solichor

[solichor]

what if i come back and rework summer’s story what then

[solichor]

Gabbeh (Mohsen Makhmalbaf, 1996)

[solichor]

don’t rb - went antiquing and found some choice and vaguely summer vibes. <33

[solichor]

@anoranzas. 

     the turn of her season sometimes leaves a bit to be desired. sisters, you know? april showers, may flowers, only -- the chill is stubborn. it clings to the wind like a sticky, petulant child. summer’s faint frown filters in like stratus. ‘ these are going to turn soon, ’ she notes, glancing over a particular bushel in beatriz’ half-filled basket. 

     ‘ be perfect for a jam, i think. you can have as much as you want. ’ 

[solichor]

suncuts​.​

“You smoke?”

     ‘ i have asthma. ’ she doesn’t have asthma.

[solichor]

really too bad summer doesn’t like smoking bc there’s nothing more satisfying than the image of her lightin someone’s spliff with the tip of her finger

[solichor]

[solichor]

Fran Fine in DENIM

[solichor]

constants in summer’s house:

a rotating variety of flowers in vases at most of the windows

the 70 year old goldfish

the right abundance of food, as if expecting a guest (and almost always finding one)

a guest room with fresh linens and a blanket with a corner turned down

the best patches of sunlight to bask in when you’re cozying up in a window nook

[solichor]

Flowers at windows by Stefan Byrom

[solichor]

pov summer is listing off all of her travels

[solichor]

@frauddity. 

     ‘ jay, you’re going to get scurvy. you and your ... ’ what should she be calling them? ‘ -- associates. ’ summer is half-grumble, full-concern, welcoming herself to a seat in the extraordinarily decrepit green armchair by the door. as she does, she lobs an orange at jay at a height that is vaguely chest-level. there are more in the muslin drawstring bag at her feet. 

     ‘ you die, i have no one to fight for recommending me some truly reprehensible movies. ’ 

[solichor]

@asteritm. 

     leant over the bundle lain heavy in her arms, summer imparts a fleeting kiss as easily as a wink, two steps into the doorway and still in her shoes. she thinks the house rumbles its own sentiment, but she’s too focused on: 

     ‘ hi, fuck -- i’ve missed you! hi. ’ 

[solichor]

if you were a deity, what would you be the god of?

THE TEMPLE

You are steadfast, kind and dependable, and have a habit of making people feel safe when they talk to you. They gravitate towards you because of the patience and calm you exude, and can trust you implicitly. You have a knack for saying the right thing, and have learned to bear your pain with a tolerance and grace that goes unnoticed by many but seen by the important few. You're allergic to drama and conflict, but know when and where to stand your ground. You tend not to be reckless and hasty, as the times you have done so in the past caused pain. You are prone to embarrassment - when you feel you've blundered the shame is almost overwhelming. Even though you may not see your own worth as clearly as you should, those around you are determined to stay with you because you make them feel like they're at home, accepted unconditionally. The best kind of person. As a deity, you're the god of stability, of healing, of sanctuary and safe harbor, of faithfulness and commitment, of mountains, of fields, of growing old, of effort and humble reward, of autumn, of prosperity and kindness of spirit.

tagged by: @transforms!  tagging: for once i’m gonna tag people ok here goes. @caustis, @aspirinqs, @suncuts, @cyberpawn, @polychroms, and @asteritm! 

[solichor]

suncuts​.

He’s been missing for seventeen summers. Out of Earth’s orbit and the clever grace of a steady sun, his body is bone-white and blinding: like an iceberg.

“Figs are my favourite.” He replies, stupidly.

     manfred mann’s earth band’s notorious melody comes to mind. regardless: she repeats the motion. ‘ good. ’ hidden beneath the small wicker basket is a sign. with minimal maneuvering, it is displayed against the visible side. it reads as follows:

     free samples.

[solichor]

fuck it up buttercup 

[solichor]

@caustis.

     she toys with the ringlet cord, receiver between her jaw and her shoulder. ‘ before you head home -- do you mind buying a new frying pan? ’ he can’t see her frown, but it weighs all the same. ‘ i'm a little squeamish about using the one we use to kill people. ’