#lifesongs

[amplifyme]

For @randomfoggytiger. Art from my Lifesongs zine. I almost forgot I told you I'd post these. Sorry about the delay.

The cover and the first four pieces are by Rosemarie Hauer. She was just the best at photorealistic art. The rest are by Jan Durr and amongst my favorites of any of the art being created at that time. She really captured Vincent & Diana's spirits, I think.

[asongsforsouls]

🎙️Feels Like Heaven — ASFS | Cassette Nights

[clawsextended]

@lifesongs asked: you keep your eyes open for anybody staring too long. - lara

head leans back, and liquid brown eyes roll quietly over the background. the little black dress hugs her figure, curs it close, incredibly carefully doctored to hide every scar and long-healed injury. the cat is demure when she wants to be, can create of herself a thing so pitiful and miniature of course she would never, ever hurt a fly. she scans the crowd, heels clicking when she pivots just a little to gain a fuller scope. she hates this fucking outfit, but it’s getting her by, “yeah.”

she snorts quietly, swiveling her gaze patiently left and right with almost constant focus. it’s a surveillance tendency, careful, unimaginably so. her cell phone is strapped to her thigh by a garter, a necessary evil for when she’ll need to control the security cameras. she hates the inconvenience— no pockets to comfortably slot it in on this, “i’ve got it. what am i looking for?”

[clawsextended]

@lifesongs asked: [ LIFT ]: sender lifts receiver up to fly her around - carol (i changed the meme up LMAO)

“he— ey— uh—“ voice starts out, a little thinner, a piano-wire thing in her tone. its skinny as anything ever has been, until immediately (and very easily), carol’s movements activate her instinctive muscle memory. she swings up into sturdy arms without fail, clinging to that neck as a full-throated laugh could split the azure sky above them so eager to receive with open arms, “hey! HEY!”

she can’t express the kind of joy that her heart experiences this swiftly. there is something very freeing about flying — like skydiving, but better, something so few people can ever know. but she thanks god for few things, but this is certainly one. this is what it feels like to be a kind of free that doesn’t exist in a book or on paper, that you can’t renew at the dmv. she howls again in a laugh.

“HEY! HIGHER!”

[clawsextended]

@lifesongs asked: [ comfort ] sender tries to comfort receiver - rio

she’s contradictory, and well aware of this fact. it’s somewhat dreadful, or completely dreadful, to have this buoyant kind of hatred she can only deeply experience. it rises to the top, bubbles and floats, an anxiety that wants to avoid comfort altogether. it tries to escape everything that can touch in any tender hand. her body stays incredibly still until it isn’t. an arm wraps tight around shoulders.

“i hate you,” a voice, thin and harsh and strung together so tinny and terrible. its nasal, nearly, cracking in half like a bisecting of her own tone. eyes, smeared in coal-black, close tight to dispel every skittering breath. they’re helpless — a child’s pleading, watery gaze, sparkling, teddy-bear gentle, “i hate you. i hate you.” she doesn’t.

[clawsextended]

@lifesongs asked: “Don’t bite me, that’s rude.” - rio

“yeah.” eyes roll, a shoulder pushing hard into a shoulder as though playfully pushing a boundary. and she is, isn’t she? the cat’s teeth sink half into knuckles when the other reaches out, an irritatingly sharp, though heavily indicative gesture. she’s all teeth, that’s true, bite and bark a rarity harmonious. she’s a fluid creature in every nature of the word. she’ll bite again, make no mistake. frankly, she kind of expects it’s coming.

“whatever,” her entire person, just as it is, is incredibly comforted by death itself. she finds the idea a very easy one to attach to — something strangely relaxing in and of itself as a constant. she tosses a throw pillow back and settles comfortable in rio’s lap, polite enough to spare her the sharp jut of her half winged shoulderblade. her frame is unmistakably heavy, “don’t tell me what to do.”

[clawsextended]

@lifesongs asked: brushing fingers over their pulse to check they’re alive - lara

the world swims. (she’s cold.) the world swims. (no sound, just high, tinny screaming in her ears, shrinking, soundless.) the world swims. (her eyes flutter open, open, a harsh gasp rips through her, cough, sputter, a haze, haze.) everything is shivering and she can’t see straight. she feels sick, again, again, ribs aching with every hard inhale. lara is not there, but she is there. the outline of her vibrates a sickly green hue that selina cannot see very clearly. there’s a bench nearby she hasn’t made it to. the wind blows through the grass like a great breath across a pan flute. she’s gone here instinctively, hoping.

her lungs burn like a consistent reminder. it’s acidic, burning through tissue and bone, she’s positive. fear toxin, she realizes, that’s all it is, fear toxin, weakened significantly by a diluted sedative. she hadn’t gotten the gas mask up swiftly enough, but immunity goes a long way. anyone else would be writhing in a bed of serpentine delusion. a shaky hand reaches into her utility belt, pops out a small, folded piece of paper. a gift — a map, swiped on a whim at a gala from some poor, wealthy fuck. and, of course, she’s not ever learned better. what’s a little toxin, nothing she isn’t used to. worth it for a present so well-deserved — she thinks about lara like a subroutine, happy to make her happy.

(it doesn’t occur to her this is reckless and stupid behavior.)

“—fine,” she croaks, and her skin itches. her throat is flushed red, pink, bared only above her suit, “i’m fine. up.”

[clawsextended]

@lifesongs asked: “You are so lazy. You would not survive in the wild.” - lara

hmph. the cat puffs a snort, taking the bottle of water requested from where she’s lounging. yes, she is lazy, but it is a laziness born and bred of a current convenience — to ask and have things given, to request and want, the mildest dopamine hit that is acceptance. eyes roll, and a canine tooth latches onto the edges of the cap with a jerk of her head to unscrew it. she somehow does not spill this from her partially upside-down position, owns every surface like it’s her very own.

everywhere she is belongs to her (that’s the opposite of true. lara is smarter and better and has more, more, more to her than selina can hope. she comes from nothing, nowhere, and everything the archaeologist is surrounds her).

she uncrosses and recrosses her legs, readjusting her position just as lazily, “mhm. i’m a real princess.”