thepainted_lady: (Capable of more than you think)
Since John had told them about Elijah, Lydia had been curious. John didn't know that much, really--just that he'd been watching them, and that he was likely old. Lydia had, in theory, known there were vampires out there older than John, but she'd never expected to meet one, and found herself wondering just how old this vampire was and what he was like and what he was in town and watching them for. It was a strange mix of trepidation and excitement that was twisting around in her stomach.

Angela seemed far calmer, for all that she was the most vulnerable. Dinner itself was hardly necessary for any of them but Angela and Amanda, but Lydia, at least, had gotten back into the habit. Food was delicious now, even if not really helpful nutritionally. Edgar had wanted to come, but Lydia had sent Amanda off with him instead, not really wanting Amanda around if their guest turned out to be dangerous. Granted, Amanda was pretty capable of defending herself--none of them liked fire much--but the last thing they needed was her getting really scared or angry and burning the house down.

They'd just have to rest on their own gifts to keep them safe if he was hostile, which, considering Sylar and Peter had a wicked number of them, she figured they were okay. She'd never much done all that well with cooking when human, so she mostly hung around the kitchen while Angela made the food, helping out when the older woman asked. Lydia did get the table set and the wine open to breathe, then came back to hover in the kitchen until the bell rang.

The sound of it echoed through the house and she jumped a little, then gave Angela a nervous glance and drifted to the hallway to hover, not really wanting to be the one to open the door to the new vampire in town.
thepainted_lady: (It's not always that simple)
1. We both had lives before. We all have them, I guess. But for me, it's just that. Before. There's a strict line of demarcation there--my life before, and my life after. Again--I guess we can all say that--before we left our old lives, before we found this home, this family. But that's not it for me, not really. Yes, there was a renewal the moment I stepped through the gates, there was a feeling of coming home, of finding what I'd been looking for. But all of that faded into the background the next morning, because the moment life truly began again for me was the first time you touched my hand.

2. You're the only thing in my life I've ever depended on, and the only person I think I'll ever fully trust. I just wish that was enough.

3. Thank you for coming back for me. I'll make sure you never regret it. However it started, whatever we had to go through, it's all made me certain of one indisputable fact: I love you.

4. I would have given you anything. I did give you everything. There's part of me that still wishes I'd never woken up, because there's a pain that I can't seem to shake that I live with every day. There are days I can't breathe for it. But I'm not that girl anymore. I see you now, with all the blinders off. I may be alive, but you killed something precious that day. Things still hurt, but I'm stronger now, and I don't care what I feel--it's over.

5. I never wanted to let you down or hurt you, but I know I keep doing it again and again. All my best efforts seem to do nothing but backfire, when all I ever wanted was for you to be safe and loved and have a chance at everything I never did. I love you. I would do anything for you. And I hope some day you can forgive me.

6. Sometimes I wonder if things could have been different, but I'm glad you're happy now.

7. You're the most confusing person I've ever met. Normally I know exactly what someone wants from me, but no matter how hard I try, even though I can read you just fine, I can't figure you out. ...It's kind of exciting.

8. I don't think there are enough words to say, "thank you." Everything you've done, you didn't have to. I can't imagine how much we've turned your life upside down and what we've put you through, but I want you to know I'm grateful--to you and for you.

9. Sometimes I don't think it's fair to you, to be trying to build something with me, when I know I'm shattered into so many pieces I still feel them cutting at me all the time. There's so much you don't know, and that scares me. But you make me feel safe, and you make me smile, and you make me feel...hope for the first time in so long I can't remember. I'm terrified of falling for you, but I think it might be too late.

10. I didn't want to like you, but I couldn't help it. I didn't think I could forgive you, but it wasn't really that hard. I never thought I'd love you, but now I can't imagine how I ever couldn't.

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thepainted_lady: ([Amanda] Listen to me)
Happy birthday, sweetheart. Seventeen is a momentous year. I just want to say how glad I am to have you in my life again.

I love you,

[on the table are gifts: silver bangle bracelets, a "forever my daughter" ring, and a very colorful pair of cowboy rain boots.]
thepainted_lady: (Bathtime kisses)
"Passion makes the world go round. Love just makes it a safer place." -- Ice T

Passion was something she knew, and knew well. It was her stock in trade, in some ways, or at least the illusion of it, the lure of it. Every inch of skin bared, every look, every smile was meant to be an enticement into paying for more, and if that more wasn't exactly what they'd thought--well. They got to touch her, in some way, and she saw into their souls and gave them some insight into their dreams.

Some of them got more than that, true enough, on nights she didn't feel like being alone, and the family tended to turn a blind eye, no one minding too much what she did on her own time. That was passion. Edgar made sure no one got too rough and that they left when she wanted them to go. That was love, and never did she let the two meet for fear of ruining the one with the shadows of the other.

If she thought perhaps one day they would in Samuel...well, time had proven her so very wrong in that, and reminded her just how very off her own judgment could be, hadn't it?

Sylar had changed that, at least partly. What started out as passion had deepened into something else, despite her best efforts to keep it as the one thing she was good at, good for. It was terrifying, and it was thrilling, and it left her shaken to the core at first, but she'd come to depend on it, somewhere along the way. He was her shelter, the one place she felt safe, the one person she could cling to through life's storms, and if anyone else thought it strange that she'd found safety and home in the arms of a former serial killer turned vampire, well...that was their problem. Maybe, really, it was the only thing she could have done.

Only now there was another, and she was shaken again, maybe even more than before. Shaken and excited and pleased and breathless and all the things she never let herself feel, those little sparks that she remembered from long ago, before life intervened and steered her on a far more destructive course. Peter loved her. He'd said it, and she'd felt it, and she couldn't deny the answering warmth that heated inside her. She didn't know how he could, how someone like him could love someone like her. They might be living the same life now, but they'd come from worlds apart, and she felt it sometimes--moreso when Angela was around, no matter how nice she was to her. She wasn't the sort of girl men like him fell in love with. But he had. He was. He did.

And the more she thought about it, the more the trickle of warmth inside her grew until she was nearly burning with it, and recognized the answering feeling behind it. Peter loved her. And, it seemed she loved him, too. Who would have guessed that could happen, considering she'd pretty much just wanted to rip his throat out most days the whole first few weeks of their acquaintance? She had to give a wry smile, now, remembering.

Passion she understood. Love mingled with it was new. It explained some of the tentativeness of the last few months, though, the desperate wanting to make sure things worked out, that feelings weren't hurt, the possessiveness--things they'd put down to just blood had perhaps been sliding through to something else. It made her smile to think of it now, even as she shivered a little through the warmth with residual fear at the idea of the new level to their triad, wondering what change, if any it would bring. Balance had been so delicately and deliberately achieved...she didn't want to throw it out again.

But the warm glow wouldn't go away, and she was humming as she went about the new morning routine of getting Amanda up and fed and delivered to Edgar to be taken to school (though she insisted she could get there alone), before drifting upstairs and snuggling down in the big bed for the day. For the first time all week, sleep actually came easy, and she was smiling a little with the memory of the night before as she drifted off. Trusting in the best outcome was easier, for once, and despite the possible minefields, and the terrifying spinning her emotions were doing, she still
thepainted_lady: ([Edgar] Trust you with my life)
[ooc: Based on RP with [ profile] heroslayer and [ profile] hadtobeahero. Edgar is [ profile] watchesover_her and mine for purposes of the fic. :-D]

"Say that one more time, love. You’re a what?"

Lydia supposed that complete disbelief was better than some of the alternatives--namely incoherent rage--but she wasn’t ruling that one out when it had sunk in. Glancing down at the tea Edgar had gotten her when she’d arrived at his apartment, she stared in the depths wishing she had some ability to read leaves and see any possible way this was going to end well.

"A vampire."

At the silence from the other side of the table, Lydia glanced back up, meeting Edgar’s gaze that questioned if she had gone mad, or were playing some sort of joke, or had wandered into the realm of a world he hadn’t dreamed existed. She willed him to believe her, though was careful not to put any compulsion behind her words when she spoke. Not yet.

“I’m serious, Edgar. I know it sounds...crazy, but.” She took a breath. “Vampires are real. One found Sylar and turned him a while back. He...couldn’t stay in New York, and he came and found me. After a while, he made me one, too.”


Lydia blinked. It was a perfect question, really, one that gave her the opening she needed to defend Sylar without even having to be seeming to, but somehow she hadn’t expected it. )
thepainted_lady: ([Sylar] Visions of me and you)
The way you move is like a full on rainstorm
And I'm a house of cards
You're the kind of reckless
That should send me runnin'
But I kinda know that I won't get far
And you stood there in front of me
Just close enough to touch
Close enough to hope you couldn't see
What I was thinking of

Drop everything now
Meet me in the pouring rain
Kiss me on the sidewalk
Take away the pain
'cause I see sparks fly whenever you smile
Get me with those green eyes, baby, as the lights go down
Give me something that'll haunt me when you're not around
'cause I see sparks fly whenever you smile

My mind forgets to remind me
You're a bad idea
You touch me once and it's really something,
You find I'm even better than you imagined I would be.
I'm on my guard for the rest of the world
But with you I know it's no good
And I could wait patiently but I really wish you would...

Drop everything now
Meet me in the pouring rain
Kiss me on the sidewalk
Take away the pain
'cause I see sparks fly whenever you smile
Get me with those green eyes, baby, as the lights go down
Give me something that'll haunt me when you're not around
'cause I see sparks fly whenever you smile

I run my fingers through your hair and watch the lights go wild.
Just keep on keeping your eyes on me, it's just wrong enough to make it feel right.
Lead me up the staircase
Won't you whisper soft and slow?
I'm captivated by you, baby, like a firework show.

Drop everything now,
Meet me in the pouring rain,
Kiss me on the sidewalk,
Take away the pain
'cause I see sparks fly whenever you smile.
Get me with those green eyes, baby, as the lights go down
Give me something that'll haunt me when you're not around
'cause I see sparks fly whenever you smile
thepainted_lady: (Hurt look)
A strangled smile fell from your face
It kills me that I hurt you this way
The worst part is that I didn't even know
Now there's a million reasons for you to go
But if you can find a reason to stay

I'll do whatever it takes
To turn this around
I know what's at stake
I know that I've let you down
And if you give me a chance
Believe that I can change
I'll keep us together whatever it takes

She said "If we're gonna make this work
You gotta let me inside even though it hurts
Don't hide the broken parts that I need to see"
She said "Like it or not it's the way it's gotta be
You gotta love yourself if you can ever love me"

I'll do whatever it takes
To turn this around
I know what's at stake
I know that I've let you down
And if you give me a chance
And give me a break
I'll keep us together, I know you deserve much better

But remember the time I told you the way that I felt
That I'd be lost without you and never find myself
Let's hold onto each other above everything else
Start over, start over

I'll do whatever it takes
To turn this around
I know what's at stake
I know I've let you down
And if you give me a chance
And believe that I can change
I'll keep us together whatever it takes
thepainted_lady: (Carnival beauty)
Something has changed within me
Something is not the same
I'm through with playing by the rules
Of someone else's game

The music was loud and the crowd was already drunk at noon, as Lydia made her way through the press of their too-hot bodies. She’d killed a girl heading this way and taken her clothes--her own far too ripped and bloody from her run through the woods--and boots (since she’d run off without any shoes) and felt like she fit in fairly well, though she was still occasioning quite a bit of comment.

Then again, women in leather miniskirts, corset tops and boots tended to do that anywhere. She felt a hand on her ass and let it pass. It was a grope, sure, but a quick sense from the touch...he wouldn’t take it farther if she complained. Not what she was looking for, then. She wanted her usual prey, but she needed a lot of them, or their kin. People the world wouldn’t miss, people she could use and still face herself in the morning.

Edgar had mentioned this place as somewhere to avoid, last time they passed through the area. She saw why when her attention was caught by the group in the corner.

Unfortunately for Edgar’s peace of mind, she had no intention of avoiding them today.

* * *

A half hour later, she was on the back of the bike of their leader, his blood singing in her veins--not enough to incapacitate him, but enough to give her compulsion an iron-clad hold. )
thepainted_lady: ([Samuel] Threatening)
[ooc: Based on RP with [ profile] heroslayer, [ profile] offering_hope and [ profile] hadtobeahero in AU/Vampire Diaries xover verse]

The cave floor was cold and hard, but she barely felt it. She’d shifted last night, mostly to stop the wracking sobs when she couldn’t take any more of them shaking her body. Exhaustion still weighed her limbs down from how far she’d run, and for the moment she had no idea where she was. Austria, perhaps. Maybe Switzerland, if she’d shifted directions. As fast as she was going, she could have made it to Italy. It wasn’t like anyone paid attention to the borders anymore, especially not for creatures like her.

She was shivering, but not from the cold. The cold she barely felt, whether from her own nature, or the fur she hid behind, letting it dull the sensation of having her heart ripped out of her.

All that hate. [Cut for long stream-of-consciousness and possible triggering material] )
thepainted_lady: (The center cannot hold)
[ooc: Sylar is [ profile] heroslayer and Peter is [ profile] hadtobeahero and both are used with love and permission. Based on RP with them and [ profile] offering_hope. John is [ profile] of_highdegree.]

Words wouldn't come. In truth, Lydia was afraid if she opened her mouth she'd start screaming again. The host of the Gasthaus had come running, pounding on the door, sure they were all being murdered in their sleep, and Sylar's assurances that she'd only had a nightmare had barely reassured the man when he'd seen how distraught she was. Only having seen them always happy together probably gave his conscience any ease to leave. If she started screaming again...?

A nightmare.

The word seemed too vague, too ephemeral for such a visceral experience. She was used to nightmares. Life had been a constant one for three years, a time when, honestly, sleep had been a semi-escape, but one from which she could be awakened at any time by searching hands wanting things that made her heat with shame for giving, sure she was damning them both to Hell, and God was going to punish her for the Devil living in her like he must. After waking life improved, sleep was less of a haven, and she got as little of it as necessary, as the monsters from her childhood returned in her dreams to torment her still. She learned some tricks, found some teas that helped, figured out if she were utterly exhausted physically, sometimes he didn't come...she lived her life to avoid the dreams as best she could.

Joseph told her she wasn't damned, and she tried to believe him. She stopped believing in God. Mostly.

Dreams of a bullet, of a kiss, of a cold place (that might have been Hell), a gasping return...they'd intermingled in the last year, and no wonder. She slept lightly, woke frequently, and mustered on as best she could. Sylar returned and she let him provide any comfort he could, even if it was to push her into oblivion, when she was too tired to dream, and that was a sweetness and no burden at all.

Last night...

No, to call it a nightmare was to call those other dreams some sort of unpleasant reveries. )
thepainted_lady: (Vamped out)
She's seen his eyes when he's hungry, though not her own. It isn't like there's usually a mirror on hand when they're hunting the streets, and she's careful to keep control when trolling the bars for a likely victim. Can't give the game away too early; can't send them running; can't frighten the lambs being led to a slaughter they think is a feast.

Flesh and sex: their want rolls off them, like it's rolled off men for as long as she can remember. They want her, and she wants what they can give her, and for the first few weeks she figures it's a fair enough trade. It always has been before. A moment's pleasure, the illusion of comfort, of caring, of connection, before it shatters and she's reminded such things aren't for her. It's different now. She has him, and she never lets it go that far, but she has other needs. Still, they're fulfilling those, sating a new hunger, and she's generous. She lets them die in ecstasy, clouding their minds from the pain, thinking they're only suffering the little death, not the permanent one she pulls from them.

She never lets them see her eyes. [Cut for potentially disturbing/triggering content] )
thepainted_lady: ([Vamp] Lure)
[ooc: Claire, Amanda and Edgar do not refer to any particular muses/are not binding on anyone. Sylar is [ profile] heroslayer and Peter is [ profile] hadtobeahero, and this prompt is a follow up to a RP with them.]

The sun was trying its best to crisp her skin. Even with the protection of her ring and the darkness of the sunglasses she hid behind, Lydia felt exposed. Before coming to the Park, she’d fed well and had several cups of coffee, speeding her heartbeat up uncomfortably and leaving her skin flushed and warm. All she could do, she’d done, but the sun’s light brought out the underlying pallor of her skin, and the cutting black vines winding around her, cruel thorns dripping crimson flowers like blood. There was no way they wouldn’t notice. Trying to cover them up would have been even more questionable, as if she had something to hide, and she wanted more than anything for them to think all was well.

As well as it could be, at least, when she’d been alive for months and let them think she was dead, buried in the dust that settled after Samuel’s betrayal.

With a sigh, she dragged her fingers through her hair, pushing it back, grateful it, at least, had remained unchanged, for the most part. A few more highlights, a bit more vibrant, perhaps, but she’d always had fun playing with it. They’d just think she had good shampoo. Her eyes might draw comment--the lights of the carnival had downplayed the shift in their color last night--but hopefully it wasn’t too noticeable.

They hadn’t warned Samuel of his impending doom, at least.

“Mom?” The slightly choked word skittered over her skin, breaking her reverie, and she froze for a moment, before turning, careful of how she moved, making sure not to spin too fast. The speedster standing next to her daughter would catch any differences there, and Peter had said sometimes they didn’t move like humans anymore.

“Amanda...” She stared at the girl for a long moment, before moving tentatively toward her. That was all it took, and her arms were full of her daughter--her living, breathing daughter--and all the little things she’d memorized about her were thrown up against her senses in dizzying detail. The smell of her shampoo, the warmth of her skin, the racing beating of her heart that Lydia’s only dimly echoed now, even with the stimulant.

Amanda was crying, an excess of emotion pouring out in salt water drops that were near scalding against Lydia’s skin. )
thepainted_lady: (Painted lady)
[ooc: Sylar is [ profile] heroslayer and used with much love and permission.]

She still had a reflection. That wasn’t particularly a surprise--he had one, after all. She could see it there in the corner of the mirror that caught the edge of the bed. At the moment, however, she was studying her own as intently as she’d been captured by the lights and music of the boardwalk. The dress she’d been wearing when he did it lay abandoned on the floor behind her, and she stared in the mirror at her naked image with a curious tilt of her head. Now and then she shifted, turning slowly, hands lifting her hair out of the way to see her back, before she twisted the other way. The loss of her tan had been coming along slowly, and its absence now she’d expected, though she’d never been this pale in her life. The vividness of her eyes, too--she’d noticed it in his. But the biggest change...the one to that which had defined her for so long...Perhaps she should have expected it. They came out of her, of who she was, roadmaps built on what was inside of her. If that had changed in a fundamental, too would they.

But she hadn’t expected it, and she continued to stand there, twisting slowly every now and then, staring at herself even as dawn broke and stretched toward noon and her body begged for sleep to finish recuperating from the changes it had undergone. Of all of them, though, she found these too fascinating to look away from.

The earthy ochre vines and leaves linking coral and yellow flowers all along her skin were gone, vanishing with the life that he’d taken with a snap of bone. Midnight vines encircled alabaster skin, instead, twisting their way around her neck, along her back, across her stomach, and trailing down her legs. Crimson roses bloomed amidst dangerous looking ebony thorns. Sharp beaked, shadowy ravens hunting the night, foretelling the future and protecting their secrets had replaced the swallows who once stood guard over her soul and pointed the way home. The butterfly remained, but its wings were honed to razor points from which fell rose petals reminiscent of droplets of blood. A woman stood where the mermaid had lounged, skirts swirling out like the fin once had to wrap around her arm. Nothing so clear as horns perched on her head or fangs extended from her blood red lips, but the cruel sensuality of her mouth hinted at pleasures far darker than the mermaid had dreamed.

Her fingertips lightly traced the new patterns, watching her reflection do the same. A shiver ran over her skin and settled deep in her stomach. For a moment, she closed her eyes, running a mental check, but her ability seemed to be working fine. The new tattoos functioned as the old ones had, though she felt their sharper, darker, bloodier edges feeding the hunger that had been growing inside since the first time he’d sliced his skin open for her. Interesting. She wasn’t sure, yet, how the two were linked, but she could feel the connection, see the outward manifestation of the inner change. A few months ago, it would have frightened her. Now she opened her eyes to find her lips curved into a smile mirroring that of the new woman decorating her arm.

Arms extended overhead as she stretched and finally tore her gaze away from the mirror, pivoting gracefully in the opposite direction, satisfied for now. The same little smile still on her lips, she practically prowled toward the bed where Sylar had been watching her, switching between concern and amusement.

"Done?" he asked.

"For now."

"You really should sleep," he pointed out, apparently attempting to be a responsible sire for a moment, as she put one knee on the bed on one side of him, then followed suit on the other, perching over him and reaching for the buttons of his shirt.

"In a bit." After all, having given the boardwalk and the beach and herself such a thorough examination and found things so enthralling, she really felt the need to do the same to him, even if it took until the sun set again.
thepainted_lady: ([Sylar] passionate kiss)
After everything she'd been through--they'd been through--Lydia couldn't be bothered to worry about particulars like whether or not Sylar could be considered "alive" anymore--not when everything he did to her reminded her that against all odds she still was.


thepainted_lady: (Default)

October 2011

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