#anarkissm

[deltagriot]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“ you ain't like nothing i ever seen before, claudia. if i ain't the first man to tell you that, then i'd hope to be the last one to before they bury me. ”

@anarkissm

[pear1ine]

“don't be afraid, it only hurts the first time.” from claudia!

blues called to pearline like a moth to a flame. any juke joint, even temporary, embraced her with warmth of bodies & the buzz of homemade spirits. all eyes in the room spotlighted her performance on the dance floor. the dance floor turned to a stage where pearline embodied every note & chord. none of the attention captured pearline like the music, but she felt claudia's gaze from the start.

the other's accent was a flowery drawl as sweet as hydrangea blossoms. nothing like the tempo of clarksdale. their dance turned to a sway & conversation up in the rafters with the heat just as thick as downstairs. "lord have mercy," whispered mostly to herself — the last resort of a speechless woman. everybody's gotta eat: pearline's reasoning had fuzzy edges from the blurring between space & time. "how bad this gon' hurt, @anarkissm?"

and she still felt drawn to claudia despite the strange request, agreed upon in the loud & bustling house of blues. "already tol' you i got somebody waitin' on me at home ..." more of a lying reminder to herself than the newcomer. pearline sighed & threw a cautious glance behind her before stepping closer to claudia. "i can't be goin' back lookin' like i got in a fight."

[janeromeroshow]

@anarkissm : “ You ever have that thing happen where you just get anxious for no reason? ” ( jake )

“ Oh, all the time. ” The words are flippant, casual even. “ It's hard not to when we're here, right? ” She's not lying - in a world where a murderer or monster can come crashing out of the trees at any moment, it's almost impossible to let one's guard down and relax. 

( Nevermind that she's been feeling like that long before this became their reality - a thought she brushes off before it has the time to fully form - now is not the time. ) 

Glancing back at Jake, her brow furrows for a moment.

“ …Why? Do you think something's nearby? ” 

[wellfell]

“How do you tell a girl you want to destroy the world for her?” from frank !

 admirable how this job had tolerated akina for more than a month , much easier than being a tailor's assistant . the pub was quiet , barely families came here for lunch or dinner , it was just lonely guys and sad women . her cheerful aura tricked them , even made them try their luck by asking her to sit with them — like an idiot . cherry gum bubble pops between crimson lips , she stops cleaning his table when he talks . ever slowly do her muscles work to help her straighten up and look at him with a tilted head . what an innocent question , the budding romance of a couple akina genuinely didn't care about . * women are being loved , worlds are being destroyed because of them ; AKINA WANTS TO SNORT . the habit that's been passed hand in hand in her family's women , something carved in their genes . to envy others , to never have what they want and envy envy envy . . . akina gives him a grin at last . calmly blinks her eyes , before asking ; ❛ do i look like a fucking poet ? ❜

  📼 accepting. : @anarkissm

[austerulous]

◈   @anarkissm said:   ❛ [ WRAP ] sender wraps receiver up in a blanket. (for mei & genji!) ❜  //  domestic intimacy prompts.

“You’re getting good at this!”

The exclamation was strung on a silver thread of laughter.  Genji, admittedly, had plenty of practice.  Sole survivor of Ecopoint Antarctica, Mei resisted sleep until it took her hostage.  Dreams of dead colleagues – the waxy pallor of their frozen skin, a glimpse of desiccated eyes beneath half-closed lids – did not differentiate, finding her wherever she fell.  Which was usually at her desk, hair fraying from its clasp, stationery leaving rosy imprints on her cheek.

Right now, she did not think of those she had lost, but one she had.  As Genji finished tucking the penguin-studded blanket around her, effectively turning her into a human burrito, Mei giggled her approval. Her hand snaked out to pat the space beside her, beckoning him into the blankets heaped on the couch.  On that tide of mismatched fabrics and patterns, a tray floated precariously, carrying a plump, snub-spouted Yixing teapot, their two favourite mugs, and a plate of homemade huanggui shizibing – persimmon doughnuts.

Genji settled in beside her, his weight and dimensions familiar, his presence as much a comfort as the loose fit of her pyjamas, the plum-sweet promise of tea and rose jam, the cosiness of their makeshift nest.  He, more than anything or anyone else, drove back the cold the climatologist had carried with her from Antarctica.

“Okay, so…”  A sea of titles rose from the blackness of the large wall-mounted screen.  Mei adjusted her glasses with one hand, while clutching the remote with the other, and began skimming through their entertainment options.  “Are you sick of monster movies yet?”

[pumpkinstabs-moving]

0300 hours. walmart is a different animal, after dark. a dull, empty space bleached under the high ceiling's florescent lights. a total of four employees are scattered across the aisles. a distant, generic pop song drones from overhead speakers that danny can not be bothered to look for. he is too concerned with the shovels in his hand, nearly identical except for the shape of the spades. he paces the gardening isle, meticulous, fussing. "what do you think, michael…? pointed, or curved? michael, are you paying attention?"

Were it any other time of the day, Michael would not be here with Danny. Doesn't matter that he's painfully, obsessively needy of Danny-- he refuses to step foot into a busy store during the day, especially without the safety of his mask. He's maskless right now, black hoodie pulled up over his head, curls tucked underneath the fabric. Massive, scarred hands slip into the pockets of the hoodie as he trails behind his lover, keeping at his heel. He knows Danny is here looking for a shovel to help hide his crimes, something the other killer has always thought about and prepared for. Unlike Michael, who just kills when he wants to, uncaring of the consequences. Danny is always the one cleaning up after him, attempting to keep their domestic life safe and private. How he deals with Michael all the time, even he isn't sure. Michael will always be grateful, though.

Baby blue and pale white lift from the dirty tiles and to the woman shopping near them. She's in shorts and a flannel shirt with one too many buttons popped open, going through the different seeds available for purchase. Michael's jaw tenses as he watches her, a tingle starting at the base of his spine, crawling up his body and down his arms. He knows the feeling all too well-- the temporary obsession with someone, the urge to penetrate them with his knife. To see the light leave their eyes as crimson soaks into their clothing, into their hair. It's an intoxicating feeling, a painful craving. He exhales shakily, slowly, attention briefly returning to his beloved. He has no opinion on which shovel to get, but Danny should make his choice quickly because the faster they get out of here, the less volatile Michael will become.

[kekansada]

[driedflwers]

( @anarkissm. ) ❝ you judge me? you? ❞ jake @ huntress rip in pieces

woods with trees meagre as winter rabbits / stones bare and dark as buried bones. it is always damp in this perpetual twilight, the moss shimmering with beads of stagnant water. grey light swims lazily across her skin, bathing jake in shadows that bleed from her like a violent gash. anna grunts, and it’s the sound of gnarled, twisted roots being torn from the earth.    ‘ you scavenge. i hunt. ‘    always the chase. always her face pressed against something warm with blood. it’s a familiar fable that never ends ––– but in this version, the boy dies in reverse. ( which is to say: he dies first, lives later. the chest births the hatchet, and not the other way around. )

‘ little bird … pick at worms … fly away when wolves come near. ‘    she whistles an eerie tune through her teeth: the impression of a finch screaming in a-minor. something cracks behind her ––– a fallen bough, perhaps, or the vertebrae of a spine. the sound echos, as if the trees are repeating its message to each another. beneath the fouling edges of her mask, black eyes gleam with the language of memories. she knows every noise and path and sliver of bark, forever a part of the wilderness that raised her. the hatchet leaves her hand and the ground splits open. the hatchet leaves her hand and something dies. ( a weed, a beetle, a colony of ants. ) she drops it at the survivor’s feet, the steel laughing at the toe of a shoe it barely missed.    ‘ take and become hunter. ‘   anna cants her head, frostbitten fingertips twitching at her side.    ‘ … or don’t. or die. ‘