Dad’s friends gave me a bad vibe at a fancy party? Bad things happened months ago and I still don’t really understand them? I sighed.

“What do you mean, you know? What do you know?” My heart rattled in my chest as I tried to process the situation. Now that the shock of seeing Sam has dissipated somewhat, I was reminded of the reason I was so desperate to find anyone else outside of Vought. I pulled back to look him in the eye. The walls were closing in around me and I was slowly realizing how trapped I truly was. I used to say I’d never want to change the past - even the bad stuff. But I wish I could go back to the day Grace found me and scream at my past self, tell her not to listen to anything that comes out of any of their mouths. “Do you know something about the gala? Or...” I searched his face for answers I was almost positive he didn’t have.

“We don’t know much. Once I saw that phony-ass interview with you and Luke, I knew something happened.” My heart constricted painfully, understanding the unspoken message: you broke our promise. Late nights spent crying together when his head got too loud, when my fears got to be too much - we pinky promised to stick together, and to make our own way.

The third worst night of my life was a night when we were in high school together. Sam, barely 14, sobbing in my arms as I tried desperately to convince him not to leave me. I had found his note - a heart-wrenching apology for the troubles he believed he caused us. I promised to stick by him, swore that we would make our own way.

“This is our life, Sammy. We can do whatever we want. We’ll build our own future, and Dad can suck it.” I said firmly, forcing my voice not to crack as I ran my fingers through his curls.

“But -”

“No buts, Sam. Let’s make a promise: we make our own way.” I said, offering him my pinky.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered.

“What happened? I checked on you, you know. After I got free. And everything was normal. Then a few months later, everything changed, and you’re back to playing along with all their games.” He was trying to keep his voice neutral but I could tell he was bitter. And he has every right to be. I looked away guiltily.

“It’s complicated.” I said vaguely, still not able to meet his eyes. And before he could push it further, Jordan came over and cleared their throat awkwardly. “Oh, Sam, this is Jordan. They’re a friend of mine, and they’ve been helping me. We live off-campus with Luke, Cate, and Luke’s friend Andre. Jordan, Sam.” This was definitely not how I’d imagined the two meeting - the circumstances were not great for making friends. They eyed each other warily. Sam in particular looked apprehensive, trying to get a read on Jordan in the dim light.

“We’re going to stay here tonight - it’s already kind of late. We can head back to the townhouse tomorrow, yeah?” They said to me, before smiling at Sam again. “It’s nice to meet you, man. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“From who?” He asked, eyeing them nervously. I gave him a pointed look.

“Take a wild guess.” I said, smiling wryly. “Anyways, if we’re spending the night here, do you guys have any food? I’m starved.”

After a few frozen pizzas and a bit of whiskey, it seemed like the whole room let out a breath of relief. Hughie’s eyes were darting around the room about half as much, and I think I noticed Frenchie and Jordan sharing a cigarette. It felt... nice. I’d imagined it so many times but actually being in a comfortable space with both Sam and Jordan just felt right. And I felt more like myself than I ever had in a group this large. I was smiling and laughing and I didn’t care that I wasn’t sitting up straight or I was talking too much. At first, I thought it was just being with Sam again, but it was deeper than that. Even the people I just met felt safe. Like they could see me at my worst, and I wouldn’t run and hide.

I was leaning back, listening to the conversation without really listening, when Jordan reached over to fix my collar. My breath hitched, a shiver running up my spine. I just hoped they didn’t notice the way my cheeks were tinged pink the rest of the night.

And as I lay on the ratty old couch, wrapped in a scratchy wool blanket and half asleep, I found myself thanking whoever or whatever was watching over me. Because I got my brother back. I still don’t feel like it feels real, and yet it feels more real than anything else I’ve been through in the past year.

Breakfast was a quiet but enjoyable affair, coffee poured and food made as if it was any normal morning. I left my number with Sam, making him promise to text me when he could.

“You know, it’s not like I’ve got an iPhone out here, Maggie.” I rolled my eyes at him.

“You can call me too, idiot.” He sent me a playful glare but he was smiling. I could still see the questions in his eyes - questions I did not want to answer. “Keep me in the loop, yeah?” He nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. We’ll let you know if we find anything. Stay safe. Love ya.”

“Love you too, Sammy. Stay sharp.” He gave me a final nod.

“Now get outta here! I’m sure you have homework to do or whatever.” I rolled my eyes. There’s no way in hell I’ll be able to focus on anything when I get home.

“Thank you guys!” I called out. Jordan had stayed quiet as usual, waving casually at the ragtag group of vigilantes. We walked a few blocks away before calling an Uber, a heavy silence falling between us.

“Well, we didn’t get killed.” I said. “But other than that, I have absolutely no idea how to feel right now. One big question answered, but now I have about a hundred new questions.”

“Tell me about it.” Their voice was nonchalant, but they were looking at me intently.

“Just trying to figure out if you’ll be able to act normal in about... 15 minutes?” I rolled my eyes, flipping them off.

“I can feel you psycho-analyzing me with your eyes.” I said, sending them an exasperated look.

“I’ve been lying to Luke for most of my life. I’ll be fine.” I said. Jordan quirked an eyebrow but said nothing as we clambered into the backseat of the Uber.

But it would turn out that he would not be asking us any questions at all. Because as we entered the townhouse, Luke was inconsolable on the ground, and Cate was convulsing next to Andre. Jordan and I rushed to Cate’s side, trying to see what caused the seizure. And then, the house disappeared.

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#jordan li #gen v #gen v prime #gen v fic #angst #luke riordan #lukes little sister x jordan li #jordan li x oc #gen v fanfic #gen v fanfiction #gen v amazon

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chieffestivalearthquake · 4 months ago

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Laden Sie den neuesten Gaming Browser herunter und führen Sie ihn aus!

Steigern Sie Ihr Spielerlebnis mit dem neuesten Gaming-Browser, der auf Geschwindigkeit, Leistung und nahtloses Multitasking ausgelegt ist. Dieser Browser ist für Gamer optimiert und bietet Funktionen wie geringe CPU-Auslastung, Werbeblocker und integrierte Twitch- und Discord-Integration, sodass Sie an einem Ort streamen, chatten und spielen können. Verabschieden Sie sich von Verzögerungen und Ablenkungen und genießen Sie schnellere Ladezeiten mit Spielmodi, die Ihr Gameplay verbessern. Der Download geht schnell und einfach – einfach installieren und schon kann es losgehen. Bringen Sie Ihre Gaming-Sessions mit dem Gaming-Browser auf die nächste Stufe. Jetzt herunterladen und loslegen! Klicken Sie hier, um Opera GX Windows auszuführen

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sunshinesavvage · 4 months ago

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If I Had Three Lives

By Sarah Russell

#literature #poetry #poetic #writers and poets #poems

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sing-bluebird-sing · 4 months ago

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I’m so desperate to be alive,

I hold on to my breath like the frayed ends of a table cloth,

and they keep spinning and spinning and growing thinner,

until they disappear into the wind.

I’m so desperate to be alive,

that I protect my beating heart.

I force my lungs to expand and contract, and for what?

I think my life is so precious, I dare not step on any ledge,

for the floor might crumble and I’d fall into the fiery pits of hell.

Protect my eyes, my ears, my cherry lips, keep them all to myself.

I’ll need them someday, I know for sure, when the sun sits at the edge

of blanket peaks and jagged stones, the sky is orange bursts

I’ll want them then and only then, to feel the wind against my skin.

I’m so desperate to be alive

that I protect myself from living.

Virgin skin and eyes and ears know not a single day of stripping.

To go bare into the world and to let myself see,

to touch the highest mountain there and breathe oxygen do crisp,

to laugh and cry and make mistakes and fight and cry and live in ecstasy.

No, I’m desperate to be alive,

I’ll sit here, yes, I’m waiting.

#writeblr #writing #creative writing #poem #poetry #poems and poetry #poets on tumblr #bluesposts #bluespoems

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prosperdemeter2 · 2 years ago

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Teaser Tuesday- collision

Shannon was going to blame him, somehow. This is why I don’t trust him! This is why he shouldn’t be around Christopher! He could have gotten him killed.

He was probably the only reason why Christopher was still alive.

Eddie sucked in a deep, shaking breath, held it in his lungs long enough that it burned, and then he breathed out.

It held.

The tears that had stung his eyes were easily blinked away in favor of staring up at the ceiling once more.

No one could predict a natural disaster.

They must have been so scared.

Eddie had been that sort of scared before. He had never wanted that for Christopher. He had made all of the choices he had so that his son would never be that sort of scared and yet, yet, he had failed hadn’t he? How had he expected to go up against nature and win? If nature wanted something, then nature was going to make it happen.

Clearly, nature hadn’t wanted them. Nature had just wanted to… to fuck them up a little bit.

Everything happens for a reason, Adriana would say.

Eddie would call bullshit every single time. He was pretty sure there was a reason for everything that ever happened, yes, but he wasn’t like Adriana or their Abuela - bless her - or any other number of people in the world. He didn’t believe in some higher power pulling the strings because what did it mean for them all if there was? If there really was some… higher being that had created them, what did it mean that that being would set the story up in such a way to cause their creation pain and suffering? Christopher’s base trauma, Eddie leaving, was because of Eddie’s decision to enlist in the army when he was fresh out of high school. His next, Shannon leaving, was because of Shannon’s decision to go… explore a new life with a new family and leave them being. He had suffered because Doug had decided to try and ruin the world they had all built for each other in an effort to keep control of Maddie. He had been stuck in a tsunami because… because they had gone to the pier and Shannon had canceled and… the right pattern of weather happened at the wrong time and it could have happened to anyone, so Eddie didn’t know why it had to just keep happening to them.

“You can’t tell me to go to sleep,” Buck sleepily rumbled from the pillow beside them. Eddie tensed despite himself - had he woken him up, somehow? Or had the nightmares begun so much sooner than he had expected (had they ever really stopped? It was like the cards had been stacked against Buck specifically lately - Doug, Maddie, the truck bombing, the blood clots, a sibling he hadn’t even known about, the tsunami. Had he been given enough time to even work through one of those things or did they all haunt his dreams like a swirl of nightmare fuel?)? “And then just stay awake.”

Eddie very well could. He snorted, “Like you would have been able to stay awake if you even tried.”

And Buck had tried. He had fought it off until he, frankly, had been unable to keep his eyes open anymore. Eddie wasn’t even sure of how awake he was now, mumbling to Eddie with his eyes still shut, three scrapes trailing the length of his cheek and hooking over the corner of his chin. He had a myriad of bruises too, Eddie was sure of it. Big, dark, colorful things that would probably have been bad but were made to look worse because of the thinners. “Is that a challenge?” Buck still didn’t open his eyes, but he did raise both of his brows and his smile, although it was wobbly, was still one of the best things Eddie had ever laid eyes on in his entire life.

“No,” Eddie pitched his voice softer. “It’s not a challenge.”

“Because I’d win.”

Because Buck wouldn’t sleep if he didn’t have to. Because if Eddie thought he was bad at avoiding his nightmares, then Buck was a professional. I used to have night terrors when I was a kid - and sometimes Eddie wondered how he had gotten them to stop. Night terrors didn’t occur just because, not usually. How often had Buck been crying out to be heard and been ignored? How exactly had his dead sibling's death affected him when he was a baby that his family hadn’t bothered to treat? Had Buck ever really stopped have night terrors, or had he just stopped sleeping? “No,” Eddie argued as gently as he could. “Because I think we’re both avoiding things that are going to catch up to us, sooner or later.”

#teaser tuesday #collision #rewrite #eddie diaz #911 fic #evan buckley #buddie

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