mizzy: (dresden files: harry)
Each Sunday, post six sentences from a writing project -- published, submitted, in progress, for your cat -- whatever.


"Guess we should have known," Carey says, hugging his knees. The grassy knoll they started from is colder now than earlier, probably because night's impending. "Marc didn't have a scar. Monsters always get one thing wrong."
"You have a facial scar you didn't used to," Jacan says from beside him, side-eyeing Carey.
"Yeah, 'cause I ran face first through a window," Carey admits.

[Does this mean I reached the end? I THINK IT DOES. OOOOH.]


"No," Stiles says, even though it's the last thing in all the realms that he wants to say. When Derek lifts his hands away and steps back, Stiles feels the loss keenly, like the moment when the war ended, and his powers were locked away. He buries down the voice that says he'll be giving his powers up again by ending all this; Stiles is okay with being human, he likes being human, and it's the gift his mom fought and died for, so it's what Stiles will fight for too.

He feels utterly miserable, and Derek looks wrecked too, uncertain and closing down, the way rejection makes Stiles feel inside. It's a miracle that Derek's even letting emotions show on his face, and Stiles hates everything; hates that it has to be like this, hates that he's given Derek emotional openness with one hand and he's taking it away with the other.

But he has to.

mizzy: (Teen Wolf: Alison (yellow))
Each Sunday, post six sentences from a writing project -- published, submitted, in progress, for your cat -- whatever.


It stuns them for a moment but Carey doesn't stop, yanking up the first guy by the hair and ramming him face first into a seat, while kicking the next one again in the chest, winding him. The third one has a knife, but the second one is too much in the way. It doesn't stop him from trying to slice at Carey. Carey grabs his arm, spins, and uses his momentum to throw him over his shoulder, and the third one lands with a large cracking sound in the aisle behind Carey. The first one stirs, but Carey slams his heel down on his throat, using him as a launching pad to leap onto the second one, who'd extracted a plastic knife from his pocket and is readying to throw it over to where Helena is battling the stewardess, who's gotten loose and is now putting up quite a fight.

Man, words cannot express how much Carey hates evil air stewardesses who know Kung Fu.


"Demons," Allison repeats, slowly and steadily. She's always taken the supernatural world in her stride. She's calmer than she knows she is.

"Pissy things that make speeches and preen and think too much of themselves," a voice says, from behind them.

Allison, bless her soul, whirls around crossbow first – and keeps it aimed high even when they see who it is.

"Dad," Stiles says, weakly.
mizzy: (Leverage: Parker)
Each Sunday, post six sentences from a writing project -- published, submitted, in progress, for your cat -- whatever.


"I seriously have to tell you to stop thinking too much?" Jacan says in his ears, pretending to sound scandalised, but the joking tone is betrayed by the soothing hand that smooths across Carey's back for a moment, the same gesture they used growing up to calm each other down.

"Uh, not that I want to interrupt brotherly bonding," Victor says, "or that I'm eyeballing this hug in rampant jealousy because I want brotherly cuddles—"

"We'll get you later, dorkface," Jacan says.

Victor flips him the bird. "But we need to make a plan. Do we really want to let Monsters dictate our next move?"


Stiles kissed him, kissed him like they were both drowning and Derek was air, kissed him like it was a claim. And Derek had wanted him to. Had tugged him in closer. Had covered Stiles' mouth with his own and tasted him eagerly, his wide hands spanning Stiles' waist in two spread-wide stars, Stiles' long fingers indenting the back of Derek's neck, like he had to cling on to stay upright.

They kissed until Stiles remembered they were both still covered in Alpha pack blood, and that it was maybe ten degrees outside if you rounded up, and Stiles was trembling too much to keep going. And even then, Stiles kissed him a little longer, quietly desperate, eyes shining at Derek in the murky twilight.

September 2015

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