#lorcanthropy

She was lost. And quite a bit too frightened to admit that, bloodstained hands rubbing absently at tired eyes. She wasn’t supposed to be out here. She was supposed to be behind closed doors, behind wards and sigils where it was safe. Except it wasn’t safe anywhere anymore, not really.

Her father was gone, John was who knows where, she’d TRIED to find them -- she was usually good at finding things, little or not she could read a MAP. Not so well tonight though. Everything had gone wrong tonight. She wasn’t even sure what had happened after she’d left the apartment to find her father. But she was in an alley now, and it was freezing and her hands were starting to ache.

There’d been an angel, she was sure about that, at least. Some kind of fight. Feathers and shadows, and things she never wanted to look directly at. But for all the light the angel had show UP with, he’d still left her in the dark once everything was said and done. Good. Great. Thanks for the help. 

“your whiskey is usually shit.”

but it doesn’t stop him from stealing the glass out of those fingers and finishing it with one smooth swallow. the glass is set aside, upended on the table. the wolf scoffs and leans against the edge of the desk, reaching for cigarettes in his jacket instead.

Mal’s laughter helps put Carisi at ease; he was lucky to know the werewolf, luckier still that he kept blood on hand in case of a poor soul like himself ended up at the gym. It’s a comfort to know that there are others --- others like him as well as Mal. Cryptids. The exact sort of thing most good Catholics snubbed their noses at but that paranoia was always there. He’s new to the whole thing, but at least he’s not alone.

Mal could grip tighter and hold closer than any human man, but Lucida knew it was still holding back. Still treating her gently. She saw his claws, watched him rend clothes from her body without a second thought. Lucy even felt the sharp tips of them at her ribs when the moon was full and heavy in the sky and his eyes flashed with everything he tried to keep at bay in these instances.   

Some days she wished they would dig in. Deeper and harder, hard enough to find bone and flesh and blood. His fingers slipping through the opened cracks in her ribs and she’d walk about with scratches in her heart. A good reminder. Someone held her so close, so tight that they stayed, couldn’t be removed, ragged pieces of flesh, all remnants of affection that she could live with – hypothetically. 

She didn’t tell him, of course. There was something wrong with anyone who wanted something so sharp, so destructive when their physical form couldn’t handle it. She couldn’t even do the same with him, bruises from her teeth evaporated like water on hot concrete – like they were never there. She could drag rows of red down his back, elicit those same hot cries from his mouth (something almighty, how he howled) and they were gone by the end of it. Anything to keep herself in his memory.

Selfish, she thought. That she’d want something so cruel as that, but Mal liked when her hands coiled in his hair and pulled roughly. He keened when she bit down hard or when her nails dug into his flesh, when their hips ground together at a bruising pace. 

gurl u know Mal bought her three

She’s bad a lying, even playful lying. So, her attempt to school her features into something unreadable fails with the tremble of the edges of her lips that can’t seem to be made to do anything but go up.

Lucy would counter that it was closer to cryptic, but she guessed it might as well be the same thing. She frowned and stared down at her feet, rocking back and forth as she did so to try and alleviate some of the awkward feelings building in her chest. She didn’t want to burden Mal, he had enough of his own shit to deal with -- she’d seen the repercussions of it herself. 

And this was her job, he knew that -- and he rarely commented on it when she was vague, or unconvincing. She didn’t lie, not really, but she did avoid answering; she thought it’d been a sort of agreement, that they wouldn’t do anything about it.