Ficlet: Ravaged Ground
Author: laraF laraflame
Title: Ravaged Ground
Rating: R
Pairing/s: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Character/s: Peter Hale, Stiles Stilinski, mentions of Alan Deaton, Talia Hale, Deaucalion
Summary: Being a politician was decidedly not his number one choice out of all things but the petty humans and their little self-destroying act left him, as part of the Hale Pack, the biggest and most powerful werewolf pack in America to clean up the mess. He was lucky that his mate understood (and agreed with) him perfectly.
Warnings: none
Content Notes: AU, dystopia, alive Hale family, aftermath of WWIII (totally hypothetical), simple humans are dead, Stiles is magical
Submission Type: Ficlet
Word Count: 913
Prompt: #198 - Politics
Author's Notes: Probably it's filled with mistakes. Gonna go over them later.
The clock's ticking was starting to get on his nerves. Under the weakly blinking dirty-white fluorescent lamp the paper stacks stood so high they were threatening to collapse over his head. Loud buzzing signaled that their last generator still didn't give up the fight. Deaucalion was out scavenging the surrounding former cities and he promised a new stock but it should've arrived days ago. Not that Peter couldn't see in the dark. Every fucking survival had the ability because “normal” humans went extinct after the horrific World War III. And thanks to their stupidity Peter had to waste day and night with paperwork and smooching with barbaric diplomat-wannabes. He scrunched up his nose in distaste at the letter from the European Convention - they still insisted that the best course of action would be meeting in a public place stating their allegiance. Peter wasn't stupid to give them the chance. Talia may be his disgustingly perfect and most of the time irritating Alpha-sister but he didn't want her dead. No, thank you. She was their solid ground, the leader of the nation and taking into account the numbers on both sides her death would be the end of Free America. They were pretty much cut down from Asia and Africa - like they didn't even exist. Miraculously some impossible connection remained with Australia, at least Deaton had luck finding a barely there radio sign and caught some associate of his at the other end. Druids. Shady motherfuckers, the lot of them.
While there were a couple werewolf packs, wendigo families, skinwalkers and other rare species with the occasional druids and witches scattered around the enormous lands of America, Europe still had like millions. After the intelligent and cruelly effective warfare mainly consisting of gases and poisons. After destroying everything precious to them and obliterating the simple homo sapiens possibly forever. Whole vampire covens, fae dynasties from cute and devious fairies to behemoth trolls, goblins, centaurs, unicorns, dragons and magic users lived everywhere - in big cities too, Madrid, Prague, London; like nothing happened at all. Peter travelled quite a lot in his youth, got to know other cultures and other creatures and he was positive that those agitated European millions spouting nonsense about basic rights and property and ideals were really nothing compared to the ever mysterious East's population. The Naga, thousand types of demons... He shuddered just thinking about it.
He dropped the letter into the improvised fire merrily eating away useless documents in the middle of his office. Beacon Hills High painted a gruesome picture with its broken windows and crumbling walls. It still stood, was relatively solid (no doubt because of the Hale-vault supporting its underside) and Talia loved it. A perfect headquarters, she said.
A perfect reminder of what they lost, Peter thought. He stretched his legs and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He looked over to the pictures on the wall - humans, mostly. Smiling faces, immortalized tours to the desert or the White House. The owners of those blessedly ignorant smiles rotting somewhere, the beautiful landscapes ruined by synthetic corpses - burnt out vehicles, blown buildings. They got the natural water resources and most of the flora in Beacon Hills's area cleaned thanks to the Nemeton and several other groups had the same task given out to them by Talia all around the country. They didn't have to hide anymore so time was their only restriction when working their “magic”. The supernatural world finally surfaced and grabbed control. It wasn't hard without opposition and there was no victory as bitter and painful. Peter would've been the first one admitting how much did he look down on humans and how many nights did he spend with imagining them gone but this... He never wanted this.
Hell, no one wanted this.
It was an uncalculated mistake.
How utterly stupid.
Peter stood up as soon as he heard the endearingly familiar footsteps, melancholic wondering all but forgotten. So his darling Spark finished putting the tribal leaders into their rightful place. As a Main Coordinator in Talia's government his was the lovely job of getting all the scared, confused and or wild persons and creating a whole new social system. He was hot when lecturing decades older Alphas and other leaders.
Peter's wistful heart started to flatter erratically as the sound of angry muttering reached his ears. As head of International Relations most of the time he had to work separately from his precious mate which always caused his wolf to be on edge after a mere day without him.
"If they so much as lift their fucking little finger I'm gonna send in the Mute to regulate those pompous arses. He'll shove up a goddamned mountain ash tree - branches and all that - into their noses and then we'll see if they can spare the energy to bitch about properties and banks and lawyers. Jesus Christ. They world ceased to exist and they still want their money like they had need of it? For what? Wiping their..."
"Sweetheart," Peter murmured, wrapping his hands around Stiles's narrow hips. "Come, make love with me," he sighed softly into the young man's ears.
Stiles turned in his embrace. His hazel eyes mapped Peter's face like he wanted to imprint it in his mind forever.
"Yeah, politics can wait," he mumbled.
Then only passionate moans and sighs - the sounds of the most ancient and beautiful ritual broke the ominous silence over ravaged ground.
…
The End (?)
Title: Ravaged Ground
Rating: R
Pairing/s: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Character/s: Peter Hale, Stiles Stilinski, mentions of Alan Deaton, Talia Hale, Deaucalion
Summary: Being a politician was decidedly not his number one choice out of all things but the petty humans and their little self-destroying act left him, as part of the Hale Pack, the biggest and most powerful werewolf pack in America to clean up the mess. He was lucky that his mate understood (and agreed with) him perfectly.
Warnings: none
Content Notes: AU, dystopia, alive Hale family, aftermath of WWIII (totally hypothetical), simple humans are dead, Stiles is magical
Submission Type: Ficlet
Word Count: 913
Prompt: #198 - Politics
Author's Notes: Probably it's filled with mistakes. Gonna go over them later.
The clock's ticking was starting to get on his nerves. Under the weakly blinking dirty-white fluorescent lamp the paper stacks stood so high they were threatening to collapse over his head. Loud buzzing signaled that their last generator still didn't give up the fight. Deaucalion was out scavenging the surrounding former cities and he promised a new stock but it should've arrived days ago. Not that Peter couldn't see in the dark. Every fucking survival had the ability because “normal” humans went extinct after the horrific World War III. And thanks to their stupidity Peter had to waste day and night with paperwork and smooching with barbaric diplomat-wannabes. He scrunched up his nose in distaste at the letter from the European Convention - they still insisted that the best course of action would be meeting in a public place stating their allegiance. Peter wasn't stupid to give them the chance. Talia may be his disgustingly perfect and most of the time irritating Alpha-sister but he didn't want her dead. No, thank you. She was their solid ground, the leader of the nation and taking into account the numbers on both sides her death would be the end of Free America. They were pretty much cut down from Asia and Africa - like they didn't even exist. Miraculously some impossible connection remained with Australia, at least Deaton had luck finding a barely there radio sign and caught some associate of his at the other end. Druids. Shady motherfuckers, the lot of them.
While there were a couple werewolf packs, wendigo families, skinwalkers and other rare species with the occasional druids and witches scattered around the enormous lands of America, Europe still had like millions. After the intelligent and cruelly effective warfare mainly consisting of gases and poisons. After destroying everything precious to them and obliterating the simple homo sapiens possibly forever. Whole vampire covens, fae dynasties from cute and devious fairies to behemoth trolls, goblins, centaurs, unicorns, dragons and magic users lived everywhere - in big cities too, Madrid, Prague, London; like nothing happened at all. Peter travelled quite a lot in his youth, got to know other cultures and other creatures and he was positive that those agitated European millions spouting nonsense about basic rights and property and ideals were really nothing compared to the ever mysterious East's population. The Naga, thousand types of demons... He shuddered just thinking about it.
He dropped the letter into the improvised fire merrily eating away useless documents in the middle of his office. Beacon Hills High painted a gruesome picture with its broken windows and crumbling walls. It still stood, was relatively solid (no doubt because of the Hale-vault supporting its underside) and Talia loved it. A perfect headquarters, she said.
A perfect reminder of what they lost, Peter thought. He stretched his legs and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He looked over to the pictures on the wall - humans, mostly. Smiling faces, immortalized tours to the desert or the White House. The owners of those blessedly ignorant smiles rotting somewhere, the beautiful landscapes ruined by synthetic corpses - burnt out vehicles, blown buildings. They got the natural water resources and most of the flora in Beacon Hills's area cleaned thanks to the Nemeton and several other groups had the same task given out to them by Talia all around the country. They didn't have to hide anymore so time was their only restriction when working their “magic”. The supernatural world finally surfaced and grabbed control. It wasn't hard without opposition and there was no victory as bitter and painful. Peter would've been the first one admitting how much did he look down on humans and how many nights did he spend with imagining them gone but this... He never wanted this.
Hell, no one wanted this.
It was an uncalculated mistake.
How utterly stupid.
Peter stood up as soon as he heard the endearingly familiar footsteps, melancholic wondering all but forgotten. So his darling Spark finished putting the tribal leaders into their rightful place. As a Main Coordinator in Talia's government his was the lovely job of getting all the scared, confused and or wild persons and creating a whole new social system. He was hot when lecturing decades older Alphas and other leaders.
Peter's wistful heart started to flatter erratically as the sound of angry muttering reached his ears. As head of International Relations most of the time he had to work separately from his precious mate which always caused his wolf to be on edge after a mere day without him.
"If they so much as lift their fucking little finger I'm gonna send in the Mute to regulate those pompous arses. He'll shove up a goddamned mountain ash tree - branches and all that - into their noses and then we'll see if they can spare the energy to bitch about properties and banks and lawyers. Jesus Christ. They world ceased to exist and they still want their money like they had need of it? For what? Wiping their..."
"Sweetheart," Peter murmured, wrapping his hands around Stiles's narrow hips. "Come, make love with me," he sighed softly into the young man's ears.
Stiles turned in his embrace. His hazel eyes mapped Peter's face like he wanted to imprint it in his mind forever.
"Yeah, politics can wait," he mumbled.
Then only passionate moans and sighs - the sounds of the most ancient and beautiful ritual broke the ominous silence over ravaged ground.
…
The End (?)