#scallydia

[lydiamartinappreciation]

Lydia Martin Appreciation Week is coming back!

How to Participate

Simply create something about Lydia. Fic, art, gifsets, moodboards etc are all welcome. If you want your work reblogged, simply tag it #LydiaWeek2024 or tag @lydiamartinappreciation. If you write fic on ao3, you can add it to the Lydia Martin Week 2024 collection.

All works must be Lydia-centric and Lydia-positive. A further list of rules can be found here.

Prompts

NOTE: These are just a guide. You can produce visual work for the writing prompts and you can produce written work for the visual prompts. You can combine prompts. You can choose not to use the prompts. All of this is just for fun.

Writing Prompts

Day 1: Lydia & Pack

Pack is at the forefront of Teen Wolf so it's time to focus on how Lydia fits in or stands out. This could end up being really introspective or it could end up being light and fluffy. The choice is always yours.

Day 2: Lydia & Trauma

Teen Wolf can get dark at times and there's no exception for Lydia. Whether it's being manipulated by Peter in season 1 or reliving her grandma's death in season 5, Lydia certainly has a lot to keep her up at night. How does she handle it?

Day 3: What-If Wednesday

It's What-If Wednesday! Here for all your missing scene, fix-it and alternate universe needs.

Day 4: Pre or Post Canon

What are the parts of Lydia's life that we don't get to see on the show? How did she and some of the pack members like Scott or Stiles first meet? What does she do after graduation? The possibilities are endless and anything goes!

Day 5: Rarepair Friday

Today we're focusing on rarepairs. This could be romantic, platonic, familiar etc. Any kind of bond works. We simply want to celebrate the less appreciated dynamics (or potential dynamics) of the show.

Day 6: Lydia & Mentors

This could be interpreted as Lydia being mentored by another character or it could be interpreted as Lydia acting as a mentor for another character. It's totally up to you!

Day 7: Free Day

Do whatever you want - Just have fun!

Visual Prompts

Day 1: Lydia & Pack

Pack is at the forefront of Teen Wolf so it's time to focus on how Lydia fits in or stands out. This could end up being really introspective or it could end up being light and fluffy. The choice is always yours.

Day 2: Lydia & Seasons

Do we mean seasons of the show or seasons like Spring or Summer? Either! It's totally up to you.

Day 3: What-If Wednesday

It's What-If Wednesday! Here for all your missing scene, fix-it and alternate universe needs.

Day 4: Favourite Lines

What are your favourite things Lydia has ever said? Or, if you'd prefer, what are your favourite things other characters have ever said about Lydia?

Day 5: Rarepair Friday

Today we're focusing on rarepairs. This could be romantic, platonic, familiar etc. Any kind of bond works. We simply want to celebrate the less appreciated dynamics (or potential dynamics) of the show.

Day 6: Lydia & Colours

You could choose to focus on one colour or a selection. It's really up to you.

Day 7: Free Day

Do whatever you want - Just have fun!

Alternate Prompts

1 - Lydia & Emotions: How does Lydia express her emotions? What emotions does she hide? Anything works.

2 - Inspired by a Song: Inspiration can mean different things to different people so put on a playlist and let your creative juices flow

3 - Lydia & Hobbies: When she's not fighting off supernatural threats, how does Lydia like to spend her time?

4 - Lydia & Fights: This could be a physical fight, a mental battle, or Lydia using her banshee powers against an enemy. Or, again, anything else you can think of.

[betwecouldmakesome]

Moodboard: scallydia (scott x allison x lydia)

[evecore]

scott mccall was insane for making me ship a male character with my two favorite girls from the show

[cescalr]

Well, at least the teen wolf movie frees up those involved in a post canon staleo themed ending

[hypermania]

scallydia would be best case scenario tbh and lydia is single 👀👀

@jeffdavis make it happen

[bericas]

you stabbed me in the back while shaking my hand...

[queerebrum]

minimalist poly aesthetic, allison x scott x lydia

every king needs a queen, scott is just lucky enough to have two. lydia keeps their lives on track, allison keeps them safe, and scott does everything he can to keep them happy. 

[nixie-deangel]

Nixie’s Poly AU Challenge: Day Fourteen, Allison x Scott x Lydia - Med School AU.

“I’m gonna fail.”

“No you’re not, Scott.”

“I’m pretty sure I am, Lyds.” Scott sighs as he snaps his notebooks and textbooks close before shoving them a way. “I’ll just drop out and become a stripper.”

Snorting, Allison shook her head as she lifted it enough to flick her eyes between her partners. “Not forever,” she piped up. “Eventually Lydia and I’ll get good jobs and than you can just be our house husband.”

[scottrecs]

Keep me warm (Let me Wear your Coat)

Keep Me Warm (Let Me Wear Your Coat) (2639 words) by asexual-fandom-queen Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Allison Argent/Lydia Martin/Scott McCall, Allison Argent/Lydia Martin, Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Lydia Martin/Scott McCall Characters: Allison Argent, Lydia Martin, Scott McCall Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Sharing Clothes, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Polyamory Summary: There are certain advantages, Lydia discovers, to being the smallest person in her relationship.

alternately titled, "two times Lydia's partners shared their jackets with her, and the one time she shared hers with them."

[asexual-fandom-queen]

Keep Me Warm (Let Me Wear Your Coat)

Pairing: Scott McCall/Lydia Martin/Allison Argent Rated: Teen Audience and Up Summary: There are certain advantages, Lydia discovers, to being the smallest person in her relationship. Alternately titled, "two times Lydia's partners shared their jackets with her, and the one time she shared hers with them." Original Prompt: @chillin-like-villains asked “take my jacket, it’s cold outside.”

[read it here on AO3]

There are certain advantages, Lydia discovers, to being the smallest in her relationship.

“Here, take my coat,” Allison says, shrugging out of her quilted parka, the deep navy a stunning contrast against pale creamy skin and cropped dark hair. She and Lydia are sat on the bleachers, breath puffing from their mouths in sparse clouds as the autumn weather takes an unexpected dip into the low forties.  

Lydia has long since learned not to protest Allison’s chivalry. She takes the coat and slides it on, burrowing into the welcoming heat and familiar scent of Allison’s perfume lingering in the fur around the collar. Allison pulls her hands up into the sleeves of her sweater, the porous, grey cable knit doing little to shield her against the chill of the wind as it whipps against her open flank.

“Come on, Scott,” Allison hollers, eyeline fixed once more on the pitch. She claps her hands and lets loose a whooping cheer when the synthetic wool muffles the sound of the impact. Lydia watches her for a breath, strong muscles clenched tight against the cold, nose and cheeks turned adorably pink, before she turns to the field herself and cups her hands around her mouth.

“You got this, babe,” she shouts.

Scott looks up from the pitch and offers them both a wave and a shy, embarrassed smile as the team continues their warm up around him. Some players stop to offer their captain a gentle razzing, while others are too focused on the game to register any activity from the stands.

“There are no wolves at Brighton,” Lydia says, looping an arm around Allison’s and cuddling in close, chin resting against her shoulder, both to keep their conversation private, and to pass along as much body heat as she can. She presses a kiss against the sharp line of Allison’s jaw, and delights as Allison hums contentedly. “They should be no problem,” she adds.

Allison purses her lips. “Scott’s been talking to the guys about using their strength on the field,” she replies. “He wants the game to be fair.”

Lydia scoffs. “Because life’s always so fair for us.”

Allison spares her a glance, but rather than let herself wallow, Lydia smirks and meets Allison’s stare with mischief in her eyes. “Don’t worry, Allie, dear,” she says, sweet and sly, like honey and venom rolled into one. “Even if Scott has to play nice with the team, I’m sure I’m sure we can come up with plenty of ways to put all that strength and stamina to good use later.”

Down on the field, Scott throws a practice shot so hard, the ball tears through the receiving player’s net.

Lydia’s smirk turns to a grin.

“You’re gonna freeze,” Scott cautions, taking one look at Lydia on his doorstep in her too-short-for-November miniskirt, then glancing back at Allison, already inside, lacing up her boots, to confirm.

Allison’s eyes rake appreciatively up Lydia’s legs – the desired effect, and Lydia has to bite her cheek to keep from smiling – then raises an eyebrow, straightening to her full height and grabbing her coat from the wall hook to her left.

“You know where we’re going, right?” Allison asks.

Lydia turns up her nose. “Obviously,” she says. “Why else would I have gone wedges over stilettos, especially with this outfit?”

Allison chuckles and shakes her head, fond exasperation dimpling her cheeks in a way that Lydia has grown to know and love so well. Scott still looks at her with eyes wide as saucers, big and brown and wet in the most heartwarming way.

“What if you get pneumonia?” he protests.

Lydia arches a perfectly sculpted brow. “I don’t know what I did to give you the impression I’m the kind of person who would be okay spending their anniversary in hiking gear–” she says it with a sneer “–but there is absolutely no way I’m going out tonight not looking like I’m about to upstage someone with an eight figure modeling contract.”

Scott’s face falls on a dime. “Do you not want to do the Preserve thing?” he asks, like he’s ready to completely replan their evening in the next five minutes if Lydia asks.

“Of course I do,” she rushes to correct. “Are you kidding? It’s sappy and romantic and exactly the way I want to spend my evening with the two of you.”

Allison smirks. “You just want to look good while you do it,” she supplies, zipping the front of her winter vest shut. She looks incredible, blue plaid flannel sheathing her arms, toque pulled over her ears. Scott is handsome, too, tan corduroy lined with thick woolen fleece stretched over broad shoulders.

Lydia pouts. “I always look good,” she says. “I want to look damn good.”

“You at least have a coat, right?” Allison asks.

Lydia shrugs. The white gossamer fabric of her blouse feels flimsy even inside the warmth of the McCall house, but it looks too tantalizing overtop her lace bralette – a deep, rich, royal plum – to dain covering up.

“It’s seventy degrees,” Lydia says.

Allison glares. “Sixty-two.”

“Then you’ll both just have to keep me warm, won’t you?”

Later that evening, when they finally make it to the top of the ridge overlooking Beacon Hills proper, Lydia’s lips are nearly blue under the sheen of her muted coral gloss. Gooseflesh prickles her arms, rough textured skin catching on the silky fabric of her blouse, but she keeps any complaints to herself, too satisfied that her heavy duty hairspray’s held up against the sweat and strain of the hike to admit other defeats.  

Allison reaches into her backpack and pulls out a thick, checkered blanket. An unfurled sleeping bag, if Lydia had to guess, something warm and inviting and insulated to keep the dampness of the earth at bay.

Scott kicks off his boots as she lays it down, then settles in at one edge, reaching into his own pack for a long, metal thermos and a bottle of mezcal.  Allison sits next, swapping her hiking boots for a pair of slippers she pulls from her bag.

Lydia sits between them, feet aching in her more-practical-than-they-could-have-been-but-still-wholly-impractical heels. Her toes are cramped and rubbed raw, damp from sweat and blisters that have both formed and ruptured during their uphill trek. She keeps them off lest she find herself unable to bear the pain of putting them back on.

“It’s a family recipe,” Scott explains, unprompted, as he pours thick, velvety, hot chocolate from his thermos into an enameled, stainless steel mug. He screws the cap back on and grabs the mezcal, adding a generous, but not egregious, splash, and swills it around to mix. “I’m about eighty percent sure I actually did it right.”

Lydia clucks her tongue and gazes high and left, the way she always does when she’s about to tease someone. “That’s a B-, Mr. McCall,” she says. “I thought you were a better student.”

Scott chuckles, his eyes crinkling adorably in that way that makes Lydia’s heart flip. “Yeah, well,” he volley’s back. “It’s a good thing I didn’t try making churros, then. Otherwise, you’d really be disappointed in me.”

He pulls instead from his bag a container of store-bought pound cake, staled and cut into batons.

“I think your mom would have been, too,” Allison teases, then winces at her own words. “Sorry, that was mean.”

But Scott’s smile never falters as he passes Lydia her mug and starts to work on another. “No,” he says. “You’re right. I’d totally have burned the house down.”

“True Alpha does not a master chef make,” Lydia adds. She eats her words the fist touch of chocolate to her tongue, a groan slipping past her lips despite herself. “Oh my god, Scott, this is delicious.”

Scott flushes pink and ducks his head. “Thanks,” he murmurs.

When Allison gets her own, she immediately adds to Lydia’s praise.

“It’s not that big a deal,” Scott insists, but Lydia sees the way his chest puffs up, the way his smile carves dimples deep in his cheeks, the way pride shines in his eyes.

“It’s a big deal to us,” Lydia assures him, leaning into his side and resting her chin on his shoulder. “Thank you,” she adds, then shifts to thread Allison’s fingers between her own. “Both of you, for this. It’s really beautiful up here. I’m glad we did this.”

Despite her complimentary words and the alcohol pooling hot in her belly, a shiver runs up Lydia’s spine as a breeze gusts through the trees, and Scott feels her tremble against him.

“Babe, you look gorgeous,” he says, like it’s the safest way to broach the subject, and Lydia thinks maybe it is. “But, you look even more gorgeous when you aren’t turning blue.”

Scott’s warm, broad palm wraps around her arm, rubbing until the friction brings feeling back to her numbed skin.

“Scott has a point,” Allison adds.

Lydia huffs. “Fine,” she admits. “Maybe I’m a little cold.” She hold up a perfectly manicured finger when Scott and Allison open their mouths to protest. “Only a little.”

Shaking his head, Scott chuckles, then gets to work sliding his arms from the sleeves of his coat.

“I don’t need–” Lydia starts, but Scott cuts her off.

“I’m a werewolf,” he says. “Remember? I’m not gonna get cold. Just take it, please.”

Suppressing a flattered smile, Lydia lets Scott manhandle her into his jacket. “Okay,” she says. “But I’m not zipping up. In at least one department, the cold is doing this look a favour.”

The way Scott and Allison’s eyes linger on her chest, where the chill of the evening pebbles her nipples to hard, swollen peaks under her flimsy blouse, Lydia knows she’s right.

Scott, always the gentleman, tears his eyes away with a flush, but Allison is bolder, keeps her gaze fixed as a predatory glint sparks in her eyes.

“Oh, no,” Scott interjects as soon as he catches the look on her face. “Allison, come on. I just got her in that thing.”

Allison smirks. “No reason she can’t keep it on,” she replies. “I happen to like the look of her in your clothes anyway, don’t you?”

Scott gulps, pupils blown instantly wide, and Lydia sighs, running her fingers through her hair to fan it out in a halo as she lays back on the blanket and parts her thighs. Allison’s fingers don’t waste time trailing upward from her knee.

Lydia kicks off her heels. Let Scott carry her back, if it comes to that.

“Best anniversary ever.”

Lydia’s scream rattles the Balsam firs that grow dense and thick in the Preserve. Needles rain to the ground in torrential showers, branches snap, entire trunks crack and bow, submitting to the power of her voice.

She’s killed them, she’s sure, the amphibious creatures that rose from the lake and dragged Scott and Allison away. Two are crumpled in a heap on the frost-covered ground, while a dull thud Lydia can barely hear over the ringing in her ears implies a third meeting their end at the business end of Stiles’ bat. They aren’t like humans – not according to Deaton. They don’t have consciences, aren’t capable of higher thought. They don’t pack bond. They don’t love.

Not the way Lydia does.

She feels blood, sticky on her jawline, running down her neck, but pays it no more attention than the nominal amount required to wipe it away on the back of her hand. Instead, Lydia focuses on the lake, where Boyd and Erica help Scott lift a pallid, chattering Allison from the frigid waters. As soon as Erica drags her legs onto shore, Boyd turns back to Scott and helps him leverage his way out, too, Scott’s muscles frozen stiff, even as they convulse under his skin, working to keep his core warm.

“Scott,” Lydia croaks, her voice thready and devastated as she teeters forward on shaky legs. She tries again, this time louder, more urgent, as her legs carry her forward in a sprint. “Scott! Allison!”

Lydia drops to her knees on the ground beside them, wrestling them from their sopping clothes. The earth is damp with fresh water and frost, soaking through the thick denim of her jeans, but it hardly registers in her flury of concern for her partners’ well-being.

“Take my jacket,” Lydia says, tugging off her camel-coloured duster and bundling Scott inside. His arms strain the seams, but it’s cut to fit loose enough on Lydia’s petite frame to be pull closed around the middle, even if the sleeves prove to be short. She ties him in with a double knot, then turns to Allison with wet, worried eyes.

“It’s cold outside,” Lydia stresses, redundant in her panic. The bitter chill of winter is hard to ignore drenched and half-naked, painful winds cutting into flesh like knives.

She peels out of her cardigan and drapes it around Allison’s shoulders, then guides her arms, frozen stiff, through their holes one at a time. It leaves Lydia damp and half-naked herself, shivering in a pair of jeans and a burgundy camisole, but she’s half convinced it’s from shock more than anything, and knows for a fact it doesn’t matter either way. She would walk across the Arctic barefoot if it meant keeping Scott and Allison warm.

“Are you guys okay?” Lydia asks, checking them over for bruises and cuts.

Allison’s teeth are still chattering, but she nods. “Still have all my fingers and toes,” she replies.

Lydia scoffs, but the sound is filled with so much relief, it’s almost delirious. “That’s not funny,” she scolds, big, hot tears streaming down her cheeks as a smile lights her face.

“Scott, are you alright?” Allison checks, reaching out for him with one trembling hand. He grabs hold and tugs her to his side, tucking her under his arm to share the bit of body heat his werewolf metabolism has him already regaining.

“I’m okay,” he promises, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “We’re all okay.”

Lydia registers briefly that it’s true. Boyd, Erica, and Isaac are checking over the amphibious bodies to make sure they’re really and truly dead. Meanwhile, Derek gently coaxes Stiles’ aluminium bat from his hand, grip held so tight his fingers have turned white. His muscles are tense, too, like a loaded spring about to snap.

Lydia knows Stiles is going to need to see Scott soon, to reassure himself his brother in everything but blood is really alive and whole. But for now, Stiles can wait. He can wait while Scott draws Lydia in with a bone-chilling hand around her neck, wipes the blood so carefully from the corner of her ear, and pulls her into a kiss that is so filled with relief and passion and affection it makes Lydia’s toes curl.

“I love you,” Scott whispers as they part. He places another kiss to Allison’s temple and breathes into her hair, wet and plastered to her cheek, “god, I love you so much.”

“We love you, too,” Allison replies. She reaches out to clasp fingers with Lydia, and Lydia brings their joined hands to her mouth to place a gentle, loving kiss against Allison’s wrist.

After, once Melissa’s given Allison the all-clear against possible hypothermia, the three crawl into Scott’s bed, limbs intertwining, hearts beating in perfect time, not in sync per se, but winding and weaving together to create a rhythm, a perfect syncopation, that drums in tandem to the slow pulls of their breath.

“Sorry I stretched out your jacket,” Scott mumbles, on the verge of tipping over into unconsciousness. Allison’s breathing is already steady, a sure sign of sleep.

Lydia smiles. She places a kiss against Scott’s sternum, trails her hand over Allison’s hip. “That’s okay,” she says. “It was my turn anyway.”

[lydiamartinappreciation]

1 Month to Lydia Week 2024!

How to Participate

Simply create something about Lydia. Fic, art, gifsets, moodboards etc are all welcome. If you want your work reblogged, simply tag it #LydiaWeek2024 or tag @lydiamartinappreciation. If you write fic on ao3, you can add it to the Lydia Martin Week 2024 collection.

All works must be Lydia-centric and Lydia-positive. A further list of rules can be found here.

Prompts

NOTE: These are just a guide. You can produce visual work for the writing prompts and you can produce written work for the visual prompts. You can combine prompts. You can choose not to use the prompts. All of this is just for fun.

A fuller explanation of the prompts can be found here.

Writing Prompts

Day 1: Lydia & Pack

Day 2: Lydia & Trauma

Day 3: What-If Wednesday

Day 4: Pre or Post Canon

Day 5: Rarepair Friday

Day 6: Lydia & Mentors

Day 7: Free Day

Visual Prompts

Day 1: Lydia & Pack

Day 2: Lydia & Seasons

Day 3: What-If Wednesday

Day 4: Favourite Lines

Day 5: Rarepair Friday

Day 6: Lydia & Colours

Day 7: Free Day

Alternate Prompts

1 - Lydia & Emotions

2 - Inspired by a Song

3 - Lydia & Hobbies

4 - Lydia & Fights

[betwecouldmakesome]

saw ur taking mb requests! how about scallydia?

It’s up now thank you for requesting!

[softranswolves]

Top Teen Wolf Polyships (as voted by my followers):

14. Derek/Jackson/Scott, Allison/Lydia/Scott

[banshee-cheekbones]

Allison x Lydia x Scott + skin by boy

here’s a future, human, different first meeting au! pre-relationship, Lydia/Scott is established.

approximately 2300 words. on ao3 here.

The first Friday in December is nearly identical to the eight Fridays that came before it.

Allison gets home from work just after six, her skin tacky with sweat from being jammed in a packed subway car for half an hour, hair damp from the snowflakes that have started to fall from the dark sky. As soon as she steps inside, she starts tugging off her winter clothes, leaving them piled in a heap on a chair in her small kitchen.

She strips out of her work clothes, drops them into her laundry hamper, and immediately pulls on another outfit, one a little more glamorous than the dark suits and printed blouses she wears to the law firm she spends her days at. She swaps out her earrings, puts on a fresh coat of mascara, stops in the kitchen only long enough to scarf down a banana, and ventures back into the cold evening, trench coat belted tightly around her waist to keep out the worst of the cold.

She takes the subway three stops and steps out into an entirely different district, all bright neon signs and honking cabs and lines of people stretching around the block. She bypasses the first two lines and stops at the third, which is considerably shorter. She’s been to this place four times so far, and it’s her favorite of all the bars and clubs she’s dropped into. It’s not absurdly high-class or exclusive, but it’s quieter. The lights are brighter and warmer, the drinks aren’t as pricey, and it’s usually not so crowded, probably because it’s not a favorite spot for visiting celebrities.

But while it may be one of her favorite environments to kill a few hours in, it’s failed to help her meet someone.

When she’d accepted the job offer that brought her to the city, she hadn’t thought twice about moving to a place where she knew absolutely no one. She figured that she’d have her coworkers, and she’d always been great at making friends when she’d moved around as a child.

But her coworkers had remained exactly that. They were all pleasant enough, but they were distant, caught up in their own lives. For the first few weeks, she’d been too busy to even think about finding friends outside of work. There was her apartment to unpack and decorate, family and friends from back home to keep updated, long days at the office to put in, landmarks and districts to explore. But once the weather turned cold and she began to properly settle in, she spent most nights sitting in front of her laptop or television, binge watching shows and movies until she fell asleep.

The feeling of isolation grew steadily in the back of her mind until one day, while she was cooking pasta for a late dinner, the sheer weight of it dropped onto her shoulders like a lead blanket.

She briefly thought about trying a dating app of some kind, but that wasn’t exactly the kind of relationship she was looking for, and all of her previous experiences with that kind of thing were laughable at best, horrifying at worst.

So instead, she turned her pasta off, dug into her closet, and instituted her new routine.

So far, it’s proved to be useless. None of her bar conversations have gone beyond painful small talk. Instead of being a way for her to make new acquaintances, every outing has just devolved into her wasting money on drinks, going home after four hours, washing off her makeup, taking an aspirin for her headache, convincing herself she won’t do it again, and then repeating each step the next Friday.

She thinks tonight might be the last time. It’s getting too cold to be going out, and her method obviously isn’t working. Maybe her time would be better spent combing through the newspaper for events to attend, or finding somewhere to volunteer.

At the very least, that would be cheaper on her wallet.

She’s four people away from the front of the line when a high-pitched ringing starts pouring from the door of the bar, overwhelming the faint sounds of music and laughter. The bouncer disappears inside for only a moment before he comes back outside and hollers at the top of his lungs.

“There’s a fire in the kitchen! Please move to the other side of the street.”

A collective groan rises up from the rest of the line, but Allison simply sighs and steps away from the bar, crossing the road before she’s swallowed up by the departing crowd. There are lots of other bars and clubs scattered up and down the street, but she strides past all of them, heeled boots kicking through the fluffy snow that’s accumulated on the sidewalk.

If there’s a clearer sign that she should try some other method of making friends, or maybe just give up entirely, she can’t think of it.

On her way back to the subway, her stomach starts rumbling, and she sighs again, glancing around at her surroundings. There’s food back at her apartment, but she definitely not in a cooking mood. There are a few fast food joints nearby, but there’s also a small diner on the corner ahead of her, glass windows bathing the sidewalk in soft yellow light. Booths line the other side of the glass, and the place looks surprisingly empty considering the time of night and the heavy foot traffic on the street. Allison beelines towards the door; even if the menu isn’t the greatest in the world, she could really use a cup of coffee.

It’s toasty inside, and the television bolted above the service area is playing a basketball game at low volume. A number of the stools marching along the curved counter are empty, and Allison takes one far away from the door, so that a draft doesn’t wind along her legs.

She orders coffee to start and flips through the menu, which is marked by tears and discolorations. She’s just taken her first sip and decided what to order when the stool beside her rattles as someone perches on it. She automatically glances over and ends up making eye contact with a woman around her own age with vibrant strawberry blonde hair streaming down her shoulders.

“This may seem like a strange question,” she says, glossed lips curved in a smile small, “and you are more than welcome to say no. But would you like to eat with us?” She waves a hand in the direction of the booths lining the front wall, and Allison glances back over her shoulder. The booth directly behind her is occupied by a young man with dark hair who seems preoccupied by his phone, but he suddenly glances up and smiles wide, crinkles forming at the corner of his eyes.

“Have we met before?” Allison asks with a slight frown, twisting back around to face the woman, who shakes her head.

“No. But you look lonely, and I know what that feels like. Both of us do. But, again, feel free to say no. If you say yes, you can leave at any time.” Allison averts her gaze into her inky cup of coffee, pondering the proposition. It’s certainly unexpected, and she’s more than a little wary about other possible motives that the woman and man could have. But she’s in a well-trafficked, public area. If anything goes wrong or if warning bells start going off in her head, she’ll retreat.

Even if it turns into nothing, good or bad, at the very least, she can tell herself that she tried something different, something totally outside of her routine.

“Sure,” she finally says, tossing her coat over one arm and gathering up her cup of coffee. “Why not?” The woman smiles wider, revealing two rows of straight white teeth, and slides off the stool.

“Perfect! I’m Lydia.”

“Allison.”

It takes four steps to cross from the counter to the booth. Allison joins Lydia on her side and once she’s rearranged her things, the young man reaches his hand across the table.

“Hey. I’m Scott.”

She gives her name again and briefly shakes his hand. Before she can say anything else, the waiter appears beside the booth, and the three of them order. Once the waiter disappears back towards the kitchen, Allison speaks up, cutting off the inevitable awkward silence before it gets a chance to sink in.

“Do you two do this often? Invite total strangers to eat with you, I mean.”

“Once in awhile,” Scott says with an easy shrug and a slightly crooked smile. “I usually let Lydia handle it. She’s better at knowing if someone wants to be left alone or if they’re looking for company. I think she might be a little psychic.”

“I’m not psychic,” Lydia says with a roll of her eyes, although the smile on her face indicates she’s not wholly bothered. “I just know how to read people.”

“Well, I’m still waiting for you to teach me.” He leans forward onto the table, clasped hands resting just to the left of an old ketchup stain, and addresses Allison again. “Are you okay with this? You can leave whenever you want.”

“I’m okay,” Allison replies. “Really. You’re basically the first people I’ve talked to in months that aren’t my co-workers.”

“I know that feeling,” Scott says. “When did you move here?”

By the time their food comes, they’ve settled into a conversation that, while not effortless, moves along fairly smoothly. Allison has found out that Scott and Lydia have been in the city for five years and living together for three. They met when Lydia had to rush her dog to the emergency veterinary clinic that Scott was working at and, apparently, there was no coming back from that. Both of them are very into volunteering; environmental groups for Lydia, animal rescue organizations for Scott, LGBTQ rights for both of them. They offer to give her the names and contact information of some of the associations that they work with, and Allison gratefully accepts.

She isn’t sure which organization she wants to contact first but, at the very least, her weekends won’t be so boring anymore.

Allison tells them a little bit about herself; where she works, the general area that she lives in, some of the bars she’s tried meeting people in. When she tells the name of the place she planned on visiting earlier, both of them burst out laughing. Although Allison immediately tenses, one glance at their faces, at the fond looks they’re giving each other, is enough to silence the thought that they’re mocking her.

“We went there on our third-”

“Our fourth,” Lydia interrupts, popping a blueberry from her pancakes into her mouth.

“Our fourth date,” Scott continues. “As soon as we stepped on the dance floor, the fire alarm went off.”

“Fire in the kitchen?” Allison grins.

“Fire in the kitchen,” Lydia and Scott say simultaneously before breaking out into more laughter.

“So you’re saying I should probably steer clear of there from now on?” Allison asks, raising her eyebrow.

“Definitely,” Lydia replies. “If you really want to keep hitting up bars, we can give you a list of some that don’t get a weekly visit from the fire department.”

“Actually,” Allison says, “I think I’m going to take a break from bars for awhile.”

She’s amazed at how truly she means it.

Once they’ve all polished off the rest of their food, they split the bowl of fruit that came with Allison’s breakfast platter; Scott takes the pineapple, Lydia the orange segments, and Allison keeps the berries. It’s the largest meal she’s had in months, and she feels like she could just slump over in the booth and nod off.

That is, if it wasn’t for Lydia sitting beside her. Allison’s pretty sure falling asleep on someone is only okay after months of friendship, and it’s possible that she won’t see Lydia or Scott again after they part ways.

She hopes that isn’t the case. After finally having dinner with someone else, eating alone seems completely overrated.

After they pay, they leave together. The sidewalks are now covered in a thick layer of snow, with still more falling from the sky. By morning, it will all be a trampled mess of brown slush, but it looks lovely now, sparkling under the streetlights.

“Wow,” Scott says, tilting his head back towards the sky. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” Lydia says, tugging a woven headband down over her ears and turning to Allison with a soft smile. “Do you want us to walk you to the subway?”

“It’s okay,” Allison replies. “I think I’ll be able to make it home.” She has a butterfly knife and a can of mace tucked into the inside pocket of her coat, just in case someone decides to try and test their luck with her.

“I have an idea,” Scott says, fumbling his phone from the pocket of his jacket. “Do you want to add your number? I can text you so you have mine, and you can let us know when you get home safe.”

“Or if you want to go out for dinner again,” Lydia adds and, for a moment, Allison thinks that she sees an honest to goodness flush stain Lydia’s pale cheeks. Allison quickly ducks her head, warmth rushing into her own face, as she takes Scott’s phone and flips to the contacts menu.

“I’d really like that, actually,” she says quietly, and when she looks up, the crinkles around Scott’s eyes are back in full force.

“Agreed,” he says after glancing at Lydia, and his smile grows larger, bright as the moon on a clear night.

Allison doesn’t want to be presumptuous, doesn’t want to get her hopes up too far in case everything comes crashing back down, but she thinks that the bar’s kitchen catching fire might truly be the best thing that’s happened to her in the last few months.

[g-taire]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Lydia Martin/Scott McCall, Allison Argent/Lydia Martin/Scott McCall

“I’m not her,” Lydia gasps against his lips, and there is white-hot fury in her words.

God does he know it, could never mistake the soft curves of Lydia’s body or the sticky sweet taste of lipgloss for Allison. He says the only thing he can, the only thing that can hurt Lydia as much as it does him: “Neither am I.”

[farklelucas]

Dibs! (For the fake name fic thing)

dibs! (allison/lydia/scott romcom) - lydia smiles mischeviously over the lid of her coffee cup. “dibs,” she says smugly. allison feels a pang of jealousy over lydia looking at someone else, but as she looks over her shoulder - dark hair, warm eyes, a bright smile - her feeling transforms from jealousy into something else entirely. “oh,” she says, and lydia hums.

send me madeup fic titles!!