#if we thought stiles had a guilt complex

[kitkatwinchester]

HAVE I MENTIONED THAT I LOVE SCOTT?!

That tough, amazing, kind-hearted, incredible sweetheart we love you so much.

First of all, the fact that he was literally not letting himself heal because of his guilt over Derek....BABY NOOOOO. I love that about you but also STOOOOOOP. It wasn't your fault. You just wanted everyone to make it out alive. It's not your fault that everyone else is too vengeful (though, as a side note, ISAAC THOUGH!!! We'll put up a separate post for him lol). Like, baby no. Stop blaming yourself.

Second of all, HIS YELL AT ISAAC WILL NEVER GET OLD THAT'S OUR ALPHA WE LOVE HIM!!! I don't care if he's not officially an Alpha yet--he is as far as I'm concerned!!

Third of all, I feel so bad, because his optimism and hope that there is some good in people is no doubt going to continue to get him into trouble, but it's also what makes him such a good leader, werewolf, and friend and I just...

Scott is just seriously one of the most caring, loving, morally good human beings (and also werewolves lol) in the entire world and I love him so much. <3 <3 <3 <3

And it's a good thing he has his friends to see the bad for him so that they can protect him from it when it comes down to it lol.

[invisible-storyteller]

Part 3: My theory on why Derek is Stiles' anchor (at least between 3B and Season 5)

Stiles's anchor, as I see it, has always been a question of reliability. And yes, Stiles has many people (a whole pack of them) who he can rely on but I think this issue is more complex than simple dependability.

If we return to that self-sacrifice scene in Season 3A, we can note that Stiles, Scott and Allison all used a physical representation of their parents to create a bond and switch places with them. I believe that the most logical explanation would be to say that Stiles used his father as an anchor here since the thought of the sheriff was the one helping him push forward and endure, even when he was submerged in a tub of freezing cold water.

The Sheriff is a sufficient anchor in the beginning. Ever since Claudia died, Stiles only had his father to rely on (besides Scott, of course, but after getting the bite, matters weren't that simple between the two of them). It is understandable that Stiles would reach out to his father when he needs help - just like when he had a nightmare or a panic attack as a child. Noah/John was always a safe place for Stiles, and since he's the sheriff, he has always represented strength in his son's eyes. The sheriff caught criminals on the daily, so it is safe to say that he would be able to figure out any mystery and help Stiles out of any trouble he would find himself in - no wonder Stiles latches onto him as an anchor.

So what changed?

To put it simply, Stiles got more involved than he had ever expected. Season 3B brought a big change in Stiles' life, and it wasn't only the suffocating weight of guilt he now had to carry around like a battle wound, but also the realization that his life would always be intertwined with the supernatural. It might sound weird at first, but I think Stiles had assumed a distance between himself and the supernatural world before the second part of the season. He knew about the creatures and fought them many times but they were always a part of Scott's world - it just so happened that Stiles was now aware, too, and had to deal with it out of brotherly worry and supposed obligation. But Season 3B ultimately showed Stiles that he could be a victim, too, - as well as his father - and that the supernatural truth was his world as much as it was Scott's. And when it came to his safety... his father could no longer protect him. Not on his own.

Not even mentioning that the Sheriff was pretty reluctant to accept the supernatural into his life.

Clearly, Stiles knew then, too, that when it came to the supernatural, his father could no longer be that undeterrable shield for him. Stiles needed someone else to rely on, someone who could fight beside him in the frightful paranormal world and keep him connected to his humanity.

I think you already know where I'm going with this.

Derek was an adequate choice. He was the first thing Stiles associated with the supernatural and the older man had great knowledge (if a bit limited) about all things of the non-human world. He was a dedicated protector of people, even those he wasn't friends with: think about Derek driving Allison home safe in Season 1 or the fact that even Jennifer had considered him a guardian important enough to replace three sacrifices.

Derek had also protected Stiles many times - from Peter, from Isaac, from the kanima. They make a good team - just ask Matt - and Stiles knows that if he was to rely on someone to save him, it would be Derek. He even referred to Derek as a real alpha when the werewolf wasn't even in that position anymore because Stiles put faith in Derek's experience and devotion. (And if we believe in the theory that Stiles's spark had subconsciously and unofficially made him an emissary, then it would be reasonable to think that his inner powers were trying to protect Derek with the chessboard message because he also viewed the werewolf to be an alpha. This extra bond would only add to their connection.)

It is only logical that when everything seemed unsure - Scott having recently been turned alpha and barely knowing what to do, Lydia still not knowing the extent of her powers and the sheriff just warming up to the idea of the supernatural world - Stiles would cling onto Derek as his hope of rescue.

Sadly, Derek left at the end of Season 4 and it was evident that Stiles still missed him even after months of being apart. Season 5 was a period of struggle and self-questioning for Stiles who was trying to find himself with all the previous and impending future changes in his life swirling him off the well-known route. However, if Theo's presence did any good (in Season 5, that is) then it was the fact that Stiles started to reconsider and solidify his roles as well as pieces of his self-image: part of Scott's pack, a survivor and someone who wants to help others.

Lydia had also learnt more about her powers and could finally use them as a weapon. She was finally in control. She was someone that Stiles could rely on in Season 6A, especially because she finally began to reciprocate Stiles' feelings (or more precisely, she became aware of those feelings that Stiles now knew to be mutual). When she managed to remember Stiles against all odds, that was proof that her love for Stiles was strong enough to pull him back - to save him. Thus, Stiles found himself a new anchor.

And that is where we are now.

It's all just theory, of course, and Sterek are anchors in fanon, but it's definitely fun to think about. 

(beginning of the meta)

[sassysweetstories]

combined thoughts // blurb

Request: “Stiles Soulmate AU: Where you can hear all the thoughts of your soulmate, but can’t communicate with them. The thoughts stop when you meet them.” college AU sort of 

Ship: Stiles Stilisnki x Fem!Reader

Warnings: fluff, angst, swearing, fighting, guilt, minor kissing, smut etc. 

Notes: none of these gifs are mine, credit to owners. 

Tagged for all and AU’s: @bailey-hoover @kiralivelove @thalia-prior-of-ravenclaw@anamcg317 @bellasett @queentiffanyyy @archer-whovian-violinist@beingmadinwonderland @princessisabelle19 @violence-and-velvet @ordinarygirlmeetsfantasticworld @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone 

Third P.O.V

(Y/n) tossed and turned in her bed, hot sweat dripping down her back due to the unholy images that suddenly up-took up her thoughts. Large calloused hands, covered in veins wrapped around her waist, tugging and pulling. His moans, the identity of which were unknown to her, drew a chill down her spine as the image shifted to her on top of the chocolate brown eyed stranger. The rest of his features were blurred, relatively unknown to the eye as she grind against his lower region, moaning in unison with him. Stiles on the other hand, jerked his hips back and forth, matching the motion the dream girl gave him. She smelled of fresh peppermint and roses and when she pressed deep welts against his skin, he couldn’t help but moan louder for her. How someone could elicit such a reaction drove him absolutely crazy. 

As you can imagine, neither of them slept much that night. “Jesus Christ, (Y/n). You look like hell.” Vanessa, her friend and co-worker said, eyeing the woman with wide eyes. “Gee, thanks.” The shorter woman retorted, wiping the tables off. “Didn’t sleep much last night?” (Y/n) shook her head whist she begun to concoct her own morning wake up call. “Nope. I had a hot dream. Couldn’t sleep much. It’s so weird. Like all of a sudden, things will be fine and then I’ll be horny or have the most absurd thoughts. Except, none of them are mine, they don’t even sound like my voice. And if you say that it’s that stupid soulmate thing the government keeps talking about I will scream.” Vanessa scoffed, leaning against the counter to look at her friend. 

“Oh come on! What other explanation could there be? That’s how Valerie and I ended up together! What makes you think it won’t happen to you?” (Y/n) furrowed her brows, leaning on the table to match her gaze. Challenged accepted. “Firstly, all of psychology and counselors can explain voices in your head. You forget I am one, right? Also, you and Valerie were just natural, like two pieces of a puzzle that matched. I don’t think that has to do with ourselves besides social behavior and the approaches we may face socially. It only makes sense to blame something on the supernatural, like zodiac signs to explain actual normal concepts. These ‘soulmates’ are just ways to help us cope with our love lives or lack of.” She shook her head, laughing. “You’re a hard-ass, ya know that.” 

Stiles shifted his hips back and forth, jotting down the notes from the seminar slides. The young man had caught the eyes of the some of the girls in the lecture hall, all of whom he had been oblivious to. They sighed when he ran his fingers through his hair and continued writing, a quite boring past time. All of a sudden a thought entered his mind, quiet but growing rapidly. Of course Freud was an idiot. His theories on psychoanalysis were relatively legitimate but his “theories” or whatever the fuck you wanna call them on suppressed sexual urges for our opposite sex parents were garbage. I mean, did he ignore all of Oedipus? The bastard gouged his eyes out after he found out he married his mother and had kids with her and murdered his father? I mean, god. Not to mention Freud probably never took homosexuality into consideration? That completely debunks his hypothesis. 

He’s not sure where this heavy psych lecture comes in but he’s riled up about it nonetheless, learning of a topic in which he was previously uneducated in. Stiles doesn’t know from where this burst of energy comes from but it’s clearly not from anyone in the room. He’s in the criminal / law academy building on the west side of the campus. For a second, Stiles closes his eyes and listens with hard intent as the voice continues. Whoever she is, her voice isn’t quite as loud as she had been previously. He grabs his books and exits the class, a theory in mind. These transactions had been happening for quite some time and he believe that the louder the voices got the closer the voice was to you in proximity. Stiles was the most brilliant soul one could meet, and it was only a matter of time before he met his match. The voice faded away like the smooth bend of water on a beach, leaving the young man frustrated for more answers to his questions. 

(Y/n) sat on the patio of her dorm complex, thinking deeply about what her friend had said. Of course she believes in the possibilities of soulmates but she’d never utter the words to her. The young woman pulled out her computer and scout through the internet for answers to the hypothesis’ that only seemed to grow with time. The music from her speaker hummed softly out onto the terrace as the sun drifted off down the horizon. “And I can’t seem to get you off my mind,” She hummed John Mayer’s, Moving On and Getting Over. Stiles shot up from his bed, smiling at the sound of her voice. It sweet and smooth like honey, makes him dizzy with delight. He needs to know who it belongs to. With great diligence, Stiles grabbed his red flannel before leaving the dorms. Maybe if I think hard, she’ll hear me, too! He thought to himself as he ran up and down the halls, waiting for the sound to change it’s volume. 

(Y/n) looked around her apartment for the warm husky voice that echoed her room. C’mon Princess Leia, talk to your Hon Solo. It speaks to her again. She giggles and absentmindedly responds. Bold of this guy to assume he’s Hon Solo. I myself, am a bona-fide bad-ass. I wonder if he can be the Batman to my Catwoman. Stiles chuckled at her quirk and the volume grew as (Y/n) left her dorm. Are you as quick as a whip, Catwoman? He asked, excitement coursing through his blood as he took each turn. Quick is a relative term. I’m faster than the flash. Hope you can keep up, Batsy. (Y/n) smirked at the flirty remarks, biting her lip to hide her smile. Maybe her friend was right, she might admit. But when he came into the room, she knew it was all true. 

Stiles heart soared at the sight of the beautiful girl. Sporting a simple sweatshirt and leggings, she looked like an absolute goddess. How someone could do such a thing was beyond him. (Y/n) gawked openly at Stiles broad shoulders. The fact that her soulmate was as handsome as he was, with striking hazel eyes and a body of a god. “Hi, I’m (Y/n).” She muttered softly. Stiles could barely walk, knees weak from gazing upon such a beauty. “I’m Stiles.” He takes his hand out for her to take. When they connect, it’s like the last puzzle coming into place. It’s just perfect. “Would you like to get to know one another? I have Star Wars in my dorm?” God, this woman’s gonna kill me. How is she so fucking perfect? He nods shyly, taking his hand in hers. 

(I hoped you guys liked it! PLEASE COMMENT I REALLY NEED FEEDBACK)

[voidwaren]

Teen Wolf prompt anon again~ If you're up for a challenge shuffle your music and write a drabble to the first song that comes up! I would love more Sterek but you can pick the pairing

I wrote more for this prompt than I have all month for Camp NaNo…

so the song I got when I shuffled was Who Do You Love by Chainsmokers & 5SOS, but you all know me. I don’t do established relationships, so this went in an entirely different direction from the song. I had a hell of a lot of fun with it though, so thank you so much for it! also sorry it took me a hot sec to get it out!

it’s very lightly Sterek. I can’t not have a little, okay.

“Where the hell does he go at night?” Stiles mumbles to himself as he shuffles through the most recent stack of blurry, useless photos courtesy of the security camera stationed outside of the temporary Hale apartment complex. Sure, he didn’t technically have clearance to even touch the footage, but what his dad didn’t know wouldn’t kill him. Probably.

“Why do you care, Stiles?” Scott replies, his werewolf hearing apparently having picked up Stiles’ speculation. He’s draped over the back of the couch like a three-year-old, though, so Stiles doesn’t think his opinion matters right now. “He’s an adult,” Scott continues when Stiles only huffs in annoyance. “He can go wherever he wants.”

“Maybe he’s patrolling,” Isaac offers, throwing himself onto couch until he’s taking up all the room Stiles hadn’t, and then some. Stiles pushes him, but he doesn’t budge.

“Alone?” Stiles asks dubiously. “He has his dumb moments, yeah, but he also has you guys now. Why wouldn’t he take one of you?”

“I think he takes Erica, actually,” Isaac says helpfully. Stiles glares at him.

“And you didn’t think to tell me this before I started all of this research?”

Scott wrinkles his nose. Isaac mouths “creepy”, which Stiles totally sees. “You’ve only been doing it for like an hour,” Scott points out.

“An hour I’ll never get back!”

The collective eye roll he gets in return tells him he’s getting nothing useful out of the two, so he decidedly gathers up his photos and stuffs them into his backpack.

“Where are you going?” Scott finally asks, only once Stiles has started cramming his feet into his sneakers.

“I’m going to ask Erica what she does with Derek at night.”

Isaac makes a gagging noise. It’s downright poetic in its execution. “Gross, Stiles,” he whines.

Stiles throws a pen at him, which he doesn’t even remotely manage to deflect. Werewolf reflexes, his ass. “She’s dating Boyd, stupid.”

“So? It’s Erica.”

“She’s not like that,” Stiles asserts as he clambers out the door, ignoring the small voice in the back of his head asking him if he ever really knew her in the first place. He’s not even securely in his Jeep before Isaac and Scott come blundering in, seating themselves firmly in the car seats before Stiles even manages to think of a reasonable reason why they can’t come along.

Guess backup couldn’t hurt.

*

“Uh, no. I don’t go anywhere with Derek at night.”

Stiles stares at Erica. Then, he turns and stares at Isaac. When Isaac looks confused, Stiles gestures violently at Erica. Twice after Isaac throws up his hands in a gesture meant to convey innocence.

“She’s not usually home when I wake up to pee!” Isaac exclaims. Stiles narrows his eyes, and behind Isaac Scott rolls his in exasperation.

“That doesn’t mean I’m creeping around with Derek, Isaac,” Erica says drily. Stiles opens his mouth to ask what she does do, but she holds up a finger before he can. “Not answering that,” she says, leaving absolutely no room to argue, even for him. Stiles deflates.

“Then where do you go?” Isaac pushes.

A fleeting look of embarrassment crosses Erica’s face. It’s gone so fast, Stiles isn’t totally sure it was there in the first place by the time it’s replaced with one of annoyance. “None of your business,” she bites.

“Actually, it is,” Isaac points out. “We’re pack. I’m supposed to know where you are.”

Erica gives him a wicked grin. “And you think that’ll make me break?”

Isaac doesn’t answer her, and that tells everyone in the room his answer.

“Alright, okay,” Stiles starts so they can move on with the conversation before it got ugly. “So if Erica isn’t the one ditching with Derek, then how the hell are we going to figure out what he does when he vanishes into the night?”

“We could track him?” Scott offers. Stiles shakes his head.

“Nope. No. Not a single one of us is stealthy enough to get away with that. Next.”

Scott pouts in his direction, but Stiles ignores it. Erica looks thoughtful, her head tilted towards the ceiling.

“Do you think he’s meeting up with someone?” Isaac offers.

Stiles strokes his chin a la BBC Sherlock. “Maybe. That would explain why he’s gone so long throughout the night. Maybe he’s doing things with them.”

“You think he’s sleeping with an enemy?” Erica asks, throwing Stiles through a total loop.

Stiles gives her a startled look. “What?”

“You don’t think that?”

“Well NOW I do!” Stiles exclaims.

“I thought that’s what you were implying.” Erica shrugs likes she’s sloughing off any potential guilt she might have for planting that idea in his head. “What did you think before?”

“That he was just fraternizing,” Stiles says helplessly.

Isaac frowns. “I thought you said you just thought he was being weird and stuff.”

Scott nods. “Yeah, who said anything about enemies?”

“Erica.” Stiles gestures at her for good measure. She grins, evidently pleased with her chaotic evil nature. “She literally just said that. Now I’m thinking it.”

Isaac looks unconvinced. “That fast?”

“My brain works very fast,” says Stiles, offended. “It’s the ADHD.”

“Okay, you know what?” Erica says, placing a hand on Stiles’ arm. It’d be charming if she wasn’t so rough about it. “How about we just ask Derek?”

“Do you know where he is?” Scott asks.

“With Boyd at the apartment.”

That’s all Stiles needs—he’s shrugged off Erica and made a beeline for the door before anyone else has moved, and Scott says something he doesn’t quite catch. Stiles was on a mission and, dammit, he was going to get to the bottom of his.

*

“I knew it!” Stiles exclaims loudly the moment he bursts into the room, Scott, Erica, and Isaac clamoring in behind him like the graceless supernatural beings they were. Derek and Boyd look up at them in confusion, and Stiles belatedly realizes they’re bent over a map spread out on a table. Stiles points at it aggressively. “You’re planning something!”

“… What?” Boyd asks after a beat.

“With the enemy,” Isaac tacks on gravely, still very accusing. Boyd looks at Derek in bewilderment, but he’s still looking at Stiles like he’s debating if keeping him alive was really worth staying out of jail for. Boyd turns his confused look back on Stiles and the others behind him again.

“What,” Derek starts, slowly, and with a large amount of pure, unadulterated annoyance, “are you talking about?”

“Stiles is under the impression you’re fraternizing with the enemy,” Scott offers. Stiles turns to glare at him, but it’s too late now that he’s made it look like Stiles was the only one thinking this.

“Thanks, Scott,” he says drily.

“Actually, he thought you were sleeping with them,” Isaac corrects.

“Thanks, Isaac!”

“More than one,” Erica adds on.

“Erica. Seriously?”

“What?” she asks in faux innocence, turning those damn big eyes on him. “I’m not wrong.”

“That was your input into the collective query, okay! You!”

Erica shrugs. “I’m still not wrong. You thought it after I suggested it.”

Stiles opens his mouth to continue arguing the matter, but he’s stopped by the relative force of Derek’s hand coming out and smacking him in the chest. It’s not a hard blow, exactly, but it does startle Stiles enough to stop him from talking, which he thinks was the point.

“Can you all shut the hell up for a second?” Derek begs, his tone gruff and very obviously annoyed. Probably yet again with the fact he got involved with a bunch of teengers. Stiles knows he’d be pulling his hair out by the roots if he were in Derek’s position.

They all quiet, waiting patiently as Derek visibly processes the information he’d just been given. When he finally opens his mouth again, Stiles can’t help but tense up, which is kind of embarrassing considering Derek hadn’t removed his hand yet.

“You thought I was sleeping around with—” Derek stops, his face wrinkling up like he was trying to recall what it was exactly they were accusing him of. “—multiple enemies?” Erica snickers, and Derek turns his glare on her. She quiets, but the smirk doesn’t drop from her lips.

“It was a reasonable conclusion,” Stiles says weakly. Derek turns to look at him. His expression is so close to incredulous that Stiles is starting to feel bad he even thought anything like that in the first place. “Fine,” Stiles mutters, “not that reasonable.”

After a moment where no one says anything, Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. He looks like he’s in pain when he says, “All right. This is ridiculous. At night?” He drops his hand and Stiles is not-so-vaguely reminded of the time he accused his dad of intentionally foiling any attempts Stiles had made at getting him a date. Much like now, he’d been very, very wrong in his deduction. (Turns out, Stiles just hadn’t been a very good matchmaker, and his inconsistent oblivious nature was genetic.) “I’m conferring with Druids to make sure nothing weird can sneak up on us. Apparently, none of you idiots realize they do most of their work under the moonlight.” He gives Stiles a pointed look at this. Stiles lowers his gaze, because he did know that from all the research he’d done when Scott had first gotten turned. And Derek knew he knew that.

“Why didn’t you just tell us that, then?” Scott asks.

Derek only turns and looks at him. “I wasn’t asked.”

Scott looks at Isaac helplessly, who looks at Boyd, who looks at Erica. If she in turn looks at Stiles, he doesn’t see it, because he’s looking at Derek again and feeling like the biggest of dickholes.

“Well, we fucked up,” Isaac announces after they’ve all had a moment to settle on this collective conclusion.

“Shocker,” Erica mutters.

“Now that we’ve figured out that none of you know how to ask the source before jumping to asinine conclusions,” Derek starts, arms crossed, “I’d appreciate if you all would leave.”

“We live here though,” Isaac tries weakly, but lowers his head dejectedly when Derek only glares at him.

“Didn’t want to be here anyway,” Erica grumbles.

They all slump out of the apartment, leaving Boyd behind, and Stiles starts the drive back to everyone’s respective places he’d found them at in the first place. Scott tries to broach the subject only once during the drive, but Stiles decidedly ignores his attempt and loudly declares a need for greasy food before his father got home instead. That gets everyone hungry, and they stop at an In-N-Out on the way. Erica steals more of his fries than Stiles is entirely comfortable with, but she doesn’t even try to talk about what just happened, so Stiles lets her without too much protest.

*

When Stiles finally gets back to his own place, sans Isaac and Scott (who both were dropped at Scott’s place), it’s nearly dark and his Jeep smells strongly of grease and American fast food goodness. His dad isn’t home yet, so Stiles knows that means he’s in charge of dinner for the night. He’s barely turned his engine off when Derek appears out of nowhere and sticks his head through Stiles’ open window.

“You want to tell me why you’ve been logging video information on me?” Derek asks, scaring the absolute shit out of Stiles, leaning in the window of the Jeep and looking entirely too Abercrombie & Fitch Model while doing it for Stiles’ liking. Stiles determinedly glares at his steering wheel once he’s finished flailing and generally acting like a spazz. “Which, correct me if I’m wrong,” Derek continues where Stiles doesn’t answer him, “is illegal to do? I could report you and get a restraining order.”

“You won’t,” Stiles says immediately. Derek raises both his eyebrows. “You need me,” Stiles asserts. He’s looking at Derek fully now, and Derek meets his gaze.

“I don’t need anyone,” he replies in that gruff, annoyingly sour way of his.

“Keep telling yourself that.” If Stiles rips his keys from the ignition, he thinks he has a fair reason to be doing it. “And don’t tell my dad.”

“I don’t talk to your dad if I can help it.”

“Well,” Stiles says, “good.”

Silence falls. Stiles can’t get out of the car with Derek blocking it, but he debates launching himself across the seat to get out the other side if only so he doesn’t have to sit here being awkward, yet again, with Derek Hale. Didn’t this guy know anything about tact?

(Okay, maybe Stiles himself wasn’t exactly the best judge of that. Still. Derek made everything awkward, and Stiles wanted nothing more to get out of the conversation—if it could be called that.)

Derek ruins Stiles’ potential attempt at jumping across his car by speaking and messing up his thought process. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Stiles glares at him. “Duh. I don’t have to.”

“You’re stalking me, Stiles.”

“It’s not stalking!” Stiles protests, twisting around in his seat until he’s almost face-to-face with Derek again. “It’s precautionary surveillance.”

Derek just gives him a look. “You’re getting footage illegally from my apartment complex’s security cameras because, why exactly?”

Stiles doesn’t answer right away. He knew exactly why he was doing it and he doesn’t have to ask how Derek knew exactly what Stiles was doing. Derek knows how to break into houses undetected. “I don’t trust you,” Stiles finally says, and, to his credit, he kind of mumbles it to his steering wheel guiltily. He might not have been Derek’s biggest fan, but telling him he didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him to his face wasn’t exactly something Stiles wanted to do. At least, not right now. Under different circumstances, maybe.

Derek doesn’t answer. Stiles dares a look at him. He looks pissed, but Derek had a habit of looking pissed at most times of the day. Stiles is pretty sure he just had RBF. “I need to change that,” he says, sounding more like he was talking to himself than to Stiles.

Stiles blinks at him in surprise. “What?”

“If our packs are going to be working together in harmony, you need to trust me.”

Stiles has no idea what to say to that. He’s faintly sure someone just abducted Derek and replaced him with a faulty copy that only looked exactly like Derek. “I’m not exactly an important figurehead in Scott’s pack,” he finally says.

Derek shakes his head. “Scott’s a total idiot. He looks to you more than you must realize.”

“I don’t know about that,” Stiles answers honestly. “Is it really that important? I’m not a trusting person by nature, you’re in for the long haul if you’re going to try winning my trust.”

Derek pauses, and an expression Stiles can’t quite name passes over his features briefly. “Yes,” he says, strangely earnest. Then, completely out of character, he says, “I need you to trust me.”

Stiles stares at him. Swallows. And then, like the absolute idiot he is, opens his mouth and says, “Well, big guy, maybe you should take me out to dinner first before you go about trying to woo me like that.”

That does it. Derek looks at Stiles like it’s physically paining him to have to listen to anything coming out of his mouth, and Stiles is pretty sure it really is. Then, Derek shakes his head and finally moves out of Stiles’ window. “Come to the pack meeting on Sunday,” is all he says, and then he turns and stalks off into the night.

“What pack meeting on Sunday?” Stiles calls, but Derek doesn’t answer. “Well, fine,” he says to himself, slumping back into his seat. Guess he was going to a pack meeting on Sunday, and Derek was now going to try his darndest to win Stiles’ trust.

When exactly is his life going to stop getting so weird?

[cescalr]

Teen Wolf Backstories Pt. #1

There's this thing.

You see, in Teen Wolf, the backstories for characters is something that's a little hard to come by. A little muddled, a little biased, or fully missing - backstories for characters, they're a limited resource. We know Derek's, as much as is necessary, we know some of Peter's, we know a fair bit about Deucalion, we know some of the Sheriff's - more now, thanks to season 6, so I suppose it was good for something - we know a bit about Claudia, we know a whole lot more about Garret Douglas than I care to know, we know a little about Stiles and Scott and Theo and Malia, but we don't really know a whole lot - and when it comes to Lydia and Jackson and Aiden and Ethan and Danny and Melissa and Agent McAsshole (whoops, sorry, Agent McCall) and Chris and Kate and everyone else, it's pretty much a blank slate.

Here's what we know for Scott (since as he's the main dude, he'll go first):

Scott lived with his Mum and Dad McAsshole when he was little, and moved to beacon hills during the fourth grade; so when he was about nine, with them.

Agent McAsshole left after a drunken bout of 'accidental' child abuse never to be seen again (well, unfortunately showing back up again unwanted during season three).

Melissa got a divorce (???) at some point, though she kept McAsshole's last name (????) for some reason (??????)

Scott was diagnosed with Asthma when exactly? Did he have an attack and that was how it was found out? What?? Tell meeee-

Scott was befriended by Theo who was asthmatic (? or manipulative and a liar, take your pick) and by association Stiles. 

Likely bullied a little by Jackass but probably being friends with the likes of Stiles and Theo, that would have ended very quickly if it did indeed happen in the first place (I feel like it probably did).

Stopped being friends with Theo probably at the start of fifth grade when Theo was nine/ten and killed his sister, basically forgot about him after that; they weren't really close, though he easily recognised him - which could either mean Scott has a really good memory or Theo looks really similar to how he used to look.

Didn't know Stiles when Stiles' mum had recently died, see Stiles' bit on having panic attacks when his mum died and having to say this implying that Scott hadn't known that - so they likely became friends after Stiles' panic attacks stopped for the most part, which means maybe Scott wasn't really friends with them until the end of fourth grade regardless so he didn't have much time to be friends with Theo anyway (????)

Scott didn't know Heather existed - Stiles explained why they were going to her party - so Stiles was his only friend after Theo left (and vice versa) 

Nothing interesting happened until sophomore year, when he got bitten, and voila, the start of the series.

Okay, so that was a little more cohesive than I thought, onto Stiles:

Born and raised in Beacon Hills

Claudia diagnosed around about when he was six, I think?

Stiles diagnosed with ADHD may be a little after or before that, or maybe when he's seven, or eight, maybe they catch it late or maybe they caught it early, at five, or four, but I doubt that - maybe they didn't catch it while Claudia was ill, maybe they only caught the anxiety, maybe they only caught that after his first panic attack, when was that - was that before Claudia died or after? - maybe Stiles only got diagnosed after his dad stopped being massively alcoholic/workaholic and actually paid attention to him and his school reports, maybe Stiles started his medication when he was ten, eleven, twelve - who knows??? The show doesn't say. Stiles still has to reassure Scott that he's taken his Adderall in season one, so maybe Stiles started taking it after he met Scott, or maybe he's just reassuring Scott because he's acting a little frantic and Scott doesn't really get it - who knows, again??? Who Knows????

Basically, you can do a shit tonne with that, that's all I'm saying. I've got it at him being diagnosed at the same time Claudia gets her false diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder from her pretty crappy local doctor, so a year or so before Claudia gets hit with the knowledge of Frontotemporal Dementia - though I've definitely got scenarios of a different nature in my head, I assure you. Most if not all of my fics follow my current set-up with the story I've already got on AO3 in the Backstory Collection, but some don't. The ones in my head don't, whoops.

Stiles is friends w/ Heather when young enough to take baths with her and have that not be Weird - so really, really young, then. Likely because Claudia and Heather's parent(s) were friends - mother or father? Dunno. Do they stop being close-but-close-enough-to-get-invited-to-parties-and-send-Christmas-cards before Stiles befriends Theo, or after? Was it a trio of Heather-Stiles-Theo, for a while, or was it Stiles-Heather Stiles-Theo and then just Stiles-Theo? Was Erica a friend of his when young, or did he not speak to her ever until season two?? Did Stiles ever meet Isaac or Boyd or whatever - did Stiles want to be Boyd's friend because they used to be, or was it just something he wanted at the time?

WHO KNOWS

anyway, so that's that for that part

Stiles gets a 'crush' on Lydia in the third grade - he's the one to call it an obsession, not me - perhaps its more a fixation on something that isn't complicated? A way to distract himself from his problems at home?

Claudia attacks Stiles on the roof. Has she done this before? Has she done the physical part multiple times, the verbal, or both? How often? Or was it just the once? And did she go to Eichen House, and if so, was it before or after this incident? Also likely her words - 'he's trying to kill me' - left a scar called that guilt complex he carries around and also the thing where he thinks he's evil in season five after he unlocks this horrible memory.

Claudia dies when Stiles is eight/nine - going into fourth grade, I think. 

Stiles starts having panic attacks, but as far as he knew they'd stopped by season two's time.

(oh, no they hadn't. My poor man.)

Stiles' dad starts heavily drinking and heavily working. Stiles starts having to look after the both of them - we see leftovers of this in the show; Stiles bringing his dad food and being really very insistent about what he eats, etc.

Stiles is friends with both Theo and Scott at this point, more the former than the latter, anyone else is gone.

Stiles stops being friends with Theo at the start of fifth grade, I guess, which is about the time Theo kills his sister - Stiles feels bitter and angry and alone, so alone, so he latches onto Scott and probably punches Jackson in the face a few times, and likely vows hatred of Theo for the rest of his life - but he could never think the worst of him, that's why he was so insistant that the Theo in season five wasn't Theo at all, but rather an imposter, a fake, because Stiles didn't want to think of his childhood friend that way - the kid who helped him through panic attacks, the guy that distracted him when his dad was drunk and rambling and useless, or at work for days on end - Stiles can't think of him negatively, because Stiles has always struggled with seeing the faults in those he cares about - struggled with admitting them to himself.

I guess sixth grade (???) and onwards is pretty boring? Fifth grade the Sheriff cleans up his act, or maybe it takes two years, and Stiles is eleven - who knows. But maybe, maybe, sixth grade and onwards until sophomore year things are quiet. Stiles drags Scott out to increasingly more illegal and dangerous activities because Scott made the mistake of whining about how boring their town is - and that's that. Stiles finds out about a body in the woods - and they go. And all hell breaks loose. 

There's a bit more confusion there, I guess. Theo next:

Born in Beacon, raised by the Doctors (oh, what wonderful parental figures they make, Christ)

?????

Apparently Asthmatic, but that's ??? up in the air. Perhaps he lied. Theo does that.

Disliked his sister.

Didn't really have a positive connection with anyone ?? except Stiles. 

Befriended Scott ??? who knows why. He didn't like the guy, after all, and he returned back to Beacon Hills to murder him dead, so perhaps he did it because Stiles liked Scott??? Who knows.

????

Killed his sister at the start of fifth grade ??? it was cold enough for her to have mostly died from Hypothermia, so ??? maybe more nearing December, but I don't know how cold it gets in fake California. Beacon County is where, exactly??

Tore his sister's heart out, got surgery, became the first successful chimera. 

Went away with the Dread doctors.

His family???? Died?? I guess??? Theo's parents never did anything about their dead kid and the one who disappeared????

????????????????????????????????????????

a whole load of 'what'

??????????????????????????????????

Returns to beacon hills after eight years (wow, talk about long-term planning) to get a pack with a bunch of strangers and Stiles that part is very important and also maybe murder Scott dead because ??? Jealousy ???? of what?? Power? Likely. Stiles? Probably. 

and canon from then on.

Well, that's a whole lot of ????????????? what, what happened, please tell us. 

Yikes. 

Anyway, Mals:

Born to Peter Hale and Corrine ???/The Desert Wolf

Talia removes Peter's memories of a kid and convinces the Desert Wolf to have her child, which in turn turns the Desert Wolf bitter about losing her powers to a homicidal extent

Malia is adopted by the Tates

Malia goes to a different school to Stiles and Theo (Lydia and Jackson and Scott, later on) because Beacon Hills is big enough for two?? Since Heather apparently is in a different school district as well

man beacon hills is not a small town

anyway, Malia has a pretty normal life until

Nine years old, full moon.

Birth Mother shoots at the car she and her sister and her mom are in, the car swerves and crashes, the panic causes Malia to shift, she claws and destroys her way out of the car, mauling and chewing and probably eating some of her family in the process.

Malia is stuck as a coyote.

Is in town in season three, canon from then on.

Well, that's depressing. Kira time!

a whole load of ?????????????????????

They arrive in Beacon Hills, canon from then on.

Wow, that's terrible. Yikes. 

Lydia:

Born and raised in beacon hills

raised in money - she's likely a spoiled kid.

part of the popular crowd from an early age, but not too early

started hiding her intelligence at some point??? when I don't know. Middle school would be too late because too many people would know she was intelligent. Everything seems to happen in fourth grade, lmao, so maybe then??

Parents fight from a young-ish age, probably. I mean, they split at some point during the show, so ????

?????????????

Starts dating Jackson for the Image it gives. 

??????????

Bad shit starts going down in her sophomore year.

That's very little information. I'm still more salty about how little we know of Kira, though, and at least we know this of Lydia.

Danny:

?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

Canon.

post season three: ?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

I'm bitter. 

Boyd:

?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

canon.

dies.

Forever bitter.

Erica:

maybe friends with Stiles/Heather/Theo, maybe not, maybe friends with Isaac/Boyd, likely not because they didn't want her to be happy, who knows-

?????????????????????????????

canon

dies.

still bitter.

Cora:

pretty decent childhood w/ the hales

FIRE BURNING IN FIRE

Saved by Peter

???????????????????????????

she isn't with Laura and Derek, so maybe she runs off into the woods?

regardless, apparently, she went to south America for some reason

???????????????????

caught by Alpha Pack

likely kills someone?????????

Maybe erica?????????

who knows??????????????????????????

???????

canon

post season four - ???????????????????

Yep, still salty.

Caitlin:

???????????????????

starts dating Emily (I'm pretty sure her name was Emily)

?????????????????????????

canon

post season 3a - ???????????????????????

????????????????????

Still bitter, still salty.

Welp. That's all for tonight. More later. Maybe. Probably not.

I've still got that goodbye teen wolf thing to do anyway. Oops. 

[andavs]

So there’s this long list of prompts, and I love all of them, so I’m going to do a bunch of them completely unprompted.

Number One: “The skirt is supposed to be this short.”

“I can’t believe this is your dirty secret.”

Boyd raised his eyebrows, adjusting his belt. “What did you think it was?”

“I don’t know, scrapbooking? Ballroom dance? Secret piccolo prodigy?” Stiles tried to shimmy the massive wedgie out of his buttcrack, but it just slipped in further. God damn it. He was wearing way too many layers to go after it, at least two of them chainmail.

“Piccolo?” Boyd’s tone itself wasn’t threatening, but picking up a broadsword and sheathing it on his belt certainly was. It was much bigger than Stiles’ sword, that was for sure.

“Come on, dude. Do you really not see the irony of a literal werewolf LARPing? And not as a werewolf? You wouldn’t even need prosthetics!”

“It’s not roleplaying if you’re just being yourself.”

“Okay, but why roleplay when you’re already a badass? Let’s face it, if anyone here should be roleplaying, it’s the pack human who doesn't have superpowers.”

“They aren't superpowers!” Derek’s usual reflex response came from behind the curtain, and then he added, “Are you sure you didn’t give me Kira’s outfit?”

Boyd rolled his eyes like they were the ones being unreasonable here. “Yes, I’m still sure. Come out.”

Stiles couldn’t actually hear it, but it was like a sixth sense by now; he knew Derek sighed before yanking back the crookedly hanging sheet that served as a dressing room in a corner of their massive canvas pack tent.

“So, the skirt is supposed to be this short.”

Stiles slapped his hand over his gleeful smile so hard he might’ve broken his own nose. Derek glared. Boyd was as unflappable as usual.

“Kilt. And yes, it’s supposed to look like that.”

Derek looked down at his outfit, at the stitched leather vest and gauntlets, the plaid kilt (that did look a little short over his knees), and very...rustic boots.

“I look ridiculous.”

“No, you don’t.” Boyd held out a small jar that said RED on the lid. “You just don’t get the full effect without the face paint.”

Stiles squeaked behind his hand, while Derek somehow managed to glare harder.

“No. No face paint. Stop laughing,” he ordered, pointing a threatening finger at Stiles that really wasn’t the least bit threatening while he was blushing up to his ears under that beard.

“Braveheart,” Stiles whispered giddily in response, and Derek’s eyes actually flashed red.

“Don’t think that fake chainmail can protect you from me.”

Stiles snorted. “Big words from a man in a dress.”

“It's a kilt,” Derek growled through his teeth.

“Guys,” Boyd interrupted with a sigh. “Derek, you don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to. I can try to find you something else.” He said it so sincerely that it was almost believable that he didn’t know exactly what kind of guilt trip he was laying down.

It’d taken five years for the pack to get an honest answer to, “What do you want to do for your birthday this year, Boyd?” and none of them were going to refuse him anything on this, admittedly, unexpected adventure they now found themselves on. At the Beacon County Fairgrounds, of all places. Even Lydia had joined in, looking like a flawless Joan of Arc in her armor, because if she did anything, she did it perfectly and with a shocking dedication to historical accuracy, apparently.

So no, Derek was not going to make Boyd find him something else. Stiles communicated this with his eyes, and Derek quickly composed himself.

“It’s fine,” he said with a little less attitude, while still looking a little like a pouting toddler. Stiles wanted to pinch his adorable pink cheeks.

“Seriously, we can leave, it’s cool,” Boyd continued, laying it on thick.

“We’re staying.” Derek grabbed the jar of face paint out of his hand and unscrewed the lid, frowning down at it. “What do I do.”

“Uh, I think you’re supposed to paint your face,” Stiles suggested shittily, and when Derek glared, he added, “just a guess.”

He felt a little bit bad when Boyd gave him a knock it off look. Boyd was usually the adult in the room.

“I’ll do it.” He took the jar back. “Don’t worry, it’ll look badass.” He dipped a finger into the paint, raised it to Derek's face, and then Scott appeared at the open tent flap, eyes wide with panic. His chainmail was crooked and all bunched up in some places, while still stretched near to the point of breaking in others.

“Dude, can you help me with this? I think it might be backwards, but I don’t know how to get it off without ripping it!”

Boyd was up in an instant, maybe actually supernaturally fast, because he'd put a shocking amount of work into helping them with their costumes, and he was meticulous about taking care of them. He dropped the jar of paint into Stiles’ hand without thought, and followed Scott outside their big canvas tent.

He just left.

Just gave Stiles that kind of power, and left him unsupervised.

“I'll do it myself,” Derek said, but Stiles was waiting for it and immediately countered with,

“Got a mirror hidden somewhere up your kilt?” The only mirrors on the fairgrounds he knew of were in the constantly-in-use porta potties across the field. Boyd was part of a hardcore LARPer guild-thing, no non-emergency tech or modern comforts allowed.

“I’ll take my chances without one.”

“And ruin Boyd's hard work? Just stand still, I got this.”

Stiles couldn't predict what he would do with that cheap shot, but apparently the value of Boyd's happiness on his birthday hadn’t dwindled, because Derek sighed and resigned himself to his fate. Aside from a growled warning of,

“Don’t draw a dick.”

“I’m not gonna draw a dick.” Stiles was almost offended by the assumption, but mostly disappointed that he was juuuust too good of a person to actually do that to Derek.

“And don’t do Braveheart.”

“I’m not gonna do Braveheart. Trust me, it’ll be cool.”

Derek didn’t look like trusted him at all, but Stiles ignored him, dipped two fingers in the red paint, and dragged it down the right side of Derek’s face, from his hairline down onto his neck. He held out his hands to signal that his masterpiece was complete, and that Derek could unclench.

Derek blinked at him, deadpan. “You did Thor, didn’t you.”

“Yeah, I did, and you look awesome.” He actually did look awesome, and Stiles was really hoping chainmail could hide a boner.

Derek considered it for a brief moment, like he was trying to picture it on himself and reluctantly agreed. Then he gave Stiles a shitty smile, and plucked the paint out of his hand. “Your turn.”

That took the wind right out of his sails.

“Actually, I think I’m good,” Stiles stammered, debating how embarrassing it would be to make a grab for the paint and miss when Derek inevitably pulled it out of reach with werewolf speed. Derek liked to pretend he was the unaffected adult when others were around to witness, but he had a pranking streak a mile wide where Stiles was concerned. He was petty and he was ruthless.

“Come on, don’t you want the full effect?” He asked patronizingly.

“I think the effect is plenty full enough already.” Stiles took a step back and Derek followed. Oh god, he was going to write kick me across his forehead, or virgin, he could probably fit ask me about my ED if he used his pinky.

“Look, I already look dumb enough, I don’t need a poop emoji on my forehead to make it worse.”

Crap, now he was giving him ideas.

Derek rolled his eyes. “You look fine, hold still,” he said, pressing his palm against Stiles’ jaw to hold his head, and Stiles realized just how much power Derek really did hold here. No mirrors, no way to check his face, he could only feel what Derek was doing and hope he wasn’t drawing daisies down his cheek.

“Don’t draw a dick,” he joked weakly, and Derek’s face softened.

“I’m not going to draw a dick. Turn your head.”

Stiles obliged and stared at the back of the tent, at the sun peaking through the canvas, while he waited for Derek to make up his mind. Whatever he was planning, it was taking forever, and Stiles was only getting more nervous about it. Oh god, it was going to be complex, and Stiles was going to look ridiculous.

“You know it’s not supposed to be the Mona—”

He couldn’t have finished even if he’d been able to overcome the shock of Derek pressing his right hand against the side of Stiles’ face, this time with something definitely wet between them; Derek’s thumb was laying across his mouth, and Stiles was pretty sure trying to talk would only get face paint on his teeth too.

Stiles blinked at him through his fingers, processing the fact that he was definitely going to have a giant red handprint over half his face.

Derek pressed a little harder, like he was trying to seal it, before letting go completely, leaving Stiles’ face cold where his hands had been. He stepped back, considering his work, and nodded to himself.

Stiles stared at him, still processing, trying to cobble together a reaction. Having Derek Hale’s hands on his face wasn't a situation he'd prepared himself to experience in this lifetime.

“I feel like that orc guy with the handprint,” he tried, and Derek blinked at him. “Lord of the Rings? Killed Boromir? Nevermind.”

Derek screwed the lid back on the jar of face paint, trying to keep as much red off the jar as he could when his entire hand was covered.

“Lurtz,” he said quietly. “And he’s Uruk-hai.”

This time it was Stiles who could only blink. “Wait, what?”

Derek looked up, clearly regretting his words and trying to look innocent.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, you just corrected my Lord of the Rings reference.”

This time Derek huffed, brushing it off. “It’s not hard to tell the difference, anyone who’s seen the movies would know that.”

“I didn’t even know you knew the movies existed!”

“They were everywhere when I was in middle school, how would I not have seen them? Everyone saw them.”

“Yeah, but not everyone knows the name of that one specific Uruk-hai who barely has any lines! Wait,” Stiles’ entire life was shifting, “did you read the books too?”

Derek looked back down at the jar in his hands and almost muttered, “He wasn’t in the books.”

Stiles gaped.

He knew Derek had lots of books, read constantly, but it was always historical stuff. Very specific subjects, like Russian playwrights of the late 19th century, or journals of a guy who owned a farm in Idaho in 1934, biographies of people who really didn’t contribute to any great change in the world—that kind of boring stuff. Never anything actually interesting. Never fantasy.

Derek continued to fiddle with the face paint, avoiding eye contact.

“Oh my god, you’re totally a fantasy nerd, aren’t you?”

He continued to avoid eye contact.

“This is totally your kind of place, isn’t it? Why didn’t you make your costume?” The only reason he was stuck with the kilt was that he’d been too stubborn and standoffish throughout the entire process for Boyd to get chainmail and armor that would fit him properly (and he refused to eyeball it, he was adamant that his pack not look sloppy among his LARPing peers).

“I didn’t want to.”

“You did. You totally did. And we are totally coming back next year so you can look like the badass alpha you are. Something about the kilt just doesn’t say power.” Stiles took a step back and squinted at him, trying to picture a quintessentially Derek outfit. “I think you need a crown.”

Derek huffed, but he looked like he was blushing again.

“Seriously, man, if you want to do this, you should. Boyd would be thrilled. Or, as thrilled as he ever is. It’s hard to tell with him sometimes.” Stiles was pretty sure he was having a good time with them all there, but Boyd’s happy smirk was pretty close to his you guys are unbelievably stupid smirk. Though with everything he’d put up with throughout this whole process, his current smirks probably fell somewhere in between.

Derek picked at the red paint on his hand for a second, then, “Maybe.”

“Not a no!” Stiles crowed, and Derek rolled his eyes, but Stiles could tell he was secretly happy.

Probably.

Stiles had his handprint on his face, the guy better be happy.

Hearing a break in their conversation (god, the entire pack could probably hear them outside), Kira shouted for them to hurry up, and Derek started to look a little nervous. Stiles clapped him on the shoulder, and handed him his sword.

“Let’s do this. I saw seven Highlanders on the walk from the car alone, you’ve got work to do.”

That got a grin out of him as he accepted the sword, even if it did have an eyeroll accompanying it.

“Get used to it, man, once we get your cloak on, you are literally a hotter Connor MacLeod. Like him and Thor in one. You’re going to have a fanclub of elven barmaids following you around.”

“My dream,” Derek deadpanned, clearly the last thing he wanted. Stiles couldn’t say that was a problem he’d personally had, but having witnessed it in Derek’s life, yeah, it did look like it got annoying when it wasn’t wanted.

“Don’t worry, my dear alpha.” Stiles unsheathed his sword with some difficulty—it was longer than he thought and it hit the top of the tent, then the main post, then his own knee. He would definitely be sticking to his bat and mountain ash for any actual fighting. “If anyone tries to touch you, I’ll challenge them for your honor. And I’ve fought a literal dragon before, all these nerds are going down.”

“It wasn’t a dragon,” Derek dutifully countered, as usual.

“It was basically a dragon.”

[baddyxangel]

Hey sorry for reviving this so late buuuuut let me just put in a few points.Ok, so when I watched 5a, I was having a hell of a time, considering i adore stiles and his personality, and seeing stiles do bad things makes me so happy. After the Donovan situation and then when he was in a car with Theo, saying he felt good about killing him, I really believed they could have developed so much from that story, but after 5b, it's almost like they forgot about it. He had one heartfelt conversation with his father about losing something and never being able to get it back, but that's it. I was wondering, did this annoy you as much as me? Considering they never developed the fact that Stiles LIKED killing Donovan?

It's really complex, I did a lot of talking about this on tumblr, so I learned my way around it like a pro Stiles was glad in that instant because the threat was gone, he was safe, but it was quickly replaced by guilt. People overlook it, but he tried to help Donovan when he was on the spear. And it wore down on him because he couldn't tell anyone but in 5b something very interesting happens, he gets very good at pretending to be s1 stiles, he's suddenly clumsy, his brain to mouth filter is gone again, he goes from sleeping in a foetal position (in s4 with malia) to sprawled out on the couch in the sheriff's office which presents a few options

he bangs his head A LOT in s5a and a lot of the things that are obvious do fit concussion symptoms, clumsiness, sleeping at irregular times etc

he has gotten over it (hahahahaha)

he's faking it

being knee deep in the meta on tumblr (same username) I've been through a lot of the eps 2 or 3 times looking for hints, clues etc, and it's come down to brain damage which is cured medically with trepanning (opening him up to magic and revealing his otherness) OR he's faking because he wants to fit in again my own gut says b, he's faking it because he wants everything to run smoothly. There are hints that he and Scott are still broken up, but Stiles is pretending because BH needs it, and he's biding his time until he leaves. I'm going with this until further knowledge but with the suggestions in 6 that he's missing it will be interesting that with Kira gone if Scott cares.

tumblr user sublimeglass (or was it cupidsbower, definitely one of the two) pointed out there is often a huge difference between what characters on teen wolf SAY and what they DO look at Stiles, he spends five seasons advocating violence and death, to the point he suggested "chloroforming the little bastard and throwing him in the lake" [about Liam] but he's actually the least violent member of the pack. He is known as the liar but he's a terrible liar and very rarely breaks the truth. Peter is seen as being hideously lying and he uses the truth cleverly but it is the truth. It uses a specific narrative viewpoint and that viewpoint is often wrong, characters (and us) assume and when we assume we're usually, 99 times out of a hundred, wrong. Go through season 5b and ask yourself when does Stiles turn to Scott, he confides in Lydia and his dad, he goes to Scott in regards the attack because he needs power in his corner. Scott didn't talk to him about Duke (that wasn't new for Scott) but Stiles wasn't wounded like he's been before. We have Stiles who broke up with Malia, Lydia is in Eichen, Scott broke up with him - and he wants to help, he wants to be useful which Scott implied (accidentally or not) that if Stiles had killed (remember it was an accident and Scott still doesn't know the details, he still thinks Stiles smashed Theo's head in) he was cast out of the pack - which means he can't help. So why not suppress who he is and act like they expect him to be so they don't drive him away. It certainly fits his character. It's that it was SO obvious that makes me question it. Combined with his line at the end of season 5, about everyone falling where they need to be (I can't remember the quote off hand) instead of his plan to keep everyone together at the start - that's a huge shift and it certainly fits 5a stiles better than 5b but the foetal thing - he couldn't sleep until he was the little spoon, which is the foetal thing, but people like being the little spoon because it makes them feel safe. The same reason they sleep in the foetal position, which makes them small. "This stance, favoured by worriers, is said to show the sleeper is seeking to return to their comfort zone after a stressful day. Foetal sleepers are conscientious, ordered and like things in their place, according to the study, but are also in danger of over-thinking problems and worrying unnecessarily." from a study done by Premier Inn he can't "sleep without his pillow" which suggests (from the same study) ften clutching their pillow, they can appearing to be “holding on for dear life” in what is thought to be the most uncomfortable sleeping position for adults. Those who adopt it can feel as if life “happens around them” and they are just “hanging on for the ride”, believing they lack control over what will happen the next day. now before he seemed to be either a starfish or a frog, the frog is lying on their stomach with their ass in the air (often because placed on their front as a baby, the frog was recommended for a while) but the starfish Starfish The Starfish Position was the least popular amongst those with a preference, with only five per cent of those surveyed choosing it as their favourite. Starfish sleepers lie on their backs with legs sprawled and arms stretched up near the head, and were reported to make friendship a priority. They dislike being the centre of attention, instead offering to listen to the problems of others and go out of their way to offer assistance to those in need. which sounds very like s1 stiles the details in teen wolf are amazing! sometimes the big story details are a huge mess, but the tiny details - spot on every time. so him swapping from sleeping on his side curled up (if not full foetal) to sprawled on the sofa with one leg over the back is odd. His body language seems a lot tighter as well, which is why I think he's faking it. Even you questioned how far he'd gone.

I'm kinda "eh" about it. The situation was really dubious from the beginning. A fool would know the difference between murder and accidental killing, of all things. I felt Stiles acted out of character when initially dealing with it, by not telling anyone...yet at the same time, it's totally understandable why he feels the way he does about it. Maybe it was in the right vein, but much too extreme. It would've been so much better if he had actually struck the killing blow on purpose, establishing to Scott that sometimes killing is necessary, due to the simple fact that Stiles is human and isn't given a choice. If that had happened, so much of what happened later would have felt more natural and believable. There would've been some good moments between the two. As for how it was dealt with, I agree it was interesting. It was like when he was talking to Malia on the full moon, about how he liked the power and control from the Nogitsune. That was a surprise, yet it makes complete sense why he'd feel that way, and it's understandable why he'd never bring it up that much. Same goes for feeling good about Donovan's death. Stiles is pragmatic. He serves as a small foil to Scott, who is stuck being an idealist. I believe Scott will eventually have to kill someone. But, he would never admit to liking it. Stiles ultimately follows Scott's ideals, but as we've seen, if it came down to it, he would be glad they were dead. He felt pretty shitty about it, too, but still. The talk with his father felt like tying up loose ends. The sheriff gave him a little perspective, and it was nice. Scott missed the point entirely. As a character Scott is selfish and a bit self centred, but he's not narcissistic. He has a tendency to assume he knows what he's doing and that everyone agrees with him. In his apology he never once said sorry. He said I thought it was going to be either me or Malia, but as the sheriff pointed out Stiles didn't kill him. He talked to the Sheriff honestly. but he felt he couldn't go to them, his dad because he was the sheriff and he thought he'd covered up a crime and his dad would drive him away - because in our heads the voices of our loved ones are much meaner than they are in real life. And he believed he couldn't tell Scott because Scott would reject him, and at that point it was likely he would have, but Theo stirred the pot and made it much worse, much more likely. The show tells us Scott's a great guy, but if you get past that to actually look at him he's really not. He's fantastically written, but he's not a good guy, he's judgemental, and actually displays a lot of really dangerous behaviours. In a meta on tumblr actually I found he fit 15 of 17 key behaviours recognised in cult leaders. And that phrase "the cult of Scott McCall" coined by Superhappygenki (on tumblr) is spot on, the characters, Deaton leading them to a large extent, sell Scott as the wunderkid, and because Scott is good at saying the right things and appearing at the right time (often not to do much) we believe him, right up until he does something that makes you go - ummm no and then like an onion the layers fall away. In his paranoia over what happened Stiles believed the worst of Scott so he shut down what happened, stuffed it down and tried to make amends, and when Scott faced him down he did exactly what Stiles feared, he not only drove him away but in such a way that he seemed to throw him out of the pack. Had Stiles not been shut down when he tried to tell Scott outside Eichen House - he could have tried to be objective, by the time he was able to talk about it - on the drive to Mexico, it had it's claws in him.

Hey sorry for reviving this so late buuuuut let me just put in a few points. Stiles loves to be in control. He likes to feel powerful, and he's always had an inkling of that. He really, I mean really, cements that fact after his possession. He tells Malia he likes feeling powerful - and he gets it. And, putting aside the fact that he never implied he liked killing Donovan. He just likes that Donovan has died - which is totally different in the whole "murder scale" I qualified for this post. But putting all that aside, I mean, who wouldn't feel good that a threat to them and the people they care about is gone? Even if it was accidental. I love dark!Stiles too. I mean, he's got so much potential to be an anti-hero. He reminds me of deadpool a lot. Not the point though. I guess, what I'm trying to say... Stiles might finally be coming back round to himself? You know? He (and the writers) just pushed aside the whole Nogitsune possession thing. So, it would make a lot of sense that the first death he actually caused while he was in full capacity mentally would hit him extremely hard. And there's the whole extreme emotional distance between him and literally every other person on the show - the fact that instead of talking about his problems, he talks around them and just lets his friends infer what he might mean. He's kind of really fucked up & secretive about it! I'd love to see him (them/thewriters/whatever) explore this shit more explicitly in canon.

[ryeimagines]

Allies - Derek Imagine

For the lovely anon who requested an alternate meeting with another Stilinski. Just a heads up, it get’s a bit dark, like, dead body so if you don’t like that then don’t read. Again, nothing very graphic. Enjoy! 

The first time you met Derek Hale, was intense to say the least. It merely consisted of some threats with a gun pointed right at his face and growls, and both being annoyed at Stiles. You loved your brother, you really did, though sometimes it was a bit difficult to remember that. Like when he apparently befriended a creepy possible murderer with a leather jacket and bad manners. But you stayed with him, you had made a promise a long time ago to protect him, leave it to him to end up in a world of supernatural things. So, werewolves were a thing. That was a hard one to swallow, but in a strange way it made sense, finally figuring out why Stiles’ had a minor melt down at your raised by wolves comment, brushing away actual tears out of his eye. 

It took time, though gradually you got to know the grumpy wolf, and you developed an accquaintance  which mostly consisted of saving one another and ganging up on Stiles, which he did not appreciate. There was something about the last remaining Hale, that drew your curiosity. He was more complex than he let on. You didn’t think he was a bad guy, just someone who’s experienced loss and you’re pretty sure he partly blames himself for that. Survivors guilt was pretty common when you lose someone, it was your best friend after your mother passed away, but that wasn’t all of it. He blamed himself for his family dying. And you had a pretty good idea who the culprits actually were, and what she did to him. Frankly, it made your skin crawl.

So, you continued involving yourself, doing extra research and working on a case against Kate, and possibly Chris as well, jury was still out on that one,  with your brother. You should have known inviting danger in would end in something horrible. 

There was a brief relieved thought that Stiles wasn’t there, short lived as it was when a figure walked in, causing Derek to promptly freeze in his tracks. 

“Uncle Peter.”He mumbled under his breath, almost in awe. You could tell the moment realisation hit, just about the same time you figured it out. “It’s you, you killed Laura.” There was a tension lingering in the air, the calm before the storm so to speak, your gaze was glued to the Alpha, every instinct you had screamed danger, a fight would break out any time. Your hands went to the small of your back, sending up a quick thank you when you felt the familiar shape. 

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend dear nephew?” 

“Run.” The sound of his voice startled you, realising that you should get out of there. And still, you couldn’t get your feet to move. You couldn’t just leave him to die. So you took a deep breath and settled your nerves, reading yourself for the fight of a lifetime because lets face it, at this point, winning was the only option with the acceptable outcome. 

“Hey Asshole.” You growled, clearly you’ve been spending way to much time around the sourly wolf. You almost regretted it the minute the words left your mouth, and crimson eyes were staring back at you, a smirk growing on his face.

“My, my, you really don’t have much of an self preservation instinct, do you? How intriguing, maybe I’ll just give you the bite, make you part of my pack when I’m done dealing with this. What do you say?”

“Screw you.” The sound of gunshots rang out, and the older wolf tumbled to  the ground, crimson pooling under his unmoving form. 

You spared him a second, making sure he was actually dead before walking over to where Derek was lying, approaching him slowly like you would a wounded animal. You didn’t know what he’d think, you did just kill his uncle right in front of him without blinking. There would definitely be nightmares about  that, and probably a melt down later, but right now you felt okay. Better than okay, because of the Hazel eyes meeting yours with a mix of emotions, but they were open never the less. He was going to be okay. You could fix this. 

“Derek, I’m not going to hurt you, okay? I’m just gonna check your wounds.” You hesitated, hands floating right over his torso, before a he offered a soft nod of acceptance. Okay, you can do this. 

You worked quickly, a sigh of relief escaping your lips when you concluded the wounds looked worse than they were, a lot of them were already starting to heal. He remained quiet through out the ordeal, then again he usually was like that, unless he had something important to say.

“You stayed.”His voice broke the silence lingering, when you’d finally managed to help him get up on his feet. It was almost accusatory, laced with a hint of anger, and perhaps confusion. The last one was surprising, but that would have to wait for another time, when you weren’t in the middle of a hospital right next to a dead body which would be filling up with people really soon. There was no way they didn’t hear the gunshots, the police was already on their way.

“I did, it was my choice. We can argue about it later. For now, just shut up and let me help you before my dad get’s here.” There was a lot to talk about, but it could wait, you had all the time in the world. Unless of course your dad finds out about all of this and decides to ground you for the rest of your life, which was a real possibility at this point with all the stuff you’ve been hiding. You were in so much trouble. 

[sterekationstation]

Concept 4:

Stiles is drunk. The party slides around him in washes of color and sound– everything transient, nothing sticking. Bass thumps in his eardrums, turning his stomach. Derek appears as a blessing, half out the door before he even makes it through the foyer, but still the most solid thing Stiles has seen all night.

“I hate this,” Stiles whispers, his breath hot against Derek’s sensitive ear. “You’re the only person here worth talking to.”

“Okay,” Derek says, his hand settling solid and reassuring on Stiles’ hip. “So let’s go somewhere that isn’t here.”

EDIT:

"What were you even doing there?" Stiles peers at Derek curiously over the rim of his mug. The coffee isn't quite strong enough to dissolve tooth enamel, but coupled with the brisk walk from the rave to the diner, it's doing wonders for counteracting his buzz. "A warehouse party isn't really your scene."

Derek shrugs, placidly plowing his way through a mountain-high portion of chicken souvlaki. His knees keeps knocking against Stiles' under the chipped Formica tabletop, and Stiles can't find it in himself to pretend to mind.

"Didn't really look like your scene, either," Derek says, meeting Stiles' gaze unblinkingly. His wackadoo eyes make Stiles' head spin, and it's easy to blame it on the booze. Bourbon, Stiles thinks admonishingly. When will you learn that bourbon is not your friend.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," he huffs, darting his hand across the table to snatch a few of Derek's fries, nearly knocking a glass of water over in the process. Derek rolls his eyes heavenward with a sigh, and then rotates his plate so that the truly impressive mound of deep fried potato is facing Stilinskiwards. Stiles bites down on a victorious whoop, and grabs another handful to cram into his mouth.

Derek watches him chew happily, his ridiculous eyebrows drawn together in the expression Stiles has categorized as "exasperated but fond." It's much preferred to the look that Stiles used to get, which was better classified as "imminent manslaughter".

"So, this is nice," Stiles begins, at the same time Derek sets down his fork and says, "Scott told me about your fight."

All at once, Stiles feels the cold weight of sobriety hit him like an Acme anvil. Every muscle in his body clenches, his back snapping ramrod straight.

"That bastard," he hisses, shoving his coffee away like the blood offering it apparently is. Dread mixes with shitty whiskey in his stomach, threatening to curdle into nausea. "How dare he–"

"Stiles." Derek holds both hands up in supplication, his perfect mouth twisted in alarm. "He didn't tell me anything other than that. You guys fought, and you stormed out. When he couldn't get ahold of you, he called me."

The panic ebbs, slightly, and Stiles flops back against the diner booth, trying to get his jackrabbiting heart under control. When Derek seems sure that he isn't going to make a break for the door, he picks up his fork and goes back to demolishing his chicken. After a moment, he nudges the plate towards Stiles, nodding meaningfully at the fries.

Stiles grimaces, but takes one of the more burnt wedges and crunches on it furiously. At the counter, the waitress watches Derek eat with a dazed, heavy lidded expression, so Stiles turns his glower on her until she blushes and glances away.

It's never been easy for Stiles to hang on to anger as far as Scott is concerned, but this time it feels like a live wire in his chest. It's his fucking Romeo complex, that's the problem. Scott's got this over-simplified idea of love– always has– and the frustrating part is that because it always works out for him, he thinks it'll work out that way for everybody.

"Just tell him," Scott had yelled. The 'or I will' had gone unspoken. "You're miserable and it's making you lash out at everybody, and you're too chickenshit to do anything about it!"

Stiles watches Derek spear a hunk of souvlaki with his fork, careful to keep the cuff of his soft gray sweater out of his side of tzatziki sauce. He scoffs at the memory of Scott's words, and steals another French fry.

As if it were that easy. As if he could just tell Derek that he's been ass-over-elbows in love with him for the better part of five years. Wonderful, awful Derek, who goes to yoga with Lydia on Saturdays, who helps Scott study when he gets overwhelmed with work and veterinary school, who volunteers at the local women's shelter whenever he can and thinks no one's noticed.

"Scott's an asshole," he grumps, tugging a few packets of Sweet'n'low out of the sugar holder and stacking them like a house of cards.

"He's just worried about you." Derek's voice is uncharacteristically gentle, and Stiles steadfastly refuses to meet his eyes until he feels the pressure of a knee against his own. He immediately regrets it when he glances up against his better judgement and sees the look on Derek's face. His eyebrows are drawn in concern, eyes soft with affection and understanding.

Jesus.

Stiles stamps down on the fluttering of his heart.

"Stop that," he snaps, without really meaning to. Derek blinks at him, confusion wiping away the worst of his expression.

"What?"

"Never mind." Stiles sighs, dragging a hand across his face. "Sorry. Really sorry. I'm not mad at you."

"Okay." Derek fiddles with his napkin, picking at a tear in the paper. "If you want to talk about it–"

"No." It comes out more caustic than Stiles had intended, the possibility of Derek finding out sending a shudder of panic across his skin. Derek flinches at his tone, his eyes widening with a flash of hurt before the shutters come down, leaving an impassive mask in its place.

Stiles hates that mask.

"Derek, I–"

"It's fine." Derek shifts in his seat, digging into his back pocket for his wallet. He drops a twenty on the table and reaches for his phone. "I'll call Lydia to come drive you home. I know I'm not– I don't know why Scott called me."

Because he's a surprisingly manipulative asshole with unwavering faith in True Love, Stiles doesn't say, guilt flaring hot and shameful in his chest.

"Wait, that's not–"

"I get it, Stiles." Derek's voice is flat, his face expressionless as he slides out of the booth. The line of his shoulders are rigid with tension. "It's none of my business. It's not like– we're not friends."

Stiles jolts back like he's been slapped. Derek might as well have hit him– the pain twisting his chest into knots hurts more than a punch would have. Stiles knows his faults. He knows that he's abrasive, and irritating, and somehow always manages to take up too much space, but he'd thought that Derek was okay with that. He'd thought they'd gotten to a good place– nowhere near where he wanted them to be, but still better than he had ever dreamed possible. He'd thought–

"You don't think we're friends?" He hates how small his voice sounds. Derek's nostrils flare, and his mask wavers, frustration and guilt breaking through that awful blank.

"Do you?" Derek jams his hands into the pockets of his jeans, staring down at the tabletop. "You've been avoiding me for a while now. I make you anxious." His jaw clenches, and he resettles his weight like he's bracing himself.

"Look," he mutters, his voice raw and vulnerable in a way that Stiles has never heard it, "I'm sorry if I– if my feelings make you uncomfortable. I know you don't– I get that you don't feel the same way, I don't blame you, but I–"

"Woah." Stiles stands so quickly he gets head rush, although that might be because his heart is suddenly beating so hard that he can feel the thudding in his own temples. He holds his hands up in the universal 'time out' gesture. "Hold up, big guy. Rewind for a sec. What are you talking about? What feelings?"

Derek's glare is vicious. It could probably strip paint. It would have thoroughly intimidated any sane person it came into contact with. Because Stiles is a grade-A piece of work with some seriously crossed wires in the sections of his brain that control fear and lust, he has to bite back a sigh as his dick twitches in his jeans. He watches in fascination as a flush spreads from the tips of Derek's ears to his cheeks, disappearing beneath his full beard.

"Don't." Derek hunches in on himself, like he needs protecting. He turns to go. "You're an asshole, Stiles, but you're not cruel."

"We were fighting about you." He blurts it out without thinking, is just desperate to stop Derek from leaving. "Because I– I'm so gone on you it's stupid, and I didn't think you'd ever– I mean, why would you?"

Derek freezes, still half turned away, his face unreadable.

"You're right," Stiles says, laughing hollowly. "Scott's right, too, the fucker. I am an asshole. And I've been a dick to everyone for ages because it was easier than telling you that I–" he cuts himself off, clears his throat. Can't quite say the words, even now.

"I spent ten years getting my feelings thrown in my face, and that was okay because it was Lydia, and once I really got to know her it was like, nothing that I felt for her ever had a foundation, you know? We never even really knew each other until I let that stuff go. So that was okay." He scrubs his hands through his hair, trying to find the right words. "But I couldn't do that with you. You, uh, you know me. And I'm not– I know I'm not– well. You'd be, y'know, nice about it. It would kill me."

Silence stretches between them for a long, uncomfortable moment. For the first time, Stiles becomes aware of their surroundings. With a sick lurch, he realizes that he's just poured his heart out in the middle of relatively crowded diner. There's a vaguely familiar off-duty cop sitting at the counter, texting rapidly on her phone. Two teenagers have their heads bent together, whispering furiously. The waitress is gaping at him, eyes wide, frozen in the act of refilling a cup of coffee. And still, Derek is a wall of silence.

"Right," Stiles says. The room is too small all of a sudden, his breath not coming fast enough. "Cool. I'm just gonna–"

He grabs his coat and all but runs out the door. He makes it halfway down the block before Derek catches up with him.

"Stiles." Derek darts in front of him, blocking his escape route. "Stop. You forgot your phone."

"Great. Thanks," Stiles mutters, accepting the offered device and jamming it in his jacket pocket. He tries to step aside, but Derek uses his bulk to cut him off. "Get out of my way."

"Stiles. Did you listen to anything that I said?"

"Sure," Stiles says, through gritted teeth. "You said you had feelings, which I took to mean something it obviously didn't. And I just stood there and told you everything, like some kind of– like some kind of Scott."

Derek kisses him.

On the Richter scale of first kisses it barely registers, because Stiles' mouth is still open indignantly, so their teeth click and Stiles bites his own tongue when he jerks back in surprise.

"Ow," he mutters, grabbing at his jaw.

"I'm so sorry," Derek says, face turning a mortified beet red, "are you–"

""Shut up," Stiles says, and throws himself into Derek's arms. The second kiss goes a long way towards making up for the first.

After a while, Stiles pulls back, panting. His whole body feels sort of tingly and glazed over, like he might melt away at any moment. Derek looks wrecked, his lips swollen and flushed, his hair a total disgrace thanks to Stiles' roaming fingers.

I did that, Stiles thinks giddily.

"So," he says, and if he had any presence of mind he would be humiliated by how low and carnal his voice sounds. "We should do that more often."

"You–," Derek breaks off and shakes his head, like he's trying to clear it. Stiles crowds closer, lets his hands fall to Derek's hips, sliding under his sweater and shirt until his cold fingers meet warm, smooth flesh. Derek's nostrils flare again, and he drops his head into the junction of Stiles' neck and shoulder, breathing him in. "Jesus, Stiles. You make me crazy."

 "Yeah." Stiles tries to get himself under control, with very little success. His heart feels like it's doing cartwheels in his chest. "The feeling is mutual. Um, the feeling is mutual. Right?"

Derek pauses, his mouth soft and hot against Stiles' pulse point. Stiles valiantly doesn't whine when he pulls away.

"Stiles, I–," Derek's face is so open it's almost painful to see. He's never looked quite so young. "I love you. It feels like I've loved you forever."

"Oh." Stiles' breath catches in his throat, and he clutches at the fabric of Derek's sweater. "Um, me too. Obviously. You're, like, it for me."

Over the years that they've known each other, Stiles has often lamented the fact that Derek almost never smiled. Sneered, yes. Smirked, definitely. Grinned that fake, shit-eating grin whenever he wanted to con someone, absolutely. But now, watching the soft, slow smile take over Derek's face like the rising sun, Stiles can't help but be grateful that he does it so infrequently. He'd never get anything done, otherwise. He's pretty sure that smile just obliterated any chance he had of not being ruined for literally every other person on earth. Lord knows what it would have done to him as a teenager.

He falls into Derek like a magnet, capturing that beautiful mouth with his own, letting himself cup Derek's jaw wth a gentleness he hadn't known he possessed, because that's allowed.

"Now what?" he asks huskily. He's close enough to rub his cheek against the scrape of Derek's scruff, shivering deliciously at the knowledge that he'll have beard burn to show for hours. Derek tightens his arms around him, nuzzling at his temple.

"Now I take you home," he says, "and you go to bed." He cuts Stiles' protests off with another kiss, this time nearly chaste, and Stiles can almost taste the sweetness of it.

"In the morning," Derek continues, "you'll call Scott, and you two will work out whatever it is you need to work out, because you always do." He chuckles softly when Stiles pulls away to scowl at him. His ridiculous eyes are bright. Happy, Stiles realizes, and his scowl melts away into a truly embarrassing smile of his own.

"Then tomorrow night, I'll come pick you up at six, and we'll go see that movie you've been telling everyone about for weeks, and afterwards we'll go get takeout and you can explain to me why it wasn't as good as the book." He brushes his thumbs across Stiles' cheekbones, searching his face. "Okay?"

"Yeah," Stiles sighs, letting himself lean back into him. "That sounds good to me."

He groans when Derek smiles that blinding smile again.

"Scott's going to be totally impossible about this, you know," he complains as they make their way to Derek's car, never straying too far from each other.

"I don't mind," Derek says mildly, his pinky catching Stiles', tangling their hands together. Stiles peeks at him from the corner of his eye and is delighted to see his cheeks flushing. The sap.

"Yeah," he sighs, squeezing Derek's hand in his. "You're worth it."

[wroughtbetwixtfanfic]

Something

Fandom: Teen Wolf.

Rating: Teen+.

Tags: Nogitsune/Scott McCall, Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski, Dying Stiles, Terminal Illnesses, Possession, Nogitsune Stiles, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Pre-Slash, Sexual Fantasy, Fluff and Angst, Weird Fluff, Foe Yay, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence.

Summary: It was all just part of the fun, at first. Scott knew Stiles was sick, had known for a while, and the nogitsune wanted to see him admit it. Things don't go quite as planned, but maybe that's a good thing.

Word Count: 774

AO3

“You know what they’re looking for, right?” It was easy enough for the nogitsune to pull up memories, to ramble out facts. It was easy enough to fake that quiet sadness. Stiles was an infinitely complex young man, and yet, simple; at his core, he was a scared, lost little boy, desperate for affection. Desperate for a savior. Something-- someone-- to mend the pain, the grief, the internal struggle. Carefully weaving all that into a facade of somber resignation, with just a hint of hopelessness... well, it was a talent that the nogitsune had perfected, and it was working on Scott like a charm.

“It’s the only form of dementia that can hit teenagers,” the nogitsune finished, his stolen voice almost matter-of-fact. Stiles was always matter-of-fact about death. His own would be no different. “And there’s no cure.” And now, to watch. Scott was looking away, his own expression tight, focused. It was fascinating, watching just how many emotions passed through the wolf’s face. Confusion, realization, horror, pain, sadness. The nogitsune wanted to tilt his head, to ask Scott if he was going to cry; he wanted to ask the boy how long he’s smelled the sickness on his friend, if he smelled like he was getting worse, why he hadn’t spoken up sooner. He wanted to ask Scott if he was already starting to mourn, as some people did when they became aware of a loved one’s slow, inevitable demise. Fascinating. Scott moved his hand to his face, his thumb briefly touching his eye; the nogitsune waited, wondering if the wolf was going to confess. If he was going to tell Stiles what he already knew, and what Stiles had already guessed. Would Stiles, locked somewhere deep inside his own body, helpless to do anything but watch, be angry? Would he cry, too? Would he turn to the fox and scream, you knew didn’t you, because he couldn’t let himself get angry at the one person he loved more than anyone? “Stiles,” Scott finally murmured. The nogitsune held his breath. Oh, it was going to be beautiful. “If you have it... we’ll do something.” Wait. Furrowing his eyebrows, the nogitsune looked away from Scott. We? What did Scott possibly think they could do? It was a death sentence-- one that Scott had known about. He could see the guilt on the boy, and yet... And yet Scott was looking at them then.The sadness had given way to a quiet determination, the guilt replaced by... what? “I’ll do something,” the wolf said, his voice stronger. Scott moved closer, reaching out and resting a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. The nogitsune’s shoulder. For a moment, the fox just stared, but then Scott nodded, his eyes glowing just a faint hint of red; the meaning of ‘something’ suddenly became clear. A werewolf, offering his power to a dying friend-- a savior at last. Their gazes locked, and the nogitsune blinked rapidly as his eyesight was suddenly blurred by tears. They were crying. He was crying. Before he could stop himself, he surged forward, curling the body’s thin arms around Scott and holding tight. It felt right, doing that. It felt good. Without hesitation, Scott returned the embrace, murmuring soothing words into the body’s neck as the nogitsune allowed the tears to flow. Suffering. Pain. Both things that the nogitsune fed on, and happily, but the feelings coursing around the wolf and through the fox right then were almost as delicious. Maybe, if he were an honest soul, it was even better. It was sweeter than guilt and strife; it was a rich, heady mixture of sensations and emotions that sank down deep into his body and stayed there, heavy in a pleasing way. Friendship. Comfort. Love. The doctor’s voice droned from behind a window. “It’s time for the test. Scott?” “It’ll be okay.” Scott pulled away, and the warmth left with him. “I’ll be in the waiting room.” With a sigh, the nogitsune watched Scott leave before stretching out on his back, shifting the body against the cold, plastic table of the machine. New thoughts were running through his mind, new and strange ideas; suddenly he could picture the wolf’s body closer, warmer, wrapped all around this new body of his. Oh, Stiles had thought about it before. How many times had he hinted at it? The boy wanted it, but was always too timid, too shy, too much of all the things that would get him absolutely nowhere. But now... The nogitsune closed his eyes as the machine began to clang. Naturally, he had no such flaws. He’d had a taste, and he wanted more.