:3

Everything she'd spent all these years working for, suffering for, would be ruined. It also hurts somewhere deep inside of her, that she is the only one here that remembers just what it was like to be a stupid kid in love, and the kind of trouble that followed.

❝ As boring as that little imp is, this is her blasted magic ⸻ ❞ A sleepy mumble, and Amelia is quick to rise to her feet ⸻ but it is too quickly; her body had not quite caught up to the alertness of her mind. And she starts to go down with a curse.

"Let 'em live. While they've got the chance." The further into this journey they get, the less time they seem to have for themselves. It is always something—the kid's incessant worrying, the protectiveness, the want for detour after detour because we have hardly ever seen anything outside our hometown.

Ly shuffles, pouting slightly when Amelia starts moving, disrupting the comfortable position she'd adopted at her expense.

"Boring," she parrots, lifting her chin to track wherever Amelia's going to go off to. "Just admit y—"

She's reacting before she's even fully aware that she is doing so, pulling her legs beneath herself to spring up at a moment's notice. As Amelia drops, Ly reaches out, grabbing her arm to guide the rest of her descent towards her chest and into her waiting arms.

"Don't overexert yourself there, princess," she says without thinking, grinning down at her, framed from above by moonlight.

"Be happy I didn't say something about you falling for me. I was tempted."

✶ 𝙍𝙀: squish ╱ 𝘼𝙇𝙒𝘼𝙔𝙎 𝘼𝘾𝘾𝙀𝙋𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂 ╱ @lykaiia

❝ You're a lot heavier than you look, you know ⸻ ❞ Amelia grunts from beneath her. No matter how she tries to shift, or stretch her neck, there is no longer a clear line of sight to the book held in her hands. It was just about to get spicy, too. Oh well; there are worse things, the vampire thought, aside from being crushed beneath a werewolf.

She'd say the horrid attempt at mimicking her voice and accent was hurting her ears—burrowing in like an ice pick, actually, and really, is THAT what I sound like to you?—but her theatrics have already achieved the intended result, so she lets it go with full intention to bring it up another time when she's angling to get her way.

His thoughts chased on. The only consistent one was that he did not want to die.

The sky above darkened further. Alexander hoped it was a coming storm and not his fading vision. His eyelids grew heavier and with every slow blink, a tapestry of bare tree branches maniested, lacing above him with a method to their chaos. Perhaps they traced the course of every life, flitted a stray philosophicality through his mind.

His must be that one cut short.

Silence answered and the cold began to fade. It was nice, almost, not feeling it any longer. He did not even feel the trembling of his body nor did he feel the numbness that had begun to bite him in its wake. If he tried, he could still hear noise from the streets further down. People talking, or so he thought. Mumbled voices. No.

One voice.

A rather painful, grotesque sounding one, but enough to confirm he's conscious, possibly even lucid enough to understand basic instructions. That, or he heard a sound without comprehending what was asked of him and tried to seek it out in hopes of finding help.

Either option was possible. Didn't matter which it was in the end.

Ly shifts her weight, leaning further in over him so as to allow him a better look at her face. He doesn't smell like wolf—doesn't smell like much of anything beneath the overpowering metallic tang of blood—but it's enough to immediately rule out a certain group of bastards as the culprit.

They're crueller, often willing to stand around and appreciate their efforts as their prey writhes in pain, destroying itself from the inside-out. Most are not so merciful to seek a quick kill.

Though whoever found this poor bastard may be no less cruel in their methods, they seemed to not derive some kind of pleasure from watching to make sure he truly died.

Maybe they expected nobody to stop. Maybe they didn't expect him to cling so desperately to life.

She'll have to ask him more about it later, assuming he survives to speak about it.

❝I'm not gonna try and ask you to speak. So just listen. For now, I'm going to assume something was hunting you. I'm going to assume you'd like to live. If I'm wrong and you don't, feel free to change that later, but I'm going to get you out of here.❞

One arm hooks beneath his knees, the other beneath his shoulders, and with another shift of her weight and a surprising amount of ease, she lifts the pale spectre of a man into her arms.

werewolves against fascism

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"... Ly?..."

Marty doesn't really know he's bothering to try and talk instead of just hanging on for dear life to her... pelt? Pelt, he guesses. She smells like home, like metal and wet dog, and that's probably the reason he's not losing his shit as much as he should be being carried like a princess (or maybe more accurately, like a puppy) by his friend, who's now a giant, fuck off werewolf.

"... You can put me down now... I-I'm okay... Look, i-it's not even that bad, I just hurt my knee and twisted my ankle a little..." Kind of an understatement, since he'd whacked his head on the curb, but he'd just wiped out on his skateboard is all. Then suddenly he's literally being picked up by the scruff before being delicately held in huge hands with paw pads on them.

Maybe with her emotional state already fraying with the full moon so close, she'd panicked seeing someone she has come to consider family over her stay here in this small, weird little town injure himself like that.

Marty was the only threat to himself right now, but that didn't stop her from leaning on the wolf, overcome by the need to protect.

In the absence of anything to kill fight, she had taken him and fled.

There are bigger problems now than Marty's potential concussion and the blood caked to the side of his head, smelling tangy and metallic just below her nose. She can already see the headlines now: monster sighted in Hill Valley! The rumours will spread and where there are rumours, there are those that chase them, hoping to hunt down anything that belongs solely to the night.

This little holiday might be over.

She'll think about that later—when she's changed back, when she can really focus on everything that has just happened. Right now—priorities.

Ly snorts, the sound reminiscent of one she's made countless times as a human, one that clearly says she doesn't believe that for a second. A small puff of steam blows out from around her face, breath hot against the chilly air.

Rather than set him down, she presses him a little tighter into the thick fur on her chest, growling something that sounds vaguely like I don't think so. Her chest rumbles with the attempt at speech, something she has still yet to master to humans in this form.

Her tongue is not meant to shape words like that anymore. Not to them.

If the rest of the pack were here, she'd bring him there, finally introduce him to the people she has mentioned time-and-time again and let them meet him for themselves. Artyom wouldn't be able to resist the kid. Danila and him would have become fast friends. They'd be able to patch him up and send him on his way.

In the absence of that, she does have one other friend she can lean on. One whose history with her dates back longer than the kid has been alive.

FEAST, GLADLY / MOON STEALER / WARM BLOODED