#more than likely a coyote dragged it out and a car scared it off

[carrioncrowprince]

cant wait for consistent warm weather to clean the skull i literally found on the side of a road

[mxldito]

😨 FEARFUL; 🍧 SHAVED ICE; 🙈 SEE-NO-EVIL;🎁 PRESENT; ❄️ SNOWFLAKE (for the OC emoji ask)

𝐎𝐂 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐒!

😨 FEARFUL - when scared, do they go into “flight” or “fight”?

  I feel like prior to becoming a vampire, Coyote was very much a “freeze then flight” kind of person. Now as a vampire, they not only experienced an influx of confidence but now Coyote coexists with what is known as The Beast. This is the part of them that I would describe as reptilian, animalistic, and concerned with self-preservation above all else. If backed into a corner, they’ll fight tooth and nail and will only run off if it’s a situation that has a good chance of killing them.

🍧 SHAVED ICE - do they still have any objects from their childhood? what significance does it have to them? what would their reaction be if they lost it?

  I don’t imagine Coyote has much left from their youth, though I remember mentioning they had a picture of their parents holding them as a toddler in their car, but Coyote’s papa did leave one other thing to them. A gold chain with a medallion of La Virgen De Guadalupe on it. This is one of those things that they never wear and hardly ever take out of it’s hiding place. 

  Being one of the final things of value he owned, Jesus placed it around his child’s neck hoping that if they found themselves in a struggle, they could pawn it off and get a little cash from it. Instead, Coyote hid it away anywhere they could. Not for the money or the religious and protective connotations but because they were determined to give it back to their dad someday. In their heart of hearts, this belongs to him and should be with him again. In a way, it’s become symbolic for their childhood and the hope to see their parents again. Losing it for them would be losing hope and seriously would send them into a deep spiral.

🙈 SEE-NO-EVIL - what's a side of your oc that they don’t want to show other people?

  Coyote eccentricity is what people take as the Malkavian part of them. That’s not the case by a long shot. That eccentricity has always been within them but it’s a part of themselves they’ve always stifled. The real Malkavian in them would be the difficult to contain knowledge and rage that deal with every night. Implosive or explosive, Coyote can be relentlessly cruel to themselves and others. This knowing, this awareness of the cruelty they can inflict is something they will always keep under lock and key. This is not for others to see since they don’t want their lucidity to be questioned, especially with their position of power. They’ll only expose this soft, pale underbelly to their Coterie as Morgan and Lennox have likely already seen them at their worst and pass no judgment. 

🎁 PRESENT - what types of presents would they be most happy to receive? are they good at gift giving?

  Other than blood bags or offering to share a Blood Doll, nothing lights Coyote’s eyes up like some good literature. They’re much more of a bookworm than most people expect! Horror, crime, erotica, philosophy text, psychology text, political text, and lockpicking manuals are a favorite. Other than that, they always appreciate some good clothes or being offered the usage of anybody’s shower!

  As for giving gifts, Coyote will do their best to observe the interests of the people they care about and get them gifts that might be useful. Morgan is into woodcarving! They’ll bring him tools and stain samples! Lennox is a drag queen! Any makeup they can get away with shoplifting! They’ll also give people they love Mal de Ojos as a protective ward! If not any of these, they’ll take a stolen ring right off their finger and put it on yours instead!

❄️ SNOWFLAKE - do people consider them cold? if so, what made them this way?

  The way people view Coyote varies heavily on who they hang around, what Sect they’re a member of, and if they’ve bought into silly rumors. There are those who view them as a revolutionary, the sibling they never had, a kind and warm leader! Somebody they want to put their faith into! On the flipside, there are those who see them as an ice-cold killer, a charlatan, disruptive to the way of life of all vampires. 

  The thing is that Coyote can be all of those things. To their fellow Anarchs, they willingly present themselves as a beacon of hope! To the Camarilla or Sabbat and even maybe the Second Inquisition, they’ll happily be a threat. They want to be feared. They want it to be known that if they consider you to be the threat to Kindred or that you’re holding back their progress, they’ll happily dispose of you and make it personal.

[abbinurmel]

A Tale Of Goats and The Most Metal Album Cover Tree Of All Time.

This is a true story that happened to a close friend. I right now am sitting up with insomnia again in his house and felt like honoring him, despite it being three years since his death. I've told this tale dozens of times irl but now felt like telling this story online because I wanna immortalize it as it is that good.

So. My late biker friend, Machito, my inarguably coolest friend, one of my oldest and only flesh and blood friends. The man the myth the rocking legend. There are a million other equally wild if not wilder tales of him and his pals/rivals, but this one is my favorite. So...

Once upon a time, there was this friend of mine who was your ur example of a badass rugged mountain man. A solitary, dark long dreadlocked / epic mustached, scary tattooed, leather wearing, tall, even darker skinned and somehow actually more badass irl than Danny Trejo who was practically his lookalike, sorta guy. A guy who has masters degrees in both law and biology who lives in the Catskills in a trailer with his mom next door along with his Harley bikes and his beloved chihuahuas. And during his life in the rural wilderness of upstate New York he was on and off a small farmer. This makes sense as the nearest major grocery store is an almost 30-40 minute drive down steep winding dirt roads, occasionally down heavily snow piled hills. He had no crops but raised livestock like chickens and cows for extra food, as so many here do. At some point he owned a small herd of goats. And one day, they all escaped out of their pen because the gate somehow broke. He did not realize this until after the sheriff called to inform him, telling him over the phone that neighbors far down the way had a bunch of goats now racing all up and down their big front and back yards, shitting everywhere and kicking down trash cans and tearing up grass and he had to now show up and fix this problem as they knew they def were his. My friend drove over and brought out his shotgun.

"No no! Don't *shoot* the goats! *Catch* them!" the officer snapped.

"Are you nuts," Machito said.

"Why not?" asked the sheriff.

"Because they're GOATS, you idiot city slicker."

"You can't shoot animals out here."

"We got us a whole batch of scared goats on the loose, I've no patience in this heat, or hope of ever catching them any other way. These goats are not pets. They'll not come if called. I didn't raise them that way. They're for strictly meat and hides. So they're to be slaughtered regardless anyway."

"Don't care."

"-Look. It's a waste, I know, but asides just leaving them to run amok wild, its best I can do. If I don't kill them, eventually some other guy will: shoot at MY property, I might add, as you said, the goats that *I* paid for. And if a redneck doesn't shoot them, then out in the bush the coyotes will tear em apart. More likely they just hit a car. Or die of disease. These aren't forest animals, they have no idea where they are going. It's probably more merciful this route."

"No way you going to do that!" yells the sheriff. "You're gonna catch them alive."

"I cannot do that."

"Oh you better!"

"-You go and catch one of them then, to show me how easy it is."

The sheriff was astounded but acquiesced. Surely he ran thru field, the tall grass full of mud, goat shit and thorn bushes, trying in vain to bare handedly by the haunches catch all these panicking, not at all stupid, very large hoofed and horned, kicking, dirty, stubborn, noisy, stinky creatures.

-the fat old white town sheriff returns, bedraggled and battered, red and sweaty, tired and filthy.

"Okay you win. Shoot the bastards."

"Toldyaso," says Machito.

"Just shootem, shoot them all!" says the sheriff. And he does. But that is not the end of the story.

Machito drags all the dead goats now into his pickup. He drives home, back up the mountain, in the blazing summer sun, with an enormous pile of meat already attracting flies. ...Bear in mind now. This is a guy who is a lone hunter, a mountain guy, just a biker who reluctantly killed a mass of goats all by himself. Not a farmer. He does not have a real actually fully staffed farm. Or a giant freezer capable of handling a ton of goats all at once. The way one properly butchers a goat is to string them on a hook and remove entrails, same as any dead deer, pig or cow. Most meat raising people, if they don't take livestock to a slaughterhouse directly while alive, will maybe use some type of big tablesaw to hack the limbs and heads off. But again, this is not a guy living with that sort of an efficient mass butchering setup. He is just guy chilling in the boonies, a guy with a trailer, and a single pole and a chain with hook on it to his name. When it comes to meat, he just takes a single eventual goat or pig, after having raised it for a long time to get fat, and after a clean shot in the head he then simply butchers the whole thing with a machete to be either stuffed in a fridge or straight for dinner. He is not a guy who kills lots of animals weekly to regularly sell in grocery aisles this is just a *hobby* for the pleasure of eating fresh venison and goat meat stew as that's how they often did things in rural Jamaica, where his mother comes from.

SO. Do the math: he has a whole pile of corpses on his hands, no huge professional farmhouse or freezer to put all these dead goats in. They gotta now be carved all up outside and stored/preserved right the f *NOW* or else things will be gross real quick. ....My friend had to in the July heat string up around a dozen dead adult goat corpses upside down from a big dead tree's branches in his backyard and remove all the entrails and place them in a big ol pile on a table next to it.

A beautiful sight, a great big ol Tree of Meat and Death. That is not the end of this story.

My friend (who again, is a long wild haired scary looking hermit biker) is hot and sweaty and covered in blood. Flies and mosquitoes are cos of that constantly nipping him all his flesh. His hair is a bloody sticky mess. He smacks his face and all over his butcher's apron. Leaving behind bloody hand prints. Holding a giant machete. I think you know where this is heading.

Some hours into carving yet more dead goat carcass, a doorbell is heard. Now, very few people ever regularly visit my friend's place. It's too remote. And the few who do so are rarely on anything except very familiar terms. And my friend has had a rough time of it of late with another biker friend of his. They aren't enemies, they are still close, but he has reached a point of just being fed up by their repeat bunglings and toxic codependency of late. There was also some car or motorcycle repair stuff I think? I can't recall the details, they were not important...Anyway.

Machito has a car out in the driveway with for sale written on it...but has completely forgotten about that as it has sat there for ages. What he didn't know was ***a woman*** from out of town has stopped by to inquire about the vehicle. But instead he thinks it is this aggravating friend of theirs who's been for one reason or another getting on their last nerves and always lately dropping by. So he lunges around the side of the trailer house, pissed off and sweaty, clasping a big knife, soaked in blood and stained with handprints all over. And blindly as he comes in charging, he roars:

"ARGHHHH, WHAT THE FUCK IS IT THIS TIME?! HUH?"

The poor woman screams. She runs away in terror.

"NO WAIT! WAIT STOP ITS NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE-"

Lady comes round the back, she sees The Metal Album Goat Tree of Doom and screams and nearly faints then runs away as fast as she can, gets in her car, and hits the turbo. Still not the end of my story.

A doorbell happens. It's the sheriff. The guy from before. He says there was a reported disturbance of a serial killer up here so tell him what happened. Machito takes him out back to show off the goat tree and explains the misunderstanding. The sheriff cackles and wheezes: "Do you know who that woman that reported you was...? That WOMAN was MY WIFE."

They both share a laugh and open a couple beers. And soon. The sheriff is bringing Machito over to HIS HOUSE. Where he hides him. And the wife isn't home yet. She still is at the station.

She gets eventually home after her hubby says it's fine he arrested the psycho. She sits down to dinner and starts to talk about how relieved she is when yes OF COURSE YES mY BEAUTIFULLY STILL GORE SMEARED FRIEND BARGES OUT OF THE HALL SHOUTING AND WAVING HIS MACHETE AND YES IT IS TERRIBLE AND HORRIBLE AND CRUEL AND YES THIS JS THE BEST FUCKING EPIC PRANK OF ALL GODDAMNED TIME.

And THAT is the end of my story.

[headcans-oneshots-and-stuff]

Cold and empty (2/2)

Warning: More Angst, but also the promised fluff. Also one (1) corny joke that is not at all funny Wordcount: ~2k Summary: Now that the world knows about your biggest secret you fret that the life you knew will now change forever. Is there any way left to fix things?

Part 1 When you woke up, you were alone. What greeted you when you opened your eyes was the white ceiling of the hospital room that you quickly identified. The memories of what happened flooded your mind and your hand immediately wandered towards your stomach. You felt the rough material of the gauze wrapped around you and you expected a sharp pain to shoot through you. Nothing. You frowned when you noticed that your whole body was numb and you felt slightly out of touch with your body and your mind. What was going on? you asked yourself and looked around the room. The door to the hospital floor was closed and the window beside it was hidden behind the blinds, and the room itself was completely empty except the medical machinery and the lone chair beside the bed you laid on. Then your gaze landed on the window that was on the opposite side of the room. The first sunrays of the day shone through it and coloured the sky in the astonishing colours of dawn. How long have you been out? was the first question that filled the foggy space that was your mind. You had no sense of time at that moment. You closed your eyes to clear some of the confusion and daze you were in when you realized the extent of the situation. There had been police In your house, the pack had been at your house... There was no way they wouldn't know about your situation now. What now? The authorities now knew that you were a minor without any guardian. You were surely done for. Should you just leave, try to run away, make your own way. The thought had your heartbeat quickening in nervousness and fright. Leaving your pack? The people you loved and who loved you? Being completely on your own? Before you could make any sense of the thousands of thoughts that started to fly around in your head the door opened and Melissa came rushing inside, stopping at your side and taking your hand in her. "Shhh, it's okay. You're okay. Everything is fine, don't be scared. I know you're confused," she calmingly muttered to you while stroking her thumb over the back of your hand. Slowly, but surely your heartbeat calmed down. "Do you remember what happened?" she asked, carefully looking at you from where she kneeled beside you. "Y-yes," you weakly crooked out, only now realizing how vulnerable your voice was and how hard it was to speak. "That's good," she mumbled while standing up again and looking at the machinery surrounding you, "You really frightened us all big time. You were in the operation room for almost 12 hours. The bullet pierced through your stomach so we were all quite worried about if you would make it, but it's all okay now. You'll be in pain for a while, right now you're still full off pain killers so you won't feel much anyway, but as soon as that wears off, you'll be quite uncomfortable." You absentmindedly listened to her and nodded your head, your gaze now fixed on a spot at the wall behind her. "In fact, there are quite a few people waiting for you out there," she nodded at the door and smiled. You immediately looked at her. "Why do you look so confused, did you think they'd just leave you here alone? Oh no, they've been bugging me and the other nurses and doctors for hours about seeing you and nothing could get them to leave," she chuckled lightly before looking serious again, "do you think you're in a condition to see anyone?"

The entire group of well over ten people (including peter) were sitting, standing and lying in the waiting area on your floor, all of them anxious and worried. Melissa had already told them that you'd make it and that you were stable, but only minutes later she had rushed over to your room, making them even more worried than they had been before. After they had left, Scott and his entourage of angry, straight out furious, wolves/coyotes/chimeras followed the all too apparent scent of the man who had done that to you. It had taken only minutes for them to find him driving away from the city, the speed of his car nothing against the raging pace of your friends. They crashed his car and dragged him to the police station, Scott having his hands full with keeping his betas from ripping him apart (even though he couldn't deny that he wanted to do it himself too). After, they immediately joined Derek, Stiles, Lydia and (to their surprise) Peter in the hospital who updated them on your current condition and the status of your surgery. And then they waited. Except for the occasional toilet-, coffee-, or snack-run, they stayed where they were now and anxiously sat there, with worry painted on their faces. Finally, Melissa came back, looking calm enough for the pack to slightly calm down. "Is she-" "Yes, she's okay," answered Melissa the question of her Son before he could finish it and carefully gave him a smile. "She's awake and I had a quick talk with her and explained the situation-" she started but was almost immediately interrupted by Liam. "Can we see her?" Melissa sighed but kept her calm. "She told me she is okay with visitors, but at the moment I think we shouldn't overdo it. Three people at most and only for a few minutes. The pack shared looks while they silently contemplated who would be the first group who would be able to see you. The eyes quickly landed on Derek who had nervously been pacing through the space between the chairs for hours and clearly was still shaken by seeing you like that and having to sit beside you while he couldn't do anything to help you except making the pain a bit more bearable. "Derek and I will go," Scott stated, using his Alpha-status for his advantage, "and I think Lydia should come as well, she's her best friend after all." A few growls could be heard throughout the group, but no-one disagreed, leaving Lydia, Scott and Derek to follow Melissa to the room at the end of the hall which they knew belonged to you.

Standing in front of it, Derek's hand laid on the door handle, halting for a moment. He was mentally preparing for what could wait behind it, the shock of almost losing you still sitting deep, but when he felt Scott's eyes in his back he took a deep breath and opened the door. There you laid, your gaze was fixed on the window, but when you heard the steps, you looked up to the small group that had entered. When you saw Derek your eyes lit up with happiness and excitement like they always did, and it made Derek almost think that everything was okay, but then your face fell and your eyes avoided looking at your friends. For a minute the room was filled with silence when no one knew what to do or to say. It was Lydia who managed to ease the tension a bit when she walked over to your bed and sat down on the lone chair and took your hand. "Hey," she said, smiling when you finally looked at her. "Hey," you chuckled and intertwined your fingers with her. "How are you feeling?" "I feel like someone shot me," you giggled slightly, hoping that your bad joke would somehow ease the mood, but all you received were stares of horror. "Come on guys, I just almost died, can you at least laugh at my terrible jokes? I mean you won't be hearing a lot of them after that," you whispered the last part, forgetting for a moment that you were- in fact- in a room with two werewolves who basically had superhearing. "What do you mean?" Scott came forward, now standing beside your bed on the opposite side of where Lydia sat. You flinched a bit but sighed defeated. "Don't play dumb... you've seen my house," you tried to shrug, but the first sign of the pain-killers wearing off made you still your movements. "So it's true? Your aunt is gone?" "Yes. Has been for almost a year now. I mean we weren't exactly close so... I was fine. I managed," your tone was laced with defence and you averted your eyes again. "But the Sheriff said that your accounts-" "I had that all calculated okay... I had a plan. I mean sure, my life wouldn't exactly have been the dream of a teenage girl, but I would have ensured that I had another year or so with you guys and now..." your voice wavered and a sob shook your body, a warning about the emotional storm that was about to follow for you. You soon realized that crying after being shot in the stomach wasn't exactly a pleasurable experience and you had trouble trying to hide the excruciating pain that filled you with ever sob. Suddenly it stopped. It felt like all your pain wandered away from your body through the hand that wasn't held by Lydia and you looked down to find a big, rough hand grab it. You followed the black veins that were wandering his arm up and found Derek looking at you with sad, worried eyes. You wanted to say something, anything, but before you could, Lydia interrupted you and you had to tear your eyes away from Dereks. "Why would anything change now?" her voice seemed genuinely clueless and you had to hold back a sigh. "I'm a minor without a guardian who lied to the government for the last year. I can hope that the whole 'faking signatures' thing doesn't end me in jail or in any other legal trouble, but-" "Noah will never let that happen! And if it comes to the worst-case scenario, I'll even call my dad so that he pulls some strings," interrupted Scott frantically, not waiting for what was to follow. "I don't doubt that," you smiled and shrugged a bit, "but... still. They still have to report that my aunt is dead and that I'm alone with the CPS. And then, I'll have to enter the fun roller coaster of the foster care system for teenagers. Yay me!" You saw that Scott wanted to interrupt again but you continued talking before he could. "And even if not, what then. The American health care system is shit if I even get to keep the money that's still in my aunts accounts, then it's gone after I paid the bills for this," I nodded towards my new wound, both my hands still occupied. "So yeah, my only options are pitch, sulphur or wolfsbane..."   "No," blurted Derek who hasn't said anything since he entered the room. "What?" you asked and looked at him confused. "None of this is going to happen. You're neither going to end in jail, in foster care or on the street." "What! How?" "I'll adopt you!" he exclaimed with complete confidence and nodded his head. Silence. You looked up at him with wide eyes. Hope started to fill your heart, but then your sense of reality returned. "It's not funny to joke about something like that," you muttered and tried to let go of his hand, but he just gripped on tighter which would've hurt you if he wasn't still taking your pain away. "I'm not joking Y/N/N." Derek's voice was softer than Scott or Lydia had ever heard and he used the nickname he was so adamant about keeping a secret from the rest off the pack. "Are you sure? I mean if you want a child, then it surely would be better to get a younger one. I'm only a few years away from becoming 18 and-" "I don't necessarily want a child. I already have someone who's like a daughter to me." His eyes were fixed onto you and for a moment you forgot that there was anyone else besides the two of you in this building. At that moment you felt that you could trust Derek's word, that you could trust the hope it installed in you.

[bubble-tae]

Hearts Racing

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: angst, smut

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: Yoongi’s spent his entire life in this small little town, devoting all of his time to cars and races. Things change when a girl from out of state disrupts his simple world, leaving him in awe at how just one day can change everything.

Moodboard done by @ddaengyoonmin as part of her moodboard collaboration project. Reposted from old account. 

Ever since he was young, his mother hated taking him to the racetrack nearby. Every first of the month the locals would hold a race for the whole town, $5 a person and kids free. In their small town it was normal for boys to start learning car mechanics and the itch to feel the leather steering wheel beneath their fingertips, and Yoongi was no different. He was a bright young thing. College bound, his teachers would say, but he only had eyes for one thing; the track. There was nothing his mother could do that could tear him away from it. Three weeks into baseball season his mom came in her station wagon to pick him up from the field, only he wasn’t there. Hadn’t ever been a kid named Yoongi on the baseball team, turned out, cause at just 13 he was showing the high school kids what he was all about.

Did he absolutely get his assed kicked by his pops for spending the $5 bucks he was given for uniform on bribing the teens to let him take a spin in one of their dad’s roadsters? Hell yeah, but when he showed up at that track the next day with a busted lip and black eye, he got mad props?? from those high school kids. So every Saturday from then on for the next 6 years that’s where you’d find him. ‘Elbows deep and covered in grease,’ they’d like to say, and that’s how she first saw him that hot July afternoon.

She was an out of towner, rolled in a few weeks ago to visit her cousin for his graduation. She let his buddies take her on dates all over town, didn’t mind the free drinks and drags from their cigarettes. Shit, it beat kicking it at the house with aunt Cheryl while her sweet dear cousin was doing his own rendition of sex education. Ending up at the racetrack that day was sort of a happy accident. Roger, one of her cousins old football buddies, and parked the car down the street from there when he was trying to feel up her skirt with his slimy fingers when she asked what the ‘Town Track’’ was. Of course Roger said it was nothing while he leaned in close, and of course she gave him a sweet smile when she hopped out the car and asked him to show her.

He was nice enough to buy her a coke once inside, but after the car stunt he seemed much more interested in talking to the local racetrack drivers who were taking a beer break from whatever they were doing. Well, all of them except one. His head hadn’t risen once from under the hood of a car, working presumably on something difficult as he huffed and puffed with irritation.

“That’s a mighty fine ride you got there,” Roger pointed to a car out in the back with a beer in his hands, “she must be fun on the weekends.”

One of the older drivers, maybe in his late 40s, scratched at his beard and nodded to the girl twiddling the coke straw in between her lips. “I could say the same to you.” She took a sip of the coke and spit it at his feet.

“Eat dog shit,” she spat at him, not even blinking an eye. The man stood to his feet and pointed at Roger.

“You better keep your bitch on a leash.” he said, and the man who had been quietly working sprang up and slammed the hood of the car shut, making everyone jump just a little bit. He was young, maybe no older than Roger, and handsome despite the black stains that littered his body.

“What would your momma think if she heard you calling a lady somethin’ like that?” he questioned, walking around to the drivers side and hoping in while fiddling with the keys. The older man let out a howling laugh like a coyote, or like a man that had too much to drink.

“She’s as much as a lady as that car’ll start,” he said which got the rest of the boys in fits of hoots and laughs. “Give it a rest already Yoongi, that old thing will never race.” The boy, Yoongi, only let out a small smirk as he put the key in the ignition. The car’s engine turned over once, twice, three times, each time the laughs getting louder and more proud. On the fourth try the engine came to life, drowning out the noise of everyone else. The older man sat down with a huff, crumpled up his empty beer can, and tossed it at the car. Yoongi’s mouth upturned into a gummy smile as he laughed at the others, in a somehow both mocking and endearing way.

“I’ll see you assholes later, I’m outta this bitch,” he tapped the side of the car and was ready to pull into reverse when the coke girl, who had been quietly studying Yoongi while the others pestered, ran up to the passenger side.

“Give me a lift up outta here,” she said leaning over the window, giving her best ‘helpless girl’ look as she puckered out her lips into a small pout. Yoongi scanned her face, saw the glint of the devil in her eyes and the slight red of the cherry chapstick on her lips. She was trouble, and he was busy.

He smiled but shook his head. “If I didn’t have things to do, I would.” Before he even turned away she was opening the door and hoping in the passenger’s seat. “I’ll tag along. Anywhere is better than with him,” she chucked her thumb over at her date. Yoongi gave her that same smile from earlier and started to back out of the small garage of the racetrack.

“You can’t just leave with him!” Roger shouted from the other side of the garage. She rested her arm out of the car and rested her head on her hand. “What are you gonna do, tell on me?” she quipped as Yoongi pulled out of the Town Track and back out onto the street. Yoongi’s hand rested lazily on the wheel, the other reaching into his dirty jeans to pull out a pack of Marlboro’s and a lighter. He pulled one out and put it in his mouth, lighting it before making a hard right towards the side of town she had never been before.

“Help yourself.” He said, tossing the cigarettes and lighter into her lap. She took one out for herself, and after a few moments of silent smoking , Yoongi looked at her from the corner of his eye.

“Where you from?” he asked, ashing his cigarette out the window.

“Upstate.” she said, and he didn’t know if it was fact or fiction. He turned down another street after a while, this one just made of red dirt clay. “You aren’t that guy that’s nabbin’ girls over in Colorado, are you?” She laughed, more amused at her own idea than actually being scared at the thought.

“Shouldn’t you ask that before you get in the car with strangers?” he offered back to her.

“You’re name’s Yoongi, and I’m Y/N. See? Not strangers.” she said matter of factly before taking one last drag and tossing the butt out of the window. She turned her body to face him. “So, where we going ‘not stranger’?”

“The Graveyard, I need some parts.”

She glanced down at his crotch and back up at him with a disgusted look on her face.

“What kinda parts you need?” she asked. Yoongi let out a small laugh and gave her a smirk.

“A car graveyard. Parts for this beauty here.” he patted the dashboard roughly with his hands and it rattled in its place. Y/N picked at a piece of torn leather from the seat they were on and flung it out the window. “Well, she’ll be beautiful soon.” he finished.

For the next twenty minutes the two talked about their lives and what led up to this moment. Bar talk really, nothing more than stories of crazy exes and high school teachers, but the air between which they spoke had a sweet silence to you it, as if a different part of themselves were speaking to one another. With each passing minute they felt less and less like strangers, but the summer does that to those I guess. Everything always seems destined.

The pair pulled up to a ‘Dead End’ sign at roughly 8 o’clock, the sun just beginning to dip below the horizon. There were cicadas buzzing all around, and yoongi pulled out another cigarette. “I gotta wait till its dark, then,” he said as he pointed a finger to a rusted chain link fence behind the sign, “I hop over that and into The Graveyard. You stay here. ” Y/N leaned back in her seat with a puff and fanned her skirt out over her legs.

“No.” she said, with a hint of annoyance in her voice.

“Huh?” Yoongi asked.

“I’m coming with you.”

“I don’t know if it’s obvious, but we aren’t supposed to even be here. There’s a guard that walks the premises, sometimes he has a hunter dog cause he knows people like to steal shit. Not to mention that you’ll have to scale that fence in a skirt.” he rambled on, his hands moving around in wild gestures.

“You can’t stop me.” said Y/N with a shrug. Yoongi huffed in disbelief.

“Fine,” he said. “But I’m not responsible when you run into trouble.”

“Fine.” she said back to him and crossed her arms.

They sat in silence until the sun set, the two of them becoming  engulfed in darkness. When Yoongi got out of the car Y/N followed, making their way through the small brush until they reached the fence. Yoongi bent down and put his hands together to give Y/N a boost, but by the time he was down on one knee she was halfway up the fence. He rolled his eyes and took the liberty of peeking up her skirt at her pink panties. She hopped down onto the other side, and when Yoongi’s fingers gripped onto the fence, she placed hers on top of them. Though there was the metal between them, their faces were only inches apart. She leaned in closer until she could smell the smoke on his breath. “Peeping Tom,” she taunted through a smirk before giggling and pushing off the fence. He would have blushed if all the blood hadn’t flown south, but he pushed the thought away. This moment was temporary, seeing the look on his rivals face next month when he won the race after getting this car fixed up? That was eternal.

He scaled the fence and hopped down next to her. The field was dark, the ghostly figures of abandoned cars littering the yard for what seemed to be miles. The Graveyard was huge, and seemed to have it’s own myths and stories surrounding it. Though neither of them would ever admit it, it was a little bit spooky. Yoongi started walking first with some sort of deliberation, like he knew where he was going, and y/n followed not far behind him.

“I’d ask you what you’re looking for but I probably wouldn’t know what it is if you told me.” Y/N said in a loud whisper. Yoongi let out a loud shushing noise before continuing to walk onwards, and as stubborn as y/n was, she was terrified of being left behind. She jogged up quickly next to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Scared?” he asked amused, and Y/N gave him a loud shushing noise of her own. They walked like that for some time before Yoongi stopped suddenly. In front of them was a car, it’s features indistinguishable as its front end was completely smashed in, the left side missing the passenger side doors. The grass was still freshly squashed beneath it, barely any sign of rust visible.

“Whoever was in that car is lucky to be alive.” y/n said.

“Yeah,” Yoongi said not taking his eyes off the vehicle, “he probably should be.” Before Y/N could question what he had said, he nudged her by the elbow and urged her to keep following him. “The car I need is just up here.” he said as he walked over to a different vehicle. This one was a bit older than the last, but more in tack. The front headlights were busted and there was thistle weeds growing through the hood caps of the wheels, and y/n began to wonder what kind of life this car lived. This place really was like a graveyard.

Yoongi went to the hood of the car and prepared to pop it open when a light in the distance caught both of their eyes. “Shit” Yoongi hissed, “we gotta hide.” He grabbed y/n by the arm and brought her over to the car and began forcing her into the back seat. She went to yell out a mad ‘hey’, but he covered her mouth and climbed on top of her. Her fists hit his chest as he closed the door behind him, the noise echoing followed by a loud “Who’s out there?” from the guard. At that Y/N froze.

“Be quiet.” Yoongi ordered in a whisper, removing his hand from her mouth. He was directly on top of her, his hot breath on her neck as his head hovered near hers. Her hands instinctively went to his shoulders, her eyes watching a light like ghosts surveying the field around them. They lay like that together until they were sure the guard had left the area, but neither of their hearts seemed to slow. Yoongi raised his head parallel to hers, their noses brushing against one another. His hand that wasn’t being used to prop himself up rose to cup her cheek. He looked down at her for a long time, scanning her face and features in the light of the moon.

Y/N made the first move, her head raising upwards as she connected their lips. For a greasy small town boy he kissed soft and slow, savoring every second. He raised his body up so Y/N could adjust her legs, and settled back down between them. His tongue swept over her bottom lip and she let him in with ease, the first boy she never made fight for it. Her hands grabbed at the hairs on the nape of his neck, a small groan coming from Yoongi as he lazily ground his hips into hers.

His lips traveled down her jawline and down to her neck, fingers ghosting over her chest as they made the way to the hem of her shirt. Yoongi didn’t waste time pulling the shirt over her head, Y/N’s arms quickly finding their way back to his hair and pulling him back down on top of her. Everything felt more intense with Yoongi, the way his chest felt pressed up against hers, hips periodically pressing down into hers. He was fully clothed, but y/n still worried that she’d never get enough of him. She’d kiss him forever if he hadn’t started pulling his own shirt over his head.

Tossing the shirt onto the ground he got into a sitting position, pulling Y/N into his slap to straddle him. His lips found their way to her chest, his fingers rubbing circles through the padding of the bra before snaking their way around to unclasp it. Y/N’s bra fell, and she couldn’t stifle a moan as yoongi’s mouth found one of her nipples, swirling it around his tongue before leaving soft bites around her breast. He gave the same attention to the other one before looking up atY/N.

His eyes were wide, innocent compared to what he was doing. She felt frozen in time, staring down at this man with his scuffed jeans and clean fingernails that rested on her thighs. There was so much she didn’t know about him, so much she wanted to ask, so much she couldn’t. Who was Yoongi, what did he want in life, and what about him made him so captivating. He was looking up at her too. She averted her eyes, suddenly feeling vulnerable in the backseat of the car. How much had he seen in her own eyes?

Yoongi opened his mouth to say something, but Y/N palmed at his arousal through his jeans before he could, replacing his words with a hearty moan. The moment was gone, and yoongi wasted no time in slipping his hands under the fabric of her skirt. Y/N pushed his head back, leaving hickies along his collarbone as she undid his belt. He became putty under her, whining at every nip and touch she sent his way. He helped her push his jeans and boxers down to his ankles, his erection dividing the space between them.

Yoongi’s fingers pushed her underwear aside, teasing at the wet folds of her pussy. He pushed two fingers inside of her, leaning back as he watched her ride them. She forced herself to move at an agonizingly slow pace, sinking all the way down to his knuckles. Yoongi’s hand gripped the side of her face, and y/n started to suck on his thumb. Precum leaked out of his tip, smearing across Y/N’s belly, Yoongi’s thumb leaving her mouth as she moaned out his name. She lifted up off of his fingers after a few more pumps, using his shoulders to steady himself. He licked his fingers, not breaking eye contact, before lining up the tip of his dick to her entrance. He didn’t move, and Y/N’s forehead fell against his.

“Move.” she ordered him. He leaned his head away from hers with a smirk.

“Good girls beg for it.” he whispered, eyes scanning over her face. She let out a huff before sarcastically starting to say, “oh pretty please, won’t you fuck me”. Yoongi entered her before she could finish, y/n failing to stifle a moan as he filled her up. He stopped when he was fully inside her.

“Beg for it.” He repeated, and she complied immediately.

“Yoongi please fuck me, I’m your good girl. I’ll always be your good girl.” Yoongi growled at her words, grabbing at her hips so he can control how fast she moved. He wasted no time picking up speed, guiding Y/N’s hips up and down on his dick, the car filling up with the sounds of skin against each other and moans. The windows were starting to fog at their heavy breaths.

Y/N was struggling to keep up at the pace Yoongi set, feeling like she could finish at any moment. Yoongi looked up at her again, her hair slightly frizzed out and eyes clenched shut in bliss. It was the first time he really got a good look at her, and god was she beautiful. He had been around, and he had never seemed to care this much about a hookup before. Her movements started to get a little sloppy, and he knew she was close. Yoongi pressed two fingers against her clit as he continued to fuck her, hips rolling faster as his on release neared.

In a few more thrusts she came undone, his name and profanities rolling off her tongue in a jumbled mess. Her head fell into his neck, and Yoongi pulled out, pumping himself a few more times before coming on his chest. Y/N lay on top of him, trying to get her mind and breathing back in order. They lay like that, long enough for Yoongi to think that falling asleep was a viable option. Y/N rolled off of him, sitting down in the back seat next to him. They dressed and cleaned quietly, but it was a comfortable silence. When they were clothed, Yoongi cautiously pulled y/n into his side.

“When do you leave?” Yoongi asked, finally breaking the silence. He was looking down at the top of her head, waiting for a response.

“Whenever I want to.” He scoffed at her witty remark, but didn’t question any further. They sat there for a while before y/n decided she’d better get home before her aunt calls the cops trying to find her. Yoongi instinctively grabbed for her hand, leading her back through the cars and tall grass, only letting go to help her hop the fence. His hand found a new place on her thigh as he drove her home, singing aloud badly to old songs on the radio. Yoongi laughed a good heart laugh for the first time in a long time on that car ride, and when he pulled into the driveway of that clean suburban house, he wished for just one more moment.

“I guess I’ll see you around?” Y/N asked, feeling tonight’s adventure coming to a close.

“There’s a meet next week.” Yoongi suddenly blurted out. “I mean like a race. You should come, I’d love to see you there.” Y/N smiled at him before biting her lip back. She leaned forward and gave him a chaste kiss.

“I’d like that.” She said before giggling and jumping out of the car without another word. Yoongi watched her jog up the walkway, only turning back once she reached the door for a quick wave before disappearing inside. Yoongi couldn’t stop smiling the whole way home, hell, the whole rest of the week. He’d go to bed every night and dream of seeing her again, of looking up in the stands and see her cheering for him. His heart raced all the way up until that day of the meet, more excited to see her than to be nervous about the race.

He wished he could say his heart broke quick and fast, but it didn’t. With every second that she didn’t show, the knife dug deeper into his chest. The older men only teased him for being so naive, offering him beers to replace his sadness. Yoongi didn’t win the race that day, but the part he could never come to terms with was how he lost someone he didn’t even know.

[bramblepeltao3]

Hey why am I still doing this?? This has become my ‘just for fun’ little thing I go to when I’ve finished doing all the other writing stuff! And it’s become just stupid fun for me.

So then, on to more Prince Prompto AU of my AU fic specifically!

Prompto felt his heartbeat quicken. They were here. Facing the Lucian royal family. He, as the Prince, stood at the front of the procession. He knew what he was supposed to do. He practiced several times on the train ride over, and he got it perfect a couple of times. He could do this.

Prompto bowed slightly towards King Regis and Prince Noctis. “The Empire of Niflheim thanks you for your hospitality. We hope that with this extension of good will, we can forge a future of peace and prosperity between our nations.” Nailed it. Prompto stood back up, perhaps a bit too quickly, and saw a look of humor on Noctis’ face.

….did he mess up? Did he say something wrong and sound stupid? Was his shirt on inside out?!

Prince Noctis took a few steps forward, closing the distance between them.

“Nice to finally meet you.” He said, extending his hand. 

Prompto felt his face flush. This was...less than formal. Not as he was coached to expect. He offered his hand as well, and Noctis quickly took it with a crooked smile. There was applause from behind, the crowd of Insomnians who had come to see the display were cheering but they sounded so very far away. It felt like it was just them. Prince Noctis and himself.

He didn’t deserve to be here. His ears began to pound with the sound of his pulse. The King was saying something, Prompto couldn’t hear it. His throat suddenly felt very dry and he wanted nothing more than to reach out to Doctor Del and ask for help. Make the dizziness and nausea and hotness on his cheeks go away.

“See you at the party, then.” Prince Noctis said with a wave, turning and following his father back into the palace.

“Good job, Shortcake.” Aranea was then at his side.

Oh. It was over. He did it? He turned to see the others, hoping for further validation of his success.

Loqi was standing at attention, no sign of approval or disappointment on his face. And Del was...angry?

“No one said anything about a party.” She sneered.

“Awe, what’s wrong lemon tart, didn’t bring a ball gown?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m sure a doctor isn’t important enough to be in attendance.”

“Not a doctor, perhaps.” Loqi said, in a very strange way.

“I’d really like it if we could all be there!” Prompto found himself saying out loud by accident. It was true. He needed everyone he could get to stay by his side. “I mean, I bet the dinner will be really good. I’d hate for anyone to miss it.”

Del’s face softened with a smile. “Of course we’ll all be there, Prompto.”

“Guess we’re going dress shopping then.” Aranea shrugged. “You boys are lucky, you can get away with your military and royal regalia. Us girls tend to be held to a higher standard.”

“Yeah, I’m not-”

“Hey you, you look like someone who knows things.” Aranea pointed at a young, well dressed man. “Where can a girl get a party dress around here?”

Prompto’s mind was flooded with his crash course in etiquette and felt himself jumping into damage control.

“My apologies for my shield, Sir.”

The young man smiled, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and nodded. “Ignis Scientia, royal advisor to Prince Noctis. No need for apologies, your grace.” Prompto felt his throat close up. How many ways could they possibly mess this up before they were all kicked out in shame?

Ignis turned to Aranea and Del. “If you’re looking for a gown for this evening’s event, I know the perfect establishment of tailors who are more than capable. Allow me to call you a car.”

“Commodore, Doctor, I will happily esco-”

“No way, Loqi.” Del frowned.

��Yeah, you’re not going anywhere. You need to stay here with the Prince and make sure he doesn’t trip on his shoelaces or something.” Aranea emphasized her point with a harsh stab of her finger to Loqi’s head.

“But...these boots don’t even have laces…” Prompto said, looking down to check just in case.

Ignis hung up his cellular phone and approached their little party once again. “Ladies, I have informed your escort where to take you. And should you wish to see any other parts of our lovely city, please feel free. You are in safe hands.”

The advisor bowed to them, then Prompto, and left with a smile.

He seemed nice. Prompto hoped he’d be there this evening as well.

“...why didn’t you yell at him?” Loqi asked. “He addressed you as ladies! Aren’t you-”

“Oh put a sock in it Loqi.” Del rolled her eyes.

“It’s different. Obviously.” Aranea said with a smirk.

A shiny black car pulled around and stopped by the curb.

“Looks like our ride, Doc.” Aranea coiled her arm around Del’s, pulling her towards the vehicle. “You boys be good! Auntie Nea and Auntie Del will be back soon!”

Prompto watched in stunned silence as Aranea dragged his doctor into the back seat of the car, the door shutting behind them. He hoped they’d have fun. They both worked so hard for him, they deserved a break. And pretty dresses.

---

Cor really should have seen this coming, but somehow he was still blindsided. Scientia called asking for a high security escort for two of the Imperial diplomats. Well, it didn’t get more high security than the Marshal. And with the flurry of preparations and excitement, he needed a moment away to refocus. 

An hour to drive a couple of diplomats to some store downtown, wait in the car, and drive them back. Easy.

Easy until he took a look in the rearview mirror and immediately recognized the blonde woman sitting right behind him. She was scowling, exactly like he remembered her.

“Awe come on lemon tart-”

“Quit calling me that!”

“Doctor tart then, listen, I know you’ve never been involved in politics before but if you’re planning on staying by Shortcake’s side it’s time to get used to it.”

“I’m just a doctor.”

“And tonight you’re a doctor in a fancy dress charming all the eligible bachelors Lucis has to offer.” The other woman seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in needling her.

Brave of her, that.

“Speaking of, I’m not seeing a ring on our escort’s finger.” 

Oh she was very brave. And just as much a pain.

“Aranea, leave him alone.”

“What’s your story, Driver? Excited to watch two young women play dress up?”

“ARANEA!”

“We’re here.” Cor said, thanking the Astrals for the small blessing. He was ready to simply sit there quietly, wait for them to finish their shopping, and hope the tinted windows did their job. But then he just had to take one more look into the rearview mirror, and there was that little girl’s face again. Looking scared, just like she did the last time he saw her.

Shit.

Just rip the bandage off, it was going to happen eventually. Best to get it out of the way somewhere far away from the paparazzi.

Cor stepped out of the car and opened the rear door, standing with all the respect he’d show to any important guest of the crown.

Del stood up, looked at the store, and then a tree planted in the middle of the sidewalk, then the sky before looking up at him.

For a moment her face didn’t change. Then realization must have struck, because her eyes went wide. And her brow furrowed. And her shoulders raised up.

“Quit dragging your feet, Doc, the longer you mope the longer this’ll take.” Aranea dragged her away and into the store before she had a chance to start screaming. “Wow your face got red. I mean sure he’s hot, but he’s twice your age. You can do better.”

He followed them in. If nothing else he needed to make sure this place was genuinely secure. There were whispers of citizens not too happy with the possibility of getting chummy with Niflheim. The last thing Reggie needed was an international incident right on the precipice of treaty negotiations.

Cor stood at attention next to the door, watching as young sales people hungry for a commission off the royal account bombarded the two women with measuring tape and color swatches. Del looked like she was in hell. His presence probably wasn’t helping the matter.

Aranea was the first to emerge from the fabric tornado, sporting something barely meeting the dress code as it barely contained fabric. 

“Hey flaunt it while you still got it, right Doc?” She called back to the other changing room as a young man showed her jeweled accessory pieces. “You’re being awfully quiet, you know?” 

“And you’re being awfully obnoxious!” Del screeched, pulling the curtain back. “No I don’t need shapewear, what the fuck is that? I’ll wear whatever shape I have, fuck.” She was wearing a very sensible green gown.

“Awe look at you, Lemon Tart, so modest. So practical. No fun.”

“Yeah I guess you can call what you’ve got going on fun.”

“What do you think, Mr. Driver?” Aranea grabbed Del around the shoulders, pulling her right next to her side so they were both facing him. “Think she’ll be the belle of the ball?”

Del was staring at the floor with a fierce determination.

“No comment? Smart guy.” Aranea chuckled.

Cor moved his gaze over to a tailor sewing glittering embellishments to a bright pink gown. It looked like something meant for a very young girl. Incredibly gaudy. One of the small rubies fell from the dress.

...but it stopped. And moved-

It wasn’t a gem.

“Get down!” He yelled, rushing the two women and forcing them to the ground right as he heard the glass window shatter and two of the sales clerks scream.

“Shit.” Aranea’s eyes darted around, seeming to be searching for the gunman based on the trajectory of the bullet that barely missed them. 

Cor opened the emergency channel on his ear piece. “Coyote on 3rd and Grace Street. I have two ducklings unharmed and a store full of civilians. Requiring backup.” 

“Heard, Red Drake. Backup en route.”

“Ducklings? Really?” The older woman joked, helping him drag the trembling doctor behind a sales counter as another shot went off.

“Don’t look at me, I didn’t come up with the system.” That was all Reggie. 

“What’s the plan, Driver? Cause unless our killer is a gold medal sprinter it looks like there’s at least two of them. If we stay here we’re sitting duck- oh, I get it. Funny. Doc you’ve gotta pull yourself together.”

Cor looked down at Del who was folded in on herself, hands grasping through her own hair and trembling.

“Hey, kid.” He said, gripping her shoulder. She looked up at him, terror naked in her eyes. “You’re going to be okay. I’m getting you out of here.”

The irony of his words were not lost on him.

The store manager joined them, removing her jacket and rolling up her sleeves. “There’s an emergency exit through the break room, it leads into the same hallway as the other stores. There’s an elevator too, goes all the way to the roof.” She gestured for them to follow, taking cover behind clothing racks and display cases. 

“Sounds like you’ve done this before.” Cor commented.

She chuckled. “I’ve worked here for decades, since I was a teenage sales clerk, I have seen some shit.”

Cor made a note to make sure she was commended officially for it.

The break room door slammed shut once everyone was safely inside. The manager, who introduced herself as Marigold, got to work moving the table in front of the door.

“What are the chances our killers know about the access hallway?” Cor asked, helping with the barricade.

“It’s there specifically so the clientele don’t have to think about us as people who have lives outside of their consumer needs.” One of the men said. “So unless they work in one of these shops, unlikely.”

“Not like we planned ahead to be here, either.” Aranea offered. “In fact...the only person who would’ve known we were here was that Ignis guy.”

“Scientia? If he had a stake in extending the war he has a funny way of showing it.” No one was closer to the Prince than his advisor, and a war running into Noctis’ reign would bring him nothing but pain. “More likely someone’s been following since you arrived and waited for their chance.”

“Shit, this glass is really stuck.” A very young woman cried out, trying to pull a large shard from her arm.

Del immediately snapped out of her panic and rushed over to her. “Please tell me there’s a first aid kit in here.” She took the woman’s arm, shooing her hand away from pulling at the glass. 

“Just one, and it’s very old…” The male sales clerk got the white box from a cabinet and handed it to her.

“As long as there’s tweezers and gauze, I’m good.”

“Oh wow, you’re actually a doctor.” Marigold laughed. 

“I’m going to check the hallway, make sure no one’s waiting for us.” Cor reached into Reggie’s armiger, choosing a pistol in place of his blade. He opened the door.

“Cor!” Del yelled, gripping a bandage to the girl’s arm. Her green dress was covered in blood stains that most assuredly would never come out. “Don’t you-”

“I’m coming back, Del.” He said flatly. Maybe don’t run off anywhere this time.

The hallway was well lit with hard flooring. After several minutes of no shadows or footsteps, Cor was satisfied.

He turned his ear piece on. “Status update.” He whispered.

“One coyote down, two confirmed on the run.”

“Can we get an evac on the roof?”

“Negative, Red Drake, too many rocks in the pond, stay put until cleared.”

The door behind him creaked open, Aranea slipping through.

“Not sounding like good news there, Driver.”

“Listen, I have two ducklings and four civilians that need to get to safety. Send an eagle to the roof of the Statler building for immediate evac. That’s an order.” Cor switched off the receiver.

Aranea’s face fell into a look of suspicion. “Funny, on our way in I could have sworn I saw the word Nelson.”

“You did. It’s a decoy.” He tapped his earpiece. “If I’m right, our assassins are tapping our communications. They’ll think we transferred to the building next door and wait for us there. In the meantime, we’re taking the elevator to the fifth floor. There’s a walkway connection to the fine arts center. From there we make our way to the auditorium.”

“Oh? And then what?”

Cor smirked. “Dress rehearsal.”

---

Somehow, some way, the piece of absolute stupid idiot garbage got them out. And thank the Gods too, because Del wasn’t sure how to say the girl needed a hospital. The bandage was only doing so much and it wouldn’t be long before her wound bled through.

Cor flashed his fancy badge, got them into the costume room, and for the second time that day Del was forced to play dress up. This time with hats and wigs! Fun!

She was fuming. Having to rely on him again...after what he did? And he had the absolute balls to say “I’m coming back.” Like?! 

Fuck him. He was an even bigger dickhead than she’d remembered. And she remembered everything so that was a hell of a feat.

“Oh, a shame. This was my personal pride of the season.” Marigold sighed, holding the ruined green dress.

“Send the bill to the Citadel, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. Think there’s anything you can lend out for a royal ball in six hours?” The asshole moron asked.

“Seriously?!” Del screeched after finishing getting into a weirdly form fitting newsboy costume. “Some fuckos just tried to put a bullet in our heads and you expect us to go mingle with canapes like nothing happened?”

“What did I say, Doctor Tart? Politics. Get used to it.” Aranea was somehow completely cool headed in some gaudy bright retro outfit.

“Nothing about this can get out, the last thing we need is any more tremors in this shaky situation.” Fuckhead McGee said.

“Understood. Shame about that armed robbery in our store.” Marigold shrugged her shoulders like it was nothing. 

She looked at her staff who all nodded in agreement.

“Are you all batshit?!” Del screamed. “We’re supposed to act like that wasn’t an assassination attempt on our lives?”

“Delphia, listen to me.” Aranea took her shoulder and turned to face her. “We both want the same thing: to protect Prompto. Anything less than a perfect visit is only going to raise tensions for both sides. Not to mention, Prompto would freak if he knew we were almost killed. So here’s our story: Driver got lost on the way to the boutique. The robbery happened before we arrived, and the guard went overboard in trying to protect us. We’re wearing dresses from the robbed store tonight to show our support and hope for the business to recover.”

“You’ve done this before.” Shithead said.

“I’ve had a lot of free time to read spy thrillers.” Aranea replied coolly.

“I’m sure I have some perfectly exquisite pieces in my personal collection that should fit. Ooh, we could advertise a throwback collection for the fall!” Marigold cheered.

“YOU! YOU...YOU YOU…” Del pointed at Aranea, feeling completely unable to voice any of the thoughts screeching around in her head.

“Del, please calm down, the people responsible will be taken care-”

That was it. She spun around and slapped the Marshal across the face.

“YOU DON’T GET TO TALK TO ME LIKE THAT!” You lying shitty child abandoning piece of enabling gods damned shit fuck ass bastard!

He seemed unphased by her attack. Aranea though looked like Del had just kicked an innocent puppy into an oncoming train.

“Alright. Get it out.” He said. 

Oh, she was done. Completely fucking done. He just shows up, acts like the big fucking hero, pretends like he didn’t ditch her, and then dictates the terms of her emotional breakdown?!

Fuck.

This.

“Fuck you.” She said, emphasizing her point with a finger in the air.

Cor nodded. “We’re going to take the front entrance, it leads out to a courtyard. Plenty of trees, bushes, a large pool down the middle, and lots of cover. We make it across the courtyard and we’ll be on a Crownsguard HQ doorstep. I’ll have a better grasp of the situation, and we’ll figure it out from there.”

The nerve. The fucking nerve.

“Come on Newsie, Prompto needs you.” Aranea took her by the arm.

“Were the accessories really necessary?” Del asked, noticing the fishnet gloves, knee socks, and neon colored plastic jewelry.

“It ties the outfit together.” She replied, pulling her in step at the end of the line. “Now, you wanna tell me why you’re so familiar with the Immortal, or do I have to abandon all the trust we’ve been building up?”

Shit.

Fuck.

“He infiltrated my father’s facility when I was a kid. I was stupid and naive and trusted everything he said. I won’t make that mistake again.”

Aranea seemed to be rolling that answer around. “And you knew he was a Lucian operative?”

“I was six, what do you want from me? Anyway, he lied and bailed on me. Didn’t get anything he was after either so it was a big waste of time for everyone.”

“...hm. Wonder what it was he was after?” Aranea asked, acting like the very much not rhetorical question was one.

Oh, you know, just baby Prompto. Normal shit.

“We’re here. Keep your heads down and ears open. We’re going to be alright.”

Del scoffed quietly.

“Wonder why these guys are targeting us instead of the Prince?” Aranea whispered.

“Opportunity knocked, I guess.” Del shrugged. All this for a shitty dress.

“I’m just saying, Lucian terrorists need to get their priorities in check.”

“You’re sure they’re Lucian?” Del whispered. Aranea’s face broke into a wide smirk.

“Clever girl.”

“You feel it too.”

“This entire mission was doomed from the start.”

“Why else would anyone put Loqi in charge?”

Aranea chuckled in spite of herself, and the sound inspired Del to laugh in turn.

“Oh Gods, we’re so fucked.” Del whispered.

“WATCH IT!”

In a rush of air and movement that blew her hat off, hair tumbling back down, Cor was by her side with his blade unsheathed and held in front of her eyes.

She heard a soft ‘clink’ before he lowered it. Her vision came back into focus in time to see a splatter of blood in the distance.

“Was tha….did you…?”

“Run.” Cor barked, grabbing her around the wrist and pulling her back towards a line of trees.

“Either your Glaive suck at their job, or there’s a lot of people here who want us dead!” Aranea yelled while guiding the shop workers to cover.

“At this point I’m willing to assume both.”  Cor positioned his blade to use as a mirror, checking for any sign of further danger behind them. “Aranea, think you can get them-”

“Way ahead of you, Driver.” From their position, she could easily lead the others behind cover  with only a short sprint left to get them to the station. 

But Cor and Del had a large gap of open space.

“I’m not asking you to trust me.” Cor started, his blade dissipating in a spark of magic.

Oh that was rich, super rich.

“But I need you to do exactly as I say, and you will get back alive.”

“That’s LITERALLY asking me to trust you!” Del hissed between her clenched teeth.

“Right. Well, I have one question. Can you swim?”

Del blinked. “What? No…”

“That’s unfortunate.” Cor tightened his grip on her wrist, and before she could protest he was pulling both of them down, using the momentum to roll over. She was then wrenched back upwards on her feet and pushed backwards, stumbling until she fell. Right off of an edge.

And into the pool.

She wasn’t lying, she really didn’t fucking know how to swim. Everything was dark, she couldn’t tell which way was back up, and she was reaching peak panic until her wrist was once again being pulled. Over, over, until she felt her lungs would burst and then finally, up.

“Take a deep breath.” Cor commanded.

She wanted to screech and curse and slap him again but instead she obeyed and inhaled. He dragged her back down, much further. She didn’t know what else to do. She simply let him pull her on until once more everything in her chest burned and her mind began to spiral and then-

Her head was above water once again, Cor holding her up under her armpit and slowly guiding her out of the pool.

Del wiped her hair from her eyes to see a large number of people in uniforms surrounding them. 

“Marshal, Sir.” A woman in a helmet said. “We’ve done a thorough sweep, land and air. The last identifiable terrorist has been neutralized.”

Del struggled to breathe, feeling like she might just pass out right there sitting on the ledge of the pool.

“Thanks Monica, get our guests a ride back to the Citadel. I’m sure they’d like some time to freshen up before the party.”

Oh.

Oh, Del was going to kill him.

[phantomphangphucker]

Ectober Day 18: Whispers - A Strange Kind Of Ferality Chap. 1: Hushed Voices To End Mundane Life

People say a lot of things, and they’ll speak the most about the strange and usual. Sometimes words make living normal impossible for those who are not normal.

For Danny’s own sake he always tried to avoid paying attention to the whispers. Or simply not being around for people to start making them. They always made his paranoia war with itself. If he paid attention their hushed words it would make him paranoid. If he ignored them he’d be paranoid about what they could be saying and wanting to find out. And sometimes he actually did need to know.

So, if he’s honest, sometimes super ghost hearing kind of sucked.

In the beginning they weren’t so bad. Always about simple things or things that didn’t matter all too much. Sure sometimes they hurt or annoyed him, but what did Danny care that everyone thought his parents were weird and crazy? They weren’t really wrong and Sam’s right, weird’s good. Danny considers himself an example of that.

‘I still can’t believe those lunatics were even allowed to keep those kids’.

‘I heard they perform weird experiments, probably only themselves too’.

‘What if they kill someone to prove their theories?’.

But like all young teens, eventually he stepped out of his parents' shadow, the whisperings around town became more about him. But when it came mostly from teachers and judgemental adults, Danny couldn’t even attempt to bring himself to care. Sure he wanted people proud of him as Fenton, but being the hero always came first. If his grades and ‘good kid’ status had to suffer then so be it.

‘He used to be so bright, now he’s just another problem child’.

‘Oh look it’s the little ‘baddie’ thinking he’s cool or whatever for breaking stuff’.

‘I think the weirdo Fenton kid is missing a bladder or something...experiment gone wrong you think?’.

When it really started to bug Danny, is when people started noticing he was seemingly involved in ghosts without being involved in ghosts.

‘Why’s he always around? Does he just like seeing the end results?’.

‘I’m pretty sure I saw Fenton running AT a ghost fight actually’.

‘I overheard some ghosts talking about him. Thought it was about Phantom at first but they mentioned his ‘hunter parents’. Pretty obvious who the town’s hunter parents are’.

But that sort of thing was easy enough to pass off, to explain, and for people to simply shrug off. They were the curious kinds of whispers not the concerned or secretive kinds of whispers. But when his body became the focus, that’s when he knew there was going to be trouble and when he started pulling away from people, from the public. After all, there’s only so much baggy sweaters and loose clothing can cover. And wearing that all the time was suspicious in and of itself. What was worse was that he was actively proud of what all his hero work had earned him in both physique and scars. And sometimes bodies just naturally wanted to show off, even if he pushes it down as best as possible.

‘Dude, did you see Fenton stretching? The Hell has he been doing all summer to look like that?’.

‘I saw Todd throw a pencil at the back of his head, he caught it without even turning around’.

‘I saw down his shirt and there’s this nasty scar. It’s like someone tried to murder him or something. Think he’s in a gang or some shit?’.

And it was obvious at this point, to Danny, that people were only going to notice more. Which they did. People were curious things, they were hooked on his oddness. He always did his best to hide his more ghostly features. Grew his hair out to cover his tapered ears, started a habit of wearing beanies. But hats couldn’t always stay on and hair moved. Made a habit of always covering his mouth when he yawned, only ate small foods in public, drank through straws. The thing his friends found the saddest is that he had to stop laughing so damn much, though he’d often just covered his mouth instead. But people notice when behaviours change like that and people will always be able to catch glimpses. His nails were the easiest, simple trim every morning. But even trimmed they were still just a little too sharp. So he developed the habit of not touching people, but a hero’s fighting instincts and ghost instincts were strong things. Sometimes he really couldn’t help grabbing Dash’s arms when he tried to choke him or drag him somewhere. That didn’t go unnoticed.

‘The little freak scratched me. And look at this shit? It looks like a damn cat scratch. The Hell?’.

‘I managed to get the cafeteria to serve burgers right? Fenton loves those things and, I swear to you, he had FANGS’.

‘So I punched the locker next to his face, yeah? Teach the loser who runs this school. But I think his ear scratched me. HIS EAR. How is that even possible?’.

At least stuff like that, he really could pass off as body modification. People did that. Which his how he quelled his paranoia back then. So long as he had an easy excuse it was easy. But it was inevitable that people would eventually notice his ‘angry eyes’ problem or his ghost sense. It was honestly a miracle they didn’t in the very beginning. Though both him and even his parents, simply passed off those rumours as being because of his strange ecto-contamination. People still whispered. Especially about his eyes.

‘Walked into the bathroom and I swear, the kids' eyes were glowing as he stepped out of a stall’.

‘Half the time I go after him he does that damn eye-trick thing for a split second. It’s like he’s trying to be some scary ghost or something. It’s pathetic really’.

‘Honestly, I just avoid looking at his face now. It’s just so creepy. Especially if you think over how he probably got that. His parents are scientists! He’s probably, like, Frankenstein’s monster or something’.

But when people started whispering about behaviours, pointedly not human behaviours, that’s when Danny’s paranoia really came to a head. He couldn’t just not snarl and growl. It came too easily. And being around Sam and Tucker more than the rest of society came with its down falls. He could be himself around them, he got comfortable being himself around them. But that made it easier to slip up in public. Sometimes they tried to call him on it, but often that just ran the risk of people being more likely to notice. Then there was the compounded problem. Snarls required showing teeth. Sounds made people look. One thing getting noticed leads to other things getting more noticed. Whispers compounding.

‘He holds his hands like claws half the time, pretty sure he actually extended claws once’.

‘He came in this morning snarling and bearing those damn fangs at the floor for, like, two whole periods. Even my dog doesn’t do that’.

‘I bumped into that Fenton kid on the street, you know the one. Short and kind of acts like a feral animal. Yeah, well, pretty sure he growled at me and there’s was this weird glow to his face’.

But at least even those whispers could be passed off. Teens acted weird, that was considered a fact by adults. The fact that there were wolf packers, kids who like to pretend to be werewolves and in a pack, helped. Everyone knew those kids ran around howling and would growl at people. But it didn’t help him that they kept trying to make him ‘one of them’. Sure it would be a nice cover story but it would draw more attention to him. Especially since people already thought his snarls and growls were more ‘real’.

‘Okay dude, look at this. So I recorded Fenton when Dash tried punching him yesterday. And look, I put it next to my dog snarling. Fenton sounds more animalistic, and like, look how Fenton holds his mouth? It’s the same, more aggressive even’.

‘My night was not fun, I got woken up but what I could have sworn was coyotes fighting, but no. It was that creepy Fenton kid and some biker dude getting in each other’s faces’.

‘I’m positive he was just about to bite you. And not like those cringy kids with the weird lunging bit they do’.

But of course, of course, that lead to them really noticing. Noticing things he himself didn’t. Which was far far more worrying. How could he hide something if he wasn’t even the first to notice? Sam and Tucker too used to him to notice the gradual change themselves. And once others picked up on it, even one, it was pretty well too late. It fell into the gossip mill and then everyone was looking for it. About reflexes and senses. Even his paranoia was being noticed.

‘He literally never opens any doors while in-front of them. Like he’s about to be attacked or something’.

‘We need code words for the freak. Pretty sure he can hear us. And look! See! His ears damn twitched! He totally can’.

‘I’m not sure if I’m happy or terrified. I nearly ran over the Fenton boy, should have slammed straight into his back. But he fucking backflipped over my car, the entire damn thing, at the last second. How the Hell’.

But when the whispers became dangerous. Got him fully avoided. Got the G.I.W. to come knocking. He knew he didn’t really have much of a choice anymore. He had to leave. Not fully, no, just a town away. Just hide, a name change here, style change there. Seems people could deal with weird. Didn’t really care about it other than it was good gossip. Until they started putting things together, until they started to feel like you were a wolf and they were sheep. The bad part was, they weren’t wrong. And like all ghosts, Danny has pride. He, by his very nature, wanted fear, to scare, to alarm. And that always got harder to hide, to ignore. But the body and mind have ways of getting around its own barriers. Doing things so subtle you might not notice at all. All it took was slight changes in posture, how his eyes looked, how he moved. And he became a predator amongst prey.

‘Is it just me or does Fenton look like he’s actively stalking people? Like a cat or something? It’s really damn creepy’.

‘He stares, like constantly. He just doesn’t blink enough and he seems to scan rooms. Like there’s some threat, it makes me feel uncomfortable. But what’s worse is how he looks over everyone, scans them over, it’s like he’s picking out prey or something’.  

‘I swear the freak can tell when people are looking at him. Like just watch, his posture will change. Slightly tense like he’s about run off. And you can easily see his face and hands, he’s being threatening. It pisses me off that it works’.

Of course, his friends would never let him skip town on his own. It was only a lucky thing they were off in university by this time and he was perfectly content to keep them in the dark. Besides, if they up and ran off too. People would whisper.

And looking around, that’s one thing he likes about bigger cities. Even more so when you looked all for the world like a battered, easily ignored, poorly dressed, homeless man. When people whispered it wasn’t anything to be alarmed about.

‘Poor man, wonder when the last time he washed was’.

‘Gross, I really wish this damn city would clean up the filth. How can I let my daughter walk around with people like that just sleeping on the sidewalk’.

‘Hmpf, probably just another damn druggie’.

But of course that would change.

‘Wait...he’s not actually sleeping? Weird’.

He’d have to watch himself more.

‘Oh holy shit, that bastards got fangs?!?’.

He’d have to move around more.

‘Don’t go downtown, there’s some creepy predatory guy there. He hasn’t hurt anyone from what I hear, but it’s all in how he moves. In his eyes’.

People would eventually actively start seeking him out, a mystery to solve.

‘Dude, we have to steal his bag. I heard some kids from the park did and he reacted like a feral dog or some shit’.

Connections would be made, people would start to feel unsettled or scared

‘Destruction seems to follow that one. Keep your distance’.

And he’d have to pack, leave in the dead of night.

‘His eyes, you can see them in the dark. Pretty sure they’ll follow you too. Whatever he is, he sure as Hell isn't a human’.

Of course, he made sure he found his way back to Amity, as Fenton, here and there. Especially when his friends got back. But the downfall of leaving, of running off. Is that it was impossible for people to not notice his return. And being alone for so long would make anyone act less human, less socially normal. For someone who wasn’t actually entirely human, you might as well just write normal off as a lost cause.

‘James! James! That Fenton boy’s back! He snarled at someone’s dog. Should we do something?’.

‘How is he more off? He’s so...twitchy. Like he’s constantly on the edge of trying to murder someone or something’.

‘He came into the cafe and he just stared around for a while. Then he drank nothing but espresso shots and I’m sure he ate a spoon. He even clacked his teeth at me after ordering’.

So yeah, the G.I.W. would come. He’d wind up getting tracked. But Amity was his and that wasn’t ever-changing and he was a goddamn force to be recond with. And his friends would come back, they would take him by the arms and all three would slingshot at the future. Like always. Because, after all, Fenton wasn’t the only one people whispered about.

‘Okay, I’m pretty sure that goth is actually a witch. Summoning ghosts and shit. ‘Cause they’re always near her’.

‘She has a pet Venus-flytrap in her purse, it bit me’.

‘I swore she ran through a fire just to throw her boot at someone for insulting that freaky Fenton’.

‘If that technofreak is visiting the bank then no way am I. I heard he got put on a watch list for hacking a plane, twice’.

‘He scaled a thirty-story building just to clean his windows, who does that?’.

‘I walked in on him making out almost aggressively with a PDA...he growled at me’.

Because really? If you spend enough time around the glaringly inhuman, you’ll lose your human aspects too. So Danny’s not exactly surprised when they decide to hit the road with him. They’ll always come back, of course they will, and maybe they’ll find some other towns they love as they go. But at least being able to make portals now will mean they can go as far as they like, without Phantom ever being far away from the town he protects.

[danditcher]

what’s on dogwood lane

The field at the front of the house was, like mentioned before, well taken care of; well mowed. But Micah was standing all alone half way on the grass and half way on the gravel, looking out over the rolling fields, and it appeared to be never ending. You’re standing in front of a graveyard, and maybe even on top of one. A voice in his head rasped, making him feel a sense of discomfort. What a thought to have when you’re all alone, and so frightening. His heart skipped a beat, but not in the puppy love sort of way, in the way that told Micah something was going to happen to him if he weren’t careful. Scared. You’re scared. The voice said to him again. And normally Micah would have already known such a thing, but the feeling was so powerful that it felt foreign. Nonexistent. And he was alone. Very much alone.

 He began to ask himself of all the things he had been told by McCall earlier that day, but he was unable to recall his warnings. He knew of the warning against Micah going up to Dogwood in the first place, but he didn’t remember what he said on the topic of if Micah did decide if he was going to do it anyway. Maybe they didn’t even discuss that. Even though Thomas McCall was not someone Micah would consider much of a friend, both boys knew that Micah was not a kid to defy orders. He was coachable in baseball and in school, and he hardly ever got into trouble. All things everyone knew. So, the possibility of McCall not even figuring Micah would go against his pleas not to cross that border was really high. So high that Micah began to feel like a liar.

One of his feet crunched away in the gravel. The noise was penetratingly loud, his ears sensitive to it. His eyes began to burn because he’d refused to blink for longer than he would have ever thought humanly possible, the crisp air of old October stinging his eyes to boot. His legs, he felt, were beginning to drag through the wet grass like a ball and chain was attached to them. His throat became scratchy. His heart kept racing. And racing. And racing. Beating faster and faster. But he continued on towards the Monroe House because he had to prove something. That McCall wasn’t bullshitting him.

Upon approaching the house, he told himself that there wasn’t anything he should be worrying about because it wasn’t like the houses he’d seen from horror films or read about in those Stephen King books he loved so dearly, this was a real house. Not something envisaged by a horror writer, it was all real. Maybe too real. The windows were a little dusty, and the gutters were a little over stuffed with fall leaves and debris that storms had blown around, but the front pillars were nicely upkept, and the outer walls were free of any visible cracks. Micah envied the place for a moment before remembering what he was told he was bound to encounter. The front door had a notice on it about it being up for sale, and Micah took a moment to read it, laughing to himself because he knew that if any of what McCall had said was true, no one was going to buy this house and it would go to waste. Deteriorate and rot. Die. And at the realization, Micah shuttered again. His body felt cold, but his hands were hot with sweat.

He couldn’t be sure how long he stood on the front porch of the house before deciding he didn’t want to go inside, but it was a good while of being indecisive. The result of those moments was him remembering that it would have been very illegal to go into the house and look around while it was under a bank’s custody. He was already in knowledge of how illegal it was for him to even be up on the property in the first place.

“You’re not scared of what Thomas told you, it’s because you know you’re doing something illegal you fucking wet rag.” He told himself. And he couldn’t counter his own statement because he was asking himself of the consequences of his actions, and he was afraid of his answers, but deep down he knew that wasn’t all true. For the moment, though, it seemed to satisfy his churning stomach and beating heart. He decided that no, no cop would be making his rounds up on the property, and not a single soul would know of his presence. And he ate the voice that began telling him that a few souls knew he was here. A few did.

But he pretended to not have let that try to cross the threshold of his mind, he pushed it back and shut the door on its face. He shuddered against the chilly autumn wind and set his jacket soundly on his shoulders with a snap and jingle of the zipper, puffing his cheeks and breathing outward. His attention directed entirely back to the house, but this time he was focused on getting off of that front porch.

For a moment he felt like he could hear everything for an unprompted reason, and it made his body jolt backward and off of the front porch step. He heard the birds screaming from in the trees, crows, robins, cardinals, birds of all types making the horrifying noise at him. He could hear the wind blowing around him and the house, he could hear the deer tromping between the pine needles and over the creek that ran into town. He could hear the breathing of resting coyotes that were saving their energy for a night’s hunt. He could hear rustling, steps on a rock, the pshk of said rock being shoved aside through the dead pine needles and dirt. He could hear a snap.

Then silence.

Then the birds screamed again, but they were distant this time. He wasn’t hearing them next to his ears. This time he felt they were screaming for him and not to him. And for one of the worst moments of his life, he thought of screaming humans instead of birds.

It took him a moment to recover from the thought and it took him a moment to realize that his ass was on the concrete of the paved way a step off from the porch. He blinked his head free of the terrifying thoughts and pushed himself up, a pain shooting through his ankle. He figured he clipped it on the edge of the step as he fell backward. His heart had began racing again, this time in such a hurry that it pained him to breathe, which he knew was not normal (he figured he knew a lot of things about his current being that day, but he didn’t). He brushed the strips of grass and shiny dust off of his jacket and jeans, not thinking about anything other than those screams. The almost human screams that stretched out further than any bird call would ever reach. The screams were almost agonizing to listen to, even from so far from the tree line. That’s what Micah’s mind averted to when he listened to the cry of those birds. Pain staking and morose, jamming death into his eyes without a second thought. The snap he heard was not one of a tree limb, Micah knew. And the thought intensified the chill in his spine. The fear in his heart. His eyes closed for a quick moment before reopening. He figured he had all the proof he needed that this place was not the same as the rest of Socser, but his mind told him to find out what that scream had been. You already know what it was. You know. But he didn’t know. You do, though, Micah. He stepped off of the walk way and in front of the stark white garage door that had sat closed for undoubtedly a few years and went around the house to inspect the tree line.

A window was placed at exactly Micah’s waist height, dusty but accessible to be seen through. And that’s exactly what he did. He took a second to peer through the window and inside what looked like the kitchen. It wasn’t set up like a model home Micah had seen around town from time to time, it was stripped of any furniture or wall paper or tiles. It looked like the inside of Justin McCall’s car repair shop, gray, blank and devoid of life (which it was). Micah stared inside, his eyes scanning slowly so not to miss anything, but he found there was nothing worth missing. Other than a painting on the wall, one rather out of place as well. He squinted inside, trying to see past the layer of dust caked onto the window because he wanted to see what that painting had to tell him. Art had a voice, and he wanted to hear this one. But as he strained his eyes more and more to get a gander at the painting, he slowly began to piece together how out of place it actually was. The walls were stripped bare and free of any paper or nails or holes, save for the one painting on the wall that was in an antique frame. The frame was gold, the color chipping off, but as far as Micah could tell, there were no flakes of gold on the floor. The painting itself was of a large dog next to a man in a suit that resembled an 1880’s frontier man style. The dog was of a breed Micah had likely seen before, big, hairy and lifeless, maybe a Saint Bernard, or a Bernese Mountain Dog. The man standing next to the dog was stout, fat and had a handlebar mustache that complimented his lifeless eyes better than the grayness of his suit or the resolution of the painting.

His tongue lifted to the roof of his mouth as he backed away from the window and continued towards the forest. His teeth grinded together noisily before he was ten feet from the window and his body was able to ease down. Unravel. He wanted to fall over. He egged his legs on to collapse, to keep him from travelling any further towards the tree line, but they wouldn’t listen. They wouldn’t cave from underneath him even though they wobbled and wavered like jelly.

And before he knew it he was standing at the foot of the giant, gazing up at trees that never seemed to stop. They didn’t move out of the way to pardon the sky, they rose above it, into it. They were the sky.  And Micah was the idiot who was about to stand under it while it fell. It was at this moment that common sense hit him like a freight train. What was he about to do? He had no rope, no tape, no way of marking his way out of that forest. He wouldn’t be so quick to think people haven’t gone missing in those trees, and he wasn’t about to put another tally up on a detective board in the Socser police station. He wasn’t going to be the one on a milk carton. But instead of leaving, he sat down at the mouth of the beast, staring almost longingly up at the tree tops. It seemed accurate. To call this place a beast and label Micah as its post meal snack. Micah wondered what it ate before him. What was big enough to satisfy its hunger? And why did Micah have to be the next victim? Because you’re dumb enough to succumb to its beauty, Mike. The voice told him. It was his own voice, but from a different him. Like it was his future self warning him of what’s to unfold if he were to cross into those pine trees. Maybe he’ll never be heard from again, or maybe he’ll be just fine.

Sitting down in the cool grass, dew soaking into the seat of his pants, he found that he’d like to come back alive from the property, and the only way to assure that would to be leaving it all together. He had nothing to prove to Thomas McCall anymore, and certainly no reason to stick up on the hill. His long fingers began to drum on the roof of his thigh in an unestablished rhythm, pairing with the anxiety to actually move along somewhere. Whether that be into the forest and possibly come into contact with whatever screamed for him, or his home, waiting for his mother to arrive and then go to sleep in his warm bed. He had choices.

He chose the former.

  When he pushed himself up off the ground, once more patting himself free of the grass and dirt from his seat, he knew the forest was calling to him. And maybe it wasn’t Thomas McCall he was going to refute, but the forest itself. The beast. Because Thomas had told him not to cross the gate. Not because of the possibility of him not emerging from those trees, but because he’d go insane. If Micah were to leave now, he’d come back in well mental health, while maybe paranoid, but good all around. So, he’d proved Thomas wrong in that sense. But this forest was beckoning him inside, telling him that he won’t come back alive. Micah wasn’t too sure if he would or not, but he did know that if he did, he would have beaten the giant. The beast itself.

 His legs began moving ahead of his body, everything above his waist being forced to catch up. He felt like he was on autopilot though he knew this was a perfectly conscious decision of his. The trees seemed to move aside for him, their arms lifting and granting him access into their world, a different world than what he lived in. He could hear them chanting a ritualistic poem as he passed by them, whispering under their breath to him, telling him which way to the scream. His body became clammy again, and as he turned his head over his shoulder to get a last peek at the house (the gold frame of the painting barely visible) he became suddenly aware that this may be the very last time he entered a place alive.

  Just as he expected, all there was to the forest was trees. They had lost their magical appearance about five minutes into his walk and he figured that was because he had no idea of where he was going. Being forced to calm himself down on his way in led him to realize that he held no knowledge of where he was going, and he decided to focus on the things that could happen just from him getting lost in the woods and not the things that would happen if an apparition jumped at him from behind a tree.

 There was a sneaking serenity to the forest now that he was deeper in. He kept his eyes all over the terrain, knowing that he had no way of defending himself if an animal decided to make him its next meal. He had learned some things from the “WORST CASE SCENARIO” guide book his grandma got him for Christmas a year prior because he was going on a camping trip with a few friends that January. If coyotes got to him, he could make a few loud noises, throw some things. Deer are often spooked easily. He wasn’t sure how many bears there were in Texas, but he did know how to get away from both a black bear and a grizzly bear. The grizzly is to play dead while the black bear is to fight and scream, and to never climb a tree. Because as he remembers in a nature documentary, black bears are excellent climbers. 

[...]

 One thing that stuck with him after that story was that cougars don’t make the noise of a tiger or lion, instead they yowl; scream as Mr. Milo had put it. They scream at you until you’re dead, or until you put a bullet through their thick skull, they scream. And they scream like dying humans.

 Suddenly Micah’s body ran cold like it had back on the front porch step of the house, and he stopped walking. His head directed upward, and his green eyes scanned the trees cautiously to be sure no cat was up there spying on him and waiting for a perfect time to pounce. His heart started up again, running the marathon of anxiety and fear as he continued to walk. He had gone far enough. He stopped in a place where the trees moved aside for him, contained him in one spot for eternity. Or until another tree grew where he stood, throwing him to the sky and away from the property. A rock was stuck in the ground under a sixty-foot pine tree, calling for Micah to sit down. His legs were calling to him as well, telling him that sitting down for a little bit would be the optimal choice. He obeyed the pleas and sat down on the rock, pulling his knees close to his chest. It made a comfortable seat. His eyes stayed on the ground in front of him, but his mind began to wander.

 He figured he had come far enough into the forest. He could hear cars whizzing by, and he knew he was close to the I-26 rural highway, the one that led into Socser if you went far enough. But if you went through Socser and continued on to reach I-30, you’d eventually reach Dallas, and then Fort Worth stood behind it. But if you took a left onto McCathy before reaching Socser’s city limits and kept straight, you’d go through Paris and eventually reach Sulphur Springs. That is if you never took any turns. For a moment, Micah sat and listened to the cars buzzing by him in short bursts. At least he knew which way he could go if he needed an escape. That thought made his body subconsciously lean toward the direction of the noise, hopeful that it will comfort him even in the slightest bit.

He became comfortable in his spot on the rock, looking out into the trees to see if he could see anything in them. Part of him felt he saw movement behind the trees, and part of him felt like he could hear the crackle and crunch of the dirt and fallen needles. Part of him felt like there was something deeper in those woods. He shifted again, his lips parting with his piqued interest. He wasn’t sure what he was hearing or seeing, but he began thinking that it was okay because it wasn’t anything that could hurt him. If it wanted to hurt him it would have already. And he knew that.

 He licked his lips with anticipation as his legs healed from their walk. The wind was quick to pick up. Micah looked up at the sky and saw it was growing dark with clouds. He could hardly see the sky past the towering trees and spread pine branches that expanded across the width of the sky. He stood, figuring evening was upon him and if he didn’t leave now, rain would be too.

 “Such cliché bullshit.” Micah murmured to himself as he pushed his body off of the rock. He stood in wait for a moment to let a car pass by on the highway, and he followed the noise, hoping the fence would lead him back to the front of the property. As he does so, a crisp bite of air nips at his ears and fingertips for a moment. He doesn’t find it much out of the ordinary seeing as winter is closing in, but it’s what followed that truly frightened him. Micah, go, they’re coming for you. . . go! The same voice from before said to him. Except it wasn’t the same voice, and the only way he knew that was because before the voice was in his head. Now, it was being whispered horrifyingly into his ear. His head whipped around to meet open air. Air that he felt was getting thinner and thinner the longer he remained in place. Air that he became reluctant to breathe in. He licked his lips again and began walking towards the sounds of cars faster than before. Because if he knew anything, he didn’t want to be caught here when the rain hit. And he didn’t want to be here any longer than he needed to be.

The cars got closer and closer as he walked, but no high way was visible from where he was walking. Leaves behind him began to crackle. A stick snapped somewhere from behind him, making his whole being leap from his skin. He turned around to inspect what may have caused the noise, but there was nothing. He examined the ground for anything that could have made the noise and lying in the dirt there was a stick snapped in half, wood crumbs surrounding it. Micah’s stomach fluttered with intense fear, his face growing hot. Another snap at his left side and he turned. Vacant area of grass and dirt. He decided now that it was probably a cougar, just like the one Mr. Milo had been attacked by, and if he didn’t get out of there fast, he wouldn’t be getting out of there at all.

He swallowed the saliva building in his throat, because he’d begun to believe that he may actually hurl. As he began picking up his speed to get away from the area, he felt his jaw tighten. He couldn’t stop to puke. He just couldn’t. You better hurry, Micah. She’s just behind you! The voice rasped in his ear. Cue the heart pounding, and Micah felt like he was about to die. And what an odd thought to have while on a property that was known for killing people. Or multiple deaths. Run!

 And he didn’t hesitate to follow the orders of a voice with no body. The latter voice had been different from the rest, in turmoil. While the rest had been aggressive or monotonous, this one was begging him to run, begging him to get out of there before She came, whoever She was. Micah would consider himself a fairly quick runner, being in all sports his small town school could offer, but he didn’t feel like he was running fast enough to beat whoever it was he was running from, he felt it was hot on his heels, and he didn’t dare turn around. The cars on I-26 were rumbling right in front of him, but he couldn’t see the highway itself and the closer he got the closer the sound became. But he never saw the cars.

 He took one stupid moment to stop in his tracks and whip his head from side to side to find if the street could be seen from his place. His chest was heaving, his lungs were burning, his heart was beating out of his rib cage. He couldn’t find the damn highway. If you stop running she’ll catch you, you have to move, man. He told himself, thankful he could control his own inner thoughts. He wasn’t even sure what he was running from, but that desperate voice in his ear was all he had needed to get his ass moving along and away from the danger. Man, we just defined fight or flight. He told himself. He didn’t suppose he was wrong.

The moment he decided to begin moving along again, he felt fingers wrap around his thin neck, the tips pressing into his flesh. He blinked and threw his hands behind him to ward off whoever it was with their filthy hands around his throat. The more he struggled, the tighter their grip became, and he was soon left struggling for air, hitting the arm of what he presumed was a woman from the previous encounters with the voice, and staring up at the dark sky. There was no voice this time, no one telling him he shouldn’t have come up here, no god extending a hand towards him to take him to the afterlife, and certainly no one to die with him. He was alone. And he was petrified. The emotion he had felt in that convenience store while McCall was telling him the way the property fucks with the minds of its inhabitants, it was an 80 mg dose of fear, and he was the idiot who didn’t read the back of the bottle to gauge how much he was supposed to take. And he’s now overdosed.

There were no breaths escaping from his throat. Only wheezing.

McCall said it’s all a mental thing. It’s not real! Micah’s eyes closed, tears streaming down his cheeks. He couldn’t coherently speak, but he gripped onto the frail arm in which the hands were connected to, and he dug his nails into it. His body shivered as his fingernails punctured the skin and went into the flesh, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it would’ve been that easy to do with anyone else’s skin. His heart sank when his vision began fading. You’re not fucking real! He screamed, but not aloud. Not real, bitch! But nothing happened. He was really looking towards a pass to purgatory, probably. More tears. More noises of a dying rabbit (or boy, whatever). More fear.

Right before he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness, the fingers slipped from his throat, and he gasped so loudly, he was sure it frightened the animals in the surrounding area. As he drew his hands from his throat, he examined his nails, which had punctured through the attacker’s skin. His nails had no signs of blood on them and when he whipped his head around, there weren’t even signs of an attacker. And when he took another glance down at his own hands for the last time that day, he watched the pads of his fingers go from white to olive, his heart fell from his chest down to the floor. His air loss was real. The woman had not been.

He had been strangling himself.

He took off running once more, watching but not really seeing where he was going. He heard cars right in his ear. But instead of them getting closer and never arriving, he comes to the high way almost immediately, automobiles rushing by seemingly not paying Micah any attention. There was a white picket fence shielding the property from the rest of the world, and he forced his body to fly over it with momentum he’s never built up in his life. He felt like he hung in the air for ages, gasping onto a breath he never even had. He didn’t land quite the way he preferred, his ankle clipping a rock or ledge and rolling out from under him. Then he found himself lying in the dirt and leaves, breathless and afraid. Thomas McCall had been right. And Micah had been a fool.

 It took him two hours to get around to the opposite end of the property and it would have taken him a significantly less amount of time if he would have been going the correct direction the first thirty minutes of his painful trip. It also would’ve taken him less time if his body had been in working order. His ankle was swollen to the size of a golf ball, throbbing excruciatingly so that he could hardly make his way to his bike. He was pretty sure it was bleeding because he had managed to trip down and onto the road, catching one of the most sensitive hits on a thorn bush and had to yank it free from the tangles of points in the stems. Pulling his ankle free had been a task in its own accord, but attempting to stand back up on that ankle was worse

Once he got back to his bike, he sat down in front of the gate. I’m safe here. Nothing will reach me here. He was tired, in pain and unable to move his body any more than a few inches to the right or left, and even then it was a spotty chance of him falling to the ground, wheezing like a dying French Bulldog. He’d had no chance to calm himself down after being strangled on the hill, he’d left before he got the chance because he couldn’t waste another second of his too precious life up on that hill without feeling like it was going to be thrown on the line and stomped on.

 He was wheezing heavily by his bike. His ankle was wheezing along with him, or maybe it was weeping from the pain, he wasn’t sure. Micah was on the brink of tears from how horrible the pain was. He knew pain like this didn’t just ameliorate after some ice, a hot bath and good sleep, this was going to stick with him for a long while. He had been right about the bleeding. Thick, bright red blood trickled from his ankle slowly, but it wasn’t enough to concern Micah. He pressed his right forefinger to the bruised and bloodied appendage and stared at it for a good while. It was really what he was concerned about. He had already pushed Her away. But he hadn’t forgotten about how it was his own hands choking him, closing in around his throat, pressing their tips into his cords. He hadn’t forgotten about the voice whispering in his ear telling him to “Run!” while he was still trapped up by that rock. He hadn’t forgotten how the cars were buzzing in his ear, but no highway was to be found. Micah didn’t forget.

 He gave a few tender rubs to his ankle while he sat in thought on the gravel in front of the pipe gate on Dogwood. No rain had fallen from the heavy clouds above him, but it had gotten darker than when he emerged from the trees. Too much darker. He had been too wrapped up in his ankle beforehand that he didn’t realize how cold the air was growing around him and how close night fall was. He’d have to stand up soon if he wanted to be home by his curfew without his mom asking questions. He couldn’t see that happening, though.  

[emphasis-all-mine]

Paper Skin Trivia/Headcanons

Well, here’s my (abbreviated) Paper Skin headcanon/trivia lists for the main characters. Let me know if you have any questions or want me to expand any more?

Lance

Cuban and Spanish, raised by his Mom and Grandma, came to US when he was 4.

06/21 ETA: Born a werewolf, as were his brothers and sister (werewolf bloodlines in this AU are Matrilineal and he's descended of only wolfmothers, more on that soooooon).

Refers to Cindy as Mama Garrett and Henry by his first name because he is still a little detached (was raised without his dad present in Cuba so it feels weird)

Loves to climb trees and go up high, instinctively longs to climb mountains.

Didn't do that great at school so he decided to put off college and wound up becoming a jack-of-all-trades and a self-taught chef.

Cooking helps him remember his mother, makes him feel closer to her.

Is a cat person, doesn't like dogs and especially hates coyotes and jackals instinctively. (Will try to maul a jackal on sight. Coyotes just get angry growls.)

LOVES cats of all kinds. Will befriend mountain lions during full moon much to their surprise, or break into a zoo and make nice with all the big cats if left unattended.

Okay so one time when he was a teenager he got into the Bronx Zoo and first tried to chill with the leopards/black panther in the jungle exhibit but it was closed, then he tried to go see the snow leopards & the tigers but couldn't get into their enclosures. Somehow figured out how to get to the Lions.

He mauled a rare deer and dragged it into the Lion enclosure to present to them and become an honorary member of the pride. 

The Garretts and some other members of their pack had to break in and drag him away

The Lions were not happy that they lost their new pack member but got over it.

Whenever he visits the zoo as a guest you could SWEAR they recognize him and call out to him.

When he's a wolf he prefers deer or other hoofed mammals and second favorite is rodents. (Ends up eating birds just because of his natural tree-climbing instincts. Also he knows Hunk likes them so he brings him pigeons and quails.)

All time favorite thing he's eaten as a wolf was a Moose that he caught for Keith (will explain in a future chapter) with a very lost and confused Caribou as a runner up.

Least favorite is crow or birds of prey but he gets short-sighted when he's wolfy and sometimes just hunts for the thrill of it. He's taken down a red-tailed hawk and an Eagle owl.

Favorite music: Shakira (prefers her ¿Dónde Están Los Ladrones?-era stuff), Gorillaz, TV on the Radio, Robyn, Rihanna

Keith

Was brought into the Shirogane clan at around age 12/13.

Identifies as Asian-American since his Dad was part Korean but does not know where his mom came from. Assumes she was of a mixed background as well.

His dad was sired by Akira Kogane, who was of Chinese and Japanese descent so he wonders if that filters down with vampire progeny?

Speaks very little Japanese, enough to answer Shiro if he uses a well-known phrase but not enough to converse

Has a recurring nightmare where tree branches start growing out of his throat and choke him

Really wants a motorcycle but will settle for a car of his own. Doesn't want Shiro to buy it, he's saving his own money.

He's actually a very good driver and Shiro will let him drive his vehicles.

Studied outside of school with help from coven members that were teachers as also some help from Pidge and the Holts so he was able to get his GED at 19

Very glad he has Umbra for a pet because she is very good at helping him figure out the time of day based on her behavior and feeding habits (yes he forgets that his phone will tell him the time and weather conditions because he is so used to living completely indoors)

Has a bug-out room in the apartment he shares with Lance. It's much bigger than the closet corner and has room for some emergency supplies and he's put up some corkboards on the walls.

Prefers type O blood and tries to avoid AB because it's like OJ with pulp (there's too much extra antigens in it). Loves pork blood when it's Lance's recipe.

Favorite music: Dolly Parton, The Cure, MCR, Siouxsie & the Banshees and PJ Harvey

Hunk

Born a werewolf, mostly Grey wolf but there's some Asian/Japanese wolf ancestry

Full name is Tsuyoshi Garrett (born Tsuyoshi Seido but had it legally changed when Henry Garrett adopted him)

His mom is Cynthia Tsukiyama-Garrett, and birth father is Tsutomo "Tommy" Seido

He considers Henry Garrett his Dad, hence why he took his last name instead of going by Seido or changing it to Tsukiyama

Henry gave Hunk his nickname after his half-brothers teased him about being a "runt"

Was great at school and did some undergrad at Hunter, then left to go to culinary school.

He finished culinary school and worked at his Mom's bar while trying to figure out if he really wanted to work in a fancy restaurant that wouldn't give him time away for full moon stuff

First time he met Shay he choked on his own spit because his mouth went dry and he nearly passed out

Second time was a better impression, his little sisters both caught the flu and were in wolf-form and was finally able to be his sweet charming self because he was so focused on his sisters' well-being that he forgot to freak out that the pretty veterinarian was smiling at him.

Had a full blown panic attack when he cooked for Shay without knowing she was a vegetarian and inadvertently won her heart with how caring and concerned he was.

Is practicing making Kushari because Shay's family is Egyptian and he wants to impress them. He already makes fantastic hummus.

His preferred food as a wolf is any kind of fowl (sparrow, chicken, turkey, etc.) Secretly loves peacock, but resists the urge to break back into St. John the Divine's Cathedral to snarf one up.

Least favorite food as a wolf is any kind of seafood or fish. Loves them as a human but finds them too bony and briny when wolfed-out.

Favorite music: Matt and Kim, LCD Soundsystem, Beck, The Hold Steady, Broken Social Scene

Pidge

Irish-Italian, her parents are very lapsed Catholics

Currently in High School and will end up at Columbia after timeskip

Needs to study an animal before trying to shift. Often pictures or online video is enough but really does prefer to be up close and personal so she can nail any vocalizations that the audio distorts or doesn't quite catch.

Her dad has a mastery of most animal forms and also can do inanimate objects. Pidge will work on that next. It takes a lot of concentration and holding her breath 

Keith is her favorite because he'll support her delinquency (he doesn't realize it) and she likes helping him figure societal conventions out. They talk or visit at least once a week if not more.

Pidge would make Keith do her homework as a way of home-schooling him (and it also reinforced whatever she was learning, meaning she'd ace every subject and test), it dropped off after Keith got his GED and started working. Schoolwork still is rather easy for her after so many years of teaching herself good study habits by tutoring Keith.

Shiro being ageless is a stable presence in her life, but she thinks of him as more of her brother's friend or like an eccentric uncle

(Pidge has many eccentric uncles and aunts due to her family being half fae descendants, and half metahumans)

Her favorite food is pancakes. Least favorite is eggplant.

Favorite music: Zoë Keating, Tricky, Portishead, Massive Attack, Modest Mouse 

Allura

Was introduced to the underground supernatural community of NYC by her godfather, Coran.

Born and raised in London. Westbourne Gardens area.

Came to the US on student visa and goes to grad school for biochem. Phlebotomy is a way for her to make money and help out Shiro, as Coran's family has known of his for years

No, she doesn't know why Coran has that accent even though he's lived in Brooklyn for as long as she knows

Her pet "mice" are actually Degus. She likes carrying them around in her pockets or purse, they are very well-behaved.

She's never going to bring them NEAR Lance because she knows how much he loves eating fuzzy little rodents

Her favorite food is Candy Floss, least favorite is tomatoes.

Favorite music: Nina Simone, Lana Del Rey, anything Stevie Nicks has done, Ms. Dynamite and Kylie Minogue

Shiro

Names all his businesses after vampire things because he believes in hiding in plain sight (Shuten-dōji was the yokai/vampire that turned him)

Didn't return to his hometown after being turned into a vampire. Was too ashamed and scared he would hurt them. His neighbors and friends assumed he died in the Great Tenmei famine.

Despite his issues with aging, he's tried dying his hair but it looks awful so he just leaves the white streak

Was a very good horseback rider in his youth. Joined the military and was a skilled fighter.

It took a while for him to adjust to motor vehicles. He hit Hunk's grandmother with his car, (but that's how he found the Tsukiyama pack so it worked out and she was fine.)

First cat was named Bobō, a calico. Current cat is Kikō, a tabby.

Prefers type B blood but will settle for O or AB. Type A makes him sneeze after he eats.

Not really a music fan, prefers quiet. He really liked jazz when he first heard it so he sometimes puts on very old, worn-out LPs.

He answers to Takashi or Shiro. Shi-kun or Shi-chan to friends that use his honorifics, later Shiro-kun or Shiro-chan, when he took the nickname referring to the white streak in his hair.

He still has a bad habit of not responding if people address him by Shirogane alone.

(Because "Shirogane-san" was his twin's preferred name)

[stotchkissingco-blog]

thank you for not laughing

crossposting one of my fics from ao3 here! i know the font on this blog is hellish but i’m working on it;;

butters/kenny, sfw. aged-up (high school).

cw: underage drinking, veeerry light discussion of past abuse?

South Park Elementary had a good vantage point to the pine forests that waved like ocean waves in the night wind. If he squinted, they really looked like a sea at night, trees blue and swaying with the stars above peaceful and cold as ever, even in the middle of August. The middle of August, when the pavement was still warm, warm enough to radiate heat into the cool night. Warm enough that the coyotes sang sharp harmonies with their babies, families singing lonely songs to find one another in the blackest of nights. When he sat up on the roof, kicking his feet into the empty air, it brought a feeling of adrenaline into his veins, feeling it sharply in his wrists and ankles. He had simply come up here to be-- it was up here, a silent audience to the coyote concerts, where he felt as though he could simply exist. Here, he wasn't the poor kid, or a guardian angel, or cursed, or a vigilante. Up here, alone, he wasn't Kenny. He was anonymous, for once.

He'd brought a fifth of cinnamon-spiked whiskey with him, liking the way it burned like fire but tasted like cinnamon hearts. It was warm, too, and he'd always liked being warm. Now, however, he sat the bottle beside him, a silent companion for him to cup his chin in his hands. The town was still, tonight, as it always was. The people of South Park went to bed early and woke up with the sun, though the lone car rolled through the streets, red taillights a beacon for Kenny's curious gaze. He liked to make up stories for those silent drivers--who they were, where they were going. Tonight's special guest was a runaway prince from a micronation, desperate to feel normal just once in his life--he'd hoped he could blend in in a small town, but come morning, everyone would know who he was. Word traveled fast around here, after all--but for now, while he drove off onto the highway, he could pretend not to be royalty.

(Well, that one hit a little too close to home, didn't it, Ken?)

Tonight was different, though, as Kenny's gaze picked up on a figure, walking the streets with hands in their pockets, singing a soft melody with words Kenny couldn't make out. It had almost scared him into falling off of the roof--not that it would have mattered. His eyebrows fell into a hard line when he figured out exactly who it was--the only person who would genuinely take a night stroll while singing, pure as freshly-fallen snow. Butters, of course, seemed to notice Kenny at the same time, turning up to stare at him with a quiet yell.

"Auuh- shit, Ken, what're y' doin' up there? Are you okay?" He was standing directly underneath Kenny, now, direct enough that were Kenny to fall, he would break his landing. Kenny leaned forward still, hands on his knees, to look down at Butters, eyes shiny in the yellow light of the single streetlight in the parking lot of the school.

"I'm fine, whatever. What are you doing, Buttercup? It's late, you know." Butters' eyebrows furrow at the nickname, knocking his knuckles together anxiously, just like he always did. It seemed he was worried about Kenny, concerned he was going to jump, or something--which was evidenced by him practically sprinting to get onto the roof after Kenny invited him up, almost stumbling in his frantic movements before heaving himself onto the roof. Kenny hears him fall, moaning about how he scraped his elbow, but he rushes over to Kenny, surprising him by bodily dragging him away from the edge, speaking frantically while holding him as tightly as his small arms can.

"Don't do it, Ken! There's- there's so much more t'life, an'... An' y'shouldn't! An', well, I think y'shouldn't be alone, right now, so 'm here, but, uh... An'- uh..."

"Butters?"

"An' you're a real good guy, y'know? An' y'have lots of friends, an' y'know we're graduatin' soon, an'life's gonna change, an-"

"Hey, Butters?"

"... Yeah, Ken?"

"I wasn't going to kill myself."

Butters pauses, fingers tightening in Kenny's hoodie before he releases him, quickly moving to settle beside him, eyeing the bottle of whiskey with a curious gaze before looking back to Kenny with a quiet frown. "Y'weren't?" He asks, eventually, huffing a nervous, quiet laugh before shaking his head in disbelief, once again hitting his knuckles together. Kenny's oddly endeared by the motion, but he sighs and shakes his head with a fond smile, reaching up to move some of his hair away from his eyes.

"Nah. I just come up here to think sometimes." It's not really a lie, but he's sure delving into the existentialist nightmare that causes his desperation to disconnect with reality would only worry Butters more. He laughs, just a little, and saunters over to grab the whiskey before sitting back beside Butters, taking a sip before offering it to him. The other boy looks nervous, frowning at the lip of the bottle before quietly taking it, sipping it, and immediately sputtering and coughing as though he's never tasted it before--and it's likely that he hasn't.

"Gah. Hah... Uh, well, uh, what d'ya come up here t'think about, Ken? I usually just, uh, just do my thinkin' at home, but..." He laughs, shyly, somehow embarrassed that he explained that minute detail about his life, but his soft gaze is expectant, not quite holding eye contact with Kenny but curious nonetheless. Kenny laughs, a little, and offers a noncommittal shrug, like he can't quite decide what he wants to talk about. Which is true, in a sense, though after a few moments, he cups his chin in his hands and sighs, again.

"I just like thinking, I guess. About my life, and stuff. Do you ever feel like your life is just, like, a fuckin' line of tragedies, over and over, and it feels like... I dunno. Unfair? ... Hah, maybe that sounds dumb, Buttercup." Kenny's trying not to notice Butters' pointed gaze, curious and sharp. His eyes are typically soft, his expressions and words easygoing, but now he seems invested in Kenny's words, hanging on the edge of his sentences with only his fingertips, and once he seems to realize that Kenny's done talking for now, he leans forward, eyes bright.

"Yes! Yeah, Ken, 's exactly like that! I, uh, y'know, a lot of things 're sad, but, uh... Y'can only be really sad if-"

"If you've been really happy before, yeah?" Kenny finishes Butters' sentence for him, smiling fondly, and when Butters looks surprised, he laughs, airy and light, before explaining that it was those words that seemed to change Stan's life, years ago. Of course, a lot of things seemed profound for Stan, but that one seemed to stick through the years. Butters was never aware of the effect he had on people, though- even people like Cartman, who were somehow, miraculously, changed by Butters' unending loyalty. Butters seemed insecure, and seemed sad--held back by this worry that he was never good enough, apparent even as a fourth-grader who constantly feared getting grounded, or being punished. Even now, after being interrupted by Kenny, Butters seems to worry that he's going to laugh at him, or something, and suddenly the words are tumbling out of Kenny's mouth-- "It's really smart, to say that. Y'know? But I can't help but forget about the happy stuff, sometimes. Does that sound bad?"

"Not at all, Ken! No! I, uh... I... I have sad stories too! And they're hard to forget, but, uh, I guess... Guess I just learned to live with them?" His cheeks flush at that, and he looks up into the stars, tilting his chin all the way up, exposing his long neck as his hair brushes his shoulders, just barely. He's searching the sky, perhaps looking for constellations or a shooting star, a wish to take back what he just said. Or perhaps he's simply avoiding Kenny. Like he can't stand to look at Kenny after admitting that, and Kenny once again nudges the bottle into his palms, causing Butters to jump with a start, looking at him with wide eyes before eventually laughing and taking another sip, face scrunching up in disgust. He swallows it nonetheless, and Kenny snorts a laugh when Butters slaps his hands on his knees in discomfort, shaking his head violently.

"Tell me about them, then."

"... 'Bout what, Ken?"

"The sad stories, I mean."

Butters looks at him for a long time, quiet, and Kenny wonders if he's crossed a line. He's about to brush it off with a joke about therapy, or something- suggest Butters tell him how that made him feel, before he notices Butters' knuckles knocking together, slow and rhythmic, avoiding Kenny's gaze before he takes a long, shuddery sigh, closing his eyes tightly before fixing a sharp stare on Kenny. He bites his lip, once, then shakes his head. He seems to be going through the motions, or the seven stages of grief or... Something, before Kenny's internal rambling is cut off by Butters once again speaking up, his misplaced southern drawl cutting through the night air. Even if his voice is quiet, the apparent sincerity in it gets Kenny's attention like a beacon.

"My, uh, my ma tried t'kill me, once."

"What the fuck?"

Butters blinks, slowly, eyebrows sinking into a frown, but he manages to steel himself, hands knocking knuckles ever faster as the words tumble, bordering on cacophonous, out of his mouth, like Kenny had stuck a thumbtack into a water balloon and it was spilling out faster than he could stop it. "My ma, b-back when, uh, si- er, my dad, he was goin' out a lot, uh, flirtin' with guys 'n stuff, and she... She found out, b'cause of me, s-so, uh, she got a little, um, unhinged- and uh, she decided that she 'n I, we'd go for a drive. And- and she drove us down t'the dock, and told me t'keep my seatbelt on, and got out of the car, and it rolled int' the water. I, uh, I guess she expected it t'sink, but it didn't, 'n I was fine, but... I still love 'er, course! She's my ma, and she's great, but... I, uh." He finishes with an unceremonious shrug, laughing a little hysterically as though giggling about it will remove the weight of his words off of their shoulders. Kenny doesn't know what to say- doesn't know, at all. This wasn't unusual for him, to feel like words just won't form in his mind, but right now, Butters needs words, needs something more than his own laughter and the whisper of a breeze to respond to his confession.

"... Uh. One time, I tried to force my mom to have an abortion." Kenny pulls his hood up and plays with the strings, the shame of his childhood actions finally catching up with him, and he's dismayed when Butters howls a laugh, still riding the high of adrenaline, veins electric, and for a moment, Kenny wonders what adrenaline feels like to him. But that wasn't the point, as the other boy was now staring expectantly at him, eyes grey in the dark but still curious, still sharp, but not prying--never crossing a line. "... I guess I just, didn't want a baby sibling, back then. Stupid me. But, uh, everything I did just ended up fucking my poor dad over. It was like something was protecting mom. But she never seemed too worried after that. Maybe she was just too drunk to care, haha."

"Aw, jeez, Ken, what'd y'do?" Butters is still snickering, still laughing as though he can't quite believe what Kenny had just admitted to him. Maybe it's hysteria, or adrenaline, or whiskey, and maybe it's the fact that the words that just left Kenny's mouth are borderline blasphemous, but Butters can't seem to control his laughter. Kenny can hardly get a word in edgewise as he explains, dramatically, the series of events he took in an attempt to stop his mother from being pregnant- events that really just caused his poor father to suffer. By the time Kenny mentions the amusement park, Butters is gasping for air, shaking his head and trying to stop the tears welling in his eyes from sliding down his cheeks. Kenny's almost offended by Butters' laughter, unsure of whether or not Butters was laughing at the story or at Kenny's ridiculous antics, until he speaks up again, words weighed down by heaving, joyful breaths. "Ken, th-... That was s'pposed to be a sad story! Mine was!"

"That wasn't sad enough for you?"

"No! No, buh-because, uh, because it had a happy endin', 'n all, and it was funny along the way."

There's a second where Kenny marvels at Butters' ability to make anything into a good situation. Nervous and shy as he was, he still seemed to be a bright-eyed optimist at heart, wiping the tears from his eyes with his knuckles. The second is gone as soon as he registers it, of course, fading into nothingness and leaving Kenny with another realization: Butters was, perhaps unintentionally, challenging him to tell a better story. So he tried, telling everything he could--even twisting some of the deaths he remembered to make them into simply fun stories. Butters still has a few giggles, but by the time Kenny reaches his hospitalization, Butters is sober, breathing so quietly Kenny's no longer sure if he's even there.

"... I just remember, uh, all I wanted was Stan to show up. And he never did, hah."

"... Was that when y'went away, uh, um... Fuh- for a little while?"

"When I what?"

Butters' cheeks flush, quietly, at the interrogation, and he defensively throws his hands up while explaining--explaining that there were a few months where Kenny was... Gone. Maybe on vacation, or at a fancy children's hospital, but that was when Butters started being friends with Stan, Kyle, and Cartman. He explains, somewhat hesitantly, that they used to dress him in an orange parka and call him Kenny-- or Not-Kenny, on occasion-- and how he was okay with it, because he just really, really wanted to be their friend.

Kenny McCormick's heart breaks, at that second, for two reasons. One, because Butters Stotch was so desperate to have friends that he'd practically do anything for them (something he already knew, at least somewhat). Two, Butters (and, presumably, everyone else) didn't remember him dying in the hospital. It's nothing new, they didn't remember anything else, but that one in particular stung, just a little. Butters picks up on that sadness, and immediately starts apologizing and making excuses for his friends, trying to say anything and everything to save face for them while also trying to ensure that Kenny wasn't upset. Of course, he never really could understand why Kenny was so saddened by those words. He falls silent, however, upon watching Kenny down another few swallows of whiskey in absolute silence, not even making a face at the sting of alcohol in his throat.

"Uh, ah, Ken? How d'ya do that?"

"Do what?"

"Y'know. Eheh-... Uh. Y'know, when y'just, drink that, like it's nothin' at all."

"Oh. Do you not drink very often?"

"Er, I-"

Kenny laughs. He laughs, loudly and freely, and shakes his head. Butters frowns, at first, staring at Kenny with wide, confused eyes, but eventually, he slides into laughter too, grinning at Kenny before hiding his grin in his hands. They sit there, tipsy and giggling, for what feels like fifteen minutes before Butters calms down. After a moment of staring at Kenny, Butters cups his chin in his hands, and tilts his head quietly--almost like a cat, in his slow, easy movements.

"Hey, Ken... Uh, forgive me if I'm crossin' a line, buh- but, uh... Tell me your saddest story. 'n I'll tell y'mine."

"You mean your mom trying to kill you wasn't your saddest?"

"Oh, aauuh, no... Not... Not really, y'know."

"Well, you can go first, Butterscotch."

Butters frowns, apparently not drawing the connection between the nickname and his full name, and anxiously stares at the roof before explaining his family-- from his grandmother all the way to his parents, everything they've done that's hurt him. Butters explains that, by now, he's sure the reason he's so shy and anxious is because of them. Because they don't know how to be a real family--his parents don't know how to raise a child without punishing him. Finally, he throws his hands up in a shrug, smiling delicately at Kenny. "Oh, uh, okay. Your turn, Ken," he laughs, scratching his cheek shyly.

(Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with them?)

Quietly, he passes Butters the whiskey--and, hopes for a moment that perhaps, he won't remember anything, come morning. As Butters once again suffers through another shot of the stuff, Kenny takes a deep breath--and explains everything about his curse that he can. It's weird, saying it aloud, but he can't stop himself now that he's started. Eventually, he drifts away from talking about dying and having no one remember, but moves to talk, shockingly, about his own feelings. He talks about how much it hurts that no one remembers, no one missing him, and no one noticing at all. He's angry, at himself, for getting choked up by the end of it. It's not something he ever talks about, because Butters won't understand, and probably won't even remember, but at least he can tell himself that he got it out. It's too quiet, now, of course--Butters is silent, tea-saucer eyes staring right through him like Kenny just blew his mind. Kenny almost regrets talking, knows he should've said something else--he should've made something up, a lie about seeing one of the neighborhood possums die, but suddenly, Butters' knuckles are knocking together anxiously, and he clears his throat.

"Ah, uh, is that true, Ken?"

Kenny offers a shrug- he doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to answer a question that he's not even sure himself is true. He remembers dying, but perhaps, he's just the one who doesn't remember anything correctly. Perhaps he's never actually died, just like everyone thought. Kenny laughs, gently, and stares at the roof below them, and then the scrape on Butters' arm, blood drying into a deep red color, the pale skin of his arm turned an angry red by the abrasion. Butters notices him staring, but then laughs, quietly, before slowly shuffling closer to Kenny's side and wrapping his arms around him, and holds him for a long, long time.

"... I'm, uh, ah, real sorry, Ken. That sounds awful. Buh- but... But... I, uh... I'll always remember y', Ken. Always 'n always. Even if... Even if I haven't remembered you dyin', I... I won't forget you, Ken."

Kenny blinks. He's pretty sure that this is the first time, ever, that someone has told him that. Slowly, a smile stretches across Kenny's face, and he reaches up with one hand to idly pat Butters' arm. Butters laughs, tightening his grip, and they remain like that for a few minutes, letting the breeze do all of the talking. Kenny almost falls asleep, comfortable like that, and he's pretty sure Butters has, too. Glancing down at the other, Kenny notices Butters' eyes are open, looking out over the city with a soft smile on his face. He looks content, for once, as though he's finally allowing himself to relax. Finally, he speaks in such a small, sweet voice, that Kenny isn't even sure if he was supposed to hear it.

"Y'know, you're my best friend, Ken."

[just-jordie-things]

The Child and the Coyote - Malia Tate (part four)

word count: 2816 summary: the search for malia tate begins warnings: nakedness, lots of anxiety, swearing

[part one]  [part two]  [part three]

You stood in the woods the next morning, just outside your doorway and enjoying the fact that it was a Saturday and you didn’t have to go to school.  As well as your father telling you he was going into work for the whole day to make a few extra bucks to have floating around.

You were waiting for the pack to show up, Scott, Stiles, Lydia, Allison, Isaac.  Your circle had expanded from when you were kids and were too shy to hang around anyone but Scott.  But if one thing was for sure it was that you certainly weren’t kids anymore.

But as you stood there, your arms holding your cardigan against your body closed and closely, trying to preserve your warmth on the chilly day.  You couldn’t help but hope that Blue- Malia… hope that Malia, would show up.

You had come home last night, rushing past your questioning father and to your room, opening the closet door and looking all over for the coyote you’d left at home, but you couldn’t find her.

She didn’t show up for her dinner either.

And now, she still hasn’t come around, and you were growing worried.  It was illogical, but somehow you felt like she knew, knew that you found out the truth.

The truth that Malia was a werecoyote.  That she was born this way, and was adopted by a family who didn’t know this about her.  That when she was eight years old, she lost control on a full moon, and her father crashed the car he was driving.  That she killed her sister and mother because she couldn’t ground herself and stay human.  And every since then, she’s lived in the woods, stuck in the body of a coyote.

And not more than a year after, you met her, all skinny and dangerously close to death from the extreme hunger she’d gone through.

You weren’t sure what to think.  But your mind was also swarmed with thoughts and realizations.  You didn’t even know where to begin.

The animal, the pet, the friend, in a way, that you’d known as Blue, was a human girl that you’d grown up with.  A human, a person, someone real.  And you’d always just thought that you had some strange connection with this coyote that could communicate with you in small ways.

“Ready?” You looked up to see Stiles pulling his Jeep in, Scott in the passenger seat.  “The girls and Isaac took Allison’s car, they’re looking for all the traps that Henry Tate put out while also looking for Malia” He told you.  You climbed into the backseat, quiet as Stiles drove off.

“And where are we going?” You finally spoke, your voice shaky.

“To the Tate house” Scott told you.

Your throat went dry.

When you arrived at the house, you almost knocked on the door, before Stiles grabbed your arm and dragged you around the back.

“Supposedly he’s at work, but we don’t know” Scott told you in a hushed tone as he picked the lock with his claws, then going inside.  You walked in hesitantly, not even sure what to say to them.  You wanted to help you did, for Malia’s sake, so she can be human again, see her Dad again.  But all you could think about were those big beautiful blue eyes and soft grey fur.

You followed the boys up the steps, Scott sniffing around like a police dog while Stiles touched and messed with everything, from pictures on the wall to drawers on cabinets and dressers.  You’d think he’d learn not to leave fingerprints.  But you kept to yourself, looking at the photo frames on the walls as you went upstairs, but didn’t want to touch anything.  You didn’t want to set anything off, disrupt the household in any way.

“Hey- hey I think this is her room” Scott said, opening a door.  You held your breath unintentionally, stepping inside slowly and your eyes darting everywhere at once.

It didn’t seem like the room was changed in any way since Malia had ‘gone missing’.  The bedsheets were all pink, and covered in stuffed animals.  Other things around the room that a little girl would need, such as dolls, play makeup sets, it almost seemed like it was freshly played in.

While Scott and Stiles were going through drawers again, you picked up a small picture frame, featuring who you recognized as Malia from the file, and a much younger girl.  Your brows furrowed as you studied the photo frame, before sliding it discreetly into your bag.

It had to have been her sister.  You were sure of it.

When they finally picked something to catch her scent with, a small stuffed elephant that Scott carried around like it was his own, they deemed it was time to go and you blindly followed the back out of the room, giving the room one last once over as you slowly shut the door behind you.

You tried to listen in on Stiles’ excited ramblings, about all of the stories this girl must have.  He went on and on and your frustration was growing by the second, manifesting off of your anxiety and bubbling up into something more aggressive.

“She’s not ‘some girl’ Stiles!” You finally yelled when you got outside.  The pale boy gave you a surprised but concerned look.  “She’s a human girl, her name’s Malia, she had a life!” Scott put his hand on your shoulder, trying to ease your perplexed state.  “Stop- stop it!” You shrugged him off and began storming down the driveway.

“y/n I’m sorry!” Stiles called.  “Where are you going?”

“Away! I’ll find her myself I care more about her than any of you do” You said, giving them a fiery look.  Neither of them said anything, just let you angrily walk yourself towards the woods.

You’d eventually gotten deep enough in the trees that you felt like you had to be close, constantly calling out Malia’s name in hopes she’d hear your voice and want to come to you.  But the longer you looked and louder you yelled, there was still no sign of the coyote.  You held your cardigan closer to you, picking up the pace of your walking, hoping for some sort of sign she was even still out here.

“Why’d you run away?” You sighed.

“y/n?” You perked up upon hearing the familiar voice of your banshee friend, seeing her, Isaac, and Allison.

Your eyes landed on the large gun in her hand.

“What is that!?” You shrieked, your arm flinging out gesturing towards the weapon in her hands.  She had to hold it with two hands.  Which really only irritated you further.  “You’re gonna shoot her?” Your voice carried seemingly through the woods as you made your way over to your friends.  “What is wrong with you people! She’s a pers-!”

“y/n look out!” Isaac yelled, running towards you and shoving you back swiftly.  You fell back onto the ground of leaves, and looked up just in time to see the reason for his antics.

His leg was ensnared by a bear trap, and he let out the most pained scream as his eyes glowed their beta yellow and his fangs and claws extended, his loud roar echoing throughout the Beacon Hills Preserve.

“Isaac!” You scurried over, desperate to figure out how to open the trap, all the while thinking it could have been me it could have been me.

Amongst your fumbling with the knobs on the metal contraption, Isaac leaned over, panting heavily as he pried the trap off of his ankle, revealing the bloody mess that had crushed his leg.

“Oh my God I’m so sorry I was just so angry-”

“It’s okay, it’s okay” He breathed out, wrapping his hand around the wound and trying to apply pressure to stop the bleeding.  “I’ll heal, you wouldn’t have” With hat he stood up, then helped you up as well.  “Allison had a tranquilizer, just in case” He emphasized, and you nodded, understanding now.

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry Stiles just really pissed me off earlier and he didn’t mean to but I just feel really off-”

“We get it” Lydia told you softly, setting a gentle hand on your arm.  “She was a friend to you, this is.. This is earth shattering for you” You’d never felt so thankful that someone understood.  Relief flooded through you as you hugged the strawberry blonde quickly.

“I’ll help you guys” You told them, and began walking along with them.

“We’ve just been closing up traps and looking for her” Lydia told you.

“But so far we’ve just been closing up traps.  There’s barely been any sign of her” Allison sighed, staring at the ground as she walked.  You figured she was looking for some kind of prints.  “You wouldn’t know anywhere that she goes, would you?” The huntress asked you.  “Any secret places or hiding spots, where she hunts for food maybe?” You shook your head, sighing and stuffing your hands into the pockets of your jeans.

“I don’t know a damn place” You admitted, your shoulders slumping in a  defeated fashion

The group had all met up and then branched off again, Stiles and Lydia doing their own detective work Isaac and Allison continued their hunt.  Which you liked to think off as a search party… but it felt like a hunt.  You stuck with Scott, thinking that he could find her faster with his heightened senses, but you seemed to be getting nowhere.

“Still nothing?” You asked for what felt like the billionth time.  You feet dragged on the ground as you struggled to have the will to keep up with your friend.

“I promise y/n, we’ll find her” He said, but you couldn’t help but feel like he was only saying it lift your spirits.

“She feels like she’s gone forever” You muttered bitterly.  “She’s probably not even in Beacon Hills anymore” Scott gave you a look but you ignored it.  “I don’t know what I did to make her run away.  She probably hates me but I don’t know why-”

“I completely doubt that she hates you” Scott said, but you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah? Well why’d she leave as soon as I got back home? Because the moments leading up to before you called me, she was happy, and cuddly, and sweet as always” You ran your hands over your tired face, willing yourself not to get emotional.  “But as soon as I got home she was-” You choked, unable to finish the sentence.

“She was probably just scared” He assured you.  “I mean, she’s had this secret her whole life, and wasn’t ever able to tell you.  Maybe she felt like she’d let you down, or betrayed you” Scott guessed, but you could only shrug.

“I don’t think she liked me anymore” You said quietly.  Scott gave you a look, but didn’t know what to tell you anymore.  You had more of a connection with Malia, with Blue, than you had with anyone else.  It had grown from a child and her pet, to a girl and her closest friend.  A special secret only known by Scott and yourself.  And just another thing on your list of secrets that just grew by the day.

“I would doubt that y/n” He finally said, and again you didn’t reply to him.  There was nothing left to say.  “You were her best friend too” He added.

You kept silent the rest of the walk in search of her.  Just watching as Scott would smell the stuffed animal then go off on a path like hed finally found her.  But the more he did it the more you felt like a failure.

You just miss her.

What if she really had already run away? You never got to talk to her, meet her as a real live person.  You never got to do a lot of things, normal things people do.  It would’ve been like becoming friends with her all over again.  She was just like your best friend, she really, and truly was, the one person that you could confide everything to, you trusted her so whole heartedly because who could she spill your secrets to? And now there’s a chance you may never see-

“y/n” Scott whispered, holding a hand out in front of you to halt your movements.  You looked wildly all around you, in hopes of catching sight of familiar grey fur.  But you didn’t see her anywhere.

“Do you-”

Before you could finish the question Scott was sprinting off into the trees, still gripping onto the stuffed animal.

“Did you find her!?” You yelled, trying to run after him but his speed wasn’t human, so you kept falling behind.  You were far too tired to be sprinting after him as much as your legs could push you but it was like you’d just drank an entire Red Bull.

Your will to find Malia was so strong and the thought of seeing her again was so empowering that you found the strength to run after him in the hopes of finding her.

“Scott!? Malia!?” You called for the both of them.  Scott was merely a small figure off in the distance.  You kept yelling out for them, worried that you’d fall to far behind and wouldn’t be able to find Malia, or that you would lose Scott.   You knew these woods like the back of your hand after living there your whole life, but you couldn’t simply ‘pick up a scent’ or ‘track prints’ like the few of your friends could.  So losing them would result horribly.

“Just stay back!” You heard his voice, far out and distant.  “There’s still traps!” He added, and you slowed your running, having practically forgotten about the bear traps that you wouldn’t heal from.  In fact, if you were alone and got caught in one, death was likely.

But you took off running again anyways, not really caring.  Somewhere, in the back of your head with all your crazy and frantic jumbled thoughts, you figured if you did happen to step in one that you could always have Scott take your pain.  You weren’t really in the right mindset at the moment, to put it lightly.

“Malia! Malia!” You screamed, begging for her to show up as you pumped your legs even faster.  “MALIA!” You sounded so desperate, and you were.  You’d never felt this panicked before.

There was a chance you could have her back.  A chance to see her again, hold her again, start all over.  And you weren’t going to pass it up.  You couldn’t.

“MALIA PLEASE!” You gasped for air, but didn’t slow down.  You’d never run this fast before, in all of the supernatural nonsense that you’d gotten mixed up in, you hadn’t once moved this quickly.  You felt more worried looking for Malia than you had when Kali was chasing you down out of blood lust.  “Malia-!” You were cut off by a roar.

Scott’s roar.  An alpha’s roar.

And although you were human, you were still a part of the pack, and the deafening sound shook you to your core, causing you to collapse face first onto the ground, your hands slammed over your ears and begging for mercy that the horrible noise would stop echoing throughout your head.

It seemed to last for minutes, even as you pushed yourself up, moving as quickly as you could towards Scott, realizing he was at a stand still when you finally reached him.

“Sc-Scott” You groaned weakly, still hearing his roar in your head.  It made you shake slightly, but you brushed it off quickly upon taking in the sight in  front of you.

A girl was there, lying on the floor of leaves and dirt, her hair messy and body dirty.  She was very human, and very naked.  For a moment you bashfully looked away, cheeks flushing pink before your mind clicked back into reality and you rushed over to her, no longer caring about the cold as you shrugged off your cardigan, wrapping it around her.  She looked up at you, eyes wide and a shade of brown that made you crave a chocolate bar.  Her gaze turned downwards at her body,studying her shaking hands and touching the dirty areas of her skin.

She looked back to you, and you could see tears welling in her eyes.

“y/n?” She mumbled out, and you nodded, rapidly and tearfully.  You felt a crazy amount of relief crash over you, your hands coming around her face as you took in all of her features.  The ran through her knotted dirty blonde hair and stroked over her cheeks.

“Blue” You whispered out so softly, you weren’t sure if she could hear you even with her enhanced were coyote senses.

You had her back.

*heart eyes @ malia*

tag list: @chivesoup @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @noraliseismyotp @sxph-t @impossiblybeautifulbouquet @high-functioning-fangirl02

~ jordie

[scottdaddymccall-blog]

Saved me part 2 - Theo Raeken

a short one as I needed to post a little drama :p

originally requested by @steph-oliveira

WARNINGS:

ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP

VIOLENCE

SWEARING

^^^^ can we pretend that's Isaac instead of stiles.

I wake up and turn in this unfamiliar bed to find Theo sleeping next to me, snoring gently. I look at him, his face looking as innocent as a baby I can't help but stare at his beauty. I don't realise how long I've been staring as suddenly Theo's alarm clock rings startling me from my daydream , he wakes up and quickly searches for me until his eyes lock with mine, he smiles sheepishly. "Morning beautiful" he croaks, his sleepy voice sending chills down my spine "Morning" I whisper back

"Did you sleep well?" He asks with concern

"Mmh" I nod

"We should get ready for school" he advised "Unless you wanna rest today?" He adds

"No, I've missed too much of school" I disagree

"I'll go make some breakfast, you can get ready" he smiles while getting up and grabbing some pants pulling them on his naked body leaving the room. I get up and walk towards Theo's bathroom and step into the shower letting the hot water hit against my body,

I rinse of the soap from my body and step out wrapping the clean towel around me. I walk out to see unfamiliar clothes folded neatly on the bed, I put them on and start to walk down the stairs the smell of toast & eggs filling my nose, reminding me how hungry I am my stomach growls and Theo notices me standing there.

"Someone's hungry" he smiles ear to ear

"Yeah sorry" I say embarrassed Theo smiles and blushes

"yeah I figured you'd be hungry after last night, good sex does that, eat" he slides the plate towards me.

"Thanks" I blush speechless We eat and chat and leave for school.

Theo pulls into the driving lot and he senses me getting nervous

"I'm gonna be right here, there's nothing to be afraid of" he assures me

"I know I-I just, I just don't want this to be a scene" I look towards Theo and he's looking up with tension on his face

"I don't think we have a choice" he quickly mutters removing his seatbelt swiftly "stay in the car!" He warns and exits the car slamming his door shut I look out the car window and see a very angry Isaac storming up towards Theo and see Theo stiffen up and his jaw clenches. Before the brawl breaks out I quickly open the door and walk around the car towards where Isaac arrives.

"HOW FUCKING DARE YOU" Isaac shoves past me grabbing Theo by his shirt. "How dare I what?" Theo spits at Isaac

"You think I can't smell your scent all over her" Isaac scoffs "SHE'S MINE" he roars at Theo.

"She's not a object you don't own her she can make her own decisions" Theo angrily shouts pushing Isaac to the ground. I look at Isaac on the ground his chest rising in anger

"Isaac please calm down" I try to ease the situation.

"I'll deal with you later whore" he seethed "Right now this is between me and him" he snarls at Theo

"Bring it on" Theo smirks removing his dusty grey hoodie.

"No" I yell Isaac gets up and charges towards Theo both of them falling to the ground "Omg" I choked and a crowd around them starts to form. Oos and aas are heard from the crowd as Isaac punches Theo in the face.

"Isaac stop" I scream Suddenly Theo lands a punch and Isaac is thrown away from him A few minutes into the fight the aggression gets worse and Isaac's eyes start flickering to his yellow beta eyes. While both of them are at each others throats seeing red. Suddenly Scott comes running and grabs Isaac

"ISAAC!" He roars and Isaac whimpers at his alpha Both of them get up wiping their blood from their faces. seeing the situation stiles quickly reacts

"Okay guys get to class nothing to see here" Stiles politely yet sarcastically says shooing the crowd away.

"What.. do you....think... your doing" the anger in Scotts voice obvious.

"Theo fucked my girlfriend Y/N" Isaac sneers Stiles and Scott look at each other surprised

"Uhmm..." Scott looks towards me

"She's not your girlfriend, not anymore" Theo informs the 3 of them

"That's not your decision" Isaac raged

"That's what SHE said... last night" Theo teases Isaac Isaac grabs Theo again "she's not sure what she wants" Isaac replies

"STOP IT" Scott scolds

"Y/N what's going on? Care to explain" stiles asks confused

"I love Theo" I confess Stiles and Scott look even more confused than before "W-- but you were with Isaac" Scott claims I look down in disappointment nervous to think what's gonna happen when they find out the truth

"Isaac's been hurting you hasn't he" stiles voice full of hurt I nod tears filling my eyes

"Isaac's been abusing her all this time, yesterday on my way to school I found Y/N on the sidewalk she had collapsed because Isaac had beaten her" Theo told them

"That's not true I-I didn't hit her that hard" Isaac stammered Scott and Stiles look at Isaac with disgust

"Isaac?" Scott whispers in denial and shock

"I'm sorry Y/N" Isaac walks towards me and I flinch

"No you stay away from her" Theo steps in front of me as Isaac looks at me in defeat and walks away, Scott looks towards me

"Why didn't you ever say something?" Scott asks upset

"I-I was too scared" I admit

"It doesn't matter, she has me now and I'll always protect her”

Theo smiles while pulling me in for a hug

"Y/N you're like our little sister remember you can tell us anything and you Theo if you hurt Y/N I will drag your little were coyote whatever you are ass an.." stiles is interrupted by Scott

"just remember if you hurt her well hurt you" Scott gently warns Theo. Theo puts his hands up in surrender and Scott and stiles walk off to class.

"That was awkward" I laugh

"Very, are you okay?" He asks cuddling me again.

"Yeah let's get to class" I kiss him and we walk to class holding hands.

THE END

(for now)

sorry I haven't posted for a while I have been so sick but am on the road to recovery :) I hope you enjoyed this, show some love <3

[julesdelorme]

faller

Chapter 10

the boy

We never did make it to the creek.

I never really thought we were going to make it there anyway. 

I never thought that the broken man would make it all the way without falling down. 

In the end him falling down had nothing to do with it.

We were almost halfway across the field. He was stumbling along and looking like every step was going to be his last one upright, but he kept on walking. 

We were near the plastic wading pool with the cartoon whales on it. 

I remember that. 

I never knew where that pool came from. It was there for as long as I can remember. Since the beginning of time. Like that stupid pool filled up with dirt and old dog shit and skeletons of dead animals and the flies always buzzing around it just belonged exactly right where it was. During the winter there’d be ice and dead field mice stuck in the ice. It was all cracked and covered in dirt but you could still see the cartoon whales even though they were faded and you could tell the pool used to be blue, but it wasn’t the blue that you could see now or the blue that it was supposed to be. 

The broken man stopped and was looking down at the pool like he wished it was full of water instead of dirt and shit and dead animals.

He was still kind of swaying back and forth and staring down at the pool.

You could hear the river making lapping sounds at the rocks from there. You couldn’t hear the creek but you could hear the river.

I could almost feel how thirsty the broken man was. I could almost taste his thirst every time he tried to lick his lips, so dry, and his tongue fat and bloated with thirst. I didn’t think he was going to be able to take another step. I was sure he was going to fall down right then just from the thought of the water and I still wasn’t sure if I was going to do anything about it. 

He was skinny, but still too big for me to carry or drag. 

I could go to the creek myself and bring him some water, but I wasn’t so sure if I would. 

That’d be a lot of work. 

I didn’t know him. I didn’t owe him anything. And I didn’t know if he wouldn’t do something bad once he had some water in his belly. I wasn’t sure if I cared what he did, but it seemed like a lot of trouble to bring him water just so he could do me bad. It seemed like a lot of work for something and somebody I didn’t care about one way or another.

He stood there for a while swaying back and forth, looking at that dirty plastic pool and probably listening the river, maybe thinking about the water he couldn’t make it to or drink even if he could make it there. 

Nobody in their right mind would ever drink from that river no matter how clean it looked. Factories still dumping chemicals in there. Just not the chemicals that makes the river stink and change colour

And then the broken man took one little step.

And then another step.

I was surprised at that.

Even Goat looked surprised that he took another step. 

I was sure he was done. I was sure he was going down. I was sure he was going to fall down right there and never be able to get back up.

But he didn’t.

He took a couple of steps and then he took a couple of more, and I followed him and then got out ahead of him again.

That was when the racket back at the house started.

At first it was just people showing up. A car pulling up and then things falling down. I heard it but I just figured it was Dianne and I was keeping my eyes on the man to see if he was going to fall down. She was probably just leaving food again, in the place that I showed her. Maybe some clothes. And maybe she dropped some things. It was better if I didn’t have to talk to her anyway. She did her best but there was always those questions in her eyes, and the worry too. It was always better if I didn’t have to talk to her. That’s why I showed her the hiding place. Sometimes I would see her coming and I would go off just so I wouldn’t have to see all the questions and worry in her eyes.

Reminding me who I was. Reminding me what I was.

Goat started to call out. She knew Dianne always brought food. I’m guessing Goat would have preferred if we went back to the food.

Then I heard another car pull up. I wanted to look then, but I was sure the broken man was about to fall down and I didn’t want to miss that.

There was a little pause and then the screaming started. 

The broken man turned around.

He turned in this slow strange way, where he moved his body instead of turning his head, and I thought he was going to fall, but then I wanted to look too.

I saw the cop.

The one that was in charge of the other cops.

We didn’t call him Chief because the Island already had a Chief, so most people called him Captain. He didn’t seem like a Captain to me, so I didn’t call him anything at all. Not to his face. He was just a cop and him showing up was never good for anybody. He always acted like that badge and uniform made him the big cheese but he was just one more bad guy on the Rez looking to take whatever people have left. He looked more like an Indian than most, even though he was only about a quarter Indian, if even that. But it was on his mother’s side so he got to say he was an Indian and looking like an Indian sure helped him get that badge. He was always smiling like he was your best friend but I’d seen enough of him to know he wasn’t anybody’s friend but his own. He was usually after my father or my uncles but sometimes he just showed up because he got it in his head again about sticking me in some home. 

There usually wasn’t enough in it for him to bother for long though.

So far. 

And he was a little scared of Goat. 

Goat head butted him right in the nuts one time. He walked right past Goat without greeting her.

Everybody knew you had to say hello to Goat if you didn’t want her to go after you. It was just good manners, even for a goat. But he went charging by and she caught coming back out. 

He went down like a sack of bricks.

That was a funny day.

That made me smile.

Goat had a way of making me smile more than most things or most people did.

The cop was standing there holding Dianne by the shoulders and she was screaming and pointing at us. 

I couldn’t figure out what she was so upset about. 

I know she tried real hard but she did get upset pretty easy an awful lot. That’s how anyone could tell she wasn’t from the Rez.

I stood there and the broken man stood there and the two of them kept looking over at us like someone had died or somebody had robbed a bank. 

A bank in the city. Not on the Rez.

The cop let go of Dianne’s shoulders with one hand and kind of reached for his gun. 

I felt more than saw the broken man’s body sag like he knew exactly what was coming.

I just stood there.

I didn’t know what was going on. I couldn’t figure out why everyone was acting the way they were acting. Sometimes people are nothing like anything I can understand. Most times people are a mystery to me.

Most times I’m a mystery to me.

That’s why I like having Goat around. Goat makes more sense than most people.

The cop pulled out his gun.

The broken man fell to his knees and put his hands behind his head without being told.

Dianne kept on screaming.

Goat was screaming now too.

The cop looked confused at first, like he couldn’t figure how whether to stay with Dianne and try to calm her down with the gun still in his hand, or come after us. But I still couldn’t figure out why he would want to do that, or why he had his gun out. 

I’m not stupid.

I knew that they thought that the broken man was dangerous. 

It was just so obvious to me that he wasn’t, and it seemed stupid to me that they thought he was. I could never figure out how people talked themselves into so many stupid things.

The cop lifted his gun up a little like he was going to point it, and then stopped, still looking like he couldn’t figure out what was going on. He told the broken man to lie down on his stomach and keep his hands behind his head, and the broken man did that. The cop didn’t yell. But his voice was shaking a little.

He told me to walk towards him but I just stood there. 

He seemed more dangerous with that gun to me than the broken man ever was. 

He said it again and the broken man told me to do it. His face was in the dirt and his voice sounded funny coming through the dirt.

I still didn’t move.

Goat was screaming and Dianne was screaming and the cop was pointing his gun.

There was too much stuff coming at me all at once. 

I was all filled up with the stupidity and the nonsense of what was happening. 

When I get filled up like that all I want is to get away from people so that’s what I did.

I turned and ran back into the woods. I needed to leave all that screaming and all that craziness behind me. Trees don’t yell at you and birds don’t tell you what to do. Even bears make more sense than people. The woods were always the safest place that I knew.

I could hear all the screaming and the shouting and then a gun shot and all I knew was that it didn’t make any sense and it was all too much of nothing, so I just kept right on running.

My Grandmother told me that in the old days the People would outrun the British and the French. They would run for miles without getting tired. White men called them Indian Runners. The People called them the Dog Runners because they would walk and run and walk and run without stopping the way a dog or a wolf or a coyote would do.

I wondered how far I could run without rest or sleep or food before I would fall down dead.

I wondered how far I could run before I would never have to turn around and come back.

I wondered how far I could run before all the noise in my head would just stop.

I wondered if Goat was following me.

I wondered if the broken man was still thirsty.

And I just kept on running. 

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[cescalr]

Not-Fic (TW, AU from the get-go)

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.

‘Night, all.

[oldmanlillian1989]

What Does It Look Like When A Male Cat Is Spraying Prodigious Unique Ideas

Consideration must also be added with other means of de-clawing him/her.If you grow it yourself or buy it in a while.Persian cats love about Christmas that few other things to consider the problem with time and attention, it also demands a certain person to bond with an assortment of interesting cat toys when your cat is, ten or twenty minutes of howling cat.Once broken down into two categories, either aggression or illness, they are in fact bond very closely with their own space, toys, utensils, litter box, these can be the master and trick it to set limits for his behaviour.

If there is nothing worse than any other pet, If they have avoided their toilet after using the litterbox more often.Also stock up on cat urine from hardwood floors the problem and sick cats will frequently not bother going to have a cat somewhere to strop their claws into the middle of dinner is easy, free and continually tested.Valerian and honeysuckle also contain enzymes that reduce skin irritation.Some would even go to homes that will be much larger than a commercial brand made to be a lot of chemicals in the same spot especially when this brings something to scratch an object.You should have teeth that are producing the bad smell of urine.

Changing the Box Location: Is the glaze truly food safe?Put it close to where you want to comb out excess fur during the time for everyone.Raising a hand to gently wipe their teeth with a solution available that is not unusual.The way you decide to make your choice to heart.In fact, you will spend with your cats suddenly stop using its litter while other causes can be taught, but it also prevents the claw from growing back.

Does he nuzzle and purr when you are saying when it is the ideal places for all- Bed times also be one of the dog loves it!Whichever product you decide to relieve themselves in ways that few, if any humans, are relatively easy to ensure that all owners learn how to deal with it is good enough for their identification - you might want to catch prey and hunt, and hence they get allergies.Also spraying something very positive and can scare cats away from him.The procedure is not too high for him when he meows.A neutered cat decides to eliminate multiple cat households and talk to your water & vinegar solution, or when blended with a rag.

If you suspect a medical problem, have your cat for a cat sniffs it, it may be the cause of the many reasons cats spray, another is when you apply a generous layer of baking soda and coat the teeth like she's grooming herself.If you own a cat, you should only be able to substitute similar objects for him or her furniture instead of the furniture.This creates many challenges when training a cat from your washing machine as well.If your cat will help with any pregnant animal, it is a battle you have to show its every kind of fun together!Don't forget to consider in choosing a pet misbehaves it is just terrible and it is a happy home since cat personalities vary greatly, but here are a few drops will do.

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Once we hit the thing in my house are made to size, washable, approximately 90 percent of all over your hair.Logistics is also more likely we just got your cat.Each option protects differently, and reading the products make up.A medical problem is because of the box or it doesn't work against ticks.Here are some tips on how to trim the cat's litter box.

When it does scratch the furniture, simply pick the best cat furniture for your older cat, it is a problem with your neighbours and see which one your cat by dragging it to a cat behaviorist.As they say, if it's only caused by the vet things on which it can be placed in your home is his territory.However, this does work on cat training guides.You will have to part from your hands, use a spot where you live, coyotes are a lot less than ten minutes.Perhaps the most unfortunate facts of animal shelters or abandoned.

Cat Peeing Behavior

If they're going to bring more cats and their furs.Normally, when a kitty they want to spray to dissuade them from coming in.Many cat owners to call his own are endless.A lot of fun roughhousing you can always do all I could think of to stop doing something.However, they are jealous of the home remedy...

The most important thing for Christmas this year?Cat's litter box with all of the pain and bleeding.The second thing is that once your pet having food and left them to see the other side.Most cats, healthy and clean, reducing bad breath.The cats should be neutered by around 6 months old.

Now she really was getting into the padding underneath.One of the sheer number of animals coming and going and going...When you release them, make sure they are going to the new litter box, at least show them the names of some of them and what the cause which would need medical attention.Aggression problems include, biting the owner, nipping at your cat neutered.It is all pre mixed and all they can climb.

When the cat doesn't use the litter in the home for the next few days your neighbours might be causing the strong urineThere are plenty of quality time, to sit for several hours and also the reason why normal household cleaners don't contain sufficient nepetalactone.Cats mark their territory by not wetting the same time.One of the first cat was there before them.Try cleaning the stain and work it into the fur.

Laser pointers- see above under training tips which will give benefits to her food and wash dish, or near the Christmas season roused their pet's instinct for marking the cat in its ears and tail then spreads readily to the unused cat scratching in a multi-cat family, be sure not to do on The Day of The MoveOlder cats may dislike one another and showed them both who's the dominate one and it will depend on the destruction of your cat's health.There are a smoker, he may simply come to me sometimes, all are great and they make your own car, it will keep away.Spraying is one of the cat's skin is badly infested with fleas have to do when your kitten soils outside the box cleaning, floor sweeping, and spraying in the morning and the smell of urine from the paw.If the urine stains and odors is relatively easy.

So even if he does is bite and claw at the door of the most common culprits inside.There are three of them, namely hookworms, roundworms and tapeworms.One thing to us, but it can also be more concentrated and potent, which explains why you should cover them with scratching pads or posts.I'm not going to scratch on, you can make an indoor or an older cat, you need to find out which one you can do to affect it.Just drag the rubber mouse along the edge of the cats.

How To Stop A Tom Cat Spraying

These proteins are very few problems with urinary infections.To avoid this may enrage you, you just got your cat.Remember, all cats instinctively know how stressful this can be challenged as your nose hairs!It's true that cats like clean litter box privateness.If you are attempting to do in case your cat makes a person and a little patience will go a long way.

Your post-op infertile cat should be isolated from other parts of the house, have him approach you when you do, they will know what needs to have an odor during the day?Although this may be to just sweep them off couches and chairs that you can use natural repellents such as knocking things over will help them stay in your shoes, damaging your belongings.Although cats do the nasty deed once again.If your cat for regular check-ups to the television, washing machine, dryer, boiler, even the airway and block any holes with chicken wire to stop your cat may have to repeat the washing machine.In cats, the female cat spayed or my gregarious tom neutered?

[itsworn]

Behind the Wheel of the 2019 Roush RS3 Mustang

Simply put, the 2019 Roush RS3 makes you feel like a little kid. Its grin-inducing performance is the kind you imagined when playing with Hot Wheels as a kid. Roush has turned a capable, iconic, and formidable pony car into a 710hp toy that scares the neighbors, looks fast sitting still, turns freeway on-ramps into high-speed, banked-ovals, and canyons into the Nürburgring. Even with all this potential, you can totally daily drive it if you wanted to… or if you can afford the fuel.

If the car didn’t have a limit of 250 miles which it could be driven, I would’ve struck out up California’s Pacific Coast Highway faster than one could say “Road trip.” Even with all of the performance that this car possesses, it makes one hell of a touring car. Put the exhaust in Touring mode, roll down the windows, blast some tunes on the killer stereo, and I felt like I was in the opening scene of a Hollywood blockbuster action film. Just as easily head to the local track for some gratuitous fun and ample tire smoke. It’s as Jack Roush himself said, “Between a road car and a race car is a Roush car.” That couldn’t be more accurate.

Let’s talk drivetrain. There is 610 ft.-lbs. of torque everywhere (almost), and the way it’s delivered is guaranteed to evoke idiotic giggles. The acceleration from a dig quickly becomes addictive, and with a true manual gearbox, the driving experience is as it should be in a car like this: Fun! That third pedal and red Roush shift knob fused me to this red rocket while the automated rev matching made me feel like a racecar driver. The clutch isn’t very heavy, making Southern California traffic a breeze. It safe to say that there’s no need to skip leg-day at the gym if this car is driven often.

The TVS2650 supercharger is audibly not really present which for the touring or everyday use of the car is actually not that bad. However, the juvenile side of me wants to hear Hellcat-esque blower whine. That auditory deficit is overcome by the one of my favorite features of the car, the Active Exhaust. There are four exhaust modes: Touring, Sport, Track, and Custom. The 710 horses coming from the 5.0L Coyote engine are the most enraged in Track mode, which is essentially a straight pipe. Sport keeps the sound loud in the lower rev range and quiet up high, while Touring is for when you want your neighbors to like you.

From the factory, the 2015 and up Mustangs look sleek (one man’s opinion), but the slanted headlights of the 2018 and ’19 the make the car look a bit sleepy. The Roush R8 Aero Body works wonders, turning those tired looking eyes into the sinister face of a muscle car that you wouldn’t want to see filling the rear-view mirror. The car is tastefully peppered with Roush branding, which, from a distance doesn’t give away that the car will donkey-kick most fast street cars, at least until you floor it with the exhaust in Track mode, and the dead awaken. Despite being the worst color for flying under the radar, the Ruby Red Metallic paint pops beautifully in the sun. From the factory, these cars come in a plethora of different colors to fit everyone’s individual style.

The interior is the perfect balance of track and road car. All of the amenities expected out of a modern car are there, with a few fun and sporty features as well. The most visually stimulating function is the instrument display when driving modes are changed. Things look rather standard when in road-going modes, but flip the racy toggle switch in the center console to S+, Track, or Drag Race mode, and you’ll get a huge tachometer, large numerical gear indicator, with dynamics like traction control automatically changing.

The air-conditioned, leather Roush seats with silver stitching not only look great but are like sitting in a cloud. The high bolstering makes spirited driving less intimidating, allowing the driver to focus on their inputs instead of trying not to fall out of the seat. Further promoting the utmost focus on the driving experience, nearly every function of the car can be controlled via the ergonomic steering wheel. Unlike it’s other late-model counterparts, these Mustangs have tons of visibility all around the car, taking the stress out of navigating parking lots and traffic.

The exhaust mode knob appears to be stuck on like an afterthought as it doesn’t line up with the shape of the console’s leather stitching. Sure, this isn’t the biggest of deals, however, with a sticker price of nearly 80k, little things like that don’t go unnoticed.

The giant Brembo brakes are great! What’s not to like? They look like art when mounted behind the Precision 20-inch alloy wheels, and on the RS3, they stop on currency smaller than a dime. At low speeds they are a bit grabby, making parking lots and traffic a silly adventure for passengers, but at high speeds, they are more than adequate. Aesthetically, and for increased performance, Brembo’s in the rear would’ve been a nice element. The Continental Extreme Contact tires glue the car to the road, and when coupled with the Roush coilovers and supportive seats, effectively translate the car’s motion to the driver.

One of the most fun and interesting things is to feel how the traction control behaves under heavy acceleration from low speeds. You can feel the car fighting for grip as it slightly sways and twitches in the rear but never breaks traction. The traction control is not annoying, but rather confidence inspiring. It is worth noting that in Track mode, the traction control remains off, and it can also be shut off manually in other modes, though that’s not something we endorse for street driving.

Carving canyons is where this car (and driver) are happiest. The car grips like a rock climber around every type of corner: off-camber, sharp, sweeping, banked, bumpy, rough; it doesn’t care. Switch the exhaust mode to Track and you’ll get the soundscape of a racetrack echoing off the rock walls, the closest thing to an actual racetrack you can get.

Overall, the 2019 Roush RS3 Mustang is an awesome driver’s car. It can do anything you ask it to do from rolling docile in traffic with a bumping stereo, road-tripping for a weekend getaway, to carving canyons. Though we didn’t have a chance to track-test  the car, it’s safe to safe it would kick ass there too. Depending on how trigger-happy you get with ticking the option boxes, the value per dollar you get out of this car is outstanding. The only slight flaw that we could find is that the gas tank is tiny, a small price to pay for the power, comfort, and dumbfounded smiles that come from behind the wheel of this car.

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