[sarcaesm]

#SARCAESM:         an independent,      selective,      private,      low activity roleplay blog for   STILES STILINSKI   of mtv’s teen wolf.         trigger warning for mental health,      violence,      blood,      death,      ptsd,      terminal illness mentions.         minors do not interact!         written by cierra   /   cici,      22,      she   /   her,       est. timezone.         please fill out interest tracker upon following!

carrd.            interest   tracker.            prompts.            wishlist.            multimuse.

[sarcaesm]

↳         FEATURING:         MARTIN,      LYDIA

SHE  WISHES  SHE  KNEW  WHAT  WAS  GOING  ON  WITH  HIM .    maybe  it’s  her  fault,   another  outcome  of  her  FLAWS.    to  self-absorbed,   focussed  too  much  on  her  new  love  and  putting  last  summer  behind  her.     HER,  HER,  HER,  that  was  who  she  always  looked  out  for.   maybe  she  shouldn’t  be  surprised  her  attempt  to  reach  out  a  hand  was  being  rebuffed.   she  was  determined  at  least  not  to  let  the  hurt  show  on  her  face.    she  says  nothing  as  he  gets  to  his  feet.     though  she   badly  wanted  to  ask  what  was  wrong  with  him.  she’d  never  associated  stiles  with  callousness  before.   but  she  gets  the  sense  to  ask  would  only  irritate  him  more .     so  she  huffs  again,   as  if  in  response  to  his,   but  says nothing  else . 

she  watches  him  brush  off  her  pants,      and  feels  her  teeth  sink  into  her  lips.   she  hates  feeling  nervous,   hates  chewing  her  lip  like  some  stupid  girl      UNSURE  WHAT  TO  SAY  NEXT.     it’s  just odd  not  to  know  where  she  sits  with  him    [   god,  lydia  !    you’re  being  stupid  ]    but  he  surprises  her  again,    she  blinks  at  the  shift  in  his  tone,   the  easy  slip  into  an  explanation.   so  much  more  gentle,   more  stiles-like,   and  she  falls  gratefully  into  it.    she  wouldn’t  keep  up  tension  for  the  sake  of  it .      ❝   a  lead  ?    -   really  ?   what  was  it    ❞     it  felt  like  there  had  been  no  news  for  weeks.   but  she  should  have  known  stiles  would  have  kept  thinking,   kept  working,   even  when  the  rest  of  them  found  themselves  consumed  by  school  and  deadlines.    ❝     you  still  could  of  asked  me  to  come    -    ❞    she  doesn’t  deny  she’s  been  busy   .  .  .   but   -  she  would  of  come .    she  always  would  when  it  was  something  important.   her  eyes  wander,  in  all  her  irritation  she’d  not  realised  her  hair  was  standing  on  end.   ❝   you’re  right  though,  I  think.   something  is  strange  here.  ❞

         he blinks away the shadow that hovers in his vision for weeks,   using her as a focal point so he doesn’t lose sight of reality.      fake it until you make it,   talk enough sense that you don’t lose your mind.      the truth of the matter is that he doesn’t remember why he came here.      the last thing he remembers is laying in bed,   willing sleep to come even though the sun still shone through the cracks of exposed window that weren’t covered by the curtains.      (   he had counted earlier,   eight hours of sleep in the past five days.   )      the next thing he remembers is coming into consciousness in the middle of the woods,   lydia showing up soon after.      TALK SOME SENSE TO ME,   LYDIA.      how she found him,   he had no idea.      his mind is still jumbled from confusion,   eyes scanning to pinpoint any familiar landmark.

         ❝      it doesn’t matter.      i think it’s a dead end,      ❞         he shakes his head,   explaining away his lack of answer.      he couldn’t let anyone else in yet,   burden anyone with his issues.      scott and allison hadn’t been griping about their side effects from the sacrifice and he refuses to be the weak human,   to be the one that disrupts their lives.      who was he to call lydia up and confide in her about this?      lydia,   perfect,   with goals and aspirations and priorities   ―   all that had nothing to do with him.      he’s about to spit out another excuse past his panic when she speaks again,   eyebrows raising at the validation that the darkness possibly isn’t part of his imagination.         ❝      wait,   really?      you feel it too?      what do you think it is?      ❞         answers,   lydia,   TALK SOME SENSE TO ME.

[sarcaesm]

↳         FEATURING:         PRESLEY,      ANDROMEDA

🌿                                                    “  𝐢𝐭’𝐬  !  ——  ”          𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.    she  hesitates.    the  word  fails  before  ever  reaching  her  lips  because  nothing  is  quite  all - right.    things  haven’t  been  all - right  for  a  while.    andromeda  is  certain  that,    even  after  all  this  time,    he  would  know  the  white  lie  as  if  it  were  a  blazing  neon  sign.    it  wouldn’t  be  a  big  lie,    but  she  can’t  bring  herself  to  force  it  out.    that  was  the  remnants  of  southern  hospitality  —  the  urge  to  reassure  someone  else  that  your  life  is  not  in  the  shambles  of  reality.    he  has  never  been  one  to  accept  lies,    no  matter  the  size,    and  she  has  never  been  one  to  dish  them  out  regularly.      (    her  state  is  obvious,    despite  the  orderly  house  and  well  -  maintained  farm.    faded  purple  bags  beneath  her  eyes.    the  room  silent  without  the  crackle  of  her  favorite  old  radio.    the  slow  way  she  moves,    contrasting  heavily  from  her  previous  gentle  hyperactivity.     )        she  was  the  soft  delivery  of  the  truth  where  he  was  stark  —-  not  unkind,    but  not  willing  to  tolerate  anything  except  the  wholehearted  truth,    no  matter  how  blunt  the  blow  was.      his  presence  at  the  table  throbs  like  an  open  wound.    things  have  not  been  alright,    andromeda  remembers.          “  it  happens,  ”          is  what  she  settles  on,    making  a  valiant  effort  to  keep  her  voice  steady,    despite  the  mention  of  the  animal  rubbing  another  wound  raw.    

      she  tries  to  avoid  looking  at  him,    to  avoid  marking  to  differences  since  she  last  saw  him,    but  hearing  that  he  had  been  shot  —–  !    eyebrows  pinch  with  frantic  worry,    head  snapping  to  hungrily  rake  over  him  as  if  she  could  see  the  injury  through  his  clothes.      (    there  was  a  time  andromeda  was  able  to  :    when  she  could  look  at  him  even  for  a  second  and  know  immediately  what  was  wrong.    )      her  feet  carry  her  forward  a  few  steps  before  she  remembers  the  events  of  new  year’s,    until  she  remembers  she  cannot  freely  touch  stiles  to  quell  her  anxieties  or  ensure  his  safety.    remembrance  stings  her.    she  cannot  remember  a  time  when  the  past  has  not  been  a  barb  in  her  side.          “  always  a  fun  souvenir,  ”          the  blonde  agrees  mildly.    his  excitement  placates  her.          “  sounds  like  a  ride.  —   i’m  glad  you’re  happy.  ”          and  she  means  it.    with  her  or  without,    that  was  all  she  could  want  for  him  anymore.    her  voice  is  uncertain  once  more,    delicate  and  raw  like  a  dragonfly’s  wing.          “  are’y’visitin’  town  for  a  while  ?    i  wasn’t  .  .  .    expectin’  you.  ”          but  the  longing  that  inhabits  her  voice  says  but  i  did  miss  you.

         has she moved on?      the question echoes in his mind like he’s shouting it in an empty tunnel,   desperate for the truth but dreading the answer.      IGNORANCE IS BLISS.      he wants her to be happy,   but his heart refuses to let her go.      not that he’s been celibate or angelic since they’ve broken up      (   a goddamn hypocrite...   )      but her image flashes in his mind like a slideshow,   even when he closed his eyes so tightly he saw multicolored stars and swirls in his blackened vision.      his feet had moved before his mind agreed,   then the next second he found himself on a plane,   desperate to find his way back to   the person   the place he called home.      it’s when he realized that what once was theirs was no one’s now,   the only thing they have left in common being this small town where chaos unraveled and people go to die.      he never really needed anything more than that.      he notices her worn out features,   a light still shining subtly around her but blocked by heavy curtains.      maybe not noticeable to the naked eye,   but he spent years falling asleep next to her every night,   studying each and every blemish and perfection on her face.      then love slipped beyond his reaches,   right from his fingertips,   but she was his favorite book   ―   the one you never quite forget.      he nods his head absentmindedly,   agreeing without fully absorbing the words.      he’s lost in the way his heart aches when he looks at her,   wanting to reach out and take her hand.      but that’s the thing,   her hand was never his to hold.   

         she was his to lose.      a temporary addition to his life,   never his to keep,   never his.      does she even remember?      back when they were living purely for the hope of it all,   the hope of ending up together or even ending up alive?      how is she ever going to remember,   how will she ever be his again,   when she can’t even look him in the eyes?         his excitement to share his life with her once again melts away,   his words evaporating into the storm clouds that hover above them.         ❝      i’m not happy,   andromeda.      i’m...   surviving.      ❞         he corrects her with a roughened voice,   hands scrubbing over his unkempt beard.      breakup rule number one:   never admit you’re not doing okay to the other person.      he was told that by his roommate when he told him his plans for the weekend,   but it’s not uncharacteristic for him to ignore any and all advice.         ❝      just until monday morning.      i fly out at eight.      i wasn’t even sure you’d be here.      ❞

[sarcaesm]

↳         FEATURING:         ROSE,      AUDREY

           ❛  cold.  tired.  annoyed.  ❜    audrey huffs,  crossing her arms over her chest.  nowadays people seemed to only invite her out when they needed something from her,   stiles unfortunately included.  yeah,  sure,  people were getting hacked and slashed left and right,  but that would probably be happening to them whether she indulged in the pleasures of a vegan froyo or not.   ambers flick over to him,  ❛  oh.  you meant about the dead guy.  right.  ❜

          sighing,  she crouches next to him eyes scanning over the scene.    ❛  just so you know, i am not touching anything.  so don’t try to get me to like, lick blood or something.  ❜  blood trails, handprints, shattered glass, blue gunshot residue  …  blue gunshot residue?   ❛  i thought they said it was an animal attack,  what kind of animal uses a gun?  ❜

         the sarcasm and irritation slides off of his shoulders like water,   stiles shooting her a silent look with his eyebrows raised.      he can’t blame her,   once again she’s dragged out of the house for something rather than the first official date they’ve been planning for months.      but it’s not his fault that this place is a lighthouse in the middle of an ocean for shitty things,   and that happiness isn’t meant for a place like beacon hills.      he stands from his crouched position on the ground,   backing up to keep watch.

          stiles watches her,   shifting his weight from one foot to the other impatiently.      amber eyes dart around the scene,   ears keen to every rustle of the leaves and movement of the bushes.      (   he still hasn’t gotten any more comfortable with being in the presence of a dead body,   shoot him.   )      his attention moves back to her at her last words,   joining her at her height once more to look for himself.         ❝      what does that mean?      ❞         he wonders aloud,   the rhetorical question slipping into the silence.         ❝      not supernatural?      ❞

[bentrulearchived]

someone write with me on wire my muse is high multi:   @/photoalbuhm stiles:   @/sarcaesm have particular muse for my euphoria muses but will accept literally anything

[sarcaesm]

↳         FEATURING:         ROSE,      AUDREY

it was up to her to investigate how the accident had really happened,   since everyone else was seemed to be running head first into a brick wall. true crime was never really her thing. personally, audrey preferred her fix of   infidelity  &  intrigue   without the blood, guts and death  (  as if she didn’t get enough of that already  ). unfortunately,   as the resident sniffer dog for all things macabre,   miss audrey rose could seem to catch everything but a break. something in her should have been suspicious when he picked her up during the dead of the night. the farther they drove into the trees, the more she could feel the haze come over her. though she reached a hand out to grasp his, to ground herself, she was already too far deep into the ǝpᴉs ɹǝɥʇo for him,  or anyone really,   to reach her.

“ well,  so much for date night,  huh? ” the voice barely registers as her own, glossy eyes focused on the dried trails of blood on the concrete. “ definitely should’ve seen this coming. ”

            it’s laughable.      the girl he’s come to know   (   the love part is undecided at this point,   considering every ‘date’ they had ended up rudely interrupted   )   could be envisioned anywhere but in the midst of blood and muck.      yet,   despite her naturally prestigious and put together persona,   she holds herself together in the presence of those very things.      stiles knows that she would probably rather be anywhere else in the world right now,   but she willingly,   albeit with slight hesitation,   followed him into his jeep at his semi-unexpected arrival despite the darkness overhead and the streets being empty.      all to follow a lead that would bring them nowhere,   if the past is any indicator.      imagine his surprise when his eyes fall upon an actual sight,   a sign that his instinct and research had actually led him to a correct answer.

            he ignores the way his throat closes when she takes his hand.

            instead,   he swallows any feelings that don’t reflect the situation and gestures his head to silently say come on as he puts his jeep into park and removes the keys from the ignition.      he leaves the vehicle and his knees bend as he crouches,   holding up his phone screen to the mess.      a moment of observation before he looks up at audrey,         ❝      this is fresh...      do you feel anything?      ❞

[sarcaesm]

↳         FEATURING:         PRESLEY,      ANDROMEDA

🌿                                                  𝐨𝐧𝐞  𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞.    𝐬𝐡𝐞  𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬  so  many  more.    she  wants  a  night  full  of  them  ;    where  she  can  be  set  loose  on  a  gym  dancefloor  of  an  old  high  school  that  still  smells  like  the  last  physical  education  class.    she  wants  to  drag  him  up  again  for  the  fifteenth  slow  song  and  let  stiles  pretend  he  didn’t  want  to  dance  anyway.    one  night.    one  dance.    many  nights  –  many  dances.    neither  seem  possible.

    old  wounds  hurt  just  as  much  as  new  ones  :    the  old  cut  on  her  side  throbs  with  irritation,    the  new  one  on  her  calf  cries  with  every  step,    and  the  graze  on  her  shoulder  has  the  searing  ache  of  a  fresh  wound.    just  one  night  where  they  aren’t  being  scraped  off  the  pavement  .  .  .  

    andromeda  nods  in  agreeance.    it’s  a  curt  head  shake  with  a  strained  hum,    an  immediate  sign  of  the  tears  being  clipped  in  her  throat.    she  leans  into  him,    arms  pulling  him  closer  and  her  into  his  shoulder.    what  puzzle  pieces  they’ve  become  ;    his  hands  finding  her  shoulder  blades  and  her  own  drawing  slow  circles  at  the  base  of  his  neck.      (    if  this  is  it,    at  least  it’s  still  something.    it  was  better  than  the  bleak  alternative  :    at  least  if  they  perished  they’d  still  do  that  together  on  this  night.    it’s  a  line  she’s  said  before.    )          “  it’s  not  a  big  deal,  ”          but  her  voice  has  raised  an  octave.

               a tragic love story,      he dreads the day when the devastating conclusion begins to unfold.         he can’t imagine a world that doesn’t have andromeda by his side,      even with blood smeared on pale skin and southern twang softened with misery from the hours before.         because despite the calamities they face on a day to day basis,      he finds comfort in her.         his shelter in the hurricane.         

               his own wound stings beneath the fabric of his shirt,      the white button-up tainted with ichor.         (   he doesn’t know if the red discharge is his own or annie’s,      the question pointless to ask.   )         everything begins and ends at this damn school,      his honey hues staring at the building with a certain ounce of resentment.         it’s taken everything but given everything.         his hands tighten around her waist.

               he sways with her silently to the muffled music,      the bass vibrating through the glass front doors.         it’s funny from a distance,      two people soaked with reminders of death misfortunes dancing in the moonlight without speaking a single word.         even the forming bruise on the back of his shoulder doesn’t ache when she uses the spot as a place to rest the side of her palms,      the tension dissipating from his body in instinct to her touch.         he mumbles a quiet sound of disagreeance,      his head shaking in protest.            ❝      it is.         i wanted to do this with you,      so bad.      ❞

[sarcaesm]

               he doesn’t even need to enter the room she’s pulling him into in order to smell the literal heaven wafting from it.         maybe if he wasn’t so totally obsessed with her baking he wouldn’t have been able to predict that it’s a cake,      but he keeps his eyes closed to savor the attempt at a surprise anyway.         he follows her willingly,      his aversion to his birthday melting off of him and puddling on the floor at the front door.         warmth spreads throughout his body when his eyes blink open,      the cake an afterthought to the view he has of @appleyed​’s wide anticipatory smile.         he squeezes her hand,      lifting it to his mouth to scatter several kisses against her knuckles.            ❝      this is perfect.         no better present than you and your baking,      trust me.      ❞            he uses the leverage of the grip on her hand to pull her in,      torso pressed against torso,      head dipping down to press his lips against hers.            ❝      i love you.         best birthday ever.      ❞

[sarcaesm]

               stiles is hesitant at best when @scythed​ has him sit down at the kitchen table with his eyes closed.         (   last time he did that,      he opened them to a dead squirrel on his bed.         he liked the sentiment,      but it’s made him more cautious with blindly agreeing to her directions.   )         upon being prompted,      he drops his hands and is met with the sight of possibly the worst birthday cake he’s ever seen,      illegible handwriting and wax melted onto the unevenly spread icing.         but a smile spreads on his face without a beat missed,      standing from his seat and pulling her in for a close embrace.            ❝      thank you,      ❞            he mutters into the crook of her neck,      pressing a kiss to the tender area.            ❝      no wish necessary.      ❞

[sarcaesm]

don't mind me replying to stiles' bday stuff now <3333 happy late bday baby

[vhsmeme]

* wordless prompts

send a word for our muses to interact! specify who does what.

hands – muse a takes muse b by the hand

chamomile – muse a falls asleep on muse b

lesson – muse a teaches muse b something

blaze – muse a feels muse b’s forehead

fix – muse a adjusts a piece of muse b’s clothing

help – muse a props up muse b’s head to give them water / food / medicine

firefly – muse a checks on muse b in the middle of the night

jacket – muse a gives muse b their jacket

stop – muse a holds muse b back during a moment of tension

cradle – muse a pulls muse b’s head into their lap

bed – muse a makes muse b lie down

hurt – muse a takes care of muse b’s wounds

flee – muse a breaks out of muse b’s arms mid - hug

dream – muse a comforts muse b after a nightmare

shield – muse a shields muse b from danger

picasso – muse a draws with muse b

nuzzle – muse a rests their chin on top of muse b’s head

piggyback – muse a gives muse b a piggyback ride

lift – muse a lifts muse b over their shoulder

hug – muse a embraces muse b

infirmary – muse a wakes up in the hospital and finds muse b at their bedside

visit – muse a visits muse b in the hospital

shine – muse a makes muse b laugh

food – muse a and muse b share a meal

light – muse a flickers the lights to get muse b’s attention

nudge – muse a nudges muse b

digits – muse a texts muse b

[sarcaesm]

↳         FEATURING:         ISLEY,      PAMELA

ＴＨＥＣＯＮＮＥＣＴＩＯＮＴＯＴＨＥＥＡＲＴＨＳＬＯＷＬＹＦＡＤＥＳＦＲＯＭＨＥＲＦＩＮＧＥＲＴＩＰＳ            ❀✿❀            hands gently wipe excess soil off onto the knees of her jeans before cerulean hues watch the trunk slowly grow upwards ,      brow arched as smile slowly spreads upon her visage .                                    ❝      this can’t be the craziest shit that you’ve seen …      c’mon ,      your best friend is a fuckin’ werewolf .      ❞                                    eyes roll in their sockets before figure stands upwards ,      head tilts to the side as gaze find their way to where he remains seated .

❝      you would think that all that you’ve seen over the years would lead to a little …      decorum ?      perhaps i was wrong about you .      ❞                                    she’s toying with him ,      as she does with everyone else :            and much like the many other men over the years ,      he was playing right into her hand .

               he wants to laugh at the initially absurd insinuation that he should be instinctually used to   plant manipulation   just because his best friend happens to be a werewolf.         but then the realization dawns upon him that claws,      creepy sideburns,      and fangs is no weirder than what literally just sprouted before his eyes.         he eyes it with cynical amber hues,      scanning it from top to bottom before redirecting his distracted attention back to her.            ❝      yeah,      werewolf.      ❞            he protests it despite any internal agreeances to her statement,      scoffing in disbelief.            ❝      maybe.         what the hell can that do?         grow a luscious garden?         ooh,      so scary.      ❞

[sarcaesm]

Q.         it’s very rude to stare.

A.               he can’t even deny he’s staring,      lips parted slightly in a comical o shape and brows practically lifted to his hairline.         he relaxes his face upon being confronted,      clearing his throat to appear casual.            ❝      sorry.         it’s not like you just totally made that tree grow out of the freaking ground or anything,      @ivygroved​.         my bad,      my staring is the only thing totally weird here.      ❞

[sarcaesm]

↳         FEATURING:         REYES,      ERICA

                        SHE     STARES     WITH     BROWS     RAISED  .          pulling     hand     backwards     &     placing     it     sharply     on     her     hip  .          turn     around     &     walk     away  ,          her     eye     roll     could     be     seen     around     the     world  .          “     thanks     stiles  ,          you’re     so     kind  .     ”          she     finds     herself     sat     back     down     on     the     bench     between     rows     of     lockers  ,          legs     crossed     &     chin     moving     to     rest     in     her     hands  .          years     ago  ,          even     imagining     talking     to     him     let     alone     in     a     locker     room  ,          would     have     felt     like     a     dream  .          but     she’s     smarter     now  ,          she     can     tell     this     isn’t     just     for     her          -          she’s     become     a     threat  .          “     looking     for     me          [          …          ]          don’t     you     have     class     or     something  ?     ”          sharp     inhale  .          “     it’s     great  .          no     one’s     made     fun     of     me  ,          you’re     shaking     in     your     pants  ,          &     no     more     seizures  .          it’s     a     gift     right  ?     ”

               he releases a breath he isn’t aware he’s holding inside constricted lungs when she finally creates distance between them,      a weight lifted off his shoulders at death suddenly no longer being imminent.         (   but she wouldn’t kill him in the school,      right?         god,      that would be embarrassing if his body was found in the girl’s locker room.         he could see the headlines now.         PEEPING TOM BRUTALLY MURDERED!   )         he still watches her carefully despite the threat being momentarily eradicated,      honey hues following each step until she assumes a stationary position on the bench.         he takes his own step back for good measure,     trying to make it as subtle as possible.            ❝      i’m in history right now.         but really,      is history that important?         i mean,      it already happened so what the hell does it matter now?      ❞            he attempts to steer the conversation in a casual direction,      although he knows that his posture is probably anything but casual,      considering his inability to play it cool in any situation.            ❝      did derek tell you that?      ❞            he emphasizes the name,      unable to cover the instinctual tone of disgust that comes along whenever he has to talk about the damn sourwolf.

[nightofthecreeps]

SPIDER-MAN 2002 • dir. Sam Raimi

[sarcaesm]

↳         FEATURING:         TATE,      MALIA

the letters in front of her were beginning to look a lot like greek         —         barring the fact that a good amount of them actually consisted of greek letters,   just fused with numbers and it seemed like the world was out to get her,   even more than usual.    brows were furrowed,   mind whirring as she tries to put two and two together,   to try and understand a formula that everyone else said   was so easy and simple,   malia !    but she couldn’t do it.    and so she starts zoning out,   daydreaming,   thinking about her next meal    :    pizza ?   steak ?   those french fries she thought she smelled walking past a diner ?    and then she’s dragged back to planet earth,   right in the middle of his scolding.    she feels like a child,   brows furrowed and lips pursing into a small scowl.         “  well i don’t know it this week,   stiles !   clearly !    what if you’re not even trying to help me understand ?  ”         she matches the energy,   pettiness in her words as she sits up in the bed,   arms folding over her chest in a fit.         “  i can’t concentrate.   i don’t know why,   it’s like i try and it just gets jumbled in my head and i want to eat the homework.    literally.  ” 

               despite snapping at her first,      he still displays a look of offense when she bites back at him.         (   luckily not literally,      that would be a disaster...   )         trying through his tired brain to remind himself that she’s just going on the defense because he attacked first,      but his attempts quickly fail and any effort from his brain is ignored by his sleep deprivation.            ❝      i literally am trying to help you understand,      you’re just not listening to me!      ❞            he huffs in frustration,      shaking his head and matching her posture,      crossing his arms over his chest like a stubborn child not getting their way.         they’re butting heads.         normally,      stiles would argue until his face turned blue,      but his usual attempts at   lethal sarcasm   would just fall on deaf ears with her due to the lack of socialization.         so instead,      he uncrosses his arms and resorts to furrowed eyebrows instead,      pointing at several equations on the page.            ❝      you need to know this one,      this one,      and this one for the test tomorrow.         so we have to figure something out here because i don’t want you to fail and then be all sad because you failed.         so how about we just focus on these?      ❞

[sarcaesm]

               stiles is normally extraordinarily patient with her.         has the blatant and obvious understanding that malia literally was not a human being for the better portion of her life,      so she processes things slower than the normal stranger that you’d pass on the sidewalk.         but she had spent a week straight sleeping with him in his bed,      then abandoned him at night for the last three days to sleep in her own bed for reasons completely unbeknownst to him.         he’d gotten accustomed to being the little spoon,      having the security of her arms around him,      just for it to have it taken away?         (   cruel world!   )         he’s been sleeping like shit,      and he’s freakin’ tired.         definitely not in the right state of mind to tutor math,      especially when it feels like @moriose​ isn’t even listening.            ❝      malia,      come on.         you know this stuff,      you knew it last week.         it’s like you’re not even trying.      ❞            tone comes out more pointed than intended,      flinching at the shortness of his own words.            ❝      sorry,      not trying to be a dick.         can we just at least try to concentrate?      ❞

closed starter      /      accepting!