#stairwolf

The loft was nothing like she had envisioned. When she had stepped inside, she was surprised to see how bare the space was. The heels of her boots sounded like small popping firecrackers as she had ventured inside the area to explore it more. There was a couch, a table, and aside from a few other things, nothing but air and dust that filled the territory. When Derek had urged her to meet him there so that they could discuss things, he had been very convincing. So convincing that he had hardly needed to persuade her. Now as she stood in the center of the barren room with weak, dusty, light raining down on her, she was less than convinced. A feeling of hopelessness blanketed her. From there it had only grew worse. Shifting into agitation, which was rapidly turning into anger. 

Either he had been lying to her or this was his idea of a dumb joke. She hoped neither of them was a reality. When they had initially met, she had felt that Derek had been genuinely concerned and determined to explore this further. Now as she stood there with angry scowl and yanking her hands free from her gloves, she questioned her judgement in him. She carelessly let the gloves fall to the wooden floor below and with a roll of her shoulders, let her coat drop atop them. She hadn't made the journey for nothing. If anything, she would at lease take some pleasure in chewing out the dark haired man that spewed empty promises to her. Perhaps she was getting ahead of herself though. Although the area was seemingly deserted, she could see from an empty water bottle, and half chewed candy bar that the place had been lived in recently.

The mood of the alpha took an rapid turn for the worse. Almost like a child who had its toy ripped from it's hand. She snapped inside. Feeding the hungry appetite of her rage for no reason. Lost in the swirling depths of her fiery thoughts. If this was a trick,  just another waste of her time, she would let the walls that contained her fury down without hesitation. The endless slew of promises to give her the control that she had so desperately sought out had gone unmet too many times over the years. Nothing but broken hopes and twisted lies remained. Nothing but a hollow place where an endless stream of red hot hatred flowed from. That draped over her in uncontrollably bouts. Now her patience had worn thin and so had her desire to contain that fury. Why should she contain it anymore? Why shouldn't she let out that white hot rage that coursed though her veins like a deadly poison? Why not let out that venomous displeasure that made her eyes blaze like the surface of the sun. 

Send me ♔ if you want a headcanon about our muses relationship 

like i see Stiles caring about Peter more than he is willing to admit, like he texts him to see if he is okay and shit. clearly he finds him hella hot, but will not tell malia that seeing as hello awkward much.

         But I see Stiles getting really worked up if Peter doesn’t reply to him so he go’s over and see’s him? Like when he was stabbed by the tomahawk, I just picture Stiles ringing him over and over until he picked up and then cuz Peter being a butt probs wouldn’t and den stiles when over and made a big deal about it and yh idk some cutie shit probs happened then them being rude lil shits.

Send me a url and I’ll record my voice saying the url along with what I think of them. 

Why do those words hurt her so much? 

Malia had heard all of the horror stories, the dark and twisted tales of Peter Hale and his sociopathic ways. Instantly, she had believed them because she had started believing everything Stiles told her because she trusted him to always be honest with her. Then, her world came crashing down with just a name on her list and the realization that everything she knew, everything she loved was a lie and Stiles had known.

Malia knew that Peter Hale was a dangerous man, that he would try to trick her and use her just like he had done with Scott and Lydia but, she still felt…compelled…almost to seek him out and find out about the past and find some sort of identity for herself that wasn’t wrapped up in the wild coyote girl or stiles or the poor tate girl who missing all those years ago.

Mostly, Malia wondered if maybe he just wanted a daughter, someone to love him the way she loved her dad, someone for him to be proud of, someone for him to call family that didn’t look at him with distrust and sometimes horror.

…maybe Malia wanted that too because no matter how much her dad said he loved her, no matter how tight he hugged her, he still blamed her for the accident and rightfully so. 

No matter what happened though, Malia needed to make her own decisions and that had started with trying to get to know the man that was apparently her birth father. Obviously, it had all been for nothing because no matter if she was his daughter or not he could care less about her. 

Why did that hurt so much? Why did Peter’s, a man who she’s only known for a handful of moments casual rejection of caring about her hurt so damn much? Stiles was right, Peter Hale was nothing but a self-serving sociopath and she should’ve stayed far away from him and not gone running towards him like some lost girl in need of…whatever it was she wasn’t going to get it from Peter. Malia blinked away a sudden batch of tears and swallowed against the echoing pain in her chest and held Peter’s blue-eyed gaze.

"I’ll take your word for that, you look like hell."

"Like I wasn't already aware of that."

#can I just say that like a week ago I gave an almost identical speech to Anna ic

Thiiiiis is what I was talking about last night.  Peter's dialogue was almost word for frickin' word what he said during the little confrontation with Anna.