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@thatprettylittlething
independent, semi-selective & private portrayal of 𝖑𝖞𝖉𝖎𝖆 𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖎𝖓 from teen wolf. mutuals only. cherished by jo. a study in : alpha / rich bitch, obsfucating stupidity, blessed with suck, defrosting ice queen & sanity slippage.
BLOGROLL : elena lily beck sidney cassie
“I’m sorry that I took so long to tell you that I loved you when I knew that I did.”
— - D.N. // excerpt from a book i’ll never write #77
“Are we just friends if it’s your breath on my neck late at night or if it’s our laced fingers beneath your covers? How tightly do we need to be pressed against each other before you admit that you aren’t doing this for warmth? How many times does your thumb need to brush my lips before we realize that we’ve gone too far?”
— tara love / this. this is too far.
You want me to be serious, Valenti?
he rolls his eyes as she quips about throwing up. sure he thinks the body is beyond disgusting, but give him a little more credit. he's a werewolf, it's not the first time he's set eyes on a corpse before. ❝ noted, ❞ he responds drily. ❝ who even were they? do you know? ❞ he's always wondered about her banshee powers. they lead her to the crime scenes but do they do anything else for her? other than give her insane nightmares, he's sure she has those. how could she not? isaac has had his fair share of nightmares, hell, sometimes he still does. ❝ hey, uh... look, i'm sorry. i know it can't be the best thing, doing what you do. if you ever want to talk... or, whatever. i'm here. ❞
She doesn’t believe him. She’s not sure she has heard him speak truthfully yet, so why would he start now? Coaxed into candour by the sight of a mangled corpse? Lydia should prioritise the body on the ground, and keep the immature werewolf at arm’s length to be dealt with in due course. But patience has never been one of her many virtues : likely due to the presence of all of her others. ❝ Oh, ❞ she drawls, ❝ now you want to play the hero and help a girl out, huh? ❞ A dramatic roll of green eyes. ❝ You’ve got no idea what you’re talking about. ❞
back from my trip! but feeling unwell (had a trip to the hospital Tuesday). so replies will be slow from me on here. message for my discord
crickets sing in the distance , something soft like sweet melody. moonlight spills over land , something chilling like sweet horror. maw pulls tight into singular line , a scowl forming 'pon his lips. a man touched by death , destruction , and loss. a monster hidden under veil of humanity. strawberry tresses frame features , eyes hold focus , but frustration blooms within her words. fair , he thinks , silence washing over. gaze scours ambiance for trouble and once spotted vision begins to settle as her aid begins to slow the bleed. you almost died , smuggler. almost.
❝ it looks like a girl who's 'bout'ta end up with a bullet 'tween her eyes if she don't quit with the smartass remarks. ❞ silence lingers for a moment , regret brimming. no one asked youth to nurse him back to help, she offered her services. ❝ look , i'm sorry , alright ? i ain't used to crossin' paths with much of anyone out in these woods. ❞ but he's not here to make friends. quick , quick. he's got places to be. ❝ but the faster we get this done , faster i'll be outta your hair and on my way. ❞ a smuggler's work is never done.
Life held in the balance, the girl should be more tactful. But tact is for those deserving of it, and this man doesn’t deserve a smile, let alone kindness. Eyes as jagged as thorns flit from the wound in question up to equally cold hazel eyes. She doesn’t accept his apology, half-hearted as it is. His digits haven’t loosened their hold on his weapon, trigger finger hovering just so. ❝ Nobody has ever apologised to me while pointing a gun at my head, ❞ she quips, voice light, soft and mocking. Confidence reigns for the girl, even in the dire situation she’s found herself in. Needle and thread begin rescue of flesh, thin blade of steel puncturing skin without warning. Amusement almost tugs at her lips then. ( See how you like it, mister. )
❝ I think some smartassery is justified, ❞ she goes on, needle efficiently stitching together torn flesh : she’s done this before, once or twice. ❝ You’re in my hair, as you say. Using my supplies ——— staining my clothes ——— and threatening my life. So yeah, I’d say an attitude is the least I’m owed. ❞
thinking abt that specific type of intimacy from being in someone’s bedroom for the first time, & you’re poking around their items, & they’re reclined backwards on their bed telling you all the little stories while they follow you around the room with their eyes, & you feel it
he's always been observant --------- good at people watching. finds that he's always been treated at arms length since taking his position as a priest. he was somehow above them , in their minds. not just a man any longer , but someone closer to god. he was infallible --- immune to vices &* dark humor. it can be alienating -- lonely , at its core. people see him as someone to confess their mortal sins to ; not just a guy to talk to as a friend. their shoulders square off &* they become distant or they become meek &* mild. watching from a distance showed how they laughed &* relaxed around regular people. it sometimes made the loneliness worse , but usually it at least made him feel connected to his community.
❛ all priests are isolated , miss martin. it's part of the gig. ❜ he huffs out a soft laugh &* shrugs. ❛ no one wanted this position for that very reason -- we're already considered as other ; why go somewhere where that's even more true ? &* , you know , the real shotty cell service. but ... ❜ he hums , gaze roaming the chapel absently. ❛ i grew up in a place like this. not quite as small. moved away as soon as i could. took it for granted. my parents passed &* i no longer had a home there. when i saw this place needed a priest &* knew no one else would take it , well ... i felt a calling. ❜ lies , but he's rehearsed these answers. sounds real.
Her line of work & her life thus far have taught the girl how to spot a lie. Back home, she had always considered herself a great judge of a person. Several incidents where she’d trusted the wrong person later, she has come to assume the worst in strangers. Strangers who tell her their life story while she sits with a pen to paper. Her life has become a search for truth in others’ both ordinary and extraordinary lives. And in spite of the lessons she has learned, in spite of the people that she has lost through misplaced trust, the girl believes the monsignor’s tale. What reason has she to doubt him? The shameful details, the glimpse into his past : they reel her in, and the girl bites ——— lie sold.
It isn’t a definitive answer, a factual indication of his previous residence ( journalism 101 : who, what, where, when why ) but she lets it slide. The monsignor is but one of the many interviews she plans to conduct on the island. He is more eloquent than those she had cornered thus far : one tight-lipped & judgemental Beverly Keane and a quiet fisherman of the name Ed Flynn. ❝ The community, they’ve been welcoming to you, I take it? I suppose, ❞ and own maw quirks now, amusement dimpling her cheeks, ❝ you aren’t likely to speak ill of your new neighbours in the press. ❞ She dips her head to her book, then, raising her pen, gestures around the chapel. ❝ That calling of yours. What does it ask of you? How will you know when you’ve achieved it? ❞
❛ what, you like to watch? you goddamn sicko. ❜ for kai
Kai's laugh had an edge to it that made him enjoy this situation even more, if that was possible. He pushed himself off the wall and started walking towards her. His pace was deliberate, and the way he tilted his head, studying her as he approached, was like she was under a microscope.
He finally made his way over to Lydia, his hands gently framing her face. He tucked a stray hair behind her ear while a somber grin played over his lips, nearly accidental "Hey, would it be that terrible? It's not that serious, is it?"
"Besides," whispered Kai, his tone carrying a hint of mischief, that he not so shyly began to breathe out. His fingertip brushed along her jawline, a brief, tantalizing touch. He could have broken her neck taht easily, but where was the fun in that, truly? So he retreats, doesn't snap her neck, doesn't come closer, plays the good guy. As long as it amused him. Seeing her discomfort was just another bonus that he accepted willlingly. His hand dropped back to his side. "I thought you enjoyed the… attention."
Porcelain skin crawls at the euphemism. The implication, sexual in nature, is plain as day. As plain as the dark eyes that loom before her face like ugly little insects she’d quite like to squash. Maw retreats, revulsion curving lips into a scowl. As though she’d let him watch that. Kai is mistaken ——— as always ——— in so many ways. But this is perhaps his most egregious error. BELIEVING THAT SHE COULD WANT HIM. Beneath his touch, though, her skin does tingle. The banshee would call it nothing more than an instinctive reaction, her body’s unfortunate reflex to gentle contact even from a monster. She hopes he can’t sense that somehow : the way her heart rate quickens, nor the shiver that scurries down her spine.
❝ Not from you, ❞ she points out plainly, retreating further lest he consider raising his hand to her face again. Were such activities about to arise, she wouldn’t let him be in the same building, let alone stood there watching. ❝ Have you always been this delusional when it comes to women? ❞
“You were freaking out so I thought I’d snap you out of it with my generic beer breath.”
RACHEL BILSON and WILSON BETHEL as ZOE HART and WADE KINSELLA in The CW’S Hart of Dixie, season one, episode two.
˜”*°•. A faint smile touched his lips—it was impressive, wasn’t it ? Her complete inability to stand still, to follow even a single instruction he had given her. He took a few steps toward her, one brow arched in firm disbelief. ❝ Text him. ❞ he said, the words laced with a blend of cold amusement. ❝ Tell him where you are. Isn’t it what you wanted ? Well, do it. ❞
Now, the girl hesitates. He seems pleased with himself. Like, perhaps, this is what he’d wanted all along. He’d be ready if she brought Stiles here. He’d be ready to hurt him too. And Stiles . . . Well, he wouldn’t hesitate to lash out, to put himself in danger for her. Button nose wrinkles and the banshee dons a scowl darker still than before. ❝ No. ❞
Practical Magic (1998) dir. Griffin Dunne
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featuring: steve harrington and lydia martin
song: the name of the game by cher (abba)
❝ if i trust in you, would you let me down? ❞
Trust doesn’t come easy. Not for the who has spent much of her life playing a part. She knows how easy lying comes to most. So there’s no trace of judgement in her green eyes. They blink slowly, a sorrowful smile offered up. ❝ We want the same thing here, Steve, ❞ she points out, ❝ and I’m not going to risk losing an ally. I don’t think either of us can AFFORD to. ❞
i’m on holiday for almost a week from thursday so activity will be low. i’m planning to queue some stuff before i go but apologies in advance if replies take a while !!
