analgremlin
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“You like happy endings, huh?” Stiles says, lying pressed in against his back, sliding his fingers along the edge of Derek’s chest, along his ribs and up his sternum.
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Bookmarked by analgremlin
16 Aug 2016
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Bookmarker's Notes
Stiles looks up. Derek thinks, this is what he wants to remember—not the soft catch of Stiles’ breath when Derek bent down towards him in bed, the secret curl of a smile when Derek tucked his head up against his ribs, drowsy, not Stiles lying in sock feet on his couch or grabbing the front of his shirt and reeling him in for a kiss, but this: Stiles, standing in his kitchen, unafraid, the easy breadth of his shoulders, the resolute tilt of his chin. There are things that are harder to wreck than you could ever begin to imagine.
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For moms and dads and all the people you become that you swore you never would.
Bookmarked by analgremlin
27 Jun 2016
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Love in the squats that grow from the ashes of Old Winnipeg. (And my sincere apologies to the venerable Ursula K. LeGuin.)
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(A story in which joy is expressed in waves, and surfing is an obvious gift of the cosmos.)
Another of my love letters to a place with our boys getting all romantic on each other - and some gay sex, a little art history, and NYC Indie rock thrown in. *Sorry.