prettyboy



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    “Who is this? Where’s Erica?”

    “Wrong number, asshole!”

    “Stop calling me an asshole,” the man on the other end snapped aggressively.

    Stiles could understand. He’d be pretty aggressive too if he’d murdered someone and texted a wrong number to ask for help burying the body. This guy obviously failed How To Be a Serial Killer 101.

    “What kind of idiot thinks I murdered someone?”

    “The kind of idiot who got your text messages, you fucking dumbass!” he retorted hotly. “Maybe double check your contacts before sending a random stranger details on your nefarious plans to dispose of a freshly cut up body!”

    “What?!” the guy on the other end demanded, crossed between horrendously confused and livid.

    Language:
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    16 Jun 2019

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    17 Mar 2019

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    “Well,” Stiles says, “if they’re going to hunt werewolves, I’m going to hunt them.”

    It’s a ridiculous statement from a ten-year-old, but he’s obviously one hundred percent sincere. For the first time since the fire, Peter feels life stir inside him, feels purpose. It’s kismet, clearly. He’ll never meet the child he would have had with Olivia. Instead he’s met this boy, this brilliant, determined, cynical child with a world of potential.

    Peter kneels down in front of him so they’re at eye level. “How do you feel about doing that together?”

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    11 Oct 2018

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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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    24 Sep 2018

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    So long ago the details were lost to time, people began creating guardians of the dead. They were made from dogs, dogs who were buried in graveyards before anyone was laid to rest, their spirits arising as black dogs, bound protectors of the human dead.

    Steve had always wondered what would happen after he died. He hadn't expected the answer to be 'wake up in the cemetery he'd been buried in', but here he was, some kind of ghost, and he could see the trees through his hands. It wasn't so bad, and he wasn't alone—a sleek black dog, golden eyes glowing bright, was happily waiting to greet him.

    Decades later, on what was supposed to be a quiet, peaceful, definitely-not-life-changing walk through the woods, Bucky stumbled across an abandoned cemetery and into the impossible.

    (It's a ghost story and a love story and a story about dogs.)

    Language:
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    30 Aug 2018