yeah ok bye

a tumblr awards for all the fandoms that i am in which is quite a lot, all people welcome!

  • must be following me(come on its christmas)
  • must be a fandom blog
  • reblog until december 23rd
  • reblogs only, no likes please sweeties
  • 1 winner, 1 runner up for each category, maybe more i don’t know
  • if no-one from a category reblogs it, there simply won’t be a winner for that category

categories

  • “the stiles stilinski award” - my favourite ever ok
  • “the sam winchester award” - best supernatural
  • “the lydia martin award” - best teen wolf
  • “the rory williams award” - best doctor who
  • “the aria montgomery award” - best pretty little liars
  • “the april kepner award” - best grey’s anatomy
  • “the peeta mellark award” - best hunger games
  • “the james t kirk award” - best star trek
  • “the hermione granger award” - best harry potter
  • “the haley james scott award” - best one tree hill
  • “the jeremy gilbert award” - best vampire diaries
  • “the tony dinozzo award” - best ncis
  • “the killian jones award” - best once upon a time
  • “the impala award” - best url
  • “the nemeton award” - best theme
  • “the comet award” - best updates tab
  • “the tardis award” - kindest blogger

enjoy dear friends! ps winners get all the love in the world

The only book he owned was red,
Journal full of sloppy poetry.
He wrote and he read,
Lines on how to love her.

He knew nothing more
than her cracks and crevices.
Her heart was a rose, locked
under a bell jar.
His calloused fingers craved to touch
her, he never minded the thorns.

He could ease the ache
on both ends.
Poems he composed for her
overused the lines,
Roses are red and
Violets are blue.

He became her pupil,
Predator and prey.
Fragile porcelain
He could not obtain.

And her ears would not make out
The sound of his voice,
For his words were a mere whisper
to the demons inside her head.

He was destined,
Referring to pages 4, 5, and 6.
Four, the way he fell
Down stories of a New York City Tower,
Though he didn’t care for the aftermath,
The city lights and the empty sound
of cars buzzing by
would make him feel alive
If she helped him along the way.

Five, countless minutes could not be spent
Without her name surrounding his brain.
The night his hands gently ran
through her hair and down her spine,
He came to the conclusion
that letting go,
Was not an answer.

Six, was the poem
where he discovered those eyes,
In red sunsets,
Frigid snow,
gray clouds and diamonds.

Page 7
Roses are red and
Violets are blue.

He stood outside her door,
Comparing thee to a summer’s day.
Inside her bedroom,
pill bottles shook
and lighters ignited flame.

He tried with the lines,
Roses are red
And violets are blue.
She never came down,
But he never gave up.
He would recite,
until she belonged to him.

She was more than asleep in her bed,
Veins pricked by the spindle.
She would not strut out that door
with a glimmer in her eyes.
He would wait quietly
until dawn,
Asleep against her front door,
Six dogs barking at him while he slept.

—  alexia