#a-walking-cataclysm1

Tagging → Lydia Martin ( a-walking-cataclysm ) ‘Verse → We’ll Fall Apart Timeline → September, 2015 Location → Airport Near Beacon Hills Triggers → Pregnancy, Morning Sickness, Medical, Severe Angst, Rape, Murder, Blood, Nogtisune Notes →

Lydia:

Lydia leaves Beacon Hills as valedictorian and returns some time later with a Bachelors, Masters, and a PhD under her belt. The only reason she comes back is because her mom’s getting remarried to a lawyer named Kevin. She’s not fond of the man her mother insists she call her ‘soon to be stepfather’- he calls her Lyds like Jackson used to, and tries too hard to be one of those dads you see in sitcoms (cosby sweater included)- but her mom likes him and he treats her mom nicely, not to mention he’s surprisingly age-appropriate, so Lydia keeps her mouth shut and lets them build their new little family on the other side of the country.

Gravel crunches under her boots as she makes her way into the airport. It looks the same. She’s unimpressed. Furthermore, she has the pea shaped beginnings of human being pressing on her bladder and the crackers she’d eaten before the flight were starting to work their way towards a return trip. All in all, It left her in a mood that even the Hulk would consider hostile. Whoever said pregnancy was wonderful was either lying or had a seriously twisted sense of reality.

Stiles:

Time did strange things to a man. In the nine years since graduation, Stiles had “found himself.” They were big words, meant for big people, though much of the time he was small and alone, tucked up in the home where he lived with, still living with his father and drinking coffee every morning while he read the newspaper on his eReader and tried to forget that he’d grown up somewhere in the meantime but still lived in Beacon Hills with the sheriff.

Life hadn’t gotten any simpler. Beacon Hills beckoned the supernatural as it always had, and the Nemeton, it seemed, continued to grow in power. 

He kept his head down, out of other people’s business. His friends had scattered to the wind, Scott a veterinarian in town (close to his mother, but not living with his mother as Stiles lived with his father), Lydia off at Brown, or some other East Coast University (as far away from Beacon Hills as she could get, as far as Stiles could tell) and the rest of their friends had scattered off in what felt a dozen different directions to leave him to study locally, earn his degree, and return home to an empty town.

Scott didn’t talk to him any more. Maybe it was the murder, or maybe it was the law degree. Stiles liked to think that it was the latter, because then he could find the humor in the situation, but he knew otherwise. The fox had never left him: It lurked somewhere deep inside of him, always ready if he was willing (and fortunately, he wasn’t). 

Word around town was that Lydia Martin was coming home from wherever she’d gone (was it Rhode Island? He regretted that he didn’t know). He took the day off (a difficult task for an associate) and looked up the flights coming from the East Coast, narrowed hers down by time, and headed to the airport to meet her at the gate. Somebody should be there. Maybe it would be her mother (she’d gotten married again, hadn’t she?), but even after nine years, he had to see her.