#I will admit… Lydia is quite a challenge for me. The drawings I make of her never look as good as I hope. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fanficteen · 4 years

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Old Friend

deucalion x reader

“(Y/N)?” Rafael’s voice crackled on the other end of the phone. “McCall?” “I need your help.” Sirens whirled in the background. “You what?” “There’s a hunting problem.” That cleared absolutely nothing up. “I’m an author, not a cop, McCall.” “At the shipyard,” he continued, as though he hadn’t heard you. “Remember I told you about the Hale attack?” “McCall,” you heard, muffled, on the other end of the phone. “Name’s a little too close to home, ain’t it, Ferrell?” “Please.” The line went dead. “Hale attack? That was a fire.” Your heart plummeted in your chest. “Hunters.” You scrambled for the door, not even bothering to lock it as you ran. You’d heard about them coming, heard about the new pack, the True Alpha. Hell, you’d even helped once or twice, when Melissa or Argent called you in. But you hadn’t made the connection between McCall and Scott McCall, the tiny, chubby little kid you’d looked after while his mom worked.

Guns were already firing when you reached the shipyard, and someone was crawling for cover. Or, trying too. He was far too old to be Scott, even as his eyes flashed red, claws extending to drag him across the ground. Three teenagers were scattered around the yard, another man crouched behind a steel beam. You waited, as the Hunters moved forward. Then the barrage ceased, though they kept their guns raised. You launched forward, then, and cut off three from the back with ease. You grabbed a fourth by the throat and tossed him into another, finally drawing their attention to you, as you managed to grab the wounded wolf and bolt in their confusion. “Made a new friend, Scott?” That voice sent chills down your spine, blood-soaked memories clawing their way from the pit of your mind. Your parents – human parents, dead on the floor, just for protecting you. “Just in time to bury them.” You swept through the group to the woman speaking, throwing her to the ground. She spun to look at you, as she landed, but you were already moving, surging towards her. Through the corner of your eye, you caught sight of one of her hunters moving towards the stone column, where Scott was crouched, and you changed courses, knowing you wouldn’t get there in time. Then an engine revved, and suddenly there was a Jeep spearing into the shipyards and the Hunter went flying from the impact. You felt a bullet shatter your shoulder and growled, turning back towards Monroe as two new faces joined the fight. She glanced at you, then behind her, and took off for her car, her men following behind her. Half of you wanted to go after her, but Scott needed you more than you needed revenge. Scott’s pack soon grouped up around where he was struggling, vainly, to stem the blood flow of the wounded man. You pushed him aside, lightly, kneeling in his place. The man ignored you, still focused on Scott. Something about Gerard and knowing he couldn’t win. His breath cut off. “It’s really started, hasn’t it?” None of them stopped you, but you could feel them staring as you leaned forward, eyes flashing black, as you buried your claws in the back of his neck. “Hey!” The late werewolf – a Hale – grabbed Scott’s arm as he protested. “She’s a Grim,” he breathed, as the man’s flashed open and he gasped for breath. “She just – she just brought him back from the dead, right?” Stiles asked, jaw dropped. “I’m not insane?” “She just brought him back from the dead,” the redhead agreed. “He wasn’t quite dead,” you corrected, immediately darting out of the way as the man swung onto his hands and knees, choking in mouthfuls of air.

“Who – wait, (Y/N)?!” “It’s been a while, pup.” He stared as you rubbed the back of your neck, awkwardly. “Pretty impressive pack you’ve gathered. A handful of Hales, a Banshee, another Alpha…” You glanced at Stiles. “…the Sheriff’s son. Very human, very smart. You’re taking good care of him, right?” You carefully placed your foot on the wounded man’s back as he moved to stand. He swung his head around to glare. “Sorry, but you should stay down there, sir.” “Gonna introduce us, Scott?” the late Hale prompted. “Oh! Yeah, sorry,” Scott gestured between you and the pack, “Everyone, this is (Y/N). She used to babysit me as a kid. I did not know she was supernatural. (Y/N), this is Derek, Peter, Malia, Lydia, and you know Stiles.” You tilted your head, surreptitiously, towards the recovering wolf. “That’s Deucalion.” “He’s who?” you questioned, earning a half-hearted laugh from the man on the ground. “Can I get up, now?” he requested, lightly, his voice still rough around the edges. You hesitated, then offered your hand. “You have to let me help you, though.” He glanced from your hand to your face, then sighed and took it, letting you help him to his feet, supporting his aching body. “Nice to meet you, oh Mr Demon Wolf, Destroyer of Worlds, pep-talker of my favourite kid.” He chuckled, lowly. “Nice to meet you, Miss Death-Defier, Beacon Hills’ Grim, babysitter of the True Alpha.” The others were all staring at you, wide-eyed, when you both looked back at them. “We should leave.” “I want to take him to Deaton,” you added, as they all nodded. He sighed, and you all waited for him to protest. “What?” he challenged, letting you help him towards your car, “I’d rather see the Druid than die.”

The roar echoed through the school, reverberating in your chest – pain, anger, hurt. “Scott?!” Before you could take off, Deucalion grabbed your arm. “You don’t know how to fight it.” “Scott’s hurt!” “He’ll be more hurt if you’re dead.” You sighed, but nodded, mutely. “Let me go ahead.” He offered you his hand. “Unless I squeeze your hand, don’t open your eyes. It knows how to trick us.” “Don’t you need that?” You glanced at his hand, and he offered you a lopsided smirk. “If I do, I’ll just throw you with my punch.” You snorted, but took his hand anyway. “Give me some warning, I’ll even put my claws out and actually make myself useful.”

“Bobby?!” The Coach spun at the sound of your voice. “What the hell are you doing here? Are you hurt?” “Just looking after my players,” he answered, brightly. You raised an eyebrow. “Some asshole thought he could get away with touching my boys outside my office. I mean, sure, Jackson and Ethan aren’t my team anymore, but they’re still –” “Bobby, are they okay?” “What? Of course,” he huffed, folding his arms. “I hit him with a lacrosse stick.” Deucalion raised an eyebrow. “Not all of us have fangs and claws.” Then he paused for a moment. “Hang on, you’re the asshole–“ “Coach?” You heard a clatter in the nearby entrance hall, as Scott appeared, but just surged towards him. Deucalion headed for the noise. Blood still stained around his eyes but he smiled, offering a soft laugh, as you checked him over. “I’m fine.” “You blinded yourself?” Horror coursed through you. “He what?” Bobby demanded. Jackson and Ethan appeared, from the same direction Bobby had come. Ethan did a double take, but Deucalion held up his hands in surrender, and the boy approached, warily. “Coach, why are you here?” Stiles questioned, still entirely bewildered. “He just saved us,” Ethan admitted, making Derek raise an eyebrow. “Malia?” Peter crashed through the doors behind them. “Malia– you’re okay.” The girl in question smiled, brightly, crushing her father into a hug. Peter froze. Derek kicked Stiles before he could snicker. “Coach saved you?” Stiles asked, returning his attention to the boys. “No need for that tone, Stilinski.” “He beat a hunter unconscious with a lacrosse stick,” Jackson explained, and Stiles’ jaw dropped further. “Wait, do you know about this, Coach?” Scott asked, brows furrowed. “Of course I know. That’s my sister fussing over you.” “She’s your what?” “I’m adopted,” you assured the baffled teenagers.

Deucalion cleared his throat, summoning your attention. He held up Monroe by her collar. “She’s still alive.” “You won’t kill me,” she sneered, “McCall won’t let you.” “McCall’s not my Alpha,” Deucalion responded, eyes flashing red. “Yet you still deferred to him.” Deucalion snarled, but looked back to Scott. “This is your territory, Scott.” The boy hesitated. “But it’s a war for all of us.” They hadn’t even seen you moving before her heart dropped to the floor. “(Y/N)?!” “What the hell?!” Deucalion didn’t speak through the teenaged chorus, just discarded the body, unceremoniously, curious gaze fixed on your face. “A woman after my own heart.” Malia elbowed Peter, cutting off his muttering. “Was that her?” A sob tore from your throat at Bobby’s question, raw and ragged, but you nodded. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at your brother, or at Scott, afraid of what you would see there. So you just held Deucalion’s gaze, as if begging him to understand… something. Anything. Even you weren’t sure what. The man was a killer, after all. You didn’t need to justify yourself to him. You could hear Bobby explaining, behind you, but still didn’t dare look back. You flinched when Deucalion finally broke the impasse by taking a step forward, but didn’t move away. He continued forward, slowly, until he had closed the distance between you, a warm hand coming to rest on your shoulder.

“Are you alright?” The question was stiff, awkward, but you couldn’t say you expected any different. Before you even registered what you were doing, you slumped forward, burying your head in his chest. He went stiff for a moment, but you soon felt his arms inch around you, one hand coming to your hair. Your sobs began to fade, breathing falling into sync with the soothing fingers trailing through your hair. “Am I seeing this right– ow, Derek!” A low growl rumbled from Deucalion’s chest, vibrating through your body, and Stiles fell silent. With a shuddering breath, you pulled away and looked up to meet the eyes of the Alpha of Alphas. He raised an eyebrow, but his expression was gentle. “Sorry,” you mumbled. “You just single-handedly destroyed a well-manicured, decades-old reputation.” There was no anger in his voice. “I think you did that when you started practicing pacifism,” Peter drawled, making both Scott and Deucalion glare at him. He shrugged, but didn’t try to take it back. “Can I suggest we leave?” Lydia piped up, quietly. “I don’t know about you, but I could do with a shower.” She looked down at her dust-covered hands, the stains of blood and sweat on her clothes. Murmurs of agreement followed, and you all headed for the doors. “Scott, if you see your father, tell him I’ll be by tomorrow.” Scott raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t think I just magically realised you were about to die, did you?” You didn’t bother listening to their mumbled responses, just made a beeline for your car. “Call me tonight!” Bobby shouted after you. You waved your agreement.

#pack mom reader #tw past trauma #tw parent death #tw murder #deucalion x reader #deucalion #teen wolf deucalion #teen wolf #coach finstock #bobby finstock #adopted!reader #adopted!finstock!reader #tw violence #tw gore #tamora monroe #coach is secretly soft #tw guns #tw injury #tw major injury

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teenwolfsnippets · 3 years

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Lunatic

Morning rounds were intriguing to say the least. She greeted the other nurses, telling them to prepare the lounge for some kind of activity while she took over their medication rounds. Kristina planned to do this at least once a week, wanting to establish as much of a relationship with her patients as possible. She opened the first door, finding the girl sitting calmly at her desk, drawing some kind of doodle on a piece of paper.

“Hello, Allison. How are you feeling today?” Kristina asks, coming to stand by the desk

Allison doesn’t respond, continuing to draw. The doctor leans closer, getting a better look. The patient was drawing a bow and arrow over and over again. Kristina made a mental note to write it in her file later.

“You’re a very skilled artist, Allison. Maybe we can have you draw during your session later. Would you like that?” she asks.

Still no response.

“Okay, can you take your medication for me?” she asks, setting the pill cup and water on the desk.

Kristina is surprised when Allison quietly lays her pen on the desk and takes her meds. Once finished, she resumes the drawing, her doodles soon overlapping each other.

“Thank you, Allison. A nurse will be by later to bring you to the lounge, alright?” Kristina asks, hoping to finally get some words.

Still nothing. The doctor leaves, gently closing the door behind her and crossing over to the second door. Derek is leaning against the wall, hands shoved in his pockets and glares at her as she enters.

“Good morning. How are you today?” she asks.

The man moves closer, looming over her. She’s tempted to take a step back, but doesn’t want to show fear to a patient.

“Most people would kill for it, you know,” he mutters.

“For what?” she asks.

“It’s a gift,” he says.

“What is?”

Derek swallows his medicine, doesn’t respond to her question, and returns to his stance against the wall. He crosses his arms and his glare hardens, which she didn’t think was possible.

“Okay, well a nurse will be by later for activities,” she says.

He doesn’t say anything and watches her every move as she leaves. She will admit this patient unsettled her, but she was also intrigued by the challenge. Kristina reads the name for the next room and doesn’t hesitate to enter.

“Erica?” she calls.

She finds her sprawled out on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. When the girl sees her, a giant predatory smile spreads across her face and she jumps off the bed.

“Hey, doc. You doing morning rounds, today?” she asks, swaying up to her.

“Yes, I am. You’re not gonna give me trouble about this, are you?” Kristina teases.

“Of course not. You’re my new favorite person,” Erica answers.

She swallows down her meds and then reaches over to stroke the doctor’s hair, just like last night. Erica moves closer, trying to press her body against Kristina’s.

“Can I kiss you?” she whispers.

Kristina pats her hand, gently moving her away.

“No, I’m your doctor. Would that be appropriate?” she asks.

Erica pouts and sulks back to her bed.

“No,” she mutters in agreement.

Kristina nods with a sigh.

“Activities will start soon. That’s always fun, right?” she asks.

Erica lights up again, a real smile on her face this time.

“Yeah. I met Boyd earlier. He’s nice,” she says.

“Yes, he is,” Kristina says.

“I’ll have him come get you later,” she adds.

Erica smiles even wider then and Kristina gives her a little wave before she leaves. The next patient, Isaac, is sitting on his bed, simply waiting for his medication. He greets her with a quiet hello, takes the pills and then resumes his position on the bed. He plays with the threads on the sheets and only answers her questions with either nods or shakes of his head. She hopes to draw him out more during their session later.

She’s startled when entering the next room, when Jackson crowds into her space in annoyance.

“Where are you getting your juice?” he barks at her.

She raises a brow, not understanding.

“I have water. Sorry, no juice,” she answers..

Jackson looks confused for a moment, then takes the offering. He glares at her until she leaves.

In the next room, Kate Argent is lounging in her chair, bouncing her crossed leg up and down. She looks at Kristina with mild disgust.

“What happened to Harris?” she asks.

“He quit,” Kristina answers.

She hands over the meds, which Kate takes with a roll of her eyes.

“You’re boring,” she says after.

“Well, I’m your doctor, not a clown,” she retorts.

Kate cracks a dark smile and twirls a lock of hair around her finger.

“How was Derek this morning?” Kate asks.

“He was fine. Why do you ask?”

“He’s a fine piece of ass, don’t you think? Grew up in all the right places,” she laughs.

“If you say so,” Kristina replies, not willing to comment.

“Activities start soon,” she says and then leaves.

Kate’s laughter seems to follow her into the hallway.

So far it was the normal psychosis she expected to find, but she worries slightly when finding the next patient rocking back and forth on her bed.

“Lydia? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to. I don’t want to,” she mutters.

Kristina sits on the bed and carefully rubs a soothing hand along her shoulder.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” she says.

The girl looks up at her then, the rocking coming to a stop and a watery smile forming.

“Do you want to take your medication?” she asks gently.

Lydia nods after a few moments and holds out a shaky hand to receive her pills.

“He’s in my head,” she mumbles.

“Who?” Kristina asks.

Tears form in the girl’s eyes and the doctor quickly comforts her with a soothing hand again.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to tell me. Why don’t you rest until activities start,” she says.

Lydia nods and flops down onto her pillow, arms still around herself.

The next patient isn’t responsive and only stares out his window. It takes some encouragement, but she eventually convinces Matt to take his medication. He falls back into his trance-like state afterward and she leaves, not wanting to push him further. Her next patient is up and pacing around the room.

“Hello, Peter. How are you?” she asks.

“I’m fantastic,” he says.

He walks up to her with swaggering confidence.

“I’m sure you know who I am by now,” he says.

He reaches for his pills and takes them without being prodded.

“Yes, you’re Peter Hale. The nurses have told me a lot about you.”

Peter scoffs. “By that, I’m sure you mean Scott. He thinks I’m a psychopath. Well, many people do. But I’m not, trust me,” he says and then winks at her.

“And why do you think they call you a psychopath, Mr. Hale?”

“I may have killed some people,” he admits. “But they deserved it,” he says.

He flashes her another smile.

“Alright, we’ll talk about this in your session, Peter,” she says.

“Right, of course. We’ll have a nice long talk about how I tore someone’s throat out with my teeth. Should be fun,” he laughs.

She closes the door behind her, shaking off his words.

In the room across the hall, Kristina finds Stiles staring out his window, worrying his lip between his teeth.

“Stiles?” she calls.

He glances at her briefly and then looks out the window again.

“They found a body in the woods,” he mutters, pointing frantically at the forest outside.

“A body?”

“It was cut in half,” he says.

Kristina instantly remembers the brief passage about the boy’s mother in his file. He turns to her then, tears in his eyes.

“I didn’t listen to his phone call. I didn’t,” he whimpers.

“I know, it’s okay, Stiles,” she says.

He calms suddenly, tears drying and breathing evening out.

“You’re hot,” he says.

“You should be hanging out with Lydia or Allison, not with me. Beautiful people herd together,” he says.

He starts laughing then, slightly hysterical. She waits for the laughing fit to subside before handing the pills over and watches carefully to make sure he doesn’t choke on it.

“When did you get here?” he asks.

Kristina smiles sadly, wishing not for the first time today that she had some kind of magical healing powers. These people shouldn’t have to live like this, trapped by their own minds. But she supposes psychiatry is the closest she’s going to get to helping them.

“A few minutes ago,” she answers.

She doesn’t comment on the things he said, saving it for his session.

“Activities start soon,” she says.

“Oh, sweet,” Stiles says.

Kristina laughs softly, making him smile wide. She feels accomplished, having completed morning rounds with no problems.

She hopes ‘activity time’ goes just as smooth.

#teen wolf #teen wolf fanfiction #original character #outsider pov #mental hospital au #allison argent #derek hale #jackson whittemore #matt daehler #stiles stilinski #sterek #lydia martin #peter hald #kate argent #erica reyes #isaac lahey #human au

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detectivedreameater · 4 years

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Opposites Attract||Lydia and Marley

TIMING: A few nights ago probably PARTIES: @inspirationdivine and @detectivedreameater SUMMARY: Just two women with secrets meeting up over some drinks.

The Artesian. Last time Marley was here it was to investigate the crime next door. She distinctly remembered locking eyes with Evelyn outside and the feeling that had consumed her at the time. She was still working on that. It needed more time, more trust. And perhaps a little push. But Marley wasn’t here tonight for Evelyn-- she was here for a different woman. Lydia was her name. She was pretty famous and her name even sparked conversation around the station. Not in a bad way, but in a way that she was a local town celebrity. So when Marley had arrived and told the hostess which party she was waiting for, the woman had raised her brows so high up on her forehead, Marley was sure they’d disappear into her hairline. She led Marley over to the bar and told her her party would arrive soon and then they would seat them, and until then, she could order a drink while she waited. Which she did. A gin and tonic, to start off light. She’d felt odd having to dress up to come here-- it’d been a while since she’d put on fancy clothes, but she could make an exception. The dress she’d chosen was black and hugged in all the right places and she’d adorned a nicer blazer atop it, black as well. Not a lot of her clothing had much color. She’d even broken out her special pair of frames, magically enhanced to hide the red sheen from her eyes, but clear so as to not draw suspicion. Finally, across the room, a rather mystical looking woman approached the hostess. Marley grinned in anticipation.

Lydia, on the other hand, was dressed in a deep sun-dried red dress with a V neck that dropped to her sternum. The random invitation online had been a surprising one, even with a bottle of wine in her. If she’d been entirely sober she might not even have engaged, but as it was, Lydia had agreed, and her word meant plenty even to her. Maybe this Marley would be an interesting type, or maybe she’d be a dull human that Lydia would bail on after the first hour. She slid in and the hostess pointed her to the woman in the black by the bar. “Are you Marley?” Lydia asked, with a long, appreciative look up and down that dress.. “We’re being seated in the booth back there, if you are.”

Marley nodded her head. “That would be me,” she answered, “which makes you Lydia.” She slid from her chair to greet her, holding out her hand. “Interesting choice for a first meet up,” she noted, motioning to the restaurant around them. “It gave me many expectations about you, and yet, you’ve already almost outdone them all.” Looking her up and down back with an obvious motion. Not that Marley wasn’t used to the fancier side of things, it just wasn’t something she indulged in often, and Lydia seemed like the type who frequented places like this. That was fine with her, she wasn’t picky.

“I’ve learned by now that if someone’s dissuaded by a place like this, they’ll be dissuaded by me,” Lydia replied smoothly, taking Marley’s hand with comfortable ease. There was nothing immediately magical about her - no freezing hand, no chiming bells, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anything to find. Lydia preened in kind in response to the piercing eyes framed by glasses, smiling. “We have a booth back there, I believe. Plenty of privacy.” The hostess guided them both to the booth, beautifully lit already set for two. She’d have to send a gift basket to Evelyn. This place was divine. “I certainly aim to please, and I’m excited to find out how you stack up against mine. Do you often pick up people online?”

“You know, that’s a good move,” Marley commented, following Lydia back to the table she’d had reserved for them. Well lit, secluded, already set-- she was prepared. “I think I might steal it.” Smiling sweetly, a rather foreign concept to her usual smirk, she sat down across from Lydia, eyes following her every movement, downloading the data of her body language. She was a woman of high confidence, but Marley liked a challenge. “Well, I would hate to disappoint. I aim to never be disappointing, after all.” A bigger grin, head tilting slightly, letting her curls fall over one shoulder. “More and more, lately. Seems to be the way of the future, now, doesn’t it?”

“You’re welcome to it,” Lydia replied with a smile, picking up the drinks menu to find out if Evelyn had added anything to the offerins while the place had been closed. She smiled at Marley’s reply, that delicious voice and the confidence behind it. “Mhm, I’d tried to avoid it for the longest time, I grew up… used to other things, and it’s always seemed quite crass. That said, you can’t knock the convenience of online. That said, in a town like this, it’s easier to find the kind of date I’m looking for in some of the local bars.”

“Local bars, huh?” Marley said, raising a brow slightly as she picked up the drink menu. She’d never actually been to the Artesian, even though it’d been open a couple of years now. Leaning her chin in her palm, she scanned the menu before looking up at Lydia again. “Convenience is really the only draw to it. While I don’t mind cruising the local bars, sometimes it’s just easier to send a text about it. Also a lot easier to find the right type online, unless you go to those very special bars around here. Like, you know,” wondered if Lydia was trying to parse out what she was, too, “some of those ones down on Amity.

Once done with the drinks menu, Lydia watched Marley perusing it through half lidded eyes. The corner of her lips turned up as Marley began to answer. Oh, this was good. Unless she was one of those self proclaimed monster fetishist, of course. Lydia certainly hoped not. “Yes, exactly like those bars on amity. They make it so much easier.” Lydia leant in her gaze searching. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” She offered, smile deep and somewhat hungry. Greedy to meet someone like her.

Marley didn’t often like showing her cards so quickly, but this wasn’t anything special or big or eventful. It just was what it was for her-- a meet up. A possible night in someone else’s bed. Besides, she got the feeling that if she tried to play with power with Lydia, it’d be more than the struggle was worth. So, slowly, she lifted her hand to her glasses, grabbing the frames to remove them from her face. “Don’t look too hard,” she said, eyes glowing red under the pale mood lighting of the Artesian, “I don’t wanna scare you off right away.” After a long moment, she blinked-- purposefully-- and put her frames back on, her eyes becoming a shaded brown once again. “Your turn.”

Lydia’s gaze flitted away the moment she saw the red, breathing deeply as her heart began to hammer in her chest, her fingers curling around the edge of the table and squeezing until her knuckles went white. Lydia swallowed and smiled, looking back at Marley once the shades were back on. “Incredible,” she murmured. Just as she’d been prepared to reveal in kind, the host staff showed up to take their order. Her eyes flicked to him in the mildest irritation before she placed her order for the house red, and she turned away from him as quickly as possible, with a small dismissive flick of her hand. Once they were alone again, Lydia smile. In the booth, half her face was concealed from half the patrons, so the glamour for that half melted away. On half her face, her veins disappeared, wrinkles and pores clearing too. Her eye shifted from a deep chocolate brown turned iridescent blue, glowing faintly under the light. Her ear grew, stretching up into a point near the head of her crown, and her hair iridescent from a deep brown to rich peacock colours. The next, it was gone. “You certainly aren’t disappointing, Marley.”

Marley’s eyes widened as she watched Lydia’s glamor drop. Fae. She’d been running into more and more of them lately, not that she was entirely complaining-- but she had to be careful with Fae. Not only were their words trickery (a thing she’d learned all on her own, mourning how they lacked any weight behind them like a Fae’s did), but they were some of the more devious individuals. The kind who often thought themselves above the law, above her. Good thing she’d left her badge buried deep in her jacket pocket instead of on her hip. She grinned, wide, awed. “Absolutely gorgeous,” she murmured, only truth in her words, despite her previous thoughts, “I’ve always held a bit of envy for you Fae,” she said, making sure to keep her voice hushed, “to be able to slip away from being so...human.” In fact, she was jealous of the fae for a lot of reasons, not that she’d ever admit it.

Lydia grinned, proud and unafraid to show it. Even the most cruel of hunter textbooks referred to her unearthly beauty - at least, that was what her father had told her as a child, and how could he be wrong - and she did love it when others could appreciate that too. Not everyone could appreciate it properly, too caught in what human beauty was supposed to look like. “Now you’re overdoing it,” she breathed, but her skin was flushed with the compliments. “I must admit, I don’t know much about your kind beyond the nightmare eating.”

“Maybe,” Marley said, chin resting in her palm again, “but it’s just the truth.” She grinned back, giving a shrug. “But I can tone down the compliments if you really want that, though,” a slight pause, as she made it apparent she was observing her, “I don’t think that’s what you want.” She sat back as the waitress arrived with their drinks and Marley took her gratefully. This was always the best part. Sipping it, letting it linger on her lips, using just the slightest scrape of teeth on her lip to get it off, waiting to see if the other person watched. “Mmm, not just nightmares, fear. We give the nightmares to feed on the fear,” she said, unsure of how much of her abilities she really wanted to give away. “But we’re more than just that. You know, if you’re interested.”

“If you’re accusing me of vanity, you would be completely right,” Lydia replied, tongue in cheek. She sat back when their drink arrived, realising only then how close she’d gotten to Marley, her intrigue leaving her hungry for more. Lydia swirled her wine, looking down at the colour before taking her own sip. Her eyes flicked back to Marley, and was so aware of how she was observed, and how she observed in turn, her gaze dropped to Marley’s lip as she did… that. “I am, but I don’t expect you to share secrets you wouldn’t usually. I understand what that’s like. We can talk about whatever you like.”

“Is it really vanity if it’s right, though?” Marley jested with a smirk. She liked that Lydia was confident in herself, and that she understood how attractive she was, both in and out of her glamor. If anything, Marley might’ve preferred without, but she understood why she hid behind it. It was the same reason Marley wouldn’t take her glasses off. Monsters, the people would say. She smiled, covering up the thought. “If you say so. I don’t mind letting you earn the secrets the normal way.” Sipped her drink again, taking her time. “So how long have you been in town? I find it hard to believe someone of your--” a pause to look her over again-- “stature could be around long without someone scooping you up.”

“Oh, it’s still vanity, it’s merely justified,” Lydia grinned. A lifetime of hunting the weakest in the room had taught her how to spot the strongest, too. The little turn in the corner of Marley’s mouth, the smile, the easy confidence of it all. She suspected Marley was in some ways much more experienced in all this than she was, but right now, Lydia didn’t mind. “I’ve been in town since, oh, October? November? Something like that. It took a while to install all my equipment, but I keep myself rather busy with work. I don’t usually make more time for this kind of… experience.” Lydia looked down at her nails, slowly tracing them over the grain of the wooden table, her silver nailpolish glinting in the light. “What about you? You seem like someone used to town.”

“Fair play,” Marley said back, listening to Lydia’s liquid pearl voice. It matched the pearl sheen of her hair, even though right now Marley only saw the dark locks, hanging perfectly around her face. Lydia hadn’t been in town long, but it seemed as if she was already ready to pick up and run it, what with all that confidence, and the way she spoke. By how she had initiated the conversation towards revealing their cards about the supernatural. Marley appreciated that, sometimes it was exhausting doing all the work. “So not long. Must be why,” she grinned, eyes dropping to watch her fingers, and silver gilded nails, trace along the table, following the wood’s grain. “I’ve been here for almost six years now. Guess that makes it home. I’ve gotten pretty comfortable here, but it’s certainly been throwing me for a loop lately. Not that I don’t mind a challenge.”

“Must be,” Lydia replied, smiling as Marley turned her gaze to Lydia’s hands, and Lydia changed the pattern of her fingers, instead circling a whorl, just so. Only for a moment, before she picked up her wine glass, listening to Marley’s answer, raising an eyebrow. “All the more surprising that someone hasn’t scooped you up. Although, I suppose that perhaps they’ve tried. What kind of way has it been throwing you for a loop? There have been so many strange happenings rather consistently much of the time I’ve been here.”

Oh, so Lydia could play this game, too. Marley watched her finger circle before lifting her eyes back up to meet Lydia’s, wishing she could see their iridescent sheen again. Wishing she had a way to turn off her eyes, without shoving a contact into them, or wearing silly glasses at night. “I suppose a few have tried,” she shrugged, “was just never my thing. To be scooped.” She sat up a little straighter for a moment, unsure of her next moves. It didn’t usually matter to others what her profession was, but she knew Fae were the most wary of others, especially law enforcement. “I suppose it’s because of all the strange occurrences. Been keeping me busy chasing after mime clones, fish rain, and strange coins. It almost feels like the precursor to something bigger, and I’m not sure I want to take a guess at what that might bring.”

There was that uncomfortable shift, just briefly, a secret withheld. That was understandable, Lydia had secrets of her own that she wouldn’t share on the first date either. Her eyes glazed right over it, finishing her glass. “Is it more often than usual, then?” Lydia asked, and the thought sent shivers down her spine. She had assumed that was just the cost of living in a place like this. This was Wicked’s Rest, after all, and all manner of creatures and people wanted to spew their nonsense here. “Something bigger? I certainly hope not. The murderous mime clones were quite enough for me to deal with, and I’m sure you felt the same.” She tapped Marley’s glass. “Can I get you another?”

Murder probably wasn’t a good topic of conversation for a first “date”, but Marley hadn’t always been the most socially aware. She shrugged. “They were a nuisance, but they’re gone now, so it’s no sweat off my back.” Lydia tapped her glass and Marley was grateful for the subject change, despite her being the one who brought it up. Sometimes her mouth got her into more trouble than she cared for, though mostly, it was good at getting her out of it. She smiled again. “Yes, that would be lovely,” she said, picking up the glass and finishing off what little was left in it. “As long as you get yourself one, too.”

“A nuisance is a generous term,” Lydia replied, rubbing the side of her neck idly. The skin was healed and clear now, but the ghost of it lingered. She was also happy to move forward with such things. “Of course, I can keep up, at least for a little while.” Lydia replied, waving over the host only to gesture that they’d like a repeat. He nodded with a smile that Lydia ignored as she turned back to Marley. “So, if you aren’t keen to be scooped, pray tell, what were you looking for this evening?” She asked, her eyes glittering. She was far too old to play too coy here.

Marley chuckled at that. She liked Lydia’s commanding presence, the way the waiter almost seemed to preen for her attention with that smile, and the way she completely ignored him. It made Marley feel special, like all of Lydia’s attention was on her. Something she craved with interaction. “Well,” she said, leaning forward again, putting her chin in her palms as if mulling over the question, “mostly I’m just here for a good time and to see a beautiful woman. If that just means drinks and a conversation, so be it. But I’m never opposed to...more happening.”

Lydia shifted in mirror as Marley did, leaning forward, and twisting a lock of hair between her fingertips. Even now, part of her itched to reach across, and snatch those glasses from Marley’s face. Even if it turned her heart to stone, she wanted to see her as she really was. Lydia knew enough to quash those instincts, to remember that fear came too easily to her to be actively chasing it. Her hand slid under the table to Marley’s knee, unabashed. If she had been any other kind of fae, her pupils might have widened. “Funnily enough, I was here for the same. You wouldn’t find me opposed either, my dear. Not at all.”

Marley’s skin tingled where Lydia’s hand rested. Her forwardness was not lost on Marley at all, simply adding to the charm and revelry Marley had for her. These kinds of things were what Marley was used to, and though most interactions ended with less matching of energies and more of a simple “This will do”, it was the moments like these that Marley really loved. Even if they were a dime a dozen, it was worth all the other mundane personalities to find the one that wasn’t. She’d found a few of them here, and she was definitely adding Lydia to the list. “Then what do you say we finish up these next drinks and then head out? Your place or mine?”

“Yours, for tonight,” Lydia looked searchingly in Marley’s eyes, through those tinted spectacles, and wondered what she was hoping to find, exactly. “Although, perhaps, before we go anywhere, I should warn you that my lips are as off limits to you as your eyes are to me. I hope that isn’t a deal breaker.” If it was, they could keep talking, or redirect the electrifying tension in the air elsewhere.

Whatever type of fae Lydia was was a little out of Marley’s wheelhouse of knowledge, but that didn’t discourage her. “Mine it is. Good thing I live close by.” The waitress came back with their next round of drinks and Marley took hers gratefully, taking a nice, hearty sip. At Lydia’s next statement, she quirked a brow. Most people didn’t understand that the fear gaze a mara possessed needed to be activated and wasn’t instantaneous-- and that it worked during the day-- but Marley was okay with that. It could be her secret. Instead, she grinned around the edges of her glass, before setting it down. “I can work with that.”

#chatzy #chatzy: lydia #lydia #wickedswriting #opposites attract #//just a whole bunch of flirting #and maybe a new friendship ???

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steoxthiles · 5 years

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@theoraeken asked me to write post based on this AU I made

So here is a Steo spy AU 🖋

“What a surprise to see you here.”

Stiles barely holds back his eyeroll, not bothering to turn from the open bar in front of him. He takes a sip of his champain as Theo takes his place standing next to him. He orders a drink and then turns to Stiles with a cocky smirk.

“Really?” Stiles asks, straigtening his tie, keeping his voice cool and calm, knowing he can’t draw attention to himself. “Because I’m not at all surprised to see you.”

The bartender gives Theo his drink and Stiles finally glances over at him as he sips it. He’s in a tight fitted, black suit and tie. Stiles hates how fucking good it makes him look, especially since his intentions tonight are anything but good.

“What?” Theo asks in an amused tone, placing his wine down, “Not happy to see me?”

Stiles narrows his eyes before he thinks better of it and looks away, this time towards the party going on behind them. Full of foreign, well dressed rich people, not a care in the world, classical music playing throughout the luxiurious ballroom. Stiles focuses his eyes on his target, one Mr. F as his superiors informed him.

“Is anybody ever happy to see you?” He asks, despite knowing very well that he doesn’t need distractions right now, and Theo is certainly a... distraction.

Theo’s grin only grows. “I thought you might be.” He shrugs, taking another casual sip of his drink. “Seeing as we’re most definitely here for the same reason.”

Stiles turns back to look at him and his stupid, perfectly styled hair. “I don’t think so. I’m here to stop a weapons deal, but I’m sure you’re here to steal said weapons.” He knows very well about Theo’s line of work and who exactly he works for. An organization that’s the exact opposite of what Stiles’ stands for. And he’s run into him just a few too many times on missions to see him in action.

There’s not even a hint of denial in Theo’s face as he shrugs again, still casual as ever. “Potato patoto. It’s still killing two birds with one stone.”

Stiles glances back at the target, at him shaking hands with another well dressed man. Stiles knows what he should do. He should shoot Theo with a tranq dart that Lydia had cooked up for the mission, leave him in a coat closet, and get on with the mission.

However...

The deal turned out to be in some tunnels under the party; typical, and frankly, not very creative. The two men had quite a few guards with them as they attempted to exchange a metal briefcase filled with undoubtedly something sinister. It wasn’t too hard to take them all out as Stiles stands among the carnage. He presses a hidden button on his watch and speaks into it, “This is agent S, the targets have been taken out, the deal has been terminated.”

“Good work, agent,” his director’s voice comes from the device, sounding only slightly distorted, “Secure the weapons and report to the jet at sunrise.”

“Yeah, agent,“ a mocking voice says from behind him as Stiles shuts his watch off, “Good work. Well, besides the part where you almost got yourself killed.”

As much as Stiles hates to admit it, he did have some help.

Stiles turns around to glare at Theo, just in time to see him straigtening his suit jacket and taking out a hankerchief to wipe blood splatters off his face.

“Oh I’m sorry, did you mean the part where I saved your sorry ass from getting shot? Or the part where you were more focused on a goddamn briefcase then staying alive?”

Theo shoots him a snark-filled smirk. “Devil’s in the details, babe.” He starts walking towards said case, now laying carelessly on the concrete, “You have your mission, I have mine.”

Just as he goes to pick up the case Stiles is stepping towards him, asking, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Theo picks the case up anyways, challenge in his eyes, “My job. I came here for one thing,” he looks over Stiles like prey, “But, it is always a treat to see you too.” He takes a meaningful step forward, “It’s been too long. Do you remember Milan?”

If Stiles wasn’t trained to hide his emotions he’d probably be blushing at that comment. Still, he takes another step towards him and says, “You know I’m not letting you leave here with that case, right?”

Theo laughs breathily. “Yeah? Come and get me.”

The sheets underneath them are almost as high quality as the champain sitting on ice a few feet away. Stiles pants slightly, glancing over at Theo in bed next to him. Their overly expensive suits are strewn across the hotel floor, thrown carelessly in their rush.

Once again Stiles hates to admit what just happened. He never will; admit this, that is. No one needs to know about what happens when he runs into Theo, no one but the two of them. Although, sometimes he wishes Theo would forget and not be so smug everytime their paths cross.

“Fuck.” Theo says in a deep voice, cigarette between his fingers. He offers it out to Stiles and he obliges, taking a puff before returning it.

Fuck is right. Despite how he will never speak about these times, they certainly are spectacular. Even though they’re with Theo of all people.

Stiles sits up ain bed nd glances at the large bedroom window of Theo’s hotel room, at the illuminated streets of Paris below them. Theo runs his hand through his hair, putting out his cigarette in the ashtrey on the nightstand. He turns to Stiles, resting his head in his hand. “We need to do this more often.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “We do this more than often enough,” he starts to pull on his forgotten clothes, “Do you have any idea what would happen if I were caught in bed with the literal enemy?”

Theo only smirks. “We make a good team,” he says, sitting up and leaning in closer, “And I think you’d make a fantastic recruit to my side.”

Stiles narrows his eyes as he begins to button his shirt. “Pretty sure that’s called treason.”

Theo shrugs, glancing down at Stiles’ lips. “Never bothered me.”

He finally leans all the way in and pulls Stiles into a deep kiss. Stiles complies, deepening the intense kiss as he climbs to straddle Theo’s waist. One of Theo’s hands tightens on his now clothed hip and Stiles takes the other one, pinning it on the matress near the headboard.

The kiss goes on for a while before Stiles finally pulls away, but only enough so that they’re faces are still almost touching. “I have a plane to catch.” He says before pulling away completely.

Theo groans as Stiles stands, grabbing his tie from the floor. “Going so soon-“ he begins as he sits up, only cut off by the sound of metal clattering as he pulls the cuff Stiles just secured around his wrist and the headboard.

He looks confused for only a moment as he pulls uselessly at the restraint, before he looks back at Stiles and asks, “What the hell?”

Stiles offers a shrug of his own, walking over to the dresser and grabbing the metal briefcase sitting on it. “Sorry, Theo. You know how to it goes, two birds with one stone.”

Theo’s confused anger quickly turns into amused annoyance. “You little-“

“It’s my job.” He throws the words said earlier back at him, not able to hide his smirk. “Till we meet again.”

As he starts walking out of the hotel room he can hear laughter ringing out behind him.

#steo #Theo raeken #stiles stilinski #teen wolf #au #my fic #if you like any of my aesthetics and want fics for them lmk!#so #send me asks!#steo prompts

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c-is-for-circinate · 7 years

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I used to be a writer!!!

No, really. And I found this in my drafts this morning from like three years ago and have no idea why I never hit post, so here.

Have some Teen Wolf and X-men xover fic. Various other parts in this perpetually unfinished ‘verse here. Enjoy Allison Argent being a badass on this lovely Sunday morning with me.

Every student at Xavier's takes close-quarters combat with Logan. It's basic self defense. For a lot of them, more than anything it's about control--if you know how to use your body in certain ways, you also figure out how not to, and for mutants going out into the world, knowing how not to be violent is an enormously necessary skill.

Allison gets through her first couple of days at Xavier's okay, because she's used to new schools and trying to make friends, and she's even used to trying to avoid telling her new classmates exactly who her parents are and why she's there. Her third day is a Friday, and Lydia grabs her right after lunch.

"We've got Logan at 2:30," Lydia says. "He's not scary. He's Wolverine, but he's not going to hurt you. Are you going to be okay?"

Allison thinks that most of the new students who show up here afraid of the famous/infamous Wolverine don't have quite as much reason to be as her, so she nods.

...

So right, Logan's strategy with new kids, whether they're eleven or seventeen, is pretty much the same. He has most of the whole sophomore class in the Danger Room (Jackson's got a different class because it's just not useful to train people whose joints and muscles move that differently in the same way as everyone else, but most of the other sophomores are the same level of basically-decent), and he pairs them up and sets them to basic, no-powers sparring, before he turns to eye Allison up and down.

"So you're the new girl," Logan says, and doesn't say her name. None of the teachers have said Allison's last name in front of any of the other kids yet. Small kindnesses.

Allison takes a deep breath and nods. "Yes sir."

"Alright, new girl," Logan says. "Hit me."

Allison figures, sure--she'll fake a little bit of incompetence in front of the others, and nobody has to know. The last thing she needs right now is more training to be dangerous. So she swings deliberately wide with a soft punch that lands on Logan's wide-open chest, easy, and he raises his eyebrows.

"Do it again," Logan challenges, so fine. Allison swings again.

He blocks, slow and not forceful at all, easy to get around, and Allison lets him sweep her fist to the side, but then Logan says, "Come on. Actually hit me," and, well, it's easy. So Allison tries again, counters the block, slow and not forceful to match, and then his block for the follow-up punch is just a little bit harder.

--here is the thing that a lot of people don't realize: Logan is actually a pretty decent, extremely patient teacher, under the right circumstances. He doesn't have a lot of tolerance for student shenanigans, but right, he's something like a hundred and twenty years old. He's got time. And there's this thing that really really good martial artists and martial arts teachers can do, have to be able to do, where they spar at a level just barely a notch above whatever skill level their student's at. Logan's good at that one.

So Allison isn't trying very hard, but slowly, gradually, each time she lands a hit or sidesteps well, Logan steps it up just a tiny bit more. His blocks slowly turn into strikes turn into combos, and they're moving, around the mat they've set up on, him advancing and Allison dodging and everything getting just a tiny bit quicker, now, just a little harder, that punch would've left a bruise if Allison had let it connect but Logan knew damn well she wouldn't and Allison's reflexes are too well-trained to let her down now.

Allison's good. Logan figured she would be before they even stepped in here. And she's going to show him what she's made of whether she likes it or not. He already knows a lot more about her than just her fighting skills, just watching how she responds every time he ramps it up a notch--and he promised Charles a full report.

Little by little, until the whole match is quickfire, block-strike-strike, sidestep pivot elbow dodge, and Allison does not know how she ended up in this situation but she realizes, at some point, she's fighting Wolverine. She's fighting Wolverine, and he's stronger than anyone, and nothing she does to him can cause any real damage, and he's fast, and he's better at this than she is. She's fighting Wolverine and she hadn't meant to be fighting at all, but now she is, starting to sweat and breathing hard and move, move, move, Allison is fighting Wolverine and just the fact that she's actually fighting means that she lost control of this match before it even began.

Here is something to consider: Allison has had a lot of training spars in her life, and most of them against people who are very, very well-trained and probably better than her.

Here is something else to consider: Allison woke up barefoot in her pyjamas on the cold concrete floor of a warehouse and thought it was probably training. Just for training and deadly, terrifyingly serious have never been mutually exclusive in Allison's life.

Allison cannot win this fight. She can't. She's getting up to the edge of how quick and how clever she can be, and every single time she thinks she's getting things back under control, Logan sidesteps or throws in another blow she didn't expect and no, she's not, Allison has no control over this fight at all. And Logan has every single reason in the world to hate Allison. Every one.

There are rules for fights you know you can't win. Rule number one is don't get sloppy, just because you're scared that is no reason to let everything go, that is the number one reason in the world to make sure you don't start leaving openings and making it all the easier for them.

Rule number two is, get the hell out. If you can't win a fight, you get out, you get out however you have to, Allison once bit Aunt Kate's arm and yanked her hair and then ran to lock herself in the bathroom and Allison got an extra slice of pie for that, later that night, but in a real fight you don't get pie you just get to live. Logan's taller than her and barely has any hair but Allison needs to get out of this. He keeps fighting just that little bit harder and so far she's kept up but what happens when she can't--

He grabs her by the shoulder, his hand big and heavy and strong, and Allison goes for his kidneys, all the force she has, stabs and meets resistance and keeps going until her hand hits Logan's shirt. She touches something wet, sticky, warm. Logan grunts. The hand on her shoulder instantly lets go.

Allison...Allison wasn't armed, she...oh god--

"Do not," Logan grunts out, and suddenly there's a hand wrapping around Allison's on the hilt of her newly-conjured knife, an instant before she'd have dropped it and backed away, "let go of that thing."

Oh god. Oh god, Allison stabbed a teacher. She stabbed Wolverine. And if she'd let go, if it had flared up like all her other knives--

"Ohmygod," Allison says. She doesn't pull back because she can't, because he's got her still holding the knife there in his iron grip. "We have to get help."

"Nope," Logan says. He pulls her hand away slowly, drawing the blade out of his side, and pulls it up between them so they can both look at it. There's no blood at all on the shimmering blade. "Now what kind of knife is this?"

"It's a Chinese ring dagger," Allison says. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry--"

"Your daddy teach you to fight with one of these?" he asks. "A real one, I mean?"

"Sometimes," Allison admits. She was getting good, before...

"What's this one do?" Logan asks. "Heat, light?"

"I don't know," says Allison.

"You made it," Logan says, and she did, so Allison focuses, tries to remember.

The only thing she can think of, the moment she made the dagger, is movement. "Kinetic energy," she says.

"Well then, it's a pretty good thing you didn't let go," Logan says. "Wouldn't love spending the next week trying to heal after you exploded my kidneys."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"

"Enough," Logan says. "If I let go, you going to freak out and drop it?"

"No," Allison promises. "I won't."

"Good," Logan says, and he does let go. There's blood soaking through his shirt, spreading all across his left side, and his back is hunched, but he's still on his feet. If Allison had done that with anyone else--sparring with her dad--

Anyone else. Oh god. Allison looks back over her shoulder. Every single member of the sophomore class besides Jackson is staring at them, oh god, Lydia is never going to let Allison within twenty feet of her again. And Scott...

"Hey!" Logan barks. "Did I say quit practicing?"

Her classmates all duck away, almost instantly, like they all know better than to risk Logan's wrath, but they all saw that. They all saw, and they're all still darting glances back over their shoulders even as Allison turns back to look at her teacher.

"Your dad teach you the rest of that?" Logan asks. "Your mom? That aunt?"

There's just enough sneer in his tone. Just enough. Allison stabbed him, she did, but that's her family. They taught her control. They taught her to straighten her spine and her shoulders, and lift her chin, and not cry.

Everybody in the room can hear everything she says. Okay. Fine. Okay.

"Yes," Allison says, as clearly and unashamed as she can. "Mostly my dad."

"Probably started you out before you could even walk, am I right?"

"Yes," Allison says.

"When'd he start teaching you for real?" Logan asks.

"A year and a half ago," Allison says, and Logan nods.

"Figures," he says. "Not even Argent's teaching his kid how to go for the vitals with a Chinese ring dagger at ten. That your favorite weapon?"

"No," Allison admits. "I like the recurve bow."

"A bow," Logan says. "Right. We don't use a whole lot of bows in close-quarters combat class."

"I know," says Allison. Why should it matter? He's not going to train her, not after that.

"How long's that thing going to stick around?" Logan asks, nodding at the dagger.

"I don't know," Allison admits.

"Alright," Logan says, and then he raises his voice, to include all the other students who've been listening anyway. "Okay, listen up!" he shouts. "Here's what's going to happen. Argent here's going to get rid of that dagger, then she's excused from the rest of sparring today. You, hit the showers, get that blood off, then get to the armory through those doors. I want you to find a bow you like, then I want you over by that wall putting arrows into targets for the rest of class. Everybody else in here who couldn't land a knife on me if I had my hands tied up and a blindfold on has plenty of other work to do, and you're going to get back to it as soon as she throws that knife and we all duck and cover."

"It's not balanced for throwing," Allison says quietly.

"Just don't blow us up," Logan says, and for all she stabbed him a few minutes ago this is the first time he's really sounded tired or annoyed, so Allison hauls back and throws the dagger as far away as she can.

The shockwave isn't as bad as she feared. It hits her like a blast of wind hard enough to knock her back on her feet but it doesn't appear to dent the floor at all.

"Okay!" Logan says. He's not even looking at her. He pulls his bloodsoaked shirt off over his head and uses it to swipe at the blood smearing his side. Unbroken skin. He tosses the balled-up shirt towards the side of the room as he stalks towards the other students. "Now let's see what you've got."

Allison doesn't run for the locker room, and she's not shaking, and she's not going to cry. She just walks as quickly as complete composure says she can.

"She's my roommate, I'm not going to--" That's Lydia's voice behind her, and Allison doesn't dare turn around.

"Martin, get back to work," Logan says. "I want to see your grapple escapes again. McCall, on the mat."

...

There are two very different scenes that matter after that, after Allison spends an hour and a half with a borrowed bow and a quiver full of arrows, back to the rest of the class and trying to shut every sound but the twanging of the bowstring out of her ears.

The first is the Friday afternoon all-staff meeting, 5:00 PM, Charles at the head of the table and Logan coming in last in a clean shirt, a few flecks of blood still on his pants.

"So that's the new Argent girl," Emma says.

"Are you okay?" asks Jean.

"Come on, it was a scratch," Logan says. "Girl was scared and dangerous."

" 'Dangerous' is the operative word," Summers cuts in. "We can't afford to have a control issue with someone with the kind of background, and the kind of sheer power, as this one."

"Logan, how would you characterize Allison's control?" Charles asks, and Logan snorts.

"Control's the last problem that girl's got," he scoffs.

"She did stab you by accident in the middle of a training match," Emma points out.

"Mmm-hmm. Damn good aim, too," Logan says. "Not everybody can find the kidneys without even looking."

"Is he even going to be serious about this?" Summers demands, and Logan rolls his eyes.

"Come on, you think I don't know good training when I see it?" Logan asks. "Every single time she tried to punch me, she never overextended, her footwork never got sloppy. Her blocks were like something out of a textbook. You should see her with a bow. Girl's got plenty of control. She just doesn't know how to use her powers yet."

"Has anybody else seen an issue with Allison so far?" Charles asks. The other teachers glance around the wide wooden table at each other.

"She was very polite," Ororo says.

"She's behind in chemistry, but I think she may be ahead of our basic curriculum in biology," says Hank. "She came to me after class on her own and asked about makeup work."

"And she wasn't terrified of the fur?" Emma asks. "Well, I suppose that is something, out of that family."

"She called me ma'am," says Kitty, who's not even six full years Allison's senior and only in her second year of teaching ever.

"Look," says Logan. "What I'm saying is, she doesn't mess around with her weapons. Teach her to use her powers like a weapon, and she'll stop using 'em by accident."

"I'm sorry, you want to make her more dangerous?" Summers asks. "The girl who was raised by people who'd like to see this entire school burned to the ground and everybody in it in jail."

"Not anymore, they don't," Jean points out. "But I don't know how I feel about putting her through more training. She's a person, not a weapon."

"You can be both," Logan says.

"She's already capable of hurting or killing someone," Ororo cuts in, before it can go any farther. "On purpose. Logan just proved that. Nothing we do will take that training away. The best thing we can do as teachers is to make sure it never happens by accident."

"She's nowhere near the first dangerous student to pass through our doors," Charles agrees. "If we want to teach her not to use her powers offensively, it's our job to give her a reason."

...

The other thing that happen is that Allison shoots arrows into a target, one by one, with perfect form, until Logan dismisses the class. She lingers in the armory putting them away until all the sounds and scuffles of gym shoes on linoleum have vanished. It's a fascinating place, even more packed than her parents' weapons collection, full of things Allison's never tried to use and a few things she doesn't even know the names of. Throwing stars. If she could make her constructs into shapes like throwing stars, maybe they'd be more aerodynamic and less impossible to try to throw safely away--

It's going to be hard enough to convince everybody around here that she's not secretly an assassin and a mole. Allison sets the last practice arrow down, turns on her heel, and walks briskly out of there, letting the door click shut behind her. It's a computerized lock, she's pretty sure, which means Logan opened it for her. Why would he do that, and let her in there alone, after he saw what she could do with a knife that isn't even real?

She goes back to her dorm room. Maybe the Professor will let her move to a single, since it was Lydia's room first. The teachers all like Lydia. If she asks, maybe the professors will let her have her room back. In the mean time, Allison's got nowhere else to go.

There are three people already in her dorm room by the time Allison gets there. Lydia's sitting on the edge of her bed, Scott is leaning against the wall, and Stiles is pacing. Allison stops in the doorway.

"It's okay," she says quickly, before they can start. "Just let me get a few things, I'll find somewhere else to--"

"Allison!" Scott starts towards her, two quick steps, and then stops when she shrinks back. "Are you okay?"

"What?" That's...not the right question.

"I'm sorry," Lydia says. "Logan is awful. I didn't know he'd do that to you."

"I stabbed him," Allison says. Why is she having to remind them?

"And it's always incredibly traumatic the first time you make Logan bleed," says Lydia. "I can't believe he sent you to shoot arrows."

"It was really cool though," Stiles cuts in. "You so did not tell us you could do that."

"It's okay," Scott says, looking directly at her, doing the thing she's already realized he can do where he ignores everybody else in the room and talks right to her. "Losing control of your powers can be really terrifying, but it's okay. Logan is fine. Nobody's mad. Not even he's mad. I promise."

"So you seriously learned to do all that, that's not just some sweet martial arts expert secondary mutation, right?" Stiles asked. "You said your dad taught you."

Allison closes her eyes, they don't understand, she has to tell them and make them get it. She has to be the one. She steps forward into the room, away from the hallway, although with all the superpowers around this place who knows what kind of super-hearing might carry. "My dad is Christopher Argent," she says, blinks her eyes open to see if recognition is dawning for any of them at all. "Gerard is my grandfather."

Scott doesn't seem to be quite clicking, like he knows the name but doesn't quite remember how. Stiles just looks grim.

"From NEMETON," Lydia clarifies. "And Argent Security Consultants."

"Right," Allison says. That's her family. That's her.

"Shit," says Stiles with feeling. "Well that's just completely awful."

"Allison, I'm so sorry," Scott says. "Are you okay?"

"What?" Allison says again. She feels like the conversation they're supposed to be having and the conversation Stiles, Scott, and Lydia keep having are somewhere not at all in the same place, and she doesn't know how to get it back on track.

"No wonder Professor X took Summers and Dr. Grey to get you," Stiles muses.

"When you found out you were a mutant," Scott says. "Did they try to do anything? Did you get out without them finding out?"

"What? No, they called," Allison says. "My parents sent me here."

"Well at least they've got some basic human decency in there somewhere," says Lydia.

"Seriously?" Stiles asks. "So when it's his own granddaughter, that freaking hypocrite Gerard--"

"Gerard doesn't know," Allison interrupts quickly. She doesn't know what he'll say or do to her parents, when he finds out.

"It's okay," says Scott. "It's none of our business. You don't have to tell us anything."

"But..." Allison looks between them, one to the next, and has no idea how this all went so far off the rails. They don't hate her. They're not here to kick her out of her room. But they don't get it, they can't possibly.

"Oh look, it's dinner time," Lydia says. "The perfect excuse to be done with this conversation that Allison obviously wants no part in." She stands up, smooths down her skirt, and offers Allison her arm. Somehow, in the time Allison spent lingering in the armory, Lydia had time for a post-workout shower, but she skipped the blow dryer; her hair's still wet. Allison's only known Lydia for three days, but she can't imagine Lydia as the kind of girl to go to dinner with her hair still wet. She can't have skipped her regular routine for Allison.

Allison takes her arm automatically, though, because that's what you do, even now. Even as an Argent.

"Friday is movie night," Scott says. "We get a lot of new releases because a lot of the kids here can't really go to the theater yet."

"Oh," Allison says.

"It's usually also fish and chips night in the dining hall," says Lydia. "At least it's not fish sticks."

"The food hasn't been so bad," Allison tries, and lets Lydia guide her out into the hallway. If they're just going to keep acting like everything is normal...

"Just wait until it's your rotation on KP duty," Stiles groans. "You'll never want to eat a french fry again."

"You eat your weight in french fries," Scott points out.

"Well, somebody has to validate all that work that got done to make them," Stiles counters, and that's just it? Back to friendly banter?

"Hey!" someone calls from the other end of the hallway. "Allison!" She stops walking, turns her head. Danny, with Jackson just behind him. Jackson hadn't even been there, but obviously he knows everything now too.

"Yes?" she asks. Lydia squeezes her arm, just a little.

"Nice job getting one over on Logan," Danny says. "Maybe someday somebody will actually beat him."

"Excuse me, Danny, she totally did beat him," Stiles butts in like he's defending her. It almost startles a laugh out of Allison. How is this happening? "The exploding knife stuck in his gut absolutely means Allison won."

"It was supposed to be no powers, though," Allison points out. "He could have cut me in half, if we were using powers."

"So you'll beat him honestly next time," Lydia says. "Or after he's had a year to train you. If you even want to bother, I'm pretty sure you qualify to test out of close-quarters combat already."

"Yeah but hey, not before you show us how you did that pivot thing where you got behind him and hit the back of his knees," says Stiles. "That was awesome."

Scott doesn't say anything over Stiles' chatter--Allison's beginning to learn that's a pattern--but he catches her eyes and smiles. Allison's strained, incredulous smile relaxes into something almost genuine.

They're all acting like it's friendship already. Like Allison is theirs, not her family's. Allison doesn't even know how to keep a friend for longer than six months, but if she thinks about that, how she's lost her always-constant family completely and all she has left is the possibility of friends...Allison doesn't need to cry again today. She did enough of that in the shower after the sparring match, before she dried off and grabbed a bow and made it stop.

She's never had a friend before who was good for more than homework sessions and talking about hair. Allison needs something. If Lydia and Scott and Stiles are setting themselves up as her allies already, then she needs to keep them. She needs to do whatever it takes.

#c writes stuff #teenage mutant superhero werewolves

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