#stiledsarcasm

The biting cold seemed to penetrate every inch of the trickster’s body, seeping into his very core. He was soaked to the bone, which didn’t help. The soft green t-shirt that he was wearing clung to his torso, offering little to no protection from the elements. His raven-black hair, heavy with rainwater, hung in front of his eyes. He really did look quite pathetic. 

Despite being severely under-dressed for such weather, the icy wind and rain didn’t seem to outwardly bother the young God. He just stood there, staring vacantly out into the street, lost in his thoughts.  It was the familiar voice of Tony Stark that grabbed his attention, though. He glanced over him for a moment, once bright emerald eyes now just looking tired, as he assessed the situation... The Man of Iron didn’t seem to pose much of a threat, at least not right now. 

Midgard.

Of all places Loki never thought he’d seen again, that he dreaded to even step foot upon again... it had to be Earth. Asgard was no different, really, and in truth he was more than delighted to leave that horrid place. The tesseract he was once sent to recover and deliver to Thanos, now remained tightly sealed within the gilded walls of Odin’s Vault. Meaning that in due time, the Mad Titan would arrive on its doorstep to retrieve it, and no doubt kill the one who failed him. (keep reading sign for mobile v)

@stiledsarcasm

It was raining hard, big fat drops of water pouring heavily down from the sky which was clear just a few moments ago. Lighten crashed, thunder rolled and soon it was known that it wasn’t a freak storm rolling in but a distressed god landing on earth.

Thor touched down right on the balcony of the Avengers tower, even though his uncontrolled emotions were causing the storm he was still drenched by the down pour. 

Looking through the window he saw Tony and attempted to get his attention; his hands otherwise occupied by a large bundle in his arms to open the door. “Stark.. Please, I need your help..” Thor blurted out, clearly distressed as he cradled what was in his arms tighter. But it wasn’t so much a thing as it was a them. Feet poked out from the end of the wrapped blanket and an arm also dangled limply. 

Lying them down on the couch Thor turned back to Tony, “I didn’t know who else to turn to. I’ve committed treason and soon Heimdall’s eye will be on me. But do no worry. He has a charm on that keeps him hidden. No one from Asgard will know he is here. I will also ward the--”

A muffled groan could be heard, whoever was brought here unconsious seemed to be stirring. Thor stalked right over to him, pulling the blanket back.

It was Loki. But not as Tony would have remembered.

His eyes were sunken from malnourishment and dark circles made him look even worse. His hair was a mess and his skin paler than usual but the worst was his mouth. Lips sewn tightly shut with black thread, dried crusted blood still remained around the punctures where the needle would have threaded through his skin; healing as best they could.

Derek had seen the boy outside school, chattering excitedly to another teenager who seemed not to have the same enthusiasm about what they were speaking about. That had been the first time he’d laid eyes on Stiles. Derek was a lonely wolf with no family, no pack to speak of, and no mate to keep him warm at night. It wasn’t something that worried him but sometimes he wondered if he’d be alone. A lone alpha wasn’t really an alpha at all. 

Courting Stiles was an interesting affair. Derek hadn’t exactly come out to say what he was and he only knew a few ways of wooing a mate. Though he had to be careful considering the Sheriff was the boy’s father. If he found out Derek, a grown man, was trying to get with his teenage son there would be trouble. 

Had it been any other time, any other moment in their weird, slightly at odd history together, Stiles would’ve doubled over laughing on the street. After all, it was Derek, Derek Broody Angry-At-Everything Hale, walking out of a bakery, eating a cupcake that looked better suited to be at a ten-year-old’s birthday party. But now, seeing as it was the first time Stiles had seen him after the werewolf had disappeared to Mexico somewhere and shit had hit the fan in Beacon Hills in a big way, Stiles couldn’t even summon up a smile. “I didn’t know you were back.”

     ⊰ ☾ ⊱~; In order to appear a bit more polite-believe it or not, he could be the most polite person you have met-, Derek shifted on his feet to face Stiles fully. What the wolf had not realized earlier was the permanent heavy fog of sentiments, embracing and wrapping around the teen like a thick blanket. Ther would be nothing all too wrong with that if the majority of them were negative, repugnant and stuffy to his sense of smell. “Not many know that I’m here.” The were tried to play it off calm and control, tho if one one knew the shifter better they would notice how his shoulders stiffened slightly and eyes narrowed.”Good to see you- ”’Still among the living’ is what he wanted to say, but rather bit his tongue not to make this any more awkward and filled with tension as it already was.”It’s been a while.”

@stiledsarcasm

The bloodied remnants of the fae woman lay scattered across the clearing. Derek was barely standing, leaning heavily on his left leg with no idea how much of the blood soaking into his shirt, jeans, and hair was his own.

The distant pulse of feet slamming over dry earth matched the sound of his own racing heart, and he let himself relax, slumping down into the dirt. Stiles was coming.

She was on him a second later. Small and delicate looking with soft curls and elfin features, and the strength to grip his throat in one tiny hand and lift him up effortlessly. Fae. Just like the one Derek had barely survived fighting, looking at him with a rage deeper than years could put words to.

“She was killing,” Derek tried, because more than half the blood soaking into the dirt was his, and there was no strength left to fight in him. He didn’t expect it to make a difference, and it didn’t. The creature’s wild eyes swept over him, unforgiving.

“She was mine.”

Stiles’ footsteps were still pounding closer, seconds away and sounding horribly alone. Backup must have been waiting at the loft or spread out too far across the forest. And why would they need to come? Derek had messaged that the threat was gone.

The fae’s lips twitched before he could even think to shout warning, the cold rage in her eyes melting to something thoughtful and somehow more terrifying. A finger dragged an absent caress across Derek’s throat while her eyes tracked to his pounding heart and outward, as though tracing some invisible thread from Derek’s heart to the source of the sound.

“Well,” she mused, “equal and fair in all things, I suppose. Bravo, hero, stopping the wicked fae. I suppose you’ve earned a reward.”

He was expecting a quick tear of nails to his throat, and knew right away it would have been preferable. It was obvious from the curl of the fae’s grin, the hand at his neck, the blood still dripping wet down his temple: a quick death would be the best thing for him.