Kiki | obsessed with Halloween & watches too much netflix |
stormy weather, music, annotated books, libraries at midnight, handwritten notes, sunrises, red lipstick, messy hair, mythology, art, empty streets, coffee, writers, poets, theatre, stars, journals
I cannot express how much I adore dappled shadows formed by sunlight in paintings and photography and in real life
Anonymous asked:
Ain't it scary being 24?
Like 25 is such a strong number on the horizon.
joshpeck answered:
actually aging is a gift so jot that down
I see it is time to bring back the wisdom toad
the fact that we need 8 hours of sleep is ridiculous we should only need 4 and the other 4 should be used to be cozy in your bed and rub your legs together like a cricket and listen to music and think about your little scenarios
normalize having more than one best friend. "best friend" shouldn't just be a title reserved for one person... best friend is a species...
you ever try to read a book and it's like. damn they really just let anybody write these.
if i bring a book someplace it doesn't necessarily mean i want to read it mayb i just want to take her own a walk. Get her some fresh air and a change of scenery
cherrychilli
18+
A/N: Feeling a wee bit fluffy. Reader’s a teensy bit clingy.
Steve sending you flowers when he’s out of town for a work conference. He’s had them delivered to you after receiving your not entirely subtle messages about how much you miss him even though you’re only spending a single weekend apart. The bouquet’s bound prettily with silky ribbon and wrapped in layers of thick craft paper and delicate tissue paper. All of your favorites are arranged together beautifully; fresh, fragrant and full of color. When his phone begins to buzz as he enters his hotel room he knows it’s you even before he’s checked the notification. In the first string of messages, you’re gushing about how much you loved the thoughtful surprise and in the second, you excitedly ramble about where you think the flowers might look best in your apartment - you’re torn between your nightstand and your breakfast nook. Steve smiles fondly at the screen while sat on an unfamiliar bed, multitasking between unlacing his shoes with one hand and tapping out a response with the other about how he misses you too and that he’s sorry he can’t be there with you right now. His phone vibrates again when you forward a few selfies of yourself holding the bunch, face beaming with delight. He scrolls through them, smile getting wider at how happy you look until he nearly drops his phone at the last couple of pictures. You’re posed on your bedsheets, sunlight filtering through your window, casting you in a wash of golden rays. You’ve shed your t-shirt, breasts exposed save for your nipples, carefully(teasingly) concealed with a leafy long stemmed dahlia held across your chest. You follow up the pictures with a winky message about how you’re in the mood to be deflowered, uncaring if the message sounds a little corny or that you’re no longer a virgin. When it came to Steve you knew is was pretty easy to work him up and quite the opposite to dampen his excitement, regardless of whether or not the logic held up. When he recovers you get a picture back of his hand cupping the thick bulge pushing up under his slacks and when your phone starts to chime a few moments later, his name popping up on the screen, you know you’re in for a very interesting phone call.
