#followedadifferentpath

My Tumblr Crushes:

failurefcther

duocorpora

ashxnfeathers

followedadifferentpath

whcwashe

ciacowboy

swcllowthis

delabor

Second-choice last-night desperation ain’t a pretty thing, but it’s what Faraday’s got pressed up against him, long and lithe and frankly a little terrifying, and yeah, maybe he’s letting Red do pretty much what he wants. He doesn’t want to die with his dick out.

Red takes with a quiet confidence that doesn’t quite reach arrogance. He pushes Faraday down, he tugs at clothes, he shoves arms and legs until the position suits him, and he smiles this amused smile down at Faraday, underneath him, and tightens his fingers to forestall any answer to teasing question:

This one is new. Yet another curious addition to Stiles Stilinski’s list of supernatural friends. A skinwalker —— color him interested. The fox keeps the boy close to the surface, the lilt in his voice, the accent on the words — all Stiles. 

Even if he knows it won’t fool Red (how quaint).

   “You’re a weird one.”

He closes one eye and tips his head, sizing up the man like a particularly tricky pool shot. His finger drags lazy circles in the air, thoughtful.

MUSE :  

name: Hikaru Sulu /  nickname :  Ru, Roo  /  zodiac sign : cancer  /  gender : wolfboy  / favourite gold, green, blue  / average hours of sleep : verse dependent; usually 6-8  /  last thing you googled : care for carnivorous plants / height:  5′10″

MUN :

HEADCANONS PLEASE ! ( always accepting ) 

Pack was fur warm, four paws and cold noses; a family where the forest met the mount that overlooked the sea and reached for the sky. Pack was a family bound by rules, bound by tradition, but blessed by Nature and the spirits that bowed their heads in thanks for the wolves with gentle touch. 

Pack was a home, and something lost. 

Lone wolves never last, and so the wolf wanders with an ache that bleeds the hope from him. He smiles, bright as the sun, and carries it with a desperation buried beneath skin and bones. There may be another, a guide — the sending wolf that walks him home, but even he gets lonely. He misses it; touch warm, fur soft, the bodies of a family nearby that promise safety in numbers and a love unconditional. 

They walk together, after all.

As hope slips between the cracks of fingers, so do the memories of the years gone past. A seed of doubt grows, fed by the misfortune that comes with rarity, with a coat that shimmers with the sun, with a target that says ‘endangered’, ignored by that of poachers who see him ‘rare’. For hunt for some was a game; was a selfish thing. 

He doesn’t think he’ll have it again, sometimes, in those nights where company is had by a moon always silent, by a wind always gentle, and by a guide always there. 

But, there’s a flutter of wings. 

A bond made. Touch. Love.