7-7-7 wip game
Go to your current WIP. Find the seventh line on the seventh page and copy and paste seven sentences below. Then tag seven other writers to do the same.
tagged by @twothumbsandnostakeincanon !
Here’s some from you’re a fucking nightmare (but you’re mine) (it’s like, 10 sentences because 7 ended in a weird spot)
~*~*~
“Do you ever see things, that aren’t real?”
Peter looks at his little charge, drawing next to him while he pages through a history on the Ito pack.
“Do you?” he asks, curiously, and Stiles glares at him. He is seven now, and Peter thinks Talia will send him to the nemetons soon.
She hasn’t yet, content to let Deaton guide him, content to let him adapt to the pack. But Peter sees the power sparking in his boy, and it worries him, that soon he will be gone, beyond the bounds of Peter’s protection.
“Sometimes,” Stiles says, and Peter watches him, his shaggy head bent over the picture he’s drawing, his lip caught by small sharp teeth.
Stiles doesn’t tell him what he sees, starts talking instead about the cookies that his mother made, and Peter listens quietly, tucking away that piece of knowledge.
He doesn’t tell Talia.
She trusts Deaton, too much, and a visionary with the power of a spark–Deaton would kill him.
Peter snarls, softly, at even the idea of a threat to his boy.
Tagging @la-rubinita, @bloody-bee-tea, @yodas-yo-yo, @bunnywest and @lavender-lotion and whoever else wants to play–I’m too sleepy to remember all of right now.
OOOOOH now I wish I’d asked about this one for the other WIP game lol. I love it when Peter knows Baby Stiles.
Excerpt from my Steter Secret Santa, featuring kindergarten teacher Peter, Principal Finstock, and student teacher placement Stiles.
He’d expected the Stilinski boy (man, his brain corrects unhelpfully, definitely a man) to retreat under fire, like most people do when Peter turns on them. But instead Stiles had snapped back, and that, too, was so like his lost love that Peter had felt his grief clawing at him, as fresh and raw as when it first happened. He’d resorted to insulting the boy’s clothing, for god’s sake, in an effort to find his footing again.
He knew he’d taken it too far when Bobby warned him off, but he refuses to feel bad about it - Stilinski looks atrocious in his eye-searingly yellow shirt. Peter has no doubt his cubs will love it, tasteless little heathens that they are. At the thought of his class, something eases in Peter’s chest. It’s Monday, so they’ll all have something to tell him. It was Gracie’s birthday on Saturday, and Peter has her present wrapped in the bottom drawer of his desk, all ready for her. It’s a children’s book - it’s always a book, for the cubs in Peter’s class.
Oh god, what is this? I suck at memes, has no-one told you this? I haven’t even looked at my tumblr in months, what?
But here I am. WIP, okay. I have 75. No really, I counted. Let’s take the topmost one. It’s Stetopher, currently 17k long and titled ‘Werewolf Baby Fairy Chris Argent’. For reasons. (The main one being I’m trash.)
“Your daughter has your lungs,” she’d say, every time, without fail, and then leave him to do the dancing and the swaying and the singing. Beatles, mostly. He has no head for lyrics.
God, he’s old.
He stands there, watching for a good fifteen minutes, as Stiles keeps moving, even though Bethany is already out. She stops singing at some point and starts talking instead, a steady litany of white noise, “You’re a good girl, aren’t you, sweet and pretty and smart, too, because only praising little girls for their looks and not for their brains is what causes the Lydia Martins of this world and hey, what do you want to bet Lydia is going to yell at me when she finds out about you and then overnight me at least five-hundred dollars’ worth of adorable designer rompers just for you, huh?”
I am not tagging anyone because I’ve been hiding in a hole for months, I don’t even know half you people anymore, hi, I’m a hermit crab, play with me?
