#they can taste blood on their lips (theirs. someone else's) and there are dead corpses all around them it's still absolutely perfect

[stormyoceans]

i apologize for being an absolute sap today but i can’t stop thinking about vegas and pete getting married

and im sorry but i KNOW vegas would be a nervous mess about it. he asked tawan to marry him once and it was the easiest thing in the world to say those two words and slide the ring on tawan’s finger, just another lie in his game of manipulation, so he doesn’t understand why his hands start to tremble and his mouth dries out at the simple thought of asking pete. he talks to macau about it once and macau just looks at him and says ‘isn’t that normal, though? this is pete we’re talking about’ and just like that vegas gets it, because yes, it’s pete, and vegas is in love with him, this time is real, and he means it, and he’s not exactly afraid pete will reject him, but. he wants to do it right

he asks macau if he’s okay with it even if he already knows the answer, and it’s worth it just to see his little brother pull him into a bone crushing hug and then launch into a list of all the things they’re gonna need for the wedding. then he goes to pete’s grandmother to ask her for her blessings, which she gives him with a pat on his cheek and a smile so similar to pete’s that makes his heart ache. the last he does is visiting his mother’s grave: he apologizes for not visiting more often, updates her on everything that happened, and most of all tells her about pete and how, for the first time in his life, he is happy. vegas only has one thing left from her, a necklace that he managed to steal before his father threw away all of her things the same day she died. he plans to turn it into an engagement ring and hopes she understands. before leaving, he promises her to bring pete along if he says yes, so she can meet him properly

im not sure how the actual proposal would go, mostly because i still have to decide if i want them to stay as far away from the mafia world as possible or if i want them to go back and reclaim the minor family for themselves, but i know that vegas WOULD go down on his knee. and pete says yes, of course he says yes, and when vegas puts the ring on pete’s finger and kisses it, he already knows what his vow is gonna be: to be together with pete in this life, and the next, and all the ones to come

[world-of-horrors-au]

Horrors AU - Sick Justice

A different kind of traveling show has come to town, a taste of propaganda in a world of pain and genocide. A memorial to those who have been victims to the monsters they call Horrors. This isn’t honor, this is desecration. 

---

"Are you going to the memorial exhibit?" They'd asked her.

"The what?" It took a moment to understand. "Oh." And she'd set down her phone. "The Victim's Memorial? I didn't know it was here."

Her co-workers had nodded, shared private glances.

"Yes. It's our turn."

Our turn, they'd said. Memorials for the Victims traced from town to town, carrying boxes of painful memories, exposing 'truths' to the world. It was propaganda, of course. Most things were. There was no law stating you had to go to the Memorial, no government consequences for staying away. But it was patriotic to go there. People could notice if you stayed away for no apparent reason. So she went alone.

The Memorial was in the Civic Center. It took up most of the building. Briar, dressed in black, stood before the sign in front of the door, letting it sink in.

THIS IS A GRAVEYARD

A MOVING COFFIN

WITHIN ARE THE MEMORIES OF THOSE WE HAVE LOST

AND THOSE WHO HAVE STOLEN FROM US

SHOW OUR FALLEN RESPECT

TOMORROW YOU MAY JOIN THEM

Underneath, they listed the rules: quiet voices, no children under thirteen, no running, no photos. Breaking the rules could lead to a fine between $25 to $500. 

She passed the sign and entered.

Inside, a chill wrapped around her exposed forearms. They said Memorials were cold as death, because it preserved the artifacts better. A wall blocked the exhibit from sight, forcing you to turn a corner to get to it. Coating the wall were tiny photos, hundreds of them, more even, each of a known victim. Some were family photos, yearbook pictures. Others were reconstructions of John and Jane Does.

Briar scanned the wall, and shivered. None of her victims were there. No one knew what she had done yet.

Turning the corner exposed the whole of the exhibit. Human figures, fake walls, headphones on stands, drawings and things Briar couldn't even see yet. A black curtain separated the two halves of the exhibit. Wrapping her arms around herself, Briar stepped on through.

Human bodies stood against the wall. No, machines, animatronics maybe, but lifelike ones. Their skin was smooth and matte, fleshy pinks and browns on their cheeks and arms. Their sightless eyes blinked. As she stepped closer, their faces moved to smile. Above them stood a sign: HEAR THE VOICES OF THE DEAD.

She stood before a Hispanic woman. The eyes of the machine looked down at her, the face crinkling with artificial mischief. On the stand, the name was written, with more text describing her life. Beside the text was a button. Briar pressed it, and the lips began to move.

"My name was Isabella Blanco." The voice could curdle blood. "I lived in Michigan, where i was raised since my family moved when I was ten. I loved anime, pranking my friends, and playing the violin. I was killed in my mother's house. My organs were taken from my warm body, and my liver stuffed in my mouth. I was awake when they took out my eyes and put them in my mother's jewelry box. I screamed for help but my neighbors were dead, too. They left me to die, and I did, but they left my throat intact. That's why you can hear me. This is my story, this is my voice. Even though I am dead, I can still speak. Now my story lives on through you."

The voice ended. Briar relaxed her hands, uncurling them from their fists. She'd clenched them so hard, they almost bled.

Technology was amazing, wasn't it? For the sake of giving a voice to the dead, they reconstructed the throats of corpses, manipulating them until words were born. An exact replica of the person's voice when alive. But it was all wrong.

Briar went down the line, listening, averting her eyes from the machines'. A man in New Mexico, a woman in Iowa. Two children in South Carolina. More. More. And the rest of the Memorial would be worse.

Artifacts in the center. Photographs of victims. Pottery, drawings, blankets, more, made by the victims, loaned by their families. Smiling faces by each item, with a small description of their fate. People could call it ghoulish, and they'd be right, but who would ever speak up against a Memorial? It would be like speaking against the dead.

Someone else, a woman, walked the exhibit with her. Briar listened to the squeak of sneakers on the floor. She caught a glimpse in a reflection on a glass case, a dark haired woman all in black. Whatever the other was looking for, Briar almost hoped she wouldn't find it.

In front of the black curtain was another sign.

BEHIND THE CURTAIN LIES EVIL,

PAIN AND SUFFERING.

HERE ARE THE STORIES OF TORMENT

AND THE STORIES OF JUSTICE.

WHAT YOU SEE WILL HURT YOU

WHAT YOU SEE WILL GIVE YOU HOPE

DEATH IS NEVER THE END

Briar hesitated. I don't want to see this, she thought. But she'd promised the others she'd tell them what was here. Only BEN had seen the inside of a Memorial, and he'd never seen behind the curtain. They stayed away because if they went, they would destroy the entire exhibit, and the fallout from that might wipe their kind into extinction. So here she was alone. Alone to look evil in the face as she did every day and night.

Her fingers curled around the curtain. She lifted it up. Moved it to the side. 

Behind the curtain were relics of the Horrors. From the human perspective, of course. No bodies, but signs explaining the murders, the captures and executions of Horrors. The bodies in the photos were covered with white sheets. Funeral photos of coffins, wreaths, grieving families burying their dead. The screens on the walls rotated images of federal agents working together with police. A tv stand showed a quiet replay of news reports of Horrors being arrested.

There were knives here. Guns, taken apart under glass. Claws ripped from the nail bed. Ropes and chains and torture tools of all types. They lay under glass, with the names of the ones they once slaughtered.

For something that claims to offer hope, Briar thought with a swallow, they're really enjoying themselves.

Sick, sick pleasure. Under the screens on the wall were death masks of her people, their faces twisted with agony. In a cage was a heart, preserved with plastic. The sign below it said DO NOT TOUCH. Would she have even thought about it if there wasn't a sign? Of course not. Maybe they even wanted you to touch it. 

She wasn't going to.

There were touch screens on one end of the room, each with headphones. Briar lingered, her finger hovering over the screen. The screen read, THE TRIUMPH OF JUSTICE. Pressing the button brought up a list of names. Names of dead Horrors. Her stomach churned. She pressed one at random. Scanned the pages, the information about the murders, the capture, the show trial. The execution… 

They had videos of the executions. Beside the text the Horrors struggled, fighting against the ones who dragged them to the scaffold. Their screams of rage, of fear, echoed from the headphones that rested on the stand. The chains clicked as they wrapped around ankles and wrists. The machines began to pull…

She slammed the back button but it was too late. The screams locked into place in her head. They wouldn't leave. They'd never leave. She'd hear them for weeks when she slept, agony overlaying the background of her unconscious. Their fingers would flex, their faces bulging in agony.

God damn your justice, Briar thought, her body shaking. God damn your justice to hell. I'll bring your entire species to hell. 

This was not justice. This was never about justice. This was about revenge and domination. Their hope was built on mutual hate, a hate that was shared by her kind, and theirs. This hope, this Memorial, was propaganda to make the public accept cruelty towards something no human could understand. If there was ever a chance to live together in peace, humans killed it with the Three Days law. They killed it along with Jane.

It hurt. It hurt because it wasn't fair. It hurt because it was fair, tit for tat, one genocide for another. And she was just one person who couldn't do anything.

I need to get out of here, she thought, and headed for the curtain.

Halfway to the exit, a woman spoke.

"She's not here."

Briar stopped, looking over her shoulder. The woman she'd glimpsed stood before a list of names, brown eyes scanning through them. Before Briar could speak, the woman turned.

"Did you see anyone named Lauren?" The woman asked.

It took another moment for her mouth to work.

"I… I don't think so. I'm sorry," Briar said.

The woman turned back to the names. Her face was a cold line.

"I hoped maybe you'd seen something I didn't," the woman said. 

"I-"

"She's probably in another exhibit. And that's fine. I'll see her later." The woman looked back at her, and something in her gaze made Briar's stomach drop. "I guess I'll see you later, too."

Briar took a step back.

"Won't I, Briar?" The woman said.

She ran. Ran out the exit, out of the building, past the smokers and the man in the business suit, to her car. No one stopped her. The woman didn't follow. None of that comforted Briar at all. Eyes followed her until she was safe in the arms of her family once again.

[danurso]

(Im not the hugest fan of rule 63 characters like leia ren, carla winchester or sunny wukong, but for some reason mercuria hit me in a soft spot {no, not that soft spot you pervs (≖_≖ )} and i really liked some stuff between her and jaune, and so she's from now on a part of jaune's massive harem here in my blog, and this will be her first appearance, although i want to make something later just for her)

*CEM(N), JNPR and RWBY are out in a forest for a field mission*

Emerald: ugh...i can’t believe it's finally over. If i ever see those kids again i’ll either kill myself or kill them.

Mercuria: then you better let your testament ready, we still have to take a trip back to beacon with them, have you forgot?

Emerald: *head falls in depression*

Cinder: focus, we can’t let anyone notice us before our plan is complete, and if that means that we’ll need to be friendly with those eight then we’ll have to bear it for now.

Emerald: i know, it's just...how can they be so happy all the time?

Mercuria: *with a grin* dunno, how can you be so annoying all the time?

Emerald: shut up mercuria! I'm not in the mood for that!

Mercuria: come and make me.

Emerald: you...

Cinder: if you two don’t stop right now, i’ll get rid of both. *flares the flame in her right eye*

Emerald: r-right, im sorry.

Mercuria: sorry.

Cinder: *sighs* forget about it, just stop bickering.

Emerald: y-yes ma’am.

Cinder: it won’t take long until we reach the meeting point, don’t drop your facade, no matter how unbearable they are.

Emerald: *sighs* yes ma’am.

Mercuria: well...not all of them are unbearable, that blondie is kinda cute.

Emerald: arc? Of course you would like him.

Mercuria: i don't like him, he’s too much of a spineless coward for my liking, we all studied he and his team, we know how innocent and pure he is, i just think i could have some fun teasing him.

Emerald: *rolling her eyes* it had to be.

Mercuria: come on, you saw how he blushed when i showed a little bit of cleavage back on the ship, i wonder what other faces he can do.

Emerald: you’re not going to start are you?

Mercuria: for real now emmy, are you going to say that he doesn’t interest you in any way?

Emerald: physically speaking, he seems decent enough, everything else is just uninteresting, he’s too much of a goody two shoes for me, if he had at least one evil bone in his body i could have some interest, but since he doesn’t i’m not interested.

Mercuria: what about you boss? What do you think about arc?

Cinder: just like emerald said, he’s physically decent enough, but everything else about him is just uninteresting. he’s stupid, coward, weak and sickeningly kind, i could never have interest in someone like him.

Mercuria: thought so.

Emerald: you’re not really planning to get involved with arc are you? You know we have our own plans to focus right?

Mercuria: nah, i was just thinking it could be fun to tease him. If i ever get interested in a boy he would need to be cruel, dominant, sadistic and merciless, he would basically need to be arc’s direct opposite.

Emerald: that does sounds more like your kind of man.

Mercuria: not only my kind, i know you two have the same taste for men as i do.

Emerald: mens like this don’t exist. They are either corrupted cowards or completely insane psychos, a man who can be both good looking, strong and cruel to the right degree is probably rarer than a maiden.

Cinder: and that's why you should stop talking about mens and start thinking more about our plans, it's not like any of us will ever find someone like this.

Mercuria: well, i can dream can’t i?

Emerald: dream later, we arrived. *walks inside a clearing to see all members of team RWBY injured on the ground*

Cinder: *with a fake concerned tone* what happened? Are you okay?

Yang: *coughs weakly* a group of five mercenaries showed up out of nowhere and sent a barrage of explosives in our direction.

Pyrrha: we heard the explosions and found them like this.

Ren: apparently they were fighting the mercenaries before we got there.

Nora: we managed to pick them up and run away, but jaune stayed back to hold them.

Emerald: where is he now?

Pyrrha: we don’t know exactly, somewhere towards north.

Cinder: we’re going after him, don’t worry. *bolts away*

*a few minutes later*

Mercuria: you think he’s still alive?

Emerald: he’s facing five mercenaries on his own, he’s for sure dead right now.

Cinder: still, if we bring arc back alive they will trust us more easily, and that can help in our plans.

Mercuria: so we kick some asses and save the blondie, sounds good to me.

???: AAAHHHHH!!!

Emerald: over there!

Mercuria: bye bye arc, it was good while it lasted.

Cinder: even if arc is dead, let's at least capture the mercenaries so- *freezes*

Mercuria: .........i think we won’t be able to capture them. *starting at the three corpses on the ground, the first one with a large gash on the stomach and guts spilling out, the second with the head split in half and the third was cut in half by the torso.*

???: i’ll ask you one last time. Who. sent. you?

CEM: *looks ahead to see jaune without his chestplate, with ragged clothes and covered in blood while two mercenaries backed away fearfully from him*

Mercenary 1: *holding the bleeding stump that was once his right arm* n-no one sent us, p-please just let us g- *sword pierces his mouth and through the back of his head*

Emerald: is that really jaune arc?

Mercuria: i don’t know.

Jaune: *kicks the now dead body and pulls out his sword, glaring at the last mercenary*

Mercenary 2: *backing up on the ground with a terrified expression* w-wha- he was telling the truth! W-we don’t work for anyone! We just bait huntsmans here to steal them!

Jaune: *slowly walking towards him* ohh but i know he was talking the truth.

Mercenary 2: *panicked* t-then why did you killed him!?

Jaune: *grabs him by the throat and slams him against a tree* do you know who i am?

Mercenary 2: w-what? O-o-of course not.

Jaune: my name is jaune arc, son of alexander arc and grandson of john arc.

Mercenary 2: arc? B-but they are a family of heroes.

Jaune: i know...

Mercenary 2: how can someone like you be part of that fami-AAARGGH!!

Jaune: *with his sword through the mercenary’s left shoulder and twisting it slowly* don’t interrupt me when i'm talking, okay?

Mercuria: *blushes* w-when did he got so...

Emerald: dominant? *also blushing* cruel? I have no idea.

Mercenary 2: *nods frantically*

Jaune: yes the arcs are most known as a family of kind hearted heroes, but i’ll let you know a little secret about us. *smirks darkly* once you hurt someone dear to us, we set the honor, the kindness and the mercy aside and turn into vengeful blood-thirsty monsters.  *starts to twist his sword again with an unsettling smirk*

Mercenary 2: AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!

Cinder: something is wrong, when did arc became so *blushes* attractive?

Jaune: do you understand now? Why did i killed your friends and why i’m doing this to you? *tightens the grip on his neck*

Mercenary 2: YES!! I UNDERSTAND!! PLEASE JUST LET ME GO!!

Jaune: ............okay. *let go him*

Mercenary 2: *falls on the ground coughing before looking back at him surprised*

Jaune: what?

Mercenary 2: y-you’re not going to kill me?

Jaune: no. *sheathes sword*

Mercenary 2: *confused* r-really?

Jaune: i already said that no, i won’t kill you. and an arc never goes back on his word.

Mercuria: *sighs* i knew it was too good to be true.

Mercenary 2: t-thank you. *gets up and tries to run but gets yanked back falling on the ground* wha-AAHHHH!!

Jaune: *stomping his legs, breaking both of them*

CEM: *eyes widen in surprise*

Mercenary 2: AAARRGHH!! I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOU WOULDN’T KILL ME!?!?

Jaune: and i won’t kill you *smirks pointing at a ursa coming towards them* but i can’t say the same for him.

Mercenary 2: w-wait! Nononono! Please-

Jaune: *grabs him by the hem of his shirt* fun fact, ursas have a extremely painful bite, and they chew a lot too. *smirk gets wider* Hope you two have fun. *throws him at the ursa*

Mercenary 2: NOOO!! PLEASE!! *gets bitten in the shoulder* AAAHHHH!! *gets dragged back into the forest*

Jaune: *still smirking* bye-bye you fucker. *turns around* now i need to get back to- *freezes*

CEM: *staring at his ragged post-battle form covered in blood*

Jaune: d-did you...just saw that?

CEM: *nods*

Jaune: oh god, l-look, i know what you’re thinking but please don’t panic. I-it's just that-

Cinder: *grabs him by what's left of his hoodie and pulls him into a heated kiss*

Jaune: *blushes*

Cinder: *breaks the kiss and stares at him with hungry amber eyes* You and Me. Bed. Now!

Jaune: w-what!? C-cinder i-

Mercuria: hey! You’re not planning to let us out are you? *hugs jaune’s arm between her breasts* i also want a piece of him. *licks her lips and opens a perverted grin*

Jaune: *blushing deeply* w-what!?

Emerald: *hugging his other arm between her breasts* i want a piece of him as well. *with a sultry look*

Cinder: of course, you can have a piece once i get mine’s

Jaune: *blushing to a atomic degree* w-what!? What do you mean with that!?

Mercuria: we mean that all of us have been pretty naughty latelly, and you look like you know a lot about punishing other peoples, mind showing us how would you punish some bad girls?

Jaune: *blushing to a solar level* WHAT!?

Emerald: we’re just curious to see how rough you can be, think you can show us?

Jaune: l-look, as flattered as i am feeling right now, we just know each other for about a month and-

Cinder: it doesn’t matter. Let's make a deal, you give us what we want and we won’t tell anyone what just happened, deal?

Jaune: i...... *sighs* i guess i have no choice right?

Emerald: no.

Mercuria: nope.

Cinder: i don’t think so.

Jaune: *sighs again* your funeral. *wraps hands around theirs waits and pins them on the ground* and don’t blame for what happens next *smirks sultrily* once i start i won’t stop, okay?

CEM: *blushes and shudders* okay.

*two hours later*

Pyrrha: they’re taking too long, shouldn’t we search for them?

Ren: but we can leave them like this.

Ruby: we’re already better, our aura healed most of the damage.

Weiss: go search them, we’ll be fine.

Pyrrha: okay *gets up* we’ll be right ba-

Jaune/CEM: we’re back.

Pyrrha: thank god, are you oka- *stares at jaune covered in bruises, blood and hickeys and CEM in a similar state while smiling brightly*

Ruby: err...what happened?

Cinder: the mercenaries were tougher than we expected, it took us a while to take them down.

Blake: and where are they?

Emerald: they escaped, unfortunately.

Yang: oookaay...but why are you all covered in hickeys?

Mercuria: they had some kind of gun that was really powerful, our aura protected us from the real damage but the bullets still marked us wherever they hit.

Weiss: really? Because none of us saw any guns with them when they attacked us.

Mercuria: i know right? Those guns came out of nowhere. we tried to take the mercenaries down quickly but they kept coming back, we put them down several times but they just kept coming and coming *drooling with a perverted smile a blush* and coming and coming and coming *shivers* until we couldn’t take anymore.

RWBY/NPR: *raises eyebrow*

Cinder: *hugging jaune’s arm* but thanks to jaune we managed to win them, he was just like one of those heroes we see in the movies.

Emerald: *hugging his other arm* yeah, he really was.

Weiss: *sighs* whatever, we don’t have time to deal with this, we’re all dirty and tired so can we just take the bullhead and go back to beacon?

RBY: *groans and nods*

Pyrrha: let's go then, the extraction point is nearby. *walks away*

RWBY/NR: *nods and starts to walk away as well*

Jaune: *sighs in relief* looks like they didn’t suspect anything, thanks for keeping my secret girls.

Emerald: no problem but... *blushing a bit* do you think we deserve a reward for that?

Jaune: *raises eyebrow* you want a reward?

CEM: *nods*

Jaune: well...you did kept my secret like you promise, and you also did a great job answering their questions, you made more than enough to deserve a reward, so don’t worry *smirks* once we get back to beacon i will make sure to give you three loads of reward, is that okay to you?

CEM: *blushes and shudders* yes daddy.

[tinywriter2018]

Chapter Fourteen 

Shanshan moved another chess piece, her eyes looking into Weiwei’s, trying to figure out if that was the right move or not.  

“She’s going to checkmate you in two moves if you place it there.”  Zhao Shaoxiang spoke up from the doorway.  He was against the side of the house, glaring at the two girls.  K.O. was standing near him, inside the house, ready to attack if need be.  

“How long are you going to be playing cat and mouse for? Don’t you have a city to destroy?”  Hao Mei asked, his eyes looking around towards the few vampires circling the place.  It had been a few days since he fed, the lack of blood was starting to thin his patience.  Zhao Shaoxiang ignored the vampires inside, his eyes falling on Shanshan directly.  

“Do you want to hear a story?”  Weiwei knocked over a chess piece, moving her own to call check.  

“It’s not like we can go anywhere.”  Shanshan mumbles, moving a pon, knowing Weiwei was going to win from the beginning.  She was better at Go, then Chess.  Standing straight up, Zhao Shaoxiang, crossed his arms, a devilish smile forming on his lips.  

“I love a captive audience.”  Weiwei rolled her eyes.  

“Get on with it already.”  Her patience had run out two days ago.  

“You know, I wasn’t always out for revenge.  Like my maker, I too fell in love with a human.  I had spent almost one hundred years with him, and thought I found the person I wanted to spend the next 100 with.  Feng Teng thought different.  He resented the fact that I found someone while he was still picking up scraps from the battlefield.  One day, Feng Teng said we were going to play a game of hide and seek.  It’s Shanghai, I’m sure I could win.  This was before it was what it was today.  Still a small port city, nothing major.  If I won, I could leave with her, a new vampire and eternity with the love of my life.  If I lost, I would find her body missing some pieces.  I still thought Feng Teng was a man of his word.  I guessed wrong.  Xiao Nai did nothing to help, nor did he stop the slaughter that happened.  He was new to our nest, but he was stronger and closer to Feng Teng then any of us ever were.  The next night, I woke up by the river to find her corpse lying with her blood drained, next to her head on a spike.  She had been dead for three days.  Feng Teng said he could have turned her, but thought against it.  Not only did kill her, but he killed her family.”  Shanshan looked over at Weiwei shrugging her shoulders.  Weiwei smiled at Zhao Shaoxiang.  She stood in front of the doorway, crossing her arms at him.  

“Was that supposed to sway us? Make us hate them?”  

“Feng Teng told me before I left that the woman he killed was a hunter.”  

“You seem to be close with a lot of them.”  Weiwei quipped.  All three vampires in the room stood up, their gazes falling to the back of the house.  Shanshan and Weiwei both realized what Zhao Shaoxiang was doing too late.  The smoke and flames coming out, as fire rained into their house.  Cocktails ablaze, it shattered setting everything it touched to an inferno.  The smoke was filling their lungs, the air becoming thin.  They had two options, remain inside and burn or take a chance with Zhao Shaoxiang.  K.O. grabbed Weiwei while Qiu Younghou grabbed Shanshan.  All vampires bolting out of the house as fast as they could.  Unfortunately, more of his men were there, wrapping silver around them.  

“Don’t kill them!”  Weiwei heard, her eyes falling on Hao Mei who screamed.  She watched Shanshan tired to reach him, but falling too short before another vampire got her.  “I want Xiao Nai and Feng Teng to enjoy all their friends deaths.”  Weiwei felt a sudden pain on the back of her neck, before the world went dark.  

 ♣♥♠♦

“Weiwei! Wake up! Please wake up!”  Shanshan yelled through her tears.  She felt her friend regain consciousness, bolting against the ropes that bound them.  “Weiwei!”  Shanshan cried loudly.  

“I’m here.”  She tried to reassure her cousin, trying to get her bearings back.  Reaching her hand as far as she could, she grasped Shanshan’s fingers, squeezing them.  A boat was being pulled up.  They watched a silvered Hao Mei dragged on, a knocked out Qiu younghou slivered to the dock.  

“Time for you to go.”  Weiwei felt herself pulled up from the ground, dragging Shanshan with her, until their rope holding them together was cut.  Shanshan yelled after her, but no matter how much Weiwei kicked or struggled it was like fighting against a brick wall.  She was dragged screaming onto the boat, while Zhao Shaoxiang lifted Shanshan up into his arms, holding her close to him.  

“Say bye bye to your little friend.  When the sun comes up, Hao Mei will light her on fire until theirs nothing left of either one of them.”  Tilting her neck to the side, he sunk his fangs into her throat, getting the first taste of her.  Weiwei was screaming until she was pushed inside the bottom cabin, unable to see what else was going to happen.  Shanshan felt her hope die, further and further as the boat drove out onto open water.  She felt Zhao Shaoxiang stagger back, confusion hit him.  Turning her to face him, he looked her over, trying to figure it out.  

“What are you?”  

♣♥♠♦

Weiwei took in a deep breath, trying to steady her tears.  They had left them there alone for now.  

“Hao Mei, can you see anything?”  It was too dark for her human eyes, but he could see everything.

“What are you looking for?” 

“Something to cut my ropes.”  She heard his skin sizzle more, when he lifted his head as best he could.  

“Just beyond your reach three feet behind you is a piece of jagged metal.  Be Careful!”  He yelled, when she moved closer.  She reached around, finding the jagged edge.  Sawing away at the binding, felt the ropes break free, moving quickly to unravel her feet.  “I hear noises outside.  There’s fighting.”  Hao Mei was trying to keep her calm.  

“I’m coming.”  Weiwei felt her way over to him, pulling the silver from his skin.  He groaned but stood, holding onto her.  

“You know being a vampire hasn’t been the greatest time so far.”  He joked to her.  Weiwei gave him a weak laugh, while he lead them to the door.  

“Ready?” She asked, grasping the silver tightly in her hand.  

“Not that we have a choice.”  Swinging the door open, She caught one of the vampire’s outside off guard.  Swinging the chain at him, she knocked him over, quickly getting to her feet.  He was on her just as he came.  Hao Mei jumped on him, knocking him down on the deck, while Weiwei wrapped the silver around his neck.  Hao Mei helped her pull tightly, until he burst into blood and goo.  

“There should be more.”  Weiwei , grabbed the chain, trying not to throw up at the sight she had helped create.  Making their way to where the noise was, they got there just in time to see Xiao Nai and K.O. stake the last one.  Both there teeth out and ready to fight.  They looked at them fiercely, catching the scent of the dead one before they found them.  

“Xiao Nai?”  Weiwei whispered.  “Xiao Nai!”  She yelled, dropping the silver and running over to him.  He met her half way, wrapping her in a hug, and holding her tightly.  Cupping her face, he kissed, relishing in the moment, he thought he had lost forever.  She was crying, smiling up at him.  

“I knew you would come.”  

“I’m sorry it took so long.  We had trouble getting on the boat.”  He wiped some vampire blood from her face, kissing her again.  Weiwei pulled away, her mind going to back to Shanshan. 

“Shanshan! He has her!”  

♣♥♠♦

Shanshan felt very tired.  She was struggling to remain awake with every drop of her blood hitting the concrete.  It took everything in Zhen Shaoxiang not to drain her then, but his anger out weighed the need to drink her dry.  The warehouse doors slam open to a pissed off Feng Teng.  Before she could blink, He was standing a mere ten feet away, but Zhen Shoaxiang’s hands on her head stopped him.

“She’ll be dead before you take another step.”  He smirked at him.  

“She has nothing to do with this!”  Feng Teng yelled, his fangs out.  She could tell he already been through several vampires before he had made it here.  

“Feng Teng…” She whispered.  Trying to keep her attention focused.

“Don’t fall asleep, Shanshan.”  From the amount on the ground, he knew she didn’t have much time.

“You won’t have to worry about her falling asleep.”  Zhen Shaoxiang began to add pressure to her head.  She felt the sudden pain her eyes shooting open.  She went to reach up towards his hands, trying to keep him from pressing further.

“Stop it!”   Feng Teng yelled, his eyes turning red.  He let up, allowing Shanshan to take in a deep breath.  Her vision returning to normal.  

“It’s interesting for you isn’t it?  You don’t have the power over me anymore.  You released me, and now I can do what ever I want.”  Zhen Shaoxiang’s hands fell to her shoulders.  She felt him put pressure on her collarbone, and a shot of pain erupted into her.  Feng Teng heard the crack.  She whimpered, flinching away from his other hand.  “Shh….little one….Which bone should I break next?”  He grabbed her hand, crushing the bones inside of it.  Her scream caused Feng Teng to grow angry and angry with every passing second.  For the first time in a millenal he was helpless.  He moved she was dead, he stayed, she was being towed with at his expense.  

“What do you want?”  He demanded.  Zhen Shaoxiang, smiled at his maker.  

“Tears...for this human?”  

“Feng Teng…”  Shanshan whimpered out, crying through her own.  

“Kneel.  I might let her live.”  Feng Teng slowly got to his knees, his fangs baring out at the man.  Something caught his senses, but was too quick to pinpoint it.  “How the mighty fall even for a woman….What was it you always say.  ‘Is it the blood or the woman? You never know until it’s too late.’  I guess we found out which it was.”  Zhen Shaoxiang moved to twist her neck, but before he could finish Shanshan, he exploded into a bloody mess.  Shanshan screamed, becoming drenched in the aftermath.  Xiao Nai stood there, holding a stake in his hands, fangs out and breathing deeply.  

“He talks to much…”  He whispered, throwing the stake down on top of his former brother.  Feng Teng grabbed Shanshan before she could hit the ground.  He tore off part of his wrist, giving her his blood, cradling her into him.  

“I got you.”  He whispered, wiping blood away from her face.  Shanshan lifts her hand up, feeling the bones crack back into place, the pain subsiding.  She smiles, through her tears, wiping away his own.  

“See...I told you I wasn’t going anywhere.”  Feng Teng kisses her.  He checks to make sure everything is healing before he even allows her to stand.  Shanshan grips him tightly, looking towards Xiao Nai.  

“Weiwei-” 

“K.O. is bringing the boat in.  She’s fine.”  

“We don’t have much time before dawn.”  Feng Teng pointed out, draping his jacket over Shanshan.  

“You could just say, thank you.”  Xiao Nai mumbled, walking out of the warehouse.  Shanshan made her way over, gripping Feng Teng’s jacket closer to her.  Weiwei jumped off of the boat the moment it was safe too, running over to her and hugging her close.  

“I was so worried.”  Weiwei cried into her cousin, holding the last human family she had left.  Shanshan held tightly.  Both girls’ turned to the two vampires off to the side.  

“We would do it all over again wouldn’t we?”  Shanshan said after sometime.  A smile playing on her lips.  Weiwei looked at Xiao Nai, smiling wide.  

“In a heartbeat.” 

Masterlist

[accidental-ducky]

Like Fire in Your Blood--pt 1

He walks through the halls and doesn’t even realize he has a destination in mind until he stops outside of a closed door and his fingers are grazing the cold wood. His claws itch to come out, but he stamps down on the urge to wrench the door from its hinges and throw it with a raw cry of pain.

“That was Scott’s room.” Stiles nearly jumps out of his skin, too absorbed in his thoughts to hear the ‘wolf approaching. “He was my second-born.” Stiles meets Peter’s gaze over his shoulder but can’t quite meet his stare. It doesn’t matter anyway since Peter’s gaze is focused on the door with something like desperation making his lips twitch.

“But he wasn’t your baby, was he? Not your youngest.”

“No.” Peter’s eyes flick to the room directly across the hall and Stiles can recall a little girl’s laughter as she dances around her room with an older boy that had some serious eyebrows. “Don’t ever go in there. It’s not for you.”

“Of course.”

You can also read it on Ao3 here. 

XXI

Stiles remembers the thrill of his first ride, the way clouds burst like droplets of water against his cheeks and wind howled in his ears like wolves. He isn’t even scared of the specters surrounding him, green and translucent and wicked. He isn’t scared because he has his mother right behind him, arms around him with nimble fingers clutching at the reigns. His blood sings in his veins as they gallop through the stars, searching for any lost souls for the Hunt to claim as theirs.

The horses turn as one when a dazzling silver light shoots up into the sky, like a group of embers after a piece of wood collapses. Stiles can’t hold back his laugh when they dive, hoofs connecting with a dirt path that leads into dense woods. He knows without having to look that this is Beacon Hills, the information zipping into his head straight from his mother. This is Hale property and there’s a man lying half-dead near a ravine.

It doesn’t take long to reach the man with a soul like silver, the Hunt surrounding him in a tight circle of Fae horses. Stiles slips down off his mother’s horse and moves closer to the ravine, looking down to try and make out the tiny river at its bottom while his family claims the soul.

He never notices the first of the hunters until he’s got a hand at the back of his neck that’s wrenching him to his feet with enough speed to make him dizzy. “Mama,” he cries out, instinctive. Claudia’s head snaps up, the rest of the Hunt following suit with low rumbles that make Stiles’s bones vibrate.

“Have the Fair Folk learned nothing,” the hunter asks, voice rough and too loud. “You should never bring your young out before they can defend themselves.”

“Your code doesn’t let you kill children.” Claudia’s voice is firm as she takes a step forward, commanding like she talks to her riders.

“No, I suppose not.” Other hunters are coming out now, and Stiles can’t help the way he’s shaking when he realizes his family is outnumbered. Even the Wild Hunt know better than to underestimate humans when they’re all riled up like this. Hunters are cold the way most humans aren’t, Stiles is almost convinced that they’re bred that way. “Adults, however, are free game.”

“We haven’t killed any innocents.” And Stiles knows that tone, is intimately familiar with it; it covers her happy kill-you-with-kisses voice with a layer of ice so thick Stiles is half-convinced the words should be visible.

“And what about poor Alec there?” The hunter uses his free hand to gesture at the corpse, its skin waxy in the moonlight, eyes glazed like marbles. There’s bruising over his heart where hands had reached in and taken his soul, above that is a gash where his throat had been savagely torn open. “Was he not innocent?”

“He was already well past saving, Gerard. You and your men saw to that.”

“Oh no, that wasn’t my work.”

“It was mine.” It’s a small voice, feminine, as two children appear from the greenery. The one that spoke is a little girl that looks around nine, harsher than the older boy that keeps a protective hand on her shoulder. The boy doesn’t fit in with the other hunters, Stiles can see the faint wisps of his soul behind his heart, silver-gold and vibrant instead of dull. It’s not a pure thing even at twelve, but it’s not the soul of a true sinner yet.

“My Katie is a natural, isn’t she?” Stiles can hear the pride in the old man’s voice, sees the way the girl puffs her chest out while her brother stiffens. “Christopher, would you like to make the first kill?” There’s a bow in his hand and a full quiver strapped to his back, but the blond boy gives a jerky shake of his head.

“I’ll do it, Daddy.” And she does, there’s no hesitation as she raises her own bow and fires a silver-tipped arrow into the ghostly crowd. The rider makes a choked noise and drops to their knees, grasping at the shaft only to have their fingers sizzle when they make contact. “Rowan wood, silly. So beasts like you can’t heal around it.”

The Hunt is riled up just as much as the hunters now, growls and hisses filling the air only to be cut short as more arrows fly. Everything seems to happen too fast for Stiles to comprehend, a blur of greens and silvers until the Hunt is bolting into the sky with three dead left behind on the ground.

“Remember this lesson if nothing else, boy,” Gerard says, breath sour as he bends down to hiss into Stiles’s ear. “You are a monster, a foul thing that belongs in hell, and I’ll let Kate hunt you down the next time you come within a mile of Beacon Hills.” He shoves Stiles away from him and urges his children back through the woods, Christopher sending one last glance over his shoulder before the bright Autumn leaves hide him.

Stiles is left alone with only the corpses for company, his mother lying limp on the ground with green smoke slowly curling from her body. She did well with her human guise, but it falls away now and glassy eyes stare up at the full moon.

And Stiles howls.

 XXII

Stiles is raised solely by his father after that, a Reaper that’s dedicated to his job and doesn’t spend nearly enough time with his son. Stiles is loved, though, he knows it in his bones that his father would die for him if need be.

Stiles doesn’t ever plan on watching someone he loves be murdered again.

 XXIII

Gerard Argent is hard to track down considering he’s human, but Stiles finds him when he’s gone gray and sickness is eating at his body. He’s lying in bed as Stiles comes into his room, out of his mind on laudanum and God only knows what else. It doesn’t matter to Stiles, only the fear that lights up the old man’s eyes does.

“Remember me, Hunter,” he asks, low and even. It’s cold in a way his mother couldn’t manage, hard enough to make the old man’s body jerk violently in an attempt to get off the bed. Stiles is faster and he’s on Gerard in a single leap, pinning the human to the bed with ease.

“Faerie,” he growls, teeth bared in a wolfish display of hatred.

“Not quite.” Stiles lets his eyes flare golden and blue ones go wide in fear and realization. Stiles hates blue eyes, they make his stomach roil and anger burn in his veins like fire. “I’m a Demon, a half-breed of powerful parents.” He sits up, straddling the old man’s thighs so he can pull up his shirt and reveal his Mark. It’s simple compared to others he’s seen, crossed scythes inside a golden circle that glows faintly.

“It’s not possible. The Fair Folk can’t breed with other species.”

“Reapers are technically part of that species, Gerard. That’s what my dad is, a Reaper.” Stiles laughs low in his throat, almost sub-vocal as he grins down at the hunter. Too many teeth, too feral and unhinged to be considered gleeful. “He was pretty angry when he found out you made me watch my mother being killed.”

“I imagine he’ll be furious when I kill you then.” Stiles’s grin falls away as he grabs up one of the bottles on the nightstand. He knows what’s in there, that it’s becoming more and more popular with the rich and poor alike. Opium, the humans call it, deadly if too much is used.

“How much of this do you take? I know it can kill humans, but that’s about it.” Faeries liked opium as much as any other species, they use it for the young ones when they can’t sleep or get sick. It doesn’t kill them, just numbs them to the world and allows them peace for a few blessed days.

“Get off of me. Christopher!” Stiles uncorks the vial and pours out a dab of murky brown liquid on his finger, studying it in candlelight. It smells disgusting to his oversensitive nose, but it looks red in the light, almost like blood. “Christopher!”

“Did you know one of my little powers is to grant wishes? Not like the Djinn do, I mostly deal with anyone who has a grudge against hunters. I wonder why that is.” It’s sarcastic and Gerard sneers at it despite the pain that makes him shake. “Want a taste?” He holds out his finger, rubbing it over Gerard’s lips.

“You little bastard! I’m going to take my time with you, you’ll stay alive just long enough for me to cut your father’s throat.” And that? That’s not going to happen. Stiles grabs Gerard’s jaw and forces his mouth to stay open, dumping the vial’s contents straight down his throat. His eyes flare again and Gerard swallows on instinct, then grunts when he realizes his mistake.

It’s almost funny watching it happen; pupils contract to pinpricks, vomit bubbling up in his throat and going back down as he swallows convulsively. It takes longer than Stiles originally thought, it’s messy and smells awful.

Stiles stands up and goes over to the window, opening it enough to get a breeze inside so the smell doesn’t make him sick. It’s a sweet scent, like old candy left out in sunlight for too long. Gerard is gurgling on the bed, trying to roll onto his side and not quite succeeding. Christopher comes in just seconds later, dressed in his night clothes with his blond hair mussed and gaze hazy.

In the bed, Gerard’s breathing goes ragged and then stops entirely.

“You didn’t actively participate so I won’t kill you,” Stiles tells the younger hunter. He’s a man now, probably in his late twenties and married if the gold band on his finger means anything. Handsome too, with a stubbled jaw and muscles that would make a lesser man swoon. “You didn’t try to stop your father either.” Christopher’s jaw clenches and Stiles can almost hear his teeth grinding. “You can clean up his last mess as repentance.”

 XXIV

Stiles gets used to being summoned and he even accepts some contracts once every few years, but none of them are truly interesting. Gold, love, and drugs are what most summoners want and Stiles finds himself wishing for the old days when people summoned the Fair Folk for good harvests and the life of a loved one near death. His mother lived for those requests.

(always demand a price, my little mischief. otherwise these humans will get too greedy. but what about others, mama? the supernatural ones? everything comes with a price. don’t do anything for free even if they’re unhuman)

 XXV

Stiles is a fox when he encounters Werewolves for the first time; an adult and his pup out in the woods to observe the wildlife. The young one is crouched low, brown eyes wide as he takes in the small colony of rabbits not far from where Stiles is hiding. The adult is the one that spots him and Stiles darts away, tail flicking back and forth lazily.

He has blue eyes, that ‘wolf, and Stiles feels sick.

 XXVI

Stiles is growing bored in his long life when he’s summoned again, the darkness of his realm a comforting thing that lets him hide in his other skin. There’s a Werewolf waiting for him there, burned and angry and wishing hard enough to make Stiles’s head spin. Calmness spreads through him slowly, though, this realm suiting his rage and easing the pain of loss if only a little.

He’s pretty in the way that most Weres are, no delicate façade on this one even before he was ravaged by fire. Stiles moves closer, just a couple of feet, and he studies the fresh scars and the Alpha spark that turns the man’s soul a bright, pulsing crimson. Stiles wants to see those eyes opened, the power that drives him.

“Who are you,” Stiles asks, curious. The ‘wolf’s head snaps in Stiles’s direction, not expecting for his call to be answered. His eyes are closed, but Stiles is kind enough to project the images of what he would see. Only Stiles can open his eyes here, only he truly belongs in this realm of frigid cold and void. “Why does a ‘wolf summon me?”

“Revenge.” His voice is hoarse, throat still healing after breathing in acrid smoke for almost an hour. The scent clings to him, like a second skin he can’t quite shed.

“That’s all anyone ever wants.” Stiles moves closer to him, letting his fur caress blistered flesh to give it some relief. No one should hurt here, not with unimaginable loss like this man is. This is a place for healing, a place for wishes. “What makes you so special?”

“Nothing, I’m sure. But I’ll pay whatever price you demand. I’ll give you anything.”

“What if I want the soul of your firstborn?” The man goes rigid and it’s agony that etches its way into the lines of his face, claws raking through the air as they shoot out from previously blunt nails. Stiles knows that reaction well, the anger singing in the man’s heart, but he laughs all the same to break up the pain clouding the air. “Relax, ‘wolf, the souls of children are hardly interesting. Besides, you have that particular scent of loss that means your firstborn has already passed. What was its name?”

“Jackson.” The name passes his lips on a broken sob, the sound of a man that’s lost everything that he’s ever cared about. It makes Stiles think of twenty-four years ago when the same sound made his throat raw, brown eyes stuck on the rowan wood shaft sticking out of his mother’s chest until his father showed up and carried him away. “His name was Jackson and he was just murdered by hunters along with the rest of my pack.” Stiles’s tail flicks before he can stop it, anger flooding him and leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

“You want revenge on those hunters?” Stiles doesn’t mean to phrase it as a question since he already knows the answer, knows the outcome. Hunter blood is something Stiles loves to watch flow in the streets and he’s heard of a particular hunter that enjoys setting fires. “I’ll help you.”

“What’s your price in return?” Stiles lets a claw run along the thin skin beneath the man’s eye on the unburnt side of his face, watching in fascination as the red line heals just as quickly as Stiles makes it.

“This I’ll do for free. Hunters killed my mother and I take a special sort of glee in watching the life leave their eyes.”

He uses his magic now, feeling it flow through his body like water as it douses the phantom flames that licks up the ‘wolf’s side. The darkness of his realm is slowly replaced with starlight, tiny pinpricks of light against an endless sky that’s nothing compared to how moonlight makes this man’s face look a marble carving from ancient times.

“You need to wake up, ‘wolf. Open those pretty red eyes for me.” The man’s eyes open with a flutter of curled lashes, the vivid red of an Alpha that slowly fades to a blue that almost makes Stiles regret this contract. Eye color doesn’t determine loyalty, though, and Stiles knows he has his own issues to work out. “What’s your name? I can’t exactly call you ‘wolf for however long this takes.”

“Peter Hale.”

 XXVII

“Can you heal my scars?”

“No.”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“I can only give you your revenge, ‘wolf, not physical perfection.”

 XVIII

Peter Hale craves touch that Stiles can’t freely give. He notices the way Peter’s fingers twitch as though to reach out and pull Stiles closer, the way he leans closer into whatever gesture of kindness the Demon allows. Stiles gets it, Peter is touch-starved and ‘wolves are tactile, but Stiles just…. Isn’t.

Foxes are mostly solitary by nature, it’s literally ingrained into Stiles’s instincts to shy away from pack behavior, but he’s trying. He’ll touch when Peter looks like he’s about to fall to pieces, remembers the little touches his dad would give him when Stiles was still a child that helped to ground him back in reality. Little things, but not often and not lingering.

Peter seems like he has an understanding of that, he doesn’t try to force any touches which Stiles is thankful for. There are nights, though, that Stiles wonders what Peter’s stubble will feel like against his fingers. He even goes so far as to perch on the edge of the hotel bed and stretches out his fingers, but then Peter’s eyes will open and the blue of them always makes Stiles think of bad things.

(you are a monster, a foul thing that belongs in hell, and i’ll let kate hunt you down the next time you come within a mile of beacon hills)

Stiles shakes his head and goes back to the window, looking out over the deserted streets of the town and the lone figure that prowls over rooftops with the curved metal of his scythe flashing under the starlight.

“Are you okay,” Peter asks, sitting up with the heavy blankets pooling around his waist. His chest is bare to Stiles’s gaze, a faint smattering of hair that’s the same dark blond on Peter’s head. “Stiles?” His eyes can’t quite meet the blue ones, but he nods an affirmation and goes back to watching his dad protect the territory the Stilinskis claimed before the Argents were ever conceived.

There’s a rustle of cloth and then snores that are just loud enough to keep Stiles from being lost in his past. If nothing else, he can appreciate that.

 XXIX

Stiles is pretty sure that his father is worried. He’s pretty sure because the Reaper is currently pacing around the sitting room and ranting about how a certain Werewolf needs to work on controlling his temper on occasion. Peter, for his part, is lounging in a chair near the window, turned so that his left side is facing the others.

“You’re lucky the Viscount is too scared to retaliate,” John snarls, spinning on his heel and wagging a finger at Peter. “You can’t just hang men over a balcony by their feet! What the hell were you thinking?”

“That he shouldn’t press up against young ladies without their consent.” The tirade dries right up and Stiles has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. Peter sees that he’s gotten the upper hand and straightens in his seat. “I’ll bet Raeken will remember what I did to him every time he looks at the Tate girl.”

“He’ll also remember that she goes for the eyes,” Stiles adds, grinning. Malia Tate was a sight to behold, all wild energy and bared teeth as she launched herself at Viscount Raeken as soon as Peter had the leach back on his feet.

John sighs and drops into a chair of his own, raking fingers through his short-shorn hair. Stiles used to keep his hair short like that, but he likes to fiddle with it when he’s stressed and that works better when it’s long.

“Alright,” John sighs after a long while, blue eyes wary. “Alright, fine, Raeken deserved all the threats and he’s lucky that Malia didn’t tear his throat out with her teeth. Can the two of you at least promise me not to go around looking for trouble?” Peter and Stiles share a look, gazes meeting from across the room and a silent conversation passing between them. It’s a new thing, this exchange of looks and eyebrow signals, but it makes something inside of Stiles start to thaw.

From the way that John slumps in his chair, it’s pretty clear that he understands the trouble won’t end until Kate’s blood is staining the ground.

 XXX

The newly rebuilt Hale House is a sight to behold, reminding Stiles of the old human fairy tales his mother would tell him on cold nights. There are no turrets or moats, but it’s refined like he always imagined castles to be, silence laying harshly against stone and wood alike. It’s too big, too quiet, and Stiles thinks of the boy that freed him from a trap in the woods.

(i’ll take care of you until you can walk again, don’t worry. my father says we shouldn’t name wild animals, but i think you look like a travesura)

He walks through the halls and doesn’t even realize he has a destination in mind until he stops outside of a closed door and his fingers are grazing the cold wood. His claws itch to come out, but he stamps down on the urge to wrench the door from its hinges and throw it with a raw cry of pain.

“That was Scott’s room.” Stiles nearly jumps out of his skin, too absorbed in his thoughts to hear the ‘wolf approaching. “He was my second-born.” Stiles meets Peter’s gaze over his shoulder but can’t quite meet his stare. It doesn’t matter anyway since Peter’s gaze is focused on the door with something like desperation making his lips twitch.

“But he wasn’t your baby, was he? Not your youngest.”

“No.” Peter’s eyes flick to the room directly across the hall and Stiles can recall a little girl’s laughter as she dances around her room with an older boy that had some serious eyebrows. “Don’t ever go in there. It’s not for you.”

“Of course.”

(my name is scott, but everyone here calls me scotty. aunt talia says i might get to be alpha when i grow up because i carry an ember in my chest right behind my heart)

“Do you want to talk about him? My father says that’s supposed to help you process your grief.” Peter’s shoulders go rigid and his claws shoot out to rip through a leg of his trousers. “It didn’t do me much good, but I just wanted the offer on the table. Free of charge, as always.” Stiles moves past Peter and heads out to the plot of land on the east side of the house where a garden will be created. Stiles remembers a dark-haired woman working out here for hours, cheeks red in a sunburn that heals over and over again, smile bright as she calls for her baby girl to stop terrorizing Cora.

Stiles remembers.

 XXXI

W płatkach herbacianej róży Calineczka śpi Nawet przemęczony świerszczyk Zasnął w trakcie gry.

 XXXII

There’s a day between hunter deaths when Stiles meets a young ‘were named Brett, beautiful and lazy and everything that Stiles isn’t. His movements are graceful and his muscles ripple beneath his tailored clothes and Stiles wants to study him for hours. Brett catches his gaze and smiles, predatory or promising, Stiles can’t decide which.

Stiles smiles back.

 XXXIII

Chimeras, Stiles decides after a decidedly ungraceful face-plant, are cheating assholes. Mason Hewitt, despite the big brown eyes and innocent smile, is chief among them. Evil. Pain in the ass. Rude. Stiles will think of some more adjectives when Kira stops her cackling and his broken nose finishes healing.

“It was Kate,” said asshole is currently shouting. “Kate set the fire!” Stiles remembers hard blue eyes filled with hate and glee in equal measures, remembers the rowan wood shaft sticking out of his mother’s chest as she fades to vapor and drifts away on the breeze.

“You’re sure,” Peter asks, voice hitching in his throat for just a moment.

“Positive, Alpha.” There’s a pleased rumble and then Peter’s coming down the stairs, sending the Demon sprawled on the floor an amused look.

“Is there something you’d like to tell Stiles, Mason?”

Mason glances over at Stiles, looks him dead in the eye, and smirks. “I thought Demons were supposed to be graceful, Stiles. Falling over the second-floor railing is something a human might do.” He tsks and walks over to where his mate is currently howling with laughter, Liam’s grin bright as he leans on Kira for support.

Assholes, the lot of them.

 XXXIV

Stiles wakes to the sound of Latin being chanted, an old summoning ritual that forces him away from the window seat where he’d been watching the Hunt circle through the sky on phantom horses. He’s not even fully aware that he’s moving until he’s in the entrance hall and kneeling in front of a human. The man is tall and lanky, not particularly attractive even by human standards with pale green eyes and a sheen of sweat making his forehead glisten in the moonlight.

“That amulet doesn’t belong to you,” Stiles rasps out, brown eyes glued to the amethyst stone swinging in a shaky hand. It belonged to his mother, taken when she was nearly killed by a group of hunters when Stiles was too small to ride with her and the others. She got away with her life, but the necklace had been ripped from her throat. Stiles has an idea of who that hunter was.

“It does for tonight,” the man says, then continues to chant. Stiles feels the magic weaving around him tightly, compressing his chest until he can only manage weak pants and pained whimpers. This isn’t going to kill him, that’s not the point of this new spell, it’s a banishment; back to his realm, to the cold and the void where no one can find him unless their wishes are meaningful.

A growl sounds behind him, making his bones vibrate and something in his belly unfurl in warmth. The man, for his part, just straightens his shoulders and chants faster, the sudden burst of pain making Stiles’s back arch with a wheezed cry.

“Come any closer and I’ll banish him back to hell.”

“Do him anymore harm and I’ll feed you your own heart,” Peter says, a promise delivered calmly. Stiles can imagine the way Peter’s eyes have bled to crimson, the violence hiding just under the surface behind his human face. “Who are you?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Why are you here?”

“Clearing a debt.” His sweat is soaking into his clothes now, permeating the room with a foul stench of unwashed skin and withdrawal. He’s an addict, but a smart addict since he keeps chanting just enough that Stiles can’t lash out. He wants to tear the man apart for this pain, for holding Claudia’s necklace like he has any right.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do! She said I’d stay alive if I got rid of your pet Demon!” The man swallows hard enough that Stiles can hear his throat click, like some awful confession had just rolled off his tongue when they all knew who sent him this entire time. Who else would send an addict to do their dirty work? Kate fucking Argent is going to pay.

“You don’t have to do this, Adrian. She can’t get you here.” Peter’s voice is all soft and sweet, reasonable in a way that Stiles has never heard it. It reminds him of the Leprechauns that can talk people out of taking their gold, talk them into deals that hold no benefit for the humans and grim amusement for the Fair Folk.

“That’s not…. I can’t—”

“Just stop the spell, Adrian. We can all walk away from this.” Adrian’s eyes begin to cloud over and his shoulders relax, the amulet falling to the ground with the soft sound of crystal against wood. “No one ever need know.”

Stiles is sucking in deep gulps of air the second the spell is broken, too weak to hold himself upright and falling to the side. Strong arms catch him before he can hit the ground, though, cradling him against a broad, warm chest. The touch isn’t something that Stiles can cherish, but he understands the ‘wolf’s need to check over a packmate. And Stiles files that word away to examine later on, the instinctual use of it troubling him far more than the comfort of Peter’s hold.

“Are you okay?”

“Why did you do that,” Stiles demands, the shock making his words sound harsh even to his own ears. No one ever saves him, not since his mother was killed. Even his father doesn’t step in anymore, just stands off to the side and watches Stiles fight his own battles and come out victorious if a little ragged around the edges.

“Do what?”

“Save me.” Peter looks like he wants to answer, like the response is dancing on the very tip of his tongue, but he swallows it down and offers up a shrug in response. He helps the Demon up the stairs to Peter’s room, dressed him in Peter’s sleep pants, and tucks him safely away in Peter’s bed. It’s a way to scent mark, Stiles realizes, and he most certainly doesn’t preen under the attention before healing sleep forces him under.

Peter’s the one that sits by the window tonight, listening to a howling wind that doesn’t make the browning leaves shake on their branches.

 XXXV

Tormenting Kate Argent probably shouldn’t be this much fun, but it’s certainly not the worst thing Stiles has ever done. Watching her chase her own tail as Stiles manipulates the shadows will keep him entertained for months.

 XXXVI

“This is my mom,” Scott says, hefting the little black fox closer to his chest. “Mama, say hi to Travesura.” The woman turns and Stiles is met with an amused quirk of the lips as brown eyes examine him.

“Hello, Travesura, it’s nice to see you again.” Stiles makes a sound that’s as close to purring as he can get, letting Melissa rakes her fingers through the fur on his back. All the ‘wolves have been doing that lately and it makes Stiles want to bolt away, back to the forest where he can be left alone. His paw is healed by now, but he can’t quite bring himself to leave Scott’s side.

“Father says I have to release him soon. I guess foxes don’t have packs like we do.”

“That’s right, sweetie. He’ll be better off in the woods.” Stiles wants to argue about that, but he doesn’t give himself away and curls his head beneath Scotty’s chin. It’s completely ridiculous, Stiles is aware of that, but he’s come to think of the child as one of his. A kit in need of constant supervision so that Laura doesn’t try to shove him again. It makes Stiles’s hackles rise even if he knows it’s all in good fun.

“Fine, but I won’t be happy about it.”

 XXXVII

Peter should be asleep, they have along day ahead of them in the morning, but instead the ‘wolf is lying in bed and staring up at his canopy. He’s interesting to watch, but Stiles prefers him deep in slumber when all the hard lines go soft and his lips part in rumbling snores.

Stiles gets up from the window seat and comes to stand next to the bed, reaching out slender fingers to offer a comforting touch but drawing them back to his palm before they can graze Peter’s stubble. He can’t make himself do this, can’t touch the way that Peter needs him to.

“Can’t sleep,” he asks instead.

“Too many thoughts in my head.” Stiles frowns at that, settling onto the bed carefully to avoid jostling the ‘wolf. He knows all about thoughts that swarm like bees, buzzing away in his head and keeping him from peace. He tried drugs once, drunk enough wine to put a human in the grave, but nothing helped. Mom used to kiss me on those nights, a kiss to take away the pain. And it’s instinct that takes over despite the way he doesn’t like the feeling of stubble or that blue eyes still make his belly squirm like it’s full of snakes.

His lips are nearly touching Peter’s when the bedroom door flies open to permit the Betas, Stiles jerking in surprise hard enough that he falls to the ground with a shriek. Stiles frowns as he stands, brushing off his clothes and meeting Peter’s gaze again, feeling a little sick. He’s almost glad that they were interrupted now, even if part of him remembers how he felt so safe in Peter’s arms a week ago. And when he moves back to the window seat rather than accepting Peter’s outstretched hand, he only feels the slightest bit of remorse.

Overhead, the Wild Hunt sweeps over Beacon Hills and a Reaper patrols on the ground.

 XXXVIII

“What the fuck is that?”

“A family of mice, Stiles.”

“But why are they in the house?”

“For my Scotty.”

 XXXIX

Stiles cooks up a large breakfast that morning, starting with scrambled eggs and ending with a medium rare venison steak that’s still got some blood pooling under it on the plates as he sets them out. Liam is the first one in the kitchen, bruises smudged under his eyes. Mason and Kira shuffle in after him, still half asleep as they pile up around the table and begin fixing their plates.

“Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,” Stiles quotes, the Betas all groaning in disgust. Early morning Shakespeare, according to Kira, is cruel and should be punishable by death. Peter joins them ten minutes later, dressed in funeral blacks that make him look washed out.

“Or close the wall up with our English dead,” he finishes, grim.

 XL

Stiles is burning with his anger, but it doesn’t burn nearly as bright as Peter and Kate do in the middle of the forest.

 XLI

Peter waits until he can’t hear his Betas before he turns to where Stiles is scrubbing at a stubborn spot on one of the plates, soap bubbles clinging to his arms all the way up to his elbows. It’s going to be a serious talk, he knows, can scent the desperate ache coming off Peter. His fox wants to hiss at it, run away into the woods or retreat into the bedroom upstairs where not even Peter goes.

“I need to ask you a favor, Stiles.”

“Then ask, but I won’t promise I’ll grant this wish to you.”

“It’s not a wish, it’s a request.” Stiles arches a brow, but he doesn’t stop scrubbing or meet blue eyes that are just a pale shade away from being awful. Peter steps close to him, making sure their arms don’t brush as he begins rinsing the clean dishes and setting them aside to be dried later on.

“My answer remains the same, ‘wolf.”

“I want you to kill me again.” And it takes all of Stiles’s restraint not to break the plate clean in half at those words and the stab of panic that lances through him like a hot knife in his chest. (or a rowan wood shaft with a silver tipped arrowhead and a malicious hand that sends it flying)

“What?” The word is choked out, barely comprehensible and all he can manage as he actually turns to look at Peter. “Are you fucking kidding me? After all this planning, all this blood, you want me to fucking kill you?” Peter nods and looks genuinely surprised when he has to drop to the floor as the plate goes soaring over his head and collides with the wall.

(anger flaring in blue eyes as a glass hits a hunter’s wall, slivers and shards glinting like diamonds on a carpeted floor that soaked through with meyers’s blood)

“Let me explain—”

“You don’t get to do this now, Peter! Those kids depend on you to keep them sane, you’re their Alpha! You don’t just get to roll over and bare your neck right now!” And his eyes, he knows, are burning gold and there’s a faint green shimmer outlining him after all those years he spent around the Hunt.

“Listen to me!” The growled command actually makes Stiles shudder and tilt his head back, a ‘wolf’s instincts rather than his own. To his credit, Peter doesn’t scent mark him afterwards, though his fingers curl into his palm with the effort. “Just….” His voice falters now, fading away like mist in sunlight. “I want Kate to burn like my family did and the only way that’s going to happen is if I keep her pinned down.”

“Forget it, I’m not doing that to you.”

“Then do it for Claudia. Why should that Argent bitch get to live when our loved ones have been decimated by her family for the simple reason of being born something other than human?” Stiles flinches away from the words, rubbing at his chest where the shaft of wood stuck out of his mother all those years ago. He feels all fight rush out of him in that moment, leaving him an aching and confused kit again.

“How will I explain it to the pups?”

“You’re clever, Stiles. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

 XLII

“Why here,” Kira asks, eyes still orange in her anger. It’s aimed at Stiles, the question and roiling emotions, and the Demon gives a languid shrug. The beach is quiet and out of the way, hidden by Fae magic so that only a select few can find it. Peter’s been searching for it, wishing for it, and Stiles can give him this if nothing else.

“Because this is where Peter feels the most at home.”

“But Peter’s dead.”

“Yes, and you and your pack chased me for three entire days until Liam became so exhausted that he ran into a tree. Can we move on now?” She scowls but doesn’t offer a protest as she clears debris from the moon-bleached sand. Liam and Mason are playing in the water a few feet away, the Werewolf’s broken nose slowly healing and the blood getting washed away from his face with each splash.

“Someone’s here, Stiles. Someone who isn’t human or Were.” Stiles turns his head and smiles when he spots his father, the older man looking haggard and bone tired.

“I found him,” John says. “I put him in your little realm and he’s sleeping until you get there.”

 XLIII

Stiles remembers the thrill of his first ride, the way clouds burst like droplets of water against his cheeks and wind howled in his ears like wolves. It’s nothing compared to the feeling of fingers scratching through his fur or his ‘wolf gazing over at him with eyes bright and smile soft, tender. Peter reaches out and Stiles leans into the touch, nuzzling into the warm palm in spite of himself. His mate needs touch, Stiles will oblige every now and then since Peter’s been so good at respecting his boundaries. And when he looks into those blue eyes, Stiles doesn’t feel sick anymore.

“Welcome home, ‘wolf.”

[bamf-castiel]

Okay. So Stanford era Dean, meets Cas a surly scruffy hunter multiple times, who is a damn genius with knives and always wears gloves on hunts (cause finger prints dean) and is just the hottest guy Deans ever seen, and Dads gone. Sams gone. He’s feeling a bit rebellious and a bit experimental. Except Cas, just happens to be a Remus lupin style werewolf... thoughts?

This is WONDERFUL Nonnie, and I am having A LOT of thoughts about it, so.I have a feeling this is gonna turn into a mini series ahhh Warning for a little gore and canon typical violence.  

Now that Dean thinks about it, deciding to take out a whole nest of vampires only by himself might actually have been a little miscalculation on his part. He tries to catch his breath while he watches his savior decapitate the last vampire in one effortless movement, the long blade cutting skin and tissue with almost surgical precision. How the hell he makes it look that easy? Dean has honestly no idea ; he knows from experience that it’s actually a fucking hard thing to do.And yet, the stranger doesn’t even seem to be out of breath as he looks down on the body laying on the ground, the head motionless right next to it, where it landed with a dull thud. Dean never saw anyone move like that ; from the moment he walked though the door, dude was like a machine. It was like the machete was not just a tool but simply an extension of his arm. And it paled in compared to what he did with the knife he pulled out in the middle of the fight. He sliced the vampire open, from the belly to the base of the throat - how the fuck, there are bones in the way - and yanked the blade out - military, ten inches, sharp as hell - like it was nothing. The creature made a sound, awful and loud and wet, the blood coming out of it’s mouth landing on the man’s face, and then it’s head was off, rolling on the floor. The hunter didn’t even slow down, grabbing the next vampire’s hair. Dean would watch longer if he could, but the kick to his thigh successfully  directed his whole attention to the sharp teethed monster on his left. Dean know he’s good - very good - but next to this man he feels like a complete amateur. He winces when his boots make a terrible squelching sound when he moves ( God, did he step on intestines? please don’t let it be intestines ) and suddenly the stranger is looking straight at him. There are smears of blood on his face and clothes, some still fresh and some already starting to dry. And maybe it’s the red that makes Dean notice it, but the man has incredibly blue eyes, almost unnaturally so, bright even in the dim light of the old naked bulb swinging from the ceiling. He spits and slowly runs his tongue over his teeth - they look sharp, like everything about him - and then, he asks, „What the fuck were you thinking?” Dean is part distracted by how low and rough the man’s voice is, part really, really offended, but before he can answer with anything else but a choked out ’what’ , the stranger speaks again. „That’s what I would like to know, ” he says calmly, looking around and then, finding what he was looking for, he steps over a corpse and grabs a shirt hanging on the leg of an overturned table. He wipes the blade, looks at Dean again and sighs, „ Are you okay?”Dean wants to say a lot of things - he really does, starting from how he was doing pretty good, thank you very much, it’s not like he asked to be rescued, and also hey, fuck you.In the end he settles on a simple, „Yeah, I’m good.” The man nods and then looks around. „Let’s clean this up.”

The barn bursts into flames, the roar of the fire almost deafening, the heat making Dean take few steps back. Castiel - getting rid of evidence and dead bodies makes you close enough to exchange names - leans on his car, ankles crossed, and takes out a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his jacket. He offers Dean one and he accepts, letting Castiel light it for him and inhaling the smoke; it tastes almost like the air around them, gasoline and fire and death.They stand in silence, and Dean can’t help but look at the other hunter; there is still dried blood on his clothes and hands and face, his eyes wild and dark as he watches the dancing flames. Dean can feel a blush creeping up his neck that has nothing to do with the fire when he looks at Castiel’s lips as they close around the cigarette. He has a strong jawline, sharp cheekbones and straight nose, dark stubble covering his cheeks and neck ; he’s Dean’s height - maybe a little shorter, board shoulders and strong hands, probably in his early thirties. He’s handsome, in a way Dean is still a little to young to be. It makes Dean’s heart beat faster, for some reason; how there is nothing of a boy anymore in the man’s features.He looks up only to see Castiel’s eyes focused on his own. Dean quickly looks away,  his hand trembling as he raises the cigarette to his lips and inhales, slowly letting the smoke curl in his mouth, letting it calm his nerves. His voice sounds rough when he says, „Thanks for, you know, saving my ass back there,” Castiel only hums and sends the remaining cigarette butt flying with a flick of fingers. He pushes away from the car and stands in front of Dean, his silhouette completely black against the flames. He looks to the side, to the abandoned house next to the barn and the forest that surrounds it. „Let’s get away from here.”

That’s how Dean finds himself trailing the Continental, first to a obscure gas station, where they visit the bathroom to wash off the worst of blood and change into clean clothes, and then to a bar. Dean knows he should probably be more cautious, but there is something exciting about it, about working with someone who isn’t Bobby or John or a friend of theirs.Castiel orders whisky, straight, and when he looks questioningly at Dean he asks for the same - he needs something stronger to wash out the taste of smoke and blood still lingering in his mouth. They end up sitting at a table in a corner, far away from the rest of the patrons. Dean takes a sip of his drink, relishing in the way it burns all the way down, the taste alone making his muscle relax.It’s a dangerous relationship, he knows, feeling like that about whisky. If Castiel notices, he doesn’t say anything, instead leaning back on the chair. „So, Dean,” his voice dips lower, sounding even rougher thanks to the smoke, „What the fuck were you thinking about when you decided that you can take out a whole nest of vampires alone?” Dean bristles, hand tightening on the glass; he thought they leaved THAT part behind, but apparently not. „Hey, fuck you,” he snaps, „I knew what I was doing, I’m not an amateur.” Castiel doesn’t look too bothered by his anger. He also doesn’t look too convinced; he hums, taking a sip from his glass, „ Oh I could see that. It was beautifully accented when those two jumped at you from behind. Did you even know they were there before they had you on the floor?”Dean clenches his teeth hard enough to feel the muscles of his jaw jump; he knows he fucked up - there is really no need to rub this into his face. Not now, not when he’s way too aware of what would his dad say about this kind of incompetence. „Dean, look at me,” the gentle command in Cas’s voice is unmistakable, and after a moment Dean looks up, right into those bright, bright blue eyes. „ That’s the thing Dean - you are not an amateur. I know. You are good,” Castiel leans a little bit closer, „ But if you won’t be more careful, you will never get the chance to be anything more than that. You will die a stupid death like hundreds before you, before you really learn anything. And you can be very, very good, Dean. The potential is there, but it’s your decision what you will do with it,” he straightens and Dean can finally breathe again; to be the center of Castiel’s attention can be suffocating. „ If you are only willing to listen I can get us another round,” he nods at their drinks, „ and then we can discuss everything that went wrong tonight and what can you  do to make sure it won’t happen again.”Dean hesitates only for a moment. „Sounds good to me.” He could swear the corner of Castiel’s lips turned upward at that.