yourbatmxn

[yourbatmxn]

so sorry for my disappearance. work and school amped up ... and then we suffered a family death. so flights cross-country, and being with family and off social media was important. i have some real world work to catch up on, but i plan to be around again. xx

[yourbatmxn]

[Softly but with a lot of feeling] fuck

[yourbatmxn]

Are you threatening me? You know what I’m gonna do? I’m gonna break off an extra large branch of mountain ash, wrap it in wolfsbane, roll it in mistletoe,  AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR FREAKIN’ ——— !!

[yourbatmxn]

(x)

[yourbatmxn]

"uh, then i think we have very different definitions in regards to the concept of ‘how one comes into the world’ . . . MY theory involves lady bits and a -- a birthing canal. both of which you’re lacking."

“I brought you into this world. I can just as easily take you out of it.”

[yourbatmxn]

favourite characters: stiles stilinski (teen wolf) i want to help, you know, but i can’t do the things that you can do.

[yourbatmxn]

                  there's a light twinge of disappointment as stiles hears their plans interrupted in real time. it's alright though, the so-called ‘plans’ had only really come together in the last three minutes. not a huge loss. he’ll see what the others are up to. “oh -- yeah. no worries. tomorrow night, it is.” he hangs up, shooting a text to the group. fortunately scott’s in a similar position; his mom on night-shift. they decide on seeing a movie to pass the time.

                the credits roll and mindlessly stiles turns his phone back on. eyes widen in HORROR as message after message, phone call after call comes flooding in . . . from melissa. from the station. from unknown numbers. each message sending him deeper and deeper into himself in attempts to avoid the inevitable. the panic. the panic. the panic.

            the texts in summary: it’s your dad. there’s been an accident. call back.

            scott’s phone pings to life with its own rounds of messages searching for stiles. 

            he’s not even sure how they made it to the hospital; stiles himself falling in and out of reality, dissociating in and out of himself just to keep from collapsing.

            it’s all a BLUR. every moment between receiving the texts and days later finding himself curled up in the guest chair of the hospital room, clinging desperately to hope. 

           the sound of struggled attempts at speaking from the bed sends him to his father’s bedside -- puffy, tear-stained eyes welling and pouring over with fresh tears. these one’s happier, dripping with relief. “shhhhhh, dad. don’t speak.” he presses the call button a couple times, “we’ll get you some water. it’ll be okay.” 

           he repeats, “it’ll be okay.” once more for his own benefit. 

           his father had looked so much like his mom just . . . laying there all this time.

                      after everything they’ve been through in beacon hills, it’s a goddamn bullet that gets him. that’s the first thought noah has as the bullet rips through his chest. the second thought is about stiles. then, darkness. 

                       an infuriating beeping pulls noah from his sedation, mind foggy and vision refusing to focus. there’s something on his face. needles in his hands. fluorescent lights glare down at him. the memory is blurry, but noah can remember running through the forest. remember the panic as a second assailant had stepped into view. remember the attempt to call for backup. and then pain. a burning in his chest that’s only numbed by the drugs pumping into his blood and clouding his thoughts. an attempt to speak, to call out for his son. but his mouth is so damn dry and the word sticks in his throat. 

[yourbatmxn]

↳ bellexmort​:

Send  “Ѡ” for my muse’s reaction to being sent accidental nudes. | @yourbatmxn

{sms; stiles} ….i can’t believe you actually compared that side by side to a legitimate eggplant. {sms; stiles} i don’t even know how to respond to that.

{ sms; lydia } i didn’t

{ sms; lydia } that wasn’t 

{ sms; lydia } i didn’t mean

{ sms; lydia } i ... don’t even know where to begin with an apology???

{ sms; lydia } anyway, uh for personal reasons i have elected to pass away.

{ sms; lydia } ✌️

[yourbatmxn]

↳ scartissuexx​:

               Holding  the  phone  away  from  his  ear,  the  alpha  inhaled  deeply.  Waiting  until  Stiles  lowered  his  voice,  only  then  did  he  bring  the  phone  back  to  his  ear.  ❝  You  realize  that  I’m  a  werewolf,  right?  I  can  hear  you  without  the  yelling.  ❞  Even  over  the  phone,  he  was  annoying.  The  talents  that  this  male  held,  always  amazed  Derek.  ❝  I’m  failing  to  see  how  this  is  my  problem.  It  sounds  like  it’s  yours.  ❞ 

oh, right . . . just a bit of internal chaos manifesting in SHOUTING. “so you’re telling me you don’t care that scott’s gone missing? with no rhyme, or reason? no indication of where he might be going, when, or why? that doesn’t exactly sound like the scott mccall we all know and love, now does it ???” 

stiles suspects foul play, but lacks the . . . wolf-y capabilities to follow through. “can you just -- look into it? let me know if you come up with anything? -- OR you know what? i’m coming to pick you up. i need your help. scott might need your help. okay? okay.” and with that he hangs up.

[yourbatmxn]

↳ postguilt​:

     HE STOPPED THEM BEFORE THEY COULD FINISH. THAT IS WHAT STILES TOOK FROM THEM. It fills them with something displeased, but it brings a smile on their face that he still wants to fight back.  ❛   It’s ours, Stiles. You knew that when you let me in.   ❜ The smile drops. Bleak. Blank.  ❛   You stopped me.   ❜

"remind me where i gave CONSENT?" sarcasm and anger masking irritation, guilt, and fear -- all things the nogitsune feeds on . . . it’s still a mystery to him at his core, how he’d managed to leave that door just a c r a c k open for them to mist on through in the first place.

had he felt too little? or too much? is his soul too dark, too calloused? how had scott and allison managed? what made their experience different from his? . . . no use in mulling it over, the ENEMY stood before him, wearing his face. 

a lovely goddamn metaphor, huh?

[yourbatmxn]

↳ blindhim​:

cosmo fits a stack of four pringles into his mouth in one go, leaning back and staring at nothing, seeing nothing. it had been a while since he had just taken a minute to do nothing but eat junk and chill while talking about nothing at all important. he made a face at stiles’ next question however,    “    depends,  if  i  eat  my  own  lips  do  they  grow  back ?  would  that  be  considered  cannibalism  if  i  DID  eat  them ?    ”    now these were the important questions.

“    then  again,  you  can’t  make  out  with  anyone  with  chip  lips.    ”    cosmo added thoughtfully,    “    probably  pigeon  telepathy  then.    ”

it's nights like these where stiles is entirely grateful that he isn't an only child . . . dad's on night shift, scott's out of town, lydia is off with the girls -- he can only imagine how lonely it would be all alone. well, he can imagine, actually. ( both boys having done a lonely stint in eichen house. )

stiles takes a moment to consider his brother's question and comes up empty, "uh, yeah -- i don't freaking know. i feel like the stakes are much lower if you can eat your own lips and have an endless supply of pringles . . . and / or eat your own lips and them go back to having normal lips, maybe??? either way, i guess that could then be considered cannibalism . . . or autocannibalism."

ah right, no making out with chip lips. valid point. there's a solid nod of approval at cosmo’s choice made.

[yourbatmxn]

[yourbatmxn]

Send me "👂" if you hear my character's voice in my writing!

[yourbatmxn]

stiles  s c o f f s  directly  into  the  birthday  boy's  face. "are you kidding me, scott? of course i did! it’s your freaking BIRTHDAY !!” he grabs his buddy by the shoulders, shaking him vigorously. “Come on --- open it. OPEN IT !!!” 

scott  hadn’t  been  expecting  a  gift,  given  that  he  generally  doesn’t  place  much  importance  on  his  birthday,  but  he  takes  it  with  a  smile  that's  both  wide    &    grateful.    ❝    you  didn’t  have  to  do  this    !!   thank  you.    ❞

»        open ��to  everyone    !! »        it’s  scott’s  birthday  🥳

[yourbatmxn]

     the boxing gloves whack stiles square in the guts and he keels over slightly to absorb some of the force with an exaggerated grunt. “i mean, the bat has worked wonders . . . why does everyone keep shitting on the bat?”

     regardless, he puts on the gloves, “kinda reminds me of this pair of HULK FISTS i had as a kid. HAH ! scott and i used to beat the crap out of each other with those gigantic green foam hands.” ( more like : scott let stiles playfully wail on him with foam fists. )

requested starter for [ @yourbatmxn​ ]

“okay so here’s the thing stilinski.” alice started, leaning back on a freestanding punching bag just a bit and feeling it lean behind her just a bit. “your baseball bat method is great and all, but you can’t depend on it or you’re literally gonna die.” alice stepped away from the punching bag, picked up a pair of boxing gloves and tossed them to him. “put these on and punch this.” she maybe wasn’t the best person to teach stiles how to defend himself, but she’d been taught by argent so her teaching him was good by association. sorta.

[yourbatmxn]

↳ coyotie​:

𝘔𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘢  𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵  𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱  𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧  𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮  𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨  𝘢𝘵  𝘩𝘪𝘴  𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘯.    Although  he  may  have  a  round-about,  sarcasm-fueled  way  of  showing  it,  it  is  nice  to  be  reminded  that  people  do,  in  fact,  care  about  her.          “Yes,  thank-you  Stiles,  I  know  where  blood  is  supposed  to  be.”        That  is  not,  however,  a  promise  that  she  won’t  get  herself  into  trouble  again  in  the  future.  Underneath  the  bandage,  her  wound  begins  to  itch.  It  becomes  very  tempting  to  scratch,  as  much  as  she  knows  it  isn’t  going  to  help.  Fiddling  with  the  fabric  wrapped  around  her  arm,  she  considers  putting  up  a  protest  about  how  she  doesn’t  need  a  babysitter,  but  she  is  exhausted.  Mentally  &  physically.        “Fine.  But  I’m  not  going  if  you’re  just  going  to  hover  and  worry  the  whole  time.  Promise  you’ll  be  chill.”  

     a hand reaches out to cover and stop the dancing of malia’s fingers over her bandaged arm. he can see it in her face, the desire to scratch as an overwhelming impulse. it’s interesting -- to a certain extent, he understands just how hard it is to override specific urges without some sort of grounding external force. ( thanks, adhd ! )

     “’chill’? i AM chill. i’m alwa-- “ a beat, “okay, that was about to be a blatant lie, but FINE, chiiill . . . are you hungry? i have some leftover domino’s pizza? dad’s been working night shifts there’s not much else in the house.”

[yourbatmxn]

↳ girlinthestory​:

For half a second, everything was silent but Cora knew it couldn’t last long. Sure enough, his voice filled the place again and she dropped the pencil on the table, closing her eyes and her fists, trying to get some of her control back. “I should had gone with Lydia” The redhead girl seemed like the only sane person on the Mccall pack and she was way less annoying. Letting out a breath, Cora’s eyes opened and settled on him, one eyebrow raised. “Your life depends on a lot more than that” Her attention came back to the papers in front, trying to find where the next attack was but it was a guessing game. Everyone else had gone to search, but they were supposed to be the ones to figure it out. Nothing was happening, however. “I give up. This is on you now” 

maaaaaybe some part of him hadn't let her study the maps in peace because . . . well, because he'd low-key been the one to suggest triangulating the locations of the prior attacks with a possible area of convergence or a missing hit in the grand scheme pattern. 

( well that, and a combination of imminent danger and a lack of CONTROL made for a slightly obnoxious and overzealous stiles. )

he scrambles into the forefront, hands smoothing out the creases in the map, “okay, see if the last attacks happened here, here, here and here -- each one just about 6 miles from the next . . . my guess would have to be somewhere in this area.” a sharpie sketches a circle two inches in diameter and his brows furrow, “hold up. there’s something in that area . . . why do i recognize that area?”