for-the-trees-have-no-tongues

Taurus

whenever you see the loud sentences of an article

insisting you leave your comfort zone

implying you are a selfish child who has never desired to grow

and you feel a pang of the unmistakable need to flee

into a quilt crafted carefully fifty years before

surrounded by candles and the warmth of the evening

someone who loves you brings you tea, not knowing

your internal back and forth of should I, shouldn’t I

as you wonder if you’ve been growing backwards

you drink the tea your loved one has filled with cold milk

to keep your from burning your gentle tongue

and ribbons of clover honey

to protect you from the bitterness

you disliked so many years before

the tea leaves swirling silently

in the pale of the milk

the translucence of the honey

and the warm wood color of the tea

could assure you, if you listen

that you don’t have to be the skydiver

or the one who storms out of work

vibrating with anger and justice

growing backwards may only mean

that you are the root of the tree

warm and nestled in the dirt of the planet

and remember that there are those who only wish

that they could soften their hearts

tsukisyamas I think you asked for this :) 


Dipper wrapped his arms around Bill’s neck, smiling right into the kiss the older gem was giving him. 

He couldn’t help it. Bill was warm, arms wrapping around him tightly, almost picking him up so their lips could meet. It was like the rest of the world didn’t even exist in that moment. All he knew and needed was Bill and everything else didn’t matter. He was here right now with the gem he…he loved. Right where he wanted to be. 

Bill hummed into the kiss, mouth moving slowly while his tongue darted out to lightly lick the younger gem’s lower lip. Eye closed tightly in pleasure, for once in his life Bill felt truly free and happy. He didn’t have to worry about monsters or humans or anything else. His Pine Tree was right here, pressed up to him as close as could be, right where he belonged. 

A white light started to slowly consume the two lovers and before Dipper or Bill could even begin to fathom what was going on, both their gems sparked with a bright light. 

Their forms, which were already flush against one another in the closest way one could be, started to merge, steadily and slowly, becoming closer, becoming equals…

Becoming one. 

As soon as the light came, it faded away, leaving a single, lone figure standing in the forest, both it’s gemstones gleaming as it flexed it’s four arms, observing his new body. 

Pyrite was formed. 

The Sound of Rain

It is tiny footsteps between pews, the communion
of mice and deities under cobwebbed beams. The halogen sun;
all spark, no shade. It is when I press my palm to the window

and catch the light under my thumb. It is the sound of rain
waking up, the way my hands shake when we’re done.
It is the cold side of the rumpled sheets, your dizzying laugh

on a narrow street and my tongue,
the lonely orange tree starved of foreign heat. It is
my thirsty English soil and the roots of its defeat

it is writing you love notes. Scrunch up. Repeat.

3

New habitat for the smol dog! I still have a lot to add but I’ll do it over the next few days as I get the time. The substrate is cypress mulch and reptibark, with it being like 85% cypress and 15% reptibark. Irian jaya BTS need higher humidity than a northern so the substrate must be chosen accordingly.

I’m using a UTH as my primary heat source and it’s located around where the faux tree stump is which acts as a warm humid hide. I didn’t want to heat bare glass, so there is a tile floor underneath the substrate on the portion that is heated by the UTH (it can be seen in the last photo). I have a UVB bulb currently over the warm end of the tank which I will be mounting inside once I get to Home Depot to buy the supplies. The cool side has a sizable bowl for soaking and a half of a flower pot for a cool moist hide. I should note that the faux tree stumps are currently on clearance at petsmart (they’re no longer listed online) and are like 5 bucks so if anyone needs one they’re cheap!

The tank is a 30gal Breeder I had laying around that had never been used (aka brand new). It has the same dimensions as a 40gal breeder but is only 12in high instead of 16. So it’s 36 x 18 x 12. Eventually I’m going to buy him a nice viv like a vision or something similar but this will be fine for the time being. Longdog seems to really enjoy it so far!

silvestreaelurus asked:

"What is a young boy like you doing here in Kumungu? This is not a place for children."

uh, the kuma-what-now?  is that where we are? it just…looks like a bunch of trees to me.

*ajuna stammered back, scrambling to grasp the name that she had provided. it danced on the tip of his tongue, but not quite too close enough for him to grasp. it was hot in this terrain he had immersed himself in to, having to remove his jacket and wrap it around his little waist to relieve himself from some of the heat. he tilted his head up to look at the tall woman, pursing his lips into a subtle frown*

y’know, i’ve been hearing that a lot lately. where exactly does a child belong?  

idontknowwhatsarcasmis asked:

Hi! Can I have LelianaxMorrigan number 32? Thanks! (these two need more fics x.x)

32. “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.” 

“I think…I am in love with you,” comes the admission one evening, but slow in dragging off her tongue, like tree-sap. “’tis rather disconcerting,” she adds, lest she be accused of sentimentality.  

Wide eyes watch her from across the fire, and Morrigan takes some pride in knowing she’s finally caught her off guard. The unflappable bard with her songbook of clever words for every occasion, from sermons to comebacks, sharp and on point, like the nocking of an arrow that never misses.

“Oh,” she says, breathes the word with the purse of her mouth. “That is–”

“Not what you’d expected?” And if her own words sound scathing, it’s because she can’t help it. Vulnerability is not a mantle she wears well, and she bristles under the weight of it now.

But Leliana only laughs, a tinkling trill like a lute’s sweet twang. “I think it’s more than I could have hoped for,” she admits, for she wears her vulnerability openly, but like every other garment she wraps herself in it with enviable ease.

Morrigan clears her throat. “Just don’t…tell Alistair. ‘tis unlikely I would live to see the end of his amusement.”

Her eyes twinkle in the firelight. “You speak as though the thought alone would not have him blushing into his roots.”

“Ha,” she breathes. “A fair point.”

Silence comes to settle between them, a surprisingly comfortable weight at the heels of her confession. But their silences have always been good things, as they are wont to argue if too many words are spoken. 

“Morrigan?”

“Hm?”

That soft smile, softer than hers, but she knows they hide harder things. “I’m glad.”

She does not handle fear admirably, but she feels relieved of it now, like some knot has come loose behind her breast, black briars unfurling to make room for rosebuds. 

And so, “I am – happy,” she admits, and finds surprise in the truth of her own words. 

anonymous asked:

Any recommended fanfics?

yup. i will give you some. it’s all mclennon fanfictions



here are my other lists: (x), (x), (x), (x), (x).

enjoy!  ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Somedays I wake up and this new language fits awkwardly in my mouth,

like extra teeth I don’t remember growing.

When I lost my milk teeth I couldn’t stop rubbing the gap

with my tongue, with my curious fingers.

I speak with a mouth full of new teeth

with a new language.

I’ve filled in so many gaps in the culture between us,

and I say home instead of heim.

I have lived here for 1535 days,

more days than there are miles between me and where I dug down

a piece of my heart under a tree when I was a child.
—  1431 Miles. 

Time and again I’ve tried to love like I am loved, with selfless heart and broken, reckless abandon, but too often have I found myself aspiring to be headless. Darkness thrives in a busy mind, and drains you through the ears. I can hear myself saying all the right words, but at some point my tongue stops moving and all I’m doing is thinking of the words I should say but never could, as if all I can taste is ash. Burning bridges is a hobby of mine apparently, and I can set  ablaze a forest fire, consuming every tree I ever grew to love. So I dream of beheadings - the kind with a self-propelled guillotine that cuts off every bad thought. I would rather my brain die than my heart, because it makes such a lovely presentation on the golden platter I’m saving for her. This madness is a crime scene, and for once the blood on my skin will be my own. I’m done digging graves into the chest of others, for these hands weren’t meant to mend.


ftr // the horseman

With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse men, who have been made in God’s likeness. Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing. My brothers, this should not be. Can both fresh water and salt water flow from the same spring? My brothers, can a fig tree bear olives, or a grapevine bear figs? Neither can a salt spring produce fresh water.
—  James 3:9-12 (NIV)

Get To Know Me tag:

The lovely cynicwithatwist has tagged
me. So. Here goes.

Name: Jenna
Birthday: Not telling! *sticks tongue out*
Star sign: Cancer (or is it?)
Height: 5"7
Fave colour: Pastel colours
Time rn: 9:53pm
Average hours I sleep: 6-8 I think
Lucky number: Don’t really have one.

Last thing I googled: Why feet would feel achy and tired all the time

Word that comes to mind: Puppies

Happy place: Inside my head. Or with friends. Or maybe in nature, particularly in a quiet area surrounded by trees.

Number of blankets I sleep under: 3: A comforter, a sheet, and a smaller fuzzy blanket

Fave fictional characters: I’m just gonna be lazy and insert the whole HHB here, including Su-won and Tae-jun, Rory and Lorelai Gilmore…and that’s all I can think of right now

Fave famous person: If I HAD to pick just one….I guess Alison Sudol (but there’s so many others)

Celebrity crush: Dan Howell

Fave books: Soul Flame, The Harry Potter series

Fave bands: A Fine Frenzy, Owl City, The Ceremonies, Mika, Marina and the Diamonds, Panic! At the Disco, Skye Sweetnam

Last movie I saw: I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure it was The Penguins of Madagascar

Dream trip: Japan, but I guess mainly Tokyo, Paris, and western Canada (all the mountains and boreal forests oooh)

Dream job: A musician, but if I had to write or draw for the rest of my life I wouldn’t complain, as long as I also got to do music :P

What I’m wearing now: A baggy Hello Kitty shirt, tights, and fuzzy socks

Thanks again for the tag, dear Cynic.

From what I’ve seen, most people I interact with have already been tagged….soooo….erm….I’ll tag askyonahimesama akayonalove
akatsuki-no-yona-blog and then just anyone else who hasn’t been tagged that wants to do this. Oh wait and fahimaidk hehe ^_^

▌▓  celt-miilo

╳━━━ HIS SOFT WORDS and promises did nothing to ease Cassia’s fury. She pursed her lips as she struggled to repress the anger she felt at having to marry a commoner ( p r e t t y  and  k i n d  as he may be ), brushing the back of her free hand over her cheek as though that could rub away the crimson that had flooded her face. It was the word DISPLEASE that finally triggered her sharp tongue, and a torrent of heated words were directed at her timid betrothed.

Yes,” she said, her voice cold and hard as the wind that whistled through the trees, “I will have a husband who cannot be a man and is illiterate as a CHILD. Did you expect me to be PLEASED, milord? Did you think that being given a pretty castle and power would thrill me? You could not have been more WRONG. This wedding is a farce, mockery of the worst kind… Your clothes and title are a mere mask! Did you think, milord, that by claiming you chose me for a good head instead of a pretty face, I would suddenly proclaim my undying love for you? Do not play the victim, sir. Your status is the one elevated; my reputation the one shamed. The only reason I am here at all is because the King would not have it any other way.”

Cassia yanked her arm from his grip, green eyes still aflame with hot, burning wrath. “Tell me, soldier, does my perfume please you? Do you like your SILKS? Did you imagine you would have a Northern lass who would wed and bed you without a single word of protest? Prove yourself worthy of a title and love before you try to spill your seed in me, for I swear I will cut your throat in the dark of night if you take me against my will.” The fury was a mere MASK for the fear raging inside her; even she knew that much. OH, how the thought of marriage scared her – the thought of being a wife, losing her maidenhead, sitting still in a chair and reciting pretty letters to an illiterate husband while sewing. “You must win my affections before you win me. I refuse to be freely given to any man as though I’m a COW.”

8 hours on a Sunday with You

We sat next to the sea.

You cracked me open with wedges in between your tongue and teeth. I bled red, salt and water, bruised grief and gratitude. You broke me only so I could break away from the venom within. Lover, I learned that we are all made of cells, stars, battles and blessings, but you have a layer of my prayers inside of you. I begged the Gods for your existence.

I grew taller that morning. 

We talked about theories.

You dropped diamonds…Do you know that when you speak, it is like listening to somebody describe rain for the first time? Or like eating mangoes from a tree underneath the summer night? Lover, I learned that luxury looks like rhinestone from inside our minds. I thank the Gods for abundance.

I grew wiser that afternoon. 

We drove around the city.

You held my hand, singing Leon Bridges and Valerie June. I planted promises in your palm, secretly whispering stardust in your hair to make you stay. Confession: my safest place is the spaces between your fingers. Lover, I learned that breathing is not a war, it is a worship. I thank the Gods for heartbeats.

I grew softer that evening. 

We danced in my living room.

You had stars underneath your toes. And I had galaxies in between my thighs. Together we created constellations on the floor. It felt as if we had broken into the moon in darkness and drunk half the madness off her. Lover, I learned that we are as simple as gravity, and that love is enough and easy if we only let it be. I thank the Gods for second chances.

I grew happier that night. 

 We fell asleep in the corner of my tiny bed.

You wrapped me next to your chest as if I was the only address you’ve ever had. And I wrapped you back because you are the only address I’ve ever had. Lover, I learned that bravery and hope, both have a taste and the place they reside is your lips. I thank the Gods for kisses.

 I slept full and with faith that night.

 It took me only eight hours on a Sunday with you, to resurrect the ghosts I had been making out of gods living within. So thank you. 

It is Monday now. There is an ocean in my rib-cage, thinking about what a lifetime with you could do. 

Neha Ray 

My last love poem

Summering Valley

I am looking at the circuits, thinking of former circuits, other passages. Once I walked down stairs in small cities; called for ghosts in flipped tongues. Once grey skies flew through falls, once we spoke on beacons, called toward honey and a sleeping place. Now I’m clearing space for many, setting tables by firelight, making stews of bones. We wait and carcasses sit for supper. We spoon them, watch soup run through holes in the rot. Once they are done singing, the singing will rise. One chorus reaches, one beckons. We watch through evenings, we bow our heads. We have this feast, you walk backwards on wooden heels. Around us forest grows, trees shape, shadows lean. The growth encroaches, a look forms. Once we called for evenings, now we wait. Silence reaches. You called once, you called and answered hung mouth, jaw loose, eyes rolled, breathing on spittle, steam and brine.

                             And don’t you wish you could touch me?

I am the perfume samples in magazines- I fade away in time. Nothing to show for the days beside the memory. I hope when you come in close for one last inhale you breathe in my ashes. You’ve killed that last piece of me you knew. Don’t you feel any remorse? Ha. I shouldn’t flatter you- as if you could feel. Feel anything other than skin on skin. Fingertips contaminating the very fabric of this dying tree mind. Ancestor trees have turned on me. I am the termites and I am the wood. What happened to dreary skies and unsolicited sincere love. You’re entire tongue has gone septic, your lips sewage from gutted pipe dreams. One day those letters will pile and catch fire leaving all my word as embers on your car’s dashboard. Embers that cannot stay in your palm when you need them. Embers that blow away like smooth sunset kisses. You touched me with cigarette fingertips and they’re still burning holes in my paper skin. Written upon with your sweet nothings and sweet whipped cream lies. I still love you. I still love you. But I don’t think you exist anymore but neither do I. 

This is the earth-child, the world-womb. Find it buried beneath the tree where a dead god hangs. Fire in the hills. I have seen the boy standing in the light, in the endless corridor. He is an emanation left from an ancient wound. He will speak in a new tongue and will set to fire the foundations of the old world. His kingdom will bear many crowns and His people will be born from ash. I see their towers tumbling through the skywalk - bridges between one form to the next. It is a world made of diamond and mirrors. Step into one and come out new. Thirteen men went in and seven came out. Seven men who follow His way of war, and legions who will swear that He is king. Heed the leper and the rats, though, they have seen His true face. Quiet and with me: all is illuminated when you step out of the dance.

Man being from Latin America makes it hard to be an immigrant in the first world. People have this perception that you’re some third world creature who has no idea how this modern world operates–ohhh, machinery! I have only ever known the loving cradle of the tree branches I was raised in.

Please, motherfucker. I have mastered your tongue, and I am coming for more. You can’t stop me with your petty immigration laws! Or, I mean, you can stop me momentarily. My mum’s astrologist says THIS is my year.