WIP Wednesday!
Right, so I was tagged last week by two absolutely phenomenally talented and gorgeous moots: @endwersed and @violetfairydust. And well, last week happened. And this week has been... Happening too. And it's only Wednesday.
So I'm going to share something!
This is from Lineman - something something post apocalypse Sterek au where Derek is (kind of) in charge of the telecoms and Stiles has a pirate radio station. And they fall in love. But first, before any of that can happen, Derek has to socialize against his will.
@greyhavenisback this is for you and your brilliant thoughts! 💙 It's still a little rough round the edges, it needs an edit or five, but hopefully it'll do!
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The tradition has been, when half the moon is in the sky, someone will sit down at the station and make sure the messages get sent and received. Though he'd never admit it out loud, Derek is deeply proud that he's been able to facilitate this - really, he is.
Honestly.
But every time someone approaches him with this fond, dewy look in their eyes Derek wants to get up, keep walking and never come back.
But he can't. Because he was dumb enough to take a bet he couldn't win.
Holding back a sigh, he grits his teeth as he suffers through Mrs Gibson, using up valuable resources, to wax lyrical about the pie she made the other day. The pie that also used up valuable resources.
"Oh and the shipment of wheat finally came in, thank cousin Billy for that if you see him. The Harts down the road made it into flour and it made the perfect crust -"
It hadn't.
Derek had seen the pie. The makeshift clay oven she'd used had burnt the outside black as coal and left the inside tepid at best. It had smelled foul but she'd still managed to tempt a few idiots into trying it. The novelty of Old World food drawing people in - either that or she'd threatened to use them for target practice.
"Oh and you know the creatures that come out at night? The ones with two heads and necks but one body? Well their meat is surprisingly delicious. You'll have to let me know if you want the recipe."
Derek is gritting his teeth together so hard, his jaw cracks. He's fairly convinced it's not a good idea to eat the desert creatures - for various reasons. About half of them based on personal experience. The things in the desert always have something wrong with them, and the desert itself always seems to remember you. And the kind of person you are. And it always protects it's own.
He's not sure a slow painful death is worth a terrible meat pie. He hopes whoever procured it made the right sacrifices first - or at least asked permission.
Where she'd found the recipe, Derek isn't even sure. He's aware Mrs Gibson has a knack for summoning strange Old World remnants to her side however, the strangely titled "How to Cook a Wolf," didn't strike him as the most appropriate book to try to copy. He supposes he can give it points for practicality although he doubts that the creatures they call desert wolves look anything like the wolves of old. Perhaps you still cook them the same though.
He catches Mrs Gibson looking at him askance and tries to arrange his eyebrows into something more neutral and less judgemental.
"Yes well, it needs refining of course," she says with a sniff, cradling the receiver against her cheek.
Derek really does snort at this, covering it up at the last minute as a sneeze. Mrs Gibson gives him a stern look like she doesn't believe him for one moment.
"Well maybe cousin Cecily will appreciate it," she says briskly. "I had better be going, now my love. I'll try to call you on the next half moon cycle. Stay safe sweetheart, my love to you and the family." She ushers Derek over and he pushes the door frame to flick the radio set off, making every effort to avoid further conversation.
Most people know Derek by now - and by know they at least recognize that the best way to stay on his good side is to ignore him and never speak to him. Mrs Gibson is one of the few townsfolk who never seemed to get the memo.
"Thank you Derek," she says looking at him with eyes that seem to see far more than he would like. "These are for you, dear," she says, reaching into her pocket before pressing a stack of cookies wrapped in dirty linen into his hand.
Derek looks down at the bundle and something uncomfortable twists in his stomach.
"You know I can't accept these," he says, trying to pass them back. "It's too much."
The gods alone only know where on earth she got the sugar from. The farms out in the south-east have been able to produce sugar cane, he remembers seeing them years ago. But getting any supplies out here is arduous, dangerous and difficult. It's worth far, far more than any of the scraps of paper or copper wiring people usually pay with.
Mrs Gibson waves him off, as she tends to do with most of the things she disagrees with.
"Boyd never turns down my cooking," she huffs, shooting him a keen eyed look that belies her indifference.
"Yeah well, Erica can't cook for shit."
"And you can?" She raises an eyebrow and shakes her head in despair. "To my mind, if anyone needs some sweetness in their life it's you. No, don't look at me like that, Derek. They're mostly honey and oats anyway. Honestly, you make all these assumptions and most of them are wrong. Did you ever stop to think that maybe getting the chance to talk to my family is worth far more than ingredients and supplies? Now get your head out of your ass, lad and take these goddamned cookies."
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Gentle no pressure whatsoever tags to: @hellameyers @patolemus @seaweed-water @novasillies and anyone else who wants to share!
