nyctophilicwitch:

This photo belongs to the shop sacralunajewelry

discovergreatbritain:

Time for tea!

Great places for afternoon tea

slayboybunny:

i refuse to be shamed for having a body. i refuse to get embarrassed when a tampon falls out of my purse or spend a whole day anxious about if someones going to notice that i forgot to shave a patch of leg hair. i wasnt put on this earth to spend my time apologizing for my existence and i refuse to let anyone make me feel like i have to waste my energy on all that petty shit

Sweetheart // Michael Clifford {part two}

// s o n g //

I didn’t bother finding Parker before leaving the club, or any of the other boys for that matter. I just left. I’d apologise later. It probably wasn’t the best idea because now, here I am at half past three in the morning, pacing my living room and tugging on the ends of my hair while cursing anything to do with Michael Clifford. After walking around the space of my living room for the hundredth time, a frustrated groan leaves my lips and I storm towards the door before throwing it open only to come face to face with Michael and a raised fist. It drops to his side when he sees me.

“You left and everyone was worried.” He tells me, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“I was just –”
“Coming back for Parker?” He sneers. His voice says angry but his eyes say hurt. My stomach does a flip.
“I was coming to find you actually.” I admit softly. My confession hangs in the air around us and Michael watches me intently. “I’m not going to apologise to you for what I said if that’s what you’re waiting for.”
“Then why where you about to come find me?” Michael laughs dryly. “To yell at me again? Shove your new boy toy in my face? Tell me all the things you hate about me?”
“I don’t hate you.” I mumble.
I hate me for it!” He explodes. “Damn it, if I hate myself for hurting you, you have to hate me even more. Though I don’t think that’s possible.”
“I don’t hate you.” I repeat. “I hate what you did and I hate how you acted earlier but I don’t hate you.”
He runs a hand through his hair roughly. “You should.”
“You’re right. I should hate you. I should hate you with every fibre of my being and more but I can’t and quite frankly, I don’t think I want too because that would mean fighting with you and that hurts more than what you did.” He stays silent and I take that as my cue to continue. “I don’t understand the laws of physics or science or why you dye your hair so much and I don’t understand how someone can feel so much for someone that their heart feels like it’s about to burst every time they look at them. And I don’t know why we hurt the ones we care about. But it all happens anyway, whether or not I understand it. And it’s going to happen even when I do understand it. I just have to accept it, the good parts and the bad.” Michael’s eyebrows furrow and he stares at me curiously and confused. “And I accepted what you did, all of it. The good and the bad. I accepted the fact that you hurt me and that you went on tour. And I accepted the fact you probably didn’t care and everything you said was a lie. But I also accepted that I love you and whether or not what you said was true, everything’s still going to spin and turn where it’s supposed to.”
The expression on Michael’s face in unreadable and suddenly I feel like I’ve said too much. The seconds turn into minutes and when Michael still hasn’t said anything and my heart feels like it could beat out of my chest any second, I open my mouth to take it all back but he takes a step forward and wraps his arms around my shoulders and pulls me towards him. I sink into his chest, my arms wrapping around his waist loosely as if I’ve done it every day of my life. I feel his fingers grip onto the fabric of my shirt tightly, as if I’m going to pull away and yell at him. I snort at the mere thought and step closer, snuggling into his embrace.
“What are you snorting at?” He laughs lightly.
“Your death grip on my shirt. I’m not going anywhere.” I explain.
He shrugs and loosens up his grip the tiniest bit. I listen to him breathe in and out steadily while his heartbeat thumps inside his chest and I realise what all those stupid romance books try to explain; the feeling of his arms around me, his breath tickling my neck, the smell of him, the sound of his heart beating in time with mine, this is what being home feels like.


Anonymous whispered: Hi! Are you considering a part two for Sweetheart? It's alright if you aren't I just loved it and was wondering if a second bit was coming (your blog is amazing btw I literally love it soo much<3)

Originally I wasn’t but now that you’ve said something I’ll see what I can do just for you anon :) think of it as a present for being awesome and making my day ❤️

alalae:

this is amazing

kappa773:

teamfreesexuality:

proudlyinsane:

timelord-and-fishcustard:

There’s a difference between

image

image

and

image

The fact that we all know what this means really says something about our social lives

you should all go to your blogs and hover over them

You should

aausten