miss splatter

Headache - Tyler Joseph Imagine

Imagine- You get a bad fever right before Tyler and Josh have to start a show. (Fluffy fluff at the end :3)
Requested by @hunterbunter123

Triggers- none

Note- I also do Josh imagines, for anyone who wants to request. I’m happy doing more Tyler ones tho! whatever you guys want💕
also sorry for the non creative name :,))
oh yea and i haven’t fully proof-readed it so sorry if something is messed up!!


Being on tour with the boys was amazing. You got to see all kinds of fun things, and you get to spend all of it with your boyfriend, Tyler.
Seeing Tyler and Josh’s shows almost every night is beyond what words can imagine. No matter how many you see, you could never get sick of their shows. They blow you away each time.
As soon as you woke up that day, you could feel a small pain in your temple. You decided to take some meds and try to ignore it.
Later on in the day, when you were at the venue and with only an hour until the show, the headache came back, and you felt slightly warmer than usual.
You knew if you told Tyler, he’d cancel the show to make sure your alright the whole afternoon, so you decided not to tell him.
Well, that plan went out great, considering Tyler was now approaching you with concern in his eyes.
“Hey, you alright babe?”
“Hey Ty, I’m fine. Just a small headache,” you smiled.
“Do you need anything?”
“I’m fine, honestly. Don’t worry about me.”
“Okay, okay, just checking,” He smiled and leaned in to give you a quick kiss.

As the hour progressed, you could feel yourself heating up more, and the headache growing.
You decided you’d tell Tyler after the show. You didn’t want him to cancel the show just for silly old you. Besides, you could hold your ground until the end of the show.
Tyler must have noticed you weren’t feeling well, because you turned around to see him coming towards you again.
“You sure you okay, y/n?” He grabbed your hand. “Y/n, You’re so warm! What’s wrong?” He looked into your eyes with worry on his face.
“I’m fine, Babe. Don’t worry about me, you have a show in just a few minutes,” You tried to reassure him.
“Not if your sick-”
“Hey, please don’t cancel the show. I’ll take some medicine and i’ll be fine. I promise.”
Tyler hesitated. “Okay… if your sure. But if your still not feeling good by the end of the show, i’m taking you to see a doctor, alright?”
“Alright Babe. Love you,” You smiled.

You took the medicine right before the show, and it worked. For awhile.
Near the end of the show it came back, but what felt like a million times worse. The headache. The heating up. You started getting muscle aches and feeling nauseous as well.
You saw Mark come up to you right after Tyler and Josh finished the last song.
“Hey y/n, you alright? You don’t look so good.”
“I don’t know, i think i’m getting a fever.”
“Do you-”
Before he could go on, you felt your mouth water and your spit tasted very odd.
You ran to the bathroom, some of your vomit missing the toilet and splattering against the floor.
It felt like you spent a solid 30 minutes of straight vomiting until you heard the door open to the bathroom.
“Y/n? Y/n, oh my gosh,” You instantly recognized Tyler’s voice growing with worry. He was by your side in an instant and rubbed your back, holding your hair for you while you vomited once more.
“Hey, Ty…,” You said shakily.
“Hey. Are you alright? We are taking you to see a doctor.” He helped you up, and you didn’t protest as you put an arm around you to help you walk to the your bus with everyone else.
“Y/n, are you okay?” Josh came from behind you.
“I think i have a fever but.. for now, yea.”

After visiting the doctors office, you went back to the bus to relax for the rest of the afternoon. The doctor had given you more effective medicine, and it helped a lot, though you still felt a little headache and were slightly warm.
You were in your bunk on the bus, on your phone while your supposed to be sleeping.
You heard a quiet knocking and Tyler peeked his head through the certain of the bunk.
“I thought you were supposed to be sleeping,” he asked, smiling.
“I guess i’m just not that tired,” you smiled back.
“Are you feeling better?”
“A bit, i still have a headache though.”
“Can i come in?” He asked.
You moved your feet so he could crawl in with you. He was on the other side, facing you.
He grabbed your hand. “I love you, y/n.”
“I know,” You smiled, “But i love you more.” At this point, you have totally forgotten about your fever.
“Is that a challenge?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Maybe it is.”
He leaned in and starting tickling you, and peppered your face with kisses.
“Okay, okay! Stop that,” You said through your laughter.
He stopped and looked at you with bright eyes. “I win!”
“Your such a child,” You laughed.
“The child you fell in love with,” He grinned.
“Yea, the child i fell in love with.” You crawled over to him and sat next to him. He wrapped his arms around you and kissed your forehead.
Just then, you realized how tired you were, and you drifted off into sleep, in Tyler’s arms.

Zarya skins I just made up that would probably be better than her Anniversary skin:

-Wartorn (Origins): A variant on Weightlifter, or on civilian clothing, showing her just after defending her hometown and enlisting. Her clothes are all scratched and battered, and her cannon visibly has wires and metal hanging off of it from being torn free, with scratches in the metal down the sides, with most of the decals missing. She’s splattered with motor oil, and (if won’t bump the rating up) her scar is visibly bleeding.

-Medieval: Old, scratched medieval armor, probably once silver steel, now faded to a rough grey, covered with the pelt of a bear, serving as an improvised cloak. Her cannon has a similar design to Mercy’s Valkyrie set weapons, although slightly less ornate.

-Punk Rock: In keeping with the punk theme of her Cybergoth set. Her armor is replaced with a leather jacket covered in patches for various bands, jeans, and dark combat boots. Her gun has a simple matte black paint finish, with the decals replaced with the same logos that are on the jacket.

-Aleksandra the Great: Literally fucking old Greek/Macedonian armor with ornately finished bronze on the armor and cannon. Don’t give me a character named after Alexander the Great and then not use the opportunity you’ve made for yourself.

-1812: A Napoleonic era Russian military uniform, with a captain’s rank markings and an officer’s sword at her side. The cannon is designed after a rifle or musket, made from wood or steel.

-Cyberdemon: Cyberdemon.

Since Ever

“I’m Malia,” she introduced herself, tucking her unruled hair behind her ears. “That’s my house,” she said, pointing to the house next door.

“Stiles,” he returned. “I guess this is my house,” he said pointing to the door up the driveway.

Back then, Malia had a few inches on Stiles. And no matter how much her mom tried, her hair always ended up ruffled mess.

She had a few missing teeth and mud splattered tennis shoes.

Stiles had a bad haircut and never left the house without his astronaut toy.

“What kind of name is Stiles?” Malia asked out of the blue. Socializing had never been one of her fortes.

“It’s a nickname,” Stiles informed. “What kind of name is Malia,” he said, just to tease her.

She squinted at him, daring him to say something else.

Before Stiles could react, she gave herself away in a shy laugh.

“Malia,” a woman sounded from her house. “Come on, dinner’s ready.”

Malia’s eyes widened at the mention of food. “I have to go. You wanna come over?”

Stiles politely shook his head no. “I have to unpack,” he excused himself.

“That’s okay,” Malia said.

“Hey, do you wanna come out and play later?” he asked.


In third grade, Stiles met Lydia Martin. That’s when everything changed.

“And I told my dad no way, I wasn’t wearing a dress anywhere, right….” Malia slowly stopped talking, noticing how Stiles wasn’t listening to her.

She turned in her seat at the noisy middle school cafeteria, trying to follow his gaze.

“Who are you looking at?” she asked, giving up.

“An angel,” Stiles said, his eyes glossed over with admiration.

Malia scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh,” she hummed mockingly.

“No, I’m serious. Look,” he said, pointing at her direction with his PB&J sandwich.

Malia looked up and saw debatably the prettiest girl she had seen. “Wow,” she let out, only to amuse Stiles.

“She’s perfect,” he sighed.

Malia turned her head a little to see Stiles, who now looked in a daze.

Maybe it was a part of her that didn’t understand, maybe it was a part of her she wasn’t aware of, but when Stiles spent the rest of the year gushing about her, she felt a little prick in her heart. In simple, third grade terms, it made her sad.

She thought Stiles was the most handsome boy in Beacon Hills. He had the prettiest face, softest hair, and smartest brain. She would never admit it to anyone, but she quite enjoyed being his neighbor.

They would get to carpool all the time. They played together outside quite often. They were more or less joined at the hip, and she very much liked that.

But whenever Stiles went on and on about Lydia, it sucked.

Even then, Malia knew she would never be Lydia. Ever.

Her hair would never do that. Her face would never do that. She could never dress that way. She would never get a golden star on all of her papers.

She could never be what Stiles wanted.


In fourth grade, they world crashed down on them.

Both of their moms and Malia’s little sister had died.

They happened around the same time, and they were the only ones in the little town that knew exactly what they were going through.

Through the hospitals, through the funerals, lonely days, they were there for each other.

During those times, Malia would latch in to Stiles’ hand, and wouldn’t let go until it was over. He was like her rock.

Stiles was glad he could comfort Malia in any way he could and realized the relief having someone did, so he held hers back too.

Malia thought they would be friends forever. Best friends.

And at night, when the cold and darkness invaded her and everything around her, and she needed to latch to something hopeful in the future, she thought of Stiles.

She was beginning to suppress this part of her, but she hoped one day they would hold hands but not as friends. It was like a word she had studied for a vocabulary quiz. It would be non-platonic.


In fifth grade, Stiles met Scott McCall. Malia liked Scott, he was nice, however an inkling inside of her told her there wasn’t enough room in Stiles for both of them.

Malia just excused herself from everything and became seemingly reserved.

Obviously people that new her, though the opposite, but kids at school would just wonder why she never spoke.

No one did, as people thought she tended to be scary. She had lost her confidant.

Stiles and Malia considered themselves each other’s best friend, but as time went on, they came to strictly refer to each other as neighbors.

However, Malia sensed she was losing something important.

It wasn’t a lost cause, as she had met Erica and Isaac. They seemed nice enough to be friends with. They shared her sense of humor and they weren’t snobs, like every one else in Beacon Hills.

The following year, sixth grade, his dad got promoted to sheriff of Beacon Hills. The Stilinski’s disappeared to the other, newer, and nicer side of town.

It was only ten minutes if they biked, but it felt so far.

Malia couldn’t explain how she felt; it was like sand running through her fingers, and she couldn’t do anything to catch it.

“There’s a park halfway,” Stiles brought up, as they were sitting on his driveway his last day at the house. “We can split the distance.”

Malia nodded, while staring off into the distance. “Apparently there’s already moving in like right after you leave,” she commented.

“Already trying to replace me?” Stiles joked, faking a hurt expression.

“Of course, I couldn’t wait for this,” she laughed.

“Ha, ha,” Stiles fake laughed. “Well at least we’ll both have someone.”

Stiles referred to the fact she now had a new neighbor and he coincidentally moved a block away from Scott.

“Yeah,” Malia said dryly, knowing Stiles was now going to be with his absolute best friend and she had to pretend to be okay with someone moving into Stiles’ house.

She didn’t know how to tell him the weird feeling in her gut. She couldn’t figure out how to communicate with him.

“And guess how far Lydia lives away from my new house?” he asked, prompting her to guess.

“How far?” she played along.

“Three blocks away,” he grinned. “Three.”

Malia gritted her teeth. She was being booted out. A surge of jealousy ran through her. She wanted to make some mean comment. Something about her being glad he liked his new neighbor so much, but she didn’t.

She nodded and played along, just for old times’ sake.


In seventh grade, they had begun to fluctuate in their closeness of friendship.

At the beginning, they would only give each other acknowledging looks in the hallway, but then after Malia switch to advanced science, they had fifty minutes to do labs together and to catch up.

“So, welcome to the cool kids club,” Stiles teased, extending his arm to signal the class.

“I wouldn’t consider seventh grade biology very cool,” Malia replied, sliding into the seat in front of Stiles.

“Ah, I’ve missed you,” he joked sarcastically, an homage to Malia’s passive aggressive remarks.

And the for the rest of the school year, Stiles would alternate between resting his head on his hand, his face slightly tilted right, to appreciate Lydia’s grandeur.

She was just stunning. Everyday, her hair was in the same perfect ringlets and wore an ironed dress. She answered every single question right and volunteered to work every problem. She was his dream girl. They had so much in common, yet he could never talk to her.

She always left class with a purposeful walk and left him just trying to catch up with her. Anytime he wanted to discuss possibilities to study for a test, she went to ask the teacher about what an AP problem would look like.

So that left him with Malia. Which, in reality, wasn’t all that bad. For the most part they had been casual friends, mostly talking when they needed to, but they had really grown together over this year.

Malia often was lost, and Stiles was more than helpful to her. He hated the fact Malia failed most of her tests because then she would get teased my some of the kids in the class.

She was great company, yet she horribly distracted him. When he would look at the board, her wavy head of hair would always be in his peripheral.

One day the bell rung, letting the kids out of school. Stiles was eager to get home, as it was a Friday, and shoved everything in his backpack and was heading out the door. He was about to wave goodbye to Malia when she waved him over.

“Stiles can you stay a few minutes to help me do this one?” Malia asked him. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I just don’t get this.”

She ran a hand through her hair messing it up. Her fingers gripped at her scalp in frustration.

“Hey,” Stiles began, placing his hand on Malia’s for a second to remind her to let go. “It’s okay.”

Malia relaxed her grip and picked her pencil up. “I just have no idea what’s going on.”

Stiles took a seat next to her and leaned close to her to see her worksheet.

“Oh, they’re Punnet squares,” he noted. “They’re okay, you’ll get them,” he encouraged her.

As he explained, Malia looked to him, giving him a few nods every once in a while so he could know she was understanding.

Yet, the longer he explained the Punnet square to her, the less focused she was. His voice became a background noise and the beating of her heart filled her ears.

His eyes did this weird thing when he explained to her. The brown got deeper and he looked between the paper and her a lot, his eyes lingering on her at times.

And when he noticed he was taking too long just to check if she was understanding, he would pry his eyes away, blinking as if to shake the thought out of his head.

And Stiles did. He couldn’t even think about Malia like that. How could he?

He told himself it was just because it was polite to look up at her once in a while. But when he did, he would catch her dazing off at him.

It was weird to explain, to him it felt like butterflies but without to part that felt like he was on a drop ride. He felt comfortable.

Once they had somehow gotten past the explaining and the example, they both looked up at each other and locked eyes.

“Thank you,” Malia said quietly, as the teacher was still in he room.

“Yeah… Anytime,” he replied politely. “You could come over, or we could get together, or you know, something like that for a test or something,” he added, stammering.

“That’d be nice,” she said, glancing at him.

Stiles stuck his hands in his pockets, hoping Malia had more homework questions.

“So, do you wanna walk out?” Malia asked.

“Uh, yeah,” he agreed. After she swung her backpack over he shoulder, Stiles motioned forward of him. “After you,” he said.

Malia grinned at the considerate mannerism.

They ended up walking outside together, where they walked over to where they kept their bikes.

“See you tomorrow,” Malia said, waving goodbye behind her, as she pedaled slowly.

“See you,” Stiles called out to her.

He stayed just a second to watch her and he realized as soon as she was out of sight, the giddy, happy feeling in his stomach had significantly subdued for some reason.


By eighth grade, Stiles had had a growth spurt, yet he didn’t exactly tower over Malia. Her long legs helped her to only be a few inches shorter than him.

And by then, Stiles had begun to notice how pretty Malia had gotten. No longer was she made up of awkward ponytails and and capri shorts.

At times he would find himself pay more attention to things he had never noticed. It was weird, he had never even noticed how deep the brown color of her eyes were. He hadn’t taken note of how her eyes seemed to twinkle when she smiled.

Of course there thoughts weren’t sudden; the didn’t appear in his head all at once. So he never payed any attention to them. Anytime he thought of one, he just shook his head, knowing things weren’t that way.


Malia was outside, doodling in her notebook, when she heard the familiar sound of a noisy bike. She set her notebook down and started making her way to meet Stiles on the sidewalk.

He was riding so fast the chain was in danger of flying off, but he had to get to Malia as quickly as he could. He squinted as the sun was saying goodbye by shining brightly, giving the last few minutes of the day an ethereal glow.

He hopped off, threw his bike on the pavement, and ran the rest of the way to Malia.

The momentum from running made him run into her, but to avoid falling, they held each other by the shoulders.

“Stiles, are you alright?” Malia asked, alarmed by how fast he had gotten here. She looked him up and down, looking for a ny signs he had been hurt.

“Yes, yes. I’m fine,” he quickly let out. “I figured it out.”

Malia shook her head, showing she still had no idea what was going on. “hat’s wro-”

“Hush,” he shushed her, placing a finger an inch away from her face. “I know, I’ve been so worried about how to ask her and I forgot who I even wanted to ask. Which girl I wanted to go with,” he started.

Malia’s heart skipped a beat. She swallowed and pursed her lips, trying to suppress a smile. Just thinking about it made her smile for some weird reason.

She told herself she didn’t like him. Maybe it was just a lingering feeling from being when she was younger, but the thought of dancing under a cheesy disco ball with Stiles Stilinski was admittedly just a little exciting for her.

“I don’t want to ask popular Lydia. I mean she’s a snob. She’s never nice to me in front of her friends and she’s stuck up and-”

Malia nodded her head quickly, urging him to continue. Her fingers unconsciously wrapped tighter around his shoulders, waiting to hear what he had to say next.

“I mean, I want to ask normal Lydia. The one who’s valedictorian and will talk to
me in chemistry. The Lydia I love, you know?” he asked Malia.

Malia’s fingers slacked and her hands fell off of him and to her sides.

It took her a while, but she wasn’t disappointed. How could she ever think that would’ve happened; it was stupid to even think of that.

“Malia?” Stiles asked, searching her eyes for a clue to what had happened.

She blinked a couple times, re-entering reality. “That’s great,” she lied.

Stiles suddenly realized this moment wasn’t as much fun as he thought it would have been. He tried to read her, yet he couldn’t. After a few more seconds, he asked, “Did I do something?”

Malia stepped back, letting his hands fall. She couldn’t do anything to counteract the inexplicable feeling she was having. “No,” she simply stated. “Actually, I think I have to go. Goodnight,” she muttered as she retreated, picking up her notebook on the way back to her house.

By then, it was dark and Stiles was in Malia’s front years trying to figure out what he had done.


The next day at school, Stiles looked for her all over in the halls. She hadn’t waited for him and any of their usual spots, and he was growing worried.

He finally found her in the hallway in the way to English. “Malia,” he called out, making his way to her.

She turned around but as soon as she saw him, she picked her pace up and pushed the door open to the bathroom.

Stiles stopped outside, cursing Malia in his head for being like this. He knocked on the door, loudly enough so Malia could not miss it.

“Malia, I just want to talk,” he said through the door.

“Well, maybe tomorrow, I can’t right now,” she excused.

“I feel like I did something,” he said through the door, his hands wrapping around the knob.

“Everything’s fine, Stiles,” she insisted. “I was just tired last night.”

“What about now? Why are you avoiding me?” he asked, his fingers curling then curling back around the knob.

“I’m not,” she lied, not trying to sound convincing. In ordinary circumstances, she would just be honest. But these weren’t normal circumstances.

Stiles pushed the door open and Malia dropped her books, quickly making her way to Stiles.

“You can’t be here,” Malia exclaimed, trying to push him out and open the door at the same time.

However, Stiles had been quick enough to lock the door before she had noticed.

“Malia, talk to me. Or else I’m not leaving,” he stated.

Malia looked to him, already coming up with whatever lie she wanted to say.

“Nothing, I just…” she trailed off, not knowing if she wanted to speak the truth yet. “Nothing.”

She shook her head. “Stiles, we’re going to be late,” she mentioned, trying to squeeze her hand between his back and the doorknob.

“Can’t we just talk?” he asked again.

“I have to go, really,” she insisted.
She found the knob and pulled at it, only to find it locked. She looked up at him, a glare in her eyes.

“Malia, we only get one eighth grade dance. I don’t want you to be mad at me during it,” he reasoned.

Malia came up with ten million come backs in a second. Why wasn’t he after Lydia this second? What made him think of her since he had ignored her since Lydia? Shouldn’t he be asking her to the dance right about now?

“Okay,” she said, relaxing her shoulders, deciding to forgive him.

“Good,” he replied, with one of his signature friendly smiles that Malia was immune to.

“What do you need to talk about?” she asked, kneeling to pick her stuff that had fallen earlier.

“Uh,” Stiles began, dropping to his knee to
help her. “One, to make sure you weren’t mad at me. Two, I asked her.”

Malia’s shoulders visibly slumped once hearing this was about Lydia. “Really? How’d it go?” she asked, going along for his sake.

“She…,” Stiles stammered. He decided to stand up first, offer Malia a hand to stand up, and handed her her books back. “Well, she laughed at me,” he finished, rubbing the back of his neck.

Malia made a pout, empathizing with him.

“She was already going with Jackson. But it was worth a shot,” he sighed, shrugging.

“Her loss, right?” Malia said, hoping he wouldn’t mellow about it for long.

“No, my loss. I’m never going to get her, am I?” Stiles asked, his eyes glooming over. “She’ll be dancing with her boyfriend and I’ll be…”

“You can go with Scott. You two could have fun,” she suggested.

“Yeah, and have to see Lydia all night? No,” he dismissed. “Ill just stay home.”

Malia nodded her head. “I guess that works,” she said.

“Wait, what are you doing? Anyone ask you, yet?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Malia laughed. “Why are you assuming I’m going to get asked?”

Stiles opened his mouth to speak, but quickly shut it before he could speak. He was about to ramble. A dangerous one.
About how of course she would get asked, because of everything she was. “I don’t know, weird phrasing,” he recovered.

“Oh, yeah,” Malia said, waving it off too. “Isaac asked me, I told him no,” she explained.

“Wait, what? When?”

“Last week,” she replied.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Malia thought about how it was because she was waiting for the slight chance he would ask her. “I don’t know. I should’ve said yes,” Malia said.

“Yeah, Isaac is nice.”

“And cute. And good at math,” Malia added, turning it over.

“So is being good at math just like a must-have for you?” he teased.

She opened her eyes, faking a shocked expression at his jab. “You know what?” she mocked-threatened.

“What?” he told her, raising an eyebrow.

She squinted at him, sizing him up. She then bit back a grin, not being able to keep a serious face. The both of them burst out laughing.

“You should return the favor. Ask him,” he said once the laughing died down.

Malia shook her head, smiling. “I don’t think so. But we should go. Not together, but we should go,”

“I was actually going to take your idea. I think I’ll go with Scott to spy on Lydia,” he said, turning blue with the mention of her name.

“No, Stiles. We can still have fun. Who needs Lydia?” she rambled, trying everything she could to make him smile.

She checked her watch. “We’re already ten minutes late to this class,” she said, walking out of the bathroom while she pulled him to the vending machine and pressed three precious dollars in his hands. “Anything you want. On me,” she compensated.

Stiles gave her an uneasy look, yet with a grateful smile.

“We can have a better, funner prom then everyone here. We don’t need anyone,” she said, ignition behind her eyes.

“You’re right,” said Stiles, but only half-convincingly.

“Wear what you were planning to. Meet me at my place at eight,” she told him, leaving to the closest tardy station.


When Stiles got to her house, he followed the noise he heard inside the Tates’ old barn house. Malia had told him, they never had had any animals, but it was used to keep a lot of their old stuff.

“Malia?” he asked.

“Here,” she said, from behind a couch on the wall. “I’m just turning on the lights.”

And once she stepped out, the roof was illuminated by a few string lights. Most of the the light came through the cracks in the ceiling, letting in moon and starlight.

One side had a table lined with a few boxes of Girl Scout cookies Malia said she had found and there was a speaker playing “Top 40s”.

“This looks nice,” Stiles admired.

“Thanks,” Malia said, though she had just thrown it together and it didn’t even look that great.

For a while they danced, ate, then danced again.

Then in the shuffle of the playlist, a slow song came on.

Both of them froze, looking between the ground and themselves, seeing if either of them was courageous to make a move.

They let half of the song go by and realizing they wouldn’t mind dancing to it.

“So,” Stiles started, mustering his courage up to not be awkward. “Would you like to dance with me?”

They decided it didn’t matter, as no one was there to tease them.

At first, they couldn’t figure it out. Malia tried stepping into his arms, but they decided a swaying hug wasn’t necessarily the right way.

Then Stiles tried placing a hand in her back and clasped her hand in his, holding it up, like he had seen in movies. The voted against it because their arms had gotten tired.

Next they were running short on ideas and Stiles suggested the try what they had suggested in the information presentation for the dance. They placed their hands on each other’s sides, but it felt weird, their arms sticking out straight. There was also enough room between them for two other kids.

“Here,” Malia said, coming up with something. She stepped close to him, leg this arms were they were on her side, but she moved her arms up around his neck.

They swayed to the next song, then the one after that.

“Stiles?” Malia asked, her head resting in his shoulder.

“Yeah?” he asked, mindlessly twirling his thumb around the ends of her hair.

“Why do you like her so much?” she questioned.

Malia felt Stiles shrug.

“I mean, she’s just so mean to you and you just let her treat you like that, Stiles,” she complained

“It’s fine,” Stiles said, no conviction behind his voice.

Malia took a breath, wanting to argue that he wasn’t deserving of being ignored like that, but she just let it out, shaky and uneven.

Stiles’ heart faltered thinking about what Malia had said, wondering what would cause her to say that to him. Then he thought about how Malia could probably hear his heart speed up, maybe even feel it, since her ear was against his chest.

Malia picked the corners of her mouth a little hearing the speeding of his heart. It was just noticeable, not enough to alarm her. The moment was just so peaceful, she closed her eyes for the next song.


Ninth grade rolled around.

“Malia,” Stiles yelled, pushing the door of the restaurant open.

Her head immediately picked up. She couldn’t wait another second. “Did you get it?” she asked.

He fished his wallet out of his jeans and fumbled trying to get it out.

Malia beamed as he held it to her face. “This is unreal,” she gasped.

“I know, I barely passed,” Stiles laughed. “I think I was speeding the whole time.”

Stiles knew it was a big deal too. Having a license was the best thing that could have happened to anyone in high school, except prom.

But he knew he had so many privileges now. Because his dad worked most nights and he could drive, he wasn’t confined to his house.

“But you passed!” Malia said, giddy. “I think celebratory burgers are in order.”

“Yes, I’m starved,” he agreed. “Let’s sit.”

He led them past a few tables, choosing one in the back, where they could talk.

“Also, I can’t mention my license in front of Lydia. Jackson doesn’t have one,” Stiles told Malia.

“So she’ll fall right into your arms, nice,” she replied absentmindedly, leafing through the menu.

She had definitely gotten over her crush thing on Stiles. More or less for the reason that if she didn’t like him, him talking about Lydia couldn’t hurt her anymore.

“I know, can’t wait,” Stiles continued, though a sigh.

“Anyway, guess what happened in chemistry?” Malia began, changing the subject.

Stiles looked up from the menu. “Let’s hear it.”

A few minutes later, when they had already ordered their food and decided to pay for it right away. They decided to sneak out and indulge in their burgers and fries some other place.

“Separate tabs?” the waitress asked, handing them their to-go boxes.

“Ye-” Malia began to say, taking a five dollar bill from her pocket.

“No, thank you,” he told the waitress. “It’s okay, I got it,” he said to Malia.

The corners of Malia’s moth began to turn upward. She pressed her lips together, to avoid a full blown grin. She had figured it was just something nice. I mean she had heard his dad tell him about a thousand times to be chivalrous and to behave as a gentleman. It couldn’t have been any different.

Once the waitress walked away, Malia slid her five dollar bill across the table to Stiles. “Here you go.”

Stiles shook his head, sliding the money back. “My treat,” he smiled.

“I feel bad, though. I don’t know, I don’t like when friends pay for me,” she admitted, slowly pushing it in her pockets.

“Then, think of it as a date,” Stiles shrugged. He immediately looked down, knowing what he said was risky.

Malia realized she stopped breathing for a second.

Stiles looked up because Malia hadn’t said anything, but he let out a laugh, watching her face. “I’m kidding,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, totally,” Malia laughed, trying to sound convincing. He hadn’t asked for her money after he said he was kidding.

“Ready to go?” he asked, grabbing the boxes in one hand.

“Yeah, where are we going?”

“Scott told me of this place, it’s in the woods, but it’s like a clearing. He said it’s really nice and quiet and I don’t know. I need a break from the world,” he answered.

“Scott just stumbled into the middle of the woods?”

“No, he found it with Kira.” Once they had reached the door, Stiles pushed it open, holding it for Malia.

“So, are they like dating now?” Malia asked, walking through.

“I have no idea. He’s so vague about it, but I definitely think so.”

Once they had managed to get there, they turned the engine off.

“What if there’s a monster this deep in the woods?” Malia pondered, looking for Stiles reaction in the dark.

Stiles scoffed. “Alright, sure,” he replied sarcastically.

“You never know,” she shrugged.

“I know you’re delusional,” he joked.

“You know you love me,” Malia returned.

“Yeah,” Stiles admitted. As soon as his answer had processed in his mind, he stopped in his tracks. But he didn’t really try to correct it.


In tenth grade, both of them were, conflicted to say the least.

Malia was at the point in which she had gotten over Stiles. She wondered why she spent so many sleepless nights thinking about loosing his friendship that turned to late nights thinking about why he couldn’t love her the way he loved Lydia.

She decided enough was enough. And as soon as she opened her eyes, she had realized more boys other than Stiles existed.

She though Scott was adorable. He was a boyish charm and was so bright, was wise behind his years, and had a cute crooked chin.

Isaac apparently had liked her since he moved next door to her. He had this mysterious allure, which made him seem so much more attractive.

Theo was dangerous, always in detention, yet seemed to behave when he was talking to Malia.

And what all of them had in common, was their mixed feeling for her. They all were attracted to her, to varying degrees, of course. But this made Malia realize there was more to high school boys than her old childhood friend.

Stiles still thought he loved Lydia at the beginning of the year. But it felt different. It felt out of habit. Like he had to tell himself to get nervous when she walked by or excited when she asked to compare calculus homework.

He realized for sure things had taken a weird twist when he saw Isaac next to Malia’s locker, obviously flirting with her.

He apparently told her someone to make her laugh, because she laughed, shook her head, then ruffled her hair, all while leaning against a locker, looking ever so charming, as always.

Malia barely noticed his attempt at flirting with her, as she was still laughing.

He would never say anything to Malia, but this sort of pissed him off. And what sucked the most, is that he couldn’t figure out why.

He walked over to them, without really a plan. He didn’t know Isaac too well, and the three of them never hung out so this was ought to be a little awkward. But Stiles had to stop it, whatever it was.

“Hey, guys,” Stiles intruded, interrupting Isaac.

“Hi, Stiles,” Malia greeted. Isaac simply nodded.

“So, what’s up?” he attempted to start a conversation.

Malia looked above at the clock and exhaled a sharp breath. “I totally forgot I have to meet my presentation group a little early. I’ll see you too later,” she told them, taking off.

In a way, Stiles felt easy now. Malia was gone and Isaac couldn’t talk to her. Now, he was just faced with the fact that he was stuck with Isaac, at least until the passing period was over.

“Hey,” Isaac started, being the first to break the few seconds of silence. “So, you’re pretty close to Malia, right?”

He shifted his weight uncomfortably.

Stiles thought for a second and nodded. “Best friends since second grade.”

“I think I’m going to ask her out,” he explained. “What do you think?”

Stiles’ heart dropped to his stomach. In a way, he had been suspicious of what Isaac wanted. And he would’ve totally helped him, under any other circumstances, but he wouldn’t.

“I don’t think she’s really looking for anyone,” he lied.

“Really?” Isaac questioned, disappointment behind his voice. “I thought she was into me.”

Stiles’ throat closed up. “Oh.”

He chewed on his lip, deciding if he wanted to know more. “Yeah? How come?”

Isaac lost his cool aura, turning completely smitten. “I don’t know. She just always, you know, ‘misses the bus’ so I have to take her to school, she’ll always ask to study together after school, that fake annoyed look he gives. When she’s like squinting at you then bursts out laughing. I’m pretty sure that’s flirting. And then she would-”

Then Isaac’s voice faded into the white noise of the hallway. All he could remember were memories of years of carpooling, both of them riding in the back of his dad’s car, driving to school. Moments of childish mischievousness in bathrooms, arguing about dates. Countless evenings studying seventh grade biology.

Isaac waved a hand in front of his face. “You still here, man?”

Stiles blinked, focusing again. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I mean that’s flirting, right? She was trying to drop hints or something. But, I mean, even if it was unconscious flirting, it still means something,” he tried explaining.

“Yeah…” he said, suddenly losing focus again.

And just like the memories that rushed through him, so did countless times he felt… things for her.

“Isaac?” he said, looking up from the floor.

“Yeah?” he asked, fearing he was going to faint.

“Don’t ask her out,” he told him, before walking away.

That incident alone was enough to make him to leave him uneasy the rest of the day, but when Malia got in the car with him to drive home, he couldn’t push it down anymore.

It was like this bubbling inside of him, wanting to come out, wanting to do something about it.

He wanted to talk to her about it. Was she really flirting with Isaac? Had she been flirting with him to?


“Where are you applying to?” Stiles asked, typing away in his computer, working on his own application.

He was working on the chair pulled up to the desk, while Malia laid down on the couch across.

“I don’t really know,” Malia said, doodling on her college brochures.

He stopped his typing. “What do you mean you don’t really know?”

“Exactly that.”

“Malia, applications are due in like two weeks. How are going to get everything in time?” he asked, closing his computer.

“I don’t even know what I want to do, Stiles,” she said, her voice evident of stress.

Stiles stood up to walk to the couch Malia was on. He picked her legs up so he could sit, then put them over his legs. “Come on, we got to find out,” he urged.

“Isn’t it weird we might stop talking in a few years?”

Stiles turned to her and gave her a weird look. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, throwing her head back, looking at the ceiling.

“Maliaaa, we have to figure this out, come on,” he pressured her, tapping her shin.

She shook her head no, as she rolled over on her side, pulling her knees to her chest. “I think I’m just going to take a nap,” she announced.

“Why are you like this?” he asked rhetorically, laughing a little bit.

Once Malia didn’t reply, he rested the back of his head on the couch. He couldn’t figure out for the life of him why she was acting this way.

He looked to his side, only to see her eyes wide open, staring off into his living room. He hopped down to the floor, and slid to where their faces were meeting. “What’s wrong?”

Malia blinked a few times, focusing on his eyes. Sometimes she thought if she tried hard enough, she could state right into him and see what he was made up of. Instead, she could only get as far as seeing her reflection in his pupils. “Nothing’s wrong. The future is just scary.”

Stiles nodded, not disagreeing with her. “It’s not so bad, though. At least you won’t have to see any of our teachers again after two years.”

“I don’t want to choose a college across the country from here,” she admitted. It was to far from home. “I don’t want you to go across the county either.”

“Putting it off, isn’t going to do any good,” he warned her.

“Yeah,” she said quietly.

“Malia, you’re freaking me of what’s wrong? Why are you talking about no seeing each other; we still have one and a half years left,” he interrogated.

“I don’t know. Regardless of time, one of us is gonna leave.”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen, but it’s a long time away,” he reassured.

Her heart felt heavy. With every application filled out, he admitted his desire to expand his horizons, to leave.

He always left. He left her when he moved. He left her for Scott. He left her for Lydia. College wasn’t anything but one more wedge between them.

She pushed herself off the couch, and started gathering her papers. “I should probably go home, my dad should be expecting me,” she said.

Malia always did this. She shut herself out so quickly, before she could even explain what was bothering her, before they could talk it out.

Stiles followed her to the table, setting his hand on her wrist, stopping her. “You got me. Always,” he comforted her.

Malia nodded her head, pushing past him. “I know,” she let out, not very sure of it.

“Malia, you’re my person. I would never just leave you,” he called out to her, as she was sliding her shoes on in the foyer.

She thought about telling him about the times he did. She didn’t see a point in it.

He stepped into the foyer, coming closer to her, wrapping her arms around him in a hug.

Malia liked Stiles’ hugs the best. He was her confidant even if she had doubted him in the past. This just felt inexplicably different.

“You know my plan. My dream, the vision, I’ve always talked about?” he asked her.

Malia nodded her head against his chest. “I remember.”

“You’ve been in it. Since ever.”


Now they had been wrapping senior year up, on their way to a graduation party.

“So does this mean we’re like-” Stiles asked, trailing off.

They are walking from the convenience store to pick up chips, when Stiles realized they were holding hands. Of course, they had been holding hands, been going on dates, it felt like they were.

“I think so?” Malia answered.

“Okay,” Stiles said, talking through a smile. “I owe Scott thirty dollars.”

“That’s random, how come?”

“He told me we’d end up going out. And I said no. I argued that you can be just friends with someone,” he explained.

“Well, Scott is a wise man,” she said, opening the door to the Jeep.

“Hey, so we’re still on for this weekend?” Stiles asked, to confirm, once he was in the car too.

Malia nodded, leaning over the console to plant a kiss on his cheek.


“Yeah?” he asked, looking at her before starting the engine.

Malia couldn’t help but looking at him, knowing he was falling in love, even as disgustingly cheesy it was.

She forgot what she wanted to say from the butterflies she got. “Sorry, I forgot.”

Stiles grinned at her. A little voice in his head wouldn’t shut up about it, Malia Tate was his girlfriend. It was happening.


“Sometimes it just works out, and you have no idea how,” Stiles’ dad told him.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Stiles exhaled in relief, as he opened his acceptance letter from his preferred college.

“I checked. Two hours from Malia’s,” his dad added.

“No way, are you serious?” he asked in disbelief, while spooning cereal in his mouth.

“You know, I’m kind of psychic,” the sheriff mentioned, opening the newspaper.

“Oh yeah?”

“I knew you and Malia would end up together. I told your mom. Even Tate. They saw it too,” he admitted.

“Oh, God, since when?” he asked, a little embarrassed.

“Oh, I don’t know, basically since ever,” he laughed. “Something’s are meant to happen.”

Paintball! - Leon Goretzka

“Surrender now!” Leon’s voice roared from behind me.

“Never!” I called back, running breathlessly through the plastic trees, squealing as I felt a pellet hit my ankle.

For some reason we’d been crazy enough to think that a game of paintball, girls vs. guys, was going to be a good idea. Which had consequently resulted in me being chased through a plastic forest by my other half.

Although I had to admire how attractive he looked in his paintball outfit, in the current moment I wanted nothing more than for him to be out of sight, ensuring my safety from him. I could hear the screams and laughter of the others in the distance, telling me that I was on the wrong side of the forest.

That was made clear as I suddenly found myself face to face with the wall of the room, trapped. I turned around and quickly dived behind a large barrel, just as I heard Leon step through the bushes.

“Come on baby, time to give iiin,” I heard him call out, holding my breath as I heard his steps grow closer. I bit my lip as I saw his feet shuffle past the barrel. Once I was sure his back was to wear I was, I darted out of my hiding place and stood behind him, pressing the tip of my gun to his back.

I could almost feel his smile as his arms slowly raised up in surrender, one of them clutching his own gun, as he turned around to face me. And sure enough, there was his signature smirk. The one that so desperately made me want to drop everything and throw myself at him.

“You’re right - it is time for you to give in,” I spoke, smirking myself.

He arched a brow, and in one swift motion my gun was knocked out of my hand.

“Think again,” he spoke.

I screamed and ran for my life as he began firing paintballs at me. Some pellets missed, while others splattered against the vest I sported.

I faltered and gasped as I felt one hit my bum, jumping up at the sudden contact. Taking advantage of it, Leon tackled me to the ground, mercilessly tickling me all over.

“Surrenderr!” he roared with a manic laugh, making me giggle even harder.

“Alright - Alright I surrender!” I replied breathlessly.

He grinned, his arms grabbing hold of mine and pinning them to the ground beside my head.

“And now, I get to claim my prize,” he murmured, before pressing his lips to mine and making me feel like I was the one who’d just won.

Ready, Aim. . .

Idk why but I have wanted Captain Cobra with a potato cannon for an embarrassingly long time.  Bonus catharsis for my post-5A emotions.

Emma swears she sees something go sailing by on her way home from Granny’s.

It’s a blur, and it was probably just a bird or something–but the last time there were unidentified flying objects in Storybrooke, they were zelena’s banana-loving cronies and the town was in chaos (again).  So she slows a bit, keeping her eye on the sky, and one hand ready to fly to her holster if need be.

Sure enough, just as she’s pulling up to the house, something else goes flying through the air–and she still can’t quite make out the shape.  She narrows her eyes.

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anonymous asked:

Solangelo i called you at 2am because i cannot handle the child i am babysitting and you’re a parental figure, come here and save me from this hell au

Title: Father Figure

Word Count: 746

A/n: i named frazel’s kid lily… i don’t know why so don’t ask lmao

The sky was pitch black; clouds blanketed the horizon andonly a single street lamp within the normally bustling New Rome city was lit.  Nico stared longingly outside, wishing he could be anywhere other than the apartment he was currently forced to stay in.

Honestly, he loved Hazel and normally was willing to help her out with almost anything.

Except kids.

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Under the Weather (1/6) [Wash, Maine, ensemble]

[AO3 | FFN]

Wash, Maine, and Project Freelancer. Sometimes the only constant is the rain.

The first time he meets a Freelancer, it’s in the pouring rain.

David is standing knee-deep in the mud of the battlefield, swaying on his feet, blood and rainwater streaming through gashes in his bodysuit. The Freelancers look strange and garish against that bleak backdrop, one in teal armor, the other in improbably spotless white. The woman in teal’s been talking to him, telling him about reassignment and promotions and experimental programs. Telling him he’s been selected, her own proud anticipation seeping into the word. Telling him that this is a rare honor.

He stares up at her, way up—she’s still solid in her footing while he’s mired in the muck. He tries to remember how to loosen his grip on the stock of his rifle, how to clear his throat and speak instead of barking orders. Field promotion. Rest of his unit’s command center wiped out. Not so much leading as desperately holding position. Four days, maybe five, no relief in sight, and then the Freelancers come charging in, sending the Covies packing.

It took the two of them less than an hour to do it.

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Magsnaga was having a great time.  Someone had said there would be a gathering of cultists in the area and they weren’t wrong.  He had dropped in on their meeting and opened fire.  From the center of the group he couldn’t miss.  Blood and gore splattered against the walls as he rotated.   He turned to see someone point a gun and shoot back.  Some human jumped in the way to block him. 

“dats nice of ye little oomie. I ‘ope dat didn’t kill yer.”