Slithering. Venomous. Hot breath causing a queer eruption of bubbled flesh, and bile inducting words drip into ear. He feels completely bare, humble to the horrors of the world as the very essence of supreme fright rips his body into new trauma. A lost, fractured mind -- however the Nogitsune can taste all of his thoughts, and his venom works quickly to disable excuses from a feeble brain.
He's never felt more vulnerable, more feeble and weak, more so than an ant toiling in the soil. Crawling. Claws shed the skin from bones of his skull, peeling layer after layer to crack open the shell of his psyche. Stiles feels [him] inside his ear, his skin, blood, denatured tongue making play of his neurons.
It's the kind of powerful fear that would send any person into cardiac arrest.. Are they the same entity? Is it the devil himself, for the Nogitsune cradles heart in the palm of soiled, bandaged heart to keep Stiles awake and listening.
Over the waves of nausea, adrenaline fails to kick in and he can sense the creature's pleasure in the demise of the poor boy. Sharp jaws of a true predator drag against flesh as the assault of mind-warping riddles... "kore wa nanda?" What is it, it spews with a fury the boy cannot understand but feels. Stiles would give up one leg, no - two, for the terror to cease. Screaming. Frustration and fright.
They tear each other apart, and it's just the opening sequence.
"There is no greater loss than that of a parent losing a child", words written by a parent and not a suffering young child; Stiles hated the literature. The entirety of his life, the woman he came to know and love from sun up to sun down, slowly withered away into a husk of hurt and confusion before his young eyes. Perhaps it was the early dosage of emotional torture which enabled Stiles to deal with the chaos of a supernaturally inclined life during his teens. Watching friends perish by the sword, witnessing flesh char, and being controlled by an evil spirit -- it paled greatly to a eleven year old boy's immense suffering.
The youth grew up and he grew up fast, however he held onto foolish behaviors and silly quirks to maintain a degree of joy inside his soul. Not only did Stiles need it, Noah needed that spark, too. As Stiles watched his mother slip between lucidness, mania, and clarity, he perceived the world for what it really was and the strange dynamics of adult hood. Noah lost his lover, the love of his life, yet Stiles lost both of his parents. Although the boy had been the one to feel the life vacate Claudia, upon his father's arrival to the hospital after hearing word, a large piece of Noah died. Stiles lost them both. It was eleven year old Stiles who watched over his father, cleaned up the empty takeout containers, and disposed of bottles of alcohol.
A very dark side of his childhood he shared with no one, for the admittance of Noah's slipping as a father would crush the man further.
As Stiles sobbed over his mother's death, he sobbed over his father's passed out body in the living room. He understood his father's spiral into sorrow, however Claudia's sudden rage towards her own son had frightened him the most. Deteriorating, her brain was losing losing function. From phantasms that were not there, sleepless nights, and erratic behavior.. Claudia was not Claudia, yet whenever Stiles was present, her mind appeared to be clear. She either gazed at him lovingly or shot him looks of accusation and mania.
"You.. it all started when you were born," The snap in her speech had frightened Stiles greatly, and it had taken Noah's strength to pry and calm the woman. Could such a thing be triggered by child birth? She loved Stiles, he knew it, however the woman also stared at the boy with a strange clarity until the day before she died. The day of her death was different. Riding on a cloud of heavy medications. She was fitful and clammy, but warm and smiling all the same -- just as a mother should be. Stiles had rushed to the hospital when he heard of her incoming peril, and gripped her hand beside her death bed.
"Mieczyslaw.. Mieczyslaw.. My sweet mischief." Clammy hands gripped his, but it didn't hurt for he felt like he had his mother again. "Mommy... Mommy," Stiles recited his love for his mother as though he were casting a spell to keep her alive. The spell, prayer, wish did not come true, and Noah opened the door of the room to find his son's head lying atop Claudia's dead chest; their fingers interlaced. There are things he never even told his best friend, for Stiles had to grow up fast.. and growing up means pushing down things that eat away at your heart and mind.
Hunger for knowledge did not trump a day spent with his mother, nor his father, though Stiles had always been more of a mother's boy. Perhaps it was an eerie premonition of the tragedy to strike the Stilinski household, or it was as simple as the similarities shared between mother and child. Claudia was the one gave Stiles his name, and she was the parent who indulged the young boy in art, mythology, and reading.
Noah would return home from shifts sometimes at five in the afternoon, sometimes at one in the morning, thus during the few optimal times for the entire family to spend together -- Noah saw so much of his wife in their child. Curious and quirky, the young Mieczysław would run to his parent's bed in the morning with a heavy book in hand and demand for story time. At first, it had always been Cladia who speak off his ears about scholarly and worldy things, and not just before bedtime.
Stiles enjoyed kindergarten to a degree, but as most kids were more interested in playing with toys and were frightened of slugs, the youth wanted to run around in the mud to catch bugs and listen to stories about the gods who created thunder and the gods responsible for love. Her fervor for the world and knowledge only increased as her mind slowly began to rot, but all the moments were sweet before things took their serious turn.
"My sweet Mieczysław." Her hand would smooth down his wild, brown locks, and Stiles would look to her with the largest grin -- teeth missing and all. "Mischief!" Words came out nearly a slur as missing teeth made it difficult to speak properly. Claudia would drop down to a knee, allowing Stiles to climb atop her back for a piggy back ride around the house and yard. They took care of the house, but Stiles' preferred activity was making an 'educated' mess in the yard. He enjoyed tasting everything he found just as much as he enjoyed finding bugs to play with.
"Mud doesn't belong in your mouth, and don't you dare step on a worm. They help the earth, and they don't mean anyone any harm." She was right, of course. Claudia allowed the boy to pick up and house the bugs he found in a glass jar -- but just for the day. At the end of the night, all the living creatures were returned outside. The youth didn't bother watching his mom cook (his mind too wild to focus), but he loved the way she danced and hummed in the kitchen; the aromas of her cooking a fond memory.
Stiles didn't know what he wanted to be when he grew up, all he knew he wanted to be as cool as his mother. She seemed so adventurous and open-minded; a wonder she lived and did little in Beacon Hills after starting a family. Noah was bound to return home any minute, thus mother and child busied themselves with catching fireflies in the front yard. They didn't come often to Beacon Hills, so the Stilinski's enjoyed their visit during the hottest nights of the summer.
Claudia was barefoot though insisted Stiles to wear shoes as they raced around the front yard with clear bottles in hand, catching as many luminescent bugs as possible. For a little boy, his maximum level of glee and excitement were reached. A memory so clear even in adulthood. The soft lightning of the Stinlinski house in the background, and the silhouette of his mother's dress dancing in the night as yellow-green hues surrounded them. The lights to Noah's car broke up the serene night but shortly after, he was joining the family in the adventure.
He's no mind reader. Gifted with gesticulations of the arms, a sharpening wit on his tongue, and the ability to draw laughter from others -- he's not special. Others conquer the world with katanas slashing through the air, claws digging into enemies, and magical abilities that would make an x-man jealous. Again, Stiles is not special.
Dressed in peasant's robes, his eyes watch the special people above him and yes, they may tell him he is not below them, but the male knows better. Her hair is spun with fine gold, a hue snow and precious metals are envious of, and her lips carry a confidence which turns heads. Sharing coy glances and curious fingers daring to intertwine with one another.
What they shared was brief, memories kept underneath the bleachers after lacrosse practice. She is the snow that turns with the seasons and ultimate covers the ground.
Hatred and desperation collide. He does not understand this man, this lawless beast who scorches the earth with each turn of events much like a march of Roman soldiers leveling humanity. Peter Hale takes and takes with one hand, but not without handing a merciful poisoned treat with the other. Each time Stiles' mind disfigures into thoughts of loathing and ill-will, any thoughts of wanting the werewolf dead are thrown out of his consciousness. No one deserves to die, especially one who has aided in his and his allies' survival -- malicious motives notwithstanding.
He does not understand him, and yet... desires to as if the former alpha was a puzzle built for his own design. With each piece lied on the table or a red string hung on the board connecting two points, his discoveries are laced with further confusion. What drives Peter Hale? What makes him happy? Has he ever felt happiness? An intricate beast which even his own analytical mind cannot decipher. Peter nearly killed his friends, offered the BITE to him, and his eyes were the most fitting ice cold blue --- he saved Stiles; nearly killed himself escaping the Wild Hunt.
Murky thoughts keep him up at night when the stars fail to answer life's questions, and the full moon mocks him.
The youth wishes to crack open the binding of HIS book, allow digits to thumb through page after page until his pads are left bleeding from the cuts. How many others have fallen victim to sick curiosity, and fueled the inner alpha inside that beast.
Chaos - the very aroma burned something fierce inside its belly, coiling like a serpent constricting prey under the warmth of a high sun. The tip of nose pressed against the soft column of Lydia's neck, brushing past strawberry blonde locks smelling exactly like the hue. One quiver followed another, and the flat of his tongue, wet and insatiable, pressed against supple neck to drag from collar bone to ear lobe. Sweat was laced with thrilling fear as the wet warmth erupts the young woman with disgust and fright.
He did not desire her happiness nor her compliance; he wanted to devour the hurricane of emotions that threatened bile to rise to the back of her mouth. Pallid digits, bone-white at the knuckles, clung to the iron foundations of the bars holding her in, and his own long digits moved to join hers. The fox pinned her, rendering her completely helpless, as he forced her to bare witness a face she often found comfort and friendship with. By the end of the hour, he would make certain all his friends could not stand to look at Stiles the same way ever again. This chaos was just the beginning.
"I will follow you for 1000 miles but not miss home. It desires neither food nor flowers. It fears not water, fire, knives, nor soldiers. But it disappears when the sun sets behind the western mountains. Who Am I?" A seizure of fright is the only answer the Nogitsune receives.
A fluttering of emotions; brown leaves turned by fall's changing sun raining down on him, and it suffocates. A motivator and a depressant. Tips of worn running shoes touch the edge of the Earth, and the same raw emotion that would cause him to plunge forward without regard to his own life is precisely the kind that causes tremors of regret and tears.
Love me. Love me like I love you. Can't you see that I love you?
There's more pain than power being in love, especially when the love is thrown at someone who does not catch and nurture it. If she told him to leap off the face of the world, he would do it - for a kiss, for a touch, just to see her smile. Anyone who says love is worth it, and it is better to have loved and lost than feel nothing at all -- they never felt l o v e, not truly.
At the end of the day, he forces himself to roll out of bed and brace another day of solitary confinement from his love. A single text message from her, and his entire existence has purpose. Trembling fingers hover over her contact information as a smile manipulates his lips into something that looks like happiness. He is under her spell, but her magic is not kind. Once the day is over, fall's leaves continue to blind and suffocate. The pain won't go away.
I'd bleed for you. Fight for you. Cry. Laugh. Anything. Please..
I realize people don't care for rules much less read them, however I've written these to give you an idea of how I write and what my thought process is. Enjoy it or don't? I would highly appreciate if everyone gave these a glance.
▫ Please, pleeeease send a request with the intention to write - be it a storyline, in-character banter, collaborating on drabbles, or in-character chatter on discord. Message me for a discussion; send me a comment for banter. If I see you have no intention of communicating in any form after some time, you're off the list. This is a place to read AND write, no?
▫ As the doorknocker states, my writing varies from a PG-13 rating to R. More likely than not, M and R ratings will be the bulk of my writing. My preference is darker storylines, something along the lines of True Blood if not more graphic. Basically, taking the PG-13 aspects of Teen Wolf and applying them to real life dramatics and violence. Drabbles containing any possible triggers will be labeled as such. If you desire a very intense, graphic storyline - please, let me know. Don't be afraid to ask for something. Chances are - I'll be on board for it. Approach me with any questions/requests.
Aforementioned storylines can be reserved for messages, though I am not opposed to having them through comments.
▫ Being involved in many verses over the years (and still writing in different verses on different pages), I adore crossovers. Whatever it is, I'll make it work - we will make it work. If I've never heard of your character, I have no issue reading up on them or being provided with information. There are many, many shows, movies, books, and video games that I love, so listing all of the crossovers I'm willing to participate in would be a lengthy list. Things such as: True Blood, Supernatural, American Gods, Witcher, Resident Evil, Harry Potter, Historical, Biblical are all up my alley.
▫ I write a lot, be it all in one go or through replies and drabbles, so my preference is to write with others who can do multi-para novel/novella. Want IC banter and a storyline at the same time? I'm definitely game. Banter is typically a paragraph or less, so if you give me something that short (or if I write something that short to you), you and I should assume it's JUST banter. Actual storylines can go up to 5k in word length, and I would really prefer to have a discussion beforehand when it comes to storylines.
▫ I'm not interested in OOC drama, drama on stream, or OOC chatting on discord. Keep things in character. In character drama and tension are always welcomed.
▫ It's weird having to explain this but because people ask me quite often - I do not ship. I don't do multi-LIs and don't do single LIs. While Stiles has a lot of love for Lydia that I will write it out, I'm not about to kiss every Lydia who comes around. In the very, very, very astronomically rare chance I find chemistry with someone and decide to ship, my Stiles will be committed to that person and that person alone. It ain't happening though.
I'm a pretty nice dude who loves to write and develop the muse, so don't be afraid to approach me. I don't bite.