Send 🫂 to just hug my muse. No reason. Hug them. 🫂 (stiles)
There are a lot of things Stiles never expected in life. His mother dying, and hating him for a good chunk time before that. Finding a brother in the asthmatic kid he met on the playground. Lydia Martin giving him the time of day. Werewolves and other supernatural creatures actually existing. Getting possessed by an evil fox spirit and trying to kill everyone he cared about. Actually killing someone he cared about. Winding up in New Jersey, of all fucking places. Somehow becoming frenemies with a vigilante/sort-of CEO.
Waking up wherever the hell he is now, feeling like hot garbage. Said frenemy promptly hugging him the second he sees Stiles is semi-upright. “Uh…” His brow furrows, confusion painting his features. “You good, man? Are you dying? Am I dying?” It’s meant as a joke, but then he realizes he doesn’t really remember what happened to get him here and ice instantly slides down his spine.
The last time he had blackouts he’d been possessed. The last time he had blackouts he’d thought he had frontotemporal dementia. His voice grows serious very quickly, a bit of anxiety leaking into it. “…I’m not actually dying, right?”
@49125 (x)
