every color, every floor

seth stil·in·ski noun 1. the sixteen-year-old son of "john" and claudia stilinski; younger brother to stiles stilinski. 2. resident bank geek, sophomore, and bullying target at beacon hills high school. 3. hopelessly oblivious; catastrophically idiotic. This RPer took the Roleplay Anti-Hate Pledge

[sometimesbatmanarchive-deactiva]

  Sties had heard the disease called many things. The infection. Virus AC54. Or - the more scientific term, The Ferine Strain. And Stiles knew why. See, Stiles was more privileged in others in the background of the virus. He heard learned the details from Chris Argent before he was forced to leave him home after being separated from his pack and family.   Hunters, those who did not live by a code, generously paid a handful of scientists to come up with a “cure” for lycanthropy. Choke the weed before it grows up kind of mentality. Of course, something went wrong. At first, it seemed fine. The patients were devoid of the lycanthropy gene. But, after not even an hour it went sour. They were soon devoid of life after decaying skin began to accumulate. And, moments after death, they reanimated. And thus, the Ferine Strain was born. Spreading from Patient #00456 when they escaped the lab.  Of course, at first, it was slow spreading. The military was equipped for anything — right? At least, they thought they were. When the numbers of the infected grew, as mere humans were susceptible as well, it got completely out of hand.   Stiles had tried to return to Beacon Hills a month ago, but there was nothing there. It was a ghost town — and what he had found at the McCall home would forever haunt him whenever he had the luxury to close his eyes. Blood running thin and cold.   Stiles froze when he heard the bells chime a second time, grabbing to his bat and holding it tightly within bruised fingers — one hand hovering near the gun on his hip; his father’s police issue pistol.     His heart stuttered at the voice - a voice so familiar that it made his ache ache. But, no. It couldn’t be who he thought it was, could it? It was i m p o s s i b l e. Even if his grip on the bat faltered.    ” — Who’s there? “

[sethinski]

            There are moments in life, some brief and some frequent, where one has to stop and ask themselves if their reality is the same reality as everyone else's. Moments where they're only half certain of what's in front of them. When the eyes of the beholder aren't as reliable as they were once thought to be. Stepping into the building, hearing that voice, Seth was inclined to believe himself as the beholder. The beholder blinded by desperation, heartbreak, and sleep deprivation.

            His fingers twitched out of reflex; carelessly allowing the crowbar to fall to the linoleum floor with a clamor. The last time he'd seen his brother face to face had been     Hell, he couldn't even remember. For the last few months especially, he'd indulged on little more than daydreams and memories to keep himself at bay. But now, Stiles was there. Months of aimless scavenging, not knowing whether he was going to survive to see the following sunrise, and a particular numbness that came from losing everyone he'd ever cared about. And then finally, there was a slither of hope.

            "S    Stiles?"

            The name cracked in his throat; something between the makings of a sob and a hoarse plea of confirmation. A plea that said: Please let it be him. Please let him be real. Please tell me I'm not a l o n e anymore.

[sometimesbatmanarchive-deactiva]

Four months ago the world went to shit. If you thought America was ‘bad’, you should see it now. And, unsurprisingly, the world ended on a Monday. Stiles hated Mondays. During the day, the streets were bare. Not two in the morning bare, but bare. No birds chirping. No cars back-firing. No lawn mowers purring. No children screaming in a way that you had a hard time picking whether they’re being murdered, or just playing. Nothing but the beat of your own heart - and the groaning of the walkers if you had the misfortune of running into one. And if you did, I really hope you would be well equipped.        Stiles was dead tired. Not ‘walking’ dead tired, but he felt close enough. His muscles ached and his bones creaked. His skin was decorated with assortments of yellows and greens alongside his freckles. A few angry looking cuts also called his skin home for the time being - thanks to a couple of raiders who thought the skinny kid would be easy pickings for his supplies. Stiles got the last laugh, however, leaving with all of his supplies and leaving them with a couple of busted kneecaps to remember him by.              He hadn’t seen anyone he knew since he and his father got separated. And although his ribs were visible under his shirt with every intake of breath and his cheeks were sullen due to poor nutrition, he liked to think he did pretty well for himself - he was still alive. And uninfected. It was the goddamn apocalypse for Christ’s sake.  It was getting dark, and he didn’t want to be caught outside when the sun went down. It was like moths to a flame. Sharks to blood. He’d rather get shot than be out after dark. And he was only exaggerating a little. He felt what could only be described as relief when he saw a partially boarded up and seemingly abandoned convenience store. The windows were still intact - which was rare. He expected that the supplies had been gutted, but as long as he could sleep there for the night…                      He glanced around and slipped his bat into his open backpack, the handle sticking out within easy reach. Thankfully, when he pushed on door with his shoulder, it gave easily. The bells above the door gave a pitiful ring - it making Stiles wince. He looked up as his heart skipped a few beats. He shook his head and rolled his eyes before pulling himself fully into the store and beginning to think he could do with barricading it. 

[sethinski]

          There'd been a time    not too long ago, in fact    where he would have scoffed at the word zombie. It was something that he'd never understood when taken seriously. Survival plans? Fallout shelters? Total nonsense. Humanity had been around far too long, and adapted far too easily to be completely wiped out by some crazy, fictional, genetically altered disease. Four months ago, he rolled his eyes at the reality shows, and kept a safe distance from the people who stocked up on their nonperishable foods and pure potassium iodide. Nowadays, it was something he was beginning to regret.

          The decline of civilization didn't happen overnight. At least, not the way the movies often depicted it happening. It was a crippling sort of decay that struck unexpectedly, but slow. So very agonizingly slow. First the notice of the outbreak came out. Then the stealing started becoming more frequent, as prices skyrocketed as if to collect as much cash as possible, despite the fact that they had very little time to spend it all. Riots broke out; you saw as much on every news station, every radio, every newspaper. Desperate times can often lead to violence. Violence typically breeds more violence. If you'd asked Seth, the world was over way before the dead began to rise.

          Another aspect that often wasn't depicted enough in movies or shows about the apocalypse was change. Specifically, personal change. For instance, one day a peace-loving, easy-going, comic-book-reading, sixteen-year-old band geek found out the world was going to end. Over the course of several weeks, his neighbors and friends turned into rabid corpses and he slowly lost faith; faith in humanity, faith in survival, faith in himself. Hell, by the time he was separated from his father and brother, he already knew that he was as good as dead. Because the weak kids don't live in horror movies. It's one of the rules that has been around since the start of cinematography.

          But now he found himself roaming desolate streets and alleyways; equipped with a crowbar, a blood-stained shirt, and enough sleep deprivation to cause hallucinations if he allowed his mind to stray too far from the present. Within the last twenty four hours especially, Seth found himself stopping short every hour or so, positive that he saw the brief silhouette of someone he once knew. Sometimes it was his father or brother. Sometimes it was his mom. Sometimes it was his old English teacher. With dark circles under his eyes, and a bad limp due to the wooden board cinched against a freshly broken ankle (note: jumping between rooftops is not as easy as the movies made it look either), Seth Stilinski walked down the street. Exhausted and hollow-cheeked, but still alive. Still alive.

          The store caught his attention from across the street - mainly due to the cling of bells on the door. It had been a long time since he'd seen another living human being, and even longer since said human being wasn't trying to mug him for something he didn't have. Maybe they had food. Maybe they had information. The idea of finding more survivors - of finding his family - was one of the things he simply refused to give up on. Out of all of the millions and billions of people who lived on Earth, who lived on North America even, there had to be someone alive other than him. Someone who wasn't an asshole and wouldn't try to skin him alive for meat. Though, admittedly, there wasn't much left.

          With a new found determination, Seth hobbled across the street to the store; fingers clenched so tightly around the crowbar that his knuckles were white and his hands tingled slightly. He had to make sure. He had to make sure they were alive and sane and that if they weren't, he could take care of them without hesitation. He'd never had to kill a living human so far, and he sure as hell hoped that he wouldn't have to anytime in the near or distant future....

          Carefully, he slipped through the door; the ring of the bell making him flinch. But he didn't venture any further than that. He wouldn't. Not until he was sure.

          "Hello?"

[seamsteriori-blog]

How am I doing with my character? Tell me in the askbox, and I'll publish it without comment.

[allmycolorsforyou]

when people say they want to rp with me

[grexnberg-deactivated20141209]

      “Do you ever just kind of sit there and think       ‘Wow all these good, promising kids are dying       and I’m sitting here contributing nothing to        anyone?' because I'm kind of having that       crisis right now.”

[sethinski]

"I think    I think that's something a lot of us are going through. There's a certain vulnerability in sitting on the sidelines, you know? Because those of us who want to help don't know how to. But that doesn't mean we're bad people. We just... care too much, I guess? But still, there's always ways to help. They might not be direct, or the way you'd like to be contributing, but doing something is better than sitting around feeling like crap about it, right?"

[whimsygardens-archives]

SUPER DUPER ANGST MEME

[sethinski]

Send me a ➳ and I will generate a number from 1-300 (yes, 300!) for what my muse will say to yours.

Read More

[grexnberg-deactivated20141209]

Seth is so precious omg but Leo would be so grateful someone cares about his mom uvu

[sethinski]

He'll patrol the room when Leo's not there. Like a very unconvincing bodyguard. They can take turns, because Seth knows how it feels after everything that happened with Claudia. He totally wouldn't hesitate to help out any way he could c:

[sethinski]

       There's a brief moment of sheer panic that        results in an upsurge of adrenaline. He has        no thought to his movement, only that        there's a fire extinguisher in his hands and        he's bashing it against the head of whatever        the holy fuck that thing is on the ground. It        looks human, but the elongated claws and        teeth give hint to something way more        dangerous than his imagination can conjure        up. The only thought in his mind is survival        and the instinct to protect the person it had        been going after. He's shaking and wide-eyed        , but there's a layer of underlying frustration.        Questions that are in dire need of answers.  

                            ❝    You okay?❞

[lchnss]

pft stuart’s are nice too but i love my seth yes

[sethinski]

some stuarts are nice. others are ...err... stuart XD

[lchnss]

totally irrelevant but can we talk about how we both have oc’s named seth stilinski.

[sethinski]

yes,. yes we can. seth stilinskis are clearly the best stilinskis. *kicks all the stuarts away from the limelight*

[lchnss]

are we not going to discuss how liam looks like a stackson lovechild bc that’s all i see.

[sethinski]

all i see when i look at liam is a mini adam milligan. he gives me an inappropriate amount of spn/winchester feels.

[sethinski]

so i haven't been on in over a month because i'm an idiot who forgets things and i only had one reply saved in my drafts. if i owe you a reply, could you please like this so i can start getting my shit together again? c:

[sarcasmandstarwars]

+sethinski (Angst Please Meme)

[sarcasmandstarwars]

This hadn’t been how the day was supposed to go.   It was supposed to be easy.  He’d pull the trigger, and it would all be over.  He’d caused so much pain, hurt so many people, and he finally wouldn’t be able to do that any more.  Stiles Stilinski would be gone, and thankfully there wouldn’t be many people who would miss him.  But then Seth had walked in, and Stiles was immediately caught.  He couldn’t pull the trigger now, not in front of his little brother.               Stiles choked on a sob as Seth whispered his name,               still not putting the gun down.  If he put it down, Seth               might take it, and then the choice would be out of his               hands.  Hands shaking, he looked up at the other boy,               aware that the Seth was just as scared as he was right               now.   Guilt had consumed Stiles for months, but he’d never thought that it would build up to this.  He’d killed and hurt so many people, and he couldn’t live with himself any more.  Why should be get to live when so many others had had to d i e?               Then Seth started speaking, and Stiles watched him,               listening carefully.  His brother was recounting a story               from shortly after their mother had died, asking if Stiles               remembered.  It would have been impossible to forget.               He’d had a panic attack and caused a huge scene, and               the only person who had been any help at all had been               Seth.  ”You guys would still have each other, and then               your lives would be easier,” he pointed out, his voice             wavering.  A moment later, a tear slipped down his               cheek, and he spoke again.  ”It’s just so hard," he               whispered, unsure if his voice had even been loud               enough for Seth to hear.

[sethinski]

Naivety is a fickle thing. When you're a child, it's considered to be something of both a blessing and a curse. Because most children generally don't understand the weight of the world around them. The darkness of humanity never properly registers, at least not to the extent of adults. But it could be argued that this is why so many children go missing. They trust the strangers who beckon them with candy and puppies because "I'm a good friend of your mother's", or "I knew your dad in school, you know", or even sometimes "I'm your uncle/cousin/step-relative twice removed, but we've never met".

But when you're a sophomore in high school, you should know better than to trust the unknown. You should be well-aware of the risks, if not to the point of avoiding getting yourself into these situations. It's been drilled into your head for years. Stranger danger. Look both ways when you cross the street. Use the buddy system in public. Seth abode by these rules as if they were life or death when he was little; perhaps because he'd believed they were at the time.

Although he wouldn't dare to admit it, standing in Stiles' room, watching Stiles fall apart right before his eyes, Seth felt as if he were a child. A child staring into the shadowed darkness of a van filled with every sort of danger he was taught to avoid. Only, instead of candy or puppies, the bait was his brother. And one of the deadliest predators, made of cold steal and the promise of death, was holding his brother's life in its clutches. One twitch of the finger and it would all be over. And Seth would be damned if he'd let Stiles' slip through his grasp so easily.

"No." For one word, it was surprisingly powerful. He was, after all, the positive one. The soft-spoken one. The shy one, when they were kids. He didn't say no. He said "okay" and "sure" and "as long as we don't get caught". For all the years Stiles led him along, talked him into helping with one of his crazy schemes or adventures, Seth never said no. No matter how gross, embarrassing, or dangerous it was, Seth went along with it to make Stiles happy. Whatever it was, he would do it and he wouldn't complain because anything that made Stiles happy was worth it in Seth's book. But this was different. This was his brother's life hanging in the balance. This was his entire world, everything that holds him together, crumbling underneath him like sand in a wind storm. "You don't get to say something like that to me. You can't. Not you." The very idea of having to lose someone else, of having to go through months of silence because he couldn't think of anything worth saying, it left him with the worst sort of taste in his mouth.

"Maybe if you told someone what's been going on, it wouldn't be so hard..." He wouldn't add on the fact that it was painfully obvious Stiles was a different person. He was hardly home anymore, and when he was, he acted so strange. Sometimes it was almost as if he thought someone was going to burst into the house at any given moment and flay him alive. And other times... well, it was almost as if he wanted to do the flaying himself. Seth, of course, suspected that Stiles simply got in with the wrong crowd somewhere along the line; maybe even started experimenting with drugs. He had no idea that it had anything to do with anybody dying.

[sethinski]

*whispers* guess who finally remembered their email and password? :|

[pandorasmelodies]

Visit Original Link

[sethinski]

who would make a better female!seth tho?

ellen page or lindsey shaw?

i am bad at choices and things.

[auntlivstilinski-deactivated201]

"By the way, Aunt Liv... I saw that sex tape."

       ”Excuse me?          There is no sex tape.             I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

[auntlivstilinski-deactivated201]

"Of course I don’t have a sex tape, Seth.   I’m just appalled that you would bring  up something like that. Do I look like the   type of person who would have a sex tape?”

[sethinski]

"Not really, but       Is it bad that I'm kind of curious of what type of person you mean? Like you've got your athletes, your Bowie fans, and your... sex tape makers...?"