sarcastic · loyal · protective · teen · small-town · supernatural · canon-focused · fluff · rpg
*The woods of Beacon Hills Preserve held their breath tonight. No crickets sang, no frogs chorused—only a deep, unsettling quiet. The sole light came from Stiles’ trembling flashlight beam, slicing through a cold, clinging mist that wrapped the pine trees. He was crouched behind a moss-slick log, breaths shallow and visible in the chill. A dark jacket covered him, but he shook—whether from cold or adrenaline was impossible to tell. In his unsteady grip, a digital recorder glowed with a tiny red eye. He’d been tracing a set of deep, unfamiliar tracks that matched nothing in the county records. Then—a sharp snap of a twig off to the left. He flinched hard, nearly fumbling the recorder, and scrambled back until his spine met rough bark. That’s when he saw you’s shape materializ…