I’m periodically attracted to you
bang bang, my baby shot me down[where stiles is the hunter who can’t seem to stop chasing the local werewolf]
(written at 3:51am, when loneliness is the only emotion left)
And you are the wolf,
And I am the moon,
And in the endless sky we are but one;
We are alive.
Well, I figured I ought to write something for the week, so here’s a wee preview of what I’m working on. Probably won’t fit whatever the theme of the day is, but meh, that’s how my muse rolls;)
The drive back is both familiar and completely strange, and the closer the get, the less Isaac talks, the more he looks silently out the window.
“We don’t have to do this,” Stiles says once. “There’s no reason. We can turn around right now and go home.” Because home means Vermont, now, and their cozy apartment. Home is no longer Beacon Hills. They haven’t been back in four years, and Stiles has exactly zero true desire to visit now.
Isaac just turns to him with a smile that doesn’t look lost, doesn’t look scared, doesn’t look hollow anymore, and gently pats his hand. He twines their fingers together and rubs Stiles’ knuckle with his thumb. “No, it’s okay. I want to. Just…thinking, you know.”
Stiles leans across the seat to kiss him hard and press their foreheads together before going back to driving. After a minute, Isaac returns to his window.
Four years and they’ve never stepped foot back in Beacon Hills. Four years of ups and downs and nightmares and tears. Four years of laughing and writing and dancing and watching the snow falling down. Four years of healing. And now they’re coming back, because Isaac’s therapist says he needs to face it. Says he needs closure. And after two years of living in her pocket, watching her slowly coax Isaac those few final steps Stiles couldn’t…well, they trust her.
ohthehumanityy replied to your post “Thinking I ought to whip up a little something for Stisaac Week. …”
**SHOOTS FIREWORKS THAT FORM THE WORD ‘YES’ INTO THE SKY** o/
*whispers* It might even be Factoring Out Binomials ‘verse…
Thinking I ought to whip up a little something for Stisaac Week.