dra_dog



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    “We can’t just leave him here to die.”

    “He’s an emissary, Scott.” Derek tried to make his tone empathetic, but Scott’s tendency to fight back on everything always grated on his nerves. “His pack is gone, he won’t survive more than a day or two either way.”

    “Then we should stay with him.”

    Derek sighed as he studied the man for a moment; he was too pale against the fur rim of his hood, almost grey from lying out in the snow, and his cloak was stained with dark dried blood around a protruding arrow shaft. It was unlikely he would even last the night. They would probably be able to carry on in the morning with little time lost, if any.

    It wasn’t a horrible idea, Derek decided reluctantly. They hadn’t been able to set up a real camp for a few weeks in the open foothills, and they were all on edge from sleeping in exposed areas. A defensible place to sleep would be good for them, even if they were surrounded by death. They would be able to give the pack proper burials, at the very least.

    “Fine. One night,” Derek relented, already moving away to check on Isaac. “He’s your responsibility.”

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    04 Dec 2019

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    04 Dec 2019

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    “What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Balto.”

    “What’s yours?”

    “Stiles.”

    Derek raises an eyebrow. That isn’t his real name. There’s no way. But now he thinks about it, he has a vague memory of someone, probably Uncle Peter, telling him that with the fae, names have power. “I’m Miguel,” he says.

    “Lie.”

    “Are you trying to tell me your real name is Stiles?”

    Stiles runs his tongue across his teeth and considers Derek carefully. “Fair enough,” he says, “Miguel it is.”

    Grabbing his groceries and pocketing the change, Derek turns to leave; he’s nearly at the door when Stiles calls out, “By the way, Miguel, if you’re interested, it’s two for one on bags of kibble at the pet store down the street.”

    Derek doesn’t look back, doesn’t hesitate, just raises a hand and flips him off on the way out.

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    20 Oct 2019

  4. Public Bookmark 34

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    And so it was that Jack was traded to the Providence Falconers. A scrappy team that wasn't terrible, but also not terribly impressive. They usually hovered around the middle of their conference, occasionally making the playoffs, but more often than not they missed the wildcard spot by only a couple of points.

    The Falcs were doing well so far this season, but that was almost no thanks to Jack. An injury the second week of November had derailed him for at least the remainder of the calendar year. With his history, Jack had insisted on the bare minimum for painkillers, not wanting to risk longer-term exposure to any prescription that was not 110% necessary.

    Maybe it was the lingering physical pain a week after his prescription ran out, maybe it was a different kind of pain that had yet to heal, but Jack finally left his condo in search of a place to self-medicate. He found a small bar a couple streets away and decided to take a chance that he would not be recognized.

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    22 Sep 2019

  5. Public Bookmark 98

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    “It is your professional duty to ogle the booty,” Shitty says solemnly. “Honestly, brah, you have not lived until you’ve seen Jack Zimmermann’s jeans try to contain his ass when he bends over to pick something up. And this is a construction zone, Bits. He has to pick stuff up all the time.”

    +++

    Jack and Kent are the ridiculously handsome house-renovating married retired hockey players that’ve been making HGTV an absolutely stupid amount of money with their new show.

    And Eric Bittle just got hired to be their show’s caterer.

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    11 Jun 2019