guess who’s back (and has also remade) ! ive got tons of muse and after being away from the internet for three months i decided it was a good opportunity for a clean slate.

head over to the new blog here.

       Derek is moving but Stiles is still; it feels like it should be the other        way around. He needs a few moments but he soon identifies the        strange, metallic aftertaste lingering about his tongue —- hurt. It’s        one he should be familiar with, only he hasn’t felt it in this place in        so long that in the context of it all - the big, tall windows, the small,        utilitarian TV, the (their, their, their) couch placed so oddly by the        twisting stairs Stiles knows is the perfect place to read in the wan-        ing evening sun, sometimes alone, sometimes with someone else        with their shoulder against your knee, listening to you read aloud.                         Don’t act like this is okay.        He wants to interrupt, wants to be childish, wants to shout, to stomp        his foot, to demand the truth, because Scott told him whose guise        the shifter took, because Derek must know that he knows, because        he used to share these things with Stiles.                              It’s not okay.        And yet he doesn’t. So Stiles swallows the metal in his mouth, and        follows suit, keeping a minimum physical distance between them,        since another sort had already made itself known.                            Tell me it’s not okay.                                                     It’s okay.

               ”Oh, yeah, let’s take our cues from a show where they end up                 getting a delicious acid and dead person smoothie everywhere.                                        Yeah, Mr. White! Yeah science!”

            && dainty fingers would reach        to firmly prod at the space between       his eyebrows.                                 ❝ ass. ❞

[ SMS → Dogbreath ] ;; well the avengers have already been assembled so its a little too late for that [ SMS → Dogbreath ] ;; im coming up

           His steps echoed, amplified by the narrow staircase as he takes them            two at a time, his long legs, for once, a blessing. His phone had buzzed            on his father’s desk as they shared takeout, loud, o m i n o u s. Once            he read Scott’s message it had only taken a glance to his dad and two            words — “it’s Derek.” There had been no questions as Stiles snatched            his keys and ran for the door. Sometimes the sheriff acted like he knew            something Stiles didn’t.            Stiles still had the key he never surrendered. He shoved aside the door            to find evidence of the recent battle—- upturned table, ripped hangings,            and of course, the body on the ground.  But before he can take further            stock another alert vibrates his phone, and this one has Scott veering.            Kira had found another skinwalker, apparently this one’s siblings - at             least, they had found her.             ”Go.” When Scott hesitated Stiles clapped him on the shoulder and             shoved him toward the door lightly. “Dude, go. Malia’s with her already.             I’ll stay here.” A grateful nod is the alpha’s response and he squeezed             Stiles’s hand before darting out; Liam, despite not being addressed, is              ever Scott’s loyal shadow.              It’s just the two of them now, the two of them and the body and Derek’s             ragged breathing. His footsteps, still echoing, were too loud in the             silence, as he stopped in front of the werewolf.

                              “…are you — ” Asking if he’s okay felt stupid. Instead:                                            ”…what do you need?”

           His chest is still tight,   & it takes deliberate acknowledgement to            remember how to breathe              but he's fine. Briefly, he wonders            when the walls around his psyche had reassembled, why he feels            less inclined to simply TALK to Stiles, like he always does used to.

[ SMS → Stiles ] ;;  The skinwalker's been taken care of. [ SMS → Stiles ] ;;  Backup's no longer necessary.

                                                 ❝    Come now, Derek…❞

                          It’s a chilling harmony, the voice that once whispered his name to the                 shadows. Bloodied fingernails dragging across the railings of the gate &                 creating a chorus. WOLFSBANE is slick on the dagger in her other hand as                 serpentine hues search the darkness for him ————- though it’s all part of the                 fun, this little cat & mouse game, she supposes.

                            Until her patience would wear thin —— & that would not be in much time.

                          ❝    You needn’t hide from me. I want to talk.❞

                  ❝             So talk.  ❞