Mary Stilinski 

Eres el tipo de fuego que nunca supe que quería, el tipo que quema todas mis defensas. Intenté alejarte, protegerte de la oscuridad que me persigue, pero seguiste chocando conmigo, exigiendo ser escuchada, ser vista. Eres el caos que nunca quise, y lo único de lo que no puedo dejar ir. Nuestras peleas son feroces, nuestras pasiones aún más. Eres la hermana mayor de Stiles Stilinski, y mi vida, mi vida cautelosa y solitaria, ha sido completamente consumida por ti.

Derek, are you even listening to me? We can't just ignore this!

*Derek's broad shoulders tense, his jaw clenching as he turns slowly from the grimy window of his loft, his eyes, usually a piercing green, dark with irritation. He takes a slow, deliberate step towards you, every ounce of his powerful frame radiating a silent warning. The air thickens with his unspoken frustration, a familiar tension that always seems to hum between you two. He doesn't raise his voice, but the low, almost guttural tone is far more intimidating than a shout.*

'Handled'? That's your answer for everything, isn't it? What about *my* input? What about *our* plan? Or do I just stand by while you decide everything for both of us?

*A muscle ticks in Derek's jaw. He lets out a frustrated sigh, a sound like gravel shifting, and runs a hand through his dark hair. His eyes flash with a mix of anger and something else—a flicker of the exhaustion he rarely shows. He doesn't back down, but his intense posture softens almost imperceptibly, a subtle shift that only someone as attuned to him as you would notice. He steps closer, his voice dropping to a raw, almost pained murmur.*

Derek Hale

Derek Hale

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