We have carefully crafted a society that gives us the option of not feeling. When that overwhelming unknowing starts to loom over us, we shoo it away. We text, we vent via social media, we eat, drink, fuck, anything we can not to let it take hold. But in doing so we are sidestepping the root of the problem. We are human, and we all have this eternal emptiness inside of us, ever since we were taken away from the mothers womb. It’s like we are walking through the dark with a flickering flashlight, giving us just enough artificial light to get by. But if you can resist the temptation to mask it when it comes, let the sadness take over and just cry… You will see how profound it is feel. Your body will respond to this pain, and almost like antibodies, happiness will rush up to meet the misery, and you will see that it’s not so bad. Your entire world will light up again, and everything will be clear. Throw away the broken torch, embrace your feelings and head for the sun
Hello, I was hoping you could do a Malia Tate imagine where the reader is her girlfriend. And the reader use to date Tracy so when the reader found out Tracy died, Malia was there to comfort her and then they became girlfriends. Now after a few weeks Scott’s pack and Theo’s pack have a meeting the reader sees Tracy and Malia is there with her and is holding her. Tracy gets jealous, Malia is protective and is cute with the reader because the reader is sad and confused. Malia is there for her ☼
A/N- Happy Valentine’s Day guys! That was the last request in my ask. There were about two or three I chose not to do, so if I didn’t answer your request, I’m sorry but it just wasn’t something I had the inspiration for.
Malia lay awake in the dark, staring the ceiling as you rested next to her. She knew you weren’t asleep yet, even though you had been lying next to her for more than an hour. She wanted to reach out and wrap her arms around you, but she didn’t know if she should. She didn’t want to do anything that could give you the wrong impression, even though her feelings for you were less than secret. She missed the nights when she had first turned back to human, before things had been complicated. She remembered how she used to crawl into your window late at night when she couldn’t sleep and didn’t feel like being alone. She knew she could always talk to your brother Stiles, but even though you were twins she had always preferred you over him. At first you had let her sneak in, but when your girlfriend Tracy found out about your impromptu sleepovers, Malia had to lay off. It wasn’t like you were doing anything, but Tracy didn’t know the supernatural. You couldn’t exactly explain how Malia needed someone to teach her how to be human, so you had regretfully asked Malia to stop sneaking in. She had understood, but her feelings for you hadn’t disappeared. You weren’t just the person who had taught her humanity or her best friend. In her eyes, you were her everything. She had hated keeping a distance from you because of Tracy, but once she had died, Malia had been right by your side. While she may have had feelings for you, they didn’t cloud her judgement, and all she wanted to do was be there for you. That meant a lot of late night talks, holding you when you cried, and coming over whenever you called, which was exactly what she had done tonight. Your father was at the station and Stiles was with Scott, and you couldn’t stand being alone in your empty house. You had called Malia nearly in tears, unable to stop thinking about Tracy and how she had died. Malia had run straight over, not even bothering to hop in her car to do so. She had pulled herself through your window like she had done all those months ago, and you would be lying if you said you hadn’t missed it. That was how you ended up lying side by side in your bed, wrapped up in your warm comforter and silently staring at the ceiling. After about an hour of this, Malia was beginning to get worried about you. She could hear your heart beat fluctuating, and even though you had called her there to talk you had barely said one word to her. Finally, she decided that she would say something first. “Alright, what’s wrong?” she asked as she rolled over onto her side. “I can practically hear you thinking.” You rolled over to look at her, pressing your cheek into the pillow as you met her brown eyes in the darkness. “Do you think we’re meant to be with more than one person?” you asked quietly. “What do you mean?” Malia asked. “Like, if you’re so sure you belong with one person, but then things change and you feel like you’re meant to be with someone else, is that true? Or were you never meant to be with the first person?” you asked. Malia took a deep breath, trying to decode what you were saying. She had never been good with emotions, especially not ones like forgiveness and love. You were the one exception, because if she was confused about everything else, the one thing she was always sure about was you. “I think feelings can change,” she told you honestly. “I think that you can love someone and that can change, but it doesn’t make you a bad person. It doesn’t make it wrong.” “Oh,” you whispered. “Okay.” You took a deep breath and leaned forward, and before Malia could even realize what was going on, you were pressing your lips onto hers. The kiss was gentle and sweet, and Malia wanted to reach out and pull you closer, but you quickly jerked away. “Sorry!” you cried as you quickly turned onto your other side. “Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to do that.” “Y/n,” Malia said softly as she reached out to put her hand on your shoulder. “I can tell when you’re lying.” “Right,” you said as you swallowed harshly. Malia leaned forward as her fingers rested against your shoulder and you could just barely feel her hovering above you. She leaned down, balancing on her free arm as she pressed her lips onto yours again. You reached up to wrap your arms around her neck, finally facing all the feelings that you had been avoiding since you had met her. You couldn’t help but feel like you were betraying Tracy, but you knew she would want you to be happy. Thoughts of your former girlfriend slowly drained from your mind as Malia kissed you, because how could you hold a coherent thought when her hand was resting on your hip like that? You ran your fingers through her silky, straight hair, tugging gently on one of the short strands as you rolled over. Malia knew it was late and she knew you were hurting, and maybe she shouldn’t have been kissing you so soon, but at the moment she didn’t care. She had been waiting almost a year to do this, and she never thought she’d ever get the chance. “Malia?” you whispered breathlessly as you pulled away. “I think I love you.” Malia smiled and reached up to run her thumb across your cheek. “I know,” she whispered before pulling your lips back onto hers. Thinking back on it, maybe she should have said it back. Malia wasn’t one for words, but you didn’t really mind. Her lips on yours told you everything you needed to know, and you couldn’t imagine a more perfect way for her to share her feelings.
Stiles was sitting at the kitchen table, mindlessly flipping through a newspaper when he heard footsteps padding into the kitchen. He immediately thought it was you, and called out in annoyance. “Hey, where’d you put the keys to the jeep? I can’t find them anywhere.” “How the hell should I know?” a blunt voice asked. Stiles blinked, thinking that your voice was a lot different and ruder than it had been when he had last talked to you. Considering it was about one in the afternoon, it took him a lot longer than it should have to realize that it wasn’t you. He whirled around and let the paper thump onto the table, only to find Malia walking over to his fridge and opening it with nothing but one of your long, flannel shirts on. He noticed how the shirt trailed down past her thighs, but Stiles was a little more concerned about how she had ended up in his house partially clothed, and why she was drinking his orange juice straight out of the carton. “Uh, hey Malia,” he said awkwardly. “Hey,” she told him indifferently, just before she made a disgusted noise. “This has pulp in it.” “Sorry?” “That’s okay,” she told him as she set the orange juice down on the shelf. “I’ll just have milk.” “Uh, did you and Y/n have a sleepover?” Stiles asked. “You could call it that,” Malia said. Stiles blinked, and then his eyes went wide. He opened his mouth to say something, but the padding of your footsteps on the stairs interrupted him. He looked over as you walked into the kitchen barefoot, tossing him his keys in the process. “Those were on my desk.” “Seriously?” Stiles asked as his eyes flicked from you to Malia. “I was home last night!” “You were at Scott’s!” you protested. “Till like eleven!” he complained. Malis frowned as she looked from you to Stiles. “I don’t understand.” “Stiles is just bitching,” you told her. “He’s jealous because he’s still hopelessly single.” Stiles made a disgusted noise and shook his head. “Can we please talk about something else? You guys know there’s a pack meeting tonight right? We have to go see Theo and his chimeras.” “Chimeras?” you repeated. “Like, chimeras plural?” “He didn’t just bring back Hayden?” Malia asked. Stiles nodded. “We don’t know who they are yet. And since this beast thing is destroying the whole town, Scott thinks we need all the help we can get.” “He’s going to trust Theo?” you asked him. “The guy who literally killed him?” Stiles shrugged. “I didn’t say it was a good idea, but it’s the best we’ve got.” “And the chimeras,” you asked after you swallowed thickly. “Is…is Tracy…?” “I don’t know,” Stiles told you softly. “But if she’s alive-” “Maybe she needs our help,” you cut him off. “Y/n,” Stiles said gently. “I think she wants to be with them.” “But-” “Her dad is dead, Y/n,” your brother told you. “But he was already hurt,” you tried. “And she didn’t know what she was doing!” “They found traces of a paralytic toxin in his I.V.bag, Y/n,” Stiles explained gently. “It looked a lot like kanima venom.” “What?” you whispered. “She killed him?” “I don’t think she’s a totally unwilling pack member,” he admitted. Malia reached out with a frown and put a hand on your shoulder. “Stiles,” she growled. “Leave it alone.” Stiles gave one curt nod. “Right. I’ll uh, I’ll leave you guys alone.” He sneakers thumped on the floor as he walked out of the kitchen, but you barely heard him. Malia reached out to wrap an arm around your shoulders and give them a gentle squeeze. She leaned into you, inhaling the scent of your hair fresh from your shower. “Don’t worry,” she assured. you “Just like you always tell me, everything’ll work out.” You nodded and as Malia wrapped her arms around your middle, you buried your face in her shoulder. She kissed the top of your head, but as she held you, she wasn’t so sure she had told you the truth. While she wanted to believe everything would work out, she couldn’t help but feel like everything would fall apart the moment you laid your eyes on Tracy.
The jeep screeched to a stop in the school parking lot, and you, Malia and Stiles all cringed at the squeaking of the brakes. “We really need to get those fixed,” you remarked as you tried to distract yourself from the coming meeting. “Oh yeah?” Stiles asked. “And I’m guessing you’re going to pay for that?” “Maybe it can wait,” you said with a sigh. “Come on,” Malia said as she tugged on your hand. “Scott and Kira are already here.” Malia opened the back door, and you both crawled out, looking around nervously. Scott and Kira walked up to you, small frowns on their faces. “They’re already here,” Scott told you. “Behind the buses.” You took a deep breath and started to walk, tightly gripping Malia’s hand as she walked by your side. In a few moments, you were rounding the corner of a bus and catching sight of the four pack members standing between two buses. Theo was there, with a cruel smirk on his face like always. Corey and Josh were there too, but Hayden was nowhere to be found. You guessed she wasn’t really cool with the whole evil chimera pack thing, but if she couldn’t be there, why was Tracy? You caught sight of her dark hair and bitter eyes, and any hope you had ever had of her coming back to your side disappeared. You felt like you had been punched in the stomach as she looked at you, so angry and bitter. When her eyes met yours, they lit up for a brief second. “Y/n!” she cried as she darted forward. In seconds, Theo had snatched her arm and yanked her back. At the same time, Malia darted in front of you in a protective stance, letting out a warning growl. A wave of tension seemed to spread through the air, and Tracy glared at Malia. You reached out and gently grabbed Malia’s hand, intertwining your fingers through hers. “Stop,” you whispered. Theo looked over at Tracy with a glare. “You’re a part of my pack now,” he reminded her. “Besides, it looks like she’s moved on pretty fast.” Tracy frowned as she eyed you and Malia’s hands together, and you instantly felt a wave of guilt wash through you. You knew she was incredibly hurt that you had gotten together with Malia, and you were just as confused. You wondered if you had made the right decision to confess your feelings. You looked over at Tracy and her broken eyes, and a disturbing thought crossed your mind. From the moment you had met Malia, you knew you had had feelings for her. You had still been with Tracy at the time, but you couldn’t get the persistent question out of your mind. Had you ever really loved her at all?
“I’m a horrible person,” you whispered as you laid in bed with Malia. Tissues dotted every surface of your bed, and you were curled up against your girlfriend’s side. She ran a hand comfortingly down your hair, trying to sooth you. “You’re not a horrible person,” she told you simply. “You’re just confused.” “She must hate me,” you said softly. “Maybe,” Malia agreed with a shrug. “But she’s also a murderer so she really can’t judge. And at least I don’t hate you. I love you.” “Really?” you asked as your cheek pressed against her shoulder. “Really,” Malia told you. “And I’m really glad you told me how you feel. Otherwise I wouldn’t get to do this.” She smiled and leaned closer to you, gently pressing a kiss to your cheek. You smiled in return and threw an arm around her waist, knowing she was right. It didn’t matter what Tracy thought of you now, because she wasn’t your girlfriend. You had loved her, but not in the way you loved Malia and not in the way she loved you. You figured that Malia had had a point the other night when she told you about loving more than one person. Things changed all the time and just because one good love ended didn’t mean you couldn’t find another, maybe one that was even better. And as you lay there with Malia, you knew that this one was definitely better.
prompt request: stiles and lydia stuck in an elevator
Ten minutes pass before Stiles asks Lydia if she trusts him.
She doesn’t know what to say.
He’s on the floor of the elevator with scruff across his jaw and bags under his eyes, and he’s nearly nogitsune-pale, with brows that furrow thickly over his otherwise smooth skin. Lydia looks at him and feels herself gliding uneasily out of her body; she is staring at the boy with whom she’d fallen in love, but she is also looking at someone unrecognizable. She used to touch him and feel his skin, soft and warm under her fingertips. Now, she thinks that if she were to reach down and grab his hand, her nerves would no longer recognize the palm pressed up against hers as Stiles Stilinski’s palm.
She misses him. But that doesn’t mean she trusts him. Doesn’t mean she doesn’t trust him, either.
With her life, yes. She would place it in his hands a thousand times over and know that he would never squander it. There is a part of her that knows that Stiles will always value the pink in her cheeks and the up-and-down movements in her chest that let him know that she is still breathing. But there’s so much more that she had wanted to give him, things she holds closer than her life, and when she looks down at the stranger on the floor, she is suddenly too scared to make the handoff.
“What exactly does that have to do with this elevator breaking down?” Lydia asks, annoyance crossing her tone because goddamn Stiles Stilinski is asking cryptic questions that have too many answers.
“If you did, I could probably convince you that everything’s gonna be okay.”
She huffs loudly.
“You can’t. So l… I guess I don’t trust you.”
He raps a hand against the floor, laughing bitterly.
“You aren’t a genius for nothing.”
Lydia knocks her head back against the steel wall of the elevator, listening to the bang that reverberates all the way through it. It’s like a call-and-response, each reply getting softer until there aren’t words anymore, and she and Stiles had always been like that too. They started off loud and harsh and eventually they would wind themselves around each other until their words muffled the other’s bitterness.
She thinks that a part of her had always liked how delicate he was with her despite how angry he acted towards everybody else.
Well. Stiles hasn’t been delicate towards anyone lately, much less Lydia Martin.
“What do you think is going on out there?” she questions, sliding down the wall and taking a seat adjacent to him.
Stiles winces at the callback to what their friends are going through without them.
“Probably death, destruction, and general demolition of everything we hold dear.” He pauses, voice breaking as he says, “Do you think Scott did this on purpose, or…?”
“No,” Lydia says abruptly, cutting him off. “He knows that he needs you. He wouldn’t.”
“Right,” Stiles mutters. “Yeah.”
Something feels off about it, so Lydia raises her eyebrows.
“You don’t believe me?”
He doesn’t respond directly.
“Everything feels wrong,” he says instead, eyes fixed unseeingly on the back wall. “Like… like every part of us is unsettled.”
Lydia hesitates, soothing the heart that has just catapulted itself into her throat.
“With you and Scott?”
She doesn’t know why he’s startled to hear her voice, but he jumps a bit.
“No,” he says quickly. “With… the entire universe. I guess.”
The cold material of the floor is leaving angry red imprints on the back of Lydia’s legs. She winces as she lifts them up, crossing her legs carefully so that she takes up as little space possible. And she realizes, with some, small jolt, that despite everything, there’s nobody left on this earth that she would rather be stuck in an elevator with.
He squints at the floor, kneading his hands together absently.
“Or maybe it’s just me.”
“Is it because of Donovan?”
Stiles’ answers come quickly, banging off of each other in the echoey elevator.
For some reason, she gets it. There’s a moment where Lydia thinks she can reassure him, but then there’s a thump and a scream from above them, and the fact that Stiles doesn’t wince makes her insides turn cold.
“It’s going to be fine,” she says, repeating it in her head like a mantra.
“Why?” Stiles asks, empty. “Why do you think that?”
“Because I can still swallow back the screams.” His eyes jerk up towards her, even while his body remains slightly slumped over. “It’s like… it’s like nicotine gum in the back of my throat. It makes me cough, but I can swallow it away and try to ignore the burn.”
Reflexively, Stiles swallows as well. She follows the bobbing of his Adam’s apple up to his eyes, which are searching hers for the first time since they’d silently walked into the elevator.
“And that’s good?” he asks.
“That’s really good.”
The fact that she knows this makes Lydia’s heart sink lower in her stomach. Suddenly, she wants to claw her way out. Because it doesn’t feel like she will ever escape. Escape this elevator, which is physically trapping here her. Escape this body, with all of its defects and its flaws and the neverending screams at the back of her throat.
Escape Stiles, who is somehow still the boy she had fallen in love with and is, simultaneously, a terrifyingly unrecognizable man.
“You’re pissed at me.”
He says it clearly, without pretense or emotion.
“When am I not?”
Stiles shakes his head.
“It’s not the same.”
Lydia tilts her head to the side, suspicious.
“I had no idea you were so excellent at reading people’s innermost thoughts and moods,” she says sarcastically.
“Just yours,” Stiles tells her calmly. “It’s because of Donovan, right?”
The only thing worse than Stiles thinking that he’s a monster is him think that she thinks he’s a monster.
“You know it’s not because you killed someone in self-defense. Come on, Stiles. Dig a little deeper.”
He laughs harshly.
“I’m actually more of a one-setting kind of guy.”
“Would you just… stop?” Lydia asks, exhaustion in her voice. “Stop underestimating me.”
“You act like I don’t know you,” she says, standing up because the idea of sitting on the floor with the ghost of something that used to make her smile suddenly makes Lydia feel sick. “I’m fucking sick of it, Stiles.”
“You do, and it makes me… god, it makes me crazy.”
She squeezes her eyes shut, and when she opens them again, he’s standing up as well, directly across from her on their separate sides of the elevator that had malfunctioned at the worst time possible.
Their timing, Lydia realizes, is just superb. Always has been.
“You don’t know me.”
“The fact that you even–”
He groans in exasperation.
“So what, Lydia? You think you know me even when I feel like I don’t know myself lately?”
She doesn’t know every exact atom that makes him up, but she knows the marrow of him. The core. The part that she had fallen for thinking that there was a net. And she hadn’t stopped when she hadn’t hit it.
“I’m so done with your shit, Stiles.” He grunts in annoyance, turning away. “Do you honestly think that ignoring me would make me know you less? Do you think that dating someone else would make me see you differently? The only changes away from the person that you want to be are ones that you created with your own stubbornness, and I’m sick of you feeling like you can’t push it away if you want to. It’s your life– your armor. You can do whatever you want with it.”
The elevator jerks up with a start, and when Stiles feels the movement, his eyes turn to Lydia, absolutely wild. She stares at him. He stares back. And then he’s got his palm flat against the wall behind her head, eyes burning as he stares at her, much too close.
“Do you trust me, Lydia?” he asks, breath warm against her lips. She shakes her head, ‘no,’ and he nods before placing his hands on her cheeks and kissing her, too desperate and too angry and too impatient. She keeps her eyes closed for too long after he pulls away. “Could you trust me? Like, in the future? Eventually?”
She bites her lip, licking across it slowly before she opens her eyes.
When the elevator door dings open, he’s just looking at her with slumped shoulders and too much space between their bodies. Lydia feels lost already as she stares past Stiles and to the array of bodies strewn across the hospital floor. She doesn’t know who did it. She doesn’t know if they’re living people. She doesn’t even know good from bad.
A glance back up at Stiles tells her that she might not be able to tell for a long time still.
Beleaguered actress Kira Yukimura’s life is one disappointing setback after another: she’s eternally single, her friends are rarely in town, and she’s lucky if she can land an awful “hot ninja” role in a buddy comedy. She can’t even comfort herself with ice cream and Netflix, because there are too many bad movies she is in in her suggestions list, and her trainer would kill her. So when she gets a second shot at the big time with a leading role in a film that could change everything, she’s determined to make it out of the typecast hole she’s found herself in, and goes into the project with her signature focus times about ten.
She barely noticed newcomer Malia Tate until they started sharing scenes together, but that hyperfocus is killing her now - she can’t stop thinking about Malia’s laugh, her smile, the way her body looks in that bikini scene. Malia’s part in the film isn’t large, but before she knows it, Malia has a starring role in Kira’s daydreams.
When Kira finds out these feelings go both ways, she’s thrilled - until she remembers she’s famous, she’s trying to rehab her career, and she’s definitely not out. Somehow between takes she’s fallen in love with this wild girl, and now she has to figure out what’s most important: being the big star she’s always dreamed of being, or having the big love she never thought she’d find.