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aspoonofsugar · 4 years ago

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RWBY Chain Of Faves

Who are your top 10 favorite RWBY characters and why?

Hello anon!

Thank you very much for this ask! I love talking about faves!

1) The murder kids aka Emerald and Mercury

I have talked about them here and here and I’ve shared some minor thoughts here and here.

I think their story has yet to enter its climax, so the metas on them are not as finalized as those on other characters. Still, the set-up is all there and I love it. As I say in the metas linked, they are a unit (body and soul, weapon and semblance). They are also two of the characters who mostly explore the cycle of abuse (together with Cinder, who is both victim and perpetrator).

I like how they are given the chance to screw up very very badly (and are given consequences for their actions), but are also always framed as two kids who try to be toughter than they are.

What is more, I love their relationship and their dynamic with Cinder. I think both bonds are very complex and are shown rather than told. This is why Emerald and Mercury’s body language is very effective imo. Their closeness is mostly conveyed through them glancing at each other or how they move around each other. This makes sense because they are in a place where they can’t speak freely.

In particular, I like that their relationship is deep, but not idealized. They care about each other, but are too scared to save each other. This is why Emerald needs the help of an adult (Hazel) to leave her abusive environment. This is also why she is recovering in a healthier environment that also lets her understand the consequences of her actions better. At the same time, Mercury who is instead stuck with another abusive mentor can’t currently escape.

When it comes to each one of them individually...

Emerald’s design and semblance are among my personal favourites. Her semblance especially is at the very top of my list. It has so much potential thematically and flexibility in terms of use (invisibility, transformation, specific illusions fitting a character’s flaw). I hope they use it more and in diverse ways in the future to show Emerald’s growth. For example, how cool would it be if she used it to help another character overcome a panic attack? Or if she helped Ruby enter the mental state to use her eyes with it?

I also really like she has a specific fighting style that fits her thief motif and is very different from others. It is less scenographic, but very pragmatic and I love it.

I also liked the focus she received this season and I think it needs to be finalized. I am curious on how it will happen.

Mercury’s background is the one which breaks my heart the most. The little we know is horrible :( I also think it is a story that heavily relies on symbolism to convey the idea of abuse...

Marcus took Mercury’s legs, so he can’t psychologically escape the cycle of abuse... Marcus told Mercury he needs no crutches and Mercury is refusing to aknowledge his hurt and to heal... Marcus’s violence messed up Mercury so much he is not sure what he wants and his semblance is missing to underline it.

I wonder if we will discover more about his background or if what we have so far is all. I can see it go both ways to be honest. Also, Tyrian’s interactions with Mercury are interesting and meaningful, but also terrifying. I both want more and I am scared of having more :’’)

I am also looking forward to see how his allusion will be used. As for now, he has the potential to have at least three different motifs going on. The one of Mercury the God, the one of Mercury the metal and the one of Mercury the planet. Curious to see what is done with them!

Finally, I’m the One is one of my favourite songs because it is full of foreshadowing and perfectly conveys what their characters are about. I would love to properly analyze it one day, even if I have used it in multiple metas already :), so I am not sure I have new things to say.

The same can be said about their fight against Coco and Yatsuhashi and their fight with Cinder against Amber. In a sense, those two fights are complementary, since the first one foreshadows their major assets that are properly shown and charged symbolically in the second.

In short, their fight with Coco and Yatsuhashi is how they want to appear:

I'm the one that your mama said 'Don't mess with them or you'll end up dead That type they don't follow any rules'

Their fight against Amber is who they are deep down:

I'm the one That was born in a nightmare a murderer's son

I'm the one Who rose out of filth and was loved by no-one

3) Penny

She is the protagonist of the Atlas Volumes and has my favourite arc so far.

Her arc is contradictive, sad and powerful. In a sense, her whole character is written to hurt :’’’) She is given a happy and enthusiastic personality to hide how tragic her story is.

Penny is an example of how to write a specific kind of tragedy, where the main conflict does not lie in the character’s flaw, but in the environment she is in. Penny wants to be a “real” girl, but others won’t let her. This conflict escalates until she tragically manages to affirm her personhood in death.

At the same time, she is given self-issues that can be seen as a flaw and tie to her environment. She is self-sacrificial and struggles to see herself as a true person. Still, this flaw does not really drive her plotline (others’ control of her does) and, as @hamliet has stated, it does not eat everything around Penny.

So, she dies tragically because she never gets the chance, not even to overcome these self-issues, but to properly face them. At the same time, her death is powerful and cathartic because she negates others’ control and manipulation. She negates the mechanisms that had her develop self-issues to begin with.

Is it a happy outcome? Not at all. It is sad and contradictive. It is gray, but this is precisely why it is powerful. It manages to convey and explore complex and contradictive ideas. It does not offer an answer, but only bittersweet questions.

I also really like how Penny’s allusion is used in the story. It is played straight in terms of plot since Penny becomes human as the story goes on. However, it is problematized in terms of themes. It conveys that humanity is about making choices and experiencing both happiness and pain. Finally, Penny’s final scene is an inversion of the original novel.

Penny is not the Blue Fairy’s creation, but the Blue Fairy’s creator:

She goes from Creation (passive, a child) to Creator (active, an adult).

Incidentally, Penny too has one of my favourite songs. Friend is beautiful and it perfectly describes her arc. It conveys how much she loves humanity despite how complex and painful it is. The music starting slow and melancholic to gain more power as it goes on describes Penny’s life beautifully. It is a story that ends too soon (the music interrupts at its most vibrant), but it is still a melody full of love for life:

An answered prayer A chance to Share the world To be a girl Who fin'lly felt alive

4) Cinder

Cinder is probably the most complex and best written character so far.

She manages to make me feel for her and to make me incredibly angry with her at the same time :’’’)

I have written several metas on her, so you can read my thoughts on her background, the focus she received this volume, how I think her arc will end and some minor symbolism.

Cinder is built on an equilibrium between victim and perpetrator. She is both and the narrative strikes perfectly with its framing of her. It is both sympathetic and strict and most of all tragic because no matter if Cinder wins or loses... she keeps spiralling either way and she can’t understand she is fighting a worthless fight.

She is also full of interesting motifs and symbolism. One I would like to explore more in the future (and for it to be explored more by the story itself) is her fall motif.

She chooses the surname “Fall” herself when it is decided her first target is the Fall Maiden. This makes for a nice juxtaposition between her and Winter.

Cinder is born with nothing. Her own name refers a substance almost completely burnt, something with almost no color. It is a very humble name, so she chooses a surname which is important. It is a surname that hints to her role as a vessel of the Maidens.

She is not chosen to be a Maiden... she is not supposed to be one. However, she decides she is going to take the power even if it is not hers. She is taking destiny in her own hands.

Winter is born with apparently everything. However, this is also why everything gets decided for her. She is given the name Winter before she was born. Similarly, Ironwood chooses her as the Maiden even before she discovers about them.

Cinder sees Winter as having everything Cinder deserves. However, she misses how Winter is facing very similar struggles. She might be given what Cinder is negated, but she too has to make that destiny hers. She has to take her story in her own hands, just like Cinder.

At the same time, Cinder’s fall motif is linked also to the idea of falling. She falls and makes others fall. Exactly like she burns and is burnt. The orange of her flames aesthetically calls back to the orange of the falling leaves.

This idea is also conveyed through Cinder constantly mistreating and even killing characters representative of sides of herself.

She abuses Emerald and Mercury aka her child selves.

She kills Watts aka her negative foil.

She kills Pyrrha and Penny aka her Maidens’ foils.

It is clear that all this hurting and killing parts of herself won’t end well for her. I mean, she, not Salem, is the one responsible of the two major deaths in the series (Penny and Pyrrha), so she is bound to receive consequences.

Another thing I love about her is how her intelligence is people focused. She is very good at reading and manipulating others and this is how she wins her major fights. This is both her flaw and her major asset. I like it because I think RWBY is good in showing different kinds of intelligence and Cinder’s one is very coherent with her personality.

Finally, I love how her Cinderella allusion is used. It is a deconstruction of the original fairy tale that is born from a question: “What if Cinderella were not the kind victim of the story, but a bad victim?”. It is also interesting how the key character in Cinder’s allusion is not the Prince or the Stepmother, but the Fairty Godmother who fails her twice (Rhodes and now Salem).

As a side note, I can’t wait for The Truth to be out in its complete version.

5) Oscar

Aka the one who deserves nothing of what he gets :’’’)

I love him because he is an example of how to write a character who is a cinnamon roll, but that also is not boring and has complexity.

His struggle is about his sense of self. He starts the story by wishing to become more than what he is, but he does not like that this “more” turns out to be about fusing with another person. He wants to grow not to lose himself to another entity.

This is his major fear:

Who will you see? There in the darkness When no one is watching Who will you be? When you're afraid And everything changes Will you see a stranger? Feel proud or betrayed?

This is well conveyed also by his relationship with the rest of the group. He starts as the odd man out and others mostly rely on Ozpin rather than him. He sometimes even seems to disappear behind Ozpin. However, as time goes on, he forges genuine bonds and he becomes dependable on his own. He becomes even more so than Ozpin because he has something Oz lost out of cynism. The ability to trust.

In the Atlas volume he is the character that embodies the thematic statement about trust:

Oscar: You want him to trust us? Then trust me.

The point is that to be trusted you should trust first, even if there is no guarantee it will work.

It is interesting because the theme of trust is explored starting with Ozpin, Oscar’s foil, who does not trust others, so our protagonists feel betrayed. However, in Atlas they find themselves in Ozpin’s shoes and must choose if to trust Ironwood or not.

Here, we explore a form of conditional trust. This idea is presented by Ruby, who wants to be sure it is safe to trust Ironwood. So she keeps secrets and studies him until she decides she can trust him... only to discover that was not the case immediately after. This happens because trust can never be completely safe. Actually, in its most negative declination, this kind of trust becomes the control symbolized by Ironwood.

No matter what, trust is always a leap of faith. This is why trust is a risk. Oscar shows this concept well. He decides to still trust Ironwood at the end of volume 7, but it does not work. Still, he does not stop and decides to trust Emerald and Hazel. This time his trust and faith are repaid. He is fred and gains a new ally:

I love Emerald and Oscar’s interactions btw :’’’) It is good that Oscar is the one who is growing closer to her. They escape Salem together and Oscar has not been hurt by Emerald the same way the others are.

Anyway, even if trust is worth it, the exploration of this theme in Atlas actually ends on a negative note. It ends with Cinder who is an enemy of trust because she uses others’ trust and feelings against them.

Anyway, Oscar is a key character and I can’t wait for his story to develop more!

6) Ironwood

He breaks my heart.

He is a an excellent tragic Hero.

He thinks he is the Great Good, but this is precisely why he spirals out of control and falls with his own Kingdom, hated by his allies and forgotten by his enemies.

His downfall stems from his inability to trust, his refusal of emotions, his single-mindness and mostly his convinction he is better than others. This idea is structural of Atlas society and is seen in many of his inhabitants. No matter the social class, we see multiple people thinking they deserve better and that they are above others. This is why Atlas falls and his people becomes refugees in the poorest Kingdom of Remnant.

Anyway, Ironwood thinks he is better than others, so he should be the one deciding for others as well. This idea is flawed and perfectly conveyed through his ideology of sacrificing everything. He feels he has everything, so he can sacrifice what he wants. Still, this is not the case. Others’ lives and feelings are not his. He doesn’t own them.

7) Weiss

I love Weiss. She has one of my favourite designs and one of my favourite semblances and fighting styles.

Her snowhite allusion being played to explore the idea of a dysfunctional family is very good.

In general, I love how much she has grown slowly, but steadily and how she has progressively become warmer. I enjoyed her interactions with her siblings this season. She also gets many moments where she shines for her humanity and intelligence.

She is both Snowhite and the Prince, but also the Huntress that changes and makes others change. She becomes an inspiration for her whole family and since the Schnees are all in Vacuo and she will eventually join them, I am curious if there is going to be more about their family dynamic.

Other than this, I am excited about her Nevermore summon, what is means symbolically and when she will use it.

8) Ruby

I think Ruby’s arc must still enter its climax and that she will shine towards the end of the series.

That said, I love her as a protagonist. She has an interesting set of skills that makes her competent, but not invincible. Moreover, I like how she is important and a participant of the plot, but also does not single-handedly solves everything by herself. She has to learn just like the others. For example, this volume she learns that trust is a risk and the importance of taking risks.

Moreover, she is actually very rarely the protagonist of a volume climax. Speaking of the most climatic volumes, Pyrrha is the protagonist of the climax in volume 3, Yang and Raven are in volume 5, Penny in volume 8.

The climax where she is the most in focus as a character is volume 6 and that is the volume where her eyes are explored and her personal arc is set up. That said, she still manages to be important and to contribute to the action in many ways.

I think her role is to inspire others and I guess that by making that speech this volume she is gonna grow into a symbol even more. If that happens it will be interesting to see what this means for her.

Apart from this, I am curious about her subplot with her mother and if it will tie to her choice to save Cinder with her eyes (since I think this is where we are going). She is going to be both Hood and the Huntsman who kills the Wolf and saves the Victim.

9) Nora and Ren

They are my favourite canon romance.

Their story starts with Ren getting focus (with Nora as a support) and is slowly shifting to Nora developing as her own person (with Ren as a support).

It fits for them to be one of the series main romances because as characters they both explore the concept of emotions and emotional intelligence.

I would say Nora is one of the most emotional intelligent characters in the cast. She is aware of her own feelings for Ren and tries to push their story forwars. She quickly picks up on Pyrrha’s crush and encourages her to make a move. Honestly, she sees herself as a dumb jock, but she is far from it. She is one of the wisest and most sensitive characters:

Nora: You shove people out so you don’t have to feel things that are hard!

Ren is ironically the one struggling with feelings, even if his semblance is all about emotions. In a sense, it is as if he develops it precisely because he struggles with this part of himself.

As a child he is easily overwhelmed by emotions like fear, which goes in the way of his actions. So, when he is under stress he deveops a magical power that lets him control this part of himself. However, as time goes on, it becomes more and more obvious that he should face his own feelings. And once he faces them:

Ren: No! No one is replaceable.

Then he becomes able to see both himself and others more clearly.

In general, both Ren and Nora must overcome their issues if they want to end up together.

Ren’s issue was his fear of being completely vulnerable and to open up with another person. Nora’s is her complete dependance on Ren and how she sees herself as only a part of him, while she is much more.

As a side note, Ren finally confessing his feelings for Nora only to be (temporally) rejected is a great note for his character arc. He was repressing his feelings out of fear, but now he has grown enough to take a risk (opening up, showing vulnerability). Well, this risk does not pay off immediatley. Nora asks him for some time and this is surely not how Ren would have hoped things to go. Still, he understands and supports her. He takes an emotional risk that does not pay off immediately, but he is able to live with it.

In terms of writing, I also think Raven is top notch. Moreover, Winter is a lowkey favourite as well.

I also like some minor characters like Ilia, whose background is built on a very interesting premise that fits her chameleon motif, and Whitley who manages to be helpful even if he is not a fighter. Velvet also has a cool weapon and semblance that tie with her photography motif.

I also love Yang, Blake and Jaune aka the other members of the main cast.

In terms of design, many of my favourites have also my favourite designs (Emerald, Weiss, Mercury, Cinder, Penny, Winter, Ruby, Ren and Ilia).

Other than them, I love Neo’s design, characterization and fighting style:

Finally, I also like Tock’s design and concept, even if she only appears once.

Thank you for this ask! I had fun with it!

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itsmyara · 4 years ago

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A Cruel Fact (N/SFW Hisomachi Fanfic)

Pairings: Hisoka/Machi, Machi/Fem!OC (just briefly)

Word Count: 5.8 k

Warnings: Language, Blood, Gore, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Break Ups, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Bisexuality, Unhealthy Relationships, Murder Mentions But No One Dies, 69, Shameless S.mut.

AO3 Link

“M-Machi...” his voice was hoarse and broken. Hisoka couldn’t see her name clearly because of the blood smearing the whole screen. His own blood, painting everything around him in red. But he thought he heard her voice.

His fingers already knew the way to her speed dial, and maybe trying it for the thousandth time worked now.

“What?” She spat on the other side. So cruel. So impatient. He couldn’t help but smile, the simple act shooting pain through his facial muscles.

“I n-need y-ou… I… I mean it. I s-screwed up t-this time...”

She huffed when she heard him coughing.

Blood spilled even more from his insides, tainting the already messy scenario. An alternating orange, red and pink neon light turned everything a little psychedelic and even more nauseating.

“Let me see it.”

“I… I don’t think I...” he tried to say he wouldn’t be able to change the voice call to a video one. He still couldn’t see much of the screen. But when something green flashed on his phone, contrasting violently with the red, he knew he should tap it somehow with all the blood.

After lagging for a while, the image changed to something diffused. Was she in the dark? What he could see of her blue eyes were illuminated only by the phone screen light, it seemed.

"Jesus fuck…" she muttered with her usual cold tone. The use of a sacred name mixed with profanity made Hisoka smile even wider. He surely looked like a mess to cause such a reaction. "Where are you?"

"Y-york Shin…" the cough interrupted him again. He tried to find something to show her. Speaking would be as effective as trying to send her his location. Hisoka rolled on his back, the lacerating pain taking over his ribs to his abdomen in a cold wave and making him whimper. There was a shiny neon billboard on the top of the building near him. That was the source of the ceaselessly light. The Mighty Fox, a foxy lady moving left and right. Left and right. He almost got distracted, but in the end, he managed to turn his phone camera to the sign.

"Of course you are there…" this time Machi sounded… tired. "Give me fifteen minutes, but listen: it won't be cheap."

"I'll give you anything you want…" his husky voice could form a whole sentence for the first time without being interrupted, which was funny. He could feel the liquid pooling down his throat. Everything tasted like iron.

"I highly doubt it."

"Why… d-do you think so lowly about me…?" The stutter came back, but there was no reply this time. He tried to turn his phone to himself again, but it slipped from his hand and crashed against the ground beside him.

He could see the dark screen before it fell, however. She had already hung up.

***

Machi stood in front of the window where she could see the neon billboard of the foxy lady dancing. It was less than five minutes away from her.

She sighed.

"Is there any problem?" The girl with purple hair asked from her bed. Her amber eyes looked startled.

Thankfully she was polite enough not to say anything when she was still on the call.

"Yes, there is," Machi said, nonchalantly. "I actually need you to go now, I'm sorry."

She hoped she didn't fail on being polite now. She didn't want to sound rude, not with her, at least.

"I've thought I could spend the night… " The girl insisted, getting up from the bed slowly as if there was a chance of Machi changing her mind.

But she was already pulling up her jeans without looking at her.

"Told you my job was complicated," she said, hearing a deep breath as a response. "C'mon, I'll stay with you until your cab arrives."

"Can I call you later?" The girl asked, and Machi finally looked at her doe eyes.

She wished she had a mind to deal with her better, but it was so hard when another set of amber eyes had already taken away her inner peace.

"Wait for me to text you, I might be busy for a while."

The girl muttered sure, babe. The way she sounded hurt by it started to annoy Machi. Granted, she didn't want to make her feel bad, but at the same time, she had never promised her anything.

She couldn't.

She was nowhere near ready to commit and being pressed for it, even slightly, wouldn't help.

***

"You look like a pile of shit."

Everything looked like a pile of shit if she were honest. The back alley illuminated by that irritating neon billboard was covered in blood: up and down, left and right. Blood stuck in her sneakers as she approached what appeared to be just another dead body in the middle of a dozen, but was really Hisoka. The ferrous smell could be felt from across the street, and she thought he was lucky that part of the city was long forgotten by God. If anyone had called an ambulance for him, he would be a dead man sooner rather than later. Normal doctors wouldn't know how to deal with him.

"Thank you," he breathed quickly, chest moving in a way she knew was hurtful. The pain was almost palpable. "Y-you look amazing as a-always."

Machi crouched down beside him and carefully touched his abdomen. A deep cut crossed all the way from his right ribs to the left side of his waist. The blood made it difficult for her to see exactly how deep it was. It was troublesome, for it had certainly hit internal organs and needed her stitches urgently, but she wouldn’t be able to do it until his hemorrhage was controlled.

She looked at his other wounds. Hisoka had many bruises she could do nothing about at the moment. His face was swollen and full of bumps, making him look hideous. She sighed, wondering if he knew how bad he looked. A particular laceration came to her attention: a very characteristic hole on his left shoulder. She dug her thumb and forefinger there mercilessly, feeling him flinch in pain when she pulled out the bullet.

“Seriously?” She showed the projectile to him before tossing it away. “I hope it was bathed in nen when it hit you.”

“I… I can’t recall...” he smiled at her, and she knew beneath the blood, bruises, and bumps, he was feigning innocence.

“Is this your last resort to try to get my attention, Hisoka?” She breathed exasperated, taking off her hoodie to press it against his deepest cut on the abdomen. “Trying to kill yourself in meaningless fights?”

“L-life is mean-meaningless without y-you, Machi...” his hand tried to reach hers over the hoodie, and she took it to replace her effort in keeping it pressured so she could continue checking him. “I f-feel like… something’s missing...”

“Yeah, right,” she said in a skeptical tone, moving to see the conditions of his legs. “Fighting Danchou is what gives you meaning and makes you complete, Hisoka. Cut the crap.”

“I m-mean I-” his words were interrupted by a painful groan when she repositioned his right leg’s bones without warning.

“We’ll have to go to my place, I won’t be able to do much here,” she huffed, resting her bloody hands on her hips. “And you’ll have to stand somehow because there’s no way I’m carrying you in my arms.”

“W-what a pity...” he murmured with a faint smug smile on his face when Machi got closer to lift his right arm and position his shoulder over hers. She helped him get up quite easily. His weight wasn’t something beyond her strength, and even if she had to carry him in her arms, she would. But he was in condition to suffer for some blocks. “Have you b-been kissed?” He asked out of the blue, startling Machi a little.

She didn’t answer, however. And after some difficult steps on his behalf, he tried to look closer at her face before insisting on the matter:

“You look v-very kissed...”

***

“What are you doing here?” Machi finally let a passionate emotion escape with her voice when she saw the purple-haired girl at her door.

Indignation. Fear.

The girl was weak. Utterly boring. He felt almost offended that Machi had let her kiss her lips. Or worse. Hisoka tensed up like a hunting dog who’s caught the scent of an injured animal… one who had been feeding on his food. She had his lover’s taste on her lips, something only him should taste. Such an act could not go unpunished. Almost inevitably, bloodlust emanated painfully from him.

“O-oh… what’s your name, little rabbit?” His voice sounded dangerously deep as he leaned on Machi and lowered his head, his stare fixed on the amber one, however. Her eyes were almost the same hue as his. She shivered.

“Don’t answer him, answer me.” Machi intervened, making the girl look confused at them, one after the other. Maybe she had regretted her decision now.

“I thought you were in trouble, and it seems you really are...” she answered, glaring at him.

Machi rolled her eyes, pulling him roughly with her when she opened the door.

“Don’t worry about me, he’s just an idiot. But you have to go. Now!” She helped him inside her apartment until they got to her couch, where she let his body fall carelessly.

“Ouch, kitten… don’t b-be cruel...” he lay on the couch, pressing her hoodie harder against the bleeding wound. His eyes followed the purpled-haired girl, however, when she stood at the threshold, beckoning Machi.

His lover left him there without a word and went to the girl. She closed the door behind her so they both could talk in the hallway, but he could hear the strange girl calling her babe. His eyes narrowed. In his mind, this inconsequential woman was nothing more than a hookup, and it was bad enough. The fact that she felt intimate enough to call Machi babe made him groan, blood trickling from his mouth again. He tried to get up but ended up slumping down onto the couch again.

The girl was weak, of course, but he was… pathetic. His eyes twitched in annoyance at the thought. Hisoka knew how miserable his condition was right now, every heartbeat a reminder of the pain he was feeling, weighing on his chest until he thought he wouldn't be able to breathe anymore. But he kept breathing. He kept feeding the sad machinery inside his ribcage.

The pain wasn't physical. In fact, he did everything he could to get hurt in the worst way possible to try to forget his feelings. The stupid emotions assaulting him ever since Machi told him that she would no longer be his lover. That she couldn't do this anymore. First, he thought it was just a joke, a way for her to tease him. Another way to be cruel with him for her own amusement. And he would never deny the pain inflicted by her for her pleasure. Granted, it was his pleasure too.

But then he noticed she was in pain too, which made no sense at all. Why was she willingly suffering along with him? Why was she depriving herself if it wasn't for a reward? Why was she telling him she wouldn't be his lover anymore when he could see in her eyes how much she yearned to be with him? Machi was so hard to read sometimes. She was like a huge labyrinth he had never found his way out of, and he was trapped inside her twists and turns for so long it became part of himself.

It was undeniable that she had stirred emotions in him that no other lover ever had, and one of the most sincere things he ever did was embracing it. Is it any wonder he felt like part of him had been taken away when she stopped returning his calls? The days without Machi were just… colorless. Flavorless. Boring. After weeks nothing could excite him anymore. Until he decided to look for her, and when he found his pink-haired beauty he missed so much, she was accompanied by that nobody.

All the numbness gave way to an avalanche of emotions he didn't know how to deal with. He wanted to kill her with a flick of his hand, the purple-haired girl. But it wouldn't be enough. What would be enough? He was choking in desperation. He had to pull those feelings out of his chest.

That's how he ended up like this: all of the feelings still aching in his heart, and blood splattered all around her couch.

"I don't get you!" He heard a voice yelling outside when the door opened again.

"You don't have to," Machi replied coldly before closing the door and locking it.

They were alone now. He and her.

"I knew y-you would come back to me…" he couldn't avoid the pleased smirk, but she ignored it too.

"Lay down, I can't stitch you up like this," she said matter-of-factly before heading to the kitchen.

He obeyed her like a good boy, and when she came back, she threw him a package of frozen peas.

"For your face," she told, and with a pair of scissors in her hand, she knelt beside him to take away the bloody hoodie and start cutting what had left of his shirt. "I don't even know how you're still conscious."

"B-because I've misse-"

"Don't talk," Machi interrupted him. "And the ice will be more helpful if you actually put it on your face."

Only then he noticed he was still holding the package in the air. Hisoka was reluctant about covering his face. He wanted to see her stitching him. He wanted to see her. But she was cautious to not start her delicate job until he conceded.

But it was good then, when he couldn't see anything, but focus all of his senses on the precise and attentive way she was filling his insides with her nen. That delicious thread intertwining with his guts, with his flesh, with his skin. Just like she was with him. Inside of him. When she was so near him, he felt there were no distinctions between them both.

Machi closed his wound and moved on to the bullet hole on his shoulder. There was a minor cut on his left arm she also gave her attention to before standing up and leaving him alone again. Hisoka raised the peas' package to look at her, at her petite figure walking around calmly.

It amazed him how he missed something so trivial.

***

She placed the bowl of water by her knees, dipped the white cloth, and wrung it before leaning over him to clean his face. Machi swept her hand on his forehead to push back his damped hair, then pressed the cloth carefully on his skin to clean the blood. She tried to focus on what she was doing, but the way he was looking at her was distracting her. Yes, his face was distorted and just downright ugly, but his golden eyes shined like they always did before her. There was always a passion, longing, and even some… vulnerability. Hisoka looked like a monster to some, like a disgusting creep to others, but to her, sometimes, he looked like a lost boy, craving so much for human touch.

Machi lowered her head to dip the cloth in the water again. His blood tainted the once crystal clear liquid and dissolved in her hands when she wrung it out. She reached his stained lips and saw his tongue sweeping them right after her touch like a reflex. And before she could move on to his chin and neck, where blood had trickled down, his hand grabbed her wrist.

“Machi...” he tried to pull her even closer, but she resisted. “Can’t you feel it?”

She blinked a few times, trying to decide if it was even something relevant to question. Feel what? Feel the smell of his blood she was so used to? Feel how close she was to his body, just a few inches away from his lips? Feel disgusted by his face? His actions? His reluctance to accept her decision? Feel how much she missed him? Feel everything she fought against in the last few weeks, trying to bury it all under layers and layers of work, sleeping pills, eventual alcohol, and sex with harmless people? She felt like diving without water, many miles below so she could avoid feeling anything.

She actually felt sorry she couldn’t simply erase every memory of him, every touch of his hand over her body. Like that grip.

“We belong together...” he proceeded, not stuttering so much anymore, but with a breathy, languid voice. She looked at his eyes and he smiled, quite sweetly. “We won’t do good apart.”

“Speak for yourself!” She spat, pulling her wrist away from his hand. Machi resumed her duty of cleaning him with an annoyed countenance.

“Are you happy?” He breathed heavily, desperately, in a way that made Machi fear for the stitches to open. “Do you feel complete? Do you love her?”

Machi rolled her eyes. He had to be delusional to believe she would even think about those questions. They were everything she was running from, but it seems it wasn’t enough that her current lover was pressuring her about it. Her past lover had to do the same thing. She sighed, wrung the cloth once again, and placed it over his neck to continue the cleaning when she felt something odd.

She returned the cloth to the bowl, wiped her hands on her t-shirt, and touched both sides of his neck. Then his wrists. He was freezing. Due to the frozen package she gave him to relieve his bumps, she thought it was natural that his face would feel that cold, but the rest of his body shouldn’t. His heavy breathing was probably caused by it as well.

Maybe he really was delusional.

“Your touches feel so good… ” he whispered. “I’ve missed you so much… Machi...”

“I need to warm you up,” she murmured as if she were thinking out loud, getting up immediately to go to the bedroom.

“No, Machi...” he tutted like an upset kid, stretching his arms, trying to reach her. “Just come here… Lie with me...”

But she only returned to him with blankets in her arms. She tried to cover his body, and Hisoka was being pretty obedient while she attended to his feet and legs. But when she reached his chest, he suddenly grabbed her by the waist and pulled her body against his with surprising strength. Machi even questioned his hypothermia, but the chilling sensation of his skin against hers was undeniable.

“Stop it!!” She huffed, trying to get out of his grip, but he wouldn’t let her.

“The best way to warm up someone… is with your own body, Machi… skin to skin...” he murmured with some difficulty, as she still tried to free herself.

However, with a deep breath, she gave up, feeling his chest, cold as porcelain through her t-shirt. If her stitches opened up, he would lose even more blood. And if he was already so cold, losing it would probably force her to take him to a hospital. In a way, it would be a relief to just let his body there on the sidewalk and forget about him. But she didn’t want to.

Deep down, she would rather lie there with him than let him go.

“Why do you have to be such an idiot?” She looked into his eyes in defeat. Those golden eyes, shiny and needy for her. So beautiful, under the bruises and swellings.

“I’m sorry, Machi...” he said quietly, his hand touching her face ever so slightly. Eyes never leaving hers, making it so easy for her to falter.

Machi never planned to have feelings for anyone, let alone for Hisoka. All those emotions she dared not name were liabilities. They meant giving all the power to someone else, exposing herself to be blackmailed, used, or betrayed. Like he already did. So casually, as if it was nothing. As if fighting Chrollo had nothing to do with her and they could perfectly continue doing this. Sharing this hot and comfortable intimacy, giving way to the irrational yearning to touch him, to feel the blood in his mouth with her tongue.

She definitely didn’t want to feel anything for him. But she did. So much that it burned in her heart and made her squirm when she tasted his ferrous saliva in a helpless, senseless kiss. What led her to sink into this traitor so deeply, fingers clutched in his hair, nails scratching his scalp? She probably would never know.

But it was something deeper than any other lover, old or new, had ever made her feel. And she hated it so much.

“I will never forgive you,” she breathed between her teeth, breaking the kiss quite harshly with a hard push.

“I know...” his eyes were veiled in delight, so full of life it let her know the coldness of his body didn’t reach his inner fire. Maybe he wasn’t delusional, then. Only miserly pining for her.

His dirty hands searched for her skin underneath the t-shirt, gently first, drawing a shiver out of her, but then they latched onto her flesh desperately, as he pulled her for another kiss. Soon it would be broken by her, however, when she took off her t-shirt to quickly come back, diving into his mouth.

Machi slipped under the blanket with him, covering them both in a comfortable warm cocoon. She wished it could hide them from the world, from the space, the time, all the problems they were in, so it could be only the two of them. At least for the night.

“This is not a promise,” she whispered against his lips, so intoxicated by his breath she irresistibly shuddered. Hisoka was an addiction, and being that close to him was a curse and a relief at the same time.

“I know, Machi,” he whispered back. “It’s a fact.”

***

The muscles of his face were still sore while he kissed her over and over again. It wasn't bad at all. It actually turned him on even more. Physical pain was a delicacy, something that could either numb his senses or enhance them even more, turning every touch into a pleasurable explosion. And under her touches, there was nothing but delight. Not that he had forgotten about the pain in his chest, no. But it also had become something else: a fuel to his desperation, an urgent need to make it worth the time they’d spent apart. To hold her in a way that she would never leave him anymore.

To erase completely every memory and every trace of the purple-haired girl from her body and replace them with his.

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” Machi pushed him back when he so thirstily jerked forward towards her. One hand on her waist, the other on her breast. Mouth ready to devour her whole. “I won’t stitch you up again.”

“Would you let me bleed?” Hisoka sighed, with a smile on his lips when he felt her tongue tracing his swollen jaw.

“��Til death,” she purred in his ear.

“‘Til death...” he repeated as if mesmerized, hands reaching down to her jeans, unzipping it to slide his fingers inside her panties, feeling delicious puffy labia leading to a slippery wet slit. How he missed it. “Let me taste you,” he pleaded, touching her firmly to try to convince her.

Machi was ready to lick his chest clean, he knew it. He could see the desire shining in her eyes when she raised them to look at his. Two ravenous beasts staring at each other.

“Do you think you deserve it?” Her body hovered over his, her hips willingly grinding on his hand.

“I think you want it too, Machi...” he tried to raise his body again to capture her lips, but she pushed him down again with a displeased hum and got up.

When she was away from his body he felt so cold.

Hisoka sucked his fingers, the fluids he had captured from her serving as an appetizer as he watched her taking off her jeans and panties all at once. It was the first time he actually felt the taste of something good in weeks.

“Gosh, you’re so needy...” she tilted her head when he tried to reach her again, rushing her to come back to him.

But ignoring the way his hands were trying to lead her back, she turned around, placing her knees on both sides of his face and lying down over his body so sweetly. It was incomparably better than he had planned. Her swift delicate hands were quick to free his shaft from his pants, both pumping all the length so eagerly while he could finally grab her thighs and shove his head between her legs. His mouth covered her entire intimacy, sucking it all at once as if the mere gesture could already wash away the other’s presence from her.

He wanted to relish on Machi and Machi alone.

She licked his precum, running the tip of her tongue slowly on his glans before enveloping them between her lips. He throbbed inside her mouth and fingers, letting out a pleasurable moan against her skin. Hisoka felt he was already burning hot, delirious in fever. Her juices filled his senses as he played with her cunt, they were all he could — and wanted — to experience after such a long time only dreaming about it. He charted every inch of her sex, memorizing again all of her textures, her flavors.

He couldn’t lose them again.

His hands landed on the junction of her thighs, thumbs tracing her labia open, fingers sliding inside her entrance as his tongue lapped on her clit. He was thirsty to feel her orgasm, her body squirming above his, her immense rationality abandoning her mind for that brief moment. The thrill Machi made him feel only confirmed how much he needed her. She was avidly sucking his length, eventually slipping it all the way down her throat, forcing him to halt and whimper in erotic agony, eyes rolling in bliss. Hisoka wanted her to suffer the same way, so he hooked his digits and pressed her harder against his lips.

There was no escape for her. As he went on and on, relentlessly working on her pleasure, he finally felt the always-so-full-of-self-control woman faltering over him. She moaned on his dick, so helpless while her legs shuddered around him and he knew he was in the right way. He didn’t mind when she took him out of the wet warmth of her mouth to just shakily pump him. What mattered is that he felt it finally: her walls throbbing and clenching strongly on his fingers, her fluids pouring generously on his face.

The utmost sensation for him.

“Did she ever make you cum like this?” He wondered out loud in a soft purr, eyes fixed on the remaining signs of her orgasm.

“What?” She asked so candidly it was obvious she didn’t listen. She was still so high she couldn’t even register what he said.

It was perfect. It was everything he could ask for and the perfect answer to his question. He knew he was the only one capable of making her lose her mind like this.

And as if the devils of greed, lust, and pride had taken over his being, Hisoka threw Machi on the couch at the same time he slipped out of her. He took her by the knees, pulling her body to the edge to meet his — to join his, without further ado, so he could do whatever he wanted with her without hearing her worrying about his wound. He didn’t care. He could bleed his guts out over her body and he would be happy, as long as he was buried deep inside her.

His hands clawed her face and her neck, bringing her little mouth closer for an insane kiss, so he could occupy her lips, her head, her thoughts. So he could fill her whole perfect body with each thrust, hitting her cervix and echoing in her desperate, loud breathing. Breasts bouncing beautifully, perky nipples rubbing up and down ever so slightly against his chest, faster and faster to the rhythm of his hips.

Machi dug her teeth in his sore flesh, licking blood from his lips while intonating the chant of her pleasure in choir with him. It was a feral melody, full of grunts and groans and senseless moans.

Hisoka rolled his eyes when he felt a sting of pain in his abs. He pushed her hair back, locking her head in place so he could look down to capture the vision of their bodies mingling beyond a delicate trace of fresh blood. She would make him stop if she saw it, but how could he? When her body fluttered under his and her knees tried to squeeze him between them. Her juices glistened on his cock like exquisite jewelry.

The Queen of his Hearts, crowning the Joker in the best way possible.

Machi was his. His.

As she sweetly mewled, pulling him closer to her body with her legs, her arms, and her intimacy throbbing and clenching as if trying to suck his soul along with his cum, he wanted to look at her eyes. The most beautiful, defiant, deadly cold eyes he ever saw. And he loved them. And he loved all the white-hot feelings he took from them: anger, passion, pleasure, and rebellion when facing the cruel truth that was loving his eyes as well. He could see it all at once in the shining blue now, enrapturing his senses completely and drinking his fluids dry.

He felt his vision blurring, his moans becoming brutal howls and his shaft pulsating as violently as his heart on his chest.

Finally, he was alive.

He found his life inside of her, and it felt so good.

***

She woke up slowly to that warm, undefined feeling. It was comfortable, familiar, intimate. The smell filled her lungs like home, and she was so homesick her arms closed tighter around his waist. And then she finally realized she wasn't alone, and she wasn't with a harmless stranger either. Her eyes opened to the image of his red hair and his broad, pale shoulders. His back looked so strange without the spider tattoo there, but for as much as she hated that blank space, the proof of his treason, she breathed deeply and held him one more time against her naked body. It was a sluggish movement, but he reacted slower and lazier than her, in soft reflections and velvet murmurs.

Hisoka was sleeping deeply, as he should. Machi was amazed by how he managed to stay awake for so long last night. If she hadn't seen all the blood — and his internal organs, quite literally — she would have doubted his condition was serious. He really was a monster. A stubborn and childish one. She had gotten carried away, giving in to his whims when she knew she wasn't supposed to, for multiple reasons. But at the moment, everything felt so urgent, so desperate. She was overwhelmed with the need to remember his body, his taste, the pleasure they shared. Everything that felt like paradise and it seemed she could only have with him. The devil.

It was an irony, a curse. But she had wondered if she could manage it, because last night, she didn't want to be away from him again.

And she still didn't want to part, even after he bled over her, passing out after orgasming like a useless mess. He was nothing but trouble sometimes. She had to stitch him up again and guide a half-conscious Hisoka to bed, all the while dealing with his wandering hands, his sluggish horniness. His pleading eyes while trying to convince her how lost he was. How much he needed her. How his feelings about her were the same as her feelings about him.

All lies. But deep down it moved her, how he gave himself the trouble when his mind was so clearly so hazy. It was almost logical to assume it was the truth. Good thing she knew better than this.

And too bad she still wanted him. She wanted him. She wanted him. What a painful confession to her own mind.

“Why are you so tense?” His deep, hoarse voice asked out of the blue, startling her a little bit. He brought her hand to his lips and lazily kissed it.

“I’m not, you must’ve been dreaming,” she dismissed him casually, pulling her hand to herself and finally parting, turning her back to him.

Machi reached for her phone on the nightstand idly, just for habit. 7h47 am. 34 missed calls. 22 new messages. She sighed. Unlike Hisoka’s missed calls and messages, those ones made her feel nothing but a nuisance. Granted, he annoyed her, but there was always something more.

Chrollo once said to her he found it funny how humans are more attracted by the things that hurt the most, like moths craving for light. And she was so human sometimes.

She felt Hisoka turn to hug her and turned off the screen immediately so he couldn’t see the name of the one sending her so many messages. Knowing her face was enough. For as much as Machi didn’t want to answer the girl, she didn’t wish her badly either.

“You said you would give me anything I wanted as payment,” she stated coldly.

He hummed as an answer, nuzzling his nose on the crook of her neck.

“Leave the girl alone,” she went straight to the point. “And 1 million, you were a real headache last night.”

“Is she important to you?” he whispered in her ear, making her shiver.

“Does it matter to you now? If it does I’m ready to negotiate you leaving Chrollo alone as well.”

She felt his lips curving upward against her skin.

“She’s not important to you. You were only using the poor girl to try to forget me,” he said like the jerk he was, and she nudged him. Lightly. She didn’t want to stitch him for the third time. “You’re so mean, Machi...”

“Shut up,” her hand covered his mouth on her back. Then she turned to him, replacing her hand with her lips in a quick kiss. “Just leave her alone, you owe me this.”

“Will you be my lover again?” he pushed her fringe back, then traced her face with his fingers as if it was something fragile. Precious. Eyes with a mix of malice and vulnerability framed by his skin still reddened and swollen. But it didn’t matter.

She couldn’t take her eyes away from his.

“I was never your lover, and I’ll never be.”

She was a fact.

For better or worse, they were a fact.

#hisomachi #hisoka #machi #machi komacine #hisoka morrow #hisoka x machi #machi komachine #oneshot #myarawrites #machi hxh #hisoka hxh

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feelingfredly · 4 years ago

Text

The Hunting of the Snark... I Mean Spark

Part 1 of What I Tell You Three Times Is True

Peter listened as the water stopped and various cabinets in his bathroom were opened and closed and waited for his guest to reappear. Stiles, scrubbed red from the shower, walked into the room rubbing viciously at his hair with a towel. The fragrance of borrowed shampoo clung to him even more tightly than the damp fabric of Peter’s bathrobe and seeing the young man like that, covered head to toe in Peter’s things, in Peter’s scent, caused his wolf to lift its head and rumble in satisfaction, even if the reason the boy was in his den was less than optimal.

“Three times, Peter.” Frustration sharpened Stiles’s voice, pulling the man’s attention back from his wolf’s wanderings. “You know what that means.”

Peter knew. One is an incident, two is a coincidence, three's a pattern, and four is enough for a warrant. Not that they could get a warrant, even if they did end up with a fourth victim. It didn’t matter to Stiles, though. He, like his father, was a cop at heart—protect and serve was etched in their bones. Usually, Stiles also had a streak of ruthless practicality that balanced that idealism out, but this time was different. Peter hoped it didn’t come back to bite him in the ass.

“Proving the pattern to the rest of the pack is going to be… difficult.”

Amber eyes rolled and Peter smothered a smile. It still surprised him how much pleasure Stiles’s snark generated in him. Like calling to like.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Stiles flung his towel at the hamper and missed. From four feet away. Peter shook his head. How the boy had survived this long in a world full of predators was truly a mystery. “Lydia will believe me. Probably. And Danny. But…”

“But they’re not wolves.” Peter nodded and leaned back in his chair. “They aren’t the ones who’re going to want to believe it’s possible in the first place.”

Stiles walked to the corner of the desk that dominated the office and propped one hip on it, everything about his posture telegraphing his irritation with the situation.

“Scott’s going to think I’m crazy—literally—and he’ll suspect anything coming from you because you’re clearly still trying to manipulate him.” His lip curled a fraction and Peter wasn’t sure if it was the beginning of a smile or a snarl. “That means we’re going to have to go at the problem sideways, again, because as much as I’d like to say he wouldn’t go there again, I’m sure you’re with me on the Never Going Back to Eichen bandwagon.”

Peter gave his own eyeroll at that. “Our True Alpha does have a limited repertoire of responses, and you’re right, Eichen House is not on my list of spa retreat destinations. My question for you is simply: since we know he won’t listen to reason, why bother trying to convince him? It isn’t as if the people Hengstrom is using aren’t willing. If Scott wants to throw in with the crazy mage, why not let him?”

Stiles shifted his weight, swinging a lean leg absently. “I guess it’s the lying that gets me, because I don’t believe he doesn’t know exactly what his miracle cure does. You can’t wield that kind of magic if you don’t understand it intimately. That leaves two options,” he held up one long finger. “One, he’s leaving details out because he doesn’t think they’re important—which would be stupidly shortsighted—or two,” he held up a second finger, “he knows the details are important and he’s not telling people on purpose, which leads to another whole line of questions about why he’s keeping them secret and what he’s getting out of the de-wolfing process that’s so important that he doesn’t want to risk scaring his victims away.”

Peter nodded. When the mage arrived, he’d introduced himself to the local Alpha and had bemoaned the fact that Deaton wasn’t currently in residence because he wanted to share his new skill with the druid. Invoking the emissary’s name worked like magic—all puns intended—and the True Alpha had warmly welcomed the man to the territory and had immediately begun questioning him about this new and wonderful spellwork he’d invented. Hengstrom had been hesitant to speak of it, saying he didn’t want to step on Deaton’s toes—but Scott reacted the way he always did when there was something new and shiny that he wanted: he poked and prodded and wheedled and insisted until the mage caved and laid out the framework of what he called his “life’s achievement.”

It was delicate work and Peter had been impressed with Hengstrom’s ability to play the young Alpha right up until he uttered the phrase “werewolf curse.” McCall’s spine had stiffened and red crawled up his neck as he ducked his head and looked away, shame and self-loathing oozing from every pore. Every wolf in the room stiffened, feeling the negativity of their leader through the pack bonds, and Peter was no different. His gums itched and his fingers ached, claws and fangs closer to the surface than they should be, and he knew his wolf was feeling threatened in a way that born wolves weren’t supposed to feel.

The mage promised Scott, and any other bitten wolves that were interested, the chance to be human again, and he knew immediately what the True Alpha’s reaction was going to be. Hell, anyone with a braincell that had known the boy for more than two seconds knew what he was going to do. He never even paused to think how giving up his wolf would affect the rest of the pack. No, McCall was consistent—he wanted what he wanted and screw anyone that might get in the way of him getting it.

He did, at least, ask a few questions and the mage passed his minimalist lie detector test—Yes, he’d performed the rite dozens of times. The rite had 100% efficacy. All the people he helped went back to their human lives with nary a trace of wolf left in them. Here’s an oddly convenient list; call them if you want to.—And then the idiot didn’t think, didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate for a minute, he simply reached out and swept the mage into the biggest hug Beacon Hills had ever seen, and then had run off to tell Kira the good news.

Stiles and Peter watched the interview silently, doubt clear on both of their faces, but once their Alpha had made his approval clear, Stiles shook the man’s hand briefly, took the list of “cured” that was proffered, and directed the mage to the hotel in town that the pack had an arrangement with.

Then Stiles went to work.

It took the Spark six hours to contact most of the people on the list, but there were a few he hadn’t been able to get through to. Finally, one number that had been calling incessantly—his magic nagging at him that it was important—picked up and the tearful woman on the other end informed him that yes, her husband, Oscar, had undergone Hengstrom’s procedure and had been thrilled with the results. Unfortunately, he’d died a few months later. They hadn’t been able to determine a cause of death—he simply didn’t wake up one morning. It was possible that the procedure had been hard on his heart or something, but no one could really say. She was sorry she couldn’t be more help.

After another six hours he’d found two more people who’d had their wolves removed who had mysteriously fallen ill afterwards. One was currently in a coma, and the other had been committed to a mental institution after having attempted to kill his family, the whole time screaming for them to kill him, please kill him. That he couldn’t stop it. It wouldn’t let him.

That report reminded Stiles too much of his possession by the Nogitsune; he and Peter were on a plane the next morning. Three hours and several Jedi mind tricks after landing, they’d gotten to visit the last victim… and the minor demon that was squatting in his soul. Peter had struggled with seeing the man strapped to his bed, flashbacks of his own time imprisoned in a similar bed with nothing free to move but his head setting his teeth on edge, and Stiles… well, the Spark had his own fight to fight. His spark hovered just beneath his skin, setting the boy almost aglow, and while his wolf was used to the temptation, the demon was immediately overwhelmed with hunger.

The body on the bed strained and lurched against its bindings as they listened to it rave about how Stiles was perfect, how the fire under his skin was nice but the darkness around his heart was beautiful and infinite and vicious, how he had a demon-shaped hole in his soul that just cried out to be filled. Stiles waited as every word left a wound behind, and Peter could smell the blood on him as he bit his lips to remain silent. Finally, the demon released its host deciding that it was worth giving up the body it had for the chance of controlling the power of a Spark. Peter sucked in a breath, terrified that they wouldn’t make it out of the hospital without a demonic stowaway, but then his impossible, incredible boy burned the creature out of existence in the flash of an eye before it could jump bodies. He listened as Stiles’s breath caught on a silent sob in his throat, and Peter ached to gather the bowstring-taut Spark into his arms and tell him that yes he was perfect, that the demon had no idea how beautiful his darkness truly was because he used it to defend the ones he loved, that if there was a hole in his soul Peter would crawl into it and fill it and wrap him up in protective arms, keeping him close, and safe, and his… but he knew that all it would take would be one uninvited touch and Stiles would shatter, so he kept his hands to himself, and bided his time.

A moment later the victim woke from his possession in grateful tears, but when Stiles explained that he couldn’t repair the holes in the man’s spirit that had allowed the demon to take up residence in the first place, he insisted they leave him in the hospital, that it was where he wanted to stay, where he needed to stay. He’d do anything to protect his family from going through that nightmare again.

Stiles told him that evening that he suspected the man wouldn’t be around long enough to regret that decision; his life force was already leaking out through the holes in his aura. Listening to the Spark whimper in his sleep as he thrashed on the hotel bed that night, Peter knew Stiles would regret the decision enough for the both of them.

One good thing came out of the whole nightmare. After explaining what had happened to her husband, the last victim’s wife was more than willing to answer their questions, and she was much more expansive than the mage. She told them that Hengstrom only pursued weres that had been changed within the past five years, claiming that anyone that had been a werewolf longer than that wouldn’t ever be able to truly erase the behaviors they’d learned. He’d asked other questions—where her husband fit in the pack hierarchy, how he’d been turned, whether his wife was a wolf—before agreeing to remove her husband’s wolf, but that the one thing that seemed most important to him was whether they were going leave the territory after the procedure. He implied that continuing contact with the members of the pack would hinder her husband’s healing process. He said that her husband’s scent would change, and the other wolves wouldn’t be able to trust him anymore and that it would be safer for everyone if they cut ties completely, but he’d also said that any exposure to the supernatural would make it harder for her husband to transition back to his human life. She hadn’t questioned it at the time, but it had made the whole situation more difficult when he’d started showing signs of deterioration because she didn’t have the pack as a support system and since they didn’t have their emissary available to ask for advice.

Oh, and their emissary hadn’t been around when Hengstrom had arrived, either.

Stiles had looked at Peter at that point and quirked an eyebrow, an entire conversation in the tiny movement. Who knew they would ever actually be sorry that Alan Deaton wasn’t around?

Stiles stopped swinging his leg suddenly. “Did Scott ever mention that Kira was a kitsune?”

Peter thought back over the conversation he’d witnessed and shook his head. “No. Hengstrom asked if he was mated to another wolf and Scott said no, but that was as far as it went. Why?”

He paused and raised his eyes to the Spark’s as the penny dropped. Oh. Ohhh.

Scott was going to have a problem. Kira wasn’t a wolf, but she was a kitsune but more importantly—she was pack. The only thing McCall valued more than his own vaunted humanity was his mate, and after the youngest Argent died, he’d become even more protective of the little fox.

Stiles grinned, sharp and vulpine, clearly ready to hunt. “I think we need to have a little chat with our Alpha’s mate.”

Peter grinned back letting his own fangs drop a fraction and resting a heavy hand on Stiles’s knee. “You know, sweetheart, I think you’re right.”

***

Kira wasn’t alone when they got there, but it could have been worse. Ms. Yukimura wasn’t a fan of Stiles’s—she still saw too much of Void in him to ever be comfortable—but she would listen more than Scott would, so Peter considered it a win.

“And you destroyed the demon? You’re positive?” She lifted a delicate hand and poured another cup of tea. If Peter hadn’t been watching so closely, he’d have missed the fractional tightening of muscles in her fingers.

“As positive as I can be,” Stiles replied. “I know it isn’t in Peter, and I know it wasn’t in Mr. Anderson when we left him. If you’d be so kind as to make sure I haven’t brought him along with me, I would be… grateful.”

It cost the boy something to make the request, but when the older woman’s eyes settled on him and she nodded once, the silent stress that had been hiding in his spine melted away and Peter could almost feel a sigh of relief pass over him.

“There is nothing… new in your aura, Spark,” she said with a dip of her head, and Peter had to fight back a growl at the cautionary phrasing and silent implication that there was something extra in his aura already, but that was a fight for another day. “The demon must, then, have truly been vanquished. Your skill has grown. I congratulate you.”

Stiles forced himself to dip his head in acceptance. His skills had grown through necessity, and so much of that necessity could be laid at this woman’s feet. It was amazing that he was even able to stay in the same room. Peter wasn’t sure he could have.

“I am simply sorry that I wasn’t able to do more for Mr. Anderson. As I said, the procedure that Hengstrom subjected him to has left his spirit shredded. He will die; it’s just a matter of how long it will take.”

Kira twisted her hands in her lap. “You’re sure? There isn’t anything else that could’ve caused the damage?”

Stiles shook his head. “I’m sorry, Kira, but you know I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t sure. I know how much this means to Scotty, and yeah, him giving up his wolf would throw the pack into chaos, but we’ve dealt with chaos before and survived. I wouldn’t take this chance away from him on a hunch. The problem is that because of the chaos we’ve been through,” he threw a hard glance at the elder kitsune, “Scott doesn’t trust my judgment. He thinks I’m paranoid.” He let out a bark of laughter. “He isn’t wrong. But neither am I about this.”

Kira pushed her hair behind her ear and sighed. “I believe you. I was talking to mom before you came about how something about this just felt off. Hearing you explain what you’ve found just makes that feeling stronger.”

Peter sat back and crossed his legs. “So, how do we make your husband listen to the truth?”

Kira quirked a lip and tilted her chin to one side, her inner fox clear and sharp. “The way I see it, the only way he’s going to believe it is if it comes from Hengstrom himself.”

Stiles’s whole body stilled, his normal state of constant movement frozen. “I like where you’re going with this, but it’s going to be tricky.”

Kira looked at her mother and they both smiled their trickster-kitsune smiles. “Leave that to us.”

***

In the end, it was surprisingly simple. Painful, but simple.

“You should let him try this on Peter, first.” Stiles said, innocence personified.

Scott perked up. “On Peter? But he wouldn’t want to…” he swallowed what he’d been intending to say and turned to look at the mage. “Could you actually do that? Take the wolf from a born wolf?”

Hagen Hengstrom looked as Swedish as his name sounded. Tall, blond, buff—he didn’t look like any of the mages Peter had ever met, but then Stiles himself didn’t look like them, either. His blue eyes were pale and clear and there was something old and cold in them that Peter didn’t want to be close to, but he was bait, so, he stepped forward.

Hengstrom shook his head, one fist tightening minutely. “No. Definitely not. There is nothing in him that isn’t infiltrated with wolf. He’d go mad without it.”

Stiles snorted. “Like we’d be able to tell the difference.”

Scott looked surprised that he would say such a thing, but then laughed. “I suppose you’re right. Not much to compare it to as far as sanity goes.”

Peter forced himself not to snarl at the boy and let Stiles go on.

“I mean, if the procedure is 100% effective…” he left the sentence hanging, and the mage stepped right into it.

“It is 100% effective,” he insisted, “it’s just that his wolf is so embedded in him that it would rip his soul to pull it out.”

Stiles tilted his head and raised an innocent eyebrow. “Rip his soul? That doesn’t sound good.”

Kira shifted closer to Scott and put an arm around his waist. “No. No it doesn’t.”

Scott looked down at his wife and frowned. “You said before that it didn’t hurt.”

Hengstrom froze and then shook his head. “That isn’t what…”

Scott frowned harder. “You said you’d performed this rite dozens of times.”

Hengstrom nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! I’ve done this dozens—hundreds—of times. It does exactly what I’ve promised.”

Stiles made a non-committal sound. “But actually, all you said was that it removed the wolf and the people went back to being human after. You didn’t say anything about whether they were healthy and happy, did you?”

Kira tugged on Scott’s shirt. “Did he?”

Scott shrugged. “I don’t actually remember. I was so excited by what he was telling me that I don’t think I asked.” He turned back to the mage who looked decidedly paler under his golden tan. “What happens to the people after you take their wolves? Are they healthy? Can they… have families? Does it mess with any of that?”

The mage frowned and took his time before answering. “I don’t stay in touch with all of the people I’ve helped, so I don’t know exactly how they all are. But I can assure you the rite did exactly what it was supposed to do, and they were all completely human afterwards.”

Stiles made another noise. “I’m sure it’s fine, Kira,” he waved his hand between Hengstrom and Scott, “I mean, if there was a problem I’m sure Deaton could fix it, and the pack would be here to…”

Hengstrom lurched forward, hand up. “Um, that’s not…” he swallowed, “I mean, I’m certain that Druid Deaton is very skilled, but this magic is specialized, and he wouldn’t be familiar with the process. It’s best if the blessed can accept the return of their human status completely, make a clean break with their previous packs and limit their exposure to the supernatural. As humans they’re so much more susceptible to injury and you wouldn’t want to endanger your family that way unnecessarily, would you? You and your wife would be able to move on, have children, start your own veterinary practice without all of this hanging over your head.”

Scott’s frown had deepened to the point that Peter thought he could get a playing card to stick in the crease between his eyebrows.

“My wife is supernatural.” He hugged Kira tighter to him and Hengstrom frowned.

“But you said you weren’t mated to another werewolf!”

Kira looked at him, adorable confusion on her face. “He’s not. I’m a kitsune. I’m surprised you couldn’t feel my magic. Dr. Deaton says it’s unmistakable. Plus… I’m pack.”

Hengstrom looked bewildered, wondering how things had gotten so out of hand.

At that point Liam stepped forward, his back stiff and eyes slitted. “It seems to me that there’s more to this rite than you initially let on. So, tell me just one thing: If Scott lets you take his wolf, what will happen to his Alpha spark?”

Peter forced his face to stillness. Finally, someone was asking the right questions.

The mage frowned. “I’m not sure. I’ve never removed the wolf from an Alpha before.”

The whole pack took a step towards Scott, suddenly sensing the threat to their Alpha.

“You don’t know?” Liam sounded strangled and he turned to look at Scott. “You mean you didn’t ask? You were just going to let him take your wolf and leave us all omegas?”

Scott deflated a little. “I just figured it would go to the next person in line in the pack. Maybe you. Maybe,” he frowned, “maybe Peter. I mean, he’s been an Alpha before. Not a good one, but still.”

Liam was livid. “You were just joking about him being crazy, Scott! Plus, you’re a fucking True Alpha! It isn’t like it’s got a line to revert to. Maybe it just disappears into the ether it came from, and then what would happen?”

The mage was slowly stepping away from the angry young wolf, trying not to draw attention to himself, but Peter’s Spark was having none of it.

“All politics aside, the thing I worry most about is what would happen to Scott’s soul if you ripped the True Alpha spark out of it. I mean, think about it Scotty. The only reason you’re an Alpha at all is because of your soul---it’s got to be tangled up tightly in there. If there is, what did you call it? Tearing? When you remove the wolf? What? Does it leave holes in his soul or something? Mess with his aura? Is that why he shouldn’t be around supernatural stuff afterwards, because something could get in through those holes?”

Kira took her cue like a professional, one dainty hand flying to her mouth as she gasped in fear for her beloved. “Oh my God, that can’t be, right? Nothing could get into his soul, could it?”

Hengstrom knew he was trapped. A room full of wolves would hear if he lied. “It’s… possible. But, in a world of magic anything is possible.”

Kira moved to stand in front of her husband. “I’d think you’d have led with that fact. As a matter of fact, the fact that you didn’t makes me wonder what else you don’t tell people about your precious rite.”

Mason gave a side-long look to the man. “Makes me wonder what he gets out of it.”

Peter allowed himself a smirk. Mason certainly had potential. He would have to spend a little more time with the boy. The True Alpha needed someone who could see through false altruism that didn’t have a history with him. It would be much easier to get him to listen, then.

A rumble from the back of the room drew his attention. Ah. Reinforcements.

Alan Deaton swept into the room with all the gravitas of an opening night diva, every eye upon him, and he glided to a stop beside his wide-eyed protégé.

“Remind me never to accept an invitation to a conclave I am unfamiliar with, Scott. It always seems to lead to trouble,” he said, dark eyes resting on the now surrounded mage.

Peter wondered if that meant that the druid had been lured away somehow, but that could be sussed out later. Right now, he wanted to know what the man intended to do with the interloper.

Deaton was a terrible emissary, but he wasn’t a bad magic user and when Peter saw his eyes widen and a rim of green flash in them, he couldn’t help but wish he, too, could see things with druid’s sight.

Whatever it was, it didn’t make the man happy.

“Scott?” The druid didn’t look away from Hengstrom. “Have you allowed your guest access to you or any others in the pack?”

Scott shook his head, a little sheepishly. “No. We were about to get to that. Lucky for me, Kira was here. She seemed to know right away that something was weird.” He hugged his wife tightly, and the little fox met Peter’s eyes and smiled. Leave it to her, indeed. It was a good reminder never to get on the woman’s bad side. He looked at Stiles and they shared an incredulous look that quickly devolved into twin smiles of satisfaction. Working together like this behind the scenes was often frustrating, but the connection it built between the two of them wasn’t something Peter was ever going to willingly give up.

“I believe Mage Hengstrom and I have some things to discuss. I’d appreciate it if a few of your pack members would escort him over to my offices. Then, I think you all could do with a quick check up. Just to make sure that there isn’t anything… missing.” His voice softened. “Or extra.”

A noisy exodus followed, leaving Stiles and Peter alone. Together. Again.

“She’s impressive,” Peter nodded his head in the direction of Kira’s disappearing back. “I don’t know what she sees in him.”

Stiles laughed then, only a little bitterly. “She sees what I once saw in him. A bottomless well of faith and singlemindedness that sometimes,” he sighed as he watched everyone leave, “sometimes feels like devotion. I hope she never loses it.”

Peter looked at the Spark and wished with all his heart that he could erase the heartache that Scott McCall’s fickleness had caused. Since he can’t, though, he will make do with replacing fake devotion with constancy, and human fickleness with a loyalty that the wolf-kings of old would bow down to.

“Since Alan has the mage under control, what do you say to a milkshake? My treat.”

Stiles smiled then, weak but sincere. “And curly fries?”

Peter wrapped his arm around the Spark and guided him towards the door. “Of course, sweetheart. What kind of man do you take me for?”

Stiles’s smile got a little more mischievous and Peter rolled his eyes. “Don’t answer that.”

The smile brightened even more. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Zombiewolf.”

And well, if the boy’s heart stuttered on the lie Peter wasn’t going to call him out for it.

***

Peter listened to the water falling in his shower and the one monopolizing it. Again.

“Three times, Peter!” Stiles was ranting. “I told him. I told him after the first time. I told him again after the second time, but this is three times.” The water stopped and the glass door opened with a tiny squeak. Peter imagined what Stiles looked like, skin red from the heat of the shower and his own frustration, and wished that just once the boy was flushed and rosy in his shower for a better reason than Scott fucking McCall’s incompetence.

Peter lounged on his bed, legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed, and waited with calculated patience. It didn’t take long.

Stiles stomped in wrapped in Peter’s robe, a wave of scented steam swirling around him and a prickle of agitated magic washed through the room causing the fine hair on Peter’s arms to stand. The Spark was actually angry this time.

“I can’t do this anymore.” Stiles stomped into Peter’s closet, opening and shutting drawers more violently than necessary, looking for something to wear. Peter didn’t mind. His wolf loved seeing the boy in his clothes, and if he’d bought a few things that ran a little smaller just for the Spark to “steal” well, his tailor didn’t need to know.

“Can’t do what anymore, dear heart,” he asked, aiming for calm. He watched the shadows move on the floor as the boy stripped just around the corner from him. It was a good thing the Spark couldn’t hear his heart. He’d probably run out of the apartment faster than he ran from the troll earlier.

Peter was always the scariest monster when it came down to it.

“I can’t keep trying to save his ass and having him ignore me. I can’t keep manipulating things from stage left hoping that it works out and that nobody fucking dies.” He stomped out of the closet, a pair of Peter’s jeans slung low on his hips and a V-neck that was a size too large falling off one shoulder. He tossed his towel at the hamper. He missed. Again. At least some things never changed.

“Mason almost died tonight, Peter,” Stiles flopped, all long legs and arms like a puppet with its strings cut, on the end of the bed. “If Liam hadn’t doubled back for him, he wouldn’t have had a chance. And it could have all been avoided if Scott had just listened to me.”

Peter rumbled sympathetically. Stiles needed comfort, not fuel for the Scott McCall Is A Terrible Friend fire.

The Spark sighed and dropped back onto the bed, exhaustion finally catching up with him. He’d gotten better in the years since Peter bit Scott. He was stronger. Had more stamina. Had magic to reinforce his bat when he swung it, and potions to help him heal faster when he didn’t manage to get through a fight unscathed… but he was still human, and he was tired.

“You did what you could, sweetheart,” Peter tried to console, but it was hard. He’d love to point out every flaw, every shortcoming, every insult and betrayal, but his boy was smart. He already knew all those things; pointing them out would just hurt. “It’s Scott. It isn’t like he’s finally going to learn a lesson from all of this. Deaton will support him no matter what, and until either he or Kira force him to change, he won’t.”

Stiles didn’t say anything for a long time. If his breathing hadn’t stayed the same Peter would have thought he’d fallen asleep.

“Scott won’t change, so it’s up to me.” The words were soft, but very final sounding.

“What’s up to you? Do you have a plan for forcing him to change?”

Short curls shook in a negative. “I can’t change him, but I can change me.”

Peter’s wolf growled in the back of his mind at the thought of Stiles changing. He was perfect. He shouldn’t have to change because his packmate—his so called Alpha—wasn’t worth his teeth.

“And how do you intend to change? More Spark studies?”

Stiles rolled onto his side and gave Peter an assessing look. “I got a call from a pack outside of Las Vegas last week.”

Peter stiffened and curled his fingers so that Stiles wouldn’t see his popped claws. NO. He couldn’t leave. Peter wouldn’t have it. He’d…

“Calm down, Zombiewolf,” Stiles said, sitting the rest of the way up and smirking a little. “It wasn’t like that. They aren’t looking for a new packmate, they just need a little help.”

Peter felt the panic drain away, and a new kind of caution take its place. Trust his boy to read him so well. He’d have to be more careful.

“What kind of help?”

“Seems they have themselves an aqrabuamelu.” Stiles watched him for recognition, and Peter couldn’t help feeling satisfaction when the Spark looked proud that he nodded.

“Scorpion man. Not native to the area… how’d it get to Nevada?”

Stiles shrugged carelessly, the V-neck hanging even lower to expose the shadow of a collarbone. If Peter didn’t know better, he’d think the Spark was teasing him. “What happens in Vegas rarely stays in Vegas, dude. I don’t know for sure, but I’d bet someone brought the fucker in for some sort of supernatural freak show and it got away from them.” He grinned, looking all of ten years old and full of mischief. “Like the alligators in the sewers where someone flushes an overgrown pet.”

Peter shook his head. The boy was a menace. “I’m assuming they don’t know how to handle the creature?”

“Got it in one. They’ve heard about our successes in driving off weird monsters and were wondering if we could help. I thought about telling Scott and seeing if he wanted to curry some favor with a relatively close pack, but…”

Peter watched and waited. Then he prompted. “But…?”

“But… I was thinking maybe I’d go out there and take care of it for them. Maybe negotiate a non-treaty kind of fee for assistance. Like a contract hit without the Mob, I mean, Pack involvement.”

It wasn’t a bad idea. As long as McCall didn’t get his knickers in a knot over Stiles killing things again. That problem didn’t seem to be that much of a factor in Stiles’s calculations, though.

“McCall won’t like it. He’s made it clear how he feels about this kind of extermination.” There was no judgment in his tone, but Peter couldn’t let him commit to something like this without being sure he knew what he was getting into.

“Well, that shouldn’t be a problem. Not after yesterday.” Stiles’s scent soured under the cucumber-citrus bodywash.

“Yesterday?”

The Spark flopped back onto the bed again, this time more hopeless than boneless. “Yeah. When I was trying to convince Scott about my plan for the trolls, he said it again.”

Fuck. That idiot.

“You know he doesn’t mean it.” Peter tried to soothe, but he was just a little too angry on Stiles’s behalf for it to be truly soothing.

“Oh, he meant it. And I know he meant it because of this.” A long arm shot up from the bed and the Spark shook the thin black leather band dangling from it. “I made it last new moon. A charm bracelet to beat all charm bracelets. Take that, Pandora!” There was an almost hysterical edge to his tone. “The emissary of the Parker pack taught me how to make it. She uses one to allow her to stand on equal footing with her wolves—she can scent them and listen to their hearts with it, even though she’s human.”

Peter couldn’t stop the rising of his eyebrows as he stared at the innocent looking thing. Stiles had been able to hear his heart. To read his scent. His brain spun in denial. For a month.

Stiles hadn’t said anything, though, so he would do the same. Maybe he could salvage things.

“So, you listened to his heart when the two of you were planning?” He tried to steer the conversation back onto slightly less terrifying ground.

“You mean when he told me, again, that I shouldn’t worry about planning because I wasn’t pack?” Pain was threaded through Stiles’s words, but under it there was a clear note of just being done with it all. “Yep. And Scott’s heart was clear as day---not a flutter to be heard. He truly believes I’m not pack, and if the Alpha says I’m not pack, then I’m not pack. That means, among other things, that that self-same Alpha can’t tell me what to do. As a best friend Scott could still do that, but he hasn’t been a friend, not to mention a best friend, in a long time I think.”

Peter didn’t argue. The brat had been many things over the past few years, but a good friend was rarely on that list, and even more rarely as far as it applied to Stiles.

“I don’t believe McCall will see it that way,” Peter poked at the argument gingerly, trying to see where Stiles was going with this. “Is that why you’re telling me? Do you want me to cover for you while you’re away?”

He couldn’t help feeling a little hurt by the idea that Stiles would be moving on without him, but he knows that getting out of Beacon Hills even for a little while would only do the boy good. As long as he intended to come back.

“No,” Stiles shook his head and levered himself up and off the bed, whiskey brown eyes fixed on his in the lamplight. “I want you to come with me. I mean… how often are you going to get a chance to face off with an aqrabuamelu? Plus, Vegas. Who wouldn’t want to go to Vegas?”

Peter’s wolf sneered. Who wouldn’t want to surround themselves with perfumed, alcohol soaked, despair ridden people in buildings full of too-bright lights, and bells and whistles shrieking twenty-four hours a day?

“Sounds like just what the doctor ordered.” He found himself saying, even knowing that the Spark would hear the lie. “When do we leave?”

Stiles grinned—a wide, true thing that made Peter’s chest tighten. “Well, first we need to swing by Home Depot. I need to buy a fuckton of diatomaceous earth.”

***

They stood in the Vegas packhouse, a wolf and a Spark, covered in diatomaceous earth and blood.

“I cannot thank you enough for everything you’ve done, Spark Stilinski,” the Alpha would have bowed if there had been an ounce less steel in her spine, Peter was sure. As it was, she dipped her head in thanks and held out a leather satchel full of goods. “I know you hadn’t expected to walk into a hostage situation, and because of that I’ve added a few,” she made a vague gesture to the bag, “items to our payment agreement. My niece’s life is priceless to me; I only hope that this is satisfactory recompense.”

Stiles took the bag and shrugged it over his shoulder. “You didn’t have to do that, Alpha Garcia, but your generosity is appreciated. I’m just glad that Peter and I were able to help.”

The Alpha looked at Peter and he forced himself to stillness. A Beta this far from his Alpha, without his Alpha’s approval… well let’s just say he didn’t want to get into the matter if he didn’t have to. I appeared that today was going to be a good day, though, as Alpha Garcia just nodded to him as well.

“The two of you fight well together,” she said, “I can see how it works.” She looked between the two guests, filthy and tired, and bowed deeply. “Your sister would be happy to see you so settled, Beta Hale. May your moons be ever bright.”

Peter felt his breath catch and chanced a glance at Stiles, but the Spark’s expression didn’t change except for a tiny arch of an eyebrow, almost challenging him to respond to the Alpha’s blessing. His wolf, though… his wolf wanted to howl and preen that the Alpha thought Stiles was his mate and would bless such a union so publicly. It made the blood in his veins rush and his heart pound, and then, then, Stiles smiled, soft and fond, and he knew the little monster had let the Alpha believe they were mates from the beginning. Had wanted her to see them that way. Had wanted all of them to see them that way.

Had wanted him that way.

Peter was many things, but a fool was not on the list. He gave Stiles one piercing look before turning back and bowing to the Alpha, grasping this last best chance at happiness with both his clawed hands. “May your days be ever joyful. My sister spoke highly of you and your pack. Your blessing means more than I can say. Thank you.”

He let the truth of his words ring clear and watched, fascinated, as Stiles’s skin pinked in pleasure. Oh, how he looked forward to exploring how far down that blush went.

“Yes, Alpha Garcia,” the Spark said, not meeting Peter’s gaze. “Thank you. But, if you don’t mind, my…” he stumbled over his words and the blush deepened when he accidentally made eye-contact, “Peter and I need to get all of this stuff off before it begins eating through our skin the way it did the aqrabuamelu’s. Spells can be made to be specific, but potions can’t really differentiate between types of skin.”

He sounded sheepish and young and it must have appealed to the Alpha’s protective instincts because she immediately acquiesced and sent them back to their hotel to rest and lick their wounds with a smile and an open invitation to visit whenever they were in the area. It was, in Peter’s not so humble estimation, the best possible outcome.

***

Stiles wandered out of the bathroom wrapped in an acre of terrycloth and a haze of Peter’s shower gel. Again. The boy had made a break for the bathroom claiming dibs on the first shower as soon as they’d arrived, and Peter had been impatiently waiting his turn alternately trying not to think too hard about the stuff on his skin or the naked young man in the shower. One was decidedly easier to ignore than the other.

While sitting there it occurred to him that Stiles taking over his shower and appropriating his bath products was becoming a habit he didn’t mind. As a matter of fact, he thought he could be happy smelling that particular combination of scents for the rest of his life. That was a thought for later, though. For now, he had another priority, and he pushed his way into the shower stall, determined to scrub himself raw if necessary, to get the noxious paste of blood and potion off his skin. Once he was behind the shower curtain, though, he was practically overwhelmed by Stiles’s scent. Clearly, he had been enjoying more than just getting clean, and it made Peter’s wolf whine with want. His mate was teasing him, but he’d get even soon.

It took longer than he wanted to get the hardened goo off, but he managed without causing too much secondary damage. Finally, he wrapped himself in one of the hotel robes and sauntered back into their room.

Stiles was stretched out on the bed he’d slept in the night before, eyes slitted, almost closed, and Peter could smell exhaustion on him. “Tired sweetheart?” he asked, and the boy made a grumble of acknowledgment.

“Killing giant scorpion monsters in the desert takes it out of you. Who knew?” Stiles yawned, jaw cracking. “The desert always does this to me, though. I remember being bedridden for two days after mom dragged me and dad to White Sands National Park. It made no sense—nothing but gypsum sand for miles. Not a milkshake or a curly fry in sight. I was miserable. At that point I was like, screw this dry heat/wet heat argument. How about a nice place where it never gets hot enough to melt your balls or cold enough to hurt your face? That sounds good to me.”

Peter perched on the edge of the bed and reached out to lightly touch Stiles’s knee. The skin was still slightly tacky with damp but soft under his fingers, and he didn’t think he imagined the delicate shudder than ran through the young man’s body. “I’m not particular,” he said. “I find that good company makes up for a multitude of environmental sins.”

Stiles looked at him, gaze steady. “So, you don’t have a dream destination? Chalet in the Alps? Cottage in the south of France?” He paused and licked his lips. “Red-tile roofed villa in Argentina?”

Peter stopped his exploration of Stiles’s skin. “Argentina? What ever made you think of Argentina?”

Stiles shifted, the robe slipping and baring yet more long leg. “Well, you said good company was important. I thought maybe that included, I don’t know… extended family?”

Peter’s heart stuttered at the thought. Derek and Cora. They’d been gone long enough that he’d begun to accept that he wouldn’t see them again. “I’ll admit, the idea of family has its pull, but family of choice, pack and mate, is more important.” He cupped the back of Stiles’s knee and squeezed. “I wouldn’t run off chasing rainbows when what I really want is already closer to home.”

Stiles rolled over on his side. “And what do you want, Peter?” The fact that he used Peter’s name instead of a silly nickname brought home how serious the Spark was feeling. “If you could have anything, what would you ask for?”

Peter stared down into amber eyes and gathered his courage in his claws again; facing Alpha Garcia was nothing compared to baring his soul to Stiles. “If I could have anything, I would have everything, sweetheart.” He shrugged a carefully careless shoulder, trying not to show just how vulnerable he felt. “I’d take you as my mate. I’d be an Alpha again. I’d bring Derek and Cora back and have them become pack again. We’d find our own territory—it wouldn’t have to be Beacon Hills; Hale territory stretched much farther afield than that. We’d rebuild the Hale Pack.” He dropped his gaze to his curled fingers. “Maybe adopt a couple of pups to raise. Sell our services to smaller packs to refill the coffers and regain the respect that the Hale name used to command.” He reached out and grabbed Stiles’s hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing a fang-laced kiss to the knuckles there, emotions riding him too hard for him to hide them anymore. “But if all I could have was you, forever? I’d be the happiest wolf in the world. Never doubt that.”

Stiles sat up and pulled Peter into a hug. “I’m glad you weren’t upset that I let Alpha Garcia think we were together. I thought… well, I won’t go into what I thought. I’m just glad I wasn’t wrong. I mean, I could have been. You haven’t even tried to kiss me.”

Peter rumbled deep in his chest, arms snaking around Stiles’s waist. “An oversight I intend to rectify immediately, if not sooner.” He dragged his cheek along the Spark’s neck, scenting him heavily before pressing their lips together, reveling in his boy’s trembling breath and grasping fingers. “Kiss you. Touch you. Cover every inch of your skin in my scent so that any were that comes in contact with you can smell that you’re mine.”

Stiles’s groaned and leaned into him. “Want that,” he pressed hot lips along the edge of Peter’s jaw, and they both shivered, “want that so much. Want everything with you.”

Peter grinned into his skin. “Everything, hmmm? I like the sound of that.”

Stiles made a noise of frustration. “Yes, everything, but it’s going to have to wait at least a little bit longer.”

Peter made a moue of distaste, dropping another kiss on Stiles parted lips. Stopping was the last thing he wanted, but he refused to rush his mate in this. “I do not like the sound of that. But you’re probably starving. You’ve only eaten four times today.” He pulled Stiles tightly against his side, letting his hands trail under the edge of his robe one last time to tide his wolf over. He wasn’t a saint, after all. “Let’s put our clothes on—dear God I can’t believe I’m saying that. You are a terrible influence on me.—and I’ll take you out to dinner and to see a show. It is Las Vegas, after all. It would be a shame to leave without seeing a tiger or Celine Dion or something. Something that isn’t likely to attack us, anyway.”

Stiles rubbed his face into Peter’s neck, mouthing gently along the skin and nipping at it for his teasing, but there was breathless laughter in his voice when he spoke. “Yes, being attacked by Celine Dion would be terrifying. Regardless,” he said, sitting up and moving so there was a little space between them. “We at least need to go to Caesar’s Palace.”

Peter laughed, heart lighter than it had been in years. Caesar’s Palace? Why not? “Is Caesar’s Palace on your bucket list, dear heart? Or is it just the pinnacle of tourist trap kitsch and you feel the need to commune with it somehow?”

Stiles shook his head and gave him a mischievous smile. “No. It’s just that Caesar’s is where Derek and Cora are going to be staying. They should be getting into town in about, oh,” he peeked around Peter’s shoulder and glanced at the bedside clock, “two hours. Just long enough for us to make out a little before we have to go meet them. Or get some dinner. Whichever you want.”

Peter was stunned. Derek and Cora were coming to Las Vegas? And Stiles had already arranged it? What else did his Spark have planned? He looked down at the force of nature in his arms and wondered, not for the first time, how he’d managed to find such a perfect mate. He forced his words through a dry mouth. “And what if I want everything, Stiles?”

Golden eyes glowed and the mischief faded into determination. “Then you’ll have everything, Peter. I knew when I made this move what I wanted; luckily, my wish list and yours are almost identical. I know that you were waiting until I was ready before you made any sort of move, but you were never going to believe that I was unless I did something drastic, so… I did something drastic. The Alpha’s blessing was an unexpected bonus. Derek and Cora were the easy part. They know you’re not perfect, and it’s going to take a lot of work to build your relationship back to anywhere near where it needs to be, but they’re willing to give it a chance if you are.”

“And the rest?” Peter asked, almost afraid of the answer. “There’s no pack without an Alpha, and I lost my red eyes a long time ago, sweetheart.”

Long fingers combed through the scruff of his beard. “About that,” Stiles tilted his head to one side and smiled. “I got a call from an Alpha in Saskatchewan. Seems they have a rogue Alpha running around biting people without asking first, and you know what they say.”

“No, sweetheart,” Peter said, closing the space between them, thoughts flashing through his mind and hope fluttering wildly in his chest. “What do they say?”

Stiles pressed even closer. “Well, it’s like it was the garage.” He held his wrist up and shook the little black bracelet that covered his pulse point just a breath away from Peter’s fangs. “Consent is sexy.”

Peter stared at the limb, longing to bury his teeth in the tendons, and thought, not for the first time, that this boy would either be the life or death of him.

***

“Canada?” Scott sounded confused. It was sad that Peter could identify the flavor of confusion. This one was Someone is offering me something that’s too good to be true, and I want to believe them, but the last time I did I ended up with no motorbike, a pocket full of magic beans, and sleeping on the couch.

There was a reason Kira was Peter’s favorite packmate. Or… soon to be ex-packmate if all went well.

“Yes, Canada, Scott. There’s a pack in Saskatchewan that Talia had a treaty with, and they’ve reached out and asked if I could come up and help them with a training program for some of their younger wolves. They don’t have much interaction with other packs because they’re so isolated, and their Left Hand is getting old enough that he isn’t able to keep up with the young ones’, ah, enthusiasm.”

Scott grinned. “You mean you’re volunteering to move to the Great White North and let a bunch of teenagers beat up on you?”

Peter sneered a little. “It isn’t like I don’t have experience with it.” He gave the teenagers that surrounded them a significant look. “And they don’t have anyone else to turn to. I didn’t think you’d mind if I took a little… time away. In the name of pack inter-relations.”

Scott waved a hand. “No. No, of course not. Take all the time you need.” He looked at Liam and grinned. “In Canada. I’ll let Deaton know that you’ll pass our good wishes on to the Alpha there. Hey, maybe we can even get some sort of treaty out of it.”

Peter simply stared. “Perfect. I’ll have their emissary contact Alan after I arrive. In the meantime, since I’m not going to be in residence, but since I intend to keep the property in my portfolio the pack should continue to use the loft as a base. I know it is hard on Kira to try to host everyone at your apartment.” He gave the kitsune a half-smile and she nodded back, grateful of his consideration. He almost felt guilty for all the listening devices he’d hidden around the loft over the past week.

Almost.

With Scott McCall and Alan Deaton in charge, it paid to keep a close eye on things.

“Alpha McKittrick is expecting me by the beginning of next week. Will that be a problem?”

McCall looked like Christmas, New Year’s and his birthday had all come at once. “Not at all. Not at all. Next week sounds great, doesn’t it, gang?”

The gaggle of teenagers made approving noises, even if Mason and Kira shared a look that held more understanding than Peter was comfortable with. It didn’t matter. As long as they kept their thoughts to themselves for a couple of weeks, everything should go as planned.

He’d braced himself for questions when he returned from Nevada, but no one had even missed him. He didn’t know whether it was better or worse that McCall hadn’t realized that Stiles had been gone as well, but he’d take the oversight it if it meant that his mate had less confrontation to deal with, even if it meant having to face the unpleasant fact that his former best friend had completely left him behind.

Peter couldn’t wait until the truth came out and McCall realized what he’d thrown away. He’d be a laughingstock amongst the packs, no matter what his pet druid told him, and he’d known men like this True Alpha before. Looking the fool was the one thing they couldn’t abide. It would eat him alive, and Peter looked forward to watching the feast.

He cast a look around and realized that the next time he saw these faces it would be with an Alpha Mate Spark and red eyes. As far as he was concerned, it couldn’t come fast enough.

***

Alpha power scoured through him, blasting away at his control and consciousness, and he howled in pain and confusion as his soul was re-written.

“Hell of a power-up, huh, Zombiewolf?” Stiles was there by him, hands warm against his wrists, magic washing over him like warm ocean waves, voice soothing and comforting the terrified animal in his mind, and Peter nodded to show he was there and aware even if speech was impossible around the mouthful of fangs he was sporting.

“You’ve got this,” his mate sounded so confident, so calm, “you’re stronger than you were last time. Better. You’re going to be an amazing Alpha. My Alpha, Peter. My mate. Just hang on a little longer for me, okay?”

Peter could feel Derek and Cora running over the snow-covered ground. They’d stayed out of the fight on his order; he wouldn’t have been able to focus if he’d been worried about their safety, too. Stiles had also stayed back, but his skills worked from a distance, and his added magic made the fight much less painful than it would have otherwise been.

He remembered what the Las Vegas Alpha had said, that they fought well together. It was true. They did everything well together. As Alpha mates they would be amazing together.

A rumble started low in his belly at the thought, hungry and wanting, and he breathed in Stiles’s scent—ozone and petrichor, the camphor of ancient forests, the sweet notes of apple and woodsmoke, and over it all Peter’s own god-damned shower gel—and he managed to put hid fangs away, his desire to keep his mate safe stronger than the wolf’s yearning to rip and tear and wallow in the meat of battle.

“You with me, Peter?” Long fingers stroked up his arms, and Peter nodded. Stiles let out a satisfied hum. “Told you. Told you you’d be perfect like this. Powerful. Beautiful. Perfect Alpha. Just perfect.”

And it felt perfect—like he always it imagined it would after he watched Talia become Alpha. Like it should have felt when he took the spark from Laura.—red tingeing the edges of golden pack bonds between him and Derek and Cora. He could sense their emotions now, their hunger for a strong pack, their hope that he’ll become the Alpha they need as well as the family they want. And Stiles? Even without the bond in place yet, his wolf knows his mate. He could pick that heartbeat out of a thousand. Could scent him from a mile away. Already his in so many ways.

“Think you can stand up now?” Stiles asks and Peter realizes they were still crouched in the snow where he’d fallen after killing the rogue, legs knocked out from under him by the strength of the Alpha spark.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he said, pushing to his feet and pulling the younger man up with him. “If I needed to, I think I could almost fly.”

Stiles snorted and gave his chest a thump. “Riding that high, are we?” Derek and Cora were standing just beyond arms reach sharing a smile and for once Peter didn’t feel like he was being laughed at. No. His pack was laughing with him, joyous in the moment, and he shook his head and let them laugh.

“It feels,” Peter tried to find the perfect words and couldn’t, but he needed to explain somehow. “Good. Right. Last time it didn’t feel like this, but now it’s like a shoe that was too tight finally stretched and now fits.”

Derek nodded. “That’s what happened when I was Alpha. It was like the Alpha power didn’t fit. I thought at the time it was just because I hadn’t been trained for it, but I think it’s more than that. I think the person has to fit the Alpha-power instead of the other way around. Whether that’s from birth or growth or whatever: you can’t fake it and have it work right. This,” he waved a hand at Peter and looked at Cora for confirmation. “This feels right.”

Cora leaned into her big brother and Peter could see relief in every line of her body, as if she’d finally been allowed to stand down from a perpetual state of alertness. “It does. It hasn’t felt like this in a long time. Not since…” her voice faded, and Derek hugged her hard. “Not since mom.”

Stiles had been silent during this exchange, allowing the remaining Hales their moment of healing, but he wasn’t one to be quiet for long. “Awesome. Glad to hear it. Couldn’t be happier about it, and am looking forward to talking about it more, but as the token human I need to say something.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “And what would that be, dear one? Have you some hidden wisdom concerning the nature of the Alpha spark?”

Stiles shook his head. “No, but I do have some wisdom concerning the care and keeping of pack humans. The instruction manual says that humans aren’t meant to be kept out in the snow this long, and that means that if you three wolfy space-heaters don’t get me inside soon, I’m going to be a Spark-cicle.”

Peter barked out a laugh and swung his mate-to-be up in a bridal carry, pulling him against his chest and letting him bury his face in the heat of his neck. “Well, there are too many things that I’d miss if they froze and fell off, so I suppose we should head back to the cars. I, at least,” he wrinkles his nose and then rubs it into Stiles’s hair, “need to change. I don’t think the hotel will let me in looking like a serial killer.”

Stiles smirked into his skin. “I’m sure hunting is a thing around here. You could always say that Bambi fought back---if your wolfy pride could stand it.”

His wolf chuffed at the insult. A deer got the better of an Alpha werewolf? Never. Peter sniffed dismissively. “I’d rather walk up to the reception desk naked.”

He didn’t tell the Spark that his murmured I wouldn’t mind wasn’t quiet enough to not be heard, but the peal of laughter from his niece and nephew made it clear. At least Stiles’s ears were warm after that.

***

Later that evening they lay together bundled up in blankets in front of an unlit fireplace. Stiles had lined every shelf in the cabin with battery powered candles and had brought out a pair of enchanted logs that he placed on the andirons. They radiated heat without flame, and Peter had to fight back tears in the face of his Spark’s sensitivity. Maybe it was the new Alpha power making him overly emotional. Maybe it was just Stiles.

It was probably just Stiles.

“Feeling okay, Z?” Stiles rolled in his arms and looked at him with concern. Apparently, he wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions as he thought. “Not having Alpha blowback or anything, are you?”

Peter tightened his hold and shook his head, trying to find his voice. “No. I was just thinking about how I never thought I’d get this.”

His boy nodded and settled back down. “You’d probably written the whole Alpha thing off. I’m glad it worked out, though. Thanks for going through with it. I know it’s hard.”

Peter shook his head again. “That’s not it. Honestly, the Alpha spark has been the easiest part of all of this. I’d always believed that I’d manage to get my Alphahood back someday. It’s…”

A cold nose pressed against the side of his neck and Peter could feel him nod more than see it. “Having Derek and Cora back. Family. Pack. I get it.”

That just made the wolf growl and grumble in the back of his mind, because clearly he didn’t get it. He didn’t get it at all. “No, Stiles, that isn’t what I meant either. Don’t you understand yet? All these other things?” He tried to calm his voice, but his wolf was riding him to make his mate understand. “The pack, my niece and nephew, the Alpha spark---all of these are wonderful, and I wouldn’t give them up for anything now that I have them, but they would never have happened without you. You are the everything. You are my everything. I never thought I would find a mate, find my soul’s match. Hell, for more than half my life I was convinced I didn’t have a soul, and then you came along. Brighter than any flame. Stronger than any force of Nature. You crashed into my life and nothing has been the same and I am so fucking grateful.”

He pulled Stiles up so he could look into the whiskey depths he dreamed of every night. “I wouldn’t be here without you.” Stiles opened his mouth to argue, because his boy always argued, and Peter shushed him. “No. I mean it. If I hadn’t scented you in the woods. Hadn’t had you so close to me in the garage. If you hadn’t killed me and then taken me back in when I was too stubborn to stay dead. If you hadn’t found something in me to value, something you could care about…” he pressed their foreheads together. “I wouldn’t be here.”

Peter resettled them, pressed his lips against Stiles’s temple, and listened to his heart race in his chest. “I am a selfish bastard. I’ve been called a narcissist more times than I can count and until the past few years I’d have agreed with that assessment and embraced it proudly. Now, though, I know it isn’t true because I know, just as surely as I know your scent and the sound of your heart, that there is no me without you.”

Stiles laid in his arms unnaturally still. “Oh.”

That one syllable conveyed a whole conversation full of self-doubt and fear and isolation and yearning, and Peter’s wolf finally settled when a sweet cherry-blossom note of hope threaded through the Spark’s scent. “You really mean it. It isn’t just that I’m useful.”

Peter frowned and a frustrated rumble rolled through him. “You’re everything. You could sit on the couch and read comic books and demand foot rubs and curly fries every day for the rest of my life and I would thank the Moon that I had you to love and cherish and care for. You’re my mate, Stiles.”

“I just thought that since you hadn’t…” Stiles’s voice faded into an insecure mumble and Peter recognized the damage he’d done by not explaining himself earlier.

“Sweetheart, if the only thing on the table had been our relationship, I would have asked you to mate me as soon as you were legal. First, though, there was the problem of McCall, because as much as I loathe the brat, he was important to you and I wasn’t going to ask you to choose between us. If I’m honest, I was afraid if I pushed, you’d choose him, and I wasn’t willing to give up the parts of you I had for a slim chance at more. After Las Vegas, everything was different. I knew you wanted me, and I wanted you more than anything—there were full moons I had to leave Beacon Hills so I wouldn’t find you and drag you off to my bedroom to mark you, to mate you, to make you mine in ways that no were could mistake. You had a plan, though, and if that worked out, we could have everything together, and I wanted to give you that, to give you everything. I couldn’t mate you before I fought the Alpha, though.” He squeezed tighter. “If… if it hadn’t worked… If I failed to defeat the rogue, you would have suffered terribly if you had a mate bond already in place. You’re not a wolf, but as a Spark, you’d have felt all of it—all my pain—and if I’d died? Well, let’s just say I wasn’t willing to run the risk of putting you through that.”

Stiles was shaking in his arms by that point, and Peter ran a comforting hand down his spine. “The worst didn’t happen, though, and now that the threat has passed, I want you in every way I can have you.” He grasped the boy’s chin in his hand and turned his face so he could see him in the flickering candlelight. His eyes were wide and wet, his lips pink and bitten, and Peter had never seen anything more beautiful. “Can I have you, sweetheart?” He was so close they were sharing breath. “Will you be my mate? Be my everything?”

He should have been expecting it, but the Spark still managed to catch him by surprise, lunging up and flipping them in their blankets until Peter’s back was against the couch and he had a lap of warm, clinging boy. He waited for the Alpha wolf to rebel, to push back and demand submission, but all it did was rumble pleasure at his strong mate.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Stiles dropped a kiss on Peter’s open lips, chaste and sweet, and then another, this one hot and hungry, while threading his fingers through the short hair at Peter’s nape. He tugged gently and the wolf tipped his head back so his mate could lick into his jugular notch. The Spark made a low satisfied noise before pulling away and smiling, trust and happiness glowing in his eyes and magic flaring and rippling around them.

Peter remembered something his Grandfather had told him, long ago under a forgotten full moon: “Faint heart never won fair maiden.” His life had proven that to be true. If he hadn’t finally bitten the bullet, finally put himself on the line, he’d have missed this. Missed everything.

He pulled Stiles back down into another kiss and then flipped them back over, pinning his boy under him. Stiles squawked in surprise and Peter grinned. His mate was going to hate finding out he was the fair maiden in their story, but Peter had definitely come out on top this time.

Maybe next time he’d let Stiles come out on top. He was flexible.

#teen wolf #steter #spark stiles #peter hale #stiles stilinski #developing relationship #bad alpha scott mccall #getting together #first time in this sandbox #canon I don't know her

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livlepretre · 3 years ago

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Hey, I was just wondering if you could tell me how Rebekah is feeling insecure in her relationship with Elena, I have re read the chapters at the end multiple times and yet I have not been able to grasp the clues which might convey the above expect the statement you made on tumblr about her being so.

Also how long would klaus be able to bottle up his feelings for Elena , I mean how much time would it be before he cracks like I just can't wait to see how you would write this scene Maybe you can just bring a scene in which Rebekah bites Elena over the scar klaus had left ages ago. And he just cracks like boom. Because in that case Elena would be a willing participant. Also I wonder what Elijah thinks of Elena's equations with his siblings. Like is he astonished on how his brother had fallen for her and she might be his redemption. Hope everything is going well in your family. Congratulations on the baby

Well, there are a few things that are making Rebekah insecure:

1) Elena doesn't want to be a vampire... or, at least she won't commit right now. For Rebekah, that's basically like she's just proposed and Elena has told her she's not sure. Even though it's by no means a rejection of Rebekah, Rebekah (who is insecure to begin with-- she's a teenaged girl stuck forever in the psychological amber of her most severe trauma-- the "abandonment" by her mother in particular, who turned her into a monster and then died without any sort of emotional resolution between them) still sees it as a rejection. It's a sign that maybe Elena isn't as serious about their love as she is.

2) Elena literally just told Rebekah in the last chapter that she wouldn't leave Klaus. Red flags galore for Rebekah! Here Rebekah is, offering what she thinks of as the best solution to secure their happiness, and Elena won't take it... yes, we know it's because Elena has a really screwed up feeling that her fate is to remain with Klaus, but from Rebekah's perspective, it's Elena saying she's more loyal to Klaus than she is to her.

3) Which brings us to the Klaus thing. The whole reason Rebekah didn't rush into a relationship with Elena back at the manor, or when Elena first got to NYC, was because she was aware that her brother had Elena's heart and she didn't want to come second to her brother... perhaps the ONE bit of growth she has accomplished in all of this time is that she is starting to articulate to herself that as much as she loves her brother, and even if Klaus is her favorite sibling, she doesn't want to put him before herself for always. She wants to come first for someone. That's why she broke things off with Stefan. That's why she waited until Elena told her that her heart was open and she was ready to move on. Rebekah believes Elena, but at the same time, there is always going to be a part of her that fears the connection between Elena and Klaus, specifically that that connection has the power to destroy her relationship the same way that Klaus has destroyed all of her other ones. When Klaus forbids her to turn Elena, or Elena is so obviously protective of him against Elijah, it plays to Rebekah's worst fears.

The thing with Rebekah is that she's not really growing any less interested or in love with Elena at all. She's acting weird because she's starting to feel insecure in the relationship, and that makes her both act out (going out for weird vampire excursions without Elena) but also kind of start pushing and testing Elena-- like, if she keeps going out without her, will Elena eventually give in and say she's ready to be turned? what if she just finally gathers the courage to ask her to run away with her? if Elena gets jealous, does that prove that Elena loves her still? wants her most? It's important to remember that Rebekah may be so old she's nearly ageless, but, at least from the perspective of this fic, one of the curses of vampirism is that she's incapable of ever maturing-- she'll always be a teeanger, with teenaged hormones, a teenaged brain, and ultimately immature, teenaged ways of dealing with things. Any change and personal growth is going to be incredibly slow and hard won, because she's static-- cursed to be frozen in time, forever a girl and never actually a woman.

(One of the interesting points her-- Elena is 22 by now. Old enough that she can actually look at Rebekah's past actions and empathize with her well enough to essentially forgive her for them-- but at what point, if Elena doesn't choose to turn, would she outgrow Rebekah? Would Rebekah really be too young for her, even though she's a thousand years older? Perhaps that's not something that either of them have consciously thought about, but it must be there, in the back of their minds.)

I hope this clarifies things a bit!

As for what will happen to cause certain things to be known... just sit back and enjoy the pyrotechnics!

Elijah's thoughts on Elena's role with her siblings is something that will definitely continue to be developed.

And thank you for the well wishes-- it's an incredibly tense and stressful time, but I'm so thankful for blessings such as my baby, and for the fact that my family have all weathered the storm in one piece.

#anonymous #fairytale ending

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xxisxxisxxis · 4 years ago

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Gateway Drug | Part Ninety-One [PT. 1]

A/N: Part 2 coming tomorrow.

Words:3k

Warning(s): explicit language, mentions of drug abuse, mentions of miscarriage, sexual situations

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NIKKI

I stare down at the small, black and white pictures of seemingly nothing except a tiny, tiny little blob, except for one picture which is marked with “4 months” on the back, February 14th, 1986, in white marker in Vivs’s handwriting, one picture out of seven, each with dates…she doesn’t say a word to me, and she didn’t before she handed them over. She just chunked them in my lap and went from there.

I don’t know what to ask, because I don’t know what to say.

“Are these…?” I finally get out, looking at her.

She’s got tears in her eyes, and it slowly starts sinking in.

These are fucking kids--well, tiny little embryo kids, or whatever.

“These are your’s?” I ask next and she nods.

When the hell was she ever fucking pregnant?

I check the dates again…

1983.

1984.

1985.

1986.

1986...the back of it says “twins.”

“Where was I when all of this was happening?” I ask her, and she licks her lips and breathes out.

“I don’t know, Nikki, where were you?” She replies lowly.

I look at her for a moment, trying to decide if she’s serious or not.

Then she digs in her purse and pulls out a paper, unfolding it before going through the list of dates assigned to each ultrasound image, reciting to me--in my own words from diaries--my whereabouts around the time she lost each one.

I take it that she’s already skimmed through a diary or two already.

I get angrier and angrier with each line, shaking by the time she starts on, “1986--you were unconscious while me and Andy McCoy were trying to resuscit--”

I throw the pictures and they all split from each other and scatter around her, cutting her short.

“None of this is my fault, Vivian!” I scream at her, my heart feeling as though it’s rotting behind my ribs. “I didn’t fucking know!”

“How could you fucking know when you were so damn hig--”

“You came home in ‘83, from that appointment and told me it was a false-positive test and you had just gained a little weight. I wasn’t on smack in July of 1983. In fact, I went a little while on just Tylenol and beer while I was tampering off my heavy meds the doctor prescribed for my shoulder. So you could have fucking told me then what the fuck was happening, instead of shutting down and shutting me out for three goddamn months!” I’m crying without realizing it until hot tears prick down my cheeks, my skin uncomfortable as my nerves singe from my boiling blood. “I loved you, I had just married you for Christ sake--I was happy and excited to be at that point with you and you fucking left me for three months! You’d barely let me touch you, you wouldn’t come out of our room, you wouldn’t wanna go out, I’d sleep on the fucking couch or crash at Robbins or Tommy’s because you’d tell me you just wanted to be alone, and all along I thought it was my fault because I went to that fucking party with Tommy instead of staying with you the night of our wedding and you were just making me pay...and then when you were put on medication I thought it was my fault, too, because I thought you’d figured out I was tampering with smack, and I just…” I’m up and pacing, hands in my hair…

Amber doesn’t say a word.

I think Viv broke her, too, because she looks like she’s trying to find the right thing to say.

Maybe she’s hoping we can talk this one out on our own.

But I don’t want to talk anything out.

Not right now.

“I didn’t tell you about them because I was scared you would cope with the pain the same way you’d coped with pain for years. I was afraid you’d drink and drug yourself and leave me to deal with it by myself, and I didn’t want to put that on you, so I just dealt with it myself.” Vivian admits, her voice cracking.

“Vivian, you haven’t dealt with it, though.” Amber quietly interjects, softly. “You haven’t dealt with it. You haven’t allowed yourself to heal.”

“When were you going to tell me about this?” I shakily ask, trying to swallow down the lump in my throat.

“When you died.” She says next, honestly, her tone a dead giveaway that it’s not something she’s proud of, but it’s the truth. “I was just gonna bury the pictures with you, just in case you had random kids coming up to you in the next life, you’d know who they were, I guess.”

I feel sick to my stomach at the confession, my whole body repulsed with the fact that she’s managed to hide this the past four years.

“Nikki, if you need to take a break, we can,” Amber assures me.

I’m getting the fuck out of there as fast as I can, just desperate to get some air that Vivian isn’t breathing her demoness presence into, and the second I get free, I'm puking my guts up in the hallway.

I know I had a reason to be angry with her, she hid that from me, like I'd hid so much from her. She thought she was protecting me, though, and I just didn't want her to leave me because I was a pussy and a piece of shit--and I knew it.

I was more pissed at myself, though, because I knew I'd put her in the position to feel like she couldn't come to me and tell me she was pregnant, let alone had lost it, even before I was on smack.

She knew how I handled shit--either drink, do whatever drug was accessible, or both.

When heroin and crack entered the picture, that just cemented her will not to tell me about it.

I think the biggest elephant in the room, though, despite her being pregnant with Duff's baby at that point, and me and my thing with Vanity and all the other women, and her hidden pregnancies, was the fact she never wanted to get married to me that fast, and I knew it.

I knew it the day we got married that she didn't really want to, she was just trying to make me happy, and I fucking let her do it because I was so terrified that I was going to lose her if I didn't go as far as I could to secure her to me.

The amount of unnecessary bullshit she could've bypassed had I just taken a step back and told her we didn't have to get married if she didn't want to...I often times think it would've saved her a lot of heartbreak. We could've broken up when shit hit the fan with smack in '84, I still would've lived through my bad OD in '87, probably, and we could've gotten back together when I cleaned my shit up--that is if she would've waited for me...and that's why I didn't let up. Because "if she waited" wasn't good enough. I didn't want "if."

I wanted her.

So I married her, knowing she didn't want to, and instead of proving her wrong and giving her a relationship to question why she ever second guessed vowing an eternity together with me, I put her through hell, treated her like shit, abused her, endured her abuse, wasted each other's time, hurt each other, ruined each other more and more than what we were when we got into the relationship.

And that was my first indiscretion against her.

Marrying her knowing she wasn't ready.

By the time I finish puking, I'm leaning against the wall, taking deep breaths, hearing Vivian crying, still in Amber's office.

I squeeze my eyes closed, my palms roughly wipe my stray tears.

Despite being sober, the little fuck that is Sikki is trying to claw out of the box I've put him in for over a month, now.

Just the faintest, "leave her," echoes in my mind.

"Fuck you." I audibly tell him.

"She never wanted to be with you in the first place. Why do you think her body refused to carry your fucking kids? Because she hates you so much that it'd be an abomination to have your little hell rats."

"Fuck off." I argue, again.

"And just think about it. The timing of this one she's got now...she was getting her brains screwed backwards right next door to you while you were keeling over. It was like she knew what was about to happen and she was celebrating the fact she wouldn't have to fucking deal with your shit ever again." He taunts, getting more and more of his scraggly hand out of the box, the lid cracking open to reveal his white, sallow skin and dark eyes.

"Fuck off." I gritt out once more.

"What's wrong? You don't think she'd do that? After all the times you've admitted she's an evil bitch from the pit fires of hell? Because I think she'd do it. In fact, I bet she'd stare your overdosing carcass in the eyes, screaming out his name in ecstasy, while dripping cum at the mere fact you were dying."

I slam the lid of the box back down, crushing his boney, track riddled fingers, making him curse me.

I refuse to listen to his bullshit anymore.

Vivian loves me. She wants to be with me. She'd be gone by now if she didn't, and I wouldn't blame her.

1 9 8 1

"Ummm…" I trail off, watching her closely, lickikg my lips, my hand grabbing at the curve of her hip over the comforter she's got pulled up to her chest, her head in the crook of my elbow, looking up at me, awaiting my answer. "...I don't know." I say, honestly.

"As theological as you are and you can't tell me whether or not you think Aliens are real?" She asks and I roll my eyes.

"I don't know, miss honor roll, you tell me." I counter and she grins.

"I think the universe is too big for it to just be us." She informs me.

"Ah, says the one who also believes a heaven and a God exists within the same wide range of universe." I reply and she hits my bare chest with the back of her hand, gently.

"Shut up." She says, shaking her head a little. "Is it not reasonable to think there's more than just us?"

I think about it for a moment.

"I wouldn't be surprised if aliens are real, I wouldn't be surprised if they weren't." I admit, rubbing my eye for a second.

"What about God?" She asks next and I try not to laugh in her face.

"I'm almost one hundred percent sure that God doesn't exist." I state.

"How do you know?" She says, blinking emerald greens at me, as if what I'm about to say about her imaginary friend she's been brainwashed into believing in, is going to make or break her.

"I'm not sure, baby, I just think...fine, tell you what, I wouldn't be surprised if God were real, and I wouldn't be surprised if he weren't real." I give her the benefit of the doubt.

"I'd be surprised if he weren't." She tells me.

"Yeah? Well, how do you know he is real?" I question her, next, a teasing smile on my lips.

"I don't know, you can't see him or hear his voice audibly, but you can feel him." She explains the best she can and I raise my brows.

"You can feel God?"

"Well, yeah." She replies, her finger tracing along the few bits of chest hair I've got and I lick my lips for a second before leaning down, kissing her.

"What about now?" I ask, grinning as my hand pushes away at the covers over her to run against the smooth skin of her thigh and she smiles just a little before pressing her lips to mine, one of her hands threading in my hair with her other arm snakes around me, pulling me on top of her and I chuckle lowly, nestling between her legs while we get hot and heavy with our tongues and teeth.

Both of us let out satisfied breaths when I slide into her, her eyes fluttering closed, brows furrowed slightly, head leaning back as her nails bite into my arms.

I pat myself on the back and trail hot, wet, sloppy kisses along her clavicle before pulling out of her again, a little shudder going up my back from the tight, soaking heat between her legs.

When I start building a slow but hard rhythm, her legs are locking at the base of my spine, her arms hugging at my back, pulling me to her as, "Nikki," slips from her lips.

"What about now?" I ask in her ear as I force myself as deep into her as her body will let me, and she whimpers out, "yes."

A sadistic little pat to my ego causes a pull at my lips, my hand wrapping around her throat as I stare down at her, her nails clawing down my back, tears in her eyes as I thrust back into her…

I kiss at her lips, her cheek, her jaw, moving my hand from her throat to kiss her neck and I swear I hear the faintest, barely inaudible whisper of, "I love you," but decide I'm just hearing things...

Present

I squeeze my eyes shut, the smell of my puke wafting in my face, making me take several steps back to catch my breath.

It's hard to swallow the fact that I really let myself be convinced for so long that I'd let her fuck my life up, to the extent of blaming her for my life actually being fucked up.

"Fuck." I curse at myself, raking my hands down my face.

How the fuck am I going to make this right with her?

How the fuck is she going to make this right with me?

She's pregnant, with Duff's kid or whatever, and then BAM! just drops this shit on me that she's actually been pregnant multiple times from me and never mentioned losing any of them to me.

I know it's my fault that she didn't tell me. I know it is. Am I going to admit that to her? Fuck no. Am I hurt over her not telling me anyway? Yeah, I am.

If I wasn't in sobriety penitentiary, I'd probably be out and about trying to find something to numb and distract me…

I don't know what to do.

But I do know one thing for sure: I'm not in love with her anymore, but I love her, and I'm pretty sure she feels the same exact way about me...but it's not like we can't get back to that place we were in when we first got together, it's just gonna take some work...a lot of work.

I huff out a breath, taking a moment to get my shit together, mentally.

Do I go back in there and finish out today or just try again next week?

I think on it for a minute…

"Fuck it." I say out, shakily, weakly, tears break past my lash line once again,

a far cry from that tough motherfucker I swore I was for years. "Just fuck it."

Fuck this.

Fuck her.

And fuck me.

#gateway drug #nikki sixx #nikki sixx x oc #nikki sixx fanfiction #👀

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redemptionofthefallen · 3 years ago

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🖊? (I like seeing people talk about their oc's.)

AHHHHHHHHWWWWWWWWHHHHAAA YESSS!!!

i was hoping someone would send me this! XD

okay like, im going to gush a bit about everyone since there wasn't one mentioned XD

Kevin.

like i love him. he's my angry boy. his deep rugged voice i will admit was an inspiration from Bakugou from MHA but his character is diff. he is seeped with insecurities from his voice down to the fact that he feels no one thinks he is talented (even though he actually is) i relate to him so much. i feel the same way he does when i write him the way i feel about my insecurities leak into his character because they are so similar. plus i love red heads XD lol

theres more info on Kevin in a head cannon ask HERE

Justin

this guy came OUT OF NO WHERE! and just started talking to me XD like he was like “hey there! im Justin!” and im like who!? lol. the scene that came into my head originally was when he was trying to comfort x reader because she was bit fluffier than most and basically went up to the guy and was like “well your missing out and this is how you treat a lady” and outright kisses her dipping her in the process XD hes just so blunt but sweet. and a total goof ball and has a bit of an impulse issue but we love him XD true story i was trying to think of a name for him, the name Justin came to my mind when i realized that the perfect voice for him would be Justin Cook....and so im like...okay! Justin! XD so he was the reason his name is Justin and whenever i hear Justin speak its in his voice.

Seth

this guy is probably the most complex Muse i have. not to mention the hardest for me to write. Seth is the complete opposite of me. hes cold and cruel and i am not. but thats what makes Seth so fascinating. hes not that way because he wants to though. he has to to keep his brother safe. under it all Seth is so compassionate and kind but the Council makes him mask it for thier pleasures DX i wish i could write with him more, but hes so confrontational because of the situation hes in.

Gabriel

this little sunshine boy is who i wish i could be XD hes so chipper all the time and in my head the way he says “oh goody! goody! just makes me smile. he’s heavens version of a weeb of mortals and i love how i was able to capture that in his character. sometimes he can be so oblivious its cute XD frankly out of all the muses he could sweep me off my feet if he wanted to XD hes so good looking in my head and he just wanted to make people smile. i love that about him.

Amber

she is my bat shit crazy girl. if you want to get an idea of her kind of energy...listen to the song “Screw Loose” cause my god that song is her in a barral! XD the funny part is that her falling in love is a hard thing. her heart belongs to her beloved David whom died saving her life. i wish i could find her someone though, cause i know she’s lonely. but i ant pushing it....gods i can already see her eyeing me with her knife XD the other thing that is funny is that while she knows magic and uses it on a daily basis as she is a witch, she much rather kill people with her bare hands...with a knife...she has a knife collection...and its big. i wish i could write with her more often as she really is a fun muse to play XD

Nick and Nate

these two....THESE TWO!!!! i love them so much. they are so in love with each other and it is BEAUTIFUL! as i was thinking of thier characters lying in bed from a concussion -i had to stay in the dark for days doing nothing it sucked- i remembered once upon a time rping with a person whom i loved their character. and he was a red head. Nick was born out of my desperation to feel close to that muse again. although Nick is pretty different than that muse was, but thats how he was born. Nate on the other hand was inspired from Naruto Uzumaki himself. as that is who i rped with that specific muse that Nick was based off of. they called each other whiskers and red as nicknames and i used it with these two and made it fit cause fuck it XD Nate is different from Naruto though, while he will stand up for whats right he is more kept to himself as he thinks no one will like him cause hes gay and lives in a school where there was intolerance. but of course Nick doesnt give two shits XD

Draco

i had just recently answered asks about this little gem you can take a look HERE

Izuku

Izuku is my sweet girl. my shy, bashful, and chubby girl. i love her so much. she reminds me of how i was in high school soft and timid. she also doesn't judge anyone for anything. accepts anyone for who they are....unless your mean then that's different. she is also my most angsty muse, canon to her universe she has Cancer. leukemia, and its bad. Doctors say she is on borrowed time and that she wouldn't live past 18, however she is 19 now and gets sick easily. she loves to sing, her dream is to be in a band and win battle of the bands before she passes on. this Muse has been through a few rebirths but many things stayed the same however her name is one of the things that has changed. ironically enough when i was making her Profile i really thought her name was Izuku which meant flowing water....but then after i made her bio and had rped with her already i realized that the name i was looking for was Isamu instead....but by then the name had already stuck and i didn't want to change it due to anxiety and laziness XD she loves sunflowers and the color yellow.

and those are all of my MUSES! oml im so sorry this took so long but here you go! ^^ truth be told...i have possibly two more muses in my head i may bring to light however im not sure if they would be received very well, so im still deciding if i should XD

thank you for the ask @deleteddewewted and feel free to drop by to ask about my muses any time ^^

#pureofheartaudio #deleteddewewted #asks #answered #OC talk #IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG! DX but thank you again ^^

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catrasredemption-moved · 4 years ago

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oKAYOKAYOKAY, what if adora thinks catra’s dead but catra is (get this) NOT dead and they reunite or something. i have a thing for angst w/ happy endings what can i say

((Oh I wish I could explain why what you’re asking for is so dangerous....)) -----------------------------------

She never said she was hurt.

That was what Adora thought about, during her more bitter moments, when she tried to focus on the thought that Catra had left her, rather than Catra had...

She must have been in so much pain. The security monster, Horde’s virus, they were meant to kill She-Ra, to destroy an entire planet. Catra, with her mostly normal, albeit cat-like physiology, with her normal body, never stood a chance.

Adora wondered how long she had forced herself to hold on. How long she had been hurting. Had she forced herself to work through it the entire way to the Heart? Had adrenaline kept her from feeling the pain until she was finally able to relax? Had she felt even a moment of relief, thinking that Adora had fixed the entire planet, so surely she must have fixed her as well, before it all came rushing back?

Catra had been leaning on Adora, out of exhaustion, Adora had assumed. She was about to suggest they leave the small celebration and find somewhere to sleep when Catra’s full weight collapsed onto her,a high-pitched noise ripping through her throat.

“Catra!”

The world disappeared around them as Adora caught her trembling body, lowering her to the ground. “Catra, what-”

Her voice died in her throat when she saw the vivid green marks on Catra’s leg.

One last “screw you” from Horde Prime, and from the universe. She-Ra wasn’t allowed to have a happy ending. She couldn’t save the planet and have the love of her life. It wasn’t fair. It was selfish.

She wasn’t dead. Not really. After days of a burning fever and untreatable pain, she’d stopped breathing. The virus had crawled into her heart, the healers said. Adora had tried to heal her several times, and had failed every time. It was only a combination of magic and technology (that Entrapta had worked on day and night for nearly a week) that brought her back and kept her breathing.

Brain dead. Dead for all intents and purposes, but kept alive by various outside forces. She wouldn’t recover. Nothing Adora did was enough. It would be kinder to let her go, a healer had gently explained (then immediately backed away when Adora’s eyes had flared dangerously).

Melog lifted their head from Catra’s leg, dull eyes meeting Adora’s. they hadn’t left her side since she had been settled into the room four months earlier. Mystacor really was the best place for her, everyone had said, trying to convince Adora. They had resources Bright Moon didn’t. And they were slightly more accepting of Wrong Hordak, whom Entrapta had left to take care of day to day maintenance on various machines.

Which meant it was also Adora’s home for the two days a week she took off. She had a room across the hall from Catra’s, but more often than not, she fell asleep in the chair beside her bed.

“Hey Melog.” She scratched their head tiredly, falling into her usually seat. Melog’s mane was a dull gray, the light behind their eyes significantly dulled. No one knew if the alien cat needed food or not - the healers had left a variety of foods for them, and they never ate, but they also never seemed to lose weight or get sick, so either they were disappearing to get food when no one was paying attention, or they really just hadn’t eaten in four months.

Melog made a small, mournful noise, nudging Adora’s hand. “I know.” She couldn’t understand them, of course, but they all more or less knew the gist of what Melog was thinking at any given moment - they missed Catra. She was the first person they’d had any kind of connection with since Horde Prime attacked Krytis. Adora couldn’t begin to imagine how they felt now, with a dead emotional connection in the back of their head.

“Do you think I’m crazy? For not letting go?” They had this conversation every time Adora visited - well, she had this conversation, and Melog listened. Adora wondered what would happen to them if Catra really did die - no more magic, no more technology, nothing keeping her alive, keeping her heart beating. “Would you be okay if she was gone?”

Melog let out a long, keening noise.

“Yeah.” Adora turned to look back at Catra’s slack, pale face. “I wouldn’t be either.” * * * * * * * * * * Catra wouldn’t want to be kept alive like this, and they all knew it. She wouldn’t want Adora wasting her time sitting over her, waiting for something that would never happen. She’d want them all to move on and live.

And so Adora finally agreed to let them take away all the spells and the machines, and let Catra die peacefully. She didn't want to be there for it. No one really blamed her. Glimmer had assured Adora that she would be there, holding Catra's hand until she was truly gone. Adora appreciated it, even if she hadn't been able to say as much. Glimmer and Bow had just hugged her until she stopped crying.

Adora was in Salineas, working on the Sea Gate with Mermista. It was almost repaired. “So,” Mermista said after an uncertain moment. “Catra.”

It was no secret that the princess had very complicated feelings about Catra. But she’d never wished death on anyone. “I don’t want to talk about it,” Adora said flatly.

“Yeah, of course, don’t blame you. Just... if you need anything... you know.”

Adora smiled weakly despite herself. “I know. Thanks.”

They were silent for a few minutes as Adora finished restoring power to the gate.

“Adora!”

She nearly fell over as Glimmer appeared beside her, screaming. “Glimmer! What-”

The queen was already grabbing her hand and teleporting her away, leaving a very confused Mermista behind.

“Glimmer,” Adora complained, yanking away as soon as they landed. She didn’t need to look around to know where they were. “You know I didn’t want to-”

“-stop poking me, Entrapta, for fuck’s sake-”

Adora stopped, mouth hanging open. She didn’t recall making a conscious decision to change back, but She-Ra was gone, leaving a very confused and cautiously hopeful young woman in her place. No. It couldn’t be...

“Queen coming through!” Glimmer said shamelessly, shoving Adora passed the healers and straight to Catra’s bedside. Entrapta was hovering around her machines, talking a mile a minute to her recorder and a very confused Wrong Hordak. Exhausted blue and amber eyes met Adora’s stunned gaze.

“Hey Adora.”

Catra’s voice was weak and cracked on both words. She was sitting up in the bed, supported by several pillows. Melog was on her legs, mane glowing a brilliant blue. She wasn’t hallucinating. She was alive. She was alive.

Glimmer gave her a small push, and Adora stumbled forward, all but throwing herself at Catra and hugging her tight. Wrong Hordak grabbed Catra’s shoulder to help her stay sitting up as Adora nearly knocked her over. “Ow - hey, take it easy-”

“How?” Adora breathed, voice thick with tears. Everyone had said it was impossible. She wouldn’t survive. How was this possible?

Catra was quiet for a few moments before a weak arm raised to hold Adora as tight as possible.

“Cats have nine lives, you know?”

#Mystery Person #Sam Answers #catradora #spop fanfic #askbox fic #character death tw #except not really but kind of

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hippohead · 4 years ago

Text

postcode envy (1/24)

sneaking this in a little late but here is the first part of my contribution to the klaine advent 2020. i wasn’t sure if i was going to do one but then i started talking about southern hemisphere summer christmas klaine and this happened. please enjoy! title from lorde’s royals because it felt fitting, felt right.

read it on ao3

It’s not that Kurt minds it.

It’s just that it’s weird. It’s December, and it’s hot. As in – he's wearing shorts and a simple crew-neck because the sun is out and adamant and any more layers than that would be a hazard. And ever since he landed in Auckland two days ago, he’s been feeling an overwhelming need to stop every person he passes by to double-check that they can feel the heat, too. That this isn’t some insane, sun-craving and sleep-deprived hallucination.

Because it’s December, and it’s hot.

And he knows, logically, that this is how the world works. He’s in the Southern Hemisphere, and it’s flipped, so while all of his friends and family back home are wrapped up in coats and scarfs, everyone down here is very much not. He gets it, he does. But that doesn’t mean that it makes any sense.

“Mōrena, Kurt. We’ll be ready for you in five.”

Kurt smiles pleasantly and nods. He wonders if he can ask the 3rd AD for another fan in his dressing room before she leaves, but it’s his first day and he doesn’t want to rock the boat. Another thing that he knows, logically, is that his is the biggest name in this film, but he really doesn’t want to take advantage of that. Everyone he’s met so far has upheld the Kiwi stereotype of being laid-back and relaxed, and the last thing he wants is to become known as the The American with Diva Tendencies.

Kurt looks down at his iPad. He has most of his lines down – there are a couple of scenes he’s still not certain about and he wants to look them over, but he can’t seem to settle into the script right now. He’s nervous. He’s about to go to the table read and meet all of his co-stars for the first time, and see the director again, and as wonderful as New Zealand is, he feels like he sticks out like a sore thumb here.

The 3rd AD knocks and pops her head back in to tell him that they’re ready to start, and so he follows her down the corridor into a small conference room. There are six people in the room; Curtis, the director, who he met over Skype and who looks just as cheerful in real life, two women who are introduced as the 1st AD and a producer, and three of his fellow cast members.

“Hey, mate,” a woman holds out her hand to him. “I’m Kura.”

He takes her outstretched hand and shakes it, overwhelmed for a second by her warmth and the sparkle in her eyes. “Hi, Kura. Kurt.”

The man to Kura’s left introduces himself as Ben, and to the left of Ben is Zoe. He actually knows of Zoe – she was in something he’d seen at the New York Short Film Festival a couple of years ago, but he can’t put his finger on what it was. Regardless, everyone is lovely to him and after the initial chatter dies down, Curtis clears his throat.

“Uh, hi. As you all know, I’m Curtis. We’re just waiting on Blaine to arrive and then we can get started, but before we do, I just wanted to say thank you all for being here and for being excited about this project. And – well, a special thank you to Kurt for coming all the way from New York to be a part of it. We’re really honoured, Kurt.”

And all of a sudden, there are six pairs of eyes on him, adoring, and he doesn’t know what to do. So he just waves his hand as if to politely dismiss the effort of the eighteen-hour flight, abashed, and hopes his eyes are expressing his beg to not linger on this.

But there’s no chance for lingering – thank god – because the door opens in a dramatic fashion and a man stumbles in. He looks flushed and panting, like he ran here, and it takes him a while to catch up and realise that everyone has turned their heads to him.

“Shit. Sorry,” and he runs a hand through the curls on top of his head, “Traffic was crazy on the Bridge.”

Everyone in the room nods and murmurs as if the words ‘the Bridge’ explains everything, and maybe it does. Kurt looks at who he is assuming is Blaine, the one running late. His and Blaine’s characters in the film hate each other. Not in the cute they’re-actually-in-love-with-each-other way. In the genuine, deep-rooted and are-trying-to-kill-each-other way. It’s a comedy, and a Kiwi comedy at that, so it’s all light-hearted and fun, but still. There is supposed to be real hatred there.

Kurt is going to need to grasp at every thread of acting skills and knowledge and ability that he has, because looking at Blaine -- he's adorable and smiling goofily with floppy hair and wearing a ridiculous short-sleeved button-up that’s covered in little cartoon lobsters, and Kurt already knows from this glance that pretending to hate him convincingly is not going to be easy.

“I was just saying how honoured we all are to have Kurt with us,” Curtis says, and he smiles at Blaine with an ease and familiarity that everyone seems to have with each other. He’s getting the impression that everyone in the industry here knows one another.

And then Blaine scans the room and lands on Kurt, and Kurt tries not to read anything into the smile that breaks out onto his face when their eyes meet. “Kurt, hi. I’m Blaine. It’s lovely to meet you.”

Kurt gets up to take his outstretched hand and all of this – the lingering on the topic of being ‘honoured’ to have Kurt here, and the way everyone knows each other but him, and the standing up in front of everyone to shake a stupidly beautiful man’s hand – isn't helping him to not stick out.

He often wonders how the feeling of desperately needing to stand out, and desperately needing to not stand out, manage to coexist inside of him, but they do. And they’re just as strong as each other, and they account for him becoming an actor, and for him being riddled with anxiety.

Blaine settles into the empty seat beside him and pulls out his script – a giant binder with a paper script inside, and it’s riddled with markings and post-it notes and highlighter. It’s old school. Kurt is used to everyone just having iPads and tablets back home. He wants to groan out loud when he realises that he finds it endearing that Blaine must have printed the whole thing out himself since they all got emailed the scripts, and then he must have punched holes in every piece and put it into his bright green binder.

Endearing. Good Lord, he is screwed.

Curtis had started talking again at some point but Kurt’s already let the general welcomes and housekeeping fade into the background. He knows he should be focusing and listening attentively but just before Blaine had shuffled around on his seat and it had caused their legs to brush ever so slightly together and now he’s overheating.

He’s overheating because it’s hot in December, surely. That’s the only reason why.

He is convincing himself of that when Blaine leans towards him a little bit and out of the corner of his mouth, whispers, “Do you reckon we can hack it?”

Kurt doesn’t want to be rude to Curtis but he gets caught up in a small aside with the 1st AD – who Kurt finally remembers is called Donna – and so he can whisper back, “Hack what?”

It’s the shade of his eyes that catch him off-guard. Blaine turns towards him with a playful glint in the amber, and the amber is so polished and swirling and pretty that Kurt doesn’t know how to place it, and he says, “Hating each other.”

Curtis starts to address the whole table again and so Kurt can’t reply, not really, but he manages a wonky smile and a shrug before he turns back and focuses.

But – no. He’s not sure they can hack this.

He’s not sure he can hack this.

And did he mention it was hot? In December?

#klaine advent 2020 #klaine advent: abashed #klaine fanfiction #klaine #i wrote this!#i'm going to try my best to post every day but #cross ur fingers for me

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itsclydebitches · 4 years ago

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With respect, Ironwood brought an army to deal with a covert threat. In his FIRST appearance he'd had ozpin removed from the tournament staff with secret meetings. He was told many times his embargo was hurting the city, he kept a woman on life support prisoner and his treatment of Robyn convinced a technically legal protest into an outright criminal. Not to mention he abandons the best defense humanity has against the Grimm to keep some control. Shooting a dissenter seem very in character

“Ironwood brought an army to deal with a covert threat” - For which he was suitably chastised by Ozpin. It’s a whole conversation in “Welcome to Beacon” and, back when RWBY was doing a better job of handling these complex issues, that conversation gives weight to both sides. Ironwood isn’t trying to, idk, take over Beacon or something with his army. He wants to be prepared in order to help people. “I’m just being cautious.” Ozpin points out that scaring everyone won’t help, but notably the story acknowledges that Ozpin’s preferences are far from full-proof. “Do you really believe your children can win a war?” Can you prove to me that the kids we’re training will be enough when the shit hits the fan? Ozpin doesn’t have an answer. He dodges answering by saying only that he hopes his kids won’t have to fight, not that he has unwavering faith that they will win. Then Beacon falls. Ozpin dies. Ironwood is left alone with an entire kingdom to keep safe and I think it’s worth acknowledging that he did that. Mantle is far from perfect, there’s a lot there to fix, but the people are alive and that’s in part thanks to the soldiers that keep the grimm from eating them all. The rest? That’s due to Penny, a symbol of hope that Ironwood gave to the people. He learned that from this conversation with Ozpin.

“In his FIRST appearance he'd had ozpin removed from the tournament staff with secret meetings.” - It’s not Ironwood’s first appearance. He meets with the inner circle, has his talk with Ozpin, introduces his Atlesian knights to the public, attends the Beacon dance, discovers Ruby fighting Cinder, later compliments Ruby for her initiative in Ozpin’s office, confides in Glynda that night, and helps defend Vale against Roman’s attack. So your implication that as his “first” appearance this tells us he’s really an irredeemable person is not accurate.

Second, I’ve seen this claim a lot the last couple of months and I finally went back to find/watch the scene for myself (it’s in “Breach”). These were not secret meetings. Ironwood “reported” to the council which I assume is what he’s supposed to do. Given that he is a Headmaster. And this is the council overseeing the schools. Keeping updated is their entire deal. Were these reports fair to Ozpin? We don’t know. You might assume they’re full of lies and horrible misrepresentations, but that’s not what the text tells us. Ironwood told the council Ozpin’s plans, then the council said, ‘No way are you holding the Vytal festival with those precautions alone.’ Then the council asked Ironwood to provide troops for additional security. Did Ironwood manipulate the council and paint Ozpin as a villain to get what he wanted? Maybe. Did Ironwood objectively say precisely what’s going on - Ozpin thinks his huntsmen are enough to keep everyone safe in the event of an attack - and the council, independent of him, came to the conclusion that it wasn’t enough? Maybe. Again, we don’t know. What we do know is that Ironwood is doing all this because he honestly believes it will help others. He begs Ozpin to understand that: “This is the right move, Ozpin. I promise I will keep our people safe. You have to trust me.” And you know what? He wasn’t entirely wrong. No one could have predicted that Salem’s minions would take control of his army. Ironwood did, however, predict that there would be an attack too large for a bunch of students to handle... and he was right. Beacon fell because a those half-trained kids weren’t enough to hold off a major attack, but Ironwood did everything he could to try and prevent that. In a slightly better world where his army wasn’t unexpectedly taken advantage of, that could have easily been what turned the tide of battle and saved Beacon instead. The world where everyone views Ironwood as a hero for providing those extra forces is just a smidge away from the world where everyone views Ironwood as a villain for inadvertently providing the enemy with those extra forces... but the forces themselves are not a black and white bad thing to have. Not in a world where your festivities are interrupted by the giant bird trying to eat the audience.

“He was told many times his embargo was hurting the city” - Yes, the embargo hurts the city financially. Ironwood is attempting to keep it from being hurt in the ‘everyone is wiped out’ kind of way. Post the Fall of Beacon he’s unsure if the other Kingdoms will declare war against Atlas or not, so it’s not wise to continue giving them one of the easiest means of attack. That’s the official story, but Ironwood (and the audience) know that Salem has also been collecting dust for a while now... so how about we stop giving her any more? Was this the right move to make? Are short-term economic difficulties worth avoiding the risk of potentially supplying enemies with the means of destroying you? I can’t answer that, but it’s not a clear-cut bad decision like you’re making it out to be. Retroactively we can say that no one attacked Atlas and Salem seems to have stopped collecting dust because the writers forgot about it... but Ironwood doesn’t get to see into the future. He didn’t know things would turn out this way. Once again, he’s trying to prevent tragedies, not just survive them when they come along. The balance between short-term sacrifice and long-term protection is far from an easy thing to strike and a character’s failure to achieve perfection despite their best efforts says more about their luck than their morals. Ironwood is an incredibly flawed man, but those flaws have always shown throw via his attempts to help others.

“He kept a woman on life support prisoner” - Are we talking abut Amber of Fria here? Either way that’s a gross misrepresentation of what happened and, frankly, does little to make me receptive to your other arguments. Amber was attacked, Qrow brought her back to the inner circle, Ironwood kept her alive so that the rest of the power wouldn’t immediately pass to Cinder (and, I would think, because this group isn’t in the habit of just letting friends die if at all possible). Fria was the Winter Maiden, she got dementia, and Ironwood had her live out the rest of her days in a facility so that a) no one murdered her, b) a Maiden with dementia didn’t wreak havoc on the city (we saw her powers go wild during the fight), and c) the power passed to an ally when she finally died. How do you know Fria was a prisoner? Was there a scene I missed where she said as much or, just as likely, might she have agreed to these precautions once her memory started to fade? Amber, meanwhile, was in a coma and unable to consent to anything. Ironwood did not kidnap her for nefarious experimentation, nor do we have any evidence that he held Fria hostage. That sort of thinking only makes “sense” when we’re already inclined to paint a character’s every action as morally corrupt. Is a 80 year old who keeps wandering into the street held prisoner because they were put in a home where they could be taken care of? That’s this with the added complications of “The 80 year old could kill everyone with magic. Or reveal to the world that magic exists” and “A lot of people want to kill this 80 year old” and “If they succeed the world is #screwed.”

“His treatment of Robyn convinced a technically legal protest into an outright criminal” - Robyn is a criminal. Ironwood never stopped her from protesting. He required that she a) not spy on a classified project, b) not keep his men from working on that project, and c) not steal supplies meant for that project... all actions that are illegal. Honestly I’m not entirely sure what this phrase is saying. That Ironwood forced Robyn to become a criminal? If so, we once again need to discuss agency and how Character A doing something that Character B doesn’t like does not give Character B blanket justification for every horrible choice they might make.

“Not to mention he abandons the best defense humanity has against the Grimm to keep some control” - I’m not sure what this is referring to either. What defense? The wall? Amity? Mantle? “To keep control”? That’s another incredibly simplified and subjective view of events. I’ve already done enough work on this blog to explain why, based on the group’s current knowledge, Ironwood’s plan is horrifying but also the best they’ve currently got. It’s not a grab at power, no matter how easy it is to paint it as that and move along. The morality of these actions is absolutely in question, but the motivation is not. We’ve seen no evidence - and a great deal of evidence against it - that Ironwood is simply out to maintain power.

Nothing here proves that Ironwood would be willing to shoot an allied kid. “Ironwood did controversial things in the name of protecting others” does not equal “Ironwood is willing to murder an ally.” Rather, these things contradict because we’ve spent six volumes with Ironwood pushing every limit possible to help others, not attack them. Lists like these likewise ignore everything that Ironwood did which doesn’t support shooting Oscar: every conversation he’s ever had where he didn’t attack someone for disagreeing with him, every action he’s taken being in the service of helping others (even if there’s disagreement about how to best go about that), him flipping his gun around when Qrow (presumably) attacked him, reassuring the Vytal students that there’s no shame in running from the fight, confiding in Glynda, standing up for Weiss, sending Yang her arm, being overjoyed to (he thinks) see Ozpin again, willingly training Oscar, choosing to trust RWBYJNR with both his plan and the relic, listening to them later about Robyn and telling the council about Salem, destroying his arm to protect the people, choosing arrest rather than, I don’t know, just trying to straight up kill Team RWBY for daring to say no to him. Because isn’t that the Ironwood you’ve described above? Someone who won’t hesitate to do anything to get what he wants, even murder? It’s a compelling character, but I don’t think we’ve seen that character anywhere prior to Volume 7′s finale. That character is the opposite of who we had before. When things get tough, stressful, and traumatic the show has said, time and time again, that this is how Ironwood treats his allies

So it’s a bit jarring to suddenly go, “Never mind. He shoots them now.”

#rwby #rwde #mymetas #Anonymous

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flamencodiva · 4 years ago

Text

Who Do You Think You Are? 3- Impala

Description: Y/N Y/L/N and Dean Winchester seem to bump into each other quite frequently. What happens when these two hunters rub each other the wrong way?

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Bingo Square: Impala

Warnings: Smut, Fluff, Angst, Mentions of Child Neglect, Mentions of Drug Abuse.

A/N: For SPN Dean Bingo Round One

Divider by @talesmaniac89

Y/N pulled into the large gate leading up to the mansion. Rolling down her window she pressed the button.

“Hello?” her uncle’s voice ran through the intercom.

“Uncle Tommy?” she smiled a bit. “Sorry for just dropping on you like this… it’s Y/N.”

"Y/N/N! I was about to send out a search party for you. Drive-in kid!"

Y/N leaned back in her seat as she watched the gate open. Once it was wide enough, she drove forward and up the driveway towards the front door. She had turned off her car when a man, about 6’2 and arms filled with tattoos. Tommy Lee smiled at Y/N as he rushed to her and picked her up in his arms.

“Hey kid!” he smiled. “You scared me with that call… are you okay?” he gave her a once over.

“Yeah, I’m fine… just the job got a bit… scary so I was just covering my bases,” she grabbed her bag from the trunk making sure to keep her secret compartment closed. “How have you been Uncle T?”

"Good, good," Tommy rubbed the back of his neck. "You know… you should call…"

“He doesn’t need to know,” she made her way inside and placed her bag on the floor by the couch. “I can crash on your couch--”

“You know where your room is here!” Tommy pulled her in for a hug. “Go settle in and I can make us my famous Gyros!”

“You know it!” she smiled as she made her way up the stairs and to her room. She settled in and lay on the bed her uncle had for her. A small nap never hurt anyone. But the one thought that she couldn’t get out of her head, was her moment with Dean Winchester.

Back downstairs, Tommy pulled out his phone and dialed the familiar number.

“Nikki? It’s Tommy,” Tommy glanced up the stairs in the direction of Y/N’s room. He knew she would be mad, but he had to do this. “She’s here at my house.”

"She went to you?" Nikki sighed. "Figured she would. Does she look okay?"

“Just… I think she might be doing some hard stuff Nik… she might be going down THAT road,” Tommy closed his eyes not sure what his niece was doing.

"Shit, I'll be right there… Just," Nikki cleared his throat. "Just make sure she doesn't know I'm coming."

Tommy hung up with Nikki and moved around his kitchen to prepare the Gyros for Y/N. it was hard for him to call Nikki like that knowing the relationship between his niece and his best friend. But it had to be done, if she was going down a dark path, he had to be there to help her out. He was cooking the meat in the frying pan when he heard Y/N coming down.

“It smells awesome!” she smiled as she grabbed a beer from his fridge. “So, what’s life like for you Uncle T?”

“Got into a fight with Brandon the other day,” Tommy told her, rubbing at his lip. “Knocked me the fuck out and then went running his mouth saying I started it. So, same old same.”

“Brandon is a douche and he has no idea what a great dad you are,” she smiled at him, “wish I could say the same for mine.” she chugged half the bottle before smiling at him. “Need any help?”

“You’re always more than welcome to help. I taught you everything you know anyway,” He winked and moved over to let her cut the veggies.

Y/N moved over next to her uncle as he helped her cook. It was things like this that made her wish she was his daughter. She knew that all the stories that demonized him were exaggerated. He wasn’t as bad as the media made him out to be. In fact, he was one of her favorite uncles, acting more like a father than her own sperm donor of a father was. Even with his faults, he always found a way to make her feel loved.

“I’m only going to stay for a few days,” she finished her beer and grabbed another one. “I have a small job around here I need to take care of. After that, I’m on the road again. Gotta keep moving you know.”

“You remind me of your mom,” Tommy told her. “She was always on the road, almost as much as we were…”

“Yeah, the Pontiac out there belonged to her,” she cleared her throat. “I restored it and I've been maintaining her.”

Y/N was helping her uncle make baklava when the doorbell rang. She was too focused on making sure the pastry was ready for the oven, to realize her father had come in.

“Oh, hey Y/N,” Nikki said, offering her a smile. Tommy gulped a little, feeling the tension already start to flow through the room.

He really screwed up this time.

Y/N froze as the familiar voice rang in her ears. She grabbed her beer and chugged it until it was empty.

"Nikki," she muttered, staying close to the counter. "Knew he would call you eventually. You saw me. I'm fine. You can go."

“I just…” Nikki sighed. He had been practicing his speech in the car on the way over and now it was falling flat.

Fuck.

"I’m not staying long anyway,” she cleared her throat as she grabbed a bottle of Jack, she knew her uncle kept just for her. “I’m spending the night before heading to my apartment.”

“Yeah,” Nikki cleared his throat, “you still won’t tell me where that is?”

“It’s none of your business,” she breathed. “Just go back to your perfect kids… you know the ones you actually wanted.”

“Y/N, I wanted you too,” Nikki told her. “I never wanted for you and your mom to not be a part of my life. I still want you in my life and I…” She glared at him, cutting him off.

“Save it,” she grabbed a glass and filled it three fingers full of the amber liquid. “Look I know you’re going to stay for dinner anyways because Uncle Tommy is worried about something. So let’s get this over with so I can sleep in peace and head home.” she prepared her gyro and gave a soft glare to her Uncle Tommy.

As they sat at the table, Tommy kept giving Nikki pointed looks and pointing at his arm while hinting at Y/N. Both men leaned on their chairs to try and get a look at Y/N’s arms.

“Are you looking for something boys?” she took a sip of her whiskey before folding her hand and placing her elbows on the table.

“Um… look Y/N/N,” Tommy began as he took a sip of water. “We’re worried about you. Your dad and--”

“Sperm donor,” Y/N interjected.

“Y/N,” Nikki sighed. “We just want to know that you aren’t… falling into a dark path here.”

“Oh… you mean am I shooting up?” she pushed her chair back and shrugged off her flannel. She showed them her arms, “yeah, I’m nothing like you Nikki. I may drink a lot… but I would never pump that kind of poison in my body. I’d rather die alone than be like you and ruin someone's life with the promise of love and forever.” she walked up to Nikki and placed her arms by his, “let’s compare, shall we?”

Nikki pushed away, “I get it.” he looked down and at Tommy, “I shouldn’t have come. Thanks for calling me I’ll go.”

“Yeah,” she scoffed, “run away like you always do. Just like when mom died… and I was just dumped on you and your flavor of the month.” she looked to her uncle, “I know you meant well, but honestly next time… butt out.”

Tommy watched as Y/N rushed up the stairs and sighed. He hoped that she would talk about her last phone call, if he had to be honest, she was acting almost like how her mother would act. He knew Y/N’s mom worked, well he wasn’t sure what she did, but she always seemed secretive just like Y/N.

In her room, Y/N picked up the phone and dialed the one number she never thought she would ever be dialing.

“Dean?” she took in a deep breath, “It’s Y/N… think you can meet me at the address I’m going to text you?”

The next morning, Y/N woke up and grabbed her bag, ready to head to her apartment on the strip. She didn’t tell anyone, but she found a way to rent the old apartment that her father and uncles had during their early band days. Driving the Pontiac down the familiar road she pulled up to the old building and up the familiar staircase. She expected to be alone for a few hours before Dean would arrive, but that was a wash. The green-eyed hunter was sitting by her front door waiting for her.

“You know, when you said to meet you here,” He groaned as he got up, “I wasn't expecting to have to wait for you.”

“Sorry,” Y/N sighed as she grabbed her keys and opened the door. “I was at my uncle’s house. I didn’t expect to get here so late.”

“It’s fine,” Dean smiled. “Didn’t peg you for someone who would live on the stip.”

“I grew up here,” she led him inside and ran her hands over the familiar markings. “I was lucky that no one was living here when I wanted it.”

“Yeah, I heard that Motley Crue lived in something like this,” Dean placed his bag on the couch and, “So Sam is off back in Kansas, it’s just you and me Y/L/N.”

“Yeah?” Y/N chuckled and smiled, “well… we can do some things. We can check out the whiskey, get drunk and just hang out.”

"That sounds like a fun way to start," dean offered her a smile. "Maybe we could do something more?"

“Ok,” She turned around and placed her hands on her hips, “slow your roll. I told you before, I don’t do commitment. So, whatever you are trying to do… it’s not going to work. If we are going to have fun… it’s fun… got it?”

“Yeah, I got it, I don’t do it either. I’m just trying to get to know you,” Dean observed her as she walked to her room in the back. She seemed lost in a memory. “You and your mom came back here to live?” he looked around the small two-bedroom apartment.

“Yeah,” she gave him a sad smile, “before my dad became a major douche we lived here and we were happy… then… the life caught up with my mom and things went downhill.”

“So, what did you have in mind?” Dean changed the subject as he noticed the sad look on her face.

It didn’t take long before Dean and Y/N were walking along the strip. She pointed out various places she would remember from her childhood. One being her dad working in a particular liquor store. Walking in, Y/N made a beeline for the whiskey Isle and grabbed a few bottles. She looked over at Dean and smiled.

“Pick your poison because we are going to relax and enjoy the strip,” she walked close to him and leaned in, her lips close to his ear. “Plus, it’s the best way to sniff out monsters. They love to hang out around here.” she winked and made her way to the cashier.

“Ok so we have our booze,” Dean clapped his hands together as they made their way back to her apartment, “What time do the festivities begin?”

“Sundown,” she took in the sounds of the strip and froze when she heard a familiar voice calling her name.

“Y/N? Hey!” Gunner Sixx called out. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in town?”

“Shit,” she quickened her pace, “come on let's put this back in my apartment and I can show you where the greasiest burger in town is.”

“Hey, you have someone calling you,” Dean looked back as a tall man, relatively skinny with long dyed blond hair tried to catch up to them.

“It’s probably just someone who thinks I look like someone else,” Y/N waved him off. “This is Hollywood man.”

“Y/N wait!” Gunner called after her.

“Fuck,” she cursed before handing Dean her keys and the bag of liquor. “Head to my apartment I’ll be right there.”

Dean simply nodded as he watched Y/N head to the man who was calling her before heading to her apartment.

“What do you want Gunner? Do you know how to take a hint? I didn’t tell anyone I was in town because I don’t want to see you.” she glared at him.

“Who’s that?” Gunner asked, watching Dean head into the building.

“None of your damn business!” she growled, “as far as I’m concerned, we are not family, we are nothing. You can tell the rest that they can celebrate, I won’t be around much longer anyway. They can get their wish.” she turned on her heels and groaned when she came face to face with her sister Storm Sixx. “god damn it!”

“Sis! You’re in town!” Storm leaned in to hug Y/N, only for Y/N to sidestep and move out of the way.

“Seriously? What drugs are you guys on?” she glared at them. “Since when am I, sis? What are you up to?”

“What do you mean?” Gunner asked.

“Can’t we try and be nice to our sister?” Storm found the ground interesting.

“Yeah right,” she scoffed, “what do you want? I know you want something. It’s all I’m good for apparently.”

“We really just wanted to hang out with you,” Gunner told her. “And we heard dad saw you and he seemed really upset.”

“If he relapses, it’s not on me,” she sneered. “I tried cleaning up his mess the first time. It took him getting you guys to be happy… so I'm taking myself out of the equation,” she poked Gunner in the chest, “if you knew what I’ve really done for this family you would have been nicer to me from the jump. But since my mom died you all have been nothing but an asshole.” with that, she turned and walked away from them, hoping that they wouldn't recognize where she was staying.

Walking into the apartment she gave Dean a fake smile before sitting on the couch and chugging some of the whiskey straight from the bottle.

“Everything okay?” he raised an eyebrow at her as she took a deep breath.

“Yeah, totally fine…” she looked at the time and stood up. “You brought the Impala?”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded, “why?”

“I have a place I want to go to, and the Impala is the best wheel to get us there.” she grabbed a few essential things and turned to him. “You are going to love it.”

Dean drove the Impala following Y/N’s directions. He pulled up to a dirt road and what looked like a radio tower. He was puzzled when Y/N climbed out and guided him closer to the edge.

“Ok, come on,” she sat on Baby’s hood and took in a deep breath.

“Um… where are we?” he looked around.

“Just look down,” she pointed to the ledge.

Dean couldn’t believe his eyes. He was staring at the Hollywood sign from above. He looked over at Y/N’s face, she seemed happy.

“Why did we come here?” he climbed on the hood next to her as she offered him the bottle of whiskey.

“Before my dad turned into a major douche… he and my mom were happy,” she placed her arm under her head and closed her eyes. “We used to hike up here and have fun playing tag. It was a lot simpler… but then… mom… well, she started hunting hardcore.”

“And what about your dad?” Dean asked, a little unsure of the answer he was going to get.

“Turned to drugs when he couldn’t handle taking care of me,” she sat up and grabbed the now half-empty bottle they shared. Bringing the opening to her lips she took in a big sip before handing it to him. “There was a demon… one night. He was too high to notice that it was a real monster. Mom burst in and after that… they ended things. I got to see him every now and then until she died when I was thirteen. By then he had a wife and three kids, and I was just someone who cramped his style.”

“I’m so sorry,” Dean looked over at her.

“It’s fine,” shaking her head she scooched over to him. “I learned to just keep my head down and not ask for anything. I mean considering the guy never gave me a birthday or Christmas present, I got used to just not being wanted.”

“Well, I can tell you, you’re always wanted by someone, even if you don’t want them,” He wrapped an arm around her, holding her close to his side.

“Are you trying to change my mind on the whole commitment thing?” she chuckled, “because I am not going for it. You can thank my dad for that. I am not a commitment person, I’ve tried it and it never works out.” she leaned back against the windshield of the Impala as her phone began to ring with the familiar tune of Shout at the Devil.

Looking at the screen the name Nikki flashed on it. Rolling her eyes, she answered it. “What do you want Nick? I’m in the middle of something.”

“Y/N, I want to take you out for your birthday. I know it’s coming up.” Nikki Sixx swallowed the lump in his throat as he held the phone to his ear.

“What do you care about what I’m going to do for my birthday? I never celebrate it anyways.” She shook her head and scoffed.

“I just thought they…" Nikki let out an audible sigh. "You are my daughter Y/N. My first kid. I know I messed up and I've been trying to fix things… please, come to the house and let's celebrate."

“I’m going to be busy. I have some states to visit and some work to get done. I won’t have the time. Besides, I’m sure you have better things to do than celebrate the bastard daughter's birthday.” with that she pulled the phone away as he continued to talk.

“Y/N that’s not true,” his voice echoed from the phone.

“Liar,” she breathed before hanging up.

Dean looked over at her as she hung up her phone. He could see her eyes filling with tears as she looked down at the phone. It was as if she wanted to say yes to whoever this ‘Nick’ guy was, but she was scared of getting hurt; scared to really let go. He knew the feeling. He was like that himself.

“So, any other places we can go where we can show baby off?” Dean sat up and placed a hand on her shoulder. "And if you want, we can make out and I can distract you as a good friend would."

“Actually, making out on the hood of your Impala does sound nice. Maybe even inside in the backseat,” she chuckled. “I mean she is hella sexy.”

“You look sexy being on her,” Dean cupped her cheek before giving her a searing kiss.

Pulling away, Y/N licked her lips before staring into his green eyes. “This doesn’t make us exclusive.”

“I know,” Dean smiled, “but I’m glad to see I was able to distract you,” he laughed and rolled off the hood. “Come on, let’s drive this baby back to the strip.”

The drive back to the strip was filled with the sounds of Zeppelin blasting from the speakers. Dean glanced at her occasionally. He would smile to himself and chuckle at how stubborn he was when he first met her. But in the end, she only wanted to be his friend. Pulling up to her apartment building by the strip Dean turned to face Y/N.

“So… what are we going to do next?” Dean shut off the engine.

“We can head to the Whiskey,” she sighed. “I need to cut loose and drink as much as I can.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dean shut off the engine and climbed out.

It didn’t take long for them to get into the Whiskey a-go-go. Y/N scoped out the scene and found herself smiling at one of the guys flirting with her. Dean swallowed the lump in his throat as he watched Y/N grinding on a guy. It didn’t take long for a woman to come and bat their eyelashes at him. He turned on his charm, remembering that Y/N only wanted to be friends with benefits. Dean moaned as the woman he was with ground her ass on his crotch as they swayed to the music. He couldn’t help but glance at Y/N who was swaying with one of the guys she was flirting with. Dean pushed his jealousy down as the woman kissed him.

“You and I can have some fun,” she whispered in his ear before nipping at it.

Glancing back at Y/N, Dean noticed she was in a heated make-out session of her own. “Yeah, baby,” he found himself muttering, “Let’s have our own fun.”

Y/N watched as Dean went off with a woman who caught his eyes. She would never admit that it stung that he went off to have a quick roll. But then again, she was doing the same thing. At least now she could keep him at arm's length. But it was nice to have him all to herself. She will always remember being comfortable with him on the hood of his Impala.

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