Stiles Stilinski (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hypercompetent) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
arcanarumlogs2013-03-27 10:03 am
hypercompetent) wrote in arcanarumlogs2013-03-27 10:03 am
Entry tags:
my fingers claw your skin
Who:The pack, and...anyone else who happens to be wandering around in the forest.
When: Sunday December 28th, at dusk.
Where: The forest.
What: The thing about not being able to see your denizen trait gains? They tend to sneak up on you.
Warnings: Blood and violence and yes.
[Everything had been planned out. Since the dreams way back when, Stiles had been tracking the moon, practicing every meditating technique he might have been able to get his hands on, useless as it might have been, and trying his damndest to be prepared for the full moon. Mountain ash in a circle to prevent getting out. Containment. Derek and Scott around to keep things under control.
But the best laid plans of mice and men, and especially of Stiles, always seem to go awry, and after dealing with literally dying just a day ago, the last thing he had been thinking of was the full moon. Either way, when he can start to feel it coursing through his veins, it makes Stiles jump out of bed. His head's spinning and his heart is starting to pound, and through the sudden haze and the pain, his mind's on one thing as he fights his way out of the door of the house, stumbling from the district to somewhere else, somewhere safe, somewhere far away from Sansa and Arya and people. There's a rippling ache starting from his shoulders and downwards, and all he can think about is Peter Hale, the way he'd twitched and spasmed and suddenly became that thing that chased them down in the school; with that horrific memory seared into his brain, he stumbles away from the housing districts and into the night.
Everything goes all too loud at once, and then, dead silent. By the time he hits the soft forest floor, face down, his hands clawing--clawing--into the dirt, he can feel the oncomings of a panic attack, and then--the panic attack, his mental state, the constant static in the back of his mind; it's gone.]
[ There's a wolf prowling through the forest late at night, massive and drooling and more like a horror movie than the parts of Stiles' life; he drops his head back and howls, and starts to run through the forest, looking for something--anything--to tear to shreds.]
When: Sunday December 28th, at dusk.
Where: The forest.
What: The thing about not being able to see your denizen trait gains? They tend to sneak up on you.
Warnings: Blood and violence and yes.
[Everything had been planned out. Since the dreams way back when, Stiles had been tracking the moon, practicing every meditating technique he might have been able to get his hands on, useless as it might have been, and trying his damndest to be prepared for the full moon. Mountain ash in a circle to prevent getting out. Containment. Derek and Scott around to keep things under control.
But the best laid plans of mice and men, and especially of Stiles, always seem to go awry, and after dealing with literally dying just a day ago, the last thing he had been thinking of was the full moon. Either way, when he can start to feel it coursing through his veins, it makes Stiles jump out of bed. His head's spinning and his heart is starting to pound, and through the sudden haze and the pain, his mind's on one thing as he fights his way out of the door of the house, stumbling from the district to somewhere else, somewhere safe, somewhere far away from Sansa and Arya and people. There's a rippling ache starting from his shoulders and downwards, and all he can think about is Peter Hale, the way he'd twitched and spasmed and suddenly became that thing that chased them down in the school; with that horrific memory seared into his brain, he stumbles away from the housing districts and into the night.
Everything goes all too loud at once, and then, dead silent. By the time he hits the soft forest floor, face down, his hands clawing--clawing--into the dirt, he can feel the oncomings of a panic attack, and then--the panic attack, his mental state, the constant static in the back of his mind; it's gone.]
[ There's a wolf prowling through the forest late at night, massive and drooling and more like a horror movie than the parts of Stiles' life; he drops his head back and howls, and starts to run through the forest, looking for something--anything--to tear to shreds.]
no subject
The shortest way to get home is to cut through the outer edges of the forest. Not that he likes the damn thing, but he dislikes the cold more.
Five minutes. Five minutes and he'll be warm.]
SIX YEARS LATER I'M SO SORRY MEG
He crouched down and began to slink along the forest floor, deathly silent until he's within striking distance-the wolf's lip curls and he snarls, growling just enough to be heard. ]
Dude it isn't like I didn't know you were eaten alive by academics. Don't worry.
He stills, waiting for the thing to make another noise. There's enough wood around that he can grab a branch to defend himself, he only needs to know where to expect the attack to come from.]