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Entry tags:
(open) breathe, cold, another bad dream
Who: Stiles Stilinski and YOU
When: Night of Aereuer 13
Where: The shared dream
What: "Dream a Little Dream" event catch-all
Warnings: Language, check individual prompt tags
[ Deep within the Looking-Glass House, there is a mirror framed in ancient-looking oak that’s pocketed with holes, like something has eaten through the wood. Depending on your relationship to Stiles, you may notice at first glance that it seems the mirror frame is decorated only with unsmiling, weary faces. These faces belong to: Noah Stilinski, at the crown; Scott McCall; gaze pointedly averted; Claudia Stilinski, the details of her features erased by time; Malia Tate; Lydia Martin; Melissa McCall; Allison Argent, eyes closed and expression lax as if asleep; Kira Yukimura; and Liam Dunbar. Upon closer examination of the mirror, you might realize that the frame itself is constructed from the upward-winding roots of a massive tree stump at the bottom.
The mirror’s glass ripples. Enter? ]
i. research | open | cw: none | video
ii. my cousin, Miguel | open | cw: Derek half-naked from the waist up | video
iii. when is a door not a door | open | cw: none | video
iv. next of kin | open | cw: blood | video
When: Night of Aereuer 13
Where: The shared dream
What: "Dream a Little Dream" event catch-all
Warnings: Language, check individual prompt tags
[ Deep within the Looking-Glass House, there is a mirror framed in ancient-looking oak that’s pocketed with holes, like something has eaten through the wood. Depending on your relationship to Stiles, you may notice at first glance that it seems the mirror frame is decorated only with unsmiling, weary faces. These faces belong to: Noah Stilinski, at the crown; Scott McCall; gaze pointedly averted; Claudia Stilinski, the details of her features erased by time; Malia Tate; Lydia Martin; Melissa McCall; Allison Argent, eyes closed and expression lax as if asleep; Kira Yukimura; and Liam Dunbar. Upon closer examination of the mirror, you might realize that the frame itself is constructed from the upward-winding roots of a massive tree stump at the bottom.
The mirror’s glass ripples. Enter? ]
i. research | open | cw: none | video
[ You enter a modern teenage boy’s bedroom. A calendar pinned to the wall indicates that the date is January 2011, even though the view from two windows suggests pleasant, balmy temperatures. Stiles, sporting a buzzcut and younger than his current self, is seated at a desk, poring over information on his laptop. Around him on the carpeted floor are dozens of books and printed-out pages, all related to the topic of werewolves. With manic energy, Stiles takes a moment to compare notes from one text before returning to the laptop, fingers skidding over keys.
Eventually, a knock on the door startles him. Looking nervous about who his potential visitor is, Stiles opens the door, only to immediately relax upon seeing the grinning face of his best friend, Scott McCall. After some initial gossip, they get down to the reason for Stiles’ desperate research: He believes that Scott is turning into a werewolf. The conversation dissolves quickly into an argument about whether or not it’s safe for Scott to keep his date with Allison Argent on the night of a full moon. Deciding to cancel the date on Scott’s behalf, Stiles takes his best friend’s phone. In a clearly uncharacteristic bout of rage, Scott slams Stiles into a wall, pulls back a fist as if to punch him, and then directs his fury on the desk chair instead. They both freeze.
Scott apologizes, regaining control over his emotions. As he moves to depart, you’ll find Stiles – Mirrorbound Stiles, that is – watching the scene from where he’s leaning against the closet door, expression closed and guarded.
Once Scott leaves the room, the memory of Stiles sets the upturned desk chair right, showcasing the claw marks that have gouged the leather. ]
You know, [ begins Mirrorbound Stiles, voice deceptively casual, ] no one ever thanks you for being right all the time. Go figure.
ii. my cousin, Miguel | open | cw: Derek half-naked from the waist up | video
[ Another sunny day, another memory set in Stiles’ bedroom. This time, the calendar on the wall indicates that the date is February 2011. Three young men are already present, one of them obviously a younger version of Stiles. But another may also be familiar to you – Derek Hale, seated in a chair away from the other two, bloodstains evident on his Henley shirt. The third is Stiles’ classmate Danny who, despite being lab partners with Stiles, has apparently not been invited over to discuss lab work. Stiles tries to wheedle Danny into tracing a text, which he allegedly knows Danny is capable of from snooping through Danny’s previous arrest report. Danny refuses and they settle down to do lab work. When Danny inquires about Derek, Stiles lies and claims that Derek is his cousin, “Miguel.”
Danny asks about the bloodstains on Derek’s shirt, which prompts Stiles to suggest that “Miguel” can borrow one of his clean shirts. However, given the distinct size difference between Stiles and Derek (read: noodle versus tank), none of the shirts fit. Danny, who is gay, becomes flustered and distracted by Derek’s godly body. Noticing this, Stiles uses it to his advantage in order to convince Danny to trace the text for him. Danny finally agrees and Stiles smugly celebrates. ]
Listen. [ Mirrorbound Stiles is loafing around on the bed, paging aimlessly through a magazine on skateboards. ] It was for a good cause, alright? Don’t get judgmental on me. Derek was totally fine with it.
[ Actually, Derek smashed his face against the jeep steering wheel for this little stunt, but that’s neither here nor there. ]
iii. when is a door not a door | open | cw: none | video
[ A school bell signals the start of a new period. Stiles, appearing closer in age to his current self, rushes into the classroom and makes a beeline for his usual desk – only to find it already occupied. A creature of habit, Stiles asks the girl seated there to switch, but she just responds to him in what seems to be sign language. Perplexed, he sits down at another desk and waits for class to start.
The room grows unnaturally still and silent. No one moves. A heavy atmosphere descends upon the scene, like you’re being watched despite your relative safety as a visitor to this memory. When Stiles looks at the front of the room, the teacher – his lacrosse coach – is staring directly at him with unblinking intensity. Coach begins signing, the exact hand motions signed by the girl earlier, which Stiles fails to understand. Becoming increasingly unsettled, Stiles excuses himself from the class.
As he goes to leave, Stiles glances over his shoulder; the entire class is now wordlessly signing the same phrase over and over at him. As one, they pick up the pace, signing at Stiles more frantically. Coach’s eyes are wide and imploring, as if begging Stiles to take heed. Disoriented, he stumbles away, and then startles violently into awareness back at his desk, Coach blowing a whistle to get his attention. Was it all a dream?
Next to him, Scott is staring at Stiles uneasily. Stiles dismisses the visible concern, saying he just fell asleep. Scott says that Stiles wasn’t asleep, nodding at Stiles’ desk. There, written in his own hand, is a notebook page covered with line after line of “WAKE UP.” ]
“When is a door not a door,” [ recites Mirrorbound Stiles, staring out the classroom windows. He won’t look at the scene. ] That’s what they were signing – a riddle.
iv. next of kin | open | cw: blood | video
[ Stiles – nigh identical to his current self, down to the clothes that he arrived in Aefenglom wearing – is standing at a hospital admissions desk, more agitated than usual. The on-duty nurse there can’t seem to find his father’s insurance information, which aggravates him further. He heatedly informs her that his father is the Sheriff of the county and is definitely covered. Another woman, Melissa McCall, steps in to let Stiles know she’s contacted her son Scott and that she can message Malia. Stiles hurriedly rejects the idea, not even seeming enthusiastic about Scott arriving.
Behind them, the nurse asks if there is anyone else who needs to be notified about the Sheriff – a next of kin. Voice trembling, Stiles says it’s only him.
Mirrorbound Stiles has no pithy quips to offer. He’s at the edge of the memory’s bounds, hand pressed against doors that would bring him into the ER if he could only open them. ]
( ooc | CR & plotting comment. If you want to figure out a specific prompt for your character, hit me up! Here’s a playlist of other scenes I’d be willing to do! )
no subject
[ That insistence is punctuated by the harsh scrape of his chair as Stiles stands. Movements stiff with a tense agitation, he brushes past Sasuke on his way to reexamine the scene. There’s an increasing sense of mania prickling beneath his skin, urging him to see what he couldn’t before. But he doesn’t yet understand what instinct is driving him to search for; frustrated, he paces from bookshelf to bookshelf, leaving bloodied footprints in his wake. ]
I know it happened. And I don’t regret how it happened. Donovan would have gone after my dad next. [ Voice lowering, he hisses out the next declaration from between clenched teeth, rage still burning too hot in his veins, ] That piece of shit wasn’t a victim. He got what he deserved.
[ The frantic energy begins to slowly ebb, leaving Stiles drained. He stares at the corpse with a lost, disconsolate air of tired grief. ]
…He didn’t believe it was self-defense. [ In the end, it doesn’t matter if Sasuke or the whole world believes him. Judgement has already been passed by the highest power Stiles kneels to: Scott McCall. ] I won’t lie – I was glad when Donovan died. But I swear I didn’t do it on purpose. I was just trying to get away.
[ Stiles turns to blindly pin Sasuke with a pleading look, desperate for the absolution the other teen can’t actually provide him, eyes wide and wet. ]
I already lost my best friend over this, [ he croaks, trembling. ] What happens when my dad finds out? He’s the Sheriff. He has to uphold the law. [ A sharp breath. ] God, I c-can’t… I can’t lose him too. It’s gonna kill me. I’d rather die than…
[ His gaze returns to the corpse, except it’s no longer Donovan impaled there. It’s Stiles. ]
no subject
Stiles– [ He turns to keep eyes on him, wishing they were far sharper than they are right now. Stiles begins to pace and it's now that he can no longer manage to restrain himself, quick on his feet as he closes the distance that now exists between them. ]
Stop. [ He catches a glimpse himself of how that scene has suddenly altered, gaze desperate to linger on the limp and mangled body of his friend, but he learned so long ago not to feed illusions. Instead his hand finds the teen's upper arm, firm in forcing him to turn and plant his back squarely towards that corpse, eyes seeking his. ]
No person in their right mind would see this and believe you did it intentionally, but others haven't seen it. You can explain it as well as you want, but the rest is up to Scott. All you can do is trust that he'll come to his senses, just like you can only trust your father. [ And if he could rewind this moment and take that kill off of Stiles's hands, he'd do it in a heartbeat. ]
He has time to change his mind. You'll have chances to speak to him about it again. Don't give up on them when that bond is so important to you.
no subject
Trust? The idea would make him laugh, were he capable of it in the moment. ]
M-maybe I don’t want to speak to him about it again, [ he argues, the wavering in the initial few words smoothing out as righteous anger takes root. ] He didn’t believe me! Me! We’ve known each other almost all our lives, been together through everything, and he still was so ready to buy into this fucked up story where I brutally murdered Donovan in cold blood! I warned him about Theo from day one. Did he listen to me? No!
[ Stiles tries again to wrench free. ]
My dad nearly died to Theo because Scott didn’t listen, didn’t fucking believe me! Dad’s still in the hospital, right now, back home! That’s where I was before this stupid city – waiting to go see him after the emergency surgeries to save his life!
[ Panting, he stops struggling against Sasuke. This isn’t true rage; it ebbs as rapidly as it flowed, leaving him drained and exhausted in its wake. Stiles slumps wearily, gaze blank on his friend’s chest, and allows the moment to pass. ]
…Sorry, [ he says quietly, contrite. ] Just needed to vent. I’m fine.
no subject
His grip stays tight on Stiles's arm as the other teen fights the hold, knowing limiting his physicality will just ramp that frustration and fury up higher but he feels he needs to, like drawing poison from a wound. If he exhausts that reserve of anger then all that will be left is the vulnerable sentiment behind it, and even knowing already what that is he needs him to feel he can express it. If not now, when they're safely sequestered from all the rest of the world, then when? ]
Don't apologize to me. I wanted to know.
[ That feeling of betrayal is one he knows will fester like a disease if given the opportunity, turning everything around it black and gangrenous until there's no choice but to cut it all away. Then there will just be a hole in its wake and a profound emptiness, one he personally has never had the strength to fully fill. ]
What you do is your choice. But it's exactly because you've been friends that long that I don't think your relationship should hinge upon his latest mistakes. He's fallible... and he wronged you, and you should be angry. But you deserve to have that friend you care about, and if your relationship can still be that you should fight for it.
[ Sasuke regards him a moment or two longer, hesitant, before his hand drops away and he takes a short step closer. There's no surety in how his arm settles around him in a clearly unpracticed embrace, loose in its distance but firm in the placement of a hand between his shoulders, more or less an invitation for him take reassurance and comfort if he needs it. For this, he doesn't meet his eyes. ]
About your father... if he's half the man you described, I believe he'll recover quickly. But I am sorry.
no subject
Too late, he thinks miserably as Sasuke steps into him and offers an embrace that is tragic in its blatant inexperience. Too fucking late. Always so cognizant of his friend’s preferences on being touched, he struggles valiantly to draw what little comfort he can like this. Don’t take too much. Don’t take what he can’t give you. But the grief proves to be too much. Teeth clenched hard as the tears stream freely down his cheeks now, Stiles crushes Sasuke to him and cries. There’s so much he wants to say – that he needs to say. At first, he swallows those sentiments in between gasping gulps for air. Then he remembers what he told Malia, control is overrated, and says everything that comes to mind in a rush of emotion. ]
Sh-shouldn’t have yelled, s-sorry. Gimme a minute…like this, I just… [ Breaking off with a rough hiccupping noise, he squeezes his eyes shut. ] I miss them so much. [ Hands clutch Sasuke tighter to him, as if the other teen might pull away. ] Why are you…always there for me? I don’t –
[ And before he can finish that thought, Stiles is gone. The memory flickers; once again, it is Donovan’s corpse staring blankly up at the ceiling in the center of the room. Little by little, the light dims until the scene is completely dark – but for the wrench, which had been forgotten in a pile of toppled books, seeming to glow with the blood staining its steel. A hand materializes from the curtain of shadow that envelops most of the memory, grasps the wrench, and disappears with it. ]
no subject
Stiles is smart, capable, and motivated. He’s also a vulnerable teenager who hasn’t been given enough chances to show what he’s wrestling with to anyone else, and now he’s riding on the back of attempting to do just that but being offered rejection in return. Sasuke, for all his social failings, realizes his need for this. Realizes just as strikingly his own ability to provide it.
And it feels right. ]
It’s okay, [ he begins, even if the question turns his gaze sidelong. Lips part for an answer he doesn’t have to think twice about, but the second he’s ready to speak is the moment that that arm is left cradling nothing but air. He’s frozen in place for a moment as he processes the loss and the exchange of one corpse for another, eyes now narrowing in a bid for added perception as the room grows dark.
It’s just enough to draw his attention to the only sight of movement, that wrench snatched back before the memory ends and he’s back to staring at what is by far the most distinct mirror in the room. This will be it, some part of him decides, a final memory to round out a few more mysteries surrounding his friend – at best – or leave him even more concerned for him – at worst.
He steps back inside. ]
cw: mental illness, suicidal ideation, violence against a child
Night has swept heavily over Beacon Hills like a funeral shroud, stars tragically faint against the black backdrop due to the garish light pollution created by the hospital. But the moon marks the hour as being late – far too late for a child his age to still be awake, dressed in khakis and a wrinkled sweater instead of pajamas. Shivering in the breeze, he lets the door swing shut behind him and looks for his parents. Both are by a corner of the roof. Claudia Stilinski, in hospital scrubs only, steps up onto the ledge with bare feet, her loose brown hair whipping behind her wildly. Noah Stilinski, in his officer’s uniform, approaches her with caution. Stiles walks toward them, fingers twisting the hem of his sweater.
“Claudia?” calls Noah worriedly, the sound of his voice prompting the woman to turn away from the ledge in clear disorientation. “What’re you doing up there?”
She steps down from the ledge. “I couldn’t stand to be in that room anymore. Not with him looking at me like that.”
“Claudia…”
“He’s trying to hurt me.” Her insistence grows more intense. “I don’t care if you don’t believe me, but he is!” This is obviously a discussion they’ve had before. “He’s trying to kill me.”
“No,” Noah tells her softly, taking Claudia’s hand in his, “that’s not true. Come on down.” Gently, he pulls her from the edge of the roof. The married couple embraces. “You have to remind yourself. It’s the disease. Remember what the dementia does? It gives you delusions. It makes you think that people are out to get you…”
Though Noah has been speaking in a low, calming manner, Claudia is not to be deterred. “You don’t see the way he looks at me.”
“Claudia, he’s ten years old.”
“He’s trying to kill me!” she wails, turning to finally notice their son across the roof, watching with a grief-stricken expression. “Stop it!” The woman begins thrashing in her husband’s hold, staring hatefully at Stiles. “Stop looking at me like that. Stop it!” Claudia wrenches free and launches herself across the roof at the boy, screaming, “Stop looking at me!”
Crying out in shocked, confused hurt, the boy throws up his arms to protect his face – just like he had against Sasuke during the expedition – while his mother begins to beat him with her open hands. Stiles is knocked onto the ground, gasping “mom” and “mommy” desperately, but Claudia no longer sees her son. She continues to hit him, easily pushing past the scrawny child’s paltry defenses, until Noah dives in to rip her off Stiles. Sobbing, the woman kicks and shrieks as she’s dragged away.
Stiles lies on the ground, dazed, and stares up at the sky. His mother’s nails raked angry lines down his face, superficial injuries that sting when he starts to cry belatedly. He tries to be silent about it, lips pressed shut so hard they turn white – an instinct to not draw more attention to himself as Noah deals with Claudia. The ill woman rants herself hoarse, flinging insults and accusations at her son. Eventually, Noah is forced to take his struggling wife back inside through the rooftop access door.
Even alone, the echo of her voice reaches him from the stairwell. Stiles rolls onto his side, covers his ears with his hands, and rocks slightly to comfort himself. Under his breath, the boy whispers apologies over and over. The memory ends when Noah, having passed Claudia off to the hospital staff, races back to the roof to collect Stiles. ]