#wfflehouse

the 2-by-2 matchbox bears down on him, a sedating hand to each hip. yes, he can ram the thing open, but the matchbox says no.

he doesn’t like tight spaces.

’ remind me who considered this one. ‘

hunting klaus and his lap dog comes with a santa stocking of sycophants. imagine derek’s dry surprise when it turned out bonnie’s hand wasn’t the only magical one.

his shoulders only fit because hers are a pinch. he slackens, oppressing the space.

he sees better in the dark than she does in sunny-side-up daylight. the hairs on the backs of his arms know before he does. he nods along the strip of light at the threshold.

Erica scuffs the heel of her boot against the pavement, leaves behind a trail of red. The kills keep getting messier lately, like they're playing a game to see who'll hit the brakes first.

“Didn't know reading minds was part of the big bad slayer package deal.”

She leans in face first, mouth stretched into a grin, pretending she's trying to find something in Faith's expression. Her thumb runs over the space just below Faith's bottom lip, a testing of waters. “Got a little something there.”

Erica's left behind something worse, the press of her scent against Faith's skin. A barely there marking, but still a marking all the same.

hope is a dangerous thing for any one person to experience too much of.  people still foolish enough to believe that they can be the ones to change everything, right the wrongs with perfectly attended care; like nursing a bird back to flight.  you had been with two feet on mortal soil for long enough to know the opposite—    you can fight, you can bleed, you can die/you will still never save everyone that deserves saving.  you do not believe in god, but you imagine if it did exist; it must remain in the heavens laughing at the pitiful plights of mortals trying to mould the world into their making.    human forms are puny; weak-willed and sloshing with desire to rid the earth of those like you.  bonnie bennett was different, hardened quicker than the rest as if her own act of acceptance changed the course of destiny.

❛ hey, you. ❜ the greeting speaks of recognition and warmth in tandem : i see you, in body and soul. we are kindred spirits, birds of a feather, a unit against the steadfast force of the open world. morning sunshine spills bountifully unto an abode of their own making and his smile is easy, a lazy display of contentment. it's a call over his shoulder, focus committed to chopping board. the rhythmic slice of knife through fruit, metal meets wood, parting flesh in its wake. the drumbeat of his cutting feels like a harbinger. the day is young.

❛ eggs ready for you in the pan, just how you like 'em. ❜ he nods in the direction of aforementioned breakfast, tousled curls mussing with the gesture : winces, as knife edge nicks his thumb. the damage is minimal, nothing but a pearl of blood blossoming on the pad, sucked away and forgotten about. the house's first menial assault. like a man drowned, it thirsts.

❛ how'd you sleep, you want a coffee ? ❜