#a:thespark

[derelictae]

[text] he was saying stupid shit. [text] I shouldn't have let it get to me. [text] it was in the middle of classes. no witnesses. [text] it's fine.

[text]; You just need to be careful.[text]; I don't want you hurt.[text]; And I don't want you hurting other people.

[derelictae]

[text] fuck him [text] I don't even care that he's an alpha [text] he was being a dick

[text]; Stiles he's your friend.[text]; What did he even do to piss you off?

[derelictae]

[text] No one else would have pissed me off. [text] I didn't mean to. [text] I'm normally better about this. [text] I've been better. [text] you know I have.

[text]; You have the tether of a wolf now.[text]; You can't just get so heated, especially with an Alpha.[text]; It'll make it harder to control.[text]; I know you have, Stiles. I know.

[derelictae]

[text] I slammed Scott into the lockers. [text] l mean like I slammed him. [text] I hurt him. [text] I was so pissed off.

[text]; Jesus Christ are you serious?[text]; Stiles you can't do that.[text]; You can't lose control.[text]; You're lucky it was Scott, and not someone else.

[derelictae]

〄

Leave a 〄 in my askbox and I'll tell you the first three words that come to my character's mind at the thought of yours.

Mended. Powerful. Keeper.

[derelictae]

"I’ll distract them while you run away."

Send one of the following to see how my muse reacts. 

      He could feel the wetness of blood soak through the thin fabric of his Henley, staining the off-grey into a deep crimson. Where his skin wasn’t stained by the flow of his own blood, it was tacky with beads of sweat that prickled across his skin, his temperature already leaping up from that poison surging through the sluggish push in his veins. Derek could taste something in his mouth, something entirely familiar and unwelcome and it wasn’t a moment longer than he was reacquainted with the black flood of sick purged from his stomach. He felt like his entire body was being set ablaze, the sanguine beneath his pallid skin laying as fuel for the wolfsbane eating away at his strength.

      “As good an idea as that sounds,” The Omega’s tone was shattered, chipped to pieces and left gargled from the remnants of his sickness. “I don’t think I can run anywhere.” Stiles suddenly filled his view, blurred though it was through the film shimmering across his eyes. There was the coolness of lips pressed to the edge of his mouth and he sucked in a short breath and felt himself dip closer to that darkness of unconsciousness. “I wouldn’t leave you even if I could.”

[derelictae]

► Let me help you.

Send my character a ► and a command. They must obey.

There was a sincerity behind those words and Derek understood that, beyond all things he knew that Stiles wanted to help him, to mend that gaping maw left in the wake of giving up that spark. But Derek didn’t mind that space inside, not as much as he had at first. But he couldn’t deny the teen either, letting his chest press back into the weight of his hand as he just let him hold him close and let the spark buzz between them. “I don’t need help,” The wolf whispered against Stiles’ ear, feeling those arms grip a little tighter against his shoulders as he breathed out years worth of aches. “I just need you.”

[derelictae]

Stiles woke slowly, blinking at the window that showed it was the middle of the night. Then he realized what had woken him. He shifted, turning his head to look at Derek. His eyes flared briefly. "Triskelion?" He asked, as Derek's fingers moved over the bare skin of his back, between the shoulder blades.

Derek can’t help himself, his absentmindedness is nearly unquenchable at night when his body has refused to dip into the comfort of sleep. It strained at his countenance, whatever waning strength he still possessed and had a good handle on just seemed to go a little thinner. He had to find things to keep him occupied, to keep from that dark snare of weakness from digging deep into the fleshy parts of his brain and bringing him down to nothing. So he traced meaningless little things into the plane of Stiles’ back, but those little nothings always turned into something else, turned into the same figure pressed between his shoulder blades with ink and intent. 

The light from Stiles’ eyes made his hand pause, the finger splaying out until his entire palm was pressed into the muscle and he gave a meager little nod before he removed his hand entirely. “Sorry I woke you,” He mumbled, ducking his head to press his lips to the round edge of his shoulder before tugging the covers back over the both of them. “Go back to sleep.”