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"'International Extramundane Association'? Are you kidding me?"

"We live in a world where there’s a website for everything," Stiles says. "Why not the supernatural?"

"Anybody can find this!"

"Yeah, I don’t think so. I spent most of the first six months tracking the movements of— well, everybody— but the point is, it’s all legit. I’ve even gotten help from a few of these guys."

Lydia frowns.

"I don’t trust it."

"You shouldn’t. Most of these guys have some shady backdoor deals I wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole." Stiles wrinkles his nose. "But some of these people are okay."

"You mean that half-breed guy?"

"Well, he’s one— by the way, did you look into shinigami? Because I’ve only been finding Death Note fanfiction, and let me tell you—"

"Yes, I’ve been looking into it. No, I haven’t found anything solid." Lydia sits up, reaching for her bag. "But I did find something on Quincy— here."

Bringing out her laptop, she settles it on her knees and opens it.

"Half-breed was right to call them Nazis," she says. "They’re all about human blood purity— apparently they believe their powers come from the fact that there’s absolutely no interspecies breeding— essentially, they’re so human they’re magical. They think that having purely human bloodlines gives them access to the ancient powers of the human race."

"That sounds like bullshit."

"It is bullshit. From what I can tell, they’re just a really elite organization of witches. After the Second World War, they adopted German as their international language, along with certain Nazi ideals." Lydia pauses. "Himmler was one of the more notable members."

Stiles whistles.

"Poor bastard," he remarks. "HalfBreed15 says his Mom was considered a princess. She ran away, I think."

"Probably for the best. From what I can tell… they’re not a good group to belong to."

"I… yeah. So, nothing on shinigami?"

"Nothing. I’ll keep looking, though."

"You may not have to," Stiles remarks thoughtfully.

Lydia doesn’t look up from her laptop.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, that depends. How do you feel about Comic Con this year?"


There are three reasons Ichigo has tattoos. One is that they’re functional— Unagiya does some of her best warding with a tattoo gun, and after Ichigo nearly lost his hand to an Aobozu in Hakone, she didn’t give him much choice. The swirling designs along his back and shoulders have protected him from more lethal wounds than he cares to admit, and once he had those, he didn’t put up as much of a fight when she say him down for tattoos for stamina, healing, and good luck. The damage had already been done.

The second reason Ichigo has tattoos is because of sentiment. The cross on his stomach, the moon on his ribs, the horned mask that takes up most of his chest and collarbones— those are for memory’s sake, because he needs something to remind him that it isn’t all a dream and yes, these things have happened.

The Alleluia across his knuckles, the guns on his hands, St. George and St. Michael on either forearm… he got those for fun, and the fact that they make Isshin twitch. Isshin’s twitches would the third reason. The little voice in his head, the one that sounds like his hollow but can’t possibly be, cackles like a crone whenever his father deems to stay home for dinner.

In two years, Ichigo has a good third of his body covered. Not once has it stopped him from working. Not once has he regretted any of them. Not once has he not appreciated the little joke of his hands, the pang of loss at his cross, the rage at his mask or moon.

No. Ichigo’s tattoos are just right.


brainsbeautybanshee: Finally. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to come online?

HalfBreed15: I’m sorry.
HalfBreed15: Who are you?

brainsbeautybanshee: A friend of LittleRedSpark’s.
brainsbeautybanshee: So you’re the guy he’s been talking to.

HalfBreed15: Oh. Are you scouting the creepy guy your friend met online?

brainsbeautybanshee: Something like that.

HalfBreed15: Oh. Well. Don’t worry. I believe he’s already mentioned one creepy guy on his plate already.

brainsbeautybanshee: Ah, yes. The creeperwolf.

HalfBreed15: That’s a great name.
HalfBreed15: I assume he’s one of the werewolves.
HalfBreed15: He mentioned a Hale pack?

brainsbeautybanshee: The Hales aren’t our pack. Our pack just happens to have a Hale.
brainsbeautybanshee: Neither are the McCalls, before your ask.

HalfBreed15: Okay.
HalfBreed15: I don’t know who the McCalls are, but I believe you.

brainsbeautybanshee: Huh. I guess he isn’t being as stupid as I thought he was being.
beautybrainsbanshee: We’ve had trouble with the supernatural in the past. I’ve no interest in broadcasting our address, particularly since we’ve just got our wards up.
beautybrainsbanshee: How well do you know werewolf lore?

HalfBreed15: Nothing. I specialize in spirits.
HalfBreed15: I’m also pretty good at protections.
HalfBreed15: And killing the occasional flesh-eating monster.
HalfBreed15: Mostly I’ve dealt with spirits, though.

brainsbeautybanshee: We haven’t handled a lot of ghosts in our town. Corporeal problems only. So why would he be talking to you?

HalfBreed15: Because I answered.

Lydia stares at HalfBreed’s answer, frowning. Stiles had mentioned how they’d met— it was an exchange of information, simple as that. But… he had to have done something, said something, asked something to get Stiles’ attention. So what was it?

HalfBreed15: I imagine you have reason to worry over Spark. He seems secretive enough to get into shit.
HalfBreed15: Don’t worry about me.
HalfBreed15: As of right now, I’m just an average human with a history.
HalfBreed15: Just like everybody else.


Peter is… a mess. He hides it pretty well, but he is.

That’s probably why Stiles doesn’t turn him away when he shows up on the Stilinski doorstep one day out of the blue, all cocky smiles and careful eyes. No. Stiles, the idiots, just lets him in, sets the table for three, and serves dinner like it’s normal for the wolf to be there for his and Lydia’s dinner dates.

(Are they dinner dates when they happen everyday? Are they dinner dates if you’re not dating? Questions to ponder.)

Still, Stiles can’t find it in himself to regret it. The guy’s helpful, if nothing else— he knows the ins and outs of both mundane and supernatural law, and he’s got a hell of a way with languages. So what if he gets a little handsy now and then? He’s a wolf, and wolves are tactile creatures. Stiles can live with the occasional cheeky ass slap if it means he has what is essentially a universal translator on hand. Besides, despite their rocky beginnings (nearly killing Stiles, literally everything with Lydia…) the three of them gel. They’ve all been fucked up and fucked over in some way or another, and a bond like that is hard to ignore.

So they work around his discomfort when the stove’s on and his need to leave at least one window open before he goes to bed. They deal with the occasional scenting and his growly overprotective streak (which was a side of him they were not aware of before). Lydia makes it a thing to hug him goodbye when she leaves the Stilinski house and the Sheriff makes a point to pretend he doesn’t notice the guest room’s been occupied. Stiles fights him with words and pretend he’s unimpressed more than he is, and together they get to a place where everything is fine.

Everything’s just fine.

September 2016

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