"Are you newly arrived in romancelandia?"
idk i guess i have too many hale feelings in general? and i’ve never had a problem shipping intensely fucked up pairings. i don’t even ship her with young!peter. :c
so many Hale feelings all over the place I just want them to get better. And by better I mean be not dead. I don’t hate Peter. I feel super bad for him. I really want him to get help. Murdering his family is not the way to do it. Neither is possessing young innocent girls.
I don’t think I can ship old!Peter with anything except maybe intensive therapy and a psych ward
theillusivewoman replied to your post: Derek had laid the trap to catch a wolf, prowling…
SCREAMS IN DELIGHT
the idea was behind that Lydia was Peter’s (lawl Peter is always a werewolf) mate so she ran from her pack and wound up at the non-wolf side of the Hale family except no one actually knows that because of probably something the Argents did
Derek had laid the trap to catch a wolf, prowling far to close to the Hale Coven’s land, leaving a ring of death around their home like bluebells. The wolves themselves were not the most dangerous things, but wolves brought hunters like a black plague, and hunters had never been kind to anything pertaining to anything unnatural.
(he still tastes the metallic tang of blood, saturated and syrupy his tongue, as Kate Argent had pressed her knife into Laura’s throat, warning her that the first toe out of line gets cut off and then the next one and the next one; my personal opinion here, but witches are only good for burning)
But he doesn’t expect to find a wriggling mass of ginger hair and pale, naked curves. The first thing he notices is, feet, small and slender pushing through the gaps in his spelled net. And then he notices everything else—and there is a lot to notice.
Cautiously, he crouches down beside her, helping her disentangle herself. He knows instantly this isn’t who he’s after. His prey reeks of death, corrupted blood, and tar. She’s life, from the fire that sparks in her dreamy hazel eyes to the heavy curl of ginger hair she tosses at him in anger.
"Aren’t you a little short to be a werewolf?" he asks.
"Aren’t you a little male to be a witch?” she responses, her voice light and haughty. Much more so than it should be, considering her general nakedness and captivity. “Insert shot about your penis size here.”
Derek ignores that. “You’re encroaching on Hale land,” he points out. “A dangerous thing, making enemies of witches.”
"Oh trust me, there are much worse things out there than a tall, angry witch." For a moment he sees something more, to her, a trace of fear and vulnerability lodged under the steel of her skin. It is odd, Derek admits to himself, to find a werewolf by herself (especially her, perhaps, because surely her pack must be protective? She’s small and soft, bird bones and blood flowing purple through veins prominent in pale, creamy skin). She’s certainly no a Omega. He can sees power rolling off her like a heat wave, disturbing the air around her.
But then she stands and he sees—pale legs, upward and tucking into shadows more intriguing than they should be, and rolls and rolls of gentle, slender curves that a man could imagine sinking his teeth into.
"Well," she says, "are you going to get me a coat?"
Surprisingly enough, he gives her his.
i’ll come over and have words with your employer. i’m very tall and i have linebacker shoulders. this could work.
Megan can’t come in to work today on account of what the fuck is wrong with these kids
clings to legs
tell them I don’t have to go in at 7:45 and work till 5:45