#chatzy: lydia

[drowningisinevitable-retired]

There’s Shroom For All || Group

TIMING: Current, late evening PARTIES: @evebrennan, @detectivedreameater, @shroomsbysolomon @deathisanartmetzli @riseofmurphy @drowningisinevitable SUMMARY: It’s mushroom szn, babeyyyyyy CONTENT: Drug use (mushroom ring), drug manipulation, Lydia plot mentions

It was the last major ring of the season, which meant that the celebration was in full swing. The night was well underway, and yet it was not dark, the glow from various creatures and people and lights keeping the area lit and warm in spite of the autumn chill. It was a time of celebration. It was a time of revelry. It was a time of togetherness, of bond making. The last ring was always special, and many fae had come from all over to experience it. Some came from New Hampshire, Vermont, Canada, even, the allure of White Crest’s sense of fae community drawing them.

The mushroom ring itself was giant, and there were plenty of people already inside, laughing and talking and laughing some more, drunk and high off all kinds of feelings. Glamours were, for the most part, gone, washed away as if the moonlight had dripped onto them, horns and leaves and fur and antlers and a variety of other inhuman features out and proud for all to see. After all, what did they care of humanity? The humans here were well under the circle’s thrall as soon as they stepped into it, bound to whoever had been lucky enough to step across it with them. There were drinks. There was revelry. There was life. All who entered the mushroom ring were bound to enjoy it, whether they wanted to or not. Such was the way of the mushroom ring.

Mina was overwhelmed. There were a lot of people, many of whom were in the nude, many of whom weren’t, but all of whom seemed to be enjoying themselves. It was a lot. It was almost too much. Even Mina’s ears had been able to pick up the sounds of merriment and noise making that was coming from in the woods when she and Caoimhe had parked, and there were so many people, and she wrung her hands, trying to get rid of some of the nerves. She had a lot of nerves recently. Mina was practically vibrating with them. “This looks..” she said quietly, pausing, like a lot, “like a lot.”

Metzli didn’t realize what they had stumbled upon on their run. They had expected to see strange things. It was White Crest after all. But…people, faes and humans in the nude? Glamour down, and everything revealed? That was a total surprise. The only thing stranger was that it was so bright that it felt like day. And that made Metzli almost scramble for cover until they looked back up and saw the moon.

Without thinking, feet walked towards it, as if they were being beckoned forward. Metzli didn’t mind once they were aware, and they continued forward. A distraction was a distraction. But just as they were about to step over the boundary, two familiar scents registered, and they looked around. Mina and Caoimhe had to be nearby, but they couldn’t see them. They didn’t bother to look very hard. Whatever was happening in the ring was far more interesting.

The day had been spent in quiet contemplation, mushroom-dotted back leaned against the Tree’s trunk, opposite the offering he had brought that morning. As the sun began to set, a new sound struck up—one that was not the typical orchestra of the forest. Curious, Solomon got to his feet and pressed a hand to the trunk as if to say goodbye, then wandered off into the twilight. Dusk turned to night as he lumbered along, heavy footfalls thumping, thudding, crushing dead leaves and abandoned twigs that had fallen from his cousins’ tops. The sound, so strange at first, became somewhat familiar. Voices, many voices. Music, laughter… gaiety. Interest piqued even further, the leshy did not feel compelled to activate his glamour, instead following the lights until he stepped directly into the large clearing where all the fae were gathered. Towering over many of them, the nymph hung back, overwhelmed by the sheer number of them. He’d been to one gathering like this before, but this one was even larger and louder. Masked eyes were drawn to the ring of mushrooms that sprouted from the ground, and joy sparked in his chest. He watched, delighted, as people of all types stepped carefully over the boundary to enjoy what he now knew was an extremely intoxicating experience. Perhaps this was some small part of his reward, after all?

It was so much. Caoimhe could hardly remember the last time she’d seen anything like it; it had to be Ireland. If this were years ago and her mother had been there, there would’ve been a human somewhere with a violin, giving the best performance of their lives. And as much time as Caoimhe had spent running, it had never been this. The community, the fun. The feeling as though, no matter how far she went, there would always be something like family to fall right back into, given the right circumstances.

The right circumstances happened to be one doozy of a mushroom circle. Caoimhe was nearly bouncing on her feet as they approached, so excited for something so familiar and fun she almost missed the nervous buzzing beside her. It wasn’t until Mina spoke up that Caoimhe looked over, finally pausing at the way she was twisting her hands together.

“Hm, it is, but...you’re not alone.” It was almost, almost, the best part. She glanced over at the circle, at the fae and others laughing and dancing inside. “If you’re uncomfortable, we don’t have to step in. That’s an option, okay? But we’re here, and it’ll be fun, if we do.”

They didn’t have to go in. Right. Okay. This was okay. Mina was okay. She was totally okay with this. And, really, she wanted to go in. Or, at least, she was telling herself that she wanted to go in. Mina wanted to have fun. She’d been a little starved for it for most of her life, really, the concept of fun. And the last time she’d walked into a ring hadn’t been bad. It’d actually been alright, despite the fact that she’d almost killed a werewolf and ended up with the worst tattoo in the most embarrassing place. But she’d be aware this time! It’d be okay. She was going to be aware, and she was going to be careful, and she was going to have fun. “I want to do this,” Mina said, and her voice sounded a lot more sure than she was in all actuality. She wanted to do this. She wanted… to understand what she’d been missing out on for most of her life. If this was something that was a part of who she was, then Mina wanted it. “I do. I… don’t have to get undressed, do I? Because I– I don’t think I want to do that.”

Marley was nonplussed when the disturbance call came in, but she was the only officer on duty who could go check it out, and that was how she'd ended up standing outside a mushroom ring of all things, in the middle of the woods. Great. This wasn't a problem she could deal with, but it also wasn't a problem that was going to solve itself. As far out in the woods as this was, it was the elderly couple in the cabin a few miles back that had called it in, complaining about noise and "some sorta disco orgy" in the woods weren't going away. Marley rubbed the bridge of her nose and she stood back, trying to decide what best to do here. She could probably easily put the old couple to sleep and let the fae have their festivities-- who was she to interrupt?-- but for some reason, her feet wouldn't move. She just kept staring.

Finally, as she tried to move back, she bumped into a woman with a rather nervous looking girl next to her. "Fuck, sorry," she mumbled, fumbling to put her glasses back on.

Foot stepped over the ring and there was a strange feeling immediately. Like a tether was attaching itself to them and grew taut too fast. It was dizzying, it was confusing, it was…something Metzli paid no mind to as soon as a new distraction appeared in front of them. Everyone was just connected and inebriated in a way they had never experienced. Even clubs in the seventies weren’t as crazy as what they saw. It was too much then, and it was too much now. They stumbled back, put their hood on, and shut their eyes tightly to readjust themselves. Metzli hadn’t even noticed that Mina was directly behind her until they scowled down at whoever ran into them.

“Mina? Caoimhe?” Their face was covered by the shadows of their hood for only a moment. The lights from inside the ring were too powerful to keep their face hidden. The hood was more for their comfort anyway. Then just as jarring, another familiar face registered. “Marley?”

“No.” Caoimhe laughed, though it was a fair question. She couldn’t speak for anything that might happen once they crossed into the circle, she could only hope that Mina had some fun with it. That was the point, after all. “Just...deep breath, you only have to do what you want to do. If you need to leave, ju– oh!”

A woman bumped into her, decidedly not fae in an area swimming with fae. Caoimhe wondered at the look on the woman’s face, how it looked a little like how she felt. There was something magnetic about the circle, there always was. It was hard to say no once she was standing right beside it. There were humans in the circle, of course, there was something to be had for everyone. Some may have even gone in of their own accord, others–

“How dare you.” She grinned, tone light, crooking a thumb over her shoulder. There was a tree in the clearing; the woman was out of place. Caoimhe kind of wanted to keep her there. “You here for this?”

She glanced sidelong at Metzli of all people, though she wasn’t entirely surprised. They seemed to be everywhere. “Well, it’s really a party now, isn’t it.”

Fan-fucking-tastic. Seemed everyone knew each other, but the only person Marley recognized was Metzli and she wasn't eager to run into a vigilante cohort in the middle of the woods. "I was just leaving, actually," she grumbled, glaring over at the vampire, "and you should be, too." Did they not know what being in a mushroom circle did? Marley only knew because of-- well, she really didn't wanna think about her right now. She shook her head and slid her glasses on and pocketed her hands. "Just try and keep it down," she mumbled, knowing it was of no use to suggest. She glanced at the younger girl. "Don't do anything stupid," she added on.

Finally gathering the courage to move out of the shadows at the treeline, Solomon wandered farther into the clearing. His antlers rose high into the sky, skull almost glowing white in the moonlight as he moved through the other attendees. His pace was slow and deliberate, careful not to run into (or step on) other fae as he made his way toward the ring. “Excuse me,” he breathed, his voice raking like branches on a windowpane in the heads of those nearest to him. Once at the edge of the ring, the leshy took a delicate step over it, relishing the high that immediately flooded his senses. Sinking to the earth as others moved out of his way, Solomon lowered himself into a crouch and closed his eyes, grinning to himself as he just listened to others around him enjoying themselves. He’d missed this, as much as he enjoyed the Tree’s company.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Mina muttered, more to herself than to Caoimhe or the other woman or even Metzli as she looked at the ring and then all the Fae. People. Lots and lots of people. They were people. Mina could feel them, that strange bond that all Fae seemed to share thumming through her system, making her antsy. It could be a comfort if she learned how to let it She wanted to let it. She did finally cock her head to the side as she looked at Metzli. “This– I– You really probably shouldn’t be here,” she told them. Though, really, there were plenty of non-Fae around, and they seemed to be enjoying themselves. The boy that Mina had entered the other ring with seemed to enjoy himself. Maybe this was something for everyone. She wished she knew more. Faerie rings weren’t exactly common knowledge, though. All Mina had ever known was to not enter them on purpose, and now she was blatantly disregarding that. She watched as a leshy lumbered forward, and she looked up at him. “You’re– Hi.” She looked back at Caoimhe. “Right. Okay. Just–” It was like jumping off a waterfall. She just had to do it. “Right.” And Mina stepped into the ring.

Caoimhe wondered at just how okay Mina looked, but watched her step through regardless. It was going to be fine. It was going to be fun. She’d come out to have a good time, but she found herself honestly invested. It was Caoimhe who’d pulled her out there, who’d suggested coming in the first place. And hell if that wasn’t disorienting. These were things she stumbled upon alone, somewhere new, somewhere that didn’t mean anything to her. None of it, none of them, were supposed to mean anything to her.

“You know.” With Mina in the ring, and with every intention of following her, Caoimhe turned to look at the only person she didn’t recognize. There was some safety in that, right? “The best way to make sure none of us do anything stupid is to stay, keep an eye on us.” With her hands tucked away and only short sentences to offer, Caoimhe wondered if she should just salute and walk away. “Might actually enjoy yourself, if you’re open to it.”

When looking at Mina after she stepped into the ring, the tether from earlier pulled harder and all they wanted to do was listen to whatever she might say next. What the fuck? They disregarded this thought immediately though, and rolled their eyes at Mina. “I can be wherever I want. This looks interesting enough. This doesn’t really seem up your alley, though.” Metzli retorted with a scowl and pulled their hoodie over their head more.

Looking at Marley, they flipped her off and stuck out their tongue. “Listen, you should live a little. Heard these things are fun. Besides, you heard her, with me, it’s a party now.” Metzli grinned and waved Marley over. “Caoimhe is right. She’s pretty smart. You should listen to her.”

The light was what had initially peaked Murphy’s interest as paws padded silently across the forest floor. Triangular ears were pricked forward, nose high in the air as she stalked towards the weird sensation. For a moment the wolf had considered turning back, something in the air seemed to warn against the way forward. And perhaps she would have, had she not come across a familiar scent. Metzli. At that point worry over took instinct, and so she crouched ever closer to the ground, the white of her coat helped her to blend into the brightness the closer she came. Once she finally came to the source, Murphy felt her hackles rise. Every inch of fur stood on end as she took in the scene; human and fae nude and unhidden in euphoria under the light of day that somehow seemed to permeate despite the moon high in the sky.

A conglomerate of scents took root within Murphy’s snout, and just as the intrigued animal prepared to step into the mess, it paused. A warning had loomed high in the wolf’s mind, of a phenomena it had heard of but never seen. It took a step back, only to feel something, perhaps someone, bump into it. That small movement was enough to tumble Murphy into the false daylight, her shift abruptly ending as her physical body joined the chaos. Nude, green hues took in everything around her, before they rested on the person responsible for her indoctrination. “Son of a bitch.”

Marley watched the young girl step over the line and realized she, too, must be fae. Her eyes went back to the older woman, who was trying to coax her into going in as well, playing at her responsibility to keep others safe. It was her job, she supposed… and it was easier to keep people out of trouble if she stuck around. Logically, Marley knew going into a fairy ring was a bad idea. But at the moment? She felt like she didn't care. Something was pulling her towards it, and something was pulling her towards the woman. "You seem familiar," she said to Caoimhe, "have we met?" Moving closer to her, closer to the ring. There was no harm in sticking around for a little bit, right?

She shot a glare over at Metzli, but didn't respond. "You do this often?" She asked Caoimhe instead.

This felt a lot different than when Mina had stepped into a mushroom ring. Which to be fair, that ring was back in February, and, now that she thought about it, probably not nearly as potent. This, though. It was so much and everything and nothing at all, and Mina felt like she had all the control in the world and none at all. Like she’d given up control of herself in favor with a connection to the world that she’d never thought possible. And her pupils were dilated, and she felt like she’d had too much caffeine and something warm and wonderful. And maybe that was why everyone was taking their clothes off; because, despite the autumn chill, she was beginning to feel warm, uncomfortably warm. She thought about taking her clothes off. She wasn’t going to take her clothes off. Instead, she stumbled back over to Caoimhe and Metzli and the leshy and the other woman, and there was someone else that had just stumbled out of the brush, and that was fine, and everything was fine, and everything felt electrified, and Mina didn’t know what to do. She would have asked Caoimhe if it was supposed to feel like this, but she was busy, so she looked at Metzli instead, looking up at them and cocking her head as she asked, “What does it feel like to you?”

Wherever her eyes landed, it was not the true source of whoever had pushed Murphy into the ring. Instead, all she would find was a root protruding from the earth, waving at her like a hand before it slithered back into the dirt. To her left Solomon still rested in his squat, watching the werewolf with an amused glimmer in his golden eyes. “Thought you could use a little… push,” he explained in his deep, rumbling voice. “Welcome. I do not have a mother, but if I did, I bet she would have been a bitch.” Sitting up, Solomon held out a massive hand to her. “Lily,” he said, giving his false name, “and try not to overthink it. Just… have fun.”

“Hey!” Finger guns felt a touch juvenile, but Caoimhe still threw a grin Metzli’s direction. She wasn’t necessarily on a mission to force anyone into the circle, but she was flattered nonetheless. “Metzli is pretty smart themselves, you should listen to them.”

But it didn’t seem like much more was needed. The woman took a step closer, and Caoimhe could almost feel the edge of the ring, how many steps she’d need to get them through. There was always a feeling of breathlessness just before, anticipation blending with nerves and excitement in the perfect way. “I don’t think we’ve met.” She offered a hand, “I’m Caoimhe, and...no, not necessarily. Once a year, if I’m in the right place at the right time.” She took a step towards the line of mushrooms, “Sticking around?” And she stepped through.

Turning to face Mina again, Metzli blinked several times and a euphoric weight began to settle. Skin vibrated and everything began to hum and buzz. A smile tugged at their lips and they had to touch their face to feel it, make sure it was actually there. What they felt was akin to an out of body experience, but they could see everything in a way they hadn’t before. “I feel…free. But also like…my clothes are constricting.” The tether grew stronger again and they stepped closer to Mina, pupils dilated and boring into her.

Sight buzzed in a similar fashion to their skin and they let out a shaky breath that they didn’t even need. “How do you feel?” Metzli wanted to know, needed to know. They didn’t even look at Mina as they asked, their focus waning and bouncing from Marley, to Caoimhe, to the giant tree, and then to Murphy. Murphy? Thoughts were too fast though, and they looked back at Mina. Eyes were red now, letting themselves go slowly.

Green hues glowered in the direction of the looming fae. Though their body was in a crouch, they still rested above Murphy. “You might not be the son of one, but you certainly are one.” Though she felt the ire from being thrust into a situation she was not comfortable with, and did not want, it was clouded by the music and gaiety around her. Despite her desire to be angry, to round on the fae she now faced, her body took things into its own hands and pushed a giggle forth from her mouth. It was such an un-murphy-ish sound that her eyes widened in shock. “Lily,” The name rolled over her tongue lavishly. The fae were truly a sight to behold without their glamour; beautiful, unique, powerful. Everything that seemed to be the very embodiment of nature, and this one was no different.

With another giggle Murphy bounded in their direction, her feet hitting the soft earth with enough speed and force that the dirt beneath her path flung out from all directions until she was situated directly in front of the fae responsible for her predicament. Lily. Instinctively, prompted by the freeing music and warmth that enveloped her, she reached out to delicately touch a horn. Almost as soon as her fingers had made reverent contact they were pulled back and a squeal of delight parted from between full lips. “I guess since you thought I needed a push that must also mean that you’re responsible for showing me a good time.”

“It’s really warm,” Mina said, and, yes, it was definitely very warm. And free. She didn’t know if free was the right word. She felt like she was falling and there was a pool of water below her, so she knew everything would be okay, but there was still that sense of falling. She was still falling. It was a good kind of fall, though, exhilarating, reminding her of the first time that Bex had kissed her in the parking lot of the Stacked Deck, and she hadn’t been able to think then, and she wasn’t really able to think now. “I feel– I feel like– You’re very close, can you step back, please?” And then she was laughing because, really, they were right. Free. She’d never felt this free, and she didn’t know what to do with it. She wanted to enjoy it. She wanted to fully experience it. She… wanted Bex. But not to be there because the non-Fae all seemed to have a strange look in their eyes, and Metzli now had a strange look in their bright red eyes, and there was a very, very tiny part of Mina that worried that look wasn’t a good thing, and maybe Bex shouldn’t experience it. But this was still fun! And she wanted to have fun! And Mina was having fun!

Marley glanced around before her eyes landed back on the woman. Caoimhe. Quite the name. It was a nice name. Marley watched her step into the ring and felt that something familiar again, but everyone around her was stepping in, and they were all laughing and happy and didn't Marley deserve that? No, she didn't think so. But she wanted it. And that was enough. She took the last step forward and into the ring and reached for the other woman's hand as she did. Something more tugged. She felt it inside her like a rush. As is she'd just consumed a fear that was greater than any other. It filled her up and made her arms tingle and she did something she never did-- she smiled. "Wow," she breathed, "does it always feel like this?"

Her anger fell on deaf ears—or rather, ones that did not comprehend the insult. The attitude was quick to fade, of course, once Solomon bade her a jolly evening. Almost immediately, her mood perked up and she came hurrying over, drawing a delighted laugh from the leshy. His head tilted into her brief touch, a hum following quickly on the coattails of her laughter. “A good time? Of course, of course… though I would argue, simply being here is a good time.” He breathed a sigh of relief, glancing up at the sky. “You know,” the leshy added thoughtfully, “I can think of something that is a very good time that you could help me with! But that would require leaving here, and I would like to… to stay a little while longer…” Pushing his hands into the dirt, he willed the sprouting of a ring of flowers, and as they grew taller, they began to intertwine into a circle. Once they’d fully bloomed, it was easy to pluck them all free of their stems at the same time and lift the little crown of flowers up to place it gingerly on the wolf’s head. “Cute. It suits you.”

Step back, please. “Yes, I can.” Metzli replied and obeyed with no retaliation. The tether was tighter and it demanded to be felt. It demanded that they stayed close. As close as Mina would let them. The feeling to want to listen was infuriating and against everything that made up their being. But that was quickly overshadowed by the sheer amount of warmth they felt. Mina was right. It was so warm. And without thinking, if it was even possible to think at that point, Metzli removed their hoodie and threw it to the side. As always, they had a binder on.

“I feel really good. Really weird, but good. My body is shaking. But…I’m not scared. I’m excited.” Metzli chuckled and paced around, running their hands through their hair and tugging. It felt good to do so. They needed to do more. They needed to act on all of the impulses they had. But there were too many to pick from, so they had to just settle for standing in one place until something moved them.

It still took Caoimhe a little by surprise every time, no matter how many times she stepped into a circle. That warm giddy feeling, the way it started in her chest and spread until she couldn’t stop smiling. She wondered if it ever would, if one-hundred years would pass, then two, then...then she looked to the Leshy and she thought maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe this would always be a thing she could have, no matter where she ran. It was familiar but not, warm and tingly, and of course she’d keep her clothes on, but the glamour was gone after only a moment.

Her eyes found the woman who’d stepped through just behind her, and she was smiling, reaching out for her hand. Caoimhe thought she looked nice, when she wasn’t telling them to keep the noise down. And, oh, this was going to be fun. “More or less.” She rocked back on her heels, pulling in a breath, “Like warm and exciting and–” And words, Caoimhe couldn’t find them. “It’ll be fun. We’re going to have fun, uh…you know, I never did catch your name. Just! Just your first name.”

Marley stared, eyes wide. She remembered why this was familiar, eyes stuck at the woman's glamour dropped. She stared at her, unmoving. The gleam of her skin, the opalescent sheen of her hair, sparkling like diamonds. She remembered why this was familiar. "Lydia." The name left her throat in a breath. She remembered now. The woman, the monster, who, almost a year to the day, had given Marley something she'd never thought she could have. Marley remembered reading the newspaper, the police reports, about the woman named Lydia Griffin and what she'd done. She remembered how the woman, the monster, had convinced Marley they were the same. Had convinced Marley that she didn't need to be ashamed of what she was, who she was. The monster who had shown her a kindness and compassion and understanding no one else ever had. The monster who was cruel and kept people for herself. The monster who had loved, but was a monster all the same. The monster who showed Marley, convinced Marley, in all her undoing, that the only thing Marley would ever be was a monster, too. A monster that could love, but was a monster all the same.

"Marley," she answered as the tug inside of her demanded her to. "My name is Marley. Just Marley."

“It’s– It’s– Yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s what it feels like!” Mina said, nodding quickly. “It’s weird but good and nice.” And it was also weird and good and nice the way that they listened to her almost immediately, and Metzli hardly ever listened to Mina. So that was a welcome surprise. All things about this were becoming welcome surprises, and Mina wanted to experience more of it, feel more of it. And it was nothing for her hands to become webbed and clawed, and it was nothing for her to take off her jacket and roll up her sleeves and get rid of her shoes and feel the earth underneath her feet. And this was as far as she’d go because excitement didn’t mean confidence, and Mina still had a lot of nerves, but they were happy nerves. When was the last time that she’d felt this happy without it being weighed down by stress and anxiety and fear? She didn’t know. She couldn’t remember. This felt foreign but natural, so natural, and then Mina was laughing again. “This is awesome.”

Caomhe knew that look. She’d never really needed a mushroom ring to get that look. Something tugged at the back of her mind, like she should be uncomfortable, like she should be stuffing her violin into another box, submitting a two-weeks, and leaving. But she wasn’t. She was warm and she was happy and it wasn’t like she hadn’t already known. This one, this one would go away. Eventually. This one’s name was Marley, and she had smiled, and some strings weren’t permanent, not really. “Well, just Marley. It’s a pleasure to meet you..”

This was going to be fun. It was. She looked around to find Mina, with Metzli just outside the circle. She didn’t look panicked. Everyone was accounted for, and she let herself fully settle, no room for anything else. This was going to be fun.

Metzli marveled at Mina, watching her scales form and listening to her grow enlivened. They’d seen her claws before, her scales on her arms, but never this. They’d never seen her so free of anxiety. “Whoa…” Breath hitched and their head whipped to catch Caoimhe’s glamour fall. “Holy shit…you guys—you look incredible.” Their smile continued to grow and they had to tighten and release their fists to keep themselves grounded. It was so much at once, but they didn’t want to stop experiencing it. “The stories don’t do the actual experience any justice.” Staring at everyone for only a moment longer, they walked towards Caoimhe and tapped her shoulder.

“You look incredible, Caoimhe. Amazing. Beautiful. Powerful. You—sorry.” Metzli was rambling, filled too much with energy from whatever was permeating within the circle. There was so much life. So much. Flowers blossomed and so too did everyone around them. It was like everyone was letting go and becoming one. They couldn’t wait for what was to come.

#there's shroom for all #chatzy: caoimhe brennan #chatzy: marley stryder #chatzy: solomon hawthorne #chatzy: metzli bernal #chatzy: mason murphy #drug manipulation tw #drug use tw #lydia plot tw

[themidnightfarmer]

Location: The National Park

Tagging: @riseofmurphy​

Description: Jared runs into a situation and there are many misunderstandings to be had with Murphy.

Triggers: Blood tw, Gore tw, Choking tw?

The national park had always been a soothing place for Jared to be, he might have been gone those last six months, but the life of the forest was ever present and ever alive with the creatures he loved. The paths he trekked were not the same as those traversed by the human population of the town as well, so it was curious when he could see steps veering into the brush in the wrong direction. Moving with significant speed. 

The nymph reached out tentatively to any charge of his nearby and the returning feedback bloomed in him, lighting up in a sort of cold aching fear. Jared found himself quickly following the footsteps of another at a rapid pace, registering disturbance to the peace almost belatedly, and eventually wrapping his head around the emotion and having the headspace to hope that what he’d find at the end of this makeshift path was something he could combat without any equipment. He hadn’t brought his shotgun and he regretted it more and more as the  remnants of a chase showed one of the participants to be shedding blood. The splatters on the foliage gave way to chunks of flesh the faster and further he moved. Guttural sounds starting to echo around the trees as he finally found the source of the discontent. The scene was...gruesome to say the least and he was standing on the outskirts frozen in place. A wolf. Of course. He could only look on the scene as silently as he could, she wasn’t finished just yet.

 Murphy had not intended to come to the national forest to hunt the prey which she was currently stalking. A deer would have been enough to sate her appetite, perhaps a large elk. That was until she noticed the park ranger, eyes watching as they had swaggered through the forest. Instinctively she shifted down, despite having intended to do so further into the hunt. This was her hunt now, the wolf within howled its pleasure as she crouched low to the ground, the fur of her belly scraping the surface of the leaves. Lupine senses advised her of the ranger’s path, no doubt looking for some poor lost soul who had wandered too deep into these woods, never to be seen again. Initially Murphy’s intention had only been to stalk, to watch them blunder through the woods, killing a ranger would have been too risky, drawn too much attention to her hunting grounds. Her mind changed in an instant as she watched the ranger shoot at a deer for sport. 

Without warning the wolf took over, powerful jaws locked around the neck of the ranger, the bones crushed in a satisfying way as blood flowed into her mouth. They were dead before they hit the ground, but Murphy was far from finished. With a vicious snarl she tore an arm from their body and shook it between her jaws until it had flown into the expanse of trees. It would need to be cleaned up later, but all that mattered now was her kill. Gutteral growls emenated from her chest, unable to control the sounds as she fed, which drowned out the tearing of flesh from bone as she feasted. It was not until she was almost done with her kill, when the haze of blood had receeded, that she noticed another presence. 

She acted on pure instinct, lips pulled back from glistening canines, body crouched low over her meal. The warning could not have been clearer: stay back. With a wary eye kept on the stranger, Murphy finished her meal. By the time she was done there was little more left than carrion for the various scavangers who romed the forest. With her stomach full and mind cleared, she shifted back to her second skin, unabashed by her bareness. Her eyes studied the man’s intently, and she instantly knew he was different, but what exactly he was she could not quite place. “Why were you following me?”

 He watched her devour her meal, completely entranced. Jared didn’t move a single muscle as he did so, not wanting to provoke an attack and hoping that she would have eaten enough to spare an altercation with him. He stayed silent as the squelch of tearing flesh died down with only scraps left behind on bone. Arms at his sides he finally moved only to hunch his back a little to appear smaller, a response born of living with viscous animals all his life. If he looked smaller perhaps he would be a far less appetizing meal. Although he had encountered werewolves before, and knew even natural instinct sometimes could be overshadowed by the need to remove dangerous outside onlookers from a situation such as this.

Fur smoothed out into skin and he averted his eyes respectfully from the shifter, his body half turning in what he hoped was a submissive enough stance that this conversation wouldn’t instantly take a violent turn. 

“The commotion startled the creatures in the trees, they were unsettled.” Jared responded simply, eyes focused to the right of the top of her head. “I wanted to see if there was any danger to them.” He admits. With this comment he finally makes eye contact with her. “Is there…? Are you a danger to them, or have you caught what you were looking for?”

  Her stance relaxed as she took in his submissive posture, Murphy’s dominant side appreciated the obvious display. Still, she knew it was easy to play tricks and merely moving one's body a certain way did not remove the threat entirely. Rather, it just made it less obvious. Her head tilted to the side as she pondered his question. “Only if I’m hungry,” a smirk twirled up blood stained lips, “Or they pose a threat.” 

She shrugged, an indication that the creatures in the trees were of little concern to her. “Now this one here,” a foot digs into what’s left of the skeletal remains, a few ribs knocked aside in the process. “They weren’t my intended target, but they were unintelligent enough to kill a deer in my presence.” There was a bark of laughter. “A pity. Now that poor unfortunate soul wandering these woods will forever be lost.”  

No sorrow was detected in her voice, if anything, Murphy was glad. They might still be wandering around a night from now, an easy meal, one that would not be missed. That thought brought her attention back to the skeleton at her feet. “You’re so concerned with the creatures of this forest.., Nymph?” The tail of her words rose in a question, a lone eyebrow lifted. “Tell me where I might find someplace to dispose of this creaton,” an angry venom seeped into the word, “And I might decide I don’t want a snack.” Not that he would be aware, but she didn’t truly intend him harm, not when he appeared to be no threat. But Murphy figured she might as well use the situation to her advantage.

  He eyed the remnants of the obviously human body at her feet and then artificially blue eyes flickered up to meet hers once again. “A ranger… getting into things they shouldn’t as always.” Jared surmised. If he were who he’d been before he’d left town months previously he might have picked up where the ranger had left off and attempted to find the misguided traveller. But he couldn’t quite muster the care he’d had back then for humans who’d foolishly bitten off more than they could chew. His expression stayed stable as he simply nodded along with the information she was giving him. Making no moves to do anything about it.

“Nymph.” Jared echoed back to her in confirmation. “Of vicious creatures.” He allowed his hair to shift and show the 4 curled goat horns on his head as proof before covering them over once again in glamour.

He raised placating hands into the air as her tone shifted abruptly from conversational to more aggravated. He lowered his gaze from hers as one might to for an angered bies in order to avoid it’s third eye. “It depends, are you talking about the bones at your feet or the hiker in the woods. Both have pretty different demands. Bones versus flesh you know.” He offered to her in response. “Might I ha- Might I know your name as well?” Maybe it was a dumb move to ask things of a stranger when they were so clearly threatening to maim you and/or something you cared for, but not many would call Jared a smart man. His eyes lose focus on the bones at her feet as he sends soft signals down the connection he had to the nearby Bonedoggle pack, signalling them to move just in case she took a turn.

 Her head nodded as she watched the appearance of his horns. “If the woods and the natural creatures are your element, why are you hiding,” a smirk, “scared of  things that go bump in the dark?” This was one of the few times Murphy had seen any part of a nymph without their glamour, and despite the situation she felt a strange urge to reach out and touch them. She quickly tamped it down, focused more on the situation at hand than any wandering fantasy. 

Murphy’s lip curled up in a sneer at the ridiculous or the question. “What do you think?” Despite the roll of her eyes that followed, she kicked the head of the skeleton and sent it rolling to come to a rest at his feet. “I have a long day tomorrow. I’ll take care of the human myself when it’s over.” There was no effort made to hide her intentions. Why should she? It was what she was, and in these woods at least, she had no intention of hiding. “Unless of course you’re one of those fun little beings who likes to pretend they care for the foul creatures?” Green tinted hues narrowed to alert him that the question was a challenge. Let him find out what would happen if he stood in the way of her next meal.

“You can call me Crimson. At least until I decide what I want to do about you.” Her senses, though dulled enough the early lunar phase that she couldn’t tell what was moving, picked up on a faint rustling. “I’ll kill them if you make me. You’ve been warned.”

“I’m more likely to be shot at if I look anything like myself.” Jared responded quickly. Shifting uncomfortably for the first time since this conversation had begun, thinking about the reactions he’d gotten in the past. “Wouldn’t get very far being scared of the dark either, not in a town like this one. There’s far too much going on once the sun goes down.” There was no hesitation however as his hand reached down to scoop the skull of the ranger into his grasp. “Well I can just take the bones out of your sight.” The nymph admits freely. 

Spinning the skull slowly in his fingers he wipes a thumb over the surface. “I only care about the humans I know well. I tend to just not get involved in anything that doesn’t concern me.” He’d learnt the hard way that it was best to only hold onto those that mattered. Especially when it comes to humans that may have put themselves in harm's way. “If you don’t get to them, something else will. It’s the natural order.” An order he supports wholeheartedly. 

He was a mild man, chipper and kind when spoken to. He liked to class himself as friendly even. But threats were difficult to take, especially such direct threats. It was not the threat to himself that raised his head, but the threat to the pack had his spine uncurling. No longer was he in a submissive stance. He towered as he looked at her. “And I supposed you think you’re the biggest baddest thing in the national park right now?” She may be able to take the doggles, but there were FAR nastier creatures in the depths. “Do you threaten people often?”

  Murphy snorted with derision. “And you expect me to believe you wouldn’t be able to sense someone with a shotgun? No. You’re hiding something.” She called how quickly he had hidden away his horns. “Even if it is from yourself.” There was nothing that bothered her more than a creature unable to express their natural being. Though he wasn’t a wolf, the simple thought that the man was hiding from his nature was painful for her. It was one of many reasons she utterly detested humans, and the bone’s beneath her feet bore witness to a surge of ill-suppressed anger. 

“I could do that. I want them gone.” Irritation was begging to crawl against her skin. “Why bother? Caring about the humans? If they knew what you truly were they would be the first to attack. Or maybe that’s why you choose to surround yourself with them? To give yourself an excuse to cower from what you were born to be?” Her nostrils flared. She might have felt something akin to pity for him, but she was not about to take a threat from someone so cowardly. In a few brusk steps she had crossed the distance between them and one hand reached up to wrap around his throat. 

“I might not be the biggest bad in these woods, but I’m bad enough to end you.” Murphy allowed her sharp human nails to dig into the skin of his neck, quite literally pressing the point into him. “Only when challenged.” She let go and rocked back onto her heels, green orbs bored into his in a refusal to drop his gaze. “But I’ll point out; that wasn’t a threat, it was a fact. If you make me I will kill them. So I suggest you don’t make me.” 

 “You jump to a lot of conclusions, we met all but ten minutes ago you know.” She could decide his character based on anything she liked, Jared was fairly certain nothing he could say would change whatever image she was already forming in her mind after all. Not that he would try very hard even if he did tell her more. Given her not so subtle negative stance on humans he wouldn’t be sharing anything more about his human family, lest it set a worse tone than this conversation was already taking.

“You want them unfound. There’s a difference. If I take them, they won’t be found and they’ll have a use. But whatever you’d like,” Jared paused and shrugged, becoming increasingly uncomfortable with how this encounter was going. He should have thought it through more clearly before running into the area, but he’d been concerned for his doggles. “You’re ignoring the humans who do know what I am and are fine with it. You might have not encountered any but that doesn’t mean you can rule them out completely.” He doesn’t move, lest she interpret his movement as inciting a fight and instead placidly allows her hand to wrap around his throat, it wasn’t like he’d never been choked before. He speaks again anyway, gasping on the limited air he can gasp for to add “You seem to know more about what I’m born to be doing than I do, the way you talk.”

“Okay.” Jared said mildly in a low tone, fighting the pressure on his windpipe. “I wasn’t talking about myself anyway.” When she let go, he does take a solid step backwards and away from her, a hand coming up to smooth over the imprints of her nails in his skin. “I wasn’t making you do anything. I was asking if you were threatening my kids. You are. You are threatening them, but only if I do something you don’t like will you actually do it. So… what exactly am I not to do in order to safeguard them? Secrets in this town are already a given among the more interesting people. So what is it I'm trying to avoid exactly?”

  “And why should I trust you?” One sculpted brow rose, a clear challenge to his statement. Murphy knew nothing about him other than that he was a nymph who chose to hide. Which begged the question, what else could he be hiding? “Oh, my mistake.” Her voice took on a mocking cruelty. “I hadn’t realized you’d shared with them what you look like outside of a glamour.” A cruel laugh parted from her lips. “In that case I take back what I said. They must truly accept you.” The sarcasm was apparent as it dripped from each and every word. “I’ve spent enough time around humans to know that what they don’t understand, they kill. How many of your creatures will have to die before you realize that?” It was a simple truth. Murphy had heard many a tale of humans stumbling upon some unsuspecting beastie, and, terrified of the unknown, they had slaughtered something that would have posed no threat, like the ranger tonight with the deer. Everytime she watched it it sickened her and ignited and anger that was only sated by blood. 

Murphy’s eyes widened incredulously. Had they really not understood? “Since you seem to be confused, allow me to spell it out for you.” Her arms folded across her chest. “It’s hardly a secret. As long as you don’t have them attack me, as I had a funny suspicion you were calling them to do, they’ll be fine.” She huffed. “I’ve no desire to harm those creatures that pose me no threat.” It was true, she embraced the forest and everything within as her natural habitat, and other, non magic creatures would more than suffice when the need for a snack arose. A tooth grin was flashed in his direction, half sinister, half benign. “But at least you think I’m interesting.”

 “You were the one to ask me where to put them…” This conversation was getting a little bit confusing to Jared. He was a little bit lost and trying his best not to show it. “I mean you don’t have to trust me, trust comes with time that I’m not sure we have tonight… but I could really use these bones for something good...although I guess that does depend on what you consider ‘good’.” Her changes in tone and general mocking demeanour drew out a disgruntled expression from the nymph. He didn’t understand her. He couldn’t understand her. They came from such different states of mind that her pure anger and hatred for humans was unrivalled in any other single person he’d met before. And he’d known Lydia. “I won’t hate a species simply because a few are dangerous and cruel. That is the real danger to my creatures. That is what kills them most.” 

This is when their disconnect reached its peak. He blinked at her, his face falling into understanding and then he frowned. “I wasn’t calling anything to attack you. I was asking them to move further away in case you wanted to attack them. The pack has moved east from us now, in the opposite direction.” Jared clarified quickly. “I have no reason for them to attack you. I have no reason to involve them at all. If you were to kill me at least they’d be unharmed. The smell of death scared them because they currently have pups. So I came to check on it. That's the only reason I’m here.” His eyes meet hers once again and he shrugs. “Everyone in this place is interesting, Crimson. In one way or another.”

  Murphy felt her teeth grind in frustration, her mind having wandered back. Had all the nymph’s she’d come across been so scattered? Or was he merely an exception? She shook her head. “It matters, because if they were to reappear somewhere, questions would be asked. Hunters might start poking around where they don’t belong. And no one wants that.” A sigh parted as her tongue darted out to clean some of the dried blood from her lips. “If you show me what you’re doing with them, you can have them.” It was the closest to a compromise that the two were likely to come to. “No, you misunderstand.” There was a pause as she sought the words to explain what she needed to say. “I don’t hate them. I don’t care enough to hate them. They’re a food source, a natural part of life. As natural as the tree that grows from the acorn. Most of them are tolerable, just like those doggles of yours are tolerable. I kill to feed, or when they offend.” She supposed it would be difficult to understand her view of humans, when so many others thought of them as worth getting to know. “Some of them can be useful, if they’re disposed to magic. Those are the only ones worth getting to know, of keeping around.” Of course to be truthful she did hate some humans. “I only outrightly hate the ones who seek us harm. And those who take needlessly from nature. The rest are free to maneuver through their lives like the cattle that they are.” 

“You have my word that I wish them no harm. Your creatures, I mean.” Murphy gestured to the bones at her feet. “So can you help me or not?”

 “They won’t reappear. Not in any way that could link back to you.” He assured her mildly, his own face scrunching up at the mere mention of hunters seconds later. Jared considered her compromise and studied her face for more malice. As much as she couldn’t trust him, he was in the same boat with her. She hadn’t given him her real name, never mind the fact she’d had her fingers wrapped around his throat moments before. But it was like a secret password had been spoken. Her sentiments about doing what she did for sustenance, that she was acting on her nature. Reservations dimmed as he looked upon her in a newer light. Of course she could be telling him what he wanted to hear, but she spoke without hesitation that made the nymph want to believe. 

He tried his luck then. “Promise me. That you mean no harm to my doggles… it’s to them that the bones would be going. If I call them back you won’t touch them. I want a promise.” It was the first time he’d ever done this on purpose. Fae promises were not broken. It was not done. And if she could do this for him in this instance perhaps he could trust her further. “Bonedoggle pups get their first set of bones usually through carcusses their mother hunts. But the mother has been injured. I’ve been collecting bones, but it’s a litter of eleven, there’s only so much I can do.” He entrusts this information to her knowing that the pack was far enough that he’d be able to send them to safety should this woman decide she was more bloodthirsty than she was assuring him.

 Murphy contemplated, one head cocked to the side as she thought over the potential consequences that might come from the choice to make a promise with a fae. This one seemed to be a straightforward enough request. With a solemn grace she bowed her head in acquiescence. “I promise.” The words seemed to echo almost all eerily through the forest with their weight. She shifted on her feet, a small swell of concern creasing her brow. “Can you not heal her?” 

Despite her promise, Murphy could still sense the hesitation that emanated from him. It was understandable, he had just watched her consume the flesh of a person down to their very marrow. “I assure you I’m quite full.” Her ears were now trained to listen for the approach of the creatures. She knew of them and had stumbled upon one on occasion but had yet to see a full pack of them up close, and it intrigued her. Murphy found fascination from anything to do with nature and this was no exception. “Perhaps I might be able to take a look at the mother? I have training when it comes to healing, human healing to be sure, from my studies at college. Would you allow me to take a look?” 

 A shiver passed down his spine as the promise took effect. It was such an odd sensation to Jared that he took a moment to recover. He’d only ever really trapped himself in promises to others before now, but he supposed turning over a new leaf after coming back to town had changed more than a few things. 

Full or not. He was pleased that she was bound to her promise. The nymph reached out through his connection to the pack and beckoned them back in their direction once again. “None of my animals are tamed. It’s not up to me if she allows you near her.” He shrugged lightly. “I did the most I could for her I could manage. I might not be much of a healer, but I have done my best for a long while now. Thank you for your concern, showing care like that for creatures like mine is rare.” A small smile finds its way onto his face as the sounds of many bodies moving through the brush become clearer. One by one, skeletal faces emerge partially into the area, 3 adult doggles with sharp eyes looking at both Jared and Murphy calculatingly. Jared sank to his knees in the next moment and a mass of small pups tumble into view marching to him in greeting. “Doggle pups gets their first bones at two months old.” He informs the werewolf woman. A hand gently smoothing over the formed skull of the mother.

 Murphy nods, she can understand the reluctance of the creatures to be touched by human hands. Especially since she herself was not so fond of the two-legged meatsacs. Still, she watched as Jared interacted with them. She felt secure enough in her surroundings to lower herself to the ground to sit cross-legged and an unbidden smile stretched up the corners of her mouth. Nature had a way of soothing her in a way that little else could. Tentatively, she stretched out her hand toward the matriarch of the small group. When it was close enough for the doggle to take a sniff, her body froze in place with an unnatural stillness, careful to not upset the creature. Only when she saw the doggle shift did her hand stretch the rest of the way as it came to rest atop the creature's head. The texture of the bone was smooth under her hand, worn down from its constant exposure to the elements. With a careful motion the hand atop the head began to move further down as it felt for any indescrepencies. Halfway through it’s path of exploration it reached a chink in the bone armor. A small space of skin was exposed that oozed slightly. Murphy took all the care she could not to frighten the animal as she probed the wound. Luckily it only appeared to be a small, healing scab, simply secreating the oils it needed to heal. 

In her focus she had almost completely forgotten the nymph’s presence, as by that point she had adjusted to his smell in the air. It was only his movement that snapped her back into reality. Murphy looked up at him, posture still slightly stiff from the slight shock. “She should be fine.The wound isn’t deep and it’s healing nicely. Hopefully soon she will be able to replace the destroyed section of armor.” 

  The mother doggle left his side and meandered wearily over to the werewolf, and the nymph was pleased when the woman expressed that the wound was nothing to be concerned over. It definitely had not been, not so many days before then either. So he took the words as a compliment to his efforts. Quietly smiling to himself he smoothed his hands over the pups as they spotted the bones sitting around the small clearing and started to fight over them. Jared watched the mother growl in warning at her probing fingers for a moment longer before making her way to break up a fight amongst her pups.

The nymph stood then, hesitating a moment before extending his hand towards Murphy to help her to her feet. “I should escort them back to their den.” He eyed the werewolf for a moment longer before finally providing his own name. “I’m Jared. I appreciate you accepting the promise so easily...I’ll see you around.” And with that, and with the doggle pups each with a few bones in their mouths, the nymph and the creatures vanished quickly into the gloom of the setting sun.

#C: Murphy #riseofmurphy #P: Chatzy #C: Jared #BLOOD TW #gore tw #choking tw #? #Lydia Situation tw #she was only mentioned but anyway x

[streetharmacist]

sunset glow and shadow | lydia & felix

Setting: Current. Summary: After weeks of silence, Felix and Lydia talk. Warnings: Brief mentions of fae eating habits With: @inspirationdivine

The conversation, if it could have been called that, with Lydia hadn’t sat well with Felix. Days, weeks ticked by, and still it stirred his guts and soured his tongue in a way that cigars or sweet wine couldn’t cover. He had been angry with her. He had been angry a great deal with people lately but one of them was dead. Long dead. His human skin felt tired and worn around him. The effort put into keeping it caused sweat to form at his temples. Murder and crime was a tiring business. That anger was a feeling he was familiar with enough to know it by name but that hadn’t stopped him from making his way over to her home when the nighttime hours fell over White Crest. After everything, he could stand to see a friend. She was his friend, Lydia, and he had been happy to call her one but the way she spoke of Bea…

He shook his head and rapped lightly against her door.

“Hey Lydia? It’s me. Your pal, Felix.”

Lydia hated the night. She couldn’t shake the feeling that, no matter how tall her new fences were or how rigorous her security, just on the other side of the dark were those soft red eyes and that horrifyingly calm smile. Even though it was late, she was perched in the living room chair, reading a book and in sharp denial as to how little she was actually reading, her eyes reading the same sentences over and over. Concentration slipped through her fingers faster than ever. When someone knocked, she jumped, looking back up at O with her eyes side. They began walking down the hall. Outside, the lights turned on so that Lydia could see her visitor on her camera. It was just Felix. Shivering, Lydia unfolded her legs from underneath her, stepping into blue slippers as she began towards the hall herself. “It’s alright, O!” She told the zombie security guard, and O opened the door. A little afraid to get close to the threshold, Lydia smiled from a distance. It was a weary, exhausted smile that didn’t reach her eyes, full of trepidation. God, she didn’t know that she could stand to lose another friend tonight. “Felix. It’s good to see you!”

The lampade’s head felt uneven as Felix tipped it to the side with a smile. A crooked one for a crooked fae. The thought burned black in him, made his expression that much tighter as he looked at Lydia. She seemed tired too and his smile wavered. “Back at ya,” he said with a soft sigh as he glanced at the other body. “O, huh? How’d you do?” He grinned again with a nod, the way he might have before. It was gone just as quickly and his attention went back to Lydia, his brows slightly drawn and lifted above his glasses. “Is it…” He trailed. Pulled it back in. Everything felt discombobulated, upside down. He shifted on his feet. “Uh, is it alright if I come in?”

“You know you don’t have to ask that,” Lydia replied with a nervous smile, eyes skating past him into the dark. “You’ll have to forgive the stiffness, since my recent unwelcome visitor I’m careful of what I say when it comes to the thresholds of my home.” She left it at that, and, trusting that Felix would follow her cues, walked over to the living room. The glow of her skin was barely bright enough to reflect off the marble surfaces of her counters as she plucked two glasses from her cupboard, and reached into her wine cooler for a rich Merlot. “Any reason for the pleasure of your company, or is it just a friendly visit?” They had spoken perhaps once since their last argument, and only barely then. It hung thick in the air, alongside all of Lydia’s other recent arguments about humans. How could something so insignificant cause her so much strife.

“Sure, sure.” Felix said with a faint wave of his hand. Uncertainty rode sidecar to him as he stepped through. Lydia seemed happy enough to see him as far as he could tell. She could be hard to read sometimes or maybe it was because the last time they spoke, he didn’t like what she had said. What she had implied. But friends were few and far between, some more capable of being there one day and then gone the next. It was one conversation. Enough to put some cracks in him, sure, but they could have another. They needed one, he thought. Friendly visit. “Something like that, yeah,” he said, words a bit shorter than he usually wove together. As filling as Roy’s magic had been, it wavered as the days went. He slipped off his glasses and slipped them into his suit pocket. As he sat down, he loosely intertwined his fingers and looked at Lydia. Shadows lingered on the edges of his fingertips. Slowly, they took over the rest of him. “I just...it’s been a cool minute, y’know?” He smiled at her some. As much as he wanted to bring it up, address it, it felt...nice to just not. For a moment. “I saw a nice puddle and thought of you, truth be told! And I just, uh, figured we oughta talk. Catch up. How you been?”

Busying herself with wine glasses and bottles meant she didn’t have to face him as he sat down. Lydia wondered if he was as curious as her about which way this might go. If he was flipping a coin in his head. They couldn’t not talk about it. They could talk around it until their tongues fell off, and let time atrophy either the hurt or the friendship, without them choosing which. Or they could pull the wound out into the open, and Lydia would have to risk losing him or risk lying. She breathed shakily, before finally committing to turning back to him. “It has indeed. It has been a busy fall.” She smiled, not quite meeting his eyes, as he told her about the puddle.  “Rather terrible, if I’m honest, but I do not know if I wish to discuss them right-” Lydia looked back at him, sliding the wine glass along the table before freezing stiff. “Felix,” she murmured, looking up at the gaping hole in the side of his head. “What-- When- What happened?”

“Been one heck of a busy year,” Felix said as he tried to relax back in the chair but he couldn’t. Piano wire was what came to mind as he tapped his fingers against his legs. They hadn’t stayed tangled long, quick to go apart. “Don’t think I’ve felt so tired and yet not so tired in one year, you know what I mean?” He sounded out of tune even to his own ears. He could only imagine how it sounded to Lydia and the way she sounded to him, was almost just as much. Or maybe it was just him. “You too, huh?” His brows creased with worry as he tried to search her face. “This town sure is something else, ain’t it? And I thought New York was all rough and tumble.” He took the offered wine glass and when she looked up, looked at the broken bits of him, a thin smile cut through his features. It was different from just simply being seen. It was being seen as fractured and he worried--a fact that nearly made him laugh--worried how she might see him then. It was different. Humans prided on broken bones, something about how they grew back stronger. He had to think it was inherently different for fae, as most things were. Maybe it was a foolish thing to worry over. Lydia would understand, wouldn’t she? They had seen one another, hadn’t they? He gestured vaguely at where his antler had been. “Oh this old thing?” He tried to make it sound like a joke but it strangled itself halfway through. “Made friends with a lamia while doing some business,” he said. “They’re dead now. Their boss too.”

“I do.” Lydia agreed. She was bone tired. Her eyesockets ached from all her crying, her glamour and glowing skin no longer properly hid the shadows beneath her eyelids, and everything ached from regrowing a brand new limb. Exhaustion was a way to put it. “New York doesn’t even come close. At least not the parts where I lived,” Lydia said softly, smiling ever so slightly, if only because he was and she didn’t want to shut that down. It was an alarming sight, like someone had tried to take hims crown. Lydia did not know much about Lampade antlers, certainly not as much as she ought to.  She knew that his had grown over the summer, but she did not know if they would grow back. Her wing had, but that was not the same. His voice was as thin as hers, but he tried to joke, so she did not push the matter. “Good,” Lydia breathed, her voice soft in case she might break the fragile peace between them as she took his hand, dark beside light. “I hope they both suffered for the injustice.”

“New York’s got some rules to it but this place? Not a one in sight.” The lampade huffed a laugh. The thought made Felix’s lip curl ever so slightly. After what had been said, the ire drawn like a tight piano wire over a few words, there was some solace to be found in exhaustion. He nodded slowly at the word injustice. “They did. They sure as heck did. And we’re better off for it.” Even after what had been said, he was still there. A distant cousin to happiness sat in his chest. Maybe more kin to melancholy. His eyes drifted from her hand in his to her face. He had been so angry, a roaring fire that burned so hot that no bone could be found after. But there in front of her, looking at her for the first time in...heck, a few weeks, he wasn’t as angry as he had been. He was tired. Tired of being angry. But that didn’t stop the thought from bubbling or his brow from creasing slightly. His thumb drifted across a knuckle of hers. “Lydia…” He started, voice a quiet calm. A bit lost until it finally found where he wanted to go. That bared and broken place. “Still think I’m disgusting?”

“Good,” Lydia breathed, growing even quieter as she grappled with the slowly suffocating silence between them. Tension that she had made and he would resolve, one way or another. Lydia inhaled shakily as he asked his question. The question. “No. Never.” Lydia said, with all the weight that came from being fae. She could not lie, and she wasn’t. “I… I haven’t really known what to say. I owe you an apology. I should have waited until I was calmer to talk to you. I cannot even begin to express how sorry I am for speaking to you the way I did, and for saying what I did the way I said it. I don’t think you are disgusting, and I’m horrified that I put our friendship in jeopardy like that. But-” Lydia looked only at his hand then, her brow furrowed she tried to find the right words. She hadn’t last time, though. “I’ve been afraid, too. Not all truths are kind. A human is one thing, and I thought you were a different kind of fae, but.. Necromancy? I’m Catholic, I- I was taught, and still do believe… I don’t think that’s something anyone should be able to do. I should never have spoken to you like that… but I also can’t easily change what I believe.”

His breath shook. Maybe it was the jagged edge of what had once been there or the tremor of blood from near-death. Whatever it was, it was hard for Felix to stay still. But he tried. “Well, that helps the ol’ ego,” he said dryly. Quietly. “Real worried about that for a second.” His smile was small, tension-riddled. He sat up some, the words you owe her one too in his mouth, but he swallowed them back. As entangled with humans as he had been throughout the course of almost two centuries, he wasn’t much in the business of dealing them out apologies. Not when he could deal to them other things. And to tell another fae to do just that? “You’re right. Not all truths are kind but people can be. Not all but a few. She is, y’know. You are,” he said as he looked at her. A truth could sever as quickly, as efficiently, as any human lie could. Better, even. His hand slackened some in hers. “A different kind of fae?” The back of his neck went cold. “How’d you mean?”

“I think you know precisely how I mean, Felix,” Lydia replied shortly. She breathed, squeezing his hand even as he threatened to let go. A fae like me. “I eat humans. I flirt with them until they trust me, I poison them with my saliva, and then I drain their life right out of them, piece by piece. The thought of falling in love with one is entirely alien to me. I thought you were the same, considering your own diet, but clearly I was wrong. I mean nothing more than that. Truly, I do.” She forced herself to look back at him, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. His eyes were like the moon, the stars, the sun on a winter day. She did not want to be the pain in them anymore. “Does she make you happy?”

Felix supposed he did know but still he asked the question. And Lydia certainly wasn’t wrong. He had eaten his fair share too. Pulled the magic from humans that tried to lay claim to it until they no longer could. Forced them to look into an empty well and didn’t think twice about it, nor should he have. As he looked at Lydia, at the dark under her eyes and the lack of glow to her skin, his gaze softened. His fingers curled slightly. It wasn’t a way for them to be. Not when they had walked through an upside down place and felt at home. “It is a funny thing,” he admitted. “I was in love once before. With a fae. It, uh, didn’t take. I guess the differences got to ‘em.” He shrugged with a hollow laugh. It didn’t sting as much as it once had. Not the way her words had when she had leveled him with them and left him doubting. He didn’t doubt her then. Certain as the moon looked down on them. “She does,” he said simply, his mouth curved into a smile around the words. He looked at her in earnest. “You do too, Lydia.”

“That is the most important thing,” Lydia said. “My ideologies shouldn’t affect that.” As she’d said to Deirdre, no human was worth ending their friendship over. Back then, the human in question had been Morgan. Lydia swallowed as Morgan’s words echoed in her head. And I would have loved you, if you’d ever let me. Lydia had loved her. After she’d been a zombie, a doom she’d been fated to, but she had loved Morgan all the same, completely radically. Morgan hadn’t thought a difference in ideologies was something she could set aside. That stung, like salt on a wound that had forgotten how to heal. “You make me happy too. I just… I am sorry.” She could swallow the rancid bile that thinking about Bea’s throat brought up, she could halt the thoughts about the maggots that must have wriggled inside that corpse before she’d been back alive to be loved once more. “I am so sorry, Felix. You shouldn’t have had to come to me.”

Felix searched her face and nodded slowly. Slowly, gently, his fingers curled with hers. It hurt and if he thought on it, the wound opened but... They had all the time in the world and one day, they might look back on this with a laugh. With a wing beat, a whisper of shadow. The way olden things did. They had all the time and yet not enough to stay tiptoeing around one another. Not when they had danced before. Not when they were so tired. The moons of his eyes glimmered and he gently squeezed her hands. Met her eyes with the smile of his own. “It’s behind us,” he said softly. “And we got a whole heck of a lot in front of us. Is tu caraid mo ghràidh.” You are my dear friend. “I would’ve come to you anyway, you know. One way or another, one day or another. I got a feeling that now was the right time.”

“It should still have been me. This month has been so terrible, I didn’t dare invite more heartbreak into my home.” Lydia barely knew she was moving before she had, pulling on his hand and stepping closer to him until she could wrap her arms around his middle, squeezing him tight, her forehead pressed into his shoulder. This wasn’t forgiveness for a transgression, she knew this, but he wasn’t walking out the door. She knew she’d been afraid of it, but until he’d held her hand again she hadn’t realised quite how heavy the burden was. She couldn’t keep doing this. Deirdre, sobbing on the floor of a hotel, unwilling to tell Lydia that her lover had died because of her fear of Lydia’s reaction. Her and Felix, not speaking for weeks because of her opinions on necromancy. If Lydia couldn’t be the hearth for her friends to warm their hands by, what kind of friend was she? “I am so, so happy that you have someone there in that way for you.” It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the right someone, but that mattered less. Felix had centuries. He deserved good friends every step of the way, not just when it was to her liking. “God, I’ve missed you. I will make this up to you, I promise.”

“No heartbreak here, doll. I assure ya.” A shuddered breath rolled through him. Felix wasn’t a stranger to loss. Certainly not recently. As angry as he had been with Lydia, as much as he retraced every step and conversation to understand how they had gotten to where they did, he feared. He feared not having her as a friend. He feared them not being able to unfurl their masks and simply be. The way that fae could be. The way they had been before, in a time he looked back on with sepia lenses. He smiled into her hair as his arms came around her loosely. “I’m lucky to have her. She’s my favorite star,” he said with a smile. And he meant it. Beatrice was the hop to his step, the twinkle in his eye. Her and all her dead, he couldn’t be bothered. Not when she made him feel so alive. “It gets lonely here sometimes. Even with friends.” He glanced down at her, the shine of his eyes a trembling lake. “I’ve...I’ve really missed you too, Lydia. We can start now, y’know, on this whole making up thing.” His smile was teasing, his tone just as much. “I think a vase of wine or two might be a good start. What do you say, for old time’s sake?”

His arms, finally settling around her back just above her wings was just what Lydia needed to lift that final weight. “That’s what matters most.” Did it sting, just a little, that a human could offer him something Lydia couldn’t? He wasn’t wrong. “You can always come find me too, you know, if you’re looking for some time with friends. I’m sorry I made that harder, but I really mean it.” Lydia stepped back slightly as she heard a small spark in his voice, the first hint of a real smile she’d had to offer him all night. Her eyebrows raised, even as his soft tone was enough to make tears threaten her eyes. “A whole vase? Each? You’re just trying to kill me. I see how it is,” Lydia winked up at him. She ought to move, pull them into the kitchen and find her best bottle of red for them. Instead she held him close, watching the flickering tendrils of his shadows dance alongside her sunset glow for just a little longer.

#wickedswriting #chatzy #chatzy: sunset glow and shadow #c: lydia #// s o f t

[mor-beck-more-problems]

A Good Death || Morgan & Deirdre (feat. Lydia)

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @deathduty @mor-beck-more-problems @inspirationdivine

SUMMARY: Deirdre smiled, “And I promise you a good death, Lydia. No matter what.”

CONTAINS: death, gore

“You’ve gone over that spot at least three times now, my love.” Deirdre said, hands steady at her love’s waist as she came up behind her. Watching Morgan clean was entertaining, in some strange way, if only so she could offer her praise and hone her skills of distraction, but she wasn’t sure exactly why nows was the time Morgan had chosen to tackle the dust. There were better things to be done, namely, each other. Deirdre fingers tugged at the hem of Morgan’s sweater, slipping her fingers under to pinch her skin. “I’m nearly jealous of the dirt, you’re giving it so much attention.” She always thanked Morgan for the cleaning, eventually. After her game of distraction, teasing and praise, all wrapped together in a package she had just nearly perfected the art of. She pressed her lips to the flesh between her neck and shoulder, nipping at it. “Have I finally won?” She asked, referring to the battle she waged for Morgan’s attention. She moved her hands from her waist to wrap around her instead, pressed tight as she hummed with simple peace. These moments were not new between them; how many times now had Deirdre fought Morgan’s interest against the allure of household chores? And yet, every time she delighted in the response. There was delight in simply being with Morgan; in doing something as inane as distracting her from cleaning. Deirdre’s peace was so bright, she could sing; sometimes she did. For now, she hummed an old tune against Morgan’s skin—a silly ballad about a leshy that fell in love with a flower. The November chill rolled in through a window they’d left open, beyond them, sounds of life flourished; leaves rustled loose by the wind, the neighbours pulling out of their driveway and off to that cabin trip they’d had planned for weeks now, the pat-pat of Moira padding away to go sleep someplace else. The two of them, bundled up together where everything was okay. “Mhm, can I take you to bed now?” She asked quietly, as if not to disturb the peace of the world.

Weekend mornings were Morgan’s favorite everyday treasures: hours of luxuriating in Deirdre’s company, her boundless kisses and touches and adoring gazes, warmer than any down comforter to protect them against the Sunday that was doomed to follow. Everything would break and Morgan would spend her week putting them back together again, and that was frightening and awful, yes, but this was the prize: arms tight enough for her to feel and a sweet voice singing Gaelic in her ear. “Hmmm, I don’t know,” Morgan crooned, rising up to nip Deirdre’s ear. “I think I should tackle the library. There’s one little spot behind the bookshelf that really needs my attention, which is gonna be a lot of work, moving books out the way and--” She cracked into a fit of giggles and jumped to get her arms around her love’s neck. “I’m teasing. Everything’s done and I don’t want anything else but you now.” She turned her face towards hers, trailing hard, greedy kisses down her jaw and neck. “Take me.”

A pout pulled down Deirdre’s lips, as quickly dissolved as Morgan’s teasing. Their world was one with facets; humour and mischief just as frequent as passion and calm. It laughed with them, carried through the quiet air. It yearned just as they did, heated with their longing. There was peace here, there was— Deirdre quivered. 

Her world was broken in three parts. First, her arms failed to hold Morgan. She tried to grasp her, pull her up tight in her arms and carry her off to bed—she had done it a hundred times. But her arms failed her. They trembled, and couldn’t summon the strength to do anything but shove Morgan away. She stared at her hands and wondered if an earthquake had claimed their part of White Crest; she shook too much for one body. Her eyes caught glimpse of the steady outside. The second breaking reaped. Her legs gave in. She fell to the floor with a loud thump as though they’d dissolved—they hadn’t; there was just enough energy left to use them to clumsily push herself across the floor. Her hands, still subject to personal tremor, clasped around her mouth, nearly poking her eyes out in the process. She whimpered in confusion, their house swung back and forth like a chandelier. The last part of her world had not broken yet, and so there was some modicum of peace she held herself afloat on. Her body knew what was happening, but her mind protected her—or had refused to accept it, for what little it could, it wanted to exist in a world where the last piece did not break. Milliseconds ticked in the dissonance of her state. She watched Morgan in the space between her lashes, and wondered what a gift it was to still be in the land of peace. And then what a shame, that for all her cleaning, she’d have to do it again. 

The world splintered. It twisted and frayed and like the glass around her as her whimpers turned to shrill cries—like a wounded animal shot in the neck—it shattered until there was nothing left whole. The last part was not one terrible domino falling down, it was flashes and screams. It was a million things, all horrible and all at once. Dark, branch-like veins spread down from her inhumanly black eyes. She hadn’t meant to scream like that, curled into a trembling ball on the floor, but the pain that ruptured inside of her was one she had only felt once before, when Morgan died. That day, she had welcomed the vision to her, because she had it set in her soul that she would defile Fate and preserve Morgan’s life. This time, she tried to reject it out of instinct; she couldn’t believe it was true, she didn’t want to. Of all the people who could die, there was just one she never thought it would happen to. 

The world stilled in all of its pieces. Deirdre didn’t think much when she grabbed her phone and started running out of the house, she only knew she had to go. Her mind was still numb with incredulity; she had seen it, she had heard it, she had felt it and she knew it...but she could not believe it. She didn’t consider Fate, she just ran—half-naked in her silk robe, down her neighborhood street. Death would not find Lydia today; Deirdre would. 

Morgan understood as soon as she was pushed away that Deirdre had a scream inside her. What she didn’t understand was anything else that followed after. Deirdre fell, whimpering like a frightened animal, curling into herself, and Morgan’s nerves spiked. “Babe, what’s wrong? I’m here, okay? Just--just--” She knelt down and tried to scoop Deirdre’s trembling body into her arms, but then the scream itself came, breaking her nerves along with all the glass besides the windows. Morgan went stiff, sinking the rest of the way to the ground and curling up tight. Her muscles snapped taut, unable to move even to cover her ears. “D-deirdre, Deirdre, please, I’m- h-h…” The world was snapped in and out of focus, ringing with the sound of Deirdre’s pain. When Morgan was able to move again, one clumsy limb at a time, Deirdre was gone.

“Deirdre!” She screeched. She ran for her keys and bolted out the door, barefoot in her sweats.

Her banshee was easy to spot, robe billowing behind her, hair loose and wild as she stumbled and ran. Morgan called her name again, running with all she had to catch up. “Stop and let me help!” Her mind raced as she tore across the road. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck… she didn’t know who this was for or if there was some terrible banshee sickness or crisis going on that she was about to learn about the hard way, but what did it matter? Morgan reached out for her arms and gripped with more of her strength than she had ever dared. “Stop. Talk to me, please. What do you need? What’s going on?”

Navigating to the person Deirdre wanted to call on her phone was easy, actually getting an answer proved to be much harder. She tapped the name—A dheirfiúr—a dozen times as she ran, all she got was ringing and a robotic voice telling her to leave a message, which she did, though she couldn’t muster anything more than “where” and “call me back”. She tried texting, a difficult feat while running and shaking, but couldn’t manage anything more eloquent than her voicemails. She tried the calling again—ringing and robots, ringing and robots. Deirdre wanted to consult her vision, but her mind was stuck on all the wrong facts. It told her again about the pain, the anguish, and the holes, so many fucking holes—in her shoulders, her wings. Her wings, wasn’t that just the worst of it? Didn’t they know how much Lydia loved her wings? Didn’t they know what they meant? Of course they did, that was probably why they did it. But whatever the motive was, however it was going to happen, she didn’t want to think about it. All she needed to know was where and that was the one thing her mind refused to give. She hiccuped a sob, trying another call—ringing and robots. She stumbled, scraping her knees across the asphalt. With a hiss and a curse, she stood up and continued to run. As though emotional turmoil wasn’t enough, her body flared with a strange searing kind of pain. Before she could place it, she was spun harshly around. 

“Can’t!” Deirdre didn’t have the time to explain, a second wasted talking was a second Fate marched closer. Morgan had interrupted her thoughts, and she’d lost the place she’d been trying to pick apart in her vision, and which direction she ought to be running. She swatted her hands away, shoving with more force than she ever wanted to. How long did she have? She couldn’t remember; her mind fluttered in panic, her body twisted with pain. She continued to run until, suddenly, she couldn’t. Deirdre pushed herself off the ground to run again, but her body won against her raging mind. She shook, she coughed, she clawed herself across the ground ripping her nails from her skin. She wouldn’t allow her brain the capacity to consider what was happening to her, she needed to get to Lydia, and she’d do it even if it killed her. 

With a groan, she shoved herself up and took off again, in less of a run now and more of stubborn limp. She teetered from one side to the other, determined to move, desperate to. 

As Deirdre fought her way out of her grip, Morgan relinquished and gave her a count of two before running after again, growling with frustration. “We are not doing this, Deirdre! You are not doing this isolation bullshit and you are not okay!” She caught up to her within a minute, but only because Deirdre had resorted to dragging her body along the asphalt, tearing her skin one stroke at a time. Morgan caught her around the waist as she staggered to her feet and tried to limp away, blood trailing down all her limbs. “Stop.” She pressed their bodies firmly together, hugging Dierdre’s stomach with both arms. “Stop. Wherever you need to go, we can get there without destroying your body. Just stop. Let me help. I’m here to help, Deirdre.” 

Whose arms were these around her, holding her back? Deirdre clawed at them with her bloody fingers, which she soon realized didn’t have anything to claw with. So she struggled against the arms, lacking the power in her legs to fight but possessing the great determination to anyway. The world had blurred into simple shapes and colours around her; the houses were two long streaks of white, the sky was a block of blue. It was just her and the road and the arms. She groaned, the pain that blossomed under the arms was blinding, but she clawed and fought and clawed and fought. “Let,” her voice was hoarse, garbled with thick blood spitting out of her in coughs. “Go. Of. Me.” She battled against the arms again, with the last of her power. If the owner of the arms had said anything, Deirdre didn’t listen. She needed to get to Lydia, she didn’t care about anything else. She pushed harder, rubbing the bottom of her feet raw against the road. 

“Not until I know what this is! I don’t care about your secret, isolationist bullshit, I need to know what’s happening! ” Morgan said. She wished she’d had the sense to get Deirdre’s arms pinned down in her grasp. She could feel her girlfriend’s fingers digging into her skin, trying to peel away enough of Morgan to slip through. But whatever skin she cut patched over. Morgan held steady, until she heard the now familiar sound of blood gurgling in Deirdre’s throat. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go, but I’m not letting you destroy yourself,” she said. She dropped an arm to scoop up her girlfriend’s legs so she could carry her back to the car. She needed her doctor, someone to make this stop, someone who could explain why a scream had flipped a switch inside Deirdre and pulverized her insides. But Deirdre’s legs flailed and kicked and Morgan struggled to walk fast without dropping her. “Just tell me what this is,” she whispered, stuck on a loop. “I can fix it if you tell me what this is. Just tell me and we can make it stop, we can make it stop. Make it stop…”

The arms were strong. Deirdre gave up on her clawing, it was ineffective and hurt her raw fingers more than anything else. Instead, she wrapped her hand around the stranger’s wrists and tried to pry them off. She could scream, but something dull in the back of her head advised against it. She thought about it again, and the more she fought the logic, the worse her pain turned. She would do anything to get to Lydia, she had to. But she couldn’t scream, something else told her not to. “Let. Go.” She hissed, spewing another glob of blood against the ground. Then her body lifted into the air, and her eyes settled on shapes and colours she never wanted to forget. “Morgan?” She coughed, and then the rest fell into place. She couldn’t scream now, she couldn’t flail or shove—the first promise she ever offered Morgan was one to never physically hurt her with intention. “I’ll die,” she explained, “if you don’t let me go.” Because for all the promises she offered, there was one that now struck her as a little idiotic. 

A good death was a terribly subjective thing, wasn’t it? And, also, impossible. But she had wanted it so badly for Lydia. She wanted the calm passing, the peace of a bed—devoid of pain. She said she’d do it no matter what it took. Lydia had been so horrified of the drowning, it was the least she could offer her. She never thought she’d have to deliver, she never thought Lydia could die. She never thought about it because she’d sooner die herself, then ever let it happen. Now, she tried to explain this to Morgan, but every time she spoke, she sputtered out blood. As she tried to gesture it out, her body convulsed. A good death was also a terrible thing to break a promise on. “You have to let me go,” she pleaded with what was left of her voice, “please, Morgan, I won’t live if you don’t let me—“ she coughed, her body took with great tremors of uncontrollable force. Pain seized her; she wouldn’t live anyway, and it was just a waiting game to see if the next thing that left her lips was a cough, a garble or a scream. She turned her head; why were they back at the house already? “No…” she croaked. They were too far now. She couldn’t make it even if she mustered the energy. She needed to follow her body’s compass, now there was nothing left. 

For one short burst of time, Morgan believed everything was going to be okay. Deirdre saw her, she said her name and went still, and Morgan was able to break into a run. “Yes, it’s me, babe! We’re taking the car. Wherever the hell we’re going, we’re taking the car, and when you stop bleeding, you’re gonna tell me what’s wrong.”

And then Deirdre did. Not enough, not anything Morgan could understand, but she said enough to make Morgan stagger to a halt and nearly drop her with fright. “No.” She set Deirdre slowly to her feet, still holding on. “You can’t just say things like that, if that scream was for you, if this is how we…no.” She tried to pull her to the Subaru. They were less than ten feet away. They could just run up and hit the road. They could go to Lydia’s or Jared’s or the airport for all Morgan cared. As long as it was the place where Deirdre wasn’t talking about dying, she’d take them.

Deirdre sagged in her grip and collapsed to her knees, held up only by Morgan’s arms. “No, babe. We’re going. Just tell me where and we’re on our way. It’ll go by so fast, like you wouldn’t believe. You aren’t… this isn’t it, this isn’t how we’re gonna stop. We’ll fight it. Just get up with me, babe. Get up, please. We can get out of here, we can make this stop, we can be okay, we can…” Her own voice turned hoarse and ragged as she ran out of air. Morgan sank to her knees with Deirdre, eyes pleading as she fought her body for oxygen. “I can’t lose you,” she rasped. With another desperate burst of energy, Morgan tried to lift Deirdre once again. 

Deirdre fell over. She didn’t have the strength to help Morgan lift her, she didn’t have the mind to try. She tumbled backwards against the driveway, the shock of the impact eliciting a gasp and then a bout of coughing. She turned her head away from Morgan out of politeness, but it rolled back as if her neck couldn’t spare the energy to hold it up. If she looked straight, blood would pool in the back of her throat, and she began to choke, which she thought she might die from first. But her body had already started to turn cold, and she could feel death coil inside. She was afraid to cough, lest she scream, but she hardly had the strength to stop either. She wanted to tell Morgan not to touch her, she couldn’t control herself if she screamed now, and that’d be dangerous. She wanted to tell her that the scream had been for Lydia, and that she’d promised her a good death. She wanted to ask if Morgan’s death had been good (no of course it wasn’t) and tell her that this one would be okay (no of course it wouldn’t). She wanted to tell Morgan she wouldn’t mind if she made a snack of her brain. She wanted to laugh about that, would Morgan gain an Irish accent if she dug into it? What did that sound like? She wanted to be around to hear it. She wanted to tell her that too. She wanted to tell her that she wasn’t happy about being picked up and carried back, but she understood why she did it. She wanted to explain just how much, how badly, she loved her. She felt dying finally gave her the key to figuring out the right words. But everything she wanted to say came out as incoherent mumbling. She couldn’t string a sentence together even if she could stop coughing and gurgling long enough to say it. But she tried anyway. 

I love you, was a cough. We need to get to Lydia, was a long, anguished whistle between her teeth. Her arms flailed at her sides, even now and even then, she had been trying to push herself to Lydia. Part of it was the promise, leading her forwards, the other half was desperation and love—she wanted to be where Lydia was; like a child lost in a crowd, running around in circles in search of her family. It was common sense now, she figured, that she’d want to be by Lydia’s side. She just wished it wouldn’t be like this. Deirdre still wanted that good death for her, she didn’t regret offering it. She turned and slapped her phone--which had tumbled out of her hand long ago--closer to her. She lacked the energy to pick it up and call Lydia again, but she wanted it close. “L-l-l—“ she sputtered at Morgan, using her spasms as movement to propel her closer to her girlfriend. “It—“ she croaked, “okay.” Morgan seemed distressed, Deirdre tried to lift her hand up to smooth away the wrinkles, instead it bounced lamely off the ground—up and down as though she were knocking on the driveway. If she sat still, if she breathed in right, she could dispel enough of the trembling and swallow back enough blood to speak more clearly. “I’m sorry,” was all she managed for her breathing and steadiness. She hadn’t screamed for herself yet, she wanted to say, but that was what made it worse. They couldn’t run away from a broken promise. She smiled, she wasn’t worried about herself, anyway. She thought Morgan’s panic was alarming, and she was horrified for Lydia’s state, and angry that she wouldn’t pick up her phone. But she wasn’t worried. She wanted to tell Morgan that.

Morgan went down with Deirdre, unwilling to let her go. Her head hit the pavement, and Morgan screamed. Deirdre’s blood trailed down her body, staining the driveway a wet, ruddy brown and if everything was okay this wouldn’t be happening. She gathered Deirdre into her arms on the driveway, pressed into her chest as if they were embracing each other. She grit her teeth against the sound of her love choking on her own blood. She remembered the way her body fought and held Deirdre tighter. “You have to stay up,” she said. “You have to breathe. Don’t try to swallow it, babe, do whatever you have to and breathe. You’re gonna be fine. I’m gonna call the doctor and get her here and you’re gonna be just fine.” She kissed her cheek and came away streaked in blood. 

Morgan pawed around for her phone. She’d brought it, right? She wasn’t stupid enough to be without her phone in the middle of an emergency? Morgan continued to feel around, still talking to Deirdre in a shrill, steady, stream. “It’s okay, we’re gonna figure this out, okay? I’ve got you and when the doctor’s here she’ll fix you up and we’ll take a bath together and you can sleep as long as you want after…” No phone. Morgan grit her teeth, whimpering like a stricken animal. “No…” 

Deirdre was shaking in her grasp, and Morgan couldn’t tell if it was just the pain or if she was still, still trying to tear herself away from her. “No!” She bundled Deirdre’s arms into her grasp. “Please, just stop! Stay with me! Stay with me, please! Please, please, stay with me, babe. Just stay here. Stay here with me.” She caressed Deirdre’s cheek, squeezed her mutilated fingers. Blood dripped down their hands and soaked through their clothes. The driveway drank up the runoff until it was brown as dirt. Everywhere Morgan looked, there seemed to be more, splatters and rivilents and trails from the path they’d made down the block. “Please,” she begged. “You’ll be okay, please…” Her voice keened. The tears she’d been holding in began to fall and Morgan had to take a breath herself before she forgot how to speak. “Please,” she cried. “Please…”

Deirdre’s palms scraped the ground. No, something metal. Morgan blinked back her tears and saw Deirdre’s phone. Stained and a little cracked, but still working. Morgan snatched it up and tried to put in her password. Tried again. Tried again. “Fucking--Fuck!”

It-- okay--

Morgan looked down at the woman cradled in her arms. “Babe--? Hey, I’m here. I’m here.” She brushed back her hair and thumbed her cheek the way she would to ease her awake in the mornings. “I’ll make it better, you just have to hang on for me. For me, okay, my love? You don’t have to do anything else--” Her own words began to garble with sobs and she coughed, trembling as she fought herself to stay in control and get enough sense together to do something.

I’m sorry.

“No, don’t be sorry. I’m not mad, okay? Don’t be sorry, just be here…” She touched their foreheads together and squeezed her eyes shut against more tears. This wasn’t happening. They were supposed to have centuries to make this work, to live dozens of different lives together, to argue about having children. They were supposed to spend Yule together. “I can fix this. Help me…” She cried. But there was no conviction in her voice, only desperation. Her shoulders heaved, aching with the weight of what Deirdre seemed to already know. “I love you,” she whimpered. “Please... We can...we can try…” Morgan shivered, breaking with sobs that tumbled into rapid, shallow breaths, air trapped at the top of her lungs. She couldn’t let in oxygen any more than she could let in the truth.

Deirdre’s breathing had turned to pained wheezing, but the trembling ceased. Under all the red blood and dark veins, her skin had begun to turn blue. With her body’s energy claimed, there was nothing left to stop death from clawing its way around her. She did not fight for herself, but instead for Morgan’s peace and Lydia’s life. With all that was left of her, she spoke again, “you...have to...go…” Deirdre mustered a weak gesture to her phone, slapping her finger over the zero key six times to unlock it. “I...I...lov…” Her voice died, carried away by the wind. She laid still against Morgan’s body, breathing turned slow. She hadn’t screamed just yet, but now she felt like she’d miss it in her sleep. All the better, anyway, at least she wouldn’t hurt Morgan’s ears. But despite herself, despite everything she’d been told about acceptance of Death, she wheezed. She fought with what little breath she had to offer. And though it was slow, she breathed just as Morgan had taught her. In. Hold. Out. In. Hold. Out. In. Hold...

Deirdre’s phone vibrated to life, ringing loud and uncaring. The bright of the screen offered one name: a dheirfiúr.

Deirdre unlocked the phone and Morgan’s heart leapt with hope. “Yes! That was so good, babe. You’re doing so good, thank you.” Morgan started to scroll through Deirdre’s recent calls for the doctor. They had needed the woman’s help for Deirdre’s iron burns only a couple of weeks ago. But her head turned at the sound of Deirdre’s voice, so faint and broken. Her lips hung open, the ghost of her words still hanging on. “Deirdre?” Morgan patted her cheek. She shook her. “Deirdre, I know, babe. It’s okay. I know. You don’t need to say, you just need to stay here with me. Stay here. Stay…”

The phone rang as her voice broke. Morgan looked down. She’d seen that screen often enough to know who it was even if she couldn’t say the phrase in Gaelic. She fumbled to answer, almost dropping the phone. “Lydia! I know we’re not-- Please, she’s dying. It happened so fast, I don’t know what’s wrong or what to do! Please, you have to tell me what’s...What do I do? She wouldn’t tell me what’s wrong and…” She sobbed, out of words and out of time. Deirdre’s breath was so slow, rattling like the fall leaves in the yard. What little of her skin wasn’t stained with blood looked all wrong, too white, too blue. But Lydia, for all her terrible faults, was good at being fae. She knew things no one else in town did. Just holding her voice in her hand, Morgan ached to have hope.

Lydia’s voice broke through her cries. “Deirdr-- Morgan, DEIRDRE, NOW!”

Morgan pulled the phone away and jabbed her thumb on the speaker. “She’s here! You’re on speaker and she’s right here, but I don’t know if she’s conscious, if she’s still…” Morgan whimpered. She couldn’t say it, lest she breathe her death into being. 

“I relinquish you,” Lydia breathed.

“Relinquish? Relinquish from what? Lydia, what did she promise you?” But the pieces, so few, so obvious, were assembling themselves in Morgan’s mind. She just didn’t want to see it. The scream that had been personal and horrifying enough to send Deirdre in a panic. The sad timbre in Lydia’s voice. How else had she known to call? What kind of promise would do this to Deirdre except something so sentimental and stupid? “...Lydia, where are you?” She asked, her voice barely more than a squeak.

“I love you!”

“I--We love you too, we both do,” Morgan whispered.

“You’re the best fae in that town, you mean the world, you’re like a sister to--” Lydia’s voice cut off with a gasp.

“Lydia?”

A whimpering sound creaked through the other end of the line, shuddering until it turned into a keening scream of pain.

“Lydia, no!” She didn’t want this. Morgan wanted a lot of things where Lydia was concerned, most of them impossible on account of her stubborn, sickening fae supremacy ideals, but above all of them: she wanted Lydia to die more peacefully than this. “Run. Just run, Lydia! We’ll--” What? A banshee’s scream was fate’s seal. Morgan dropped the phone, held Deirdre closer, and listened.

Out. Deirdre gasped to life, freed from her bind to Lydia. But relief did not find her; dread creaked against her chest. “No…” she whimpered, a quiet sound under Morgan’s shouting and Lydia’s desperation. She wanted to say that she loved her too, but like everything else, it was too late now. She listened to the sounds on the other end of the phone; screams, cries. A good death was not the image summoned to her mind. “She’s not dead just yet.” Deirdre stood, pushing herself away from Morgan as she wobbled to her feet. She wasn’t dying, but her body was far from recovered. Even so, she stood stubbornly as though nothing was wrong with her at all. “There’s still time for a good death. We just have to get there.” It burned to speak, her body felt like a foreign mass of wetness and weight. She reached down and plucked her phone back from Morgan. She had seen more death than she knew how to count; some terrible, some kind. Fae, human, supernatural or not, she’d seen them all go. She delivered her own mercies where she could. For Lydia, she had been prepared to die, she still would. “Get in the car and drive,” she commanded weakly. “I’ll tell you where.” Lydia continued on the other end, Deirdre imagined her phone forgotten in some dark corner. She listened. “We don’t have time.” And then she moved, a limp over to the passenger seat. 

Morgan’s mind was stuck in a lag. She saw Deirdre fall out of her arms like the last few minutes hadn’t happened. Maybe they hadn’t. Maybe this was one long terrible nightmare she was trapped in and in a few minutes Deirdre would shake her awake. Morgan watched her rise, more rag-doll than woman. The blood down her robe was so red, and Morgan couldn’t even see her fingers for all the blood clotting them. Whole features vanished just like that, like they’d been melted. How weird. Distantly, there were screams, crackling and in and out, an echo of an echo. Lydia. But Lydia didn’t scream. That wasn’t who she was. Even when she was scared she was brave. Morgan thought  she remembered her ears hurting. That had been scary, but they never sounded like this before. Could screams run through you like that? Deirdre was moving toward the car, about to tip over any minute. Morgan knew she should get up and go to her, but the pathways between knowing what to do and doing it were jammed or broken. Morgan couldn’t feel her own feet, much less the ground under her. Inside, she screamed that this was all wrong and why wouldn’t anyone explain to her what was the matter and didn’t this Deirdre know she was going to fall? But maybe Morgan’s limbs had melted in all the blood too. She tried to open her mouth, wait for me, don’t go, I’m stuck, just wake me up already. Only a pitiful wine made it past her lips. 

Deirdre pulled the handle over and over again, waiting for it to unlock. They didn’t have the time to be doing this; in her hand, the sounds continued. They ebbed and flowed, moments of little silence followed by horrific scream. It didn’t even sound like Lydia anymore. “Come on, Morgan….” she tried the handle again, giving up with a huff when she figured it wasn’t going to happen. If she thought about it, she might’ve realized that Morgan was prone to shock, but she wasn’t thinking. She left Lydia on the hood of the Subaru and gripped the car as a crutch as she circled around. Morgan was still on the floor; they didn’t have the time. They couldn’t just— “Hey,” Deirdre called out softly, she couldn’t make it over to Morgan by walking (limping) and so she dove at the ground, peeling back wounds that had just started to clot. “Hey,” she called again, slow and careful. She wrapped her heavy arms around her love, unable to muster the strength to hold her as hard as she needed, and hating herself with each second for it. “Lydia is going to die, okay? She’s being, right now she’s being—“ Deirdre couldn’t say it. She swallowed, wincing at the sting in her throat. “I promised her a good death, because that’s what I do. I promised her a good death and I couldn’t do it. So, please, my love, we have to get up and go find her. If we’re quick, we can do something. If we’re quick, we can…” Save her? Get her assailants? It didn’t matter to Deirdre, she just wanted to be by Lydia’s side. Or wake up, find this was all a terrible dream. It must’ve been, Lydia couldn’t die. Lydia wasn’t the type of person that died. Not her. “Hey,” she cooed again, “I’m not strong enough to drive, so I need you to do it, but if you can’t or don’t want to...I need you to give me the keys, okay? I know it’s hard, my love. I know it’s confusing, we can figure it all out together when we get to her, but I need you to decide right now. Can you drive, or can you take your keys out and give them to me?” Deirdre wasn’t looking forward to trying to drive in her state, but she had no ideas of forcing Morgan to try. Caring for Morgan wasn’t something she took lightly, then again, neither was Lydia. She clenched her jaw, the more time they spent like this the longer Lydia was— “It’s okay,” she said again, voice cracking from use. “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re okay. I’m okay. I need you to stand for me, my love, my darling. You did so good, you brought us here because you know we have to take the car. You—“ her voice had reached its limit, and she croaked, raw and rough. “Please—“ she sobbed from the pain, from the situation. “Morgan, please…” 

Morgan thought she heard Deirdre’s voice, twisted and all wrong. The world was so slow and strange, flimsy in her mind’s grasp. There were questions she’d wanted to ask, but she couldn’t come up with the words. She was all fear and confusion, whimpering as tried to answer. “N-n-no…” she managed, barely a whisper. And then Deirdre was holding her but not, and she was alone and not, on and on two pictures sketched themselves out in her mind, a Spot The Difference game dialed up to grotesque. This wasn’t happening. But if it wasn’t happening, why wasn’t she done already? Morgan pressed in, testing the fabric of the world. Deirdre held, not right, but not the way she vanished in Morgan’s worst nightmares either. “I’m--I--” The car. The car had been important a while ago. She remembered trying hard to get to the car. Morgan looked at Deirdre, her eyes unfocused and full of fear and confusion. Deirdre was telling her things and the words were familiar even if they didn’t make sense. A promise for a good death? What did that even mean? And Lydia, a good death for Lydia… but she wasn’t even that old. That wasn’t right.

On the phone, still open, someone sobbed.

None of this was right. Deirdre was crying, pleading with her. Morgan couldn’t think of what she’d done wrong but she wanted to fix it. She tried forcing her arms to move. “Mm...s-sorr…” Her bones felt stiff and made of air at the same time. They had to do something. She always tried for Deirdre and she’d been desperate to do something before, right? She tested her hands. She couldn’t feel them right, but they looked like they were holding on. Morgan’s breath hissed through her teeth as she tried to stand, her questions dying in her throat in breathless cries. How many times had she been stuck by the roadside, watching her world fall apart? What had they done to make the universe take and take and take? Maybe this was a nightmare, but it was one Morgan had been in before. 

Morgan squeezed her eyes shut and brought them up, nodding mutely at the rest of Deirdre’s words. She didn’t realize that she was crying too, or that she was just as likely to drop her love as she was to break her bone with her grip on her body so tenuous. “Do something,” she tried to say, the sounds frail and garbled in her throat. She didn’t know if she believed it, but saying it was how most of her days went, nightmares or otherwise. “We can...do something…”

She reached into her pocket for the keys. She didn’t realize they were red and sticky because her hands were still covered in Deirdre’s blood, she just marveled at them with detached confusion and clicked the button. The Subaru blinked to life. The doors clicked, unlocking. In time she made it inside the driver’s side, buckled and keyed up and ready more from muscle memory than from any sense of hurry. She stared at the console. She knew what came next. Reverse. Steer. Drive. Go. But where? They were going to see Lydia, right? Morgan looked over at Deirdre, who had dragged herself into her seat by now. What now, she tried to say. I don’t understand where we’re going, you never told me. And when do I get to wake up? But Morgan’s hands, knowing better, followed the motions they knew and they pulled out of the drive.

As much as she wanted to soothe Morgan’s worries, they didn’t have the time. She hissed with pain and regret, forcing herself to her feet. She had seen too much death to be startled by it now. Deirdre stumbled to the front of the car, grabbing her phone--still playing the music of Lydia’s agony--and winced her way into the passenger seat. She threw her head back and heaved, the pain in her body was blinding, and she couldn’t tell so much if she was crying or if Lydia was. “Alley.” She groaned, shakily reaching her hand across the console in search of Morgan’s. “Some alley, it looked like. Not any of the one’s downtown, I think. So let’s go to Amity first, and then The Bend, and work our way up. Just drive past them, we don’t need to stop. I’ll be able to tell if she’s there.” They’d get to Lydia because they had to. They’d get to Lydia because she wanted them to. They’d get to her because, even relinquished, she burned to give Lydia her good death.  

Morgan clutched Deirdre’s hand, whining softly as relief mixed with panic. If she weren’t already driving, she might have fallen over the console trying to press it to her face. She still didn’t know how to process the shifts in Deirdre, happily holding her, shattering on the floor, running away til she bled, taking her last breaths in her arms, smiling like it was over, and now this. Morgan wasn’t convinced she’d reached the end, and half expected Deirdre to throw herself out the window or simply vanish into the ether. But Deirdre had been clear, and as much as Morgan feared she would vanish again, her instructions were the best thing to cling to. She drove fast down the residential streets Lydia couldn’t be, and braked abruptly down Amity when she felt a jolt of fear that she might speed too quickly and miss Lydia completely. She never stopped except for at the red lights, when she cowered in her seat and begged the universe to wake her up and make this stop happening.

On the phone, metal shook and crunched. A fall breeze picked up over the sound of flesh sucking in a blade and Lydia’s anguished cries. Morgan whimpered at each rising sound, knowing that there were points when even a fae body could hold no more pain. 

She cast a guilty, frightened look at Deirdre as they entered the Bend. Was she doing this right?  Was Deirdre really here? Would they make it in time? The world was becoming more real and solid and her fear was crystallizing around her along with it. As they turned the next corner, the phone went silent. Morgan flinched, eyes flickering to Deirdre again. Had she hung up? Was it too late? The silence was suddenly so loud and so much worse than the sounds of pain and violence. Morgan hadn’t been told to stop, so she kept rolling from one alley to another. But she had to know. Her voice came out as barely more than a gasp when she forced the words out.  “What happened…?” She asked, already shrinking in her seat, fearing the worst.

Deirdre, eyes closed, leaned back against her seat. The world rumbled around her in the hum of the Subaru’s engine, the crunch of gravel under its tires--interspersed with the Lydia who didn’t sound like Lydia at all. And as if her body were a jungle, she cut aside the thick vegetation of her pain--nauseating grip around her innards, limbs that felt fake--and searched for the feelings that went beyond herself. The death, the tug to fae, everything that would bring her to Lydia. The car moved, and in her silence she spoke not here, not there, keep going. At some point, not-Lydia faded into white noise; Deirdre knew those sounds already, she’d seen them ripped from Lydia’s mouth. The phone at least, was her tether to what remained. As long as she screamed and cried and begged, she lived, horrible as that living was. And as long as she lived, they could reach her. It was that way that she noticed whimpers to her left, and opened her eyes to the source. “You’re doing good,” she told Morgan, another hand outstretched to weakly clasp hers. She watched her for a moment, wishing she had more to say. For once, her rabid mind was silent; she thought of Lydia, and felt no space within her to worry about anything else. 

She found humor in the sudden silence. As if the world thought her clinging to shattered pieces was too pitiful to let continue. Deirdre turned to her phone, picked it up and stared at the red symbol of an empty battery. She laughed, loud and crude and unlike herself. “My phone died.” Her tether severed again. “Just drive,” she laughed louder, loud enough until the phone was shards digging into her blood-stained hand. She stopped just as abruptly as her phone died. “Just drive.” Her voice lost its warmth, Deirdre finding that there was nothing inside of her after all; she was pain and then nothing. She withdrew her hand from Morgan’s a moment later. “If she’s not here then drive into the outskirts, and if she’s not there then we’re heading out of town.” She closed her eyes again, and waited. 

Morgan reached back for Deirdre’s hand, scrambling through the air. “I’m sorry,” she croaked. “I’m sorry...I’m sorry…I’ll...W-we can still...” She pulled on the fabric of her robe around her thigh, her sleeve. Deirdre’s hand had been her stabilizer, and without that tie to this strange, wrong world, Morgan was off balance, floating down and away and into the deep. Morgan drove faster, clinging to the last sounds of Lydia’s screams in her memory. She barely sounded like herself at all. Lydia was so collected and proud, she would never want them to hear her like that. Morgan hated to imagine what her face must be, what must be happening to her, but if she could picture her whole, and only scarred, not bleeding, she could imagine that they might still get there in time. Morgan’s breath hitched, trapped at the top of her lungs again, but still she drove. 

The roads grew sparse, and the White Crest City Limits sign came up the horizon, and still she drove. In time, Deirdre’s arms went limp and her hand flopped into her lap, passively open to be held. Still Morgan drove. The sun sank behind the treetops, the stars blinked to life, the road gave way to freeways and bright white lights, and towns with twice as many lights and coffee shops. Then the last light vanished, and there was still nothing, absolutely nothing. Morgan gripped Deirdre’s hand tighter. Morgan veered out of whatever town they were in and back onto the freeway. If it wasn’t here, then where? And how many hours had it been? Only a few cars were driving out in the boonies at night, Morgan sped onto the entrance ramp without disturbing a soul. The Subaru drifted in and out of its lane, signs passed in a tear-coated blur, and there was nothing, only dark, and the echo of Lydia’s scream so distant, Morgan wasn’t sure if she was remembering it right. A sob broke through her. Morgan bit her lip and gripped the wheel tighter. She sobbed again, the sound cracking through her clenched jaw. Still Morgan drove--into a guardrail. Paint and metal peeled off the side,sending sparks down the road. Morgan screamed and slammed the brake. The car stopped. The clock flipped: 10:30 p.m. Morgan saw the numbers, and the crunched metal along the passenger side door. There was nothing. Nothing they could do. The scream Morgan wanted to let out whistled past her throat in a shrill cry. Her muscles tingled with a pain that went beyond her dead nerves, suddenly too heavy for her body. Morgan slumped down against the wheel and covered her head as if all the sobs breaking through her were full of flying debris.

Deirdre thought a clear mind would bring her to Lydia. She didn’t think of her pain, or of Morgan’s, or of where they were driving, really. She thought of Lydia as she was, the curve of her shoulders, the swoop of her hair. She thought of her as she knew Lydia would hate for anyone to see her; crying in her arms, bloody and beaten and tortured without the dignity of a good place to die. An alley, it had to be. She’d be just another stain against brick. Her blood would mix with the dampness. She’d die like she was nothing, like Deirdre didn’t love her. Her body would be ruined by the world, touched by the dirt, claimed by the rats. It wasn’t right. Lydia didn’t deserve to be twisted into something she wasn’t; so much of her life was spent embodying perfection, why should she die like trash, thrown aside? The clear mind didn’t provide any answers, but Deirdre thought it would lead her well to where she needed to go--to the place that would. Instead it broke apart by the shrill sound of metal against metal, and rubber against road. Her eyes snapped open and she was back in the world again, where Lydia wasn’t. Deirdre slammed the passenger side door against the guard rail, trying to open it and hop out. She tried it again and again as if the space for her to squeeze out would magically grow large enough for her to fit. She turned to Morgan to explain her predicament and found her slumped against the wheel. 

In another world---the good world, the one that was peaceful and warm and brighter than bright---Lydia was laughing over a glass of wine. She was explaining the process of her latest restoration piece, and though the topic was not interesting or of importance to Deirdre, she leaned up to the edge of her seat and smiled wide as if being told a story. She looked to Lydia with bright eyes, and an expression that was horribly transparent for all the love and awe she held inside of her. In that world, Deirdre explained that she was an only child, and that she didn’t know what it was like to have a sister. She called her dheirfiúr and said she thought she knew now. Then she said she was sorry; for many things, but this one betrayal more than all.

Deirdre turned the car off, the Subaru’s rumbling now dead as the night around them. She crawled across the console, reaching out to push the driver seat back, leaned back just as far as she knew was comfortable. She pulled Morgan away from the wheel and pressed her into the seat. Clumsily, painfully, she fell into Morgan’s lap, and pulled her into her bloodied chest. They didn’t have time. But in the good world, they would have found Lydia already. Deirdre’s curse was not the death she carried, but the truths she knew. “It’s okay,” she rasped, her throat still sensitive to speech. “Let’s take a break; it’s okay.” 

Morgan gasped through her sobs, trying to make her words come. She was sorry she’d fallen apart in the driveway, she was sorry she was falling apart right now, she was sorry she’d wrecked the car, she was scared, she thought Deirdre was going to die, she didn’t understand, she didn’t know what to do, and where else could Lydia be? Why couldn’t they just find her, why wasn’t she anywhere? Didn’t they at least get to have a body to bring with them, to shroud and burn the way fae were supposed to be? Why was there nothing? Deirdre’s body pressed into hers, familiar and right and Morgan finally had enough air to scream the way her body needed to. She latched onto Deirdre, shaking her head as she wrapped herself as tightly as her small limbs would let her. Was Deirdre really even here, she wanted to ask. Was she going to vanish too? Was all of this a living nightmare that left Morgan alone in the world? Scattered pieces of her thoughts made it through her sobs, “...so, so sorry...Lydia...please...Deirdre, stay with...please…Lydia...” But just as there was no more Lydia (terrible, thoughtless, incredible Lydia), there were no words to trade away her pain. Like death, it simply was.

Choice was a horrible thing. Maddening, freeing, precious, but terrible. There never was a right one, and Deirdre hated that. She felt sick thinking of how lonely Lydia was, how abandoned by people who said they loved her, and how she was doing the same--leaving her body to decay in some nameless alley. This was her own fault, she should have fought harder against Morgan and just kept running. She would’ve known where to go then, and if it meant she’d die, then at least she’d be where Lydia was. But even for the pang of regret, she couldn’t look at the Morgan in her arms and say what she’d done was wrong. She thought Lydia would understand, because Lydia always did. “It’s okay, my love.” The space she carved out in her numb body for Lydia she carefully dug out and filled anew. She’d make it up a thousand times over when they finally reached her murder scene, where she’d commit to memory every face involved and subject them to the same suffering. She’d make the death good, somehow. But for now, life was for the living, and she tried to hold Morgan tighter. “Don’t be sorry. It’s okay. Look at me---” Deirdre cupped Morgan’s face. She smiled down at her, as warmly as her worn body could muster. The dark veins had long since faded away, and though she was still crusted with blood, some color had flushed back to her pale skin. Her soft brown eyes didn’t reflect any of the agony that claimed her. “Look at me. It’s okay. It’ll be okay. You don’t have to be sorry for anything. I’m here with you, I’ll always be here with you.” 

“But...you were gone…I didn’t...But I...” Morgan hiccuped, trembling, confusion wrinkled all over her brow. But Deirdre’s face let no room for question or doubt. She was no nightmare doppelganger or ghost. She was solid and blood caked and soft and she loved her. Whatever had been behind the last few hours, death and everything in between, that much was still true. Morgan nodded, accepting her word as gospel even if she didn’t understand it. The tension between her shoulders crumbled and Morgan sank back against Deirdre, nuzzling her cheek as she burrowed into her comfort. “Tell me how to make this better and I’ll do it,” she whispered, her voice squeaking with pain impatient to unload itself. “How do we heal you after this? You stopped breathing for so long, you must be...and your hands, and your poor feet...and…” And there was another question, too awful to be asked aloud. And how do we get Lydia back? How do we re-balance the world so she can stay here long enough to change? “What do we do for her now?” Was all she said.

Deirdre always felt more like herself when there was a plan to be discussed. Her whole life was plans; she had the mind for it. A good plan always made her forget that she never really believed what she was saying. “You take me to my doctor, and I’ll stay overnight at the clinic. They don’t allow it, but I’ll argue, and you’ll stay the night with me. I’ll heal. I always do.” She had no nails left after scraping them across the asphalt, to try and rake over Morgan’s skin for added pressure, but she didn’t have the strength to anyway, and so she didn’t mourn the loss for long. “We go find Lydia. And we take what’s left of her body, and we worry about your hunger when we get there--but we take her home, and we’ll freeze her. I’ll call her family. We’ll go to her house and pick out a nice dress for her; she’ll want to look good, that’s important. And we’ll take whatever else we can so she can be remembered just the way she wanted to. We’ll take Niamh in, because we have to, and Anya and Moira will just have to adjust. And then I find the people who did this and---” Deirdre swallowed back the anger that roiled in the back of her throat. “---and it’ll be okay. We have to find her first, but we will, and then it’ll be okay.” 

#wr deirdre #wr chatzy #wr deirdre chatzy #a good death #wr lydia #wr lydia chatzy #wickedswriting

[deathduty]

Stairway to Deirdre || Nora & Deirdre

TIMING: Set after A Portrait of Morgan Grey LOCATION: Deirdre & Morgan’s house PARTIES: @fearfordinner & @deathduty CONTENT: Head trauma tw SUMMARY: Nora wants to visit a friend.

Nora’s last conversation with Morgan had gone really well, but it had left Nora with a burning question. What did Morgan’s actual house look like? The answer was. Rich. Nora didn’t know why that surprised her. Other people were rich, she knew. It was easy to assume that most people in White Crest were poor. They just didn’t have the same…. affect of the ‘too rich for their own good’ people she’d grown up around. The front door had been unlocked. Just as Nora had requested, that must mean Morgan was expecting her. A cat ran by Nora, hissing at her before skittering to a different room. A new friend. Nora nodded at the receding cat before starting to slink around the large house. It looked like it could have been on TV. Not Nora’s taste, but if she was to believe the media it was the ideal set up for homes. 

In Nora’s hands objects were picked up and placed back down. Examined and discarded. Everything was returned to the exact place she’d found it a little bit to the left. She thought that would be a funny joke for Morgan to discover later. Done with the first floor Nora finally decided to check out what secrets the second story held. Hopefully she’d get a glimpse of that bone room Morgan had promised. Morgan had a very impressive spiral staircase. Nora slid her hands on the railings as she ascended the steps, completely transfixed by the light fixture that hung about it. 

Doors were an utter inconvenience to Deirdre. Why houses didn’t adopt the automatic sliding doors featured at grocery stores, she didn’t know. And while technology was often confusing to her, and though she was fond of her dated family home, she just really hated the inconvenience of a door. Maybe that was why she had forgotten to lock the front door—locks were an even greater inconvenience—or why she had been staring at her bedroom door for minutes, hoping it would magically open. She’d really have to teach the cats how to open doors for her, one of these days. But finally mustering the strength to turn a door knob, she exited into the hall, and had begun her descent to procure some fruits for snacking, when she froze. She adjusted her silk robe, to make sure nothing was exposed, and stared. Then blinked. Then stared some more. “Who the fuck are you?” But there was one easy answer to strangers on a staircase, her staircase. Deirdre reached out, and with practiced ease and great delight, she shoved the stranger down. 

A woman in silk robes emerged from an upstairs room. It wasn’t Morgan. Nora wondered who it was. Nora even considered asking ‘Who are you’, but the woman spoke first and she thought it would be polite to not speak over her. So instead she opened her mouth to answer. The only thing that came out of that open mouth was a soft “Oh.” As she suddenly found herself being shoved down the stairs. First there was bouncing, limbs and head slapping on carpeted steps until finally there was sliding. In an attempt to defend herself Nora did the only thing she could think of. She shifted. Her clothes tore around her, her body quadrupled in size and the bear emerged. When she got to the bottom of the stairs, the only thing she could really think about was the pain coursing through her body. Staggering  up to her four legs Nora looked up the stairs, asking “Why did you do that?” Of course she had a bear’s mouth with a bear’s vocal cords. It came out more of a mournful yodel, something that Babadook would be proud of. 

There was a bear. For all the shoving of people Deirdre had done, none of them had ever turned into a bear. Deirdre’s eyes rose up and she turned back to her bedroom. She closed the door, a horrible unnecessary thing, and then opened it again, emerging as she just had. Again, there was a bear at the bottom of her steps. “I’m sorry,” she blinked, “I think I must be in a dream. Or perhaps I’m the one who suffered a tumble down the stairs. But you appear to be a bear.” And she was the one talking to the bear, which wasn’t any better. But the bear noises were commendable, almost as great as her screams. In honour of them, and in an attempt to communicate, she offered her own yodels, more like Irish lilting. “What do you want from me?” She gave up after a moment, demanding answers from the bear. If this was a dream, it was a terrible one. Where was the naked Morgan? Or the bones? Or Kaden being set on fire? Or all three at once? 

Nora looked down at the bottom of the stairs where she’d fallen, up the stairs to where the lady still stood. She looked familiar, in a ‘might have seen her picture before’ way but Nora couldn’t quite place it. Probably due to the fact that her brain had just been rattled around in her head. Yodeling again, Nora got her front paws on the first step again. “You made me bear myself.” The bear tried to say, the words colliding into meaningless bear noises. With her two front paws on the first step, Nora realized that she had no clue how to walk up stairs when she was this big. The length of her paw was about the width of the stair. She, in her rattled state, instead of thinking it through decided to stand on her two bear hindlegs. She used the railing to hoist her giant upper half up. “Why did you push me down the stairs?” 

Did bears eat fae? Deirdre considered this as the bear appeared to be climbing up to get her. A supernatural deer had ravaged her home, once. And somehow, the bear was still more strange. “I know I look delectable—I am, as the kids say, a snack—but you shouldn’t let looks deceive you.” Well, if the bear ate her, then she supposed she really did deserve that. She’d known a few to snack on pixies, but really, with the way those things zipped around, even she’d thought about chomping on a couple just to shut them up (she loved them as she loved  all fae, she would remind anyone who asked). The bear continued its rumbling and Deirdre thought she might have seen a spark of intelligence in its eyes, or maybe that was just the chandelier’s reflection.  “I can give you fish,” she finally offered. They’re must have been some salmon in the freezer, beside the brains.

A snack? Nora didn’t eat people. Although, she had some questions about what people would taste like. Someone once said chicken, but she doubted the strange on that internet form had actually eaten human. Weren’t there tonnes of creatures in the surrounded forest that ate people? They liked the taste of humans. No no, Nora had decided long ago that normal meat was enough for her. Fish? The offer was on the table, and Nora with her grumbly tummy was always hungry. As she started struggling her way up the stairs, a pain still throbbing in the back of her head she sang in bear “I am short, fat, and proud of that and so with all my might I up, down, up-down to my appetite's delight. While I up, down, touch the ground I think of things to chew, Mmm, like honey, milk, and chocolate, with a hefty-happy appetite. I'm a hefty-happy Pooh.” For reasons surely unknown, Nora had always loved the Disney character Winnie the Pooh. Of course the whole thing just looked like a yodeling bear climbing up the stairs to maybe eat the human, not asking for the proffered fish. 

Weirdly, it was like the bear was singing at Deirdre. Whatever had happened for her to hallucinate this, it must have been potent; singing bears were her least favourite kind of bear. But she noted the song-song quality of the bear’s yodels now; quite beautiful, if only she weren’t so confused. Well, there was just one way to deal with strange hallucinations. Some silly people might have suggested pinching herself to confirm reality, but Deirdre much preferred her own technique. She reached out, prised the bear’s paws up, and shoved it down the stairs. All of this was done swiftly, as she was trained for excellence, not deliberation, but it felt awfully slow in her head. But the bear had felt real, and so, after throwing someone down a flight of stairs twice, she deduced that this was not a dream. 

It was the shock, wasn't it? As Nora once more found herself bouncing then sliding down the stairs, her limbs going everywhere and the carpet sliding against her, she instinctively changed back. Blood trickled down her arm, her left eye pulsed and a searing pain with shooting through her left shoulder. “Ow.” She mumbled. Having landed securely on a pile of her torn clothes, the naked Nora did absolutely nothing to change this situation. She hurt and quite frankly she wasn’t here for it. The second fall had knocked a little bit of sense in her, if climbing up the stairs resulted in pain, then stay at the bottom of the stairs. Nora opened her mouth to try and say something like, why did you push me? Or Who are you. Instead all that came out with a second, less monotoned “Ow.” 

But the only thing worse than a bear at the bottom of her steps, was a naked, injured person. Deirdre finally went down, staring at the stranger. “Are you okay?” She asked, with all the concern of a woman who hadn’t just shoved this intruder down the stairs. Twice. Although, she hadn’t exactly figured out why the stranger had been a bear for some of it. But along with the memory of fur under her fingers, the torn clothes also told her she hadn’t just imagined it. “You’re bleeding,” she stated, though moved not an inch to help. Instead, she shrugged off her silk robe and tossed it upon the stranger, as if discarding it into the trash. Now she was the naked one, which was usually how she liked things. In her shock, she just couldn’t figure out what she was supposed to do. She imagined the silk robe helped, somehow. “Are you okay?” She asked again. 

There was a world of questions Nora expected someone to ask in that situation. The question Nora hadn’t expected was the one she got. ‘Are you okay?’ Are you okay from the woman who pushed her down the stairs. Nora stared up at the lady, brown hair, brown eyes, beautiful facial structure. The light structure above them made a perfect halo around her face, framing her how she imagined an angel was framed standing above Lucifer as he fell. “You…” Nora’s mouth felt dry as she tried to speak through the pain going through her. “You.. never showed up for our wedding.” She finally recognized the woman standing over her. Deirdre. Her poor brain, that had been rattled around alot decided this was more than enough for Nora today. Darkness overwhelmed her as unconsciousness greeted her. 

“Oh,” Deirdre said. “Nora.” She wasn’t sure what she expected Nora to look like, but a bear and naked were not among the considerations. Lydia did say Nora wasn’t human, so there was that. What were those things that turned into bears? Boob-bears? That explained the nudity. “Well, this is just funny, isn’t it, Nora?” She paused. “Nora?” Deirdre nudged the slumped body with ehr foot. “Noooooraaaaaaaa?” She waited. Oh well. Deirdre stepped over the body with a whistle, off to get her fruits. She picked the salmon out of the freezer and a pillow from the couch on her way back to the staircase. She wiggled the pillow under Nora’s head, noticing the dark coloring forming around her left eye. She put the frozen fish there. Nora wasn’t dead, which according to Deirdre, meant there was no cause for concern. Not that she had much concern to begin with. She noticed the bleeding arm and shifted the silk robe to lay on top as a sort of expensive, ineffective bandage. She shrugged, good enough. And then she went about the rest of her day, Nora forgotten and salmon left to defrost on her purple eye--which was also promptly forgotten. Vaguely, she thought she might invest in some home security, but she didn’t know why the thought came to her. Oh well, must not have been important.

#wickedswriting #c: nora #chatzy #stairway to deirdre #head trauma tw #(not in excessive detail but its there) #this is set before lydia #also i love ishie so much #this was.....everything i wanted in my life #SOFT

[thronesofshadows]

Rebound || Lydia & Evelyn

TIMING: Shortly after Lydia’s wing heals PARTIES: @inspirationdivine & @thronesofshadows LOCATION: Evelyn’s home, Harris Island SUMMARY: Lydia is a good friend.

Her back was still pink tinged. If she was entirely honest with herself, it still hurt, her skin prickled under the shift of every piece of clothing, but it was all worth it. Everything grown back, everything healed. She was whole again. So Lydia was dressed in a figure hugging skirt that glittered like emeralds and sapphires, with large puffy shoulders and a drop down her back. She looked incredible, and while her security guards were waiting in the car parked outside Evelyn’s home, she also felt invincible, for a moment, as she rang the doorbell. “Hello darling, it is ever so good to see you again!”

She was quite pleased that Lydia was coming over. Not only because it had to mean that she must have been feeling better, but because she was another someone who Evelyn had found herself growing incredibly fond of in the months that the two knew one another. Besides, it gave her another excuse to dress up - in a deep red dress that accentuated her waist before flaring out in the skirt. As if on cue, she heard the doorbell ring and she breezed over, opening the door, a smile crossing her lips. “I could very much say the same about you. You look absolutely beautiful as well, if I do say so.” Moving to the side, she motioned for Lydia to follow her inside. “I am so pleased to have you over. Is there anything in particular that you would wish to do first? My sitting room is often a popular spot to be, but I have many other rooms and would be happy to show you anything you would like.”

“Thank y-” Lydia faltered, because she really ought to know better than to speak thanks so easily. “It has been lovely to have an excuse to dress up too. I haven’t been out much as of recently.” That was no secret. As she stepped into Evelyn’s home, she shed her glamour. Her ears extended up to the crown of her head, and her wings unfurled like bright sunflowers, her firefly shells yellow and brown, her fresh wing fluttering weakly. “Oh, I'd love to have a tour of your home, if that’s what you’re offering. Anyway, my dear, most importantly, how are you?”

“Not a problem.” Evelyn replied with a wave of her hand. “I certainly could never fault anyone for wishing for an excuse to dress up.” She watched Lydia transform as she entered  Evelyn’s home, and she had to admit that she was more than a bit transfixed. “You are beautiful.” Her hand flew up to cover her mouth and she offered Lydia a sheepish grin. “I am offering. I do not need to show you everywhere, as that might take up far too much time and it seems useless to spend time together simply showing off my home.” She gave a small shrug at the question. “Complicated. I mean - better?” She bit her lip. “Not totally better, clearly. However, better than I was before.” She began to walk down her hallway, taking a turn and pointing toward the kitchen. “That is the kitchen. It is stocked with some basics, but I do not use it very much. I have been told it is to die for. Makes some people jealous.” She looked over towards the other woman again. “I am very glad you have the time to spend with me. Truly.”

Lydia smirked at the compliment, preening. She flicked her wings playfully, affection bubbling out of her as Evelyn looked sheepishly back at her. “I dress to impress, my dear. That said, you’re rather breathtaking too.” She shook her head. “There is no such thing as time wasted when it is spent with friends. “ All the same, she followed Evelyn into her kitchen, looking around as Evelyn described how she was feeling. Or rather, didn’t describe it at all. “Not totally better, but improved. And might I ask why you needed the improvement in the first place? You can talk to me, you know. I wouldn’t divulge anything said in confidence.”

The kitchen was to die for, that much was true. Lydia looked around, but her gaze just kept drifting back to Evelyn. “It is beautiful. Although I don’t eat this kind of food either, I have always enjoyed preparing it for guests and the like. It is a beautiful kitchen.” Lydia smiled at Evelyn, and gave her arm a soft squeeze. “Always, my dear. Always.”

“Well, I suppose I ought to have not expected anything else.” Evelyn grinned. “Well, that means a lot, coming from you.” She let her lips pucker for a moment as if in thought before glancing down. “Well, it is still appreciated, and I am glad to be a friend, continuously and constantly.” At Lydia’s question, she shrugged. “Break up.” She glanced up at the other woman, eyes growing wide. “I apologize, that was blunter than I intended. I was seeing someone and we are no longer seeing one another, and apparently break ups do more for my self-esteem than I would have previously imagined. Which is why I asked if you cared about me.”

She could feel the other woman’s gaze on her and it did, for a moment, allow her to relax. “I used to watch my cooks prepare food, though I am not much of an expert. I do find that making certain things can be satisfying, particularly for those who can actually eat.” Evelyn shrugged. “Besides, I felt as though I ought to show you my place, and I am pleased you were able to feel safe enough to come by. Unfortunately, given my species, I cannot have any sort of guard animal, though I am rather effective at dealing with would-be intruders, should the occasion arise. It - it has not, though. At least not in years.” She wrapped her arms around her torso as she made her way out of the kitchen, turning in the hallway to the dining room. “Another room that I often have no use for, but it does make for a nice space to read or do work, on occasion, when I do not wish to do so in my office at the bar.” She unwrapped her arms and reached out briefly, brushing her fingertips against Lydia’s arm. “My sitting room and the rest of my house are rather a bit more exciting than these, I must say. Shall we?”

“Break up?” Lydia repeated, sympathetically. “I am ever so sorry to hear that. Was it your decision, or theirs? Break ups are difficult regardless, but if they weren’t worth continuing then they aren’t worth letting affect your self esteem. Which is easier said than done.” For a brief moment, she wondered if this was why she had been invited over, as a replacement for the break up. Lydia looked at Evelyn appraisingly and concluded she wouldn’t have an issue if that was the case. Quite the contrary. Much more likely, the mushrooms were making her more enthusiastic towards such activities than she normally was, as they did every year. “You remain worthy of love irregardless of the circumstances.”

“Oh, certainly. There’s something wonderful about feeling like you’re nurturing someone else, both body and soul. It was one of the jarring things of growing up catholic, where feeding people is so revered, when we don’t eat food as a family.” Lydia replied, reminiscing on her childhood. She was under no illusions that humans enjoyed nurturing her, but that was their lot, regardless of whether they liked it or not. “If you can treat people like you did that painting, I’m not worried in the slightest.” Lydia laughed airily, as if it didn’t bother her, but it far too airy, put on to convince herself. She leant into Evelyn’s brief touch, brightening back up into a genuine in a smile “Let’s. That said, you could show me the phone book and I would still be interested. I’m thoroughly enjoying the company.”

“Mine.” Evelyn bit her lip. “Which, well - it gives me a certain sense of power over it, but it does not mean that I feel any less sour about the fact, however childish this must make me seem, Lydia.” She looked over to the other woman kindly, readjusting her posture as she felt Lydia's eyes on her. For whatever Lydia might have wanted, Evelyn found that whenever she was in the other woman’s presence she always wanted to make the very best of impressions. Even if she already believed that Lydia thought highly of her, she wished to remain in the other woman’s good favor. “I appreciate that. I was informed that I believe nobody could love me. Which is admittedly perhaps more true than I might wish to believe.”

“I agree - I grew up in the Church of England, though I was made to be as human as possible. All credit to my father, who was human himself. Forgive me if I am repeating myself, I have found myself growing closer with more people than before, and rather alright with telling them about my past.” Evelyn glanced down at her feet. “I can indeed.” She felt herself blush at Lydia’s comments, “well, I could say much the same of you. However, I do not plan to read the phone book.” She wrapped her arm around Lydia’s and led her over to the sitting room. “I find it nice to come here and read when I am not in my bedroom, and the doors open right onto my beach.” She turned back over to Lydia, her body continuing to relax in the older woman’s presence. “It is a nice space to spend one’s time. Shall we move along? Unless you find yourself wishing to rest, which I would be more than happy to do. Whatever makes you feel at your best.”

“It doesn’t make you seem childish at all,” Lydia replied, putting her hand on the back of Evelyn’s shoulder. “Love is as fickle as a mushroom. You don’t realise how deep and far it stretches until it is gone, leaving the rest of the soil all the poorer for it.” Lydia thought back to her last love, the bright moments where her world had burned like a furnace with the heat of their passion, and the dwindling cold that eventually grew as icy as death itself. “By that point, it doesn’t really matter who said the final words. Especially when its followed with barbs like that one. Ouch. They really didn’t deserve you, my love.”

“Oh, at least I was raised as a catholic fae. Our bible looks rather different, you’d be surprised,” Lydia said with a smile, “You aren’t repeating yourself, and you don’t have to apologise for telling people about yourself, my dear. You can act like you’re the most interesting person in the room, because you usually are.” Lydia teased, following Evelyn into the sitting room. “This is beautiful, you must have the most amazing view. I’m sure you impress all your guests like this.”

“Well I am ever so grateful to hear that.” Evelyn nodded. “I should quite hate the idea of ever being childish. I am not certain I was childish even as a child, so it would be quite a bit odd to be so now, I think.” She shrugged at Lydia’s next words. “I am not certain I understand love, if I am to be honest. Perhaps that is why I was told that I believe nobody could love me. It was quite a terrible sort of barb, I think.” It still made her skin crawl, particularly given that those words still wouldn't leave her mind. “You are far too kind to me, Lydia.”

“Oh?” Evelyn looked at her companion again. “I imagine that I would be, though that sounds - well, it sounds sort of nice. I was, as previously stated, raised as human as could be. Made me bedridden, sometimes. I may have a human father but a lack of subsisting on fear does not go over well for me in the long run. Not at all, really.” She sat down. “Well, I take your words to heart and I appreciate them incredibly. I am indeed often one of the most interesting people in the room, though right now that may be ever so slightly up for debate.” She brushed her hand against Lydia’s arm. “It is a wonderful view, and it is a handy method of impressing others, but I do not always have tons of guests. I am a bit selective. I only prefer the company of those with whom I properly enjoy my time.”

“I’m so, so, sorry. No matter how valuable the connection with your human family, there is always something left to be desired. No one I know raised only by humans has found this easy.” Lydia squeezed Evelyn’s hand, thinking about Remmy, and Regan, and all the other lost souls she’d picked up over the course of the year. She really did think her words were comforting, even though they were not. But as the topic turned to easier, funner things, she followed with a smile and a flirty laugh. “Then that is something we should let lesser mortals debate. I will just stand here and enjoy your presence,” Lydia teased back. Sometimes, one had to be bold. She could handle a little rejection, and Evelyn could use the confidence boost, whichever way she replied. Lydia smiled, looked down at Evelyn’s hand on her arm. “That I can believe. Although, I imagine the view from your bedroom is nicer. If you would like to share it.”

“I would agree - and you know more people?” Evelyn’s eyes widened for a single moment. She’d met a few people who had experienced that since moving to town, but it still felt few and far between. “I - if they ever wish to meet me, I might like that.” She knew that sometimes people looked down on her for having a human parent, though she consistently reminded herself that this was through no fault of her own. She had enough people - Deirdre, Miriam - who knew where she had come from and who still accepted her for who she was. “I mean, I am never opposed to having others enjoy my presence, if I am to be quite blunt.” She used her free hand to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “Certain views are, very much so.” She let a small, teasing smile cross her lips. “I think that we can end there, as a matter of fact. I might have some ideas that could well keep us occupied for at least a bit of time.” Evelyn stood up for a moment, letting Lydia follow suit. “Follow me.”

#wickedswriting #c lydia #chatzy #rebound #// this is old but we both had hiatuses and other things #pls enjoy soft times #i love lydia and i love immo so so very much

[inspirationdivine]

Metamorphosis || Regan and Lydia

Timing: Before the Morgue scream Characters: @kadavernagh and @inspirationdivine Summary: Regan comes to bring a sick Lydia soup, and sees more than she bargained for.

Lydia still lay on her stomach most days, reclining on her futon as she read a book. Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. She read a paragraph, and her mind drifted off into a fixed distance, and then she’d read it again, having already forgotten what had happened on the previous page. All the same, Lydia was determined to enjoy it. She was saved from her efforts when the doorbell rang, and Lydia pulled up her phone to see through the camera that it was Regan. She looked over at The Mime. “Can you let her in, please?” Meanwhile, Lydia squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on carefully reconstructing her glamour. She no longer limped, nor was her face bruised, but glamours had gotten harder ever since, well, ever since. Regan was the only visitor Lydia knew she wanted to see and had to keep it up for. The last thing she needed was another Banshee scream. 

So many people thought colds only came along in the winter, but rhinoviruses were actually fairly equal-opportunist. Part of Regan suspected that Lydia’s “sickness” was a little stranger than a typical cold, but she couldn’t help but hope that this was something she’d encountered before. And there was something different about Lydia’s house -- it took her a second to spot the difference. The cameras. She’d had security cameras installed, or at least more visible ones. And the other difference: it wasn’t Lydia who answered the door. It was a mime. Regan jumped backwards, nearly dropping the soup and medicine she’d brought over. “Get away from Lydia!” She shouted, a scream starting to churn in her lungs. “I know what you’re capable of! You--” But all the mime did was raise a single finger to his mouth, shushing her, his make-up caked eyes crinkling in what looked like amusement. Then, he beckoned into the house. And she noticed the firearm at his side, along with a walkie-talkie and some other gadgets. Was the mime… security? Was he actually supposed to be here? Regan swallowed most of the scream back, but if it weren’t for Lydia being somewhere inside, she would’ve run back to the car. “Lydia?” She called out, reluctantly following the mime indoors. Usually Lydia was right there, ready to greet her. She could feel her, the bugs biting at her skin. But maybe Lydia was trying to rest. This was a surprise visit, after all. Regan turned to the mime, still keeping a safe distance. “Should I, uh, leave this with you to give to Lydia?” No answer, of course.

Lydia immediately cringed as she heard Regan’s voice raise into a yell. “It’s okay!” She yelled through. “He’s friendly! Regan?” Lydia called, standing up to greet her guest, moving slowly to disguise that her back was immovably stiff. There were no crutches anymore, her foot had healed perfectly. Hopefully she would soon be able to say the same thing about her wing. “No, you can come on through. Please don’t mind my security. He’s friendly. Lu Jing is around somewhere too. Do you want anything to drink?” Even with the glamour, Lydia carried the strain around her eyelids, taut and thin around her red eyes. She still wasn’t sleeping much these nights. How could she, when the nights were only getting longer and more dangerous?

Friendly? The thought of a friendly mime was even more alarming than Lydia languishing on the couch. A fresh wave of prickles ran across Regan’s skin, and she watched cautiously as Lydia rose from where she lay. There was something off with her gait. Something stiff, like she had a spinal injury that she was trying to hide. She probably would have succeeded with someone else. The mime, meanwhile, simply stood by at attention. Regan kept an eye trained over him, scanning for the glint of a knife or any twitch of movement to the gun. “You hired a mime for security?” And apparently others, including someone named Lu Jing. “I heard you were sick, so I brought you some things, but you--” She met Lydia’s sallow, sunken eyes, and the full impact of how bad Lydia looked struck her. This wasn’t the flu, or even a cold. She wasn’t sure what it was. “You look like you haven’t slept in weeks, are you-- what happened?” No longer fearing anything contagious, Regan approached, a hand hovering over Lydia’s arm but hesitating, and pulling away. The security. The lack of sleep. The injuries, whatever they were. “Were you attacked? Or did someone break in?”

“I hired a group from an agency. That said, The Mime has certain benefits,” Like being off putting to a very specific hunter that Regan was dating, and a distinct lack of idle chatter when he was driving her around. Everyone in this town was terrified of mimes, and Lydia enjoyed the distance it created around her in public spaces too. “That’s more than kind of you, Regan,” Lydia said with a soft smile, unable to placate the worry on Regan’s face. “Yes.” Lydia admitted quietly. She looked to the kitchen, and wished Regan had at least answered whether she wanted a drink. Then Lydia would have something to turn her hands and mind to, rather than just the memories of those gleaming, terrifying eyes. “A little over a month ago now. I’ve been healing faster than you would believe, but… these things take time. Are you sure I can’t offer you a drink?”

“I don’t believe there are any benefits to mimes,” Regan muttered, not missing the striped glance that the well-muscled mime shot in her direction. “I’ve seen what they’re capable of.” In any other town, that would have sounded insane. And for a moment, just an instant, Regan wondered if White Crest had polluted her, too. She set the bags she’d brought down on the table near the couch, and caught Lydia’s furtive glance toward the kitchen. Right, water. It seemed unimportant in the face of whatever had happened to Lydia. She had been attacked. And badly, it appeared, if she looked like this even a month after it had happened. “Technically, you already have offered me a drink. I just don’t want one.” Although… she’d be able to get a better opportunity to observe Lydia’s gait. No, best to just ask. Regan plopped herself down on one of the chairs, indicating that she wasn’t going anywhere, and glared at the mime again until he backed off slightly, hovering by the door. “What happened? I mean, you were attacked. How badly? Are you-- was your back injured?”

“What they’re capable of is rather the point,” Lydia replied, raising her eyebrows. “They’re bound to keep me and my guests safe.” She didn’t point out that The Mime wasn’t even her most dangerous guard. Perception was everything, though. Lydia pursed her lips slightly, disappointed at the lack of distraction, and carefully sat back down herself. “So I did,” she agreed, and braced herself for questions. “Badly.” Lydia said, and carefully set her gaze past Regan, speaking in a clipped, clinical tone, as if this was how her doctor had described her injuries. Regan would want to know, and she was too observant to hide much. Perhaps this could also be a lesson. God, Lydia didn’t want this to be a lesson. “Fractures along my cheek bone, ankle, sternum. Some… adverse cognitive effects. I was- I was drowned. And I- I lost- no, he removed, tore off-“ pauses a moment, swallowed, and finished, “He tore off one of my wings. So, it was rather serious. However, I’m already most of the way healed.” She looked back at Regan with a small, sad smile. “Due to the nature of my injuries, I haven’t talked about it much. It’s been difficult to admit to.”

Lydia’s eyes seemed to flip in and out of focus as she looked past Regan, remembering something. Regan steeled herself, unsure what to expect. Something had shaken Lydia so much that she’d gone and hired a team of security guards, and she looked like… well, this. Lydia, of all people, who Regan had always viewed as unyielding and unbreakable, despite her refined and genteel disposition. Even preparing to hear the worst, it still made Regan’s marrow freeze and her eyes widen in concern and fear. “Do-- Lydia, do you want me to look at anything? I’m so sorry. That’s very serious.” There was little to say that could make her situation improve, especially at this point. She was healing, had already checked out of the hospital. But Regan wouldn’t forget that Lydia had been there for her, repeatedly, when she needed it (and even when she thought she didn’t). She would offer the same, both as a friend and a doctor. But there was more. He tore off a wing. How-- that was the very thing Lydia and Deirdre had warned her about. Don’t try to pull them off. In the end, she couldn’t fight the pain to do it, but she had tried. Had tried enough to know that it felt like someone trying to remove your spinal cord through a small incision. How had her assailant known about the wings? How had she hid this injury from her doctor? Had a doctor even-- that final question was like a punch to her gut. Had someone examined Lydia’s back? She budged closer to Lydia, her heart softening at the weak smile on Lydia’s normally proud face. “Lydia, you recall that I’m a doctor, right? I could have-- I can help you, if you want me to. Please, let me help you. You’ve done so much for me.” 

And then, the lingering realization. Regan had been about to ask if Lydia’s assailant had been caught. Of course, he hadn’t. That was why she’d hired a mime. And why she had warned Regan of someone in town who would do her harm just for being what she was. She had been blind to not realize it sooner. “Is he… still out there? Do the police know? Lydia, do you need somewhere else to stay?”

“I’m… alright. My doctor is very good. She’s been seeing me frequently, to monitor everything as much as possible. Well worth the cost, I-“ Lydia paused, refocusing herself back on the task at hand, maintaining a glamour. Looking down at her wrists, the little veins that she normally maintained as part of her glamour had completely faded away, which meant she was losing track of the other imperfections in her features. It hopefully wasn’t the kind of thing Regan would have noticed, but Lydia brought the detail back to her skin all the same. Once she could see the veins again, Lydia looked back up. “Sorry, I- What was I saying? Right, my doctor has been very good. Most things are healing as expected.” Please let me help, Regan had said, and the truth was that Lydia knew her true appearance would frighten Regan more than anything else. How could she ask her doctor friend to help her heal when she couldn’t even show her her true face? “You being here already means so much.”

“He is. I have told… a detective. However, the situation is complicated.” Lydia eyed Regan as she rubbed at her temples, and hoped the other would perhaps understand that Lydia was in no mood to be argued with on the possibilities of what she was about to explain. “I can’t explain to the police that I lost a wing, nor that he broke several of my bones but now they’re fully healed. Even if I did, he… is unusual. He’s- stronger than you would believe, faster. The local police force isn’t equipped to handle someone like him. But he also has peculiarities, a little like our difficulty with lying. He won’t ever be able to enter my home again. I have done everything possible to keep myself safe.” She frowned, pinching the bridge of her nose, before softening her expression. She hadn’t invited Regan here, the fae had come of her own accord, and it wasn’t a kindness she’d expected. Their relationship wasn’t always the smoothest, especially when it came to things related to their nature. Even if maintaining her glamour was exhausting, Lydia was glad for the company.  “Not that I don’t appreciate the offer. I just… need to feel at home.”

At least Lydia had a doctor. So many people in this town seemed to think they didn’t need one, even in their worst hours. Regan’s head sank as she processed what Lydia was saying -- most things were healing as expected? That meant something wasn’t. Or perhaps Lydia was just distracted, and lacking the normal caution surrounding her words. She seemed it, her eyes flitting from her wrist and back to Regan. “I would have come sooner,” Regan admitted, “if I knew something had happened. I’m sorry for that, too.” She offered a cold hand to Lydia, bracing herself for a swarm of insects biting into her skin should Lydia decide to take it. “It’s not-- even when a situation is complicated, there’s always a solution. I’m certain the police can still do something.” But with the way Lydia looked at her, the hollowness of her expression, Regan knew this wasn’t to be discussed just now. They could revisit it later, once Lydia had some rest. “You’re positive that you’re safe here, Lydia? Let me know if you change your mind, alright? You’re welcome in my apartment. There’s even--” She thought, briefly, of the empty third floor of her building. When would her landlord start looking for another tenant? Not that she expected Lydia to pack up and move from her beautiful home, and not that she was ready for the rest of what remained of Nadia in her life to be replaced. “You’re welcome, okay?” Silence stretched for a moment. She had to know. And, if she were being honest, she wanted to see it. “Your wings… the one that’s missing. Does it heal?”

Regan hadn’t expected any of this when she was bringing soup over, but now that she knew Lydia wasn’t contagious, and that Lydia seemed to enjoy having her present there, she figured there wasn’t any harm in asking a question that had been lingering in her mind. “I had a question for you, actually. Um, not related to any of this. It’s about -- you know, the p-word.” The one she’d exchanged with Deirdre. For a second, the ivy seemed to skitter up one of her legs. “Just how strong are they? What are the… limitations? You had me stand up from a chair before, which was, well -- it was frightening, but it was harmless. I’ve done worse things with them by mistake.” She thought of Erin, nearly drowning herself. “I made one to Deirdre. One that I thought was specific, but that I’m now realizing was somewhat vague. And I don’t know how far it… reaches.”

“I’ve been… reticent to tell people,” Lydia admitted with a sheepish look. She hated not feeling in control. Her loss of concentration, the fears that kept her up at night - Lydia prided herself on being put together at all times, and being like this made her more vulnerable than she had ever been. “I blamed myself, for a long time. I still do, although to a much lesser degree. You don’t have to apologise for not knowing.” She listened to Regan’s protests with a dull nod, recognising them and being unwilling to do anything more than telling Marley. She had no love for humans, but sending them into a death trap would only cause her more problems down the line, and having experienced his wrath now, Lydia was unwilling to do anything to catch the vampire’s attention again. “I would let you know if I changed my mind in a heartbeat, Regan. I’m incredibly grateful.” She took Regan’s hand in her own, giving her a gentle squeeze as if to reassure her that it was fine. It wasn’t, but it could be, eventually. At Regan’s question about her wing, Lydia couldn’t fully hide the bitter smile that she replied with. Of course Regan would ask. “It is growing back. Very, very painfully.”

“Limitations? As long as it is an action, there are none. If you promised not to speak again, that would hold. If you promised not to leave a place, you would never move again. One could even go so far as being promise bound into dying… although I’m sure you didn’t miss-speak that much.” Lydia smiled, reassuringly. “Deirdre is a reasonable, honourable fae, and you are still learning. You can talk to her about rewording the promise, or being relinquished from -“ Lydia frowned, the world drifting out of focus again. “What were we talking about?” It wasn’t just the conversation that had slipped her mind. Without noticing, Lydia’s eyes had turned brilliant blue, her skin had lost all flaws, her ears stretched up to the top of her head, and her wings unfurled behind her, immobilised by the thick brown pupa that covered her back. In an instant, her whole glamour was gone.

Lydia, Blanche, Kaden. So many people in Regan’s life seemed to blame themselves for things outside of their control. It was maddening at times. Illogical and painful to see. She wanted to grab Lydia by the shoulders and shake her until she realized it wasn’t her fault for being assaulted, but that seemed like a terrible idea given her present state. “You shouldn’t blame yourself at all,” she said earnestly, though as someone else who internalized guilt, she knew that there was nothing she could say to truly lift that burden. “Hopefully one of your heartbeats and not mine,” she added, before her eyes ticked down to Lydia’s back. There was nothing to see. Lydia had mentioned she had a way of hiding her wings, similar to the necklace, but Regan couldn’t help but look, as though she could see past the shirt and illusions. “Is there anything I can, um, do?” She squeezed Lydia’s hand back, biting her tongue at the needle-like tingling that shot through her hand and up her spine.

“W-what?” A pit formed in her stomach, quickly overtaking it. Somehow, even through all of the accidental and intentional promises made, the binds forged, Regan never considered that they could be so wickedly lethal. If Lydia were to be believed, someone could promise to-- “Are you saying it’s possible to bind someone into taking their own -- no! It was nothing like that! Never. It was just about, well, training.” But Lydia seemed to drift away for a moment, carried off by whatever tides of pain she was still suffering, both physical and psychological. When it came to matters such as this, Regan wasn’t sure which kind of pain was worse. “Lydia?” She asked softly, “Do you want me to--” But when she looked into Lydia’s eyes, she was practically blinded. They flashed a vivid blue, once, twice, then remained that impossible shade. Regan released Lydia’s hand, stumbling backward, watching with horror as the pinnae of her ears spread upward and her skin seemed to almost glow. Large wings protruded from Lydia’s back, but Regan could barely get a good look at them. She couldn’t pull her eyes away from Lydia’s, or from the… thing that had taken Lydia’s place. Panic bloomed inside of her, and the scream exploded out without a thought or hesitation.

“So I’ve been told,” Lydia replied softly, with a fond smile as she reflected back on Morgan and Remmy, and her many other friends who had told her just the same. But Regan didn’t know what Lydia had done, why she had gotten the vampire’s wrath so keenly. She smiled at what she assumed was a joke when Regan made the quip about her heartbeat. When Regan asked her if there was anything she could do, Lydia paused, wanting to give Regan something to do, but unsure what, if anything, there was to do. Lydia didn’t need food delivered, nor fae specific medical expertise that frankly Regan was lacking in (although she’d never say that to Regan), nor more skulls. Luckily, Regan had a question to ask about promises, and Lydia followed her there. Although Lydia’s answer wasn’t well received, panic flashing through Regan’s face. Hm, yes, it probably would have been smart to phrase that differently, wouldn’t it? 

Panic filled Regan’s eyes and it took Lydia a moment to work out why, before looking down at her glowing skin. She reached into her magic to pull it back on, but before she could, Regan opened her mouth and screamed, and anything resembling composure vanished. Lydia shrank in on herself, the scream piercingly painful, shooting right into her head. “Please don’t scream, please don’t-” Lydia cradled her head as she whimpered, eyes squeezed shut. She’d heard a couple of windows crack, but nothing crashed to the ground. Lu Jing the kitsune and The Mime were there all at once, glaring at Regan as they stepped close to Lydia. “It’s okay- she didn’t- wasn’t on purpose. Regan, Regan, it’s me. Please- stay calm?” Her voice fragmented as she tried to push her glamour back on, her ears temporarily shifting shape before snapping back to full size. Her head pounded like the scream was still rattling around inside her. “Please.”

The room would have been plunged into darkness if it weren’t for the large, expensive windows that had shattered, light and chilly air pouring its way inside. Mortification flooded Regan, but her attention was still glued to bright blue eyes and ears that looked to be almost a foot long. The scream still rattled inside of her skull, another one loading itself into her lungs, but Lydia’s familiar, frazzled voice cut through Regan’s panic. She turned, catching movement, and saw the mime and another individual charge into the room, hands twitching for sidearms. Regan froze. And there was Lydia’s voice again, coming from -- well, she did look like Lydia, except for the-- “Lydia?” She asked, swallowing the coalescing scream back into the recesses of her lungs. She didn’t dare step closer, but she also didn’t want to be anywhere near that mime, weapon or not. 

Regan scuttled awkwardly to the side. The new viewing angle didn’t help. Lydia still looked like something out of a children’s fantasy show, and her ears were long one moment, and short the next, flicking between the two in a way that brought bile into her mouth. How was that possible? Physiological changes, Lydia had said, the last time they’d met. She didn’t expand on what she’d meant. Now, Regan was coming to understand. She didn’t know what to make of Lydia’s appearance right now, but it was… it was Lydia. Which meant-- “Lydia? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-- I was surprised, and that happens when--” She pressed her hands to her forehead and groaned, causing one last shard of glass to fall off an overhanging light bulb. This was still a problem. All the breathing exercises in the world wouldn’t have prevented it. “Are you okay?” Her stomach sank again. Lydia had already been injured, and she potentially just made it worse. “Your hearing. Can you hear me? Lydia?” But even accepting that the person she was staring at was Lydia, she was afraid to move even an inch closer. “What… what is this?”

Yes, it’s me, Lydia wanted to snap, but for both their sakes reigned it in. Her eyes were still squeezed tightly shut, but enough glass had tinkered to the ground that she knew this was going to be a pain to sort over again. Her cleaning staff deserved a raise. “I know, I know it happens when you’re scared, I’m sorry, just please- please don’t do it again?” Lydia replied, trying not to be short with Regan even as her head pounded. The scream’s echo didn’t fade in her mind, only transmutated into pure pain, like her head might collapse in on itself. She hesitated at Regan’s question, frowning around her hands. “I can hear you. I will… be able to cope. Lu Jing, can you - Can you get my spider tea and a tylenol, please?” Treatments both magic and mundane for the sharp headache clogging up her mind. Lu Jing nodded, walking over to the kitchen, and The Mime retreated as well. Lydia sighed deeply, not quite able to look up at Regan yet. “This is what I really look like, that I- that I normally hide from you so I don’t frighten you. Like your necklace, right? I just… I need to be able to concentrate to maintain it. The glamour, I mean.” Much in the same way she couldn’t reglamour, Lydia couldn’t quite hide how much Regan’s horror stung. Lydia was considered universally beautiful. Her skin was flawless, she was perfectly proportioned. Her wings were perhaps not at their prime, and Lydia found the cocooning skin as hideous as anything else, but deep down, it stung that Regan had screamed, and that she was keeping her distance now.  

Lydia was in pain. Regan had hurt her, like so many others. Again. She wanted to vomit, and then when she looked at Lydia again, she wanted to scream again, and that made her want to vomit some more. She probably should have just left the soup on the doorstep. Regret had become a pillar of her life over the last few months. “I-- I won’t scream again. I understand, I think. As much as I can. In the sense that there’s no way to actually understand any of this at all.” People didn’t look like this. They just didn’t. She’d seen people of all shapes, sizes, colors, and ages. None of them had ears or eyes or wings like this. What made her eyes that color? Would she be able to figure it out by dissecting one of them? What about her pinnae? Was there any evolutionary benefit to such an alien mutation? 

“Your back,” Regan said, once she was finally able to tear her eyes away from Lydia’s horrific neon blue irises. Her gaze sank down to the thick, brown shell that protruded even from underneath her shirt. “Is that-- what is that? I knew you had a back injury by your gait, and you mentioned your wing, and--”  She couldn’t see it well, but it looked like a giant scab, larger and harder than any she’d seen before. Medical curiosity and fear of the unknown continued to war inside of her. Lydia had said one of her wings had been pulled off. Was this what happened? Or was that how she usually looked? This was all so unbelievable, she wanted to scream again. Regan opted to keep her distance, repulsed by what she saw when she looked at Lydia. She knew it was a more subjective than objective thought, and that made her stomach sink. “Has your doctor seen-- have you had that examined?”

Lydia’s smile was sad and understanding when Regan replied. “I really appreciate that. I know this is… alarming.” Describing her own appearance like that made Lydia’s stomach turn. She carefully pried her eyes open as she was handed her drink and pills, taking one and chugging the other with a grimace. Immediately, the headache didn’t dissipate but shrank, enough for her to think a bit again. Despite all the pain, Lydia didn’t blame Regan. It was all Sean’s fault Regan was struggling with this still, that she didn’t have control. Lydia was, once again, glad she’d killed him. For all of Regan’s suffering now, it would be better in the long run. “I told you it was… torn off. This is the healing process.” Lydia watched as Regan walked around her carefully, and almost smiled at her curiosity, expecting the question. “Yes. It’s part of the regrowth process. Inside it, my wing is regrowing. My doctor knows. It’s all… normal. I won’t know how well it has regrown until it comes off. Do- do you want to see my whole back?” Lydia asked softly. 

“Yes,” Regan said, automatically. How could she turn that down? Her heart felt like it was beating almost as quickly as it used to, and she couldn’t bring herself to get any closer to Lydia, but still, she wanted to see it. This was something that so many medical scientists could only dream of having their eyes on, wasn’t it? And even though Regan couldn’t publish or autopsy or dissect it, her curiosity got the better of her. It always did. And just as frequently, since moving here, she regretted it. “Does it hurt? Is it… what does it feel like? How long has it been like this? How long will it take to-- has this ever happened to you before? What doctor said this was normal?” Her hand reached out, as though she could put a glove on, lift Lydia’s shirt, and give her an examination. But she didn’t move. Regan stayed planted in place, her eyes boring a hole in Lydia’s back.

Nodding, Lydia began to unbutton her shirt little by little. Her movements were stiff and slow, constrained by a near inability to move her back. Her blouse fell from her shoulders, revealing in full the hard, aggressive looking pupa, all the way down her back and stretching half way around her ribs. “Normal for people like us,” Lydia corrected herself. “Which it is, in terms of wing loss and regrowth. It is- ah, exceptionally painful. It is hard to sleep without medicines to help.” She shifted in her seat, so that Regan had better access. “You may touch it, if you are exceptionally careful.” Lydia said carefully. “I should finish healing in a couple weeks. Considering the severity of my other injuries, the healing process is taking longer than one would expect, but I am nearly done. Only then will we see how bad the damage truly is.”

No, it wasn’t quite like a scab, Regan decided as she took a single, very cautious step toward Lydia. It was easier now that she wasn’t looking into those eyes, but she still couldn’t quite pretend Lydia looked the same as she usually did. The thing on Lydia’s back was more like a… cocoon. It swaddled her spine and puckered her skin. Never had she so badly wanted to touch something that she couldn’t bring herself to approach. There were a few moments, just seconds, where she thought she might be able to will herself to do it, but when she caught sight of Lydia’s ears, or the single, hard beetle-like wing cover hanging from her back, her feet refused to move. Still, she stared. It was so… brown. If not a scab, was it still colored by dried blood? And, she couldn’t help but wonder again, what doctor in their right mind said that this was normal of any stripe? 

Regan’s mouth fell open as Lydia invited her to touch the-- the growth, or scab, or thing on her back. “I--” She wanted to touch it. “I’m not sure that’s--” She really wanted to touch it. But she didn’t want to go near Lydia. But. She wanted to touch it. Regan closed her eyes and sighed, silently fishing a pair of nitrile gloves from her pocket. “You may not believe it, considering how many of your windows I’ve broken, but I’m always exceptionally careful.” Especially where medicine and pathology were involved. And whatever was on Lydia’s back… there was no doubt it wasn’t healthy. “This doesn’t look nearly done to me,” Regan said with a frown, as she slipped effortlessly into pathologist mode, taking several brave steps toward her fear. Carefully, she gave the growth a light tap with her fingertips. It was as hard as it looked, with a scab-like consistency. Next to the growth was a single wing cover, likely with a healthy wing underneath it. The thought sent a shiver down her spine -- or maybe that was just a byproduct of being close to Lydia. “What does it feel like? Did that hurt?”

“I wouldn’t let you touch it if I thought you were at real risk of doing harm. I’m just…. nervous.” Lydia’s head throbbed heavily, and a scream while Regan was right by her back…. would be awful. “What do you think it ought to look like?” Lydia asked openly, careful to keep judgement from her voice, to let Regan feel comfortable. Well, as comfortable as possible, considering how terribly human she was. Lydia shivered. There was something deeply intimate about letting anyone touch your wings, a cultural sacred taboo. Wings were both so fragile and so powerful, status symbols that all fae coveted. Letting someone touch the area where hers should have been felt fundamentally wrong, but it was like how you let small children break social norms to cultivate their sense of wonder. “Not more than it normally does. I don’t have much sensation on the surface of the pupa. It’s the internals that are painful. Breathing, walking, moving my back at all is… deeply uncomfortable.”

“Not like this,” Regan said simply, grazing her gloved hand lightly across the… what Lydia had incorrectly called a pupa. “This isn’t… I’ve never seen something like this before, not on a decedent and not on a living patient.” She wanted to take a skin scraping, see if she could get a good sample of whatever substance was responsible for the scab-like appearance of this thing, but she had a feeling that would be where Lydia drew a line. She was clearly uneasy about all of this -- her skin shuddered away underneath Regan’s fingers. A sample, and her eyeballs, would have to wait. “Do you need a prescription for it?” Regan finally asked, lifting her hand away from the injury site. “I can’t write you a script, but I can communicate your need for one to one of my contacts at the hospital. They may not even need to examine you in person, if that’s a concern.” What had her life become, that she was hovering over some horrifically malformed scab denoting a healing wing, on the back of someone she’d come to consider a friend, and she wasn’t even pushing to send Lydia straight to the hospital? Nothing good. “I…” But as Lydia turned, and Regan saw the piercing blue of her eyes and the length of her ears, she fumbled backward, away again. “I’d be remiss if I didn’t give you my medical opinion, and that’s that you should have samples taken to rule out a--” fungal infection. Lydia wouldn’t take kindly to that. “--A risk of long-term damage.”

“That’s alright. It’s rare for a fae to lose their wing. Normally, culturally, you wouldn’t share an injury like this beyond those helping your recovery,” Lydia replied softly, as if it was Regan who needed comforting, over and over again, more so than Lydia. But, well, Regan was hardly known for her tact, and Lydia did still want to mentor her, to slowly lead her into this world that would welcome her in a way no human world could. It was slow, and this wasn’t the way Lydia wanted to introduce Regan to her appearance without glamour, but it would have to do, wouldn’t it? Even as Regan was visibly repulsed. “No, no, I have all the prescriptions I need from my doctor.” Regan would be surprised to learn how much more effective potions and fae remedies were for this specific pain than any human drug would manage on its own. Regan shifted backwards, away from her in unease, which stung as much as the fresh muscles growing alongside her spine. “I’ll keep that in mind, thank you, Regan. You have been ever so good to me today.” 

How could Lydia be so cavalier, talking about fae and wings and that thing on her back? Regan supposed she had grown up with it, that this was just as natural to Lydia as it was to Deirdre. But the word natural, even in her thoughts, felt entirely wrong. She looked once more to the mass of brown stretching across Lydia’s skin, and her frown sank even further. No, it was wrong. Abnormal in every respect. “I… I should let you rest.” Lydia barely looked like she could keep her head up, though maybe it was because she noticed the way Regan kept flinching away from looking at her. Regan wasn’t proud of that, but the problem was greater than Lydia’s eyes and ears. She gestured to the soup and medicine on table, “I’d still like for you to have this. It won’t help with the-- with what’s on your back, but maybe it can still alleviate some of the pain. I’m sorry, Lydia. About the scream, and--” That she couldn’t meet her friend’s gaze right now. “Next time, I’ll-- I can do this, for you. Next time, I’ll be able to look you in the eyes. I promise.”  

Lydia smiled in a small relief when Regan said she was going to go again. As much as she cared for Regan…. Everything about this had been draining. Her head still rattled with the distant scream, the pain had only been eased, not taken away. “I really appreciate you bringing it, and for your company. I know it’s a lot, but I do like having you around.” She winked. “Even when you scream.” Not that Regan would see her wink, when she wouldn’t even look at her. Lydia snorted at her words. “Wait! I relinquish you from that. Regan, come on, you need to be more careful with your words.” As she spoke, she sank slowly and more deeply into the couch, already getting ready to nap. “You never know when someone will use them against you.” 

#no one saw that #wickedswriting #para #chatzy #regan #lydia

[danetobelieve]

It’s The End Of The World || Orion, Ricky, Winston. ft Lydia

TIMING: the night of 12/06/2020 (12th June) LOCATION: Abandoned Warehouse Rave on the docks PARTIES: @3starsquinn​, @ricky-corderbro​, @danetobelieve​, @inspirationdivine​ SUMMARY: Rio, Winston and Ricky attend an end of the world rave. Ricky is jet lagged. Winston is stressed and makes bad decisions and Orion throws up. Lydia makes a new friend. 

Winston wasn’t really feeling like going partying. Actually, going raving at the potential end of the world was apparently what everyone else was doing and when Todd had excitedly explained that they were going to be invited to a rave that he was playing at, well Winston hadn’t really been keen to go. But after a few drinks and some arm twisting, Winston had been convinced to go along with their other friends. They’d gotten dressed and were stepping out of the taxi that had dropped them off by the warehouse near the docks and Winston was nervous. They’d pre-gamed a bit before and they were tipsy, but that didn’t change the fact that they had seen some shit with Rio. They knew what needed to be done to resolve this and they weren’t going to be involved. They couldn’t change what might happened and honestly Winston had never felt more helpless. “Todd told us to just say we were here as his guests and show him our tickets and he’d let us in,” Winston adjusted their glasses a little, “all ready?”

Orion’s anxiety had been through the roof. He wasn’t sure if he had found the time to mention this to either of his roommate’s, but he hated parties. He had been to a few now. All times dragged against his will by Athena to some frat house where he proceeded to find the farthest bathroom from the noise and hide out. He had gotten so little sleep the last few weeks studying everything about this demon language that he wasn’t even sure he could stay conscious at this party. He had already dozed off in the car multiple times on the way here. It definitely didn’t help that Rio barely knew this Todd character that Winston and Ricky were friends with. He just hoped that the two of them weren’t like Athena was at parties. She usually stuck around for about ten minutes before ditching Rio. He wasn’t sure he was equipped to handle that here. “I’m sure this goes without saying, but I am definitely not.” Rio sighed, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. “I think I need… a drink. Or several.” Rio found himself saying, the exhaustion and stress getting to him. Rio had never been drunk before, he had never even had more than a couple of sips of alcohol. This was going to be a long night.

One very early and very long plane ride and one incredibly hellish layover in LaGuardia later; Ricky was back in the US, back in White Crest, and apparently on his way to a rave that Todd was DJing at. Truth be told it wasn’t the thing he wanted most to be doing right now; a long bath and about three straight days of sleep sounded a lot better. But even though he was still adjusting to his human body after a straight week and a half in his true form with his extended family and was still trying to figure out how to move with legs instead of swimming, he was happy to be home with Winston and Rio. Even if they were crammed into the back seat of a taxi. “I need something with caffeine or I’m going to pass out. I haven’t even had time to unpack yet; I wore these clothes on the plane, and I am not nearly awake or put together enough to make it through tonight without some help” They all fell out of the cab and Ricky stretched, sauntering up to the door with a smile on his face. “Hey. Cordero, Dane, and Quinn. We’re here as guests of the DJ.” He held out their tickets and waited for them to be let in, turning to his friends as the walked into what felt like a solid wall of sound, even to Ricky’s terrible hearing. “Well. To the bar?” 

As a large and very muscular bouncer led them through to the warehouse which had been brightly decorated in UV paint, Winston headed straight for the bar and probably would’ve made it if they weren’t accosted by a number of scantily clad men and women who attacked Winston with paint similar to that which was decorating the walls in patterns of eyes, spirals and cascades of colour that shone brightly in the darkness. The music was booming and before Winston knew it they were as brightly coloured as the walls, their t shirt was ruined and they definitely needed a drink now if they hadn’t needed one before. “Three actually six jaeger bombs please and like a vodka coke,” Winston passed the bombs round to their friends and swallowed them with a grimace, gross. They immediately regretted their drink of choice and tried to slam away the taste with copious amounts of vodka coke which some how made it worse. “Uh, maybe this wasn’t a good idea?” 

The group was ambushed by some fanatic painters. Orion’s hoodie and jeans were sacrificed to their whim, and though Rio mostly let them do their thing, he was very adamant about his sleeves remaining down as they trailed their brushes across him. They compromised by spending extra time on his face and neck, which only slightly stressed him out knowing that he had no way of knowing what they had drawn on him. He was totally lying; it really stressed him out. Even more reason to drink. Winston ordered a concerning amount of shots at the bar and Rio tried calming himself down. This was what he had wanted, right? “I uh- can you just make me something super sweet? Like really really sweet.” Rio smiled nervously, pulling the fake ID that Athena had procured for him out of his wallet. The bartender barely gave it a second glance before shuffling off to make their drinks. “Is this where I die?” Rio found himself asking aloud, taking a moment to glance around the place. It was packed wall to wall with glowing, dancing people. The music was deafeningly loud and it was way too hot for the hoodie that Rio refused to take off. Rio didn’t waste any time when the bartender brought the drinks over. He slammed the first shot as quickly as he could, immediately coughing and clearing his throat. “Oh my god ew! Oh god this stuff tastes like battery acid. Why would they make this? This was a terrible idea.”

It was only because he’d let Winston and Rio enter the warehouse before him that Ricky had enough time to react to the glow paint artists, whipping his shirt off and tucking it into his back pocket before they covered him with geometric designs that pulsed in time with the flashing lights. He pounded the two Jaeger bombs that Winston had ordered him, wry smile crossing his face as it looked like Rio might die from the alcohol content, “Only the first two taste like battery acid. It’s when they start tasting good that you gotta start worrying about how fucked up you’re getting.” He ordered himself a vodka soda and looked around the crowd, sipping his drink. This might not have been exactly what he’d wanted to do on his first night home but he was getting enough appreciative looks from appropriately handsome men to make this night potentially worthwhile. “This was a great idea, Winston. Don’t even second guess it. We’re supporting our bro, getting drunk, and getting his on by crowds of people who appreciate the fact that all three of us are studs. Should we go say hey to Todd? Least let him know we’re here jamming out to his set?” Finishing his drink he ordered another one, tipping the bartender heavily as he started to wind his way through the crowd and up towards the DJ booth. 

The crowd pulsed and throbbed as everyone danced. Winston could barely help themselves from getting into the mood. They were pretty drunk now, two jaeger bombs and the vodka, not to mention everything they’d had before. Grabbing Orion’s hand, Winston dragged their friend slowly through the dance floor. “Battery acid is exactly what I imagine these taste like, but they’re also going to make this way more bearable way faster.” It was hot and Winston couldn’t imagine how Orion could stand being in just a hoodie but they weren’t about to push the matter as they slowly made their way through the crowd of sweaty bodies that were doing their best to move along to the thrum of the bass and the blare of the drums. “It’s going to take us forever to get towards the stage,” Winston was sure that being on Todd’s guest list meant that they could do this the easy way, but right now they were too drunk to really think clearly and honestly, if they were going to do this then they might as well enjoy themselves, “Ricky you gotta go first and clear us a way you beefcake.” Winston giggled tipsily, unsure if their friends had even heard a word they said over the roar of the crowd and the hum of the music. Maybe slightly against their better judgement Winston was starting to enjoy the end of the world. Why not have a good time? Right?

Winston and Ricky was the only solace that Orion had right now. They were grounding him in many ways. Mentally, they were keeping his anxiety from completely spiraling. Physically, they were the only reason that Rio hadn’t ran from the place as soon as he stepped foot inside of it. Right now, the only thing Rio could focus one as how hot it was. He was sweating, and kept pushing his soaked hair out of his eyes with the hand that wasn’t being dragged through the dance floor by Winston. “He is a beefcake isn’t he?” Rio giggled, shutting himself up by taking a long sip from the fruity drink the bartender had mixed him. It tasted way better than those shots had. Rio took another drink. People pushed against them as they pushed onward and Rio found himself ducking and dodging flailing arms as they danced to the music. How did they think with how loud the music was? The dim lighting, trippy glowing colors, deafening music and crowd was making Rio dizzy. The place was disorienting enough,  but Winston’s hand dragging wrapped around his was making Rio’s head spin all it’s own. Another drink. “Do you think Todd hates me?” Rio found himself asking, a question he would usually never ask anyone aloud, especially mutual friends of the guy. The alcohol was working way too quickly. Another nervous drink. “Don’t answer that that was dumb. Let’s just find Todd.” Another drink. Oh no, he was almost out already. That wasn’t a good sign.

“Oh jesus. You guys are already drunk?” Ricky slammed back his drink as they made their way through the crowd, effortlessly parting the sea of people with his aptly-described beefcakeness, “That’s me. Dumb of brain, thicc of heart and ass.” He made sure he had an eye on both Winston and Rio at all times; this definitely didn’t seem like either of their scenes and he wasn’t about to lose them to a random drug trip induced by someone random ravegoer. He almost missed Rio’s question, and it was only because he’d turned around to check on them that he was able to read the other man’s lips, “What? Of course not. I don’t think Todd is capable of hating anyone, like biologically. It’s in that man’s blood to just love everyone and be the chillest of chill bois.” As they passed by a smaller secondary bar on their way to the DJ booth Ricky ordered a couple of shots and pounded them in quick succession, “It’s harder for me to get drunk.” He explained as he set the small glasses back on the bar and gave the bartender a nod, “We got more blood than you guys.” Eventually he muscled, smiled, and danced them a path through the dancefloor up to the booth where Todd looked like a) he was having the time of his life and b) he was on about seven different drugs. This close to a bank of speakers it was impossible for Ricky to hear anything except the bass so he just waved and shot Todd a smile and a thumbs up; those were pretty universal, right? 

“Hey, we’re not all build like a brick shit house Ricky,” Winston replied with a giggle as they sipped their drink through a straw and gently squeezed Rio’s hand. They could barely hear anything that Rio was saying, but they were pretty sure he’d just said something about Todd hating him. Which was absurd. “Of course Todd doesn’t hate you, Ricky’s right, he couldn’t hate you if he tried.” They flashed them a reassuring smile and had to admit that they kind of envied the amount that Ricky could drink. He seemed like he was having a good time on his own without needing to be drunk. It took them slightly longer to get over to Ricky and Todd, as they were separated in the buzz and hum of the crowd. Left with just Rio, Winston was eventually able to pull them close enough to Todd to wave from the crowd and grin, but despite the potential impending end of the world, Winston had to admit that they loved this song. “Fuck, this is actually pretty fun,” they said dancing in place, hand still clutching Rio’s fingers, “I’m probably just really drunk.” 

Orion felt a little bit better, with the assurance that Todd didn’t hate him. At least as far as Ricky and Winston are concerned. Rio was way too aware that he wasn’t sober. Or maybe he wasn’t nearly as aware as he thought he was. Was that possible? Was drunk Rio capable of being faux aware of being drunk without actually realizing just how drunk he was? Did any of that make any sense? The confusion made Rio giggle. Rio knew his tolerance was going to be awful considering he hadn't drank before, but he had hoped that being a hunter might give him at least some semblance of an advantage. But Winston was clearly just as bad off, because he was suddenly dancing along to the music, a song that Rio wasn’t familiar with. There was a noticeable difference now. Even drunk Rio could tell. Before, moving through the crowd together it just made sense that the two would hold onto each other so they didn’t lose their way. Now… well the two were standing next to one another and Rio’s fingers were still in Winston’s grasp. “You’re definitely drunk” Rio laughed, watching them dance along to the music without moving their feet. It was more swaying than anything else. “I think I’m drunk too.” Rio admitted. Was two shots and a mixed drink normal for someone to get drunk off of? Despite his internal monologue telling him not to, Rio found himself starting to sway in rhythm with Winston, trying to play along with him. If he tried to focus on the music he might be able to ignore how the only part of his body that he could focus on was the hand that Winston was holding onto. “I’m uh- I’m glad I came here. With you and Ricky.” 

It was a semi-familiar sensation to Ricky to stand on the outside watching other people. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Winston had grabbed Rio’s hand when they’d started working their way through the dancefloor, and it definitely didn’t escape his notice that the hand holding hadn’t stopped when they’d reached the DJ booth. He watched as they both drunkenly started to dance, a wry smile across his face. It wasn’t the strangest pairing he’d seen. Honestly it sort of made a strange sense. Ricky started to dance with a guy who’d been giving him a meaningful look while he kept an eye on his friends. Nothing wrong with cutting loose and having fun but he didn’t want either of them to end up the meal of some rave-stalking monster. Which in White Crest was a distinct possibility. The song made a smooth transition into the next one in the set, expertly guided by Todd’s skill, and Ricky leaned in to take the sharpie offered by his dance partner, quickly scribbling his number on the back of the man’s hand before moving back to stand near Todd. He was still close enough to keep an eye on Winston and Rio but not so close that he was infringing on whatever moment they were about to have. 

The world was spinning. But gently. Winston lumbered around, convinced that they were the most graceful dancer that had ever lived. The music slammed, pulsed and pounded. Todd was so good at this Winston thought as they slipped closer to Orion for a moment before prancing away (okay maybe it was more like a stumble). Their head felt thick and Winston wasn’t sure that they were that drunk. Then the world took a turn and Winston fell into Orion. Their hands coming apart for a moment and Winston couldn’t help but grip Orion’s surprisingly muscular shoulder. It wasn’t that he was Ricky ripped. There were no muscles glistening at obtuse sizes. Rio was just toned. The muscles were there but they weren’t for display or pretention (Ricky). Orion always kept everything covered up, always wore long hoodies or jeans or whatever and Winston wondered why in that moment they weren’t dying from the heat. But they didn’t care, they couldn’t let go, not for a second. Sure they’d used Rio to keep themselves standing, but it was more then that now. Winston’s breath caught in their throat as they looked into deep hazel eyes. Biting their lip, Winston felt the Earth stop spinning for a moment. 

Orion had finally relaxed. The music was still too loud. People still crowded around Rio’s personal space. And it felt like Rio may have a heat stroke at any moment. But he had pushed all of that to the back of his mind. Because he was having fun. With Winston, dancing here and definitely drunk. He didn’t even care about how dizzy or lightheaded he felt. Rio was convinced that Winston’s hand holding onto his was the only thing keeping him from floating off into space. When Winston practically fell into Rio, something else finally clicked into place. This was what Rio wanted. Rio knew that things were different with Winston. That the way he felt for them was different than his other friends. But Rio had never looked further into it. Had never wanted to. It made sense. Winston had it all. They were smart and talented. They were passionate about things and had a lot in common with Rio. They were really, really pretty. In spite of the alcohol and music drowning out his senses, Rio’s feelings for Winston were overwhelmingly clear in this moment. And that was terrifying. “Uh- you okay there?” Rio asked, trying to sound concerned but way too busy processing. Plus, he was pretty sure he was also laughing at how clumsy Winston had been.

Giggling, Winston felt someone brush past him. They must’ve been big because Winston was pushed closer to Rio. they basically had their arms drunkenly wrapped around their ‘friend’ at that point and Rio’s lips looked so soft. The world swirled and Winston was having the best time. Despite the odor of sweat and the sticky floor. Not to mention several drinks which had already been spilled on them making them smell of stale beer, Winston couldn’t help but admit to themselves that Rio might be the best smelling thing that they had ever encountered. Their eyes were captivating and Winston couldn’t help themselves. One second they were just looking into Orion’s eyes. Then they weren’t sure what they did. They weren’t sure why they did. They weren’t even completely sure how they managed to do it but they were stood staring at Rio one second and the next Winston was kissing him. Gently at first, their lips just brushing against one another, Winston could feel the other breathing and they couldn’t help but close the gap between them, pulling Rio close as they embraced him. 

Orion wasn’t sure who initiated it. Right now, Rio wasn’t sure how he was able to keep himself from toppling over. All he knew was that one minute the two had been dancing and laughing and now they were kissing. Rio fumbled his way through it. Intoxication may actually be working in his favor, helping to make up for the lack of experience and general awkwardness that under normal circumstances may have sent Rio spiraling. This was his first real kiss right? Sure, Winn had kissed him in acting class but that had been during a scene. It was in character. It wasn’t real. This was real. And it didn’t take long for Rio to forget any fears and melt into it. He ignored the added heat and welcomed Winston moving in closer, Rio wrapped their arms around their neck as if letting go would end the moment. Rio was desperate for this moment to not end. Who cared that they were in public and that a million people could see them? Who cared that Rio usually hated PDA. All he cared about right now was this moment with Winston.

Honestly. Winston had never really dated a lot. It wasn’t that they weren’t interested, it was more that other people weren’t necessarily interested in them. Which was fine. Winston had been busy for a long time, working on a million and one different projects. Always too busy to pursue someone who would just reject them anyway. But suddenly, in that moment Winston knew that they had been missing out. If every kiss felt like this then Winston was sure that there was something here that they should’ve been doing way sooner then this. Holding Rio tightly, they kissed them until they couldn’t help but pull back for air. There was a feeling of elation, of intoxication … fuck Winston didn’t know if they were just drunk but they wanted to kiss Rio again and so they did. Why not? What did they have to lose at the end of the world anyway? 

If the world truly was ending, this was exactly how Orion wanted things to go. With Winston, exactly like this. And Ricky... speaking of him, where was Ricky? The urge to scope the place out for him was distracted when Winston kissed him again. “Holy... Woah” Was the most poetic thing that Rio could manage to mutter once the two had pulled apart again. Rio was gasping for breath, a mixture of the heat and making up for the oxygen Rio had deprived himself of while making out with Winston. This was exactly what Rio had wanted, and Rio couldn’t help but be... happy. The thought made Rio’s stomach twist. The other shoe has to drop soon right? Something would have to go wrong. It always went wrong. Because the world wasn’t ending. Even if right now, Rio would have been perfectly fine with that. For the longest time, Rio had thought that the kiss had sobered him up. He hadn’t felt more grounded since they had arrived and he hadn’t been thinking this clearly in days. But it all came rushing back to him now. Rio was dizzy, sounds around him were nothing more than a loud buzzing and the contents of his stomach swam, threatening to force themselves back up. “So sorry- I just I have to uh- bathroom. Need bathroom.” Rio tried stating clearly before abandoning the attempt completely and rushing off into the crowding, desperately trying to push his way through before he completely lost his cool. And his dinner.

Winston was convinced that they were in heaven. They couldn’t breath but they didn’t need to breath. They had everything they needed and if they could have made a moment exist and last for a life time then Winston would’ve wished for this moment to span for centuries and millenia because in that second they realised all at once just how strongly they felt for Rio. He was so smart, and so kind and he cared so much about doing the right thing that he had rejected his birth identity and his own family because he couldn’t do what they were asking of him. Winston had never met anyone who was so good and pure and kind and Winston didn’t know how to deal with these feelings. “Oh, of course, sure, no … worries.” With that, Orion was gone and the kiss with it. Winston felt panic crack in their stomach and turned to look for Ricky. But he was gone. Either with someone else or the jet lag was too much. Catching Todd’s eye, Winston made it clear that they were heading out and decided to give Orion some space. Texting them that they were heading home, Winston left the club, much drunker and much more ashamed then they’d been when they came in. 

This was terribly macabre, and thus terribly White Crest. Beach balls painted white to look like eyes decorated this distasteful establishment, and even with ear buds in the music pulsed too loudly to be comfortable. Although if the world was ending, who cared about ear health? It was nothing in comparison to a banshee scream, but still unpleasant. Quieter, gentler music appealed to her more, but the talent at play here was undeniable. Her eyes drifted to the stage, as the DJ announced the end of his set, and another began. She squeezed through the crowd, under sweaty arm pits and past leering men, hurrying to meet him. He’d caught her eye last time, too, but she hadn’t been able to get close then. Now, there were no friends to squeeze through. “You’re Todd, the DJ that performed the last set, right? You were incredible.” The artistic potential rolled off him like waves in high tide. She looked him over, a smile curling over her features. Oh yes, he would do ever so nicely. Lydia’s stomach rumbled. “You look like you might like some company.”

#wickedswriting #para #p: orion #p: lydia #p: ricky #chatzy #chatzy para #its the end of the world

[kadavernagh]

Faeby Steps || Regan & Lydia

Lydia still, in truth, wasn’t entirely convinced this was a good idea. Unlike Deirdre, she’d never spoken to Regan about the Fae side of things. She had no idea how Regan would take it. Or even if the youngling banshee would let her in. Lydia had acquired her address from Deirdre, but the block of buildings with shattered windows were a clue. Construction vehicles crowded the streets as she parked outside Regan’s apartment, and pulled a large tote from the backseat, full of gifts for Regan if she wanted them. Regan’s flat was obvious only because of the unbroken windows, but that didn’t change Lydia’s concern as she knocked on the door firmly. There was no way Regan wasn’t home. Especially if she had wings. “Regan? It’s Lydia. I have some things for you, my dear.” She called through the door. 

The past couple of days had been a blurry nightmare. Grief alone could be crushing, but it was everything else that made it feel like Regan’s world was ending. Her brothers’ blame and mourning, her inability to work, Kaden’s swirling confusion and sadness. And, of course -- the constant unfamiliarity of her own body. She knew she was hallucinating, had to be, but she couldn’t tolerate having those things on her back where she could always see and feel them. She’d squeezed into the lab coat that Deirdre brought over, which at least helped conceal them, but it still felt like they were there, pressing and complaining and twitching. When she heard footfalls outside of her apartment, she figured it was Nadia on the way up… but they stopped, right by her door. Regan’s heart pitched in her throat, slowly, coldly. Then she heard the voice. “Lydia!” She froze. A fierce, tingling pull brought her to her feet, but she couldn’t have anyone see her like this, holed up at home, panic coating everything. “I -- thank you.” She approached the door, calling through it. That pull grew more insistent, like ants skittering down her spine, and it made her stomach flip. “You-- You can leave them outside, please.”

As Regan approached the door, Lydia inhaled sharply. What she’d felt before felt like nothing compared to the chiming of bells which filled her body as music. The scream had told her that poor old Sean had done as she asked, but now she knew it to her core. Regan was as much fae as her or Deirdre. Her lips spread into a wide grin, and Lydia allowed herself the tiniest celebration, her wings (glamoured) buzzing with joy before she reminded herself that Regan was grieving. Regan was afraid, and needed help. Lydia put her hand against the door, to feel Regan just a little closer, and took a deep breath. “Regan, have you seen anyone in the last few days? Could you please let me in, just for a short while?”

She wanted in. Why did she want in? Couldn’t they just talk like this, through the door? Regan hesitated, hand over the knob, as electricity continued to rake down her spine. She shivered -- what was that? Was there something wrong with her spinal cord? Her nervous system as a whole? The unfamiliarity quickly bred discomfort and fear, and she paced, considering. “N-no, I haven’t seen anyone.” The truth bled out practically as soon as she opened her mouth. That needed to stop, too. Lydia wanted in, still. Regan didn’t know her well, but that was a benefit -- Kaden and Blanche and Erin would immediately know something was seriously wrong, but Lydia? Maybe not. And she desperately wanted to see a human face. She inhaled a long, shaky breath, and opened the door. Lydia, in all her elegant beauty, was standing there with a tote bag in hand and kindness in her eyes. Her perfectly groomed appearance gave Regan a stab of self-consciousness -- there she was, standing around in a lab coat and unwashed hair. And that feeling from before wasn’t subsiding, only growing harder to ignore, continuous, sharp jolts jumping from vertebra to vertebra. She gulped. “Don’t come inside, please. Can we just -- can we talk here, like this?” Several feet apart, with her hand on the door, ready to close it at a moment’s notice.

Lydia waited patiently for Regan’s response, tapping her foot silently against the floor. Small nervous habits reappeared when they mattered most, after all. Regan confirmed that she’d been alone - both a relief and painful to hear. For two days, she’d been completely alone. For two days, no warden had traced her back here. When the door clicked, Lydia dropped her hand from it immediately, to look still and not at all needy when Regan first saw her. Regan was a mess, Lydia thought, and tried not to be unkind. Her hair was lifeless and limp. The labcoat she was wearing looked bizarre and tight around the shoulders, giving Regan a flat, formless appearance. But of course, it was to hide the wings. Her skin had grown pale, and she looked like a rabbit in a trap, clinging to the door handle like it was a lifeline. It also didn’t look like Regan was getting enough sleep. Under all that pain, a beautiful young fae had taken form, but there was an awful amount of pain burying it. With a small nod, Lydia acquiesced. “Whatever you’re most comfortable with, my dear. Now, I don’t want you to tell me anything you aren’t comfortable with sharing, and I promise that I will keep anything you do say now entirely confidential.That said,” Lydia tilted her head, “How are you doing?”

Regan exhaled a huge sigh of relief that Lydia wasn’t pushing having a discussion inside of her apartment. Still, she couldn’t help but feel like she’d been squished into one of her histology slides as Lydia’s eyes drifted over her. Did she… did she know? No. There was no way, no way she knew about the hallucinations. The only person she’d told was Nadia, and she trusted Nadia completely. The word promise set off alarm bells, but this was one Regan would allow, without trying to not-so-subtly slide in ‘I release you from that promise’. And then there was the question. It was such a simple one, and yet, she couldn’t fully answer without everything pouring out -- most people would lie, wouldn’t they? Those little white lies that kept the wheels of social interaction and acceptance spinning. Her throat was thick as she spoke, the raw pain from that sound coming screaming back. “I… I saw my dad die.” How did Lydia think she was doing? But at the same time, Regan knew the question was meant in kindness, and she couldn’t bring herself to ask that. “And now I can’t -- now everything is wrong.” Her sad eyes met Lydia’s sparkling ones. “I need to fix things with my brothers. I need to work. And I need to -- I need to be in my right mind.” Regan’s gaze dropped to the carpet. There was something comforting about human contact right now, but at the same time, there was nothing that could be done, and a pit of hopelessness formed in her gut. “I’m sorry, but I’d like to go back inside and… was there anything else?”

There was no guilt in Lydia’s mind as to Sean’s untimely demise, nor with activating her. The guilt came from the plaintive ache in Regan’s voice. It would be temporary, but it was now sharp. If Lydia could take it away, she would have, just not at the expense of Regan’s long term happiness as a Banshee. That didn’t make the bone deep exhaustion in Regan’s eyes any less palpable. It would have been easier if she had gotten the panicked ramble of earlier, If Lydia was honest with herself. Not this dulled list of problems. Right at the end, Regan threw her a bone. Swallowing a little, Lydia nodded, pulling her tote a little closer to her body. “I am so terribly sorry, Regan. The strain death puts on the family and on the body is immense, and unique to each person. I brought some things to replace the crockery that you mentioned was damaged.” Lydia chose her next words very carefully, but perhaps not quite carefully enough. “It’s funny, I’ve been allergic - of sorts - to lying for years, so I must admit I also thought you might want to vent to someone who isn’t a colleague or close friend. Someone who might understand a little. However, I can see you’d prefer to be left alone.”

An immense strain on the body. That sounded about right. Though for all of the death and all of the mourning that Regan had been around both personally and professionally, she’d never encountered anything quite like this before. She watched carefully as Lydia’s hands moved for the tote bag, her own suspicious fingers twitching around the door knob. The sharp pin pricks along the back of her neck gave this meeting a discomforting tone, and for several reasons, she was eyeing an escape. “Oh, you… there are glasses and dishes in there?” She gave the bag a studying look. “That’s very nice of you, actually, thank you.” She’d been eating off paper plates and drinking from a reused water bottle, but supplies were running low. Now that she knew Lydia’s intentions, she could just take the crockery and this whole affair could end, right? An online thank you as a follow up would suffice. She figured she had some social allowance to be a little bit rude right now. But the word allergic snapped Regan to attention. Her arms fell, and the wings twitched, making her bolt upright. She slapped her lower back and kept her hands pressed there, hoping to keep the damn imaginary things in place. “Allergic? What? I -- what? Who said I -- I’m not allergic to lying, I just can’t -- I mean, I can’t lie -- I mean I -- crap.” Her teeth were chattering. Or maybe it was the wings. She took a quick pace backwards, retreating into her apartment, and stared at Lydia. “Why did you say that? What do you mean you’re allergic to lying? Why do you think I’m allergic to lying? What… what is this?”

“Yes. As you were staying in the flat I thought you might need them,” Lydia replied softly. There was the tiniest flutter of Regan’s lab coat that Lydia did her best to ignore, as Regan slapped her hand onto her back. The work that it took to keep her gaze level was phenomenal, and no mean feat as her own elytra shifted with a tiny thrill. Lydia stood still as Regan took a step back. “I said it because it’s true. As for what it means…” Lydia cocked her head, her eyes drifting up and to the left, smiling as she thought of an example, “If I were to hypothetically try to tell you that I was currently in my thirties, then as soon as the words had left my mouth, my skin would have broken out in hives. I didn’t say that I thought you were allergic to lying. On the other hand, Regan, the way you were writing when we were texting earlier, and the way you spoke just now... All I want is to let you know that you aren’t alone. For any of it.”

Lydia seemed to be thinking carefully, picking out each word with precision; just like everything else about her, she was deliberate and graceful. But despite her claiming to be allergic to lies, she was definitely lying right now. “There’s no way you’re not in your thirties.” Regan said, raising an eyebrow. She was almost thankful for the small, normal lie -- everyone lied about their age -- since it dragged her mind back into the mundane. Regan would believe early thirties, but 20s were out, and 40s were even further out of the question. She liked to think she had a knack for guessing peoples’ ages, given her work. So what was this? Was Lydia making this up, trying to assuage some of Regan’s pain by relating to her? That must have been it. And, while admirable that someone she didn’t know well cared enough to be here for her, in person, she was tired. So tired. Regan heaved a deep sigh and took a careful approach back to the door. “I appreciate you saying that, Lydia, I really do. I didn’t expect that you would be here, and I -- we don’t know each other well, and it says a lot about you as a person that you’re standing here right now. So thank you.” But. “But I think I do need to be alone, right now.”

Lydia smiled fondly, because now she could demonstrate. As she spoke, she reached into her handbag. "Fine. I'm in my - not - thirties. Thirties. I'm in - past - my- I'm younger than 40- hundred! Forty hundred." Lydia chuckled at her utter failure to lie, much like Regan, and showed Regan her driver's ID. "According to this, I'm 44 years old. I have an exceptional dermatologist." Next time she moved, it would be to have a driver's licence aged at 25 again under a new name. Her momentary amusement did fade though, as she nodded. "I understand that. Here," Lydia placed the tote in the doorframe before stepping back. "The offer stands, Regan. Even if it's just to talk about the spring weather. I'll leave you in peace, take care."

Regan blinked, about to close the door, as Lydia struggled to get a sentence out. Inability to lie could easily be faked, of course, but… “Well, I didn’t think you were older than 4,000 years old.” she said, squinting at the driver’s license. “44, though… you look really good.” That dermatologist did wonders. But the compliment also highlighted how much of a mess she felt, standing there next to impeccably-put-together Lydia. Regan still wasn’t sure how much trust to extend, but she did know she appreciated Lydia stopping by. She eyed the bag, waiting for Lydia to step away, before grabbing it. “I… thank you, again.” As Lydia descended the stairs, the ants marching down Regan’s spine went with her.

[rocket-remmy]

Bloody Fingers||Remmy and Chloe

TIMING: Current PARTIES: Chloe (one of @inspirationdivine’s humans) and @whatsin-yourhead SUMMARY: A worried and fraught Remmy goes to check on Lydia, only to find a massacre and a skeleton in her closet. CONTENT:  Drug manipulation tw (leanan sidhe kiss, vampire compelling) references to domestic abuse, Blood

Lydia wasn’t answering and Remmy was panicking. 

 The door was locked and their key shook as they slid it into the slot. They could already smell it, the dried blood. 

 The door swung open slowly-- it creaked and Remmy thought about how it had never done that before, had it? Lydia kept her house in top shape. Why would the hinges squeal now?

 The hallway stretched to their left, the stairs to the right. Red footprints. Blood stained tile. Scuffing Lydia’s expensive hardwood floor. Remmy followed them wordlessly down the hallway, sidling along, careful not to touch anything. They could see the couch peeking out from around the corner. They were sure if their heart could beat, it would be hammering in their chest. The smell of sour metal was becoming overwhelming. At the end of the hallway, the couch was wedged between the wall and the door frame. It was bent, cracked, broken. The door frame, unable to hold against the pressure, had buckled and broken. The stain on the couch was so out of place, red clashing with cream. Lydia would’ve hated it. Remmy felt a lot like the wood paneling on the door frame when their eyes fell to the large pool of blood staining the floor. It was only half dry, sticky to the touch, though Remmy did not dare. They swallowed the saliva in their mouth and moved through the house. They dare not speak. 

 Their feet stopped just short of stepping on something on the floor. It almost looked plastic, fake, the way it was twisted, ripped and torn. But Remmy knew. Remmy had seen them when they were still on Lydia’s back and so they knew-- the wing on the floor wasn’t fake. It was Lydia’s.

 “L-lydia?” they gaped, dropping to their knees, reaching out to touch the edges, as if that would somehow fix what they were seeing. A noise, from upstairs. “Lydia!?” Remmy leapt over the couch, scrambled through the hallway and up the stairs, passing by more bloody footprints leading up. Mussied, waterlogged footsteps headed down. Fingers grazing over the scratch marks torn into the banister. A single acrylic nail left as evidence of the struggle.

 They didn’t pay attention to them. Their nose took them directly to the bathroom. The door was already open, broken on its hinges, just barely hanging there. The water in the tub was old and putrid and smelled of death. Remmy leaned over and just barely kept themself from losing it, hands gripping the wall so hard they pressed indents into the wood. Remmy wanted to sink to their knees there, in the bathroom, energy draining from them. They wanted to find something to clean all of this up with. They wanted to get rid of it. To wash it away. Maybe then it wouldn’t be real. Maybe then it wouldn’t be Lydia’s. 

 Another noise and Remmy snapped back to attention, using the wall to pull themself up. “Lydia!?” they called out again, their voice choked with tears. Ran towards the source of the noise. It was in the closet. Had she hid? Was she in need of help? “Lydia, please, is that--” but throwing the closet doors open, they didn’t find Lydia.

 They found a woman. A woman they’d never seen here before. “Who-- where’s Lydia?” they asked, startled out of their mute horror. “Are-- are you okay? What’re you doing in here?”

 Get some sleep for a few days, he’d said. Maybe it was because the third day was hitting close to whatever counted as a few. Maybe it was because she needed to see and to know whatever Sammy had seen as known. Whatever it was, Chloe slowly felt the weight on her eyelids lifting, and she could finally creep out of bed. Once he’d fallen asleep, she’d wandered a little, enough to see the bathroom, and the blood and scratches on the stairs. She didn’t want to look downstairs. The call to sleep was still loud, which was how Chloe found herself in Lydia’s bedroom, breathing in the smell of her pillow. Downstairs, the door creaked. Company. You won’t let anyone know you’re here, will you? Chloe bolted up from the bed, and hid in the closet. Which, really, was a whole other walk in wardrobe, as big as another room. Chloe held her breath, terrified it was the man with the red eyes. 

The fact that it was Remmy who opened the closet door, was ever so much worse. Chloe started at them with glassy eyes. “Not here,” she said, her voice above a whisper. “Something happened.  I- I couldn’t do anything.”

 Whoever this girl was, she was terrified. Had she been here when Lydia was attacked? Was she hurt, too? Remmy’s mind was racing a million miles an hour. They bent down to her level, watching her curl up in the corner. They didn’t quite understand what she was saying, but the worry overwrote the confusion. They held out their hand to her gently, wondering if she would shy away like a spooked animal. “I-it’s okay,” they said, urging her, “I’m not gonna hurt you. I can help. I’m just--” they looked back over their shoulder, the scent of Lydia’s blood still strong in the air, their mouth salivating again. Swallowing, they looked back to her. “I’m just worried about Lydia.”

 Chloe stared at Remmy’s hand, neither shying away nor taking it at all. Trying to work out what Lydia would want her to say, how to keep promises about not lying and not revealing things, and how to get out of Remmy’s sight as quickly as possible. Or, at least, that was what she was hoping to do, what it really felt like was grasping at straws with bloody hands. Chloe gasped shudderingly. “I heard her scream. I heard- I heard her stop screaming. The bath - I- Someone came, after. Took her away.”

 The girl wouldn’t take their hand, so Remmy lowered it and opened the door all the way, sitting near the entrance. They left enough space so that she hopefully wouldn’t feel too trapped and tried to calm the trembling in their hands. “But she-- was she alive?” they asked quietly, “when they took her away?” Their voice wavered again and they swallowed to keep it from cracking. “Were you here, then?” they asked, hoping the question wasn’t too much, “Did you see what happened?”

 “She was. I don’t know if she is,” Chloe replied, a little too truthfully. Knowing that there was a zombie in the house and finally seeing said zombie. She’d expected them to look more… decayed, somehow, befitting of the monster she saw them as in her head. They were friends with Lydia, so they had to be a monster, but on the other hand, Lydia was so afraid of what would happen if they knew. “No. Yes. No. Sorry- there’s… I couldn’t - you have to understand, I couldn’t- I wanted to, I wanted to help her but I couldn’t. I had to sleep. I had to sleep.” Jesus fuck, she hoped that Remmy could tell that there was so much she couldn’t say.  “I need sleep. I was sleeping, but the screaming woke me up. She tried to run. More screaming. So much screaming. They came upstairs. I- I don’t know what happened. But the person who took her away was a doctor. Bradycardia. I don’t know where. I didn’t see her.” Chloe squeezed her eyes shut. “She has to be okay.” If she let herself hope that Lydia wasn’t, then that was something else for Lydia to crush. At the same time, she needed Lydia to be okay, to come back, as much as she needed air. Being apart left her aching. 

 This girl was clearly in distress. “Hey, hey,” Remmy said in a soft voice, “i-it’s okay. It’s okay. It’s--” whatever had happened, it was bad. Really bad. Maybe a hunter. Or something worse. Remmy’s skin prickled as they remembered all the blood they’d seen, could still smell. Their insides twisted. “It’s probably for the better you didn’t do anything. You...you could’ve gotten hurt, too. Are--” they squinted, trying to see if there were any marks on her, if she was okay, “--are you hurt at all? Do you need anything?” They weren’t sure what to do now, but if Lydia was with a doctor, than she was in the most capable hands, and all Remmy could do was pray. They wondered where the cleaning supplies were. Someone needed to drain the bath and move the couch and lock all the doors. They looked back at Chloe. “Where...where can I take you?” they asked quietly, “I can’t leave you here with this mess. You should...get somewhere safe.”

  “No, I’m grateful, I don’t need anything from you,” Chloe replied in the style Lydia might have said it. Not a lie because it was so specific. She didn’t need anything from them, her unwitting captor, and she didn’t need them to know that under her sweaty clothes were boils and hives. Bruises had sprung where she hadn’t bumped into anything. She couldn’t eat anything for her stomach throwing it up. Sammy said she had a fever. A dozen promises, just because of that man with the red who had promised her so much and so little, in ruins around her. “No!” She said suddenly. Not being able to leave through the front door would be a dead give away - dead, in that Lydia would kill her. “No, I - You’re right. I can’t stay here. She’ll- she’ll let me know when she’s back. I should go. I’ll show myself out. I just- I thought you were him. You live here, ri-right? You should- you should call someone.” Please, god, believe these half truths and don’t watch her try to leave.

 Remmy didn’t entirely understand who this girl was and why she was at Lydia’s, but right now wasn’t really the time to question those things, especially with how frightened she looked. Remmy wasn’t sure what they’d do if she did ask them to take her somewhere, because stepping outside of the house made their insides do a somersault. They’d just barely been able to get themself here by blocking out everything and just focusing on Lydia, they weren’t sure they’d be able to do it again. They’d need to call Morgan later to come get them. “I-- you’re sure you’re okay?” they asked, standing up slowly and stepping out of the doorway. Maybe she just wanted to be alone, maybe she had people waiting for her. “You’re not going somewhere a-alone, are you? You’re--” It was easy enough to believe that perhaps she was just one of the people Lydia had over for late night things. She’d had one of those lately. Maybe this girl wasn’t supposed to be here, and they didn’t want her to get in any more trouble. “I’m not him,” they finally said, motioning for her to come out, “he’s gone. Whoever he was…” and they really wanted to know now, wanted to know who hurt Lydia like this. What they would do with that knowledge, they were unsure, but they weren’t going to let them get away with this, “he’s never coming back.” That was one thing they could make sure of, despite the tremor in their hands as they said the words. “I’ll be okay. I can-- I’ll stay and clean up. You should get somewhere else for now.”

 “Yeah. Take care.” Chloe nodded, not trusting herself to say any more. Did zombies do promise tricks too? Or mind- whatever the fuck had happened. She pushed herself out of the cupboard, wiped teartracks from her cheeks, and practically bolted away from Remmy, careful to avoid all the dried blood everywhere. She opened the front door only to slam it, and then crept back into ‘their’ part of the house, with the music room and her bed. The man with the red eyes was right - she probably just needed more sleep. 

 The girl left and Remmy didn’t make to follow, even as worry wrought through their chest and limbs and circled back into their throat. They went down the stairs after they heard the door slam, making sure to avoid everything on the way down. Did they need to keep the place in order? Were the police going to be called for this? No...probably not. Lydia wouldn’t want that. Police prying into a supernatural’s life was never good, it was why things were the way they were, wasn’t it? Why they had had to take the Ring into their own hands? Why Remmy couldn’t tell Jane anything when they were trapped? Their bones seemed to rattle at the thoughts and they needed a way to wipe them away. Carefully, so carefully, Remmy began taking pictures of everything. Just in case. Maybe there was a clue. Maybe they could figure out who did this, or how to make sure it couldn’t happen again. When they came back downstairs to find all the cleaning supplies, they paused at the front door. Something felt so wrong about all of this. First, they had been attacked, and now Lydia? Was it a coincidence, or was Remmy to blame for this? Swallowing again, Remmy put on the face mask and rubber gloves and went to the kitchen to fill the bucket. It was going to be a long night.

#chatzy #chatzy: lydia #wickedswriting #bloddy fingers #lydia #chatzy: chloe #chloe #drug manipulation tw #domestic abuse tw

[detectivedreameater]

Gal Pals || Lydia and Marley

TIMING: About a week ago (before The Red Room) PARTIES: @inspirationdivine and @detectivedreameater SUMMARY: Marley and Lydia meet up for drinks. And while neither leave with what they expected, the evening goes well. For once.

It wasn’t usual for Marley to ask to get drinks before their usual rendezvous. That wasn’t because the company wasn’t good, or that it was just a quick bang and gone, but going out for drinks? If Lydia didn’t know better, there was something to be read into this. What, precisely, Lydia had no idea. The mushroom spores made her headier by the day, more bubbly and enthusiastic and hungry. Hungry for food, for company, for sex, for promises, anything she could get her hands on. She chatted idly with a man at another table about, well, whatever as she waited.

“If the Sox don’t win this upcoming, I’ll eat my shoe. I’m telling you-”

“I’ll hold you to that. Oh, hello darling!” Lydia whipped her head away from him, clearly dismissing him as Marley walked on over. “It’s ever such a pleasure to see you. How are you?”

 The strangeness of this evening wasn’t the fact that Lydia was acting off. Marley had remembered one other time Lydia had behaved this way, and it was on their first “date”. The lightness, the joy, the almost carefree attitude. But no, that wasn’t the strange part. The strange part was that Marley had never stopped sleeping with someone and still wanted to be their friend. She just didn’t know if Lydia wanted that, too. Their relationship had been pretty strictly sex, not that either of them didn’t enjoy time with each other. But last time they’d been out, Marley’s abilities had malfunctioned and she’d given Lydia a vicious vision against her will. She’d hurt someone she had come to care about, and the part where Marley felt guilty wasn’t even the worst of it-- it was admitting she cared about someone. That was-- oh, too many names now. 

 Rubbing her eyes, hidden behind a pair of magic, normal glasses, she pushed into the bar and found Lydia almost right away. She was hard to miss, after all. She smiled at her. “Hello Lydia,” she said back, coming over to her and taking a seat next to her, “I see you got the party started without me. I’m fine. The real question is how are you? Are you healing alright?”

 “I’m simply wonderful, and all the better for seeing you again,” Lydia said, running her fingers up Marley’s arm. “I’m…. as healed as one might expect. My wing grew back, my ankle is healed. I’m doing well.” Aside from some long term effects that might not fade. Irritability, clouded judgement, on rare occasions, confusion. In a fae that prided herself on her talent for word play, that stung, still, and it wasn’t like a clouded judgement linked with irritability hadn’t recently resulted in a dead body, or a hurt siren. “But we won’t focus on that now. What have you been up to, detective?” Lydia’s gaze couldn’t help but trace up the long scars on Marley’s face. It had been so long since they’d last met. Too long. 

 If it weren’t for the fact that Marley knew Lydia was being genuine, she would’ve rolled her eyes at that. “I have that effect sometimes,” she said coyly, giving a half smirk. The man Lydia had been talking to before she got there was grumbling to himself in his drink, and she frowned only for a moment. “I’m glad you’re healing well. I hate being laid up on bed rest, I can’t even imagine you liking it.” When she looked back to Lydia, she could feel her gaze on her face and the lines that marred it started to burn. She turned her face away. “Why don’t we find a more private booth, yeah?” she said, taking Lydia’s hand gently and prodding her away from the public bar and towards the back. “Aside from getting mauled by a bear and stalked by a demon hand, not much. I, uh--” she stopped looked back at Lydia, before continuing on, finding them a secluded booth, “--could really use a nice break, you know?”

“I dislike the lack of control. Someone else made all the decisions for me, whether I lived, whether I died. I hated that part. But, it’s over now, and it does not serve me well to dwell.” Lydia paused as Marley looked away, but nodded, following her beautiful date over to a quieter part of the bar. “My apologies. Stalked by a demon hand? What on earth do you mean?” Lydia asked, pausing even as Marley led them somewhere more private. She couldn’t even begin to imagine. “Yeah, you could, good grief. Well, that is what we’re here for. Not that you don’t deserve more, but maybe tonight can be a start of a good break.” She slid into the secluded booth next to Marley, smiling warmly. “What would that look like for you, do you think? What do you want to have happen in the next while?”

 “Yeah,” Marley agreed quietly, “don’t like that.” The vision of Tommy glaring her down, raising his paw, ready to kill her-- deciding whether she lived or died-- flashed in her mind a moment and she blinked it away. Lydia slid into the booth next to her and she felt her cheeks flush, clearing her throat. “It was something called a manumbra. It’s-- kind of a long story, but I thought I’d killed it once already but then it showed back up three times. It’s gone now, though,” she said, waving a waiter over to take her drink order, “hopefully,” she added when he was gone. She glanced over to Lydia, thumbing nervously at her jacket sleeve. “You know, I’m not really sure what that looks like,” she answered finally, “I just know being around you feels...easy.” The waiter brought her drink and she took it gratefully, taking a long sip, letting the alcohol cool her throat. “And as much fun as we have, I sort of uh, am attempting this whole being exclusive thing with someone.” She looked nervously over at her for a moment. “Sorry I didn’t say anything before. I didn’t think you’d actually want to meet up for just drinks.”

 A manumbra. Right. Lydia nodded as if she had any idea what that was, but it was clear she didn’t. “I’m so sorry to hear it. How do you know that this time it stuck?” She ordered a top up wine glass from the waiter, just to keep her going. Her eyes lit up at Marley’s compliment, but it felt like there was more, a but hanging at the end of her sentence. “You don’t need to figure it out now, you know.”

 A heavy pause lingered in the air as Marley drank, as if there was something on her mind. When she finally spoke, Lydia’s smile fixed on her face. “Ah, I see,” Lydia ducked her chin, looking down at her drink for a second as she readjusted her dress further down her thighs, stung by the momentary rejection and the excited expectations she’d built up for the evening. When she looked up a second later, all of that was dismissed with the wave of her hand. She ought to have seen this coming. “Oh I would have still come, darling, I would have just worn something a little less easy access.” She laughed, gesturing down as her tight dress, which did just have the one set of delicate buttons to unfasten, unlike some of other garments which had more fastenings than Lydia had fingers. “For the record, I don’t love the deceit, but if you’ve found a relationship worth limiting yourself to, all the more power to you. What are they like?”

 “Because I saw its dead body this time,” Marley answered plainly, the ire clear in her voice. She was past that part of her life now. The manumbra was as dead as Roland and she needed to move on. She couldn’t afford to keep getting hung up on small things like that. On things she had no control of. She brushed a hand over her eyes, the glasses slipping up a moment to reveal glowing red. “Guess I’m just a textbook work-a-holic. I never know what to do with time off.”

Marley felt a tad guilty as she watched Lydia fuss, readjusting her dress. She looked away, tracing the rim of her glass delicately, chewing on her lower lip. “I’m surprised anyone could actually deceive you, Lydia,” she teased quietly, “but it won’t happen again.” She opened her mouth to say the words, but stopped short when she remembered exactly what Lydia was. The ‘P’ word held too much power here, and Marley knew she couldn’t promise that. She always slipped up. Swallowing, she turned to face Lydia. She reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind Lydia’s ear. “For the record, I really do enjoy our time together. And it’s odd, I guess,” her brows scrunched, “that I felt so nervous about hurting you. Or that you’d reject the notion of--” the ‘F’ word caught in her throat as well, but she swallowed it down, “--just being friends. I’ve never had this before.” She turned away again, fingers tapping at her glass. She let out a long breath. 

 “She’s wonderful, though,” Marley said, finally picking up her glass and taking another long sip, “this girl I have. She accepts everything of me. Or, well-- everything I’ve told her of me. Which is...a lot.” She glanced over at Lydia. “And she’s like us. And her eyes are-- the most beautiful things I’ve seen.”

 “It happens more often than I like to admit,” Lydia said quietly, trying to joke and not quite succeeding. Oh, she’d been rejected before, but not often enough for it not to sting. She took a long drink of her wine, nearly finishing the glass before looking down at Marley, she leant her head into the gentle touch. It probably wasn’t meant to be as intimate as it came across, but it made Lydia smile all the same. “I understand. I’m happy for you, really. But we wouldn’t have had this regular arrangement had I not liked your company. It’s okay, really.” Lydia curled her body closer to Marley’s but in a more friendly way, like how she might sit closer to Deirdre. “She sounds wonderful. It’s so important that you’re on the same page.  I’ve learned from…. Far too much experience that if you aren’t on the same page about everything, that one page will be the one to trip you up. So that is wonderful, Marley, Really.” Her smile grew into a wide grin. “Oh, my god, I’m such a sap for hearing people be so romantic. How did you meet?” All sense of let down was gone, as she sipped at her own wine. 

 There was something to be said for Lydia’s tone, but Marley let it go for the moment. She felt her body tense only slightly when Lydia curled closer, and it made her realize that these soft, intimate touches had never been something she’d shared platonically. With anyone. Her throat felt dry and the drink made it worse. “It’s not something I’ve ever had before,” she said, furrowing her brow, “I wasn’t...this kind of person.” Lydia’s voice sounded so light, so happy-- for her. Fingers tapped nervously at her glass again. “Romance isn’t really my thing. I just-- I guess almost dying made me realize something, though.” She wondered what thing almost dying would have made her realize had Anita not been in the picture. Would she have fought so hard had she had nothing to fight for? “Oh, uh-- it’s kinda boring. We met online, because I’m an insatiable flirt and I chided her into a second date after the first one went poorly.”

 “All muses agree on this one. Love catches even the most foolhardy off guard. Not that this need be love, or even an approximation, but it has caught you off guard nonetheless.” Lydia said, but it sounded like it wasn’t the only thing that had caught Marley off guard, as she curled against her. The wine made her warm and fuzzy as as she raised her hand to sumon the waiter for another refill. “I understand that. When I was attacked recently, it shifted my world perspective. It’s awful to say, but something like this is an incredible silver lining.” Lydia looked Marley’s profile up and down somewhere, smiling at the mundane little tale. “Hey, we all have to start somewhere. Clearly, she saw something she liked just as much. I hope it continues well.”

 Love. Marley felt her insides twist at the word, squeezing her chest, her heart. She downed the rest of her drink and tapped the cup for another when the waiter came by. She looked over at Lydia, before glancing away again. “I hope it continues well, too, I just...don’t know if I’m cut out for it, you know?” she waved her hand around limply. “All this is-- strange to me. And I’m worried I’m just going to hurt her,” she mumbled, “like I hurt you.” Like she hurt so many before them, her gaze striking fear into anyone who happened to look in her direction at the wrong time. “My eyes hurt people. I thought I was better than that, but one slip up, you know? It just takes one.”

 “I think it isn’t so mucha  case of whether you are or aren’t, I think it’s a case of what you do. I have always found love easy, but maintaining a relationship takes effort.” Lydia barely glanced as the waitress replaced their drinks, drinking deeply from her glass immediately. “Well, we can almost certainly say that she likes you more than I do,” Lydia said softly, “and I got over it. We’ve all made our fair share of mistakes. No one is perfectly in control in the time.” She slid her hand along Marley’s arm with a soft smile. “The good ones remember that it was a mistake, and create space for you to heal these things together.” Lydia thought about Morgan and Deirdre, who had no shortage of mistakes between the two of them, yet they both forgave each other, over and over. There was space in each other’s worlds for hurt and the healing thereof. “Didn’t your parents ever lose control?

 “Oh, you wound me, Lydia,” Marley teased quietly, “here I thought you liked me the most.” It was, after all, her automatic defense when things like feelings and emotions came up. Swallowing it down, she let out a long breath, her arm feeling warm where Lydia’s hand pressed against it. A soothing motion. Marley had never realized before how much she enjoyed the simple act of being comforted. She put a hand on top of Lydia’s and squeezed. “You always know the right thing to say, don’t you?” she half-teased, sipping her alcohol more calmly now. At least until she asked about her parents. Marley paused, stiffening again. The cool glass was still pressed against her lips. She lowered it slowly, setting it down on the coaster. Folded her hands together on the table. “I wouldn’t know,” she said finally, “I never met them.”

 Lydia chuckled. “You’ve always had delusions of grandeur, my dear,” she teased right back. “I can’t help that.” Sheturned her hand over in Marley’s, so that she could squeeze it back, her smile softening. For all the delightful hours they’d spent together, this wasn’t anything she’d seen in Marley before. It was a good look, so good that Lydia almost felt a pang of…. Envy (badumtsss). “Talking is kind of our entire thing as a species, one would hope I was good at it,” Lydia replied with a soft smile. Immediately, she felt Marley stiffen up underneath her. “I’m ever so sorry,” Lydia replied softly, and then, before she could help herself, “Do you wish you had?” She flushed, leaning back. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

 “No, it’s fine,” Marley said, finding her words both sudden and natural. It was her immediate response, but she wasn’t sure she meant it. She’d never really talked about her parents before. Why did she feel okay about it now? Perhaps that was just the kind of energy Lydia gave off. That she was safe to talk about this. That somehow Lydia would understand and accept any truth Marley had. “I don’t know if I do. They-- gave me up for a reason, I guess. I don’t know. I think I wish...I wasn’t raised by humans, but I don’t know if I want to know who they were or why they...gave me up.” Because what if she didn’t like the answer? What if they gave her up because they just didn’t want her?

 Was it, Lydia wondered immediately. She listened carefully, swirling her wine glass as Marley talked.“No. If there’s anything I’ve learned from this town, it is that being raised with human expectations can be a cruelty on its own, however wonderful they might otherwise be.” Lydia looked to Marley’s hands, tightly clasped in front of her, and put a hand carefully on top of them. “I can only imagine how hard that is.”

 Marley gave a hollow chuckle, a grimace on her face. “I didn’t even know what I was until I was 16,” she said, knitting her brows together. Perhaps Lydia, someone so unhuman in her fae ways, was the only one that could really understand the feeling of being judged so humanly. “I was raised by humans who had no idea what I was and they passed me along like a disease,” she said, her voice growing dark, angry. “I think I hated my parents for so long because of that, you know? If they really loved me, why would they leave me with people like that?” She squeezed her glass hard enough to feel it crack, suddenly realizing the space she’d gone into and let go, looking over at Lydia. “Sorry, I--” she didn’t want to hurt her again. “Sorry. It’s...I’ve never talked about this before.” She took her hand again, gentle, so gentle. “I swore to myself I would just forget about them and leave that part of me behind, but now I’m not so sure…” 

 “It’s okay. You can take your time. Or not. Far be it for me to determine how you should process these things.” Lydia took in a deep breath, smiling ever so warmly. “Family is ever so complicated.” Whatever internal fear Marley felt, Lydia was only catching the superficial hints. It had been a quick swerve, this change from booty call to friends without benefits, but somehow it fit as naturally as everything else. “What do you think would give you what you need? It’s, well, it’s obvious to me they still have a big effect on you, regardless of what you wanted before.”

 Marley twiddled her fingers with Lydia’s, trying to let herself relax. Reading too into things wouldn’t do anyone any good. There was the initial pang of anger, like she always felt when people asked about her parents, or tried to tell her how she should feel-- but Lydia was right, and it was always so hard to stay mad at her. Letting out a long breath, Marley composed herself. “I just want to know why,” she finally said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, “what would make them give me up to humans?” 

 "So find out." Lydia said simply, matching Marley's tone. She leant in, speaking low in soft, deep tones, and wondered ever so briefly what it might have been like to be the one who had caught feelings for her. When she hunted, she shut that part of herself off, unable to stand using the same lines and tones on the people she cared about and the humans she was ensnaring.  If they had met at another time, perhaps. Lydia didn’t deal often in what ifs, so let that thought escape the way it had entered, smirking up at the other woman.  "Marley, I mean, detective Strider, finding out secrets is your whole job. But only if you want to."

 So find out. As if it was just that simple. As if Marley could just pick up a phone and call up her birth parents and ask them why. As if they weren’t either dead or long gone or in a different country. She didn’t know, though, did she? She had no idea who they were or where they were or what they were like. Had she ever wanted to know? Her entire life, was the answer. Even when she’d told herself she didn’t care and didn’t want to, she’d been lying, hadn’t she? She’d always wanted to know. “It is my job, yeah,” she answered quietly, “I always told myself I didn’t want to know, swore them off, but maybe it’s time to think the other way. To...find out who they were.” She had never allowed herself what ifs in her life, because in a situation like hers, they were dangerous. Longing for a family was dangerous. The foster environment didn’t allow for it. But now, she’d been out for so many years, she’d made it through, maybe she could be allowed to pursue those what ifs. “Or, at least, why they gave me up.”

  Lydia’s thumb traced idle patterns over the back of Marley’s hands as Marley thought, not urging her to reply. This was quite the turn of the evening, from what she’d first expected, but Lydia didn’t really mind. It was nice to find something deeper under Marley’s surface, especially as she was so familiar with Marley’s surfaces. She listened with a careful smile. “Maybe it is,” she murmured, tucking a lock of hair behind Marley’s ear gently, a glint in her eyes. Maybe it was Marley who made her giddy, or maybe it was the thick spores in the air, but Lydia wanted to see this one through. “So, will you? Go find out?” Lydia prompted, calling the waitress over for another round of drinks. 

 These gentle, soft touches prodded another what if to dance through Marley’s mind. In another time, could Lydia be the one she could call hers? Could it be someone else sitting here, letting Marley tell them she wanted to be exclusive? She swallowed down the thought. Monogamy wasn’t ever something she’d cared for or thought about, and while it was a struggle, it wasn’t all bad. Knowing someone was only hers was...nice. Even if she did find herself wishing she could share parts of herself with others. “Yeah,” she finally said, smiling over at Lydia, “I will.”

 I’ll hold you to that. It was the mushrooms, Lydia decided as she grinned into her wine glass. She was giddy with them, binding everyone and everything. She’d undo it by the end of the season, no harm done. It was just a harmless little thing, and it would help. “Good for you,” Lydia said as she wrapped her arm around Marley’s shoulders.  “I realise we’ve only been at it for an hour, but this friendship thing is going quite well, don’t you think?” Lydia teased.

#chatzy #chatzy: lydia #gal pals #lydia #wickedswriting

[letsbenditlikebennett]

Forest Batman|| Ariana & Sammy

While on a night time run through the woods, Ariana runs into one of Lydia’s humans. @inspirationdivine​

Sammy was buzzing. Not too much! Because it would wake Lydia, if he felt anything too much (his chest already ached, but that was normal. Everyone told him he’d learn to ignore it. He didn’t want to learn to ignore it). It had been forever since he’d been in the woods, not since his family had dragged him in on the easier hunts they used to do. But this? This was so rad. Sammy’s joy bubbled out of him into a wordless yell into the dark. Sure, he wished he had his cellphone, or a flashlight, or, uh, anything, because it was dark as fuck out and - well, he suddenly wasn’t too sure he knew where he was. Shit. He was like sleeping beauty - had to get back before midnight or he’d turn into a pumpkin. Or, well, before six am. Shit. Sammy turned around, humming idly, before deciding it was probably that way, and walking very surely that way, whatever that way was.

Some nights, Ariana couldn’t fall asleep if her life depended on it. The full moon was any day now and she was already itching to be running through the woods. She found herself sitting up in bed and glancing out the window. She looked over at her clock, it was only 9:00 PM. Celeste wouldn’t be home from work until at least midnight. A quick late night jog would be totally harmless. She threw on a pair of running shorts and shoes, being sure to grab her running belt along with a knife Celeste had given her a few years back. She probably wouldn’t need it, but better safe than sorry. She took off toward the wood near their home. Weaving in and out of shadowed trees, she fell into a rhythm, listening for any sound around her. The perks of enhanced senses made it harder for people to sneak up on you. Not far off, she heard a soft hum that was distinguishably human. Curious, she followed the sound. She saw him from afar first. He had dark hair and looked not much older than her. She could smell him and he smelled human. He looked way too lost to be a hunter so she had to wonder what he was doing in the woods in the middle of the night. “Hey!” she said as she approached as to not startle him, “Are you lost or something?”

“Woah!” Sammy yelled, because despite having been raised by hunters, he startled as easy as pigeons in the park, even when she wasn’t trying to scare him. In fact, he startled so hard he tripped right over a fallen tree branch, barely caught himself on the trunk and then righted himself all in a heartbeat. “You, uh, you didn’t see that, did you?” He laughed nervously, “It’s been a while since I was in the woods. Like, a tiny bit lost, but I’m just enjoying the uh, ambiance? What about you?” He squinted through the dark. All Annie’s poems were wrong - moonlight was not enough to see in the forest. “How come you’re, uh, out so late?”

“Sorry,” Ariana said, realizing she had still startled him despite her best attempts to avoid doing just that. She did her best to keep the smirk on her face from turning into a soft laugh over his run in with the tree branch. “I did, but don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” She raised a brow to him as he asked what she was doing out so late as if he wasn’t also wandering around the woods, clearly lost, in the middle of the night. “I could ask you the same thing,” she responded in a tone that did its best to convey she was joking. “But I was just out for a run. Couldn’t sleep. I know my way around the woods pretty well if you need some direction.”

Sammy stared at her for a moment, then a laugh burst from his lips, like a surprise to him. Anneliese didn’t really joke, as sweet as she was. Chloe’s jokes were sour and bitter. “Thanks. Appreciate it. And, well, I couldn’t tell you even if you did ask, so,” Sammy drifted off with an awkward chuckled, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. He looked down at his jeans, probably covered in dirt, but that was fine. Totally fine. Probably. Lydia didn’t need to know. He looked her over, as best he could in the dark. “Yeah? Well, I uh,” Sammy paused, looking around, and realised he… didn’t know where they were. Not in terms of the woods, but the name of the town Lydia had moved them all too. Well, they were in Maine, but as Sam rubbed the back of his head, he realised he wasn’t gonna be able to hide that one. “Uh, yeah, if you could point me in the general direction of the town center, maybe? Thanks dude.” He fell in step with her easily. “So how long do you have to live here to know the woods well enough to go running in them at night?”

Ariana tilted her head and watched him carefully as he spoke. Something was off, but she couldn’t quite put a finger on it. She wondered why he couldn’t tell her what he was doing out so late. He didn’t seem comfortable enough in the wood to be a threat and seemed nervous. With the full moon only a few nights out, she’d take her chances. If he did try anything, she could hold her own. “Right, well, I wouldn’t recommend exploring the woods in White Crest at night in general, especially if you don’t know your way.” She paused, “Is everything good though? You seem a little uneasy.” A puzzled look crossed her face as he said he wanted to go to the town center. That was a bit of a ways out, especially to walk. Did he have even the slightest clue of where he was? Uneasiness washed over her and she couldn’t place why. Was this guy in danger or something? She shook it off and put on her best reassuring face, though she doubted he could see her as well as she could see him. “Well, we’re in the outskirts, so the town’s a bit of a way out. I don’t mind walking it, but I could request an Uber or something.” She extended a hand to him and offered a warm smile, “Also, I’m Ariana. I’ve only lived here a few months, but I spend a lot of time out here. My sister and I live not too far away.”

“White Crest? Right! Yeah I’ve heard that. All kinds of scary things in here that could kill us. Like moving trees and ghosts and vampires and stuff” You wouldn’t get five miles, Lydia had warned Sammy when they’d gotten here. “So I’m guessing you’re some kinda badass to brave it. Me, I’m kinda a wet noodle.” Sammy replied, just a little too excited to be talking to someone different after the last several months. Even still, her gentle question caught her off guard. He opened his mouth to lie, but couldn’t. He had promised never to reveal anything about Lydia’s household, himself included, but he’d also promised never to lie. So, uh, what exactly was he supposed to say now? DIdn’t think of that, did you, he thought aggressively at Lydia’s general directions. “Uhhhhhhh, well, the being lost thing? Not so great. I was kinda freaking out that I’d get lost and keep walking until suddenly I was in New Hampshire. Or, you know, meet a ghost. Also bad.” Sammy rubbed his face. Please stop talking, he begged of himself. “Ariana, nice to meet you. That’s cool, especially living with your sister. I-” loved living with my big brother. “I’d like to walk, if that’s alright. Enjoying the fresh air, to be honest. But I get it if you don’t want to walk with me. It’s just cool to talk to someone.”   

“Well, yeah, actually,” Ariana answered, surprised he was being so candid with that. Unless of course he was joking which would be another thing entirely. It seemed like he had meant it, even calling her a badass which brought a smile to her face. “I may be a little bit badass. Count yourself lucky you came across me and not a vampire or something crazy.” He seemed eager to be talking to her and she was enjoying his company, but this whole thing was pretty odd. Part of her felt worried for him, but for now, she’d help him find his way and try to figure out what was going on with him. She made a conscious effort to remain calm though. Whatever was going on with this guy, she wanted him to feel secure that she could help. Walking to town was no problem though she was sure Celeste would beat her home. She’d have to mentally prepare herself for that lecture. “I’ll walk with you. It’s a beautiful night and I was enjoying it. Having someone to talk with always makes it better. Do I get to know your name?”

“As long as they didn’t try to eat me, I wouldn’t even have minded the vampire,” Sammy replied honestly. His family hadn’t been those kinds of hunters - in fact, they still weren’t. Still, present tense, good hunters and good people. When she offered to walk with him, he perked up, his eyes lighting up with a new grin. “Awesome! Great. Cool, I’m-” Sammy stuttered, frowned, and tried again, “My name’s-... Fuck, man. I’m sorry, Ariana, this is gonna happen a lot. “ He waved his hands helplessly, but his smile was still friendly, if sheepish. “Guess that means you get to pick what you call me. Just make it something cool. I’m not a Bertie, I can tell you that.” Eager to move on with the conversation, because of the great many things he couldn’t tell her, Sammy turned the conversation elsewhere. “So does badass run in the family or is your sister the stay at home with a hot drink type?”

“Spoiler alert, the vampire probably would’ve tried to eat you, but it’s okay. Werewolves are cooler anyway,” Ariana said with a wink. If anything, she could play it off if need be, but it didn’t seem like he was too fazed by supernatural beings except for the fact something wasn’t right. He’d try to answer her questions, but it looked like something was keeping him from answering. Was he under some sort of spell? She felt a knot of worry in her stomach, but all she could do in this moment was be good company and do some research later. “Hey, it’s okay. I get if there’s something keeping you from answering that.” She looked back to him, deciding what she would call him. Something cool, but not like biker gang cool. Her face lit up when she thought of it and gave him a crooked grin as she said, “I’ll call you Ace if that works for you.” A small laugh escaped her lips at his question, “Celeste is a little bit of both. She’s a badass when it comes to being a protective sister, but she’s also better at the whole relaxing thing than I am. Do you also take a lot of late night walks?”

“Hey, I’ve met a whole two vampires who didn’t want to eat me!” Sammy replied with a smile, “But hey, I get it if you’re team Jacob. Werewolves are cooler.” He teased. There was something freeing about that small statement too. Here was a secret he could share, that somehow wasn’t entangled in the promises he’d given Lydia. He looked at her appreciatively, not quite able to muster a smile at her understanding. Even when she named him, a small lump formed in his throat before he managed a big grin. “I gotta confess, that’s way cooler than my real name. Yeah, I’ll take it. Ace.”  He listened to her describing her sister. “Oh yeah? That’s great, that’s she’s there for you. I’m also bad at the whole relaxing thing. But uh, no. This is my first in a long time. It’s nice seeing the, uh, stars, getting the fresh air, all that.”

Ariana couldn’t help but laugh at his statement about vampires. She’d personally never met one, but from what she heard, that was probably a good thing. Who knew? Maybe they got a bad rap like werewolves did. She supposed she’d figure that out. Jokingly, she said, “Wasn’t quite going for the Twilight vibes, but at least you know the universal truth that werewolves are cooler than vampires.” She was happy the name went over well and returned his smile letting out a small chuckle, “I’m glad you approve. You look like an Ace.” Even though she was worried about her new friend, Ariana was happy she stumbled upon him. This was much more fun than a run alone. They were at a comfortable pace and she found Ace easy to talk to. “Yeah, not sure where I’d be without her. Probably a trophy on some hunter’s wall,” she said with a shrug and added, “I agree with you. I love the night sky and smells of the forest. Makes you feel more connected with the world.” She decided to take another go at a question, hoping it was vague enough that maybe she could get a clear answer, “So have you been to White Crest before or are you just visiting?”

“And way cooler than fair- ow - fae!” Sammy crowed, nudging her with his elbow. “Yeah, connected.” Lydia’s home was a box, disconnected from everything. She brought in clay and tools for him, and rarely she had visitors, but otherwise, it was completely separate from this. This, with the soil beneath his shoes and the  trees around his head, talking to a sweet stranger, was the most connected he’d felt in month. But already, his heart ached for the security of that self same box. “I mean, these woods are amazing. I just wish I could see them in the day time.” They walked for a moment, before Sammy replied to her next question. “I, uh, guess I live in the area.” He told her honestly, rolling his shoulders. “Wait…” He paused, as something she said stuck in his mind, turning to look at her with wide eyes. “Are you a werewolf?” He could practically feel the gears of his brain grind to a fault.

The “ow” that came from him mid sentence left Ariana a little puzzled, but she laughed along as he nudged her with his elbow. This whole situation was a little weird, but she found it kind of nice. She noted she’d definitely be investigating his situation more later. It seemed he couldn’t really answer her questions and she was curious to say the least. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but they never covered if that same principal applied to wolves. “I don’t know, having wings doesn’t seem awful,” she joked. It was nice to see Ace shared her love of the woods. Some people just didn’t appreciate the joys of nature and preferred the glow of their cell phone screens to the glow of the moon. At his mention of day time, she said, “If you ever wanted to go for a daytime hike, I could lead the way.” It was hard not to laugh as realization hit Ace as to what she was. She hinted at it a few times, but her statement about being a trophy must have clicked. She reassured, “I am, but don’t worry. I don’t bite. I was born a werewolf so I’ve got the whole control thing down. Unless you put cookies in front of me. Then self control goes out the window.” They were closing in on the town and she wondered where they should head to. “Was there anything in particular you were hoping to find in town?” 

“Yeah, I’ll give them that. Wings are cool.” Sammy agreed, but wasn’t keen to discuss it much further than that. In part because he was sure he’d hit a wall of promises in that direction too. But at Ariana’s offer, he gave her a wide, sad smile. “Yeah, maybe, sometime.” Sneaking out at night, was one thing. Day time? As if. He didn’t even know if they’d do this again. If Lydia changed their promises slightly, or if one of them got caught by her, or if Lydia found the tunnel by chance… Sammy shook the thoughts away. He was just enjoying Ariana’s company for now. “Wait, wait, wait, you can’t just be calvalier about that! You’re a werewolf! I’ve never even met a werewolf! Is Celeste a werewolf? Dude, this is so cool. Also it’s kinda super ironic, but I can’t tell you why it’s ironic. But dude! What’s it like? We’re near the full moon, right? Are you like teen wolf or just straight up wolf? Am I asking too many questions?” Sammy gasped for air, looking around. A line of houses silhouetted the night sky. “Uh, I don’t want to head anywhere in particular yet. Where in town do you like to go at night? Without, uh too many people. It’s just nice talking to you. Badass werewolf.” He winked. 

It wasn’t a resounding yes, but his smile indicated that maybe one day they’d get a day time hike in the woods. It was a thought that made Ariana happy. Her grin only widened at Ace’s reaction to her confirmation of being a werewolf. He seemed to take it pretty well which made her wonder how he knew about all this stuff anyway. She shrugged and said, “You seemed pretty in the know about other species, so I figured it wasn’t too big of a deal. Well, now you have met a werewolf.” She paused slightly thinking of the question regarding Celeste. It was an out of the ordinary situation, but she couldn’t help think Ace would understand. Her face was a little more serious as she looked down slightly. “Celeste isn’t a werewolf actually. It’s a weird situation, but Celeste is a hunter. She was supposed to kill me when the other hunters killed my parents, but opted to rescue and raise me instead. We’ve moved around a lot to keep her family from tracking us.” Her laugh returned before answering the teen wolf question. “It’s kind of an in between I guess? We definitely don’t look like your standard forest wolves, but definitely look more wolf than human during the full moon. Her cheeks took a slightly pinkish hue at the mention of being a badass werewolf. “It’s nice talking to you, too,” she paused briefly, “Oh, I know just the place! I hope you like sweets.”

“I, uh, yeah. I’ve always known. Not much, but, uh, known,” Sammy replied, shocked that he could say that much. It didn’t reveal who he was, though, did it. “Now I’ve met a werewolf! Do you think there’s a magic bingo if I meet all- all the supernatural species?” He teased, but quickly sombered up as she explained about Celeste, nodding. It was kinda like the mirror of him, he thought. Except Lydia had abducted him, and they’d moved here to escape his family. Not that he was sure he’d leave if he family had shown up at this point. “Shit. Not Celeste, I mean, she sounds dope, but the rest of it. I’m sorry, Ariana.” Thankfully, she brightened up quickly, and he followed her cue. “Hell yeah, I love sweets. Lead the way.” Lydia was asleep. Lydia was asleep. This was fine. Besides, she never gave them anything sweet. No one would recognise him, and she wouldn’t know when he returned. “So are you, uh, working? In school? Or are you like, nearly full time wolf?”

“Magic bingo, that actually sounds kinda fun. We may have to patent that one.” Ariana responded with a laugh, “Glad I could help you get a square on your bingo card.” As an afterthought, she realized that may encourage others to go poking around where they shouldn’t. Probably for the better it wasn’t a real game. She could see Ace get a bit more serious with the explanation of her and Celeste. It was something she was starting to get used to as she met more people she could actually tell. It wasn’t far off from the looks she’d gotten when mentioning her parents had been dead in the past. It sucked, but the truth was she could barely remember life before Celeste. Only bits and pieces of those memories remained which she had to believe made it easier. “Thanks,” she said shoving her hands into the pockets of the light jacket she’d been wearing for her run, “Yeah, Celeste is great. A little protective, but she’s a good sister.” She realized she mentioned sweets which meant Al’s Diner. Crap. She looked at her watch and let out a sigh of relief. Celeste would have been off for at least an hour now. Which probably meant her phone was getting blown up with questions of where she was. She’d deal with that problem later. “The diner around the block from here has some really good milkshakes. There’s a raspberry lemon one that’s my personal fave.” He seemed a little on edge, too. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to be out either which made her curious about his situation. “I guess the wolf is a full time thing, but I do work and go to school. I’m graduating high school in a couple of months and am starting an apprenticeship at Trusty Wood. So if you need anything repaired, I’m your girl. What about you? Do you work or go to school or is being the mysterious guy in the woods your full-time gig?”

“Raspberry lemon? Dude, that sounds so good.” Sammy paused, looking at her sheepishly. “Uh, except, I- well, I don’t have any cash on me. So maybe next time. Or, like, I could pay you back.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking down at the toes of his sneakers. “High school, huh? That’s sick, I’ll keep you in mind if anything ever breaks. Nah, I’m just starting out on the whole mysterious guy in the woods business. But what do you think? Have I got what it takes to go pro?” He rubbed the back of his hair, trying to work out if that was a question he could answer with anything sembling reality. It was fine, all he had to do was say something that didn’t reveal any about who he was, who Lydia was, and wasn’t a lie. Totally doable, he’d got this. “Uhhhhh. No school for me. I, uh you know the movie Ghost? If you think about the woman, and what she does with the clay and the pottery! Except, no ghosts. Not that I know of, anyway.”

“It really is. I end up getting one every time I come here,” Ariana said as she pointed to the diner. She gave Ace a simple nod. “Of course. I don’t mind. We can even grab some burgers to go with them. Give us some fuel for the walk back.” He seemed like he had been uneasy to ask, but she really didn’t mind. She was actually kind of having a nice time. “Thankfully almost done with the high school thing. Don’t really love it, well, outside of soccer anyway. Yeah, I’m totally your girl for any repairs or other wood work you need.” She found herself laughing at his explanation of his mysterious woods guy business as they grabbed a seat at a booth. “I think you’re doing solid so far. You did get me to be your White Crest Woods tour guide. For mass appeal, may wanna try doing like a Bruce Wayne voice. Adds to the mystery.” When the waitress came by, she ordered two shakes and two cheeseburgers for them. She rested her elbows on the table and listened as Ace explained what it was he did. Vague, but she could pick up on the gist of it. “So, like, pottery then? That’s pretty cool! I don’t think I’ve made anything from clay since elementary school. Anything in particular you like to make?” 

“Wow, yeah. I’ll pay you back, for sure.” If for no other reason than Sammy’s nonexistent ego being unable to deal with owing a highschooler money. He’d steal it out of Lydia’s wallet, somehow. Whenever - if ever - he got back out, he’d come looking for Ariana and pay her back. Easy peasy. “Graduating in a few months, then? Cool. I’ll uh keep that in mind, but I don’t have much stuff to break. It’s awesome that you’re going into something so practical. I like working with my hands too.” Sammy followed her into the diner, looking around. That was… so many people. It was, admittedly, only a couple, but Sammy had seen the same three faces for the last six months. This was a breath of fresh air, like standing at the edge of a goddamn cliff. “Oooh, yeah, good point. Maybe I get like a facemask too. ‘I am the mystery in the night’” He growled, with little real effect before he started laughing. But her questions were drifting ever closer to a place he couldn’t follow. “People. So many people.” Sammy said. “Uh, I can’t really talk about this either. I just- it’s complicated. Ooh, shakes!” The waitress came back with tall pink shakes, and set them in front of him and Arianna. Enthusiastically, Sam took a big slug from the paper straw, and pulled a surprised face as the sweetness coated his tongue. “Oh, man, that is so good!”

Ariana shook her head, not really worried about the money, but if he really wanted to pay her back he could. Although she wasn’t quite sure how she was supposed to meet him again if he hadn’t shared a name or very much about himself at all. She could practically hear a Celeste lecture in her mind. Definitely didn’t want to think about that. “Yeah, I’ll be working at a shop near here actually. It’s called Trusty Wood. Oh, uh, that’s fine. I can always build stuff, too. There’s something relaxing about working with your hands though, right?” She awkwardly ran a hand through her hair. She didn’t mean to remind him he didn’t have a lot of stuff and she only felt more concerned about whatever his situation was. That thought was quickly interrupted by a laugh. “Facemask may actually scare them away. Not good for business, I’m sure.” Her next question had him being kind of weird again. Ace definitely had the mystery part down, but it seemed like he wanted to say more before the shakes arrived. It was easy to smile when she saw how excited he got over the shake. “What can I say? I have good taste.” 

Sammy nodded, committing the shop to memory. The  fewer people he talked to, the better, but it would be good to see her again, and pay her back, if he could. “It really is relaxing.” Once the awkwardness passed, he was back and bubbly, although aware that her worry was weighing on her. Fuck, she was young. She didn’t need to be dealing with this. “Good point. Ix-nay on the facemask, got it. Just batman voice!” He drank enthusiastically from the shake, and in no time at all it was half gone. “Mmm! If the burgers are this good, I might die right now and go straight to heaven. Ariana, how could you have have kept this from me for so long?” He joked, his eyes wide as saucers as the burgers arrived. Without exactly no elegance whatsoever, he picked his up and took a huge bite, tomatos and sauce spilling out over his fingers. “Oh, oh my god, Ari. I’m dead. Bury me somewhere pretty.”

“I know, I know. I can’t believe I waited like two whole hours to tell you about these magical shakes.” Ariana said with another laugh. When the burgers were sat down in front of them, suddenly Ariana realized how hungry she was. She had gotten a pretty solid run in before she ran into Ace. Clearly he’d felt the same because he dove right into his burger which was pretty funny to watch. Ariana added ketchup and mustard to hers before following suit. “Come on, now, you can’t die before debuting that Batman voice to the world. The whole mysterious guy in the forest market will crash.” Once they finished their heart stoppingly delicious burgers, Ariana took the ticket up to the register to pay. “Alright, Ace, we ready to head back to the woods? Pretty sure if I don’t get home soon my sister is going to be pretty pissed.” 

“Exactly! How could you keep secrets from me after I’ve been so honest with you!” It wasn’t that Sammy wasn’t well fed, or even that the food prepared for him was bad. It was just healthy. He missed pizza, and grease, and burgers, dammit. This could have been the patty from McDonald’s itself and it would have tasted fucking gourmet. “Fine, fine, I guess I’ll resurrect myself to be the batman mysterious dude in the woods. That’s what all the gig advice is, right? Make your own niche so you don’t have any competition. Seriously, though, Ariana, this is so good. Thank you so much.” Soon, way too soon, the food was gone, and Ari was paying the bill. She was right, they needed to get back. “Uh, actually. Somewhere in town there’s this bridge, to a part of town where rich people live? Can you just point me in that, like, general direction?” He could figure it out from there, Sammy was sure. His face became somber. “Ariana, there’s uh, one other thing. I’m not gonna, like, demand it, or make you promise, but it would be… real bad, if you told anyone you met me. Tonight was… you have no idea, but… I gotta keep the whole mysterious man thing secret before I’m ready to go pro.” Sammy chuckled at his own joke, but the laugh was hollow. “So, uh, please? It’s just… better, if you didn’t.”

Ace really had been funny and Ariana had enjoyed getting to hang out with him, but she got a sinking feeling as he asked her to not mention seeing him to anyone. It only confirmed her gut feeling that he wasn’t necessarily in a safe situation. Even so, she nodded. She didn’t want to make his situation any worse. She wanted to leave things on a positive note, so she gave him a small smile before she agreed. “Of course, I think I can manage that one. Wouldn’t want to hurt business before it even takes off.” She tried to follow the theme of the joke even though her stomach was beginning to turn. Ariana gestured and gave him directions to the bridge. “That’ll definitely put you in the rich people part of town.” She wasn’t sure of how to say goodbye, so she ran a hand through her hair and gave him a serious look that tried to convey she was here if he needed help. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.” A big part of her hoped that he would. 

#forest batman #ace #lydia #here is a wholesome chatzy #wickedswriting

[themidnightfarmer]

Wingman || Lydia & Jared

Timing: Before the poisoning.

Location: Faetal Attraction

Tagging: @inspirationdivine & @themidnightfarmer

Description: Lydia and Jared take a night on the town.

Triggers: Violence tw

 Lydia buzzed with excitement. If you looked closely, you could see the tiniest blur around her ears, where the glamour didn’t quite stretch to cover her jewellery. It didn’t matter, though, because in a minute she wouldn’t have to wear the glamour at all. When Jared had told her he’d never been to faetal attraction, Lydia had sworn to fix it at once, so here she was, waiting for him just outside the door. “Jared! It’s wonderful to see you again!” Especially when she wasn’t frightened for her life. 

Jared wasn’t quite sure what to expect. He’d heard about the place, but up until recently he’d had no fae friends to go with. Anytime he’d gotten close either he was with a human friend that had been given a serious stink eye by the person at the door taking admissions, or he’d started to feel that tingly feeling in his fingertips. A feeling that until now had been unknown to him. However, this time, as he’d approached Lydia the feeling was known. He was with fae. His smile reflected his own excitement. “Hey!” He greeted her exuberantly. “You too! This was a great idea!”

Lydia smirked, tilting her head. “I can’t believe you haven’t been here before. You’re in for such a treat. That finger tingling of yours is going to be intense tonight. There are a few non-fae in here, but it’s mostly people like us in there.” She offered her arm for him to take, before leading him into the bustling, warm club. Her chest rang at all the other fae, in a technicolour crowd of every type of appendage on view. Lydia dropped her glamour as soon as she’d paid for them both to enter. “Where do you want to sit?”

He’d been such a hermit for so long, unaware of all the joys of being a fae, that Jared was fully dazed as they entered. He stumbled over the lip in the doorway and his eyes couldn’t stop moving. Person to person. It was incredible. “Wow.” he said less than eloquently. Looking down at Lydia in awe he just blinked at her for a moment dumbfounded. She was still Lydia, but without her glamour she was a whole new image to take in. His mouth worked soundlessly before Jared finally caught up with himself. “Anywhere you’d like. At the bar?”

Lydia caught him as he stumbled, looking up at his with a concerned smile until he had righted himself again. Watching him was almost as intoxicating as watching the crowd. This was how she wished Regan was. Full of wonder and excitement, rather than fear and doubt. Lydia followed his gaze to a woman with fluffy moth wings, a man whose wispy dark skin gave way to glorious antlers, an individual with skin like glass, more than a couple folks with horns. All sorts. Without her own glamour, Lydia literally glowed, her brown and yellow beetle-like shells shifting as she walked, dark translucent wings poking out between them. Her ears stretched to the tops of her head and were adorned with dozens of sparkling gems. “Like what you see so far? Bar it is. What do you want to drink?”

Dropping his own glamour wasn’t even a thought to Jared, he simply had forgotten that it was an option in public. He was so unused to it, even in his own home he was rarely seen without it. Although that might have been just in the hopes that someone might come to visit at any time. Even with their arms linked, Jared lagged behind Lydia as she led the way through the crowds. Watching her wings shift in the light and noticing her hair tangle lightly over a gem in her ear. He could see why she could be called a muse. He beamed and pulled out a stool for her when they arrived at the bar. “Let me buy you a drink, yeah? What would you like to drink? Pick your poison.”

He looked around like a toddler at the lightshow, and Lydia couldn’t help but giggle at his wonder. Not to make fun of his perspective, but to delight in him as much as he delighted in the space. She waved Julie over, one of the few humans in the entire establishment, and one of the few Lydia ever voluntarily interacted with. “Oh, in which case, I’ll have a red wine. They do a lovely Sauvignon here,” Lydia said, smiling warmly at his offer. “You know that you don’t have to look human here, right? There are no wardens, no dangers here. Everyone here is community. Cousins, even.” 

“Make that two large glasses.” Jared ordered of Julie before taking the seat beside his company for the evening. A sheepish grin took over his face and he slowly let his human skin fade. Black veins appeared first, followed by slightly glowing purple eyes. And then the horns, all four of them sprouting at once. His skin settled to grey and he shivered slightly. “Feels really weird.” the nymph commented, wiggling his shoulders as the usual soft connection to his charges doubled in strength. He gave out a laugh and rocked on his chair in wonder. “I feel like I’m doing something bad.” he admits with the air of a child who wasn’t even sorry that all the cookies were gone.

Lydia had seen him without glamour before, but not nearly long enough to truly and fully appreciate it. He looked eerie and dramatic, and all the more beautiful for it. From the grey pallor of his skin, to the distracting amethyst in his eyes. Like this, he couldn’t be mistaken for something human, and it made Lydia completely breathless. Even without her glamour, if one squinted one might consider Lydia human looking, like you could say for Regan and Deirdre. People like Felix, Morelia and Jared were completely different. “That is a tragedy. You should feel comfortable in your natural skin. You look beautiful like this.” 

It was a rush. Jared could feel a lot more of his connection to his creatures, and it buzzed in him like an old radio springing to life. He ended up shrugging his shoulders once again, as if shrugging into a coat and not just his natural form, just to get used to it in less high stress situations than he was used to. “Is that how you feel? Comfortable? I mean in a …. Like a  uh-” he struggled for the words to express what he wanted to know for a moment before nodding. “Comfortable rather than like you’re high? Is it something you get used to? Is it just me that feels like i just took a belt that was too tight off after dinner?”

“Yes, I feel more comfortable like this that with a glamour. A glamour takes concentration,” Lydia replied as Julie returned with their glasses of red wine, setting them in front of her. “Put it on my tab,” she said, otherwise ignoring the very human bartender. “Wait, when you take off your glamour you feel high? What on earth are you talking about?” Lydia laughed, sipping at her wine. “Like the belt, yes, or taking off a bra, but nothing close to feeling high. How often do you take your glamour off, exactly?”

Jared would have made a noise of disagreement at the mention of a tab, as he’d wanted to buy Lydia a drink. But as it was, he was a little too distracted to do much else than try and keep his feet on the ground. “It feels like Cap has sneezed and zapped me by accident again.” He tried to describe, “But in a good way.” Jared shrugged and smiled lifting the glass of wine towards hers to clink their glasses together. “Not often.It can fall when I sleep sometimes, but mostly I can keep it on non stop for a few days.”

“Sorry, you’re going to need to explain that. Who is Cap? Why would him sneezing zap you?” Lydia smiled despite her confusion, because the young nymph was ever so charming, even in his strange ways. She clinked glasses with him, before her eyes widened even further. “You sleep with it. Why? Do you have a partner or friend that lives with you who doesn’t know?” 

“Oh, Cap, as in Capacitor. He’s a new addition to my kids. He’s a Raiju I bought from some weird guy online. He’s a sickly little thing I think he’s allergic to dust. But he zaps.” Jareds knees were bouncing and he was speaking animatedly. The effects of taking the cap off of his body had him practically fizzing. He took a long sip of the wine and then set the glass down. “I used to. Grew up in a family of human deniers. There was something on me until my eighth birthday that helped hide me I think. But it wore off I guess so I learned to glamour fast. Endless trips to the hospital about my skin and all that you know? Not anymore though, Guess habits die hard. The only people who stay the night both know. Just don’t want to spook them I guess as well.” He smiled widely at Lydia. “It’s not a big deal, I just didn’t realize it had been so long being normal.”

“Capacitor? That is darling,” Lydia smiled, and nodded as if she knew what a Raiju was. Apart from, of course, that it apparently zapped things. Which meant that it was likely another creature she likely wanted to avoid, no matter how sweetly Jared smiled around his wine glass. As he explained his childhood, Lydia’s smile fell slightly, dripping into something closer to sympathy.  “Right. Of course. I’m sorry.” All the same, he was grinning, bouncing and floating with his energy. Even if she flinched at him calling it normal. “This is you being normal. Look, there.” Lydia pointed behind him. “That Nix certainly looks interested in you from over here.”

“He’s a sweet little guy. I’m lucky he wanted to stay after I bought him.” Jared waved a hand as if dismissing her apology. “It was what it was. It was tough, but I’m happy with how it all turned out. Inherited a farm, and got to grow up in the weirdest town in the state.” The nymph looked over his shoulder recklessly, before whipping back around embarrassed when he heard Lydia's reasoning for having him look. His cheeks warmed to a slightly darker tone and he took another drink of his wine just for something to do with his hands. He laughed a little and figetted. “Right, I don’t even know all the rules anything like this involves. I assume there are fae dating rules and all sorts I have no idea about. I really do know almost nothing.”

“You bought him to free him, then?” Lydia asked curiously, looking him over anew.  “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re their nymph.” She nodded at his explanation, with a small smile, and opted not to comment on it again, because family could be complicated even for the best of reasons. There were members of her family Lydia didn’t talk about either. “What a beautiful farm it is too,” Lydia said instead. She grinned as he looked behind himself, his cheeks and ears flushing darker. All that nervous, skittish energy had to go somewhere, and Lydia chuckled as he drank frantically from his drink. “I think most rules don’t stretch much further than not having sex with humans, but not all fae here even agree with that.  Then some extend the rule to not having sex with other supernatural species. Dating really isn’t that complicated.” Lydia glanced back to the Nix with a small laugh. “She’s very determined to catch your gaze.”

“The advert made me feel like if he was truly what was advertised, then he couldn’t go to someone who would use him as described. He was so sickly when I got him, I was right about this one.” Jared confirmed. “They all need protecting, even if they don’t stay long.” He wasn’t a novice in dating, he’d had a few relationships, but he fell completely out of touch. It had admittedly been a few years since his last attempt, and adding fae rules into the mix made him even more nervous than he would have been normally. “No humans huh?” he echoed before adding “You sure it’s not you she’s interested in?” He asked, determined not to look around for fear of making a fool of himself. So instead, his fingers tapped on the bartop, and his knee continued to bounce with unspent energy. 

“That’s incredibly nobel of you. I know you’re their nymph, but it is still astonishing,” Lydia said, with real admiration glinting in her eyes. She swivelled her glass before finishing it off.  “Not all fae agree on that one either,” Lydia said airily, as if just recalling Beatrice’s existence didn’t make her stomach want to turn. As if she didn’t deliberately avoid thinking about Deirdre’s relationship prior to Morgan’s death. Lydia turned her attention back to the Nix with a much warmer smile. “Maybe she’s interested in the both of us, you don’t know.” Lydia chuckled warmly. “I’ll stop winding you up, shall I?” Lydia nudged him with her elbow. 

Jared was coming down off of the initial high of being free, and was settling into a warm appreciation for the feeling instead. “Cap is almost domesticated, they tried really hard with him. So while I would have liked him to be normal, it’s good he stayed. Not sure he’d have made it on his own. I just want what's best for them is all.” He shrugged but still bounced his knee and even brought his thumb up to bite at the nail on this thumb as she teased him. The nymph spared a sneaky quick glance back at the Nix before turning back and huffing a breath at Lydia when she nudged him. “It’s so easy it’s almost rude to wind me up like that.” he pouted at her. “Don’t take advantage of the blond.” he tutted, hiding his smile poorly.

Lydia’s lips twitched slightly. “That’s a shame. I don’t know much about the beasts and creatures that share our world, but the wild ones should always be wild. No matter how frightening they might be. I’m glad he has you.” Lydia laughed as he glanced back over at the nix, as if one last glance would answer his questions. “You’re right, I’m being ever so terrible to you.” Lydia winked, spinning her empty wine glass between her fingers. “You’ll have to forgive me.” She looked around at all these beautiful, familiar faces, and her heart rang loud and clearly. This was as much a home as any. “Do you have plans for the upcoming fairy ring season?”

“I’ll forgive you for now I suppose.” Jared said poking his tongue out at her childishly in response following this up with a laugh. His eyes flickered around the bar again when Lydias did the same. He still felt like he was doing something so dangerous and bad, and yet, everyone here was doing the exact same. It was so strange, but also too invigorating to want to leave. “Oh I usually just haul up on the farm for a while. Lock the gates and text my friends I’m going on migration. It’s usually better that way. I don’t do very well with it.” he laughs uncomfortably. “I’ve gotten carried away one too many times when I was young.”

Lydia laughed, pushing his shoulder as he stuck his tongue out at her. “I’m not convinced anyone does well with it. We all end up seeing far too much of each other, in every meaning of the phrase, humans and other species get annoyed, it’s a whole time.” A human had died the last time Lydia had been in a fairy circle, which didn’t altogether bother her, but she did want to spare her friends that did care such troubles. Fortunately, there were many, many activities one could get up to that didn’t involve murder or even torture. Some would almost certainly make Jared flush bright red.. “I don’t think getting carried away is to bad a thing, but I know not everyone agrees.”

He thought he’d picked up on what she was putting down and Jared blinked before his voice lowered into a whisper whilst leaning in. “So being naked is like a full thing is it? Like for real, the urge isn’t just like…. Me being a weirdo?” He’d met so few fae, that anything to do with the upcoming season he usually kept firmly to himself. Everything that came with it always seemed so odd, but he was slowly learning that this mindset was definitely more human, and he most certainly should abandon it. “I guess….never let myself enjoy it, or at least not for a good few years. How do you…?...but also keep it a secret?” He wanted to know everything. He had so much catching up to do. “You seem to do all this so gracefully, one day maybe I’ll be half as good at being ...normal?” He laughed noticing her glass empty and trying to catch the bartenders eye for another, smiling warmly when they filled Lydia's glass again.

“What, no! Everyone gets naked. It’s a whole thing. It’s very freeing, to be honest.  Everything about the fairy rings is freeing. No holding back, no compunctions, just joy and thrill,” Lydia giggled, a little too loud as she leant in to match his whispers. “Well, that part is tricky,” she agreed. “I know some people handle it better than others and feel they have more control. I usually limit my social media, and I don’t party with non-fae, which limits the exposure. I try not to be naked during the day, and keep things safe.” She rolled her eyes at his self deprecating nature. “You’ll learn, darling. You are still so young. You have centuries to learn. Mushroom season isn’t always for everyone, either.”

She described it so wonderfully. It sounded amazing to be free like that, to just throw away the shame that humans taught themselves and just be how you wanted to. In a smaller way that’s how Jared felt about being without his glamour in this bar. He’d been missing out by not knowing how to identify other fae, that was very clear to him now. “Gotta unlearn all the human things first, but I’m getting there,” He lifted his glass and tapped the wim with her now refilled one. “But hey, tell me your plans. You sound like you’ll have all sorts of great things going on. You have people to party with?” He sipped his wine and paused before asking more tentatively. “More friends with wings?” Was it rude to comment on another faes appearance? He had no idea, but her wings were definitely catching his eyes every time they shifted behind her. 

“You will get there,” Lydia agreed with an encouraging smile. He gave her hope for Regan too. She picked up her wine, swirling it as she thought about his answer. “The problem is the increased hunter presence in town. I tend to keep early august pretty easy. There aren’t as many rings around now anyway. If I happen to find myself in one, then that’s of course wonderful, but I don’t plan any until late august. From then? Normally, nonstop party until Halloween. Parties, with friends, with humans to prank, with the local leprechauns, whomever is available.” She smiled at him, wondering why he’d asked. “Not necessarily. Most of my friends here don’t have any, as it happens.”

Non stop partying sounded like a great time. Jared just knew he would never manage that, even if it wasn’t from the very start of the season.He loved his farm, but maintaining the place took a lot more than people realized. He’d be lucky to have even a few days free to parry without worry. “Wings are so pretty, but the idea is terrifying. Being able to wander away when you're high is already such a risk, but with wings you could just take off. And then flying itself seems so scary. Can you actually fly?” It seems the wine was loosening him up. He worried he’d overstepped again, but this time regretfully after he’d already said it.

“The idea of having wings is terrifying?” Lydia repeated, staring at him with wide eyes in confusion. “What? Jared, what?” She laughed, standing up. She looked around herself, making sure there was enough room behind her before she opened up the brown and yellow striped shells that stretched from her shoulder to the back of her knees. They raised up behind her until they were nearly shoulder heigh, where her wings rose up to her side. She was drawing more than a little attention and her wings began to trill and beat  as her feet lifted from the ground. She reached up to tap the ceiling, before coming back down. 

“No flying inside,” Julia said, and Lydia rolled her eyes and imitated her mockingly.

“My point is, I can’t fly any higher than I just did. I’m not going to buzz off into the night sky.”

“Yeah flying just seems wild.” Jared responded. He watched in awe as Lydia stretched out her wings and took to the air. She was up and down before he could even fully register what she was showing him. He nodded solemnly and then quickly his face took on a cheeky grin. "Oh so you can't fly far, you'd need strong wings like a Valravn to get anywhere in life huh? Pretty wings like yours can’t carry you far.” And while Lydia would see the teasing smile, it seems the tone was completely lost on a gancanagh trying to get another beer behind the nymphs back. Jared was woefully unprepared as he was grabbed and yanked off his barstool forcibly. 

“No, they can’t,” Lydia agreed, flicking them happily all the same. They were beautiful, and glowed with the same light that the rest of her did. They didn’t need to take her into the skies, just flutter her up into the branches of trees, and let her hover as she danced under the gaze of the mushrooms. Lydia didn’t notice the gancanagh either, not until it was much too late.

“You insulting her wings?” He asked gruffly. “You goddamn flatbacksh, no reshpect!”

“Sir, you’re drunk,” Lydia said, standing up in warning. 

“Better drunk than him,” The gancanagh said, aiming a swing for Jared’s head. 

His shirt was being held tight in the gancanaghs fist. Although he was taller than the other, Jared was completely lost with shock and had stumbled instead of finding his feet. This ended up putting the nymph at the mercy of the other fae. Jared raised his hands in panicked surrender but the other didn’t seem interested at all. His fist made contact and Jared could only tip his head back and take it in the jaw so that the drunk didn’t shatter his hand on the nymphs horns. Despite the threat, he didn’t want to cause lasting damage to someone standing up for Lydia. Jared wasn’t sure if he had been offensive or not. Addled by the punch and the drink, but perhaps he should have had better sense than to call himself stupid under his breath. 

“Stupid? I’ll show you stupid you bastard.” The gancanagh dumped the nymph onto the floor and set to work rearranging his no good disrespectful face. 

Jared brought his arms up finally to try and ward the other off. Stronger than him,but not by much he didn’t make very much headway.

Lydia jumped back with a yelp as the fight fell out. “Stop this!” She shouted, her voice jumping an octave and decibel. “Stop hitting him!” She winced, cringing away as Jared was punched in the jaw. Oh, lord, she hated violence. Fae were inevitably better than this, they had to be! They settled disputes with their tongues not their fists! “Stop this!” She yelped again, swatting the gancanagh’s dragonfly wings with her own firefly ones. It was enough to make him stop, if only because it was so rare for fae to ever touch each other’s wings as strangers, considered off limits and taboo. Especially for flatbacks, but wing-to-wing contact wasn’t quite as egregious. “Stop!” Lydia yelled again, grabbing the gancanagh’s arm and pulling him back with strength that didn’t seem like it ought to fit in her small frame. 

Jared was trying to do some damage limitation. As he was being punched he curled up, arms over his face to try and stop the other doing too much. But he couldn’t do anything until the gancanagh let up. As soon as Lydia had touched wings with the guy he froze to look over his shoulder at her. This was the chance Jared took to help Lydia push the guy off of him. Once free to struggle out from under the bulkier fae, Jared shoved him to the ground and found himself at Lydias side a lot more banged up than he’d expected to be on a chill night drinking with a new friend. And he felt enormously guilty about it. “I’m sorry.” He said to her instantly. He couldn’t believe he’d said something offensive enough to be punched. What sort of idiot fae was he? They’d gotten the attention of the whole bar at this point and Jared hunched over as the bouncer came to remove them all.

 “No more tonight. Go home.” The bouncer said, hauling the drunk gancanagh to his feet.

She wasn’t too shocked when Julia, snitching human, called the bouncer over, although Lydia did roll her eyes, extremely pointedly. As they walked back through the door, her glamour slipped back on like she might a coat. “Why? You didn’t offend me, my dear, I don’t even know what a veal-ravine is.” The gancanagh glowered at them, before stalking off. Lydia chuckled. “You know, I suspect that might just have been the start of the fairy ring season. What a ringing welcome to the incoming season. At least it can only go up from here.”  She winked at him, before looking him over. “Are you hurt?” She asked softly. 

Jared followed Lydias lead once again, his own glamour feeling a little bit like that feeling when a child was told playtime was over. It was back to feeling normal now that they were on the street. “I really thought I had considering…” His words trailed off as he watched the gancanagh walk away sheepishly. “First bird that popped into my head, skeletal raven, strong and amazing creatures. uh…. I didn’t really think it through.” Maybe describing the creature wasn’t the best way forward. Jared had to laugh when she spoke so positively about being thrown out of a bar. The nymph shook his head “Had a lot worse than a beat down, it’ll be okay.” Any discolouration was already covered by his glamour. Changing your skin so much tended to mean you covered an awful lot more than people thought. “Didn’t mean to get us kicked out, can I walk you home?” He offered her an arm. “In compensation.”

Lydia’s eyebrows vanished into her hairline at his explanation as to what, exactly, veal-ravines were. “As… fascinating as those sound, I think I’ll stick to my wings over anything skeletal.” She laughed softly, falling in step with him as she took his arm. Even in heels, her head barely reached his shoulder - they must have made quite the pair as they walked through the town. “Ah, c’est la vie. Company with you was all I was really looking for.” She said with a simple shrug. Faetal Attraction was the one losing out. “However, I must say, Mr. Nymph of Vicious Creatures, you really weren’t very vicious in there.”

“Oh yeah for sure, for sure.” Jared agreed on the spot. “Your wings are wonderful I was just trying to joke around...guess I’ll have to work on my humour too.” he chuckled accompanied by a shrug. Nothing he could do now, but try and remember wings were definitely a no go topic in public. The nymph makes a noise of disapproval and bumps his hip into her. “Hey now, just because my kids are vicious doesn’t mean I have to be. I’m soft so my kids can do the damage. Plus I thought I’d messed up, wouldn’t have been fair.” He pouted at her pitifully. A master of the puppy dog look as he’d been able to replicate the eyes of one of his bonedoggle pups when they were whining. “You absolutely overpowered the guy though, my hero.”

Lydia snickered as he hip bumped her. “You are a big softie. Not the only one in town, either.” He pouted at her, and Lydia resisted his puppy eyes for a whole second before giving him a light push. “That isn’t playing fair.” Lydia laughed as they reached the causeway, the sea still and soothing on either side of them. “Oh gosh. If he’d thrown a punch at me, I would have gone down like a stack of dominoes. We’re a strong species, but that doesn’t mean I know what to do with it, beyond lifting couches to clean under them.”

“Well being kind doesn’t cost a thing, so maybe I’m just trying to lead by example. See if it’ll rub off on the people who need to know that the most...like not letting that drunk guy shatter his hand on my horns. Boy would he have really not been happy with that.” Jared laughed and stumbled sideways slightly before pulling himself back in with their linked arms. “Ah but why be fair when you can win by being cute?” The thought of the other fae being punched didn’t sit well with Jared, she was so small, not defenseless, definitely not weak, but the ganacash had been rather huge in comparison. “You clean under couches?” He asked jokingly to brush past the image of her being knocked out in his mind. The breeze was pretty nice as they continued to walk. He was letting her lead the way considering he had no idea where she lived, but it seemed to be a really nice area.

“Being kind cost you a punch!” Lydia disagreed vehemently. “Although no, I suppose punching your horns would be rather… unpleasant. Then again, he oughtn’t have been aiming for your horns in the first place.” She rolled her eyes, although he was entirely correct - Jared was cute as hell, in both meanings of the word. “Well, I normally have a cleaner in twice a week to do it for me,” Lydia winked, leading them towards Harris island. “But yes, should the need arise. Are you saying you don’t?”

“Ahh what's a punch in a bar every now and then. Maybe the guy thought horns were sensitive or something. They’re absolutely not, but drunk brain can get to you if you’re not careful.” Jared reasoned for the guy who’d clocked him in the face. “Ohhh fancy, a cleaner. If I could afford one I don’t think they’d be too pleased with the state of the place, even after Nell and Blanche moved in and out again.” The nymph laughed. “I didn’t really think about lifting the couches, I just sort of...sweep around it? Probably harbouring some cute new kids under there soon. Dust bunnies are adorable.” He nudged her playfully. “You should let one move in.”

“Drunk brain is no excuse for such…. Abhorrent behaviour. Jared, you are far too kind to the man who punched you,” Lydia said, her affectionate smile softening the comment. She rolled her eyes, not about to be shamed for her well earned wealth - she’d worked hard for it! So had her humans. “That’s the great thing about cleaners. You pay them not to judge you.” At his suggestions, Lydia couldn’t help but pull a mildly disgusted face. “Jared, you could be the cutest person in the whole town, and you would still never be able to persuade me to let a dust bunny move in. Having a dog around is bad enough, in terms of the mess.” Lydia stopped in front of her mansion, modern and gleaming with its large windows on every floor. “Unfortunately, this is my stop, and I must bid you goodnight, my dear.”

The nymph waved her worries away. What was done was done, and truly Jared had no hard feelings for the ganacash. Maybe the guy was too quick to jump the gun, but clearly he had some bad experience with people talking about wings. The change on Lydias face however sent Jared into a whirlwind of laughter. “Woah really? Not even if I do the puppy dog eyes? Dust bunnies are adorable!” He was only teasing, even if everything he said he did consider true. But his outlook on creatures would never match up to other peoples. He’d come to accept that. Stopping at the door Jared looked up at the house and grinned. “Nice place. Goodnight Lydia. Thanks for taking me out, and not letting that guy bash me in.” Jared was a trail of light laughter as he walked back the way they’d come, waving at Lydia all the way until he was gone from her sight. 

#C: Lydia #P: Chatzy

[streetharmacist]

Big Faely Giant | Lydia & Felix

Summary: A giant stops by and Lydia breaks out her finest wine. Warnings: None; it’s wholesome! With: @inspirationdivine

Moving by night wasn’t such an odd thing to do. Moving by night over bridges and causeways with legs as tall as trees? Very odd. But Felix had to admit that he was having a great deal of fun with it all as he walked wide-legged. Realistically, it was all he could do. He moved through the shadows that streetlights and headlights didn’t reach, long limbs outstretched as he went. His skin sizzled as he popped lightbulbs along the East End. Laughter followed and if it startled anyone, he didn’t pay it any mind. If the town should fall into shadow, they’d be better off for it. As he crossed over to Harris Island, he moved through the backyards. As tall as he was, it was luck that he managed to be nimble. Nimble as he could be before he nearly took a tumblr straight through Lydia’s yard. As he righted himself and felt that ghostly hint of popping candy, he went to one of the uppermost windows. As he awkwardly maneuvered himself around a tree just as tall, he tapped a finger as delicately as he could against the side of the house. “Lydia?”

Lydia was curled on her couch downstairs, reading a book as she waited for Felix to drop by. He hadn’t said much other than he was dropped by, which was altogether rather exciting. It was sweet they’d gotten to the point where he’d just drop by, even if it was- Lydia jolted as the house rumbled, like an earthquake rattling through her. Sitting bolt upright, she looked around in alarm. Maine didn’t do earthquakes. Was this a new thing like the sun turning into an eye? The sky turning red? Blood pooling in the ground? She yelped as something banged against her wall, like someone had crashed into it. Looking out her back window, Lydia swallowed. There was something outside. The vampire. Clutching the cross on her neck, Lydia crept up to the window, flicking on the porch lights. It wasn’t a vampire but a leg. Wait, a leg? Dark and smoky, with shadow like- Lydia gasped, sliding open the french windows and stepping out into her garden, staring up at the dark, shadow figure. “Felix?!” She yelled. “Is that you??”

Felix blanched some as the house shook under his tapping. It occurred to him, slowly, that maybe he had underestimated his strength. He sucked in a hiss as he stepped back some. The porch-lights flicked on and as Lydia stepped out, he beamed. “It is! Isn’t it wild?” It was weird having lungs tripled in size. A window light flicked on at a house nearby and someone stuck their head out. Likely to yell about being quiet. Felix’s head swung over to look at them, eyes large and bright beams. Whatever they might have yelled caught in their throat and they closed the window behind them as they fell back into their house. That settled, his attention returned to Lydia as he nodded his head. “Anyhow, yeah, it’s me. I can’t really just waltz on in like this unfortunately,” he said with a laugh that moved leaves. “Didn’t break nothing, did I?”

He looked back at Lydia, shining light onto her already glowing skin, and yes, with that face, it definitely was Felix. Even in the dark of his shadows. Even when he was yelling. “No, nothing at all! My dear, aren’t you cold?” He wasn’t exactly… wearing much. Lydia laughed, all the nerves sliding right out her chest, as she opened her wings. “Hold on!” She yelled up to him, tensed her core, and beat her wings until she lifted off the ground. Lydia had never been able to get all that high, but it was high enough to grab the second floor balcony floor and pull herself up, so she could perch on the edge at almost Felix’s height. “There, much better. How on earth did this happen, do you know?”

Her question prompted Felix to look down at himself. As if he weren’t already aware of how little he had on. It reminded him of when he was just a little shadow and how his mothers had struggled to keep him in anything as he darted in and out of the dark, laughing all the while. “Now that you mention it, yeah, I sure am,” he said with a sheepish smile. “My tailor has a pretty good turnaround time but even I have to doubt ‘em on this one...” His voice trailed as she unfurled her wings and landed on his level. If it were any other winged fae, he would have laughed at the effort they would have needed to get on his level. Yet with Lydia, that spite was swapped for gratitude. Appreciation, even. His smile said as much. “It’s kind of a funny story. I was chatting with somebody, having coffee, and then hard cut to a few minutes later, she’s getting real tiny and I’m getting well…” He gestured from the tip of his tallest antler to the bottom of his feet. “To this. Tore right through everything. I sorta had to make a break for it when I broke off half of the porch.” His dark brow furrowed some before a wide grin broke through. “Say Lydia, you ever heard tiny banshee screams? They’re kinda cute.”

Lydia smiled at his appreciation, warmly and kindly, keeping her wings beating a little to help her balance and to keep her warm in the humid evening breeze. “That is funny, although I’m glad there were no wardens nearby! Rampant spellcaster magic, possibly. Goodness knows humans aren’t careful where they leave spells. Did I tell you about the- oh, it doesn’t matter now.” Lydia grinned. “Are you able to glamour? Although, I suppose it wouldn’t help too much, a giant human is nearly as alarming as a giant lampade.” When he made his final comment, Lydia audibly gasped. “Say, you wouldn’t mean that our favourite medical examiner is as small as you are tall, would you?”

“I don’t think one of those dispellates they got would work on this,” Felix said, a smug smile on his face. His eyes ticked up and to the right as he considered it being caused by a spellcaster. Huh. Maybe. He added it to the list of possibilities and curiosities. “Could probably just pick one of ‘em up and toss them into the lake.” The tips of his antlers rustled the leaves nearby as he shook his head. He frowned at Lydia. “Not really. It was sorta weird. When all this started happening, it’s like I tore right out of it. Probably would need a heck of a lot more magic for something like that…” He trailed some and rubbed at his jaw. Then he started to smile, held his tongue between his teeth as the corner of his mouth lifted. “Oh she’s very tiny. Granted, her scream still broke my glasses and that was a tragedy, but she’s--” He took a moment to make the space between his pointer and thumb as small as he could. “Very small. Between you and me, I don’t think she’s handling it real well.” A thought occurred to him and his eyes lit up a little, illuminating Lydia that much more as he smiled at her. Not that she needed his help with that. “Think I could project a movie with these beams?”

“I can imagine that. I  don’t think I could work out how to make mine bigger or smaller, if I even just grew four inches.” Lydia replied, and felt the wind as he moved his arm to rub his jaw. “Regardless, you look equally good at six foot and sixteen foot.” She grinned at his description of Regan, laughing. “Her scream can still break things? That’s hilarious.. That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all week.” Blinking into the new light, Lydia took a second to adjust to it,  smiling up at him warmly. “Without a doubt. You could project a movie for the drive in theatre with beams like that. You’d be both the attraction and the entertainment, and would put the Overlook place right out of business.”

“Exactly, right on the money! So I figured, hey, might as well go au naturel,” Felix said with a slight flourish of his hand and New York heavy in his voice. His eyes squinted shut briefly with the force of his smile. “If I didn’t know any better, I might think you were just joshing me. But hey, even from up here, you still ain’t bad.” He winked a rather large orb like the slow shudder of a camera. “Heck yeah it can. Between her screaming and me getting real big, they could’ve paid us for remodeling the place in record time. Cups and glasses everywhere are in mourning.” Between how tall he was and her wings flapping in the night wind, they made an odd sort of pair. Nothing wrong with being odd, he thought. “Think so? Maybe we can open a place up across the way, introduce a little healthy competition to the town. Between you and me, we’d have people saying Overlook who in record time.” Surely they could swindle an owner or two out of the name. “What’d you think the first movie should be? My vote goes to Singin’ in the Rain.”

“I wouldn’t lie about that, even if I could, my dear,” Lydia grinned up at him, “Still ain’t bad? I’ll take that.” She mimicked back his accent, doing a fairly miserable job of it. “Gosh, well, I know who to call next time I need to renovate here. Although Regan had previously already taken out some of my windows.” Which was impressive, considering the size and number of her windows.“You are the projector, you’d have to watch most whatever we choose, so your vote is the one which matters. Singin’ in the Rain is a lovely choice, although I always favoured Gone with the Wind. Then again, everyone loves a good musical.” Lydia smiled. “Can I offer you a drink? I think I’d have to pour a whole bottle into a vase, but we can make do.”

“You give the nine muses and then some a run for their money. I’m sure you know it too,” Felix said casually, a large jaw cradled in a large hand as he looked at Lydia. Mirth tinged his every word, the slightest change of expression or movement. Tall as a building was a new way to be, sure, but it didn’t raise his hackles all too much. “Regan might have a future in the demolition business or one of those, uh...window testers! That’s the one,” he said thoughtfully. “Fair enough. Say, we could always split even and do a double-feature! Like the old days.” A warm yet melancholic smile slid across his face. “Lydia, you absolute delight. If you’re offering, I’ll take your finest red in your finest vase. Heck, you oughta get yourself a nice wine vase too. Don’t think I’ve ever cheersed with vases before but...ain’t ever been over six feet before neither.” He shrugged. “A day for firsts!”

Lydia grinned up at him, and ducked her head as she blushed, her golden glow turning pink at the cheeks. She did know it, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t ever so nice to hear, especially from another fae. "Right, give me a moment. And I should text my guest not to be alarmed by BFG in our garden." Lydia winked, leaping down to the ground with a flutter of her wings to land silently on her feet. A couple minutes later, she returned through the doors of the upstairs balcony, with a full crystal vase sloshing with red wine, a backup bottle, and a full glass for herself. Setting her own glass and the bottle down, she sat on the railing once more and held up his vase with both hands. “I can’t even tell if that’s the right relative glass size, but it will have to do. What are you doing for meals?”

BFG? Before Felix could ask, Lydia was gone and by the time she returned, the question had slipped his mind at the sight of wine. “Anyone ever told you that you’re the best?” He took the offered vase in hand and had to laugh. Laugh at being fifteen feet tall, laugh at walking across a bridge in nearly single digit strides. At how he was having wine out of a vase with a good friend. He raised it to the sky and winked. “It’s perfect. I couldn’t have found a better wine vase even if I looked for it myself.” He said before he took a drink from it. Measuring what a sip was for his size took him a moment but he figured it out. “Campers,” he said with a great deal of enthusiasm. “Their food, I mean. Not the campers themselves. I take a picnic basket or two and it gets me by for the day. A regular Yogi Bear,” he laughed. He took another sip of wine, brows lifted. “You got a guest? They want any vase wine?”

“Oh, no, I think Remmy has had rather enough of strange fae recently, much as I know you would be perfectly wonderful. They’ve had a rough time of it.” The end result of which was a dead fae. Lydia’s face both literally and metaphorically darkened for a moment before she looked back up at him. “Let’s not speak of such things. Especially not with vase wine. If you’re eating campers’ picnics, does that mean you’re staying in the forest? You could be a cryptid on mooseventure tours or whatever it’s called.”

“You know Remmy? They’re not doing too hot? That’s a shame,” Felix said around the lip of the vase. “I met ‘em around Amity, real nice.” He hadn’t been around The Ring much himself but he knew that tensions had been high around the joint. Tension wasn’t something he usually felt put off by. Heat just wasn’t something he wanted a part of. Even from his height, he could see the way Lydia’s disposition shifted and he nodded. Best to not linger. “The bears weren’t too happy but I found a nice enough cave. My lady friend has been visiting me when she can,” he said and a smile grew as the words carried on. “My partner and I are working on the cryptid bit, actually. When we get it going, you want a free t-shirt?”

“They’re wonderful,” Lydia agreed. “They’ve been here a month now. It’s been lovely to have their company.” As they deteriorated. Lydia shook the thought from her head, focusing on him chasing bears from caves. “Going back to the ways of the Old Ones, I see. Your lady friend? Although I don’t know why I’m surprised, you’re the definition of a heart throb.” Lydia teased, welcoming the change of conversation, and didn’t fail to notice his smile at the mention of her. Something to pry at when he was regular size. “Oh, absolutely! I’d wear a print t-shirt for you and you alone. I want to be the first visitor if you turn yourself into a local attraction.”

“It’s good that they’re with you,” Felix affirmed. “This town’s got a real wild way of being in and outta sorts on the regular.” Not that there was anything wrong with a little chaos, considering his current state of being. “It has been a century or so since I really took to the woods like that. More of a concrete jungle fella myself. You know, I’d like to see you wrangle a few bears out of their cave.” If he could’ve nudged Lydia, he would have. Instead, he prodded the empty air next to her. “Yeah! She’s the best. Maybe you’ve met her. Her name’s Beatrice,” he hummed. At Lydia’s exclamation, his cheeks hurt at the smile that bloomed. “Wow, a t-shirt just for me? What an honor, I’m a little beside myself. Or a lot, height and width considered. Who knows, maybe we can get a fashion line going! You think people would be into bejeweled antlers?”

“Oh, I can believe that. As am I, although I do need to get out into the woods on a regular basis.” Lydia replied, before snorting. “I might be stronger than you are - not now, obviously - but if you made me wrestle a gnome I think the gnome would probably win.” She sipped at her wine, smiling, all thoughts of Remmy and Jax banished. “I haven’t, but now I’ll have to keep a listen out for that name.” It wasn’t too common a one, nowadays, which suggested Felix’s lover was on the older side. Maybe born in the 1920s or early ‘30s.  The thought made her smile. She laughed at Felix’s exclamation. “You could otherwise not catch me dead in a tshirt, especially as you can’t hide wing holes in them easily. Oh, I for one would love bejeweled antlers. And wispy black clothes are rather a la mode for modern goths, so that’s another direction you could go.”

“Never thought I’d bet on a gnome before but here we are,” Felix said with a withheld gasp of surprise and a shake of his head. “It’ll be a shame when the time comes, y’know.” He couldn’t hold the faux disappointment long and easily slid back to beaming. “Oh, she’s one cool cat. The knees of every bee, you could say! You can’t miss her.” He continued on his vase of wine and tapped at the glass idly. It would be nice when he was righted back to size. So much could be done. Caught up on. But right then, he didn’t feel explicitly bothered. There was a surprising lack of them. He wasn’t surprised, given the company and the wine. “Heck, that means a lot to me. If you got any old Eyes to the Sky stuff around here, I’d showcase it in a heartbeat! I should’ve known that you’d have an eye for this stuff. Never thought about catering to the goth community but that’s genius!” Very carefully, he tried to clink his vase against her glass. Concentration bled from his slightly narrowed eyes. “And for you? Every shirt is getting wing holes.”

“One cool cat,” Lydia repeated, and while she wasn’t sure of it, as Felix was just one great billowing cloud of smoke, if she was honest, but she liked to imagine that that beaming smile carried a little tinge of pink around his ears. It was a fanciful imagination, but it still made her smile. “Oh! Well, I’m sure I have some first edition copies for you lying around somewhere. I do love to show off my work. Especially with friends.” She held out her glass for him to clink, laughter bubbling right out of her as he knocked her hand hard enough to slosh red wine all over it. “The local goths are so prolific here too. I think they’re magnetically attracted to vampires, you know. Just begging to be snacked on.” She beat her glowing wings in approval. “All the more reason for me to wear them just for you.”

It was well known in most circles, human or otherwise, that Felix was a talker. Yet when he tried to find the right words to describe Bea, he turned into a mess. A mess trying to find a needle in a haystack. He was sure Lydia understood or he gathered as much, from the way she glowed and looked at him. He busied himself with the wine as he nodded again. “Really? That’d be just dynamite! I can put it with my other first editions but yours will get the best spot in the house.” He waved his free hand to accentuate the statement but laughter rocked him as wine spilled. “This is a real doozy to get used to, let me tell ya,” he huffed out, cheeks slightly puffed. If his shadows could have turned any darker, they would have at the mention of vampires. “Eugh. If that’s what tunes their radio then by all means,” he groaned. “But I mean, lampades have antlers and they’re real neat! Vampires got nothing but pointy teeth.” He reeled it back in and shook his head. Only for the mood to lighten once more as her wings beat. “Ah well, we’ll get it figured out, you and me! Vampires sure as heck ain’t gonna get our night down! I think it can only go up from here.”

“Oh, consider it done! As soon as you’re at a size reasonable to hold them yourself, I’ll hand them over. On the condition, of course, that you display them in the best spot in the house.” Lydia winked. She shook the wine from her forearm, holding it away from her with a laugh as she reached back inside for a towel to get it off her. “Oh, I bet. I hope, as much as I do love to see you like this, that you find a way to reverse this whole situation soon.” At his reaction to the mention of vampires, Lydia giggled so hard she covered her mouth.  “Sounds like someone has a grudge. It is a proven fact that we are superior to the undead in every way. What have they really done to earn all the hype they have? Did I tell you I promise bound a particular nuisance vampire into finding true love, which is impossible given his lack of soul? It tickles me ever time I think about it.” Lydia raised her glass in toast. “To the night only going up from here.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty fair. I don’t exactly have any pockets and I’d hate to lose ‘em. Consider your conditions already met, Lydia.” Felix tipped his head some, careful not to knock the tree or the house or better yet, Lydia, as he did. An apology, framed by laughter, came from him as she returned. “Oh yeah? I’m enjoying it while it lasts but I’m hoping the while it lasts part doesn’t take too long. I mean, I’m keeping myself as entertained as a suddenly tall fella can be.” Which was more than anticipated, but still, he wouldn’t be opposed to walking through a door or two. He held his hand to his chest. “Me? A grudge? Against vampires? I don’t know about that whole th--” He dropped it. “Fuck ‘em.” The word felt heavier in his large mouth and tasted worse too. About apt for vampires. “You didn’t! Oh heck, Lydia, that’s so fun! He’s gonna have a real terrible time with that one,” he said, laughter bright and tinkling. He raised his glass in tandem and as he looked at Lydia, his eyes glowed warmly. “Slainte. To a fantastic you, a fantastic us, and a fantastic night!”

#wickedswriting #chatzy #chatzy: big faely giant #c: lydia #// I ADORED EVERY SECOND OF THIS BLESS

[mor-beck-more-problems]

A Promise and a Warning || Morgan & Sasha

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @sasha-r-blog & @mor-beck-more-problems, feat. Dr. Carey

SUMMARY: Morgan meets her student for office hours, when they are interrupted by a colleague Morgan wronged in the past. And promise or not, he’s holding a grudge.

CONTAINS: references to past drug manipulation (leanan sidhe kiss)

For all her nervousness and self doubt about trying new things, Sasha’s choice to take Professor Beck’s had gone surprisingly well. Sure, she was struggling a bit with keeping up, but it helped that the class was actually fun. She had worried she would feel out of place in an English class when almost all of her classes were nothing but computers, math, and science. But the professor had been right about stories being engaging, even if Sasha didn’t know all the fancy English major words yet to talk about it.

But maybe it was a step in the right direction that Sasha had actually taken the initiative and asked Professor Beck if they could go over ideas for the classes next paper. Usually she just dealt with issues herself, or only sought out stuff when her advisor forced her to. Maybe it was a bit silly, but she felt a little proud of herself for it as she made her way to the English building lounge without feeling like she was going to get sick from anxiety.

When she entered there were a few others there already, but for the most part the space was empty. Still, Sasha couldn’t completely rid herself of the creeping sense of social anxiety as she entered the room and a few people turned their heads. She quickly sat down at one of the tables, placed her backpack in her lap, and rummaged through it for her class binder as she waited for the Professor.

Morgan couldn’t have felt more pleased with herself at recruiting Sasha to join her course. She found herself pretending that she hadn’t noticed some assignments come in late, but Sasha participated in class, and she had been proactive enough to ask for a meeting on her next paper. She walked briskly down to the lounge, happy to be free of her cramped shared office and get a glimpse of natural light while she helped her student out. She waved at the girl as she came over, taking care not to disturb any of the disassociating grad students from their reverie as she greeted her. “Hey! I’m, first of all, really glad you reached out. Second, I’m really excited to hear about your paper ideas. But, third, actually, why don’t you just tell me how you’re doing? I know you were kind of nervous the last time we really talked.”

“I’ve been doing okay,” Sasha smiled as the professor sat across from her. “I guess I’m settling a little more into school.” At the very least she didn’t feel like she wanted to jump out of her own skin when called on in class, or get all clammy walking through the commons when there were a lot of people there. Maybe superhero worries had left less room in her brain to worry about her daily life.

“Just trying to keep on top of things. That’s why I wanted to talk.” Well, maybe there was still some room in Sasha’s brain for school worries. The problem with being in a class with a professor she actually liked was now she didn’t want to let Professor Beck down. She shuffled through her notes in her binder, trying to find the ones on her paper topic.

“I know you mentioned we could have our paper use movie comparisons if we want but would an animated movie okay? I kinda want to compare coming of age themes with stuff in Into the Spider-verse.” Sasha didn’t see the movie as childish but she couldn’t help worrying that it came off that way to do her paper on it.

Mogan beamed at Sasha and took a peek at her notes. “I think that’s an amazing idea! There’s so many angles you can take with a piece like that. Coming of age is such a multi-faceted process. There’s struggles to conform to some preconceived ideal, coming to terms with your own power and agency? If you wanted to get really fancy, you could go back and look over the essay we read about reparative projects and think about how these ideas about coming of age speak to us right now. But, you know, it’ll definitely be an exciting project either way, Sasha. Were there any scenes you were really looking forward to exploring? That might help you find your focus.”

Before Sasha could respond, a familiar man stopped in the entryway of the lounge. Morgan went rigid, but said nothing. She hadn’t seen Doctor Ellis Carey since she and Lydia had crashed into his office. She’d made an effort to avoid his vicinity since that visit. No matter how low her opinion of him was, she hated looking at him, knowing what he’d suffered for her angst, for nothing. As Ellis lingered, trembling against his promise to act like nothing had happened between them, Morgan wondered how often he’d tried to pass near her.

Slowly, sweat rolling down his reddening face, he approached their table. He did not walk with his usual smooth, arrogant gait but staggered like a creature in a monster movie. His hands clenched with determination, and all the while his eyes stayed fixed on Morgan with a look of hatred.

“Please don’t do anything to hurt yourself, Doctor Carey,” she said evenly. “No one here wants that, including you, right?”

Ellis Carey tried to open his mouth in response but couldn’t seem to unclamp it despite his best efforts. He grimaced with pain.

The other students in the lounge began to look up from their work, watching the one-man situation unfold with morbid curiosity.

“Don’t...make...me...laugh,” Ellis hissed through clenched teeth.

Morgan winced and lowered her gaze. Sweat was dripping through his gray hair now. “Doctor Carey, I am with a student right now. And I think we’d both feel better if you took a walk outside.”

When Professor Beck grinned Sasha couldn’t help smiling back. She hadn’t thought her idea was that good, but hearing the professor explain all the ways she could go about doing the essay Sasha genuinely felt herself getting excited to write it. She went to open her mouth to explain her ideas for what scenes wanted to focus on, something strange happened.

Professor Beck’s whole demeanor changed. She was suddenly stiff, and Sasha followed her glance to see a man standing near the entrance of the longue. A professor probably, though Sasha had never run into him before. She rarely had reason to interact with many English professors. But as the sudden tension surrounding the woman across from her wasn’t weird enough, there seemed to be something seriously wrong with the man who just walked in. I looked almost like he was holding his breath, his face getting so red Sasha started to get anxious he might be having some sort of medical situation.

The man shuffled over and the cool way Professor Beck spoke to him as he stood there, sweating straight through his shirt and trembling, made the hair on the back of Sasha’s neck stand on end. What was going on? Sasha herself felt her body going tense with the sudden change in the room’s energy.

“S-should I get a nurse from the health center or-or call someone?” Sasha asked as she glanced between Professor Beck and the man. Dr. Carey looked on the verge passing out or something, but the venom in his voice put Sasha more on edge than any of his strange movements or appearance. She found herself unconsciously sinking back into her chair, making herself smaller, feeling as if she just walked into something very serious she was not meant to be privy to, even though she had just been talking with Professor Beck normally a few moments before.

“Dude, someone call the health center,” one of the students said, rising out of his seat. “Hey, do you have any medication you need to be taking, Professor?”

Blood rolled down Ellis Carey’s nose as he shook his head. He shuffled two steps further before crashing into the table they were sitting at. He turned his eyes to Sasha, bracing himself on his arms. “D-d-d-do…not…” he coughed. “Trust. Her.” He snarled.

“That is enough.” Morgan snapped her fingers at the worried undergrad. “Yes, call the health center. Doctor Carey is clearly experiencing some kind of...delirious...fever...thing!” Hastily, she shouldered her bag and stood up from her seat, so fast her chair wobbled. “Sasha, I’m sorry for this. Please email me with your questions or make another appointment o-or…”

“So you can hurt her too?” His words were slurred together, mostly nonsense vowels slipping over each other.

“No!” Morgan snapped, harshly enough to startle some of the students around them. “My conduct with my students is exemplary, thank you,” she murmured. “Sasha, I am sorry, but I think we should do this later.”

Don’t trust her. Sasha was so thrown off that it took her a moment to realize what Dr. Carey was saying. Don’t trust Professor Beck?

She fumbled with her phone, glancing around to see that at least two other students had their phone out, hopefully to call someone to help the man who was now bleeding as well as shaking and turning red. Sasha tried to remember the number for the campus health center and debated if a 911 call might be better at this point. But the Doctor’s words made her freeze up even more. Hurt her? Was he implying Professor Beck would hurt her?

Professor Beck’s response only put Sasha more on edge. “W-what are you talking about?” She wasn’t sure who she was asking at that moment. Her phone was forgotten in her hand as she looked between the two professor’s, Sasha’s other hand clenching and unclenching on her lap, claws itching to come out in defense even though there wasn’t even a fight. But the tension in the room felt like one could break out at any moment. Beyond the  painful medical situation Dr. Carey seemed to be having, there was a horrible anger in his eyes. Sasha wondered if he would have started throwing punches if he wasn’t currently so sick.

“What are you talking about?” She repeated. But even as she asked Sasha started rising to her feet at the request to leave.

Morgan hurried out of the lounge. “Nothing! I mean—I don’t know, but this is—” Her voice croaked from lack of air and she gestured nonsensically, too frazzled to know how to illustrate her point, too frazzled to be sure what her point even was. She drew in a deep breath, and exhaled. In, out. In, hold, out.

“I’m sorry,” she said at last. “I was caught off guard.” Most days she forgot Doctor Carey existed. He had a different specialty and he thought very little of her adjunct position, even when he wasn’t promise-bound to act like she hadn’t barged into his office and traumatized him. Most days, she wasn’t reminded by the sight of his hateful, tortured face. “Those are some very serious accusations to be throwing out wildly to someone you barely know.” Another measured breath. “I--I’m sorry that this happened. And whatever he meant by that, I want you to know that I would never do anything to intentionally hurt or endanger you or any of my other students.” Her good intentions hadn’t helped Blanche at all. Or Maxine. Morgan stiffened, grimacing. “I’m sorry, I think I have to finish this with you some other time, I hope you understand.” She couldn’t bring herself to look Sasha directly in the eyes and so fled down the hall without giving her another look.

As Sasha followed she was surprised by how frantic Professor Beck seemed. It put her on edge even more, seeing a teacher she had begun to look up to seems so deeply freaked out. Dr. Carey probably freaked everyone out in that room, but the way Professor Beck was shaken up felt different.

Serious Accusations. Professor Beck’s words echoed in her head. Outside of the lounge there was a moment to process Dr. Carey’s words without the look of his contorted, sweating face or the fear he might either pass out or lunge at any moment. And as Professor Beck rambled out an apology it didn’t put Sasha anymore at ease. If anything Professor Beck’s pointed denials made Sasha even more unsure of what to make of the situation. What to make of her.

All she had time to do was nod and watch the professor leave. She hadn’t realized how much her hands were shaking until after she watched her disappear down the hall. It was a mix of curiosity and genuine concern that made Sasha tentatively step back towards the lounge. She may not be the Claw right now but she couldn’t run away from someone possibly being hurt.

#wr sasha #wr chatzy #wr sasha chatzy #a warning and a promise #drug manipulation tw #lydia plot tw

[deathduty]

Leanan On Me || Deirdre & Lydia

TIMING: Pre-Mushrooms LOCATION: Lydia’s House PARTIES: @deathduty & @inspirationdivine SUMMARY: Deirdre visits Lydia and they talk about weakness and voluptuous chests WARNINGS: stalking tw, head trauma tw

Lydia was getting stronger by the day, but not strong enough. She wasn’t resting as much as Dr. Oakfield expected, she wasn’t brave enough to sleep nights, but she was managing little trips out, and she was getting fast on her crutches, and maybe the cast could come off soon, as long as she didn’t put too much weight on it after. Her bannister and doorframe replaced, so there was no more evidence anywhere of the original attack. Just in her head, and every time she saw the upstairs bathroom. And on her body. The doorbell buzzed her phone, and when Lydia peered through the camera on her phone, she spoke through the mic. “Hey Deirdre. Door is unlocked, come in!”

She had often heard that death was a mercy, that there would always exist far worse fates than an end. But Deirdre didn’t have the heart to say she wasn’t beyond happy that Lydia was alive. That no matter what, and no matter how selfish it sounded, she wanted Lydia to live. All she could do as a friend, was help her move past the trauma of what had happened. All she could hope for, as someone who loved Lydia, was exactly that. She stepped through the door with a relieved sigh, having worked herself into a worry by the simple virtue that she couldn’t see Lydia. She had half a mind to just ask to stay with Lydia permanently, until her worry dissolved---which might have been never for the banshee trained to analyze risk. She took care to make sure the door was locked as it should be before she began calling out for Lydia, finding her a moment later. “Hello there beautiful,” she smiled gently, taking a seat next to her, holding her hand out for Lydia to take. “You’re looking better. Has sleep been good to you?” 

The swelling on her face had reduced significantly. She still looked asymmetric, but at least now when Lydia smiled it reached both sides of her face without the need for a glamour. “Hey there yourself,” she replied softly, taking Deirdre’s hand. Oh, she hated this, the gentleness with which others approached her, as if the wrong word might rip off her other wings. She ought to consider herself lucky fae were visiting her at all. It was traditional for fae undergoing moulting to avoid other fae until their shame was passed.  And Lydia’s shame was so present she’d refused to discuss it with anyone, unwilling to spread such bad luck. At least her lungs didn’t burn anymore, breathing and talking merely a strong discomfort rather than an agony. “I’ve slept so much since it happened, one would hope so. How are you, my dear?” But she only slept during the day, and it showed in her red eyes.

Caring for a fae was strange, for all Deirdre knew about pride, she’d never been taught about love. Her family treated pain like an independent hurdle to climb, and she’d never lived through any major family tragedies to know how they were supposed to be dealt with. But she’d learned of care recently, and she liked to think she knew just enough to ease someone’s burden. “Oh, I miss you and our wine dates, so you better be resting good. There’s only so much wine I can drink by myself, without your scathing commentary.” She smiled softly, trying to figure out how to breach the topic of Lydia’s care without...breaching anything at all. But the worry was clear in the furrow of her brow, the way her lips kept falling off into a frown. “You know…” she sighed, clasping her other hand over Lydia’s, cradling it safely in her hands. “You don’t have to do this with me. Worrying about...not yourself. Pretending like things are better than they are. I’m not going to run off and tell everyone how much pain you’re in. I’m not going to tell the world you’re weak or afraid if---if that’s how you feel, it’s okay. I just mean...I don’t need to see a strong face, Lydia. I just want to see my friend, as she is, however she’s feeling. So, truly, how are you?”

“I don’t know what else to do,” Lydia replied, voice creaking. “I don’t know how else to be. I’m not supposed to be weak.” She looked down at Deirdre’s hands, and god, she wanted to pull away, to pull herself into perfect posture and a perfect smile. None of that was real. “A young fae came by, recently. I’ve been befriending him, introducing him to our culture. He’s left a Raiju somewhere around to protect me, in case I need it, but when he first saw me, god, it was like he’d walked into a murder scene. It was just… written all over his face. I just- I feel like he sees me differently now. How is anyone meant to respect me if I let someone do this to me?” Deirdre had veins along her wrist, each fading as they stretched up her arm. Lydia started at them, tracing each with her gaze intently. Better than looking up at Deirdre’s face.  “I- Remmy was supposed to be safe here. Instead they got poisoned here and then this happened, and I was supposed to have this under control. I didn’t think he would do this at all. I thought I had him promise bound, and the only-“ Lydia’s voice cracked and she looked abruptly to the window, blinking at the sudden heat in her eyes. “I must have made a mistake in the wording. That’s the only explanation. I’m usually so careful. It’s what I’m best at.” 

Deirdre could remember the way her mother reacted to her emotions, the way she was taught to get rid of what few she had. There were many crimes she could commit, but none worse than weakness. And what greater weakness was there than vulnerability, emotion and failure? Then she could remember the first time she cried in front of Morgan, the deep shame that settled in her like a tidal wave and the guilt that roared above like thunder. But where she thought she might find disgust, she was met with love. Deirdre could think of no other reaction to give Lydia but that. She began slow and soft, “I don’t see someone weak. I see someone that was attacked--unfair, unjust--and I see that person, with great strength, recovering as a person does. Please don’t say you’re weak. It’s not true, and the only purpose that serves is making yourself feel worse. No one is indestructible.” Deirdre lifted Lydia’s hand, meeting it half-way to press a kiss to her knuckles. “You didn’t let anyone do anything to you. Someone hurt you. Someone came into your house with that intent. That’s not your fault. Whoever that man is, he did this. Not you. He did. You’re not weaker for having gone through it. You’re not lesser than for being hurt by it.” She smiled softly. “Strength doesn’t have to be one thing, your strength isn’t one thing. There is strength in recovery, strength in perseverance, strength in honesty and strength in vulnerability. And, honestly, you don’t have to be strong all the time. There’s a strength in resting too, in just letting yourself be as you are. What I see is someone who is strong, I always have and I always will.” Deirdre paused. “Maybe I can’t change your mind about this, but if anything, I promise I don’t see you as being weaker--or at fault for any of this. So here’s at least one person you don’t have to worry about ruining an opinion of. I love you, and I respect you just the same as I did before.” 

Lydia still didn't look at her, not until Deirdre kissed her hand. "How are you so kind?" Lydia asked after a long moment, trying to take it all in, trying to accept it when it rattled against her internal beliefs. Deirdre was right that all she was doing right now was considering herself weak. So all that did was harm her, but it was still true. She hadn’t prioritised protecting herself, or Remmy. She hadn’t been smart. All those other things were nice platitudes, but… "What if it is. I've been so… arrogant, Deirdre. I've been so far up in my righteous indignation that I forgot to be scared. He's been stalking me for months, I knew he was dangerous, but I was so angry, so indignant that any supernatural being would treat another like this. So I punished him with the promise. He killed a local priest to get to me and I still wasn't afraid. I was angry. I made him burn himself until the holy water made holes in his mouth. I set him a task that was painful and humiliating, and was supposed to be impossible." Lydia took ab deep breath looking down at her hand. The scrapes were nearly gone, as least. Her hand looked so small in Deirdre's. There were no acrylic nails to make her fingers look longer, no no polish to make her look bolder. Her nails looked cracked and chipped from her flight. Except fight was a strong word, wasn't it? She'd given up in a heartbeat. All these words and definitions for strong, and Lydia wasn't any of them. Not right now. "Deirdre, the only reason I'm even alive is because he wanted me to be. That isn't strength, that's terrifying. Doesn’t that make me weak?”

"I'm not kind," Deirdre shook her head, "you're just important to me." Whatever kindness was being perceived, might as well have been attributed to Morgan—after all, Deirdre had learned these beats somewhere. But it didn't matter so much, how or where any kindness had come from. Not knowing what else to do, Deirdre crawled into Lydia's lap, hovering just above to keep from applying any actual pressure. She needed Lydia to look at her, and so she gingerly cupped her face, tilting it up to meet her earnest gaze. "It's not your fault. We could go on like this forever. It's my fault because I didn't ask enough questions, and as your friend I'm responsible for keeping you safe. It's Remmy's fault for not paying enough attention. It's your floor's fault for not swallowing him up and sending him down to hell. You could put blame anywhere. But the truth is this: he hurt you. He came into your house to hurt you. What does it matter what you did or didn't do? Where mistakes were or were not made? You should know, better than anyone, that it doesn't matter how careful people are—or how humble they act—someone can still hurt them. You did what you thought was right, that's all anyone can do. It's not your fault, Lydia." Deirdre didn't know the full story, not that it would have changed her mind, but she was beginning to piece it together. For now though, she thought it far more important to move Lydia's mind from self-blame than to procure the facts. "He took control of your life, maybe so you suffer more, thinking of him, fearing him—I don't know. But you have it now, it's yours again. Doesn't it make you strong to reclaim what he took? For every breath you take, for every second your body spends repairing itself, there is strength. You're living, and there's nothing more powerful than that."

You’re just important to me. That was when the tears spilled down her cheeks, finally. Lydia pressed the back of her hand to her eyes to stem the flow of tears. She shifted to give Deirdre space as she felt the woman shift closer, but didn’t realise quite what was happening until Deirdre’s soothing cool fingers tilted her face to look back at Deirdre. “I’m sorry,” she said, quietly into the inches between them, and didn’t know what she was even apologising for. For needing comfort, for needing talking to, for crying. Maybe she was sorry that Deirdre’s words were a balm, that each sentence made her a little softer, a little sadder. “But I’m not reclaiming anything! He left. He’ll come back. He got in by compelling Chloe. What if he does that to Remmy, or you, or to me?” Lydia’s voice cracked. There was a certain irony to the terror of having done to you what you so carelessly did to others, but Lydia was in no fit state to appreciate that right now. “You know, many Aos Sí expect you to self-exile until it grows back. Having them is an honour, they’re sacred, letting anyone touch one, let alone remove one… And he can just do it again. Any time he likes.”

Deirdre took care to thumb away Lydia’s tears after a moment, wanting to encourage her to cry in some small way--to let out everything she felt she couldn’t in different company. It helped, sometimes. “What if any number of wardens I’ve pissed off decide to target someone else? What if someone from the Ring decides they want to target Remmy’s friends instead of them? What if a bird I fed once decided it was going to shit exclusively on you for the rest of its life? You could say that about anything, Lydia. You can’t blame yourself for the actions someone else takes. You’re not in control of that. No matter how careful you are, how cautious you decide to be, bad things will still happen---to you, to anyone you care about. If he takes an action against someone, that’s his actions, prompted by his own thoughts. It has nothing to do with you, no matter what he says about it, it’s never your fault. It’s never because of you. It’s him, it’ll always be him.”  She smiled, contorting herself and leaning down just enough to press a kiss to Lydia’s forehead. “Oh, believe me, I know how the fae act about a lack of wings. I know exactly how cruel and callous they can be. Most of them will never know how bad it hurts to have one pulled off, most of them will never consider how much more powerful it is to stand as someone who knows that pain--and lives. Your wing will grow back, and none of them will care that it was ever gone in the first place. You have wings, and you’ll always be better than...a fae that doesn’t.” Deirdre slumped, then shook her head. “Tell me what the worst case scenario is. Tell me what you think it is, if you can.”

Lydia listened to all of Deirdre’s arguments, a tiny smile playing her lips as Deirdre talked about the birds she might feed, and opened her mouth to immediately argue. “But-“ But nothing, because Deirdre planted a small kiss on Lydia’s forehead and fresh tears sprung from her face before she’d even remembered what the gesture meant to non-Leanan Sidhe. Deirdre slumped, still somehow straddling Lydia’s Lao without touching her. Lydia wrapped an arm around her friend’s back, and she wasn’t sure whether it was to comfort Deirdre for the flatness of her back, or to cling to her like a life raft. She sat with Deirdre’s question for a while, still looking up at Deirdre’s eyes, and tried to decide. “It might grow back wrong. It might not grow back at all. I don’t know if I’ll ever fly again, Deirdre. I don’t know- I don’t know if I’ll be able to think properly again. Even this, right now, it’s so hard to concentrate. To really get what you’re saying and to remember it.” But that wasn’t the worst thing. “I’ve seen the worst thing. He hands me heads in baskets. Over and over. Yours, Remmy’s, Felix’s, Morgan’s. He drowns me, over and over, until I eventually don’t wake up after. And I think that would be a- a-“ Lydia stopped, stuck on the word, “a soothing? A relief, there. I can’t… I can’t believe it happened, but it’s all I think about. Him, playing with me until he gets bored.”

It was strange to listen through another wing-based anguish; Deirdre tried to remember if even one wing was better than none, or if walking around with the evidence of her attack would be worse. The fae were all about appearances, after all. But Deirdre didn’t know the answer. “That’s how time works. Everything feels permanent in the present; as though you’ll be like this forever. And pain, it makes everything feel longer, doesn’t it? The future is unknown, and murky at best. At worst, it’s scary.” Deirdre stiffened at Lydia’s description, playing it out in her head. “But I won’t let that happen…” She grimaced, “if you’re going to die, Lydia. It won’t be like that. I won’t let it. I promise you a good death.” She knew that promise would be hard to keep, but she didn’t care. She felt the desire to make it true burn through her, and by sheer will alone, she’d make it happen. It was her duty, but more than that, it was the least she owed Lydia. “I mean it. There’s an old adage in my family: as long as you live, nothing is over. Even the greatest trees will be struck down by a strong enough storm, but for every one that falls, there are dozens more that haven’t. And I don’t---I believe that, Lydia. I can’t tell you he’ll never come back. I can’t tell you he won’t hurt you again. I hope for it, I don’t pray but...fates, I’d pray for it. I’d do everything I had to to make it so. I know you will too. Bad things will always happen, we can’t prevent them. But life is--it’s more than just waiting for the next tragedy.” She paused, hugging Lydia back, wrapping an arm around her head and another around her shoulders--careful to avoid irritating her healing back. “But you don’t even have to worry about any of that right now, Lydia. You don’t need to pay attention to what I’m saying right now.” She leaned back to look at her. “You don’t have to be okay. Give yourself time, Lydia.” Deirdre smiled, “and I promise you a good death, no matter what.” 

In any other time, Lydia might not have appreciated Deirdre’s words. Lydia lived a life of beauty and excellence, of perfect control and vanity. She didn’t usually think about death other than in the context of her ephemeral humans. Now it ate at her, consumed her daily thoughts. The burning in her throat, the twist of her lungs. When Lydia slept she dreamt of death. She spent her nights in fear of it. One bottom feeder had done all this to her. As Deirdre hugged her, Lydia pressed her face into Deirdre’s voluptuous chest, sinking into the banshee’s comfort. I promise you a good death. Why the hell did she live at a time that that was comforting? But it was. A quick knife in the back, in the throat… felt so much more welcome than anything else. “God, I know it’s more than waiting. I know it’s temporary, rather thank forever. But Deirdre, I’ve never had so little control in my life. I just… I hate this. The fear, the control, the pain, the lack of certainty if anything will ever heal right.” She pressed her face harder against Deirdre’s chest. “I’m so lucky I have you in my life.”

"I know…" Deirdre soothed, carefully running her fingers along Lydia's pearl hair. She didn't know if the act was as soothing as it was with regular hair, but she could only hope. "I know, Lydia. I won't tell you to trust the future, or have hope. But I'll do it for you. I'll hope, I'll trust. And when you're ready, you can join me." She smiled, glancing down as she realized Lydia couldn't see her expression, her vision obscured by breasts. Well, she couldn't exactly blame Lydia for enjoying it, but she laughed anyway. "Uh huh, or do you mean you're so lucky to have my chest in your life?" Deirdre laughed again, trying to breathe life into the scene around her. Her thighs quivered, beginning to struggle with her lap hovering, but she didn't have the heart to move away. "Can I ask you something?" She started, "the man...the one who did this...who was he? Or, rather, what? I heard about the uninviting spell and—was it that vampire that fed from you, some time ago? I-I remember you talking about that." And if this was some drawn out back and forth of revenge, it'd make sense that it started there. 

Deirdre’s joke was another balm on her back, as it startled a laugh out of Lydia so loud it hurt her chest, which Lydia clutched with a soft “ow” and a lingering smile. “Mm, well, we both know about how jealous I am - envious I am of Morgan when it comes to your excellent chest.” She replied, managing a chuckle, but she didn’t move her face.  “Y-yes. It was him. It’s all been a big game of cat and mouse. Where it was my turn to be the mouse. I, god, I’ve been so stupid. He was always wearing suits, always with a cruelly pleasant smile. I don’t think I ever saw him lose his composure.” Lydia pressed her hands to her head, bending over with the sudden pain, even as her pupated back protested at the movement. “I’m - Deirdre- Some space - Can I have some space?” Her hands curled into fists in her hair. “What were we talking about?”

“Oh, oh--” Deirdre scrambled off Lydia, sitting stiff with worry at her side. “Are you okay?” She asked quietly. “Hey, it’s---maybe we can just sit like this? We don’t have to talk about him...or anything.” She frowned, staring at her friend. She couldn’t be sure if that reaction was something induced in speaking of her attacker--she spoke of him before, hadn’t she? It couldn’t be that. Or the head trauma she was still recovering from. Either way, all Deirdre wanted was for Lydia to get better, and maybe that meant sitting quietly with her. “What do you need right now, Lydia? Is there anything I can do?” 

“No,” Lydia replied sharply, and winced at just how pointy it came across. “Sorry, sorry-” she murmured, reaching for her handbag where she had a blindfold to help create darkness in the middle of the day. “It’s okay, it’s not you- I-” Lydia groaned, and nodded gratefully for the offer of help “Can you- There’s this- In the fridge, there’s a bottle of a tea. Can you strain out the spider legs and bring me a glass? And some Tylenol. On the oven. Please.” It was a revolting concoction, which made it all the worse that it worked. Something to bury the weakness, at least for a little bit. Deirdre could see right through her right now, barely even able to get up. “How can I be brave like this?”

Deirdre didn’t need to be asked twice, or once even, she was up and going before Lydia finished speaking. She found her fridge, pulled the tea out, strained the legs. Grabbed her the Tylenol and promptly came back, not a single second to spare looking around or analyzing what had changed since the last time she was here. “Hey,” she offered out what was asked for, the tea in one hand and the pill sitting in the palm of the other. And then there was her question. Deirdre considered it with a frown. “I don’t know...maybe it just means allowing yourself to be vulnerable so you can get better and let people help you. Maybe it means you stop beating yourself up. Maybe it means something else entirely. But I know that I love you, and I always will--no matter what happens. Maybe you don’t need to be brave, maybe that’s the brave part, maybe you let someone else be brave for you. I don’t know.” She slumped, feeling helplessness tug her down. “I’d do anything if it’d make you better. I’d do anything if it meant going back in time and stopping that man from ever hurting you. I don’t know what it means to be brave, I think I’m as much of a coward as anyone. I just know that you matter to me, and as someone who loves you, I don’t want to see you denigrate yourself or your state. I love you, maybe that’s enough.”

Lydia took the pill and tea, dropping the pill on her tongue and immediately downing the entire cup of tea. She shuddered and cringed, the taste sticking to all of her teeth and her whole tongue. It was sweet as maple syrup, and tacky, and textured like rotten cabbage, despite being a liquid. “Thank you,” she breathed, and knew she was lucky her and Deirdre were so close, so her continuous mistakes wouldn’t be exploited against her. Lydia might have laughed at the thought in any other situation, worrying about her vulnerability beside the fae she trusted most, right as Deirdre was encouraging her to be soft, to let others be brave for her. “Oh, if I could go back in time, I would do so many things differently.” The pulsing in her brain was slowing. The tea was no miracle cure, but thank god that it existed, just enough to make herself numb to her own brain. And everything else, but… no magic with consequence, right? Lydia’s eyes prickled again as Deirdre spoke. “I love you too,” she said softly, and reached for Deirdre’s hand, to put her to sit next to Lydia, so that Lydia could rest her head on Deirdre’s lap, This time, she made no effort to hide her quiet sobs. 

If pain could be loved away, or dissolved with the right flowery metaphor, Deirdre hadn't figured it out. She loved Lydia more than she ever knew she could love a friend, and knew with resounding truth inside of her that Lydia was a good person. If there was anyone who deserved peace, it must have been her. It should have been her. Deirdre wanted it to be her. She'd make it so. "Rest," she told her, adjusting her lap so it was more comfortable. "I'll be right here." She didn't believe in God, or fate that existed outside of death, but she sang Lydia an old hymn quietly. In it, she imagined the world changed and shifted. That Lydia Griffin, of all people, would live long and happy—that all pain, was only temporary.

#wickedswriting #c: lydia #chatzy #leanan on me #immo made me cry :( #and then laugh #and then cry again :( #lydiaisgood2k20 #stalking tw #head trauma tw