#darkencd

Adam let out the deep breath and rubbed his fingertips along his temples. He'd worked most of the day and his back ached and a small pain was burrowing it's way into his skull. But he had promised. Had promised they would go the movies and get popcorn and act like a real couple instead of a gothic farmer and an angry mechanic with an adopted daughter who drank windshield washer fluid. But damn he was tired. He grabbed the cardboard cup, the sweat of condensation urging him to grip it tighter. 

Ronan was still by the doors. He approached quickly and shoved the cup into his hands. 

“They didn’t have root beer. I got you coke. Please don’t whine about it, Lynch.”

Adam felt the blush creep to his cheeks. He’d fallen asleep on the couch after work. He rolled over and pushed his face into the pillow and grinned. “I-rmph-you.”

Against the pillow, the words “I love you” were muffled and quiet, but they still sent a chill down his spine. The light of dusk filling the room, the quiet of the barns, and Ronan kneeling beside him. How had he gotten so lucky?

BUZZFEED UNSOLVED SENTENCE STARTERS I -- @darkencd

“I mean...at least we were having fun? And if we die -- we wouldn’t know that we’re dead so...win win?” Kira was borderline wincing but laughing all the while. Truth be told -- she didn’t actually know what would come after for them, if anything at all. She never explored that part of her beliefs but for now she was just all for having fun and Stiles? Stiles was all for being wild and exploratory but even he had his limits and exercised caution; A yielding trait she deeply believes he adopted from the many years of being friends with Scott.

@darkencd

poetry prompt; @darkencd

You blamed me for the wreckage…

S i l e n c e.

The wolf had grown dark in his expression, as if he’d turned in on himself hollowed by the feelings that had carved him out upon hearing those words. Like a decayed log in the woods over grown with too much moss, no center or give to hold any form of life than the leeches of the world that ate at its core. Did he blame Allison for the wreckage? No- no never once did he ever blame the Huntress for doing what it was that she thought was right. Scott could never blame someone for that – as it’s what he does, too. Swallowing thickly, words unsteadily dancing on his tongue, the tanned young man had to take another moment for himself. In fact, Allison in his eyes despite everything still felt as innocent as untouched snow. If anything… Scott blamed himself for the wreckage. Maybe if he had just stayed away, maybe if things were different – maybe if he just hadn’t gotten bit that night…. things wouldn’t have turned out the way they had. Another thick swallow and yet… no words. Pursing his lips as he tried to form them with all his might, glassy eyes scrolled over to look upon Allison’s beautiful complexion that still haunts him in many ways than one. “I don’t blame you for anything,” Scott started– having no idea where his speech would take him. It was as if he were a child all over again learning to find and feel his way through life, to stumble and crawl with weak lungs threatening to take over. His heart threatening to kick up if he didn’t stabilize and soon. “I never did.” He said as his lungs constricted tight in his lungs, hand gripping at his chest where his heart resides. “Everything that happened to you – to m…to us, It was always my fault.”

No matter their history, no matter who was right or wrong– no matter who’s fault it was or wasn’t – Scott would forever feel responsible for every little thing that went wrong in Beacon Hills. It’s just who he was and the shame he carries around on his shoulder despite trying to deal with it and come to acceptance with these terms and conditions. Was all of it actually his fault? No… but with a heart that tries its hardest to be so pure (no heart is truly pure) it’s a result. Taking his hand from his chest that tried to settle the start of chaos within his ribs, a hand reached out wanting to touch Allison – like old times, where he’d cup her face and let her say anything to him; even if it hurt. He stopped reaching, however, eyes falling to his hand that soon balled into a fist giving a gentle squeeze only to un-clench and let it fall back to his side like yarn unraveling, coming undone.

He didn’t have the right to do that to her, she wasn’t his, nor was she someone to fix. “I’m…I’m sorry,” As if the words would serve her anything good now. If anything they were just as hollow to her as he had become the moment he heard what she had said to him, eating away at him faster than any acid could.