#whatwakes

She will always come to you in pieces. It is a promise the universe tells itself, a story that is UTTERED over and over with the concrete understanding that this is who she is. Today she will come to you in one part, torn asunder at the midsection, a hard rending straight across her belly. It heals, closes, is closing. The line is long, jagged, looks as serrated as it feels. But she could move like she DOES NOT FEEL IT AT ALL. What concern is it? What does it matter?

This soft black shirt, gentle to the touch, worn, spattered with blood. It’s old as an age itself. Worn denim, ripped at the knees, the thighs, black as everything else on her. A splotch of a bruise splattered across her right cheek. She looks up from her mug of coffee, the one she drinks without purpose. The deep SLICE across her midriff falls in shadow when she leans, bloodied at the edges.

“Hello, Karen.”

The shadows around him breathe blackness in the air. He moves and the world follows with him, an instant of an imprint on Karen’s retinas. The tree doubled and then back where it was. The world slipping and cracking open like a bone and its marrow that leaks, snapping back into place with an ease nothing real should have.

His hands behind his back, his steps careful along the line between the worlds. The tree beside them, ashen and torn, the spade lying against it, the roots that mark a crossroads. No roads that intersect, branches instead of dirt, sap against sap beneath the bark. A gallows-tree is as good as a crossroads when ancient words are to be exchanged.

He brushes a finger, taloned pale-white, against a leaf. It dries up and crumples and turns to dust, fall contained in a fraction of space. It takes him a while, finally, to turn and look at Karen. His smile is a small, absent one.

SOFT GARBAGE DAY.

STATUS: MAKE THE UN-SOFTIE LEARN TO CALM THE FUCK DOWN

She doesn’t GATHER THIS completely when she’s picked the other up by the waist and eagerly set her atop the counter, a hand tight in the fabric of a shirt, her mouth, her mouth, her MONSTROUSLY EAGER MOUTH seeking out a kiss with a low, hard breath she doesn’t have to take. She pauses herself, and her shoulders could AUDIBLY crack when she almost half-shrinks back. Her head tilts, an exploratory brush of the nose along a cheek, and a hand RELEASES a shirt. The sound itself that she makes is nearly serpentine, the rattle of a snake, perhaps.

She takes a great step back. It’s a TREMENDOUSLY brief gap between them, now, a boot poised and unmoving, pupils somewhere dilated within such moss green. She surveys and examines. Tips her head in APOLOGY with cheeks reddened to a dark pink flush.

sign up all my pathetic gays please

Glinda and Karen just met, Bun. She can hardly let Karen put her in some fluffy woolen socks and a cosy jumper and then give her a diamond ring as a thank you. What kind of message would that send...

⇏ heart reveal! ☆ @whatwakes​ ☆ accepting ( please!! )

VISUAL ATTRACTIVENESS: 💗💗💗💗💗 Maximum(purely aesthetic appreciation of looks)

FRIENDSHIP LEVEL: 💗💗💗 Hopeful(how close a friend they consider them)

SEXUAL DESIRE: 💗💗💗💗 High(wanting to have sex with them)