*Spoilers for Bury our Bones in the Midnight Soil by V.E. Schwab*
Finished the book an hour ago. It is very late at night. I cannot help myself. Should have this posted on ao3 in a day or two, just ironing out my edits. Here's a quick peak of the fic below the spoiler cut:
Agatha Harkness and Rio Vidal have kept watch over the Westview Lighthouse for as long as Agatha could remember. Boredom was common, but it beats what life was like on the mainland---at least here they didn't have to worry about General Lee and his army of rebels storming the lighthouse at the farthest edge of the Union.
No, it was just Agatha, Rio, the lighthouse, and all the rain of New England concentrated on them as if the good lord himself deigned to turn Westview into his personal urinal.
Two souls who washed up on the craggy island off the coast of Maine somehow kept their sanity intact by following three simple rules:
Rule 1. Do not abandon your post.
Rule 2. Do not abuse whiskey privileges.
Rule 3. Do not leave the lighthouse at night.
A little dialogue I came up with between Rio and Nicholas
He followed the Woman in Green across the bridge, and soon he could no longer see his mother. No longer were the woods, this once familiar home to him, surrounded by trees but by a thick impenetrable fog. The ground turned from mud to stone to finally brick.
“Where are we going?” he asked her though deep down he already knew.
She turned and from the light of the green torch she carried a smile formed on her face.
“Wherever you want.”
“Oh,” Nicholas said as he twidled his fingers together. “Can I make a request? Any request?”
“Of course mijo,” she said affectionately.
“And when you say, ‘wherever I want’ does that place have to be real? Or can it be in a different time?”
The Woman in Green chuckled.
“You can request whatever you so desire. I will do my best to deliver it.”
“Do I have your word that you will do your best to deliver it?”
“Am I not trustworthy young lord?”
“Are you not Lady Death, my fair lady?”
“I am.”
“Then I trust that you will honor what you say. My Mama always told me stories about you. She said that you worked miracles. She said that your word was good as gold. She said you would never betray a promise.”
Death had looked him with sad and sallow eyes. If Nicholas didn’t know any better, he could have sword he…no. No it couldn’t be.
Death did not weep.
“In that case Nicholas,” Death said slowly. “Just for you. You may ask me anything—save for bringing you back to life or wishing some else’s demise—I will grant it.”
“Well then,” Nicholas cleared his throat. “Please kind miss, listen carefully.”
Death knelt down, careful not to burn either her cloak or his hair. Nicholas whispered in her ear:
“I want to be old.” Nicholas said confidently. “Like a green oak. I want to sit in a big comfy chair by a roaring fireplace in a cabin in the woods, maybe just like the one Mama and I have. I want to have as much peppermint tea and roasted nuts as possible by my side—a nice big dog too curled up by my feet. Heavens, I almost forgot something to wear. Well then, the finest silk robes, fit for a sultan. Most of all, I want to savor my long, long life. Leisurley walk down memory lane from the earliest memory to my last days. I want to live it all, I want to feel it all, every single second of every single day. Every wrinkle carved into my brow, every hair that grows and falls. Every tomorrow, and tomorrow, to the last tomorrow. At a petty pace from day to day to the last syllable of my story.”
He stopped and grinned at her like a pleased Chesire Cat.
“My Lady Death, would you please grant me this wish?”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“Tell me your name, please.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to be alone.”
“And a name can sustain you?” Death asked amused. “A name alone?”
“No.”
“Then why—”
“But not just any name. Yours can, my lady Death.”
Chapters: 1/3
Fandom: Agatha All Along (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Agatha Harkness/Rio Vidal
Characters: Agatha Harkness, Rio Vidal, Teen (Agatha All Along)
Additional Tags: Fluff and Angst, Backstory, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Rio Vidal is Death, Possessive Behavior, Drunken Flirting, Unreliable Narrator, Witchcraft, Time Skips
Summary:
If she didn’t know any better, it felt like she was held. Held in the warmest embrace. Agatha remembered gentler days, kinder days, that were filled with girlish love and idle fantasies. Of dalliances and delight, of dancing for hours under the pale moonlight.
Agatha and Rio through Salem, through the Road, from the first to the last, in life and in death. In death and what comes after.
As someone who has been through TWO dragon age launch cycles before I will not be tolerating any “the art style sucks” or “this used to be so good” or “what have they done to my boy” because time has proven over and over that you losers are weak and will get over it
With a broken heart she fed on the corpses of her young dead.
Now one egg was all that’s left,
out hatched a fowl so small.
Her mother reckoned looking at her
there was hardly any meat at all.
So she stayed her hunger as best as she could,
She pecked and hemmed at the black bloodwood,
That surrounded the home she once called her nest,
To save her child she fought her hunger—or at least she tried her best.
One night the little crow did cry,
And with tears in her eye,
At the dark of the night she spied,
Her mother had long since died.
Left alone in a den of death,
The little crow with bated breath,
Called out to heaven for a sign of relief,
But heaven’s silence was all she’d meet.
Without guidance of grace or bound to blood,
The crow looked towards the sky.
And with enduring desire for survival in her heart,
Resolved the will to spread her wings
—And fly.
Lyra Valkyria had always felt like a stranger in these modern times, but her heart was not estranged from the common desire for greatness—or at the very least a life approaching greatness. How cursed to be common. Living life as a walking shadow of the great heroes and heroines of old. Where was the noble spirit that engendered legends in days past to seek out adventure? Where was that ancient and eldritch spark that brought villains and terrors upon the land—for such forces of evil surely necessitated the presence of the heroic, no? How cold lies the cauldron of the unholy enchantress and sorcerer? Where was that white fyre of fantastical war?
Gone. A time long gone from this emerald island.
But what is gone is not always lost, and that which is lost may, if given the right effort and time be found again.
Fifteen.
Fifteen years old.
That’s how old Lyra Valkyria was when she ran away from Dublin and found herself lost in the forest of Lugg. It wasn’t her fault that she was born with a greater sense of who she was, what she wanted, and that neither the other orphans nor the mother superior could see that. The Morrígan, who to many was a mere character in Celtic mythology. The hero Cuchulain’s overly infatuated lover turned nemesis. The goddess of war and death. The great and terrible crow. A mere character? Not to Lyra.
Because Lyra knew she was real.
She’d seen her in person.
Now it may very well have been the dehydration and starvation Lyra suffered under amidst a particularly bad storm. It very well could have been a defense mechanism of her mind. Or it could even possibly have been the strange colored mushrooms she, out of hunger, consumed without a second thought. But Lyra knew that that night, in the middle of a raging storm a woman appeared to her in the guise of a crow. A cloak of feathers adorned the ancient spirit. Her braided white hair flew free in the biting winds. But what caught Lyra’s attention—aside from the fact that a bird transformed into a person before her very eyes—was the motherly affection the Morrígan showed her. Her touch was ice cold yet warmed her, sustained her, and gave her strength. She guided her to shelter. A sacred grove where neither rain, nor wind, nor fear would touch her. In this grove, were the waters of life, fruit of every color, and mossy stones carved with ancient Celtic runes.
While Lyra feasted on fruit, the Morrígan regarded her from atop a branch, faint streaks of moonlight breached the thick canopy and shined on her black feathers. It was difficult discerning where the ancient one’s black feathered cloak ended and where the feathers on her neck started. Amber eyes looked on in curiosity. She didn’t say a word, though Lyra desperately wished she did. Could she have understood her? Perhaps not. But something, anything would have been a markedly stark contrast to the silence she received at her foster home. The scornful stares from everyone who regarded her as a freak. Batty as a bird. The raving raven.
Loony Lyra.
And for what? Because she dared to dream? Because she saw a life that was beyond the mundane and mortal? Now who had the last laugh? She knew, she always knew that somehow she was destined for greatness. That there was a world that transcended the base and common. And if she had to beat that idea into the other girls’ soft little heads and make them leave her alone then so be it.
She wasn’t crazy. She wasn’t crazy.
Why couldn’t anyone ever understand that?
But that was her life then. A life before discovering the world beyond. The Morrígan had swooped down, kicking up moss and stardust which shimmered in the foggy grove. From her breast the Morrígan had plucked a long black feather. Tucking it between Lyra’s left ear she bowed her head and without warning erupted in a massive murder of crows. Each crow shooting out of the cloaked figure and slowly the mass that made the maiden had disappeared until only a handful of feathers remained. The murder of crows had soared above the storm, seemingly guiding it away from the forest of Lugg.
In the silence that followed, Lyra’s legs gave out on her. Her head collided with a mossy rock, cracking it open. Blood seeped into the ancient Celtic runes that coiled around the rock. Before she passed out Lyra had, with all her remaining strength, reached out to the feather tucked between her ear. Brushing against the bone chilling feather, Lyra's world turned black.
She ended up waking up in a hospital bed back in Dublin. The orphanage wanted nothing to do with her and apparently washed their hands of her. Even though Lyra yearned to return to that grove, that most sacred of sites deep within the forest of Lugg, something stayed her hand. A reminder that what had happened to her was all read:
The feather, that damn crow’s feather remained. And so it stayed till this day. A feather only she could see and feel. The first of many. For every feather was a mark of victory and on this night, Lyra had earned her first feather against death itself. The Morrígan was said to have chosen the victor in battle. A decider of fate. She who chose the worthy.
And at this very moment, almost ten years later in the middle of a triple threat match against two of NXT’s finest women’s wrestlers. Lyra had a decision to make. She could easily pull the referee off the mat. Steal this moment from Tatum—
Even saying her name caused Lyra’s heart to ache.
And honestly why shouldn’t she? Tatum wasn’t worthy of the title, wasn’t worthy of carrying the honor and prestige of a workhorse women’s champion. Who was this upstart to stand in the way of Lyra’s ascension?
But the cold hard fact doused any flame of anger left in Lyra’s heart. It wasn’t the title, or losing the title, or losing the title to Tatum that ignited her scorn. It was losing Tatum in the first place.
So just as the referee’s hand was about to hit three, Lyra realized that even though Tatum wasn’t worthy of the title…
Neither was she.
And so, just as she had fled from the orphanage, and before then as she ran away from a bloodied and decaying flat on the outskirts of Dublin, Lyra Valkyria did what she always did: she walked away.
Ava was screaming at her as soon as Lyra marched past the curtain leading to the backstage area. But honestly at this point Lyra couldn't give any more of a damn about what the NXT general manager thought of her. It was crystal clear that Lyra wasn’t welcomed here anymore. First the crowd soured on her. Then Roxanne loses her mind and turns on her. And as soon as Tatum stabbed Lyra in the back—and the heart—enough was enough.
Screw that title. Screw Roxanne, Tatum, and NXT.
Lyra shouldered the locker room door open and quickly threw her stuff in her bag. In her mad rush to get the fuck out of the building, she careless dropped a shirt on the floor. Just as she was about to pick it up, she stopped. There it was. There it was. That funny feeling in her chest again.
A crumpled black Tatum Paxley shirt. That psycho’s hypnotic green eyes caused Lyra’s heart to race even when they were printed on a shirt. Funny. Lyra swore she threw this shirt out the night Tatum threw their relationship away. But no. Turns out it was just buried deep in Lyra’s bag. She was going to wear it to the ring as an admittedly lame apology for snapping at Tatum in Philadelphia. Funnier still, that despite everything Lyra still gingerly picked the shirt up and tucked it in her bag. She didn’t know why, only that it felt…right.
Shaking her head, the Morrígan threw the sling of her duffle bag over her shoulder and just before she marched out the door—
“Hold on their champ,” the easygoing voice of one Becky Lynch stopped her in her tracks—that and Becky was right in front of her and it would be incredible rude to just walk through, you know?
“Becky?”
With an earnest grin The Man crossed her arms and leaned against the locker room’s door frame. Her turned back black cap and leather jacket was certainly a new look, but not necessarily an unwelcome one. Lyra always thought Becky looked really good in anything and she hoped at this very moment the blush on her face wasn’t nearly as obvious as the last time they met back in Halloween Havoc. It was one thing to wrestle your idol, another to wrestle a woman you nursed the longest crush on.
“Got a minute, Lyra?”
“Actually I was about to head out. Shit night.”
“More like a shit month,” Becky shook her head. “Lost your belt, your place on the card, and your girl—Hey now calm down there for a minute!”
Lyra tried to shoulder past Becky, ignoring her own previous concerns from earlier about being rude. The Man had a firm grip on Lyra’s shoulder, not hard enough to harm but just enough to let Lyra know that she should probably hang back and listen to what she had to say. One tested Becky Lynch at their own risk: whether you’re a queen, a rolemodel, or a CEO they all eventually fell to The Man.
“Look, I’ll get to the point.” Becky guided Lyra out of the locker room, keeping an arm over the other woman’s shoulder just to be sure she wouldn’t fly away. “It just so happens that a certain general manager of a certain Monday night wrestling show has stopped by to poach the best and brightest stars of tomorrow here at the PC. And it just so happens that I was in the neighborhood between live events that I decided to help my GM . Aren’t I something? So I told him about some of the NXT wrestlers I thought were blue chip prospects. That’s business talk for the best of the best.”
“I know what a blue chip is, Becky.” Lyra deadpanned. “Cameron Grimes won’t shut up about that kinda crap.”
“Shush, shush, don’t interrupt me. Anyway crypto bros aside.” Becky stopped and turned to face Lyra with a big smile. “I want you to come with me to Monday Night Raw, Lyra.”
“...What?”
“You heard me you daft fucking bird! Come with me to RAW! I was able to cleverly persuade Adam Pearce that Lyra Valkyria was our next big draw. She’s a fighter with heart, a heart that soars, and she’s soaring all the way to the fucking top. And, it just so happens that she and I trained in the same fucking gym in Dublin! And put on a banger of a fucking match. Annnd are two of the most dominant women in our rosters! We’d be a natural pair you and I. The Man and The Morrígan. The Mannigan! The Morman—”
“Okay, okay, okay,” Lyra stammered while stifling her laughter. “I…I appreciate the offer Becky—”
“But?” Becky frowned and crossed her arms.
“But?”
“There’s always a ‘but’ isn’t there?”
“I…I think I need to clear my head. Go back home and…and…”
“And do what ?” Becky leaned forward getting uncomfortably close to Lyra’s face. “Chase after faeries in the forest?”
Lyra bristled.
“No.” She said, stepping forward until her and Becky were nose to nose. “I just need to think , okay? I’ve been through a lot and I need to commune with my—”
Becky started to giggle which made Lyra’s blood boil.
“It’s NOT funny. I commune with the spirits of our Celtic ancestors and the forces of the natural world. I have seen what lies beyond the veil of mortal comprehension and am blessed with great power as a warrior. Do NOT test me Becky.” Lyra warned, glaring daggers at her mentor. Becky didn’t back down and only stared at Lyra with a shit eating smirk.
“Fine. Go back home. Go and drink tree sap and dine on mushrooms, Lyra. Just know that you might have a hard time getting out of catering here at NXT since…well, you don’t really have any friends anymore do you? You pissed off Ava by walking out of a big time match along with all the other shenanigans you and Tatum—”
“Don’t say her name.” Lyra tried to interrupt the defiant red head to no avail.
“—Caused. And let’s be honest, without a plug you’re not going to get drafted. There were three people in that ring tonight and I can tell you from being there, ain’t no one was chanting your name. They chanted your ex’s name. They chanted for the champ. But little Lyra was the third wheel on a motorcycle.”
“Shut up.”
“But it’s been like that for a while now hasn’t it?”
“I said. Shut. Up.” Lyra warned.
“They never appreciated you. Or they did…as soon as Tatum Paxley jumped into your world.”
“I told you to keep her name out of your fucking mouth!” Lyra screamed, practically shoving her forehead against Becky’s.
“Do something about it.” Becky taunted her. “Go on. Do something about it. Punch me, right here. Right in the cheek. Go on do it, please do it, I’m begging you to fucking do it and I’ll make sure the only ring you’ll be in is in a fucking circus with the rest of the freakshow. Come on, Lyra, punch one of the company’s biggest draws in the face. See where that gets you—”
Lyra’s fist collided with Becky’ face as she caused the other Irishwoman to stumble to the ground. Becky spat out blood and wiped her mouth.
“...You know kid. When I broke up with Charlotte it happened more or less around this time.”
“What time?” Lyra raised an eyebrow.
“This time. The time when we both understood that our rising stars were going to meet and clash. Come on now. Let’s not pretend your ex—”
“Stop calling her that.”
“Well first of all I’m gonna need a different way to fucking call her and second you both give off major divorced energy. But come on. She’s a star in the making. And so are you. Life comes at you quickly Lyra. Opportunities like this only come so often especially in this business. I don’t want you to waste away here. You’re ready for a bigger stage, for bigger fights, that’s why you’re here isn’t? That’s why all of us are in this game: to fucking fight—and get paid ridiculous amounts of money. And like I said, I know where you’re coming from.”
“Charlotte and I were close. Closer than close. When I turned my back on her and said, ‘fuck no you’re not taking my time from me’, I knew that what I did was best for both of us. She pushed herself to her limit, which always seems to be limitless for her. I pushed myself to be the best that I could be. But Lyra, we both needed some space to find ourselves before our eventual clash. I needed to stand out on my own—I competed with her from afar, only because I knew we’d meet again. And when we did I wanted to be the last woman standing. There’s a feeling you get when you meet your wrestling soulmate. It’s a cord that is pulled tight taut but refuses to snap. That connection never really goes away. I have it with Charlotte. Bayley has it with Mercedes. And you have it with she-who-must-not-be-named apparently. So before you two clash again on a bigger stage presumably, why not spread your wings and fly elsewhere? I know a change of scenery can help mend a broken heart.”
“What makes you think I have one?” Lyra whispered.
Becky placed a hand on the other woman’s shoulder.
“Takes one to know one. I’m asking you here and now Lyra Valkyria. And as far as you know, this is the last chance to get on or get off.” Becky extended her hand. “You in?”
Lyra looked at the hand.
There it was. Her future literally grasped out before her, begging her to cease the moment, cease opportunity, cease the self that she knew she could be. She wasn’t a waste. She wouldn’t be. She wasn’t going to allow anyone to overshadow her ever again. And maybe Becky was right. A change of scenery could do her some good. If this was really it…
Then fuck it.
Fuck it.
With a confident clasp, Lyra returned the handshake.
“I’m in.”
Becky threw an arm around Lyra and walked her out into the parking lot, her tour bus ready to whisk them off into the wild world of the Main Roster.
“Welcome to the big time, Lyra.” Becky said with a smile and a wink.
— — —
8 months later…
Survivor Series: Wargames
Omni Coliseum, Atlanta
“God dammit…” Becky forced her shoulder back into place as she, Lyra, Bayley, Isla Dawn, and an unconscious Alba Fyre huddled forlornly in the locker room. “We almost had them. We fucking had them.”
War Games, especially Lyra’s first, was one of the most brutal to ever go down in Survivor Series’ history. It was also, out of all the matches Lyra had been in, the one she had felt the most alive. The blood and carnage of the battlefield as bodies were strewn about, cleaved together by hardware appliances and a shared animosity. She shouldn’t have doubted that veteran teams such as Damage Ctrl and The Way would get the upper hand in the end. But thankfully she didn’t eat the pin tonight. Double thankfully she didn’t eat a burning hammer from the top of the cage onto a literal burning stack of tables and thumbtacks.
Becky looked disappointed as all hell but their team really did give it their all. The Man stomped off as the rest of Lyra’s teammates looked at her expectedly. Well, mostly Bayley since Isla Dawn’s attention flitted between Lyra and Alba Fyre.
“...She’ll talk sense into Becky,” the Enchantress whispered soothingly to her beloved. “Don’t you worry about a thing my precious ember…”
“What?” Lyra barked at them, not meaning to come across as harsh as she sounded.
“Do us all a favor Lyra,” Bayley started as she slung her title over her shoulder. “Make sure Becky understands that this little alliance lasted as long as it could. And ended the way it did because someone’s eyes were a little distracted .” The Role Model narrowed hers at Lyra.
“Fuck off.”
“Grown quite a mouth on you since your NXT days.” Bayley scoffed. “Look. Lynch has a habit of keeping grudges, even against people who were trying their best to help her. Believe me, I can speak from experience. None of us want any beef with her or with you. We’re cool right?”
Lyra just nodded along.
“Great. Now if you excuse me, I need to get back on my jet to Boston. Can’t keep the missus waiting. Though…” Bayley shoulder-checked Lyra as she whispered into her ear. “I bet you know a thing or two about not pissing off a Horsewoman. Or making her wait. Keep safe, Bird Lady. But a wise word from your Role Model: Becky doesn’t like being told no .”
Bayley skulked off to her own locker to get her stuff and go. Isla had vanished in a cloud of crimson smoke that slithered over her and her unconscious partner, leaving Lyra alone.
Lyra shook her head, the pain all over her body provided a good cover to ignore whatever Bayley was insinuating. She pressed the ice bag on her ribs and hissed. Christ what possessed Io Shirai to put a fucking trash can over herself and jump from the top of the cage onto all of them? Lyra followed the sound of kicks and thrown clothing as Becky fumed by her stuff.
“I’m sorry…” Lyra started before Becky rounded her and got real close to her face. She had an awful habit of doing that.
“Don’t. Stop apologizing for their bullshit. You know I don’t blame you Lyra, I never do. Wish I could say the same for our team…”
“Look it wasn’t their fault okay, Becky? It was mine. I should’ve watched your back more. Or maybe I should’ve been more focused. I should’ve been stronger for you, for the team—”
Becky cupped Lyra’s face and gripped her chin with one hand. She made sure that the Morrígan looked right at her.
“It’s fine. Really it is. I don’t mean to make you worry. You’re always so good to me Lyra. I just need to…blow off some steam.” Becky whispered.
And there’s that look again. That same one that Becky’s been giving her more and more lately. This uncertain tension that’s been pulling both of them towards…something neither woman wished to really say.
Lyra’s mind quickly flashed to locked doors and penthouse suites. Dimly lit rooms and broken glass. Broken beds. Broken couches. This was a dream. One that ended as definitely when the sun crept through thick hotel curtains. A dream that stayed locked behind closed doors. A dream that neither would ever talk about or acknowledge in their daily lives. Muffled sounds covered by a firm hand over her mouth as Becky trailed kisses down her neck. Her hands possessively explored Lyra’s body with abandon, caressing, pinching, demanding and feeding. Those same hands wandering lower and lower until she went into Lyra’s pants and made her cu—
“I’ll see you back in my hotel room?” Becky interrupted Lyra’s sordid thoughts, releasing her grip on her. A hopeful—and excited expression washed over the older woman’s face. This wasn’t so much an invitation as it was a request. They’ve been through this dance before, and Becky was always keen to lead.
Lyra nodded sheepishly, stifling the blush that crept over her pale and bruised face.
“Good.” Becky smiled as she kissed Lyra on the cheek. “Survivor Series may have been a dud but…we still have the Rumble in London. And I don’t intend on missing Mania next year, do you?”
Lyra grinned as she shook her head. Becky lightly punched her shoulder.
“There’s my girl. And don’t think I’ll go easy on you. Besides, if either of us win the Rumble, the other can win and win the Chamber in Mexico City. Just stay away from Ripley, she’s my mess to handle.”
“Go on ahead, I already know what it's like to tango with Mami,” Lyra quipped. “And funny. Last I remember I got one over you last year.”
“You and your damn roll ups…that should be your new finisher. It’d certainly be an easier name for Michael Cole to remember. Right. Shower off, and I’ll clean this mess. Meet me on my bus in a bit?”
“See you then,” Lyra muttered as she grabbed her stuff and made off for the shower. But just before she could hit the showers her phone rang and surprisingly it was from the last person she thought would call. Out of morbid curiosity she answered.
“...Roxanne?” Lyra said in disbelief.
“Great match.” The Prodigy remarked dryly. “Shame you didn’t get put through a table from the top of the cage. Would’ve loved to see that pretty head of yours busted open.”
“Yeah. Yeah I bet you’d love that.”
“Okay that’s enough foreplay, Valkyria. I got a serious favor to ask you.”
“And you have absolutely no favors to ask for, Perez. Bye—”
“Wait! Wait for the fuck’s sake. Ugh…Look, Ava was too proud to call you herself but we have a problem.”
“Roxanne, it’s NXT. When isn’t there a fucking problem?”
“Fuck you.”
“Missed you too. Bye.”
“It’s about Tatum—”
Lyra’s finger hovered over the red end-call button. That name. Even after all this time that fucking name still made her act unwise. Sensibility told her to hang up now. To stop scratching on this old wound before it bleeds into her whole life again. Besides, she had Becky now. Even if it wasn’t the same way. Even if neither of them could acknowledge it outside of rendez-vous in hotel rooms.
She thought that after eight months or so the pain and heartbreak of losing Tatum would go away. To a degree it did. The Main Roster certainly provided her with enough distractions. Queen of The Ring, Money inthe Bank, and like what Becky told her, the chance for immortality at the Royal Rumble. NXT was behind her. She should just hang up now. Hang up before she gets drawn back into those deep green eyes that threatened to drown her.
She should hang up. But why didn’t she?
Why couldn’t she?
“...What about her?”
“She’s fucked.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Yeah no shit. I meant more so than usual. Look. We’re all super worried she’s gonna do something stupid. She’s fucking spiraling without you there. Can you please come down and help her?”
“Why do you care?” Lyra was genuinely curious.
There was a brief pause before Roxanne continued.
“Like or not, Lyra, we all came from the same place. You may not have felt it, I may not have acted like it, but we’re NXT: we’a fucking family. You may have gone off to bigger and better things, but you’re still white and gold till you’re dead and cold. You’re still family to us Bird Lady. And…and a member of our family is going through a really dark time right now. And it fucking sucks. It’s uncomfortable, it’s creepy, it’s bad all around and it needs to stop. Please. Lyra. Come back home and help her.”
Roxanne hung up the phone before Lyra could reply. She had never expected to hear that from Roxanne. Yet, even Lyra couldn’t really deny the former champion’s words. NXT was her home for the longest time, even the short lived version of it in England. Hell. They really were a family in their own way. Yeah they beat the shit out of each other for a living and were prizefighters and modern gladiators for the amusement of a decadent world in the late stages of capitalism but dammit!
There was another point somewhere in that statement.
Oh. Right. They were family.
And as a wise girl once said long ago: Family means no one gets left behind or forgotten.
Not even Tatum.
Lyra had honestly blocked out NXT entirely from her mind and attention these past few months. That was always Lyra’s weakness in the end, once she flew the coop she seldom looked back. But that doesn’t mean she hasn’t heard rumors and rumblings from the PC now and then. About how Tatum had a more violent and animalistic streak. How she terrorizes the locker room, and rules NXT like her own twisted pocket dimension. The specifics were lost on Lyra, namely because she treated Tatum’s very name like it was poison in her ear. But it shouldn’t surprise her that things have gotten so bad that even Roxanne Perez would call her for help.
So be it. Orlando it is.
“Hey.”
Lyra turned around to see a completely naked Becky Lynch with a towel around her shoulder like a fucking title belt.
“Why haven’t you showered yet? I’m exhausted and—”
“Sorry. Sorry, I got a call from a…friend.”
“Lyra. You don’t have friends. ‘Cept for me. Now come on. We got a long day tomorrow on the way to Raw in Dallas.”
“Actually Becky…You can go ahead. I’m taking a bit of a detour this week.”
“What?” Becky’s smile vanished as she quickly got dressed.
“I’m going to Orlando on Tuesday. I’ll call Pearce and tell him I’m still banged up from tonight so I’ll miss Raw on Monday.”
“Interesting…Why are you going to Orlando, Lyra?”
“Going to the PC. Gonna have my ribs looked at by the company’s medical team.”
“Oh. The PC huh.” Becky nodded along, frustration tinged in her voice.
“They have one of the best PTs money can buy.”
“First of all, you don’t go to a PT for a checkup, you do that for recovery. So are you going to go there for a checkup or for recovery work, get your story straight. If you need a checkup, I know a good doctor in Texas who can look at you. Now stop acting weird and come back with me to the hotel—”
“Becky. No. No thank you, I mean. I’m good. Really. It’s just a checkup.”
There was something…wrong in Becky’s eyes that set Lyra off. She didn’t know what. It was almost instinctive for her to recoil at the keen glare The Man gave her. There was something almost familiar about it. Alien but familiar. Those eyes of Becky’s, they burned with a passionate desire for glory and an indelible ambition to be the best of the best. But there was also a spark of…madness behind them. Something dark and primal that punctured right through the bullshit that Lyra had feebly held up. But that didn’t matter. Let her see through it. Lyra was her own fucking person. She wasn’t Becky’s lapdog that would never leave her side, nor a student who would never question her mentor’s every word and command, nor certainly was she Becky’s toy to take out whenever she needed help ‘blowing off steam’.
“ Fine . Fine.” Becky shrugged. “It’s just the timing is kinda funny is all. Kinda silly if you ask me.”
“How so?”
“Nothing. Nevermind,” Becky deflected as she hastily grabbed her bag. She turned and gave Lyra a dangerous glare. “Have fun .”
Becky roughly slammed shut her locker and marched out the room before Lyra could stop her.
Though honestly, did she really want to stop Becky?
– – –
Lyra adjusted her black face mask and pulled her matching hoodie up. It was relatively easy to blend into the NXT crowd. Even though most of these people are very familiar with each other since they all meet every Tuesday night, you had the odd out of towner who came in now and then. Lyra didn’t even have to worry about parking in the most dangerous battleground on earth known as the PC’s parking lot. Even thinking about no man’s land as the crew called it gave Lyra chills. She slapped her arm and wiped off a dead mosquito that had its fair share of blood.
Ugh.
Well she certainly didn’t miss this about Florida. Lyra got off the bus and kept a fair distance away from the crowd as they lined up into the PC. It was always fun going through the tourist entrance, seeing all the wrestlers of yesteryear and the various legends that helped them along the way. When no one was looking, Lyra slowly took her face mask off and whispered to a very special golden statue in the lobby. One that every NXT wrestler looked up to with admiration, and almost never failed to show respect to when they returned to the PC.
“Hey Dusty.” She winked at the grinning legend, fist bumped his outstretched hand, and made her way into the arena. She stopped for a moment and looked at the merch stand. A couple of new faces, a bunch of surprising ones too from her past: Xia Brookside, an old comrade from her NXT UK days. Killer Kelly, one of the baddest women on the planet, Rousey be damned. Huh. Interesting. Lyra peered over at an empty section of the shirt shelf that had a name she wasn’t all that familiar with but apparently whoever this new women’s wrestler was she’s sold out all her sizes and shirts. A single name tag was taped to the shelf.
Wait. Wait a minute…That name. That name didn’t look familiar but it certainly as all hell sounded familiar. Or sounded similar to a different name…No. No surely it wasn’t who Lyra thought it was. It couldn’t be. She’d be the women's champion by now. Not just in NXT but on main too. No, no, it must be someone else.
Lyra chuckled and shook her head.
Well whoever this Julia was she certainly knew how to sell shirts.
Speaking of.
Lyra took a deep breath and bought a Tatum Paxley shirt, quietly stowing the black and red shirt in her transparent shopping bag. Yet to her surprise another shirt caught her attention. her own gray and lapis teal shirt was there. Lyra always liked her first shirt. The color popped and stood out, and she also fondly remembered it because one Tatum Paxley was kind enough to sketch out the design of the wings and runes. Biggest mistake though, she should’ve made it in black. No wonder her second and third designs sold well. But scanning the merch stand, Lyra couldn’t help but pause and stare at the replica NXT women’s championship belt. It was clearly Tatum’s and a custom title at that too. The title was more or less unchanged fundamentally, it still had the pearl white leather strap and gold shine. However, this design almost muted the rainbow colors on the golden plate. They were obscured, if not slightly tinged in…was that supposed to be blood stains? That however was nothing compared to what caught Lyra’s eyes…the array of black and purple feathers attached to the holes of the belt.
‘What in the fuck?’
“Alright folks,” a PC worker said over the PM system. “Show starts in 30, please make your way in and remember, all guests are subject to a final security check before entering the arena. Have your tickets out please, once again the show starts in 30 minutes.”
After queuing for a couple of minutes, Lyra made it to the security check. The guard immediately recognized her and mouthed a, ‘what the fuck are you doing here?’ to her.
Which Lyra replied, mouthing back, ‘Stopped by for checkup. Wanted to catch the show tonight.’
The guard shrugged his shoulders and waved her and her stuff through.
A wave of nostalgia crashed over Lyra as the familiar golden hearth that served as the home of Tuesday night’s finest embraced her back. The arena looked a bit different. She should’ve known from the crowd size outside but they expanded. Now all corners of the venue were filled and packed to gills with fans. The ramp was much longer now too. They still kept the screen the same, except there was a noticeably larger and longer screen that wrapped over the tower by the entranceway.
And oh. Nice. Looks like even NXT was following the color coded ring ropes that the main roster returned to ‘The golden corral’, as the black and gold veterans called it back in the day finally returned to NXT. The lights dimmed and the show began with much fanfare. Lyra almost forgot what it was like to watch a show strictly from a fan’s perspective.
And Morrígan’s name she fucking missed it. There was nothing like a wrestling match in person. Especially this up close, the drum like pounding of the mat as bodies slammed into it made one’s blood pump with primal energy—and not the shitty kind that a certain former US champion peddled. A true primal feeling that Lyra yearned for. Of course it was loud as fuck in the ring and she didn’t often hear how loud the mat rang when she slammed someone on it. But from the stands? God did those bumps sing sweet music to her ears.
One by one, Lyra saw her former fighters step out and each time they did she couldn’t help but feel immensely proud at how they’ve all grown as wrestlers and performers. She may have gotten a little carried away and almost blew her cover as she chanted ‘whoop that trick’ with the NXT champion, but it was all good fun. That was the charm, the draw to NXT. There was almost an innocence, a purity to it. Unhampered by the stress and pressures of big corporate sponsors and venues that the Main Roster had to account for, and on top of that, performing in front of new faces every time around, the NXT wrestlers were homegrown and homefielded every Tuesday night. It was special. It was like you local indie where anything and everything can happen—well within the parameters of the CW. Lord knows what Ava would cook up if her show was on Netflix too. Fun and watching the future stars of the industry grow and build, that was the special sauce that made everything taste so sweet.
The show was about to wrap up and at long last: the final match of the night. Someone, as much Lyra could discern the story being told here, was foolish enough to accept Tatum’s open challenge. Lyra didn’t recognize who this newbie was, and maybe that was the point. The classic naive newcomer getting the piss beaten out of her by the indomitable champion. Her heartbeat picked up in pace at the anticipation of seeing Tatum again. Eight long months and it was all coming to a head. The lights dimmed and the crowd erupted in howls.
Tatum’s music hit, and it was much different this time. The chords were louder, the melody slowed to a grinding and haunting pace. There were violins screeching their distorted wails through the speakers. It was like a fever dream. The red lights by the entrance shone over the fogged filled arena, blinking in a frenetic rate as the music picked up in speed, to the familiar pace of Tatum’s old theme.
Lyra saw a sea of blood lit fans waving the NXT women’s championship, resembling the new custom one that Tatum had over her waist. Lyra nearly had a panic attack as a name was being chanted.
And it wasn’t Tatum’s.
“Lyra!, Lyra! Lyra!”
In the darkness Lyra quickly looked around her, wondering what tipped these people off that she was here. How did they see past her disguise? How did—
The fog at the entranceway cleared up. Tatum Paxley, and Tatum Paxley alone , NXT women’s champion walked out.
Lyra’s heart nearly dropped to her stomach at the macabre sight before her.
“And her opponent…” The announcer said shakily, almost as if she was nervous to say the next part but forced to do so nonetheless. “Accompanied to the ring… by Lyra Valkyria! ”
Always love how much folklore especially creature folklore emphasizes that there is a way for you to win. These are the steps to ensure the dead don't rise: take them out through a hole in the wall and give them iron shoes. Vampires cannot abide sunlight. If you hear a dog howl on a churchyard path turn around and get home as fast as you can. Iron and salt and the colour red. None of this doomed idea, the world is incomprehensible but if you're a bit clever you'll survive it just fine, there's always ways out.
Been a big fan of Lyra since her indy days. Seeing her Valkyria run in WWE, the way I interpret her character is along the lines of a noble warrior who follows a code of honor in her pursuit of greatness and glory. The mythical vibes, though something I adore, doesn't seem to translate well because it never seems to be in focus, either in her 2nd NXT run or in her current one. But that honorable warrior part, while it certainly has been hard to see that at times, the little tid bits we saw from her Tatum storyline were there. I think the crux of her character, fittingly, is like Iccarus: soaring high but always in danger of flying too close to the sun. Her heel-ish streak or at least her increased aggressiveness and willingness to do anything to secure her NXT title is a manifestation of that darker desire for greatness.
I know it's wrestling and all so it's not that deep but I do hope creative works something out soon since I really want her to do well---as I do all the wrestlers in that locker room! Perhaps her winning streak will lead her to become cockier, to the point where she turns her sights on Becky's title. One part student respectfully challenging the master another part genuinely overconfident in a win. When she inevitably loses against Becky, that's what we can see either a heel turn or...she continues playing the long game. An Iago like figure who hides her knife behind a smile, waiting for the right moment to seize her prize.
a sudden or unexpected reversal of circumstances or situation
Tatum wins it all, but at what cost? A three-part Tyra fanfic
Chapter 1 out of 3: Triumph
From on high, Tatum saw her kingdom clear as day, for she will be crowned and her reign will be glorious. She saw the adoring crowds that flocked to her side. Their smiles shined like gold under the sun. Spring had broken free from winter’s cold grasp and the skies were clearer than ever before. On this day she saw clearly that everything was finally going to be hers. So with a deep breath she looked down at her quarry, squared her shoulders, crouched and jumped.
A 450 splash, her psycho spiral picture perfect because of course it would be, of course it was perfect, today was perfect, she was perfect, her reign would be perfect, and everything all will be perfect. She landed on Lyra—her sweet dove—and with the hook of her leg, waited in earnest as the referee slid over and started to count.
ONE
Chance was all it took for her to claim what was rightfully hers so that she and the title could make a life for just the
TWO
Of them. The title will never leave her side, never ever for as long as she lived. Once she had it, then finally she could shine brighter than anyone before her. She will be adored and appreciated and—
With a hitch of her breath, Tatum felt her world turn upside down.
ONE
Second was all it took for her to realize that Roxanne just rolled her up in a jackknife cover, and with all of Tatum’s strength she tried
Time slowed to a crawl. At that moment, Tatum’s career flashed before her eyes. Every Level Up match ended the same way until recently. More than 600 days had gone by since she last won a single’s match. Most of the time she spent in the ring was on her back. She heard the jokes. How couldn’t she? She was one pinfall away from being released. Ms. Future Endeavored. Well, endeavored she did. Because there was nothing for her outside of this sport. This company offered her the chance to dig into her darkness, to fight with tooth and claw against the best wrestlers in the world. Wrestling had a strange habit of drawing broken people in. The big stage, the thrill of the hunt, the gold at the end of it all. It was a love story told in violence.
And her story did not end here. Not tonight.
Somehow, somewhere deep within her soul, that dark chasm that howled in hunger for recognition, that demanded to be seen, that willed itself into the light, adrenaline surged in her soul. With every thought out of control she did everything to get back on her feet. The crowd was about to blow, as screams echoed all around the NXT arena.
Beyond anyone’s expectation…she did it. She kicked out.
Roxanne was thrown over, landing hard on her face. Lyra had rolled out of the ring clutching her ribs, her face contorting in pain. Tatum scrambled to her feet, clinging to the ropes in the corner. She eyed her prey, the false champion, and waited patiently for Roxanne to get up. At the corner of her eye, she caught a glint of gold coming off the title belt. It called to her. It wanted her. And she wanted it back. Roxanne, cruel and little Roxanne, wanted to rub it in her face. Well two could play at that game.
Oh yes she could.
With a roar, Tatum charged forward, gripping the other woman’s hair and her face first into a turnbuckle. Roxanne staggered backwards pulled by Tatum who lifted her up on her shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Looking straight into Roxanne’s eyes she knew the other woman knew what was about to happen. Rage and indignation blazed in the prodigy but that would all go away in one fell swoop.
Because Roxanne was about to…go to sleep.
Heaving the smaller woman off her shoulders, Tatum’s knee collided with the prodigy’s face, sending her to the mat in a crumbled mess. She made a mental note to send a nice cold can of Pepsi over to Roxanne for cold comfort…but not before she’d claim her title. This was it. Finally, Tatum didn’t even think, her body moved on instinct alone, covering her opponent and pressing down on her as hard as she could. The referee slid down in front of her, his back facing the entrance ramp.
ONE
Please Please Please Please Please Please–NO.
TWO
Rising from ringside was the one woman who, just last week, she’d give everything for. Now, Lyra—her dove—could take everything away from her. The Valkyrie locked eyes with Tatum, rage, hurt, betrayal, bitterness, and, something else brewed in her eyes. Those same ones that looked at the referee’s legs. Those same legs that were just a few feet away from her. Tatum’s heart dropped to her stomach. Lyra wouldn’t. She couldn’t do this to her. Not here. Not now. Lyra, bruised and bloodied, hung over the ring apron, seemingly lost in thought, her attention shifting from the referee to Tatum.
Before closing her eyes…and in a move that left the audience gasping.
Walked away from the ring.
THREE
It all happened so quickly. Everything was so loud that it ended up dulling out—the entire arena was screaming their heads off but to her it just sounded like she was in the middle of a hurricane. The eye of the storm. Their faces blended into one, one large smile that spanned from each end of the stands. They didn’t matter anyway. She yanked her hand out of the ref’s and clutched the title.
No.
Not the title.
Her title.
Tears stained the gold and rainbow colored championship. And strangely enough her tears made it shine just a little bit brighter. Triumphantly, on her own, Tatum raised her prize for all the world to see. Good. They should take it in, because no one was going to take it from her. Here, in her moment, her hour of glory, a thought occurred to her:
She could get used to this. She could definitely get used to this.
But something else wormed its way into her mind, which for the first time, was calm. Lucid. Clear.
‘Where is Lyra?’
– – –
Tatum strutted around the backstage area like a peacock, her title rested on her shoulders. All the other wrestlers gave her a wide berth despite the warm and friendly smile she offered them. Besides she didn’t care about them, she was only interested in one person tonight. A door opening a couple of feet from her made her jump, and instinctively she rushed towards a corner, cloaking herself in shadows. Ava, their general manager and overall goodest of noodles walked out with a sad smile on her face. Following her was…wait…Tatum knew that bald head from anywhere.
Adam Pearce?
What was the Raw general manager doing in NXT? She listened in closely, or as close as she could given that now of all times the pipes decided to fill with running rain water from outside.
“...A fair trade I’d say.” The Raw GM exclaimed.
“Fair is certainly one word for it. But if she starts complaining to the top brass whenever she can’t get a pumpkin spiced latte or something, then I’m sending her back to you.”
“You’ll get used to Chelsea. Believe me we all do. Now…where is the champs locker room again?”
‘Someone got traded? And for Chelsea Greene of all people?’
“Second floor, first door on the right. Knock first. Ilja can be a bit jumpy.”
Tatum moved off silently before Pearce bumped into her. When she finally reached the locker room, it was entirely empty. Tatum went to her locker, gingerly placing her championship belt in her black duffle bag, before gathering her things. Champ needs her own space of course. She stopped before she could finish. Lyra’s locker, which was a couple of lockers down from her…was emptied out. Well that certainly put a damper on her mood. Her little dove was never much of a sore loser, though did take quite a beating from both her and Roxanne. Lyra needed to rest. Which was fine. Good. Tempers and emotions were running high, they could talk things out next week. Good people, which Tatum was most certainly a good person, learned to play things smart. There was always next week.
There was always next week.
Right?
– – –
Tatum was starting to get worried. A week had gone by and Lyra was still missing. The new NXT women’s champion paced around her spacious private locker room. This was low. Her sweet dove was probably doing this on purpose, worrying her about where she was even though TATUM, not her, was the champion. A champion shouldn’t be made to wait for anyone. Wasn’t this title supposed to draw people to her? Like moths to a flame? So far everyone just stayed away from her. Just like before. Like…winning the title didn’t change anything, actually that’s not true. That can’t be true. She…they…the NXT universe and everyone in it just needed some time to warm up to her. The crowd already loved her! They chanted her name an hour ago when she came out to confetti and pyro—as much pyro as the PC could realistically use—for her title celebration. Sure…no one backstage came out to celebrate with her. She wasn’t expecting a Cody Rhodes at Mania level of fanfare but…not a single wrestler came out. Just Ava, rattling off a canned congratulation spiel.
The urge to text or call Lyra was starting to grow on her.
Why was she so bent out of shape about this? Lyra shouldn’t mean anything to her anymore. Yet…Tatum couldn’t help but think back to the match last week. Lyra could’ve ended her dreams then and there. But her sweet dove, her sweet, sweet, dove let her win. She practically gift wrapped it for her. Even after what Tatum did. After—rightfully so—stabbing Lyra in the back. The least Tatum could do was say thank you. And…maybe after that…they could talk and hang out—okay that would be a lot to ask for so soon but. But.
But she was the champion! The title was safe with her now. Now there wasn’t anything getting in the way between them anymore. They could…maybe they could…start over again? Lyra was a good person, she was the best person she knew. The only one who took her in. And sure…Lyra may have yelled at her, never appreciated her, never…loved her the way she loved Lyra. But that was different, the title just weighed too much for her little bird’s shoulders. The burden was clearly getting to her. Now that Tatum had taken that burden on for herself…
Oh she was going in circles again!
Tatum took her phone out and sent Lyra a text message.
Hey. I know this is gonna sound awkward but can we talk? I wanted to thank you for letting me have my moment last week. Are you in the PC? My locker room’s open anytime. You can come in, I don’t really have much to do now.
I miss y—
Tatum quickly deleted that last bit before clicking send. Only to see in bright red text:
The following number has blocked you. No texts or calls will be sent through.
The women’s champion shoved her phone in her pocket before storming out of the locker room. She made her way past the backstage area, not even bothering to put up a fake friendly front to anyone. Anger, hurt, worry, all these emotions bubbled to the surface. The women’s locker room was, surprise, surprise, fucking empty again. It’s as if these girls knew she was coming a mile away and scattered like rats when she drew close. Wait.
Tatum’s widened. The locker room wasn’t empty. There was still someone here. A new face. New girl. But.
But.
“Oh!” the new girl said as she turned to face Tatum. “Hi! Uh—I mean, it’s a pleasure to meet you champ, my name is–”
“I don’t care,” Tatum mumbled, seemingly lost in a trance. Like a cat stalking her prey, she slowly made her way forward. “Why…Why are you using that locker?”
“Um. Because it was assigned to me?” the new girl said with a shrug. She did start backing away from Tatum though, which was smart since Tatum looked like she wanted to rip her fucking head off.
“That’s not yours though.” Tatum scanned the locker, her heart sinking when she found out that Lyra’s nameplate wasn’t there anymore. “That’s Lyra’s locker.”
“Valkyria? Didn’t she—”
“Why are you still here? I said this locker doesn’t belong to you.”
“But where am I going to put my stuff—AH!”
Tatum lunged for the new girl’s neck, wringing it in her hands as she squeezed and slammed her head against the floor.
“IT’S NOT YOURS, THIEF!” Tatum shrieked. “WHERE IS LYRA? WHERE IS SHE?! WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY SWEET DOVE?!”
“What’s all this noise—Oh for fuck’s sake,” Ava stormed into the locker room. Tatum released the unconscious girl, streaks of blood stained her pale hands but Tatum didn’t care. “Consider yourself suspended for two weeks, champ. Shit. Now I have to rework this month’s booking. Thanks. Ugh.”
“Where is she?”
Ava crossed her arms and stared Tatum down.
“If you had given me some time, I would have found a way to broach the subject to you.”
“Ava. I’m a reasonable person” Tatum said calmly as she wiped off the blood on her hands on her dark jeans. “I need to see her. She blocked me, I couldn't reach her. Can you call her and tell her I want to talk? Please? I know people have been avoiding me all day so I could barely ask anyone about her. It’s just that I’ve been thinking about her all week, even though I have this on my shoulders now. Hey maybe, if I can convine her, would you book a few matches for her that maybe I can run in and save her or—”
Imagine if, years into their feud, Tatum constantly chases all the titles of the brand Lyra is in. Whether it's the hypothetical midcard women's titles, the tag titles, or the world championship on either Raw or Smackdown. Tatum wants them all.
In their Mania match (let me dream lol) mid-match, just as Lyra's about to hit her finisher, when confronting Tatum as to why, why do any of this at all after so many years...Tatum just says with a deranged smile behind tears:
"This is the only way I can be part of your life now..."
And it all makes sense. All this time if Tatum wanted to soar as high as Lyra's ambitions, she needed to be the one Lyra chased after. And the only way to do that was to hold all the gold.
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