|| What A Girl Wants || closed



         [ Well this was certainly not how he wanted to wake up. He was expecting to walk into his bathroom this morning, take a scalding shower, brush through his hair, lay back down in bed and gather up some research on kitsunes for Derek (fuck if Peter knew why) but nothing goes as planned for Peter. Not anymore at least.

                Instead of waking up normally, he found his clothes almost falling off his body- which was much, much lighter might he add- and when he moved his hand to yank up the strings of his sweats… well, lets just say things had changed. Where there should have been an awkward morning wood problem to deal with, the band of his sweats were loose and flat. That should have been the alarm, but whether he didn’t notice because he wasn’t thinking or his mind was just fogged with sleep, it didn’t click.

      However, walking into his bathroom was another story. Instead of his face staring back at him as he lifted his eyes up to the mirror over his sink, there was a female’s instead. This was clearly some sort of trick of his eyes, right? Wrong, oh so wrong. Raising his fingers up, he brushed them over the outline of his jaw, lips, up through his hair that was several inches longer than when he had gone to sleep— he was positive this was real. How it had happened he had no idea. He had gone to sleep normal everyday Peter and woken up a damn female.

         Derek wouldn’t be back until the weekend. He had gone out of town with Scott for something, some kind of pack training, and of course nobody wanted Peter along. Deciding that he had nobody close to call for help, his mind darted to the last person he would ever want to show up like this for— Stiles. The kid was smart, sure, but smart enough to help him figure out what was happening to him? Peter wasn’t sure. If he could trust him not to laugh in his face if he showed up, he would have been there already. Yet, here he she was, reluctant and worried about how this problem was going to be approached.

     It only took about ten minutes to get from his apartment downtown to Stiles’ driveway, the police car parked outside. Shit. His father was home. Why was he home? Peter ran his fingernails through his scalp, debating on backing up and heading back home. He couldn’t just stay like this. What was he going to do? Stiles or utter humiliation were tough choices, and they’d probably go hand in hand anyways. With a deep breath, he decided it’d be best to at leas try and get some help, maybe research how this could have happened. If there was one thing Stiles knew how to do, it was research.

         But of course his luck would be sour. Answering the door after several knocks wasn’t the young teen who he had come to despise slightly, but his father. ]

   ❝ May I help you?

   ❝ Yeah, actually. Is Stiles here? I’m looking for him. ❞

        [ The sheriff didn’t look phased- no, he looked downright stunned, his jaw hanging open for a solid minute before he remembered he needed to answer. And with a stutter of a response, he was calling up for his son, telling him 'there's an actual girl here for you' and while Peter wanted to snicker because the teen didn’t have a reputation with the ladies, he was more on the verge of crying because this was so not his life or how he wanted to spend it.

     As he waited inside at the base of the stairs, he tugged his sweats up higher, kept adjusting the strings on them so they wouldn’t entirely fall off and kept pulling the sleeves up on his shoulders. If this was going to last for a while, he needed to go shopping. The only clothes he had fit his old body, his masculine one, now he was slim and shorter and f u c k, he had no underwear. Well wasn’t this going to be a fun, fun time? ]

      Lounging around was basically Stiles’ favorite pastime during the summer. Or well, it had been pre-werewolves, and now that everyone had taken the long week out… wherever the hell it was (of course Stiles wasn’t invited, official pack business that didn’t involve actual people dying wasn’t something Stiles was privy to, much to his dismay) Stiles could revel in doing nothing.

      It wasn’t boring for awhile, the first two days had been awesome. No homework, no worries, just video games and as much junk food as he could physically shove into his face at one time. The only difference was no Scott, and while they weren’t really attached to the hip, Stiles still felt his absence like a hole in his chest. Scott was his best friend, had been since they were just kids, and what with the whole girlfriend-slash-werewolf thing? Well, Stiles had kind of gotten pushed aside a bit.

      A part of Stiles was hurt by it, but the logical part of him knew that Scott was just living his own life and that Stiles should really try to do the same thing. But really? All he had was Scott, Scott tied him to everyone he knew and Stiles just wasn’t the same without his best buddy. Which was yeah, pretty depressing, and also the reason Stiles was blaming for his little funk he’d slipped into.

      He’d been listless all day, barely could get out of bed for long enough to make sure his dad was getting a decent breakfast before trudging back up for a minute shower then to flop back to bed. Where he proceeded to lounge about in his own misery for approximately thirty minutes before his dad was yelling at him from downstairs. Something about a girl?

      Heaving a heavy sigh, Stiles managed to pull a shirt over his head as he made his way out of his room and to the top of the stairs before he saw her. Stiles hadn’t seen her before, though there was a certain familiarity that had his eyes narrowing. She was honestly very pretty, long dark hair and bright eyes, though her clothes were a little.. less than flattering. What really mattered though was the way she was looking at him, almost accusatory and frustrated.

                  "Uh, hi? Can I help you?"

His voice was a bit high in his confusion as he began to make his way down the stairs to stop in front of the woman. He was almost a foot taller it seemed, broad and just large in the wake of her. He hoped he didn’t look as imposing as he seemed to be.

welcome to camp tikihama || mindmyanchor


       [ Staying where he was, nestled right in the middle of Beacon Hills, wasn’t always his plan. Since he was younger, since his father had left, there had been an ache in him to leave this town, the memories it held, but they were never strong enough to get him to actually make an effort to leave the friends and comforts he found in the quaint town. Less than private as it may be, he had no real drive to watch it fade in his rear view. Maybe it was someone specific keeping him tied down to the forests, the camp he had practically grown up in. Maybe that person was Stiles Stilinski.

          Camp Tikihama was Scott’s childhood. Every summer was spent sweaty, rushed, full of laughter and full of memories to be made and kept. It was beautiful, really, a small community of cabins surrounded on almost all sides by forests, tall pines and evergreens, near a crystal lake with a beautiful pier, one he had launched himself off about a hundred thousand times in his younger years. It was the postcard type camp, simple and small but lively, children running rampant and mad and excitedly. And even though Scott was no longer a child himself, he held vivid memories, could still smell the giant bonfire at the end of summer that the patrons gathered around.

      That last bonfire before High School had been the hardest one; it had been the one Stiles told him of his plans on moving away, of not being able to come back for a while — more like ever — and Scott hadn’t felt true heartbreak until then. His dad leaving was a shot in the dark, it was a murmured crash in the back of his mind compared to his best friend moving away. The hurt was enormous back then, and a small chasm in the deepest part of his heart still burned, as if he had just been told the news, but so long had passed. It had been seven years to date, seven summers spent away from the man (no longer kids, Scott) he had shared so much of his life with.

         Stiles probably didn’t remember him. He probably had the time of his life after high school, met a really great girl, and conjured up new and deep friendships that tested the one they had once had. He probably forgot his name, what Scott looked like, probably remembered camp completely differently than he did and — Scott didn’t like to think about it, but that was life.

                                         People grew up.

                                                    He grew up.

     He wasn’t scrawny and helpless anymore, didn’t need his inhaler as often, things were looking up for him. What did any of it matter if Stiles wasn’t in his life though? They had such good plans for their future, talked about lacrosse and owning the camp someday, giving kids the best experience they could have like the one they got. It was all so passionate, thought through as much as it could be with the capacity of young minds. It wasn’t a strange thing for him to find his mind wandering off on how Stiles looked, which features of him had changed — if he had hit a growth spurt or was still an inch or so shorter than Scott, if his hair was still buzzed often or if he had decided to grow it out.

            There was time for reminiscing and worrying later, though, he thought, and continued to hang up the colorful paw prints up on the edges of the bunks. There were two groups staying in the conjoined room, his and another guy’s, the other counselor, so he had arrived a little earlier to get his side set up. Deciding at any minute that the other counselor would come waltzing in, Scott wiped his hands clean and hopped down from the top bunk, taking a few steps back to admire his work when he backed right up into something solid. It took him a minute to realize it wasn’t a bunk, more like another person.

     Turning around quickly, he threw out his arms just in case they needed to be braced or pulled from tumbling over, fingers curling tight around their shoulders even before his eyes flicked up. And he could have sworn it was like some slow-mo realization thing, because the moment his brown eyes locked on those bright, eager amber ones, his chest heaved and tightened at the same time, forcing out an awkward noise from his throat. Stiles? The crooked grin he often wore was barren, unable to surface.

        What did surface, however, was a deep set purse of his lips, as if he didn’t believe his eyes, and he took a small step back, fingers brushing slowly across and off his… old friend’s shoulder. ]

    Oh my God — S-Stiles? You’re— here again, God have I missed you, please come closer, take that step I took back and come hug me, I have missed your hugs, Stiles, I have missed you entirely. The other counselor, you’re the other counselor? Of course you are. I’m rambling. I’m sorry- for ya know, knocking into you. I should shut up, yeah. Shutting up.

           {   Just as he’d remembered, the cabins were smaller than they first appeared on the outside. Even as a boy Stiles had been tall and gangly, never quite fit into the spaces allowed for him, but now? Well he was pretty tall, had bulked up quite a bit and was strong and sturdy. He felt like he was the spitting image of what he’d wanted to be all those years ago. It made him feel proud, looking into the cabin, that he was exactly where he wanted to be, even if it was a bit strange to come back.

                     Wasting little time, Stiles looked at his letter one last time, noting his cabin number and name (he was head of the Fox troupe, this year, and if that didn’t make him smile nothing could) before he was headed off. He’d had to park the Jeep at the entrance of the camp, but his cabin was a bit off the beaten path, the last in a line of four to the right. 

                     It took only moments for him to reach the entrance, as he’d practically galloped over in his excitement, and from there he quickly entered the cabin and set his luggage on the ground. It seemed his cabin co-counselor had already gotten a lot of stuff set up, which was nice because it had to mean that the other guy was excited right? To get there earlier than Stiles and to already be getting into the swing of things. From that alone Stiles had the feeling they were going to get along great.

                     Though it wasn’t a split second later that the affection for the stranger was challenged as the guy backed right into Stiles, almost pushing him over. Windmilling his arms back, Stiles managed to stay upright with the help of the guy’s broad hands over his shoulders to keep him steady. Stiles couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him as he righted himself completely though as he looked slightly downward into the other guy’s eyes Stiles felt his breath hitch in his throat.

                                          S c o t t ? ?

Stiles practically choked as the guy, as Scott, started speaking, word vomiting like it was his job. That brought another chuckle though, Stiles couldn’t help but admire the man, couldn’t help but practically freaking swoon as Scott spoke because his best fucking friend was there. Right there in front of him, completely tangible. }

                                 “God, is that you Scotty boy? Jesus it’s been forever! Christ what’re you even doing still in this town, man? It’s good to see you!”

                     Unable to stop himself, Stiles took those two steps closer and wrapped his arms around Scott, pulling him into a tight hug that was about seven years late.

what have i become || howlinginhale


                  A prickle of unease skidded over Derek’s skin, his jaw still set painfully as Scott and Isaac’s words roared through his mind continuously. They tried to take on something supernatural on their own with the assistance of the Hales? It was foolish and reckless since there was hardly anyone around here that knew more about the supernatural world than they did. Sure, Peter wasn’t the most reliable person around but when it really counted he was always there for Derek. Since he was now attached to the brats, Peter’s wavering loyalty extended to them too. If nothing else his uncle was a source of information and could lead them somewhat in the right direction. The idiots didn’t even know what they were dealing with when they ran off after it and Stiles —



               Derek shook his head firmly because he refused to believe the worst when it came to this. Soft footfalls filled the Hale house as Derek made his way to the hidden room that was cloaked by darkness and magic — only a Hale could enter by a blood sacrifice and this was what Derek offered now, cutting his palm to smear across the space that materialized when the blood seeped in. Retracting his claws, he wiped the blood on his jeans, his palm already starting to heal while he moved closer inside. He didn’t really notice some blood dotted his arm because he was too intent on finding the books he needed. The oldest of the Hale’s collection was here, highly guarded and certain enchantments were needed to pick up any books within here. The books held information that not many needed to know about.

             He was starting to whisper one incantation when he heard something. Head whipping around, Derek crept from the area, whisking his hand to close the space when he was outside of it. He moved towards the source of the sound, his nose crinkling up in disgust at the smell. It was —



                 Derek’s breath hitched because vampires were dangerous and while media downplayed them, they weren’t anything to mess with. A well fed vampire could overpower a werewolf and make their abilities look like nothing. Steeling himself, Derek walked out of the Hale house because a vampire wasn’t going to intimidate him. “Stiles?” Derek sputtered out, looking around quickly because this couldn’t be right but as his eyes really zeroed in on the guy? Oh god. “They —” The vampire turned him. Killed him. Derek’s heart started beating quickly and he was dimly aware of how much he would smell like blood because of before. Well, damn. “So vampire. The undead. How’s that working out for you so far?” If his voice was a little higher pitch than normal? Well, it wasn’t his fault! This wasn’t something he was used to dealing with.

The ringing of his father’s heartbeat still pinged around in his head —
            a bright thump
            that felt as if it took Stiles’ very breath away. Until he remembered
            that is, what exactly he’d been craving as he’d fled his own
            house in terror. Until he remembered what he’d become.

                                 b l o o d
                                                                  v a m p i r e

Stiles felt as if the very ground had been pulled out from under him, as if ice had filled his veins and his heart had stopped dead in his chest. Though really, two out of three things were practically literal at that point, considering his heart had long since stopped and the blood in his body had cooled completely now that he was no longer living.

It wasn’t a hard realization to come to, once Stiles realized what had happened. That he’d been bitten and Scott had tried to save him, that Scott couldn’t kill him because he was Scott. Stiles didn’t know where his friend had been when he’d woken, didn’t understand why Scott would have left him, but he didn’t have the time to worry about that, no not right then. He needed to f e e d.

Only, that thought was interrupted by a familiar voice, one that came from right behind him, startling Stiles into motion. He jumped up, fangs at the ready, automatically unsheathed in his surprise. Derek stood not a few feet away, covered in blood. Or so that’s basically all Stiles could scent at that moment, his eyes zeroing in on the flecks of red littering Derek’s arm and the dark smear on his jeans. He almost didn’t understand the words being spoken he ached so badly to have a taste of the werewolf. 

"Derek, fuck Derek it hurts so bad. Had to get away from my house, my dad…” He trailed off, teeth still sharp and hands shaking as he tried not to collapse in on himself. Stiles doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to satiate the burning inside of him, though he feels like he’ll black out at any moment. Black out or run again, and who knows who he’d come across if he did.

"I need… help.”

open || text


Darren didn’t bother replying as he pulled up to where Stiles scent was and followed it, smirking when he found the teen “As a teacher I feel I should be lecturing you but as a pack member and a friend I just feel like mocking you.”

In all reality Stiles probably could have found his way back into town, it just would’ve taken way too long and without shoes that would’ve been one hell of a walk. So his first instinct had been to text someone who would actually come get him. Scott was out because he’d ditched to go hang out with.. someone, Stiles couldn’t remember much, but whatever. Darren was coming to get him, woo.

Only, when the wolf showed up, Stiles wasn’t so sure he was happy about it. "How about we skip both of those options and you just get me back to the car so I can warm up, hmm?"


[ Why does he have to ask so many questions?   ]

That’s why you have me. To help you find someone.

             [ yeah, like that was going to work. his crush since the damn third grade trying to set him up with other people. right. ]

     Seriously, I appreciate the thought, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. 

heal my hurts || open to mutuals


His body was still frozen in “attack” mode, just because it’s an instinct he can’t kick. This is the first time he’s ever come home to a bloody handprint on the door, after all, and he’s not going to take it lightly. Whether it was Stiles’ handprint or someone else’s remained to be seen, but just hearing his son’s voice soothed at least some of the worry in him. It didn’t last long.

Half of Stiles’ face was covered in blood and so were his clothes. He looked like he’d been beaten halfway to death, and bits of rock and dirt clung to his skin. He looked awful. When he realized no one was in actual danger, the sheriff slowly lowered his gun, holstering it without taking his eyes off of Stiles. It wasn’t until he was taking in a cut over his boy’s eye that he stopped looking at the wounds and say how Stiles actually felt.

Stiles had always been a “happy” kid. He got into (mostly) minor trouble, he kept a smile on his face, and he opted for biting sarcasm or social awkwardness over bullying and moping. He was a good kid. And they were as close as father and son could get. After relying on each other for the years since Claudia’s death, they’d both needed the support. It hadn’t been pretty, and he knew there were times where Stiles had probably wished his father was a different person, or that he just wasn’t related altogether. But his son had been his reason for pulling himself out of his depression and alcoholism, and he felt that they’d gotten closer because of it.

Which was why, when seeing how close his boy was to tears, the sheriff barely hesitated. He could be angry later. He could go hunt down whoever did this later. Right here, right now, Stiles was what mattered, and he stepped forward carefully, wrapping his son up in a tight hug. He rested his chin on top of Stiles’ head, breathing out a sigh of relief.

What he honestly expected and what he got were two completely different things. It wasn’t that Stiles was expecting his dad to blow up at him, or anything, but more just explode in general. There was blood everywhere from that stupid head wound, Stiles looked like he’d been run over by a fucking truck, there’s no telling what he’d left behind in his wake, and yeah he’d left his groceries… somewhere.

The Sheriff wasn’t a real hardass by any means, Stiles knew that his dad cared about him, loved him more than anything in the world really since his mother had passed. Yet he couldn’t help but expect the worst when his father stepped forward, expected to be grilled and questioned and put on the spot by ‘the cop’. Instead, as he was pulled into a tight hug by his father Stiles couldn’t keep the few hot tears from rolling down his face, streaking dully through the blood there.

"I’m alright dad, I’m okay I’m fine," he’s practically sobbing as he speaks but he can’t bring himself to care in that moment, can’t bring himself to care about anything other than the warmth of his father’s arms around him. Stiles buries his face into the crook of the Sheriff’s throat, not caring that he was getting blood everywhere.


     Figuring that it was pointless to continue, Oliver stopped trying altogether and sat on the big tree stump. He knows that being a druid meant that he should consider this tree as something sacred and should show it some respect, but that was kind of hard to do when it looked nothing like the Nemeton back in New York or some of the other Nemetons he’d seen in the tomes he studied.

    Having the kid stare at him was a bit unnerving, and in those situations, Oliver found that subtly mirroring the person’s reactions was a good way to confuse or, in some cases, intimidate the other person. So Oliver stared right back and quirked an eyebrow, interested to know what the kid would do.


    “Was that a statement or a question,” he asked as he used his hands to lean back on the stump. He could feel the soft thrum of tainted power come from the tree as his palms came contact into it

         Watching the man move, Stiles quickly tried to assess the situation he’d found himself in. The guy didn’t look like a threat really, as he leaned back to sit on the Nemeton (which really wasn’t a good decision, no touchy is a good touchy with that thing), but at the same time that really didn’t matter. Stiles was about as strong as a powderpuff still, even if this guy was human he could still take Stiles with one hand tied behind his back, no doubt.

         Unsure of what to do, Stiles tried to relax a bit, tried to gather himself and not automatically think the worst of the situation. Easier said than done really, but he was gonna give it a go nonetheless. 


                  "Technically I suppose it was a statement, as in my bad bro, but also a question like who are you and what the hell are you doing here with that thing?"

         So much for that ‘keeping it cool’ thing, Stiles, way to freakin’ go.

Anonymous: Lets talk about how stiles definitely wanted a tire swing. His dad indulged him, indulged him in almost everything while his mom was in the hospital. They pick out a tire & put it up themselves, have scott come over & put it up with them. They spend


(2/2) the day swinging & before the sherriff goes to work, he drops the boys off at melissa’s & they bake cookies & regale her with tales of the swing. When they get nostalgic, they bring the tire back out & push each other under the shade of their tree.

Headcanon accepted. Stiles and Scott have an old tire buried somewhere in the garage. They plan to mount it on the walls of their future man-cave, and then hang it from a branch in their future house for their little boy and girl to swing from. While they sit in lawn chairs and sip mimosas on a Sunday afternoon. 

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