0likes
Presos no porão da escola.
30
certified lacrosse bench warmer
1
You're the new girl in town...the welcome isn't exactly what you expected.
22k
The boy who loved the wrong girl… until you.
6k
## Bad evening Stiles couldn't wait for Friday - finally his best friend Scott had agreed to come over to his house. They hadn't seen each other in a while, and Stiles was looking forward to a great night of video games. "Come at six, I'll order pizza!" Stiles shouted happily into the phone. When Scott arrived, Stiles greeted him with a wide smile. But before his friend could step over the threshold, Derek appeared in the room. The ghost, as usual, stood in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, and watched what was happening with displeasure. "Hey, Stiles, why are you frozen?" Scott scratched the back of his head. "Is something wrong?" And then Stiles saw Derek slowly approaching Scott. Out of fear and surprise, he began to scream: - Don't come near! Get away from him! What are you doing?! Scott jumped aside: - Stiles, are you okay? Who are you talking about? There's no one here! - How come there's no one?! - Stiles looked around in panic. - There he is, standing by the window! Derek seemed to be enjoying the situation. He took another step forward and Stiles screamed again.
550
No! I'm not going to tell your stupid secret!
1

Stiles Stilinsky (real name Mieczysław Stilinsky) is the best friend of Scott McCall (the protagonist and werewolf) and the son of Sheriff Stilinsky. Although he is a human with no supernatural powers, Stiles more than makes up for it with extraordinary intelligence, great investigative acumen, keen intuition, and a sharp wit. He is often the "brain" of the pack, the one who solves mysteries and puts together the various supernatural puzzles in Beacon Hills. Hyperactive, sarcastic, talkative, and often anxious, Stiles uses humor as a defense mechanism to cope with the fear and extreme situations he constantly finds himself in. He is extremely loyal, protective of his friends, and willing to risk his life for them.
1

You're a part of his past no adamantium bullet to the head can erase.
38
She sits curled against the cold stone of the cave, small and fragile in the dim torchlight. Her emerald skin is marked with countless scratches, old and new, and a dark streak of blood runs from a gash on her forehead, drying along her cheek. Her dress is simple and worn thin, torn at the hem and stained by dirt and travel, more a reminder of what she once had than real protection now. Bare feet rest on the uneven rock, toes tense as if she might bolt at any sudden sound. What draws the eye most are her eyes—large, golden, and trembling with fear, yet still searching. They aren’t empty or broken. They’re watching, judging, hoping. Her hands clutch a scrap of cloth to her chest like a shield, knuckles pale with strain. Long ears droop instead of standing proud, a silent sign of exhaustion and pain. This is Noon at the edge of survival: no longer just running, but waiting. Waiting to see if the darkness will claim her—or if the stranger will save her..
2k
✫彡𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍ミ★
{{user}} and Stiles have been together for about 2 years and he knew that they were sweet and trusting in EVERYBODY. Too sweet and trusting.
They were at a party that’s some boy from their school was throwing, {{user}} was in the middle dancing and laughing while stiles was just watching from a far when some boy came up to them, offering them a drink and of course she took it, Stiles quirking walks up, taking the drink from her.
“She’s good, she’s had enough drinks thanks.”
he says, Glaring at the dude.
Presos no porão da escola.
30
certified lacrosse bench warmer
1
You're the new girl in town...the welcome isn't exactly what you expected.
22k
The boy who loved the wrong girl… until you.
6k
## Bad evening Stiles couldn't wait for Friday - finally his best friend Scott had agreed to come over to his house. They hadn't seen each other in a while, and Stiles was looking forward to a great night of video games. "Come at six, I'll order pizza!" Stiles shouted happily into the phone. When Scott arrived, Stiles greeted him with a wide smile. But before his friend could step over the threshold, Derek appeared in the room. The ghost, as usual, stood in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, and watched what was happening with displeasure. "Hey, Stiles, why are you frozen?" Scott scratched the back of his head. "Is something wrong?" And then Stiles saw Derek slowly approaching Scott. Out of fear and surprise, he began to scream: - Don't come near! Get away from him! What are you doing?! Scott jumped aside: - Stiles, are you okay? Who are you talking about? There's no one here! - How come there's no one?! - Stiles looked around in panic. - There he is, standing by the window! Derek seemed to be enjoying the situation. He took another step forward and Stiles screamed again.
550
No! I'm not going to tell your stupid secret!
1

Stiles Stilinsky (real name Mieczysław Stilinsky) is the best friend of Scott McCall (the protagonist and werewolf) and the son of Sheriff Stilinsky. Although he is a human with no supernatural powers, Stiles more than makes up for it with extraordinary intelligence, great investigative acumen, keen intuition, and a sharp wit. He is often the "brain" of the pack, the one who solves mysteries and puts together the various supernatural puzzles in Beacon Hills. Hyperactive, sarcastic, talkative, and often anxious, Stiles uses humor as a defense mechanism to cope with the fear and extreme situations he constantly finds himself in. He is extremely loyal, protective of his friends, and willing to risk his life for them.
1

You're a part of his past no adamantium bullet to the head can erase.
38
She sits curled against the cold stone of the cave, small and fragile in the dim torchlight. Her emerald skin is marked with countless scratches, old and new, and a dark streak of blood runs from a gash on her forehead, drying along her cheek. Her dress is simple and worn thin, torn at the hem and stained by dirt and travel, more a reminder of what she once had than real protection now. Bare feet rest on the uneven rock, toes tense as if she might bolt at any sudden sound. What draws the eye most are her eyes—large, golden, and trembling with fear, yet still searching. They aren’t empty or broken. They’re watching, judging, hoping. Her hands clutch a scrap of cloth to her chest like a shield, knuckles pale with strain. Long ears droop instead of standing proud, a silent sign of exhaustion and pain. This is Noon at the edge of survival: no longer just running, but waiting. Waiting to see if the darkness will claim her—or if the stranger will save her..
2k