MR. WILDER.

she shifts just slightly at his blunt response, an arm coming to wrap around her knee as she brings it up close to her, chin resting on the cap; it’s a LOT, what’s tumbling around inside of her, and she fights to keep it in ( in, in, in, always in ! ). her gaze hadn’t faltered even once, scanning over him as he contemplated; the time it takes him is both reassuring and off-putting, and her intrigue is obvious. she’s used to all the VIOLENCE, used to the numerous justifications and explanations that annalise says they aren’t supposed to care about, even used to how they sometimes reach some deep dark place she’s buried inside of her ( later she looks at numbers that she won’t won’t won’t call, thinks of goodbyes she’s tried to say and people she should MISS more than she does, later she doesn’t say much at all ! ), but his smile feels new. and she does not cringe, expected of the ( cold cold cold ) soldier someone might have expected once, but she does wince.           ❝ — i mean, you had to know you’d get caught. you didn’t       even try to cover it up. or run, even. it doesn’t ... it doesn’t line up. ❞

@ourpyrrhiicvictory​.

❝ michaela, and the others —— they need you. ❞  her persistence is not soft. it is not a fine and precious thing he will one day look down at cradled in his hands after it’s been smashed to pieces, is not a thing to be held — only endured. if she weren’t in this body, saying these words, needing this boy, she might spare him sympathy, having endured her diligence first hand. it’s awful, she knows; it keeps her up all night, has her looking over every one of their shoulders until her neck aches with the strain and double and triple checking every list she makes. from an outsider’s point of view, she thinks maybe she should be sorry for this, for not being able to let him go, but she has no time for an outsider’s point of view, and she took the gun from his shaking hands when he couldn’t trust them to hold it, and she needs him in this. when her words are answered by silence, she gives a sigh of defeat, feeling alarmingly shaky on her feet as she turns to go — and then pulls back the sheets and climbs in beside him. not too close, but not too far away, either. certainly close enough for her chin to lightly rest on his shoulder, diverted gaze.  ❝ —— i need you. ❞ 

@hefalters​.

❝ — mr. wilder ...   ❞  she approaches her next question CAUTIOUSLY, nervously, even; she’s different the others, doesn’t scare when they do, but this is frightening in a way that guns and stains they can’t get out of carpets aren’t. it’s very UN-ANNALISE of her, she knows, and teeth worry her bottom lip at the realization ——— but even that isn’t enough to STOP her, not in the way that it should. she’s no annalise, but she knew what to do with the body, and it was her that figured out their alibi, and she’d never felt SO SURE and she’d never liked that feeling that much.            ❝ why? why did you do it? ❞

I HAVE LOVED YOU. I DID MY BEST.

   ❝ —— i don’t fucking care. ❞   if she’s expecting excuse, then the hostility she’s dolling out is honest. she’s too TIRED to be anything but honest, and far too lonely, far too alone. he’s left her all alone, and that wasn’t supposed to hurt this fucking much; he was at least supposed to give her the luxury of a WARNING beforehand, let her leave first. but if he was a WOLF, tamed and loyal to her hand, he turned on her, sunk fangs into the hand that fed him, the arms that held him when he came to from the nightmares, & all she can think is that she had the throat made for HOWLING, the claws for tearing, and still she surrendered her den for his soft, soft heart and didn’t show her teeth even once when she thought he didn’t want to RUN. she was angrier, hungrier, lonelier, and still she kissed his hands and pretended the taste of blood didn’t make her feel less alone. her bottom lip quivers just slightly. he said he loved her. she isn’t sure if it’d be better or worse if that were true. she wishes he’d touch her; he’s so far away. she isn’t sure if it’d hurt less or more if he did. she never wants to be touched again.  ❝ so, what, we’re stuck with each other now? it’s just us in this big scary world and we should just be GRATEFUL that we’re both here instead of, i don’t know, stuffed in a water tank? how romantic. ❞  

PRETTY GIRL. 

he doesn’t have the right hands to hold her with, but he thinks he might have the right fingers, touches her carefully and cautiously and like she’s going to WRECK him like a bat to a piano in the middle of the night on the hottest day of summer and he doesn’t stand a damn chance. he’s no good at any of this, no good at being anything other than what he is, no good at being nathan, no good at being a scott, no good at being a son, sometimes — but when he kisses her, she always comes back for more, so maybe he’s good at that. even if it makes him kind of DIZZY, and has him drafting metaphors in his head about how she might not be a comet but maybe could be the whole damn sky. ( and when things get quiet between them, the kind of quiet he thinks they both want to fill out of habit if nothing else, he supposes maybe he’s not so good at words, either. ) 

a soft laugh in response, paired with a smitten smile — he might not be able to discern whatever message all the stars in the sky are lining up to make, but sometimes, just sometimes, he can see through the glare she gives off when she SHINES even brighter each time someone thinks they’ve made her go dark. it’s the words that follow that leave him somber, and any remaining bitterness at the mention of his brother starts to fade with a startling realization — brooke davis, beautiful, brilliant, brave brooke davis, has spent her time in the shadows, too, even when wearing light like it was a pair of wings. he’s second, a shadow boy in a town that tries its best to forget his name, and ... he think he might understand the tone her voice takes on. shadow boy smiles, and the touch of his hand on her cheek is as soft as a dream. 

  ❝ —— there’s probably something really HOT about the whole sneaking around thing, but i think it’s kind of overrated. and you deserve better than being anybody’s secret, brooke davis. especially mine. and i don’t want you to be. besides ... i’m in favor of anything that pisses off nathan. ❞ that last part is all teasing, but he’s warm as could be throughout it, and gentle, too. 

BETH. 

❝ —— sorry, i’ll make sure send a bloody carrier pigeon first next time i come by. ❞  sarcasm’s a given, mostly out of HABIT and pent-up agitation, but the apology’s sincere. she’s a creature of necessity, and with beth taking care of them, she’s free to hang on the sidelines —  which is both a blessing & a curse. accepting responsibility has never been on her list of priorities, but she’s not so good at being out of the action, either.  ❝ how about we don’t mention that particular incident, ya’twat. ❞ what she means is: i’m sorry. what she wonders is, if beth forgives her, does that mean she’s FORGIVEN? are the two one in the same?  ❝ any new developments? ❞

MALACHAI.

LITTLE KAI.

❝ —— i didn’t realize i was just a girl. ❞ she doesn’t make any sudden movements either, bereft of any shame where her lacy black bra was concerned or their current state on the couch.  ❝ i guess if you’re already blind, there’s no HARM in this — ❞ another kiss pressed to his lips, mostly to torture her a little. one she’s quick to let go of, because she’s not evil, but delights in all the same.  ❝ seriously, i thought you had the late shift. ❞   

DISTRACTION.

        hostility is a black dress that clings everywhere and rests many inches above the knee, and she wears it well, makes even the lace back that shows enough skin to leave her small frame cold and wanting look a little like ARMOR, an umbrella of wild pink hair fans out around her with a curl she never quite manages to tame out of it to match. it’s different than the dress she unzipped in front of a unassuming college boy earlier, a shade of lavender, frilly & delicate and too easily slipped over the curve of her shoulder, and though it, too, allowed a degree of SAFETY, safe wasn’t really the point. this is different ground, and this guy’s fully clothed, and of course —— she never agreed to show any skin unless someone else did first, and she knows better than most, people are most themselves naked, even when they aren’t.    ❝ —— she’d shame me good, i’m guessing. ❞        she LAUGHS at that. mask between her fingers sounds tempting, but she can’t seem to want to pull it back on, would feel more FOOLISH between her slurs of words than anything else. so she doesn’t, not looking up until the keys are secure in her hands and only then paying him so much as a glance. his words put a bitter taste in her mouth, the kind she’d like to brush or kiss away, but she doesn’t give much, not even a slight shift in her jaw. what they stir in her only shows in her eyes, and what she sees in his hardly enough to keep her attention long enough to NOT-BOLT. hardly enough, but still enough. still enough to have her taking a testing step towards him as if she’d brush past, but remaining firmly in place, blue eyes alight.     ❝ really, it’s what my FATHER’D say. ❞ and she hasn’t mentioned him in five years, but if she’s a black dress, angry and defiant and refusing to move, careful girl grown careless, he’s a NOOSE around your neck, and she’s learned to like the danger she invites in for a midnight snack.  ❝ —— your CONCERN is touching. ❞ 

your fave is problematic, liz tumblr user @brookesmxrt / @omnesvoces