Stiles Stilinski (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
voluntaryapnea) wrote2014-07-26 11:25 am
voluntaryapnea) wrote2014-07-26 11:25 am
Entry tags:
- allison argent,
- as if i had a soul to steal,
- bucky barnes,
- emotional tether,
- feel it pull me underneath,
- flood: last laugh,
- game: tlv,
- i can hurt you from inside,
- i think her death it must be killing me,
- life is but a dream,
- like the sun came out,
- lydia martin,
- not just a girl,
- nothing in this world i wouldn't do,
- scorpius,
- scott mccall,
- srsly needs something better than a bat,
- the devil within,
- there's still poison in our veins,
- will graham,
- you still got me
09. But I crept into your heart/You can’t make me disappear/Til I make you
[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]
[He finds himself in a corridor that seems alarmingly longer than usual and he honestly doesn't know if it's because it is longer than normal or if it's because the hall is covered in creepy ass fun house mirrors. Once upon a time these kinds of mirrors had amused him, and he vaguely remembers he and Scott being in one at a carnival when they were younger, mocking each other's distorted images.
It's less amusing now and a hell of a lot more unsettling. Especially when he catches a glimpse of himself in one of them and there's a dark smirk on his face for the briefest of moments and his heart leaps as he spins around in a circle, looking around anxiously because that isn't him -- it's the nogitsune.]
[Day One -- Voice Post for Lydia + Spam for Scorpius]
[He is alone, surrounded by hundreds of images of himself, brief glimpses of a him that is not quite him smirking, laughing. The anxiety he was feeling earlier has come back full force. That's when he sees it -- Void -- clear and in front of him, eyes dark, mouth twisted into a dark smile that he recognizes as the bringer of death. Without hesitation, Stiles raises his bat and slams it into the mirror, shattering the glass. He doesn't care about seven years of bad luck. It doesn't even cross his mind.
It's a futile action, because Void just appears in the next one, laughing at him.
"You think it's that easy to be rid of me? Your divine move doesn't matter here. You're never going to be free of me. I'm going to kill them. I'm going to kill all of them, Stiiiiiles. And you're going to help me."
"Like hell," he retorts, shattering that mirror, too, face drained of all color.
"I'm gonna start with Allison. Always with Allison. And then Lydia. And finally your best friend is going to have no choice but to do the one thing that will stop me. Do you think he can do it this time?"
Stiles squeezes his eyes shut and swings again, shattering more glass, pulling in panicked, shuddering breaths as he tries to tell himself it is just this place. That it's messing with him, that it's not real, that Void is gone, trapped back home in a box made from the Nemeton.
"Do you want to save your friends, Stiiiiles? You know the one way that you can."
"Stop," he whispers, clutching onto his bat tightly with one hand.
"Make me," Void whispers, circling around behind him in the mirrors and then beside him, in front of him. All around him. Everywhere. "You have more friends here, don't you, Stiiiles? I can't wait to destroy all of them!"
A tear streaks down his paler than usual face but he makes no effort to brush it away, reluctantly opening his eyes and staring at Void in the mirror. Stiles' gaze darts to a broken shard of glass on the floor, long and jagged. He swallows heavily and he hears the voice -- his own, but not really -- chuckle. He lets go of his bat, lets it clatter to the floor and reaches for the shard, clutching it in his hand tightly, feeling the sharp edges cut into his skin as his heart begins beating faster.
"It isn't a katana, Stiiiiles. But it'll do if you have the guts."
Months of terror flash through his mind in seconds, make his fingers curl more tightly around the glass as he presses it against his stomach. He catches sight of the other version of Void -- the version that isn't him, that's wrapped in bandages -- in one of the mirrors behind him, his teeth bared and mouth open wide, waiting.
He plunges the glass as deeply as he can, pain shocking his system as he falls to the floor amidst the rest of the broken glass. His communicator hits the ground beside him and distantly he wonders if it's broken. He doesn't realize that it's clicked on in a private voice feed for Lydia.
He passes out shortly later, blood pooling around him on the ground, coldness settling on his body as he waits for the darkness to take him for good this time.]
[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.]
[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]
[He finds himself in a corridor that seems alarmingly longer than usual and he honestly doesn't know if it's because it is longer than normal or if it's because the hall is covered in creepy ass fun house mirrors. Once upon a time these kinds of mirrors had amused him, and he vaguely remembers he and Scott being in one at a carnival when they were younger, mocking each other's distorted images.
It's less amusing now and a hell of a lot more unsettling. Especially when he catches a glimpse of himself in one of them and there's a dark smirk on his face for the briefest of moments and his heart leaps as he spins around in a circle, looking around anxiously because that isn't him -- it's the nogitsune.]
[Day One -- Voice Post for Lydia + Spam for Scorpius]
[He is alone, surrounded by hundreds of images of himself, brief glimpses of a him that is not quite him smirking, laughing. The anxiety he was feeling earlier has come back full force. That's when he sees it -- Void -- clear and in front of him, eyes dark, mouth twisted into a dark smile that he recognizes as the bringer of death. Without hesitation, Stiles raises his bat and slams it into the mirror, shattering the glass. He doesn't care about seven years of bad luck. It doesn't even cross his mind.
It's a futile action, because Void just appears in the next one, laughing at him.
"You think it's that easy to be rid of me? Your divine move doesn't matter here. You're never going to be free of me. I'm going to kill them. I'm going to kill all of them, Stiiiiiles. And you're going to help me."
"Like hell," he retorts, shattering that mirror, too, face drained of all color.
"I'm gonna start with Allison. Always with Allison. And then Lydia. And finally your best friend is going to have no choice but to do the one thing that will stop me. Do you think he can do it this time?"
Stiles squeezes his eyes shut and swings again, shattering more glass, pulling in panicked, shuddering breaths as he tries to tell himself it is just this place. That it's messing with him, that it's not real, that Void is gone, trapped back home in a box made from the Nemeton.
"Do you want to save your friends, Stiiiiles? You know the one way that you can."
"Stop," he whispers, clutching onto his bat tightly with one hand.
"Make me," Void whispers, circling around behind him in the mirrors and then beside him, in front of him. All around him. Everywhere. "You have more friends here, don't you, Stiiiles? I can't wait to destroy all of them!"
A tear streaks down his paler than usual face but he makes no effort to brush it away, reluctantly opening his eyes and staring at Void in the mirror. Stiles' gaze darts to a broken shard of glass on the floor, long and jagged. He swallows heavily and he hears the voice -- his own, but not really -- chuckle. He lets go of his bat, lets it clatter to the floor and reaches for the shard, clutching it in his hand tightly, feeling the sharp edges cut into his skin as his heart begins beating faster.
"It isn't a katana, Stiiiiles. But it'll do if you have the guts."
Months of terror flash through his mind in seconds, make his fingers curl more tightly around the glass as he presses it against his stomach. He catches sight of the other version of Void -- the version that isn't him, that's wrapped in bandages -- in one of the mirrors behind him, his teeth bared and mouth open wide, waiting.
He plunges the glass as deeply as he can, pain shocking his system as he falls to the floor amidst the rest of the broken glass. His communicator hits the ground beside him and distantly he wonders if it's broken. He doesn't realize that it's clicked on in a private voice feed for Lydia.
He passes out shortly later, blood pooling around him on the ground, coldness settling on his body as he waits for the darkness to take him for good this time.]
[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.]
no subject
[He's glad that at least Will kind of seems to know who he's talking about, but the man pulls his focus back to the mirrors.]
It likes tricks.
no subject
[ He rattles off what he would statistically need to identify her because he doesn't trust himself much otherwise. He doesn't trust the sound of a huff behind him, a stag lingering heavily behind his shoulder and waiting. ]
We shouldn't be here. [ He can't leave. ] They all like tricks, they all - They all want to play games with us.
no subject
Five foot eight, brown hair and brown eyes. She's a force to be reckoned with, especially if she's angry, and if you see her smile you won't ever forget it.
[He rakes a hand through his hair, turning and looking at all the mirrors. It's overwhelming.]
I'm sick of games.
no subject
[ He says it in a hush, as if there are eyes on him, as if anyone could overhear the conversation. ] The metaphorical chess piece being played, it's not a role I'd like to replay.
[ But that's - not what he wants to hear, and Will waves it off with a hand. ] I've seen her. N-not - not recently, no, but I live - [ He points in a vague direction towards the end of the hall, back where his cell is. ]
no subject
Me either.
[He looks back in the direction where Will points and he nods. He suddenly remembers what Scott told him earlier, about how the second floor didn't smell right. It's probably too late for either of them.]
I think there's -- I think there's something here. Gas.
no subject
[ He laughs a little, the isolation starting to get to him - he's gone after nearly every other person he's come across, paranoia seeped deep into his lungs. Some people have breathed in the gas, but Will's been exposed to it the entire night while he's sleeping. The downside of leaving your door open at night. ]
I think there's something here. [ He glances around briefly, but not without quick flickers back to Stiles, as if he's going to try something. Stiles' face drips away before his eyes like everything else, and Will takes in a hard breath, sweat starting to gather at the front of his shirt. Distress. ]
I have so scarcely felt such a clarity as I do here, such a -
[ Instability. He feels mad. He feels dangerous. He doesn't dislike it. His voice is hushed, paranoid: ]
I think there's something in the mirrors.
no subject
He breathes out, shaky and nervous.
He catches movement in one of the mirrors from behind and he whirls, shattering it with his bat.]
There won't be if I break every damn one.
no subject
He engages in hypotheticals. ]
Watch them return. Grow back, as if flowers sprung anew in spring.
[ Having his back to them makes him feel strangely vulnerable. They're just mirrors. They're just mirrors. ]
no subject
Oh what the hell is this.
no subject
I was kidding.
[ He feels like laughing and so he does, a low chuckle as he regards the mirrors surrounding them and taps his knuckles against one of the nearest ones. The Wendigo within its surface bares its teeth at him. ]
The Admiral seems a mite too interested in driving us all to the brink and back. [ He scans Stiles over, frown etching into his face. ] How old are you?
no subject
But the mirror he looks into reflects an image of himself, mouth curled into a dangerous smirk, eyes devoid of emotion. Hands...covered in blood. He shuts his eyes. Go away. Go away.]
Seventeen.