useofcuriosity | PSL Box

Entry tags:

psl,
rp

PSL Box

Want to play a PSL or a Prompt? Me too! Lets DO IT. Give a prompt, a word, a picture. Or, start a scene with a fancy au. I'll tag you! It's neat! It's fun! GO JOE.

Examples:

Everyone shift to the left (your character is a werewolf? Now they're a banshee. Or a hunter. Whatever!)
Nogitsune Stuff
Grey's Anatomy Universe
Otherwordly

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Stiles smiled. "You could make me. We both know you want to. Push me out of the way, or something. But I think you're afraid of me." Tilting his head and leaning a little closer. "Oh, you're very afraid of me."

"Afraid? Of you?!" Well, that erratic heart beat said otherwise. But he wasn't going to willingly show it. To prove that, he moved to do exactly what the thing wear Stiles' face had guessed. To push him out of the way so he could get out of the room.

Which, it seems, is exactly what he wanted Jackson to do. No sooner is the boy pushing him than Stiles has his hand in a tight grip, pulling him even closer. "You're really upset, aren't you? Really freaking out here, Jackson. Maybe you should just try to let it all go."

Upset didn't even begin to describe it. He was terrified. And pissed. How the hell could Stiles be that strong? He jerked his arm. Trying to get free. Trying to slam his elbow into Stiles' chest. Anything would do. "Get your hands off me," he growled through grit teeth.

And yet? Stiles does exactly the opposite. He keeps his hand gripping Jackson's arm, and it seems to get even tighter. If Jackson were to look, he might see those black lines that indicate pain is being taken away. Pain. Chaos. Strife.

"Shhhh, it's okay, Jackson. Don't worry about it. It's not like she'll care. It's not like anyone will care. You didn't even bother getting back with the pack, why should they?"

His struggle halted the moment he saw those black tendrils. He'd had experience drawing pain, but he wasn't in pain. Not physically. And it was by no means making him feel better. If anything, it was making things worse. Before he could resume his struggle. Before he could figure out what was going on, Stiles dropped that on him. Simple words that were as painful as a knife to his chest.

"I don't need them," he lied. As if to prove it he shifted, trying to slam his shoulder into the other's chest. Hoping to dislodge that iron grip on his wrist. So he could run as far away as possible.

The feeding doesn't really seem to do much for Stiles, physically. If anything, he looks paler. More like death microwaved and then microwaved again. But the grip goes stronger, and when Jackson tries to slam into him? Stiles uses it to slam him right back and towards one of the benches. "Really? Then why were you going to call her?"

He stumbled back, shocked. But only a few steps. Stiles may have been strong, but he still had his reflexes. His teeth grit hard, anger fueled by overwhelming fear. He was through talking. His knee came up, slamming toward Stiles' midsection. It put him at a serious disadvantage of balance, but he seriously underestimated Stiles' strength still.

Connection, at least and at last. Or maybe Stiles just wants to chase something now. Either way, he lets go.

For now.

"Why are you fighting me? I'm not going to kill you? What would be the point of that? I could do a lot more interesting things to you. Do you know, they gave me your venom."

Released, he stumbled back. And upon getting his footing, bolted for the door. The mentions of Lydia were nothing compared to what the mention of that venom did. The sudden surge of terror. A reminder of what he'd done. What he'd been. But it didn't slow him down. Putting everything he had into getting away.

It got a grin from the Nogitsune, at least. The bolting. The terror. He strolled, leisurely, down the hallways. He could catch up at any time, and he knew Jackson could still hear him. For now. "Does that worry you? Scare you? Turning back into that. Is that why you came back here?"

There was nothing he feared more. It was what haunted his nightmares on a nightly basis. Hearing it spoken aloud, he faltered. Nearly crashed into the floor. It didn't slow him for long, but it made him far more frantic. If he he could just get to his car, he'd be fine. But that meant getting to the door.

"Maybe, Jackson, if you answer my questions I'll be more inclined to let you leave." He said leave, right? Not live. Maybe. Either way, when Jackson gets to those doors, they certainly won't open.

He slammed into the door, expecting it to swing open when he hit the bar. But when it didn't yield, he was thrown to floor. Shaking off the daze, he picked himself up. He refused to answer. This was just another nightmare. It had to be. He tried both sides of the double door. Kicking hard at them. But they wouldn't budge. Which meant they weren't just locked. A lock he could break. He twisted around, facing the empty hall. "I'M NOT TELLING YOU ANYTHING!"

More of that finger-tapping, and it seems to be coming from everywhere. "Oh, you will. Everyone talks. They always talk." By choice or by other means, it's true. "Maybe you should try the pool."

The pool? Why would he bring that up? He hadn't been there since-- And then it hit him. The last time he'd been there was a time he couldn't remember. The thought of it made his stomach twist with fear that was not his own. It hit him so hard, that whatever retort he'd had just died on his tongue.

"We almost drown there, you know. Stiles wanted to kill you so badly. Isn't that funny?" Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap.

That he remembered. He'd heard Stiles say it. While he'd been cuffed in that van, the others bickering outside. The first time he saw those scales. He only managed to take a step back, leaning against the door that wouldn't open. "M-McCall wouldn't let him!" he managed to shout back.

Calming tone to completely mismatch his words. "The bakemono is entirely too willing to try to save everyone. Until, of course, you tried to kill his mother."

"I didn't try to kill anyone's mother!" He shouted, frantic and terrified. "None of that was ME!"

"Do you think that matters to them?" Curious tone. More tap tap tapping. "To Scott, it might. To Lydia? To Derek? He wanted to kill you from day one."

"Not anymore!" He shouted, pleading. "That's all over! Lydia wouldn't--she wouldn't--she..." She never wanted him dead. It wasn't possible.

"Wouldn't she? Why wouldn't she? Because she loves you?"

He squeezed his eyes shut, head pressing against the door. "She wouldn't..." was all he managed to say, not even shouting anymore.

He sounds really close and really far away. "Are you sure?"

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