ataraxionlogs | seventeenth jump;

Entry tags:

seventeenth jump;

CHARACTERS: any and all
LOCATION: Gravity Couches and beyond
WARNINGS: maybe some swearing, or even some violence, and more than likely some implied (and possibly explicit) nakedness.
SUMMARY: Another month, another jump, another round of new faces.
NOTES: Keeping up with the tradition and copy pasted like always from the last one

You wake up in darkness.

There's a breathing tube jammed down your trachea, and you're suspended in a tube of clear blue fluid. Upon registering your level of consciousness, the gravity couch drains the fluid surrounding you and retracts the breathing apparatus; the doors in front of you open, and you're deposited on the floor of a stark, sterile medical bay.

You are not alone.
There are others who have come before you, others who are awakening beside you. Some may be familiar to you, perhaps even friends. Others have much less amiable plans. Some are merely alien and inexplicable, but there are always those who might mean you harm.

After you catch your breath and your vision returns, you notice a number on the inside of your forearm. Maybe it's a familiar number. Maybe it means something. Maybe it's just a number. But the number—completely unique to you—is a tattoo, and it does not come off.

If you enter the room adjacent to the medbay, you will find a small locker with your number on it, surrounded by rows upon rows of identical lockers. Inside, you will find a few of your personal items, a communications device, and a ship's uniform in your exact size. The comms device is fully powered and connects directly to the ship's network; it's your only means of communication beyond physical conversation. Upon turning the device on, a neutral, automated voice will say, "Please take the blue lift to the passenger quarters." Any other attempts at communicating with the rest of the network are met only with static.

This is your welcome party.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Perhaps AM feared that having survived on this ship for a year now would mean that he would disappear during the next jump. With each passing month, the fear grew worse, especially as he adapted more and more to this body. But he was relieved to wake up once more in the gravity couch, feeling the liquid around him drain (yes, he could still feel, thankfully).

The last month had almost been a blur, it seemed ~~because of the mun's hiatus~~. After recovering from that unfortunate rat bite, AM had gone back to the genetics lab a few times to be sure the rats were gone, before throwing himself into the work completely. A new science lab meant new experiments, after all. So the days seemed to blur together into one incomprehensible mess of experiments.

But the one thing he hadn't figured out was the piece of hardware he received during the last jump. All attempts to access it had failed thus far, but perhaps he didn't try hard enough. He was overtaken with curiosity by the genetics lab, so what was just another piece of hardware to wait?

It crossed his mind, however, when he came across his locker once more, curious to see if he'd receive anything new. Of course, there was nothing, not that he was expecting much... But it just reminded him of the hardware. So he stared idly at the open locker for a moment before gathering his things. Perhaps today he'd attempt to access the data again, but he was a bit tired now. Tired from those late nights in the lab, from the jump, from everything.

A short time after the initial exodus from the gravity couches, you find the following in Medbay:

title or description

>>Request helpful space facts or maybe a cookie

>>y/n

((if you're looking for just Wheats or just Nill, let us know! We'll default to both of them unless a preference is specified.))

Edited 2013-04-08 04:05 (UTC)

[ scott's first thought is that these are memories and they aren’t his. well, no, that’s the second thought. the first is a mash-up of tactile memory. the locker rooms, that one time he had a panic attack and stiles talked him down; fighting to breathe on the floor outside the club; the blind lack of control of an uncontrolled shift. he’s on the floor and he’s naked, but it only takes him a few seconds to realize that he’s actually here. sound, smell, sight, it’s all firing on all cylinders, and as far as he can tell none of it is in his head.

his attention wanders to his hands, and the nails digging into the floor in an effort to gain some equilibrium are yellow and sharp. it's instinctive, a reaction to the faint coil of fear in his gut – he focuses, takes a few steady breaths, and they're back to human by the time he pushes himself to his feet.

he's calm. mostly, anyway; the pinching at his brow betrays how confused he is. but nobody's attacking him, and that's actually better than a lot of situations he's woken up in, so he just goes with it. follows the flow to the showers, heads towards the lockers, and he's just figuring out the numbers on his arm when something causes his head to snap around and search the crowd in the other direction.

it smells like metal and chemicals and fear, but under all that bitterness there’s something else, something familiar – more than one something. ]

Stiles? Mom?

[ it's not a shout, just a dubious confirmation, because – he's pretty sure he's on a spaceship. he's not sure what's weirder: that or the fact that apparently he's not the only one. ]

[ the lockers seem to be such fickle things. sometimes blessing people with clothes or weapons or food or other useful things -- sometimes bringing aboard the ship objects that were slightly less useful. soysauce has, luckily, never been too vexed by the lockers so far. but neither does he rely on them too much. other than the occasional set of clothes or ammunition, the lockers don't seem to bring him too much unusual.

which is why, this jump, when soysauce pulls open his locker -- humming softly under his breath, one hand raised to tuck a long, wet lock of hair behind his ear, towel wrapped around his waist -- and finds a stack of photographs coming spilling out at him, he can't help giving a startled yelp. reflexively jerking back, he tries to catch the photographs before they fall to the floor, managing to catch one before it flutters away.

a small, black-and-white photograph. slightly frayed around the edges. something very familiar. a photograph from home.

staring wide-eyed at the familiar sight depicted in the photograph -- lan and lion, his dearest friends, working on a hoverbike before the mechanic's shop that soy is ever so used to -- soysauce can't help but freeze up. still standing before his locker, only covered by the towel around his waist, holding that one photograph as if it's something terribly precious. he should probably move away, to keep from getting in the way of people trying to get to their lockers past him, but just for a few minutes he can't really think. So overcome by longing for his home.

it isn't until a bit later that he manages to regain his wits, moving slowly to gather up the other photographs that had fallen to the floor, looking a little dazed at he looks over each one. ]

Edited 2013-04-08 04:16 (UTC)

grav couches |

[ most people's priorities after the jump seem to be: getting oneself cleared of that awful blue gel, taking a shower, getting dressed, and then gathering up one's belongings.

kasukabe's priorities after the jump is singular: make sure bob-slash-sparky (he hadn't managed to decide on a name) the battery-powered rat, has made it through the jump safely. he doesn't even get out of the area with all the gravity couches before he's carefully undoing what looks like a normal plastic back, pulling out his rather lazy-looking pet and fiddling with the wires. flipping a switch and watching the rat seem to buzz back to life, wiggling its whiskers and peering about curiously. ]

Ah! You seem okay -- I'm glad!

[ and then he's gonna give it a few affectionate little scritches between the ears. since why not. ]

lockers |

[ he does eventually take a shower (keeping bob-slash-sparky in that plastic bag while he does, to keep him nice and dry). makes his way out into the lockers -- bob-slash-sparky sans plastic bag -- tucked into the crook of his arm. and he keeps that snuffling little animal carefully held against him as he tries to put on his clothes.

people around him may hear him make little chiding noises, like ]

Ah, wait, don't move so much. [ or ] -- just sit there for a moment, okay?

[ or, if you're very unfortunate and are standing nearby, you might have kasukabe looking towards you with a lab coat held in his other hand. offering the docile, sleepy-looking battery-rat to you as he asks, ] -- can you hold this guy for just a moment?

[ lydia typically waits around to see if jackson's come back or if allison has come back because honestly, those are the people she cares about coming back. inevitably she can run into everyone else falling out of their tubes and silently she wishes peter and kate would go but alas, that never seems to happen.

it takes her a moment to realize that she just heard scott mccall say stiles and mom right at about the time lydia was going to walk on by past him and another moment for her to actually stop and look at him. it's scott, with seemingly no memory that he was ever here before which— she can roll with surprisingly well. it's with that thought in mind that she just slides on over with goo still in her hair and goo on her skin, but thankfully she's got a random towel around her so don't worry scott, your eyes aren't being bombarded with naked lydia.

there's a beat so that maybe he can smell that it's her even if he's not looking at her ( though she likes to think he will as soon as she starts talking ) and then she speaks. ]

Neither Stiles nor your mom, but don't worry, they'll probably run into you soon. If they haven't already. [ another beat. ] Hi, Scott. Or McCall. Whichever one makes you feel better right now coming from me.

[ maybe they're actually psychic. maybe that's a thing. or maybe it's just that stiles always checks out the new arrivals after he's dressed, idly, as part of his running around checking up on everyone. either way, about the same time scott is smelling him, stiles is skidding to a screetching halt, slipping on someone else's goo trail, bare toes digging into the medbay floor. he's gonna get some gross foot disease because this place is worse than a locker room, and also? he just saw scott. ]

[ next thing you know, he's a cannonball — or maybe a pinball, bouncing of lockers and other people until ding ding ding he collides with his best friend in a rough, fervent hug. ]

[ happy birthday to him. ]

[ stiles pushes his nose into scott's neck like he's the werewolf, scent all glad disbelief. ]

Why didn't you come and freaking find me?

[ except the last word's barely made its muffled way out of his mouth before he knows exactly why. scott hasn't just had a timeskip — he pulls back, squinting — he's gone and rebooted. brand spanking fresh from the packaging new. ]

Whatever. Doesn't matter.

Outside the lifts:

[He keeps expecting his hand to come away bloody. Seconds before the pod spit him out, he'd been clawing at his throat, desperate to get the invasive breathing tube out of it. Now he feels the burn as he coughs, both inside and out of his throat. But so far his fingers have come away with nothing but blue goo.

Simon lifts his head, and if anyone does happen to notice him, it'll only be for a moment. He goes invisible before he stands, slowly padding his way across the medbay floor. Everything around him is like the scene from a science fiction movie - one of the really good ones. One of his favorites. He finds his way out, wanders down the corridors and onto the lifts. Wide-eyed wariness turns to wide-eyed wonder as he becomes more and more convinced that he's really been taken on board a spaceship. It's like all of his nerdy dreams have come true.

There's also that dream where he's suddenly naked in front of people. Simon's no longer invisible. And as the lift doors open, he's sure to make quite the first impression on whoever's there.

Maybe Simon likes spaceships just a little too much.]

At the lockers:

[Well that was one way of killing a space boner. Simon finds the showers first, so his hair is damp and slicked down when he discovers his locker. He opens it carefully, sees all his things arranged like he's back at the community center.

He gets dressed, makes a brief return to his nervous habit of sliding his hand across his bangs before collecting the rest of his belongings. The orange Community Payback jumpsuit stands out like a beacon, but Simon still folds it neatly. That tucked in one hand and his briefcase in the other, he looks around for where to go next.]

Barry!

[ it's an emotional, almost shrill yell (well, scream), and it's the only warning simon has before nathan's grabbing him up in a very close, very tight hug. a slightly naked hug. only slightly - nathan managed to get on a towel, but how well it's tied round his waist is up to fate at this point.

he's taller, but that doesn't stop him from sliding down simon somewhat pitifully so he can rest his head on his chest for some melodramatic dry sobs. ]

You're back! Oh, thank jesus, you're back.

[ he does sound genuinely happy to see him, even if the rest of it is 90% getting in simon's space with the intent of making him feel uncomfortable. it's also a smokescreen; the phenomenal overacting is a good cover for the real feelings beneath them - the primary one being honest, bone-deep relief.

because seriously, thank jesus. ]

[ he catches her scent (which yes, he realizes that will never stop being a little bit weird) and turns just in time to see - lydia, mostly naked except for a towel and covered in blue goo. all he can manage is a stunned stare while she speaks, and then, helpfully: ]

Lydia?

[ lydia in a towel. lydia i- holy shit he's not even wearing a towel. his hands quickly go to cover his junk, and his startled expression takes on a healthy dose of embarrassment. ]

... hey.

[ no, that's not what he meant to say. there's another beat while he works on processing what's going on beyond him being naked. when he finally gets back to words, he sounds impatient, but it's mostly just fueled by his confusion. ]

Where are we?

[ Clean and dressed and with guns back in tow, Sebastian Moran feels like a whole man again. He's no taller and no less grey than he was, but with his guns, he has that spark of confidence back again.

His guns had been missing from his person after the previous jump thanks to his decision to shoot ship property, but he managed to steal them back during Jim Moriarty's absence--which, by the way, has not been treating him so well after his decision to look after his pseudo-employer's pet wasps. Look closely and you'll will find that his hands and fingers are red with old and new wasp stings. He's a good guy really okay.

Still, he isn't off to the shooting range like he would be. In fact, he's rather more subdued than one would normally find him to be. He seems to be looking and waiting for someone, checking his communicator every so often. Maybe he ought to send off a few more irritating texts because he really is not looking forward to taking care of those wasps again. ]

grav couches;

[ This time, he feels like he's choking. Bells breathes in hard once he's out of his tube, standing there nice and slick and naked without any shame whatsoever. Maybe he's had a bad dream. He doesn't remember, not really, but he's stumbling forward through the other bodies and deeper in rather than toward the showers, the lockers. The confused people who'd just arrived. Always the same, never any different with the exception of this.

The disorientation fades a little at least, as he walks, and he drags his hand along some of the other tubes, staring at them blankly. Bells can't seem to get his focus, numb, and by the time he reaches the one particular grav couch he'd been looking for-- He stops, looks and turns around to double-check that he hadn't missed anything. There's no sign of a body, no exit or slime trailing off in the opposite direction with footprints. There's nothing.

He can't breathe, chest tight. ]

No, no, no. Fuck. [ His fingers slip and press to the window, leaving an imprint where there'd been a bloody one months before. In one frighteningly blank moment, Bells feels something break, and his chest hurts. It's wrong. It's so fucking wrong. ] You said you wouldn't. You said—

[ His voice breaks, doesn't sound like his, and something cracks; it's the crush of his knuckles against the glass. He can feel it just like he feels the pain. Lor's gone. ]

kitchens;

[ He's on auto by the time he makes it out of the showers and through his locker, ignoring his clothes and tugging on the jumpsuit. Bells doesn't mind half of the people around him, bumping into several of them without so much as an apology as he takes the lifts up and wanders through the halls. He still can't focus, doesn't want to think.

This hurts so much more than losing the friends he's made here when they'd disappeared. This hurts more than finding out some of them had been lost. It hurts almost as much as nearly losing Kurt. It hurts. hurtshurtshurtshurts

When Bells stops, he's staring into one of the vacant kitchens up on some level he isn't too familiar with. Not that it matters. The last conversation he'd had with Lor-- He steps inside and sorts through the drawers, hands shaking a little when he finds a knife in one of them. It's partially dull, barely knicking his thumb when he runs it along the edge. Their last talk, between the arguments and barely seeing each other, had been Lor telling him he needed to take care of himself, get a haircut. His knuckles throb when he grips the edge of it, tight tight tight until the pain is too real to ignore.

He grips a few strands of damp blond and slices through it with his eyes closed. It's getting too long anyway. He doesn't need it. He doesn't need anyone. ]

[ he doesn't even get the chance to go looking before stiles barrels into him, and while it's more enthusiastic than usual, it's not like it's the first time they've ever hugged. maybe the first time while scott was naked and covered in blue whatever, but still.

he's confused - like, painfully confused - but the wave of relief coming off of his friend is a hard signal to ignore. so even if it's slightly gentler and a bit hesitant (because seriously what is going on), he returns the hug just to be comforting.

but... no, really, he just saw stiles yesterday. this is weird. when stiles pulls back, scott's already squinting back at him in confusion. ]

I didn't even know you were lost.

[ there's a pause, and then, with his voice rising just a little bit in trepidation: ]

Are we in the Matrix?

[ ... don't judge him, weirder things have happened in his life. ]

[She, too, is cleaned and dressed and she has a pistol ready at her side should Jack try to ambush her somewhere by the lockers. She wasn't looking to stop and chat with anyone, but it was hard to not notice the state of his hands and her curiosity got the better of her. What the hell was on the ship that could cause that?]

Hey, what happened to you? [She motioned towards his hands. Hopefully that wasn't normal because if that was how his hands normally looked...]

[His name's not Barry.

But right now, that's just a detail. Simon knows that voice, even if it sounds like Nathan's been taking drags from a helium tank. And it's a welcome sound, despite how his posture goes stiff at Nathan's enthusiastic hello. It's like being greeted by an excited puppy, except instead of licking his face, Simon's more afraid that Nathan might try to stick his tongue in his mouth again.

That doesn't happen though, and there's some awkward petting of Nathan's hair when he slides down. There there.]

Wh-where did I go?

[ stiles gives a soft, breathy snort, because he is so stupidly fond of his best friend. ]

Yeah, that was my first question, too.

[ the magnitude of how much he's going to have to explain hits him, then. stiles has only done the intro spiel for one person, and he was so bad at it they actually rated him five out of ten, including points for effort. ]

Wow, catching you up is gonna suck.

[ stiles shakes his head like he cannot believe the sacrifices he makes sometimes, and though he's not really ready yet, eases back from scott before his own body starts misinterpreting naked hug times. ]

Clothes, first. And don't freak out, because if you thought our lives were weird already? Try adding sci-fi.

[And maybe this is a way of getting it back, because Obi-Wan is very casually brushing past Simon, his lightsaber clipped to his belt. He gives a nod when he passes the wide-eyed young man.]

Excuse me.

[ you may or may not notice, but there's a tiny little figure perched on the edge of one of the couches, struggling to move through the blue goo. lute had found the entire experience just as awful as the first time, and as it is, the strange fluid is clinging to everything. his throat hurts, his wings feel heavy, and he can't get enough of a grip to stand up. even if he could, though, there's no way for him to get down. he can't fly like this, and he's too dizzy and disoriented to attempt to climb.

he has to be careful not to fall, too. at this height, he might break something, or get caught underfoot and stepped on.

this really isn't fair. lute doesn't ask for a lot in his life, being what he is, but he would like for this place to be a little bit more conscious of the fact that he's only about five inches tall on a good day.

he coughs, wiping some of the goo from an eye, feet sliding a little as he finally manages to stand. ]

Ah-- [ he hates to do this, but.. ] Stiles? Anyone! Could I-- Could someone help?

[ he'll just pretend the fact that simon is petting his hair isn't as comforting as it genuinely is, although yes, it does feel slightly nice. still, at the question nathan's forced to break character. he pulls away from simon, hands still on his upper arms, and looks like he can't decide whether he's confused or offended. ]

How should I know? Didn't you go back home?

[ his tone's probably surprisingly level and serious, especially compared to the previous display. but then another thought occurs to him, and he seems mildly horrified. ]

Jesus - were you in a coma this whole time?

[ ... and he missed drawing cocks all over your face, the horror. he isn't entirely up to date on the ship's mechanics, so the possibility of one simon leaving and a different one coming back doesn't immediately occur to him. that and, well, he's nathan. quick thinking is best left to other people. ]

lockers and beyond;

[It's business as usual for Kurt. Once he shakes off the nausea and gets himself cleaned up, he's going to resume the monthly ritual of finding and checking in on everyone he knows and cares for.

Once that's done, he'll be available if anyone needs emotional support--whether they're old friends or newcomers. Being so close to death had changed his resolve, strengthening him--and though he's still walking with a slight limp, there is light in his eyes that hasn't been there for quite some time.]

[ at this point, him catching her scent? not that weird to lydia which admittedly says more about her life than his but alas, there's nothing that they can really do about it. there's a moment where lydia actually has to hold back the smile at seeing him just stare and even with her trying to hold back she does look faintly amused. ]

No, I'm her twin that you've never met before. [ and then he says hey and covers up his junk with his hands and she laughs. she tries really hard not to but it just kind of bubbles up because honestly. it takes her a moment to calm down and actually answer the question which she's answered with jackson and stiles before but scott is well, scott and maybe that's a whole different animal. ]

Spaceship. Which is kind of obvious. It's called the Tranquility and what you just popped out of is called a grav couch.

grav couches;

[ The awakening is the same as it was the last time; she comes to consciousness on the cold, sterile floor, covered in the blue fluid from head to foot. Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal are there with her, and again the canine-sized dragons are none too pleased to be in the same state.

Not terrified in the least of her nudity, but deigning to at least cover most of herself with a towel draped over her, she sits on the floor, using an extra towel and wiping the fluid from the dragons' skin, one at a time. They'll shower as she will—they're not afraid of water—but it's best to get the excess off, first.

She chides them gently when they compete for her attention. ]

One at a time. Drogon, step down; Rhaegal was first.

[ Drogon squawks and shrieks irritably in reply. ]

kitchens;

[ There is stored meat here, Dany knows, and she rummages through the cold storage containers—both refrigerated and frozen—until she finds what she needs. This thing they call 'beef' is cow meat, she's been told, similar to oxen and auroch. She takes a small piece of frozen meat and turns to Drogon, nodding to him. ]

Ready?

....Dracarys.

[ And then she tosses it, in the air, high up towards the ceiling—and there is a short blast of flame from Drogon's open maw, as he roasts the meat mid-air before it falls, charred, into his mouth.

Dany laughs and claps. ]

Well done!

Edited 2013-04-08 05:44 (UTC)

[PODS]

[oh man. oh jesus.

Marty isn't sure what he expects when his consciousness returns to him; hell, he had his bets on not being a sentient being ever again--bein' dead tends to be just... dead. Nothing. Clearly, though, he is not nothing. Er, is something. Whatever. Looks like even without a high here, he's completely confused. The tube-thing spits him out like a bad taste in its mouth and he lays there pressing against his palms, shell-shocked.

It's a drastic change in scenery... y'know...? His first instinct is flight. Fight or flight, he'll pick flight; there's a lot of fuckers around here, but... no monsters to speak of. No fucked up ritual stones, no redneck zombies or cabins or ballerinas with dental problems, or Dana--

Dana.

He hops up, perhaps a little comically despite the trepidation in his face, and spins in a circle.]

Dana?! Has anyone seen-- [And then he actually stops, slowly closes his eyes, breathes. Is he dead? He's fucking dead. Everyone's dead. Holy shit. Holy christ, it really happened, didn't it? He walks backwards and leans on the wall, eyes wide and mouth agape.] Jesus fucking christ...

[LOCKERS]

[He doesn't bother getting the guck off him. He goes to his locker, leaves everything else for the sake of exploration (thank god, is that his weed? he's going to need it). Wow--they gave him his shitty blood-covered, sweat-stank clothes. A dry mutter:]

You shouldn't have... [They really shouldn't have. But he doesn't really dig the black jumpsuit and would rather look like shit right now than to conform to some... puppet thing. He's pretty sure it's a puppet thing. I mean, look at the rest of his last day back home; it's not too far-fetched. And hey, lucky lucky, he's still got a little present in his pocket, just for good ol' Marty.

You guys see that smoke rising from the corner of the locker room?

Yeah, he don't care, he's finishing this joint.]

[SHOWER ROOMS]

[If you don't find him there, you'll find him high as a kite, standing under a shower head in the shower room with his clothes all on. Blood and mud and gunk is sliding off his outfit in waves, swirling down the drain. He makes sure to hold his joint out of the water, don't worry. He shuffles outta there and takes a casual seat outside the lifts. Sopping wet. He nods to however passing in the most 'whats up' fashion and finishing off his smoke.

Maybe he should be... eeeh. Figuring out what the hell is going on, but. He really just wants to let this all sink in for a bit.]

[Most of the time, LB was quick and nonchalant about cleaning her self off, grabbing her stuff, and getting out of the lockers pretty quickly. This time, however... was quite different.

While she had known for a very long time that she had the ability to kill someone peculiarly through hugs, if she wanted to, what was unknown to her was if she could control the ability -- or rather, if she could hug one without killing them. LB put this thought to the back of her mind, figuring that it wasn't relevant, but with her growing more attached to certain people and having confusing feelings develop for another, she was coming to the realization that she might actually have to know these things, just in case.

But she couldn't go up to her friends and acquaintances and ask to test it on them, oh no! Because in spite of her best intentions, she couldn't risk accidentally killing them -- she was already carrying enough guilt from causing enough loved ones to perish, as it was. The truth of the matter was that she could control it, but LB didn't quite know this yet.

Instead, she decided to test it on some unsuspecting strangers. If it didn't kill them, great! If it did kill them, however, at least she knew her limits and wouldn't shed any tears over the death of someone foreign to her. So, one might find LB giving a few shifty glances around the room, trying to decide which of the poor, unsuspecting people she wanted to hug first. Whoever she went with first would get the most awkward and long hug, complete with a lot of nervous giggling. For each person after that, however, the hugs will become more casual and shorter.

Doesn't beat the fact, though, that this was probably going to be awkward for every person involved in this. Also, someone might want to let her know just how silly she looks right now; LB's mind is focused on other things!]

Edited 2013-04-08 05:31 (UTC)

[ the commentary isn't great for calming his nerves, but - stiles is here. so are others. it can't be that bad, right? even if he'd just gotten things almost back to normal back home, and the idea of losing that again... ]

Okay. Not freaking out.

[ he says it as reassuringly as he possibly can, because he's not entirely sure what else to do. but by the time stiles has shown him his locker and he's finished getting dressed, he's finding that steady breathing is taking more effort than usual.

so after he slides on his shirt, he turns to look at stiles with the best not freaked out face he can muster, but the truth is he's looking more and more like he's about to... well, wet himself might be a strong word, but that's the general effect.

don't freak out. ]

Can we get me caught up now?

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 106

seventeenth jump;

AM - OTA

OTA: One stop shop for (mis?)information and also cookies.

scott mccall | ota

soysauce | ota!

kasukabe | ota!

slams right on into this.

no subject

simon bellamy - ota

scREAMS in a manly fashion at the lockers

slams right back!!

Sebastian Moran | ota

bells | ota

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BRO

no subject

brb looking up the definition of manly

no subject

lockers

lute | grav couches | ota

it has a picture of nathan next to it

kurt | ota

no subject

Daenerys Targaryen ♛ OTA

Marty Mikalski | OTA

Laughing Beauty | Hugging open to anyone she hasn't spoken to; witnessing open to everyone else!

skips walking bits!! if that is cool w/u