#withlwolves

     "     𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 ?? i think they’re just fine the way they are  .     “ 

“Everything dies.” 

Notice how he says everything and not everyone, as though the deathless die too, as though even the smallest pebble and the tallest mountain will eventually disintegrate into the same dust nothingness and that will be their death, too, because everything dies and nothing can outrun Her once she arrives. Joaquín does know better, by simple virtue that he has known the world for longer -- her father a mere forethought inside her grandmother’s belly around the same time he was out here, killing fledgling gods. He knows what she is, knows of the fire, his flat gaze cutting right past her apathetic act much like teeth through tendons, and taking to her gestures like codices on stretched deerskin. 

Many amongst her kind pray to him and she doesn’t even know that, but he cannot blame her for that when she does not even know herself.

          it doesn’t always feel right, talking to andrew about stevie –– they’re best friends, after all, always have been, the pair of them glued to each other’s sides and nothing stevie has done has changed that –– but andrew is, above all else, her closest friend, her confidant. and he knows her better than anyone; she says everything’s fine and andrew gives her that look, the one that reminds her so much of mama, and it all comes spilling out. (what if i’m just wasting my time waiting for him and what if he never changes and what if i tell him i’m done and then something bad happens to him and what if he really does get better and i’ve shut him out for good and why does he do this and it isn’t supposed to be this way and why is he doing this to me when i’ve never done anything wrong and and and ––) 

           she stops, sniffling, wiping at her eyes with the backs of her hands. andrew steps forward and pulls her into a hug and she goes, easy, tucked against his shoulder. 

Marshall’s not afraid to use his powers on the street, or for random passers-by. Especially if it keeps the target in question from getting hurt, or worse. As such, déjà vu is a very close friend of his.

He’d had to rewind a bit farther than he’s used to this time, not having set up a savepoint in the past ten minutes, but as soon as he sees the blond crop of hair come around the corner, he rushes to cut him off before he can step off the curb.

“Hey, buddy?”

    “excuse me.”

    for all intents and purposes, she looks the part of harmless (or so men tend to think): rich chestnut hair, long curls turned disheveled over the course of the day, glimmering under the flickering lamplight even still. amber eyes look the part of innocent doe, framed under dense lashes. she’s short, demure -- it could easily take three strides to one of his, and it shows in how she hurries to catch up, even though he seems slower in his intoxication. the wrist she waves him closer with is small. she’s perhaps mid, late twenties.

     he left a party. she can still hear the sounds of it, two blocks down. 

   since spirit’s break-out plan, ezekiel hasn’t spent much time meeting and mingling with the bragins. for the most part, he’s felt that he has bigger fish to fry, and he’s been so preoccupied with looking over his shoulder for abel that he hasn’t dedicated enough brain space to andrew or the others.

   he can feel andrew looking at him. sizing him up. trying to figure him out.