Happy birthday @mysenia. I’m so sorry I’m late but I’m in the middle of a writer’s block and just couldn’t write. It’s taken me forever to finish, sorry! It’s nearly 5am here so maybe it’s not too late??? Hopefully you’ll like this and it will be worth the wait T.T
Peter officially wakes up exactly on his birthday.
On that 27th of October, dark clouds greet him when he painstakingly turns his head and everything indicates that it’s one of those rare cold days in California. On that 27th of October his doctor nearly drops the chart she was holding and her little entourage of interns flutter around excitedly because it’s a… miracle.
(Peter has a feeling that he will come to hate that word pretty fast.)
They make him go through a battery of tests a mile long that leaves him even more exhausted than he already felt. By the end of it all, he finds himself in a new room, in a new bed, with a tray with soup and a strawberry jello that the nurse has plated and placed a candle on. Peter doesn’t know how to feel about it but he has always loved sweet things, so he thanks the nurse, blows the candle and eats it anyway.
He regrets it later. Not because he gets sick or anything, but because he doesn’t and that’s a miracle too.
(It’s been less than a day and he hates the word already so he was right about that. Shocking.)
He asks. He knows who’s dead, of course. He became the alpha the moment Talia died, so the bonds transferred to him instantly and he felt most of those snap before he could even reach home. But three of those were still active after he tore the unsuspecting Kate and Gerard Argent’s throats apart and forced his way inside the house. None of those were in there, all the ones he found were already dead, and he lost consciousness just after managing to crawl his way out. Those three bonds are still active right now, so what happened?
The nurse tells him that Laura is on her way, that they had tried to reach her the moment he woke up but were unable to. She should be here any moment now, she says. However, it’s not her who makes it first but a sweaty and winded Cora.
Peter has never been a family man. Ever. He was more likely to skip the once a year family reunion than to actually attend it. However, he has to admit that he has always had a soft spot for Talia’s brats. He used to call Cora his tough crybaby because she would power through whatever was upsetting her like a seasoned warrior and then go to Peter’s downtown office to vent. If Peter was in a meeting she would patiently wait outside until it was over. Then she would unceremoniously enter, grab her pastel and sparkly stuffed unicorn (that he kept in plain view just for the entertainment it provided via his client’s reactions) and bawl her eyes out. Peter would let her vent and not intervene until she either sat on one of the chairs he had in front of his desk or on his lap. He then would give her a Mars bar that he kept in his first drawer just for her (Snickers for Derek, Skittles for Laura) and they would talk (she normally wanted revenge, Derek just a good vent and sometimes advice, and Laura could go both ways) until she felt better. If this happened at home, he more often than not would find himself with a squatter in his bed.
Peter fell into a coma in January and has woken up nearly in November, but of the next year, so it’s been nearly two years and Cora is fourteen already. She has gone from slightly chubby to spindly and Peter frowns inwardly, because he doesn’t like what it implies. She waits until the nurse excuses herself to walk towards the bed and try to muster a smile. Peter sighs and draws her in. She lands with a grunt on the bed and holds herself stiffly for a few seconds before she collapses and he starts to feel something wet where she has hidden her face on the crook of his neck.
Laura and Derek arrive shortly after but Cora doesn’t emerge from her hiding place. They both look startlingly thin and worn out, but Laura especially so. She tears up the moment she sees him awake and comes to hug him almost immediately. Derek remains by the door, looking miserable.
“I’m sorry,” Laura babbles. “My boss is an asshole and I couldn’t give him an excuse to fire me and-”
“Shush,” Peter croaks simply and she quiets and collapses just like Cora beside him.
Derek is still by the door.
Just before her death, Kate Argent was bragging about the methods she had used to get what she needed. Peter knows. Derek is sixteen years old right now, so he was fourteen then. He was a kid and even if some part of Peter wishes he had been fully an adult so he could blame him, rage and let his own anger out, he can’t. If anyone is to blame here apart from the obvious, it’s Peter and Talia and Mathew. They were the adults, they should have noticed something. Peter should have noticed something amiss.
And so, he does the most difficult thing he has done in his life and says, fully believing it.
“It wasn’t your fault, Derek. Come here.”
And Derek shudders, swallows thickly and unravels before his eyes. Cora starts crying again, Laura shakes even harder. The nurse has enough tact to not say anything when she finds all of them in a pile.
How Laura managed to keep Derek and Cora’s guardianship, Peter doesn’t know, but he suspects strongly that the Tribunal moved things along to facilitate it to make up for what happened. Their “kindness” and “helpfulness” ended right there, though, because Laura has been running herself to an early grave with three jobs to keep up with the hospital and their livelihood expenses. She should have received the life insurance dues but the company contested them and in the end she ended up with more expenses (from the lawyer’s fees) than what she started on, so she had to let it go because she couldn’t afford the risk of not being able to pay for the little flat where they live at the worst part of town. She never even started college in UCLA like she was supposed to.
She has been arguing a lot with Derek because he wants to leave his studies to work full time to relieve her of some of the pressure and she won’t have it. Cora is still in mandatory schooling but she helps sometimes at Derek’s workplace before going to school and around the neighbourhood for a pittance after it.
They are tired, worn down, stressed and downright miserable.
This situation is unacceptable.
The first thing he does is contact the Tribunal. If it was only about Peter, he’d prefer to make it on his own without having to depend on them, but this is about Laura not looking a step from keeling over, about Derek not feeling guilty about continuing his studies, about Cora not looking like a strong wind will blow her away, so he will swallow his pride. He may not be able to get what he wants from the insurance company, but he can strong arm the Tribunal into doing that for him.
On another front, Peter finds out that he has just missed the chance to take the bar exam again and the next examination period is in February, so he can’t do anything about that. The thing, though, is that his clients chose him mainly for his deviousness and his smarts, and those are more than fine even if he just woke up. He can try to reach out and offer his services as an external consultant until he has his license again. He doesn’t lose anything by trying and even if it doesn’t work, he will have let them know for when he goes back full time on February. If it does work, he’ll get another source of income that will give them a reprieve.
He even knows with whom to start.
“Peter, love, I have missed you so much!” one of his favourite clients gushes when he offers his services as a consultant and briefly demonstrates that he’s still as capable as ever. This particular client likes very hung Latinos that always turn to be golddiggers that want to steal his fortune. “My new lawyer is just no good! Dear Pablo got a veritable fortune out of me when he left me and that’s no good. I thought it would happen again with Roberto but here you are again to save me from a cruel fate!” He sighs dramatically. “He was so cute when we married, love, and he worshipped me so much…”
“You mean your cock,” Peter points out dryly, like many times before.
“Well, that too,” he giggles. “He did this thing with his tongue that… Let me tell you, I’m going to have trouble finding someone who knows how to do that, love, and I’m already mourning because it was fantastic.”
“You always say that, Anthony,” Peter says amused.
“It’s your fault, darling,” the man pouts. “You know you are my one true love. We would be so good together! Ah, but no use crying over what will never be.” He sighs again. “I’ll have my assistant send you all the necessary documents to your temporary address. Get back to me as soon as possible, yes?”
And so, by the time Peter finally gets fed up and leaves the hospital AMA, the insurance company has paid up everything it should have and he has a somewhat steady and hefty source of income.
There are a lot of changes in that first month. Among other small things, they move to a bigger flat while Peter sorts out the Hale land issue, Derek stops talking about leaving his studies and only works at the weekends (because apparently his work is not that bad, which in his case is as good as a singing endorsement), Cora stops helping around the neighbourhood (she just gives a hand at Derek’s workplace because she likes it too) and Laura is currently unemployed because Peter flat out ordered her to leave all her works when she couldn’t bring herself to make the decision even though she really wanted to. Peter also enforced the rule of having as many meals together as they can and has watched satisfied as they gain weight steadily.
All in all, he’s satisfied with the progress even though he knows they need to address what happened. He knows better than to push it, though, because even if the kids are as different from each other as day and night, they do share a common feature between them and with Peter. None of them do well when pushed to talk, they need to make up their minds by themselves first, so Peter just waits while they do. Peter is ready for when they feel like it.
And as he expected, Laura is the first to crack. Ever since she found herself with as much free time as she could ever want, she hasn’t known what to do with herself. Oh, the first few days (a week if he’s being generous) she enjoyed it. She slept in, watched series, went out and so on, but it got old pretty quickly and she started feeling antsy.
He’s working late in his office (the fancy way to call the kitchen until he actually gets himself a real one) when she slips in silently. She makes a show of looking inside the fridge but Peter already knows. Just like when this happened before the fire, though, he lets her be. After a couple of minutes, she sits in front of him with a mug of hot milk that he knows she probably won’t even touch and that Peter himself will end up drinking.
“I don’t know what to do,” she says finally. “I just… don’t know?” She rubs her mouth and then her forehead frustrated. “I used to and now I just… don’t?”
“So what?” Peter replies when it looks like she has run out of things to say.
“I-what?” she stutters bewildered.
“So what if you don’t know what to do?” Peter elaborates. “What’s the problem with that? What’s the rush?”
“I’m already twenty! I should-” she cuts herself before continuing desperately. “I can’t just stay doing nothing!”
Peter understands what she doesn’t say. She has devoted every second of the last two years to make sure the family stays afloat and now that she has nothing threatening to weight her down, she finds herself adrift.
“Then do something,” Peter says simply and she gapes. “You don’t know what to do with the rest of your life? Ok, fine, then decide what to do for the next day, week, month. Whatever you feel most comfortable with. Work, treat yourself, learn to do something new. You said yesterday that you wished you knew how to bake, right? Then find a course and learn. No? That’s no good? Then what else? Knitting? Martial Arts? Languages? If there’s anything that sparks your interest, even if it’s just a vague one, then go for it until you find your own way. And when you find it, you found it.”
“Laura, you’ve more than earned the right to be unsure and try your way around. Your parents would have been proud of who you have become.” Peter reaches into his bag and gets a little bag of Skittles out to hand it to her. “I couldn’t be prouder of you.”
Laura laughs and laughs as she catches the bag, then cries and cries, then she laughs again and then cries.
“Sorry,” she hiccups when she finally can get a hold of herself, just like she used to I’m the rare occasions that she cried this hard when she was younger. “I’m a mess.”
“Tell me something new,” Peter answers dryly, also like he used to.
That startles another laugh out of her and she throws a Skittle at him, again like she used to. Peter grabs it before it can impact on his eye (the little shit has always had deadly accuracy and one Skittle to the eye in his lifetime is all that Peter will tolerate) and then eats it. He makes a gagging face right afterwards, because he likes sweets but not the mass produced and just plain sugar kind. She laughs again when he steals her now lukewarm milk.
“You can come in, squirt,” she says after a few seconds, prompting a disgruntled Derek to come in.
Even as kids they had the rule to not intrude when one of them needed Peter, and he has always found that endearing and amusing in equal parts. He doesn’t let it show, of course, even if he shares an entertained look with Laura when Derek’s back is to them.
“You finished the milk,” he grumbles put upon and Peter nearly snickers.
“Here,” he says instead, handing him the mostly untouched mug of milk and Derek nods gratefully.
It looks as if he just came for something warm but he stops before leaving to fidget at the door. “Stiles is looking for a helper,” he finally lets out after a lot of hesitation. For moment Peter is a little confused but then he remembers that Stiles is the nickname one Mieczyslaw Stilinski prefers. The boss that always sends Derek home with a wagon of homemade sweets (that Peter secretly steals part of) because he pays him a ridiculously high extra every month to have him as a taste tester that gives him a brutally honest opinion about his creations. Peter doesn’t want to tell him that it’s most likely because both of Stiles’ parents also died before he was an adult and he wants to help him out. “He loves teaching people and he pays well.”
“I’ll look into it,” Laura answers warmly and the tips of Derek’s ears go red. “Thanks, squirt.”
“Not a squirt,” he grumbles before leaving.
Laura does apply for a job at R&R (one day Peter will actually remember to ask what that stands for) and gets it. She comes back looking mystified and Derek and Cora keep smirking. She keeps coming back happy and relaxed, though, so Peter, who is up to his ears with work, sees no reason to investigate further for now.
Cora seeks him out a week later. Just like she did before the fire, she unceremoniously walks into his office (still the glorified kitchen but hey, coffee and snacks right at hand) and then sits in a corner with the stuffed unicorn that Peter was so fond of. She isn’t crying this time but he knows better than to let that lure him into a false sense of safety.
When she finally turns to face him, her opening is certainly not what he was expecting.
“A boy called me a bitch today because I refused to go out with him,” she states completely serious and Peter is a bit thrown because she doesn’t exactly look affected by it. He waits for the other shoe to drop. “He said that if I had a mom I would be more of a lady… or something along those lines.” Ah. “You may get a call about that, by the way, because I think I broke his nose.”
Peter blinks, then he holds a hand for her to high-five (which does the trick to relax her from her tense posture) and then speaks. “Love, I know she was your mom and you thought her the perfect saint, but… well, no use on sugar coating things. Your mother was the most perfect bitch I’ve ever met and let me tell you, your father downright adored that part of her. In fact, he got all misty eyed and it stunk all around because of it. It was disgusting.”
“Uncle Peter! I don’t want to hear about mom and dad-” she groans revolted and can’t even bring herself finish the sentence. Peter hears Derek and Laura groaning too at the sitting room and he inwardly claps himself in the back.
“Yes, exactly! That was exactly my face,” he continues outwardly unfazed but deeply amused by her reaction. “I didn’t want to hear my sister doing the nasty either.”
“Uncle Peter!” they chorus from everywhere.
“Okay, okay. You’re such an overdramatic child…” He sighs as if put upon. “But back to your mother being a bitch and that being a fantastic thing.”
“Your mother nearly broke the pack apart once.”
“What you just heard,” Peter nods. “A bit of back story for you first so you can understand what happened better. Before your mother was made the alpha, the Hales were a very traditional matriarchal family. Children were always had at least in groups of three and power would be always passed to the oldest daughter. If the main family didn’t manage to spawn one, they would lose the right of leadership and it would shift to the line that had the currently oldest daughter. As you can guess, that was the ground of very entertaining familial situations,” he adds dryly.
“Why always at least three?”
“The oldest daughter for the alpha and of the two remaining, the oldest would be the right hand and the youngest the left hand.” At her incredulous look he nods. “Yeah, I know. In your case, Laura would have been the alpha, Derek the right hand and you the left hand.”
“I know,” he nods chagrined. “Not only that didn’t let anyone choose what they wanted to be, but it also disregarded that one person may be completely unsuitable for the job.”
“That’s so stupid.”
“Also, to put it bluntly, being the left hand was the worst thing that could happen to anyone. Invariably, they got pushed to the fringes of the pack and had to do all the dirty work behind the scenes and at the same time endure being looked down for it.”
“That doesn’t make any sense!”
“Exactly,” he agrees. “They had a system where the current holder of each position would teach the next one and in their eyes, that was more than enough. In reality it only served to drive the next generation apart just as much as the current one was.” Peter sighs remembering. “To make a story short, your uncle Daniel was too hot tempered and impulsive to be the right hand, your mother was too self-centred to be the alpha and I was too bitter and drawn to be the left hand by the end of the training period. None of us wanted to be any of those either. Do you know what your grandparents said?” She shakes her head in answer. “That she might be too soft to be the alpha.”
“Your mother was many things back then, love, but soft wasn’t one of them. In any case, she did a complete turn over into becoming the perfect daughter and alpha candidate. One neither Daniel nor I liked one bit.” Peter swallows remembering. “And if I didn’t want to become the left hand of the Talia from before, you can bet that I wanted to become that to that Talia even less. By then the rest of the family had caught wind of what was happening and demanded a trial period of a month before she was approved and Talia agreed to it.” Peter remembers that very night clearly even after so much time has gone by. He remembers her sneaking into his room at night and reaching to scent him with a softly whispered trust me, please. “It was one of the worst times I’ve ever had but I endured it and so did Daniel.”
“Why? Wouldn’t it have been better if some one else got the job? None of you wanted it, right?”
“Believe me, if you’d had more contact with your granduncles you wouldn’t be saying that.”
“Worse,” Peter says plainly. “Needless to say, she became the alpha in the end. But here comes the good stuff. By tradition, she should have chosen Daniel and I right then, but she didn’t. She chose your father instead, the most level headed and calm person I’ve ever met. It couldn’t be a more perfect choice even if she tried.” Peter grins remembering the mayhem. “Then she refused to choose a left hand and your grandmother and your granduncle Joshua very nearly had an apoplexy just then. It was glorious. Your uncle Daniel and your granduncle Estephan couldn’t stop cackling and let me tell you, I never saw him even smile when he was training me.” Peter smiles sadly rememberring the so brilliant and so tired man. “But, wait, it got even better. They all tried to stage a mutiny just then and she roared them into submission with so much ease it was ridiculous. When one of our cousins tried to push it and called her everything under the sun, she punched him and sent him rolling a few feet. Her bitch please face was a thing of beauty and I chose right then to be her left hand.”
“After all her troubles!”
“It was never a matter of capacity in my case love, but of willingness,” he corrects her simply. “But anyways, to wrap this up, your mother chose to be a bitch, to stand for what she believed on and not feel sorry about it. You can bet your ass that she would have high-fived you too today if she could have.”
“Really. But Cora, dear, the left hand still left in me is cringing at the execution. Next time be more subtle and don’t get caught.”
“I knew he’d never admit a girl punched him, though. He’s one of those macho guys.”
“Ok, I’ll admit that then,” Peter hums handing her a Mars bar. She grins happily. “But those types do crumble under the right pressure, you know. One push from their mothers and they’ll sing.”
“True. What do you suggest then?”
Peter does get called because of that punch. He talks his way out of trouble and not only Cora doesn’t get punished, but he gets the boy suspended for a week for harassment, with his own parents fully endorsing the punishment.
(Yes, Peter is that good.)
(He may have inadvertently created a monster, though.)
Unsurprisingly, Derek waits to seek him out until the house is empty because Laura is working and, as if sensing something was up, Cora has made herself scarce. He’s not crying, but he smells miserable, tired and sad. He hovers on the doorway for some time before making his way in. He has Cora’s unicorn clutched tightly between his arms when he finally takes a seat, which proves completely she knew something was up. He keeps silent for so long that, for a moment, Peter is sure this is one of those times when Derek doesn’t actually want to talk and just needs the company.
“If I hadn’t- If I-”
“It would still have happened. She would have tried Cora next and, if that had failed she would have found another way.”
“But it was me. I was so stupid! How could I not notice!”
“Hmm,” Peter hums, outwardly calm in the face of the storm even though he wants to find a way to revive both of those psychos so he can torture them back to death. “So if right now something about a child being abused appeared on the news you’d think them weak? And if it was of a child being raped?”
“Then what is it that makes you different?”
“I wasn’t a child!”
“Weren’t you? So you think fourteen year olds aren’t children? So if you heard news of a teacher being arrested for having sex or a relationship with a fourteen year old you would think what happened is their fault? For being gullible? Or would you think that the teacher is to blame?”
“I- It’s not- It’s not the same!”
“Why? What makes you different? Being a werewolf? You think being a werewolf changes much hormonally or neurologically speaking?”
“I should have known,” Derek whispers quietly.
“She was really good, Derek, and you weren’t the first she did this to. There were other kids before. Do you think they are to blame?”
Derek doesn’t answer. He just swallows and then cries silently.
Slowly, very slowly, Derek begins to open up. So slowly, in fact, that for a while Peter thinks that he flubbed up with his approach when they talked. But, after a while, he starts noticing little changes here and there and he can finally breathe easier.
Time passes. Despite some hiccups, the kids look healthier, happier and more motivated. Laura loves baking and is talking about enrolling into a school to get a title; Derek has been thinking about studying psychology to become a counsellor; Cora’s grades have shot up and she’s thinking about trying different clubs to see what she likes.
On one rare alone night, Peter gets out a bottle of fine whisky and silently toasts Talia, who in her final moments chose to issue another big fuck you to the stupid Hale traditions and shot the matriarchal system to hell. Then he forces himself to remember both the good and the bad of those gone and then to let go.
At a month to make a year after he woke up, the kids stage an intervention against Peter.
“I didn’t stop working so that you could work yourself to an early grave, uncle Peter,” Laura scolds him frowning. She looks so much like Talia that for a second Peter expects her to take both of her shoes off to practice her accuracy with his head. Since unlike her mother Laura does have a good aim, this could only end badly for him.
“I could up my hours again?” Derek adds softly, which is arguably worse that Laura’s promise of physical violence and Peter inwardly cringes. “I’m sure Stiles would appreciate it? Cake Wars is coming up, after all.”
“Cake Wars?” Peter asks, confused. He now knows the meaning of R&R -Rebel’s Respite, in a homage to Star Wars, but because of copyright reasons he used that acronym in the registration form. Apparently he continuously makes a pun about how by doing that he’s rebelling against the copyright Imperium. Peter hasn’t met the man yet, even after all this time, but he doesn’t really need to to know he’s a complete dork- courtesy of Laura, but this is a term he has never heard before.
“No no no no no,” Laura intervenes hastily before the distraction can work. “No changing the topic.”
Peter narrows his eyes at her with a clear a don’t you dare sass me, young lady, I taught you everything you know and she smirks even more. Ah damn, he did create a monster, after all.
He sighs resignedly.
Over the next week, Peter reduces his hours drastically. He’s been trying to save enough money to make a good savings account for each of the kids for any emergency or situation that may arise, but he figures that he has managed to put in a good enough amount by now and that he can take it easy for now.
He lets himself be convinced to go to Disneyland the last two weeks of summer vacation. It’s simultaneously one of the worst and the best things he has done in a while.
Cake Wars (again, the name is a bad Star Wars pun, why is Peter not surprised?) is a benefit contest that Stiles organizes every year ever since he opened his shop. Peter learns all about it while Laura pushes him towards the entrance. As they pass by, Peter notices a line that goes around the building and then extends until the street ends. Even the police is there, keeping an eye on the proceedings, and Peter vaguely wonders how Stiles feels about his late dad’s department’s presence.
Whatever he was expecting about the man, it doesn’t even get close to what he actually finds. Lean framed, with tousled brown hair and almond shaped amber eyes, Stiles is a ball of energy that never stops moving. He’s wearing a black chef uniform with an apron with a Darth Baker emblazoned on it. He’s also waving around what Peter knows to be lightsaber salt and sugar shakers and he hasn’t stopped grining even for a second since they got here.
When he spots them, he solemnly passes the lightsabers to a kid that looks scared shitless (Liam, Peter’s mind provides) and then leaves him to the wolves in favour of approaching them.
(Oh, if Peter didn’t like him already because of how much he helps his kids, he would now.)
“Laura! Mrs. Whittemore says she wants to challenge your pistachio panacotta, can you believe that?”
“Whaaaat???” she exclaims before becoming a woman on in a mission and abandoning Peter behind.
“I don’t think Mrs. Whittemore is actually here for the benefit,” he confides in Derek, who just rolls his eyes in unison with Cora, prompting a wider smile from Stiles. “I think she still hasn’t gotten over her crushing defeat last year so she’s trying a weaker” he makes quotation marks with his hands, “opponent. Your sister is gonna eat her alive,” he laughs, prompting another round of snickers out of them.
“Where do you need us, Stiles?” Derek finally asks looking at the chaos around.
“Unless you prefer to go to help Kira and Mason at the counter, go to the back with Erica and Boyd, will you?” Peter spots immediately how his nephew relaxes at not having to face the crowd dead-on. He’s pretty sure that Stiles offered him an out on purpose. “And you, awesome ninja knight,” he says turning towards a preening Cora and nodding towards Liam, “go help the damsel in distress before he gets eaten by the dragons, ok? Oh, and if you spot Scott along the way, try to put a leash on him and get him to the counter again. I swear, he’s like a puppy, he gets distracted with everything and suddenly I don’t even know where he is.”
“I heard that!” someone shouts from behind, prompting a snicker out of Derek and a smirk out of Cora.
“You were supposed to!” Stiles shouts back without even turning. “Don’t think I didn’t see you filching those lemon bars!”
“Lies and slander!”
“You still have the crumbs all over your face, you pig!”
“Oops!” a man eeps as he passes them by in the direction of the counter and Stiles rolls his eyes fondly.
“You must be the elusive Peter Hale,” he greets turning towards him and reaching for a handshake. “Nice to finally meet you.”
“Same here,” Peter answers warmly.
“So, I heard that you’re a really good lawyer?”
“Good, because Laura looks about ten seconds away from murdering Mrs. Whittemore and about just five from castrating her son, and since Mr. Whittemore is the district attorney she’s gonna need a really good one.”
“That’s insulting, you know?” Peter answers very seriously, with both eyebrows sky high. “As if my children would be stupid enough to get caught. I taught them better than that.”
For a moment, Stiles looks surprised. Then his whole face lights up and he grins delighted. “Ohhh, I like you. I hope you know that I’m never letting you go now,” he exclaims happily.
“FYI: the Stiles package includes a very high content of sweets, wit, sarcasm and dorkiness seasoned with a generous amount of clumsinness and nerdery. Also, when he says he’s not letting you go, he means it,” a teen pipes as he passes them and Stiles flips him the finger as the tips of his ears go red.
Peter can’t help himself and laughs, utterly charmed.
Me- Dean Winchester appeared to me one night, wearing his bi flannel and riding atop a sparkly unicorn. He looked down on me, threw some confetti in my face, and then exclaimed “you’re bisexual as hell. Welcome to the club”. I stared in wonder as he turned away and rode off into the night, trailing a bisexual pride flag behind him.
For Jimin, they were practically synonymous with a crowded room
full of laughter, late night takeout, crummy TV show marathons, shit eating
grins, and other things like–
“Truth or dare?”
Yoongi’s giving him that look: intimidating, challenging,
merciless. He may as well have just said “dare or dare.” Jimin doesn’t bat an
eyelash, trying to look unperturbed.
Apparently, their friend group hasn’t quite let go of the game
despite being well past the middle school phase. Well past. But then
again, it’s not like the game could ever be completely shunned; sometimes when other things get too overplayed, nothing quite riles up a crowd like an occasional
game of Truth-or-Dare
“Dare,” Jimin says simply. He takes a huge gulp of his soda, sets
it aside. Afterall, how bad could it be? Yoongi smirks. Memories of past games
flash through Jimin’s mind. Okay, it could be pretty bad. But
they’re sober right now, so at least no one’s going to be trying to jump off
the roof. So not that bad. Comparatively, at least.
So do you have a favorite promo!Tom from the Skull Island press tour? And if so would you post it??!! I liked Mexico best - the suit and the song they sang to him, and his face when he heard them - altogether gorgeous.
Hi, little gray face!
Oh, dear. What a question.
In the effort of not allowing myself to write a thesis about this, I have decided the following:
I will limit myself to Top Three
I am mainly focusing on the appearance aspect
I will not watch every video available from it for purposes of research
I will choose one favorite over all
So. With all due respect to that lovely burgandy top that got a lot of use during day interviews, and the Cuddle Coat 2.0, and the double breasted suit from Japan, and the bold patterned suit from China…
Third Prize goes to Mexico City Premiere Tom. Because that color is lovely. And it is lovely on him. I’m not absolutely in love with the pattern on the tie, but it’s fun and out of the ordinary.
Second Prize goes to Los Angeles Premiere Tom. Because that tie with the lil hummingbirdies is so whimsical. And I love the dotted pattern on the suit. And I love the splash of the blue shirt. Oh, plus, the fake out pocket on the right side doesn’t have a flap and that kind of makes me crazy in a good way and I’m not sure why. It draws my attention to his waist? Like I’m not sure, it just makes me wanna grip him right above his hips like one of those stuffed monkies with velcro on its hands and not let go.
First Prize goes to London Premiere Tom. Because this whole thing is perfect. It is a delightful mixture of patterns, shading, and texture. I mean how can you not love the polka dots. Really. Only Dodgers fans and Communists would hate the polka dots. The tie is textured and is the only solid color, perfectly placed. Then we move on to the lapels. I love the notch style with this pattern, it makes them stand out more than on the solid color suit from Mexico City. And finally. The pocket square. The pocket square that could be the subject of a Frank Sinatra tune. The pocket square that could be the lipstick stained clue that helps Poirot solve the case. The pocket square that could be a patented aphrodisiac. The pocket square that could be used to tenderly wipe away tears of pain and pleasure. Yes, that pocket square. It is verra wunduhfull. *sigh*
And over all, I agree, Mexico City Tom was quite something The atmosphere, the enthusiasm, the sombrero, the singing, the color in his ensemble…just all so happy. He looked in his element.
Thank you for asking! It was a great few weeks. I imagine it was so gratifying for him to be greeted all over the world with such excitement and appreciation. The haters can go kick rocks. He’s aces for me all the time, period - no coming and going with the tide of media hullabaloo. He is a delightful sparkly unicorn in a world of sad dull donkeys. And he is still that whether in a Gucci ensemble that costs more than my car or in his comfy holey sweatpants, because that’s the difference between a person who periodically reflects light from a temporary external source by happenstance and a person who consistently emanates light from a permanent internal source by choice. <3
may i suggest a theme for fic? How about carmilla attempts to seduce laura 3 or 4 times and laura;s still oblivious
The answer to the first question is always yes please.
And here you go, maybe it’ll get a title and stuff later.
God, Laura… she’s so… pathetic. She’s so clueless, sitting there, chattering at her computer with a baggie of bear spray under her desk. She’s so ignorant, flitting around campus as though she might actually be able to save her old roommate, to make a difference in this cracked and defective world. She’s so childish, her box of cookies open beside her, hot cocoa steaming, like sugar and chocolate might stabilize her careening Earth. Laura is so goddamn innocent. And I don’t know what to do with her.
Song preference: If I’m James Dean, you’re Audrey Hepburn by Sleeping with Sirens
Song preference: If I’m James Dean, you’re Audrey Hepburn by Sleeping with Sirens
Stay for tonight if you want to, I can show you what my dreams are made of as I’m dreaming of your face.
You and Calum had begun a relationship as friends with benefits, on the mutual agreement that you would both keep it at casual sex, with no strings attached, and at first it seemed like a great idea: Calum would call you at any moment in the night, telling you he needed you, and you would soon be at his door, with a cheeky smile drawn on your lips, and as soon as you had both satisfied your lustful desires, you’d get dressed, and leave without saying a word.
It was perfect, he would get the carnal benefits of a relationship, without feeling the pressure of actually being in one, which also made touring a lot easier, as he had no one to miss. Or so he thought.
After a while, he began longing for more, he craved for your kisses, just for the sake of feeling your lips on his, without leading to anything else. He dreamt of his arms around your small frame, about making you laugh, and about your smile, the genuine one. He knew this was bad, he knew he shouldn’t feel this way, but it was too late.
One night he called you over, and as usual, within 20 minutes you were at his door. When you started putting your clothes back on, he gently rested his hand on your shoulder, which made you turn around to look at him with a confused yet amused expression plastered on your face.
“Stay for tonight.” He pleaded, with those big chocolate puppy eyes of his, “If you want to…”
You sighed, this was not what you had agreed on, but one look into that abyss of warmth, and you were completely and hopelessly lost. You clicked your tongue, and gave him an awkward nod, as you started to take your jeans off again. You made your way next to him on the bed, and rested your head on his chest, as he took hold of you, feeling your warmth. Although neither of you talked about it, or made an agreement, you both knew since that night, your relationship had taken the next big step, and you were both prepared for sleeping in each other’s arms every night from then on.
I’ve been away for a long time, such a long time, and I miss you there, I can’t imagine being anywhere else, anywhere else but here.
Luke’s foot was impatiently tapping on the airport’s floor, staring at the screen which would tell him when he could board the plane that would take him back to you. He had been away for six months on tour, and although he loved it, and it was his lifelong dream, he was tired of it already. He missed you.
Before you came into his life, he was happy, he had achieved his dream, he had a loving family, he was touring the world with his best friends doing what he loves, and people loved him for it, but he always felt like there was something missing. Then you came into his life like a tornado, with all your feelings, your little quirks, your giggles, the way your eyes sparkled when you got excited, the way you got shy and awkward, the way you would have random spurts where you wanted to go out and run around in the rain, jumping in puddles, and he would have to bring you back home and throw you in a warm shower before you managed to get yourself sick. When you came into his life, he was truly living a dream.
It was hard, every goodbye was hard, and although he wouldn’t let you see him, the tears would threaten to cascade down his eyes, as his lip quivered when he held you close, promising once again to skype every day, and to text you whenever he could. You knew what you were getting into when you started dating him, you knew that distance would happen, and you tried to stay strong, for him. You called him every night, a smile audible in your voice, and you told him how proud of him you were every day, but at night, you’d grab one of his old shirts, and wear it to bed, while you curled up on his side of the bed, a hole in your chest aching with loneliness.
Less than ten minutes before he could get on that plane, and only a few hours before he could hold you in his arms again, and he wasn’t planning on letting go any time soon.
He quickly boarded the plane, and without saying a word to the other guys, he began playing his special playlist which consisted of songs that reminded him of you, falling asleep to thoughts of your smile.
As the boys landed, he could feel himself getting more and more impatient by the second. He had been away such a long time, all he wanted was to lock his arms around the love of his life, and cuddle in bed for the next few days. As he exited the airport, he spotted you in the crowd, waiting for him wearing one of his t-shirts, and a beanie. With the biggest grin his face could hold, he ran towards you, dropping his luggage as soon as he reached you, and enveloped you in a tight bear hug.
“I love you. God, I missed you y/n!” He said as he held you tighter.
“I’m glad you’re finally home Luke” you replied with a smile just as big as his, although by this point you were struggling to breathe a little.
“I can’t imagine being anywhere else but here” He replied “Let’s go home, we can buy ice cream and popcorn on the way back, I just want to stay in bed and cuddle for at least three days”
And with that, he took your hand, and led you to the car that was waiting for you, barely saying goodbye to his friends. You couldn’t be any happier, you finally had your baby home.
How the hell did you ever pick me? Honestly, I could sing you a song but I don’t think words can express your beauty, it’s singing to me.
He couldn’t believe his luck, every time he made you laugh to the point your eyes started sparkling with tears of joy, or when you smiled at him, every night you fell asleep in his arms, he couldn’t help believing it was all a dream.
How did he even manage to get so lucky? He was just a dorky drummer in a band, he wasn’t even the lead singer, he wasn’t cool, hell, he didn’t even have as many followers on twitter as the rest of the guys in his band. Honestly, sometimes, when he saw you talk to Luke or Calum, he would get a little bit jealous, and scared that you would realize you made a mistake in dating him, and you could do better. But you never did, you always looked at him with eyes wide, sparkly, full of wonder and love, like he was a mystical unicorn that had just pranced into your view.
“Ashton, I love you” His heart skipped more than a couple beats when he heard you blurt out those words the first time. He turned around and in less than two long strides, he was already by your side, holding you tight, and kissing you passionately. He thought his chest was going to explode from the joy he could feel filling him up, forming a pressure against his ribcage.
Whenever he saw you, he wanted to sing, just anything, just sing his heart out trying to express how happy he was, but whenever he sat down to try to write a song about you, he just couldn’t find words good enough to describe his feelings, or how beautiful you were to him, with all those flaws you claimed you had, which he simply couldn’t see.
He would never understand what you saw in him, but he was glad you had chosen him to make you happy, because there was one thing he was completely sure of, and it was that he would try his hardest to keep you happy, and to protect you from all harm. He would never allow himself to lose something as precious as you.
One Sunday morning, as you both cuddled in bed, you looked up to him, to notice him staring at you with a goofy smile drawn on his lips.
“What?” you asked him playfully, flicking his nose with your fingers.
“How the hell did you ever pick me? I’m the luckiest man alive. I love you so much y/n” He whispered, before kissing you gently.
They say that love is forever your forever is all that I need, please stay as long as you need. Can’t promise that things won’t be broken, but I swear that I will never leave, Please stay forever with me.
To say that you and Michael never fought was a complete and utter lie. In fact, you fought quite a lot. You both had very strong, fiery tempers, that wouldn’t hold back when it came to arguing. Sometimes it would be over something big, such as jealousy, but other times, it could be over the smallest of things.
You’d both get angry, shout at each other, you’d most likely throw something at him, which he would dodge, while he shouted back. However, your fights never did end up being serious, and somehow, he would manage to turn you around, mid-sentence, and kiss you by surprise like there was no tomorrow.
Sometimes you wondered if your relationship was even working, if it was worth all the fighting, if it was even any good for both of you, but you realized both Michael and you needed each other, you were crazy about each other, and you were both stressful people, who needed a way to vent, and release your tensions. A kiss would lead to more, and you would both end up tangling your bodies together between the sheets, rough and passionate, angry sex, letting go of all the things that had been angering you through the day.
You loved him, with all your heart, and you knew he loved you, but lately the fights had gotten too much for you, five days in a row was a new record.
“Look at us Michael! All we ever do is fight!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms up in the air in pure frustration. His eyes softened, and he quickly walked up to you, holding you from behind.
“I know y/n. But that’s what we do. We need this as a form of release. It’s like a therapy. I can’t promise you things won’t be broken, but I’m never leaving. Ever. See that ring in your hand? I meant that promise. I will stay with you until you no longer want me, so stay with me forever?” He asked you, turning you around so you would look into his beautiful green eyes.
You smiled into the kiss and nodded your head slightly, holding onto him as tight as you could.