peterwolfboylopez

[peterwolfboylopez]

fangbites‌:

One of the perks of being more or less frozen in time was the way bad habits didn’t really fucking matter anymore. Smoking was something he’d kicked decades ago, loathing the way the stench clung to his clothes, but he’d lit up a month or so ago and had essentially been chainsmoking ever since. This hellscape ruined all his clothes before their time anyways. It hardly mattered, and he supposed changing in the aftermath of a crisis was to be expected. Eternity- or however long his slice of it ended up being- would get stale quickly if one stayed the same always, after all, and if the smoke had helped to banish the scent of the person who had originally owned the shirt he was wearing now, tucked safely beneath his current favorite jacket, well, that was just an added bonus. 

He’d stayed in the shop later than he’d intended to. He usually headed home around three a.m., but it was late enough in the morning that the sun was high in the sky. He’d been lost in drawing up sketches and designs this time. He wasn’t sure if he’d bother making them or not. Sometimes he thought it was time for a new hobby. As small of a town as this was, the people that appreciated his talents were disparagingly few. He’d keep the shop open, of course, but probably mostly for repairs and alterations at this point. Maybe he’d take up ice skating again, or writing. Maybe he’d open up a nail salon. Maybe he’d do nothing at all and become a recluse and make beautiful clothes for Natalia and himself and ignore the rest of the town entirely. What did it matter? He could do whatever he damn well pleased and it would make hardly a lick of difference to anyone but himself.

He was nearing home when his ears picked up odd sounds. It took him a moment to figure it out- someone was panicking, he thought, and he hesitated in place for a minute. Wasn’t his business, wasn’t his problem. He’d been living by those two little rules lately, had been keeping his shit very decidedly to himself and burying everything under a thick layer of apathy. He was content to keep it that way, too, but after only a few quick paces towards home his traitorious feet were leading him towards the sound. Curiosity, 1. Cat, 0. For now.

As Kolya rounded the corner, cigarette at his lips, hands in his pockets, he very quickly began to realize what a mistake he’d made because crumpled on the ground, naked and bloody, was none other than Peter Lopez. Former best friend, former short- lived flame of sorts. Kolya stood in place and stared. The thing about wounds was that, whether one healed or not, a knife in the same shape as the one that had mutilated you in the first place was always capable of opening you back up. 

It struck him as funny, hysterical, almost. Déjà vu, except this time he was witnessing the train go off the rails instead of driving it. 

He didn’t know this man, not anymore, if he ever had to begin with. The Kolya of a few months ago would have already been next to the person in crisis, crouching down and trying to help whether it was anyone he knew or not, but the Kolya of now wanted nothing more than to walk away.

Wasn’t his business, he told himself. Wasn’t his fucking problem.

He took a final drag, dropped his cigarette to the concrete and ground it out with his heel before moving in closer anyways, because some things never changed, they just never fucking changed even if they should have. He slipped out of his jacket, draped it around the shoulders of the crumpled up man and cynically wondered if he’d just shrug it off the moment he figured out who it belonged to. Probably, but he hoped not. It wasn’t the jacket’s fault things between them had gone to shit. It didn’t deserve to be punished for Kolya’s crimes. 

He could tell himself he was over this repeatedly day in and day out for months on end but as he crouched down next to the panicking werewolf on the grass, the sick feeling in his gut and the tightness of his throat was quite telling. The revelation was met with nothing but exhausted acceptance; On some level, Kolya supposed he’d been fully aware that he’d been bullshitting himself, but that didn’t matter either way. He’d help the man get home and then they’d part ways again and that would be that. 

It took a lot of effort, but he reached out, laid a hand on Peter’s shoulder. That was another reason why giving up his jacket had been a good idea, he supposed. Less risk of skin contact. Any contact was bad enough. “Peter?” His voice came soft, soothing, the opposite of everything Kolya felt just then. He didn’t know what the fuck to say, what the fuck to do. This was so far outside his paygrade and his comfort zone that it wasn’t even funny, it was just pathetic. He swallowed hard. 

“I know you didn’t. I know.” His own personal issues with the man and this whole situation aside, Kolya did know that Peter would never intentionally do anything to put an innocent at risk. Or hadn’t when they’d been acquainted, at least, but it wasn’t hard to infer by his current state that that much hadn’t changed. “It’s gonna be alright.” Kolya did not know whether it would be alright or not, but again… that wasn’t his problem. Briefly, he wondered if he should just go ahead and compel him to calm down, take the easy way out. There’d be less of a mess for everyone involved. His grip tightened, and wildly, he scrambled to think of any action that might be of use. 

“I need you to concentrate on your breathing for me, alright?” He swallowed hard, let his hand drop from Peter’s shoulder to his wrist, taking Peter’s hand and pressing his palm against his chest, over his heart. “Breathe with me, if that helps.” Corpse or not, Kolya still breathed. Perhaps if Peter was capable of syncing his breaths with Kolya’s and calming down that way they could both be free of this mess that much sooner- Kolya could only pray to gods he vaguely believed in but hadn’t had much use or respect for as of late that it would be so. 

Hell, Peter was in hell. He had finally died and fallen down into hell, and all of the stories that his grandmother had told him about fire and brimstone had been a lie. Hell wasn’t fire and brimstone, it was far more personal than all of that. It was trembling and cold, struggling to breathe as one thought disconnected from another and flew around in his mind. It was the very real possibility that Peter had killed someone, that someone else’s blood was sticky and coating his hands, matting down his hair. It was spiraling down into the dark and trying to claw himself back out, only to be shoved in yet again by the wolf that was forever clawing angrily at the back of his mind. He was alone and cold in the middle of a dark hole that he would never escape from.

His own name snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts, the world becoming a slow swirling thing as that voice his his ears and a heavy weight landed on his shoulders. He huddled into the warmth of it, huddled into the feeling of something covering him, and his eyes slowly lifted to find an angel looking back at him. It had to be an angel, his swirling thoughts supplied, God sending him a final punishment, an angel wearing the face of the man he loved to taunt him and call him the monster that he was. 

Unbidden, tears filled his eyes again, and fell quickly. What did it matter? He was in his own personal hell, let him cry. He had that right, didn’t he. The strange actions of the vindictive angel confused him for a moment, and he tried to force himself to follow the instructions, a shallow breath in, an even shallower one falling from his lips, and something in the back of his head told him that his heart was still beating, that this might not be Hell after all. But then, it could be a trick that the devil played. Prayer wouldn’t help him here, just the steady breaths of the angel, in and out, in and out. The rhythm was one that took him several minutes to grow accustomed to, shallow breaths and mis-steps setting him back a bit before he finally seemed to settle into it. His eyes never left the face of that angel, vindictive or not, this might be the last time he could see that face, and he was going to drink it in as much as he could.

When he thought he might be able to speak again, Peter’s shaky hand moved from the chest of the angel with Kolya’s face and moved to brush unsteady fingers against cool skin, surprised by the attention to detail. The angel mimicked Kolya’s body temperature, as well, matched the way those cheekbones stood out against skin, the ridge of the brow. Even now, Peter could remember those things about the man he loved, and the angel was a perfect recreation. It was almost heartbreaking. “You look just like him.” His voice came out as a whisper, eyes closing for a moment to try and force back more tears, to swallow thickly before his eyes opened again to go back to drinking in that face.

Kolya was gone from Peter now, while he rotted in this hell. Likely relieved that the werewolf had finally gone, no longer there to burden the world. The thought stung, but Peter would have accepted it. “I miss him.” Why bother hiding from this angel who likely knew his every dark thought and feeling, anyway? This was his own personal hell, might as well open up. “I suppose-- it makes sense that you took this form. If I’m to suffer for eternity, it’s fitting that I’m haunted by this face. I love him, you know. Loved, I suppose...” Trailing off, Peter’s eyes finally fell from that face, and he blinked again, a bitter chuckle leaving him, staring at the hand uselessly in his lap. “Can you tell me how I died?” His thoughts returned for a moment to frantic, and his eyes shot up, wide and afraid. “I didn’t kill anyone else did I? Please, please tell me that I didn’t kill anyone before they took me out. I can’t... I... Please.”

[peterwolfboylopez]

[peterwolfboylopez]

❤️

[peterwolfboylopez]

darcyrsharpe‌:

Darcy should’ve left. She knew that she should’ve left by now. After all it would’ve been easier to find food in town somewhere rather than rooting through his cabinets. But she hadn’t slept so well in months. It had to mean something. Although it might just be a testament to how exhausted she’d been.  

She leaned back against kitchen table. When Peter said he could relate she only nodded. This was getting dangerous. Clearly the two of them had more than just being werewolves in common. Getting close to him would only result in her family hurting him. Darcy was certain of it. Every altruistic and self-preserving part of her brain was screaming at her to leave. But there was a quiet selfish part of her that asked for just five more minutes, just one meal, just a little bit longer. 

As he started to pull out ingredients and tools, she hopped up to sit on the table. She’d forgotten for a moment about her still bruised ribs and couldn’t help the soft grunt of pain that escaped her when the movement aggravated them. She banished any pain from her expression quickly though. It was fine. She was fine. 

“Spicy’s great,” Darcy replied with another nod although he probably couldn’t see it. “Ah,” she said when he explained where the takeout menus were, “No wonder I couldn’t find them.” 

She watched him at the stove. She couldn’t cook for shit. It hadn’t been a necessary skill according to her grandfather. Mostly on the road, she ate takeout. Maybe she should try to learn. If she was stuck in this town. Of course that assumed she lived that long. It took her a moment to pull herself from her thoughts and respond to his questions. “Yeah, actually,” she said, “I slept really well, thank you.” 

As Peter set things up for cooking, he listened to the girl shuffle around. Part of him though to scold her for sitting on his kitchen table (he ate there, after all), but hearing her soft grunt of pain, he simply let it go. If she was still in pain, even after almost a full day of sleep, she must have had a pretty bad injury for there to still be lingering pain. So instead of shooing her off of his table, he tried to pretend that it wasn’t grinding on his last nerve that she was just happily sitting on the place where he ate food.

A soft hum of contemplation as she mentioned that she slept great, and it got an idea brewing in his head. He had already told himself that he had no plans of adopting a smart-mouthed baby wolf, but he couldn’t help but feel bad for the girl. If he didn’t at the very least try to help her out, she was going to wind up in the hands of the wrong Watcher, or picking fights with the wrong person in town. Sure, it wasn’t Peter’s business if she did, but if he picked up a newspaper and saw her face next to an obituary, he was going to feel like shit about it.

Despite how hard he had been trying lately, he still wasn’t completely heartless.

A sigh ripped through him, and he grabbed a spoon to taste the meat that he’d been working on, to see if it needed more spicing. He liked it, well enough, but after a beat, he used the spoon to walk over and offer it to Darcy to taste. “Is that seasoned enough? It’s been a while since I’ve cooked for someone other than myself.” After a pause, another sigh left him. “As far as that spare room goes... you’re welcome to stop by and use it whenever you’d like. I have a spare key hidden outside that I’m sure a smart person could find relatively easily.”

Give and Takeout

[peterwolfboylopez]

viv-adair‌:

Vivienne raised a manicured brow as her subject downed the rest of his rancid wine. She was well aware that most people didn’t have any sort of palette for wine, but that didn’t make it any more acceptable to slam it down your gullet like a shot of grain alcohol at a frat party. The woman took another careful sip and set the glass aside. “I prefer not to cloud my senses too much before we dive in, you understand.” It was true, just as she would rather drink cough syrup then finish the glass he offered. But she wanted to keep up the pleasantries. It wouldn’t help her any if Mr. Lopez decided to rescind his offer before she even got to take one sample.

“Are you sure?” It was a surprising request. Most people would only ask to feel the pain if there was some other kind of pain they were trying to smother. “I will, of course, oblige.” She opened a journal, beginning a section titled “Mr. Lopez - Lycanthrope”. She noted the aversion to penicillin and silver, thrilled to learn at least one of the myths was true. Unfortunately for her subject, a fair amount of her tools were pure silver, but she decided to keep this tidbit to herself. It would be easy to explain away later, and the professor would be lying if she said she wasn’t interested to see how the wolf’s body would react.

She nodded, scribbling down a note about his veins. It had been ages since she’d had a willing subject, and even then it had been back in school, with boring, dead humans. Normally, Viv would have to discover these facts on her own. It was both exciting and disappointing to have some of the basics down and known before she even began her work.

A sly smile crept across her features at his teasing question. “Don’t worry, I won’t be harvesting any organs. However for us to make any real progress, I’ll have to pinpoint where the virus takes hold, so to speak.” Viv closed her notebook and set her hands delicately on top. “But that won’t be until much later, if it’s necessary. More likely, we’ll be sticking to blood tests.” The professor cocked her head. “I assume you are alright with being the subject we test any potential cures on, yes?” Though she certainly wouldn’t be opposed to finding a few lab mutts for their usage.

“I am no stranger to pain.” Peter offered simply, his shoulder lifting once before he settled back against the arm of his couch, elbow propped casually, every muscle at ease, it would seem. Peter wasn’t foolish, he knew that he had a reason to be weary of this woman, but despite that knowledge, he couldn’t get past one particular thing, which was the fact that he had asked for this in the first place, fully aware that there could be pain, that there could be danger, and he couldn’t justify allowing the woman to hide any of the pain that he had asked for. 

Besides that, pain itself wasn’t something that Peter was afraid of. He often went out in search of it, getting into petty arguments with Ulrich wolves or picking fights with stupid hunters, then there was the case of his basement, which was an entirely different story. But there was no real reason to drudge any of that up, and as he watched the woman pull out a notebook and start writing, he quickly spoke up again. “During a full moon, we rip completely out of our skin, and pretty much every single bone in our bodies break to reorient, so pain is something we tend to understand quite well.” 

She watched the smile on the woman’s face tilt in a slightly more sinister way, and it caused his heckles to raise slightly, sitting up a bit straighter. Another reminder, he had asked for this, before he let out a slow breath, offered a nod of his head. “I’m willing to test anything you come up with, yes. I would simply like to know what is in it before I ingest it.” 

[peterwolfboylopez]

darcyrsharpe‌:

Darcy heard the door open and paused immediately in her search. She listened as careful footsteps made their way towards the kitchen. Her breath caught in her throat, hunger momentarily forgotten. Her mind too went immediately to an intruder. She grabbed one of the knives from a drawer. The smell in the air she thought she recognized, but that didn’t cause her to relax at all. 

After all, she knew her family’s scent plenty well. 

Less than a moment later, Peter appeared in the doorway, obviously ready for a fight too. Darcy watched him relax a little and lean against the doorframe. The motion caused her to let some of the tension out of her shoulders. She set down the knife on the table too seeing as she couldn’t very well attack him in his own home, 

She only nodded when he commented that she was still here. If she was honest she didn’t really have anywhere else to go. But he didn’t need her to confirm that for him. As far as what she was doing, Darcy glanced over her shoulder at the open drawers and cabinets. She was about to reply when her stomach growled, answering for her. 

At least it seemed to relax Peter. The tension didn’t entirely leave her shoulders though. She watched him as he crossed to the fridge. “Sorry, I haven’t eaten since…” Darcy paused realizing that she had no idea how long it had been since her last meal, “a while anyway.” 

She finally relaxed, expression breaking into a soft grateful smile when he offered tacos. “Tacos would be amazing,” she said with a nod. She hadn’t eaten since at least the night before and probably longer. It hadn’t been much of a meal either, just a vending machine dinner in that last motel. Shifting a little, Darcy leaned against the table. “I started by looking for takeout menus,” she offered, not wanting him to think her first instinct was to steal his food and bounce. 

Peter listened, carefully. He wasn’t sure what he was listening for between the lines, necessarily, but he was listening for something anyway. After all, he had picked up pretty quickly that things with Darcy weren’t so black and white. Her mentioning that she hadn’t eaten in a while was cause for minor concern. Peter almost felt bad for her, resolved to make sure that she had at least one good, hot meal before she took off again. He didn’t exactly expect the little pup to hang around, though he couldn’t say he would be kicking her out on her ass. He had a guest room he never used, after all, and if she needed a place to stay, well... He wasn’t heartless. As much as he might have wanted to be recently, he wasn’t.

“I can relate.” He finally answered, honestly, because he couldn’t exactly remember the last time he’d had a good meal, either. He had been avoiding food with his constantly turning stomach making him fear that he might not even hold anything down anyway. Sure, he would grab a quick snack, a handful of popcorn or a box of junior mints at the theater, but that was about it. Tacos would be good for him, too. Besides, he liked cooking. Cooking relaxed his nerves.

So he set about collecting what he had from the fridge, moving around to pull things from cabinets, everywhere, drawers, flipped the stove on. Continued listening to the girl as she spoke. “Hope you like spicy. I don’t do mild when I cook.” He offered as he listened to the ‘plop’ of meat hitting a still not quite hot skillet. “As for takeout menus, they’re in the den, under the bar. If I’m going to order takeout, it usually means I’m staying in and drinking, so I keep them there for convenience.” A pause, as he grabbed a spatula and started breaking up the meat. “Did you sleep well?” 

Give and Takeout

[peterwolfboylopez]

A soft groan left Peter, hand coming up to press against his forehead. It felt like he had been hit by a truck, if he were being honest. The morning was barely peeking in, the sky a strange mix of blue and pink, and he couldn’t quite figure out his surroundings. Everything hurt, everything was a blur. The entire night before was dark. All he knew for sure was that it was early, that he was definitely naked, and that he was laying on grass.

Several startling realizations hit him at once. He was naked. He was outside. Worst of all, he couldn’t at all remember the night before. He jerked upright, wincing at the sudden action, but unable to focus on that as panic seized in his chest. Last night have been the full moon. He was outside of his own basement, which meant that he had gotten out. Everything else fell away as that realization hit the hardest. He had gotten free. The shackle around his ankle was still there, with the chain dangling uselessly from it. It hadn’t held. He had gotten free. 

Someone could be dead.

Several someone’s could be dead.

His vision blurred, breathing coming out more and more in pants as he looked down at himself, surveyed the damage. Bruises around his ribs, blood, cuts, bites. It was nothing new. It was nothing unusual. What was unusual was the surroundings. The panic was getting worse, he wasn’t sure how he was pulling in a single breath anymore, his hand coming up to claw at his throat, to try and clear his airway, as he gasped and choked, barely aware of the sound of footsteps, frantic ones?, approaching. Someone come to put him out of his misery? Someone come to take revenge? To gape at the poor, pathetic man who had lost control, possibly to the disadvantage of several people?

“S--so--sorry. I’m s-sorry. I didn’t mean-- I didn’t-- I didn--I...” He couldn’t complete a thought, he couldn’t even see who had approached, friend or foe, but he had the sense to double over, to try and gasp and pant his way through an apology as he continued to panic. “F---fuck I’m--- I--’m so--sorry. I’m so so--sorry. Fuck. I got--- I g--got out... I d--didn’t m-mean to.”

@fangbites

[peterwolfboylopez]

[peterwolfboylopez]

Peter Lopez + text posts

[peterwolfboylopez]

@fangbites

[peterwolfboylopez]

samsonfrisk‌:

The pastry was gone almost as quickly as the mood shifted in the room once more. If emotions could physically slap you, Samson would have backed away from the force at which the words lashed out from Peter, eyes wide. He was too fucking high for this. He shook his head, trying to gather his own thoughts among the chaotic emotions now flinging themselves about the room, an ache beginning behind his temple as the man’s voice cracked. God, what was he supposed to do here? He opened and closed his mouth a few times, simply trying to parse through the tidbits of information fed to him, trying to think of anything he could say or do that wouldn’t just result in another disaster.

Anger was beginning to roil up in his chest, unwanted and unwilling. It felt like it was choking him as it bubbled beneath his throat, and he could feel his fingers tense on the fabric of his apron, feeling the threads pull. He quickly moved his hands to the counter, on the edge of the display case, not wanting to tear apart the apron as he felt the telltale itch of claws wanting to spring out from his fingertips. Clenching his jaw, he breathed in through his nose, trying to calm himself down from an unwelcome shift.

“I- Peter? I know you’re not okay. Obviously I know that? I just… I meant that, I hope- God, who knows what I meant at this point? I obviously can’t say the right thing anyway, so what does it matter?” He laughed, and it wasn’t a pretty sound. Bitter, self-demeaning. And Peter’s next words had his eyes widening once more, “Fuck boy?!” The confusion and anger sent adrenaline shooting through his veins, proving that moving his hands to the case was the wrong move as clawed fingers crushed through the glass, the top pane of glass shattering, cutting his hands and falling onto the pastries below. “Fuck-” He ripped his hands back, blood dripping onto the floor, pupils blown wider now.

Peter hadn’t exactly expected the reaction, but then, he hadn’t expected to blow up, either, and the moment that he heard glass shattering, he jerked back and a snarl ripped out of his mouth, shoulders jerking up toward his ears, entire body tight, ready to strike, ready to attack because his entire body, the wolf growling in the back of his mind could only think danger and instinct took over common sense for Peter far too much recently. He was lashing out and attacking pretty much anything, lately. Apparently that extended to the baker boy quite easily. 

“Yeah, that’s what your fucking sister called me.”

The words came snarling out through gritted teeth, body refusing to relax even as his mind tried to remind him that he was in no immediate danger. There was nothing bad that Samson could do to him that he wouldn’t fully deserve anyway, so honestly, what was he going to do to defend himself?

And he was hurt. Some small part of Peter wanted to hop the counter and check the boy’s hand, make sure that there was no glass embedded there. Quick healer or not, he was intimately familiar with out painful shards of glass digging into the skin could be. Rather recent memory, too. His head shook quickly, and he forced his shoulders, at the very least, to relax. “You’re not okay, either.” The words came spitting out, voice harsh, a little too rough, as he gave the boy a once over, the blood dripping, that harsh copper smell almost cancelling out the normal sweet smell of the bakery. Something distinct stuck out to him, and his eyes narrowed slightly. 

“You know what, I came here to make sure that you were okay. Clearly, you’re doing just fucking great.” Hands flying up, he backed away carefully. “You don’t need me checking in on you and harshing your buzz or what the fuck ever.” A pause, as his back hit the door, pushed it open just enough that he could feel the breeze from outside. He swallowed, hard, forcing back the emotion again. For the best, he reminded himself. The less emotional ties he had, the easier it would be to build back up those walls he loved so much. No use crying over spilt milk. He blinked back any moisture that tried to work it’s way into his eyes, head shaking. “I won’t bother you anymore.”

[peterwolfboylopez]

willowxwispxrp‌:

She stepped back sharply, grateful that she no longer had to abuse her knuckles against the door. Peter was always a bit gruff, a bit snappish, and it made sense that he was a whirlwind of extra piping hot negativity today. “I’m not here for peppy bullshit,” she answered, squaring her shoulders and digging her heels in to her courage, to the reason she was here. “But you’re miserable and Kolya’s miserable…Peter what the hell is happening right now?”

There was no basket of goodies hanging from the crook of her elbow, she didn’t launch into her typical cheerful script. No…she was here a messy ball of concern. Her friend was hurting and Peter looked just as broken as Kolya did. So why were they not talking to each other? What impasse had come between them with such sudden ferocity that they’d both decided it was impossible to mend things.

“I’m coming in.” Willow didn’t normally announce things like that, but she did this time, and even pushed past Peter and into his place. She tries to make sure her body language isn’t hostile. Of course there’s a part of her that wants to talk sense into both of them and fix this. But the more realistic want is just to get a more accurate depiction of what happened, what they’re both thinking. It’s up in the air whether Peter would let her be a friend to him, but Kolay would and she needed to know how best to support him through this. 

“I just…Kolya told me what happened…from his perspective. And his perspective just involves him being the worst entity ever to exist and you giving him his due punishment for being a monster. I don’t know you well, Peter. But I give you more credit than that. I think you care about Kolya more than that. So I just…what happened? What are you trying to do or not do here?”

Peter felt his shoulders tense, heckles immediately rising, body language immediately shifting to defensive. Of course, Willow was here on behalf of her friend, it had nothing to do with Peter himself. Probably here to read him the riot act for the absolutely horrible things that he had done. And said. Maybe she would hit him. While the idea was almost comical when he considered that this was Willow fucking Forsythe, it wouldn’t necessarily be unwelcome. How hard could the human hit, he wondered. He doubted that the girl had done much hitting in her entire life, so it would probably feel like getting hit in the face by a rather small bug.

He was already opening his mouth to tell the girl to just go home and slam the door in her face when she made her own intentions clear and walked right past him into his house. Just... waltzed right the fuck in. He blinked, eyes still on the spot that the girl had been in just a moment before, which was now just empty air. “Excuse me, did no one ever teach you manners?” He whipped around, foot kicking the door closed a little too forcefully, listening to the slam as his arms folded across his chest. “You don’t just go walking into people’s houses, Willow. I didn’t invite you in.” 

The words cause him to pause for a moment, eyes closing against a dangerous memory threatening to come to the surface. He didn’t want to think about that last night. He didn’t want to think about anything. He opened his eyes again in time to realize that Willow was speaking again, and the words were registering a little too slowly in his mind. “I... beg your fucking pardon?” 

Kolya... thought that he was the monster in this situation? That was... a total load of bullshit. It was bullshit and his mind refused to latch on to it. No fucking way. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. Probably looked like a fish for a moment as he tried to collect his thoughts. “I hurt him. I... I broke his fucking neck and he thinks he’s the monster in this situation?” His head shook a bit, eyes closing again, this time a bit longer. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we’ve had a bit of a falling out. We’re not friends anymore, and that’s probably for the best. Dunno if you know this, but I could literally kill him. And since I do care about him, as you’ve so helpfully pointed out, I took myself out of the equation so that he wasn’t in any more danger from the likes of me.” A pause, and he finally opened his eyes again, narrowed, glaring at the girl. “We done here? You’re free to uninvite yourself from my house.” A jerk of his head, toward the door. He really, really wasn’t in the mood for this shit. 

[peterwolfboylopez]

@fangbites

[peterwolfboylopez]

Peter had woken up on his couch, completely disoriented and out of it, completely unaware of the time, but the sun peeking up over the clouds had told him that it must be pretty early. He might have been more confused about why he was on the couch had it not become a semi-regular habit lately, avoiding his own bedroom, where it still smelled like the blood he had never cleaned out of the carpet, where traces of Kolya’s scent lingered on the sheets he still hadn’t changed and washed, where he felt on edge and anxious every time he walked in. Sure, he would crawl into bed on certain nights and allow himself to sink into sleep with his face buried in the pillow, but it was far more normal now to pass out on the couch where he would sit and contemplate how long he could hold out before he had to go to bed.

The position had done a number on his neck, something he tried to work out with a quick hot shower. He had to work, after all. He couldn’t even bother with trying to fix the curly mop on his head when he caught sight of the time. He simply rushed out the door without a thought in the world, certainly not a thought about the girl sleeping in his guest room. Some part of him simply assumed that she had snuck out sometime in the night when he’d been asleep.

It was why, by the time he was dragging himself back into his home hours later, the sound in his kitchen gave him pause, raised his heckles and had him carefully closing the door, quietly slipping out of his jacket and shoes and treading cautiously toward the kitchen, ready to strike. Who would break into his house? What of value did he even have in his home? Sure, his closet was full of extremely nice (and some of them even one of a kind) pieces, but the intruder was in the kitchen which he was sure held maybe one knife and a couple of plates. The alcohol was under the bar in his living room, even.

By the time he’d reached the kitchen, he was far too on edge, jaw tense, eyes narrowed, ready to strike. The sight of Darcy gave him pause again, fist balled and frozen at his side, eyes blinking rapidly to try and adjust his mind to this new development. The little wolf girl had stuck around? That was what he got for not using his nose. He sighed, tried to shake out his muscles and relax a bit against the doorframe, though he was still rather on edge. “So... you’re still here.” The words were a statement, trying to be playful. His arms folded over his stomach, eyebrow lifting at her. “What, pray tell, are you doing?” 

The sound of her stomach growling caused him to pause again, before his muscles truly relaxed and he laughed out loud. “Ah, yes.” Pushing away from the door frame, he wandered toward the fridge to pull it open. “I don’t have much, but I bet I could whip up some pretty decent tacos.” Glancing toward her, he offered a bit of a wry grin. “Tacos good? Or are you one of those picky eaters?” 

Give and Takeout

@peterwolfboylopez

Darcy had no idea how long she slept. When she woke, it was dark outside. Sitting up she stretched, feeling the ache in her ribs. They hurt a little less though. The house was quiet. Out of her backpack, she pulled out her make up kit. She padded into the bathroom and set to work. A long time ago one of her aunts had taught her the magic of make up and how she could use it to make people see her as she wanted them to. For now though she went simple. She covered up the dark circles under her eyes, applied a little blush to make herself look better fed than she was and applied a nothing special lipstick. For the first time in a couple of days she looked like a real person. 

Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before. After putting away her make up bag she went downstairs in search of either Peter or take out menus. Her steps were soft, no more than a whisper, a learned habit from The Monastery. Darcy didn’t hear anyone else in the house, but she called out anyway. No one replied. Figuring that Peter had gone to work, she started her search for take out menus. There was nothing on the fridge, so she started looking through drawers. 

Her stomach growled again. Darcy opened a cabinet, trying to decide if she could eat some of his food without him getting mad. She’d replace it, of course, but it wouldn’t exactly be polite considering he’d let her use his shower and sleep at his house. She was also starving by now and couldn’t exactly text him to ask. 

[peterwolfboylopez]

fcilvre‌:

   Poor little sacrificial lamb, she can’t even manage that right. She wasn’t upset by the rejection of her offer, and in fact just offered a smile in return, bobbing her head in a nod, “See, that’s a good point because I don’t want to make a shitty day even worse, you know?”

   The idea of seeing a movie by herself was always refreshing, because it meant she could sit and stew in her own form of self hatred and nigh-nihilistic thoughts that she didn’t dare allow any other hour of any other day. If someone were to sit Patricia down for long enough, that friendly smile would wilt at the edges like an old salad, and eventually her facade would crack into a thousand pieces and people would see that, though she is a sweet girl who wants to help, she’s also fully aware of her own limitations and the fact that life really does not like her.

   A glance around at the burgeoning crowds and her mind was whisked away to being 19 and working there, and how she had still been trying to perfect her mask to the point that it made sense; no one could expect her to be truly perky at that point, as she’d been taking care of her siblings and her mom had only been missing for a few years, but it allowed her time around people and learn how to make them smile while she mirrored it back in perfect unison… however untrue.

   “I might take you up on that. I mean I have the job at Town Hall, but it’s rare that anyone needs anything from that specifically because most people are just… we’ve sort of given up on the idea of most things so it’s all documentation and file work and eventually you don’t have anything left to do.” Patricia rambled a moment, then lifted her shoulders in a shrug, looking over to Peter.

   Game knows game, and she knew that he was not nearly so happy as he put on, but as he wasn’t smashing her own glass house with a hammer, she wouldn’t shatter his. She did, however, reach out to pat his shoulder, innocuous and friendly, “If you ever need anything though, you really can call me.”

   … that much was true. The friendships she had, however tenuous they were because of her own reclusive nature, she valued and would go to bat for at the drop of a hat. … Supernatural or not.

Peter wasn’t oblivious enough not to realize that he was in a bad way. He knew that his hair was a bit of a mess from the constant running of his fingers through it, he knew that under his glasses, his eyes were bloodshot and the bags under them would be heavy, he knew that even his normally put together clothing was a bit more rumpled and disheveled than he would allow himself to look outside of his own home. When he had first gotten to work that morning, he had managed to look a bit more put together, a bit more as he should, but the day had worn on, and between being stuck guiding idiots to the correct theater (when there weren’t even that many theaters in the damn building in the first place), and his own wandering thoughts poking and prodding at the back of his mind any time he had a free moment to think, he was falling apart at the seams. Someone was bound to pick it out eventually.

He was unsurprised that Patricia had picked out the fact that he wasn’t quite right, but it didn’t make him feel any less defensive when the girl reached out and patted him on the shoulder. He was fine. He was thoroughly convinced that if he continued to tell himself those words, like a mantra, like a prayer, that they would eventually be true. He couldn’t be not fine forever, and simply because he had royally fucked up and cut off one of his true sources of happiness in this shit hole town didn’t mean that there wasn’t bound to be something that he could find to make it... not better... but some kind of bandaid to patch the emotional wound.

He had a few ideas. He was well aware that they wouldn’t be approved by anyone that supposedly gave two shits about his well-being.

He was finding it extremely hard to care, though.

Offering a smile that he could feel straining around the edges, he gave a small nod of his head. “I appreciate it, Patricia. I really do.” He paused, lips twisting, thoughtful for a moment before he offered a soft sigh. “I’ll get over myself, I always do. But the same goes for you, you know. Anything. I’m not hard to find, since I’m pretty much always here or at my house these days.”

[peterwolfboylopez]

darcyrsharpe‌:

Sorry or not, Darcy still shouldn’t have said it. She didn’t think him heartless either for how he’d responded. She had been raised to take care of herself. This, like everything else, she could take care of too. There was no sense in dragging anyone else into it. Her ribs would heal, faster than they used to even. She would find somewhere to sleep. This town, while it might eventually be the death of her, it had also bought her some time. Her uncle and cousin hadn’t followed her into town and if half of the rumors about Ashbourne were true it would take them some time to find their way here. She could take care of herself. 

She smiled softly as Peter tried to offer what support he could. A shower and coffee was one thing. Darcy couldn’t ask him for more. If one thing was obvious from their conversation, he had his own stuff to deal with. He didn’t need hers on top of it, not when she could take care of herself. 

“Thank you,” Darcy replied, “But once I get some sleep and a shower I’ll be alright on my own. Have been for three months.” She didn’t mention her ribs. There wasn’t much anyone could do about that. 

As the barista got their coffees, she noticed him pull out his phone, but pretended not to. Over the general noise of the cafe, she only picked up some of it. From what she could hear it sounded like he was calling out of work. She almost turned to tell him he didn’t have to do that. She could just go to this Hub and find a motel. But he’d already sorted it. 

Instead, she smiled again, “Thanks.” She added a splash of milk to her coffee at the little milk station before they headed out onto the street. Her shoulders dropped a little once they weren’t surrounded by people anymore. 

Coffee often helped Peter clear his head first thing in the morning. It was slightly bitter, though the sugar helped. With his tremendous sweet tooth, he had surprised many a people with his coffee order. But, in his own opinion, coffee wasn’t meant to be sweet, it was meant to sting and wake you up. And the effect it had on a hazy mind was wonderful. That first sip once he’d been handed the cup and slipped his phone away was met with a soft, slightly more relaxed sigh. 

He could feel the girl relax beside him once they were back outside, and he let his own shoulders relax slightly as well. It was a bit easier to feel at ease when the girl felt at ease, and maybe she was good at pretending that she was at ease, but it was the thought that counted, right? 

The walk to his own house was quick, quicker than he expected, and he unlocked the door, pushed his way inside, and flipped a light. If there was one thing that Peter was proud of, it was his home. He kept it clean (though the way that it looked now, in his recent depression, it could stand for a good dusting), he had found the furniture mostly at the junkyard or antique shop, so things didn’t match, but that made it... eclectic, he thought. 

He nodded toward the staircase. “Second door on the left. Towels are in the closet right next to it. After you’ve finished, I have a few.... clothing items that are a little too small for me, you can use.” He moved toward his couch, sank into it and hefted another sigh as his head fell back, eyes closed. “You’re also free to use the first door on the left, once you’re done, for a nap. I might have one of those myself.”

Red Sky in the Morning//Darcy & Peter

[peterwolfboylopez]

fcilvre‌:

   Going to a movie by one’s self wouldn’t be the metric by which most would measure their day as going well, but it allowed Patricia some quiet reflection, so it ended up being less daunting than most. She didn’t care about the women around her age who shuffled past on their way into a new film as a gaggle, as they whispered and cast a glance at her; everyone in Ashbourne was weird, and if going to a movie alone was the extent of her weirdness, she was coming out ahead.

  A shrug lifted her shoulders however and she moved over to Peter so that she wasn’t shouting across the place and could have a normal conversation, “You look like someone spit in your sandwich and then yanked your hair, so I’d imagine I’m probably doing better by that measure. Do you, uh… do you need any help? I mean I’m seeing a movie but if you’re stuck a bit I can sub in… no one needs that kind of stress.”

   Part of being a Forrester was offering yourself up as charity a lot. She, her brother, and her sister had all inherited that quality from their father, and sometimes it was to a fault; it was hard to pull yourself out of a self-sacrificing nosedive before you splattered against the concrete like a warm melon, but her smile never faltered, “I don’t mind.. I worked here like… six summers ago? I think it was before your time but I’m pretty handy.”

   Her brain screamed for death, but her smile was all warmth and helpfulness. In all fairness, it wasn’t that Patricia didn’t want to help — the people she cared about mattered most, and she really did like being helpful — but it was a constant state of hiding her abject sadness and general macabre view on life that got her the most. Peter probably wouldn’t mind a slip in the persona, but she couldn’t let it get back to Celeste; her sister was surprisingly fragile.

Peter offered the girl a soft snort as she describe the state he was apparently in. If he was being honest, he would have preferred that to what was actually going on, but he wouldn’t drag that out and bum the poor girl out. Besides, why ruin such colorful imagery with something as boring as Peter’s vanilla brand of self-hatred? “I wouldn’t disagree, except that I actually rather enjoy having my hair yanked, so I can’t say that would put me in a sour mood.” His grin took a more devious smirk as he spoke, and he had enough in him to shoot the girl a playful wink before the facade fell a bit and he let out a sigh.

Her offer was kind. He would admit that. But he would never allow someone to simply take over his job for him, especially not someone that wasn’t even currently on his payroll. Besides, Patricia was here to enjoy herself, to watch a movie and relax. What kind of horrible person would let her work a job that wasn’t even hers in cases like that. Peter shook his head slowly, offered a grin. “Absolutely not. Do you know the paperwork I would have to fill out if someone found out I let a non-employee work? Besides, you’re here to have a good time, not to work for the rattled manager.” He offered her a small nudge. “But thank you for the offer.”

He let out a soft hum, however, as he thought back six summers. “I was here. I wasn’t managing yet, though. I was cleaning toilets and the sticky gunk off floors back then and didn’t actually speak much. Plus, I mostly worked the ten pm to three am shift back then.” He lifted his shoulders in a half shrug. It had been a terrible job and a terrible shift, but he had liked how quiet the theater got after the last show let out, and he had the place to himself to clean and set up for the next day. He hadn’t had ambitions of moving up, but the promotion had been nice. “If you ever want to come back, though, for real, just know that the job will always be yours. I would never turn down someone who was, self-proclaimed, pretty handy.”