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Entry tags:
(closed) behind every door is a fall
Who: Stiles Stilinski, Jonas Ward, and Sasuke Uchiha
When: Morning of Iuneril 15
Where: Stiles and Jonas’ cottage
What: Surprisingly: not polygamous dating! Stiles finally tells Jonas about Donovan
Warnings: Discussion of an accidental killing made in self-defense, PTSD, related topics
[ After surviving the longest, most agonizing shift at Worse Dragon yet – in an admittedly short period of employment there – he power walks around the city as if his anxiety were nipping at his heels. Though he intended to use this time to construct an ironclad defense should he need one, his mind only whirls in frenetic circles as he repeatedly plays the last memory he has of Scott. Inevitably, like a dog chasing its tail, his frustration and dormant rage build. Stiles burns through it by running, a form of exercise his body protests wearily against, which is how dawn finds him: exhausted mentally and physically, soaked with sweat, and red-rimmed eyes shadowed by deep bruises. He slips into the cottage quietly, hoping that Jonas is asleep, and showers.
Then he sits in the living room, hands wringing thin ropes of silk from his recently developed wrist spinnerets as he waits for Sasuke to arrive and Jonas to come downstairs. At least his thoughts have quieted; his end of the Bond is unnaturally placid. There’s no doubt he’ll become increasingly agitated while talking about Donovan, but for now he can enjoy the eye of the storm. ]
When: Morning of Iuneril 15
Where: Stiles and Jonas’ cottage
What: Surprisingly: not polygamous dating! Stiles finally tells Jonas about Donovan
Warnings: Discussion of an accidental killing made in self-defense, PTSD, related topics
[ After surviving the longest, most agonizing shift at Worse Dragon yet – in an admittedly short period of employment there – he power walks around the city as if his anxiety were nipping at his heels. Though he intended to use this time to construct an ironclad defense should he need one, his mind only whirls in frenetic circles as he repeatedly plays the last memory he has of Scott. Inevitably, like a dog chasing its tail, his frustration and dormant rage build. Stiles burns through it by running, a form of exercise his body protests wearily against, which is how dawn finds him: exhausted mentally and physically, soaked with sweat, and red-rimmed eyes shadowed by deep bruises. He slips into the cottage quietly, hoping that Jonas is asleep, and showers.
Then he sits in the living room, hands wringing thin ropes of silk from his recently developed wrist spinnerets as he waits for Sasuke to arrive and Jonas to come downstairs. At least his thoughts have quieted; his end of the Bond is unnaturally placid. There’s no doubt he’ll become increasingly agitated while talking about Donovan, but for now he can enjoy the eye of the storm. ]