then scream.

uh. hi. long story short: i really haven’t had a computer for the past few months. when i brought it to get fixed, it got worse. they couldn’t fix it (for free) and it wasn’t worth repairing because it was 6 years old. so here we are now. with a  new macbook. 

             Lydia is sure he can SENSE the change, the way she tenses ever so              slightly as he leans in close. You can’t play games with a werewolf.              Her smirk fades, petal pink lips drawing a thin line across her face as              she studies him. And here she had assumed this game was OVER.

              “ You know, Scott, you should PROBABLY keep a better                  eye on your things. ”

        She smirks to herself, a swift hand slamming her locker shut as he advances.         The banshee is calm and cool, turning to face him with a FAMILIAR sparkle         in bright green eyes. It’s a familiar scenario. One she’s glad to easily take the         UPPER HAND in. She leans back against the smooth metal surface of the         lockers, a well groomed brow raising at him.

              “–––– HUH.”

             the banshee tips her head to one side, then the other, looking him over.              CRITICALLY. one corner of her lip pulls, a hint of a chuckle rolling in              her throat.

"You're an idiot if you thought I cared about you."

"You took advantage of my feelings for you."

"Fuck you, fuck your boyfriend/girlfriend and fuck everything about you!"

"I'm in love with you and I'm sick of having to hide it."

"You were supposed to be different."

"You were the one, I can't just move on!"

"I loved you, and just because we broke up doesn't mean I can turn it off."

"I love you too much and you don't love me at all..."

"I would've done anything for you..."

"You left me. You don't get to come back."

"I want you to hurt like I do."

"That's it? You're just giving up on me?"

"I never thought we'd end like this."

"It's such a shame to let you walk away."

"Love isn't a three-way street!"

"Is this goodbye?"

"I would have followed you anywhere. "

"Do I even matter to you?!"

"My back has turned on you."

"I should have known you'd break my heart."

"You're gone and I'm haunted and I bet you are just fine!"

"Goodbye, my almost lover."

"It's over."

"I can't do this anymore."

"I'm leaving you."

"I'm done crying over you."

"I have to let you go."

"You said you loved me..."

"I LOVED you. Past tense."

"I don't believe in love."

"I never loved you."

           “ in that case, wouldn’t it be more PROPER to say that              it SHOULDN’T be possible, rather than it being impossible?              CLEARLY: it is possible. “

     steve hums, shifts forward to drag the shield to the edge of the table,      turn it over to ghost his fingers over the chipped paint. thumb and forefinger      rub the edge, a sigh breathing from his lips as he replaces it on the table.

           “ i can bench press up to 2,000 pounds, ma’am.              very little seems IMPOSSIBLE to me anymore. “

                  painted lips part but a reply falls short. he’s CLEVER. certainly more                   clever than some she’s used to. his correction isn’t terribly incorrect,                   and maybe that’s what’s driving her crazy. her gaze follows the shield                   as he drags it back to him, observing the way his fingers seem so tender                   with the hunk of metal. her lips purse.

         “ considering it EXISTS, i would say it’s not. “

     he watches the girl handle his shield, fingers twitchy & more than prepared      to reach out and reclaim it. truthfully all he has left from 1945, a certain      attachment is held for the discus.

         “ it’s VIBRANIUM; real strong, real rare. “

                 “ mr. rogers, might i remind you of the world we live in. just                     because it EXISTS doesn’t mean it’s not impossible. it’s just—                     it SHOULDN’T exist. ”

            she sets his shield down on the lab table, delicate and careful with             something that seems ultimately indestructible. the strawberry blonde             can’t wrap her brain around the discus. she can’t figure out most of what             she’s seen recently.

            her lips are drawn up in a grin, coated in a thin sheen of sparkling CRIMSON,             verdant hues bright and wild, full of MISCHIEF as she looks up to him. thin             porcelain fingers trail up his arm, catching the collar of his shirt. she wants             off the leash, but the last time she left, she tasted death; it SCARED her. it’s             safer when she’s with him, even if she refuses to admit it. so she nags, and             bats her lashes at him.