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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Duality, Chapter 5 (Crygi/Jankie) - Metaluna

Chapter summary: Crystal forms an unexpected friendship as Gigi explores her humanity further.

A/N: Look at me actually managing to update on AQ! Anyway, a big thank you as always to the queen @junosjukebox for beta reading this and being my biggest supporter. Enjoy!!

“I cannot believe you agreed to this,” Gigi groaned as she applied mascara using the bathroom mirror.

Crystal sat on the toilet while she waited for her nail polish to dry. “Babe… I have a confession to make.”

Gigi turned her head to look at her girlfriend. “What did you do?”

Blowing on her nails she began, “So… When I was waiting for you while you were in the dead body room, Jackie was talking about her wife and how great she was, which is cute. But then, she told me she knew nothing about me… I don’t know. I know you’re not one for small talk, but I thought maybe… Anyway, when Jackie offered for us to go over to her apartment for dinner… I may have said yes because I was…”

“Jealous?”

Crystal nodded. “I’m sorry.”

There were times that Gigi didn’t understand her girlfriend’s thought process. This was one of those times. Gigi couldn’t understand why Crystal would be upset because she didn’t talk about her to her coworker, especially a coworker she didn’t like very much.

But, Gigi felt bad for upsetting Crystal, especially after their fight. Crystal made it very clear the night of their fight, if Gigi did anything that severe again, she would leave without hesitation. While Crystal was one to forgive, she wasn’t one to forget. In return, Gigi promised to respect her boundaries, and to open up more.

“I’m sorry, my love. I didn’t know that it was something that meant a lot to you.”

“It’s notreally. I just feel like you’d be more likely to show Jackie a picture of your cat than of me.”

“To be fair, Akasha is the most beautiful cat I’ve ever had,” Gigi laughed, making eye contact with Crystal in the mirror.

“I can’t stand you.”

Crystal hugged Gigi from behind, and in return Gigi turned her head for a kiss.

“I love you,” Crystal said as she took a mirror selfie. “Remember that time I asked if you’d show up in pictures?”

Gigi nodded. “I also remember when you asked if I slept in a coffin.”

“It was a valid question!”

“Was it, though?”

“How early are we?” Gigi asked.

Crystal glanced at her phone. “Ten minutes.”

“Is it strange that I’m nervous?”

“You? Nervous? You’re never nervous about anything.”

Gigi wrapped the chain of her necklace around her finger. “I know. You’re the only human I’m around for an extended period of time. Human interaction isn’t something that I’m used to. Truthfully, it’s a little scary.”

Crystal held her girlfriend’s hand. “I never thought of that. How are you feeling about it all?”

“It’s just that a lot has changed in a small time frame. A year means nothing to me. I went from thinking of humans as food and food alone, to falling in love with one, and now I’m spending my spare time with them. This isn’t normal.”

“And running a funeral home and dating a human is? You have grown so much as a person, babe, it’s incredible. Like I said on our anniversary, you have come so far, and I’m so proud of you. You may have done some terrible things in your past, but we all have. I mean, yeah, we haven’t all done the same things, but that’s not the point. The point is that we grow as people. The humanity you think you gained from dating me is something that’s always been there. You just didn’t want to see it,” Crystal said as she kissed Gigi’s hand wrapped in her own.

“Even so, you have brought aspects of myself that I thought were gone forever. I never thought I’d get to fall in love.”

The only other person Gigi had any sort of romantic involvement with on a regular basis was Nicky. “Love” is not what Gigi would use to describe their relationship. It was tumultuous and exciting. The highs were euphoric, and the lows were brutal. But with Crystal, it was different. There was a gentleness that she had never felt. It was the energy that Gigi desperately tried to pretend to have with her fiancé. With Crystal, she didn’t have to pretend.

“I love you. So, so much. And I’m completely regretting agreeing to this.”

“Can we form an escape plan?” Gigi asked.

Crystal couldn’t tell if her girlfriend was joking or not, but her facial expression indicated that she was serious.

“No. No, we can’t.” Crystal looked at her phone again. “Should we be fashionably late?”

“Of course. The less time with them the better.”

This caused Crystal to lightly smack Gigi’s arm. “This could be great. You don’t know. Jackie seems nice.”

“She’s okay, I guess.”

“Okay is better than bad.”

“I suppose so…”

“Besides, if this does suck like you think it’s going to, we never have to do it again,” Crystal said confidently.

“Good.”

“Can you knock?”

“Huh?”

“I’m nervous,“ Gigi barely said above a whisper.

Crystal started laughing.

“Darling, why are you laughing at my pain?”

“Goddamn, you’re dramatic sometimes. I just think it’s funny since you’re usually so self-assured. Seeing you squirm a little bit is cute,” Crystal said as she knocked on the door.

Almost instantly, the door was answered by a blonde woman who Gigi recognized to be Jan. Jan looked like she belonged in a magazine. Between her lacy apron and dazzling smile, it was as though Jan was the modern-day version of what Gigi was set to become.

“Oh my God, hi! It’s so nice to finally meet you, Gigi!” Jan said facing Gigi. “I’m Jan. And you must be Crystal. You are so gorgeous.”

Crystal felt her cheeks turn pink. “No, stop, you’re so beautiful.”

Standing awkwardly in the doorway, Gigi smiled uncomfortably, not moving.

“Oh, how rude of me! Come on in!”

The inside of Jackie and Jan’s apartment was exactly what Gigi imagined. It looked like the rooms from IKEA were picked up and placed in their apartment. Everything looked impeccable. It was well-decorated, probably thanks to Jan.

“You have a beautiful home,” Crystal said.

“Thank you!” Jackie, who was sitting on the couch said. “Nice to see you again, Crystal.”

“Nice to see you, too!”

“You guys hang out here, dinner should be ready soon!” Jan said brightly before returning to the kitchen.

“So Crystal,” Jackie began as Gigi and Crystal made themselves comfortable. “Are you working on anything cool for the museum?”

Gigi loved to watch Crystal’s face light up when she talked about work. “Yes! We’re actually featuring a new artist. Her exhibit is all on werewolves.”

“Werewolves? That’s interesting.”

“Just in time for Halloween!” Jan called from the kitchen.

As Crystal told Jackie the details of the exhibit, Gigi looked around the apartment. She didn’t notice upon being invited in, but there were crucifixes everywhere.

Once there was a lull in the conversation, Gigi said, “Interesting decorations.”

“What? The crosses?” Gigi nodded. “Oh, yeah Jan’s Catholic.”

Crystal laughed nervously. “I went to Catholic school. But I’m not practicing.”

“I hope Jan doesn’t want us to raise the kids Catholic,” Jackie whispered.

“I didn’t know you wanted kids,” Gigi mused.

Jackie nodded. “We definitely want kids. Don’t we, honey?”

“Being a mom is all I’ve ever wanted,” Jan called from the kitchen. “What about you guys?”

“I…” Crystal trailed off.

“Honey, they aren’t even married yet. It’s a little early to start thinking about kids.”

“It’s a little early to think about marriage too,” Gigi muttered to herself as she looked at Crystal, who was staring at her phone.

Just as an extremely awkward silence was about to ensue, Jan called, “Dinner’s ready!”

The amount of food on the table was enough to feed a small army. Jackie once said that Jan always made too much food, and Gigi now understood. While Gigi was sure that the food was incredible to humans, it would taste foul to vampires.

There were four plates that were loaded with food. Gigi began to formulate a plan on how to make it look like she’d eaten much more than she had. She and Crystal exchanged a glance.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Crystal mouthed.

Gigi shook her head as she sat.

“So,” Jan began. “How did you both meet?”

“We met at a bar,” Crystal said.

Jackie raised an eyebrow. “Gigi, you go to bars?”

“Every now and again.”

Crystal broke a lull by asking, “How about you? How did you meet?”

Jan put her hand over Jackie’s. “We met at our summer job my first year out of high school.”

The story that Jan delved into was adorable, Gigi was sure. However, her attention was focused on making it look like she was eating more than a few bites. While Gigi was eating the smallest bite possible, she felt her fangs descend.

Garlic wasn’t even something that crossed her mind. It was something that hadn’t come up in the past, since it’s not like she was used to consuming food. It was something that Nicky had mentioned to Gigi so long ago she’d nearly forgotten.

Trying her best to hide her fangs, Gigi asked, “I’m sorry, where is your bathroom?”

“First door on the right in the hallway,” Jackie replied.

Crystal locked eyes with Gigi, whose face was dripping with panic.

Once inside the bathroom, Gigi locked the door and turned the lights on to see that her fangs were fully visible. No matter how hard she tried, Gigi couldn’t make them go back into their resting position. Out of pure desperation, she tried to push them back with her fingers, but succeeded in doing nothing but making her fingers bleed.

There was a gentle knock on the door.

“It’s me,” Crystal said.

Gigi opened the door and wordlessly showed Crystal her appearance.

“Oh, shit. Why…?”

“Garlic.”

“Can you make them go back?”

Gigi shook her head. “I’ve tried.”

Crystal moved her hair to the side and offered her neck. “It’s worth a shot.”

“Twice in a week? I don’t like this,” Gigi groaned.

“Do you have any better ideas?”

“No.”

“Take more than normal. I just ate so much food, I should be fine,” Crystal said as she locked the door.

With a sigh, Gigi sank her claws into Crystal’s neck, who let out the quietest of moans.

“Well?” Gigi asked as she rubbed her blood on Crystal’s neck.

Crystal shook her head. “They still look the same… I have an idea, though.”

“What?”

“We’ll say that you had an allergic reaction, we don’t have to say what exactly. After that, we get the fuck out of here,” Crystal said removing her scarf. “Cover your mouth with this.”

“You’re a genius, darling.”

“I know.”

“Is everything okay?” Jackie asked once they returned from the bathroom.

“Allergic reaction,” Crystal answered.

“Oh my God, Gigi I am so sorry!” Jan squeaked.

“It’s fine, don’t blame yourself.”

“If you don’t need to come in tomorrow, don’t. I’ll be fine,” Jackie said.

“Thank you.”

Gigi sat on the couch with a hand mirror as she examined her fangs.

“Is there like some vampire guidebook somewhere that tells you what to do?” Crystal asked.

“No.”

“If you snapped them off, would they grow back? I have a hammer in the closet, I think.”

Gigi looked mortified. “No. No, they absolutely would not.”

“Do you think it’s permanent?”

“I don’t know if it’s wishful thinking, but I don’t.”

Crystal yawned. “Sorry.”

“Love, go to bed.”

“No. You’re clearly upset, and I want to be there for you.”

“No offense, darling, but I’m going to be upset regardless if you’re awake. I’m sure my fangs are going to be the same way when you wake up in the morning.”

Gigi was right. Crystal woke up to see her girlfriend on the couch with a hand mirror, her fingers covered in blood.

“Holy shit, babe. Your fingers are fucked.”

Gigi sucked the blood off of her fingers. “No, my fingers are fine. Do my fangs look any different?”

“No.”

“I suppose I should text Jackie and tell her I won’t be coming in.”

Crystal began to brew a cup of coffee. “Good idea. I don’t think mourning families wanna see… those. I mean, I like them, but…”

Hello, Jackie. I am still dealing with the allergic reaction from last night… Please don’t let Jan blame herself, it was not her fault, but I’m not coming in today.

Jackie, as always, texted back instantly.

About that…

About what, exactly?

Well… Someone was brought in and they’re in ROUGH shape. Really bad

Bad enough that you can’t handle it yourself? Is it another animal attack?

No. Just a LOT of decomposition… I promise if you come in, I’ll do all the visitations for a month!

Gigi groaned as she stared at her phone.

Fine.

You’re the best!

I know.

“What’s wrong?”

“I have to go to work.” Gigi picked up the hand mirror and looked at her fangs once more. “Why can’t it be a social norm for everyone to wear masks in public?”

“That sounds horrible.”

“Well, it certainly would be helpful now. What are your plans for the day?”

“We’re installing parts of the exhibit today. Later, me and Jaida are getting lunch since we haven’t really had a chance to just talk since… that night.” Crystal quickly changed the subject. “Do you want my scarf to cover your face?”

“Yes, please.”

After setting her coffee mug on the table, Crystal went into their bedroom and grabbed several scarves, all with different colors, material, and patterns.

“Take your pick,” Crystal said as she held the scarves in front of her girlfriend.

“Do you really have to ask?”

Crystal wordlessly tossed the solid black scarf.

“Have a good day at work, babe… Well, as good as it can be,” Crystal said as she kissed Gigi’s cheek.

“You, too.”

Before Gigi walked into the funeral home, she made sure to cover her face with the scarf Crystal gave her. Thankfully, Chicago in October was cold enough that wearing a scarf wasn’t out of the ordinary. However, wearing a scarf over the entire bottom half of the face looked a little odd, but Gigi was certain there were much weirder sights on the streets of Chicago.

Jackie was waiting for Gigi in the lobby.

“I am so sorry,” Jackie said. “I should have asked about allergies…”

“It’s okay. It’s not like I’ll be around the living today. I don’t think a corpse will care about my allergic reaction.”

Jackie laughed nervously. “True…”

Gigi looked at Jackie and noticed a small silver cross hanging from her neck. Jackie mentioned many times that she didn’t like wearing jewelry at work, not even her wedding ring.

“Interesting necklace.” Gigi tried to sound nonchalant.

“What? Oh. I’ve had it for a while, but haven’t worn it until now. Jan gave it to me a while ago. I guess talking about the crosses at the apartment made me think about it.”

Gigi raised an eyebrow. “What happened to no jewelry at work?”

Jackie shrugged. “I guess I felt like a change.”

“Right… Well, I’ll probably be a while. I’m going to leave right after if I finish, if that’s okay.”

“That’s fine. Thank you for coming in.”

While Gigi walked to the prep room, she put her hair into a messy bun, the same thought racing through her mind. There’s no way Jackie could know what she was, was there?

Despite being excited to spend time with Jaida, Crystal felt bad, since all she could think about was Gigi. Still, she was determined to do her best to keep her girlfriend out of her mind for at least a little while.

“Thanks for lunch, Jaida.”

“Don’t mention it. Although, I am slightly judging you. Who goes to one of the best delis in Chicago and gets a cheese sandwich?”

“It’s really good…”

Jaida laughed. “I’m just teasing. You’re not wrong.”

After eating in a comfortable silence, Jaida spoke up. “So, how did you and your girl meet?”

“We met at the club. Sometimes we joke about making up a better story.”

“No shame. Was it like in all the movies where you locked eyes across the club?”

Crystal laughed. “No, I went up to her at the bar.”

“At the bar?”

Crystal nodded.

“Part of me hoped that you saw her doing WAP on the dancefloor.”

“I love her, but one time I walked in on her doing the dance, and it is something I wish I could forget.”

Jaida laughed. “I guess we can’t all be my roommate, Vanessa. Where’s Gigi from? I know I only met her a second, but she didn’t seem like a Chicago girl at all.”

Crystal hesitated. She hadn’t asked Gigi what her fake backstory was. “The suburbs.”

“Oh, nice. I don’t know, there’s just something about her that seems interesting.”

Crystal smiled. “She is probably the most interesting person I know.”

“What’s she do?” Jaida asked as she took a sip of her Coke.

“She works at a funeral home, she’s the owner actually. Basically she’s the person they go to when the bodies are in extra bad shape.”

“Wow,” Jaida said. “I don’t think I could ever be surrounded by dead people all day.”

“Honestly, same. Sometimes she tells stories about work, and I need to ask her to stop, and by sometimes, I mean most times. Like, the other day, she told me about a body she saw that was killed in an animal attack, that had claw marks bigger than any animal she’d ever seen, which is saying a lot. Apparently their insides were on the outside.”

Jaida shifted in her chair. “Do they have any idea what did it?”

“Nope. Maybe it was a werewolf,” Crystal laughed.

“What else do we have to do to finish the exhibit?”

Crystal found the sudden change of subject odd. “We only have a few more installations. We’re extremely ahead of schedule. We’re three weeks from opening, and we’re almost done. We can relax.”

“You say that now.”

“Yeah, I’m sure in like a week I’m going to have a meltdown about how we aren’t getting everything done.”

Jaida laughed. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

“Did you have anything in mind for opening night? Like, themes or attire or anything else?”

“I was thinking since we’re opening on Halloween, maybe we could all wear costumes. But, not cheap shit like Spirit Halloween costumes.”

“I love Spirit Halloween!” Crystal whined.

“I do, too. But, you know what I mean. I want the costumes to be high class.”

“I think that’s a great idea.”

“You should definitely bring Gigi,” Jaida said.

“Are you bringing anyone?” Crystal asked.

Jaida shook her head. “I had a boyfriend back home, but he found out about some… baggage, and decided it was too much. It’s okay, though. The sex was great, but that’s about it. Sometimes I’d talk to him and it was completely in one ear and out the other.”

“God, that sounds like my ex-boyfriend.”

“Why do men? Anyway, you best be thinking about costumes.”

“I’ve got a few couple costumes in mind.”

Crystal had gotten home before Gigi. All she could hope was that her girlfriend’s fangs were back to normal, and that they wouldn’t be stuck forever.

Usually, Crystal wasn’t one to greet Gigi at the door, but she was so concerned, she opened the door when she heard Gigi begin to unlock it.

“How are you fangs?” Crystal asked the second Gigi stepped inside.

Gigi proudly smiled to show that her fangs were no longer visible.

“When did that happen? How did it happen?”

“Honestly? I have no idea. I felt them retract while I was working.”

“Well now, if you ever write a vampire guidebook, which you should, you can put something in the ‘garlic’ chapter.”

“I can’t stand you.” Gigi made sure to make her tone sound just as Crystal’s did when she said it.

“Using my words against me? A power move.”

A wicked smile formed on Gigi’s face. “I’ll show you a power move.”

With that, Gigi tackled Crystal so that she landed on the couch. Crystal laughed as Gigi kissed her neck.

“I’m not afraid of you!” Crystal retorted as she kissed her girlfriend.

Immediately, Gigi pulled away and barred her fangs. “You should be.”

“Is that so?” Crystal bit her lip suggestively. “Why would that be?”

Gigi ran her fangs up and down Crystal’s neck, drawing small drops of blood. “You know why.”

Crystal batted her dark eyelashes. “Actually, I don’t… In fact, I think you’re going to have to show me. Really spell it out for me, you know?”

Effortlessly pinning Crystal’s arms up over her head Gigi said, “You’d like that wouldn’t you? You’d like for me to rough you up, you filthy–”

Before Gigi could finish her sentence her phone, which was on the end table, rang. She reached for it as Crystal smacked her hand away.

“Phone call later. Please, for the love of all things holy, finish that sentence.”

“It’s Jackie.”

“Jackie can wait,” Crystal said as she ran her hand up her girlfriend’s skirt, which earned a wrist slap from Gigi.

“Something could be wrong,” she said as she answered the call. “Hello?”

“Gigi, hi…” Jackie began. “So, Jan feels terrible about… everything, and was wondering if you would want to do dinner again.”

Crystal was sitting so close to Gigi that she could hear Jackie.

“Turn speaker on,” Crystal mouthed.

“How?” Gigi mouthed back.

Crystal stole her girlfriend’s phone and turned speaker on.

“Jackie, I already told you that it isn’t Jan’s fault. I promise that I’m not upset, and I’m fine.”

“I know… But we still would love to have you over again.”

Crystal’s eyes went wide as she mouthed, “No.”

Gigi shrugged. “We’re kind of busy… Crystal has the exhibit opening, so she doesn’t have very much spare time.”

“Hi, Jackie. It’s Crystal. You’re on speaker, sorry. Why don’t you and Jan come over for drinks? Does Friday night work? Maybe at eight?”

“Friday would be great! I’ll tell Jan. How’s your allergic reaction, Gigi?”

“I’m fine,” Gigi said. “Crystal and I were actually in the middle of something, so I’m going to go now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay! Bye.”

Gigi hung up. “Why did you invite them over?”

“I know people like Jackie. She’s not going to let up until you finally agree. I figure if we have them over here, we can make sure nothing like that happens, not that I think it would. Besides, Jan seems really sweet. It’d also be nice to share a bottle of wine with someone.”

“You seem to enjoy drinking an entire bottle by yourself,” Gigi smirked as she guided Crystal on her back. “Now… Where were we?”

“I can’t believe I suggested this,” Crystal groaned, as she sat on the couch absentmindedly petting Akasha.

“I can’t either,” Gigi muttered, while she ran her fingers down the smooth gold necklace she was wearing. “Let’s just get through this.”

Crystal groaned when she heard a knock on the door. “Guess I’m the good little trophy wife that’s gonna open the door this time.”

Jan and Jackie stood in the doorway looking far too excited.

“Hi, come in,” Crystal said, gesturing for them to go inside.

“You have a beautiful home,” Jan said while she hung her coat on the rack by the door.

“Thank you,” Crystal said.

“Oh, wow, Crystal did you paint that?” Jackie asked looking at the mural of an anatomical illustration of two people kissing.

Crystal felt her face light up with pride. “I did. One day Gigi went to work, and I was off, and got bored.”

“And then I came home to be greeted by a half-completed mural,” Gigi said as she stood up from the couch and grabbed Crystal’s waist.

“It’s really interesting,” Jan said as she looked at it further.

“I tried to take some things that reminded me of Gigi, so obviously all the anatomical stuff, and then I tried to add aspects of myself, like the colors and the flowers.”

“Well, it’s absolutely incredible,” Jackie said.

“Thank you!”

Jan turned to face Gigi, taking her by the hands. “Gigi, I am so, so sorry about dinner…”

Unfortunately for Gigi, Jan was wearing her wedding ring which was made of silver. A sharp pain radiated from the back of her hand all the way to her wrist.

Even though she did her best to hide her pain, Jan asked, “Is everything okay?”

Gigi nodded. “Must have eaten something bad at lunch.”

Looking down at the place on her hand where Jan’s ring touched, Gigi saw just how irritated the skin was, and stuck her hand in her pocket to make it less noticeable.

“I’ve been feeling sick a lot lately, too,” Jan said.

Crystal looked around the silent room and cleared her throat. “Who wants wine? There’s a bottle in the kitchen.”

“I’ll help you,” Gigi said as she turned to go to the kitchen. In an afterthought, she looked at Jan and Jackie and gestured at the couch. “Please sit.”

“What the fuck happened to your hand?” Crystal whispered as soon as they made it into the kitchen.

“You saw that?”

Crystal nodded. “What happened?”

“Jan’s wedding ring.” Gigi held her hand out to show the irritated skin that was beginning to blister.

“Gross. Can your blood heal it?”

Gigi shook her head. “It has to go away on its own.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Oh, darling, it is absolutely excruciating,” Gigi said through a forced smile as she reached for the wine bottle.

“No, I got it,” Crystal picked up a corkscrew. “I figured tonight would be the night to break out the bottle with an actual cork. Are you going to be pretending to enjoy this tonight?”

“Maybe focusing on pretending to enjoy the wine will make me think less about how my hand feels like I dipped it in acid.” Gigi pulled her sleeve down strategically after she picked up two of the wine glasses. “Let’s go.”

Jackie was sitting on the couch when they returned, but Jan on the other hand was sitting on the floor petting Akasha.

“You are so cute,” Jan cooed as Akasha rubbed against her thigh.

Gigi went to hand Jan a glass of wine, making sure the burn was still covered.

Jan held a hand up. “No thank you, I’m taking a break from drinking for now.”

“More for me I guess,” Gigi joked as she took a sip after setting down the full glass. It had been a few decades since her last sip of wine, but it was just as unpleasant as she remembered.

“I can go get you something else!” Crystal said.

“No, don’t worry about it! I’m fine.”

Once Gigi and Crystal were comfortable in the lounge chairs, Jackie said, “White wine? Nice choice.”

“Thank you. I’m not a fan of red. I feel like everyone just pretends to like it to feel classy,” Crystal laughed as she took a sip.

“Yes!” Jan exclaimed. “They pretend they like it and then everyone is so dead-set on making it a thing that no one realizes that everyone actually hates it!”

“Absolutely.”

“Sweet red wines can be good,” Jackie said.

Jan tapped her cheek pretending to think. “Hmm… No. I love you, sweetheart, but no.”

“What about you, Gigi?” Jackie asked.

Taking another drink, Gigi couldn’t help but notice that the wine was starting to taste worse. “I’m not a very big wine person, if I’m being honest.”

“For someone that’s not a wine person, you’re sure taking big sips, babe,” Crystal said, as she raised an eyebrow. “That’s how we used to drink pink moscato by the bottle back at Kendall…”

How was Gigi supposed to know how big of a sip of wine to take? She just wanted the glass empty.

“Wait, you went to Kendall?” Jan asked, and Crystal nodded in response. “So did I!”

“You went to a pretentious art school? For what?”

“Musical theatre.”

“Oh, god, you’re a theatre kid?” Crystal teased.

“What’d you major in?”

“Studio art.”

“Wasn’t that the major of the one girl that set the smoke detector in the library off? Did you know her?”

Crystal took a long drink.

“That was you?”

“Not my proudest moment! I had to study for an art history exam and I was stressed, and I thought if I hit my pen it wouldn’t set off the smoke detectors.”

“You’re infamous. My little sister said they still talk about it.”

“I’d like to think of myself as famous, actually.”

Jan and Crystal continued exchanging stories about school. They realized that their friend circles were more connected than she would have assumed. Crystal’s friend Widow was friends with Jan’s sorority sister, Brita. On the night of Widow’s twenty-first birthday, Brita was there. Crystal had only met her once, but that one time was memorable.

Even though she wasn’t sure why, Gigi began to notice that Jan would make eye contact with her every so often.

Crystal could get along with genuinely anyone, and Jan appeared to be content talking to a tree. Gigi assumed they would get along, but didn’t expect them to form a friendship right away. It was clear that Crystal enjoyed Jan and Jackie’s company, and she had to admit she did, as well.

When it was time to say goodbyes for the evening, Jan held Crystal’s hands in the way she had with Gigi’s earlier. With this in mind, when it came time for Gigi’s goodbyes, she offered a hug.

“Didn’t realize you were a hugger,” Jackie mused.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Jackie,” Gigi faked a smile as she hugged Jackie. “See you Monday.”

For a moment before shutting the door, Gigi could have sworn she saw Jan glare in her direction.

“Smooth,” Crystal said when the door shut. “I actually enjoyed that a lot.”

“Me, too,” Gigi said, unable to get Jan glare out of her mind.

#rpdr fanfiction #crygi #jankie #crystal methyd #gigi x nicky #jackie cox #jan sport #vampire au #lesbian au #duality #metaluna #submission #s12

9 notes · View notes

darksunrising · 4 years

Text

Sola Gratia (12/?)

Masterlist

Rating / Warnings : Nothing in particular.

Fandom : Bram Stoker’s Dracula, BBC’s Dracula, various Dracula and vampire lore.

Part 12/? (3386 words)

Author’s notes : Final episode of the second act, part one ! Those episodes will be longer than the others, hope you’ll like them either way !

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It was a strange feeling, watching over the kettle as a very tense immortal was sitting on my couch, seemingly engaged in a vicious battle of looks with my cat, himself sitting on the end of the bar. At least, his attention wasn't focused on the very pink dressing robe I slipped into as soon as I got inside. Leah bought it for me as a joke, but it was actually very comfortable. Vlad didn't comment on it, but I caught him hiding a laugh with a cough when I came out of my room, wrapped in it.

“Do you drink tea ? I mean, I know what you drink, but can you even drink or eat normal things, for all that matter ?”

“Eating regular food males me sick”, he answered, still fixated on the animal rather than me. “I can, however, enjoy a drink or two.”

“Good.”

I got two mismatched cups – the only ones available –, and filled them both. I handed him one, which finally had him turn his attention to me. His cool fingers brushed against mine as he took it.

“Careful, it's hot.”

“Half an hour ago, you accused me of multiple murders, and now you worry I might burn myself ?”, he laughed.

I sat on the other end of the couch, sneering at him. He had a point. I stared at my cup, bobbing the tea bag as if it made any difference.

“I am far from complaining, but why did you invite me in ?”

I tried finding my words, remaining silent a moment. He didn't press, politely waiting for an answer, giving intermittent looks to the cat.

“I... Haven't slept in days, Vlad.” I started, fighting against tears welling up. “Every time I close my eyes, I see them. I find myself jumping at every noise, every shadow in the corner of my eye, I-”

I only noticed how much my hands were shaking when he took my cup, and set it on the table along with his.

“When I believed it was you, I had at least the hope that you wouldn't hurt me, or Leah, or someone I care about. Now I...” I took a pause to take a breath. “I'm terrified.”

I risked a look. His brow was furrowed, but he had a little smile.

“If you let me in for that reason, you really must be desperate.”

I tried to laugh, but it got caught in my throat.

“Eris, you have to go to sleep. MINA tried to scare you. For all you know, they could have lied to make you talk.” He took my hand in his. “I am surprised, but glad you did not.”

He leaned over to catch my gaze. A feeling of peace washed over me as I looked into his eyes. I wondered if he could do that. Manipulate my emotions, just like that. I didn't have the time to wonder for long, as he suddenly picked me up in his arms. I had a squeal of surprise, and threw my arms around his neck as a reflex.

“Vlad, what-”

“You need a good night of sleep, you look less alive than I do.”

His tone was firm, but still tainted by amusement. “Well, that's ironic. And I don't need to be carried, I can still walk !” My protests were only met with a grin.

“I know, but I can hear your heartbeats, and I like to have my fun.”

I felt my cheeks burning up instantly. He stepped into my room, and laid me down on my bed. I slipped under the covers and he sat next to me, glancing around in the semi darkness. As soon as the sun set, I never turned off the set of fairy lights running across the walls, bathing the room in an ultraviolet light. His shirt was glowing, and I couldn't help but wonder what his teeth would look like.

“Can you tell me a story ?”, I asked.

He smiled, brushed a few strands of hair out of my face. My heart stopped a second, while he seemed to think a moment.

“Did I ever tell you about my first voyage into the New World ?”, he began. I shook my head, while he kept softly running his hands through my hair.

He did have a talent for narration. His voice was soothing, and as the story went on, I found myself drifting, along the waves surrounding the frigate, the wind in the sails, the first cries of seagulls as they reached the shore. He talked softly at first, but was soon caught in his own tale, and I couldn't help but smile at the passion in his tone. He started to fade, and I rested my eyes, just a second.

~ ~ ~

A familiar smell dragged me out of my sleep, and I blinked off my drowsiness, slowly sitting up. After a glance at my phone, I noticed it was already past 10am. Most sleep than I had in the whole week. I stood up, and turned off the fairy lights. Stumbling to my living room, I was surprised to not hear my cat's screaming, but a cheerful, definetly human chatter.I found Vlad sitting behind the bar, and Leah, at the stove, flipping pancakes, her hair shining like pale gold under the sunlight.

“Hah, told you food would wake her up”, she told Vlad, smiling. “Grab a plate, honey, you'll need strength for today !”

“What's today ?”, I asked, a bit confused.

“Renaissance faire, don't tell me you forgot !”

Ah, right. I had to admit some of the recent events took my mind off it. It might be a good distraction, now that I thought about it. I sat at the bar, and thanked Leah as she put a pile of warm pancakes on my plate, handing me a bottle of maple syrup, and a cup of steaming coffee.

“Well, good thing Vlad has a better memory than you, because apparently, he picked up some outfits”, Leah told me as she finished up her batch.

Oh no. That wasn't good.

“Can't we just go like that ?”, I asked, delving into the breakfast. As always, it was amazing, the absolute perfect balance in taste and fluffiness, an just warm enough. God, I had to marry her at some point.

“Are you kidding ?”, she indignated herself. “No way. Finish up and we're dressing up.”

Vlad was quietly laughing, and I gave him a killer look, to which he only responded with a wink. With a glance around the room, I noticed two large leather suitcases, probably holding the outfits. As soon as I was half done, Leah excitedly dragged me back to my room, as Vlad helped bring the suitcases in. He then left, closing the door.

“Ooh, this is going to be so much fun !”, she exclaimed, opening the first case. “This is yours, and the other is mine. We'll do you first, come on, get naked !”

I sighed, knowing protests wouldn't do much of anything when she was in that sort of mood. She threw an embroidered, white linen chemise, that she insisted I wore no bra with, because “the corset will do the job fine”. For fuck's sake, corsets. I glanced at the wooden box on my desk, holding the gun. As soon as this was done, I would shoot him.

The corset wasn't so bad, to be fair. Leah took care of lacing it loosely enough so that I wouldn't faint at the first occasion, and the back support actually made it comfortable. Dressing up in the whole thing was pretty fun, even with the struggle of lacing up everything, making sure the many layers sat right in place and the overall weight of the whole costume. The fabrics were soft, finely threaded, the silk shifting colors and patterns in the light. If they weren't “originals”, they had to have cost more than a year of my doctorate scholarship. If they were, well, as a historian, I had to say they were pretty much invaluable. Not an edge frayed, a thread misplaced. They looked almost brand new, yet I was certain none of the sewing was done by machine.

“This is great, where do you think he even found those ? Do you think those are reproductions, for his work ?”, she asked as she did my hair.

“I... Maybe. That would make sense. He must have picked them up while he was back in Romania.” God, I hope it was that, and not a dress from someone he ate back in the 16th century.

Trying not to think too much about it, I helped Leah get into her dress. I had to say, he had some taste. Hers had an overall pastel tone, in blues and greens, the hem of the skirt embroidered with small flowers, climbing like vines along the slits in the fabric, revealing a pale silver-ish blue silk underskirt. She looked absolutely radiant, and I took some time braiding her hair up, leaving strands here and there. She could have been a flower nymph. I was a bit more surprised by the color scheme he chose for me. The dress was in a rich golden tone, patterned in arabesques and embroidered in dark red thread. In a small box, I found pearl necklaces, hairpieces and earrings. Fuck, he went all the way into this. I mean, being immortal had to do wonders for your bank account, but still.

“Come on, I'm going first, I wanna see the look on his face when he sees you!”

Not leaving me the luxury of protesting, she slipped away, leaving me to put on the shoes he picked for me. Covered with silk, embroidered in gold thread, and, to my demise, heels. Not that high, but he still broke his damn promise. Can't trust men on anything. Leah called me over, and I sighed, preparing myself mentally. It was way more complicated to walk in this than the 19th century skirt – which I kept, after a trip to the dry cleaner's –. I glanced at the box on my desk again. I opened the lid, considering the ornate weapon a moment. I had no guarantee that this would even work. I had no reason to distrust Vlad at this point, not much more than before, anyway. However, if I was right, if MINA was right on at least the nature of the murderer running free... Fumbling around to find the slit in my underskirt, I slipped the gun in the large pocket attached inside. Now that I thought about it, it was rather infuriating that period clothing had more pocket space than our modern stuff, and they didn't even have smartphones to carry around.

When I stepped in the living room, Vlad had changed in his own outfit. Mostly black, with navy blue and silver highlights in embroidery. Across his chest, a livery collar bearing the enameled sigil of House Draculesti, and the Wallachian coat of arms. He had a soft “Ah” when he saw me, and didn't say anything for a while. I flattened the pleats of the skirt, nervously waiting for some kind of comment.

“Well ?”, Leah asked him, a mischievous smile on her lips. He seemed to finally snap out of it, taking a breath as if he had been holding it.

“This is fine. I'm glad it suits you”, he told me after clearing his throat. “Although, it misses something.”

He picked up a box on the table, handing it to me. I opened it to find what could only be described as the most dramatic statement necklace I'd ever seen in my damn life. The center piece was a red stone, the size of a small plum, encased in intricate gold work, and surrounded by pearls and other smaller stones. The rest of it was other stones, bound together by gold chains and pearls.

“What the fuck”, I couldn't help but breathe out.

Vlad took it out of the box, slipped behind me, and set it on my chest, the cool metal against my skin sending a shiver down my spine.

“Believe it or not, it was my mother's”, he told me as he worked the clasp.

“Vlad, are those real ?”, I enquired, containing a nervous laughter.

“Depends on how nervous my answer will make you.”

He had to think this was hilarious. Fucking rich people, I swear. “Very nervous.”

“They are fake, then.”

As he left, he negligently had a hand trail along my back. Leah obviously noticed, as I saw her eyes glimmering with evil intent from across the room.

“Now that we all are hot and ready, we should get going ! I don't wanna miss the joust !”, she exclaimed.

Of course, there would be a joust. I didn't even look at the program. I bid goodbye to Zardoz, burying my face into his fluffy belly, while ignoring his meows of protest, and we all left. I was almost expecting Vlad to have traded his Jaguar for a horse-drawn carriage at this point. He disappointedly did not, and Leah dragged me into the backseat. The whole drive to the small town, Leah told us about the programmed activities from a leaflet she printed out, giving us the very strict schedule she came up with so that we wouldn't miss anything.

While she exposed her thorough research, I let my eyes drift along the countryside's landscape. Even if we were still early in the year, most trees had regained their leaves. The sky was a pale blue, and if the air was a bit chilly, given how many layers of clothing we were wearing, that wasn't so bad. Vlad had even prepared capes for the evening, which was weirdly thoughtful.

I only went a few times to the city we were headed for. It was built around the 13th century, and most of the buildings ranged from that time to the 17th century. It was rather small, isolated, on top of a hill, which was pretty impressive in the overall flat landscape. About two or three times a year, they hosted medieval themed gatherings, encouraging people to come in costume, or rent some. Most of the town's activity was artisanal, and the main income was through tourism, which was fairly well developed. Going there truly felt like going back in time, as they made a big deal of using as little modern technology as possible, to give the “most authentic medieval experience of the country”. As such, it was an almost unavoidable checkpoint for every medieval history student in my university, and trips were organized every year, for the midsummer fest. I actually dreaded meeting some of my students today. I knew I would get no peace for months if I was spotted wearing that outfit.

We stopped a little outside the city, in a dedicated parking lot. There was a little train to make the rest of the way, all in favor of authenticity. That bothered Vlad a little, and he ranted about how if they wanted historical accuracy, they should have brought a hay cart and horses, that steam-powered locomotives were only invented well into the 18th century. When Leah told him this train was actually electric, he let out an outraged scoff. Oh, he was going to be unbearable the whole day, wasn't he ?

We took the historically incorrect train, getting some compliments from the crew, themselves in costume. I think they assumed we were actors hired by the city, which Leah played into with enthusiasm. She got used to her attire pretty quick, including the heels, which was much more than I could say for myself. As we went onto the cobblestone streets, she had no trouble trotting about, I had to hold onto Vlad's arm not to risk breaking an ankle, which seemed to delight him. I couldn't say I completely hated it either.

Every time we crossed a group of actors, we chatted a bit, and he spent the ten minutes following each encounter pointing out the inaccuracies in their costumes. He punctuated it with anecdotes of his time in Italy in the 1550s, which had Leah think he was really into character. When he talked about his affair with a Leonardo da Vinci, she burst out laughing, and he gave me a sideway glance, perfectly knowing I couldn't lose my mind until we were alone. It seemed like he had done everything, witnessed every historical moment from the day he died to the 19th century. According to what he had told me, his assassination attempt had him miss most of the 1900s, including both World Wars, which he was pretty pissed about when he finally rose again in 1953.

Even if he complained about details, I could tell he genuinely enjoyed the occasion. The way he carried himself inspired confidence, a hand on the pommel of his sword, the other arm focused on helping me stay in a relatively upright position. I got used to the shoes faster than I thought, but kept on pretending to be terribly at risk. I think he knew, but still kept playing into it.

At around noon, we arrived at the jousting lists, which took place underneath the city walls. Even Vlad had pretty much nothing to say against it, but then again, he hadn't made a comment in a while, only focusing on entertaining us with his anecdotes. Against the walls, they had built stands and placed chairs and benches. A couple, posing as King and Queen, were seated in a podium, a bit higher than the rest. Vlad suddenly excused himself, telling us to take a seat without him. Before he left, he handed me a fine square of silk, embroidered in red and gold. I took it, confused, but before I could ask for explanations, Leah caught my arm and dragged me off. Suspecting she was somehow in on this, I took a seat, keeping my eyes peeled for any incoming fuckery.

“So, apparently, this is actual jousting”, Leah told me, reading a pamphlet she picked up at the reception booth earlier.

“What do you mean, actual jousting ?”

“There's an equestrian center near here that has a jousting program, this doubles as a competition”, she clarified, visibly excited. “Not that there's a lot of them, but some of the contenders are coming from all over Europe, from what that thing says ! That's why I didn't want to miss it !”

Well, this faire surely took off in the last couple of years. Now that I thought about it, historical reenactment was getting pretty popular, these days. I couldn't help but worry, though, knowing how many horrific jousting accidents there had been in history, killing nobodies and Kings alike. Trumpets announced the beginning of the tournament, and the crowd started cheering. The bleachers were full, and a lot of people were standing on the sidelines to watch the show. An announcer started a little presentation, confirming that the jousting would not be acting, but an actual professional competition. Contenders came from Germany, Hungary, Italy and Switzerland, which didn't surprise me all that much, given the overall enthusiasm for medieval history in those countries.

The first contenders arrived, in full armor, their horses pawing at the ground, raising clouds of dust. They passed each other a few times, just for show, then were given their lances. Under the raging cheers of the crowd, they spurred their horses, and rammed into each other's shields a first time, went around, and back again. This time, one was thrown off his mount, his opponent's lance breaking in the process, and crashed into the sand in a clatter of metal. The victor raised the remains of his spear under the acclamations of the public.

A couple of more contenders confronted each other, sporting their country's colors. At some point, however, a rider came into the field, mounted on a dark horse, wearing a dark armor, which I didn't take long to recognize. Blackened iron, gilded, and chiseled, battle-worn, but still gloriously shining under the midday sun. On the chest piece, stylized, the very recognizable coat of arms of House Draculesti of Wallachia.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Taglist : @carydorse @angelicdestieldemon @bloodhon3yx @thewondernanazombie @battocar @moony691 @mjlock @thebeautyofdisorder @festering-queen @paracosmfantasy @lost-girl-inc

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elisaphoenix13 · 5 years

Note

Can we please get the entire Suprefam being sick and the other Avengers taking care of them?

Battling Invisible Enemies

Rhodey punches in the code for the lab and walks in when the door slides open, only to stop when he finds Tony slumped over a workbench. He was staring off onto the distance, eyes glazed over, and seemingly oblivious to the kitten hanging over his shoulder. The colonel had no idea where the cat came from, but he was more worried about the familiar sign of sick radiating around his best friend. He had actually come down to the lab to inform Tony that both Peter and Stephen were down for the count, but it looked liked the whole family caught the flu.

Peter got it first. Probably from school, and Stephen always coddled the teen when he wasn't feeling well so that was how the sorcerer caught it a day later, and since he and Tony shared a bed...

This family was going to be the death of him. Ever since Peter had become a permanent part of their lives, Tony and Stephen were a lot more touchy-feely because the teen loved (and was used to) some form of physical contact. Both men used to be put-off by just the thought of unnecessary contact, leaving that for the bedroom, then Peter broke down those walls faster than he could say 'yeet'. The doctor was actually the first one to cave completely. Tony wasn't far behind. They both loved the kid too much to care about their own insecurities or aversions.

"Tones, what are you doing down here?" Rhodey asks with a heavy sigh.

The engineer slowly blinks into reality and glances at the colonel. "Workin'." The man slurs.

"Staring off into space is your idea of work now? Come on. Up to bed. We'll throw all three of you in one room."

The billionaire must have really been feeling like crap because he didn't argue and let Rhodey take him to the elevator and back up to bed. Stephen was already buried under mounds of blankets, and someone must have had the same idea as Rhodes because Peter was snuggled up against the sorcerer. It was also a possibility that the teen dragged himself into the master bedroom for comfort.

Rhodey gently takes the mystery kitten off of Tony before the genius silently crawls back into bed, and Tony slumps into his cool pillow with a pitiful groan. Neither of the bed's other occupants stirred, so Rhodey assumed they managed to fall into a deep sleep, which was good. The kitten in his hands had it's own ideas and jumped back onto the bed to curl back up in the space between Tony's shoulder and his neck.

Rhodey throws his hands up. "I'm not dealing with that right now. Tony, you have a cat for now." The engineer mumbles into his pillow. "What?"

"He's Peter's. His name is Tibbs."

Rhodey snorts. Tibbs obviously wasn't just Peter's. "Whatever. Go to sleep. Someone will feed you guys later."

The colonel leaves the room, muttering something about not wanting to get sick himself, and Tony watches the sleeping duo on the other side of the bed lazily. This was the worst strain of the flu he had yet. Normally if he was sick, he could still work through it (much to Stephen's annoyance) but now he felt like he was in a daze and kept nodding off every ten minutes.

Like now.

He fell asleep for a couple of hours and when he woke up again, Peter was curled up against him and Stephen was missing from the bed. Before Tony could wonder where he was, the unmistakable sound of retching could be heard from the bathroom. Poor Stephen was going through the worst of it.

Once everything goes quiet and a few minutes pass in relative quiet, the toilet flushes and the sorcerer stumbles out of the bathroom looking haggard and crawls back into bed.

"Are you pregnant?" Tony jokes hoarsely over Peter's head and Stephen grabs a spare pillow to smack the engineer with.

"Douchebag."

"You'll hit the baby."

Stephen sighs and pulls the pillow away as Peter stirs. "...not a baby..." The teen mumbles.

Tibbs mewls from his spot curled against Tony's collarbone and the teen reaches up to pet the kitten. "How are you feeling Underoos?"

"Like garbage." Peter mutters.

"Nauseous?" Tony asks.

"No. Not yet at least."

Tony nods and Peter asks FRIDAY to turn on a Disney movie. They would all likely fall asleep, but it was nice background noise at the very least. Tony and Peter watched the movie, but Stephen just turned over and tried to go back to sleep. He was too tired and feeling too sick to do much of anything else, but then Vision knocked and entered with three steaming bowls of soup, and the sorcerer pulls a face at the thought of food. The other two accepted the food and ate slowly since their appetites were all but gone, and Vision set Stephen's on the nightstand beside him before leaving just as quietly as he came. For a couple of minutes, Stephen stared at the bowl after finally making himself sit up, and then finally relents to logic even though his stomach was rolling. He wouldn't get better if he didn't eat and stay hydrated, and even if it did come back up, it was better than dry heaving.

Two spoonfuls later, Peter found the doctor staring at his soup again. "Can't really taste it either?"

Stephen blinks up at him. "It's good to know it's not just me."

"Bucky probably made it too." Tony says. "Is it helping the nausea?"

"A bit...I hope it stays that way. Would be a waste of food otherwise."

Tony scruffs Tibbs and gently drops the purring kitten into his husband's lap. "Your turn. Pretty sure you need him more than we do anyway."

The sorcerer gazes down at the kitten momentarily then returns his attention to his soup. He was able to eat half of it before having to set it back on the nightstand. He was afraid if he ate anymore he would increase the risk of bringing it back up. He barely made it to the bathroom the first time since Peter liked to cling, and he wouldn't have if the teen used his spider grip.

"I don't recognize this movie." Stephen says as lays down and makes himself comfortable, and Tibbs settles on the sorcerer's chest, purring quietly.

This cat really just went the the flow of things. He may be Peter's, but he had special ways to bond with Tony and Stephen, especially when the teen wasn't home. When the vigilante was home, the kitten followed him everywhere. When he wasn't, it really depended on who was. If it was Tony, Tibbs would sit on the engineer's shoulder whether he was in the lab, in the office having a meeting, or even in the kitchen making a meal or having a snack. Usually if that was the case, Tony fed him scraps. If it was Stephen, the tabby would sleep on his chest if the doctor was taking one of his rare naps, play with Levi if the cloak swatted him playfully, or just simply sat in his lap while he meditated. Tibbs was like a feline version of Peter.

"It's an old classic. Actually older than both of you." Peter says.

"Ouch." Tony remarks but the teen ignores him.

"The Sword in the Stone." He finishes as he gives his empty bowl to Tony, who sets both on his nightstand.

Stephen hums and closes his eyes. "Go back to sleep when it's over, and if you cling, please continue to refrain from using your grip."

"Okay." The teen says.

For once, Tony didn't have a sarcastic remark. Or more like he did but he wasn't feeling up to being snarky. None of them were. It was a refreshing change not having to trade half-assed insults with the man. Not that he didn't enjoy it either. They were both arrogant and sarcastic but they both still needed the rare break from their special banter.

Peter was probably sighing internally with relief at the prospect, and that he wouldn't be caught quite literally in the middle of it.

"Pete, I have to say, if you come home sick again, we are quarantining you. This is the worst." Tony grumbles after another twenty minutes.

Stephen cracks one of his eyes open. "We'll just throw him at Wanda and Vision. She can cook, and Vision can get Peter whatever he needs without the risk of getting sick."

Tony's chuckles turns into harsh coughs, but he grins nonetheless. "Good plan. We're too old to be fighting off illnesses."

The sorcerer snorts. "Speak for yourself."

#tony stark #ironstrange #peter parker #mama bear stephen strange #supremefamily #james rhodes

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justanotherboyinblue · 4 years

Text

Unusual Asks

Spotify, SoundCloud, or Pandora? spotify!!

is your room messy or clean? ...depends if i don’t have company, or i haven’t been made to clean it, it’s relatively messy. well. it’s not messy to me, because i know where everything is and why things are...not...put away, but messy to Literally Everyone Else

what color are your eyes? brown!

do you like your name? why? i Love my name mostly because i chose it and i like how it sounds I Just Think It’s Neat

what is your relationship status? taken! i have two beautiful partners that i love very very much

describe your personality in 3 words or less Chaotic Disaster Gay

what color hair do you have? also brown dkjbsgalk

what kind of car do you drive? color? i don’t drive! don’t have my license yet

where do you shop? anywhere and everywhere alksjdb meijer? ig?

how would you describe your style? Grunge

favorite social media account discord! ‘s how i talk to my babies :3

what size bed do you have? a twin! v comfy, v bouncy

any siblings? unfortunately two brothers both are Assholes

if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why? switzerland honestly first of all, lgbtq+ has been legal there since 1942 like look at them Go oh my gosh also! i love german, it’s such a fascinating language but the biggest reason? that’s where moje rojena wants to live

favorite snapchat filter? i don’t have snapchat, and don’t really plan to kjasbdl

favorite makeup brand(s) don’t wear it! the only thing i use is chapstick lmao a wonderful vanilla chapstick by Eos

how many times a week do you shower? sometimes every night, but mostly every other night! so three or four

favorite tv show? oh gosh there are so many she-ra is probably at the top i love supernatural, and elementary, bbc sherlock, person of interest, steven universe there are a bunch of amazing shows i love!

shoe size? i think i wear like a ten and a half quadruple e do with that as you will

how tall are you? 5′4 i think probably

sandals or sneakers? flip flops!! or barefoot kadjbsgl

do you go to the gym? i don’t think i’ve ever even seen the inside of a gym

describe your dream date cuddle pile some show or movie on tv So Many Blankets but the most important thing the Most Important thing is that my babies are with me and that’s all i really need

how much money do you have in your wallet at the moment? i don’t have any cash, but i have like a little over $50 on my card

what color socks are you wearing? white with gray designs

how many pillows do you sleep with? normally three, but i’ll bring in another three if i want to build a Nest:tm:

do you have a job? what do you do? no job! i think my first job will be working at my local library

how many friends do you have? uhhhhhhh no idea a dozen? idk maybe half a dozen i really have no idea, and i have a horrible memory

what's the worst thing you have ever done? I Will Not Divulge Such Information

what's your favorite candle scent? there’s this one candle we have that’s tide+kelp scented but it just smells like a speedstick it’s awesome

3 favorite boy names Leo (obviously) Tobias Axel

3 favorite girl names L(again, obviously) Celeste i’ve always loved the name Andromeda as well!

favorite actor? Ezra Miller!! they’re a nonbinary icon, first of all, and they’re an amazing actor in my opinion! they’re Credence in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and Barry in Justice Leauge

favorite actress? hmmmmmmmmmm probably Margot Robbie tbh love her stuff also? have you seen the trailer for Birds of Prey? we Stan

who is your celebrity crush? don’t have one kjdsablg

favorite movie? oh gosh I Cannot Choose A Favorite Anything Okay i love Avatar(the one with the blue aliens not the Disgrace Of A Movie), and The Dark Knight, Captain Marvel, Abominable, and so many others

do you read a lot? what's your favorite book? i do! i used to read almost a full book every day Finding Me by Katheryn Cushman is really good, and so is Five Feet Apart, i love the Divergent series too!

money or brains? brains duh, if you’re smart you can make more money but if you’re an idiot with money what happens when you run out

do you have a nickname? what is it? not really kjabdsga my partners have their nicknames for me of course, but with my actual name you can’t have a lot of nicknames Leo calls me Q, i’ve been called Stefano and Viktor, one friend used Quimberly for a while akjfgbslkdfg

how many times have you been to the hospital? other than when i was born, i think only the once!

top 10 favorite songs Here We Go sweet tooth-Scott Helman adderall- Max Frost bambi- Hippo Campus roxxane- Arizona Zervas grixtronics- GRiZ iSpy- KYLE truth hurts- kidz bop (fuck off it slaps) walk man- TMG mr.clean- Yung Gravy peach scone- Hobo Johnson

do you take any medications daily? nope!

what is your skin type? (oily, dry, etc) definitely oily

what is your biggest fear? Ya Boi Out Here With Abandonment Issues

how many kids do you want? i’ll stick with my fur babies thank you very much

what's your go-to hairstyle? in my face covering my right eye so i can’t see with it because it annoys my mother and i think i look Hot

what type of house do you live in? (big, small, etc) medium i would think? we don’t have a second floor or a finished basement, but i’ve never had to bunk with either of my brothers so

who is your role model? no one specific! just, kind people, yk?

what was the last compliment you received? i think it was on...monday? when Leo kept telling me i was adorable XD

what was the last text you sent? to a gc with my partners saying i was going mia because I Have The Right To Not Interact With Anyone For Several Days And Watch Movies no i will not be taking criticism

how old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real? like somewhere from seven to nine i think i have no idea dude, i have the memory of a goldfish

what is your dream car? .... 1967 black chevy impala

opinion on smoking? bad for you, love the smell, not gonna tell you to stop, will just worry quietly in the corner because i won’t tell you what to do with your life

do you go to college? nope! still in high school, i probably won’t go to college tbh

what is your dream job? owning my own bookstore! with a cafe a cat cafe i have it planned out to a concerning degree

would you rather live in rural areas or the suburbs? i’ve lived in one place my entire life and it’s on the side of the highway with no neighbors so Suburbs Be Like Scary

do you take shampoo and conditioner bottles from hotels? oh absolutely

do you have freckles? no and i’m salty about it

do you smile for pictures? of course! never with my teeth tho because my canines are halfway up my face :)

how many pictures do you have on your phone? don’t have a phone! i have a Whole Bunch on my computer though

have you ever peed in the woods? did not work out tried once Never Again

do you still watch cartoons? of course i do i’m gay it’s legally required

do you prefer chicken nuggets from Wendy’s or McDonald's? i’ve never had McDonald's nuggets but Wendy’s has the best for sure

Favorite dipping sauce? ranch or campfire sauce

what do you wear to bed? pajamas???? in winter it’s long sleeve tees with fuzzy pants in summer it’s basketball shorts and whatever twenty-year-old shirt i can find in my closet

have you ever won a spelling bee? i’ve never entered one so no homeschool for the win

what are your hobbies? Anything On A Screen and books mostly books on a screen but i’ll occasionally pick up a paperback also food and swimming

can you draw? s o m e t i m e s

do you play an instrument? i played guitar for a while, but i broke one of the strings and don’t have the tools to replace it i really want a ukelele

what was the last concert you saw? i went to a college campus for four days with my youth group, and a band named Sing Love played every night

tea or coffee? Neither

Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts? Also Neither i’ve been to starbucks one time and it was the most disappointing drink i’ve ever had i am a loyal biggby customer even though i haven’t been there in over a year

do you want to get married? not in the traditional sense i couldn’t even if i wanted to because the us said No Polyam Rights

what is your crush’s first and last initial? L.R. + L.G.

are you going to change your last name when you get married? probably! or we’ll both take a new one together

what color looks best on you? warm colors!! i do look Fabulous in a nice cool forest green though

do you miss anyone right now? Of Course I Do I’m In A Long Distance Relationship With Two People

do you sleep with your door open or closed? closed if it was open my asshole cat would eat all my hair ties and my fairy lights

do you believe in ghosts? nope!

what is your biggest pet peeve? uh people who assume? ig?

last person you called? Leo XD

favorite ice cream flavor? mint chocolate chip!!

regular oreos or golden oreos? The Golden Ones they taste like lemon even if they’re not the lemon ones i love it

chocolate or rainbow sprinkles? i don’t like sprinkles because i’m a Monster

what shirt are you wearing? i’m Not It’s Hoodie Season

what is your phone background? my tablet backgrounds are Leo and L because i’m a Sap

are you outgoing or shy? Both i’m getting a lot better in the confidence department, but i still get nervous and overwhelmed sometimes!

do you like it when people play with your hair? I Cry Every Time and so does Leo it’s adorable

do you like your neighbors? if i did i would hate them because i Can

do you wash your face? at night? in the morning? not outside of the shower

have you ever been high? nope

have you ever been drunk? nope

last thing you ate? leftover itallian mac n cheese

favorite lyrics right now ..... ................. raindrops on rose and whiskers on kittens~ sTICKING-

summer or winter? winter!!

day or night? night, of course

dark, milk, or white chocolate? milk! or dark with sea salt

favorite month? hm maybe august because it’s just starting to get cold, but you can also still swim on the warm days

what is your zodiac sign pisces! as i’m sure is obvious

who was the last person you cried in front of? my mother Because Leaving Me Alone For Five Minutes Is Impossible

thank you Luxet for the questions!

#meet the blogger #long post #tw cursing #tw caps #tw alchohol #tw drugs #tw marriage #tw college #i should #probably finish my school #after taking like two hours to do this #I'm A Responsible Child

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1989dreamer · 4 years

Text

Every Second Dripping Off My Fingertips--FTH 2019

AO3 link

Title: Every Second Dripping Off My Fingertips

(Comes from Somewhere a Clock is Ticking by Snow Patrol)

For @hartlessfiction (NadiaHart on AO3)

Prompt: from this gif: (paraphrased) Derek becomes a recluse and Laura and Peter step in to try to get him to leave his house/apartment but Derek can work from home and he can order food/groceries to be delivered. After a few failed attempts, they start showing up more often, and then Peter shows up with a cat (or fox) kid (supernatural is known) and tells Derek that he now has a Stiles. Stiles is a little shit, annoying and charming by turns, he smells great, is rude, and messes things up. He also makes Derek try new things and then Stiles gets sick or something and Derek has to go outside to get help.

Warnings: Kate Argent Warning, Depression, Forced kissing, unhealthy coping methods

Summary: Six months ago, Derek was working as an underling in his sister Laura’s business when the person he shared a cubicle with turned to him and changed his life forever. Now Derek spends his days either sleeping or dodging his sister’s attempts at un-derailing his life or both.

Enter Peter and his propensity for shitty gifts.

~ * ~

Laura threw open the curtains, letting in the bright light of day.

Derek groaned, turning over and burying his head under his pillows. Laura snorted at him, yanking his blanket off.

“Get up,” she said sharply.

Derek groaned again and did not comply.

He was a werewolf, dammit. He was supposed to be nocturnal. Just because Laura had taken pity on him and had given him a position in her company, she thought she could run his life too?

“I’m calling in sick,” he told her.

She sighed. “No you’re not. Get up.”

He ignored her. But Laura was not one to be ignored for long, and she grabbed his ankles to haul him off the bed.

“Get up,” she snarled in his face, her teeth a little too sharp, eyes flashing red.

He flashed his eyes in response, and she pulled back, blinking at him.

Of course the fact that his eyes weren’t yellow anymore would give her pause. Hell, his eyes still gave him pause most days too.

Derek could still feel the warm, sticky blood on his hands. Could still taste the fear and anger from that night nearly six months ago.

He hadn’t told Laura about it, but he knew that she knew. She hadn’t talked to him about it yet, but the way she had taken a sudden interest in his life after that night, it couldn’t be long off.

Laura was impatient, and Derek’s reticence to leave his apartment was grating on her. She had even drafted their uncle to help her draw Derek out.

To his credit, Peter hadn’t been as invested in Derek as Laura was and as such hadn’t yet darkened Derek’s door.

That was certain to change since, according to the emails from the office, Peter was due back in the country this week. Laura would bring him here, Derek was positive.

He didn’t care and told Laura as much as she continued to drag him into his bathroom.

“You smell like sadness and guilt,” she returned, shoving him headfirst into the shower and cranking on the cold water.

Derek spluttered, letting her scrub roughly at him. Every once in a while, she’d get the desire to alpha him, and he had found the easiest course of action was to let her. Eventually, she’d get tired or have to go to work, and he could slink back to bed, answer a few emails on the company laptop Laura had commissioned for him, and sleep the rest of the day away.

Right after he closed his curtains again.

“You need to actually show up to the office.” The soap she poured on him was the scented crap given as a gift by their annoying sister. Derek was beginning to like Cora more and more the longer she lived in South America and stayed in South America. Laura wrinkled her nose but didn’t pause in washing him.

“Seriously, you need to get your life back on track.”

“My life is on track.”

“The fact that you can’t even look at me when you say that tells me it’s a lie more clearly than the way your heart skipped a beat.”

Derek rolled his shoulders. He stood, cranking the hot water on and washing off the soap. He decided he could stand to smell like strawberries far longer than Laura could stand smelling him and started the waiting game.

Laura sighed, checking her watch. She glared at it and then at Derek. “You win,” she spat. “I have to go. You need to come in to the office tomorrow.”

“Or you’ll fire me?” he asked hopefully.

She sighed again, running the back of her hand over his neck, grimacing at the chemical smell of his body soap. “No, Derek, I won’t fire you. I’ll just stage another intervention.”

Like that would scare him.

He’s survived the first few; he’d survive this one too.

Laura’s interventions usually involved her staring at him while she ate junk food. Once or twice, she’d tried dragging him outside. Joke was on her though since the only way out of his apartment was the elevator—or climbing down the side of the building—and the elevator had suspiciously been out of order for the last five months.

“I’ll see you after 5:00 tonight,” Laura told him, wrenching open the window by his bed. She tapped her watch and then descended out of view.

Derek didn’t even wait for her to make it back down to her Camaro before he slammed the window shut, pulled the curtains shut, and stripped down to nothing.

He returned to the shower to wash off the strawberry scent before finding a semi-clean pair of boxers and climbing back into bed to finish his nap.

He dreamed again of that night, of the blood under his claws, of his fangs tearing through human flesh. Of the bullets deep in his body, the pain they inflicted as he breathed, standing over the woman he’d torn to shreds when she attacked him unprovoked.

It wasn’t anything new.

~ * ~

Derek woke up again when Peter dropped onto his bed, crossing his legs as he settled next to him.

Peter wrinkled his nose. “You stink,” he said, insulted.

Derek grunted, rolling over so that his back was facing Peter. His uncle did not take the hint any better than Laura had this morning…It was still this morning, right? More often than not, Derek found he couldn’t keep his days apart. He would worry about it except Laura did enough worrying for the both of them.

Peter grabbed his shoulder. “Come on, Derek, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong. Why do you think something’s wrong?”

Peter snorted. “Something has to be wrong when Laura calls me, saying you haven’t actually stepped foot in the office in three weeks.”

“Has it been three weeks?” Derek asked dispassionately. He honestly thought it’d been longer. He couldn’t actually remember the last time he left his apartment. Even for groceries. Not after he discovered that his favorite grocer would deliver for a few extra bucks a week.

Food was easy for Derek—just eat vegetables. Nothing that required more energy than chewing. He knew Laura would bring things with her. Sometimes, he could muster the energy it required to cram more steaks that he was never going to cook into his freezer, but more often, Laura would have to throw away the things that had gone bad. Sure, Derek could eat raw meat, but he was reminded too often of the night he had been forced to kill a hunter.

“Up you get,” Peter said, standing, drawing Derek with him. “It’s time to wash your sheets. If you don’t have the energy to wait, you can lay on the couch.”

“Lie,” Derek corrected blandly, shuffling to drop down onto the couch. He tugged half-heartedly at a blanket draped over the cushions, whining when it stuck.

Peter stifled his laughter, bending over Derek to pull the blanket free. He tucked it around him, brushing a light kiss to Derek’s forehead.

“Maybe you need live in help,” he suggested, heading back to the bed to strip it. Derek closed his eyes. Now that Peter had come, he should get up, should do something. Instead, he fell asleep before he could make himself get up again.

~ * ~

Peter was gone when he sat up, and it was now completely dark.

Derek yawned, scrubbing at his eyes. More often than not, he would wake up disoriented after sleeping away the day. And he was still tired.

He stood up finally, blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he stumbled back to his bed. Peter had apparently been at the apartment long enough to wash and dry all the bedding and remake the bed.

Derek needed to stay upright and work on some of his projects for work. If he crawled back into bed, he knew he’d sleep until at least midday tomorrow.

He yawned again, scratching at his head, his beard, one ear. He found the laptop shoved under the bed and carried it to his desk.

Sitting down, he opened the lid, stifling yet another yawn. He was too tired to be working, exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with the amount of sleep he’d been getting and more to do with the way he was not rested even after twenty hours of sleeping.

While the computer booted, Derek used the restroom and brushed his teeth, scraping at the fuzzy feeling of his tongue. He gargled quickly and then went in search of a clean drinking cup for some water.

Peter must have been feeling especially gracious because the pile of dishes that had been sitting in Derek’s kitchen sink for nearly three weeks was stacked neatly, clean and sparkling, in the dish drainer. Derek stared at his changed kitchen. Trash that had been piling for almost six months was gone. His fridge, when he checked, was cleared of random foodstuffs he hadn’t touched in months. It wasn’t stocked by any means, but Derek could take care of that tomorrow…when he woke up.

For now, he drank his water and headed back to his computer.

His email inbox was so full it made him feel sick to think of responding to everyone.

Thankfully, when he mustered the courage to look, most of the emails were from Laura pestering him about coming in to the office.

Derek chose one at random and sent the word “NO.” Then he deleted each and every one of them.

When he was done with that, instead of six hundred emails, he had about forty. Much more manageable.

Except, now he was even more exhausted than when he started, so he shut the computer down and climbed back into bed.

This time, he kept tossing and turning, dreaming again of the moment he killed the hunter. Dreaming that she took him with her and of the relief that would bring.

~ * ~

The next few days, Derek made himself get up and sit at the desk, working through the various projects that Laura kept assigning him.

He managed to stay awake for thirty-seven hours before he crashed, drooling all over his computer for a few hours before jerking awake with a crick in his neck.

He stood up and stretched until his back popped. Laura was threatening to visit again if he couldn’t prove that he was still functioning. And Peter had uncharacteristically sent an email saying to make sure his elevator was fixed within a couple of days. Derek responded that the elevator was fine. He decided he liked when his uncle visited because Peter hadn’t cared that his eyes were different, if he’d even seen them, or that Derek was changed. He was still his uncle, in turns kind, like a few days ago, and distant. If it got Laura off his back, Derek was more than willing to let Peter in. Maybe, someday, he could be as kind to Laura.

Derek shuffled into the kitchen and downed several bananas. He drank half a gallon of orange juice, and then, with his energy, he tied off the trash and dragged it to the curb.

Surprisingly, he still felt aware enough to take a shower.

By the time he got out, dripping because he couldn’t find a clean towel, there was a large envelope on his desk and an unspooled ball of yarn tangled around his living room.

Derek frowned, plucking at the string. It was blue.

He grabbed the envelope, tearing it open, revealing a note from Peter.

Dear Derek, it read, forgive me for not staying, but I had some other unattended business that required my attention. Who knew Laura liked Italian? Anyway, I have recently noticed the sad state of your apartment and feel it would be greatly updated with a very generous gift on my part. Please enjoy and don’t forget to shower. Love, Uncle Peter.

Derek tossed the letter onto his desk, frowning down at the string still in his hand. This was Peter’s gift? 220 yards of mess?

He began winding it around his hand, watching detachedly as the tangled loops dragged against the floor with a soft shush. By the time he had a large ball in his hands, he could feel his strange energy fading and he halfway entertained the idea of leaving the rest of the yarn on the floor for Peter or Laura to deal with the next time they visited.

But it felt nice to have done something, even if was just one bag of trash. Even if it was just undoing Peter’s attempt at motivating him.

Besides, it would be easier to ignore the yarn when it was contained in one spot instead of all over his apartment.

It took nearly half an hour before Derek found the other end of the skein. It was stuck in his elevator. He recalled Peter’s request, opening the door to retrieve the rest of the yarn.

“About damn time,” someone said, and Derek stumbled back, hand clutched to his chest, fangs and claws out. The person, a young man, maybe a few years younger than Derek, brunet, snappish eyes, bowed mouth, stared back at him, arms crossed over his chest. “Well?” he said, ears and tails flicking back and forth. A werecat.

Derek shook his head. “Well what?”

“Aren’t you going to invite me in? I am your new roommate after all.”

Derek snorted. “I don’t need a roommate.”

The man glanced around, eyes narrowed. “Obviously. Now, where’s my room?”

“What room?” Derek looked around his apartment, trying to see it as if for the first time: his desk positioned by the largest window, his bed by the other window, his couch and a recliner he’d rescued from a yard sale a couple years ago in the middle of the room, a throw rug Derek would never admit to liking, and a single bookshelf crammed with every single novel or research book he had ever read before his sudden extreme disinterest in all things he used to love doing.

It was sparse but not bare. It was home. Derek did not like the way the man’s nose scrunched as he studied the naked walls, the cement floor.

“It’ll do,” he finally said. “My name is Stiles. You must be Derek.”

“What did my uncle tell you?”

“Your uncle? You mean Peter. Well, other than that you’re a sad sack who needs a little help back onto your feet, nothing.”

“I’m not a sad sack,” Derek protested. Hurt, he set the yarn down on his desk, picking up Peter’s note. He reread it, trying to find where it mentioned that he was supposed to share his space, not an easy feat for a werewolf.

Stiles could not be Peter’s generous gift, could he?

“You can’t gift people,” Derek mused.

“No,” Stiles agreed, softly. “I’m a professional companion. My services can be purchased and then gifted.”

Derek set the letter down again. He rolled his shoulders, trying to disperse the tension suddenly pinching them. He sighed, wanting nothing more than to crawl back into bed. This time to hide rather than to sleep. “I’m sorry that my uncle has played such a cruel trick on you,” he apologized to Stiles. “I don’t need a companion.”

“That’s what they all say.” Stiles moved around the room, randomly touching Derek’s things. He paused at the bed, frowning down at the rumpled sheets. Derek had long passed embarrassment for not being tidy. It was more important to him that he dealt with his lingering ailments than make himself presentable for his judging sister.

Stiles was uninvited and unwanted. His opinion ranked even lower than Laura’s.

“Okay, so I need a room,” Stiles said. He eyed the staircase appreciatively. “Is there another room up there?”

Derek shrugged. There was, but he hadn’t been upstairs since he’d moved in, the idea of dragging his bed up the spiral staircase exhausting even before he’d been attacked by the hunter.

If Stiles wasn’t going to leave, then he could live up there. The loft was large enough for the both of them, and Peter was going to be surprised that Derek’s aggressive streak, culminated carefully by Peter when Derek was fifteen, a cruel experiment Peter was still trying to make amends for, was all but gone.

Sure, Derek was petty, but if pushed hard enough, aside from disabling his elevator (and breaking his stairs) to make it inconvenient for Laura to get to him, he would roll over, belly and throat exposed to the stronger, better wolves.

Stiles, if Derek concentrated, was nothing more than a werecat—less aggressive or territorial than werewolves in general. He could see the ears and tail fade into a faint aura. He was certain that Stiles could see his own wolfish aura but Derek was too polite to mention anything to Stiles and Stiles didn’t seem to care at all.

Perhaps this arrangement could work out after all. Maybe it would even get Laura to leave him alone.

Trust Peter to give a gift, the gift of companionship in the form of someone Derek had never seen before, and have it backfire spectacularly.

Derek grinned to himself, not even thinking about how it was the first time he had smiled in nearly six months.

Stiles wandered into the kitchen, digging through the fridge. “Your food sucks,” he called back. Derek tossed him the phone in answer.

“There’s a neat grocery store two blocks over,” he said. “They deliver.”

“So does the pizza place on Main.”

“No pizza,” Derek growled. It wasn’t that he didn’t like pizza—in fact, pizza would have been more fun to eat than an entire bag of pears and a ripening bunch of bananas—but Derek didn’t want to hate himself even more than he already did.

Laura thought he was only depriving himself, but food was the one thing Derek truly felt he had control over, and he wasn’t ready to relinquish it. Besides he didn’t want to deal with the increased amount of trash that would come from ordering premade food.

“The grocery store or nothing,” he said to Stiles and then threw himself on his bed, all energy gone.

He buried his head under his pillows but it didn’t stifle the sound of Stiles ordering an extra large Meat Lover’s pizza with stuffed crust. And a bed.

Oh well. At least the elevator was still in commission for now.

Derek went to sleep.

~ * ~

When he woke up, Laura, Peter, and Stiles were clustered around his desk.

Great. Now Laura would know that Derek broke his elevator on purpose.

The only plus side that Derek could find was that Stiles had eaten all the pizza. The only thing left was a faint smell in the air and a box thrown out with the recycling.

“Derek,” Laura said, icily. “Nice of you to join us.”

He didn’t respond, shuffling to his chair and sinking down into it. He blinked sleepily at Stiles sitting on the edge of the desk, at Peter standing next to it, and at Laura across from him.

“This is an intervention,” Laura said unnecessarily.

Derek could have guessed. She’d never dragged more people into it before, but he was not surprised that she had progressed since she’d failed all the other times when she’d been alone.

“What’s wrong now?” he asked, trying to ignore the way that his heart was the only thing awake about him, trying its darndest to beat right out of his chest when three sets of glares turned on him.

“You need help, dude,” Stiles said. His ears and tail twitched into sight, fading quickly when both Laura and Peter turned to him. “Hey, you brought me here for a reason. If that reason is getting your relative to stop being so sad, then, hey, job accomplished, right?”

“And I suppose you have all the answers?” Laura demanded.

Stiles shrugged. “Werecats are intuitive. Plus, my dad’s a sheriff. We Stilinskis are good at solving puzzles.”

Derek wondered if he should feel hurt that he had been reduced to a puzzle. He opened his mouth to protest, or explain, but Laura jumped to his defense.

“My brother is not just a puzzle, something to be solved.”

“Sure he is. Find out what’s wrong, fix it.” Stiles rolled his shoulders. “Simple.”

Laura drooped. “If it were,” she said softly, “then he would already be fixed.”

Derek dropped his head at that. He knew his behavior was hurting the pack, but the more they pressed, the harder it was for him to open up to them. Peter bringing in Stiles and then telling him that he was a “sad sack” when Peter could smell the guilt and depression hurt. Not so suddenly, Derek wished everyone would leave.

The lingering odor of the pizza was making his stomach twist and the thought of going through Laura’s intervention was more than exhausting. Derek was weary deeper than his bones, his soul aching with it. He let his head fall to the desk, hoping it was enough to make the others leave him alone and knowing it wasn’t.

Surprisingly, Stiles shooed Laura and Peter toward the elevator.

“You won’t fix him by doing that,” he said. Derek kept his face pressed to the wood, breathing in the smell of old ink stains and dead skin cells. “Give me a week. I’ll have him back to normal. Go.”

Derek doubted that anyone could return him to “normal.” What even was normal? Going through life cheerfully, waiting for the moment when his cubicle mate would turn on him, accuse him of being a werewolf, and then try to kill him because she was a hunter?

No thank you. Derek would rather not repeat that experience at all.

Before Stiles could implement whatever fix-it he was going to, Derek stood up and marched to his bed. It only took an hour of pretending before he actually fell asleep.

Living was taking all his energy.

~ * ~

When he surfaced an hour, two hours, a week later, Stiles had cleaned the whole apartment.

He hadn’t used cleaning agents, but he had opened the window behind Derek’s desk.

Sunlight streamed in with the fresh air, and Derek leaned out, trying to see if anyone—Laura or Peter—were scaling the wall already.

He couldn’t see anyone, but if he stretched out a bit farther he could almost smell something sweet with a sharp, aconite undertone.

Cold swept down his body, locking him into place as a woman, honey-brown hair, gray-green eyes, and a cold, bloody smile stepped out from the shadow of the building, raising a hand to point at him.

Kate Argent.

No. Kate was dead. Derek had killed her.

He couldn’t even blink. She waved her fingers mockingly, and then started climbing the wall.

Derek’s breath stuttered and whistled out of him. Lightheadedness threatened to topple him out of the window, and wouldn’t that be the ironic cherry on his fucked-up sundae?

Kate had to pass under a fire escape that stopped two floors below Derek’s, and he dreaded not being able to see her, but finally, he was able to unstick his muscles and slam the window shut.

“What was that for?” Stiles groused behind him, and Derek whirled around, scanning the room wildly.

Had he been fast enough? Kate slow enough? Was she already in here with them?

And then, he realized that Stiles had left the front door wide open.

Derek ran to close it before Kate could get in.

“What are you doing?” Stiles demanded.

Derek didn’t answer, too busy flipping closed the seven locks he’d installed after that night. He went back to the window and closed the extra locks there too before pulling the blinds closed.

His heart was still racing and he couldn’t breathe properly, but the fingers of fear still holding him began easing when he couldn’t smell Kate’s dreadful stench anymore.

He sank onto his recliner, head in his hands.

Stiles stood next to him. “What was that? What happened?”

Derek shook his head. He couldn’t explain even if he wanted to. He’d tried a million times, but the words always choked him.

Stiles sighed, and Derek thought he heard him roll his eyes too. “This is the instructions,” he said, apropos of nothing, dumping a thick binder into Derek’s lap.

The adrenaline was gone, and Derek had nothing left, so he let the binder fall. It opened to the title page. The Purr-fect Companion laid on the floor between them.

Great. Puns. That seemed in keeping with Peter and his shitty ideas of gifts.

Stiles huffed, stomping upstairs and leaving Derek slumped in his chair.

~ * ~

Sometime later, Derek woke up with a jerk.

It was dark, quiet. The binder was still by his foot. He sighed, picking it up as if lifting the world with it. He laid it open on his lap. The first few pages were rules on what Stiles could and would do.

The next chapter was everything Stiles wouldn’t do. Sex was listed, and the relief Derek felt at that was palpable.

He had been terrified, even if he couldn’t name it then, when Stiles has called himself a companion.

Derek knew a few classmates who were now companions. Sarah from homeroom was married to a wealthy eighty-year old man and she had three-year-old twins and another on the way.

Michael from first period math would help older woman retain their vitality by fucking them.

Derek hadn’t wanted to be someone who needed companionship like that, and to find out that Stiles will do light cleaning, some cooking, and spend his evenings curled up, listening to Derek read was far more comforting than having to explain that he did not and could not feel sexual attraction long enough to perform.

Apparently, while sex was off the table, petting wasn’t.

And according to the information binder, Stiles liked getting scratched behind the ears and under his chin sometimes.

He should make an effort to be nice to Stiles. He should also make an effort with Laura and Peter, but it was so much easier to move in his slow, small circles with his predictable, safe schedule.

For now.

He hadn’t forgotten about Stiles’ promise to fix him in a week. Derek snorted. There was no fixing him. Kate had tried to “fix” him and it had resulted in this. Now Laura and Peter wanted Stiles to fix him too. Just how broken and useless was he supposed to be?

Why couldn’t they all just leave him alone?

Derek focused on the binder again, turning pages, trying to absorb the information. If he could figure out Stiles’ plan, then he could formulate a solution to it.

Or he could just keep plodding through life. It would definitely be easier.

Derek sighed, setting aside the binder. He stood, stretching. Blood rushing to his head knocked him back down, and he let his eyes drift closed.

A rattle roused him a few minutes later, and he opened his eyes to see Stiles standing by his bookcase.

“What’s going on?”

Stiles smirked before knocking one of the books to the floor. His tail and ears popped up.

He slowly reached for another book.

Derek glared at him. What had the books done to him? Why was he doing this?

Of course Stiles was a little shit. That was also in keeping with Peter’s gifts. Derek should have expected it. He didn’t know why he hadn’t.

“No,” Derek said.

Stiles just raised an eyebrow, tail swishing playfully. He slowly lifted one hand.

“No,” Derek repeated louder. Stiles didn’t stop. “No!”

Too late. Stiles used those long fingers to topple more books onto the floor.

He glanced at Derek, face blank as he reached for another book. Derek’s family photo album. The only thing he’d ever asked Laura for.

“Goddamn it, I said no,” Derek growled, striding forward to stop Stiles.

Even with two-hundred pounds of pissed off werewolf in his face, Stiles seemed unperturbed as he methodically yanked all of Derek’s books off the shelf.

When he was done with that, he climbed into Derek’s only chair, settled down, tail curled around himself, and went to sleep.

Derek should have ripped him to shreds. Would have too if he hadn’t been preoccupied scooping up his books and lovingly putting them back where they belonged before they sustained too much damage from Stiles’ show of…of what, Derek didn’t know exactly. Maybe it was a way to get Derek to pay attention to him?

The binder had said Stiles liked a good petting.

Maybe Derek was supposed to pet him?

Derek hadn’t touched Stiles since he’d been deposited in his apartment. Was that what was wrong now?

“Fine.” He shoved the last book back onto the shelf, stomping to the chair. “You can cuddle with me if it means that much to you.”

Stiles opened one eye. “Dude,” he said, bored, “if I wanted to cuddle you, you’d be cuddled already. I want pizza.”

“Pizza is,” Derek began. Stiles interrupted him with a yawn. “Fine. Pizza. But I get my chair back as soon as it’s arrived.”

“Whatever, dude.” Stiles curled up tighter, pretending to go back to sleep.

Derek sighed, shooting a glance at the ceiling like it would help him. Grudgingly, he dug out his phone.

It wasn’t until he was sitting down in his chair, a slice of pizza stuck on a plate he didn’t even know he owned by his elbow, Stiles inhaling slices almost faster than he could chew, that Derek realized picking up his books hadn’t exhausted him like it should have.

He narrowed his eyes at Stiles. “You can’t fix me,” he said. He shoved the plate at Stiles and marched to his bed. He crawled under the covers, pillow over his head.

~ * ~

Sometime later, Derek roused himself, dragging his body to the bathroom where he could relieve himself.

In here, bottles and cans were littered, split open, bleeding their contents everywhere.

He stared at them uncomprehendingly. The smells of them mingled, blocking out any other scents.

He should have heard this happening. He hadn’t really been asleep, more in a fugue.

“Stiles?”

No answer.

Derek flushed the toilet and washed his hands, stepping over an exploded can of shaving cream. “Stiles?”

Still no answer.

Derek’s heart tripped, and he raced to the window behind his desk, peering down into the late afternoon shadows of the alleyway.

Nothing there. The elevator was still closed, the panel popped signaling that it had been disabled after the latest pizza delivery.

The upstairs bedroom? Derek took the steps two at a time, bursting up into the small attic area.

The bed Stiles had been using was made, corners hospital-precise, pillows perfectly plumped. And no sign of Stiles.

“Stiles?” Derek whispered again anyway.

Downstairs, the floor creaked. Derek could call for Stiles again. Logic stated that it was only the werecat, but Derek held his tongue and breath, slipping back down the stairs as silently as he could. He was exposed, but hopefully the intruder wouldn’t be looking at the staircase.

His luck held, and he managed to step down onto the floor before the intruder came into view.

Derek gasped.

Kate Argent let a slow smile turn her lips into a grotesque parody of delight. “Derek,” she purred, gliding forward.

“No, you’re dead.”

“Oh, am I?” Kate leaned her head back, showing off a patch of rough, silvery scars across her throat. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“I killed you. You were dead. Your brother—”

“Who, Chris? That idiot couldn’t tell the living from the dead. I’m sure he told you what you wanted to hear. I mean, you did just rip my throat out with your teeth.”

“Where’s Stiles?”

Kate’s gaze flickered. “What’s a Stiles?”

Derek rolled his shoulders. “I got a houseplant,” he lied smoothly. Something he hadn’t been able to do in the months since Kate’s death. He used to lie to her all the time, and look where that had led.

“And you named it ‘Stiles’?”

Derek let his fangs pop out, claws up and ready. “I killed you once. I can do it again.”

“Big bad wolf,” Kate mocked him, unsheathing a knife. “Let’s see who’s faster.”

Derek lunged at her, ducking under the swinging blade. He tipped too far, sprawling onto his knees and off his bed.

He sat up, staring wide-eyed around the room. No Kate. He scrambled up, racing to the bathroom. No mess.

“Stiles?” he called tentatively.

“Oh now you wanna talk?” Derek whirled around. Stiles’ ears and tail were out, and he hissed at Derek. “Put away your claws, wolfy. I’m not gonna touch you.”

Derek blinked. The hallucinations were new. “I saw a mess,” he said, voice shaking. Stiles eyed him oddly. “And you were gone.”

“And what else?” Stiles waved his hand. “I highly doubt a little mess and me missing would rattle you.”

“Maybe not,” Derek admitted, feeling a little shamed and not knowing why, “but I think I keep seeing Kate Argent.”

Stiles’ gaze snapped onto his face. “Kate Argent?” he repeated. “The rogue hunter found dead outside of Phoenix, Arizona six months ago?”

Derek nodded. “She used to work with me.”

“Did she attack you?”

Derek paused. Aside from Kate and himself, there was one other person who knew that he’d killed Kate. Chris Argent had found them just after Derek had torn out Kate’s throat and Kate had fired a poisoned bullet into his side. Chris had promised to protect him. And then, Derek had passed out from Kate’s wolfsbane bullet and woken up in the hospital too screwed up to survive and yet still managing.

“Yes,” he said. He put his hand over his side. Chris had healed him before he’d left with Kate’s body, but sometimes, Derek still felt like the bullet was in him, the wolfsbane traveling to his heart.

It made his depression worse, but he couldn’t explain to his sister why he suddenly couldn’t find the energy to do things that he used to love. He was punishing himself for Kate’s death because his whole life he’d been told he was a monster but he didn’t have to do monstrous things, and yet given an opportunity, he’d done the very monstrous thing he’d been assured he wasn’t destined to do.

“Do you want to talk to someone?” Stiles probably meant a professional, but all Derek heard instead of someone was “your sister.”

How could he talk to Laura about this?

How could he admit that he’d disregarded all the careful training their parents had given them and actually killed someone? He’d done his best to hide his changed eyes from everyone, but he knew Laura had seen them and he suspected Peter had as well.

It was why, he thought, they were trying so hard to “bring him back.” It only made it harder for him to feel human. His sister hadn’t been in his life every day even though he worked for her company. And his uncle hadn’t given two shits about him since before he hit puberty.

To suddenly have their “unconditional” love felt very conditional, but he didn’t have the energy to tell them this.

It was easier to shut off the elevator, let his phone run out of battery, bury himself under his covers, and let the world pass by.

“Derek?”

“I’m fine,” he said, and Stiles snorted.

“That is the furthest thing from the truth. Seriously, just let someone help you.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Derek started, but he choked on the next words. Stiles looked at him expectantly, but no matter how many times he called himself a monster in his head, he couldn’t force the syllables from his throat.

Instead, embarrassingly, he began crying, ugly sobs ripped from his chest, snot and tears running down his face. Stiles’ severe frown morphed into shock, and he stared at Derek as if he’d never seen him before.

In a way, he hadn’t. Derek hadn’t broken down in front of anyone for years.

It made him cry harder. He couldn’t breathe, lungs seizing from the force of his sobs. Stiles moved then, arms wrapping around Derek’s body, holding him together while he shattered into a million pieces. Tiny glass-sharp, painful pieces.

Stiles walked them to the bed, helping Derek sit on the edge. He tightened his grip when Derek pushed at him, afraid that the pain inside him was going to hurt Stiles.

Werecats weren’t known for their affection, sharing the same perceived apathy as their housecat counterparts, and werewolves were tactile and needy, like their domesticated dog counterparts.

Stiles liked being scratched, and Derek hated being touched.

They should have been the opposite were-creature. Maybe Stiles would have handled killing Kate better than Derek had.

“Hey, it’s okay. Just breathe,” Stiles said, still clinging to Derek. “Come on, breathe for me. That’s it.”

Derek followed Stiles’ example, forcing air into his lungs and letting it out.

“Can you tell me more about what you see when you see Kate?”

Derek shook his head. How could he explain what he saw? What Kate had said? How could he be the reason she was still alive, if she was still alive? He’d killed her. Chris had confirmed it.

She couldn’t still be alive.

She wasn’t real.

The mess wasn’t real, which meant she wasn’t real.

It was all in his head. He was…he needed help.

“She follows me,” he whispered. “She’s dead, but she isn’t. She says that even though I killed her, she didn’t die.”

“That’s not possible though. You’re a beta, not an alpha. Even if she was able to be turned, you don’t have the ability to do it.”

“She dosed me with something right before she tried to kill me. Some powder of some kind.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “And what did this powder do?”

“I don’t know. I lost control and when I regained it, Kate was dead and her brother was there.”

“But she’s not dead now?” Stiles sat next to Derek. “Or is that powder still in your system?”

Derek shook his head. “It’s been months. It shouldn’t still be affecting me.”

“Well, Kate was a hunter. It’s possible that she knew of some way to make whatever she did to you stick around.”

They both jumped when Derek’s phone, long thought to be dead on his desk, sprang to life, trilling loudly and vibrating at the same time. Laura must have charged it before the failed intervention.

Stiles dove for it and answered it before Derek could process the fact that it was ringing and that he didn’t want to talk to whoever had accidentally dialed him.

“Hey,” Stiles said, shoving the phone under his nose, “it’s Chris Argent.”

Derek gingerly took the phone. He hadn’t spoken to Chris since that night. What could he possibly want now?

“Hello?” he said tentatively, hoping, maybe, that his whisper was inaudible.

“Derek,” Chris said. No such luck then. “I need to talk to you. Are you at your apartment?”

Derek didn’t respond. Chris had been the one to get him away from Kate’s body, but he’d taken him to hospital. Not his apartment.

“Of course you are,” Chris continued as if Derek had answered him. “Can you turn on your elevator? I don’t relish the idea of climbing your walls.”

How did Chris know where he lived?

Everything slid sideways. Derek didn’t realize it was because he’d fallen onto his side until Stiles tapped at his face, barking words he couldn’t hear over the rushing in his ears.

Stiles, panicked, red faced and wide-eyed pulled back out of Derek’s graying vision. A few moments later, he was back, a glass of water in hand.

“Drink this,” he said over the roar. Derek shook his head or he meant to. Instead, his whole body jerked and he flopped over onto his back. Tears obscured his eyes. He didn’t even know why he was reacting this way. There was nothing frightening about Chris Argent.

Instinctively, Derek knew he could trust him. If he couldn’t, Chris wouldn’t have helped him six months ago.

He was still on edge from Kate’s reappearance, and slightly cold water from the tap wasn’t going to make things any better.

He managed to sit up enough to bat the cup from Stiles’ hand. Ignoring Stiles’ indignant squawk, he stumbled to the desk, sinking into the chair.

It wasn’t much, but it did make him feel better, more prepared. He turned to face the window, expecting Chris to climb over the ledge any moment now.

The elevator rattled to life, the car descending to the ground floor.

Betrayed, Derek turned to glare at Stiles.

The werecat wasn’t visible. Instead, Kate stood by the bed, a smile on her lips, eyes shining with malicious intent.

The dull roar returned, and Derek felt stuck in his chair, watching her unblinking as she stepped over the puddle the spilled water had made.

“Oh sweetie,” she purred as she moved closer. “Did you miss me?”

His tongue wouldn’t work, and he had no words anyway.

Where was Stiles? Could he see Kate too? What about Chris? What would he see when he walked into Derek’s apartment?

Kate? Or just Derek, stuck at his desk, pinned in place by a hallucination?

Kate leaned over him, a hand coming up to cup his cheek. “I’ve missed you. Missed this.” Her lips were dry, warm, familiar.

Derek gagged at the taste of her. Nothing new there then.

Kate’s hand twisting in his shirt, tugging him closer so that she could force her tongue down his throat wasn’t anything new either.

The dagger sticking through Kate’s chest was though, and Derek recoiled as Kate’s grip slipped.

“I’m not imagining her, am I?” Derek asked Chris.

Chris grunted as he jerked Kate away. “Yes and no.” He wrestled his sister to the floor, pressing a foot to her neck to keep her still while he pulled a pouch from his pocket, upending the contents over her.

Derek blinked and she was gone.

He stood up, gripping the edge of the desk as his mind spun, trying to find a logical explanation.

Chris tucked away the pouch and removed a pair of blue-tinted glasses from his face. “Kate somehow managed to tie her energy to you before she died. These glasses enable me to see and hear spirits, if you will.” He opened his jacket, revealing bulging pockets. He patted at a few of them before he found what he was looking for. The herb he thrust under Derek’s nose was completely unappealing. He grimaced at it, and Chris shrugged, slipping the glasses back on. “It’ll help with whatever my sister did to you.” Chris wandered off, either inspecting the décor or searching for Kate’s vanished body, Derek didn’t care.

He sniffed the herb again before carefully biting off a leaf and chewing. Aside from a bitter taste, nothing seemed off about it, so he kept chewing while Chris’s heavy tread moved from room to room. Derek got the distinct impression that Chris was only making so much noise to alert him as to where he was. Which didn’t matter to Derek. His ears were working again.

For now.

Chris returned, Stiles in tow.

“What happened?” Stiles was asking. “Last I knew, I answered Derek’s phone and then I was upstairs, on the bed. What exactly is going on?”

“Kate did something, made a deal with someone powerful in order to remain tied to Derek even after her death. Keep chewing that plant, Derek.”

He could barely taste it anymore, so it wasn’t a task to cram another leaf into his mouth and mash it into paste between his teeth. “Am I supposed to swallow it?” he asked.

“No. I’ll need it later. Just get it all chewed. I’ll initiate the next step.”

“And what’s that, sweetie?” Kate asked from the kitchen. Derek pointed at her, and Chris swore when he caught sight of her. She didn’t have the knife wound anymore. Probably because she wasn’t truly corporeal.

It was annoying. Derek pointedly bit off more of the herb. Kate sneered at him and then whimpered when Chris slammed a crossbow bolt through where her heart should have been.

“What’s going on?” Stiles demanded. “What’s happening?”

“Why?” Kate asked. “Why would you take the monster’s side?”

“For too long, I’ve been on the monster’s side.” Chris withdrew the bolt before stabbing her again. “Too damn long. I’m on the right side now.”

Kate gurgled, blood running down her chin.

Stiles snapped his fingers next to Derek’s ear. “Hey, big guy, what the hell is going on?”

“Kate’s real,” Derek told him through the wad of herb. He managed to fit the last of it into his mouth to chew.

“Kate’s real?” Stiles turned to stare at where Chris was loading his crossbow. “How is she real? She’s dead!”

“Yeah, well, my sister has a lot of surprises apparently. Derek, how are you doing with that plant?” Derek waggled his hand at him and Chris nodded. “Get ready.”

Ready for what, Derek wanted to ask. Before he could, he felt hands on his neck, fingers pressing in.

He bucked but could not dislodge Kate. She laughed, hands tightening. “This is the end, Derek,” she taunted. “You’re mine. I’ll finally get to destroy you. And the best part is, as much as Chris tries to help you dispel me, there is one thing he needs that he won’t get.”

“And what’s that?” Derek mumbled, wiping at some spit dribbling down his chin.

Kate threw her head back and laughed loud and long while her hands squeezed. “You,” she hissed in his ear. “Your death.”

“That’s enough,” Chris snapped. “Derek, the herb, now.” He held out his hand, and Derek spit into it.

“And what’s that?” Kate sneered.

“Mugwort.”

“As if mugwort ever hurt a human, incorporeal or otherwise.”

“Normally yes. But not when it’s been mixed with the saliva of a werewolf.”

“That’s just an old tale.”

“And one that works. How do you think I was able to get rid of Dad so easily?” He smeared the paste over Kate’s face.

Burning ghosts smelled a lot like sulfur, Derek thought, finally able to draw in a deep breath.

Kate screeched, slapping at her face as the flesh melted through her fingers. “You idiot! You’ve killed me! Again!”

“And maybe you’ll stay dead this time,” Chris said. He pulled out a crystal threaded onto a chain, swinging it over Kate’s head. A low, guttural chant in ancient Latin accompanied the motion, but Chris’ lips were not moving.

“When he’s done with his purifying ritual, you’ll have to explain what the fuck exactly is going on.”

Derek turned to Stiles. “I don’t know exactly what happened, but Chris is banishing Kate’s soul. More than soul? She moved you, didn’t she? You said you answered my phone and then you were upstairs. She did that.”

“How? And how is he banishing her?”

Derek rolled his shoulders. “Magic?” he guessed. “The same way Kate managed to bind herself to me.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” Stiles said sarcastically. “So, we just wait for Argent to finish up whatever he’s doing and then, what? What happens when Kate is finally gone? And where is she exactly? I thought she was just a hallucination?”

“She’s there, in front of Chris.” She wasn’t much more than a puddle of gray goop now. Satisfied, Chris put away the crystal and then poured mountain ash over her remains.

Derek turned away. “I don’t want to be here anymore,” he said. He hadn’t had time to think when Kate was attacking him, but now that she was destroyed, he wondered why he didn’t feel any different, any better.

He still just wanted to curl up in his bed and sleep until the world outside was nicer, until he was healed.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Chris said. “You can stay with your sister or uncle, right? I’ll finish up here and let you know when it’s safe to return.” He pursed his lips before striding purposefully toward Derek. “Call me the minute you think you see her again. I don’t care if every time it turns about to be an overactive imagination or sleep deprivation or, hell, bad food. Call me. I’ll come. I’ll make sure she never bothers you again.”

He leaned in, wrapping his arms around Derek. A hug. Derek froze.

His skin crawled at the contact, but the longer Chris had his arms around him, the less it felt weird. It felt even less unsettling when Stiles joined in.

Stiles’ tail swished behind him before curling around them. Derek imagined it was just his ears, but it seemed like Stiles was beginning to purr as well before Chris stepped back.

“I’d better…” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Call your sister.”

“Come on.” Stiles led Derek to the elevator. “We’ll call Laura when we’re outside. No time like the present.”

He kept a firm hand on Derek’s elbow, as if he was afraid that Derek wouldn’t follow him. He didn’t have to worry. As soon as the doors closed behind them, Derek sagged against Stiles, the sudden relief that Kate was truly gone sapping his energy.

He didn’t remember stumbling after Stiles after the elevator deposited them on the first floor, nor did he remember sinking down onto a random bench while Stiles called Laura.

But he did remember when both his sister and his uncle pulled up and bundled them into Laura’s Camaro.

Derek leaned his head against the window, breathing deeply, Stiles’ tail wrapped around his wrist as he animatedly related the events as best as he could.

Not even Laura’s indignant questions penetrated the fuzzy haze that settled over Derek’s bones, and he let himself drift off, holding as tightly to Stiles’ tail as it was clinging to him.

It was nice, and that didn’t scare Derek. Maybe it should have. But he was glad it didn’t.

~ * ~

Derek woke up when Laura lifted him. Stiles’ tail was still around his wrist, and it didn’t seem like he was inclined to remove it any time soon. Derek found he still didn’t mind. It actually felt nice.

He didn’t want to examine the feeling too closely, afraid that if he scrutinized it, he might find a reason to tell Stiles to take his tail and his company elsewhere.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Kate Argent?” Laura asked, far more gently than Derek was expecting. “Why didn’t you talk to me? I’m your alpha. I’m supposed to be able to help you.”

Derek shrugged. How could he tell her that deep inside, in some secret place, he blamed her for putting Kate in his cubicle, for introducing them, for telling Kate that he would show her the ropes and maybe they’d be good for each other, wink-wink?

But more than that, how could he tell her that he knew it was his fault, that he’d given Kate some kind of signal or reason to go after him, that he’d lost control and killed her, that he still didn’t remember exactly what happened but he remembered the taste of Kate’s blood, and deeper, the morrow of her bones?

How did he tell his alpha that he endangered his pack and that the pack was saved by another hunter?

It was easier to just roll over and go back to sleep than face his family or himself in the mirror.

Maybe it was the wrong thing, but it was what was right for him.

Except now it wasn’t. Derek couldn’t explain the sudden surge of energy that caused him to sit up and pull Laura into a tight hug.

“’m sorry,” he mumbled into her hair, apologizing for more than just killing Kate.

Months of guilt washed over him, and he sobbed, pulling back. Laura latched onto him, refusing to let him go.

“No. No sorries.” Laura fisted a hand in his shirt, hauling him closer. “Never sorry. Just, promise me that you’ll try.”

Derek didn’t know what trying meant, but surely it couldn’t be worse than what he’d been doing already. He nodded. “I promise,” he said thickly. “Whatever you need.” He wasn’t ready to return to work, so he hoped trying didn’t encompass that, but anything else was fair game.

“Therapy,” she said. “And for heaven’s sake, please talk to me. To Peter. To Stiles. To the wall for all I fucking care, but talk.”

“Okay.”

One word. Derek felt the world fall off his shoulders, and he wondered if it would all be that easy.

~ * ~

Things weren’t easy.

Jerri, the supernatural-therapist Peter dug up from somewhere he refused to divulge, thought that he was making great progress. She also thought that he was being too hard on himself, and she constantly reminded him that he was allowed to heal, even if it took years and years instead of instantly.

It’d been a full year since Chris had returned to banish Kate’s spirit or soul or whatever she’d tied to him. He’d been able to return to work, although he still ended up hiding in Laura’s office more often than not.

The contract with Stiles had run out, and surprisingly, Stiles was still around.

In fact, Derek was meeting him for coffee at the new shop down the street from Laura’s company.

Jerri was very pleased with the development of their relationship, that they even had one.

Right now, they were still just friends. Stiles settled something inside him, probably because he was a professional companion and knew how to physically touch someone without making them feel uncomfortable.

Derek arrived at the shop before Stiles and had time to order a straight black coffee for Stiles, a mocha for himself and two iced donuts.

He’d already finished his donut by the time Stiles sank into the seat across from him. “So, how was your appointment?”

“It was good. Jerri was nice. She thinks that I’ve made a lot of progress.”

“You have.” Stiles tipped his mug back and drained it in one go. Derek grimaced at the thought of him drinking the bitter liquid. And then smiled when Stiles immediately crammed half his donut in his mouth.

They spoke of a few more inconsequential-consequential items. Jerri liked to call it their “getting to know each other time” and she encouraged Derek to participate more than just grunting whenever Stiles said anything.

“Work’s still going okay?” Stiles asked suddenly.

Derek rolled his shoulders. “Could be better,” he admitted, “but I’ve been at the office every day for the last two weeks.”

“Really? That’s awesome!” Stiles stuck his hand up for a high five, and despite the burning flush Derek felt sweeping over his face, he obligingly slapped their palms together with an audible clap.

For some reason it made Derek giggle, which he tried to hide by stealing the other half of Stiles’ donut. When he protested, Derek pointed out that he’d bought the drinks and food.

“So this is a date, is that it?” Stiles asked. “Next time it’ll be my turn, huh?”

The flush returned and brought its cousin, butterflies in the stomach.

“Yes?” Derek fixed his gaze on the donut so that he wouldn’t have to see Stiles’ face. He could still hear his heartbeat though, and it picked up, double-tapping inside Stiles’ chest. “I mean, only if you want.”

“I have to say, I have been enjoying our outings, and I wouldn’t mind the obvious escalation to making it exclusive. Just let me know what you’re comfortable with and we’ll go from there.”

They chatted for a little longer, Derek still holding Stiles’ donut while Stiles stole the rest of Derek’s mocha. And then, Stiles sat up, smiling fondly at Derek as his ears popped into view. Something was up. Derek realized he didn’t mind. In fact, he was looking forward to whatever Stiles had planned. It was almost dinnertime, and Stiles loved a lot of the restaurants here.

“So this was nice,” Stiles said, smile turning a little mischievous as his tail curled around Derek’s calf. “We’ll definitely have to do this again sometime.”

“You mean like right now?” Derek returned, his own smile edging into pleased. Dinner with Stiles was always a treat. And now that they were dating—were they really?—it’d be even more fun. Or so he hoped. He let his fangs drop, using them to carefully scrape the last of the icing from the donut. He set it back on Stiles’ plate. “Let’s go.”

~ The End ~

#FTH 2019 #Fanfiction #Teen Wolf #Derek Hale #Stiles Stilinski #My Story/My Writing #For hartlessfiction

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ladybuvelle · 5 years

Note

Amuse Me...? >:^)-c

Drabble Prompts

Leave a “Amuse Me” in my ask, and I will write a funny drabble about my character trying to cheer yours up.

“What is this...?”

“No- I know that, but why does it look like that?”

cute!>

It was, to the best of Sona’s artistic ability with some bits of fruit, butter and syrup, indeed a cat’s face; complete with eyes, nose, mouth and whiskers. There were even little banana slices for the ears cut into triangles that were comically smaller than the ‘head’. But she was certainly no chef and absolutely not a pastry artist. The presentation was juvenile. Like a kid made it.

“It’s... ‘mouth’ is melting” the artisan commented with dry disapproval.

“Then why did you bother trying to make them look like anything at all?”

Annoyed enough to slap her spatula down onto the counter, she turned to Jhin with an exasperated glare. Forgive me, I thought you might appreciate something made with care. But I forgot you don’t smile unless there’s something horrible in front of you. Too bad I’m not worse at it, then!>

He was about ready to retort, as was their usual ‘game’ of banter, but this time Sona walked out of the kitchen before he had the chance. Had it really hurt her feelings that much? It was hard to tell. Empathy had never been his strongest suit...

And so he turned his gaze back down to the creatively-challenged pancakes. Such rich food these Demacians ate. Cake for breakfast! With sugary fruits and tree sap dressing. With a diet like that no wonder the lady of the house was a bit on the... 'soft’ side. He couldn’t stand how sweet it smelled, either.

Unable to bring himself to eat right away and troubled by the silence of being alone, Jhin soon found himself picking at the blueberries that were used as eyes. The cake was quite yielding. If he pressed just enough, the berries could easily have sunk into the tan-like ‘skin’. The strawberries stained their spots pinkish, and whatever was left of the mouth was just a blur of clear-brown syrup now.

What was the point of it all? He’d never asked her to make him anything, but then that woman had to go and complicate things by trying to be ‘fancy’ with it. Why trouble herself for someone like him who couldn’t even appreciate the gesture? He wasn’t even sure he liked cats that much. Animals served such little purpose.

Scraping most of the butter and syrup off the top, Jhin decided he should at least take a courtesy bite. Prison food had been so bland and yet he tolerated it. A piece of rich pancake should have been looked at as a luxury.

There was vanilla and lemon in the batter. Not harsh citrus, but rather citrus oil from pressed peels. It gave the cake a very fresh and unexpected flavor combined with the smoothness of vanilla beans. No eggyness to speak of. The creaminess of the milk wasn’t overpowering either. And the cake itself was rather nicely fluffy, though to his own fault it had flattened slightly after sitting there so long. A shame.

He was always ruining things these days, somehow. Everything had made so much sense before, yet now... His timing, his feelings, his very thoughts felt out of sync with the world around him. And though he tried to keep things underneath the surface with a witty comment or a dry statement, the truth of the matter was he was terrified. Of himself, of his thoughts, of the confusing knots inside his chest...

All this over a god-forsaken pancake. That stupid, stupid woman...

Her ‘voice’ was suddenly there. He heard it before he noticed she was standing in front of him, snapping him out of his dark place. “Wha- I... What?”

“....”

It was so hard not to start laughing at her. She really was stupid, huh? Instead he rubbed his face and hid his smile between the long fingers of his large hand and shook his head.

she wondered, noticing he’d taken a piece.

“Mhm...”

“It was... acceptable.”

Immediately her cheeks puffed up. The way he’d said ‘acceptable’ was so... so... abrasive!

her thought boomed, and off she set herself to do something else. Wash the dishes probably.

“Fine, fine...! Stop screeching in my head, woman!” Ugh, as if it hadn’t been pounding already.

Still... he just couldn’t figure her out. But at least the dark clouds were gone while she was around. It was something. Like sunshine, it hurt to look at... but maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe...

#drabble #jhin #eat your damn pancake you long-legged monkey #jhindiaan

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rinnnyxr · 3 years

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Bold if you can touch them from where you’re sitting

1. A remote control. 2. A cell phone. 3. A pillow. 4. Sharpie markers. 5. A glass of water. 6. A stuffed animal. 7. A box of make-up. 8. Old notebooks from school. 9. A book with more than a hundred pages. 10. A pet.

Bold if you have done these this week

1. Saw an old friend. 2. Danced or sung to music. 3. Listened to Michael Jackson’s music. 4. Spent a night in Brooklyn. 5. Planned the Fourth of July. 6. Ate something disgusting. 7. Cooked your friends food. 8. Cleaned your room. 9. Went to a party. 10. Took a friend’s dog for a walk.

Bold if you love them

1. Hugs and kisses. 2. Romantic dates. 3. Hanging out on rooftops. 4. Taking the train. 5. Making fun of tourists. 6. Eating at restaurants. 7. Chocolate. 8. Reality television. 9. Cute boys. 10. Photography.

Bold if you listen to them

1. Passion Pit. 2. Nirvana. 3. The Strokes. 4. Lady Gaga. 5. City and Colour. 6. Tegan and Sara. 7. The Kooks. 8. The Clash. 9. Kanye West. 10. Pink Floyd.

Bold if these items are in your bag/purse

1. Hand sanitizer. 2. Lotion. 3. A make-up bag. 4. Phone 5. Pens. 6. A notebook. 7. Random change. 8. Metro Card. 9. A reading book. 10. A wallet.

Bold if you like doing these things on your free time

1. Traveling to other cities with friends. 2. Going out to eat with family or friends. 3. Visiting museums around your city. 4. Volunteering at your local animal shelter. 5. Going to the movies. 6. Walking around taking pictures. 7. Meeting new people. 8. Going to parties. 9. Reading books. 10. Painting.

Bold if you find these traits attractive in your preferred sex

1. A good sarcastic and witty sense of humor. 2. Intelligence and knowledge. 3. Soft hair. 4. A gorgeous and genuine smile. 5. Some sensitivity. 6. Similar taste in music. 7. Outgoing. 8. Fun-loving. 9. Honesty. 10. Good family values.

How Girlie Are You?

My toenails are almost always painted. During the summer pretty much the only shoes I wear are flip flops or go barefoot. My favorite toy as a child were Barbies. My favorite color is pink or purple. I did gymnastics. I love skirts/skorts. Hollister is my favorite place to shop. Tight jeans are the only jeans I’ll wear. I love chocolate. TOTAL SO FAR: 4

I straighten my hair. I have at least 8 Facebook pictures. I usually go shopping once a week. I love to hang out with friends. I have a real diamond ring or diamond necklace. I’ve gone to a tanning salon. I’ve gone to the beach to tan - not to swim. I have at least 10 pairs of shoes. I watch(ed) either The OC, Laguna Beach OR Desperate Housewives. I change my profile weekly. I have worn a shower cap. TOTAL SO FAR: 6

I would NEVER step foot into Hot Topic. My cell phone might as well become a part of me. I wear mascara every day. I’ve been or am on a diet. Bathing suits are adorable. I don’t know the difference between a sheep and a goat. Big sunglasses are hot. I have gotten my nails done. I own over 10 purses. Music is one of my favorite channels. TOTAL SO FAR: 11

I like to talk about boys. I like to have other people do my hair. I like to give and receive hugs from all my friends. I hate bugs. Carnivals are so fun! Summer is THE best season. My swimsuit has 2 pieces. I’m waiting for my knight in shining armor. Musicians are hot. You write me a poem and tell me I’m beautiful and I’m all yours. TOTAL SO FAR: 18

I’m self-conscious. I cry often. My room smells like vanilla. My dishes get washed more than once a week. I don’t do sports. I hate to run. I squeal when I am surprised. I eat dried fruit as a snack. I love romance novels. Drew Barrymore is so cute. TOTAL SO FAR: 26

I dance a lot. I usually spend over an hour to get ready to leave my house. My hair is important. I love to get dressed up. Every part of my outfit needs to match. I talk on the phone at least once a day to my friends. I’d love to have a photoshoot of myself. The price of clothes hardly matters. I apply lipgloss 50 times a day. I wish I looked like a model. TOTAL SO FAR: 33

I wish I could meet Paris Hilton. R&B is the best music. I pop my collar. Guys with Mohawks are GROSS! Horses are beautiful. I never pay attention in school. Cats are adorable. TOTAL SO FAR: 35

I write my own music. I would love to visit Hawaii. Valentine’s Day is so cute! White is better than black. I wouldn’t be caught dead in all black. My closet is STOCK FULL of clothes. I hate the grunge look of a beard. I love to read magazines. TOTAL SO FAR: 37

I love to gossip. I love Celine Dion. My baths are 2 hours long. My wedding only needs a groom because it’s already planned. My friends and I are in a strict group. We mostly only hang out with each other. I like kids. Diet drinks are the best. I have been a vegetarian. I refuse to eat at McDonald’s. TOTAL SO FAR: 38

I check my Facebook every day. I have a lot of jewelry. Claire[s] has cheap jewelry. My screen name[s] have X’s in them. Either one of my MSN names has/had <3/♥’s in them. I would never want to be the opposite sex. I have more than 3 pillows on my bed. TOTAL: 39

Below 40 = Not girlie. Above 40 = Girlie. Above 55 = Paris Hilton.

1. I have a strong immune system 2. I think it’s cute when a guy is close with his mom 3. I wear gray eyeliner 4. I cannot finish an entire pizza on my own, unless it’s individual-sized 5. I don’t eat pickles by themselves 6. ^ I only have them in burgers, if at all 7. I refuse to wear neon colors 8. My favorite color from the rainbow is blue 9. I don’t like sleeping with socks on unless it’s really cold 10. I prefer glue sticks to bottled glue 11. I don’t like soy milk 12. But I do like soy burgers 13. I prefer Kosher hot dogs to normal ones 14. I currently have a hickey 15. It bothers me when people borrow my things without asking 16. I visit the postsecret website every Sunday 17. I’ve been to Las Vegas 18. I’ve never left my country 19. I live in California 20. I can almost do the splits 21. I like making people smile when they’re sad 22. ^ but I don’t like it when people are sad 23. Watching others yawn makes me yawn as well 24. I’ve wished on a shooting star 25. I’ve never climbed a tree 26. I’m a bookworm 27. I started puberty at a young age 28. Humidity makes my hair have static 29. ^ I hate that 30. It’s hard to get on my bad side 31. And it’s even harder to get back on my good side 32. I’m currently sleepy but I don’t want to sleep yet 33. I do not have a bed time 34. But I have a curfew 35. I like spinach 36. I’d love to work at a book store or a pet store 37. I love the smell of coffee 38. I type pretty fast 39. I have a flip flop tan 40. I don’t like it when people touch my feet

I have been watching a lot more television lately. I usually just let my hair dry after washing it.

I’ve been considering getting a new tattoo soon.

I’ve been thinking about my future a lot more lately.

I love going to thrift stores and garage sales.

I have never smoked a cigarette.

I love goofy cartoons like Spongebob and Adventure Time.

I am generally good with kids. I got to sleep in today :). I text at least one of my parents just about every day.

I’ve been trying to broaden my taste in music lately.

Sometimes I like to eat dry cereal, without milk or anything. I’m pretty good at keeping secrets.

I’ve been reading a lot more books lately. Sometimes I can literally spend all day online.

I want to start working out, but it just seems like I have no motivation; I need a workout partner. I would much rather date a clean shaven guy over one who lets his beard grow out. I sometimes think about the hidden meaning behind movies, instead of just the obvious storyline. When I feel sick, I don’t like to be touched or bothered. I could really go for some pasta right now.

I love looking at Christmas lights and decorations.

I’ve made a few new friends recently.

I get cranky when I am hungry.

I find it easier to dress cute in the winter than in the summer.

I usually just go barefoot when I’m hanging out around my house.

I still have a basic phone, while all my friends have cool iPhones and such.

When I hear about a celebrity’s nude picture being posted online, I sometimes look it up.

Whenever I make a survey, I enjoy reading other people’s responses to my questions.

I would love to go skydiving or bungee jumping.

I would love to have some kind of fruit tree in my yard.

I find other cultures interesting.

I still have some of my toys from when I was little. I’ve been procrastinating on something, and I really just need to get it over with.

I love when it gets cold out, so I can cuddle up on the couch with a cup of hot cocoa. I love 50’s pinup style.

I really don’t like talking on the phone, I’d much rather just text the person. I wish I had that one friend that I could tell everything to.

I don’t feel like going to a bar is my kind of thing, I’d much rather just hang out with a few friends at home.

I dislike some foods, not because of the flavor, but because of the texture, or how it looks.

I get sunburnt fairly easily. I love giving and getting surprises. I’ve been spending a lot of time away from home lately.

I don’t really enjoy muffins, they are so dry!

I don’t really like sour foods or candy.

One of my good friends recently had a baby

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sunlit-capybara · 7 years

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Haven’t had time to write anything soooo....

Have some random Voltron head canons, heavy on the Garrison trio:

Shiro

Shiro's gallows humor extends to his taste in movies. One Friday he and Matt watched "Fargo" and Shiro thought it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen and laughed even during the scenes that are sort-of funny but mostly disturbing. He laughed really hard at the woodchipper reveal and it actually kind of scared Matt.

Shiro does everything very intensely. Including watching TV shows. Over spring break once he marathoned The Sopranos. For the next two weeks whenever one of his friends complained about a classmate or an instructor at the Garrison he would casually suggest having them whacked as a solution.

He continued this until Matt took him aside for a conversation about how it was inappropriate and freaking his friends out.

(more below the cut)

Hunk

(I hate how season 2 has Hunk mention food at least twice per episode and how in season 1 there's a fair number of big guy/fat gags and these head canons are how I make that feel less icky to myself).

The original Yellow Paladin was tiny. Like, smaller than Pidge. Her bayard was still a shoulder cannon, but with a much slimmer design -- but she wouldn't have been able to lift it if she weren't ridiculously strong for her size. I just love the idea of the second-biggest, most heavily armored lion having this tiny little paladin who still managed to be the team's big gun.

(And that's why the zip lines wouldn't hold Hunk in season 1 -- they were calibrated for this tiny tiny little person and were unprepared for our wonderful sunshine boy's bulk.

Hunk def. has an anxiety disorder and cooking/thinking about cooking techniques is one of his coping mechanisms. Hence the "What's everyone thinking about?" "Zarkon" "Calzones" interaction in s2e11. He's trying to think of ways to make his calzones better so that he doesn't have to think about Zarkon and the fight coming up. (He thinks he found some sort of Olkari dough that he can put around the space goo to make a pretty decent calzone and would like to try that before they blast off and potentially die.)

Hunk's family ate dinner together every night. It didn't matter how busy they were, or if it meant they had to wait until 8 or 9 sometimes to eat, they always waited until the whole family was home before having dinner. Hunk took over cooking dinner three times a week when he was twelve. His first meals were...not great. But his parents made such a big deal of how he was doing such a good job, and how it was a huge help to them, and how one of the best ways you can show your love is making sure your family is fed, that he stuck with it. By the time he left for the Garrison he was doing almost all the cooking.

(The reason he was thinking of sushi during the bonding exercise? Whenever there was something to celebrate in his family, his parents took all the kids out for sushi. Birthdays, good report cards, when Hunk got accepted to the Garrison -- sushi dinner. Those dinners are some of his favorite family memories because everyone was happy and having fun and enjoying themselves. And he can't help thinking of the fantastic dinner he's going to have with his family when he gets back to Earth and is reunited with his family.)

Hunk is the reason all the paladins (and Coran and Allura) eat at least one meal together every day/quintant. At first it was hard to round everyone up, and Keith and Shiro kept wandering off or skipping meals. Finally Hunk got fed up with it and tracked Shiro down and they Had A Conversation. (The conversation boiled down to Hunk telling Shiro "We are going to eat together because that is what families do and we're a family now." Shiro was touched enough that he even convinced Keith to actually sit and eat with the rest of them.)

After the Garrison trio had their disastrous simulator experience in s1e1, the whole class turned on that kid who called out Hunk for throwing up. "Dude, you can say whatever you want about Lance and Pidge, but do not come for Hunk like that." "But he threw up in the --" "Don't care, Hunk can do no wrong." Because everyone loves Hunk and three-fourths of the class have drunkenly admitted they would happily take a bullet for him. The other fourth is lying because they would too.

Pidge

Pidge might admire and respect Alan Turing, but Ada Lovelace. Is. Her. Idol. Pidge occasionally has imagined conversations with Ada when she's working through a particularly difficult problem. She will gush about Ada Lovelace endlessly if you bring the woman up. Coran has heard about Ada Lovelace multiple times.

(Because she loves Ada so much, Pidge has a fiery hatred of Lord Byron. She's never even read anything he wrote, she just despises him for running off to Greece and dying and leaving Ada and her mom all alone).

(Also because of her love of Ada Lovelace, Pidge knows a weird amount about how Regency and early Victorian England society functioned. She will never admit that she actually really likes the dress styles and would kill for Ada’s hairpiece in that one famous portrait).

(Another favorite? Rosalind Franklin. Hunk credited Watson and Crick with discovering DNA in front of Pidge e x a c t l y. o n c e. Never again.)

During one of their conversations Coran asked Pidge to explain how rain worked. When Pidge asked why, Coran said Lance had mentioned missing it. So Pidge programmed a white noise generator to mimic a thunderstorm for Lance.

Lance

Lance refuses to disclose whether he's a cat or dog person because he's convinced if he chose dogs cats would know (and vice versa) and he doesn't want to make any pets sad by saying they're not his favorite.

As a kid, Lance loved heroic stories about knights and chivalry and all that. He knows all the stories -- King Arthur, Charlemagne, El Cid. He totally nicknamed himself Lance after Sir Lancelot.

One of the reasons he flirts so much is because he remembers overhearing his older sisters talk about how they felt unattractive and insecure about their looks and casually putting themselves down. He hated knowing people he cared about felt so bad about themselves even if they projected confidence all the time. So he started randomly telling them how beautiful they were -- and even though they laughed it off they still smiled. He started telling the girls in his classes how they were pretty and smart, and gradually that led to flirting with every girl he knew.

Keith

Keith did not know about ChapStick. During that night in the shack in s1e1 Lance asked if Keith had any ChapStick he could use and Keith just looked at him blankly.

Lance: "Wait, you don't use ChapStick? You live in the desert! What do you do when your lips feel dry?" Keith: *shrug* "Lick 'em." Lance: "LICK EM? You LICK EM?? You know that makes it worse right??" Luckily Pidge had some in her backpack and passed it to Lance, who used it before shoving it in Keith's hand. "I can't believe my nemesis doesn't even use ChapStick," he muttered before wandering to the other side of the room and going to sleep.

Keith is now addicted to ChapStick. The stuff he borrowed/stole from Pidge is cherry-flavored and he loved it. Space ChapStick just doesn’t compare

#voltron: legendary defender #vld headcanons #shiro #lance #pidge #hunk #keith #coran #takashi shirogane #katie holt

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raisingawarenesserasingstigmas · 7 years

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Chrissy Teigen Opens Up for the First Time About Her Postpartum Depression

This post originally appeared here.

by: Chrissy Teigen

When Glamour first told me I was going to be on the cover, I was freaking thrilled. Seriously. As a longtime reader, I couldn’t believe it. I’d always assumed that wearing swimsuits (or half a swimsuit) or having the occasional nip slip (or bit slip) wouldn’t make me the go-to choice for a women’s magazine I not only love but respect.

Yet here I am! Next they asked me to write an essay. I was super into it, but then cringed every time I opened my laptop. Topics? I quickly realized I have truly talked about everything possible. I guess that’s the dilemma one faces when they…well…can’t shut up. I’ve been a chronic oversharer since birth. So I decided I’d talk about something no one really knows about me, mainly because I just learned about it myself. What is it? I’ll get there.

Let me start here: To a lot of you, I think, I seem like the happiest person on the planet. I have an incredible husband—John and I have been together for over 10 years. He has seen my successes and failures; I’ve seen his. He has seen me at my worst, but I will say I don’t think I have ever seen him at his. He’s exactly as compassionate, patient, loving, and understanding as he seems. And I hate it. OK, I don’t hate it. But it can certainly drive you nuts sometimes when you’re as cynical as I am. If I weren’t me, I would politely excuse myself to make the most epic eye roll of all time if a woman talked to me about her significant other the way I just did to you.

When John and I got together, I found my love for cooking. On one of our earliest dates, I took him to Daniel (four dollar signs on Yelp, ahhh!). I drank a $40 margarita, ate salmon rillettes (fancy salmon spread), and prayed my card wouldn’t be declined. I couldn’t afford to take him out to more dinners like that, so I started cooking more and more at home for us. I started with my own version of that salmon spread, then roasted whole branzino, osso buco, chipotle BBQ chicken. When my first cookbook came out, I finally felt proud of my work. I feel that same pride in Lip Sync Battle, where I get to work with LL Cool J and watch Channing Tatum and Jenna Dewan go head-to-head as Beyoncé and motherf-cking Paula Abdul. My job, essentially, is to have the best time humanly possible.

And a year ago, in April, John and I started our family together. We had our daughter, Luna, who is perfect. She is somehow exactly me, exactly John, and exactly herself. I adore her.

I had everything I needed to be happy. And yet, for much of the last year, I felt unhappy. What basically everyone around me—but me—knew up until December was this: I have postpartum depression. How can I feel this way when everything is so great? I’ve had a hard time coming to terms with that, and I hesitated to even talk about this, as everything becomes such a “thing.” During pregnancy, what I thought were casual comments about IVF turned into headlines about me choosing the sex of my daughter. And I can already envision what will be said about me after this admission. But it’s such a major part of my life and so, so many other women’s lives. It would feel wrong to write anything else. So here goes.

I had such a wonderful, energetic pregnancy. Luna sat inside me like a little cross-legged Buddha facing toward my back for nine months. I never saw her face in a sonogram, just her butt or the back of her feet. Every time we kinnnnd of saw a nose, she would quickly dodge, and I was left guessing again. John, my mom, and my sister were all in the delivery room. John was DJ-ing. Luna, fittingly, popped out to the song “Superfly.” The first lyric is “Darkest of night. With the moon shining bright.” I immediately put her on my chest. And she had a face! I was so happy. And exhausted.

After I had Luna, our home was under construction, so we lived in a rental home, then a hotel, and I blamed whatever stress or detachment or sadness I was feeling at that time on the fact that there were so many odd circumstances. I remember thinking: “Maybe I’ll feel better when we have a home.”

I went back to work on Lip Sync Battle in August, when Luna was four months. The show treated me incredibly well—they put a nursery in my dressing room and blew up photos of Luna and John and my family for my wall. When Luna was on set, they lowered the noise levels. They turned down the air so she wouldn’t be cold. Only the most gentle knocking on the door. Pump breaks. I mean, there was no better place to get to go back to work to.

But I was different than before. Getting out of bed to get to set on time was painful. My lower back throbbed; my shoulders—even my wrists—hurt. I didn’t have an appetite. I would go two days without a bite of food, and you know how big of a deal food is for me. One thing that really got me was just how short I was with people.

I would be in my dressing room, sitting in a robe, getting hair and makeup done, and a crew member would knock on the door and ask: “Chrissy, do you know the lyrics to this song?” And I would lose it. Or “Chrissy, do you like these cat ears, or these panda hands?” And I’d be like: “Whatever you want. I don’t care.” They would leave. My eyes would well up and I would burst into tears. My makeup artist would pat them dry and give me a few minutes.

I couldn’t figure out why I was so unhappy. I blamed it on being tired and possibly growing out of the role: “Maybe I’m just not a goofy person anymore. Maybe I’m just supposed to be a mom.”

When I wasn’t in the studio, I never left the house. I mean, never. Not even a tiptoe outside. I’d ask people who came inside why they were wet. Was it raining? How would I know—I had every shade closed. Most days were spent on the exact same spot on the couch and rarely would I muster up the energy to make it upstairs for bed. John would sleep on the couch with me, sometimes four nights in a row. I started keeping robes and comfy clothes in the pantry so I wouldn’t have to go upstairs when John went to work. There was a lot of spontaneous crying.

Anytime I was seen out, it was because I had already had work or a work event that day. Meaning I wouldn’t have to muster up the energy to take a shower, because it was already done. It became the same story every day: Unless I had work, John knew there was not a chance in hell we were going on a date, going to the store, going anywhere. I didn’t have the energy.

Before, when I entered a room I had a presence: head high, shoulders back, big smile. Suddenly I had become this person whose shoulders would cower underneath her chin. I would keep my hands on my belly and try to make myself as small as possible.

During that time my bones hurt to the core. I had to go to the hospital; the back pain was so overwhelming. I felt like I was in an episode of Grey’s Anatomy: These kids were around me, asking questions. Maybe it was a kidney infection? No one could figure it out. I saw rheumatoid doctors for the wrist pain; we thought it might be rheumatoid arthritis. I felt nauseated all the time, so I saw a GI doctor. I wondered: Am I making this all up? Is this pain even real anymore?

By December I had started my second cookbook. With the first, I was in the kitchen the whole time. I stirred every pot, tasted everything. Had genuine excitement for Every. Single. Recipe. This one came at the height of my losing my appetite, and the idea of having to test and taste recipes actually made me vomit. I was still on the couch a lot.

Before the holidays I went to my GP for a physical. John sat next to me. I looked at my doctor, and my eyes welled up because I was so tired of being in pain. Of sleeping on the couch. Of waking up throughout the night. Of throwing up. Of taking things out on the wrong people. Of not enjoying life. Of not seeing my friends. Of not having the energy to take my baby for a stroll. My doctor pulled out a book and started listing symptoms. And I was like, “Yep, yep, yep.” I got my diagnosis: postpartum depression and anxiety. (The anxiety explains some of my physical symptoms.)

I remember being so exhausted but happy to know that we could finally get on the path of getting better. John had that same excitement. I started taking an antidepressant, which helped. And I started sharing the news with friends and family—I felt like everyone deserved an explanation, and I didn’t know how else to say it other than the only way I know: just saying it. It got easier and easier to say it aloud every time. (I still don’t really like to say, “I have postpartum depression,” because the word depressionscares a lot of people. I often just call it “postpartum.” Maybe I should say it, though. Maybe it will lessen the stigma a bit.)

I wanted to write an open letter to friends and employers to explain why I had been so unhappy. The mental pain of knowing I let so many people down at once was worse than the physical pain. To have people that you respect, who are the best in the business, witness you at your worst is tough. Even though this was something I shouldn’t have to apologize for, I did want to apologize. Because on a set, people depend on you. A lot of people are coming together and all you have to do, Christine, is put on a unicorn head and shoot a money gun. Editors are wondering what the f-ck happened to the girl they gave a book deal to. This shit was flying through my head and I felt horrible.

I actually did write my executive producer on Lip Sync Battle, Casey Patterson. She is one of the most amazing women in this universe and I never doubted she would understand. She told me she had noticed and was always here for me. I had to postpone my second cookbook, but my editor, Francis Lam, and publisher couldn’t have been more understanding. To go from discussing layouts and recipes and shoot days to a complete “off” switch was, I’m sure, not a great thing to hear. But, again, I cannot overstate how lucky I am to work with these people.

Before this, I had never, ever—in my whole entire life—had one person say to me: “I have postpartum depression.” Growing up in the nineties, I associated postpartum depression with Susan Smith [a woman now serving life in prison for killing her two sons; her lawyer argued that she suffered from a long history of depression], with people who didn’t like their babies or felt like they had to harm their children. I didn’t have anything remotely close to those feelings. I looked at Luna every day, amazed by her. So I didn’t think I had it.

I also just didn’t think it could happen to me. I have a great life. I have all the help I could need: John, my mother (who lives with us), a nanny. But postpartum does not discriminate. I couldn’t control it. And that’s part of the reason it took me so long to speak up: I felt selfish, icky, and weird saying aloud that I’m struggling. Sometimes I still do.

I know I might sound like a whiny, entitled girl. Plenty of people around the world in my situation have no help, no family, no access to medical care. I can’t imagine not being able to go to the doctors that I need. It’s hurtful to me to know that we have a president who wants to rip health care away from women. I look around every day and I don’t know how people do it. I’ve never had more respect for mothers, especially mothers with postpartum depression.

I’m speaking up now because I want people to know it can happen to anybody and I don’t want people who have it to feel embarrassed or to feel alone. I also don’t want to pretend like I know everything about postpartum depression, because it can be different for everybody. But one thing I do know is that—for me—just merely being open about it helps. This has become my open letter.

As I’m writing this, in February, I am a much different human than I was even just in December. I’m over a month into taking my antidepressant, and I just got the name of a therapist who I am planning to start seeing. Let’s be honest though—I probably needed therapy way before Luna!

Like anyone, with PPD or without, I have really good days and bad days. I will say, though, right now, all of the really bad days—the days that used to be all my days—are gone.

There are weeks when I still don’t leave the house for days; then I’m randomly at the Super Bowl or Grammys. (This is cringeworthily unrelatable, and I am very aware of that—it’s giving me anxiety.) Physically, I still don’t have energy for a lot of things, but a lot of new moms deal with this. Just crawling around with Luna can be hard. My back pain has gotten better, but my hands and wrists still hurt. And it can still be tough for me to stomach food some days. But I’m dealing.

I’m grateful for the people around me. John has been incredible over the last nine months, bringing me my medicine and watching horrible reality TV with me. He is not the goofiest guy, but he has gone out of his way to indulge my sense of humor. When I was having a good day, he would go to Medieval Times with me and put on the crazy period hat! He sees how much my eyes light up when he does that stuff, and he knows that’s what I need. I know he must look over at times and think: My God, get it together. But he has never made me feel that way. He wants me to be happy, silly, and energetic again, but he’s not making me feel bad when I’m not in that place. I love John and Luna more than I can imagine loving anything, and John and I still hope to give Luna a few siblings. Postpartum hasn’t changed that.

More than anything, I always want to have enough energy for Luna—to run up the stairs with her, to have tea parties with her. As she gets older, she’s becoming more and more fun. Her eyes are getting so wide, and I want to be there for those wide eyes. And I will be.

Phew! I’ve hated hiding this from you. XX, Chrissy

Postpartum depression is a common medical condition and, as Chrissy notes, symptoms can vary. Click here for information on diagnosis and treatment. To read more stories from women who have struggled with postpartum depression, click here.

Photograph by: Miguel Reveriego

#postpartumdepression #chrissy teigen #ppd #mentalhealth #mentalillness #womens health

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i-am-very-very-tired · 7 years

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Chrissy Teigen, 31, is many things: a Sports Illustrated cover girl, a New York Times best-selling cookbook author, a host of the Emmy-nominated TV series Lip Sync Battle and the soon-to-be designer of a fashion line with Revolve. But she’s best known for what her husband, John Legend, calls her: “smart mouth.” She opines on everything from politics to stretch marks, 140 characters a time on Twitter. And her commentary is often so “you took the words out of my mouth!” that all you have to do is hit RT and add the word “PREACH.” What women love about Teigen is that she is, as she admits, “an open book.” She will show off a perfect seared duck breast—and tell you she accidentally sliced off her fingertip on a mandoline. Ask her about the wildest place she’s had sex? She’ll answer. (An airplane.) She approaches any topic with that same raw, real candor. But there’s one thing she hasn’t shared yet: After giving birth to her daughter, Luna, last April, Teigen developed postpartum depression, a condition affecting one in nine women, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. In this exclusive essay for Glamour, she talks about her experience, why she kept it private, and how she’s doing now. And she is as raw and real as ever. Over to you, Chrissy. When Glamour first told me I was going to be on the cover, I was freaking thrilled. Seriously. As a longtime reader, I couldn’t believe it. I’d always assumed that wearing swimsuits (or half a swimsuit) or having the occasional nip slip (or bit slip) wouldn’t make me the go-to choice for a women’s magazine I not only love but respect. Yet here I am! Next they asked me to write an essay. I was super into it, but then cringed every time I opened my laptop. Topics? I quickly realized I have truly talked about everything possible. I guess that’s the dilemma one faces when they…well…can’t shut up. I’ve been a chronic oversharer since birth. So I decided I’d talk about something no one really knows about me, mainly because I just learned about it myself. What is it? I’ll get there. Let me start here: To a lot of you, I think, I seem like the happiest person on the planet. I have an incredible husband—John and I have been together for over 10 years. He has seen my successes and failures; I’ve seen his. He has seen me at my worst, but I will say I don’t think I have ever seen him at his. He’s exactly as compassionate, patient, loving, and understanding as he seems. And I hate it. OK, I don’t hate it. But it can certainly drive you nuts sometimes when you’re as cynical as I am. If I weren’t me, I would politely excuse myself to make the most epic eye roll of all time if a woman talked to me about her significant other the way I just did to you. When John and I got together, I found my love for cooking. On one of our earliest dates, I took him to Daniel (four dollar signs on Yelp, ahhh!). I drank a $40 margarita, ate salmon rillettes (fancy salmon spread), and prayed my card wouldn’t be declined. I couldn’t afford to take him out to more dinners like that, so I started cooking more and more at home for us. I started with my own version of that salmon spread, then roasted whole branzino, osso buco, chipotle BBQ chicken. When my first cookbook came out, I finally felt proud of my work. I feel that same pride in Lip Sync Battle, where I get to work with LL Cool J and watch Channing Tatum and Jenna Dewan go head-to-head as Beyoncé and motherf-cking Paula Abdul. My job, essentially, is to have the best time humanly possible. And a year ago, in April, John and I started our family together. We had our daughter, Luna, who is perfect. She is somehow exactly me, exactly John, and exactly herself. I adore her. I had everything I needed to be happy. And yet, for much of the last year, I felt unhappy. What basically everyone around me—but me—knew up until December was this: I have postpartum depression. How can I feel this way when everything is so great? I’ve had a hard time coming to terms with that, and I hesitated to even talk about this, as everything becomes such a “thing.” During pregnancy, what I thought were casual comments about IVF turned into headlines about me choosing the sex of my daughter. And I can already envision what will be said about me after this admission. But it’s such a major part of my life and so, so many other women’s lives. It would feel wrong to write anything else. So here goes. I had such a wonderful, energetic pregnancy. Luna sat inside me like a little cross-legged Buddha facing toward my back for nine months. I never saw her face in a sonogram, just her butt or the back of her feet. Every time we kinnnnd of saw a nose, she would quickly dodge, and I was left guessing again. John, my mom, and my sister were all in the delivery room. John was DJ-ing. Luna, fittingly, popped out to the song “Superfly.” The first lyric is “Darkest of night. With the moon shining bright.” I immediately put her on my chest. And she had a face! I was so happy. And exhausted. After I had Luna, our home was under construction, so we lived in a rental home, then a hotel, and I blamed whatever stress or detachment or sadness I was feeling at that time on the fact that there were so many odd circumstances. I remember thinking: “Maybe I’ll feel better when we have a home.” I went back to work on Lip Sync Battle in August, when Luna was four months. The show treated me incredibly well—they put a nursery in my dressing room and blew up photos of Luna and John and my family for my wall. When Luna was on set, they lowered the noise levels. They turned down the air so she wouldn’t be cold. Only the most gentle knocking on the door. Pump breaks. I mean, there was no better place to get to go back to work to. But I was different than before. Getting out of bed to get to set on time was painful. My lower back throbbed; my shoulders—even my wrists—hurt. I didn’t have an appetite. I would go two days without a bite of food, and you know how big of a deal food is for me. One thing that really got me was just how short I was with people. I would be in my dressing room, sitting in a robe, getting hair and makeup done, and a crew member would knock on the door and ask: “Chrissy, do you know the lyrics to this song?” And I would lose it. Or “Chrissy, do you like these cat ears, or these panda hands?” And I’d be like: “Whatever you want. I don’t care.” They would leave. My eyes would well up and I would burst into tears. My makeup artist would pat them dry and give me a few minutes. I couldn’t figure out why I was so unhappy. I blamed it on being tired and possibly growing out of the role: “Maybe I’m just not a goofy person anymore. Maybe I’m just supposed to be a mom.” When I wasn’t in the studio, I never left the house. I mean, never. Not even a tiptoe outside. I’d ask people who came inside why they were wet. Was it raining? How would I know—I had every shade closed. Most days were spent on the exact same spot on the couch and rarely would I muster up the energy to make it upstairs for bed. John would sleep on the couch with me, sometimes four nights in a row. I started keeping robes and comfy clothes in the pantry so I wouldn’t have to go upstairs when John went to work. There was a lot of spontaneous crying. Anytime I was seen out, it was because I had already had work or a work event that day. Meaning I wouldn’t have to muster up the energy to take a shower, because it was already done. It became the same story every day: Unless I had work, John knew there was not a chance in hell we were going on a date, going to the store, going anywhere. I didn’t have the energy. Before, when I entered a room I had a presence: head high, shoulders back, big smile. Suddenly I had become this person whose shoulders would cower underneath her chin. I would keep my hands on my belly and try to make myself as small as possible. During that time my bones hurt to the core. I had to go to the hospital; the back pain was so overwhelming. I felt like I was in an episode of Grey’s Anatomy: These kids were around me, asking questions. Maybe it was a kidney infection? No one could figure it out. I saw rheumatoid doctors for the wrist pain; we thought it might be rheumatoid arthritis. I felt nauseated all the time, so I saw a GI doctor. I wondered: Am I making this all up? Is this pain even real anymore? By December I had started my second cookbook. With the first, I was in the kitchen the whole time. I stirred every pot, tasted everything. Had genuine excitement for Every. Single. Recipe. This one came at the height of my losing my appetite, and the idea of having to test and taste recipes actually made me vomit. I was still on the couch a lot. Before the holidays I went to my GP for a physical. John sat next to me. I looked at my doctor, and my eyes welled up because I was so tired of being in pain. Of sleeping on the couch. Of waking up throughout the night. Of throwing up. Of taking things out on the wrong people. Of not enjoying life. Of not seeing my friends. Of not having the energy to take my baby for a stroll. My doctor pulled out a book and started listing symptoms. And I was like, “Yep, yep, yep.” I got my diagnosis: postpartum depression and anxiety. (The anxiety explains some of my physical symptoms.) I remember being so exhausted but happy to know that we could finally get on the path of getting better. John had that same excitement. I started taking an antidepressant, which helped. And I started sharing the news with friends and family—I felt like everyone deserved an explanation, and I didn’t know how else to say it other than the only way I know: just saying it. It got easier and easier to say it aloud every time. (I still don’t really like to say, “I have postpartum depression,” because the word depression scares a lot of people. I often just call it “postpartum.” Maybe I should say it, though. Maybe it will lessen the stigma a bit.) I wanted to write an open letter to friends and employers to explain why I had been so unhappy. The mental pain of knowing I let so many people down at once was worse than the physical pain. To have people that you respect, who are the best in the business, witness you at your worst is tough. Even though this was something I shouldn’t have to apologize for, I did want to apologize. Because on a set, people depend on you. A lot of people are coming together and all you have to do, Christine, is put on a unicorn head and shoot a money gun. Editors are wondering what the f-ck happened to the girl they gave a book deal to. This shit was flying through my head and I felt horrible. I actually did write my executive producer on Lip Sync Battle, Casey Patterson. She is one of the most amazing women in this universe and I never doubted she would understand. She told me she had noticed and was always here for me. I had to postpone my second cookbook, but my editor, Francis Lam, and publisher couldn’t have been more understanding. To go from discussing layouts and recipes and shoot days to a complete “off” switch was, I’m sure, not a great thing to hear. But, again, I cannot overstate how lucky I am to work with these people. Before this, I had never, ever—in my whole entire life—had one person say to me: “I have postpartum depression.” Growing up in the nineties, I associated postpartum depression with Susan Smith [a woman now serving life in prison for killing her two sons; her lawyer argued that she suffered from a long history of depression], with people who didn’t like their babies or felt like they had to harm their children. I didn’t have anything remotely close to those feelings. I looked at Luna every day, amazed by her. So I didn’t think I had it. I also just didn’t think it could happen to me. I have a great life. I have all the help I could need: John, my mother (who lives with us), a nanny. But postpartum does not discriminate. I couldn’t control it. And that’s part of the reason it took me so long to speak up: I felt selfish, icky, and weird saying aloud that I’m struggling. Sometimes I still do. I know I might sound like a whiny, entitled girl. Plenty of people around the world in my situation have no help, no family, no access to medical care. I can’t imagine not being able to go to the doctors that I need. It’s hurtful to me to know that we have a president who wants to rip health care away from women. I look around every day and I don’t know how people do it. I’ve never had more respect for mothers, especially mothers with postpartum depression. I’m speaking up now because I want people to know it can happen to anybody and I don’t want people who have it to feel embarrassed or to feel alone. I also don’t want to pretend like I know everything about postpartum depression, because it can be different for everybody. But one thing I do know is that—for me—just merely being open about it helps. This has become my open letter. As I’m writing this, in February, I am a much different human than I was even just in December. I’m over a month into taking my antidepressant, and I just got the name of a therapist who I am planning to start seeing. Let’s be honest though—I probably needed therapy way before Luna! Like anyone, with PPD or without, I have really good days and bad days. I will say, though, right now, all of the really bad days—the days that used to be all my days—are gone. There are weeks when I still don’t leave the house for days; then I’m randomly at the Super Bowl or Grammys. (This is cringeworthily unrelatable, and I am very aware of that—it’s giving me anxiety.) Physically, I still don’t have energy for a lot of things, but a lot of new moms deal with this. Just crawling around with Luna can be hard. My back pain has gotten better, but my hands and wrists still hurt. And it can still be tough for me to stomach food some days. But I’m dealing. I’m grateful for the people around me. John has been incredible over the last nine months, bringing me my medicine and watching horrible reality TV with me. He is not the goofiest guy, but he has gone out of his way to indulge my sense of humor. When I was having a good day, he would go to Medieval Times with me and put on the crazy period hat! He sees how much my eyes light up when he does that stuff, and he knows that’s what I need. I know he must look over at times and think: My God, get it together. But he has never made me feel that way. He wants me to be happy, silly, and energetic again, but he’s not making me feel bad when I’m not in that place. I love John and Luna more than I can imagine loving anything, and John and I still hope to give Luna a few siblings. Postpartum hasn’t changed that. More than anything, I always want to have enough energy for Luna—to run up the stairs with her, to have tea parties with her. As she gets older, she’s becoming more and more fun. Her eyes are getting so wide, and I want to be there for those wide eyes. And I will be. Phew! I’ve hated hiding this from you. XX, Chrissy Postpartum depression is a common medical condition and, as Chrissy notes, symptoms can vary. Click here for information on diagnosis and treatment. To read more stories from women who have struggled with postpartum depression, click here.

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