writing passions

Kiss her slowly.
Take your time, there’s no place you’d rather be.
Kiss her, but not like you’re waiting for something else, like your hands beneath her skirt or shirt, or tangled up in her bra straps.
Kiss her like you’ve forgotten any other mouth that yours has ever touched.
Kiss her with a curios childish delight. Laugh into her mouth, inhale her sighs.
Kiss her until she moans.
Kiss her with her face in your hands. Or your hands in her hair. Or pulling her closer at the waist.
Kiss her like she’s the brightest star you’ve ever seen.
Kiss her like the first and last piece of chocolate you’ll ever taste.
Kiss her until she forgets how to count.
Kiss her stupid.
Kiss her silent.
Pull away, and ask her what 2+2 is and listen to her say your name in answer.
—  N M H
You say I am the best you’ve ever had, but neither of us care to admit I am also the best you’ll never be able to keep. I am a furious, windstruck storm of a human being, with passion bordering on madness and romanticism bordering on obsession. My kisses are the only part of myself your lips can fathom, and your hands cannot even touch my body without your fingers staining from all the storms that rage within me.
You seem to love the type of women whose eyes are serene and bright as the summer days they spend with you, who are beautiful and competent in the ways the world is only to happy to accept. They love with lukewarm tenderness and just a hint of arrogance only a life of privilege can bring- they hurt you, perhaps, but never amaze you, and the height of their unpredictability will end in a drunk car ride home that tastes almost as common as the whiskey you drink to forget them. But forgotten they will soon become, and there are many, many, women who will share the shade of their eyes and the nature of their well contained laughs. They will take months from you, tears from you, and sobriety from you temporarily, but never anything deeper. You do not understand the ways, then, in which women like me love. I will take the speck of honey brown from your eyes, the warmth of your skin, and the movement of your hips and hold them closer than you pull me, for I do not know what it means to feel without completion. To love, to feel, to touch without giving all of myself is a foreign concept I have no desire to become acquainted with, and I am sorry, but the only compensation I accept is everything you cannot give in fear it will destroy you. I will love you with all I have to offer, all of my madness and wild hair and sweet laughter and crooked teeth, and while there could be paradise between us, I offer no promises about what we will take from each other. Does that frighten you? It should. The truth is I am as full of destruction as I am affection.
You crave the sensation of me on top of you, but you do not understand me. Do not be fooled by the kindness in my eyes or the softness of my skin- I am a multitude of miraculous tragedies dressed in art. And as much as I want to love you and spread the deepest parts of myself over you like the tides on a coastal shore, I know you cannot love me in the way I demand to be loved. You are too accustomed to the idea of affection with no lasting consequence, and so you cannot possibly have enough to give without leaving me at least partly empty. I am someone full of presence, and any absence you leave will leave me bare.
—  ap (7.17) I do not know what it means to love with mercy
Show > Books

book clary: whiny, problematic, cliche “underdog becomes the hero”
show clary: badass, soft, *cough* not trying to get with the guy she believes is her brother *cough*

book jace: an asshole but “it’s okay because he’s just witty and the cool-guy”
show jace: supportive, strong, a good person to have as a friend/ally

book simon: literally did nothing except pine over clary for like three books, but he’s the cliche cute-nerd friend that EVERY main character has to have
show simon: badass, can make his own decisions, nerd-hot

book isabelle: wasn’t even there most of the time, slut shamed when she was there, but she was a good sister
show isabelle: a fcking goddess™, the best forensic pathologist in the state of NY, just trying to be accepted by her mom, a fcking amazing little sister

book alec: problematic, whiny, good with a bow, knew he was “in love” with his parabatai but still dated magnus (completely disregarding magnus’s feelings)
show alec: amazing fighter, amazing brother,amazing son, amazing boyfriend, amazing amaZING AMAZING !!!

book magnus: literally wore fuckinf ridiculous clothes, but overall he was pretty great
show magnus: the most badass, fashionable, wise person on the world, an excellent boyfriend, takes absolutely NO bullshit, is there to help people when they need it

book luke: wasn’t even there most of the time ???
show luke: the BEST detective in New York, amazing step-dad, badass leader, saved the day so many times i’ve lost count, just overall the best

Okay, okay, okay, but I CANNOT get this AU idea out of my head:

Castiel, as a Reaper instead of an Angel.

Castiel, meeting Dean for the first time when Dean is four years old, standing in front of his burning home with the flames reflecting in the tear tracks on his face. Castiel revealing himself to Dean, gently prompting Dean to mind Sammy’s head as the infant cries and squirms, because he really doesn’t want to reap more than one soul tonight. Laying a sorrowful, sheltering hand on Dean’s head and staring down into pleading green eyes and whispering, “I’m sorry,” before walking slowly up the burning porch to reap Mary Winchester’s soul (who refuses to go with him anyways).

Castiel, as the Reaper who appears to Dean after the car accident while Dean is in a coma, shocked when Dean remembers him from that night so many years ago. Dean jokingly asking, “Are my guardian angel or something?” and Castiel sadly telling him, “No. Rather the opposite, I’m afraid,” and having to explain to Dean about the existence of Reapers. Castiel wishing to himself that he didn’t have to reap this vibrant young man, who is brave and frustrating and stubborn and obviously so full of life, and then realizing he should be careful about what he wishes for, because Dean is spared but Castiel is forced to reap Dean’s father instead, and he hates that he’s causing Dean more pain.

Castiel, meeting Dean again less than a year later. And then meeting him again. And again. And again, as Dean and Sam work the Trickster case, and Dean dies every day. They get to know each other pretty well, and it becomes something of a running joke: “We’ve got to stop meeting this way, Cas,” Dean teases, and each day Dean bemoans the ridiculous new way that he’s just been killed, and Castiel commiserates sympathetically and helpfully points out that at least Dean didn’t pee himself this time. And he hates that Dean has to die every day, but he hates himself even more because he can’t help dreading the day they catch the Trickster and it all stops, because then he won’t have an excuse to keep seeing Dean and listen to his laugh and hear about his favorite bands and watch the fond way he looks at his brother.

Castiel, appearing when Sam is stabbed by Jake, sick to death with the thought of reaping the soul from Dean’s brother. He doesn’t reveal himself to Dean in the real world this time, even though he could, because he can’t bear to have Dean turn those stricken green eyes on him, he’s a coward, a coward, a coward - but it doesn’t stop Dean, kneeling in the dirt and clutching the lifeless body of his brother tight in his arms, from screaming out, “I know you’re out there, Cas! Don’t you dare take him! I’ll never forgive you!” And he thinks it’s a cruel, cruel joke that he’s destined to continually reap the souls of the people Dean loves most, one by one, and when Castiel leads away the soul of Sam Winchester, there are tears on both their faces as they tell Dean ‘goodbye’, even though he can’t hear them.

Castiel, being summoned one year later, unsure of what’s happening, suddenly finding himself staring down at Dean’s shredded body on the floor at his feet - but Dean’s soul is still here, obstinate and unyielding, circled by snapping hellhounds but refusing to let them drag him away because “I said I’d go to Hell and I will, but I don’t need hand-fucking-delivered by these fleabags, I’ll take my own way there, goddammit! I’m allowed a Reaper! Bring Castiel the Reaper!” And Castiel raises his eyes and meets Dean’s gaze, and it’s gentle, and resigned, and frightened, and forgiving, and Castiel doesn’t deserve it, he’s never deserved anything less than the understanding in those eyes, and he’d rather be anywhere else, he’d rather be dead himself, than here to take away Dean’s soul to Hell. But he does his job and he leads Dean to the gates of Hell, except then he can’t go, he can’t leave Dean here, he can’t - until Dean kisses him, sudden and fleeting, and tells him, “It’s okay, Cas,” and pushes him away.

Castiel, blindly turning away for only the briefest span of time - the blink of an eye, the pulse of a human heartbeat - before he realizes he can’t do this. Screw the job, screw the deals, and screw the laws of nature, he will not leave Dean here…except when he turns around, Dean is already gone. 

Castiel, spending the next forty years breaking into Hell, laying waste to horde after horde of demons with the fatal touch of his ghastly true form. The memory of Dean’s kiss burns a brand against his lips, and when he finally, finally finds Dean, the touch of Castiel’s spectral hand burns its own brand on Dean’s soul as he grips him tight - the touch of death claiming a soul already dead, because Dean is his. Dean looking up at Castiel, and his soul is messy and tortured and broken, but he still manages a smile as he chokes out: “See? Told ya you were my guardian angel,” and Castiel carries Dean’s soul out of Hell and chooses life.

To put this in more perspective: love and hate sit on opposite ends of the same spectrum.
So yes, love and hate are the same thing. Passion

What traveling has taught me:

-It’s not a race. I was always so bummed about the number of countries I’ve been to compared to other people my age until I understood that the number of places visited is not what traveling is about at all. It’s not important about how many places you’ve been but the depth you’ve explored them. I have been to some beautiful places all around the world that I am insanely grateful for. We can not compare our journeys to others.

-Read books you normally wouldn’t read. Question each line. Watch movies you normally wouldn’t go see. Study the cinematography. Order the meal on the menu you can’t pronounce. This is how you discover new parts of yourself.

-Take care of our earth. We are destroying it faster than we even know. Humans need places that have not been altered or rearranged by man.

-Simplify. Clean. Get rid of shit. We don’t need a lot to live. Oh, and, pack light.

-Walk barefoot. Harden the bottom of your feet. Wear less makeup and dress the way you want. Be comfortable with your natural body. Drink more water. Take care of yourself.

-You have the power to choose love. Love the sky, the stars, the animals, the people, the trees, the street corners. Always choose to love.

-Going alone is okay. If we all waited for someone to travel with us, we’d be waiting for a very, very long time. So, please go even if you have no one to go with. There are millions of people all over the world that are just waiting to meet you. Some of them you’ll meet in a hostel room and you’ll end up spending the night walking through the street markets, some of them you’ll meet at a bar and discover new corners of a city you didn’t know existed, some of them you’ll meet sitting on a bench at a bus stop and you’ll end up sharing the best coffee you’ve probably ever had, some of them you’ll meet watching the sunset on the beach and you’ll end up sharing stories and laughing with them until the morning and some of them will end up being your best friends. And sometimes you’re going to be alone and going on tours, to the movies, or to restaurants sounds scary to do by yourself at first but soon enough you’ll learn that it is completely okay to be alone. Solo does not mean lonely.

-Don’t say you don’t like anything until you try it at least three times.

-Save your change.

-Spend less time on social media. It’s no secret that social media is addictive and it’s really good at taking away precious moments. It’s important to not be glued to your phone or laptop while abroad. Social media will always be there for you when you get home.

-Traveling is overly romanticized. It is very hard work. It does not solve all your problems that you have at home. And traveling is not what it looks like on Instagram.

-When you’re eating, really taste your food. Talk to the locals. Immerse yourself fully into this new culture. When you’re out hiking, let go of your phone. This is how you’re going to get the best experience possible. Live in the moment.

-Take photos. It is physically impossible to remember all these moments in your life. Someday down the road, maybe when you’re feeling a little depressed or bored, you can grab your camera and scroll through these photos that’ll remind you of some of the best times of your life.

-It’s okay to look like a tourist. It’s cool to make mistakes. Don’t be afraid to ask a questions. If you make a mistake, do or say something offensive then and apologize and move on. Your life won’t be over.

-Cheesy souvenirs are never worth it. Collect sea glass, your train tickets, plane tickets, maps, stickers and coins. Chances are those colosseum magnets you bought in rome were really made in china. Support the locals if you’re going to buy souvenirs.

-People are good. I’m sure you’ve heard or experienced this before but the people with nearly nothing are the most giving. We can all learn something from them.

-The world is not as bad and scary as the news makes it out to be.

-Nothing will ever go as you expect it to. Plans go out the door. I learned this the hard way. In fact, I am sure every traveler has learned this the hard way. You’ll miss flights, you’ll get flat tires on road trips, you’ll end up spending a lot more money than you expected, you’ll miss buses, you’ll have to run to trains to get to them on time, I promise you’ll have a dead battery when all you want to do is call mom to make you feel better, the hostel you wanted will be full, your dumb airline will lose all your luggage, things will get canceled and you’ll spend many unexpected nights crying but despite all the struggles that traveling brings upon us, it is always worth it. The tears, sore shoulders and blistered feet are always worth it. There’s no point in getting mad that your plan fell through.

-Everything happens for a reason. If you get an opportunity, take it and if something comes along in your life to change it, let it.

I want you.
I want us.
I want sunset laughter,
and cuddling in the grass.
I want your playful hands,
and soft eyes.
That’s it.
Nothing more, nothing less.

N. Hardy