— ✗ stay gold, ponyboy ❞

“yeah fucking right. i’m not asking adam for shit.” not that he needed to reveal that much of his stubborn pride to juno grey, but there it was. asking adam for the ( extensive, and expensive ) equipment necessary to home-grow some solid weed fell somewhere below slicing his own balls off on the list of things wyatt wanted to do during his miserable, and hopefully brief, lifetime. “then maybe you ought to pick a better time to come snooping around, witchass. i don’t want to look at your ugly mug either. not my fault you came strutting in like you owned the place while i was already here.”

“Well first off don’t call me princess,second of all I prefer to curse in my own language,I find it funny when they get confused and it’s not gibberish,it’s Finnish”.She said as she glared at him,her hands balled into fists. “You really make me want to hex you,I have never been so mad at somebody and I have a sister that tried to kill me”

“finnish, gibberish, same difference. i’m just saying, it sort of loses its affect, ‘cause i don’t really give a shit what you call me.” he picked up a random article off a shelf and inspected it, all forced casual. “i think if you’re more mad at me than at your sister who literally tried to kill you, you really ought to get your priorities in check.”

wyatt had pretty much no experience with hemorrhoids and honestly, he wasn’t totally sure what they were, but something told him they must’ve been a lot like trying to have a conversation with juno grey. irritating, prone to flaring up, and a major pain in the ass. “oh, wow! what a genius idea. how did i never think of that? golly gee, mister owl, why didn’t we ever grow the plant in our own home? oh, right, because obviously i don’t have the fucking resources for a hydroponics lab in my goddamn shitty studio, or else i would have. it’s not my fault you picked a bad time to come here. and it’s a community garden. i am, believe it or not, part of the community.”

“Yes I am twenty seven”Lecia’s eyes widened when he accused her for taking drugs. “I beg your pardon I have never touched drugs in my life I barely even drink as for trying to reclaim my tweens,I dress this way because it’s what I like. I have never met anybody so rude in my entire life you are such a tietämätön kakara”

“word of advice, princess: insults are way more effective when the other person has any fuckin’ clue what you’re saying, not gibberish or whatever the fuck.” apparently he was just looking for a fight, because it wasn’t even true. lecia definitely did not look forty. but then, when wasn’t he looking for a fight? if devil’s watch had any luck at all she would hex him, or whatever it was that witches did; wyatt wasn’t really sure.

he stared at her, since she was apparently devoid of speaking ability. or, mostly—she’d clearly spoken, just not a lot. wyatt did not understand these people. “...okay, well, whatever,” he said, wandering down some aisle or another ... and then bumped a crystal ball down off the shelf, watching it shatter against the ground. “oops.”

as much as wyatt constantly looked for a fight, he was also a little too full-moon-whipped to have the energy for a proper tumble—never mind that, frankly, nobody got riled up as quickly as he did, not even other werewolves.  this vampire’s blasé attitude pricked under his skin in all the wrong ways, but he just scrunched his nose in dissatisfaction ( debatable, please, just because he wasn’t, what, two hundred plus fucking years old or however old this dude was ) and stretched, trying and failing to roll the tension out of his shoulders. “goodness of what heart? you’re dead,” wyatt pointed out, sucking in a long inhale from his cigarette. “and anyway, people can only fuck you up if you care, which i don’t.” he would’ve said he was basically dead, too, except that sounded terribly melodramatic. a snort of a laugh rushed through his nose at the words good catholic boy, and the sarcasm that went with it - both were all too familiar. “aren’t you, like, fuckin’ condemned either way? what difference does it make?”

instead, he tilted his head slightly to the side, gaze shifting from the spot on harley’s thigh where he’d pierced the needle up to those equally piercing blue eyes. “does that hurt? like, not the shot ‘cause, you know, it’s just a fuckin’ shot, but... like. the hormones.”

“not a fuckin’ kid,” wyatt said, almost too tired to bristle at how fucking condescending this asshole was. ( emphasis on almost. ) all the ‘pup’s and the ‘kid’s and whatever other nicknames people had for him to emphasize just how young he was, like he was so goddamn naive. “believe me, i know for a fact that the only thing i know is that i don’t know a single fuckin’ thing. except for the fact that, without fail, nobody gives a shit, ever, unless it’s about themselves.” he turned to the vampire, sized him up a little. ( wyatt always had to at least try to check on what his odds were if things turned to a fight. most all his social interactions did. ) “you’re apparently old as shit and yet still haven’t decided to just commit ritual suicide, though, so who knows, maybe you really have unlocked the goddamn meaning of life.”

1.01

now that he’d finished spritzing the leaves, there was nothing left to do but... wait, mostly. for things to finish growing, for the cycle to complete, for the trichomes to turn cloudy, whatever. unfortunately, wyatt had to have the last goddamn word always, so he was stuck here in this stupid garden without the excuse of still being here. fuck. “yeah, something tells me you can promise that ‘some thirteen year old’ will,” he snorted, running his fingers along one of the leaves. “you can shit on me all you want, but my plant is fucking prime, bitch. or, anyway, as prime as a plant grown in a shitty community garden can be. i’ve been growing my own bud for a while, i think i know what i’m fuckin’ doing.” 

wyatt stared at him, hoping all the apathy he felt poured out of his body through his flat expression as much as he felt it did, and then proceeded to exhale through his nostrils straight towards abiel. not that it mattered, genius, because abiel was smoking too. “yup. that’s what they tell me. me, the kids, no respect, blah blah. personally i just think we’re tired of fuckin’ pussyfooting around and not being straight with people. so i’m just being straight. nobody gives a flying fuck if you kill yourself. the sooner you accept that, the better. i know you’re busting my balls and all, but i think you’re half serious, you know, like you’re gonna say ‘oh, i know people don’t give a shit,’ but deep down you hope they do. well, newsflash, buddy, they don’t. people only give half a shit about themselves. that’s it.” 

of course she was already copping an attitude. wyatt rolled his eyes. hadn’t he been polite? all he’d asked for was some bullshit product he didn’t need so that he would have an actual reason to be here other than i aimlessly wandered into this store because i’m looking for someone but don’t want to seem like i’m looking for someone. fucking witches, honestly. it was ridiculous. “are you kidding me,” he mumbled ( or grumbled, really ). “this place has the shittiest customer service, all i asked for was— no, jesus, god, don’t call him.” what the fuck was wyatt, a needy girlfriend? for fuck’s sake. “don’t even tell him i came by.”

“you’re twenty-seven?” wyatt made a show of looking the woman up, down, up, then down again, the scroll of his gaze exaggerated. “lay off the drugs, lady, you look like shit for twenty-seven. then again, i guess it makes sense—forty-year-old women try to reclaim their twenties, but you’re still trying to reclaim your tweens.”