#fatesacred

Back when she was ‘Hope Marshall’, she had mostly stayed clear of Lucy, the Alpha who seemed more interested in running a pack that was more like a family than a gang of brutes. And before she had triggered her wolf side, there hadn’t been much need to interact with the wolves at all. But when it all came out, who she actually was, and how she had returned to Mystic Falls after six months with a wolf in her skin, there had been a slight moment of muted panic about what the others would thing. About what the wolves would think. Jed was simple enough to take care of, and her blunt refusal to be in his pack seemed to satisfy him. It made sense. She would be the Alpha of the Crescent Pack one day, just like her mother was, and that sort of natural pedigree was difficult for even the strongest of wolves to ignore. 

Lucy was different. She was an Alpha in her own right, not by scrapping to get to the top, but by showing others that they could be more than the animals that people viewed them as. And that was partially why Hope would steer clear. Territorial disputes in a place like the Salvatore School weren’t pretty, and the tribrid had no desire to make waves. Unfortunately, she didn’t usually get what she wanted. “Hey Luce,” she nodded in polite greeting, her voice carefully neutral but a hint of friendliness peeking through. “Wanted to talk to you about one of your girls.”

@fatesacred​ | req. / Henrik

          TIME IS AN UNFORGIVING construct, but it is also man-made. It was built in the minds of men so that they might enforce a limitation on the natural flow of all things. As though order could ever truly be held at bay, kept taut to the control of the mundane && scattered across a canvas bound by numbers && hands. There once was a time when the living would pay heed to the changing of seasons, the fluctuations in the weather, the rise && fall of sun && moon, or the change in the breeze. Never once held by this false perspective of the days ticking away. && yet, even in this construct manifested by the hand of man, she finds herself slinking back into its confines && considering the time she’d been away. 

          Or the way he looks at her. The way he clutches so desperately to the vision of she && she sees it in his eyes. && it’s in that same instance that she wonders just how long she’d been gone in retrospect of this realm. War-wrought, bones long since seared by the flames of the fight && all that such entailed. How would she explain her absence? What words could she piece together for such a wonderful soul to truly grasp && understand? To speak her truth out loud sounds not unlike a fairy tale. Visions of grandeur, of great purpose in the schemes of the divine. She breathes && her lungs burn; they’re filled with the ashes of regret && guilt && sorrow. A somberness clings to the harmony of ultramarine; the blues that cry out, the greens that so desperately reach. She’s a contradiction. Her body yet stands still && her eyes, her soul, screams to be nearer. 

“I wore these panties just for you.” @fatesacred​

“ For being an alpha of an admirable all-girl pack, you’re impossible to track down”. She sits, uninvited, unprompted, on Lucy’s the table in the lunch room with her legs crossed, dangling and swinging as she makes an attempt to grab her attention. She’s always unpredictable, Lizzie Saltzman, and she’s never quite sure if its a trait she finds admirable within herself, or if its the catalyst of the horrible train of bad luck that’s been floating on her parade like a rain soaked cloud, thunder and all. But all things considered, Lizzie thinks that a spew of bad energy is ever only temporary, and her failed attempt at taking Rafael to her birthday party was nothing more than what it was -- a failed attempt (she didn’t really like him anyway, for reasons she has yet to consider). 

@wildehunter​ i literally want the unseelie king to legit make everyone his little bitch and then stabbed in the back of the head by kieran and for kieran to go, “like it’s hard???” that would honestly make my life BUT IT WOn’T BC JFC.

Hope descended the stairs to the werewolf transition spaces. Briefly, she wondered whether these were included in the school tours for non-wolves. She knew how useful they were, but small cells built underneath the boarding school didn’t necessarily make for good pamphlets. However, as she rounded the corner, the thoughts fell away. “Hey...” Graham Evans was a nice enough guy, someone Hope had shared several classes with. He was a witch, or at least that’s what everyone had thought until Alaric came to rouse her at 5am. The creature he had described to her looked nothing like the boy in the cell. “Dr. Saltzman said maybe you could use someone to talk to right now.” Her fingers fidgeted at her side, awkward as ever when she was forced into these things. “Do you know what’s going on? All he said was something about you turning red? Like literally red.”

𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 @fatesacred​ (for Henrik)