𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞

▸ independent multi muse. rules are located on my page ( read before interacting ! ).

canon and oc muses with an emphasis on supernatural themes.

── peter hale of teen wolf ( formerly hungrylikethewxlf )

── ben braeden of cw’s supernatural  ( formerly bastardlegacy )

── alastair of cw’s supernatural

── jason stackhouse of true blood & svm books

── owen alis / archangel raphael based on netflix’s ragnarok + cw's spn + myth

── 〈  secondary muses : magne seier of netflix's ragnarok. quinlan of fx's the strain. theodore nott of harry potter / wizarding world. al'lan mandragoran of the wheel of time. dorian gray of oscar wilde's book and lxg.

What type of a chance this unexpected encounter was, was yet to be determined. Ian hadn’t gone out looking to come across with one of his kind, nor had he been assigned to go find one when first he’d been sent on to his journey. Admittedly Ian was curious about the other persona, even if the start of this new acquaintance was not looking much too promising; perhaps his vehicle was mostly to blame, or maybe the other wolf wasn’t one to get all cozied up with any one of his kind. Not every wolf sought for community or trusted others outside of their own. While a ‘friendly’ man, Townsend had his faction of wolves, he didn’t care to participate in any unnecessary minglings if nothing beneficial came out of it. Ian could tell the other was not particularly pleased with the encounter, tension radiating underneath the composure the other one held when he proposed a solution he deemed less inconvenient to the both of them.  

       ”I’m sure you are. I just hate the paperwork.”, he tossed the words casually, a silent chuckle rumbling in his chest — maybe I take your word for it, maybe I don’t — his gaze flicked towards the little dent in metal on the other wolf’s car. Ian’s demeanor was easy, posture relaxed as he leaned his side against the hood of the car he’d been driving. Though, not to mistake his easy stance, he was on guard as there had been times when a new acquaintance had turned out to be rather feral.  

        ”Hey, I just happen to know a thing or two about repairing cars.”, he held his hands up in front of himself, there was a gleam somewhere in his blue eyes as he found amusement in the other’s mistrusting position, “Though I will be needing a few tools. I got mine a few towns over.”

A trap awaited them  —  his inner wolf growled within Peter’s mind. Car accidents happened a dime a dozen, less often with supernatural and their keen senses, but it still was not an absurd occurrence. Getting into an accident with another werewolf who happened to be experienced in automotive repair? HA! Danger awaited him; it hungered after the Hale flesh, and who was Peter to deny a feast of blood? He was not a wolf to run away with a tail tucked, nor did he have any allies who would answer his call and come to action. For all of Peter’s suspicions, a casual shrug rolled off his broad shoulders as his reply was issued

     ❝   No doubt. We’ll see how you good of work you do, and maybe I’ll put in a good word on Google or Yelp.  ❞   Dry humour surfaced, reaching lips, but failing to touch the paranoia and hardness of blue eyes. A finger was held up, signaling the stranger to wait as Peter retreated to his car and grabbed a few essentials. For a moment, he looked at the vehicle with some sort of softness; a man parting from the reliable thing in his life. How pitiful. With important documents pulled from the glove box and stashed inside his leather traveling bag, he slung the thing over his shoulder and returned to the other werewolf.

              ˜”*°•.         What  did  she  want  ?  A  lot.  To lash  out  at Peter ,  to  blame  him  for  every  ordeal  . Every  suffering .  Every  death.  The Argents  had  died one  after  the  other.   Victoria , Allison ,  Chris .  Just  like  the father  that’d  betrayed them  all  to save  himself  - betrayed her -,  the  father that’d  died  by her  own  hand .   And however  apathetic   she might have  sought  to  be ,  however emotionless ,  she  knew that  Peter  could  smell  the  distress . She  knew  that he  was  enjoying it  even ;  tables turned ,  karma  making one  last  appearance. And  yet  ,  she  ignored  the thought .  Ignored  the overgrowing  desire  to claw  his  eyes out . Emotions  outdone  by facts ,  feelings  eliminated by  confusion ,  this one  word  that’d escaped  the  other’s lips ,  bringing  a  much  needed  distraction .   ❝ Wait,  what do  you  mean a  message ?  ❞   Beacon Hills  had  always been  a  wild  place  -  hunters fighting  monsters  but  other  hunters   too. No  doubt  her  brother  had made  his  own  enemies  - and  yet ,  however possible  it  might’ve been  ,  Peter  overdramatising  it, making the  description  as torturous  as  possible, she  had  a feeling  he  was  not  lying . Still ,  question  remained ; if  this’d  been some  kind  of message,  it’d  been left  by  someone . It’d  been  directed  to someone ,  too .  

A  very  visible  annoyance had  painted  her face  upon  the sound  of  his next  words .  ❝ Yeah , must  be  quite an  honor . ❞  But he  was  not wrong ,   was  he  ?  Peter finding  her  brother’s  dead body,  being  the first  to  tell her  about  it  …   it  was  not  even  ironic .  Just  some  horrible  joke . And  she  hated it .  Hated  how she   depended   on  him.  How Peter  Hale  was her  only  source of  information  - and  the  person that  could  just choose  the  narrative and  rejoice  in the  reactions .  ❝ How did  you  even find  him  ?  Were you   just  casually walking  around ?  ❞  

The workings of the mind.. of the heart. When provided with the sight of a dead and rotting Chris Argent, the first imagine which snapped into mind like a cold wind shooting through bones was the memory of the hunter’s spitfire when they had crossed paths. The energy and disgust within the human had become more prominent when all that was left was buzzing flies and milky eyes, drooping, already having lost a great deal of moisture. The second imagine, and one that dominated all others, was Kate Argent’s face. 

He had imagined her the moment he tore her throat apart and imaged the reaction breaking across her face when the news came to light. Nothing was as satisfying as the imagination.. except Kate’s death. All the things the woman felt, Peter wanted to see them transpire, yet he settled for sniffing her emotions. Had she been human, the reward would have been much sweeter. The scent of her, however was tainted with what she had become. The Argents were falling one by one, and it was about time.. Karma and all of that. It should have been me  —  an ominous bell chimed in his head; a ghost of his consciousness. 

    ❝  He wasn’t in my loft if that’s what you’re thinking.  ❞   Peter began with tone casual and collected as though he was recalling a time he went out to get breakfast. He inhaled loudly and tilted his head to the side.

    ❝  I’ve since left that place with plans on leaving Beacon Hills for good. I was going through some old hunting grounds.. you know, nostalgia and all that. I smelled it; the human blood, the lingering essence of pain, and gunpowder. There was a trail of blood, too, and one created purposefully, either using a cloth or a paintbrush. He was only half a kilometer away from a warehouse my family formerly used. They burned him. Bled him. Left him there for someone like a little present.  ❞  Peter weighed his words, then continued a breath later.

   ❝  A present to me? No. It’s just some sadistic display meant to get attention and evoke shock factor.  ❞   Peter cared not for her suffering. If anything and as evident by his story telling, he wanted her to SUFFER. But.. it was off. Again, it should have been him. He always imagined something long and gratifying, and seeing the conclusion made Chris appear so small and weak. 

Well wasn’t he just a bastard of good luck tonight — had his night only started with much unanticipated gig far out of town, but now the said gig was causing him a lot more trouble than the damned old ‘96 Chevy was worth. A goddamned collision on the road just because the breaks of the old sport piece had chosen just then to terminate their contract with the rest of the vehicle. And the KICKER was? That he, Ian Townsend, the car genius and madcap driver had just been driving back to his garage to get the car checked out and fixed when the said prior mentioned breaks had given right under him on the rain slicked road.     Admittedly, Ian had used not only a few coloring words and a few swift spanks on the steering wheel before taking in a few good breaths. He knew that technically the whole shebang had been his fault, well mostly he could blame the car and its uncooperative breaks for it; but it was not the time for a temper tantrum because he had to deal with the consequences nevertheless. He was aware that the result could’ve been so much worse hadn’t it been for his capabilities behind the steering wheel and use of handbreak; but he had a sense the other party involved wasn’t exactly going to see it that way. Ian had just about straightened up to his full stature when the SCENT hit him as the male from the other vehicle basically brawled towards him with a booming sound of an asshole. That was when Ian’s blue orbs narrowed, a slight simper threatening to manifest at his features as THIS was definitely not an encounter he had expected from his night. “ Well well well… Look what we have here — ” words uttered under his breath before his voice arose enough for any ear to hear, “ Even better, I can smooth out that bumper without any nuisance from insurance company.”        

What did they have exactly? Being in the presence of one’s own kind usually set some calm and connection, and there was a time when Peter had craved for a community of wolves over that of mewling humans. Werewolves proved just as idiotic as humans however, and his kind were certainly vicious and held grievances with an iron grip. Outside of Beacon Hills, the Hale pack either evoked respect or mixed anger and derision. No snarl ripped across his features, but Peter’s muscles were tense, on edge in preparation of anything short of a car accident. The other were did not look familiar, and while Peter’s memory was not infallible, it was unlikely this other wolf knew who Peter was. The Hale attempted to appear casual as he tore his gaze from the other man to look at the ugliness of dented in metal. His poor, beautiful car. The mention of auto repair brought a mixed growl and sigh to lips, but the wolf kept his composure and slid blue hues cooly over the stranger.

     ❝  Afraid your rate will go up, or don’t even have insurance? Don’t tell me. I’m usually a stickler about these sorts of things. ❞   Especially when it isn’t my fault  —  but Peter kept that internally. He jerked his head to the side, cracking neck, before straightening up his posture again. The edge in his body language calm a degree, but he was still paranoid and alert.

Currently exploring the glorious rabbit hole of AI generated art for my ASOIAF muses. . Apologies for the absence and delay in responses here.

Beacon Hills was behind him — a reality that had been the present not too long ago which he wished to turn to past, to bitter memory. If the death of his family wasn’t evident enough that life worked in horridly interesting wars, nor his own gruesome and firey death, then an accident not one hour away from the accursed town certainly sent symbols. It was just dumb luck. No, lucky did not exist. It was just stupidity. A shit pile being dumped all over his head. For all the monsters he faced and lives he had taken, Peter Hale could honestly say it was his first car accident. 

An ugly, bitter laugh fell from his lips at first impact, then it was followed by a groan of complaint, hands slamming against the steering wheel. Pristine all-electric car now damaged goods. His inner wolf wanted to be released and tear the throat of the other driver. Teeth grinded together, and the all ready very angular features of his face became more prominent and stiff. Car was set to park before Peter exited the vehicle, and he did not feign any emotions as the car door was slammed. 

      ❝  If you don’t have any insurance, so help me god I will. .  ❞   Peter must have carried the energy and bravado of an inflated asshole, and there were many who would vouch that wasn’t too far from the truth. He was an animal, a beast who had tasted blood and flesh, and he was REALLY trying not to let the inner wolf out. Despite furious body language, hand moved for the wallet in the pocket of his jeans to retrieved his insurance information. So caught up in his own fury and thoughts however, it took too long for Peter to catch the familiar scent of WOLF. Expression transformed from anger to suspicion as blue hues studdied the other were more carefully. 

Nearly every time I get a thread or serious plot discussion going for Alastair and Ben, the person just poofs away from tumblr. . .