queernfear
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Hate is such a fickle thing...especially when it comes to emotionally constipated boys like Stiles and Derek.
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“No!” he shouted, “You’re Derek Hale! This is what you do! Life has thrown you an impossible amount of shit and no matter what, you fight it. Even when there is no possible hope of winning, you keep fighting. I’m not letting you do this, not like this. You are going to keep fighting.”
Stiles stays with Derek outside La Iglesia instead of Braeden.
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Bookmarked by queernfear
09 Jun 2026
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Stiles decided to get a fake tattoo of Derek’s name, as a prank. It does not go the way he expected.
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What good is the moonlight--
the silvery moonlight--that shines above?
I walk with my shadow, I talk with my echo, but where is the one I love?[excerpt]
Just like every other time Derek had managed to reach this point, Stiles stood uncharacteristically still in the doorway, wearing the same threadbare black tee and blue plaid sleep pants. Even his hair was mussed exactly the same, soft and rumpled and wavy without an abundance of product. And also just like every other time, he remained silent, wordlessly cocking the gun in his hands and wrapping his long fingers around to pull the trigger.
Derek only had enough time to let out the beginnings of a howl, the sound mournful and frustrated, nearly as deafening as the crack of the gun going off, and cut off just as fast by the bullet Stiles didn’t hesitate to fire.
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It’s been two days and Derek has apparently overcome his aversion to making himself comfortable in Stiles’ room. “Derek, that’s my shirt.”
“Yes.” He gives Stiles a look, your point?
Stiles grinds his teeth. “Why are you wearing my shirt?”
“I ran out of clean ones.”
Obviously.