voluntaryapnea: easystreet (Default)
Who: Stiles Stilinski, bad dreams and YOU.
Where: Stiles' mind and then...Scott's room, the kitchen, and Scott's room again.
When: Throughout the "Less Than Thou Showest" flood, January 25th - 29th.
What: Stiles' mind is a scary place. It gets scarier when the nightmares aren't even his.
Warnings: Blood, death, violence, attempted suicide, drowning.
Note: Open to anyone, planned or not!

He hasn't had nightmares like this in awhile. But now he can't seem to shut them off. It's not like it was once, where everytime he woke up he's screaming. But it's not pleasant, and it's not his idea of a good time, and by the time he convinces himself to leave Scott's comatized body and go to the kitchen for caffeine, he feels like a zombie.

He makes it back to Scott's cabin in record time, drinking down the hot beverage so fast that it burns his mouth and then his throat.

He mumbles some curses and waits impatiently for the beverage to cool down before taking another long drink. Frankly he wishes it was something stronger.

A lot stronger.
voluntaryapnea: (evil -- glaring)
[Open Zero Spam]

[Stiles sits with his back to the wall in a cell in Zero, scowl etched onto his features. He can hear Jackson's heart beating from across the hall and he wishes he'd ripped it out of his chest so at least he'd have some peace and quiet while he's stuck down here. Being alone would be better than being stuck in the same vicinity as Jackson Whittemore.

He shuts his eyes and covers his ears with his hands, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths. He doesn't know exactly how containment down here works, but he knows that short of someone letting him out, he's trapped for now.

It's fine. He'll deal. He always does. He's not thrilled about it, because there are things he could be doing if he wasn't locked in a freaking jail cell.

He opens his eyes again when he hears the distant echo of footsteps approaching -- but whether they're approaching his cell or Jackson's, or if someone else is being locked up -- that he's not sure about yet.

So he stares at the bars ahead, eyes dark and narrow. Waiting.]


[Public Voice Post]

[He's never done well with boredom. After several hours of sitting in relative silence, he picks up his comm. The boredom is as evident in his tone as the sarcastic taunting.]

I have to say that if this is the worst you people can do for punishment, I'm severely disappointed. No wonder our barge graduates more people than yours. You don't even have an ounce of creativity.
voluntaryapnea: (evil -- sitting and plotting)
[Open Spam]

[He's always liked the woods. Practically grew up in them back in Beacon Hills with Scott. Years spent climbing trees and camping, other times spent fishing with his parents before his mom got sick and died, before his dad developed a bit of an alcohol problem and became a workaholic. The woods don't bother Stiles. Neither does only having two days worth of supplies. He no longer needs Adderall, so the lack of the drug in his system means he actually has a healthy appetite. That's the other great part about being a werewolf -- it means he can hunt his food when it runs out. And he knows from experience that the woods are full of perfectly edible creatures he can catch easily. If there's a pond or a river, he can fish.

He'll get by.

It's Lydia that he's currently worried about. He knows the rest of the pack hates her, that they won't lift a finger to help her even if she gets hungry. She hates them just as much. But with everyone being split up, it means that Scott will have a better chance at killing her -- again, or that someone else will try. He needs to find her first.

He straps the backpack to his back and sets off. The familiar sounds of nature are all around him, louder than he's used to. He keeps his comm in his jeans pocket in case Scott or Lydia try and reach him that way. For now he's content to use his enhanced senses to seek out the one he's looking for.]


Ooc: Stiles is affected by the event -- he's much more twisted and dangerous than the Stiles from the regular barge. Feel free to run into him over any of the days from the event!]
voluntaryapnea: (in my dreams I'm dying all the time)
[Day One -- Open Stairwell Spam]

[Stiles is in the stairwell outside the second floor. There's a small gash in his leg where he's been gauged by one of the psycho bumper cars, but he's barely even aware of it now. He's too worried about what's happening, about what kind of danger his friends are in. And really, the cut isn't that big of a deal. He's soaking wet from the flooded hallways of the fifth floor where he'd gone looking for Lydia, but he can't complain about that either. There had been rafts floating down the hall on that floor, but his gut told him that it wasn't safe. That he shouldn't trust them, so he didn't. He's hoping to bypass the third floor where the piranhas are, because really? No thank you. He'll pass on that if possible. But if turns out that's where someone he cares about is, that's where he'll end up.

Allison's room is on the second floor, and so is the infirmary. He's hoping that Allison is safely in the infirmary. He's not betting on it, because it's Allison and she's going to do what she can to help anyone who needs it. She won't just be sitting idle. It's not who she is. And maybe it's selfish of him to hope otherwise. Right now he has his priorities. He knows Scott is okay, knows that Jack is with him and okay. He worries about the others. Lydia, Allison, Needy. Bucky and Steve. Andrew. Cassel, Daneca. Peter. Dean. Sure, some of them are super-powered, but he's seen before during this kind of thing how little that matters. He hopes that Scott at least has an inhaler with him if he needs it this time. He hopes he doesn't need it.]


[Day One -- Hall of Mirror -- Open to Will Graham + Later to Scorpius]

CW for self injury/possession/hallucinations/suicidal thoughts. )

[Day Two -- Infirmary -- Open Spam]

[Everything hurts. Is it supposed to hurt after you die? he wonders distantly. He should have asked Dean when he had the chance, he supposes, but too late now.

He opens his eyes, wincing as he tries to sit up a little and figure out what's going on.]

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voluntaryapnea: easystreet (Default)
Stiles Stilinski

September 2015

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