#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 (edited version 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. 

.

edited version now 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!

[into-fiction]

If you're taking requests for Gelphie snippets, can I please suggest a werewolf/hunter one? Up to you who's who but I was thinking with Elphaba as like a rare and powerful green werewolf.

Love your work!

like elphie is a wolf and glinda is a hunter? hmmm. let me see what i can come up with

---

Dirt. Trees. The scent of day-old rain.

The ground is still soft beneath her paws as Elphaba lifts her nose and takes another sniff of the air. Apprehension crawls down her spine, making her tail stiff and her claws dig into the soggy earth.

There's no trace of human on the wind.

Still, Elphaba proceeds with caution. Her dark fur blends well with the foliage, her emerald eyes scouting the path for danger. She moves with fluid ease, quick but quiet.

She's nearly to the clearing.

Elphaba finds the break in the trees just as the moon reaches its highest point, shining with too much light through the gap in the branches. She lingers in the shadows at the edge, pacing anxiously as she waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Hours seem to pass, although the moon barely budges, before the wind shifts and the bushes part, and Elphaba's heart nearly stops beating in her chest.

She smells her first. The stench of wolfsbane and the sharp sting of a blade. Her hackles rise against her will, and she swallows a growl as the human--no, the hunter--steps into the light.

Unlike Elphaba, there is no fear or wariness. The hunter is not afraid to be seen or caught out in the open. She is a wisp of a thing, dainty and small, with pale skin and a shimmering dress that floats on the breeze. A smile curls the corner of her glossy lips as her delicate fingers dance along the edge of a dagger.

Glinda Upland is a vision in silver and rose. As deadly as she is beautiful.

"There you are," she croons, eyes twinkling with delight. "Come on out where I can see you."

Elphaba doesn't even try to stop the growl that rolls from her tongue. This is the woman she's spent the better part of the year running from. This is the person responsible for Nessa's fate. This is the person she loathes, more than anyone in the world.

(this is the person she once loved, more than anyone in the world)

The shadows make Elphaba's fur look almost black, but the moonlight reveals its true nature, the brilliant green unnatural and shocking. Like a poison dart frog or a coral snake. A warning.

Elphaba is deadly too.

And tonight, in the clearing where they'd once shared secrets and love, Elphaba is going to kill Glinda.

Even if it's the last thing she does.

[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.

[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,…

[wsjyuyuyuau]

Younger Toguro (Yu Yu Hakusho)

Name: Younger Toguro

Series: Yu Yu Hakusho

Gender: Male

Status: Alive

Family: Elder Toguro (Brother)

Flower Motif: Wolfsbane (Aconitum)

Flower Meaning: Misanthropy

Weapon of Choice: Two Bladed Sword

Associated With: Interdimensional Hero Club

Hero Form Appearance: An outfit that’s a mix of a punk rock biker’s and YuYuYu’s Hero Form outfits. The base of the suit is a dark black, while the main outfit itself is Wolfsbane blue. The boots, jacket, and the wristbands are spiky, while the accents on the outfit that balance out the blue are white, black, gray, and silver. Meanwhile, the wolfsbane’s petal shape can be seen in the top, lower half of the jacket, and the pants.

Full Bloom Gauge Location:

Guardian: Akagami (Based on the Akagami)

Favorite Food: Do Protein Shakes count?

Parallel To: None

Bio: The younger of the Toguro brothers and a former friend and lover of Genkai, Yusuke's mentor. Once a kind and compassionate man, traumatic events closed off his heart and made him harder and more cruel, eventually leading to him seeking death in mortal combat to finally end his torment.

[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.

~

[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.

[nvrcmplt]

© Flight Rising Images & Breed - Mirror / Male&Female and Hatchling. ( Loosely based off! ) &&. Teresa Drake Info - Mine. Please do not copy or re-write this in any form for your own Dragon ocs without asking for permission or something, fam.

“ Teresa ” - Unknown Dragon Species ( Currently, last of his kind ) “ Dragon Claimed “ - Nnoitra @despairforme's Dragon AU

They do not have a name, for they were nearly wiped from the world and left behind nothing but the fear of plague, poison and corrosion of thousands. A species near impossible to find solo, monsters that breath purple clouds and devour wolfsbane like a child with bread. They hunger for little, but they thrive like vermin with bites that make even rats flee. They were a scary species that were told in tells of farm lands and on pathways through woodland thickets. No tree hollow was looked upon without an arrow on nook aflame to protect oneself. No unnatural hill was passed without oil and aflame torch at hand.

They were here. Always nearby like a spider awaiting prey to mess up.

And it wasn’t even the knowledge of them being in the open, but the silence that shattered with that fear-inducing screech of a roar. You were not safe the moment that rattled the very clouds. Wings were silent, claws devastating and fog that hallucinate to even the most sound of mind. They lingered not, they ate to the bone, they devoured crops, mortal and pet alike.

In books of the draconic monsters, scholars found themselves shuddering at the sight of the demonic offspring. The mayhem of all man, they etched with true depictions of these creatures and within their layers of papers, information grew fast and true. On the tongues of death-touched, on the screams of children left behind, on the bodies of cattle and dogs alike.

[ Monster ] [ Demon ] [ Dragon ]

BODY -

Monsters the size of twenty-one hands, towering the strongest of draft horse on the field.

Flesh pale to the point of sickly, but marred in the touch of greyish hues that resemble the ripples of a ponds' reflection on a wall.

Build slim for a beast of its size, compact and agile - with eight strong limbs! Old descriptions spoke of only four legs, but newer tales on deathbeds croak with the horror of four upper limbs, the secondary set without paw or fin, but instead - folds like a bug. The sharped tip, serrated up the forelimb and strikes with impaling motions upon settling on its prey.

TAIL -

The tail is long, stiff upon its base to half-way point, where the rest of it is cracked like a whip. Another notes bones of uneven crescents settle upon its near tip. Decorative, one is not too sure to say.

WINGS -

Wings of midnight hues, black and luring to the eye - but broken upon the shimmer of yellow crescents, almost like eyes - multiple more eyes of the beast that watches in the distance. Then when in flight, the moon above pushes through the membrane - making it shimmer as if the beast swallows the starry night with each flap.

Wings have a singular bone; that’s sharpened over the years to form a bladed wing. Evolution has it as the factor that they target prey larger than themselves, and thus; through the ages; their bodies have conformed into making their entire frames a sharp weapon. The sturdy yet flexible-jointed bone-blade runs along the length of the Humerus, Radius, Ulna, Radiale, Ulnare, Metacarpus, the Basel & Terminal Phalanx.

These Toxin Beasts are known for swooping & slashing their prey; opening tiny and large wounds for toxin venom and spitting to enter the bloodstream rapidly - whilst also avoiding direct combat.

COMBAT PROWESS -

Deadly Precision, they will attack the neck, tendons, underbelly and nasal passages of their prey. With their combat abilities of being a poison/toxic pest; Teresa is a powerful and smart drake that will make his prey, of a ten times bigger size than himself, bleed out, be poisoned and slowly die a painful and excruciating internal death.

They have the patience of a saint when they hunt; this is one of the major shifts in their temperaments when it comes to getting food. Teresa is capable of waiting WEEKS for a large meal to die upon its own; before having its fill.

The jowls of the beast are hooked in the lip, and the main set of teeth are fierce and small, but the roof of the mouth is filled with curved fangs, that latch and penetrate deep. This is where the plague is pumped into the prey. Doused in toxic liquids from glands between each fang, the pouch is released with ease bite - the first bite the most potent.

VOCALS -

Screeches, screamers, mimicry of loud noises that make heads turn.

Toxin Drakes have become even more dangerous with the ability to tighten and loosen vocal cords within their long throats to mimic hundreds of sounds. Be it from a Bird, a Dog’s Bark or even a Human’s scream; they can blend and mix their vocals well on a hunt to throw off their preys every move.

Throat gurgling, hissing, grunting, huffing, chuffing and heavy rumbling from the chest area, are actually signs of affection to their chosen few.

DIET -

Poisonous plantation

Toxic swamp waters are Junk Food to him; however, they are big fans of infected flesh/meats and contaminated goods.

Raw Meat, Fish and Mammals are fine too.

Human when they are under threat, humans carry a lot of disease so it’s almost a treat if they are already dead / halfway on death’s door.

HABITAT -

Often low to the ground, burrows and/or tree houses. Though a violent and flight based species; they are more common to be found at eye-level with most prey species.

EGGS -

A Toxin Drake’s egg is sturdy; having been laid in high places and with such rough parent units. Though not careless, they are often kicking and nudging the eggs around in their nest to get comfortable with meals and food; thus; having heavy footed parents is a downfall for many creatures.

Toxin Drakes have formed a new egg; an outer shell that is diamond hard, the inner casings filled with a toxic sludge, and under that - the softer shell of the dragon foetus.

Eggs are usually a dark colour; to blend in with the darkness of Tree Holes / Buried dark burrows and in blind spots of more aggressive predators.