I'm a 23 year old, second year law student, who is attempting to stay sane throughout it all. I’m frequently overwhelmed, often delighted and always caffeinated
After a while, it becomes a big joke.
“We have bigger problems to deal with than a neutered wolf,” Derek scowls at her. Peter hisses at the dig, but adds, “I deserved that.”
“You deserve a sword through the gut, not a sassy discipline from your nephew,” Lydia hisses at him. Derek rolls his eyes with his whole face (as he is want to do).
“Enough, Lydia,” Derek sighs. Lydia grunts in exasperation.
“I am so not the only injured party here,” she points out, approaching Derek. ”Unless you’ve really forgotten what it’s like to be a younger brother.”
When Derek throws her out of the loft, a small part of her thinks she might have crossed a line bringing up dead siblings. But it’s true, isn’t it?
“What’s on the agenda today—besides Lydia’s issue with Peter. You know, like Deucalion?” is how Scott starts a particularly horrible pack meeting. Lydia smiles sweet as pie at her alpha, then stands up and walks the fuck out of that toxic environment, because fuck anyone who belittles the bullshit that she went through.
“Lydia!” she hears voices call after her, but she doesn’t stop moving until she gets back to her house and closes her bedroom door behind her.
Peter tries to make amends a few times.
The first time, Lydia is studying with Allison in the living room of the Argent house. Peter knocks on the door like he isn’t some kind of murdering predator meant to eat your soul, like he’s some kind of human being.
“I just want to apologize,” he starts, but Lydia is frozen in time: she sees the lacrosse field beneath her feet, sees a wolf in human clothes striding across the ground. She is in the crosshairs of a wolf-shaped gun and she can’t duck.
“If I were you, I would leave,” Lydia hears Allison say from behind. Allison’s hand rests on the small of her back: strong, secure. Lydia breaths into the touch and tries to find reality again.
“Seconded,” Mr. Argent adds, and she suddenly senses the touch of a cold handgun resting against the top of her shoulder, aimed at the enemy on the doorstep. Allison and her father remain a neutral buffer against Peter Hale: they hate him for what he did to Lydia, to Laura, but their hands are stayed by the fact that if they killed Peter, their tentative truce with the Hale and McCall packs would sever immediately. Sometimes the only time Lydia feels safe is when Mr. Argent is in the room.
Needless to say, Peter tries again. This time at her own home. It’s the middle of the afternoon, and Lydia has never felt unsafe at three in the afternoon. The afternoon is a normal time, before the sun goes down and the ghouls come out to play and bite and howl. When Peter knocks, though, she is scared.
But she’s prepared this time.
“Lydia, I—fuck,” Peter hisses as Lydia shakes a handfulf of wolfsbane powder and mountain ash in his direction.
“Get the hell off my lawn,” Lydia tries in her best Clint Eastwood drawl.
Peter gets the hell off her lawn.
“Your Eastwood is terrible!” he shouts from the sidewalk.
“Fuck you and your soul patch!” Lydia shouts back.