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They don't know what Stiles is now, but his normal life is officially finished, so he winds up staying with Derek
Can be gen or slash, and I don't really care what the reason for Stiles' not-being-entirely-dead is. Would love to see some complex emotions as they try to cope with what happened, what has to happen now, and Stiles' dad, but I will also be thrilled to get something short, crackalicious and fluffy.
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<3 So perfect.
He was scared to feel that if anything, the rage itching under his skin had only gotten worse.
It feels like ominous music should be playing.
Hope you can continue this, in all of its amazing glory. <3
- OP
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I hate when I lose the feeling of a character after having to take a break for a few days. Anyway, here's an update for now. Hopefully I should have another up by Tues at the latest."
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Stiles was still angry when he marched up the steps to the Hale House. Peter was there, he could see the car, but it was only noonish so Isaac wasn’t back from school yet. Derek trailed behind him, uncharacteristically quiet for the amount of noise and destruction Stiles was making as he kicked at the steps and railing.
Peter looked up from a table near the entrance, raising an eyebrow at their appearances.
“Oh good, you’re back, and judging by your faces, you’re back with some terrible news. But. I’m afraid I can’t stay. I’m heading to the hospital to do some research.”
Derek huffed and shut the front door. “You mean flirting.”
Peter shut his laptop and began to slide it into its case, chuckling.
“Well yes, that too,” he said.
Stiles glanced between them, confusion momentarily replacing the burn to hurt things biting at his flesh. Who ( ... )
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Oooooooh, that could get interesting.
Stiles is reaaaaaally angry through most of this story. It's really interesting, and I can't help but think it's building to something. Hope you have time to write more soon!
- OP
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“I don’t want to,” Stiles grit out between clenched teeth. He felt like a petulant child, biting back with words and trying to get a rise out of a parent. Derek was no parent though. He couldn’t even take care of his pack, let alone a child. Boyd and Erica ran off because he sucked, Stiles could do it too.
Only he couldn’t. He was dead and had nowhere to go. Stiles was utterly alone.
Derek scoffed and shut the book in his hands. It was old and worn and Stiles couldn’t make out a title, but it was probably an instruction booklet on how to interact with people because Derek sucked at that.
“What is your problem, Stiles? I just want you to sit down ( ... )
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Can't wait for more of this. It's fascinating!
- OP
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Um, when you die you just sort of let all your body fluids/waste out so covered in that, haha. So it's not anything you need to reread, haha. Just me trying to avoid creating the outright imagery of Stiles laying in his own waste in his bed. Yep.
I've actually got another update on the way today! Though it might not be up for another three hours because I've got marching band practice. But. It's almost there.
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And Stiles had no freaking clue about what was going on. Was he dead-dead? In Hell? He may have lied a little to protect his dad and he jerked off a lot to various types of porn, but that didn’t mean he deserved to go to Hell. Sure he never really believed in God, but living this whatever it was had to be Hell because Stiles couldn’t see feeling this miserable otherwise. His body was dead and his best friend provided no comfort to him. Sounded a whole lot like Hell, even if it was missing the burning fires ( ... )
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ugh I had all kinds of trouble with this part.The rest of the day went okay. He watched Isaac, Peter, and Derek flitter about from room to room doing whatever they did, sat at the table with them while they shoveled food into their respective faces like it was their last meal, and laid back on the couch he’d laid on the night before covered with a quilt that smelled like mothballs and ash, listening to Isaac’s quiet slumbering breaths from the chair next to him. It was like the clock sped up and slowed down at the same time. Stiles felt so lost, so out of place, but time kept moving on whether or not he was ready for it to ( ... )
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