For those of you who don’t know,
Malaysian flight MH370, carrying passengers from 14 nationalities, lost contact with the air traffic control tower at 2:40am, 8th of March (G.M.T +08.00), en route to Beijing.
We’re holding to hope that there are survivors.
FOR USE OF
ADVICE & ASSISTANCE OBTAINABLE IMMEDIATELY
HOVER TO OPEN
"Well, Daddy, Papa, this is Alex."
"It’s nice to meet you both."
"It’s nice to meet you, too, Alex."
"Get out! Get out, now!”
"Woah, whoa! What the fuck is going on?!”
"Get out. Moran.”
"Dad… Daddy, please don’t."
It wasn’t a good day.
Sterek vs Destiel : Don’t You Dare(hurt him)
Dean hunts down a werewolf in Beacon hills but it doesn’t go as he plans
The back of Dean’s head cracked against the tree trunk as Derek slammed him into it with a deep growl. “Don’t you dare,” he snapped, fingers wrapped tight around the wrist of the hand that held the glinting, white-handled gun. His other arm choked off Dean’s air supply, unforgiving.
“Please don’t hurt him!” Stiles pleaded with the other hunter from where he knelt on the ground, one arm flailing out to help him scramble to his feet in the wake of Dean’s attack. The first hunter had shoved him down hard enough that Stiles knew he thought he was a wolf as well. “It’s not what you think!”
“I think we found a pair of murderous werewolves,” Dean shot, voice strained from the way Derek’s forearm pressed into his throat despite Dean’s finger’s scrabbling at the fabric of his shirt. Derek snarled and gave a good shove to shut him up, but he remained human.
“No, Dean,” Castiel said calmly, staring blandly at Stiles now that he was standing again. “This one is human.”
Stiles had no idea how the guy could tell, not when Derek hadn’t even transformed. It might have been that his injuries were not healing, but he doubted it. There were myriad tiny stones imbedded in his skin to prevent healing, had he been a werewolf. A hunter would know that, should know that, but not that Stiles was only human, not just by looking at him. Red flags went up in Stiles’ mind.
“Yeah, human,” Stiles repeated, rubbing grit from his skinned palms by smoothing them up his jeans. He winced, then threw a glance over his shoulder at where Derek had Dean pinned to a tree. “You thought…?”
“Please release my friend,” Castiel ordered softly, instead of answering. Something within Stiles coiled tight in fear; there was no threat in the words, but he absolutely respected the or I will make you undercurrent in the tone. Despite that he was not very intimidating in stature, Stiles had no doubts the man could and would make Derek release the hunter if he had to.
“Stiles,” Derek responded, without waiting for the inevitable command and without looking away from Dean. “He’s a hunter.”
“Yeah, and he hasn’t hurt us,” Stiles pointed out tartly. “And he’s human.” He knew at least that one was, anyway.
Derek bared dull, human teeth at Dean, but he eased his forearm away from Dean’s throat, let the guy’d toes touch the ground before he released him entirely. He backed away as Dean stumbled forward a step, getting his feet under him and bringing his gun up to bear on Derek. But he hesitated, because this was weird, even for the litany of weird that was his life.
“So…” Stiles shifted uncomfortably, unable to sit still, wishing he and Derek were not sandwiched between a pair of obviously deadly hunters. The fact that the man in the trench coat had not even drawn a weapon at all spoke volumes about how dangerous he must really be. “I’m Stiles. Human,” he reminded them both. “And that’s Derek. Less human. And you are?” Stiles asked, matching Castiel’s intense stare.
“Hunters,” Dean said from behind him at the same time as Castiel said: “Castiel.”
Stiles turned his gaze from Castiel to look at Dean, to assess the shared look between the hunters. “Castiel,” Stiles said, trying the strange name on his tongue, and he saw the curl of Dean’s lip. He guessed immediately that something was going on, something below the surface of the situation. “Your friend seems pretty keen on killing my friend, Castiel,” Stiles said slowly, stressing the words.
There was a whole world of more than friends between them all.
“Yes,” Castiel agreed blandly. “He is a werewolf, and Dean is a hunter.”
“Yeah, well, we got already got a town full of Argents,” Stiles informed them harshly. “You guys part of the family or something? In town for a visit?”
“Argents?” Dean said sharply, gun lowering. “Here?”
“Yeah,” Stiles confirmed, turning to face Dean again. He backed up so that he could keep an eye on both hunters, confused now. “You didn’t… know?”
“We were unaware of other hunters in the area,” Castiel said smoothly.
OMFG THERE’S A FIC AND IT’S PERFECT
this is exactly what I was thinking of and MORE I flailed so hard even Stiles would have been impressed
((an anon convinced me to take a turn, so I tried…))
Derek huffed out an impatient and frustrated noise, “Then maybe you should go talk to them before pointing that gun around.”
Stiles saw the way Dean’s forearms flexed as he kept the gun pointed at Derek, “Well we can’t let the big bad wolf just traipse back into the woods, now can we?”
With a flick of his wrists, Derek had his claws out. The hunter and werewolf exchanged challenging looks.
”All right, all right!” Stiles raised his hands hoping to placate the two men, “How about you follow us in your car and we lead you to the Argents’ house?”
Derek and Dean wore matching expressions, mouths working soundlessly like gaping fish before they found their voices at the same time, “No.” “Nice try kid.”
”Dean would prefer if he had some assurance,” they all turned to where Castiel stood, completely composed, “For the drive there, we should exchange… friends. Perhaps that will be enough to put Dean’s worries at ease.”
”Great idea, Cas. Come on kid, you’re with me,” Dean took one step towards Stiles before his back was up against the unforgiving tree bark again.
”No,” Derek spit the word out like venom.
”Derek! Jeez let the guy go,” Stiles pulled at the elbow of Derek’s leather jacket until he backed off, “Look, I get that you feel the need to protect the human, but I’m fine. Also, nobody’s driving my jeep but me.”
”Then it is decided,” Castiel’s voice is a low rumble in the wake of all their yelling, “Dean will drive the impala with Derek riding in shotgun. And I will join Stiles in his jeep.”
”Okay… sounds good to me,” Stiles takes a step towards his jeep before a warm hand wraps around his wrist. Derek pulls Stiles back towards his chest. Dean and Castiel exchange a look.
”The second we bring you to the Argents, Stiles leaves,” Derek’s tone is not all human. Stiles recognizes it as the Alpha voice he uses to order Scott and the other Betas around, so he doesn’t argue despite the strong urge to.
Dean nods once before chuckling, “What’s that short for anyway? Don’t tell me your parents actually named you Stiles!”
Stiles feels the tension ease away and Derek releases his wrist after one more comforting squeeze. He still can’t find his voice though, so Derek replies, “Stilinski.”
Dean stops by the driver’s side of the impala, “Wait, like, Sheriff Stilinski?”
Derek grunts an affirmative and gets into the passenger seat. Dean shakes his head, amused, and gets behind the wheel. Stiles fumbles with his keys, then quickly gets into the jeep with Castiel not far behind.
Dean is drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel, trying to keep himself as calm as a hunter can be while trapped in a car with a werewolf riding shotgun.
”I can hear your heart racing,” well, the important thing is that Dean tried, “I’m not going to kill you. If I did—” Derek stops himself abruptly but Dean hears the unspoken, Stiles wouldn’t be safe.
”So… werewolf and the Sheriff’s kid, huh?” Dean knows he’s poking the
bearwerewolf but he wouldn’t be a Winchester if he didn’t at least try to see how far he could push the monster.
”The Sheriff doesn’t know about werewolves. Stiles—” Dean catches the hitch in his breath, “Stiles wants to keep his family safe. It’s better this way…”
”Safe, right. So that means Sheriff Stilinski doesn’t know about you and his son, then?”
A loud rip comes from the passenger seat, “Balto, hey! Watch the upholstery!”
”Maybe you should watch your tongue,” Dean glances over and catches a flash of red eyes before Derek’s looking out the passenger side window again.
They sit, eerily still, in the cloud of tension while soft rock music fills the air like a low electric charge between them. Dean finally breaks the silence, “How old is the kid, anyway?”
”How old is yours?” Derek doesn’t miss a beat, turning with a scowl to face Dean.
”A couple of millennia, give or take,” Dean’s impressed with the way Derek doesn’t even twitch an eyebrow. He’s guessing werewolf senses must’ve clued the guy in.
Derek faces the windshield, a hushed whisper leaving his lips, “Seventeen.”
Stiles is fidgeting with the dials and knobs on the dashboard, even though he knows the jeep hasn’t had a functional heating system since his mom bought it second-hand. He glances over to the unknown but potentially, extremely, dangerous supernatural being sitting a couple of feet away from him. He starts bouncing his legs and stops immediately, realising how bad an idea that was with his foot on the gas.
”You need not fear me,” Castiel maintains his serene gaze out the windshield, hands poised in his lap without so much as a twitch in his muscles.
”Yeah, I’m not afraid you man… I mean, I have no idea what you are, but I do know that you aren’t human. You’re way too much like a pod person to be human. No offense man, but it’s pretty obvious you’re something other than human, something supernatural. Probably a kind of mage or magi or something right? Something regal and old and powerful, I feel it in my bones, you’re—”
”Yes,” Castiel cuts him off with an all-knowing smile on his face, one Stiles has seen before on Peter Hale, “something like that.”
Stiles keeps his mouth shut after that, his fingers constantly tap against the wheel and his mind races with theories but still he remains silent.
”You are not quite human either, are you—” a horn blares and tires screech over the Castiel’s next words, though Stiles definitely heard them. His physical reaction that caused the car to veer into oncoming traffic was evidence enough.
”HOW?! YOU— BUT I— THERE’S NO WAY! YOU CAN’T—” Stiles is darting his head, rapidly, back and forth between Castiel and the windshield. He settles on the road, in favour of staying in the right lane, and whispers, “You know my real name…”
”You know my… my real name,” Stiles’ throat clicks as he swallows around the sudden dryness.
Even in the wake of Stiles’ freakout, Castiel’s tone remains sedate, “Like I said, Stiles, you are not quite human either. And if you were to allow me to, I could show you how.”
((whose turn is it next?))
Dean cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. He hated awkward car rides.
“So how do you know the Argents?” he asked. Derek gave an angry, throaty noise that boarded on growl and Dean saw his eyes flashing red when he glanced over. “Touchy subject. Okay.”
They drove in silence for several minutes, Derek staring angrily out the window and Dean fidgeting anxiously, all of his instincts screaming at him, until he couldn’t take it. He reached forward to turn up the radio, but his hand was caught by Derek’s lightning fast reflexes, blunt fingernails digging into Dean’s wrist.
“Woah, man, just turning up the tunes. No need to get your panties in a bunch.” Derek clenched his jaw and nodded once before releasing
“They murdered my family in cold blood,” Derek announced suddenly. “How do you know them?”
Dean’s eyes flashed with the knowledge that he had a very pissed off Alpha werewolf sitting next to him in Baby and the wolfsbane bullets would only slow him down.
“Uhm, well, my dad hunted with one of ‘em when we were kids. I used to hang with his kid. Almost scored with the kid sister last time I saw them. Tight little ass and a pistol-fire personality. Whew, she was smoking,” Dean remarked, hoping to lighten the mood. Given the death glare he was receiving, he got the impression it wasn’t working.
“Not worth it,” Derek grunted out. “Trust me.”
Stiles drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, glancing back and forth between Castiel and the road.
"What do you mean?" he asked, voice shaky. He swallowed around the pounding of his heart in his throat, loud enough that even he could hear.
"I think it would be best if you were not operating a moving vehicle," Cas said evenly.
"Derek will kill your boyfriend if I’m late." There was no blip in his heartbeat, no hint of an empty threat.
A soft smile touched Cas’ lips then. “He can try.”
Stiles snorted, but hesitated a moment before pulling the Jeep over, turning it off with a twist of his wrist. He turned in his seat to face the man in the trenchcoat occupying the seat normally reserved for werewolves or strawberry-blonde brainiacs.
"So when you say not quite human…”
“Nephilim.” The word fell from the man’s mouth quickly and sharply and Stiles drew back, eyebrows knitting together.
“Wha- what did you say?”
Castiel looked up at Stiles, blue eyes bright. “She did not tell you.” It wasn’t a question.
“What? Who didn’t tell me? Didn’t tell me what?” Stiles’ hand banged into the steering wheel hard as he flailed, confused and growing angry.
Castiel gave an impatient sigh, as if Stiles was the one being obtuse. “Your mother died several years ago. She grew ill suddenly and inexplicably, and died slowly. Just like all the others. She was nephilim. You are half-nephilim. I know your name because it was the name of your grandfather.” Castiel dead-panned. “Any other questions?”
Bright brown eyes, wide and full of confusion, blinked several times while the gently sloping mouth beneath them sputtered out “Only like a million!”
“Take a left up here,” Derek told Dean, nodding his head toward the intersection.
Dean’s eyebrows furrowed, looking where Derek had pointed at the suburban community. “Here?” he asked incredulously. “They live here?”
Derek raised his eyebrows. “Yeah? Sixth house on the left.”
“Hm. Hunters ain’t known for living in the middle of people like this, out in the open.” Dean made the turn and drove slowly among the large homes.
“Well, the Argents are different,” Derek said, directing Dean to park across the street. “Also, if you catch a teenage wolf screwing their daughter, tell him to get his ass back home, we’ve got training in the morning.”
Dean drew back, surprised. “You’re letting your beta screw one of the hunters that killed your family?” Derek didn’t miss the weight Dean put into the last word.
“Not my beta,” he replied through gritted teeth.
“So wait, lemme get this straight. You’re saying that my mother’s father was an angel? Like, an honest to god angel, wings-and-baseball-playing angel?”
“I do not know that any angels have ever played baseball, but yes, we do have wings.”
“No, I meant like, from the movie,” Stiles tried to explain. Cas just stared at him blankly. “Right, you don’t get it. Angel of the Lord and all.”
“If you would just remove your top garments, I could show you,” Castiel insisted.
“Woah woah woah, what? You want me to take off my shirts? What for?” he asked, voice high and screechy.
“So that I can show you your grace.”
Kira Yukimura + Wardrobe
Visual Development from Tangled
Andrew Scott + Michael Fassbender’s irish accents
My biggest fear in this world is that Mary will turn out to be a fem!Moran and we won’t have any gay MorMor next series. That’s my greatest fear in general. That says a lot about me.
SCREW YOU CURTIN F****** UNIVERSITY
"THERE IS A TIGER IN THE LIVING ROOM!"
"Don’t worry he cool."
I WANT ONE
"I’m stunningly attractive"