Stiles Stilinski

Constructive criticism welcome and asked for! Random flames, don't bother, those roll off my back like water on a duck.

If you want to play with Stiles, leave a message. Have a plot idea, let's hear it! Time to have fun!

Stiles is 18 and Legal. Just sayin'

Stiles is muttering to himself as he looks at the paper in his hand and the addresses on the houses as he's walking past. "Seriously dude, you just couldn't answer your phone, or listen to your messages, no, just going to be Mr. Sour wolf and make me come half away around the world to drag your furry ass back home."

So half way 'round the world was a bit of an exaggeration, but the flight from California to New York took way too long. Nobody should put a hyper ADD kid in a plane cross country. He was fidgeting in his seat five minutes after take off, out of his seat as soon as the seat belt sign came off, and the flight continued much the same way. When he could, he walked the aisle, entertaining babies and little kids while getting glared at by the stewards. He drank so much cola that he had to pee a lot as well, kind of like now, so it would be really great to finally -- Ah!

Stiles shifted the backpack on his shoulder and double checked the address. "Yes! Who is brilliant? That's right, I am," Stiles grins, heading up the walk to the small house just outside of the city. He knocked on the door, all impatient energy as he bounced on his toes. He didn't really shout, because hello, werewolves, but he did raise his voice a bit. "Derek, Cora it's me. Stiles. Stilinski." He knocked again. "Hello!"