#( * howl. find your wild. be your own refuge. / re: malia tate. )

[embodies]

i wouldn't count on it. / hayley marshall @ malia

❛ take another step and you'll be getting your ass kicked, girl code or not. ❜ she's nestled into the quaint and magnetic city that is beacon hills, earned enough purchase of its terrain to feel comfortable in herself. her friends are here, her found family and found self. maybe that's the foundation for how territorial she is now, or perhaps she's had one too many negative experiences with supernatural beings that turn up unannounced to what she now deems a home. these are not mutually exclusive ideas : both can be true.

' i wouldn't count on it. '

the certainty in the other woman's words sets malia aback a little : makes her wonder what the business this stranger might be after could be. nobody comes here for a vacation. she rocks on her feet, not quite taking a step back but not half as self - assured either. they can smell your fear. she holds her ground under the sickle moon, earthy scents rich around them and biding their time. it would not be the first time blood has been shed in these woods. her next words are measured, slow and gritted through her teeth in an attempt to remain placid. she has always struggled with her rage, can sense it in her adversary also. maybe they are more alike than different.

❛ then count on this : you need to make it crystal clear why you've come here. or it'll be more than me making your life difficult tonight. ❜

@serendpitous. ♡

[embodies]

' how do you know so much about monsters ? '   ↪ @philomelia : malia.

malia has spent her whole life cowering. survival instinct is not necessarily all claws and teeth, feral in nature and venomous to the touch. sometimes it is burrowing in the safety that is life of the recluse, watchful eyes and bated breaths. for years she was one with the shadows and fearful of footsteps crunching amidst autumnal leaves : her re - discovery of humanity had come at a price but promised to lead a life of hunting, lest she be hunted. for the most part. it was safe to say she had enough of her fair share playing prey. better to seek than to be sought.

perhaps it is in part this mentality that illicits her ensuing response, or maybe she still has some learning to do in the subtlety department. maybe it's in fact the solemnity of how the other girl poses her curiosities that fills malia with the need to provide an equally candid answer. perhaps it is all those things. she is windswept by her instincts, decisions made on gut feeling alone. closing her eyes for brief repose, she allows the seepings of transformation to permeate her. elongating canines become prominent fangs ( all the better to eat you with ) and nails, bitten and stubby, follow suit into talon - like grips. when her eyes open again they are a vivid cerulean and resilient in nature. her stare is unabashed, eager for whatever reaction might be gleaned from the bystander to her shift.

❛ 's this giving you any clues ? ❜

[embodies]

' my own friends hate my guts. '   ↪ @arghent : malia.

❛ i don't hate your guts. ❜ petulance paves the way for meekness, an awkward beat passing as malia considers whether or not she's actually breached the territory lines of acquaintances to friends yet. the coyote would like to think so, but hunters never took kindly to her. without comment on the matter, she decides to continue. ❛ and i don't think they do, either. they're just . . . hurt. ❜ empathy is hard for her, especially for situations she knows very little about. stiles filled her in on the details ( or the down low as he'd rather refer to it ) and she smells the grief of a time once passed on scott anytime the name allison is mentioned. ❛ you've been gone a long time. ❜

[embodies]

❝ monsters. magic. gods. you get used to it. ❞ ↪ @appleyed​ : for malia.

❛ yeah, it’s the humans i’ve never quite gotten ‘round to understanding. ❜ the intricacies of the english language, the unspoken verbal barriers of politeness, a delicacy called tact. spells and potions and curses all had recipes of sorts, direct criteria that demanded to be listened to. humanity was a dance of ambiguity, painted with prejudice. she looks up at the other, earthy scent strong in her senses. it is homely to be with someone so attuned to nature. nostalgia sweeps broad strokes. ❛ —how long did it take you ? to get used to it. ❜ malia thinks, perchance, that some people never do.

[embodies]

“You’re not going to die. I’ll make sure of it.” ↪ @vihilum : reed & malia.

she forces herself through ragged breaths, each inhalation feeling like it's tearing a hole through her lung. her hands are in a white - knuckled grip, claws unsheathed and gritting for purchase as if it'll make it hurt less.   she looks down and sees red.   it doesn't unnerve her — she's had a thousand wounds and patched up about a hundred of them herself.   gone are the days for squeamishness.   she's not in a good way though, mouth agape with the strain and welling with bloodied saliva, sweat beading at her temples,   eyes gleaming a fierce cerulean.

❛   it'd make one hell of a—   movie for your camcorder, though. can't   . . .   ❜   a wave of pain clenches in her gut, makes her cry out feebly.   ❛   can't deny that.   ❜   she tries for a smirk, panting through the nausea.   ❛   i should be healing by now. why am i not healing   ?   ❜   frustration hasn't quite made its way to fear yet, hand cupping her ribs as if the pressure will aid her. unbenownst to her,   something embedded between the bones is impeding any chance at recovery.

[embodies]

[ ⚖️ ] what is your muse’s moral code? what kind of morality do they have? / malia!

headcanon memes. accepting!

malia’s moral code is not at all fixed and ever changing, much like many other aspects of her personality. she’s malleable since the whole being found as a coyote in the wild scenario and while i reject the pretty fanon idea that she’s essentially still a child she has obviously missed some crucial stepping stones of behavioural etiquette along the way.

she wants to do the right thing, this is ultimately the most core notion to remember. but her morality is skewed to not see the other side of the story and she'll often make rash decisions either in the interest of herself or her friends. her survival instinct is absolutely off the charts and will often outright override any moral code entirely, a similar ( but not exact ) comparison to human selfishness. it's rawer than that, a wiring she can't undo.

but she's ever growing and i think values scott's moral code in particular very heavily so when able, she'll attempt to replicate that. there is an element of her moral code ( alongside other emotions she has ) that will always feel a little artificial and fabricated because her brain no longer works in the same way as your average person but the important part is her enacting these moral decisions. it gets smoother and more natural each time she does it, akin to a bilingual person speaking less and less brokenly in a language that isn't their own. eventually there are very few slipups at all.

[embodies]

' it's a weird kind of night. '   ↪ @appleyed : malia.

yeah, tell me about it. she has ventured the forests in solitude for much of her life, a rundown habit from the days of yore : she has a pack now, no longer lives that life, but there is still a serene bliss found only in the depths of the trees and the shroud of their canopies. she misses it. ❛ i'm guessing it's not every day your woodland creatures turn into humans. ❜ that contagious stiles - like need to quip, she is a verbal chameleon learning her place in the puzzle. ❛ were - coyote at your service. ❜ a mock salute, the knowing that she is accompanied but someone else more than human. the smell of something not quite ethereal but ever more than that concrete corporeal life of the mundane. ❛ what do they call you in the monster rulebook ? ❜

[embodies]

' hey, aren't you supposed to be running interference for me? '   ↪ @k1ngdingus : malia.

❛ aren't you supposed to shut up and look pretty ? ❜ it could hardly be considered a quip, for her eyes are steeled and her teeth gritted as the words hiss out of them. he'd be naive to take the compliment. and maybe he is. her first and most intuitive thought is to roll her eyes and huff. men. but she corrects herself from that oh, so lydia - like train of thought and amends. humans. for they are all so prone to impatience, so quick to jump the gun and even quicker to fire it. ❛ a little trust never hurt anybody. let me do my job. ❜ she raises her brows then, as if expecting a retort in protest. and maybe he will.

[embodies]

' you shouldn’t be here tonight. '  ↪ @arghent​ : malia.

apprehension has been around every corner since allison’s return : a childlike curiosity renders malia eager to explore. for she was the first. before any of this trance - like story transcended, allison had scoped the lay of the land long before malia had become human. as one had traversed the woods through the brush and scrub, mouth full of teeth and frothing for prey, the other had walked those same terrains with quiver of arrows in hand. perhaps they had even crossed paths : it was a funny thought, to think any stray coyote she had stumbled across may well have been the woman stood before her today.

❛ i’ve never been much good at following the things i should be doing. was always more interested in the could instead. ❜ she is meek with caution despite knowing the reasons otherwise. a stranger with scott’s stamp of approval is a stranger all the same. they will build from this. ❛ didn’t take you as someone who would turn down a helping hand. or is it a me thing ? ❜ she’s teasing, tiptoeing the line of what is too familiar and what is acceptable. social cues be damned.

❛ c’mon. show me what we’re up against. ❜

[embodies]

[ hips ] tyler @ malia 😇

INTIMACY  WERE  NOT  UNBENOWNST        /        he  knows  she  doesn’t  like  sleeping  alone,   she  knows  forehead  touches  do  wonders  to  calm  the  tempest  he  bears.          they  rest  their  legs  on  each  other,   carry  one  another,   poke  and  prod  and  ruffle  and  hold.

physical  proximity  is  no  stranger  to  their  bond,   but  tonight  it  burns.

she’s  the  little  spoon       (       much  to  her  quiet  discontent     —     she  likes  to  admire  the  lines  of  his  back,   lightly  trace  each  minute  freckle  with  her  fingers  and  read  the  constellations  they  create     )       and  qualms  aside,   she  likes  his  hands  on  her.

he’s  warm     :     breath  light  at  the  nape  of  her  neck,   thumb  resting  idle  at  her  hipbone  though  she  has  no  real  recollection  of  it  settling  there  for  the  night.          a  strange  urgency  arises  in  her  mind  that  it  simply  isn’t  enough,   that  she  is  fickle  with  the  desire  for  touch  at  her  sides,   her  stomach,   her  neck,   wherever  else  he  might  reach.

on  cue     (     she  thinks,   as  if  the  strings  that  bind  them  also  connect  their  minds  in  a  lycanthropic  form  of  telepathy     )     his  hold  tightens,   pulling  her  sluggishly  by  the  hips  in  toward  his  body.          she  wonders,   unable  to  discern  from  heartrate  and  breathing  alone     —     is  he  asleep   ?

curiosity  piqued  and  clamouring  for  more     —     always  more     —     she  props  herself  on  her  elbow  with  caution,   manoeuvres  herself  around  in  the  enveloping  circlet  of  his  arms  so  she  can  face  him,   eyes  studious  in  the  crepuscular  veil  of  dark.          she  cannot  tell.

a  tentative  gesture  ensues   ;   malia  leans  in,   nudges  her  nose  against  the  slope  of  his.          she  gains  little  response,   a  twitch  of  his  expression  maybe  imagined.          her  lips  follow  without  much  thought  of  the  consequences,   catching  his  breath  in  his  chest  and  mingling  it  with  her  own  gentle  laugh  against  the  premises  of  his  mouth.

❛          you  can  stop  pretending  to  be  asleep     :     you’re  a  shitty  faker.          ❜

when  she  directs  his  hands  with  her  own,   she  coaxes  them  back  to  her  hips  and  he  happily  obliges,   a  more  fervent  tug  pulling  her  in  than  the  one  prior.        malia’s  leg  hikes  up  the  scope  of  his  waist  comfortably,   uses  this  newfound  position  as  tugging  leverage  of  her  own,   and  explores  this  newfound  realm  of  kissing  they’ve  permitted  one  another.

tyler’s  fingertips  are  everywhere  at  once   :   in  her  hair,   down  her  spine,   drawling  across  her  neck  and  chest,   she  likes  his  hands  on  her  and  tonight  it  burns.          breathless,   she  forsakes  this  unforgiving  warmth  and  rids  herself  of  her  shirt,   returning  her  mouth  to  his  jawline  and  his  hands  to  exactly  where  she  wants  them.

[embodies]

❛ Whoa, Hey, hey, hey hey, Deep breaths, Lot of deep breaths. ❜ malia!

A  CURRENT  OF  UNREST  SURGES  WITHIN     :          wild  and  rampant  as  the  bovine’s  stampede,     mercurial  and  honed  as  the  eagle  in  flight.          it  flickers,   capricious  in  the  cyan  specks  of  her  eyes,   not  quite  pooling  with  the  beta - blue  of  a  werecoyote’s  gaze,   but  ever  present  and  beckoning.          she  is  in  control     —     for  the  most  part.

her  eyes  subdue  to  their  unyielding   brown     :     from  flaming  embers  to  burnt  umber.

❛          i’m  fine.          ❜          it  exudes  stubbornly  at  first,   plain  of  her  tongue  still  seized  in  the  aftermath  of  her  agitation,   snapping  like  an  unmuzzled  dog     :     all  bark  and  bite,   a  potently  fatal  combination.          realising  her  mistake,   her  steadfast  rage  in  its  razing  path,   she  intercepts  with  a  meek  and  apologetic  gratitude.

❛          thank  you.           ❜

[embodies]

❛          AS  YOU  ALWAYS  SAY  TO  ME,        don’t  knock  it  ‘til  you  try  it.          three  in  the  morning  is  the  only  appropriate  time  to  be  climbing  trees     :     you  just  haven’t  lived.          ❜

@unpredictableavenues.

[embodies]

ONE     :     YOU  ARE  TRAPPED.          the  werecoyote  is  chained  like  the  feral  creature  she  is  capable  of  becoming,   wrists  shackled  uncomfortably  behind  her  back.          she  gives  an  intuitive  yank  at  their  bindings  to  test  their  strength  and  finds  them  sturdy.

TWO     :     YOU  ARE  NOT  ALONE  IN  HERE.          the  steady  beat  of  a  heart  other  than  her  own  is  imminent  in  her  eardrums,   a  metronomical  thump - ba - thump  to  her  fleeting  rabbit’s  heart  pummelling  fast  in  her  throat.          her  company  is  not  conscious.

craning  her  neck  to  see  behind  her,   squinting  through  an  unwelcome  headache  and  only  barely  spotting  a  similarly  imprisoned  girl  in  her  peripheral  vision,   she  barks  out  a  call  to  arms.

❛           hey.          hey,   you.          wake  up     —     what  the  hell  is  this   ?          ❜

[embodies]

❛          i wanna go out.          do something.          ❜          her exclamation seems to curtail on the brink of a tightrope,  an underlying tension pulling her words taut across her tongue.          no acknowledgement is made of this,  restless stature traversing the room as quickly as she’d entered it,  and waiting with the door ajar.

❛          you coming ?          ❜

@lockwoodspecial.

[embodies]

❛          what’s the point of making a new year’s resolution ?          it’s not like i’m gonna stick to it.          ❜

@bravele.

[embodies]

❛          it’s not like i asked to be changed back.          they’re not my problem.          ❜

@wiildfires.