#I will not ask for a picture of your dad because it’s downright creepy

[berlingotesque]

This is completely silly but...Your Norman looks like my dad...😭

Well…actually… considering the fact that my Norman was born in 1895, it’s actually your dad that looks like my Norman ☝️🤓

[ipuckwithhockey]

Easier Said Than Done- M. Tkachuk

Part 1

Part 2- Can’t stay away from you

summary: Matt knows this is a bad idea but he can’t help himself when the universe keeps bringing you into his life.

a/n: part 2 is here y’all! i hope you enjoy it. let me know what you think!

warnings: cursing

You’ve been settled into a table at a coffee shop for a couple hours with your “time to study” playlist blaring through your headphones and you don’t notice a tall blue-eyed man approach you. When he taps your shoulder unexpectedly you practically jump out of your chair, causing your hand that was writing your beautifully organized notes to knock your cup of coffee off the table, shattering on impact as it hits the floor. The man has quick reflexes though, and is able to jump back and out of the way of the falling cup. 

“Fuck! Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!” The man blurts out as you try to take in what just happened. 

You take your headphones out of your ears so you can hear what he’s saying, “Sorry what? I- I couldn’t hear you.” You stutter a bit when you look up at him and realize who he is. You don’t know him, but you do recognize him. 

He was at the Giordano’s about a week ago for their son’s birthday party. You remember seeing him there, his curly mop of hair and broad shoulders had caught your eye, but you also recognized him from somewhere else. You recognized him from the pictures that Lauren has framed around their home, from the advertisements plastered across the city, and from the TV when you get a chance to watch a Flames game. Matthew Tkachuk just scared the shit out of you and you almost spilt a coffee all over him.  

An employee comes over to help you clean up the mess that has been made and sweeps the broke glass away. You and Matthew do your best to help but end up awkwardly apologizing to the employee and then thanking them when they’ve finished cleaning up. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Probably would have gone for a different approach had I known that was going to happen,” Matthew says. 

“Oh, it’s fine. I was just taking—” You look down at the table and you notice that your once beautifully crafted notes are now splotched with coffee. You can’t help it, you try to control it, but the tears start to pierce the corners of your eyes without your approval. It’s completely embarrassing but your stress over law school is winning over your pride and composure. Matthew can see your chin start to tremble and even though you’re trying to hide it, the look on your face says it all. 

“Are you okay?” Matthew asks cautiously.

“Y-yeah” you choke out. “mfine. It’s fine.” Your cheeks are lightly stained with tears and you’re sniffling between words, trying to get a grip and steady your breath as you start to gather your notes. You try to make yourself busy without looking up, not wanting to make eye contact, and praying that he might just leave you be. Instead, he gently wraps a hand around your forearm to get you to look at him. 

“Hey hey. It’s okay. I’m sure we can fix it.” He says with concern in his eyes. He’s trying to be gentle with you because the look in your eyes says you might just crack again as you shake your head no, looking at your notes. Matt doesn’t really know what to do in this situation but he does know that he hates seeing you upset and will do anything to try to help. “Here, how about we start by sitting down.” He motions for you to sit in the chair you jumped from moments ago, “And I’ll get you another coffee, okay?” He asks, still looking at you with caution. You can’t say anything because you’re afraid you might cry again so you just shake your head telling him okay before he leaves to go order you another coffee.

While he’s gone, you’re able to calm yourself down, taking some deep breathes as you tell yourself it will be okay. You know it will be and you know that your stress is causing you to over dramatize the events that have unfolded. You also know that you have another set of the same notes at home and that you were just redoing them to help you study. A few minutes later Matthew returns with the coffee cup he held earlier in one hand and a new one in his other. He sits the other cup down in front of you and to your surprise he takes the seat across form yours. 

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.” You thank your voice for not giving out on you and for sounding somewhat normal as you speak. Embarrassment doesn’t exactly cover what you’re feeling, and you’re surprised that Matthew has stuck around this long in general, but now he’s sitting down in front of you and doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere any time soon. 

“I think it’s the least I could do considering I scared the hell out of you, broke a glass… and then made you cry...”  He looks down sheepishly as he says the last one. He feels horrible and quite frankly, very out of his league in this situation. Not only did he ignore his promise to Gio to stay away from you, but he’s also managed to get you to hate him in about five seconds. What makes him feel even worse is that you’re still being so nice to him. This is only adding to his growing infatuation with you, and he curses himself for not having the will power to walk away the moment he saw you. 

You blush out of embarrassment, “I’m the one who should be apologizing to you, and they’re just notes, it’s fine. I actually have a copy at home. I’m just stressed, and I freaked out but I promise you it’s totally fine.” You try to reassure him and the concern he’s showing, and instinctively letting your hand rest on top of his. A simple comforting gesture that wouldn’t mean anything to most people, lit a fire in Matthew that he wasn’t prepared for. His eyes are glued to your hand and when you notice you quickly pull it back, but not without noticing how large and warm it was. But before you get a chance to apologize Matt is asking you what you’re studying for and trying to cover up the blush that has settled across his cheeks. 

“It’s for the exam at the end of the semester, so not for a few months but I—“

“You’re already studying for a test that’s months away?” He looks at you like you’re crazy, and you laugh because when you broke down crying a few minutes ago he seemed pretty collected but now he’s downright flabbergasted, “I’m Matt by the way,” he adds quickly, realizing that you might not know who he is and that it would be polite to formally introduce himself. 

You let out a little laugh, “Yeah, most of my grade is based off of the one exam so you have to study for it all semester.” You explain to him as he nods but still looks confused. “…I’m y/n, you were at Gio’s the other day for Jack’s birthday party, right?” you ask him, and Matt is astonished that you even noticed he was there. Every time he looked at you, you were either entertaining the kids around you or having what looked to be very mature conversations with the adults that made Matt feel incredibly of place.

“Yeah I was. I uh- that’s actually why I came over here in the first place. I recognized you.” Matthew says trying not to sound too creepy, and you can’t help but smile because you can’t believe he even noticed you. Being noticed by any cute guy is one thing, but Matthew Tkachuk had that kind of bad boy vibe that made him that much more irresistible. 

“Oh. Well, it’s nice to finally meet you. The kids talk about you all the time.” You say.

The Giordano kids loved Matt and when you babysat on game nights the three of you would sit together on the couch in matching jerseys, all with the number 5 on the back, but whenever number 19 would get into a scrum the kids would go wild. Reese used to get upset every time it would happen, but her brother has taught her to cheer instead now. Jack really admires Matt and sometimes during mini sticks, instead of pretending to be his dad he’ll pretend to be Matt. (You just try to keep the pretend scrums to a minimum.) It was adorable and he is obviously attractive, but you aren’t immune to the rumors that float around town. He’s a playboy who can take a different girl home every time he goes out. Even Mark and Lauren have even made comments about his bachelor lifestyle. 

Despite those rumors and the comments, you’re genuinely surprised by Matt. He stays with you at your table for over an hour as the two of you talk. You expected him to be pompous and cocky and just like all those douche bags that you met in college. He was cocky, but you didn’t expect him to be so nice or sweet, or even funny. You definitely didn’t expect him to flirt with you. It wasn’t anything too over the top, but subtle things in the tone in which he would speak made you think he was trying to flirt.

Over the hour that you spent together he asked you about your relationship with the Giordano’s and he had plenty of questions about law school. It was actually really sweet. Matt hadn’t gone to college, skipping that step, and opting to go to the OHL before signing with the Flames. Most of his knowledge of the university experience came from his brother Brady’s short stint at Boston College, or a few stories he heard from his friends back home. He didn’t know a lick about law school, and he’s fascinated listening to you explain things that are surely going right over his head. 

He gets so caught up in you that he doesn’t realize how much time has passed and when he looks down at his phone, he realizes that he’s going to be late for a meeting and can’t help but feel a little sad. He doesn’t want this conversation to end and if it does, he doesn’t want it to be a singular occurrence, which is what has him asking if he can have your number. 

And despite the little voices in your head telling you no, you end up saying yes. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.” You reply not able to hide your smile. He’s charming and handsome and completely out of your league, but you figure it won’t hurt to give him your number anyway. He might not even use it, right?

*

A few days later you find yourself sitting in a fancy chair in a boutique that sells $50 scrunchies as you watch Lauren try on a dress that probably costs as much as your rent. She insisted that the two of you go shopping before lunch— on her of course, and no matter how many times you told her that you couldn’t let her do that, she stood her ground and insisted it was her treat. It’s been a couple hours of shopping and you don’t know how Lauren can do this for so long.  If shopping was a sport Lauren would be winning gold at the Olympics, you however wouldn’t even qualify.

You let her buy you a new blouse that you’ll probably get more use out of when you get a job at a law firm and a swanky dress that was probably only appropriate for a fancy party. You’re not sure when you’ll ever get to wear it, and would never have spent that much money on something that you would get so little use out of, but Lauren really hyped you up and when she offered to buy it you couldn’t say no. 

“So,” she says as she sits down in the chair next to yours, “What’s been going on in your life that isn’t school?”

You laugh at that. All you really do is go to class and study right now. It’s pretty hard to keep a job in law school so you’re basically just a full time student. You don’t really have a social life unless it’s studying with your friends or maybe an occasional lunch or dinner out. There’s really nothing new on the ‘not school’ front and you tell her that, getting a lack luster facial expression from her in return. 

“You work too much! You’re young! This is the time in your life to go out and have fun!” She exclaims. Lauren completely admires your work ethic and she’s incredibly proud of you but the mom in her wants to make sure that you’re not missing out on some of the best years of your life because you’re too busy studying. She means well and she has a point, you probably could be a little more active in your social life and this in turn makes you remember who you saw a few days earlier. 

“You’ll never guess who I ran into the other day.” You say as you wait for Lauren to change back into her clothes. 

“Oh!? Who was it? Is he cute?” She asks from behind the curtain of the dressing room, and without even knowing if it was a guy, but not so secretly hoping it is. 

“It was Matthew Tkachuk. And yeah, I guess he is kinda cute.” you joke. 

You can see the surprise on her face as she pops her head out from behind the curtain, “Where in the world did you run into him?” She asks in reply, but you make her finish changing and check out of the store before you answer her. Lauren may be able to shop until she drops but you’re ready for lunch and if you have to hang this over her head to get there, then that’s what you’ll do. 

The two of you leave the store, Lauren with another bag in her hand, and walk around the corner to the restaurant for lunch. “So, where the hell did you run into Chucky” She asks as you settle into your seat and pick up the sleek menu sitting in front of you. 

“Well, if you must know, I was studying at that coffee shop by my apartment, and he came up behind me and scared the shit out of me. I knocked my coffee on the floor and everything.” You tell her in a little bit of a mocking tone, knowing that she’s a sucker for gossip. “He felt really bad though, and bought me another coffee after he made me cry—“

“He did WHAT!?” 

“Well, the coffee got on my notes and I was just really stressed about school so I kind of started crying...” 

“So he wasn’t mean to you? He didn’t do anything rude, did he?” She asks in her best mom voice. It makes you chuckle, and you tell her no, explaining that it was just an accident. You also tell her about how he stayed and talked to you for a while. “He actually surprised me. He’s not as... I don’t know... dick-ish?” That probably wasn’t the best way to describe it, but it probably got the message across but when you look up you can see something brewing on Lauren’s face and it resembles worry. 

“Listen, I’m just going to be straightforward with you. He’s a good guy, but he lacks... Well, he lacks some maturity on the relationship side of his life. I know he can be very charming, but I can’t promise that he won’t hurt you. The stats aren’t good, and I don’t want to see you get hurt by him.” You haven’t even told her about him asking for your number, and because of this, you choose not to. Instead, you tell her not to worry about it, and that you don’t think that door will be opening anytime soon anyway. There might be a very small part of you that is a little let down because he hasn’t called or texted since you gave him your number, but you push that thought to the side. Lauren had a point too, there isn’t any guarantee that you wouldn’t get hurt and right now you need to be focusing on school, and not on a hypothetical relationship. 

*

The next time that Matt sees you it’s not by his doing. He’s tried his best to keep away from you and has resisted using the number that sits heavy in his cellphone. Instead, he stalks your Instagram and goes through your Twitter likes. He feels like he’s back in middle school again as he begins to pick apart pieces of your life. You apparently read. A lot. And most of your liked tweets are from the Sparknotes account or niche memes that Matt doesn’t understand. He may not understand them, but it doesn’t keep him from reading every single one of them in hopes of gaining some sort of insight into your life. 

On more than one occasion he has sat up at night thinking about texting you, asking what you were up to and hoping you would come over. He never did because he knew that one night wouldn’t be enough. Night after night he could have a different girl come and go from his bed, but for the first time in a long time he didn’t want a girl for just one night. But he couldn’t even let himself pick up the phone to ask you out on a proper date because his captain asked him explicitly to stay away. He couldn’t disobey a direct order. And who knows, maybe he wouldn’t be any good at any of this relationship stuff anyway. Unfortunately, that didn’t keep him from wanting to try. All these factors only added to the list of reasons why he couldn’t let himself pick up the phone and call you. He couldn’t justify it and so he pushed the thought to the side. 

The world works in mysterious ways though, and sometimes it will continue to bring two people together no matter how much they fight it. That’s exactly what happened as Matthew came by to pick up Mark on his way to the arena and you were on your way into the house to babysit for the game. You were just getting out of your car when Matthew pulled up in the driveway beside you. 

You can see that it’s him and you try to rush around his car and into the house before you can experience anymore embarrassment. He asked for your number weeks ago and clearly hasn’t used it.  There wasn’t any obligation to do so, but you figure you can assume that asking for someone’s number implies that they are going to use it, except he never did. So maybe he just asked out of pity or maybe he asked and changed his mind.

“Y/N!” You hear him call out your name following the sound of his car door shutting, stopping you in your tracks as you slowly turn to face him. 

“Matt! Hey!” you say a bit too enthusiastically and like you hadn’t seen it was him in the car.

The two of you are at a standstill, neither one knowing what to say or how to act with the looming fact that Matt has your number in his pocket but hasn’t chosen to use it. He knows that he shouldn’t have even asked for the number in the first place and that he’s gotten himself into this mess but now doesn’t know how to get himself out. 

“Um. So I-“

“It’s totall-“

You both start to talk at the same time but you insist that he finish his statement first, “I’m uh- I’m sorry about not calling. I know that’s a dick move-” 

You cut him off, feeling a twinge of confidence arise, “So why didn’t you?” You ask innocently but knowing that you’ve caught the hotshot off guard. 

“Um- I just I don’t know if this is a good idea.” He replies. 

“Well how can you know if you don’t try? Isn’t that the whole point of going on a date?” You say and then realize that maybe he didn’t want your number to ask you out. Maybe he just wanted to see if you would be willing to crawl into his be one night and out the next morning. 

You don’t get a chance to answer. Gio is coming out the front door and doesn’t seem to even notice that the two of you are in the middle of a conversation. He simply waves goodbye to you and ushers Matt back to his car as he starts to talk about something to do with Johnny. Matt does his best to play it off cool, hoping to god Gio hasn’t noticed, and thankfully he doesn’t mention you at all on the drive to the rink. 

Spending time with the kids was just what you needed as a break from your classes, and you let the kids stay up until Lauren gets home from the game. The Flames won 3-1 and the kids couldn’t have been better for you. You’re in such a great mood that when Whitney Houston’s I Wanna Dance With Somebody comes on the radio, you turned it up full blast so that you can sing at the top of your lungs. The earlier encounter with Matthew is long forgotten as you sing and dance to the radio on your way home. With the radio turned up you don’t hear a text come through. You don’t even see until you’re snuggled up in bed, ready to set your alarm for the next morning, and when you click on the unknown number you’re more than surprised when you read what the message says.

Maybe: Matt: Hey it’s Matt. I think you might be right about the dating thing. Are you free Thursday night?

[guccifloralsuits]

You should also explain to anon what larries are and why you need to stay away from them... i feel like it should be part of the crash course for new harries because (speaking from own experience) new fans often easily believe their bullshit and their views of harry and his relationships become warped bc of it

 Prospective New Fan Crash Course: Larry Stylinson

Introduction: 

Larry Stylinson is a ship name given to 1D band mates Harry Styles & Louis Tomlinson, after some fans became convinced they were in a forcibly closeted relationship due to Modest Management. The two denied being together and repeatedly asked fans to stop, and invasive fan-shipping is attributed to the decimation of H & L’s friendship. By the end of 1D, they could barely stand next to each other or talk in public without rabid fans (& sometimes tabloids) dissecting every millisecond of their interactions. It was incredibly uncalled for, Invasive, downright creepy, and some people still believe in the conspiracy, today.

A Short Timeline:

One Direction was formed to compete on British X Factor. Harry & Louis were fast friends. They pretty much immediately clicked — and you can see this really clearly when the band started recording video diaries, and in early interviews with 1D.

For the first few years of one direction, it was really clear that they were best friends. They did a lot of interviews together - they even lived together for a short amount of time. A lot of people shipped the Bromance, but increasingly some fans became obsessed with the idea that the two were secretly in a relationship - despite repeated denials, them saying they were uncomfortable with fan behavior, and asking fans to stop, constantly.

Band members, family, and they themselves often remarked about how uncomfortable they felt with the shippers who wouldn’t let up.

Band members on Larry Shippers:

Liam:

“It’s like, when you know the ins and outs of what is going on with people and it’s just annoying when it’s so stupid,” the 22-year-old said. “It becomes like a conspiracy or like a cult, the people who watch them and think that every move they make is a gesture toward them being together, and I know it’s just not true and it makes me mad.”  (XXX)

“I get tagged in drawings of Louis and Harry being together. I remember one time I was sitting next to my dad and I see this picture of me on top of Niall [Horan], which was quite intimidating. It’s just really weird to have people drawing these sexually explicit pictures of us in strange situations.”

Zayn:

“There’s no secret relationships going on with any of the band members,“

“It’s not funny, and it still continues to be quite hard for them,” he said. “They won’t naturally go put their arm around each other because they’re conscious of this thing that’s going on, which is not even true. They won’t do that natural behavior.” (FADER)

Niall: 

Tends to be the quitest (aside from Harry but harry never comments on anything, ever). Shaded a bunch of larries a few weeks ago on twitter tho if I recall correctly lol

Larries would (and still try to) micro-analyze every single interaction, no matter how small. And the media would sometimes hop onto the bandwagon, going out of their way to make both H & L uncomfortable questing if Larry is real.

After constantly dealing with this,  a lot of public interaction stopped. But as Larry shippers had less to work with, they became increasingly obsessive about keeping up their fantasy. Some highlights:

Repeatedly dismissing Eleanor Calder, Louis’s long-term girlfriend as a ‘beard’ often going so far as to harass her social media, her family, & rip her apart for every minuscule action or reaction.

Calling Louis’s son not actually his, and believing that management forced Louis to pretend to have a son to save face & keep his relationship with Harry a secret. (Deadass. They think Louis’s son isn’t real & is still being used as a cover).

Don’t get me started on how horrible some of the fan-fiction is, it’s so so invasive.

still think the two are together in a hidden relationship, despite not publicly being in the same location for around 3 years. 

Today some larries still exist, but we don’t welcome them into these parts.

In 2017, Louis straight up said that Larry shippers kinda completely ruined their friendship.

Louis on Larry:

“It kind of happened naturally for me and Harry because a certain amount of the fans drew up this conspiracy,” Louis said about the Larry Stylinson conspiracy theories. “When it first came around I was with Eleanor, and it actually felt a little bit disrespectful to Eleanor, who is my girlfriend now. I’m so protective over things like that, about the people I love.”

“It created this atmosphere between the two of us where everyone was looking into everything we did,” Louis said candidly. “It took away the vibe you get off anyone. It made everything, I think on both fences, a little bit more unapproachable.”

recently & notably, TV series “Euphoria” had a fanon imagined sex scene between the two on the show, which neither band member constented to and Louis made a statement expressing his offense at.  This is just…one example among many for fans and media taking things way too far. I can pull up the reciepts for more but….god it makes me tired & angry. There are so many messed up & invasive questions, fan actions, and media articles. 

Implications:

Larry changed the way RPF fandom works, being to first shift from “this is a fantasy about two real people I wish were together” and beginning to project a fans own reality onto the two. Effectively, they treat Harry & Louis like dolls in a game which they get to make the rules for. It’s fucked up, and we don’t support them. moral of the story: don’t insert fan made fantasy into the lives of real people. 

this has been a tea-party hosted by yours truly. F Larry shippers, full stop.

For Further Reading 

[itsclydebitches]

Diving Deep

Hello, @badluckcharm-exe! It’s finally done! Sorry this took forever and a day. Inspiration decided to take a vacation for a while... Regardless, I hope you enjoy this. I’ll be sure to get it up on AO3 tomorrow 💚

Prompt was for a Mermaid AU. 

“Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream! Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily life is but a dream. Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream—”

“Holy shit, kid, you’re twelve. Don’t you know any other songs?”

Oscar blinked, finally drawing his gaze away from the aquarium. The hallway they stood in had water on both sides as well as above, a dome that never failed to leave Qrow’s stomach queasy because good god what happened if that glass ever broke? Oscar had no such reservations. He pressed right against the barrier—things with teeth passing him by—until the water rippled off his skin and there was a green tint to his eyes.

“I’m fourteen,” he said, head cocked strangely against the glass.

“That’s worse.”

Oscar shrugged. “I like it. The song I mean. Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream. If you meet the kelpie’s eyes then don’t forget to scream.”

…What the actual fuck?

It wasn’t the first time the kid had said something totally off the wall. Qrow leaned on his mop, watching Oscar tap the glass until, coincidentally, a bright orange fish swam up to where he stood. Qrow had worked at Atlas Labs nearly a year now and knew that, no matter what Ozpin claimed, they were only surrounded by a bunch of dumb animals. You couldn’t train a fish to come when called, no more than he’d been able to train Oscar to be marginally less annoying. Honestly, what the ever loving hell was a kelpie?

“Hey.” Qrow tapped his boot until Oscar finally looked his way. The fish immediately swam off. “If you’re just gonna stand there how about you help me wipe down the glass?” That way Qrow didn’t need to go near all that nonsense. “All boys your age should have chores. Builds character. Or something.”

For reasons unknown to him Oscar’s eyes strayed to the bucket full of water next to Qrow’s feet. He split into a grin.

“Nope! Tell Dad I said hi!”

And Oscar scurried off, boots squeaking on the tiled floor as he disappeared around a corner. He’d left smudges on the glass and a scuff where he’d stood. Great. 

Another bug-eyed fish bumped against the glass parallel to Qrow’s head. He scowled.

“What the hell are you looking at?”

***

Atlas Labs. Renowned world-wide for their cutting advancements in marine biology. Not exactly the sort of research that got Qrow all hot and bothered, but what could he say? People were weird. Apparently while most looked to the skies for answers to Earth’s problems, the real scientists were turning to the many mysteries of the seas. Our origins, future, even a chance at immortality—all of it was hidden somewhere beneath the waves. At least, that’s what Ozpin claimed.

Not that Ozpin was any less weird than his son.

“Your brat says ‘hi.’”

Lithe and tall enough to hit his head on the occasional hanging lamp, Ozpin Pine presumably had his picture printed next to the dictionary definition of ‘eccentric.’ Qrow had never seen him in anything other than a wrinkled green suit (not the same one every day… surely?) and a lab coat stained with all sorts of things that he never needed identified, thanks. A mop of white hair looked perpetually windblown despite the fact that the man rarely stepped outside and Oz wore these teeny tiny glasses that couldn’t possibly help a flea see, let alone a grown-ass man. He wore rings on his fingers, a long line of earrings, and had hidden tattoos that Qrow sometimes caught peeking out from beneath the cuff of his shirt. It hurt to look at him. In the same way it hurt to look at an ongoing car wreck while being blinded by the sun. Ozpin was, simply put, an oddball.

And Qrow would have laid down his life for him.

Heh. Not to be dramatic or anything, but there weren’t many world-renowned scientists in this place who’d design to speak kindly to their janitor. Or speak to him at all. His first day Ozpin had slipped a sweet from his pocket into Qrow’s hand, made some horrendous joke, introduced Oscar as “My much beloved offspring” (what?), and capped it all off with the warmest smile Qrow had ever had the privilege of soaking up. Those scraps of kindness would have bred devotion on their own, but Ozpin genuinely seemed to like him, as ridiculous as that seemed. Qrow had thought this job was going to be the worst of the many he’d grabbed in the last three years. Instead it was…

Interesting. Yeah. It was something alright.

Ozpin had no inkling of Qrow’s inner judgement. He was too busy comically looking around the floor, or roughly around the height where a pint-sized teen might stand.

“My brat?” he asked, smiling so wide the florescent lights glinted off his back teeth. He took another candy from his pocket and munched it, seemingly thoughtful. Qrow had heard the other scientists bitching about Ozpin bringing food into the labs, claiming that it would attract animals. Like they weren’t already surrounded by animals. Duh.

Qrow eyed the tank in the far corner of Ozpin’s office. Like every other room in Atlas it was a space with aquarium tendencies, though this tank wasn’t listed on any of the public tours. The fish in there were clearly some special experiment of Oz’s, with bright neon strips on top and transparent bodies below. Qrow caught a glimpse of fish skeleton and swallowed back a gag.

“Yes, your brat. He kept bugging me while I cleaned the entryway. Don’t you have a leash for him or something?” Qrow started emptying the trash bins while Oz watched, gaze so focused it seemed to sizzle a hole in the back of his uniform. He did a lot of that. Watching. Qrow had also heard the other nerds complaining about Ozpin’s overly observant nature, saying he wasn’t just intense, but downright creepy.  

Weren’t science types supposed to be curious about everything though? If Ozpin wanted to examine the slope of Qrow’s ass, then by all means.

He bent a little farther while picking up the next can, just in case that really was what Oz was interested in. Gray slacks and beige boots weren’t exactly the height of style, but Qrow was confident in his ability to work even the saddest of outfits. Besides, it wasn’t like Ozpin had room to judge. Today he had a stack of jelly bracelets on his left wrist and an octopus pin on the collar of his coat. The man was a hodge-podge of strange adornments, wearing each and every one like they were actually fashionable.

Months he’d been at this job and Qrow was still trying to figure out if the man was just that dense or just that indifferent. Besides, none of this even touched on Ozpin’s tendency to—

“I’m afraid not. I tried a leash of kelp once and Oscar slipped right out of it. He always was such a nimble little fry.”

—say weird shit.

Like father, like son. Apparently.

Qrow paused in the act of dumping five billion used tissues into his cart. He pinched the bridge of his nose. It was 10:00 at night and he didn’t have the energy to tackle whatever the hell a kelp leash was. Instead Qrow raised a single finger, letting it flop. “Nimble fry? Should I serve Oscar up with ketchup tomorrow?”

Which resulted in Ozpin throwing his head back and laughing—literally, like something out of a cartoon. His desk was a mess of papers covered in rainbow highlighting and the bookcase next to that was organized by color rather than genre. Or heaven forbid, last name. Between those and the fish (and his iffy fashion sense) Ozpin was surrounded by color in the otherwise sterile room. It was like this wherever he went. Ozpin blended in with the vibrant life of the tanks around them; always looking like he was more at home with the water just out of reach. Qrow supposed that was a good thing for a man who’d devoted his life to marine biology. It did make one wonder about stupid, sappy things though. Like fate maybe. What kind of man was born with eyes the color of sand and a smile that lit you up like a glimpse of the horizon?  

Sometimes Qrow wondered if he’d hear waves if he listened for Oz’s heartbeat. Would he taste salt on his lips?

Right now Qrow had neither. All he could smell was trash.

“A fry is a juvenile fish,” Ozpin said, still wiping tears from his eyes. “Ah, but you’re a fry too, aren’t you, Qrow? So very young. I wouldn’t expect you to know such things.”

Ozpin came up and actually gave his cheek a pat, like some doting grandmother humoring her young charge. Qrow got a close look at his unlined face and could see how soft his hair was, with none of the wiry texture that usually accompanied gray strands. For a man who loved teasing him about his age (not nearly as young as people tended to assume), Ozpin didn’t look a day over thirty himself. It was just one more of his oddities. Qrow had stopped bothering to count them long ago.  

Instead he leaned into Ozpin’s touch when his hand decided to rest on his cheek a moment, like some rare bird designing to visit. Ozpin’s fingers were cool as their pads lightly took in the texture of Qrow’s skin. He thought he saw Ozpin’s pupils dilating, blowing black against brown, though that may have just been a trick of the light.

“Is anyone gonna let me do some actual work around here?” he finally groused. A moment longer and Qrow might not have let Ozpin go.

“You should be very proud,” he said, voice carrying a touch of awe that didn’t sit right with the rest of the scene. Ozpin was looking at a bio waste bag. “You have such a wonderful job.”

Qrow stared. Then he looked down to make sure that yes, he was still a janitor and yes, those were drops of day-old coffee on his shoes. A smear of something vile-smelling on his sleeve. Everything else was disinfectant.

“I do?”

“Of course! Why, it’s a service. You keep things neat and sterile. You help make sure my family has a lovely home to keep coming back to.” Ozpin rested his hand on the tank and all the fish congregated around his reflection. Must think it was time for food or something. Qrow was used to the term ‘family’ getting thrown out when Ozpin was speaking and slimy, big-eyed fish were involved. That hardly fazed him nowadays.

The idea that someone found janitorial work impressive? That was something out of left field. Qrow could feel the blush now staining his cheeks.

“Guess I’m not the worst at it,” he muttered, taking up his bag again because damn, he couldn’t look Ozpin in the eye when he got like this. He was expecting another non-sequitor into the new book he was reading, or maybe the fact that Oscar had started collecting forks again (don’t ask). Instead Qrow felt a touch at the crook of his arm, as gentle as when Ozpin had touched his cheek. He stepped closer. 

“You truly are marvelous,” Ozpin whispered.

“…Do you hear the stuff that comes out of your mouth?”

“Oh yes. Sometimes I’m the only one who hears. Except Oscar, of course…and you. You’ve always heard me, haven’t you, Qrow? Tell me, do you enjoy the music?”

Must just mean music. In general, like. Qrow suspected that Ozpin was foreign, slipping articles in where none where needed because there certainly wasn’t any music playing now.

…Right?

He wasn’t holding the trash bag anymore. It was thrown haphazardly across his cart, now replaced with Ozpin’s cool, surprisingly smooth hand. Qrow stared  down at the appendage, reeling, wondering when that had happened and why. How many times was the man going to touch him tonight—freely—when he’d kept some sort of distance all these months before?  

“You do hear,” Ozpin murmured, seemingly to himself. “And Oscar is so very fond of you…why, we both are.” His contemplative look suddenly split like ripe fruit, revealing a blinding smile beneath. “Come, Qrow. Let me show you.”

“Show me what?”

Don’t ask too many questions. You’ll spoil the fun. Ozpin had said that to him once when Qrow had feigned an interest in all his nasty fish, figuring that maybe he’d have some sort of chance if there was a shared interest between them, even a faked one. Instead his words had been rebuffed, Ozpin seeming to stare through him to the lie beneath, finding it all very humorous. Qrow wasn’t surprised that his questions weren’t answered now.

Instead Ozpin led him down the long corridors of Atlas labs, their steps echoing and their breathing overly loud. The aquarium around them shifted with dark blues and greens. The fish seemed to follow, waiting.

It occurred to Qrow then that they were the only ones here. He was the late-night janitor. Ozpin was the workaholic who never seemed to sleep. The only thing that broke the isolation was Oscar’s voice drifting faintly down the hall as he sang that insistent song. Row, row, row, your boat. Where to though? They were the only ones here and suddenly that seemed as much a possibility as a threat.

Don’t forget to scream.

Qrow opened his mouth, but all that came out was a soft, devoted sigh. He stepped into the water.

…water?

“There you are,” Ozpin said. It came out as a coo. “Quite lovely, isn’t it?”

He’d taken him to one of the wading pools. Into the wading pool, where the wildlife swam free, providing the scientists with a place to get up close and personal with their research. A tiny part of Qrow’s mind expressed surprise that Ozpin had stepped in with him—he and Oscar had always had such a strange aversion to touching water, despite their love of it. Filled boots. Wet pants sticking to his ankles, now his thighs. A slightly larger part of him was sending off panicked signals, claiming that he never ever wanted to be this close to a bunch of fish. There were little guppy things scurrying about. Rays with long tails. What might have been a small shark. Everything circled around them as they moved forward, a whirlpool of all the things Qrow had wanted to avoid since taking this position.

Except for Ozpin. Qrow waded deeper, moving towards him and him alone.

“You heard, Qrow. Do you see too?”

Dumbly, Qrow stared down at their still clasped hands. There were membranes between Ozpin’s fingers now and when he smiled his teeth had grown sharper. He’d grown more.

There was a ledge where the pool connected to the tank, a space between the two worlds just large enough for the kinder animals to slip through. Or perhaps two men. One man and… Ozpin; who pulled Qrow under with a forceful, determined tug.

He’d always thought it would be boring under the water. All dark and silent. Far from it though. When Qrow first jerked in panic Ozpin was there, his tattoos, his scales bright within the pool’s gloom, casting little prisms between them. His tail pulled Qrow close while his pupils narrowed into slits. There were tender, clawed hands bowing his shoulders.

There was a moment of suspension then, poised somewhere between bobbing and swimming. Qrow caught Ozpin’s gaze and gave himself up to drowning in those eyes.

Well done, they seemed to say. A mouth filled with teeth and fierce possession leaned in for what might have been a kiss.

Qrow had always taken his chances. He met Ozpin halfway and what do you know.

He tasted salt.

[disneyphantomlover]

Just have my own theory on the Ch. 5 Ending

I will be referencing a few other theories as well as... You know. The ending. And I'd like to warn that I'm ridiculously high on cold medicine and been breathing difficult for a bit, so if I make no sense, I'm sorry.

I'll admit, I was kinda underwhelmed at the ending at first. It just seemed so normal and calm after the absolute bs that was the paddleboat, that fight with Sammy and the ink creatures, and that fucking Ink Demon. But it was just as unsettling and eerie. My first thought when I finished the end was "HOLY fuck we're in Hell. Or Purgatory." The achievement "To Hell and Back" didn't exactly help.

And then there's the going theory on we're experiencing a story, Joey's story, through our own eyes. Which I was a bit skeptical of. Not because it doesn't give closure to Chapter 5, because it does. But it doesn't give closure to the previous chapters. At least, not to me. There's no reason to have the evil Susie version of Alice jerk us around if she's not the "focus" of said story. Or for the Projectionist to be such an unsettling enemy both times we see him.

But then I was rethinking about some things. Like, certain times we've had updates to the game. Everyone remember how Chapter 1 looked in the very, very beginning? Boris was done completely different, with a different body type and held down differently. And while we joke about it now, the Ink Demon reveal went through major changes. From "bloop! Hey friend" to "okay you're terrifying and creepy looking" to "bitch just SHOVED ME BACK, WHAT THE HELL??".

Same with Chapter 2. Stuff changed and was added, like Jack Fain and Sammy moving. Chapter 3 was changed in frikkin game play because it started as Fetch Quest: The Game before they reduced how spread out the items were. And while not a whole lot changed in Chapter 4, I'm still a little salty at that fake-out fall that happened right as the game updated. Replaying it months later, the fakeout music is taken out.

And then, I realized something. The fact that us fans have played the game since the beginning, through all the updates, we got the best version of the story.

Why?

Because that ending is 30 plus years later, and we got what we wanted. Joey is alive, regretting his actions, but a man again. Henry has a family, and seems happy and on good terms with his old friend again. Wally is happy in Florida. Allison and Thomas are alive, married, and seemingly happy. Everyone is seemingly alive and got what they wanted and deserved: being free of the studio and living their lives.

What we have been witnessing in the games is Joey telling someone else, possibly the young voice we hear at the end who calls him "Uncle Joey", what occurred in the studio, and their perception and dreams of the story are what we see in the game.

That don't make sense? Well... Here lemme tell you a scenario. You're 7 years old. You just learned about the Ink Machine that's in Uncle Joey's apartment and the cartoon posters that decorate the walls. You know that Henry, who's your dad or grandpa or guardian in general, used to work for Uncle Joey and doesn't anymore. So you ask Uncle Joey what happened to the studio, and he tells you a story. Chapter 1. "When are you going to tell me the rest?" "When you're older."

Fastforward a few years, maybe you're 10 now. You've seen more of Bendy, and you've found more pictures or posters. Maybe even listened to some music from the studio and have a disembodied person to the name you see on the records. So Joey tells you the story from the beginning. You notice certain things about the story that are different. Some Joey embellished a little more, some you just didn't remember well. You learn of Sammy Lawrence, and you feel almost threatened by him because he knew something you didn't. You linger on the Alice Angel posters, who Joey has yet to even talk about. He finds it hard to for some reason...

Fastforward a few more years. You're about 14. You're older now, you know the world is cruel, and you finished reading Frankenstein in its entirety. You finally ask Joey about Alice Angel, and the sweet recorded voice of Susie Campbell. He's angry about her for some reason. So he starts his story from the beginning again. Again, you remember this story differently... Boris isn't some horrid beast, he's a nice but selfish wolf who didn't get what he deserved. You see him as a happy wolf at the end of Chapter 2, before you finally hear Chapter 3. This chapter is longer... So much longer you nearly fall asleep as Uncle Joey tells it. You learn of the scary trio known as the Butcher Gang, which seem sort of silly and useless to you then. Just disembodied characters with no voice or personality, just there to be difficult. You learn of Alice Angel, how she was marred by the Ink Demon, and she's nothing but a horrid, selfish, vain creature. And so is Susie apparently. It ends so abruptly and makes your gut wrench, you immediately ask Uncle Joey to continue. He would, but his health isn't so good and he needs his rest.

You visit him again when you're 15. You're impatient to learn what happened. So you visit him in the hospital, not intent on a story this time, but you miss Uncle Joey while he's gone. He's feeling a little better, but his story lacks this time. You still listen though. You learn about people you never heard of before, like Jack Fain. You worry about names you had heard of, like Grant Cohen. You learn how animated Sammy Lawrence was. He shortens Chapter 3 because you both are tired. Chapter 4, you learn about the ink creatures, how sorrowful they are. You learn about Bertrum Piedmont, and the plans Joey had for an amusement park. And you realize your Uncle Joey was a horrible, horrible person.

It takes you much longer to visit Uncle Joey again. You're 18 this time as you see him in his apartment. His sickness is still prominent, but he refuses to be stuck or helpless. It makes sense. You feel conflicted on seeing him, between the two versions you know of him. You know him as Uncle Joey, the man you've known since you were so little, and as Joey Drew, the man who made Bendy and the cartoons and cared nothing of his workers. So he tells you Chapter 5. You notice that he doesn't embellish or explain much here. You have to read between the lines to get clues on what is real or what is a story. Sammy Lawrence died years ago, you aren't as scared of him as you were when you were younger. The ink creatures seem overbearing and it hits you how many people were being held back by Mr. Lawrence's influence. You learn that Mr. Wally Franks, in typical fashion, started upsetting Mr. Lawrence in a ridiculous fashion that seems comical: stealing a chocolate cake from him. You recognize Mr and Mrs Connor are the savior angel and wolf who survived the longest. You've heard of them, but only through bits and pieces. And that's what this story is... Bits and pieces. But that's what you get for taking so long to visit Uncle Joey again... He's older now, his memory is off and that's your fault for taking so long. You won't get another Chapter from him though. You were told this story is only 5 Chapters long.

But then, you see Henry and Uncle Joey in the kitchen. And you decide them being happy now is more important then breaking open old wounds to find out why they were upset. They're better now and that's what matters. You got your story. You can always revisit it and find out more, like how Uncle Joey started his stories with Chapter 1 and continued it to the end.

Seeing it like this? This feels complete and gives closure. We can interpret what we want about what happened in the studio, so long as certain things are kept the same. So long as the general idea is kept. Because while its Joey's story, we see it differently. And we experience it differently. Maybe we are in Hell or Purgatory, revisiting this story in our final moments. Maybe we just experienced it because the Ink Machine was making it real. Or hell, maybe what happened in the studio was real, but it's so long a story it couldn't be fully explained in 5 Chapters. Either way, it makes me love Bendy and the Ink Machine even more. It's downright Shakespearean in the way we can interpret it, so long as certain elements are kept the same. And I'm so unbelievably thankful to themeatly, Mike Mood, and this incredibly talented team for telling such a story.

[goddamnitashlee]

King of the World Chapter Six | Marie

*smut in this chapter

Marie’s right leg bounces up and down while she sits on the staircase. Her nails are all gone, having bitten them off while waiting for Tom’s men to arrive. Tom is currently helping Harrison get cleaned up and bandaged, and she is having a hard time looking away even though she wants to. Harrison’s right eye is completely swollen shut, his nose is 100% broken, and his lip has a huge gash in it that he is having a hard time trying to stop bleeding. If she wasn’t staring at them she wouldn't have seen the huge bruise that covers his entire left side when he lifted up his shirt to show Tom.

Tom’s mood had shifted drastically once again; from anger and frustration to lustful to downright dangerous. Every once in a while she catches him clench his fists, wishing that the man was still here so he could kill him like he should have before. Marie knows she should be terrified. She has witnessed and experienced more danger and illegal shit than she has her entire life. After seeing Tom do what he was doing when she showed up should have Marie running for the hills, but for some reason every time she thinks about getting up and leaving without him she can feel her heart clench. How could she feel this way so fast? She wasn’t one to believe in love at first sight, but after today she might reconsider it.

Lost in thought, she didn’t hear the footsteps upstairs until they were right behind her. She scootches out of the way and lets the multiple men pass through. They are big; muscles protruding out from their shirt sleeves and at least 6 feet tall. There are only 3 of them and she isn’t sure why but she expected there to be more. Isn’t there always a bunch of men in mob movies? They go up to Tom and each shakes his hand. Marie wonders how Tom got to be in charge, how someone smaller than these men came to be their leader.

Tom explains the situation of what happened, thankfully leaving out the part of them having sex right upstairs. She can see the anger come across each of the men’s faces, and she knows that when they find Brandon he is dead.

After Tom explains everything to the men he tells them to meet at his place because he needs to take her home. She takes that as her cue to stand up and Tom meets her. They walk up the stairs in silence and after walking outside Marie takes a deep breath in. The fresh air feels fantastic after feeling trapped in that place. He takes her hand and she lets him guide her to a car the next block over. It’s her dream car. Of course. Because the way she feels about him already wasn’t creepy enough.

She gets in his black 2018 Jeep Wrangler and after she buckles her seatbelt he starts the drive to her place. The silence is nice, it gives her time to think. To wonder what happens next. Is he going to explain everything to her like he said he would, or is he going to disappear and leave her hanging? She hopes he at least has the decency to answer her questions before leaving though because there is no way she is going to be able to go back to normalcy after what she experienced tonight.

They get to her place and he shuts the car off after pulling into a parking spot. He turns at looks at her.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course you can.”

They get out of the jeep and make their way inside. It’s not that late at night, only about 11, so when they enter her apartment and it appears that the other girls are already in their rooms with the lights off, she is thankful. They go to her room and the instant she turns on her light she cringes. The floor is more clothes than carpet, and her desk is scattered with empty chip bags and her notes from studying the past week. Her next thought is that her room is extremely small compared to Tom’s and she wonders if he’s thinking the same thing.

Tom surprises her by laughing and making himself at home by laying down on her bed. He pats the space next to him and she goes to him after turning the light off. He pulls her into his side and all negative thoughts vanish. It’s quiet for a few minutes, and she watches Tom as he takes in the room around him. In front of the bed is her dresser with a TV on it. Next to that is her desk with a lamp on that illuminates the room. On the entire wall are posters with different bands and quotes. On one side of her bed is her nightstand that has nothing on it but a picture of her and her parents and brother. The other side has a tall white bookshelf that is overflowing with books. Behind her bed and covering most of the wall is a huge purple tapestry that matches her bedspread.

After examining her room Tom focuses back on Marie.

“Okay, fire away. What do you want to know?”

“Everything. Start at the beginning.”

“Well, I was born on June 1st, 1996.”

“You know what I meant,” she replies with an eye roll and a light slap to his chest.

Tom chuckles and she can feel the vibration of it with her head laying on his chest.

“My dad was originally the leader and he kept this part of his life well hidden from my brothers and me for a really long time. I honestly have no idea how he did it, considering how you found out literally 2 days after knowing me. But 4 and a half years ago my dad found out he had stage 4 lung cancer and he told me. He told me what he really did for a living and that once he died that it was my responsibility to take over. I had been accepted to NYU only a couple weeks before and I didn’t want to not go, but how do you tell your dying dad you don’t want to continue his legacy and make him proud? But my dad only wanted to see me succeed and actually didn’t even want me to not go to school either. So him and his right-hand man, Harrison’s dad actually, showed me the ropes quickly so I could have that under control by the time school started. And that’s pretty much it. I’ve learned how to juggle everything at once and I don’t want to toot my own horn, but I’m pretty fucking great at it.”

By the end of his story, Tom has a sad smile on his face and Marie tightens her arms around him.

“I’m so sorry about your dad Tom.”

“It isn’t as hard anymore. I mean I miss him all the time and wish he was here to help me when I’m not sure what decision to make because I know he would know what to do, but I know he’s here in his own way guiding me.”

Marie is silent, not sure what to say after that. She has a million questions but asking them right now doesn’t feel right. She begins to lightly draw on his stomach with her fingers and he begins to run his fingers through her hair. She’s too comfortable with this dangerous man and knows that this probably won’t end well, but for right now she is content with where she is and who she is with.

A couple minutes go by in silence and then Tom asks, “What, no questions?”

“Are you sure you want to answer anymore?”

“Of course, I told you I would tell you anything you wanna know.”

“Have you killed anyone?”

“Wow okay, diving right in I see. Uh… yes, Marie, I’ve killed someone.”

She suspected he had, so the shock isn’t as great, but it still is a horrifying feeling hearing someone straight up tell you that they’ve killed someone while you’re laying in bed with them.

“Okay, but why? And how many?”

“A few, and because they’ve come after my men and me. Marie, I would never let another person hurt my men. I am responsible for them and I will protect them at all costs. You too now. Your safety, my family’s safety, and my men’s safety is the most important thing to me. If someone comes at us I will not stop until that danger is taken away.”

She can hear the authority and sureness in his voice, which makes her feel really proud and she isn’t sure why.

“Do you like it? Killing people?”

“Killing people, no. I never want to take someone’s life away. That is someone’s husband, dad, brother, or even a best friend. But if I’m being honest, hurting someone can be such a high. Having that control over someone and knowing that you’re showing them what they have done is wrong and that from now on they’ll fear you. And that fear can take you so many places and get you so much in return, but at the same time, that fear can be dangerous. I’m terrified that we won’t find Brandon before he finds someone else. His fear of us could be my downfall.”

She can’t even begin to understand how hurting someone could make a person feel good inside, and she doesn’t know if she can be with someone who just admitted that to her. On the other hand, though, she doesn’t want to be away from him. She sounds like such a cliche girl from the fanfiction she reads in her spare time, but she can’t help it. There’s something between them that she wants to explore, regardless of who Tom is and what he does.

“Are you okay? You’re really quiet…” she can hear the sadness in his voice.

“Sorry, yeah, I’m okay, just thinking.”

“What are you thinking? I just told you the darkest aspect of my life, I think I deserve to know what’s going on in that head of yours.” He sounds scared, thinking she is going to leave him.

“I’ve decided that I’m gonna stay. I don’t think I can ever accept you killing someone, regardless of what they’ve done to you, but you were right earlier, there’s something here with us and I want to explore it.”

He grabs her tighter to him, so close that there is no space between them anymore. She can feel him give her a kiss on her head and she closes her eyes.

“You don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that. Of course, I wouldn’t be mad if you decided to leave. I wouldn’t ask you to stay after knowing what I’ve told you and seeing what you’ve seen, but I’m so fucking happy you’re not going anymore.”

She gives him a kiss back on his chest. She grabs the blankets and covers them with it and then snuggles back into him.

“So why didn’t Harrison’s dad become the leader if he was your dad’s right-hand man?”

“He didn’t want to do this without him. So he told Harrison in the same way my dad told me. He let Harrison know what I was going to be and if he would do the honorable thing and stand by my side. I knew Harrison would do it, he’s my best friend and together we’re a force of nature. There’s nothing we can’t do and no one we can’t beat. I honestly don’t know if I would be where I am today if Harrison decided he didn’t want to be in this with me. I probably would be dead, to be honest.”

“Are you sure you want to be with me? Cause it sounds like you’re in love with Harrison.”

He doesn’t answer right away and instead surprises her by turning on top of her with both arms on the side of her face.

“If  I was in love with Harrison would I do this?” He kisses her, hard.

She breaks away. “I dunno, you might.”

He laughs and moves his head down to her neck. He starts to suck on the spot behind her ear he found earlier that knows gets her going.

“How about now? You believe I’m not in love with Harrison yet?”

“Nope, still not convinced.”

“That’s alright darling, I got all night to convince you,” he says and begins to kiss lower and lower.

Yeah, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon she thinks to herself as Tom reaches the inside of her thigh. It feels weird since she still has jeans on, but as if he can read her mind he unbuttons them and gets them off her in record time. Since he ruined her panties earlier there is nothing in between her open legs and his tongue.

He licks a stripe right up her folds and begins to suckle on her clit. She throws her head back and puts her hands in his curls. The harder he sucks the more she pulls which in turn makes him suck harder. She’s already about to cum when he puts two fingers inside her and begins to pump them in time with his sucks. She can feel the coil tighten in her stomach and is about to let go when the thought of him killing someone flashes quickly through her mind and the coil disappears.

He can sense the shift in her and he stops.

“What happened? You were almost there.”

“I know I’m sorry I don’t know what happened.”

“Don’t lie to me Marie, ever. I want nothing but honesty between us.”

She covers her eyes with her arm, embarrassed about what’s happening right now and a little guilty for thinking what she thought during a moment like that.

“Hey, whatever happened it’s okay, I won’t be mad,” he says as he moves her arm away and looks down at her.

“I just imagined you killing someone and my orgasm went away.”

He sighs and frowns. “I figured. I’m sorry. I can go if you want.”

“No, no that’s not what I want at all. I’m the one who's sorry. Can we try again?”

Instead of answering he smirks down at her and begins to lightly move his finger up and down her opening. He slowly puts one finger in and goes back to sucking on the spot on her neck. She clears all thoughts in her head and instead focuses on the sensation. He puts another finger in and uses his thumb to rub down on her clit. She can feel the tightening in her stomach again and probably so she can’t think of those thoughts again, Tom uses his other hand to pull her shirt down and pinch her nipple in his fingers. All of this happening at the same time puts her over the edge and she lets go.

Tom pulls his fingers out and pulls her shirt off. He takes his clothes off and pulls her into his side and covers them up with her blanket.

“I don’t know about you but I’m ready for bed.”

“You don’t want anything in return?”

“You did it earlier, it’s all good Marie. All I want now is to end this day and fall asleep with you in my arms.”

She snuggles into his side and they are both asleep in minutes.

[potrix-the-queerschlaeger]

(Not So) Silent Night

A/N: This is all @auripigmentum‘s fault. She sent me a screenshot of a German personal ad, and went, "Imagine Stiles and Peter." And I did imagine. And then I wrote. Because I'm weak. Damn you!

“Santa Claus, 42, looking for a sweet angel, 18+, with big or small Christmas ornaments for not so silent nights together. Tree stand available and ready. No Santa hat, no action.”

Several people swivel around to glare at Stiles, but, really, he can’t be held responsible for this. Sure, a waiting room isn’t the best place to suddenly burst out laughing, but it’s totally the fault of whoever laid out the latest issue of Bella Diva. It’s not like Stiles normally makes a habit of buying and reading women’s magazines.

Apart from the occasional Cosmo. The quizzes are always hilarious.

Once the pregnant woman across from him has gone back to scrolling on her tablet, and the two older ladies in the corner have started talking again, Stiles sneaks a quick picture of the personal ad with his phone. He’s curious what kind of guy would put something like this out there for anyone to see, and Lydia and Ally will definitely get a kick out of it.

He forgets about the whole thing when his dad steps out of the doctor’s office, jumping up to demand a detailed update. His dad rolls his eyes, and grabs Stiles’ by the back of the neck to steer him outside, but dutifully lists Doctor Yukimura’s findings.

They go out for burgers—actual meat, but no bacon or cheese, because his dad’s cholesterol is down, but not down that much—before his dad has to head back to the station, and Stiles has to go home to change for his shift at the Beacon Bean. Working at a coffee shop is about as terrible as Stiles had always imagined it to be, but it pays well as far as summer jobs go, and he gets to drink as much free coffee as his stomach can stand, so it could be worse.

The after dinner rush is brutal, as usual on a Friday, but things calm down by nine, and get downright boring after eleven. There are a few high schoolers still hanging around, someone who looks hungover already sitting at the bar, a few business people with their laptops and serious expressions scattered around, and a few women getting ready for a night out in the booth in the corner.

No one has ordered anything in over half an hour. Stiles entertains himself by spamming Scott over text, but gets ditched the moment Kira arrives home. He sends Scott four whole rows of grumpy emojis, then opens his pictures to find something to annoy Isaac with. He snorts when he comes across the ad again. It gets posted in their group chat, then he saves the number that came with it in his contacts under Creepy Santa Guy. After a moment of hesitantly chewing his lower lip, he hits call.

Stiles and boredom have, historically, never been a good match. And what’s the worst that could happen, anyway?

Watch out for the break. Or read the rest of it on my [AO3].

It only rings twice before a smooth, slightly harried voice demands, “Yes?”

Only, it’s not just coming through the speaker, but also from the armchair across the room. Stiles’ eyes widen when he realises what’s happening, and he fumbles with his phone to hang up, nearly dropping it in the process.

The movement’s enough to get Creepy Santa Guy’s attention. He lowers his own phone, blinks once, startled, then looks over at Stiles, and raises a pointed eyebrow.

“Shit,” Stiles says.

The guy’s second eyebrow joins his first, and really, shit. Stiles should probably do some damage control. He’s already gotten two reprimands this month, and sure, they were both from their famously bitchy regular—one because his coffee wasn’t hot enough anymore after he added a shitload of milk too it, and the other because Stiles was too chatty early in the morning—but this guy looks like the sort of person who could actually get Stiles in trouble.

Rich, definitely, going by the fancy three-piece suit. Intense blue eyes, perfectly styled hair, thick, gorgeous neck, nice hands, expensive briefcase. Probably a lawyer.

So, of course, the thing Stiles blurts out after walking over to him with an apology cupcake is, “You’re not what I expected.”

The guy leans back in his armchair, and crosses his legs, all casual, looking amused. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, waving a hand at the guy’s—at his everything. “I mean, no offence, but I was thinking more of a, like, midlife crisis look?”

That makes the guy purse his lips. “And why would that be?”

“Well, you know.” Stiles shrugs, but plops down in the chair across from the guy. It’s not like he has anything better to do, and this has proven to be way more interesting than cleaning cups or restocking the teas so far. “Those are usually the people who go for ads like that. And, dude, come on, you have to admit it was kind of sleazy.”

And that’s putting it nicely, honestly.

“What ad?” the guy growls—actually growls, and Stiles’ absolutely does not shiver at the sound, nope—leaning forward, and narrowing his eyes at Stiles.

“Your ad?” When the guy just keeps looking at Stiles, uncomprehending, Stiles fishes out his phone, opening the picture, and slides it across the table towards him. “This ad?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” the guy mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. He reaches for his own phone with an apologetic, “Just a moment, please.”

When whoever he’s calling answers, all the guy says is, “You are dead to me, Cora,” and Stiles just about hears some gleeful cackling before the guy ends the call.

Stiles winces in sympathy. “Angry ex?”

“Meddling niece,” the guy says, then corrects, “Well, nieces. And a nephew.” He huffs, and rolls his eyes, but he sounds more fond than pissed. “Family.”

“I sense a story there,” Stiles prompts, waggling his eyebrows. He leans back in his chair, and gestures around the shop, now even more empty. “And I’ve got time.”

The guy takes a bite of his cupcake, studying Stiles as he chews slowly. “My sister’s kids. They’ve somehow gotten it into their heads that I need to settle down, and have been trying to set me up for months now.”

Stiles shoots a sceptical look at the picture of the ad still displayed on his phone. The guy laughs, and licks some icing from his lips, then smirks when he catches Stiles staring.

“I assume they’ve grown tired of my lack of cooperation, and decided to get creative,” he says. Then, sighing mock wistfully, he adds, “At least some of the dick pics I got when they secretly installed Grindr on my phone were actually usable.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles chokes out through his surprised laughter.

The guy grins, eyes crinkling, and holds out his hand. “Peter Hale. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he glances down at Stiles’ badge, “Stiles. At least they got my type right.”

Stiles can actually feel his cheeks heat. “I don’t know why your family thinks you need help picking up.”

Peter strokes his thumb over the back of Stiles’ hand, humming softly, mouth quirked mischievously. His voice is low, almost predatory when he asks, “When does your shift end?”

Liam, displaying some impeccable timing, walks through the door right then. Stiles has to clear his throat, which makes Peter chuckle, all self-satisfied, before he manages to say, “As soon as he’s settled in.”

“Well, then.” Peter lets go of Stiles’ hand and gets up, picking up his laptop to shove it into his briefcase. “I’m parked around the corner.”

With that, and a smile full of promise, he turns around, and leaves.

* * *

Later, draped across Peter’s chest, still panting, sweaty and sticky, and sore in all the right places, Stiles slurs, “I’ll sit on your lap any time you want.”

“Ho ho ho,” Peter says, deadpan, then proceeds to kiss the dumb laughter right out of Stiles’ mouth.

[justadram]

Pretty in Pink

Jon x Sansa fic written for Tinne. Thank you for your donation to help fight Nazis!

Request: Riverdale AU

Nan’s Chocklit Shoppe wasn’t just a place to eat burgers and drink shakes. Nan’s was an institution. Around long enough that no one in Winterfell could remember there ever not being a Nan’s. Or a time when Nan wasn’t behind the counter in her white apron and stiffly starched hat. Nan’s was a place for celebrations—Direwolves football victories, straight A’s, a new driver’s license—as much as a place where failures could be soothed in the light cast from the buzzing neon sign hung above its door.

A place for secrets kept right out in the open.

“Five minutes,” Nan calls from behind the counter, wet rag in hand, announcing how long they have before they need to find somewhere else to waste time.

Margaery leans forward in the booth, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Let’s all go to back to my house. Watch creepy movies and pretend to be scared.”

“Sorry, I really should get going. I’ve got homework to do,” Sansa replies with a little shrug of her shoulders.

“On a Saturday? Come on, Sans, that’s a little too dedicated, don’t you think?” Margaery asks. “It’s a Saturday,” she insists again, bumping Robb’s side to get him to agree with her. “Save your homework for tomorrow. Or last-minute Monday before school like the rest of us degenerates.”

Robb frowns. “You are always working on the paper or homework lately, and you’ve got Jon working overtime too. We hardly see you.”

“You know we’re busy working on the Lannister story.”

The bizarre case of twins too overly fond of each other, one gone missing, and the other turned up missing a hand has rocked their sleepy town. Sometimes they work on it together well past school hours. Sometimes when they’re in the school’s newspaper’s room with the door shut and the yellowing shade pulled down, they’re not working on the story.

Sansa reaches across the narrow space between herself and Jon and rests her hand on his leg. Even through the stiff denim, he can feel how warm she is. He presses his lips together and breathes in through his nose.

He’s known Sansa since they were five, but he only recently found out that despite her façade of expertly controlled perfection, she likes to take risks. Marg and Robb don’t know about the two of them, but that doesn’t stop her from sliding her hand up his thigh across the booth from them.

“Jon?” Margaery asks with a hopeful lift of her brows. “We’ve got all the Ben & Jerry’s you can stomach in our freezer.”

Sansa looks over at Jon’s empty glass, fogged with the remains of a chocolate malt. There was a cheeseburger and double order of fries too, and that was his second dinner.

“She’s speaking your language, Jon. Movies and food,” Robb doesn’t wrongly point out. “You gonna join us?”

He could, but he has other things to occupy his every waking thought now.

He covers Sansa’s hand and squeezes, stopping the drag of her hand right before he’d have to excuse himself, and clears his throat. “Can’t, I’m afraid. I uh… I told my dad I’d be home early tonight.”

Robb pulls a face. It’s no wonder—it’s the lamest lie he’s ever told. No one would ever believe Jon’s dad cares whether he’s home early or stays out all weekend. He just can’t entirely think straight.

“Another night maybe,” Sansa says with a tilt of her head that sends her glossy red ponytail swinging.

He looks sideways at her, sweet smile and wide blue eyes giving nothing away. He’s a mess, but she lies with the breezy ease of a Hollywood actress.

“Well, come on Robbykins. We won’t let that stop us,” Margaery says, flicking her hand to motion Robb to move on out of the booth.

He does without complaint. Robb is good like that. Compliant. Especially with girls. It’s why Jon and probably everyone else in Winterfell assumed Robb and Sansa would end up together. Good kids, picture of small town downright upright upbringings, the cheerleader and the football captain. Perfect match.

It’s what Sansa wanted, and Jon never let himself ever think he might come between them. His was the supporting role. Jon is from the wrong side of town. His dad is a Southside Dragon. His mom disappeared. He’s got abandonment issues and social anxiety. Basically, he’s the weird kid in a John Hughe’s movie.

Sansa waves goodnight, as they shrug their coats on. Jon smiles awkwardly. Robb good-naturedly invites them one last time, which they decline in too eager unison. It should be a dead giveaway.

But if either of them thinks it’s strange that Jon is left sitting alone with Sansa, the Molly Ringwald of Winterfell, they don’t show it. Robb and Margaery walk out of Nan’s without a glance back. Most people are too consumed with themselves to really see other people.

Sansa’s different. She’d have to be to see something in him he doesn’t even see in himself.

And Jon likes to think he sees Sansa for who she really is too. Not the picture-perfect darling of Winterfell High, but the gentle girl, the one that cares even for the misfit, sharing her sandwich, because his mom forgot again, and pretending she isn’t hungry, so he wouldn’t have to feel bad about it. The girl who takes risks, because being too perfect is a strain that has left her with hairline cracks in her porcelain skin. Jon doesn’t mind. Like kintsugi, it’s only made her more beautiful.

“You two kids got a ride home?” Nan asks, hinting that five minutes have come and gone after the door jingles with Robb and Marg’s exit.

“Yeah, we’re fine. Thanks, Nan,” Sansa says, smiling over at the Chocklit Shoppe’s proprietor until she turns to flick the lights off behind the counter.

With Nan’s back to them, Sansa lifts her hand and cups Jon’s cheek, gaze flicking from his eyes back down to his lips and up again in a silent request. He can take risks too. Especially the kind that lead to kissing Sansa’s. Anyway, Nan probably has better things to worry about than which customer kisses which.

He really can’t bring himself to care, as her thumb rubs over his jawline, possessive and daring, and his hand finds its way under the hem of her pink cardigan, trimmed at the neck with a row of pearls. His hand flattens to draw her in close, press her just a hair more firmly against him. He can’t get enough. Not of the way she feels or smells or tastes. Even as he pulls back, the quickening of his heartbeat begs for more.

Later, somewhere more private, and until then, he opens his eyes at the last second, just to see her lashes fanned against her cheek and fix it in his mind.

Because he still can’t believe that this time, the outcast got the girl.

[feelingsdusk]

Count to five, do it again (chapter 5)

"Oh, fuck," Stiles lets out again.

"Swear-jar," she repeats wetly.

"Yes, yes, sorry," he apologizes, still shaken.

But fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck on a flying fucking fuck. Just how long has this kid been here, alone? And where's the mother?! Just, fuck. Stiles isn't any good with children, he should call Donna. Donna looks like the kind of person that can deal with the apocalypse calmly, he's sure she can manage a little girl that's been alone for who knows how long, waiting for her mother in the deserted coffee shop of a ghost town.

"Ok... ok." He swallows thickly. But Donna isn't here, so this is just another thing he has to deal with today. He can do this. "When did you see mommy last? Wait, first, what's your name?"

Great start Stiles, really. Get it together, dammit.

"Mommy said I can't talk to strangers," she says. "I can talk to policemen but you aren't one."

How in the seven levels of hell is Stiles supposed to answer that? Ok? Good observational skills? A lengthy explanation about how the uniform doesn't always imply that the one wearing it is really a policeman? Or another even longer explanation about how the lack of uniform doesn't always mean that the person isn't one either? Yeah, no. He hopes that this kid's mom didn't teach her what Stiles' taught him: to kick. Hard. And then run screaming for help.

Not that it would help in their current situation.

Ok, focus Stiles. When was the last time he took his Adderall? No, no, no. Focus, Stiles. Back to the kid.

"Ah... I'm the son of one, if that counts?" he replies awkwardly because it's worth a shot. He can't just snatch her and he can't leave her here either. She frowns distrustfully and squints her eyes at Stiles. "Do you know who the sheriff is?"

She nods. "He came to class to talk about stranger danger."

Oh, the irony. Her lips wobble again and Stiles hastens to speak before she starts crying on him. "He's my dad. Look, I have pictures if you want?"

He takes out his phone and he loads one of them. Then he leaves it on the floor, pushes it towards her, and backs off with his hands up. He puts a table between them and then sits. The girl looks wary but she takes it. Then she spends the next seconds dissecting Stiles with her eyes and Stiles fights to keep himself from fidgeting.

She comes near very slowly, her little shoes clicking softly against the tiled floor. Every few steps she pauses, as if gauging if she has to run away or not. Which is a little weird, because kids that young aren't that cautious and Stiles has just proven himself to be the next best thing to a policeman. Even if it's only by association.

She stops right in front of him but doesn't give the phone back. She clutches it tightly in her little hands as she bites her lip anxiously.

"Can I call mom and dad, please?" she asks with pleading eyes as she extends the hand with the phone.

Stiles groans inwardly. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. He's about to break her little heart. There's not only the problem that, unless her mom or dad are trapped inside Beacon Hills, they won't pick up, but he's sure that she won't know their number by memory. He tries to think a way to distract her, but he keeps drawing a blank. Several moments later, she's still looking at him expectantly, so Stiles calls defeat because he can't get out of this one.

He takes in a fortifying breath. "Do you know the number?"

Her eyes widen and her mouth opens and closes a couple of times. Her expression falls and it's heartbreaking. Then she throws herself at Stiles and bursts out crying.

Stiles sighs.

---

The kid is completely out. She cried herself to sleep and then conked out like the dead. He wonders how long has she kept herself awake, waiting for her parents. And where was she before? Did she hide when Stiles checked the coffee shop that first time? She's little and she seems smart... And obviously her parents taught her to be extremely wary of strangers. Stiles wouldn't be surprised if she told him she hid in a cupboard when he showed up.

It has gone dark outside and the lamps are casting eerie shadows everywhere. Just exactly what he wanted to avoid. He's not looking forward to walking to the hospital for the next ten minutes at all.

He hoists her up and goes to the entrance. He's about to leave when he hesitates. He mulls it over and decides to leave a note in plain sight to let the mom know that her daughter is well if she's actually inside Beacon Hills right now. He's wary about giving their location out, so he pins the paper on the message board near the entrance with one of the bows of her dress hiding what's written on it. The mom will recognize it immediately but it will be otherwise overlooked. He doesn't know if the precaution is really necessary, but it's better to be safe than sorry.

Then he braces himself and leaves the coffee shop.

The silence that's already creepy during the daytime is downright terrifying at night. He thinks about taking back alleys to remain hidden on his way to the hospital, but that would make things worse. There are more places to hide and pounce from in those. Never mind that they're much darker too. At this point he doesn't know what's better. If he walks near the walls to stay somewhat hidden, it will be easier for someone to grab him from side streets, and if he walks smack dab in the middle, everyone will be able see him.

His stomach starts getting tied in knots at the thought. He tightens his grip on the kid and looks at the bike. Can he ride it with her asleep in his arms without falling? Thunder explodes very near and he startles, letting out a muttered curse. Fuck it, he'll make it possible.

He hoists her higher as he mounts the bike. He tries to control his anxiety, but his hands are starting to shake. Breathe, breathe, breathe, dammit. Ok, now where does he put the bat? He's not leaving it behind. It takes some skill, but he keeps it in the hand of the arm he's using to keep the kid secured.

Fuck, he has a bad feeling about this and he can't shake it off no matter how hard he tries to convince himself he's just being paranoid. He gets moving. He rides on the sidewalk for a few meters before he can't take it anymore. He pushes the bike directly into the road and starts pedalling as if his life depends on it. Then he starts hearing it. Something is following them and their footsteps are soft, but not that soft that Stiles can't hear them.

He thinks about trying to locate the source, because maybe this is like with Marion. He slows down a bit but then he sees the reflection on the edge of his vision. Whatever is following them, it's doing it on all fours. His panic rises and he pedals faster and faster. The footsteps follow right behind. He takes a sharp turn at the hospital's street and the kid startles awake. She panics too and he tries to shush her because her voice is drowning the sound made by their pursuer. He doesn't know where they are now and he can't stop to check. She struggles and makes it worse, but Stiles is stronger. He gets off the bike just before he reaches the door, almost stumbling but catching himself. He fumbles with the door panicky and finally manages to get inside and to close the door behind himself.

He looks at the street and finds it empty.

His heart pounds and pounds in his chest and he feels dizzy. The kid is in hysterics, pounding at him with her little fists. He's shaking so violently that he doesn't know how he's keeping himself up. His vision starts swimming.

The street remains empty.

He doesn't let himself be fooled. The kid is struggling still so he tries shushing her again, telling her hurriedly about the note he left for her mom as he rushes to the elevator. She finally seems to notice how frightened he is and how he keeps looking outside, and falls silent, her eyes going to the street too, looking for a threat that even he can't see right now. He hits and hits the call button but it doesn't respond.

Stiles curses lowly and looks towards the street again, his heart in his throat and about to choke him. He runs towards the stairs and starts climbing them. Second floor, third floor, stair after stair, his legs trembling from the effort. He pushes himself further and nearly sobs when he hears footsteps behind him. It spurns him to run faster and faster, his chest heaving painfully. Fourth floor, fifth floor.

He slams against the crystal door and tries to open it, but it won't budge. He hits the door frantically again and again.

"DONNA, THOMAS," he shouts out terrified. The kid is openly crying now. "OPEN THE DOOR NOW!"

Donna rushes over and pushes at the desks they've placed to protect themselves further. The footsteps come closer and closer. He sets the kid down and behind himself, brandishing the bat with violently shaking arms. He hears the door finally opening at his back. He unceremoniously grabs the kid and gets inside, slamming the door shut.

Just as he's closing the door, it shows up. Monstrously big, a hulking mass covered in dark fur, with big, sharp claws in its paws and even bigger and sharper teeth in its mouth.

"Stiles? What's wrong?! Who's that kid?"

"What's wrong?!" he shouts incredulously, his breaking voice high and hysterical. "Can't you see it?! That's what the wall is for! Oh my god!"

Thomas peers out and looks confusedly at Stiles. Donna pries Stiles' hand from the crying kid's shoulder, pushing her towards Thomas, and then turns towards Stiles.

"Did he hurt you anywhere?" she asks concerned.

"No, no," Stiles breathes out. "It followed me and- Oh my god, the wall... The wall..."

"Stiles, you need to breathe," she says calmly.

"What?!"

He looks at Donna and then at the beast. It's not moving and its eyes are glowing blue eerily. He swallows the nausea and brandishes the bat again. He has no doubt that the doors won't hold when it tries to push its way in.

"Stiles, please look at me," she says firmly.

Stiles doesn't understand. There's a beast that could (will!) kill them right there and she wants Stiles to look at her?! Stiles wants to live. He's messed up and in his darkest moments he's wanted to give up, but he persevered. Through pain and unhappiness, he pushed forward. He wants to live. He wants to find his dad and to get out of here. He wants to go back to his life full of struggles and little victories.

"Please, look at me," she repeats when he doesn't. "This isn't working. Can you please come into the light?"

What? What does she...? Is she talking to the beast?! Stiles jumps back when it takes a few steps forward. His heart speeds up even more and his hands shake from the adrenaline.

"Come on, Stiles. Breathe for me," she continues, ignoring his outburst. "It's just a man. And you," she whispers harshly to the beast. Stiles can't understand what's happening. "You should have shown yourself! Look what you did, he's having a psychotic break!"

"I'm not- Why are you- What are you doing?! Can't you see? Why are you talking to a monster?!"

"Stiles, it's not real. Look at us. We see a man. It's a man. Look at him."

Stiles turns to look. He sees a beast. Big, bulky, with too many teeth and very sharp claws. Stiles shakes his head. Is he...? Is he like his mom? Is he losing his mind? No, no, no. No. He breathes.

In.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Out.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

In.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Out.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

"Yes, that's it," Donna encourages him.

"You're not right in the head, man. Maybe the wall's to keep your crazy in."

"Thomas," Donna snaps. "Keep your mouth shut. Maybe this wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been a coward and let a kid do what an adult should have done."

Stiles ignores them. He's strong. He can do this. He's exhausted and he's been pushing his limits all day. He just has to breathe and calm down.

In.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Out.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

In.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Out.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Ok, ok. He has this. He can do this. He opens his eyes and looks outside.

The beast is still there. Their eyes lock for a long minute and Stiles trembles. He looks at Donna and Thomas, and then at the kid. She's the only one that looks shaken up... but it's because of Stiles. She's looking at Stiles warily, not at the beast.

Stiles swallows thickly. The beast is only staring at Stiles. It looks curious and assessing. It's difficult to tell with all the fur, but it looks like it's also frowning. Stiles bites his lip and walks towards the door until he's facing it.

"I apologize for startling you," it... he speaks. Stiles jumps slightly. "You were carrying a child that looked like she didn't want to go with you, so I followed."

Stiles frowns and the beast... the man smiles slightly, teeth gleaming with the fluorescent lights. Donna comes near and places a hand on his shoulder. Stiles jumps startled.

"Stiles," she starts saying before frowning. She takes a little flashlight out and inspects his eyes. "Your pupils are really dilated... Be honest with me, did you take something?"

"What?! No!" he exclaims affronted.

"Have you stopped at all to rest today?"

"I... No?"

She sighs. "No wonder then. You barely slept an hour too." She turns towards Thomas. "Let him in. And you're going to sleep right now, Stiles. I assume that since you didn't call, that means you found no exit or anything important?" He shakes his head slowly. "Then we'll talk tomorrow."

Stiles wants to protest as she pulls him, gently but firmly, towards the bed next to Marion. He eyes the pill that she hands him warily but he swallows it down. As he's falling asleep, he feels the beast's (the man's, Stiles!) glowing blue eyes on him.

In.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Out.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

In.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Out.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Fi...

---

When he wakes up, he's disoriented and he feels as if a semi rolled over him again and again. He turns his head to the side groggily, taking in the room absently. Marion is still asleep on the bed next to him, Thomas and Donna are by the reception talking softly. The beast is sitting on the chair next to his bed, leafing through a battered looking book, and the kid is playing with a ball half-heartedly next to it.

Stiles blinks and swallows. He closes his eyes tightly and opens them again. The beast is still a beast and no one else seems to be seeing it.

"What are you?" he mutters because he refuses to think that it's him that...

He's not crazy. He's not like her. He's not. He won't stop being Stiles to be like her, hurting the people that she used to love when she was still Mom and not a her.

"No, dear boy," he replies with a grotesque smile that shows too many teeth, "what are you?"

He shouldn't have been able to even hear Stiles.

"You're not human," he accuses it, his voice no higher than a harsh whisper. The kid looks at him warily and he forces himself to ignore it because how many times did he look at her like that? And Stiles is not like her. "That wall is there because of you."

"Are you sure about that?" it lilts nonchalantly. It sounds weird coming from it, deep, guttural and as if coming from vocal cords that shouldn't be able to form words. "Neither are you."

"What?"

"Oh, so you don't know what you are. Interesting."

And with that, it rises from the chair and leaves a gaping Stiles behind.

---

Neither are you.

Neither are you.

---

"A crash?" Donna repeats frowning. "Well, it does make sense with the type of wound that she has. It's actually what I initially thought may have caused it, but given the circumstances..."

"So there's no monster? All this," Thomas cuts in, motioning to the barricade scoffing, "was for nothing?"

He's scowling at Stiles, as if it's his fault or he deceived them, which is ridiculous and insulting. Stiles scowls right back fiercely. He's not taking any shit from that jackass. Yesterday he spent more than thirteen hours outside alone because Thomas couldn't get his shit together. He doesn't have the right to reproach him about anything.

"And how ironic would that be, because here you were, hiding like a scared mouse," he snaps viciously and Thomas goes red in the face. "But hey," Stiles continues before he can get a word out in answer, "you're safe because what you just said is plain stupid. I know that it's impossible for you to know because you stayed here yesterday while I went outside alone, but the wall is still there. Oh, wait, you can, because, you know, COMMON SENSE. But whatever, we know that's not your forte, don't we?" Thomas is opening and closing his mouth like a fish and Stiles wants to slam his stupid face against the wall. "So let me put this in a way that you'll understand: the wall is still there, which means it's keeping something or someone inside. So either that thing is out there and we haven't met it yet, or it's us."

"Us?" Donna frowns. "Why would-?"

"The fuck? Who do you think you are, huh?" Thomas growls at the same time, rising from his seat threateningly. Stiles isn't even fazed. He's been fending off bullies since he was six and they never lasted long. Anxiety or not. Thomas doesn't hold a candle against Jackson Whittemore at his worst. "Are you looking for beef, asshole?"

"Are you?" Stiles scowls. "Yes? No? Let's go with yes, shall we? Because so far that's all that you've done instead of being actually useful."

"The fuck?!"

"Who went outside yesterday for more than thirteen hours straight? The buffed up man with the horrible bleach job or the high school boy that weighs 147 pounds soaking wet?" Thomas' mouth shuts with a click. "Yeah, exactly."

"Are we done?" Donna sighs after a minute of silence. "Can we go back to what's important?"

"I don't know. Can we, Thomas?" Stiles snarks, because he's not the one that started it.

"I... Yeah, let's... Yeah," Thomas mumbles subdued.

"Was that last one necessary?" Donna reproaches him, frowning, and Stiles raises an eyebrow in challenge. She sighs but doesn't pursue the issue. "So, back to the purpose of the wall."

---

Nothing really comes out from the conversation. For Donna and Thomas, it's out of the question that they may be the ones being kept inside by the wall. Stiles is frustrated but not surprised.

Peter. That's the name of the beast that supposedly isn't a beast... just something else. Maybe. Something else that Stiles can see because he's not human himself. Or at least not entirely, a human but with a... magic touch? (Can he still be considered a human if that's the case?) What if Donna, Thomas and Ally have something else to them too? After all, if Stiles was unaware until he encountered Peter, so could be the case with them... What if that's why they're being kept trapped inside?

It's hard to believe, he knows, but there's a wall that appeared overnight and who knows how many people missing. There's a man that looks like a beast that only Stiles can see and there are destroyed buildings that he's sure were perfectly fine before. There are so many absurd things that would make so much sense in a supernatural context.

And no, Stiles isn't crazy. He's not going off the deep end or had a sudden psychotic break. He tried to provoke Peter into scratching a table. He's sure the manbeast wanted to see how Stiles would react and that's why he played along, but Stiles didn't give him anything. He was paying too much attention to how the others reacted for that. They didn't seem to notice when Peter did that, but Stiles saw Donna frown at the deep scratchings a little later. No human nails would have been able to leave such a mark. Claws would. Which means Peter does have claws. Which in turn means Peter is some sort of manbeast and only Stiles can see it because of whatever he is.

Which means Stiles is not crazy.

But he can't say anything about all that. Not about the wall holding them in, not about Peter. Ever since he woke up, Donna has been watching him like a hawk and Stiles has a bad feeling about it. Stiles likes Donna (to a point), but there's something about her that tells him that when she believes herself to be right, nothing makes her back down. Which it's not a bad thing per se, but he doesn't want it to be applied to him in this case. When they were talking about the wall, she shot down the idea of them being the ones contained too fast, too surely, and then eyed Stiles with an almost concealed suspiciousness. Stiles is pretty sure that he would have been locked up before he could finish saying the word supernatural, so he's kept his silence and vowed internally to keep investigating on his own.

Stiles wants to find his dad and then get out. He's not going to let anyone or anything stop him. Not Donna, not Thomas, not Peter the manbeast. Not a damn wall, not even himself. If he has to suddenly shake his entire world off of its axis, then so be it. Wizards, unicorns, vampires, werewolves, whatever! Bring them.

Stiles is ready.

---

Donna stays behind today again, with Marion and Ally. Marion isn't getting any worse, but she's not getting any better either, so she can't be left unsupervised yet. And even if she wasn't, Ally is too young to come with them or to keep an eye on Marion by herself. So Donna had to stay behind with them while Thomas, Stiles and Peter go to check the portion of the wall that goes behind the preserve.

Stiles wants to snort at Thomas. He's clearly still smarting from the smack down Stiles gave him, so he's trying to prove him wrong. He's trying so hard, in fact, that he's even stomping forward a few steps ahead with his chest puffed up ridiculously. He eyed Stiles' bat before leaving (no doubt about to say something about how it would be more useful in more capable hands), but bit his tongue when Stiles narrowed his eyes warningly at him. Now he's stupidly unarmed because he didn't even try to find something that he could use to defend himself.

On the other hand, Peter, the only one of them naturally armed (instincts and weapons alike), seems cautious and vigilant. He also saw him filch a handful of scalpels before leaving, which seems a little like overkill with claws that can cut through metal as if it's soft cheese, but not really in this situation. Stiles reluctantly approves... which is unnerving and confusing.

Thomas continues stomping ahead and Stiles can't hide a wince. After so many days of almost absolute silence, it's as if someone has let an elephant roam free in a glass shop.

"I can't decide, if this was a horror movie, he'd either be the first to die horribly, or he'd be the idiot that survives out of... pure luck and because all the planets aligned or something," he mutters before he can think better of it.

Peter snorts in answer and Stiles startles because he didn't expect it. He looks at him cautiously, his hand reflexively flexing around the bat. Peter smirks.

"Only to be run over by a truck because he didn't look before crossing, I'd say," Peter replies softly, snorting. "Although, just to make things clear, sweetheart, I don't plan on dying in this movie."

"Me neither, dear," Stiles answers firmly, twirling the bat meaningfully and ignoring the threat of Peter's words.

Peter smiles with all his teeth on display. Stiles' heart accelerates but, outwardly, he only raises his eyebrow in answer.

Peter's smile widens.

[risprinabeachw-blog]

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[stillinstyle]

Nano Day 3

With my buddies out of the picture and no drink in my hand, I felt more out of place then ever, so I decided to do what any good, faithful friend would have done in that situation - wait an appropriate amount of time, then sneak on over to where Tart and Lark were talking, close enough to eavesdrop but not close enough to look like a creepy stalker who collected his roommate’s shed body hair in the shower. Yeah, I complained all the time about Tart’s constant fixation on Lark Clarentine, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t invested in his attempts to win the girl. Plus, I told myself, if he ever got her to agree to go out with him, we might get a three day hiatus from the mooning. It did not take me very long to realize that it was not going well. “I don’t even know why you’re wasting your time,” Lark was saying. Her tone was so bored there was no way it wasn’t affected. No one, in any situation, sounds that bored without trying. I know this for certain because I made Gentry sit through a twenty-five minute practice run through of my science fair project last year, and even he didn’t manage to sound as utterly disinterested as Lark did. “I feel like I’ve made it pretty clear, even to someone as thick-headed and, frankly, slow as you, that I am one girl you will not be adding to your little collection.” “Collection?” Tart spluttered. “Lark, it’s not like that, okay? I don’t have any kind of collection. I’ve barely dated anyone. I’m not this playboy or whatever.” Lark looked pointedly at the kisses on his cheeks. They started to turn pink. “What, this? This isn’t…we’re just playing a game. It was Gentry’s idea. You know, see which one of can get the most girls to kiss him by the end of the party.” “Fun,” Lark said dryly. “And not at all misogynistic.” “No, no, it’s not…I mean, if it’s misogynistic I didn’t realize…it was just a stupid game, it’s not like these are like, real or anything.” Tart took a deep breath. I noticed his cup trembling a little in my hand, and was struck by how nervous he was. “Can I start over, actually? I’m gonna start over.” “By all means,” Lark crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side. “Thrill me.” “I’m glad you’re here tonight,” Tart said. “I watched every episode of Madam President this summer - that’s your favorite show, right? I heard you talking about it last semester and - I mean, I did other stuff this summer too, not, like, just lamely sat there and watched a show about a woman President…not that that would be lame. Or even if it is, you can think I’m lame. I don’t mind being lame if it’ll get you to talk to me or…whatever.” Tart was rambling again, which was his go-to move when he was wracked with nerves, but from the outside I noticed something Tart probably didn’t. As he went on making a fool out of himself, Lark’s brow had softened, and her arms had relaxed. She wasn’t smiling - definitely wasn’t smiling - but she wasn’t glaring anymore, either. When it came to Lark and Tart, that was a huge improvement. “You watched Madam President?” she asked. Tart nodded. “Uh, yeah, I mean…yeah, I watched it. A few times, actually. I could probably put up a pretty good show in a round of Madam President trivia.” Lark’s eyebrow cocked up. “There are twelve seasons of that show.” “Well…yeah.” “You watched twelve seasons of a show I liked for…what reason, exactly?” Tart shrugged, but his cheeks turned so red Hannah Bledsoe’s kiss faded away like a chameleon. “I was hoping to have something to talk to you about.” Lark stared. “That’s kind of pathetic.” Tart laughed. “Yeah. I’m kind of pathetic.” And then, miracle of miracles, Lark Clarentine laughed - actually laughed. At Tart. Well, not at Tart - she’d done that plenty of times - but with Tart. I pumped my fist. “All right,” Lark said. “What did you think of Madam President.” A voice honked out from the crowd behind her. “Lark, there you are. I’ve been looking everywhere.” I knew that voice. I heard that voice in my nightmares. We all did. It belonged to Duncan Blank. Tart’s face darkened immediately. “Hey Duncan,” Lark said, spinning around so fast her hair whipped Tart in the face. Lark’s voice had risen an octave or two, and her ears were turning red. She looked like she’d just got caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “I didn’t think you were coming.” Duncan scowled at her, and shot Tart a look so venomous it should have made him wither right on the spot. “Well I wasn’t going to,” Duncan said, “for obvious reasons. But I didn’t want to leave my best friend to just rot in this swamp of idiots. Stupidity is catching, you know.” Tart’s free hand was clenched in a fist, and a thin sheen of sweat was slicking across his forehead. “Guess that would make you patient zero,” he spat. “Oh, look,” Duncan said. “The king of the apes. Where are the rest of your little trained monkeys, Tart?” “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘friends’ actually,” Tart said. His voice had taken on the cold and cutting tone that only Duncan Blank could draw out of him. It fit poorly on my ordinarily kind friend. “And don’t bother pointing at Lark. I said friends, not charitable providers.” “Enough,” Lark said, and I couldn’t help but think how unfair it was that she was pointing the arrow of her anger at Tart, when Duncan had clearly started it. Duncan wasn’t going to be the one to finish it, though. I knew that for sure. Tart may have been willing to make himself look like an idiot for Lark, but he wasn’t going to let anyone else do it for him, least of all Duncan. I sighed and settled in to watch the whole scene play out, like a song I didn’t really enjoy but knew all the words to anyway. “Yeah, Tart,” Duncan said, waving his hand like he was shooing away a bug. “Go play with your little buddies. Maybe if you ask really nicely, one of them will give you a blow job.” I winced, and so did Duncan. He had made a fatal error, and he knew it. “Funny you should mention that,” Tart said, pulling out his phone. “Because I recall a certain picture making its way around the school…when was it? Oh yeah, right before the summer vacation. Let’s see if I can find it.” “Tart,” Lark warned, then turned to Duncan. “Duncan, come on, let’s go. We don’t have to talk to this idiot. Come dance with me.” But Duncan was frozen in place, his face frozen into a gray and seething mask of loathing so utterly perfect it would have made Thomas Jefferson look like Hamilton’s fairy godmother. “Oh, here it is!” Tart said, flipping his phone around and shoving it in Duncan’s face. I didn’t have to see what was on the screen. I already knew. We all did. It had been Gentry’s idea - these kind of things were always Gentry’s idea, and the more antsy, anxious, and pent up he was, the more extreme his schemes became, and the end of the year always represented the boiling point for him. Gentry’s mischief always pushed the line, but if there was ever a time he went too far, it was last year. Duncan was notoriously…awkward, and midway through last year someone noticed that they never saw him shower. Not after gym, not in the morning before class, and not in the evening before lights out, either. Most people went the obvious route when it came to weaponizing this information by making up nicknames that had to do with Body Odor, but Gentry took it a step further. Look, I don’t know why Gentry has it out so bad for Duncan. He’s a little strange, sure, and definitely not the friendliest guy, but Gentry - our Gentry, the same guy who spent a full three months last year rehabilitating a baby duckling he found sick and abandoned in the woods, who named it Goof and literally fed it from a baby bottle - just can’t leave him alone. Duncan antagonizes us his own fair share, but at this point, I don’t know which came first, the chicken or the egg, and I’m not sure I wanted to. The week leading up to the Academic Awards at the end of last year was a pretty big one, and tensions were running high. I was struggling to scrape up the last one or two tenths of a point I needed to secure my scholarship renewal for the next year (spoiler alert - I did it) and Gentry was in a neck and neck race for the top of the class in math against, you guessed it, Duncan Blanks. Gentry’s dad is pretty tough on him, especially when it comes to school stuff, but even knowing that I was surprised at how badly Gentry wanted to win this one. I’m sure it had more than a little to do with his competition. So when Mr. Oteri announced that the award would be going to Duncan, Gentry took it…not so great. Duncan didn’t help matters at all. If he was insufferable before he found out he’d be getting the award, he was downright horrible afterward. He took every opportunity to rub it in Gentry’s face, and the war went from cold to nuclear pretty fast. Gentry set up a full Carrie situation on the stage, so that right at the moment when Duncan was receiving his trophy, we tripped the wire and a full, five gallon bucket of chicken shit poured out from the rafters, all over Duncan. I still felt a little sick when I remembered Duncan’s shocked, frozen face. The rest of the school started howling instantly, but Duncan just stood there, trembling and shaking, filthy and stinking. His face was too dirty to tell if he’d started crying. He walked off the stage and disappeared out the back door, and no one saw him again for the rest of the night. That was too far, but it was only phase one of Gentry’s plan. Gentry slipped out after him and followed him to the gym, hiding in the shadows, slipping from hiding spot to hiding spot, until Duncan reached his destination. The locker room. Gentry waited outside until he heard the shower turn on, then he burst in, phone out, and snapped a dozen pictures of Duncan in the shower before he darted out, grabbing Duncan’s clothes on his way. The next day at breakfast, everyone’s phones started going off. A text from an unknown number sent a high-def photo of Duncan Blanks to every student in school, and it was both way more than anyone ever needed to see of him, and way, way less. His body looked like something a mad scientist had sewn together - bony shoulder and legs, a concave chest, and a flabby, ugly gut hanging like extra skin. But everyone’s eyes went to one body part, and it was very, very, very small. I couldn’t see it, but I knew that was the picture Tart was brandishing at him. “Oh, Tart,” I muttered, shaking my head. Duncan was a cockroach for sure, but I wished Tart didn’t always let Duncan turn him into the worst version of himself.   “So you wanna talk about blow jobs now, Duncan? Cause from the looks of it, it’ll be a good long while before you find a girl - or a guy, or anyone, really - who’s willing to suck you off through a straw.” A crack rang out over the party then, timed exactly right, between two songs, so that everyone heard it, and a hundred heads whipped in our direction at once. Lark was standing in front of Tart, fists balled at her sides. The lipstick on Tart’s cheek had smeared, and a bright, angry hand mark bloomed over it. “You’re disgusting,” Lark spat, and from the look on Tart’s face, the words hurt him a lot more than the slap did. “You and your little friends can all go fuck yourselves.” Lark took Duncan’s hand and stomped out of the kitchen, Duncan stumbling behind her. Just before they walked through the door, Duncan looked back at Tart, and gave him the most hateful, victorious little smirk I’d ever seen. Tart coughed to clear his throat and pull himself together. “Well, you’re welcome,” he said, putting on that million-watt Colgate smile of his. “Don’t worry Gloriana, you had a nasty little cockroach in your party, but I got rid of him for you. I’ll just bill you for my pest control services later.” Gloriana laughed and shook her head. “Tart, you are so terrible,” she smiled, eyes shining. “Now come on, isn’t anyone going to start the music again?”