ruthless ;

incxnsed:

    Garrett's been missing a lot of cues as of late. And truth be told, he probably can't afford to continually brush off jokes as issues of concern. Unfortunately, misinterpreting things seems to have become a habit, with a deliberate pause and vexed glance at the other once the word 'killer' leaves his lips. It's not a fact he's ashamed of, or remorseful for, even. But it's not exactly like he's proud of it, either. And it's not as though it's something he has any desire to be called. 

      "Roughly an hour and fifteen. So we have time to kill."

    Truthfully, he’s more interested in pressing a feather-light kiss to the other’s jawline instead of wrangling the courage to pull a sneer at his joke while he absentmindedly flings tomatoes in the blender he's pulled from the cabinet. He's also more interested in brushing an index finger down his chest to trace invisible patterns against his flesh.

      "You have any idea how we can spend it?"

incxnsed:

    "You need to learn the difference between when I'm telling you what to do, and when I'm making attempts at trying to spend time with you."

      The items drop from his hands, clattering onto the counter before a hand moves to turn the dials along the stove, an elbow knocking now empty boxes elsewhere. Suffice to say that he wants to state more, perhaps push just the slightest bit harder in an effort to show that he does in fact care, and that he does want more. But he'll keep silent because, in all honesty, it's a well known fact that grating on Liam's nerves never blows over in a decent manner.

incxnsed:

    "If your eyes change color— it's unlikely."

      Like he'd ever admit all the individual aspects others seemed to entirely despise and mock of Liam were ones he found most appealing. Wolf or human, all preconceived notions seemed to fail whenever their lips met. And in those moments, if only for a second, he's vulnerable. He's exposed.

    "It takes two seconds to pick out a movie. I want you to help me make the sauce. Come back when you're done."

      A brief graze of tongue meets Liam's lips before skittering away in a childlike happiness, loaf of bread under one bicep, and much too large a box of pasta under the other. You can't blame him, though. It was never his job to know how much teenage werewolf boys consume in any one given sitting.

incxnsed:

    "I define it as having faith in your ability to last."

      There's a huff of breath that escapes his lips not so subtly as bags find their inevitable way to the floor, falling with an overconfident attitude that's displayed in the cock of a single hip before he moves.

    "I'm not your slave. You're helping me. I'll teach you."

     In a single stride Garrett's at Liam's side, nimble fingers grasping the hem of the shirt in front of him, elbow crooked at just the right angle to pull him a little closer— to decrease the distance between them. Because sometimes, being an inch away sometimes just seems too far.

incxnsed:

    "That depends how you define ready."

      Garrett defines ready as in having some form of prior experience, or at the very least, a decent amount of knowledge and desire surrounding the subject at hand. Only a fool would deem him as anything other than excited, because he is. Showing it, though? That's an issue to be discussed at another time.

    "I still don't think you can handle me."

Cue an amused snicker in 5...4...3...

ethanthebroken:

    "That was extremely creative. Very original. How long did it take you to think of that?"

      If it weren't for the slightest twitch of sting that accompanies the memories— or the bitter lack thereof, he might've actually been wholly amused. Gleaming teeth find a flash from behind a curl of upper lip as a smile crawls across almost offended features, thumb flicked in a position as if to say 'thumbs up, asshole!'

    "Where the hell is my bag, McCall?"

incxnsed:

    The scrunch of his nose is a telltale sign of refusal. Just because he's considered a fragile human by most others in the fucked up town of Beacon Hills, doesn't mean he's chomping at the bit to atone or make reparations for his actions. In short, he isn't scared. Backing down isn't exactly an option, albeit he'll consider spewing out a stack of lies for a just a moment, because that's just another hidden talent in itself.

      He'll sit back and watch, however. Because Liam gets to stand before a self-preserving and self-centered sadist with horrific anxiety who's ridden with a severe lack of sympathy and empathy. But you know what else he gets? A  coquettishly twisted smile, which, if given the opportunity, might turn into a bought of laughter. He gets a dude who's savage nature shines through even more once the pain resides, a kid whose hands shove and claw as he realizes his pain is being taken without permission. Without reason. Without deserving it.

        "You wanna kill me? Then why are you taking my pain? Kill me, Liam. You have me right where you want me. But you know what I think? I think you don't have it in you. You don't have the guts."

and with that one reply, i'm physically and mentally done. i feel like i'm going to throw up or die or both, so i'm going to take a nap before i do. i'll most likely be on later.

incxnsed:

    "Get your hand. Off my chest."

      Not assigned to do that to him? The deadpool isn't selective list; not a pick-and-choose as you please type ordeal. Money is a selfish thing, something that has a way about it capable of transforming even the kindest individuals to monsters relentless in nature. Garrett's been a monster for some time now, but it's not like he has the time or the wherewithal to explain the aforementioned to Liam. Not like the kid particularly wants to hear it, either, he assumes.       Trembling fingers rise to pry Liam's off his body, effort expended triggering a vicious nauseousness in the pit of an already empty stomach. Human versus werewolf? A betting man would put money on the wolf.

    "You were supposed to trust me, idiot. Why do you think I was so nice to you? Do you honestly think I'd ordinarily dish out my time to cocky little kids with anger issues? The answer— in case you're too stupid to guess? — I wouldn't. I don't."

did jeff really think we wouldn't notice that these two wore the same shirt? that garrett died in ethan's shirt?

ethanthebroken:

    "You're a real smart-ass, you know.       — A lot like your brother who's rotting in the ground as we speak."

incxnsed:

    "Apologize for doing what I was assigned to do? No, I don't think I am."

      There's a pause before he speaks, though, ever so slight. But if you listen for it, it's there. It's hesitation. Delay. Contemplation of right from wrong. For now, he'll settle for what's wrong, simply because it's the easier option. The more familiar one.

    "Why the hell are you here?"

      Where common courtesy and expected appreciation fails, a twisted tongue reveals itself, annunciation wicked with each word. Vibrating fingers find themselves white-knuckled against a length of bed railing, even sets of nail colliding coatings of metal. The pain is enough to cripple any further movement, extending from the base of a broad chest to a compromised torso, uneven breaths wracking pitifully human ribs.        Accompanying each inhale are pulsations of rage, failure never having been Garrett's strong suit. Maintaining level head seemingly unfeasible, blonde hair finds itself meticulously working to discover the back of a pillow, nape of neck coated a brilliant scent of discomfort. 

boosterish:

    "Suit yourself."

      The vapid response is almost one of musing to himself, a comfort among a slew of potentially revealing conversings yielding nothing less than aggravating social situations. Numbness is a given, a certain insensible air washing over three syllables. He's keeping his temper at bay, but not all too subtly. Time for a conversation change.

        "But hey, sorry for missing movie night the other day. I got caught up with homework."

boosterish:

    "Talk in circles about what?"

      Blatant avoidance of specific topics aside, change of subject is a nasty habit— one with a hardened bile seemingly permanantly bound within its confines. It's not specifically that exclusion of others is purposeful— it's essential certain topics are far from breached.         Don't divulge information where it's not warranted. Maintain a reasonable distance. Close-range contact is what gets you killed.