“Have you heard of this Alpha?” Stiles asks, shuffling up his pallet so Scott has room to sit. Scott does with a grateful little twist of his mouth. Stefan forces him into the Stilinski ceremonial armor when they travel and Stiles can see that it’s heavy and doesn’t sit well on Scott. He can’t shift encased in metal and Stefan knows it.
“I know of him, mostly stories that seem a little fantastical. Shifters exaggerate just like common people. They like their war stories.”
It wasn’t a race. Stiles knew it wasn’t a race. He asked himself why he wanted it to be, why it felt like it, but he didn’t know. Maybe it was because he knew Derek had beat him in picking the most valuable art piece – a small statue of some kind, Stiles could just barely see it clutched in Derek’s hand – and he wasn’t going to let him beat him in the time it took. Was it childish? Absolutely, but Stiles didn’t care.
He also didn’t care that picking up an ugly vase as he ran toward Derek and throwing it toward him was also very childish, because he did it anyway.
OR the Stilinski VS Hale criminal AU that slowly took over my life.
The background gave me HELL mostly. (“WHAT’S THIS RANDOM WHITE OUTLINE? WHAT THE BLOODY HELL LAYER IS THAT ON.” for like, 4 hours okay?)
I re did the background several times, colors swatched in and out, and FINALLY came out to this!
There’s a entire story AU brewing with this verse, that maybe one day I’ll write about. But you bet your happy little sterek heart I’ll be drawing a LOT more of these two to come!
And if you want to see the uncensored version, you can sign up for my Patreon for only $1 a month! Just click on the picture to be lead to my page!
Status: Complete Summary:
Derek doesn’t want to call the window repair guy. He doesn’t want to sweep up the glass. He’ll inevitably miss a few shards and pull them out of the bottom of his bare feet for weeks.
He doesn’t want to try to make this place feel like home when it isn’t.
Derek stayed in Beacon Hills and tried to make it work because he wanted pack, wanted purpose. He gave his best effort and found himself back where he started: alone, with a few begrudging allies. He’s tired, and even though his werewolf body heals quickly, he feels the weary ache down to his center.
He packs his car with the few things he cares about enough to drag them from place to place. He locks the loft and calls a realtor about listing the building he’d bought in a misguided attempt to secure a future.
shealwaysreads 