Vnika



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    Kitsune are tricksters, they don’t care for right or wrong, don’t even understand it. They’re neither good nor evil. For a nogitsune, vengeance and justice are the same thing, less about righting wrongs, and more about making offenders pay. Only forgiveness, true forgiveness, will ever stop a kitsune’s rampage. And as Stiles, and many others in Beacon Hills are about to find out, getting a kitsune’s pardon is not an easy thing to do.

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    09 May 2026

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    Stiles has zero regrets – zero, absolutely none – about leaving Beacon Hills after he graduates from Stanford. He knows his dad is good, has friends, has the force, has Melissa, and knows that even if he and Mel weren’t dating, that Scott has the sheriff’s back, will take care of him, keep him safe.

    He knows Lydia has no regrets, either, and the two of them hop a plane less than a week after the graduation ceremony, two full weeks before their lease in Menlo Park is even up. They pack up a U-Haul, go back to Beacon Hills for two nights, and then they’re off to LAX, three suitcases and two carry-ons between the both of them.

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    07 Apr 2026

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    “I’m coming,” Derek calls, shrugging on a sweater. The first few days of March had been warm, but the weather has turned in the last week - winter's last ‘fuck you’ - and Derek is expecting the icy blast as the warm air rushes out the front door. “What—” His breath freezes in his throat.

    “Hey there, Sourwolf.”

    Stiles is standing on the front porch— Derek’s front porch— his right hand waved in a half wave.

    “Stiles?” Derek almost takes a step back. “What are you— how?”

    ~

    Two years after Derek runs from Beacon Hills, Stiles turns up at his front door looking for his own escape. What follows is a story of adventure, healing and finding a place to call home.

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    05 Apr 2026

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    What do you do when the people you are supposed to trust, betray you in the worst possible way? What would you do if someone offered you a way out?

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    29 Mar 2026

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    Cliff was only aiming to push the guy off the puck, maybe disrupt his stride long enough to give Rozanov time to catch up, but Hollander wasn’t expecting the hit, and it caught him at an awkward angle, knocking one of his legs out from under him.

    Cliff watched as he slid uncontrolled, his momentum carrying him into the boards ahead of them at full speed. His shoulder hit first, but then Cliff heard his helmet hit the boards with a deafening crack.

    For a moment, the arena was deathly silent, as though the whole crowd was holding its breath. Cliff dropped to a crouch above Hollander’s body, still splayed out on the ice. There was blood streaming out of his nose. He wasn’t moving.

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    09 Feb 2026

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