Jul 25, 2018
bury me shallow i’ll rise with the sun
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from Mexico
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from Mexico
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Pakistan
seen from United States
seen from South Africa
seen from United States
bury me shallow i’ll rise with the sun
Redemption Song
Soft As Thunder
Helen stood in the kitchen, staring at the CD player on the counter like it was a dog showing his teeth. She folded her hands.
E-flat. C-minor. E-flat. A-flat.
She closed her eyes, tracing the notes with their sloped tails from memory. Soaking in the gentle background of string instruments.
"So what did you do before, you know, you met? What was different?" Cecilia asked from her clean white chair with the expensive trim, her glass earrings swinging gently.
Helen shrugged. "Not very much. I went to school. I went to the beach. That was what you did."
"What did you go to school for?"
Her stomach churned. "Music," she said to the oriental rug.
"Ah, did you play an instrument? Did you sing?"
Helen picked at the nailpolish on her thumb. "I sang. A little." Liar, 'a little'. You were a state finalist. Four scholarships, count 'em, sister. You couldn't breathe without doing it from the diaphram.
Shut that shit off. You think you're good at this? Get another job and make some money for once.
Crack.
Helen jumped, looking towards the living room with her heart in her ears, her hands gripped around the back of a chair.
A boy streaked past the window facing the street. "I got it!" he yelled, bringing back the ball.
The CD player made a soft squeaking sound as it rewound.
E-flat. C-minor. E-flat. A-flat.
Helen straightened, eyes on the empty living room. She sucked in a deep breath, exhaled.
"Does it still interest you? Maybe you should take lessons again," Cecilia suggested.
I taught classes. I taught my son. "Maybe," Helen answered.
E-flat. Helen opened her mouth, air ready to roll over her tongue.
The neighbors can hear you, Helen. You'll make the dogs bark and Hernando will get pissed. I'm not helping you if he comes over here.
C-minor. E-Flat. A-flat.
Flat like a hand against her cheekbone, sharp.
Her voice curled at the back of her throat like a hand, refusing to budge.
Anger made her tears hot. The chair creaked under her hands as she glared at the couch in the living room. Ten years since they'd put him away and he was still here.
Peter holding her hands. Soft and careful even with the calluses on his palms. "I know some good therapists, darlin'. Say the word and I'll get their numbers." They hadn't even so much as kissed on the lips yet.
The notes came out of her low and ugly and wet, tears salty on her mouth.
But the tigers come at night.
Random inspiration has struck and now I’m doodling sexy angels. If blasphemous angelic beings isn’t your thing, filter: #blasphemous angels
They’ll also be tagged as nsfw so if you’re already doing that, you’re ahead of the game. If I follow through with enough of them, I might make a little art book.
Modern!Guthrie. I started drawing him in a plain hoodie, but then I found one online that was reminiscent of his fae court clothing and had a sexy crisis. So. Here we are. He's probably smoking in the alley outside the tattoo shop and somebody's apprentice is trying to shame him.
Sketch of a new scene I doodled for ink practice later. The shirt is flannel, hence the commentary. It’s also too small for him :P The last owner had a bigger belly and smaller shoulders.
Just let me love you, ink pens. I'd do you right <3
Find them, jingle horse. Bring them to me.