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angel-of-the-moons · 2 months

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Running With The Wolves

Wolfwalker!Moon Knight (Marc/Steven/Jake) x Fem!Reader

Summary:

You're on the verge of being labeled a witch, but can one handsome stranger (and his two "brothers") save you from the same cruel fate as your mother, who was labeled as one and burned at the stake?

Can you handle the truth about your heroes identities, despite it all? Would you find out who your masked savior truly was beneath his cloak?

Only you could answer that.

TW/CW: Witch hunts, violence, graphic violence, graphic death, blood, public execution, parental death, persecution, grief, depression, Wolfwalkers AU, Moon Knight AU, incorrect lore

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: I was watching Wolfwalkers and it gave me the idea for the boys. I did a little research into the lore, so some will be inaccurate (my pagan ancestors would frown upon me lmao) as well as historically inaccurate; so what is in this fic is largely based on the film. It will be especially inaccurate because y'know, Marc is American and Jake is Spanish and Steven is English etc, as well as Khonshu being around (but in the comics he's had a Viking Moon Knight so this isn't too far fetched he'd be in a place like Ireland) so please bear with me, my poor mind has been going through it lately and I wanted to write somethin' pointless, so enjoy this weird ass AU I came up with! (Header does not indicate the reader's race!)

Taglist: @enheduannasposts

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PT. 1

"I heard tha's the girl who lives on the outskirts." You heard a young woman whisper to her friend. Her accent was clearly not from Ireland. She sounded like one of the people from England. They'd been arriving slowly but surely, like a trickle from a leaky bucket, since you were a child.

Your skin prickled as you looked over the vegetables in the market stall, tended to by an old woman who was blind in one eye. Mary, her name was. Mary was probably one of the only around here who was kind to everyone, unless they gave her a reason not to. And those two English girls certainly gave her a reason...

"Aye, ye two hussies best be leav'n this girl be!" She spat, waving her old wooden stick around. "She 'ent done nothin' to ye!"

The two women jumped back with a yelp and scurried off, an armored guard eyeing you and Mary warily.

Your nose crinkled at him and you turned your nose up as you looked back at the crop Mary was selling.

"I'm sorry, lass. I don't like 'em either." Mary said, winking her blind eye at you.

You can't help but smile as you trade some herbs for the vegetables, placing the juicy morsels into your basket. "I just would like for things to go back to the way they were." You sighed.

"Like when I was a girl, before they came to our town. Things were fine, everything was in balance."

Mary leaned in, holding a finger to the sky as she spoke quietly to you.

"Aye, lass. But don't worry. The crimes these English folk are doin' to us? They'll be payin', mark my words! The land, the very sky itself is angry because we can't honor the promises we made so long ago." She grinned, half her teeth missing from old age. "Then, maybe we'll be forgiven."

"Aye, or maybe be consumed by the wolves and the forest while we're at it." You smile sadly. You remembered being safe in those woods as a girl, playing in the creeks, chasing birds and hares, the wolves singing on the breeze...

But the wolf attacks have become ever so common, now. None had been bitten, but their homes had been trashed, their livestock spirited away into the cover of night, wolf tracks everywhere. You were the only one whose homestead was spared. You often wondered why. The only thing different between your little plot and the rest of the homes that were driven empty was... wait.

They were all English.

You weren't. That house you lived in had belonged to your family for nearly half a century. The English farmsteads were placed on the grounds that were cleared by the King's woodcutters and soldiers, they were the ones being attacked. Not you.

But lately, you've heard other tales as well. A "devil in white" the King's men would ramble, their voices shrill with fear. A man in white armor who moved like a ghost, and fought like hell itself. You paid no mind, figuring it may be some hermetic hunter who called the forest home, who simply didn't want to have them invade his solitude.

Maybe--

"Lass, you should get home." Mary said, looking at you with worry as a small gaggle of women whispered and pointed at you. You were used to the stares, you'd been getting them as a child. But since the English arrived, those whispers became accusations.

"Witch."

Your mother had faced a similar accusation, given her odd habits and ways of whispering to the wind.

Some considered her addled, even moreso when she began raving of spirits and the voices she said came from the ground.

You remembered the night that she died, the horrible, evil way that she left this world.

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You were only twelve years old, gripped hard by the local men as the bishop to your village spoke from the Bible, quoting things about the crimes of witchcraft and how your mother could only be cleansed by fire.

You screamed, and kicked, and cried and cursed, but all that earned you was a punch to the gut as they lit the kindling beneath your mother's feet.

You'd heard tales of witch burnings, but you'd never ever thought such horrible deeds would come to your town; your safe, warm little home.

Your mother was strange, yes, but she taught you many things that had proven useful. The best herbs to cure the worst fever, the best tonics to drink to cure an ailing cough, how to track in the woods, how to trust the forest to show you the way home; but only if you respected it as a living being, and respected the souls who lived within.

She wasn't a "witch" to you.

She was your mother.

And she was right in front of you, burning.

"Mummy!" You screamed, your voice sounding as though you swallowed shards of pottery.

She looked at you, and smiled, crying and struggling against the ropes that bound her to the stake.

The fire crept up, up, until it reached her feet.

You could smell it--the acrid, disgusting stench of oil and burning flesh. You could see her skin blister, peel, and burn away as she screamed, begged for mercy. Mercy that the church was not willing to grant her.

You screamed and cried until your throat was raw and bloody, struggling until you broke free of the men's arms.

You didn't think twice on it--you leapt towards the pyre.

Your mother was dead. You knew this. But all you wanted was to hold her one last time, even if all that was left now was blackened, charred flesh.

Your soft, delicate hands burned, your dress beginning to catch aflame as you desperately tried to reach for what little remained of the woman you loved most in the world.

The pain was so blinding, so debilitating that your vision went white around the edges, and you saw the world begin to go dark.

"Damn it--put the girl out!" Was the last thing that you heard before you lost consciousness.

When you'd awoke, it had been two whole days since your mother's trial and burning. Two days since she plead to the "court" about how they were treating the land; that if they didn't change their ways they would all suffer for it.

The first face you saw was the bishop looking down at you with a solemn and sad expression, completely different from the way his eyes had gleamed maniacally as he cheered the death of your mother.

"I'm sorry, dear girl." He said kindly, resting a hand on your shoulder.

Your arms and hands were wrapped in clean linen--or, well, as clean as they could get it, anyway--your burns itching and painful.

You gritted your teeth, feeling hot tears burn as you glared at him, your throat still raw and aching.

"You killed her!" You meant to yell, but it only came out a hoarse croak.

"Aye, girl, I did. But I took no pleasure in it."

Liar. Filthy, disgusting liar! You wanted to shout, You smiled when she screamed!

"Your mother was bewitched by the devil, don't you see? The only way to ensure she could make it to heaven was if she was cleansed by fire." He told you, his wrinkled eyes looking at you with such gentleness you could almost scarcely believe this was your beloved mother's executioner.

"At least now, you know your mother made it to the gates of heaven. And hopefully God finds it in Him to grant your mother eternal peace." He continued, "After all, she loved you greatly, and there is nothing more pure than a mother's love. Even if it was the love of a witch."

You bite back bile that wanted to rise--partly from the pain, partly from disgust--and turned your head away, your tears heavy like chains that hung from your lashes and held your eyes closed.

"So hopefully, we can pray she found salvation and forgiveness in the fact she loved you so."

His hand brushed a lock of burnt hair from your face.

"Don't worry, girl... You can go home. But I must implore you not to give in to the teachings your mother no doubt gave you. None of that talking trees or animals nonsense, you hear?"

You wanted to kick him, to bite his disgusting fingers off and pluck out his eyes. But... all you did was nod, and say:

"I understand."

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Later that night, barring the English women's gossip, you'd had a fairly decent day. Your snare on the edge of the forest had gotten a nice hare; providing you with some nice soft fur and meat and bone.

You'd spent your days thereafter doing much of the same work you'd done since you returned to your empty home the week your mother died. You gardened, placed more snares, cleaned the house, worked the loom, began weaving a small tapestry.

One night, you were broken from your tedium by heavy hands on your door, making you yelp and prick yourself with a needle.

You stuck your bloody fingertip in your mouth and stuffed the tapestry into your heavy wooden chest, rushing to your front door to see what was the trouble.

When you opened it, there was the bishop, flanked by two men in heavy plate armor. You felt a shiver creep up your spine; the sight was eerily similar to the night your mother was taken away, only this time the bishop looked so ancient he looked like a piece of dried, brittle leather.

"Dear girl, thank God you're alright." The bishop breathed, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder.

Your brow creased, and you opened your mouth to speak, only for him to cut you off.

"That... That man, that devil whom the townsfolk here and elsewhere have been seeing--he was here. Tonight! He killed four of the King's finest men!" He said, panicked, his touch cold and clammy.

"And earlier in the day... wolves. A pack of white wolves! I feared for you, girl. I know that you're alone and so far from town." He shuddered a breath. His lungs sounded awful, even to your ears. Honestly... If the man had allowed it, you could have fixed his long coughing illness. He's been suffering for years with it, sometimes to the point where his surmons had to be delivered by proxy.

He was suffering... but so had your mother, whom he murdered in the name of his god.

Your jaw was tight, and you nodded. "I... I see. I haven't been attacked yet, sir. B-but I will keep an eye out and alert you if I see anything strange."

You wouldn't.

"I don't want that devil to hurt anyone else."

You hoped he chased them all away.

He mistook your shaky voice for one of mutual fear for the man that haunted the nights, like the dreaded vampires back in England and the smaller towns and villages.

"Yes, dear girl." He put his hand to your cheek and smiled, his aged features twisting in agony. "A good girl. May God protect you."

"And He, you." You replied, the words tasting like rotten meat on your tongue.

"Such a good girl." He turned, coughing into his hand. "May God help civilise this land..."

Thunder boomed in the distance, almost as if the very sky itself was urging the cruel men on their way, to leave you be.

As soon as your door was closed, you grabbed a nearby cauldron and heaved it over to your hearth, hanging it from the iron hook and dumping the pail of water into it to boil.

You hastily stripped your clothes free and dumped them into the cauldron, rushing to find your small bottles of tonics.

When you'd found the ones you needed, you dumped them, alongside fresh herbs, into the pot with your soaking clothes.

You knew, based on your own observations, that those who coughed often spread it through touch or spit. And he had coughed into his hands and touched you; you simply don't want to take the risk.

You had to start selling your healing tonics "under the table" as Mary said, as cleaning agents for clothes and blankets just so you could pass it to the townsfolk with sick family. You hated doing that, but seeing a sickly child able to run around with her siblings again without fear of that wretched cough was worth the pain of lying.

You watched as the water bubbled, standing naked as you poked at the fabric with your long wooden spoon, swirling it around and around.

Once you deemed it hot enough, you carefully picked up the cauldron and set it on your stone slab at the mouth of your hearth, you scooped some of the herbal water into your wash bucket and began scrubbing at your clothes mercilessly to rid it of any possible sickness.

Once they were clean enough, you hung them near the fire to dry (but not close enough to catch fire while you were asleep).

You felt goosebumps chill your skin as the wind rattled your shutters, so you grabbed a heavy woolen blanket to wrap yourself up in while you dug around for a new linen dress to put on.

It was a small comfort, given how early in the year it was, and these certain storms always brought unseasonably cold weather in their shadow, but you accepted it nonetheless.

You walked over to your wooden chest and pulled out your half-finished tapestry. It was one your mother started when you were barely hip-height; your father, strong and large, next to your mother, petite and soft. Interconnecting between them was you, holding their larger hands in your tiny ones.

Much of it was unfinished, and only within the last year did your grief finally allow you to finish what she started, as this was the only thing left that you had of her. When the church took her away, your mother knew they were coming, so she hid certain things out in the woods for safekeeping, only telling you their whereabouts. Once the church lifted it's eye from you one autumn day, you finally ran out into the clearing your mother hid her things in.

Being able to have something to visually remember your parents by wrenched your heart in a bittersweet way, but it was all you had of them, other than their rings you wore, hidden and slung low beneath your bodice so nobody would see.

You knew if the bishop found out... He would have them all destroyed, burned like your mother; and he would likely have you thrown into the stocks and publicly lashed as punishment.

In a twisted way, the bishop cared for you. He saw you as an innocent, God-fearing girl who had been brainwashed by your witch mother, whom only acknowledged the paganistic "Old Ways".

You hated having to keep up the act, but you didn't want to die. You owed it to your mother and father, wherever their souls were together, to live on.

You blinked, and a heavy teardrop splashed down onto the tapestry.

Your body jolted with the clap of thunder. How long had you been crying? Had you been crying this whole time, but didn't realize it? Oh, you hated how often these crying fits would strike you.

All you wanted to do was think of the happy times with your family, but it always came back to the fact that they were dead and you were alone.

You dropped back onto your bed, the old, dried wood creaking beneath your weight, the smell of the straw mattress stuffed with dried flowers and clovers soothing to your senses.

Your eyes felt heavy, weighted down from your painful thoughts, and you turned your head to look at the wreath above your bed, shamrocks with dried berries carefully strung together; it was something your mother taught you. You couldn't remember the significance of the thing, but making them when you were bored became a mundane comfort.

You closed your eyes and sighed heavily.

You would need to check your snares in the morning.

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Your leather shoes squelched in the mud as you carefully made your way to the treeline early that next morning. You nervously chewed the inside of your cheek to check if the coast was clear before venturing into the bushes.

It was early enough none had arisen yet to start the day, the sun was barely peeking over the horizon as you set off into the forest.

Yes, setting your traps beyond the treeline was dangerous, as they would tell you, but you knew the game in the woods was fat and ripe, perfectly full of meat. If you could hunt at all, you would try your aim at shooting one of those slovenly bucks with a bow and arrow.

But a hunter you were not. Trap-maker, yes. But no hunter.

Your tiny iron dagger was slung low on your hip, your mostly-empty wooden sack carrying fresh bait for any snares that were sprung, or if the bait had been snatched.

The first two traps hadn't been sprung, but picked clean, most likely by birds and quick-witted squirrels. No luck in catching anything.

But as you neared your final trap, you heard an odd noise. A wheezing sound, almost, followed by heavy pants and a whimper.

Your footsteps stopped as you peered around the thick trunk of an ancient tree, your breath catching in your throat as you looked at the sight in front of you.

It was your last snare, set up with some bread and berries to lure in a rabbit or squirrel (as was your typical game) but it seems that this time, somehow... you snagged a wolf.

And this was not a normal wolf; it was one with fur as white as the coldest snow, now muddied and stained from the soggy ground it flailed around in; your snare secured firmly around its neck and front paw, cinching the two together in a painful manner.

Your heart broke as you saw the creature struggle and wheeze, choking out quiet howls that couldn't be heard through the underbrush.

With your jaw set tight, you stepped out of the clearing, and the wolf turned to you, trying to limp away.

"Shhh, hush, now." You soothe the animal, your hands out in front of you as you got lower, trying to seem less threatening.

Yes, the townsfolk feared wolves, but you wouldn't just leave this beautiful creature to slowly strangle to death on one of your own traps; your soul wouldn't be able to handle the weight of guilt.

"I won't hurt you, sweetie." You say, your voice calm and soft as you reached out.

The wolf snapped tentatively at you, whimpering as the pain of the cord dug further into its throat and paw, red stains now blotching the white fur.

"It's all right. I won't hurt you..." You urge the panicked animal. Your own eyes locked with its dark brown ones, and you could almost hear its thoughts plead:

Help me. Please. It hurts. Please!

You wait for the wolf to still, and sit its haunches on the ground, those big, pained eyes staring right through to your very soul.

Once the wolf is calm, you hook your fingers through the snare, reaching for the part of it that looped around, and try to loosen it enough for it to slip free.

But to no avail, the amount of flailing the wolf had done had twisted and cinched it to the point you couldn't. Your brow pinched and you nervously chewed the inside of your cheek before unsheathing your dagger.

Upon seeing the glint of the blade, the wolf whimpered and panicked again, beginning to flail once more as you reached for it.

"No!" You say, frantically trying to calm the beast. "Stop! You're making it worse! Please--I'm not going to hurt you."

You grunt as you leap forward, crushing the wolf against you in a bear hug, trying to calm its thrashing body as you swing your sharpened blade through the cord, severing it from the branch it was tethered to.

You sliced your thumb in an attempt to cut the cord around its throat, but you somehow managed it, your blood leaving fresh streaks of red and pink through the wolf's surprisingly soft fur.

You drop your dagger and release the animal, falling back on your bum as you carefully crawl away as the canine heaved for uninhibited air, its barreled chest shaking with effort.

Once it had collected itself, it limped up to you, it cut paw hanging an inch or two above the ground as its wet, charcoal black nose sniffed at your wounded thumb.

Its pink tongue laved out and lapped up your blood, as if to say "sorry" for causing you to injure yourself for trying to aid it.

Your eyes however, were drawn to the cuts into the wolf's throat and paw, oozing small rivulets of blood as it stared at you.

"Oh... You poor..." You breathed, rising to kneel on your knees, dirtying your skirt even more.

"I... Those can get infected. Please. I... I can help you..."

You don't know why you were trying to bargain with an animal, but somehow it paid off. The wolf nosed its way into your lap, ears flattened up and eyes pleading up at you.

"Okay..." You murmur, scratching behind one of its ears. "Let's get you home, boy. I have stuff there that can help ya."

The wolf whimpered.

"Er... Well, I assume you're male?" You chuckle awkwardly, trying to think of how to carry this large and hefty animal back home without being seen.

"I'm not gonna violate you by takin' a peek or anything." You clear your throat when one of the wolf's ears flop as "he" tilts his head at you.

"Er. Okay. Let's go..."

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It was easier than you thought, getting him back home. As the sun crept higher, the fog and mist were your ally as you smuggled the "dangerous" animal back to the safety of your home.

You had to haul him over your shoulders and beat feet through the underbrush. Once you were safely inside, you had to (with great difficulty) maneuver the wolf down onto your bed.

You chuckled when he rolled over--and he was most definitely a "he"--and began rolling this way and that into your blankets, making small huffs and growls.

"Ah-ah..." You murmur, reaching out to brush your hand through his muddy fur. "You might make your injuries worse, 'kay, m'love?"

That seems to get the wolf's attention. You weren't sure if he could understand you, which honestly had you thinking you were crazy, but the way he sat up and stared at you, one ear flopping down as he looked up into your eyes sent a strange feeling through your body.

"Hmm..." You murmur, brushing your fingers tentatively around his wounded throat. From his muddy thrashing he'd accumulated a fair amount of dirt, and that would lead to infection.

You hike your skirts up and tie them around your waist, and you could almost swear you saw a look of modesty cross the wolf's eyes as his ears slicked back against his head and he buried his muzzle into your warm blankets.

You scratch the back of your head, a little confused at his reaction as you adjust your knickers and rush to gather your herbs you'd need, plucking dried leaves and roots that hung above your hearth.

You set the herbs down into your mortar and pestle and begin to grind them down, mixing them evenly into a dissolvable mass that would melt in the water once you'd boiled it.

You crack your knuckles and grab a pail, untying your skirts and smoothing them out, frowning at the mud stains as you reach for your door, making a "shush" gesture to the wolf.

"Stay quiet and don't go near the windows! It's dangerous if you're seen." You gently urge him before slipping outside into the morning light once again.

The trek to the well was always annoying, but your neighbors never minded you coming to fetch water, knowing how dangerous it could possibly be for you to hike to the creek at the edge of the forest just to get yourself some of the life-giving liquid.

You inwardly cringed when the Kenny's daughter, Aisling, was already at the well; her belly already round with her unborn child. Barely 19 years of age and she was already with a babe; she was often sickly as a child, this you remembered, so her family (namely her husband) was very concerned about her well-being and that of her impending birth.

Upon seeing you approach, Aisling smiled widely and waved at you, saying your name chipperly, almost like an excited morning bird.

You were really hoping not to have a conversation so early, afraid someone would know you were harboring a wolf inside your home...

"Hello, Aisling. Feeling well this morning?" You hum innocently at her as you tie your pail up, before cranking the wench and lowering it down to the water below.

"Yes, surprisingly!" She giggled, patting her belly with a soft smile. "M' little one decided it was a good day to let mummy keep food down."

"That's good! I still recommend broths if you feel nauseous, however..."

"I know, I know. My mum is constantly making sure of that." She sighed with a roll of her eyes, hooking her own two pails of water onto her yoke.

Your hairs raised and you reached out, the wench slipping from your hands and your bucket dropping all the way back down into the water below the earth.

"No! You mustn't lift something that heavy." You caution. "It's not good for your baby."

"Ohhh! You sound like my father." She sighs, frowning deeply, her hands on her hips. "I'm not helpless, y'know!"

"Yes, I'm aware, but--"

"Aisling!" Her husband panted, trotting up to the both of you. He was at least a decade or so older than she was, but nonetheless it was a good match; he seemed to love her greatly. He was English, and one of the few kind ones you've known, in fact. A gentle giant.

This fact was emphasized when his large bulky hand reached down to touch her belly, sighing with relief. "No, no, you know that you can't be out here alone! The wolves!"

"I 'ent seen no wolves!" Aisling pouted up at him.

"That doesn't mean no wolves see you, m'love." He sighed dejectedly at her. He gives you a kind smile and a nod, hoisting the yoke over his own shoulders, "Aye, lass. Glad to see someone else talking some sense into my pretty little wife, here..."

"Bah!" Aisling scoffed, throwing her arms in the air as she waddled back down to their house.

He shook his head with a chuckle, "I swear, if we have a girl and she turns out like her..."

"You'll have your hands full, alright." You sigh, cranking the wench again.

"Aye." He says, giving you a cautious look. "But, I must warn you, the same way I did Aisling... with these wolves about, it's dangerous..."

"I know." You smile. "I'll be fine."

"Alright..." He replies, giving you one last look before going back home to his wife and family.

You on the other hand, rushed back home with your water to your waiting furry companion...

You almost dropped the pail of water when you saw what he was doing. Somehow he managed to nose open up the chest containing your mother's things, and was insistently sniffing the tapestry.

"Ah! No, no, no!" You frantically say, setting the water down to rush over, gently shoving his snout to the side to close the chest.

"Gah..." You sigh in relief, and smile softly at the wolf, reaching out to pinch and squish his cheek. And surprisingly, he took it well, making a little "whurf!" as you do.

"Don't go through my stuff, it's not very polite after I risked my arse you take care of you." You chuckle, setting yourself to task of boiling the water with the ground herbs. You kneel next to the remaining bit of water on the floor, dipping a rag into the pail and making a clicking noise with your teeth.

The wolf tipped his head to the side, ears pricking up at the noise as he slowly moseyed over to you shyly.

"Oh relax, I won't poison ya." You chuckle, dabbing the soaked cloth onto his fur, cleaning him of the muck.

He of course, did not like this. He whimpered and tucked his tail between his legs, his gorgeous brown eyes pleading with you.

"Ah! That won't work on me, Mister... You need to be clean before I can clean your wounds!" You cluck at him, not falling for his cute little attempt.

Thankfully, he sits there and lets you gently massage the mud away, carefully cleaning around his wound sites before hastily grabbing the pot of boiling water and pouring some into a wooden bowl.

You scratch behind one of his ears and say softly, "Now... I'm going to take care of you, okay? Now... just let me..."

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"No! Down! Bad wolf!" You groan, watching as his tail wagged happily, one of your kirdles firmly in his jaws, daring you to come get it.

"Ooooh! I should have left you in the woods!"

His ears flatten back and his eyes get big, giving you the sweetest, saddest look you've ever seen...

And it definitely broke you.

"Ah... You little... mouth off my clothes!" You grunt, tugging the garment from between his teeth, groaning at the sight of tears from his fangs.

He dropped down onto his front paws, wagging his tail happily as he makes a playful whine and yip.

"Oi! Ya seem just fine now!" You scold the animal, shaking the torn kirdle in front of him.

It was true. In just one day, your furry companion seemed to have healed miraculously faster than what was natural. It concerned you... but you didn't feel threatened by the creature's playful antics.

If anything, having him around made you feel less... lonely.

Dinner was almost ready, a simple stew with vegetables and salted meats tossed in. You weren't sure if wolves could eat such a meal, but you would feel awful if you were eating and your new friend merely had to sit and watch.

You sigh and toss your clothes aside, watching with a snort as the wolf playfully dove for it, rolling around and kicking it with his feet as you used your ladle to scoop two bowls.

You curled your feet beneath you as you plopped a spoon into your bowl before placing the spare on the floor. Your wolf's ears perked up and he sniffed the air, licking his chops as he abandoned your torn-up kirdle in favor of investigating the food you placed for him.

You smiled around your mouthful as he accidentally dipped his nose too deep into the broth, whipping his head around with a heavy snort.

"Ah, that's not how you eat, by the way..." You hum innocently, and again, your wolf gives you an almost human reaction, flattening his ears back as he seems to glare at you for a moment, before lapping at the food, curling his tongue around to eat the bits of veggies and meat.

"Oh, I'd love to keep you, but you don't belong here, fella." You say, scratching his ear softly in an affectionate way. Your skin crawls when you hear a mournful howl travel from the forest, across the fields, and into your house.

Your wolf whimpers and looks at you.

"As soon as you're ready, I'll sneak you back out to the woods." You promise him.

"I won't let anyone hurt you."

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He looked out from the treeline, his glowing white eyes staring out from the darkness.

A large, fluffy animal--a gorgeous white wolf, fur stained with mud--sidled up next to him, ears flattened back.

"Still no sign of him?" He sighed, frustrated.

The wolf whimpered, his tail tucking and nose dipping towards the ground in a response that seemed to say "no".

"Damn it!" The man roared, his fists balling tight as he began to pace angrily.

"Still no sign of your third?" A deep voice rumbled from the trees.

He lifted his gaze to spot him in all his imposing glory--Khonshu; god of the night sky, the moon, justice and many things in-between. His lithe frame ominously perched on the limb of an ancient, thick tree. One of his legs dangled down while the other supported his arm, his dominant hand clutching his staff in a tight-fisted grip as he stared down at him.

But mostly, he was his fist of vengeance. He was dispensing justice against those who imposed their will on the weak; like the other Englishmen who oppressed the local populace with their threats of jail, execution...

He also had to deal with bandits. Bandits, constantly seemed to prey upon travelers trying to find better places to live, to eke out a livelihood to support their families.

But right now, he was on edge.

He was incomplete. He was missing a vital part of himself. Someone he would not be able to fully function without.

Finally, his tongue unglued itself from the roof of his mouth and allowed him to speak.

"No."

"He is alive. I can feel it." Khonshu sighed, almost sounding bored. "You and your wolves... Sometimes they are a gift... other times it is a curse."

It was true... there weren't many of his kind left, and they were useful as a commodity, but also a vast hindrance if they were separated. Very few were born after being hunted to near extinction, and even fewer still were bitten and turned.

He tipped his head to the side, "He will come back. But until then, we have work to do. There is a group of soldiers that have taken women and children from their homes. I'm sure you can deduce what it is that they intend to do to them. I want you to stop them and set their captives free." Khonshu tapped his staff against the thick bark of the tree, and in a sharp breeze, he vanished.

"Right..." He said, his throat tight; his body thrumming with anxiety, his hand shaking immensely at the strain of lacking such a vital part of himself. He wondered still, if he would be able to control himself, to hold himself back without him.

His wolf companion moved forward, nudging his snout into the palm of his hand, whimpering softly.

Sparing one last glance over the countryside, he made a hefty sigh.

"Where the hell are you?"

🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺

Pt. 2: I will get to it eventually, I swear you guys

Extra super late author's note:

Yeah it's gonna be at least one or two more parts. I am gonna split it up to ease on the scrolling time for you guys! That and it feels neater than cramming so many lazy time skips into one post. I am going to get the rest of my drafts cleared (hopefully) and begin eating away some of those asks I have piled up in my inbox (that Tumblr didn't manage to delete by some miracle...)

My trip might be postponed, dealing with a lot at home, like me almost burning the house down today and almost passing out from the damn smoke because wooooo fire is bad

If I didn't have bad luck, I'd have none whatsoever!

#moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #wolfwalkers #wolfwalkers au

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