swallows stones

This photo set shows very clearly how axolotls can ingest small pieces of gravel.
If kept on gravel substrate, axolotls have a good chance of accidentally swallowing small stones along with their food when eating. Often these pieces will get stuck in the digestive tract and can eventually kill the animal. This one was very lucky to pass all of the stones in her system.

The top photo shows her belly full of stones.
The bottom right photo shows how she looked after she passed them.
The third photo is all of the gravel she passed.

Please keep your axolotls on fine sand, tile, or bare/bottom tanks. If you wish to place stones in the tank, take care to ensure they are larger than the axolotl’s head so that they cannot be ingested.

(Photo courtesy of Candice Mills)


never submitted anything to a blog like this before and it’s not going to be near as good as everyone else’s but I couldn’t get rid of the idea

Back home, you used to be known for storytelling. Not the wild and unbridled force of creation that builds and destroys entire worlds in moments, that fearsome superpower – though you have that too, but that is for you and you alone thus far, and you haven’t gotten the courage to share it – but rather the ability to retell a memory in the most entertaining way possible.

People seemed to like it when you took your memories, pieces of yourself, and told them as a story. Back home they did, at least.
At school, your roommate mutters something about not sharing so much personal information as she turns her socks inside out. In the classroom – where you can never quite remember what you’ve learned, but you always leave with more stories creeping about in your mind – occasionally students listen with a gaze just a little too sharp, the feeling of more eyes than you can see on your back.

But storytelling is in your blood, it’s part of who you are, and so you tell your stories. Happy ones, funny ones, tales of adventure and mischief that you thought were mundane until you grew older. Actually, compared to Elsewhere, they are mundane.

There’s one story you haven’t told yet, one that everyone in your family pretends not to know. It’s the tale of why you came to Elsewhere, the tale of the Thing you saw as a child, that took your cousin when the two of you played in a forest, and promised to return for you. Why you decided to go to college upstate and not attend the local university. You thought you were escaping the madness. (Sometimes you see the shadows at the corner of the stairwell and hear horns on the quad at night and wonder if you leapt from the frying pan to the fire)

It’s why you twine iron wire through your curls in decorative spires and carry salt packets sewn into your clothes, and carry old things from your grandmothers that you aren’t sure will help you (but grandmothers can be so very stubborn)

You’ve started to hear things on campus. Students who disappear and come back Different, if they come back at all, or other students who make the brave but foolish journey Underhill to rescue one of their own. Everything you’ve learned since coming here suggests that asking about it is pointless, if not outright dangerous, but at the same time you can’t help wondering if they’d know anything about the Thing that took your cousin. You know that one day you’ll find one of the students who made it There and Back Again, and when you do, you’ll tell your story.

Close to autumn you find yourself in one of the thin places on campus. It was an accident, you were simply too preoccupied with an upcoming exam to notice the air turn unseasonably warm and humid, and before you know it, you’ve walked three times the length of what the hall should’ve been, and each time you find yourself back at the lockers, the air is warmer, heavier, and the ground is softer. Somehow you instinctively understand that you must keep moving. To stop here would be a grave mistake. So you keep walking, and the air feels like the breath of something huge and moist, and you’re pretty sure there’s mud squelching beneath your feet now but you really don’t want to look.

It’s when you do look that the tiles, soft as mud and unyielding as stone, swallow your feet to the ankles and you are trapped. You curse your foolishness in three different languages – two of which are fictional and one of which was invented by you. This one feels stronger, and when you say “Flames take it!” you can almost feel a spark of phantom heat by your legs – and hear something laugh in the darkness.

“You are stuck,” it says.

You demand to be set free, even as you twine a strand of iron-wrapped around your hair and clutch your necklace – from your grandmother, a tiny bottle filled with salt and mustard seeds. You’re not sure if mustard seeds have any significance or if she just liked them – and try to look anywhere but shifting, oily shadows that smell of dust and moss. You suspect that demanding anything from one of Them will be a fruitless endeavor, but you’re frightened now and the liquid tile is sucking you down further. It’s up to your knees here. It occurs to you that you might die like this, that you might disappear just like your cousin and all those other students disappeared.

“What will you give me?” It asks.

Before you can think, you answer, “A story.”

There’s a bubbling silence before It makes a hiss that sounds too pleased to mean anything good. “Yes,” It says, “A story. But I’ve heard all yours. Make it one I haven’t heard before.”

This is tricky. The wrong story could mean death, and when It says It’s heard all your stories It probably wasn’t exaggeration. You could tell It one of your original tales, the stories of pirates and dragons and giants, but those feel too personal. There is too much of you in those stories, and that is your world, with your characters. You can’t help feeling a bit protective of them.
That just leaves The Story.

So you tell It a story about two children playing in a wood. About a thing like a skinless horse with the torso of a man grafted into its back. About fleeing in terror as the Thing chased you both through the trees, and your cousin’s squeal of fright as it grabbed him, just missing you as you splashed across the shallow creek. You go into greater detail than you ever have before, telling It things you didn’t even tell your family before they called the police.
You remember the color of the Thing’s rolling eyes and glistening muscle.
You remember the way its head seemed to wobble back and forth like it was attached to the wrong body.
You remember it promising that water would not always save you.
You remember knowing that running water might be the answer, even if you don’t have the question it goes to yet.
You didn’t want to tell this story, but you can’t stop the words now no matter how hard you try.

All is silent when you finish your tale, and for a moment you fear you were talking to the air. Then, with a slurp, the tiles spit you back out again and you’re standing on solid ground.

“That is a good story,” It says, “I think I’ll keep it.” with these cryptic words and directions to simply follow the hallway, he leaves you and you find yourself running all the way to the stairwell. You thank your lucky stars that you got out none the worse for wear and you are astonished that you managed it at all.

When you tell your roommate, she is concerned. “What did you give Them in exchange for Their help?” she asks you.

“Just a story,” You answer.

Which story? You have a million.”

“It was the one about-” and you stop. Not because you never decided whether or not to tell your roommate. Not because you’re preoccupied or distracted.
The words wedge in your throat, sticking to the back of your tongue, coating your tonsils like thick dust. They won’t come out. For a moment you’re afraid that you might not be able to speak at all. So you try to tell a different story, and that comes out loud and clear. But when you try to explain again that you told the story of how Something took your cousin away – presumably Underhill if not someplace worse – your tongue seems to shrivel in your mouth and the words lodge in the soft parts of your throat like little needles.

That’s a good story. I think I’ll keep it.

It isn’t your story to tell anymore. For once, words do not obey you. Your roommate sees your rising panic, sees the tears welling up in your eyes, and takes pity on you.

“Tell me a different story,” she says, “A made-up one.”

She used to scold you about telling stories all the time, so at first you don’t understand what she’s doing. Then she asks, “What story didn’t you tell?”
The rather obvious wink when she says this gives you and idea.

Words are your tools and they always have been. Until today, they have always obeyed you. You know how to make a truth sound like a lie and a lie like truth. And so you carefully craft a lie so close to the truth, using characters so close to being you and your cousin, that you are sure your roommate understands.

Forever after this, you season your stories with lies in case you must trade them, so that the truth remains yours to tell. You learn say nearly anything and keep it just close enough to fact to fool someone.

You don’t realize that you’re learning to talk like Them until you find one trapped in the snare an upperclassman set near the library, all salt and iron. It yowls like a cat and screams like a child and its three hands scrabble for purchase. It wants out, you know this.
You cock your head and say, “What will you give me if I release you?

It’s only fair, you think. A story for a story.
You’re playing a dangerous game.



WINNER’s beginning was different from the start as they were born through a reality program, “WIN: Who Is Next”. In the first week of their debut, they won three #1 crowns on music shows with their title track “Empty” and swept up all the rookie awards that year. The public fixed their eyes on the monster rookie that had skills, visuals, and the star quality and WINNER always put out results that met expectations. But a long hiatus followed which was unprecedented for a rookie group. A sudden piece of news that fans received during the hiatus was not about their comeback but about a member leaving the group. They became 4 members from 5 and they changed the formation of their choreographies and they adjusted the vocalist parts and they had to work hard to fill up the one empty spot. The result of this came in the form of their single album “FATE NUMBER FOR”, which was released on April 4th, 1 year and 2 months after their previous comeback. The moment the album was released, it recorded first place on iTunes Charts in 21 different countries and was featured in Apple Music’s “Best of the Week”. The fact that the public’s response to “REALLY REALLY” and “FOOL”, which are total opposites of each other, are addicting is just a bonus. WINNER is at their peak.


The response for “REALLY REALLY” is very hot. Do you feel how popular it is?

I’ve been told by people but I can’t really feel it myself. Just like it has always been, we just perform onstage and meet our fans and move according to our schedules.

During WINNER’s hiatus, with Nam Taehyun’s leave, the group became 4 from the original 5. Didn’t you feel like your responsibility as the leader was heavier with this comeback?

Of course I felt responsible. But I didn’t think things like, “I need to lead WINNER better so we can go to a higher place.” (laughs) I felt like I needed to do things instead of staying still.

I heard that you weren’t able to properly rest or travel for leisure during the hiatus.

Yes. When I didn’t have plans on making music, I was at home. Home and company. That was it. It was because I didn’t want to just rest. Even when I didn’t have any songs to work on, I went to the company. I felt more comfortable staying at the company, eating with my composer hyungs, and talking to them.

I heard you made “REALLY REALLY” and “FOOL” very quickly.

Composing for both songs came easy to me. For “REALLY REALLY”, I finished composing the melody and writing the lyrics while lying in bed in 4 hours. But I couldn’t figure out the best melody progression for the bridge part so I asked Mino to help me.

As a member who composed the songs, which member do you want to praise the most?

Jinwoo-hyung. I don’t force directions to the rappers. They have always done well with their individual styles and they know how to show off their own colors. But I was really surprised at how much Jinwoo-hyung’s singing improved while recording for this single album. The time it took to record decreased greatly. It took 30 minutes when it usually takes 2 hours.

Jinwoo told me earlier that the songs suited him so well that he was very comfortable with them.

Whenever I make WINNER songs, I compose so that it suits the members. It’s only possible since I’ve known them for almost 10 years now, ever since we were trainees. This means I probably can’t make songs for other singers.

I feel like you received a lot of stress to achieve such good results.

I feel like I don’t get stressed much but my body keeps hurting in places. (laughs) I still get migraines.

How do you relieve stress?

These days I reform clothes with Mino as a hobby. I usually relieve stress by going outside and walking under the sunlight. But I need to wear a face mask and a hoodie so people don’t recognize me. I wear black clothes to not draw attention to myself at night. (laughs)

How do you reform clothes?

I just fold them and stick them together and sew things together and cut things. I’m bad at sewing. When I have things I need to sew, I put them aside and when my mother comes to Seoul, I make her do it… (laughs) She enjoys it though! I’m usually really blunt around her so when I ask her to do things like this for me she thinks we’re playing together.

In the end, all the clothes you’re reforming are made by your mother.

No, that’s not it. I design the clothes and my mother sews the clothes. Designers don’t sew clothes themselves. Their assistants do it. (laughs)

You’re receiving good results after a long hiatus. Is there something you want to challenge yourself in in the future?

I want to hear people say, “This is what WINNER-like music is” even when we make music we want to make and not bother with trends. To make that happen, we need to become more known and further develop our careers. I think it’s possible with time. Personally, once WINNER becomes properly stabilized as a group, I want to release a solo album but I want to include all genres of music into that one album. When people think about the music Kang Seungyoon makes, they assume it’s only folk or rock music. I want to break that preconceived notion and put in dance, hip-hop, R&B, and even trot songs into the album. I’m just sharing my thoughts. (laughs)


You’ve succeeded in the variety scene. You received your nickname “Song Dumb” through “New Journey to the West” and you’ve become famous enough among the older generation that they ask for your autograph. Was it your wish to appear on a variety show?

Yes, I wanted to. Other than music shows, we weren’t able to have complete promotions and as time passed, the image of the group WINNER solidified into being a group that is hard to approach and classy. (laughs) I don’t mind that kind of image and vibe but I wanted us to promote more and become more known. In that timing, I received the offer from “New Journey to the West” and I had lots of fun filming it but I didn’t expect to be shown like that… (laughs)

You’re honestly worried as a rapper, right?

At first I was worried that my image would cover my music activities. But when I thought about it, what was shown on TV is my true self and it’s separate from the music I make so there is no need to forcefully hide myself. I’ll show myself as I am and I can show my music as it is.

In a separate interview you said that you worked hard to show rapping that overflows with energy without covering the melody. Maybe because of this I feel like your vocalization changed.

My vocalization changed during “Show Me The Money”. It’s actually a change that all singers and rappers go through. It’s how we find the voice we’re most comfortable with. When I first started rapping, I made up a voice and rapped in that voice. When I listen to the songs I made when I was in high school, my voice sounds like I swallowed stones. (laughs) Back then, I thought that was cool. But gradually, I’m finding the voice I’m comfortable with.

When you promote as WINNER, rapping is a component that makes up the vibe of the song. You must want to work on your own music since you don’t rap as much compared to when you promote individually.

Yes. The rapping I do as WINNER is one part of the song so the importance lies in the overall concept. But my rap style is made up of word plays and I pour in a lot of fun elements and enjoy my music so when I get the opportunity to work on my solo music, I’m going to do whatever I want. I want to go hard in my rapping.

Do you perhaps remember the first rap you made?

I don’t remember the lyrics but I remember what happened. The first ever music I made was when I was in my 6th year of elementary school. I went to my friend’s house and wrote my first lyrics and recorded myself on a cassette tape with my friend. I didn’t know anything when I was writing those lyrics. I just scribbled something and said, “Hey, but let’s still record it” and I recorded it on a cassette tape. I wonder where that cassette tape is now.

Out of all the raps you’ve made, which one gave you the hardest time?

The song that I had the hardest time making was “Shoot” for “Infinite Challenge: Great Legacy”. The overall concept was already set in place. The larger theme was history and the smaller theme was General Lee Soonshin. And the project was about becoming aware by looking back into the past and looking at the present. It was difficult to express myself within a fixed boundary. Fortunately, the end result turned out well.

You’ve had the name WINNER for 4 years now. Is there a time when you think you have some spare time now?

I don’t think we’re at that level yet. But the chemistry between us members is really good. We’ve been living together for a long time now so I think we know pretty much everything about each other. I know what my members are thinking just by looking at their faces. The member who is in the best mood today is… Seunghoon-hyung. That hyung has severe mood swings but I think he’s pretty happy today. (laughs)

Is there a specific key point you want listeners to focus on for “REALLY REALLY”?

Um… What a difficult question. (Song Mino mulled over the question for a long time. Lee Seunghoon, who had finished earlier came and suggested, “Didn’t you say you worked hard to change your tone? Tell her about that.”) The change in my tone can just be heard. I don’t need to specifically tell that to people… I just want people to listen to it comfortably. Comfortably. (laughs)


I heard CEO Yang praised you for making the choreography for “FOOL” in 5 hours.

I was able to make it quickly because I thought about the flow of movements. “FOOL” didn’t need complicated dancing. It’s a song that is close to the ballad genre so it wasn’t necessary to dance powerfully and put in a key point dance. The first thing I thought about was how I could make us look cool.

I’m curious about your process in making choreographies.

First, I close my eyes while listening to the song and draw a picture in my head. I imagine an overall picture while thinking about the mood of the performance that people would find cool watching us. After I imagine that, I make a large outline of how the members should move. After that, I make the detailed dance movements. “FOOL” didn’t need lots of movements but the formation had to change because we became 4 members from 5.

You’ve started promoting after a long hiatus. I heard you thought a lot about what kind of fanservice you would do for the fans.

The ground-breaking invention of Naver V App is helping many people other than ourselves, I think. I really want to tell Naver that I love them. (laughs) I’ve always liked making and planning ideas and content. I’ve had interest in making videos from when I was young. So I have fun and I like communicating with our fans through V App.

I feel like you’ve been overflowing with ideas from when you were on “K-Pop Star”. I guess you’re not nicknamed “Deputy Lee of YG Planning Team” for nothing.

I enjoy producing ideas. When I get told they’re fun, I get really excited. Usually, other artists go to the YG office building to work out or go to the recording studio on the 3rd floor and they don’t really go to where the staff members work. But I always go to those staff members’ offices. So when they see me on TV, they say that I look unfamiliar and that it feels strange. They say things like, “Why is our Deputy who’s always scruffy appearing on TV like that”. (laughs)

You have good fashion sense. You’ve collaborated with fashion brands too.

Let me just tell you that good-looking people like Jinwoo-hyung never get interested in fashion. That’s because they look good no matter what they wear. (laughs) I enjoyed going around used-goods markets and looking for clothes with my friends. Since I debuted and am earning money, I can buy expensive clothes now, right? I used to not have money so I couldn’t buy expensive clothes but I suddenly realised that the ultimate end to fashion was to personally create a style of clothes I like. So later on, when I have the opportunity, I want to create my own clothing brand, like Tyler, the Creator who made “Golf Wang”.

You’re a jack-of-all-trades. I was surprised when I saw your poem called “Flower Boat” that you wrote for your fans.

I just imitated something like a poem. I feel like my fans like it so much because what I feel for my fans can be felt from that poem. I’m not good at writing and I’m not talented.

What are you talking about? Your fans say that the lyrics you write are the best parts of the songs. Were you proud when you listened to the completed recordings of the new songs?

Yes, I liked them. Seungyoon is the type to listen to the music he makes a thousand times before the release but I don’t listen to our songs often. I say things like, “Why listen to them already when we’re going to keep listening to them after they’re released?” (laughs) But I was satisfied. I worked hard to make a rap that middle school girls could imitate easily.

How did you do that?

I made sure my enunciation wasn’t hard to imitate and the speed wasn’t too fast. And most importantly, I put in many breaks between the beats where you can rest. I imagined how people would sing and rap along. (laughs)


You’re famous among your fans for being very diligent. What kind of effort did you put in for this single album?

I kept receiving lessons while we recorded. I also learned contemporary dancing and thanks to that I became very confident. I used to sing quietly when we recorded but now I actively try singing this way and that. My singing hasn’t changed but my attitude has.

As the group became 4 members, your singing parts increased too. Were you not burdened?

I just recorded the songs comfortably. When Seungyoon makes a song, he thinks about our tones and the rappers’ tendencies. We record many songs and there are times when there are good results and there are times when there are bad results but when Seungyoon is the one who made the song, I never struggle. I didn’t put in any extra effort. I don’t need to because he makes songs that suit me perfectly.

When were you most excited while recording the songs?

I was just happy the entire time we were recording. I feel like learning how to physically express myself in a given situation through contemporary dancing made me change a lot internally. If I have the time, I want to continue learning contemporary dance.

Fans know that you’re a homebody. Do you still always stay home?

I don’t spend my spare time outdoors. I watch TV at home or I lie in bed and play with my phone. I used to play lots of phone games but I’ve stopped that now. Playing so many phone games made me spend too much money. (laughs) I stopped because I realised that if I kept it up, I would go broke. (laughs)

You must’ve watched a lot of TV during the hiatus.

I’ve watched many dramas recently. I especially enjoyed watching “Defendant”.

Who is your favorite actor?

Kimura Takuya. I love it when people tell me I look like how Kimura Takuya looked like when he was young. (laughs)

Who is your favorite Korean actor?

Jisung-sunbaenim who acted in “Defendant”. Did you watch that drama? You didn’t? You really should. I really love Choi Jinsil-sunbaenim. I didn’t know that I would fall in love with another actor besides her. Jisung-sunbaenim acted his character who would never let go of his deep sadness even in a happy situation and… Wow… Seriously…

You’ve acted in a webdrama before, right? I can feel that you’re greedy for acting.

Yes, I’m always interested in acting. I’ve acted in a couple of webdramas but I think they didn’t really suit me. I want to try acting a deep and heavy character instead of a light character. Of course, I am still very lacking.

But you’re the icon of effort. All the other members picked you as the member who improved the most.

Not just me, all of us worked really hard in making this single album. If you ask me what people should focus on when listening to our song, I want to say “all of it”. There is really no part that didn’t require hard work.

Then when is the best timing to listen to “REALLY REALLY”?

When you’re in a flirting relationship with someone. Or at the beginning of a romantic relationship, when the love is fresh. If I were to compare that feeling to a season, it would be Spring, which is right now.

When do you think Spring will start in your love life? I heard what your ideal type is on the radio. You said that you want to date someone who looks like you, right? A women with big eyes, a slender face, and is 165cm tall. Do these characteristics still hold?

Firstly, I don’t mind what kind of hairstyle she has now. But I would like it if she is shorter than me. Other than that, the general descriptions haven’t changed. But right now I will concentrate on WINNER promotions. (laughs)

Translated by @chrissy96_

Scans by @from1025       

Friendships Can’t Last Forever

Request: “Hey I’m a big fan of your blog! If requests are open I’m hoping that if you don’t mind you could do a x reader based on the song cold by maroon five? Like the reader is jealous of Leta and Newts relationship and ruins her relationship with Newt by accident? Just really angsty stuff please ^_^”

Word Count: 2,056

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Requested by Anonymous but tagging @caseoffics @red-roses-and-stories and @dont-give-a-bother

The first time you notice that creeping feeling nagging at your thoughts, you’re walking through the towering Hogwarts hallways. Other students pass by, gossiping and complaining and filling the way with other conversations that you ignore in favor of Newt’s own goofy jokes and interesting facts. His hair hangs in his face and he presses his books against his chest, knuckles white around the worn spines of his herbology textbooks. The glasses you love slip down his nose, but he doesn’t bother to adjust them as he looks at you, lips thinned in a nervous expression.

“I, erm, I was wondering if you would be fine with postponing our study time tonight.”

You frown. “You were going to help me with that potions essay.”

Newt swallows, looking at the stones under his feet as he continues forward. “Leta needs me for an emergency.” He doesn’t let you reply before launching into a further explanation. “I wouldn’t cancel if it weren’t important, but she swears up and down it is, and I don’t want her to deal with it on her own.”

He rambles on as the shadow of that nagging fear tugs at your thoughts. You feel odd, weird, like you ate something bad and it’s only just now catching up with you.

Considering yourself ridiculous, you shake the feeling off. Newt loves you. You may just be friends, but you’re best friends. He would never ruin your friendship for someone he has known only for a year.

“Newt,” you interrupt teasingly, “I think I can get through one night without seeing you. Might be a bit of a relief, actually.”

The wrinkles in his forehead smooth out as he laughs at your joke. “Glad I can make your day so easily.”

You continue talking all the way to herbology, that feeling of discomfort poking at you when Newt starts to discuss Leta’s thoughts on magical creatures.

You shove it away and try to focus on the way Newt looks at you.

Keep reading

giveaway drabble

Heyo! As you may remember, I did a 500-word drabble giveaway recently to celebrate hitting 500 followers. The winner, @parinite, asked for Klance fluff with trans Keith coming out to Lance! I’ve been wanting to write trans Keith for a while, so I was really happy to get this prompt ;w; It ended up being more like 540 words, but oh well. I hope you like it! <3

I’m gonna tell him.

Pidge already knows. Hunk’s sharp enough to have figured it out. Shiro, of course, has known forever.

So why is telling Lance so daunting?

Keith used to buck Lance’s arm off when he attempted to throw it around Keith’s shoulders, so that he wouldn’t feel the tell-tale edge of the binder underneath his shirt. That risk is gone now, and Keith’s more himself than ever. Still, wondering what Lance might say has Keith’s heart leaping up and punching him in the fucking teeth.

Even now – now that they’ll grab each other for noogies and sit together on the couch with their arms brushing, now that sometimes their eyes catch for a moment too long, and Keith’s convinced that if he just leaned in, he’d feel those grinning lips kiss his own – even now, it’s scary.

So scary just thinking it has his mind turning to white static.

It’s because you like him, taunts a voice in his ear. Keith grits his teeth, imagines stabbing it.

“Hey, Lance? There’s something … I wanna tell you.”

“Oh? Is this it? You’re finally admitting I’m your superior?” Lance puts a hand to his chest. “Sorry, I’m getting emotional. I need to go prepare my official speech—”

“Will you shut up for two seconds?!”

That came out harsh. Shit. His hands are shaking.

Lance seems to realize he’s serious, and goes quiet. Keith takes a deep breath.

“Lance – I’m trans.” Saying it is not a relief. If anything, it makes the butterflies in his belly multiply and colonize his entire body. “And … I thought you should know.”

Lance’s expression softens. Keith’s heartbeat does not slow down.

“Oh,” Lance says. He sounds a little surprised – just a little. “Cool. Thanks for trusting me.”

“Yeah,” says Keith. His head is spinning, his stomach clenching.

“Actually … I have something I wanna confess, too.” Lance rubs the back of his head. Damn. Here it comes – rejection. Keith swallows the stone lump in his throat.


“Listen, I know this sounds fake, since you have that lame haircut and wear those gloves unironically and all. But I’m, uh, kinda into you. Maybe.” Lance’s cheeks are stained bright pink. “So I was wondering if you might … want to be my boyfriend?”

Here’s the thing about Keith: when his mind blanks out, his body takes over.

Keith’s body lifts a fist and clocks Lance right in the head.

Ow! Jeez, what was that for, asshole?”

“Lance, what the fuck?”

“So … I guess that’s a no?”

“I – no! I mean – no it’s not. I mean. Yes.” Fuck. Breathe, fool. “I mean. I like you too.”

Lance’s face lights up like the goddamn sun, and it has Keith’s chest twisting, tight and sweet. “Oh. Dude. Nice.”

“Shut up.” He swallows. “And I’m sorry for hitting you.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’ll get you back.”

“You can try.”

And Lance leans in, fast as a flash, to press the softest kiss to Keith’s lips.

And maybe his shit-eating grin is pretty cute.

Maybe it’s all Keith has ever wanted.

Lance waggles his eyebrows. “How was that, boyfriend?”

Keith doesn’t reply. Just loops his arms around Lance’s shoulders, and pulls him back in.

sooo.. that’s that! thanks again to everyone who entered <3 find more of my writing on ao3!


Summary: Bruce gets caught talking to himself by a curious Dick Grayson



Bruce Wayne had learned to ignore many things in the few years since he’d become Batman. Initial irrigations had even turned to comforting reminders. The chill of the cave was a welcome shock that helped his brain transition from Bruce to vigilante. The long drive from the manor to Gotham proper had turned into a time to plan instead of wasted minutes. And the bats. Chattering. Flapping. Swooping when he was least expecting them. They’d become a welcome presence alongside him. Their noise the background to his work. Their rare visible presence a constant reminder of vigilance.

He had never considered them as companions to speak to. They were only bats, after all.

They had never answered his muttered musings to himself or offered up answers to questions not sent their way. His hushed tone had grown over time to conversational, as he worked out plans, walked mentally through crime scenes, and picked apart toxins. They were much like walls in the way that they soaked up his words and kept them tightly as their own.

He was sure that things would have gone along that way for years longer if a small, ever-curious boy had not entered his life. Dick was always asking questions. Most of which Bruce had ready answers for. Their subjects those that (most of the time) were enriching to his young ward’s mind.

It had been years since Bruce had to curtail his habits to anyone other than Alfred. He’d developed a public persona with strict rules and guidelines for when he was at Wayne Enterprises or public events, and the hours he put in as Batman were done as a man far removed from the man he was in the sun. His home self, the man who was neither smile nor mask was free of those restrictions. Free to frown, and rub his forehead, to be frustrated or pleasantly amused by the misplacing of his favorite book, and yes he was free to talk to himself.

“If I clip that wire, and solder it here the whole thing will run a lot faster.” He said, his hands already angling the wire clipper towards the blue line. “Then if I just–”

“Hey B. Who’re ya talking to?”

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No brickwork so tight
It can not block a flower
Relentless racemes of the heart
A love’s perfumed tenacity
Ne'er swallowed by concrete
Stone, sand, gravel
That which is already broken
Can not blunt the sun
Nor inflorescent spikelets
Laughter, support, affection
Chip away at darkness layered
In imperfect tessellation
Your voice chimes cyme
Over and under
Bursting through
We find a way


anonymous asked:

"this was never right" - FlintHamilton

                                                    *  *  *

There was a knock at the study door interrupting Thomas from his morning’s work.

“What is it?” He called out, a slight hint of irritation in his voice at having his focus disrupted. “I asked not to be disturbed.”

His butler stood in the doorway with an apologetic expression. “It’s Lieutenant McGraw, my lord. You asked to be informed immediately whenever he arrived.”

“Ah, yes, thank you, Harris. Please show him in.” Thomas sat back, wondering what it could be that brought James to him at a time they weren’t scheduled to meet.

James entered the study and waited for Harris to close the door behind him, before turning to face him.

The look on his face made Thomas rise to his feet. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, my lord.” James said. “I merely thought we needed to speak on a matter.”

“What matter?” Thomas asked instantly. From James’s grim expression he knew it was important.

“The matter of the nature of our relationship.” James paused and then kept speaking. “ I’ve come to believe the personal aspect of our relationship is unnecessary to continue our collaboration. From this point forward, we should continue to work on the venture simply as colleagues and not…”

Thomas barely heard any of what he said. “Unnecessary.” He repeated softly. “The personal aspect is unnecessary.”

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Outlander FanFic: After the Heartbreak / The Other Side

This takes place right after Claire goes back through the stones and before Jamie returns to Culloden.

A huge THANK YOU to my friend @cranesmuir-witch (who is an amazing OL Fanfic writer!! Please check her blog out) for reading this first and encouraging me to share it. 😊

Please enjoy and I’d love any feedback! Hopefully positive lol

After the Heartbreak (Jamie’s POV)

Jamie stood still, unmoving. His fingertips hovering so closely to the smooth stone, but not touching. It was as if a great wind had carried her away from him.

He touched the stone then. He could feel something akin to a heartbeat; her heartbeat. He knew it’s rhythm like he knew how to breathe. As if the stone swallowed her whole.

His knees almost buckled then, and it took such a great effort to keep from collapsing that he rested his full weight against the stone. He couldn’t help the tears falling. They flowed down the smooth stone, and he hoped that she was there; two hundred years from him, but there…. That she would touch the stone and feel the wetness there from his tears, and that hers would mingle with his own. As if to touch each other one last time.

He was afraid to leave the hill. He knew as soon as he left the hill that she was truly gone - And thank God she was! Lord that she may be safe, he thought. She and the child.

His heart broke anew, thinking of the child he’d never know. He pushed himself away from the stone, now cold and lifeless as he felt.

He turned and walked then, almost as if someone else was controlling his body. He felt severed in two - as if his own heart’s blood was left to flow freely from a gapping wound that would never close. All he could hope for now was a swift death.

Somehow the cannon blasts coming from the Moor had fallen silent in the wake of losing Claire. The sound of his own heart breaking had been much louder. As he reached his horse and climbed in to the saddle, the cannon blast sounded again, and he turned his horse in the direction of Culloden Moor.

The Other Side (Claire’s POV)

Claire opened her eyes to blinding light. The sun, she thought. As her eyes adjusted to the light and blue sky overhead, she noticed an airplane flying in the sky, sunlight glinting off metal.

She felt her heart break anew. It had worked. She was 200 years away from her soul mate. Part of her had hoped that it wouldn’t work, and neither her nor Jamie would have had a choice but to walk away from that hill, together, and never look back.

She felt a wave of nausea overtake her, jolting her back to reality and the promise she had made him. “This child will be all that will be left of me. Ever. I beg you, see it safe.”

Rising to her knees, white spots dancing in her vision, Claire rose unsteadily to her feet and reached toward the stone. Her fingers lingered just above the smooth surface, and she swore that she could hear the stone pulsing like a heartbeat; a familiar sound… Jamie’s heartbeat. She knew it’s rhythm better than she knew the beat of her own heart.

Tears stung her eyes as she imagined him still standing on the other side… two hundred years from her. As she placed her hands on the stone, she felt a cool wetness that was not there moments before. It was as if the stone was weeping. Was Jamie there, crying for her as she was crying for him? Claire leaned her forehead against the stone slab, allowing her tears to mingle with the tears that mysteriously appeared on the stone. Perhaps to touch him one last time.

She didn’t remember how long she stayed at the hill, crying and screaming, trying her hardest to take all her fear, anger, and heartbreak, out on that stone. Her hands ached from beating her fists against it, but now it was just as cold and silent as the grave. She couldn’t hear it buzzing anymore, a living thing that stole her away twice. Once from her own time and again, from her soulmate, the love of her life… Her home.

Walking down the hill, Claire felt as if someone else was in control of her body. Every step was one step farther away from Jamie. The loss made her feel as if she were split in two. How could she ever be whole, alone?

Finally, Claire heard the strange but familiar humming of an automobiles’ engine, and she turned in the direction of the sound.

A Girl Worth Fighting For- 9

Summary: When your brother is drafted into WWII, you do the unthinkable to save him and your family: you take his place, in secret. Bucky x Reader, based on Disney’s Mulan.

AN: Yeesh. It’s been a bit. I know, I know.

Words: 866

Warnings: Drinking

Tags: @sincerelysaraahh @abigrumple @ashby943@annwhojumps@avengerofyourheart
@bovaria @beccaanne814-blog@buckyywiththegoodhair 
@crapythings @dessiedawnwritesfanfiction @gold-liess@howdoesoneadult@romanovoff@howdoesoneadult
@kaaatniss@kmwiinchester@lenavonschweetz@marassberry@marvel-ash@mayasmedberg@noticulous@sebastianstanismyobsession@time-to-dance-rey @wholockiand@winterbxchanan @-i-miss-you– @youandbucky @xxwinter-soldierxx @attentionseekingprincess @poe-also-bucky @wonder-girl @jbb-98 @captainsebstan @love-buckybarnes @kissingwintergoodbye @thelastxgoodthing @annadier @parisispretty

Masterlist  Part 8  

Originally posted by fantasyimagine

“What about you, Buck?” Dugan elbowed Bucky in the ribs playfully and Bucky’s shoulder pressed into yours. You inched back just enough to put a gap between you, the sudden contact making you more uncomfortable than you would have liked to admit. A fourth beer had been pressed into your palm God knows how long ago, and there were even more from the others on the bar behind you. The bartender was finally tossing all of them, the clink of glass on glass echoing just behind you. “Tell me you got the prettiest little Mrs. Barnes waiting at home.”

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It Hurts To See You and Him

Hook is pulled into a curse which sends him back in time, to before Henry is born, to when Neal and Emma are on their whirl-wind romance, robbing convenience stores, and squatting in hotel rooms. But what will Killian do when August comes into play, and he has to watch Emma experience the heartbreak that built all of her walls, will he change the past and come to Emma in her time of need? Or will he sit by and watch Emma Swan suffer her first heartbreak?


Read the rest: Prologue, chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6 chapter 7

Also on: FFN

A note for all of you that have been here since I started posting this fic, starting on April 30, and March 7th I will begin posting biweekly updates on the spinoff for this story and the sequel and if you want to be tagged let me know

tagging a few who showed interest last chapter: @mbczpmirdvjn @julesep3026 @natalias @jordynrw @teamhook @laughswaytoomuch @el-kelpo @aoumalone @revanmeetra87 

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galadrieljones  asked:

I know you already have one from me, but I'm gonna give you another one anyway: Mine, Solavellan. Bonus points if somebody's hands are dirty.

Thank you for the prompt. ^.^ for @dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Solavellan

Prompt: Mine: Sunlight   withdrawing into its darkest shell of green / coils   ring by ring   like a yellow snake   in a tight burrow. (The Art of Sideways, Claire Potter)

title: burrow

It pushes up from the ground: a single sun-furled trillium jerking side to side. The rain patters the green leaves and the fleshy white triad. It’s grown close enough to the edge; Pangara could reach over and pluck it. The sun slants through the rain and she decides it’s too precious to kill. The frantic down-callings of songbirds in the trees flitter through the canopy.

“Any sign?” He asks from below.


She feels him shift and her balance wobbles for a just a second - a moment of suspended breath and blood before he shifts his grasp on her legs and she can kneel. For extra purchase, she walks her hands down the craggy silt of the exhaust shaft, red caking her hands and knees. But when she is sitting on his shoulders, instead of lowering her further, Solas walks with her away from the hole in the ceiling.

The apostate is lanky, but a broad and tall man. The dark wood beams abandoned to weather in this mine pass close to her head. Pangara snatches down to hold onto his tunic and her toes curl as she laughs. “You gonna let me down?”

She sees him press his lips on the side of her knee. She can feel his chuckle through her feet.

“I thought to take you back to your bedroll. There may be old nails.”

Pangara leans forward and directs a meaningful look straight down.

“I possess enchantments,” his tone is lofty, just a hint of smugness, and in response she digs her thumb to the sensitive point where his ear meets his jaw.

His yelp is anything but dignified.

“Put me down, or I won’t tell you what I did see.”

She is able to pick up the way his sigh is an exaggeration of mournfulness, able now to catch the subtle rise of his brow and the way his lips suggest their mirth as he kneels and she walks off of him. He straightens, she turns. He easily links his fingers into hers when she presses their hands together, and he steps closer when she tugs on him just lightly. He ducks his head near to hers and if it weren’t for the way his eyes look like he’ll die without a taste of her, she might almost think he’s happy. Then his eyes close and he kisses her. As always, it is quicker than she can think; his arms slip around her waist, he palms her ass, he nudges her up around his thigh and when she rocks he makes a noise into her mouth like a man begging.

“Solas,” she says, her bottom lip pulled between his teeth - because he’s acting drunk.

“Vhenan,” he murmurs, and he wants her. She can feel.

She breaks the kiss but holds him close, and he rests his forehead against hers. His lips twitch again. Rueful, this time.

He steps away from her and his arms drop to his sides. His head ducks lazily, watching her. The way he regards her is so loose. She knows he’s hurt himself in their escape, in their desperate retreat from the troll; neither of them had noticed the drop-off in the middle of the clearing. They’d tumbled down into the mine. The way the stone had shaken around them had buzzed her teeth in her skull.

A night of fitful half-rest, interrupted by the occasional stomping and roar of the troll above. Sounds mistaken for the calls of Inquisition scouts, or Cassandra’s shouts. But no one had come. Solas had said the Dreams were too quiet here for him to walk in sleep for reinforcements. He’d rolled root and smoked in the quiet dark.

And this morning, rain mixed with the sun. “Halla’s Breakfast,” she’d said, peering up at the sky and the wrinkled red rock carved up to the surface. The mine isn’t all that deep.

He’s been siphoning mana into his wound to heal it. A subtle set of charms, but she’s felt him draining the ambient magic out of the stone-swallowed air. Some internal break, she is able to guess. But he’d insisted that she save her strength. Refused to let her examine him. Smoked. Insisted this morning that he could lift her to the crest of the shaft to see if the troll slumbered nearby.

She puts her fingers against his chest, trying to make the touch like a seduction - but he senses her intent, and gently guides her hands away.

“And what did you see in the rain above us, then?”

He makes her grin by lifting his hand and twirling her under his arm. His breath does not hitch. He does not flinch.

“Red-winged soldernut, chased off by a pickersjay.” She pulls away and settles onto her bedroll. He leans up against the rock next to her. She pulls his backpack near and opens it as he closes his eyes, and she pretends she does not notice the wavering of the Veil as he weaves a weak spell into his body.

The bag is worn leather, soft to touch and smelling of woods and sharp grasses. Pangara gently pushes aside a soft bundled fur and a small canvas sack that holds his bar of soap. She can smell it like crisp comfort, peppery and herbal. The coarse scrape of a ball of jute meets her touch. She finds the jerky and apples in a tight bundle and unwraps the package, portioning it out evenly between them. He resists his portion of the jerky, though, looking into her eyes and saying softly, “I have no appetite for it, vhenan; but one of us should eat it.”

Why he’s being so damn stoic, when she could help. It’s baffling to her.

They eat in comfortable silence. The sun shifts slowly over the ragged opening to the world above. He nibbles the small, lumpy apples - eats them cores and all - and above them rises the chorus of birds in flight, and their songs at nest. The rain has made a small rivulet that dribbles down the shaft and into the mine.

“We could probably risk it,” she murmurs between bites of jerky.

“Mm,” he agrees, but neither of them stirs.

It’s a peculiar feeling: sitting under, looking up. The ground around her feels oppressive as ever - but the opening up into the world, beyond the unexpected cloister of this dark and hidden den, feels suddenly like a rift into a world where she will spiral. Where she will be called on and needed. The varied songs of birds wanting to nest, to mate, to warn, to build, to share, to summon, and to greet whisk a cloud of sound beyond that portal.

He has taken her hand in his hand and he rubs across her knuckles with his thumb. The red silt on her hands comes off on his fingers.

“Lovely pigment,” he says when he notices.

A soldernut alights on the edge of the opening and calls out. Pangara whistles a sharp, short whoop then three high notes in return. Solas laughs.

“That’s very good!”

“We have soldernuts up north, too,” she grins. And then she mouths through a series of songs and calls, sometimes bringing her hands to cup her chin, or putting her fingers to her lips. He watches her sideways and tries to hide a smile when he recognizes a call - and she’s not a little proud of how she can pull the phrases from memory, recalling long-ago mornings spent competing against her uncle to match the squeaks and rolls, the throaty whoops.

And then, after Solas takes another apple from the backpack and bites it, swallows, and clears his throat, she realizes he’s decided that it’s his turn.

Chatter, curlews, and impossible trills and krees, smoothly folding into soft and uncanny tu-whus and back up into the high registers. His mouth barely opens, though his cheeks pinch back, and each song is reproduced rapidly, precisely, and loud.

Pangara feels herself recoil. She seizes up, cusses, and pulls back. Because how is he that loud? It rings off the damp rock walls, buzzes and trills and the soldernut above replies in alarm before winging frantically away.

“How are you doing that?” She presses over the wall of song, and he only grins and shifts away as she pulls at his sleeve. He is done now with all the calls she knew and is moving on, whistles yipping and chirruping in songs more elegant than she’s ever heard, songs that say greetings in deep forests and territorial warnings on the banks of long-forgotten rivers filled with snowmelt. The songs he weaves - they are beautiful.

But this man is never loud, and this? Solas may be a woodsman, and she knows this about him, and he may have developed skill in birdsong and calls… but this volume? She covers her ears, begging him with her eyes to stop. And his eyes have gone sly. And they’re still a little unfocused as he smirks at her. Unless he is using the very thin magic remaining in this shallow hollow in the earth…

Pangara narrows her gaze and he shifts away from her again, pure mischief in his eyes.

“What have you got?” She says loud over the cacophony, and when he scoots another handswidth away from her, still whistling, she lunges at him, catches his side and pulls herself close, scrambling over him, then his songs falter around his laughter as she wrestles with him and tries to get him to open his mouth. “What have you got!” She repeats, pressing against his chest, knowing there’s a trick, and he refuses to part his lips and only grins at her, taking the chance to nuzzle at her neck and then when she pries her fingers into his mouth he suckles on them, dirt and all. She shakes her head, trying hard not to be infected with the dopey, ridiculous grin he’s got twisting his lips around her fingers, and she roots around in his mouth until her fingertips touch the device.

They come to a brief stalemate in which she glares at him and he tries to look both unaffected and dignified with her hand stuffed in his mouth.

Flat on his back, he releases her fingers with a chuckled snort and she pulls out a remarkably simple little instrument covered in his saliva. A flat of apple bitten into a bean-shape, with a small sheet of apple skin adhered to the surface by a very simple spell.

She holds it up. “You could have just swallowed this?”

His grin drops a little and he seems a little stunned as he considers that. “I… suppose.” And then she notices his hands cupped on her backside, shifting her forward a little on his lap, and his eyes crinkle at the corners as he traces his touch up her back; her chest is pressed against his, and his gaze flicks down from her eyes.

Pangara feels herself redden when Cole says, “Found you.”

“He’s got a broken rib, and he’s been keeping the pain down,” she says as she staggers off and away from Solas, who sobers at once and nods pleasantly to Cole, lifting himself on one elbow.

“Cole, thank you for locating us. Has the danger been cleared above?”

“Yes, the trees shook and shook and all the woods hurt but where were you? Everyone asked but there is so little… ” Cole’s hands spread, and Solas nods.

“Spirits would have difficulty navigating to us here, you did well. We’re grateful.”

Pangara links the belts on the bedrolls and Cole snaps out of existence - and the refinement drops out of Solas’ eyes the instant they are alone… leaving the heat.

She says, warning, “Whatever your game, it let me find what you were hiding.”

“A worthwhile sacrifice,” he admits, and he manages, when the rope ladder drops to them some time later, to pull himself out of the ground.

enchantingdefendorperson  asked:

I was thinking about Vampire Nursey. He's hot, but doesn't really know it. So he doesn't get why Dex is like "idk why someone like you would date someone like me". Maybe he doesn't think different monster types can date? Maybe he wants to break up?

I wrote this half asleep and kind of sick so there are 50000 errors and it might not even make sense. I think I committed the cardinal sin of switching tenses. Also the prompt completely got away from me here, I don’t know what to tell you. I’m sorry. 

For the Monster Haus AU. Featuring Vampire Nursey and Dullahan Dex. 

“I don’t know why someone like you would want to date someone like me.”

Dex wasn’t an open person. Honest, maybe, but not open. Even after a month of whispered confessions and late nights of slipping into each other’s rooms, Dex was withholding on his thoughts on the matter. Not that Nursey was much better, but he certainly wasn’t going to go first in their game of emotional chicken. 

Dex, it seemed had elected to be the first to give, though Nursey suspected it had more to do with the Elven wine pumping through his veins than any personal decision to do so. Nursey hadn’t been much more careful with his intake, so he took a minute to wade through the alcohol in his head to decipher what Dex had said. 

Nursey had no heat in his body, not without someone else’s blood moving through him, but even now he could still feel the warm aftermath of Dex’s skin on his, the tingling singe of that magical fire still hot against his bare chest. Dex lay beside him, and perhaps his statement was more addressed to the dark ceiling than to Nursey. In the silence of the dorm room Nursey could just hear the neighbors next door chatting quietly, could hear the base of a beat playing over speakers two floors down, but mostly he could hear the fire in Dex, crackling in his chest as it swirled around itself and threatened to engulf them both. 

Nursey might not have needed to breath, but Dex was still panting against the sheets. When Nursey glanced over, he saw his eyes were closed, and only thing betraying that he was not actually asleep were his fingers, twisted tight in the fabric of the sheets between them.

Nursey had always thought they would have some kind of actual conversation about what was going on between them after sex one night. Being naked kind of all ready gave you that feeling of laying everything bare, so why not? He just hadn’t expected Dex to go first.

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Francisco Goya’s Black Paintings

1. Saturn Devouring his Son, 1819-23, oil mural transferred to canvas, 143 x 81 cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid. Source

2. The Dog, 1819-23, oil mural transferred to canvas, 131.5 x 79.3 cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid. Source

3. Two Old Men Eating Soup, 1819-23, oil mural transferred to canvas, 49.3 x 83.4 cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid. Source

4. Judith and Holofernes, 1819-23, oil mural transferred to canvas, 143.5 x 81.4 cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid. Source

5. Two Old Men, 1819-23, oil mural transferred to canvas, 146 x 66 cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid. Source

6. The Fates, 1819-23, oil mural transferred to canvas, 123 x 266 cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid. Source

7. Fight with Cudgels, 1819-23, oil mural transferred to canvas, 123 x 266 cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid. Source

8. Witches’ Sabbath, 1819-23, oil mural transferred to canvas, 140 x 438 cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid. Source

9. Fantastic Vision, 1819-23, oil mural transferred to canvas, 125.4 x 65.4 cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid. Source

10. Man Mocked by Two Women, 1819-23, oil mural transferred to canvas, 125.4 x 65.4 cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid. Source

Here is a selection of works from Goya’s famous ‘Black Paintings’ series, which consists of fourteen murals that were painted directly onto the walls of the Quinta del Sordo house in Madrid, where the artist lived between 1819 and 1823. They have since been removed, transferred to canvases, and become part of the Museo del Prado’s collection.

The series is pretty dark, to say the least. It is rife with themes of witchcraft, insanity, violence and death’s inevitability. My personal favourite is Saturn Devouring his Son, which is based on the story of Saturn’s Greek counterpart, Cronus, and how he ate his sons after hearing that they would eventually overthrow him. However, Saturn/Cronus was tricked by Rhea into swallowing a stone instead of one of his children. This son, of whom Rhea was the mother, was Zeus, and he would eventually have Cronus and the other titans imprisoned. Goya’s depiction is deliciously gory and terrifying. Saturn’s face is enough to give you nightmares!

My tail of colored feathers
hangs matted
closed behind me

It weighs me down

In this wet darkness
I can neither
dance nor fly

This darkness
weighs me down

No one here
to see my splendor

My only company
the relentless rain

we fall from the sky
toward the darkening wood

The leafy trees below
reach out to catch me
but cannot

Between their outstretched
limbs I travel
like a stone

The swallows
sitting safely in their nests
sleep the sleep of the oblivious
of cellular divisions
silent metastasis

Their oblivion weighs me down

Only the insomniac owl
watches ever alert
for the kill

My famous feathery tail-eyes
are folded inward
blind to possibility

I am falling falling away—
escaping at last
this monsoon sickness

sing me a raga spin
me a garland
oh earth
but do not yet welcome me

Show me the sun.


Falling Peacock in Rainstorm at Night

Peg Boyers


Graphic - Edward Eggleston