wretched and joyful;

each alter personality had a common goal and raison d'etre: namely my survival. they didn't all realize that though, and so were at odds with each other much of the time. so i continued to be; fragmented and divided.

[creatvresoftheniight]

starry-nxghtss​:

@creatvresoftheniight for Marcus

Things were…..weird. That was the only way Claire could seem to describe what was going on between herself and Marcus. Marcus. Fucking Marcus McCarthy. What started out as just a one-night stand turned into the occasional trist and now….and now…..they were dating? Going steady. In something serious….how the hell had that happened? This was Claire Benoist we were talking about. Claire never, ever in a million years ever saw herself as getting into something serious with anyone. But here she was, and as much as she wanted to blame this all on Marcus (because let’s be real, it is super easy to always blame him for anything that happened between them) this was mostly her doing.

It started with that fight in the club. Fight….more like Claire feeling miserable about herself and Marcus trying to get a rise out of her. And instead of just leaving and finding someone else to bang for the night, she had pushed back, only her attacks weren’t attacks, so much as her actual feelings so he would just leave her alone. After all, feelings seemed to terrify the both of them, so maybe yeah, she thought that if she told him how hurt she had been when instead of telling her that he wanted to be more than what they were to her face and sober he had just disappeared that he would feel uncomfortable and leave once again. At least that way she could have had some peace. Instead, it led to that night of amazing sex (when wasn’t it amazing?) and then the conversation the next more. 

We’ll talk in the morning. Yeah, they did and it went as smooth as she figured it would be. The nervous baffoon could barely string enough words together to convey what he wanted and Claire had to be the one to tell him what it was going to be like.  “Listen, idiot, since you can’t seem to grow the pair to say it, I’ll just tell you how it is. We’re doing this. Boyfriend-girlfriend thing. That’s all I’m going to say on the matter.” It worked, strangely enough and now here they were. Boyfriend and girlfriend. How the fuck had this happened?

Of course, not to say that it was anything like a typical relationship, so to speak. It wasn’t like they were constantly spending the days together. They didn’t really go on dates, either. It was mostly just the two of them being the two of them but actually knowing what was happening between them now. It worked, sort of. Claire had her bookshop, after all and Marcus was busy in his workshop doing….whatever the hell it was he did down there. They were investigating the occurrence that happened during the super moon, forever trying to find an answer as to what happened. It did take up a lot of time so she was sure that was what he ended up doing most of him time, much to her chagrin. But she definitely made it known to him that when she wanted attention that he was going to give it to her - one way or the other.

But her trip to his place this day was not for needy attention-seeking behavior. She had ordered a book that might have some answers as to what had happened and wanted to show it to him. So she stormed her way into his home and down to his workshop, not caring what he was working on in the slightest as she dropped the book down in front of him. “I’ve got something that might help us get some answers,” she pointed out, putting her hands on her hips as she watched him. “Take a look.”

**//

“Could you please,” The warlock all but yelped out, snatching the fragile metal structure away and clear from the heavy book she’d let fall onto the workbench-- just in time, “Please stop doing that, love.” One deep breath later and his heartbeat had returned to normal, easily recovering from the sudden and chaotic appearance Claire had made in his private space; he’d long since stopped bothering to ask how she’d gotten in the house, finding that the answers she’d given him were stunningly lacking in variety.

Puffing out a breath as he turned his back on his girlfriend (a word which he was, admittedly, still getting used to), Marcus directed his attention toward putting the small contraption in his hand off to the side in a spot on another bench before he spun in place to properly greet the witch-- with an appropriately put-on sour expression, “One of these days you’re gonna break something, you know that? Like, actually break something. And I swear to you--” As if to punctuate his words, the warlock then closed the distance between Claire and himself, brandishing a playful yet accusatory finger in her face, “--I’ll have no forgiveness to spare when that time comes. Also, next time you could say hello, first.”

“Right, then,” Marcus cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders once, eyeing the woman with an air of curiosity whilst gesturing to the tome, “Answers. Wait-- no. Don’t tell me. You’re not... panicked, so it’s no emergency-- which also tells me that it can’t be to do with Natallia and her lot, or any other pressing matter that’s come up as of recent... Can’t be Fiona, that’s been dead-end after dead-end...” A few moments of silence passed as he stood there in thought with his brow furrowed, running through the admittedly long and growing list of research projects he and Claire had begun together over the last several months in his mind. “... You’re not talking about that cryptid conversation we had last Sunday, are you? I-- well, clearly I have theories, I just, haven’t managed to find any credible research sources yet. Interestingly enough, though-- one of those books on... Zoology in magic, I think it was, had a hundred year old depiction of the Mongolian Death Worm-- which outdates the first recorded mention of it within human society, and that’s absolutely not what you wanted to talk about, is it?”

It was becoming far easier to recognise when he was either beginning to ramble, or info-dump when he spoke to Claire; soon, he imagined, all it’d take for the warlock to notice that he was headed down a proverbial rabbit hole was for the witch’s eyebrow to raise expectantly in the same moment he took a breath to speak.

"Noted, I’m shutting up about cryptozoology-- for now --so, tell me: what’s in this big, stupidly heavy book you nearly crushed my fingers with that’s gonna give us some answers? And to what?” Scooping up the tome and examining the title still left Marcus relatively in the dark, evoking another frown from the man as he ran his fingers over the spine, “And-- when have we run into a particularly confusing enchantment as of late? I’d like to think we’re far too smart to ever be stumped by something so... basic.”

[creatvresoftheniight]

wildhcartcd​:

closed starter for drew barrett. ( @creatvresoftheniight​ )

Restlessness was something Percy imagined might as well have been etched into her very bones for as often as it dictated the things she chose to do in life in both inconsequential and deeply impactful ways. It was an intimately familiar feeling and one that she met without any surprise whatsoever when she stepped into her apartment after a nearly three hour drive back to Windham from the city– where she’d spent the better part of the day hanging out with a few of the big cats who called the Central Park Zoo home. It had been a wonderful day and Percy was delighted to have taken the day to do it– even with the exhaustion she felt as she greeted her dogs she could still feel the restlessness in her that came with the knowledge that she hadn’t quite wrapped up her daily routine. No, she was sure she would feel that nagging prick somewhere in the back of her mind until she finished walking the dogs and returned home for what she imagined would be a perfectly thrilling late afternoon of knitting.

It was either a testament to how well-behaved they were or how firm she was when she was the slightest bit tired but she managed to wrangle Jason and Piper into their harnesses with relative ease and very little chasing them through the finite space of her apartment. “Missed me, did you?” She teased them in the same bright, high voice she spoke to them with most days– the tone of voice that made their tails wag in unison as she grinned down at them for a moment longer, finally turning on her heel to leave when Jason began to shift in place as though he were considering jumping on her in earnest– which, considering how large he was would likely find her on the floor at the mercy of excited dog kisses.

Though she hadn’t lived in Windham more than a few months Percy had grown to appreciate the beauty of the place due in part to what a contrast it was to Blackpool, where she’d grown up. A seaside town was quite a world away from a town surrounded by woods thicker than any she’d seen prior to beginning her work as a zoologist in earnest and she found herself remarkably at home in Windham and the surrounding areas. It was that much more room for her to satisfy the restless urges that seemed content to make her feel as though she had to be going at least one hundred miles an hour at all times. What her subconscious thought was going to happen if she took a wee break was beyond her but she’d never allowed herself to pause long enough to question it and she wasn’t about to start in the middle of an afternoon walk. A sharp bark drew her from her thoughts in the same moment Jason jerked hard on his harness and succeeded in pulling it from her hand entirely, leaving the blonde to watch with rising panic as the Bernese Mountain Dog all but charged a woman in front of her with his tail furiously wagging.

“Jason Eaton!” Percy’s voice was perhaps a bit higher than she’d intended for it to be as she jogged to catch up with her dog– Piper following obediently at her side as though it was simply a completely normal thing for her ‘brother’ to be doing. “I’m so sorry,” She blurted as she reached them, tugging Jason away as gently as she could with a stern glare that softened the moment he sat at her feet and she turned her attention to the poor woman he’d likely put the fear of God into. “Fuck me,” She muttered under her breath, green eyes wide for a moment at the abrupt thought that the woman in front of her was really far too cute to be real– a thought Percy casted away quickly and fiercely. “You’re alright, yeah? The big lug’s just trying to love on everyone in sight these days– I keep trying to tell him we can’t just run up on girls because they’re fit– but does he listen? Not even a little.” Her smile was easy and warm as she spoke and Percy, as she often did, was perfectly happy to roll with the circumstances being presented to her in that moment– especially if they allowed her to meet someone new– said new person’s genuine cuteness notwithstanding.

**//

Windham was a whole lot bigger than she’d expected it to be.

That said, it was no Seattle. Drew doubted she’d get so royally lost here as she had back home when she’d set out for an interview in Ballard; all it’d taken was a small crowd to distract her from catching the correct streetcar and she’d ended up in North Beach, effectively ruining any small, minuscule chance she’d had of securing that job offer. Nicholas and Marianne Barrett had berated her for the better part of an hour when she’d gotten home that evening, and they’d continued to mention over and over again for the next few months how her carelessness had cost her one of the better jobs she’d been invited to interview for-- how she was missing out on the most important things in life due to her own apparent unwillingness to make an effort.

She probably shouldn’t have found it as funny as she did to look back on the experience armed with what she now knew. She’d been a nervous wreck over the loss-- the significance of which was easily dwarfed by the terrifying fact that werewolves, vampires and witches were all very real. Amusing hindsight aside, Drew Barrett was all too aware of the fact that she had stumbled headfirst into the supernatural world thanks in part to her inability to quell her curiosity, and it’d become quickly clear that for all of her determination in figuring out the truth, she’d been ill-prepared to deal with it.

Casey had been incredibly helpful in that respect-- teaching her how to deal with it. Between lending her reading material on the specifics of magic and being patient enough to answer her barrage of panicked questions at most hours of the day, her cousin had taken everything in stride and played the part of wonderful host and inadvertent mentor to the much younger woman. She still needed to figure out a way to properly thank him for all he’d done thus far, and what he’d likely do for her in the future-- it definitely wasn’t much, but making a point of picking up some coffee in order to drop it off at his workplace for him seemed like a good start.

And that had been her intention when she’d stepped out of the house that morning; after exploring the town for a few hours, she’d visit a particular café at which she’d managed to land a job-- which she was due to start soon --through pure dumb luck, and then she’d head over to Casey. It seemed easy enough-- seemed as though it’d be impossible to get turned around or lose her way, but while she’d been right about not getting as lost as she had in North Beach Drew’s sense of direction was abysmal at the best of times, leading to the woman taking a wrong turn down the wrong street and ending up walking along a strip of stores she didn’t at all recognise.

From what she’d heard, the town seemed to be split off into several smaller areas-- Casey’d definitely mentioned something about various factions and groups, a conflict, but all the different names had been cause enough for Drew’s head to start spinning; it all felt like she was catching up on overdue homework for a class she hadn’t been aware she should have attended until the very last term. With what she had been able to retain, however, she was able to glean that she’d ended up in Blackstone territory. Not that she altogether understood what that truly meant.

Any and all other thoughts directed toward the mystery of the importance of the Blackstones in her mind were put on hold almost immediately following her rather impressive deduction, as she found herself nearly bowled over by an enormous and fluffy dog that seemed as though he should have answered to the name ‘Jason Eaton’-- which was a wonderfully absurd thing to note as she lost her footing thanks to the force of the canine hitting her shins and landed unceremoniously on her backside. “Oh my god,” Drew squeaked out, more out of shock than anything else, hands already reaching to pet the large dog who seemed intent on covering her entirely in slobber, “Aren’t you adorable, huh? Came over to say hi? Yeah?”

The surprise at being knocked on her ass passed fairly quickly and was soon replaced with Drew’s normal demeanour (slightly nervous, always pleasant) as the dog was firmly tugged back out of her lap, giving her enough space to struggle to her feet and address her saviour. “Oh, it’s okay, really! He’s just excitable, that’s all, and I’m-- I’m alright,” Taking in the sight of the other woman, she made a point of offering her a warm smile whilst readjusting her now-rumpled jacket, “And really, it’s hardly the worst thing that could be happening to me right now, to be getting tackled by a huge, gorgeous dog. What was-- um. Maybe I, heard you wrong, but I thought I heard you call him Jason? Or, Jason Eaton is more accurately what I heard, but you sounded a little like an exasperated parent saying that, so I figure it’s safe to say that’s his full name-- if that is what he’s called.”

She hadn’t realised until she’d finished speaking just how hot her cheeks had become-- it was because she was rambling, she quickly assumed, at which point she cleared her throat and began to idly twiddle her thumbs with her gaze dropping from the other woman’s face to the ground before darting halfway up again and landing on the dog. “He’s real cute,” Drew then blurted out unthinkingly, delayed confusion subsequently hitting her over the mention of girls being ‘fit’-- she knew it was a British slang term but what it actually meant, she couldn’t recall. “Maybe he just really likes... fit girls? Everyone’s got preferences.”

[creatvresoftheniight]

wildhcartcd​:

…

If there was one thing in the world George had always appreciated about himself it was his innate ability to make the people around him laugh— whether he was doing it intentionally or accidentally made no difference to him whatsoever. The knowledge that Erica was laughing at him to some extent wasn’t enough to keep the grin that sparked to life on his face from fading or going anywhere at all as he listened to her laugh and imitate him, of all things; as though they were teenagers again, sneaking out to the Loser’s Clubhouse during their lunch break at school just to carve out time for each other in some way or another. It was remarkably intimate in a way George hadn’t recognized he’d needed until it was happening; it was far easier for them to be friends– and for the time being, far more comfortable. He knew how to do a great many things in life with the utmost confidence and being friends with Erica Wright was a skill he hoped never to lose as long as they both lived. “I dunno…” George replied slowly, drawing out the final word as an expression of deep thought settled on his features again. “I think it sounded alright with all the noodles in my mouth. Did it not, though? Damn. Once upon a time I really had that down, didn’t I? I’ve lost my edge,” He continued, a forlorn sigh making his chest heave visibly for as dramatic as he allowed it to be.

Outside of his home George was expected to be a leader— to be stoic and firm and have an answer to every question in the known universe– even those no one had thought to ask prior to his having to answer them. He grappled with his choices day in and day out– felt hopeless and useless and unprepared for his role at least twenty times on any given day. But within his home and especially within his home and with Erica at his side, he could relax. He could be goofy in a way he almost never allowed himself to be– he could make jokes and laugh and generally feel like the world wasn’t doing its level best to tear him apart at the seams. It was a comfort he found difficult to feel even around his siblings in spite of how much he loved them and how much they loved him in return. But he felt that comfort deeply around Erica and he always had— it was part of what had always made their friendship so important to him and it was a relief, really, to know that time and circumstance hadn’t taken that away from them.

“I said,” George began emphatically, “Did you get the texts I sent you the other day? I drew out some floorplan sketches. Areas you might like space for and stuff like we have at our compound now. We don’t have to do anything with them but I don’t ever really think there’s anything wrong with having options before we actually start building anything,” He explained, gesturing with one hand as he spoke and gently nudging Piper away from the coffee table every time he caught her creeping towards it– much to his dog’s perpetual displeasure. “I should have all of the permits squared away in about a week, so… week and a half? Maybe two? I just have to finish getting my guys together for the job and then we can get started. So… I guess soon is a couple weeks if that sounds alright to you, boss,” He finished, grinning crookedly as he stuffed another bite of noodles into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

He regretted his timing for a fraction of a second as Erica sprang up out of her seat and he nearly choked on his food as he laughed outright, struggling to swallow and reaching for the bag of treats he had hidden in a cubby near the couch for this specific situation. He swallowed the rest of his food and tried to contain his laughter as he held up one of the treats for Piper to see and smiled as she approached him, her tail wagging eagerly. “Okay, Pipes– let’s do it,” George announced, waiting for a moment until Piper’s tail stopped wagging. “Sit,” He commanded firmly, watching Piper follow the command quickly– ordering her to shake and lie down in short order and providing her with the treat and a series of soft scratches and cooing assurances that she was the best girl before she retreated to her bed with her bone and a sense of contentment. George returned his attention to Erica and smiled broadly, “I can’t remember the last time I heard your voice get that high,” He teased, “That was really impressive. You gonna try out for the opera now? Should Pipes try to steal more of your food so you can practice?”

His eyes were bright with amusement as he spoke– enjoying the fact that Erica was comfortable enough to tease him and joke with him and neither of them had to be worried about anything at all. His shoulders rose briefly in a shrug as he adopted an unruffled expression, “It’s a cross I’m willing to bear,” He replied airily, “But I feel like you won’t ever go grey. Just out of sheer stubbornness– the grey hair’ll try to come in and you’ll just make it stop on command. I’m already going grey and we see how that’s going for me.” He nudged Erica briefly with his shoulder before he gestured towards the rather obvious patches of salt and pepper hair around his temples– likely from stress but equally likely from the fact that they were simply getting older whether any of them wanted to admit to it or not. “You’re gonna be one of those few people who look good no matter what, though. I definitely know that. With or without grey hair you’ll be outshining all of us forever.”

**//

“What-- speaking with your mouth full? Oh yeah, you’ve had that covered for the both of us since I was twelve. You’re such a shit, George. Pain in my ass ninety nine percent of the time, I swear.” She had such an urge to thump him-- which was hardly different from how she felt on any other day given her friend’s proclivity for pushing her buttons. The moment was fleeting, and soon her attention was guided back toward his original question with a brow arching at the mention of his messages-- she’d taken great care to pour over them in order to add notes to her own growing pile of plans for the future. She’d also spoken to Jules, making sure to document her sister’s thoughts on the project.

“I did, actually. Compiled a few of my own ideas with yours while I had some down time. You know-- in between trying not to claw Linden Monroe’s eyes out and trying to make it seem like I’m recruiting. Which I technically am, I just also happen to have a million other things to think about. Trust me when I say you have no idea how tiring it is having Erin back at home, full-time. Plus there’s the matter of finances and how we’re supposed to work out the upkeep for two packs-- way I hear it, though, The Order’s latched onto that and now seem certain they can buy my loyalty. As if I’m not already doing them a massive favour. Whether that’s in any way true remains to be seen, but--” In the midst of her verbal stream of consciousness, Erica glanced back over at George, whatever else she’d been about to say dissipating before it reached her throat. Taking a tentative breath, she let the corner of her mouth tug upward into an awkward smile. “Sorry. It’s-- yes, I saw your texts and yes, I had a good look over them. Thank you, it-- ... thank you.”

“I was going to send a few of my rough sketches back, but I think we both know I’m no artist. Not like you, or Charlie. Or Carolyn. You must remember how terribly things went when I had the ‘bright’ idea to paint the shack.” Having successfully avoided catching the runaway train of thought, the she-wolf focused on doing her best to keep her ramblings to a minimum for both George’s sake and her own. While she wasn’t so foolish as to think her latest promotion hadn’t had anything to do with their friendship’s revival, Erica was determined to ensure that it wasn’t the singular thing propping everything else up. A little talk here and there about their work with their respective packs was all well and good-- extremely helpful for her as well --but she hated the idea that the other wolf should assume it was all he was good for in her life, which couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Not that her inadvertent caginess when it came to actually telling George how she felt about him helped in setting anything straight.

"Shut it,” The she-wolf whined lowly before jerking an arm to the side in order to elbow her friend in the ribs, all the while trying to ignore the embarrassing flush of pink that had crept across her cheeks. What he’d said hadn’t been untrue; most of the time when she did speak Erica’s voice remained on the husky side-- just how she liked it if she was honest with herself --with a few occasional jumps in octave and key when people took their lives into their own hands and scared or surprised her. “How ‘bout I make you scream instead, then we’ll see who can go higher, huh?” Frustratedly huffing out a breath, Erica very forcefully returned to her food and shoved all she could scoop out of the box into her mouth; regret immediately filled her soul and the red stain over her skin only darkened as she made a thoughtless attempt to speak not unlike George had less than five minutes before-- where his had sounded like comprehensive language, however, hers barely translated to nonsensical noise. Ten seconds later, she managed a muffled, grumbled retort: “I hate you, so much.”

His next comment gave her pause-- reaching a hand up to idly brush her thumb over the smattering of silver in his hair, Erica’s irritation cooled, and the she-wolf adopted a thoughtful expression at the indirect mention of their growing older. Most of the time she’d deny it. Pretend that due to their werewolf biology they could cling onto youth for just that little bit longer than the average human. Instead, she consciously swallowed the childish declarations of invincibility that threatened to leave her mouth and pretended not to feel the small, pleasant jolt that ran through her system at George’s compliment. “I don’t know that’s true,” Was what she actually said, gentler than most of what she’d uttered in his direction during this particular visit, “I’d feel confident putting money on my stress overtaking my stubbornness any day, and any likelihood of my family ageing gracefully was chucked out the window well before we were born. I’ll probably end up looking like one of those hags out of those fairytales. You, on the other hand-- I could see it. You’ve got that... single, hot dad energy, you know? With no kid to look after, clearly, you do enough cleaning up everyone else’s messes and I hardly think any amount of grey on you’s going to change that. So, you’re just gonna have to look good for the both of us.”

A comfortable silence filled the air, Erica inhaling and moving her hand back down to loosely grasp at the man’s forearm after a few moments of thought, “This is real, isn’t it? Me being an Alpha, I mean-- that, actually happened. Is it weird if I say I never thought I’d make this far?” And she wasn’t sure whether she was posing the question to George or to herself. “There were more’n a few times there I thought I’d be making some huge and awful sacrifice for the good of the town before the year was out. Go out in a blaze of glory, take my mother with me. Like-- if Frodo’d died at Mount Doom, destroying the Ring. Seemed almost fitting after everything that’s gone on.”

She wanted so badly for it to be a joke. She wanted the numbness she’d felt following her ascension to the position of Alpha to have waned. She wanted to pretend that a singular question hadn’t echoed in the furthest reaches of her mind, over and over again; Now what?

“Anyway,” Erica was like lightning in dismissing the topic, “You got any wine laying about? I could go for a drink.”

[creatvresoftheniight]

inxbreakableheaven​:

.

Yes, it is, Grace wanted to argue. She couldn’t recall a time she didn’t want her there. Even at her darkest hours, she still wanted her there. The words were right there, yet she held it back. Now wasn’t the time to rehash these things. Instead, she forced a smile and leaned to sit on the edge of her desk. While she had so many people in her coven that knew her fairly well, being around someone who knew her so intimately had a long-held breath expelling from her lungs. 

“She’s probably stuck in a mirror somewhere,” Grace muttered, her tone flat and slightly bitter. And good riddance to bad junk. Grace hadn’t been too fond of Linden prior to her arrival to the Thomas coven. Said agent had been one of the biggest advocates of having Grace removed as Supreme altogether, if not executed. 

Then again, if were up to her, Grace would be executed for jaywalking. But the last thing she wanted was to think about Linden. Instead, she wanted to focus on what was good: Natallia had been stopped. Everyone was alive. No one else would get hurt for this, even if Grace stood to lose everything by the hand of the one person who hated her the most. Standing next to Erica meant Grace could breathe just that little bit better. Bitterness could wait. Anger and annoyance could take a backseat. 

“You guessed right,” Grace admitted. Food had been all but the last thing on her mind as of late. Protein bars and coffee had been her lifeblood over the past few weeks and it would someday catch up with her in the form of overeating. “Someday I’ll get better with this. But right now, that’s one of the last things on my mind. Eating. Focusing.”

She picked at the pastry in the bag and forced herself to take another deep breath. “I hate this. I was so stupid to not wait, but I don’t regret it, you know?”

**//

A mirthful snort escaped her upon catching the blonde’s snide comment about Linden. That woman was the source of most of the Supreme’s ire and wrath, the likes of which Erica was certain she had never seen before, though there was no doubt that the other witch deserved every second of Grace’s bitterness toward her-- especially given the attitude she had regarding Grace’s capability to lead. “You’re starting to sound too much like me, Grace Thomas,” She remarked offhandedly, closing the distance between them to a point that was comfortable as an idle hand reached up to playfully poke Grace’s shoulder, “I’d curb that if I were you.” Admittedly, the thought of Linden Monroe getting trapped in a mirror was too amusing for Erica to consider seriously chastising Grace; the imagery it invoked would be enough to keep her entertained for the next couple of days, at least.

“You? Having lunch on time? I’ll believe it when I see it.” The she-wolf teased, her tone having easily shifted from nervousness to stern amusement as she leant into Grace’s personal space to gently poke her again, this time in the side, “Until that day, whenever it may be, I’ll be here to pick up the slack,” Turning her attention back to the bag of food, Erica began to methodically pluck smaller ones out of it and firmly pressed the first she’d grabbed, which she could only assume had some sort of pastry in it, into the blonde’s hands. “Eat,” She stressed, and it was clear that it wasn’t up for debate. This was what she was good at-- even if she was piss-poor at taking care of her own eating habits, she’d always been wonderfully on top of monitoring those of her loved ones. And in that she had found a brilliant way to channel all of her affection for Grace into a productive activity without seeming desperate for the witch’s attention. “There’re three more of those in the big bag, and I expect them all to be gone before I’m kicked out of here.”

A small sigh left her lips at the mention of the other woman’s displeasure about the scenario she was in-- one that she had essentially created for herself, for that matter. “You weren’t stupid. You aren’t stupid. You are a very capable person with an above average intelligence. That said-- what you did was so unbelievably short-sighted it rivals my eyes on the new moon,” Erica stated matter-of-factly as she scooped up one of the coffee cups and hooked a toe around the leg of a nearby chair in order to drag it close enough to sit, “And that’s probably a giant part of why this seems to stand out from the rest of your behaviour. That and it’s one of, if not the most notable thing you’ve done yet in your career as a Supreme.” She was all too aware of the fact that she could, if she wished, hold this over Grace’s head for many months to come-- if it were possible for her to love Grace a little less and her mother a little more, perhaps she might have. But as it stood, it would do neither of them any good to dwell on events that couldn’t be changed, nor would it help to throw blame about.

“I get it, love. I really do. It... sucks, majorly, to essentially lose all agency in a massive and important area of your life, it’s entirely reasonable to hate that. Entirely reasonable for you to hate our good friend, as well.” With her attention brought back to Linden Monroe, she threw a cursory glance toward the office’s door, just to be safe. Exhaling and leaning back in the chair, she took a sip of the coffee in her hand whilst training a judgemental eye on Grace’s noncommittal treatment of the pastry. “What’d she do this time? No way you got this grouchy and contemplative on your own. Eat in between sentences.”

[hostilesuggestion]

*does a guitar riff and then just screams*

[creatvresoftheniight]

starry-nxghtss​:

@creatvresoftheniight​ for Rosalind (tw: PTSD, substance abuse)

To say Gale was handling things better after what had happened was a complete overstatement. He had his good days, sure. Mostly when he was with Morrigan or Cami or Felix. They reminded him that other than his family, there were others who actually gave a damn about him in this damn town. But when he was alone and there was nothing around him to distract him, all he had to keep him company were his thoughts and memories. 

And Gods, he wanted to forget. He wanted to forget the span of time he hung there in that place, stuck in a half-transformed state in agonizing pain and torture. But every time he closed his eyes, that was all he saw. Anytime he heard the clang of metal on metal or smelled dust on the wind, he felt himself violently ill. But the worst? The worst when he knew that the full moon was approaching. The knowledge that he would be forced to transform once again and not knowing if once again he would end up in that dark room or somewhere in the woods scared every fiber of his being. He had even thought of researching a way to skip his time of the month, but there didn’t seem to ever be an answer. 

What did Gale Wright do when he was scared and needed an escape? He resorted to some of his most favorite elixirs available. He needed a fast escape from his nightmares and didn’t have the patience for the long, safe consumption of the little kick he put his wine to allow him to feel numb. So instead, he added a double dose (or was it triple?) into his glass and chugged. His eyes closed and he smiled as he drifted off into nothingness.

Only to, unfortunately, feel himself stir awake to the sound of a steady beep and the smell of something overly sterile. He blinked a few extra times as he adjusted the light, groaning as he looked around. Was…was he in the hospital? When the hell did he get here? Who brought him here? If he wasn’t feeling like his limbs were full of lead, he might have jumped out of the bed he was in and run to some safe space he could find, but all he could do was turn his head, groaning all the while. A blurry figure came into view and he groaned once again as he tried to sit up. “Hate…hospitals,” he mumbled, his tongue feeling dry.

**//

Off of the top of her head, Rosalind could think of very few times in her life that she’d properly crossed paths with a Wright.

The first had been the week after she’d turned sixteen when she’d accidentally caught George out near the back of the high school speaking in hushed tones to Erica, the eldest. Naturally, she’d been mad as all get up, and it’d taken some insane bribery paired with poorly constructed half-truths from her brother to earn her silence. The second had been the youngest, Yuliya. Turned out she’d started working at the same hospital as Rosalind-- the same hospital most everyone in Windham who wanted to go into the medical field worked at --as a surgical resident and Rosalind’s coworker, forcing the witch to act with civility toward the younger woman. The third had been during the ambush, though there was no real way of knowing which of them she’d seen amongst all the blood-matted fur, gleaming eyes and jagged teeth. Naturally, she’d have much enjoyed ensuring that the number didn’t increase any more; the less she saw of the family that’d been the cause of most messes within Windham’s supernatural community, that was the cause for a gaping hole in her life, the better.

Fate, it seemed, didn’t agree.

Gale Wright. She known his name well before he’d ended up in her care, though that hardly stopped the wave of shocked discomfort from flooding her system as she’d read the specifics of the message sent to her pager at twenty past three that morning. For the first time in her career she’d contemplated the pros and cons of ignoring the call to action. She could have just as easily pretended she’d missed it, pretended it’d been impossible to wake her-- she’d been on her feet for thirteen hours the day before, it wasn’t at all out of the realm of possibility for her to crash.

It shouldn’t have taken as long as it did for the sick sensation to hit her, settling in the pit of her stomach at the realisation that she had very nearly talked herself into shirking her responsibilities and betraying her own morals. For as deep-rooted as her grudge was, the need to help ease the suffering of others ran deeper still.

It had to.

"We want you taking up this bed just as much as you want to be in it.” Rosalind curtly shot back in response to Gale’s muttered words. She’d come in, of course, and her eyes had bugged significantly upon learning how her coworkers had managed to come across a 6′2″ man, unconscious, in the street and looking to be on the verge of death. Ensuring the thin curtain that acted as a shield against the bustle of the hospital was completely drawn the witch then rounded on the wolf, regarding him with a hard stare, “Don’t sit up, shitbag. You’ll rip out your IV and I pinky promised I wouldn’t be gentle about getting it back in your arm a second time.”

Fuck professionalism. Gale Wright had been complicit in the attack on her family, the murder of her brother, and in allowing the suffering of countless others.

A few seconds of uncomfortable silence echoed through the small space, Rosalind moving to lean against the nearest solid surface while she kept her eyes trained on the man. It was unfounded and paranoid-- especially considering the state he was in --but she couldn’t bring herself to relax entirely now that he was conscious.

“So,” She eventually spoke up again, folding her arms across her chest and canting her head to the side, “Maybe you wanna explain why I got woken up in the middle of the night to keep you from slipping over to The Other Side. Guys who found you had no answers for me, and the only clue was the stink of wine on your clothes-- had to throw out a guess and pray. Fact that we managed to get some proper fluids into your system early on likely helped some, but judging by the fact that you’ve been out for the last two hours, I’d say you’ve got a while yet here. Unless, of course, you wanna give me some clue as to how the fuck I can get you out of my sight sooner. I’m sure we’d both appreciate that.”

[creatvresoftheniight]

morrigan + jules. ( @wildhcartcd​. )

Jules visiting Morrigan at work should not have been as much of a surprise as it was for the witch and really, she should have been expecting this return to form sooner rather than later. Though she couldn’t pin exactly when, at some point in their friendship the pair had settled into a comfortable routine of sharing what time they could spare around their lunch breaks together during the week, spending nearly all of it griping about their respective issues with their jobs and shooting silly looks at Gale when he could stand to participate or listen in on their conversations. Morrigan would always say that she was entirely convinced that Julie had it much worse than she ever would (how could one compare a theatre teacher’s woes to that of a surgical intern’s?) and she’d state as much too before barreling into her fifty third recount of her stint in the hospital when she’d been a child and how terribly awful she’d acted toward the staff; she’d always end the story by declaring that she’d promised never to act quite so insufferably again, and by that very same evening she’d have broken that vow.

Jules never seemed to mind, however, and perhaps that was why Morrigan looked forward to their discussions the way that she did.

Well. Not quite. To say that she ‘looked forward’ to any time she could spend with Jules Wright was a gross understatement at best. One she’d come to terms with a long while ago and one she’d become (for the most part) particularly good at playing down. No one else needed to know about the way Morrigan’s chest liked to collapse in on itself when she caught the barest glimpse of the youngest Wright, nor the way her skin seared to life at an accidental brush of the hand. No one else needed to know, though the witch so very badly worried that they would each time she smiled too wide in Julie’s presence or laughed too hard at one of her jokes or stared too long at the dimples carved into her cheeks. With that in mind there was no reason today would be any different.

Though she’d never say so Morrigan Flores still found herself shocked to see the she-wolf so readily out and about in public, specifically braving the Thunderdome that was the high school she worked at, given the ordeal she’d been through in the last seven months or so. Jules, Gale, Marlo and the uncle to the Wrights, whose name repeatedly slipped her mind, had been through it and had been gone long enough for the witch to start fearing the worst though she’d made a stubborn point of not allowing anyone else to see just how distressed the kidnappings had made her. The Averys and the Wrights had suffered more than she ever could have, no matter how close she claimed to be to two of the victims in particular. As a result, she’d told exactly no one about the flashes of dream and reality alike that had filtered into her mind whilst she had slept, quietly cursing her still juvenile psychic abilities each morning afterward. She’d done just the same when she’d accidentally made contact, brief though it had been, with Gale, both unable to provide any useful information and unsure if it had even been real or simply her own subconscious showing her what she had most wanted to see.

Her fruitless attempts to make the connection again had been convincing enough for the witch to accept that it had been the latter.

She supposed none of that really mattered now, with Jules standing in front of her, alive, breathing, and looking as unfairly perfect as all the Wright siblings tended to. “Julie,” she managed to force out after realising that she’d possibly let her stare linger a moment too long, voice soft and playful in contrast to the rough yells that travelled through the halls into the empty classroom they were standing in-- and to the rather harsh giggles that came from the doorway. The witch immediately sighed at the sound and fixed her sternest gaze on the younger faces that poked in through the doorway. While she certainly wasn’t the most intimidating creature, Morrigan had managed to pick up a few tricks here and there, and her stare had become intense enough to cause the three girls to shrink back slightly. “Emily, Nicole, and Harper. Why am I not surprised?”

Another giggle bounced off of the walls, before Nicole spoke, and the other two, emboldened, chimed in as well:

“We’re going to class, Miss Flores, promise!”

“Yeah! We just wanted to say hi, is all.”

“Right, we’re definitely going. We’ll say hi to Mr. Beringer and Mr. Wri--” At that point, Harper made sure to roughly elbow Emily in the stomach, effectively silencing her while Morrigan resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Well, I don’t imagine Mr. Beringer much likes his students being late, and I don’t imagine any of you can afford to take your time getting there without a hall pass. All three of you, go. Quickly, or you’ll end up with a week’s detention.”

Enthusiastic nods were traded, though Nicole couldn’t seem to hold back one last remark, glancing over at Jules and grinning slyly: “Have a good afternoon, Miss Flores.” And then they were gone, their laughter echoing.

Morrigan was fairly sure she’d never blushed as hard as she did following that comment.

Clearing her throat and anxiously reaching a hand up to card through her hair, the witch slipped out of her teacher persona, trying very hard to seem as unperturbed by her students taking every available opportunity they had to mess with her in regards to Jules as she assumed the Wright wolf would be. How they’d managed to figure it out, she’d never know. It wasn’t as if she’d been public about her affections for the other woman. Had she? No, surely not. No one else seemed to know and if they did, they hadn’t said anything. “Sorry. They’re still less than pleased to be back at school. I’m sure you remember what it was like for us.” Morrigan did her best to appear unaffected and cool as she sauntered around to lean on her elbows against the desk in the front of the classroom, lightly tapping the toe of her shoe against the carpeted floor as she drew in another breath to speak.

“Can’t say I was expecting a visit today. Missed me something fierce, did you?” It certainly wasn’t helping, the way she encouraged herself by engaging in strange, quasi-flirting, but it seemed like the only safe option. Too serious and she’d lose her mind, the dam would break and she would let all of her feelings spill out. Too casual and she’d lose it just the same, going mad in forgoing the closeness with Jules she so treasured. The in-between was hardly much better, mind, but it worked for the time being.

Deep down Morrigan knew there’d always be a small part of her that longed for the day when the other’d freely say that yes, she had missed her, and mean in the way the witch wished she would. It was the sort of silly fantasy she found herself entertaining when the nights got quiet and her phone would light up with a text from the she-wolf; those were the moments when she felt so painfully certain that what she wanted was more real than it seemed, that she wasn’t imagining things and Jules had been staring back, she had meant to brush her fingers over the small of her back, and her racing thoughts hadn’t been unfounded. It all seemed to make such perfect sense in her head.

Except, of course, for the glaring fact that Gale would sooner eat glass than allow his best friend to corrupt his little sister.

And Gods knew it hurt to admit but frankly, Morrigan agreed with him.

[creatvresoftheniight]

inxbreakableheaven​:

He was right on that. Thank you for meeting with me was a well-worn sentence by this point. Erin steeled herself against the anger and hatred towards her for her name, the disgust evident in their eyes. At this point, it was well-deserved, but her goal was to reverse the damage done.

Or at least some of it. 

“Trust me, any anger you’ve got towards us is justified,” she stated. Her tongue swept over her bottom lip then bit down. Natallia had nearly ruined every possible connection the pack could have with anyone. The guilt was now Erin’s to bear and Erin’s alone. The twins had switched places, as it seemed. Erin had left and Erica dealt with pack duties, now Erica could leave and have Erin deal with pack duties. Her only wish was that she could mend this relationship. If Elias turned it down, no one could possibly blame him. Natallia had ruined the alliance between the two sides, ripped an imprint apart, nearly started an entirely different war. She raised a hellhound.

“I’ve been…trying to do damage control, mostly. Trying to un-fuck the situation my mother put us all in, but every time I put out one fire, I’ve discovered three more. Trying to prove to our allies that I’m not Natallia,” she answered honestly, her hand resting on the back of her neck to massage out some knot of invisible tension plaguing her. A shift in power could invite trouble if word passed around that the new Wright Alpha was unsure of herself. “In a way, it’s what brought me here. I wanted to apologize on my family’s behalf for the pain we’ve caused you and your mate. Words are absolute bullshit and are only words. But I do have something that might prove that I’m not just talking out my ass to cover up what’s happened.”

**//

“Your mother’s actions were her own. Not yours, not your pack’s.” the wolf’s words were carefully measured, reminding himself to retain even a modicum of professionalism about him during this conversation. No matter how easy it would be to slip into the role of ‘surrogate big brother’, it wasn’t his job to reassure or coddle the Wright Alpha. “However. Whether you like it or not, you’ve inherited her enemies. Enemies that would be perfectly happy for your pack to be dismantled, assimilated into mine, and for your family-- you, specifically, now --to be stripped of your Alphahood, your power and your influence,” More silence filled the space between the pair before Elias inhaled sharply and spoke again. “I won’t lie to you and say the thought has never crossed my mind. Had I been able, I would have approached The Order about this months ago. Understand that.”

For an uncertain instant as he had begun to speak, the Blackstone wolf feared being too harsh toward the woman in front of him. Erin had not been present for a good number of the events that had taken place. Erin, as far as he was aware, had not been part of Natallia’s dastardly, and almost comically evil schemes. Erin had not killed Levi Avery herself, nor had she (again, to the best of his knowledge) personally helped to raise a Hellhound. And yet he continued, reasoning that if the younger wolf didn’t hear this from him now, she could very well walk into other political meetings ill-informed, and ill-equipped. Though it may not have seemed so, his words did come from a place of love, and respect.

A tired sigh escaped Elias’ mouth as he found himself strangely reminded of his own first year in power as a result of the other Alpha’s words. The desperation to prove he wasn’t just a newer, younger version of his father had been intense, so much so that at times he had made a point of making decisions that were the polar opposite of what the previous Blackstone leader would have done. He had come to regret most of his recklessness, and could only silently hope that Erin would not make similar mistakes. “I’m sorry. Truly, I am,” he declared, the air of quiet solemnity he always had about him more obvious than ever. He didn’t have to probe further to realise that the woman was stressed beyond belief; the pressure and expectations placed upon her shoulders were surely a heavy burden to bear, and it was one that rested solely with her. “I can’t imagine you expected this to be your future, and I can’t blame you if you’re unsteady in it.”

His chest tightened at the rather formal apology, grunting slightly as fleeting irritation grabbed hold of his mind once more. Elias wanted, more than anything, to show the she-wolf that he was her friend first and her ally second-- the frustration he felt at not having conveyed that well enough before now seemed intent on burning his body from the inside out. Still, he managed to bite his tongue until after it had passed, at which point the Alpha reluctantly nodded in acceptance. “I know that you’re trying to make this right and I appreciate the effort, but I’m hardly the person you should be apologising to, Erin. We are allies, now and forever, no matter my feelings toward your mother. Go-- make amends with the Averys first. Make it your business to salvage what you can of that relationship. I will be here when you have done so, if you still wish to talk.”

[lesbianplebeian-blog]

ah yes, the four main food groups: chinese takeaway, coffee, carbohydrates, and pussy

[creatvresoftheniight]

[creatvresoftheniight]

wildhcartcd​:

closed starter for erica wright. ( @creatvresoftheniight​ )

In the months since Natallia Wright had been taken– rather unceremoniously, by all accounts– from the perch of Alpha for the wolves who called the Wright pack their own– George’s relationship with Erica had begun to shift in many quiet, borderline imperceptible ways. 

They had spent more time together in the last few months than they had in the last several years— for perhaps the first time in his life ( though he was sure Erica would argue the point if he brought it up ) he felt that he was bringing something useful to their relationship. His experience as Alpha had allowed him the unique honor of guiding Erica through the ins and outs of building a fledgling pack and all of the nuances and pitfalls that could follow such an endeavor. He was certain he wasn’t an expert on the subject in any concrete way but it had allowed them to have ordinary conversations– to be friends in a way they hadn’t allowed themselves to be since they were teenagers. It was freeing in a way George hadn’t been entirely prepared for– his affection for Erica had not eased or abated in the slightest but perhaps for the first time in his adulthood it wasn’t quite so painful to be near her. In some small, quiet part of his heart he had realized over the last few months that he enjoyed knowing Erica Wright was perhaps his best friend in the world more than he felt he had to think about the fact that he was genuinely in love with her.

Their friendship was– and perhaps always would be– one of the most important things in his life and George was determined in more ways than he could readily fathom– to cultivate it and nourish it in every way possible.

If there was one thing he was going to appreciate about things calming down in town to any degree it was going to be the fact that he’d be able to spend time with Erica in public without having to be scolded or derided for it. “Hey– did you have a chance to look at the sketches I texted you the other day?” His mouth was full of Chinese food and he felt the slightest bit stupid for it as he glanced up at Erica from his position on the couch in his living room– it was, he thought, a small blessing that he’d made the choice to get an apartment away from the compound when he was in his twenties and had kept it since then. He paused for a moment to finish his food– flashing Erica a warm, lopsided smile as he did, “I got the confirmation a few days ago that we’ll be able to break ground on the new compound soon. Which is probably only exciting when you do this stuff for a living but I’m pretty excited about it.”

**//

There was something so strangely charming and comforting about the image of George Avery trying to speak to her with his mouth as densely packed with food as it was, and she rather thought that her instinctual reaction of widening her eyes, scrunching her nose up in concerned confusion and letting out a short burst of surprised laughter had been more than appropriate. “I’m sorry-- what? Did you just-- what was that? Jesus Christ, George,” The giggles didn’t stop, Erica only able to briefly put on the goofiest voice she could think of, repeating what she’d been able to make out and causing herself to laugh hard enough to tip to the right, leaning into the much larger man’s frame for support. “You wanna-- oh, my god. Wanna try that again? Preferably without any food in the way of your teeth and tongue, then I can try and give you an equally clear answer.”

It still felt strange, to be able to spend as much time as she currently did with George, and it was stranger still to actively take advantage of that. It was something she could never complain about, and something she had come to value far more in the last few months than she had as a teenager-- but even the abundantly positive feelings surrounding their recovered friendship could not erase the fact that below the surface, their relationship was a very confusing one. Outside forces and their own reckless decisions only served to add complications and levels to their bond that truly did not need to exist. Levi’s death and Erica’s subsequent guilt over her lack of action. Natallia’s intentional reignition of the war and the strain it had put on the pair. Their thinly-veiled mutual feelings for one another, their shows of affection and their having sex. George’s strange confession of love and Erica’s equally odd and mounting suspicion that she felt the same-- which was a whole other can of worms that at times she wished she could discard as a momentary lapse in their collective judgement. However, there was no way to un-ring any bells, they’d both said what they’d said and done what they’d done; the best the she-wolf could do was to compartmentalise all of those feelings and actions for another time (a ‘far off in the future’ time, preferably) and allow their friendship to exist in the same hypothetical realm as Schrödinger’s cat: it was both irreversibly changed and completely untouched by what all they’d been through in the last year or so.

Even still she couldn’t help feeling a glimmer of selfishness for wanting George to remain her friend as badly as she did. But there was far too much that Erica knew she’d be too afraid to lose if they continued to force themselves toward romance, and only romance. That, and the thought of the derisive sneers and dirty looks they both received for being as close as they already were, were enough to qualm any wistful desires that were wont to take hold of her mind.

Exhaling slowly as she made herself comfortable in her new position against the other Alpha’s shoulder, blue eyes darted skyward in an effort to lock onto his while a playful grin stretched across her face. “While I may not know... well, much of anything about construction beyond the phrase ‘breaking ground’, I can be excited about these things. Granted, it is just me getting excited because you’re getting excited, but-- I’m still participating. How soon is soon?”

As she finished speaking, a frown settled onto her features at the sound of rhythmic snuffling nearby, her gaze shifting to her feet-- at which point she bolted upright with all of the speed she could muster in order to grab her food off of the coffee table, narrowly saving it from the very curious nose of George’s dog. “Piper!” she squeaked out, sounding uncharacteristically exasperated for the generally unflappable woman, “No-- no. It’s not for you, baby. I know it smells delicious, but it’s not-- no.” Just about able to resist Piper’s soft huff Erica then allowed herself to relax back against the couch, returning her attention to the man beside her. “You two seem strangely hell-bent on concerning me, today,” she couldn’t help but joke while absently poking at the bottom of her takeout box with her chopsticks, “I hope you know that if I end up going grey any time soon, it will be mostly your fault.”

[hostilesuggestion]

my neck my back look at me again and i’ll attack

[creatvresoftheniight]

Text → Rhiannon&&Malvolio

Rhi: How's our boy doing?

Rhi: I shouldn't have this bad separation anxiety.

Rhi: I've only been gone two hours.

Mal: We miss you too, love.

Mal: As for Jas, he's managed to get hold of one of my textbooks for class and he won't leave go. Seems to love the section talking about Hellenistic philosophy more than anything.

Mal: How's the shop going? Home soon, I hope?

[creatvresoftheniight]

inxbreakableheaven​:

****

Maybe there would come a day when Grace could make a decision that wouldn’t condition her to second-guess herself. An example needed to be made out of her and it came in the form of one of the most annoying people in the history of existence.

Linden Monroe. 

She was one of the most outspoken people against Grace’s rise to Supreme and now she had a reason to rub it in her face. Since taking over the coven, Grace had worked her goddamned hardest to prove her wrong, but now she was proven right. It made her seethe.

They should have never promoted you. They were wrong. You’re not fit for this.

All of the things Grace had thought of herself over the years were now vocalized by someone else. Even if Jareth bolstered her by assuring her that she had done an excellent job carrying the coven during the rise of the war, it all threatened to unravel at the newly-instilled self-doubt. She knew she had acted rashly, but had been correct. Despite her normal affinity for peace, she never did well with being given orders and now she didn’t do well with running her orders by people. 

Natallia was a danger to everyone’s way of living, her rule on the fast track to dictatorship. Had Grace been incorrect, her punishment would have been worse. It was only the mere fact that she hadn’t waited for The Order to respond. Werewolves being kidnapped from every pack wasn’t going to stand anymore. Not if they didn’t decide to switch species and witches or even vampires being next. Holding true to her belief wasn’t helping her case. 

Worst of all, she couldn’t contact anyone outside her side save for her brother, the coven in Montana, or her parents. She couldn’t talk to Erica, to congratulate her on her new leadership, or to see how she felt with everything, no matter how badly she wanted to talk to her. 

Grace stood in her office, rifling through papers and grimoires. The knock on her door had green eyes lifting and a relieved smile pulled at her lips. “Always a good time,” she assured when Erica came into view. Linden was thankfully out of sight.

Probably going through a mirror after someone said Bloody Mary three times, Grace thought bitterly. 

**//

The relief that flooded Erica’s system upon hearing the Supreme witch’s reply was instantaneous, body language shifting from apprehensive to peppy (at least, as peppy as the wolf could get) before the words had even properly left her lips, and as soon as her gaze met Grace’s it was all too clear that the experience was mutual. She’d learned how to read her ex-girlfriend the way one would a well-loved book over the years; respect, care, and unconditional understanding rolled off of her in droves as she entered the room proper, eyes already glued to the other woman’s form. “You know I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m also fairly certain that’s not altogether true,” her effort at a light-hearted remark was well meaning, albeit tainted by the underlying irritation and vitriol the pair surely felt in relation to their unwanted third wheel. At the very least the she-wolf found solace in the fact that they were united in their shared hatred for The Order agent, though that hardly helped to lessen the strain on their bond. “I was half-expecting our ‘friend’ to jump down my throat as soon as I turned the door handle.”

Truth be told, the wolf hadn’t been all too familiar with Linden Monroe prior to the witch’s appointment as Grace’s ‘second-in-command’, for want of a better term, and all she’d been able to glean in the time that she’d been more intimately aware of her existence were the basics: she was an agent of The Order, she had been heavily critical of Grace’s rise to power, and her voice sounded about as pleasant as using a cheese grater on one’s face would most likely feel. For Erica, who had tolerated more than her fair share of encounters with Linden, it had become a nightmarish matter of ensuring that she bite her tongue, until it bled if she had to, in order to spare Grace any unfair judgement. She couldn’t tell if prolonged and continued exposure was harming or helping her ability to keep her mouth shut, though she continued to endure for the sake of even the smallest amount of time with her ex-girlfriend. It seemed a fair trade as any.

“Anyway,” The she-wolf took a few more steps into the space, approaching the blonde’s desk and placing a takeaway bag and a coffee sleeve on top, keeping them clear of any paperwork. “Turns out I’ve got more free time than I thought I would today, so I made a point of grabbing us some lunch, as well as coffee. Figured you probably hadn’t yet eaten, so... hopefully I’m right, and I haven’t just bought a bunch of food we’re going to waste.” A singular, awkward chuckle escaped her on the tail end of her speech with Erica’s gaze simultaneously dropping to the floor to look at something in the room other than the woman in front of her. “... As long as that’s, um. You know. Good with you, and all.”

[sudaul]

[mjalti]

I hate it when people ask “do you trust me” like …don’t call me out like that ……..the answer is no

[creatvresoftheniight]

erica + grace. ( @inxbreakableheaven​​​​. )

It took a particular kind of pathetic to spend this much of her precious little free time attempting to chase down someone who clearly had just as little spare to breathe, and Erica had quickly surmised as such on the day after her fourth visit to the Thomas family home since her mother’s trial. The anxiety streaking through her system at the mere thought of the impending conversation that absolutely needed to occur between herself and her ex-girlfriend had allowed nausea to settle in the pit of her stomach and an acrid taste to flood her mouth, presenting outwardly as a series of nervous tics, whilst countless thoughts and ideas seemed to race through her mind with no sign of stopping. Looking back now, it was safe to assume that had she had the opportunity to speak then, she’d have blurted out a nonsensical stream of consciousness that may or may not have conveyed the message she had been intending to deliver.

It was the singular time she’d been able to abide Grace’s new shadow-- annoying, ever-present and nosy --if only because their presence in that moment had allowed the older woman to renege on her decision to tell the witch exactly how she felt (as if she was currently unaware), for fear of emptying the contents of her stomach all over the floor. Originally, she had been upset at the notion of a punishment, but time had allowed the she-wolf to begrudgingly accept that The Order had every right to inflict one; most ends justified the means, though endangering herself and quite possibly engaging in an act of war was a step too far. Had that day not unfolded exactly the way it did, Natallia never facing consequences was one of many possibilities the Alpha truly didn’t want to imagine.

In the wake of The Order’s agent making a very loud point of ensuring that Grace would spend no time alone with Erica, the she-wolf admittedly hadn’t made another thinly veiled attempt to speak in private with her ex-girlfriend for a week, and even when she finally had plucked up the courage to do so they had been interrupted again. And again, and again, and again-- it soon became blatantly clear that the Supreme’s new babysitter could conceive of no earthly reason for the two to ever speak amongst themselves. Perhaps if it had been anyone else, she could have laughed at the unfounded, baseless theories that had been posited as reason to keep the two apart; she might have cared less about the ramifications of doing the opposite. Truth was, though, it was Grace’s reputation and her career as a Supreme that were at risk. One wrong step from the witch or those she surrounded herself with could end it all.

All of this begged the inevitable question: why did she continue to try? Desperation, perhaps? Some sliver of hope she’d been clutching onto? Even the wolf herself didn’t truly have an answer for that, and despite all logic gently suggesting that she give up, the trek from her favourite cafe in town to Grace’s front door had become comfortably routine. Tapping out a lazy rhythm on the wood, Erica then offered a sheepish smile to the witch who answered before making her way through the house to the Supreme’s office. “I come bearing gifts,” she announced as she peeked around the door, mentally bracing for the possibility that the blonde wasn’t alone, or that she happened to be busy. “If it’s a bad time, speak now, or forever hold your peace.”