writing in love

You could’ve said sorry,
and I’ll forgive you—
again and again.

I could’ve listened.

And everything
still could’ve been
the same.

—  ma.c.a // Wishful Thinking

“One day you’ll stop chasing kisses out of other’s peoples mouth, and you’ll stop chasing their affection and attention, and you’ll start chasing your own love, your own dreams, your own healing. Until then, please know yourself and learn your true worth.”

cynthia go // The Chase

gorgeous aesthetic: lightheaded with longing, lips dripping with pleasant frustration, shooting stars, glistening glances and adrenaline rushes, endless pastel skies setting over rolling waves, honey coated fingertips, passionately twirling in a kaleidoscope of lust, intoxication induced by wisps of euphoria, shards of lipstick stained glass, wildly enchanted hearts, burning desire and chaotic grey areas, thoughts spinning with vibrant melodies, vivacious infatuation coursing through your veins, nervous excitement rattling deep within your chest, the scent of spring and new beginnings, cotton candy smiles.

“No amount of stars,” he tells her, “can distract you when you have fallen for the moon.”

“And you,” he continues,

“My dear, are my one and only moon.”

—  Lukas W. // Forgotten Words #166 // Only moon
I talked to your Dad, go pick out a white dress...

It’s late in a Fall afternoon when Victor Santiago listens to his voice mailbox.

He’s been out without his phone the whole day, and is rather surprised when he sees the missed phone call appear on his screen. Rather worried as well, when he reads the sender’s name.

Jake Peralta, his only daughter’s boyfriend.

He’s never called him before, let alone left a voicemail, which startles him that he did so that day. A rush of panic starts coursing through his veins as he presses the button to listen to what the other man had to say then, afraid it’s something serious.

Afraid something might have happened to one of the two most important women of his life.

How shocked he is finally, when Jake’s recorded voice starts talking through the other end of the line, letting him know of the news -

Mr. Santiago, I’m calling you to inform you that I plan to ask your daughter to marry me, but…

He listens to the whole thing in religious silence, his heart aching a little at the thought of Amy, his Amy, his little tiger who was still just a baby not so long ago (many years ago), on the verge of getting married. In the end he can’t help but smile too, though – it’s true he didn’t think Jake would make a good boyfriend for her at first, but it seems like he is, now.

And even if he’s not perfect… the most important is that he loves her really, very much. That he could tell from the first time they met, without any doubt.

Just like he can tell his daughter does love him too, he knows that for sure – recalls desperate phone calls in the middle of the night after the detective was found out guilty, then joyful ones when he got out of jail.

(I miss him, Dad, she’d say through hurtful cries.

He’s back, Dad, she’d say through happy tears.)

“Care to share what’s making you smile so brightly?” a voice startles him out of his thoughts, and when he turns in its direction, leaving his gaze away from his phone he’s been holding in his hand the whole time after Jake stopped rambling inside, he finds his own wife staring at him with an amused, but questioning, look in her eyes.

He’s still grining when he answers her, before putting the voicemail on repeat for her to hear by herself what he means, “I think our daughter finally found the one.”

She cries of happy tears in response to the perfection of her son-in-law-to-be’s speech.

(Later, when Jake finally proposed and Amy calls her parents to let them know about the great news, excitation easily recognisable in her voice as she’s telling him that Jake and I are getting married!, he asks to have a word with him after congratulating her. All the fear he’s started feeling when his fiancée gave him the phone, not knowing what her father wants from him, is replaced by his heart simply melting out of happiness when the older man only tells him, meaning every word of it:

“Welcome to the family… son.”)

study distractions

tom holland head canon

in which someone won’t let you focus on studying (requested)

  • with midterm season in the air, you had waited until the last moment to cram in all your major study sessions
  • what looked like hundreds of papers were scattered over your bed you shared with tom
  • highlights, pens, and pencils were variously strewn throughout the mix
  • coincidentally, your darkest studying hour was interrupted by tom’s sudden crave for your attention 
  • and other actions 
  • although your head was buried in a textbook, tom had other plans
  • you were interrupted out of your trance when a body plopped on the bed, startling you
  • “tOM you just sat on like half my papers” 
  • “oh, shit, sorry love…anyways are you almost done?”
  • “i’ve only been studying an hour”
  • he’d start whining and scoot closer to you as you returned your attention back to the section you were reviewing
  • tom’s eyes would scan over your face, plotting a way to divert your attention 
  • “boy, it’s quite hot in here, don’t you think darling?”
  • you’d shrug, not giving him much of a response
  • he’d let out an overdramatic sigh before taking off his t-shirt 
  • your eyes would flicker over to him for a moment, definitely caught off guard by the sight of your shirtless boyfriend 
  • “thomas” 
  • “y/n” 
  • with a roll of your eyes, you’d pick up a new review packet and get to work on it 
  • now persistent on getting you to cave in, tom scooted up to where you were 
  • you’d feel light kisses being pressed to your jaw, down to your collar bones, and on various spots of your neck
  • subconsciously, a content sigh would leave your lips as your eyes shut and your head fell back
  • then you could feel a noticeable smirk on tom’s lip against your skin bringing you back to reality
  • “really, tom???”
  • “love, please, i need you”
  • his words would make you tear your eyes away from the papers for a split second before gripping the pen tighter in your hands
  • you’d shake your head, trying to suppress a laugh as tom’s jaw dropped 
  • he’d cross his arms and slouch lower on the bed, still next to you
  • you only made it through half the page before tom stood up from his spot
  • “desperate times call for desperate measures” 
  • curious as to what he meant, you looked up 
  • “huh? tom what are you-PUT YOUR PANTS BACK ON” 
  • rolling your eyes at your seemingly 12 year old boyfriend before really realizing he was standing there in nothing but his boxers 
  • a smile would grow on his face as he noticed you biting your lip in the slightest way 
  • “i guess i could take a break…” 
  • “FINALLY” 
  • cue tom sweeping all your papers off the bed 
  • which only made you yell at him
  • but all was quickly forgiven after he had you screaming for a different reason

And I sometimes wonder where you are or if the smell of cinnamon sugar poptarts still makes you want to puke. But I don’t miss you and I don’t regret anything. Because I’m great now, better even, and the fact that you’re not happy for me is so typical but I still want you to know: you said it was a mistake but it wasn’t, it was right for me.

I’m a perfectionist and yet, nothing in me is perfect. I still think the best solution to problems is crying, I still avoid confrontation and I still write my feelings instead of talking about them but I’m getting better and if I can do it, so can you.
—  giulswrites

“And when it is said to them: "Make not mischief on the earth,” they say: “We are only peacemakers.” - Quran verse ( 2:11)
Hate doesn’t just happen. War doesnt just happen. It’s the ones that pretend to maintain peace while attacking, ensalving, and bombimg innocent lives.

I feel alone, yet, I wouldn’t think I’d like their company. Why should I be so desperate for their validation when they don’t even give me the respect I deserve? I soak myself in my own self love, it took me this long to realize. All I need is myself, all you need is yourself. If you don’t want yourself, how the hell do you expect anyone else to want you?

[i come out /in the garden, /reduce myself /in your sun; /while you resemble /holi, dampish cardamom, /kissed by a

stranger /beneath your /lungs—reincarnated /into my veins, /you are, metaphor for /ursa minor, my /wetland tongue]

Home - Imagine.

Originally posted by loveviral

Imagine fingertips lightly brushing the back of your hand.

Imagine a warm arm wrapped around you, holding you close,

Not because he has to, not because he’s worried you’ll go, but because holding you close is where it’s meant to be, where it fits, what comes naturally without hesitation or concern.

Imagine a warm torso pressed against your back,

Feeling the weight of him leaning into you, where it’s the most comfortable.

Imagine his breath on your neck.





His forehead resting on the back of your head, you hear him softly talk about something inconsequentially interesting and a little curious,

His words slow, there is nowhere else to be than right here with you. That’s all you both want, that’s all you both need.

Just being with you.

Feeling safe.

Feeling together.

A gentle kiss pressed to your neck.

The soft voice disappearing into warm, comfortable silence.


She said she felt nothing

She said she felt nothing
When I said I love her
But the words still poured out
Yearning for ears to hear

She said she felt nothing
When I hugged her so tight
My heartbeat erratic
Against her heart’s dull thuds

She said she felt nothing
When I kissed her pale lips
That sensation lingers
Only for one lover

She said she felt something
But I got up and left 
As I was her nothing
And I lost everything


kc au week | day 5 · Mythology and Creatures

Caroline’s been around for a couple of centuries and is totally fine with using some of the technology from the 21st to see to her needs. Dating is tricky when you’re a Selkie. Unfortunately, it’s harder than expected. A match with a mysterious artist named Klaus goes surprisingly well.

Sometime Around Midnight by @lalainajanes

And dedicated to @cupcakemolotov just because

Something Like This

I have always wanted to write a love poem
about how your eyes can steal the stars
or you know, something like that.

Something like how we are snows falling
to your bed, melting through the night
only to be seeped by your sheets.

Something like how your kisses are sparks
exploding aimlessly to my dusky mouth,
granting me a newborn morning.

Something like how we are clouds floating
above the city, embracing the pink skies
with the flushness of our smiles.

I have always wanted to write a love poem
about how we are vivid hues gleaming
through the wonders of the seasons.

Something like how we are both here,
watching the autumn leaves confetti
instead of disastrously falling apart.

It’s 3:30 in the morning, and I want nothing more than to be talking to you. But I know I can’t do that even though you might answer a call or a text. That’s not really what I want, a quiet conversation over the phone while lying around alone on my bed under cold sheets. What I really want is to rest my head on your shoulder and feel your arms around me while I ramble on in a whisper about all these complicated emotions I feel for you.

-but we both know that will never happen