Stiles wants to think it started after the Nogitsune took control of his body and made his very own hands attempt to hurt and kill his friends. Want to believe that it was after his body (being controlled by a psychotic Japanese evil fox spirit) that they began to get aggravated and annoyed by him. Stiles just wanted to believe that his friends, his pack, didn't hate him, but stiles was not as naive as they thought he was, he knew the truth, he could see the looks of distrust and sometimes pure, undiluted hatred in their eyes as they would look at him. To them he was not pack, not family, not a friend. He never had been, honestly he had lost his only ever friend the second that a crazed, blood lusting Peter Hale's jaws clamped around a terrified Scott McCalls side. The second those sharp fangs pierced the skin there.
It was 23:47 PM according to the blinking clock 32.4 cm to his left, on his desk, where stiles sat scribbling facts about mermaids into a blue (all ocean/lake/other water related creatures were coded blue) notebook that was set 26.2 cm away from his laptop that was displaying one of the 8 open tabs form the depth of Google on all things 'Mermaid'. It was a necessity that he finished as much of this research before the pack had their meeting tomorrow so he could drop the information off and listen into their meeting (adding helpful, life saving pieces of information) while cooking dinner, he was thinking spinach and ricotta ravioli with a tomato and mozzarella creamy sauce (with lots of chunks of extra crisp bacon) and a side of dough balls with garlic butter. And breadstick (everybody loves fricking breadsticks). Goddammit, right where was he, ah fish people... Right.
Flicking over to the next clean, crisp page in the notebook he wrote the number 9 in a circle in the top left had corner and opened the next tab on the computer, continuing the familiar process of skimming and noting down important information that he could use to compare with others to come to an educated evaluation of real life and myth, thought in his life myth and real life, well they were alway normally the same thing. This process was repeated until 03:56 AM when on page 44 of the note book his eye lids became too heavy to continue to make sense of the words on his screen and the Adderall from his most resent dose had worn off, switching his brain back into frantic mode. With a flick of a thin (and weak) wrist the notebook slammed shut and stiles arched his back feeling his bones and joints pop into place as the curled off of the chair.
Clambering out of the chair and striding (only almost tripping once) across his room stiles began to strip off his red plaid shirt and the underlying grey long sleeved t-shirt chucking them unceremoniously onto the still neatly made bed. Continuing his walk to the adjoining bathroom (probably the favourite part of his room) he continued stripping his clothes, discarding belt over the side table to his bed and letting his jeans pool around his ankles in a puddle of deep blue denim. Closing the bathroom door behind him and clicking the lock into place stiles turned to face the interior of arguable the most used room in the whole house. His bathroom was not massive but it was also not some closet where when sitting on the toilet your knees touch the opposite wall or your ass is pushed up against it when standing for a piss. It contained a small bath (that admittedly he had to fold in on himself a little for his lanky body to fit), a moderately sized shower cubicle, a toilet, a small sink, a wall cabinets (with mirrored doors), a cabinet under the sink and a full body length mirror stuck to the back of the door.
It was in this full length mirror that he took the chance to examine himself. Starting at his size 14 feet that he always tripped over, up his skinny almost twig-like (they did have some definition, he does a fuck tone of running away from the weekly big-bad) up to his thighs where his eyes linger on the sliver, pink and red lines patterning his pale skin (sporadically darkened by a brown mole or two). Simmering silver lines from weeks, months, years ago rippling when the light bounces off of them. Pink scratches slightly swollen and higher relief from the rest of the skin, deeper ones, one that have taken loner to heal. Red lines, the ones from Last night, two nights ago now? He didn't know, the days were once agin only defined when the alarm on his phone went off to signal that he had to get his ass to school. These red lines were darker in places almost black, were he had sat and watched in fascination as the crimson liquid pooled and slipped in streaks down his thigh. They were going to leave longer more prominent scars than the others, he would have to put some of that cream that he found in the supermarket to get them to fade a bit.
His eyes continued up past his red boxer shorts, over his thin, flat stomach, not muscled and built like all his Wolfy/reptilian friends? What even were they now? Passing more moles, and soft pink nipples up his long neck, his slumped shoulders, his long gangly arms that are usually flailing about everywhere to distract people from the fact that when he is saying everything at once he is actually saying nothing. Back up to that pale, mole dotted neck, up to the sharp jaw, the strong cheek bones (the only bit he likes of his face, maybe even his whole body), they were his mother cheek bones, more subtle than her slightly upturned nose or the whiskey brown eyes he inherited that just cause his dad and him pain every time he sees them in the mirror. His eyes slip back over the silver, pink and red, organised and unorganised straight lines scattered on his body, his thighs, wrists, arms, bisepts, hips, stomach. He then turns drops his boxers as steps into the steaming hot shower that begin to turn his skin red as the constant hollow pain is replace with a pleasant, slightly burning sting.
A/N
Hello readers, this is one of my first fanfics I am posting, finally bucked up the nerve to do so. I hope you like the first chapter, there will be more to come. Not too sure where I am going to take the story completely (I have a rough idea) but am thinking I will just let the characters take it were it will.
Another note - I DO NOT own these characters, they are from MTV's Teen Wolf thought of by the amazing Jeff Davis
Another (another) note - This fic will probably end up as Sterek as I am a 16 year old straight girl who is complete Sterek trash (Shut Up, we are all a little Sterek trash) therefore if you do not like this paring, you do not need to read or you can just ignore it if you wish
Happy Reading,
Shadowhunter1313 xx
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Walls, Masks and Plaid Shirts (Book One of the 'Plaid Shirts' series)
FanfictionStiles knows, he knows what they think of him, what they say behind his back, he knows that they don't need him. The pack don't mean to, they just don't see it before it's gone to far. Can they save stiles from falling into the bottomless pit they...
