#t.w

w/ c.s

g/ tattoo artist!au, slice of life, blooming romance

a.n/ have a word vomit. i was out in the rain earlier accompanying someone. any tattoo parlour referenced in my writings is based on the one i frequent to and there were sunflowers on the living room table. so this happened.

t.w/ needles

The spring rain pelting the roof brought San gently out of his slumber. He tucked his exposed leg under the blanket as the chill tickled his foot. The alarms on his phone were long deactivated because he always slept through them. Yet today, he woke up early. 9 A.M. on a Sunday. The two day weekend didn’t sit well with his internal clock. Something was different today, something was to be unearthed and he wanted to savour it. He gathered his bearing slowly, soul returning to his body peacefully and mind starting to discern reality. San stretched under the soft fleece blanket with a satisfied whine followed the singing of relaxed muscles. His friends called him a cat or a fox depending on the day.

San hoped his roommate didn’t take the only automatic release umbrella they owned but alas, of course, he would be left with the manual one. First come, first serve. He didn’t bother with breakfast after freshening up. He threw on his favourite hoodie and jacket before locking up the apartment. All black as usual. His messy hair hidden under a New York Yankees cap and a mask covered his face, the clear-framed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. A classic Choi San look as the customers would say. He adored the compliments, only jokingly told his customers off when they called him by his full name. Why are you so unaffectionate to me?

His fingers numbed almost immediately, the chilly wind sunk into his flesh and bit at his nerves. The rain splattered the back of his jeans but at least his feet were rather warm from the thick socks and boots combination. He could never be late, there were only a handful of trains operating on Line 6 and if he missed one, he would have to hail a taxi. The train pulled in on the platform and San stepped in after letting the passengers exit first. To work he went. He felt the stares thrown in his direction, the disapproval from a couple of elderly and the fascinations from children. He smiled behind the mask, eyes crinkling into crescent moons. The children shyly smiled back before shuffling closer to their mothers.

So, I don't know enough about the whole MGG situation to talk about it. Well, I do have a grasp on the gist of the allegation.

According to some people, the first allegation was proven false/there was a lot of inconsistencies. So, a lot of people are taking it with a pinch of salt.

Now I don't know Matthew personally, nor have I ever met the guy, but I do feel like he could have made girls uncomfortable in certain situations (whatever the situation may be). I won't discredit these stories because that, well, makes sense and does happen.

However

I won't discredit/disagree/etc. any of these allegations until more information comes out about what happened.

I do know that both Matthew and his brother have both stated that the first allegation isn't true. (Matthew's response was on Twitter, and his brother was DM'ed by someone to get clarity on that situation.)

But Matthew hasn't addressed him making other people uncomfortable yet. I can't see why he hasn't, but I'll be waiting for that tweet.

~~~

Fair warning there will be stalia bc w/ me that is inevitable and there will be scira and there will be marrish so thanks and if you don’t want in on that action buh-bye

okay, first time writing not-fic, it’s 00:57 am, let’s GO-

So, Idea(TM). This is au form the get-go, btw, so fair warning.

 So. Let’s say, early on, like - really, early on, I’m talking before Stiles’ mom died and Malia’s family got into that car-crash, but after 2004 (hale fire, etc.) Stiles get’s bored, or something (maybe he hasn’t been diagnosed with aDHD yet, or maybe he has and he’s just bored, whatever works for you) and sneaks out of his window. Now, this is before theo, before scott - during the time I headcanon as his friends being Heather and Erica - but he doesn’t want to disturb them, see, because their lives are nice and idylic for the most part, so Stiles goes out into the woods alone.

Now, Beacon Hills is a small town, sure, but big enough for two school districts; heather goes to a different school to them later, after all, so we can assume she did as a kid, too. I’m going to say that Malia and Kylie also went to this school district too - Heather’s schoolmates who she’d maybe mention in passing, perhaps. Stiles might not know their names; Might think of Malia as Leah, maybe he can’t remember if it’s Kylie or Kyle – doesn’t matter, point is that he has a vague notion of who they are; the Tates – this family what lives on the other side of the preserve to him, in the preserve which is mostly unheard of besides the hales, and we all know what happened to them.

Puts a dampener on people thinking of living in those woods, that sort of thing.

Getting back on track; Stiles goes into the woods, goes for a walk.

Now, let’s go over to Malia. In this universe, the Tates went the way of the Whittemores and out-right told their daughter she was adopted (as you should) – she’s about the right age, so it works. And unlike the Whittemores, it works out – she doesn’t hate them, she loves them; they raised her, and that matters more in her eyes.

But that doesn’t mean she isn’t an adventurous child. Malia lives in the preserve – she probably takes walks around it all the time, knows where her father puts his traps and his bait and stays away, understands the safer parts and steers clear of the husk that was the Hale house.

So maybe, out of pure co-incidence, Malia had a shit day at school, or something, so she sneaks out the back door – Kylie’s asleep, her parents are out (on a date; does it matter?) and the Nanny’s pretty chill (some might say too chill), so she just waves sarcastically as Malia tiptoes out the door (sorry sorry bad late night puns) – and wanders off in a vague direction. Malia, by this point, could most likely find her way around the woods pretty well – if not able to find her way home, she might go to the landmarks; the stump, that old cellar, and if she has to the Hale house, to work her way back home that way.

So Malia’s in the forest, and so is Stiles.

Maybe, because although Stiles isn’t a stranger to the preserve at night he isn’t as at home as Malia, Stiles gets lost. And he wasn’t as prepared – doesn’t have a map, doesn’t have specific routes or know the whereabouts of the hale house, the cellar or the old stump are in relation to the town, so Stiles gets lost.

Malia likes her walks (or runs, jogs – any of that sort of thing, really) so she takes longer that night, in order to clear her head. Makes for the stump in an old, well-worn path her father takes her on sometimes, when he goes out hunting (she’s assured it’s legally), and gets there slower than she’d normally do so.

When Malia arrives, this kid is there too.

Stiles is sort-of just sitting there, fidgeting, thinking whelp because his dad’s not great due to his mom’s… state, and he doesn’t want to make it worse by having him think Stiles was – kidnapped, or something, so he just sort of panics.

Let’s say Malia’s approach is quiet. She doesn’t mean it to be, but in the woods something sings within her and it happens anyway - especially on nights like this one; bright full moons, high in the sky – so it is. And Stiles – young, not so trained – flails, a bit, yelps, maybe.

Malia tugs him to his feet, brushes him down and demands his name.

“Stiles.” He responds, bewildered. Malia’s a protective girl, see – she doesn’t know who this is, though he’s her age… but also he’s some kid lost in the woods, and she’s protective, so she wants to know what the hell he thought he was doing.

“Exploring.” He says. “Clearing my head.”

And she gets that.

Yes, for different reasons, but she still gets it. Stiles doesn’t want to go home yet – his dad is probably still at work and anyone paid to care for Stiles never really lasts long in that job; too loud, too restless, too much of a trouble-maker, not worth the effort or the money or the time, Stiles hears behind his dad’s sighs (and their angry little notes left behind, sometimes with the agreed money attached to it still) (which, although guiltily, Stiles sometimes takes) – so Malia and Stiles sit down on the stump, and they talk.

Let’s fast forward – because otherwise this is gonna be hella long and no to that, rest would be after the cut if I knew how to do those -

So, a few months or so down the line, and Stiles is on that hospital roof.

We all know what Claudia does, so we won’t dwell on the details, but suffice to say Stiles suppresses more than just that one incident.

And when he sees Malia next, she quizzes him, and when he answers she frowns – because the tone is different, the answers are altered – something’s missing but what? – but, but, Stiles seems lighter than he has in a while, even if he’s still down trodden from… all of this; his mother’s illness, and whatever else that entailed which he never told her before even he didn’t know any longer – so Malia waves off his question, and, troubled, things move along.

Theo, then Scott. Heather leaves, Erica leaves. Theo leaves – abruptly so.

Stiles is… angrier than anything else, about that last one. He’s resigned to Heather and Erica – initiated it himself, for the latter.

But he’s angry about the last one. Malia listens to him vent and agrees, and a month or so passes and the boy is all but forgotten.

(But not really.)

Stiles and Scott get along like a house on fire, and Malia’s really glad – really, except Stiles can’t visit the stump as often or at all, these days.

She doesn’t really let that stop her. Gets a bike - begs her mother for one, really – visits the two boys and this friend group is three, not two.

It’s still two at school, though.

Not much else changes, at first, really.

Claudia dies.

Things change drastically.

It’s less Malia visiting Stiles and more Stiles dragging his asthmatic friend halfway across the preserve to visit her. It’s less laughter and more solemn silence. It’s less bonding and more antagonising – Stiles is looking for a fight, appears to want one desperately because he’s just so angry at the world.

There are stages of grief. Stiles skipped denial – it’s not hard if you were there when the other person died, after all. Saw it happen with your own two eyes.

You can’t deny that.

But the anger doesn’t last either. Not long. Not at the world, anyway.

After that, it’s not really anger. He’s still on a hair trigger, of course – Jackson’s nose can attest to that (he’d tried to take Scott’s inhaler – again) – but he’s not really angry.

Now, Stiles comes to the stump alone, and lets himself cry on her shoulder.

Malia wants desperately to know how to help, but also knows what would be needed, and knows she doesn’t have that.

So she sits. You’d think stiles would cry like he does everything else, but not really. It’s silent, mostly – nearly always, and when it’s not it’s more loud, shaky breathing than anything like sobbing – and when he pulls back, wipes his eyes, there are tear tracks on her t-shirt.

“Sorry,” he says.

“You need to grieve.” She responds in kind – quiet; trying not to disturb the strange silence of the woods.

So things change. It takes a bit, but Scott’s eventually brought back.

Malia still doesn’t visit the Stilinski household, but they start going to Scott’s after a sharp scare with his asthma the last visit.

“We don’t have to.” Scott says. “I’m – I’m not incapable of moving, guys.”

“Humour me.” Stiles says drily.

“I know that,” Malia replies. “We know that. But that doesn’t mean we should have been – careless.”

Scott seems to consider them both equally, and nods.

It’s not brought up again.

Let’s fast-forward a little.

Malia finds out about the dubiously-Sheriff’s drinking.

“No, Malia.” Stiles says – firm, unyielding.

He’s got a vice-tight grip on her arm, and Malia’s trying to tug herself free.

“I just –“ She placates – or tries; voice to curt and upset-angry to be convincing – “I just want to talk to him, alright? Just have a few words, nothing bad, I promise.”

“Nope.” Stiles draws out. “You sound murderous Mal, not letting you near like that.”

Malia gives one last tug but Stiles isn’t budging so she deflates, sighs and says,

“Fine.”

The next week the sheriff’s job is finally put on the line. He starts getting sober, and Malia quietly fumes as Stiles seems glad.

(Should have been the son, not the job – that’s Malia’s thought process. Stiles is more worried about Noah’s liver.)

So. That’s all that dealt with, but what about the car crash?

As these sorts of things happen, it happens on a normal day.

Normal night, rather. It happened at night, if I remember correctly.

The day had been downright dull in it’s normality – Malia hadn’t yet seen Scott or Stiles, and the argument happening in the car was an old one.

Then It happens.

Malia doesn’t remember much, of course.

“I wish you were all dead.” Runs through her mind, and she runs.

Now – in the other world, a world where she didn’t appear to have any really close friends, or any friends who could in anyway relate, coyote!Malia went of into the woods for eight years.

In this – still too scared of her dad’s reaction – she doesn’t go home, but she goes somewhere else.

Malia hangs around three places. Four, in her visit to the car crash (whenever the flashing lights aren’t there – which only happened her first visit – a mere few human-hours since she’d seen it last).

It lasts for about three weeks.

The case goes cold – because of course it does – but Stiles convinces Scott to carry on looking.

And Malia – confused, unable to think in the way she used to – knows these people are Important; has flashes of too-bright images of darkened woods and light, airy homes (and one, memorable, quiet-dark time in the Stilinski home (how she’d found out about the drinking)) and thinks

Friends.

More importantly, she thinks – in so much as she can, as a coyote – about a boy who confessed some of his darkest guilts to her, and thinks -

Someone who knows.

Malia liked Scott as a human. As a coyote, he smells ill, like some fungus is creeping into him, stifling him.

Malia snarls at him until Stiles convinces Scott to back up enough so that she can’t smell him (Stiles says Scott might as well go home since it’s so far that Stiles can barely hear him) and then she stares at the boy in front.

In comparison to the images she knows, he’s grown. Not much – but Malia is suddenly, scarily aware of how much time has likely passed and how little she’d noticed.

“Hello?” Stiles questions. Curious; Malia hadn’t been sure if he would.

Maybe he can tell something’s up – Malia might’ve thought that if she’d been human.

He smells – Like guilt. Something else that she doesn’t recognise and raises her hackles; it changes something intrinsic to what she remembers, it’s sharp and manmade and wrong to her senses. He smells like someone she knew when Human, and that – that works.

She snarls when he makes to move, moves herself when he freezes.

The boy – Stiles – stares at her and his breath hitches, for a moment – Malia doesn’t know why, not really, but he must have seen something.

“What the hell am I getting into here?” Stiles asks himself rhetorically, raises his hands in a gesture she… can’t quite remember the meaning of but relaxes her slightly anyway, lowers himself into a crouch.

“Hello.” Stiles says. “Your eyes flash blue – quite literally. Did you know that?”

It takes a moment to register. Malia stops her movement forward, cocks her head at him.

Stiles nods, slowly. “They do, you know.”

Tentatively, he steps forward, one hand outstretched but - … unthreateningly.

“There you go.” Stiles mutters. “Please don’t bite my hand off. Nice coyote with weird magic-flashy-blue-brown eyes.”

Malia – somehow, not knowing she was capable in this form – manages a snort.

Stiles blinks. “Oh. Okay, uhm. That was funny? Right, sure. You – uh. You understand me?”

Malia steps forward, lets Stiles tap her lightly on the head with his hand, and lowers hers, slowly, then lifts it in an imitation of an action she remembers as human.

Stiles does the head thing to himself – up and down, the corners of his mouth pulling down in consideration.

“Right.” He mutters. “Strangely intelligent coyote with weird magic eyes. This is normal.”

Malia huffs and butts his hand with the top of her head.

Stiles blinks at her, frowns. Seems to peer closer than before, as if looking for something.

Something like recognition.

Stiles fidgets in consideration, seemingly working out how to phrase something.

“Say,” he starts, casually. His hand relaxes slightly, starts properly petting her head.

“You, uh, wouldn’t have seen a missing girl around my age, in these parts? Brown eyed, brown-haired, a tiny bit taller than me?”

Malia pulls her head back, paws backwards and barks sharply eyes wide.

Stiles jumps, slightly, but stills himself, looks at her askance and warily – looks and says, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Malia barks out an agreement – a warning, too, but an agreement nonetheless – and steps backwards.

“Do you have any idea where she might have gone?”

Stiles is either brave or foolish, because if Malia had been a second away from biting him at the first question she’s even less so now.

But there’s something in this – Stiles, something in the eyes he has that makes her not do that.

Malia nods, slightly, eyes glaring bright blue.

Malia paws the ground, carefully, makes a shape in the leaf-litter on the forest floor.

Stiles looks at the arrow, at her, at her eyes and says.

“Well damn.”

So see, it’s like this; Stiles obviously has no fucking clue as to what’s going on. But he knows, can feel it in his bones, that this is his friend -this coyote is Malia, and he has no idea what to do about that or how to fix it.

Over the weeks following – Stiles is eleven, now, it took a year to find her after the authorities gave up – Stiles tries his absolute best to find out as much as he can from the internet.

This goes about as well as you’d expect; half the shit he finds is obviously fake, the other half all conflicts with each other and the only thing that he knows better now are the behaviours of coyotes.

And that’s more from personal experience with Malia than the internet, so Stiles gives up on that venture and sets on the task of finding this out pretty much on his own.

“So.” Stiles says, one day during this whole thing. “You’re a coyote. You really shouldn’t be a coyote – in fact, it should be impossible, but here we are so that’s a fact, and I just wanted to state that. You are a coyote.”

Malia flicks her tail with impatience and stares back at him flatly from her perch on the old stump.

Stiles huffs, drops down to lean against the stump. Malia rests her head on his shoulder and stares at the notebook he’s holding.

She can’t read a thing.

Malia huffs and moves backwards, growls at the offending object.

“Yeah, see, there’s another downside. You can’t easily communicate, you can’t read, your emotions are all out of whack, nothing’s good about all of this so that’s why we’re gonna fix it.” Stiles says, determined.

Malia barks with unease at the prospect, but in this universe, with the company – with the weeks, months of Stiles talking her through her guilt and his guilt and all of the guilt (really, there’s a lot of that going around) she’s not as adverse to the idea as she was in canon, perhaps.

Not accepting – she’s not really any better off – but not as adverse, so there’s a start.

“So, you’re a coyote.” Stiles restarts. “Hopefully just a shapeshifter of some form, or you might try and kill me on full moons? Which I’m not looking forwards to, by the way.”

Malia snarls.

“Yeah, see – my point exactly.” Stiles blinks at her. “That’s terrifying.”

Malia yips and bats his head with her tail, yips more as he splutters.

And this continues. Stiles still avoids visiting on full moons – which she’s fine with; those days she runs free in the woods and hunts.

Stiles isn’t exactly pleased with the animal carcasses she sometimes brings him (or leaves at his back door step, what the hell Malia) but she seems proud? So he quietly disposes of them when she’s none the wiser.

Eventually, Stiles browsing the library has it’s uses.

“Found it!” He exclaims triumphantly, bursting through the treeline surrounding the stump.

Malia barks at him – he was unexpected, she’d been sleeping, what the hell Stiles – and he drops down, to excited to be either scared and or repentant.

“Right, yeah, sorry –” Stiles says, distracted (and completely insincere but she’ll let that slide) “But I’ve found it.”

Malia glowered at him.

“Right.” Stiles paused. “Extrapolate, Stiles. Okay, so, turns out you’re a werecoyote?” He winces. “Though that was obvious, really. The uh, the blue eyes are from guilt.” He adds, quietly. “Over your family.”

Malia snarls at him, backs up because she doesn’t want a reminder, but settles down after that reaction, a litter further away, this time.

“Thought you should know.” Stiles says.

Malia, slowly, nods, and Stiles moves along.

“So. Yeah, that. Right, well – there’s a cure.” He looks up. “Not for the – werecoyote…ism? I mean, it’s not lycanthropy, because you aren’t a wolf… never mind,” Stiles shakes his head. “Not important. But there’s a cure for you being stuck like this.”

Malia yips… curious. She tip-toes forwards, cautious, settles down across from Stiles.

A kind of… permission, even if she can’t give it vocally.

“Alright, okay, you want to know.” Stiles says.

“You just need to find something that can bring you back. Or alternatively find an alpha to yell at you and force you back, but I don’t really think that would help? Your psyche probably wouldn’t like it, is all.”

Malia growls at the idea of being forced human, and Stiles nods.

“We’ll find something.” He says.

Malia… is inclined to believe him.

Now, this is why this is not fic; I have no actual clue on what would bring her back. I’m highly certain that they’d try her dad, but that it wouldn’t work – that it, for a while, would probably make things worse. So that ends up as a bust.

Let’s go with the idea that, well, they don’t manage to find something that makes her turn human.

But, after a few years, after more bonding and getting to know Scott and Stiles all over again… one day, Malia just... is. Human. Again.

She’s not over what happened – she’ll probably never be over it – but it’s different now.

There’s a kind of focus, in the back of her brain – who shot the bullets that left the casings? – and she can’t find that out as a coyote.

Whoever caused the car-crash caused what followed. Malia’s blame, while still mostly on herself, has, in part, transferred to them.

Stiles is the one to find her. She’s cold, and tired, and mostly confused, and after a quick “Malia?!” Stiles is giving her his jacket and his shirt – tied around her waist for privacy, jacket zipped for the same (also for warmth) – and sitting her up, brushing the hair out of her face and almost laughing – she can smell it, the relief, and then (it’s almost contagious) she’s laughing too, and it’s definitely hysterical but it’s real, and she can feel it, properly, and for now – besides the guilt and the fear and the anger that she feels simmering – that’s enough.

It takes some time for Malia to adjust. She’s not ready to go home or re-join everything – not yet, so Stiles accepts that, uses pocket money he saves to buy some cheap underwear for her (presented with a large helping of embarrassment covered with a false calmness belied by the reddening of his neck and, obviously, the thing in his scent that lets her know regardless) and sneaks her some of his and her old clothes to wear (she doesn’t ask how he got them out of her house, he doesn’t say) and eventually, when Scott starts getting suspicious, they tell him.

It's Scott, in the end, who convinces her to talk to her dad. Stiles was content with letting her choose her own pace, but Malia knows she was using that – using his relief at her being herself again – to stay as far away from her problems as possible.

And Stiles was, quietly, aiding and abetting this, because in the end he’s sure he’d have done the same in her place.

But Malia, with Scott and Stiles as support, goes home.

She’s not as behind as she would have been – and definitely not as behind as she should be, because Stiles has been lending her his notes from the past years, his textbooks he doesn’t use and some stuff bought second-hand he thinks she might like (alongside all the food) so she’s not even as far behind on pop-culture as she would have been.

It’s Stiles who convinces her not to tell her dad about the whole coyote thing. Since she’d been undecided before, and she was highly certain that he probably wouldn’t believe her even if he did tolerate it for a while, so she agreed, and she didn’t tell him.

There is no Eichen House in her immediate future, in this ‘verse.

They’re thirteen. And life goes on.

Malia, with the other two’s help, tries and tries and eventually, learns how to control this thing she has.

Stiles takes her aside, one day, tells her about anchors.

“Just – since we’re doing this, and all, full moons might actually be a problem? So all I’m saying is you need to find a way to anchor yourself to your human side. What little that book says on it is that it can be literally anything – like even a really nice goddamn rock that you found when you were like, two, or something, I don’t know – but the point is, it can be anything.”

This Malia – this Malia, who met Stiles but is younger, met Stiles but it’s a different Stiles, met Stiles but their situations are changed – doesn’t make it Stiles.

(I feel, in this verse, that there are three blatant options with vastly differing outcomes; her guilt, her revenge – on the person who shot the gun at the car – or her sister.

This Malia will not make it the first or the third option.

She’ll make it her revenge.)

(And it will work, for the most part. It will work enough.)

They’re fourteen, and Malia’s dad takes her aside, and (drunk) says – “I know who your father was related to, if you want to find him.”

“Alright.” Malia says. She does, actually, want to find him; because maybe he’s the reason she’s not exactly human.

“Tell me.”

(She doesn’t think to ask about her biological mother. Even if she had, he wouldn’t have known anything – but she doesn’t think to ask because she expects the father to know who the mother was.)

Stiles is more help at sussing out the timelines and all that jazz, at figuring out which Hale could be her dad.

“Well, there’s only one living, male, able-to-have-kids Hale left in the county. So he’s the only potential we could visit anyway.”

Malia frowns at Stiles. “Great.”

He shrugs, and says – “Wanna catch a ride with Melissa to the hospital?”

Scott’s mother is uncertain, tells Malia not to get her hopes up but drives them there regardless – and Stiles (knowing the way well, as he does) leads Malia easily to the long term care ward.

“Peter Hale.” Stiles announces. “You’re not gonna like this.” He sighs.

“I know what happened to him, Stiles.” Malia says. “But we have to check if he can respond before we forcibly take his blood to discretely take a dna matching test.”

(That Melissa will quietly perform. She can’t guarantee how well it’ll be done, but they didn’t exactly get the blood with permission.)

Stiles sighs. “Quieter, Mal.”

The two enter the room. It would be another few months before Peter’s wolf is able to move around, so the two are fresh out of luck in trying to talk to him.

They leave with no answers and a hidden syringe, they leave with more simmering frustration than they entered with.

So, the test comes back positive – she’s Peter’s biological daughter.

And that’s it. For a bit, that really is it. Things go pretty much as they did previously.

Up until that night. Up until Stiles hears about two joggers finding a body in the woods, and doesn’t end up dragging the friend who ‘wants to get a good night’s sleep’ (and is asthmatic).

He climbs up to Malia’s window, knocks on and says:

“Two joggers found a body in the woods.”

And thus – the first major change; Scott does not get bitten.

Another change – Stiles doesn’t own up to being there to his dad. Malia shifts, fully (because, in this universe let’s just say she can for the hell of it. This is fanfiction, after all – and if she could when she’s nine I have no doubt that she can at any other age) and tackles Stiles, then – carefully – drags him off in another direction.

“Ugh – ow – Mal, really – stop, god.”

Malia does, of course. She doesn’t shift back – her clothes are strewn somewhere she doesn’t know – and yips at him.

“Yeah, yeah.” Stiles huffs, checks his arm. “Thanks for not chewing through the jacket. Explaining that to dad would have been… fun.” Stiles adds.

Malia barks in understanding and then – tackles Stiles again, covers him as much as possible and whimpers when the deer run over them, stampede, but her bones heal what Stiles couldn’t easily so she’ll take that instead.

“Mal” Stiles barks – scared – pushes her off of him and checks her over.

“You really need to stop doing that.”

He huffs when he finds that – whatever was hurt – nothing is broken now.

Whatever Malia would say is interrupted by growling, by Stiles’ “Oh damn.” And her own instincts.

Whatever it was didn’t expect a coyote to launch itself at it, nor did it expect said coyote to be a werecoyote, and said coyote-girl to tackle him as much as is possible.

They tussle. The larger one relying on his strength and his burning anger, and Malia relying on speed and a clear head.

Whatever it is didn’t appear to expect Stiles to take advantage of it’s hyper-focus on Malia.

Stiles buries a stick – sharp and big enough to hurt – in the thing’s shoulder.

It howls, and this is the kind of thing Stiles had expected from werewolves – not his friendly, slightly broken (but no less – and likely more – than he is) fellow Beacon Hills resident.

Malia takes her chance, and clangs the not-wolf over the head with a big rock.

Multiple times.

Eventually, after more dodging and more stabbing (from Stiles) the thing falls unconscious.

Stiles grabs his phone from his pocket, fumbles for it, and snaps pictures as the thing transforms.

Malia quickly – before the transformation can finish – grabs a bunch of the leaf-litter and drops it over the now clearly a man’s groin.

“Oh, right.” Stiles nods. “Good idea.”

There’s a pause. Stiles flicks on the flashlight – so that he can see – but Malia’s silence is one of shock.

Shock doesn’t really silence Stiles, though.

“Oh. Shit, it’s Peter.”

That was kind of deadpan, for the moment. They glance at each other and let out a hysterical burst of laughter.

Malia’s not healing her cuts and bruises as quick as she normally would, and Stiles has human healing (for the most part) so the little nicks from scrabbling around in the dark and not quite dodging away in time are still there and still fresh.

There’s a little blood on all of them.

Malia sighs, and the silence is broken.

“I should –” Stiles says, aborted, then takes of his jacket and then his over-shirt. Holds them like he knows what he should do with them but isn’t a huge fan of the idea.

“He’s my… biological dad.” Malia lets out. “I’ll do it.”

Stiles gives her the shirt. She ties it around his waist, takes off her jumper and does the same but in reverse.

Stiles puts back on his jacket and turns back around at Malia’s “Done.”

“Right.” He says. “Now to get him somewhere – more secure.”

Malia remembers the cellar she used to use as a landmark. The one that was, now that she thinks about it, suspiciously close to the burnt-up hale house.

Malia puts this aside, picks up one of Peter’s arms and slings it around her shoulder.

“Little help?”

Between the two of them, they get peter there within the hour. It wasn’t not far from where they were, anyway.

Neither of them question what they find inside the cellar. They pick up the old, rusted chains and the old, rusted cuffs and lock Peter to the bars lining the back.

Malia never came in here, as a kid. She’s rather glad she didn’t, now.

(She’s still a kid, really – but not, truly. Not after what she’s been through.)

They kick back, for a bit. Chat about school, no matter how inane that is. Malia teases Stiles about Lydia (Something that seems less relevant to him these days than it did back when they first met – but she still does this), and Stiles teases her about ‘French Boys’ and they chat. Anything and everything is what they talk about – aside from the elephant in the room.

Or, rather – the terrifying, likely mentally unstable Alpha werewolf chained up in the corner, with as little room to move as what made them safe.

It takes a bit more time – Malia takes out a baseball from her pocket when Stiles really starts to fidget and they start tossing that around for a bit – but they hear a groan.

Stiles catches the ball and snaps his head towards Peter. Malia’s eyes are wary, but curious.

Peter’s eyes are blue, naturally. That’s the first thing that Malia properly notices about him – cataloguing the differences rather than the similarities.

It’s a groan of pain, they can tell – but his eyes are unseeing.

“I’m guessing the magic side of him is healed but the human side might very well be dead.” Stiles murmurs.

Malia thinks the same. Still, the two aren’t going to let that stop them.

They take it upon themselves to get Malia’s biological father’s human-self back to full health whilst making sure his wolf-self is sufficiently cowed and unable to go around attacking people in the woods at night.

Because that’s both rude and likely to get them all caught. It’s also evil and leads to death, which is their main point of contention with the whole thing.

The fact that, for all they know, he killed the girl in the woods.

So yes. That night, they make a pact and go home.

Malia is the one to take Peter food in the morning – they’d agreed – but Stiles shows up anyway.

“I don’t think you should go alone.” Is all he says about it, but Malia… agrees, in a way, so the two wander off, arrive an hour before school is due to start.

Peter is still chained up, but he’s sitting. A different position to what he was in last time.

This immediately makes them wary.

(Because of course it does.)

“Okay, maybe not as dead as I’d thought.” Stiles amends.

Malia nods, slowly, but approaches regardless.

“Hello.” She says – can’t help but flash back to when she was treated like this; like a cornered animal. That first meeting.

(She admits that is almost what she was, then. But also not really.)

Malia isn’t a huge fan of the parallel.

“I’m Malia. You don’t know me, or at least I doubt you do, but I’m your biological daughter. It wasn’t the best technically first meeting; you trying to kill me, but we’ll work past that and get you in a state where you can explain to me everything, alright?” She asks – knowing that there would be no answer, but having to do so regardless because… well, it makes her feel less like she’s talking to a corpse.

“Might have to force-feed him.” Stiles sighs. “I can, if you want. Mom…” He paused. “Well, I’ve told you before.”

Malia nods, quietly. Steps to the side but not back – ready to stop Peter from lunging for Stiles if he were to do so.

Stiles gets Peter to swallow the food, carefully, then gets him to swallow the drink.

“I think we might have to somehow get him on a tube or something.” Stiles says, concerned. “You can’t really make it all the way here from your school, and I won’t have time to do this and eat at lunch.”

Malia nods. “I’ll look into that.”

Stiles inclines his head.

The two go their separate ways, after making sure Peter was as secure as possible, and then disguising the entryway, over to the high-schools in their respective districts.

The first day goes… mainly the same. Stiles doesn’t tell Scott about what happened the previous night. Scott doesn’t hear Allison talking to her mother, but he pretty instantly crushes when he sees her.

He doesn’t give her a pen until she asks, and so that whole thing is slightly less creepy.

(Yeah, okay – I admit, that whole thing would have been a little creepy if I were either of them? Like, ‘how does this guy (whose pretty cute tbh) know I needed a pen??’ and ‘what the heck how did I hear her damn (she’s pretty) why am I being so creepy rn??’ so yeah, I actually found that whole scene both cute and creepy. Creepy-cute.)

(It’s weird. Movin’ on.)

So yes. Similar first day.

Similar; not the same. Duh.

Scott isn’t a werewolf. When he’s in goal, he’s still pretty shit (as he was perma-benched pre-show, it’s assumed he wasn’t actually any good at lacrosse – not the bits what require you to move a lot, nor the ones that require you to move little.) and doesn’t overhear Allison (who isn’t a jerk even slightly about skill at sports, unlike S1 Lyds) ask who he is, or whatever.

He’s also never played goalie? So I’m guessing he’d be bad at it regardless of skill at the rest of the game. Scott misses catching almost every shot.

He catches one or two out of sheer dumb luck.

He does manage not to take any in the face, though. There’s that.

He misses the one Jackson throws, and Lydia cheers for her boyfriend.

(One thing before we move on. That girl that appears in the first ep, talking to the two of them? I think her name is Sydney, but that’s what I’m gonna call her from now on btw, even if it isn’t, just as a heads-up. Anyway, I fucking bet that she’s prol’ly thinking something along the lines of ‘… right, Stilinski. ‘Beautiful people herd together’, never heard so shallowly accurate – I mean, look at Scotty and you and that girl you hang around with – I mean, objectively, you’re all fucking masterpieces.’)

After lacrosse practice, Scott goes to Deaton’s clinic for work, and Stiles heads off into the woods.

He meets Malia at the stump, and slowly they make their way to the cellar.

They’re lucky they went slowly (out of reluctance, perhaps) because they’re found – just as Derek came across Scott and Stiles, ‘trespassing’ on his property (which probably isn’t anymore? I don’t know property laws but that thing does not pass regulation) and Stiles doesn’t need to exposit info because we all know this shit.

“You’re Derek Hale.” Malia says. “My biological father’s your uncle; would that allow me to ‘trespass?’”

Stiles snorts. Malia’s always been blunt – as a child it was… well, because she was a child, and as a teen it’s because that’s the kind of person she is, really.

Blunt, and truthful. Harshly so.

Derek doesn’t seem to know what to say to that. Instead, he says;

“My uncle isn’t in the long-term care ward anymore. Why is that?”

“Well, that’s because he’s somewhere else.” Stiles says amicably.

Malia nods, serious. “The time I saw him last he was safe.” She said. “All cared for and shit.”

There’s a pause.

“You know where he is, don’t you?”

Hale is suddenly in front of them, and Malia is suddenly in front of Stiles.

Her eyes flash brilliant blue and so do Derek’s in response.

“Fucking hell, does it run in the family or what?” Stiles lets out, resigned.

Derek looks… surprised, for a moment.

Then, of course, his face closes off.

“That is none of your business.” He says, gruff. “Do you have any proof that Peter’s your father?”

“Yeah.” Malia says. “Look at me.”

Derek looks at her, sighs.

“Fine.”

Abruptly, he turns. “Come.” He commands. The two move to follow, but his arm snaps out and not-so-gently shoves Stiles backwards.

“Not you,” He says. “Just my relative. My kind.”

“Malia Tate. And this is Stiles, by the way, and he’s been far more helpful that you and ‘your kind’.”

Derek almost looks to almost snarl, but leaves it. Turns, and walks.

“Go.” Stiles breathes, right next to her ear – trying to keep it low enough so that Derek won’t hear.

“I’ll do the thing, yeah? Find out what he wants.”

And then Stiles is gone, Malia listens to him jog off and hopes he won’t get lost again (But they know the route well, after so long – she’d taught him in the years, about orientating yourself in these woods) for a moment, before following – what, her… cousin? Or something? Malia doesn’t begin to understand that system, so she shrugs goes with ‘biological cousin’ and leaves it at that.

After this – Scott is still at the vets, but he doesn’t need to check any wound so he hears Allison’s first knock.

Scott opens the door, and the interactions are for the most part exactly the same. Scott and the dog is a little different, but Scott’s good with animals – he’d have to be, as a vet-to-be – and coaxes it in and out of the rain.

The both of them are sopping wet and they laugh at that – have the same conversation as in the actual show, Scott still sort-of creeps on her changing her top, and that whole thing is pretty much exactly the same.

(it is now 4:43 am. I have taken breaks, but damn I’ve been at this for a while. Stillll going, though, glad I slept through most of the day rn so I’ll have the juice for this tbh. Speaking of juice…)

Next day is different. Scotty doesn’t wake up in the woods, in fact he wakes up at home and goes to school in his normal fashion.

It’s back over to Malia and Stiles for the changes. To makes this easier, let’s back-track to when Malia wandered off with Derek.

Derek takes her to the Hale house. Unfortunately for him, Malia’s spent a fair amount of time with the one and only Stiles Stilinski, so she’s learned to be able to talk circles around the actual answers people want without ever actually lying.

(It’s an art form, really. She hates lying on principle, so it’s a useful alternative when that sort of thing is necessary.)

(Malia doesn’t know Derek, doesn’t know what he wants. She doesn’t trust him not to do something stupid.)

She leaves Derek with no more answers and in a huff – him, not her – and sprints off to the tree stump.

Stiles is there, tossing around the baseball she left with him the previous night.

He chucks it to her and she catches it with a “thanks,” he nods and they get up and they leave.

(“How’d it go?” Stiles asks. “Well enough. He’s frustrated, knows we know but is unaware of Peter’s location.” Stiles nods. “And you?” Malia asks.

“Well enough.” Stiles returns, wryly. “Didn’t get bit, forced him some food and drink – a lot, really, but I think he needs the strength – and all that. Left after I was done, ‘cause there was no point sticking around.”

Malia nods, and that’s that.)

(Stiles didn’t lie; he left after he was done. He just left out the part where he talked at Peter for a bit. He wasn’t exactly nice, but it had to be said.)

Alright, so.

Seems anti-climactic, but that’s the first day from the first ep. Done. Let’s go to the second day in the first ep.

Back with Scott – he goes to school as he usually does (from his house) and doesn’t get called out (and harassed) by Jackson about his new-found lacrosse skills, because he has exactly none. Still.

Back with Stiles – he hears about the second half of the girl still being missing. But the fibre analysis on the first half (or the lower; take your pick) came back, and they found wolf hair.

When Malia reads the text she slams her head against the desk. Honestly, she’s very uncertain on how ‘her kind’ manage to stay hidden with shit like this.

And like the dent in her desk. Malia winces and places her folder over the dent, leans on it and smiles convincingly at the other students present.

Stiles asks Malia if they should tell Scott. Malia is uncertain he’d believe without a full demonstration, so they decide to wait until things are a little less hectic and he hasn’t gotten other stuff on his plate to do so.

Today is a Friday, and it’s a day that has a party, a party at which Scott has a date, and Stiles doesn’t really want to ruin that, so they let them (Scott and Alison) be.

The two go to the party, though, because it’s not invite-only, and also they might as well find something to celebrate.

They hang around the edges for a bit, Malia convinces Stiles to dance with her for a while, then they hang around the edges some more.

Stiles is the first to see Derek – Malia is the first to sense him.

“Where?” She asks – the crowd too thick and the scents too overwhelming – and Stiles nods to a corner where the man is spying through the fences.

“Right.” Malia huffs. “Let’s stop him from getting arrested, yeah?”

The two discretely wander over to the corner. Malia has since taught Stiles a modicum of subtlety, so this actually works, and they don’t draw attention.

“What do you want?” Malia hisses.

“As you can tell, we’re kind of busy.” Stiles says drily.

“It’s a full moon.” Derek’s voice is as flat as always.

“Duh.” Stiles rolls his eyes. “I have a lunar fucking calendar; we know.”

Derek narrows his eyes at Malia – blatantly blanking Stiles. “Can you control the shift?”

“Dude.” Stiles says. “Really?”

Malia glares flatly at Derek. “Yes.” She says, slowly. “I’ve had this for years, now, what the hell – why wouldn’t I have found this yet?”

“You can’t learn everything from a book.”

Derek snaps – almost… disgusted, Malia thinks, at the thought.

“We didn’t.” Stiles says. It’s flat – lacking the mirth he’s had throughout the conversation. “Though, to be fair, History of Lycanthropy was a good starting point. We were lucky my mom was into that stuff, though – to be fair.”

“I thought you found it at the library?” Malia said. “Yeah.” Stiles nodded. “I did. I found it at the library at the directions given to me from a few receipts in my mom’s stuff.”

Malia looked at him flatly.

“… Okay, so yeah, I left that out, so what.” Stiles muttered – rubbed the back of his neck; uncomfortable.

Malia huffed, let it go.

Derek looked – well, he had limited facial expressions so far as Malia could tell (though, to be fair, she hadn’t known him long) – so she didn’t really know what he looked, but he definitely wasn’t happy with being ignored.

“Oh.” Stiles said. “You’re still here. Right.”

Derek glowered in Stiles’ direction, and Stiles held his hands up and stepped backwards.

Malia’s eyes flashed in Derek’s direction.

“Just get out of here, cousin.”

Derek paused, looked at her as if trying to find the resemblance.

“Don’t rip anyone apart.” He says – maybe trying for dark humour, Malia has no idea – and then disappears into the night.

Malia quietly growls after him then huffs.

(“Punch?” Stiles offers.

“Gladly.” She says, and takes the drink.)

Things that DON’T Happen, and as a result…;

Scotty ain’t bitten, don’t rush out on Ally, she don’t get driven home by Der, who don’t take her jacket and hang it in the woods for Scotty, who doesn’t go to the woods bc he ain’t bit, so no big werewolf hunters reveal, that’s still (shhhuusssshhh) secret. Also thus no big ‘Ally A’s fam is kinda evil soz not sorry haha’ reveal (tho her dad ends up being like, aside from her, the only semi-chill one) so NO-One (except Derek but whenever in s1 was he ever forward and helpful and truthful he can’t do all at once too much broody-brooding for that)… on the good side… knows… dun Dun DUN.

(I mean, Pete also knows but lmao if you think he’d help normally, let alone in his state)

AND THAT’S A WRAP. For episode one and pre-canon, I think this is actually pretty neat??

Like I don’t think I botched too much shit up, guys. Sorry I didn’t go into much detail with Scotty, but I don’t think much about his pre-series life would have changed??? So yeah. Feel free to flesh out this AU with headcanons, I’m not done ‘til I’ve not-ficced the whole series.

It is 05:22 in the morning and I feel like I’ve accomplished something??? Lmao that’s probably because I need sleep.

w/ j.yh ft. s.mg

g/ slice of life, friendship

w.count/ 700

a.n/ [romantics era team]: we hope it’s up to your expectations!

a.n2/ @barsformars, aiming for that soft feels.

t.w/ mentions of alcohol

The party was great, albeit a biased opinion but it was great. Yunho was not the kind to hold back when it came to his best friend. He gathered their closest friends and had dinner at the place of childhood nostalgia then finished it off at a club.

He still felt the buzzing of alcohol in his bloodstreams, they were not going to go away anytime soon, mixing drinks was not a good idea but it was alright once in a while. Yunho only added fuel to the fire when his friend danced on top of the table. He was grateful they were regulars there and the workers knew them by names, at the same time he didn’t quite care if the employees didn’t know them either. One or two shot glasses were definitely shattered on the floor but all in good memory. He would have to print some polaroids to share tomorrow, no, later today or tomorrow, it’s already dawn.

The smooth gliding of the black taxi almost sent him to sleep if not for the weight that dropped on his shoulder to keep him awake. Golden beige locks tickled his jaw and the soft snores mocked him. His best friend tanked out the moment Yunho manoeuvred him into the vehicle. Hopefully, the lift maintenance was done because he wouldn’t be able to climb the stairs with his wobbly legs and an extra deadweight. His friend had to be the same size as him if not a centimetre shy. “Mingi-ah, wake up, we’re here,” Yunho jostled the gentle giant beside him. No such luck, he only received an incoherent mumble in response.

It took Yunho five minutes to get Mingi out of the car, five minutes of struggles including smacking his head against the roof of the taxi and unceremoniously holding his friend like a teddy bear whilst paying the driver. Embarrassing but he forgot the feeling as fast as he felt them. The lift maintenance notice was taken down and Yunho let out a noise of joy as he eagerly pressed the up arrow. He was not going to let Mingi live it down, the fellow giant clung to him like a baby and Yunho spent whatever strength he had left to somehow carry him this far.

Eight strides. Eight strides until Yunho could punch in the codes to his apartment. Eight strides turned out to be a lot more, Mingi’s feet dragged as he manhandled the passed out boy to lean against him comfortably. Lady Luck was simultaneously with him and not with him. Life was with him. The struggles and trivial happiness. Yunho never rejoiced as much as now when he reached the front of his door, missing the lock pad and entering the wrong numbers twice before the light switched blue and the beep of unlocking security cheered with him.

Home smelled like vanilla and sandalwood, the residual scent of Mingi’s new candle burned yesterday, it cocooned Yunho in a welcoming embrace. He kicked off his shoes before stumbling straight onto the floor, an expletive escaped him and his arm immediately curled around his friend’s head to break the fall. Mingi didn’t budge from the clumsy mishap whilst Yunho let out a pained groan, his elbow took the brunt. He never understood why that specific part of the elbow was called ‘funny bone.’ It wasn’t funny at all.