did i mention i love this show more than life

you may not feel wanted or needed even if someone openly tells you so, they call that trust issues. with yourself. with others. so you wait. you watch. you detail. you color outside of the black lines. you melt crayons on rocks. you smile into the people that counts and sometimes, they leave. so you stop waiting, so you stop watching, so you write down the details, so you go back to coloring inside the lines, so you melted your heart on top of those rocks and you crack a smile and tell yourself, baby, i told you so. you may not feel wanted or needed even if they came back and prove their loyalty and consistency; they’re five minutes too late and you’re already strained from your blood stained t-shirt, your knuckles wrote your poems inside of tree hollows and the scrapes you scrapped from your smile, it’s a missing puzzle piece. you pick up poetry because finding the complexity of those simple clouds were easier than thinking about why they forgot you that day and you sit and you wait. and you sit and you wait and you sit and you wait and you sit and you sit and you wait and wait and wait and wait and wait– baby, no one is coming. it’s just you and the cloud’s repeated smiles. i think you fell in love with poetry that day. when the bench spoke to you about the warmth of your loneliness and how familiar it felt. being a stationary piece of man-made utility, you made peace with yourself at such a young age, we all have made mistakes, we mold ourselves into pens that never run dry and my blue veins may be bitten more times than a rotten apple has worms, but if i saw you on that bench and asked you about the time, you’d always respond that it’s half past heartache and the spaces between your smile and hands were in need of a hug. my father once lost me in an arcade and he lost me yet again in the same day on a beach, late at night I found myself on a cliff and I still have scars near my ankles from the crabs and sharp oyster shells that clamped the poetry into my runny nose personality. i know i cling onto the girl on the bench and i know you see the boy lost among a crowd of strangers, but we see more than we speak, but when we speak– it’s my absolute favorite. and i know we have differences. but our similarities are way too cramped too deny. i know you saw it a long time ago. when i mentioned drug abuse, you said it’s okay. when i mentioned addiction, you said you’re addicted to my cheery atmosphere. when i mentioned broken home, you said foster’s home for imaginary friends was your favorite tv show. when i mentioned death, you said life is a sand box and death was the sand castle. we all fall down one day. when i mentioned heartache and anger, you said your heart only stops hurting once you start bandaging and sleeping more. so i did, and so i got better. when i mentioned self-harm, you said cuts make room for flowers and if every petal meant you love me, you’d have more than a thousand gardens from when adam met eve. when i mentioned being lost, you said being found was somewhere in between your fingers and if i ever needed validation, look into the mirror. recording myself sleeping. peace and calm, that’s who i am. that’s who i will be. that’s who i lost and will find again. when i mentioned wanting to grab that gun, you said that life has to have more. it has to. the balcony with melted cigarette filters became my home for seven months. seven fucking months. that’s when i met you. when i mentioned poetry and how to get better. back in november, i wonder if you saw a piece of your baby brother inside of my smile. i wonder if you knew. when i mention about you, you’d say i’d find you in between the spaces of your fingers holding yourself tight with a clenched fist. when i mentioned about love, you’d say love yourself before you love anyone and that will fix you more than you’d like to think. and i know it hurts to wonder about the days when they’ll be back. you may never feel wanted or needed, but you are. i need you to be you. i want you to be you. just you. even if it means that i find my way out of the arcade. even if it means that i make my way off that cliff with my bloody feet and bare jog the whole way to that bench. i’ll sit next to you. and we’ll wait. and wait. and wait. and you may run out of bandages by the time this poem is over, but sorry, but i’m not sorry. i brought some for your knuckles. and we’ll sit and wait and sit and wait and sit and wait and sit and wait and sit and wait and sit and wait– and i’ll find a cloud just for your baby brother and i hope he knows that you’re in good hands. and if i run out of bandages, shit, i guess our written poems finally have usage. what are bandages made from our paper poetry? i love you.

EVERYBODY GO SEE DRACULA: UNTOLD IN THE THEATER

Pay for it. Give them your monetary vote, because we need SO MANY MORE movies with awesome armor and real female characters and gorgeous effects and story-lines that really surprise you. 99 percent of the movies that look like Dracula: Untold are just CGI testosterone fests that, I admit, I quite like. But I can admit their flaws. This movie did not have those flaws.

I repeat. Did not have those flaws.

The female character was there for more than sex appeal. The main character was flawed and he knew it but he didn’t spend his life stewing in his own juices. It was just, really, really amazing. Not to mention cinematically gorgeous

I mean, look at this man and his armor and how much he loves his family:

I don’t want to spoil anything, but please, if you were even thinking about it go to see it. Matinee if you have to, but GO TO THE THEATER AND SHOW THEM WE WANT MORE LIKE IT. 

Give Me Love (Like Her): Ch 15


Summary: How can Killian Jones ask his aggressively aloof neighbor on a date without making her uncomfortable? And how can he ensure that he doesn’t default to having a one-night stand with her? His unusual solution: announce his affections anonymously and hope for the best. Companion piece to With Affection from Killian’s point-of-view.
Rating: Mature/Explicit
Notes: Here it is, folks! This is the companion piece! I really, really hope it lives up to everyone’s expectations. This is not a sequel, but there are several scenes that will not make much sense, or be nearly as meaningful/entertaining, if you have not read With Affection, which can be found here and here (or through my fic page).
Banner by @bashful-killian, beta-read by @optomisticgirl

AO3: First and latest
FFnet: First and latest
Tumblr: First

Content note: This chapter contains explicit sexual content.

Chapter Fifteen:

One thing was for sure: falling deeply in love with someone before sleeping with them resulted in the most meaningful, mind-blowing sex Killian Jones had had in his entire life.

He still couldn’t believe his good fortune. Earlier this morning, he’d simply been hopeful that Swan would agree to talk things out with him. Not only had she done so, but she’d forgiven him and permitted him to make love to her. And now she was staring at him with a goofy, satisfied grin on her face, one he was sure mirrored his own. He was about to reach out and touch her—just to enjoy the exquisite feeling of her skin beneath his fingertips—when his phone, still in the living room, began to ring.

“Shit, I left my phone in the other room.” He quickly scrambled out of bed and into the living room, glad for the blinds on the windows, and saw who was calling: Jefferson. “What do you want, mate?” He hadn’t meant to sound impatient, but he didn’t want to talk to anyone at the moment: he wanted to go make love to Swan again.

“Happy New Year,” Jefferson said, clearly unperturbed by Killian’s attitude. “How’re you holding up?”

On second thought, he wondered as he saw the time, perhaps he and Swan might shower. He went to the linen closet and began rummaging for clean towels. “I just got in last night, so I’m quite jetlagged, as any reasonable person might expect, you bloody idiot.”

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