its inside your head


It was a very unique prep process. David Ayer does more… he calls it rehearsal but it’s much more like group therapy where you sit around and everybody talks about their deepest emotional issues and your trials and tribulations.

I hate that I’m not her. I hate that I can’t make you laugh so hard you cry, and I hate that I can’t make you feel like she can. I hate that I can’t kiss you or hug you like she can. I hate that I’m not her.
—  M.E
the gospel of joseph: step-father of yeshua of nashua

dear beloved my mary
to whom i willingly give
my heart and breath

the woman who heard
our cries in the night
has ordered me
out of the stable
she says i am
only in the way
and my blood is too hot
to comfort you

you know that i am a simple man
i hope you remember
the time you sent me
for cooking water
only to find me much later
watching the reeds
sway in the gentle breeze
as the river babbled
a song from home

out here
among the stars
and vast darkness
i aim the heat of my blood
through my finger
and draw a palace
in the sand
that i swear i will build
to protect you
and your child
from any want
you should ever
consider knowing

this is the framework
i construct
to explain they myriad ways
i do not begin to comprehend
how any god
should insinuate its voice
inside of your head
and its seed into your womb

hear this silent vow
o heart of my heart
your child is my child
and will only ever know
the bounty of my love
my one true god

hear this selfish plea
my necessary confessor
and my soul’s only confidant
i will tear
the rotten black heart
out of death itself
and forge it into a hammer
to dismantle even the firmament
of the infinite heavens in the sky
if that beast should ever come to you again

your body is
the only temple i have ever known
your heart is the
transcendent molten core of love
my only commandment

the first time
you smiled at me
my heart rose out of my body
and soared free
as if a bird in the sky
this hot blood
in my veins
that also waters the flower
of my forever love for you
is the new covenant
i who once was your husband
and is now a father
propose to you
who once was my wife
and now is a mother

the quiet has found me again
deep inside my abiding love for you
and look
how my never-idle hands
have made this simple palm frond
into a basket to hold our baby safe

i return to you
in your labor and pain
ready to shower you with
the comfort you have restored in me

me: “i really want to ship maévon with someone but IDK WHO”

me: *looks at záos, the guy who i already ship with like 20 characters, jokingly or not*

me: “hmmmm……… interesting………”

coffee // optional bias

“you didn’t have your morning coffee today and the uni lecture and teacher you had were not helping with your cranky mood so as you burst out the doors of the cafe with your well needed coffee we bump into each other and your coffee spilled over both of us so you start cursing me out until i manage to calm you down” au

genre: fluff?? / warning(s): idk bad writing ig *lol*, written in lapslock, a little swearing

word count: 1.7k

note: wow i actually wrote something not angsty since the kisses drabble :0 reader’s a bit of a jerk in this yikes. but sorry for mistakes and enjoy??

Keep reading

You liked doctor!Luke, but at the same time you despised him. He was too perfect, and so you thought it mustn’t be true. Parents raved about how their sick children’s faces lit up at the sight of his twinkling blue eyes, patients wrote him extensive thank you notes after a surgery that went even better than predicted, and your fellow nurses even had the gall to fawn openly about him, proclaiming that his arms “looked like they’d been shaped by the gods.”

You sighed as you arranged some surgical equipment. Honestly, you admitted it: you didn’t hate Luke because he was mean to you—in fact, in was quite the contrary. A green-eyed monster lived inside your chest, rearing its ugly head whenever the blue-eyed doctor entered the room. You almost wanted him to be a complete asshole, but he wasn’t; he was sweet.

“Need some help?”

Speak of the devil, or, well, angel himself. He looked like he just got out of surgery, his hair mussed up and body dressed in scrubs.

“Oh, uh, no… it’s okay. Thanks.” you said.

Luke furrowed his eyebrows. “Are you sure? You’ve been working all day.”

You chuckled, gesturing to his attire. “So have you.”

Luke shrugged. “I don’t mind. Besides, it’ll go faster if there’s two of us.”

And before you could protest, he was beside you, arms brushing against yours as he arranged the tools.

In the hospital, the other nurses always gossiped, but it was a surprise when, a couple days after, you heard them mention your name. Eyebrow raising, you listened in and managed to hear one of them saying, “Dr. Hemmings… totally has a thing for Y/N.”

You couldn’t stop your mouth from gaping open, but after a second you closed it and snorted. What? Were these people crazy? There was no way.

But maybe you dismissed the idea too quickly, because Luke kept asking you to be on his surgical team and went out of his way to help you with whatever tasks you had that day, striking conversation and lingering around to talk to you even when he had somewhere to be and something to do.

It was still a surprise when, after another night of him helping you clean up a former inpatient room, he asked you.

“Y/N, uh, well, I was wondering if you would be interested in going out to dinner with me Saturday night?”

Your jaw dropped. “What?”

He cleared his throat, and for the first time in his life, you could swear that his usually steady hands were shaking. “I said-“

“Wait.” You were having a serious case of word vomit. “You want to go out with me? I’m not… as good as you. At anything.”

He scrunched his nose up. “What?

You swallowed, ready to repeat yourself, when he reached up and pushed a strand of hair out of your face. His eyes grew soft, that million-dollar smile that had little kids laughing taking over his face.

“Y/N,” he said, “you’re more perfect than you think you are. Promise. Besides, remember that heart surgery we did last week? I wouldn’t have been able to do that without you.”

You smiled, and suddenly all your jealously faded away. “Sure, Luke,” you told him, “dinner sounds great.”

Coworker!5sos blurb night with @complicashton, request/tag us in your writing!

“The easiest way to get into the meditative state is to begin listening. Simply close your eyes and allow yourself to hear all the sounds that are going on around you, listen to the general hum and buzz of the world as you listen to music. 

Don’t try to identify the sounds you are hearing, don’t put names on them, simply allow them to play with your eardrums. Let them go. In other words, let your ears hear whatever they want to hear. Don’t judge the sounds: there are no proper sounds nor improper sounds, and it doesn’t matter if somebody coughs or sneezes or drops something — it’s all just sound.

As you pursue that experiment you will very naturally find that you can’t help naming sounds, identifying them, and go thinking, talking to yourself inside your head, automatically. But its important that you don’t try to repress those thoughts by forcing them out of your mind because that will have precisely the same effect as if you were trying to smooth rough water with a flatiron — you’re just going to disturb it all the more.

What you do is this: as you hear sounds coming into your head, thoughts, you simply listen to them as part of the general noise going on just as you would be listening to cars going by, or birds chattering outside the window. So look at your own thoughts as just noises. And soon you will find that the outside world and the inside world come together. They are a happening. Your thoughts are a happening just like the sounds going on outside, and everything is simply a happening and all you are doing is watching it.”

— Alan Watts

For One Day

“For One Day”

I wish for one day,
I could be someone else.
To say what they say.
To feel what they felt.

I want a new mind,
A new body; a new heart.
I want to be able to find,
What I looked for from the start.

I wish for one time,
I was you instead of me.
To see through your eyes.
To see what you see.

I want new dreams.
New desires; new goals.
New fabric at the seams,
And a way to plug this hole.

I want a new direction.
A new purpose, a new meaning.
If I want perfection,
I’ll audition for screenings.

I want new gloves.
New family, new friends,
Except the ones I love,
Are invited to attend.

I wish for a moment,
I could see inside your head,
And all of its components,
To say the things you said.

Because I feel worn down.
So jaded and so cold.
Its time to pass the crown,
Because I am getting old.

I feel on most days,
Forgotten and removed.
I’m someone you throw away,
Like a pair of worn out shoes.

You don’t understand,
What its like to be me.
So lets not pretend,
I have a healthy body.

You don’t want to know,
The thoughts in my head.
They once brightly glowed,
But now they spell out dread.

So let us start over,
Please God if you may.
Wishing upon clovers,
For brighter, better days.

you say my name and the dog inside me feels the hair on the back of its neck flatten for the first time in months. you reach out, touch my hand and the dog stills for a moment, feels safe. feels protected. feels right.

but you say another boy’s name and that boy also has a dog that growls at mine. that boy loves and is loved back by my simple, boxcutter boy. and you kiss the other man’s lips at night, reach down inside him and pet his dog, hold its head in your lap. let it breathe deep and slow until all the love you have inside you is poured out into him now.

and I should let you go.

but we sit on the beach and watch children wade in water we don’t go near. let our dogs tangle up in each other but keep our skin six inches apart. my mouth is stuffed full of white lies. and I’m desperately trying to keep the empty side of my bed that I carry around with me like an unmarked grave where you can’t see it. I’m afraid his dog will bite you because I’ve seen the scars it’s given other people, but I don’t say a word because I’m afraid the rest of my truth might fall out. you tell me you have faith in my honesty and I throw up in my mouth at all that I’m hiding. I push it back down and smile. you tell me you’ve got to get home to him and my dog hides under the bed. your dog pretends not to see.

and I wish I were strong enough to let you go. this boxcutter boy who cuts my arms more than I do. but you say my name and it settles something in me. the dog inside me that I carry around like a punching bag lays down, closes its eyes and dreams of being enough.

—  how to love things you can’t have, by windy sharpe