#stilthinkski

                         ❛ I didn’t know werewolves were religious. ❜

              ❘ ❙ ❚ ▋▋⦅♖⦆ — things were bad again. actually, things               were downright disastrous. and what was Derek doing?                well he wasn’t helping, that’s for sure. his eyes tracked               the way his hands shook. they’d been shaking for days               now, but no one had noticed. he took a weighted breath               and clenched his hands,  tightened them into fists. his               voice lacked it’s usual spark.   ❛  But there’s gotta be                something we can do.  There’s always something. ❜

               ' here's something you can do— ' 

          even as he breaks off, mistletoe in hand, stiles' scope of choice remains      slim with his veins spiralling bluer under fluorescents and mind wobbly.      there's no time to mistake.                                             or fix.

ϟ || M E D I U M || ϟ

        [ in spite of her words, Allison is unlocking the case that she had brought into          Stiles's office, revealing a chrome pistol. her lips purse momentarily as if           she's rethinking the decision to hand it over. aside from the fact that she and          Stiles are longtime friends -- and that his agency pays a very pretty penny for          weaponry -- the gun is a specialty of sorts. the feds haven't even heard of it.

         she lifts it from the case and passes it delicately to the detective, feeling          more and more like the trenchcoated gun dealers of her company's youth.          holding the magazine in one hand, she moves to Stiles's shoulder, her           hand pointing out the features. ]

                    "Semi-automatic, blowback operated, manual safety, all pretty                      standard. It hasn't been inspected by the ATF. Totally off the                      market because --"

       [ she pauses to open the magazine, revealing a clip full of silver bullets. then          she grips his wrist to steady his arm enough to load the magazine. ]

                    "-- and with the longer range scope and speed, you could                      essentially take down someone no matter how fast they're                      moving. Seriously though, be careful -- I haven't exactly                      perfected the trigger mechanism, it's sensitive."

Send me a ✐ and my character will write yours...

7: a love poem

Send me a ✐ and my character will write yours...

6: a morning after letter

Stiles,

I'm not sure what I should be thinking right now.

Actually I know that's not true. I know exactly what I should be thinking right now. I should be going straight to your father and have them take you in. But I can't. I can't ever do that. I won't. 

Because you're laying here with me and I can feel you breathing against my back and you're so warm, warmer than I thought and I've never felt safer in all my life. My lips are still tingling and my legs feel like they won't properly ever again and I don't care. I'm happy. I know it's wrong but I'm happy.

So because of that, I'm going to have to figure out a way to untangle myself and put my clothes back on and take this stupid smile off my face and go home and train harder than ever and pretend this never happened.

Because passion is a crime punishable by death, remember? And if anyone takes you from me now, I don't think I'd be able to just stand by and watch it happen. I think it would kill me. 

As soon as you read this, get rid of it. Tear it up. Burn it. No one can know.  And when we spar and you have to hit me harder, I'll get it. Don't hold back.

It probably won't even hurt because I'll probably still be thinking about what your hands felt like last night. What they feel like right now. Holding me. 

Don't be an sentimental idiot, Stiles, get rid of this. What I'm saying isn't half as important as what we felt.

We must be rebels now. Because tomorrow, we can do it all over again.

Ohmygod

same chad, same.