THE BOY WITH NO NAME.

fuck it, i’m over here.

canon divergent mieczyslaw stiles stilinski. reimagined by rionach.

fuck it, i’m over here.

fuck it, i’m over here.

canon divergent mieczyslaw stiles stilinski. reimagined by rionach.

fuck it, i’m over here.

if you’d like to continue our thread(s) on my new blog, please like this!

canon divergent mieczyslaw stiles stilinski. reimagined by rionach.

if you’d like to continue our thread(s) on my new blog, please like this!

hello. i’m going to be moving stools to a brand new blog over the next few days. he’s going to be written differently and with a new arc and it’s going to be dark and twisty. 

if you’d like to continue our thread(s) on my new blog, please like this!

hello. i’m going to be moving stools to a brand new blog over the next few days. he’s going to be written differently and with a new arc and it’s going to be dark and twisty. 

    𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌. It curdles, somewhere deep in his gut, and prickles, slow across the skin, but oh – OH, it jolts more than anything else. He still tastes rot, something still feels sticky on his fingertips and, if he lifts them to his nose, they’ll smell coppery. RUST. Plasma-stained. But his hands hold their vice-grip on the sheets, damp, as if they could ground him. THEY CAN’T. Not when he is still screaming through the tail-end of sleep, or whatever it was that held him under consciousness. He screams through the fog that clots his mind, that tells him that he is still asleep, that will not let him focus just enough to see that HE IS NOT ASLEEP AT ALL.