#Blades of Wolfsbane

[joncronshawauthor]

Blade of Wolfsbane audiobook is now free on YouTube!

Welcome to the immersive world of Blade of Wolfsbane, a high fantasy novella prequel to Jon Cronshaw’s Ravenglass Legends. This captivating tale, now available as a free full audiobook, is an unforgettable journey into a vibrant universe filled with courageous heroes and electrifying sword fights. In the heart of the story, we meet Ragnar—a chieftain’s son yearning for his father’s respect.…

[that-theaven]

My fan roster for Legion of Monsters (L to R):

Blade (Marvel's Horror movie Icon)

Venom (represents cosmic horror)

Man-Thing (one of 2 OG members)

Moon Knight (represents slasher films)

Morbius ( 2nd OG team scientist)

Deathlok (represents zombie & sci-fi dystopia horror)

Brother Voodoo (I challenged myself to no witches on the team for magic users)

Wolfsbane (I was thinking about putting Nightcrawler or Tigra but had them on different teams, so she was the compromise & made Werewolf by night redundant)

Damian Hellstorm (represents demonic horror)

Marrina (from Alpha Flight represents aquatic horror)

She-Thing (Because Thing was Marvel's OG Monster hero, team powerhouse)

Sleepwalker (represents surreal nightmare horror)

[werecreature-addicted]

Angsty priest werewolf thought

He was adopted by a strict catholic family. He never knew his biological family and felt lost because of it. He kept his wolf side secret for so long and thought himself a sinner for being how he was born.

He always saw himself as “wrong”.

He keeps a silver crucifix around his neck and hold it when he prays. Believing the silver the burns into his hands when also burn away the “demon” in him. He put wolfsbane in his coffee or tea. Thinking it will poison and drown the beast.

He himself is a very big man. Tall and beefy. Shave himself almost everyday though. If you were to look into his trash you would find wax with hair, used razor blades and nail clippings. Keeps his hair short and slick back.

But when he meets that sweet keeps that comes to the church. He punishes himself even further.

Tying a silver rope around his neck when he prayed in private. Thinking she was sent to him as a test. To see if he can keep his wolf locked away.

After their night of passion and lust. he leaves her before the sun rises.

In his office on his knees. The silver rope around his neck and the silver crucifix in his hands. Praying and begging for forgiveness.

His little mate walks in on him in horror. Watching him punish himself for no reason. Of course she rips off all the silver and yells at him for hurting himself. Holding him close to her and begging to stop doing this. That he’s not evil or wrong.

And he sees now that she’s not a test from god that he failed.

She’s a gift.

wahhhhh

Imagine walking in on the priest you just banged (and who is apparently a werewolf) on his knees holding a silver cross to his chest and searing his skin with it. For a second you don't realize what he's saying his choked sounds of pain just sound like sobs. Then you realize he's praying- not even that. He's begging God for forgiveness for failing his test, for unleashing his wickedness on you and tainting you.

You can't listen to this and interrupt him, pulling the cross from his hands to stop him from hurting himself. He didn't do anything wrong, didn't do anything you didn't want him to do, he didn't deserve punishment.

He doesn't believe you, if anything it makes him feel worse for taking advantage for someone so naive- but your hands feel good on his skin and it's hard to think about anything else. You press kisses to his cheeks and whisper sweet nothings to soothe him and it's easy to forget a cold god in the warm embrace of his mate.

[teencopandthesourwolf]

WOLF BOY

when ao3 goes down, we write tumblr fic... now on ao3 HERE lol

i used the 15/11/24 @sterekdrabbles challenge for this. the prompt words were GREEN, REACH and SCATTER. i'm also tagging @sterekdrabblesgonelong as it's around 1K words and therefore definitely a drabble gone long lol.

it's a spark!stiles slash derek whump sort of affair, just so you know what you're reading xp

.

The dagger is almost within his reach—so very nearly grabbable.

Other than being eight years old in a hospital room with the smell of rotting flowers clinging to the back of his throat, Stiles doesn't think he's ever wanted anything more than this.

Again, Derek hacks out, “Just run, Stiles!”

Again, Stiles answers no—only this time, it's not with his voice but a yellow-green vine of pure light that extends from his fingertips as he pleads with each beat of his heart for the universe to help him, the tendrils stretching, stretching, then victoriously winding themselves around the handle of the blade. 

“Oh, shit,” he mutters, now with his actual voice, and then the vine of his will is pulling the knife flush into his grip. 

He looks up at the hunter, their face a billboard of surprise, before a shriek rips itself from her belly at the very same time Derek roars from where he's tethered and bound, the wolfsbane-laced chains melting further into his flesh as he tries in vain to once again break free.

Then the evil bastard is flinging herself at Stiles—and straight into the dagger aimed at her solar plexus that his light sends sailing across the cave, plunging it deep into her breast.

It might not be bullseye, but it does the trick.

As she drops to the dusty ground like a discarded ragdoll, the other two hunters' heads snap like whiplash to where Stiles is sprawled, a look of pure terror marring their faces.

The cowardly fuckers drop their weapons and scatter, leaving Stiles and Derek alone—other than the dead woman at their feet—in the large cave they'd dragged Derek into a few hours ago.

Derek's wrung out, and beaten down, but alive. 

At once, Stiles scrambles to his feet to get over to where the ʼwolf is chained up, almost falling back down again when his probably sprained ankle gives way beneath him. 

“Stop fucking hurting yourself,” Derek hisses, and for once in Stiles's insane life he wishes he could gnash his teeth and roar in response, and it have an effect that would be anything other than ridiculous. 

“Oh my god,” he protests instead. “I've just saved your offensively pretty ass with my new spark's apparently awesome Gio-Ju-ju, a-hole, so how ʼbout we be a little less sourwolf and a lot more gratefulwolf to ol’Stilesy boy here, hmm?” he sasses, finding the key to the padlock that's bolted to Derek's chains on the flat rock where his flashlight got dropped when confiscated by one of the hunters. 

Stiles feels petulant, and justified in that petulance as he discards the now unlocked padlock. Then he feels a little wrong-footed when Derek quietly mumbles, “Thank you,” because the guy sounds both in a considerable amount of pain and genuinely grateful to Stiles.

Stiles sighs and kneels down to start prizing the chains away from Derek's red-raw, still-smoking skin, the ʼwolf's forever-stoic face giving away nothing of the hurt he's obviously suffering at the cruel hands of the aconite still desperately trying to seep its way into his body.

“You don't have to do that for me, you know,” Stiles says carefully, hinting at Derek's display of endurance.

Derek's eyes flicker from mid-space to Stiles's face, and Stiles suddenly notices that their heads are actually dizzyingly close.

He swallows, and the sound of it echoes around the cave as if mocking him. 

The second he peels away the last link in the chain attached to Derek's skin, and before Derek can push him away, Stiles brings a hand to Derek's throat to feel for his pulse. 

When determined fingers find it, Derek's face does a thing that Stiles hasn't seen it do before; it's this combination of incredulous and vulnerable, and is so unprecedented, and so beautiful, that Stiles sort of wants to cry about it. 

“You can hear mine,” he superfluously reminds Derek, before saying what he really wants to. “It's not fair I don't get to know—that you're alive, I mean. Like, I know I can see it but… The tactile reassurance? That's, uh, you know, kind of nice, too.” 

Man, he spends way too much time with werewolves. 

Then, when he licks at his dry lips and Derek's pulse quickens under his fingertips, Stiles is so much more than simply placated.

Taking a steadying breath, he feels a million trillion miles away from anything even remotely resembling steady.

He studies Derek's face some more for confirmation of his suspicion, and finds something akin to bashful swimming amid the swirls of those gorgeous seafoam eyes.

Derek likes him back?

Stiles sinks his teeth into his bottom lip; Derek's pulse starts to race. 

Amazingly, it seems Stiles isn't alone in the want he feels deep in his gut, and as it grows and spreads to his extremities, his fingers and toes now tingling with it, he reckons he's maybe beaten-up and bleeding out and half-braindead enough to have the balls to actually do something about it. 

It must be biological, he thinks as he licks at his lips again, that his body somehow knows exactly what to do to hopefully get Derek to do exactly what Stiles wants him to—lick Stiles' lips for him, that is—without him making an actual fully-formed decision on the matter.

Although as soon as he's thinking that, the decision to kiss Derek is unequivocally made—even if it's going to get him shoved into the dirt for trying. 

He's about to lean in when one of Derek's already beginning-to-heal hands stops him by bracing his shoulder. 

“I can smell your pain, Stiles,” he says. “Let me help.”

Stiles tries not to smile as he lies through his teeth. “Hurts here, the most,” he murmurs, touching two fingers from the hand not at Derek's pulse to his bruised, bloody lips. He then curls the other hand further around the werewolf's neck, to hold on.

Derek starts to pant, and Stiles has to hold in a whine.

The werewolf sounds absolutely wrecked when he asks, “Do you have any idea what you're doing to me by wrapping your hand around my throat?”

Stiles's smile then brakes free and is wry as his wit as he answers, “I've been working hard to find out how to woo you for months now, big guy. What do you think?”

And when Derek lunges to crush Stiles's mouth with his own, teasing Stiles' lips apart with his hot, hot tongue and nipping at them with blunted canines, Stiles reckons he knows what it must feel like to howl. 

.

on ao3 HERE if you'd like to drop me a comment xp

[fionajames]

Lemme request something Void! related. Preferably Sterek. No x reader please. Even just Sterek friendship!

Devoid of All Emotion

A/N: OML TYSM FOR THIS REQUEST!!! I AM SO GRATEFUL, YOU HAVE NO IDEA. Now to explain, I would ship Sterek but the thing is, yk, the age gap, so unless it's an au or a few years into the future when it's more natural, I view Stiles and Derek as platonic soulmates. I really hope you enjoy and PLEASE, TEEN WOLF PEOPLE, SEND REQUESTS.

(divider by @saradika-graphics)

Three seconds breath in, three seconds hold, three seconds breath out. 

Three in, three hold, three out.

In, hold, out.

Three, three, three.

The rhythmic breathing was beginning to ache in his chest as the man exhaled steadily, attempting to steel himself as he stared at the orange hues of sunset. Inside the apartment, beyond the door, he could hear the Sheriff’s attempt at resurfacing whatever remained of his son.

In, hold, out.

Derek glanced to his side, where Allison was gnawing on the ends of her fingernails, glancing to her dad every few moments. He could smell the anxiety rolling off of her, grief twisting with it as she sighed loudly. Emotional pain drifted in the air, stronger and heavier than anything else.

“You’re not my son,” the words floated into Derek’s ears as the tiny flickering spark of hope in his stomach was quenched with the snapping sound of metal being broken. Stiles was gone. He blinked languidly, his own grief growing inside of him. 

Argent was the calmest one present, as predicted, and waves of chilling cool rolled off of him. It was relieving to Derek’s overwhelmed senses, and he focused on that instead of Allison’s frantic panic as they entered the loft.

He followed Argent with monotonous steps, watching out of the corner of his eye as Allison sucked in a breath, positioning herself diagonally from Stiles. 

No, a voice in his head rasped, and Derek scanned the boy’s face hopelessly. That’s not Stiles.

Abruptly the weight of the situation came crashing down on him. That wasn’t Stiles in front of him, that was the Nogitsune, controlling the boy he once knew. Stiles was smart and mischievous, witty and quick-thinking, but he had this bubbly energy that had originally annoyed Derek to all ends. 

But now, he would give anything for a cheerful humorous quip to come from Stiles’ lips, instead, the Nogitsune watched contently, as though everything he’d planned was slotting into place. It was using Stiles’ body like a puppet, and Derek could practically picture the red strings tied to the boy’s every limb, controlling his every move.

Allison attempted to tase the Nogitsune, but it raised its fists effortlessly and caught the electricity. Sure, Derek hadn’t thought the taser would affect the monster, but he hadn’t expected it to catch it. He pushed down the fear rising in his stomach, trying desperately to picture something other than Stiles in front of him.

And then the Nogitsune yanked the electricity, and Allison’s eyes grew wide with horror as the taser was ripped from her grip with careless ease, thrown to the side of the room. 

Rage washed over Derek as he stared at the monster in front of him, controlling Stiles’ body and taunting him without even realising. It was as though someone had taken a blade dripping with wolfsbane and plunged it through his heart, twisting constantly. 

He’d been too afraid to admit it, even to himself, but Derek was aware his anchor had changed. The moment he’d met Stiles’ teary eyed gaze in this very same place, nearly two months before, he’d known. It had taken him a mere matter of seconds to believe the words that came from Stiles’ mouth, and with that Scott’s. He’d nearly killed Jen– the Darach right then and there.

Stiles was a cheerful boy, even if he had darkness inside of him that he rarely talked about. Derek was aware of how soulmates worked, whether they were platonic or romantic, it took a werewolf - or were creature of some sort - to feel the bond. He hadn’t recognised it at first, but Stiles was in fact his other half, and even though there were no romantic connections tying them together, Derek loathed the idea of hurting him.

But this wasn’t Stiles, this was the Nogitsune.

Derek snarled and lunged forward, aiming to grab the back of the boy’s head, only for the Nogitsune to grab him by the arm and twist. A cry of pain escaped his lips as he heard and felt his arm break as his shirt was grabbed and his head was slammed into the table. In one swift motion he was thrown into the pillar, and he groaned when pain erupted from his ribs as his back hit the plaster and he fell to the floor.

Not Stiles, he told himself. Nogitsune.

A click ran through the room, and Derek lifted his head to stare at Argent through the haze of pain glazing over his eyes. The sound of safety being switched off on a gun. Said gun was pointed directly at Stiles’ head. It didn’t matter if it was the Nogitsune, because that was Stiles’ body it was controlling, and a bullet to the head would kill him.

“Argent, listen to me,” the Sheriff began, reaching out a hand as though to calm a frightened animal. “Don’t do this.” Derek rose to his feet, because even though he was sure he’d broken a few ribs and it hurt like hell - even though it would heal - he wasn’t going to just watch Argent shoot his anchor. 

Not just his anchor, his other half.

“Why not?” Argent mused calmly, but Derek could smell the tinge of guilt amongst the collected calm. “I’ve done it before; werewolves, berserkers, I can easily add a Nogitsune to the list.” The Sheriff responded immediately, raising his gun and clicking off the safety smoothly, pointing it at Argent’s head.

Derek saw Stiles’ mouth form an ‘o’, eyes widening and brows shooting up, as though he wasn’t surprised, just amused. It made him feel sick. 

Argent glanced at the Sheriff. “You’re not gonna shoot my son,” the man told him firmly, and the stench of fear spilling off of him was acidic to Derek’s senses.

“You said it yourself, Sheriff,” Argent told him, turning back to look at the Nogitsune. “That’s not your son.” The Nogitsune tilted Stiles’ head mockingly, taunting Argent silently, teasing him. Derek wanted to scream.

“Put it down,” the Sheriff firmly ordered, yet Argent didn’t flinch. “Put it down.”

“Dad, he’s gonna shoot me,” the Nogitsune whispered, fear seeping through its words. But the fear was fake, an attempt to guilt trip the Sheriff into listening. Derek reminded himself yet again; this was the Nogitsune, not Stiles. Not his Stiles. “He’s gonna kill me, Dad.”

“Put the gun down,” the Sheriff repeated, glancing at the body of his son again. 

“Don’t listen,” Argent told him.

“Put it down!” The Sheriff’s voice grew louder and stronger. “Now! Do it! Put it down!”

The Nogitsune turned Stiles’ head, staring Argent in the eyes. And yet, as it spoke, something inside of Derek tinged, and he knew that the words were Stiles’, not the spirit’s. “Pull the trigger, come on.” The Nogitsune was playing it off as a taunt, but Derek could feel the heavy presence of Stiles in the words, begging Argent to kill him so the spirit would leave.

Horror was swimming in Derek’s stomach, getting harder and harder to push down. He wanted to grab Stiles and drag him away, but this wasn’t Stiles. Yet, it had Stiles’ body, and if any harm came to the boy’s body, it wasn’t just affecting the Nogitsune. It was doing well, and he knew that, it was pulling on everyone’s heartstrings and taunting them into doing exactly what it wanted.

Derek hated it.

“Listen to me, you put the gun down now!” The Sheriff shouted, and Derek watched the horror melt Argent’s features, as though he realised exactly what was happening.

“Dad!” Allison pleaded, and Derek wanted to join her in begging them to stop, but he couldn’t drag his eyes from Stiles’ face. Devoid of all emotion, completely void. 

“Shoot me!” Stiles screamed, and yet again, it was Stiles. The Nogitsune couldn’t completely control the boy, but it was manipulating his body language and tone, but the words themselves were all Stiles. Derek despised it. This was Stiles, his anchor, his other half, begging for Argent to put a bullet through his head to save his friends, to save everyone. Stiles begging for his own death. It filled Derek with a new kind of emotion, one he couldn’t quite decipher, but it was strong.

“Put the gun down!”

“Shoot me!”

“Argent, you put it down!”

“Strife,” came Allison’s whisper, and Derek’s gaze broke from Stiles’ face, realisation hitting him. The colours of sunset were fading to darkness, and his heart ached. The Onii were on their way, on their way to kill the Nogitsune, and in the process, Stiles. His Stiles.

“Put it down! Put it down!”

“Stop!” Allison screeched. “Stop it! This is what he wants! This is exactly what he wants!”

“Not exactly,” the Nogitsune intervened, and a rush of sharp coldness like an icy river shot through Derek’s soul, engulfing him in frigid iciness. “I was kinda hoping Scott would be here. But I’m glad you all have your guns out, because you aren’t here to kill me. You’re here to protect me.”

The Nogitsune turned and stepped backwards, between the Sheriff and Argent as four dark figures materialised out of nowhere. The Onii slashed the swords ominously, and Derek hated to admit that the Nogitsune was right. He wasn’t going to let the shadowy figures even brush against Stiles. Never.

And then the two men opened fire on the shadows, and Derek slipped round to meet Allison on the other side, encircling Stiles. 

The fight was a blur, literally, because the Onii seemed to be pure shadow. At some point, one of their swords sliced Derek’s shoulder, and he cried out in pain. They eventually dissipated, and when he turned around, Stiles was gone, nowhere to be seen. The others left shortly after.

A sigh escaped his lips as he splashed his face with water as the ache in his chest grew, licking up inside his throat and burning. His other half was out there somewhere, trapped inside his own body with no control as the Nogitsune continued to puppet him.

The idea sent more rage rocketing through Derek’s body and he leaned his forehead against the wall. Nothing was ever simple in Beacon Hills, and now they had to somehow yank a spirit from a human boy’s body. 

But they would, Derek knew that. Because he wasn’t going to give up until Stiles was back and the Nogitsune was gone. Whatever it took.

A/N: tysm for reading!!! i hope you enjoyed!!!! please send requests, im actually begging you.

(taglist: @skellymom, @techs-goggles9902, dm me if you wish to be added or removed)

[lightninghikaru]

The following day, Sonic is woken up in the middle of the night to the sound of his cell door opening. He isn’t given a chance to sit up as he’s pulled up to his feet. Letting out a yawn as he is dragged out of the room by his arm. “What’s going on?” He asked half asleep.

His eyes start to adjust as he sees the one pulling him along was Grey. He could only assume this had to do with their fight. “Couldn’t wait huh,” Sonic joked as he tried to wake himself up.

“Quiet,” Grey said as he opens a door Sonic doesn’t recognize. He yanks Sonic inside before shutting the door behind him.

Sonic looks around, with the amount of boxes they must have been in the cargo hold. Candles all around giving light as Grey continues to guide him through the boxes. Noticing other noises and movement. It looks like they were going to have an audience. A lot of the crew were chilling out drinking while waiting for them to arrive.

“Looks like we got a party starting.” Sonic said trying to wake himself up. He knew all of them could probably kill him with ease but maybe if he showed off a bit of his gift perhaps he could earn enough respect to not be tossed around.

“Need witnesses to prove that I beat ya.” Grey said, as Sonic chuckles.

“Already claiming victory when we haven’t even started? Rather presumptuous of you,” Sonic teased as Grey huffs. “Someone got a drink I can sip to help wake me up?” Grey hands him a flask. Sonic sniffs its contents first, it smelt like whiskey along with an earthy scent. He takes a small sip feeling the burn down his throat, the familiar warmth of aged whiskey giving him a sense of home. But there was another flavor mixed in with the whiskey he did not recognize,

“What’s in this?” Sonic asked Grey as the others were moving boxes out of the way to make room for their fight.

“Wolfsbane.” Scaro said as Sonic looks at him confused. Sonic’s heard of that before,

“Wait isn’t that poison?” He looks shocked as the others all chuckle,

“To Mobians no, but to werewolves…” Scaro said as Sonic turns towards Grey looking for the confirmation of his theory.

“Are you?” Sonic asked.

“Yep, didn’t want our fight to be too one sided with it being night time.” Grey said. Sonic was stunned, he purposefully poisoned himself to make it a fair fight.

Sonic gives him a grin before tossing him back his flask. “We fighting hand to hand or blades?” Sonic asked as he takes off his frock and rolls up his sleeves.

“I would suggest fists Grey,” Scaro said, “Cap will smell his blood if you accidently cut him.” Sonic wondered if that would be true. They were in the belly of the ship even having super sharp senses the mix of sea breeze and any other smells on the ship would get in the way.

“I’m fine with hand to hand, but I have some ground rules.” Sonic said as Grey nods, “No claws or biting.” He notices Leven who was hiding in the back of the crowed look relieved at that request.

“Goes with the no drawing blood rule.” Grey said, “The first one to yield wins.” The crowd all backs away climbing up on boxes to give them space.

“Mind giving us the go ahead?” Sonic looks at Scaro who nods.

“On your marks, Go!” He said as Grey charges at him full speed but none of them were aware that Sonic was faster. He nimbly steps out of the way giving a cocky smile before jumping into the air and kicking Grey in the back of the head. He loses his footing and crashes into one of the crates.

“Not going to make it that easy for you big guy.” Sonic grins as Gray snarls. He knew it probably wasn’t a clever idea to piss this guy off, but it was much easier for your opponent to make mistakes when they’re angry.

But now that Grey was angry Sonic quickly noticed an increase in the Wolf’s speed. It looks like he’s fueled by his emotions and egging him on probably wasn’t his best decision. Grey manages to grab Sonic by the leg and throw him across their arena. Before he could manage to get back to his feet Grey was already towering over him ready to smash down with both fists.

No, he couldn’t lose here. He needed to gain their respect if he wanted to survive. Sonic knew he’d have to use his full speed to dodge this oncoming attack. Those watching barely blink and see the Hedgehog about to be knocked out cold disappear from the spot.

Grey stops his attack looking incredibly confused starting to look around for the blue hedgehog. In another flash that none of their eyes could track, Sonic appears next to Grey and kicks him in the side with all his strength and speed. The force of the hit blasts him back into a box breaking it on impact as its contents of fruit starts to pour out all around him.

“Whoops… guess I got a little carried away. Sorry about that.” Sonic said with an awkward chuckle as the room remains silent trying to process what they just witnessed. Grey slowly gets up brushing off the fruit pieces as Sonic gets ready for another attack, but Grey just starts to laugh.

“Alright, I was not expecting that.” Grey said as the others start to let out chuckles as well. “Ya a magic user or something?” He asked relaxing a bit as Sonic didn’t know if this was a stop to their fight.

Sonic had come into contact with magic users in the past, sorcerers, or practitioners of the arcane made him weary since all they ever wanted to do was experiment on him after they discover his natural speed. He was used to people’s reaction to his gift thinking that it was some sort of magic trick.

“Nope, you’re getting all me pal.” Sonic said as they all look surprised. Before Grey could respond, they all hear the door to the cargo open. Sonic turns around as both Grey and Leven rush over and hide him behind them.

“Don’t say a word.” Grey said as Sonic stays perfectly still hearing footsteps approach.

“What’sss going on in here?” Sonic recognized that voice as the serpent who forced his hand into surrendering.

“H…hey Jorah. Leven and I were just settling some differences in opinion we had the other day by duking it out.” Grey lied as Leven looks at Grey and then back at Jorah.

“Is thisss true Leven?” Jorah asked looking the two up and down suspiciously.

Leven quickly nodded as he began to sign. ‘We were just letting out some frustration when I knocked Grey into one of the crates and it broke.’

Jorah looks past them at the broken crate and then looks at both of them. “The crate isss coming out of your cut.” He said as they both nod. “And next time you two want to fight it out you need to run it by the Captain. You know hisss rulesss.”

“Yes sir… won’t happen again.” Grey said, as Jorah turns around to leave.

“Clean up that messs and the ressst of you, get back to work.” He starts to walk out.

They all wait to hear the door close letting out a relieved sigh. “Sorry about that…” Sonic said quietly as everyone starts moving towards the broken crate to clean up. Now he felt bad that they got in trouble because of him.

“Don’t sweat it, this was my idea anyway.” Grey said as Sonic goes over to help. “But back to what ya just did… that wasn’t magic?”

“Nope,” Sonic said as all of the crew looked at him in disbelief.

“Then how were you in one place and then another so fast?” Scaro asked. Now that the cat was out of the bag Sonic didn’t feel there was any reason to deceive them. They all did just hide him from getting into trouble... Not knowing how Shadow would react to this little match.

“I’m just that fast. My uncle said I’m probably the fastest thing alive.” Sonic chuckles proudly. “I move so quickly it almost seems like magic.”

“That’s crazy,” Scaro said, “No wonder you were all over the place when we took your ship.” They finished cleaning up as Leven hands Sonic one of the oranges that wasn’t squished. He smiles before taking it from him signing a thank you.

“Yeah, it wasn’t against you Grey, but my priority was making sure my crew was alright.” Sonic said walking over and grabbing his frock. “Should probably get back to my cell before someone notices I’m gone.” He didn’t want any of them getting into any more trouble.

“I’ll take him back,” Grey said as the others all nod before they start to disperse now that the mess was cleaned. Sonic follows after Grey quietly. “Why’d he give ya the fruit?”

“Huh? Oh, I think he’s worried since I haven’t been eating.” Sonic said quietly. Grey ponders for a moment remembering what he had said to him the first day about the food looking back at him.

They enter the room as Sonic walks into his cell closing the door behind him. He lets out a yawn before sitting down. “Besides that close call, which was fun.” Sonic smiles at Grey who looks away from him. He wondered how this small Hedgehog was able to get in his head. Was this why Leven warmed up to him so quickly?

“Yeah,” Grey said locking the door, “Get some sleep.” He leaves the room in a hurry as Sonic looks at the closed door confused before shrugging it off and going back to sleep.

-

If you enjoy pirates! Vote for Tides!

[mysticstarlightduck]

Unusual Associations Tag!

Thanks for the tag, @willtheweaver (here)!

Let's go with Emrin from The Crystal of Ash!

Seasoning: Cinammon

Weather: A cloudy day about to bring rain

Color: Forest Green

Sky: Deep grey swirled with white, the calmness of the moments before a cold rainstorm

Magic power: Nature Magic/Wild Magic, Tamed Dragon

Plant: Wolfsbane/Aconitum

Weapon: Elven Longbow and Arrow, Enchanted Blades, Skyserpent Fire

Social media: There's no social media in her setting, but if there were, I think she would probably like Tumblr and Pinterest

Candy: Wildberry cheesecake

Fear: Being a worthless monster (since she considers her human blood and impurity, because it means she'll never fully be a Levaethian Elf, and because humans represent a source of danger and sorrow to those she truly considers her people), failing to make her mentor/adoptive brother proud, being weak

Method of long distance travel: Flying on her dragon's Skyserpent's back

Art style: Sketching

Stationary: Parchment and fresh ink

Celestial body: Rogue Planet

Tagging (gently): @kaylinalexanderbooks, @smol-feralgremlin, @oh-no-another-idea, @littleladymab, @winterandwords, @eccaiia,

@the-letterbox-archives, @illarian-rambling@agirlandherquill, @anoelleart,

@ray-writes-n-shit @writernopal, @anyablackwood, @unstablewifiaccess,

@forthesanityofstorytellers, @finickyfelix@i-can-even-burn-salad

@cauliflowermaterial @thepeculiarbird,

@clairelsonao3, @memento-morri-writes,

@starlit-hopes-and-dreams and OPEN TAG

[teecupangel]

Today in... teecup gets distracted and stopped writing for today.

Sooooo... page 21 of Altaïr's Codex had this as part of the 'poison blade' upgrade

And me being me...

I sorta felt this sense of familiarity with the leftmost flower.

It might be wolfsbane.

And I know what you're going to say.

"teecup, it can be foxglove too."

Which is a valid alternative.

But I honestly like to think it's wolfsbane due to the leaves but also because I am bias lol

The middle right flower might be Poinsettia though...

[foxclcves]

𝒔𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 (𝒏𝒐𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒓𝒚 𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 02)

Oh glorious one—oh offspring of gold and of the sun, oh eldest of my daughters and her sisters. With her fists full of daisies and thorns and her blouses of lace and chiffon. Beloved one with long, elegant hands and a smile inspired by the sharpest of blades. The one who sleeps but never dreams and who would never dare ignore me or cower from my touch, but who does not know I exist. A child who covets her mother and envies those who can see her often, let alone at all. 

How she walks on her toes across warm wooden floorboards and captures the light that glares from windows and prisms, kaleidoscopes throughout the corridor. How the steam from the tea kettle intertwines with her flowing hair which curls and falls below the waist. Daughter of the haughty and arrogant, one of vice and virtue and malice and mercy. 

Though I adore you, I could never consider tearing you from this world of concrete and ice when you crack its very foundations and bring on early springs. Your vivid countenance, while admirable and agreeable to all, would cause my realm to shudder and melt, as reds and blues and tones of citrus would bleed into all that I have cleansed and kept proper and prepared. 

Unlike your sisters, you are not malleable and complacent. Although you worship me—if you were to discover my true intentions, you would fight me until your very last breath. You will breathe only sunflowers and snapdragons, and nothing of foxglove and wolfsbane.

In the end, you will stand in the soot and the charred remains of my design and you will be a brilliant phoenix, filled with cold fury and remorse and distilled horror over what I have done. And I will not ask for forgiveness, for forgiveness is for the pious and self righteous. I am not disillusioned by my significance for I know I am the greatest form of significance you will ever know. The night one such as you will start to dream will be the beginning of the end of your oblivion.

[vampirehizzies]

For the drabble 🫶

Klayley/14

14. “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.” set in TO 4x02, missing scene.

----

She likes watching him. More specifically, Hayley thoroughly enjoys watching him watch her, the daughter they created together, not necessarily motivated by love in that fateful night, but bringing love to their loves nonetheless, however unknowingly, despite the fact that they'd both initially rejected it.

For five years, Hayley has felt his absence like a missing limb. Klaus's promises of partnership had sunk bone-deep, filling her with expectations of a future where he was by her side as they made major decisions about their daughter's life together. Missing him was very much an unexpected, foreign feeling, when for much of the time they had known each other, he pissed her off, making her want to claw his eyes out and rip his snarky, irreverent tongue from his throat.

Yet the thought still lingered in her mind over the half-decade she and Hope had gone without the rest of the Mikaelsons, that it was all wrong, that their presence was a necessity.

Klaus was essential, despite Mary's vaguely reasonable protests claiming otherwise, and Marcel echoing that sentiment telling her that her child was better off. Hope needed her father, and though she would sooner dive into a garden of wolfsbane than admit it aloud to him, Hayley wanted Klaus around as well.

For all her quarrels with them, Hayley deeply appreciated the doctrine of family above all, a type of protection she never had, even if it led to some questionable decisions and inspired the hatred of others who became collateral damage in the face of the promise of Always and Forever. This vow, however it may draw the ire of non-Mikaelsons, was one of the few admirable things about the clan, especially Klaus, the half-reformed serial killer who now gazes at his sleeping daughter with devotion.

Hayley can't seem to tear her eyes away from him. His damp, sweat slicked unwashed curls fall over his forehead in a messy tangle, with a matching dark patch of stubble along his jaw to signify just how poorly groomed he is. Five years locked in a dungeon, and the Original hybrid from a pretentious rich homicidal family that prides themselves on manners couldn't bother to keep up his appearance.

Still, Hayley can't bear to tease him or demand that he takes a damn shower and shaves, because then she has to remember the pitiful sight of him on the floor, incapacitated and suffering immense pain. To see someone that powerful be reduced to a creature so helpless was scary on its own. Even worse when she reconciles the fact that it's someone she deeply cares about, a person who became an irritating but paradoxically welcome constant in her life.

The suffering he'd endured at Marcel's hand was no secret. After everything, Hayley still saw him as a friend, and she knows it is his mercy, his discretion, that kept her untouched and unharmed. Still, he had seen fit to declare Klaus Mikaelson as his trophy, not only to the audience of New Orleans, but to the world as well.

When Hayley closes her eyes, she sees Klaus unconscious and convulsing, Papa Tunde's blade buried deep within his abdomen and subjecting him to its torturous magic, shackles as black as people claimed Klaus's heart to be securing him in his imprisonment. The cold, damp dungeon where he festered in Marcel's filial loathing was the only home he'd had, until now. Safe by her side, and yet her concern still presses on her insides, leaves her resisting the temptation to grab on to his armsleeve, feel the material of his black shirt under her hands and confirm that he is in fact real, and really here.

"Are you planning to stare forever, Little Wolf?" he questions her softly, careful not to wake their daughter accidentally, never once looking away from Hope. Their daughter was the apple of his eye, and witnessing his fatherly adoration reassures Hayley that it was the right decision to not abandon him, to fight like hell to get him back, even when Mary, good-natured and kind as the old woman is, emphatically said otherwise.

"Oh, I don't know, Klaus," the non-reply comes out shakily, and she gives a small chuckle if only to distract herself. "You want to get rid of me that badly? Get Hope all to yourself?" She almost flinches, since the topic of parental custody is somewhat sensitive with their history, but he only shakes his head at her amusedly, and Hayley's shoulders relax when he takes it in good humor.

"No, Hayley, it's just that with flocks of my victims coming to New Orleans to gawk at me, the great villain getting his dues, I've had enough of people staring at me for a millenia." Right, she'd forgotten how Klaus had been treated as an exhibition. Hayley can't say she blames the countless loved ones of people the Mikaelsons killed for wanting to see him subdued and suffering. She herself certainly has a vengeful instinct within her.

Still, it was much different when she was one of the people who cared for the Original hybrid while the rest of the world would prefer to see him tortured and put down. Perhaps that was what it meant to truly be a Mikaelson, to not care what atrocious acts a family member committed so long as they were your kin. In his case, her friend, her coparent, her partner.

Hayley would rather not suffer the headache of contemplating why she couldn't stand to think of a mass killer's suffering, especially so late in the night when her capacity for introspection and self-reflection was shot to hell. What did it say about her that she would always choose them despite the trail of bodies they'd left throughout history long before she was born, or what that said about Hope's future. How the burden of who they were would fall on her, to explain the Mikaelson family one day to Hope, both the beautiful love and the ugly sins.

Instead, she settles for the here and now, squeezes Klaus's arm tight, the act of comforting and consoling him easier and more natural to her now, using muscle memory. The way he shudders under her touch and his serene, calm face falls exposes the cracks, reveals to her that something is on his mind that he hasn't yet found the nerve to tell her about. She would prefer that he talked to her, but being around someone as frustrating and maniacal as Klaus has taught her to value patience and understanding.

"I don't want to screw her up, our daughter," Klaus finally confesses with a bowed head, telling her his greatest shame. "Maybe Marcel was right. I heard him say it, that she's better off without me. It's what everyone said, and I wonder why you don't seem to believe it. I don't want Hope to grow up to hate me as Marcel does." He meets her gaze with bleary, widened eyes, frantic and horrified. This fear of his clearly runs deep, maybe in tandem with the paranoia he's known to give in to.

She shakes her head vehemently, fighting off his impulse to doubt himself. "You can't just go there. Don't do that to yourself. She'll wake up tomorrow, and see you, and we'll all adjust like I know we can." Hayley holds tighter, her grip firm, confident. "Hey, I'm with you, okay? Always," she confirms fiercely, not leaving room for even a bit of doubt.

"Actually, let me amend that. You might be familiar with the idea of... always and forever. Remember that?" Her joke is rewarded with him ducking his head bashfully, failing to hide a smile. "We'll be okay, I promise."

[legacyshenanigans]

Can we see a scenario where Marvolo has to save Rowan from something, and he really shows just how much Rowan means to him? 🥺🥰

These motherfuckers were prepared, Rowan sat, tied up, bound in silver chains which were making his skin feel like it was burning, they'd also forced a bunch of wolfsbane down his throat, weakening him greatly.

He sat there but tried to remain his stoic self, heavy breathing with a frown on his face.

Poacher: Ha! Look at it!

Rowan: *weak growl*

Poacher: Disgusting abomination..I got plans for you..

Rowan: Get...Fucked...

Poacher: *smug chuckle as he stands in front of Rowan* Nobodies going to save a freak like you..

Rowans frown deepened, maybe he was right, he'd gone out hunting, nobody knew where he was right now or what had happend, how he'd managed to get himself caught. The poacher laughed as he looked down at Rowan.

But the atmosphere suddenly changed, a sudden gust of an unusual wind blew towards them, like a long blade shooting through the air, it was quick. Rowan flinched, confused wondering what the hell just happend, he looked up at the poacher who for a moment was still stood looking at him, but his face showed shock, a small choking noise fell from him mouth as blood pooled out of it, along with blood seemingly starting to pour and drip from his neck..Before his head slid clean off and his body dropped to the ground. Rowans eyes widened before he looked up, seeing Marvolo step out of the shadows playing with his wand.

Marvolo: Been a while since I used Diffindo..Heh..I forget how good that spell is at times.

Rowan: *relieved sigh* Volo...

Marvolo made quick work of and getting the chains off of Rowan, helping him to stand, Rowan let out a pained grunt.

Marvolo: We need to get you out of here..

Rowan wrapped an arm around Marvolos shoulder, as Marvolo helped him walk with his own arm wrapped around him, the two entered the trees together, getting away from the poacher camp before the rest returned.

Rowan: How did ya know I was 'ere? How did ya find me?

Marvolo: You didn't come back from your hunt..So I went out looking, saw what I knew were poacher traps and what not, saw the aftermath of a scuffle, knew it was you..So I tracked you down.

Rowan: Sometimes I can be gone for a while though.. Days.. What made ya come out and look for me?

Marvolo: I felt like something was wrong, a horrid fucking feeling came over me, and I knew you were in trouble..

Rowan: *weak smile* Heh...Ya do care..

Marvolo: *small chuckle* How many times do I have to TELL you that? Yes, I do. Like HELL was going to let them fucking take you. I can only apologise I didn't get to you sooner, my friend.

Rowan: Appreciate it, Mate.

Marvolo: I'll see that they fucking pay for this Rowan, the rest of them..Their time is short. Mark my words.

~

[joncronshawauthor]

Blades of Wolfsbane: Read the Full Serial on Substack for Free

Hello from Sunny Morecambe! I recently launched a Substack newsletter devoted to sharing the stories and worlds I’ve created, and my first serialized story is now available! It’s called Blades of Wolfsbane, and it’s set in my Ravenglass fantasy universe. Blades of Wolfsbane follows Ragnar, the son of a chieftain who is eager to prove himself but struggles to carve out his own path. In secret,…

[ruinsapproach]

THE SEA HAD ALWAYS BEEN HOME TO HER. THE WAVES A SIREN SONG THAT ALWAYS CALLED HER BACK and it was to the docks she’d once called home — (what an interesting word for a place that abandoned her before she could even dream of abandoning it) — that she would return to seek out a flagship that she hoped would come to her aid, infamous as the crew’s captain was.

And what a relief it was to find the ship docked within Limsa Lominsa’s port, given that a trip elsewhere in the hopes of finding the elusive hyur would’ve worn her out far more than she would appreciate. There was something to be said for her luck but maybe, just maybe it would be on her side this eve.

Still, even though she squared her shoulders, there was a hesitance in her as she approached. A merchant ship, maybe, but once known for its illegality, and well, the Captain had many rumours and more attached to her name. Maybe they were like her own — fed by those who had nothing better to do and loved the idea of ruining someone’s life, their livelihood, or maybe there was a kernel of truth to them and she’d end up with a blade against her throat within the bell. How was she to know without seeking out what may possibly be her very demise?

“I’ve come to see Captain @edenfelled, if she is willing to take a visitor.” Nerissa spoke to the nearby dockhand, assured and strong, barely a waver in her voice despite how her insides roiled like the nearby ocean crashing upon the pillars. “I wish to barter a passage on the Wolfsbane, and more but the rest is for her ears alone. Would she be willing to speak with me?”

[streamdotpng]

Enid's first few days inside the JPD

It doesn't go so well so keep that in mind while reading:

Enid really would love to put her days behind those bars in the past, but as they say; The past always finds you, always. 

It's no shock that it finds her during the nights she finally accepts sleep. It's been a few days since she had to settle into the much cleaner cell of JPD and her body couldn't keep up. She really wishes to not close her eyes because everytime she even tries to nap-

Her wrist aches and her hands spasms inside the mittens at the memory. 

Can't sleep can't sleep can'tsleep unsafeunsafe

What happens is a reminder and it whips into her with no mercy. Enid's mind can be so cruel and it descends like starved hyenas on dying prey the moment she slips into darkness. 

Her skin burns, it scalds like it's something unholy and she screams herself awake before she realises what's happening. 

Home, they cry, outraged. Where is home? 

It answers, resigned. Different cell, same outcome. 

They'll kill us either way. 

Bright spots flash onto her eyes: a flashlight, stinging blades and the deep red of her own blood rears into her head. A clang against metal leaves Enid scrambling back and the hazy silhouettes has her baring stained teeth. 

Hunters. 

Her nails slam onto the blankets with the want to pierce - no no no they took my claws - as she tries to tumble as far as she can from the light. It's not enough and Enid is suffocating. She can't move and the realisation is a whip over her back as she bangs her head into the nearest wall. 

Muzzle. 

She has a muzzle on. 

Her fingers paw helplessly at the metal digging onto the side of her face. Her head is so heavy and she slumps onto her knees as she does her best to dig her nails through cloth. She needs it off, needs everything to stop touching her, needs them away-

It's the hand on her shoulder that makes Enid pounce.

"Ma'am please," a voice begs and it pierces through the veil of buzz swallowing her. Enid snarls and she feels the wet staining her hands. "We need you to calm down, else we do something we'll regret!" 

Yes!

Something slides further into her palm and it's so familiar that she didn't need to know that it was blood. She’s slumped over a body and the lights are on. The smell in the room is sweet and so strong that the haze in her mind pauses.

Wolfsbane, it hisses.

Wait, she doesn’t remember wolfsbane in that room. Something struggles along her hands and on instinct, her grip tightened without thought. Just where is she?

Then a sharp rush of joy washes over her like a rollercoaster. Kill him, they cackle. Kill him!

“Wha-” her voice tapers from a growl and she coughs, stumbling back with harsh stuttering gasps. “What.” No! Not kill, killing is wrong.

They were going to kill home, it coos, grasping at her strings and tugging along. Get rid of them before they get rid of her.

“Ma’am?” It was an officer. She attacked an officer.

An apology was going to spill out of her lips, then she felt her own harsh breath and thought; y'know what, they deserve it. 

“Dont- don’t touch me,” she growls, eyes wide as she surveys the room. There’s four officers, two in the room and two outside.

They’re holding guns, she notes and she sees the way their finger’s press against a trigger. A cold chill in her mind digs with satisfaction and it leaves her with a pained realisation.

They could have killed me. 

They are going to kill me.

The apology that drags out of her throat is fake, bitter and plastic. There is no regret, only survival. “Im sorry,” she sniffles, forcing her lips to fall and it's enough for her to see the two outside relax. She plays it up and yet, the tears that slip out are true. Remnants of earlier. “I don’t know what happened.”

A hesitant brush against her shoulder has her flinching. Her head whips toward the other officer, a woman who looked like she didn’t know whether she should be there or not. 

“I'm sorry,” the officer said, voice so quiet and gentle that it awakened a wave of tears to spill. It was kind, kinder than Enid expected. It's enough to make her shoulders fall just a bit, but a part of her seeks for someone else. “I can’t remove the muzzle,” she strains and it's so apologetic that Enid would’ve fell for it, “But try to breathe as much as you can.”

It's in the repeating gasp for air, does she think. She has to breathe with every touch against her back. She has to ignore a part of her that screams at the intrusion and she thinks as her gloves get replaced, keeps thinking as she gets taken from the cold hard cell and into something a lot more padded.

I miss Wednesday, strikes her mind.

It's a fact, a longing stuck deep into her chest.

In the darkness and the words of “go sleep,” ringing in her head, Enid sits in her bed and simply thinks and misses.

Escape?

She shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut. Going insane, she’s going insane. Hearing things in a cell.

She sounds like a man out of a crime show. A part of her wonders if Wednesday would've loved to watch her documentary. Its such a dumb thought that it has her let out a wet laugh.

I miss Wednesday.

Enid doesn’t sleep for another day.

[lunaaofthemoon]

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐿𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑀𝑜𝑜𝑛 [𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝐸𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡]

[Part One][Part Two][Part Three][Part Four][Part Five][Part Six][Part Seven]

CW: abuse, blood, violence and other dark themes are spoken about so please do not read if you are not comfortable. If you have read this far and want to know how this works out, it'll be in the tags.

"Please..." Mikyoung's voice breaks, tears streaming down her cheeks, "stop..."

The witches had drugged her when they had injected her with wolfsbane before the fight broke out downstairs. They had knew that she would be able to lead them to the pups while the rest of their coven were preoccupied with the losing battle. It didn't matter to them how many lives were lost tonight - as long as they were able to deal a blow to the future generation of wolves.

The only problem for them is the fact that Mikyoung refuses to give them up.

"We can keep this up, wolf. It's no skin off our nose but you? How long do you think your body can handle the pain?" He grips her chin and forces her head to look up at him and chuckles when she spits at him. "Tell us where they are and we will let you go."

She know he's lying, knows that if she gives them what they want then she no longer has any use to them. "I am not going to tell you where they are." She defiantly turns her head even though he forces her back towards him.

Mikyoung feels the burning sensation in her veins, every movement feeling like hot needles are piercing her skin and her body reeks of the poison. She's sweating, the wolfsbane causes her body to develop a fever as it tries to fight off the effects. She's bleeding, the silver knives the witches use sears her skin as they interrogate her. She's holding out, hoping someone noticed her absence and is trying to find her.

The two witches are enjoying themselves, feeling powerful against a small female omega who couldn't fight back against them. Her body weakened by the poison and their magic keeping her from shifting; they think they are stronger than her, than a wolf, simply because they managed to catch her. They are too preoccupied that neither notices the wolf who has made his way into the room, slowly stalking towards them. Chan's lips curl as he lets out a growl, hearing Mikyoung's pained whine as the blade slices through her arm. The Alpha doesn't let them revel in their victory before he attacks both men with a vengeance they had never seen before. Chan throws his entire body into one of the men, knocking him out; this causes the magical ties that are keeping Mikyoung from moving to release, her body slumping to the floor.

Her eyes fall closed, breathing shallow and all she can hear is the tearing of flesh, the screams for mercy as Chan rips her captors apart until her body gives in from the pain. She doesn't get to hear them beg for their lives, their pathetic apologies as the large wolf stands over them before going in for the kill. She only hears her blood rushing in her ears.

Chan drops the last man, the body a torn apart heap on the floor before turning to Mikyoung and making his way over to her. She's unconscious not dead, he can tell that much, but he doesn't know whether he should move her right now. Chan knows that a bed or even the couch would be better for her but he doesn't want to move her without permission and he certainly doesn't want her to see the mess downstairs.

So, he waits. Chan's large body rests next to her, his head laying on his paws as he watches the door. Protecting, waiting, alert.

The car has barely reached a full stop when the wolves are basically jumping out and rushing to the house. Jongin notices some of the other wolves had arrived just before they had, many unaware of what was going on and arrived too late. He can't imagine what they are thinking as they view the horrors inside the house.

Chris sees the carnage inside before Luna manages to make it to the door and pulls her into his chest, keeping her from seeing a sight that he knows she's familiar with. "Don't look," he says, hand resting on the back of her head and keeping her still when she tried to move away. "You don't want to see it."

With the mutters that are coming from around them, she can easily guess what he's talking about and nods her head. "Can you take me find some ingredients so I can make some healing potions for everyone."

Chris walks with her, allowing her to hide away in the witch's quarters while he goes and helps with the clean up. "I'll come grab you soon." She nods, focusing on her task rather than thinking about what he's going to do.

Jongin, on the other hand, pushes his way through the others, "Channie?" He calls, searching, looking at the deceased and dreading finding him amongst them.

No, he'd know. Of course he would. He'd feel it.

"Puppy?!" His voice grows frantic, the smell of blood is all around and his head turns every which way until his eyes land on his boyfriend sitting on the floor, a young boy clinging to him.

Channie's head pops up, looking over at him, a little distant at first but registering that Jongin is near is all it takes for it all to sink in. His lip quivers before the rest of his face scrunches up and Channie begins to cry. "Nini..." Jongin rushes to him, dropping to his knees as soon as he reaches him. The jolt that comes from the fall is ignored as his hands run all over his love, checking for injuries, checking to see how badly he's hurt, checking to find where the source of the blood is coming from until it clicks.

It's not his.

"Thank fuck, you're okay..." He holds Channie tightly, pulling him and the boy close until he can almost put his arms right around them. The boy seems to be an add-on to his boyfriend right now since the pup refuses to let the older go and Channie seems to feel the same way so Jongin holds them both.

Everyone seems to be finding each other, bodies being moved outside and piled up while those who are suffering a loss are being given the space to grieve. It isn't what any of them thought that they were going to deal with but as Chris looks over the damage, he feels responsible for separating the packs like this. It was his decision to split up, to check everything out just in case... if only he had known...

Hongjoong, however, hasn't settled. His jaw is clenched tightly as he searches downstairs for his sister, heart pounding as every room comes up empty or with another dead witch. "U-upstairs..." He turns to look over at Channie, the wolf's head barely popping up for air from the hold that he's in. "She was- there were pups... I don't..." Jongin hushes him while Hongjoong rushes up those stairs without hearing anything more, taking two at a time.

He runs directly to the room that he knows she would have taken the pups to. Mikyoung had been so excited when she learned that Chris built little hiding places like this for emergencies and begged her brother to make it a priority in their own pack house. If she's okay, if she's safe, he'll do it, he'll build them himself if it means they work as much as he hoping they do right now.

Hongjoong throws open the closet door, nearly ripping the wall apart as he find the pups packed inside, "are you okay?" He asks, offering his hand for them to take so he can help them out. "Where's Mikyoung? Where's my sister?"

The oldest pup, Somi, rubs the tears from her eyes and points towards the hallway, "we heard them take her... she tried to keep them from taking us..."

Gritting his teeth, Hongjoong takes a moment to keep himself calm for the traumatised pups, not wanting to scare them even more than they already are. He knows that she would have died before giving those pups up and that's something he's hoping he doesn't have to face right now. "C'mon, everyone's downstairs." As he's leading the pups towards the stairs, he notices Mikyoung's scent, faint but it's mixed with the stench of blood. He spots an open room at the other end of the hallway and prepares himself for what he might find in there. "Head down, find your parents. I'll be back."

Waiting until the last pup reaches the bottom of the staircase, Hongjoong slowly walks towards the room, the smell of blood growing stronger and when he sees the state of the room - his heart drops for a moment. The bodies lying a few feet from her are a mess, unrecognisable, surrounded by blood but luckily - it's not from her, not all of it, at least. He moves closer, now standing in the doorway of the room and finds his sister passed out on the ground with a large, white wolf beside her.

He knows that the threat is gone, those who had hurt his sister are now dead but someone is keeping her from him.

Hongjoong takes a step closer, crossing the threshold and the wolf lifts his head, a deep growl rumbling in his chest, warning him to not come any closer. He responds in kind, narrowing his eyes as he takes another step forward; his eyes are locked on the wolf, watching him stand to his full height, both males growling at each other, challenging each other to try something. Hongjoong recognises the scent, it's Chan, and while he's always given the other Alpha his respect - he's in the way.

Chan snaps his jaws, snarling at Hongjoong, who keeps inching closer. The omega is hurt, passed out, and Chan's not letting anyone touch her until she's awake. It doesn't matter who he is - he's not coming closer.

The two Alphas are in a stand-off, both snarling and baring their teeth to the other. One sudden movement and they will be at each other's throats without a second to spare. Their noses are nearly touching, inches away from tearing each other apart when there's stirring next to Chan, a low groan indicating that Mikyoung is waking up but it doesn't stop their hostile exchange.

Her body is aching from the wolfsbane, head pounding from the attacks that she had sustained but this all seems to take a back seat as her body instinctively reacts to the two males practically at each other's throats. It's automatic, a shift that isn't caused because she wants to but because the tension and their scents are triggering her to react.

In a way that none of them expected.

The pain is greater now that she's a shifted because the wolfsbane that is still in her system feels amplified by her wolf fronting but even as she suffers, Mikyoung manages to make her way between them. With her whole body shaking, she places her head under the Alpha's chin, protecting his throat. Her eyes look up at her brother as a whimper leaves her, begging for him to step down, pleading for him to stop.

Please no more fighting. Please, no more blood.

The three of them stay like that for a moment and she can tell that her brother is trying to figure out what the fuck is going on. Why is his sister protecting another Alpha, why is she protecting Chan? It's not immediate but he eventually pulls away, his growling fading as he stands up straight and looks down at them, confused.

Hongjoong isn't the only one confused because Mikyoung is too. It isn't like she made a conscious decision, it was instinctual, she did it without thinking about it but it's also something she isn't able to dwell on as her body collapses at Chan's feet. The pain is too much for her to deal with like this but it is also the fastest way for her to heal, her wolf taking on the brunt of the process to get the wolfsbane out of her system.

Chan is immediately on top of her, ignoring the other man as he begins to nuzzle the small omega. In that moment, it doesn't matter whether she's a part of his pack or not, his wolf is scenting her, surrounding her in his scent which seems to have her relax slightly. When he's finished, he begins cleaning her wounds, focusing on the areas where blood has started to stain her beautiful coat. While the omega will heal on her own, there's nothing wrong with him offering her a little help to get her back on her feet.

He continues to clean her, to scent her, while Hongjoong scrunches his nose and looks away. It's not an intimate thing but he doesn't feel like watching another Alpha scenting his sister, almost as if he's claiming her right in front of him. "Bring her downstairs when you're done. The witches are helping those who are injured." Without a second look, he leaves, allowing the other Alpha to keep caring for the small omega who whines softly when Chan's tongue passes over an open wound.

Once everyone is accounted for, checked up on and healed as best as the witches can do with their limited resources, Chris suggests that those who don't need to stay head back to their own territories to recover. "I can send you the details once we have more information."

It's clear that the Alpha feels a lot of guilt from what happened. It doesn't seem to matter to him about whether he had known that this would happen, it doesn't matter whether the could have prevented this - all that matters is that it happened under his roof. He recommended that they stay together, that they would be safe at the pack house but they weren't - they lost three lives and nearly lost their pups because of a decision he made.

"It's not your fault," Luna says softly when she enters the room with the others who had decided to stay. While many have taken the time to recover, others have stayed to help and Luna is one of them - she has as much to lose as the wolves do and she doesn't want to miss out on anything.

Jongin had taken Channie home to take care of him while a couple of other wolves from their pack stayed behind. While he wants to be there, the Alpha feels that his partner is more important right now and he wants to make sure Channie doesn't feel too much guilt over what happened.

While Chris had been cleaning himself up, his clothes and skin stained with blood from moving the bodies - Irene had arrived. It seems that the Devil found out about what happened and was understandably worried about him. He stands behind her, arms wrapped tightly around her waist as he takes a moment to compose himself for what's to come.

Hongjoong and a couple of his betas stand at the back of the room, ready to get the party started with the captives. Chris knows that while nobody else really approves of how Hongjoong thrives off the pain and suffering of his opponents, they have all agreed that if anyone is going to get the surviving witches to talk - it's him.

Chan sits beside a resting Mikyoung, her legs resting on his lap as she drinks a tonic that he made for her. Hongjoong had argued that she should return their pack house but Chan argued that she should stay where they can keep an eye on her, mostly talking about himself rather than anyone else. He hasn't let anyone go near her, especially not any of the witches, opting to take care of her needs himself as if he doesn't trust them.

This is all that they need right now, they don't need a spectacle for this next part, even if every wolf wants their turn with the captives - they only need one interrogator. Chris and the other Alphas all agree that everyone needs the chance to recover, they need to gather their strength because once they have the information that they are looking for - the final plan will begin.

The plan to save his mother.

[cantfightmoonlight]

@icexpackxjc

The moment she saw J.C. it was as if all of the air in the room had been sucked out at once. Her heart slowed to nearly a stop. Her breath hitched in her throat. The faint tunes drumming on through the speakers of the Ice Rink dimmed into all, but a low hum. No. Not again. She couldn't do this. Not again. Her small shivering form, all too exposed out on the ice, having shifted back from the Eclipse, wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball and melt away. She wanted nothing more in the whole wide world than to dissolve into thin air. But, as much as she tried to remember what the hell had happened when she had been a wolf, her mind drew a blank.

She had truly thought the past was behind her. She often felt more comfortable in her wolf form than she did in her own skin these days. She was in full control ever since those first few months when she had just turned. The past was in the past and she'd never hurt anyone again. She had truly convinced herself of that and, yet, here she was again, shifting back to find herself stark naked. Her hands covered in the blood on someone else's. Fuck. What did she do? What the hell did she do? She choked back her tears as she tried to still her shaking hands. She could hear a heartbeat. He was still alive. That was good. She just needed to focus. Despite, feeling as though her lungs were going to collapse at any moment, she pulled herself up to her feet, riffling through JC's stuff, she pulled out his phone and called 911. A quick search through the lost and found later and she was wearing some ice blue skater's leotard and skirt. She had located the first aid kit and did her best to patch JC up until the paramedics could arrive. It looked like it paid off to have lived on the run with one for years of her life.

She didn't even know JC all too well. Not like she did the rest of the pack, but the entire ride in the ambulance, she found herself clutching desperately onto his hand. The relief that washed over her, after hours of being made to wait in the waiting room, that he would be okay, was like a ton of bricks had been lifted from her chest. Even more so, when the authorities came to confirm that he had been poisoned before the attack by wolfsbane. What happened to him had been deliberate. The works of a blade not a wolf. She didn't do this. She didn't hurt him. It should have music to her ears and, yet, as she sat by his bed waiting for him to wake up, she couldn't bring herself to feel anything. She was completely and utterly numb. A fragile shell of the bright smile she typically wore. She didn't even bother to wipe away her tear stained cheeks as she waited. Still clutching onto his hand as if to will him to just open his eyes and look at her. And when it seemed like it never happen, he finally stirred. "Ah tanrıya şükür!" She exclaimed in turkish as she leaped up to her feet. Throwing her arms around him before she realized that she could potentially make it worse. "Afedersiniz!" She gasped out, quickly retreating back to her seat only for her to finally realize that she still wasn't speaking english. "Shit, sorry! Sorry! I didn't just hurt you, did I?"